Chapter 145 - Roots

In Raktor...

[Raktor needs you! Men and women alike seek heroes to join the fight against heresy and sinners!] A low, reverberating voice stemming from a slow-moving wagon was punctuated by harsh static while the message echoed off the walls of flanking shophouses. Big posters and emblems bearing Count Leon's colors were plastered all over the coarse metal surface of the cabin, but it was far from attractive enough to the hundreds of factory workers shuffling their way to work.

[Do your part for society! A real man never falters!] The wagon made its rounds as usual, targeting areas with high footfall. Naturally, its route took it past the shopping arcade and the dozen apartment complexes built by the Seven Snakes, attempting in vain to reel in the curious and the brave. However, the locals were long jaded by the progress of the war. It has been months since it began, and those who were willing were already fighting on the frontlines, leaving only the reluctant and the cynics. Not a single head in the entire crowded sidewalk turned to even give the propaganda machine a glance, especially not the lone frightened young man whose face could be barely seen behind the glistening barrels of repeaters.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to, rat." A stern sergeant shook the young man by the checkered collar, the young man's disheveled hair flailing wildly before being slammed into the wagon with a violent shove. He slumped to the ground, coughing out a glob of saliva and blood as he struggled to stand back up, only to feel the sharp metal tip of a military boot buckle his knees. His fall earned the laughter of the other soldiers, four surrounding him with their rifles primed and ready.

"This rat got grit! He'll do well at the front." The soldier who kicked him chortled, squatting down to look face to face with the dazed young man. The soldier prepared to raise another fist, threatening to crater the young man's nose in when the young man stuck his arm in a desperate attempt to stop them.

"Wait, please! I... I can pay! I can pay!" The young man pleaded with the grinning soldier.

"Pay what? You got a thousand rakels?"

"A thous... A thousand?!"

"Yea, that's what they are paying us to get you to the frontlines. Now cough up, or we're going to send you in with the next batch."

"No, no, no! Please, me younger brother is paralyzed back at the farm, and I can't afford to-"

The young man's appeal was interrupted by a sharp smack to his chin, sending him sprawling onto the ground with his face planted on the mucky cobblestones riddled with grime. Before he could recover, he felt his hair tugged violently upwards and forced to look up, his vision bloodied but still able to see the glowering glare of the soldier. "I don't have time for games, rat. Now you pay up, or you can reach the front with broken bones. Your choice."

"I... I only got a hundred!"

"Well, why didn't you say so? That's the right amount!"

The young man blinked twice, his head still buzzing from the pain. "Hu...huh? I thought you said it was a thousand."

"I'm feeling pretty gracious today, so if you want to keep questioning, you can ask the Versians at the front!"

"No, no! I'll pay, I'll pay!" The young man frantically fished around in his pocket for five twenty rakel coins, handing it over the soldier.

The soldier took it, thumbing the coins over and hefting them a little in his palm, checking their weight. "Good kid. You'll do well at the front."

"Do well...? But I just paid you!"

" Just means I get a thousand and a hundred rakels from you!" The soldier laughed as he smacked the young man's head again to the ground. "First-timers in Raktor are too easy. Enjoy the war, buddy. Maybe next time you'll learn for once who's top dog around here."

But before the soldier could do anything more, he felt a gigantic hand wrap around his shoulder, the hand covered in fresh bandages that were infused with health potions. "Something that you'll need to learn as well."

"Huh?" The soldier barely registered who it was until his shoulder was crushed by the iron grip, the bone splintering internally while the soldier screamed in pain. With a violent fling, the world spun about as the soldier was mercilessly tossed into a nearby trash bin, its contents spluttering out onto the roadside.

"HEY!" The sergeant spotted the commotion and stormed over, his hand already gripping the pistol holstered on his belt. "You think you can go against recruiters licensed by the Coun-" His words were caught in his throat as he saw a large man towering an entire head over him, not to mention the width of his shoulders nearly engulfing him in size. A sturdy, well-worn tower shield peeked out from behind his back as the large man cracked his knuckles. "Da-Damian!"

