Chapter 50: Grave

An imposing figure haunted the grimy alleyways of Theseus Parade, his insidious march unnoticed by the myriad of pickpockets and cutthroats that skulked its hollows. The man wore a long greyish-black overcoat and charcoal trousers, with each impossibly tranquil step revealing his dark metallic knee guards and industrial boots. Hellhound Leather gloves creaked as he held a small flier, looking down at it with a brooding air.

'This raises my total expenditure today to 200,000 Valis. A necessary expense I suppose…'

Hit had been incredibly efficient on his way towards Daedalus Street by visiting his two favourite shops: Byron's armoury and the eccentric Tailor's quarters. Rather than risk being stuck in an awkward elevator ride, he had instead scaled the Tower of Babel itself! Its intricate fascia and carvings became handholds for a hazy blur as Hit zipped up the gargantuan cylinder and jumped up to its twelfth floor, completely unnoticed.

Byron was slightly offended when Hit barged into his shop and wandered into its depths without so much as a hello, but became ecstatic when the quiet teen returned to the counter with some of his most expensive goods: Mad Beetle chitin knee and arm guards; and a pair of Hard Armoured heavy boots. Both were constructed using thunder steel, making them incredibly dense and durable, at least for relatively conventional base materials. As a bonus, they were pitch-black in colour, owed to the addition of crushed war shadow finger blades during smelting, which supposedly helped to conceal the user's presence somewhat, at least within darker regions. Byron had hastily questioned Hit on acquiring a new premium chest plate; however, the gruff man had nearly coughed himself into oblivion when Hit unveiled his legendary electrum plate armour. This was apparently a mistake on Hit's part, as Byron subsequently became incredibly grumpy, and only gave Hit a 10% discount, muttering to himself about dirty cheaters…

Next, Hit jumped straight to the fourteenth floor and visited his tailor, whereupon he purchased a readily available coat, trousers, and gloves: quite the disappointing purchase in the eccentric tailor's eyes. Hit had also reluctantly left his beloved rucksack behind for repairs, making it incredibly evident that the tailor's life expectancy would be in deep peril should he make any mistakes in its restoration.

Overall, Hit had aimed for the highest durability and darkest of colours in his equipment: perfect for espionage within the secluded reaches of Orario's poorest region. Thanks to his soundless movement and tremendous strength, heavy armour was absolutely no hindrance to him and only provided its benefits. He had initially thought of taking a northerly detour to see Tsubaki; however, the woman would have likely spent hours trying to shill products that Hit explicitly told her he wanted nothing to do with. Furthermore, these pieces were only meant as temporary upgrades, which would quickly be replaced by a more exceptional assortment at a later time. Hit's final purchases were not the absolute best pieces he could have purchased, but they would do nicely for simple spying. Anyway… What was the worst that could happen?

Golden light speckled onto Hit's ruby eyes as he rounded what must have been his hundredth corner since delving into this hovel. He raised his gaze to meet a brass plaque affixed to the wall.

'Icarus Parade. Finally.'

The smell was the most obvious difference upon trespassing into this newest region: putrid malodours bombarded Hit from all directions and signified the absence of proper sanitation or waste disposal. A sigh nearly escaped Hit's tightened lips as he was greeted by yet another ramshackle of torn tents and mouldy mattresses, some housing haggard bodies that barely twitched in their sleep: the only form of escapism left to these poor souls who could not even afford alcohol or narcotics.

'What a disgrace. I haven't even entered Daedalus Street and it's already barely habitable. Does the guild not have any welfare programs to support these people?' He shook his head with a sneer. 'Idiot. What am I thinking!? Even if there were, most of the funds would inexplicably go 'missing' during the earlier stages, or simply be plundered by the strongest inhabitants here.' Hit chided himself for losing track of reality slightly. He had spent a month in an idyllic mansion and could eat to his heart's content: every one of his earthly desires was properly satiated and he had ample time to strive for his dreams. It seems that non-migratory life brought about unexpected mental changes, something that was incredibly difficult for Hit to track. 'I truly am fortunate… However, I don't have time to help these people, nor is it my job. Besides, survival of the fittest will always reign over us mortals. My interference would not change much at this stage and would likely have adverse effects, especially without proper planning.'

