As the battle raged on, the number of marauders dwindled rapidly. Their forces, once a roaring tide of brutality, had been reduced to scattered remnants. And yet, despite their numbers falling like leaves in a storm, we had yet to take a single loss. It was almost laughable how easily the battle was tipping in our favor.
But still, they kept coming.
"Haaaaargh!"
A burly marauder, easily twice my size, let out a primal roar as he charged toward me, his massive axe raised high. His muscles bulged with exertion, veins popping from his thick neck as he bore down on me with reckless abandon.
*Bang!*
The single shot rang out like a judge's gavel, and the moment the bullet found his skull, the fight left his body. His momentum carried him forward another step before his lifeless corpse tumbled over the side of the train, disappearing into the dust-blurred landscape below.
*Sizzle* *sizzle*
"Haaa~"
I sighed, shaking my head as smoke came out of the barrel of my revolver.
"Seriously? It's like they want to die. WHY in Gehenna would you charge at someone holding a gun while SCREAMING your lungs out? At least TRY to take me by surprise, you dirty, dumb savages!"
I clicked my tongue in disappointment—only to sense movement behind me.
*Sclik!*
Without turning, I drove my dagger backward, feeling the satisfying resistance as the blade punctured flesh.
"Gu—!"
The would-be ambusher barely had time to gasp before his body stiffened, a wet gurgle escaping his lips as I twisted the blade. With a sharp yank, I pulled it free, stepping aside just as his body collapsed onto the roof of the train, blood pooling beneath him.
"See? That guy had the right idea. Shame he wasn't quiet enough but still!"
I wiped the blade with my sleeves before scanning the battlefield. The outcome was clear now—the marauders were finished. They just didn't know it yet.
"Eh, don't be too harsh on them, Fifi. Makes our job easier, so I got no complaints, no self respecting Jaeger would turn down easy money you know?"
*BOOM!*
Zofia chirped, her voice lighthearted as she sent another two marauders screaming into Gehenna with a thunderous blast from her fist-mounted firearm. The concussive force ripped through their bodies, sending ragged chunks of flesh and scorched fabric scattering into the wind.
"True, but still—you'd think a group this large would at least show some level of competence."
*Bang!* *Bang!*
I fired off two precise shots, each bullet punching through the thinning horde with ease. A marauder barely had time to register his own death before his skull snapped back, a spray of crimson mist trailing his fall.
"Ugh, why are these guys so stro—?!"
*Bang!* *Splatter!*
A raider, mid-climb onto the train, barely got the words out before I put a round straight through his jaw. His head jerked violently, the lower half of his face tearing away in a grotesque display of shredded muscle and broken bone.
"Gaa-Argh!..."
Blood spewed in thick, uneven bursts as he let out a wet, gurgling gasp before slipping off the edge, his body vanishing into the chaos below.
"And besides, it's about to be over anyway."
Zofia said, turning her gaze toward a distant point on the battlefield with a knowing grin.
"Uraagh!"
*BOOM!*
A wave of radiant energy surged outward, trailing behind the devastating arc of that all-too-familiar glaive. The impact tore through another chunk of the marauder horde, disintegrating flesh and metal alike in a blinding flash of light and raw force. The thunderous aftershock rippled through the air, rattling the train beneath our feet.
"As always...he's so extra"
I sighed, though an amused smile tugged at the corner of my lips as my eyes followed the trail of destruction back to its source—the boss.
"Hahaha! Come on now! Is that all you cretins have?"
The boss's booming laughter rang out like rolling thunder, carrying effortlessly over the din of battle—even from six train cars away.
"At the very least entertain my boys and girls for a few more minutes!"
The sheer force of his presence was enough to make the remaining marauders hesitate, their bravado faltering under the weight of his voice.
"Screw this! I thought this was gonna be an easy robbery! I'm outta here!"
One of the marauders shouted, panic thick in his voice as his weapon clattered to the ground. His eyes were wide with terror, darting side to side like a cornered animal.
With their morale shattered and the ground littered with the corpses of their comrades, the rest began to follow suit. Chaos overtook their ranks as they broke formation and scattered, tripping over each other in their scramble to escape.
But then—
"Gah! What are yo—"
His scream was cut short.
