《Wardens》


 Shattered Foundations

    <h2>Spearhead</h2>


    Smoke and burnt metal clawed at his senses, mingling with an acrid tang of asphalt that tore through his nostrils and throat. The noxious mixture pierced his lungs, suffocating him with a relentless, numbing pressure that made even drawing a single breath a struggle. Galahad''s eyes were shut tight, a gash over his left eye swelling to keep it that way. His ringing ears intensified the assault on his other senses. Amidst the disorienting chaos, fragmented memories played out ¨C the anguished cries of Sarah, the bone-chilling command from Narrus before the sickening snap of bones, and Atlas''s realization that there would be no coming back. Amidst it all, a trivial thought fought for his attention: ''I need to shave.'' As his knees buckled, his face met the cold embrace of snow. The battle was over. Galahad was victorious.


    ----


    In the heart of Velnias, Fern slouched at her desk, shock etched into every crevice and fold of her face. Clutching the report, the young Verdan¡¯s trembling hands betrayed her as she struggled to make sense of incomprehensible news. She combed through the text sentence by sentence, word by word, hoping to unearth an overlooked comma, word, or phrase that might alter the meaning of the telegram. She found none as she mouthed the words:


    ''Spearhead eradicated by a new Titan. Two survivors: Galahad, Latimer. The titan is characterized by its colossal size and many hands. It appears to have nullified the effects of our Life Contracts. All other souls lost. -Galahad''


    The report''s brevity, no more than half a sheet of paper, left Fern yearning for more details, for some shred of certainty. Her thoughts shifted to the calamitous nature of the events ¨C a bi-yearly retreat turned catastrophe, an unforeseen encounter with a titan. She could already imagine the panic. Unfortunately for the entire Peninsula, it played out exactly how she imagined it.


    Days later, Fern found herself walking along Velnias'' Mainstreet, the bustling thoroughfare now tingled with an air of palpable tension as people made their way through the snow. The streets remained congested with traffic and vibrant lights, but a cautious hush had fallen upon them as if the city held its breath, waiting for the next disaster. No one dared honk as paper boys peddled various printings of grim headlines with a subdued sense of urgency. Variations of ''The Peninsula of Knowledge in Fear: A New Titan Wipes Spearhead,'' ''1921 marks the end. The Strongest Not Enough!'' and ''Essence-Linked Crimes Surge After Spearhead Tragedy'' littered the hands of the paper boys as they exchanged fear-mongering for coins and cash. It made her sick. Even her attempts at a more diplomatic spin couldn''t quell the public''s perception of the event. She couldn''t even blame them. The whole Peninsula was feeling the effects of Spearhead''s destruction.


    Fern turned into another corner store, looking at empty shelf after empty shelf before sighing. There was no stock of anything anywhere. There hadn''t been for days as everyone hoarded canned goods and whatever else they could get their hands on. All the good that would do. If a titan came rampaging through the city, it would hardly matter if you had three more cans of tuna, beans, or whatever else people ate.


    "Excuse me," Fern inquired, her tone hopeful. "Do you know when your next shipment is coming in?" Fern turned to the store owner, her auburn hair brushing against pointed ears as she tried to meet his shaky gaze. The store owner, a man with dark bags under his eyes, flipped through his own newspaper. His portly, oversized stature dwarfed the chair he occupied. It should''ve given him an almost comical appearance, but instead, he seemed so small as he hunched over the counter.


    He twisted his head to glance at Fern before returning to the newspaper, "If it doesn''t get canceled, two days." It was curt but not impolite.


    "Ah. I see. Thank you." Fern turned to leave, but the man''s voice grumbled as she was about to pass the threshold back onto Main Street.


    "Need anything set aside?" The man produced a pen and stared at the newspaper, ready to write anything down.


    "Toothpaste or milk would be nice!" Fern beamed pleasantly. Food was a commodity for her. If she stayed in the sun long enough, she could survive the food drought, if not be miserable while she did. It was the one lucky part about being Verdan.


    While Velnias struggled under the weight of uncertainty, reports painted a grim portrait of other major cities. Fear and unrest festered, threatening to plunge the entire Peninsula into chaos. Both fervent and desperate protests erupted like wildfires, casting a long shadow over the precarious calm people clung to. Dej Khov had worse food shortages, and the Inquisition there worried about an influx of undead due to starvation. Cholt was no better as the city''s tinkers were getting antsy, and many started using their technology to turn to thievery. She had been working overtime routing Wardens teams to and fro, matching skill sets with the supernatural problems reported.


    The other branches of The Wardens hadn''t had to work this hard in years. Before, there was a pervasive mentality of "if it was important send Spearhead." and "Spearhead is the strongest. Might as well leave everything up to them."


    ''Yeah. This is what you get when you put all your eggs in one basket.'' She chided the Warden''s past over-reliance as she thought about its result: teams running around like headless chickens, the highest influx of contract usage in years, the highest number of civilian casualties, and the lowest number of resolved cases. It didn''t help that there were also just more essence-related events.


    There were the normal ones that happened naturally, like a random beam of essence from the cosmos reducing a village to a bunch of aberrations or the presence of elementals due to the improper disposal of the dead. If it was just those, everything would''ve been fine. The issue was that the cults were also becoming more active and daring. It all culminated in a chaotic maelstrom.


    Glancing at her watch, Fern quickened her pace, her boots clicking against the pavement with a steady rhythm of urgency. The chill wind bit her cheeks, and she pulled her coat tighter around her. Crunching snow muffled her footsteps as she entered HQ, rode the elevator, and walked to her desk ¨C all in silence.


    Fern sorted through the request with practiced efficiency, her mind a whirlwind of considerations. Each priority designation felt like an additional weight on her shoulders, a reminder of the grim reality she faced. In her hands, she held lives, each reduced to no more than a half sheet of paper and a short description of the event and why it was a Warden issue rather than a private defense issue. How many had she condemned to death today by sorting them in the lower priority pile? Eighty? Two-Hundred? It was utilitarian. Her job was to do the greatest good. She hated it.


    Amidst the organized chaos, a special request caught her attention ¨C an appeal from the new Velnias Warden''s Captain, Galahad himself. It was a two-parter; the first part, recruitment of new Wardens, was easy enough to approve. The second part was less excusable. The essence subsumption and communion request stared back at her from the half sheet of paper, its audacity nearly taking her breath away four times the amount of essence per week for the new team. She knew the desperation that drove it. She understood it. The Peninsula''s urgent need for a new Spearhead was something she was seeing firsthand. Yet, she couldn''t ignore the recklessness inherent in the proposal. While pumping them full of essence like this might get them a new spearhead for a few months, they''d all die within the next two years. She denied the request and sent it to the higher-ups.


    The higher-ups, ever enigmatic and instructable, sent it back to Galahad. In a swift reversal, the request was stamped with an unequivocal


    Request Status: ''Approved.''


    <h2>Thrown</h2>


    "Fight back" The words struck him, each one matching a blow more forceful than the last, but Bellamy only registered the pressure rather than any stinging sensation. He was a mountain of a man, 6''2", with the constitution of someone used to working in a steel mill, but tonight, he wasn''t here to fight ¨C he was here to play a part. The blows came hard and fast; steel-toed boots slammed into his ribs, and fists glanced off his jaw. To the untrained eye, it looked brutal, eight people standing in a circle, launching kicks meant to topple the man and smacks to the side when he stumbled. Blood dripped from a gash on his brow as he lost vision due to the sudden swelling. The blood seemed to freeze almost instantly, the biting cold and wind stealing the warmth from his body. Still, Bellamy felt nothing. His body was a tool, and he used it to sell the illusion of pain. He grimaced, snarled, and lowered his stance to protect his vital organs with the grace of a man getting jumped, all the while keeping his mind sharp and his movements deliberate.


    As the goons continued their assault, Bellamy''s eyes continued darting around, calculating. He spotted his opportunity when one of the attackers, a wiry thug with a sneer, leaned in too close. Bellamy took a half step back, letting the man''s force carry him forward, wavering as he slipped on the ice. Before gravity could take him, Bellamy surged forward, fist raised high as he caught the man in the chest, spiking him into frost-covered concrete. Bellamy leapt on the thug, no longer sneering, and began to tear at coat and limb.


    His goal wasn¡¯t to hurt the scrawny fellow, just as their goal wasn''t to hurt him, although this part had been off-script just a little bit. Bellamy enjoyed taking creative liberties where he could. Amid the tangle of limbs, he shoved his hand into the victim¡¯s coat pocket, slipping the wallet he found there neatly into his sleeve. He had planned to disengage from the pile afterwards, but his timing was off ¨C a punch smashed into his nose, knocking him off the man and leaving him flat on his back.


    After that, the others descended upon him, a flurry of blows and kicks that he knew would bruise or tear muscle. Even though he wouldn''t feel the pain, it still sucked for the next few days, his muscles would be tight, and his mobility would grow far worse. Many times before he found himself reaching up to a shelf only for his arm to resist him, much to his confusion.


    The blows continued, with greater viciousness than what was appreciated for a solid minute before a voice rang out. "That''s enough," the gang''s leader, Viracio, called out. He flicked a lit cigar to the ground nearby like a prick. He stepped forward, smiling as he looked at the gathered assembly of workers huddled behind the open chain link gate. He bent down next to Bellamy, speaking in a low tone that wouldn''t carry to the other factory workers, "They''re pissing their pants man, you were worth every cent."


    Bellamy grinned, blood pooling in his mouth and dripping from his nose. "Tell me that when the medical bill comes in."


    Viracio laughed, rising up before winding back a kick of his own, which he let loose into the tall man''s stomach. "Well then, I might as well get my hours worth. Regardless ¡­"


    The man trailed off as he straightened his suit and began speaking loud enough for the cowering workers to hear, "That''s enough I think. I get it. Trust me, I do. You gotta look out for you and your own. But when you cross that picket line, you''re hurtin'' everyone. None of my boys here enjoyed this little beatdown we had to put on you. Isn''t that right, boys?"


    From the surrounding thugs, there was a chorus of grunts of agreement, although the wiry, not so sneering anymore goon, shot vicious glances at some of the workers, a nice touch, in Bellamy''s opinion. Shame he brought his wallet to this little act.


    "They don''t like it one bit," Viracio continued with false sympathy. "And I don''t like watching to make sure they don''t skimp out on it either. Now you''re a big man. That makes you lucky. Means that you''ll still be up and about tomorrow or the next"


    He let the threat hang in the air, not sparing a glance at the targets it was actually meant for. "And you''re double lucky that I prefer to handle things with words. So that''s what we''re gonna do, and what you''re going to do is not go into that factory tomorrow or next week, not until they''ve signed the contract."


    Bellamy spat to the side, his voice raspy as he forced out, "You have a job for me then?" He didn''t have to fake the rasp. Just because he couldn¡¯t feel the beating didn¡¯t mean his body hadn¡¯t been put through the wringer.


    Viracio chuckled, stepping forward. "Man, I''ve got people begging for work. Goods, info, cleaners, anything. I can barely keep up, and ain''t none of them crossed that picket line, but you factory folk are hardy men. If you''re serious, come see me at the Last Dance, and I''ll see where we can set up a steel head like yourself."


