Little by little, my vision clawed its way back to something resembling normal. I must’ve hit something hard when Iron’s punch had sent me sailing off the second floor like yesterday’s rubbish. By the gods, that hurt. A part of me even attempted to flap my non-existent wings in panic. It was downright humiliating, fumbling about in this inferior flesh sack—no wings, no scales, no tentacles either. I was really starting to miss those. Tentacles were vastly underrated.

My bleary gaze first fixed on the thing currently using Iron as a punching bag. A hulking brute of a man with shoulders wide enough to build a house on. Dressed in black, round ursine ears poking out, and fur thick enough to survive a blizzard—yep, definitely an urgoth. Bear-kin. I watched, morbidly fascinated, as he grabbed Iron again, muttered something unintelligible, and proceeded to reintroduce him to the concept of pain.

Iron, for his part, managed to slap one of his free claws across the urgoth’s furry mug—quite a feat considering how injured he was. The blow made the urgoth stagger back a few paces, blinking as if he’d been insulted. Then he roared, charged like an avalanche, and smashed Iron into a wall with all the grace of a wrecking ball before repeatedly introducing his skull to the pavement below.

Meanwhile, I stood up—shakier than a three-legged stool during an earthquake. This body needed work. A lot of it. I felt unsteady, and I didn’t like it one bit. My attention, however, was yanked elsewhere as a sound came from behind me.

It was a massive salamander-like monster. Black as midnight, with claws that looked designed to snatch up trouble and shake it to bits. Agile-looking, too. Atop its back sat three riders—two girls and a guy—all masked. The salamander came to a halt, and its passengers slid off with well-practised ease.

The shortest of the trio hit the ground first, already talking like her words had somewhere to be. “Huh, didn’t know those Fang Circle bastards called for backup other than us. Did they shake hands with a new gang? Lone mercenary, maybe?” Her voice was sharp, carrying the kind of curiosity that’s as much suspicion as interest.

The tallest of the group, a woman, stalked toward me. While the others rushed off to the street’s edge to spectate the Iron versus urgoth disaster unfolding ahead.

“I don’t think she’s part of the reinforcements,” the tall woman said, her voice a low, velvet timbre. “Reinforcements or not, I think we might owe you one. Even if…” She hesitated, her tone shifting to a dry, almost playful reprimand. “Even if you took a swing at our allies too. Not cool, by the way. But hey, you gave Iron a good beating, so thanks, I guess.”

Even with the mask, her tall, pointed ears gave her away. Fox-kin. A faerin. She wore a robe-like dress, black with bold strips of red flames running across it like molten veins. Three vulpine tails swayed lazily behind her, elegant and menacing all at once. The hand she offered toward me was steady, but I wasn’t keen on playing nice just yet. These people smelled of Voruun allies, and that wasn’t a stink I could ignore. After a brief internal debate, I leaned back, wary.

I didn’t know what to say. I never knew what to say. So, I stuck to the safest policy: say absolutely nothing. Words have a nasty habit of digging holes I’m not keen on falling into.

Unbothered by my refusal, she withdrew her hand, rolling a shoulder in what seemed like both an apology and a shrug at once. “We got word Iron was planning a big move against the Fang Circle,” she said, jerking a thumb toward the street. “Since we’ve helped them out before, they asked for backup. Not that we needed to say yes, but, well… alliances in the Lower District are messy. Favors owed, disagreements simmering—kill if you cross the line, but play nice if the benefits outweigh the blood. You know how it goes.”

Her words flowed like a story she’d told before, practiced but not robotic, with a thread of dry humor woven in. “Strategy talks dragged on forever, and then we figured, well, let Iron fight the Fang Circle first. We’d swoop in afterward and make it up as we went along. Not exactly a flawless plan, but hey—desperate times.”

A sharp voice cut through the air. One of the others—probably the guy—pointed frantically at the street where Iron and the urgoth had vanished into their brawl. The salamander, now carrying the final rider, bounded past me like a cannonball with legs, heading straight for the chaos.

The faerin woman didn’t miss a beat, her lips quirking in something between amusement and exasperation. “Wouldn’t you know it? Half of Iron’s lackeys went after others—some even came for us. Guess that’s what happens when the boss doesn’t stick close to the leash.” Her tone was almost mocking, but there was a flash of teeth as she licked her lips. “Bet they wish they hadn’t now.”

She pivoted smoothly, her words picking up speed. “His underlings weren’t exactly pushovers, though. Forced into beast forms, their scales hard as armor, claws like razors—fighting just one’s a nightmare. A whole pack?” She let out a low whistle. “No picnic.”

“YEAH!” The high-pitched interruption came from the shorter girl, now suddenly reappeared at her friend's side. Her mask left her mouth visible too, and the wide grin baring sharp canines told me she was having way too much fun. “But, Whisper! They’re still not as scary as Iron himself. LIKE! Not even a tenth as scary. We wrecked their asses easy!”

Her robe, a mix of fiery reds and dusky pinks, matched the bold energy of her words. Another three fox tails curled behind her, and her raven hair fell straight and sleek, framing her ever-grinning expression.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The taller woman, apparently called Whisper, ruffled the shorter one’s hair with an air of indulgent affection. “True,” she admitted, her tone softening with a hint of sisterly warmth.

The younger faerin darted toward the street’s edge, practically vibrating with excitement. She half-turned as she hollered back, “WOOHOO! Iron’s getting his ass handed to him!” Then her sharp gaze sliced toward me, the grin still plastered on her face. “What did you do to him, anyway?”

