About three days had passed since they left Egypt, and the ship that the group was in had just docked. The port that was chosen was on the outside of London. Seeing as it was one of the ports near the heart of the country, the hustle and bustle and urgency around must’ve been even greater than that of Maryland. Or at least that’s what Vincent thought.

The reality of the situation was one that was slightly off-putting. As he emerged from the basement dwelling that he was forced to stay in, Vincent looked on towards the city and the docks that surrounded. What he saw was a stale, lifeless, mechanical cement block that housed one other ship. The water was calm, only mixing with occasional breeze that managed to peep up, and the air itself was silent and devoid of human speech—only sporadically filled with the sound of a seagull.

From his vantage point, he looked beyond the immediate vicinity and passed the horizon of gray buildings that marked the border of the sea and civilization. The roads that were clearly weathered with time and use were only occupied with a single car that hesitantly drove by every five minutes or so. A perplexingly pitiful sight.

“What a boring city,” Vincent sighed to no one in particular.

“That’s what happens when power is left unchecked,” Lawrence answered him, sneaking up from behind, patting Vincent in the back.

Still looking forwards and not back at the plump man, Vincent replied, asking, “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see.”

One by one, the group walked down the various thrown-together pieces of metal that connected their ship to the land. With uneasy movements and sways, there were times where one of them (usually Eliot) would lose their balance and almost tumble into the waters below. Luckily, someone else was always there to catch them in their time of need.

The moment their feet hit the solid stone of London, there was a relieved familiarity to their breaths. There was a comfort in the security that such a powerful material can bring—much more stable and in charge than the waving, unpredictability of the sea. And it was a good thing that they enjoyed being on the ground, seeing as they had to walk on it for a number of hours.

Because their group was so large, Lawrence and Fang elected to not get any sort of taxi service to their destination, although they also mentioned that there were “other” reasons as to why they declined those services too, but those reasons were never explicitly mentioned. That being said, even if they did want to hitch a ride for a pretty fare, it could be argued that the option wasn’t even available. Not a single yellow or white cab was spotted during their entire walk. In fact, not much of anything was seen during the trek.

Vincent had heard that London was a city of subtle, yet loud busyness. There wouldn’t be any ostentatious showing of human excitement, like there would be in a place like Las Vegas, but the business-like hustle of the place would still be alive for all to see. However, that didn’t seem to be the case.

As he and the rest of the group made their way through the many streets, traveling by main strips and interconnected roads, he felt something slightly barren. No, perhaps that wasn’t exactly right. It was more like he thought he would feel something, but there wasn’t anything. Like the anticipation before the curtain rises for a show, but this time, they never did—the lights just continued to remain off.

Stray plastic bags were crumpled in on themselves, shoved against a few grates on the roads that occasionally dripped the water that barely drained into them. The trash cans that those bags seem to come from were overflowing with miscellaneous garbage, uncleaned for at least a week or so. As he zoomed his sight backwards, he found only one or two other people walking down the sidewalks, keeping their heads down the entire time. And honestly, there were probably just as many cars that passed them, but the way those vehicles maneuvered the strange open main highways lacked any urgency, but rather, it was replaced with a tense, vigilant speed.

The buildings that surrounded the roads were more akin to stone walls, towering above everything that dared to walk out in the open, going so far as to even block out most of the blue hues of the sky. The only thing left to see was the drab, hollow color of the graying clouds that barely moved with the inconsistently hanging wind. The silence of that air was palpable, only echoing the steps of the group that wandered through them, almost mocking the tone of their feet. It was hard to tell if it was a warning from the walls, a message, or simply a trick of the mind. No matter the reason, the reality of the situation did not change—they were simply going to make their way through the city, regardless…for better or for worse.

After a few more hours, they seemed to arrive at the more central location within the city, but one that bordered on the outside perimeter of the middle. There were strips of roads that clearly led into shopping districts, ones that were barely lit, but the remnants of lights long torched could be seen emblazoned in a once thriving past. The crosswalks that connected these thoroughfares would flash for all the passersby, signaling them that it was safe to walk. However, those lights were seen by no one. There was not a single soul that was told of their safety. It was a precaution that fell deaf to the wind, deadened like the rest of the surroundings—useless via the lack of life.

