Lizenon bared his fangs and smiled, standing over the now dead Bulldog.

“WE HAVE A WINNER!” The announcer bellowed.

“Okay, tell me where your boss is.” Jack said, getting up.

“No no, the fight isn’t over yet. In order to win, he must fight Writher.”

“Who’s Writher?”

He grinned. “You’re about to find out.”

Just then, the crowd roared louder than even the first time. Jack craned his neck.

“Wait! That's a kid!”

Poe laughed. “That's what people think. He’s not just a kid, he’s only 15, but he is the strongest here.”

The boy was covered in scars, his hair was messy, and he was seeming to be glaring around with hate.

“What are those things on his wrists?”

Ah, those are limiter bracelets, you know, ones the aldarians, godborns and demideities use.

Self induced handicaps. Jack thought. Though he was pretty sure, in this case, they weren’t.

Why does he even wear them? Look at his wrists, they look swollen and bruised.

“Because they drilled it into his bones, that's why.” Poe said, with a concerning amount of amusement. “And if he tried to take them off…” Poe made a death gesture to his neck. “He bleeds out.”

“Now the finisher for Lizenon. Can he defeat Writher!?”

Some of the crowd looked nervous, they didn’t appear to receive the idea of such a small fighter. Others laughed and jeered.

Probably psychos who want to watch a kid die. Jack thought.

Jack is even less pleased with a fighter like Writher. Which he believed would be brutally eviscerated before his eyes, if he were to stay.

If it comes to it, he thought, I'll take matters into my own hands. He gripped the hilt of his shovel.

“3…”

“2…”

“1…”

“Fight!”

Immediately, Lizenon threw himself at Writher.

Jack shot up from his seat. But before he could take another step. A boom of thunder erupted from the center of the pit.

Writher was now standing in the center of the pit. His body was covered in purple paste.

“HAHAHA! He didn’t even raise his fists!” Poe laughed.

Poe got up. He saw the distraught look on Jack’s face and collected himself.

“Let's go meet the boss, shall we?”

Fillard’s grip was strong, yet his hand trembled as if about to let go. He wobbled his hand up and down in an awkward shake.

“This is the man I was talking about.” Poe smiled, waiting for Fillard to respond.

Jack retracted his hand and Fillard grimaced. “Yes, if you had brought him earlier surely he would have been of use.”

Poe shrugged. “Well he just had to see the fight.” He gave Jack a pat on his shoulder.

Fillard, without a warning, approached Jack until their faces were only inches apart.

His breath smelled nasty of dead fish and feces.

“So it was you… You were the one who killed Curt?” Fillard mumbled, “I thank you-”

“The bounty. There was a bounty right?” Poe asked.

Fillard shrugged. “What bounty?” He asked, smiling.

Poe left the room without a word.

A few moments after Poe left, Fillard gave him a smile. “As I was saying, Curt was simply a nightmare for us to deal with, and sent some of our best fighters to kill him. Unfortunately, our best fighters were not good enough. We simply couldn't hire the best fighters in the land. Curt cut us down before we could earn enough to afford it.”

“Why didn’t you send those fighters downstairs?” Jack replied, “They look like they could go toe to toe with one.”

“Ah, nonono, it is too high of a risk.”

“What about Writher? He killed that other guy with just one punch.” Jack retorted.

“No, Writher… He is something else. I don’t know what exactly he is, but he holds a grudge. We have a spell to keep him here, in fact.” Fillard responded.

Jack didn't know what to say to that.

Fillard lifted his head, “But yes, as Poe said, this is your opportunity to join.”

Jack waved his hand, “I decline.”

Fillard tilted his head to the side, his expression darkened at the rejection.

“Then we have to kill you.”

He motioned for his men to deal with Jack. Panic surged through Jack as the gang members closed in around him, their weapons glinting in the dim light.

Jack weaved past them as they attacked. But just as he reached the hallway leading to the exit, a sharp twang echoed through the room, followed by a pained cry.

Poe fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest. Without a moment's hesitation, he bolted down the hallway, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he raced toward freedom.

But his path was abruptly blocked by Writher, his imposing figure filling the narrow corridor. With a swift and effortless motion, Writher flipped Jack to the ground, pinning him down.

Jack mind shot from one thing to another. Writher could kill him instantly. He could do it with minimum effort too. Jack didn’t stand a chance. He had to reason with him.

