Justi, in the end, had proved surprisingly helpful.

Dharun’s descent into madness unfolded like a twisted tale spun at The Golden Lotus, where he poured out his woes to anyone with ears. His saga chronicled the demise of his “partner” Tess, supposedly at the Brotherhood’s hands, and how he was now being hunted for daring to object. None of it was true, of course; Tess had been married to a rug merchant, and the Brotherhood didn’t facilitate divorces. There were other hitmen in the Empire, less scrupulous, and her husband had hired one of those. Amidst Dharun’s complaints, moreover, Ceres noted a conspicuous absence of grief. The man seemed more concerned with monetizing his misfortune than mourning a woman he’d refused to so much as acknowledge until after she’d died.

He was, in Justi’s words, peddling his secrets to the highest bidder. With debts to settle and a high-maintenance new girlfriend, Dharun’s motivations were crystal clear. Unfortunately for Ceres, and indeed for everyone else, Dharun’s desire to capitalize on his former comrades’ secrets matched the depth of the knowledge he exploited. Nothing was sacred, not anymore—not their beliefs, their training, not even their hidden identities. Equally unfortunately, the demand for this illicit merchandise was undeniable. The Brotherhood had enemies of its own, all eager to negotiate.

Whether Dharun’s motives were driven by revenge or a get-rich-quick scheme, however, he wasn’t entirely unhinged. Despite his unraveling state, he’d driven a hard bargain in these clandestine rendezvous. That he kept coming back to the same place night after night, leaving so many witnesses alive to chatter about it, meant he wasn’t hiding like he had been weeks ago. Ceres had found him so easily, all of a sudden, because he’d wanted to be found.

And Ceres would oblige him, hopefully, later on tonight.

But, first, he had to deliver this chicken.

He found himself embroiled in actions that baffled him, a sensation he found unsettling. Emotions were a foreign concept, buried long ago with his parents. Yet, when Udit had announced her departure, an odd twinge seized him—regret? Ignoring her protests, this time he’d insisted on walking her home. She’d halted him abruptly before reaching her street; she didn’t want to alarm her parents, or so she’d claimed, nor give the neighbors more fodder for their stupid stories.

Undeterred, he’d shadowed her from a distance.

He was just curious, he decided, nothing more.

She’d arrived home minutes later, while he watched from the shadows and questioned his life choices. Home appeared to have evolved from a humble shipping container, though the passage of time had sculpted it into a convoluted rabbit warren. Its corrugated metal façade sported streaks of rust, akin to morose adornments, while punched-out squares served as ersatz windows. A rug of dubious origins posed as the front door, offering a token gesture of protection. Not that the rest of the house was much more secure; the walls themselves had gaps, wide enough to fit his hand.

Instead of the anticipated brothers, a pair of identical twin girls emerged and enveloped her in hugs. Their mother trailed behind, chatting animatedly as she ushered her eldest daughter indoors. Ceres lingered for what felt like an eternity, rooted to the spot, a silent witness lost in contemplation.

What’d pained him the most wasn’t the barrage of questions about Justi, but the poignant contrast of how relaxed she’d seemed with her family—and how happy. She’d never smiled so genuinely in his presence, a realization that pierced him deeper than he cared to admit. It struck him just how much he scared her, the fortress of defenses she erected whenever they intertwined their paths. Which was how, he supposed, he’d ended up hunting for a butcher instead of going back to the hotel and snatching what rest he could. On Brontes, bringing her parents this stupid bird would be a courtship ritual but he’d as soon romance a hyena. He wouldn’t even be on this hateful rock for more than another week, he had a life in Chau Cera that he wanted to get back to and what the hell was he doing? He felt indebted to her, he told himself for the billionth time, but he also craved the sight of that smile—and to be the architect of its radiance.

The chicken was, thankfully, already dead; he’d made sure the butcher handled the dirty work. Contrary to that odious little man’s assumptions, his issue wasn’t one of squeamishness but culinary knowledge: taking a life was one thing, but preparing a meal was something else entirely. The chickens that graced his restaurant plates had already undergone the plucking and gutting process, mysteries of which he was wholly unaware. Left to its own devices, the unfortunate fowl would’ve likely staged a daring escape mid-preparation—and chasing dinner directly into Udit’s kitchen would hardly impress her parents, although her mother at least did seem tolerant.

