Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Seventhmonth, 1634 PTS

  There were few experiences more exhilarating than displays of force. Orion had been born into the underworld, recruited into his father’s gang when he grew old enough to begin learning martial arts. Orion wanted power, but that was not the only reason he remained in the underworld. He was a martial artist, and as such, he enjoyed violence. That was simply the nature of things.

  Orion sidled up to the disruptive patron, kicking the man in the back and sending him sprawling down to the ground. The martial artist snarled as he scrambled to his feet in an ungainly attempt to preserve face.

  “I’ll gut you like a-” the man started to say, before being interrupted by a boot to his face as Orion kicked the man back to the ground. This time, the gangster finally realized the difference in their realms. He smiled flatteringly, a silly expression given the growing welt on the side of his cheek.

  “Martial master, this one did not see you there,” he said. “Is there an issue?”

  Orion disdained the way the man had switched so quickly to flattery, though in his place Orion couldn’t imagine he would have acted any differently. It was in a Seiyal’s inbuilt instincts to take any action that would aid in survival, no matter how shameless. Pride was a weakness, one that only got in the way.

  Pride, he believed, was for only the mighty and for the fools who thought themselves to be among the prior groups. As a prideful man, Orion considered himself to be in the latter group. He only needed to take one more step to reach the next level and become truly strong. All he needed was treasures.

  “Do you know whose turf you’re on?” he asked.

  The man blinked, finally putting the pieces together in his mind. He was the slow type, it seemed.

  “You’re-” he started to say, before being silenced with another kick.

  “That’s the wrong answer,” Orion said.

  “Aren’t you being too harsh, Master?” asked his first disciple, Sashan. Orion scowled, almost regretting having brought her along. He had asked for permission to bring the more upstanding disciples of the sect with him on this mission, and after only a short discussion, Cyrus had agreed. It seemed that the Riverfiend knew the same truths as he did: a scion raised in safety could not flourish, like a sapling in an unlit room.

  “To deal with this sort of trash, one needs to speak their language,” he said, grabbing the beaten foundation refiner by his hair and dragging him to one of the sect’s soldiers. “Dispose of him,” he ordered. The soldier nodded, and carried the unfortunate thug to an awaiting autocart, where several other wounded gangsters had been laid out. Most were awake, but under the watchful gaze of Orion’s soldiers, they were wise enough to remain subdued.

  Orion had not even bothered to inspect which miasma the man used. He was so weak that it did not particularly matter. Regardless, the cart existed because killing the gangsters felt like a waste, when he could instead sell them to the Linen Palace’s leader. Ever since he had started such work, he had begun to see every other criminal on the street as a mere paycheck.

  His other disciples nodded at the sage advice, while the frown on Sashan’s face told him she wasn’t buying it. Orion sighed as he often did around the girl. Training her was like acting as the father to a recalcitrant teen, and Orion had avoided fathering kids for a reason.

  “Do you have an issue with my methods, disciple?” he asked. Sashan nodded boldly. “Then do inform me of a better method.”

  “Why didn’t you speak with him first?" she suggested. "If you gave him the chance, I’m sure he would have surrendered.”

  Orion shook his head. The girl was still young, and far too shortsighted.

  “We are not just here to end the current crisis, we’re also here to prevent future problems. I am sending a message: interfering in the Redwater Sect’s territory is not a wise decision. The delay has weakened that message, so I plan to use violence to strengthen it again.”

  “But…”

  “No buts,” said Orion, shutting her down. “Take it up with the Sect Leader if you have any more problems.” Fortunately, none of the other present disciples were presenting any problems. Aside from Sashan, the rest of Orion’s disciples showed proper respect to their master.

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  Overall, he thought, assessing the situation, the mission was proving to be trivial. Too trivial, almost. Apparently, only one core formation practitioner had been among the disruptors, and not a single spirit refiner. This was not enough to truly pressure the sect. Something must be happening outside of Orion’s awareness. Still, that was not his problem. Cyrus and Rachel would deal with that, while Orion’s sole focus was the task before him.