"Oh? Surprised you know me. Wouldn't count on scum from the Central Sector to know anyone here. Isn't that why you're here?" Damian snarled as he took a few steps forward towards the sergeant, fully unafraid of being outnumbered and placing himself between the fallen young man and the soldiers. One of the more daring soldiers near Damian raised his repeater, only to find his barrel clenched tightly before it was wrenched bare-handed out of the soldier's grip. Damian flipped the repeater over to his own two hands, rapidly disassembling it into parts that clattered onto the ground with heavy twangs.

"I have a license from the Count, which gives me the right to recruit men." The sergeant held a false bravado, waving a piece of paper in front of Damian frantically. "Obstruction shall be met with punishment by the enforcers!"

"I'm hardly obstructing you, merely stopping a crime in progress. Or perhaps you would like to explain to the inquisitors and bishop why your men are stealing rakels from potential recruits, much less beating them up? I doubt the license gives you the freedom to pummel anybody you want."

The sergeant cursed under his breath, looking at the unconscious soldier who was still collapsed on a pile of trash next to the street, onlookers already eyeing them as they headed to work. "Fuck are you doing this for even? He's not even a Seven Snakes! Fresh out of a village!"

"Anyone who enters my territory deserves my protection and hospitality. Those who wish to fight me, I am more than willing to oblige. What would it be, sergeant?" Damian withdrew his tower shield strapped to his back, revealing its full size and sheer weight. As he rested it on the ground, a minor tremor rumbled through the roadside from the impact, the tower shield covering him from chest to feet.

The sergeant gulped instinctively at the size of the tower shield. "Fine. Fall back! We'll get our quota from another district."

"Wise choice, Sergeant. I wish you a good day ahead." Damian stood his ground, preventing the soldiers from attempting to grab the fallen young man, watching intently as they left with the propaganda wagon. As soon as the wagon was out of sight, Damian turned around to help the young man, handing him a health potion. "You look like you need this."

The young man struggled to his feet, but he did not take the health potion immediately, eyeing it with caution. Damian sighed, popping the cork off the top of the potion and taking a sip himself. "It's not drugged. Take this, or you're gonna have a bad day ahead in the clinic. What would your younger brother do without you?"

"You know me younger brother?" The young man immediately perked up.

"No, just overheard you. What's wrong with him?"

"He's paralyzed from the waist down. My ma is taking care of him, but ever since we got evicted from the farm..."

"So you're looking for work."

"Am afraid so. Honestly I might just head back and try my luck selling firewood, much better than this hellhole."

"Not yet." Damian moved over to the unconscious soldier, rifling his pockets expertly to claim back the stolen hundred rakels and more. He put them all into the young man's hand, revealing it to be more than five hundred rakels. "Should be enough to buy a few good things for your brother. If you make it to the arcade, tell the staff at the alchemist shop Damian sent you. They should know what to do for your brother."

The young man was bewildered beyond belief, his mouth agape in confusion at the sheer amount of money he was handed. "No, no, no, I can't accept this. You saved my life and-"

"Keep the rakels. Besides, it ain't mine." Damian winked. "And don't you forget to drink the health potion."

"Y-y-yes sir, thank you so much, thank you so much!" The young man bowed profusely, Damian leaving the young man and heading off to the food market for his early breakfast. The sea of workers parted way for him, but instead of moving out of fear, it was out of reverence. Many exchanged pleasantries and smiles with Damian as he walked at a relaxed pace.

[You're too nice, Damian.] Adrian's voice crackled over the arctech radio slung to Damian's shoulder. [Why do all that for a no-name?]

"Hmm... just felt like it. Good to build rapport for the Seven Snakes."

[Giving him that much money is like painting a target on his back, isn't it?]

"And that's why I have the great Adrian making sure any thug racket that jumps him will get their due reward."

[Ugh.... fine. I'll send Alex to watch over the villager.]

"Good man. Now, time for food."

[Why not eat in the arcade? Canteen there is pretty good, food's fresh from the Culdao Peaks.]

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!"

[That doesn't answer my question!]

"Then it seems the great Adrian can't observe everything. Now, if you would excuse me." Damian turned off the arctech radio just as he reached the entrance of the food market, a bustling hive of activity. With the strength of the Seven Snakes multiplying over time, more and more residents were flocking here to enjoy the increased security and economic prospects. He glanced at a nearby corner cafe, the same old gang of Euria smokers waving happily at him. Rows upon rows of shabby stalls filled to the brim with delicacies of all types were assorted and arranged, attracting hungry workers looking for a hearty meal early in the morning. The smell of cooked radish and meat wafted in the air while workers unloaded shipments and crates of food, sourced from all over the county and beyond.

