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VoC: B1 — 31. Alley Assassins
🕑 Added 2025-10-01 23:06:49 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Damon (Our Dhampir Former Prince!)
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The cool underground air gave way to the oppressive heat of late afternoon as Damon emerged from the hidden entrance, Copper padding silently beside him. The fountain mechanism sealed itself behind them with barely a whisper, leaving no trace of the underworld that thrived beneath Bluerise’s lawful veneer.
Sunlight hit him like a weight slung across his shoulders, reminding him what would happen if his bracelet were removed.
His legs kept moving—one foot, then the other—but his mind was stuck in that candlelit room with Cassy’s dead eyes and her mechanical curtsy.
Trash Eater. Fishbreath. Cursed money pit.
The words echoed with the same hollow tone she’d used calling him ‘Master,’ and underneath it all was Merana’s song, bleeding through every careful word about walking forward while the past burned behind her.
This is my new world, he told himself, fingers unconsciously brushing the leather pouch where Ashcroft’s copper coin rested like a lead weight. Get used to it. For Sophia. For Aria. This is what it takes.
But knowing something and accepting it were like two different countries at war, and right now, he was caught at the border between them, passport denied.
The clamor of merchants hawking figs and bolts of cloth drifted faintly in the distance, but here in the plaza, only dust motes moved through shafts of amber light. The lawful façade reasserted itself with whitewashed walls and shuttered balconies that gleamed like teeth.
‘Everything’s falling into place,’ Ashcroft had said. But whose place? The Pit owner’s? Titania’s? Or was he just a piece on a board he couldn’t even see the edges of—moving where invisible hands pushed him, thinking he had agency when really…
His jaw clenched, fangs aching with renewed intensity. The sensation had been building since entering the lower city, a persistent throb that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Now, it felt like needles pressing outward from his gums, demanding attention he didn’t have time to give.
One problem at a time. Get back to Aria. Make sure she hasn’t accidentally started a diplomatic incident or adopted three cute strays. Then figure out how to survive whatever fresh hell tomorrow brings.
The teenage shark girl’s image refused to leave his mind, though. That hollow exhaustion in her blood-red eyes, the way she’d moved with mechanical precision, serving drinks to the very people who’d stripped away her name and replaced it with ‘fishbreath.’
Does it matter at all? The thought tasted bitter. Being angry about it? Wanting to fix it? When I can barely keep myself alive long enough to save the people I actually came here for? Titania, what are you pushing me toward?
“We need to get back to the inn, bud,” he muttered to Copper, who looked up at him with those intelligent brown eyes. “Aria’s probably already ordering half the menu and charming the staff into giving her free dessert…not that she can taste it, ironically. But, with her pride feat, yeah, appearances are probably everything to her.”
The bear cub made a sound that might have been agreement or amusement, tongue flicking out to lick his black little nose—their bond was still new enough that Damon couldn’t always tell the difference.
He pulled out the crude mental map he’d been building of the city, trying to orient himself. All he’d been given were vague directions from Ashcroft, so he’d need to backtrack in this colossal city.
Two rights, then a left? Or was it left first? He frowned, studying the narrow streets branching off in multiple directions. Damn it, I should have paid more attention on the way here instead of spiraling about Aria, Mom, and Soph.
Damon took his first step back the way he’d come, hopefully to return to the garden district, Copper beside him. This time, he noticed a few small waterway channels that must branch off a river. From his youth studies, he recalled there being a massive river that ran from north to south, emptying into the sea that passed through the giant city.
He hadn’t seen it, but he must have used a boat to get here from Aurelia, Stephen’s territory.
His hands searched for pockets he didn’t have, a habitual gesture from a life where jean pockets held his phone, wallet, keys—all the anchors of identity he’d taken for granted. Now his fingers found only fabric and skin, this borrowed body still foreign in a thousand small ways.
I can’t believe I’m missing pockets. They have to have someone who makes them here.
Copper’s ears swiveled next to him, a low rumble resonating in his throat as they entered an alleyway. The sound traveled through their bond like an electric current—danger.
Damon’s vision sharpened, easily piercing the shadows that pooled between buildings. Nothing. Just limestone brick walls and shuttered windows. But through their bond, he felt Copper’s wariness spike, making his own shoulders tense in response.
“What is it, boy?”
