Otar stood in front of an inn, and the only words that came to mind was “rundown shack.” Holes in the thatched roof, a couple of boarded-up windows, and an overgrown gutter that ran along the front acted as decoration. A water trough, coated in slime, held the horses and other transport animals tied up in front.

  A sign that read “Jeb’s Love Shack” swung above the door. Otar snorted at it in bewilderment.

  The armored script carriage he and his party traveled here in sat a good two hundred feet behind him. He looked back at it before looking at the muddy—puddle—pothole-ridden path that led to the entrance of the inn with a labored sigh.

  He had taken no more than ten steps before his left boot got stuck in a muddy hole. Water came over the top of his boot, soaking his socks and feet. Closing his eyes, he looked to the sky. With another sigh, he pulled his foot out and continued until he got to the front, where a pair of double swinging doors greeted him. Stomping his boots on the wooden decking, he pushed the doors forward and nearly staggered back from the smell.

  Stale alcohol—body odor—decay and regret washed over his senses.

  The fire in the fireplace did little to push back the shadows of the inn. Instead, it seemed to enhance the shadows and made it even harder to see. Locals drank in corners or around tables. Toothless mouths and weary, beaten-down eyes looked his way. The few who had sense looked away; the smarter ones left, trying their best not to brush past him as they made their way out of the exit.

  Otar pulled out a handkerchief and brought it to his nose, inhaling the perfume on it. Eyes locked onto the bar, he made his way toward it. His feet stuck to the floorboards worse than on the muddy path outside.

  A woman with a mass of brown curly hair didn’t look up from the cup she was polishing with a dirty rag. Otar tapped the bar, but she ignored him. Eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring, he increased his tapping as he could feel all eyes of the clientele on him.

  Finally, sensing something was off, the barmaid looked up at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. A cut lip and a black eye adorned her face. She looked at him, not saying a word.

  “When a customer normally walks into an establishment, it is a custom to greet them and ask them what they want,” said Otar.

  “Wha?”

  Otar pinched his nose. “Doesn’t even form a complete sentence. I hate these fucking backward, in the middle of nowhere places where everyone appears to be related to their sister or brother.” Otar lifted his head. “All right, let’s try this again. I am looking for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Ahh, you understand me. Good. I am looking for three travelers who may have passed through here not long ago. One was a black male who carried a katana, another a female rogue type who wields a bow, and lastly, a tanned, musclebound male who carries a halberd-type weapon.” She looked at him blankly, and it was all Otar could do to stopping himself from strangling her. “These wanted posters may help.”

  She took them from him, and he watched her as she flickered through them. She paused when she came to Francisco’s poster. Ah. She handed them back and shook her head.

  “You…you are sure you have seen none of these people?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “I’ll only ask this one more time. Are you sure? Depending on the answer you give me, I can change your life.”

  The same vacant stare was sent his way, but he wasn’t fooled. He probed gently with his Aura to uncover the lie told—

  “Denise, why the fuck isn’t my food ready?” came a bellow from out back.

  Denise jumped and nearly dropped the glass she was holding as heavy footsteps made their way toward her. Otar turned his attention to a mountain of a man who was a mixture of muscle and fat. A greasy, red plaid shirt opened up at the front and showed a mass of tangled chest hair. Sleeves rolled up, showed off hairy forearms with a tattoo revealing miniature figures that ascended in size. The Growth Tree Ink tattoo was displayed proudly.

  “I asked you a question, you dumb bitch!”

  Otar looked between Denise and the newcomer as she tried to shrink into the background.

  “Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” asked the newcomer.

  “That is no way to speak to a new customer,” said Otar.

  “We don’t need any more customers. We’re doing fine.”

  Otar looked around the bar like an inspector during an exam final. “As I see. But if you indulge me for a brief moment, I may be more valuable to you than any customer who has come through your doors in some time.” The bartender crossed his arms. “Jeb, is it?” Otar got no response. “Jeb, I’ve got a few questions I was just asking your good lady here.”

  Jeb snorted. “She ain’t no good lady. If she didn’t keep dropping her panties at every musclebound idiot who smiled her way, I wouldn’t have had to slap her around so much. Bitch doesn’t know her place.”

  Otar’s lips pulled into a fine line as he took in Denise. “Are you sure you know nothing?” Her eyes flickered to Jeb before settling back on his face. He gave her a nod before fixing his gaze on Jeb. “Can I have a bottle of your strongest alcoholic drink?”

