If he pulled this off, he might not have to steal again for a very long time. Maybe never, if he used the proceeds to set up his legitimate trading business.
But if Sadie got her hands on it, he’d never achieve his dream. She’d spend every last cent he earned on crystal dust. His stepmother had even once discovered his stolen stash before he had a chance to sell it, and consumed the entire lot.
Since then, Lucas went straight from his hunting trips to the markets. Cash was marginally safer than the actual merchandise.
From the stone and plaster facades to the cobbled streets, the city of Zakaron reminded Lucas of what the human realm must have been like close to a hundred years ago. Only with slightly more modern conveniences. .
Some technology hopped regularly between realms, but this one had resisted going digital. Locks still used keys, and the written word dominated. It was one of the reasons he often hunted here—valuables were guarded with living beings rather than sophisticated tech.
It made them vulnerable to someone like him.
Zakaron was a dark and gloomy place at night. Hooded forms hustled through the dimly lit streets, each intent on their own mission. As his feet scuffed through the dirt deposited in every crack and crevice, Lucas concentrated on his left hand. Or rather, the tip of his left forefinger.
Weapons were bulky and tended to get him noticed. As a Morph, he had other options open to him. It took effort to maintain, but in the days before he prepared for a hunt, he created a poison sac within one finger, swelling the digit’s tip to twice its normal size. The poison itself was more difficult—he’d pushed his body to put together the complex chain of molecules, and had expended resources keeping them walled off within the sac.
Now, he brought the final weapon online by forming a long, hooked claw and connecting the channel within it to the poison reservoir.
Lucas collected DNA like others collected currency. The venomous finger was an adaptation of the killing claws of a predatory lizard he’d come across a few years ago.
With the claw officially poised for mayhem, his heart accelerated as he stepped away from the main thoroughfare and wove his way through the back alleys. It was show time, as the old human saying went. The stiff spine hairs bristled erect, pushing against his clothing, sending little pulses of sensation, along with adrenaline, through his body.
He accepted it as part of his priming sequence. As he turned down the target alley, he swayed and lurched as though drunk. From within the shield formed by his hood, Lucas searched the shadows for what he knew had to be there.
The Trog lurked behind a dumpster. Nearly seven feet tall, the reptilian guard rippled with muscle. His features were typically humanoid, with two narrow yellow eyes that seemed to be all pupil and no iris or cornea, and his nose and jaws protruding outward from his face.
Considering he was stationed in the alley, this guard was low on Udo’s totem pole. Merely a stepping stone for Lucas.
The hulking figure placed his hand on the grip of his holstered air gun and squared up to Lucas as he approached. “I advise you to find somewhere else to sleep it off,” he growled in Formal, a language known and used by many Cryptids.
Lucas slowed down but didn’t stop. As the guard closed on him, he pretended to trip, but he pushed off his toes as he did so.
The extra bounce enabled him to reach his hand high as though groping for support. The Trog, accustomed to fending off inebriated alley walkers, interpreted Lucas’s movement as accidental. Instead of shooting, he reached out a hand to steady him.
Lucas drove the envenomed claw deep into the Trog’s neck. The creature flinched, swinging the handgun into play, but Lucas called again on his orangutan arms, and clenched powerful fingers around the thick wrist.
The Trog grabbed him with his free arm and lifted him high in the air. Feet dangling, hands locked around the gun wrist, Lucas’s face was only inches from the guard’s angry glare. He saw the exact moment when the yellow eyes glazed over and was ready when the big body dropped.
He rolled gracefully free before checking on the guard. The Trog was unconscious, and the poison would keep him that way for a few hours. Only once he was certain the guard was down, did Lucas wrap fingers around the leathery skin...
Minutes later, he left his victim naked behind the dumpster. Trogs were much larger than Lucas, which meant he had to pour a lot of fuel into the morph to fill out the clothes. It was right at the outer limit of what he could do without taking a booster like crystal dust.
Although a bit smaller, his body was a near-perfect replica of the guard’s. A closer examination would reveal the venom claw and a line of hairs that still existed along his spine. His eyes also had a tendency to revert if he lost concentration.
Lucas hammered on the steel door, and a small plate slid aside to reveal the suspicious yellow eyes of another Trog.
“What do you want?”
“Gotta message and package for the boss.” Lucas held up his pack.
The eyes glared, and then blinked, before pulling away. The door opened.
The Trog’s glower remained unchanged as he reached for the bag. “You can give it to me.”
“Part of it was a verbal message. I’ll take it to him myself.” Lucas had his venom claw hidden by a curled fist. He was prepared to take this guard out as well, if necessary.
The other guard grimaced, but then he nodded. “Be quick. We’re expecting guests.”
Guests? Lucas cursed to himself as he stalked along the hall. Udo was a busy dealer, and the chances of him having an exchange on any given night were good. But Lucas’s careful intel had told him tonight was clear.
