Chapter 14 - "The Watcher And The Wolf"

The rhythmic sound of train rails vibrated under them. The dim tunnel lighting flashed by, casting short flashes within the carriage. The gentle movement, the subtle smell of wood and metal polish—nothing was tense.

Glitch stood next to Ashok, arms folded, with a scowl. "So, where exactly are we heading?"

Ashok leaned back against the cushioned seat, his eyes half-lidded. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat, flipped a coin in the air, caught it, and took a slow breath.

"Zyphorion," he said at last.

Glitch tilted its head. "Never heard of it."

Ashok smiled. "Yeah, that's because you were trapped inside a ring."

The train shot out of the tunnel, and all at once the world beyond stretched out before them.

A city of splendor and order.

Impressive spires of stone and glass rose towards the sky, casting golden light. Not cold and metallic like Veyrasha—this city exhaled warmth, prosperity,metallic-like and elegance. Broad boulevards edged with ornate street lamps flooded the roads with a gentle glow. Grand bridges spanned crystal canals, where smooth watercraft glided effortlessly.

Zyphorion.

The trade capital of the world.

Unlike Veyrasha's brutal efficiency, Zyphorion was a kingdom of wealth, an empire founded on style instead of brutal technology. It was the richest country on the planet—where every transaction, every agreement, every trade decided the destiny of entire continents.

Glitch's blazing eyes flickered as he gazed at the scene. "Looks fancy."

Ashok smirked. "Looks can be deceiving."

Even with its riches, there was no obvious predominance of technology. In contrast to Veyrasha, where cybernetic augmentations, AI, and mechanical creations dominated every space, Zyphorion held a different type of power—one clothed in elegance and enigma.

Here, magic and science merged in the background, invisible but omnipresent. The technology existed—concealed in architecture, interwoven into the fabric of everyday life—but never openly displayed

This is a nation where appearances counted. Where power was never spoken but omnipotent.

Glitch huffed. "Tch. No crime, no secret deals, no underground market? Where's the thrill?"

"No thrill," Ashok agreed. "Just control."

Zyphorion wasn't merely rich. It was spotless—unnaturally so.

No black market. No secret syndicates. No underground empire.

Crime didn't flourish here. It wasn't permitted to.

All in Zyphorion was done through official channels. If something illicit was done, it wasn't done in dark alleys or hidden taverns. It was done with a solid handshake in the daylight, finalized with a contract, sanctioned by the proper individuals.

And those who defied that order?

They vanished.

Ashok rose, adjusting his coat. His attire had shifted—those high-tech touches of Veyrasha were gone. Here, he dressed understated but sharp. A dark overcoat, a crisp vest, and leather gloves.

Not a businessman. Not a noble.

Something in-between.

An observer. A player.

Glitch hovered alongside him, still drinking in the city's unnatural cleanliness. "I don't trust places that look too perfect."

Ashok smiled, stepping onto the platform. "Then you'll love it here."

Welcome to Zyphorion.

The streets of Zyphorion were nothing like Veyrasha.

Ashok walked through the well-maintained boulevards, his coat swaying slightly with each step. No towering steel skyscrapers with neon-drenched cybernetic interfaces, no visible drones scanning the populace. Instead, Zyphorion radiated refinement.

White stone structures woven together with obsidian-black glass, their golden gleam from ornate street lamps. The aroma of fine spices and hot coffee wafted from upscale restaurants, mixing with the sleek sheen of commerce and diplomacy. 

Luxury coated every surface of the city. Money was everywhere.

And yet, no dirt.

No beggars.

No thieves.

No dark alleys full of murmurs of underground dealings.

Crime didn't exist here.

At least, not in a manner that could be seen.

Glitch, hovering beside Ashok, folded his arms. His flames danced slightly as he looked around. "This place creeps me out."

Ashok didn't respond.

His communicator beeped.

[New Message: Unknown ID]

[Hi. I got some work for you. Details incoming.]

A pause.

Then, another line of text appeared.

[It should reach you in a few seconds.]

Ashok breathed out. "Glitch."

The spirit had already tensed. His mouth opened slightly—struggling to say something.

The curse was blocking him.

Ashok detected the hesitation. The faint glance.

"I know."

The instant he spoke the words—

A bullet arrived.

Silence. No warning. No intent to kill.

Only unadulterated, gut-wrenching speed.

A flash of metal, a wobble in air—then a supersonic slug hurtled at his head.

In the time it took for a heartbeat—

Ashok reacted.

His hand flashed up, fingers closing around the bullet with bare ease. Not crushed, not deflected—caught.

The raw momentum forced his palm back a bit, but he merely turned his wrist, allowing it to slide down his fingers. The bullet rotated lazily, slowing before at last falling into his waiting palm.

Glitch stood there silent and dumbfounded.

But Ashok?

He rolled the bullet between his fingers—calm, indifferent. As if he had merely snatched a falling coin instead of a lethal round.

From the top of a skyscraper more than a thousand meters away, a shadow began to move.

It was the sniper.

His posture was relaxed, but there was no mistaking the presence.

Sorin Veltre.

A single thought crossed his mind. "Ah. Good reflexes."

Ashok just kept rolling the bullet between his fingers.

A tiny movement. A subtle flick of his wrist.

Then—

Raven was behind Sorin.

Not approaching. Not stepping out of the shadows.

Simply there.

Sorin's easygoing state froze.

