The men did not rush.
That told Dominic more than their weapons did.
They spread out slightly, casual, confident. Two carried clubs stained dark with old blood. The third rolled a knife between his fingers, eyes fixed on Lysa's leg.
"Easy," the one with the knife said. "We just want to talk."
Dominic did not answer.
Talking was how people distracted themselves before making mistakes.
He shifted his stance instead, placing his left foot forward, weight centered. The jagged stone rested low in his right hand, hidden by his thigh. He kept his shoulders relaxed.
The knife man noticed. His smile thinned.
"Kid," he said, "you are in the slums now. Borderland rules end out there." He jerked his head back toward the forest. "In here, we decide what is fair."
Dominic met his gaze. "Then decide to move."
The man laughed, sharp and humorless. "Wrong answer."
The one on the left lunged first.
Too eager.
Dominic stepped inside the swing instead of away from it. The club passed behind his head with inches to spare. Dominic drove his shoulder forward and smashed the jagged stone into the man's throat.
Not hard. Not deep.
Enough.
The man gagged, hands flying up, eyes bulging. Dominic did not watch him fall. He turned immediately.
The knife was already coming.
Dominic twisted, letting the blade slice across his sleeve instead of his ribs. Pain flared, bright and immediate. He ignored it. His left hand clamped down on the attacker's wrist while his right hand drove the stone up and under the jaw.
This time, he used force.
Bone cracked. Teeth shattered. The man dropped, twitching.
The third hesitated.
That was the mistake.
Dominic rushed him, pain screaming through his chest with every step. The club came up too late. Dominic slammed his forehead into the man's face. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed.
The club slipped from numb fingers.
Dominic did not give him time to recover. He drove the stone into the man's eye and twisted.
It was over.
Silence rushed in, broken only by Dominic's ragged breathing and Lysa's sharp gasp.
Dominic stood still, forcing his heart rate down. He listened. Footsteps. Shouts. None yet.
He turned to Lysa. "Move."
She stared at the bodies. "You killed them."
"Yes."
"You did not hesitate."
"No."
He grabbed the club from the ground and shoved it into her hands. "Use this to lean. Faster."
They moved.
Dominic led them off the road and into a maze of leaning shacks and broken stone. The slums pressed close, walls and shadows swallowing them whole. Voices echoed nearby, but none followed.
After several turns, Dominic ducked into a narrow gap between two collapsed structures and crouched.
Only then did he allow himself to shake.
The pain hit him all at once. His vision blurred. Blood soaked his sleeve where the knife had cut him. His chest burned with every breath.
Lysa grabbed his arm. "You are bleeding."
"I know."
"You will pass out."
"Not yet."
Behind his eyes, the pressure returned. He welcomed it this time. It meant he was still alive.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Conflict engagement logged
Outcome: Dominant survival
Survival Probability: 15.4%
A noticeable jump.
Dominic closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. "We cannot stay here."
Lysa nodded, her face pale. "They will come."
"Yes."
They moved deeper into the slums, blending into the flow of bodies and filth. Dominic kept his head down, posture slumped, making himself smaller. He handed the club back to her and took the knife instead, wiping it on his pants.
As they walked, Lysa spoke quietly. "That was borderland law."
Dominic glanced at her. "Explain."
"In the borderlands, strength decides," she said. "In cities, it is the same. People just pretend otherwise."
Dominic stored that away.
They reached a cluster of abandoned buildings near the inner wall. One structure sagged inward, its roof partially collapsed. Dominic tested the door. It opened with a groan.
Inside, it smelled of rot and damp stone. But it was empty.
Good enough.
They barricaded the door with debris and collapsed inside.
Lysa sank to the floor, shaking. Dominic leaned against the wall and slid down slowly until he was sitting.
Minutes passed in silence.
Finally, Lysa spoke. "You could have run."
"Yes."
"Why did you fight."
Dominic did not answer immediately. He watched dust drift through a shaft of gray light.
"Because if I ran," he said, "they would follow. If I fought, someone else would hesitate next time."
She stared at him. "You think killing them matters."
"Yes."
"How."
"Fear spreads faster than mercy."
She said nothing to that.
Dominic checked his wound. The cut was shallow but long. He pressed cloth against it and tied it tight. Infection would be a problem later. If there was a later.
The system presence returned, heavier than before.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Behavioral pattern update
Trait classification: Decisive violence
Evaluation note: Action aligns with survival optimization
No approval. No condemnation.
Just confirmation.
Dominic leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment.
Inside Virel City, rules were not written. They were enforced.
And now, the city knew he existed.
Not by name.
Not yet.
But by consequence.
Tomorrow, he would learn what that meant.
And if the city decided to test him again, Dominic Ashborne would answer the only way this world understood.
With blood.