Dunce let out a low breath, the cool silk of the garments she'd shed moments ago sliding back over her skin. She emerged slowly, pausing at the corridor threshold. There was something almost comical about the sight that greeted her. A-Dunce stood rigid against the wall, soaked to the bone, water dripping from his tousled hair. He kept his face pressed firmly into the wallpaper, refusing to look at her. The powerhouse mage who'd dominated Goldwave's high-stakes tables was gone. In his place, awkward and hesitant, was a shy young man from the mountains. A flicker of something unfamiliar stirred in Frostbone's core – an unexpected thread of tenderness for this imposing young warrior, clearly younger than she, who seemed utterly out of his depth in Sin City's glittering maw.
She stopped beside him, her voice devoid of warmth. "My world… you wouldn't understand it." Her gaze was distant. "Leave me alone. It's not a burden you can shoulder. Since you rejected my… offer, I'm leaving." She turned towards the suite door. Pausing on the threshold, a sliver of hesitation cracked her icy facade. She glanced back, voice dropping to a bare whisper. "Take my advice. Get out of the Gold Leaf. Tonight. Or else…" She didn't finish the threat. The door hissed shut behind her.
Dunce sagged against the damp wall only when her footsteps faded. Exhaustion hit him harder than climbing Thousand-Mountain Peak three times over. His face burned crimson recalling the sight she'd presented earlier. It took long minutes for his pulse to settle. Beneath Frostbone's cool exterior, he'd sensed profound sorrow. A secret buried deep. Her allure was undeniable, but his heart belonged solely to Mystic Moon, a steady anchor in his thoughts. He hadn't kept Frostbone for pleasure, only from a desperate impulse to help someone who radiated profound misery beneath her beauty.
Shaking off the lingering heat, Dunce moved quietly through the plush corridor to Rock's suite door. His knock was soft.
"Who?" Rock's deep rumble answered instantly.
"Rock, it's me."
The door opened. Rock scanned Dunce's dripping state, eyebrow raised. He ushered him in. Rockforce was already grinning, a predatory glint in his eye. "Hey, little bro! That was… fast. Everything okay?"
Dunce blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Rock shot Rockforce a warning look. "Ignore him. Dunce, why did you keep that girl?" He knew Dunce wasn't driven by lust. There had to be a reason, reinforced by Dunce's earlier mental warning.
Dunce sighed, shaking water droplets from his hair. "Rock, that Frostbone… there's something wrong. Hidden pain. Deep wounds. Like she's trapped. I wanted to help…"
He recounted the casino attack with the ice shards, the tense negotiation, the unsettling scene in his room – Frostbone stripping, his panicked retreat to the shower, her words of warning and resignation.
Rockforce snorted, impressed. "Damn, kid! Dunce cold discipline. I respect that."
Rock's brow furrowed. "So, she's got power? Controlled?" His mind replayed the Gold Leaf's security teams – too sharp, too coordinated. The old man with the crimson energy shield, easily Rock's equal. "This place… it's a viper's nest disguised as velvet."
Dunce nodded grimly. "Exactly. A fight here, surrounded? Bad news. Especially for our main objective – freeing that Special Asset tonight. We've got the credits now. Buy it, vanish."
Rock ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "Dunce, it's not that simple. We made waves. Big waves. Goldwave won't just let ten million credits walk out the door. They know we're dangerous."
Rockforce pounded a fist into his palm. "So what? Let 'em try! We smash our way out!"
"Smash? Against an army prepared for us? In *their* fortress?" Rock's voice was laced with gritty realism. "They pull the strings here. The cops? Forget about 'em. This cesspool operates because City Hall and the Families get their cut. Rockforce, we're not just fighters tonight. We're the hope of the Puyan. Remember the spirits sacrificed? Remember Cloud?" His wife's name hung heavy in the air.
Rock locked eyes with his brother, the air crackling. "Rockforce. Listen hard. This city tempts you, like fresh meat to a hungry wolf. But you are *Rockforce Tribe*. Every breath you take carries the weight of our ancestors, our future." His voice lowered, becoming dangerously soft. "If I see you lose yourself again, brother or not, I *will* put you down. For the clan. For Cloud."
