The night was supposed to be calm, a deceptive lull before the Silent Night. Instead, the Crimson Vulture territory was an inferno cloaked in silence. A high-level silencing rune, purchased at great cost, shrouded the warehouse district, muffling the screams and the roar of the flames to the outside world. Inside the barrier, however, it was a cacophony of destruction.
Guilon walked through the chaos, his pristine white suit stark against the smoke and gore, though the hem of his trousers was already soaked in a dark, spreading stain. He stepped over bodies with the casual indifference of a man walking through puddles. In his hand, a heavy rune-rifle hummed with cooling heat.
On the ground ahead of him, Caros Rivera, the once-proud leader of the Crimson Vultures, was crawling. A trail of thick blood marked his agonizing path. He reached a wall, pulled himself up to a sitting position, and looked up. He saw the white suit. He saw the gun.
"You sack of worthless shit," Caros spat, blood bubbling past his lips. "I should have killed you back when you were just a filth-covered dockworker." He let out a wet, hacking laugh. "Hahahaha... fucking trash. Do you miss it? Do you miss being spit on by the nobles you're trying so hard to impress?"
Guilon didn't speak. He didn't monologue. He simply raised the rifle.
BANG.
The runic shot took off half of Caros's head. The gang leader slumped over, dead.
"Clean them up," Guilon said to his men, his voice bored. "Take their stash. Burn the rest."
This scene repeated itself all over the Hudson Reach. In a single, bloody night, the Cardinal Wolves swept through the weakened, terrified remnants of the other gangs, consolidating power with ruthless efficiency.
Several hours later, the flushed, victorious army of the Cardinal Wolves marched on the Hao Pavilion. They surrounded the grand building, their weapons drawn, their eyes wild with adrenaline.
The heavy doors opened, and Madam Shelara and Madam Viviane stepped out, their faces set in masks of cold disapproval. "Halt," Shelara commanded. "The Pavilion is closed."
Difos, the dwarf lieutenant of TCW, stepped forward, a leering grin on his face. "Ohh? Since when does a brothel close this early? The night is just getting started."
"Since a bunch of mutts overstayed their welcome in their playground!"
A commanding voice rang out from the balcony above. Misela stood there, silhouetted against the lights of the Pavilion. She held a long, elegant opera holder, taking a slow drag before blowing a stream of smoke down at them. "Leave," she ordered.
The sea of TCW thugs parted. Guilon walked through the gap, his white suit now splattered with drying blood, a grotesque artist's smock. He looked up at the dark elf.
"My, my," he purred, his voice amplified by the silence of his men. "Is that any way to greet a conqueror? We are only here to say our thanks."
Misela scoffed, flicking ash from her cigarette. "You're welcome. Now leave."
"You won't take my thanks?" Guilon laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "Well, if you won't take my gratitude, I can certainly get my load off to you in other ways." He made a crude, obscene gesture toward his crotch.
Misela's grip on the railing tightened until the wood groaned, but her face remained an impassive mask of disdain. "I'll remember that, Guilon."
"Good," Guilon sneered. "Then I'll let you live tonight. Because of your Watcher gift. So remember that, too."
He turned his back on her. "Let's go, boys! We have a city to rule!"
As the Cardinal Wolves withdrew, the men made nasty gestures and catcalled the girls standing on the balcony. Madam Shelara and Viviane quickly ushered the trembling courtesans back inside, barring the heavy doors.
Up on the balcony, Misela turned to Seraphina, the mistress of the noble floors. Her eyes burned with a cold, calculating fury.
"Sera," she hissed. "Tell our members. Spread the details in the public minds tomorrow. I want every slave, every servant to a noble, every downtrodden soul in this city to hear exactly what Guilon did tonight. Paint him in the color of his suit: bloody."
Seraphina bowed low. "Yes, Mistress."
…
Céline Dubois rushed back into the station, her hurried steps echoing off the walls. Just yesterday, they had made progress, a good run that had almost stabilized the district. And now, once again, chaos reigned.
In the center of the bullpen, she saw them: Chief Black's personal SWAT team. They were geared up, their heavy rune-guns gleaming under the harsh station lights, a stark contrast to the exhausted, lightly armed patrol officers. Chief Black himself stood among them, his mood noticeably more serious than the day before.
"Chief," Céline said, approaching him.
"Céline," Black replied, his voice tight. "My guys just arrived. I'm sorry about last night. We need to do this by the book, completely. If we slip up, any backwater lawyer worth their fee will have Guilon walking free by yesterday."
"But sir—" Céline started, urgency in her voice.
"You seem animated, Captain," Black cut her off, his eyes sharp.
Céline took a breath, forcing herself to adjust her emotions, to pull the mask of command back into place. "Respectfully," she said. "Guilon doesn't care anymore. He is on cloud nine at the moment. This... escalation... is still within the prediction models. We can arrest him."
Black turned fully toward her. "So you had a plan? Why didn't you mention this yesterday?"
"We... well, I personally didn't think the retaliation would be this... extensive," she admitted.
