The timing of the explosions had been perfect. The men had badgered Terran about that. They told him that the timing did not matter. But Terran got to see life leave the brat’s eyes at the first explosion, and then there was the shock and horror following the second. That had been worth all the additional complexity.

  Raven hit some trash cans as she sped away, swerving her bike like a drunk. Terran laughed. Her cunning had been a facade after all. When things went wrong for her, the girl could not do what was needed. She did not deserve to lead his city. Sadly, Terran could not dwell on this pleasure. Ten of his men waited a block away, primed to march at his command. Pisk would soon arrive with the guns. They had to move fast, while confusion crippled the city.

  They would meet in a wide alleyway between two of the textile factories. Terran advanced from the rooftops, planning to leap down like he always did. The dramatic entrance ensured no one could get the drop on him. From the edge, Terran had a good view of the alleyway. It was wide as three cars, barren save for his men who were gathered at the center. There were also two strangers. The shorter of them barked orders to the confused crowd. Terran leaned closer. He groaned. It was Boris and Karl.

  Karl Blackwell wore a very extravagant robe not appropriate for the blazing afternoon weather. He smirked, despite being surrounded by Terran’s confused men. Karl had no other men, yet Terran’s troops had yet to make a move. The muscular Boris kept them back, even though the beastly man just stood there, stoic as always. “What are you doing?” Everyone looked up to Terran. The Dark Lord hopped off the cliff, strengthening his legs mid-fall to avoid the damage. He landed with a thud, mere feet away from Karl. “You do not belong here.”

  “I’m running logistics on this thing,” Karl said. He recoiled from the crowd. Boris stood between him with a grunt. Only then did the kid meet Terran in the eye. “I’ve done so much. Way I see it, this is my movement. Tell your guys they work for me.”

  So it was here. The betrayal. It had come sooner than Terran had liked. They still had to take the city. Karl was being stupid. “You are being stupid,” Terran said. “There’s still a city to take.”

  “And my guys are taking it,” Karl said. “Least the ones you didn’t put in the hospital.” So that was the plan? Terran almost laughed. A child, opposing a Dark Lord? Karl was not Gratia. He could not trick people with words or a cause. All he had was money. Money and status. Money could be taken. And this fool’s status was now for naught…

  Terran rushed for Karl, intending to kill. He was held back. Boris had wrapped around Terran, grabbing both his arms. He had moved with impossible speed. The guard’s upper body shone a blue aura. Boris threw Terran back, sending him careening into a brick wall. Such power. That could only mean…

  Karl laughed, his back arched, and that laugh turned into a fowl cackle. “You think I’d come here without any muscle? Surprised! Boris is Gifted. That makes me just as good as Raven. No, better! I don’t gotta put myself in the middle of this.”

  The men moved for Karl. Boris went from one to the next, fast like the wind. Each foe was knocked out in a single blow. One, two, half down! Terran broke free of the brick, then charged straight for Boris.

  The man charged back. They had each other by the palms, each trying to overpower the other in a viscous tug of war. Terran looked at his men. Three more charged, but Boris swatted them back with one move of his hand. They flew straight into the wall. That left him vulnerable. Terran tried to punch his left. Boris went under, then tried for a double punch.

  Terran caught his palms. The tug of war continued. Karl cheered from the sidelines. Terran tried to sweep Boris’s legs. It did nothing. The goon gripped the Dark Lord by his throat and slammed him to the ground. “Ohhh, this is sweet,” Karl said, rubbing his hands together. He got close to Terran. “Maybe Raven’s right. This Dark Lord thing’s just talk.”

  One of Terran’s men tried to attack Karl with a crowbar, but the kid hit him with an electric stick he kept beneath his robe. The convulsing man fell. “Did you really think you were going to win here?” Karl asked. He kicked Terran’s side. A crack sounded. “I OWN this city. Not the mayor. Not Kareva. ME. It’s all mine. I’m the best of the Blackwells. Those morons, just accepting the end of our monarchy. I’m the only one trying to make a change!”

  Karl kicked, again and again. Terran struggled, unable to break Boris’ chokehold. He couldn’t suffocate, but Boris had his knees on his chest. Terran was pinned!

  Each movement made Boris press down harder. Terran shook and trembled, putting all his effort into moving. Bornis snorted in response. How humiliating. A Dark Lord did not die like this. He couldn’t…

  Karl crouched down by Terran’s side. “You can try all you want, but choking him isn't going to work,” Karl said. He slipped his hand beneath Terran’s faceplate, cringing slightly as he did so. “You gotta remove the helmet. That’s how you kill a man with this armor.”

