Potential New Story Pilot: Class Action (1 & 2)

Heya, as said for a while, here's one of the potential pilots for the novel that will take over after Blood & Fur concludes somewhen in July; Class Action. I'm posting it here for your eyes only a bit early and I'll be happy to read your reactions ;)

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• Chapter 1

Vincent was hiking when the Cult of Mastemo nearly destroyed the city. 

The day had started like almost any other Saturday, with him visiting the forest of Fontainebleau near Sanctuary City Dorsale’s western edge. Visiting the place on weekends had become a habit for him since he joined the local Guild in the hope of obtaining a Class. He visited the woods whenever he needed to blow off stress, and he appreciated breathing air rather than exhaust pipes after last night’s events. 

He had been walking for a good hour though, so he briefly stopped near a rock both to rest a bit and take an important call. 

“You’re coming back in July?” Vincent asked his sister Chloé, a smile forming on his face as he spoke into the cellphone. 

“Not unless I make a stop in Sanctuary City Tokyo first,” she replied with a chuckle. Vincent could almost imagine her grinning face on the other end of the line. “Your pictures kinda sold me on the place.”

“You should visit Japan, if you can. T’was my favorite trip, ever.” He and his friends had pooled their funds for a group teleportation on his twenty-first birthday eight months ago. Funny how fast time flew by. “I would love to meet you there, but well… money.”

Being an Erasmus Guild assistant didn’t pay much, though it did give him an intimate look into the world of the Classed. Vincent had hoped it would ease his chances of getting into the Class Regulation Bureau’s selection program, but it only made the rejections sting all the more. 

“It’s fine, we can go on a trip closer to home when I get back. I’ve been missing Europe.” Chloé ended up asking the dreaded question. “So? Have you received your results yet?”

Vincent scowled in frustration. His anger hadn’t diminished since he opened that mail last night. “Denied. I made it to the waiting list, but they picked someone else.” 

“Oh, that sucks.” She didn’t sound surprised, though she was still sad for him. “I’m sure you’ll get a Class next time.”

You said that the first three times, too. This one stung all the more because there had been another Maw attack on Friday evening, right after he opened the mail like a middle finger from fate itself. “Did you see the news?”

“Yes, I did.” He heard heavy breathing on the other end of the line. “How did the Maw break past the Level Barrier? I thought Boswash’s one was high enough to keep it out!”

“They haven’t figured out how the Dungeon broke in yet, but Sarah told me it’s probably because the Church of the Devourers sabotaged the wards.” Vincent would never understand what could drive people to worship their own destroyers. “How they did it is anyone’s guess.”

“That’s awful,” Chloé whispered. “I just hope it won’t strike Uluru, or Dorsale…”

Dungeons had been one of the greatest threats to mankind since the Flattening, when men were both blessed and cursed with the power of Classes. Most Dungeons fixed themselves around the Class Incarnation that spawned them and became permanent fixtures of the land, but there was one that was different; one that could move around to attack places at its leisure.

The Maw. 

Vincent would never forget the cursed day when he and his sister left home to go shopping, only to find a gaping hole where their neighborhood used to be when they returned. He knew Chloé still had nightmares about it years later. 

They had lost more than their parents that day. 

“I’m sure we’ll be safe,” Vincent tried to reassure her. “Dorsale hosts the Class Regulation Bureau’s HQ, and Uluru has some of the highest-ranked Classers in the world. No way the Maw will get anywhere near it.”

“I hope so,” Chloé replied with a sigh. He knew he had failed to convince her. “You don’t mind if we continue this conversation another time? We’ve got a Dungeon raid tomorrow early in the morning, and I’m tired as all hell.”

“No prob.” His sister was employed by a Guild in Sanctuary City Uluru, Australia, with half a planisphere and a good ten hours separating them. His morning was her evening, yet the wonders of a new and mana-powered internet grid usually let the siblings speak as if they stood in the same room. Usually. “Sleep well.”

“You too. And don’t worry about the rejection thing. I’m sure you’ll get a Class eventually. You’re no quitter.”

Vincent wasn’t so sure, but no, he wasn’t a quitter. He would keep trying year after year if necessary. “Take care.”

He ended the call, let the silence of the forest hang in the air, and then reflexively checked the morning news on his cellphone. The Maw’s brazen consumption of the Statue of Liberty topped the feed, but the results of the yearly Class Selection exam came soon after. The sight of that insufferable bastard Noah Baxter smiling for the cameras sickened Vincent to his core. He had been picked as the new Monk and would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the world’s elites. 

“Remember citizens, hiding an unregistered Class is a misdemeanor, but hiding a Monster Class is a crime!” the banner beneath the news message said. “If you suspect anyone of being a Class Criminal, call the CRB or your local Guild for immediate extraction!”

It had been decades since the Flattening turned Earth into a planisphere stuck between two other floors of the Worldsoul, bringing both monsters and Classes to mankind’s doorstep. The latter allowed their wielders to change into living, superhuman archetypes capable of leveling up and gaining immense power. 

