Chapter Two: Choosing Violence In Another World

November 7th, 1944, Paris In Another World

I woke up with a start and took a deep breath. That was my first mistake. The rotten, burning stench that entered my nose nearly made me vomit. Everything was dark, wet, I couldn't see, and tasted copper in my mouth.

My head was pounding too, like a hangover multiplied by ten. I saw images flash before my eyes. Memories flooded my mind.

One set told me that I was Dante Alighieri.

In the other, I was Antoine Tombe de Rouge.

I worked for a logging company in a small town in the countryside of Tennessee?

But wait, wasn't I also a bottom tier D-Rank Adventurer in Paris forced to constantly risk my life in the dungeons because I inherited my father's debt?

Hold on a minute… what? Adventurer?! I wasn't in some low-tier fantasy light novel!

The Adventurer and Knight System was put in place after King Arthur Pendragon put an end to the World War and conquered all of Europe-

Why the hell am I reciting Sorakarago lore?!

Huh? Sorakarago? But the world isn't some kind of game! Magic is real and-

Wait! Hold the fuck up! Magic? Real? What the actual fuck was in that whiskey last night? Now, I might have experimented with a few substances throughout the years, but not even shrooms made me feel like I could pull off fucking magic. But fucking hell, this god damn migranine is getting worse by the second, almost feels like my brain is trying to crawl out of my skull!

Drugs? I wouldn't have time or money to spend on that. Especially with the Yellow Monarch gang constantly hounding on me.

Excuse me, what? The Yellow Monarchs were a fictional gang.

But-

Shut up! Shut up and let me think!

My hand…

I felt around me for anything. Below me was some kind of squishy and wet mass, and I really felt like throwing up, it really didn't help the migraine I was feeling. I reached above myself and I felt something move, like a large lid. It swung open with a bit of effort and I was met with crisp cold air and the sight of snow falling.

Isn't it July? Weren't we in the middle of a heatwave?

What, no… it was November!

What? How?!

I pushed these questions to the side and grabbed the edge of whatever I was in, grunting as I pulled myself out. I then fell a few feet onto the concrete ground and snow. I groaned as I struggled to push myself off the ground, and the bile rushed its way through my esophagus faster than I could react. My body convulsed as I threw up rather violently. It was odd though, I never drank so much to make myself sick in the morning, and I've never had a hangover this bad before.

That's because I don't drink!

What? The fuck do you mean I don't drink. I've been drinking with grandpa since I was sixteen. I mean sure, I wasn't supposed to be drinking at that age but…

What the actual fuck…

I expected to see bile. Gastric juices and half-digested pizza. What I saw was blood, a lot of blood and chunks of flesh.

"O-Oh god…!" I began to throw up all over again, but my stomach was already empty from the first time, so I ended up dry heaving instead.

I heard voices ahead of me.

"Hey…Frankie!" One called out. "We just chopped that guy into pieces, didn't we?"

"Yes, Jacob, yes we did…" Another, deeper voice said. "What the hell kind of freak is this guy?"

"You don't reckon this guy has some kind of unique Grimoire, do you?"

"Maybe, but you heard the guys. The little shit's D-Rank, but…"

Grimoire? D-Rank? Chopped up? Me?

Frankie and Jacob? If memory serves me right, they were the infamous Butcher Brothers that worked for the Yellow Monarchs. Fucking piece-of-shit, scum-of-the-Earth serial killers. Fuck, weren't they introduced in one of the one-shot light novels? It was a prequel to the first game centering around Tatsiana taking them down before she met Ichiro.

I stood up to my full height, regaining my strength by the second, and turned to look where I had fallen out from.

A dumpster. One filled with rotten garbage and… chopped body parts.

Oh…

Oh no…

They gutted me like a fish and took my organs before chopping me to pieces and literally throwing me away like trash, and from the looks of things, a dozen more people as well.

A hazy memory came to the forefront of my mind.

"Dante?"

"Yes, I am Dante."

"Do you want to see a dead body?"

Holy shit, I got shoved into the body of some dead guy…

Holy fuck, did… did our souls get fused together or something?!

No, our souls can't… that's… that's impossible. At least… it should be?

Hell, it's completely possible though. I mean, it was mainly in the spin-off games with the fusion mechanics but-

The two men approached me. The first one, Frankie, was an obese man with a bald head and a blood stained white apron over a set of overalls. He wore black rubber gloves with a cleaver in his hand.

The other guy, Jacob I presumed, was of a more average build with messy black hair. He wore an outfit similar to Frankie, and carried a fucking axe.

