[WOLF 359] The beast that can't be killed

[picavasnormandy]

Nota: Scritta per "Explorers" capitolo 1 settimana 3 con prompt "nuova legge", "castigo" e "dimensione alternativa"

Jacobi fucked up.  

Which, quite frankly, could refer to a lot of situations he put himself into - and not just speaking about the past few days or months or even years, but rather his whole damn life.  

His first fuck up was, of course, being born.  

A difficult task, if someone were to ask him, but statistics say one in a million infants decide to ruin their poor, good parents' life by coming to life equipped with horns, a pointed tail and a whole lot of demonic blood in their veins, and it just so happens that Daniel ended up being one of those children. Cursed and sinful right from day zero. 

His second fuck up was believing his parents were poor or good people at all. Quite to the opposite, the name Jacobi is not unknown across the kingdom, and for all the petty reasons rich people love to be remembered by: they are, as already mentioned, quite the wealthy family, with strong connections throughout the whole kingdom, and they profess to be close to the King – whatever that might mean for them – having occupied, traditionally and for many generations, some of the highest ranks in the nation’s military, which makes them also some of the most dangerously important folks at the King’s court.  

And that’s why, going back to the day of his birth, the way Daniel Jacobi decided to present himself to the world was, in fact, quite disastrous. 

Not that he was gifted with any other redeeming quality that would restore his honor in the eyes of his parents, anyway. He tried – the Gods know he really tried hard - to be a kid just like any other, disciplined and obedient, always striving to look flawless in his father’s eyes, but in the end he could never unsee that awkward, disgusted and hardly contained shadow in his old man’s gaze whenever he glanced at him, like he was some kind of vicious monster waiting for a good excuse to be gotten rid of. 

Such was his youth, spent mostly behind closed doors, isolated from the people, a well-kept secret that would only bring shame to the good family name – and for a long time, that was all Daniel convinced himself to be. He had no friends, aside from the rare members of the family staff that would take pity in him and try to approach, only to be quickly disposed of when mother would find out. He also had no vision of the future, when all he knew were the uselessly refined walls of his overly expensive bedroom, and the stories of distant, remote worlds told by the books he was allowed to read. 

No doubt those tales kept him alive all those years, and for many years to come. They taught him how to dream the impossible when no one allowed him to, and they trained his mind to think, his voice to speak and his heart to feel. They were his only companions and teachers for such a long time, that the concept of being alone eventually stopped making sense to him. He was never truly alone, when so many voices spoke to him through those old, yellowed pages. 

And so, against all hopes, Daniel found a way to survive.    

He was thirteen when he finally fucked up again.  

By that time, he had already read most of his father’s books about war and combat. He had learned everything about the theory of fencing and he knew all the dueling moves’ names and tricks by heart. His passion for romances and tales about kingdoms at war and the heroes that saved their people had already taken root in his heart, and the way he allowed himself to dream about being one of those champions was nothing but a naïve product of his childishness.  

The day of his birthday, one of those rare occasions when his parents would allow him a semblance of freedom, he felt bold enough to confront the fear he felt towards his father. Sitting at the uselessly huge dinner table, while consuming a meal deceitfully prepared to celebrate his life, he mustered the courage to cut through that heavy silence born from discomfort and the absence of love. 

When he said: “Father, I want to join the military”, he thought he was finally doing him proud.  

The week he spent without sleep, with a broken nose and a black, swollen eye, crying the pain away, was enough to teach him better. He never dared having such foolish thoughts again, and with his hopes and innocence shattered just like that, he quickly became a young man.  

He absorbed himself in his studies, abandoning the stupid, childish tales he so dearly treasured to expand his knowledge of the real world and the rules that govern it. By chance he discovered this new field of study that mixed science with magic, and it took him but a few dozen pages to be totally fascinated by it. 

Alchemy, they called it, and to him it was like if chaos was channeled to the best version of itself by means of logic and reason. Something in that notion resonated deeply with him.  

He did everything he could to obtain any book on the subject – even at the cost of awakening his father’s rage once again. He asked for favors and paid well-disposed servants, and some days, when he was feeling courageous, he would even sneak out of the Jacobi estate to venture into the city by himself. In time, he discovered that the more years passed, the less his family seemed inclined to keep a close eye on him, almost as if trying to forget about his existence, and so he took advantage of their growing mutual indifference. 

