Emil

He leaned back. The kiss of cold steel scraped his shoulders. Emil found himself locked behind bars, confined in some backroom away from the machineries and fiery furnaces of the facility. Night crept in from a small window just outside of his cell. Rain clouds from the previous day had completely cleared. The moon was out in full bloom tonight, casting a pale, ethereal glare into the room.

Emil bathed in the lunar glow, sulking in shame. His cheeks burned with humiliation.

What the hell am I doing?

Every ounce of trust that he painstakingly gained, every atrocity that he overlooked as part of his cover—all of it was instantly destroyed by a single emotional outburst. He should have never allowed himself to get so upset, much less lay his hands on Decim. The sight of the children in the workshop working in those deplorable conditions, however, had snapped something within him.

Those were all orphans.

Emil wanted to believe that no parent would ever subject their kin to such a deplorable life. Unless they were desperate for cash. Unless they were depraved. Unless they were selfish, pathetic, despicable bastards who only cared for themselves—

Enough.

He wasn’t naïve. He’s seen enough to understand that the limits of human depravity went far deeper than what the average person could fathom. To be an orphan in Ardair was to live a life worst than livestock. They were treated like ghosts under the words of the law and as vile pests under the gaze of the fortunate. In this rotten kingdom, the most vulnerable were the least protected. Decim was not wrong. For most orphans, being enslaved to work in this wretched factory was their best option.

Mia and Raz flashed in his mind. Emil clenched his teeth, reminding himself why he was here. It’s so that I never have to see them in those children’s place. Just the mere thought of them with weathered eyes and charred skin, shriveled up by fatigue and malnutrition, whipped into work by those goddamn overseers made his chest scream.

He let out a sullen breath and considered his next moves. In some ways, being locked up here gave him an opportunity. He was isolated, far away from where Decim, the most dangerous person in the facility, was operating.

Only two of Baer’s henchmen were assigned to monitor him. They were nonchalant, distracted, and tired from the long night. The small window just outside of his cell provided ample space to broadcast his distress signal. He had been stripped of his knife and cleaver prior to being confined, but what of it? His body, honed over the years by the damn witch’s teachings, sufficed as a deadly weapon on its own. All that mattered was the Azurite necklace still dangling over his chest.

It was time to work.

Emil limped towards the barred doors. The metallic bars were caked in a layer of rust. He squinched up his face, feigning a pitiful and haggard look.

“H-Hey, brothers,” his voice came out as a whimper. He hunched his back, squeezing his chest, holding his stomach as if still reeling in pain from Decim’s earlier blow. Baer’s henchmen roused from their stupor.

“Miles? What’s up?” They walked up towards the cell.

“Sorry for my outburst earlier,” he dipped his head, sounding as apologetic as his voice could allow, “If you’re able, I like to ask for a flavor.”

The two henchmen blinked at each other. “Y-Yeah. Maybe. What do you need?” they asked, stepping closer to the door. Suddenly, they were within range.

Emil dug his foot into the ground and lunged. A flicker of azure flared across his body. His shoulder, reinforced with Mana Arts, barreled into the cell doors. Weakened by rust, the bars instantly caved as they broke apart from the door frame with minimal resistance. Freed from his confinement, Emil immediately thrusted his arms out before the henchmen could process what just happened. Like a snake, his fingers coiled around their necks with an inhuman strength.

They didn't even have time to scream. A disturbing crunch softly echoed across the silent room. The henchmen's bodies suddenly grew limp. Life was squeezed out of them with astonishing ease as Emil brutally crushed their throats. After confirming their deaths, he released his grip. The two dead men flopped to the ground with a thud. Emil didn't spare them a second glance as he rushed towards the window.

I should hurry.

The kills were quiet enough, but the clatter of the rusted bars striking the floor was louder than he expected. There was no way to know if anyone heard the sound.

He took out his necklace and cradled the small fragment of purified Azurite dangling at the end. He closed his eyes while letting out a deep breath. The mana dwelling inside the stone suddenly spiraled with violence as he forcefully exerted his will over the ethereal matter. He compressed it—squeezing, wrapping, and then squeezing again until a portion of the mana was concentrated into a singular point. Then he let out it loose. The pressurized mana spontaneously surged out of the Azurite, producing a thin cerulean beam that shot off into the distance.

The light lasted for just a second. Emil repeated the same process again. The result was a stream of blue light flickering on and off above the night skies.

Please see this. He desperately prayed, hoping that a Steiger patrol might be nearby. It was a race against time between whether Steiger or Nostra finds him first.

“Miles?”

Fuck.

