Ch.33

In the early morning, a group of eight men gathered, traversing the empty streets together. Clad in coats and armed with hammers and axes, they marched side by side, with one man leading the way, a lit cigar dangling from his mouth.

Inside Erik's newly acquired residence, one of the caretakers prepared breakfast in the kitchen while the other ascended the stairs toward Erik's room. Knocking on the door, she unwittingly caught Erik in the midst of dressing, causing a moment of surprise upon her flustered face.

Erik acknowledged her presence, unfazed by the situation. "Margret." He greeted her.

"Mister Codux... Forgive me." She stammered, turning her head and closing her eyes to afford him privacy.

"There is no need. Please prepare some wine, just a glass."

"This... This early in the morning?"

"It's for a guest. I anticipate their arrival shortly."

Meanwhile, outside the residence, the group of men arrived at the entrance. "This is it, boss." Jaxck confirmed to the man with the cigar who took a puff, before taking it out of his mouth.

"The old Hecton home? So he is wealthy... Teach him some manners boys."

His men marched up to the residence, knocking out the windows with their weapons. The sound of the glass shattering startled the women inside who ducked in panic.

"Sir Henry Codux!" The leader bellowed from his position at the front of the residence. His voice carried with a slight accent, instantly recognizable to the locals who curiously peered out from their windows to witness the commotion. His reputation preceded him, and it was evident that everyone knew who he was, for he possessed the kind of presence that left an indelible mark. He stood with a smug grin on his face, with the arrogant demeanor of a king who owned the streets of Calvin. Yet, that grin seemed to fade slowly as Erik calmly walked downstairs to the foyer, where he and his men saw him clear as day, ignoring them completely.

Erik walked past the shattered windows, past the front door, and into the hallway leading to the kitchen. "Margret." He said as he entered, his two caretakers crouched on the floor in fear.

"Y-Yes... Mister Codux..."

"Invite our guests in."

Erik walked through the kitchen to sit at the dining room table, while outside, the men continued to kick up a fuss. They pounded on the doors and hammered at the brick walls outside. After some time, a few moments for Margret to muster up some courage, she nervously and quickly scurried to the entrance where she opened the door.

The men stopped and backed away. Margret avoided eye contact and spoke with haste and fret. "Mister Codux would like to invite you all in to meet with him."

The men would be invited in together, to walk through the home they'd vandalized to meet with Erik, sitting in his seat at the chair, with an open book in his hands, a fork in his other, and steaming hot food being placed in front of him.

"Mister Nickelson. Have a seat." Erik spoke through his lips, though his eyes remained pasted to his novel. He heard the seat across from him being pulled back.

His guest snickered as his chair creaked under the strain of his weight. "You have bollocks on you, I'll give you that." Said the voice across from him.

Erik shut his book and placed it face down on the table. He then began to eat, staring at the man across from him. Margret then placed a glass of wine before Mister Nickelson, who raised an eyebrow at it.

"Drink, Mister Nickelson. Do forgive that we couldn't offer you anything else, there are few tea shops here and I have only been here for a few days."

"And yet, you have already made yourself quite known. I hear even the children talking about the man who bought up all the old homes with gold. Tell me, Mister Codux. Where exactly might you be from? From the way you speak, you sound almost as if you're a noble; very eloquent, I believe the word is."

"Krefton. Down south."

"Krefton? I think I've heard of that kingdom. Do they all have dark hair like you?"

"Not all, but many. I know multiple languages as well, and have familiarized myself with High-Common. Now, Mister Nickelson, I invited you here to come to an agreement. As you very well know, I am a wealthy man. My buying up all the lots here, intents that I wish to establish myself as a man of standing, in a community that I believe can be great, given the opportunity."

"So you're a saint! Are ya?"

"No, I am a selfish man, who wants to be looked up to as a great man. Now, I understand that you have already done that yourself, so I would like to impose an agreement that would benefit us both, greatly."

Mister Nickelson sat quiet, pondering the conversation as he twisted his dying cigar against his sleeve, snuffing its few remaining embers out. He placed it on the table and began to nod his head. "I understand. You're a merchant, as I am told. A businessman, as am I. I own the largest liquor store on this side of Capricene, but, as I am sure you know, I do much more than just refine and sell liquor."

"I am, in fact, that is why I would rather get along with you. A man of your influence and position is useful." An abrupt pause, followed by a shift in Erik's own expression. "Of course, I would be willing to sink a large amount of money into your work."

Mister Nickelson's expression was a stone-cold look of interest, but Erik could see beneath his face, the emotions behind his eyes.

Erik shut his eyes for a moment, the sound of Mister Nickelson speaking being drowned out. He sighed and slowly lowered his hand beneath the table, fork in hand.

"Truly, Mister Codux." Mister Nickelson continued on, just as Erik brought his hands back up from beneath the table with a napkin in hand, wiping his mouth clean. "I wish we could work together, but you see... There's just one thing, holding our agreement back." He held his tongue for a long moment of silence, leaning forth in his seat and placing his hands against the edge of the table. "Respect." A sudden scrape of the seat against the floor as he stood up in an aggressive manner. "You see, boy, you don't respect me." He shoved away the table, off to the side, and his men made their way toward Erik. "Teach him a lesson, boys. Respect comes from grit and strength! Not money."

