The Man Who Dies for Fun

Death At The DoorSteps

Chapter Twelve: Death at the Doorsteps

When I was a boy, my favorite stories were the ones where the villain had a cruel, yet relatable past. Something that made anyone go 'this wouldn't have happened if the hero simply had never done that'. I love those stories. Not because I could relate to the villain as being someone who was mistreated and forced into a life of questionable choices because of the hero. No, it's because I knew that whatever action I did, the 'hero' would deem it terrible, an act so monstrous that nothing I could do would redeem it.

Which is why when I grew up, my levels of 'give a fuck' plummeted so low that even the most depressed people would go hot damn.

I can basically get away with anything I want - to a limit - without much aftermath since the magi are the dumb heros who think their rules are being followed, and wherever I go anything I do that's not hero work I can cover up as no one suspects the necromancer that doesn't even exist to most. I'm willing to take more risks, even if I am caught. The magi will always chastise me for even the tiniest thing if they ever catch wind of my actions. You saw what happened with the magi and Halina. I got yelled at--for making a fucking friend! What bullshit is this?

However, with Halina putting my shit online - which I am all about because being unnoticed is worse than being noticed - I have to be a little careful. It's quite possible now for some moron to search up 'traces of weird magic in this area' and my name pop up.

But I'm not there yet. So completely wrecking this place should be a piece of cake.

Satchel and sword with me, the building before me here in Statue City seemed rather unordinary. Five story, red brick, with a store on the first level. An antiques place. Glancing at my phone, it sure matched the picture that Paul had sent. The city was busy, the afternoon filled with Hidden going by, minding their business. More red and limestone brick buildings made up Statue City, and bronze statues were everywhere on the sidewalks, representing various people and objects.

Halina finally got back from parking, holding a cup of coffee. "Saw a cafe. Had to stop."

"Nice. Now go back to it." Hopefully she brought something to read. "This will be very dangerous. Go back there, and if I send a text along the lines of 'I'm dying', get out of here and get back up."

"But what if you die before the message?"

"Then if two hours go by, and I'm not back," smiling unironically, thinking about it made me joyus, "then just leave. And still get back up. Just do not go in here."

Halina drank, smacking her lips. "Okay. Good thing I brought a book."

She went off, and I opened the door, bell ringing. The store was filled with old Hidden junk. Enchanted swords, old shields, glass bottles. Maybe I'll come back here to shop one day.

Weaving my way through the racks of piled up items, I finally got to the front desk. A young warlock was there, rather big, and a nasty scar running down his face. Huh, doesn't seem dangerous. Maybe he just really likes antiques.

"How may I help you?" His voice was gravely and thick. He crossed his arms, his tight shirt revealing the diamond pearl tattoo. Nope, this is the right place.

"Yo, I hear you sell some good wares. Some.....exceptional wares." Leaning on the counter, I messed with the pen sitting there. "Things offered nowhere else."

"Humph. Anything specific?"

"Oh, I don't know. Immortality?" I raised an eyebrow. "For those who want to sleep?"

The guy wasn't as thick as perceived. He looked past me, satisfied that no one else was here. "Follow me."

He took me to the back, and we went up some stairs. Going by the third level, I saw a group of people in a room, all bowing to a shrine, candles lit and needles on the floor. Interesting.