I Own a Brothel in Another World

In a forest far, far away at about the same time…

 

The deafening noise of the ongoing downpour muffles every other possible sound. All the birds hid away, and even bigger animals retreated to the safety of their dens. From what the farmer told me, it’s not going to stop for at least a few more days, which is common for this region. It rains so hard that roads turn into rivers, delaying many transports or straight up interrupting some.

Thankfully, it started just yesterday so the dirt path right below me is still relatively usable. Unfortunately, even while sitting on a thick branch reaching out above its surface, the bountiful crown of leaves doesn’t do much to shield me from the invasive humidity. The water still gets through, making my clothes thoroughly soaked, even with the bits of modern repellent material hidden underneath everything.

It wouldn’t help keeping it on the outside, only attracting unnecessary attention.

Taking a quick glance at my watch, I sigh heavily. If my estimates are correct, the target should be in range in less than ten minutes. They have never once been late in the past, and there is no reason for them to alter their tight schedule. Unless they caught wind of me, but that’s highly unlikely.

Trying to drag my thoughts away from things that are out of my control, I rest my weapon against my shoulder and reach into my collar. My fingers come back with a wooden locket in the shape of a cat’s paw and I turn it around in my grasp a few times. One side has a roughly carved engraving of the letter A, while the other is adorned with the letter N, both looking like they have been formed with a beast’s claw.

With a light squeeze, the locket pops open, revealing its contents.

In the left indent, rests a piece of tanned leather with a charcoal depiction of a gently smiling woman of the pure-blood Catkin line. She stares back at me with an affectionate look, captured perfectly by the talented artisan behind this way too-real picture. The only thing that would make it even more faithful would be the use of brown pigment instead of black, but the limitations of this type of canvas are obvious.

In the right indent, there’s another piece of leather with another captured bust. This one depicts a few-year-old boy looking fairly Human with adorable cat ears and a huge grin. That beaming expression is unbelievably infectious even if it comes just from a picture and I can’t help but smirk a little as I admire it.

But, it doesn’t last long, soon fading away from my lips as the realisation comes in once more.

“From the worst failure of a father to the worst failure of a husband.” I chuckle dryly, brushing my finger over both drawings. “It seems no matter which world, I’m destined to become a disappointment to those I hold dear.”

It’s been years since I have last seen both of them, but this time, I have no excuse.

This time, I haven't been spirited away to an unknown land against my own will with no way of coming back.

As my thumb stops at Noah’s gleeful face, I press onto it and pull down, bending the flexible material, which in turn reveals a real picture hidden behind. The colours are a little faded by now, but the photographic paper has been safe from external factors underneath that piece of leather. It captures another little boy, a bit older, maybe twice as old or so at that point, bearing some resemblance with the first one. But the setting is much more modern as he holds a BB gun in one hand and a paper target full of holes in the other, smirking proudly.

Little boy? I shake my head with a snicker. Not so much anymore. He should be around twenty-nine today, grown into a full-fledged man, and most likely have at least one little boy of his own running around. Hopefully, he hasn’t followed in his father’s footsteps and found a nice lady to form a loving family with.

But, he’s always been a smart guy. There is no way he gets conned into something he doesn’t expect like his old man.

Before any water can get into the locket, I cover the photo once more and close the trinket, shoving it under my clothes. The first signs of movement can be spotted to my left, just as another loud thunder rolls through the area. I spy a few horses with robed individuals leading a caravan full of carts and wagons. The escorts are paying attention to all the sides, thankfully excluding the sky.

I should have been home with my own family a long time ago too. I really should have run back right after the defence against the Abyssals failed.

But, a man never breaks his word.

And no soldier is left behind.

When Bradley hadn't shown up for our scheduled meeting after we parted ways, I knew something was wrong. He was like a brother to me, and I was like a brother to him, which he lost to the merciless claws of war. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that he worried about me more than anything else left in his cold world. Him not coming to check up on me? Impossible. Nothing would have stopped him.

But, I had my responsibilities. New responsibilities to a kind community and an understanding woman. I had to assume the worst and live on. This world is a dangerous place with monsters, beasts, and Humans alike. Anything could have happened.

At least until I caught a whiff of him during that fateful last battle before the King had fallen.