Rockforce flinched. The cheap thrills, the flashing lights, the synthetic sweetness… images flashed – demeaning moments of weakness. Shame washed over him, cold sweat beading on his skin. Had he truly forgotten? Forgotten the Elder Leaf's eyes, filled with desperate trust? Forgotten the silent strength of their warriors' spirits watching? "I… I'm sorry," he choked, color draining from his face. "I was… weak."
Dunce placed a hand on Rock's arm. "Rock, easy. He sees it now."
Rock sighed, the tension easing slightly. He gripped Rockforce's shoulder. "I don't blame the temptation. This city's poison is potent. But *this*," he gestured between the three of them, "this trust, this mission? That's our bedrock. Dunce…" Rock looked at the younger warrior. "Your spirit… it's the least tarnished here. Mine?" His gaze turned distant. "My heart died with Cloud. A walking ghost. The women here… pretty shells, empty. Soulless cattle, bred to be consumed." He slumped into a leather armchair. "Without her loss… maybe I'd be lost myself."
Dunce absorbed his words. *Soulless cattle*. It resonated. Was Frostbone truly so hollow? But those haunted eyes… they held life, however dimmed. He thought of Mystic Moon – vibrant, infuriating, *alive*. Her spirit, not just her beauty, was his sun.
Rockforce stood abruptly, clarity blazing in his eyes. He stepped before Rock and knelt, an old Puyan sign of fealty renewed. "Brother. I hear you. Loud and clear." His voice was bedrock solid. "I *am* Puyan Warrior Dunce-Fist. Always. Nothing changes that."
Rock hauled him up, relief softening his stern features. "Good. Prove it with your fists tonight. Rest up. Stay sharp." He clasped Rockforce's forearm firmly.
* * *
The knock came while they meditated. Three servers entered Rock's suite, bearing covered silver platters on gleaming trolleys. "Compliments of the Gold Leaf," the lead server announced, placing them on the low table. "Goldwave suggests you proceed to Level Four in one hour. Hosts will greet you."
Once alone, Rock lifted a lid. Steam rose, carrying the rich scents of seared meat, roasted vegetables, decadent sauces. Rockforce practically salivated.
"Hold," Rock commanded, blocking Rockforce's reach. "A gift from Goldwave? Likely wrapped in razor wire. Temptation's a lure." Hunger gnawed, but suspicion gnawed harder.
Rockforce whined. "Come on, Rock! It smells amazing! The poison'd be in the booze anyway. We skip that, eat the food!" His stomach rumbled loudly.
Rock shook his head. "No chances, Rockforce. Not here." He scanned the room for a clue.
Dunce remembered. He murmured the activation phrase for his storage artifact. His hand returned holding a smooth, silvery sphere – leftover refined 'Silent Silver' from his trials controlling the No-Dual Elixir poison.
"What's that?" Rock asked, intrigued.
"Toxin magnet," Dunce said. A thin thread of his Psychic Energy extended, guiding the sphere towards the succulent steaks, the sauce-drenched vegetables. No reaction. He moved it over the flaky bread rolls. Still inert. He frowned. "Food's clean."
Rock's eyes narrowed. "Makes no sense. We took millions. They know we're powerhouses. If it were me…" His gaze shifted to the gleaming silverware – fork, knife, spoon beside the cut crystal wine goblet. "…the *tools*." He tapped the spoon handle. "Test it, Dunce."
Dunce dipped the silver sphere into the untouched glass of water first. Clear. Next, he touched it lightly to the rim of the wine goblet. Instantly, the sphere flared an inky, sickening black.
"*Gah!*" Rockforce yanked his hand back like it was burned.
"Cutlery," Rock growled, his expression hardening into flint. "Clever bastards."
Dunce wiped the foul residue off onto a napkin, then meticulously tapped the sphere against the fork tines, the knife blade, the spoon. Each contact bloomed black. The scent was acrid, chemical. "Composite neurotoxin? Slow-acting? Could paralyze… or kill us silently hours later." His voice was cold fury.
Rockforce slammed his fist down silently. "That slick mother—! Bastards! Forget it, we fast!"
Dunce looked at the untouched platters, then at Rock. A savage grin spread across his face. "We eat. Just… carefully." He scooped up a chunk of roasted meat with his bare hand. Rock followed suit, ripping into bread. Rockforce, after a beat of shock, plunged both hands into a bowl of saffron rice with gusto, grinning fiercely.
