A Golden Scuttle

The morning sun chased away the night’s shadow from the road leaving the castle town of Van Rourke. But one man kept to the remnants of dusk, shading himself from the morning light. Standing at 6’, the man was tall with a sleek frame and musculature covered by armored clothes that betrayed his actual physical abilities. His face was handsome and masculine, clean shaven with bushy brown hair brushed to the back. A red hunk of metal ending in three blades resembling claws replaced the man’s left forearm, his head was covered by a fierce grooved helmet with a red jaw. A scale mail vest, gray jacket, thick leather pants, and boots covered the rest of his profile. It was due to the claw on his left hand, however, that the man was aptly nicknamed, “The Crab.”

Crab sighed as he slowed to a halt, drifting to one side of the road. He lifted his visor and sunk down against one of the many trees, letting the air try to cool his face. Removing a duffel pack from his back, Crab procured a waterskin and venison jerky that he packed in his flight from Van Rourke. Devouring his meal with vigor, not wanting to stay still for long, he began to verbally list his possessions between mouthfuls. He had been in a rush and had to know if he left anything important behind in his house.

“Casual clothes,” he began, ”...check. Bottomless duffel check. Combat gear check. Weapons, sword, knife,” he patted the front of his waist, knocking against the guards of his blades, “check. Hair brush….” His eyebrow cocked upwards as his other eye closed in wonder, “check? Gol-” He gasped. Crab’s hazel eyes flew wide as he began to shout, “MY MONEY!” He stood up and ran a few feet down the road before stopping. His face dropped in despair as he looked towards his old home. His entire savings from two years of mercenary work were still in the city that was most likely now ruled by demons. His hand clinched, his claw found purchase in a nearby tree trunk, closing tighter and tighter before a loud snap reverberated through the area. The tree fell past Crab as his claw jerked forward as the weight of the calamity set in.

Crab’s initial disregard for his money was understandable, after all that had happened.

 It was two hours after midnight when he woke to screaming, shouting, moaning. The sounds of conflict reverberated through the streets outside of his house. Looking through the top floor window of his house, he could indeed see mamono and man alike locked together combat right in the streets of the city. Desperate screams and banging tore through the walls of his home, the chaos seemed to surround Crab already. Quickly dressing in his armor, Crab dove down the stairs of his home and began to organize everything he could onto his couch, then locking the front door to his house in the process. Gathering his clothes and road supplies, he didn’t quite rationalize why exactly he wanted to leave then. After all, if it had been a beastlord or non-demonic monster leading the attack, he could stay in the city as he needed and chosen to quietly leave later. It wasn’t until after Crab finished cutting jerky from a slab of venison that a reason to leave then appeared before him.

At that moment, the shriek of torn wood and hinges loosed itself from his front door, prompting Crab to hurl a kitchen knife towards the noise’s direction. A female demon stood in the frame, blue skin, jagged horns, giant bat wings, and a tail ending in a spade broadcasting her species. She dropped the now unattached door and quickly caught the knife by the tip of the blade in her other hand, seemingly unharmed by the edge. She smiled in amusement as she looked down upon the blade before returning her gaze forward, beginning to speak to her supposed victim.

“Well, well, aren’t you a-”

She stopped mid sentence, gasping in shock. Her face followed the change of tone as she witnessed a giant claw resting on the couch alongside a helmet with a crude visor and large metal teeth. What more shocked her, however, was the tall, fair-skinned man with bushy, brown hair brushed back and fierce hazel eyes, charging at her, teeth bared, throwing a punch with a spiked gauntlet. All the reflexes of the world wouldn’t have saved her from the impact.

The fist connected with the side of her head as she reeled back several feet before falling. Crab’s eyes widened as his breathing grew deeper. He remained silent, before cursing under his breath as he stepped back. He recognized the mamono’s species from his encyclopedia studying. The woman was a mamono known solely as a “demon,” acting under the sole authority of one of the Demon Lord’s own daughters. Elite and ferocious mamono supremacists,  her presence meant that this attack on Van Rourke would lead to the city and land around it bathing in demonic energy, converting the men into incubi, the women into monsters, and the entire land into a demon realm. Crab realized that he had only a few hours to get out of the effective area that would feel the effects of the dark matter that would no doubt show up soon.

It wasn’t that he hated mamono or thought of them as evil beasts designed to seduce men away from the light. In fact, they could be some of the nicest company to talk to around a bar or campfire. Crab, much like noblemen, prefered to keep his humanity rather than throw it away for the benefits of incubization and to remain chaste until marriage. Unlike other people, however, he swore not to become involved in an intimate relationship with anyone until he secured a peaceful retirement.

If this meant he had to beat them back by any means necessary, then so be it.

Crab hurried back to his couch and shoved everything that he had gathered into his bottomless duffel. Intent on keeping his humanity, he needed to move as far as he could before the pulsing of dark matter began. He wanted to leave NOW, no matter what he would leave behind in his panic. He closed his duffel and placed it upon his back, grabbing his helmet next. Crab lowered the helm onto his head, sliding his chin into place along with the helm’s own jaw and flipped the visor down, concealing his face. Next, he slid his left arm into a hole on the side opposite of the actual blades of his claw and took control of the mechanisms, testing all three digits. Finally, he drew his blade, a thick saber with a spiked pommel, and exited his home to the outside chaos.

Crab found himself facing mostly mamono troops ranging from common beasts like lamias, werewolves, and lizardwomen to the less common such as minotaurs, manticores, hellhounds, and incubi. Many looked on in a combination of awe and fear, slowly backing away as he advanced past them while others eyed him in predatory fashion, unfazed by his reputation. Many murmured various phrases to each other at the spectacle.

“Is that really him?” was the majority of the initial reaction.
“By the Demon Lord’s husband! It’s The Crab!”
“The general! He’s decked her cold!”
“Look at the size of that claw!”

Others felt braver in their ponderings

“I wonder how he is in bed….” was a slightly rarer question that turned Crab’s head in curiosity.
“ He doesn’t look so tough.” sent a chill up Crab’s spine, forcing him to grip his blade tighter.

It wasn’t until the initial shock wore off that the resistance from some of the crowd began. While most backed away or found a new quarry for marriage, some advanced towards him, brandishing demon silver weapons that rippled the air around them. Crab roared, both jaws opening wide, as he charged forward, opening his claw wide and closing it around the waist of  an unfortunate minotaur as he slashed at a dullahan’s head with his saber. The minotaur crushed and dullahan backing away, a gash made in her face, Crab gazed around before spinning himself around, back handing a lunging werewolf away with his giant claw. Looking over his right shoulder, he let his momentum carry himself out of the way of an incubus’s downward slash, countering him with a bash with his pommel to the head. Several mamono were still closing in and already four would be repelled. “Fear will deal with the rest in a bit,” Crab had thought. As he gazed at an alleyway, he spotted a manticore with a wide-eyed gaze holding back a hellhound that seemed eager to fight.

He was right.

Fighting, grabbing, crushing and slashing his way through several waves of unwanted suitors and raiders, Crab had reached the gate he was aiming for, the southern most gate that lead to more order territory, successfully carving his way to freedom. Surprisingly, once he exited the city, Crab found himself  alone in a more peaceful environment not littered with conflict. All at once, he realized, “The entirety of the invasion must be inside already.” He wiped his saber clean on the grass and jogged away from the city.

Crab estimated that he had been awake since two AM and had been walking for about three hours, the sun showing hints of rising on the horizon. Finishing his snack, he hauled his pack to his back and began walking again. Wiping his brow, he noticed that the air had began to heat up with humidity, already changing into a demon realm. He resolved that he would come back later for his savings and hoped to save what other items that he could save from pillaging. As he walked, Crab made a glance into the sky and thought he saw a few figures flying towards Van Rourke, one of them seemed almost ball shaped. Looking back towards the road, Crab cleared his throat and seemed to start walking faster. Once more he looked to the sky before beginning to jog. Then he started to run.


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A day later…

	The demon moaned as she adjusted herself on the bed she had laid upon for the past few hours, holding the bag of ice to her still aching head. Bandages covered the left side of her face where the Crab’s gauntlet had broken the skin; lucky for her, it was superficial damage and would heal quickly. What wouldn’t heal quickly would be the blow the knock out had done to her pride as a demon general. After all, it should have been a rudimentary invasion and nothing more.

	All she had to do was find whoever had the most spirit energy in the city and convince them to give themselves over to her contract and the invasion would have been completely flawless. It was already easy enough considering that a handful of the guards had practically opened the door and beckoned her army inside. Hell, it would have been even easier if she wasn’t unconscious for most of the fighting.

The conquest would have made her name the talk of her fellow lieutenants, and even the talk of the Demon Lord’s own generals. She could have already heard them saying “Did you hear about that Roxland lady? She managed to conquer Van Rourke in a single night!” or, “Did you hear about the stud Melissa picked up from Van Rourke? I’ve never seen a man with quite so much spirit energy sloughing off of him!”

	Of course she had to find that her prize happened to be no other than a horrible beast of a man who greeted her with a concussion. Not only did he wound her pride, he had made a gash in her force and left a bloodied stain on the future history of the battle. Twenty-eight total victims to his violence, only sixteen were wounded from being knocked aside, hit by an errant slash, or bashed unconscious by his claw; one unlucky incubus was nearly dead after getting his skull cracked open by the spike of the Crab’s pommel. Twelve others were unlucky and lost their lives, some of them too dismembered to grant an open casket. The thought of seeing the aftermath sent a shiver through the demon’s body, quickly followed by a hand to the temple to quell the still aching migraine. The soldiers were already calling the incident the “Massacre of the Southern Gate.”

She sank deeper into the bed and groaned in frustration and pain, still holding the ice to her skull; she was not looking forward to the administrative work that would surely compound her current stress.

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	The man, built like an oaken door, fell backward, bouncing off one of pub’s many tables before leaning forward and collapsing, unconscious and with a swollen lip. The crowd cheered on as the third man in a row had gotten the shit and confidence kicked out of them. The culprit was a thin yet toned man who walked in wearing a strange looking helmet, claw, and blade. Crab raised his hand and egged the crowd on to cheer for him, and waved both of his arms to goad another man into a fight. He watched as a fight overseer nodded at him and dropped another sack of gold alongside his duffel and mug of mead on his table. He walked over, took a sip of the mug and counted the gold in the bag before chucking it into the duffel. He took another long sip of his mead before heading back into the ring where another brawny faced man awaited him, fresh faced and full of vigor.

	“Just a few more before I go to sleep for the night boys! But by all means bet all the gold you want! I don’t mind!” He had shouted.
Crab wasn’t fighting just for fun however; as it stood tomorrow morning he had to clear out a bandit fort and claim the bounty on their heads.