What followed was months of investigation and reconnaissance, which quickly turned into years due to how bigger this entire thing is than just a simple conspiracy. These people are involved in some atrocious things, not only limited to slavery and abuse on a racial basis. They aren’t nice to their own kind either. They are even hunting some group called Heroes, supposedly brought here from another world, just like us. If they learned of Bradley’s true identity during his imprisonment, he would be worse than done for.

But, it all ends today. I’m going to find him, break him out, and come back to my beloved Ayumi to beg for forgiveness. I’ll accept every ounce of hate she might harbour for me for abandoning her and our precious son. And if that’s going to be her wish, I’ll disappear from their lives and never show myself in front of them again.

In the end, I’m quite experienced in that, aren’t I?

Nevertheless, all of this can wait a few more hours. Shaking my head, I reposition myself, observing the long line of carriages passing beneath me, their roofs and canopies almost grazing the low-hanging branch I’m crouching on. If any of the guards look up, I’m a goner.

But, they never do.

Waiting for one particular wagon, I attach my trusty mechanical rifle to my back, courtesy of one fine Dwarf craftsman, and slip my limbs into loops of rope I prepared ahead of time. Making sure my heels and palms are firmly locked on, I count the carts in my head. As the number reaches thirteen, I roll myself over.

Someone must be looking over me from up there because another lightning strike strikes the nearby area, further muting out any potential noise the leaves and wood could create as the oppressive thunder rolls into the caravan. I quickly descend onto the solid roof of the wagon I’ve been aiming for, using the ropes to slow my fall almost to a halt, touching onto the polished surface without the faintest knock.

Hastily wiggling my feet and hands out of the hoops, I release the four ropes and they shoot back into the tree thanks to the system of pulleys I installed above that branch. Before we pass the tree completely, there is no sign of anything happening, save for my body lying atop one of the roofs without the slightest twitch. I wait with bated breath to see if anyone has noticed anything, but the convoy doesn’t slow down.

Perfect.

Now I just have to stay like this for a few more hours, getting smacked with intense rain all over. It’s not even close to the worst conditions we’ve had to stay put under with Brad, so it will be a breeze. There are no more checkpoints on their path, so unless some unexpected and unaccounted variable alters their usual transport, I should be as good as in there already.

Just wait for me, buddy. I’m coming to drag your ass out of hot water in a second.

Like good old times.

Hours fly by and we reach our destination. A walled-off mining colony enters my eyes, but I’m already intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of the settlement. The lack of any watchtowers near the main gate is one of the crucial reasons why I chose this particular supply route for my operation. There are a few ways into their hideout that have high chances of leading me to Brad, but this one is the safest.

We roll through the double-winged reinforced gate without an issue. The convoy stops only briefly so that the leader can pay off the sentry with the agreed amount. With that, the government official only acts like he is checking the cargo while his subordinates stay put. No one has any idea that these merchants bring no supplies or livestock.

Though, to him and the individuals running this entire thing, the monsters crammed inside the wagons might be considered just so.

These poor men and women…

But, I can’t risk my mission yet. If the chance arrives, I’ll do whatever I can to help them on our way out. I bet Bradley is going to insist on it anyway.

Some of the houses reach past the height of the caravan, but the weather is so terrible no one keeps their shutters open. Besides, this community is so oppressed barely anyone would be willing to risk attracting any ire from the evil syndicate, even by going to report suspicious activity.

The smartest thing they can do is keep their heads low and they know it well.

Soon, the transport arrives in the warehouse district and the individual carriages split between various buildings. I hold onto mine, preparing for the next step. My ride heads for the one on the right, which is a win as the entrance is much higher than necessary, resembling barn doors.

Servants open them up and we make it inside. But, the wagon doesn’t stop there, continuing to move forward. Before the horses walk straight into the back wall, a sizable trapdoor drops into the ground at a slight angle, creating a sloping ramp descending into the floor. The driver slows down and I make use of all the commotion before it’s too late.

Flipping onto my back as the ramp releases a heavy thud and shakes the warehouse, I pull an elongated package from my left pant, loosening my belt a little. The compressed frame flicks to life in a blink and a rectangular box of see-through fabric covers me, high enough to tickle my nose and extending in all directions just far enough to embrace my prone form. Holding my breath, I wait to see if I’ve been caught, even though the entire process is completely silent.

