Night fell over Emberrest like a curtain of smoke and whispers. But in the slums beneath the outer walls, darkness wasn't just the absence of light—it was business.
Deep within a half-collapsed warehouse near the edge of the river, a human trafficking ring thrived. Iron cages. Dirty floors. Armed thugs.
And right now?
They were playing cards and laughing, unaware of the storm creeping toward them.
Outside, Zairon crouched on a rooftop, grinning like a devil with a script.
"A base full of criminals, unguarded windows, and a money vault somewhere inside… Honestly, do they want to get raided?"
He pulled his bone dagger, stood tall in the moonlight—and jumped.
[CRASH]
He came through the ceiling like a missile. A guard barely turned before the bone dagger slammed into his throat.
Zairon landed, spun, and punched another in the temple. A third reached for a whistle—Zairon threw a sharpened fang through his hand.
Then he just stared at the rest.
"I suggest you all take a nap."
Some ran. He let them. Others charged. He broke bones.
Ten minutes later?
Every guard was unconscious or bleeding in a neat pile.
Zairon strolled through the warehouse, lighting torches, humming to himself as if he were redecorating a tavern instead of raiding a crime base.
Then he found the slaves.
Cages—packed and filthy. Men, women, children. Some bruised, others defeated. All silent.
Zairon snapped every lock, kicked open every door.
"You're free now," he said, his voice calm but crackling with presence. "But I'm not here to play hero."
He climbed atop a crate.
"I need people."
Eyes lifted toward him.
"You fight? Great. You cook? Even better. You clean, heal, plan, sew, sing, or just look good with a sword? You're in."
He raised a fist toward the cracked ceiling.
"This world is a mess. I'm the vacuum."
A beat.
"You all now belong to my gang. Don't worry—I'm way more fun than slavers."
He flashed a grin.
[Gang Formed: Name Pending]
[Members: 127]
[Roles Assigned: Combatants – 43 | Non-Combatants – 84]
[Loyalty: Shaken but Growing]
[Resources Gained: 24,600 Credits | Weapons Cache | Underground Base Acquired]
A muscular man with a scarred eye stepped forward. "What's our name, boss?"
Zairon blinked.
"…I'll think of something edgy."