As they made their way past that empty main section of the city, Vincent eventually piped up with a question.

“Why are we skirting around everything?” he curiously asked.

While he didn’t stop walking and leading the group, Lawrence slowed down his pace and spoke back towards Vincent, still looking forward.

“I know it’s a sad sight,” he somberly answered, “but that will get answered when we’re a bit safer. He'll explain everything to you and will speak about the things you’ve seen. Some things have to be unsaid for the time being.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Vincent corrected. “I’m talking about why we’re walking in giant circles, avoiding the center of the city. Hell, we even docked somewhere at the edge of London instead of the main dock, which I know exists.”

“Oh, I see,” Lawrence said.

“Yeah, so why can’t we just cut through and walk in straight lines?” Vincent pressed. “It looks like these roads are built for that, anyways. Actually,” he looked around at the descending staircase that went below the ground that was to his left, “why don’t we just take a subway or somethin’?”

“Again,” Lawrence reiterated, “I’ll say the same thing: he’ll explain it when we get there. Just know that you are never allowed to venture into the heart of the city—do NOT go past the A10 , never follow the River Thames, and stay away from the east side.”

“Why’s that?” Vincent exhaustingly pleaded.

There were no more words spoken from Lawrence, instead he continued to walk forwards. Annoyed, Vinecnt tried to spark up some conversations, but no one would bite. Everyone was mimicking the atmosphere that the leader exerted on the space, and so, conversation was always halted before it began. Though painful, it eventually shut Vincent up.

Just as the melancholic orange colors of an unseen sunset began to bleed through the cracks between the houses, they had arrived at their destination. They stood still for a second before Lwernce did a bit of a last-minute swerve, almost like following a rabbit down a hole. They had to take a sudden, swift turn into an alleyway, where the pace seemed to increase and there was a heightened sense of hyper-awareness that permeated and spread through each and every person’s mind.

After quickly navigating what seemed like a never-ending twisted maze of claustrophobically close quarters and near-lightless alleys, the space in front of them opened up into a dead end. At the end of that alley, tucked away like a hidden grove, was a manor of haunting beauty. The building was three stories tall and made up of a mixture of dark-brown mahogany wood and cobblestone. The stone seemed to be used mainly for support and structural integrity, and was definitely the more “modern” addition to the building. The wood, however, was old, attractively warped, and gave off an off putting vibe of comfort. It was definitely wider than most residential structures in the city, but it also gave off the impression of a building that would've been long rented out to multiple families as apartments separated out by floor. However, it was obvious that whoever dwelled within it was one entity, and they owned the entirety of it.

The buildings that surrounded it were made completely out of the same boring stone and brick that the rest of London was. That being said, nothing seemed alive about those homes, and they just seemed to serve as decoration or as expansions of the main manor that sat directly center of them. Hanging off each of the balconies that faced outwards at the group were the occasional, intentionally placed vines and greenery. The buildings themselves formed a semicircle that capped off the end of the secret alley, composed of cobble stone and quaint gardening.

“Alright,” Lawrence started, “he’s waiting for you.”

“Who?” Vincent inquired.

“Archard,” Fang answered, their tone slightly nostalgic and of a different time. Their eyes were glazed over with a layer of remembrance and the way they spoke carried an air of old familiarity.

Vincent, Eliot, and Zander exchanged glances between each other, gathering, based purely on how they looked at one another, how they each felt. After a few silent seconds and some nodding, Zander spoke up.

“Lead the way,” he instructed Lawrence.

With that, they were led to the front doors of the middle estate. Lawrence knocked in a certain rhythm, waited a few seconds, and then both doors were opened from the inside. Pushing the doors open were two people in suits—one of them was a massive monstrosity of a man, pushing well over 6 feet tall and wider than a truck. Parts of his arms and chest were chiseled and defined, but other parts of him were firm but more rounded. That and his callused hands showed that his build was not something made from pumping iron in the gym, rather something he was naturally given and that was kept up from extreme manual labor. The other man, however, was a bit different. He carried an equal air of importance, but that air took the form of something more calculated, judgmental, and devious. He was shorter, maybe a few inches below 6 foot, and skinnier than most people around, except for maybe Zander. His eyes were a piercing blue and his proportions were lanky and spindly.

