Luminous mosses were rooted in the cavernous walls, their patches glowed in brilliant hues of different colors, swaying slowly and repelling darkness into corners.
The translucent, crystalline geode formations shimmered here and there, revealing a vast, jagged, and bedazzling underground cavern.
Below the looming ceiling of the cavern were floors of the labyrinthine levels of expansive alcoves, bridging cliffs, and balcony ridges.
At the highest tier of the rocky balconies, an immense, ancient castle stood. It appears as though it's an extension of the geodes around it as it towers loustrously.
Its marvelous luminescence stands out from all the lights of the citadels and humble residences below, where spans among alcove floors are connected by either a robust, earthen bridge or a twisting staircase carved from the wallside.
The architectures of the past had long been occupied and transformed, just as how the ancient abode and residences had turned to a bustling marketplace, and as usual, it came across as crowded as ever.
The district's streets were bathed in the assorted neon lights of marbled lampposts and lanterns, where stall merchants were shouting over, and in competition with one another, beckoning the attention of passersby with dubious promises.
Their tables and mats could be seen plastered with arrays of items, from untested elixirs, enchanted equipment, arcane-engineered weapons, and other miscellaneous items with mystical properties.
"This is not a sales talk! Our elixirs indeed can raise your chance to unlock your innate attribute talent... the talent to last long in bed!"
The passersby wearing either casual, long-sleeved, and embroidered shirts or concealing themselves beneath the hoods of their long, thick robes were absorbed in their own business.
They walked through the streets while nearby workers were busily strained loading heavy crates onto their carts.
Maintenance shops roared as 3D printing machines clamored out loud, patching the damaged equipment, destroyed furniture, and battered tools back to their working order.
Up until...
A sudden burst of gunfire erupted out of nowhere, drowning any other noise in the vicinity.
The unproven racket sprang from a certain market's passage; a band of hoodlums enforcer found themselves talking among the merchants.
Each of them carried a firearm that calmly glowed a silhouette of neon red, streamlining through its sleek, angular frame and sharp edges like an affixed power cord.
The enforcers was half clad in a crimson, scaly, crystallized chest plate, and an emblem of two crossed rifles that marked their gang identity was cut into the pads of their shoulder pauldrons.
"The quality of this pistol is decent, yet the appearance and the sound of the shot that it just made have left much to be desired," the bulky man out of the enforcers pointed out in a serious tone.
"Still... I'll take it as your payment," he added with a twisted grin before stashing the fuming, hand-sized weapon into his bag after a brief inspection.
"Yes... yes, it's not a problem, the hand pistol is all yours," the merchant man conceded with a pained look.
"Very good, keep bringing weapons with similar qualities in the futurer."
The bulky man heavily patted the merchant's that sent shudders to shoulder.
The enforcers with their caravan, finally moved forward and strode in the street at a casual pace, disregarding the murmurs, coupled with the stares they left behind.
The air they exuded boast their pridefulness, their heads held high while too careless to bother with their surroundings.
But truly, what distinguished their band was due to the appearance of the chained captives being escorted behind.
They were fastened in a conjoined iron link that was tied to the beast caravan as it rolled forward.
Ending up like them was no good, that is why their path was split in half as the passersby broke to avoid getting in their way.
Besides, today was the day to make the rounds of collecting the gang's cut to its turf's taxes in a varying fees.
No opposition arose as the enforcers browsed from stall to stall and barged inside the shops without any worries like nothing could stop them.
Whistling in delight, their joy couldn't be hidden as they could hardly contain their broad grin.
Their pockets kept swelling every visits, and the collected packs of bags continued to pile, they watched it with satisfaction.
Moreover, they have not scoured the whole turf yet to call it a day.
This place is District 9; the turf conquered by the Ignacius Gang.
Every establishment, be it commercial or residential, and any person who dares to dwell within their turf will be bound under their protection, but that protection comes with a price, of course.
A sum of two Gray Rem or an item of equivalent price must be paid every three days if one intends to stay in the turf, and it'll be raised to double or even get to an unreasonably high amount for business owners.
This is the rewarding bounty of conquering a turf and retaining control to its abiders.
Suddenly, a scrawny, weary-looking old man was seized by his hair. He lets out an anguished cry and struggles against the hand of a single enforcer that forcibly yank him along the rough street floor.
"Aahhh!"
