The atmosphere inside the pub was suffocatingly thick, heavy with the sharp, metallic stench of ozone and the absolute brutal destruction of the robbers. The low guttural basslines of the MuseBox still vibrated through the floorboards, a slow dying pulse buried deep within the warped oak of the tables. Patrons sat like corpses, lungs locked, eyes glued to the dark stains on the floor.
Just as the first breath of desperate relief began to stir, the tavern doors flew open with a shattering iron crash.
A violent wall of pressurized ranzige steam roared into the room, choking the light. Through the blinding white fog, three distinct silhouettes cut forward, severing the mist.
Zax led the breach. His buzzed hair looked like rigid iron wire, and his eyes shot through the room with a sharp paranoid frenzy, scanning every dark corner for a threat. His coat was an asymmetrical mess of heavy zippers and reinforced pockets, bulging with the specialized tools meant to systematically crush an opponent’s senses.
“Eyes on the exits,” Zax muttered under his breath, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his belt, the sheer force of his paranoia radiating outward. “Don’t let them breathe.”
Directly behind him stalked Nyco. The boy looked like a walking corpse, hollow cheeked, deathly pale, with deep pitch black ink stains of exhaustion carved under his eyes. The raw guilt of what they had done to Toji back in the day was a physical parasite eating him alive from the inside out, a
burning cold
in his core. He yanked the strings of his oversized hoodie, pulling the fabric violently forward until the shadows swallowed his face entirely.
Why are we here?
Nyco’s mind screamed, his teeth chattering in the dark of his hood.
We shouldn’t have come. If they find out… if they look at my hands, they’ll see it. They’ll see Toji’s blood.
But it was the third figure crossing the threshold that made the bartender’s face turn an instant chalky white.
Samuel “The Bonk” stepped through the mist. The behemoth had to duck his massive head entirely, his broad shoulders scraping against the heavy soot stained wooden beams of the ceiling. He was a colossal living fortress of pure dense muscle, displacing the very air in the room.
Zax took another step forward, forcing his face into an arrogant sneering grimace. He planted his fists firmly on his hips, squeezing every drop of artificial venom into his throat to play the role of the ruthless tyrant.
“Well, well,” Zax sneered, his voice cutting through the ringing silence like a rusted blade. “Did this pathetic circus of bums honestly believe they could play the savior in a dump like this?”
Nyco gave a stiff mechanical nod in the background. His hands remained buried deep within his pockets, clawing at his own thighs to stop the violent shaking.
Just don’t look up,
he told himself.
Don’t let them see the panic.
“Yeah, zwervers!” De Bonk bellowed. The roar rumbled straight from his cavernous chest, vibrating the glassware on the counter. He mimicked the insult mindlessly, his massive jaw tightening purely to mimic the tough display of his brothers. Yet, beneath the performance, a familiar terror gripped him.
Don’t squeeze too hard,
the giant thought, his heart hammering against his ribs.
If you hit them, they break. Like the others. Don’t break them.
Zax advanced another step, his eyes turning ice cold as he locked his gaze directly onto Apollo’s table. “You runts actually think you own these streets now? You have absolutely no concept of the forces you’re trying to look big against right now!”
“No concept at all!” De Bonk thundered behind him, crossing his tree trunk arms with enough force to crack his leather vest. He flexed his massive frame, trying to manifest every ounce of terror he could summon.
The tension reached a violent kookpunt. The air grew thick, suffocating, pregnant with the static energy of a bloodbath. Nobody moved. The bartender gripped the counter, knuckles white. Apollo and his crew remained perfectly still, their expressions unreadable, their eyes locked like targeting arrays onto the three intruders. The tavern held its breath.
Then, at the absolute peak of this suffocating malice, a tiny brown field mouse darted out from beneath a discarded plate, scurrying straight across the grease stained wood right beneath De Bonk’s nose.
The giant froze.
The fierce murderous scowl vanished from his face in a fraction of a second. His massive eyes widened into giant glassy saucers, glowing with an instant childlike wonder. The carefully constructed terrifying facade dissolved like salt in a storm.
“Ooh… look at that! A tiny muisje!” De Bonk suddenly erupted, his voice jumping into a bizarrely high ecstatic pitch, shockingly clear in the silent room.
Without a single thought for the standoff, his brothers, or the sheer absurdity of his actions, the giant abandoned the intimidation entirely. The colossal wall of muscle dropped to his knees with a floor shaking thud, clumsily chasing the little creature through the crowded pub. He pinched a small crumb of stale bread between his massive eeltige fingers with infinite gentleness.
“Wait up, little friend! Stay right there! I just want to give you something to eat!”
Zax and Nyco stood frozen like stone monuments at the entrance. The terrifying legendary entrance they had rehearsed for hours was instantly shattered into a pathetic farce by their own blood.
The two brothers exchanged a long agonizing look of pure unadulterated hopelessness. The suffocating dread that had filled the room vanished, replaced by an awkward ringing bewilderment. The entire pub stared at them with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. The silence was total, save for the heavy rhythmic snorting and the splintering sound of chairs as De Bonk crawled blindly beneath a table, and the rapid, tiny
skittering
of the mouse.
Zax’s shoulders sagged as a heavy bone deep sigh escaped his lips. He looked over at Nyco, who was staring in absolute horror at their hunting giant of a brother.
