The air grew much colder over the time I spent inside the Brass Light. The fractured moon hung high, shining its stolen light on the scarcely lit path the thug took along the edge of the Outer Ring.
I clung to the shadows, following the line of greenery that overlooked the barren wasteland hundreds of feet below. Thin trees, small shrubs, not much I would consider useful for tailing a man, but he hasn't seemed to notice me.
Or so I thought.
He walked with his bat out and his back hunched over like a comic book thug who gets killed off right off the bat. This man often stole glances at the women in the distance, simply enjoying time with their partners.
More often than not, the men accompanied those women to glare at the thug, shielding them from the thug's view, but there was one particular man who dared to approach.
He was dressed nicely, as many of those here in the Outer Ring, but around his neck was a golden clip that held his tie firmly in place. The woman beside him held her purse and glared at the thug.
"The hell is your problem?" Surprisingly, it was not the thug who spoke first in such a crude manner of speech, but the fancy man.
The thug cocked his head, tapping the bat on his back. The fancy man tried to grab the thug with both hands, but he missed. The thug leaped back without moving his arms. "Whoa there, Mister Ballsy. You know what it means to touch me, right? I have the right to defend myself."
"You drunk or something?" The fancy man pulled a knife out of his pocket. "Seems like you don't know who I am or the business I run here."
The thug looked at the man with a somewhat eager expression as he tapped the bat on his back faster. It seemed like he was ready to swing the thing, but something was stopping him from doing so. Given his appearance, I would have thought he'd attack after the other man tried to grab him.
"Jackson Guller." The thug answered, startling the fancy man. "Loan shark by day, owner of a gentlemen's club by night. From what I hear, you have quite the outstanding debt to the boss…despite your profits." The thug grinned as Jackson stiffened.
"Tell me something." The knife in Jackson's hand wavered a bit. "Do you guys really follow that foolish code of honor?"
"You mean, if a client kills a collector, then the client is freed from their debt? Did you not read the contract—heh!"
"DIE THEN!" Jackson surged forward with the clumsiness of a man who has never fought a day in his life. His movements were too wide, his thrust too far. His arm reached over the thug's chest, missing him completely.
The man was wide open, and the thug knew this.
The thug grabbed his bat and slammed it down on the man's arm, a bone-shattering noise filling my ears from where I watched. Jackson resisted the urge to scream as the knife in his hands fell to the ground.
But the thug was not finished.
He batted at the man's right leg, shattering his kneecap. Before Jackson could fall, the thug swung his spiked bat at his head. The nail impaled his neck, the force of his swing ripping apart the fibers of his flesh until his head and spinal cord were freed from his torso.
The woman who was with him fell to her knees the moment Jackson's body fell limp to the ground. The thug approached her, the head still clinging to the bat. Her face grew ever paler with each step he took towards her.
"Man…" The thug pried the head off his bat and tossed it to the woman. "I never said I was a collector."
The woman tried to crawl away, but the thug grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and tossed her. He crouched down, pinning her legs down with his knees as he grabbed the woman by her shirt, looking down at her chest.
"Seems like you aren't one of those mind slaves that kid keeps collecting." He released the woman, reached into his pockets, and pulled out a wad of cash. "Here," he tossed her the money. "Use this to hire a proper cremation service. Oh, and since you are, or were, his wife, I'd recommend you sell that place to some idiot; otherwise, we'll tack the debt onto you by the start of next week. You don't want to know what female clients have to endure. It's honestly sickening."
Without another word, he walked off, leaving the woman behind to clutch Jackson's head close to her chest. "B-bastard," she muttered in a shaky voice, almost as if she were trying to force herself to believe she was strong. But in truth, her legs were trembling on the ground.
I know nothing of the Outer Ring's underworld, so it was not my place to give this woman sympathy. She should consider herself lucky; most other gangs operated under pure barbarian principles. That man…he just let her go free, even though she was a witness to a murder by that thug.
Not only that, that thug waited until that Jackson fellow attacked him first…what was up with that?
