Project Seraphina [LitRPG, Magitech, GL]
3.4 The Black Market

“Alright, ladies,” the pawnbroker says. “Drop your weapons, put your hands in the air where we can see them. And don’t try any funny business, do you hear?”

“And if we say no?” I ask. “I’m not looking for any problems here. I just want to make my purchases and leave in peace.”

One of the four men flashes a sinister smile, revealing teeth of yellow with silvery amalgam wedged in among multiple molar crowns. Not the same as that creep back in South County Dungeon a couple months back. Goddesses, hard to believe that the System arrived nearly three months ago now. Feels like it was either just yesterday or a long, long time before then. And I’m not sure which.

He pulls his gun out of its holster. I get a chance to glance over the glyphs marked into the side of the barrel. Just a basic [Impulse] glyph for a bit of extra power.

“Now, now, Al,” the broker says. “We’re civilized people here. No need to rush to such… unpleasant displays.”

I barely restrain myself from scoffing at the combination of thinly-veiled threat with utter hypocrisy. And I’ve got a hunch as to what’s going on. Some folks have been seeking to pawn off the various pieces of equipment that they’ve found in dungeons or stolen from the petty monster attacks within the city— or the not so petty ones in the countryside. They need cash to pay bills, and these gentlemen have been so kind as to provide. I’ll bet there’s a [Mechanist] in the back or otherwise working on retainer to supply these weapons to folks who want to use them in dealings just like this one.

In our case, a little coercive incentive to grease the wheels to make a deal. If they were a bit less scrupulous, they’d just take my arm and wings and maybe our clothes and armor and leave us. Or worse, to eliminate witnesses.

Of course, they have made the flaw of trying this on a couple where both members are in their upgraded class, and both of whom have seen more shit than our appearances would suggest. Compared with the people back with the Order of the Wilds, these five are a pittance. Just common thugs, really, as much as I don’t like the dehumanizing nature of the term.

“I’d hardly consider four shady-looking guards with Ethertech weapons pointed at me to be the definition of ‘civilized’ or ‘gentlemanly,” I say. “I’m sure your mothers would all be most disappointed to see how you’re treating a couple of ladies right now.”

Another one of the guards pulls out his gun, though he doesn’t point it at Chloe and me. Just brandishes it around like a threat. Instinctively, guns are supposed to be frightening. But compared with being literally stabbed in the back— twice, if my past life counts— it doesn’t really carry the same fear anymore.

I stand motionless, [Angelic Insight] analyzing the five men and formulating plans of attack. Mostly, I’m worried about Chloe; I’ve suffered damage before and I’ll continue to do so as long as I live. The one behind me and to my left is the weakest of the five by two levels or so. If a fight starts, I can make a break past him and set up a defensive perimeter.

Though I don’t mind delaying the fight just a bit longer, either. Maybe there’s a hollow chance we can still avoid settling this like barbarians, and a few more seconds to regenerate my [Ether] will serve my benefit, not theirs. Our buff spells have durations in the hour range, more than enough time to fully regenerate to max [Ether] and recast, if needed.

“I’m afraid that we can’t allow you to leave with such dangerous equipment,” the broker says. “It’s not safe for society if a couple of kids are given access to that kind of power. Please, set it all down on the ground, we’ll get it inventoried, get you paid, a little extra for your trouble, and we’ll all be happy and on our way.”

“No,” I say. “Such equipment should be in the hands of people who can be trusted to use it. And you five are not among that list.”

Do they think I was born yesterday? Do they really think they can just throw their weight around because they’re adults and older? I suppose I did fall for it with the colonel, but that was because… Well, I… Yeah, I can see why they’d think I’d be susceptible to being talked into submission. This time around, however, I won’t.

“You tell them!” Chloe says. Her previous fear is now pushed aside and replaced by the same righteous indignation I first saw when she learned about the Order of the Wilds and what they had been doing.

The other two guards draw their guns upon me, and this time, the pawnbroker doesn’t make any attempt to stop them from pointing the muzzle directly at my head. Intellectually, I know it’s not much of a threat. My [Etheric Armor] will protect me, especially when combined with the next spell that Chloe apparently gained with her class change.

[You are affected by [Saintess’s Cloister]. The next 3,200 damage that would be dealt to you will be prevented. (Effect expires in 00:31:58.)]

The issue is that no amount of intellectual knowledge can quite supplant the primal fear of staring down the barrel of a gun. And the physiological sensations follow. The sweaty palm, the shallowed breathing, the racing heart clutching up in my throat. My eyes darting back and forth, that human sensation of fight or flight starting to force itself up.

But I am in control. These five will not intimidate me. They will not lay a finger on Chloe. No one will touch Chloe without her consent as long as I still draw a breath.

A shot rings out. It seems to move in slow motion. Why didn’t he empower the weapon? Even with his shitty stats and the poor quality of that glyph, it should move faster than that. Then it hits me. A warning shot. Proof that they’re being serious, and aren’t afraid to risk confrontations with the law to get what they want. In a way, I’m a little impressed. Though I’m far more irate considering that Chloe could have been injured.

