Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Secondmonth, 1605 PTS
Deuvar sprinted down the street, ducking and forcing his way through the crowd against the flow of traffic. He still wore the uniform from his job at a warehouse, but that did not matter to Deuvar. He slammed into a distracted old man, causing them both to crash into the ground and bring the street’s movement to a halt. The lane filled with muttered complaints and exclamations of surprise, but Deuvar could barely hear any of it. Grimacing, he swept the dust from his skinned knee and ignored the groans of the other man. He pushed himself upright, and lowered his shoulder as he dove back into the crowd. This time, it parted before him.
The world itself spun, shrinking down into a point far in the distance as he continued to move, mind filled to the brim with thoughts of the worst case scenarios.
“You fucking idiot,” he muttered, feeling a pain in his chest. If he was too late, Deuvaar was not sure what he would do. He simply continued to run until he spotted the landmark, a cheap restaurant the three of them had visited once before their father’s death. Deuvar spun the corner, dodging over a Korlove passerby to reach the alleyway he was searching for.
“Astna! Are you al-”
Deuvar’s words cut off as the scene before his eyes finally registered. Before him stood a tall man who seemed to be a couple years older than Deuvar, and a young woman who had barely reached her teens. His hand was clasped around her wrist, tugging her deeper into the alley. Deuvar recognized both of them. Zak, a neighborhood gangster, and Astna, his sister.
Deuvar flew into a rage as he saw the hand on her wrist, and his fists clenched as he charged towards the man, fist bared.
Zak was roughly the same height as Deuvar, and his greater age had allowed his frame to fill out more. But Deuvar was angrier, straining his muscles to pour out every iota of energy. The gangster didn’t stand a chance.
Deuvar had always been athletic, and he had inherited anger issues from his alcoholic bastard of a father. The two had fought many times in the past, and he had been beaten more than once. The old man had only stopped when Deuvar grew old enough that there was a chance one of them would die if they truly fought.
Deuvar’s fist crashed into Zak’s left cheek to the surprise of both him and Astna, who let out a noise as the tall Jobu’s fingers instinctively unclenched from her arm. Zak stumbled, and looked over to Deuvar, snarling, but was again unprepared for Deuvar’s second fist, which landed soon after. He tried to shove Deuvar away, but was unable to halt the bestial rage that had consumed the teen.
The world seemed to have gone red, seeming to fade in and out of existence, only revealing scattered flashes to Deuvar. They were alone, and Deuvar was all that Astna had. He would protect her, protect his family. That was the reason for Deuvar’s existence.
Zak’s elbow slammed out, crushing Deuvar’s nose. He staggered backwards, but sidestepped the man’s follow up punch, and kneed Zak in the genitals, before butting him in the face.
“You bastard!” shouted the gangster, scrambling for his belt, where Deuvar could clearly see a sheathed knife he would not receive the opportunity to draw. Deuvar ignored his voice as he drove his fist into the man’s gut. The movements came instinctively to Deuvar, who had been in brawls plenty in the past. The best tactic, he had learned, was never to let up, and never to miss an opportunity. Deuvar’s large hand gripped the collar of Zak’s shirt and pulled, kneeing him again in the jaw. He felt Zak gain a grip on his belt, and the two of them toppled to a shifting heap on the ground, grappling for the better position. Deuvar punched the man’s face once, and then again, feeling the grip on his waist slacken. He rolled over, finding himself resting atop the other man.
Deuvar’s fist crushed into the bones of his foe, sending stabbing pains through his hand. He slammed again and again, pressing Zak into the stone ground with cracks and groans. But no matter how much the man cried or screamed, or tried to shove him away, Deuvar did not stop, and nor did he hesitate. He simply slammed his fists down over and over again.
Eventually, Deuvar’s faculties returned, and he found himself standing above a mushy red mass that was difficult to recognize as Zak. The man did not appear to be breathing. Deuvar’s fists were splattered with blood, and his knuckles were raw. His breathing was unsteady, and Deuvar had to hold back the urge to vomit. He huffed, inhaling deeply as his hands shivered under the realization of what he had done. He had just killed a man with his own two hands.
