Jack followed Jeremy and his five friends through the streets of Thistlebrush. Admittedly, he was new to tailing someone like this, but he managed to follow them for the next half-hour or so. They were everything he expected a group of young nobles to act like.

  He watched as they shouted obscenities at a food vendor who took ‘too long’ in making their outrageous orders. They kicked at beggars as they strode past. Jack quickly assessed each one, but the beggars were remarkably resilient and were already moving to ask Jack for his coins. He followed in their wake of unruly chaos, growing more and more irritated with each passing minute.

  The worst of all was when they surrounded a serving girl, who was in the middle of dumping old washwater out of a bucket in a nearby alley. Within seconds, they closed off her escape and shoved their half-eaten food down her blouse, jeering all the while. She was barely older than they were. They laughed as she sobbed, slinking away until her back was against a wall. One of the shorter nobles spat at her as they left to do some other horrible activity.

  Jack’s anger boiled. He approached her, choosing to help rather than keep his target on a tight visual leash.

  “Excuse me? Are you okay?” Jack asked, his voice as soft as possible even while his fury raged within.

  The young woman shied away from his approach. Sobbing, she pulled out a steaming skewer of meat from the narrow slit in her stained dress. To his horror, it was the same glazed meat he’d spotted earlier that day. She tried to wipe away the worst of the hot syrup, but her trembling fingers made the task impossible.

  Jack knelt down. “Please. Is there any way I can help you?”

  The woman’s frantic eyes focused on him. “You’re with them, aren’t you? What, is this some part of a twisted scheme to get me to raise my skirts? You have your friends treat me like dirt, then you come along as my hero? How sick are you?”

  Jack shook his head vigorously. “No, that’s horrible! I’m hunting those bastards, but I saw what they did, and so I needed to make sure you were okay.”

  The suspicion in her eyes lifted by just a fraction. “You’re… hunting them?”

  Jack inwardly cursed. In his desire to distinguish himself from those thugs, he’d been too honest with his intentions.

  “...Yeah. Something like that. They stole something. I’m going to get it back,” he eventually said.

  The young woman scoffed, sniffing back her tears. “Yeah, well, good luck. I assume I’ll see you in the town square by tomorrow, then.”

  Jack cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  She laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Do you know of a new spot those bleeders have a convenient set of gallows?”

  Realization dawned on Jack, and his teeth clenched. Harming nobles is apparently punishable by death. Noted.

  He’d have to be even more careful now.

  Still, I need to make this right.

  A part of Jack—the pragmatic part of him—knew this was a waste of time. He wasn’t responsible for making Jeremy’s wrongs right. Nor could he rewrite this poor woman’s opinion of men with a single act of kindness.

  But I can help a little. Maybe that’ll be enough.

  Jack stood up and approached the jagged edge of the brick wall that the woman was leaning against. He pulled his tunic taut and started to use the edge to cut a sizable portion of his blue tunic off.

  “What…What are you doing?” she demanded.

  It didn’t take long. When Jack was done, he handed her the scrap of cloth. “Here. I know this is a shitty compensation for what those horrible boys did to you just now, but it’s what I have.”

  Hesitantly, she took the newly made rag. Her thin brows furrowed. “I… I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

  Her look said, ‘What’s your angle?’

  “We’re not all like them,” Jack answered. “Now, I really must be off.”

  “Right. Hunting nobles,” she replied with a sardonic nod, though she used the rag to wipe off her exposed clavicle and neck.

  Just as Jack had turned his back and was nearly out of sight, the young woman called after him. “Hey!”

  “Yeah?” Jack answered, turning.

  Her pale blue eyes met his, and she gave him a tiny smile. “I hope I don’t see you in the town square.” Her gaze hardened into steel. “Make them pay.”

  A shiver ran down Jack’s spine at the venom in her words, but he nodded nonetheless. Then he was off, moving quickly through the afternoon crowd to find his quarry. Jack kept to the sides of the street, glancing down each intersection for sight of Jeremy and his posse. They were nowhere to be seen.

  Jack cursed and picked up his pace.

  “Where would a bunch of noble boys run off to?” Jack whispered, looking down each street.

