The silence that fell was heavier than the fog. The only sounds were the guttering of the few remaining flames, the drip of water and blood on the cobblestones, and the ragged, wet breathing of the paralyzed Boris. The Shrieking Eel was a charnel house, a testament to the absolute superiority of the Vipers.
Rudel stood over Boris, chest heaving, wiping blood from his lip with the back of a hand that was already swelling into a monstrous bruise. He looked down at the broken Shark leader with a grunt of disgust. "Loud bastard," he muttered, before turning to efficiently and mercilessly end the man's suffering with a single, crushing stomp.
Karl surveyed the scene, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
Then his gaze fell on Lutz.
Lutz was standing over the two Sharks he had downed, his knuckles raw, his new clothes stained with filth and blood. He was trembling, not from fear, but from the aftershock of adrenaline and the sheer, overwhelming reality of what he had witnessed. He had seen men turned to ash. He had seen Rudel punch with the force of a cannon. He had seen Karl move and think on a level that was simply not human.
Karl approached him. "You're standing," he observed, his voice flat.
Lutz just nodded, his throat too tight to form words.
"You used your environment. You disrupted an attack on me." Karl wasn't asking; he was stating facts. "Messy, but effective." It was a debriefing, not praise. "You understand now?"
Lutz finally found his voice, hoarse and quiet. "I understand that I know nothing."
A flicker of something—approval?—crossed Karl's face. "Good. That is the first real lesson." He looked around at the carnage. "This is the world. Not the shadows and the whispers. This. The only language that truly matters is power."
Then, a faint, phosphorescent glow began to emanate from Boris's corpse. It coalesced above the man's chest, a swirl of ethereal, deep blue light that seemed to draw the very moisture from the air around it. The light condensed, solidified, and within seconds, a small, crystalline object lay on Boris's scorched tunic. It was the size of a large coin, vaguely resembling a shard of frozen seawater, and it pulsed with a soft, inner radiance.
Karl stepped forward, his expression one of routine efficiency. He produced a small lead box from within his coat. Using a cloth to avoid touching it directly, he picked up the glowing crystal and placed it inside, closing the lid with a definitive click. The strange light vanished, and the mundane darkness of the wharf returned.
He caught Lutz's staring, bewildered gaze. "Don't ask," Karl said flatly, tucking the box away. "Some knowledge is a poison until you're ready for the antidote."
He gestured for Lutz to follow as Rudel began the grim work of disposing of the bodies. "Clean yourself up. The Baron will expect a report. Your part in it will be noted."
As Lutz followed, stepping over the ruins of the Gray Sharks, the cold ember of spite inside him was fanned into a new, more dangerous shape. It was no longer just about survival. The glimpse of power he had been given—the terrifying, awe-inspiring reality of what Beyonders could do—had ignited a new, desperate hunger. He didn't just want to live in this world anymore.
He wanted to take from it.
The walk back to the Viper's warehouse was a silent, grim procession through the fading night. The thick fog that had been their ally now felt like a shroud for the ghosts they had created. Rudel walked a few paces ahead, a hulking silhouette whose breathing had already returned to a steady, unnaturally calm rhythm. Karl moved like a shadow beside Lutz, his presence a silent, pressing weight.
His previous understanding of the world—a dangerous place of debts, knives, and cruel men—shattered and re-formed itself into something infinitely more vast and terrifying. He had thought the Baron's power lay in his cunning and his network of thugs. He saw now that was merely the surface. The true power, the foundation upon which everything else was built, was something else entirely.
Beyonders.
The word surfaced in his thoughts, a term he'd heard muttered with a mixture of fear and reverence. He'd dismissed it as superstition, a label for particularly skilled or lucky individuals. He saw now his error was one of category, not degree. Karl and Rudel weren't just better fighters. They operated on a different set of physical laws. Karl's control over flame wasn't a trick; it was a fundamental rewriting of reality within the sphere of his will. Rudel's strength wasn't just muscle; it was the density of a mountain concentrated in a man's frame.
