It had been five months since Piro Pentius went on a raid, and by the gods it felt fantastic to be back in action. The thrill of wandering the streets with a small team of his most elite killers couldn’t be rivaled, and the lack of it was something Razia would pay for when she returned to the fold. For now, he took a big deep breath of the midday Orchrisan air, looking around at the buildings along North River Row. The architecture was newer here, and in better condition.

Sure would be a shame if something happened to it.

Piro burst out laughing, making the nearest two men turn to him. Needle and Spike weren't the brightest, but they were loyal and good at what they did. They didn’t need smarts to follow orders and fuck shit up. Piro waved them off, saying, “Don’t worry about it, just a funny thought I had. You lads ready for some action?”

There were six of them, seven counting Piro, all dressed in cloaks. These days it wasn’t uncommon to see people hide their identity, and with the gang war, who could blame them? It gave them the perfect cover, and their numbers were much smaller than the battles going on around town. Gods but the moonkissed bastard had been persistent and thorough in his raids. Finally striking back made Piro giddy.

“Hell yeah we are!” Spike said, pumping a ringed fist into the air. Brick, despite his name, wasn’t entirely stupid and grabbed the mook by the wrist. He shook his head.

“Are you stupid? We don’t want to attract any attention yet. Do we?” He turned to Piro.

Piro shook his head. “Not yet. Not until we’re in the right place. For now, we’re just a group of humble travelers, out for a stroll during these dangerous, troubled times. Brick, I want you in front when we arrive. When we get there, knock on the door.”

Brick grinned, showing missing teeth. “You got it, boss.” He cracked his knuckles, showing rings on every finger.

All of his men were well equipped with rings and amulets and even weapons Piro spent weeks upon weeks crafting. Christophe was a better field leader. Piro would never dispute that fact. But when it came down to strong, surgical assaults, a handful of skilled monsters with magical artifacts could get a lot done in a short amount of time. Christophe was the hammer, and Piro was the scalpel.

The idea of himself as something surgical, precise, and clean made Piro laugh. Then again, a lot of things made Piro laugh. His men had largely grown used to him giggling or busting up laughing at jokes and thoughts only he was privy to. They were more scared of him when he stopped laughing.

“Well then?” Piro made a shooing motion with his hands. “Let’s go pay Mr. Cicero a much deserved visit, shall we?”

It wasn’t far from North River Row to Mr. Cicero’s headquarters. The large, if featureless, building sat tucked away in a corner with only one way out and in. Normally a good security feature, today it made Piro’s job so much easier. The seven men walked in two lines side by side, with Brick at the front and Piro at the back. They weren’t alone as they arrived at Cicero’s gambling house. People went in and out and two men dressed for a fight stood guard out front.

Piro almost felt bad for them.

“Alright Brick, make our entrance spectacular!”

The two guards saw the seven men and instantly were on edge. One of them drew his weapon, and the other stood in front of the door, waving a rich looking lady in a very nice blue dress out of the way. Her eyes darted between the guards and the Warlords. She beat a hasty retreat, just in time to avoid getting hurt.

Brick pulled a ring off his thumb. It had a large red gem in the center. He twisted the gem three times and threw it between the two guards. They had just enough time to realize how fucked they were before they exploded. The second the ring hit the ground between them it detonated, turning into an enormous fireball making everyone shield their faces.

Piro threw off his cloak, no longer needing it. He was dressed in a bright red tunic, auburn hair wild and free, with golden sandals and bracelets. His fingers too were covered in rings, and he wore the silver mushroom against his chest. With a stretch and a roll of his neck, he was ready to go all out.

“What’re you waiting for, boys? Let’s have some fun!” With a cheer his team stepped over the bodies of the guards and crammed into the gambling house, drawing their weapons but waiting until Piro stepped up before they did anything.

Cicero’s place was much like he last remembered it. A gaudy place for stick-up-their-ass rich people to gamble and feel like they were slumming it or doing something risky instead of just forking over shards to the king of the north. Well, it was definitely risky now. There were over a hundred people in there, most of them patrons but plenty of Cicero’s men as well. They were well outnumbered, which would make this all the sweeter.