The cub’s fur began to bristle slightly, not quite deploying his defensive quills but preparing for the possibility. Damon followed his gaze upward to the towering buildings on either side, their windows like empty eye sockets.
A three-tailed, three-eyed cat lounged in a gutter high above them, staring down with feline indifference that somehow felt more predatory than curious.
Odd. Trust those instincts, bud.
He chose the alley on the left, something in Copper’s posture suggesting it was the safer option. The passage was clean but narrow, four-story buildings casting everything in premature twilight. Somewhere above, shutters clapped in the wind.
His mind drifted to Merana’s words.
“Are you lost? Take my hand…and I’ll walk with you.”
The Wyvern Tamer’s pain reminded him of seventeen-year-old Damon in that hospital hallway—parents dead, police lights still flashing in his memory—collecting his petrified ten-year-old sister from that bed. The moment her trembling hand slid into his, her eyes finally met his, as the tears overflowed.
I feel that moment, but not from Merana’s point of view. From Esgneal’s. Those words she sang—I understand them now. All I am—even more, I’ll give it to you. No. Aria colored me in, from my skin to my bones.
Time seemed to stand still as he saw another branch spreading out from that tree—Sophia, and now Copper.
There’s nothing I’d change. Nothing at all…
Merana was the same, the past burning, yet walking toward the future. And Esgneal was Level 65 with decades of grinding through hell, leading him to be beloved, respected, and grounded. That was who he was stepping into the shoes of.
She said I reminded her of him, bud, he muttered internally to Copper in their slow walk to the Garden district. That Titania chose well. So maybe I can actually do this…if I can get my head on straight.
A bell tolled sixteen notes somewhere—four p.m.—and his fangs throbbed harder. [Gnawing Thirst] spreading from canines to molars. Purple-tier, countered by [Strong Spirit], but still demanding.
The alley opened into a small courtyard. Moss clawed between cobblestones, a dry fountain at its center carved with chipped lions. The buildings looked vaguely familiar.
Copper’s growl brought him out of the internal spiral to scan the zone. It was soft, barely audible, but the emotion behind it hit Damon like a hammer through their bond:
Danger. Multiple threats. Surrounding.
You’ve been jumpy since we exited, bud. Spies or assassins? No, I think we know which, he mumbled internally.
[System Trickery: Success]
The notification flashed across his vision, and Damon’s stomach dropped.
Shit.
He’d been so focused on Merana’s pain, on Cassy’s dull eyes, on the copper coin burning a hole in his pouch—he’d missed the obvious signs. Copper had been trying to warn him since they’d left the underground, and he’d been too caught up in his own spiral to listen.
Well, at least my fake stat sheet succeeded. The question is…who tried to break into my system information? Are we about to get jumped, bud?
His eyes snapped to the corners, scanning the courtyard’s edges. At first, he saw nothing. Then a boot scraped stone. Another shadow bent wrong against the wall. They peeled out one by one—some kind of shadow magic, he was sure—five men, moving with the slow assurance of wolves that had already closed the circle.
Yup. We’re about to get jumped.
Copper’s thorns began to grow, his body swelling to nearly twice his size—as big as a full-grown mastiff now, compact and powerfully built.
Sorry, bud. My brain has been reeling since this morning. It’s a good thing one of us has their head on straight, because today has been… Overwhelming doesn’t even cover it. I think we should be prepared for anything.
The system menu privately flashed open, and Damon confirmed, five in total—at least, from what he could see.
[Tamer’s Bond - Feat Share: Activated]
[1 of 4 - Humanoid Transformation currently in use]
He sent a request to Copper—he accepted instantly—yet was shocked at the message that returned, bringing a smile to his lips.
[2 of 4 Shareable Feat Slots in Use]
My Share Feats were 2 with Aria this morning. I didn’t notice it went to 4 when I bonded with Copper. Every bond increases the available slots by two. Good to know.
His hazel eyes darted ahead, sending another request, this time to his sister.
The response?
Pending.
Ahead?
All male, all human, all moving with the casual confidence of predators who’d cornered prey. Beside him, Copper was growing more agitated by the second.
I should have listened to you earlier, bud. My bad. At least the request didn’t say “too far away.” And, of course, no guards when you actually need them, huh?