From the shadows between train cars, something shot forward with a metallic *clang!*—a gleaming, mechanical appendage that looked like a massive pincer. The clamp snapped shut around the fleeing marauder's torso with a horrifying crunch. It looked like a steel crab claw, but built for killing.
"I don't need any cowards in my band"
A gravelly voice boomed across the battlefield, cold and devoid of sympathy.
"GAA—"
*Pop!**Sqlench!**Splatter!*
The marauder's head didn't just burst—it ruptured like an overripe melon under pressure. One second he was shrieking in terror, the next, his skull exploded in a wet spray of blood, grey matter, and bone shards. His eyeballs bulged grotesquely from their sockets a split-second before being ejected from his face like popped corks.
"Ugh!..."
I gagged, nearly doubling over. I've grown used to death by now—blood, bullets, severed limbs, all of it—but that? That was different. The sheer violence of it, the way the clamp crushed through bone like it was paper, how the eyes burst just before the skull gave way—it turned my stomach.
"I'll show you all how it's really done"
A hulking figure stepped into the clearing, casting the broken corpse aside like garbage. The limp body tumbled off the edge of the train, disappearing into the storm of dust and blood below.
His eyes locked onto the boss like a predator spotting a rival—vicious, animalistic, eager for violence. The tension in the air tightened like a noose.
"Hooo~ Iron Claw Mike, he's got a bounty of 120,000 Cicol...so nice of our dinner to present itself like this"
Zofia's voice practically purred with excitement, her attention now wholly consumed by the coming clash, whatever interest she'd had in the rest of the battle evaporated like smoke off a spent gun barrel.
"Eh..."
"Uhm..."
The marauders, too, had halted their onslaught, they now hovered just far enough from the impending clash, caught between fear and morbid curiosity.
Iron claw Mike was a muscle-bound monster of a man, standing at least two scales tall (author note: scales = meters), his skin was sun-scorched and leathery, painted with countless scars like war-torn brushstrokes, his size was comparable to Garren's.
His torso was bare beneath an old, tattered trench coat—or maybe it was once an overcoat, though now it was so ragged it barely clung to his broad shoulders and hung open down the middle, exposing the sinewy mass of his torso and a chiseled set of abs that looked carved out of stone.
The coat flapped in the dry wind, the edges torn and frayed like shredded banners from some forgotten war. His tight-fitting pants, though functional, were dirty and torn at the knees and thighs, frayed from years of battle and survival in the wastelands. Around his chest was a leather strap buckled across his body like a bandolier, and hanging from it at his side was the tool of his trade—a massive, steel-jawed hatchet, its edge darkened by blood and time.
But the true centerpiece of his brutal figure—the thing that earned him his name—was the massive iron claw that had replaced his right arm. It looked like something torn straight from a siege engine or some monstrous crustacean, all sharp angles and mechanical menace. Gleaming dully in the sunlight, the prosthetic was a crude but vicious piece of wastelander engineering: thick plates of rust-flecked steel, piston-powered joints, and a pair of jagged, interlocking pincers that clicked with a metallic snarl every time his fingers twitched. It wasn't sleek or elegant like some high-end automail—it was raw, industrial, and terrifying, a blunt instrument of carnage.
"Heh..."
With a grunt, Iron claw Mike stepped forward and unslung the weapon in one smooth motion, the metal glinting dully in the dying light.
You could feel it—every pair of eyes on the train, every marauder, every defender, even the wind itself...all held their breath.
(Not a bad strategy…a little naive, sure, but it has teeth. If he kills the boss, his crew's morale soars while ours crumbles. And if the boss refuses, his rep takes a hit and they'll see it as weakness also boosting their morale. Honor was never a Jaeger's strong suit—but reputation? Yeah, that's sacred, especially since the boss' rep is the only reason we get offered high paying jobs. The old man won't back down, not with eyes on him)
I mulled it over as I watched the strange little power play unfolding between both sides—this wasn't just a fight. It was a statement.
"I assume you're the boss of these milksops who've been giving my boys so much trouble?"
The marauder spoke up, his voice oily with arrogance, a grin stretched across his dirt-smeared face as he swaggered forward with the overconfidence of a man who thought he was in control.
