Red Like Roses - Blue Boy

***Additional Tags: Ballbusting Threat, Ball kicks, Knees, Small Balls, Ball Grab&Lift, Implied Ruptures/Castration***

[***Previous Chapter***](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallbustingStories/s/oqRwOQnNGu)

***Chapter 3: Blue Boy***

*Marcus Barnaby Myler* *is what people in Bustia like to call: A Runt.*

***KRRNCH!***

*“Nnnahh!”*

A pained whimper from a table in a corner makes the gray feline ears on my head twitch with sensitivity, recognizing it to be the sound of a man getting his poor testicles abused in some way.

***The Nightcrawler*** is exactly the kind of establishment you'd expect to find in a place like Hearthmend…If you had the misfortune of expecting the worst.

There were low ceilings stained with centuries of pipe smoke and wooden tables scarred by knife games and spilled potions. The place was filled with other travelers and sickly regulars.

A bartender who looked like he'd fought off at least three attempts on his life before noon and was mildly irritated none of them had succeeded.

The mood lighting came from floating weather globes of sickly green sparks and “refreshing” sprinkling rain that made everyone look like they were halfway to corpse-ville.

It was the perfect place to lay low.

***SQUISH!***

*“Auuuhhg!!!”*

*Ballsacks*. The many *sounds* they make when beaten sends a haunting chill down my tail instead of a laugh through my small chest. I’m not like most women in Bustia.

*I hate breaking balls…*

When you’re a *fawnix* like me you grow up different. You learn that you’re enhanced in more ways than one when compared to other “*soft*” races like humans and halflings.

Back on the farm with dad and my twin brothers, things were quieter. But now?

*“Uuugh! You bitch!”*

Another guy to my left squeaks and drops to his knees like dead weight. Dangling bottles of random fluids on his belt clank as he rolls around, but I’d heard it…

The way his nut muscles *strained* themselves to *stay whole,* as one of the witchy goth waiters running this gross tavern *knees them into his throat.*

“Touch my ass one more time old man and *I WILL* cut your *fucking nuts off!* I mean it this time!”

There’s a lot of sounds and smells my other senses pick up on too. The slimy sloshing sounds of a few goblin adventures eating too fast. An annoying crow picking at its own wings in the rafters and dropping it’s feathers everywhere.

And of course the other pain filled groans and *crunches* of men getting reminded of their two special weaknesses I’ve come to learn a lot about in the past five years…

But for some reason I couldn’t stop looking at this pretty blue flower I’d just saved by chance. A human sorcerer boy making my body move on it’s own.

“‘—Mhmm, thank you. Again, s-seriously. I know I-I’ve said it a lot but you s-saved my buns back there. So get whatever y-you want. I gotcha you covered.”

He’s only a bit taller than me, being around my height. Which isn’t too tall since I’m barely breaking 5’ 6” but he’s skinner too. Hardly any muscles on his thin limbs. I can tell by how he’s practically drowning in his purple and black poncho cloak.

He looks like a Boru Bird back home. A fluffy night flyer that hunts the bats from the barn.

*Is that why I couldn’t just stay back at the tower? Or is it something more? How could I be distracted by some other inner Impulse that isn’t directed towards hunting the monsters who ruined the men in my family?*

I can’t explain it. I’m drawn to this sad, short and under confident (but also undeniably cute) blue boy.

*A Runt*.

“You hear that Aki? *Pretty boy* said we can have anything we want. Let’s take him up on that offer. I think they have fried squid here.”

“You ate before we came to town though…” I mutter but my stomach growls and I don’t hesitate to find a free seat.

*The Nightcrawler’s* old booth cushions groan as Opal slides in next to Marcus, her thick hips bumping against his with casual, teasing force. Before he could react, she'd already draped an arm over his narrow shoulders, pressing her fat chest flush against his side, *justtt* enough to make his thin frame disappear into the pillowy valley of her cleavage.