His hand instinctively moved toward his bracelet—the one thing keeping him from burning in sunlight and Aria from becoming pure jewelry. The men noticed the gesture, and one smiled beneath his hood.
They know exactly what it is. My [System Trickery] only works on my own stats, not the item’s. They’re not here to rob me. They’re here to kill me.
The realization should have terrified him. Maybe it would later, when he had time to process. Right now, it just felt like confirmation of what he’d known since Ashcroft handed him that coin: every move in this city was calculated, every interaction a test.
Accept the request, Aria!
Through his bond with Copper, he felt the cub’s determination—not fear, but readiness. The bear had separated from his leg for the first time, claws extended, positioning himself between Damon and the humans.
Thanks, bud. Let’s show them why that was a bad idea.
“Easy there, dark-eared prince,” the leader said, stepping forward with the casual confidence of someone who’d done this before. “We’re just here for a little chat.”
“A chat.” Damon’s voice came out flat, his New York instincts finally kicking in past the fog of exhaustion and culture shock. He’d seen this setup before—different city, different world, same predatory patience. “In an empty courtyard. A lookout cat familiar, probably, to track me, and with five armed men. Great icebreaker.”
“Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a bit unfriendly.” The leader’s smile widened, showing teeth that had seen better days. “But we heard you came into some money recently. Copper coin from the good Pit owner, word is. That’s a lot of wealth for a convicted dark elf prince to be carrying around.”
Ashcroft!
Internally seething at how much trouble one coin had caused him, Damon breathed, steadying his nerves. He’d been in fights before, but this was likely life or death. And if it meant their dead eyes on the ground or his sister discovering his vacant stare… There wasn’t a choice to make.
[F-tier Perception: Activated].
“Not a smart move, boys,” Damon muttered as the other four spread out, forming a loose circle. Damon noted their positions with the instinctive calculation of someone who’d grown up in Hell’s Kitchen—two behind, one on each flank, leader in front. “I might be more than you bargained for.”
“Oh, I think we know exactly who you are…”
His eyes narrowed as he caught movement in his peripheral vision. One of the men inched closer, making Copper lash out. Yet, it was a distraction—sleight of hand—something Damon knew well in New York City. Behind him, the other was inching closer, hand reaching out slowly.
This bastard is going for my bracelet to burn me alive! Copper, we fight!
Damon spun, pulling back—fingers brushed the bracelet’s edge.
[Spatial Magic: Displacement] activated on pure instinct, terror overriding thought.
Reality folded.
For one impossible heartbeat, Damon existed in two places at once, his mind stretching like taffy between locations. The sensation was visceral and wrong—as if his consciousness had been split down the middle and forced through a needle’s eye. His stomach lurched, spatial dimensions that shouldn’t exist suddenly existing, then—
He snapped seven feet away, the courtyard spinning back into focus.
The thief spun, confused. “What the—”
“No one said anything about teleportation!”
No time to think. His body was already moving, the cub driven by [Feral Instincts] to lurch forward. Damon’s forearms erupted.
Green quills burst through skin and fabric in a wave of emerald needles. The sensation was alien—Copper’s biology flooding his nervous system, transforming flesh into living weaponry. It should have hurt. It did hurt. But the pain felt distant, processed by nerve clusters that understood this transformation as natural as breathing.
[Shared Feat Activated: Thorns]
“Monster!”
“What was that?!”
“He’s a 10-year-old boy without his bracelet,” the leader snarled, and Damon heard the slight tremor beneath the bravado. “Don’t panic. Surround him!”
Damon could sense Copper’s feral mind flare through their bond: Murder—all of them.
He was already tracking them. Professional coordination. Two circling behind. Flankers moving. Leader advancing.
One dove for Copper. The cub exploded into motion faster than Damon—faster than the bandit—expected. Small body, massive strength. Jaws clamped on ankle, twisting with impossible force. The man screamed as he left the ground like a ragdoll, sailing ten feet before cracking into stone. His leg bent wrong, compound fracture tearing through skin.
Damn, Copper! And you’re still Level 1.
“Agh—[Binding: Chains]!”
The scarred caster thrust both hands forward from his crumpled position. Magic flared white around his wrists, and suddenly spectral chains erupted from his glowing arms—iron links wreathed in pale fire, lashing out like striking vipers.