	He needed all the gold he could get his hands on. Fast.

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One week later…

	The black-clothed Melissa sighed as she stepped into her home, rubbing her temple as she flopped onto the couch that still remained from the previous owner. The home was a plain, two-story, building surrounded on all but one side by other structures, the only ways in or out the front door and windows. The living room was barren, with only a couch and spare armchair that had matching colors of light green cushions, and a moderately stocked bookshelf filled mostly with encyclopedias of mostly mamono and order related topics. A simple kitchen was tucked past the living room and a staircase, with only a table for dining, a counter for food preparation, a meat hook where a slab of venison hung, and a fireplace for cooking. The demon laid on the couch for a minute longer before groaning loudly to herself, pushing off the couch and forcing herself upstairs to her desk and paperwork.

	Upstairs, Melissa greeted the same empty room she had grown accustomed to for the past week. The bed was placed opposite of the door and parallel to the front windows, a painting hanging it like a store sign advertising what lay inside. Near the windows was a desk that Melissa had commissioned for her work as ruler, and was even now cluttered with various documents of various topics. The wall opposite was empty, save the chimney’s stones and a dresser with the same color as the rest of the furniture.

	Melissa removed her black cloak and flung it onto the bed, drifting to the stone section of the chimney before leaning against it. Earlier that morning she had attended the funeral services of those who had died during the invasion and forced herself to give a speech in the honor of the fallen. Shamefully, the only casualties were those from the “Southern Gate” incident. Even a week later she couldn’t bear to look at the caskets for very long. It had felt like a hole was slowly tearing itself open in her chest due to the shame. Now, home and in private, it felt like it was tearing itself apart for a different emotion.

	Her black-gloved hand began to clench into a fist, growing ever tighter as a scowl began to spread across her face until even her jaw was shaking with tension. Melissa couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened a week earlier and the frustration was taking its toll. All at once, she raised her fist and slammed it against the stone, breaking it to pieces and shouting in pure anger, “WHY?! WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE ME THAT HAD TO GET DUMPED WITH HAVING TO DEAL WITH HIM OF ALL PEOPLE?!!”

	She stomped to her desk and began to grip the edges, cracking them slightly as her grip tightened. “Of all fucking people,” she continued, hyperventilating the whole while, “of all the fucking heroes in the world, WHY did I wind up finding the one that was an honest-to-the-lord monster?!” Tears of frustration fell one by one as her tirade continued. “This conquest was supposed to be perfect! It was supposed to earn me recognition, fame, maybe even a husband that the others would ogle at! Instead all it has brought me was nothing but a damn tragedy in my name!”

	Melissa pushed herself off her desk and threw her body onto the bed, attempting to control her breath. She buried her face into the pillow, nuzzling the ball of comfort to calm herself down from her outburst. Her wings and tail remained close to her body, subdued by the emotions of anxiety that the paperwork and memories had brought her. Melissa brought her unwounded hands in front of her face,  . She shifted her gaze throughout the room, wondering if this was all her planning and effort had wound up earning her.

	Her gaze nearly returned to her fluffy blindfold when it caught on a gleaming light from the smashed stone chimney. She sat herself up in the bed, still looking towards the glow….

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	“This sucks,” Crab found himself mumbling in frustration as he studied his map and kept tally of the gold he still had in his head. He had finally gotten the cologne he needed to cover his scent  and was now planning his trip in the local inn. He still needed a repelling seal from an Order church that had them and needed a bottomless gold sack that he could load his stash into from a magic user. The closest church big enough to stock that kind of seal was a day’s travel, and from there a rumor of a wizard that could give him the bag was a few days further away. Of course, there was no telling how much the wizard would charge, if he was willing to give away a bag or even had the means to create it.

	Crab lay the local map on the table and rubbed his head, leaning back in his chair as he took a swig of ale into his gullet. It was becoming harder and harder to justify the effort of going back to Van Rourke versus just starting over from scratch; and every time his own ego would shout at him.

“Are you really going to let your career’s worth of savings just go down the drain, despite working for two years to amass it?”
“What happened to the man that escaped dark elf slavery just to kill the priest that had a mob nearly beat him to death?”
“What happened to the man who reclaimed his belongings and blade right after that?”
“Are you really going to let yourself be emasculated and humiliated like this?”

Crab let a guttural sigh of frustration loose and finished his ale, packing up his map and hauling his belongings to his room. Within he dropped his bag into a corner and locked the door, afterwards going to the bed. His claw and blade rested within reach of where he was sleeping.

	Crab stared at the ceiling for a few moments longer before finally uttering, “Damn straight I’m going back to get what belongs to me.” turning to his side and falling asleep.

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One week later…

	Melissa couldn’t sleep, not even on the bed that she felt was the best thing the previous owner had acquired. Not even sniffing the cover’s scent could lull her back to sleep with the illusion of a husband. She couldn’t stop thinking about the bastard from two weeks ago that had managed to beat her, she hadn’t even known his name besides the nickname from his appendage! Melissa needed to learn more about him; she felt it was the only way to come to terms with what happened.

	She was already walking down the stone brick street to the guard captain Tobias’s watch tower in the trade district. “Surely,” Roxland thought, “Tobias will have some sort of records as to what the name was of the owner of the Crab’s house. That I can use to name my thorn of two weeks.”

The sky was a deep crimson red, with a few scattered clouds an even deeper shade. The bright red sun shone dully and provided barely a candle worth of light, the land was in a dusky darkness and only somewhat brighter when the moon of the same color dominated the sky. Van Rourke, and the lands surrounding it, were now fully a demon realm. Moaning could be heard in the street, albeit muffled by the walls of the buildings they were contained in. Roxland had made perfectly clear that she would not tolerate lovemaking, consensual or otherwise, taking place in the streets, not with the merchants the city attracted.

Most of the buildings were made of wooden planks, supported on foundations and bases of cobblestone and were often similar the Crab’s home, squarish and two stories high.When she had tried earlier to ask old townsfolk about him, Roxland was met with either passive aggressiveness or complete ignorance of his identity.  “No wonder he chose this place, he wouldn’t stand out from any of the crowds of normal people” she had thought in the weeks prior to tonight.

Melissa’s bare feet barely made a sound against the stone walk way as she walked down the street, unworried of anyone observing her in her night wear. Her feet soon brought her to the empty market square where Tobias’s guard tower stood, opposite of it a bar where the cheering was growing rapturous. Melissa scoffed at the uproar and began calling out, “Tobias? Tobias! I need your help with something” toward the tower’s window. She listened for a while to no response, and called out once again, again receiving no response. Still looking upwards, Melissa let out a hum and pushed open the door to the tower, finding it unlocked. “Maybe he’s off patrolling somewhere….” she had thought.

She stepped into an upward spiraling staircase that lead to a solitary room at the top of the tower. The room littered with various empty alchemical bottles that lay strewn across the floor, reeking fumes into the room. The only other objects in the room was a bed, dresser, and bookshelf all covered in the same . The room stank of strong chemical smell from the various potions’ remaining fumes that permeated the air.

Melissa stuck her nose up at the squalor and carefully stepped over to the bookshelf, beginning her search for clues about the Crab. She rifled through various logs of activities that took place around the city, from guard reports to guard schedules and incidences that had taken place yet still could not find a registry of property. Melissa had noticed that each document was signed by a Captain Louis Marshall, whom she recognized as the old captain, still in the Pillory despite all the time that had passed. Finally, she found a thick leather bound book that read Van Rourke Property Registry on top of the shelf, hidden from sight.

“Yes!” Melissa thought, “Now I can read this in peace away from this stench!” storming quickly out.

She walked down the street, eyeing through the pages and logs rapidly looking for her current address. She knew that Crab would have to put down some sort of name for the ownership of his home other than his battlefield moniker. Roxland felt herself growing closer and closer to uncovering his name as the log moved towards the logs for her residence. Finally, her red-nailed finger landed on her address, and in the column to the right was a name. She waited until she was back at her home, sitting in her bed before she read it.

The log read, “162 Purice St. April 1105: Property purchased with ownership transferred to a Steel, Lorenzo.”

Melissa frowned at the name; Lorenzo Steel had to be a fake name, no one had a name that cliche. She sighed and placed the book on the ground by her bed and laid down within the covers. She had gotten no closer to finding out the Crab’s real name and only had a pseudonym to go by.

“Still….” she thought, “it at least gives me a name to your face….Lorenzo.” She sighed in relief as satisfaction began to bubble up in her chest. Melissa closed her eyes and breathed in deep, she finally had a name. She finally had a name to attach to everything, the Massacre, the house…..the scent. Finally she could attach the name to the handsome, masculine, clean shaven face that earlier had been contorted in animalistic fury. Roxland pulled the cover with one hand towards her nose and began to breathe in the smell as her other hand drifted downwards towards her nethers. “Lorenzo…..” she moaned as her fingers found purchase within the slit of her privates.

“Lorenzo!” She barely stopped herself from crying out.

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	Melissa didn’t quite know herself what fantasy she had pleasured herself with. “Probably for the better” she told herself. She bathed dizzily in the afterglow of her session, surveying the room with a small smile on her face.  Her eyes came to the portrait above the bed, studying it for the first time. The painting depicted a battle near a bridge and river on a grassy plain, the colors of white, green, and yellow each belonging to three separate factions. The factions were divided as an Order company that was under the command of the now deceased Lucian Thunderhead, dressed in white, versus the colors of what seemed like a minor mamono beastlord of green and mixed mercenary regiment of a yellow coloring. The focus of the painting seemed to lie upon Lucian, his face contorted in a scowling smile, arcs of electricity dancing all around him, as a grey jacketed man with a familiar claw and jawed helmet roared out, charging and grabbing at Lucian with the opened claw. The entire scene of violence didn’t appeal to Roxland.

“I’ll throw that out when I get the chance” She muttered. “Hell, I’ll start renovating the whole house! I’ll start replacing the furniture, I’ll start making this place better. New and better choices than what he chose,” she said aloud.

	“Except the bed,” she added, her eyes closing with drowsiness, “The bed needs to stay.”

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	Lorenzo left the mage’s hut with a large smile on his face. Finally he managed to acquire a bottomless gold sack to hold his money in. His plan had most of the equipment he needed, with the last needed ingredient of its success being a new change in clothes. He couldn’t wear his old garbs and risk recognition by scent of familiarity.

	“I’ll deal with it on the way there.” He muttered to himself.