It was during one of his escapes that he stumbled across an old alchemist’s lab, a hole so hidden among the narrow streets of Old Town that he ended up believing that it must have been fate that brought him there.  

The place smelled like rust and stale oil, but it had a unique touch to it. Books and papers were scattered all over, but they were not like the ones he’d read up to that point – no, they had all been written first hand, notes and projects developed and corrected through the years, segment after segment of ink trying to grasp the nature and the secrets of reality – trying to make it work, somehow, according to someone's own desire. 

The old man who would make it work was not an easy one, but he didn’t look at him with disgust when he saw him enter the door for the first time. Instead he said: “Who the hell are you?”, staring from behind his goggles, as if the door to his rathole of an establishment wasn’t left open for anyone to come in, and invited him closer with a brusque, annoyed gesture. Daniel later found out that the reason behind his irritation was, to quote, that he barged in in the middle of a history-changing experiment, thus causing it to be lost forever – and yet the man didn’t send him away, expecting instead that he helped with whatever he was trying to achieve. What that was, Daniel never got to figure out, but all in all he never truly cared – not that he would have grasped the meaning of it anyway, not at the time, at least. 

His surprise was evident when the old man invited him back – or rather, he demanded that he came back to help him with a new job. When Daniel asked why, he said: “You didn’t blow off your hands, something I can’t say about my last three apprentices.” 

Suffice to say that such reason was enough to let Daniel believe he was becoming an alchemist apprentice himself – and so he allowed himself to start dreaming again.  

He began spending more and more time outdoors, sneaking off into the city to spend whole afternoons at the laboratory and coming back home smelling like metal and gunpowder, and yet no one in the family seemed to notice or care, too busy with their own concerns. Daniel didn’t really understand, but he heard voices, whispered in the halls of the estate like some shy secret, about a terrible invasion threatening from the west. 

One day he asked the old man about it. He said: “The kingdom is getting ready for the war.” 

“What war?”, Daniel inquired. 

The man stopped for a second, staring at his tools absorbed in thoughts. “If only we knew”, he said after a few moments, and it sounded to Daniel as if he was lost in some distant memory. The silence that followed suggested that he held back any further question, and so he did.  

His teacher was right about the war at least, because Lord Jacobi was nowhere to be seen and his shining armor and sword were both gone from his room. 

Daniel didn’t really worry, his mind still captured by all those novels about war and heroes that made the battle look unrealistically fascinating – if anything, he was a bit jealous that his father got to take part in the fight while he was left at home, like he’d always was.  

That, precisely – petty enviousness about something that wasn’t worth longing for –, was the reason why, when the old man asked, with a grave look on his face that Daniel didn’t quite grasp the meaning of, if he was ready to put what he learned at the service of the country, Daniel didn’t hesitate. 

“What do I have to do?”, he asked, and that was the moment his life began to fall apart. 

To be fair, it all looked amazing at first. 

What he had to do, the old man said, was to enroll in the Royal Academy for Applied Magic. Daniel smiled, a little bit sad, a little bit dreamy. 

“They would never accept someone like me”, he noted, still holding on to a childish hope – the same that earned him a shameful beating years before. 

But the old alchemist was soon to correct him. 

“They would, if I were to vouch for you.” 

Daniel knew that confusion was showing on his face when the man continued. 

“I taught there”, he explained. “Actually, I was one of the first to explore the mixing of science and magic, back in the days. If I were to tell them that you have talent, they would take you in without batting an eyelash.” 

“And how did you end up here?” 

The man seemed to consider his answer for a moment. 

“Let’s say the academic life never really suited me. Too many constraints, too much limitation. But for you, it can become an opportunity.” 

“An opportunity for what?” 

“That, you’ll have to decide for yourself.” 

Daniel didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but as always, he trusted his master. 

“Will you get by, here without me?”, he tried to laugh, but the idea of leaving that place both terrified him and made him nostalgic. It was the closest he ever felt to having a home.  

“Don’t be full of yourself, I have no use for an arrogant brat like you.” 

Daniel smiled, catching the affection hidden behind his grumpy lectures, and got back to work.  

A month later he was wearing the Royal Academy uniform.  