Jack's mind raced as he struggled beneath Writher's grip, desperation lending strength to his limbs. "I can help you," he gasped, his voice strained with effort. "Break the spell... if you help me take down Fillard."

Writher's gaze bore into Jack's with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, but before he could respond, the gang members closed in once more, their weapons poised to strike.

“You don’t even know me.” Writher said.

“I know that a slave wants to be free.” He replied.

In a blur of motion, Writher sprang into action, dispatching his fellow gang members with swift and brutal efficiency. With the immediate threat eliminated, he turned his attention back to Jack, his expression unreadable.

"Prove it," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Show me you're worth saving."

With a determined nod, Jack braced himself for what came next. Writher's grip tightened around him, pinning him to the ground once more as they awaited Fillard's arrival.

Fillard finally entered the hallway, his sneer dripping with contempt as he looked down at Jack. But before he could utter a word, Writher seized the opportunity, hurling Jack at Fillard with all his strength.

Jack's vision blurred as he collided with Fillard, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through his body. With a primal roar, he grabbed a nearby brick, his hands trembling with adrenaline as he struck Fillard with all his might.

The room erupted into chaos as Fillard fell to the ground, his lifeless body crumpling at Jack's feet.

Jack caught his breath at the edge of town. Writher hadn’t even broke a sweat.

“Why?” Writher asked. “Why would you help me?”

Jack sighed, he needed to answer carefully. Writher had been on a leash for a reason.

“Well?” Writher demanded.

“I saw an opportunity to escape, and I knew you could help me. So, you did.”

Writher sighed. “I'd been planning to escape for a long time. Thank you.”

He started to walk away.

“Wait.” Jack said. “I never got your name.”

“Alex.” Writher coughed.

Jack finally mustered the courage to ask Alex his burning question.

“You’ve been in the Raven for years, from what I've heard. What is going on with Keywark?”

Alex turned around.

“You really want to know?” He asked, he had a darkened expression.

Jack nodded.

“Remember the war?” Alex asked.

“Yeah I learned about it a while ago, it was on the posters.” Jack replied.

“Keywark won.” Alex said.

“What?” Jack asked. He had thought Gavhin had won.

“They did.” Alex said. “They had brought the city to its knees, the people and the government formally surrendered. But during the battle, Gavhinian alchemists managed to figure out a way to destroy fertile land in Keywark during their last stand, permanently.”

Jack remembered an old saying, “The battle has been won, but the damage is already done.”

“But this wasn’t the standard drought alchemy, the witches got involved for the first time in centuries. Land affected by the attack could bear flora, but it would be inedible. I cannot fathom what they could do with it.” Alex waved his hand. “They probably use it to grow trees for firewood.”

Jack considered it. Keywark was the third largest exporter of charcoal and the fifth largest exporter of firewood, and construction materials.

“When they found out, they decided to make a truce with Gavhin, in return they would be open to trade.”

“For what?” Jack asked.

Alex spread his arms out. “How do you think? They export wood and bricks. Most of Gahvin was destroyed during the attack. A fair trade, if you ask me.

“You never told me about you.” Jack said. “How was it for you?”

Alex looked pained, “I don't owe you anything. I went to Keywark, worked in a living hell, and wanted out. After, I escaped when I joined the Tarnished Brethren. I tried to leave, but they wouldn’t let me. I was locked up, only to fight and try to win money out.”

Jack clasped his hands together, “Please, my friend is trapped. I need you to help me bring it down. Keywark. I’ve been there, and you have too. We both know that it’s a hellscape.”

Alex growled, “Not even the Aldarians go there. Nothing there for them. You have no idea how long I waited for the Aldarians to come in and bring down the government, but they never did. How can you possibly imagine changing this? Keywark pays the elites to keep their mouths shut. They won the war. They brought this city to its knees as the rest of the world watched. They are powerful. They fund revolutionists in other countries, gangs. They even bribe Aldarians .”

Jack said nothing.

“So tell me, what could you possibly do to change anything?” Alex spat.

Jack gritted his teeth, this was his fate, his mission, to destroy the very system that destroyed him.

Alex leaned forward, “I don’t know what you’re planning, but hear this: If you think you're stronger than them, you aren't. If you think you have more allies, you do not.”

“But, should you choose to fight, should you storm them head on, You will have my sincere hopes.”

Jack clenched his fists, as Alex disappeared into the fog.

Enough standing by, he was taking the fight to them.