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	The tall, lanky scout, wearing a brown jacket emblazoned with the holy symbol of the order, a simple white shirt, brown pants and cloak,  leaned backwards against the stump of a fallen tree and placed his hands behind his head. He had just eaten a full meal in front of a warm fire and was ready to relax after an entire day of trekking across the forested wilderness. He would pack up and hike to scout the demon realm known as Van Rourke tomorrow and report what he saw of the monsters and fauna there. Pulling up his cloak to help warm him for the night, he began to fall asleep, dreaming of the accolades he could get for such a dangerous mission.

“Hey stick, I need some clothes”

The scout jumped up shouting and flopped onto his back, beholding a man with a helmet with a sheet metal jaw and a wicked claw replacing his left forearm. The man simply held his claw up, watching each digit fidget slightly, before turning his gaze back to the scout. “You don’t mind if I borrow yours do ya?”

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	One week later…

	As he walked down the crimson-brown path, Lorenzo still couldn’t resist looking all around him and whistling in amazement. “This place has friggin’ changed.” he had said repeatedly ever since he had entered the demon realm. Despite seeing places like this more than several times in his career, Lorenzo still found the drastic change the fauna took with demonization. The environment justified his amazement.

	The plants, instead of healthy, natural colors and dark brown wood, were brilliantly colored in what he would call “neon” colors with gray if not pitch black bark protecting the inner parts of the trees. The grass that grew off the road was a lavish purple to match the other garish colors of the land, with a soft texture much like bed sheets. Below it, the soil was a strange, dark, rusty color that seemed barren and unable to support life, yet somehow still managed to do so. The lands around Van Rourke had been moderately cool, even in the summer, but now the air felt incredibly humid, with a rough heat accentuating the environment to seem hot and sticky as many books had described. To Lorenzo, the land was almost entirely alien now, even after observing the land during his walks in the months he had owned his old house.

	Lorenzo spit on the ground as he walked. He did not enjoy the scenery.

	Soon, the walls of Van Rourke came into view, the walkways guarded by mamono and incubi against assault with an open gate monitored a partnership of a manticore and a hellhound, idly chatting time away. Lorenzo remained far out of sight and strayed off the path where he began his preparations near a hollow tree. He changed his clothes into the set that the Order scout had so graciously donated and pinned the repelling seal to the white shirt and hid it with a brown jacket, the Order’s shoulder insignias crossed out or ripped. Next, Crab took the flower cologne and spritzed it all over his body to hide his scent from beastmen mamono that could have remembered it. Finally, he stored all of his possessions, save the bottomless gold sack, within his duffel and hid it within the hollow slot of the tree. Breathing deeply, Lorenzo prayed that no one would recognize him and stepped out onto the road and towards the city.

	As he walked past the gate, two little girls, a minotaur and a lizardman, ran past giggling and shouting each other about a game they were playing. As Lorenzo looked back at the girls, he couldn’t help but smile, he enjoyed the sight of kids having fun. He only forced himself to keep moving when he noticed the hellhound staring at him, not of lust but of genuine curiosity and confusion. Had she recognized him? As he stepped into the main plaza of the city, he looked around at the commotion all around.

	The plaza, the essential market of the area, was packed to the shoulders with mamono, incubi, and human traders all peddling their wares and ogling the merchandise amongst many separate booths.  The walls of the plaza consisted of various shops of different names and products, with the largest being a pub that Lorenzo had frequented. Another shop caught Lorenzo’s eye, a new sweet shop that specialized in prisoner fruit sweets had opened...Lorenzo could feel the rest of his teeth agreeing with his sweet tooth to stop by for just A sweet. Trying to shift his gaze away, he spotted a man imprisoned in wooden stocks covered by a drape with a sign reading, “Free Husband!” in a bright pink coloring. Lorenzo recognized the man as the old guard captain, a relatively calm man who went only by Marshall. Lorenzo found himself questioning why Marshall was still undergoing the “Pillory” punishment still after all this time.

	Lorenzo noticed that many of the mamono in the crowd were starting to stare at him, undressing him with their eyes. He thrust his hands into his pockets, fondling the brass knuckles he had smartly taken with him for confidence. Lorenzo looked back to the sweet shop and grinded his teeth. He needed to take some of the edge off.

	“Ahhh fuck it, I need to deal with my sweet tooth.” He swore to himself. Lorenzo walked towards the door of the shop and heartily threw it open, “Ohh”ing at the various options he had in front of him.

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	“Roxland? Roxland!” Tobias had shouted in Roxland’s ear for attention. She shifted her gaze away from the tower’s sole window and her distraction in the street.

	“Hmm eh? What? Oh.” She exclaimed, “Sorry Tobias, but… I thought I saw a sort of gleam in the street just now.” She looked towards the new captain Tobias, an incubus that was taller than her with larger horns that curled like a rams and a stern look of constant annoyance. His hair was directed to one side of his head in a princely manner, joined with a scruffy face that hid his pale skin. He scoffed at her attention span, breathing out in an irritated fashion.

	“Look,” Tobias barked in irritation “I just want you to give me a good reason on why I should clean up my tower up here when A, no one else ever comes up here, and B, I’ve been able to do my job just as efficiently as the asshole before me!” Roxland adjusted herself along the window sill so she still looked over to the sweet shop below.

	“Because Tobias, if anyone WERE to come up here it would reflect badly on me as administrator for appointing you AND from what I had heard from rumors was that you enjoy sticking around in that damnable bar more often than writing down logs like the old captain had done.” Tobias growled in frustration, he realized that she was right in her suspicions. He had only gotten the promotion because he had let this bitch and her army in, betraying every single bastard in the city that had dared talked down to him. Here he was now, still taking orders from this blueberry-skinned cunt that was berating him for living like he liked to. The worst part still was that the cunt now had him by the balls in terms of authority and he couldn’t do anything about it.

	“Y’know,” she continued, “I’m half tempted to reinstate that old captain in the plaza...maybe he’d like his old job back without a growl.” Tobias could sense her smiling despite her facing away from him. “Honestly you could be mor- IT’S HIM!” Roxland gasped mid sentence and leaned further towards the window sill. Tobias’s eyes perked up at the word “him.”

	“You mean…” he started.

	“YES! HIM!” Roxland finished as she pointed out onto the street. Exiting from the sweet shop was a man in a ruined and defiled Order garb composed of a white tunic, brown vest and dark brown pants, eating a prisoner fruit candy bar as he began to walk elsewhere. Tobias realized that Roxland wasn’t kidding about the gleam, the man seemed to emanate a light, golden flame from his shoulders and head that trailed into the air before disappearing. Both watched as the man snaked through the crowd holding his sweet treasure away from mamono that tried to grope at him or his prize as he walked deeper into the town.

	Finally, Roxland turned to Tobias, wide-eyed and in shock, commanding, “Tobias, I need that minotaur, pigman, and drider guards that you have on duty to follow me. NOW.”

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Lorenzo happily munched on his sweet as he dodged away from the plaza gropers and finally started down a quieter stone brick street that lead to his old home. He idly looked around at the buildings and saw they were still much the same, save for the addition of occasional bounty posters. The posters were brown parchment that depicted his helmet with a closed visor and read in black lettering,

“WANTED. LORENZO STEEL. KNOWN ALIAS: THE CRAB, CRAB. REWARD IF BROUGHT IN DEAD OR ALIVE.”

Lorenzo couldn’t help but chuckle as he stuffed another bite of candy into his mouth. The fake alias was working as intended. Now he could use his real name and not arouse suspicion.

Soon, his home on Purice Street finally showed itself as he walked down the particularly empty street. “I knew there was a reason I picked this house,” Lorenzo remarked to himself. He stopped in front of the house and stood before a black, wooden door that had replaced the old one. He extended his fist and tapped smartly on the door, before looking into the windows trying to find any residents. He looked around the street before roughly banging on the door looking for a response.

Acknowledging the absence of witnesses, Lorenzo tossed away what remained of his candy and planted his right leg behind his body and braced his left in front of him. Suddenly, he brought his leg upwards and slammed the foot near the door knob and lock of the door, knocking the door off the hinges. He quickly grabbed at the door before it could impact on the ground, swearing under his breath the whole while. The kick wasn’t meant to completely dislodge the door. Cautiously, he walked inside and leaned the door against the frame hoping to deflect that any burgling was taking place. Turning back towards the inside, he whistled as it seemed even his own home wasn’t spared of change.

The living room was filled with replacements and new additions of furniture of a couch, dining table, bookshelf, and a variety of different sized chairs, all made of the same black wood with purple velvet acting as cushioning. The kitchen’s furniture was merely replaced with black wood save the meathook, which was replaced with something different, an object that was present on all the new furniture. Black iron chains with manacles dangled down from the hook’s old position, and decorated every other piece of furniture,  allowing a person to be chained up in whatever position someone needed them in.

Lorenzo nearly gagged on the implications, thinking, “Whoever lives here now is clearly a control freak….I hope I don’t have to meet them.”

Lorenzo briefly shoved his old mamono and Order written encyclopedias, and a bible of the Fallen God,  from the bookshelf into his sack. Books stored away, he advanced up the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to his old bedroom. The room was vastly different from his occupancy, and was filled with various devices that, like the manacles, served only to restrict movement to near nothingness. A black, wooden desk decorated with paperwork hinted to Lorenzo that whoever lived here was of some importance in some matter. Strangely, his old bed remained, albeit with the addition of yet more chains. Lorenzo’s eye twitched when he saw his portrait had been replaced with some other portrait of many couples copulating in an open field, the women with wings and dark blue skin wearing togas. The old piece was made specifically for him by a succubus artist after the battle had taken place. He still remembered the painter’s name to this day; Mari, “an ‘i’ replacing the ‘y’” she told him. Not caring for observing the devices any longer, Lorenzo walked towards the section of the wall made of stone bricks with a smile on his face.

He began to remove the stones from the wall, tossing them out of the way or pushing them further inside. His stash was here, a hollowed chimney on a platform that blocked actual use, but was useful for hiding his gold from possible burglaries. Now the purpose was twisted upside down, as the hiding place now guarded the gold from the home owners for the burglar! Thrusting aside the blocks of stone, Lorenzo began to stare longingly into the hole, eager to see how much remained. What he saw shocked him.

The stash contained much more gold than what he ever recalled storing, let alone earning. It had seemed that whoever lived here had found the stash and decided to use it to hide their own fortunes as well. For Lorenzo, he was not about to let on-the-minute morals get in the way of reclamation or profit.

Quietly whistling, Lorenzo began to sweep the gold with one hand into his gold sack with reckless abandon. “Well, whoever lives here clearly earns enough to not only keep themselves, but to buy all these goodies to fuck with too,” he had thought, “they’ll be juuuust fine if I take everything.” Hurriedly shifting blocks left or right within the stash, he took everything golden that he could see. Just as the last of the gold entered his sack, a sudden voice shocked his body in a mixture of surprise and utter fear.