We continue as if nothing happened and I allow myself a small smirk. From the outside, it looks like a natural part of the carriage, resembling a wooden bit of the exact same shade. Originally, my ride had a flat roof, but this specific model comes out with a raised one too for a more comfortable journey allowing the passengers to stand. I can only bet on these guys not writing such details in their records of coaches in their use.

The wooden architecture quickly switches places with heavy stone bricks and a pebble road. It’s a good change since the noise of the hooves and the creaking of the wooden wheels fill the narrow tunnel. There are only five guards with my carriage, excluding the coachman. The others sit on the back of their animals and boredly escort the transport. Flaming sconces adorn the walls, bathing them in an orange glow.

Evil organisation utilising a massive network of secret underground passages couldn’t get any more cliche, could it?

Our journey doesn’t last much longer, as after a few sharp turns, we find ourselves in a slightly wider space with multiple square openings lined up in a row, reaching from the ground to the ceiling. This has to be the unloading area, and my thoughts are proven correct as the wagon backs into one of the bays. We are alone so far, no other carts waiting to be taken care of, so I need to act quickly.

The escorts hop off their horses, tie them up on the side, and split. Three go with the coachman into the nearby compartment, leaving only two hooded guys to keep watch over the goods. They snicker to themselves, and I can hear them coming closer, most likely to bully the captives while their superior is gone.

Sensing the tremors from them hitting their fists against the wooden sides and starting to talk smack, I whip my cover aside. Rolling into a crouch, I peek past the edge of the roof, finding them gazing inside through the little window in the locked door. Quiet whimpers and sobs escape through the opening.

Two will be a bit problematic. An unlucky start already.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a metal bearing and equip my military knife. Waiting a moment for the best opportunity, I toss the tiny ball at the horses, spooking them greatly as one of the animals gets stung in the butt. The men instantly whip their heads towards the commotion, turning their bodies along.

Not wasting any time, I drop off the ledge and stab the further man’s neck from behind as I land on him. Of course, the noise of our bodies hitting the ground makes his friend whip around, but I’m already in motion. As his mouth opens to sound an alarm, my blade finds purchase in his jaw, stabbing right through its middle and sinking itself in the roof of his mouth. With my other hand, I drive an additional dagger into his neck from the side, slowly lowering the guy to the ground.

Releasing the breath I’ve been holding, I look around and jerk a little at the sight of two furry-eared heads poking out of the carriage’s window. Smiling reassuringly, I put a bloody finger to my lips, and the Beastkin females nod obediently. I hastily urge them back inside and slide the window lock into its rightful position.

There’s no doubt these people are going to catch on even if I perfectly hide the bodies and clean up all the evidence, but I don’t want them to blame these poor victims, thinking they fought back. They suffered enough already.

Maybe if I hadn’t stabbed the first criminal into the back of his neck, I would have been able to make it look like they fought each other, but this won’t work anymore. Therefore, I leave them be. I already expected this outcome as one of the possible developments. All I can do now is hurry.

Taking a peek into the loading bays, I confirm that no one is coming yet and bring up a scroll from a pouch on my belt. Unrolling it, I scan the numerous lines with my eyes, jumping from one to another. Recalling every turn we have made, I quickly find my current location in the underground complex. This map might have been the result of stitching together a number of testimonies that roughly worked together, but it’s enough to go by.

Slinging my main weapon from my shoulder, I make sure the bolt is loaded, flick the safety, and run into the third bay, pulling my kevlar skull mask down. It will help protect my head and hide my face from these men at the same time. It would have a hard time stopping a bullet from a rifle, but arrows and bolts are useless against it as long as they don’t hit the reinforced glass eyes.

After about five minutes of running, I should come into the sorting hall. It will be the first big hurdle on my path to the solitary confinement cells and the dungeons. Most if not all of the merchandise is supposed to move through it before being distributed to various sections of the facility. There, it will be decided where the shipment should move next. Naturally, not every single one of the incoming goods leaves this place in the same condition, or at all.

I’ll have to sneak past the busy arrangement centre somehow. There’s a chance the employees working there won’t be informed about the breach yet, but I shouldn’t count on luck. I need to keep to the shadows or find a way to become one of them. Unfortunately, stealing the outfits of one of the men I killed wasn’t going to work. And they changed their identification patches very often, so preparing ahead was not possible.

As I’m going through various possible steps I can take, the tunnel widens and the noise of a typical warehouse commotion reaches my ears, paired with lots of crying and whimpering. I try my best not to get swayed by the sight of lines of people in chains being forced to move in certain directions. Plenty of metal cages and wooden crates litter the ground and the building-sized shelves reach the very ceiling a few long metres above my head.

