The moon hung high in the sky over Jariq, bathing the Jungle in silvery light. More importantly, it cast the Jaguars’ territory in deep shadow, making it the perfect playground for someone with Carlos’s skillset. So, he barely even had to think as, cloaked in his skill, [Umbral Phantom], he flitted from one patch of darkness to another, narrowly avoiding the vigilant gazes of the controlling gang’s various sentries. Even as he passed them, stepping from one rooftop to another, they never had any inkling just how close to death they’d come. One flick of his skills, and Carlos could have killed dozens, and it was only his restraint that allowed them to survive.

Gradually, Carlos made his way across the territory colloquially known as the Jungle until, finally, he found his destination a few blocks from the city’s outer wall, where he settled down atop a particularly tall building and watched. Not for the first time, he found himself grateful that Marc had agreed to stay behind. Carlos worked better alone, and even though he trusted his friend and former comrade implicitly, Marc was still only level fifteen, and as such, he would be a liability. Of course, Carlos hadn’t framed it that way, instead choosing to send Marc along a different path, one where he wouldn’t be in so much danger.

But regardless of how ardently one tried to avoid it, danger was a constant companion in a city like Jariq. Perhaps, even in all of the Radiant Isles. Carlos hadn’t spent much time outside the deserts of the Red Wastes, but what he had seen during his limited travels spoke of a world where power was the only thing that truly mattered. Beacon and Sanctuary made a show of safety, but the reality lurking below the surface was that, at any given time, someone with real power couldn’t be constrained by rules or laws – not unless the enforcers of said laws were willing to stomach a good deal of collateral damage. In Earth terms, anyone who’d reached level twenty-five – and some, like Carlos, who hadn’t – was a walking weapon of mass destruction. Triggering those kinds of weapons was a recipe for disaster and carnage, especially if they were backed into a corner. Lady Constance, the de facto ruler of Beacon, had proven that much a decade ago when she’d burned an entire forest to a crisp. And while that woman was mightier than most, she didn’t have a monopoly on devastating power. Even in Jariq, Carlos knew of a handful of men and women who could approach that level of destructive power. Even Carlos could make a decent run of it if he found his back against a wall.

So, regardless of that thin veneer of civility the other cities wore like a cloak, Carlos knew the truth of the world. And in his mind, at least Jariq was honest about it all.

Those thoughts occupied his mind as he mechanically noted the dangers in the compound below. The area itself was fenced in by a ten-foot wall whose façade, like many of the buildings in the Jungle, bore a fresco meant to represent the territory’s namesake. The artwork was almost cartoonish in its representation of a jungle that bordered on caricature, but it was still better than the bare sandstone beneath the garish pigments.

Likewise, the denizens of the Jungle – at least those belonging to the Jaguars who’d established themselves as the area’s most powerful gang – were decorated on theme, bearing tattooed spots and makeup that made their eyes look particularly feline. It would have been laughable if those same men and women weren’t a part of a veritable army of comparatively powerful warriors, most of which wielded top-quality weapons. Usually, they favored sturdy, wooden clubs studded with obsidian shards, but there were also a few who preferred more conventional weapons like spears, swords, and even metallic claws.

And that wasn’t even considering their lieutenants, all of which were at least of a level with Carlos himself, even if he thought that his power, fueled by his status as one of the chosen, and the inflated stats that had come with it, was at an entirely different tier. Either way, there were almost a dozen of them, and even Carlos couldn’t stand against that kind of force.

Not unless he took them by surprise, which, if it came down to it, was precisely what he intended to do. It wasn’t his first choice, but he wouldn’t shy away from a fight. Not with what was at stake.

Over the last few days, he and Marc had spent some time gathering information. Originally, they’d intended to hit the Jungle straight away, but it had only taken one look to show them how bad of an idea that was. Everything they had seen pointed toward a massive operation where hundreds of people had been kidnapped, and for unknown reasons. None of the victims had been seen since, and as far as their investigation was concerned, neither had they left the city. They were either still within Jariq, or Otto’s supposition that they’d been taken out into he desert was accurate.

The Tempest attack had taken place two days before, and it had been marginally successful. But like most battles between the rival gangs of Jariq, it hadn’t really made much difference. Functionally, it was a slap on the wrist. Sure, the Jaguars lost a few blocks of their territory, but those areas had been specifically chosen because the Jaguars could afford to lose them. It was a message, and little more. Tempest was telling their neighbors to back off, or the next attack would target something more vital. It was how things were done in Jariq, and usually, it worked well enough.

