Back in the alley, naturally, all parties felt shocked. The two remaining watchmen stared dumbfounded at their compatriot's vanishing act. The young girl looked back just as the attack halted.

A space remained where her enemy stood, and the only one who didn't seem shocked was the younger boy. His eyes shone like a cat, a shocked expression on his face. It would make people think he was knowledgeable.

All parties remained still, like they were posing for a photo. Suddenly and without warning, a scream echoed, followed by an influx of air. The blonde watchman quickly turned to his right, witnessing the space where another associate vanished. Casting his gaze to the sky, he could see something ascending above.

His arms wavered, and his knees buckled. The fear he sought to place in others washed over him. He wanted to run, to flee. He wanted to give in to his fear and bail on everything. To forget about his purpose here and abandon it all.

Firm hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him from the ground, preventing his wish from being fulfilled. Rising a few metres in the air, the sight of his enemy came into full view. It was a figure cloaked in black, his coat-tails billowing in the unnatural wind.

Looking up, he could see the horrific visage concealed beneath the dark hood. The face was unrecognisable, shifting in and out of alignment, like looking through dirty glass. Gazing into the strange oddity of nature, the watchmen gulped in fear. Still, he mustered up what little courage he had.

"Who are you?" A simple question most would ask a stranger, yet laced with fear and uncertainty.

In response to his frightened query, laughter was the only response. It was soft, not very loud, but not silent either. Akin to a chuckle about some minor joke.

The laughter subsided. "I would have liked to say, I am justice!" Reclining his head, the figure smiled at the utter cliché of the situation. "Of course, then again, I'm not a weeb." He erupted into further laughter, ending with the watchmen propelling into a nearby wall.

A loud crack sounded from his lower back. Clearly, something had broken. His groans of pain quickly subsided, and he fainted from the pain. Once, he summarily dealt with all three enemies. It left two scared teenagers gaping at the sight of Al.

Floating about the ground, coat-tails flickering in the wind, the night atmosphere giving him the old grim reaper look. The illusion concealed his face, making him a more ominous figure. Shivering in fear, the teens stayed motionless. The younger boy was watching in fascination. Yet still, his fear was clear. He took a deep inhalation of air, sniffing like a canine.

"I'd suggest robbing these two of everything they have and then bailing to places unknown." He spoke sincerely, offering advice.

Leaving them with a smile, he left dramatically. Blasting off and into the sky like some superhero of justice. Both of them remained stunned. This lasted for only a moment before Joan leapt to the unconscious watchmen, ready to loot them for everything they had.

Turning back to her younger sibling, just as she was removing his coin purse, she spoke. "Come on Felix, grab everything you can carry." Despite her words reaching for him, Felix remained still.

His shining eyes stared into the night sky, where the mysterious flying man had vanished. Remaining there, he sniffed the air a few times. His look changed as he opened his mouth, revealing sharp canines descending to a point. He sniffed the air a few more times, assured of something.

Meanwhile, Al, having flown the coup, traversed the skies. Sticking to the less guarded slums, he intervened in several crimes. The first he found was an attempted rape of a peasant girl by a drunken guard. The law enforcement here was quite corrupt. Go figure.

Swooping down like a bird of prey, Al pulled him from the safety of solid ground. He then gave him a taste of a short-term flight. He should feel flattered if it weren't for the landing. The victim climbed to her feet and looked around, confused and fearful. Her eyes caught her downed rapist.

She ran over to his slumped form and kicked him in the groin seven times. She fled after robbing him of everything he had. Al glared down with a bemused look and noted that there were a lot of petty thieves in the area. Not admonishing them for their actions. Since he just suggested the same thing with two teenagers.

He was not exactly clean for his many crimes, past and present. In his youth, he had stolen many an object. Escalating once he joined the gangs, that was when the actual crimes started. But that was all in the past now.

Shrugging at his acceptance of thievery and apparent encouragement of the crime, he vacated quickly. He then foiled an attempted robbery, attempted murder and some sort of gang beating up a couple.

Naturally, the time swept by quickly and Al returned to his room. Flying through the inn window, floating over to his bed and disengaging his magic. Gravity kicked in like a hammer, dropping him onto his bed with a loud thud. He quickly went to sleep, soothed by the sounds of his neighbours yelling at him to keep quiet.

Waking in the morning with the stream of sunshine cascading into the room. The light, in all its annoying glory, beckoned Al to rise. He did so almost mechanically. Instead of sitting up in a groggy mess, something else occurred.

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He rose, the tether of gravity broken again. His floating form ascended a metre in the air, the weightlessness threatened to rock him back to sleep. Resisting the soporific effect, he awoke. Normally, one would immediately be confused and perhaps fearful of the situation. Al reacted nonchalantly and easily, descended to his feet with a mere thought.

Once awake, he proceeded with his daily routine. He bathed thoroughly, now used to such an ad hoc method from his time in another medieval world. Once ready, he changed into a fresh pair of clothes, the same as his previous attire.

He stored the previous article in his soul, and a thought occurred. Would this make my soul tainted by storing dirty laundry within it? He ended that thought with a soft chuckle, since a soul is not physical and thus not subject.

