Still, Ruban stayed in place, watching Ashwin fight. His eyes remained fixed on the few thugs who still stood by their cars, yet to join the fray. The way they’d positioned themselves made it impossible for the stranded pedestrians to escape the melee, or even get off the road.

And while they’d made no move to threaten any of the civilians directly, their very presence intimidated the crowd. Their posture and demeanor were not designed to inspire confidence.

Seconds later, a pained shriek rent the air.

Ruban shifted his gaze. One of the thugs fighting Ashwin had been fatally stabbed – with his own sifblade. With a faint gurgling noise, the youth reached out a bloody hand, fingers clutching futilely at the air.

The next moment, he was pitching forward like a marionette whose strings had been cut. His head cracked against the unforgiving asphalt, his body spasming for a few seconds before going completely still.

After everything that’d happened since the ambush began, this was the event that finally snapped the crowd out of its collective stupor.

Shock rippled through the onlookers, nearly palpable in its intensity. A few of the pedestrians stepped forward for a closer look, heedless of the risk to their own lives. The death of that one thug triggered an uproar that apparently surpassed even their instinct for self-preservation.

It wasn’t immediately clear to Ruban how the young man had come to be skewered with his own sifblade. It wouldn’t be impossible for Ashwin to handle a sifblade, if he absolutely needed to. But no Aeriel would instinctively reach for sif as a means of self-defense. And Ashwin had seemed pretty comfortable leading his attackers on a merry chase, simply waiting for them to drop from exhaustion. That was how he’d dealt with the first few attackers, so why change tactics now?

With a faint shimmer in the air, Ashwin’s wings materialized.

“Hold him! Don’t let the bastard fly away!” One of the surviving thugs roared, pointing at Ashwin. “This is how they’ll get you. One at a time. Soon there’ll be no more of us left. Only these winged bastards, warming themselves by the flames of our burning cities.”

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It took Ruban a moment to realize that the man wasn’t speaking to his comrades. Rather, he was addressing the gathered crowd of civilians.

For a moment, the crowd froze, indecisive.

“If we let him get away with one murder today, he’ll commit ten more tomorrow!” The thug – bald and beefy – thundered once again. His voice quivered with emotion. “They let him off the hook for attacking Simani Vaz. Why do you think that is? Those at the top are swimming in Aeriel feathers as we speak, bribed to the gills. It’s time for us to stand up and fight – for this country, for our people. ‘Cause ain’t nobody’s coming to save us this time.” He glared at Ruban. “Those who swore to do so are helping these Aeriels,” he spat the last word like it’d tainted his tongue. “Take over our homeland. Kill our people.”

“The death of one human is the death of all humanity!” Roared one of his confederates, a gangly redhead who’d been fighting Ashwin moments ago.

The crowd bellowed its agreement. Within seconds, several hands were grabbing at Ashwin – yanking on his cloak, tearing at his wings.

Before Ruban could take a step forward to reach him, Ashwin had been engulfed by the frenzied mob. Vehement cries for retribution echoed through the crowd, their movements tumultuous and chaotic as they swarmed the Aeriel.

Ruban pressed forward, but a solid wall of human flesh separated him from Ashwin. A jostling, frenzied mass of bodies pressed together, undulating with the agitated movements of those within.

Navigating through this living barricade would be no easy task, under the best of circumstances. But it was made harder by the fact that these were, after all, unarmed civilians.

These were the people he was supposed to protect. The Hunter Corps was formed to be the first line of defence, shielding the civilian masses from the Aeriel threat. Ruban could fight the cults or the mafia with no second thought. But how could he justify using brute force against unarmed civilians…in defence of an Aeriel?

Was this the reason they’d been attacked in such a public place? Were the attackers counting on the fact that neither he nor Ashwin would harm civilians?

Ruban could think of nothing else that’d explain this elaborate setup.

The way that misguided young man had died a few minutes ago, impaled on his own sifblade. Ruban’s instincts told him that wasn’t an Aeriel’s doing. And nearly a decade of Hunting experience had taught him, the hard way, to trust his instincts.

None of this felt natural to Ruban. Least of all the way these men spoke – as if possessed by the ghost of some yesteryear demagogue. Their words sounded rehearsed, the delivery alternatingly stilted or over-the-top.

Almost like a speech they’d practiced a hundred times in front of the mirror. But hadn’t yet fully mastered.