Glancing to the side, Deuvar saw the shivering form of Astna, huddled to the side of the alley. One of her wrists gripped onto the other, where he could see a small red ring where she had been held. Deuvar hesitated before wiping his hands clean on his shirt, and ran to her, lifting the bangs from her wide face. A bead of blood dripped from the backside of his hand onto her forehead as Astna flinched away from his touch.
“It’s okay,” he said, wounded by her reaction, “you’ll be okay now. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
“Im fine, brother,” she said, glancing up at him. “I knew you would come.”
Astna’s eyes were red with tears, but her gaze was firm, which surprised him. Since when had his Astna borne a gaze like this? Though Deuvar had tried to shield her from the realities of life, there was only so much he could do. Like him, it seemed she had been forced to grow up far too early. He hugged her tight, and Deuvar felt his own eyes water slightly, forgetting the pain in his body.
“Never get involved with the underworld, Astna. You know how dangerous it is,” he whispered.
“What do you want me to do, Deuvar?” she asked. “I don’t have the education for corporate work, and I won’t work in the factories.”
“...Not this, Astna. You can’t be involved with them. It’s dangerous.”
“But you’ll protect me, Brother. You always do.”
Did she really feel that way, he wondered? When he had been so close to arriving late? She was lucky that he had even found out, tipped off by a concerned friend of hers.
“I- Astna, what did you even do?” he asked.
Had he been paying too little attention to her in the past weeks? He had been taking so many shifts, but still…
Astna shrugged, as if she were refusing to answer. Deuvar sighed. That was very much like her, keeping secrets and avoiding conversations she didn’t wish to have. Regardless, it was best to leave the conversation for later, he thought. Time might be short.
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“We need to go,” he said, pulling her upright. His eyes flicked back to the silent form of the man he had beaten. “It won’t end with just this.”
Hesitantly, Astna allowed herself to be pulled, an indication of her currently weak mentality. Deuvar couldn’t blame her. Like himself, he had no doubt this was the first time she had watched a man die.
Before they could leave the alley, Deuvar and Astna were met with a series of shadows which turned the corner, blocking off Deuvar’s escape route. Deuvar cursed. Just from the way they looked, they immediately gave off an impression that would match with his understanding of gangsters. He carefully took a wary step backwards, finding himself flustered and unsure of his next move.
The group paused for a long, stressful moment as the gangsters took in not only Deuvar and Astna, but also the mutilated corpse behind them. One of the gangsters frowned as he assessed the two of them. His gaze hung for a particularly lengthy moment on Astna, causing Deuvar to tense up.
“How youthful,” he muttered. “Even younger than I had heard.”
He was a Korlove man, a bit on the older side, and his chitin was pitted and marked as if to tell of an exciting life. This was indeed, Deuvar thought, the look of a career gangster.
“A pity,” he continued, glancing down at the ruined body of Zak, “he had such potential.”
“No one is allowed to touch her,” he snarled, stepping in front of his younger sister as if to hide her from the gangster’s sight. Though Astna stood behind him, her open eyes peeked past his arm.
“A loyal child, are you?” asked the man, his mandibles splitting to reveal a wide smile. “Loyalty is quite the virtue, but… Do you know what she did?”
Deuvar’s hand spread out, making the effort to keep Astna behind him. The young girl tried to force his hand away, but he did not relent.
“They only want me, Brother. You’ll be allowed to go.”
Deuvar ignored her words. She was suggesting something that was simply out of the question, and he refused to humor it.
“I don’t care what she did,” he said. “If any of you come close to her, I’ll kill you.”
The man continued to smile, and his eyes blinked slowly as he regarded Deuvar.
“Your sister here has been quite bold. Collecting bits of information, compiling it into a whole, and then selling it to whoever she thought would pay the most. I would find it impressive if it weren’t for the fact that she tried to sell it to my enemies.” He shook his head. “I hadn’t expected it to be led by someone so young when I sent Zak to grab her. This was my mistake. I’m not a kid killer. Not unless I have to be.”