This entire place needs to go down, but I’m not in a Hollywood movie. It’s not a job for a single person.

Right now, I can bring down only a little bit of it.

Time for a diversion.

Jogging behind one of the massive crates, I find an angle where I’m completely hidden from sight. The nearest torch is far enough for the shadow covering this spot to rival the darkest night. Resting the stock of my weapon against its edge and taking aim at the warehouse shelves an intersection away from me, I wait a moment in silence.

The second everyone is turned away from it, save for the captives, I pull the trigger and receive a slight mechanical kick in the shoulder. It’s nowhere near the power of a real gun, but this contraption beats any crossbow, rivalling full-fledged ballista with its piercing power. The short metal arrow cuts through the air and sinks into a palette holding a bunch of wooden barrels together. There’s a thin wire attached to it, barely visible like a fishing line, and I pull on it strongly.

With the arrow tip belonging to the barbed ones, the bolt properly stays in place and transfers the energy to the target it has struck. A single wooden groan later, the cluster of barrels is speeding down towards the ground. I roll the wire up, yanking the bolt back to me just as the package finally reaches its destination and shatters. Clothes and trinkets burst in all directions, bringing the hall to a temporary silence as everyone peers towards the scene to investigate what happened.

Some shouting about almost ending up as a stain ensues, and an argument breaks out, multiple people blaming each other for not securing the kegs properly. While they get quite heated, I’m already on the move, weaving between other shelves, heading for the exit. It’s going fairly smoothly, half of these criminals are busy watching the beatdown that ensued, and half are returning to their work, focusing on it even harder not to risk upsetting their bosses.

Until.

Unexpectedly, the passage I need to take, if I don’t want to continue causing disturbances in search of other viable exits for the next hour, is guarded by a sentry whose only task seems to be making sure no one brings anything belonging to the slaves out of the sorting centre.

Obviously, that won’t fly with me.

I’m way too far in to back off and try another tunnel. My intrusion can be discovered at any given moment, and it’s a surprise no one has come running while shouting about an attack. So, I have to act fast.

Peeking out of my hiding spot, I roam my gaze over the surrounding area and locate a solution. Disappearing into the shadows once more, I knock onto the wooden surface next to me at a regular rhythm, hitting it with my heel. The even, almost mechanical noise reverberates throughout the air.

Soon enough, it catches the attention of the guy I’ve seen. He comes to investigate, perhaps worried another accident might occur, this time in his backyard. And that’s when I jump at him with the thin wire from the bolt wrapped around my knuckles and roll it around his throat, pulling him into the darkness. He gets no word out as it restricts his throat, and doesn’t get to fight back much as my knife finds purchase in his heart right away. I hold onto him until he stops struggling, dropping lifelessly into my arms.

Replacing my cloak with his fairly uniform one, I dig out an identification plaque from his vest. Concealing my weapon beneath the cape, I pull the hood low and head in the direction of the guard, trying my best to look like I belong. Confidence is everything in stealth ops.

Obviously, the big guy stops me for the routine checkup, but no one else pays any attention to me until that point. I show him the patch on my right arm and hold the badge out. When he is about to take it, I accidentally let go, apologising for my clumsiness. He sneers under his breath while crouching to receive it.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to rise.

Knife in the neck and wire around his throat, I push the guard behind the nearest shelf. He must be of a much higher Tier because it takes almost an entire minute and five more stabs to bring him down. I’m glad he wasn’t a mage or something.

Checking for any witnesses, I slip into the corridor and continue with my infiltration. Having pretty much memorised the map, I run straight to my destination, slowing down only when someone shows up on my path, using every shortcut and utility storeroom to avoid all unnecessary contact.

Honestly, with big organisations like these, getting in is the biggest issue. After that, it’s just a matter of not ending up attracting too much unwanted attention. At least that’s what they taught us.

Finally, the scenery changes from rough and uneven cobble to smooth stone everywhere. The isolation cells should be up ahead. Looking through all of them is impossible, so I’ll have to strike the overseer’s office and locate the prisoner records. Hopefully, the guy isn’t currently on a piss break as I’m utter garbage at picking locks.

