Blinded by the popularity and glamor of all things FaeTech, many tend to underestimate Nat-Tech Cyberware.

Grounded in physically explainable ordinary science, Natural Technology Cybernetics provide an alternate, considerably fairer and open path to power within this new world order.

It’s a hell of a lot kinder on your credits as well! You could arm three or four men with a decent pair of blades of mantis, each, for the price of one gnome/sprite tier serum!

Sure, there might be a glitch here and there, the occasional bug or fault, but nat-tech cyberware is always, purely artificial, scientifically grounded, and external.

Sure, if you plug in unregulated, botched up, black market or expired cybernetics, the neural imbalance or effluents may very well kill you over time, but at the very least, you know what you’re putting inside of you.

Could you say the same about FaeTech Cyberware or Fae Serums? When no one but FaeTech can actually understand what is up with them? When their products are just as inexplicable and magical as the fae they say they hate?

Some might call that paranoid, but I say it’s called being smart.

– Henry Mulciber, Chief of Customer Relations for Vulcan Corporation, World’s Leading Manufacturer of Nat-Tech Weaponry and Cyberware.

***

Zhan Shen, who had been watching in silence, reached out, placing a hand on Miles’ shoulder, “You lost control young master. It may have been the change that was responsible, but what a disappointing showing.”

Miles was still struggling to get a proper handle on himself, but, albeit unhappily nodded in acceptance.

The old butler continued, his voice unchanging, “I have taught you what to do. So do it. Breathe.”

Miles grunted in assent, pushing past the rage, everything he was feeling and sensing, and focused on his breathing, a lone anchor to help regain control.

His last attempt to achieve perfect concentration had been under far more adverse conditions, and that experience seemed to have strengthened his ability to persevere.

Miles had expected to face some difficulty, but it was surprisingly easier than he remembered. To enter that familiar state of heightened concentration and achieve the mental clarity needed…

In the span of a single breath, everything around him dissolved, expanding into a familiar world… of troubled skies and raging waters?

The sea abound in a furious storm, towering waves rumbling through, himself the source.

Mirroring the brewing tempest, even the ocean appeared dark and full of gloom.

But, unperturbed by these changes to the world, Miles focused upon his breath, and as his emotions calmed, so did the turbulent world.

His meditation gradually restored order, clearing his mind. The towering waves subsided, the storm laden clouds calmed their fury, and the skies began to clear.

Miles’ thoughts steadied, bringing his mind back under his control, the bizarre desires and emotions that had gripped him finally suppressed and tamed.

The world returned to its pristine state of clear skies mirrored in calm, crystalline waters.

Yet, Miles didn’t linger here for long, acutely aware of reality and the pressing circumstances he faced.

With a deliberate thought, he released the world manifested, allowing it to slip away like sand through fingers. And in the span of another breath, he had returned to the grim streets of Yumekuro, the blood curdling screams of the gangster still echoing in his ears.

Miles, still somewhat displeased with Zhan Shen’s prior comment, the truth being entirely irrelevant, answered with a forced smile, “Be that as it may, you lost the bet! What, oh what should this young master make you do?”

Zhan Shen snorted, “Absolute nonsense, there was nothing about forcing a fight out of them in our bet!”

Miles’ grin grew wider, “And there was also nothing about not forcing one. Don’t tell me, this respected elder before me, a ‘true warrior’, is planning to go back on his word?”

The elderly butler froze, but soon began to glance around them, “My word is indeed my bond young master,” and for a moment his lips curled, “But let’s not forget, the task I just now decided to set upon you, to handle these white lizards. It is your own mess after all, thus your responsibility, and you do have faith in your newfound prowess, yes?”

And just like that, it was Miles’ turn to freeze, “The hell?! There’s over a dozen of them!”

Zhan Shen hummed in mock innocence, “Hm, hm, hm, you can always forgo the lesson and force out a request from this old man if you so wish, young master. I couldn’t stop you if you do.”