“O-oh! S-Sorry!”

His entire face turns the color of stewed tomatoes and his cracked glasses fog up.

*Classic Opal, using her stupidly huge tits to get whatever she wants.*

"Mm, that's *muuuch* better," Opal hums, stretching her sleeveless right purple arm across the back of the booth.

“It was getting kind of hard to breathe out there too with all those creeps.”

We’d come to this backwater village for a breaking lead on a sorceress who helped destroy my brother’s and father’s masculinity. A blue eyed woman who held *no mercy for testicles*…a witch I plan on cutting down with ***Scarlet Monarch.***

“I can’t believe y-you saved my life," he says for the 7th time. His voice had a frantic, bubbling quality, like champagne in a shaken bottle.

"You…literally appeared out of nowhere with all t-those petals and—and you kicked that chick through a wall?! Through. A freakin. Wall!"

"It wasn’t that insane," I corrected quietly. "She hit the wall. She didn't go through it. That would have required a lot more force."

"She hit it hard enough to stay there. T-That’s awesome so…thank you."

Marcus's turquoise eyes, still sparkling behind his cracked glasses, were wide with a kind of desperate hero-worship look.

“No problem.”

The memory of the suited tiefling’s words echo in my head, *“I’ll show you guys how to break a wimp. You have to go for their little balls to get them to give in.”*

She was going to go for his *defenseless* balls…I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen on my watch.

"I've read about those High-class Mystic Blades but I’ve never seen one in person. Humans, dwarves, and the *Morikami* elves combined masterpieces…wow, I have questions. So many questions. But first…”

He fumbles with the satchel at his side, producing a small brown leather pouch that clinked promisingly.

"I *AM* buying you lunch. Both of you. Anything you want. Really…it’s the least I can do."

I open my mouth to refuse. We don’t have time for this. We need information and we need to move before Asano's people track us but Opal's foot nudges mine under the table.

"Rose," Opal drawls, her red eyes dancing, "if a cute young man offers to feed you, you let him. It's called *manners*, babe.”

I look at Marcus. He’s practically vibrating with nervous energy, his ridiculously styled hair somehow still perfect despite the alley beating. He’s so... bright. So unguarded. So utterly out of place in this cesspool of a village.

He’s also, against all odds, a little cute.

The thought surprised me. I filed it away for later examination.

"Fine," I say, "But something small."

— - —

“Ah *damnit*…”

“Shit Nick. You’re *busted*..”

The smoke in the room is *suffocating*. Thick enough to sting the eyes, thin enough to see through. A typw of haze that softens edges and make secrets feel safe. It curls at each corner of the long playing table, carrying the faint sweetness of *burnt flowers.*

A sensory muffler to the *sweat and busted balls* lingering beneath it all.

***Cruuunch!!!***

“*My Nuuuts!!?”*

***Arms dealer Asano Ren*** sat at the head of a table with the room arranged around her like worshippers at an altar. Nothing left this room without permission.

“You *lose* Mr. Wann. Hue, it’s your go.”

“O-Okay…”

Asano’s stringy platinum blonde hair hung like spider silk caught in moonlight, each strand perfectly arranged to look effortlessly disheveled. Her big fish eyes, pale and unnerving, flick across the room without moving her head, pinning each person in place like butterflies under glass.

Nobody dared to breathe until she did.

Her black suit is also immaculate. Silk sharp lapels, subtle pinstripes, the jacket hanging open to reveal a silver button-up with the top three buttons undone. It was a sexy look, the kind that suggested both power and the complete absence of fear.

Plus showing off her amazing C-cup tits didn’t hurt either, straining against the silk just enough to make lesser men forget they were in the presence of something far more dangerous than a pretty face.

Her Blue eyes, almost *luminous and the color of a winter sky reflected off ice,* were fixed on the cards in her hand. They were beautiful eyes.