Assuming a slow pace, I stroll into the isolation wing. Long stairs lead me down into a wide hallway ending with a T-junction. At the end, between the paths leading to the sides, is a reinforced door, right next to a rectangular hole in the wall, two-thirds covered by iron bars.

That’s my jailor’s closet.

The question is, what now? I could try riling him up with some insults, making him come out to beat the shit out of me. But, he might as well be a thinking person, calling for guards instead. He has to have at least a few around. Perhaps I can try luring him close to the window and stealing his keys somehow, but to do that, I would have to—

Without an ounce of hesitation, I bring my reloaded weapon to my shoulder and line up the small red cross of my trusty SPECTRE with its all-purpose four-times magnification with the shiny surface of a man’s bald head. Releasing a quiet twang as the squeezed springs are released free, the metal projectile crosses the distance in a blink, going right through his skull and into the wall the guy was going to lean on while glancing out of his post. He’s effectively dead and pinned to the stone surface, and if my luck has held, in reach of an arm.

But, the whizz of the bolt hasn’t been missed, and someone walks out of the left path to investigate the noise, taking a peek into the grated window. I finish slipping another bolt into the barrel of my makeshift rifle and pull the mechanism back just in time to see him turning around.

Another pull of the trigger, another headshot, another corpse attached to a wall.

Then, three more individuals fill into the hallways, very much aware of what has happened to their colleague this time. One raises a heavy crossbow while the other two unsheathe a longsword and a spear respectively. With only one attacker, I can understand why they feel like they can handle this, especially since I showed them that I specialise in ranged attacks.

So, before they can shorten the distance between us, I pull out a hand-sized ball and twist the top, throwing it between us. The springy sphere bounces a few times as I drop to my knee to reload quicker. A second later, it explodes with a puff of thick white smoke, covering the entire width of the sizable hallway.

I can hear my opponents starting to run my way, most likely assuming that I’m trying to escape, and toss another makeshift grenade into the obstruction, or rather, way past it. The second ball explodes too, but with a flash of intense light instead, illuminating three silhouettes through the fog for one single blink.

That blink is enough for me to swing the barrel towards the location of the crossbow wielder and release another shot, followed by a recognisable thunk.

“Damon!” one of the remaining criminals shouts.

But, the footsteps continue so I rise from the ground and take hold of my knife.

Rule number one, the person who will see their target first is almost always the one outside of the smoke.

And because of that, the longsword guy makes himself known by trying to clear his vision with his waving arm. The second he steps out of the fog, my blade is already dipping into his throat and I meet his surprised eyes. Kicking him aside, I steal his sword from his hand and rush ahead towards the spot where I heard the cry.

To combat the downside of what I’m doing and avoid ending up like that previous guy, I throw the longsword forward before emerging from the thick cloud. It clearly collides with something, and I regain my sight to the image of the spear wielder with his polearm knocked off the mark a bit.

That bit is enough for me to cross the remaining distance and smack him in the face with the butt of my mechanical rifle. He goes down with a groan, which quickly switches into a gurgling noise as I stomp on his throat. Reloading another bolt, I aim downwards and finish him off with a third headshot.

Listening in for reinforcements, I put another bolt into place, and start collecting all the previous ones, not forgetting the knife still embedded in the first guy’s neck. Then, I run to the jailer’s booth and reach for his limp body. With a bit of struggle, I fish out the keys from his pants, opening the door a moment later.

Time is an extremely valuable commodity right now so I make the best use of it, rifling through the prison keeper’s desk. There are books, ledgers, and scrolls noting down his prisoners, including what he got from them during his interviews. Name after name, description after description, I search for that single one.

But, it never comes up.

Stepping away from the desk, I run a hand down my face. “Why? Why isn’t it here? I know they have him. It’s impossible for so many people to give matching testimonies over months of time difference without being able to communicate. No one is so resilient to torture, not to mention fifteen random thugs from some damned syndicate!”

Could they have sent him to the dungeons instead? As far as I know, only demi-humans are brought there. Every Human is still a potential agent to them, requiring just enough convincing to change sides. And if that doesn’t work, they just kill their captives outright.

No use worrying over what I can’t know. The dungeons aren’t far. I can check them and make a run for it if there’s nothing.

I’ll literally have to run, though.

Already hearing the commotion from the direction of the stairs, I dart out of the booth and disappear into the right passage. For some reason, the dungeons aren’t right next to the solitary confinement cells for Humans, separated by the barracks. Perhaps whoever planned this place out wanted their troops to be able to reach either location just as quickly.