  He tugged at Terran’s helmet. Terran convulsed like a rabid dog. This only made Boris press down harder. Nothing Terran did was working. No. No! This was not how the day was supposed to go. A Dark Lord did not die like this.

  He couldn’t…

  BANG!

  Boris fell back. Terran kicked him off, and rushed back several feet. Boris struggled to stand on trembling legs. He clutched his right arm, face pale as a torrent of blood flowed down the limb.

  Pisk stood behind Boris, gun in hand. He fired again. The shot missed, and Boris charged for Pisk. Pisk fired again. Boris’ legs became a blur, humming as he dodged the bullets with ease. He grabbed a stray gun from the ground. He aimed for Pisk.

  Terran rushed in front of Pisk. The shot melded into his flesh. Snatching Pisk’s gun, Terran aimed for Boris. The goon dodged the first, and then the second. Terran ran for him. Boris also charged.

  Another tug of war began, with Boris and Terran pushing against each other’s weight. Bois pressed Terran down. The demon dug his claws into Boris’ flesh. He got out his gun. Boris punched. Terran dodged, then fired. Blood splattered. The man fell. He did not get back up.

  Terran wheezed with delight. The Gifted were not immune to bullets. Terran only was thanks to his armor. He was above them. Above Boris. Above Raven.

  Now Terran cackled. The ground shook, and all eyes were on him. Terran marched towards Karl, shooting Boris twice more as he passed the oaf. Karl cowered back, hands over his face. “How? I-I had you. I had you!”

  “I cannot be slain,” Terran said. “I am beyond Gifted.”

  He lifted his gun, aiming for Karl’s head. The kid broke down into a fit of tears. “You can’t do this,” he yelled, falling to his knees. How pathetic. At least stand in your final moments. “You’ll never take the city without me!”

  Terran knelt in front of Karl, and forced the kid close by the scruff of his neck. “What makes you so sure?”

  “My men are taking the city,” Karl said. He sat upright. “They will destroy the food supply if they don’t hear from me. You do not have my numbers. If you kill me, they will overrun you. Either that, or you will spend weeks and months fighting them back. Do you want a war, Terran? No, you need me. I can—”

  Dark Lord Terran shot him in the head. A trickle of blood poured from his forehead. Karl Blackwell fell to the ground. At long last, there was silence. Sweet silence. No longer would be beholden to another. This day was his, and his alone.

  “You killed him,” someone said. “You actually killed him.” It was one of his soldiers. Most had survived Boris’ assault with only minor injuries. Terran marched away from Karl’s corpse. His men backed away from him.

  “Do not concern yourselves,” Terran yelled. “This man was an enemy. He tried to take away our control. He spouted lies to try and keep us in line. We cannot have that. Take your weapons. We must take the city now. There is no time to debate. More enemies roam the streets.” Not even a mention of the wealthy this time. These men’s thoughts would now turn to paranoia, fear that the enemy could be anywhere. Soon, the time would come when Terran could stop using “we” in his sentences and make it clear that power was his alone.

  Another car pulled into the alley. Zolin came out, alongside his squad of men. They had arrived several minutes late, as intended. Though now, it was too early. Zolin saw Pisk, clear as day, handing shotguns and rifles out to the soldiers.

  His accompanying troops saw Karl’s corpse, and were quick to put two and two together. A war was coming. They marched to grab weapons of their own. Zolin tried getting in their way, but each man pushed right past him. Terran clenched his fist. Once armed, the grunts all marched out to follow Terran’s command to seize the city.

  Zolin scowled at Terran. But before he could speak, Terran interrupted. “This is an unfortunate reality. I know it is not ideal. But it is necessary, trust me. Our enemies stand against us, even now. Karl sought to make war…”

  Pisk led the grunts out to the streets in search of hidden enemies. Zolin tried to stop them, but he was a ghost. Within moments, Terran and Zolin were alone. “This was a plan from the start, huh? Going behind my back, procuring the weapons. You wanted Karl to betray us, didn’t you?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “We need the guns,” Terran said, marching past Zolin. “You may not like it, but this is how we change the world. It is how things have always worked. You must earn your equality, Zolin. It will not come to you.”

  Some chatter came from one of the cars. Someone was communicating through the radio. Zolin ran over and held up the receiver. As he listened, his eyes grew wide and his hand trembled. “The…the foodstuff,” he said. “They’ve all been destroyed.”

  “Destroyed,” Terran said. He ran up to the man. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The mafia set fire to it all,” Zolin said. He looked around, then pointed towards a pillar of smoke in the sky. It was slightly darker than all the others.“There! That’s Jumpers Street. Right where our spy said they’d be!”