“Well, well, aren’t you a greedy one? Trying to steal everything you can get your claw on!”

Keeping his right hand in the stash and the bag by his hip, Lorenzo slowly turned his head left to gaze at the oh-so familiar voice, all the while feeling like a child with one hand in the cookie jar and crumbs falling from his mouth. Turning to face his confronter, Lorenzo’s eyes widened as his fear for the worst possible result came true.

There, leaning on the door frame, a smug grin plastered across her face, was none other but the door-ripping demon he had punched out three weeks prior. An awkward silence fell upon the room as the two kept staring at each other, sizing the other up and finding what possible weaknesses they could. Lorenzo quickly shifted his gaze up and down his quarry’s body, pausing only briefly at the chest and thigh areas.

Noticing his wandering eyes, the demon leaned heavily on the door frame, lodging it between her breasts and thrusting out her hips to the side. Lorenzo averted his eyes to look back inside the hideaway, making sure no gold remained and noticing at least one stone block had remained inside. Sucking up the awkwardness of the situation, Lorenzo returned his eyes outward towards his quarry to finish his examinations.

The demon wore a dark brown corset, laced with dark-green string that served to accentuate her already impressive chest, barely covered by a lacy, white button-up shirt and a light, blood-red, jacket that, by Lorenzo’s guess, concealed most if not all of the runes that may have adorned her body. Tight, forest-green pants showed off her hourglass thighs and squeezable backside and ended under a pair of knee high boots. As he remembered, the demon’s extraordinary skin was a blueberry blue, with pitch-black batwings and spade tail that erupted from her back side. Her raven hair flowed straight down her head, parted only by two jagged, onyx horns that jutted forward imposingly. With the culmination of all these traits, a woman who reeked of femininity and lust stood in front of Lorenzo, tempting him from mere presence. He solemnly reminded himself he was waiting to retire from fighting before pursuing romantic and sexual satisfaction.

The demon broke the ice first.

“So,” she started, waving her hand around the room, “do you like what I’ve done with the place?”

Lorenzo slowly began to regain his composure, sliding his left hand away from his hip and into his pocket. “Well, as a matter of fact, I think it’s completely god awful, miss……” dragging on his words waiting for an answer.

“Roxland. Melissa Roxland Mister Lo~ren~zo Steel~.” She dragged out the syllables of Lorenzo, twisting a knife in his metaphorical gut. Lorenzo himself couldn’t help but to chuckle softly, beginning to lean his arm deeper into the stash. She still had not known his true name.

“Roxland. Hm. Well Miss Roxland,” he continued on looking downwards and then back up, “the horrid design and bad choice in furniture is made even worse with my old, sentimental, Thunderous Battle of the River Bridge being replaced instead with smut of some, incoherent design.”

Roxland continued to smile, seemingly thinking she was getting under her prey’s skin. “Ah, had you told me of that earlier I wouldn’t have thrown it out for A Night in Pandemonium Lorenzo~. Maybe if you had stayed to listen to what I had to say to you instead of just-”

“Just running off and putting a dent in your invasion?” Lorenzo suddenly burst in. He saw an errant twitch in her fingers and felt confidence start to surge in his chest. Lorenzo always loved the chance of bantering, it was always a time for him to try and get under the opponent's skin to make them act out of balance, off step, irrational. It was a mind game he had grown experienced in after years of bar fighting and normal combat. “After all,” he continued, “I get why’d you’d just throw out the painting before waiting for me. Hell, if you had embarrassed me by fucking up what I would have thought to been a slam dunk invasion, I’d be pretty pissed too!” he delivered with a smirk. “I had heard about the “Massacre of the Southern Gate” from rumors around mercenary and soldier circles in the past few weeks.” he quickly added, a grin accentuating his explanation.

Her completely smug smile was merely one of slight satisfaction now.

“Well Lorenzo,” She was no longer exaggerating the name, “you are right about feeling anger. I felt nothing BUT anger the two weeks after what you did. I couldn’t stop thinking of all the innocent people you had hurt in order to get your own way-”

“Not innocent,” Lorenzo dashed in, “I only acted in self defense, I left those who stayed away alone.”

Roxland tried to regain control of the conversation, “YOUR own way, and I had to bear witness to the repercussions-”

“As of I!” quipped Lorenzo.

“Will you let me finish?!” shouted Roxland. Lorenzo began to smile even wider at the outbursts from his constant interruptions. He also noted a look of annoyance and growing signs of anger on his adversary’s face.

“Anyways...” the demon continued, sighing heavily, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you for two weeks after that night. Every time I thought of what happened I was reminded of you, Lorenzo, and, I couldn’t explain it but, I became enraged.” Roxland paused several times, looking for words to keep her monologue going. “I couldn’t find a reason WHY I grew enraged, despite the answer of “you hit me” being the most obvious, i-i-it just wasn’t it. That wasn’t the reason I was angry about you!” Lorenzo vaguely registered that this outburst of emotion almost seemed genuine to him.

She paused for a moment, seemingly wanting a response of some sort from Lorenzo. He almost wanted to quip, “Let me guess, was it the gash I left in your force or the gash I ignored between your legs?” but bit his tongue, thinking it could accelerate things too quickly along for his tastes.

A few moments passed before she continued on again, her voice dropping slightly in pitch. “No, it wasn’t until a week ago that I finally realized why I had been so...irritable. It wasn’t about the absence you made of my troops…” she paused yet again, suddenly continuing in a husky and flirtatious voice, her red-irised eyes looking directly into his. “...It was the absence of you in my possession I was upset about.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes, muttering “Oh please.” fondling his pocketed brass knuckle and grabbing a loose brick still hidden in the stash. His position meant that his arm and hand were still hidden from sight.

“I mean it!” Roxland burst out, her face beginning to form a scowl. “I felt empty not having you in my hold here, you and your ever healthy glow of spirit energy!” Lorenzo heard from various individuals over the years that his “aura” as he called it wasn’t like anyone else they had seen before. He didn’t know what could really compare to it, he was a standout from everyone else, an anomaly of energy. “ I couldn’t stop thinking about having you here, by my side, in each other’s embrace…”

“Kinda hard to be in each other’s embrace when I’m strapped to manacles on fucking furniture don’t you think?”

Roxland chuckled, a small smile reforming. “True. But it doesn’t stop one from embracing the other…” her husky voice returned. “And on the point of “fucking furniture”, that’s the most apt name for them I’ve heard from anyone! Maybe we do have something in common Lo-ren-zo…”

“She’s just putting on a mask. She’s pissed as hell that I’m constantly shooting her down.” Lorenzo thought, gripping the brick and brass knuckle tighter and tighter within his grip. He thought to get some information before attempting his leave. “I’d like to have one more thing in common then, Roxland. Knowing how the hell this place got invaded anyways….about your “perfect plan” as it were.”

Roxland’s eyes drooped and half-lidded, her facade quickly decaying. “A few guardsmen let us in, Tobias Van Rourke amongst a few other guards to be precise….”

“That asshole?” Lorenzo quickly butted in, face frowning in response. Tobias was always the asshole of the town with a huge ego and short temper that he couldn’t back up.  The only reason he had acquired the position of guard was due to him being the king’s son, he had failed the physical and moral requirements laid out by the captain. It seemed like the only reason he did become one was to have some control over the town while he waited for his father to die of one cause or another. Rumor had it from a town whore that he only had three inches to his pecker. Everyone believed her, and when Lorenzo named him “Tobias for his britches”, Tobias started a fist fight with him and lost. Horribly.

“Yes, THAT asshole, but he’s irrelevant right now Lorenzo. All that matters now is what’s going to happen between us in this house.” Roxland was losing patience and her face showed it, before appearing tranquil as she moved off the door frame and traced a hand along one of the nearby devices. A dagger gleamed dangerously from beneath her belt as she moved. “Maybe these devices will be involved at some point as well …. Say, I still need to show you how they work.” Roxland’s smile grew bigger and bigger, her eyes dripping with promises of pain and defilement.

“No thanks. I’m not looking for a demonstration at the moment, just my gold.” Lorenzo quickly piped out, solidifying his grasp on his items.

“Oh Lorenzo~....that wasn’t an offer. It’s what’s going to happen.” Roxland began to advance sharply towards Lorenzo’s position on the wall. A mistake of breaking the impasse on her part.

Lorenzo’s hands flew out of their hiding places, one wearing a single brass knuckle as the other darted forward chucking the brick at the demon’s head. Roxland yelped in surprise as she caught the brick in both hands in front of her face as a fist flew into her unguarded right cheek, a parody of their earlier encounter. Lorenzo pushed aside Roxland and began to rush down the stairs when he witnessed a minotaur and pigman beginning their ascent into the room. Lorenzo gasped out before turning round and returning to the bedroom where he noticed Roxland still recoiling from the blow.

Lorenzo shoved past the blue-skinned obstacle and swooped down to the ground, picking up another stray brick in his hand. Spinning left, he quickly reared his arm back before hurling the brick through a window in the room charging. He could only see the brick shattering the window and impacting with a newly arrived drider’s forehead, as well as the two other guards bursting into the room as well before he lowered his shoulder and charged towards the window. Lorenzo’s body crashed through what remained of the glass and knocked the drider from the house’s outside wall, beginning their descent to the street.

The unlucky drider’s chest acted as a cushion for Lorenzo, the wind knocked out of her chest as he landed. Quickly dismounting the gasping spider, Lorenzo brushed the glass from his now aching shoulder and began to sprint down the street, The time for leaving this infernal city was now.

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	Roxland was just regaining her senses, the pigman had just placed her feet inside the room when Lorenzo had burst out through the window, yelling drider accompanying him. Both of the guards and Roxland dashed out to the street, observing the aftermath of the breakthrough. Looking eastward, the guards spotted Lorenzo still sprinting off while Roxland looked over the drider, still gasping on the glass covered ground. The minotaur began her sprint after the wanted man while the pigman, just about to follow her, was stopped by Roxland’s hand on her shoulder.

	“She’ll be fine but I want you to look after her guardsman. I’m going to warn the soldiers guarding the main gate to close it off.”

	The pigman turned around, saluting, “Yes Ma-” before stopping, noticing that nothing was behind her. Looking forward and all around, she couldn’t see where her commander was or had moved to. All that remained within the area was the drider, still trying to catch her breath, and the pigman scratching her head.

