In the suburbs surrounding the industrial district, life unfolded with an almost defiant tranquility. Children's laughter drifted from a yard as they played in the snow, mingling with the distant billow of a furnace and the sound of hammers on metal. The people went about their normal business, no suspicious comings and goings to disrupt the rhythm of the immediate neighborhood.
Suddenly, with a roar that ripped through the placid afternoon, a warehouse exploded. A violent concussion wave slammed into the surrounding buildings, rattling windows and sending tremors through the ground. Splinters of wood and twisted metal became deadly shrapnel, tearing through the air. The sound of children's laughter was replaced by screams and yells of surprise and shock. Black smoke billowed into the sky.
Inside the mostly decimated hideout, dust and debris rained down, thick as a winter fog. The air, acrid with the smell of burnt wood and metal, choked the lungs. In the chaos, a brutal skirmish was already underway. Felix's team moved with practiced efficiency.
Trice, however, found himself in a terrifying predicament. He was fighting Bolak. The thug, a hulking brute with eyes that gleamed with an almost feral madness, pressed his attack relentlessly. Trice's anatomy, that of a harpy, granted him a hybrid of powerful wings and human arms. As someone who had sworn fealty to Kojo, he, like the rest of them, had inherited a number of his abilities, which would be constant Traits among his household. The most common ones being 'Arcane Threads' and 'Crystallization'. He had spread his wings wide, the feathers stiffening and aligning as he invoked Kojo's gift of 'crystallization'. The normally soft plumage transformed into diamond-hard blades, reflecting the flickering light from the surroundings. He could also launch his hardened feathers like razor-sharp projectiles. This unique skillset, combined with the constricted space, was his only advantage against the relentless onslaught of the unhinged thug who would have overpowered him otherwise.
Truth be told, Trice was terrified. Every instinct screamed for him to flee, to avoid the lunatic before him.
"Why me? Why do I have to fight this lunatic?" he wondered as he exchanged blows with Bolak.
He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Hamza the lizardman moved with a fluid, reptilian grace, his 'crystallized' scaled hide deflecting blows as he parried with his claws. Adade the orc, a towering figure of muscle and grim determination, roared as he swung a massive piece of wood with a jagged metal tip which used to be a part of the warehouse at his attackers. And then there was Fatima the centaur, a flurry of hooves and flaming fists, her fire magic illuminating the swirling dust. Lucille, her face a mask of fierce concentration, stood protectively in the center of a group of trembling former slaves, a shimmering barrier rippling around them, deflecting stray debris. Matoi, the Minotaur, had already completed her crucial task, the last of the slaves now free, and was charging headlong into the thickest part of the melee, her massive frame a living battering ram.
Trice, desperate for a moment's reprieve, jumped, hovering above Bolak. The thug, anticipating a ground attack, swung a wild blow. Trice twisted, using the talons on his feet to kick back against Bolak's arm with surprising force. The thug stumbled back, momentarily off-balance. Bolak, a slow grin spreading across his face, anticipated Trice landing to his right, already winding up another heavy swing. But , probably due to his blood lust,he had forgotten one crucial detail, a detail that was Trice's ultimate advantage.
Trice could fly.
With a powerful flap of his wings, Trice unleashed a torrent of crystallized feathers. They rained down on Bolak, each one a diamond arrow. The thug roared in pain as several feathers embedded themselves in his exposed skin, but he pressed on, his lust for violence overriding any sense of self-preservation.
Meanwhile, Hamza moved like a serpent, his movements economical and deadly. He faced Roric, a wiry thug with a cruel smirk and wicked-looking bladed gauntlets. Roric lunged, his gauntlets glinting, but Hamza ducked under the blow, his tail lashing out to sweep Roric's legs from under him. As Roric fell, Hamza was on him, a series of rapid, precise strikes landing on vulnerable points.
Adade was a whirlwind of brute force against a cluster of opponents. His makeshift pike cleaved through the air with terrifying force, forcing his adversaries to constantly retreat or risk being cut in two. He roared, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air, as he locked weapons with a particularly aggressive thug who wielded a heavy mace. Adade's immense strength was evident as he gradually pushed the mace-wielder back, his every blow designed to incapacitate.
Fatima, the centaur, was a spectacle of raw power and focused magic. Her hooves thundered as she charged, her fists wreathed in blazing flames. She sent a torrent of fire towards Vanya, a muscled yet nimble, almost acrobatic thug who tried to get around her whip attacks. Vanya, despite her agility, found herself constantly on the defensive, the intense heat forcing her to keep her distance. Fatima's eyes glowed with fierce determination, her every movement purposeful.
Lucille did her part as well, manipulating her hair to entangle any thug that tried to attack and petrifying them with her innate Gorgon ability while still shielding the now-freed slaves in a barrier behind her.
