Southdell. Three days later.
Braken stood in the middle of a rusted pit.
No crowd.
Just bloodstains in the dirt, cracked stone walls, and a crooked sign hanging above the gate:
THE saw — scratched out with a knife, re-etched underneath in red:
Open world . No Mercy. No Refunds.
A woman stood across from him.
One eye blind. Metal jaw. Spirit scars glowing along her spine. Her name was Vye, and she was the reigning pit champion.
She smiled with no warmth.
"You're not registered."
Braken shrugged. "Didn't bring a pen."
"You bleed out here, no one pays for your bones."
"Won't need to."
The fight bell rang. A jagged mana pulse cracked the air.
Vye came at him like a bolt, no windup — just pure instinct. Her elbow caught his shoulder, her knee smashed his ribs. Braken slid back, spat blood.
She was faster than Grith. Smarter too.
But Braken wasn't trying to win pretty.
He feinted left — baited a right hook — ducked under, slammed her into the wall, then cracked the broken butt of his mana pistol across her temple.
She staggered.
He whispered, "Sit down."
Then decked her in the throat with everything he had.
Vye dropped.
The bell pulsed red. Match over.
He looked to the only two figures watching from the upper walkway.
Tali stood with arms crossed.
And beside her — a skinny boy with sunken eyes and a spiritburn mark etched into his collarbone.
"What's his name?" Braken asked, still panting.
Tali called back: "He calls himself Jett. Burnout. Used to be in Iron Howl."
Braken knelt beside Vye. Pulled her blade — a half-shattered shard of folded bone.
He held it out toward Jett.
"Then tell him this."
The boy looked down, silent.
Braken said, "If you bleed and still get back up, you're welcome to join my new guild ashmark you punk whore."
Days passed.
Ashmark thirve whit just tali and braken
Not fast. Not clean. But raw and real.
They claimed the old forge for their base — cleaned it with broken brooms and warlock salt. Tali reinforced the walls with repurposed curse-runes. Braken rigged broken mana wires into heat-coils.
Their roster grew:
Crett– Spiritburn child. Scarred. Shoots raw spirit bolts from his mouth but coughs blood every time. Braken trains him one-handed until he stops missing.
Mira the Quiet – dancer with rune-threaded hair. Communicates with floating spirit glyphs. Her movements distort perception like mirror magic.
Rask – Former priest who turned rebel after his lover was executed. Fights with a soul-knife that steals memories when it cuts.
Ashmark didn't wear uniforms.
They wore scars and ash.
And Braken made one rule:
If you leave, leave proud. If you stay, stay loyal.
One Night
Braken sat alone in the forge's side room.
He stared at the cracked outlaw medallion his grandma gave him.
His hands were raw from training. His ribs still ached from Vye's knee. But the forge was warm.
He almost felt… calm.
Then the front door slammed.
Tali burst in.
"They're here."
Braken rose. "Who?"
" a crew."
"…tullik crew ?"
Tali shook her head, face pale.
"No. A lone spirit ."
That Night — The Arrival of Kaien Voss
Ashmark's forge was quiet. The flames died. Even the spiritflies in the rafters stopped glowing.
Footsteps feared outside — slow, deliberate. Not cautious.
Just cold.
Braken stepped out. Tali and the others behind him. Jett whispered, "He ain't like us. He's lighting -touched."
Then he walked in.
Black coat, sleeveless. White tattoos spiraling like constellations down his arms. His eyes glowing — . Like lighting. Like staring into a storm .
Braken sized him up.
"You lost?"
The stranger stopped six feet away. Didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
"I heard you call yourself a king pathetic ."
Braken shrugged. "If I didn't, no one else would you bitch ."
The man's voice was cold , like wind flew through a crypt.
"King of what?"
Braken stepped forward. "Ashmark. This city. My own blood if I have to and soon to be the world ."
Silence.
Then:
"I'm Kaien. I don't want your title."
Braken narrowed his eyes. "What you just say jackass let's get it on right now what the fuck you wanted then pussy?"tali holding him back
Kaien tilted his head slightly.
"…To see if you're worth burning."