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	“Ah you gotta be fucking kidding me!” Lorenzo shouted to himself. The main gate of the city he had been running towards was already closed and guarded by mamono and incubi that held the crowd back, creating a densely packed mob of confusion. “Did they close the gate while I was burgling?! How long did Roxland know I was here?!” Lorenzo’s mind raced trying to figure out what to do. His breath was deepening, both from panic of his situation and from the exertion of running and pushing through the crowd. Looking back to where he came from, he spotted the minotaur pointing and shouting at him, now pushing her way through the crowd towards him.

	Moving still, Lorenzo began to slow his breathing, calming down to think a plan into action. “Let’s see,” he thought, “if they’ve shut this gate already, the other ones are likely to be shut as well.” That eliminated the northern gate from his mental list of exits. “Ok, what was the layout of the city, recite it and find something. Four quarters total, royal palace, residential, market where I am, field quarter which is ahead.” Lorenzo’s mind was racing, the minotaur was fighting the crowd for movement but was slowly advancing. “...Market’s already sealed off, field has an irrigation line that carries waste thro- THROUGH A SEWER TO THE OUTSIDE!” Lorenzo’s eyes brightened at the prospect, as his brow tightened and smile widened at the revelation. Snaking through the crowd, Lorenzo’s mind still raced as he verbally planned ahead.

	“Let’s see, the sewer is to the left once I reach the quarter, sealed off with a wooden door.” His eyes wandered to a stall filled with various bombs, manned by a small man of the southern sands and larger bald partner. Snaking by, Lorenzo quickly snatched a larger looking bomb and quickly pushed away amidst shouts of “Thief! Get back here!” from various on lookers. As the gate to the field quarter drew closer, Lorenzo looked back and saw the minotaur swamped in the bodies of the crowd. Noting the bomb’s medium length fuse, Lorenzo spotted a lamb and quickly climbed it, opening the case and lighting the fuse with the lamp’s candle. Jumping off, he sprinted for the sewer’s entrance, eyeing the shortening fuse with greater and greater anxiety.

	Soon, a ledge with a stairway parallel to it appeared in front of a stream ahead of Lorenzo. Stopping at the ledge and gazing leftward, he found the wooden door that he had been looking to escape through. Realizing that the bomb was about explode, Lorenzo chucked it towards the door, and dove back from the ledge for cover. A mighty boom shook the area, queuing Lorenzo to hop down the ledge, to a stone walkway below. Ahead lay a small crater and the door, now splintered to smithereens.

	Not wasting a second, Lorenzo kicked down what remained of the door and charged ahead into the canal.

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Meanwhile…

	“Come on Mrs. Guardsmen! We found it over here!” The little girls, a minotaur and lizardman, had been pulling the two gate guards off the road at the same frantic pace as when they ran up to them. The hellhound was annoyed by the constant pulling, she wanted nothing more but to pounce ahead and find whatever it was the girls had found. Looking over to her manticore friend, she seemed more entertained and found this hunt as a fun, little, lark.

	“What’d you find? Was it interesting?” she had been calling out, laughing as the minotaur tried her best to pull her practically over her head.

	“Sharon,” the hound started, “do you really think what we’re going to find is going to be worth the risk of being caught away from duty by Roxland or Tobias?” The manticore looked over to her comrade, just barely able to keep balance over the little minotaur’s sizeable strength.

	“Yes I do Cass! Even if we don’t find anything much, Roxland is the kind of person that would giggle at two guards seeing to the concerns of children and allow them to carry on!”

	“And Tobias?” Cass questioned.

	“Look, I’m willing to bet even Tobias has just enough of a heart to laugh at the stuff kids pull!”

	Cass scoffed at the thought. Tobias wasn’t called “hotheaded” and “king asshole” or even “Tobias for his britches” by the guards for nothing. “Yeah, if we get caught, you can-” Cass stopped, sniffing the air for a familiar smell that wafted to her on the breeze. Sharon was doing the same. The smell sent Cass’s hairs on end, and created goosebumps all over her body. Sharon looked over to Cass with a look of worry plastered to her face.

	“Do you smell that Cass?” She asked.

	Cass’s voice dropped slightly, taking a hushed demeanor. “Yeah, I fucking do.”

	Sharon’s ears dropped at both the smell and the curse word. “Children!” she exclaimed, earning a shush from Cass and a pull from the girls ever onward. Finally, they came to a tree that had a hollowed out base along with a brown, cylindrical bag hidden within. Sniffing the area, the old familiar scent originated directly from the bag.

	The same dangerous scent from three weeks ago.

	The two partners pulled at the bag while the girls watched, pulling it out from its hiding place. Stuffing the bag begin between them, Cass and Sharon began undoing the outside knots that closed the bag to peek inside. Within they found various oddities of clothes and armaments that somehow managed to fit in the bag, despite its size.. The largest and most eye-grabbing object within was a red painted claw with three blades extending from its base.

	The duo looked up towards each other, eyes wide and mouths agape as Cass began to smile wide, her fangs gleaming brightly.

	The lizardgirl slowly approached, her claws clumped together and face expressing worry. “I-is everything alright Mrs. Guardswoman?” she inquired. Both of the guards began to look to their direction to deliver a response.

	Cass beat Sharon to the reassurance. “Yeah, yeah kids, everythings fine. Fine now that you showed us little discovery of yours. Go run along and play a bit, we’ll take care of this…” As the children ran off, the two guards turned back to their discovery once again before looking each other, one reflecting worry, the other smiling outwardly with ambition, the flames from her eyes burning brightly.

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Forty-five minutes later…

	It took Lorenzo nearly an hour to find the exit to the world outside of Van Rourke, he almost felt sad leaving the relative coolness of the sewers for the humid heat outside. Wandering around, he looked for the gate he originally entered through to gather his bearings, discovering he had exited the far left wall of the city. Walking behind the treeline, he stalked back to where he hid his duffel bag, eager to leave this infernal place. He stopped only once to investigate a burning sensation on his chest, discovering that the seal had been glowing hot the entire time, heating up to higher and higher temperatures. Lorenzo recalled rumors that repelling seals, once they were around incredibly thick concentrations of demonic energy, were as hot as an iron or, in the most extreme cases, exploded violently. Sticking the seal within his loot bag, he continued his walk towards his weapon stash in the woods.

 When he arrived, he sucked in his breath as his eyes widened in horror by his new predicament.

	His bag was gone. All that remained was a message, carved into the tree with a knife, probably his own, that read, “BAR TONITE DONT KEEP US WAITING” along with a caricature of a smiling face. Lorenzo had to go back to the city to retrieve what was rightfully his. Again.

	Lorenzo’s breath deepened and grew rapid, his arm grabbed a low branch in an attempt for stability. “What the hell kind of bad luck is this?!” he thought to himself. “What the fuck kinda luck is this?!!?” He shouted to himself. Lorenzo’s eyes scrunched somewhat closed, his breath slowing, his grip growing tighter on the branch. He needed to get what earned him money back. Snapping the branch as his pulled his arm back, he began turning his body back to the direction of the sewers. He WAS going to get what made him his fortune back.

	“Damned be the consequences or what I have to deal with.” he swore to the air.

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An hour later....

	Lorenzo emerged from the sewers after wandering the tunnels and subsequently waiting for search parties to die down from the initial chase. Walking up the staircase and heading for the plaza bar, he placed his left hand into his pocket and began a brisk pace for his destination. “Just let this day be over at some point.” he thought sourly. The day’s events were quickly wearing his patience.

	As Lorenzo passed by an alley, a dark-skinned hand of the southern sands clamped down on his shoulder and twirled him into an alley. Before he could react, Lorenzo found himself in the chokehold of a man with logs for arms in front of a much smaller and stouter man, with the same dark skin and wearing a turban and robes, a goatee decorating his face. The man chuckled as Lorenzo struggled within the body guard’s grip and smiled at his acquisition. He opened his stance and put out his arms, greeting Lorenzo in a accented, broken english.

	“Hello my, swift, red-handed friend! My luck, that, you would be coming out of shit tunnel, in front of me! And friend here!” He waved at his friend, who tightened his grip in response, Lorenzo sensing that he was smiling just above his head. The turbaned man continued, “You steal, item from inventory. You use it, with no paying. You dare comeback?” He chuckled again, Lorenzo glaring at him and moving his hand to his pocket for his knuckleduster. The man finished chuckling and, looking Lorenzo in the eye, said with a smile, “You may be as much a monster as Danuki, but you not as clever as them!”

	Mentally, Lorenzo completely lost control.

	The merchant backed off in surprise, as Lorenzo thrust his fist into the burly man’s face, smashing it with a brass knuckle’d fist, escaping his grasp. He smashed his fist into the man’s stomach, then upwards to his face again as he bent down. The man fell heavily against the wall before slumping down against it. Drawing a dagger, the merchant stabbed at Lorenzo, only to get the knife slapped away with one hand, and smacked in the side of the head with the other. Falling down to the ground, the merchant looked upwards and saw Lorenzo’s eyes wide-eyed and feral; no other emotion than blistering rage existed. Clutching the side of his head, the merchant began crawling closer towards the alley’s back wall, cornering himself. Lorenzo looked over to the bodyguard’s rock-still body, before glaring straight at the merchant.

	He advanced with furious purpose, grabbing the man by the collar when he got close and raising his closed fist as the man tried to shield his head with his arms.

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Two minutes later....

	Lorenzo leaned against the wall, breathing hard from moving the still unconscious bodyguard’s body next to the merchant’s behind a pile of rubbish. He rolled up his right sleeve all the way to the elbow, seeking to cover the blood from the man’s head from sight. Looking over, he saw that, while what remained of the merchant’s head was still splattered against the wall from his rage, it was invisible from the mouth of the alley. Cleaning off his brass knuckle and face with the man’s turban, he threw it near the two bodies before stuffing his left hand inside his pocket.

	Walking outward, Lorenzo began thinking to himself about what he’d done. “Christ, I haven’t been that pissed for a long time.” He continued, “Good to know I still need to work on my temper.” He paused and looked up towards the sky, mulling over what he just said. “But I DID just vent out all of my frustrations for today….” He slowly began walking again, a smile growing.

	“And it DID just get me out of a heap of trouble.” Taking a deep breath, he looked up towards the sky, finally relaxed despite all the stress.

	Finally, the main plaza reappeared, less crowded but still bustling with activity. Lorenzo found it easier to move than earlier and spotted the now brained merchant’s stall empty, with the goods still on display. Almost as an afterthought, he slid another bomb into his loot bag when no one was looking. Moving away, he began to walk towards the bar, eyeing the guard captain’s tower for anyone at the window this time. Thankfully it was empty.

