The three Red Fang enforcers filled the narrow doorway of the collapsed hovel, their brutish forms casting long, menacing shadows into the already dim interior. The air crackled with imminent violence. The lead thug, Scarface, took a step inside, his grin widening as he surveyed Ravi, who remained seated, an island of unnerving calm in the face of their aggression. Mira stood protectively, if futilely, before him, her makeshift rebar spear held ready, her knuckles white.
"Step aside, little rat," Scarface growled at Mira, his eyes, like greasy beads, flicking over her with contemptuous dismissal before returning to Ravi. "Our business is with the cripple who fancies himself a hard man." His cronies snickered, their gazes hungry and cruel. They were used to inspiring fear, used to their victims cowering or begging. Ravi's stillness was an affront.
"He's with me," Mira snapped back, her voice tight but defiant. She knew the odds were impossible, but the thought of simply standing by while this quiet, terrifying stranger was dragged off was unbearable. He represented something she hadn't dared to feel in years: a sliver of possibility.
Scarface chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. "Loyal little thing, ain't she? Don't worry, we'll have time for you later. After we deliver this piece of trash to the Boss." He gestured with his club towards Ravi. "Fenrir wants to see the man who dared lay hands on his property. He's got a special welcome planned."
Ravi's eyes, which had been observing the thugs with detached interest, slowly lifted to meet Scarface's. The familiar, chilling pressure began to emanate from him, a subtle but palpable wave of cold dread that washed over the enforcers.
Scarface, mid-sneer, felt it first. A sudden prickling on his skin, the hairs on his arms standing on end. His bravado faltered for a microsecond, a flicker of unease in his hardened eyes. He'd felt fear before, sure, but this was… different. It wasn't the fear of pain or death; it was something deeper, more primal, like a rabbit suddenly realizing it had wandered into a lion's den. He shook it off, attributing it to the gloom and the stranger's unsettling stare.
"Enough talk!" he barked, louder than necessary, trying to regain his composure. "Grab him! If he resists, break his other leg!"
The two thugs behind him moved, eager to inflict pain. One lunged forward, his rusted blade aimed at Ravi's uninjured leg. The other moved to flank him, club raised.
Mira tensed, ready to strike, to sell her life dearly, but before she could even move, Ravi acted.
He didn't rise. He didn't shout. He simply moved.
His hand, the one that had crushed Kael's wrist, shot out with deceptive speed. It intercepted the descending arm of the thug with the blade, fingers clamping around the man's forearm like a vise.
The thug, expecting to meet yielding flesh or at best a clumsy block, instead felt his arm lock as if caught in a steel trap. A look of pained surprise flashed across his face.
Then Ravi squeezed.
A wet, sickening CRUNCH echoed through the hovel, louder and more visceral than the sound of Kael's bones breaking. The thug shrieked, a high-pitched, piercing sound of pure agony, his eyes bulging as he felt the bones in his forearm shatter into splinters. The rusted blade clattered uselessly to the dirt floor.
Simultaneously, Ravi's other hand lashed out, not with a punch, but with an open palm strike aimed at the second thug's incoming club. It wasn't the force of the blow that was shocking, but the impact.
There was a dull, resonant THWACK, and the crude wooden club didn't just stop; it shattered, exploding into a dozen pieces as if struck by a sledgehammer. The thug stared at the splintered handle in his hand, his eyes wide with disbelief, then at Ravi, a dawning terror replacing his earlier aggression. He felt a jarring shockwave travel up his arm, making his teeth rattle.
This wasn't normal strength. This was… monstrous.
The entire exchange took less than two seconds.
Scarface, who had been about to step forward, froze in his tracks. His jaw hung slack. The confident sneer was wiped clean from his face, replaced by a mixture of shock and rapidly escalating fear. He'd seen brutal fights, seen men crippled, but the sheer, effortless devastation Ravi had just wrought was on another level. The sounds of bones breaking, the way that club had just disintegrated…
Ravi released the first thug's ruined arm. The man collapsed to his knees, clutching the mangled limb, his face pale and slick with sweat, incoherent sobs wracking his body. The second thug, the one whose club had been obliterated, stumbled back a step, his eyes darting between Ravi and the doorway, clearly contemplating escape.
The godly aura around Ravi intensified. It was no longer a subtle pressure; it was a suffocating blanket of dread, pressing down on them, stealing the air from their lungs. Their hearts hammered in their chests, a frantic drumbeat of terror. The dim hovel seemed to grow colder, the shadows deeper, more menacing.