“Good morning everyone!” Piro called out, drawing on his deep reservoir of power to enhance his voice and make it carry. “You all have some awful luck. Thanks to Mr. Cicero’s declaration of war, this is the place we’re raiding. If you want to survive, you will drop any and all weapons you’re carrying, hand over your valuables, and keep your heads down. You got it?”

Silence.

By an unspoken agreement, all of Cicero’s men converged on the ground floor. They directed the patrons to get behind them. Dozens of rich, soft idiots scrambled to get to safety. One of the guards stepped forward, drawing a nasty curved sword. “You picked the wrong place to target,” he said. “You’re horribly outnumbered and you don’t cross Cicero.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Piro replied with a manic grin, “but I do and I’m having the time of my life. Hey guys, want to see a trick?”

The thing about magic people didn’t understand was how simple it could be. Maybe not for Speakers, who had to learn words of power and allow their bodies to become a conduit for the magic to travel through. Shapers on the other hand, their magic came from within and it was like flexing a muscle to use it. So many people in the city thought they had power. The fools had no clue what real power looked like. Piro delighted in showing them.

Piro gathered up his magic, feeling it all throughout his body coming together. He pointed a finger to the poor dumb bastard in front and clawed his hand. The purest expression of magical power was as simple as it got. Every shaper learned how to throw raw force around. That wasn’t complicated. The hard part was judging how much force to use. Piro poured power beneath the leader’s feet until his head throbbed.

“Up you go!” Piro called out. The man furrowed his brow before pure force launched him upwards and backwards. He hurtled through the air, screaming until he crashed into the office on the second story. Piro laughed as he thumped against it and then dropped twenty feet to the floor below. The merc landed wrong on a table filled with dice and shards. He didn’t get up. One of the rich patrons screamed.

All around Piro, his men pointed and laughed. That seemed to be the final straw for Cicero’s men. With a primal roar they attacked. Piro’s boys threw their cloaks off. Each of them wielded a different enchanted weapon, save for Brick who didn’t need anything other than his rings. They stepped in front of Piro and readied themselves. Twenty against seven. The poor bastards didn’t have a chance.

Brick met his opponents first, punching the air between them. His rings glowed and a ring of light shone over his hand. The first attacker brought a sword down on the ring. He bounced off and hurtled backwards, rolling along the floor. Brick wasted no time in following it up with his other hand, connecting with the next merc’s face. There was a sizzle and the smell of burnt flesh and he fell to the ground twitching.

Needle set his spear into the ground and readied himself. Before the first fighter came to him he twisted the shaft and the weapon extended forward three feet, right through his foe’s throat. Another twist and it retracted back to its original size. Three down, seventeen to go.

Cicero’s men fanned out as they charged. Piro held his hands up together, fingers splayed wide but the thumbs touched. Magic was simple. You just had to feel it, and Piro knew what he was doing. Right as the line made it to them they crashed into an invisible wall. The wall shattered on contact and Piro faltered, taking a step back and letting his men go to work.

Magic was simple, but it was uncommon and a great tool to work with. It was nothing compared to the advantage of his enchanted armory. Each of his men was armed with a small fortune in enchantments, every one of them taking him days or weeks to make. He didn’t get them out often, but today seemed as good a day as any to flex and bloody Cicero’s nose.

That reminded him, it wasn’t his job to deal with the hired help. Seeing his man, the creatively nicknamed Smash, swing his hammer into a man’s chest and the chest all but exploding told him they had it well in hand. Piro whistled as he walked around the edge of the room, over to the Dunewalla pit. An older woman in a very nice dress whimpered as he got near.

“Shhh shhh shh,” Piro held his finger up to his lips. “I hate crying. If you keep crying I will melt your face off.” This of course only made her cry harder. One of Cicero’s men broke off from the others and came right at him. Piro held his hand out. Another flex of his draining reservoir, another push of will and imagination and the air in front of his hand ignited in a fiery cone. The screams of agony warmed Piro’s heart, and also the room.

