Within the Cait House, John found himself seated in a private VIP room, his frustration growing with every passing mont. This marked the second ti recently he had visited the café, hoping to enjoy a simple tea and sandwich amidst the bustling charm of its main area. Yet, once again, he had been ushered into the secluded elegance of the VIP room.
Ordinarily, such exclusive treatnt might have felt like a privilege—an acknowledgnt of status or a rare opportunity for peace. But today, it felt more like a punishnt. John craved the lively atmosphere of the café’s main space, with its warm hum of conversations, the occasional clinking of china, and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea mingling with the scent of baked goods. That was the essence of a proper café experience, not the sterile quiet of this overly polished room.
Unfortunately, the Cait House had been particularly busy with no available tables, and the staff, eager to accommodate his presence, had guided him to this private enclave. They likely assud it was a gesture of respect, perhaps even indulgence. For John, however, it was a disheartening isolation, cutting him off from the vibrant energy he had sought to soak in during his visit.
“I shouldn’t be angry at the staff. They can’t help the situation. But, if I wanted a tea and a sandwich without the atmosphere of the café, I could have just manifested that in the emporium.” John internally grumbled.
As John sipped his tea, he glanced down at Lunar, who was sprawled out on the polished wooden floor, tail wagging lazily. The white malamute radiated a sense of carefree joy, his bright eyes sparkling with mischief as he pawed at a loose thread on the rug. Lunar seed utterly content, as if the world outside the room didn’t exist, and his only priority was to bask in the comfort of John’s presence.
John couldn’t help but smile at his dog’s playful antics. Setting his cup down, he leaned forward and reached out, his fingers brushing through Lunar’s soft fur. The mont his hand touched the malamute’s head, Lunar pressed into it eagerly, his nose nudging John’s palm as if to say, More, please. His tail thumped rhythmically against the floor, the sound a gentle reminder of his unfiltered happiness.
In that simple interaction, John felt a flicker of peace. Lunar’s unassuming joy and boundless affection were contagious, a soothing balm against the frustrations of the day. For a mont, it was just the two of them, man and dog, enjoying each other’s company in quiet companionship.
Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, Lunar jerked his head away from John’s hand, his playful deanor evaporating in an instant. The white malamute spun toward the door, his body tensing like a coiled spring. His hackles rose, and he shifted into a defensive stance, his muscular fra low and poised, ready to lunge at a mont’s notice.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from Lunar’s throat, resonating in the otherwise quiet room. His lips curled back to reveal sharp, glistening teeth, and his intense gaze locked on the door as if it concealed an imminent threat. The transformation was startling—gone was the carefree companion lounging at John’s feet, replaced by a vigilant guardian bristling with alertness and instinct.
John froze, his hand hovering midair where Lunar had been monts before. The sudden change in the dog’s behavior sent a chill down his spine. He followed Lunar’s gaze to the door, his heartbeat quickening, and the once-comfortable space now felt charged with an unseen tension. What had Lunar sensed that John couldn’t?
Lunar: “Grrrr.”
John: “Lunar? What’s gotten into you?” he asked with concern in his voice.
John didn’t believe his dog was particularly violent; in fact, he had known Lunar for his gentle temperant. The malamute rarely showed aggression, especially around him. The only tis John had seen Lunar adopt such a stance were in situations where soone had directly threatened him or when Lunar had picked up on John’s unease around a person, responding with protective instinct. But today, there was no one in the café who made John uncomfortable. No one he disliked. So why was Lunar reacting this way? What had set him off?
As if in answer to John’s unspoken question, the door to the room creaked open slowly. The hinges groaned, the sound slicing through the tense atmosphere. Standing in the doorway was a figure John hadn’t expected to see—at least, not here.
It was Onyx.
The elderly man stepped inside with a deliberate, asured pace, his cane tapping softly against the floor. His silver hair, tied neatly into a ponytail, glinted under the room's dim light. In his hand, he clutched an ornate cane topped with a skull motif, its polished surface gleaming ominously. But it was his eyes—piercing and unnervingly red—that sent a shiver down John’s spine. They bore into him with a gaze that seed to strip away all pretense, leaving John feeling exposed and vulnerable.
Onyx’s appearance was striking, his dark attire and regal bearing exuding an aura of authority that commanded attention. Yet John knew better than to be deceived by the man’s elegant façade. Under that well-grood exterior lurked sothing far more sinister. Onyx wasn’t just an imposing figure; he was a literal monster wearing human skin—a being of nightmares disguised as an elderly gentleman.
Lunar’s growls deepened, his posture unwavering as he stood between John and Onyx.