"Well, well, well…" Frankie spoke. "I don't know what kind of trick you pulled, Antoine, but we still got the merchandise in this cooler…" he motioned to the blue cooler further down in the alley they were in. "This'll pay off a decent chunk of your debt."

"Hell, why didn't you tell us you could do that?" Jacob asked, slogged over, a limp in his left leg.

"I… I didn't know I could." I answered numbly.

"Ha! He didn't know. God damn, he's got a conditional Grimoire!" Jacob exclaimed.

"You know, Antoine…" Frankie got a look in his eyes. "If you can do this multiple times, you could pay off your debt in no time flat. But… with a bit of a fee for our troubles too. We did help you discover your Grimoire's power, you're in our debt, after all. You should be thanking us!"

Translation: They were going to cut me open again and again, and constantly rip me off in order to keep me under their thumb and to line their pockets.

My eye twitched as I felt the other soul's memories leak into my mind again.

A decade of slaving away for the Yellow Monarchs, having to constantly throw myself into the Dungeon. I barely scraped by, even at a young age, but things never got better. Due to my lack of magical ability, I couldn't make it past D-Rank, and since I couldn't make money faster, I was constantly pressured and abused to work faster. I wasn't even human to them. And dad… they killed dad… I…

Ah, I get it now… Antoine, right?

…Yes?

Take a load off. You've been through a lot, let me take the wheel from here on out. I'll get your revenge for you.

…Don't leave a single bastard alive.

Sir, yes sir…

"Come on, Antoine, whaddya say?" Frankie held out his hand.

Antoine was a rather meek, seemingly spineless individual. Made sense, he lived in near constant fear and poverty, the threat of being chopped into pieces and being fed to the gang's familiars was a very real fear. As such, I knew Frankie wasn't offering a damn thing; what he was really saying was, 'Take the deal and your pitiful amount of compensation or else you're going to be strapped for a table and have your insides ripped out until you stop coming back to life.'

"Hey, what's that in his hand?" Jacob called out.

I looked down to see a bottle in my right hand. It was the whisky I was drinking before I got dragged into this mess.

Still half full too…

Good, I'm too sober for this bullshit.

I uncapped the bottle and immediately started chugging down the alcohol. My throat burned, my eyes watered, but I didn't stop until every last drop was finished. I felt a jolt run through me as something clicked into place. My head felt clearer as Antoine's memories finally melded seamlessly with my own, and I understood what I had to do.

Frankie still had his hand out. He looked a little shocked though. Maybe cause he didn't expect the meek 'little bitch' to drink straight whiskey without flinching, the bottle did say 80% after all.

I extended my left hand, making it look like I was going to seal the handshake, then with a quick move, I grabbed his arm holding the cleaver.

"What the-!"

Frankie didn't get the chance to finish before I smashed the bottle into the side of his head. The bottle was surprisingly thick, but I still didn't expect it to actually knock Frankie out in one hit. He dropped the cleaver. As fast as I could, I jammed the now broken bottle into his jugular. I didn't even look at him as I heard him begin to choke and gargle on his own blood.

I swiftly picked up the cleaver before bringing my attention to a stunned and distraught looking Jacob.

"You… You killed Frankie!" He shouted.

"And you're next, buckaroo!" I yelled, somewhat surprised by the sound of my voice. "Now draw thy blade and run this fade!"

Without warning, I threw the cleaver at Jacob's face. The unfortunate serial killer had no time to react before it met his face dead on. The top of the blade sank into his forehead, while the rest of it split his nose in two and his upper lip.

"Aaaaaahhhrrrrrggg!" Jacob dropped his axe as he screamed in agony.

I, of course, immediately went for the weapon as Jacob tried desperately to remove the cleaver from his face. Honestly, he was doing more harm than good by doing so. By the time he'd pried it out of his face, I swung the axe into his bad left leg. My swing was sloppy, and the blunt slide smacked his knee, but my ears were still met with a sickening crunch. He hit the ground like a sack of bricks, and his renewed screams made me wince so hard, I could feel it in my soul.

I wasn't done yet though. Fight or Flight was still on strong, and I'd skipped to Fight or Gratuitous Violence. So, with experience of someone who made a living off cutting wood, which I was, I raised the axe above my head with both hands.

Jacob looked up at me in horror from the ground. "Wait! P-Please…!"

For a split second, I considered going on about how they didn't deserve mercy because of how he and his brother exploited dozens of innocent people, and how they took joy in murdering them. Also they're dicks.

"N-NOOOOO-" I swung down as hard as I could, Jacob's terrified screams were cut off as his skull was split in two.

I felt blood splatter across my face.

