Script Incongruity (2)

It was the dead of night.

The thriving yet modest village of Graiar, strategically nestled a mere stone's throw away from Discipline Academy, was enveloped in an unusual hush.

The once vibrant streets were now bathed in the ethereal glow of moonbeams.

Faint whispers, carried on the breeze from the creatures and critters that roamed the surrounding woods, lingered in the air.

"This way," a hushed voice murmured.

Somewhere amidst the dark, squalid alleys, figures draped in hooded cloaks slinked through the shadows.

Their movements were so silent that not even the scurrying rats and scuttling insects could match their stealth.

It was as if they sought refuge from an unseen threat. Their presence was so ephemeral that even the formidable guards and seasoned mercenaries of the village remained oblivious.

What drove them to such covert actions remained a mystery, shrouded in the depths of the night.

"You took your sweet time," a male voice echoed in front of a lifeless body sprawled on the ground. "I've been here for twenty minutes already. You should have come immediately. What were you up to?"

Hidden by the twin buildings around them, the two stared at each other.

The figure looked both ways before crossing and stopping.

Emerging from the shadows just a few steps away, another figure glided across the wet ground, their footsteps strangely silent.

The masculine voice glanced downward, sensing a lingering trace of magical power, before fixing their gaze back up.

"Not only are you late, but you persist in wielding magic recklessly," the man scolded.

"I hadn't considered that," the other figure said, almost reflexively responding to the man's reproach. "It wasn't my intention. Please, forgive me."

"Forgive?" the man sneered, his irritation palpable.

The man crossed his arms, the expression on his face heavily contorted, as if it were a screen of terrifying feelings.

A powerful killing intent could be felt shooting at the figure.

"E-eek...!"

The figure trembled, taken aback, and took a step back. In a moment of distraction, its legs met the damp floor once more, nearly causing it to stumble.

"There's no forgiveness here. You're a fool. Always doing shit," the man declared. "What you deserve is to be punished. It's a shame the leader doesn't allow me to take the reins more often."

That ominous command, accompanied by the weight of a lifeless body beneath their feet, jolted the latecomer into action.

In an instant, it snapped out of its daydream, a slight tremor coursing through its body.

"I-I understand... It won't happen again, sir," it stammered.

The man flicked his hand dismissively, paying little heed.

"Fine," he began, his voice tinged with impatience. "Cut to the chase and hand over the package. The lucky rabbit's foot must be delivered to the rendezvous point with utmost haste. We shouldn't even be lingering here."

"Yes, sir."

Slipping its hands beneath the voluminous robes that enshrouded its entire form, from head to toe, the figure obeyed the man's command.

However, once again, it incited the man's wrath as he struggled to locate the elusive "package."

It rummaged through its backpack, hood, and leather pouch repeatedly, growing increasingly flustered.

By the time it finally retrieved the coveted package, a whole minute had slipped away.

"S-sorry..." the figure faltered.

Suppressing its urge to choke on its words, it mustered all the composure it could. It was best to simply accept its mistake and refrain from apologizing further.

"I found it. Here it is."

Contrasting with the man's rough, weathered hands, the figure's hands were smoother and fairer, hinting at a younger age—and possibly a female gender.

Despite the figure's diminutive and slender frame, evident even through the thick fabric, they didn't exude an imposing or aged demeanor.

And, after all, it wasn't as if the man before her boasted arms as thin as hers.

Or breasts that were squeezed by clothing.

"Good job," the man sarcastically declared, his tone dripping with disdain.

He snatched the objects from the figure's hands, giving them a light slap as he claimed them for himself.

The figure let out a small groan of pain at the impact of the slap.

"Can you tell me if one of the 'keys' moved?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "The 'Crow' moved from the east. It seems he has suspicions about the Organization's plans."

"What about the others?"

The man, holding a small locked black box and a stack of folders, flipped through another page.

Licking his fingers to acelerate, he went from page to page in a rapid-read sequence.

"Do we have any solid information on their whereabouts?"

The figure shook her head. "No, sir. But our intelligence suggests that they are not acting in unison."

The man focused his gaze ahead.

"So, the Crow is operating alone?"

"Yes, sir," she confirmed.

Crow, the infamous member of the Round Table, held great significance across the entire continent.

While his trustworthiness may have been questionable, there wasn't a soul who didn't know his name.

He was a living legend, just like his comrades at the Table.

"Still the Crow is not enough to handle me and the others, alone."

The hooded man stood there, contemplating his next move.

