The Mist Gang's first step had been taken in blood, but the second would be built on something far more lasting—power. Not power in the form of brute strength alone, but influence, wealth, and control over the flow of information.
Eir and Mist understood that if they wanted to reshape the underworld of Blesas, they needed to balance fear with something more enticing—opportunity.
For the Mist Gang to solidify itself, they required two things: a public face that made them seem respectable and a private force that ensured no one would challenge their claim.
Thus, the Security Service and Hostess Bar were born.
The dawn was still young when Mist and Eir gathered their chosen enforcers in the courtyard of the former Flint gang's mansion. Some were remnants of the old guard, spared for their usefulness. Others were newly recruited from the lesser gangs that had submitted.
The women they had freed, now standing taller and steadier than before, watched from the sidelines. Some had chosen to fight, to become part of the machine that would enforce the new order. Others merely observed, their scars too deep to jump into the fray just yet. Although killing their abusers did wonders for their confidence some scars would only heal with time.
Mist, ever the performer, addressed the gathered recruits first.
"Blesas is a dangerous city," she began, her voice carrying with an air of casual menace. "Merchants, nobles, craftsmen, and common folk alike all need protection. And that's exactly what we're going to provide."
Eir stepped forward, her cold gaze sweeping over the assembled men and women. "We are not a mercenary band. We are not a charity. We are the Mist Gang, and from now on, we are the law in the underworld. Those who pay will be protected. Those who don't…" she let her words trail off, her silence more powerful than any threat.
One of the dwarven recruits—a grizzled former Flint gang enforcer—grunted. "Sounds like the same racket Garik ran," he muttered under his breath.
Mist's golden eyes snapped to him. "No," she corrected, smiling in a way that made the air feel colder. "Garik and his men extorted people. They forced their way into businesses, leaving destruction behind. We are different."
Eir folded her arms, her voice unwavering. "This is a service now. A contract. Those who sign with us get actual security—men stationed at their establishments, problems handled quickly and efficiently. And unlike Garik, we won't burn down a business just because they miss a payment."
Mist chuckled. "No. We'll just make sure something… unfortunate happens until they remember why they need us."
A few of the new recruits smirked at that, but others remained wary.
Eir's voice cut through the murmurs. "You have all been chosen for this because you understand power. You understand fear. The weak suffer in this city because no one is strong enough to protect them. We will be that strength. We will crush anyone who thinks they can challenge our claim to Blesas. And when the people look at us, they will see not oppressors, but the force keeping order in a city where the wealthy believe they are untouchable."
The shift was subtle, but noticeable. The Mist Gang wasn't just another street gang anymore. It was becoming an institution.
While Eir organized the Security Service, Mist took charge of something just as crucial—information.
Violence kept people in line, but knowledge? Knowledge was power. And there was no better place to gather secrets than a bar where men came to drink, talk, and loosen their tongues.
The old brothel Garik had used was burned to the ground. Mist made sure of that herself. The new establishment would be something entirely different.
A hostess bar.
The women they had freed—those who had chosen to stay—were given the opportunity to run it. Not as slaves, not as victims, but as employees.
When Mist first proposed the idea, some of the women hesitated.
"We aren't…" One of them, a former captive named Selya, struggled to find the words. "We aren't whores anymore."
Mist smiled, and for once, there was no mockery in it. "No, you aren't. And this place isn't about that. You won't be forced to do anything. Your job will be simple—talk, listen, learn. Men spill their deepest secrets when they're drunk, especially when a beautiful woman is listening."
Selya still looked unsure, but one of the other women, Velynn, nodded in understanding. "We… we would be the ones in control."
Mist's smirk widened. "Exactly."
By the end of the week, the pieces were falling into place.
The Hostess Bar, now named The Veiled Ember, was nearing completion. Unlike Garik's seedy brothel, this establishment was carefully designed to be exclusive, a place for powerful men to drink in luxury while unknowingly feeding secrets into the Mist Gang's ever-growing network.
The Security Service was officially operational. Local merchants, once terrified of gang violence, were now approaching them willingly. The promise of true protection—and the implied threat of what happened to those who refused—was enough to bring them in.
New recruits were settling into their roles. Those who had chosen violence were given positions as enforcers. Those who had chosen secrecy were trained in gathering information. Every cog in the machine was carefully placed.
Eir and Mist stood together outside the newly restored mansion, watching as their empire began to take form.
Mist let out a low whistle. "It's almost poetic, isn't it? We burn down the old world and build something better from the ashes."
Eir didn't respond immediately. Instead, she watched the flickering lanterns of The Veiled Ember as its doors opened for the first time. Inside, noblemen and merchants alike sat with women who were no longer victims, but players in a much larger game.
Finally, she spoke. "This is only the beginning. I wonder if, in the end, we'll be the first to fulfill Lord Zero's orders."
Mist smirked, golden eyes glinting in the low light. "Maybe who knows. Regardless let's make sure it's a damn good beginning. That's all we can do for now."
And with that, the Mist Gang's grip on Blesas tightened, their influence spreading like a silent storm over the city.