NAILMAKER

  BOOK ONE OF THE REAPER SERIES

  Copyright © 2023 by A. Bel. All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, without expressed permission of the author.

  Chapter 1. Day 1, 2am

  A great pyre burned ahead of me. I felt two hands on my feet, and my back sliding over bumps of a cobbled road as I was being dragged to the fire. I stirred, kicked back to free myself. The two men pulling me along recoiled at my sudden movement. They cursed aloud, and let my feet drop to the ground.

  “He’s bloody alive?!” one said.

  I looked up. “I’m not dead.”

  I should have been though. Not here – wherever this was – but in New York. I stood up and looked from side to side, but couldn’t recognize the place. The two blokes were decked out in outfits that looked like they'd been dug up from a museum. They had that ancient vibe, much like the architecture of this joint, giving off serious old-city-in-Europe vibes.

  One of the men looked disappointed. He frowned and walked off to grab another body, to a corpse unlike any I’d ever seen. Claws, tentacles, twisted muzzles full of fangs.

  Demons?

  Was this hell? Because, it sure didn’t look like no paradise. More of the same grotesque monsters were piled up against the pyre. It crackled and radiated heat, taking away the chill of the night. Smoke rose up high into the star filled sky. The stench of burning flesh choked the breathing air. I lifted my hand to cover my mouth and was shocked at what I saw, or didn’t see – my left hand. Instead it was a hook with a dulled point. What the-? Have I lost my mind? Panic started to seep in.

  “Well, at least your sister will be happy,” the first man said and walked off to help the other.

  “Sister?” I asked, but they ignored me. I didn’t have any sister.

  I touched my face and it felt foreign. Dried blood flaked away from my skin, and more blood coated my hair, sticky and wet. I didn’t feel any injury on my scalp to explain it, nor felt any pain.

  Someone ran up to me, grabbed my arm. “Thank the gods you’re alive!”

  The young lady wore a gray dress that touched the ground. A wool cloak was draped over her shoulders and wrapped around her body. She had a cap over her braided, black hair.

  “Thanks?” I said.

  She threw her arms around me into a hug. “I thought ... I thought-” She was on the verge of tears. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head, pointed a finger between the two of us. “I hate to ask, but. Do we, uhm … do we know each other?”

  “Of course.” She laughed nervously, wiped a stray tear from her brown eyes. “Oh my. You got hit in the head something bad.”

  She reached out to touch my head covered in blood, but I caught her hand, took it aside.

  “I’m fine.”

  I had to think fast. Something nasty had happened here, monsters arrived and people died. Shock and disbelief could come later, but right now I needed to keep my cool. I had no idea about where, or when. Hell, I didn’t even know who I was. What she said gave me a great idea.

  “I’m having trouble remembering,” I said.

  “Remembering what?”

  I winced. “Everything. You, me … this place. What’s it called? Where am I?”

  Her eyes took on a shade of panic. “Kladmont?”

  “I think I lost my memories.” I tapped the side of my head. “From a head injury.”

  “Oh.” She flinched back, touched the base of her neck. “You don’t know who I am? I-I’m your sister … Maggie.”

  I almost caught myself saying ‘nice to meet you’ – that would have been weird.

  “And what’s my name?” I knew myself as Jack for some thirty years, but apparently things have changed. Very much so. It all felt crazy. Surreal.

  She looked distraught. “P-Percy.”

  “Percy?” I didn’t like that name very much. “What happened here?”

  She pulled at my arm and turned to leave. “Come on, I’ll tell you on the way home.”

  I didn’t think twice about following her. I could sense goodness in her from the start. She appeared like a warm and caring individual. Normally, I could smell a scoundrel from a mile away.

  Around the pyre and the city square, groups of soldiers stood around talking loud. Most of them wore chainmail armor and carried swords, spears and axes. Was this medieval Europe?

  An older man with a gray beard turned in our direction. Unlike the rest, he wore a breastplate and his gauntlets gleamed with the light from the pyre.

  “Past your bedtime already, Percy?” The older man said with a mocking tone. “You can go, we don’t need no cripples.”

  Others laughed. Maggie picked up pace. I turned to say something, but she pulled me along.

  “Pay them no mind, they ain’t worth it,” she said.

  Heat welled up inside of me – they were pissing me off. Hardly a minute in a new place and the assholes come out like cockroaches. I made sure to remember his face.

  As we walked away from the pyre, the noise died off and the streets turned dark. Lanterns hung next to shop signs gave off a dim light. Yellow candlelight flickered in the windows. We passed row houses and brownstones. The streets smelled like piss. People slept tucked away in corners, scrunched up under dirty blankets and rags. And there were more of them the further we went.

  We talked and she answered a few questions. She said the bells had tolled and people came out to fight the demons that had managed to get over the city walls. The monsters were from the Maze to the south. A place of twisted passages chock full of danger, but also treasure. It only got bad during the Spring season.

  I asked, but ‘we’ didn’t have any other family alive. It felt so weird to ask, and to have a sister. I never had one before. I expected to wake up at any moment and realize that it was all a dream.