Onyx: “Good day to you, John. And, good day to you too, Lunar,” he said with an unsettling smile.
The mont Onyx’s piercing red eyes locked onto Lunar, the transformation was imdiate and unsettling. The once-fierce malamute, who had stood his ground with unwavering resolve just monts before, faltered. His ears drooped, flattening against his head, and a faint, pitiful whimper escaped his throat.
Lunar’s tail, which usually wagged with confidence or held steady in monts of alertness, tucked tightly between his legs. Without hesitation, he backed away, his large paws scraping softly against the floor as he retreated. Within seconds, the proud and protective companion was cowering in the farthest corner of the room, seeking refuge behind John.
He pressed his body against John’s legs, trembling as though an unbearable weight had settled on him. His bright eyes, now clouded with fear, peeked out from behind John’s fra, darting anxiously between his master and the imposing figure of Onyx. Whatever the elderly man exuded, it had stripped Lunar of his courage, leaving him reduced to a shadow of the playful and loyal dog he had been just monts ago.
John: “W-Why are you here?” he said while trying to keep up a calm deanor.
Onyx: “Always looking for a reason for why sothing happens. Does a human need a reason to visit soone?” he said as he took a seat across from John.
John already knew the answer to that question. Humans are social creatures by nature, drawn to companionship without needing a specific reason to seek it. People often pay visits simply for the comfort of connection. But this understanding was not sothing he intended to share with Onyx.
Expressing such a notion to this creature wrapped in human skin might only encourage it to intrude on his life more frequently. The idea of Onyx, with his unsettling presence and sinister air, grasping the value of casual human interaction sent a chill down John’s spine. Whatever Onyx's reasons were for appearing now, John decided it was best to keep his insights—and his discomfort—buried deep.
John: “In your case, yes. There must be a reason.”
Onyx: “Well, two reasons, then. And, one of them is quite selfish.”
Onyx reached out with a deliberate, almost graceful motion, lifting the teapot that rested in front of John. With an unnerving delicacy, he poured the steaming contents into John’s cup, topping it off with practiced precision. The porcelain clinked softly as he set the teapot back down, the sound strangely amplified in the heavy silence of the room.
As he perford this seemingly innocuous act, Onyx’s lips curled into a smirk—an expression that could have been mistaken for affection if not for the unsettling gleam in his piercing red eyes. The look he directed at John was peculiar, layered with an ambiguity that made it impossible to decipher. It lingered, both uncomfortably intimate and eerily detached, as though Onyx were studying him, testing his reactions.
John felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He couldn’t tell if Onyx’s body language was an attempt to convey sothing subtle—a ssage cloaked in gestures—or if this creature was rely mimicking the behavior of humans he had observed, trying to emulate their social cues without truly understanding them. Either way, the effect was deeply disconcerting. Onyx’s every movent felt calculated, as though the simple act of pouring tea was part of a larger, enigmatic ga that only he knew the rules to.
John couldn't help but gulp nervously.
Onyx: “You see, I’m trying to understand humans better. And, I’ve co across a peculiar human that I… just don’t understand. I was wondering if you can help with that.”
John: “Maybe… What are you not understanding?”
Onyx: “You see, soone in the east called out for assistance. It was a man. His circumstances were very much different than yours, but he called for my help all the sa. I answered, and he desired wealth beyond imagination.”
John: “So, was it a man living in poverty?”
Onyx: “That’s the thing. It wasn't. The man had everything that humans put material value on. Vaults full of vast amounts of gold. And yet, this man wanted more. So much more, that he perford ritualistic human sacrifice to summon demons. And, since there are no longer demons to answer his call, I did instead.”
Hearing Onyx speak casually about human sacrifice made John realize that the man being discussed was anything but virtuous. The description painted a portrait of soone utterly consud by greed—so much so that he was willing to take lives in his insatiable quest for more wealth. The cold detachnt with which Onyx recounted these events only added to the unease settling over John.
However, as Onyx spoke, John’s attention snagged on an intriguing detail. Apparently, as Onyx put it, “there are no longer demons to answer calls.” The phrase was peculiar, almost cryptic, and it piqued John’s curiosity. He didn’t know much about demons in this world—his understanding of them was hazy at best. While he had done his best to piece together fragnts of the world's history, demons had never been a prominent topic in the records or stories he’d encountered.
John could only speculate. If these demons were anything like the ones from the myths of his own world, they would be malevolent entities dwelling in hellish realms. They would tempt mortals, luring them into making desperate pacts in exchange for granting their wishes, only to twist those desires into curses. The inevitable outco: the mortals’ ruin, their lives destroyed, and their souls damned to eternal tornt.
