Before the teller's facial muscles could even contort into horror, a deep voice echoed within the hall.

"Everyone on the ground!" D shouted as his eyes scanned the holographic glyph floating above his wrist—vermillion lines that curved and danced as a ball of flame emerged from his palm, "This is a robbery!" He continued, shooting the fireball upwards as a warning shot—the explosion echoing with a resounding boom.

Before the two guards at the front could react to the threat, the brothers immediately activated their own spells.

One was shocked with a burst of electricity, practically short-circuiting their entire being as they fell limp to the floor writhing.

The other was grabbed as MX forcefully placed their hands on the guard's face and filled their lungs with water magic in the form of dense steam, suffocating them in what could only be described as excruciating.

"What the..?" A turned to one of the brothers, mortified eyes beneath their pointy hat, "MX, stick to non-lethal!" He scolded the outlaw.

"Oh, will you shut it? It's just a bit of fluid in their lungs. They'll live." The mage answered, locking the door of the building as they did.

"Right, Mister MX and Mister MZ, kindly relieve our guests of their belongings, will you?" D began pacing around the area with spelltrigger at the ready, speaking almost politely as he threatened the bankers with thievery, "And Mister A, please take your new friend over there to the vault."

"On it." The young spellgun emotionlessly answered back as shouting began to erupt from within the hall as the hit truly began, "You heard him, open this thing and get a move on 'fore I paint the vault door with your gray matter." A pointed his cannon further at the panicking Erwinne, whose face was drenched with sweat and fear.

"Y-yes, sir!" The horrified teller answered back, pleasantries not disappearing from their cowering voice as they opened the door to behind the desk.

A began to violently coax the teller to the entrance of the trove, weapon pointed squarely at Erwinne's vitals with a few shoves to speed up his walk. The two arrived at the vault door—massive, round, and made of magic-resistant materials immovable to even the mightiest spellcasters.

A almost fell awe-struck at the sight before shaking the wonder and pressing his gun into the teller's back.

"Well? Come on! Open it!"

"R-right, just give me a sec-" Erwinne tried to mutter, but he was promptly cut short.

"I ain't got time, friend. So either you open it now, or I sear your skull so badly the crematory will think I was doing them a favor." The spellslinger threatened as the barrel of his handcannon burned a fiery red—mana coursing from his veins and into the weapon.

"Okay! Okay!" The teller shouted back as their hands worked as fast as humanly possible, opening the vault door by turning and twisting the floating blue locks—the edges of the projections lined with unintelligible writings and symbols.

With each shaking movement of the terrified dote's fingers, the locks slowly unfurled—the sounds of the ethereal mana resonated with the mechanical components of the door until, after the longest few seconds of the bank worker's life, the heavy frame flared outward and the glinting treasures within coated the eyes of our young spellslinger—the closest thing to the innumerable stars of the pink cosmos outlaws of the underworld would see.

Stacks upon rows upon heaps formed the massive hoard of coins atop the shelves crafted from steel, silver, palladium, and the like, each shimmering dully in the lamplight. Some had shapes of sharp near blade-like edges, while others had distinct contours and geometric designs, yet one small detail made these pieces of metal scrap truly valuable.

A approached one of the stacks, picking up the topmost coin to inspect it. Immediately, even through the mage's gloved fingers, one could feel a subtle trace of energy—an enchantment.

Magic is incredibly versatile, and among its many uses was the ability to conjure the very metals that forged the currency of the economic pyramid that was Gaksi. Using coins as currency presented an obvious flaw—counterfeiting.

As such, to control the monetary flow of the modern world, each coin was to be produced and then enchanted by a select few companies and smiths with a particular mana signature, distinguishing the coinage from counterfeits when run through a detection spell. Of course, one need not an imaginative mind how this system could also be exploited by those in power as resources could and were further gated from many in the city.

The outlaw picked up the topmost coin and twirled its amber edges around his fingers, admiring the piece before promptly pocketing it into his coat.

"Well, this has been a most pleasurable partnership, Erwinne." A sneered, lowering his weapon and replacing it with a proud grin as he faced the plump man, "Now get the hell out of her-" But before he could finish, a cry of fear came from the main hall.

"We've got a problem here, folks!" The distinct voice of D urged, the earlier vibrato and zeal replaced with dread.

