Chapter 14.5 Bonus: Blood-Stained Truth

After parting ways with Lucius, my stomach was tied up in knots. Dex stood next to me, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. Dex had a knack for reading people's body language, which made him the voice of our gang—handling sales, negotiating deals, and essentially serving as my right-hand man. I teased him, "What's so amusing, Dex?" While he'd been with us for a decent amount of time, he was still quite young, just like that kid, and still a bit inexperienced. The streets had given him a rough appearance, with an unshaven face and greasy, long hair that made him look older than he actually was. Dex perked up like an excited child, "Oh, it's just rare to see you in such an emotional mood. Did that kid remind you of a boyfriend or something?" I scowled, "Shut up, you moron. We've got more important things to deal with."

Truth be told, I'd never admit it, but that kid Lucius reminded me of my younger brother when he was still a child. That infuriating "I can do anything" attitude, his blonde hair, and those piercing blue eyes—they all brought back memories of Jasper. I tried not to let it show on my face as I walked ahead of Dex, but seeing someone so much like my brother, only to watch him leave, stung more than I'd like to admit. Later on, I returned to our base in the slum district of Veilstead. We had plans to assist with the city's reconstruction efforts. This city might have its unsavory aspects, but it was still our city. The boys at the base greeted me, with some offering to share a drink or play cards. I appreciated their gestures, but I needed some time alone. I smiled as their leader but desperately sought solitude. I grabbed a cheap bottle of whiskey from the bar and made my way to my office.

Sitting back in my leather chair, I propped up my feet. This place held countless memories for us. We had even used this classroom when we were younger. Being only slightly older than Jasper, I often joined him at school, along with some of the local kids. I sipped on the cheap whiskey, its mild burn in my throat helping to numb the sting on my cheeks a bit. Damn you, you stupid bastard. Why did you have to dredge up those painful memories? Jasper had passed away when I was a teenager. Our parents, complete burnouts, had abandoned us in the streets when we were mere children. I couldn't even recall their names or faces anymore. We were all each other had, and I clung to memories of attending school here and the friends we made along the way. It was in this very place that we eventually formed our gang once the school had long since closed down and the few remaining adults who used to teach here had disappeared.

We survived by preying on the city folk, using this place as our base of operations. As we entered our teenage years, we ventured into selling drugs and other illicit items. We did whatever it took to scrape by, and eventually, the Steel Serpents came into being. I led the gang along with the other kids from the slum district. I held the position of leader because I was the strongest among us. I have memories of using my dark magic to beat up anyone who dared to even look at my brother, Jasper, the wrong way. Those were the days, and we felt invincible, our reputation striking fear into the hearts of our community. Jasper was never one for fighting; he had a knack for talking his way out of trouble. I used to mock him as a weakling, but in hindsight, I respected his ability to defuse situations.

Then, one day, a rival gang emerged, a generation younger than us, and they called themselves the Crimson Knives. I was 22 at the time when a fiery-eyed 16-year-old punk named Lysandra led her own gang. Initially, I underestimated this kid, thinking her brother, who hid behind her despite being older, was the real threat. Lysandra, however, was a violent force to be reckoned with. She'd resort to anything—biting, throwing dirt in your eyes, sucker punches—to gain an advantage. Lysandra was like a wild animal, self-taught in martial arts and a street brawler. On top of that, she wielded fire magic that could burn anyone who stood in her path. But her temper was the most terrifying aspect of her. When she got angry, she was like a relentless beast, uncontrollable and unchained.

Her brother, Holvick, meant the world to her. He was born weaker, but she always rushed to his aid when he got into trouble. It all started the day she challenged me to a one-on-one fight, a challenge that staked our pride. The loser would be banished from Veilstead, and it was an honorable fight that I believed I could win. Little did I know, it was the biggest mistake of my life. At the beginning of the fight, I used my agility to overwhelm her with speed. I leaped towards her, my black magic enhancing my dash as I swung my daggers. Lysandra was initially struggling because of my speed, and I remember her calling me a coward. But eventually, she changed tactics, one that would've secured her victory but also killed me.

