Our fight with the taxman ended quickly. All that remained was cleaning the mess.
"Len, you… you should rest," Ashlynn says, helping me to my feet.
I straighten, each breath stabbing through broken ribs, and make my way to the living room. My body sinks into the sofa, the cushions cradling the weight of pain. I close my eyes, letting comfort pull me closer to sleep, the edges of consciousness teasing me.
—
I summon Mynar into my Abyss.
The water shimmers and ripples, dark and fluid. He appears before me, bowing to one knee with his usual formality.
"Where are you?" I ask.
"Outside the Eldenmere neighborhood," he replies. "As you instructed, I convinced the Custodian Order to send their police to capture Xandar."
"Good."
"Monsieur…"
"Yes?"
"Xandar… he—"
"He deployed Taxmen from Gilded Ledger Order?" I cut him off.
"Wait, what? How do you know?"
"It doesn't matter what I know. The police won't stand a chance against them."
"Okay… I will let Captain Arjuna know."
"Tell him to allow the police to use lethal force if necessary."
"Understood, Monsieur."
—
A soft pinch drags me from the edge of sleep.
"Wake up. It's midnight," Ashlynn says.
I rise slowly, eyes drifting across the familiar furniture as shadows stretch through the room. Pain is gone. The short rest has done its work. I feel whole again, ready.
"What now?" she asks.
I move to the window, peering into the darkness. A faint light flickers in the distance, not far, from the direction of the entrance. "Xandar probably suspects me," I say.
I turn back to Ashlynn. "We prepare while there's chaos outside."
She steps to the window, brow furrowed. "What's that light?"
"Does it matter?" I shrug. "He's busy. We have an opportunity to end this."
She meets my gaze and nods.
We move quickly to our preparations. In the foyer, the taxman's body has been moved to a corner and covered with cloth. The floor is cleared of smelly liquid. Broken bricks from the wall are stacked neatly beside a container filled with black kuor.
"You're welcome," Ashlynn says smugly before I can comment. I give her a thumbs-up.
We change into gear suited for what's coming. I wear my most-used, ornately dark long coat. Shardfangs and Trackfangs—six of each—slip into my pockets. My revolver rests in a shoulder holster beneath the coat. Two syringes of Umbral Vial nestle in my trousers. Two cartridge pouches tie to my belt.
Ashlynn dons her crimson coat. Her rapier rests in its scabbard, strapped to her belt. Her selfmade tetherloom coils around her wrist. Finally, she slings my rectangular bag over her shoulder.
"What's inside?" I ask.
"Something I've been working on," she winks.
We step into the street. Darkness hangs low over the neighborhood, broken only by the faint flicker of distant lights pulsing like dying lanterns.
Then the noise reaches us.
Shouts. Screams. Running footsteps.
Somewhere ahead, chaos breathes.
I grab a man kneeling beside a lantern post, his fingers clutching the iron like it might anchor him to the world.
"What's going on?"
He's sobbing. His face wet. His shoulders shaking.
He lifts a trembling hand and points down the street.
"The police… they rushed in with rifles…" he sniffs, voice breaking. "They—"
"They?" Ashlynn presses.
He swallows hard, eyes wide and unfocused.
"They're being massacred by monsters," he whispers. "I thought… I thought we could finally leave."
Hope.
That was what he thought the rifles meant.
Hope.
We release him.
He collapses back against the pole.
We move on.
The closer we get to Xandar's mansion, the louder it becomes.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Boom.
Gunshots crack the night. Explosions rock the air. Gunpowder and burning mortar smell faintly on the wind.
Bodies lie scattered across the road. Police soaked dark. Guards twisted. Servants frozen in terror. Even well-dressed residents caught in the crossfire. Different lives, same ending. Bags of flesh borrowing time.
We enter the front courtyard. More bodies. The fountain runs red. The grand doors hang open.
Inside, the foyer is slick with blood. Footprints smear marble floors. Chandeliers tremble faintly with the distant blasts.
We step into the grand hall.
Xandar stands alone, laughter rolling over the chaos. He grips a screaming policeman by the shoulders, tearing him apart with raw strength. Bone splits. Flesh parts. The scream cuts off mid-breath. He lets the remains fall. Silence swallows the hall.
Then he turns. His gaze finds us, recognition and amusement in every line of his face.
"Welcome, Monsieur Thadeo," he says, smiling wide. "Or should I say… Twilight Wraith."
"That took you a while to figure out," I laugh.
He doesn't rage or shout. Calm settles over him, unsettling. He exhales once. Then his hand moves—too deliberate. He shifts aside.
I draw.
Bang.
