AKEMI | Ch. 21

Akemi hopped over the fence once more, strutting into the clearing without any attempt at subtly. Jore screamed as soon as he saw her, tripping over his hooves as he collapsed into the wild weeds.

“Kobe! it’s a… by the gods… it’s a person!”

“Yeah, right,” Kobe scoffed. “We’re in the middle of bumhell-nowhere. Are you sure you’re not just imagining were-rabbits?”

Kobe exited the tent next. He was a similar type of goat-person, nearly identical to Jore, except he was a bit taller, and with more muscle. Knee plates sat over his curved legs, and metal boots curved around his hooves. A dagger, freshly sharpened, was strapped to his hip.

“Well, I’ll be,” he said, reaching for his weapon. “You’re no were-rabbit.”

Kobe D’Crosse | Level 7 Bloodlust Thief

Akemi’s smile faltered. Shit. Level seven.

She knew she was reliably able to kill people above her level, sure, but only when they were of non-combat classes. She could try chloroforming him, but he was already on edge—and seemed to have better reflexes than the rest of the brutes she’d run up against.

Deciding it wasn’t worth it—at least not yet—Akemi threw up her hands.

“No, I’m not. And I promise I’m much less scary,” she lied. No persuasion die rolled, luckily. Maybe were-rabbits really were just that frightening. “I’m just an… associate. A fellow villain.”

“Oh yeah? An associate who stole our steak?”

Akemi grimaced.

Guess this one’s not stupid.

She held her stomach pitifully. “Been a few days without food, I fear. I thought you were heroes escaping from Kyndra. But my mistake, I’ll happily give the food back.”

Kobe looked at her skeptically. As a peace offering, she produced the steak on its platter and laid it back into the grass, shoving it towards them with her boot. The pika, displeased with its food getting farther and farther away, made a whining noise.

Jore jumped, screeching. “Were-rabbit! Were-rabbit!”

Kobe rolled his eyes. “Oh, be quiet, Jore. That’s just a weird looking dog.”

Akemi bit her lip to contain her laugh.

“We don’t share food, sorry,” Kobe said. “This is our steak.”

Jore slowly approached the pika, dropping into a squat to be at eye-level with it.

“Oh, you’re right, Kobe, this isn’t some scary were-rabbit,” he said, scratching at the pika’s fur. The creature purred, fire-tail whipping affectionately.

“Don’t get too cordial with the thief, Kobe.”

“I’m not getting cordial with the thief,” he protested. “Just with the thief’s dog.”

“Or the thief’s dog.”

“Look how hungry the poor mutt is,” Jore said, frowning at the pika. “Let’s be nice, can’t we? They’re fellow villains, after all. Aren’t we supposed to look after eachother? Thick as thieves, isn’t that the motto?”

“Jore…”

“Kobe…”

The two stared at each other—exchanging a heated glance that Akemi assumed only two brothers could understand—until Kobe finally relented.

“Fine,” he said, throwing up his hooves. “You and your dog can have a bite. But only a bite, and I mean it. And we’re not about to share our tents. I need my space.”

Akemi gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you.”

If she didn’t want information so badly, he’d be lying in the grass.

His brother, though… he was a little too amusing to meet that kind of fate. She’d probably leave him the pika and a few toadstools.

Jore patted down his apron. “Agh, my chef’s knife… I must have left it at home.”

Kobe fixed her with an accusatory glare.

“You steal that, too?”

Akemi threw up her hands. “Not at all. But I think I can help.”

She brandished her knife fingers, and cut into the steak easily. It was a supple, beautiful thing. Perfectly rare. She cut into quadrants, offering the smallest to the pika, who gobbled it in a freakishly short amount of time.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass, accompanied by the jovial warmth of a good meal, the thieves began to get a bit more comfortable. Kobe’s tightly-wound shoulders fell.

“So, where you from?” he asked casually, driving a two-pronged fork into his steak and ripping into it. “Don’t see many accountants around here.”

“That word—accountants—why do you say it like that?” Akemi interjected, unable to stop herself from jumping at the mention of it. Her curiosity was morbid.  “I’ve gathered that it’s not actually about paperwork, but everyone I meet is so goddamn tightlipped about the whole thing.”

“Wait, you don’t know?”

“Clearly,” she did, jabbing another bite of meat into her mouth.