Piro continued on, sauntering past cowering nobles and politicians. Up to the stairs leading up to Cicero’s office. Just because it amused him, he knocked on the door before entering. “Oh Cicero, you and I have some…Oh. Huh.”

The window to the office was open, and a rope ladder hung, dangling all the way down to the ground. Piro frowned. “Well, that’s no fun.” When had Cicero escaped? When he first heard Piro’s voice? Or maybe when Brick blew up the doors. The godsdamned coward!

“Well, shit. This could be a wash.” Piro shook his head and searched the office. Whenever Cicero had left, he hadn’t had time to take all his valuables with him. Piro pocketed fifty aquilos and a couple of good cigars, tucking them away into the bag tied at his belt.

When he came back downstairs, the fighting was almost over. Slash clutched at a wound in his side, Needle had a cut on his scalp. Brick stood over a pile of bodies and roared. The few remaining fighters flinched away from him. One dropped his weapon and held his hands up. Needle extended his spear into his gut anyway. Piro snickered.

Seeing him, one of the rich bitches made a break for it. Smash caught the man and threw him to the ground. Two seconds later Smash popped his skull like a pimple. That of course just earned more screams from the others, as well as sobbing, begging, and bargaining. A dozen voices overlapped each other, but Piro didn’t pay them any attention.

“Bad news everyone,” he said, voice echoing loudly in the building. “Our man of the hour ran away, leaving all of you to me. Now, I came here for his head, but it looks like I don’t get my way. I don’t like not getting my way, so…”

“Oh gods, please let us go,” an older man Piro vaguely recognized as the north’s magistrate. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just let me and my wife go!”

It would be stupid to hurt him. It would bring down so much heat and unwanted attention. On the other hand, this many important northerners in one place, where they were supposed to be kept safe by Cicero…Piro giggled. A small, unhinged giggle that grew into mad laughter.

“Damn. Today’s not your day, I’m afraid!” Piro held up his hand and a torrent of flame bathed the magistrate and the woman next to him, who Piro assumed was his wife or lover. Bad luck for everyone.

The others screamed and some tried to run again. His men fanned out around the entrance and got to work. Once the magistrate collapsed to the ground and screamed no longer, Piro turned the flame on the others near him. Onto the walls, the stairs. The building itself wouldn’t burn, as it was good strong firebaked clay. Everything inside the gambling house would. Including and especially the people. The scent of burning hair might’ve been awful, but their flesh smelled uncomfortably delicious.

“We need to get out of here,” Brick said to him, flinching at telling Piro to do anything. Good, he still knew his place.

“Sure sure,” Piro said, turning the flames on the rest of the room, walking through. The heat rose as wooden tables and stairs burned. The patrons of the establishment lay dead or dying and the entire place would be a burned out husk in an hour. He snapped his fingers and motioned for people to leave.

Everyone headed out, Piro bringing up the rear again. His head throbbed and his knees shook a little. His reservoir was drained almost completely dry, but it was a satisfying sort of exhaustion. It had been too long since he got to exert himself. Risk versus reward kept him playing it safe, but with his mushroom charm now helping hide him from the Palace’s Shadowspeakers, he finally had time to play.

Piro and his men took to the streets, running away from the scene of the crime at full speed. They weren’t the only ones. Plumes of smoke rose into the sky and the smell of burning was strong, even here. The crowd gave them cover as they headed south. Everything was going fine until they ran into one last hiccup.

The Watch arrived in force, blocking the bridge south. “Halt!” the leader called.

Piro ran his hands together, imagining rolling a ball together in his palms. A flame grew there and he breathed life into it. The rolling ball of fire grew, flaring up violently.

“Magic!” The silver badge in front screamed.

He couldn’t do anything else. Piro pushed his power into it and flung it at the group. As it left him, his reservoir flickered and then drained completely dry as all his remaining power bled into the fireball. It was too much, so much more than he intended. When the fireball hit the leader, it detonated with enough force to send everyone within thirty feet crashing to the ground. Some of the Watch were unfortunately positioned and tumbled over the edge and down into the river.

