Blackreach never slept, and neither did its underworld. By day, the city's skyline gleamed with corporate power and political ambition. But when the sun dipped below the horizon, the true rulers of the streets emerged—gangs, mercenaries, and those who thrived in the dark.
Nightblade watched from above, crouched on the edge of a rooftop overlooking the West District. Below, the Neon Serpents, one of the Revenant's many affiliates, moved through the streets like they owned them. Their insignia—glowing cyan tattoos snaking up their arms—stood out even in the dim light of the flickering streetlamps.
He had been tracking their movements for weeks. They were pushing something new—illegal tech, weapons, maybe even something worse. Tonight, he would find out.
A black-market deal was going down in a scrapyard on the edge of the district. Nightblade moved swiftly, his steps silent as he dropped from the rooftop and slipped into the shadows. He melted into the darkness, moving between stacks of rusted metal, his presence unnoticed.
A man in a tailored gray suit stood among the gangsters, overseeing the deal. The way they deferred to him told Nightblade everything he needed to know—this wasn't just some street boss. This was someone with real power.
"I hope you understand what you're buying," the man in the suit said, his voice smooth but dangerous. "This isn't ordinary firepower."
One of the Serpents scoffed. "We know what we're doin', suit. Just gimme the goods."
The man chuckled, stepping aside to reveal a set of sleek, high-tech weapons. Energy rifles, compact explosives—military-grade gear that had no business being on the streets.
Nightblade moved closer. He needed more information before making his move.
Then, a rookie mistake—a loose piece of scrap shifted under his foot, making the slightest noise.
Heads turned.
"Who's there?!" one of the gangsters barked, pulling out a pistol.
Nightblade sighed. So much for a quiet approach.
The lights in the yard flickered—then died completely. Shadows surged as Nightblade sprang into action, striking fast and hard. His shadow tendrils lashed out, knocking weapons from hands, twisting around legs, pulling enemies into the abyss before they could even scream.
Within seconds, the gang was down.
The man in the suit remained, unshaken. "Impressive," he mused. "The Revenant warned me you'd come."
Nightblade tensed. That name again.
Before he could react, the man pulled a device from his pocket and pressed a button.
The scrapyard erupted in flames.