Just as one of the men got closer, fully intent on swinging his hammer at Erik's face, Erik grabbed the hammer and pulled him down, stabbing the fork into his neck with full force. The man screamed and was pushed back into the others, blood gushing out from his neck with the fork still lodged in him.

A man swung at him, their attack being blocked and their weapon being torn out of his grip. Holding down his assailant's foot with his heel, Erik shoved the man back with a strong kick, swinging down the man's own weapon onto his kneecap, the sound of bone cracking all the way down to his ankle.

Another man tackled him to the ground in an effort to hold him down while another swung an axe down onto his head. A struggle with the man on top of him as, with brute strength, he managed to throw him off and into the line of attack, the axe cracking his skull open.

Erik found difficulty maneuvering within the cramped dining room, walls, corners, and cabinets, all squeezed into the room, but he manged to pull himself up onto his feet once again.

"What the hell are ya boys doin?!" Mister Nickelson shouted from his seat. "Get it done already!"

The remaining men charged him together and Erik met them head-on. With bare fists, he struck at them like a true boxer, avoiding their blades and blunts, and knocking them out with relative ease. It was then that Mister Nickelson began to get worried. Slowly, he lifted himself off his seat, a somewhat worrisome expression on his face. When his last lackey hit the wall, his face with a clear, swollen and bleeding bruise left by Erik's punch, he stepped back.

Erik, with an exasperated sigh, walked over to the table, stepping on the bodies on the floor in grabbing his tablecloth. He wiped himself of blood.

Mister Nickelson began to chuckle nervously. "So... You're a fighter?"

Within moments, Erik managed to get his breathing under control. He slicked back his messed-up hair and threw the tablecloth onto his seat. "Disappointing." He said. "You let your own ego get in the way of things. I truly hate, when things I line up, do not fall the way I want."

Mister Nickelson chuckled again, though he stood his ground in hopes of coming to a negotiation, but Erik would not allow that. "I had taken you for a weak man, Mister Codux. Had I known you were this capable, I wouldn't have had to test you."

A stale and dry laugh escaped Erik's lips. "A weak man? You had your chance, Mister Nickelson, but to those who disappoint me, I have little patience for."

This day's events would come to be known all throughout town, as the people outside, all bared witness to the fearsome Mister Nickelson, being dragged out of the old Hecton home by his hair, shouting vulgarities through his disgruntled screams.

"Bastard! Do you know who I am!?!? You think you can get away with this?! I have friends all over this city you rotten shit!!" His shouting was mixed with fear and panic, and alerted all of the locals who poked their heads out from every corner and window, to see the famous Mister Nickelson, being thrown onto the street like a rodent. "Ahh!! Fuck! You slimey rotten bastard!" He attempted to grab at Erik's legs, but was kicked in the face. "Fuck!!" He blurted out in pain.

"Mister Nickelson!" Erik loudly proclaimed, solely intent on gathering an audience of witnesses, his hands held out as if preaching on a stage. "You thought you were untouchable, feared beyond belief in this city."

"I am!" Mister Nickelson laughed hysterically. "What are you gonna do? Huh?! Kill me! Nah... Nah, nah, nah. You woulda done that already, but you won't cause you know what'll happen if ya do! You're alone in a big pond, full of big fish, kid. You think you can fight, but you're alone, you can't do shit against the mob! Again me!"

On his knees, he looked up at Erik, expecting him to be at least nervous, but he was not. As he looked up at Erik, he saw a stone-cold and serious expression. Not a wrinkle on his face, not a bead of sweat on his forehead, not a hint, of mercy. With the sun, high behind him, all Mister Nickelson could see were his deep blue eyes staring down at him. That gaze of his, alarming and as still as ice, as if it saw into the very soul; the eyes of an executioner. Those eyes made Mister Nickelson go silent in fear.

"You are but one man, Mister Nickelson. I, however, am more than a man."

With precise movement, Erik grabbed the man's head, forced his mouth open, shoved him against the sidewalk so that his teeth scraped against the edge, and delivered a swift kick with the back of his heel against his head. His teeth cracked against the brick, and his jaw snapped under the pressure, as he let out a horrifying, blood curdling scream.

Erik guessed that Mister Nickelson would have hard of hearing by now, if not for his own, petrifying scream, numbing his own hearing. He pulled him back up, his jaw malformed and broken beyond recognition. He gagged and gasped for air, his body twitching and tears falling down his cheeks. He had no strength to fight back, and fear had truly been struck deep within him, further burrowing as Erik whispered in his ear. "I will not kill you, Mister Nickelson. By my grace, and only by my grace, I will allow you to live, to enjoy the position and power you have obtained for yourself. However, you are now a dog, bound by the leash, held in my hand. You will do anything and everything that I tell you, and if I learn of your betrayal or refusal to do as told, I will not stop with just this. I will leave you a coward in your own skin. I know you have a wife and children, so it will not only be you that I punish. Remember this well, and never forget, that no matter where you go, I will find you, that every time you feel the pain of your jaw, you will think of me, that every time you look in a mirror, you will see me over your shoulder, watching you."

Within the coming days, the slums would come to be loud with whispers as Erik seized control of the streets of Calvin. The rumors, the truth, of what he had done to Mister Nickelson made every man and woman, fear his wrath, which helped to motivate them to do as he wanted. That, on top of the coin he paid them, kept them in line, and within the coming days, the once depressed streets of Calvin came to life. The town and economy had been revitalized and shops began to open, and men were given work.