Perhaps I had seen it all, and there wasn't much in this world that could scare me anymore.
Or maybe I was deadly scared and simply couldn't tell it myself; it was getting hard to articulate my own emotions these past few days.
I was getting sloppy—for my own good.
Upstairs was exactly what I expected: dark, dirty, and silent.
—Oh, and in the center of the room was a person.
A something that could easily be mistaken for a person. Perhaps an old, defensive man, sitting silently to himself in this creepy abandoned church.
Scratching and digging its nails into the already ancient wooden flooring.
I could understand why people would go near it. After all, from a certain angle, it really did look like a person.
But alas, its long ears, turquoise-colored skin, and vampiric-looking eyes that glowed yellow in the dark gave it away.
Along with a stretched-out jawline that looked as though it had been cut on both sides to make way for those sharp, oversized fangs and teeth that could put a lion to shame.
It just sat there, slumped in on itself—hoping.
Expecting me to come closer.
So that it could get its catch of the day.
I took a step forward.
The ghoul was devoid of any hair. Blue veins ran along its body, most visible on its hands, which only had three long, slender fingers tipped with murky black claws.
The scratching grew louder and harsher.
—I was glad I put a blocking spell on that human boy.
"Spell weaver," the ghoul spoke. "You came to me with prey."
Its voice vibrated, rough like a broken radio tone.
I took a few more steps this time, almost eager to end whatever this was about to be. Short and boring, as always.
"The mini-me is not food, I'm afraid. You'll just have to content yourself with what they offer at the goblin market," I said, my voice smoother and more toned down than usual.
I had already talked far more than I normally would—maybe that's why it didn't sound as groggy or dragged out of my throat.
The ghoul blinked, finally turning its hollow, bone-echoed back toward me. I could see the cluster of its spine pressing against its bluish-green skin.
It stood up on its far outstretched metatarsal bones.
I found myself wondering how uncomfortable it must be to walk around on its tiptoes without its heel ever touching the ground.
"Spell weaver… if he's not for me, is he for the fox?" it asked.
It really did sound like a robot mimicking what it had heard before.
"No. He's mine," I said simply, now standing right in front of it—only a few centimeters apart.
It didn't blink.
It didn't need to.
Its glowing eyes simply stayed locked on me.
Then three clawed fingers lifted slowly, hovering in the air—testing me, waiting to see if I'd flinch.
But we both knew an O13 member doesn't fold to something this insignificant.
"You know the rules, don't you… my friend?" I asked.
I didn't need to say more.
Its hand dropped.
I really hate this job.
"Eating prey that isn't afraid is no fun, little weaver," it said. If its voice weren't so distorted, I might've thought it was laughing.
But a flesh-eater like this didn't feel much beyond hunger.
"The goblin market is…" I paused, searching for the right word.
"…ethical."
My hand slipped into my pocket. Looking for something specific deep in the fabric.
"Try not to leave your lunch lying around. We wouldn't want humans getting too… frightened."
Before I could finish, it was gone.
Or at least—it should have been.
But rule-breakers were always the difficult ones.
I didn't turn around.
My magic was far faster than my reaction time.
An ice rapier formed instantly, blocking the sharp claws of the "little friend" I'd just made.
Tilting my head, I watched it grind its teeth at me—hateful, determined.
"Seriously? You do know who I am, right?" I asked, uninterested.
The ice blade was strong enough to hold on its own. I saw no need to multiply it.
"We can dance… like you asked," it said, its voice vibrating so harshly it sounded like a covered, broken mic.
It lunged—suddenly switched tactics—grabbing my ice sword with its grotesque three fingers by the middle of the blade, then swinging it at me like a poorly held knife.
"Come on, man," I muttered to myself, jumping back—though not very far.
I was too grounded in my stance. Fluid movement was never my strength. Magic always came first in my training.
It stared at me, relentless.
"W-We're J-just getTing stArteD—"
Its voice broke as the rapier melted in its hand.
It paused, looking down at the water dripping from its fingers.
I stood still.
I could drag this out. Make it entertaining.
But that wasn't my style.
So I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a plain playing card—the seven of hearts I had stuffed in there during a previous mission
The ghoul did know who I was.
It just chose to be stubborn.
The second it saw the card, it knew what was coming.
So in a last-ditch effort, it lunged at me—one hand outstretched, hoping to at least scratch me before its inevitable end.
"I don't feel like playing."
I dodged once.
Then again, as its other hand nearly grazed me—which would've been embarrassing.
Then a third time—
I slipped past it smoothly, raising the card to its head.
"So… say hi to your new sentence."
A blue light wrapped around the card in my hand just as the creature turned toward me
And before it could react, it was pulled in, sealed within it until I decided to free it.
Someday.
The card hovered in the air for a moment before drifting down like a feather to my feet.
And there it was—My new little "friend," captured like artwork on a playing card.
And just like that—
The fight was over before it even began.
I turned back toward the stairs, ready to return to the boy.
And figure him out next.