Unrepentant

The slums of Sichal always had a way of drawing out the worst in people. As evening settled in, shadows slithered between the crooked buildings, while the usual cacophony of life dulled to a murmur.

Gabri and Imael had taken to the side streets, their dark cloaks billowing as they moved like wraiths, keeping their distance from the three Travelling Orchid aspirants. These naive youths—barely on the cusp of cultivation—had been hired by the brothers under the ever-watchful eye of the Director.

Convincing the Director hadn’t been easy. The man was as sharp as a dagger. He had made it clear—any harm befalling his aspirants, and the brothers would pay for it with more than just coin, no matter how much he liked them. But Gabri and Imael had needed bait, and this was the best bait they could find.

The three aspirants, one girl and two boys, played their parts perfectly. They wandered through the narrow streets, their wide, curious eyes darting nervously at the slum dwellers who passed them. They were playing the roles of children lost in a dangerous place, looking far too vulnerable for anyone’s good. It was an act, of course—but a convincing one.

"Should’ve drawn in someone by now," Gabri muttered, keeping his eyes on the trio from the shadows.

Imael, his sharper mind always one step ahead, let out a soft hum of agreement. "The slums don’t usually stay this quiet for long. Either someone’s afraid of them for some reason, or something else is going on."

They waited. Another minute passed, then two. Nothing. The slum dwellers seemed tense, their eyes darting as they moved quickly about their business.

Something felt off.

The youngest of the boys, impatient and eager to make something happen, approached a food stall as it was closing up. Gabri’s sharp ears picked up the interaction immediately. The boy puffed out his chest, acting high and mighty, while the other youth, his voice trembling with mock concern, tried to calm him down. The girl stood off to the side, watching with a smile that was just a little too eager for trouble.

"They’re about to rile someone up," Imael muttered, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. His brother shared the same thought, giving a curt nod.

The food stall owner, an older man with skin like cracked leather, slammed his fists on the counter, shouting at the youths. From a distance, Gabri and Imael watched as slum dwellers began to gather around the commotion, their faces grim and their eyes sharp. Usually, this would be the point where the trouble started—where some unfortunate fool would step forward, eager to make a mark on these seemingly naive outsiders.

But something was wrong. The crowd didn’t rush in. No one tried to throw a punch or grab the girl. Instead, the people began to form a tight circle around the youths, their expressions shifting from anger to something far more unsettling. Gabri could feel the tension rising in his chest.

"Imael," he said, his voice low.

Imael’s eyes narrowed, the slightest twitch in his jaw betraying his own rising unease. "I see it."

The brothers moved in unison, throwing off their cloaks and leaping over the heads of the crowd with ease. Imael landed between the food seller and the aspirants, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, while Gabri positioned himself between the growing crowd and the three youths.

"Brother Gabri! Brother Imael!" the aspirants cried, their voices just loud enough to carry over the murmurs of the crowd. They played their parts perfectly, their terror and relief all part of the act. But Gabri’s instincts were screaming at him that something wasn’t right.

The slum dwellers’ eyes had gone vacant. Faces that had once been full of aggression were now slack, their gazes glassy and unfocused. It was as though a switch had been flipped, and suddenly, they were no longer angry—they were waiting.

"Something’s wrong," Gabri whispered, his voice barely audible.

Imael didn’t respond immediately, his own eyes scanning the crowd. The slum dwellers were no longer just standing idly by. They were moving. Slowly, deliberately, they began to block off escape routes, closing in tighter. Gabri’s heart quickened as he realized they were being surrounded.

"Imael," he said again, more urgently this time.

Imael’s head snapped toward his brother, the realization dawning in his eyes. The brothers pressed near back-to-back, forcing the aspirants into the center of their protective circle. The banter and planned show of bravado had been dropped entirely, replaced by the cold desire of survival.

"Stay close," Imael ordered the youths, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword.

The stall owner, the one who had been so irate moments ago, opened his mouth wide, unnaturally wide, his jaw stretching far beyond what should have been possible. Gabri’s stomach twisted in disgust as he watched the man’s mouth move, the skin around his face stretching and contorting in grotesque fashion.

At the same time, Gabri felt a cold, slimy sensation crawl across the back of his head. His hand shot to his sword, drawing it in one swift motion and slashing through the air. The force of his strike sent a gust of wind through the alley, ruffling the clothes of those around him and slamming nearby shutters closed.

He spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman standing among the aspirants, her long, forked tongue licking the air as she grinned up at him with unnaturally wide eyes. She had managed to slither into the tight space among the youth between the brothers.

"Get ready!" Gabri barked.

The slum dwellers surged forward. They didn’t scream. They didn’t shout. They moved like a single entity, their movements bestial and unnatural. Imael’s sword flashed, cutting down the first of them with a precision born of countless battles, but the crowd kept coming. What's more, his sword drew almost no blood from the slash.

"Shit," Imael cursed under his breath, his sword slicing through another attacker, yet again his sword was dry. "They’re not right."

The three aspirants, who had secretly been so confident and composed moments before, were now wide-eyed with genuine fear. They clung to each other, their earlier bravado crumbling as the slum dwellers closed in around them.

"We need to move," Gabri said, his voice low and urgent. His instincts screamed at him to get out—to escape the trap that was rapidly closing in on them.

But as he and Imael fought off another wave of attackers, it became clear that this was no simple brawl. The slum dwellers weren’t just mindless brutes—they were organized, they knew proper combat. And whoever was pulling the strings behind them wasn’t going to let them go easily. Especially after finding this information out.

