Vigor Mortis

It came as no surprise me that training was horrible, uncomfortable, and exhausting. What did come as a surprise is how much I dreaded it because of those things.

It should be welcome, right? My whole life has been horrible, exhausting, and uncomfortable! A new and exciting kind of horrible shouldn’t really be that much of a turnoff, yet there’s no way I could have ever done this alone. I could never have pushed myself without Lyn and Rowan barking orders at me the whole time. It would have been so easy to give up. My pathetic body can barely handle what was being thrown at it, but mentally? I was even more unprepared for this. I just wanted to collapse into a ball and go back to starving. In many ways, that was still preferable.

I had insisted that I didn’t want people to give up meals for me, but it was definitely happening anyway and I couldn’t say no. Just another weakness of character, I guess. But like… I had meat! Meat! Just bits, but I had them! Meat was expensive, since it had to be treated with biomancy to ensure it was safe. I still couldn’t believe I was getting any. It was such a waste; I was still tiny, I was still weak. After years and years of malnourishment, that might not ever change. Yet over the course of a few weeks, my meals kept getting bigger and better. Rowan had to be taking on a lot more debt to afford it. I knew that. I hated it. I didn’t deserve it. It all tasted so good, but it felt so oddly awful for something so happy.

“There’s talent and then there’s talent, kiddo,” Lyn had said. “As long as you survive, as long as you get stronger, it will be worth it. You make good on your plan, okay?”

I couldn’t protest that. It hurt too much to try.

It didn’t feel like the physical training was getting me stronger, though. I knew it was, I didn’t doubt Rowan and Lyn, but to me? It just hurt. Pushups. Situps. Jogs. Constant physical pain. At least I was starting to look less like a skeleton. Every once in a while I’d poke at myself when no one was watching, grinning giddily from the simple joy of feeling something besides tendons and bone. Rowan told me the strength of my soul was helping to grow my body into a healthier state, now that I was eating the physical mass to make it possible. Body and soul worked hand-in-hand, he said. When one was weaker, the other helped make it stronger. I asked how that applied to undead. He gave me a look and said he didn’t know.

While my physical diet was much improved, I couldn’t help but notice I looked forward to the soul diet just as much. It was mostly rat souls; Rowan paid the kids to help catch live rats for me. I ended up being given a big bucket of the squirmy little things every day or two, letting me indulge in a delicious, otherworldly cacophony of flavor. Reaching a gloved hand into the bucket, I could tear out whole handfuls of souls at once, slurping them like some kind of queen indulging in a bowl of grapes. Rat souls weren’t very large, but I was surprised how varied they were. Some rats had larger souls than others. Some rats were brighter, some were darker. They had all sorts of different colors and textures. They weren’t like human souls, not quite. But there was just enough individuality to them to make me wonder.

I’d repay the favor. I had to, now.

The non-physical side of training was much more fun. I finally got the hang of sensing souls from a distance, and it was… wow. The first time I sensed Rowan’s soul from across the room I cheered. That range just kept growing, though. A room. A house. A city block. More and more and more life started to pop into my senses, every color and sound and taste and feel imaginable. The souls were not truly any of those things; they had no flavor and they shed no light, but it was the only way I could understand them. The sense was new. It was hearing for the first time, feeling for the first time, seeing for the first time all in one. An incredible amount of information was flowing into me at once, endless lives moving around in a dazzling swarm, each one beautiful and unique. After a while, my detection range stopped growing… but it was a pretty damn long range.

Ironically, Rowan was actually way more help with figuring out my soul sense than Lyn was. Almost all of Lyn’s training was on how to fight. It took a while to figure out something that clicked with me, but after numerous struggles I eventually settled on a wood-and-chitin spear Lyn managed to “pick up somewhere.” Lyn made me promise to warm up with spear drills every day, so that's what I’ve been doing, but… I’m not great with it.