The issue was that all Classes were unique. There was only one Wizard, one Knight, and thankfully for the universe, only one Overlord active at any given time. This meant that Classes could only be gained three ways: naturally awakening a Class—something that was extremely rare and beyond anybody’s control—conquering a Dungeon’s Class Incarnation–a task impossible without immense resources—or inheriting a Class Page from a deceased user. His sister miraculously awakened the Archeologist Class on her own, but Vincent had had no such luck. 

In order to regulate the use of these powers, the CRB organized a yearly exam to decide who would inherit the Classes of dead heroes and criminals alike. Vincent had run four times, training until he couldn’t move to pass the physical requirements, studying his nights off for the written test and preparing extensively, only to be rejected again and again. 

He wouldn’t have been so bitter if the newest Monk hadn’t been a goddamn nepobaby whose only merit was the size of his inheritance. He knew for a fact that Noah Baxter had flubbed the selection exam and been picked anyway. Vincent’s colleagues in the Guild had already taken to calling him ‘Young Trust Fund Master’ in their group chat. He wasn’t the only one either. The new Cleric, while having good results, was mostly selected because she was another Classer’s daughter. 

I could try again next year, but… who am I kidding, I’m never getting a Class legally. The CRB had a worldwide monopoly on Classes, so obtaining one on the black market would make him an enemy of the law. And with no Class nor enough millions to pay for a private army, there’s no way I can conquer Dungeons, let alone destroy the Maw…

He just wanted to wipe out the place off the face of the Earth for taking away his parents, his neighborhood, and thousands of lives. Was that too much to ask for? 

His phone died in his hand. 

The screen simply shut down and wouldn’t restart, which confused him. He was always careful to fully charge the battery before leaving for Fontainebleau in case anything happened and he needed to call for help. His digital watch also died on his wrist with a small noise. 

He already found all of this weird when the ground suddenly began to shake beneath his feet. A powerful tremor hit the forest with such sudden strength that it sent clouds of leaves falling onto the ground and nearly caused Vincent to trip. It barely lasted a few seconds, but the mere fact that a quake happened in what used to be northern France should have been utterly impossible. 

The last time something like this happened was when the Maw last opened. 

Vincent’s blood ran cold, and a bright yellow light suddenly lit up the sky above his head. A pillar of purple energies shot up from the forest of Fontainebleau and towards the heavens with such brightness that Vincent had to raise his hand not to get blinded by it. 

It wasn’t the Maw—the moving Dungeon’s teeth would have enclosed the forest by now otherwise—but it looked bad. Vincent could feel the raw, suffocating magic in the air. 

Proper regulations commanded Vincent to call the nearest Guild—namely his own—but his phone was dead and his car at least one hour’s walk away. This dreadful light gave him too much of a terrible feeling, so he ran to the source to check whatever the hell was going on and gather information. 

He stepped into a clearing to find a group of hooded figures dancing in a circle around an unconscious woman tied to a purple crystal. 

The surreal scene could have been taken straight out of a horror movie. Five people of various heights held hands in a circle, their dirty boots stomping the wild grass, their black cloaks billowing with the rising wind, and their featureless steel masks reflecting the sunlight as they chanted in a tongue Vincent didn’t recognize. Each of them carried a heavy mechanical necklace, which he identified as mana-catcher; one of the few devices that allowed non-Class users to cast basic spells.

The most astonishing part of the ensemble, however, was the giant purple crystal in their midst. Vincent had worked long enough with the Erasmus Guild to recognize it as refined mana. A hand-sized chunk cost hundreds of thousands, and this one was over two-meters tall—enough to bankrupt a small Sanctuary City. It vibrated with energies rising to the ceiling-sky in a spiraling aura.  

Even more worrying was the unconscious woman tied to it with ropes. She looked like some goth girl a few years younger than him with pale skin, long blonde hair, and the fashion sense of the Vampire Queen of Milan.  

Vincent had heard that the forest of Fontainebleau was something of a pilgrimage site for neo-Druidic movements–and fringe magical cults were dim a dozen nowadays–but this? This was a dangerous magical ritual!

Vincent’s shock, followed by a second set of tremors, ended up throwing him onto the grass. A mighty earthquake shook the ground with such strength that he heard trees collapse behind him. The yellow sky darkened as crimson clouds obscured the sun. 

“–Come to us, Mastemo, Great Power of the Planes, Lord of Magic, Weaver of the Apocalypse!” the cultists chanted in a tongue Vincent didn’t recognize, but somehow started to understand anyway. The words simply wormed their way into his mind. “Come collect your toll, oh, cruel drinker of souls and fears! Come sink the sky and swallow this land, to deliver unto your faithful your blessing!”

Little to say, Vincent immediately realized that allowing these five to complete their ritual wouldn’t end well for anybody. He didn’t pause to think. He moved purely on instinct, spurred on by a fight-or-flight response ingrained deep within his very bones through his long training. His inner cave monkey shouted that he had to act right here, right now, or he and that unconscious woman would die. 