Once dressed in a mirror image of his attire, except for a grey cloak rather than a jet black one. He left his room and descended the stairs. Only a few steps remained before reaching the bottom. Placing his foot on solid ground, Al leaned back to dodge the incoming object.

Reacting on instinct, a wooden chair flew across the room. The piece of furniture smashed into the nearby wall and left him unharmed. Curious, Al leaned down to inspect the fragments and found it utterly demolished.

Observing the situation, it was clear what was going on. "Bar fight!" He shouted those words, grinning like a child.

Despite his loud declaration, nothing changed. Many armour-clad individuals were still going at it like a free-for-all. Two distinct groups were clashing, several bystanders were also taking part. Casting a glance around, taking in the full sight, drunken patrons were throwing their fists around.

It was uncertain if they had any stake in the conflict beyond their inebriated decision-making. The major fight revolved around two familiar people. James was fighting two men outfitted in grey leather armour. Their attire was uniform, same colour scheme and wolf symbology. The insignia on their breastplate in the right corner was not easily visible.

Sally was engaged in a fistfight with three opponents. Two of them were stumbling around, obviously drunk. The third seemed way too serious to be in a bar fight. He was ducking and weaving, trying to get in a good punch. It seemed like he knew how to fight. His style was like earth boxing.

Not having a stake in this little conflict, Al moved to the side. Grabbed a toppled-over chair and seated himself comfortably. Strangely, the bartender, who had been rather passive behind his little counter, came over. With the brutal free-for-all brawl behind him, the grizzled and bearded man asked for Al's order, without a care in the world.

Stunned for only a few moments, he glanced at the still ongoing fight before returning to the barkeep. "Just a pint of ale and some soup, perhaps." Of course, Al knew it was way too early for alcohol. But he figured such rules didn't apply in this dimension.

The bartender replied with an affirmative nod and quickly left without a second glance. Al waited for his order and entertained himself with the free show. Leaning back in his chair, he took in the sights and a thrilling idea came to mind.

Clenching a fist in front, he pretended to have a microphone. Turning to the left, he pointed at the festivities. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here tonight for a momentous occasion, a free-for-all brawl!" His voice was deep, not too loud, but enough to make people think he had an audience. "In the left corner, we have the terrifying, the fearsome, Battling Steel James!" He gave the man a nickname that seemed suitable.

Inspecting the clash, Al moved almost in sync with jabs and uppercuts. Observing the matchup between the puny opponents trying to seize advantage of their numbers. A quick look revealed that they were outmatched.

Smiling to himself, Al shifted to Sally and her match-up. Sucking in a breath, he began again. "In the right corner, we have the fierce, the powerful, Sally Jaw Crusher!" Announcing gleefully, Sally's left hook instantly gratified him.

One of her opponents went down with a dull thud, his face disfigured in pain. It was clear she had broken something. Leaning back in his chair, he awaited the beverage and meal. Taking in the scene like an indoor show.

James kneed one of his attackers in the groin and then smashed his head into the bar. With one attacker knocked out, his attention was diverted. At that moment, his second attacker withdrew a short dagger. Keeping it concealed like an assassin.

The man was about to commit a foul in the fair match-up. Shaking his head from side to side, Al looked down at the man. His eyes filled with disappointment, resembling a father witnessing their child cheating at sports.

Unable to stand for this egregious foul of fair play. Al reached out with his hand, lazily. The web-like tattoo glowed faintly, and he reached out with his mind. Crafting an ethereal replica of the appendage, it swiftly traversed the distance.

James spotted the incoming blade, his opponent ready to gut him. Before he could react, the dagger stopped midway. Confused, he noticed the struggle the man was engaged in. The man held the dagger, ready to strike, but he couldn't advance. An unseen force was pulling him back.

He glanced to the side and noticed the glowing hand of Al. The situation became clear right before he decked the guy with a single punch. The man came tumbling down like a sack of bricks. James gave a curt nod of thanks. He then turned to his associate and leapt over to help her fight.

He engaged in a fistfight with one of Sally's attackers. Of course, she had already dealt with one and the second was barely defending against her barrage of attacks. Several jabs came flying at his cheek, knocking him off balance.

The fight ended with an uppercut to the jaw, sending him flying into the back wall. James ended his confrontation, grasping the last attacker in a bear hug. Lifting him off the ground and throwing him away like a small child.

With the fight settled, both James and Sally moved back to their table. They paid no attention to the ones who were beaten and injured. Rising to their feet uncomfortably, they started spouting profanities. They used words like, "This is not over" or "The pyres never forget". The words didn't phase them. The group of battered men quickly left the inn. At least as well as they could.

Immediately after, the barkeep arrived at my table, placing a pint of ale, a hot bowl of soup and bread. He gave Al a nod. "Thank you, wizard, for intervening." Al tilted his head in confusion, as if he didn't know what he was talking about. The barkeep only replied with a sly smile before leaving for his duties.

Al looked down at the bowl. It was truly a simple dish, some chicken and vegetables immersed in hot water. It was what he expected from a medieval world. He looked down at the distasteful dish with a frown. Shaking his head, he withdrew a small pouch.

Opening it and spilling its granular contents lightly over the soup. Taking his wooden spoon, he stirred the dish and tasted it. The now garlic-flavored broth, with a satisfying taste spread throughout, reminded him of home.