  A short walk later we arrived at a rough looking row house, three stories high and made of brick. It had a wrought iron fence, railings and window grates to keep thieves away. At one end hung a ‘Nailmaker’ sign next to a flight of steps and the door to a half-basement flat.

  Past a creaking door, we walked into the damp and cold interior. She lit a candle, and it illuminated a humble dwelling. A single room with a single table, two chairs and two beds. One side of the room had tools hung up along the wall, a workbench and what looked like a modest smithy.

  Out of nowhere, bright messages flickered in my sight. They came with pain like an ice pick to the head. I nearly lost my footing. I gritted my teeth as additional messages appeared with bursts of stabs to the head. I could barely make out what Maggie said in a worried tone.

  [New Entity Found. Evaluating past experience. Please wait.]

  [Error >> Class ‘C-17 Cargo Plane Loadmaster’ not found.]

  [Error >> Class ‘Taxi Driver’ not found.]

  [Error >> Class ‘Machinist’ not found.]

  [Creating new abilities and passives.]

  [Class added. Profession added.]

  [Status screen available.]

  New messages finally stopped, but left me dizzy, gasping for breath and sweating. I felt exhausted and drowsy enough to fall asleep standing up.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” Maggie asked.

  “I-I don’t know. I saw some … text?” I read it and was surprised to see my past jobs listed one by one. I got to the last messages and saw the familiar terminology of RPGs and video games.

  Status screen?

  I thought of it and a blue screen popped up in my vision.

  ● Name: Jack Driver; Race: Human

  ● Age: 23; Height: 188cm; Weight: 75kg

  ● Level: 0; Experience: -|--------

  ● HP: 450/450

  ● MP: 520/520

  ● MP Regen: 5.2/min [Base: 1% / min]

  ● Str: 41 (base: 82)

  ● Agi: 51 (base: 102)

  ● Con: 45 (base: 90)

  ● Per: 48 (base: 96)

  ● Wil: 52 (base: 104)

  ● Profession: Reaper [0]

  ● Class: Outworlder #179

  ● Spells: Animate Iron, Void Locker, Time Dilation

  ● Passives: Iron Domain, Call of the Void

  Chapter 2. Day 1, morning

  I woke up to someone banging at the door.

  I jolted up, and nearly fell over trying to get out of bed. I felt weak, like I was down with the flu. My hands and feet were frigid. Correction. My hand was frigid. I raised my left arm and stared at the dull hook where my other hand should have been. It felt surreal. The reality of my situation still hadn’t quite sunk in. Would it ever?

  People had lost hands for various reasons, but one reason stood out in my mind. In older times, thieves would sometimes get their hands chopped off. Could it mean that Percy was a criminal that got caught stealing?

  The flames in the hearth had died down to barely an ember. Maggie was gone, and I recalled her saying that she worked at an inn. Still wearing the boots from last night, I walked to the door, pulled back the dead-bolt, and opened it. An angry looking man stood outside. He smelled of freshly cut lumber, and had sawdust on his apron.

  “Well?” he barked at me.

  I sighed. “Well

what?” He probably had business with ‘Percy’ and not me, Jack. Try explaining that to him: I died, Percy died, and now I’m in the body of a dead man. This wasn’t a dream after all.

  “The nails. Are they done?”

  I glanced over to the workbench and the smithy, then remembered the sign that said ‘Nailmaker.’ Was it really Percy’s occupation? Making … nails? I have done dirty jobs before, simple ones too, but this?

  My status showed ‘Reaper’ as my profession, and it wasn’t for some farming gig reaping grass with a scythe. No, the status description was quite clear about death, murder and souls.

  Reaper:

  Do you yearn for vengeance? Perhaps you like to dabble in occasional murder? Or maybe you’re a workaholic looking to pick up extra hours as the judge, jury and the executioner?

  Well, this profession is just what you need. Track your prey, collect their souls. Use them as currency to purchase and upgrade abilities and passives.

  Death is at your fingertips.

  It felt like the description knew me personally and was mocking me.

  I sighed. “How many? And what size?” I took a shot in the dark to see if I could help. By the state of things, Percy and Maggie lived dirt poor, but I’d have to find a way to make a living here somehow, in this new reality of mine.

  Without answering, he barged right in, swept me aside, and I hardly had the strength to stop him. He rummaged about on the workbench, the tools clattered in his wake.

  He turned back with a basket of nails, half-empty. “That’s all you made?”

  I wasn’t sure how many there were in the basket, maybe a hundred.

  “How many did you need?” I tried to be nice, but he was starting to get on my nerves. I could never work in retail. I feared I’d murder a customer, or two on my first day.

  “I needed a thousand!” he shouted. “A thousand. Yesterday.”

  He took out a few coins and threw them at my feet. “Don’t ever bother me again.” He stormed past me, slammed the door on the way out.

  Bloody hell.

  I was starting to get a feel for Percy and it wasn’t pretty. Just what sort of a slacker was he? And what other surprises did he still have in store for me? Then again, I could only imagine doing any blacksmith work with only one hand. It must have taken Percy several times as long to make the hundred nails.

  I picked up the seven penny-sized, silver coins off the floor. They were stamped with a royal image on one side and a crest on the other.