The two brothers looked at eachother, conveyed another unknown message, then Kobe shrugged.

“Assassins. Accountants are… assassins. Of a kind. Technically, Nocturne’s variety is called the Shadow Auditors. They manipulate blood, and statistics.”

The fork stilled on its way to Akemi’s mouth. Blinking slowly, she set it back down on the plate.

“Then why the hell are they called accountants, and not Shadow Auditors?”

“Well, because…” Kobe trailed off. His nose twisted cutely, thoughts percolating in his head. “They’re a cover for the Shadow Auditor’s Coterie. The SAC is a real old guild. A very important one here in the Emberheart Plains. Their current leader, Nocturne, has led the guild since its heyday, back when most cities and villages were run by villains and crooks.” His eyes gleamed. “A real stupendous time to be alive, I’ll tell you that.”

By the time he was done talking, a large, proud grin was plastered on his face. It was clear he enjoyed the subject.

“You’re making yourself sound ancient again,” Jore mumbled, then turned to Akemi, whispering to her like they were sharing in some grand secret. “Kobe’s only twenty-two, but he’s an obsessive history buff. Don’t let him convince you that he’s some old head.”

Kobe glared at him, then shoved Jore’s portion of the steak into the grass. Jore complained loudly, and Akemi found herself laughing—something she rarely did in the presence of other people. It was probably because they were goats. Hard not to be amused by two goats bickering like human siblings. It felt like the stories she told herself as a farm kid had come alive.

“A history buff, huh?” Akemi leaned forward, placing her chin on her hand. The embers of the fire jumped up and down, nearly falling into her hair. The warmth was nice, although not overly needed—the weather was humid as it was. She enjoyed the aesthetic of it more than anything, the way the light danced over the goat’s eager, chomping faces under the drape of night. “You’re just the goat I’ve been looking for, then.”

Kobe stifled the grin Akemi knew was fighting to win over his features. He was trying his very hardest to feign disinterest.

But the way he set down his fork gave him away; he was eager to drone on, like any common high school geek Akemi had ever encountered, only this one had hooves.

“What do you want to know?” he said, avoiding her eyes. “But keep it brief. Moon’s getting high in the sky, and me and Jore have to head out early next morning.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just two little things.” She had been thinking very carefully about what she wanted to know. Not particularly in order of importance, but in order of how annoying it felt not to know it. “First question. How do heroes gain experience?”

The question had been nagging her ever since Brutus brought it up. Villains killed for it, but heroes? It was still a question mark in her mind.

“Historically, or current day?”

“Current day,” she huffed, sensing she would get a lecture if she wasn’t careful. “Right now.”

He frowned. “Well, right now it’s rather simple. They exchange a villain’s soul for money.”

Akemi choked.

“Exchange their souls?” She coughed. “And how exactly is that more noble than a villain slitting a hero’s throat?”

He shrugged. “Well, depends on how you define noble.”

“I’d expect your average person to define it with less manslaughter.”

Kobe laughed. “Well, the way a hero sees it, it’s not manslaughter. They’re just lending your soul to Kyndra for cleansing. Heroes don’t see what happens to  your body after it evaporates into shiny gold coins, so they don’t have to worry about the ethics of all of it. But in the practical sense, you’re being sold. Your soul goes to Dracath, the Immortal Marketplace, where it’s sold for auction to all kinds of creeps and freaks—soul-slave traders, archangel politicians looking for free interns. Kyndra does save some for her personal collection, I hear, but mostly she just disposes of them there.”

Akemi pursed her lips, digesting the information. She was mildly—no, thoroughly—impressed.

“This Kyndra, she’s the hero goddess, right? She sounds… diabolical.”

Kobe nodded, agreeing vaguely with her assessment.

“Heroes and villains, it’s all just semantics. Kyndra and the Dark Lady are good pals, as far as I’ve read. Fun fact: no war has been waged by their suggestion. It's always mortal folly. Why? Because no common person bothers to read the actual historical texts. A whole lot of disagreements could be settled if the average citizen picked up a book.” He groaned. This was obviously a sore subject. “I chose this path of the villain because it's the most lucrative. Simple as that. I see it as a means to an end, like any other job. Most heroes live like despots in those communal housing situations. Not me and Jore. We’re aiming to live like kings.”

