If Vesdel wasn't being held in place by some mysterious magic, the force of him suddenly being tugged back probably would have thrown him over. Feebly he struggled to get away, but in his condition it wasn't long until he was tired. He was right not to pack his instrument away.

"Y-yohou wahnt me to ssstay?"

He dropped the case and ran his fingers over the keys, hoping that a good march would losen his limbs and bring the life back in his legs enough to escape. He changed his mind, he didn't want to go to Biscoto's with this man, he gave him that feeling, the kind he got from Basil's first encounter. Would have been nice if that feeling came along sooner.

Vesdel wasn't the brightest.

With a predatory look in his eye, the strange man stopped an arm's length away from Vesdel and folded his arms tightly against his chest; he loomed like a giant in front of the invalid and was staring down at him, like how a child eyes down at an ant before squashing it between his thumb and the ground.

There was a brief, but overwhelming silence that seemed to drag on for an eternity before the man’s face and the tension in his body softened; once again, he smiled a big, broad smile and his eyes glazed over. Everything was good, perfect, even, provided Vesdel didn’t try and excuse himself again. The vagrant spirit would leave when he was dismissed and not before.

“Good fin’ yer ‘ad the sense to stop ‘cuz I were gonna eat yer if yer didn’t,” he half-joked. Vesdel didn’t look appetizing, but he was still a Voleur d’Ame, weak and ignorant though he appeared, and he was worth at least a dozen of the townsfolk . . . Still, little good that did him since he, purposely or not, involved himself with the Dirige, and not just any agent, either, but, unwittingly, he had put himself in the path of one of Death’s old Followers. This guy had some luck.

“That’s really wot yer do, eh? Yer in fer it, fella.” The man, disappointed, shook his head and eased his grip on Vesdel’s mobility; however, Vesdel was not free and the man gave him a look that almost dared him to try and run.

"Music," he snorted. "You play music."

Something was funny about eating a burn victim.

"Heh M'alrheady pre cooked." And that was it. This man was a cannibal and he wanted a snack. He heard stories about it from far away unknown tribes, but he didn't expect to find a cannibal here. What was even more unheard of were reaper cannibals, but it might not technically be cannibalism if they weren't the same kind of people.

Did Vesdel even qualify as a human anymore? He didn't try to escape even though he loosened his magical grip on him, but he did take the opportunity to sort of relax his muscles. "Fer whot? Fer plahyihng mhusssic? I kin ssstohp if you whant."

The march ceased playing, but it didn't mean he wasn't searching his brain for a tune that would get him out of this mess. He'd figure it out soon.

Eying Vesdel up and down once more, the strange man snorted out a laugh and turned around, spreading his arms so wide that the gesture encompassed the whole of the townsfolk still lying on the ground.

"This," the man's voice became a loud and booming sound; he turned back around and faced Vesdel with the same stern, unforgiving look he had had when he stopped the man, "is me committin’ a crime so grievous that, if I’m caught and subdued, I’ll be bloody well executed on the spot by the senior Reaper residin’ here.”

Unconcerned with the consequences of his crime, however, the man shrugged and continued on:

“Wotcher ffink they’re gonna do wiv a spirit that’s fucked wiv one of their own?”

Basil had been a weak, pathetic example of a Reaper; he was, in no way, an average Reaper, and only barely had the qualifications to maintain his post as a guide for souls... The senior Reaper, however, Bojan Myaskovsky, was a completely different creature entirely. There were even rumors of Bojan defeating three seshio-class Voleur d’ame and their Garinjcha leader near Cizok. If that rumor was true, that made Bojan very scary indeed.

"Oh, t'boy wen' ter tattle on us, by the way."

Vesdel always was and always had been a little bit slow on the uptake. What crime? What was he doing? Weren't reapers supposed to kill people like Vesdel? Whatever, he didn't want to stick around to find out, but it looked like he didn't have a choice. This man's spell had him stuck to the spot like glue.