“Poison,” the tall faerin—Whisper—chimed in before I could even muster a grunt, her words as smooth as silk dipped in smug. “A lot of poison,” she added, with a grace that somehow made the statement feel elegant. “Enough to short-circuit even his regeneration. Got it into some... interesting places, too. He’s already slowing down from the overload. Poor bastard’s gonna feel absolutely bollocked when he shifts back to his drakkari form.”

I froze, my stomach doing an uneasy little flip. Brute forcing through that poison? Seriously? My mind spun as I replayed the scene, piecing together every moment. I’d gone overboard, hadn’t I? Way overboard. That poison wasn’t going to just burn out; it was going to linger. Even after he shifted back to his original form... oh. Ohhhhh. A wince yanked at my face like a string pulled too tight.

Whisper caught it, her sharp eyes glinting as she turned back to me. Her sly smile deepened, the kind of expression that said she lived for these moments. “Right then! Introductions!” she declared, clapping her hands together with the enthusiasm of someone who clearly enjoyed taking center stage. “That one’s Quickpaw,” she said, gesturing to the happy menace grinning behind her.

Quickpaw gave me a cheeky little wave, her canines flashing as if to remind me that her smile wasn’t entirely friendly.

“I’m Whisper,” the taller faerin continued smoothly, then gestured vaguely toward the dude who’d vanished down the street astride the massive salamander. “The saryn with the oversized lizard? That’s Viper. Creative, I know, but hey, his lizard, his rules. And finally, there’s Brickfist.”

Brickfist. That had to be the urgoth currently playing piñata with Iron. No one else in this mess fit the bill. Obviously, these weren’t real names—this city thrived on chaos and the kind of anonymity flashy aliases provided. When gangs roamed the streets, anyone with a brain masked up and picked a moniker that hinted at danger or flair—or both. Apparently, these four had cornered the market on both.

Introductions finished, Whisper turned her gaze back to me, leveling me with a stare that dragged on just long enough to start itching under my skin. I held my ground—or at least pretended to. Wobbly though it felt, I wasn’t about to fold. Not yet.

Quickpaw, still lurking at Whisper’s shoulder, finally broke the silence, her voice softening for the first time. “Hey,” she asked, tilting her head slightly, “you okay? You hurt?”

Before I could respond—or figure out if I should—Whisper cut in, her smile sharpening into something wickedly knowing. “The reason she’s not introducing herself isn’t because she’s hurt,” she remarked. “It’s because—"

She stopped cold as her smile flickered and faded, her head snapping to the side. Whatever she’d been about to say was abandoned. “Heads up,” she muttered. “That’s our cue. We’ve gotta scram.”

Her lips moved soundlessly, but every other head in the vicinity snapped to her like well-trained hounds. Viper arrived atop his salamander a heartbeat later, the beast’s claws scraping against the pavement.

“Fucking Enforcers,” Quickpaw groused, already reaching for Viper’s outstretched hand. “Always ruining everything.” She settled herself deftly beside him before shooting me a grin. “Want a ride?”

I didn’t answer straight away. My gaze flicked to the salamander instead—a hulking, scale-armoured lizard that flinched the second I looked at it. A full-body shudder rippled through its frame, and it began to tremble, claws scrabbling nervously on the stone.

“Oi, hey!” Viper soothed, his tone sharp with something like incredulity. Couldn’t see his face behind that mask, but I’d wager the expression was somewhere between ‘What the hell?’ and ‘What did you do?’

Nothing, honestly. I just looked at the damn thing. Monsters always had an uncanny knack for sensing when something was… off about me. Belle once said I smelled dangerous, even in my drakkari form. Never quite figured out how one goes about smelling danger, but apparently it was a thing.

I shook my head—no ride for me—earning a little huff of disappointment from Quickpaw. No doubt they were sizing me up, wondering if I was part of some rival gang or a lone upstart with a death wish. Why else would someone go toe-to-toe with the overlords of the Lower District?

“Hey.” Whisper’s voice broke my thoughts. She’d perched herself neatly behind Quickpaw, her vulpine mask tilting just so. “What’s your name?”

The question hung there for a moment. My mind stuttered, whirring through possibilities. Playing along could be useful—information was worth its weight in gold, and these lot didn’t seem hostile. Friendly, even. I opened my mouth, hesitated, then settled on the truth. Well, part of it.

“Well.... just call me Venom?”

Whisper’s smile returned. “Well then, Miss Venom,” she said smoothly, “a gang of Enforcers will be here in less than a minute. You did us a solid by dealing with Iron, so take my advice: when those guys show up and find two lesser beasts battering each other into next week, they’re not going to let anyone stroll off into the sunset. You should move.”

The grin she flashed me was deceptively soft, stretching across her face in a way that looked far too familiar—like the dangerous mirror of my own. Behind her mask, her eyes glittered with something wicked. Mischief, maybe. Trouble, definitely.

And with that, the salamander sprang into motion, leaping clear over my head in a blur. Brickfist landed neatly on its back mid-bound. Its shifting scales shimmered before my eyes as they all disappeared—well, to the naked eye, anyway. My air sense still tracked them. The salamander was faster than it had any right to be, especially for something lugging that much baggage. Over the rooftops they fled, and then… nothing.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Or nearly did, anyway. Before I felt new breathing signatures close in from all directions.