Drak antics continued, following Ronan surreptitiously, like a shadow clinging to its host, hiding whenever Ronan glanced back with sharp, suspicious eyes. Ronan turned left toward a huge building with a bar, neon lights flickering like a sirens' call. Drake struggled to keep up as Ronan made a sharp turn into the crowd.
The crowd of almost 40% of the population in the business district was uncomfortably jammed inside like sardines, all looking for reprieve and overindulgence at the bar. His hasty footsteps were drowned out by the cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses as he wove through, after which he realized he had lost Ronan's trail in the labyrinth of bodies.
Continuing, he looked inside every open space, his resolve an ember burning brightly in the air. Then, out of nowhere, a shrill clear signal cut into his brain like a cold water slap. Whipping around, his gaze swept across the room until it found Ronan leaning casually against the twisted trunk of a tree on one of the darker corners of the bar.
Ronan's attitude-the resting right leg on the trunk and folded arms-was an exuding evil confidence. But the sinister warning wasn't coming from Ronan-it was coming from the tree that loomed above him, its branches giving off an unnatural and threatening aura.
Lurking in the dark shadows of the tree's limbs was a man of darkness, his existence seemingly part of the obscurity, his face shrouded with depths of mystery.
The branches appeared to curve under his body weight, quivering as though the burden of his evil was upon them. He had enclosed himself in a shield of Crimsonbane Mist, a phantasmal cloak that could even blot out his presence from the senses of the most elite of mages and warriors.
His voice, low and husky as the whisper of death, slid across the air. "UCRE-20, I came here under the Supreme One's command to check on the progress of your mission," the man grated out, his tone without warmth.
"All is going according to plan. Inform the Supreme One that he shall not concern himself," Ronan replied, in a voice with underlines of defiance, his gaze thrown around him as his eyes scanned for listeners.
"Nothing must stand in the way of the Supreme One's plan; nothing must go amiss," the man said, his voice sounding as a death toll falling.
Ronan's face screwed up in annoyance. "Hey, I am not here to be cross-questioned by you. You have no right to question my performance. Just give me what I asked for," he snarled, using his voice like a cold blade cutting the air.
Drake's eyes forced their way through the thick gloom where he hid, and he watched intently. He couldn't hear their conversation, but he could feel the tension in the air, like an invisible storm crackling between them.
The shadowy figure merely flicked his wrist, and with it, two little tubes with sealed caps flew down the tree. Ronan caught them deftly, sliding them into his coat with practiced ease. "Brat, remember, the Supreme One's plan is above all else. Nothing must affect or disrupt it," he said, in a warning wrapped in venom.
Ronan pushed off from the tree and strode away, his movements sharp and purposeful. Above him, the man dissolved into a cloud of Crimsonbane Mist that dispersed into the air, disappearing like a phantom back to the void. Where the mist touched the tree, its bark withered, blackened, and began to decay silently testifying to its deadly contamination. Hidden nearby, Drake observed all, his mind racing with thoughts.
A few minutes later, Drake trudged back to the inn, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion, his thoughts tangled with unanswered questions.
In the room booked by Drake, Xena was lying on the bed, flipping her legs nervously as she lay first on one side and then on the other. Deep lines etched a face that was normally placid. The soft creak of the door startled her; she jumped up, her wide eyes locking on Drake as he entered. His sagged pose revealed weariness, while his steps were dragging along the floor, as if the happenings of the day had sapped all his energy.
"Where have you been? You had me worried this whole time," Xena exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and scolding. Drake forced a faint smile before he collapsed on the bed, totally exhausted.
She didn't hesitate to undress him and let her movements be tender and caring. Leaving him with underwear, she laid him down with softness which spoke volumes of how much concern she had.
END
The next morning, Drake awoke to find Xena wrapped around him like a protective cocoon. Carefully, he extricated himself so as not to wake her, but she stirred, a soft yawn escaping her lips as she sat up, rubbing her eyes with her fists like a sleepy child.
"You're awake," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, as she stretched her arms lazily.
Already half-dressed, Drake turned to her and said, "Let's get ready for the auction event."
Still sleepy, Xena heaved herself out of the bed and started getting ready. Her movements were slow but sure. When they were ready, Drake slung an arm over her shoulders as they left the inn; the silence between them was a tacit understanding.
At the auction entrance, two burly guards flanked a man who was bursting with self-importance. Participants flourished their bank books like passports, proof of their financial standing, while VIPs brandished their auction badges and were promptly dispatched with escorts to the exclusive rooms.
Drake stepped forward, opening his bag to reveal a modest pile of coins. The man in charge cast him a sideways, disparaging look before chuckling mirthlessly.
"Although the auction deals in coins, the entry ticket is the bank book that records your net worth. We can't start counting your money here," the man said, gesturing behind Drake to the impatient queue. "There are people waiting to get in."
Drake, getting his argument across, became frustrated, but before he could further continue, Ronan and his entourage arrived. "Looks like luck isn't going to be on your side this time," Ronan sneered, his smirk growing into a grin of mockery. "It's a shame you won't get to join this event that only comes around once every few months."
Drake turned to face Ronan, his thoughts flickering to the encounter from the previous night. Anger ignited in his chest, heating his expression as his fist clenched involuntarily. Ronan, noticing his reaction, grinned smugly, believing he had succeeded in riling him up.
Before the tension could escalate further, a familiar voice cut through the crowd. "Ronan, it seems you and trouble have been inseparable since birth," Mark quipped, stepping into view with Freya by his side.
Drake's hardened expression softened into a smile as Mark approached. "You're here," he said warmly, shaking hands with Mark. Freya, meanwhile, hurried over to Xena, enveloping her in a hug.
"What's happening?" Mark asked, his quick eyes darting between Drake and the others.
Drake laid a reassuring hand on Mark's shoulder and grinned. "Nothing much. I couldn't get in because I lack a bank book, and then this mosquito buzzed around here," he said with a pointed look in Ronan's direction.
Griffin's face turned red with a burst of anger, his self-control snapping. "Who are you calling mosquito?" he growled, his shaking finger pointing at Drake.
"If you get down on your knees and beg, perhaps the young master will give your request some consideration," Valencia said mockingly, her arms crossed in distaste.
"Ah, the bootlickers and their rubbish," Mark shot back, his head shaking with a smirking smile.
Ronan raised his hand to quiet his team, holding up a silver badge with an air of triumph. "Go ahead and keep saying whatever annoying words you have to say," he said, the derision dripping from his tone. "Even if you manage to get a bank book, I'll make sure you don't get anything inside."
Mark opened his mouth to respond, but Drake cut him off. "Just because some mentally unstable dogs bark doesn't mean we should join them. If the handlers for madness arrive, they'll pack us up with them," he said, his smirk widening as Ronan's face twisted with irritation.
"Fine," Ronan spat, his voice venomous. "Let's see how you make it out of here with anything from the auction." He turned to his team. "Let's go. We'll be inside, waiting for you," he said, leading his crew into the building.
Drake's gaze stayed with the silver badge still clutched in Ronan's hand as his mind worked overtime. "You really don't need to take it to heart, guys. My bank book can get us in, and there's no limit on the number it can admit," Mark said as he reached out to pat Drake on his back.
"It's not what you think," Drake said, before turning to the man in charge. "Can we go in with a golden badge similar to what they used?" he asked, pulling the badge from his pocket.
The man's eyes widened with surprise, while murmurs of astonishment spread around them.
"Sorry about the wait. Follow me, please," the man said, sidestepping and bowing his head with an obeisant gesture. "I'll explain as we go in." He turned to the guards: "Take over; I have to attend this very special VIP to his bidding room."