*Rustle* *Rustle*

Hit tensed as a small creature lurched from underneath a thin layer of fabric that was directly in his marching path. The being was rake-like and their eyes were blank and unfocused, providing no window into their intentions. As Hit skipped time to properly view the unknown assailant, he could now see that the creature was a small boy: one whose skin barely clung to his emaciated form. The boy's sole form of clothing was a pair of tattered brown trousers, exposing his tanned skin and prominent ribs. As Hit returned to reality with a disappointed sigh, the youngling continued to block his path, swaying from side to side. The boy coughed, forcing a whisper to escape. "P…Papa…?" *Cough* *Cough* "You c-came back?" Thin legs buckled as he swayed forwards.`

Hit quickly lowered himself to catch the falling boy, eyes darting in all directions to scout for ambushers, or the boy's potentially sticky fingers. The street urchin smiled briefly, but slowly lost all emotion as his rusty eyes swayed to Hit's face. "Y-you're not… him…". His tiny face somehow scrunched up into an expression of agonised dejection, one that should have never marred such a young visage. "…Why…? W-Why?" Tears streaked down his dirtied cheeks, wasting precious water, and beat down onto Hit's inky coat.

Hit glared down at the boy, or rather at his tragic predicament. The hardened man had seen an unusually high number of homeless children on his way here, particularly young amazon girls, with many of the young vagrants fervently begging for scraps of food or a place of rest.

'Abandoned... Were they all left to rot here from throughout the city? No… The entertainment district lies to the west, and those debauched scum likely do not use protection… if such items even exist here… Most children are likely dumped in this filthy hellhole as they would only be a hindrance... It's probable that solely the strongest are able to survive and make a life for themselves as thieves, or eventually as warriors within the dungeon.' Strangely, Hit's frozen heart twinged, an alien feeling to the man. He did not understand why the sentiment arose within him, but he knew that it was a flame that could not be ignore, lest he eternally regret it. Begrudgingly, Hit stuffed a gloved hand into his left coat pocket and removed a pair of items: a waterskin and a half-eaten apple. The waterskin was quickly placed carefully against the boy's lips and elevated, allowing the soothing liquid to exit the opening and impart its thirst-quenching properties. Hit then pressed the apple against the boy's mouth, and into his diminutive hand; however, the child refused to respond to either stimulus, likely imprisoned in a catatonic state.

'Dammit…' Hit placed the boy onto his hastily formed 'bed' and sighed, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "…I will return."The boy gave no response and continued to stare ahead, gormlessly.

"Tsk" Hit grinded his teeth and shot back up, trudging away with barely restrained anger fuelling his steps. 'Why!? Why did I just do that? … I would have never intervened in the past due to the obvious futility and pointlessness of such an act... This is not part of my job, and therefore a meaningless waste of time." Hit sighed and focused his mind on his immediate task. 'Huff... What's done is done and there is no point in regretting my actions now.' Thoughts of abandoning the child never graced Hit's mind: the idea of going back on his word was an unforgivable sin. 'A promise is a promise.'

This conflicting storm of emotions was a sign that Hit was undergoing yet another shift in his psyche, where the multitude of civilians that inhabited the world with him were no longer seen as so severely disconnected from his own life. During Hit's previous occupation, he would pass thousands of people and hundreds of sentient species each day during his many contracts; however, it was extraordinarily seldom that he would interact with any of them. Starving beggars; loitering peasants; wealthy businessmen: they were all ignored as he accomplished his daily slaughter. Strangers may have been only a few short metres from him, but this gulf may have been infinite: he was an assassin of the highest calibre, whilst they were civilian sheep. Neither party had any business interacting with the other. It did not help that Hit often travelled quintillions of kilometres across the vast cosmos, stopping at many remote planets only once in his lifetime. Many would view this life as a nightmare, but it was no inconvenience to Hit, who was a natural loner. However, now that he was forced to mingle with people daily, and even form tenuous friendships, this gap had receded immensely, and compelled Hit to view the world around him as no longer so distant. It was as if an impenetrable veil was slowly being lifted from him.

Hit continued to storm along Icarus Parade until he reached a relatively cleanly area: a wide-open space dotted with box-like houses, much akin to those found in the dungeon city of Rivira. Dust shimmered in the air as several groups of people milled about, discussing amongst each other or carrying bags of produce to and fro. Children played amongst each other, laughing as they kicked a leather ball between two wooden goals, and dogs barked as they enjoyed the racket. Overall, it was an immense improvement over the previous scenery; however, an air of neglect and dilapidation still hung over the area.