*Completely empty eyes…*

Across from her, at the far end of the table, three other players sweat through their shirts and seats. The game is called ***Burnt Tips,*** a favorite in Hearthmend's upper circles.

Each card held a bounded Hexx-spell. Players reveal them simultaneously; weaker spells are "*burned*," the cards igniting and leaving painful but non-lethal burns on the loser's hands.

The last player with unburned cards win the pot. And, more importantly, the right to make demands.

Asano hadn't burned a single card all night. Her opponents' hands were raw, blistered, and shaking.

Old man Hue’s card burst into sapphire flames with a wet *hiss*, his marked Hexx cards popping against Asano's superior barriers. His gnarled fingers twitch as blisters bubble across his knuckles and his loss becomes real.

“Son of a bitch! That’s…that’s it for me…”

"Ah. Guess today wasn’t your *lucky day* either."

Asano's voice was a winter pond cracking underfoot. She doesn’t glance up from reshuffling her flawless deck.

"Gracy."

The other men gulp and feel their heavy danglers shrivel up in sympathy as an eight feet of towering titty and muscles unfolds from the shadows behind Asano's chair.

A suited *buffalo-girl* with dark curly hair covering her eyes struck the ground with stomps that felt like war drums. Her corded thighs flex beneath a black suited skirt ans her biceps, thicker than the old man's neck, bulge as she cracks her knuckles.

"H-hey *now*," Hue wheezes, backpedaling until his chair topples, "I was *just*—"

Gracy doesn’t wait for the old man to finish. Her massive hand shoots out with *quick speeds*, fingers closing around the man's *saggy testicles* from behind like a blacksmith grabbing *hot tongs.*

“Oh no..!”

There’s a wet, meaty *squelchhh* as she lifts Hue clean off the ground by his saggy old man nuts alone with his loose boots kicking uselessly a foot above the sawdust-strewn floor.

*"P-please! Mercy!"* he screams, his voice cracking into a singing solo as Gracy adjusts her grip *slightly*, making his whole body jerk like a fish on a hook.

"Take him out back to pay for his bundle," Asano murmurs, the cards moving between her pale fingers like living things.

Gracy’s grip tightens just enough to make the old man's eyes bulge back open to see he was still dangling from this woman’s grip.

“Ahhh!! You’re going to *rip them off!!!”*

Gracy’s dark curls shift like a theater curtain, revealing only the glint of teeth beneath and the other men look away. Gracy's fingers twitch with the gentleness of a jeweler adjusting a delicate setting.

"Don't worry," she rumbles, her voice like gravel from underuse. "I'll make sure they don't rip."

Hue whimpers as she gives an experimental squeeze to his left nut, turning his wrinky face green. "Hmm…*they may pop though."*

Standing beside Asano’s chair, hovering with the nervous energy of a man who'd realized he was in over his depth, was her client for the day. Black haired, brown-eyed, handsome in a polished, forgettable way.

“*Oh dear Oracle…”* the handsome man gulps and tries to ignore the brutal nutting taking place a few feet away from him.

He wears the uniform of a *Silver Circle knight*, one of the minor orders that dotted Bustia's grounded kingdoms. All pomp and prayer and very little actual power.

His name is *Sir Aldrik,* and he’s desperate for a win of his own.

"Please…I need something that will end him," Aldrik whispers, keeping his voice low as Asano studies her cards.

*"Sir Cott* thinks he's *untouchable*. The tournament is in three weeks and If I don't win…if I don't make a statement, my family's name—"

Asano held up one perfectly manicured finger. Aldrik's mouth snapped shut.

She plays a card. Across the table, her target, a sweating young halfling merchant with a failing business in the village, whimpers as his own cards ignite before he could blink.

“No! No no! I had that! Oh man, oh fuck man!”

“Aww don’t throw a fit. You lost fair and square.”

The halfling merchant’s squeak is cut off abruptly as a second suited fawnix emerges from the shadows. This one much smaller but had glowing purple eyes that made the halfling feel rooted in place.