His leg is destroyed, and he still—
Chains wrapped Damon’s legs, torso, and arms. His thorns scraped uselessly against ethereal metal as the others advanced. The chains tightened, yanking him to his knees with enough force to crack stone beneath him. More chains shot toward Copper, coiling around the cub’s body mid-charge.
Shit. Think, Damon. Think!
His mind raced through options, terror warring with the cold calculation of [Indomitable Will]. The Feat was keeping him focused, keeping him functional, but underneath it, he could feel the panic—the twenty-four-year-old man from Earth who’d never actually tried to kill anyone, who’d talked his way out of muggings rather than fought.
Damon’s chest hammered as he saw a man preparing some sort of spell for Copper; he made the decision.
That kid dies here. Or these men do. Choose.
[3 of 4 Shareable Feat Slots in Use]
[Shared Feat Activated: Displacement]
Copper’s form flickered—space folded—and the cub materialized several feet away, chains falling through empty air. Through their bond, Damon felt the bear’s savage satisfaction.
The knife-wielder’s blade came for his left eye.
Time seemed to slow—not magically, just adrenaline doing what adrenaline did. Damon could see the pitted edge of the steel, smell the man’s sweat, register the professional efficiency of the strike. This wasn’t personal for them. Just business.
Make it personal.
His left forearm came up. The quills responded to his desperate will, thickening into barbed armor—a shield of living thorns coating his skin. The knife struck.
Steel met thorn. Sparks flew.
The impact jarred his bone, sent shockwaves up his arm that made his vision go white for a split second. Several quills chipped and broke away, spinning through the air like green confetti. But the base held. The blade skittered off hardened points with a metallic screech that set his teeth on edge.
Holy shit, that actually worked.
Damon focused on his right palm, remembering how long Copper’s barbs could extend. An eighteen-inch thorn shot from his hand like a spear, growing in a heartbeat. He thrust upward into the second attacker’s thigh, feeling the resistance of denim, then skin, then muscle.
Blood. The man’s blood, running down his arm. The coppery smell hit him, and his aching fangs throbbed in response. [Gnawing Thirst] surged through his system like fire in his veins.
Screaming. The man stumbled back, clutching his leg.
“Grah! He ain’t no novice!”
“Four, get that bear. He’s not a fighter; he’s a Sage. Lockdown the bear. No more playing around…”
“Sir! [Charge]!”
The chains dissolved—caster’s concentration broken by Copper’s charge as he redirected the spell at him again. The bear flickered and appeared closer, closing in fast.
“Grrrraahh!” Copper roared, only for the largest of the cloaked figures to launch forward at a rapid sprint, barreling into the bear to smash him against the wall. Only, it didn’t quite go as planned. “Grrrrr!”
Copper’s feet dragged along the floor, stopping the glowing man’s Feat with raw strength and tenacity. He barely managed to twist around his snapping jaws, claws ripping into his clothing, revealing metal underneath that withstood the attack.
Damon lifted his long spike, attached to his hand, to block the leader’s incoming blows, and…he feinted. Short sword flipping to his other hand, the naked steel went for his throat.
Shit!
[Displacement] carried him away, yet the man was already flipping around, blade once again reaching for his throat—they were far too skilled. Then, he spotted scattered seeds below his feet.
“Nature Magic: Entangling Roots!” one of the others called out, holding out a hand.
Spectral vines burst from stone grooves, thorned tendrils lashing at Damon’s legs. He jumped—one caught his ankle, yanking.
The leader’s grin flashed under his hood, taking one step forward, steel in motion. Then—
[Request Accepted]
Finally, Aria!
Damon pointed.
[Instant Cast]
[Time Magic: Slow]
There was no flashy light. No aura or blast. Just an invisible force, washing over the leader in temporal distortion. The man’s movements became molasses—vision widening in slow motion.
[Enhancement Magic: Twitch Muscles] and [Athletics] gave him a hair’s advantage.
Damon sidestepped the thrust just in time.
[Mana: 97/300]
The world sharpened. His body moved faster—perception crystallizing as the leader’s knife thrust came inches from his exposed neck. Damon weaved left, blade passing through empty air.
He couldn’t focus on Copper; he had to trust his cub. [Perception] told him two more closing from flanks. Damon swept his thorn-spear in an arc—they scattered back.
“[Ice Bolt]!”
