Amzer felt a familiar tension creep into his shoulders as he navigated the congested streets, the traffic on the on-ramp showing no signs of easing. With time ticking away and no desire to be late for work, he knew he needed an alternative route. Yet, the thought of taking the side roads filled him with unease. The once-bustling Imperial Highway, now a shadow of its former self, had inadvertently cast a pall over the Fae district, turning it into a hotbed for illicit activities that thrived in the absence of watchful eyes.

Despite his apprehension, the pressing need to reach the station compelled him to make a decision. As he fumbled with the carton of Hellhounds in his breast pocket, he realized he was running low. Just a few packs left—not enough to get him through the day. The thought of going without restocking was unsettling, but his addiction won out, and he resigned himself to making a quick stop.

He pulled over at the nearest mini-mart, a typical corner store for the area. The building bore the telltale signs of wear and tear, its windows secured behind iron bars, a testament to the neighborhood's rough edges. Inside, the store was a patchwork of beverages lining the back wall, and aisles crammed with bagged snacks and sweets.

As Amzer entered, the clang of a bell announced his arrival, cutting through the stillness. His instincts, honed by years of vigilance, immediately picked up on the figure standing near the entrance. Dressed in black, the person exuded an air of menace, their eyes glinting with malice as Amzer brushed past, their shoulders grazing slightly.

Another stranger caught Amzer's attention, offering a sideways glance as he moved away from the aisle. The unease in the air was palpable, a reminder of the district's darker undercurrents. Yet, Amzer remained calm, his demeanor steady as he moved purposefully toward the counter.

“Morning! Is there anything I can assist you with?” The clerk asked.

Amzer noted the Faun—commonly referred to as a Tyr—behind the counter. The Tyr's large ram horns spiraled out in an impressive corkscrew, adding an imposing presence to their otherwise genial appearance. Despite the somewhat tense atmosphere in the store, the Tyr maintained a twitching smile, their eyes flickering between the four customers as they kept a steady rhythm tapping on the countertop.

Amzer pointed at the top shelf. “Just need three packs of Hellhounds.”

The Tyr's smile seemed to relax slightly as they focused on ringing up the purchase. "Busy morning?" they asked nervously.

Amzer nodded, appreciating the small talk. "You could say that," he replied, watching as the Tyr efficiently processed his transaction. "Just trying to get through the day."

As the Tyr handed him the small brown bag with his purchase, their eyes met briefly, an unspoken understanding passing between them. In this part of town, everyone dealt with the complexities of their environment in their own way, and this small gesture was anything but normal.

“Typical Cambion.” muttered the customer at the magazine rack.

Amzer's instincts went on high alert as he became acutely aware of the stillness in the air—a stillness that seemed to carry an underlying tension. His training in the defense force had conditioned him to pick up on subtle cues, and the behavior of the other customers was setting off alarm bells in his mind.

The patron pacing up and down the middle aisle seemed restless, as if trying to mask nervous energy. Another customer was fixated on the snack aisle, repeatedly picking up and putting back bags of chips, their motions too deliberate and methodical to be mere indecision. Meanwhile, the person near the door, ostensibly engrossed in a magazine, frequently peeked over the pages, focusing intently on the cashier rather than the headlines.

Amzer's thoughts flickered to the recent comment from one of these strangers, a barbed remark likely aimed at his demonic features. It was a familiar sting, one he had learned to disregard over time. As a Cambion, he was accustomed to the judgmental glances and whispered comments from both humans and Fae. They saw the horns, the slight glow to his eyes, and made assumptions about his character—assumptions that were often as superficial as they were mistaken.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Amzer chuckled.

“Whatever.” The human responded.

The clerk grabbed Amzer's hand and drew him closer. He peered into Amzers eyes as another carton entered his possession.

“Two for one special, as the brand is going away.”

Amzer wasn’t stupid, far from it. To discontinue Hellhounds would cause the entire fae district to riot. This was clever code from the Tyr, a cry for help. He’s being robbed. If this developed into a shoot-out it would not be good for him, or the store. Other questions raced in his head, but he put them to rest for later. He needed a plan.

