The streets of Divitas were in chaos. Fires burned in the distance, their glow reflecting off shattered glass and bloodstained cobblestones. The cries of civilians mixed with the clash swords.
Amir stood atop a low rooftop, his black and white jackect fluttering in the breeze as he surveyed the city.
The Saint Hood Gang's members had poured into the streets in force, their crimson-and-black cloaks marking them like a disease spreading through the city. They were no longer subtle in their movements. Groups of them roamed openly, dragging citizens out of their homes, smashing stalls, and interrogating anyone who looked like they had something to hide.
Amir watched, his dark eyes narrowing as three gang members surrounded a young merchant. The man's trembling hands were raised in surrender, his words pleading, but the gang leader silenced him with a brutal backhand. The merchant crumpled to the ground, clutching his face as blood trickled between his fingers.
He could see atleast 70 members and more in the distance. They had many members and a few of them were C rank and even D rank.
The sight annoyed Amir.
'They have the strength of such force and they choose to step on the weak as they do. How pathetic you all.' Amir said with a annoyed look
He had stoked the flames, and now the city was burning because of his actions but the hardest part was still to come.
"Every fight of meaningful change has collateral damage," Amir told himself, trying to push down the gnawing guilt. "If I'm going to beat them, I have to see the full extent of their power. I can't stop until the strongest among them show themselves."
Baron Krasner marched through the heart of Divitas, flanked by his two sons. The Baron was dressed in his usual red-and-gold military garb, his portly frame offset by the gleaming broadsword strapped to his back. His sons, tall and lean, walked along side him their armor polished and immaculate.
The younger son, Eryk, smirked as he passed a pair of city guards struggling to fend off a small gang of Saint Hood members.
"They're pathetic, Father. Barely able to keep the peace." Eryk said in annoyance
"Pathetic or not," Krasner growled, his voice thick with irritation, they'll have to hold out until we finish this mess. Those damned snakes are finally out of their hole."
The older son, Ryker, glanced at his father, his expression more serious.
"Do you really think we'll find their leaders, Father? They've been hiding for years."
Krasner's lip curled in disdain. "They won't hide from us. They think they're untouchable because the marquis is occupied, but we'll crush them underfoot. Let's see how long their bravado lasts when they face real power."
As the trio turned a corner, they found themselves face-to-face with a group of Saint Hood captains. The gang members were clad in heavy black cloaks, their faces hidden by shadowed hoods. They stood in a tight formation, their weapons gleaming in the firelight.
"Well, well," one of the men in a cloak sneered, stepping forward. His voice was smooth, almost amused.
"If it isn't the noble pigs come to play hero." He said
Eryk bristled, his hand flying to his sword, but Krasner raised a hand to stop him.
"Careful, boy. Let's see what they're made of first."
Ryker nodded, drawing his weapon.
"Don't let your guard down, Eryk. These aren't the usual trash. One of them is B rank."
The gamg members moved as one, their blades flashing as they charged. Krasner roared, he raise his hand before hitting the ground turning into lava.
The member of the gang jumped into the air before it could reach them. Baron Krasner's sons ran into the molten lava. As they both had swords and used the lava propel them up into air.
The clash of steel rang out as the two sides collided mid air, the narrow street erupting into chaos.
From the balcony of his manor, Count Farrell watched the city burn. The orange glow of the fires reflected in his dark eyes, but his face remained calm, a mask of composure as he sipped from a crystal glass of wine.
Behind him, his steward entered quietly, bowing low.
"My lord, Baron Krasner has engaged a group of Saint Hood members near the market square. One seems to be a B rank fighter and possibly a captain."
Farrell didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the distant flames. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but laced with steel.
"And the guards?"
"They're holding, but barely," the steward replied. "The gang's forces are more organized than anticipated. It's as if they were prepared for this."
Farrell set his glass down with a soft clink.
"Of course they were. Whoever provoked them knew exactly what they were doing. This chaos was orchestrated."
The steward hesitated, then ventured cautiously,
"Do you think it's the Saint Hunter, my lord? The reports suggest he's been deliberately drawing the gang into the open."
Farrell's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile.
"It's not just the gang he's drawing out."
Perched atop a warehouse roof, Amir watched the battle unfold below. Krasner and his sons were locked in combat with the captains, their movements precise and powerful. The Baron fought like a wrecking ball, his manipulating the lava through the air with devastating force. His sons moved like extensions of their father, their strikes coordinated and efficient.
Amir couldn't tell whether or not they were using a bloodline to manipulate the lava but it sure was impressive
"Not bad," Amir murmured, his eyes narrowing as he assessed their skills. Krasner's strength was impressive, but his sons were the real threat—fast, disciplined, and deadly.
The gang members were no pushovers, either. Their strikes were sharp and calculated, their teamwork seamless. Amir's gaze flicked from one fighter to the next, taking mental notes of their techniques, their weaknesses and strengths.
"So this is what I'm up against," he thought, a shiver of excitement running through him.
'If I want to take them down, I'll need to get stronger. A lot stronger.'
As the battle raged on, Amir's focus shifted to the guards further down the street. They were struggling to hold back another wave of gang enforcers, their ranks thinning as the enemy pressed harder. Amir's grin widened.
"This is exactly what I wanted," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of battle. "Push them harder. Force them to show their hand."
Krasner roared as he pulled a broadsword from his magic ring that clashed against the gang members twin blades. Sparks flew as the two men struggled for dominance, their faces inches apart.
"You must be a captain if your this strong. Think you can take my city?" Krasner snarled, his voice echoing through the street.
"I'll bury you and your entire gang before that happens!"
The man in the cloak sneered, his hood falling back to reveal a scarred, twisted face.
"Your city? This city belongs to us, not even the Academies poke there nose here because it would cost too much to try and take us out."
Krasner shoved the captain back with a burst of strength, his sons closing in to finish the job. The gang members fought fiercely, but one by one, they began to falter under the relentless assault.
From his vantage point, Amir watched as the tide turned in Krasner's favor. The Baron's sons were pushing the other 2 gang mebers back, their discipline and training outmatching the chaos of their opponents.
But Amir's eyes weren't on the Baron anymore. They were fixed on a shadowy figure standing at the edge of the battlefield, watching the fight with an almost casual air.
"There you are," Amir murmured, a grin spreading across his face.
The figure turned, their hood obscuring their face, but Amir could feel their presence even from a distance. This was no ordinary gang member. This was someone important.
Someone strong.
Amir's heart raced as he stood, his fists clenching at his sides. His plan had worked, and he couldn't wait to see how it all played out.
"Let see what you guys can really do," he whispered, disappearing into the shadows.