    Job almost done. Now, he just needed to wait for the final threat and be seen limping his way to the bar later that night. A respected steel worker, swallowing his pride and working for Viracio, is later seen walking out with an envelope of money that no one working in the slums or the current economy should reasonably be able to see. The man would likely see an increase in recruits and runners in the next few days due to the display. Maybe it''d backfire, maybe it''d be temporary, hell, maybe it wouldn''t even work, but that wasn''t his business. His business right now was to be a punching bag.


    Viracio smiled a sickly sweet smile. "And remember, if you even think about crossing that line tomorrow, next week, anytime¡­ You''d better get good at running. ¡®Cuz if I see you again, it''ll be the last time you use your legs."


    Bellamy gave a short nod, blood trickling from his mouth. It didn''t hurt ¨C his body was numb ¨C but he made sure to sell the act. Only after the nod did Viracio signal his men to disperse. One of the goons stepped back, patting his coat pockets. He frowned, realizing his wallet was missing. His eyes darted to the icy ground searching for his belonging as the rest of the goons walked off. The man opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp, dangerous glare from Viracio had him snap his mouth shut with such force Bellamy was convinced the man cracked a molar.


    Only after they were gone did Bellamy shift onto his side and push himself to his feet before limping back to the other workers. Some rushed forward, catching him before he could fall forward. A chorus of "are you okays" and "damn man''s" were thrown about. The foreman wore a heavy scowl on his face. Bellamy could hear him begin talking in low whispers to those around him, organizing ¡­ something. Bellamy shrugged. Whatever they did from here on out, it didn''t exactly concern him, so instead, he grinned and let out a laugh before sliding the stolen wallet out from his sleeve, "got ''em back for the blows, though." Silence rippled out through the crowd of workers before it broke out into pockets of laughter. Some people looked worried. Others just laughed and clapped him on the back. With an order from the foreman an overturned apple box was brought over for Bellamy to rest on, and soon the cold yard was alight with the workers¡¯ chatter.


    The foreman found him after some time, in one hand he held a travel first aid kit and the other stuck out to greet him. "Sorry that happened to you, son. Let''s get you patched up and taken home.¡±


    Bellamy took the hand, recalling the foreman''s name ¨C Gregor ¨C as the older man began patching him up. Despite his thinning hair and age, Gregor¡¯s senses hadn¡¯t dulled. His needlework was clean and quick, his wrinkled, veiny hands held Bellamy¡¯s head with a strength that was almost shocking; Bellamy guessed that those old fists could dish a beating twice as bad as Viracio¡¯s thugs. More than a few burn marks across his wrinkled arms ¨C badges of honor from decades of molten steel and cut corners. With those marks, and the scent of grease masked by cheap tobacco, Gregor seemed almost a walking relic, plucked from the days where steel milling was honest work done by honest men who were rewarded with honest pay.


    "I appreciate it," he responded coolly. The man said something else, but it all faded as Bellamy thumbed through the wallet. It was all he could do to distract himself from the sticky sensation the bandages left him with. The constant light pressure was an annoyance only heightened by the tightening of his face brought about by the stitches. He knew it was the best, but consequences be damned he¡¯d rather just let it bleed. He turned his mind back to the wallet.


    One week and two days. That''s how much time he just bought himself with today''s stunt. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk as the words finally registered. "Thanks for the offer, and for patching me up ¡­ I have some errands I have to run first".


    The foreman extended his hand once more in farewell, "Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked, brow raised.


    Bellamy hesitated, then clasped the offered hand. "We''ll see." he spoke without looking Gregor in the eyes, a small flush of shame burning across his face that he pushed back down.


    Gregor grunted, reaching into his coat. "Take this," he said, thrusting a dented flask into Bellamy''s grip. "For the road. It''s colder than a dragon''s heart out here. Helps with the pain too".You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Bellamy almost smiled. He would''ve taken it if he had truly been hurt by Viracio''s goons. If it hadn''t just been a job for him. So, in the end, he unscrewed the lid for the barest hint of a swig, "Just a little for the road, but save the rest for your old bones."


    Gregor''s gaze lingered on the blood freezing on Bellamy''s sleeve and shrugged, "Suit yourself, just be careful out there."


    With one last goodbye, Bellamy limped down the street. The meat market wasn''t far from here, and he was getting hungry. He breathed out, leaving no trace of mist in the biting cold ¨C a dead giveaway to his undead nature if anyone was around to notice.


    The meat markets weren''t so much a centralized spot, but rather a series of unassuming stores littered throughout the city. Very few of the owners of the shops knew they were part of the market. It was mostly specific workers who came in during specific shifts that had what people like him needed.


    The bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open, the sound almost cheerful against the grim backdrop of the slums. The shop was simple, unremarkable ¨Cshelves lined with canned goods, a glass counter at the back displaying cuts of meat. Behind it stood Kye, a stocky woman with arms like steel cables and a gaze that could cut through bone. A butcher through and through.


    "Evenin'' Kye," Bellamy said, his voice low but carrying an undertone of respect. He nodded towards the counter. "Business booming?"


    Kye ignored his small talk, glancing him up and down, her expression unreadable, "Tough one ain''t ya?"


    Bellamy, for his part, didn''t respond, just made sure the door was closed behind him before stepping closer. He leaned against the counter, his bulk casting shadows over the display case. "Any exotic cuts?"


    The question was a formality but a necessary one. He''d never seen one firsthand, but everyone knew the stories of the Brinn ¨C creatures that slipped into the skin of the living, inheriting memories and replacing them. Old wives'' tales, maybe, but in the slums, even myths had teeth.


    Kye''s hands disappeared beneath the counter, no doubt resting on the shotgun she kept there. "Anything specific?"


    "Something fired," Bellamy replied, the second part of this week''s code.


    With a grunt, Kye returned her hands from underneath the counter and slid open a nearby meat fridge, rifling through the packages.


    "How much you got on you?"


    Bellamay flipped through the ill-gotten wallet, "Looks like twelve Ord, an IOU for a lap dance at Penny''s, and some business cards."


    Kye snorted but stared at Bellamy expectantly.


    "I''m good for eighty more Ord, though, I finished a job for Viracio, picking up the rest later tonight.


    Kye said nothing but crossed her arms and considered Bellamy for a few moments. "Guess you haven''t heard. Congregations in town. Prices are up, payment up front".


    "Well," Bellamy began, "shit." It wasn''t eloquent, but it was the only thought that cut through the haze of a growing frustration. Suddenly, his fortunate windfall had not just turned for the worse but dove straight for the sewers. He was broke, had less food than he thought, and now had to go into hiding unless he wanted the Congregation''s sniffers on his trail. They''d come to the slums ¨C they always did.


    With a nod, he slid the twelve Ord across the counter ¨C a ten and a two. It wouldn''t be the end of the world, but he felt the reaper breathing down his neck as Kye began wrapping less meat than he wanted. A whole half pound missing, 36 hours up in smoke.


    "Thanks for the heads-up Kye" he sighed, slumping against the counter. "Don''t know what I''d do without you."


    A snort was her only response as she finished packaging the meat and slid it across the counter. But before Bellamy could take it, her hand stayed firm on the package.


    "It''s not enough," she said, her voice low. "I''m off in less than an hour, I doubt you''ll get paid by then. If the Congregation wasn''t in town maybe you could make it. But your brother ¡­"


    Bellamy shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I''ll figure it out. I always do". He pulled at the package, but Kye''s grip didn''t bulge.


    "Aye, you do," she said, tone cutting. "But you''re reckless, and we can''t afford recklessness right now, Bell. The Congregation is here for their March of Purification. We''ll be lucky if they''re only rounding people up for a month. Face it. You''re out of good options.


    Her words punctured, not simply because they were cruel words, but because they were true. Not much in life cuts deeper than a cruel truth. He couldn''t get enough to buy meat from a distributor like Kye, not when they were all about to go into hiding, which left only rippers ¨C and that came with its own risks. Essence taint, getting murdered, it being a set-up, and then him being forced to march. Killing someone himself for meat wasn''t an option either; the Congregation would sick one of their sniffers on any missing person, and that trail would lead straight to him. Even killing one of the undocumented Verdan wouldn''t solve his problems. As much as he hated to admit it, The Congregation wasn''t stupid. They''d still pick up the trail.


    "Well, unless you have work for me," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "Reckless is how it''s going to have to be". It was a dangerous gamble. He knew what cult Kye was a part of, and they didn''t take disruptions well.


    Kye studied him momentarily, then reached under the counter again. Bellamy tensed, and his instincts screamed, but he kept himself in check. Kye pulled out eight more packages of meat and a small box, and suddenly Bellamy''s breath caught in his throat. The essence glowed faintly, a swirling vortex of colors ¨C deep blues and greens shifting like liquid smoke. It was pure, concentrated power, the kind that could sustain an undead like him for months. To those who hadn''t partaken in essence, it was invisible, but to him, it was ambrosia, a lifeline and a curse all at once. Each color hinted at its origin, tied to a Greater Power, though Bellamy couldn''t tell which color meant what. Few knew the secrets of essence, far fewer than those who communed or consumed.


    He swallowed hard, his mind racing. That was a month''s worth of food minimum if he ate like a glutton. And the essence, the essence alone, could keep him going for much longer.


    Kye smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. "Ah, I guessed you''d recognize this. Wasn''t sure if you''d taken essence, but that look... Never seen it on anyone else but a harbinger. You''ll know, then, essence doesn''t come cheap".


    It was a strange feeling, being seen through so completely. Terrifying, in a way that was hard to describe ¨C a mix of exposure and vulnerability. Bellamy didn''t enjoy it. He would''ve liked to say he was a wise, thoughtful man. That he weighed the consequences. That he considered his options, but the truth was simpler, cleaner. He was desperate. She knew it.


    "What''s the job?¡±


    She gestured to the box of essence, ¡°Find out where this came from.¡±


    <h2>Shifty</h2>


    Thrysa¡¯s smile widened as she ladled another helping of chicken soup into a roughly carved wooden bowl, handing it to the small child in front of her. ¡°Careful now, it¡¯s hot,¡± she said gently. The child stared up at her with wide, questioning eyes. Thrysa pointed across the gymnasium with a wrinkled finger. ¡°If you head that way, there are warm winter clothes for you. And that line over there? The nice man will give you some toys and snacks for later.¡±


    The Congregation had transformed the local gymnasium into a hub of activity. Before arriving in Velnias, they had collected donations from the people of Dej Khov and the towns they passed through on their journey by train. At each stop they had taken time to track down undead ¨Cor, more often, the undead had found them ¨C to join the March of Purification. Building trust was key to their mission, and they made a point of using some of the donations to support the communities they visited. It was a way to show their intent, to prove they were there to help, not just take and harm.


    The atmosphere on the peninsula was tense. Ever since Spearhead¡¯s death weeks ago it felt as though everyone was holding their breath, waiting for a disaster they couldn¡¯t possibly prepare for. People needed hope, something to believe in, and so the Cardinal ¨C the speaker for The Heart That Beats True¨C had declared the march. Velnias was their final stop, and likely the one that would take the longest, the capital was always teeming with the abominations. So far, they had found over one hundred and eighty undead. Of those, one hundred and sixty had chosen to join the march, while the remaining twenty had been executed. Once they rounded up the abominations in Velnias, they would return to Dej Khov to perform the ritual ¨C the ritual that could cleanse them of the original sin.


