Fucking Piro. Christophe threw some poor bastard who should’ve run into a building. He fell to the ground hard and didn’t get back up, so Christophe turned his attention to the rest of the battle. If it wasn’t for Piro’s inability to understand consequences, he wouldn’t have to be out here and in the middle of a stupid fight with their pissant neighbors. Before Piro torched a bunch of northern VIPs, they knew their place.

“Die, you fat piece of shit!” One of them screamed at him before charging him, sword raising in the air. Christophe waited until he was just about in range and then backhanded him. The kid rolled along the ground. He looked up in time to see Christophe’s boot come down on his head.

Once upon a time, the Warlords were a feared group, capable of maintaining control of the South without much issue. Sure they had some people over on the east side who had territory of their own, and they banded together to stop the Warlords’ complete takeover, but they knew to keep to themselves and not start shit.

Not anymore.

Two of his own men ran past Christophe, knives out. They collided with a few of the other gang, Manfred’s Manaics. Manfred was nowhere to be seen like the coward he was, so his men had to die in his place. It wouldn’t be any skin off Christophe’s back had they not been low on men and stretched thin these days. Another thing he could blame Quintius’ raids for.

Christophe grabbed a nearby Maniac and lifted him into the air. The man screamed and struggled but couldn’t do a damned thing about it. With all of his strength, Christophe hurled the man at a couple of his friends, sending them all to the ground. His own men took care of them soon after.

It didn’t take long for the battle to end. The Maniacs had decent manpower but they were even less trained than the Warlords and didn’t have a malevolent giant leading them. This time Christophe didn’t feel any satisfaction at the victory, or even relief of another problem dealt with. His thoughts were occupied entirely with how far they’d fallen to even have to go for it.

“A few runners got away,” his field second, Barbas said, wiping away blood from a cut on his cheek. “You want us to give chase?”

“Why bother?” Christophe snarled. “They’re nothing. Best they can do it spread the word that it’s suicide to try to pick a fight with us. Too many of these cocksuckers have forgotten their place. Search the injured, kill any survivors and gather their weapons and shards. I’m sick of being out here. I need a drink.”

Barbas nodded wordlessly, bowing his head respectfully before running and issuing out orders to the rest of them. Christophe wiped away sweat from his forehead, breathing heavily. Spring was almost over, and still these assholes thought to conduct raids during the day when it would get hotter and hotter as the seasons changed. No decency to strike at night when it’d be less miserable for everyone involved.

The rest of the battle didn’t matter to him. Christophe stormed off, trusting his men to handle all the clean up. The streets were practically empty, as they tended to be when violence broke out. Few places were as dangerous as the desert city, and its people knew when to make themselves scarce and when to come back out and rebuild. A little scrap like this wouldn’t even register as noteworthy anymore.

At this point, despite being wanted for half a year now, Christophe didn’t have to worry about the Watch. They stuck to richer neighborhoods, doing what they could to keep the excess fighting from the quality while all the little people suffered. He couldn’t complain, it made his job easier and it was nice being able to walk out in the middle of the day without having to worry about being hassled. It would be even nicer if they didn’t have to deal with uppity street scum.

After a few weeks, the heat wasn’t as bad as it had been, but still Christophe expected to see more major players coming after them. If not from the other gangs, then from the palace. The fact that Piro murdered important politicians should’ve made it a sure thing for the Shadowspeakers to descend on them and disappear them somewhere.

It hadn’t happened, and it made Christophe paranoid. Were they being watched even now, or did Piro have some secret he hadn’t told him? It would be just like him, too. Especially after three months of leaving him to rot in a safehouse. Grumbling to himself, Christophe walked the rest of the way home, back to their main hangout. He got himself a few bottles and sat in the back room, stewing in his thoughts.

Things used to be fun. No other word fit. The Warlords had a solid 40% of the world’s largest city under their control, taking in a piece of every action in their territories. The shards piled up and he and Piro lived like kings, doing whatever the fuck they felt like with no one daring to stop them.

Then that stupid whore betrayed them and broke their winning streak and doomed them to months of inaction, of having to be careful and rebuild, only to then be attacked by a group of well trained gladiators. Again and again and again. They struck hard and fast and left just as quickly, bleeding Christophe’s men and undermining their power. One good counterattack left them at a stalemate, but he knew the Warlords were at a disadvantage.

Darker and darker his thoughts went as the bottle emptied and time passed. Eventually the door opened and Piro walked in, as giddy as a little girl with a new doll. The shaper bounced from foot to foot, eyes twinkling. Christophe hated it.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he griped. “You look like you’re ready to piss yourself.”

“Maybe I am, Christophe, maybe I am! I bring excellent news. Come in and tell him what you told me,” he said to the person behind him. Byrne stepped inside the room after Piro, looking at Christophe with his usual inscrutable air.

“Our bitch up north finally give us something usable?”

“You could say that,” said Byrne, taking a seat across from him. Piro sat on the side of the table between them.

“Christophe, my beloved big brother, how would you like to finally kill Quentin Quintius? Permanently this time. Hopefully.”

And just like that, Christophe’s dark mood turned around. “I would like that very much,” he said, finishing his bottle of wine. “Do you have some way of giving me this or are you just jerking me around?”

“We have a way and the start of a plan,” said Byrne, inclining his head Christophe’s way. “Our spy has kept me well to date on what’s happening in the Moonlit Garden and on the nearby streets. It’s important to note that while the twin pronged attack was successful at destabilizing the area and getting Cicero killed, it hasn’t hurt the Shades nearly as bad as we would’ve hoped.”

