Coin ambled about at a steady pace, wandering Lowtown and contemplating what was to come. A big celebration on the horizon... yes, he could see that being a tempting target. But the question was, how would they do it?

  Some audacious attack in the heart of Sentinel? That seemed unlikely.

  Coin stroked his chin. He had heard that, by now, Velasco’s people had a strong grasp of the undercity ruins. Any underground lairs would have to be particularly small and obscure to have avoided detection, and the Brotherhood would be suicidal to try a straight fight with the army.

  Particularly now that they were producing firearms too.

  But... a straight attack wasn’t the only option, Coin knew.

  Those thoughts loomed in his mind and were only interrupted when a worrying familiar aroma started to drift into his nose. It made Coin froze, sniffed the air, and knew at once that it was the unwelcome aroma of black powder drifting his way.

  “What in the...” He stopped, leaning against a nearby wall, letting others pass him by. It could have just been the black powder used by Arcadian soldiers. But that seemed unlikely. After all, they didn’t have hand cannons to hand out to each and every soldier.

  Coin’s Commerce could survive a little longer in his absence. And as he took in the scent and followed it, he reasoned it was on the same route anyway.

  The narrow alleys led the way to a grime-crusted back lot, housing a small gathering of thugs. They were in hushed conversation with a burly man and his associate, both dressed in clothes too refined for Lowtown residents.

  “It’s a good deal,” the first man said, holding a large case open before the group. “And at a reasonable price too.”

  The thugs muttered to each other (and they were thugs. Their sour dispositions, tattoos, and general ‘vibe’ was a match for the multiversal definition of thuggery) but seemed to come to no clear consensus. “Only one of them lil bullet things for each hand cannon bought? A pittance of powder to use it?”

  The man shrugged his sloping shoulders. “Supply is... limited for those outside of our organisation. We cannot afford to dish out great quantities to everyone. But I think you’ll find that the threat posed by a hand cannon will do much of the work for you when it comes to threats and robbery. People have grown to fear these things, same as any sword. Even if it’s empty, they don’t need to know and won’t know unless they’re brave enough to call a bluff.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Another brief bout of discussion broke out in the prospective buyers. Coin took up a spot in the shadows, which embraced him like a long lost brother, and watched from afar. As they’d feared, hand cannons were being sold to standard criminals in Sentinel. No doubt to cause trouble, get people on edge. And, in theory, get them questioning Velasco as a leader.

  He should step in, he told himself. Much as he wanted to avoid this whole nonsense, he couldn’t turn a blind eye if it was happening right in front of him. He knew Elijah wouldn’t have liked him turning a blind eye.

  He was all set to emerge and deal with them (It helped that he was quite famished) when someone approached from the other end of the lot.

  Coin strained his vision for a better look, only to raise an eyebrow when he noticed it was a woman. Taller than the likes of Pearl, with tanned skin and her hair in jet black braids. The slim figure’s most distinguishing feature was the white tattoo that framed her right eye, like a pair of crossing crescents.

  “Another customer?” Coin asked himself.

  The girl grunted at the group, her hands on her hips. She was rather slim, he noted, all lean-muscle under her green toga and dark trousers. “So, you creeps are still selling your weapons in my part of town?” she asked.

  “Your part of town?” The salesman closed his trunk. “I don’t know what prostitution ring you’re part of, but you ain’t got no claim to these parts.”

  “Oh but I do!” She grinned, flashing a gleaming silver tooth in her mouth. “You’re on Goddess Street. The orphans on this block are my responsibility. That’s why I don’t appreciate dirty bastards like you selling weapons.”

  One of the would-be buyers gave a dismissive snort, rubbing his scarred cheek. “Get this bitch outta here, would ya?” That prompted one of his cohorts to take a step forward, drawing a blackjack from his pocket. He was more than twice the girl’s height, and near as broad but he showed no issues in raising the weapon and taking a swing square at her head.

  Coin got ready to move, his muscles taut like a coiled spring. Only to freeze as the girl suddenly zoomed around the man’s blow, coming to a halt behind him with her hands in her trouser pockets. A faint glow shone in her eyes, pale cyan. Her foot whipped out and smashed into the man’s back, launching him clean off his feet and into a nearby wall. He landed with a thud and did not rise again.

  “Guess you idiots have never heard of me. So now I gotta give you a painful lesson.” She grinned again. “Call me Cricket. Also known as ‘the girl who’s gonna beat the living piss out of all of you!’”

  Coin watched, transfixed, as three other men rushed the mysterious young woman. Cricke, by Coin’s estimation, was perhaps no older than twenty. Yet she faced the incoming men with the bravery of a seasoned adventurer. And though they swung at her with knives and clubs, she weaved through each strike as if they were moving in slow motion.

  Her left hand snapped out like a jabbing serpent, striking one club in the middle and snapping the varnished wood clean in half. The man holding it looked at it in stunned awe, a split second before Cricket’s heel met his jaw with a crushing kick.

  Cricket bore a carefree smile on her face throughout the battle, if one could even call it that. But, ultimately, she seemed to grow bored of dodging, and smashed both men flat with two sharp punches. They did not rise again, groaning and writhing on the ground.

  The girl had to be some kind of wizard, Coin knew. That or she had trained her body to some truly inhuman extremes.

  The salesman rolled his eyes and glanced to his mountainous companion. “What a pain,” he uttered.

  “So.” Cricket planed a foot on the chest of one downed man, glaring over at the other two men. “You gonna leave Goddess Street behind? Or do you need a lesson too?”

  “Gridd. Kill her, and be quick about it.” The other man grunted in response and brushed past the salesman, his footsteps loud and weighty. He flicked his hood back to reveal a massive bald head, the skin a deep shade of grey. An inhuman pallor. Even from a distance, Coin could tell that the man looked more like an ogre than a human.

  Cricket grinned, cracking her neck from side to side. “Alright. Show me what ya got.”

  ? Tick Tock On The Clock ?

  [LitRPG Deckbuilding with Time Ticking Down]

  The hourglass breaks, the debt comes due—will fate claim you, or will you break through

  Life was stolen, time was rewound—will you rise or stay Timebound?

  What to expect:

  This story is a healthy blend of ORV, The Devil's Cage, and MTG.