"Heh...I was expecting someone bigger"
He added, sneering as he looked the boss up and down like he was unimpressed.
(Ooh…bastard's dead and he doesn't even know it)
I thought, lips twitching with a mix of secondhand dread and anticipation.
You could practically feel the shift in the air.
"And I was expecting someone impressively dressed...Pfft!—what's that supposed to be? Your troupe uniform?"
The boss chuckled dryly, his voice light but sharp as a blade. His posture was relaxed, maybe even lazy to the untrained eye—but his gaze was locked in like a predator sizing up a target, every twitch and movement iron claw Mike made being filed away with unyielding focus.
"Eh, I like to think of it as a bold fashion statement, personally..."
Iron claw Mike replied with a crooked smirk, clearly amused rather than insulted by the jab at his attire. His voice had the coarse, raspy charm of a seasoned wastelander who'd long since stopped caring what others thought.
"...Though, I'll admit, it has gotten a bit stale as of late"
He rolled his shoulders with a casual shrug, the metal clamp on his back giving a faint hiss as it adjusted.
"Maybe adding your hide to the coat'll be the spruce-up it needs"
He stuck his tongue out like a deranged child at a candy stand, grinning ear to ear—unhinged, bloodthirsty, and absolutely delighted by the idea.
"Pfft—hahahaha!"
The boss doubled over, laughing like he'd just heard the punchline of the year. His voice echoed through the battlefield, booming over the clatter of the train and the hushed silence of the crowd.
"The train-robbing scum's got a side gig as a seamstress? That's just precious! Hahaha!"
He wiped a mock tear from the corner of his eye, his grin wicked and wide.
"What's next? Gonna knit me a scarf outta failure and bad decisions?"
He said provocatingly with a shlt-eating grin plastered all over his face.
"I'll flay you alive!"
Iron Claw Mike surged forward with a roar, a living battering ram of rage and muscle. His namesake claw snapped open wide like the maw of a ravenous beast, lunging toward the boss with savage intent—ready to clamp down, crush, and rip him apart like fresh meat.
"Heh."
*Clang!*
The boss sidestepped with precision, just barely out of the claw's reach. He didn't try to meet it head-on—that would've been suicide. Instead, he twisted his body and brought the butt-end of his glaive crashing against the metal limb in a sweeping arc, redirecting the beastly pincer with a sharp clang of steel on steel, being careful to not let his weapon be grabbed by the claw. But the momentary deflection gave Mike exactly what he wanted—an opening.
With surprising agility for his size, Mike stepped in, shortening the distance in a heartbeat. His steel hatchet came down in a brutal diagonal slash, aiming to bury itself into the boss's collarbone.
*Cling!*
The boss reacted instantly, pivoting his glaive and using the shaft to intercept the blow just inches from his neck. The two weapons locked, the strain hissing between them. With a grunt of effort, the boss leveraged the longer reach of his polearm, sliding the axe off to the side before lifting the haft high overhead, effectively disrupting Mike's momentum.
Then—
*Crack!* *Squelch!*
The boss lunged forward with a sudden, brutal headbutt. His forehead smashed square into Mike's face with a wet crunch, cartilage crumpling on impact. Blood burst from the marauder's nose like a broken faucet, splattering down his chin as he staggered back, stunned. First blood belonged to the boss
The boss didn't stop there however as he charged forward and tried to spear the marauder through.
"Don't underestimate me!"
*EEEEEEE-SSSHK!*
With a shriek of grinding metal and venting steam, Mike brought down his massive iron claw in a piston-assisted slam—aiming to crush not just the boss's glaive, but the boss himself beneath its sheer weight and power. The claw hissed with hydraulic fury, like a guillotine forged in a foundry.
"Heh—!"
*THOOM!*
The impact rang out like thunder as the reinforced roof of the train groaned beneath them, a deep crater forming under the boss's feet from the force of the blow. Dust and debris kicked up around the clash, rippling out like shockwaves.
"Hup!"
With a controlled breath and a swift step forward, the boss shifted his stance and pushed upward against the claw with the haft of his glaive, redirecting the crushing force just enough to slip out from under the press. Muscles taut, he leveraged his position and shoved the claw back with a grunt of exertion, forcing Mike to stagger two paces backward, caught off-guard by the sudden reversal.