Yeah, this got the point across much faster.

I pulled the axe out of his destroyed cranium and stumbled backwards, until my back hit the cold wall of the alley. I stared at my handiwork in morbid satisfaction and a wave of exhaustion and nausea hit me like nothing I'd ever felt before. Yet I was too tired to throw up again.

I let out a deep breath, it instantly turned to mist when it met the cold air. "I just killed two men…"

This wasn't the first time I had killed someone before, but it was the first time I had done so in such a brutal fashion. I may have lived in a rural town, but it was a shitty town, and I had my fair share of home defense situations. It rarely ended in any fatalities, but the very few times that it did stuck with me. It stuck with me for how little I felt. Now, I wasn't exactly a sociopath, but I was self-aware enough to know I had a few screws loose.

In any case, fuck those guys, I had no sympathy them. They could rot in hell for all I cared. In fact, I insisted.

"Yo, Paul, did you all hear that?" A voice yelled somewhere close.

"Yeah, didn't that sound like Jacob?" Another voice answered the first.

"Think something went wrong with the… uh… 'disposal?'"

"Could be one of those freaky familiars the boss got chained up? Maybe it got a little too feisty."

"Heh. How many fingers do you think he lost?"

Oh you've gotta be shitting my fucking dick in half right now.

Fuck it.

Aight, bet.

Let's get this over with.

I grabbed the cleaver off the ground, my grip tightened around the handle of the axe. I snuck around behind the dumpster, just in time as four more individuals walked in.

"Aye! Frankie, Jacob, you two alright - Jesus!"

"Oh damn! Frankie took a bottle to the neck."

"Is that Jacob?!"

"Who the hell did this?"

"Whoever they are, they couldn't have gotten far. The bodies are still warm, they gotta be close. We'll make 'em pay…"

"Paul, you check around the dumpster."

Of course…

The moment I heard footsteps approach, my hands tightened around the axe handle hard enough that I felt my knuckles pop. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

I almost laughed at the situation when I thought about it. It reminded me of a particular movie from the early 2000s. I had an axe, a man with a particular name walking to his death, but no Huey Lewis…

Ah, to hell with it!

I readied the axe just as the figure of a man came into view.

"Hey, Paul!" I screamed in a manic bloodlusted frenzy, and swung the axe down as hard as I could.

You know, maybe I was a bit of a psychopath…

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Verner Von Bluecher was deep in thought. It had been a month since his patron deity, Hastur, had shared with him the memories of alternate timelines and informed him of the existence of this 'Player' entity that had now entered the world.

Six timelines. Five of which he had failed, but the sixth he had nearly won. And he would've won too. A complete and utter victory. A total desolation and humiliation of his enemies; he had bested both Ichiro and this so-called 'Player'... if only not for that damned spear.

He could've never predicted that the true identity of the Longinus was Odin's legendary spear, Gungnir. That was supposed to be lost in the ruins of the Dream Lands after Ragnarök. The use of it was supposed to pierce through space and time in order to open a path for Hastur to enter the physical world, and then he'd either make good on his deal… or Verner would make him.

…Anything to bring back his beloved.

Still, it did ruffle him that it took five fucking times to beat some naive, jibbering oaf. The fact that someone was controlling his actions from another universe did little to soften the blow. It certainly didn't help that Ichiro himself had obviously remembered the previous timeline if his current actions were anything to go by, cracking down on Yellow Monarch hideouts and exposing some of his moles within the Blade guild. But of course he had plans to circumvent such minor setbacks. But before that, he would see to it that the blasted spear was thrown into the deepest, darkest hole he could find.

"I mean not to question your decisions, Verner, but is it wise to throw away such a powerful trump card?" A male voice came from behind him.

Verner took a quick glance behind him. "Ah, Ivan. I didn't expect you back so soon."

Ivan was a codename; his real name was Yegor Sabalenka, the current head of the Sabalenka mob family. Verner had a personal hand in that last part.

Yegor, better known these days as Ivan the Terrible after the first Tsar of Russia, was a young man, a werewolf demi-human in his early-twenties with piercing hazel eyes, and black hair; a pair of wolf ears sticking up from the top of his head. He wore an expensive black pinstripe suit, with a black and blue fur-trimmed coat hanging loosely from his shoulders.

Verner had recruited him due to his ambition and how powerful his Grimoire was. Blood Pact had proved extremely potent, especially when Ivan used it to slaughter most of his family to become the new head of the Sabalenka mob family.

…Another reason he couldn't let him get his hands on this spear.

"Its power is too unstable," Verner lied through his teeth, "It's more likely to create an uncontrollable black hole than to force a pathway into Yggdrasill."