"FFuhcked w-with!?" Vesdel was aghast at the accusation. "Hai Dihidn't heve- HMPH!" Not a hair on Basil's head was harmed. All he did was ask him a couple of questions, invited him to dance and meet him for dinner afterwards. After Biscoto's, that's when Vesdel really would have fucked with Basil, before this man so -rudely- interrupted their date.

"W-whell hat any rhate l-looksss lahke whe better ghet ghoing..." It was a weak attempt to persuade the man into letting him go, if he couldn't bribe him or make him listen to a twisted Vesdel brand of reason then he'd try to make a move. He didn't want to stick around to run into Bojan, who he was certain was the man Basil was going to fetch.

"B-besssidesss you dohn't whanna eaht a s-sssoul lahke mahne. Ah p-prolly tassste terrible." He was basically reduced to pathetic pleading at this point but " I can prolly get you m-more sssoulsss of a h-higher q-quality hif you let me."

"Riiiiiight, right, and I spose Reaper Basil just up and decided ter abandon 'is duties and not send yer on yor way, then? Or inform 'is 'andler, even, since, well, yer 'aven't been eliminated yet. Yer 'ad nuffink ter do wiv that?"

For a second time, what Vesdel confused for magic welled up inside of the man, but, instead of directing it at the vagrant, the man felt outwards, covering the town in an invisible, spiritual net of awareness.

"Why, eh? I fink I should like ter see wot they would do ter yer," the man smiled and closed the distance between he and the vagrant, standing to his side and wrapping his arm around the spirit's neck, like they were old friends, “truff is, yer don't 'ave a tasty look 'bout yer, but I won't right taste yer wen I eat yer, y'know? Drain yer of all that life yer've been takin' from the world, this tahn, and its blokes wivout even noticin' it."

Either Vesdel wasn’t fully aware of the effect he had on the living or, if he was, he didn’t know he could improve his appearance using the energy he was draining; likewise, he was still pretty young, naive and weak, too, and really slow at picking things up. He could be so much more, so much stronger... So much more fun. He just hadn’t had any reason to be. This town was too easy, too irregularly visited by the agents of death, and not enough strife to instill a real desire for strength in the living or the dead. That would have to change, the man decided silently to himself.

“I’ll let yer decide,” the mans’ arm tightened suddenly, “spirit, and don't play any games wiv me, yer 'ear me? Either I eat yer or the bleedin' reapers kill yer. Or,” he paused and his lips curved into a smile, “yer kill the reapers.”

"Ai honly wahnted to asssk him a few quessstionss..." He muttered to himself indignantly.

He had lost most of his sensation during the fire, he didn't really feel the man touching him but he felt his weight leaning up against him, and was staring straight at his menacing visage with his lidless crusted eyes whole he uttered his threats. At this point Vesdel was shaking and his hands were straying dangerously close to the keys of his instrument so he could play this man a lullaby and soothe him to sleep forever, until that is, the man made an offer.

"Hhhheh." Vesdel hissed out a chuckle exhaling his foul breath into the man's face. "Hai lahke the s-sssound of thah lassst wahn."

“I’m sure yer do,” the man replied smugly, “but,” he paused and snorted, “I’ll need ter give yer a push, won’t I? Yer won’t do as yer are,” he laughed and gathered a bit of Qi in his free hand--a bit of himself, really. A smidgen of power: his power.

Removing his arm from around Vesdel, the man turned away from him, cocked his head from side to side, his bones snapping alongside the effort, and then he turned to face the vagrant spirit again; he laughed once more, cruelly, and then, without warning, lunged forwards, extended his arm, and pushed onto Vesdel’s chest--hard, with the force of a battering ram--and threw the man down onto the ground. At first, there would be no pain, no obvious wound, but as the seconds piled on, Vesdel would experience a heat in his body that put whatever fire he experienced in his past to shame. This energy was white-hot and painful, but it was a rush, too, and after a long moment, Vesdel would find strength flooding every fiber of his being. But it wouldn’t be enough, he’d find, and the strength--this fire that the man had ignited inside of him--would begin to flicker and wane, and then the pain would come back, this time drowning out the pleasure.

