Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 43: The Lesser Evil is Still Evil

The night was colder than the last. I could feel it in the way the air began to cut through my cloak, in the stiffness of my fingers that struggled to hold my dagger, and generally throughout my entire body that seemed to react much slower than before. Winter was coming, and I really needed new gear. Tomorrow for sure, I had promised myself.

I moved through the streets in ways that locals could not match. I seemed both intimately familiar with the region, excluding an aura of confidence; yet I might as well have not been there, with few if anyone even noticing my presence. I weaved through alleys and side paths, stepping over drunks too far gone to wake up and corpses too fresh to start stinking. I kept my head down and my hood tight around me. I wasn’t some hunter stalking from above this time, I was walking among them, passing through the rot like, well, like a worm. And I supposed I was.

My sleeve shifted against my wrist, and I tensed. Not from pain, not from fear, but from awareness. The creature I had brought to life before passing out in the comfort of my home, was finally awake. The parasite nestled within my skin—my parasite—coiled and waiting, eager to fulfill its purpose. It didn’t speak, didn’t think, not like I did, but I could feel its anticipation, the silent hunger in the way it pulsed with every step I took, but I ignored it. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. The slaver had been the wrong call, an easy target but the worst one to turn. Now I had a real monster out there, wearing my face and building an empire that only made Morgana’s plan stronger. This time, I needed to be smarter. I needed someone with no influence. No network. No resources. Someone who was already nobody.

I passed by a few potential candidates, a beggar curled up in a doorway, a fevered man hacking his lungs into the street, a barmaid slipping a knife up her sleeve after her shift. But none of them were right. I needed someone I could control. Someone who wouldn’t spiral out of my reach the moment the parasite took hold. That’s when I saw my target. He couldn’t have been more than 17. He was perched on a crate near the entrance of a crumbling warehouse, pulling a frayed coat tighter around himself. His hands twitched in his lap, fidgeting, nervous, waiting. Every few seconds, he’d glance toward the alley entrance, his shoulders tightening as if expecting someone. I didn’t need to guess why. I’d been in this city long enough to know how the lower ranks of crime operated. Runners, errand boys, and disposable hands were sent to do work that the bigger players didn’t want to get their own boots dirty with. If this kid was anything, he was disposable.

I adjusted my cloak and stepped forward. The moment he saw me moving toward him, his body went stiff. I saw his fingers twitch toward the pocket of his coat—probably a blade. A small one. The kind meant for show more than survival. I stopped a few feet away, keeping my voice level.

"You waiting for someone?" freeweɓnovel~cѳm

He blinked, hesitant. "Maybe."

"I can tell you now, they’re not coming." A flicker of something crossed his face. Not fear, not anger, just resignation.

"Figures," he muttered, pulling his coat tighter. I studied him. He didn’t react to my presence like a regular street thug would. He didn’t puff up his chest or try to act tough. He just existed, sitting in that spot like he had nowhere else to go.

I weighed my next words carefully. "You work for someone?" His eyes flicked up to me, sharp and calculating now.

"Not anymore." I moved fast, crossing the space between us before he had a chance to react. He flinched, pulling back like he expected a hit, but I just grabbed his wrist, pushing up his sleeve. Bruises. Old ones, mostly healed. Newer ones, deeper, darker. Somebody owned this kid, but not anymore. The parasite in my wrist stirred. It knew what was coming before I even gave the order. My grip tightened, and in an instant, I felt it move. A sharp pulse shot through my arm as the dark veins beneath my skin twisted, shifting, breaking away. I let go of the kid’s wrist, stepping back as he sucked in a sharp breath. His whole body shuddered. His remaining hand clutched his chest like something had pierced him, and his breath came in ragged gasps. But he didn’t fall. He didn’t convulse. He just sat there, frozen, staring down at his own hands like they were suddenly unfamiliar. I watched... Waited... Then, slowly, he looked up, but not at me, rather through me. For a moment, I saw the shift.

The thing inside him adjusting, testing, and settling into its new home. The flicker of my familiar gaze that wasn’t there before. Then he blinked, and the moment was gone. His posture straightened, and his breath evened out. He looked at his hands again, flexing them, rolling his shoulders as if breaking in a new coat, before smiling.

"That was different," the boy, now under new management had responded.

I exhaled through my nose, my own expression unreadable. "Get used to it."

The kid—or whatever he was now—sat there for a moment longer, flexing his fingers like they were new to him. He didn’t panic. Didn’t scream. Didn’t even look at me with fear, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign. The previous parasite did something similar, but I needed more examples to identify if this was a regular occurrence. He let out a slow breath, tapping his fingers against his knee in a rhythmic pattern. Testing something. Feeling something. Then, finally, he spoke again.

"I thought I was dying for a second there." He glanced at me. "I take it that’s normal?"

I crossed my arms, keeping my stance relaxed but my weight ready to shift in case I needed to put him down fast. "Not sure. You’re only the second one."