She waited until I lunged at her, and as my blade closed in, she tightened her form and revealed a flaming ball in her hand. Her rage had overtaken her, and she was prepared to release it point-blank, a move that would've cost her a hand and killed me instantly. My brother... dammit. I drank more whiskey as I thought about Jasper. He jumped in front of me, taking the blow head-on. The impact struck him deep in the stomach softening the blow on her hand. It didn't kill him instantly, but the wound was severe, and we had no doctors in this part of town, nor did we have any money. He succumbed to blood loss shortly after. I wanted to kill her right then and there. My precious brother was killed by this monster, this beast of a woman. As I raised my weapon, Jasper held my hand, his voice weak. He said, "Don't do it. Please, let her go. Everyone deserves a second chance. Besides, I need you to keep me company; you know I'm still afraid of the dark."

My brother passed away in my arms, and I held true to my word; I let her go. But still, to this day, I will never forgive her. She killed my brother. She couldn't control her rage, and it ended with my brother dying. I am not strong like Jasper. I can't just forgive someone like that. I truly hate her for taking my brother away so early. Just as I have that thought, Dex knocks on the door. I hurry to clean myself up, wiping the tears away and straightening my clothes. I open the sliding door, a stern expression on my face, "Yeah, what is it, Dex? Is a client giving you trouble?" Dex looked shell-shocked, "N-no, worse, boss, way worse. Someone is here to see you." I raise an eyebrow but quickly follow Dex into the other room. My men are on high alert, daggers at the ready, all of them pointed at one person.

The first thing I noticed about the person in the doorway was their fiery crimson red hair, flowing down their back like a blazing river. My rage pours out as the person in the doorway is the one I hate most in this world, Lysandra Nightwaker. She wore a weathered leather jacket that bore the scars of countless street skirmishes. The jacket clung to her frame, emphasizing her strength and authority. Dark, form-fitting pants allowed for agile movement, a practical choice for her line of work. Her boots were sturdy and well-worn, each step echoing her presence with a hint of danger.

Fingerless gloves covered her hands, adding to her distinctive style. Various belts and accessories adorned her outfit, including a belt with a formidable buckle that featured a knife emblem, a symbol closely associated with the Crimson Knives. She also had a flaming knife tattoo on her right arm that one could spot from a mile away. The symbol triggered a primal rage in me. I never wanted to see that symbol again as long as I lived. I howled, "Lysandra! You dare come back here ever again? You must have a death wish this time!"

She met my furious gaze, her fiery red eyes holding a hint of recognition. With a calm but firm tone, she'd say, "Isabella, I didn't come back here for trouble. I know what that symbol means to you, and I understand your anger. But I'm not here to reignite old conflicts or stir up trouble." My face feels hot, my nerves pulsing and quaking with anger. I yell again, "You didn't come here for trouble? You don't get to damn well decide that!" She pauses for a moment, allowing the tension to hang in the air, before continuing, "I came because I heard rumors about your involvement with a person of interest. I wanted to see if they were true, and if so, I wanted information. I came here to bargain, not to fight."

My voice dripping with skepticism, I retorted, "You expect me to believe that? Bargain or not, you always bring trouble wherever you go. And now you're asking for information? What's in it for me? Why should I help you?" She explained, "Isabella, I know we have a complicated history, but I promise you, this is different. The person I'm looking for is dangerous, and the information I seek is crucial to keeping our turf safe. You and I both know that we've faced our share of threats in this city. I'm not asking for something without offering in return. If you help me, I'll owe you a favor. Anything you want, consider it yours."

I calmed down a little but barked out, "Who is it?" Lysandra's face twitched in rage of her own, "Lucius Evergold! He has made a fool of my gang not once, but twice. I hired an assassin to track him down, but it seems she was defeated since she never reported back. The gloves are off, my pride is at stake here. That boy is finished when I get my hands on him." My resolve remained unshaken as I declared, "I won't ever help you, not after what you did." My brother's face flashed in my mind, and so did Lucius's face. I continued, "Not now and not ever. Even if I did, I would never tell you in a million years. Hell would have to burn down first."

Lysandra's eyes narrowed as she gazed into the distance, a fiery determination burning within her. She turned to me, her voice carrying an unsettling resolve. "Isabella," she declared, her tone unwavering, "Whether you help me or not, know this: I will hunt him to the ends of the earth if I have to. Your refusal may only delay me slightly, but I will find him, and nothing will stand in my way." With that chilling proclamation, Lysandra left the room, leaving no room for doubt about her relentless pursuit of Lucius. I sighed, knowing I would have to trust that Lucius would be fine, and just pray that Lysandra would never get her claws on him. For if she did, I feared that, just like her brother, she would be the claw that would drag Lucius into the underworld for good. A lump formed in my throat as I tried to assure myself that my fears would go unanswered.