Emil

Emil returned to the watering hole the following day.

“There’s someone I like you to meet,” Baer said while leading the way down to the basement, “He’s one of our key distributors at Nostra. I’ll have you work as his personal bodyguard.”

Emil gave a curt nod. Nice. All according to plan. His brutality yesterday was a deliberate strategy to show off his martial prowess, so he could have a higher chance of being assigned this role. The syndicates were surprisingly pragmatic when it came to leveraging the skills and talents of their members.

The bodyguard position was desirable because it gave him the best chance of being placed close to important figures. Executives, strategist, managers—these were the individuals within the syndicates with the power to make decisions, and therefore, were most likely to have knowledge of a stolen Azurite cache.

Emil winced at the dull pain buzzing from his hands. The act of getting here nearly costed him a finger, but his boldness paid off.

They re-entered the basement office. A man was there—his hands, adorned with opulent rings, locked behind his hunched back as he scrutinized the array of liquor bottles Baer had on display. His oily hair was long and disheveled, draped down messily to his shoulders. His skin, pallid and wrinkled, was smeared with dark spots. At the sound of their footsteps, he turned around. The first thing Emil noticed was his crooked nose and clefted lip. His eyes were twisted into a nasty scowl.

“Baer, you’re late,” the man hissed. It was an unpleasant sounding voice—slightly shrill, yet somehow still retaining the timbre of a man. It didn’t sound right.

“You didn’t give a time,” Baer replied, scratching his head.

“The whore houses open in thirty. The miners and craftsman are done in forty. These are prime hours for business. Or are you feeling so charitable that you’re willing to dock your pay for me?” the man asked, visibly irate. Baer said nothing except react with a wry grin. Emil noted his discomfort.

The man suddenly turned towards him. Emil nearly flinched—the hair on his arms rose at the intensity of his gaze.

“So, who’s this?”

“Your new bodyguard.”

The man frowned. “I asked for the best you’ve got, didn’t I? I didn’t ask for some scrawny kid—” He suddenly stopped. Without warning, he reached out to grab Emil’s arm. Emil almost retaliated out of instinct. Despite his infirm appearance, the man’s movements were astonishingly fast and strong. His hands instantly slithered the length of Emil’s arm like a snake.

“…Never mind, he has some promise. Looks certainly can be deceiving,” he said, breaking into a creepy smile, “You must be the person Caiside mentioned. Miles, was it?”

“Yes, sir,” Emil replied. Jitters rushed down his spine.

What’s this uncomfortable feeling?

The man before him was hardly imposing, but there was something threatening about him. It wasn’t Baer’s deference to his authority. It wasn’t his unpredictable movements that had no respect for personal boundaries. Nor was it his unusually sharp gaze that seemed to cut straight through you. Emil was an Exalted—there weren’t many things that could invoke such a visceral discomfort out of him.

“Polite as well. What a catch, Baer,” the man mused, “You can just call me Decim. All I do is sell drugs, it’s hardly a job worthy of respect.” Decim turned to glare at Baer, “And speaking of job, thanks to Baer’s tardiness, I’m late.”

Decim made no efforts to hide his displeasure as he walked towards the stairway leading to the ground level. He beckoned for Emil to follow.

“Come Miles, let’s have a chat while we work.”

***

Evening arrived in Lower Dannan when they left the watering hole. The skies were slathered in a somber coat of twilight. The low hum of the Dannan clocktower blared in the background. Emil trailed behind Decim as he trekked deeper into the slums.

A stale odor permeated the area. Unlike the smoke and ferric vapors of the industrial district, the slums reeked of piss and decay. Trash and mold littered the ground like grass. Fruit flies and other unidentifiable bugs buzzed in the air, delighted by the abundance of sustenance.

Emil tried not to react to the stench. The difference between Upper Dannan and this was difficult to reconcile in his head. It was disturbing how both scenes were somehow part of the capital city of Nordica. He bit on his gums in self-admonishment, reminding himself that it was only until four years ago that he called these slums his home.