Despite coming from one of the wealthiest families in the kingdom, Daniel was all but accustomed to formalities. His parents never deemed it necessary to educate him to the ways of aristocracy, and so all he really knew was the craft he’d learned while training under the old man. It took a few months to get used to the proper etiquette, the methodical organization of routines and, most of all, the freedom he was given while living at the Academy. 

Of course, he was using a fake name. The one condition his parents set for him was that the family name was never, under no circumstance, to came out of his mouth in front of others. Aside from that, it looked to him as if they were happier to let him go than to keep having him stay in their home. All in all, it was probably just as significant a relief for them as it was for him.  

And so, began the short-lived career of the tiefling alchemist named Midland. 

It was immediately clear to both his young colleagues and the teachers that he was one of the best. By that time, he had already read most of the theoretical manuals ever written about alchemy, and his apprenticeship had given him a kind of confidence in the use of the tools of the trade that most students lacked.  

All things considered, his years at the Academy went by with little worry. Tales from the incursions from the west and the fights at the front were rare and scattered, and the war sounded like a distant problem bound to be someone else’s concern.  

Much to his surprise, he spent most of his time locked in the laboratory, not so different from the life he was forced into when he was younger – only now it was his choice, and he did not intend to waste a single minute of the time he was given. 

At the age of seventeen, while the High Chancellor was announcing his name in front of the Academy along with those of the others graduates, Midland finally understood what his old teacher meant when he had spoken about opportunities all those years ago. His chest was filled with pride and joy and his life was finally starting to take a turn in the right direction.  

That night he cried and laughed and drank with the friends he had made along the way – there were not many people that would trust a tiefling, not even in a place like the Academy, where they teach you to challenge reality in order to achieve the impossible, but that way he knew that the bond he shared with them was based on loyalty and respect. 

The following morning, when the time of celebration was over, he realized he had nowhere to return home to. The Academy only offered residence to enrolled students and the most prestigious teachers, and he hadn’t heard from his family since the day he had left giving up his name, so going back to ask for shelter was out of the question. 

He was finally a Royal Alchemist and he had no one to share his dream-come-true with. Life suddenly felt bittersweet, and despite everything he finally got a taste of what loneliness felt like. He didn’t enjoy the sensation, and so he decided to go back to what made him truly happy: the old man’s laboratory and the crazy experiments they fabricated together.   

When he finally knocked on the familiar, long missed door, his heart was beating like crazy. He felt again like the little kid all those years ago who had stumbled across that incredible place of magic, and despite never getting a reply to the last letter he had sent his old mentor, informing him about his coming graduation, he was not feeling sad. If anything, he was gleaming in anticipation of the face the old man would make when he told him the news.  

But that morning no one came to the door.  

Nor the next morning, or the one after that.  

On the fourth day, with a heavy apprehension weighing on his heart, Daniel finally mustered the courage to ask around the neighborhood.  

He couldn’t even feign surprise when the news came to him. 

The professor passed away, kid. 

He had died of old age two months before. He was dead. While Daniel was studying hard, while he was sleeping, while he was laughing and drinking with his friends, the most important person in his life had died, and he had no idea.  

Daniel got the key to the small apartment from an old lady in the district, an acquaintance from his time as an apprentice that had taken care of them many times, bringing them meals when they absorbed in work until late forgetting to eat. She was just as heartbroken as he was, Daniel could tell, and yet she mustered a forced smile for him, to make him feel better. She explained, not without a hint of bitterness, that some officials from the government had already stopped by the house to clear it of any important documents or notes and experiments that could help the country in the coming war (when was it coming, Daniel wondered, as it seemed that years had already passed since the first news of the invasion began to spread), but she'd rather give the place to him than to have strangers ransack what remained of the old man’s memory.  

He took the key and went to the house. Not because he really wanted to be there – the idea of finding himself alone in a place of recollection, filled with precious memories now lost forever, made him feel like tearing up – but rather because he desperately needed a place to stay.  

The first weeks were rough. He kept finding himself staring at hollow corner, or at the messy writing amassed on a piece of paper, and his mind went back, catching a distant vision of a memory, and image connected to that place – the smell, the little noises coming from the street outside, the feeling of the tools in his hand – it all reminded him of his mentor.  