Months pass with my new routine, and eventually comes the work I know will be far, far more difficult, not to mention deadly. Today's the day. I have a fresh, nasty-smelling set of armor. I have a spear. I have a valuable skill for hunter teams that could be passed off as something other than heresy. Just keep looking forward. I can do this. I have to do this.

The hunter's guild building looks like a relatively modest place from the outside, but it doesn’t require advertising. If you want to leave the city walls, you need the hunter’s guild, or else gamble with the plethora of unregulated mercenary teams that were the only alternative. The guild has a reputation for excellence; people still die on outings more often than not, but they die less often when they’re with hunters. The inside isn’t much more interesting: a few tables, a desk, a receptionist. All the important stuff is through the doors behind her.

Some of the souls past those doors are very strong.

"Um, I have an appointment today," I murmur to the woman behind the desk, standing up as straight as I can. The counter nearly comes up to my neck!

"Mmm," she says noncommittally. "Name?"

"Vita, ma'am."

"Don't have a 'Fitamam,’ kid."

I blink.

"No, um. My name is Vita."

"Ah. Yeah. Mkay, sit down, I'll let Remus know you're here."

I have way too much anxiety to sit down, so I pace instead. It would have seemed like a waste of energy before, but now I can afford it. Better to keep moving and keep building up my stamina. After all—

"You look like you'll die before I even send you after a monster," a scarred old man grunts, opening one of the doors from deeper within.

He's strong, real strong. One of the strongest I’ve ever felt. His soul is hard and cool, like running my hand over a stone at night. It’s much, much bigger than Lyn's. Heavy burns marr the left side of his face, preventing him from showing more than half an expression. His greying hair batrays quite a bit of age, but his skin is pulled tight over a rippling frame of muscle. He wears armor made of massive scales, unlike anything I’ve seen up close before.

"How old are you, anyway? Twelve?" he grunts.

"I-I'm sixteen, sir," I stammer out, standing at attention as best I can.

"'Course you are," he grunts noncommittally, looking me over with a critical eye. "Mmm. Fine. Come with me."

Unable to suppress a bit of a scowl at that comment, I follow him through the doors, down a hall, and eventually into a large, enclosed courtyard. Geez, his soul was neat. Wait, no, don’t imagine eating him!

"Time for your interview," he says flatly. "First question, kid: what gave you the dumbfuck idea that being a hunter was anything other than a job for suicidal idiots?"

How… direct. I’m not quite sure how to respond to that, but I doubt stopping to think about it is a good idea. Thankfully, an answer comes to mind.

"People die, sir," I tell him.

"No shit," he responds blandly.

"No, I mean... people die in and out of the walls. They die from age or murder or stupidity. I'm going to die no matter what. I just want to make sure I lived doing something I can be proud of."

He sneers.

"You think mucking around in blood and guts and monster shit is something to be proud of?"

"M-maybe not always, sir. But it looked like I was probably gonna have to kill things to stay alive, sir. I decided I wanted those things to be monsters."

He frowns, looking a lot more carefully at that. Shit, that was more honest than I had intended. Maybe that was too much info? He just lets it slide, thankfully.

"Have you ever been outside the walls, kid? Have you ever seen a monster?"

Well it’s not like I own a mirror, so...

"No, sir. Born and raised in the city, sir. I recognize I don't know a lot."

"Yeah, I fucking know you don't know a lot, you worthless slime. What are you going to do when a twenty-ton lizard decides it wants you for a snack?"

I blink.

"Well, I suppose I would try to run towards something slower than me, sir."

He stares.

"And leave your team to die?"

"If I have a team and I'm not the one slowing them down, I suppose I'd do what I can, sir. But if my team is fighting something way above our ability to take down— and presumably a team with me on it isn't being sent out to fight twenty-ton lizards on purpose— we'd want to distract and disengage, right?"

He stares intently, giving no indication whether that was right or wrong.

"Next question, then. Why would a team want you? What do you offer the Hunter's Guild?"

Oh boy. Here was the big one.