Should have brought a weapon! Vincent cursed himself for his lack of foresight as he rose to his feet. His service gun was still in his car. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Vincent rushed forward and grabbed the closest druid-apocalypse cultist-whatever these guys were. The masked man fought back with surprising strength, trying to shrug him off without interrupting his chant or letting go of their allies’ hands, which only encouraged Vincent; if he could shake their concentration, he might have a chance to stop whatever they were doing. Vincent seized the cultist’s chest from behind with both arms, anchored his feet into the earth, and then pulled with all of his might. 

“Stop, you idiot!” the masked man snarled back, his voice laced with anger and then panic. “You’re going to ruin–”

Vincent yanked him back so hard he let go of his fellow cultists’ hands, and then the mana crystal shrieked.  

Whatever energies these five were channeling lashed out free from their broken circle in a wave of searing light. A purple thunderstorm of cataclysmic proportions shook the clearing, setting the grass ablaze and incinerating the hooded cultists to cinders with a flurry of energy bolts. The one which Vincent had pulled back narrowly avoided being hit while the two of them were propelled against the nearest tree, while the woman at the center of the gathering was miraculously spared—it was as if the bolts of energy avoided her. 

Vincent’s vision blurred at the edges as the crystal fizzled out into smoke, and the cultists’ captive fell to the ground, though an unearthly sound spread through the air. A dark shape emerged from the fading purple mist, revealing a throne of woven bones and skulls. 

A demon sat atop it, his pale and malicious eyes staring at the group. 

Vincent had never seen one of these creatures in the flesh, but he had been briefed about them enough times to recognize one. It looked almost like a human male of unearthly grace with a naked torso covered in golden markings, if not for the curved horns rising from his long blonde hair and the fact that his eyes were two blue stars in a sea of darkness. He rested his head on his fist, a thin smile on his face. 

“Mortals,” he said in a musical tongue which Vincent didn’t recognize, but which morphed into a mix of French and English in his mind the moment his ears heard the words. “I must congratulate you on your successful summoning. It must have required a great amount of magic to call me so far down my domain.” 

He assessed the three survivors: the woman lying unconscious at his throne’s feet, the surviving cultist, and Vincent. None dared to speak up, until the demon broke the silence. 

“Now,” he said very calmly. “Which of you is the virgin sacrifice?”

There were moments when the life of a man was decided in the split of a second, and Vincent had always been quick to react. 

“He is!” Vincent shouted as he all but threw the surviving cultist at the demon. “Take him away, Your Demonliness!”

“Wait, n–”

The demon waved his hand, and the cultist literally turned to dust on the spot. His flesh and bones turned to ash within his clothes while a screaming ghost emerged from it. The specter flew into the throne of bones, which suddenly grew another skull. 

“An unfulfilling soul filled with frustration, but I shall not spit on the gift,” the demon mused out loud. 

He killed a man with a wave of his hand. A thought. Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest louder than a locomotive, and it took all of his willpower to keep a stony face. If I misspeak, that girl and I are fucking dead!

“A soul freely offered, and a boon you shall receive,” the demon said calmly, his voice completely unclouded by the murder he had just committed. “Mastemo always delivers.” 

This is bad, this is very bad! Vincent gulped and tried to anchor himself in the presence. Demons were not to be trifled with in any way—it was said that the only thing worse than their scorn was their affection—and this one felt especially dangerous. He could feel the quiet aura of menace hanging in the air like a putrid miasma. There’s no way I can grab that girl and run for it! He’ll kill us both in the blink of an eye!

Could he stall for time until a powerful enough Classer arrived? Somehow, he found that unlikely. Even if help arrived, he wasn’t sure they would be enough to deal with this Mastemo. He had to be incredibly powerful if it took a two-meter mana crystal to summon him. The best Vincent could do was play along until he found a better idea. 

“Now, I suppose you called me to gain forbidden knowledge or murder someone in particular?” Mastemo asked far too casually, as if such atrocities were routine to him. “Or perhaps you want me to destroy this city? Would you rather that I slaughter its inhabitants all at once or one at a time?”

“A-actually we called you for something else!” Vincent said immediately. He immediately cursed him for speaking with a trembling voice in front of a heartless extraplanar invader, but he was too uneasy to keep his mouth shut. “No need for murder!”

“Oh?” The fiend raised an eyebrow. “What did you summon me for then?”

Oh thank god, he was actually listening. If he could offer a more mundane wish, then the fiend might grant it and leave without a fuss. 

Wait, Vincent thought, his fear suddenly overcome by hope. This might be my chance to screw the Maw... 

“I would like you to destroy the Dungeon called the Maw, Your Demonic Honor,” he asked. He figured demanding the destruction of all Dungeons might be beyond his power, and mankind would benefit from whoever won this struggle.

Mastemo seemed vaguely intrigued by the demand, but denied it nonetheless. “No,” he decided. “Clearing a monster nest is not beyond my power, but it is beneath me.”

Damn it, whatever ritual these cultists ran didn’t bind the demon to follow through with any demand! He would only accept a request he found agreeable! 

Worse, he sounded both arrogant and powerful enough that he seemed to consider destroying a Sanctuary City or clearing a Dungeon like the maw a trivial task. He had to be ungodly powerful…

“You get one more try,” the demon Mastemo said without raising his tone. “Make it count.”