I kept following the man into the city's populated streets. Neon lights stretched from the ground toward the sky, lighting the city in place of streetlights. The difference between the life outside and the Middle Core was seriously jarring.
Noise flooded my ears, making it hard to concentrate. Hostesses flirting; men trying their worst pickup lines; the occasional cry for help, all of it buzzed around my head in a torrent of noise I could not block out.
"Don't look at him."
"This has to be a joke, right?"
"What is going on in this city?"
Of all the countless voices, a few were pointed in my direction. I gritted my teeth as I clutched my Gearsaw tightly in my hand. There was no other way to conceal it thanks to Lilas.
No…
I looked around as I followed the man; the eyes of the passersby were not trained on me, but on him. There was an area of empty space around the thug, despite the crowdedness of the Outer Ring.
Unlike me, the thug seemed unbothered by the words uttered towards him as he carried his bloody bat around as if it were just another day.
"What are the guards doing?"
"Letting scum from the Lower Core up here, just like that sketchy doctor."
"Don't let his appearance ruin our night, dear."
The thug looked around, scanning the crowd as he moved. I hid behind a group of people, too scared to get closer, as they traveled in the same direction. Once we reached an alley between two buildings, he looked around one last time before disappearing into the darkness.
This could be a trap.
I could be a fool.
But I had a feeling in my chest that this could lead to something important.
I had no good layout of the land out here; all I knew was that if something were to go down in this alley, there was no escape. Was I ready for that?
Of course.
I followed him. The sound of people turned into the soft turning of gears and gentle hisses of steam. The light grew dim as only my footsteps echoed off the metallic pillars reinforcing the buildings.
*Click*
A faint sound from overhead. It was from a barrel spinning, not of a gun, but of a launcher I created. A smile crept onto my lips as I knew Sara and Lilas were watching from above. The dread of walking into a trap lessened in my mind as I stopped moving.
Several footsteps filled the alley—some from the front, some from the back. Needless to say, there was no way out for me.
*Clap…Clap…Clap…Clap*
With each slow clap that filled the air, a single light followed. Four men, each carrying a crude weapon of their own design. They threw a bright glow stick onto the ground, illuminating the alley.
Behind me were two larger men, each wearing thick brass chest plates with leather guards around their limbs. The center of their chests was a depiction of the one thing I hated the most—the emblem of the cult.
They smiled as they both nodded towards the direction in front of me, as if telling me to turn around. I hesitated for a moment, but they made no sign of moving. Hell, there wasn't even a hint of hostility from the men.
I turned to the front. Two men: one dressed in lighter clothes, wearing a robe, and the other was the thug I was following.
This was wrong…not because I was surrounded, but because there was a serious mismatch in the lineup here. The robed man hid his face, but in his hands were a makeshift mace and a small box.
That box…
It was the same box that men who forced Sara's mother to take her life had. The same one the man who attacked Celia and me used to turn himself into a void spawn.
I readied myself with my blade held up to my chest, my finger ready on the trigger to rev my Gearsaw.
"What's wrong?" The main thug said with a smug grin. He tapped the end of his spiked bat on his back eagerly. "You are threatened, so aren't you gonna attack?"
What are you waiting for, Aster? That little girl's mother suffered a fate worse than death at the hands of this man's goons. So why hesitate?
The voice in my head was not Rinara's. It was my own twisted voice urging me. A shadow shot out from my feet, drifting along the walls until it landed on the robed man, giving him a twisted face that was once hidden beneath the clothing. The white grin stretched wide as the pale eyes glared straight into me.
"My…what a lovely expression you can make with a single eye." The main thug said, eliciting a chuckle from the other men—all but the robed man. His body trembled. "Gonna piss your pants while you're at it? Why don't you tell me your name so I can send a message to your loved ones?"
"Heh…" I gripped the handle of my sword tightly. "My name? How kind of you?"
The shadow waved around excitedly as its mouth spoke at the same exact time as mine.
Iudicium Dei
"Iudicium Dei!"