The air between them cracked with tension, both warriors now sizing each other up with renewed intensity.
The next few minutes were an intense demonstration of force, skill, and speed as Iron Claw Mike came at the boss like a human war machine, all muscle, metal, and murderous intent. He swung his hatchet in a brutal arc, aiming to cleave the boss in two from shoulder to hip. The weapon howled through the air, but the boss slid back with a practiced step, narrowly evading the blow, the steel grazing just inches from his coat.
*Thoom!* *Pow!* *Crash!* *Cling!* *Clang!* *Crack!*
"GAAAAAGH! WHY WON'T YOU GET HIT?!"
Mike didn't let up. With a guttural roar, he pressed forward, launching a flurry of savage strikes. His iron claw, that massive, crab-like monstrosity, snapped at the boss like a bear trap, reinforced pistons hissing and steaming with every crushing motion. He was trying to corner him—feinting high with the hatchet, then jabbing low with the claw, sweeping sideways, then overhead—keeping up a relentless pace that would've overwhelmed any normal opponent.
"Eh I'd give that last one a 10…"
But the boss wasn't normal.
"10 out of 100 that is"
He was mocking Mike as they exchanged thunderous blows after blows.
Each time that glimmering claw struck, it met only empty air or the shaft of the boss's glaive. The weapon spun with fluid grace—sometimes used to parry, sometimes to redirect, and occasionally, with a sudden burst of force, to punish.
(Haaa~ there's the boss' bad habit again...)
I realized, watching the boss's measured movements, the subtle shifts in his stance, the controlled counterattacks. He wasn't just reacting—he was reading Mike, analyzing every flaw in the man's footwork, the timing of his swings, the rhythm of his attacks.
(…He's playing with his food)
Still, the crowd had gotten into it. Our corp were hooting and cheering from the train roof and between the cars.
"C'mon, boss! Show him how we really throw down!"
"Hah! That's it! Work him over!"
And on the other side, the marauders had found their voices too.
"Take his head, Mike!"
"Turn that pretty coat of his into confetti!"
The roof shook with the weight of two armies watching, but neither fighter seemed to notice. They were locked in their own little world.
"GRRR!"
Frustration began to bloom on Mike's face. His brow furrowed. He snarled. And then he switched tactics.
"Take this!"
He feinted a wide, horizontal swing with his hatchet—one that the boss smoothly sidestepped—only to let go of the weapon entirely mid-swing, launching it straight for the boss's head.
"Ha! Got you no-!"
*Whoosh!*
A dirty trick—but the boss's glaive was already up, smacking the spinning axe off-course in one effortless twirl. The weapon clattered off the train's side, embedding into the outer wall of one of the cars.
"Why you!"
Mike followed up immediately, closing in with his iron claw primed for a grapple. The claw snapped shut like thunder, but the boss ducked beneath it, twisting on one foot and slamming the haft of his glaive into Mike's side like a battering ram.
"Guh—!"
Mike stumbled back, winded, but kept his feet—barely.
"Cheap shots now?"
The boss said, smirking.
"Being so desperate in front of your boys ain't a good look ya know?"
"Shut up!"
Mike didn't answer. Instead, he lunged again, this time grabbing a canister from the strap across his chest. With a hiss and a flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward the boss's feet—a homemade flash bomb, crudely constructed but potent.
*Crack!* *Whoosh!*
A blast of light and smoke erupted, obscuring the view—but only for a second.
*CLANG!*
The sound of steel on steel rang out again as the smoke cleared—Mike had tried to use the distraction to launch another crushing claw attack, but the boss had anticipated it. He blocked with the shaft of his glaive, sparks flying, their faces inches apart now.
"You're too predictable"
The boss muttered, pushing him back.
"All flash, no substance"
"I said SHUT UP!"
Mike roared in frustration and disengaged, swinging the claw wildly, trying to grab anything—armor, limbs, even fabric. But the boss remained an untouchable blur, weaving between each strike, lashing out with punishing jabs from the butt of his glaive or sweeping Mike's legs from under him when he overcommitted.