Hit calmed his heart and slowed his pace, maintaining a sombre yet inconspicuous expression and bearing: one that would not draw attention, whilst simultaneously emitting a subliminal aura of repellence. This had the desired effect as any labourers that he passed paid him no heed, whilst unconsciously distancing themselves from him. Hit made sure to keep his eyes trained on a series of bronze plaques affixed to the plaza's stone walls, and slowly made his way to his deceased quarry's lodgings. '40… 41… 42… Bingo'. A particularly rusty plaque was the reason for Hit's now present smirk and designated the position of 43 Icarus Parade. Unfortunately, several bungalows and huts occupied this space, complicating matters. The explorer cast his gaze about the space and quickly noticed that the plaques were equidistant to one another and had no connection to the dwellings' positions. 'Hm… I see. Rather than designating individual houses, these numbers must indicate specific subdivisions of alleys and plazas. Each and every structure I have seen thus far fit no solid pattern and are not properly mapped. They must not be registered with the Guild or City's authorities.'

Indeed, rather than houses being constructed by a regulated body, most of the dwellings within Icarus Parade and Daedalus Street were constructed by its impoverished residents, to the best of their ability. Like a plague, the multi-storey wooden shacks had spread over the decades and centuries, and now comprised an infinitely complex maze that only those who had been born in this residential entanglement could navigate. It did not help that the houses often collapsed due to frequent tremors, resulting in a perpetually changing maddening nexus of constructs, one that even Daedalus himself would find difficult to unravel.

Hit skulked between the shacks, making sure to remain within the shadiest regions and out of anyone's direct line of sight. The residents saw and heard absolutely nothing as a ghost haunted their shelters, peering in through open windows at their monotonous lives, and listening in on their dull conversations. Following this swift preliminary survey, Hit concluded that the homes were equally disappointing on the inside and often housed a woman or child preparing food or performing a craft of some kind. 'Almost entirely women and children? The few mammalian species I have encountered thus far exhibit sexual dimorphism, so it is probable that the men are performing a different role... I recall this tactic also being more prevalent in primitive societies… Two o'clock is a peak productivity hour in the dungeon, further supporting this. Other than the bare essentials, these people possess nothing that distinguishes one family from the next. Must I take a more direct approach to find the Porters?'

The only anomaly that Hit had encountered was an elderly man resting on a surprisingly luxurious bed. Hit had quickly skipped time and leapt up to the second floor of a random building on his search, during which he gazed into a lovingly maintained bedroom, filled with flowers and handcrafted items. As he alighted back to Earth and the technique expired, he could now see that the rest of the building was comparatively bare, devoid of any of the love directed above. Hit would say that the dozing man was in the final quarter of his life, or over 60 years of age for non-blessed humans. This was an estimate based on the man's greying beard and whitish-brown hair. Oddly, the person's breathing was almost imperceptible, even to Hit, and suggested that his slumber was not natural in its origin. However, Hit surmised that such ailments were likely common in these filth-ridden regions of Orario and did not give the phenomenon much thought. He now rested against a birch tree and held a hand to his chin, pondering on his next tactic.

"…"

Hit's ears twitched as a familiar sound graced them: it was the unmistakable murmur of hushed whispers, a tactic that many gossipers unsuccessfully used to quieten their own enthusiasm when divulging entrusted secrets. Emboldened, Hit hastily scuttled from his tree and meandered between lanes and backstreets, finally coming to rest behind a plain wooden stall. The establishment was equally bland, and likely sold various pieces of cookware and baking ingredients, at least based on the various crates that Hit could spot.

"…She's still at the graveyard!? I-I suppose that Olivia has been looking dreadful recently…" A slithery feminine wail caught Hit's attention as one of the gossipers rose their voice. Hit shifted his position and gazed into a shiny steel pot lid, giving him a slightly distorted view of the middle of the street. A tall rake-like woman could now be seen holding a hand to her parched lips as she jumped in shock, ruffling her leafy hair. Dark bags slinked from her eyelids, indicative of her poor sleeping habits and perpetual stress.

