Philip Crude prowled through the winter night like a wolf on the hunt, his boots crunching against the frozen ground. Behind him trailed the three recently hired thugs—rough men with hardened faces and crooked morals. To Philip, they were little more than a pack of wild dogs. Tougher than sheep, sure, but ultimately undisciplined and disposable.
But why was he out here in the slums, trudging through the bitter cold, rather than waiting for Malvin at the abandoned sawmill? He had a task. Joshua Ambrose had sent him to retrieve something—a job that Philip had failed to accomplish months ago. With the year drawing to a close, Joshua had decided it was time to try again, right before Philip's duel.
Oddly enough, Philip didn't mind. One might think he'd bristle at the timing, but no—this would be a fine way to get his blood pumping before the fight. It wasn't just a chore; it was an opportunity. A little exercise, a little revenge.
"Wait out here," Philip ordered, his voice low and commanding as they reached their destination. The thugs gave silent nods, stopping in their tracks as Philip approached a small, rundown building on the edge of the slums. The place was a wreck—charred black in places, as if it had narrowly survived a fire. The roof sagged under the weight of snow, and the windows were little more than jagged holes.
Philip smirked, his breath curling in the icy air. Without hesitation, he marched to the front door and kicked it open, the wood splintering under the force of his boot. The sound echoed through the small home, and Philip stepped inside.
"Wha-what are you doing here?!"
The voice came from a blue-haired boy, his blue eyes wide with alarm. Behind him, a slightly smaller figure—half-elven and trembling—clutched at his sleeve, peeking out from behind him like a lamb hiding behind an ill-equipped ram. Philip's grin widened, his sharp teeth bared in a predatory sneer.
"I'm just here to take something that belongs to me," he replied, his voice calm but laced with malice. He took a step forward, his boots heavy against the warped wooden floor. Without hesitation, he lunged, his clawed hand slashing downward toward the boy.
---
Xain had barely a moment to react as the claw descended toward him. One second, he had been sitting with Nori, making sure the boy wouldn't spend the end of the year alone. The next, he was throwing himself to the side.
The attack narrowly missed his chest but caught his arm instead, leaving a deep gash across his forearm. "Ugh," he grunted, stumbling back and bumping into Nori, who clung tightly to his chronoscope.
"Stay behind me, Nori," Xain urged, his voice firm despite the pain radiating from his arm. He stepped forward, trying to shield the smaller boy from the advancing predator.
"Aww, protecting your little friend? How adorable," Philip mocked, his voice dripping with condescension. With a swift motion, he kicked Xain, sending him flying like a discarded toy.
The boy hit the wall hard, barely managing to block the impact with his arms. Even so, he crumpled to the floor, coughing as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He was only twelve years old, and against a grown man infused with chi, the difference in strength was like night and day.
Nori ran to his friend, tears welling in his eyes. He knelt beside Xain, who struggled to sit up, his arms trembling from the effort.
"Nori… stay back," Xain croaked, his voice weak.
But Nori didn't listen. With trembling hands, he held the chronoscope out toward Philip, his tears spilling freely down his cheeks.
"Don't!" Xain croaked, trying to push himself up. "That's the only thing you have left from your parents!"
But Nori didn't relent, his hands steady despite the terror in his eyes. Philip reached out and snatched the chronoscope, holding it up to inspect it with a satisfied grin.
"Thank you," Philip said, tucking the item into his coat pocket. "But did you really think I'd stop at just that?"
His grin widened as he delivered a brutal backhand to Nori's head, striking just hard enough to knock the boy unconscious.
"Nori!" Xain cried out, dragging himself forward, but his body refused to cooperate.
Philip leaned down and grabbed Nori by the collar, hoisting the unconscious half-elf off the ground with ease. "A little half-elf like him will fetch a nice price," Philip said, glancing down at Xain, who thrashed weakly in his grip. "And you—" He paused, narrowing his eyes as he noticed something in the boy's gaze. Hatred. For a moment, Philip paused. There was something in that glare—a spark that gave him pause.
"I don't like the look you're giving me," Philip muttered darkly.
Without hesitation, he drove his claws deep into Xain's back, the sharp tips rending through flesh as the boy let out a choked gasp. Philip pulled his hand back, blood dripping from his claws as Xain slumped to the floor, his strength draining with the spreading crimson pool beneath him.
Through the haze of pain and fading consciousness, Xain reached out weakly. "Please… don't…" he whispered, but his voice was barely audible as the edges of his vision began to blur.
Something, something deep within Xain stirred, clawing its way toward the surface as the boy's world went dark.
---
Outside, Philip handed Nori's unconscious body over to the three thugs waiting for him.
"Take him to one of the slavers on the edge of the slums near the Gilded Plaza," Philip instructed, his tone cold and businesslike. "They'll pay well for a half-elf like him."
The thug holding Nori nodded. "Yes, boss."
Without another word, the three men carried the boy off into the shadows, disappearing down the snow-dusted streets.
Philip smirked, flexing his bloodied hands as he turned toward the direction of the sawmill. Soon, they'd be drenched in even more blood.