If Vesdel was to look around hard enough, he would find an irresistibly similar, if not weaker, source of life in the vicinity - namely, the townsfolk that the man had already tried to force Vesdel to eat once already. There was . . . nutritional value in these people’s lives, for a spirit such as Vesdel, and the man, using a part of himself, was trying to force Vesdel into recognizing not only what he was, but what he could do; he could eat these people’s lives, devour their souls, and become quite a bit more powerful than he presently was. He was still young, however, and these townsfolk would not be quite enough to put him on the same level as a senior reaper, but it would be enough to refine his image, empower his abilities, and even help him create new, perhaps more ... symbolic ones. And there were a hell of a lot more people in Duland than presently gathered.

Either way, the pain would only build as time went on, and if he didn’t figure it out sooner rather than later, it would probably ruin whatever was left of his sanity.

Before departing, the man nudged the side of Vesdel's head with the tip of his toe: "Have fun," he said.

Finally the man released the hold on him long enough to allow him to really writhe in the dirt like a proper worm. His reaction might disappoint the man he was bargaining with depending on how far his sadism went, or it might even impress him.

It burned him alright, he felt a rising heat growing in the pits of his belly, increasing in temperature until he felt like he was in danger of combusting. His respiration was strained into serpentine hissing and grunts, as if the steam was escaping from his pores like a kettle, to surpress the urge to...

laugh.

"SSS SSS SSSS HWEH HWEH HWEH HWEH!"

He couldn't believe he wasted all his time begging and playing for money to buy petty things like clothes housing and meals when the real source of his nutrition was walking the streets, demeaning him, denying him basic services and even the right to live before SOMEBODY in this town turned his body into carbon, cast him into eternal damnation and back again. Revenge was a dish best served cold they said, but he decided he'd like his meals well cooked. Then and only then could he finally find Anna and set things straight for the both of them.

Fulfilling his craving for souls, the fire inside him intensified into a concentrated source, and with a final gagging sputter, exhaled it into a cloud of flames sparks and smoke. So that's how it worked.

"Kaff kaff kaff! Urg what wasss..." He sat up on the ground, but the man was gone already.

... snap ...

Once Vesdel began to feast and the build up of energy reached its apex, there was a crackling sound immediately followed by what sounded like a cable being retracted, pulled at high speeds; it grew, yet again, into a fast whirring, and amidst this sound, the nearest symbol to Vesdel began curling and swirling, and its color darkened to a deep crimson.

After a moment, Vesdel would feel the familiar sensation of something passing by and then, just as quickly as it and the sound appeared, it disappeared, and an awkward, heavy silence fell over the plaza.

Somewhere in town, sitting in an inn, a man smiled wildly to himself, and stretched his senses outwards, a heavy spiritual presence suddenly blooming and looming over the entirety of the building.

The owner of this spiritual aura was a man named Bojan Myaskovsky and he felt an almost physical hurt in the knowledge that despite how much he wanted to, he could not just stand up and immediately rush to where his alarm had been sprung. He would have to wait until a few more were triggered; he took comfort in the knowledge that there would soon be a reckoning.

"Heh heh heh...oh."

Thank goodness nobody was here to see that. He just figured out that while maniacal laughter felt good, all good things had to come to an end and he'd be left with an uncomfortable silence to deal with.

This silence went a step above and beyond uncomfortable, it was downright threatening, it made his skin prickle. He got up and checked the state of his instrument, luckily throughout the whole thing it didn't get damaged, just a bit scraped up. He played a little ditty to split the calm, and tried to act casual and walk away from the scene.

Somebody was coming for him, and he didn't even want the drinks that guy owed him. Hopefully his new found power would make up for his past stupidity, now that he had a better idea of what was happening and another job to do.


" Na nana na naaaa.."

It did not take long at all for Basil to report his findings to Noemi, the handler in charge of both he and Bojan Myaskovsky. The news had not come as all that much of a surprise, really, but Noemi had a few choice words for Basil and his spectacular blunder. No Reaper should have fallen so easily under the sway of a Soul Thief, especially a Voleur d'âme as young as Vesdel.

