By the time I’d gotten far enough away to feel safe, my lungs burned. I’d long ago lost feeling in my arm, and felt surprised I'd made it somewhere between the Rust Docks and Uptown. Covered in mostly my blood, I realized that I probably didn't look too good to the pedestrians walking by, but there wasn't much to do about it. Had to accept the funny looks.

But I was running on fumes, out of Crimson Eagle turf, but a wreck. That thrill of the battle still sparked in me at random, giving me shudders.

Now it came to the aftercare. No chips to pay a clinic to patch me up. That was the real death sentence of street rats—any injury became a thousand times riskier with the lack of health insurance for proper care. Or take a massive amount of debt. Though wounded was better than dead, I supposed.

Without real direction to go, I began a long trek towards Southside. Couldn’t take a bus, and I got more than a few glares of discontent or disgust from normal mortals of New Valentine. They didn’t know what it was like to struggle. They didn’t have to follow the path of cultivation and viewed the gangs as an evil plaguing the city as if the Sects weren't at fault in their own ways. Like it or not though, we were another part of its delicate and horrible ecosystem.

A bike engine purr shook me out of my fatigued march—I dived in a nearby bush lining some shop. Tristan must have ditched the fight to track me down. I’d been dumb, and unprepared.

Fear and thrill mingled together inside in equal measure. A sick part of me hoped he’d come after, giving me yet another chance to play the game of luck with death and life. If I won, well, I’d get the divine pleasure of slamming a fist in his face—the balls to call me the traitor.

I left the bush a few seconds later. My one good fist curled, and a fiery scowl on my face. I felt the hum of approval as my Soul Seed drank in the charged air. But it wasn’t Tristan. Wasn’t that beautifully ornate bike of his—I felt almost disappointed to see the oversized form of Bruno leaning on his handlebars, looking me up and down. Then it occurred to me. He’d picked me up for Tristan before—this guy was in the psycho’s pocket. I’d still have my chance to bet my life again.

“Bring it ya fuck! Let's do this! I’m tired of playing games! If ya wanna end me for that psycho, bring it!”

Bruno’s eyebrows rose, and his head tilted; the street-walkers made their distance, clearly in no rush to get involved with our bullshit. Not going to lie, it stung a bit that the psycho didn’t personally come up to deal with me, but maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. Bruno killed the bike, and stood, his six-foot-five frame towering. “You desire a fight?” wearing a smile of pure excitement. “Really?!”

“Ya heard me! Here and now, I’m not dying in a fucking alley!”

“Good! Hahahahhahaa! Glorious! I knew I liked you, Luca!” He smashed his fists together, teeth pearly white. “We shall duel! Immortals witness our might!” Bruno cocked his head back and filled the air with that mad baying laughter.

I swayed in place, adjusting my feet to match what Romeo taught me. Though I barely moved in my spot and was certainly incapable of the intricate fighting my uncle did. I’d do my best and hope Fickle Fate would bridge the gap needed to get out of this situation.

Bruno advanced, his fists catching fire as they slammed together in a meaty smack. I forced my face to stay neutral, even as my heart raced. He had a Soul Seed too. Unexpected.

Betraying his size, he darted forward with surprising speed, almost catching me straight in the face and ending the fight in one blow. Almost. I dipped underneath it, feeling the searing heat of the fire above my head. The pain of the movement was like a sharp knife stab, causing me to stumble. My fingers brushed his leg as I fell, and in a bid of desperation, activated my Soul Ability.

A flash of blue erupted at the point of contact from my fingers to his leg.

Ah. Fuck.

Bruno’s foot lashed forward, snapping into the side of my face. My body tumbled over the ground twice, leaving me in a still pile. Unlucky. My breath slowed and labored, my vision turned black.

— ♤ - ♥ - ♧ - ♦ —

I woke with a start as cold water drenched me. Gasping and twitching as the pain and exhaustion flooded in full force. “Wakey, wakey!” Bruno called out. “Told you Kayson! He’s got fire in him!”

