Chapter 4: John Doe

Artemvian headed south, organizing what he’d learnt so far.

One.  This was not his world nor any version of the afterlife that he knew of.  He was actually in a different world with its own cultures, customs and people.

Or he could be completely mistaken and this was some alternate universe of his world, albeit in the future.  It could be the past too.  The point was that he simply did not know enough about this world to make a judgement.  For now, that was fine.  His goal wasn’t world domination or uncovering all the secrets this world had to offer, it was survival.

Past, future, or a completely different world.

“Potato, Tomato.”  Artemvian muttered to himself, gathering some weird looks.

Two.  It seemed that people here were unfamiliar with the supernatural aspect of the world.  When Artem had briefly glossed over why he suspected that the man named John Doe was a werewolf, he had received blank stares.  He had a sinking feeling that the two didn’t believe him at all.  Not because Artem was a stranger or untrustworthy individual (the latter of which was impossible).  But because the two didn’t believe in Werewolves.  Better yet, they offered him alternative theories.

Which, again, could be true.  Artemvian was completely open to the possibility.

Thinking back to his interaction with Riley and Brant, it wasn’t a novel experience.  Even the citizens of the Empire dismissed the notion that strayed far from the ‘Mainstream’ Magic Theory.  Basically, anything that could be dismissed as folklore, fairy tale or myth.  It wasn’t limited to non-magical folk, this phenomena of disbelief perpetuated itself in High Magic Society as well.  Those who believed in the ‘hard’ Arcane Theories often refuted the existence of gods, daemons and faeries.

Funny how people who could shoot fireballs out of their hand didn’t believe in the existence of a horse with a magical horn on its head.

Musing, Artemvian continued to walk.

Nightfall descended upon Nero City, the darkness stifling out the rays of sunlight.  He gazed on in awe as the City itself came to life.  A dizzying array of lights lit up the sky, purple, yellow, orange, red and more.  Types of people he hadn’t seen during the day made their appearance, crawling out of whatever sewer hole they tucked themselves into when the Sun was out.  More piercings.  More metal appendages.  More…

“Dare I say it?”  Artemvian mused, watching a group of scantily clad young women and men walk by him.  One of them touched him on the shoulder, their scent lingering along with their eyes which promised many, many things.

“So wild.”  He finished his thought.

Resisting the urge to stay and study this new world –purely for academic reasons of course–, Artemvian continued heading South.  Soon, he reached Nero City’s version of downtown.

The shadows seemed to stretch longer here, their shapes seemingly sharpened and jagged.  There were less passerbys yet Artemvian could feel more stares.  Watching his every move.  He saw a few people huddled around a trash can, a fire lit within.  Outwardly, they pretended to pay him no mind but Artemvian knew that they were keeping an eye on him.

A familiar pang of pain shot through him, nothing physical, purely an emotional response at seeing this decrepit place, obviously void of kindness and human warmth.  He grew up in a place not too different from this.

“Yeah yeah, enough of the sob story.”  Artemvian told himself out loud.  

Hearing his own voice brought him to the present and out of the melancholy soap drama he had been about to narrate in his own head.  No one wanted that, least of all him.

“Onto the job, Artemvian.  Be a professional about this.”  Then Artemvian drew a circle in the air with his finger, whispering, “Lupus, Lupus, Lupus.”

It was a simple spell, designed to find the nearest werewolf.  Not the best for pinpoint locations but it might do in this world.

His finger emitted mana and as soon as he finished drawing the circle, it shone a dim-blue, like one of those lights he saw in the streets but much more muted.  It stretched and formed an oblong shape, being tugged in a specific direction.  It worked.

Following the circle that was being ‘tugged’, Artemvian found his target within minutes.

John Doe, the vagabond that was shown in the photo.  He had wrapped some cloth around him and was shivering, though the rain had long since stopped and the air had begun to grow warm from the vents that belched out hot gas.  As soon as Artemvian entered within thirty feet in his direction, the man twirled to face him.

“John Doe?”  Artemvian offered.

The man stood up, his eyes bloodshot.

“Yup.  Looks like it.”  Artemvian didn’t wait for an answer.  He leaned on the wall, studying the man.