In front of her, a short portly woman harrumphed to herself, sticking her pointed nose in the air. "All she does is cry and moan all day! I mean, honestly!" She tapped her highly polished heels on the granite pavement; however, rather than letting out a harsh clacking sound, they instead flopped uselessly as a rubbery sole peeled away and slapped against the rocky soil below.

The lanky one shuddered briefly before biting at her yellowed nails. "S-She has fallen on hard times though, Kareen… F-First her husband, then her daughter, and now… her precious boy's been buried… He was always so kind…"

"Don't be so sure, Hebi!" Her loudmouthed companion jabbed a fat index finger towards her, nearly striking the gangly woman's emaciated stomach. "I heard the little sneak got involved with a band of ruffians! That brat was just another thug, a dime a dozen…" She held her hands on her hips and leaned back haughtily. "And it has been over TWO years since her husband fell ill! That is more than enough grieving! It's high time that layabout moved on and found herself another man to support her! You're a perfect example for her to follow."

'Hebi' tightened her fists and grimaced, but quickly relaxed, looking down in submission. "I-I suppose you're right Kareen."

"Of course I am! Olivia better snap out of her sulk soon… She still owes my family several loaves of bread and over a thousand valis! And don't forget about your debt to me either!"

Inky blackness bled from the shadows as an entity quickly made a beeline towards the southeast. "Wretched cow." Hit's face was murderous as he blurred from alleyway to alleyway, seriously deliberating over giving himself more assassination contracts in this world seemingly devoid of the profession. Unfortunately, this is not how Hit chose to operate: these people's issues were not his problem, and it was up to the victims to liberate themselves. For now, Hit pushed down his own feelings of hypocrisy and simply hoped that something heavy fell on the miserable creature.

*Caw* *Caw*

A pitch-black raven cawed across a barren landscape, ruffling its feathers as it rested on a carved slab of granite. The immense corvid preened itself as it overlooked its ancestral home: the burial site of Orario's greatest heroes. The bird hopped down from its perch and pecked at the ground, searching for any insects or crumbs left by the many offerings provided by passing bipedal creatures. One such being was reflected in the animal's sky-blue eyes as a towering spectre, which somehow haunted the graveyard's entryway unnoticed by all.

The spectre cast its gaze across the immense burial ground, inhaling deeply in the frigid air as it took in the sombre sights.

'Surprisingly well-kept. This must be one of the only sites within the Daedalus region that's maintained by the guild or city officials.'

Orario's adventurer graveyard was an immense necropolis that housed hundreds, if not thousands, of pristine gravestones: the final worldly memorials of many adventurers' lives. Tens of rows and columns of the structures faced Hit now, most topped with bouquets of flowers and glittery valis coins. Oval, square, serpentine: they came in all shapes and sizes, and demonstrated just how fraught with danger the life of an adventurer truly was as this world's most perilous profession. Curiously, several of the stones were left uncarved and simply mourned the death of a brave explorer. Hit's mind flittered back to his first day within the great pit, whereupon he stumbled across a goblin dining upon festering human flesh. 'Those must be reserved for bodies found within the dungeon that either cannot be recognised or remain unclaimed…'

A piercing wind blustered towards Hit as he halted at the rusted gates of the boneyard. It was as if the deceased inhabitants were casting him away, affronted that this alien intruder had 'cheated' his way past challenges that had subsumed them, including death itself. Hit ignored the unwelcoming atmosphere and powered on.

Only the ominous cawing of scavenger birds shattered the eerie silence of the crypt as Hit marched along its walkways, scrutinising each gravestone for a familiar identifier; however, he switched strategies when faint whimpers and whispers greeted his ears. As he approached their source, the first visual sign of the culprit was a kneeling woman, an elegantly dressed individual who seemed to be shaking in place. They were the only other living soul within the premises and were almost certainly the 'Olivia' that Hebi had been referring to.

Suddenly, the lamenter cried out in hopeless rage, their voice hoarse from hours of weeping. "WHY!? WHY DIDN'T YOU TALK TO ME!? WE COULD HAVE SOLVED THIS TOGETHER! …we could have… c-could have…" She collapsed down and clasped at her face, sobbing at the precious life she had lost and the futility of her screeching.

