~2800 words
By the time Kiyotaka walked out of the underground meeting chambers, the night had already descended and the crimson moon was hanging high in the sky.
Smog — as usual — choked the skies, making the quality of air plummet. Due to the incoming winters, the air had began to burn the lungs as well, debilitating a lot of people's medical conditions even further.
Kiyotaka had reached a consensus with the Church of Evernight Goddess. There were a lot of matters discussed but the main extract was that the Church would adopt some kind of leniency when it came to his activities — as long as it not crossed the limits — and in return, Kiyotaka would be an unofficial member of the Church.
The unofficial member's duties entailed acting as a spy in certain circles, collecting information and sometimes aiding the Nighthawks or — in rare cases, the Red Gloves — with a mission. The compensation for this was £7 a week.
With his company coming to fruition, the sum looked measly, however, Kiyotaka — in an attempt to be more "human" — hungrily agreed to it. After all, some money was better than no money. Besides, his business was currently focused at upper, upper Middle Class, people who were close to becoming elites.
Cheaper models would come later and hence it was not a guarantee that the car would be a big hit.
After Kiyotaka was done with the Church, he made his way to Bravehearts Bar and settled down in a quiet corner. Some time later, Mal came to visit him.
The man — as usual — was dressed in rags and had a hunch to his spine which made him look much shorter than he actually was. If Kiyotaka had to guess, Mal was well over 6 feet, however, the hunch made him look around Kiyotaka's height — who, by no means, was a short man himself, after advancing to Barbarian.
"Any news?" Kiyotaka forked a piece of steak that was made in simple salt and pepper.
"The person that came to pick you up in the carriage was a powerful Beyonder. His exact Sequence and Pathway are unknown, but I will get to the bottom of it soon enough." He explained, rubbing his hands together. "I was looking after Mr. Leppard when they came again and took Mr. Leppard with them."
"Did you hear their conversation?"
The man's smile widened and his crooked nose casted a shadow over his lips as he rubbed his hands again. "Well of course. There was nothing suspicious in their talks. They talked about going to the government body that gives permits to open a company, and the man — William Sikes — presented something after which the company was opened."
Mal paused and rubbed his hands again in a greedy manner. "It is a glorious name, yes, a very glorious name for your establishment."
Kiyotaka, noticing the greed in his tone, forked another piece of steak and dipped it in the cheap gravy before finishing his food. Reaching out for the inside of his pocket, he took out £50 and handed it over to him.
"Distribute salaries for all of the men. Whatever's left over, you can keep it."
Mal smiled crookedly before quickly stashing the money away in his pockets. After that, he quickly bowed and left immediately.
A few moments later, a gloomy man walked over to Kiyotaka.
It was none other than Maric.
He seated opposite to Kiyotaka and squinted his eyes at him. "Have you gone crazy? Talking to yourself?"
Kiyotaka stared at him for a moment. "Why are you here?"
"The event will take place in a week from now. I want you to be ready. We can't delay any further."
Kiyotaka nodded. Helping out Maric and Sharron was the payment he was willing to pay in exchange for their help against the Sequence 6: Devil Dog.
"Ok. Is the detective—Moriarty, also coming?"
"Yes, do you have a problem with it now?"
"No. The plan will stay the same."
"Ok." Maric's response was simple.
"Alright then. A week from now, I will come to the pre-designate place and initiate the act." He paused for a moment and then looked at Maric, who's features implicated that he was in pain. "Convey my thanks to Madam Sharron."
"I will." Maric nodded.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"I want to bring someone else with me as well. He can be trusted."
Maric deliberated for a long while before responding. "Ok."
*****
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The revolver barked repeatedly inside the shooting range of the Queelang Club.
"Phew..."
After emptying the cylinder, Klein swiftly reloaded five fresh rounds. Without the slightest pause, he flicked the chamber and raised the weapon once more, pulling the trigger.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The bullets passed cleanly through the holes he had already created. The paper target trembled violently as the openings widened even further, becoming noticeably larger than what ordinary gunfire could normally produce.
Lowering the revolver, Klein exhaled slowly. Despite all this venting, his mood remained complicated.
Something about Williams had always felt unusual but even so, he had never truly doubted him. Perhaps it was because Williams was one of the few people around whom he didn't need to remain vigilant—or at least that is what he thought.
After all, as a Seer, Klein habitually questioned anything and everything. He distrusted coincidences, strangers, and even the results of his own divinations. Yet, those instincts weakened unconsciously around him.