Glitch didn't notice him shift.

The streetlights, the soft hum of the city—it all remained still.

And yet, positioned directly behind Sorin, within inches of reaching out and silencing him with a whisper—was Raven.

The agent—a sniper of godlike accuracy, a man whose life had been a matter of perception and control—had not felt a thing.

Raven's voice was calm. Amused.

"Is this how you test people?"

Sorin shifted his head a fraction, but he did not move.

"Good shot."

A moment.

"But don't ever try it on me."

There was no tension in his tone. No fury.

Just a fact.

For the first time since appearing, Sorin tweaked his glasses. His fingers lingered a little more slowly than before.

The mental calculation had changed.

There was a moment of silence between them.

Then—

Raven disappeared.

Ashok, still rotating the bullet between his fingers, smiled a little.

Then, without even glancing up, he tossed it in the direction of the sniper and spoke calmly—

"Next time, just send the details normally."

Miles away, Sorin's lips moved in perfect harmony with Ashok's speech.

He let out a sharp breath.

Then, he disappeared.

Not in a flash. Not with flashy speed.

Just vanished.

Then—a brief gust of displaced air.

From rooftop to rooftop, balcony to streetlamp—his form flickered, changing like a mirage.

A knee bent, a push—he leaped.

Wind ripped past him as he fell from thirty stories high—twisting midair, landing against the glass wall of a nearby skyscraper.

Without missing a step, he kicked off the surface.

The following moment, he slammed onto the roof of a smaller building, boots screeching against the gleaming edge before launching himself onward.

A signpost. A thin flagpole. A flying drone.

He used them all.

A specter dancing through the city. Dropping without actually falling.

Then—a last rooftop. A single smooth step.

He landed.

A lone figure was several meters ahead, lounging against a lamppost.

Charcoal-gray suit. Tinted glasses. Leather gloves.

Sorin breathed out through his nose, calming himself in a matter of seconds.

"Tch. Impressive."

He held out a gloved hand, as if the last few moments had never occurred.

"Sorin Veltre. Businessman. Investor. Logistics manager. A man of many talents."

His smile was relaxed. Polished. As if he hadn't just attempted to shoot Ashok in the head.

"And, as of now, your employer."

Ashok leaned his head to one side. "Employer?"

Sorin's smile grew. "I messaged you, didn't I? Work. Details to follow. You don't disappoint."Ashok pocketed the bullet and extended his hand.

Ashok put the bullet in his pocket and held out his hand.

For a moment, their hands touched—and in that moment, Ashok knew.

Sorin wasn't shaking his hand.

He was studying his grip.

The agent was still probing him.

Ashok grinned.

That was okay.

"Alright then."

"Let's get down to business."

Sorin touched his gloves, smiling as though the past couple of minutes had been mere small talk. "Well, that was fun."

Ashok was silent. He continued to rotate the bullet in his fingers, sensing its mass, its equilibrium.

There was something deliberate about it.

At last, his eyes moved down—his thumb running over a small inscription along the casing.

Coordinates.

A location.

Sorin's tone was light, almost lazy. "Check the details." His hands dropped into his pockets. "Your work is straightforward enough."

Ashok flicked open his communicator.

Mission Briefing:

Objective: Eliminate a rising syndicate before it establishes order.

Location: [Coordinates encrypted]

Details: Disorganized, but spreading rapidly. Left alone, they will become a fixture in Zyphorion's underworld.

Timeframe: Now.

Additional Notes: Ensure you're done before the Zyphorion government gets wind. If they do, the game is different.

Ashok exhaled slowly.

"A cleanup job."

Sorin's smirk widened slightly. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Ashok shut off the communicator, examining the bullet. "And if I refuse?"

Sorin let out a soft chuckle. "Then someone else will do it."

A brief pause.

"But not as well."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city's golden streetlights hummed gently, illuminating the world around them.

Yet, despite the warmth, there was a cold efficiency in Sorin's presence.

This wasn't about justice.

This was about erasure.

An issue erased before it had ever been seen.

"You want it done before the government moves," Ashok stated.

Sorin gave a slow, approving nod. "Now you're getting it."

Ashok inclined his head slightly. "You're not coming, are you?"

Sorin's smirk stretched just a little wider. "Oh, I'll be there."

Then, as he to, his presence seemed to melt into the city itself.

"At the finish line."

Ashok's fingers curled slightly.

In the empty space beside him, Glitch stirred.

The spirit—unseen, unheard by anyone else—flickered erratically. Flames rippled off its form, unstable. "Tch. Something's off about this guy."

Ashok didn't answer.

He already knew.

Sorin was a sniper. A strategist. A watcher.

And the most dangerous thing about a watcher—

—is that they never act unless they already know the outcome.

Glitch hovered closer, voice quieter. "...You're still gonna do it?"

A pause.

Then, Ashok smirked faintly.

"Of course."

He turned, already walking toward the coordinates.

Glitch watched him for a second longer, then let out a long sigh. "...You're really not gonna acknowledge how shady this all is?"

Ashok slid his hands into his coat pockets.

His pace didn't slow.

"Sorin isn't the one I need to be worried about."

A gust of warm Zyphorion wind drifted through the streets.

Ashok didn't look back.

"It's whoever's backing that syndicate."

Behind him, the space where Sorin had stood was now completely empty.

No lingering warmth. No footsteps.

As if he had never been there at all.