Chapter 17: The Slumlords Take Note
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the crumbling streets. Axel stood at the counter of the modest shop he had turned into a sanctuary of sorts—a place where the fires he tended were more than just heat; they were a beacon, a sign of survival in a land that had all but forgotten what it meant to live with purpose. His hands were stained with soot from tending the hearth, and the smell of woodsmoke clung to him like a second skin.
He hadn't expected the day to be any different from the others. Life had settled into a predictable rhythm. The girl, whose name he still didn't know, had become more comfortable in her role. She washed the bowls without complaint, ate her meals in silence, and continued to draw—always drawing, as if trying to capture something that was beyond the grasp of mere words. But there was something unsettling about the way she looked at him, something that suggested she was seeing more than just his presence in the hut.
Axel's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of footsteps outside. Slow, deliberate, the kind that didn't belong to the wind or the creatures of the wild. Axel turned his head, his hand instinctively moving toward the worn knife on the counter. He had grown accustomed to solitude, but it seemed that solitude was a luxury he could no longer afford.
The door to the shop creaked open, and a man stepped inside. He was tall, with a ragged coat that looked as though it had been patched up more times than Axel cared to count. His face was scarred, his eyes sharp and predatory, scanning the room with a kind of hungry curiosity. He wasn't alone; two others lingered just outside the doorway, their eyes darting in Axel's direction with barely concealed menace.
Axel didn't need to be told who they were. The local slumlords had been a constant presence in the backstreets for as long as he had been in this cursed place. They were the kind of people who thrived in the shadow of the city's decay—vultures picking over the scraps of a broken society. But Axel wasn't interested in their games. He had built something here, something real, and he wasn't about to let them tear it down with their demands.
The man inside the shop studied him for a moment, his lips curling into a grin that didn't reach his eyes. The smell of alcohol and sweat hung around him like a cloud.
"Nice little setup you've got here," the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "It's a shame that something like this needs to be protected. The kind of protection we offer, that is."
Axel didn't flinch. He had seen the signs of this coming. The shop had grown, and with it, so had his visibility. Too much light would always attract too many eyes. Some of those eyes weren't mortal, and none of them were friendly.
"I don't need protection," Axel replied firmly, his voice steady.
The man's grin faltered for a moment, but then it returned, more predatory this time. He leaned against the counter, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface as if testing the air. "I think you'll find that you do. Around here, everyone needs protection. It's the cost of doing business. You're new around here, aren't you?"
Axel didn't respond immediately. His gaze flicked toward the door, where the two men outside were still lurking. They weren't making a move yet, but the threat was palpable—simmering just beneath the surface. Axel knew the game. The slumlords didn't take kindly to being ignored. And the more he resisted, the more they would press. But Axel wasn't about to give in. Not to them. Not to anyone.
"I don't pay protection fees," Axel said, his voice low and unwavering. "Not to you. Not to anyone."
The man's expression darkened. He straightened up, his posture shifting as he sized Axel up. "That's a mistake," he said, his voice turning cold. "You don't know who you're dealing with. We can make your life very difficult, very quickly."
Axel met the man's eyes. "I've been making a living out of difficult things for a long time. I'm not afraid of you."
For a moment, there was silence. The man seemed to weigh Axel's words, his eyes narrowing slightly as if deciding whether or not to push further. The two men outside were still standing there, waiting, watching. Axel knew that if this went south, it would be fast. But he also knew that if he gave them an inch now, it would be the first of many steps down a road he couldn't turn back from.
The man took a deep breath, his grin returning. "Very well, then. You've got guts. I'll give you that. But you're going to learn something soon enough—no one stands alone around here. Not for long."
With that, he turned and strode toward the door, his two companions falling in line behind him. As they reached the threshold, the man paused and glanced back over his shoulder, his lips curling into something darker.
"Oh, and one more thing," he added, his voice barely above a whisper. "You should've taken the offer. You'll find out what happens when you don't."
With that, he left, disappearing into the fading light of the street outside. The door swung closed with a hollow thud, and the air in the shop seemed to hold its breath.
Axel didn't move for a moment, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of their words pressing down on him. He hadn't expected things to go this way so soon, but now that they had, there was no going back. They would be back. That much was certain. And when they returned, he would be ready.
But for now, he had other things to consider.
The girl had remained silent through the entire exchange, her gaze flicking from the door to Axel, her eyes sharp and calculating. She had been watching the gang closely, her fingers twitching ever so slightly, as if she was ready to act at a moment's notice. Axel wasn't sure what she had seen, but he could feel the tension in the air—something about the way she looked at him suggested that she understood far more than she let on.
"I told you," she said quietly, her voice soft but firm. "Too much light attracts too many eyes. Not all of them are mortal."
Axel looked at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Her words weren't just a warning. They were an omen.
"I know," he said, his voice heavy with understanding. "But I'm not backing down from them. Not now."
The girl didn't reply, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned and walked toward the back of the shop, her movements smooth and purposeful. Axel didn't know if she was trying to comfort him or simply waiting for the next inevitable event to unfold. Either way, he knew one thing for certain: the slumlords wouldn't let this go. And the more he resisted, the harder they would push.
The sun dipped lower, casting the streets in deep shadows. Axel stood outside the shop, his eyes scanning the horizon. The uneasy feeling that had settled in his chest hadn't gone away, and he couldn't shake the sense that something was coming. Something big.
He wasn't wrong.
As the last of the daylight slipped away, Axel noticed movement in the distance. Figures cloaked in the shadows, moving with purpose. He didn't need to see their faces to know who they were.
The slumlords had returned.
Axel didn't flinch. He didn't even reach for his knife. He had made his stand, and now it was time to see if the consequences would come for him. He watched as the gang approached, their footsteps slow, deliberate, like the rhythm of a predator stalking its prey. The leader, the same man from earlier, stepped forward, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.
"You didn't listen," he said, his voice a low growl. "I gave you a chance. Now you'll learn what happens when you turn your back on the wrong people."
Axel said nothing, his eyes never leaving the man. There was nothing more to say. The time for words was over.
The leader grinned, showing a row of crooked teeth. He stepped closer to the door of the shop, his eyes flicking to the frame. Then, with a swift motion, he pulled a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the dim light. Without hesitation, he made a deep, jagged slash across the wooden doorframe.
The sound of the blade cutting through the wood echoed through the silent street. The leader took a step back, admiring his work, then turned to Axel.
"A little mark to remind you of your place," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Next time, we won't be so kind."
With that, the gang turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had come. Axel stood frozen, staring at the door, his mind racing.
The mark was unmistakable—a slash of blood, a symbol of ownership. They had made their statement. The slumlords had taken note.
Axel's hand tightened around the hilt of his knife, his knuckles white. It wasn't just a warning anymore. It was a challenge.
And Axel didn't plan on losing.
The girl watched from the corner, her expression unreadable. She had seen it all—had felt the tension crackle in the air, had sensed the violence before it even happened. And now, as Axel stood in the doorway