"Okay," Black said, crossing his arms. "Tell me your plan."
Céline hesitated for a fraction of a second. "It's not my plan."
Black raised an eyebrow. "Then whose is it?"
…
At the Watcher Academy, Erwin had just finished his morning workout. He was walking to the cafeteria with Domin and Havisa, hoping for a quiet breakfast.
"Recruit Erwin Smith!" An instructor's voice barked across the courtyard.
Domin groaned. "Feel like I've gone through this yesterday."
"Yes, sir," Erwin called back, stopping.
The instructor simply gestured to the on-duty Watcher standing beside him. It was the same officer from the day before.
"Did I miss something?" Havisa asked, watching Erwin walk away. "Is he secretly the Chief's nephew or something?"
…
Erwin arrived at the 7th Precinct, but this time he wasn't taken to the briefing room. He was escorted directly to the Captain's office. He walked in to find Céline in the middle of explaining the situation to Chief Thorne Black.
Black turned as the door opened. "So, you're Erwin," he said, sizing up the trainee. "A shame to meet in such a situation, but Céline insisted on having you here to explain the next phase."
Erwin looked at Céline. She gave a curt nod.
"I overheard things on the way here," Erwin said, skipping the pleasantries. "The streets somehow know about last night's massacre. But the narrative has shifted. Now they say the Watchers are in the Cardinal Wolves' pocket. That we let them do it."
"What?" Céline gasped. "That's absurd."
"It would seem that way," Black mused, rubbing his chin. "To the public, our inaction looks like complicity."
"It could be our advantage," Erwin stated.
Céline frowned, confused. "How?"
"He feels he is at the peak of his existence," Black said, finishing Erwin's thought.
Erwin felt a jolt of shock. 'Chief Black knows exactly where I'm leading this.' He masked his surprise instantly. "Exactly, sir. We can use this moment to take down Guilon. And since he has already 'cleaned up' the other gangs for us, we just have to clean him."
"We don't kill," Black reminded him sternly. "We are not executioners. We use the basis of him possessing the Royal Letter for treason."
"How about him killing the other night?" Erwin asked. "The massacre of the gangs? Caros Rivera? The other leaders?"
Black looked at him, a grim, cynical shadow passing over his face. "Believe it or not, son," he said quietly, "the punishment for holding that letter... for stealing a secret of the Crown... would be far more severe than the lives lost last night. To the Kingdom, a gang war is a nuisance. Treason is an existential threat."
…
High above the city, on the 31st floor of the Hao Pavilion, the air was cool and scented with expensive perfume. Misela sat at her desk, reviewing a small, crumpled scrap of paper delivered by one of her "spiders"—an ordinary street sweeper who had been invisible enough to overhear Guilon screaming at his own reflection in the window of his rune-car.
The door to the private lift opened, and Amanzio walked in. He was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving from a grueling session in the underground dojo. He grabbed a towel, wiping his face roughly.
"Goddamn," he panted, collapsing onto the sofa. "That fucker Guilon... the reports say he's becoming more unhinged every day. Paranoia, screaming fits... he's losing it."
Misela didn't look up from the scrap of paper. A slow, cruel smile spread across her lips. "Fufufufu... and who do you think made him a madman?"
Amanzio's brow raised in genuine confusion. "Me?"
"Fufufu," she chuckled, finally looking at him with amused eyes. "You are quick to catch on."
Amanzio froze. The memory flashed in his mind—the small, tasteless powder she had given him all these times, every time he slipped it into Guilon's drink during their "meeting," just to 'loosen his tongue.'
"The powder?" Amanzio shouted, sitting up straight. "That was the cause?! I thought it was just a mild sedative!"
"You'd think a man like Guilon would become that erratic just because we pushed his buttons a little bit?" Misela scoffed, standing up and walking toward a glass cabinet. "Fufufu. Don't worry about it. It's a slow-acting neurotoxin. It amplifies paranoia and aggression. I have much more in my arsenal."
Amanzio, his curiosity getting the better of his fear, walked over and poked her. "Oh yeah? What else you got in that wicked head of yours?"
Misela opened the cabinet and pulled out a simple, silver tuning fork.
Amanzio stared at it. "Hah? What are you gonna do with that? Bell me to death?"
Misela didn't answer. She simply struck the fork against the edge of the cabinet.
Hummmmmmmmm.
A specific, piercing frequency rang out.
In that second, Amanzio's entire body locked up. It wasn't fear; it was physiological. His muscles seized, his breath caught in his throat. He was a statue, fully conscious but utterly unable to move.
Misela placed the ringing fork on the low table. "People see my curves," she whispered, walking toward the rigid Amanzio, "and they think they can have them. They see me as an object to satisfy their hunger."
She picked up a stick of incense from a burner, the tip glowing a hot, angry cherry-red. She wrapped herself around Amanzio's paralyzed form, her voice a sensual purr in his ear. "But you know... smell and sound can do a whole lot of funny things to a species' biology. This frequency interferes with your motor cortex when combined with the ambient scent I always wear."