As the group walked past those two, Lawrence gave them a nod, but Vincent caught the slightest twitch of his face. In addition, he could see a few beads of sweat forming in the folds of Lawrence's back neck. Even still, Vincent stared at both of the other men for a few moments before making his way past them. He noted that the most intense look back that he got was actually from the skinnier fella, not the giant behemoth.

The interior of the house mimicked the same type of darker wood that encapsulated the outer walls. The walls ran in 90 degree angles and straight lines, occasionally broken up by arches and supporting beams on the ceilings. Decorated through the main hallway were stone busts of faces that Vincent didn’t recognize. Behind some of the mini sculptures, occasionally breaking the monotony of the walls were paintings of fire, brave warriors, and war.

The group was eventually led straight ahead to the staircase towards the back of the building. It spiraled up, making a stop on every floor above. When the group made it to the top floor, the only thing in front of them was a landing that extended about 10 feet towards them, and at the end of it was a wall with a single, windowless door. The door was made of an intricately carved lighter wood that contrasted with the darker aesthetic of the rest of the house.

Lawrence took a deep breath and then approached the door. Using the same knock he did when they walked into the house, he banged on the door.

With a bassy tone that reverberated even through the wood, a man from behind the door said, “Enter.” There was a powerful, awesome, and authoritative sound to the words. The only comparable sound that ran through Vincent’s mind was his own father.

As instructed, Lawrence opened the door, leading everyone else in. The moment Fang, who was the last person to enter the room, passed by the door, a figure that was hidden until this point shut the door behind them. She was a toned woman of a deep, black complexion. Her eyes spell death and her face shouted indifference.

Even with her ominous presence, the aura that radiated from the other side of the room was stronger, forcing Vincent’s attention to immediately shift in that direction. In front of the three tall windows, standing in the cascading, setting sunlight, with the shadows that poured in bending and bowing around him, stood him.

He was facing away from the group, looking out of the middle window, making his facial expressions impossible to make out. That being said, most of his physical appearance, besides his face, were obviously visible. He was an older man, possibly a little past his silver-fox years, seeing as his slightly slicked back white hair didn’t have an ounce of color in it. That being said, it was still full, powerful, and voluminous. His skin was sun-tanned, and pulled against his skin, only leaving a few wrinkles behind; it was more weathered than grizzled.

The suit that he wore was a maroon red color, perfectly matching his pants, which were made of the same material. His hands were folded behind his back, which made them noticeable for the group that he was facing away from. The one thing that quickly caught Vincent’s attention was that his right hand had a silvery color to it and it reflected the sunlight more than anything else in the room.

“So, you seek my help, no?” the man said, still turned away. “Lawrence had said something of the sort, but I would like to hear it from your mouths.”

He then turned around and immediately, solidly, stared down each and every one of them. His abyss-like black eyes, when they landed on Vincent, pierced him, entirely. It was like everything that could’ve been hidden within layers of suppressed emotions were suddenly revealed, let out in their naked glory. However, it wasn’t an uncomfortable experience for him, for he had already peered into the abyss once before.

When the man’s gaze finally stopped on Fang, his eyes softened ever so slightly and a smile cracked his hardened face. It was a little hard to see his mouth past the extremely well-kept white goatee that adorned his face, but there was no denying the slight movement of a smile beneath it.

“Ah, Fang, what a nice surprise,” he commented, eyes still locked and focused.

“Same here, it's been some time, Archard,” Fang replied, their voice serious but still a bit relaxed.

Archard then stroked his facial hair and chuckled a bit to himself. It was one full of low rumble and roughness.

“I can see why Lawrence was so insistent,” he stated. “If they’re friends of yours, then we can definitely be of help to you.”

“As I hope we can, as well,” Fang replied.

Archard let out a bit of a wide smile. Putting his left hand to his chest, he looked at the rest of the group and said, “Now pardon me, where are my manners?” He then extended both arms out in a wide, welcoming fashion that gave the illusion of a giant hug. “I am Archard Deuceka, the Godfather of this family. I welcome you to Libra.”