    The undead were a grim reminder of sentient¡¯s darkest impulses. They came into being when someone consumed the meager amount of essence directly from another person, a monstrous act that the world punished by twisting their soul ¨C their body and mind reflecting their sin. These creatures were cursed to prey on others, often the frail and helpless, driven by an insatiable need for sentient flesh. It was a cruel irony: the very act that granted them power also stripped them of their humanity.


    Some hadn¡¯t chosen this fate; they had been tricked or forced into it. A single act of malice ¨C a poisoned stew, for instance ¨C could doom an entire village. But once transformed, they lost themselves. They became monsters, and monsters had to be dealt with.


    Yet, there was hope. The purification ritual offered a chance at redemption. Not everyone survived the process and no one knew the criteria for those who lost their sin and returned to the living and those who burned. For those who emerged, renewed, it was a second chance ¨C a return to the fold of the living, free from the original sin. Thrysa had seen it herself: the moment when the light returned to their eyes, when they remembered what it meant to be human.


    When Thrysa heard about the march, she jumped at the opportunity to join. It wasn¡¯t as glamorous as she had imagined, especially since the Cardinal had allowed the Puritan sect to tag along for muscle. She suspected the Puritans had found more than just the five undead they had reported, but she would never be able to prove it. The Puritans saw no distinction between those who had chosen this path and those who had not, or even those who had learned to regret their folly. To them, the undead were a blight, a corruption to be eradicated the moment it was found. The thought made her sick to her stomach. They¡¯d do the same to her if they ever discover that she was a Verdan, a natural Harbinger, a Brinn to be exact.


    As a Brinn, Thrysa didn¡¯t have a ¡°true¡± form. She was whoever she appeared to be, her body crafted and molded for purpose. Right now she wore the visage of an old woman with smile lines and wrinkled eyes, a face shaped by a lifetime of kindness. It was a part of her that allowed her to move among humans unnoticed.


    The rest of her shift passed uneventfully. She handed out bowls of hot soup to anyone who wanted one, grateful for the gymnasium¡¯s spacious interior. It was far better than forcing people to wait outside in the cold. The line of people had dwindled to a few stragglers, and the hum of conversation in the gymnasium had softened to a murmur. Thrysa wiped her hands on her apron, glancing around the room. Families huddled together under donated blankets, children played with simple wooden toys, and the scent of soup and bread lingered in the air. For a moment, it almost felt like peace.


    As she set the ladle down into the pot with a light clatter, a young man approached ¨C a puritan, his stern expression softened by a faint smile. He wore the distinctive black and gray robes of his sect, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked by faint battle scars. There was a quiet intensity to him, a sense of purpose that made Thrysa pause. She had grown used to the Puritan¡¯s presence, but she still felt a pang of unease whenever one got too close. Still, he had seen this one before, his tone was kind, and his eyes held no malice towards her. Why would they? To him, she was simply an old sister, harmless and devout.


    ¡°Sister,¡± he said, nodding respectfully. ¡°Let me take over for you. You¡¯ve been at this for hours.¡±


    She forced herself to relax and handed him the ladle. ¡°Thank you, brother. It¡¯s been a long day. But it''s still pleasant.¡±


    ¡°It has,¡± he agreed, stepping behind the table. The line was empty now, leaving the table quiet. ¡°It¡¯s lovely isn¡¯t it? Seeing the hope in their eyes?¡± He gestured to the hubbub of people, sitting in small groups, laughing and eating their meal, his voice tinged with something like reverence. ¡°This is how it should be, warm food, a safe life away from essence¡±.


    Thrysa studied him for a moment, unsurprised by his earnestness. She was still slightly uneasy by his presence, but she knew deep down this brother was not a bad man, misguided maybe, but his intent was obvious to her. ¡°It is. Though I imagine you see it differently than I do.¡±


    He chuckled a low, warm sound. ¡°Perhaps. But at the end of the day we all want the same thing.¡± He paused, his expression thoughtful. ¡°I know you will not give me your blessing for our methods sister, but we do what we must. But perhaps ¡­ perhaps a blessing still, for hard decisions. Difficult decisions made with kindness¡±


    Thrysa¡¯s chest tightened at his words, but she kept her expression neutral. ¡°What is your name brother¡±


    ¡°Faron¡±, he nodded at her.


    She didn¡¯t need to think to remember the words. They simply danced gracefully from her tongue, their rhythmic nature almost a chant.


    ¡°May the Heart That Beats True guide your steps,


    Through shadowed paths and trials untold.


    May its rhythm steady your soul


    And its light reveal truth within.


    When doubt clouds your way,


    May you hear its call,


    A whisper in the silence


    A beat in the dark.


    Follow not the lies of the world,


    But the truth that stirs within your chest.


    For the heart that beats true knows itself,


    And the path it reveals is yours alone to walk.


    Go forth with courage,


    And trust in the pulse of the divine.


    For The Heart That Beats True is within you Faron


    Now and always.¡±


    Faron bowed his head, his shoulders relaxing as though a weight had been lifted. ¡°Thank you sister,¡± he spoke quietly, eyes closed as he breathed in deeply from the world. ¡°I needed that.¡±


    Thrysa smiled, ¡°You¡¯re welcome, brother. May your path be clear.¡±


    As she turned to leave, Faron called after her, his voice gentle. ¡°Ah, before I forget, sister. The Bishop asked to see you. He¡¯s waiting in one of the offices down the hall¡±


    Thrysa gave a short bow of her head. ¡°Thank you brother, I¡¯ll head there now.


    A minute later Thrysa found herself outside the Bishop''s impromptu office, knocking lightly waiting for the Bishop''s confirmation before entering, ¡°You wished to see me Bishop?¡±


    The Bishop was a young woman, in her early thirties, with auburn hair cascading to the middle of her back. Her face was round, full and might have lent itself to a gentle expression if not for the forced coldness she wore instead. A shame, Thrysa thought.


    ¡°Yes, please take a seat¡±.


    Thrysa did as the Bishop asked, delicately placing her hands in her lap as she waited for the woman to continue. But the Bishop remained silent, her lips pursed, her gaze steady of Thrysa. Finally she spoke, ¡°I believe I asked you to return to your original form in private.¡±


    Thrysa hesitated for only a moment. Humans sometimes were preoccupied with their own perceptions. Thrysa was Brinn ¨C there was no ¡°original form¡± except the vine she had been born from. But she understood what the Bishop meant. The form they had first met in. The first form he took after becoming Verdan.


    Without another word, Thrysa¡¯s features began to shift. Her legs extended, wrinkles thinned, her hair darkened and shortened. His green eyes flickered with intensity and the softer lines of his face hardened into the sharper angles of a man. In the span of a breath, the older woman had been replaced by Oaklen ¨C a young, green eyed man with tense muscles and a predator¡¯s poise. Blink too quickly, and it seemed as if someone else had taken its place entirely.


    ¡°Thank you Oaklen¡± the Bishop finally said, an edge of satisfaction in her voice.


    ¡°For you? Anything¡± Oaklen leaned back against the chair, confidence radiating from him, ¡°so ma¡¯am. What can I do for you?¡±


    The bishop smiled, pleased, before opening a drawer and sliding a file across the desk. Without waiting for permission, Oaklen began flipping through the pages, skimming the important points.


    ¡°We need a sniffer in the industrial slums, someone with their ear to the ground capable of acting as a rat catcher when needed. Our team has already crafted your persona. You¡¯ll be a respected reporter with gang ties from Coutama, Jim Harven, looking to buy goods and smuggle them into Coutama or the other way round. Late 40¡¯s, a veteran of the War of Bloody Veins. He was a former sheriff before The Great Order and Coutama¡¯s governor failed him with inane policies turning him to a life of crime.¡±


    Oaklen rolled the idea around his mind, his fingers drumming against the file. His thoughts shifted, and his dissatisfaction with the new persona took root, though he kept it subtle. ¡°Would one of my older identities not work?¡± Oaklen asked, ¡°It takes time to craft a new ego.¡±


    As he flipped through the pages, he could see the crafted history. He was certain the new identity would hold up ¨C solid, well constructed, the kind of persona the division excelled at creation. He¡¯d even seen articles from Harven ¨C headlines like ¡°The Great Order oversteps Coutama¡¯s sovereignty¡± and ¡°Essence: A Fool¡¯s Dream and the Power to match.¡± Yes, this was a persona that would pass scrutiny. But managing another ego, even an effective one, added weight. They got grumpy if they never got to come out.


    The Bishop shook her head. ¡°I would say yes, but the orders come from higher up. They have particular interest in your target ¨C a gang leader by the name of Viracio. Whatever he¡¯s involved with has them tied in knots, or maybe he¡¯s the key to untangling it all. Either way, none of your older egos would fit this job. No mistakes.¡±


    Oaklen sighed, as he closed the file with a lazy flick. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll read the packet over and get started. It¡¯ll take me a few days, and then I¡¯ll be off. What exactly am I fishing for?¡±


    The Bishop hesitated before speaking, her voice softer than usual. ¡°I¡¯m not sure myself. I have my theories, but whatever¡¯s spooked them, they¡¯re keeping it close to the chest. They don¡¯t want their assumption to cloud your investigation. But they did ask you to keep an eye out for anything related to essence, and anything experimental. How you go about things, I¡¯ll leave that up to you. You tend to work better when I don¡¯t micromanage.¡±


    Oaklen let out a strained laugh, a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t have said it better myself, ma¡¯am. I won¡¯t disappoint.¡± He stared down at the file again, giving it a look of pure disdain. ¡°I have some homework to do.¡±


    ---


    First chapter. The view point switches around quite a lot because I need to set up the world and introduce our two PoV characters Bellamy and the Brinn. Next chapters will focus on one of these individual characters PoV and will not jump around as much. Anyways, the hunt begins.

 The Underbellys Pulse [1]

    <h2>Precision</h2>


    Outside, muffled voices and the occasional rattle of a streetcar punctuated the streetlamp-dimmed dusk that mingled with the scents of coal, smoke ,and city grime. The sound of honking horns and distant music from the halls of entertainment only dimmed as Bellamy shut the door to the apartment, not bothering to turn the lock. His home was modest for a three bedroom apartment. He split the rent with a young couple from the Atrean Islet, a grumpy older lawyer, and, of course, his brother. The wooden floors creaked in odd places, worsening in the chill of winter, but the insulation was good enough to keep the biting cold at bay.


    Bellamy gently massaged chilled, stiff hands, working ambient heat into his fingers before reaching into his bag. He carefully unwrapped one of the many butcher-paper bundles he had received from Kye. The soft crinkle of paper echoed as he peeled it back, revealing the fresh meat ¨C deep red, marbled, and almost too perfect to be real. He set it on the counter quickly, almost willing its presence away before temporarily retreating to his room to grab his personal butcher¡¯s block and cast iron.