Piro threw his head back and laughed. “Cicero getting killed by his own men is just exquisite. I couldn’t have planned that better if I tried.”

“You didn’t plan that at all,” Christophe snapped. “You just caused chaos to see what would happen and hoped it would turn out for the best. We’ve been lucky, nothing else. What else?” He turned back to Byrne.

Byrne nodded and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “There has been a great deal of infighting among the northern gangs as they tried to establish dominance and seize as much of Cicero’s empire as possible. So far, it’s down to five major factions, including the Shades and some allies they’ve managed to make. They’re claiming a huge chunk of the Boulevard of Saint Trassius. I fear that they’re increasing in power by the day.”

Christophe growled, glowering at Piro. Piro held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes things backfire. I really expected the other gangs to tear them apart and barring that, their own activities cracked down by the Watch. How was I supposed to know they’d end up better off for it?”

“Maybe stop underestimating them,” Christophe said, rubbing at his temples. Sometimes talking with Piro gave him the worst headache.

Byrne cleared his throat. “You have an opportunity coming up. My spy discovered that with everything going on right now, Quintius makes personal appointments for high spenders at their whorehouse. They’re currently escorting their whores directly to clients for safety, and anything ten aquilos or more at a guess will get Quintius to come on his own.

“My suggestion is that we use my good reputation in the north as a way to schedule an appointment with our spy. If we do this a couple of times, we can --”

“No,” Christophe interrupted. “I want him now. Everything you’ve told us about Quintius and everything I’ve seen of him myself tells me he’s not one for guile or tact. If he’s going around protecting his girls personally it means he’s gotten cocky and thinks he can handle it. I’m tired of waiting around and I really don’t like hearing that that bitch and her moonkissed pet are doing better than us. We end this as soon as possible.”

His heart thundered in his head at the thought of it. Their last fight hadn’t gone Christophe’s way. It had been damned embarrassing, having to limp home and pull bolt after bolt out of his skin. His fat got in the way of them hitting anything vital, but enough pinpricks and even a giant like him would bleed to death. His rings could only do so much. This time would be different. One on one, Quintius had no chance.

“I highly recommend setting me up as a big spender and over the course of a few weeks --”

Piro snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “You heard Christophe, we’re doing it in one go. Aside from wanting instant gratification, the longer we draw it out the better chance there is that someone discovers who you are. Coming here today with all this heat was enough of a risk. We’ll get you back over there tonight and then in the morning you’ll make an appointment for later this week. We’ll transport the big man over in a cart alongside some wine and silks and have the appointment at our hideout up there. Quintius and our orally talented spy will come to the house and you’ll welcome them in. Once their guard is down Christophe and a few of our boys will gut the bastard and bring his body back here.

“If he gets up again, well then we’ll just have to kill him. Over and over and over if we have to. Doesn’t that sound nice, brother?”

“Oh yes,” Christophe said, a savage smile taking over his face. “That sounds most agreeable.”

Their lieutenant sighed. Christophe didn’t like it, but Byne earned the right to doubt their plans and have his voice heard. “As you like it. I would at least like some men on lookout to make sure nothing bad happens. Like another counter ambush.”

“Oh pshaw,” said Piro, waving him off. “With Cicero dead, what’re the odds of it happening again? If you like I can come along and we can kill him together, brother.”

Christophe shook his head vehemently. “No, I want to do this on my own. I’m not saying I don’t trust you, but after last time I don’t fucking trust you. You’ll have your extra eyes,” he said to Byrne, “but I don’t need anyone else to take on Quintius. I’m going to tear him limb from limb and beat him to death with his own arms. I’m going to put this immortal shit to rest.”

He didn’t give a damn if it was foolish or not. More than just a grudge, it was a matter of pride. Piro didn’t and couldn’t understand that. Piro would let others think him weak if it gave him an advantage to later exploit. He’d find it funny, even. Christophe wasn’t like that.

“As you like it, then,” said Piro. “But I’ll make sure you’ve got some fresh rings, including some brief invisibility if you need to get away. You going to accept that much, or will that make you feel all weak and needy?” He fluttered his eyelashes at Christophe.

“Fuck off,” Christophe laughed. “I’ll take your rings. And I’m going to take his godsdamned head and keep it as a trophy.”

“That’s the spirit! Byrne, make it happen!” Piro drummed his fingers along the table. “Take a few of the quieter and smarter men, people who know how to lay low and keep an eye open. At the first sign of trouble, I want to know about it. Yeah?”

“Of course sir,” said Byrne, standing up. “Right away.” He left the room. As soon as he was gone, Christophe scoffed.

“How’d you find him again? He’s way too quiet and serious. Gives me the fucking creeps.”

Piro shook his head. “At least one of us needs to have our heads on straight. You’re too much of a meathead for details, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me. He does good work. He’s been managing our spy this last month, hasn’t he? And look what it brought us. I think I’m going to head off too. I’ve got some detailed artificing to do. Shields, bleeding stoppers, healing, and invisibility. Anything else sound good to you?”

“Naw. That should do it. This is it, Piro. Another week and the last obstacle will be out of our way.” Christophe smiled. “Maybe we’ll even be able to clean up your mess afterwards and get back to being normal instead of having to fight off Manfred and the other pissants down here.”

Standing up, Piro shrugged and dusted his expensive clothes off. “You enjoy it, don’t lie. So take a nice break for a few days, rest up and make sure you’re ready for a fight. If you don’t win this time we might be in some trouble.”

“Please,” Christophe scoffed. It wasn’t a bad idea though. A good meal, some drinks, and a couple of girls would be just the way to relax after a hard day fighting. One week, and then it would all be over.”