"I see…" Ivan said simply, the disappointment evident in his tone.

He was eager to get his hands on more power, and from what he saw from the other timelines, more than ready to stab him in the back to get his hands on it.

"Why have you come down to the storage chamber, Ivan?" Verner asked, somewhat curious.

The storage chamber was in a special secondary basement under the Palais Garnier opera house. The building was owned and run by Ivan, it was a front for many illegal activities as well as a meeting place for some of the biggest crime families in Paris.

The storage chamber was mainly used for, obviously, storage. But specifically, the storage of Artifacts, extremely powerful objects made by long dead pantheons.

…It was also used for the occasional use as a makeshift sacrificial chamber in case any of the other designated chambers was occupied or too out of the way.

Gotta keep that cosmic deity in his pocket, after all.

"I and some of my men saw a red light fall from the sky." He answered somewhat dryly. "I figured you'd have some answers about that."

Verner froze, and then took a deep breath. "So, they're finally here..."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "They?"

"Someone my lord has warned me a great deal of…" Verner did not elaborate further.

Suddenly, there was a commotion as the doors swung open. Some unintelligible shouting could be heard as well as a meaty and painful sounding thwack echoed throughout the chamber.

A few of Ivan's men walked in dragging an unconscious man. The surprising thing was the state of gang members, almost all of them were injured in some shape or form, and one was even missing some fingers.

"Boss!" One of them called out to Ivan, before throwing the man before them. "This asshole just killed the Butcher Brothers and three other men."

Ivan blinked, and went quiet for a good few seconds. "Frankie and Jacob are dead…?"

The one with the missing fingers spoke next. "Boss, the bastard killed Paul, Tom, and Tony too."

Verner raised an eyebrow, his face and expression hidden by his mystical cloak. 'How in the world did this weakling kill three C-Rankers and two B-Rankers?'

Say what you would about the kind of men Ivan brought into his new mob empire, and Verner did have a lot to say, but they could fight decently well. The group was mainly formed of Grimoire Awakened individuals, and they were C to B-Rankers to boot.

While the man's power did feel off slightly, resembling that of an undead's, he was truly weak. His manipulation of mana was low E-Rank, low D-Rank if he was being generous.

There was a groan from the man on the floor. "I'll fuckin'…do it again."

"Fuck you!" The missing fingers guy then proceeded to kick the man in the stomach. "Piece of shit!"

"U-Uuugghh!" The man curled up on himself in pain. There were tears in the corner of his eyes.

All in all, it was quite a pathetic sight.

The man was of average height, black messy hairy in need of a barber a few months ago now matted with blood. His clothes were little more than filthy blood soaked rags and loose bandages that the Butcher Brothers use to reduce the mess of carrying bodies. His face was unremarkable too, it was interesting just how generic he appeared to be… and his eyes.

Red. A striking scarlet red, he almost mistook him for a vampire-kin.

Then a pulse surged through Verner's head, a pressure that bore on his brain like a migraine.

There was static in his ears…

He wasn't in the underground chamber anymore. Before him was a now familiar scene.

A dark sky, the highest temple in the Celestial Realm. He was exhausted, bleeding, and on his last legs, the man in front of him was much the same. Maruyama Ichiro stood before him, he and his uniquely dysfunctional group of misfits had battled him blow for blow despite the fact that Verner had now absorbed the power of several deities. The battle was long, and as it went on, more and more of Ichiro's group needed to retreat or were put out of commission… until it was just the two of them.

…But there was something off about the picture.

Ichiro's eyes were the wrong color.

They were a scarlet red. The same color as the man the mobsters brought in.

Verner watched as his past self and this red-eyed Ichiro charged at each other. No magic, no spells, not even weapons, just their fists and-

"One step closer and I'll fucking kill him!" A shout broke Verner out from his odd vision.

The apostle of the Yellow King turned to see something surprising. Ivan, of all people, being held hostage by the man. He held a bloodied cleaver up to Ivan's neck from behind. Either he was more clever than Verner gave him credit for, or Ivan's men were more incompetent than he thought.

Ivan, for his part, looked completely bewildered by this turn of events and sent Verner a look.

Verner's brows scrunched together in thought. 'Did Ivan also have a vision like me?'

But one thing was very clear to Verner.

He couldn't help but laugh. "So you must be the so-called 'Player'..."

The Player looked surprised at first, then confused, then his eyes widened in shock. "Awww… shit!"

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Today had a been a fucking day.