The two men exited the vault, turning the corner to investigate the commotion, "What are you blabberin' abou-" And the moment they set foot outside the trove, it was already too late as the sound of shattered glass portended the disaster.

A's attention whipped immediately to the broken window as he could barely make out a gaggle of silhouettes outside—but it was when he noticed the sounds of gurgling and frigid popping that led the outlaw to turn to his side and realize what was happening.

The head of the teller was now turned into a lump of ice as a mist of cold surrounded the mass - the tears, spit, and blood of the man freezing solid as the clump expanded and hardened until he fell limp, causing the unsightly spectacle to shatter in a mess of crimson glass with the aroma of rust quickly manifesting afterward.

"Everyone! Heads down, now!" A hollered to his associates before diving behind the reception desk and avoiding the proceeding maelstrom by the skin of his teeth.

A flurry of spells began to fly over his head as orbs of flame, razor-like wheels of water, shards of ice, and bolts of lightning whirred past—painting the walls with unbridled chaos as the sounds of sizzling elements sang with the screams of the bankers.

"What in God's name is happening?" The young spellcaster shouted through the echoes of anarchy, calling out to confirm his cohort's status.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"We should've had more time!" And to a small amount of relief, D answered with frustration tinging his voice, "How in the hell did they get here so fast?"

"I don't know! Maybe a lick o' bad luck or maybe..?" A's voice trailed off into a whisper as his mind attempted to process the situation, a terrible idea joining his thoughts as he did.

But before he could fully process his conjectures, the sputters and snaps of spellcasting ceased, and all that remained was an uneasy silence.

"Now that we've got your attention, this is the Gaksi Central Guard!" One figure amongst the shadowed crowd announced, booming their voice with the use of an auditory spell, "Weapons on the ground and hands where we can see them. And don't even think of doing anything 'cause if we so much as see your mana signatures budge!" The officer continued as the air refused to calm itself.

The Gaksi Central Guard was but a branch—no, a weed from the city's royal guard tasked with maintaining what little peace existed in the lower levels of the urban jungle. Armed to the teeth with heavy spellshots but otherwise ill-trained for combat, the only thing that separated an average spellslinger from them were their badges of wyvern scales and armored uniforms of gold and blue.

This particular regiment was a sizeable squad with easily a dozen or more men surrounded by floating golems powered and controlled by the sorcerers as battle-ready drones whose gems glowed in the darkness.

"You lot killed a goddamn civvy! Why don't you high and mighty fucks try taking your own advice first?!" A shot back, not missing the chance to mock their aggressors, as he steadied his breaths.

"You mean the one who essentially served you this fine city's riches on a silver platter?" The policing ringleader sarcastically replied, contempt unambiguous in their retort, "Practically an accomplice at worst and some collateral damage caused by miscreant outlaws at best." And yet his following statement carried nary an inkling of remorse or conduct.

"Bastards..." A mumbled to himself, peaking over the counter to survey his surroundings, catching D behind a flipped-over table reinforced with a magical barrier, "Well, now what?!" The spellslinger shouted to his partner, heart racing.

"Let me think, damn it- Let me think..." The grizzled mage answered back, his earlier confident voice cracking as he held his firearm tightly but kept his mana in check as he calmed his breathing—sweat dripping from his face with each agonizing second that passed.

However, in that moment of heavy tension, a peculiar sound dissolved into the suffocating air—a roar of gleeful laughter, and judging from the sound, it was coming from one of the brothers.

"What the hell are you cackling on for?" D questioned, an incongruent mix of apprehension and irritation in his voice as he wondered if his fellow outlaw had gone hysteric.

The chuckling ceased as one could see MX stand up from behind a couch used for cover, "Apologies, Mister D, but we found a better way of making ends meet." The tattered caped rogue declared, holstering his weapon as he paced toward the middle of the hall.

The other half of the cocky outlaw showed himself as well, leaving the safety of the pillar he hid behind, "The bounty on your heads was quite the pretty penny, lots more than your proposed cut from this here stick up." MZ unveiled their guiles with a prideful voice, joining his brother at the center stage between the opposing spellcasters.

No honor among thieves. Many absolutes existed in the bedrock of the city, but few felt more tangible in that very moment as the two wolves shed their woolen clothing.

"Good work, boys," A voice echoed from outside, confirming the two turncoats' proclamations and causing the remaining outlaws' blood to boil, "...But things have changed."

"What?" One of the familial pair stammered as the words reached his ears.

