Hector stood across from the man, studying his features. The reddened eyes—borderline bleeding if they got any worse, and the man’s blackened veins that trailed up his neck like vines. They pulsated underneath his skin like a colony of worms digging through his flesh.

  A bird called overhead, its cry shrill and grating. Hector’s eyes flickered to the knife in the man’s grip. The blade was short, its edge sharp. Not something a regular slum dweller would have access to—If they were lucky, a sharpened metal rod would be all they’d get. This man was not ordinary.

  But then, what was he doing here? Perhaps a mercenary that couldn’t quite cut it in the wilds. So, he pathetically came to the slums to carve out a small slice of pie with his meagre resources.

  It didn’t matter in the end.

  He’s working with the Collar gang. Or at least he’s buying from them, while that doesn’t make him guilty. It’s still a little annoying. But I’m not going to lose control again. I can’t afford to, especially not now.

  The man charged forward, teeth bared and knife held at his side. In his blind rage, he instantly cut the distance between him and Hector. The knife slashed through the air with a sharp hiss.

  Hector jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade. But another slash angled for his throat. He dived out of the way, rolling on his shoulder and hopping to his feet. He swivelled, dodging to the side as the knife cut through where he’d stood seconds before.

  He couldn’t keep dodging. His chest heaved as his lungs burned. But unlike him, the man appeared unfazed, the rage in his eyes not dying down one bit. If anything, it grew.

  Another miss, and another dodge. Hector stumbled to the side, his chest rising and falling. He could smell the opportunity coming. With each swing, the man left himself that much more open, as rage built.

  “Is that all you can do, boy? Run. Run and hide. You’re weak,” the man roared, charging at Hector.

  And there it was. Hector charged forward, reaching into his mind and pulling on the thrum of power that waited within. Electrical energy buzzed down his leg, snaking through his muscles like lighting as he activated [Spark Capacitor].

  His legs blurred, the world almost shifting by as he shot past the man, circling to his back. He stepped to the side as the man spun, slicing the blade along with him, its edge biting into Hector’s arm, cutting a layer of flesh.

  But Hector bit back the pain. It was a necessary sacrifice.

  Hector’s leg whipped up, even as the leather-bound man’s arm continued past. He then slammed his heel down, cracking it onto the man’s collarbone—just above the armour—with a crunch, staggering him. As the man stumbled back, Hector reached forward and grabbed his wrist, twisting.

  The knife slipped free. Hector ducked under the man’s arm, snatching it from the air. Leaping off the ground, he twisted and kicked backwards. His foot crunched into the man’s nose.

  He staggered again. Hector was on him in moments, propelled by the electricity buzzing through his legs. He slammed the butt of the knife onto the man’s head with a crunch, then lept into the air, slamming his heels with two quick thuds into the man’s chest.

  The blows took the man off his feet, sending him slamming into the cobblestone. Crows called overhead. He didn’t get back up.

  Hector lowered his stance and waited. But nothing happened. Murmurs came from behind him. No one moved.

  “I-Is he dead?” Marcus asked. It was a good question, but not one Hector was about to check himself.

  A man with brown, scruffy hair stumbled forward. He had a lazy eye that drifted to the side as he shakily walked over to his leader. He glanced at Hector, but shrank back as he made eye contact. Was he that scary?

  I suppose they just watched me dispatch someone they feared. And if I can do that to him, they are probably wondering what I can do to them. Though some of them should know that already.

  Hector turned his head, gazing back at the crowd. The John—the bearded man—had slunk off at some point. Perhaps he could see where this was going and didn’t want to stay for another beating. Not that Hector had planned to hurt him.

  Emela stepped forward, Nyx a pace behind. “That was a splendid fight. You handled yourself well,” she said. Her eyes flickering to the knife in his grasp, a flash of emotion passed through them. “I take it you are going to be keeping that?”

  Hector held the knife up, its blade glinting in the afternoon rays. It was a splendid make—as far as his slum self was concerned. Back on earth, it would probably need to be sharpened for a good three days.

  “I think I will,” He said, lowering the knife.

  A sigh of relief caught his attention. He looked over at the lazy-eyed man, who knelt next to his leader with a small smile. “He’s just unconscious,” the man said. “A pill or two when he wakes up should do the trick.”

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  Hector stepped over, squinting down at the man. “I’ll be taking this,” he said, holding the knife up, “and the holster. Also, mind if I see this pill you are talking about.”

  Something had enraged the leather-bound man. Hector had a strong hunch that it was the Ham pills that the man had mentioned earlier. If that was the case, he could take one too.

  The lazy-eyed man looked from him to the crowd behind. He gulped, a trickle of sweat crawling down the side of his brow. The man’s eyes lingered on the crowd for a moment, his eyes seemingly pleading for someone to help.

  “B-But you only wanted the brewery. You said we could leave if we lost,” he said. The man’s body shook. It was as if each word had taken some strength to say.

  “Hector, I’d advise against using those pills,” Emela said, brushing one of her two ponytails over her shoulder. “If that’s what it does to someone, you would be a fool to take it.”

  “S-She’s right,” the lazy-eyed man stammered.

  Well, I have something he doesn’t, so I’d be more than fine. Not like I’m going to tell them that, though.

  “I just want to see it all. It’s better to know what these things look like,” Hector said. He gestured to the holster with his eyes, and the lazy-eyed man began undoing it. “So?”

