I never gave much thought to the kind of end that awaited me, the feeling it would bring, or… the loneliness that comes with it. Maybe avoiding these thoughts is a human self-defense mechanism, who knows… maybe I'm just overthinking again.
…
No. 33 Beatrice Alley, 3:53 PM
On a street that was nothing special, street vendors shouted for attention, their voices echoing between the buildings.
A yellowish fog hung over the city, lending a sense of melancholy. The houses displayed an exaggerated steampunk style: massive chimneys and showy gears mingling with Victorian sobriety.
Among the buildings, a narrow street led deeper into the shadows. The atmosphere there was colder and denser, dominated by darkness. Then a red door burst open violently. From inside, a man stumbled out, a bottle of alcohol dangling from his hand.
He crossed the shadowed alley, dragging himself step by step toward the light. The sudden brightness blinded him briefly. Raising his hand to shield his eyes, he bumped into something.
Looking up, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a cold sweat ran down his back.
Coughing dryly, without a word, he stumbled back into the dark alley, not daring to look back.
…
At the nearby shop window, a man stood still as stone, observing the displayed jewelry. He had sharp features, short ebony hair, and a single green eye.
He ignored the drunkard who had bumped into him and returned to his contemplation.
Suddenly, the store door slammed open, and a small figure stormed toward him, steps heavy with irritation.
"Are you just going to stare, or are you buying something?" a slightly youthful voice demanded.
"No," he replied bluntly.
"Then get out of my store, you idiot brat!" the voice grumbled.
He turned to see who was shouting at him and, to his surprise, there was an elderly woman barely over four feet tall, with a fierce expression on her face.
Defeated, he rubbed his temple lightly and obeyed, slowly stepping aside.
As he moved away, an ironic voice rang beside him:
"Not even old people let you off the hook, huh, Ed?" laughed the voice.
Recognizing it, he turned with a scornful look. "What are you doing here?" he asked rudely.
A man with striking features appeared before him. His reddish-blonde hair was hastily tucked under a cap, giving him a careless air. But it was his deep, almost nocturnal brown eyes that truly drew attention.
He just smiled at the question. He knew Edward had asked only out of courtesy—after all, the overstuffed shopping bags in his arms and the heavy backpack on his back already gave it away.
"Nothing much. Just passing by the old witch's place while on a shopping run," he answered frankly.
"Since when do you do overtime?" Edward asked, brow furrowed.
He's not the type to do that, Edward thought as they walked along the crowded sidewalk.
"Well, I ran into a Drifter in the east wing and had to deal with it," he murmured, irritation in his voice.
East wing? That's new…
"Have you identified it?"
Drifters usually destroy their belongings when transforming, making identification difficult and delaying the investigation to locate the deceased's family.
Ray turned to him and replied matter-of-factly: "Yes, this time it was relatively easy," a smile forming as he pulled a paper from his right pocket.
The paper was clearly old, torn at the edges, and had a greenish smudge on the right side—amazing it had survived intact.
"The subject's ID was stuck in the remnants of its clothes," he sang.
Lucky bastard… Edward cursed internally, frowning.
"Let's see." Holding the paper up to his eyes, he began reading.
Name: Hiroshi Takahashi
Date of Birth: 15/11/1988
Sex: Male
ID Number: 1234 5678…
Seconds passed slowly as Ray described each peculiarity in detail. Edward, already tired, turned to him and sighed: "You didn't need to give me all that information."
Seconds that won't come back… he thought.
"Don't say that—the wart was very important to me," Ray joked, glancing at a pair of earrings an old lady was selling.
Edward looked away, returning to the main topic: "We don't need that. Anything unusual happen?"
A Drifter lurking near the residential area would surely attract authorities… a cultist at work? he pondered.
"Nothing worth reporting," Ray replied plainly.
Edward sighed heavily and continued.
They walked on, chatting casually.
At an intersection, they turned right and entered a dark alley hidden between two decrepit buildings.
Soon, they saw a falling-apart shop with a sign reading "Sha'ar Sheol." Cracks, dry vines, and scattered trash filled the area. The place smelled foul and looked even worse.
"That old witch should hire someone to at least clean up this mess… ugh, almost stepped in a purple slime… Bleh!" Ray muttered.