He set himself to work in order to get distracted. He had no idea what he was trying to achieve, only that having something to do would take him thoughts off the grief. Sometimes people from the King’s court would come inspecting the house, just like the lady had warned, and he just paid them little attention as he let them do whatever they had to do. 

It was a few weeks later that he received a visit from someone different – someone new. She, too, was government, as the colorful King’s crest finely embroidered on her coat suggested, but she had a solemn air about her, a look importance and pride, something similar to the feeling he got from General Jacobi, his father.  

She looked at him with firm composure, almost unmoving, and he could tell by the way she stood that she was a big shot. 

“Are you the one that calls himself Midland?”, she asked. 

“That’s my name.” 

Daniel couldn’t decipher her little grin until the moment she spoke again. 

“But I believe your name is Daniel Jacobi, heir to General Jacobi.” 

Daniel felt his legs go weak as he lost a heartbeat. His mouth turned dry, and as he tried to speak he couldn’t find any clever word to say. Fear suddenly overcame him – an ancient, distant fear that he hadn’t been feeling in a long time – one born from family bonds that he was never supposed to have. 

Despite everything, he still had a smug grin ready for her. 

“I’m sure the General would not forgive you for speaking his name like this.” 

“General Jacobi is aware that I am here”, she said, indifferent, and Daniel stopped smiling. “So, are you his son or not?” 

For a moment, he considered going for not. Had Father finally decided to send someone to take care of him? 

“What does he want from me?” 

“Oh, him? Nothing. Actually, he was quite shaken when he found out the King knew who you really were. No, I’m here on behalf of His Highness himself.” 

“The... King?” 

“Yes. As a Royal Alchemist who earned quite the reputation at the Academy, you are called to serve your country. The nation needs people like you. People who can help turn the tables in the upcoming war.” 

Where this war was fought and who it was fought against, Daniel never got the chance to ask. The scary lady escorted him to court that same evening, giving him time only to collect a few belongings and bid a hushed farewell to the empty house of his mentor.  

In no time he started making a name for himself. 

He was officially appointed as consultant artillerist, and his job was to research and build new weapons for the army. His new job even required him to cross paths with his father more than a few times, and every time they met only the few, necessary words were spoken, and General Jacobi glanced at him with a look of distress. Daniel smiled, proud and arrogant, the fear he once felt for that boring man now disappeared completely, and he felt like the world finally belonged to him. 

By the time he was twenty-five, most explosives used in combat by the army bore his name. His new life had many limitations, much like the old man had warned him all those years before, and yet Daniel had never felt so free.  

He was alive. He existed in the eyes of the world, and his name was known by any soldier fighting on the front lines – but most important of all, he was finally making that little, scared tiefling boy who read any book about alchemy proud.  

His tale could only have ended with a happy ending, or so he thought. 

If only he had avoided this last, massive fuck up. 

--- 

The tavern is quiet and dark, Daniel chose it for this reason precisely. 

He has been drowning himself in booze for the whole night, jumping from terrible drinks to more disgusting ones, and he feels he could keep going for another century. Maybe he’ll overdose, maybe he’ll finally find a way to die. That wouldn’t be so bad. It would finally make the world a better place. One without crazy explosive murderers in it. 

“Is this sit taken?” 

A voice asks next to him. He doesn’t care, so he just shakes his head, taking another long sip. 

“What are we celebrating”, the voice speaks again. And if Daniel hadn’t drunk one too many drinks, he would have considered punching this guy in the face. 

“The end of my fucking life”, he answers instead, still without looking.  

“You look more than alive to me”, comes another comment from the man, jovial and bright. “What’s your name, deadman?” 

Daniel groans, and he lets out a hollow laugh. He’s not having fun. 

“Daniel”, he says, and then he considers another thought. “Daniel Jacobi”, he drinks. 

“Jacobi”, he hears the man next to him murmur his name, almost interested. “You're not using your made-up name.” 

“Why would I? Who cares?” 

There’s a long pause, to which Daniel convinces himself that the man has decided to leave him be – as he should. When he turns around, however, he’s still there. A literal half-orc knight in shining armor, with beautiful bright eyes and perfect golden hair. Daniel catches himself staring a moment too long, so he goes back to looking at the bottom of his now empty glass. 

“I gather you’re not on optimal terms with your family”, explains the man. “Besides, your kind tends to choose new names for themselves. Names that give meaning.” 

