Albert Jacks was on his way to the top of criminal society. He could feel it. He could see himself sitting on the balcony of a beach house, a fine drink in one hand and the other counting his hulvs. He saw the sun setting as he led his own organization.

But, until the day came that his visions were realized, he would have to be content as a subordinate. Although, no one could fault his reasoning. By all intents and purposes, he was on his way to the high life. At least in the eyes of those who don’t yet understand what it takes to get there.

He had led multiple successful raids against the Guild with minimal casualties. Sure, a few Guild members might have escaped. Albert knew that to be of no consequence. One way or another, the guild would find out that it was being targeted, and who was targeting them. One or two half dead men would make to differance.

To add onto his confidence, he had been assigned the duty of being one of the few leaders of the boss’s security. The fact that he had the most unimportant area of the compound to protect was of little interest to him. He knew the need for all possible entrances to the gated-off property to be guarded, no matter how unimportant they were.

The stone stairs that led to the cellar doors, and thus the cellar where wines were kept, didn’t actually lead inside the building. But Albet suspected that a skilled magic user could most certainly find a way to use the advantageous position of the large, cold room to infiltrate the large, two floor building secretly.

Now, Albert wasn’t one to daydream while working—at least that's what he liked to think. It was only when Albert especially disliked something that his mind started to wander. Today was most certainly one of those days that made him loathe his job. And in fact, the last four days had been just such.

Moving from secret layer to secret layer had never been something Albert considered to be overly tedious—but Albert had never been the one to organize, or rather, help organize these moves. The sheer amount of effort he had to put into making sure people were where they should be, that materials were stowed away, and loose, and possibly dangerous, ends were cut off was, in Alberts not-so-expert opinion, unreasonable.

But Albert knew that he just needed to deal with the hardships of his life for just a little longer, and his rewards for his many years of suffering would be paid to him. Albert—

He heard a sound. He looked back, seeing that the two men under his command had frozen as they too listened. It was a faint sound, almost like wind rustling leaves far away. Signaling one of his men forward, Albert waited patiently, if a little nervous. He had suspected someone would try to get inside the building through the cellar, but he hadn’t expected them to have tried any of the other points.

The man who was investigating stopped at the perimeter wall which surrounded the compound. It was solid brick, and was probably older than Albert himself. The man slowly readied himself, prepaying his sword, and then jumped out of the open gate on this side of the wall, and out of sight.

The sound of a blade clattering to the ground soon followed. Alberts heart dropped to his knees, and his grip on his sword tightened. Beads of sweat dripped down his back and made him shiver in the cool night breeze. The two torches around the open gate illuminated the entrance, cast faint shadows and highlights along the ground.

More sound, almost like that of an animal came next, and Albert began to conjure magic. Then he saw them. He was standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face, and his sword nowhere to see. In his hands, stretched out before him, was a small feline. It had spotted black and white fur with striking red eyes. Its tail was unusually long for most felines, but was quite normal in the city. Its ears were relaxed as it surveyed the yard.

Albert dropped his sword to his side and let out a heavy sigh. “You damn git!” Albert glared at the man, his heart slowly and his head clearing. The man laughed. “It’s just ‘uh kitty cat, Sir!” His smile widened. “Just a—”

Thump.

Albert stopped mid sentence, unable to move, unable to breath. He saw the horrified eyes of the man in front of him as he looked behind his leader. The man's mouth jittered like he was trying to say something, but failing repeatedly. Slowly, the man turned, dropped the cat, and ran. His footsteps quickly fading.

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Damn him…He thought bitterly.

Slowly, he turned around, feeling that whatever was behind him, it was dangerous. As his eyes fell upon the body lying on the ground, its head slit open, yet not bleeding. A man was standing over who was once Albert's subordinate. He was clad in brown leather armor and black pants and shirt. In his hand he had a glowing sword that distorted the torch-lit ground behind it, and behind the face of the man was a Spirit, its flaming form perfectly controlled into a twirling sphere.