The warehouse rumbled again, the remaining structure groaning under the strain. Trice, still hovering, unleashed another volley of feathers. Bolak, surprisingly resilient, deflected the attacks with one sword and threw the other. Trice blew it away with wind from his wings. Bolak ran up to a few crates nearby and used them to lunge, a desperate, wild swing aimed at Trice's right wing. Trice banked sharply, the tip of his wing almost brushed by the bladed hand. A searing pain shot through him, a single feather ripped free.
Just then, a voice, calm and clear despite the chaos, echoed in Trice's mind. It was Hamza.
"Leave the rest to us, Trice. Find Felix. Now."
Trice wanted to protest. The thugs were strong, and they had the numbers advantage. He was needed here. But the urgency in Hamza's mental command was undeniable. Without a word, he executed a spectacular mid-air spin, his crystallized wings slicing through the air. Bolak, caught off guard, roared as his left arm was cleanly severed, falling to the ground with a sickening thud. With a final, powerful flap of his remaining wing, Trice unleashed a gust of wind, sending Bolak careening into a pile of splintered crates. A final volley of hardened feathers followed, piercing the thug's body. Trice then shot upwards, a dark silhouette against the smoke-filled sky, and angled towards the distant city at breakneck speed.
"Please, don't be dead," he muttered, the words carried away by the wind.
**********
Deep within the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the city, the air hung heavy with the scent of something acrid, almost medicinal. Felix gritted his teeth, his arms burning as he barely managed to block a devastating strike from Tibera. The old man's attack, precise and shockingly powerful, had come without warning.
"What in the Abyss are you doing?" Felix gasped, staggering back.
Tibera didn't answer. Instead, a swift, brutal kick connected with Felix's ribs, sending him hurtling through a wall and into another, narrower tunnel. Dust and smoke immediately billowed around him, thick and disorienting. Felix landed hard, his daggers clattering against the rough stone floor.
He breathed heavily, raising his head as the old man walked casually into the smoky cavity, his silhouette a dark, menacing shape in the gloom. He clapped his hands once, the sound echoing eerily. "You can drop the act. I know Marconni is dead. And you, Felix, are now working for the people of Archadia."
Felix, scrambling to his feet, gripped his daggers, his eyes narrowed.
"How… how did you know?" He was sweating profusely and his body was shaking slightly.
Noticing this, Tibera chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that sent a chill down Felix's spine. "My dear boy, I was your caretaker for many years. I know all your mannerisms. I know the subtle tells when you're lying, the slight tremor in your hand when you're nervous." He took a step closer, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Still, I needed to confirm the extent of your loyalty to them. That's why I used the smoke to mess with your mind."
A cold dread seeped into Felix's stomach. He remembered the fleeting moments of disorientation he'd experienced whenever he was around Tibera, who almost always had that pipe in his mouth. Not only him, but the other thugs seemed surprised by the number of times he smoked.
The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
"You used Oneirogen Mist," Felix stated, his voice barely a whisper.
"A technique that uses the smoke from Nighthade Bloom to induce a dream-like state."
Tibera clapped his hands again, a slow, appreciative sound.
"See? I always liked you, Felix. So bright, so much promise...." His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"You must have a new master now. It's law, after all, that anytime fealty is sworn, the subordinate gains some traits or characteristics from their master. That's why you, a pacifist by nature, had no problem with killing when you were with Marconni."
Felix felt a surge of cold fury.
"How long?"
Tibera shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the horror of his confession.
"Oh, I've been doing the technique every time we were together. Why do you think I was smoking so much? Even I would suffer effects from that much of the Nighthade Bloom, but it was worth it. The accumulated effects are now profoundly affecting you."
Felix tightened his grip on his daggers, his knuckles white. His hands were shaking, not from fear, but from a barely contained rage. He took his stance, his eyes fixed on the old man.
"Tell me one thing, Tibera. If you knew all this, why didn't you kill me and my team from the beginning? Why did you speak up for me when we met with the King of Blasphemy?"
Tibera scratched his nose thoughtfully.
"It seemed like a waste, really." He paused, his gaze unsettlingly intense.
"I was utterly disgusted by the fact that you were deluding yourself with this idea of redemption, a concept planted in your mind by the very people you now serve. So, I wanted to see how much you had changed. I planned on killing you at some point, of course, but why not make use of you first?" He smiled, a chilling, predatory curve of his lips.
"My offer is still on the table, Felix, if you are willing to accept it. I am a generous foster father after all."
"Even though you're going to kill me sooner or later?" Felix's voice was laced with bitter amusement.
Tibera shrugged again.
"Perhaps I'll change my mind about that. It depends."
Felix let out a short, humorless chuckle. "You never change your mind, Tibera."
With a guttural roar, he charged.
************
Outside, high above, Trice soared through the sky, a desperate blur of motion. The city lights began to twinkle in the distance, a beacon of hope and fear.
"Please don't be dead," he muttered, the wind whipping his words away. The frantic beating of his heart echoed the powerful flaps of his wings, each beat a silent prayer for Felix's survival.