Emil winced.

It was Caiside and Baer. The two emerged from the darkness of the facility, their eyes furrowed with a look of confusion.

They haven’t seen the corpses yet.

Emil stared at them, unmoving. There was nothing he could do now. Cerulean light continued to flicker from the Azurite in his hands. Then he saw it. Caiside and Baer’s expressions suddenly warped. Shock. Disbelief. Grief. Disgust. Anger. Rage. The full spectrum of emotions cascaded across their faces in a split second.

“Miles! What the hell is the meaning of this?!” Baer roared. His eyes grew murderous. Tears streamed down his face. Like a savage beast, he stomped towards him. “Answer me!”

Emil fought the urge to look away. Baer’s fury clawed at his heart. I really hate this part of the job. As much as he loathed to admit it, he felt a semblance of comradery for these two. How many times have I seen this now? The shock. The anger. The despairing gaze of betrayal etched on his former companions’ faces once they discovered his treachery. It never got easier to deal with.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Meaning?” Emil asked, his voice nearly a whisper. He forced himself to laugh. It truly was an absurd situation. Why did he, someone who was supposedly working against the bad guys, feel like a villain? Nevertheless, he did what he always did. With a vicious sneer, he donned the mask of a cruel, indifferent Cleaner, covering the guilt lingering in his gaze with a fresh layer of hatred.

He thought about the women of the slums who were forced to sell their body to make a living. He imagined the laborers of the industrial district who were exploited for their exhaustion into a lifetime of addiction. He remembered the orphans who were left with no choice but to enslave away in this facility just for a chance to survive another day.

Slowly, he released all the vitriol and disgust that he had been suppressing.

“There isn’t a meaning, Baer. It’s exactly as you see it,” Emil hissed, his voice dripping with villainy, “I killed them. Because they were in my way.”

***

DECIM

The cache of Azurite glowed brightly beneath the vestiges of the pale moonlight. The stones were stored in one of the small, inconspicuous rooms by the rear of the facility that masqueraded as an unused compartment. Decim stared at the vibrant stone, admiring its ethereal glow as he waited for his clients to arrive.

A side of him was reluctant to part with the Azurite. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Never again would he see another pile of this size. With this inventory, Nostra could rise to new heights by recruiting more Exalted into their ranks. They had the cash to compete against the salaries paid by the noble houses. All that they lacked was a supply of Azurite, a predicament that was solved completely by this cache.

Am I being too greedy? Or are the other executives lacking in ambition? Decim frowned. Although this was a job brought to them by their clients, he thought the other executives had been too willing to part with this opportunity. They should have negotiated further to land their hands a bigger portion of the spoils.

It’s possible that they’re being overly deferential. Their client was apparently a bigshot within the underworld of Ardair. Besides their abundance of wealth, rumor has it that all of their members were Exalted. Yet despite their powers, they were annoyingly discrete and enigmatic, making their presence only known to a select few.

Collectively, they were known as Vigil.

There was movement outside of his room. “Sir, the guests are here,” one of his men said through the door.

“Let them in.”

The door soon creaked open. Two figures stepped in. Their bodies were shrouded in a gray cloak and their faces concealed by black cloth. There was a tall man and a short woman. Even with all the layers, the man’s snow-white visage leaking through the hood was unmistakable.

“Kleine, welcome,” Decim said, rising to his feet. It was the same person he met in Aois Nua’s territory just a few days ago.

Kleine removed his cloak, letting his long unblemished hair dangle to his shoulders. His scarlet eyes shot towards the Azurite cache, immediately scrutinizing the stones as if trying to find some semblance of fault. After a brief second, he nodded.

“You did well, Decim. I’m impressed,” Kleine said. His tone was loose, but each word seemed to echo with authority. “I’ll admit that I was skeptical of your competence at first, especially once Steiger’s hounds began roaming the slums. But now I can see that Nostra is a notch above the rest.”

“Your words flatter me,” Decim said as he lowered his head to feign respect, fighting to overlook the condescension dripping from Kleine’s voice. Arrogant bastard.

His eyes naturally drifted to the short woman by Kleine’s side. He blinked, surprised at the dark skin hiding beneath the cloak. Decim had his suspicions—confirmed once he noticed her barefoot encased in sandals. This choice of footwear was only wore by the indigenous groups in the sandy province to the south.

A native Gharian.

“Your eyes are nasty, Ardairan,” the lady hissed with a slight accent.

Ardairan. Decim smirked. Only Gharians who still dreamt of their independence used that word.