The idea unsettled him. If these demons existed here, and they were no longer answering, what had changed? Was it so shift in the balance of power? A rift in the natural order? Or sothing even more sinister? The only thing he could think of was his presence here. Realizing that, he called out to Onyx to confirm his suspicion.
John: “Are demons not answering calls because I’m here?”
Onyx: “Yes. Demons are not entering this world because of our presence. They don’t particularly like that I’m in this world and stay away from it. Thus, leaving all calls for them to go unanswered. The only demons left in this world now are the ones that were bound here before our arrival.”
John: “I…see. What are they like?”
Onyx: “They function exactly like you think, but don’t look like what you imagine. They’re outsiders that like to make… I think the world you're from calls them Faustian bargains. And, since they’re absent, I thought I’d give a go at these dealings.”
Hearing that demons were no longer entering this world actually struck John as a good thing. If they were anything like the demons from the legends of his own world, with their Faustian bargains and cruel penchant for twisting human desires into instrunts of tornt, then their absence was nothing to lant.
Unlike the situation with "Fate," John didn’t feel conflicted about the possibility that his presence might sohow be responsible for keeping the demons at bay. The notion didn’t weigh on him as heavily—at least, not at first. What did give him pause, however, was the implication that even demons might fear whatever Onyx truly was, so much so that these entities refused to enter the world with him here. That thought lingered in the back of his mind, a shadowy presence he couldn’t entirely ignore, no matter how hard he tried to push it aside.
Instead of dwelling on it, John chose to redirect his thoughts to sothing Onyx had said: the ntion of him making deals, similar to what the demons supposedly did.
John: “Oh, shit. You’ve been screwing people over.”
Onyx: “No, not really. I'm bad at being human, similarly, I’m also very bad at playing a demon. I never get the chance to twist their desires. I just give them what they want, and they kill themselves with it before I even get the chance.”
John: “That ans… that guy wishing for more wealth you were talking about is dead.”
Onyx: “Correct.”
John: “What did you do to him?”
Onyx: “I gave him what he wanted. I made it so that anything he touches would turn into gold.”
Hearing what Onyx had done to the man left John utterly flabbergasted
“Oh, my god. He literally recreated the Midas touch myth.” John thought to himself.
John vaguely recalled a myth from his world, one about a Greek king nad Midas who had been granted the ability to turn anything he touched into gold. The story had always intrigued him, though he couldn’t quite rember all the details. What he did recall clearly was the problem that ca with this extraordinary gift. Every object, every living thing he touched, turned to solid gold, rendering him unable to eat, drink, or even embrace those he loved.
He rembered the myth ending with Midas losing this ability, either through his own regret or intervention from the gods. But, as John listened to Onyx, the story with this man didn’t seem like it had such an ending,
John: “Oh, no. Are you telling this guy starved to death?” he said, half worried.
Onyx: “No, of course not,” he said, sounding taken aback.
John couldn’t help but feel a pang of insult at Onyx’s response. It was as if Onyx were positioning himself as the normal one in this conversation, as though John’s questions or confusion were sohow out of place.
Onyx: “Obviously, he was crushed to death.”
John: “What?”
Onyx: “The clothing he was wearing turned to solid gold, and his body was crushed under the weight of it.”
It took John a few monts to fully process what Onyx was explaining to him. At first, his mind raced, trying to piece together the conversation, but the more he thought about it, the more the words settled into place. What Onyx was saying didn’t strike him with the shock or horror he had expected. Instead, it felt disturbingly like a reasonable conclusion.
John: “Well, gold is very heavy. And, I guess the clothing he wore would technically be touching him. Damn, that makes too much sense.”
Onyx: “So, then. What do you think?”
John: “Think about what?”
Onyx: “The man I was talking about. Why is it that a human with so much wealth still asks for more?”
John: “I… don’t know what to tell you. So people are so greedy that no amount of wealth can satisfy them. I’ve always thought that those kinds of people who have a lot of wealth, but endlessly seek more, are because they're trying to fill sothing they're lacking inside. Sothing like companionship or purpose. “
Onyx: “I see, all humans contain a great amount of greed then. So much so that they try to satisfy that greed until it consus them. Never finding what they truly want.”
John: “I don’t know about that.”
Onyx: “Doesn't the man I told you about validate my words?”