His eyebrow twitched upward. "Huh." He mulled that over, then tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Guess that makes me special."

But I didn’t answer. I watched as he moved, adjusting his coat, and shifting his weight. It wasn’t the same twitchy, nervous energy he’d had before. His movements were smoother now. It was like someone learning how to walk in a new body—except he already knew how to move. Then, without hesitation, he reached into his coat. I had my dagger halfway out before I realized he was only pulling out a cigarette. He noticed my reaction, grinning as he tapped it against his wrist.

"Relax, I’m not an idiot." I wasn’t convinced, I knew myself, he was likely an idiot.

"I know you better than you do, don’t lie to me." That only made him grin wider. He tucked the cigarette between his lips but didn’t light it, just let it sit there as he leaned back against the crate.

"So, what now?" Now? Now was the part where I made sure I didn’t screw up twice in a row. I wasn’t about to let this one run loose like the slaver.

"You tell me," I said, watching his reaction carefully. "What do you want to do?" His fingers twitched again, his brow furrowing slightly like he wasn’t expecting that question. Then, he exhaled through his nose and gave me an easy shrug.

"Well, considering I was probably going to be killed in the next few days anyway, I’d say this is an improvement." He rolled his shoulders, testing his range of motion. "Never felt this good before. My head’s clearer. Stronger, even." He clenched and unclenched his fists, then finally locked eyes with me. "So yeah, I think I’ll stick around."

There it was, the moment where I could tell whether or not I had just made another massive mistake. I studied him carefully, reading every shift of his expression, every subtle twitch of muscle. He was cocky, but there was something else there—something calculating. He wasn’t just acting, leaping forward to do Morgana’s bidding like the slaver had, but I had to be sure.

"You’re not scared?" I asked.

His smirk widened. "Should I be?" I let that question hang in the air before finally shaking my head.

"No." He took that as a win, settling into his seat like we were old friends instead of whatever the hell we were now.

"So what do I call you?" he asked, voice casual.

"You don’t." That made him chuckle.

"Right. Mister brooding-no-name. Got it." He shifted again, then extended a hand toward me.

"Name’s Vance. Well, it was. Don’t know if it still is." I looked at his outstretched hand but didn’t take it. I wasn’t ready for that yet. Instead, I stepped back, nodding toward the alley.

"Get up. We’ve got work to do." Vance grinned and rose to his feet.

"Now you’re speaking my language." He didn’t ask what kind of work and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Vance fell into step beside me as I led him deeper into the alley. He already begun to move differently—his footsteps quieter, his posture looser. He was adapting fast. Maybe too fast. I didn’t have enough of a sample size to determine anything, but it seemed like every new generation I created, was better at being me than the last. I’d have to test this a few more times, but my attempts were limited.

I kept my pace steady, measuring my words before I spoke. "You said you worked for someone. Who?"

He ran a hand through his hair, the cigarette still tucked between his lips, unlit. "Some nobody who thought he was a somebody. Small-time operation, mostly drug running, debt collection, and intimidation jobs. Nothing fancy."

I glanced at him. "And now?"

He shrugged. "I’d say I got promoted."

I knew he was joking because that’s how I would have responded. Still, it was a weird feeling.

"Tell me about your old boss," I said, taking a sharp turn into another alley. The city was a maze if you knew how to move through it. I made sure he kept up but still tested his ability to keep up. If he couldn’t keep up, I didn’t need him. Vance exhaled, finally pulling the cigarette from his lips and tucking it back into his coat.

"Names’ Garrett. Mid-tier scumbag. Likes to act like he’s important, but he’s just another leech feeding off the bigger fish. Guy gets his hands in everything—gambling, racketeering, trafficking." His smirk faded slightly. "And if you’re part of his crew, you don’t get to leave unless you’re dead." I filed that away.

"And you were planning on dying?"

"I was planning on getting out," he corrected, then gave me a knowing look. "But yeah, figured dying was more likely."

I let that sit between us for a moment before I changed the subject.

"You’ve killed before?" The way he hesitated told me everything I needed to know.

"Not directly," he admitted. "Roughing people up, scaring them into compliance, sure. But actually killing someone? Not yet."

"Then tonight will be your first," I said.

Vance blinked. "Oh." Then, after a second, "Cool." I stopped walking and turned to face him fully.

"This isn’t a game."

His grin sharpened. "I know. But let’s be honest, I was always going to kill someone eventually. If not for you it would have just been some dumbass that owed money. This way, at least I get something out of it." I studied him.

He was honest, at least. Maybe too honest, or it could just be that little bit of me peeking through. But it wasn’t the same mindless devotion the slaver had shown. Vance wasn’t obeying me because of some blind loyalty to Morgana’s cause—he was doing it because he saw an opportunity, and that made him useful. It blew my mind that he was shifting between my own personality and his host’s. This was something I never suffered from and I had a lot that I could learn from this parasite.

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