  Karl’s last remarks echoed through Terran’s head. That had not just been begging. His men were suicidal. They had been ready to destroy the foodstuffs the city would need at a moment’s notice if they had not heard from their leader. A leader Terran had been killed. He had blundered. Best to ensure his men don’t have time to ponder on that…

  “We must be swift,” Terran said. “If we do not take control, anarchy will reign.” He marched ahead, without turning back for Zolin. It was time for action. Terran barked orders to his men, telling them to go this way and that. First they’d secure this street. Then the block. Then, eventually, the entire city.

  Everyone did their tasks without question, fearful of another surprise attack. They worked to secure the city, without deviation. Terran only got distracted for a brief moment, when he saw Gratia watching from a nearby rooftop. “It’ll never be enough,” she said. “You still have no plan.”

  The phantom fading into smoke. Terran ignored it. There was much to do. A city to conquer. One on the verge of starvation and lawnesses. He had no time for ghosts or existential questions. This was not ideal, but it was not the worst thing. Where there was lawlessness, desperation was sure to follow. The populace would pray for a hero. But they would not get that.

  They would get something better.

  ***

  The column of smoke towered over the city like a twisted scepter. Derik could see it from his second story window. People littered the streets. Most gawked at the sight. The smartest of them were already fleeing. The smoke was so visible, yet the nearest target was kilometers away. That meant the fires were spreading, and spreading fast. So many lives. Gone. Lost. All because of this corrupt movement. And Derik had been complicit.

  Someone grabbed his hand. Derik leapt back, but it was just Ema. She stared up at the sight, mouth agape, then rushed away from his room just as fast. Derik followed, tripping over himself, as they rushed to follow.

  He found Ema by the stairwell. She was flipping through channels on the radio. All were static. Then the final click, and a voice. “Fires engulf the northern city,” the man said. “Five total. Including the police station. All bridges connecting Diveky to the mainland have been destroyed. This seems to be a deliberate attack. Get to safety, or bunker down. This is a—”

  A clatter sounded. Then some muffled voice started on the radio. The announcer said something, then there was the sound of footsteps and a slamming door. Only the sound of flames remained. Ema shut the thing off. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “What are we going to do?”

  Derik breathed in. There was a plan for him, he knew. Stay and wait. But to hell with that. No, they had to get out of here. They’d escape Terran. Leave Diveky forever. Derik would become lost in the shuffle. “The ports. We must get there. Boats should be leaving now.”

  Derik grabbed an empty looking backpack by the far wall. He had already stuffed it with supplies but the contents were so haphazard that Ema would not be suspicious. It still had everything they needed. They were all set. “It’s time to go.”

  He rushed for the exit, then tripped up on a cat bowl. The realization paralyzed the blacksmith. He sprinted back to the living room. “Button! We don’t have Button with us…”

  Derik checked the tables and the wardrobe cabinet. He opened all the drawers. He destroyed the couch and moved tables. Within a minute, the place had been torn to shreds yet Button was nowhere to be found. That darn cat. Where could he be? Why didn’t Derik keep him close, like he had Ema? This was all his fault.

  Ema entered the space. She grabbed his hands. Derik stopped his panting. She rubbed his hair. They placed their foreheads against each other. “We have to leave him,” Ema said, whipping a tear from her eye. “There could be ships leaving at this very moment. If we wait too long, we’ll get stuck. We have to go.”

  Derik took one final glance around the ruined room. He was being stupid. Button may not even be in the house. If he was, that display scared the cat off. Like it or not, another life was on his conscience. He grabbed Ema’s hand, then started straight for the exit. They were almost at the door when—

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  It came from downstairs. Ema and Derik exchanged glances. Someone was on the first floor. A looter? One of Terran’s men? It was hard to say. Whoever it was, their knocking made Derik cringe back. Ema neared the stairwell. Derik grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “We can’t stay,” Ema said. “We wait. We strike. We go.” Her voice cracked at the end of the phrases. She held back tears. It looked as if she might faint at any moment. Still, she was right. They had to go.

  Derik and Ema took positions by the stairwell, each on opposing sides of the doorway. Ema removed her high heels. She held one up, with the heavy side down. She tossed the other to Derik who failed to catch it.

  It clanged on the floor. There was a shift below them. Footsteps shifted, approaching slowly. Someone was coming up. Derik grabbed the high heel. His mind flashed back to the last intruder on his stairs. He clutched his heart, painting.

  No. This was different. Terran was on the opposite side of the city. This was a man. Here, they could win.

  The door burst open. A plump man stepped inside. He reeked of liquor. Ema tried to go for him, but he swatted her away with a backhand. Derik threw the shoe. It bounced off his chest. The drunken man kicked Derik down.