Just like the good old days. Damian smiled with a tinge of nostalgia while he made his way over to his choice of the day. He navigated the dense crowd, jostling his way to the front of a rundown noodle stall, its signboard already rusted with age. The wooden tables and chairs were moldy and rotting from inside, a constant creaking sound as customers delicately balanced the bowl of noodles in their hands, scooping them away feverishly.

Despite the clearly unhygienic state of the stall, there was a growing queue outside the stall being herded by the grumpy stall owner. She sauntered along the queue with a hunch, her wrinkled hands jotting down rapidly the orders of those in the queue on a small notepad. "Hey, punk! No pickpocketing in the queue, or else you can get the fuck out!" The old stall owner screeched at a laughing kid, who was already running away out of the market with a pouch of rakels in his hand.

The kid, unfortunately, bumped right into Damian, who immediately grabbed the kid's wrist and yanked the pouch of rakels away. "Not this time, kid."

"Fuck you, old man!" The kid kicked violently and slinked away, contorting his hand bones to slip away from Damian's grip. Damian didn't bother to give chase, a startled expression plastered on his bewildered face. Did he just call me old man....?

"Oh, my dear little Damian! What brings you here today? Weren't you supposed to be eating at the old man's stall?" The old stall owner grinned widely as she shambled for a hug, Damian reciprocating while bending down.

"Had a craving for something else. Got a seat?" Damian gently patted the old stall owner's back.

"Of course we do. HEY YOU! TIME'S UP!" The old stall owner pushed away from Damian, storming through the messy layout of rickety tables. She smacked the back of her notepad against a confused customer who had just finished, shooing him away and allowing Damian to sit down. The rotten wooden chair creaked under Damian's sheer weight, threatening to give way anytime. "What would you like, boy?"

"Boy...? I'm more than five times larger now, Aunt Jen." Damian raised an eyebrow in a mock surprise.

"Stop bragging, those muscles wouldn't fit in a coffin these days. They make them too small. You'll always be little Damian to me, no matter how much muscle you slap on your body. Now hurry up, you're not the only one eating!"

"You know me, same old, same old."

"I got a new concoction, you know. Rice noodles in radish soup. How about that?"

"Radish....?"

"Yea, super fresh. Some crazy farm out there has been growing them non-stop. It's almost becoming a staple here with just how cheap it is. You know how folks are."

Damian's ears twitched a little at the sound of that. He was about to reject it, but decided otherwise when faced with the expectant look on Aunt Jen's face. "Fine, I'll give it a try. One original, one radish. With extra meat."

"Both bowls?"

"Got to pack more muscles onto this body," Damian laughed.

"Righto. ONE O ONE R, MORE MEAT!" Aunt Jen hollered to the back of the stall, receiving a thumbs-up from the chef. She peeled off a page of the notepad, handing it to the back before taking a seat opposite Damian, her eyes landing on the bandages on Damian's hands. "By Yual above, just what kind of fight have you gotten into now? Are the Ilysian Punks back?"

"Oh, this? This is just training. Trying to steel up my hands."

"You trying to punch a wall? What for?" Aunt Jen grabbed Damian's hand and tugged it over the table, inspecting the wounds. She peeled apart one of the bandage, revealing blisters and callouses, along with clotting knuckles. "You're underboss of the Seven Snakes for Yual's sake, can't you get a health potion.... wait. These bandages already are infused with health potions."

"Don't need to worry about me. I'm fine. It'll heal naturally." Damian retracted his hand quickly, wrapping the bandage back.

"This is the first time I've heard of health potions not working! Just exactly how many are you taking?"

"Look, I said I'm fine. No need to get all riled up, I'll find a way to deal with it."

"The last time you said that, you and Keith got into trouble with the local thug racket ten years ago. The amount of favors I had to call to get you two punks out of that mess." Aunt Jen grumbled, already wagging a spindly finger at Damian. "You might be a big shot now, but a wise man is but a fool in his own ways. Are you doing the same old shtick again? There are hundreds of people at your beck and call; surely you don't need to personally solve every issue."

Damian groaned, hardly expecting his visit to be a nagging session. "I have a responsibility to help people here. It was you who taught me that. Think of it as my way of giving back."

