Clad in his new clothes he entered the nearest tavern, scanning the room before sighing as he didn't see the diminutive human among the throngs of humanity present in the late morning. Guess he wouldn't be able to obtain that free beer after all. His purse contained a handful of copper coins, obtained from the pack. Not enough to spend the night at any inn worth staying, but maybe enough for a few drinks. He sidled up to the bar, heading towards the bartender a bald piggish looking man.

  "Just the cheapest," he said placing down a few coppers, which were automatically seized by the man, who reached behind him to the casks and poured out a wooden mug of something that smelt like rotten apples, placing the interesting concoction in front of him. More than a couple of eyes focused on him as he lifted the mug, and he wondered briefly if this was a test or something. Discarding it, he downed the mixture. The taste was indescribable.

  "My compliments to the mug," he said as he placed the now empty container down in front of him. "Couldn't have been easy to make something that didn't dissolve under that."

  "We have to replace it every few weeks," the bartender admitted gruffly as he reached down and poured another glass of something that smelled a bit milder. "It's my own special little brew. Congrats of drinking it all in one gulp. Not many manage it."

  "Thanks," he said. "Look I'm going to be level with you. I just arrived in the city yesterday, and I've been out of the loop for a long, long time. Just what the hell is going on here."

  "Basically it all boils down to problems with the damn rebels," the bartender said sighing. "Dregs from the old regime. You still get them around occasionally, or so I hear. Some caravans were destroyed, some outposts raided, some goverment killed, the usual stuff."

  "I guess they don't have popular support," Banks said, picking up the underlying tone.

  "Not here, at least," the bartender said. Look, this city is relatively well off," the bartneder admitted. "We have food, most have homes and jobs. Not many folks want to throw that away by joining up with the rebels."

  "Huh, is this a local or national problem?" Banks asked, while taking a sip of the much nicer replacement beverage.

  "National of course, but it seems a bit strangely concentrated around here," the bartended admitted. "That's why the Emperor arrived in the city last week. Today he was scheduled to give an address around midday, just half past the fifth hour. I would attend, but I'm too busy."

  "Well it's around the forth hour now," Banks mused. "Know where it's taking place?"

  "Centre of the town square, but they won't let you in," the bartender said. "You know how it is. They are a bit adverse to our sort and they would rather keep any suspect types away from the Emperor. Not that anybody here could ever pose a threat to the Undying Emperor. The worst we could do would be to become a new bloodstain on his clothes."

  "True," Banks admitted. It was an unspoken requirement that leaders had to be powerful, moreso in this time. Even in the future the president of the United Lornoa Nations, Old Iron Hands, demonstrated his ability to dismantle an aged battleship barehanded as part of his re-election. The sight of the old man barechested, bristled and brawny tearing apart the collosal steel structure with his hands and his magic led to a five point swing on the spot. Banks would have voted for him also, if he had proper identification at the time, and voting wasn't a mug's game.

  "That's not what I heard," a third person joined the conversation and Banks turned to behold a small, wiry woman, with lines carved into her face with age that gave her a distinctive appearance. Despite that there was a slightly dangerous aura, one that spoke of many lifetimes mastering magic.

  "Careful with your words Smidy," the bartender said, his tone cautious. "You've been warned by the guards before and I wouldn't test the line between gossip and treason in these uncertain times."

  "If they want this old neck for the gallows they can have it," the old woman, Smidy said. "Nobody cares about an old woman, Barb, let me share some stories."

  "Smidy," Barb warned.

  "Besides, if what I heard is true then they have much bigger problems than an old woman's idle gossip," she said. "Rumors are that the speech is going to be cancelled because the guest of honor is missing."

  "Guest of honor," Barb said, before his eyes widened. "The Undying Emperor. What, how is that..?"

  "I've heard from some people in the palace that the Undying Emperor has been missing since yesterday," Smidy continued in a conspiratorial tone. "He went out for a meeting but he never returned, they are trying desperately to find him, but so far everything has failed."

  "Smidy, thats...really not good," Barb said after a bit. "The chaos if something did happen..gods forbid."

  "Allow me just this bit of schadenfreude Barb," the older woman said. "Most people don't even remember this city before it was called Pragnosis. I have my own problems with the Undying Emperor and while I realize there may be problems, I would be quite happy to see that his dreams of an immortal empire turn to dust."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "That was three hundred years ago," Barb said. "Don't be fooled by the old lady act. She's been retired as a great magician for longer than you've been alive." That at least was definitely untrue.

  "Impressive," he said. "War or crafts."

  "Both," she admitted. "I don't like to think too much on the old times. Barb give me something that you can clean the floor with." The bartender nodded reaching back and pouring the same concoction that he had served him at first.

  "So he's apparently gone missing," Banks mused, both to himself and the table, trying to remember his history. The Undying Emperor did die at some point, but as to when, he genuinely couldn't remember. Could this be the year he passed away.

