A Fool’s Bargain

XXVII

Loki leaned against the dimly lit wall of the room, his arms crossed as he mulled over the storm of emotions churning within him. His dream—the destruction of the Hunter World—felt both closer and more distant than ever. He had spent years assembling the Undead Troupe, crafting a name for himself through chaos and infamy, all in pursuit of wealth, power, and the army he needed to raze the Hunter World to the ground.

But now, the promise of something he had always dismissed as unattainable—knowledge of his origins—hung tantalizingly before him, dangled by Reynard like a fisherman's lure.

"You're awfully quiet," Reynard observed, his voice casual but sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk.

Loki didn't respond immediately. His mind wandered to his beginnings: grown in a tube, raised in a sterile lab, and molded into a killer from the moment he could walk. His creators had ripped away any semblance of humanity, any chance at a normal life.

Eventually, once he'd grown powerful enough, he had turned on them, wiping the facility from existence and ensuring that no other experiments like him could follow.

And yet, amidst the destruction, his creators had revealed a bitter truth: he was a clone, engineered from the DNA of a powerful Hunter. His "father" had willingly submitted his genetic material to create Loki, abandoning him to a life of servitude and bloodshed.

Loki's voice broke the silence. "I lost," he admitted, his tone low and edged with warning. "But I still want that information."

Reynard smirked. "Ironic, isn't it? The Trickster, so eager to uncover a truth that might be just another lie."

Loki's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and calculating. "You'd hate it too, wouldn't you? Being lied to, manipulated. Especially if the lie was born from… malice. And yyou seemed to enjoy it. You can't fool me… I saw joy in your eyes when you saw me slowly realized I've been duped. It was a very human thing: to lie. It is what sets us apart from beasts."

"Perhaps," Reynard replied nonchalantly, moving to the table and selecting a cup of fruit salad. He spooned a piece of melon into his mouth, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

Loki's smile faltered, a flicker of impatience breaking through his mask. "Am I making you peckish?"

Reynard ignored the barb, chewing thoughtfully. "Lying doesn't set humans apart from beasts, you know. Beasts lie, too—a chameleon changes its colors, a predator feigns weakness. Lying is just another survival tactic. For a Trickster like you? It's as natural as breathing."

Loki tilted his head, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "What is it, then, that sets humans apart from beasts?"

Reynard sidestepped the question, instead steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. "I'm a Dealer. And in my business, favors are currency. How does eight favors sound for the information you're after?"

Loki chuckled darkly. "Three. Take it or leave it. And remember, if I owe you a favor, the entire Undead Troupe owes you. Use me, and you're using them. Isn't that the perfect deal?"

Reynard considered this, slowly spooning more fruit into his mouth. "I've changed my mind," he said at last. "I'll sell you the information… but piecemeal."

Loki's expression hardened, though he forced himself to remain composed. "Spit it out. Unless, of course, you've been bluffing this whole time."

Reynard's smirk widened. "Oh, it's not a bluff. You need this, don't you?"

Loki clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Need is a strong word. Call it a preference. But if we can't come to an agreement, I'm fine letting it go. How about gold? Property? Surely you can be flexible now that you're part of the Hunter Association."

Reynard shook his head. "I only deal in favors. You should know that by now."

"Fine," Loki said begrudgingly. "Sell it piecemeal. But if I find your information lacking, I'll kill you."

Reynard's tone remained casual, almost mocking. "Your father has been with us since the beginning, you know."

Loki froze, his mind racing. "Who?"

Reynard's smirk didn't waver. "Silhouette. The same man who hosted the exams. The one who was standing here just moments ago."

The words hit Loki like a thunderclap. His father—the shadow of a man who had loomed over his existence—had been right in front of him, and he hadn't even known it.

"Proof," Loki demanded, his voice a low growl.

"There are no records left," Reynard said with a shrug. "Your creators made sure of that. But Silhouette? He's been in the Hunter World longer than you've been alive. And he knows more about your past than anyone else."

Loki's hands clenched into fists. The temptation to lash out, to force the truth from Reynard, burned in his veins. But he forced himself to stay calm. "If you're lying…"

"I'm not," Reynard interrupted smoothly. "But you're welcome to verify it yourself."

Loki's mind reeled. If what Reynard said was true, then Silhouette wasn't just another obstacle—he was the key to everything. And Loki would do whatever it took to uncover the truth, even if it meant tearing the Hunter World apart piece by piece.

Reynard leaned back, his demeanor calm yet laced with subtle amusement as he added with contempt. "Proof? Alright. The initials carved under your left abdomen: L. O. L. I'm sure you've seen them."

Loki's eyes narrowed, his voice sharp. "And what of it? They mean nothing to me."

Reynard chuckled, setting down his dessert and walking closer. "Of course, you don't know what they mean. But those initials were your father's name—or rather, Silhouette's name before he vanished off the grid."

Loki tilted his head, suspicion clouding his gaze. "Do you know what they stand for?"

Reynard shook his head lightly, his smirk unfaltering. "Not exactly. But I know enough."

"How convenient," Loki said with a mocking sneer. "Your so-called 'proof' proves nothing. It only confirms your ignorance unless you actually know what those initials represent."

Reynard raised a hand, his tone measured. "Calm down, Trickster. Patience is a virtue, even for someone like you. L. O. L. stands for Lance O'Brien Law."