I catch the bullet in midair— my lacking but still superhuman dexterity augmented by [Angelic Insight], itself a Skill based partially on my old [Bullet Time].

[[Saintess’s Cloister] effect activates. 52 damage absorbed. (Remaining: 3,148 / 3,200. Duration: 00:31:26)]

Surprised that an ordinary bullet would do 52 damage to me after striking in a non-vital area. Did I screw up? Or did he actually use the glyph and it’s just weaker than I’d thought? Damn, if that’s the case, the [Mechanist] who did a shitty-ass job really needs a stern talking to about how to actually construct glyphs. Then again, maybe that person didn’t have a [Tinkerer] Skill like I did. Or was shortsighted enough to ditch such an overpowered ability.

“Please,” I say, dropping the piece of crumpled shrapnel to the ground. “I thought we were going to discuss this like civilized people. Or was that a lie?”

Another round of bullets launches in rapid succession. As soon as the first one begins to spiral toward me, I raise my wings, shielding Chloe from harm. I Manifest my trusty [Repulsion] barrier with but a thought, forming it into a hemisphere-shape which protects the both of us from all attacks.

The place is a ravaged wreck. Bullets fly in every direction, bouncing off my shield and continuing on their new trajectories unimpeded. Glass shatters. Electronics are shredded. Millions of dollars of merchandise is completely ruined. All for the sake of a little human greed and the desire to get more power.

By my saintess and love, these people are the worst. And yet, I won’t stoop to their level, either. These people aren’t like the Cultists of the Wilds, at least that I know of. There’s a good chance they’ve engaged in other acts just like this one. I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that they’ve killed people, either directly as they just tried to do with us, or indirectly through the weapons they peddle and smuggle.

Morally, I’m not sure I have a problem with simply putting them out of my misery. It would be an act of self-defense, and I’m certainly ridding the people here of a very real threat. But at the same time, that’s the path toward becoming a tyrant angel who smites the wicked without mercy, without remorse, and with complete impunity. It might be right for me, as the [Mechanical Angel], but just because my wings are made of metal does not mean I am without a heart or a soul.

“Chloe, can you see if you can get in contact with Lindsey or Nicholas? Or even your mother? Also if she has an attorney on retainer, I have a feeling we’ll need one.”

Chloe nods. Even as I say this, my eyes remain fixed, focused solely on the five men who are cowering at my feet. I point my [Mechanical Arm Cannon] at the dealer.

“All five of you, face down, on the ground, right now,” I say. “And don’t try anything.”

I fire a single [Ether Bullet] into the ground at my feet, just to emphasize that the weapon attached to my body isn’t just for show. It leaves a softball-sized hole in the ground, cleaving through the flimsy carpet and the solid concrete foundation with the same ease.

It seems that, unlike some of our cultist friends, these five do still retain a self-preservation instinct. They sweep little bits of debris apart on their hands and knees until each of them has a body-shaped area of relatively-glass free floor on which to lie. And yeah, I guess I’m being a massive hypocrite, acting exactly like the pigs I hate so much.

I just don’t see a better option. No sense in killing them; that won’t do anyone any good. I don’t know if they can be safely imprisoned, but if Nicholas or whomever does ultimately end up ordering them killed… I guess it’s no different than doing so myself. I really, really don’t know if there’s a moral choice.

Then again, I do have an idea, as I glance to the ring on my right hand. I built this [Flawed Ring of Regeneration] as a way to restore my [Ether] for the powerful spells my [Glyphcasting] enables. But there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do exactly the reverse with a set of handcuffs. Use them to drain the [Ether] from someone and push it into the outside environment, stopping their regeneration and leaving them in a torpored, semiconscious state of Ether strain.

It’s an ugly thought. Especially because I know firsthand how debilitating and even painful Ether strain can be. I don’t know if I’d quite call it torturous, but one could certainly make a reasonable case that it is.

And it’s not hard to see a very, very grim future. What if the government ordered every person over the age of 10 to submit to these cuffs indefinitely, imposing a magic stupor upon them until the day they die? That would be even worse than the pre-System environment, a way to keep everyone magically bound within… slavery, of a sort, all under the auspices of it being to ‘protect the peace’ or more hypocritically, ‘for our own good’.

No, the idea seems good on the surface. But like everything else involving the government, it’s rife with so much potential for abuse that I simply can’t stomach the implications. It’s somehow even worse than being an arms dealer, which already makes me nauseous. It’s one thing to build weapons that will empower people, even if there’s violence involved. But the idea of building the government the cuffs with which they’ll bind us? That’s the sort of cause that makes me feel empathy with the people who just got done trying to kill us.

But I still don’t think I can let them go. Truly, nothing but bad options.

“I just got a text back from Mom,” Chloe says. “She and some officers will be here shortly.”

I sigh. So much for trying to have a peaceful day without any trouble.