    Explaining why he kept separate cookware had been an ordeal, looking back, his excuse had been flimsy at best ¨C shellfish allergy, deathly allergic. But it worked. Kept his flatmates safe. Kept him from flipping up. He¡¯d take the awkward conversations over the alternative. It also happened to make him their resident cook, which came with a little rent decrease which was always nice.


    His knife bit into the flesh with satisfying resistance, the blade gliding through sinew and muscle. Each piece was roughly cut ¨C just the right size to break down into tender shreds in a slow-simmering pot. The rhythm of chopping settled into something steady, meditative, the thud of the knife against the board a consistent backdrop to his thoughts.


    With practiced precision, he retrieved another butcher¡¯s block, a separate cutting board, and yet another knife before pulling more stew beef, this time from the icebox. A second round, uncontaminated. A second pot. One for himself, one for the rest.


    The vegetables came next. Carrots, potatoes, and onions. The carrots were still caked in earth, needed a quick rinse. Water splashed into the basin, the sound crisp against the background hum only shattered by an occasional boiler bubble messing with the pipes. He set about peeling and slicing each vegetable, appreciating the differences in texture ¨C the snap of carrot skin, the satisfying give of an onion under the blade, the sudden lack of resistance once he broke through a potato''s skin.


    Oil sizzled in two cast-iron skillets as they met the heat of the stove, fire crackling and popping softly beneath them. A dollop of lard melted into a thin shimmer of fat before he slid the meat into the pans. Each chunk landed with a hiss, the rich scent rising into the air and infiltrating every corner of the apartment almost immediately. He didn¡¯t need to smell it to know, the old lawyer¡¯s door creaking open and the familiar shuffle of worn slippers was a dead give away.


    The old man sprawled onto the sofa with a weary sigh, a cheap booze bottle in one arm. ¡°Mind bringing that bottle over here?¡± Bellamy asked, stirring each pot with their separate wooden spoons, turning each piece carefully so the edges caramelized in the rendered fat.


    ¡°Sure, son¡± The lawyer, with the grace to sound only mildly disgruntled, hauled himself up and hobbled over, sliding the bottle across the counter. Belllamy for his part had the grace to not drink the entire bottle as he unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig.


    ¡°Hits the spot,¡± he muttered, setting the bottle down before turning to the vegetables. The steady chop of his knife filled the room once more.


    ¡°You look like shit,¡± the older man finally observed, eyeing the bruising swell around Bellamy¡¯s eye.


    ¡°I¡¯m getting that a lot lately,¡± Bellamy chuckled, not looking up.


    ¡°Anything an old man like me would be worried about?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Bellamy¡¯s voice left no room for doubt. ¡°Got this from a job.¡±


    The lawyer grunted in acknowledgment, motioning for the bottle again. Bellamy took one more quick swig before sliding it back across the counter. ¡°And you? Bit strong tonight.¡±


    ¡°Damn judges again. They¡¯re stalling. Waiting me out, hoping no one else picks up the case once I¡¯m mush and that I won¡¯t come back to get them. Or at least until The G-O ratifies another legally sanctioned extermination clause into law.¡±


    Bellamy paused in his chopping, setting the knife down with a quiet clink. ¡°Yes, because I am an educated enough man to understand those words,¡± he said, voice dry. ¡°Simply not educated enough to understand them in that order.¡±


    The lawyer grumbled something under his breath before speaking louder. ¡°Lousy people are still lousy, and the snow is making my old bones ache.¡±


    Bellamy reached into the cabinet, pulling out a bay leaf which he slid into the broth, watching as it bobbed before settling beneath the surface. ¡°Let¡¯s hope some stew can warm those old bones of yours, aye.¡±


    ¡°What I¡¯m hoping for,¡± the lawyer muttered, making his way back onto the couch.


    The conversation lapsed into comfortable quiet, the bubbling of the pot filling the space between them. Bellamy adjusted the seasoning based on the old man¡¯s feedback, adding a pinch more salt and a crack of pepper.


    Ladling stew into two bowls,he switched to the uncontaminated ladle for the old man¡¯s portion. He carried his brother¡¯s bowl to their shared room before setting his and the lawyers at the table. They ate in silence, the warmth of the food settling between them like an unspoken understanding.


    The old man left first and Bellamy set about stacking dishes, dropping the contaminated cookware on Callum¡¯s desk. He might enjoy cooking, but he¡¯d be damned if he was going to clean up. Bellamy passed the time un-bruising his body and black eye, channeling essence through him to mend the wounds. The sensations of using essence was different for everyone -- some felt it burn like fire inside their chest, others like a rush of something sharper than adrenaline or any drug through their veins. For Bellamy, it was nothing so visceral. Instead, it was as if he were a scaffold, and the essence were countless workers swarming over him, straining the supports until they creaked. The sensation set his nerves on edge.


    Suddenly, his brother recorporealized inside the apartment by the door. Another casual display of his Harbinger ability. Bellamy¡¯s eye twitched.


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    Callum grinned. ¡°No one saw.¡± He and his brother looked quite alike, they both had the distinctive tanner skin of Coutama, with deep coffee brown eyes and short curly hair. They both wore simple clothes, but Callum always had a better mind for fitted cloth and the accessories to make him appear better off than he was.


    Bellmay exhaled through his nose. It didn¡¯t matter, if his brother thought he wasn¡¯t seen. All it took was one set of prying eyes, one rumor, one overeager bastard with a holy book, and they were done.


    People weren¡¯t supposed to survive natural essence exposure, not without consequences. Some turned into twisted husks, some got burned out, and a rare few came back ¡­ wrong. Those ones? They were hunted.


    ¡°Accident when I was a kid,¡± Callum always said, some bought it or didn¡¯t care too busy trying to figure out what to eat or when their next job would be.


    Bellamy turned away, shaking his head. ¡°How were classes?¡±


    Callum ignored the question, sniffing the air. ¡°Stew?¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Only a small note of jealousy managing to worm its way into the single word.


    ¡°Bet it tastes great¡± he hung up his coat and doffed his hat, hanging both by the door. He proceeded to step through the wall to their shared room, grabbed the bowl of stew, and then pulled himself and the soup through once more. His grin only seemed to widen as he greedily took in the scents of the stew, savoring every moment.


    ¡°Classes were fine¡± Callum started, still leaning over the stew, but not yet eating it. ¡°Second semester and they¡¯re still doing the intro work from grade school. He almost reluctantly brought the bowl to his lips before pouring its entire contents in his mouth and swallowing.


    ¡°Do you do that around your friends?¡± Bellamy scowled, seeing his hard work disappear.


    ¡°Oh yeah. Party trick. The girls love it¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no longer interested.¡± Bellamy grabbed his coat, heading for the door. ¡°Keep your ability on for a while. Low attention. The zealots are in town.¡±


    Callum froze, his hands now clammy, face tight, tension spreading through his in its entirety. ¡°... You¡¯re sure?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Keep going to school. They¡¯ll be watching for anyone suspiciously absent after news gets around¡±


    ¡°We could just leave¡± Callum hesitated, ¡°Say we¡¯re visiting family.¡±


    Bellamy shook his head, ¡°Sniffers at every station. You could get by, but I¡¯m not stealing a car.¡±


    Callum stood there, face scrunched in an approximation of pain before the hat he had just hung up smacked him in the face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a baby about it,¡± Bellamy muttered, a poor excuse for comfort. ¡°If one of them tries something, just punch them in the throat while they pray ¨C they never finish their chants after that.¡± He gave a side glance at his brother, realizing he had done nothing to put his mind at ease.


    With a sigh he continued, ¡°Come on. I¡¯m heading to The Last Dance and then Penny¡¯s. I need someone to proxy bet on me and help me figure out who to bet on.¡±


    Callum groaned. ¡°Fuck, dude. I¡¯m tired.¡±


    ¡°And I like paying your tuition, so let¡¯s go.¡±


    With a halfhearted grumble, Callum slouched after him. Bellamy gave him a small kick on the way out, guiding them into frostbitten streets. The city was never silent¨C the wind howled through alleyways, rails screeched, machinery hummed. But Bellamy never felt the weight of all that noise more than when he was with Callum.


    Brotherhood meant trust. It meant knowing when to put everything on the table and when to hedge your bets and trusting whatever decision the other made had been done with the intent for both of them to succeed, but it also meant that he couldn¡¯t just tell his brother to shut the fuck up and not talk when he was sharing.


    ¡°And then¡± he continued his mini-rant, ¡°she had the audacity to look me in the eyes and start talking about a lack of studies on brain matter density¡±


    Bellamy grunted, barely listening.


    ¡°That was her entire argument, a lack of a direct comparison to brain matter. By her logic a fucking whale or dolphin is more sentient than Verdan.¡±


    ¡°Oh wow¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s insane Bellamy. It¡¯s not even a lack of knowledge, I swear.¡±


    ¡°Crazy¡±


    They¡¯re fucking with me. They have to be. They¡¯re trying to piss me off. The looks on every one else''s faces though. They were horrified! They couldn¡¯t believe she said that outloud¡±


    ¡°Yep¡±


    It continued. All the way to The Last Dance. Every second until they walked in the doors.


    <h2>The Last Dance</h2>


    The Last Dance wasn¡¯t a bar so much as a boundary line. A place where killers drank with their marks, where debts could be settled over whiskey, dice, a knife, or all three at once. Bellamy had always liked it.


    They stepped inside, and the wall of cigar smoke rushed to meet them as heat shot out the open door in time. The smell hit Callum at the same time the smooth lilting voice of Charley began her solo. The rest of the musicians playing quieter, the one handed pianist lightly tapped each key, the drummer focused on keeping the beat, but not drawing attention, something that they typically struggled with if it was any other singer. Her voice was practically hypnotic leaving both brothers stunned as they stood in the doorway until a rough grunt from the bouncer got their attention, ¡°Inside. Yer letting heat out¡±.


    A little embarrassed, Callum fully made his way inside, following Bellamy who simply gave the man a nod. They found Viracio at his usual table on the second floor balcony that overlooked the rest of the speakeasy. He didn¡¯t run The Last Dance according to himself, but it ran on his rules, and the money seemed to flow to him. He was a mob boss who built his power like a spider ¨C layer by layer, thread by thread, until the whole web belonged to him. And if you got caught in it? You stayed caught.


    Viracio looked up as they approached, sharp eyes flicking over them once before returning to his drink. ¡°Sit,¡± he commanded.


    Bellamy pulled out a chair, motioning for Callum to do the same.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Took longer than I expected,¡± he said, sipping his drink. ¡°That means you either got delayed, or you were being careful. Which?¡±


    ¡°Bellamy leaned back, unbothered by any insinuation. Viracio knew he wouldn¡¯t put his brother in the line of fire if that was a possibility ¡°Little of both¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯d be disappointed if you got sloppy.¡± He set his glass down, fingers tapping once against the table, it was a deliberate action, but Bellamy didn¡¯t know why. Everything he did was deliberate. He imagined it was exhausting.


