Track 40 Veni, Vidi, Vici

Veni, the patriarch of the Bladed Three(B3), was tall and grey, though, with energy, it was always hard to tell how old someone could truly be. He wore a heavy red coat. 

Vidi is the older brother by one year. Black hair hung in front of his eyes. He was wiry and a bit too laid back. During the initial half of his life in Manchester, he never encountered his brother or father until the moment his father, Veni, returned to collect him. He wore a visibly heavy black duster. 

Vici, the younger brother, with streaks of white through his brown hair, his thin face, scowl, and piercing eyes, made for quite a sight. Across his back slung a massive cylindrical sheath, long enough to carry a fully assembled fishing rod. 

They stood outside Stygian Tower, observing the smoldering mess that used to be the front entrance. 

Vidi whistled, "Damn. Lotta bodies. Bit sad, innit?"

"Fresh too," Vici looked down at a man. He wasn't sure how he was still alive with the massive hole in his skull, but his eyes followed him as they walked past. 

"Vici!" Veni barked, noticing his walking pace had slowed. "We are here to complete our contract, not be their personal ambulance."

"Yeah, bruv," Vidi said, giving a taunting grin, jabbing Vici with his elbow, "You almost messed it up last time. Have I ever told you you could be a bit cloying? Over the most random things!"

"I didn't almost do anything. Nothing happened." He tore his eyes away from the man on the ground, trudging past his father and brother in a hurry to get this over with so he could be away from them. 

Marcello sprinted up the stairs; the elevators would have been too busy to use. He slowed, overhearing a conversation between two guards, as they quickly moved down the stairs, paying him no mind as they passed.

"Yeah, it's all but confirmed it's the Silvio's. Not sure who or how many yet, but it's going down outside."

"Shoulda known."

"You think if we cut off one of their heads, they'll promote us or give us a big bonus?" one asked eagerly. 

"They'd have to. We could definitely take a few out."

Marcello started running again, 'So, odds are HE will be here too.' The corners of his lips curled, and his body tingled with anticipation. 

Veni had left Vici and Vidi to work together as he usually did, going off by himself, his usual method of tracking. 

"Father is a lone wolf at heart," Vidi said. He swished his hair from in front of his eyes, watching their dad walk off toward the basement stairs. 

Vici walked into the dining hall, seeing the pile of bodies on the stage. The first floor was empty except for those who hurried from the elevators to the parking garage. "You sense anyone?"

"Nah, bruv, this floor is dead." He stopped, putting a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "You know, mate, you really gotta leave your feelings at the door. You've been doing this for far too long."

"It's not about feelings. I just have respect—everyone deserves dignity. An unalienable right."

"A hunter's code?"

"You could call it that."

Vidi pointed to the ceiling, raising his eyebrows, "There'll be action up there."

A gavel harshly slammed its sound block. The man holding it, the young auctioneer, a teenager with a Norwegian accent. His father was good friends with Gene Elara of the Elara family. 

He stood at a podium on the stage. Above him were large screens to show the items in detail. 

Pointing the gavel to a woman in the audience. "Sold to you, ma'am! Thank you!" The audience clapped politely. There was a full house. A grand room with rows of ornate columns decorated with symbols of wealth. Velvet chairs pointed toward a low stage framed by heavy red curtains. Those registered for the auction were seated below, while the public was seated above, watching from a mezzanine. The sides of the room were flanked by Stygian Security. 

Seated in the middle rows were the Parks, with Mitani and Gemo on either side. Alder craned his neck, recognizing in the crowd a fighter from the NFC(Nike's Fighting Championship), along with their bodyguards and his manager. 'I wonder what Byron wants?'