Blood was now dripping from Mike's forehead—a shallow cut above his eyebrow where the boss had struck him earlier. He wiped it away with the back of his claw, panting, glaring, and breathing through his teeth.
"You're fast…"
Mike grunted, eyes scrutinizing for a single crack in boss' metaphorical armor.
"But you can't dodge forever…"
"I don't need to"
The boss replied, flicking a stray hair from his eyes.
"I just need you to keep putting on a good show for as long as possible"
That smug tone—that calm certainty—it was eating at Mike.
"I'll F*CKING CRUSH YOU!!!!"
I could see it. Every failed trick, every blocked attack, every blow he couldn't land—it chipped away at his composure, little by little.
(He's getting sloppy now…)
"GAAAAH!"
And then Mike made a critical mistake. He lunged again, aiming a grab with his claw—but it was wide, desperate. The boss pivoted, caught the claw with the head of his glaive and wrenched it sideways, using the marauder's own momentum against him.
"But...I suppose that's enough entertainment for one train ride"
The boss said impassively, as his eyes changed from relaxed to attentive.
"Wha-?"
Mike stumbled off-balance, and in that moment, the boss stepped in.
*THWACK!*
"Guh!"
A bone-crunching blow to Mike's ribs.
*CLANK!*
"ARGH!"
Another to the knee.
*CRACK!*
"GARGH!"
Then a brutal spinning strike to the side of the head that sent the marauder sprawling, metal claw dragging sparks across the train's roof as he skidded to a halt on his side.
Cheers exploded from the our line.
"Boss! Boss! Boss!"
But the marauders weren't giving up either.
"Get up, Mike! Rip his guts out! What are you doing?!"
"Yeah! Where'd all your energy go?! You were talking all that hot sh*t earlier!"
"Don't tell me you're all talk?!"
Though their cheers were quickly turning to jeers for their leader.
"Shut up!...You twats! Stay out of this!"
Mike groaned out a shout before slowly pushing himself up, blood running down his chin. His chest heaved. His eye was swollen. His jaw hung slightly crooked. But still, he forced himself to stand.
"You're not…better than me!…"
He spat blood and spite out of his slacked jaw.
"No"
The boss replied, calmly readying his stance again, glaive twirling once in his hands.
"Just smarter, stronger, faster, more handsome, better dressed and clearly, I keep better company as well"
He smugly said, taking one look at the marauders that instantly shut them all up, they were already putting distance between themselves and the train and once it's made clear Mike has no chance of victory they'll abandon him and turn tail.
He wasn't wrong, while they were fighting the core members of our corp, Zofia, Leon, Garren, I as well as all the members of the corp still had out weapons trained on the other side ready to jump in to help if it was necessary. The only reason we haven't wasn't out of honor for this duel or anything like that, it simply was because the boss hasn't needed our help yet.
"Come on boss! Finish him!"
Another roar of laughter from the our side causing me to shake my head in resignation.
"Haa~! Haa~!"
Mike's breathing was ragged now, his massive frame hunched over and trembling from the strain. Blood ran in rivulets down his face and chest, staining the tattered coat that hung like a flag of defeat from his shoulders. His knees buckled, but still—somehow—he didn't fall.
(Give up already…even you must realize that if the boss had wanted you dead from the start, you'd be a corpse by now)
I clenched my jaw, watching the boss still holding back, barely winded. It was getting excessive. He was dragging this fight out like a cat playing with a dying mouse.
"Ugh...f*ck...!"
*Splatter*
Mike coughed violently, vomiting up a fresh gush of blood that splattered on the train's steel roof. The wet sound echoed through the brief silence, cutting through the cheering and jeering alike. His chest heaved. His arm trembled. It was obvious—he was running on fumes.
"Fine..."
He muttered, voice cracking.
"Maybe...maybe you are better..."
His words were low, bitter, begrudging.
But then, as he slowly pushed himself upright, his face twisted—not with resignation, but defiance.
"BUT YOU'RE STILL GONNA DIE!"
In one sudden, jarring motion, Mike slammed his iron claw into the ground, pistons hissing violently. With a series of sharp mechanical *clanks* and the whirring scream of grinding gears, the claw began to shift—its armored plates folding in and retracting, rotating with rapid precision. The claw transformed in a blink, segments locking into place as a cylindrical chamber slid out from within the shell.