I sprint through the hallways until they widen once more. The polished stone is replaced by natural-looking rock as I step into a massive cavern. There’s another exit on the opposite end, and multiple barrack houses extending to one side. Right now, they all seem empty. But, judging by the sound of an alarm bell, I have somehow missed the reinforcements by a hair’s breadth.

Not wanting to test my luck any further, I jog ahead, keeping an eye on the buildings to my left. As I reach the half point, something catches my attention, but I don’t stop moving. A single person is sitting on the patio of one of the barracks while carving a wood figurine with a knife. My gaze flicks to the small statue, and back forward as I file the straggler in as not a threat. There’s always someone who intentionally lags behind to save his skin.

Then, I freeze.

I know the design of that knife. It came with a pair.

“Well, well, well…” The man lifts his face from his craft. “I never thought I would get to see this mask again…”

I turn again, sliding my mask up. “Brad?”

Of course. I should have thought about that. Who else would have managed to infiltrate the enemy’s ranks while looking for an opportunity to escape, making them think he has joined their side, if not my best buddy, spotter, and intel gatherer?

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” I chuckle wryly, spreading my arms to the sides. “I thought you were a goner after I didn’t find your name in the jailer’s registry. I’ve come to get you out. Everything is set, join me and we are good to go.”

“I was wondering who would be stupid enough to poke the proverbial bear with a glowing red stick right in its lair, but I should have figured out it would be you.” Bradley shakes his head with an amused laugh. “You’ve always been a sentimental bastard, Connor.”

He stands up and steps out of the slight shadow, revealing himself as the tall and rugged Irishman I’m so familiar with. His rusted beard is much thicker now, and these horrible clothes belonging to the organisation don’t fit his character in the slightest, but I’m just happy he is alive.

“And you’ve always been a resourceful scoundrel.” I smirk to myself. “Let’s not waste any more time. We can chat outside. Someone might stumble on us at any moment. Let’s go.”

“Why?” He tilts his head slowly.

I blink at him in confusion. “What do you mean why?”

“Why would I want to do that, mate?” Bradley leans into one of the posts supporting the barrack’s extended roof. “I’m perfectly safe here. Sure, I’m not exactly high up on the corporate ladder, but I’m working on my rank. The superiors are more than willing to reward honest efforts.”

I’m stunned for a second. “What? Brad, these guys are terrorists! You’ve had to see what they are doing to these poor people, and not only! We’ve always stood on the right side together, like brothers!”

“Right side?” He snickers. “Really? That’s extremely subjective, you know? All we’ve been doing was following orders from above. Who decides what is right? The Government we’ve been serving? Maybe the one whose country we’ve been invading?”

My whole body tenses slightly as my jaw clenches. “Brad... What happened?”

“This is not Earth anymore, Connor. Not since we fell into that sinkhole.” My long-time partner sighs deeply. “We are in a place full of beasts, monsters, and even magic. We’ve always fought for the betterment of humankind, haven’t we? Making Earth a better place for our kids? Well, your kid, to be specific, since I didn’t have any. Officially.”

I really don’t like where this is going.

“You remember what we learned about humanity’s history in this place, don’t you? It’s been in danger of being eradicated. Until the people took matters into their own hands,” he continues with a dreamy smile. “They fought back hard and turned the tables on their oppressors. But then, decades after, things started changing. People started forgetting.”

“Bradley…” I tighten my hands into fists.

“Society back on Earth can’t help itself but repeat the mistakes of the past.” Brad looks straight at me again. “Society here can still be saved, educated. It doesn’t have to return to its dark ages due to negligence. This organisation you are calling terrorists is trying its best to make sure of that. To protect Human rights. And the two of us, we are Human, are we not?”

If not for my gloves, I’m sure I would be drawing blood with how hard my nails press into my palms.

“Yes, I’m not here because I got captured. As you are realising just about now, I’m here by my own will,” he continues, extending his hand forward. “I wanted to reach out to you, to reunite with you, to offer you to join me, but it was still too early for me to receive permission to go out on a journey to search for you. But, destiny seems to favour us and brought you to me so kindly. You might have killed a few people on your way here, but that can be used to prove your skills. We need men like you. What do you say? Will you join me on this crusade against the enemies of humankind? Against those… abominations?”