"Now," the auctioneer got everyone's attention. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we will take a hiatus on the bidding portion and get into one of the many raffles we will start for tonight." Behind the man was a scantly clad woman pushing a cart with three bulletproof cases on top. The television above showed one was a dagger, one was a ring, and the other a large metal coin. "Some may have noticed that in your books, the middle item has been switched with a ring, item number fifty-two. Those in the back said they felt as if something told them to push put the ring up first. Now, ladies and gentlemen, those of you who have decided to purchase a round one raffle ticket will have the chance to win these three! On the far left is a dagger, number ten, in your books. It's very old, dated back to over one hundred and ninety years, and found in a deep Afrikan grave. What makes number ten special is not its material but its spirit. When unsheathed, the owner of the dagger will begin to hear a voice coming from the blade itself and see it occasionally shimmer with a gleaming, mysterious aura. Past owners have speculated that the voice they hear is its creator, trapped in his own creation." He cleared his throat. "Next, we have number fifty-two, called the Angel's Ring!"

'This was what Zoe was flipping out about the other day,' Mitani thought. 

"Number fifty-two," the Angel's Ring was on a pillowed cushion; the crowd murmured its disappointment seeing the strange faded silver ring. "It is a delicately crafted ring, adorned with two intricate humanoid figures, their visages transformed into serpentine masks that intertwine around its circumference, creating an eternal dance frozen in silver. Atop this is a luminous white gem! This is an interesting item. Retrieved just a few weeks ago, barely squeaking in on time to get registered here at Stygian Tower. This was collected from a village on California Island. It will heal anyone who wears it! No illness or cancer will afflict them…" He paused, allowing for an interested buzz to pass through the audience. "If you are to look closely…" the camera zoomed in, showing dried blood splattered across it. 

Ayla licked her lips. 

"A conflict piece bumps the estimate from fifty million to seventy. Under normal circumstances, we clean items before display, though in this case, the blood adds to the overall value."

Some people in the crowd cheered. 

"The last item, Number twenty, found in that same village." The television focused on the coin. "This large solid gold coin is four inches in diameter, and the edges are made of silver. The whole thing weighs a little over 650 grams. What's special about this is that, as you can see in your books, it's labeled as 'One use.' That means when you use the coin, it will disappear forever. Those who have retrieved the coin said the villagers told them that this coin right here would let you enter a doorway to anywhere you want to go. Details will be given to whoever wins this item." Pausing for dramatic effect, the auctioneer thrust his gavel high into the air, slamming it down. "We shall now see who's lucky enough to take home one of these three items!"

Above him, three red numbers were displayed. 

"Eight, Thirty, and Fifteen!" The auctioneer yelled into the microphone. He stood on a stage, looking out over a sea of people in the audience. 

"What a surprise, it's your number," Alder said smugly. Looking at the slip of paper in Ayla's hands displaying '8.' 

"Do you think if I had bought three of the raffles instead of just one, we could have gotten all of them?" 

He stared at her contemplatively, finally saying, "Next year." 

"Bruh," Mitani was flabbergasted, staring at the stage, whispering, "Imagine you spend this much on a ticket, and you miss out on one of these items. Like, I'm sure there's someone in this audience who actually needed it and was banking all their money and praying to get that ring. How brutal."

"That'd be hilarious," Olivia snorted a laugh. "Could you imagine?"

Ayla got out of her chair and walked down the aisle toward the stage. A spotlight beamed overhead, tracking her and two others as she made her way to the auctioneer. 

As she went to show him her ticket, the auctioneer was distracted by an employee of Stygian Tower who quickly got on stage to tell the man something. Overhearing their brief conversation, she heard, "No, everything is all clean now. They've called the B3, so we can continue. The CCTV guys say they're already on their way to take care of the Silvios."

Zheanni, Kholwa, and Conor all strolled through the hallway of the seventeenth floor. Most of the guests didn't recognize them, so they were able to walk through with little issue. 

"This was a waste of time," Kholwa grumbled. 

Zheanni was trying to keep her spirits up, as Kholwa had a tendency to spiral, "Nah, we'll find Geo Amorew. Look, if he ain't here, he's gotta have a proxy or something."

"How the hell are we supposed to figure that out?" Kholwa asked, feeling even worse. 

"Uh," Zheanni looked to Conor, but she knew he'd be no help. "I'll be honest, I haven't really thought of that, but don't trip. Shit'll work out."

"No such thing as a waste since we're getting paid for this." Conor offered. 

