"You're lying," I whispered, taking a step back, which only seemed to delight him. My hand curled into a knuckle, and I flared my cursed energy on instinct.
"Woah, woah," Shelim raised his hands. "No need for that. I can prove it easily enough."
He let out a long exhale—and then I felt it.
His cursed energy.
It was like a pond compared to my puddle, and it made me go stiff. There was an edge to it, too—something feral. It contrasted sharply with his jovial tone and reminded me exactly what kind of people Shelim did business with. He had to be Grade 2 or higher.
Much, much higher.
A sudden stab of fear hit me. What the hell was going on?
I took a breath, slowly releasing my hold on cursed energy. "I didn't—I thought I was the only one."
He snorted. "So did I--until Artisan introduced me to everyone."
My eyes went wide.
Who the fuck was Artisan?
"I get it," he said, "pissed my pants when I saw him a few years back too. But relax—you didn't break any rules. Neither of us did. You didn't know I was a sorcerer when you asked for the connect, and I was just curious about an up-and-coming pit fighter." He winked.
Then he rose to his feet—fast—and clamped a hand on my shoulder.
"Still, I can't believe you pulled off a Black Flash. Do you know how rare that is?"
He shook his head. "Course you do. I haven't seen someone land one since... Oops. That'd be saying too much."
"I don't understand..." I muttered.
"You're not supposed to. Not yet," he said, slapping me on the back. "Still... just to be safe, best keep the details of this little meeting between us, eh?"
"Sure…" I managed, still reeling from the discovery that there were others like me.
"Well, best be on your way then," he said, nodding to himself and sinking back into his chair.
I stood there for a long moment before I finally found my voice again. "Uh… thank you. For the ID."
His eyes flicked back to the code on his screen. He shrugged. "You paid for it."
A tense silence passed before I turned to leave.
"Good luck with the whole Black Mask thing," he called after me. "Be real interested to see how that turns out."
I walked out of his office—and out of the building—with more questions than ever.
I had been so sure...
That you were the only one who could use Jujutsu Sorcery?
I snorted. It seemed shortsighted in retrospect. The system had said I'd inherited from a blood relative. Stands to reason that my dad was probably a sorcerer.
Might even be part of his mysterious organization I was just hearing about.
Unless he was in his 70s or had a degenerative disease, he probably didn't die of natural causes either.
I swallowed. They probably knew how he died. Might've even had a hand in it, too.
It felt strange--feeling grief for a man I hardly knew.
Whatever happened, I wasn't about to begin a second crusade. I had enough enemies already.
Had the system been lying when it said the world's stores of negative energy were untapped?
I groaned. I didn't like this one bit.
Batman, the police, and Dark Mask were already enough of a headache. Now I had to deal with other sorcerers?
At least Shelim hadn't been hostile. That was an improvement over most of the encounters I'd had. But that wasn't a guarantee it would stay that way.
I wondered—did the others have a system too?
How many techniques did they have?
How high were their stats?
I set my jaw, thumbing the new identity card in my pocket.
Just when I thought I was finally getting ahead—if only slightly—someone came along and pulled the rug out from under me.
I was getting tired of this shit.
Two days passed in relative silence as I explored Blüdhaven in a haze of frustration.
It was just as rundown as Gotham—maybe worse. And it was chaotic. No major crime bosses. No metahumans. Just old-school gangs, crimes, and corruption.
The homeless and street kids were easy to talk to—especially after I promised to buy them burgers. They told me Shelim was a new player in the city. Showed up about a year ago, bought out a hotel, and made it his fortress ever since.
Everyone—from the Feds to some of Gotham's heaviest hitters—had paid him a visit at least once.
He was the unofficial king of the city, even if he didn't act like one.
He had no street presence. Didn't back the cops or the gangs. The only parts of Blüdhaven he seemed to care about were the girls and the schools. Apparently, he'd tossed a quarter mil to a few schools a few months ago.
I was impressed—but frustrated. I'd hoped for more useful intel.
Nearly getting mugged on my second night ended up being the highlight of the trip.
Some homeless guy I'd fed ratted me out to three idiots with clubs—and one with a knife.
I'd been so out of it, so distracted, that I let the first one rock me in the jaw with a club. It hurt like hell—but that pain brought clarity.
This was how I was going to keep up. Stay ahead.
Of Batman, of the cops, of everybody.
I had thought my sorcery was what made me special, but maybe… just maybe… my meta-ability had always been the real edge.
I gained stats faster, healed quicker, and I was barely scratching the surface of what my body and mind could endure.
The second blow doubled me over. I took it—no cursed reinforcement.
Forty-eight hours. That's how long it took me to recover from any wound, no matter how grievous. Cuts. Burns. Explosions. Poisons. Acids. Electrocution.
A knee caught me under the chin. Again, I took it head-on, whipping backwards, slamming into a dumpster. I spat out a clump of blood as I rose back to my feet.
The blows rained down.
They kept yelling at me, patting me down for cash they wouldn't find.
And just when my insides and outsides began to feel like mush, I swung back, ribs cracked and clothes bloody.
The first guy went flying from a single kick. I slammed the second one's head against a wall so hard he crumpled. The third bolted, dragging the snitching homeless guy with him.
"Chumps."
I wiped myself clean and switched out clothes afterward, then popped over to the laundromat to take care of my dirty laundry.
My next stop was the hardware store.
My conversation with Avery came back. It essentially boiled down to my body needing more stimuli to learn to heal better, to grow.
With all of my primary stats near fifty, I couldn't rely on jogs, weightlifting and brawls anymore. A more aggressive approach was needed.
I bought a car battery and some jumper cables.
Then I swung by a chemical supply shop and picked up a bottle of muriatic acid. It was normally cleaning bricks and concrete, but in the right concentration? Burns skin. Blisters. Just the kind of starter kit I needed for superhuman endurance.
Finally, I stopped at a local electronics store. Bought the best laptop they had and stocked up on flash drives, tape recorders, burners, and cheap home security cameras.
Just because I'd had an epiphany didn't mean I was going to slack on my spycraft.
I spent the night studying human anatomy and local laws. I needed to know exactly what I'd need to gather if I wanted to put someone away—or blackmail them effectively.
I returned to Gotham just before daybreak, using the same method I used to get out: stowing away on a supply truck heading into the city.
Once I was back at my crashpad and completely healed, I took one last look at my status page before I dialed the number the Penguin gave me.
Class: Sorcerer – Level 8 (3rd Grade)
Titles: Touched by the Sparks of Black
Techniques: Inverse Lv 3
Health: 490/490
Cursed Energy: 400/400
Stamina: 500/500
Stats
STR: 35 AGI: 42
PER: 49 VIT: 49
END: 45 CP: 50
Skills
Cursed Inventory Lv 4
Hand-to-Hand Combat Lv 3
Cursed Energy Reinforcement Lv 4
Cursed Energy Manipulation Lv 4
Stealth Lv 3
Curtain Lv 3
Gun mastery Lv 2
Acrobatics Lv 2
Meta Ability: Enhanced Regeneration
Free Points:6
"I'm ready," I said with a cool breath. "Let's get to work."
--
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