There was a dim flicker of florescent light, a smell hanging in the air of dust and bad decisions, completed by a faint reek of vodka and cheap ramen. Like the day after a drunk night out. I groaned, a pile of pain, my arm still fucked and unresponsive. My gaze swayed from Bruno to the same lieutenant from a couple of nights ago, when Tristan kicked my shit in.

Kayson adjusted his glasses and sighed. “If he was already wounded, explain why you thought it’d be a bright idea to fight him?”

“He wanted to! It was a wonderful fight! He even dodged my snap punch! You should have heard the crack of my foot on his skull! As if I’d turn down a fellow warrior asking for a duel, how else do we gain strength? See—he gets it!” Bruno crouched next to me. “Isn’t that right Luca? Wanna go again!?”

“There will be no more duels!” Kayson said, before easing back and returning to a more neutral tone. “I apologize for Bruno. He’s just… Like that.”

“Fuck you,” I spat at him. The least they could’ve done was end me on the street, rather than dragging me… Where was I? A barren storage room? With some janky old furniture and barely operational lights?

“Wow, dramatic,” Kayson said.

That pulled my attention right back to him. I tried to shift to get a better look but the pain made me cringe as I moved. Bruno let out a quick laugh, and despite my obvious hostility, Kayson crouched closer. Taking a look at my shoulder.

“Grab him and haul him to his feet, gently.”

Bruno obliged, and lifted me without much effort. By the Immortals, how much time did this man dedicate to the gym?

I’d been running on fumes before the fight. No clue how long I’d been out, but that time sitting still slipped my body from being forced to operate to realizing just how bad off it was. I was empty, tired, and everything ached. I wanted an end. Whatever way the coin flipped. Kayson eyed me. “Why were you running while your captain bled out?”

I kept my lips sealed, not even trying to break Bruno’s grip. They wouldn’t believe me, so it wasn’t worth the effort to force the words out. Not if they were on Tristan’s payroll.

Kayson rubbed his temple. “Go ahead and do it, Bruno.”

The big guy’s grip on my shoulder tightened, his other hand locked the wrist of my dislocated arm. In a sudden snap, he jerked the arm into the sky. I yelped, and a loud ‘pop’ rang out as the arm set. Bruno let me go, screaming and cussing. My throat was hoarse before I finally stopped.

“Now that you’re a bit better off, are you willing to actually converse? There’s nothing to gain here from lashing out.” Kayson said.

I scowled and gestured at the ‘7’ on his jacket. “Aint good enough for your own division? Sucking up to Tristan? What, does he own the lot of you fucks?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Ya heard me! Don’t try to lie to my face!”

“I assure you, I cannot fathom what in the name of the Immortals that you are implying. I have nothing to lie about—we were instructed to bring you in by the Viceroy since you fled from the same fight that the Fourth Division Captain died in. Your lieutenant called the constables on you, and claimed you were involved.”

If the constables were investigating, I was in deep shit. They were the inner agents of the Brass Kings, often handling actual business matters or inner-gang punishments. Eyes and ears for the Marshal, who spoke directly to the Brass King. Whoever that was. As far as I knew, nobody on our level met the King.

I wanted to rip Tristan’s face off. “He stabbed the captain! Shanked him seven times in the back, then ran after me. If I didn’t get out, I’d be bleeding on the ground too!”

Kayson paused, face straight and revealing nothing. Bruno scratched the back of his head. “Why?” Bruno asked.

“Why does a psycho do anything? Because he’s goddamn crazy, maybe that’s why.”

“Always got creepy vibes from that guy—“ Kayson rose a single finger, cutting off Bruno. Small sparks of light coalesced into slick translucent silvery spiders on Kayson’s shoulders. A brief burst of energy resonated with my Soul Seed. This guy had a Manifested Soul, I didn’t think he’d broken into the rank after. The spiders dropped from his arms—glittering like stars as they scurried away.

Time dragged in uncomfortable silence. I fidgeted, not sure what his goal was, or just what his Soul Ability might be. Gradually the spiders trickled back. Kayson let out a breath of relief. “Say that we’re willing to believe you, and act on this information, I’d be putting myself, my squad, and my division at risk for what?”