I unwittingly doomed an entire timeline and subjected people I deeply admire to fates worse than death. Made a shotgun deal with a god, the new half of my soul was gutted and chopped to pieces before we were brought back to life. Killed five people in not even a fucking hour of being in this new world, and got the shit kicked out of me.

And to top it all off… the fucking final boss was right in front of me.

Verner Von Bluecher, the main antagonist and final boss of the original Sorakarago. One of the most ruthless, cunning, dangerous individuals in the entire series that could generally be summed up as being on some 'Aizen-level shit'. Years before the game started, he'd killed Astrid and Ichiro's parents before body-snatching Astrid's little brother and forming the Yellow Monarch gang/cult.

…And he'd been a menace to society ever since.

He let out a laugh that chilled me to my bones. "So you must be the so-called 'Player'..."

What? Player? What the hell does he mean by-

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

"Awww…shit!" I swore aloud.

He knew who I was and the nature of my existence. I am so fucked.

Verner snapped his fingers, and in an instant, a dozen magic circles appeared around me. I was in such awe of seeing magic for the first time, that I wasn't able to react when dozens of golden chains shot out and wrapped themselves around my limbs.

"Aww, fuck!" I swore again as the chains began to pull my arms away from my captive.

The man I held at knife-point slipped out of my hold, rubbing his hand against his neck. There was a small bleeding cut where the cleaver.

Oh hey, it's Ivan the Terrible.

…Oh fuck I held Ivan the Terrible at knife point.

There was a blur of movement, then my head snapped to the side. Then came the pain.

Tatsiana's piece of shit brother punched me in the face, and by fucking god did he look pissed. I'm pretty sure I was lucky he didn't knock out a fucking tooth with that swing.

"How dare you lay your hands on me." He spat as he punched me in the face again.

Again, my head snapped to the side, and I heard something bounce on the floor a few times.

It was a tooth… ow.

God damn that was the hardest I've ever been hit in my life!

I spat out a glob of blood, but I already felt it pooling back up in my mouth again. "Let's put it this way, puppy. These hands are rated E For Everyone, and you're part of 'Everyone.'"

I heard him growl. "...And a smartass mouth to match the insolence."

I felt his fist bury itself in my stomach next. "Guaaahhh!"

The wind was knocked out of me, and by the grace of God I didn't throw up the whiskey I drank before. Shockingly enough, I wasn't drunk, but I sure as fuck wished I was right about now.

For a few seconds I stood there, being held up by the chains, trying to breathe.

"Let's see what good that mouth of yours does you now!" Ivan reached into his coat and pulled out a silver pistol, and in one swift movement, placed it under my chin.

Shit.

"Ivan." Verner didn't raise his voice, but everything in the room went still when he spoke. "Do not kill him. I will see to him personally."

Crap baskets.

Ivan's expression turned absolutely livid, holding the gun to my chin for a few more seconds before he relented. "Tch! Fine." He stopped off, and turned to his men. "Let's go."

"B-But boss-!" One of them spoke up.

He glared at the mobster, his eyes glowing. That alone was enough to shut them up, it looked almost as if their hearts had stopped for a second.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Ivan asked with an eerily calm tone.

The mobster's face went pale as a ghost. "N-No boss…"

Ivan turned around and walked away, his goons following a safe distance behind. Soon enough the sound of a door closing echoed throughout the chamber, and Verner and I were left alone together.

Verner brought his attention back to me. "Wonderful, now we can speak uninterrupted."

I won't lie, there was a pants-shiting amount of fear going through my mind right now and I was pretty sure it was written all over my face.

Unfortunately, my mouth spoke for me. "Going to be honest, really wishing I was dealing with that bullet instead."

He let out a laugh that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "I can't believe my luck."

I gave him a dry yet nervous look. "Oh really?"

He pulled down his enchanted hood, revealing his brown hair, and sickly yellow eyes, a sign that his soul was touched by the King in Yellow, and stared right at me. "I'd say 'look what the cat dragged in' but I'm sure any self-respecting feline would rather die than lay their paws on you."

Oh great, we're doing the villainous taunting thing so he can stroke his ego…

I was still kind of scared shitless, so I didn't have it in me to roll my eyes. "You, uhhh, you'd be surprised. I took care of a few cats growing up."

"To think our first meeting would be like this," Verner continued, ignoring my banter like the prick he is. "Beaten to a pulp, covered in your own blood and filthy rags like a common beggar." He smirked. "Complete with chains…"

I scanned the room as he talked. The place was dark as hell except for a few lights. A dozen or so alters littered the room, with what I could only assume to be Artifacts that Verner was storing away for his end game.

