Chapter Text
Chicago, 1979
A loud buzzing rang across the labyrinth. The witch, a grasshopper-like creature, flew across the lake with great haste. It had been resting peacefully before being disturbed by a horrid nuisance. Using its multiple eyes, it was able to lock-on to the source of its troubles. Letting out an angry screech, the witch turned around and directed its attacks to the magical warrior fighting it.
He was a man in his thirties, dressed in an elegant costume resembling a black suit, blocking attacks with his golden gauntlets. He had no time to breathe at all before being swarmed by familiars. Thankfully, the warrior’s punches made quick work of them, each quickly disappearing before focusing his attention once more on the witch. The witch, now sitting at the center of the lake, raised one of its legs and slammed it down on the ground.
Damn! That was close! The warrior thought after just barely dodging the attack. He ran across the labyrinth seeking a better vantage point. Despite the witch’s large size, it was extremely agile and seemed to always know where the warrior stood, likely due to its vision.
A small cat-like creature appeared behind the man. Remember what I told you: if you don’t think you can handle the witch, you should run. Save your strength for another witch that might be easier to defeat.
Beat it, fuzzball! The man angrily thought before launching a hit on one of the witch’s legs. His punch made direct collision, sending the witch off-balance. Seizing his opportunity, the man yelled before launching one final punch to the witch’s abdomen.
Suddenly, the witch and labyrinth began to disappear. A brand-new grief seed lay at the man’s feet. He picked it up and tucked it into his pants pocket, before transforming back into regular clothes.
Nice work Frederick! The cat returned. I honestly wasn’t sure you would be able to defeat it.
Frederick “Freddie” Trumper scowled before turning to face the creature. “I’m not a pathetic weakling; I can beat any witch.”
Looking carefully across the corner, Freddie slowly merged into the sidewalk, joining the crowds of walking tourists and locals. He thanked himself for wearing a hoodie, despite hating how the cords felt around his neck. Freddie couldn’t have anyone see him in the crowd. The last time he got spotted after a witch hunt, he was swarmed by fans.
Balancing being a magical warrior and a world-famous (the best!) chess grandmaster was no easy feat. Even more so right before a competition. On those days, Freddie needed to spend extra hours away from the chessboard and more towards fighting witches. He couldn’t be caught unprepared; he needed his magic at full strength. Especially when he was scheduled to play in the world championship, and his opponent was from the Soviet Union.
Fucking commies! I just know they want me to fail no matter what. Those bastards are likely planning to unleash a witch in the building and hope I get stuck in a labyrinth. They’re probably hoping I don’t have enough magic to fight a witch and run out of time in the match. After all, the Soviets invented witches!
The white cat, Key-you-bee, or whatever it was called just looked at Freddie and sighed. After working with him for years, Kyuubey knew better than to even attempt to dispel Freddie’s deep-seated anti-Soviet beliefs.
Well, that’s your tenth grief seed. Assuming you only use one per day, you should be fine in Merano.
Good. Freddie thought, finally arriving at his apartment. Ok, time for you to go. I don’t need Florence thinking I’m even crazier by staring at an imaginary animal.
I’m not imaginary. Kyuubey retorted. However, as you wish. Besides, I need to seek out others to contract and fight witches. Goodbye and good luck Frederick. Kyuubey telepathically told him, before running off into the night.
Freddie took a breath and opened the door. As expected, an angry Florence Vassy yelled at him for skipping practice in favor of “bar hopping”. She spent all day drafting notes and writing down the results of past matches just to get blown off. She refused to listen to his insistence that he didn’t need practice; he was already the best chess player and had the title to prove it. For a moment, Freddie wished he could tell her the truth. Though, he knew she would never believe he was fighting monsters.
If only she knew.