  Perhaps Rachel had simply assigned him to deal with opponents he was able to handle, and others such as Karie and Jihan had dealt with the more advanced practitioners. It was difficult to say. Regardless, this was just the earliest stage of his work today, and now it was time for him to begin the next one. Orion raised his arm, directing outwards.

  “Lead them to the other group,” he ordered. His subordinates obeyed.

  Once more, Jihan eyed his disciples. Today, he would give them something that was extremely overdue. An opportunity to prove themselves.

  ???, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Seventhmonth, 1634 PTS

  Despite Janottka’s death, the net had not calmed down in the past few weeks. She had assisted in sparking the hostilities, but in the end, it was all self-sustaining.

  And the Staiven were watching, now.

  Their net crawlers were nothing compared to her own ability, but the remaining traces of her battle with Janottka had already been collected. They knew that a Shade was present, and that it had been interfacing with an internet node inside the sixth district during the battle. This, she still believed, was the primary reason for their continued presence in the district.

  As much as Rachel did not like considering herself a machine, she was clear that the Staiven would see her as one. And even if they did not, their treaty with the Sheneth-Ari would still insist they attempt to kill her.

  And if the Osine were to find out what she really was, they would arrive in person. Rachel would be forced to flee for her life, discarding everything she had been working to build on the station.

  It was a fine line she was treading. If she ceased to interact with the station’s network, Rachel would surely slip past the loose net of the Staiven’s security, but she could not do that. Her virtual acumen was a large part of the sect’s advantages.

  Their moves today were one such example. She could sort through communications, finding each and every disruptive martial artist in their territory, making a difficult, prolonged task into a simple affair. The Hadal merchant faction, or whoever it truly was that sent them, must have expected this to be a far more troubling affair, as the martial artists hid whenever a Redwater member arrived. This had been why the Iron Palace had difficulty dealing with the threat on their own, but with Rachel’s assistance, this problem could be solved without issue. Relatively speaking, of course. She doubted the pressure would actually end here. they could send out forces to defend their own territory, but the same was not true for business partners outside the few stacks the Redwater Sect controlled.

  The larger issue, however, lay with what came after. This was the true problem at hand: who, exactly, it was that wished to target them, and why.

  A fragment of Rachel’s attention remained with Cyrus as it usually did. Her projection walked beside him as they approached the doors to the Hadal Clan’s headquarters. Once again, they had an appointment with the Matriarch, but this time it was they who had requested it.

  The clan’s entrance was as imposing as always, at odds with the sterile, patchwork design the Staiven favored. A cross section of Canvas, captured and carried all these lightyears away.

  “Are you certain this is a good idea?” she asked. “We don’t know whether Sirena signed off on their suppression of us or not.”

  Cyrus shrugged.

  “I would wager that she did not, but regardless, we will have to speak with her about it. The current situation is easy to solve, but the next one may not be. And unless you have a suggestion for handling their Supreme Elder…”

  “Not yet,” she sighed. “But I see your point. “I’ll keep you apprised, but so far, everything has gone smoothly.”

  “Remind them to just defend our territory and not take any more,” he ordered. “We can barely handle what we currently control.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “I’ll do so, but I believe they all already understand the situation.”

  “If they don’t,” he said, “I’ll have to get more practice in.”

  Rachel snickered, amused by the threat.

  “I’ll be sure to inform them of that.”

  In a perfect world, the sect would have grown far more stable by this point, focused on training the next generation of soldiers, a force of actual talents who could hope to rival the other forces. Today, she hoped to ensure that they would obtain that opportunity.

  Programming in the Pantheonic Territory: [Due to the restrictions on development of artificial intelligence technology, the virtual technology of its inhabitants has been restricted in its development. Not only are such rules law by nature of treaty, but they have also been codified into doctrine by the six churches of the Pantheon. Because of this, limitations have been placed on programming techniques such as machine learning, and limitations have been placed on algorithm complexity, to inhibit the odds of accidental Shade development. Arguments have been made that this leaves networks vulnerable to alien Shades, but this is considered to be the duty of the Navy and the Port Authority to prevent.]