    ¡°Still¡± the gang leader continued ¡°the photographer I hired is probably freezing his ass off. Older gentleman from Coutama. Not a good combination for winter here.¡±


    Bellamy grimmiced, only imagining, ¡°I¡¯ll open my tab to him. Twelve Ord limit¡±


    A smile crept up Viracio¡¯s face like moss, as he struggled and failed to hold in a laugh, causing him to almost double over on his desk. ¡°Oh man oh man. That¡¯s the best thing I¡¯ve heard all day. You sure know how to balance the books Bellamy¡±.


    Viracio waved in a guard standing by the door, who brought a large envelope and placed it in front of Bellamy. He picked it up, surprised by the weight.


    ¡°Why the bonus?¡±


    Viracio smiled like someone who had five answers prepared, but just thought of a sixth. ¡°Because I like you. You¡¯re reliable. I pay well for reliability¡±


    The smile was infectious and soon Bellamy found himself doing the same, he pocketed the envelope, not bothering to count it out. Viracio didn¡¯t deal in false generosity. If he overpaid, it was an investment, not a mistake.


    Callum, with all the subtlety of a brick through a car window, whispered to his brother, ¡°Are you going to do more jobs for him?¡±


    Bellamy was surprised by the interruption, he honestly forgot he had brought the kid for a moment, but he considered the question. He hadn¡¯t expected the bonus, and it was a nice bonus. It was a trap of course. The honeypot. But if it was this sweet he couldn¡¯t imagine minding that much. He was already a rat trapped in a nesting doll of boxes. What was one more layer.


    ¡°It depends¡± Bellamy recovered, ¡°I¡¯m not a violent man, but you can count on my discretion¡±


    Viracio nodded, ¡°Then I¡¯ll have work for you soon. I¡¯ll walk both of you out. Need the old man to get a good shot of us. Hold the envelope in your hand. I don¡¯t want the photo to leave anything to the imagination. Callum, you can come out a minute after us, don¡¯t want to get you in the shot"


    They began walking downstairs, Callum getting a drink from the bar as he waited, still captivated by the singing.


    ¡°So¡± Viracio began, ¡°you were already planning on Penny¡¯s weren¡¯t you?.¡± It was less a question than a statement, so Bellamy only confirmed with a ¡°Yes¡±.


    ¡°Good, better to spend the IOU than let it go to waste¡± Bellamy didn¡¯t have time to let the implications of that statement fully sink in before Viracio continued, ¡°I know you said you¡¯re not violent, but that¡¯s frankly not true. You¡¯re just not a killer. I respect that I do. The slums needs everybody. So I don¡¯t need you to kill nobody. Just rough someone there up who owes me.¡± He turned and handed Bellamy a photo of a woman in a well tailored suit, smoking a cigar at the bar¡±.


    ¡°Just rough her up a bit, embarrass her if you can, and tell her to come to The Last Dance ready to deal¡±.


    Bellamy paused, fingers curling around the edge of the photo, but his mind had already started drifting. The job seemed simple enough ¨C embarrass a woman with money. They did that enough themselves. But that was the problem. Bellamy has been in this position before. An easy job, only to find himself dragged deeper. At least when Kye had given him her job she had told him how fucked he was. No. There was no ¡°simple¡± for men like Viracio. He didn¡¯t deal in small.


    He could hear his ¡­ father¡¯s voice in his head: Everyone gets a little taste before the real hunger kicks in. One step too many boy.


    The thin bead of hesitation lingered in his chest. ¡°Fine¡± the words fell out of his mouth unbidden, flat but steady ¡°I¡¯ll do it. But I want hazard pay if things go down¡±


    Viracio patted him on the back, pulling out a second envelope from his jacket pocket as they went to step out of the building ¡°Tell you what, let¡¯s make this whole thing easier. I¡¯ll go with you and your brother. If things get crazy I can see it first hand¡±, and with that he opened the door and crossed the threshold, holding it open for Bellamy with one hand, and holding out the envelope with the other.


    And that was the moment Bellamy knew for sure: another layer had been added to the nesting doll.


    <h2>Penny¡¯s</h2>


    Penny¡¯s was, to put it in as plain words as possible, a place that dealt in pleasures. Those who didn¡¯t fully get it ¨C that just drifted through without taking note of their surroundings ¨C would only see it as a den of lowlifes and degenerates. A simple space for simple people where a pretty face would smile at you or where a not-so-pretty face would get punched in the ring. But if you looked closer, if you could see past the haze of smoke, drink and dance you¡¯d realize Penny¡¯s was built around something much more complex


    At its core it was a machine designed around vice. The strippers were part of it sure, but not just in the way most people thought. They weren¡¯t there simply for their athleticism and admittedly nice figures, men and women ¨C although Callum didn¡¯t partake in the former ¨C moving gracefully around poles or in various acts of seduction. No, they were there to build the atmosphere. To draw people in. To make them forget their inhibitions and their morals, to strip them down, in turn, to nothing but their desires. The drugs, the alcohol, the promises of pleasure ¨C they weren¡¯t just luxuries; they were tools. And like any good tool, they worked together in harmony to bleed your wallet dry.


    A beautiful combination of ideas, Callum thought. The world was full of people who never noticed its beauties, who never took the time to consider which artists shaped the canvas they walked on, the structure of it all was intoxicating to him.


    It was why he could never just be a spectator. To lose yourself in it, to be guided by the painter''s purpose and experience their creation as they intended. There was something beautiful about it. His eyes lingered on a woman just entering from behind the stage, her body poised, deliberate. He had an eye for numbers, sure, but he knew the true value of a well-placed flirt. He gave it some thought, scanning the crowd of people taking into account how many there were, how wealthy they looked, who they were currently looking at, and ran some estimations. He caught her eye and she beamed at him, Callum returning a slight grin, one that said, I know what they¡¯re paying you and it''s not enough.


    ¡°Callum if you don¡¯t stop gawking at the girls I swear to god¡± Bellamy hissed in his ear as Callum broke from his revere.


    Callum grumbled, muttering under his breath something about ¡°just because you can¡¯t feel touch, doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t¡±, catching up to his brother he started to put on the charm, ¡°well, you and Viracio are going down to the fighting pits right? He can place the bet instead. I can be the look out up here, you got an IOU you¡¯re not going to use, so I can sit up here for free, and ten minutes before your fight you can come get me¡±


    Bellamy, for his part, rolled his eyes. He had brought his brother here to take his mind off The Congregation of Purity, not to¡­ Wait. This is exactly what he wanted. With a grunt, he subtly reached into his pocket and slipped Callum one of the envelopes. ¡°That includes your allowance and tuition. If you spend it all that¡¯s on you¡±


    Now it was Callum¡¯s turn to roll his eyes, just as subtly pocketing the envelope. ¡°Just come get me when they start setting odds for your fight¡±.


    Bellamy gave Callum one last look before nodding, ¡°Don¡¯t wander off¡±


    Callum waved a dismissing hand before heading towards the bar to get a drink, ¡°Now, to find that woman from earlier¡±.


    ---


    The stairwell opened up into a dim, warmly lit basement, it¡¯s heavy wooden doors a clear barrier between the haze of the club and the violent haze of excitement coming from the pit. The primal roaring of the crow, the music of foot work, the satisfying crack of a punch landing just right. The pit was alive with violence ¨Ca brutal back-and-forth where two fighters'' strategies slowly bled onto their opponents each round, each strike, each desperate move.


    The tension in the air was thick, it wasn¡¯t just the fighting that gripped him ¨C it was the chaotic raw, unchecked hunger of it all. Fighting wasn¡¯t just a sport here. It was control. A way to claim what you wanted without apology, guilt, or conscience. As the match reached a fever pitch, each fighter thinking they were losing on points and trying for a knockout, the room surged louder still. Bellamy felt a deep pull towards it. Despite himself it spoke to him in ways he couldn¡¯t ignore.


    Over to the side of the announcers box several men were taking and writing down bets, people gathering around the table as they struggled to tear their eyes away. The fight ended in a messy knockout, one of the fighters giving every last piece of energy in a hail merry uppercut that knocked out his opponent. A clamor of cheering excited shouts as groups celebrated and pale complexions in others as they realized exactly how much they had lost.


    A part of it pulled at his heart strings. People blamed the poor and desperate all the time, but seemed to forget they were poor and desperate. Sixty Ord could get a single man or woman through the month if they were savvy and had roommates. Most people made eighty Ord, most in the slums half that. If you needed sixty to live and made only forty ¡­ it didn¡¯t take Callum to figure out the numbers didn¡¯t match up, and if someone had people to take care of. He¡¯d rather not think about it. All to say he didn¡¯t blame them for their bets, he just knew that if that uppercut missed they¡¯d be the ones cheering and the others would be pale faced.


    It was the worst zero sum game.


    The sobering remembrance brought him out of thoughts of fighting and he remembered why he hated this place. Why he had refused to fight here again. He scanned the room again, looking for the woman in the picture Viracio had given him, and he could feel a headache fighting through numbness as he saw her in the announcers booth counting earnings. He shot a dirty look at Viracio who simply shrugged. ¡°To be fair I said rough her up or embarrass her¡±


    Had he? Bellamy couldn¡¯t remember the exact wording. Unless he wanted to wait in a back alley for the obviously powerful woman to leave with several body guards and then jump her, it didn¡¯t matter. He had agreed to help Viracio, but if things got too intense, he wasn¡¯t above bowing out early. He could deal with an angry Belemay, he wasn¡¯t so confident about the people backing up Kye. So his goal first and foremost was to search for any signs of Harbingers here, or even those who risked the smallest doses of essence possible, just enough to give them a boost, but not enough that they¡¯d gain powers.


    So fighting pits were a safe place to start his investigation. There was a small wooden bar on the opposite side of the betting table, and as the floor was quickly cleaned and the next fighters brought in causing the last bets to close. Buying himself and Viracio a drink they sat at a nearby table studying the fighters and discussing with each other casually.


    ¡°I used to fight here y¡¯know. When I first got to Velnias¡± Bellamy offered through a sip of liquor.


    ¡°I did actually. One of the reasons my people found you. Couldn¡¯t figure out why you quit though¡±


    Bellamy hesitated, wondering if this was a time or place to share, but he¡¯d likely be working with Viracio for a while. He had told the mob boss his requirements, he wouldn¡¯t budge on those, giving him the reason why may help. ¡°My opponent. They killed him after the match. He made a dumb bet, dead man walking anyways. I was undefeated. They told him if they beat me they¡¯d let him go¡±


    Viracio¡¯s face twisted in disgust as he slammed back his own drink. ¡°You ever think about how it gets worse. Every year¡± he watched a wiry kid, not more than sixteen duck under a clumsy haymaker. ¡°The slums, I mean.¡±


    Bellamy nodded, ¡°I keep thinking we¡¯ve hit bottom. Or that I¡¯ve saved up enough finally for it to not be my problem¡±


    ¡°And then the taxes increase, or the city stops taking care of those nice apartments at the edge of midtown that grow into the slums, or Spearhead finally fucks up and dies¡± Viracio nodded.


    ¡°And the people in charge, they don¡¯t even have to pretend. To them it¡¯s all just numbers. Slips of paper. A calculation on how much they can squeeze before someone breaks. Most days, I think about breaking them back.