"At least lend me your Caucon then!"

"Now where would be the fun in bringing a pistol to... whatever fight this will be?" The old butler shook his head, "These runts have no guns, Master Miles. Strange as it may be, bottom line is, play fair."

Miles grimaced, beginning to glance around.

It had only been a minute or so and the white-cloaked gangsters, obviously just some runts of the Hakuryuu, aka a poor man’s white dragons, had already mobilized, despite half of them being drunk on gutter brew, the other half still pulling their pants up, and none of them being prepared for an actual altercation.

Well, the reedy pickpocket was still on the ground screaming in agony, so that just left everyone else.

Fighting was not something Miles was particularly fond of. No, that has always been Zhan Shen’s forte.

Despite the elderly butler’s every attempt to make him think differently, for Miles, it was a means to an end, and at best, a tool to ensure power or a way to release pent up emotions.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

However, as he stared at the rallying gangsters, the danger and tension palpable, everything irrelevant seemed to vanish from his perception.

It was just him, the grimy streets, thirteen gangsters, and a promise of violence and bloodshed.

Miles found himself raising his fists.

For the first time ever, he was truly reveling in the anticipation, the blood pumping vigor of an upcoming fight.

Unbeknownst to even himself, he felt excited, “Fine! I’ll take them on!”

Zhan Shen paused at that. A conflicted expression crossed his face for but a moment, before he steeled himself, his hands curling into fists, “Very well then young master. Allow this old man to apologize in advance,” and took a few steps back.

If Miles had been focusing on what was said, he may have felt that something was off, but he was far too focused on the fight ahead to notice. And then it was no longer the time for conversation.

The first of the would-be Hakuryuu reached him, rushing in blindly, seemingly expecting something easy from the young boy rather than the muscular old man.

They were barely cybernetically enhanced, obvious from the distinctly weaker smell of rusting metal to assault Miles’ nose.

The first guy to reach him was truly unfortunate, because Miles had to prepare for the second.

A full-force jab to his openly exposed throat sent him reeling and choking, attacking Miles the last thing on his mind.

The second seemed to wise up, and Miles’ ears picked up the click of disjointed steel knocking, the source, the gangster’s right foot.

‘A Strider cybernetic? On a single leg?’

The gangster in question seemed to disagree, as the tar below his foot cracked as the strider let loose without trouble, sending him hurtling forwards in a rush of wind.

It was an extremely obvious, albeit quite fast bull rush, and Miles didn’t even think as his feet moved in a familiar tandem, in the sequence of the Nameless Movement Art, easily side-stepping the man. One foot however protruded out, perfectly in line with the Strider leg’s knee.

Not expecting it and unable to react in time, the poor fellow tripped, and promptly knocked himself out on the concrete road.

Miles was taken aback for a second at how pathetic that had been, but that was also why a strider on only a single foot was a terrible idea. Nevertheless, he quickly moved on, as his side-step had brought him ever so closer to the first gangster still reeling from the throat jab.

While the man had recovered to some extent and tried to dodge, Miles’ second jab morphed into a fist, striking cleanly upon chin, sending the man off the floor and back down in an unconscious heap.

He had barely taken care of the two, when another three gangsters rushed from three directions. Each wielding knives, well not so much knives as they were sharpened metal, but still definitely deadly.

Miles’ eyes narrowed, and he breathed in preparation.

‘That’s the end of non-lethal force then.’

He had said three, but it was actually four, striking from all cardinal directions, with one gangster attacking from directly behind him, going by the sharp burst of wind on his back.

‘A Horizontal strike. Thin, but blunt. A baton or a staff? But also, not that strong.’

Having learned from the first time, Miles listened to the wind. He didn’t even think as he reacted, crouching down to half his height.

CRACK!

The swing of the… rusty metal pipe missed, striking two of the nearest gangsters that had rushed him from the front instead, knocking one on the skull and scratching the face of the other.

