Harriet was cramped. The old wriggleways weren't as big as they used to be, and she kept getting caught in small spaces between the walls. Even in her special sneaking outfit, which usually glided between tight stone. She was debating pulling her mask down to breathe properly, but decided against it. It might give her away.
All to get inside of an Isolator's Sphere.
It's nearly impossible to actually penetrate an Isolator's Sphere while it's up. Not without them noticing. So someone needed to sneak into the room early and hide away. Like trolls do.
So Harriett was Trolling the Tast'er noble house, the newly promoted right hand of the king.
Harriet liked trolling people.
But now she was…procrastinating it. She crouched, several turns away from where she was supposed to be. Watching the dance.
The guests twirled and pranced, which was something Harriett had always loathed. Bulky dresses, tacky makeup and social tact. A line of men hoping to catch her eye without catching her father's ire. Power and potential dancing the night away.
Frivolous.
But now Harriett watched with a familiar emotion churning inside her. She watched her dear friend, Clara, dance her heart out. Harriett was more graceful, she knew, but Clara had a way of pulling equally with her partner. In a way that turned them into two spinning worlds of careful footsteps.
And she was dancing with Scott. When did he get back? Why was he at the ball? Harriett forced her hackles down as she watched Scott throw Clara into the air. If she'd known that he was here she'd have…still hidden in the shadows. There was a job to do.
Once the dance was done and Scott had set Clara down, Harriett stepped out of the shadows. Briefly. Towards him. It had been nearly a month since she'd last seen him.
Harriett turned away.
It's not like I am unwelcome, Harriette thought. I'm the one who invited Clara to the ball. I chose not to be here and, given the choice, I'd still not be here.
Yet…suddenly balls didn't seem all that bad with Scott in them.
Harriett shook her head. She was not Harriett tonight, she was Calendula the Night Flower. Blooming in an unexpected and nearly impossible place.
The fraction of a shadow, that same shadow that had followed Harriett up the castle, broke off. It disappeared into the castle, the strongest trace of its presence a growing bloodlust. It didn't feel much anymore, and it was looking forward to being alive again. Not very alive, but it would take what it could get.
****
Jasson fell with his eyes shut. They tend to be shut when you're supporting yourself with a death grip on a blanket. After a few seconds of not dying, Jasson landed.
Alright, Jasson thought, if I open my eyes and see Kami-sama behind his desk, I will petition for a retry.
Jasson opened his eyes and did not sigh. He, in fact, gasped. People tend to gasp when they're looking at the backend of a minotaur. It's an understandable reflex. The muscles, the imposing size, not to mention the impending death. Unfortunately, once they gasp they discover the smell.
"Eurgh!" Jasson gagged and leaned over, vomiting bile onto the street. When was the last time he'd eaten?
The minotaur rounded on Jasson, something it did horrifyingly well. With a dramatic sweep of the arm and then a full body flex, the monster displayed every lethal part of it. Horns glinted, armored in metal as its knuckles whitened around the handle of an enormous doubleheaded ax.
Jasson's chest rumbled as the monster bellowed, a cross between an angry bull and berserker rage. Jasson threw the blanket at the Minotaur reflexively and ran to the side. The minotaur tracked the blanket/parachute and charged, skewering it with razor sharp horns and pinning it against the wall. For one relaxing moment, it looked like the monster was stuck with its horns in the wooden wall. Then the monster raised its axe and started chopping at the building.
"Right," Jasson spun on his heel, "Time to go."
After all, anyone could defeat that minotaur. It didn't have to be him. But the weeping angels? Those would wreak havoc in stop-motion.
Plus, the monster's cores would be worth great money. He needed to save up twenty thousand dollars after all. If he sold ten of them then…but that had been with discount so…
Jasson ducked into an alley and caught his breath. Where was a sewer entrance? Did he just slip down the storm drain like a kid in a yellow raincoat? The last thing he wanted to do was get lost in some minor side tunnels. If it was raining he could follow the water but…
Jasson backtracked through the alleys and streets. He wasn't familiar with this part of the city, but he knew that part of the river flowed through the business sector and toward the North. Jasson armed himself with a Fire Crystal in MADaptation, ready to scorch anything trying to kill him. He was trying to save battery, but there was no point if he died first. Or was maimed. Heck, a broken bone would stop him.