  "The source I got is pretty reliable," Smidy said. "One of my great-great-great-great daughters who work in the palace. She's one of the maids for the governor you know."

  "That's nice," Banks said. "You said that Pragnosis is relatively well off?"

  "Well for the most part," the Bartender admitted. "The old town is a bit worse off. Few businesses, fewer rich folks and more crime. It's just across, the river. If you don't want to lose your coins don't head that way."

  "Thanks for the info friend, but I'm broke," he admitted.

  "That's one way of protecting your money," Smidy quipped. "Not having any of it. Well you're a young man, you look relatively healthy, you can find a job. Do you have any skills?"

  "I'm a very good fortune teller," he joked finishing his drink.

  "A very good charlatan," Barb said not so kindly. "If you were a true fortune teller then you would be working with the government or for one of the wealthier families."

  "If I was a true fortune teller, then I would desperately be fleeing from the city trying to escape the blast radius," he admitted as he placed the empty glass back. Flexing his finger, he moved to put his hands in his pockets before realizing that he didn't have anymore and so they just hung their awkwardly.

  "You think it's going to be that bad?" Smidy asked suddenly, a look of seriousness suddenly appearing on the otherwise irreverent elder.

  "I think it's going to be worse than either of you imagine," Banks said bluntly. "I'm not saying you have to evacuate, but I am saying that you should probably hunker down."

  "Where are you going?" the bartender asked.

  "I'm going to get into a fight," he said. "By the way do you have a newspaper."

  "Here, just finished mine," the bartender said throwing a roll of paper, that he grabbed out of the air. His eyes scanned the front page before they twitched in surprise and annoyance.

  "It's fucking Intercalary. Nothing good happens on Intercalary," he said, annoyed at the presence of the five extra days in the year that didn't have the common decency to conform to a month. "Today is the day of Human." Tomorrow will be Stars, then Land, then Water, then Life and on the day of life nearly everybody will be dead. Unless... something happened. He should be able to stop it. He didn't want to make a commitment yet. Maybe this was meant to be. If he could just survive the five days, maybe he could escape the time loop, or maybe if he got back to his former level of fitness he could overpower the lock and power through.

  He had options, but what he lacked was information.

  xxx

  "It really is a bit annoying," he noted to himself. "When you walk through every alley in the slums and still find yourself not even being mugged once." His plan was to shake down the local criminal gangs for information, but they were being distinctly non-cooperative. Probably as a result of the increased number of guards going around. It was already the sixth hour of the day and he had heard that the Undying Emperor hadn't turned up for his speech, the speech was postponed until the tenth hour, just before day ended, and the excuse given was that he had just received hard evidence about the rebellion. A half-baked lie that fooled nobody.

  Still, at this point there would basically be nothing they could have said to calm down the rumors, unless they either presented the Undying Emperor or a convincing substitute people would continue to get worried. Even the little spouts of rebellion had quieted down, seemingly either due to the vicious crackdown or confusion over whether they had actually achieved their goal.

  Suddenly, he paused as ahead, he saw three bulky, rough looking fellows surrounding one gentleman, and he slipped into a nearby nook, watching the three men become more and more aggressive. The stooped over gentleman didn't seem to react at all, as if petrified, by being confronted by three younger folk under half his age and over twice his size. It was a clear case of assault in progress and so he cracked his knuckles stepping out to be the hero, just as the young thug in front of the old man splattered into a mess of flesh and blood.

  "What," he said to himself, blankly at the sight.

  "Jarden," one of the man howled, pain and rage in his voice. "Mr. Green how could you." He raised his hand to grab the older man before he too exploded into flesh and blood.

  "Guys, guys," the third man said, stumbling back before turning to run, right at him. Banks stepped aside, for the first time, his eyes picking up on a grey ethereal energy before he stepped in front of the last man. In an instant he felt cold energy surround him, tunneling into every pour. The feeling of fear welled up unnaturally inside him, an instinctive repulsion that no living creature could oppose and he sighed as his body started to crumple before with a great force of will and mana he repulsed the strange energy.

  "Ghost," he said, looking at the grey, misty eyes of the old man. Eyes that had seen something beyond any mortal comprehension and now returned from the beyond, but not unchanged. The face was twisted into a look of immense hate and despair, and despite the ghostly eyes looking deeply at him, it was like he couldn't comprehend him at all.

  "______," the thing spoke and the walls of the alleyway seemed to contract and expand, rippling like he was hallucinating, but it was clear that he had been dragged into an alternate space. He looked behind him, noting that the third man had escaped, or that he had been prioritised. Ghosts either tended to be super persistent hunters or locked to their own territory.

  "Ghosts and zombies, oh my," he said as he felt the crusty, rotten, mana in his core start to slowly pulse. "That does not bode well. Would it be too obvious to state that somebody was fucking with things they shouldn't have."

  The ghost didn't appear to be interested in conversation as it's response was a scream that shattered stone, seared the air with cold and threatened to drag him down to whatever hell it came from.