and each calling may manifest differently
for different people.
Some people have entirely unique callings
which have only been recorded once.
These are always flagged for observation
when they manifest.
A unique calling is dangerous, because it is unknown.
This observation is not pleasant. But it is at least a
kinder fate than those with a Nightshade class calling.
—Virgil Clay, Lecture
Derek’s corpse went limp under Violet. She held onto the pressure for as long as she could, regardless. She had little interest in leaving anything to chance or rushed assumptions. He would not survive with a feint or with unconsciousness alone. In a moment of cool rage, she had decided to take control, and she intended to follow through. So she continued to pull on the cable, cutting a little deeper into the dead man’s throat.
She counted under her breath as she did, until she’d struggled for a full minute. Only then did she finally relax and allow herself to collapse on top of him. She was still in pain. Still shattered in a dozen places. She was in control for a few moments. But it was fleeting, and she was still in a trap with nothing but a beast on one side and poison mist on the other. She still had no plan to deal with either. Her head rested on the shoulder of the man she had killed as she thought. She had barely crawled to him, and she didn’t think she could make her way back out. Not after putting everything she had into ending him.
She was nearly ready to scream at her helplessness... when she realized she was wrong. She was still in pain, and she was still tired. But she wasn’t spent. In some strange way, she almost felt better than before she was injured. Almost. It didn’t take her long to determine the possible causes for this. She knew adrenaline was a possibility, but it felt like so much more. She immediately pushed herself upright again, ignoring the protests of her broken ribs and throbbing skull. Only one thing deserved her focus, and she held her right hand up to examine it.
There sat her empathy ring, secure on her finger as it always had been. Except it had changed. Instead of the perfectly clear crystal she alone wore, it held the deep red of a ruby. Violet didn’t just feel stronger… She was stronger. Finally, finally, she had found her calling. She allowed her vision to focus on the empty eyes of the man she’d just killed. She was in control. And as soon as she’d decided to stop playing at it… as soon as she’d chosen to own her life and the life of the man who tried to take it from her… as soon as she’d choked the light out of a man she hated. As soon as she felt his blood run across her cheeks and drip from her lips. She’d found her calling.
Her eyes flicked to another source of red. Blood—pooling around Derek’s head. She hadn't noticed when her category and degree had changed. She didn’t know she’d become stronger; she’d been too focused on the task. And she’d just kept pulling. There was so much blood. She could taste it, and it drenched her. It covered the filthy floor under Derek’s head.
Violet reached for it slowly, her right hand soaking in the hot liquid one finger at a time. She had to know. She had to know now. She finally pressed her entire palm into the floor, red liquid submerging half of it as she did. Her empathy ring activated, the familiar branches crawling across the surface and forming the tree of information Violet had always checked habitually. It parted the blood around it like the Red Sea, not only engraving itself in the floor, but clearing the obstacle in its way. Violet put her free hand over her mouth as she read the attributes, fresh values appearing next to each and every one of them. For the first time in her life, Violet was pleased with what she saw.
Violet Asher
Category [Red]
Calling
Degree {6}
Attributes
Agility (94)
Constitution (40)
Dexterity (73)
Endurance (45)
Perception (131)
Resistance (57)
Strength (32)
Bloodlust (305)
Talents
Obfuscate
Tools of the Trade
Violet actually gasped as she held her hand to her mouth. Degree six. She was a red six. In Roseville, some people never advanced that far. Red may have been the lowest category of note, but only the Lancers and other prominent groups needed to advance much further than that. At least in such a small town as Roseville. But with a single act, Violet had gathered enough Clarity—crystal energy which fed callings—to advance all the way to degree six. It was unprecedented.
With a thought, most of the tree’s branches dissolved into the blood, quickly replacing themselves with new information.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Reaper
“The Reaper is the master of souls. She is the harbinger of death and the watcher of life. She guides the souls of the living so long as she deems appropriate. A soul she touches is inclined to bend to her will, and a mind she infects will bow before her commands. She is the master of the soul, and the soul is subservient to her. When the Reaper has chosen the time for a soul to rest, she guides it to the afterlife, willingly or otherwise. When she dominates, she grows strong. When she reaps, she grows stronger still.
Note - The Reaper can only feed if her target has a soul. This calling can not be fed through the domination or reaping of beasts.”
Talents
Obfuscate - [Red] - {1}
“This skill allows the Reaper to control her empathy ring. A goddess of death is known only when called by her macabre duties. In all other things, her privacy will be respected. With ‘Obfuscate,’ the Reaper may display a different calling, category, attribute, or talent than she actually has. There are no restrictions to this talent.”
Tools of the Trade - [Red] - {5}
“A Reaper without her tools is neglecting her responsibility. With ‘Tools of the Trade,’ any tool or weapon necessary for the execution of her duties may be materialized. The quality and durability of her tools will scale with her category and degree. She may only materialize up to two objects at any given time. If she attempts to create a third, the oldest of the three will be destroyed.”
Violet read and re-read the descriptions carved into the floor, entirely unsure how to process them. She wasn’t horrified, but she wasn’t pleased. The calling she’d found simply sounded strange, like a word only ever read and never heard aloud. The crimson canvas, which held the words, only punctuated their implication. She choked on a sarcastic chuckle at the absurdity of it. It was funny in an endlessly frustrating way.