The crowd's attention was caught by the scandalous scene, they were staring at the helpless old man.
"Please... please, I'm too old, my body is already incapable of working anymore, spare me!" the old man pleaded, his voice was husky and trembling.
One of the enforcer, the bulky man in armor, arrived in the middle where the old man had been thrown and laying.
Eyes sweeping to everyone nearby with a hard glance before swiftly withdrawing his knee and drove a strong kick to the old man, who was still struggling to rise.
"Old man, we don't tolerate any slackers or any ungrateful individuals here. The Ignacius Gang has already shown generosity by granting you five extra days of grace. Now... we're here to collect our fees," the bulky man glance down at the old man, pressing.
A trickle of blood slipped out from the old man's mouth, the hit caused him great pain indeed that his body inwardly curled in defense.
"I have nothing with me... please, don't hurt me. All I have is my flesh and worn-out clothes!" the old man begged in fear.
"In that case, you're in luck! Our lord's pet loves playing with flesh..." the bulky enforcer sneered, then pitched his tone for everyone to hear: 'Except they play rough and so ruthless that they always ended up torn apart!"
The old man's eyes devolved in terror, and swiftly responded: "No! Please don't feed me to the lord's pets, I don't want to die in such disgrace."
"Tsk! You do not have any choice other than to pay your dues, bu you have given your answers already," The bulky man gestured to his mates, walked away, his expression turning flat as if to lose interest.
"Let's not waste time and tie him up. We will bring him to the lord's mansion. From now on, he will become the lord's pet toy."
The old man ended up being manhandled with cuffs on both of his wrists and a chain locked to his neck, forcing him to stand on a shaking feet.
If there were any shred of dignity left, it would have long fled as the old man met the eyes of the gathered crowds, persistently staring at him, or them along the other captives in pity, and some began to vent obviously as they spat at them with curses.
"Shame! Pay your fees, protect our turfs!"
"Let them rot alive, I can't imagine that I'm living in the same ground with them!"
"Gosh! Just die already!"
The enforcers, captives, and the caravan pressed deeper into the streets, eventually descending to the ground of the lower alcoves by the bridge that were packing with merchants.
Even without speaking it out, the march of the detained soon-to-be slaves, or nourishment spoke something louder, it is that their parade sends a warning message to those who dared to refuse paying their tax demand; the Ignacius Gang calls the rule.
Before long, the old man's leg was so strained that it felt as though he had walked for miles.
Little by little, he resigned to the flow that his attention started noticing the presences trudging alongside him, which fate has the same as him.
To his left stood two mature, barefooted women in a eveningwear dress of brown and red with a high slit that reveals a leg, their eyes looking at the distance, seemingly lost in their own gazes.
Another one was falling behind, a wavy, raven-haired young man draped in a patched, dark trench coat with a turned-up collar.
His sleeves were rolled up, revealing hands covered in dirt, and a pair of broadly rounded goggles clung to his bruised face.
He looked to be around sixteen, a kind of eccentric and nerd in balance, giving the impression of somebody whose brain is wired to tinkering and modfying devices.
In any case, the young man, he too, was caught curiously looking at the old man, startling the old man a bit, causing him to ask something:
"What's your name... lad?"
"I'm Erizalli," the young man is quick to answer.
"My eyes may be deceived, but the Star church that shelters you should be handling the taxes for you. What ends you here?" probed undertone by the old man. He noticed the young man's necklace with a lilac, star shape hanging.
"Nothing about taxes. They found me knocked out in one of their off-limits, crystal mines, beat me up after, and tied my hands because they assumed I was stealing," Erizalli did not linger in his reply.
"I see..." The old man noted, after a few beats, he asked, "And, you did not do it, right?"
"Of course!... I did," Erizalli blurted out.
The old man's lip parted but did not continue. His head just tuirned ahead, and walked limply in silence as though disappointed of the bad deed he heard.
On the other hand, Erizalli did not mind, he cast a quick sideway scan to the enforcers around, only to find them happily occupied, covertedly plundering the merchants.
With the rest of the band distracted, he gazed down at his clenched hand, unfurling his four fingers with just a slight gap.
His breath tightened shortly after unfolding a grotesque form of a gemstone, its glossy surface refracts a spectrum of bright colors.
'A prismatic rem?!' Erizalli whispered to himself, eyes fixed on the gemstone.
"Goddamn... I have indeed lucked out."