Hit had silently circled around the woman and was now marching towards her right side, carrying a hastily plucked chrysanthemum in his left hand. He continued to stare ahead as he walked up to the adjacent gravestone and kneeled in front of it, placing the white flower on the stone's base. Looking up, he cast a silent prayer to its dweller, an Alise Lovell, and waited patiently for his neighbour to recover from her sorrow. Now that he was up close, Hit could now see that the wailing woman was dressed in a flowing black robe, adorned by white flowery ornaments: a mourning dress. Her long greyish sepia hair was utterly dishevelled, left unbrushed and unkempt.

After a few minutes, the woman struggled to raise herself and wiped away any tears from her reddened eyes using the frayed sleeves of her gown. She sighed and unconsciously turned to the side, finally noticing that she was not alone in her grieving.

*GASP* The mourner jumped in fright and held a hand to her furiously beating heart as she took in Hit's intimidating form. A cloaked man was now kneeling to her side and was staring at a white flower placed delicately below an adventurer's grave. "I-I'm so sorry, Sir. I-I did not notice your approach…" Gloved hands patted down her ruffled dress, attempting to maintain her dignity. "I-I did not mean to disturb you…" *Sniffle*

Hit stared into the woman's dark hazel eyes, ones that had lost their sparkle and will to go on in life. This sombre look was not an unfamiliar expression to the former assassin. The alien was reminded of his past life, where he had been tasked with assassinating his own temporary employers in a few abnormal contracts. These were the only cases where Hit attempted to reason with his target, trying to identify the root cause of their unusual form of suicide. Most merely wished their deaths to not be inflicted by their own hands, perhaps as a way to ensure that their loved ones received compensation for their demise. In most cases, there was no means to alleviate their misery and, as with every contract, Hit fulfilled his role to its end.

"You did no such thing." Hit shook his head and paused for a moment, turning to face the grave beside him, Hugo Porter's final resting place. "A family member?"

The woman winced and hung her head, tightening her grip on her dark dress. "…Yes… My boy… my precious boy…" She quickly inhaled and smiled at Hit, although the grin was incredibly forced as it twitched alongside the dark bags under her eyes. "I-I've always told myself that I need to keep up a strong front! 'Be strong Olivia! For your boy!', I would always tell myself. But now he's… He's…" Olivia shivered as tears escaped her once more, holding her mouth shut with a hand. "Y-You must think I'm a wreck… That I've lost everything of value. A-At first, the gossip and whispers didn't bothered me, but… I-I suppose they were right in the end... Now that Hugo's left me, I have nothing. I am nothing." *Sob*

Hit sighed internally at the uncomfortable situation that he now found himself in. 'According to that sow, Kareen, it has been around two years since this woman lost her husband to illness… That comatose elderly fellow must be him. She has likely had to suffer through years of verbal abuse and fiscal instability… Now, the only individual who supported her is gone. It is no wonder that she is so inconsolable.' He met her crumpled depression with assured conviction. "Your reaction is only natural. You have lost an irreplaceable part of your life; however, you will forever be a mother to your son. Nothing can ever sever that bond, least of all death." 'How ironic… A deliverer of death having to console a mourner of his former target… Is this my repentance?'

Olivia's jaw fell slack as she gaped at Hit and took in his soothing words, their inspiring nature only slightly lessened by his harsh tone and expression. "I-I… I don't know what to say… Noone, except for my late son, has even attempted to console me … T-Thank you… Mr-?"

Hit's eyes darted to the gravestone in front of him. "Lovell."

Olivia bowed her head, smiling genuinely in seemingly ages. "…Thank you, Mr Lovell. I needed that… It has been ever so quiet since my children… departed..."

Hit quirked a brow at the plurality of her statement. "Children?"

Olivia smiled to herself. "Yes. Along with Hugo, I had… have… my little Daisy. I know in my heart that she's still out there... somewhere. I just wish… wish that Hugo hadn't gone off on his own to find her… Why did he have to get involved with those fiends? We could have… have…" *Sob* "I tried, I really did, to talk him out of it… But he wouldn't listen! Where did I go wrong… What should I have done?"

"There is no point in dwelling on the past, nor on our mistakes." Hit decided to impart his own life philosophy, perhaps one that was unsuited to the current situation.

