CHAPTER 38: CHAPTER 37: THE FALL OF THE SILVER KILLER

The alley burned with tension.

Kael’s stun gun let off faint trails of smoke, the battery indicator pulsing red.

Seris stood beside him, blood on her hands, on her sleeves, on her cheek.

They had taken down a dozen men—maybe more. Limbs were broken. Knives lost. Bones shattered. The ambush was a failure. But it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Three more figures came forward.

One was broad-shouldered, wielding a war pick like it weighed nothing.

The second moved low and hunched, with twin daggers and a feral grin.

The third was quiet—too quiet—with the build of a butcher and the scars of a man who’d survived real wars.

Kael’s jaw tightened. He could feel it—these three were different. Not just stronger. Trained.

"Stay sharp," he muttered.

Seris didn’t answer. She just shifted her stance, ready.

The big one came first. He swung the war pick down with terrifying speed—Kael dodged sideways, barely in time, the iron head smashing into stone, cracking it. Seris dashed in while the weapon was stuck and drove her knee into his ribs, followed by an elbow that snapped his jaw sideways.

He roared and grabbed her—but she slipped free like smoke, spinning and slamming a kick into the back of his knee. He dropped with a groan, and she finished it with a brutal strike to the throat.

The dagger-wielder darted forward, trying to use speed, dancing around Kael like a viper. Too fast to aim the stun gun. So Kael threw it—striking the man in the forehead. It didn’t drop him, but it staggered him long enough for Kael to close the distance.

One punch. Two. A duck. Then a headbutt that broke Kael’s own nose—but knocked the man flat.

The third man came silently.

He didn’t charge.

He walked.

Kael stepped back.

Seris moved in.

He caught Seris in the ribs, then slammed her into a wall. Kael lunged in to help—and caught a fist to the gut that sent him sprawling.

But Seris wasn’t done.

She wiped blood from her mouth and screamed, leaping from the wall and wrapping her legs around the man’s neck, twisting, dragging him down. She drove her elbow into his skull again and again until he stopped moving.

Then the sound of clapping was heard.

This time, Red Morn stepped into the fight himself.

His aura was the thing.

"That’s Silver-ranked," she whispered. "I can feel it. His aura’s pressing on my ribs. That’s not a thug. That’s a killer."

Silver Rank.

Kael had only read about that in the guild lists. Silver meant a fighter who could kill ten trained soldiers alone. Martial aura thick enough to crack stone. Bodies conditioned beyond normal human limits.

And Red Morn had that, in spades.

He unbuckled his cloak and let it fall. Underneath, his chest was lined with scars and ink—gang symbols, kill marks, and protective glyphs carved into his skin.

Pain nullification. Muscle acceleration. Bone hardening.

The man was a walking weapon.

"Pretty boy and his fancy bitch," Red Morn said, voice like iron dragged across stone. "You’ve had your fun."

He cracked his neck left, then right. "But this is where you learn what dying slow feels like."

Red Morn grinned. "I’ve killed a hundred men like you and stronger than you. One more doesn’t mean shit."

He tossed something to the ground—a smoke charm.

A pulse of crimson fog exploded outward, swallowing the alley. Visibility dropped to nothing.

Kael swore and dove to the side. A split second later, a fist slammed into the stone wall where he’d stood. The bricks cracked. Shards flew.

Red Morn came through the smoke like a demon, eyes glowing, mouth twisted in a snarl.

"I’ll make you a cripple!"

Kael brought up the stun gun and fired.

Crack!

The bolt slammed into Red Morn’s chest.

And fizzled.

"Resistance glyph," Seris called out, already moving. "Your weapon’s useless!"

Kael dove backward. Red Morn grinned. "That toy won’t save you, city rat."

Seris intercepted him mid-charge.

"You don’t touch him," she snarled.

Her speed was brutal. She slid past Red Morn’s swing and lashed a low cut at his ribs.

Clang.

The blade skittered off his skin.

"Layered muscle reinforcement."

Red Morn lunged at Seris.

She flipped over a barrel and planted a kick in his gut, sending him stumbling back. He didn’t even wince.

He grabbed a nearby plank and swung it like a bat. It shattered against Seris’s forearm. She hissed but didn’t cry out.

Kael grabbed a fallen thug’s satchel. Rummaged inside.

Smoke bomb. Oil vial. Firestarter stone.

Perfect.

He tossed the oil toward Red Morn’s feet and struck the flint.

FWOOM.

Flames exploded. Red Morn growled, kicking backward—but fire licked at his boots and pants.

Seris didn’t hesitate.

She jumped—boot to wall to shoulder—and drove her dagger into his exposed armpit.

He screamed.

Blood gushed.

"You fucking BITCH!"

He grabbed her midair, slammed her into the wall. Once. Twice.

Kael fired again.

Crack!

This time, it hit the wound.

Red Morn howled. His knees buckled.

Seris slid down the wall, gasping. Blood trickled from her scalp. Her leg looked twisted.

Kael ran forward, jamming the stun gun into Red Morn’s thigh.

Crack.

"Gah—FUCK!"

Red Morn swung wildly and tried to punch Kael.

"I’m gonna rip your FUCKING spine out!"

CLANG.

Red Morn’s fist rebounded off the invisible shield. His wrist snapped.

"Aaaugh—WHAT?!"

Kael didn’t stop. He tackled Red Morn’s side with the stun gun pressed against the open wound.

CRACK!

This time, the voltage dug in. Red Morn spasmed, foamed at the mouth, and fell to one knee.

"You need to run. He’s too strong, I’ll try to hold him off until then. Run. " Seris said.

Kael coughed. "You shut up. We’re not dying in some back alley."

Red Morn coughed, stood up again—bleeding, burning, face twisted in rage.

"You’re tough. I’ll give you that. But tough doesn’t mean SHIT to a real killer."

Red Morn lunged—and hit the shield again. It didn’t stop him completely this time—but it slowed him. Kael used that moment to swing a chunk of stone, slamming it into Red Morn’s temple.

The gang boss stumbled.

Seris screamed—half fury, half pain—and threw her dagger.

It buried in his side.

He dropped.

Kael looked down at Red Morn.

"You messed with the wrong person."

Then he stabbed him—deep into the heart.

Red Morn gasped. His blood pooled.

"You don’t... win..." he hissed.

Kael stared at him, shaking. "No... but I survive. That’s more than you."

Smoke drifted through the alley. Cries and groans of the wounded echoed like ghosts.

"You okay?"

She nodded. Then laughed bitterly.

"You really know how to show a girl a good time."

He coughed, then smiled. "Better than being chained to that bastard, right?"

She looked at him, eyes soft despite the blood. "Yeah. Better."

Then the city bells rang out in the distance.

"Shit," he breathed. "The guards."

Seris groaned, crawling toward him.

"We can’t be here when they arrive."

Kael looked at the mess. Red Morn’s body, the thugs scattered around, the fire smoldering in the background.

He stood, pulled Seris up. She hissed in pain.

"Think you can run?"

"No," she muttered. "But I can crawl fast."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her up.

...

Later, in the shadows of the rooftops...

A man with a narrow face and silk robes lowered his telescope.

"He is dead."

Beside him, another figure nodded. "The boy did it."

"And the lady... she’s the one from the Halwain bloodline."

"Should we report this?"

"No. Not yet. Let’s see how far this rat climbs before the snakes notice."