“I got some tidbits of you from Caiside. Strong. Fast. A vicious fighter. You’re an apprentice blacksmith in need of cash,” Decim said as he stepped over a pile of rubble. They were venturing down one of the many meandering passageways of the slums. “I have to say, you're quite nonchalant about the slums as someone who came from the industrial district.” His tone was casual, but Emil didn’t miss the faint hints of scrutiny in his voice.

I’m being tested again.

“I lived in the slums for a few years before escaping,” he replied.

Decim tilted his head, his eyes dilated with interest, “Oh! And how did that happen?”

“I stumbled into a business owner by chance. They needed an extra pair of hands for their work. Said I looked intelligent enough with my blue eyes.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A set of half-truths. “Business owner” referred to the witch. “An extra pair of hands” wasn’t technically wrong either since Steiger was always in need of personnel. And the witch did comment on his eyes a few times during the early days of their wretched relationship.

This should be fine.

Decim didn’t say anything—only offering a faint whistle to acknowledge his response. Emil felt sweat claw down his neck. His new boss’s expression was unreadable.

The sun slowly descended as the meandering path soon opened up to a wider, more bustling part of the slums. Dilapidated buildings lined the side of the road. The street was noticeably cleaner—lacking the stench and deplorable rot of the previous alleyways. It was still clandestine, but for the slums, Emil thought it was fairly livable.

“Welcome to Lover’s Lane,” Decim said, gesturing dramatically like an actor on stage. Emil narrowed his eyes at the name, until he noticed a laborer being escorted into a building by a pair of girls.

Oh. We’re in that part of town.

He realized most of the buildings on the street had a woman standing by the entrance. They were all adorned in a red dress. Their shoulders were laid bare. Their legs peeked out of the hems of their skirts. Their faces were pale, caked in powder, and their lips accented with a deep scarlet hue. For every woman, Emil caught at least two men hidden in the shadows of the building or at the edges of the alleyways. Guards.

“This entire area is owned by Nostra. Operated by yours truly,” Decim presented with an exaggerated bow, “We keep the streets presentable, provide protection, and of course—” he reached inside the pockets of his coat and produce a pouch. He gave it a light shake. The sound of tiny grains rattled inside.

“—offer the good stuff. You’re a laborer. Surely you know what this is?”

Opium. It was the same product that Grenze was producing. It seemed like demand for the white powder was insatiable. Emil nodded.

A wicked sneer crossed Decim’s face. He beckoned towards the brothels on the streets.

“Our clients to come here after a long, backbreaking day of work. The women provide them with a good time, and just as they’re basking in the afterglow, they’re offered the magical powder,” Decim explained with a despicable smirk, “A single whiff, and they’re taken a world without the pain, the disgusting soot, the blazing heat of the blast furnaces. Ecstasy. It’s heaven in the mortal realm. So of course, they always, always come back for more.”

Emil felt his nails dug into his hands. He was suddenly cognizant of the heat rising in his chest. Decim’s words brought back a disturbing experience that he’d rather forget. The revulsion clung to the pits of his stomach.

Relax. He had to remind himself to see the bigger picture. The Azurite cache. That’s what he was here for. This wasn’t the time for his misplaced sense of justice.

“By the way,” Decim asked, leaning close—his pale, slimy face glistening with curiosity,” To celebrate our partnership, want a woman and a whiff of this amazing thing? My treat.”

Emil shot him a side-eye, fighting the urge to deck him in the face, “…I’ll pass.”

“Hmmm? Really?” Decim looked down. “Surely, you’ve got a functional cock, yeah? And things that you would rather forget?”

The latter made Emil stir. The temptation gnawed at his subconscious. The terror of that incident flashed in his mind. It would be pleasant to forget sometimes, wouldn’t it?

No.

He’s seen what happened to people who underestimated the substance. With just a single whiff, they’ll become slaves to the powder.

“I’ll abstain,” Emil said, more firmly this time, feeling the heat in his throat, “I can’t exactly be your bodyguard while high off my mind.”

