Arc 1: Payback - Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely a fanfic for enjoyment.

Cross-over from various games, books, anime, manga, and movies.

The familiar characters you see here belong to their respected authors and owners.

"Speech"

Time*

Arc 1: Payback - Chapter 2

Alaric took out his pocket watch and flipped it open. The time read: 8:00 PM.

His gaze shifted to the door once more, lingering for a moment before he tucked the watch away and leaned back in the creaking chair.

Then his eyes fell on the flip phone resting beside him—more worn out now, as if that single call had aged it a decade. It looked like it was one mishap away from shattering completely. Still, it had enough life left in it for one more call… maybe. After that, he'd need a replacement or fix it himself.

A knock sounded at the door, prompting Alaric to place the powered-off flip phone back into the drawer, ready for the next, and possibly final, call.

"Come in." Alaric called out, his voice calm but firm.

The front door creaked open, revealing a small figure—a child.

He was thin and pale, with untidy jet-black hair that stuck up in every direction. His emerald eyes peeked out from behind round-rimmed glasses, too large for his face. He wore baggy clothes that clearly weren't meant for him, hanging off his slight frame, and a pair of worn-out shoes that looked one step away from falling apart.

"Is there something you need, child? And at such a late hour, with midnight only a couple of hours away." Alaric asked, his amber eyes focused intently on the boy's face. He didn't rise from his seat.

"Um… is the ad for cleaning help still open?" The child asked softly. His voice was timid, but Alaric heard him clearly.

"It is." Alaric replied.

At that, the boy's eyes lit up with a faint spark of hope.

"But what makes you think I'm desperate enough to hire a child?" Alaric added, his tone flat and inquisitive.

The spark in the boy's eyes dimmed instantly.

"I... I'm very good at cleaning, sir...!" The child pleaded. "Y-You don't have to pay me much. Just—just two pounds… A pound is enough! Just a pound to hire me!"

Alaric stared at him in silence, expression unreadable. The quiet stretched on, and slowly, the boy lowered his head, shoulders beginning to slump under the weight of the silence.

"What's your name, child?"

The boy's eyes lit up again as he raised his head, surprised and hopeful.

"H-Harry Potter, sir!" He said, voice trembling but clear.

Alaric began tapping his fingers on the counter, the sound steady and deliberate. It made Harry flinch slightly, his nerves returning like a cold wind.

"Explain why you need to work." Alaric said calmly. "When you should be at home and not wandering outside when it's already getting dark."

Harry's face went stiff. His eyes dropped to the floor, staring intently at his worn-out shoes, as if hoping they could offer an answer in his place.

Alaric didn't say a word. He simply waited, his silence more pressing than any demand.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry finally spoke—his voice quiet, barely above a whisper. His head remained bowed, his unruly hair casting a deeper shadow over his face.

"I… I need money to buy food…" He muttered, cheeks reddening with shame. The words came slowly, like they were being dragged out against his will.

Alaric didn't speak at first. Nor did his expression change in the slightest.

"Is your family not feeding you enough." Alaric asked. "Or are things so dire they need a child to work just to help cover expenses?"

Harry hesitated. His fingers fidgeted at the hem of his oversized shirt, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

"I was told… I'm old enough to pay for my own meals." Harry mumbled. "Instead of leeching off my family…"

His voice was soft—barely audible—and every word was weighted with quiet grief.

Alaric continued tapping his fingers on the counter, each click echoing in the quiet space.

"I won't pay you in money." He said flatly. "But I can offer food and drink. Maybe other essentials, depending on your work."

His amber eyes locked onto Harry's.

"But understand this—if I catch you slacking off or causing problems, you won't get a second chance."

Harry's head bobbed quickly in a flurry of nods, too overcome with excitement to form words. His eyes shimmered with relief, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

"You can come back here tomorrow afternoon. Around five should do it." Alaric said, voice steady and calm. "Best you get home before it's completely dark."

"Thank you, Sir! I won't disappoint you!" Harry exclaimed, gratitude bursting through his voice before he turned and gently closed the door behind him. Moments later, the sound of his small footsteps faded into the distance as he rushed home.

Alaric remained seated, silent, his eyes fixed on the closed door. A full minute passed. Then another knock echoed through the room.

Without changing his posture, Alaric's eyes narrowed faintly.

"…Persistent evening." He muttered under his breath.

The door creaked open without waiting for Alaric's permission.

Standing in the doorway was a small, odd creature, resembling a blue penguin, though not quite. It wore a brown pouch strapped across its chest, had stubby bat wings sprouting from its back, and waddled on two brown peg legs instead of feet. Its belly was patched over with what looked like white tape, and a sharp yellow beak poked out beneath two round eyes: black pupils ringed with white.

"Hey, dood! I came here to deliver somethin', dood!" The creature announced with a little hop, voice high-pitched and frantic.

Alaric blinked once, slowly.

"Of course, it had to be a Prinny." Alaric muttered, his right eyebrow twitching ever so slightly.

"Why, of course I'd be the one to deliver, dood!" The Prinny declared, puffing out its chest or at least trying to. "I'm the fastest of 'em all when it comes to deliveries, dood! You better believe in my skills, dood!"