But Carlos knew better than to believe it would be effective in this instance. Already, the Jaguars had shown just how little they cared about Tempest’s retaliation, because just that morning, Carlos had learned of a handful of fresh disappearances. No – they weren’t going to stop, and unless Carlos missed his guess, Tempest wasn’t going to press the issue. They’d already done what they intended to do about it; anything else would be needlessly costly. And besides, what did they really care about a few disappearances? That kind of thing was part of life in Jariq, especially if you didn’t belong to one of the gangs. Sometimes, even if you did.

But right now, none of that mattered. Carlos had his target. He knew what he was going to do. He only had to do it and hope that everything worked out the way he wanted it to. At the end of the day, though, Carlos was secure enough in his abilities that he never even considered leaving it alone, regardless of the odds stacked against him. One wrong move, and he’d face the entire might of the Jungle. He knew that. But he’d been dancing along a razor’s edge since being reborn into the Radiant Isles, so continuing along that path was just a normal day for him.

After a few more minutes of observation, the thugs below separated and scattered to different parts of the compound. That was when Carlos made his move, stepping from one shadow to the next and appearing within the walls. Crouching low and moving slowly, he crept forward, targeting a thin woman who’d wrapped herself in what looked like a dozen belts in some sort of mockery of normal clothing. Carlos had no notion of what sort of fashion statement she was trying to make, and he didn’t really care, either. She was just a means to an end. So, without further preamble, he gathered his skill, [Shadow Spear] and channeled a little extra mana into it. Then, he released it, sending a sharp spear of condensed mana into the woman’s shoulder and pinning her to a nearby, mud brick wall.

She let out a yelp, but Carlos was already moving. He clapped his hand over her mouth, preventing any further noise before casting another [Shadow Spear], this one aimed at her forehead. Even as the spear connected with her skull, he held it in place. It drew blood, but only barely – a threat if ever there was one. Meanwhile, tears of pain dragged themselves down her cheeks, bringing her dark eye makeup with them.

“Listen very closely, and you may yet survive,” Carlos hissed, his voice a deadly whisper. “I want to know where you’re keeping the people you’ve kidnapped, and I want to know right now. Hesitate, and I put the spear through your head. Lie, and I take it slow. Got me?”

The woman tried to nod, but the spear kept her head pinned in place. Carlos still got the message, though. So, he removed his hand from the woman’s mouth and said, “Now. Tell me.”

“They’re not here,” she gasped, her voice so high pitched that it was almost childlike. “They take them through the tunnel, and –”

A dagger slammed into the woman’s throat, sending a gout of blood arcing into the air. With reactions honed from years of survival in some of the most dangerous situations in the world, Carlos was immediately moving. He stepped through a nearby shadow, appearing about twenty feet away, where he paused to take stock of the situation.

The woman, still pinned to the wall by his [Shadow Spear], slumped in death, her life’s blood already drained out of her. Ten yards away, a man stood. Dark skinned, with white spots, his eyes were red-rimmed, with yellow irises. More, he was nearly naked but for a leather loin cloth, and he carried a huge club, its length adorned with jagged obsidian shards; a pair of daggers were strapped to his muscular thighs. Draped over his shoulders was the hide of a jaguar, with its head acting as a hood.

Carlos recognized him immediately. He didn’t need an inspection to tell him the man’s name; Itzli was famous in Jariq, as much for his battle prowess as for his commitment to his old culture on Earth. Itzli had lived long before Carlos had even been born, and he’d been one of the cuāuhocēlōtl, an Aztec eagle warrior who’d been proficient at killing well before his rebirth into the Radiant Isles. Since then, he had made a name for himself as the ruthless second-in-command among the Jaguars, which he’d helped found.

And his presence meant one thing: Carlos had woefully misjudged the situation. He’d come into the Jungle thinking he was the hunter when, in fact, he was the prey.

Itzli’s vaguely accented voice rang out, cutting through the night like a knife. “Step from the shadows, Assassin,” the man said in a deep baritone. “Confront your punishment with dignity, and we shall let your co-conspirators escape. Resist, and we will raze your –”

Carlos didn’t wait for the man to finish. Instead, he channeled half his mana into a pair of [Shadow Spears], which he aimed at the Itzli’s torso. The spears exploded from the darkness, impaling the spotted man, their tips erupting from his broad back. But Carlos wasn’t finished. He sent another trio of spears slithering into the night, piercing into the other Jaguar warriors who’d begun to surround him. Then, with practiced precision, he simultaneously stepped from one shadow into the next while using his most powerful skill, [Shadow Explosion]. Immediately, the spears erupted into arcing blades of pure shadow that blew the warriors as well as part of the wall to shreds. Blood, gore, and the remains of the sandstone bricks flew into the night sky, and Carlos felt the familiar influx of experience associated with the deaths of sapient people.

