After the heat of the rage had finally dissipated, and Felix no longer felt the urge to kick the deformed mush of what used to be a Sinner, he finally had a moment to breathe. He wiped his eyes with a trembling hand, trying to collect himself, before his legs gave out entirely, forcing him to collapse on the ground when the adrenaline left him.
"What the hell did I do?" he whispered, out of breath and clutching his head. He tried to recount the last few minutes, but the memories were surreal. His stomach lurched, and he leaned over, vomiting up large quantities of that wretched red sand.
He coughed, his throat raw, and as he thought back to the wet sounds of the pistol-whipping and the stomping, he could hardly stop himself from spilling his remaining guts.
I'm gonna be sick.
Using the brick wall behind him for leverage, he began picking himself up. He noted with a detached sort of fascination that the cracks along his hands left when the demons crushed his fingers were already beginning to knit back together.
He spared a frowning glance at the mangled corpse. That intense rage wasn't like him. It was. . he couldn't put it into words. But he couldn't afford to overthink it now. The situation was handled.
Felix knelt by the body, searching the demon's pockets. It was a pathetic haul: some miscellaneous junk he didn't care for, a few bent copper coins, a handful of crumpled singles, and a crushed cigarette packet with a cheap lighter.
Of course the prick was flat broke.
Careful not to touch the souls directly with his skin, he used a torn strip of leather from the ruined pouch to scoop the coins and bucks into his pocket.
As he was thinking of what to do next, his eyes landed on the gun he'd thrown. He grabbed it, tucking it away before walking out of the alley.
Stepping back onto the street, he reconfirmed his surroundings, feeling somewhat at a loss. He thought back to the sights he'd seen on his way here while on his way to deliver the money — visibly cringing at the last part — and noticed how different everything was compared to where he had woken up.
He was still far from the true heart of Pentagram City, but the environment here was overwhelming. The skyline was a mess of billboards for things he didn't want to understand, and the streets were a graveyard.
A few yards away, a car was crashed into a crooked utility pole, its engine still hissing purple smoke while passersby simply walked around it. Everyone was either mindlessly murdering one another or doing vulgar acts that made Felix turn away.
Everything around him was louder, brighter, and smelled of deeper rot. To avoid another headache, he exhaled a long breath, rubbing his temple. Seeing the sheer degeneracy around him, he lightly hit his head. "Fuck it."
He ran toward the crashed car. While his shoes crunched over shattered glass, he saw the driver was slumped over the steering wheel. He was barely conscious.
Using the heavy butt of the gun, he smashed the driver-side window. The glass rained down on the driver's lap, but the demon didn't even flinch. Felix reached in, unlocking the door and pulling it open. He began to search the car, using his meta-awareness to hunt for anything that pulsed with greed.
Inside the cabin, the air was thick with the cloying stench of alcohol. The radio was still alive, surprisingly, playing a romantic, heartfelt ballad about true love that felt like a mockery in this world.
As the static cut in and out, the sweet, soulful voice of the singer crooned about forever.
His eyes landed on a suspicious, small box with a heavy iron lock tucked under the seat. Other than that, there was nothing but empty bottles.
He turned his attention to the drunk, patting him down. As he searched, he noticed the demon was clutching a small, ripped photo against his chest. Even in his stupor, his grip had dedication.
The driver's eyes flickered open for a second, unfocused and glazed. "Please. ." the demon muttered, his voice a broken whisper. "Give her. . give her back to me. She's all I. ."
Felix paused for a second, his hand hovering over the photo. He looked at the demon, then at the box in his other hand.
The romantic song on the radio reached a swelling, emotional peak. "It's nothing personal," Felix murmured. He didn't take the photo as it had no value to him, but he didn't stay to help either. He stepped back and began repeatedly slamming the butt of the gun against the box's lock.
After a few heavy strikes, the metal finally gave way with a satisfying snap. Inside was a modest haul of souls, barely a quarter of what Barnaby had given him. Still, it was enough to matter. With it was also a ring that gave a red reflection from the gem.
It shimmered under the dim light, too clean and beautiful for a place like this
𓋹
The next hour was a blur. He was running out of time. He couldn't afford to be picky. Using the empty gun as a prop, he began posing as a robber in the darker stretches of the street, targeting anyone who looked weak and couldn't defend themselves.
He cornered a middle-aged Sinner behind a stack of leaking crates. The man was trembling, his hands raised in a pathetic gesture of surrender. "Please kid, I need this!" the Sinner sobbed, clutching a handful of copper to his chest. "My mom is kind of homeless. I work twenty-four hours, I wanna help her out."
Taking a deep breath, Felix pressed the cold barrel against the man's forehead. "I missed the part where that's my problem." Soon, the man dropped the copper-souls, weeping as he ran into the streets. Felix watched him go, feeling a tug at his heart. Did he still even have a heart?
By the time he checked his mental balance, he had nearly half of the original amount Barnaby had entrusted to him. It wasn't enough, but his gut was turning. He pulled the yellowed paper from his pocket and began to follow the address with a sense of mounting dread.
The farther he walked, the more the buildings began to loom, until he reached a structure that dwarfed everything in its colorful shadow. He stopped dead, staring up in disbelief. The purpose of the building was broadcast in blinding, vulgar neon.
Three massive X's flickered in a sickly pink, flanking a sign that featured a big-chested demoness. Above it all, in block letters that felt like a slap to his pride, read: PORN STUDIOS.
Felix facepalmed, his hand lingering over his eyes. He triple-checked the address, hoping for a mistake, but the ink didn't lie. This was the place.
He braced himself, taking a long, steadying breath. To test his theory one last time, he took out a single copper-soul. The moment it touched his palm, it dissolved into digital embers.
[1x COPPER-SOUL COINS COLLECTED!]
Okay. He still had the inability to hold money of any kind. Holding his head, he focused on the new weight at the back of his mind.
[RARITY: JACKPOT (RANK: J)]
[ABILITY: MONETARY DETONATION]
[DESCRIPTION: The User may convert any form of currency imbued with 'value' into volatile energy. Upon activation, the chosen currency is converted to a violent, unstable output, allowing it to be destabilized and detonated on command. The resulting explosion and power scales directly with the inherent worth of the offering.]
When he'd first read the description, he'd hoped it would grant him some loophole — some way to hold cash as long as he intended to use the ability. But the copper-soul had proved him wrong.
He experimented anyway, standing in a quiet corner of the studio's shadow. He tried remote detonation, testing the distance, the worth of the items, and the origin of the souls. Finally, he tried a command he hadn't thought possible: he attempted to recall the copper-soul from the system.
To his shock, it worked. The coin materialized in the air, identical down to the scratch on its rim. His system balance flickered back to zero.
He had found his loophole. He couldn't hold wealth, but he could manifest a replica. He turned toward a brick wall and threw the copper coin. Just before it hit the surface, he mentally focused on Monetary Detonation.
The coin glowed with a blinding, crackling energy that gave it an intense, bright magenta aura and slight humming sound vibrating through the alley.
—BOOM.
The explosion was small — only enough to chip away a fragment of the brick. But Felix raised a fist into the air, a triumphant grin splitting his face. He prepared himself for the entry. He wrapped the remaining physical money into the box. Then, he took two coppers, two silvers, and two singles from the pile, watching them dematerialize in his palms.
With a final, bracing breath, he pushed open the heavy doors of the studio and walked inside.