Vincent’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, but another idea quickly came up on its own. If this fiend wouldn’t do the job, then maybe he would agree to simply provide help. He had offered forbidden knowledge after all.

Maybe he could settle on providing more than that. 

“I want the most powerful Class in the world, Your Demonliness,” Vincent asked. He didn’t truly expect that wish to be fulfilled, but he would settle on any Class if it helped him take out the Maw. 

“The most powerful Class?” Mastemo’s smile widened into a smirk. Something about the demand seemed to amuse him to no end. “Are you sure about that?”

There was something deeply unsettling about that creature’s smirk, but Vincent wisely played along. “Yes, the most powerful.”

“Very well then. This should prove entertaining.”

Mastemo snapped his fingers, and a page of otherworldly yellow paper engraved with an eldritch rune floated in front of Vincent. It radiated with a strong warmth and power while air bent under the weight of its magic. 

A Class Page. A bonafide Class Page! The very priceless artifact he had spent years training and working to acquire was here right in front of him, right within his grasp!

However, he couldn’t recognize the symbol carved on it; that of what appeared to be a man stuffed in a monster costume. Each Class Page had its own symbol to represent the power dwelling within it, and Vincent had studied all the known heraldry, but this one remained unknown to him.

“This page of the Book of Classes contains the most powerful of them…” Mastemo suppressed a chuckle. “If you have the strength, skill, and patience to master it.” The demon’s lips curved to reveal pristine white teeth beneath them. “I would watch your back from now on if I were you. Many would kill for it.” 

Is it me, or is he struggling to suppress his laughter? Vincent knew better than to touch a demon’s gift, but he feigned gratefulness so it would finally go away. “You have all of my humble gratitude, Your Demonic Honor.”

“Think nothing of it.” The demon glanced at the woman at his feet. “Now, will you sacrifice this one too?”

Vincent froze, but quickly recovered his bearings. While he had no idea who this woman was, the cult wouldn’t have needed to render her unconscious if she had been willing to partake in their ritual. “I would rather not, Your Demonliness.”

Mastemo chuckled in amusement. “I will give you an exp bonus if you kill her yourself.”

This bastard… Vincent knew from reports that demons delighted in human suffering, and that one proved it again.  Mastemo could easily kill that woman with a wave of his hand. He just wanted to see if Vincent would actually kill her to earn his favor. 

While he had to admit having a mighty demon owing him could be as useful as it was dangerous, Vincent wasn’t willing to murder a stranger simply because some powerful bastard wanted him to. The mere idea of indulging that fiend disgusted him as much as

Mastemo’s malevolent smirk widened further, which only caused Vincent more stress. He was running out of time. His best bet was to word his refusal in a polite enough way that the demon wouldn’t take offense and smite them on the spot. 

And if he insists I kill her… Vincent did all in his power not to glance at the page. Whether or not it was indeed the best Class in the world didn’t matter; it would be his only chance to pull through anyway. If he insists, I’ll have to try my luck…  

“Thank you kindly, Your Demonliness, but I cannot do that,” Vincent said, his mouth dryer than a desert Dungeon. “She’s…” Damn, think of something that makes sense! “My girlfriend!”

“Your girlfriend?” Instead of disappointing the demon, Mastemo seemed even more delighted. “You are amusing, Vincent Valmore. And very bold, to lie to my face.”

Vincent froze in place, his blood rushing to his face. I never told him my name.

“I am actually impressed you would rather take a shot at me with an unknown Class rather than kill a stranger,” Mastemo commented with a chuckle. “The thought of committing murder hasn’t even crossed your mind.”

He could read minds.

Oh fuck, he could read minds. 

That made the demon’s smirk widen further, and a voice echoed in Vincent’s mind. “Yes I can.”

He knows, Vincent thought, his heart pounding so hard it hurt to think. He knew from the start I never summoned him. He was just toying with me.

He expected to die any minute now, slain on the spot for his insolence any minute now.

Yet time passed, and he didn’t die. 

“Calm down mortal. In honor of your bravery and integrity, I shall let the both of you live—this one time.” Mastemo slouched on his throne. “I will follow your career with great interest.”

A flash of light struck the clearing, and then he was gone, throne and all. The sky became clear and blue again. No dark presence lingered. The only hints that this interaction happened at all were the woman at Vincent’s feet, the corpses surrounding him, and of course, the magical page floating in front of him. 

Vincent’s first action was to look around, to check if the demon had truly left. His second was to take a deep breath, and the third was to say “fuck” to all who would listen. His fourth, finally, was to check the girl’s pulse and confirm that she was indeed alive and breathing. Thank God. 

Only then did he study the floating page. 

Vincent trembled in a mix of doubt and trepidation. CRB and Guild protocols demanded that he call the authorities, but if he did that… if he did that, they would confiscate it. There was no finder’s keeper’s rule in place when it came to these things. He would at best receive a promotion and a monetary reward, neither of which he wanted. 

No. All Vincent desired was the power to stick it to the Maw, and his chance to do just that was right in front of his eyes.