No good answer to that, they’d be a lot better off staying away from this dangerous shit. But I wanted to be let out of here without them turning me over to my captain’s murderer. “Make a bet with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why not!? Sounds like fun!” Bruno gave a quick laugh, waving off the glare and shush from his lieutenant.

“Flip a spirit chip—let it decide. Lands on the imprint, then you let me out of here, and don’t tell nobody you saw me.” My Soul Seed chimed in delight, every risk let it spread its roots a bit further. Why not throw it all on the line if I was doomed anyway.

Kayson folded his arms. “Tristan is well regarded. And before the untimely death of Captain Till—was considered his second hand.” He parsed that statement, still not answering my offer. Bruno shrugged, walking away and unfolding an ancient lawn chair, plastic coated in a layer of grimy dust. “With Captain Till gone, the Viceroy will immediately seek someone to fill the void in the Fourth Division. And will likely speed this investigation along. She needs the division brought to heel quickly, considering she sparked a war with the Crimson Eagles.”

“Tristan stabbed the shit out of the Captain. Don’t really care why the psycho did it, or any of the gang politics. All I know is I don’t wanna take a knife to my gut too.”

“Considering he just made a move for power, and you’re the only one—that we know of—dumb enough to talk about what he did. He’ll likely seek to silence you at the first opportunity.”

“Well, no shit. Are ya going to take the flip or not? Don’t think anything I say’s going to convince you to take my side. If ya aren’t going to help, I got things I need to take care of.” I decided to test my luck and stumbled towards the exit.

“Stop moving, you’ll walk into the webs.”

I paused, squinting my eyes. There it was, little glimmers of silk crossing the air. I didn’t know what his Soul Ability was, but I imagined whatever it did involved those webs. You didn’t test the unknown unless you were prepared for the worst.

Kayson pulled out his phone, making a quick call as I turned around, feeling my chest tighten. This was it, he was going to rat me out. Kayson gave our location away, some street in the Rust Docks, getting close to Uptown. So—probably out of Crimson Eagle turf. Who did he call? Tristan?

“Well, this will be sorted out soon enough. Once you’re patched up, I expect a more detailed explanation, then I’ll plot a course of action. I’m not in the habit of kicking someone who’s down. But we must still abide by the Brass King’s rules.”

“So ya ratted me out. Ya called Tristan.”

“No, I called Suzaki—do you remember him? The boy who healed you once already. He’s one of my subordinates.”

A flash of that mousy kid’s face crossed my mind. Didn’t seem I’d be getting home at the end of the day, but I’d take not being a walking wreck as a consolation prize. It’d open up more options if I had to run. I felt just a tad ashamed of my actions. The need for self-preservation left me without even an inch of consideration for getting true justice for Captain Till.

Kayson asked a few questions not directly related to the murder, but I got the sense he was just spending time until Suzaki arrived.

When the kid arrived, he sorted me out with that strange Soul Seed of his—healing was a valuable Soul Ability. Strange that he lingered in the worst division when in all likelihood, some minor Sect would snap him up given half the chance. The green halo left me more fatigued, but without that teeth-grinding ache of pain.

Then the true questioning started. Kayson cut past the bullshit and made me retell my story five times over. No detail was left out. It surprised me, how intently he listened to everything I said, even his pointed questions that dug into my history with Tristan. When I finished the fifth telling, he gave a small nod and explained what was going to happen.

His squad would escort me to the trial. He apologized and explained that had no control over that, this was the directions of his captain. Despite professing his belief in my words, there were rules in the Brass Kings that we all had to follow. Honor amongst delinquents, while bullshit, was enforced with a heavy hand. Until then, Kayson provided a polite, yet firm, insistence I remain at this hideout.

But they did let me call home. So hey, at least Ma wouldn’t lose her mind if I didn’t show up by tomorrow. Even if I didn’t always make it home after a long night of trouble, I tried to give her a heads-up.

They set me up on a busted couch that reeked of dust and piss. Bruno offered to keep me company, briefly leaving and returning with a bottle of booze to share. As exhausted as I was, didn’t take long to knock myself out with it.