	The front of the bar was much like the rest of the homes in the quarter, wooden walls supported by a cobblestone foundation with two windows decorating the front’s lower floors and three more on a second floor. The sides of the bar were surrounded by alleyways, some of the few in the city. A heavy oaken door reinforced with steel was the only way inside save the windows.

	Pushing the door open, Lorenzo stepped into a room sprawled with tables full of beer, drink, and customers laughing and joking with each other. The air’s heat and humidity was thicker than even outside, making sweat pool under Lorenzo’s armpits and on his back. Thumping from the second floor could just barely be heard over the uproar of the patrons around the tables and bar. At the back, accompanied with shelves full of liquor, was a bar with stools manned by a pot belly incubus with shaggy brown hair, medium sized horns, a white shirt and apron, and brown pants with a spade tail protruding from a hole cut in it. To the left of the bar, a stairway to the second floor and a small enclave for fistfights resided, cheers emerging from the hole.

	Walking to the bar, Lorenzo again felt eyes staring at him from the mamono patrons, wondering what an uncorrupted and seemingly single man was doing in this place. Hand still in his pocket, Lorenzo took a seat at the bar, looking to the empty seats around him. Lorenzo noticed that, by habit, he had chosen the stool that he always sat at when he would spend the nights drinking and fighting away. The incubus raised a finger at him as he set down a bottle onto the shelf before turning his to greet him.

	“Hey there mate, what can I get-” He stopped, face lighting up in surprise. Before he could continue, Lorenzo cut in.

	“Hey Rick. Long time no see.” Lorenzo began to lean into the bar, eager for a resting place. “Give me the usual mead with extra honey.”

	The incubus started reaching for a mug while replying, “Uhm, good to, uh, see ya Finch, it's been….about three weeks?” Lorenzo smirked, despite knowing his real name and possible reward for being able to tell Roxland, Rick had kept it a secret. Unsurprising, considering that Rick was still the only person in the city who knew that Finch was the Crab, a secret he had divulged while drunk one late night. He really was his best friend while he was here.

	Rick set the filled mug down and began dribbling a thin stream of honey as silence permeated between the two men. “You really shoulda stayed Finch, coulda helped defend the city.”

	“I know I could’ve Rick, but it wouldn’t have been much considering that dark matter would have arrived within god knew how long. Would have wound up corrupted anyways.”

	Rick set down the drink in front of Finch, who began gulping it down, sating his thirst. “There still coulda been a chance man, lot of people took it badly when it happened. Me included.” Finch slammed down his drink back onto the counter and tiredly scowled at Rick.

	“Oh don’t give me that Rick! I know people would be saddened but I know for a FACT you’ve been enjoying it to some degree.”

	Putting his hands on his hips, Rick raised an eyebrow at Finch, demanding,“Really? Tell me how.”

	Pointing at his various parts, Finch started, “Well at first glance your horns and tail are of a medium size, about the length and thickness of a wrist and hand, and about forearm length respectively, which tells me that you are moderately corrupted. Thus, that means you’ve been indulging in desire with no remorse to some extent.” Raised brows from Rick told Finch that he was right in his summation of his situation. He’d probably been dating around but hasn’t found anyone yet,

	“Wow, uhm, what uh, what else do you know about,” He twirled his finger at his horns, “this?”

	Taking a sip of his drink, Finch answered, “Incubization, along with some instinctual changes, includes physical transformation and abilities such as increased strength, magic sensitivity, libido, and genital gargantuation that further increases the further you fall.”

	Rick whistled at the response. “Annd. And you know this…”

	“Incubus section of Order’s Spirit Indomitable handbook. You can look in it yourself I got it right in my loot-”

	“No no. I’m fine. You got me.”

	Finch nodded, humming as he stared at the incubus. “That’s what I thought.” mumbled. He looked around, hoping that somehow that his duffel would magically appear. Silence, or what passed for silence in the loud environment, grew between the two old acquaintances.

	“People WERE upset about your disappearance though. And they were REALLY pissed that someone like you could “be so much of a coward” in their words.” Finch hummed in response. To any veteran of battle, being called a coward simply meant being smart enough to avoid suicidal odds. Finch did find a loop in his own reasoning, however, with his paranoia to the effectiveness of repelling seals. Despite the assurances of many that they didn’t “burn out,” Finch still bought replacements every time he reentered a demon realm. He just couldn’t explain why he still held onto them in his pack. He leaned somewhat into the bar, questioning his own, unrelated reasoning from cowardice.

	“So,” Rick started, “what’s the confusing thing with a minotaur in a couple?”

	“I don’t know, what is it?” Finch asked.

	Rick started to smile.“You can never tell who’s going to be blowing who’s horn!” Finch chuckled into mug as he sipped the last of his drink. He hadn’t heard that one for a while.

	“Hey Rick.”

	“Yeah?”

	“What’d the bicorn’s husband say to her when he saw a cute woman?”

	Snickering, Rick asked, “What did he say?”

	“He said, ‘Please ma’am may I have another!’” earned a hearty guffaw from Rick, Finch smiling at his own joke.

	Filling up another mug with mead and honey, Rick continued, trying to get his laughing under control.“I see you have new ones Finch, Here’s one I picked up. What did the danuki say to the little boy?”

	“Oh man, what did she say?”

	“She said,” Rick mimicked a shifty character, holding his hand up as a sound barrier, “ she said, ‘Hey kid, wanna buy some candy?’” Earning almost hysterical laughter from both Finch and himself. Looking around, coughing from the excitement, Finch saw more than several patrons staring, some he recognized as old regulars at the bar.

“Truly,” he thought looking back to his old friend behind the bar, “I am right back home.”

	While Finch quenched his coughing with a renewed mug of honey mead, Rick leaned into the bar, getting his breath back in control. “Anyways,” Rick started, “what are you doing back here Finch? Why would ya want to come back to this ol’ dump?” Sighing heavily, Finch cleared his throat and told him all that had happened that day from meeting Roxland to his bag being stolen. “Man, that's harsh.” was the only response Rick could seemingly muster.

	“Yeah man, now all I’m doing is sitting here waiting for who-the-fuck-ever to show up with my stuff.” Finch took a sip before setting his mug down and his eyebrows up in curiosity. “Ay Rick, why’s Marshall still doing the Pillory punishment? I thought that only lasted a day or two at MOST.” Rick shook his head in pity, and exhaled before telling Finch.

	“Captain Marshall’s still doing it because A. he fought the hardest the night it all happened, and B. He still hasn’t found anyone to be his wife.” Before Finch could ask, Rick continued. “The reason he can’t find anyone is...well,” he leaned in close to whisper, “he’s apparently really, really, REALLY aggressive in bed. So aggressive, that timid monsters are terrified of him and tougher monsters get in actual fights rather than fucking him, so they dump ‘em to the curb, unfucked!”

	Finch whistled at the response. No wonder Marshall was always single when he was in charge of the guard. “What do you make of Tobias then? Anything with him?”

	Rick raised an annoyed brow and began, “Tobias has been coming in here every night and whipping most of the people in he-” before he was cut off by a body flying out of the enclave to the left. Drawing everyone’s gaze, they saw it was a scarred lamia with a black eye who’s head spun on the floor as cheers of “Imzi! Imzi! Imzi!” broke from the corner. Finch and Rick looked back at each other, Finch still wide-eyed at the feat of launching a lamia, one of the heavier mamono races. “Erm,” Rick started again, “he beats most people here, save that Imzi oni broad over there, she’s been top for a few days now. Says she’s traveling to show the world she’s the best but I digress. Rumor’s been going around that Tobias’s juicing up with potions or something, just don’t know where he gets them.”

	Finch scoffed as Rick finished his explanation. “Of course Tobias would do something like that, bar fighting was always Tobias for his britches,” earning a chuckle from the incubus.

	“He still hates that line y’know. Gets real violent over it.”

	Finch’s eyebrow raised in amusement at the revelation and just asked, “Really?” as the door to the bar opened again with two new patrons holding a duffel bag walking in.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Cass, I REALLY don’t think this is a good idea, I think we should seriously consider giving this to Tobias and Roxland!” Stammered Sharon as the manticore-hellhound duo walked towards the bar.

	Cass stared at her worried friend with a cocky smirk and smug eyes, flames high with confidence as she adjusted the bag she found over her shoulder. It was her idea that they blackmail the Crab into doing whatever she wanted him to do. At this point, Sharon was just along for the ride and as protection. “Sharon, trust me on this. There’s no way that guy’s going to be able to take us on with nothing but fist dusters. And ESPECIALLY not when he’s going to be in a bar packed with our friends!”

	“Well, YOUR friends Cass but most of them I tend to stay away from!”

	Cass blew air through her mouth in annoyance. “C’mon Sharon, what happened to the manticore I used to know?” Sharon frowned and looked away, harrumphing as the bar came closer. Suddenly, a scent, stronger than the one coming from the bag, emerged beneath the usual smells of the pub’s patrons, sending Cass and Sharon’s hair straight up and their ears perked. Walking past the heavy door, Sharon saw a normal looking man sitting at the bar, talking with the bartender before turning to the door, a grimace on his face. Cass saw something different, she saw golden flames rising up from the man’s shoulders and upper torso before disappearing a foot or two in the air. The flames changed to a dark red as the man saw the bag over her shoulder, prompting him to turn around in his stool, mug still in hand.

	That was definitely the Crab, Lorenzo Steel, the same one that Sharon had held Cass back from fighting three weeks ago.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So I take it you were the ones that stole my belongings.”

	The hellhound, stood in place, keeping a smug mask on her face standing with her arms crossed while the manticore was visibly nervous, looking around and keeping her arms close to her body. “Neither of them are unafraid of the situation they’ve put themselves in,” Finch thought, “the hound certainly knows she has the advantage in terms of friends and weaponry, that I’m at the disadvantage.” The hellhound sauntered forward and thrust one of her claws out for a handshake.

	“Why yes, yes we are Mr. Steel. And please, call me Cass.” She spoke while Finch reluctantly shook her hand. The hound pointed with a thumb to her other friend, adding, “And this fierce mankiller over here is Sharon.” while she shyly waved in response. Finch stared as they took a seat on either side of him, Rick grabbing a mug for Cass. A strange sense of deja vu ate at Finch as he looked at the duo surrounding him, until it all manifested in a surprised gasp and amused look on his face.

	“Oh wait I remember you! You were the ones in the alley with you,” he pointed at Sharon, “holding her,” pointing at Cass, “back from attacking me!” The manticore nodded in response while the hellhound leaned into the bar, resting her head on one of her hands.

	The hellhound quipped, “And I remember you. You were the one that fucked off for a few weeks while ol’ miss Roxland moaned your name in her house.” Finch’s raised eyebrow earned, “Hellhounds have VERY good hearing and smell.”