“This is Karni.” Kleine made the introductions. “She’s an associate. Treat her as my equal.” A flicker of discontentment passed by his eyes for the briefest of seconds.

“Right, of course,” Decim replied. Tensions quivered at his fingertips. His instincts rattled at the flash of bloodlust from Kleine—warning him that the man before him was a threat. With a subtle breath, Decim dampened his fighting spirit. If the rumors are to be believed, then she is also an Exalted. The number disadvantage aside, his Gift was ill-suited in a direct fight. Without a pool of blood readily available, his combat potential was significantly diminished.

I won’t be able to brute force my way into this. He decided to take a different approach.

“If I may offer a suggestion,” Decim said, pushing past the tension to squeeze out his thoughts, “What do you think about increasing Nostra’s split of the Azurite?”

Kleine frowned. His unamused expression looked terrifying amidst his pale pristine skin and blood-red eyes. His hostility felt tangible this time.

“I believe we had an agreement,” he stated in a strained voice.

“I would like to offer an amendment. I had to cull a bunch of my men to satisfy your requirements for secrecy. I believe this is the least you can do to compensate me for making this arrangement,” Decim said, sounding calmer than he felt. He knew he was pushing his luck. Nonetheless, this was an opportunity he couldn’t let pass.

Kleine stared at him—silent. His associate, Karni, was also quiet. Beads of sweat suddenly crawled down his neck. Goosebumps rose along his skin. Decim forced himself to smile.

“…You’re quite audacious.” Kleine sneered. He turned towards his companion. “Karni, what do you think?” Suddenly, a strange look crossed his face. Karni’s eyes were in a daze. She was staring blankly into the distance, her pupils stretched thin, her iris white, devoid of light—as if her soul was no longer dwelling within her fleshly vessel. Then suddenly, life returned to her eyes.

“Steiger’s moving. Several agents. They seemed to be converging on this location,” she announced.

“Impossible!” Decim bellowed. Karni’s declaration thundered in his head. The timing didn’t make sense. None of his men knew he possessed the Azurite, much less its current location until a few hours ago. There was no way for information to have been leaked.

“My companion does not lie,” Kleine growled.

Decim felt the man’s intense gaze bore into his eyes. His guts churned with humiliation.

“Either you were followed, or you let a rat into your ranks.”

***

Hells! Who the fuck is it?!

Decim rushed through the Nostra facility. His urgent footsteps rampaged across the concrete floor. Two thoughts raged in his mind.

First, he had to round everyone up. They had to evacuate into the sewers immediately. If the Gharian woman was right, then this facility had to be abandoned. Steiger would not rest until they razed this place to ruins and skewered their bodies to display in the slums—punishment for committing the most heinous crime in the kingdom and encroaching on their authority. It would serve as a brutal warning to the rest of the syndicates.

Second, he had to find out who the traitor was. Everything went to shit in an instant because of their meddling. Decim lost his facility, gave up an entire cache of Azurite, and humiliated himself in front of one of the esteemed clients in the underworld—all because of a single rat.

His mouth drooled at the idea of tearing the bastard apart limb by limb. He would torture them to the brink of death before dousing their body in naphtha. Only then he would grant them the sweet release of death by setting them ablaze. He would listen to their tormented squeals as they floundered into hell. It would be a fitting end for the person who dared to cross him.

He was so engrossed in the thought of revenge that he was late to notice that something was off. Where are my men? The facility was eerily quiet. Aside from the ominous hum of the furnaces and the rhythmic clanks of hammer from the orphan workers, Decim couldn’t hear a single sign of his men. Baer’s group was a rambunctious bunch—never quiet, always stirring like children who can’t sit still. So where the hell were they?

Miles. He should have been confined in the backrooms still. Decim remembered assigning a few people to watch over him.

Once Decim arrived at the backrooms where Miles should have been, his blood went cold.

The first thing he saw were the shattered iron bars of the cell door. Then the floor, glistening under the moon’s glare, was drenched in a pile of gore. His men—rather, what was left of them, were sprawled amongst the river of crimson. Their faces were smeared in shock and torment, a ghastly glimpse into their final moments.

Baer was amongst them. And standing in the midst of the carnage, was Miles.

The young cradled Caiside’s limp body in his arms as he set him down slowly—almost with a delicate tenderness. Then he rose, staring straight at Decim. His deep cerulean eyes glimmered beneath the pale moonlight.

Decim noticed his arms were drenched in blood. The young man's eyes were sharp, lacking in fear, burning with a rebellious resolve.

“I see, so it was you,” Decim said as the pieces connected. He let out a painful laugh.

Mana bloomed at his fingertips.