That was probably why the matter irritated him so much. Earlier, in a fit of anger, he had gone above the gray fog and performed several divinations surrounding Kiyotaka.
And the results?
The results had revealed certain truths.
Certain truths he would rather not have known which left him simultaneously furious and helpless.
On the other hand, Williams's circumstances were indeed terrible and there were reasons behind his actions which even Klein found difficult to dismiss entirely. Yet that only made everything more troublesome.
Klein still believed there had been better courses of action. However, unfortunately, belief and reality were often two different things.
Klein rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to forget the nasty things he had witnessed.
After that incident, Klein decided not to investigate Williams any further unless circumstances absolutely required it.
Some matters were better left alone. Or rather, perhaps he simply lacked the resolve to continue digging.
A self-deprecating smile appeared on Klein's face. "Oh you troublesome child." He seethed, mockingly so.
Time and time again, Williams' actions had crossed lines Klein found difficult to tolerate.
On the other hand, in this unfamiliar world where loneliness often crept into the quiet corners of his heart, Williams was the only anchor he still possessed to his former life. Because of that, Klein often overlooked things that would have earned almost anyone else his immediate retaliation.
"Sherlock." A voice pulled him from his thoughts as Klein turned around.
Standing several meters away was a young man with curly brown hair and equally brown eyes, Talim Dumont. The equestrian instructor wore a warm smile as he observed him while Klein quickly composed himself and returned the greeting.
"Good afternoon. How are you today?"
"Quite well." Talim studied him for a moment before chuckling. "Though you don't seem to be."
Klein blinked.
Had his emotions become that obvious?
The realization surprised him, but he didn't let the surprise show on his features, controlled by his Clown powers.
After a brief moment of silence, he smiled bitterly.
"A little stressed."
As he spoke, he placed the revolver back into its holster without reloading it. Talim waited for him to approach before giving him a light pat on the shoulder.
"If that's the case, I can come back another time."
"No need." Klein shook his head. "It's nothing serious."
He gestured toward the nearby seats inside the common area of the Queelang Club. The two men sat down opposite one another.
Talim casually poured two glasses of water.
After they had finished drinking, he finally got to the point.
"Are you free this evening?"
Klein's brow raised. "Why?"
"I have a bodyguard commission."
"A commission?" Klein repeated.
"It's from Mike Joseph of the Daily Observer."
After a few seconds of consideration, he set down his glass. "I'm afraid I already have plans tonight. Can it wait until the day after tomorrow?" As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward the window.
The evening dark made Klein's brown eyes appear even darker. Then, as if recalling something, his expression gradually darkened.
"Of course, Sherlock."
After spending an hour or so chatting with Talim, Klein took a quick nap and woke up at around 7. He went back to his home in Cherwood Borough, took a bath and then immediately donned his mask and other utilities to mask his presence and went into the Beyonder Meeting organized by Mr. Eye of Wisdom.
The meeting went on quite peacefully. However, there was one strange variable.
The woman who was asking for a formula for Briber got what she wanted and exchanged the formula for a mystical item. However, what surprised Klein was the readily available formula.
It was quite a protected pathway and finding someone with this formula was rare. Regardless, since Beyonder world was full of surprises and secretive people, he did not much heed to it. In the end, he paid up almost all of his money for the Sun Brooch which was able to emulate Sun Pathway's powers.
*****
A FEW DAYS LATER
Walking through the back alleys that were illuminated by the crimson moonlight, a man — no older than 20 — entered one of the establishments.
The man was deathly pale and freakishly handsome. He was tall, standing over 180cm and had a wide frame with pronounced chest and bulging, rope-veined arms. His hair was curly and black like the night sky while also containing a strange shine to it, as if it was lathered in some kind of fragrant oil.
His eyes were stormy green, hidden beneath the long curly curls. However, much like the deathly pale complexion of his face — or rather, his overall body — his siren-shaped eyes were vacant.
The long eyes gave him a predatory yet dangerously alluring look, causing many eyes — men and women alike — to turn towards him, although the women who stared at him at this hour were mostly street girls and waitresses.
He was wearing a black shirt with the top three buttons unfastened and only a long-coat on top. The fashion sense was bizarre and weirdly stuck out as it was screaming immodest and also, at the same time, unconventional. It was really cold and people — despite being countless pints down — were wearing layers of clothing.