“Fucking racist.” I spit to the side.

He laughs and rubs his eyes. “Man, I had such high hopes for you. Why can’t you see it? This is not a debate on skin colour. We have actual others we need to unite against here. Or what, don’t tell me you consider them equal to us?”

“I can’t believe I haven’t figured you out over all those years.” I let out a light growl, surprising even myself. “How was I so blind?”

“Well, not to discredit you too much, but you had quite a lot on your mind with that awful bitch of yours.” Bradley cackles openly. “Seriously, how can a guy be so unlucky? Or, actually, I’m starting to think you might truly be a total ass at judging peoples’ characters.”

He starts hitting his knee while laughing, ending up wheezing a bit. After calming himself down, he sees me with my weapon raised in his direction and releases a deep sigh once more.

“Does it really have to end like this? Brother against brother?” Bradley asks.

“You are no brother of mine. Just one poisonous snake that has wormed its way into my family.” I snarl at him. “I dreaded the day I might receive the order to neutralise you, even if it was an unfounded fear because I trusted you so much. Thankfully, you aren’t the only person who changed after coming to Naharren. I’m not going to hesitate anymore. I have things I need to protect. If you are not with me, you are against me.”

He raises a curious brow at me, then his eyes widen slightly. “No… There’s no way… You wouldn’t… Not your insecure ass… You knocked one of those things up?”

A mechanical twang echoes through the air as the bolt is launched from my weapon. It’s aimed straight at Bradley’s head, but he moves it out of the way at the last second, the projectile embedding itself in the wooden post.

“You didn’t!” Bradley shows mock offence. “You were like a brother to me, Connor! I loved you!”

I glare at him, knowing that I won’t have enough time to reload. He has offensive magic at his disposal.

“I’m so glad this world has no guns yet. A bullet would be so much harder to dodge. Though, I considered teaching our friends about the art of war a little. Their engineers are unfortunately still a bit behind, and it might take time to convince them to use the talents of the captured Dwarves for their own merit. They can be a bit hard-headed when it comes to their distaste for other races.” My old friend spreads his arms and shakes his head in disappointment.

That’s it.

I have to take him down.

I can’t let him teach these terrorists about guns and bullets.

Sagging forward a bit, I let my rifle fall out of my grasp. Bradley smirks, starting to walk towards me, assuming I’ve lost my will to fight. He knows I know what he can do with his spells. And he has surely grown stronger in the time we’ve been separated.

As he steps off from the patio and onto the rocky cavern floor, with no more posts and poles in a straight line between us, I flick my face up.

My right hand lunges for the concealed holster at my hip, and I watch his brow furrow. Unlocking it, my fingers wrap themselves around the grip I haven’t felt in quite a while. Perhaps I shouldn’t have neglected my drills, but the moment my palm wraps itself around the familiar rubbery surface, all the knowledge and experience flows into my mind automatically.

Bradley’s eyeballs almost pop out of their sockets as I bring my trusty 9mm level with his head. I’ve always been better with a rifle, but few know that long-range shooting is in my blood, no matter what gun I’m holding in my hands.

When a shot matters a lot, I never miss.

Squeezing the trigger before he can react, I bear with the loud bang that brings heavy ringing into my ears. I keep my eyes trained on the target, waiting to see it sport a tiny hole in the middle of the forehead, ending everything.

But, that never happens.

A flat circular violet array flashes into existence right before his nose and deflects the shot to the side. Shock and confusion immediately fill my heart and mind. He never sought any protection spells, focusing purely on attack, but here we are, with a glowing magical circle hovering in the air.

“Shite…” Bradley wipes off his brow. “I can’t believe you still have bullets in that old thing…”

“That was the last one,” I reply, lowering my handgun. “I was saving it for myself.”

“Sounds like an interesting way out for a dutiful soldier like yourself.” A rough female voice reaches my ears from the back and I look over my shoulder.

A robed woman with a mask strolls towards us, her hand glowing with purple energy. As her cloak billows from the movement, it reveals a bunch of small arcane sigils and circuits. Power is rolling off her in waves, more arrays showing up on the ground and in the air with magic ready to be launched.

She stops briefly after our eyes meet through the holes in her mask like she is surprised to see me here. A second later, she recollects herself but doesn’t walk any further for some reason. I slip my skull mask on too and stand with my sides to each of them.

This has become a rather difficult situation.