"And I never said once that you needed to sacrifice your own health!" Aunt Jen snapped back. "I don't want you going around on some hero play trying to rescue no-names."

"Then why did you help me when I first showed up here?"

"That's my business. And it nearly cost me an arm and a leg with the amount of ruckus you two kicked up. There are people who care about you, Damian. And your brother needs you." Aunt Jen grabbed Damian's hand again, gripping it tightly. "You hear me?"

"Yea, yea... I'll be fine, I swear." Damian's voice trailed off without much confidence. Aunt Jen spotted the unease in Damian's expression, finally releasing Damian's hand.

"Fine then, enough doom and gloom. How's Keith?"

"Doing well. He's top of the food chain now. You know, we've been looking at getting more vendors for the expansion of the arcade. I can talk to Keith to book a slot for you, so you can expand. Maybe sell other stuff-"

"Don't be silly, boy." Aunt Jen interjected, waving her hands dismissively. "What other stuff could I sell? I'm only known for noodles!"

"You could try to spice things up, just like how you've been incorporating radish. Maybe a menu of new noodle recipes, or move out to other types of dishes. As good as your noodles are, aren't you sick of doing the same thing over and over again?"

Aunt Jen let out a sigh. "My pa left me this stall fifty years ago. We're noodle folks, ain't no escaping that. Besides, I ain't got the energy for such a large commitment, my spot in life is here."

"Well we can provide better security, more footfall, advertising and temperature-regulated conditions-"

"Like you said yourself kid, if I move, who's gonna feed the workers here? No one is going to steal from an old lady like me anyway, not even worth a tussle in the alley. And you got Seven Snakes patrolling here regularly too." Aunt Jen was about to continue when a server brought over the two bowls of noodles in soup, piping hot. "Well, eat up. Try a bit of the original before trying the radish."

"Sure." Damian picked up a fork, twirling the strands of noodles into a bunch before munching straight in. Despite Aunt Jen's experience in the noodle-making business, Damian could definitely say that he had better, especially when he had more than enough money to burn. But there was just something about the flavor that made his heart tighten up, his body remembering it as the first meal he had when entering Raktor.

"How is it?"

Damian chewed with a satisfied grin, giving a thumbs up. "Just as good as the first day I had it. Keith's missing out on this."

"Damn right, I still got it. Now try the radish." Aunt Jen watched expectantly as Damian prepared to slurp up a mouthful of the new noodle recipe. "Speaking of Keith, what about that hottie you brought a year ago...? Alvin? Kyle? He was a real sexy one, had a feisty aura to him, wouldn't mind him taking me back out to the alley."

Damian spluttered out his entire mouthful of radish noodles onto the table, a portion of the soup exiting through his nose from sheer shock. "What?!"

"Just a joke, kid, calm down." Aunt Jen chortled as she snagged a cloth off a passing server, wiping the table up and handing the clean end to Damian. "Still, it would be good to see his face around here. Yual knows we don't get enough eye candy around these parts."

"Ain't we good enough?!" An eavesdropping old man shouted over, indignant about the perceived slight.

"Shut it, old man, you look like you crawled out of a Tusken Rabbit's arse and got mauled by a goblin." Aunt Jen shot back.

Damian laughed at the exchange while wiping his face off, relishing in what was a flash of the good old days. This district was his home, his territory, even if he wasn't born here. Many of the workers weren't either, thousands having migrated from the other parts of the county and the Yual Dominion in search of a better life. Now that I have the power to, it's my responsibility to make sure the district is well off.

"I'll let Kyle know that a lady is waiting for him." Damian joked along with the rest of the laughing customers.

"And you best make sure what I lack in beauty, I make up for it in experience."

A few customers nearby internally shuddered at the mental image, earning a glare from Aunt Jen and causing more raucous laughter to erupt. Damian nearly fell over laughing too, only for Aunt Jen to smack the table. "Boy, don't think I wasn't talk of the town back then! In my prime, I had suitors far and wide come in to woo me, and not just from the Yual Dominion."

"So the Versians are fighting to win your hand?"

"Who knows? A lady's charm is eternal." Aunt Jen flicked her white hair back before nagging Damian. "You little rascal, at least Keith would be much nicer to me and at least indulge me a little. Huh, speak of the devil."