"Right…" Alaric drawled, his voice dry. "Hand it over, then."

The Prinny reached into its brown pouch—far too small for anything of significant size—and pulled out a book-sized, sealed cardboard package. The spatial impossibility didn't seem to bother it in the slightest as it handed the parcel over to Alaric with both flipper-like wings.

Alaric took the package.

Next, the Prinny pulled out a sleek, light yellow metal card and extended it toward him.

"Pay for the delivery fee once you're done checkin' the package, dood!" The Prinny chirped helpfully.

Alaric stared at the card in silence for a beat. "Of course there's a fee."

With a casual flip of his hand, a jet-black metal card appeared in his hand seemingly out of thin air. He placed it beside the Prinny's yellow card.

The moment the two touched, a holographic silver circle flickered into existence above them. A series of shifting numbers rotated within the circle like an ancient dial being calibrated.

"Hell Coins exchange complete." A smooth, feminine robotic voice announced, echoing softly between the two cards.

Both Alaric and the Prinny pulled back simultaneously, stowing their respective cards away without a word.

"Now I gotta get goin', dood! Got more deliveries to make, dood!" The Prinny called out as it turned and bolted out the door, leaving it wide open in its hurry.

Alaric watched the odd creature disappear around the corner and out of sight. He said nothing. He didn't sigh, didn't grimace—just silently rose from his seat, walked over, and gently closed the door.

Then, with the same unhurried motion, he returned to his seat.

Opening the package with practiced ease, Alaric peeled back the flaps to reveal its contents nestled within a bed of enchanted black fabric that shimmered faintly under the dim lighting.

Inside were three distinct items.

The first was a uniquely crafted badge—sleek, metallic, and stylized in a way that felt both arcane and official. In the center, engraved in bold silver lines, was a serial number: 0. Just beneath it, in smaller but equally clean lettering, was his name: Alaric Vale.

Next to the badge rested a slender, polished stick—roughly thirteen inches in length. A small parchment tag was tied to one end with a fine crimson thread. Written in looping script:

Wizard's Wand – Certified Channeling Tool.

And finally, nestled at the bottom, was a black compass—circular, matte, and unnervingly silent in its weight. Alaric picked it up, turning it over in his hand until he spotted the etched instructions on the back:

Black Compass – Usage Protocol

1. Think of the target.

2. Speak the target's name aloud.

3. Use only at night.

Simple instructions, yet ominously vague. There was no indication of distance—no numbers, no coordinates, no signal strength. Just a needle that would point toward the target's location, wherever they were. No guarantee how close—or how far.

Alaric's amber eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the implications.

He set the compass gently back down and leaned back in his chair.

Alaric's fingers closed around the badge first. As he brought it toward his chest, the badge reacted instantly, its metallic surface shimmering faintly with hidden enchantments. The moment it touched the fabric, it affixed itself without pin or clasp, merging seamlessly into the weave of his vest. The silver of the badge darkened, shifting hue until it matched the deep shade of his attire, as if it had always belonged there.

A subtle warmth spread from the badge—an acknowledgment of his authority.

Next, he picked up the wand.

It felt light, perfectly balanced, the polished wood smooth against his fingers. He twirled it absently—old reflexes from lives lived long ago—and flipped the small parchment tag dangling from its base. His eyes moved over the elegant lettering:

Allow the wielder perfect mastery in Transfiguration.

His brow arched, just slightly—the only outward sign of his surprise.

He gave the wand another slow spin.

After a while, he detached the fine crimson thread from the Wizard's Wand. The fine crimson thread unraveled at his touch, its delicate fibers thinning, dissolving into the air. Alaric watched without expression as the last wisp vanished.

He tapped the wand against the counter, and the reaction was immediate.

A surge of magic rippled outward in a silent, invisible wave, though its effect was far from unseen. The warped counter beneath his hand smoothed, cracks sealing as the wood regained its rich, polished sheen. The battered bookshelf behind him straightened, its sagging shelves firming up, and the broken clock above it gleamed like new.

Faded fabrics regained color, warped furniture became sturdy once more, and the flickering lightbulb overhead brightened, casting a clear, warm glow across the space. It was no longer a ruin clinging to memory, but a room reborn—its air fresher, its corners less haunted.

Alaric gave a single nod, face impassive. He twirled the wand again.

After the fifth measured twirl of the wand, Alaric brought it down, tapping the small tag that remained on the counter. A soft shimmer of magic spread across the tag's surface, reshaping and solidifying it before his eyes. Where the simple scrap had been, a clean, professional-looking sign now rested—its bold, dark lettering clear against a pale background:

Ghostbuster's Service for Hiring

No flourish, no embellishment. Just direct, functional words, precisely what was needed to draw attention when the time came.

Alaric picked up the sign, then rose from his chair without hurry. The newly restored floor did not creak beneath his shoes as he moved to the front window. The curtain remained drawn, shielding the interior from prying eyes, but he slipped the sign carefully into place so it would be the first thing seen when daylight hit and the fabric was pulled aside.

His task set, he paused a moment, considering the quiet night beyond the window.

Morning would come soon enough. And with it, opportunity.

He turned away from the window, spinning his wand once more between his knuckles.