Demon Lord Shapeshifting System

Roland looked at the red wine on the white faux fur carpet. Thanks to the fur, the glass did not break but the contents still spilled, looking like blood seeping through fine snow.

He went to pick it up, but a waitress rushed before he could touch it.

"I got it, Sir." She said, moving quickly to take care of the damage.

He nodded, though still a bit spacey. "Thank you. And could I ask for a bit more champagne, please? Just put it in the tab."

"Of course, our esteemed guest. You are our VIP after all, you could ask us for anything."

He doesn't know what was so appealing to his fellow young law graduates about this 'Victorian-era' pub. For one, it's full of inaccuracies. And two….. What's so sexy about the time in history where a lot of people drop dead on the streets from disease and crime, unsanitary living conditions, and damn rats everywhere?"

But these 'intellectual' colleagues of his really love the fancy-pants vibes of this place, so there's that.

"So what say you about the case, Little Faust?" One of the most pretentious ones, a guy named Paul, puts an arm around his shoulder. "I hear that there's a good chance the jurors will be seeing greens before the verdict. Your team's performance is good, but better save yourself from the disappointment."

He shoved the hand away. "Bribery would just make things worse for the other side. Maximum 10 years in prison, case of felony. The journalists will eat them up, and even the team presenting them will get some damage. So I'm not too nervous, especially if someone like you who only goes to court to take power naps knows about this rumor."

The others made "Ooooohs" at this burn, and clapped and cheered for Roland. Paul doesn't seem to be fazed, only sipping his high-grade absinthe.

"I do admit I like my power naps. But that doesn't mean the walls don't have eyes and ears. Should be careful, Little Faust, lots of us have that." He chuckled. "Might find your name in the headlines so early in your career."

The others cheered again, as if debates and chit chat like this were like watching a football match to them. They keep score, place bets, take teams. 1 point for Roland Faust, 1 point for Paul Pheme.

The young Summa Cum Laude would not back down easily too. "An honest man has nothing to fear about rumors. Either they'll try to cook up some unbelievably false story, or they'll be reporting about my successful cases."

"That's true. Hard to dig up dirt on someone who studied pre-law at perhaps as early as 15, and graduated Juris Doctor with 4.0 GPA and highest honors. A pure genius that also happened to be a rich heir. Many would debate whether it's truly the genius or the sovereignty that got you where you are now."

"No need to debate when I have my track record to speak for itself."

Paul grinned. "What pre-law did you take? Political science?"

"Criminology."

"Ah, always been fascinated with crime, then. A true philanthropist, defending the poor and the needy for a few bucks. What an outstanding example, I won't be surprised if you win a Noobel Prize someday." Paul sipped his alcohol slowly. "But tell me something, Little Faust…."

"Even with your 'honesty', do you really think that the truth can overpower all the lies in this twisted world of ours? We live in a world that thrives in deception, hiding in a veil called 'justice' and 'virtue'. As the youngest out of all of us, and objectively the 'smartest'..."

His grin was wide like a predator about to pounce, his words serving as his sharp fangs.

"Are you so naive to believe that people would listen to your 'truth' even when they have decided for themselves to despise you, and treat you like a monster?"ραпdα `nᴏνɐ| сom

Roland was quiet about this for a while. Even the others sensed the increased tension in the atmosphere, and did not dare to laugh. This was getting personal, and though lawyers thrive from the drama and conflicts, they also knew there were certain limitations on what to ask a defendant.

Probing questions like this were a double-edged sword. It's basically the same as just calling Roland 'naive', with extra layers of mockery added by turning it into a question rather than a statement.

Roland kept his cool, and replied:

"If I'm that naive, why would I be a lawyer? Much less an 'objectively good' one?"

There was no counterattack, only a simple response to his taunts. This was enough for Paul to withdraw, and just tend to his alcohol. "Fair point."

The waitress came to serve him finally with some champagne, but Roland raised his hand. "Nevermind. Just serve it to the gentlemen over here. I'm taking a nightcap on the streets."

"O-Oh. We also have some beer bottles, flasks, and cans you can buy if you'd like, Sir." She said, looking disappointed that a young and handsome lad like him would be going.

"I'd take a flask of Smirnoff, thanks."

After receiving the vodka, he left the underground pub after half-hearted farewells. Though he had technically 'won' the fight, that doesn't mean he wasn't pissed that some shitface like Paul would try to exchange jabs with him.

He went around to walk the streets, thinking about several things. The trial was drawing to an end, and yet Harker has still not returned.

It's been almost three weeks that the bodyguards can't find him, and that professor.

He wondered if Mina would be alright. Apparently, Harker made preparations before going to the Blue Ridge and took several vials of his own blood to be delivered to his girlfriend in case of emergency. Transfusion brings bad side effects, but that's the best they could do when he and Mina had to be apart for a while.

So Mina would just inject those ones the scales started to show up, but once the effect was gone, she'd feel like shit.

"At least she'd feel like shit from getting something from Harker. I don't even have any news about him." He thought bitterly. "I feel like shit ever since he left."

What was that Chinese idiom again? One day feels like three autumns or something.

When you miss a friend like that, it truly does feel like the time travels at a painfully slow rate. Time feels like a stream that becomes murkier and thicker, until you feel like you just want to drown instead of reaching the end of it.

And yet the cycle just repeats. There was no end, and there never will be.

Roland looked up at the sky, and there were no stars. Still, he could imagine what they look like behind that thick fog, resembling a face. He wished he had a compass that would somehow bring him to the destination of that person, their paths converging.

And yet their paths were never meant to intersect in the way he wanted them to. That person will always be taken away by the stream.

"How long do I have to wait for your return? You promised it won't be long, but….. You're a liar, as always."