He turned back onto Udit’s street, as night embraced the world with comforting arms. His mother’s unwavering patience lingered in his thoughts, juxtaposed with his father’s fiery condemnation of societal inequities. Caracalla would’ve had choice words for leaders who let so many live in poverty, but the Empire had changed since his death. Ceres recognized it almost as little as he recognized himself. Passing a motionless beggar, he wondered how Udit could believe in God.

Udit’s home came into view, crowded between two shacks just like it. He was contemplating how he should explain his presence, and which of the possible options would upset her the least, when a piercing scream shattered the air—her scream, coming from somewhere inside.

He froze, his senses instantly sharpening as if plunged into ice-cold water. The dimly lit street became a canvas of potential threats, each shadow a lurking danger waiting to pounce. With a silent step, he blended seamlessly into the darkness, a phantom navigating the night. Every movement was deliberate, a dance of stealth choreographed by years of instinct and discipline. The house loomed closer, its dark façade a harbinger of unknown perils within. Bursting through the so-called door in a reckless charge would be folly; first, he had to understand what the danger was. So, crouching low, he peered through the makeshift wall into Udit’s living room.

Within its suffocating confines, four men loomed like specters of violence. Armed to the teeth and exuding menace, their presence cast a suffocating pall over the man groaning at their feet. As Ceres surveyed the scene, he realized that their victim must be Udit’s father. She, with tear-streaked cheeks, tended to a gash in his scalp while her mother sobbed and her sisters watched in horror. These thugs, whoever they were, lacked the discipline of soldiers; their careless grip on their weapons and sadistic delight in causing fear betrayed their true nature. Their leader, however, was a different breed altogether. His gaze, icy and predatory, bore into Udit with a malevolence that turned Ceres’s stomach. It was a gaze he knew well, one reflected back at him in the mirror—a gaze of a killer, devoid of remorse, acting on instinct alone. Both men shared a deadly proficiency, dispatching life with the same ease as drawing breath, and with far less hesitation.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Ceres would have to shoot him, first, but there was a complication: he was holding one of the twins, a knife pressed to her tender throat. The child had to be ten at most, her fragile life hanging in the balance. Any sudden movement would spell her demise, a single twitch enough to spill her blood and snuff out her existence before help could arrive—assuming help could even be summoned. It was a miracle that she still breathed, a testament to sheer luck…or perhaps the leader’s twisted agenda. Either he hadn’t thought of ending her life, or he’d reserved her for a fate even more sinister. Regardless, Ceres didn’t have much time.

Placing the chicken carefully on the ground, he inched along the wall.

“Take me instead.” Udit’s voice was steady, despite the fear in her eyes, as she locked onto the leader’s cold gaze.

His grin was chilling. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t you worry. We’ll be taking you, too.”

Udit’s father managed to sit up, his voice strained. “There’s no need for this.”

Approaching the front entrance, weapon drawn, Ceres saw him clearly for the first time. He was older, with a neatly trimmed beard that’d gone almost white. Then, taking in the man’s attire, he suppressed a groan. The robes, the skullcap…he was about to rescue a cleric. Splendid! And just when he thought things couldn’t get better. Nothing like a little religion, to really spice up an evening. Although, he had to admit, Udit’s penchant for reciting scripture suddenly made a lot more sense.

“We warned you,” the leader hissed, each word dripping with menace. “Either pay up, or face the consequences.”

“We’re a sanctuary for the terminally ill,” the cleric emphasized, desperation evident in his tone. “Everything we have goes to our patients! Even if we wanted to pay for this so-called protection, we lack the means.” His gesture encompassed the impoverished hut. “Look around!”

The leader’s grin widened, revealing the gaps where teeth once were. “Well, isn’t that just unfortunate for you and fortunate for me.” He chuckled darkly and Ceres tensed, his finger hovering over the trigger of a gun more powerful than any this pathetic excuse for a man had ever seen. Still, he couldn’t risk a shot until the leader’s grip on his knife shifted. “Seems my men and I will have to pay ourselves in something other than darics. But don’t worry, we don’t mind.”