The plan was simple, yet required precision and timing. First, take out the one human who's reading. They appeared absorbed in their book, making them an easy target to catch off guard. This initial move was crucial; it would create an element of surprise and throw the rest into disarray.

Second, attention would shift to the person walking the aisles. Their movement suggested a watchful eye, perhaps a guard or someone surveying the scene. By addressing them next, it could induce panic in the individual at the rear, who would likely react unpredictably amidst the chaos.

Finally, the last individual, now isolated and likely flustered, would be captured. This person was the key to understanding the bigger picture. They would be questioned thoroughly, providing valuable insights into the motives and dynamics at play.

Satisfied with the plan he responded to the clerk. “If that’s the case, I should call my friends to come down here while they still can.”

The Tyr quickly dropped to the floor. Amzer yanked out his firearm and fired a shot into the closest human's leg. The target grasped for the shelf, but it caved in as he toppled to the floor, shouting out in distress.

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The wounded enemy's hoodie dropped revealing just a boy around eighteen. He sprawled out on the store floor, vigorously attempting to stem the bleeding. The boy's eyes turned a ruby red, brimmed with fury. He uttered an incantation and an arcane sigil materialized. A spray of jade acidic fluid spat toward Amzer.

Amzer dodged skillfully, but his coat had not been so blessed. After firing two additional rounds into the criminal, he slipped out of his jacket before it was completely devoured by acid.

“Magic?” Amzer looked at his dead opponent. “Really?”

Amzer sprinted to an end section of the aisle as three minuscule streams of crackling purple arcana whizzed past his head. Merchandise flew off shelves and scattered across the ground, sizzling with the same energy. While obscured by displays, he fired without aiming, vigorously avoiding spells from the back. Two rounds landed as he heard groans of anguish, cursing, and sounds of metallic objects clanging against the floor.

“Had enough?” Amzer asked.

From around the corner, Amzer could hear grunts and other odd noises.

“Fuck you.”

Amzer slid down the end cap and rested his head on one of its shelves. His heart pounded and sweat dropped from his forehead as he struggled to clear his mind amidst the chaos. As he lay there pinned, the reality of his situation set in–a precarious mix of danger and urgency. His thoughts briefly returned to the boy by the door. Amzer regretted that the kid, with so much ahead of him, had gotten involved with the wrong crowd. There was no saving him, and that ate at him the most.

A chill ran through his body. Fog crept in and engulfed him. Shelves developed a thin layer of white and small crystal spurs expanded outward. A thunderous clap shattered the frozen surroundings, and a gust of wind pushed Amzer, and the environment, backward. It slid him across the floor into the front doors.

Despite the weight of the debris pinning him down, Amzer’s instincts kicked in. With deliberate effort, he maneuvered his arm free, the cold metal of his firearm reassuring against his palm. He had seconds to act–his training honed for such high-pressure moments.

Three quick shots rang out, their echoes sharp in the otherwise still air. Each bullet found its mark, neutralizing the threat before they could close in.

Muffled sirens grew louder as flashing lights illuminated the chaotic scene, signaling the arrival of a Kingsarnment cruiser. The vehicle screeched to a halt, and the crackle of radio chatter filled the air as the front door of the building swung open. Amzer, still reeling from the force push, stumbled backward onto the pavement, where he found himself looking up at two fellow officers with their firearms drawn.

The first officer, a female Gnome named Saza, stood at three feet three inches tall. Her presence, though diminutive, was charged with frenetic energy. Amzer recognized her as a recent recruit, about a week out of the academy. Her eyes darted around the store and she waved her firearm with an eagerness that betrayed her inexperience and adrenaline-fueled nerves.

Her partner, Genmar, a Bithasier or rabbit folk, was already at work securing the scene. Standing six feet tall, his imposing figure helped keep bystanders at bay as the commotion of the incident drew curious onlookers. Despite his size, Genmar was known for his calm demeanor and adherence to protocol—a month out of the academy, he had quickly earned a reputation for being straight and narrow, always by the book.