He thought of Karl's movements—the preternatural awareness, the flawless reflexes. And the fire… that was something else, a layer of power built upon that perfect foundation. The idea was both horrifying and intoxicating. Were there levels? Steps on a ladder that led away from being merely human?
And then, his mind, reeling from the supernatural, did something it hadn't done in weeks. It turned inward, to the original, inexplicable mystery of his own existence.
The coin.
In the chaos of survival—the debt, the fear, the daily grind of playing a role—he had buried the how and the why of his being here. The hanging. The spiral-marked lead disc. The sensation of falling between worlds. He had accepted it as a bizarre, traumatic given and focused on what came next.
But witnessing the Beyonders made his own past seem less like a random accident and more like a possible… consequence. An effect. If men could command fire and shatter stone with their fists, was the idea of a soul being ripped from one body and shoved into another really so impossible? The spiral on the coin… it had felt ancient, malevolent, a symbol of something vast and cyclical.z Had he, Andrei Hayes, stumbled into the crossfire of powers he couldn't comprehend?
A cold dread, deeper than any fear of the Baron, settled in his gut. His transmigration wasn't just a strange event; it was a symptom. He was a pebble kicked up by the footsteps of giants walking in a world hidden from ordinary men. The Baron, Karl, Rudel… they were players in a game he hadn't known existed. And he was a piece on their board, a piece that had suddenly, terrifyingly, become aware of the players' hands.
This realization should have been crushing. It should have filled him with despair. Instead, as the warehouse loomed out of the fog ahead, the cold ember of his spite met the oxygen of this new understanding and burst into a different kind of flame.
Hope.
A desperate, reckless, terrifying hope.
If such power existed in this world, then it could be obtained. The Baron owned his debt, but did he own his potential? Karl had said, "It's time you learned what happens when the gloves come off." Lutz had seen it. And the lesson wasn't just fear; it was a roadmap.
The original Lutz had chosen death over a life of powerlessness. Andrei had chosen to steal a coin out of a similar despair. This new creature, forged from both their regrets, now had a new goal. It wasn't enough to be a clever tool for the Vipers. It wasn't enough to be free of the debt.
But it was the final, inexplicable image that truly sealed this new reality: the glowing crystal forming from Boris's corpse. Karl's swift, secretive retrieval of it. "Some knowledge is a poison…"
This wasn't just about power. It was about a system. An underlying mechanics to it all. The powers weren't just random gifts; something that could be… harvested. The word came to him unbidden, cold and clinical. Was that what the crystal was? The idea was more frightening than the fire or the strength.
A desperate, reckless hope. If power was a tangible, transferable thing, then it could be acquired. Karl's secretive act with the crystal wasn't just a closing of a chapter; it was a glimpse of the library.
He needed to become a Beyonder.
He didn't know how. He didn't know what path might be open to him, or if any were. But the hunger was there, sharp and clear. He would learn. He would watch Karl and Rudel not just as threats, but as blueprints. He would use his position, his intellect, to uncover the secrets of this hidden world.
As they slipped through the side entrance into the familiar gloom of the warehouse, the scent of blood and smoke clinging to them, Lutz looked at Karl's back with new eyes. The Baron's Spark was no longer just a dangerous man. He was a gatekeeper. And Lutz was determined to get past the gate.
The aftermath of the fight would bring questions, debriefings, perhaps even a modicum of respect. But for Lutz, the real mission was just beginning. He had to find a way to turn his value as a servant into an opportunity to become a student. The path ahead was darker and more dangerous than he had ever imagined, but for the first time, it felt like it led somewhere other than a grave or a prison.
It led to power. And that was a debt worth incurring.
The warehouse felt different upon their return. It was no longer just a refuge or a prison; it was a command post for a war Lutz was only beginning to understand. The usual low murmur of activity was absent, replaced by a watchful silence. The few Vipers present looked up as they entered, their eyes scanning Karl and Rudel for signs of injury, then lingering on Lutz with a new, unreadable expression. The story of the raid would already be spreading, twisted and exaggerated with each retelling.