  Jeb smirked. “You sure you can handle it? Ain’t ya a bit on the small side for an ogre?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Otar smiled sweetly.

  “What do ya think, boys? Shall we see how he does with the Homebrew?” Cheers and laughter came from behind Otar, but his gaze was only on Denise.

  Jeb pulled a brown jug from behind the bar that had three red X’s on its body. Putting a small cup beside it, Jeb jerked his thumb toward the glass.

  “Why is the cup so small?” asked Otar.

  More laughter from the crowd.

  Jeb smiled as he addressed the crowd. “Because that’s the only amount anyone will ever need. I’m the only person in a hundred miles of this tavern that has ever managed to drink five whole shots. The Homebrew challenge, we call it. If you can best five, then all your drinks are on the house.” The crowd cheered as Jeb pounded the table.

  “How quaint.”

  Otar picked up the moonshine jug. “Before I start this challenge, I want to ask you a question. Have you seen any of those people?” He nodded to the wanted posters on the bar.

  Jeb picked them up and flickered through them. “What if I have?”

  “All I need to know is where they went.”

  “What did they do?”

  Otar shook the jug, causing its contents to slosh from side to side. “That is none of your concern. But know this: if you give me the information I need, then I shall pay you enough to buy a hundred inns. Now, what do you know?”

  Jeb rubbed his chin while he stared at the amounts of the bounties on the wanted poster. “A thousand gold.”

  Otar snorted in disbelief. “What?”

  “I want a thousand gold for everything I know.”

  “And what’s stopping me from asking one of the other people in this inn for the information you know and paying them less?”

  “They won’t say a thing.”

  “Oh.” Otar lifted an eyebrow.

  “They know I’ll kill them if they do.”

  The silence that followed was deafening. Denise edged further away from the bar, putting as much distance between Jeb and her as she could.

  “A thousand gold is absurd just for some information. If you had them tied up and locked in your basement, then I may consider it, but not for information.” Otar shook his head.

  “You can afford it. I saw that carriage you came in with the fancy House crest. I reckon the Baldwins can afford a thousand messy gold coins for my time and information.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Otar shook his head. “Why did you have to go and say their name? All you had to do was tell me what you know, plead ignorance, and I would have given you enough gold to be comfortable. Yet greed has been your undoing. I guess it’s understandable. We are on this planet because of greed, are we not?”

  Jeb looked at him as if he had grown two heads. “What the fuck are you on—”

  Otar threw the jug over his shoulder, causing it to sail high in the air. Once it reached its highest arc, chains shattered it into pieces causing alcohol to go everywhere. The crowd behind him yelled in surprise as Jeb roared in anger and grew larger by the second. The quick reaction time caught Otar by surprise, as Jeb’s Grow Tree Ink tattoo flashed and became animated along his forearm.

  Otar was hoping to kill the bar owner before he could fully use his Ink, but he had missed that window of opportunity.

  Now, Jeb’s muscles rippled and regrew as his muscles and height kept on increasing. Red plaid shirt split into pieces and fell away, revealing a hairy torso, with a barrel chest and beer belly. Jeb pounded his chest and flexed his arms. Otar looked on, bored.

  The crowd in the bar watched the scene with interest, but now self-preservation kicked in, causing them to flee for the exit. That was something Otar couldn’t allow.

  Chains flew out from his back like whips and cut the fleeing customers in half.

  Those were the lucky ones.

  Others found chains wrapped around throats, cutting off airways, or wrapped around legs, dragging them back inside.

  “You dare attack my clientele?”

  “You didn’t care a minute ago about your fucking customers—customer service, or anything in between. Why do you care so much now?”

  Jeb didn’t answer as his eight-foot frame smashed through the bar and rushed toward Otar. Otar smiled as chains wrapped around his right fist. He waited until Jeb was within spitting distance, then ducked under Jeb’s wild swing and punched him in the gut.

  A whoop of air left Jeb’s mouth as he searched Otar’s face in confusion.

  “Don’t be shocked,” said Otar, fist wrist-deep in Jeb’s gut. “You believed yourself to be superior. But you are only a Viscount, and I am Duke. If you had taken the appropriate time to search my Aura, you would have found yourself lacking. But alas, the fallacy of you being superior was formed in your mind because you are the biggest fish in a paddling pool. You may have fooled these people into thinking you are some great threat, but you are nothing more than a Viscount with a common-as-mud Ink.”