Daniel shrugs, uninterested.  

“Yeah, I don’t need meaning, and that’s too much of a bother anyway. I'm okay with Daniel. It’s a stupid name, it doesn’t mean anything, my parents didn’t even bother naming me after one of our ancestors. They had already decided that I would never amount to nothing.” 

And they were right, but he doesn’t say. 

“You still made quite a name for yourself around here”, says the half-orc. 

“Yeah, what a great fucking success. Hurray."  

“You are not in prison though. That must be something.” 

“No, and that’s only thanks to my name. Even though I bet Father would have rejoiced in finally seeing me in chains.” 

“And how’s the future looking for you?”, asks the knight, his voice slower, quieter, as if trying to predict a plausible answer before he even gives one.  

Daniel thinks for a moment, or at least he tries. His head is heavy with booze and guilt. “I prefer not to look at it.” 

“You must have thought of something.” 

He shrugs. Of course he has. He’s had many thoughts lately, all starting with the image of his young, innocent student blown up by one of his bombs, and then ending with plans and conclusions he’s not proud of. As the half-orc said, though, he is still here somehow. 

“Maybe I'll leave”, he says – and since when he’s so inclined to share something so personal with a total stranger? “Get out of this damn city, get away from everything and everyone. Fam wouldn’t mind me disappearing, I guess.” 

A pause. “And then what?” 

“And then who knows. I don’t want to think about that.” 

“So you’ll just... leave.” 

Daniel turns and looks at him. For the second time tonight. “Maybe”, he frowns, almost trying to decide if he trusts this person. “I’ll decide when I decide.”  

The knight stares back, and his gaze is suddenly so intense that Daniel considers looking away for a minute. He doesn’t. He’s better than that.  

“Come with me”, the half-orc says, with a certain gravity to his voice. 

Daniel, on his part, bursts out laughing in his face. “Where?”, he asks, the voice of a man who has nothing to lose, not even his dignity. 

“I'm going on a trip”, the other explains. “I want to show you something. And I could use some of your... talents.” 

“You mean destroying things.” 

The half-orc gives him a bright, honest smile. “I mean precisely that.” 

“And why do you know so much about me?” 

“Mr. Jacobi”, he starts, as if savoring his name. “Let me get one thing straight: my job is precisely to know stuff. And if there's something I'm sure of, is that you are an extremely capable individual, whose skills and competence could and will achieve great things if channeled in the right direction.” 

Daniel scoffs. “Yeah, you missed the part where my skills and competence actually killed innocent people.” 

The other nods, eyes still fixed with his. “And you were punished for it. I just think that it was the wrong kind of punishment. I think it would be insane to let such potential go to waste.” 

“They should have put me in a cell and thrown away the key.” 

“Then I’m glad they didn’t”, he says, as if it’s the easiest answer to give at such a statement. “Listen, a passion like yours, you don’t find it everywhere. You don’t just make things explode: you have a fire inside of you. I can see it burning. It just needs some taming, that’s all. I could use your skill, but I need them in their perfect form. Wasting such a gift just because of an honest mistake, though... I don’t think anyone would benefit from that choice.” 

Daniel frowns, genuinely creeped out this time. “You have no idea what you’re talking about”, he says, in all seriousness. 

“Then show me.” 

“Oh, trust me, you don’t want that.” 

“Well, now it’s my turn to say that.” 

“Say what?” 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The half-orc smiles, and Daniel feels so confused. There seems to be nothing in this person he’s able to read. A total mystery. 

“Whatever”, he shrugs and looks away at the barman, asking for another round. 

It’s only after a few moments that his neighbor speaks again. “Mr. Jacobi”, he says standing up from his chair. “I see this conversation is not going anywhere useful tonight. Let me make a proposal then: think about what we talked about, think about my offer, sleep on it. I’ll be leaving in a week from today, once I gather the information I need in this city. If I don’t have an answer by then, I’ll be going alone. That is not a problem, but I will appreciate some company if I have it. And I’m sure you’ll appreciate having new laws to live by. Better ones.” 

Daniel turns. He has so many questions, and so little desire to ask them. It’ll be easier to just mark this person as a madman. 

Right? 

“Goodbye, then”, he says, already leaving. 

And Daniel sees a small pile of money left on the bar, just in front of him 

Asshole.