Where Gracy was brute force, this one moves like the smoke in the air, her gray suit barely rustling as she puts her panther claws, *black and polished to a wicked shine,* on his little shoulders.

*"Spread your legs,"* she orders, voice velvet but wrapped in sharp steel.

“Huh?!”

The halfling’s breath hitches as the panther girl traces a slow, claw tip, tearing line down the front of his trousers. The fabric splits, revealing small but even saggier nuts than Hue’s.

“Pff, you have some *small nuts* dude.”

“Please! *Please d-don’t!!!* I…I can pay you guys back, double everything!”

His knees knock together instinctively. A last attempt at self-preservation but everyone in that room knows he ain’t walking away from this.

"*Ah-ah,"* the fawnix purrs, her purple eyes narrowing. Her other hand snaps out, gripping his chin with enough force to make his jaw click.

"I said *spread* your legs. If you don’t I’ll get down there and bite them off in one chomp. Don’t tempt me, runt."

The suited woman presses one thick knee into the halfling merchant's inner thigh, urging him to spread them open. Sweat beads on his forehead as he hesitates for a fraction too long.

“Stop playing with him *Fumie*. His *small testicles* are disgusting to look at.”

"You heard the boss. That wasn't a request," Fumie says, her voice syrup-sweet and venomous.

Then her strong panther foot snaps up in a brutal kick that has crushed many other boy’s unsuspecting nutsacks when they weren’t paying attention.The impact makes a noise like a bag of fresh berries splattering against a countertop.

***SPPLAT!***

“*AIIII!!!”*

The halfling's squeal climbs three octaves before cutting off into a wet, gurgling wheeze as he crumples around her boots, hands clutching at the now shattered sack between his legs.

“My balls…*ohhhhfuuuck*! My balls!”

Sir Aldrik flinches so hard his ceremonial gauntlet clatters against his breastplate and His thighs press together instinctively. A *futile* but sympathetic gesture.

"Burn out," Asano said. Her voice was low, raspy, the kind of voice that didn't need to raise to be heard.

"Thats game. *You*, leave."

The last player, an elven woman with nervous eyes, quickly gathers her remaining cards and flees, lucky to not have a pair of organs grounded into mush.

Asano sets her cards down and finally looks at Aldrik. Her empty blue eyes considered him the way a cat considers a mouse that's wandered into its room.

"You want a *cursed blade*," she says, like it isn't a question.

"I need—"

"I don't care what you need," She leans back, one hand idly tracing the black Hexx, lightning scars on her bare chest.

"I care what you can pay. Politics are *boring*. *Knights* are boring. Your little *cock rivalry* with this Cott person is *excruciatingly* boring."

She picks up a slim folder from the table and leafed through it to pause on a page, her nail tapping once against a handwritten note about Aldrik's connections.

"You're friends with *Chief Hollis*," she observes. "The old wolf still runs the eastern armory, doesn't he?"

“Y-Yes…of course.”

Asano's nail taps once more against the page, a sound like a coffin nail being driven home.

"Good. Then you'll get me Hollis's shipping manifests for the next lunar cycle. Every crate, every cart, every smuggled trinket slipping through the eastern passes."

She snaps the folder shut and Aldrik *jumps*.

"Particularly anything marked with a *red crow's foot insignia."*

Aldrik's throat works silently for a moment. "Those are military-grade enchantments though…"

“Yes, they are. Your *Connection* is why I even agreed to this meeting.”

Aldrik chokes, his voice cracking as his gaze darts to Gracy walking back in with her massive hands stained with *sticky white stuff…*

"You're asking me to *commit treason* for a *sword*?"

“I'm offering you what you’re asking for. You want a weapon. A real one. Not some enchanted trinket from a *Silver Circle* armory. Don’t you want something that's killed before?"

She reaches into a case beside her chair and produces a long object wrapped in black lead-lined cloth. She unwraps it carefully, revealing a jagged, organic-looking thing.

