Contract Worker

Thin gray threads mingled with the mist, appearing and disappearing without form. Even a breeze could break them apart like ash, yet new threads continually grew from the ground, maintaining their shifting balance.

At some point, the seagull's disheveled feathers had become tangled in countless threads. Even when the old ones were brushed aside, new ones crawled over them, forcing its wings to beat with ever-diminishing strength until it finally dropped toward the ground, as helpless as a plumb bob.

Into an even deeper web.

As if some switch had been flipped, the dormant clouds of dark gray mist abruptly sprang to life. They crawled upward along the ubiquitous threads, eagerly opening structures that might be called "mouths" to welcome the falling feast.

"Smack."

The first lucky Mist Spider was smashed to bits by the falling seagull. Countless little spiders fled from its crumbling body, only to be devoured by the Mist Spiders gathering nearby. Then a second spider pounced on the still-struggling seagull, followed by a third, a fourth...

The gray mass writhed too densely for even Hohenheim to see through it, tightly enveloping the unfortunate seagull. Its panicked cawing grew louder, then quickly faded, drowned out by the rustling sounds of the feast.

A moment later, the spiders, having eaten their fill, scattered and disappeared behind the curtain of thick gray mist, leaving the ground spotless. The mist returned to its original silence.

A silence that made Hohenheim's skin crawl.

Tired, he cut off his spiritual vision and instinctively lowered his voice as he asked Veronica, who was waiting beside him:

"What is that? Does the Prevention and Suppression Bureau usually deal with this kind of nightmare?"

At least cultists looked human. They could be wounded and bleed when shot, and they could be blown apart by alchemical explosives. Most of the terror came from not having enough firepower, and tangible enemies could be dealt with using tangible means.

But how were they supposed to kill a kind of weather, or perhaps a phenomenon, or even an idea?

Veronica gave him an answer.

"What you're looking at is Spiderweb Mist, which originated in Audley. It mainly feeds on small animals and isn't much of a threat to humans. It takes several different forms, depending on the environment. What you see here is the most common, a colonial mist-form variant. It quickly disperses in sunlight—or under the hymns of an ordained priest of the Church of the Sun. In some lowland countries, there's also an Ember-phase variant that nests in factory chimneys and breeds in smoke and steam. It's frightened quite a few child laborers who clean chimneys."

"Stanislav has been staying at Captain's Monastery these past few days because he's investigating what causes it. According to him, Spiderweb Mist's behavior 'is neither a hive, a nest, nor a cocoon,' but is instead connected to Void Realm incursions and even shows signs of being artificially created. Anyway, I can't make heads or tails of what he's saying."

"But I do know what his latest research has produced."

Veronica shrugged, extended her hand past the invisible boundary at the doorway, and beckoned to the mist as if teasing it. Like drawing a thread from a ball of yarn, she gently wound a pale gray strand, nearly indistinguishable from the breeze, around her finger.

Rrrip—

The sound of tearing cloth rang out like a hallucination. One tiny thread was pulled free, leaving an insignificant gap in the tightly woven web. The spiders didn't even notice.

[Take a single strand from the curtain, and its substance remains unharmed; Ornithology pursues that wandering thread.]

Then Veronica raised her hand and, through that insignificant strand, grasped the essence of something hidden beneath layer upon layer of webbing.

She pulled!

The tiny gap was ripped open with brute force, becoming a horrific gash that stretched across the web. The remaining threads shuddered and snapped back, reassembling into a massive form.

From Hohenheim's perspective, the mist recoiled as if startled, rapidly contracting inward until it collapsed into a gray cocoon as tall as a person. A hideous gash had split the cocoon's surface. Thick mist poured from the opening like blood, leaving mottled black-and-white streaks on the ground.

"Fsssh—"

The undeveloped Abomination angrily opened eight bright red eyes along the gash. Under its resentful gaze, Hohenheim felt his body grow sluggish. Invisible threads wrapped around him, adding resistance to his every movement.

Gray text gathered on the screen that appeared before him.

[Abomination: Mist Spider (Juvenile)]

[This spider, like almost all its kin, weaves webs—regardless of what materials it uses.]

[Aspect—Beast: When it moves, it is neither wind nor human.]

[Aspect—Cocoon 2: Birth and death are the only two directions. Between them, we have found a point of convergence.]

[Aspect—Mist: "The door in the eye came before the Pitch-Black Flax." That's the sort of thing Scholars say. Apprentices would say that mist is just a particularly damp kind of darkness.]

The Abomination, a Mist Spider that could weave webs from mist and was equivalent to the First Seal, struggled out of its cocoon and hissed in fury.

But that was as far as it got.

Before the Mist Spider could turn its gaze toward Veronica, all eight of its eyes and its head were pierced by a pebble of the sort found everywhere along the seashore. A large mass of foul-smelling gray slime burst out and splattered everywhere, sending ripples through the barrier in front of the door.

"See? For a little one, this is all it takes. The big ones are much more trouble. They run around, and there's a lot more juice. Makes a real mess."

Veronica stepped through the now-clear doorway and approached the remains of the Mist Spider, most of whose body had already dissolved in the wind. She casually plucked a pouch from the end of its abdomen and tossed it to Hohenheim.

"Keep the material. Consider it a welcome gift. You'll need it later."

"What are you standing around for? Do you think I'm a very cruel person?"

Hohenheim caught the pouch. Ignoring the data appearing on the screen, he slipped it into his waist pouch and thanked her, all the while muttering to himself.

No, I'm not even sure you're human.

Stepping beyond the barrier, Hohenheim poked the half of a spider leg that was still twitching on instinct. Feeling its peculiar, fluffy texture with a hint of stickiness, he resisted the urge to set it on fire just to see what happened and asked:

"So this is the job?"

"Yes, this is the job. Congratulations, Mr. Hohenheim Lancaster. On the recommendation of me, Veronica Cessno, a consultant for the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, you're now officially attached to me as a contract worker. It was entirely my decision."

"There are no compulsory duties, and you'll have to earn any benefits yourself. I think it's the best position for you, as an Alchemist—or, well, an Alchemy Apprentice for now. It won't interfere with your continued studies or further education."

As she explained it to Hohenheim, Veronica curled the index finger of her right hand and tapped at empty space where the mist was thinnest. Her lips moved as she spoke Agony's words to the threshold that existed there.

[Seek, and you shall find; knock, and the door shall open.]

At the boundary between land and sea, the indistinct border opened once more, forming a temporary shortcut. Standing beside the makeshift doorway, Veronica asked again:

"On a voluntary basis, Mr. Hohenheim, are you willing to accept this position?"

"You make it sound like I have a choice."

By answering Veronica's question with a question that wasn't really a question, Hohenheim let out some of his minor frustration at being assigned a role without his say. Yet his mood brightened.

He stepped through the doorway's bizarre cross-section with a smile, a long-missed sense of excitement leaping in his heart.

Starting today, I'm a contract worker!