038 Invasion and annihilation (2)

THUD THUD...

The band of mercenaries under Uncle Jon were running wild, tearing through the backside of the hideout like wolves in heat.

Nara, havin' cleared the outer corridors, had given 'em the perfect route in. No more sneakin' — they were wreckin' camps left and right now.

"Captain, the Neandth've sent their forces to stabilize us. They still think we're just a ruffian group out to rob their gold," a scout reported, breathing heavy.

"That so?" the captain snorted. "Ol' man Rey won't want us comin' back empty-handed either. Let's bring him some proper gifts, eh lads?"

The captain — late twenties maybe, early thirties tops — had a solid build and a hairline clinging for dear life. Sort of looking like a war-torn Henry Cavill, but a few years past his prime.

"Vance, let's not get sloppy," a green-haired guy said, flipping his blade. "Heard Neandth's main team's got some weirdos."

"Ralt, mate, I told you to fetch them good-lookin' beers. Looked feasty as hell."

"Clear the job first, then we drink. Fair?" Ralt fist-bumped him with a grin.

"TEAM GATHER!!" Vance shouted, voice cutting clean through the fire.

The group pulled back from their chaos, reuniting just beyond the wrecked path they'd carved. Everything behind them was torched or smashed — tents flattened, crates busted, smoke rising high.

They'd already looted what they could, nabbed a few civvies, and offed the guards that got in their way. Around fifty stood now — and not your average slum fodder. Too sharp. Too quiet. Too well-fed.

"Alright, you lot," Vance barked, eyes scanning. "Main team's rollin' in soon. That's when things get messy."

He cracked his knuckles.

"Reports say they've got strong ones inside. Some Obscurum rats might be hidin' in this dump. Our job? Wreck the place, regroup, and link with the rest before it gets proper dirty."

He paused, eyes cold.

"Stay sharp, guddies."

"Aye, sir!" the crew roared.

As the team advanced, a gloom-covered squad stepped into view — about sixty strong, give or take. Clad in matching metal vests, spears lined up like polished teeth, the group radiated discipline and threat. No cheap street thugs — these were trained men.

YAWN.

"Che… to think I had to drag my arse out here for a buncha dirt-smudged rats," a bored blonde man muttered, stretching as he spoke.

A man with an eyepatch stepped forward, his presence sharp despite the laziness in his posture. Clearly the leader. His voice came low, slow, and smug.

"Alright, listen up, barbarians. We're feeling generous today. Drop the nonsense, take some coin, and walk away. Everyone walks away happy, yes?"

Vance clicked his tongue.

"Well, how about you suck my arse, mate? Judgin' by your face, looks like you've done it a few times already."

The mercs behind him howled, laughter echoing through the burned-out wreckage of the camp.

The eyepatch man sighed — slow, drawn out — like someone just asked him to do dishes after dinner.

"Fine. Wentis, take a few men, clean this mess up. Fast. I'm tired of lookin' at 'em."

He turned away, dismissive.

Swish.

Splurt.

Silence.

The air turned thick.

The rest of the Neandth squad stared, wide-eyed. Their own men — the ones who'd just stepped forward — were now lying in pieces.

Arms. Legs. Heads.

Scattered like broken dolls.

Blood soaked into the cracked dirt in seconds.

The eyepatch man turned slowly, frown deepening.

"…What the hell?"

"You asked for it, lis—"

SWHING—!

A spear zipped straight at him.

The eyepatch bastard deflected it last second, the force behind it enough to rattle his bones.

"You talk too much," Vance muttered, already rushin' in.

Seeing that, the captain waved his hand, and his boys charged forward like rats out of a burning hole.

CLASH!

Steel screeched, men shouted, blades collided.

Vance met his man head-on, Warhammer swinging wide in a brutal arc. The captain caught it on his spear, slid back a few steps, eyes narrowig as he felt the weight behind it.

They went back and forth, clashing, spitting sparks — till it hit the eyepatch.

This bastard was stronger.

He flared up his aura, dragged the spear diagonally — a sharp arc of force cut through the air toward Vance.

But the big man didn't even blink.

He side-stepped with a lazy grunt, planted his foot hard, and leapt up high — hammer raised overhead.

BOOM—

He came down like a damned meteor.

The eyepatch captain spun his spear fast, tryin' to split the pressure and soften the blow, aura flarin' wild. He slammed his palms together for a Zen Punch, lining it for Vance's chest.

But Vance just smirked.

"Uh-uh, mate. Too late. You're not bad… but I ain't even used half me strength yet."

He ducked the palms low, twisted his core—

"Well then— see ya."

—and swung that Warhammer up from below, straight into the bastard's chin.

CRACK—

Skull shattered like dry bark. The man's body flew, landed wrong, didn't move.

Vance exhaled, scanned the field.

His lads?

Already done.

Ash floated, silence lingered.

Some were draggin' loot. Others checkin' bodies. Not a Neandth soldier left breathin'.

He stretched his arms, cracked his neck with a grin.

"Well, don't stand 'round waitin', yeah? Loot it all, and be quick 'bout it, you lot. We're closin' this mess tonight."

..

..

..

BEEP...

"I just got word from Vance," Anna said in her usual chilling tone, tapping the device. "He's done on his end. Lara's already cleaned up the stragglers tryin' to run the other side."

"Then it's time," Reynolds muttered, cracking his knuckles. "We'll smoke out whoever's left from Obscurum. A few might've slipped, feelin' the heat — but they're not all in there. Let's pick off what we can before they move."