At least it would put out the fire. Piro giggled before his vision turned black and his body failed him.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he wasn’t dead. A promising start. Piro sat up slowly, groaning with the effort. He looked around. Barren, poorly decorated, and smelled like sweat and desperation. Ahh, one of the few safehouses even Razia didn’t know about. He slid out of bed and nearly collapsed.

“Don’t,” Christophe said from behind him. “Seems like we’re both in need of a rest.”

Piro climbed back into bed and rolled onto his back, grunting. “I haven’t pushed myself like that in a long time. It felt fantastic! How did your mission go?”

Christophe grunted back. “A draw. We trashed the Boulevard of Saint Trassius until Quintius and his men showed up. Killed a good chunk of them, but reinforcements showed up and surrounded us. Lost half my men, but shit, not like we don’t have others. Didn’t manage to kill Quintius but I got a couple friends of his. The whores showed up with bolters and we had to leave.”

“Damn,” Piro groaned, chuckling. “I think my mission fared a little better. We got to Cicero’s place and --”

“I know,” said Christophe. “Brick filled me in on everything that happened. Cicero wasn’t there, so you torched a bunch of high profile people who have families and friends who will want to get vengeance on us. Well done, you crazy motherfucker. What were you thinking?”

Piro rolled over onto his side to face him. Sure enough, Christophe was covered in bloody bandages. The bed looked comically small with the giant on it. Piro bit back laughter. His partner wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Well,” he started, “I figured they’ll be just as pissed at Cicero for running away and letting his clientele die. That’s not going to look good for him.”

Christophe made a face, but he nodded. “No, it’s not. It’s not going to look good for us either. You piss off people in power, they might pressure the palace to actually do something about us! At bare minimum the streets won’t be safe for any of us for a while. You just slowed us down considerably, and for what? An advantage we can’t use?”

Piro did laugh this time. “So we lay low for a week or two. We keep our eyes and ears open and stay moving from place to place until the dust settles. I go to some of my friends and have them whisper in the right ears. Before too long we have a crackdown on gang activity, focusing on the…What were they calling themselves again?”

“The Shades.”

“The Shades, right. Gods that moonkissed bastard is gloomy. Decent name for intimidation. A little surprised it wasn’t taken, considering how -- “

“Piro?” Christophe interrupted. “I’m tired, sore, and not in the mood for one of your tangents.”

“Right.” Piro flashed the rare apologetic smile at his partner. “We draw attention to them. With Cicero on the ropes he won’t be able to beat a propaganda war. I’m telling you, give me a couple of weeks and we’ll have a new plan of attack and a ton of pressure to heap on them. I give it a month before we both get what we want.”

“And what about the moonkissed?” Christophe said. “He’s really alive and kicking, and they almost got me today. I want him dead. For real this time.”

Piro thought about it for a second. “I think I may have something. It’s tricky and expensive but if we can take him out, the rest will fall in line. How do you feel about going invisible?”

Christophe groaned. “I hate it. It makes me dizzy and it’s impossible to avoid bumping into people. Kind of defeats the whole purpose when you’re this big.”

“Leave that to me,” Piro waved him off. “I’ve got plans and plans, Christophe. Plans for days.”

“Yeah, but most of them are shit,” said Christophe, but it sounded more tired than anything.

Piro didn’t let that hold him back. The difference between him and Cicero was that Cicero craved control and discipline. Precision, restraint, and order were fantastic if you liked things boring and predictable. Opportunity, real opportunity, came from chaos. Stir up enough shit to confuse everyone else and Piro would find a way through to victory.

It wouldn’t be long now before Razia was back, at his feet. He flopped back onto his back, smiling. She’d be his perfect companion when he broke that little defiant streak. Christophe could help him with that. Yes, whatever came next, Piro was more than confident he could meet it head on. And if not, then he’d just upheave the playing board and try again later. He’d have his fun either way.