Sure, it was certainly shady and very likely dangerous, but what other options did he have? He would never receive a legal Class unless he somehow managed to marry some nepobaby, and obtaining one illegally involved dealing with people just as ruthless as that fiend. The mere idea of roughing shoulders with the likes of Young Trust Fund Master for a scrap of a chance at earning a Class sickened him. 

Vincent could claim the page for himself and say he awakened it while fighting the cultists. This looked like an unknown Class, so nobody would know of its origin. The CRB would roll with it so long as it wasn’t a Monster Class since they needed all the adventurers they could get. 

“Damn it, please don’t damn me,” he prayed as he put his hand on the page’s rune. He felt its warmth envelop him in a rush of power and pleasure that coursed through his veins, his bones, his heart. The page burned away in the blink of an eye, replaced with a pale blue holo-screen floating in front of him. 

Mascot (Crafter/Monster): The forbidden Class, whose FABULOUS power was never meant to be unleashed upon the planes. Strength E, Agility E, Vitality E, Skill E, Magic E, Intelligence E, Charisma E, Luck E. Innate Perks: Magicostume; Wardrobe. First level Perk: Craft Magicostume I.

Magicostume (Passive): When wearing a Magicostume, you gain the abilities of the Class it emulates so long as the costume remains functional. 

Wardrobe (Active): You can store any number of Magicostumes in a private Inventory. 

Craft Magicostume I (Active) Perk: You can craft any E-rank Class Magicostume if you have the necessary material.

…

“What the Hell?”

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• Chapter 2

“Not the hospital,” the woman said the moment she awoke in his passenger seat. 

Of course she said that the moment Vincent was about to park his car near the entrance. “Is that a joke?! Have you taken a look at yourself?!” 

“I’m…” The woman covered her mouth to avoid puking in his car, for which Vincent was thankful. 

“Miss, you need a check-up,” he insisted. “You look like you took a heavy cocktail of date drugs, on top of all the creepy cult business I just saved you from.”

“Not the hospital,” she insisted in between grunts. She massaged her temples and clearly struggled with the mother of all headaches. “I’m… fine.”

“No, you aren’t!”

“I’m fine,” she insisted before staring at him in the rear glass with her pale blue eyes. “I need… I need a cellphone.”

Okay, she’s shady as fuck. Vincent had found no ID on her person, no cellphone, nothing that could identify her. He could think of a few reasons why she wouldn’t want to go to the hospital, and all of them spelled trouble. 

At least nobody saw them. Vincent had noticed CRB choppers moving towards Fontainebleau on his way out of it alongside flashes of teleportation magic—a telltale sign of Classers deployment. He guessed the sharp spike of mana, tremors, and light that preceded Mastemo’s appearance on their radar had alerted the authorities that something bad was happening in the area. It was a miracle he managed to get back to his car before the area had been cordoned off. 

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Vincent said. His new Class would already bring him enough of that. 

“I just need to call someone, and then you’ll never see me ever again,” the woman promised with a heavy sigh. “Please?”

Vincent considered his options before reluctantly handing her his cellphone after confirming it worked again—thankfully, the Mastemo ritual had only disabled his devices instead of frying them. He had the gut feeling he shouldn’t involve himself in whatever was going on here. The sooner that woman was out of his life, the better.

“Thanks.” She picked up the cellphone and dialed someone. “It’s me… No, I'm alright… Yes… yes…“ She looked at Vincent. “Can you leave me at Dionysos Avenue?”

“Sure.” It wasn’t that far away from the hospital anyway. 

“I’ll meet you there,” she said before ending the call and returning Vincent’s cellphone. “You’re not with them. I wouldn’t be alive if you were.”

“Hell no, I’m not,” Vincent replied. “I picked you in the forest. You were about to be sacrificed to some kind of demon big shot by cultists.”

If the woman was surprised, she didn’t show it. “What happened to those guys?”

“They all died. Whatever rite they were attempting didn’t go well.” Which was technically true. “I found you up after they were all vaporized by their own ritual.”

“Good.” She looked away. “Good.”

“Who were they anyway?” Vincent felt he should at least give the police an anonymous tip about that group. “How did you end up in a crazy cult’s custody?”

“They were some rich college kids. They hired me for…” She clenched her jaw. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with the rest of those assholes, if any of them survived.”

A chill traveled down Vincent’s spine at her icy tone, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and didn’t ask for details. He quickly reached the cutthroat back alley she asked for. “Here we are.”

“Thanks for the ride,” she said upon opening the car’s door and stepping out. “I won’t forget it.”

“I would rather that you do, actually,” Vincent replied. “You smell like trouble, and I don’t want any.”

She smiled thinly. “Your loss. If you change your mind, call the number I just used.” 

Vincent smashed the accelerator the moment she closed the door behind her. He didn’t ask her name, and she didn’t ask for his, which he felt was for the best.  

Afterwards, Vincent left to go grab himself a drink at the nearest vending machine and clear his mind. His internet connection had begun to work again after he left the forest, so he had had time to do a quick search on Mastemo… which led absolutely nowhere. 