Damian raised his eyebrows, spotting Keith walking towards the noodle stall with two bodyguards flanking him. Just like Damian, Keith had changed a lot in appearance from their time as kids. He walked with the gait of a scholar, his eyes sharp and focused, while his tailored suit accentuated his lanky form. His pace was brisk, heading straight towards Damian with clear urgency. As soon as Keith noticed Aunt Jen however, his demeanor softened significantly, immediately bowing out of respect.

"What the hell you bowing for? You make it feel like I'm a fucking enforcer." Aunt Jen stood up from the table to hug Keith, Keith returning the hug as well.

"Great to see you too, Aunt Jen. But there's important business I need to discuss with Damian. We'll drop by later." Keith gave a genial smile, before motioning frantically for Damian to follow him.

"Sorry, Aunt Jen." Damian apologized for the unfinished noodle bowls as he raced off after Keith, who was already leaving. "We'll catch up next time!"

"Hey, you haven't paid anything yet!"

"Put in on my tab!" Damian shouted back, finally joining Keith as the four of them carved a path through the crowded market. Damian leaned over to Keith's ear, whispering quietly. "What's going on? Did the Wretches finally attack?"

"No. I need you for a negotiation. I'll explain more in the wagon." Keith muttered under his breath, his eyes wary of any eavesdroppers. Damian nodded, following him till they entered an armored wagon that had been modified by the Seven Snakes, heavily defended along with a mounted repeater slapped to the top. The other wagons didn't dare block its path as it took off, the metal armor plates vibrating heavily along the cobblestone street.

"You could at least tell me where we're going."

"Not when any of the Ardent Cretins could be listening in." Keith peeked out of the cabin's window, eyeing the passersby with paranoia. "You remember the fundraiser I told you before? The one that we're organizing for the Golden Snakes?"

"In a week's time? Yeah, what about it?"

"We might not have enough money to do everything that we wanted."

"What do you mean? We were doing fine on the balance sheet last time we checked."

"Yes, we aren't losing money, but we're not exactly generating enough to make us an attractive investment prospect," Keith explained. "The weapons factory is by far our largest legal business, and we certainly can't use our potion-making business as an asset to convince investors. At the current rate, no one is going to budge an inch at the fundraiser. We need a solid win. Already a few of the nobles that we have invited have expressed reluctance to attend."

"Can't we just show them all the profits?"

"Not when we're using them to arm ourselves to the teeth." Keith rasped his knuckles against the armor plates of the cabin. "I'm still following Kyle's recent order about fortifying our defenses, and I agree with him."

The wagon came to a halt at a major junction, Damian was able to spot a defensive checkpoint manned by Seven Snakes recruit. The checkpoint was a ring of sandbags and discarded concrete slabs forming a makeshift wall, while mounted repeaters and rations were stored in chests. Such checkpoints were now positioned all across the three districts that the Seven Snakes owned, improving their defensive measures against anyone who would try to stir up dissent again as the old union did. It cost the gang a lot, but it bolstered the security and the safety of the locals, increasing immigration and economic activity much higher than the surrounding districts.

"So I assume this negotiation is working to that end," Damian concluded.

"I already had a call with one of our bankers. If we want to have a shot at issuing our own bonds or raising funds for our legal ventures, we're going to need an authorized license from the Sanctum." Keith nodded. The wagon lurched forward again, this time clearly heading towards the Magda.

"And you need me because..."

"You have a better rapport with the enforcers than I have. Though I'm just being cautious at this stage. With how much we've been collaborating with the enforcers for the housing project, I doubt they would say no."

***

"No. Out of the question." Bishop Vernette announced while sitting calmly on a sofa facing Keith and Damian. She was hardly intimidated by the presence of Damian, not with Inquisitor Mason standing right behind her. The inquisitor's pistol glistened from the ray of lights streaming through the office's stained glass, contrasting against Damian's tower shield resting against a chair.

"What?" Keith was taken aback. "It makes no reason for you to say no."

"I have a reputation to uphold. I am the Bishop of the South Sector, and I am to be seen as impartial. If anything were to damage that image, there would be dire consequences that neither you nor I can predict."

"Your name is already plastered all over our housing projects."

