The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a primal instinct urging him to stay alert. The further he ventured, the more the tension in the air thickened. It wasn’t just the smog; something far more dangerous clung to the atmosphere, wrapping around him like a noose, tightening with every step.
Discreetly, Damian cast his gaze around, searching for the source of that ominous feeling. He knew that locals here were always watchful, but this felt different, more intense. Not wanting to tip off whoever—or whatever—was behind it, he kept his pace steady, crossing the road and taking a few unnecessary turns to see if the sensation would fade.
As he ventured deeper into the hazy streets, he stayed on high alert. Signs of squalor became more apparent the further he walked. The area had deteriorated sharply over the past decade, with rising crime mirroring the decline in living conditions.
He was familiar with these roads.
Memories of being alone and hungry flooded his mind. While he struggled to recall his earliest childhood spent with his parents, the years that followed remained sharp in his memory—the years before he met Jay, when they forged an unbreakable bond.
He remembered feeling upset and confused, emotions that had morphed into a burning anger that fueled his first year on the streets. To this day, he didn’t know why he had been abandoned here, left with nothing but his own wits.
Being alone had been tough, pushing him to grow strong. He was one of the luckier few who had managed to survive, making it to adulthood against the odds. Jay had often commented on his uncanny luck—how he found safe places to sleep or managed to pickpocket someone carrying decent coin.
That luck had served him well, enabling him to forge friendships and create the mercenary group that had become his family. Now, they did fewer mercenary jobs, focusing instead on their own missions.
They had been on a roll with perfectly executed operations—until yesterday.
Once he wrapped things up here, he needed to reach out to some contacts about the recent murders. He felt a nagging certainty that their blown operation and Seth's death were connected.
Maybe someone who owed him a favor would have useful information. If not, Kith had been back on the streets for almost a day, and he could always check in on the imp. Seth had been one of Kith’s sources.
He grimaced beneath his cowl at the memory of Kith’s expression yesterday. Damian didn’t mind doing what was necessary, but he disliked targeting someone who hadn’t done anything wrong.
He knew Kith wasn’t a good person, but neither was he. Kith had likely wronged someone at some point, but not Damian or his friends. Logically, a bit of fear wouldn’t harm the imp long-term; it might even keep him honest in their dealings. If the world were better, maybe Damian could afford to be kinder.
He hated justifying his actions, especially to himself. He did what he needed for his team, but sometimes he couldn’t push back his emotions. He sympathized with those who were struggling or in pain.
It was always harder after he acted. Now he could replay every moment and feel more than the anger that drove him to do what was necessary.
Jay had told him it was a weakness, just like his trusting nature. His lieutenant often wondered how Damian retained that part of himself after everything they’d been through as children.
The life they had lived had toughened them, forcing them to grow up too quickly.
Jay had already adapted to the harsh life when they met, hardening even more since then. Damian sometimes wondered if Jay had hardened so much that some part of him had broken inside. As emotional as Jay could be, if you weren’t one of his people, you didn’t matter. It was a tough way to view the world, and made it hard to make new allies and friends, but as Jay would remind him, “That’s why I have you.”
He would never tell Jay, but sometimes he thought that maybe he was the stronger one for holding on to his empathy. As much as he buried those feelings and tried not to let them cloud his judgment, there were moments when they could work to his advantage.
Without that ‘weakness,’ he never would have recruited Scarlet and Rem.
When he found them, they were living in a rundown building, struggling to care for twenty-seven children. Scarlet had lost her father the year before, leaving her with five younger siblings. Somehow, she had gathered fifteen other kids living on the streets, banding together for survival.
When Rem noticed various children going to and from the same building, he investigated. After meeting Scarlet and her makeshift family, he decided to help create a safe haven for them, adding even more to care for.
They had been doing that for over a year when Jay told Damian about a new gang primarily composed of children. Damian had been enraged, thinking someone was exploiting street kids.
He grinned at the memory of Jay, Ally, and himself preparing to confront the sicko behind the gang, only to come face to face with Rem, carrying a crying baby.
Rem had taken one look at them before commanding their help, shoving the child into Damian’s arms. Stunned, Damian accepted the bundle. Jay had been ready for a fight, but Rem simply collapsed into a chair, saying if they wanted something to drink, they’d have to get it themselves.
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The whole situation had been baffling, leaving them unsure of what to do. Luckily, Scarlet wasn’t there; she would have surely escalated things. If Ally hadn’t detected any magical effects, Damian would have sworn Rem had cast a spell—somehow, they all ended up sitting down for a civil conversation.
Impressed with everything the two had done, Damian invited them to join the group, even though neither was an especially strong fighter.
Jay had been against it. Once they returned home that night, Jay confronted him.
“Damian, I’m worried about those two. They seem tough, but that doesn’t mean they have what it takes to work with us. Plus, the kids could become a weak point.”
Damian understood Jay’s perspective. This was one of the rare times they disagreed, and as leader, he had to make a decision.