"I'm a natural scout, sir. I can sense living things from extremely far away."

That got a reaction. His expression turned intense.

"Oh? How far?"

"About two hundred meters, sir."

"Hmm... better than most. How accurate?"

"Very accurate. I'm also unaffected by obstructions."

He raises his one eyebrow.

"How many people are in this building?"

"Um..."

I start to count as quickly as I can, mouthing the numbers to myself. Didn’t realize speed-math was going to be part of hunter training.

"...Thirty-two. And, um, twenty-four things that aren't people. Not counting... cats, rats, bugs. I could count those all day, sir."

He frowns, humming in consideration.

"...Anything else you can do?"

What, he wants more? I’m pretty much relying on the scout thing! Panic kicks in, and I let my mouth say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I also make a good mascot, sir," I say, as flatly as I can muster. “I’m very small.”

He stares at me. I stare back at him, refusing to blink or make any kind of expression. Then, faster than I can react, he kicks me in the stomach, sending me sprawling in a heap onto the yard.

"You can just say 'no' next time," he grunts. "Time for the combat test."

"So I—" I cough, hacking out a bit of bile. "So I noticed."

"Monsters aren't going to appreciate your banter, kid. Stand up and try to hit me."

Refusing to let out a groan of pain, I draw my spear off my back, standing up into the battle stance Lyn taught me. He just stands there like the arrogant, cheap-shotting prick he is... although I suppose it can’t be that much arrogance when he's very obviously way stronger than me.

Approaching cautiously, I use a trick Lyn taught me: jabbing at his stomach, then moving the arc of the swing down towards his back leg, trying to catch him as he retreats. Unfortunately, he's just too damn fast, avoiding the attack effortlessly before striking out with a punch to my face. I fail to dodge, but manage to at least avoid collapsing to the ground.

"Good," he says, despite my rapidly-swelling face. "Feints are strong against smaller monsters. Just don't try it on any monster large enough to not fear you. Again."

I attack again, pretending to use the same trick but actually following up the jab to the stomach. Another dodge and a kick to my chest is all I get for my trouble. Fucking hell, he got me right in the damn nipple! That has been hurting a lot lately, for some reason. With sheer force of will, I don't yelp in pain.

Over and over, I take a blow whenever I try to give one. Over and over, I get the same response: "Again." Damnit, I’m really starting to hate this man. Yet I keep fighting. What else can I do? He’s demanding it, and I need this. I need the Hunter's Guild. Besides, it's not like I haven’t had worse beatings.

An hour passes. Two hours. Again and again, I am thrashed into the dirt. Panting, wheezing, I keep going. I keep trying. Yet not even once do I land a hit on the man. An eternity later, a blow to my stomach knocks me down cold. I can barely even breathe anymore, trying to stand but lacking the strength. I have to though! I have to! Slowly, I try to struggle into a sitting position... and that damn bastard walks over and puts a foot on my chest, slamming me back into the ground. Pain screams through me.

"Your stamina leaves much to be desired, and you're a complete novice in combat," he says blandly.

I punch him in the leg. He kicks me in the face. Seeing stars, all I can think about is how much I want to kill this man.

"Your fundamentals aren't bad, but you clearly have no experience using them. You're a pathetic fighter."

I grab his boot, snarling. He'll see how much of a pathetic fighter I am when I eat his fucking—

A whip of his foot, and I’m sent flying across the courtyard. I tumble through the grass, battered, bruised, and bloody.

"If you want to get beaten worse than this every day, you're hired," he says.

Then he turns and walks out of the courtyard. Fuck. Fuck, I… I need this. I don’t have any other options.

"What time... should I come back... tomorrow?" I manage to choke out.

He pauses, looking back at me for a moment. I think... the half of his face that moves is smiling a bit.

"For now, I would suggest not leaving," he says.

I try to nod, but it hurts too much. I pass out instead, blissful sleep taking me.

I dream of holding his soul in my hands.