  As the lazy-eyed man went to speak, a roar came from behind. The bearded man slammed through the crowd, throwing Delworth to the side like a slab of meat, and lunging toward Hector with a long sharpened wooden rod.

  Its tip glinted in the sun. But before the man could close the distance, Lincoln was there. His legs swept out, taking the bearded man off his feet. Even as the man fell, Lincoln spun and plucked the rod from his hand.

  He whipped his leg up, and with a crack, slammed his heel into the man’s back, causing the man to bounce off the cobblestone with a thud. Flopping still a moment later, he lay unmoving.

  “Well. I’ll give him that. He’s kind of brave, don’t you think?” Lincoln looked around the crowd with an expectant eye.

  A few of the men let out murmurs of agreement, more out of fear than anything. Hector shook his head. Twice today, they’d crushed the man. Hopefully, this lesson would stick.

  “So, about my pills,” Hector said, turning his head back to the lazy-eyed man. He held the holster up with shaky hands, eyes darting around. He wanted to run. Hector couldn’t blame him. It really wasn’t their day.

  “Y-Yes,” He said, as Hector took the holster from him. The man then placed a shaky hand into his breast pocket and pulled out three black pills. Their surface swirled with red lines, like little red snakes swimming through blacked water. “This is all I have.”

  That’s all you have, but what about everybody else? But no, I don’t know whether these pills will work with my Talent. So there is no point hoarding a bunch.

  Hector plucked the pills from the man’s hand and slipped them into his trouser pocket. He then secured the holster around his waist, moving the coin pouches to the side as he slid the holster’s strap above the rope that held his trousers in place.

  “You know, you can all leave now?” He said, raising a questioning brow at the small crowd of gang members that continued to watch.

  At his words, they all burst into motion. Some slipped into the alleyways, not looking back, while others picked up their leader and the bearded man. Hobbling into the back alleys like defeated dogs.

  “What are you planning to do with those?” Lincoln asked, gesturing his head toward Hector’s pocket as he stepped over.

  “I don’t know yet. I just wanted to see them at first. But now I think I might sell them. Who knows,” Hector said. Though he didn’t fully commit himself to that plan. He’d seen what it could do to a person. He didn’t want to be the one to put that kind of burden on them.

  “You’d better not take that,” Jodie said, crossing her arm. “I won’t be able to take you as a serious rival if you use cheap methods that drive you insane. It’s pathetic.”

  Hector chuckled. Marcus grunted as he helped Delworth to his feet, the boy not minding at all that he’d been thrown to the side. Hector shrugged and turned his head towards the brewery. There was no point fussing over Delworth. The boy hadn’t even reacted much when his arm was broken.

  The large, heavy wooden doors to the abandoned brewery loomed in front of them. Chips and splinters marred their surface. One-half of the doors looked like they would crumble. The termite-infested surface wanted to fall at any minute.

  But that could be said for most houses in the slums. “Alright,” Hector said, turning his head back to the group. “Let’s count up the festival earnings. Me and Lincoln also have something to discuss.”

  The group walked into the abandoned brewery. Their footsteps bounced off the decayed walls and echoed off into the sky. Dust drifted through the air, lazy and calm. Stirred only by the movement of people as they walked by.

  Large rotting beams held up what remained of the roof, though many of them held up nothing at all. While others lay broken across the floor toward the back of the brewery, termites infesting their corpses.

  Time had not been kind to this building. And yet it still stood. The walls, while rotting, still stood. The beams while corroding still stood. It was a testament to the effort put in by the builders.

  “This place is terrible.”

  Hector’s head snapped to Delworth. The boy looked around, scoffing as he patted the dust off of the arm of his blazer. Not one ounce of reverence in his eyes. Did he not see how crazy it was that this place was even standing?

  “Yeah, it’s bad. It probably should have been knocked down a while ago,” Marcus said, nodding. The boy held his hands close to his chest, careful not to touch anything. He was like a clean freak walking through a trash pile.

  Some people just don’t know how to appreciate a good thing. Not that I can blame them. If either of these two had been near the dump, they would probably collapse.

  Jodie, shaking her head, stepped past Hector. “We need something to count on. Look for a table or something.” Near one of the large beams that held up the roof was a cluster of boxes. Jodie, noticing them, grabbed one, pulling it free with a crack.

  The box fell apart in her hand. Wood chunks splintered into the dirt, crumbling into a pile on her feet. A rat scooted by, its skinny legs skittering across the floor as it dived into a shadow. Hector shook his head, turning his head and smiling at Emela.

  She nodded, letting out a small chuckle. She no doubt understood the beauty of the building, and the time it had weather. Plus, with her uncanny ability to stay clean, a bit of dust wouldn’t bother her.

  A sharp crack came from the side wall. Hector’s head snapped towards the sound. Lincoln, with a bright smile on his face, crashed through box after box as he skipped down a stack of them. How had he even gotten up there?

  With a final faint thump, Lincoln landed on his feet at the base of the stack. Wooden splinters and dust swirled all around as he gripped a sturdy, large plank of wood above his head.

  “I found something,” he said. A proud look adorning his features.

  Hector’s eyes went wide. A sturdier-looking crate tumbled behind Lincoln, down the now pile of broken wood. Crunching as it went, before slamming into one of the large wooden brewing towers that ran along the wall, hitting it like it was a bowling pin.

  Wood groaned as Hector tensed.

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