  At the table I spotted a bowl with food. It made me realize how hungry I was. That feeling changed when I saw the meal – cold oatmeal. I hated oatmeal on a good day, warm, creamy and with quart of honey, but this? Ugh. I needed to eat, needed the energy to get through what this day had in store for me. I gulped down the gooey sludge as quickly as possible, trying not to taste it.

  For now, if I was a maker of nails I was going to start acting like it. I went over to the workbench to survey what I was working with. Two hammers, several iron tongs, pliers and a small anvil. A workshop vise was nowhere in sight. Maybe they didn’t have the technology to make one?

  Two crates stood by the workbench, one with charcoal, and another with thin iron rods. I moved to touch a pair of iron tongs and was shocked. I jerked my hand back as an awareness of every part of the tong flooded my mind. Rattled, I took a step back and examined the troublesome object from every angle. It had rust around the edges with dings and scratches, but appeared harmless.

  Then I remembered my status screen and the craziness of it all. This wasn’t Earth – that I was sure of now – this place had spells and magic. Demons and monsters too. I wasn’t a big fan of that part. My status screen included an Iron Domain passive. I read its description and realized what had happened. The passive provided two abilities:

  [Shape Iron]

  ● Work Mass Limit: 100g

  ● Range: Touch

  [Sense Iron]

  ● Range: 5m

  I grabbed the tongs again, but without flinching. As soon as I did, I sensed the shape of the item even with my eyes closed. Rusted area felt like a rash on the skin. I concentrated on them and they melted away into a polished surface. The dings and scratches melded together.

  Next, I thought about [Sense Iron] and that seemed sufficient to activate it. An overlay filtered my vision. All the iron in a five meter sphere around me – even through walls – became highlighted as if by a dim flashlight, taking on shades of red. Even as I closed my eyes, I could still ‘see’ it.

  I smiled from ear to ear, grabbed the crate with clumps of wrought iron and emptied it out on the workbench. I touched a fat clump of iron and willed it to change shape with my mind. A good chunk of it melted into semi-solid liquid, shiny and smooth like mercury. The sensation was uncanny. Literally magical.

  I smoothed out an iron rod to be perfectly round, then cut into five centimeter segments giving me ten pieces. I worked each piece one by one, adding a head and a sharp tip. Each nail took less than a minute, and I was proud of the nails I made. I didn’t stop there, but made more of them until I had a hundred. With an ability like this, who needed the smithy, hammers, and tongs?

  Now, if I could sell them I could buy something delicious to eat. After the disgusting oatmeal, I was still starving and the place was barren of food. No fridge, no pantry, no nothing.

  Most importantly, I needed to get out and explore the area. I filled my pockets full of nails, and in the process found a key. I assumed it was to the door of this flat.

  Before leaving, I flattened one of the tongs into a polished pancake, held it up like a mirror. An unfamiliar face with a scruffy beard looked back at me. Green blue eyes, strong nose, strong jaw, and blonde curly hair with hints of blood that didn’t get washed out last night. A classic handsome look, but with hallowed eyes and protruding cheekbones – a sure sign of malnutrition and sleep deprivation.

  I aimed to fix that, and a whole lot more.

  Chapter 3. Day 1, noon

  The sun was hidden behind clouds that threatened to rain. A cold wind blew down the street, and I pulled the hood over my head, wrapped the wool cloak tighter. It hung down to my knees over a shirt and pants too thin for this chilly weather. I must have looked like a monk. A monk freezing his balls off.

  Not far from the flat, a beggar sat at the side of the street. An old woman wrapped in rags and a red cap over her head. She was chewing on sunflower seeds, cracking them loud between her few scant teeth. I stopped to ask her for directions to the market square.

  She squinted at me for a long moment before speaking. “You don’t look the same. What happened ta ya dear?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I replied.

  She chuckled. “Methinks ya do.”

  I didn’t want to play whatever games she was on about. There was no way she’d know about me, ‘Jack’ in particular.

  “The market square?” I asked her. “Know how to get there?”

  “Ya don’t belong there.”

  “Why’s that?

  She laughed, reached with her hand and gave me a handful of sunflower seeds. “Here, chew on em, and you’ll see.”

  She told me to head down the street until the city square, then veer north. I thanked her and walked on while eating the seeds. The route took me through the same city square from last night, the one with the pyre burning demon and human remains alike. The square had blotches of blood in areas, soaked into the cobbled ground. The pyre had burned down to mostly ash, and only a faint wisp of smoke was rising.

  I took a minute to catch my breath. Walking had left me exhausted, and I knew why. It was caused by another passive of mine.

  [Call of the Void]

  ● Duration: 12 hours;

  ● Cooldown: 24 hours

  ● While active: +100% to all attributes

  ● While inactive: -50% to all attributes

  It explained my miserable stats and how I felt like a weakling. Just like in a video game I’d played before, I assumed that 100 was the average for an adult, but now I was whittled down to a scrawny teenager. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to affect my intelligence, or memory. I thought of activating it, but wasn’t sure how it’d look in public. So, I left it for emergencies.

 

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