Loki froze. The name was unfamiliar, but something about Reynard's certainty made his pulse quicken.

"Lance O'Brien Law," Reynard repeated, his voice steady. "He came from a family of lawyers, graduated top of his class at the police academy, and was reported killed in the line of duty. But that wasn't the end of his story. He resurfaced as the Hunter known as Nightfury. And when Nightfury disappeared? That's when he became Silhouette."

Loki's mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. If Reynard's claims were true, it meant Silhouette had led a life shrouded in layers of deception long before Loki had even been created.

"I'll confirm it myself," Loki said after a pause, his tone cautious. "If any part of your story is false, the favors I promised are void."

Reynard's smirk widened. "Fair enough. But let's talk payment."

"That's worth three favors," Loki stated firmly, crossing his arms.

Reynard raised an eyebrow. "Don't get clever with me, Loki. I gave you three distinct pieces of information: your father's true name, his life before that, and his civilian identity. Silhouette, Nightfury, and Lance O'Brien Law. That's eight favors, easily. Especially given the rarity of this knowledge and the fact that it concerns Silhouette himself."

Loki exhaled slowly, the weight of Reynard's logic pressing down on him. "You drive a hard bargain."

"I know," Reynard replied smoothly, his tone almost smug.

"Fine," Loki conceded, his voice tinged with reluctance.

Reynard's grin turned sharp. "What else? Ah, don't try to weasel out of your payment. I have ways to ensure my clients always pay their dues."

Loki didn't doubt that. Reynard's network was vast and his influence pervasive. Crossing him would be unwise, especially while the Undead Troupe was still gathering strength.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Loki said, turning to leave.

"Wolf," Reynard called out, halting him mid-step. "If you ever want to know more about dear old daddy, just give me a call."

A card flew through the air toward Loki, and he caught it effortlessly. It was a tarot card depicting The Fool.

"Don't lose it," Reynard added, his tone teasing but firm.

Loki inspected the card, noting the faint glow of aura embedded within it. On closer examination, he found Reynard's contact information and a short message written in aura:

"Thank you for your patronage. You get the VIP, my curious Querent. Congratulations."

It was signed, The Author.

Loki smirked, immediately recognizing the card's hidden function. It was more than a simple calling card—it was a tool for covert communication. Carefully, he wrapped the card in his own aura, ensuring he didn't activate any latent traps or tracking mechanisms.

As he pocketed the card, a quiet resolve settled over him.

Loki stepped out of the venue, the faint murmur of the exam hall fading behind him.

The cool night air hit his face, a sharp contrast to the heated tension of his earlier conversation with Reynard. He couldn't shake the feeling of being played, and the thought gnawed at him.

How shameful would it be for a trickster of my caliber to get tricked?

Waiting just outside was Sarah, her revealing outfit catching the faint glow of the streetlights. Her stance was casual, but her sharp gaze betrayed a readiness for anything.

"This is awkward," Loki muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I got found out."

Sarah's lips curled into a subtle smile, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Reynard. That guy told me." She held up a small piece of paper between two fingers. "Slipped this into my hand during the attack. Said I could interpret it as him paying off a favor or me owing him one. Naturally, I chose the latter. I'd much rather have him in my debt."

Loki clicked his tongue. "The ambush on Reynard's life, huh? That guy's abilities are strange. I wanted him in the Troupe, but he turned me down."

"Are we still good?" Sarah asked, tilting her head.

"Yeah," Loki sighed. "I wasn't keeping tabs on you or anything. But I did have plans… thought maybe we could strike a double deal. Bring him in, and you could recruit his wife. But he's dead set on joining the Association. Shame, really."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Then why send me to the exam? Having two licenses in the Troupe feels redundant."

Loki smirked. "Because I had no plans of showing up myself. But I heard the 'Author' made a move recently."

"The Author?" Sarah asked, her tone sharpening.

Loki nodded, his expression darkening. "A little while ago, he hired some hunters and went on a rampage. Killed a bunch of wealthy types and a few unofficial hunters. No evidence links it back to him, of course, so there's no Hunt Order on his head. Typical of him. I think he's planning to join the Association for a license to kill, or something close to it."

"And you're keeping clear of his path?" Sarah asked, arching an eyebrow.

"For now," Loki admitted. "He's useful, after all. But it's best to tread carefully around people like him. I'll admit, part of me wanted to see if Reynard would cross paths with the Author. That would've been interesting."

The two reached the entrance, where a sleek black limousine waited for them. The driver, a man in a sharp suit, opened the door with a practiced bow.

As they slid into the car, Sarah leaned back against the plush leather seats. "The Hunter World is changing," she said, her tone contemplative. "What's the Troupe's role in it?"

Loki chuckled, his gaze fixed on the city lights streaking past the tinted windows. "The Undead Troupe will be at the forefront of the chaos. Whether we're the ones pulling the strings or simply capitalizing on the disorder, we'll be there."

"And the Author?" Sarah asked.

Loki's grin widened. "He's an enigma. But that's what makes him so exciting, isn't it? Who knows what role he'll play? For now, we'll watch. And when the time comes…" He trailed off, his smile taking on a dangerous edge.

The limousine hummed softly as it sped into the night, carrying the two hunters toward an uncertain future. Turmoil loomed on the horizon, and Loki couldn't wait to see how it would all unfold.

~027