The broad blade gleams dully under the rooms light, its surface rippling like water disturbed by unseen currents. The handle, gnarled blackwood with faint violet veins, twitch slightly in Asano's grip, as if dreaming of violence.

Aldrik swallows hard. He's seen cursed weapons before. Family heirlooms locked behind warded glass, ceremonial blades used in knightly duels, but nothing like *this*.

The guard curls slowly like brambles around Asano's fingers but black sparks flicker from her palms to keep the thorns from biting greedily.

“This was used by a Hexxborn with only one arm. I call it a Nail Shredder," she says, for once looking a little happy with something.

"Took it from the bastard after it tore through six Atlantium *Ace mages* last month. It’s nasty. It packs a punch. And It doesn't care about honor or tournaments or any of the nonsense you people fill your heads with. It just cuts."

Aldrik stares at the weapon, his face a mixture of horror and longing. "How much?"

"Be my inside man for a little, Plus a favor to be named later." Asano's eyes glitter. "Take it or leave it."

Aldrik’s hand trembles as he reaches for the Shredder. His fingers inches away when the door burst open.

“Boss!”

A red tiefling with a huge rack for her skinny body, storms in with a painful limp. Her curved horns catch the smoke-room light as she strides in without permission, her black hair disheveled and her sharp suit torn at the shoulder.

Asano's eyes narrowed. "You're supposed to be watching the perimeter Jully. Not interrupting negotiations."

Jully didn't flinch at the cold tone. She'd worked for Asano long enough to know that fear was a luxury she couldn't afford.

“I’m sorry Boss," she says, her voice rough. "But we have a problem. Or...maybe an opportunity."

Asano waits and the silence in the room deepens, pressing against their ears.

"That blue haired runt, the one with the grimoire? The Myler boy—We had him cornered in an alley. His weak barrier was two seconds from breaking but…."

Jully touches her sore chest, wincing.

"Then…she showed up."

"She?"

"Yeah, small adventurer. Young. Maybe early twenties. A fawnix with cat ears, I think. Grey and black hair. Wearing a red and white fur collared jacket and carrying a red blade in a grey saya…"

Asano's expression didn't change, but something in the air shifts.

"Huh. Describe the blade," she asks quietly.

Jully closed her eyes, focusing. "Didn't see it for long but…She did something. The air filled with these…petals. Grey at first, then some of them turned red. She moved like she wasn't touching the ground, boss.“

Asano was very still. Her blue eyes losing their empty quality. They were focused now, sharp as broken glass.

"Petals," she repeated. "Grey, turning red..."

Asano's hand goes to her chest, touching the branching scars beneath her undone buttons. For a moment something flickers across her face.

Recognition. And beneath that..a cold memory of a war hero’s prized testicles crumbling in her ballbreaking grip.

*Rento Uchida’s war blade. The Scarlet Monarch. It has to be…*

— - —

The "something small" turned out to be a bowl of surprisingly edible noodle soup *(the Nightcrawler's one redeeming feature, apparently)* and a cup of tea that tasted faintly of tree bark and honey.

Marcus watches me eat with the intensity of a scholar observing a rare specimen, which I suppose I was.

"You're not what I expected," he blurts, then immediately turns red.

“Hm?”

"I mean—not that I expected anything! I didn't know you e-existed until twenty minutes ago! But if I had imagined someone who could do…what you did, they'd be... bigger. Louder. More..."

He trails off, gesturing vaguely.

"More what?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"More *something*," he finished weakly. "You're just—you know. *Quiet*. And you eat soup. And you have uh…cool *wolf ears*."

"Im half *cloud lynx, a*ctually." I say and watch him turn an even deeper shade of red.

Across the table, Opal chokes on her drink. "Oh, goddess it’s finally happening. My little girl is *flirting*."

My tail frizzes and I glare at Opal with my furious orange-green eyes.