Numerous scars around his feet, from walking around barefoot.  A lean, muscled build with hunched shoulders and most of all, that hungry, feral look which lurked behind his intelligent human brain.

Artemvian was sure of it now.  Definitely a Werewolf –if not magical, created artificially through a myterious technique of this world.

“What do you want, man?”  John Doe growled.

“I was wondering if you can accompany me to a nice little tavern.  Prettiest bartender on the street, best wine in town.  What do you say? Boy’s night out?”  Artemvian quipped.

The man scoffed in reply.  “Fuck off, man.  You chose the wrong person to mess with.”  Then he turned his back on Artemvian.

“Why? Am I interrupting your hunt?”

The man went still.  Absolutely still.  Like a corpse.

“Neat trick.  Not a lot of mortals can do that.”  Artemvian pushed himself off of the wall, cracking his knuckles.  “Then again, you’re not a mortal anymore, are you?”

John Doe turned around to face Artemvian again, that stillness still permeating throughout his being.  He was glaring at Artemvian, swirls of red beginning to creep in from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m guessing you’re a mutt.  No proud werewolf that belonged to a pack would go around, hunting young women and children for months on end.”  Artemvian’s eyes began to leak trails of blue.  “Even if you’re a mutt, if you’ve survived this long.  You should have figured out some things.  Like the name of the pack that runs Nero City, as well as a general grasp of the supernatural world’s presence.”

The man laughed.

“You’re one of those Mercenaries huh?  Who sent you?  Gregane?  Cortez?”  The man inhaled deeply, his eyes shining.  “Huh, right.  You did mention the wine.  Riley?  That bitch?”

“That’s rude.”  Artemvian feigned whining.  “Riley seems like a nice person.  She doesn’t deserve that.”

“One warning.  Back.  the.  Fuck.  off.”  The man growled, taking a step closer to Artemvian.

Number one rule for mages when fighting monsters?

It was to maintain distance.

But that was for amateurs.

Artemvian Delacreau Moneti was not an amateur.

He stood still, knowing that if he flinched or showed weakness in any way, the man wouldn’t be able to suppress his predatory instincts.  In simple terms, the man would lose control of himself and shoot himself towards Artemvian.  Which would be unfortunate because Artemvian was really starting to like this jacket and did not want to get blood all over it.

The man’s face was only an inch or two away from Artemvian’s.  His eyes were confident at first, then hungry and slowly changed to one of confusion.  After all, what kind of deer would remain this still at this distance in front of a wolf?

“So what now?”  Artemvian asked innocently.  “If you’re waiting for me to close my eyes and pucker my lips, John, I’m afraid to break it to you, it ain’t happening.”

The man opened his mouth to say something but Artemvian beat him to it.

“If you’re not going to make the first move, I guess I will.”

Then Artemvian put a palm on the man’s chest.

And blindingly bright blue light burst at the seam between his hand and the man’s chest, illuminating all the dark corners in the alley.  John Doe howled at the sudden brightness and in pain, as a pure wave force of mana burst forth from the mage’s palm.  It slammed into John Doe, a man weighing well over two-hundred pounds, and sent him flying into a trio of trash cans.  They crumpled under his weight and the light was gone, washing the small alley in darkness once more.

“And I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.”  He sing-songed.

Artemvian strode forward, unafraid.  The flash of mana would disorient any werewolf, their senses were simply too sharp for their own good.  Plus, the smell of garbage would nearly cripple him; most werewolves unable to handle anything sharper than vinegar.

The pile of garbage exploded outwards, something blurring towards Artemvian.

Artemvian was a mage, but that also meant he was human in every way but one: magic.  Magic could be used for a lot of things but they required time and preparation.  Frankly, Artemvian had not been preparing magic to enhance his eyesight and it was difficult to see the werewolve’s movements in darkness, let alone try to predict where he was coming from.

But Artemvian had fought werewolves in the past.  He knew what they looked like.

A bipedal creature with elongated jaws, much too long to be a human but much too wide to belong to an actual wolf.  Gangly fur and hair would sprout from the victim’s skin.  Most of them screamed as they transformed, a horrible sound that was halfway between a throaty growl and a soul-splitting howl.  They had too, no man could take the pain of their body and mind being ripped asunder and put together again in the space of a second.

