Charles Mackley

Dasha frequented a certain bar in the Dark Sector called the Lowkey. It was where he found the former Holy Dynasty member, the wizard with the rune robes, and the popular war veteran. The ones he told Daughter of. Xavier later supplied him with their names and a rundown of their background, though in all honesty, there was no need. Everything he told Daughter was correct. He grasped their history and personality with no mistakes, save for one little thing.

The war veteran wasn't just a soldier. He was a former member of the Templar Order. An infamous figure that was said to have rejected the Templars for everything they were and left as protest. Undoing the life-long vows should have meant death, yet the man lived. He sat on a stool at the bar's front counter, drinking a glass of wine. Invisible with the power bestowed to him by Sigurd's cloak, Dasha slid next to him.

"I can see you." The Templar Knight ranked fourteenth. He who was said to have battled Jack the Ripper and deemed worthy. The fallen Marshal of the Templar Order: Charles Mackley. A weathered middle-aged man in black tatters that swayed from side-to-side as he drank and talked. "You want to ask me questions about Jack, right? You're not the first."

Charles sensed Dasha. He didn't see him or his mask, but he recognized that he was there regardless. However he sensed him, it was significantly greater than Dasha's Early Stage Qi Sensing. Dasha didn't say a word back.

"Fucking hell, I know you're there." Silence. Charles drank his wine quietly. "Jesus—I fought him a long time ago. I have no clue about this new copycat, or if he's not a copycat. I know nothing, so scram."

Everybody listening that didn't have a sufficiently high level of sensing thought he was going crazy. Consquently, the bartender tiptoed away. That was when Dasha opened his mouth and directly asked, "What do you think?"

Charles let out a long, guttural sigh. "Bug off, invisible man, before I kill you."

Dasha didn't take his threat lightly. This man was in the top twenty during a time of great conflict, he could very well do what he claimed. If only they were in the White Abyss where violence was disallowed. "You were the one that brought him up. I did not say anything."

"So you're not here for me, invisible man?" The louder Charles got, the more stares he received. At this point, the customers were ignoring him.

"Like I care." Dasha shrugged to put some emphasis. Maybe he would feel it.

"Hrn." Charles gestured at the bartender to give him refill his glass with wine. Tilting his head way back, he glugged down the drink. "Ahh…! That hit the spot."

Typical veteran behaviour—bonding over drinking during their service and allowing that habit to spill over to their normal lives. Charles was a tall man with a bit of a gut and a disgusting scar across his face that went from maroon, red, and then black. His struggles didn't need to be seen, they were practically displayed in his body.

"Then there is the seasoned war veteran. A classic. He exchanges war stories with fellow veterans, talking of the glory days yet never daring to bring them back. He is an authority at the bar."

As the days went by, the authority Charles Mackley held grew less and less. His body weakened and so did his mind. He drank and drank and drank, waiting for his friends to arrive to join him. None did. As Dasha predicted, he was yearning for something.

Dasha slid forward a plastic bag of pink. "I was told you needed this."

"Excuse me?" As soon as Dasha's hand left the bag, it revealed itself to the world. Ten grams of Dream Meth. "What is this?"

"A way to relive the glory days without having to go back to them. A way to see and control your dreams as if they were reality. Call it medicine."

Charles raised the bag towards him, squinting. "Medicine? Looks like pink crystal meth to me. Do you think that just because I come from an older time that I don't know things?" He glared right at him and Dasha felt a weight press down his shoulders. "You're really pissing me off—"

"I am the messenger," Dasha lied. "Do whatever you want. Throw it out, use it, put it in your drink, it is not my issue. If you wish to consume it, try it and see a snippet of your old life, do it. Otherwise, continue to live your life." He hopped off the stool, his leaving presence followed by Charles's gaze. The fallen Marshal squinted, then looked back to the Dream Meth. Dasha left.

Xavier did not. At the very back of the bar was a man invisible to all, even the veteran. The man in the hat would later report that Charles stared at the Dream Meth for minutes before shoving it into his pocket.

The plan was a success.