BANG…

A fist punched straight through half of a long wooden table. The table splintered and collapsed.

"You fucking bastards!"

The stoic woman's demeanor had melted into an unmatched beastial fury.

A meeting room full of Storm Wardens, Mathurins, Swords, and Academy administrators went silent.

"The Mathurins will not stand for this!" Augustine exclaimed in outrage.

Yet Maros remained unperturbed by her outburst. He sat upright in his seat on the opposite end of the table.

"Your younger brother was a murderer," Maros calmly reiterated. "Going against such an easy investigation would be mighty foolish."

"Like the Wardens don't fabricate evidence all the time!? You dare to speak of investigations? When I call upon Spire's Hand for their review of this, will you be so confident then?"

Maros chuckled with confidence. "The evidence is overwhelming. Raphael connects to a spree of murders, and no childish fit of yours will change that."

Augustine Mathurin managed to recollect herself, several platinum-haired family members staring with worried looks.

The woman's pale, pristine face turned cold.

"You've overstepped your bounds for the last time. Killing my next of kin must be paid in full. Are you prepared for war, Maros?" Augustine seethed.

Maros gave no reaction to her provocation.

"Answer that question yourself. Are you going to abandon your duty to protect Strata from the Divine Crusaders?"

Augustine's face twitched and wrinkled.

"…You speak of involving the Spire's Hand… perhaps I should go cry to the King? Surely he would involve himself when his army mutinies in the face of war…" Maros goaded with a sly smirk.

CRACK… CRACK… CRACK…

The walls rumbled as a dozen people stood out of their chairs.

The long table began to collapse, breaking and compounding into itself.

Wood continued to fuse and crack as it hovered high into the air.

It formed a massive javelin, the end pointing towards Maros.

The Storm Warden maintained his unrequited demeanor, a near look of boredom that continued to push Augustine deeper into her wrathful temper.

"You think the Mathurins don't know about your collusion with the Academy? You brought an inside man into the academy to kill and frame my brother," Augustine's enmity built exponentially.

An elderly headmaster with a wild mustache chimed in. "The Academy would like to reiterate its dedication to neutral—"

"SILENCE." her voice reverberated through the air like an ethereal thunder.

"It was a simple disguise for internal investigations. Your framing is deceptive…" Maros continued. "And if you force me to kill you, the crown would likely go to Thealin. Is that what you want?"

The javelin began to rapidly rotate like a drill, surrounded by a thick wind.

The brown wood shifted to a radiant white as Augustine imbued it with Soul.

A clammer of movement could be heard as the meeting's bystanders hurried out of the grand cathedral-esque hall

"Well, maybe I call your bluff you smug fucker," Augustine threatened, her voice oozing with anger.

"Try it."

WHOOSH…

A white blur hardly conceivable to the eye.

Maros outstretched his hands with a white glow of his own.

An unstoppable force permeated before him, creating an odd distortion that hummed intensely.

As the two forces collided, the massive spear slowed its rotations before losing its color and falling to the ground.

The two heads did nothing but stare, an eery silence filling the cathedral halls.

Augustine gave him a smoldering gaze, filled with disgust and hatred.

Though, she was forced to concede. She could not afford to lose everything.

"This transgression will not be forgiven, Maros. Ever. The Mathurins will not rest until retribution is delivered," Augustine declared.

"My condolences to the rest of the Mathurin family. They are being led to their deaths by a foolish little girl," Maros taunted.

Augustine no longer reacted, though her mouth still twitched in annoyance.

"Perhaps I should go after your hound dogs. When I have Jordi Reichel's head on a pike, we'll see who the real fool is, won't we?"

…

Maros didn't flinch at the thought.

"Are you done with your fit? Then leave," he commanded.

"This is now war. The Divine Crusaders will not stop me from killing you Maros. Along with everyone close to you."

A twisted smirk crept through Augustine's aggravated face as she stormed off, her family members quickly following behind her.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

***

It had been another few days of nothing.

Jett and Valeria continued to laze around.