Artemvian raised a palm not a second too soon as his Mage Shield came to life, translucent blue hexagonal crystal plates adjoined together.  The wolf-man hurtled himself against the shield, but it held.

“I do want to get this job done fast, but I do want to get some information.”

“I’LL KILL YOU! RIP YOU APART!”  The man’s voice came out gurgled and warped, the beast-like throat not built to pronounce human sounds.  He snarled and snapped, trying to get through the shield.

“Definitely not an experienced werewolf.”  Artemvian muttered, calmly eyeing the spectacle.  “You’ve lost yourself to your senses.  Regain yourself.”

The creature snapped with his jaws once then bounded into the air, leaping nearly twenty feet towards the sky.

Smiling, Artemvian lowered his shield and flicked a finger downwards.

“Gravigure.”  He chanted.

The Werewolf immediately stopped his ascent and slammed into the ground at max velocity like a meteor.  There was a loud boom and a sheet of water rose from the sheer impact.  John Doe whined –a sad puppy sound– and then snarled as he saw Artemvian standing just out of arm’s reach.

“Answer and I’ll make your death quick.”  Artemvian said.  “There must be a gathering for the supernatural community, both for the underground where people like you run amok and for those who are seeking safety.  Name them both.”

John Doe lunged forward, dragging himself by the elongated claws.  Artemvian didn’t bat an eye, he put his middle finger under his thumb and flicked forward in midair.  A pure bullet made of mana shot out from between his fingers, landing on the Werewolf’s rapidly regenerating elbow.  There was a crack and a spike of pure white jutted out from the creature’s arm.

“Name them.”  Artemvian’s voice never wavered from the conversational tone he had been maintaining.

And for the first time, John Doe’s fur stopped bristling.

“...Ivern’s… Ivern’s Tavern… for people like me.  Who have no where to go.”  The transformation started to fade.

‘Of course,’ Artemvian thought, ‘He’s a mutt.’ A mutt wouldn’t be able to hold his transformation for long after a battle like this, especially after having to expend energy to heal himself from the injuries.  The Wolf Spirit inside of him was spent and would sleep for a while yet.

So Artemvian lowered his own mana, his eyes no longer glowing blue.

“I don’t know… what the other place you’re talking about is.”

Sensing that the man was telling the truth, Artemvian nodded.  “You know that I cannot let you live, yes?”

“...Blackguard.”

Artemvian sighed, taking a knee in front of the man.  He put his palm on the man’s forehead.  “I’m sorry this happened to you, John Doe.  But you know that I cannot let you live, yes?”

The man didn’t answer for a minute.

Artemvian waited.

“Why did this… happen to me?...”

The mage grimaced.  “It happens to everyone.  Farmers.  Teachers.  The homeless.  Politicians.  It could be a werewolf or a spirit.  Sometimes, it could be worse.”  He bowed his head.  “I’m sorry, John.”

“They did this to me…”

Artemvian coaxed the man.  “Who’s they?  You know the name of the pack?”

“Blackguard… Blackguard industries…”

The mage sniffed.  “I’ll remember it.”  Then he took a breath.  “Your body.  Do you have family?”

“No… but… don’t want it to be… used… by those filthy pharmaceuticals… please….”

Artemvian nodded.  “I’ll take care of it.”  

“Don’t want to die…”

“I’m sorry.”  Whispered the mage.

Then fire began to creep from his hand, down to the man’s body.  At first John Doe made a sound as if to scream, jerking away as if he expected the fire to be hot.  But it wasn’t hot at all, rather John Doe felt his heart simply slowdown, everything becoming a blur.  The white flames spread, engulfing the man but burned neither skin nor hair.

“I’m extracting the Werewolf Spirit within you.”  Artemvian explained.  “It’s been keeping you alive, and would have kept you alive.  But you have killed too much, it would be dangerous to let you live.”

Finally, he said, “Good bye, John Doe.”

Then John Doe replied, “My name… is not… Jo-”

Then he faded away.

Artemvian stared down at the corpse, something that had once been a man who had been turned into a monster and now just a empty shell of its former self.

“I’ll remember you, John Doe.”  Turning, Artemvian strode out of the alley, dialing Riley to tell her that his first job was finished.