  His first thought was a brothel. It made a certain amount of sense, even if he hated the thought of those bastards and how they must treat any women, much less those they thought they owned with a copper and a kiss. But so far as he could tell, there were either no official brothels in this section of the town, or they were off doing something else unsavory.

  Jack continued on his way, uncaring about how he must’ve looked. His tunic was ripped, and his left hand was still bandaged from when he lost his pinky finger. None of that really mattered. Right then, all that mattered was that he prevented those six fools from incurring any more injustice.

  Even getting back Tuck’s strange marbles felt secondary. His rage wouldn’t let go of the image of them cornering that poor serving girl. It had happened so fast. He couldn’t let something like that happen again.

  And if the bleeders won’t do anything about their behavior, someone has to.

  Jack turned down a quiet residential street near the western edge of town and finally caught sight of his prey. There, in broad daylight, stood Jeremy and his five friends. They were surrounding a petite woman with curly blonde hair. All six men encircled her, and a dappled beam of light partially illuminated her face. Beyond the seven figures was a dead end as the street ended against the pale gray wall of the city.

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  She was in a silky dress that blended a stereotypical maid’s outfit with a nightgown. It had a plunging neckline, and yet a white half-apron tied tightly around her narrow waist. There was no denying her beauty, but she looked as uncomfortable in her attire as Jack would’ve been, which was saying a lot.

  Stranger still, the dress was uneven. Her right arm was covered past the wrist with a black sleeve. All six men surrounded her, a few leaning over to get a peek down her dress, while another was trying to pull her lone sleeve up.

  “Come on, Lucy. I know you took it. Just apologize here and now, and I won’t have to tell my father you stole from our house,” Jeremy was saying softly, though there was nothing soft about his posture. “You know how harshly he punishes the servants. You really want that to happen again?”

  “Please, milord,” Lucy responded timidly. “I didn’t steal any–”

  “Are you calling me a liar? You and your dirt blood?! Did you hear that, boys? She thinks I stole my father’s scrolls,” Jeremy guffawed.

  Something about his accusation felt forced. Rehearsed.

  “We should teach her some manners,” one of the men sneered. He had hair so blonde it was nearly white. “It’s only proper we teach the dirt-bloods their place.”

  “Ooh, let me go first, Rolin. You had all the fun with the last one,” A large noble said from behind Lucy, and he grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “That’s because you break them before you’re done,” Rolin complained.

  “Oh, no. She’s from my house, so I’m responsible for her education. Isn’t that right, Lucy?” Jeremy said, and Jack could see even in the dim lighting his cruel smile.

  Lucy looked ready to cry or pass out.

  In rapidfire succession, Jack Inspected each of the men so that he knew precisely what he was up against.

  [Jeremy Vaskir - Level 9]

  [Rolin Steinsberg - Level 9]

  [Theodric Ashborn - Level 9]

  [Ambrose Montclair - Level 9]

  [Roderick Thornwell - Level 9]

  [Thaddeus Greymark - Level 9]

  Jack ignored all their descriptions for now. They didn’t tell him anything new. Each one stated some variation of the same thing. They were all Initiates of the Red Knights and sons of nobles.

  Why are they all level 9? It was too consistent to be a coincidence, but neither could he figure out why the nobility didn’t choose a class already. It was the surest way Jack knew to gain power in this world, so why wouldn’t the powerful seek even more power?

  Not my problem right now. And besides, that means I’m the only one with a class, Jack thought. But I can’t use Smoldering Fists on these bastards, even if that’s all I want to do right now. If I kill them, it won’t matter how much Derrick or Sathem wants to find me. The entire town will be after me if some nobleman decides to start a citywide search.

  Reaching inward, Jack tapped into his Perception stat again, feeling the simultaneous 10-espresso boost to his cognition even while another part of him began to drain rapidly. The world slowed as Jack frantically decided what he needed to do to fix this problem.

  Think. What can I do to get back at these vile creatures without hanging for it?

  Jack watched in slow motion as Jeremy took a step toward Lucy. She tried to shrink back, but the large one Jack identified as Theodric held her right. She cried out as Theodric squeezed her shoulders so tightly that one popped violently.

  Jack was out of time.

  Anger flooded through his overclocked mind, and in his heightened state, a thousand options on how to destroy these bastards flashed behind his eyes. They were akin to ink blotches spreading through water, blackening his intentions until there was nothing left but the dark. He released his hold on his perception, but his rage lingered.