  Jeb roared in rage, spittle flying from his mouth as he lunged at Otar.

  Otar rolled his eyes as his chains latched themselves to a rafter in the roof and pulled him over his opponent’s head. Landing gently on his feet, Otar threw a kick that dug into Jeb’s ribs. Foot encased in chains the impact of the blow threw Jeb backward until he found himself embedded in the wall behind him.

  The bartender pulled himself out of the wall and came again.

  His left hand behind his back, Otar delivered blow after blow with his right hand along his opponent’s body until Otar’s fist was covered in blood.

  Jeb pulled away from Otar, scrambling for space—but the ogre stayed on him.

  He was no longer the attacker. Now he backpedaled, desperate to put distance between them.

  He grabbed one of his fleeing customers by the neck and hurled them into Otar’s path.

  A length of chain—like a whip—lashed out, slicing the poor soul clean in half.

  Otar stepped through the body as it fell apart on either side, landing on the floor with a wet splat.

  Panic swept over Jeb’s face as he picked up a table and used it as a bat. He swung it at Otar with everything he had, but Otar’s chains sliced through the wood in a blur, leaving Jeb stunned. With each blur of metal, less and less of the table survived.

  Otar moved forward with the patience of a predator seeing its prey trying to flee with a broken leg.

  “You want to know why I despise people like you?” Otar asked but didn’t get a response as Jeb looked for an opportunity to flee. Jeb threw the remaining table Otar’s way and made a beeline for the exit, but chains wrapped around the bartender’s leg, causing him to crash to the floor. “The reason I hate people like you is because you believe yourselves to be superior although you have done little to support such feelings. You have not suffered for your power. You have not fought for your place in life. Oh no, my friend. You were born big, so all your life you had the advantage of size. Then you come to The Other Side, and the first thing you do is grab one of the most common Inks across the land and strike your claim in some backward part of the world, where you can call yourself the strongest because no one cares about the patch of dirt you have settled on.”

  The chains tightened around Jeb’s leg, crushing bones. “That is not strength,” said Otar. “That is simply weakness masquerading as strength.”

  Hands cowered before him; Jeb looked up at Otar. “Please, I’ll tell you anything you need to know. Anything. Just don’t kill me.”

  But Otar’s attention was no longer on his prey. He took in Denise, who still had not fled. “Why would I need your help when I get can it from her?”

  “Because, because, because…” Jeb looked for an explanation, but all words failed him.

  “Name your price?” Otar asked Denise.

  She jumped, shocked at having been spoken to. “I…I…I’ll take whatever you think is fair.”

  Otar’s mouth hung open in surprise. “Smart.”

  “Don’t listen to her. She’s a backstabbing—lying—” Chains wrapped around Jeb’s throat, cutting off his words.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  Denise looked at Jeb before dragging her eyes Otar’s way. “I want two guarantees. First, and the most important one, is that once I tell you what I know, you won’t kill me. And second, I want you to make sure he’ll never hurt me again.”

  Otar’s chains tightened around Jeb’s neck until a sound like a branch snapping in two filled the air. Jeb’s body went limp as his body deflated like a balloon and went back down to its original size.

  “I still need your word that you will not kill me,” said Denise.

  Otar looked deep into her soul before nodding.

  “Right, the people you are after…”

  ***

  Otar stepped through the exit of Jeb’s Love Shack as flames ate at the interior of the building. He stopped on the landing and took in the approaching carriage. It stopped twenty feet away from the building before one of the side doors opened. A human male with light brown skin and ember eyes looked his way.

  “Is this your doing?” said Jason, pointing to the building.

  Otar said nothing as he made his way to the carriage, trying to avoid the potholes. He got in through the other door and wiped himself clean as best as he could.

  Jason looked at the flecks of mud Otar was tracking on the carriage floor with a frown. “If you had parked closer, then I wouldn’t have gotten so dirty,” said Otar.

  Jason said nothing until the carriage moved again. “You know, if we wanted to leave a scene, I would have gotten that idiot Clarence to accompany me on this mission.”

  “I didn’t realize he was up and about.”

  “He’s not. But he’s out of the worst of it.”

  “Can he talk?”

  “No. Hand signals at best. Doubt his skin will ever grow back. He’ll be disfigured for life unless he pays for a healer to cure him.”