Taking in the sight of energetic women and young boys serving the drunk alcohol and food, the man walked in a straight path and arrived at the counter. His chaotic, bloodthirsty and predatory eyes fell on the person at the other end of the bar who was quietly whistling and cleaning the beer mugs with a piece of old cloth.
The man sat on the long stool and placed his hand on the counter. The force with which he had done that produced sufficient sound to attract the barman's attentions and also left a small dent into it.
"Where is Kaspers?" The man asked. His voice was extremely heavy and gravelly, as if clouds were thundering and rocks were raining in a distance. It was extremely disturbing to hear and it made a shiver run down the spine of the Barman.
Putting on airs, the Barman straightened his back and smacked the wooden mug down. "And do you think you are?"
The look in the man's eyes grew chaotic as he smirked slightly. "When did I allow you to ask me a question?"
The Barman's face darkened as his hand automatically went to the inner compartment of the table, reaching out for his gun.
"I will ask just this once, where is Kaspars?"
The Barman smirked as she suddenly whipped out his revolver — or at least he tried to. Before he could even fully grip the handle of his revolver, the man gripped the front bunch of hair and then slammed his face into the wooden mug.
The wooden mug gave way instantly, splintering into large and thick shards, one of which lodged into the man's cheek.
The cheery voices suddenly died down and was replaced by a hush as the man pulled the Barman's body like over the counter like a ragdoll, held him from his ankles and thrashed him around on the ground like a piece of paper.
Blood oozed out of the Barman's nose and mouth as the man stopped manhandling him and sat him down on a chair. Holding his jaw in his iron grip, he closed in and whispered. "Where, is, Kaspars?"
"To... Hell... with... urghh..."
Before he could finish, the man jumped and delivered a devastating knee to the Barman's chest, knocking all air out of his lungs.
Once again, the man held him jaw, this time hard enough for the Barman's teeth to rattle.
"It was...them... Steve... It was Steve... He killed him! That's all I know!" The Barman hissed, angry and scared at the same time.
He was not a bad fighter by any means, however, the amount of strength this young man was displaying instilled instant despair in his heart. Even after trying his best, it felt impossible to track his movements and overpower him. Moreover, he was unpredictable, since there was no visible tact to his moves.
It was as if it was a barbarian from Highlands.
Letting go of his jaw, the man punched him so hard that the Barman flew over some tables, knocking over the plates and cups of alcohol before landing hard on the ground. There was definitely a loud crunch from his spine as he landed, half stuck in the furniture and half on the floor.
Just as his stopped moving, three men rose from their seats. "You! Who do you think you are?!" The man in the forefront who was a thin man with a goatee roared from across the bar, his eyes bloodshot and his cadence slurry from all the alcohol he had consumed.
However, the man who was standing beside him, suddenly tried to pull him down.
"Oye.. Sit down... That's the hound of Zmanger Gang. They are really violent... We don't want any trouble." Then, the man who had spoken to the thin man sat down himself and donned an apologetic look on his face.
"As if I car—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a fork whistled through the air and cut through his cheek, opening it wide enough for two thin streams of blood to flow down. Hyde's facial expressions were that of barbaric man who was ready to smash his face the same he did for the Barman.
A sudden hush enveloped the entire bar as the thin man quickly sat down, shivering like a cornered animal.
There were many who tried to join in on the fight earlier, but the speed at which it had occurred had rendered them unable to do so. Even with the numbers advantage — the inhumane way in which Hyde had dispatched the Barman — it seemed like it was not possible for them to fight this barbarian.
In that moment, he truly personified the title of "Hound of Zmanger."
Hearing the commotion, another man with a pale face and malicious brown eyes, wearing a white shirt and black vest walked out of one of the inner rooms. He looked at Hyde and then at the Barman who was laying on the floor in a rather miserable manner.
At first, he was about to do something, but soon, he turned his head around, as if talking to someone invisible and then turned around, returning to his room.
Hyde placed his foot on the empty chair and smirked. "This bar now belongs to the Zmanger Gang!" Then he brought both of his fists together, smacking them in a barbaric manner. "Anyone who has a problem can speak up now!"
*****
Author's Note: VAT return month is here and I am absolutely behind on the preparations. I wanted to write Chapter 41 to 45 and then publish them together, however, I am unsure how long I would stay busy for, hence, here is the chapter.
Hope you enjoy it, albeit, I am not the most satisfied with it.