The Brass Knuckle existed within a condemned building in sector 10.
Inside was a different world.
Neon lights cut through smoke-filled air and hard rock pounded from the speakers mounted in corners.
The bar itself was U-shaped, bottles lining the shelves behind it, and scattered throughout the space were tables with both deals and grudges being made.
A stripper worked a pole in the center, her Aeon-type Crest allowing her body to bend in so many, many ways. Nobody paid her much attention.
This wasn't that kind of establishment.
The Brass Knuckle was where rogue Topplers came to disappear for a while.
Two men sat at the bar, backs to the entrance.
The first was stocky, mid-forties, with a shaved head and tattoos running up his
facce. He tapped his empty shot glass against the counter.
"Another," he said.
"Make it a double."
The bartender, a mountain of muscle poured without comment.
The stocky man turned slightly toward his drink partner. "Before that bastard Oxford expanded his reach. The security on the sector was looser than a—"
He paused and glanced at the stripper. "Well, you know."
The other man accepted his drink from the bartender. "He's blind but has better vision than all of us combined. Almost like he's everywhere he wants to be at once."
The stocky man downed his double shot and grimaced. "Fred's been able to get around regardless thanks to that handy crest of his."
"Speaking of Fred," the lean man said, swirling his drink. "How's he feeling about Montez these days?"
"Nervous." The stocky man signaled for another pour. "Boss found himself a new partner. Some guy with deep pockets and connections that run deeper. Fred thinks he's gonna get dropped soon.
The bartender set down another double shot, but his hand froze mid-motion.
His eyes were fixed on something past the stocky man's shoulder.
The lean man noticed. "You good?"
The bartender didn't respond. His massive frame had gone completely still, like someone had hit pause on him.
The stocky man frowned. "The hell's wrong with....."
"Your friend Fred," a voice said from directly beside him. "Where is he right now?"
The stocky man's blood turned to ice.
He knew that voice.
He'd heard it on news broadcasts, in wanted bulletins, in the warnings passed around between rogue Topplers who valued their lives.
He turned slowly.
The Blue Reaper sat on the stool beside him.
Hood up, black coat standing out in the neon lights and Lower face covered by an angular mask.
Those eyes, glowing with an electric blue in the dim bar.
The stocky man's reflexes kicked in.
He bolted.
Or tried to.
The Blue Reaper's hand shot out, grabbed him by the collar mid-jump, and in one smooth motion swung him across the bar.
CRASH.
The stocky man's body slammed into the counter. Bottles exploded and glass rained down.
The music didn't stop, but the conversations did.
Every eye in the bar turned.
The Blue Reaper climbed onto the bar, planted a boot on the man's chest, and looked down at him with those cold, glowing eyes.
"Fred," he said quietly. "Where is he?"
The stocky man coughed blood. I don't—
CRACK.
The scream cut through the music when the blue Reaper's boot came down on the man's hand.
Someone near the back shouted. "Come on, he can't take us all at once"
Another voice. "Plus there's a bounty on his head!"
"Two million credits!"
The bar erupted.
Rogue Topplers surged forward, some motivated by greed, others by the simple fact that the Blue Reaper had just violated the one rule of The Brass Knuckle:
No violence on neutral ground.
The first attacker was a fire-type Symbiont, who launched a stream of flames.
The Blue Reaper ducked, grabbed an empty beer bottle from the shattered remains on the counter, and hurled it through the flames.
It connected with the guy's face.
He staggered back, and the Blue Reaper closed distance with a knee to the gut that folded the man in half.
A second attacker, massive and muscle-bound with an Aeon-type super strength Crest, threw a left hook that could've pulverized concrete.
The Blue Reaper caught the fist.
Electricity crackled from his grip, running up the attacker's arm.
The man convulsed, his eyes rolling back, and dropped like a puppet with cut strings
More came.
The Blue Reaper moved through them like water, using his fists, elbows, kicks and the katana only when necessary, and even then, he used the flat of the blade more often than the edge.
Surpisingly, he didn't intend to kill this night.
In the chaos, through the crowd of bodies and flying glass, he spotted movement near the back exit.
A man with slicked-back hair and a nervous expression was slipping toward the door.
Fred.
The Blue Reaper's eyes locked onto him.
He cut through two more attackers, a spinning kick that sent one into a table then bolted toward the exit.
Fred saw him coming and when their eyes met he ran
Outside, rain hammered the alley.
Fred splashed through puddles, heading for the service tunnel at the far end.
Behind him, the Blue Reaper emerged from The Brass Knuckle, the rain bouncing of his coat.
Fred glanced back and the blue Reaper was gaining.
"Shit, shit, shit...."
Fred reached the tunnel entrance, a dark mouth in the side of an old road and dove into it.
The Blue Reaper followed.
The tunnel was old infrastructure, pipes running along walls, steam venting from grates, everything coated in rust and grime.
Fred's footsteps echoed.
So did the Blue Reaper's.
Closer.
Closer.
Fred could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
The Blue Reaper was ten feet behind now.
Five.
Three.....
A hand grabbed Fred's shoulder.
And his Crest instinctively activated.
SWITCH.
Suddenly, the Blue Reaper was gripping an object.
Fred was now thirty feet ahead, running again, his Crest having swapped his position with a section of pipe.
"Jazz," he said quietly. "Give me an analysis."
"Spatial displacement Crest, sir. He's swapping positions with objects in his line of sight."