They carefully avoided hazards and reached the poorly maintained door of the shop.
A cleaning? A full renovation would be better… Edward thought as he touched the handle.
He turned it cautiously and pushed, fearing the structure might collapse. They slithered through the shop like snakes until reaching the counter, cluttered with empty bottles, dusty books, worn knives, and other strange items.
Suddenly, a voice as harsh as an old engine erupted from the back: "Old hag this! Old hag that! I accept things from anyone but you, you piece of trash!"
Edward scanned for the voice's owner. Soon, he saw her: the shopkeeper, a little over five feet tall due to a hunchback, hair gray and spiked as if shocked, and a golden-handled cleaver hanging at her hip. Her name was…
"Lilith!! How's my favorite little dinosaur today?!!" Ray joked with a wide grin.
Seconds later, he was flying out the window… As he had said before leaving, her name is Lilith.
An old artisan, decades crafting anything anyone could desire—for the right price, of course.
"Degenerate brat…" she muttered, wiping her hands on an old cloth.
After this cozy greeting, she fixed her sharp eyes on Edward.
"It's been a while, Edward. What brings you here?" she asked seriously.
Ignoring his companion, he grabbed a chair he deemed somewhat clean and sat with little elegance: "We found a Drifter roaming the east wing."
Upon hearing this, her expression darkened, as if recalling something. Noticing her reaction, Edward asked: "Do you know something? What is it?"
She glanced at him sideways, sighed, and leaned on the table, beginning to share what she knew.
"I don't know why, but the number of anomalies has been increasing lately. Drifters appearing in hordes or near the city is just a side effect."
Her tone was hoarse, her eyes slightly clouded, as if her mind was elsewhere.
"Hordes…" she sighed faintly, massaging her temples.
"This unusual behavior is causing rising casualties among officers. That's why they're joining forces with CRA scientists to understand the anomaly," Lilith explained.
The Central Registration and Anomalies Institute, popularly known as C.R.A., houses the best scientists in the Abyss. They collect and study the origin of Marks that turn humans into Drifters. Rarely allied with other institutions, they offer only part of their technology to the Blade in exchange for more specimens for experiments.
"Maybe they're running away?" came a voice from the broken window. "Like ordinary animals."
Staring at the counter, lost in thought, Edward considered the possibility. Running away? Possible… but from what would a Drifter flee?
"Impossible. Drifters don't have enough brainpower to plan something like that," Lilith said, her voice tinged with disdain.
From his peripheral vision, Edward saw Ray leap into the shop with a grin—Impossible? He wouldn't say that.
Hearing the bold statement, Lilith and Edward turned toward him. With excitement, he drew a deep breath and continued with a quirky smile: "They might be fleeing a Great Drifter! Or a Drifter King…?" he pondered.
For several seconds that felt like an eternity, silence remained. When Lilith returned from her stupor, she approached Edward and whispered: "Did he just say that?"
"Apparently…" Edward replied with a frown.
Silence lingered for a few more seconds until Lilith regained control.
"So, what did you bring me? Anything left of the body this time?" she asked, recalling previous attempts where the duo brought scraps and tried to haggle.
Ray approached the table, casually removing his large backpack and placing it on the counter. Noticing its lightness, Lilith closed her eyes as he began to unzip it.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.
A putrid stench filled the shop—blood, rotting flesh, and excrement—a smell that would make any layperson vomit instantly.
Ignoring the horrid odor, Lilith inspected the corpse with a severe gaze, analyzing every deformity with remarkable precision.
"Hardly recognizable as a Drifter," she satirized.
Her words were true; almost nothing remained except a ruined torso and a deformed head.
"I may have overdone it a bit, hehe," Ray said with a shy, fake smile.
Damn… how does he have the strength to do this? Edward cursed in his mind.
Drifters, once human, are now the fruit of Mark-induced degradation. Their bodies barely resemble what they once were: multiple eyes, arms, and mouths form the basic package.
But the real threat isn't their monstrous appearance—it's the immense strength they wield. They can destroy buildings with a single punch… or cut steel with claws.
In extremely rare cases, an anomaly arises: a Drifter who retains Mark abilities and uses them freely.