Two in particular caught my eye:

The first was the spear Gungnir. The spear Verner misidentified as the Longinus. Well, technically misidentified because Gungnir and the Longinus were one in the same.

And the more shocking of the two, Gram.

It was a vicious looking black blade with angry red magic staining the fuller of the sword. The fuller, the flat of the blade, also had a jagged chunk carved out of it, and in the center of the crossguard was a red, and very angry-looking draconic eye.

The sword Sigurd used to slay the dragon Fafnir. But it was far more than just a sword, it was a Grimoire, a genetic Grimoire.

Grimoires in the world of Sorakarago were the crystallization of someone's very being in magic form. You could describe it as this world's version of Bankai, or more accurately a Semblance, and some were very very special and could even be passed down from generation to generation.

Gram was one such Grimoire.

More than a Grimoire, it was an iconic symbol of the Sorakarago franchise. It was to Sorakarago what Excalibur was to Type-Moon.

And there was only one person at this point in the timeline that had Gram.

Astrid Von Brandt.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I exclaimed.

Verner turned to where I was looking. "Ah, I see you've seen the spoils of my plans, all thanks to you."

"It's not even fucking March yet!" The first Sorakarago game took place near the end of March, and the tutorial ended on April 5th. "How long have you known about… everything?!"

"Around a month, give or take." Verner answered surprisingly amiably. "I would've delayed my plans for the scion of the Brandt family if it weren't our mutual acquaintance." He leveled an irritated glare at me. "Maruyama Ichiro."

While I was still scared out of my wits cause, good lord I knew this sociopath and the shit he'd done, I couldn't help but groan. "Oh god, what did he do this time?"

"It seems that he's remembered the previous timeline somehow." Verner explained. "He's been cracking down on the hideouts and gangs I assisted during our… extended partnership. And with close to the same skill and efficiency he displayed back then."

I blinked. "Oh, he's using my strategies?"

Verner's eyes narrowed. "So you are to blame for why things are such a mess right now…"

I suppressed the urge to gulp. "Not really. Tsukuyomi placed a seal on Ichiro that didn't seem to do anything near the end of the loop. He alluded to noticing the temporal fuckery our shared yellow friend has been doing. That's probably why he knows."

Verner raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm, I didn't expect Tsukuyomi to be powerful enough to notice the temporal disturbances caused by the loops. I'll have to add him to the list then."

Alright, come on, Dante, think for a second, you're in a fantasy world where everyone in their mother has magic. That means I can do magic too.

Please let me be able to do magic, it'd be so fucking cool!

Antoine, the name of the man this body used to belong to, was a D-Rank Adventurer. It was slightly above bottom-tier, but it was at least something. The amount of mana I could manipulate was around fifty to sixty units, and that was pitiful.

But… I've never manipulated mana before. Obviously.

Alright, Dante, think for another second. People in Sorakarago manipulate by using their Third Eye. The Third Eye was reawakened within mortals when the Miracle of Mana was brought back into the world during the World War. The question was: How do I use my Third Eye?

And I would've given myself a dope slap then and there if I wasn't chained up, cause I completely forgot that I had a second set of memories in my noggin that were native. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and concentrated on the other half of my mind.

I saw a young boy looking up at his mother as the older woman knelt down and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. The phantom sensation of mana being pulsed through my body went through me. And when it reached my eyes… I could see so much more.

"Remember that feeling, Antoine," She said with a warm smile. "The Third Eye is how we can view the flow of mana and manipulate it to our whims to perform magic. Magic is not just a tool for one to use, but an expression of one's soul, and you have such a beautiful soul, let the world be in awe of it."

I opened my eyes, and I could see.

Mana had a bluish-green color, which reminded me of the Lifestream, but I couldn't manipulate any of it. I turned my head to look at the chains wrapped around me. With my Third Eye active, I could see a sickly green glow covering the chains.

Shit, he sealed my ability to manipulate mana. It's to be expected though, Verner's cocky and has an ego, but he was not stupid. A trick like this though would only really affect those of weak power, and I was if anything, it was weak.

"Tell me, what's your name?" Verner spoke, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Excuse me?" I had a bad feeling about where this was going.

"You name." Veneer said more sternly.

"Dante." I answered. "Dante Alighieri."

Verner gave me an odd look. "The poet?"

"I was named after him. My grandfather thought it would be funny." I explained dryly.

"Humph." He seemed completely uninterested in small talk now. "Dante, I want to make a deal."

I've been hearing those words a lot lately…

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"You see, Ichiro's little tantrum over the last month has created a bit of unneeded chaos." The apostle of the Yellow King explained. "I need someone to get close to him, and obviously, I can't do it cause…" He smiled the smuggest most fucking punchable smile I ever did see. "Well, we both know what happened, right?"

