The air around him grew thick as fog as Hunter stood at the corridor that led to the most guarded office in the auction house. Unconscious guards lay on the floor all around him; some that had tried to resist Hunter's pressure from his leaking aura.
Hunter took a step, calmly, and kicked the heavy door, this caused the door to bang against the wall. The desk was turned over in haste and a butcher's knife shot at him with all the accuracy of a bullet.
He dodged it without breaking a stride.
The man who threw it at him was a greying, scarred man with a thick apron bloodied and ink-stained. As he snarled bared-teeth, he stated, "Do you think you can disrupt my auction?"
Hunter tilted his head. "You must be the butcher of this joint, fits."
Roaring the man drank down a vial from his pocket. His body expanded grotesquely as his muscles grew, and veins bulged. His apron shredded as it couldn't keep up with the transformation. Soon he had turned into a monster of a man, almost touching the ceiling. "Let's see if you bleed, like the rest."
He charged.
Hunter seized the butcher knife as it fell and met the man's assault, without flinching. It was like thunder when the two of them collided; metal met flesh and fury. The man's strength was remarkable, when he swung an arm the floor would craters. But Hunter was faster. He made little motion and great control; immersing himself under haymaker punches; and striking at heavy points with precision planned, not improvisation.
____
As all this was happening, Arwin recovered the coin from the murdered knight and whispered an apology under his breath. Arwin still had bloody streaks smeared across his borrowed armor. He moved at a great pace down the hall and arrived at the bulk heavy wood door of the storage vault.
When he arrived he found the first knight, the one who had actually gone in, standing, barking work orders to a group of workers, fucking placing items into categories for buyers. The knight turned and initially did not recognize him given the blood smeared armor, as Arwin walked in with his sword drawn. The knight furrowed his brow and said, "You're not a guard."
Arwin cracked his neck.
"Did you kill him?"
Silence.
The knight ultimately seemed to darken in the visage of his countenance and stated, "Then die for it."
He drew his sword, and as he charged, the clang of metal rang clear. The workers fled to the walls, watching in awe as the two fought fiercely, their blades colliding, steel grinding against steel. Arwin fought with grace, and while his strikes were low, he dodged with offset swings overhead. He may not have had Hunter's strength, but he had speed—and precision that far surpassed the average knight.
___
In the main hall, tension erupted into chaos.
Luenor stood from the VIP booth and gave Thalanar a nod.
It was the signal.
Luenor stood on the balcony looking down at the shocked crowd in the main chamber and spoke through his mask. "From this day forth, the black market of Duskwatch belongs to Alfrenzo. Anyone who disagrees… may try to stop me."
Then he jumped.
A guard rushed in, sword drawn—only to find Luenor's sword already cutting into his neck. Blood sprayed everywhere and the hall fell into chaos.
The shriek of visitors was all the warning they got before Thalanar rose.
His staff throbbed with emerald illumination in the air. "You will not escape," he whispered.
Roots exploded from the ground – magically imbued vines of thick magia-chewed wood burrowing through the tiles, shot forth from below and lashed around the chamber. They wrapped around legs, arms, and torso, entrapping nobles, merchants, and guards in their seating.
Luenor moved like a shadow.
He severed guards and auction enforcers, his blade moving in silent fury. There was no mana-glow from him, nor any flashy magic – only purpose. He moved in perfect, deadly strikes. With every kill, blood soaked into the growing arcing strands of his mask as the mouth piece became a red stain.
Then he reached the latest auctioneer.
He hadn't flinched when Luenor appeared. He was just there trembling, his legs refusing to move.
Luenor lifted his blade.
"Please… mercy," he murmured.
But as Luenor rocked his body to finish the auctioneer, an icy chill crept near behind him.
He looked - and saw her.
A woman stood across the platform, dressed in a smooth black suit, her face obscured by a silver-trimmed mask. One of the black-clad VIPs. Luenor could sense it - this one was different.
The temperature shifted, the air displaced as the woman's mana washed over the room.
"What you did was bold," she said quietly, stepping forward. "But now you have made it personal."
Luenor lifted his sword, still dripping with blood. "What are you? The cleanup crew?"
She laughed.
"I am the one that makes problematic people disappear."
The air around her undulated. Above the palm of her hand a blue orb of energy gathered, crackling with potential. Gritting his teeth Luenor immediately sidestepped, as a burst of wind exploded where he was just standing.
And they were in contact.
Luenor closed the distance, trying to take her out before she wrangled her next spell into being. But she was fast, erecting mana barriers in rapid succession, his slashes simply sparking off of her invisible defenses.
She responded, launching against him compressed bursts of mana that he slipped past.