    Bellamy nodded slowly, surprised by the gang leader¡¯s earnestness. It wasn¡¯t what he had expected, although everyone in the slums had a chip on their shoulder, it just depends how it manifested. He still shot him a sideways glance. They both knew that line of thinking led to places neither of them could afford to go.


    A man approached their table leaning in close and motioning with his head to the announcers box, ¡°The boss says she¡¯d like to talk to you¡± directing the comment at Viracio. They both stood up and the guard put a hand in front of Bellamy to which Viracio rolled his eyes, ¡°He comes or neither of us do. Better to cut your loses here¡±


    The guard only nodded, putting up a cursory amount of resistance before walking them towards the booth.


    The announcer¡¯s booth sat in contrast to the rest of the pit. Where the fighting floor was raw and bumpy, stained with blood, and intentionally difficult to navigate, this space was pristine. Tiled floor, clean lines, polished wood, faint scent of expensive cologne masking the smells of sweat and desperation. And at the center of it all was the woman who ran the show.


    Penny Devereaux


    The last name was spoken in hushed tones all over Velnias. Always with an edge of bitterness or fear. The Devereaux were one of the largest crime families in Velnias. They operated at the intersection of vice, finance, and information- an insidious trifecta that made them an underworld staple. Lots and lots of people owed them money, word was even some of the banks had taken out loans. They were, unfortunately, also who you went to when you needed a deal brokered. Technically Penny shouldn¡¯t have a fighting pit, that was the domain of the Volkov Syndicate which dealt in blood, but through backroom dealing and likely a lot of kickbacks they didn¡¯t say anything about it.


    She leaned back in her chair, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips as she studied them. ¡°Ah, Viracio. I¡¯ve been meaning to have a word with you.¡± She gave Bellamy a once-over, gaze trailing over him like he was just another pawn on the board, barely worth noting. She let out a short exhale through her nose¨C amusement? Disappointment? ¨C before flicking her attention back to Viracio.


    ¡°And you brought a friend. How quaint.¡±


    Viracio didn¡¯t bite. He just arched a brow, voice calm, detached. ¡°Funny that. Every time I told you I was coming, you seemed to have some pressing engagement. Your family calling you uptown or something?¡±.


    Penny let out a sharp scoff. ¡°Hardly pressing. Just rats showing up where they don¡¯t belong.¡±


    Viracio gave a slow, deliberate nod. ¡°Mmm. Shame you haven¡¯t caught them yet.¡± Then a beat. His smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Speaking of which ¨C glad I caught you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, let us talk. You¡¯re costing me money and not just me, I think the only family you haven¡¯t pissed off is the Holloway Group. So we¡¯ve come to a consensus. You cease your operations and we don¡¯t turn the slums upside down and sick the hounds on your ass¡± she let the words hang."


    Viracio exhaled, slow. Almost disappointed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s unsettling.¡±


    He met Penny¡¯s gaze, steady, unblinking.


    ¡°All those feelers you have in the city. The brokers, the informants, plants in the police, and the snitches in the alleyways ¨C yet somehow, none of you have a clue how I¡¯m doing it. How I¡¯m pulling your business out from under you while you¡¯re still sitting in your chair.¡±


    His voice was even. As if he was lecturing a class on the details.


    ¡°Tonight, the Volkovs will sign the deal. If they don¡¯t the mill wakes up tomorrow to no workers. If they hesitate, the factory sits empty, and they start bleeding before sundown, and then another factory goes, and then another, and then another. That¡¯s already decided.¡±


    He leaned in, just slightly.


    ¡°And when that happens? The first crack forms. Maybe you try to fix it. Maybe one of you panics. Maybe someone gets desperate and takes a shot at the wrong person.¡±


    ¡°And maybe you think that you can kill me before any of that. That one of your guards can jump across the table and snap my neck or put a bullet between my eyes, and maybe they could, but then you¡¯ll wake up next week and realize in horror nothing has changed. Your supply lines are still getting hit, the factories are still shut down, no one''s buying drugs or indulging in the small pleasures. Then the families will go to war.¡±


    A pause. He let the silence work for him.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll win, but then again there are five of us. The odds aren¡¯t great.¡±


    Then, he sat back like the matter was settled. ¡°Care to take that gamble?¡±


    Penny¡¯s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. A tiny crack in the armor. But that was all it was, a tiny flicker, then it was gone. It was replaced by a slow inhale, her fingers drumming lazily against the arm of her chair.


    She let the silence stretch between them, forcing Viracio to wait as if she still had control of this conversation. But Viracio didn¡¯t fidget. He didn¡¯t fill the void. He just watched.


    Annoying.


    Penny exalted , shifting her wait slightly ¡°Quite the little speech¡± she mused, feigning indifference. ¡°You practice that in the mirror? Or do your rats repeat it back to you while you stroke their fur.¡±


    She had wanted a reaction, maybe a twitch of the jaw, a clench of the hands, but Viracio just titled his head slightly, studying her. Like he was measuring how long it would take for the realization to set in.


    The fucking audacity.


    Penny had spent her whole life knowing things before anyone else. That was the Devereaux¡¯s family''s power¨C the whisper of a deal before it was inked, before it was glimmering in someone''s eye ¨C the shift in the underworld before the blood hit the streets. And yet.. This little bastard had been moving under their noses, building something, and she still didn¡¯t know how much less what.


    That meant he was a problem.


    And problems got solved.


    She pushed herself up from her chair, rolling her shoulders like the weight of the conversation was already boring her. ¡°Alright Viracio. You¡¯ve made your point. You¡¯re clever, you¡¯ve got your little operation running in the shadows and now you want us all quaking in our boots. I get it.¡±


    She took a step closer, tone dropping.


    ¡°But you¡¯re forgetting something. This city still belongs to us. And in Velnias, power isn¡¯t just about who moves the pieces ¨C it¡¯s about who bleeds for them.¡±


    She turned slightly gesturing toward the far side of the pit. The crowd had been murmuring, the tension thick as they waited for the results of their conversation. They couldn¡¯t hear any of it through the thick, bullet proof glass, but the sharp among them knew something was happening.


    She gestured down towards a seat at the side of the pit, there a broad-shouldered man studied the movement of the current fighters, his leg bounced slightly and he was stripped to the waist, hands wrapped, eyes cold.


    Pavel here,¡± Penny said, letting the name settle, ¡°is a problem-solver. You¡¯ve been costing me money, Viracio. So how about a show match between two bleeders. Your man¡± she flicked a hand toward Bellamy without so much as a glance "versus my champion. A little entertainment for the night. If he wins, I get the others to sign your little union deal tonight and you get to keep running around like a particularly clever rat. But if he loses, we take his head and parade it around the slums¡±


    She let the weight of it hand, savoring the widening eyes of the little rat as he realized what she just proposed. She pressed him before he could compose himself, ¡°do we have a deal?"


    Viracio didn¡¯t get the chance to open his mouth before Bellamy cracked his knuckles, rolling his neck with an audible ¡®pop¡¯


    ¡°We do.¡±

 The Underbellys Pulse [2]

    <h2>Dance</h2>


    Sandra thought about today''s events and the mission at hand. Jim had done his part ¨C snapped a picture of Viracio and The Brute for the rats use in the war on the other Velnias families. Now, it was her turn.


    Penny¡¯s seemed like a nice place to work ¨C half the men and women wanted more than drinks, and the rest pretended otherwise until they didn¡¯t. She had slinked through the back, waiting for a moment when the bouncer had looked away, and quiet as night stepped through the threshold. From there it was a quick change, and a quick mingle with some of the girls in the back. She had explained that she was in Velnias temporarily, on her way to the Atrean Islet to visit a lover and needed some extra funds. Her cousin lived in the area and knew one of Penny¡¯s friends and from there it was easy to set her up with temporary work. It wasn¡¯t far off from her actual story as the ¡°vixen¡± ego.


    With a change of clothes and a few tips for cleavage make up she stepped onto the floor of Penny¡¯s proper just in time to catch the eye of the boy who was walking with Viracio, not the brute, but the younger one.


    He was young, but not a child. He dressed well and held dark features that paired well with his piercing brown eyes that held a genuine smile. Gullible perhaps, she certainly hoped so. It¡¯d make her work a lot easier.


    Sandra, out of all the egos, had been chosen when they saw the trio walk into Penny¡¯s for a reason. Slinking was second nature to her, the way an old habit became instinct. Not in the way Oaklen hid, he hid in the woods and city street, knife bared and ready, but she hid in plain sight. The lonely woman at the bar, the helpless vixen in need of saving, or in this case a stripper at a club.


    Oaklen has been worried about adding Jim into the mix of ego¡¯s, frightened that another ego would weaken the whole, but what did he know? They were one. They could share. A new tool in the arsenal didn¡¯t dilute the craft. It refined it.


    As she served a drink, she dipped lower, arching her back just as the boy looked. Rising slowly, she glanced back, meeting his eyes. He wanted something. She wanted something. Perhaps they could help each other.


    Finally he found a natural moment to catch up with her. He passed her, barely, before planting his feet and turning looking at the platter of wine she carried.


    ¡°And how much would one of these set me back?¡± he asked, more a statement than a question.


    ¡°One Ord a glass sir¡± she smiled, leaning slightly forward, closing the gap between them.


    He made a show of counting the glasses, tracing his fingers over each of them as he softly spoke, ¡°1, 2, 3, 4, 7¡± he finally landed on all the glasses left, reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of cash. ¡°7 Ord for the drinks¡± he thumbed through a few more bills, ¡°and another 10 for your company¡±


    A big spender then. Just hit a pay day. She smiled, not needing to fake it as she slid her free arm into his outstretched arm, ¡°and may I ask the name of the man so generous with his company?¡±


    ¡°Callum, and you?¡± his voice was casual as he glanced at her, clearly appreciating what he saw, but he didn¡¯t let his eyes linger as he guided them to some nearby seats.


    ¡°Sandra¡±, she took a seat beside Callum, close enough that there was barely a hairspace between their legs. It was best to leave room to up the tension.


    He gestured for her to place the tray of alcohol on the table, and then slid it further away from the two of them, ¡°I don¡¯t drink, at least not wine.¡±


    Sandra raised a brow, curious. ¡°I¡¯m flattered¡± she began, meeting his eyes ¡°that you would spend so much to allow me some respite sir¡±


    He waved his hand, ¡°I¡¯m aware of the difficulties on the job, but I¡¯d be lying if I said it was out of kindness alone¡±


    ¡°Oh¡± she let out a giggle, covering her mouth with a single hand as she did.


    ¡°What can I say, you are very¡± he emphasized the last word ¡°pleasant to look at¡±.


    ¡°And looking from afar wasn¡¯t enough¡± she took the opportunity to scoot closer, allowing their legs and shoulders to brush against each other, ¡°you had to get a closer look¡±


    He grinned, showing a neat row of teeth as he shook his head ¡°For you? Absolutely, but I had also hoped that you would make for good conversation¡±


    She leaned closer into him, ¡°Not many find conversation the goal with little old me¡± she teased, blinking up at him.