He possessed a deep understanding of his own powers, as well as those of his teammates and the formidable abilities of his enemy.

However, he questioned whether the organization would permit him to take such drastic measures, and whether doing so would be advantageous at this particular moment.

In the midst of his thoughts, a deafening crash shattered the silence, causing the man to instinctively shield his eyes from the blinding light.

"Aaah!"

A scream pierced the air, and the man's attention snapped to its source.

Fortunately, the woman had fallen but rolled onto the sidewalk.

The light and noises emanating from the undergrowth hinted at the only one thing:

"Spirits," said. "Probably from the guards around here."

He bowed to the woman briefly before straightening up, his senses alert.

He felt a twinge in his mind and chest, a subtle indication that someone or something was lurking in the narrow gap between the alley's entrance and the wall behind the woman.

"D-damn..."

The breeze rustled the woman's hood, briefly revealing her face.

Her eyes were partially concealed by blond bangs and orange streaks that framed her cheeks.

She remained seated, her face pale and filled with worry, locking eyes with the man.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice firm.

Squinting, he strained to get a better look at the dark passage.

There was a distinct distortion in the air, crackling and growing closer.

Whatever it was, it was approaching him.

"S-sir?" The woman remained on the floor, her voice filled with confusion. "What is happening?"

The man ignored her, his focus entirely on the impending threat.

"Shine," he commanded.

A blinding light emanated from the tip of his wand, temporarily illuminating the figure before him.

The woman's eyes sparkled as the man wand glowed.

She seemed to wake up. Her eye color became more vivid. A relentless urge took over her mind and devoured her worries.

Seizing that moment of clarity, the woman cast aside her fear and swiftly rose to her feet, joining the man.

Her demeanor transformed, her composure shifting from water to wine.

"Get out," she declared. "Come on, L'Oréal."

At the woman's feet, a small magic circle formed, spinning with increasing intensity and volume.

The man had the power to banish the spirits if he wished, but instead, he chose to observe.

Within seconds, the circle expanded, engulfing the entire alley.

"Purify," the woman uttered, closing her hands.

The magic circle began to unravel, unleashing a potent spell.

The man stood stunned for a moment as the cacophony subsided. There was no battle, only silence.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Issaak," she said, extending her hand towards him.

The once-frightened girl with a pale face had transformed, exuding an air of danger that captivated the man.

He recognized her presence, heeded her words.

It had been a request from HQ that he be careful in case something like that happened.

That is, a ''personality'' change -- an embodiment, precisely.

So, the man knew who was there. The "thing" that was there, on her mind, actually.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Rosenfield."

And the next moment, he dropped to his knees in the dark, silent street, his wand under his arm.

*****

Where the f*ck is this place?

I couldn't pinpoint exactly how I had arrived there, as the details slipped away from me.

All I knew was that somehow, the System had played a role in my presence in what resembled a castle.

It seemed to be a partial recreation of a ceremonial room, exuding an aura of antiquity and Gothic grandeur.

It was a breathtaking sight to behold.

Pillars of pristine white, resembling fluffy clouds, stretched towards the lofty ceiling. The walls were adorned with intricate paintings, depicting captivating scenes from times long past, while gilded embellishments and jewels glimmered in the soft light.

Yet, this enchanting setting did little to alleviate my confusion.

Merely moments ago, amidst a seemingly ordinary hallway, a perplexing message had flashed before my eyes, courtesy of the System.

In my current predicament, the aid of Auxilium proved futile, for there was naught to decipher or translate.

The message, however, was far from meaningless; it was simply too abrupt, catching me off guard.

[You have been summoned.]

[Declining this ''invitation'' is impossible.]

[Time until summons: 00 days. 00 hours. 00 minutes. 05 seconds.]

That thing didn't even give me time to think.

05 seconds was the most I had to consider the possibilities of what could happen to me.

[Teleporting...]

And then, I ended up here. Wherever it was.

"Is everyone present?" a drowsy voice inquired, breaking the silence.

It must be some strange fetish of that wolf, or whoever was behind the events that made a point of tormenting me in this world, but I always ended up in the same situation.

It was like my first day here - I was in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar buildings, and encircled by even more unfamiliar people.

I looked into their faces, their expressions blurred by what felt like a thick layer of fog.

Their countenances resembled blank canvases, lacking discernible features save for a mouth. And their noses and eyes were shrouded, leaving only their hair visible to some extent.

"I shall commence the roll call as per the provided list," declared a man with a close-cropped haircut, his forehead concealed beneath a curtain of bangs.

