First Kill

His boots echoed through the fogged alleys of Veilhallow, where even the streetlamps coughed steam. The buildings leaned like they were tired of standing — rusted iron, shattered stained glass, chimneys puffing smog like graves exhaling. The ground he stepped on had puddles of dark water that had dirt or oil mixed in it.

He followed the compass he had in hand — it was a small brass dial that had appeared in his hand in his hand moments earlier out of nowhere — it looked like something used in ancient times to tell the way. Within it was the image of a grim reaper pointing toward the red mark.

The words, Sin Level: 28. Were flashing at the edge of the compass.

"Kelder Voss," he muttered. "Show me what you've done."

Whether he was the one in control of his body or something other force was oblivious to him, his body just followed the compass down the dimly lit alleyways without any second thought. Something it seemed wanted him focused on the task at hand.

After a while he found him in a backroom of a strange looking shop, where twisted gears grafted to muscle — and limbs stuffed into machines parts.

Keldar Voss was hunched over a table, wiring a small prosthetic into the mangled remains of a man's arm. The man was unconscious, drugged.

"Don't move," he growled, stepping into the room and pushing aside the thick curtain that kept the light of the room away from the darkness.

The air tightened upon his intrusion.

Voss looked up— he was no older than forty, had ratty hair, stitched goggles, and breath that smelled like oil.

"Who the hell are you? You got a license—?" He said, his voice like a wheeze. Clearly spooked by the appearance of the young man with dark hair and a trench coat.

Voss did not wait for a reply before he reached for a pistol.

But the intruder did not wait.

The system came up with a notification.

[System Prompt:]

"Crime Confirmed. Sin Level Verified.

Initiate Judgement Protocol?"

[Y]

The tattoo on his hand glowed, resonating with his very being— a halo of gears clicking into place within them. A rusted clockwork scythe erupted from his palm, a spinning gear-edge along the blade.

The scythe long and black roughly the size of two grown men, it's curved end gleamed in the light of the lamps in the room, bending them in a smooth arc.

The intruder sprang into action, moving faster than he should've. Inhumanly fast. He avoided the first two shot from Kelder's revolver and closed the gap.

"Kelder Voss, by right of burned innocence, I strip you of flesh and sin." His voice was low, tempered yet it was louder than a marching orchestra.

With a single slash, he cleaved through Voss's chest like it was paper. Blood sprayed across blueprints and soldering tools. His goggles shattered as he hit the ground, gasping.

"Please— I— I just— it pays good...!"

"So did selling my soul for smoke." The intruder said in a cold voice.

He raised the blade and brought it down again. A perfect dark ark cut through the air, reflecting the lamplight all across the walls.

When it came to a stop the world silenced.

The body jerked— then disintegrated into black cinders.

Keldar Voss was gone.

[Reward Acquired: +14 Sin Points

New Trait Unlocked: Burnscar Memory

(Can glimpse sins of judged before death.)]

The intruder stumbled out into the smoggy streets moments later. His heart pounded with something between rage and sickness. After the deed had been done hisind returned to him only to meet insanity the past thing he could remember clearly was dying in the house fire than choosing not to pass on but now he had new memories.

Memories that were not his, he had killed a man with a weapon he had only seen in books meant for children. He wondered if he was dreaming but one look at the snake tattoo on his em confirmed it, he no longer a man.

He was becoming something... Something false.

He looked up at the cracked sky. Somewhere far above, towering gears turned, and a great bronze bell rang.

For the first time since he woke up, the first sane words left his mouth. "Where the fuck am I?" He said between raspy breaths.

He panicked and ran like a rabid beast, looking for anything of substance to say he was still sane but everywhere he looked he could only see people in weirdly dated outfits, automobiles that should not even exist. The world looked like it ran on steam and gears.

His legs slipped wly came to a stop, his body reacted on its own due to a voice he heard just recently.

"What the hell is wrong with my body?" He asked.

Then he heard it.

"Papa?"

He turned. Or his body turned leaving his already disoriented mins in a more confused state.

A little boy — maybe six — with golden eyes and soot on his cheeks stood a few feet behind. Behind the little boy was a woman. He could tell who she was in that instant, she was his wife.

Or at least... someone's wife.

He knew their names without knowing how. And that thought startled him.

"Your shift's over, love?" she said with a tired smile.

"...Yeah," he said, his voice hollow. "It's over."

His life was over, his sanity was gone and he had run mad.

The boy ran up to hug him, arms wrapping around his waist.

He flinched.

He could still smell blood on his gloves.

"Papa was so worried he would miss my bedtime that he came running home." The boy said cheerily.

Thoughts started to stir in the intruders mind.

"Why do I have this life?"

"Did someone trade for it?"

"Or am I just wearing someone else's skin?"

He knelt and hugged the boy back, or his body did. A moment of warmth filled him, then guilt.

[System Notification:]

"False Identity Installed: Elias Graye, Tinker-Class Citizen, Father of Two.

Judgment Role Active in Background Thread."