Without another word, he pushed off the ground — the earth itself cracking beneath the force — and vanished into the rooftops.

Anna and Nara split off without a sound.

Reynolds glided across the skyline, boots brushing tiles, cloak slicing through the wind. He barely made a sound.

Below him, life went on like nothin' was happening.

"Hahaha, that's a funny card!"

"Mommy, I'm hungry."

"Darling... harder... yes..."

Rey's face didn't flinch — he just kept jumping from rooftop to rooftop, scanning.

Then he stopped.

A rundown shack. No lights. No guards. Just old wood, faded paint, and a door hangin' a little loose on one hinge.

Too clean. Too quiet.

He landed silently behind the building. Without moving a finger, he spread out his mana, tuning his senses.

Dead silence.

Then — FSSHT — a dart shot out from the shadows.

He tilted his head slightly. The dart missed by inches.

"Hoooh..." he exhaled, calm and unshaken. "That's one."

A figure stepped forward, melting from the shadows like oil. Clad in crimson robes, face masked in red cloth. The leather stank of acid and burnt oil.

"You even know about the Numbered... huh," the man said, voice muffled. "Interesting. Who the hell are you?"

"I could ask the same. What number?"

"...Q10," the man replied, then dashed forward without warning.

A swift fist aimed at Reynolds' face.

Miss.

Rey weaved past it like smoke and countered with a jab to the ribs.

Q10 twisted his torso and slammed a reverse kick at Rey's side.

CRACK.

Rey ducked low, pivoted, and slammed his fist into the man's waist — the thud sharp, the hit clean.

Q10 skidded back across the dirt, holding his ribs.

"...Strong one," he muttered.

Then he raised a hand.

"Get him. All of you."

Rustle—

From every shadow, they came.

Crimson robes. Red masks. Leather. Steel. Dozens. The air turned thick with death and intent.

They rushed Reynolds like a pack of starved dogs.

"Valera Gaia!"

"Electrica Replicata!"

"Umbra Veil!"

The air ignited with spell after spell — earth spikes, electricity, mist, shadows swirling.

Rey didn't wait.

He drew his blade in one clean motion and charged headfirst into the chaos.

The first spell? He ducked under it, low as the dirt.

CRACK!

His boot collided with the first man's jaw — his head snapped back, body limp before he hit the ground.

Another lunged.

Too slow.

Rey rolled under the swing, drove his sword clean through the gut. Blood sprayed as the man screamed — then silenced when Rey twisted the blade and kicked him off.

Another tried a backstab — too late.

Reynolds spun midair, flipped above the attack, and drove his foot like a cannonball into the attacker's chest.

RIBS CRACKED. The man folded like paper.

Rey didn't even breathe hard.

He landed, turned... and faced more.

And yet, he grinned.

"Come on, you roaches. Show me what the Obscurum's worth."

Q10 gritted his teeth, his stance low. "You're cocky for a man using no aura."

Reynolds didn't respond. Just adjusted his grip.

SWOOSH—

Q10 dashed forward, blades curving in, a tight cross slash aiming for Rey's throat.

CLANG.

The first was parried.

CLANG.

The second — knocked off clean.

Reynolds didn't budge. He just shifted his feet, stance steady. Silent.

Q10 tried again, this time with a twist in his left wrist, dagger slicing up.

Rey leaned back.

SLIP.His sword brushed the attack aside.

"Fight seriously, dammit!" Q10 snarled.

"Why?" Rey muttered. "This is already over."

Q10's eyes widened—

SHICK—

Rey's blade cut across his ribs. Clean.

Q10 staggered.

In the next breath, Rey's blade pressed at the base of Q10's throat.

He didn't swing. He pushed.

CRACK—

The blade slid through. Slow. Deliberate.

Q10 dropped like a sack of meat.

No flare. No sound. Done.

Around them, the corpses of the red robes melted into the black shadows below — devoured whole.

Two distinct presences landed behind him.

Anna. Nara.

Rey didn't even look back.

"That's the last of them," he said calmly.

Anna's eyes swept the area, "No traces. You cleaned up well."

"Tch, bastard didn't even break a sweat," Nara clicked her tongue, sheathing her blade. "Thought he'd at least warm you up."

Reynolds stepped over a corpse. "Ranked or not, none of 'em had it in 'em."

"Was it Obscurum?"

"Yeah. Q10. Might've been low rank. Still doesn't explain what they're sniffing around this far out."

Nara cracked her neck. "Then let's find out. Vance should be done by now."

Minutes later…

The ground rumbled beneath their boots as they joined up with the mercenary crew at the far end.

Blood, bodies, ash.

The backside of the camp had been levelled. A few tents still smoked. Civilians tied up, goods gathered in sacks, weapons sorted out in crates.

Vance walked up, hammer slung across his shoulder, grinning wide.

"Ayyy, there ya are. I was wonderin' if the old man needed help," he joked, spitting to the side. "Guess not, eh?"

"Status?" Reynolds asked.

"Clean. We got everyone that mattered. The rest... eh, couldn't tell the difference between their sword and their arse."

Nara raised an eyebrow, "You sure none slipped?"

"None alive, luv."

Anna nodded. "Then we're done here."

They kicked down the last barricade. Marched the prisoners through the ruined gate. Took back what was stolen.

The shadows still lingered...But tonight — the slums had taken back their silence.