“Please,” the cleric pleaded, his voice trembling. “Don’t hurt them.”

Udit’s mother put a hand to her mouth.

The leader turned that awful expression on her, next. “You get to decide which girl goes first.”

Ceres held his breath, every nerve electrified with anticipation. This was his moment, his only chance to halt the unfolding horror. The air around him seemed to thicken with tension, a palpable silence engulfing the scene. In the grip of fear, the neighborhood remained a silent witness, paralyzed by its own terror. These were simple people, not warriors, and none of them were equipped to fight a group unbound by any law or even the smallest shred of moral decency.

The leader’s repulsive satisfaction twisted his features into a grotesque mask of malice as he callously shoved the girl to the ground, his intentions clear. With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Ceres knew he couldn’t afford to hesitate any longer. As the monster’s hand inched towards his belt, Ceres’s finger tightened on the trigger, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders.

Seconds later, the night’s eerie stillness shattered.

The would-be rapist crumpled to the ground in a sudden, decisive motion, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. His companions, frozen in shock, watched in disbelief as their master fell, their faces drained of color in the dim light. The piercing cries of the twins reverberated throughout the small space as Ceres made his appearance. Udit’s mother, terrified that this was some new and worse threat, clutched her daughters to her and unleashed cries befitting a herd of elephants.

Ceres shot the second man and then the third, after which he watched with interest as the fourth fell to his knees and started begging. He studied the man’s trembling façade, a surge of grim satisfaction coursing through him as the coward within this abuser was at last laid bare. The tension in the air was palpable, each second heavier with the weight of impending action.

He would’ve relished prolonging the moment—there was a twisted pleasure in tormenting those who truly deserved it, and pedophiles certainly topped that list. Nevertheless, he doubted that his current audience was right for his performance. Making a good impression on Udit’s parents seemed futile at this point, though perhaps not entirely. After all, he had just saved their lives—or at least their daughters’ innocence. Hopefully, that would somewhat offset the sudden and unfortunate décor change. So, saving his own lecture about what happened to men who touched children, he sent the last of the four to Hell and holstered his weapon.

The silence, as he did this, was absolute.

He cleared his throat. Then, because there was nothing else to do, he turned and bowed formally to the cleric. “Mawlana,” he began, his tone respectful, “I must apologize. It was not my intention to disrupt your evening, and I sincerely hope that I haven’t caused undue inconvenience.”

When no one responded, he stepped outside and retrieved the chicken.

The poor thing looked like it’d been sat on by a herd of hippopotamuses, he thought morosely, but it was also the only present he had. Presenting it to the stunned cleric, he tried to maintain an air of solemnity befitting such a holy individual. “I do, however, come bearing a small peace offering.”

The cleric blinked, taken aback.

Behind him, Udit exchanged a glance with her mother.

The sheer absurdity of the situation hit him like a freight train full of rotten eggs; unable to stop himself, Ceres erupted into a fit of giggles. He couldn’t get a hold of himself no matter how hard he tried, the situation was just too ridiculous. Udit’s father stared at the chicken like he expected it to something crazy, next, and giggles became full-throated laughter. Here he stood, a complete stranger, amidst a pile of corpses that he’d created while offering these people a peace offering in the form of the world’s ugliest chicken. And he’d been worried about making a good impression!

Udit’s mother clutched at her husband’s arm. “There’s a lunatic in the house.”

Udit, ever the diplomat, attempted to reassure her. “No, Mami, it’s alright. He’s just—eccentric.”

The cleric’s eyes somehow widened further. “Wait,” he interjected, turning to her with a mix of confusion and concern. “You know this person?”

Her face flushed with embarrassment. “We’ve crossed paths before,” she admitted reluctantly.

He frowned, before turning back to Ceres. “I…see. Well, regardless, thank you for your, ahem. Assistance.” His tone was tinged with skepticism, as he eyed the blood now soaking into his one carpet.

Ceres composed himself, his laughter subsiding as he addressed the group with a keen sense of his own lost dignity. “I will, naturally, see to the proper disposal of these gentlemen,” he assured them, his tone grave despite the lingering traces of amusement in his eyes. Then, before he could embarrass himself further, he picked up the body nearest to him and carried it into the night.