Vincent managed to track the website of a so-called ‘Cult of Mastemo,’ but most links were dead and the only one led him to a page advertising a ‘transcendental spiritual society dedicated to the mysteries of hedonistic appetite and orgiastic polygamy’ and then asking interested members to pay a ‘modest five-figures awakening fee’ upfront, with a huge discount for virgins. 

In short, it looked like a dime-a-dozen fringe sect. 

How did those people even manage to call such a powerful demon? At least that might explain where they gathered the funds to buy their mana crystal. Vincent knew he should have informed the CRB and told them everything, but there was one little problem in the way of that.

His Class was a Monster one!

Classes were divided into six categories: Fighters, for those focusing on weapons and direct combat; Spellcasters for those who cast spells; Rogues for classes relying on unique gimmicks; Crafters with the power to create or exploit items; Commanders, which focused on buffing or summoning allies; and Monsters, which allowed the users to transform into inhuman creatures. 

The CRB didn’t allow Monster Classes to remain in circulation because those affected the user’s mental state to a heavy degree. Spend too long playing as a Werewolf and you started to develop a craving for lambs and those appetizing humans down the street, that sort of thing. The last Minotaur ended up becoming a permanent fixture of the Dungeon he had been supposed to conquer. 

Not all Monster Classes had that flaw, but enough of them did to suffer tight regulations. If Vincent informed the CRB of his new Mascot Class, then they would imprison him at best and execute him on the spot to avoid taking chances at worst. The only way to rid oneself of a Class was death, as far as Vincent knew. 

Did the demon bastard know that? Was that why he was laughing on his way out? Because he gave Vincent what he knew would be more trouble than it was worth? Then again, the stats were terrible, but the Perks… 

Vincent reread them once again. ‘When wearing a Magicostume, you gain the abilities of the Class it emulates so long as the costume remains functional.’ That can’t be right. 

The only Classes he knew that could mimic others were the Spy, the Doppelganger, and the Mime. The former two were limited to imitating a target’s appearance and disguising their stats, while the latter could only copy one power at a time under very specific circumstances. 

Surely there had to be heavy restrictions to the Mascot’s abilities too. Maybe he could only imitate a Class’ simplest abilities, or couldn’t level up in them. Anything less would be grossly overpowered or make the Mascot an S-Rank Class at the very least. 

You can craft any E-rank Class Magicostume if you have the necessary material... Vincent pondered that part for a moment. E-Rank Classes were at the bottom of the pecking order due to possessing very basic abilities, but they were still superhuman. The Dabbler Class belonged to that category, alongside the Clerk, the Zombie, the Warrior, and many more.

Vincent could at least try to imitate one of them. He had the means to do so. Creating a Dabbler Magicostume would require a cloth hat, a mask of black netting with pinned buttons to serve as the eyes, a red ribbon, a black cloak, a dark shirt, baggy pants, and a pair of boots. All of those components were relatively easy to find and cheap to buy. 

“Wait, how did I know that?” Vincent wondered out loud. The information simply came to him in a flash of inspiration. He had heard Crafter Classes simply ‘knew’ how to build the stuff they specialized in, but none of the people in the Erasmus Guild could properly explain how to visualize it. “Huh, so that’s how it feels.”

What did he have to lose by trying out the Mascot’s power, besides a few bucks?  

Besides… besides, wasn’t that what he had always wanted? A Class that would let him take on the Maw and wipe it off from the face of the planisphere? Who cared if it was a Monster one, so long as it did the job and helped him make the world a better place? 

Inspired, Vincent spent the evening on a shopping spree. The current Dabbler—some guy named Kevin—was a popular Classer in spite—or rather because—of his relative weakness, so finding a cosplay costume to buy didn’t take long. Vincent decided to run an experiment by purchasing both a ready-made costume and the components his Mascot’s Perk suggested. It cost Vincent a good chunk of his meager monthly paycheck, but he returned to his crappy one-bedroom apartment with a set of supplies. 

He had also received a few messages from his colleague Sarah asking him if he was fine—since she knew he liked to visit the Forest of Fontainebleau on Saturdays—and reassured her that he had stayed at home to work on his backlog this morning. He didn’t like lying to her, but the fewer people who knew about his presence in the area, the better. The fact that he hadn’t received a CRB or Guild call so far was a small miracle. 

Vincent had seen Crafters at work at the Erasmus Guild. Most of them usually entered a flow state where they would work for hours on end on their product, somehow assembling components together in a way normal individuals couldn’t reproduce with mundane means. 

Assembling the Magicostume worked more or less the same way. Vincent gathered the disparate items on the kitchen counter, brought out his old sewing kit—which had saved him a lot of money in clothing repairs in the past—and then let his Class’ intuition guide his hands. He sewed pieces together with newfound dexterity, stitching gloves to the cloak and tightly turning all these disparate pieces into a harmonious whole. The process only seemed to have taken a few minutes from his perspective, but checking the time showed that he had spent the whole evening working on his new masterpiece. 

Unlike the readymade cosplay outfit, the Magicostume looked rather heavy and cumbersome. It resembled a padded parody of one of those old Final Fantasy Black Mage outfits with some Harry Potter sprinkled in. The button-eyed mask reminded Vincent of an ugly scarecrow. Every part of the costume was merged and stitched together, from the mask to the gloves, with only a zipper at the back to allow the wearer inside. 