"See, true. Kholwa, it's all 'bout perspective. That's the win. That's the takeaway."

"I guess," Kholwa grumbled begrudgingly. Perking up a bit, "This is the most I've ever been paid. Even though I'm not in KTA, it's nice of Paul to pay me like I am."

Zheanni snorted a laugh. "Paul ain't gonna try and scam you, girl."

"If we were, Augustine would literally kill us. He's weak, but hell, he'd find a way." Conor said as they all pushed through a set of double doors.

"What does that mean?"

"You don't think he wants..." he nodded at Kholwa.

"No." Zheanni shook her head. "I don't think you know Augustine."

"Whatever. So, we're looking for a new pendant like the one in that bank and then just taking everything of value?" 

"Basically."

The room was like a museum. Paintings covered the walls, and illuminated naked statues stood tall on the floor. The beige walls held hundreds of paintings, most behind protective glass. Kholwa grabbed a pamphlet from the podium at the entrance, curiously reading up on everything in the room. 

"Wow," Conor stopped in his tracks, staring at a painting on the wall. Even though it was behind glass, Conor attempted to touch it. The glass shattered as he put his hand through, his energy activating on its own, humming louder and louder the closer his hand got. Zheanni looked on, intrigued and amused at what her brother was doing.

"Don't touch it!" Kholwa screamed from across the room, snapping Conor out of his trance-like state. 

"What happened?" He looked around, confused. He looked down at himself, realizing he had activated his energy for the first time. 

"It's a cursed painting," she continued. "Look at it."

"Cursed?" Zheanni walked over next to Conor, studying the art piece, cocking her head to the side. 

"Curses like these only work on the unsuspecting. If you're aware, the entity causing the curse will have a much harder time trying to access you through your subconscious."

Examining the painting closer, he pointed at one of the several figures drawn. Each held faces filled with confusion or agony. 

Kholwa continued, "Says here if you touch it, that's when you activate the curse…"

One figure was of a medieval knight sitting by a bath. His mouth froze open mid-scream. A group of men huddled together around a map on the table; they all wore modern exploration clothes as if they were all about to go tomb raiding. One even held a phone to their ear. Like the others, they all looked horrified. A woman in a silk dress stared into the sky from atop a balcony; her face was streaked with tears from her bloodshot eyes. 

"...It will entrance those in close proximity to it, drawing people in with its beauty. If you would've touched it, the painting would've eaten you, dragging you inside. Filling up its world with another person."

"So everyone in this pic was just caught lackin'?" Zheanni asked. 

"Basically. I'm assuming they're stuck in there forever."

"Tough." 

Vidi and Vici stepped into the room. 

"Ah, there they are," Vidi pointed a small switchblade to the three people across the room. "I reckon they're behind this."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised." Vici took off the long cylinder from his back, laying it against the wall of the art room. 

"Look at those bloody tattoos! You know 'em?"

"Oh yea." They both walked to the center of the room. "KTA. A group of assassins."

"Like us? Shame, I could use some more friends. Hell, if I didn't have to kill em', we'd all be mates."

"They're nothing like us. Assassins by name, maybe." He pointed at them, "But really, they're just a sadistic death squad. I've never seen people with such a disregard for life."

"Shiet, I got dibs!" Zheanni stepped forward. 

"Ah, come on! For real?" Conor protested. "Both of 'em?"

"Yeah, it's been a while since I fed my Dark Passenger." She took out her earrings, handing them to Kholwa, and stepped toward the two assassins. "Kholwa, play the song Conor, and I made the other week. That shit would be perfect for this!"

"Yeah," she nodded, taking out her phone to play the song. 

"They aren't taking this too seriously," Vidi noticed. 

"If they're foolish enough to not take the advantage and instead just come at us one at a time, hell, I ain't mad at it. Just making it easier for us." Vici gave a confident smirk. 

In front of them, Zheanni slowly walked through the room, past the paintings and statues. 

An overpowering hum shook the room as Zheanni's aura formed around her like a cocoon of golden light. 

'What! Golden energy? How in the bloody hell!' Vidi thought. 'Who the hell is she?'