I close the shutters from the outside. Clint should be able to immediately notice the additional daylight streaming into his room, if someone were to open it again.
I sensed the same weird mana signatures follow us during the whole trip to this place. I couldn't do much about it yet, because we would've had too many witnesses for an intervention of mine. Luckily, some of those mana signatures kept following us into this rather empty district. I'm certain, they're here for us—and I'm here for them.
After the information overdose last night, I fell unconscious—or so I thought at first. I think "forced sleep" is more accurate, going by the vivid dreams during my involuntary rest. My mind probably went into sleep mode to handle the massive amount of information coming in from my Morphing-skill's catalog of creatures. My human mind is not good at handling divine, rank S skills, so yesterday's skill activation almost fried my nervous system.
Once I woke up from my slumber, I had a lot of options for disguises at my hand: Merchants, guards, housekeepers, horses and many more. But while I now understand that non-fictional creatures bring much more life to my shapes, I found myself drifting back to video game characters. How often do you get a chance to translate video game mechanics into real abilities? I've been very eager to try all those unrealistic moves and this might be the opportunity!
I turn my gaze away from the closed window and watch the side street that I'm in. Hidden in plain sight with some kind of stealth magic or skills, five of six people are carefully making their way to me. I pretend to still look around, as if their mana signatures wouldn't be obvious to my senses. I don't know, how the ranged attacks of the next shape I'll take on will work, so I need them closer for my melee skills, just in case.
With careful steps, the hidden figures close the distance, but they stop once they're just outside of my reach. It seems, they know about my hair abilities. Either they were trailing us since before I looted the thief on the way here, or said thief told them about me. My pursuers exchange a few nods and hand gestures, before the missing sixth presence appears from behind the corner of the house.
Visibly approaching me is a young, elven man in tattered clothes. He easily could pass as one of the residents of this district. The soiled condition of his dark brown hair and tanned skin even make him look, like he just finished a long day of tilling fields, but I know better.
"Lady, whatever you were doing here, I suggest leaving. This is a dangerous district.", the man starts, rubbing the back of his head to underline his apologetic demeanor.
"Thank you for the warning.", I simply respond.
After a brief moment of silence, the man realizes, how little his warning did, so he starts pleading. "I mean it! If you have nothing that holds you up, you're better off leaving. The guards won't help you in such a place!" He gestures towards the main road with his hand. I, of course, ignore it.
"I'm quite aware of that fact, young man. I appreciate your concern." I try to suppress any eye movement that would show that I can see the two invisible colleagues of his group circling me. With guarded steps, they get in position to threaten my flanks, one of them getting closer to the window. I was expecting daggers or clubs, but the two only take out some palm-sized vials, albeit they have magical properties, if my senses don't deceive me.
"Seriously! You never know what could happen in this part of to—" He cuts off his own sentence, as the aforementioned vials break on the ground in front of me. The magical contents spilled, dense fog practically spawns within a fraction of a second, obscuring any normal vision.
I sigh in disappointment. Sleep-inducing fog, as a quick look at my status screen confirms. I was already wondering, why I couldn't see anyone readying ranged weapons. And now they didn't even go for a classic stabbing. As odd as it sounds, I really hoped they would be a ruthless gang of rogues. I planned to use them as my test-subjects under the guise of self-defense. But instead I got damn thieves so honorable, they even talk to you first and just gently lay you to sleep!
I can still sense their mana signatures through the fog though. In the midst of my internal lamentations, I almost overlooked one of them stepping further towards the window close to me. It's not what I imagined, I would do as guild staff, but it's time to fulfill my first task as one of Kella's goons: Protect Clint and his last belongings. I begin my transformation.
From the top of my ushanka to the bottom of my high boots—everything morphs into a new individual. The bright color palette with beige and orange changes into dusty blacks and grays, as the victorian tricorn, box coat, pants and boots take shape. The enormous mass of blonde hair on my back recedes into my body. Out of my right hand, a very recognizable weapon grows, taken right out of the source material from which I'm borrowing the character: An over-sized foldaway cleaver with a saw-tooth edge.
I now walk in the skin of the protagonist of a gothic horror world. The source material is a well received video game, I could never afford the required console for. Luckily for me, my beloved shopkeeper allowed me to play the game on the console in her store back then. This is one of the games, I spent the most hours in during my stays at her small business, so I'm very familiar with the movements and attack patterns of my new body. Not only did I choose this form, because it's one of my favorite games, but also because it has some peculiar game mechanics.
My first target is still next to the window, but their hands will soon touch the shutters. I decide to play it safe and just swing the cleaver in its folded state.
I execute a short dash and follow up with the swing, as if the fog doesn't exist. The cleaver connects. The rogue lets out an agonizing scream. Splashes of blood taint my right side in a vibrant red, before I realize my mistake. I curse under my breath. Over and over again.
Common sense might dictate that knives have their blade pointing inwards when folded in, so the blunt side of the metal points outward for obvious safety reasons. But this is a weapon from a video game, where offense is your best defense: The sawtooth-edge of this cleaver still points outwards, when its folded in. My common sense crossed wires with this video game logic.
Thus, the jagged edges of my cleaver tore out the clothing, skin and flesh off my targets back, instead of just transferring the intended blunt force for a non-lethal strike. My target falls face-first against the wall next to the window, then tilts to the side, smearing an arc of red on the wall.
It doesn't take long before the scent of iron reaches my nose. It underlines the severity of my accident, inducing even more panic in me.
Panic and appetite.
The fog clears.
YOU ARE READING
Shapeless Hero
פנטזיהIdentity crisis? What's that? ---- An earthling's soul was born into an incompatible, human body. Their muscles misbehaved, their skin and body felt like a rigid shell, and their weak constitution left little options for any activities outside of...