“Huh?” Vincent squinted at the costume’s back. “I never brought a zipper.”

Did it magically appear on its own? Vincent decided to film himself while in the zone next time. 

“It’s not very photogenic,” Vincent mused as he changed into the ready-made costume first. It fit him well, though the low-quality fabric itched around the edges. This costume had no mask included, though it did have a small wooded staff. Vincent looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. 

He waited… for nothing.

“Nope, nothing.” Not even a System message. Wearing a normal premade costume had no effect whatsoever. “At least I can always wear it for fairs…”

Afterwards, Vincent changed and put on the Magicostume. That took way longer than with the other outfit. This one was bulkier, heavier. He could hardly see anything through the button eyes and already felt slick from the sweat. 

Vincent did hear the zipper closing on its own after he finished sliding inside; and when he put his hand on his back to find it, he realized it had vanished. 

“Ugh?” The costume suddenly tightened until it pressed against his skin, though not in an uncomfortable way. “What the…”

Vincent’s vision suddenly widened, as if the button-eyes had become transparent. The intense heat he felt from being trapped in a padded costume vanished in an instant, as did the sweat. The Magicostume matched his curves like a second skin until it perfectly covered every inch of his body. 

Dabbler (Spellcaster): A magic nerd who doesn’t know what he wants. Strength E, Agility D, Vitality E, Skill C, Magic A, Intelligence A, Charisma C, Luck D. Innate Perk: Magic Dabbling. First level Perk: Firebolt.

Magic Dabbling (Passive, Innate): Can learn spells from any School of Magic, but only those of Rank I. 

Firebolt (Spell): Tier I Thaumaturgy: The most basic spell of all. Unleashes a small bolt of fire from your hand. 

“I have the Class stats and the Perks? That can’t be right…” Vincent stared at his hands and then pointed them at the kitchen counter. “Firebolt?”

A burst of flames erupted from his hand and set his kitchen on fire. 

—-------

Vincent learned two important things about his apartment: one, the fire alarm didn’t work; and second, his apartment’s extinguisher was thankfully still full. 

“That cheap bastard!” Vincent cursed his landlord after dousing the counter in foam. “The sprinklers don’t do shit!”

On the plus side, he could do magic now. 

It still astonished him. Vincent had seen his Guild’s spellcasters practice more time than he could count and used a mana-catcher or two as part of his work duties, but to channel the raw power of sorcery through his fingers was something else entirely. It felt like channeling the lightning of the universe and sensing it coursing through his veins. 

“It’s incredible…” he muttered to himself. “I can use the Dabbler’s powers. It’s not a joke.”

No wonder Mastemo warned him that he should watch his back from now on. The CRB would never allow this Class to remain in circulation, and ill-intentioned individuals would gladly kill him to take its page. 

What were the limits? How would leveling up work with a Magicostume? Would he gain levels in either the Mascot or Dabbler Classes, or both at once? And what did the System mean by the fact that the Magicostume had to be functional? Would a hole suffice to damage it beyond that threshold? Would removing a glove disrupt his magic? Every inch of the outfit was melded and stitched together so he couldn’t exactly check without cutting it with a knife, and he lacked a proper sewing apparatus to repair it should he inflict major damage. 

There had to be a catch of some kind, since no Class could be this powerful without heavy drawbacks of some kind. Vincent had to test the features. 

“Wardrobe,” he said out loud, which caused the costume to disappear. Neat. “Inventory?”

A holo-screen menu floated before him. The Dabbler Magicostume filled the first entry of what appeared to be an endless list. He quickly confirmed that he could cause it to materialize over his skin whenever he clicked on the icon or said ‘Dabbler’ out loud. He had also studied Classes enough to recall how they accessed a few universal features. 

“Menu.” His stats appeared in a list, none of them too impressive besides a slightly higher-than-usual Luck score. Class exam candidates had those checked, so Vincent quickly confirmed that the menu’s information matched the one on his test results. 

The true surprise came when he checked his stats after putting the Magicostume on. While his Strength and Vitality hadn’t changed, his Intelligence and Magic had both increased by four points. Other stats showed some improvements depending on their letter ranking. 

“Chloé wasn’t kidding, you can’t see your Health, Mana, or EXP track without a special information-based Class,” Vincent mused out loud. He had taken to doing that after living alone in an apartment for years on end. “Still one last feature to check.”

Unlike Fighters, who could immediately wage war the moment they received their Class, Spellcasters usually relied on support and study networks since most of their Perks only let them learn different ranked spells from various schools of magic. The CRB tightly regulated knowledge of spells, but the Erasmus Guild maintained a database of simple spells for their Classers to use. Vincent enjoyed limited access to it as an administrative assistant. He immediately booted his computer to check. 

As he guessed, everything above Rank 1 and most dangerous schools of magic were beyond his pay grade. Nonetheless, he found an entry in the Thaumaturgy section. He barely had time to open the file and read its runescript when a message popped up in his system interface. 