But not a bruise or minor bloodloss. He could handle that.
The river roared ahead, carrying the remains of the storm to the sea through a canal. Jasson dropped down the embankment onto a raised path, soaking his fresh socks in an inch of water. Well, as fresh as socks could be after being partially digested by a slime.
Jasson splashed through the water. Sewers, especially historically, had some kind of opening on a river. A 'man-sized' type of opening. And a place that got this much rain would surely have an enormous storm-drain pouring into the river. Jasson ducked under a bridge and spotted one on the other side.
There it was. A bolted iron grill, twelve feet across. Brand new, the sign of a flourishing city. Impassable.
"I'll try the next one," Jasson said, walking with the current, "There's no way they're going to invade out of this one."
Then the iron grill, a sure block from invasions of larger monsters from the sewers, swung open on oiled hinges. Pushed by a man with a green and grey raincoat, which was nearly identical to those worn by the men in the Wet Rat Inn.
"There," the man said to himself as he tied the gate open then turned back to the tunnel, "Come on you creepy buggers! It's your time to shine! Go forth and feast and…kill…chaos…you know…the thing…"
The man turned slowly then locked eyes with Jasson, panic filling up behind the eyes at the presence of a witness. Jasson watched as the man's eyes came to the conclusion that witnesses were best dead. Barely hesitating, Jasson pulled out his phone and aimed it at the man.
"Freeze!" Jasson shouted, then shot a bolt of fire. It was one of the many fire attacks his phone could do, and it lanced through the air and skewered the man in the chest.
"Ow!" The man said as he wildly patted out the fire, "That's your casting word for fire?! Freeze?! That's a mean trick."
"Sorry," Jasson said, "Now surrender unless you want more wher-"
The man kicked a spray of water, which barely made Jasson blink. Unfortunately, the water beaded on his phone screen. Anyone who's gotten a phone screen wet knows what happened next.
"Frick!" Jasson said, wrestling his phone as great gouts of fire and explosions of flesh searing flame erupted from his phone, painting the walls in potential death. The man screamed and ran back into the sewers. By the time Jasson had wrested his phone under control, he was blinded by a cloud of steam. Jasson carefully emerged, wiping his phone as dry as he could get it.
The man had disappeared.
"You there," Dockson's voice called, "Large displays of lethal magic are strictly forbidden inside the city. But since there is a siege on, I will let it slide. Tell me, why were you committing such suspicious behaviors without an opponent."
Jasson turned to see Dockson on top of the bridge, pointing a police baton at Jasson with a white cloth under his arm. The fireworks show must have drawn him.
"It's me Dockson," Jasson waved his hand, "Come down here."
"Ah, Jasson Boar," Dockson flipped to another page in his notes, "Opening a sewer grating that should be sealed shut will be filed under suspicious behavior as well."
"It wasn't me," Jasson said, "It was some man."
Dockson scribbled and said, "Did you get a good look at the man?"
"No," Jasson said, "He had a high collar and a low rain hat."
"A suspicious story," Dockson said, "I'm afraid you'll have to come back to guard headquarters with me for a full statement."
Jasson bristled and said, "Am I under arrest, officer?"
"I'm no officer," Dockson said, "Just a lowly private. But I believe in removing suspicious people from suspicious places so when suspicious things happen we can eliminate a suspect."
"You'll lock up the whole city like that," Jasson shook his head, "Look, I'm trying to help the city. Okay? Now let me do my job."
Dockson said, "And what job is that?"
"Adventurer," Jasson said, "I was assigned the sewers."
"A well crafted story," Dockson said, scribbling, "We shall compromise then. I do not have the authority to detain you yet, so I will observe you until I do."
Jasson grinned and said, "Have it your way. I hope you can fight."
The sewers loomed, an ominous maw of dark. There were things in there that had nearly killed him before. That should have killed him. Placed there by some kind of group that bred monsters to destroy his city. Now that he had seen the eyes behind the slaughter, Jasson felt an itch at the back of his brain. A little bit of payback, a little bit of not watching helplessly. He was always on the back foot, but now was his time to step forward. To push back.
Jasson turned on his phone's flashlight, and it lit a bare fifteen feet ahead.
Fantastic.