At least Jett had somewhat of a reason to do nothing; he was still recovering mentally.

It was one of the most excruciating and emotionally draining weeks of Jett's entire life.

But there was no real excuse for the auburn-haired girl.

"Hey Jett," she asked, hanging off the side of the couch.

"What."

"Shouldn't we do something?"

"Like what?"

"Kill some people, get stronger, the usual."

"Probably?" Jett replied.

"Then why aren't we?"

"Maros didn't say to go out and kill people."

"Exactly!" Valeria exclaimed. "Don't you have some respect for yourself? Look at you, look at us! We can't do anything unless someone else above us says so."

"I get what you mean," Jett replied. "But individual freedom isn't a luxury we have. Think about how pissed off he would be."

"Okay, well think about it this way. How many days of being bored and doing nothing will it take before disobeying Maros isn't as painful as missing out on getting stronger?"

"That's a surprisingly long thought, a little out of character no?" Jett joked.

"Shut up, answer the question before I kill you instead of some random criminal."

Jett looked up in thought. "I don't know the exact amount of days really, but I'd say the threshold would be a day or two longer."

"So why don't we just meet in the middle and leave now?" Valeria said earnestly.

"Hold on," Jett said in confusion. "If, and I mean if, we did leave, we couldn't just kill anybody. Maros specifically picks strong criminals, that's why we wait for missions. Otherwise, we'll be fugitives on the run from our damn faction, all for killing some innocent Dormant."

"Innocent die all the time. I've done it, you've probably done it, Maros has probably done it. But you have a point. However, you're also wrong. We could just find the criminals ourselves," Valeria explained.

"Or we could just wait a few more days for a mission. Maros is bound to come back one of these days. And it'll likely be one with a lot more action."

"Alright, that's it!" Valeria jumped up in a fury, her grip digging into Jett's collar. "…Pick one damn it. Pick right now! Vigilantes, or sitting and doing jack shit?"

"Uh…" Jett pondered through his confusion.

"Pick."

"Alright fine, shut up."

"Vigilantes it is," Valeria exclaimed with joy.

***

Donning inconspicuous robes and cloaks, the pair wandered the Lower City.

More aptly, Jett was just following Valeria as she rashly waltzed around with little care.

They were surrounded by the usual run-down commercial stalls that foreground large high-density residencies made of filth-covered stone.

"Okay, that's it," Jett tugged on the back of the carefree woman's robes. "Wait a damn second."

"Hmm?" Valeria turned around in confusion.

"We can't just walk around with no plan whatsoever. Also, how the hell are we supposed to get back to the Upper City? Where do we find criminals?"

Valeria's expression didn't waver as she pulled out an intricate silverish-gold amulet with the Storm Warden insignia.

"Is… did you steal that from him?" Jett asked with worry.

"He has extras. Now stop being a pussy and let's go."

The pair continued to walk through the crowded streets of the Lower City bumping and twisting past small hordes.

It was a whole city of people trying to survive, a million or two. Though they lived much better than Shacktown, it was still ridiculous to compare the Lower City to the Upper City.

Many littered the streets like bums. Addicts, the homeless, mentally ill, were like Shacktown in many ways.

How would these people even rise out of poverty?

Unlike Shacktown, they weren't allowed to kill.

That meant no power.

'Feel kind of bad for those Fire Brick dealers we killed.'

Sure, they had broken the law, but maybe they didn't have much of a choice.

Fire Brick was a highly addictive and very lucrative business, especially around the Lower City.

But in the perspective of power, if they weren't allowed to murder, then they had to punch down on the ladder's hierarchy somehow.

Did people who simply desired to thrive deserve to be killed?

'To thrive is to disregard survival for gain. Death is a side effect of the gamble.'

That's what Jett believed. Though recently, he felt it no longer fit his observations of this world.

He had felt lost as of late. His dogma—once a shining beacon for his growth—began to dim.

But more than that…

At a crossroads, Jett was quite literally lost.

In the swarms of the Lower City, pushing and shoving, Jett had lost sight of Valeria.