(A cannon!)
"Get down!"
I screamed, he'd turned his arm into a damned cannon.
*WHUMP-CHUNK!*
With a thunderous roar, a glowing, rune-carved cannonball loaded itself into the chamber. The barrel pulsed with violent red sigils, humming with unstable energy. Mike aimed it square at the boss's chest—at point-blank range.
"GO TO HELL!"
*BOOOOOOM!*
The cannon fired with a deafening crack, the recoil nearly lifting Mike off his feet. The explosive cannonball screamed toward the boss in a blur of molten metal and raw mana, trailing a fiery tail like a comet about to end the world.
"Haaaa~"
But the boss…merely sighed disapointedly.
With a calm breath, he turned his glaive upright, one hand flicking the magic crystal embedded in the weapon.
*VMMMMM—!*
The crystal flared with a blinding light, violet arcs of energy rippling up the blade. The glaive pulsed, singing with raw, focused power.
And then—
*SHING!*
With one perfect, almost lazy swing, the boss sliced upward.
The cannonball split clean in half.
*BOOM-BOOM!*
Both halves detonated behind him, harmlessly flaring into twin fireballs that scorched the air—but not a single ember touched him.
"Gu..."
And Mike—Mike hadn't even had time to react.
The same swing that cleaved the projectile carried through his body, carving up from collarbone to shoulder, splitting metal and flesh alike. For a moment, his body seemed to pause in place, confused, almost unsure of what had happened.
Then—
*Splorch!*
His right side fell away in a gory heap, his metal arm clattering to the ground with a hollow ring, still glowing faintly.
*Splatter!* *Splatter!*
Mike dropped to his knees, wide-eyed, blood pouring from his ruined torso. His mouth opened to speak…but no sound came out.
He toppled forward.
And just like that…it was over.
Silence.
Total silence, broken only by the soft hum of the glaive's crystal as it powered down.
(Guess I was worried for nothing...right, I almost forgot boss had the buster)
Boss' signature weapon, his glaive had the ability to store kinetic energy from all of his clashes and then unleashing it as magical energy in his attacks.
"..."
A second passed. Then two.
And then the marauders panicked.
"HE KILLED MIKE!"
"SCREW THIS!"
"RUN!"
Their shouts rang out in terrified unison. Weapons clattered to the train's floor as they scattered like rats, leaping from the roof, sprinting across the desert, falling over themselves to get away from the demon who had just ended their leader in one blow.
The boss stood still, silent, the light from his glaive fading as the wind caught his coat and made it billow like the banner of a victorious warlord.
"YEEEAH!"
"We won!"
Our corp erupted in cheers behind him.
And me?
"Phew~ haha..."
I just exhaled, a half-laugh caught in my throat as I stared at the fallen Iron claw Mike.
"Heh…"
The boss let out a low, victorious chuckle as he hefted his glaive one last time before voicing his triumph.
"Another flawless victory for Corvus! If any of you value your miserable lives, don't show your faces here again, mutts!"
His words rang out strong and clear, the echoes spurring our mercenary corps into fresh fervor.
"What a showboat"
I muttered, fatigue and wry amusement coloring my voice.
"Zofia!"
The boss called over his shoulder, already walking back towards us.
"Collect the body. We'll claim the bounty—consider it a nice bonus on top of our pay for this job"
He ordered.
"Haaa~ Yes, yes, I was just about to!"
Zofia replied with a delighted grin, stepping forward to hoist the fallen marauder's limp form as the boss passed by in my direction.
"Good work today, Fi"
Affectionately, he ruffled my hair as he passed, the scent of sweat, dust, and metal clung to him like it always did after a fight—unmistakably him.
"And you were spectacularly slow as always"
I fibbed back, lips quirking into a tired grin.
"Haha"
The old man just laughed as he walked on, that deep, gravelly chuckle echoing with the ease of a man who'd survived far too much to take anything too seriously anymore.
This is our boss—Edward Iger, the so-called "Lord of crows"
And also…my adopted father.
The man who took me in, raised me, trained me, and, as much as he tries to hide it, worries himself sick about me whenever a job goes even slightly sideways.