  Otar laughed. “We both know he can’t afford that, and he isn’t valuable enough to your family to warrant that level of investment. Anyway,” said Otar, after a long pause, “I would love to see him. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Otar didn’t avoid Jason’s narrow-eyed stare. The splinter that was Clarence was something Otar had yet to pluck. Otar didn’t know how much the man remembered, but he couldn’t have remembered much, otherwise Clarence would have informed the powers that be of Otar’s involvement regarding the Ink found in Noobcity. Even now, Otar berated himself for losing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. Not only did he let one of the three greatest Inks on The Other Side slip through his fingers, but he had also lost a small fortune that would have set him and the brotherhood up for life. Every time he thought of that valet bag filled with gold and gems, rage flooded his veins as he could see One-Eye chuckling at another missed opportunity.

  “I didn’t know you and Clarence were such close friends?” asked Jason.

  The question was innocent enough, but Otar saw through it. “No. We aren’t, but we have a common enemy, the people who stole from your family. I am a person who likes to be prepared. Even more so when life and death are involved. If I want to get back what was stolen, then I need to know as much about my enemy as I possibly can.” Jason lifted an eyebrow. “When I say I, I mean that in the royal sense of the word, of course.”

  Jason nodded but showed no outward emotion.

  Since the youngest son of the Baldwin Estate had arrived on The Other Side, Otar had been appointed as his bodyguard slash guardian. Every Baldwin son apart from Henry, the family champion, had one. Onrick guarded Richard, and he wasn’t sure who guarded the eldest Charles, but he had heard through the rumor mill that it was a monster-level Aura user who was on par in terms of power with Henry. Otar was confused as to why he had been given the position after everything that happened back at Noobcity. The role was an important one, and only the best of the best were given it. He sensed a greater agenda being played behind the scenes.

  He took Jason in, with his dress shoes, tailored trousers, an open-collared lilac shirt that showed a diamond chain, and felt confused.

  Jason was as far removed from Richard as you could get. He kept his emotions in check, never shouted or demanded anything, but there was always a level of danger just bubbling under the surface. The kind of danger that belonged to someone who was simply biding their time.

  “What did you find out?”

  “That they passed through here not long ago and headed south,” said Otar. “The berserker and the barmaid I spoke to had a roll in the hay before her husband found out. Then the husband and the boys chased the trio away.”

  “The beastkin wasn’t with them?”

  Otar shook his head. “No. But it is no loss if we do not catch him. The three we are chasing now are the ones we need to be concerned about. To be honest, even if we don’t catch the other two, your little girlfriend is the one we need, because she is the one with the Ink.”

  “She is not my girlfriend. She was too stubborn, for one thing. Never knew her place. But how do we not know that all of this is not a huge waste of time? I mean, what is to say that she hasn’t already gotten tattooed?”

  “Ritual tattooists are only found in cities. Not in backward dumps like this where everyone is fucking their sister. No. For her to find a proper tattooist and one that would not mess up her Ink, she would need to go to a big city.”

  “What happens if she goes to a second-rate tattooist?”

  “The Ink won’t take—it could kill her—her power may turn her into a monster, the list is endless. That is why, whenever you are getting Ink tattooed, go to the best. Anyone second rate won’t do.” Otar looked out the window at the swamp-like marshland they passed. “And you sure as hell will not find that here.”

  Jason nodded as he too stared out the window. “What did you do with the money you were given?”

  They approached a female form jogging in the distance. It was the barmaid from the inn. “I gave it to her,” said Otar.

  “Why?”

  “Because sometimes you’ll get more answers with sweet words and gestures than you will from threats.”

  Jason lowered the window on his side of the carriage as they approached the barmaid. Pulling out a crossbow from under his seat, he aimed and fired.

  The bolt struck the barmaid between the shoulder blades, dropping her to the ground.

  Jason tapped the roof of the carriage twice and said, “Stop.” Getting out, he walked over to the slain woman and rummaged through her clothes and belongings till he found the coin pouch Otar had given her.

  Tossing it in the air and catching it again, he kept up the action until he took his seat and tapped on the carriage, signaling it to move.

  “Why?”

  Jason looked at Otar with the same blank stare that was beginning to unnerve him. “This is The Other Side, where you take what you want. You don’t ask. I thought someone of your experience and time here would have understood that already.”

  Otar said nothing as the carriage continued to move. Here was a man who viewed life with little regard. Who would step on anyone who got in his way as easily as someone would step on an ant.

  Here was someone who needed to be watched. Here was someone who could not be trusted.