"The Guard isn't much a fan of our dealings with the underworld being exposed to the public." The officer's reply caused the brothers' nerves to waver, and they took a step back as their legs grew weak.

"We- We had a deal!" MX countered, his fingers shakily inching to his firearm's handle with each bursting pulse of his heart.

"Well, y'see, unlike those two, the Guard doesn't really have any need to take common riffraff like you in," The sentry in command slurred as the mortified blood-tied-black-hats paced another step back—the distance from their inevitable demises remaining constant no matter their retreat.

"And if I'm allowed to be frank, you're more useful to us dead than alive." The lawman announced with venom dripping from his tone, unbefitting a knight, "So here's your cut." And with that final remark, a blue glow appeared from where the voice was emanating.

"You can't do thi-" But before the brother could utter a rebuttal, a spinning wheel of water, sharp as a scalpel, flew through the air and whistled as it collided and flawlessly cleaved the arm of the outlaw without so much as causing an uneven tear.

And as much as the brigand and his brother wanted to react in agony and terror, even that luxury would not be granted to them as, in the proceeding moment, the hail of spells resumed as a flurry of magic rained from outside of the once pristine bank.

A peaked over the counter once again, catching sight of what he could barely assume as the brothers' corpses as they were bombarded with spells that pulverized them into a paste, froze them solid, melted them into a putrid goo and then boiled them with electric currents over and over in a loop of gore that painted the hall with the color and scent of cooked meat.

However, in his daze, the brigand stared down the storm for too long as stray shrapnels of rock shards sliced into his face, causing him to weep sanguine tears onto the floorboards before digging into his position further to escape the battery.

"Hold your fire, men!" Within the source of the hail came an order, the casters briefly pausing, "Swap to non-lethal ice and electric spells and immobilize the remaining criminals. We need those two alive." But the respite did not remain for long as spells of frost and thunder now flew overhead—no rest spared to the wicked of Gaksi.

"D! You just had to rope the goddamn Miko Brothers into this, didn'tcha?!" A scoffed through the chaos as he held one of his hands to his cheek as the other flipped through his holographic list of spells, "Look at the mess we're in now!" Eventually, he arrived at a bright green glyph made up of interwoven circles and branching stems, that, once touched, manifested a verdant aura on his hand that healed the sorcerer's wounds by forcefully repairing sinew and skin alike.

"Oh, don't start now, A! What the hell did you want us to do? Rob a bank with just two people?" The older mage rebutted as he sat with his back against the improvised barricade and blindly slung fireballs at their attackers.

"Well, it seems to me we were doing just that anyway!" A countered before casting a light-bending spell to the wall in front of him to gain sight of the guard—the hard marble brick turning glasslike.

Too many to effectively fight back...Their fire is concentrated around the middle...Frostweave, Shocktrap, and other crippling spells...Alright, Central Guard, let's play your little game.

A thought to himself as he scrutinized his surroundings from his reflective vantage point, taking stock of his inventory to find a suitable defense.

The lawbreaker rummaged through his coat and belt, maintaining composure as the air above him was freezingly electric until he drew what seemed to be a glass lamp from his pockets—engraved with solar symbols and golden metals yet entirely void of any contents.

He clenched the empty trinket tightly as his eyes shut in deep thought, removing all noise and disturbance from his mind before taking in a breath and preparing to execute his daring escape.

"Listen!" A shouted, straining his throat as his voice only barely sounded through the magical salvo, "On the count of three, cast a Groundswell in the middle- as large as you can manage and close your eyes, got it?!" He detailed, his wizened partner's pupils widening at the odd directive.

"Alright, but whatever this is that you're planning better work," D responded as intricate rings of copper brown formed a glyph above his wrist—the earth-shaking spell Groundswell.

"One!" The brazen spellslinger began, the veins lining his arms glowing a mystifying blue as mana traveled from his body and into the glass vessel—a living ball of whitehot flame appearing within.

"Two!" He continued, signaling his counterpart to call upon the power of the earth as shards of rock formed and orbited around his hand—the scent of fresh spring soil coating the air around the old spellgun.

As the weight of the scene rose higher and higher, a split second was added to the tempo of the count as the rain of fire continued to batter them until the time to counter had arrived.

"...Three." A declared with conviction aflare in his eyes before throwing the now radiant trinket from his hands and over the counter and into the walls of the hailstorm.

Let's hope this works…