Frigun Harow was a lifelong criminal raised by the old head of his gang; The Damned Fey. He loved his work and loved his city. He especially loved that he was unchallenged. Any once noteworthy competition was long gone, and the few organized crime groups left were safely under his thumb. But above being a criminal, he was a businessman---as any good criminal had to be. The field of crime was one of the most profitable, and often that meant sniffing out the best offers and propositions.
He prided himself on that very ability, and today it was telling him that profit was about to be made.
Not long after Tay left the Old Lady, a knock had come from the door. Harow answered and was greeted by the masked face of Mr. Black, the most well-known crime broker in the underground. It was the first time he had ever seen the mysterious figure as he usually only dealt with those far Under him, such as the smaller gangs.
But the implications that the man himself coming personally to Harow gave him just the right amount of excitement that Harow did crime for. And when he was offered a deal with the man's client, he took it without hesitation. The man had taken him in an all-black, magically driven carriage that insinuated wealth. He wasn't able to see where they went, having both his visual and magical perception block, but he knew they were going uptown to the shore by the smell.
When they stopped, they were already inside some sort of empty warehouse with an identical black carriage parked beside theirs. Mr. Black gestured for him to enter, opening the door for the crime boss. The inside was the same as well; Black curtains, black leather, and even black tinted windows. The difference was that the inside was parted in two, only a curtained hole allowing for conversation.
"Mr. Frigun Harow, correct?" An unworldly deep voice asked. It came from all around Harow like the carriage was an echo chamber.
Harow was not a weak man by any measure. He was a seasoned adventurer who was at the peak of his third evolution. Give him another year and he would reach level 4. He beat the tower, killed every monster it had to fight, and stood at the top, overlooking the world like a king. He'd dealt with vile beings that made even himself look tame. But this man was different. He didn't make Harow feel sickened or disgusted as those filth did. He made Harow feel...scared. It reminded him of his first days in the tower when he felt helpless against the horrors that he had so underestimated. He felt that, just like then, his neck could be snapped, or his throat slit with nothing but a thought.
He shifted in his seat, looking at the now locked door, a horrible feeling of anxiety bubbling inside him.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
"Apparently," the voice said softly. "You are the Man to go to if you want something done in this city on a scale of certain...importance." Harow steadied his nerves. He wouldn't back out of this if someone like this man was involved. Power equaled money after all.
"That's right." He said, steeling himself. "For the right price." A chuckle came from beyond the parting. "What do you know of the Red-cross guild?"
"...As much as anyone, I guess. They're the top ruling power in the city, and have one of the two known level 5's. They're practically untouchable." Harow was feeling rather uncomfortable now. He didn't much like talk of anything association-related that was the size of a guild. Guilds were often very protective of their assets, regardless of what it was, and if this man wanted them to do something revolving around them...Harow needed to leave that carriage, but the man's unsettling voice stopped him.
"I'm in need of someone to get under their skin." He said. "Figuratively, of course." Harow stared at the thin piece of cloth blocking his view of him. "I'm not too comfortable targetin' guilds. I ain't looking to have all I have be smashed by them." Silence tore through the small space like nails to Harow's head. He hated silence.
"What if I were to offer you adequate payment?" He questioned. Harow bit his tongue to keep from scoffing. "The most I've ever been paid for a job was 50 gold, and that ain't even touching the surface of what you would need to pay me for this." He would need 50 gold just to get new members after his old ones were killed. He was about to force the carriage's door open, consequences be damned, when the man spoke again.
"500 gold pieces now, and 1000 upon the job's completion. Will that settle your indecision?" Harow gave the man a withering look as if he could see him. "Mr. Black, if you would." He said and the door swung open. For a moment, Harow thought of running. He was fairly confident in his speed after all, but the slick black unlocked case of 500 gold coins stopped him dead. He stared at the money like he had never seen a single silver piece before. His hand stretched for it, but the coins were pulled away, locked safely in their container. Harow grasped at the air where his offer had been before sitting upright again.
"That's suicide money. You're asking me to do something that would almost certainly guarantee my group's destruction." He sat back in his chair, arms sprawled upon the top of the seats as he tried to relax. Another soft chuckle came from the other side. "And if, by chance, you succeed, you would never have to do another job you didn't want to. Besides, we both know you won't be getting out of this carriage alive unless you accept, so why bother with any more talk?" Harow felt a chill run down his spine, but finally relaxed.
"Alright then, what do you need, exactly?"
Ifirit felt...unusual. Before becoming a Spirit King, he went through several evolutions and was accustomed to what it felt like. He was attuned to it, even. But unlike other spirits, Spirit Kings do not evolve. They stay at one constant because, in truth, there's nothing to evolve into. Spirit Kings are the peak of existence, one of the most powerful forms of life that has ever been discovered. What could something like that possibly improve?
With that said, Ifirit wasn't sure what evolving as a spirit felt like. For most races, evolution was akin to having the feeling of basking in the warm summer sun, inside their bodies. But he knew of some races who felt it in different ways. The great Tortonic race felt every fiber of their body being pushed from the inside out like it was being flooded with water. And he never thought to ask his children what the experience was like, so he was unsure, to say the least.
For his new body, it felt rather similar to peeling dead skin, however concerning that might be. It wasn't exactly painful, nor was he actively aware of it. Rather, he only felt it when he had time to concentrate on it. Ifirit wasn't exactly sure when the sensation began, but he assumed it was when his body was nearly destroyed. He wasn't sure on the specifics, but from what he gathered from Tay's mumbling and light conversations with Association members, it sounded like he had killed one of the level 2 Fey all on his own. Quite impressive.
Ifirit only awoke after the battle in the tower was over, and so was glad for the help provided by this "Alexander" person, whoever he was. They had just left the Association building, all their materials from the monsters were now useful products and weapons. He gave a few to the association for the required fee, but it didn't take much away from what he had. Ifirit thought that they would be going to the "Old Lady" to start dealing with the situation Tay was tired up in, but apparently, Tay had other plans.
Ifirit soon discovered that Tay was, in fact, homeless. Tay's life before him was still a mystery to the Spirit, but he knew it hadn't been prosperous, and now that Tay had a way to make profit, he had no intention of sleeping anywhere uncomfortable. They first went to the Association's Inn, but discovered that they had been lucky for the all-expenses-paid time at the establishment. It would be a while until they had the income for it, and so they settled for picking up a bite to eat before moving on.
Eventually, after having searched half the city, they found a reasonably priced and kept place near the shore called "The Pigs Pen" and bought themselves one of their lower-priced rooms. Ifirit floated into the room, his body lighting the room in vibrant dancing shades of red and orange playing with shadows. Tay didn't bother bathing, removing his boots, or storing his equipment, and just laid everything on the table in the middle of the room---dried bloody sword and all.
Ifirit floated down and circled his summoner who only made grumbles as he waved his hand in front of his face. Ifirit felt an odd sense of responsibility to the boy, which he wasn't sure if his magical link with him had accentuated, or whether it was some sort of bond being formed. He hadn't felt such a thing in many years. The bond of comradery was much different than the bond of family he felt for his children in the spirit realm. He wasn't sure if he wanted to feel that kind of bond again, but he guessed he had no choice now.
Ifirit moved away to the farthest corner of the room, watching the door and window as Tay's breathing grew steady and his body relaxed. Whatever debt he had to pay, Ifirit doubted it couldn't wait for a day.