I took a second to calm myself before I spoke. "So, you want me to be Johannes 2.0, huh?" Not only could I see where he was coming from, I also realized that Ichiro was just dumb enough that it would totally work.

"But of course!" Verner began with a mocking tone. "You who fought his battles. You who saw his inner, most personal thoughts. You who made his choices for him. Who else better than you?"

I sighed, fear giving way to annoyance and irritation. "Give me one reason, aside from the cliché fucking death threats, as to why I should work for you."

He smirked knowingly, and a pit formed in my stomach. "The girls."

My eyes widened, and his smirk grew wider.

He began to pace around me in a circle. "Viviana…Sakuya…Tatsiana…that precious little kitten…and Astrid." He let out a condescending laugh. "Oh, I can tell you care about them a great deal."

"No shit." I spat, cold rage lacing my voice. "And I saw first hand what you did to them. You bragged and boasted about the horrible shit you did to them before you ripped out their fucking souls!"

"And I'm here offering you your chance to save them."

I paused, took a deep breath, and looked this two-faced jackass right in his piss-colored eyes. "Excuse me?!"

"I don't need their souls. You know that." Verner continued pacing around me, he held himself with the superiority of someone who knew damn well they held all the cards. "All I need you to do this: Keep an eye on Tsukuyomi's favorite brat for me, misdirect him where I ask, and maybe do a few simple errands for me."

I blinked. "That's…it?"

He nodded. "That's it. Do that, and the girls are yours."

"Mine?"

"Surely you remembered what I told Ichiro. I would've given them to him as his playthings if he wasn't such an irritating idiot." Verner pointed out. "I was serious about that. Little bastard was useful if anything, and I reward those who are useful to me."

"As long as they aren't idiotic little shits?" My tone was as dry as my throat.

He laughed standing behind me. "See. You get it. So, what do you say, we have a deal?"

I knew Verner, and I mean I knew Verner.

He didn't go back on a deal, that was something you could count on. It was the reason why Ivan listened to him despite his power hungry nature. Do as you're told, you get rewarded. Defy him, and you would regret your decision for a long time.

But I already knew my choice the moment he asked to make a deal with me.

I grit my teeth, blood still leaked from my lips, and the constant taste of cooper made me want to vomit all over again. But beyond that, I was fucking furious.

I took a deep breath, and raised my head, and looked Verner dead in his eyes. "...Daga kotowaru (I refuse)."

He snapped his fingers, and the chains forced me to kneel.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why did you suddenly start speaking Japanese?"

"I don't need to explain myself to an uncultured swine!" I shouted indignantly.

He let out a snort as circled back in front of me. "Regardless, I expected that response. The defiance in your eyes was telling-"

"Alright, I'ma cut your dumbass off right there. There's been a big misunderstanding between us." I grinned, I could feel the blood still stained on my teeth. "Have you already forgotten our five to one score? You get one win and it's already gone to your head?"

He frowned; I'd definitely hit a sore spot for him. "I seem to remember destroying you so completely you had no chance to stop me. You yourself even bought that whole 'Johannes' act."

I stared at him for a few good seconds. I didn't bother hiding the emotions on my face. Confusion, realization, then humor.

"Pffftttt - Hahahahahahahahahaha!" I was laughing so hard I almost gave myself a cramp, but the look on Verner's face was priceless. "Haha-H-Hastur didn't tell you how you won, did he?"

Verner glared at me. "Speak."

"Oh boy, this'll be fun!" I exclaimed joyfully. "Let's set the record straight. You never fooled me with your 'Johannes' shtick. Hell, let's be real here, you never fooled me in general. I knew damn well who you were from the start."

"Yet, you did nothing."

"Exactly! I did nothing." I let out another laugh. "You want to know why?"

Verner leveled his angry gaze at me. "Why?"

"You see, in my world I made a friend." I started, my own mocking tone leaking through. "Spent a year shooting the shit and having fun, all that jazz. And one day he comes to me with a game. It's an old one from my childhood, but this one has some new stuff added to it to make the experience fresh. And, oh, what's this you say? It has a new ending, and all I have to do is… not make any choices for Ichiro?"

Verner's eyes widened.

"Are the gears turning now? I lost, yes, but to Hastur, not you. Your sugar daddy had to pull strings to beat me cause you couldn't." I scoffed. "And the fact that you're stroking your ego with a victory that's not even yours. Pathetic."

"Shut up…" He growled.