He leads Corvus, our Jaeger corp, feared, respected, and infamously divisive. Not because of our capabilities—we've proven those plenty—but because of where we came from.
Although we mostly made our name and our living in Fanoshia we were originally from Irkalla long ago believe it or not, although it was when I haven't joined the group so I didn't have any experience with it, supposedly, the boss left as he did not agree with the ruling body of the region, namely the Irkallan cartel.
A few hours later, the screech of steel echoed underfoot as the train slowed its speed. In the distance, rising from the arid horizon like a spire of sin, stood Calavera—the opulent jewel of crime and corruption in Irkalla. Sprawling casinos lined its lower tiers while silver-plated airships drifted between its higher levels like leviathans of luxury.
*Eeeee...*
The moment our train arrived at the station a chime rang out.
"Attention passengers: You have now arrived at Stazione Valgrazia, the Northwestern gateway to the city of Calavera. Please disembark in an orderly fashion. Remember to keep personal effects close, ESPECIALLY around these parts. Welcome to Irkalla—where fortunes are made, and good sense...misplaced..."
"I repeat..."
The chime repeated a few more times.
"Giving us the hard sell already eh?"
I said sarcastically as I stepped out of the train, glad to have my feet on the ground again.
"Haaa~ never thought I'd see this dump again in my life"
Zofia muttered beside me, not even trying to hide her discontent as she had her arms crossed, the bounty corpse slung lazily over one shoulder.
"Well...at the very least there's less smog than in Fanoshia"
I replied, trying to keep things positive as I watched the towering city loom ever closer beyond the station entrance.
"Fair"
She said with a shrug.
"But the view and the food are where the good points start and ends around here, you'll see..."
Zofia warned cryptically.
When the train started to unload it's cargo on to the secured platform, the welcoming party was already there—a few suits, too clean for mercs and too scummy for proper businessmen, and one tall man in a maroon waistcoat with greased-back hair and a permanent sneer etched into his sharp, ratlike face.
He was the client.
"Edgar...glad to see you, still breathing..."
He looked at the boss and said as we finished disembarking, drawing out each syllable like the name was something sour on his tongue.
"Wow already? Usually it takes us at least a week to piss someone off"
I said watching the situation from the distance as the boss converts with the suit.
"The people around here are a bit sensitive Fifi, best not to mention that fact to them though"
Zofia gigled and whispered into my ears.
"I must admit, I wasn't expecting you to actually deliver…let alone in such dramatic fashion"
"We have a flair for results"
The boss replied evenly, offering a small, knowing smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Oh and as a bonus...we also took care of some pests for you, you're welcomed"
The boss said eyeing Zofia.
"Guess I'm up"
Zofia said leaving me behind as she walked up to the boss.
The man in the suit looked past the boss, eyeing the corpse Zofia dropped onto the platform with a loud, wet *thud!*, she then unwrapped it partially revealing iron claw Mike's deathly pale face frozen in the shock of his final moments.
"Hmph...I suppose I'll add it to your payment..."
He waved a hand, and one of his lackeys approached with a briefcase—sleek, black, heavy. He clicked it open to show neat stacks of golden Cicol coins, shimmering faintly with arcane watermark seals.
"You'll find everything in order, though the bounty for iron claw will have to wait for a few days while we confirm it with the higher ups"
The client said, but his tone was clipped, stiff, almost grudging.
"A deal's a deal"
"Appreciate your promptness"
The boss replied, shutting the case with one hand.
"Always a pleasure"
He outstretched his hand.
"Hmph...hardly, do endeavor to make your businesses here swift. I do not want to be seen with you more than what is required"
The man snorted, refusing to shake the boss' hand.
(D*ck!...)
My blood was boiling inside but I kept it in check.
"Noted..."
The boss said smiling as he took his hand back.
"Don't act like this means we're friends, Iger. The cartel hasn't forgotten your little 'exit stage left' routine. And I haven't either. They'll be watching you closely while you're here"
"I know"
The boss' eyes narrowed—just a flicker—but his smile never faded.
"..."
The client tensed for a moment, but didn't reply. Instead, he turned sharply and left, his goons in tow.