They ate like hungry wolves, fingers slick with sauce and grease, avoiding all contact with the gleaming, deadly silver. They left strategically placed smears of sauce and crumbs on the poisoned utensils as camouflage. The untouched wine stood sentinel.
* * *
Level Four was a predatory darkness. Subdued crimson lighting defined paths, thick velvet draping the walls. Two white-clad hostesses materialized near the elevator, including the two women who'd accompanied Rock and Rockforce in the private rooms earlier. They smiled, a shade too perfect, gesturing deeper into the gloom. "This way, honored guests."
And then Dunce saw her. Frostbone. She stood near the entrance, changed into slim white trousers and a high-necked top. The ice remained, but when her eyes met Dunce's, a flash of something raw – despair? pleading? – cut through the chill. She held his gaze for a second too long before shuttering it away.
As Rock and Rockforce followed their escorts towards a plush seating area, Frostbone moved. Silently, deliberately, she closed the distance to Dunce. Her hand slipped into his, cool and small. She guided him forward. Her finger traced complex patterns on his palm – tiny, urgent scratches. *Why still here? Danger grows. Must leave.*
Dunce stiffened. He projected his thoughts, careful, a brush against her awareness: *We must save someone. Come with us? Away from this place?*
Frostbone's hand convulsed in his. She shot him a look filled with such liquid despair it was almost physical pain. Her fingers moved again, frantic this time. *Impossible. My chains are forged. Run. Run NOW.* She wrote the command over and over, her nail digging into his skin. *Run!*
He tightened his grip slightly, stepping forward with her. He wouldn't abandon the captive.
* * *
The auction chamber was vast, breathing secrets. The only light fell in a harsh, focused beam on the central stage, leaving the surrounding deep sectional sofas submerged in gloom. Rock, Rockforce, and Dunce were ushered to a section numbered '36'. A low table held exotic fruits and gleaming decanters of amber liquor. Two hostesses slid gracefully onto the sofa beside Rock and Rockforce. Rockforce immediately locked his gaze on his own hands clenched tightly in his lap, breathing hard through his nose. Rock scanned the room, noting the indistinct figures already seated – twenty shadows, maybe less.
The main doors thudded shut. Total darkness swallowed them for a second before low, ambient floor lighting activated, outlining shapes and exits in a sinister crimson glow.
Frostbone pressed close to Dunce on the deep sofa. The heat of her body radiated through the thin fabric of her top. Dunce felt his pulse spike. He tried to shift away, but the sofa was designed for enforced intimacy. Frostbone's grip on his hand tightened. She trembled. Not a seductive shiver, but genuine fear, trembling from her core. Her breathing hitched.
*Dunce?* He thought-projected the question.
Her answer wasn't in words. A silent plea flooded the tenuous mental link. *Hold me. Just for now.* And then she was shifting, tucking herself against his side. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, her body leaning in, fitting against him. She wrapped her other arm around his bicep, pulling his arm across her waist. Dunce froze. He looked down. Frostbone looked up. Their eyes locked inches apart. Her gaze held him prisoner – exhaustion, terror, a spark of defiance, and beneath it all, a startling, unfamiliar warmth. The icy facade crumbled entirely in that shared, intimate shadow. He felt her heart hammer against his ribs. This wasn't performance. It was desperate, unvarnished truth. He didn't pull away. His arm settled lightly around her.
"Ladies and Gentlemen…" The stage lights blazed to intense white. Goldwave stood center-stage, beaming, arms wide open. "Welcome to the Gold Leaf's premium auction floor!" His voice was oiled velvet. "Curated acquisitions for our most discerning collectors."
Goldwave snapped his fingers. Two men wheeled out a shrouded trolley. He lifted the cover with a flourish. Beneath intense spotlights lay a dull gray, lightweight vest. Sleek lines, woven metallic fibers. "Lot One. Direct from an exclusive defense R&D leak. Quan-Tek Energy-Dispersion Mesh." He produced a knife from his jacket. He held the vest taut, slashed downwards with force. The blade skittered harmlessly aside. He lit a blowtorch, applying the blue flame directly. The vest smoked faintly, but remained intact. "Personal insurance. Negates physical trauma. Disrupts hostile energy signatures. Stellating bid: Twenty Thousand Credits."
No visible excitement rippled through the shadows. The bidding was sluggish, conducted via subtle nods and raised fingers from the depths of the couches. It closed at Forty-Five Thousand. Goldwave's smile didn't waver.