You’ve learned the Torch spell. Torch (Spell): Tier I Thaumaturgy: Create a small floating orb of light that follows the caster for one minute (you can select the color). 

Vincent snapped his fingers and watched as a blue light materialized within his palm. The act drained him a little bit—but he would gladly trade all the exhaustion in the world for the pleasure of casting a single spell. 

He couldn’t wait to show this to Chloé when she returned… in person. Bragging about his new Class on the phone would be a surefire way to trigger a CRB investigation. 

So I can learn spells like any other spellcasting class… Can I still cast it without the Magicostume on? Vincent removed it and then tried to cast Torch, to no avail. Nope, no carryover. No costume, no spell. 

With limited access to the Erasmus Guild’s database, Vincent would need to rely on scrolls, grimoires, or a tutor to learn more spells. All of them were beyond his reach for now. Spellcasting tutors were strictly regulated, grimoires were extremely rare, while scrolls could only be made by certain Crafters or found in Dungeons. 

Vincent only had one last feature left to check. 

—---

When the Flattening transformed the world, it took months for mankind’s governments to bounce back and establish the Sanctuary Cities. Dorsale had been one of the first of its kind and was now safely protected by interlocked Level Barriers stretching from what used to be France to Germany and Switzerland, but parts of it had been irrevocably lost to monsters. 

Since the strongest of them had already been exterminated and the vermin that remained wasn’t worth a dedicated effort when greater threats demanded the CRB’s full attention, authorities settled on a low-budget strategy: they enclosed the infested zones behind checkpoints, then allowed any would-be monster hunters to walk inside at their leisure and grab anything they could find. This system allowed low-level Classers to grind and soldiers to train in relative safety while steadily reducing the monster population over time. 

Boulogne was one such ‘monster containment area’ and among the safest. The only critters left there were goblinoids, whose main competitive advantage was that they bred too fast for hunters to totally deplete their numbers and remained manageable so long as they were killed before evolving. Conventional weapons like guns could tear them to shreds, let alone magical ones. 

One of the CRB’s selection exams had involved collecting a certain number of scalps within a short timeframe. The border checkpoints already had Vincent’s data from his tests, so he was allowed inside when he showed up on Sunday morning after signing the terms and conditions confirming neither the CRB nor the Erasmus Guild would be held responsible if he died in the zone. 

Vincent did enter it in civilian clothing rather than in his Dabbler Magicostume though, and brought a survival bag with his service gun and a machete. Just in case. 

He had checked other E-rank Class options during the tram trip to Boulogne to see if he could craft a few more Magicostumes to widen his options, but most were beyond his budget for now. Dressing himself up as the Warrior involved wearing actual leather armor, and even the Clerk’s outfit required a functional pair of glasses. 

However, the Ogre was an E-Rank Monster Class whose Magicostume mostly required goblinoid leather and teeth. Vincent wouldn’t be able to wear this costume in the city proper, but he could easily practice with it in the Boulogne Zone away from cameras. 

Budget and materials are going to be a pain to manage, Vincent thought as he walked into the Boulogne Zone. Nature had overrun most of the concrete buildings and crooked tenements that used to stand in the district, with the road being cracked and the remains of billboards covered in thorns. No more cameras and not a soul in sight...

“Dabbler,” Vincent said, his Magicostume immediately materializing over him. No sooner did he put on the outfit that he heard a small movement coming from a nearby bush. His head snapped in that direction and he spotted two red eyes glaring at him from inside the vegetation. 

A greenish, rough-skinned critter no larger than a human child was observing him with a crude bone-knife in its clawed hands. 

Damn it, he had missed it sneaking up on him! Was it his higher Skill and Luck that allowed him to spot the critter? Whatever the case, Vincent quickly reacted by unleashing a firebolt from his hands. The goblin barely had time to let out a cry of surprise before the projectile blasted its head off in flames. The corpse fell onto the pavement with a loud thump, followed by the wonderful ring of a level up notification.  

“Ah!” Vincent gloated in triumph. He could feel the power coursing through his body and mind, strengthening him beyond mortality. “I can level up! I can–” 

He heard a whistling noise pass above his head, followed by a horrible noise ringing in the back of his head. His outfit suddenly weighed down on him. He felt sick inside from a wave of heat. 

Your Magicostume is now unusable. 

Vincent blinked, then raised his hand. He sensed his glove brush against a goblin arrow stuck in his wizard hat, and his finger pressed against a cut that wasn’t there before. 

A hole. 

A single hole.

The System considered the Magicostume ruined from a single hole?! 

He glared at the source of the arrow, which turned out to be a goblin archer cackling at him from a crumbling tenement’s roof. Vincent raised his hands to snipe it with another firebolt, only for the spell to fizzle out in his hands. The goblin’s laughter grew louder. 

“Shut up!” Vincent snapped at the critter. “I can still cast American magic!”

He opened his bag, pulled out his gun, and started blasting. 

------

A/N: as you can see, that one would be something of a crafting-focused post-System apocalypse with a few superhero elements ;) I'd be happy to read your thoughts about it in the comments.