The Blue Reaper picked up speed.
Fred glanced back, saw him gaining again, and panicked.
"My pneuma output already makes my running speed extraordinary, to think I'd have to switch to stop him from catching up. Just how fast is this guy?" Fred thought as he burst out of the tunnel into an open street.
Thunder rumbled overhead.
Behind Fred, the rogue Topplers from The Brass Knuckle emerged from the tunnel, some still nursing injuries from the bar fight.
They saw the Blue Reaper and charged.
He didn't slow down when a chain whip made out of pneuma lashed out, wrapping around his leg.
He channeled electricity through it.
The wielder screamed and dropped.
The Blue Reaper kept running.
An ice-type launched projectiles.
The Blue Reaper dodged, slid under a low-hanging sign and came back up slashing.
Fred was fifty feet ahead now.
Forty.
He switched with a parked motorcycle, putting another thirty feet between them.
The Blue Reaper gritted his teeth.
"Jazz. Pattern analysis. Predict his switches."
"Analyzing... He favors stationary objects over living beings. Switches occur every twelve to fifteen seconds on average, Cooldown period confirmed to be within that range."
"Countdown the next predicted switch."
"Fifteen... fourteen... thirteen..."
The Blue Reaper closed distance, timing his approach.
Fred was directly ahead, twenty feet away.
"Five... four... three..."
The Blue Reaper's hand went to his katana.
"Two... one..."
He drew and threw in one motion.
The blade spun through the rain, a blue-lit arc.
Fred tried to switch.
But the katana was faster.
It pinned his arm to a brick wall, the blade sinking deep and blood trickling onto the wet ground.
Fred tugged frantically.
The Blue Reaper grabbed Fred by the throat, lifting him slightly off the ground.
Fred's eyes were wide with terror. "I'm not telling you...."
The rooftop they were now on was twenty stories up, rain creating a curtain between them and the city below.
The Blue Reaper dangled a battered Fred over the edge with one hand.
Fred screamed. "Please! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
"Montez," the Blue Reaper said, his voice calm. "Where is he?"
"I don't know! He doesn't tell me locations anymore! Not since the last job went sideways!"
"Then tell me what you do know."
Fred's words came in a rush. "He's working with someone new! Some high class rich guy."
The Blue Reaper's grip tightened slightly.
"Who?"
"I don't know his name! But he's connected to Kaiser!"
The Blue Reaper's eyes blazed brighter.
"Kaiser was disbanded eight months ago."
"No!" Fred shook his head frantically. "No, they're back! They've been operating underground this whole time! Montez is working directly with their head!"
"Who's running Kaiser?"
"I don't know! I swear! But Montez mentioned projects, experiments, serums....."
"Serums?" The Blue Reaper pulled Fred back from the edge and onto the rooftop's floor. "What kind?"
"Experimental Crest modifications! There's a blue one, a purple one, and, and a red one!"
The blue reaper had a fair idea of the blue and violet, but this is the first he's hearing of the red.
"What does the red one do?"
"It takes away Crests!" Fred's voice cracked.
"Permanently! They've been testing it somewhere, I heard Montez talking about it with his partner!"
"Where are they testing it?"
"I don't know exact locations! Montez keeps everything compartmentalized! But, but I heard something about Virelia Institute! They've got someone inside, someone feeding then students as test subjects."
Thunder cracked overhead.
"Names," the Blue Reaper demanded. "I need names."
"I don't have names! Montez doesn't trust me with that kind of intel! But the red serum, it's their big project. They're planning some kind of event to showcase it, to sell it to the highest bidders..."
WHOOSH.
A shockwave hit the rooftop.
The impact was massive, centered twenty metres from where the Blue Reaper stood.
The concrete beneath Fred's body began to glow red-hot.
Fred's eyes widened. "What....."
His scream cut short as his flesh began to melt.
The Blue Reaper released him and jumped back.
Fred's body liquefied, running across the rooftop like water, steam rising as rain hit the molten remains.
The Blue Reaper spun and landed on top the unscathed part of the roof.
A figure stood on the opposite edge of the roof.
White robe, soaked through from the rain. You could see through the hood that he had a face that was all sharp angles and Violence.
The man was massive, easily six-five, with muscles that strained against the wet fabric of his robe.
His hands dripped with the same molten substance that had just killed Fred.
He let out a slow and predatory smile
"The one who bears the mark of nemesis" the man said, his voice deep and amused. "The seventh seal synagouge sends it's regards."
The Blue Reaper's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "And who are you suppose to be?"
The figure pulled the hood of his robe slightly, revealing his face.
Recognition hit.
The warehouse.
The Knights of the Round Table.
This was one of them.
"Billy." the Blue Reaper said quietly.
The man's smile widened.
"Billy's dead, you killed him remember." He raised both hands, and the rain around him turned to steam. "The man you're looking at now has been reborn. Baptized in the blood of our father chaos."
His eyes began to glow molten orange.
The rooftop beneath his feet started to melt, concrete turning to liquid.
"I am an apostle of the twelve disciples." he said, his voice carrying weight now, almost ceremonial. "Peter. Peter the purifier."
He took a step forward, leaving a smoking footprint.
"And you, have been marked for collection."
The rain between them evaporated before it could hit the ground.
The Blue Reaper tightened his grip on his katana and coated it in a blue flame.
Paul's smile turned feral.
"Let's see whether, if even fire could burn."