"Hrhh," Bojan grumbled.

The late afternoon's sunlight flooded into the room as the aging Reaper spread apart the curtains that hung over his window.

"So that was who breached the perimeter," he noted out loud, "but to think the kid couldn't even handle that miserable thing, huh? Tkk."

That was pretty embarrassing, really. All Reapers were expected to have some level of mental defenses to resist coercion and to avoid compromising their identities and purpose, but, well, considering Basil's history and file, Myaskovsky could forgive the boy his failing; granted, he was still in a lot of trouble, regardless of the elder Reaper's feelings on the matter.



Bojan’s handler, Noemi, always spoke in a controlled, cool tone, but even still, he could hear the urgency behind her words. Bojan, unlike Basil, could not afford to fail; he was, after all, a ticking time bomb as far as the organization was concerned and the only thing preventing his being terminated was that one, he would put up a hell of a fight; and two, he had a reputation for brutal efficiency that afforded him some favor with certain influential parties. The noose was around his neck, but the executioner had not yet arrived.

“I'll handle it,” he said.



With a poke of his finger, communication with Noemi was instantly cut off and Bojan looked out of the window, a sigh escaping between barely parted lips.

The Reaper turned around and marched over to his bed while, simultaneously, picking up a nearby sack from the floor, from which he removed a single, plated gauntlet. With practiced efficiency, Bojan deftly fastened the thing to his left arm and hand; he flexed his arm and splayed his fingers as far as the glove would allow.

Without ceremony, Bojan left the inn to begin his search for the spirit. He already had plenty of wards set up throughout town and as soon as the malicious spirit struck again, either killing or using its power, he would be on it within minutes.

The severity of the situation, like always was over Vesdel's head. The mysterious stranger not too long ago sent him an ultimatum, kill or be killed, and even gave him some nifty powers to do just that, but Vesdel was never one for doing what he was told, at least not without good reason, and death wasn't much of a threat anymore, it was kind of old news.

Of course if he knew what the Reaper's really had planned for him he might reconsider. A couple of interesting things had recently been brought to his attention,like that he was a ghost spirit thing that ate souls to stay on this plane of existence (or some shit like that), that Reaper's were really a thing, and so was Purgatory.

Well, that shouldn't have surprised him. He'd been to Hell, and naturally if there was a Hell, a Heaven and Purgatory should exist too. The real question was, what to do with all this information? What were his goals? Initially his goal was to find his wife, but after some rendezvous with a young reaper he'd wrongfully assumed she had been sent to either heaven or purgatory after her death.

New course of action: reunite with his Anna. It was just a matter of how. Behind a stack of books in the library Vesdel strained his one good eye reading through information that might hold some kind of clue, but naturally he didn't find a brochure or tour guide into the afterlife.

"Hmmm..."

Maybe if he found that little blonde thing he could ask him a couple of questions. He should have asked for more details when he had the chance, it had been a long time since he'd seen any of them. Weren't they supposed to be looking for him? They musn't have been trying very hard, he wasn't exactly hiding.