Just then, a flash of icy light caught his vision, and [Displacement] carried him away just in time for an icicle as long as his forearm passed through where his head had been. The man wasn’t holding up his hand; the ice came from some sort of page he’d pulled out.
What kind of magic is that—paper magic?
[Mana: 57/300]
What the hell! When did my mana get so low?
Stealth? Dammit!
The two that were closing in had covered the distance; they were getting used to his teleport tricks. A hand reached for his throat, a sword arcing to cut off his hand, then, a hair-raising cry shook the ground—Copper.
[Elite Intimidating Roar]
The sound didn’t just hit; it detonated, primal terror bypassing conscious thought, striking genetic memory. Three men froze, eyes snapping to Copper. [Fear] locked their bodies before the [Mass Taunt] activated.
“One, I can’t—”
“That bear, hit him with everything! Now!”
The chain caster recovered—hands glowing, spell redirecting toward the threat—
Teleport! Damon screamed, but he felt the problem before the thought fully registered.
Copper was out of mana.
Yet, his bear had done something celestial: every single man was now wholly focused on the little spike ball for thirty seconds.
Gritting his teeth, fangs burning, Damon dove right and cradled his cub as the Wizard’s words came out.
“[Lightning Bolt]!”
White energy screamed toward them.
[Displacement]
[Mana: 7/300]
Unfortunately, he hadn’t been fast enough. Lightning scattered across his back, and heat scorched his flesh. Pain lanced to his shoulder. The thorns at his back smoked, tips blackening, but it had surprisingly blunted some of the damage.
Wait… I’m an idiot! Copper is the tank!
Still, the bear’s big eyes and lick on his nose helped stabilize Damon’s thoughts. The others were rushing in now.
Men cursing the cub, spreading—
Damon’s vision swam. His mana reserves were screaming, body now sluggish. His companion’s barbs were now burrowing into his skin, his own rubbing against Copper’s fur.
That really was a stupid mistake…
A boot caught Copper’s ribs, still held in his arms—thud—the cub yelped, tumbling.
Copper!
Rage flooded hot. Fangs extended fully, aching. [Gnawing Thirst] and adrenaline sharpening every sense as blood filled his nostrils.
I could bite one. Just—
The leader closed in, grabbing him by the hair, knife angled for Damon’s throat—
“This was a hell of a lot more work than it should have—”
The man’s eyes went wide, his grip loosened, and then…the knife clattered to the cobblestones, mouth gaping. Damon, wincing, looked up in bewilderment to see the man’s hand reaching for his own throat—fingers coming away red—then, he lurched to the side, chest convulsing, lungs filling with crimson, arterial spray painting the ground.
What…happened?
Damon’s eyes searched for the attacker. Nothing. Empty courtyard.
The slowed man—temporal distortion finally fading—forced himself to his knees. He dug around his own throat, bloodshot eyes seeking air as wet, raspy noises gurgled from deep inside him. Then, something struck the base of his neck, a cracking sound filling the silence. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Where—
It was quiet, though. Every man froze in place.
Torn fabric whipped around one’s throat from behind—from empty air—yanking back. An invisible force drove into the base of his neck, at the spine. He crumpled to the ground, vision wide, paralyzed, no doubt screaming inside upon crumpling to the ground.
The other dropped at the same time.
Three down. Two seconds.
Damon couldn’t see the killer.
The chain caster backed away, hands raised, magic building desperately— “W-We did what you hired us to—why are you killing us?!”
A blade appeared from nowhere—simply there—finding the gap between the vertebrae at the base of his skull with surgical precision. He gasped once. Collapsed.
Shadow magic? Invisibility? Who—
The final attacker—the one Damon had stabbed—tried to limp away.
A throwing knife materialized mid-flight, taking him in the back of the neck. Same pattern. Same horrific result. Severed spinal cord. He didn’t even manage one more step before folding forward, leaving utter silence. Copper still held tight against his pounding chest.
Five men. Four seconds.
Movement.
A figure materialized from the shadow. Not walking out. Not fading in. Simply appearing where empty space had been a moment before.
Torn cloak. Bloodstains—fresh and old. Fitted combat leather beneath. A bloody nose, split lip, and light, angled cuts along her neck. Scratches were visible across her left cheek—four parallel claw marks. She was breathing with some difficulty.
“Vera?” Damon breathed.
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