A month had passed since Jack killed the Child Butcher, Mr. Boulder. And taken the ghost boy, Spider, as a student.
Jack's routine was still a stark duality. By day, he was Jack Night. A man of solid flesh and bone. Built like a brick tower. With hands often stained by grease. A Steamrune Engineer.
He operated out of the Sapphire City Mercenary Union Hall. A chaotic hive of activity, rumors, and low-stakes violence.
He still took simple missions. Escorting short distance shipments within the city. Clearing out minor monster infestations from abandoned warehouses. Retrieving lost artifacts for nervous merchants.
It was grunt work. Designed to build a reputation, earn coin, and, most importantly, maintain his life. He was a living, breathing mercenary in that incarnation after all.
He socialized sparingly. Mostly with Danny, Bill, and some other blunt mercenaries. Exchanging gruff pleasantries. And sharing complaints about pay or troublesome clients.
He spent hours in libraries when he could. Poring over volumes on forgotten crafts, regional history, and whispers of the supernatural woven into folklore.
The general workshop was another hanging place for him. A place where he could tinker with gears and pressure valves. A place to apply knowledge of Steamrune technology. A place to hone the skills of his chosen class.
Early nights were spent resting. Letting his physical form recover. And storing the energy he would need later.
Then, as the city's gas lamps flickered towards midnight, Jack Night would cease to exist. In his place was Jack Mystery, the specter.
Invisible. Intangible. He moved through the city's quiet arteries and shadowed alleys. His first destination was always the same. The library in the Mercenary Union Headquarter.
Spider would be waiting there. A faint, shimmering outline in the gloom. Usually perched on a precarious bookshelf.
The ghost boy had proven himself an exceptionally quick student. Almost unnervingly so. A month of dedicated, albeit brief, nightly lessons had transformed the wispy street urchin ghost. Into something far more capable.
He had mastered the basics expected of a spectral entity. Invisibility was second nature now. He could shimmer out of sight on will. His form could be a mere ripple in the air. Intangibility was also under control. Allowing him to pass through walls and objects with ease.
He still occasionally struggled with the opposite though. Tangibility. That was where he needed to maintain focus. Used when trying to touch something as a ghost.
Rudimentary telekinesis, the ability to exert force on the physical world with his will, was still unnatural for him. He could lift small objects. Slam doors shut. Or create localized chills and gusts of wind. But he needed full concentration.
Beyond the inherent ghostly abilities, Spider had devoured the lessons in Mystic Arts. With a voracious hunger Jack hadn't anticipated.
Perhaps it was due to the sheer novelty of it. The power it represented to a being who had felt utterly powerless in his life.
He had learned to read the arcane symbols Jack projected. Or drew in the spectral energy of the air. His grasp of minor cantrips was solid.
Fire Spark. Dreamy Mist. Cold Light. Lightning Guide. Water Splash. Vicious Taunt. Quick Mending. Glowing Stone. He handled them all with a surprising degree of finesse.
In fact, he was already preparing his spectral grimoire. A mental construct of energy where he could theoretically record and refine stronger spells. It was a significant step. Indicating a deeper engagement with the arcane energy.
Tonight's lesson had been about strengthening the spectral grimoire concept. Focusing the mind to create a stable repository for magical knowledge.
Spider perched on a reading desk. Listening intently. His translucent form was absorbing Jack's words.
"It's not just a book, Kid." Jack's disembodied voice echoed faintly in the library's cavernous space. "It's an anchor for your will. Like a brain outside your brain. Gives you structure. Makes the energy flow better when you're casting."
"So, like... a sheath for a sword? Designed to make it easy to draw?" Spider's voice was still weird to hear. And it held the same blunt sarcasm as before. Perhaps even more so now that he felt more secure.
"Yes. A nice analogy." Jack confirmed. "You could prepare a magic spell and keep it within your mind. But it's like putting a sword in your bag. To use it, you need to open the bag, reach inside, and take it out. Bothersome. Grimoire is like a sheath. You just need to draw the magic spells like drawing a sword."
They continued for another hour. The air thick with latent spectral energy as Jack explained the principles. And Spider practiced the visualization. By the time Jack deemed the lesson complete, more than an hour had already passed.
"Alright, that's enough for tonight." Jack said. "Keep practicing the grimoire imagery. Build it piece by piece. Don't rush it."
"Yeah, yeah. Got it." Spider replied. already looking restless. "Thanks, Teach. See ya tomorrow?"
"Midnight. Same place." Jack confirmed. "Be careful."
"Always am." Spider retorted. His form was wavering as he prepared to vanish. "Don't get caught doing... whatever it is you do after this."