The man, or rather, boy, was someone Albert had only met a few times, usually around the boss. What was his name…Albert couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter anyways, not to a dead man.

The cellar underneath Frigun Harrows current hideout was rather large. It held well over a thousand bottles of not just wine, but every type of ale one could procure in Finick’s Bay. To anyone not familiar with the place, however, it was simply that. It served no real purpose aside from being the favorite spot of a criminal. But to those who had been a part of the Damned Fey for the better part of their whole life, the cellar was a glaring weak spot.

Tay just so happened to have been raised under the thumb of the man who personally picked every one of his safe houses. And because of that, he just so happened to know a very interesting secret passage.

The cellar was one large room with three thick walls that allowed the room to keep its lowered temperature with the overexertion of the magic item that cooled it. Tay moved to one of these walls and placed a hand on the cool, damp stone of it. Then suddenly, the wall begins to change. Bricks, once sealed with mortar, started to twist and move, slowly, a staircase was revealed.

Tay slowly ascended them, his clothes feeling heavy in the humid stairway. It didn’t take long for him and his Familiar to reach its end. Before him was a large piece of wood. Tay listened, putting his ear to it, and waited. After several moments, he pushed on the wood. It slowly moved out of the way, only now were the hinges it was attached to visible. Tay leapt out of the opening and into a carpeted hallway. He closed the small door, which was actually a painting, behind him. He could hear voices, and he had his Orby float several feet back so its glow wouldn’t be seen.

He quickly made his way through the first floor of the building, his footfalls deafened by the thick red carpet all throughout the compound. Soon, he found himself at a staircase, marble railings flanking it.

But before he could go up them, he heard more voices. He kept away, hiding inside the small, person-sized arch that the stairs made. There were two, he knew. Their footsteps masking each other, but echoing more than a single pair could. Tay’s eyes were focused on the ground and his hands clenched against the archway as he waited.

The sounds of the steps slowly grew quiet, and Tay began to relax. Then they began to grow louder. Tay necked away, but then stopped as he heard another pair of feet coming from the other side of the archway.

He heard swords being drawn from deaths, and Tay reciprocated with his own silver blade. The men didn’t last long. Tay jumped from the archway, and onto the two men on the left side, while Orby spewed flame onto the man on the right.

They tried to activate their magic, but the tip of Tay’s sword found their hearts too quickly. Alarms blared around, voices shouted, and snarls from animals swirled around Tay. Calling his Familiar, Tay grabbed the railing on the stairs from their side and lifted himself up, the warmth of Orby following in turn.

Tay sent surges of magic into his legs and almost flew with every step. He had to cut down another member of the gang—receiving a cut to his thigh in return—before he found himself where he wanted to be. With bubbling anger, Tay used his spell ‘throw’ and launched a ball of raging fire at the door before him. It flew off its hinges and into the room it barred, the doorway flaming in its place. So brightly was his sword glowing that as he stepped into the room, the wood panels beneath him blackened.

Then he stopped and growled. “You knew.” His voice was dry. “I suspected.” Harrow corrected “Your friends recently paid me a visit and gave me a warning.” Tay’s eyes narrowed. “Ah…I thought you would have known since I assumed you told him your story.” He chuckled, but it was oddly hollow.

Tay looked away in disgust. Had Alexander told Harrow something?

Around Harrow, standing protectively, were four gang members. They all had their weapons out, and two of them had spells active. “I think your rebellious phase needs to end, son.” Tay looked up, his eyes blazing with hatred. “Go to hell.” Suddenly, Tay released all of his magic into his Familiar.

Orby swelled in size and his two drones flew from him. The room began to char and even burn in some places, namely the curtains of cushioned chairs. Harrow and his men tried to stop him, but Orby had already activated its spell. Pillars of flame erupted from the Spirit, catching two of the guards in wreathing fire. They screamed, but no one heard them over the sound of the fire.

Soon, the whole building was consumed in raging fire, the smoke coming from it visible all the way to the far off mountains.