The midday sun bore down on the streets of Ravetham, its oppressive heat mixing with the bustling noise of the city. Towering skyscrapers loomed over crumbling tenements, a stark contrast that reflected the hidden war of wealth and power lurking beneath the surface. Amidst the chaos, Kaelen leaned against his sleek, black Porsche, a stark figure of calm in a city constantly on edge. Dressed in his signature black leather jacket, white t-shirt, and dark jeans, his appearance was casual but commanding, a sharp contrast to the turmoil swirling inside him. His violet eyes, glowing faintly in the sunlight, reminder of his bloodline and the power it held.

Across from him stood Detective Harper. She had an almost ethereal beauty, her brown hair tied back in a tight ponytail, the sunlight catching the silver highlights that marked her divine heritage. Despite her striking features, Harper's expression was hard, lined with suspicion. She pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a snap of her fingers, her hand resting casually on the handle of her gun. Her sharp eyes never left Kaelen, studying him like a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve.

"You really should've kept your distance from Bankhands' affairs," Harper said, exhaling a puff of smoke. Her voice was gravelly, a product of years spent dealing with the grim realities of Ravetham’s underworld. "You know how these things go. You kill the boss, and the whole damn crew comes gunning for you. You, your brother, your club—it’s all in their crosshairs now."

Kaelen's jaw clenched, his muscles taut beneath his jacket. He crossed his arms, trying to exude indifference. "I’m not worried about goblins with a vendetta, Harper."

But even as he spoke, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Across the street, a group of goblins—short, squat figures with sickly green skin and yellow eyes—skulked through the crowd. They weren’t just any goblins; they were part of Bankhands’ crew, recognizable by the jagged gang tattoos on their necks and the heavy weapons they carried. Grik, their leader, stood at the front, a scrappy goblin with a patch over one eye and the scars of a dozen battles crisscrossing his face. Unlike other street thugs, Grik and his crew were armed with black-market firearms, more than capable of causing real damage.

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed. "Speak of the devil," he muttered. "Looks like the goblins are here to collect."

Harper’s hand twitched toward her holster, her sharp instincts kicking in. "You want me to take care of this?"

Kaelen shook his head, his voice low and cold. "No. I’ve got it."

Grik swaggered forward, his mismatched armor clanking with every step. His eyes gleamed with malice as he spotted Kaelen leaning against the Porsche, the goblin’s lips curling into a sneer. "Valrath," he spat. "Thought you could just kill our boss and walk away? Now you owe us, big time."

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Snitch, one of the gang’s scrawnier members, hurried to the Porsche with jittery excitement. He pulled out a set of tools and immediately started working on the car’s lock, his bony fingers moving with practiced ease.

Kaelen straightened, his voice steady and calm. "That car’s worth more than your lives. I’d rethink what you’re about to do."

Grik barked a laugh, flashing his jagged teeth. "S’not about the car, rich boy. It’s about sending a message. You take what’s ours; we take what’s yours."

Harper’s gaze flicked between the goblins and Kaelen, her hand gripping her gun. She could sense the tension rising, feel the magic beginning to pulse in the air around Kaelen.

With a flicker of energy, Kaelen summoned his soul weapon—a sleek black handgun that appeared in his hand, shimmering with an ethereal glow. He didn’t fire. Not yet. He stepped toward Grik, his eyes blazing with violet light, his presence looming over the goblin gang.

"You’ve got two choices," Kaelen growled. "Walk away, or I’ll show you why Bankhands is dead and you’re next."

For a moment, Grik hesitated, his bravado faltering as he looked up into Kaelen’s violet eyes. But his pride wouldn’t let him back down. "You think you’re hot shit, huh?" Grik snarled, raising his gun toward Kaelen.

Before he could fire, one of Grik’s goons, Blick, panicked and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the street, the bullet whizzing past Kaelen’s head and embedding itself in a nearby wall. The crowd erupted into chaos, civilians screaming and ducking for cover as the goblins pulled their weapons.

Kaelen moved faster than Grik could react. In one swift motion, he raised his soul gun and fired, the energy blast hitting one of the goblins’ guns. It exploded in the thug’s hand, sending him crashing to the ground, screaming in pain.

Grik cursed and fired back, but Kaelen was already moving. He fired again, this time clipping Grik in the leg. The goblin yelped in pain, collapsing to one knee.

"I warned you," Kaelen said, his voice deadly calm. "Walk away."

Grik glared up at him, his face twisted in fury and pain. "You think this is over, Valrath? You think—"

Another blast rang out. Kaelen fired a warning shot into the ground, the energy blast sending sparks flying just inches from Grik’s face.

"Get out," Kaelen said coldly. "Tell the rest of your crew to stay out of my business. Next time, I won’t miss."

Grik, beaten and humiliated, scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding leg. His goons hesitated before following their leader, retreating down the alley like cornered rats. Harper exhaled slowly, lowering her gun and shaking her head.

"You know I should arrest you for using that weapon," Harper said, her tone sharp but begrudgingly respectful. "But considering it was self-defense, I’ll let it slide this time."

Kaelen didn’t respond, his eyes still locked on the alley where Grik had disappeared. "They’ll be back," he muttered, his voice dark. "They always come back."

Harper sighed, running a hand through her hair as she pocketed her cigarette. "Yeah, and next time, they might bring bigger guns. Or something worse."

Kaelen nodded, knowing she was right. In a city like Ravetham, violence was never far away, and the web of alliances, betrayals, and vendettas was always spinning, pulling everyone deeper into its tangled chaos.