Jack didn't answer. He simply waved and focused his own will. His spectral form dissolving into the ambient energy of the ruined building.
...
Invisible. A mere ripple in the night air. Jack Mystery drifted out of the library. Into the city. He moved silently. A phantom observer.
He wasn't looking for trouble, specifically. But he was looking for imbalance. For balancing the scales of justice. However twisted his version might be.
His path tonight took him through the wealthier districts. Past grand houses and establishments that catered to the city's elite.
The air here was slightly cleaner. Scented with expensive perfumes and polished wood. A stark contrast to the coal dust and brine of the lower city.
He drifted towards the towering, opulent building. The Gilded Lantern Hotel. A notorious den of luxury. And discreet, or sometimes not-so-discreet, vices for the city's upper crust.
Tonight, the Gilded Lantern was practically vibrating. The upper floors were lit like a beacon. Music both raucous and strangely hypnotic was spilling from open windows.
Jack drifted through a large, ornate window. His intangibility let him bypass the thick glass and heavy curtains.
He found himself in a scene that would make most proper citizens swoon with outrage. It was a party. But not one for polite conversation or waltzing. This was unrestrained party.
He could feel everyone in there was fueled by alcohol and... drugs. Paradise Dust. Addictive substances Jack recognized from several of his encounters with drug dealers.
In his view, bodies were intertwined. On velvet couches. Against walls. Even on the floor. Nakedness wasn't the exception. It was the norm.
Bottles were being passed freely. Powders inhaled without pretense. It was an orgy, plain and simple.
Jack observed it all with a detached neutrality. Something that came from years of witnessing humanity's capacity for depravity.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, drugs, and something else... It was also full of low, thrumming energy that felt both primal and amplified.
He could see faces flushed with excitement. Others were blank with intoxication. He could see a variety of acts. Things he wouldn't bother to catalogue. It was decadence on a grand scale.
Was this evil? From a moral standpoint, certainly. It violated countless societal and religious norms.
Was it guilty? That was Jack's criterion. He scanned the room. His spectral senses were sharp. He looked for coercion. For fear. For the tell-tale energy of someone being unwillingly subjected to this.
He found none.
Everyone here, as far as his senses could discern, was participating voluntarily. They were there because they wanted to be. They were engaging in self-indulgence. Perhaps self-destruction. But they weren't harming others in a way that crossed his personal line.
His view on such things was brutally pragmatic. If you wanted to poison your body, dull your mind, or debase your spirit, that was your business. Jack wasn't here to be a moral guardian for consenting adults.
His mission was to protect the innocent. To punish those who preyed on the unwilling, the weak, the exploited. These people were exploiting themselves, perhaps. But that wasn't a crime in his book.
Unpleasant? To some, yes. Worthy of judgement? Not for him to decide.
He didn't feel the urge to intervene. No punishment to deliver. No reward to bestow either. He simply lingered for a moment longer. An invisible voyeur in the room. Before drifting away. Phasing through walls.
He began to dissolve his connection to the scene.
But then... It happened. A sudden, jarring overlay on his spectral vision. The thing that had become familiar. Yet still unnerving after all this time.
[LEVEL UP!]
Jack froze. Or the spectral equivalent of it. Level up? Here? Now? He hadn't done anything. He hadn't struck down a villain. Hadn't saved an innocent. Hadn't even given a stern spectral glare.
All he had done was observe a bunch of people doing drugs. And having sex.
[AVAILABLE NEW SUPERNATURAL TRAITS] CHOOSE ONE:
[SUCCUBUS TEMPTATION]
[INCUBUS CHARM]
[POPOBAWA'S CRAVING]
Jack swore under his breath. What in the hell was this? How did watching an orgy trigger a level up? Was his system rewarding him for... tolerant observation?
Or... Wait! His power source was supposed to be Spirit of Judgement. He did judge those decadent people not guilty. In his skewed standard. Was it also considered valid judgement? Really?
And the choices. He knew these names. They were rooted in the twisted folklore and legends in his old world. All three were entities deeply associated with carnal desire. With manipulation through lust and dreams.
Succubus. Female demons who preyed on men. Draining their victims' life force through pleasure. They were often associated with temptation and seduction.
Incubus. Male demons counterpart of succubus. Ones who preyed on women. Similarly draining life force. Associated with masculine enticement and carnal charm.
Popobawa. A truly grotesque entity from certain African mythologies. A winged creature that assaulted people, both man and woman, in their sleep. A creature of pure, violating carnal horror. Often linked to fear and helplessness.
And he had to choose the power from one of them as a trait? What would they even do?
He had no detailed descriptions, as usual. Just the names and whatever associations he could dredge up. From the archive of the previous world memories.