When he was gone, the tension ebbed, and Zofia exhaled.
"Ugh, I hate those fancy rats!"
She said, shaking her head.
"No offense to rats"
She said blatantly saying that even rats were better.
"Eh forget it, we're not here for them anyway. Take a break y'all, we're celebrating tongiht"
The boss said turning to the corp.
"Hooray!"
"Heck yeah!"
"Been wating for this!"
Cheers rose from our crew.
We weren't welcome in Calavera. We weren't trusted.
But we were paid.
We all went our separate ways temporarily, I was given permission to explore as there was currently nothing for me to do. The job was wrapped up, the payment confirmed, and we were expected to rendezvous at a later time.
"Hmm hmm hmm~"
So, with a casual pace, a tune on my lips and idle curiosity, I wandered through the sprawling labyrinth that was this station, the grand northwestern gateway into Irkalla.
The station itself was a marvel—ornate yet weathered, all old-world charm polished up for new-world vices. High arched ceilings loomed above with iron beams and stained glass casting prismatic light across the marble floor. The sounds of steam hissing, luggage wheels scraping, and distant announcers droning gave it all the atmosphere of a restless, breathing beast.
"You know it's kinda hard to believe this city is the origin of most organized crime..."
I said admiring the view yet wary of the dangers beneath the superficial beauty of it, beyond the station gates, the infamous city loomed—Calavera, the opulent pearl of Irkalla. The deeper I stared at it from the station balcony, the more enchanting it looked which was probably why people still come here despite it's infamous global reputatioin.
"Haaa~"
I exhaled, leaning against the railing as I idly scanned the animated scenery below, just letting the low hum of the station fill my ears for a moment, letting myself blend into the background.
And then something—
No... someone—caught my eye.
"Hmm? Who's that? There's not supposed to be anyone here right now..."
A few platforms down, standing alone as if untouched by the noise and bustle around him, was a boy, which was weird as this entire station was temporarily secured for today because of our transport job.
(Roughly my age... maybe a bit taller)
My sharp eyes narrowed as I studied him from afar.
He wasn't particularly large or physically intimidating—but there was something about him. A gravity that pulled the eye. Like trying to ignore a knife pointed at your back.
""...""
He wore an all-black cloak, the fabric so dark it seemed to absorb the daylight around him. It wasn't thick, but the way it draped nearly to his boots gave it the illusion of weight—like it was woven from shadow itself. Even the way it fluttered in the breeze felt...intentional. Every movement precise. Measured.
Not calm.
Controlled...
Like a bow drawn taut and waiting to snap.
(Wait...)
It was his mask that finally made my breath catch.
(Is that...a mask?)
White and silver with faint streaks of black. Ornate, elegant...haunting. The kind you'd see at a masquerade ball. It concealed his entire face, save for his eyes.
""...?"
For the briefest moment, our gazes locked.
(Those eyes—)
They were the color of fresh blood.
Crimson, cold, blank, they didn't blink, didn't waver, they just watched.
Not in alarm. Not even real interest.
""...""
Just curiosity—and then he looked away, as if dismissing me entirely.
That alone made something coil tight in my stomach.
Beneath the edge of his hood, I could just barely make out the pale shade of his hair—sickly white, like powdered snow.
"Hold on a moment..."
I swallowed hard, a sudden cold sweat trailing down my spine.
(An all-black cloak. A mask. Albino hair...and those dull crimson eyes)
Something about him felt off—yet...familiar. Like a word stuck on the tip of your tongue, or a face glimpsed in a half-remembered dream.
"Hold on..."
A shiver traced down my back as memory crashed into me.
(That conversation I'd had with Leon back on the train, just before the battle with the marauders...)
My voice trembled as it escaped me, thin and uncertain.
"W-white...white Jackal..."
I didn't even realize my hand had drifted to my revolver until I felt the cold metal beneath my fingertips. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him—some part of me screaming that if I so much as blinked, he'd vanish. Or worse...
(What the hell is this? I don't sense any killing intent...but why—why am I so damn scared right now?)
The question rang loud and useless in my head, drowned beneath the sound of my own heartbeat.
""...""
He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stood there like a statue waiting for the world to turn.
Waiting for something.