“With the crowns and everything,” Jore added smugly, grabbing two twigs and placing them on his head for emphasis. “Kobe will bring in the money, and I’ll make sure a gourmet dinner of steak, cheese, and berries is on the table every night. Ain’t that right, Kobe?”

“You seem to have conveniently forgotten the catering business you swore you’d start once we got things going.” Kobe glared. “This isn’t about to be a single-income household, you jerk.”

Jore giggled.

“One last question,” Akemi said, waving her hand to get their attention. The moon was decidedly high in the sky, and she sensed Kobe’s patience was running thin. “Do you happen to know who the Avatar is?”

Kobe gave her a strange look. “The cow?”

“Yes!” Akemi shouted excitedly. “Yes, the goddamn cow.”

“He’s the System Arbiter. Settles… disputes. Not much is known about him other than that. I’ve tried to find good books about him, but they’re all rather verbose. The type of books that say a lot without saying much at all. There is one interesting tidbit, though.” His eyes glinted again. “It’s said that he occasionally bestows gifts, especially in the form of skills and abilities, but other sources disagree about the terminology—that he does not bestow gifts, but counterbalances. He’s predominantly concerned with equality, after all, not winners and losers.”

That sounds familiar.

Akemi realized quickly that she didn’t care so much to know about the cow—and especially not about his philosophies—but about what to do with his so-called gifts.

“If one were to receive one of these skill-type gifts, would there be a way to improve that skill? Upgrade it? I’ve only seen the ability to upgrade skills that are from classes you have chosen, not for skills that were… bestowed, or whatever it is.”

Kobe’s facade of disinterest fell to the wayside, his mouth parting slightly in obvious curiosity.

“Have you received a blessing from the Avatar?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You must tell me everything,” he demanded, blinking quickly. “Your first-hand account is better than any shabby book I could dream to find in Grimguard’s libraries.”

She considered it. She didn’t particularly feel like telling him anything. But he had been useful to her, and she didn’t feel like killing him right now—her back ached, and his brother was too endearing—so with a roll of her eyes, she gave him a concise recap of how she ended up here.

“Fascinating. Just fascinating,” Kobe said. He was scribbling into a small, muslin notebook, recording her every word like it was gospel.

“Sorry to hear about your village back on Urth,” Jore mumbled. “I would be mighty displeased if my home went up in smoke like that just before I got to play your, er, vid-ae-yo-game?”

“Videogame,” Akemi corrected.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

With the tension between them diffused, the group found themselves talking until the fire was mere cinders, and the sun had begun to break through the horizon. Akemi, never a fan of conversation unless it concluded in either money or food, found it all unexpectedly tolerable. Mostly because Kobe was surprisingly intelligent. He knew about a wide assortment of subjects, from the Emberheart Plains’ geography to the history of the various guilds. He was the type of person who would have excelled on Jeopardy, if Kodra had such a thing.

“I must say, Akemi. If I’m honest, I was thinking of chopping you to bits and selling the armor, but you’re alright,” Kobe said. “In fact, I… I was thinking maybe we should stay in touch. In case you remember anything else about your experiences with the Avatar. Or if he reaches out again, and so forth. In exchange, I’d be happy to, er, answer a question here and there, when we have the time.”

“Yes! Me too!” Jore said gleefully, clopping his hooves together. “I don’t think I’ll be too helpful on the question front—unless you’re asking about how to season a mackerel—but I’d love to come check in on that doggy of yours sometime. I’m sure he’s gonna grow up real big and fluffy.”

Akemi didn’t have the heart to tell him that she doubted the pika was going to grow bigger than a handbasket, so she didn’t. But she did accept their offer.

“You can add us as accomplices,” Kobe explained. “It’s a perk of being a villain. Heroes have to use old-fashioned ways of communication—letters, doves, the like—but if you mark us as accomplices, we can send each other messages through the System.”

“Really?” Akemi raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That seems like a huge advantage over heroes. In battles, wouldn’t that act as a form of telepathy?”

Kobe gave her an impressed grin. “It has a certain message radius. You can only use it to send messages to accomplices that are out of your immediate range. So no, no battle telepathy.”

“Hm. Too bad. But still useful.”

She added them both as accomplices. Just as they were about to fold the flap closed on their tents, it crossed her mind to ask the obvious.

“Kobe, one last question,” she ventured. “Where the hell is Grimguard?”