She took the burning incense and gently pressed it against the back of Amanzio's hand.
He couldn't pull away. He couldn't scream. He could only watch, his eyes wide with panic, as his skin sizzled.
"Fufufufu," she chuckled, enjoying his helpless terror.
She walked back to the table and grabbed the tuning fork, silencing the ring with her hand.
GASP!
Amanzio sucked in a desperate breath, yanking his hand away. "FUCK! It burns, you bitch!"
Misela smiled sweetly, blowing on the tip of the incense. "Fufufu. Better watch your attitude next time, dog."
…
Night had fallen over the Watcher Academy. In the dorms, the lights were out, save for the moonlight filtering through the windows. Erwin lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He had been explicitly ordered to stay away from the raid on the Cardinal Wolves. It was a command-level operation, and he was still just a recruit.
"Excited for the inauguration tomorrow?" Domin Jullien asked from the bunk across the room, his voice a low rumble.
Erwin blinked, his mind miles away. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure."
Domin sat up, the bed frame creaking under his massive frame. "What's with you? Don't tell me you didn't prepare your speech as the top recruit. You love speeches."
Erwin sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I got a bad feeling about tonight's raid."
"About the gang?" Domin dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure they're alright. I heard the Chief himself is leading his newly made SWAT team. It's overkill."
Erwin stood up and began to change out of his sleepwear into his dark training fatigues.
"Where are you going?" Domin asked.
Erwin grabbed his signature red scarf and wrapped it around his neck. "I need to check."
"I'm coming with," Domin said immediately, already reaching for his own clothes.
"Wait, no," Erwin hissed.
Domin didn't stop. "Why? It's time to prove my half-Goliath blood is good on the field. You're not leaving me here to practice my salute."
Erwin looked at his friend's stubborn face. "I don't doubt you, Domin. But it can be dangerous. We have no backup."
Domin cackled quietly. "Well, danger is my friend. Let's go."
They snuck out of the dorm building, moving through the shadows of the academy grounds. As they approached the perimeter fence, prepared to jump, they froze. Someone was already there.
Havisa Cahun was leaning against the brickwork, a small, glowing ember of a cigarette near her lips.
"You're smoking," Domin whispered, scandalized.
"You're sneaking out," Havisa replied calmly, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
"The daughter of the Golden Watcher, breaking the rules," Domin teased.
"The Golden Commander, breaking the rules," Havisa shot back, looking directly at Erwin.
"How do you know it was my idea?" Erwin asked.
Havisa smirked. "I know this giant dummy wouldn't have any reason to sneak out unless he was following you."
"What did you say?!" Domin bristled.
Suddenly, the beam of a runic flashlight swept across the courtyard. "Who's there?" an instructor's voice barked.
The three of them dove behind a row of hedges, holding their breath. The light swept over their hiding spot, lingering for a terrifying few seconds, before moving on. The instructor grumbled and walked away.
They exhaled.
"I'm coming with," Havisa whispered.
"You're not even dressed properly," Erwin noted, looking at her light academy jacket. "It's freezing out there."
Havisa didn't argue. She simply reached over and yanked Domin's heavy, oversized coat off his shoulders, putting it on herself. It engulfed her frame. Then, she reached out and tugged the end of Erwin's red scarf.
"Share," she commanded.
Erwin sighed, unwinding it and letting her take it. "Fine," he said. "Let's go."
…
Miles away, on the outskirts of the Cardinal Wolves' territory, a heavy, reinforced rune-truck idled in a dark alley. Inside, the air was thick with tension. Chief Thorne Black, Captain Céline Dubois, and a dozen elite SWAT officers sat in two rows, decked out in full tactical gear—runic vests, helmets, and heavy rune-rifles.
"The patrol is already around the perimeter," Céline reported, checking her comms. "They are all secure. Each alley has one patrol unit, and each choke point has several. The net is tight."
"We are the ones going inside," Black said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of absolute authority. "We go inside. We take them out silently. Prioritize knockouts. Electrum rounds and sleep spells only. I do not want any death tonight, on our side or theirs. We follow the plan and stick to one another."
He looked at his team. "This is a surgical removal of a tumor, not a butchery."
Céline nodded. "My trusted officers are in position to create a large-area Silence Rune. We have a total of one hour of silence available, but the projectors can't run continuously without overheating. They will run in sets."
She held up ten fingers. "Ten minutes of absolute silence. Then, a two-minute interval to cool down and re-activate. During the silence, we breach and clean up. When the ten minutes are up, we stop, hold position, and wait for the interval. Then we breach again for the next ten minutes. Do not get caught in a firefight during the interval."
"Any questions?" Black asked.
The team remained silent, their faces grim and ready.
"Good," Black said. He hit the release button. The back doors of the truck hissed open, revealing the dark, waiting streets of the Cardinal Wolves' stronghold. One by one, the elite team filed out into the night.
**A/N**
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**A/N**