“Seriously?” Nyco whispered, his voice cracking and trembling under the strain. He frantically yanked his hood strings tighter until only his pale nose was visible. “Zax, what are we supposed to do now? Every single person in here is staring at us incredibly hard. I can’t take this. I can’t breathe.”
Zax rubbed his face in utter frustration, shaking his head as the arrogant bully persona crumbled into dust. He stared down at the floorboards, giving his younger brother a defeated weary nod.
“You know what,” Zax muttered under his breath, his voice barely a low murmur meant only for Nyco’s ears. “The act is dead. It’s completely ruined anyway. Let’s just leave this cursed place behind and go find out what Vulkan is up to.”
Nyco let out a long ragged breath of pure relief, the agonizing tension sliding off his pale face. He nodded frantically. “For real, forget this. Let’s please just get out of here. Move, now.”
Before they could turn, De Bonk scrambled back to his feet with a triumphant grin. He had with extreme meticulous care tucked the tiny field mouse safely away into a deep protected pocket of his coat, after ensuring it had the bread crumbs. He looked at his brothers with massive gleaming eyes, a radiant innocent smile stretching across his face, seemingly
vibrating
with new purpose.
“Did you guys see him? He was so small! He liked me!” De Bonk shouted enthusiastically, his voice booming with pride.
Zax rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, but a tiny almost invisible trace of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, giant. We all saw it. Now come on.”
Zax and Nyco stepped forward, each grabbing one of De Bonk’s massive tree trunk arms. With gentle but unyielding force, they began dragging the laughing giant out, who continued to wave and smile at the stunned speechless faces throughout the tavern, while Apollo’s group felt the adrenaline fade into cool calculation.
The three brothers stepped back out into the open air, their heads held high despite the lingering suffocating awkwardness of the mouse incident. But the moment their boots cleared the threshold and they breathed in the crisp, fog laden air, a figure dropped smoothly from a massive copper steam pipe overhead, which
smelled
faintly metallic and hot. She landed completely soundlessly on her feet, blocking their path.
Resting casually across her shoulder was a massive monstrously heavy smithing hammer. Her rugged clothes were a mosaic of scorch marks, heavy soot, and dark smudges of industrial grease.
“Hey, relax guys, no stress,” she began immediately, a wide confident grin flashing across her face. “Don’t waste your energy on those three clowns. I’ve seen those bullies around the district before. They blow off a massive amount of steam, but when the hammer falls, there’s nothing inside.”
She extended a firm soot stained hand toward Apollo. “I’m Lyn Luban. I’ve been watching your crew from the shadows inside for a while now.”
Apollo stared at her, his eyes widening as his gaze locked onto the weapon resting on her shoulder. Embedded deep within the massive iron head of the hammer was a heavy pitch black iron pin, webbed with brilliant goudkleurige veins that pulsed with liquid fire and violent bursts of static electricity.
It was the core of the Lightning Burning Forge Soul.
The artifact fused the raw unyielding power of the forge with the precision of advanced construction. With this power, Lyn could manipulate raw materials like structural wood and reinforced metal with her bare hands, molding them like soft clay. Her palms could ignite to temperatures mimicking a localized lightning strike, instantly vaporizing impurities from molten steel. In a true clash, she could incinerate her surroundings, funneling intense heat and electrical currents directly through her weapons. The mere presence of the core radiated an intimidating heavy power that made Apollo’s own poncho singe at the edges.
Lyn’s expression sharpened, her smile vanishing as she looked at the group with absolute seriousness. “I saw what you did in there. The way your crew dismantled that entire gang of robbers was masterclass. And to be completely honest with you… I’m desperate for that kind of strength right now.”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping into a low urgent whisper that carried the raw physical weight of the smog choked streets. “My friend is in deep trouble. He’s been chained like an animal, trapped in the underbelly of this district by a ruthless syndicate of heavy criminals. I can’t break through their lines alone. But with your power? We could shatter those chains in seconds. Will you help me?”
The raw weight of her words struck the group instantly. Apollo, Ren, Cilla, and Miki exchanged a single electric glance, the adrenaline flooding their veins like gasoline on a spark, igniting a fresh physical rush. The thought of an innocent soul bound in chains, and the chance to utterly demolish the syndicates responsible, set their resolve on fire.
“Chained? You should have started with that! Of course we’re going to tear that place apart and free him!” Apollo shouted, his voice ringing with absolute fire as he yanked his poncho tight over his chest, ready for action.
The rest of the crew nodded with fierce unyielding synchronization. There was no hesitation, no doubt. The entire group was instantly motivated to the absolute bone. Without wasting another fraction of a second, they marched out into the fog with heavy thunderous strides, Lyn leading the vanguard straight into the hazardous steam choked streets, fully prepared to obliterate any obstacle in their path.
Yet, as the heavy distant basslines of the MuseBox finally dissolved into the damp alleys and Apollo’s crew marched toward the flames of combat, the opposite side of the city remained terrifyingly unnaturally silent.
For how were things unfolding at this very moment for Jane, Aurelius, Nyx, and Silarias? They had, after all, been relentlessly pursuing the faint trail of those anomalous electrical vibrations. But the labyrinthine pitch black alleys of the steam metropolis never surrendered their secrets willingly, the darkness feeling like a cold physical presence trying to smother them. While they moved forward under the illusion of a stealthy approach, they were stepping with wide open eyes directly into a catastrophic trap. A small complication was waiting for them in the dark.
Or more accurately: nineteen year old problems that were very much in the mood for a violent bloody party.