"Wait, Copperhand? The Copperhand—the one who betrayed the Guard and became a crime lord—helped with this case?!" Clare exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and outrage. The shock in her tone mirrored the expressions on everyone else's faces.
"Yes," Malvin confirmed, though his voice carried a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "The once-great detective turned criminal helped us take down Joshua Ambrose's drug operation." There was no pride in his words, only a faint bitterness. The idea of the Ironguard needing the assistance of a criminal—especially one who was once part of their own—left a sour taste in his mouth.
"But why?" Loreen pressed, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Why would he help the Guard after everything he's done?"
Malvin sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know," he admitted before bringing a hand to his chin in thought. "If I had to guess, maybe it had something to do with honor. Even criminals can have a code, and Copperhand was once one of us—a member of the Ironguard. Or… maybe it's connected to the Deputy Chief."
That remark immediately drew puzzled glances from the others.
"The Deputy Chief?" Jos asked, tilting his head in curiosity. "What does he have to do with Copperhand?"
Malvin shook his head again, clearly uncertain. "I'm not exactly sure," he said. "Could be a debt, maybe some kind of favor. All I know is that we were never ordered to go after him or his crew, despite the criminal activities they were obviously involved in."
Tores rubbed the back of his neck, frowning as he mulled it over. "I guess that kind of makes sense," he muttered, and the others nodded in tentative agreement, though the mystery only seemed to deepen.
"Then what did he do, Captain?" Aeron finally asked, his tone as flat and steady as ever. Jos, who was standing beside him, leaned forward eagerly.
"Yeah, yeah, tell us," Jos urged.
Malvin nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Well, from what I understand, this is what happened..."
---
Joshua was furious, his rage burning hotter than the flames that had consumed his warehouse. The scene before him was almost incomprehensible: a group of gangsters stood defiantly in the middle of the street, outnumbered but utterly fearless. They hadn't run, hidden, or tried to disappear after burning down his property. Instead, they waited, their leader—a rugged man with a copper prosthetic hand—standing at the center of them, staring directly at Joshua with an expression impossible to read.
"You motherfuckers!" Philip growled, his voice a snarl of pure fury as he bared his fangs. "How dare you burn down our warehouse!"
Viper, leaning casually to the side, couldn't help but chuckle at the outburst. His snake tattoo a perfect complement to the venomous grin on his face. "Aw, look at the puppy throwing a tantrum," he mocked, his tone dripping with condescension. "How cute. Why don't you come over here, mutt, so I can snap your neck and put you out of your misery?"
The taunt was a spark to dry tinder. Philip's fury exploded, and he lunged forward with near inhuman speed, a blur of motion as his claws reached for Viper's throat. The promise of violence hung heavy in the air, a heartbeat away from being realized.
But then Philip stopped.
Not by choice, and not out of hesitation. He stopped because he had to—because he was about to die.
A single copper finger hovered mere inches from his eye. It was so precise, so deliberate, that it seemed to have materialized there, ready to end his life with the slightest movement. The metallic gleam reflected the firelight, turning it into a blade poised at the edge of death.
Viper smirked, unfazed by the close call, and let out a low, amused chuckle. "Fast," he muttered, shaking his head, "but not fast enough."
Philip's breathing hitched as he stared at the copper finger, his body frozen. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the man holding it. Copperhand's expression was calm, but there was an unmistakable weight in his eyes—a command to stand down that brooked no argument.
Reluctantly, Philip obeyed, lowering himself back with a growl of frustration. His claws twitched, his tail still thrashing, but he didn't dare press the issue.
Joshua had watched the exchange in silence, his anger momentarily cooled by a flicker of intrigue. Copperhand's skill was undeniable, his control over the situation absolute. Joshua's jaw tightened, though his interest was clear beneath the simmering irritation.
Finally, Copperhand turned his attention to Joshua, his tone light but laced with authority. His lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.
"Let's talk this out like civilized folk."
"I think the time for talking like civilized folk ended the moment you torched what was mine," Joshua replied, his voice sharp with controlled fury. He motioned for Philip to return to his side. The demi-human hesitated, his pride clearly bruised, but obeyed, falling back with a glare aimed at Copperhand.
Copperhand chuckled, a hollow sound devoid of humor, fitting for a man whose eyes held no light. "Which is exactly why we should talk," he said, his tone dripping with mock reason. "You still have another warehouse, don't you? Maybe we sort this out so I don't burn that one too."
As he spoke, one of his men, Hill, stepped forward and handed him a length of rebar roughly the size of a longsword. Copperhand grasped it with his metallic hand, testing its weight and balance. The rebar bent slightly under his grip, a subtle reminder of the strength that lay within his copper prosthetic.
Joshua's anger simmered just below the surface, but a flicker of intrigue slipped through. "You're interesting, you know that? Real interesting, and that's—"
"The only thing keeping me alive?" Copperhand interjected, cutting Joshua off mid-sentence. He twirled the rebar with a casual air, as if the tension in the room wasn't about to snap like a drawn wire. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before. You're the type who likes to think you do whatever you want, whenever you want."
Joshua exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he tried to mask his irritation. The interruption had clearly struck a nerve. "You're awfully calm for someone with only five men standing against my fifteen," he said, his voice laced with disdain. His patience was wearing thin, his anger creeping closer to the surface.
Copperhand didn't so much as glance at Joshua's men. "See, that's where you've got it twisted," he said, his voice steady and cutting as he continued inspecting the rebar. "You're not really doing whatever you want. Not even close. You're reactive, not active. All your grandstanding, all your so-called plans—it's all in response to what someone else has already done." He raised his eyes, meeting Joshua's gaze with a smirk that practically dared him to lash out. "You're nothing but a slave to the wills of others, deluding yourself into thinking you're free."
Joshua's eyes flared with rage, the ember of his anger finally catching fire. His laughter was cold and sharp, an attempt to conceal the fury that had overtaken him. "Kill them all," he barked, his voice rising as his chi began to crackle and flare around him. "I'll handle him myself."
The command had barely left his lips before he shot forward, his chi blazing like an uncontained wildfire. Copperhand was already moving, swinging the rebar with a swift, precise arc, the sharp metallic sound of its motion signaling the start of a battle between two forces of chaos.