"You came to deliver an invitation?" Ravi's voice cut through the thug's whimpering. It was still quiet, almost conversational, but laced with an icy contempt that sent shivers down their spines. "Consider your message… undelivered."
Scarface finally found his voice, though it was a strained, trembling version of his earlier growl. "W-who… what in the Nine Hells are you?"
Ravi's eyes, those bottomless pits of ancient cold, fixed on him. "I am the consequence of your master's choices."
He rose to his feet. The movement, despite his limp, was imbued with an undeniable menace, the grace of a predator. He seemed taller, more imposing than before, the very shadows clinging to him.
The thug whose club had been broken decided he'd seen enough. With a choked cry, he turned and scrambled out of the hovel, tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. He didn't look back.
Scarface was made of slightly sterner, or perhaps stupider, stuff. Or maybe fear had just rooted him to the spot. He stared at Ravi, his face a mask of terror and disbelief. He could still feel the phantom vibrations from that club shattering. He saw the cold, implacable certainty in Ravi's eyes. This wasn't a man; this was a force of nature.
"Fenrir… Fenrir will hear of this!" Scarface stammered, brandishing his own club, though his hand was visibly shaking. "He'll send everyone! He'll gut you! He'll—"
Ravi took a slow step forward. Scarface flinched, taking an involuntary step back.
"He is welcome to try," Ravi said, his voice dropping to a near whisper that was somehow more terrifying than any shout. "But his reign of filth is drawing to a close."
With another step, Ravi closed the distance. Scarface, his nerve finally shattering completely, let out a strangled yell and swung his club wildly.
Ravi didn't even bother to dodge. He simply raised his hand, catching the club mid-swing. There was another sickening CRUNCH, not of wood this time, but of bone, as Scarface's wrist snapped under the force of his own desperate blow against Ravi's unyielding grip.
Scarface screamed, dropping the club, his face contorting in agony.
Ravi's other hand shot out, grabbing Scarface by the throat. He lifted the burly thug effortlessly, Scarface's feet dangling inches off the ground, his eyes bulging, his hands clawing uselessly at Ravi's iron grip.
"Tell me," Ravi said, his voice a cold hiss directly into Scarface's terrified face, "where does your 'Rat King' reside?"
Gagging, choking, Scarface could only manage a series of strangled gurgles, his face rapidly turning purple. The terror in his eyes was absolute. He was staring into the face of his own demise, and it was cold, pitiless, and utterly unstoppable.
Mira watched, frozen, a mixture of horror and awe warring within her. The speed, the brutality, the sheer, overwhelming power… it was like watching a god dispense judgment, albeit a terrifyingly dark one. The man she had hesitantly offered to help was something far beyond her comprehension.
Ravi slightly loosened his grip, allowing Scarface a ragged gasp of air. "His location. Now."
"D-Deep… Deep Market… the old slaughterhouse…" Scarface choked out, tears of pain and terror streaming down his face. "P-Please… mercy…"
Ravi's eyes were devoid of any discernible emotion. "Mercy is a currency your kind does not deal in. Therefore, you shall receive none."
With a final, contemptuous look, he tightened his grip again. There was a soft, sickening snap. Scarface's body went limp, his eyes rolling up into his head. Ravi dropped him like a sack of refuse. The thug landed in a heap on the dirt floor, silent and still.
The first enforcer, the one with the shattered forearm, had fainted from pain and terror.
Ravi surveyed the scene: two incapacitated thugs, one dead. He felt nothing. No triumph, no remorse. Only the cold satisfaction of a task progressing. He retrieved the meager coins from Scarface's pouch and a surprisingly well-made dagger from his belt. Resources were resources.
He then turned to Mira, who was staring at him, her rebar spear lowered, her face pale. The silence in the hovel was heavy, broken only by the distant, oblivious sounds of The Pit.
"The old slaughterhouse in the Deep Market," Ravi stated, his voice calm, as if he'd just discussed the weather. He looked at the dagger in his hand, then back at Mira. "It seems the Rat King's invitation has been… rerouted."
He took a step towards the doorway, his limp still present but somehow less noticeable, overshadowed by the sheer force of his presence.
"Let us not keep him waiting."
Mira could only stare, her mind reeling. This wasn't just a strong man. This was a reckoning. And he was inviting her to witness it, or perhaps, participate. A shiver, not entirely of fear this time, ran down her spine. The Rat King's den. She knew it well. A place of nightmares. But with this… being… by her side?
For the first time in a long, long time, the nightmare felt like it might just be for someone else.