Thal,??
Early in the morning, a man in a black three-piece formal suit, a beige shirt, and a black hat got off a carriage.
His unusual clothing style made people turn to him. The marketplace was already bustling with people, carriages, and wagons. It was still early morning, yet the city had already come to life.
Merchant stalls lined the street, and merchants were engaged in trade or advertising their wares to every passerby. The man looked around, his dark gaze capturing everything in sight. He smiled a bit and began walking to his destination: a quaint café right outside the marketplace called Sebastian's Peace, named after the owner.
He did not bother to take in the scenery; to him it was all the same, having lived in the nation ever since he was born. He had traveled to every city in the nation — well, not every single one; there was one place he always avoided, yet he really wanted to go soon.
The design of the cities of Thal was the same, so in every one you would find narrow streets winding between low, terraced buildings with clay-tiled roofs and occasional watchtowers.
Cobblestone roads carried the impressions of carts and horses, and there was the faint scent of smoke and baked bread. These were the occasional sights and scents one would find in every part of Thal. To a non-native, the plain design of the city and the simple way of life might seem boring, yet to the people of Thal there was a sense of nostalgia for their homeland.
His walk was slow and unhurried. The people's stares followed him, and occasionally he could even hear their words.
"A foreigner," they would say.
And to a degree they were correct. He looked nothing like them, although he was one of them. Having been a half-breed, his mother could not bear the pain of raising a half-breed child, so she gave him up.
He did not know his father. The only thing he knew was that the man came from a race feared and hated by the rest of the world: the Mesa race. But despite everything, he stood tall, and he was proud of the life he had built for himself.
The café entered his field of vision; a sign on the outside indicated it was open. He took out a pocket watch and stared at it for some time before closing it and taking out a cigarette and a lighter.
"Two minutes early." His low, deep voice was heard by no one.
He lit his cigarette while staring at the sky. Thal always had beautiful weather. The only problem was the heat in summer; luckily it was still spring.
"Hello, mister." A small voice, akin to a whisper, brought him out of his nonexistent thoughts.
Looking down, there was a small girl, about six years old. He threw away his cigarette, bent down, and looked at her with a small smile.
"Hello, young lady. Can I help you?" he asked, staring at the little girl.
Something in the little girl's eyes moved, and his smile deepened.
"You possessed a child, really?" he asked, chuckling in a hushed voice.
"You dare mock my vessel? I will—" he cut the little girl off by picking her up and stepping into the café.
The café was still quiet; he suspected they had just opened. They went to the counter, and he took out two blue coins and dropped them on the counter before going to sit at a table in the corner near the window.
There were only two other customers in the café, so it was very quiet. He glanced at the two customers and smiled. Reaching the table, he placed the girl on a chair before seating himself on the opposite side.
They stared at one another for some time before he broke the uncomfortable silence.
"You have no business being that cute, you know." He relaxed into his chair.
"Mock me again and you will be in a world of pain." The little girl spoke with a crazed expression, sending chills down his spine.
"Calm yourself. Anyway, why did you want to meet?" he asked.
The young girl waved a hand, and the world grew eerily silent—no sound came from anywhere; it was stark quiet, which was unsettling. He knew that power. He had once asked it what it was, and it had responded with: the Unvoice.
"Silence is perfection. Now tell me, how long until I can acquire my perfect vessel?" the girl asked, tapping her fingers on the table; yet no sound came, which only deepened the feeling of dread.
"Soon. They will bring him to me," he responded quickly and took out a note from his pocket and handed it to the little girl.
"Yes, this is him. My brethren told me he is the one that caused that calamity to finally descend. I must acquire him before any of my brethren set their sights on him. And then will I get my revenge on the mortal who stripped me of my vessel." The girl spoke excitedly; the expressions she made sent shivers down his spine, yet he could not afford to show weakness.
Then she turned serious and gazed at him. Something shattered, yet no sound came. It became hard to breathe, and then something pulsed. His very soul trembled. Soft yet cold hands brushed against his hands and face, then they multiplied; every single part of his body was touched, which made him tremble. The cold hands brushed against his skin although he was fully dressed, and then they slowly wrapped around his body, holding him in place.
"But if you fail to bring my vessel, I will be taking your body for a spin and it won't be pretty." Her voice came from everywhere. Cold sweat dripped down his spine, yet he could not move, let alone speak.
He saw something move inside her eyes, and for a moment her face was replaced by a hollowed face with its eyes and mouth stitched together and a head full of long ashen hair.
The little girl smiled, retracted her gaze, and waved a hand. The vile sensations he felt disappeared and sound returned to the world.
"Here is your tea." An elderly man with a neatly trimmed beard, a bald head, and a firm body stood with a tray in front of them. He placed the two cups of tea on the table.
"If you need anything else—" he shook his head at the man.
"No, that will be all, Sebastian. Thanks."
The elderly man nodded and returned to his counter.
The girl drank her tea with perfect etiquette. He could not pick up his cup because his hand was shaking, and he did not want to show the monster in the girl that he was afraid.
"The thing in your possession should be disposed of afterwards. It's unstable, and that is why it cannot evolve past the high aberrant class. Although its powers have evolved past that stage, it is a total failure," the girl spoke slowly, her eyes distant. He nodded.
"I will see to it after the mission."
The girl nodded and got up.
"You are on the right path, Ryan. This world is about to be consumed by something far more harrowing than me and my brethren. It would do your kind more good to ally themselves with the winning side and give up now, for they will be spared."
He stared at the girl's small back as she left the café.
"My name is Rowan," he spoke after she had left.
He looked at his trembling hands and smiled.
[Crazy wrench.]
He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He looked around the café and saw that the two customers were still seated. He broke into a smile and stood up, approaching the one near him; the two sat at separate tables not too far away from each other.
They were dressed like regular citizens, and yet nothing about the way they presented themselves screamed regular. Their postures were refined, and they had a certain presence about them one only seasoned killers could discern.
"A Deadman, in this part of Thal? Luck must be on my side today," he spoke, standing behind a man who was seated with a cup of tea and staring into the distance.
The minute the man saw him, he turned around with a knife ready to plunge it into Rowan's head. Rowan watched as the knife fell toward him, and when it was about to pierce his head he disappeared from view, appearing right behind the man.
The man staggered and coughed up blood before falling to the floor with a thud. Behind him stood Rowan, blood dripping down his hand, which held the man's still-beating heart. He threw the heart to the floor and then disappeared, only to reappear in front of the other customer. The man was sweating; he held a gun, something which was prohibited in Thal, and it was no regular gun, either.
"Another Deadman. What do you have there?" he whispered to the man, pointing at the man's gun.
The man raised his gun and shot two blasts of concentrated black light that cut through the chair he was seated on like a knife through butter. But he had missed; his target was already behind him. The hard grip on his shoulder made the man wet himself instantly.
"Hey, hey, get a grip, man. I want you to relay a message to your leaders for me: tell them they are almost out of time." Rowan placed a note on the man's table before disappearing.
A pouch of coins was left on the counter, and the scent of blood and piss permeated the café.
"Rowan, that bastard always leaves a mess." Sebastian grumbled while escorting the man who had wet himself out of his café.
...
Rowan appeared at the top of the cathedral; he stood on one of the spires. He was looking at Sebastian escorting the man out of the café. The man remained frozen for a short while before walking away in the direction of the outskirts toward the city gates.
"I should have kept the other one alive to make it more scary." Shaking his head, he disappeared from the cathedral.