  He began to walk forward, his footsteps quiet over the abandoned streets.

  Jeremy grabbed Lucy by the jaw, muffling her cries for mercy, and Jack’s fists curled into fists. His pace picked up.

  This wasn’t Riviero’s MMA Dojo. This wasn’t Tony and his mafia thugs. Hell, this wasn’t Earth.

  All the rules he’d learned from bloody trial and error didn’t apply here. Here, on Aethros, he’d killed just to live. He’d nearly drowned, been stabbed, flailed, burned, and buried. Jack wasn’t going to fight by Earth’s rules a second longer. He was going to fight by Aethros’s rules, and Aethrians valued one thing: power.

  And right now, the powerful were taking advantage of the weak. Again. And Jack finally had enough strength to do something about it.

  Unbidden, smoke started to rise off his clenched hands. It was strange, as he hadn’t activated Smoldering Fists, even by some unconscious instinct. Above him, the sun dropped behind the large gray wall, flooding the street with shadows. The six red sashes the men wore took on a macabre appearance, like crimson gashes in this accursed world.

  Jeremy forced his lips onto Lucy’s, and he reeled back in pain as she bit him. To Jack’s shock, he only laughed and gestured for the one called Roderick to help hold her down.

  Not like this.

  Jack’s burning vow resurfaced and took on fresh kindling as he covered the remaining distance between him and the unfolding horror. His boot scuffed the ground, and Thaddeus and Rolin turned to see his approach.

  That was fine. He was done hiding.

  “Scram, rat, or we’ll bury you in whatever gutter you crawled from,” Rolin warned with a sneer.

  Jack said nothing.

  Thaddeus turned to face Jack. “We’re serious, rat. Come any closer and we’ll–”

  Jack stopped listening. Instead, he pulled on every single one of the six pools of power inside of him. It was easy. It was akin to actively taking a deep breath. Sure, it required a modicum of focus, but when left to instinct, it was effortless. He was made for this, he realized. He was made for this sort of power. Dexterity. Strength. Constitution. Resilience. Perception. Even Charisma.

  They all came to his beck and call.

  With a growl lower than the grave, Jack blitzed forward. The world blurred around him, and he leapt forward. He became a spear through the air as the wind pulled his rust-brown hair back. He lifted his right knee and felt Thaddeus’s nose break under his weight and momentum.

  Blood and body crashed against the cobblestone, and Thaddeus let out a high-pitched squeal. He clutched at his face as red streams flooded down his face and mouth.

  Jack was already rolling off his first target and onto the next. To his credit, Rolin didn’t falter at the sight of his downed friend. He kicked forward at Jack’s neck with incredible speed, but Jack was ready. He absorbed the strike by curling his left elbow, performing what one of his boxing coaches affectionately referred to as ‘answering the phone.’

  The kick landed, and Jack used the force of the blow to propel himself forward. He rolled again and got to his feet. Rolin threw another kick, this one aimed at his exposed ribcage. Jack’s perception caught the brief flash of Rolin’s eyes, and he instantly knew the kick was a feint. He leaned into the feint, giving the nobleman the opening he was hoping for.

  Rolin’s fist shot forward in a wicked haymaker.

  Jack grinned.

  He easily ducked the true attack, but caught the man by his wrist and shoulder. There was a moment—just a moment—when Jack got to see the shock and realization dawn over the bastard’s face. Rolin began to shake his head in a silent plea for mercy, but Jack was already on the move. He slammed the man’s arm down as he threw his knee up to meet the noble’s elbow.

  Bone exploded from beneath the man’s rich velvet coat, and he screamed. And kept screaming.

  Jack realized something in that moment, with both Rolin and Thaddeus squirming and squealing obscenities on the ground.

  They’ve never faced this before, have they? Jack thought. They’ve never had to kill to live. Their levels probably came from curated experiences.

  They’re soft.

  And, to Jack’s sobering horror, he recognized just how hardened he’d become.

  He peered down at the two nobles.

  “I’ve come to this world to banish the darkness,” he said, softer than a whisper. His gaze became adamantine. “And I’ll start with the likes of you.”