"Which is a public service to the people of the South Sector. Not a nepotism-fueled endorsement of private gains by a semi-legal entity." Bishop Vernette shot back. "I cannot afford to show any favoritism at all when it comes to monetary issues."

"It's already favoritism to endorse our housing projects!"

"And if the Ardent Cretins were to do a similar project, I would support them all the same. You do not understand, Keith. Such licenses are usually issued only to the nobility or the major gangs. It is nearly unheard of for a commoner to have such an investment license without significant assets or backing."

"I have the assets and backing necessary. Our organization has more than two thousand employees and their families in our care. Our weapons factory accounts for a third of the war material delivered to the front lines. I'll venture so far as to say that only the major gangs and the Barons have more wealth than I do!" Keith jabbed his thumb at himself.

"The assets and backing I am talking about are social connections and legitimacy, both of which you are lacking in. Something money alone cannot buy."

"How much?"

"How much? What do you mean?"

"How much do you need in order to get us the license?" Keith motioned with his chin. "Let's negotiate."

"You seem to be mistaken, Keith. There is no negotiation here. No amount of money will let me jeopardize my position."

"Not even ten million rakels?"

"Not even a billion." Bishop Vernette asserted. She leaned over slightly, staring right at Keith. "If I were just in it for the money, none of the gangs in the South Sector would even exist. You're lucky I have a different goal in mind."

"What, be top dog of the Sanctum?"

"If you would believe that, then yes."

Keith scoffed under his breath, about to lash out again when Damian stretched out his hand, stopping Keith. "Bishop Vernette, Inquisitor Mason. Apologies for the outburst, but as you can see, we're a bit tense because of the upcoming fundraiser." Damian took over.

"I know, I got the invitation. Unfortunately, I will not be attending. Such matters of wealth and material gain shouldn't be in the purview of a Bishop."

"I fully understand your position, but perhaps there is another way where we can solve the problem. There must be a loophole or something that we could use to improve our chances." Damian tried a diplomatic route, but the Bishop only let out an exasperated sigh.

"Any move we make to help you will earn the ire of the other gangs. There is enough tension in the South Sector, and the war isn't making things any easier. We're already having a tough time putting down riots and subsidizing the prices."

"We can help with that if you want; we can supply food if needed. You just have to give us a hint, a tip or anything." Damian pressed.

Bishop Vernette glanced at Inquisitor Mason, giving a knowing nod. Mason cleared his throat, speaking clearly. "The truth of the matter is, it doesn't matter if you have a license or not. The license is only for public investment, while a noble of Raktor is more than freely able to invest directly into your organization anytime he chooses to, whether or not your organization is semi-legal."

"But with no license to allow for public investment, there wouldn't be a momentum," Keith argued. "Not everyone coming to the fundraiser are nobles."

"Indeed, but you're putting the cart before the horse. Even with the license, if the nobles refused to put money with you, the public and other business owners will be equally reluctant to."

Keith's eyes squinted in realization. "So you're saying..."

"Yes. The Ardent Cretins, or specifically Sebastian, is limiting your fundraiser. Until you solve any issues you might have with him, most of the nobles would be unwilling to invest into you."

"Damn it!" Keith slammed the holster of the sofa chair out of frustration. "It's that stupid embargo he placed on us!"

"Thank you for the heads up. We'll see what we can do about it." Damian nodded with gratitude, motioning for Keith to go.

As soon as they re-entered the wagon, Keith was fuming with rage, cursing under his breath as he rubbed his hair repeatedly. "There's no way in hell that we're going to get Sebastian to lift the embargo. His hired men are still out there harassing our convoys, and more likely than not trying to figure out where our tunnels from the Culdao Peaks are!"

"If you really want the fundraiser to work out, then we might have to talk with him." Damian offered his suggestion. "Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise."

"Compromise? With an asshole who sabotaged our shopping arcade launch, and turned every provider of arcite ore away from us? Fat chance." Keith snapped. "We're better off trying to blackmail a few of the richer nobles into investing in us. Or, we could find gangs at loggerheads with the Ardent Cretins and side with them. I'm sure the other major gangs will be pleased to help us go toe to toe."

"We shouldn't go looking for war yet, not when we'll bear the brunt of an attack." Damian warned. "We'll be used as a buffer zone instead if we work with another external major gang. There's no use trying to force it now, let’s take a breather and think about it more. Maybe consult the other vipers."