Karl didn't pause. "With me, Fischer," he said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. Rudel peeled off towards the mess area, already calling for a bottle of spirits. Lutz followed Karl to the Baron's office, his heart thudding a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs.
Baron Vogler was at his desk, as if he hadn't moved since they left. The ledger was open, but his attention was fully on them as they entered. His flint-like eyes swept over them, taking in the soot stains on Karl's coat, the blood on Rudel's knuckles that Lutz had seen, and the general aura of violence that clung to them like a second skin.
"Report," the Baron said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to demand absolute truth.
"The Gray Sharks are finished," Karl stated, standing at ease before the desk. "Their leadership is eradicated. Their nest is scattered. The message has been sent."
"Casualties?"
"None of ours. Their numbers were twenty-four. All accounted for."
The Baron's gaze shifted to Lutz. "And your new asset? Did he prove his value or his fragility?"
Lutz felt the Baron's attention like a physical pressure. It was more than just being looked at; it was as if the man was peering into the cracks of his story, searching for the slightest flaw. Lutz remembered the feeling in this office before, the sense that lies would be effortlessly dismantled. Now, understanding more, he saw it not as mere intuition, but as a power. A power related to rules, to order, to the very structure of an argument. Was this the Baron's power? The power to find the weakness in any statement, any deal, any person?
"He held his own," Karl replied, his voice neutral. "He neutralized two combatants using his training. More importantly, he demonstrated situational awareness. He disrupted a coordinated attack that could have been problematic. He understands his role."
The Baron's eyes remained on Lutz, dissecting him. "Problematic for whom? For you?"
"For the mission's efficiency," Karl corrected smoothly, and Lutz saw a flicker of something—a subtle, unspoken communication between the two men. Karl was navigating the Baron's power, choosing his words with the precision of a man defusing a bomb.
The Baron finally leaned back, the tension easing. "Efficiency is acceptable. The account with the Sharks is settled." He folded his hands. "But another account remains open. Silas."
The name hung in the air. Lutz had almost forgotten the snitch in the whirlwind of the raid.
"The worm has burrowed deep," Karl said. "He was not at the Eel. He has gone to ground. He knows his life is forfeit if we find him."
"Then find him," the Baron said, his voice final. "A debt unpaid is a weakness shown. Fischer." He turned his piercing gaze back to Lutz. "You identified the leak. You have a mind for connections. Silas is your task."
Lutz swallowed. "Yes, Baron."
"Find his family," the Baron said, his words a cold, strategic outline. "A sister, I believe, lives in the city. They might know where he has scurried off to. Or… their distress may draw him out. Do you understand the utility of such a tactic?"
"I understand," Lutz said.
The Baron leaned forward slightly, his gaze intensifying, seeming to measure Lutz's very potential. "Succeed in this," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that was more threatening than any shout, "and you will have proven your value extends beyond mere muscle and simple cunning. The Vipers invest in their assets. There are... certain tools that can be provided to those who demonstrate the capacity to wield them. Tools that would make you far more useful than you are today."
He let the implication hang in the air, a deliberate, tantalizing promise wrapped in a threat. It was an offer of power, dangled like a carrot before a donkey, but with the unspoken certainty that the donkey would be beaten if it failed to reach it.
The words were delivered with a cold, logical clarity that was more chilling than any shouted threat. The Baron wasn't just suggesting intimidation; he was outlining a strategy that exploited the very concept of family as a lever. It was a stark lesson in the kind of power the Baron wielded—a power that twisted human bonds into tools. It felt different from Karl's destructive fire or Rudel's crushing strength. This was a corrosion of the soul, a power that worked on the rules of society and relationships themselves.
"I understand," Lutz said, his voice quiet but firm.
"Good. Report your findings to Karl. Do not disappoint me."
The dismissal was clear. Lutz gave a short nod and turned, leaving the office. As he walked back into the main warehouse, the Baron's final words echoed in his mind. Find his family.
The assignment was a test, but for Lutz, it was also a key.
The hunt for Silas had just become about much more than vengeance. It was the next step on his own, secret pathway.