I threw my head to the dark ceiling. "Hastur! Is this how you face me?! YOUR CHOSEN DICK RIDER?!"

"Shut. Up."

"Fucking Christ, Verner," I looked at him with pity. "Rose would be so disappointed in you."

There was a blur of movement, and I felt something cut through my face, specifically my lip. A little way from the right corner of my lip had been sliced through.

"Keep my wife's name out your fucking mouth." He looked at me with murderous intent.

Sure is Will Smith in here.

It stung like a bitch, but I gave a wry smile. "Consider that nerve touched."

Then I noticed something.

Verner hand. It was covered in a sickly green Aura, in particular, the Aura around his finger was in the shape of a sickle-like claw. It was the only Art he knew, a self-created technique made to attack the soul.

Serpent Soul Rupture.

It was one of his signature attacks, and was a guaranteed critical hit in the game.

But that's not what caught my attention. It was the fact that it went through my lip with absolutely no resistance.

My mind raced a mile a second.

Aura was the other side to magic.

Where magic is the manipulation of the World's mana to the natural forces of the World, Aura is the manipulation of one's own inner energies to manipulate the body. Chi, Ki, Chakra, it was called many things throughout the ages, but in modern times, it's called Aura.

And it was magnitudes more potent than the ambient mana used for conventional spells.

It is extremely difficult to learn due to the composition of the soul in the Sorakarago universe. As one grows older, the more defined their existence is within the World, and the more solid their soul becomes, and the harder to manipulate their Aura becomes. The best Aura users in the setting are the ones that have basically been trained from birth to use Aura in order to keep as much of their soul's malleability as possible as they grow older.

Which was why I was confused here. I'm 28 years old, with no Aura training whatsoever, my soul should be like a fucking house foundation.

…Meaning Verner's attack should've pierced my lip instead of slicing through it like a hot knife through butter.

I turned my Third Eye inward, looking at my own soul.

Red, like blood. A bloody silhouette in a sea of blackness.

…And it rippled with waves like droplets falling into a still pond.

Liquid.

My soul's composition was fucking liquid. Verner's chains only stopped me from manipulating mana outside of my body, but with Aura… Oh-ho-ho!

But I'd need more than Aura to get me out of this.

I looked at Verner's sickle claw.

An Aura Construct…

Aura Constructs were the highest form of mastery when it came to using Aura. Manipulating one's Aura to radiate outside of one's body was already a great feat, but inefficient and a waste of Aura. When radiating outside of one's body, Aura turned into a gaseous form before merging and becoming one with the world's mana. But experts could manipulate their Aura outside their body. First in its gas form, then in its liquid form, and finally, turning their Aura solid outside of their body, creating an Aura Construct.

And boy, oh boy, the Sorakarago community had some theories about that. Especially after the spin-offs went more in-depth about how Aura worked and its functions.

One popular and still prevalent theory involved how the human body was the greatest conductor of Aura. Which made sense since the human soul produces it, but in particular, blood is the most conductive part of the human body for Aura.

So, the theory went as follows: Could an Aura user channel Aura specifically through their blood to create a form of hemomancy to shortcut their way into making Aura Constructs?

Of course, there were also arguments against this, stating that there must be a reason Aura users don't use the method, cause there'd never been a single Aura user in the series that'd ever done something like it. Sure, there had been Aura users that used certain objects like swords, spears, and other weapons as catalysts to channel their Aura through, but never their own blood.

So, here's my coin toss:

On one hand, I might spontaneously combust.

One the other, DOOM music starts playing.

Time to fuck around and additionally find out.

"Heh… Let's get something straight here," I laughed as Verner glared down at me. "You have defiled, humiliated, and murdered some of the people I held in the highest regard. I acknowledge and accept my part to play in their fate, and I will accept whatever punishment they deem fit for me with dignity and grace… but not a second before I kill you with my own two hands, Verner Von Bluecher."

He roughly grabbed me by my hair, raising me up, his other hand still coating in his Serpent Soul Rupture, and pulled back his arm, ready to stab me through the heart.

He looked me right in the eyes. "You. Won't. Do. Jack-"

In an instant, I pulled on my Aura, and my very veins sang with power. My ears were deaf to the sound of the chains binding me, shattering completely, as I grabbed Verner's now shocked face, my glowing blood seeping out through spontaneously opening cuts to cover my arm like a gauntlet.

"Shit!" He yelled.

And I slammed the back of his head into the concrete floor as hard as I possibly could. The ground shattered on impact.

"WE CALL THIS A DIFFICULTY TWEAK, FUCKBOY!" I screamed at the top of my lungs with a maniacal grin.