Black Market #3

"D-Did we lose h-him?"
"Don't jinx us." Akiro sucked in air, breathing haggardly as he assisted Ayama through the winding maze of the underground city. "He's not within the range of my senses-- so I'm hoping he isn't."

"Yeah, you're right." Ayama wore a pained smile, despite steadily bleeding from the flesh wounds he had sustained. "S-Say, I didn't know you could do that."

Ayama's left arm was worn over his shoulder, which wasn't terribly damaged; Akiro's right arm looped around his back, carrying as much weight as he could. He may be stronger than a normal human at the base level, but because of class limitations, he could only hold on for so long.

"Damn," Akiro huffed, still pushing on, despite the acquiring fatigue. "We're almost there, hold on for just a little more."

 Luckily for both of them, they finally were starting to approach the busy marketplace located in the center. Contrary to the dim, dark, shadowy environments they had seen so far as they fought through the underground, the center plaza was bright and well-lit-- its lights were bright and powerful enough to be seen despite them being a few ways off.

"W-What are you w-worrying for?" Ayama joked, laughing in between pained groaning. "I'm not going to kick the bucket."
"Maybe not," Akiro hissed, "but before anything worse is going to happen to you, we need to find a solution first."
Ayama tapped his shoulder with his left hand, "You worry too much."
"And you don't worry enough." 

Stopping in an alleyway that branched off an alleyway directly, next to the busy road Akrio gently assisted Ayama down on the ground. The shadow cast by the bright lights was enough to cover the entrance of the branched space, and it was clean enough too.

"This place should do," Akiro said, helping Ayama to comfortably lean on the wall, "It isn't a hundred percent sterile, but it should be enough."
"Beggars can't be choosers," Ayama huffed, smiling even in pain. "Ouch, that hurts."
Akiro smiled at Ayama, tapping his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, "Don't fall asleep on me, okay?"
"Sure, it's not like I have something better to do."
"Sit tight, I'll be right back."

He turned away, tightening the disguise around his body, throwing away some of the extra, weighty parts-- mimicking the fashion of the bandit they just ran away from. 

"I won't let you die on me," Akiro thought, his expression steeling and his resolve solidifying. "I refuse to let you die on me." 

Because he knew that deep down, Ayama was afraid of his unsure state, and his jokes and laughter is only a means to cover up that fear. Ayama on the other hand, watched as his best friend slowly walked away. He knew that Akiro would do anything to save him and that in itself is reassuring, but it is also worrying.

 As a friend-- no-- as someone as dear to him as a brother, Ayama hopes that Akiro won't do anything he will forever regret. "Please don't do anything stupid!" He prayed, but he couldn't say, much less mouth those words. 

Blending into the heavy traffic was easy, with Akiro instantly merging into the crowd pretending to be a native. Keeping his silence and ears open, he tuned out the bustling sounds of shoppers, listening in on for anything worthwhile.

“And then I–”
“Did you hear?”

“The brothel has new samples!”

"Nothing useful so far--" Akiro gritts, his hands curling into white-knucled fists, "I need to change my approach, Ayama's life hangs in the balance here."

Becuase of his height, he could make an educated guess on the crowd's density. "This is going nowhere." He grumbled, looking up to the adjacent buildings. The archetecture of the area was dominated by flat tops instead of angled ones. "The rooftops!"

Akiro forced himself out of the crowd, taking a small running start before jumping up a stack of crates. The owner did not like it very much, and he glared at him, yelling, but Akiro didn't care much so he proceeded another jump to the rooftop. "The more time i waste, the higher the chance of..." He trailed off, not even finishing the thought. 

Taking the firearm he had summoned earlier, he pressed the magazine release with his thumb, letting the magazine slide smoothly out of the handle and into his spare hand. As the book had said earlier, it only rested in his hand for a moment, before dissipating into nothing– only for another to appear in its place.

“This is a nice system,” Akiro huffed, finding something positive to distract himself, “At least I don’t have to worry about stray or missing magazines– But with the cost of mana being counted per bullet, the amount is worrying–”
Slap!

A sharp punch to the side of his face ended the thought, with the blow coming from his own fist. “Focus.” Akiro lectured himself, “I need to focus.” he grit, the sting of the blow sharpening his mind.

“Look what I snagged!”
“Score!”
“This healing potion will be worth a hefty amount of coin!”

At that, his ears perked at a few keywords. His body turned sidewards sharply, his feet skidding to a sharp stop on the limestone roof. Akiro tucked the firearm into his waistband again, drawing the dagger he had picked up from the assassin from earlier.
“There.” He glowered, the needle-shaped weapon glinting against the lights.

Without regard for his safety, Akiro sprinted for the edge, jumping off with as much momentum as that small start could have given. The street below him came into view, three ruffians all laughing boisterously in front of a ruined shop.

“Alchemist– that’s the store name.” He read, noticing the blood stains against the white limestone, “and they robbed it.”

The realization did not enrage Akiro, however, after all, why would he? He has no connection to this world and to the person that perished. They were murderers, but so was he.

“Who is this bastard?!” the one holding the potion wondered, seeing the weapon in his hand, “He’s armed!”

“I’m starting to understand their language– strange.” The assassin wondered twirling the needle–dagger, “It dosen’t matter, anyway.”

Ayama blinked as hard as he could, his consiousness slowly fading, but thorugh the haze, someone joggeed to his side, holding something red in his hand.

"A-Akiro?" he wheezed, "Is that you?"
"Who else could I be?" Akiro replied, huffing with fatigue, "Drink up."
Ayama stared hard at the red bottle in his friend's hand, noticing speks of what seemed to be blood from his knuckles. "Y-You didn't kill a-anyone did you?"
Akiro shook his head, "Knowing you, you wouldn't drink if that were the case."
"Thank you."
"No problem, you bastard."

Akiro fell beside the boy, leaning against the same wall, shoulder to shoulder. He watched at the other drank the bottle's contents, glaring with serious intensity. 

Ayama stuck his tongue. "It's bitter." he said, but his wounds slowly began closing, cell per cell. 
"Good medicine is bitter."
"No shit."