The one hit on the skull, lost the grasp on his knife, inadvertently letting it go.

The glint of metal was clear and the air guided Miles’ hand to perfectly catch it.

He launched off the ground, from crouching to leaping, onto the third gangster on his left still free to react.

Miles’ free hand struck at the knife in the gangster's hand with the arm of his suit. What he had struck was the sharp edge, but he barely felt the knife, no ordinary metal being capable of piercing through the inlaid ogre skin of a R&B original.

And the gangster didn’t even get the chance to notice the impressive defense of Miles’ expensive fashion choices, because the commandeered knife stabbed into his exposed neck.

Before Miles could pull it back out however, properly finishing off the man, the wind screamed upon his back once more.

He didn’t think, merely allowing his feet to flow in a perfect sequence that rushed him out from where he had been to directly behind the gangster he had just stabbed.

Blood and flesh squelched, and someone groaned.

Ding!

Something familiar rang in his ears, but Miles noticed nothing. He was far too focused on the smell of bloo– no, the fact that the man he himself had stabbed had been stabbed, again. This time right in the chest, by his fellow white dragon. Presumably the one that had been scratched in the face.

The gangster hit on the skull was still out of it but should recover soon.

The woman with the pipe was rearing for another strike, not having learned from the first lesson, while the one that had stabbed his own comrade was seemingly horrified, if his screams and sputters of apology were anything to go by.

Miles didn’t care, his hand reached and pulled out the knife he had stabbed into the neck.

The wound burst open in a fountain of blood.

The smell of iron, the sight of dark scarlet, the rising screams, all of it seemed to awaken something primal inside of him, but even if the rancid smell of Cyberware polluting the blood wasn’t there to keep him under control, Miles had already tamed his emotions.

He was only mildly influenced. There was nothing to worry about.

Ding!

Again, something familiar rang in his ears, but Miles was so perfectly fine, that he failed to notice for a second time.

Instead, he burst through the rain of blood, each step placed in perfect harmony, relishing the carnage.

Miles passed by the gangster that had been made to stab his own, still shocked and apologizing to his dead compatriot.

They must’ve been friends or something. So, he really couldn’t bring himself to be cruel.

He stabbed the fellow in the neck as well and pulled the knife out in another rain of blood.

They could continue to be friends in the afterlife.

The wind warned him once more, but this time, Miles did not dodge, merely holding up his suit sleeve in defense.

The rusted pipe was even less dangerous than the sharpened shivs, and the woman’s surprise turned into horror as Miles threw his knife almost instinctively, the blade rushing through the air and impaling itself in her right eye in grotesque fashion.

The woman screamed, letting go of the pipe in her hand.

So, Miles grabbed the rusted metal for her, and slammed it into the shiv. Like a hammer to a nail, the knife impaled itself even further, blood and brain matter squelching out of the eye socket.

Ding!

Miles heard nothing, as he slammed the pipe into the last white dragon who had just recovered, striking the man in the skull exactly where he had been hit before. The gangster groaned, but as another hit, and another after another rained down, he finally collapsed with very possibly permanent brain damage.

Miles heaved heavy breaths.

Adrenaline pumping, blood boiling, his senses sharp for danger.

Blood had splattered his clothes and face, the scent and smell polluted, yet strangely attractive, but he didn’t really mind– or care.

He just felt alive.

He could’ve been less lethal, sure, but he saw no reason to.

He could’ve fought entirely unarmed, but why take the risk?

He quickly picked up another knife, one that was not inside someone's eye and brain, and re-armed himself, as if to prove the point.

Miles couldn’t help but grin, twirling the pipe in one hand and brandishing the shiv in the other. He had never particularly enjoyed fighting, but by the Sidhe, he was loving this.

And before he could do much else, the next wave of gangsters screaming bloody murder, enraged by the fate of their fellow white dragons, rushed in.