As additional cruisers arrived to bolster the investigation and reinforce the perimeter, Genmar completed his task and returned to Amzer and Saza. His ears, which had stood upright while he oversaw the crowd, drooped slightly as he approached, his authoritative presence softening into one of concern for his fellow officer.

"Amzer, are you alright?" Genmar asked, holstering his weapon and extending a hand to help him up. His voice was calm, a steadying force amid the chaos.

"I'm fine," Amzer replied, accepting the help as he rose to his feet. "Just a bit shaken."

Saza, still scanning the scene with wide eyes, added, "What happened in there?"

"I wanted a pack of smokes," Amzer said, glancing back at the debris-strewn interior of the store. "But there's something strange going on. We need to secure this area and start piecing together what went down."

Genmar nodded, taking in the state of the scene with a critical eye. "We’ve got reinforcements, and the perimeter's secure. We'll start gathering statements and evidence right away."

Amzer grabbed what was left of his coat on the ground. He kicked the trash can back up right and dumped it in.

Saza looked inside, puzzled.

“Acid.” Amzer replied to her unspoken question.

Genmar moved methodically through the wreckage of the store, his keen eyes scanning for anything that might serve as evidence. As he identified points of interest, he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, carefully placing numbered placards next to each item to mark them for the investigation team. Other officers followed suit, entering the scene with cameras and evidence bags, ready to conduct a thorough examination of the site.

Meanwhile, Saza circled Amzer, her mind working to piece together the chaotic events that had unfolded. She was eager to hear his account but approached her questioning with the diligence and formality expected of her role. Amzer, knowing the importance of following protocol, waited patiently, allowing her to lead the inquiry.

As Saza moved around him, a glint on the floor caught her attention. Among the debris, a golden pocket watch lay shattered, its elegant design almost camouflaging it amidst the chaos. She bent down to inspect it, noting the intricate craftsmanship that hinted at its significance.

“Thats mine.” Amzer said, taking it and stashing it in his pocket.

Saza was interrupted by Genmyar whistling for the two to converge on his location. An older man rested with his back against the freezer door. Three bullet holes in the chest, dead center. A tattooed symbol stood out on his neckline. Six robust lines radiated from its round core, with a minuscule circle in the middle.

“Isn’t that…” Saza leaned in closer.

“The Obsidian Order.” Amzer said.

“In the capital?” Genmyar took a photo of the tattoo. “That's suicide.”

“This isn't good.” Amzer stood up and paced while scratching his chin. “I hate to leave the cleanup with you, but the captain is going to want to hear this right away. If The Obsidian Order is this close to the King...”

“Don't worry, we got this.” Saza noded.

Amzer stepped out of the store, the weight of the recent events still heavy on his mind. The fresh air was a stark contrast to the chaos inside, offering a momentary reprieve. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of Hellhounds, the popular brand known for its smooth, robust flavor. Lighting up his second cigarette of the day, he inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar warmth.

The scene inside replayed in his mind—the older man, the mysterious tattoo, and the eerie events that had led to another shootout, the second one this week. He knew that the captain wouldn’t be pleased. Shootouts attracted unwanted attention and complicated the delicate balance they tried to maintain in their jurisdiction. He mentally prepared himself for the inevitable meeting with the captain, who would demand answers and a plan to prevent further incidents.

As he smoked, Amzer ran through the details again. The tattoo on the man's neck was particularly troubling. Six robust lines radiating from a central circle—The Obsidian Order. What were they doing this far into the city? It felt like a piece of a larger puzzle, one that he needed to solve quickly.

With the cigarette now nearly finished, Amzer flicked the ash away and took a final drag. He needed to stay focused, to connect the dots and develop a strategy to address the growing unrest. Magic, the shootouts, and the cryptic symbols were all part of something bigger. As he crushed the cigarette underfoot, Amzer knew that this was only the beginning.