Chapter 1 - Jumping the gun isn't fun

One step, two steps… three steps. The treeline kept crawling closer and closer until the clearing had all but disappeared behind my back, my rucksack rustling against my back from the heavy steps. The canopy itself seemed to be infinite, sprawling in every direction in twisting paths, winding back against themselves in a myriad of impossible shapes. With a sigh I let the heavy bag sag slightly when I rest my head in a low hanging branch, my arm reaching backwards to find all my tools still strapped against the patchwork bag.

"Well, no use in moping about it." I mutter, unclasping a large blade from my back, the metal object clanging against the hard soil with a reverberating bang. Too large to be a cleaver yet too small to be a two-handed sword, my hog splitter digs a few inches into the soil with its broad edge. My wide, calloused fingers wrap themselves around its handle, and with a strained grunt I lift it up from the soil, holding it sideways over my shoulder.

The blade is imposing, casting a shadow even in the low-light environment of the canopy, its cast iron core seemingly thrumming from the magical energies wafting through the landscape. With a sideways swing the blade whistles as it digs deep into the large tree trunk ahead of me, sap bursting forth from within akin to a dam breaking under stress.

The tree shrieks and flails around, its thick roots and countless branches swinging around mindlessly, trying to free itself from the dirt. I pull back the handle, my cleaver returning to its position on my shoulder with a wide arc. The second swing goes even deeper, inciting a guttural cry from the tree, its sap being replaced with a crimson ichor that glimmers like rubies under the dim light.

"Tough bastard, stand still." I grumble at the tree, once again yanking the blade from the trunk. My arms are heavy, my breath ragged and a river of sweat runs down my back. With a labored breath I shakily heft the cleaver onto my shoulder, taking a second to recompose myself, before putting all my strength into one final swing, the blade whistling against the wind as it finally cuts through the tree entirely.

.

I drop the now impossibly heavy blade from my hands, falling to one knee while trying to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling rapidly due to the heavy strain from such a simple action as cutting a tree. Well, a Trevenant, but a tree nonetheless. I peer into its countless rings, getting lost in trying to count them all. My fingers run along its bumpy grooves, trying to hear its song.

"...Ah, here it is." I congratulate myself, driving my hand into the inverted section on a particular segment of wood grain, my arm sinking deeper and deeper into its rapidly liquifying pulp. My lips turn into a grimace as I dig around the tree's insides, an outstretched hand feeling countless wriggling insects and other unmentionable things. A soft and steady thumping leads my blind touch towards a fleshy mass, quickly grabbing it and yanking it out with a shlurmping sound from the stump.

A soft whisper echoes in my mind: "Heart of the Green Sea obtained.", it says, its ethereal qualities making the voice seem endless yet pointed. A groaning chuckle escapes my lips when I stand up again, my knees shifting into place with pops and crackles. I open my rucksack and rummage through it, dropping the mass into a side pocket, my fingers brushing against a blue orb wrapped in yellowed paper, tied and stamped with a red wax seal. I hold it in my hand and tear the seal, unwrapping the paper as it lights up with a teal flame.

The orb rises from my hands and hovers in place as it burns, almost expectantly. I clear my throat as I look at it.

"HQ, this is Half-Cloth. I got the item." My voice makes the orb ripple akin to water as the flames turn from teal to yellow. The silence is palpable as I await for a response, glancing at my pocket watch, its hands spinning around the numbers without any care for their proper rhythm. Then a voice responds, the tone clear and airy with a hidden undertone of blood.

"Half-Cloth, this is Heavenly Pink Demon. HQ says you're clear to return. Over."

"...You have got to be kidding, there is no way in hell I am going to call you that."

"..."

"..."

A fleeting hiss escapes the other voice's lips. "Look Rags, do you want to come back or not?"

"...Fine. Heavenly Pink Demon, this is Half-Cloth. Requesting permission to return after successful mission. Over." I concede with a resigned sigh.

Multiple voices on the other side of the scroll pipe up, talking over themselves as the one called Heavenly Pink Demon mocks them with a taunting attitude.

"Rags, you have just earned me 50 poké, I'm taking you out to dinner. …And yeah, permission granted or whatever." The scroll speaks before burning up completely and turning to ash.

I spit at the floor with a disgusted expression, stretching and picking up my rucksack once again. My hand reaches into a deep pocket in my oversized overcoat, pulling out a cylindrical object made of brass the size of my palm. I raise it to my head and stand under the open sky where the felled tree had once stood. Turning the dials on the object the stars that dot the sky seem to shift in their place until two lines are formed parallel to each other.

Standing inbetween the celestial markers I start walking straight ahead, the canopy seeming to darken before cracking with shards of light. I walk for what feels like ages until the air around me seems to shift, folding into itself over and over again akin to a reverse fractal, converging onto one single point in space and time.

.

A burst of color blinds me as I open my eyes, stepping out into a crossroads with shaky steps, rubbing my face with my open palm. I hear a flurry of steps as a figure quickly approaches before folding me in half with a tackle hug. I groan from the sudden pressure around my torso, a wheezing sigh betraying my outer appearance.

"Is 50 poké that important to you? You have thousands of those coins." I wheeze, patting the Tinkaton's fluffy head. "Besides, an apple is twice that amount and I'm pretty sure that we can't share one between us."

"It's not about the money, it's about showing them that I'm right and they're not." The woman replies, a toothy grin on her lips and a crazed look on her scarlet eyes.

"Sometimes you terrify me, Gigi."

"I know."

"You're not gonna stop tackling me everytime we meet, are you?"

"Nope."

"...Figures."

"Welcome back Rags." Gigi says, burying her face on my shirt and taking a deep huff.

I close my eyes and embrace her, feeling her heart beating madly against my chest. "It's good to be back."

"Does that mean that you agree to rule the Demonic Sect by my side and take over the Guild?"

I laugh at such a statement. "This is one thing, and what you said is another. Count your blessings that I don't slash your funding for the next guild year."

Shock runs across her face. "You wouldn't dare."

"I will if you keep trying to drag me into politics."

"Fine, fine, you win. …Jerk."

Gigi lets me go and looks me up and down, biting her lower lip. "Really digging the look though, what do you call it, Nouveau Hobo? You could pass for a high-ranking member of the Beggar Sect with your equipment."

I laugh, playfully elbowing Gigi on her side. "Jerk, I had to repair my clothes with what I had on hand, you Murim-headed dumbass."

"Really? Couldn't notice the difference."

"...Just for that the Demonic Sect is now on the bottom of the priority list for supplies." I say, laughing while leaving the roads leading to the mystery dungeons, astrolabe in hand.

"Fine, I guess. As long as you don't favor the Orthodox Sect either." Gigi says, a smirk on her lips as she walks beside me out of the crossroads and into the guild.

After a long time without writing I got the itch to try it again, so I hope you enjoy. Have a good one.