The tavern smelled of smoke, spilled ale, and roasting meat. Floorboards creaked under patrons' boots. A low murmur ran through the room, tense and uneasy.
At the far end, Kael Draven towered over a small shopkeeper. Broad-shouldered, scarred across his left cheek, he radiated arrogance. Expensive fabric clung to him, torn and dusted from previous scuffles, yet he moved like a predator surveying prey.
"You think you can run a shop in my city?" Kael sneered, pressing a finger into the man's chest. "Pathetic. You exist to serve me."
The shopkeeper staggered back. "Please… please… I don't have any more! I can't! Somebody help… please!"
Kael shoved him into a table. Wood splintered, mugs toppled, coins skittered across the floor. Patrons ducked instinctively, whispering under their breath.
"Keep your heads down…" one muttered.
Kael yanked the man upright and slammed him into another table. "Excuses! You exist for my amusement!"
"Ughhh! Ahhh! Please… stop! Somebody…" the man cried.
The tavern trembled with chaos. Tables cracked, chairs toppled, mugs shattered, dust rose in clouds. Patrons pressed against walls, hearts hammering.
The door creaked open. Mykel Cassian Voss stepped inside. Cloak trailing like smoke, eyes cold and unblinking, he scanned the room. Kael barely glanced at him, arrogance and pride filling his expression.
"And who are you?" Kael said casually, as if addressing a servant. "A child daring to lecture me? Hah. Pathetic."
Mykel's eyes met Kael's. "Stop." His voice was calm, precise, unyielding.
Kael laughed, loud and sharp. "Stop? You? Do you think you command me? I am Kael Draven. No boy tells me what to do. I make the rules here."
The shopkeeper cried, "Ughhh! Ahhh! Please… I can't! Stop! Somebody help…"
Kael ignored him and gestured at the man again. "You see? Weak. Worthless. Your suffering is your only purpose. And you," he said, glancing at Mykel, "are still too young to understand power."
Mykel stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Power without restraint is tyranny. You will stop, or I will make you."
Kael's lips twisted into a smirk. "Make me? You? You are nothing. I am the law here. My men, my city, my will. You—"
He swung at the shopkeeper.
The man screamed, "Ughhh! Ahhh! Stop! I… I can't!"
That was when Mykel moved. Swift, decisive, precise. His hand shot out, gripping Kael's collar and lifting him effortlessly. Kael thrashed, cursed, but Mykel's hold was iron.
"You will stop," Mykel said again, cold as steel.
Kael's pride turned to fury. "Little brat! I'll crush you!" He struggled, swinging wildly.
Only then did his men react, rushing toward Mykel. Mykel flowed through them like a storm. One collided with a table; wood splintered. Another slammed into a chair; mugs toppled. Coins scattered. Dust and smoke swirled with every motion.
Kael thrashed beneath Mykel's grip, teeth gritted, face red with rage. The shopkeeper crawled behind a half-collapsed table, trembling, bruised, bleeding. Patrons leaned against walls, silent, hearts hammering, whispering quietly:
"He… he doesn't even fight all of them…"
"The boy… terrifying…"
"Someone… he's unstoppable…"
Finally, Mykel crouched slightly, gaze sweeping the room. Calm, unyielding. He spoke once, low and commanding:
"I am Mykel Cassian Voss, crown prince of this land. Hurt no one here again."
Silence fell. Even amidst chaos, awe and respect filled the room. The shopkeeper dared a small, trembling sigh of relief.
Kael Draven lay beaten, humiliated. His men, battered, retreated, glancing at each other in stunned disbelief.
Every eye understood the same truth: Mykel Cassian Voss would not be denied. He would not falter. He would not be forgotten.