    He laughed, it was smooth and came out naturally. ¡°Please, I¡¯ve never met an entertainer who wasn¡¯t talented in storytelling, much less casual conversation.¡±


    Oh. Oh. She liked this one. Respectful, and a flatterer. There was nothing wrong with that, not to mention he wasn¡¯t looking at her ravenously. Wanting, yes, but that was part of the work, but there was a difference between a natural wanting, and the look of a slobbering dog holding back the desire to pounce.


    ¡°It¡¯s rare¡± she mused, reaching for one of the wine glasses, swirling it before continuing ¡°to find a man who looks but doesn¡¯t drool¡±


    ¡°Some of us still believe in restraint, ¡°Callum replied lightly, reaching for a glass in turn. Neither of them drank.


    ¡°Restraint or control?¡± she tilted her head, boring into his soul, attempting to find a small piece of him, ¡°one comes from within. The other¡± she let the words hang, giving Callum an opportunity to interject. Only when he was sure she wasn¡¯t going to continue did he respond.


    ¡°Is something to be fought for, to keep the world from swallowing us whole¡± he finished.


    She wasn¡¯t sure what she was looking for in that. She knew why she asked, had to talk to the customers, learn more about them and build repoire, but beyond that ¡­ it just wasn¡¯t the response she expected. It was surprisingly intense for someone so young. A bit pompous, but then again, he looked Coutaman. Likely dealt with the after effects of The War of Blood Veins.


    ¡°A fresh insight surely.¡± She brought the glass to her lips, but didn¡¯t drink, it was unlikely the girls could drink while on duty. She had worked at other places who used a similar trick to her. You could sit, talk, and pretend to sip on wine, but you were never supposed to actually drink.


    Callum, for his part, rolled his eyes and set his drink down, clearly aware of the trick. ¡°I used to date an entertainer, she moved away so it didn¡¯t work out, but I had a question I never got to ask and I was hoping you might grant me some insight¡± he started, waiting for Sandra to nod an affirmative before continuing ¡°You know how to make people comfortable, I¡¯d say I¡¯m very comfortable right now. You know what people want to hear. But what do you listen for or hear?¡±


    ¡°Well. In what way¡±


    ¡°When I talk, do you listen to my words, or do you hear the answers to questions you haven¡¯t asked yet?¡±


    ¡°Both¡± she said, lazily tracing a finger around the rim of her glass ¡°I hear what you say, but I also hear what you might still say. It¡¯s a hard job. Phrasing is important. I have to consider it all else you might grow bored with me¡± she slid closer, now pressing herself against Callum. He was surprisingly cold to the touch.


    ¡°Are you bored with me. Callum?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t help a stupid smile plastering his face as he shook his head


    ¡°Never¡±.


    ¡°Tell me Callum. You seem like a man who keeps his hands clean. Well dressed. Well educated. Was that man from earlier giving you trouble, the tall one?¡±


    Callum frowned, puzzled for a moment before realization struck ¡°My brother? No¡± he let out a small laugh, ¡°in truth he was telling me to stop staring at you, but I just couldn¡¯t help it¡±


    Sandra allowed the slight blush to hit her cheeks, it helped sell it.


    ¡°Ah I see. Brothers. I suppose I see the resemblance now. You dress much nicer than he does¡±


    Callum nodded, but it was slight, ¡°He has no mind for it, he cares about different things. He¡¯s a good brother. He takes care of people¡± there was a hint of a warning in his words and Sandra moved to change the tone.


    ¡°You must love each other very much then. Was the other man also related?¡±


    Callum¡¯s frown deepened and she could feel him retract from the conversation, ¡°No. I¡¯ve only just met the man, we met briefly outside and walked in together¡±


    Ah, well this was a dead end. It was a straight lie, and he said it with such ease. He was wary now. Either of her or the information itself. She had been too impatient.


    Before she could continue the conversation a man in a well dressed suit approached Callum. ¡°Sir. Your presence has been requested downstairs. I¡¯ve been told to deliver a message from one Bellamy Hallow. He held out a folded piece of paper.


    Callum took it with one hand and looked over its contents which read ¡®It¡¯s time. Place the bet¡¯.


    Callum stood, offering Sandra a hand. ¡°If you¡¯d like to accompany me downstairs, I have something to attend. It shouldn¡¯t only take a moment, but I find our conversation so riveting I¡¯d hate to lose you in the crowd again.¡±


    Sandra took the hand with a smile and together they made their way down to the pit.


    ¡ª


    The pit was gross. Sweaty people. Loud. Obnoxious. It was full of the rapid dogs she tried her best to avoid. Callum lead them over to the betting table before taking out an envelope and emptying its contents. ¡°240 Ord on Bellamy Hallow¡± the odds were not in his favor, 8:1, and the woman manning the betting table raised her brow but accepted the bet anyways. She wrote Callums bet on a slip of paper outlining the amount bet, and the odds at the time of the bet. She then took an envelope and put the piece of paper in, before sealing it with wax and an imprint of a coin. She jotted the bet down in a binder for her own records as well.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡± Sandra began, biting the inside of her cheek as she debated continuing the sentence, but curiosity ran out, ¡°a lot of money to bet on your brother¡±.


    Callum nodded, almost solemn, ¡°I normally wouldn¡¯t. I¡¯d actually split the odds. He pointed at the current odds, held over the table. ¡°Most of the time the bookies make mistakes at some point. They change the odds based on what people are betting. Sometimes they mess up the math, or they leave an opening for a friend and call it a mistake, but there¡¯s usually a spot where I can bet on both fighters and, no matter the outcome, win some amount of money¡±


    It was all her effort not to side eye Callum, ¡°Isn¡¯t that risky? What if you get caught? And ¡­ why not this time?¡± A part of her wondered if it¡¯s because of her presence as one of the club''s girls, although she was just pretending.


    He snorted a laugh ¡°They won¡¯t care. They take a cut of the pot, and make money either way. As for why not this time¡± he stared out onto the ring, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. It looked like dread. ¡°Because my brother does not lose. Now let¡¯s get out of here before the fight starts¡±


    Sandra looked around, seeing Viracio in a private box with the club¡¯s owner. Crap. She needed to stall Callum, to get him to stay down here. Viracio was her target at the end of the day, but it would raise suspicion if she just stayed for no reason. She didn¡¯t want to lose herself as a tool in this operation because of some stupid mistake¡±


    ¡°I mean. I¡¯d be interested in watching. It¡¯d be a shame to not know if you won or lost until word got to you¡±


    Callum hesitated, looking towards the ring before shaking his head. ¡°I.¡± it was a hesitant word, ¡°I don¡¯t like watching him fight. Not when I can¡¯t do anything about it. He gets ¡­ weird about it¡±


    ¡°Weird?¡± Sandra probed.


    ¡°Yeah, weird¡± giving nothing else, he lingered still, but only for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome to watch yourself, but I could use a drink if you want to accompany me¡±


    Sandra sighed internally. She didn¡¯t know his relationship to Viracio, but if he mentioned a suspiciously interested stripper and described her, it¡¯d be a wash for her ego until the operation was done, and she liked the fresh air. There was always another opportunity, best to cut her losses.


    Instead she grabbed his arm and began walking with him, ¡°finally got you to loosen up?¡±


    He didn¡¯t get a chance to respond, as they moved towards the exit one of the bouncers held up his hand, ¡°No leaving once you place a bet. Security reasons. I¡¯m sure you understand¡±


    Callum pursed his lips, scowled, but nodded. He hated it, but it looked like he was going to watch his brother fight.


    <h2>Reputation</h2>


    The preparation room was quiet. Not that there wasn¡¯t noise ¨C he could feel the vibrations in the air, the hum of voices bleeding through the walls, the groan of old pipes settling under pressure, the metallic clatter of fighters preparing for their own matches. In the corner, a younger man glared at him. But to Bellamy, it made no difference. He felt none of the room¡¯s heat, smelled none of the sweat and blood thick in the air. Those sensations belonged to other people.


    He sat on the narrow bench, leaned forward, and rolled his shoulders, neck and wrists. He sent essence through the scaffolding of his body as he moved, letting that unnatural force settle over and into him, kneading the fatigue and stress out of his muscles.


    He studied his hands. Calloused. Weathered. Marked by old skirmishes and burns from the steel factory. Scars he could have erased. Smoothed over with essence until they were as smooth as scholars. But they mattered. The marks meant something.


    Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the coarse hand wraps, the rough fabric comfortable in his hands.


    He began at the wrist, anchoring the wrap snugly to follow the natural curve of his skin. His fingers moved with precision, guiding the wrap upward, passing once around his palm before threading between his fingers ¨C splitting the knuckles, keeping them protected without sacrificing mobility. Every turn was deliberate, every motion carried weight. A quiet affirmation that even the smallest actions had meaning. His eyes tracked each movement, refusing to let muscle memory take over. At every cross-point, he paused, lightly flexing his palm to check the tension, ensuring the pattern remained unbroken. The wrap spiraled back down, binding the wrist once more, locking everything into place.


    When the last length was secured he clenched his fists, testing for slack. No discomfort to gauge. Only the tension of the fabric. Only the certainty that it was correct.


    The first thing he noticed was the change in air pressure, then the murmuring pause in the background chatter, and finally a young woman¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Bellamy¡± she called out.


    He ignored it for a second longer, turning over his hand as a last inspection before striding outwards.


    The walk to the ring was short, but the sound grew louder with each foot fall. The crowd wasn¡¯t just loud ¨C it was a living thing, a beast of shifting bodies and frenzied voices, surging with the high and lows of the bets they placed. They were part of the structure of Penny¡¯s, he was simply their instrument through which they enacted their desires. Their presence in the ecosystem sought to elevate the only thing that mattered ¨C the fight itself.


    His opponent was already waiting, a thick chested man, arms lined with muscle. He rolled his shoulders, shifting from foot to foot. Pavel Cross, the undefeated reigning champion. From just a glance it became clear he was a brawler, the kind who learned to survive fights, not just win them. Bellamy studied him, not for openings. Just watching, taking it in.


    ¡°Aannnnnd tonight!¡± the announcer roared, a tinny sound coating his voice through the microphone.He whipped the already frenzied crowd further into delirium, ¡°we have a special match! A blood match between the reigning champion, undefeated, unstoppable, Pavel Cross! And what many of you thought was a newcomer, a fresh pup thrown to the wolves!¡±


    He paused for dramatic effect. Bellamy appreciated the flare.


    ¡°But¡± the announcer continued, the word dripping with anticipation, ¡°it turns out you were wrong. Dead wrong.¡±


    Another pause. A breathless, silent moment.


    ¡°Because standing in that ring right now, facing our champion is no rookie. No minnow in shark infested waters. Ladies and gentlemen we bring you a legend raised from the dead. A ghost made flesh once more. I give you ¡­ the undefeated former champion Bellamy Halloowwwww!¡±


    The eruption of noise burst eardrums. Cheers, curses, the sound of bets shifting, of drinks being slammed, and shouts of fowl play. Bellamy closed his eyes and let the waves crash into him. Each one a pulse in his still heart. He breathed it in, relished it. As much as he hated to admit it he missed this.