But he knew he wouldn’t get off so easily. Itzli was a true elite. A man who had been at the pinnacle for longer than Carlos had even been alive. An unmatched hunter whose physical prowess was legendary even before Carlos had been reborn. There was no chance that Itzli would succumb, even in the face of such an overt display of power.

And despite the fact that Carlos had invested so heavily in his mana pool, allocating more than half his free stat points into intelligence, that eruption had cost him more mana than he cared to admit. His core was refilling, but it would still take time before he could repeat that display.

From the cloud of darkness stepped Itzli, his skin hanging off his flesh in ragged strips. Blood covered his entire body, and his left arm looked as if it was only attached to his torso by the thinnest of margins. Jagged wounds covered his body, and half his face had been ripped from his skull.

“Impressive,” the man growled, putting one foot in front of the other. With each step, his flesh knitted itself back together. The strips of skin and muscle fell away, regrown in the space of a moment. His arm wrenched itself back into place. And his face regrew, one muscle fiber at a time. “But not impressive enough.”

That was all Carlos needed to see. He’d just thrown his best punch, and Itzli had shaken it off like it was little more than a child’s slap. Regeneration skills were common enough, but Carlos had never even heard about anything as powerful as what he’d just seen. He backed away, his mind racing.

And he could only think of one viable path. He had to flee. He’d clearly bitten off more than he could chew. And what’s more, Itzli’s presence told him that he’d been set up. Somewhere along the line, he’d made a mistake. And it had cost him any chance at success. They had been ready for him. No – not just ready. They’d set a trap, and like an idiot, he’d sprung it without even knowing it was there.

Anger coursed through his veins. Since being reborn, Carlos had spent his every moment in pursuit of power. He prided himself on preparation as much as power, and now, he had found himself lacking on both fronts. But he could still escape. He could still regroup. And he could still come back to fight another day. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but Carlos had chosen his skills very deliberately to maximize his firepower while giving him extreme escapability. Now, he was going to rely on the latter.

With one last look at the approaching Jaguar warrior, whose flesh had continued to mend itself back together until it was largely unmarred, Carlos activated a few minimally powered [Shadow Spears], aimed at the man’s legs. They would do little real damage, thin as they were, but they would slow him down, at least enough for Carlos to escape. The only downside was that it left him almost completely dry on mana.

The spears exploded from the shadows, piercing through Itzli’s legs with ease. But rather than slowing him down, he continued to stride forward, snapping the condensed spears of shadow with the sound of cracking glass.

Carlos didn’t hesitate to step through the shadows, ending up on the roof where he’d originally perched. However, this time, the rooftop wasn’t empty. Instead, there were dozens of spotted Jaguar warriors, each hefting their trademark club.

“Fine,” he muttered, already weaving his skills together. [Shadow Spears], followed by [Channel Mana], and ending with [Shadow Explosion], interspersed with [Umbral Steps], which kept him from being pinned down. He was a whirlwind of shadows, spears, and explosions. Each eruption was small, but these opponents weren’t on Itzli’s level. They couldn’t regenerate like him, so every small wound, every missing chunk of flesh, and each piercing stab left them weaker and weaker until, after a few tense moments, a ring of bodies surrounded Carlos.

As his chest heaved with labored breathing, Carlos heard a slow clap. He turned to see that Itzli had climbed up behind him. “Impressive,” the man said. “Your reserves were deeper than I expected.”

“I’ve still got a little bit left,” Carlos spat.

“It will not be enough,” Itzli stated. Then, to Carlos’s surprise, he dropped his club. “Let us dance, you and I.”

“Ugh,” Carlos muttered. “Could you be any more cliché?”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he darted forward so quickly that Carlos could scarcely react. However, he still managed a pencil-thin [Shadow Spear], aimed at Itzli’s eye. It connected with a sickening squelch, but Itzli was undeterred. In an instant, his thick fingers wrapped themselves around Carlos’s throat, where they began to choke the life out of him. Carlos flailed. He tried to shadow step. And he sent one [Shadow Spear] after another at his attacker. They were all just as ineffective as the first – perhaps moreso, because as his brain was deprived of precious oxygen, Carlos’s aim suffered.

“You put up a good fight, young one,” Itzli said, picking Carlos up off the ground. “But you were always destined to lose. It has been foreordained.”

Carlos retained his wits long enough to feel a metallic collar encircle his neck, but soon after, he collapsed into unconsciousness.