The shot tears through the space his head had been a fraction of a second earlier.
He bolts toward a door—the room where I killed his son. I follow.
Just before I reach the doorway—
Bam.
The air shudders.
A massive figure drops from the mezzanine above, crashing between us.
Four meters tall.
A taxman reshaped into something closer to siege equipment than flesh.
Black kuor pulses across his torso in thick rivers beneath pale skin. The contrast is grotesque — white surface, dark life beneath.
His bones are not inside him for support.
They are layered outward.
Ridges and plates press against the skin as if the skeleton has grown into armor.
He swings one enormous hand toward me.
Ding.
A porcelain puppet intercepts the strike midair.
Its body is pale and polished. Limbs elongated. Each forearm ends in a curved blade. Its joints pivot with unnatural smoothness.
Threads stretch from its back.
Tetherloom.
I follow the thin shimmering strands to Ashlynn's wrist.
The loom coils around her like a bracelet, glowing faintly as she guides the puppet's motion with precise flicks of her fingers.
"That's what you've been working on?" I say, stepping back.
"Focus," Ashlynn replies.
The giant taxman swings again.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Each strike crashes against porcelain and steel.
The puppet holds — but barely.
The giant's bone-plated arms are too dense. Every impact drives the puppet backward, its feet scraping grooves into marble.
Bang. Bang.
I fire at the creature's head.
The bullets strike.
Spark. Deflect.
The skull doesn't dent. The rounds ricochet uselessly.
"RAAAAAAAAAAH!"
The roar detonates through the hall. The soundwave pushes the puppet away.
The sound punches through my ears. My vision vibrates. I drop to one knee, palms clamped over my head as the world rings.
Bam.
Bam.
Two steps. That's all it takes for him to cross the distance.
He looms over me. Lifts one massive foot.
I roll sideways, fingers flicking a Trackfang onto the floor where I had been.
Boom.
The giant steps directly onto it.
The blade detonates.
A contained blast rips upward.
Bone cracks.
Fragments burst outward and embed deep into the underside of his foot.
Black Kuor splashes. But he does not scream.
He simply turns his head toward me.
Bam.
Bam.
Bam.
He stomps toward me, each step detonating the marble beneath his feet. The floor fractures. Dust bursts upward. Each stomp narrowly misses as I pivot and slide out of range.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Ashlynn maneuvers the puppet behind him, its blade-limbs carving in swift arcs at his back.
Sparks fly.
But his spine is layered in hardened bone. The porcelain blades scrape without penetration.
I raise my gun.
Aim for the eyes.
Bang.
The shot grazes his cheek instead. The ground trembles mid-aim, throwing my wrist off balance.
"Len! To the mezzanine!" Ashlynn shouts.
We disengage instantly.
No hesitation.
We sprint toward opposite staircases.
Bam.
One of his stomps lands too close. The shockwave hits me sideways and slams me against the floor. My shoulder skids across stone.
Ashlynn reaches the mezzanine first.
Below, the giant lifts his foot over me.
Shadow swallows my vision.
Ding. Splash.
Ashlynn's puppet darts forward and drives its blade into his left eye.
The porcelain edge crushes through.
Blood spills.
Red. Not black kuor.
"AAAAAAAAAH!"
The scream shakes the hall. His balance falters.
A breath slower and I would have been pulp.
He staggers, then steadies himself, one massive hand clamping over the ruined eye.
"I'll shoot through the eyes!" I shout. "If it penetrates, it reaches the brain!"
Ashlynn adjusts instantly.
The puppet slashes at the hand covering his face. The other hand flails blindly, swiping through air, trying to grab the puppet.
I pull a syringe free. No hesitation. I drive it into my back.
Umbral Vial floods into me. Heat spreads down my spine.
Then—
Four dark limbs erupt outward. Thick. Strong. Pulsing with shadow.
Tentacles extend from my back, flexing as naturally as arms.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Ashlynn increases the tempo. Her puppet presses harder, forcing him to keep his face guarded.
She knows.
She already understands my angle.
I rush forward.
The tentacles lash upward and anchor into bone ridges along his leg. I pull myself up his body as he thrashes violently.
His free hand slams against his own torso, trying to crush me like an insect.
I leap from thigh to abdomen. From abdomen to chest.
From his neck, I launch upward.
The giant makes a mistake.
To see me, he parts his fingers slightly — just enough to glimpse.
Bang.
The bullet enters his right eye.
This time there is no deflection.
The shot disappears into his skull.
I drop back to the floor.
A pause.
His arms twitch once. Then go slack.
Bam.
The giant collapses, shaking the hall one final time.
Lifeless.
The final obstacle has fallen.