“When we started this group, we vowed never to harm innocents as long as it was within our power. Gathering like-minded individuals in this city would be tough, and now we have two practically gifted to us. Yes, they’ll need training, but I see their potential. I have a good feeling about them.” He remembered the frustration on Jay’s face as the argument continued.
Eventually, Jay relented when it became clear Damian wouldn’t budge. Fortunately, that was the end of it, and Jay ensured the newcomers received the best training possible once they joined.
Rem jumped at the chance to earn better money for the kids, while Scarlet was more wary. Damian had to vow to protect the children before she agreed.
Now, years later, part of their total earnings went toward supporting the kids, who had become quite self-sufficient. Scarlet’s siblings had taken over caring for the youngest children and continued to welcome those unable to care for themselves.
With training, Rem and Scarlet had become invaluable team members.
While sparring one day, Damian asked Rem why he had handed a total stranger—a person who had broken into their home—a baby to hold. Rem paused for a long moment before replying.
“I knew it would be the right choice.”
He never elaborated, only offering a small smile when Damian pressed for more.
Since then, Damian realized Rem could be tight-lipped if he didn’t want to discuss something. He would evade questions, and it wouldn’t be until later that Damian realized he hadn’t received a satisfactory answer.
Rem especially loved avoiding simple questions like where he was going or what he wanted to eat.
While this trait irritated most, Damian found it amusing to play a game of sorts. He rarely asked Rem anything directly, instead trying to trick him into revealing the information he originally sought.
These strange conversations and verbal sparring sessions entertained Ally and Jay, while Scarlet would get huffy, wishing they would just say what they meant.
The memories faded as he approached the building where Seth had lived.
As he suspected, there was no sign of law enforcement around. Even with a potential serial killer or a new gang operating nearby, their response to a death in this part of the city would be slow. If Lacey hadn’t heard the rumor herself, he would have no reason to suspect anything had happened in this building at all.
People on the street acted as usual, heads down, moving quickly; no one wanted to linger in the foul air longer than necessary.
He continued with purpose toward the building, maintaining the image of someone who had traveled these streets many times before. Stepping confidently through the front door, he noticed a small group huddled together, a pair of them engaged in what looked like an argument. The other three appeared to be bystanders.
Quietly, Damian edged around the far side of the room, ensuring his hood obscured his face. He climbed a few stairs, slowing as he approached the landing, checking that the wall concealed him from view. He paused, straining to catch snippets of the conversation.
“...this isn’t a safe place to live anymore!” the first voice quavered, on the verge of tears.
“Where else could we go? Find us a solution, and I’ll gladly leave this Ancestor-damned place!”
A long pause followed before the first voice replied, quieter now. “I don’t know, Mari. All I know is that no one cares what happens to the people who live here. It’s been almost half a day, and no one has come to investigate the kid’s death. I’m used to being overlooked here, but this is ridiculous. The council has to know that something beyond the usual is happening. Months of deaths that can’t be understood—and those are just the reported ones. You know what that must mean.”
“I know what you think. You’ve been listening to too many rumors. There’s no way a black magic user is bothering to kill some nobodies in the fucking Prims. If someone had that level of power, they wouldn’t waste their time here. It’s just more of the same gang shit.”
“This is different! I—” Mari cut her off.
“No. I’m done with this conversation. What we need is to get a drink and relax. First round’s on me.” The sound of footsteps and shuffling moved toward the door, the first voice still protesting but being hushed by her companion.
Damian ascended the stairs slowly, his mind racing with the implications of the rumors that mirrored his own suspicions. While the notion of a black magic user seemed unlikely, it remained a possibility; these deaths could easily be linked to dark magic or orchestrated by someone wishing to obscure the truth. With so many angles to consider, he couldn’t afford to overlook anything.
Upon reaching the correct floor, he quickly scanned the room numbers. This small building made it easy to find the right door. He intended to speak with the roommates to gather a complete picture of what had been happening. While it would have been ideal to investigate without anyone around, he hoped the residents might provide insights into Seth’s activities.
As he approached the door, tension coiled in his body. He placed a hand on his blade, feeling the reassuring weight. The door was ajar, offering a glimpse into the dimly lit room beyond. Cautiously, he edged closer and peered through the gap.
Inside was a small, dingy room, typical of the area. A worn couch occupied one wall, and from his vantage point, he could see another door that likely led to a washroom or bedroom. Though nothing appeared out of place, the unsettling silence combined with the open door sent alarm bells ringing in his mind.
Drawing his knife, he prepared for any potential threats and gently pushed the door wider. The stillness inside persisted. Peeking around the doorframe, Damian scanned the room fully. No movement, but beside the kitchen table lay a large splash of still-wet blood.
As much as his instincts urged him to investigate, he knew better than to rush in blindly. There could still be someone inside with deadly intentions, and he certainly didn’t want to be blamed for whatever had transpired here. He needed to retreat—for now.
Turning to leave the room saved his life. Just as he began to pivot, he caught sight of movement behind him. Quickly, he launched himself toward the couch, tumbling out of the way as a weapon whooshed through the air above him. He sprang to his feet, knife poised and ready as his attacker charged forward.