“How was I supposed to feed a calling like this at five years old?” she whispered. Her voice echoed through the building nonetheless. She allowed the next chuckle to escape. It was an infuriating thought, and all she could do was laugh. Because it wasn’t just an impossible calling for a child to discover, it was also an impossible calling to feed any further than she already had. If she understood it correctly, and the stinking body she sat on indicated that she did, she could only get any stronger than she was by either completely dominating—or by killing. The unfamiliar and unique “Bloodlust” attribute didn’t help dismiss this idea.
Note - The Reaper can only feed if her target has a soul. This calling can not be fed through the domination or reaping of beasts.
The last words of her calling’s description rang through her mind. It was possible she misunderstood what the words “Soul” and “Beast” were referencing, but she doubted it. She was surprised by herself. The way she was failing to summon the level of remorse for Derek’s death that she expected. She’d never cut with anything sharper than her tongue before, and she’d just murdered a man. A man who’d tried to do the same to her, yes. A man who’d deserved it. Even so, she thought she’d feel more guilty. That thought reminded her that she still sat on top of him, buried in debris. She didn’t scramble off in a panic. Too much movement might have collapsed something on top of her. But she did move. Slowly, deliberately, and painfully. The same stray bar that cut her on her way inside also snagged at her torn and exposed back on her way out.
It was alright. The pain had grown easier to ignore as her constitution and endurance had undergone such rapid growth, even if they were apparently among her weaker attributes. They weren’t gone; that wasn’t how it worked. No attribute could nullify or dull pain on its own. Every sting and scrape hurt as much as it always had, but they were no longer so dangerous. They wouldn’t become infected so easily, and she had the strength to combat the weakness of mind and body they inspired.
She left Derek under the rubble, looking at him through the cracks in the collapsed wall as she thought. Guilt. It was there. She was a person, just as anyone else, and she couldn’t shake off murder like it meant nothing. No matter how much the so-called “victim” deserved it. She could still taste the blood. She did feel guilt, and empathy, and even shame. Everything she was supposed to. But… it wasn’t what it should be. She could already tell it wouldn’t haunt her dreams. At least… not in the way it was supposed to. It was like the guilt of the religious man as he slid a magazine back under his mattress. She wore it, and she understood it in the clarity that followed Derek’s death. But it would take hours, not years, to fade.
Because there was another emotion. One she found strange, if not entirely unwelcome. An enticing thrill that still hummed through her body like well-loved music. It was the strongest emotion she felt in response, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that. It was true what they said. That a calling was either shaped by the soul, or the soul by the calling. No one was quite certain which. But she knew, the moment she experienced it, that one of them was true.
She didn’t hate people on merit. People were just people, the same way she was. She’d been disregarded and pitied, and she loathed that. But she didn’t grow to despise the species for it. She’d been ignored by her family for years. Betrayed by her protectors. Forced to play silly games just to live. So she wasn’t overly fond of people, either. But she did like stories, and that was enough to instill in her the basic value that murder, at least on its own merit, was wrong. She certainly knew she wasn’t supposed to enjoy it.
Yet the thrill remained, and she liked it. She wanted to believe it was just the feeling of justice. Of retribution, as the victim became the killer. She’d read many stories about such people, and she wouldn’t feel any guilt at all about that. But she knew it wasn’t true. She knew exactly what she enjoyed, and it wasn’t justice. It wasn’t relief at safety, and it wasn’t adrenaline alone. It was a gratification she’d craved for so long, and one perfectly reflected in the calling she’d finally discovered. She enjoyed the moment of the kill. She enjoyed the act. Not on its own merits. She had no fascination for blood, and the sight of torn flesh made her just a little queasy. The smell made her wrinkle her nose, and the actual knowledge that she’d ended a life was almost enough to haunt her. What she’d enjoyed was a very specific feeling as she’d killed Derek. A feeling she knew she would have reveled in had it been anyone else in front of her.
Violet was in control.
And it felt like the first breath after nearly drowning.
That was part of what frustrated her. Because she felt the guilt, and more than that, she felt the joy. She was frustrated because her calling would be so difficult to grow. And she was worried, because she did like stories of heroes and kindness. She had since she was a child. On some level, she wanted to live up to at least the simplest morals they'd taught her. But she wanted to grow her calling more. She wanted to feel that control again. And again. And again.
And again.
She wanted it so badly. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the truth. That deep down, part of her would pursue it even if she couldn’t find someone so deserving as Derek.
A soft, thudding sound pulled her out of her musings, and immediately adrenaline rushed through her veins again. She’d forgotten. With Derek, and her calling, and everything it implied. She’d forgotten. She was still trapped in a building with a hungry monster. She didn’t know why it had left before. She wouldn’t for a long time. But she knew it was still in the building. And that sound, like something heavy stomping on carpet… it had been close.
She slowly turned, holding her breath at the strong complaint of fractured bones. Centimeter by centimeter, she moved, as if anything quicker would have the monster charging her again.
Thwump
Louder.
Thwump
It was closer.
Thwump
It was softer.
…
It had stopped.
She didn’t have to ask why. She could feel and smell its breath. She could see its shadow. And as she finally finished turning, she saw it. Massive, angry, and bloody. Its head was dipped, lowered to her eye level. Its green, crystallized eyes locked onto her. She hadn’t tried her talents yet. She didn’t know how to create a weapon like Derek had done. She didn’t have time to think about it. Her heart was pounding. None of it mattered, she thought. She was dead. All of that, and she was going to die.
… Or so she believed.
But the hedron didn’t move. It seemed to be smelling her, massive nostrils flaring with interest. But it didn’t move to attack. It tilted its head, and Violet tilted her own. Then, it simply snorted, turned, and began to slowly walk away, leaving Violet alone and completely safe.