The Korlove bared his teeth, but Deuvar did not flinch. He simply glanced back to his sister, but she refused to meet his gaze. So it was true, then. He gritted his teeth. Deuvar had known that she was speaking to all of the street kids, and had applauded her social skills, thinking she had the potential to go into sales, or perhaps to start a business. Not this. He sighed, and his hand clenched tighter onto Astna’s. His sister had been foolish, but Deuvar would make it right.
“It’s my fault,” he said. I take full responsibility.”
The gangster chuckled, but his men remained silent.
“More loyalty… you’re a rare sort, child. Our organization could use more young blood like you”.
“Sir!” exclaimed one of the other gangsters, horrified by the suggestion. “He just killed one of our men!”
The Korlove man sneered at him.
“One of my men, and you had best remember that, Khadel.” He then turned his attention back to Deuvar and Astna. “I’ll give you some options. First, we kill you. Fairly simple task. Second, you join my force, and work five years for me. After that, I’ll let you go, if you wish.
“Y-You’ll let us live?” Deuvar asked, interrupting their discussion. “Both of us?” Subconsciously, Deuvar could feel his hands begin to shake again, but Astna clasped hers over his, and he inhaled deeply, releasing his nerves into the air.
The gangster’s torso bobbed up and down in the Korlove approximation of a nod.
“It would be a crime to waste the lives of such… talented youths. I’ve heard her name is Astna, but what’s yours, boy?”
“What’s your name?” asked Deuvar.
The Korlove smiled, but made no response. His eyes glanced back towards the still-cooling corpse of Zak, which had been left all but forgotten behind the young man.
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Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Sixthmonth, 1634 PTS
The stone was cold, Deuvar thought. The chill seeped into him, reminding Deuvar of cold nights he had spent huddled in a similar alleyway with Astna after his father had died in the factory accident, and the landlord had kicked them out. It had only been for a few nights, before his job had given him his first paycheck, and they had been able to rent a bed in a shared space. After they had joined the Heirs, such experiences had become a thing of the past, but it was difficult to truly forget such hardship.
Deuvar’s hand stretched out, attempting to grip into the rough stony surface beneath him. Deuvar felt his fingernails cracked, barely scraping the slightest of chips from the surface, but successfully pulling himself just a bit further, one more step. Just a bit more, and he would increase his chances of getting help, of surviving. Deuvar could not die here.
Kalthen had finally matured, becoming a man that he could truly be proud of. He had basically raised the boy, due to Astna’s negligence. She had always been that way, unable to properly assign her priorities. Perhaps that was a genetic trait. To Deuvar, the young man was like a son to him. He would have wanted to see Kalthen grow older, perhaps get married and have kids.
Deuvar had once wished to experience that life himself, but that had never been his priority. Somewhere along the line, the Heirs of Ottrien had become akin to his children, his family. Deuvar had wished to grow the organization as much as possible. If it were possible, that was still his wish.
Deuvar’s hand stretched out, mere meters from the alley, but his energy had faded, and the pressure on his lungs had only grown. The poison had set in quickly, suspiciously so. He wondered how long he had left. Even if Deuvar did receive help, would he make it to the hospital in time? It seemed unlikely.
Perhaps this had been an inevitability, he thought. It was not as if he were likely to retire. Once one entered the underworld, it was almost impossible to leave it cleanly. The Leader had worked hard, had built an empire, and yet even he could not truly retire. The Leader had been killed for it, and now, Deuvar realized, so had he. Perhaps this was what the Seiyal called fate, or what the Staiven considered divine will.
Though it might be an inescapable fate that he would die in such a way, Deuvar only wished there had been more time. Perhaps that is what everyone wishes for at the end, he thought. It’s in your hands now, sister.
Avoidance and the Underworld: [Publicly, the underworld and its organizations are rarely brought up. Certain underworld organizations such as the Hadal Clan, the Drelistai, and the Heirs of Ottrien are business groups in good standing, and gang violence is attributed to smaller, subsidiary forces. This is considered a fact of life in Tseludia, one that allows for a balance to occur. Racketeering is simply a part of life in certain districts, and in some places, criminals are the protectors of fair business. Evidence to prove connections that are widely known are disregarded, and nothing is done to change matters. However, these truths are not fully understood by the wider public, as it is general knowledge that the further one stays from underworld activity, the lower the odds of one being forced into it.]