	Finch signaled for Rick to refill his drink once again and turned fully to Cass. “What do you two want?”

	“Not what we want,” butted Sharon from behind, “what SHE wants. This is her idea.”

	Cass shot a dirty glance at her friend, flames sprouting higher from her eyes before returning with a smile to Finch. “What I want done is just a small favor, a really,” she held back a chuckle, “really, TINY favor.” Finch simply hummed in response as he began to drink down his third mug of honey mead. “I want you…” Cass started, composing herself for the deal, “to take down that Imzi bitch in the back a peg or two.”

Finch raised a questioning eyebrow of why, allowing Cass to continue speaking. “Reason I want her taken down is so that she can stop hogging the spotlight and fights all the time. No fun to be fighting the same losing fight when you can easily kick some other runt’s ass.”

	Rick and the hellhound began yelling at each other while Finch simply looked over to the corner where more cheers and hooting emerged, Sharon following his gaze. Cass argued that if the Crab could take on multiple mamono and win, surely he should be able to take on one in a fist fight. Finch could barely contribute to the argument over Rick’s demands of an explanation of how. “It's tough, but all you gotta do is not get hit. They get done in about two smacks what takes normal people like a good dozen.” Despite his distance from the fighting circle, Finch could still hear heavy blows landing on something. His body betrayed him, and twitched slightly as he began to feel dread fill his heart.

Cass picked up on his body language, setting two sets of black-furred claws on Finch’s shoulders sending another twitch through his spine, her words reverberating alongside the chill.

	“It’s alright if you don’t want to Mr. Steel. I’ll also take payment in any way, shape, or form. Should be easy to come up with something from man such as yourself. That is, if you don’t try and make a run for it like three weeks ago.”

	The statement left a twitch in Finch’s eye and quickly whitening knuckles around his mug’s handle. He removed the hound’s claws from his shoulders and turned back to the bar, downing the rest of his drink in one sitting. Cass leaned over and leered near Finch’s face, her attitude quickly wearing on his nerves. “You’re not scared are you Mr. Crab of Steel?”

Just as Finch finished the last of his drink, Cass sighed and pouted somewhat, closing her eyes. She started, “Well, I guess the big scary monster really is af-AH!” before Finch’s mug found itself using the side of the hellhound’s head as a new countertop, the other side planted firmly into the bar. Finch moved his hand to the top side of the mug, pushing down harder on the hound’s head. The flames from Cass’s eyes licked at Finch’s arm as he leaned closer to her face, Rick and Sharon leaning in ready to help restrain Finch at a moment’s notice.

“For the record Miss Cass, my name’s not Lorenzo Steel or Crab, not so long as I’m not wearing that helmet or claw. It’s Finch Lovejoy but to a cunt like you it's MISTER Lovejoy. Don’t call me anything else. And don’t you remotely THINK about calling me anything else.” He let go of the mug and pushed off the bar as Cass roughly pulled her head away from the counter, rubbing the side of it with care. Rick and Sharon followed closely behind Finch and joined him as he leaned against the corner.

The crowd around the fighting was hard to look through due to various heights and addition extremities, but the height of the oni and her current opponent, a minotaur, compensated for obstruction. Finch watched in silence as the oni, taking various blows, was still giving dazing punches to the minotaur, preferring slow but powerful blows. “She’ll be easy to dodge but one wrong move and she’ll knock my head clean off” he thought. It wasn’t long before the bullwoman stood still, eyes trailing into space as Imzi roused the crowd, before delivering a fierce uppercut to her opponent’s chin, knocking her upwards and out of the ring. The body flew straight past Finch and nearly colliding with Rick and Sharon. As Imzi looked on, she directed a glare into Finch’s eyes, as he did the same. The crowd parted, giving themselves and Finch a better look in the opposite directions. Already murmurs arose about his presence, with the slower ones in the audience still cheering over the oni’s latest victory.

From a first glance, Imzi was a typical red oni from the zipangu, with wild white hair cut short, small fangs jutting upward, and a singular red horn placed in the middle of her forehead. A demon-silver kanabo and giant keg full of sake on a nearby table confirmed her origins. Her body bore numerous scars with the exception of her stomach, which remained a smooth and bright cherry red tone versus the backdrop of pink scars. Even her horn seemed scarred and battle-worn, pocked with various cracks and ruts of obvious action. She wore nothing on her chest, save bandages that wrapped around her impressive bosom, along with baggy pants and wooden sandals that covered her soles.

Rick came up from behind and put his hand on Finch’s shoulder. “Y-you sure about this man? I mean look at all those fucking scars she got. She’s gotta be tough and skilled to have that many and still be kicking.” Finch looked over to Rick in annoyance, spotting Cass still holding her head near the bar while Sharon stood close by, bag in her grasp.

“Rick, I want you to just think for a few moments. The job of a professional or a fighter is essentially to hurt other people. Not get hurt. So, when I see her...” he returned his glare back to its rival only to witness the oni crack her neck, knuckles, and back, finishing by spitting on the floor in his direction. “I think, ‘She’s real bad at her fuckin’ job.” He pushed himself off the wall and brought up his hand to mouth, whistling to silence everyone in the vicinity and drawing all attention to him, before shouting out, “Oy, miss big, red, and leathery! I’m up next for taking your cherry ass and kicking it across the ring.”

Silence reigned over the corner, the rest of the bar quieter with the lack of noise.

 Then laughter spewed forth from the enclave, the oni laughing along side the crowd with jeers emerging from all around directed at Finch.

“How the hell can he take her on when a minotaur can’t?!”
“Is this guy crazy? What’s he thinking?”
“Maybe he’s suicidal! Or looking for a broken pelvis!”
“The guy’s a stick! Imzi’ll break him in half the poor bastard!”

Finch stood like a statue, his arms crossed in front of chest as the laughter died down, Imzi in particular struggling to regain her composure before speaking. Her voice was deep and bellowy, the voice that any commander would dream of having. “So, you want to face me?” she paused as looked away chuckling, before returning her gaze, “Fine, I’ll honor your deathwish little man. What do you want if you ‘win?’” she curled her fingers for emphasis earning several snickers from the audience.

“You have to tell everyone that you’re not really the best and have to end this whole charade now and go home. No more wasting everyone’s time and money. What do you want if you win?”

Imzi looked around, imitating looking for a treat in a candy shop, before leaning down looking straight at Finch, pointing at him. “You.” was her only response, drawing “oooh’s” and giggling from the crowd.

The newly emerging uproar was cut short with a resounding “Deal.” from Finch.  The crowd was stunned by the declaration. He was completely serious. “Oh, and for the record Imzi, name’s Finch Lovejoy. Remember it because it’s gonna to be the name of the one guy who kicks the living shit out of you today.”

Digging into his pockets, Finch handed his brass knuckles to Rick, who stashed them in his own pockets. As Finch took off his shirt and jacket, Sharon came up to him, tapping her claw to his shoulder to gain his attention. The manticore stammered, “Um, excuse me Mr.-uh- Lovejoy? I-I’m telling you as someone who doesn’t like seeing o-other people just get hurt, y-y-you don’t have to do this I-I’ll just give you your-” only to get cut off by Finch.

“Nope, I have to do this. Can’t say it's smart but I got to.” he tossed the shirt aside, revealing a built chest from years of fighting. “I back out now and I’ll look like nothing but a coward.” The crowd hooted with cat calls before parting, letting Finch into the ring with Imzi, who stared at him as he stepped up in front of her imposing form. Due to the head’s difference in height between the two, both fighters craned their necks to look the other in the eye. As a fight overseer lectured them on the rules, Imzi and Finch continued their glaring, which seemed to intensify the longer the two kept eye contact. The crowd seemed to sense the tension and began to holler louder and louder in excitement.

This was going to be a hell of a fight.

The fighters obeyed as the fight overseer made them tap fists before backing up from one another, fists raised to their chests and at the ready. Each of them bobbed from side to side, circling each other like vultures to a meal. Neither wanted to move into the other’s range but both also wanted to begin testing their opponent for their strengths, for their weaknesses. Finch himself was surprised at just how cautious Imzi was acting with him. He slowly advanced, legs ready to bounce away at a moment's notice.

Closer now, Finch launched errant left jabs at the oni’s head, testing to see her reaction time to his attacks, noting that she merely dodged and bobbed out of the way without moving her arms. Moving downwards, Finch jabbed at Imzi’s stomach, only to have his hand quickly smacked away and her left fist flying towards his head. Sidestepping to his left, Finch dashed forward closer to the oni to begin his planned punching order. With what he knew of her habits now, he could easily slip in.

Finch shot his left arm forward once, twice, in quick succession against the oni’s face, earning grimaces from the delivered blows. Then, as the oni’s right arm reached upward to stop the barrage, he brought his left arm lower, and aimed a half hearted jab at the oni’s right side, near the stomach area. The oni shot out her left arm to smack away the jab, only to be assisted by Finch feinting his left arm away and swinging his right arm around in a powerful haymaker, making a meaty impact with Imzi’s left cheek. The blow had been powerful, with Finch’s weight added to it, a punch that could send even the largest of men at least staggering. Instead, Imzi’s head turned 45 degrees left of Finch’s position, her stance not even shifted and face mostly unchanged. Returning to his own stance Finch watched, in slight horror, as the oni was still as a rock.

And then her head slowly turned back to face him, her hand rubbing at her left cheek in a mock worry. She simply looked at him, an amused smile on her face, before grunting, “Huh. And I thought that minotaur had a weak punch.” chuckling at her own jest. Finch’s arms lowered slightly as he raised his eyebrows in worry. In response, Imzi cracked her knuckles and neck before staring straight into her opponent’s eyes, mouthing the words, “My turn.” before winding back her right arm.

Finch shook his head, muttering, “Oh crap.” just as the red fist flew past where his head was a mere second ago. Imzi unleashed a barrage of punches, not leaving a moment available for Finch to counter, lest he take one of her devastating punches directly. He weaved estatically around the blows, dipping left, right, leaning back or forwards, even ducking under and through one of the oni’s punches past her armpit. Pressing his back close towards the crowd, the crowd pressed back to his annoyance and horror; being closer to the mass of sheer, red, power was the last thing Finch wanted to do. He needed a plan to advance.

Suddenly, Finch felt an extra hard shove against his back that sent him staggering towards Imzi just as she reared back her left arm and sent it flying in a slight curve, a wild smile on her face, eyes narrowed in satisfaction. Finch gasped shallowly, attempting to jerk his entire body right in an attempt to stay outside of the punch’s arc, rotating left to narrow his profile, praying it would be enough. Time seemed to slow as the blow passed the shoulder, giving Finch a good look at the arm, sweaty and muscled, rippling with power and sheer might. Slowly it seemed, the punch continued its trajectory, towards where his face would have been a few moments ago. While it missed its main target, the blow instead found its reward in a slightly off mark portion of the head, the right side of Finch’s right jaw. His dodging had softened the impact, but it was still one hell of hit to Finch’s constitution.