"I am *NOT* flirting. I'm correcting inaccurate classification."

"Sure you are, kid. *Sure you are."*

I ignore her, focusing on my soup. But I did notice Marcus's expression shift from embarrassed to something softer, more curious. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle he'd just realized was beautiful.

The moment stretched. I let it. It had been a long time since anyone looked at me without fear or calculation. It was...not unpleasant.

Finally, I set down my chopsticks. "Thank you for the meal. But we need to talk."

Marcus straightened, his nervous energy shifting into something more focused. "About what?"

"The people who attacked you. Their boss, The one who controls everyone wearing a suit,” I lean forward slightly, my voice dropping.

"We're not safe to be around, Marcus. My partner and I…we're hunting someone. Someone dangerous.”

“You guys are bounty hunters?”

Opal laughs, “Heh Heh, sure. You can say we’re something like that.”

I continue, “There was a group of blue devil gang members on the train we rode to get here. We’d stopped them and now we’re hearing some people saying they work for the same organization the people in suits all around the village are from. Is this true?”

“Are you talking about those guys who wear weird blue Oni masks with fangs and horns?” He asks and Opal chimes in with some of our train fight highlights.

“Yeah, the really ugly plastic ones. We *crushed* half of those masked bandit’s *nards* before hearing how tough they were from a few people here.”

“You could have held back a little,” I say, *remembering one of the guy’s nutsack being kneed against a wall by Opal’s huge thick thighs.*

“Where would the fun be in doing that?”

Marcus’ eyebrows shoot up as he realizes who we’re talking about

“Oh yeahhh those guys have been coming around here a lot lately. They used to be bigger jerks but for a while they've been pretty calm. It seems like they don’t stay around for long anymore…but the suits are bad news. I can p-promise you that.”

“Yeah, we noticed. But by stopping them and saving you, we've probably painted targets on ourselves. And on anyone seen with us…”

“I figured. I usually don’t have a good memory with faces b-but even I can tell you two aren’t from around here. N-Not in a bad way though! Just…you can tell.”

“Huh, he’s cute and has a good set of eyes.” Opal presses into him again and he eeps around her heavy boobs. “What can’t he do?”

He smiles at the strange compliment but I hold his gaze and stay serious.

Even as a poor barbarian man playing pool with a grizzly brown beard gets his heavy testicles smushed against his thigh by a goblin thief’s uppercut doing a good job at snatching distracted men’s spare coin purses.

“*Whattt The Hellll?!”*

The man shrieks like a girl but I keep Marcus’ eyes on me.

"You should go home after you finish eating. Go back to where it’s safer, forget you saw us, and stay far away from this village."

Marcus blinks. Then, to my surprise, he laughs without stuttering or shying away. It was a small, shaky sound, but genuine.

"Go home," he repeats, "Ha, right. Home…”

He leans into Opal’s left boob and it squishes comfortably around his turquoise hair.

“Well a year ago my family kicked me out because I was the *'useless runt'* of the Myler family. With no innate sorcery skills of my own, I was thrown with my older sister who’d embarrassed them pretty baldly…so now my 'home' is currently a rented cot in a boarding house that charges by the hour and has suspicious stains everywhere.”

Opal and I go quiet as he hangs his head, making his beautiful hair cover his rising sadness.

“The only thing I own of any value is this damn book and the clothes on my back…"

He touches the satchel containing that book he was guarding with his life earlier, clenching it tight as one of the waitresses walking by *sucker punches a half orc between his legs after slapping her ass!*

*“Oooouuuh!! Bitch!? It hurts! It hurts! Y-You punched my Fucking Nuts!”*

*“GOOD! Because if one more person does that again I’m breaking* ***EVERYONES BALLS*** *in here, ya hear that?!”* She warns, seething with real smoke coming out of her nose.