Expectedly, the statement was not well received as Olivia shot up and glared down at Hit, screeching out her response with a snarl. "HOW!? DO YOU SUGGEST I FORGET ABOUT MY BOY!? MY BABY GIRL? MY BELOVED HUSBAND?" *Sniffle* "They are all I have… They're my world…" She collapsed back down in a heap, staring down at the ground with unfocused eyes. "They didn't even let me see you, Hugo… Why? Why can't I hold you? Why can't I hold my baby?"

Hit furrowed his brows and contemplated his next move. '…I'm not used to delicate questionings such as these… And it is definitely for the best that this woman did not see that mangled corpse.' Hit crossed his arms and turned to face the dejected woman. "You've misread my point. Desperation can force us to commit acts that we would normally consider unfathomable. I am sure that your boy had a good reason for what he did, but what's done is done. Of course, you should forever hold your loved ones close to your heart, and this pain will never leave you, but deliberating over what you cannot change will only harm yourself. Is that what they would wish for you?"

"N-No…" Olivia sniffled and blew her nose into a white handkerchief. "H-Hugo always wanted the best for me… He would always appear at the perfect time to help with our expenses, and I never questioned where the money came from. Without his support, my husband would long be dead…" *Sniffle*

Hit held his chin in thought. 'I think I'm beginning to understand. The father must have fallen ill two years ago, and the medical treatment cost them everything. Hugo then turned to a life of crime to fund his father's treatment, which ultimately led to his demise… But what of the girl?'

Olivia bit at her nail, unable to quieten her worries and doubts. "But then he changed… After little Daisy went missing, I hardly ever saw Hugo again. He never did tell me what happened to her… No matter how much I tried to talk to him, he would always say that he didn't want to get me involved… That he would save her himself, as if he knew where she was… The only sign that Hugo was still alive were the regular letters and bags of Valis that appeared on the kitchen table… T-Then his letters s-stopped…" *Sniffle*

Hit nodded, finally able to see the full picture. 'I see. Hugo either made more than enough to fund the treatment or became indebted/involved with criminals with ties to Evilus. Either way, the boy was then blackmailed into delving deeper into the underworld. Those dregs likely kidnapped his sister to keep him quiet and submissive: essential for entry into their shadowy organisation. It's no wonder that the kid seemed so out of place, and so terrified of the repercussions of speaking out… Blackmail is likely one of Evilus' major recruitment mechanisms.'

Olivia shook her head back and forth, looking at Hit apologetically. "I-I'm so sorry, Mr Lovell… I-I should not be bothering you with all my burdens… It has just been so stressful with my debts to Kareen and the doctors. All I can do is hope my husband recovers and sell my crafts to fund his recovery… Oh, but what about my Daisy!?" Olivia pulled at her hair in horror as it suddenly dawned upon her that she now had no direct connection to her precious daughter.

Hit grumbled as he watched Olivia fall into yet another breakdown, grinding his teeth as he withdrew several thousand Valis coins from his pocket. The charitable detective got up and kneeled in front of his first lead, placing a hand on the woman's trembling shoulder. "…Do not lose heart. You will meet again." He then hastily got up and left Olivia to her melancholy, the sentiment slightly lessened by the twinkling coins that now rested in her lap.

Olivia's haggard face lit up for the first time in years, not because of Hit's charitable donation, but due to his kind words of encouragement and the hope that they inspired. She clutched at her heart and cried tears of joy at finally making the first step out of her depression. "T-Thank you…" She rose her head to bid 'Mr Lovell' goodbye, but saw no sign of her newest companion. Still, she did not lose heart: despite the body of her son now resting below the earth, the bonds she forged with him would forever tie them together.

Author's Notes

Don't worry, Hit's not adopting any children. You'll just have to wait and see what happens.

The comment on mammalian species may be offensive, but Hit is an alien looking in on our relatively unusual lives.

Poor Olivia Good luck on solving the case, Hit!

Hit's solution to problems really does seem to be dumping money on them…

It may seem cruel for Hit not to intervene between Hebi and Kareen's argument, but I can't see Hit butting in here. He is on a stealth mission and does not want the spotlight placed on him. Also, he has always focused on his job, disregarding everything else.

Please let me know if I forget something in my story; there can be several week-long gaps in the chapters, and I can forget details at times. I sometimes read this and think, who wrote this!?