Decim grinned. “A principled man, aren’t you? Well, suit yourself.” He approached the nearest brothel. The lady standing at the front flinched upon seeing him. She immediately lowered her head in reverence.

At the base of the lady’s neck, beneath the veil of the whitening makeup, Emil could see glaring glimpses of rashes and skin lesions. He listened as Decim made some distasteful jokes and offered a few flattering comments. Then at the end of their brief exchange, he handed her a pouch of the drug and received a purse of coins in return.

“And that’s how we conduct business,” Decim said. He faced Emil with a villainous smile, “Miles, do tell me. Does the sight of this disgust you?”

“…It does,” Emil admitted, clenching his teeth, “But I’m not naïve. I know what I walked into. I’m not going to let it affect my job.”

“Great,” Decim giggled, “I do enjoy working with a professional.”

***

What the hell am I doing?

Three days had passed. Each evening Emil would accompany Decim in his daily patrol of the slums, collecting payments from Nostra owned businesses and dealing with whatever nuisances that arose. During that time, Emil had gotten no closer to figuring out the whereabouts of the stolen Azurite cache.

Hopefully Van’s having better luck in Aois Nua.

Aside from his frustrations over the lack of progress, he hated how he was already growing numb towards the deplorable state of the slums. His disgust from the first day had faded—no longer did he feel the same rage watching the slum residents get exploited by the syndicates. The speed of how fast he accepted this as normal was alarming. It worked well to keep his cover intact, but Emil had to constantly remind himself that this was all wrong.

Today, he noticed that they were deviating from Decim’s usual route. Nostra occupied the northeastern quadrant of slums. They had been walking west without rest since they left the watering hole.

This is venturing towards Aois Nua’s territory.

Decim led them out of an alleyway and onto another main street within the slums. This time Emil immediately felt a shift in the air.

A malicious tension suffused the vicinity. His skin began to crawl as if the malignant vibes were a tangible mass, threatening to swallow him whole. Between the three syndicates, Aois Nua was known for their savagery. While Nostra and Grenze were content as long as they were making money, Aois Nua actively sought out conflict and violence.

The road before them seemed empty, devoid of life, but Emil could already feel several eyes scrutinizing their arrival, hiding amongst the dilapidated ruins.

“…This isn’t Nostra territory anymore. What are we doing here?” he asked.

Decim flashed him a knowing smile, “You’ve noticed? That’s good. Be ready. Maybe you’ll finally prove yourself useful today.” His words stung, although he wasn’t wrong—there simply wasn’t much for Emil to do during the past few days when Decim was patrolling Nostra’s own territories.

Decim added, “I’m meeting a client here. Don’t ask why they decide to choose Aois Nua territory as the meeting place. All you need to know is that this is an important matter, so I expect you to make sure our conversation isn’t interrupted.”

He expects trouble? Emil read between the lines. His discomfort must have been obvious as Decim suddenly broke into laughter. His shrill cackles rang across the eerie streets. Emil cringed at the grating sound. Does he not realize we’re being observed?!

“Miles, don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet just because you might have to do your job.”

“No. Just resolving myself,” Emil replied firmly.

“Good. Let’s hurry up then. I’m tired of all these eyes staring at me like I’m an animal.”

They entered a small alleyway off the corner of the main road. The pathway was formed by a cascade of dilapidated stone buildings roughly two-stories tall. The ground was littered with splintered planks and metal fragments. As they walked, Emil noticed an abnormal number of rats scurrying about. This place looked like it was part of a residential area, but the dearth of people implied otherwise.

Darkness descended when Decim suddenly stopped before the hollowed doorway of a ruined building. “I’ll be in here,” he said.

Emil tried to peek into the door, but the absence of light made it impossible to discern what’s inside.

“Don’t worry, just wait out here. I should be out in about fifteen minutes,” Decim said before scrolling into the building.

Emil watched as Decim’s body was swallowed by the darkness. Suddenly, he was alone, in the middle of a violent syndicate’s territory.

The eyes hiding in the vicinity all fixated on him.