“…*uugh*, sorry. I hate this place so much and the only person in this unfair world who ever believed in me is locked up by The Atlantium Order for being too curious about how Hexx magic actually works…"

His voice cracks on the last word, but he pushes through.

"So no. I can’t go back home. I don't have one…anymore."

The silence that follows is heavy. Opal's playful expression softens into something more thoughtful. I felt an uncomfortable throb in my chest. The memories of a farmhouse that no longer existed the way it used to.

My father's past becoming the key to my mission.

"That's rough. I’m sorry to hear that," Opal says quietly, not teasing for once. "I know a thing or two about losing home."

Marcus wipes his eyes behind his glasses, a gesture he probably thought was subtle.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…uhh, you don't need my problems. You saved me. I should be asking what you need."

I exchanged glances with Opal. Marcus seemed to be a loner and not someone playing us for fools. He was truly all alone…

So she gave a slight nod.

"We need information," I tell him, "About a woman. Black lightning. Not a lot known about her Hexx technique but goes by Asano? We think she's here, in Hearthmend, pushing supplies. I need to find her."

Marcus went very still. His starry eyes, already wide, somehow widened further.

"*Asano Ren,"* he gulps, knowing exactly who I was talking about. This was a good sign.

"The Black Storm sorceress. Former Atlantium. Works for a new rising group called…the ***Mikaku***."

Now it was my turn to go still as ice. My claws pop from my fingers and I slowly tear them into my seat as I watch Marcus intensely now.

“…You *know* her?"

"I k-know *of* her." Marcus's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Most people living here do. She's the reason I've been stuck hiding in this gods-forsaken village. She's been…looking for me."

Opal's hand drifts toward her katana, suddenly way more cautious of all the folks eating around us. I know that look in her eye. The one that doesn’t trust anything until she’s carved it open herself.

*Was Marcus bait…for us?*

"Yeah? How come? Don’t tell me you’re her sugar bear or something. Won her over by paying for *dinner dates?"*

Marcus takes a deep breath, his fingers tightening on his bag.

"My sister, her name is *Mujii*. She's a chaos spellcaster…She’s, um, a little unpredictable, but a powerful sorceress who’s terrible with money and w-worse with people. She got into debt with some very bad people. Tried to pay them off by stealing and making shady deals…she *messed up though and got in way over her head."*

I waited. My Mystic Blade’s grey *Hexx petals* stir at my feet and extend toward the exits, sensing for threats but not finding any.

*This wasn’t a trap.* This was just Marcus’ sad reality…

"One of her debts was to a woman who can cloak herself in black lightning.”

That sounds exactly like the woman who took my dad’s strength away. Meaning we found the sneaky cunt and we really are on her home base.

*We have to be smarter than ever now.*

Marcus continues, "Asano Ren. She fronted my sister some resources she needed for this stupid ritual. In exchange, Mujii promised her...something. I don't know what. But the ritual went wrong. People got hurt. Atlantium forces swooped in and locked her up. They've had her for *six months* now.”

His voice was shaking now, but he pushes through. "I've been trying to figure out what she promised. Why Asano would care about two disgraced scholars from a nothing family. And then, a few weeks ago, I got found out."

He opened his satchel, revealing the ancient grimoire within. It’s dark maroon witch-hide cover shifts fit the book better like *living skin.*

"*This*," he said. "Asano wants something to do with this. My sister's book of spells. I don't know why, but I know Asano's been keep tabs on me ever since Mujii was arrested. She’s been sending her people after me and usually I’m *lucky* but…yeah, they finally got me today and I was a goner…*until you showed up.”*

He looks up at me, and for the first time, I see something besides nervous awe in his turquoise eyes. I saw the same cold fire I felt every morning when I woke up and remembered what happened five years ago.

"Thank you for saving my life…I’ll never stop being thankful! But Asano is why I can’t go somewhere safe though," he says with clenched fists, "Because she won't stop until she has this book. And I won't stop…until I figure out why—and use it to save my sister!"