    ¡°Velnias!¡± The announcer spread his arms, closing his eyes and staring at the ceiling, calling out to the bloodthirsty spectators and quite possibly a bloodthirsty god. ¡°ARE. YOU. READY?!!!¡±


    The air hit a fever pitch.


    Bellamy opened his eyes.


    ¡°BEGIN!¡±


    The fighters circled, bare feet scraping against uneven dirt floor. The first exchange started with a jab form Pavel ¨C quick, probing. Bellamy let it slide off his guard. Another flicker of movement, and a viper-quick calf kick cracked against Bellay¡¯s lead leg, threatening to knock him off balance. Before he could fully reset, Pavel shot low, arms reaching out towards Bellamy¡¯s legs to drag them both into the dirt.


    Fast. Ruthless. The impact of the charge sent dust billowing behind the champion.


    But Bellamy was faster.


    He snapped his knee up into Pavel¡¯s face. THe champion barely faltered, driven forward by sheer momentum or will ¨C it was hard to tell. Bellamy didn¡¯t have time to think. He stepped back, twisting his torso mid-motion, and drove a brutal side kick into Pavel¡¯s chest. He aimed for the head. He hit the ribs instead.


    It was enough.


    Pavel grunted, blood trickling from his nose, but even as his charge stopped his arms kept moving. His hands clamped onto Bellamy¡¯s foot before he could retract it. A flash of tension ran through Pavel¡¯s body as he stood and yanked, trying to trap the leg under his armpit and wrench Bellamy off balance.


    It would¡¯ve worked, except for a heavy fist impacting Pavel¡¯s throat. A sharp coughing choke. A stagger. Pavel¡¯s grip slackened just enough for Bellamy to tear his leg free and plant it firmly on the ground.


    They separated, eyes locked. Pavel¡¯s breath came hard and heavy. In turn Bellamy didn¡¯t breathe at all. Too focused on the fight to pretend to need to.


    Each fighter adjusted their stance. Pavel opted for a high guard with a wide base, favoring his left foot. A flexible adaptable position. Bellamy¡¯s stance, in turn, was anything but orthodox ¨C built for aggression and little else. His hands hung low, extended forward at chest level, an opening most fighters would never allow. His left foot led, angled slightly inward to mirror the champion¡¯s stance, while his rear foot was rooted sideways, coiled like a spring, ready to drive him forward the moment an opening appeared, but this time he didn¡¯t wait.


    He moved forward, lacking grace. His feet drummed in rhythm ¨C back foot, front foot, back foot. His leg shot out, an inside kick to Pavel¡¯s lead leg, which was raised in defense. Pavel, leg already raised, kicked forward, hitting Bellamy in the chest. Bellamy took the hit, swinging his right arm to impact the champion''s inner thigh. He continued to step in, lead foot stomping on Pavel¡¯s back leg as he hooked an arm into his ribs. The impact was met with an elbow to the chin, which Bellamy slid through to headbut Pavel¡¯s nose.


    The champion¡¯s eyes were wide, not understanding the predatory stance Bellamy carried. The relentless forward motion despite impacts and pain that would send other men to the ground. Trying to regain some semblance of control he threw a hook that cracked into Bellamy¡¯s ribs. A move that turned out to be a fatal mistake.


    As the impact took him in the side Bellamy raised both hands up, crossing them to either side of the champion''s neck as he scooped up dense fabric. It formed an X across the champion''s throat before Bellamy squeezed inwards, initiating a choke, slowly stopping oxygen from flowing into Pavel¡¯s brain.


    Panic took over as Pavel rained blow after blow into Bellamy¡¯s unflinching side. The pressure only increased with time as Bellamy squeezed tighter and tighter. Pavel looked up and met Bellamy''s eyes. A chill ran through him. The man was smiling, eyes foggy as he grinned so wide it almost broke his face. Pavel was going to die. He was going to kill him. In a panic he threw punch after punch, as heavy as he could manage.


    Bellamy didn¡¯t care for the damage to his ribs. It didn¡¯t matter if the ribs cracked or broke, one, two, three. It didn¡¯t matter. He could heal it afterwards, all that mattered to him was winning the fight.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    With complete control of Pavel¡¯s head, Bellamy stepped back and yanked the fighter down, blood and oxygen completely cut off. He had won! Now he just need to wai-


    A sudden impact against Bellamy¡¯s chin. Heavy. His vision blurred, white speck flashing across his eyes. But there had been no fist. Just a stomp on his foot.


    What?


    He tried to hold the choke, but another stomp sent another phantom uppercut into his skull. Bellamy stumbled, barely keeping his balance. Pavel pressed forward, landing hit after hit in a flurry of ill placed flailing attacks ¨C strikes that should have hit his ribs or chest instead hammered into his head, or the back of his knee or his shin.


    The crowd roar turned sharp, few understood what was happening as the tide shifted.


    The champion moved ¨Cstepped forward and twisted his hips to throw a punch as hard as he could. Bellamy threw himself aside, tumbling into a roll that bought him a breath of space. He stood in time to see a fist flying at his face. He sidestepped, almost tripping over his feet, barely managing to glance the blow off his forearm.


    But even that slight impact struck his head.


    Bellamy began to weave, dodging, his guard that should¡¯ve absorbed some hits was useless as each blow landed elsewhere. The champion''s fist never touched his head, yet somehow they did.


    He risked a glance at the box where Penny and Viracio sat. Viracio scowled, disgust written across his face. Penny¡¯s jaw was clenched tight. She hadn¡¯t called out, but her silence felt heavy as her eyes bored into both her champion and Bellamy.


    A kick to his leg. The pressure of impact exploded from his ribs instead.


    Bellamy staggered, a sharp hiss breaking through his teeth. That wasn¡¯t right. None of this was right. The punches weren¡¯t landing where they should, and the rare impacts he landed didn¡¯t hit where he wanted either. It was disorienting.


    Bellamy swung out, a fast kick to create distance as his mind raced. The strikes weren¡¯t heavier, just displaced. The impacts had jumped elsewhere.


    An essence power.


    Pavel wasn¡¯t just a fighter. He was a Harbinger ¨C like him.


    By all rights, Bellamy was in the right to use his own power. To end the fight in a split second. He reached for his essence, feeling the scaffolding.


    And stopped.


    It felt wrong. It felt like cheating. Pavel¡¯s ability only displaced impacts. Minor. A subtle shift. The abilities weren¡¯t comparable. It would be fair, but it wouldn¡¯t be right.


    Fine. The hard way it was.


    Bellamy clenched his teeth, studying the champion as he thought through the exchanges. He didn¡¯t know the trigger. He knew the ability, but not its internal workings, and when fighting a Harbinger, that was what mattered.


    The next punch came. Bellamy made a choice ¨C stepped into it deliberately, absorbing the blow as it struck against his cheek bone. He braced.


    The impact landed exactly where it should. Still made his vision swim and was entirely unpleasant, but it was where it was supposed to.


    The ability wasn¡¯t automatic. It had to be consciously activated. But stepping in, he had broken it.


    Another strike. A heavy hook to the ribs. He raised his guard, moving at the last second to glance the blow.


    He confirmed his earlier suspicions as the impact hit him in the ribs, but with much less power than a straight blow.


    Pavel¡¯s ability formed in his mind. The ability to consciously shift impacts from one location to another.


    Useful. But ultimately only that. It wasn¡¯t something that broke the world, much less another person.


    In short. Beatable.


    Bellamy opened himself to attack, shifting his guard at the last second so the first would connect to his sternum instead of being parried. He studied Pavel¡¯s face. His eyes widened slightly as he furrowed his brow and focused more.


    Good. He could work with this.


    He barely registered the impact as he kicked his thoughts into high gear.


    He missed this. The puzzle. The fight. The scrap. The blow for blow and the clawing to take the pot. God he loved it.


    He stepped back and checked Pavel¡¯s stance and guard. It was off. Not as sharp as before. He was focusing on his ability instead of the fundamentals. Good.


    Bellamy regained his earlier aggressive stance, and flowed forward. He didn¡¯t dodge. Not exactly. When a blow came he stepped into it. Once, twice. And then he stepped away, letting the attack hit him a few seconds later than the champion intended. He alternated, switching the pattern. Forward, back, back, back, back, forward, dodge, attack, forward, forward, dodge, forward, dodge, dodge, back attack, attack, attack.


    He walked forward, a predator approaching a wounded animal caught in a trap. He grinned, breathing it all in. He saw Pavel¡¯s arm twitch and saw the attack coming. This time he caught it, locking the arm underneath his arm pit, straining the elbow before bringing it down onto his knee with a sickening snap.


    The man let out a cry of pain that was almost instantly cut out as Bellamy loaded an uppercut and let it loose against Pavel¡¯s chin.


    The champion made no noise. Just crumpled backwards.


    There was silence as Pavel hit the ground.


    Then the crowd roared. Screaming their lungs out with breath they hadn¡¯t been aware they were holding.


    Bellamy raised up his arms, and screamed in turn.


    He won. He would always win. Again and again and again until there was no one left to win against.


    <h2>Price</h2>


    Pavel was knocked out, defeated. Unconscious.


    The essence beat within him.


    ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ????? ???? ???? ??? ??? ????? ???? ???? ? ? ? ? ? ???????????? ???????????? ????????????????????????? ???????????? ??????????? ???????????????????? ??????????? ??????????? ???????????????? ?????????????????? ?????????????? ?????? ????????????? ?????? ?????????? ????????\ ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?


    Once


    ? ? ? ? ? ? ????? ???? ???? ??? ??? ????? ???? ??????????????? ?????????????? ?????????????? ???????????????? ????????? ??????????????? ???????????? ???????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????? ????????????????????????? ????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????? ???????????? ????????? ??????????????????? ?????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????\?????? ????????????? ?????????? ????????? ?????????? ????????? ??????????? ??????????????? ??????????????? ??? ??? ????? ???? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? -


    Twice


    ? ? ? ? ? ? ????? ???? ???? ??? ??? ????? ???? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????\??????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???? ???? ??? ??? ????? ???? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?


    Thrice


    He couldn¡¯t lose. He needed to win.


    W???i?????n????.???? ????w?????i????n?????.??? ????W?????i???n???.????? ????w?????????i?????????n?????????.????????? ??????????W???????????i????????n????????.???????????w????????????????????????i?????????????????n?????????????????????.????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????W???????????????????????????i???????????????????????n??????????????????.???????????????????? ??????????????????w??????????????????????????????i???????????????????????????????n?????????????????????????? ????????????????????w????????????????????????????i?????????????????????????n??????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????i??????????????????????w?????????????????????????n???????????????????????????????????w????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????????????????????????n??????????????????????w??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w????????????????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n?????????????????????????????????????????????????????w??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w?????????????????????????????????????????????w????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????w??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n????.???


    ????


    ???


    ????


    ????


    ?????


    ????H?????????????????????????????????????????????????e??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????c?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????o???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????u??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????l????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????d????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????''????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????t??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????l????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????o?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????s???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????e???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????.???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????P????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????l?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????e?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????a????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????s??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????e?????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????g????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????o??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????d?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????h????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????e????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????c?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????o????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????u?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????l????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????d????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????n?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????''?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????t???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????l???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????o????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????s???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????e?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????y????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????e?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????t???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????.?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????