They are shadows of the lives they left behind, distorted memories of what they once were.
An… Echo refusing to disappear.
There is a classification system for Drifters, divided into four main stages according to danger and contamination, created long ago by the C.R.A. in conjunction with the Blade:
N-4 Latent: Human with active Mark, minimal or suppressed mutations. Medium danger, may become a Drifter if pushed to the limit.
Most humans fall into this classification. There is no way yet to remove or destroy Marks. Attempts to amputate affected limbs failed—Marks reappeared elsewhere on the body.
N-3 Fragmented: Human who lost part of consciousness, with severe mutations, speaking confusingly or pleading. Danger level varies; they usually only attack nearby living beings.
N-2 Fodder: A pure Drifter, completely bestial, no human traits. High danger, attacks anything alive in sight.
N-1 Echo: Drifter retaining part of their mind, can speak and freely use Mark powers. Extreme danger, highly intelligent, can lead small groups of Fodder. Very rare, one in a hundred thousand.
N-0 (Unnamed): Little information, possibly reserved for "Primordials" if they exist. Danger cannot be measured.
Classifications also have warning colors: White—Latent, Yellow—Fragmented, Red—Fodder, Black—Echo.
This particular Drifter vaguely resembled a deformed mix of wild boar and centipede, with a snout, large tusks, and a pair of pincer-like appendages.
"You removed even the antennas?" Lilith asked incredulously.
"Why? Were you going to use them?" Ray asked casually, cleaning his ear with a finger.
Lilith sighed heavily.
"15 vials is what I can offer," she stated firmly.
"25, and we're done talking," Ray countered.
"25 Agnis is for a body in good condition, not a mere stump like this. You should be grateful I pay anything for this scrap," she exclaimed.
"Tsc… damn old hag," he whispered.
Her logic wasn't wrong—the body Ray brought was a third of its original size, drastically reducing its value.
Edward didn't care. Many matters needed attention before the afternoon ended, and he turned toward the door, speaking over his shoulder:
"I'll be off. Finish your negotiation at leisure."
Finally, I'll be rid of that guy, he thought, closing the door behind him.
He looked around, picked a path, and headed toward the commercial sector—the shops he liked.
…
Absolute silence fell after Edward left. Lilith and Ray stared at the door for a few seconds until she broke it:
"I'll pay two thousand for him," she said calmly, glancing at the man a few steps away.
The atmosphere chilled, a sense of danger crawling up Lilith's spine. Without looking from the door, the man sighed harshly and sat in a nearby chair. "You are persistent."
With a crooked smile, she responded: "Is there any human left in this world without greed?"
The unease stiffened her bones further. The man, having heard her, turned slowly with a faint smile. His voice echoed gruffly: "Careful, someone hearing that might think you're still human."
Her palms began to sweat.
He continued, full of disdain and malice, still relaxed: "So, shall we close for 25 vials, my dear Lilith Morwen?" A sinister pressure filled the room.
"A robbery in broad daylight," she joked, sweat running down her forehead.
"You make me sound horrible… hehe," he said, his smile distorted and partially hidden in shadows.
Once Ray's smile faded, she crouched behind the counter, retrieved a black box adorned with golden plates from a hidden compartment, and took out 25 vials.
This was the only method Abyss residents had to slow degradation caused by Marks after centuries of study. Now, this precious potion was being delivered by a vile snake.
25 vials for a practically useless torso… tsc, she cursed internally.
The man observed the process motionless, face calm contrary to his usual personality.
He slowly stood, walked to the counter, pocketed the vials, confirmed everything, gave a wink, and left the store without looking back.
As the door closed, the air seemed alive again, as if refreshing the trapped atmosphere.
After this brief relief, she turned to the carcass on the table—head and torso only, completely disfigured.
How strong is that bastard to tear this apart with brute force? she thought.
With a heavy sigh, she carried the corpse to the back.
There, she faced a large white door. Opening it, cold air hit her face, and without flinching, she entered.
Several corpses hung from hooks in the dark room. She found a vacant hook for the newly delivered body.
Exiting, she hissed faintly: "My shift's over today…" and closed the freezer door, heading to her room.