His eyes were absent, lending an air of eerie resemblance to characters from a horror film.

He clutched a sizable stack of papers, neatly arranging and tapping them on the grand rectangular table around which we were seated.

Apart from myself and the man, there were five others in attendance.

To my immediate side sat a diminutive girl—her stature emphasizing her diminutiveness, as I stood at approximately 1.68 meters tall.

She scrutinized me intently, her gaze akin to that of studying a peculiar creature.

I endeavored to meet her gaze with equal intensity.

"Philadelphia," the man boomed, "is Philadelphia present? I shall not repeat your names, so respond promptly."

My attention shifted to the individuals seated farther down the table, awaiting their response.

A cat and a snake gracefully maneuvered across the expanse of the table, unhindered by the presence of others.

The feline before me was a sight to behold, with a distinct lack of aesthetic appeal.

Its orange fur resembled that of Garfield, its rotund form akin to a yoga ball, and its one eye punctured, yet it purred contentedly in the company of that nearby woman.

Seated along the table, leaning slightly to the right of the man, someone raised their hand in acknowledgment.

"Here, present, and ready for action," they announced confidently.

The other man, his countenance inscrutable, scribbled a note.

"It is a pleasure to have you in attendance, Philadelphia, after so many missed gatherings," he remarked.

"Let us hope he conducts himself appropriately this time," interjected another individual, their tone tinged with a hint of skepticism.

The source of the sound was uncomfortably close, much closer than I would have preferred.

Philadelphia, a figure larger than most in the room, including myself, straightened up in his seat.

He possessed dark skin, hair tied in a bun, and boasted an imposing build.

His choice of attire, a leather jacket and a muscle-revealing t-shirt, exuded an air of coolness.

'Does anyone still use expressions like that?' I pondered. 'Or have I become so antiquated that I've lost touch with the times?'

I quickly abandoned those futile thoughts about my own ignorance.

Philadelphia appeared irked as he directed his attention towards the smallest among us—the girl seated right beside me, a mere six paces away.

"I didn't quite catch that. Care to clarify?" he inquired.

"It's simple: you're nothing but a walking pile of shit," she retorted boldly. Placing a finger to her chin, she tilted her head playfully. "I mean, it's painfully obvious that you're the dimmest, feeblest, and most inept among us."

"You wretched bitch! Don't think your size protects you from being utterly crushed!"

A teasing laugh escaped the woman's lips as the man clenched his teeth in frustration.

"I'd love to see you try. Mindless brute," she taunted.

The other five, and I, just watched.

''Silence!'' reprimanded the thinnest man in the room firmly. ''Refrain from unnecessary chatter,'' he commanded, his focus fixed on me. ''I believe our 'new friend' here shouldn't be privy to sensitive information or discussions just yet. We must establish trust first.''

The conclusion of his statement confirmed my suspicions. All eyes turned towards me.

I observed the group carefully, taking note of the two women present, including the one who had exhibited a playful demeanor thus far, as well as the four men.

Five, with me.

''Aren't you going to say anything?''

The snake cautiously slithered closer, emitting a low hiss as she flicked her tongue in my direction.

''Take a look at this,'' the small girl remarked. ''This is intriguing! Athena appears to be quite fond of you!''

My gaze shifted from the snake to the woman, and back to the snake.

Was that truly a sign of her fondness towards me? Seriously?

Did I have some snake charmer skill and I didn't know about it? Like, all it took was one look and she had ''liked'' me.

"What is your name? It's not in the reports," the thin man raised his voice, silencing the girl's laughter.

I wondered my response carefully.

The man who had been referred to as "Philadelphia" earlier had been given a codename. It seemed fitting that I should do the same.

Revealing my true identity to potentially dangerous individuals was out of the question.

"Striga," I replied confidently. "You can call me Striga, if you wish."

The man leaned on his arm, studying me intently.

"Hmm, I see. Striga; is that your chosen name, boy? You didn't just come up with it on the spot, did you?"

"Yes, I did not," I affirmed.

"You must be a transmigrator," he declared, gesturing with his hands like a seasoned lecturer. "That's the only conclusion I can draw from the fact that you're here with us."

I couldn't see his face, but I could sense a hint of amusement in his tone.

"So, very well then. Welcome, Striga."

I maintained my composure, curiosity lingering in my mind.

"Welcome to what, exactly?"

"To the Outsider's Club, of course," he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "So, what do you say? Would you like to become one of us?" and pointed his index finger directly at me, awaiting my response.