"Patience…" He purred. "Lot Two. A Gold Leaf specialty… but tonight, a collection of unprecedented pedigree." A second trolley replaced the first. Goldwave lifted the velvet shroud. Five crystal cylinders stood on a lighted platform. Within each, suspended in lurid crimson fluid, floated tiny, perfectly formed, pale shapes. Fully articulated, impossibly tiny fingers curled into fists. Eyes closed. Unfinished.
Dunce felt Frostbone flinch violently against him. Her breath caught in a choked gasp. Her fingers dug into his arm. He glanced down; her face was bone-white, eyes wide with horror, staring past the stage lights. She didn't speak. Didn't need to.
Goldwave stepped aside, letting the chamber lights reveal the grotesque exhibits. "Perfectly preserved, pre-viable subjects," he announced, pride dripping from every word. "Curated across ethnic and… *genetic* lines." He pointed at each cylinder, his laser pointer flickering over labels. "Eurasian Descent. Pacific Islander. Sub-Saharan Lineage. Northern European Keanutype…" The beam settled on the central, slightly larger jar. Its occupant seemed surrounded by a faint, dissipated golden shimmer within the fluid. "…and our pièce de résistance. Harvested from a Sanctum aspirant. A recognized prodigy in Light-channeling Arts. *No,*" Goldwave smiled at a presumed unspoken objection from the audience, "no ties to the Church proper. Simply… gifted." He paused for effect. "The inherent energy signatures within these… biological artifacts… are profoundly amplified. Ideal for breakthrough research. Or… shall we say… *ritual fortification*? A starter collection for the truly visionary. Stellating Bid: One Million Credits."
A low murmur, almost a growl, rose from the shadowed seats. Shock. Greed. Appreciation. A hunter's interest.
*Mother and child… slaughtered… ripped apart… trophies…* Dunce's mind stumbled over the horror Rock's earlier, grim thought-projection had hinted at. This wasn't ancient mysticism. This was cold, modern, industrialized evil. Rage ignited in his gut, white-hot, primal, threatening to ignite the core of his Psi energy and blast this abomination off the stage. His free hand clenched into a fist, knuckles whitening. He tensed to lunge—
Frostbone moved like lightning. Panic stripped away all caution. She slid fully onto Dunce's lap in one fluid, desperate motion. One hand twisted in the back of his hair, wrenching his head down. Her other hand clamped behind his neck. Her icy lips crashed against his with bruising force, crushing the nascent scream in his throat.
*Tandor't!* Her frantic thought screamed directly into his mind. *Not here! You sign our death warrants! Be cold! Play the game!*
The shock was absolute. Her lips were soft but demanding, tasting faintly of mint and salt. Her body pressed flush against his, radiating fierce urgency, not passion. The sheer, unexpected violence of her act, paired with the icy wash of her panic flooding their tenuous mental link, doused his rage like a bucket of liquid nitrogen. He gasped against her mouth, his body instinctively stiffening, then relaxing under the sheer, overwhelming weight of her message: *Stop. Survive.*
Rock and Rockforce stared, wide-eyed, frozen. They saw only the sudden, intense clinch on the darkened couch. The vulnerable warrior comforted (or claimed?) by the alluring hostess.
The kiss was brutal. Brief. Terrifyingly effective. Frostbone broke contact a heartbeat later, her breath ragged, eyes wide and imploring inches from his own, her face pale against the lurid glow from the stage. She remained perched on his lap, trembling slightly, her arms still looped loosely around his neck, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his. A prisoner clinging to the only life raft in sight. The savage truth of her world had been laid bare, not in words, but in the terrified heat of her kiss. She leaned her forehead against his temple, breathing hard, silent.
Dunce sat rigid, the lingering pressure of her lips a ghostly brand. The five tiny, suspended bodies seemed to glow accusingly on the stage. The rage wasn't gone. It was buried under ice. Held prisoner by the weight pressing against him, by the sheer, unadorned fear in Frostbone's silent proximity. The game was infinitely darker than he'd imagined. The price of failing it, far steeper. He wrapped one arm around Frostbone's waist, a silent concession, an anchor for them both in the suffocating darkness. He shifted his gaze back to the monstrous stage, his expression hardening into something cold, ancient, and utterly focused. He wouldn't break cover. Not yet. But when the moment came… the storm wouldn't be contained.