As Gabri struck down another attacker, his eyes flicked to the edges of the street. More slum dwellers were emerging from the shadows, their vacant eyes locked onto the brothers.

"We’re being boxed in," Imael said through gritted teeth, his sword flashing as he held the line.

They had planned to set a trap, yet instead they walked into one.

Nyx perched above the chaos, his dark eyes alight with amusement as the scene unfolded beneath him.

He had arrived just as the three aspirants had begun stirring up trouble with the stall owner, their act so stereotypical that Nyx couldn’t help but snicker to himself. As the stall owner’s rage boiled over and the slum dwellers began circling, Nyx had already marked the strange beasts lurking inside the human shells.

His feathers ruffled slightly as he considered the events of the day. He had spent hours hunting and feasting on these very creatures, lurking in the shadows and pulling them apart with ruthless brutality.

It wasn’t a surprise that the beasts had begun to stir, sensing a predator in their midst. Even now, their tension was palpable, and Nyx had to wonder if his proximity had set them on edge, confusing them into thinking these kids were the ones butchering their own.

Nyx mused, his beak clicking softly in thought. "Instincts sensing me?"

From his perch, Nyx watched as Gabri and Imael jumped into the fray, swords flashing. A ripple of interest stirred in Nyx as he observed them. The brothers fit the description Miranda had given him during their little chat.

As they fought, Nyx’s mind turned, gears clicking into place. He could simply stay hidden, let the brothers fight and perhaps die. But that would be inefficient for his current plans.

Passivity didn’t sit well with him.

While Gabri and Imael fought for their lives, unknowingly taking on the wrath meant for him, Nyx considered his course of action. Miranda’s boys could be useful—at least until they found what Silas needed. Once the herbs were secured, their usefulness would run out.

Just then, a shriek tore through the air. One of the male aspirants’ head was ripped clean off, his body collapsing like a broken puppet. Nyx’s eyes flickered, his attention shifting.

A claw slashed across Imael’s face, drawing a line of blood. The beasts had dropped their act—blatantly so.

“Hmm~,” Nyx mused, scratching his chin with a wing. “I must have hit a nerve.”

He tilted his head, watching as the brothers fought desperately, the crowd closing in around them. Nyx slipped into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness like smoke. Moving through the crowd, he crept up behind one of the meatbags, pulling it into a narrow alley. His shadowy tendrils coiled around the creature, snapping its body in half with a sickening crack. The beast within was forced out, revealing a grotesque, goat-like creature, its skin slick with slime.

The alley erupted in chaos. As the goat monster’s head quickly rolled from its shoulders, blood spraying across the walls. Many of the slum dwellers turned their attention toward the alley, drawn by the carnage. Gabri heard a soft, whisper by his ear, mimicking his mother's voice.

"Run, boy," Nyx’s voice floated on the air like a breeze. "I’ll give you a chance."

Another alley grabbed the crowd’s attention. This time, a bisected python lay in the street, its massive form torn apart, scales shredded as though some monstrous talon had ripped through it. The brothers didn’t hesitate. Grabbing the remaining aspirants, Gabri and Imael sprinted toward the nearest gate, their footsteps echoing off the crumbling walls of the slums.

Nyx moved between the buildings, his form blending seamlessly with the shadows.

He watched the brothers escape. "Your mommy will have to pay up for this," he thought, a dark chuckle bubbling in his throat. His wings ruffled in anticipation—he’d extract his price, just as he always did.

As Nyx prepared to slip deeper into the shadows, something caught his attention—a presence he hadn’t noticed before. Perched atop a dilapidated house, a Misfortunate Owl stared down at him, its wide, unsettling eyes unblinking. The bird was still, but its gaze pierced through the darkness, following every movement Nyx made, even within his shadow form. Nyx froze, his feathers bristling slightly.

"Interesting..." Nyx thought, narrowing his eyes. The owl wasn’t just watching. Through its gaze, someone else was seeing—someone else was aware of his presence.

Nyx didn’t like being watched.

On the balcony, an old man leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face as he moved his piece. "Checkmate," he announced triumphantly, his voice tinged with playful arrogance.

His opponent, a white-haired granny with sharp eyes, grumbled, her fingers hovering over the board. "Ungentlemanly as ever, you old goat," she muttered.

He cackled, the sound deep and rumbling. "You only liked me because I wasn't a gentleman," he teased.

She chuckled along with him, shaking her head. The balcony they shared was covered in yellow flowers, closing slightly under the chill of night. They had a view most in Sichal could only dream of. The roof of the grand theater stretched out in the distance, families strolled through the streets below, and the gaudy town square fountain was easily visible.

The old man began resetting the game board as the granny shuffled off to make tea. He sighed contentedly, glancing out over the city. "A blessed life..." he murmured, his eyes roving over the rooftops. "Not bad for an old bookkeeper."

He took in a deep breath of the night air, but his gaze halted when it reached the Siren’s Rest Inn. "They sure made it prett—"

A deafening boom shattered the tranquility. The top floor of the Inn’s right wing erupted in a fiery explosion, the blast tearing through the air. The old man shot up, eyes wide. "ROVINIUS! WHAT TH—"

But before he could finish, a heavy thud from inside the house made his blood run cold. His heart raced. "Her heart!" he thought, panic flooding his chest as he bolted inside, ignoring the growing blaze outside.