John: "That’s just one individual, and I don’t believe everyone is like that. While many people do pursue wealth, it doesn’t necessarily an they are driven by greed. For most, wealth serves as a ans to an end, a tool to achieve comfort, security, or their aspirations. I believe there’s a point where many would feel satisfied and stop actively chasing more. It's just those who are lacking sothing that keeps accruing more. And, honestly, I think if everyone got what they needed, those kinds of people who are obsessed with gaining wealth wouldn’t exist in the first place. Or, at least, have a hard ti existing.”
Onyx: “So what you're saying is that greed can be born out of lack of sothing. And, the man I speak of was greedy because he was lacking sothing other than wealth. Humans are so confusing.”
John: “Human desires are confusing. It is never sothing as simple as black and white. People are complicated.”
Onyx: “I’m slowly beginning to understand that… possibly. Thank you. I believe you’ve adequately answered my questions.”
John: “Um, if we could go back to the demon thing. Could you not do that thing with answering calls.”
Onyx: “Why?”
John: “Because it’s bad?”
Onyx: “Why?”
John: “Are you going to keep asking that sa question?”
Onyx: “I obviously could and will stop answering demonic summoning calls at your request. I just wish to understand why. So that I may better be human.”
It was that comnt again—the one Onyx always seed to make about trying to be better at pretending to be human. No matter how many tis John heard it, the statent never failed to send a shiver down his spine. There was sothing off about the way Onyx said it—sothing deeply unsettling that John couldn’t quite put his finger on.
John: “Well, It sounds like you're killing people by answering these calls. I just don’t think that is a good thing. You’ll get innocent people killed.”
Onyx: “I can assure you, by your sensibilities, anybody that calls for demons is not innocent. But, I will respect your wishes. Besides, there are other ways to punish such people.”
John caught the comnt at the end, and it sent a chill through him. Spending so much ti playing the role of a demon seed to have left its mark on Onyx, subtly warping his speech and behavior. There was an unmistakable edge to his words, a sinister undertone that made even casual remarks feel laden with darker implications. It was as if Onyx were slowly mastering the art of twisting language to manipulate and mislead—just like the demons from the myths of John’s world.
John felt a growing sense of urgency. If this behavior was left unchecked, these manipulative tendencies could spiral into sothing far worse.
John: “Nope, no. No punishnt. You don’t need to be going around punishing people.”
Onyx: “Very well.”
Lunar: “Woof!” the dog called, breaking the flow of the conversation.
John glanced down, startled, as Lunar cautiously crawled out from beneath his feet. Amid the tense conversation, he had completely forgotten about the dog. Lunar, who had spent the entire exchange cowering in silence, now erged.
Lunar’s deanor seed to have shifted back to what it had been before Onyx arrived. The tension that had gripped him earlier appeared to be lting away, and he was beginning to resemble his usual, carefree self. His tail wagged slightly, and there was a renewed lightness in his movents—a stark contrast to the cowering, defensive stance he had taken earlier.
When John looked up, he found Onyx sitting unnervingly still, one long finger pressed against his lips in a pose that suggested deep thought—or perhaps sothing far more calculated. His crimson eyes seed distant yet sharp, as though dissecting the conversation or plotting his next move. The casual gesture might have appeared harmless to soone who didn’t know him, but to John, it carried a weight that set his nerves on edge.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that, whatever Onyx was thinking, it was far from normal.
Onyx: “Right… ti as a construct. I seem to have used too much of it. Or… not enough? …suppose I should make it…quick?” he said, as his words and thoughts seed to sohow be more distant and alien than usual.
Onyx rose from his seat with an almost languid grace, his movents deliberate and unnervingly smooth. His cold, piercing red eyes fixed on John, unblinking and inscrutable. John felt the weight of that gaze, a silent intensity that made it impossible to discern what thoughts—or sches—might be lurking behind it.
For a fleeting mont, John considered saying sothing, but the words caught in his throat. Onyx’s deanor exuded finality, as if he had already decided the conversation was about over.
Onyx: “Since I'm running out of ti, I'll make this quick. For the second reason, I ca. I’m here to inform you that a rapid series of events is about to transpire, and because of the new rules introduced to this world, there is no way to know the end results. As such, I would recomnd that you have a good long talk with your latest patron, Cid, when the dust settles if possible.”
Without another word, Onyx turned slightly, his posture signaling his intent to leave. Yet even in this quiet mont, there was an unsettling air about him, a lingering sense that he hadn’t truly left anything behind—except perhaps more questions than answers.
John: “What is that supposed to an?” he said to no one in particular.
(Author note: The die is cast and the pieces are in place. Expect a lot of action scenes in the upcoming chapters. Also, yay! We made it to a hundred chapters! 😀)
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