Keith took a deep breath, calming himself down. "You're right. I'll call for a meeting back at the shopping arcade."

The wagon returned to the shopping arcade without much incident, but as soon as they came within view of the foyer, Damian and Keith could spot people already walking away quickly, some even breaking into a run as they scattered through the streets, trying to get as far away from the shopping arcade. Damian frantically geared up, equipping his tower shield before exiting the wagon. "Stay here until its clear!" Damian ordered Keith while he rushed out to see what was happening.

At the very center of the foyer were two lone individuals, Damian only recognizing one of them as his heart rate increased. He gripped the handle of the tower shield harder, leading the way as a squad of Seven Snakes recruits formed up behind him. The arctech radio mounted on the recruits' shoulders was already a flurry of shouts, Niko and Adrian belting orders to assemble everyone. [Move, move, move!]

More than three dozen Seven Snakes surrounded the two individuals, waiting with bated breath and trepidation in their height. Some of them shivered in their boots as they watched one of the individuals lift up another person by his bare hands, the dangling legs of the person now higher than the roof of a wagon. Damian steeled himself as he walked up to face the two individuals eye to eye, summoning as much courage as he could. "Put Kyle down now, and no one needs to get hurt," Damian spoke clearly.

"Are you speaking for your men, or are you seriously thinking you can take on the two of us?"

"We might not come out unscathed, but I'll take special care to make sure you won't get away without a scratch, Sebastian."

Sebastian broke out into a smile, his cane tapping the ground lightly. "Ah, Damian, so good to see you again. As aggressive as always. Still haven't gotten over the kidnapping of your brother, have you?"

"Shut up. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Just a friendly visit, that's all, nothing more. Can't a friend visit his fellow gang leaders once in a while? Though I'll have to say, this ‘version’ of Kyle is far from inspiring. I expect a body double to be at least convincing. He’s the wrong height and body shape, and he certainly doesn’t have the gait."

The doppelganger of Kyle was still hoisted high up into the air, his fake wig already dropping off as the person lifting him dragged his head closer for a sniff. Each breath the person took was like a gust of wind, the sheer size of his body akin to that of a half-giant, leagues larger than Damian could ever hope to be. "This doesn't smell anything like what you said Kyle would be!"

"He's a fake, Ares."

Ares?! Damian's heart jumped a little, while the other Seven Snakes all recoiled in fear. As the doppelganger was unceremoniously tossed to the ground with a thud, Ares let out a wide grin, his blond beard stretching from ear to ear as he smacked both his fists together. "Well, where's the real one?! I didn't come here just to be denied a fight!"

"You'll have to deal with me first." Damian squared up as much as he could, but the size of Ares was intimidating, Damian having to crane his neck up to look Ares in the eye.

Ares glowered into Damian's eyes with a stern glare, before breaking out into laughter. "HAHA! You! You got the smell of Ulon all over you! Too bad that runt is dead now." Ares took a step forward, the body mass sending a tremor through the foyer that reached the bodies of the Seven Snakes recruits around.

While the recruits trembled, Damian stood firm, unyielding and turning his attention to Sebastian. "Is this your idea of a friendly visit?"

"It can be if you stop Keith from cowering in his wagon." Sebastian gave a mocking smile. "It'll be good to have a talk with a scholar for once."

"Forgive us for taking such defensive measures." Damian bowed, before calling Keith out. As Keith stepped out of the wagon, he shot a glowering glare at Sebastian, walking over with four bodyguards in tow.

"What do you want?"

"I hear you're having some financial difficulties, and apparently, it is a result of my embargo. Perhaps we can negotiate a resolution, just you and I, while your brother entertains Ares."

Keith glanced at Damian, who gave him a confident nod. "Fine. Right this way. But make any funny move, and I won't hesitate to put three pellets through your head."

"Of course. Lead the way." Sebastian obliged, following Keith into the shopping arcade towards the meeting room.

"If the real Kyle isn't here, this is going to be a boring wait." Ares let out a yawn as he watched Sebastian leave.

"If you're so bored, then maybe you would like to spar with me? Or perhaps I'm considered too weak for you?" Damian offered, his eyes glinting with a secret agenda.

"Oh?" Ares raised an eyebrow. "You do look like you got some guts. First time in a while someone picked a fight with me. Good! I accept!"