The oni’s blow sent Finch swiveling leftward and forward still, until he caught himself facing the wall created by the crowd. Resting his two hands on the shoulders of a werewolf, he blinked rapidly, his head seemingly spinning and jaw seemingly adjusted a few inches left and removed of all functionality. Slowly, he moved his jaw to clench his teeth, shutting his eyes briefly to recover, before opening them to observe the wolf’s eyes, shocked and transitioning into a scowl. Finch leaned back and observed as his head was all that filled her eyes.

Except the everclear face of his opponent, still smiling, with her right arm already flying towards the back of Finch’s head.

Finch acted on impulse alone, ducking just as the punch flew past his hair and into the unfortunate werewolf’s face. Continuing, Finch quickly turned and, without thinking, sent his fist straight towards Imzi’s smooth, unscarred gut as her left arm reached to stop him.

All the reflexes in the world couldn’t stop a straight, impulsive blow like that.

Finch’s fist collided meatily with the red flesh, causing the red-skinned brute to back up and double over, holding her gut with both hands. Finch began to stand up, rubbing his jaw as Imzi dropped to her knees and bent down lower towards the ground before beginning to vomit onto the floor. “No wonder she protected that damn thing,” Finch thought, “She’s not used to blows right there, drinking probably made it worse.” He watched as she continued to hurl, contemplating waiting for her to stand once again, just to be nice.

“Although,” he placed his left foot forward and began to twist his body and legs, “she DID just try to punch me with my fucking back turned.” Finch brought his boot upwards, twisting his body for power, just as Imzi began to look upwards, slamming the top of his boot directly into her face. She quickly stood up, falteringly gaining her balance, losing it, and falling backwards, the crowd parting to avoid the mountain of muscle’s impact. Close to the edge of her table.

Imzi’s head fell past the edge unharmed, but her horn, as cracked as it was, impacted with the edge and snapped off, flying past the bodies in the crowd. Finch raised his leg away as the horn flew past, hitting the ground before rolling in a circle to a stop. The still woozy man turned around and began kneeling, softly exclaiming, “Holy shit…” as he picked up the horn and observed it. The horn was the same cherry red as the oni’s skin, its base jutted and jagged from the fracture. “Damn,” he thought, “didn’t think that would happen, maybe a local healer can fix it.” He turned the horn to the base, creasing his brow in curiosity in what he saw.

A spattered yellow spot lay on the bottom of the horn, with a texture much like molasses. Licking the bottom of the horn, Finch quickly spit the taste out of his mouth. The substance was a sticky paste, meant for holding the horn in place. “Judging from texture,” Finch thought, “It wasn’t meant to hold the horn there forever, just enough in case of…”

“FINCH LOOK OUT!”

Finch was pulled out of his musings by the combined shouting of an incubus and manticore as he quickly turned to find the danger. Behind him he witnessed Imzi, fury contorting her face, holding her kanabo over her head and charging towards his slouched form. Finch threw his body rightward and onto its back just as the club smashed into the floorboards with a loud crack, . Finch quickly stood up before ducking again as the oni swung her club leftward, just missing his head. Standing up fully, Finch bent his back outward to just avoid another swing directed for his gut, the oni already adjusting her club for another overhead strike, bellowing louder and louder in rage.

Finch’s mind raced as he dodged the blows. As the kanabo was swinging left, his eyes darted to the horn still in his hand. As the club swung right, his eyes narrowed, he shift the horn so that the point was facing upward in his right hand. As Imzi raised the kanabo overhead, Finch saw his chance and darted forward, growling with exertion as he thrust his fist forward. His hand met the wall of flesh that was the oni’s side, just above the liver, warm blood covering his hand as he pulled his arm back, letting go of the horn.

The crowd gasped and winced as everyone looked down towards Imzi’s side, her horn now sticking in it. Her face was molded in shock and pain, eyes wide and mouth agape. Finch looked down, grimness across his face as he observed his work. “Won’t kill her, but it should hurt like hell for a drinker like her.” were the words Finch relied upon for his action. Looking at the oni’s face, he watched as her face soon shifted from pain to sheer rage at the attack. Finch acted quickly, suddenly twisting his body for a surprise right hook that hit the base of the horn, driving it inward like a stake in the ground. Imzi’s face turned to shock once again as she dropped her club behind her and began to clutch at the intrusion. No sounds came from her mouth as she stumbled backwards away from her opponent.

Finch felt a pang of regret, one of many in his career, as he observed Imzi’s shock. He had a soft spot for onis like her, seeking adventure from their homes in the zipangu. In a way, he felt much the same for his own homeland, now unreachable by physical means. Another cause for his softness was the fact that without the help of one years ago, he would most likely still be nothing but a slave in a dark elf brothel.

Finch watched for a few more seconds before he looked behind him and spotted the lamia and minotaur who had fought Imzi earlier and began walking towards them. He clamped a hand on their shoulders, pausing only to wipe off the blood from his hand, and spoke. “Alright you two listen up. I want you to take whatever winnings Imzi got and I want you to bring her over to anyone in town who’s a healer and use the winnings to pay for that. Oh and for the rest of the money that doesn’t pay for it…” Finch turned and raised his fist in the air, raising his voice for all to hear, “a free round courtesy of Imzi and Finch Lovejoy!”

The crowd cheered at the prospect of free booze as the pair nodded to their impromptu command before grabbing the still shaking oni and walking her out of the bar. Finch stood where he was, still rubbing at his sore jaw as Rick and Sharon walked up to him, a mug of mead, his brass knuckles, and his bag of equipment in their hands (or claws) respectively. Each presented their gift with their own congratulations.

“Holy fuck man that was amazing!’
“Great job Mr. Lovejoy! I should’ve known you’d be able to do it!”

Finch accepted both of their gifts with each of his hands, a gentle smile on his face from the congratulatory remarks. “Please please it was nothing. Hey, thanks for the heads up by the way.”

Rick patted Finch on the back, remarking, “It's nothin’ man. Ya shoulda realized by now that I got yer back!”

The manticore extended her claw towards the brawl’s winner, handing over the pack and earning a handshake from Finch as she spoke. “Mr. Lovejoy-” She was cut off with a wave of the hand holding a mug.

“Please, call me Finch, Sharon.”

“Erm, Finch. I just want to settle things between...well...us. Cass I’m sure is thankful that you did this for her and I-I want to also congratulate you in her stead. Again, t-thank you for putting up with this.”

Finch took a long swig of his mead before setting it down on a nearby table, grabbing his brass knuckles afterward. “Well, that’s very polite of you Sharon. Let me just say it was a pleasure to meet you today. Hey, keep your friend out of trouble you hear? Life’s too short to go hunting for it.”

The manticore looked away giggling. “T-thank you and I-I’m sure she already knows Mis- Finch.”

Finch nodded in response. “Just keep it in mind Sharon, and take it from a professional like me. Oi, Rick. You got a room I can use? I’m planning on ditching the Order garb and leaving as fast as I can; if I get caught up I’d rather be dressed for the occasion.” Rick walked behind the bar and leaned down towards an unseen cupboard, opening it and closing it as he retrieved a key for one of the upstairs rooms. He tossed the key to Finch, who caught it while waving off the crowd’s demands for more fights. Finch waved goodbye to Rick and Sharon before ascending the stairs past the corner, ignoring the crowd’s pleads. He thought he heard someone shout out a declaration of love.

He didn’t think anything of it.

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	The door burst open as a minotaur and lamia hurried inside the bedroom, dragging along an oni taller than any of them.They were panicking, demanding that the oni needed to get looked at and healed with magic. Pay would not be an issue according to them. For anyone in their office bedroom this would be a hell of a surprise that would generate worry as to what happened.

	For Roxland, this did nothing but annoy her further, adding on to the list of disasters that happened that day.

	She set aside her writing quill and stood up from her desk, moving across the remnants of her window towards the trio, a frown growing ever deeper.

	“What happened,” the demon demanded, “who did it, where did they do it, when did they do it?” She stooped down to the oni’s side and cringed at the sight. It seemed her horn had been hammered into her side by something like a nail. Raising her hand, she silently mouthed unseen chants as transparent, black, energy flowed from her hand to the wound, relieving the pain and drawing a sigh of relief from the oni.

	The pair tried to explain what had happened, tripping over each other’s descriptions, still worrying about the oni’s well being. Roxland silently chewed on her lip in frustration as the nails on her free hand began scratching the floorboards in sheer rage. Finally, she dropped her healing hand, much to the oni’s expense,  and stood up with a snarl.

	“SHUT UP! BY THE LORD BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, officially reaching her breaking point in stress. She pointed to both of them with her hands. “Both of you, OUT!” Roxland then pointed one hand at the oni solely. “You. What happened. NOW.” before she hastily kneeled down and began working again, the two oni draggers leaving the house.

	“There was…” the oni sucked in a breath, “a fight at the bar. Some guy called Finch Lovejoy managed to break my horn off and stabbed me with it.”

Roxland’s black eyes opened wider, she slowly looked upward towards the oni’s still grimacing face. “A bar fight?”

The oni shrugged her shoulders, wincing at some pain. “In a way, yeah.”

“This ‘Finch Lovejoy’, was he tall, fair skinned, bushy brown hair, hazel eyes, clean shaven?”

The oni replied with a resounding “Yeah” at every physical aspect.

 “...was he human?” the words were almost a whisper, despite not being meant to be hidden to anyone. The oni simply nodded in response. Roxland’s gaze softened as a smile began to grow on her face. “How recent was this little incident?” sweetness rolled off every single word, corrupted sugar and honey almost dripping off of them.

The oni stuttered, unsettled by the sudden shift in tone, “J-just a few minutes ago lady.”

The demon sighed softly, as if relieved, as she finished the oni’s wounded side repeating, “Good.” softly and slowly. She lifted the horn away from the oni and placed it upon her desk, beginning to walk out of her bedroom.

“Hey lady, a-aren’t you going to fix my horn?” the oni tried to reach her healer just as she left.

Roxland simply brushed her off, stating in a sing song voice, “Oh don’t worry dear~ I’ll get to it soon enough. I’ve just some matters to attend to. You just stay here and rest a bit on the couch downstairs~.” The demon strode down the stairs and out the door, already rushing towards the  main plaza tower.

“Ready or not Love~joy, here I come~!”