*Creak*

*Bam!*

A door clattered to the ground. Pinned to the door were three men in dark leather armor who’d happened to all charge one behind the other, as if they’d known they were going to die ahead of time, and kindly wanted to spare me the effort of killing them one after the other. They were joined together by a spike of frozen crystal that ran through all their chests, pinning them to the door. The spike seemed to slowly be consuming their bodies and turning their corpses into frozen crystal as well.

“Huh...Okay, so ‘that’ was fun, but let’s call it a night,” said Jack. Taking a final sip of the drink she’d been enjoying before the night turned a whole lot more hectic.

*************************************************************************************************************

Let’s rewind the evening before this whole fiasco took place. Jack and I were just about to call it quits for the evening. We were done hanging out with our friends, and we’d hashed out some final details for our upcoming business with Alina and Sigi, so Jack and I were just about ready to call it quits for the evening. We said our goodbyes to Alina and Sigi and were almost at the door when a guy jumped at us from the shadows.

I initially thought it was one of the pals, or minions, of the silkpants-fuckboy who was trying to chat up Jack, earlier in the evening, but I quickly realized that this wasn’t the case. This new guy was too put together, and the air about him held a faintly threatening edge that probably would have made him quite intimidating if the power distribution between our two parties wasn’t so “misaligned”.

The dangerous big bro led us to a bunch of dangerous uncles. The guy took us to this other bar that was nearby and introduced us to his superiors. The aforementioned superiors looked like normal blue-collar workers, but they held an even heavier edge than the first guy had held. They were like the knives, mallet, and assorted tools that you’d see left out in disarray on a table, in a horror movie, or thriller. The kind of old instruments that one was left wondering if the red that covered them was old blood or old rust.

“Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Calloway,” said the guy at the head of the group, who looked like an ordinary old janitor, but sounded and acted like an underworld boss.

“Hiya, so what’s this about?” said Jack. Showing her icy nerves and pulling out of a seat for herself with a cool face, and a breezy demeanor.

As for me, I just quietly sat beside her, wondering if we'd have to end up killing some fools before the night was over. Two-parts nervous. One-part bored, and just a little bit sleepy, because like I said before, we’d been right about to call it a night.

“Greetings, I am Boris Simms, Outer-Elder of the Fat Candlemakers,” said the man. Almost getting a chuckle out of Jacky and me, until a fraction of a fraction of a second later we both remembered that the Fat Candlemakers weren’t a collection of rotund lighting and scent enthusiasts. And were instead a cabal of hard-boiled, psychopaths, who’d gained a certain level of notoriety for using the adipose tissues of their enemies to make candles, wax dolls, and most horrifying of all, cooking lard.

The Fat Candlemakers’ reign of terror lasted long enough for them to become a feared and respected middle-realm sect. This was why the Tree of Passionate Verdance’s library held records of Fat Candlemakers’ doings and activities for the last few hundred years. Educating your people on their rivals and enemies was a great way to assure that they didn’t get too cocky, or fail to notice danger when it was in front of them. Between this knowledge, the knowledge being fed to me by various stories, and the knowledge pouring in from my connection to the akashic realm and collective unconscious, I quickly surmised that Jack and I might have stepped into something sticky.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Then a funny thing happened. Our good Mr. Simms proceeded to explain that he worked for certain parties who’d like to see Alina, and Sigi, no longer in the land of the living. He said that his people noted me and Jack’s presence and the potential for friction between us and our sects. On that basis, he asked if there was any way that we could give them some face, and back out of the equation so they could complete their contract.

“Fuck no….” said Jack.

“Are you sure we couldn’t come to ‘some’ arrangement,” said Boris Simms. Looking less like a cold-blooded killer and more like a put-upon salaryman, or overworked maintenance worker.

“Yeah…Nothing doing,” said Jack. Shaking her head.

I nodded beside Jack, to convey that I too, would not be allowing them to kill our friends.

“Ah, a pity...In which case,...” said Boris Simms.

“It’s time to rumble?” said Jack. Eyes flashing dangerously.

“Eh?!...No. No, in this case, our Fat Candlemakers will withdraw from the contract...Though as a warning and a gesture of goodwill, I’d like to inform you that there are other sects that have taken this contract,” said Boris.

“Ah...Uh, okay...Thanks,” said Jack. Looking a little lost now that her throbbing fight-boner had nothing to do.

“Not a problem, we Fat Candlemakers are always looking to make friends,” said Boris. Smiling. Revealing a shining, blue-green, spirit-jade cuspid.

Afterward, Jack and I were left standing outside the little bar and grill we’d been led to. Wondering what to do. Which led us here, to yet another bar. One of many bars, bordellos, gambling houses, and hotels that we’d hit this evening. We’d decided that we’d probably be better off nipping trouble in the bud and having similar talks with everyone who’d picked up the hit job on our friends. Some people were reasonable. Others were not.

Jack was pleased to find that she got many an opportunity to womp, a great number of stupid people over the head, with the massive fight-boner that had been built up during our chat with Mr. Simms. Oddly enough we saw no reason to have a chat with the Rose-Boar Trading Company. They were already fucked in all kinds of ways. The funniest part was that they’d done it to themselves.

The communication company that gave Alina’s enemies the guts to oust her and Sigi, wasn’t anywhere near as competent as they’d claimed to be, and Jack and I had, of course, swiftly blocked all of the accounts that had been given to Rose-Boar Trading Company's personnel. Just to twist the knife, I also took down the rudimentary satellite network that I’d set up way back when, offline, and it only took a single spell to incinerate the radio tower that I’d set up in the Bellgrave.

Meanwhile, the goods that Alina and Sigi would soon be moving for us were definitely going to be making a splash in multiple markets, and neither Jack, Alina, Sigi, or I, had seen any reason to avoid stomping on the Rose-Boar Company’s toes.

*************************************************************************************************************

I saw someone dart out of cover and try to run for the door. I increased the gravity and air pressure around them to 50,000 times the norm and watched with a weird amount of satisfaction as a bulky muscular body turned into a two-dimensional puddle of meat-paste. With that final death, the last of the holdouts met their end.

“Okay, ‘now’ we can go back to the hotel room,” I said. Feeling perversely refreshed and doing my best not to show it on my face. It wasn’t the kill that had done it, I wasn’t a psycho, it was my inner-completionist that was crying out. It would have bugged me, if I’d let one of the targets escape.