The weight of his words settled over the table. Opal let out a low whistle.

"Well, Rose," she nods at me. "Looks like our bait just got a lot more interesting."

I stare at Marcus. At his ridiculous hair and cracked glasses and huge cloak. At the desperate, determined set of his jaw that reminded me painfully of someone else.

He was bait. Perfect, obvious, unavoidable bait. Asano wants this grimoire and I want her. Asano's people will be watching for anyone connected to it.

Marcus walking through Hearthmend could be a beacon.

But he was also a person. A scared, lonely, stubborn person who'd just survived a beating and still offered to buy us lunch.

"*Two conditions,"* I say finally. "*One*: you stay close to us. Closer than your own shadow. Like peanut butter and jelly. If Asano's people come for you, we need to be there."

Marcus nods frantically. "Yes. Absolutely! Closer than shadow? I can do that!"

"*Two*: you tell us everything you know about your sister's research. What she was working on. Who she was working with. Anything that might explain what Asano wants with that book."

When those sorcerers had ambushed my father and brothers five years ago, they’d also wanted information. Secret information tied to something related to sorcery?

*Is Asano doing the same thing her boss did to my dad?*

His face fell slightly. "I...honestly don't know much. Mujii didn't let me practice the dangerous parts much when it came to using magic. She kinda…uhh, k-kicked my boys when I’d try anyway.”

“Heh, she kicked your balls for liking magic?” Opal snorts and he unfortunately nods, embarrassed.

“She was just trying to protect me."

Then he makes a bitter smile I’ve worn a million time myself.

"It didn't work…."

"It never does," I say, not talking about him.

Opal slid out of the booth, her light shoulder armor settling and making her boobs bounce.

"Alrighty then. Guess we have a solid target: The sister’s book of spells. We have a hunter—Asano Ren and her cronies. And we have bait who's now officially under our protection."

She grins, all teeth and charm.

"This just got extra complicated. I love it."

I stood, lifting the Scarlet Monarch. The grey petals swirled back around my boots before fizzling away. Marcus scrambles to his feet, clutching his satchel.

"Wait," he said. "You're really going to help me? You d-don't even know me."

I looked at him. At his hopeful, terrified, stubbornly bright eyes.

"My name is *Akihiko Uchida,*" I greet, holding a hand out. He takes it.

I know it’s *not wise* to take the *burden* of the world onto my small shoulders. I’ll *break* if I don’t start using everything I have to avenge my family’s pride.

*Event taking the risk of making new connections.*

"I know what it's like to have someone take everything. To be left with nothing but a weapon and someone you need to save. You want to get to your sister? Fine. We'll figure something out and find Asano. We'll find out what she wants and knows. And we'll make sure she never hurts anyone else again..."

Marcus's eyes went starry again, but this time it was different. Less hero-worship. More... something else. Something that looked like hope.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I promise I won't be a burden. I can help. I know a lot of t-things. Like barrier spells, Hexx-flow, I know some soul summons—"

"You can start by telling us everything you know about the Suit’s operations in Hearthmend," Opal interrupts, steering him toward the door. "Who runs who. Where they meet. What they're buying. Walk and talk, blue boy. We have a long night ahead."

As we stepped out of the Nightcrawler into the hazy, chemical twilight of *Hearthmend*, I let my grey petals spread wide. Through them, I felt the many heartbeats of the village.

*All the deals being made, the threats being muttered, the fear and greed and desperation that fueled this place.*

*And somewhere, in one of those buildings, a woman with black lightning was waiting…*

Marcus walks between us, his big cloak brushing against my dad’s old jacket. He was still talking, a nervous stream of information and theories and half-formed plans. Opal was already teasing him about something.

He was turning red again.

For the first time in five years, the silence in my head felt just slightly less empty.

*Bait*, I reminded myself. *He's our blue boy bait.*

But as I glance at his ridiculous colorful head and pretty jaw, I couldn't quite make it feel like a lie…