Then Vesdel had an idea, Vesdel had a wonderful awful idea. One he'd been cooking up for weeks, only this time he might get to see it take root, and it would definitely draw their attention. He just had to make some appointments first.

~~~~~~~~

Richard Rowler hadn't expected the man to be so patient. He came to his hall asking for a time slot, for a spot on the stage and some good advertising, and he lied and told him to wait, hoping that if he ignored him long enough the man would get tired and leave, but he stayed until close. Now he was staring at him face to face. He didn't want to give this guy some time on the stage, he'd be loosing money unless this burn victim had a fantastic band backing him, and he doubted that. He just didn't want to deal with it, but now, with him standing in between him and the exit during close, he had to, and he had to kick him out.

"I'm sorry sir I'm afraid I can't get you the time."

"Pahrdon?"

"We're booked."

"Well hai can wait."

"You don't understand, you absolutely cannot play here sir.This isn't some place for buskers to collect spare change I've got a business to run, you need to go home!"

After a soothing melody Richard seemed to warm up to the idea, and Vesdel would get a great stage to perform on in no time.

There had been layer after layer of proximity wards spread all throughout the town of Duland, and when Vesdel and the elder voleur d'ame had set them off, a slew of secondary wards, more fine tuned and reliable than the initial, primary ones, also became active. These new wards were of a more subtle nature, and although they carried a smaller effective range, their precision was by far greater. Indeed, if the primary wards had been a net, a web which could alert its creator(s) to the use of harmful or offensive Qi techniques, then the secondary wards were active sentries, a detection system that scanned for, and homed in on, whoever had set off the original alarm.

Bojan Myaskovsky felt the beginnings of a headache forming when he arrived to where the sentries had last felt the voleur d’ame’s presence. He sighed and looked around with irritation. He was standing in front of a concert hall, or maybe the place where the local politicians convened to jerk one another off, or maybe it was a place for both to occur. How should he know? He hated this country.

“The vagrant."

It could only be the vagrant, Vesdel Vivisan. Many, many spirit eaters were of an eccentric nature, but Vesdel appeared to also lack the common instinct of self-perseveration. That was not entirely uncommon either, but . . . A concert hall?

“Class?” He sighed.



“Agreed, it’s a baby. Any word on Rin?”

It was Noemi’s turn to sigh, and she made sure it transmitted over so that he could hear it. He was being blocked by the powers that be.



Bojan wanted to laugh, but he instead removed a cigar from a wooden case he kept in his pocket, put its head into a mechanical device, pulled on either end, and watched as two guillotine blades separated it into two pieces, the smaller of them falling to the ground carelessly.

“One thing at a time, I guess. I’ll go and pay Mr. Vivisan a visit, maybe see if he knows where our friend has wandered off to before it’s too late.”

He closed his eyes and breathed, counting from one to ten in his head, and then he started walking toward the concert hall, placing the cigar in his mouth and lighting it with a flick of his hand as he did.

Vesdel Vivisan, he thought to himself, his anger growing until it was a thin, hot line that made his steps steadier, his stride stronger. The spirit eater had coerced and compromised one of his fellow agents, a member of his family, as far as he was concerned. He would take great, great pleasure in ripping Vesdel apart, in pulling bits and pieces from the thing until it was a quivering, sobbing mess on the ground. He would torture and abuse it, and then he would scatter it, erase it from the very plane of existence. There would be no heaven, no hell, and especially no purgatory for this thing.

Bojan released a plume of smoke from his mouth and spat the cigar out, entering the concert hall with a singular purpose: Elminate Vesdel Vivisan.

A warm light emanated from the building, obviously someone was up past their bedtime. Usually Richard would be upstairs sleeping but he didn't expect to be hit with such a huge project so suddenly. He even forgot to lock the door, but the idea of anyone just walking in didn't occur to him. He had shit to do.

When Bojan arrived he would find Richard standing over a desk littered with papers, phone books and calendars, rifling through them memorizing numbers, arranging appointments, things like that. What he wouldn't find though, was the vagrant.

"Hey, hey Tommy, it's me Richard. Ya I'm sorry for callin so late I got some bad news, I had to cancel your show." He held the phone away from his ear, once the yelling stopped he put it back on again . "I know I promised you! No don't worry I'll get you a new time slot, don't worry it'll be worth it, wait til you see the show I have on for that night." He said almost dreamily, moving the phone away from his ear again to prevent damage to his hearing, the guy on the other end wasn't happy. " Ugh Tom look, this isn't friend business, this is show business. Deal with it."


Not because the vagrant was nowhere to be found, he was just tucked away out of sight somewhere. Hardly because he expected any threats to his well being, but as it turned out Richard was kind enough to offer him food, and a place to stay. Vesdel was upstairs getting comfortable and ready for bed. Soon he'd have a big day ahead of him, he was almost too excited to sleep! What a show, there would be music and dancing, a large audience....fire....