"What else are you hiding, you freak!?" Philip snarled, his voice a low, menacing growl. His clawed hand gripped the collar of Joshua's tattered shirt, pulling him close. The demi-human's green eyes burned with fury, boring into Joshua's calm, almost amused orange gaze. Around them, the room fell into a tense silence. The other men watched the confrontation with wide, fearful eyes, their breaths shallow. Nunin in particular looked ready to bolt, his nervous gaze darting between his boss and Joshua. He had seen enough of Joshua's abilities to know how poorly this might end.
Joshua let out a soft chuckle, his tone casual, even mocking. "Not anything that you need to know, Philip," he replied smoothly. Then, with surprising speed, he grabbed Philip's hands, his grip like iron. "Now let go of me," he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous edge, "or else I'll treat you like I treated the Guard."
Philip bared his fangs, his pupils narrowing into sharp slits of anger. A guttural growl rumbled from his chest as he reared his right hand back, ready to deliver a punch. "You piece of—"
The words died in his throat. Before his fist could even connect, Joshua's knee slammed into Philip's stomach with brutal precision. The demi-human's breath hitched, and he doubled over, coughing in pain. Joshua wasted no time, gripping Philip by the shoulder and throwing him to the ground with effortless strength.
As Philip attempted to push himself up, a sharp pressure pinned him in place. Joshua's boot pressed down on the back of his head, forcing his face against the grimy floor. "Seriously, Philip?" Joshua asked, his voice dripping with disappointment. "I expected better from you."
With a dismissive motion, Joshua lifted his foot only to deliver a swift kick to Philip's face. The blow sent him sprawling, blood dripping from his nose as his vision swam. Joshua straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his pants as though the entire altercation had been beneath him.
"And here I was praising you before I buried that Guard," he said with a shake of his head, his tone more mocking than regretful. His gaze swept across the room, taking in the others, who flinched under his sharp eyes. "Can you all believe this?" he asked, spreading his arms theatrically. "After I invited you all here as well." A chuckle escaped him, low and self-assured.
The here he referred to was an abandoned sawmill, its interior reflecting years of neglect. The large space reeked faintly of damp wood and rust, illuminated by slivers of sunlight streaming through cracked windows. Sawdust, long since caked with grime, clung to the uneven floorboards, while rusted machinery loomed in the shadows like forgotten sentinels. Despite the disrepair, it carried the same bleak charm as every other abandoned structure in Ironhelm's slums.
Philip groaned, pushing himself to his knees. Blood trickled down his face as he wiped it away with his sleeve. "We don't need anything a magic-using freak like you gives!" he spat, his words laced with defiance as he struggled to stand upright.
Joshua rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "Still going on about that?" he said, exhaling sharply. "I told you—it's not magic, didn't I?" His voice shifted to one of mild exasperation before his expression turned thoughtful. "Actually," he mused, "even if I did, why are you so hostile about it? What's your deal, Philip?" His tone carried a hint of genuine curiosity.
Philip's claws flexed at his sides, his fangs gritting. "Because you'll ruin this city like you ruined the outside!" he barked, his voice fierce and unwavering.
Joshua arched a brow, his expression twisting into one of confusion. "What are you even talking about?" he asked, his tone calm but sharp. For a brief moment, he considered pointing out the irony of Philip's words—that helping Joshua establish a drug trade in Ironhelm would arguably cause more harm than anything Joshua himself had done. But he held his tongue, sensing a deeper grievance at play.
Philip finally found his footing, staggering to his feet. His green eyes locked on Joshua with unrelenting intensity. "We know what the outside's like," he growled. "We know that magic-using freaks like you rule over everyone who can't use magic!" His voice echoed in the sawmill, filled with a mix of fury and conviction.
A flicker of understanding crossed Joshua's face. "Ahh," he said softly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. He realized what Philip was referring to. It wasn't entirely wrong; there were parts of Aetheria where mages held dominion over those without magical prowess. Joshua also knew that wasn't the universal truth. Most of Aetheria wasn't like that.
"So, it's ignorance. Makes sense," Joshua said, his tone dismissive as he began unbuttoning his tattered shirt. His movements were unhurried, as though the tension in the room didn't exist.
"What the hell are you doing, freak?" Philip growled, his sharp eyes narrowing. His voice carried both anger and confusion.
Joshua glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his expression calm and unbothered. "Changing. What else does it look like?" he replied with a shrug. He slipped the ruined fabric off his shoulders, revealing a smooth, unscarred torso, the skin almost unnaturally flawless. "You can't expect me to keep wearing this tattered mess, can you?"
Philip clenched his fists, his voice rising. "We aren't done yet!"
Joshua didn't even turn to face him, his focus instead shifting to one of the nearby thugs. "Go upstairs to the office and grab my clothes," he instructed casually. The thug nodded quickly, not daring to question him, and hurried off to fulfill the order.
"We aren't done!" Philip barked again, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and desperation. "I'm not about to make my name by taking help from some magic-using freak!"
Joshua let out a long, tired sigh and turned back toward Philip, his orange eyes narrowing slightly. "Fine," he said, his tone carrying an edge of irritation. "If that's what it takes, I'll show you it's not magic."
Before Philip could react, Joshua moved. His body blurred with impossible speed, closing the gap between them in a heartbeat. Philip's instincts kicked in too late—Joshua's hand clamped over his mouth, slamming him against the nearest metallic support beam with a force that made it reverberate with a sharp, echoing clang.
Philip's eyes widened in shock and anger, his muffled growls vibrating against Joshua's palm. He clawed at Joshua's arm, but it was like trying to move stone.
"Why don't you use it," Joshua said, his voice low and almost menacing, "and find out for yourself?"
As he spoke, a golden glow began to radiate from Joshua's body, soft at first but quickly intensifying. The light flowed from his chest and arms like liquid fire, surging through his hand and into Philip. The demi-human's body stiffened, his eyes bulging as he felt the alien energy force its way inside him.
The glow spread through Philip's veins, illuminating them beneath his skin like molten rivers. Pain rippled through him, sharp and relentless, drawing muffled screams from behind Joshua's hand. He thrashed against the wall, his muscles straining against the foreign force invading his body.
Joshua didn't flinch. His grip was steady, his expression unreadable as he watched Philip writhe in his grasp. The golden aura pulsed, growing brighter with each beat of Philip's racing heart.