  “Well well well,” the man whistled, swaying in place. “If it ain’t the blacksmith. I really didn’t think you’d be here.” Derik paled. This man. He didn’t recognize him. Could he be from the mafia? No. That couldn’t be. None in there knew of him. Unless Miros hadn’t been spying for Terran at all…

  The man stepped towards them. Derik put himself in front of Ema. “What do you want?”

  “You know,” he said. The man aimed his gun for Derik’s head. He bobbed his head to the left. “You metal stuff. Help me load my car with it. Then hop in the front. Karl’s orders. The order won’t keep its best asset.”

  “What asset?” Ema asked. “What are you talking about?”

  The man aimed his gun for Ema. “Quiet girly! I ain’t speakin’ ya ya!”

  Ema screamed, cringing back as if already shot. Derik shook like a dog. “Don’t,” he said, nearing the man with his hands up. “I’ll do what you say. Just don’t hurt her.”

  Tears streamed down Ema’s cheeks. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s fine,” Derik said. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

  The man patted Derik on the back, then forced him into the stairwell. “There you go,” he said. “Come now, nice and slow.” The man walked Derik off, but kept his gun aimed for Ema. Derik went along with his head down. Ema begged him to stop, but what could he do? The grunt could kill them both with ease. This was their best option…

  But was it? Leaving Ema in this chaos would be a death sentence. The mafia knew of this invasion. Diveky would be engulfed in war. Ema could not face that alone. Derik had to do something. He could not remain a bystander. Derik stopped three steps from the top. The man growled, “Get moving!”

  “Sorry,” Derik said. “This is the squeaky step…”

  “The what?”

  Derik pressed his feet against the step. It let out a low squeak. “I press it three times whenever I pass,” he said. “It’s a weird little tradition of mine. Let me—”

  “We don’t have the time!” The man moved to aim his gun for Derik. Derik tackled him. They fumbled up the steps, then fell into the kitchen. There was a tussle. Derik was elbowed in the back. The gun fired. He slammed the ground. Ema ran up to help, but the drunk swatted her back once again. Then he hit Derik again. He wrestled the gun away. Standing tall, the drunk aimed for Derik.

  The bang pierced Derik’s ear. The assailant slammed into the ground. Blood splattered out of his neck, staining Derik in the face. Ema screamed. Derik screamed. There was a flurry of footsteps. A young man rushed up to the stairwell. It was Zan. “Thank goodness,” he said, panting. “For a moment, I thought I was too late. Listen—”

  “Who are you?” Derik yelled, rather unnaturally. He jumped up, and put himself in front of Ema. “Who are you?”

  Zan tilted his head, confusion apparent. Before he could say anything, Derik held up a trembling fist. “Tell me who you are,” Derik said. “Right now. Or you’ll get it.” Derik gestured to Ema, who clung to him with fear. He mouthed, Please.

  Zan nodded, understanding. “My name’s Zan,” he said, coming forward. He extended his hand but neither took it “Come with me. We have to get going. Now!”

  “Where?”

  “The skyscrapers,” Zan said. He walked to the dead man, and checked his pockets but found nothing.“It’s safe there. We can take this guy's car. There’s no time to argue!” Zan ran down the stairwell, not bothering to check if they followed him.

  Ema looked at Derik. She shook her head. But Derik gave it some thought. This was why Terran had said to stay and wait. They could not make it to the ports. Not in one piece. That demon still had Derik right where he wanted him. “Zan could’ve killed us if he wanted. I say we go.”

  They went down to the first floor blacksmithery. All the metal lay undisturbed, including Derik’s current commission. The weapon was finished now, save for some finishing touches. Derik decided against taking it. If he did, that weapon would find its way into Terran’s hands. He helped that tyrant enough.

  Crowds had littered the streets. Most looked up to the sky, still in shock from the attack. None had tried to take the car idling in the street’s center. Zan was already in the front. Derik and Ema got seated in the back. They rolled up the windows, then sped down the road. They went towards the skyscrapers, the shimmering beacons in the distance.

  It was slow going, due to the crowds. They only got worse as they neared the skyscrapers. Chaos was sewn in the busier streets. Word of the mafia’s rise must have been spreading. Families crammed their cars with luggage. People looted stores. Some brawls occurred in alleyways, the first battles in a terrible street war. People crowded by a payphone, fighting for the chance to call their loved ones. So much had gone wrong, all in mere minutes. And many were oblivious of the truth. The bridges were destroyed. Few of them would escape.

  Derik’s wound flared. He felt the claw bruise on his cheek. Just when his limp got better, Terran had given him another reminder of his place. He was the Dark Lord’s loyal servant. All this because Derik kept his head down. And still he kept his head down, unable to look this destruction in the eye for very long.