Renaissance

Two Years Ago

Blood. Blood and smoke. Desolator opened his eyes. He was in an abandoned apartment complex. The filthy room that surrounded him, covered in roaches and peeled wall paper had made him think he’d die of sepsis when this mission was over.

Sepsis probably wasn’t a danger anymore.

Desolator ground his teeth as he handled the stump that had once been his leg.

Half an hour earlier all had been well. They’d set their trap, Miracle bit and then… FUBAR. Everything went FUBAR.

Maddox had been thrown through the nearest building before they knew there was going to be a fight… the building Desolator was hiding in. Her entrance would’ve killed him if he hadn’t rolled in time. But she did vaporize his left leg on her way to give the room’s ceiling a skylight.

FUBAR. Desolator thought as he shook himself back to the present.

The leg, the leg was gone, blood was gushing from the fresh wound. Half his femur was sticking out. Desolator took off his belt. Desolator felt Sam start to panic as he stared at the wound, the pain nearly overwhelmed him. Desolator throttled Sam into compliance. Sam mewled as he retreated back into their subconscious.

“Sam!” He heard Maddox call over his comm. His comm? It worked? Miracle’s tantrum must’ve narrowed the range of her electric disruption. That was something at least. “She threw me 5 clicks out. ETA 3 minutes.”

“No!” Desolator yelled. The sounds of the ongoing battle outside the apartment were quiet now. A lull as the Five and their executioner tried to gain a better position.

“Go to the rendezvous.” Desolator tied his belt around his stump. “If any of us survive we’ll join you there.”

“But—” Maddox began.

“3 minutes either we’re dead or she is.” Desolator interrupted coldly. He finished with his leg and leaned against the wall. The sounds of battle resumed. He reached for his gun.

“… good luck Sam.”

“…” Desolator cut off the comm. He was just superstitious enough to resent Maddox’s well wishes. Though ‘break a leg’ would’ve been gauche. He picked himself up and leaned against the wall. If he could grind his teeth through the pain, he could crouch using his stump, but could he shoot like that? In spite of the pain? Wouldn’t even his hands shake?

Desolator ground his teeth in preparation. He had to! Jabberwocky, Bicorn, and even Slaughter were down there in the fight of their lives. They needed him. Desolator’s vision filled with light.

---

NOW

Four figures crouched on either side of the penthouse door. A trail of fresh blood led from the stairs to the door, more than any man could survive losing, but they weren’t taking any chances. They were dressed in bulletproof vests, combat fatigues, heavy boots, and three of them wore tactical helmets. The fourth, the one without a helmet, was a massive man, easily a head over the next tallest man. A fresh, still bleeding, hole decorated his forehead where Desolator had shot him.

His name was Michael Morris, CN Zombie, he was the only named mercenary on this operation. He and his team were all that was left after Desolator had turned the street into a killing field. Zombie was proud of his team for that. While the gangsters and wannabes, like that pair of idiots laying dead on the stairs, had lost their heads going after Desolator, amateurs, his team had kept discipline. They’d stayed on their lead (him) and advanced cautiously. Credit where it’s due, at least the dumbasses on the stairs were lucky enough to take Desolator’s leg. Too bad for them, it didn’t matter what you did if you weren’t alive to take the credit.

Wielding an AK and crouched in front of Michael was a short guido bastard named Antony (Tony) Abate. His quirk made him the best possible point man in a breach.

Across the door from Tony was Takeda Tanaka, a Jap they’d picked up for this operation. Bastard couldn’t speak English but he knew how to fight. He was a disgraced TAC officer or some such nonsense, Michael didn’t actually care, point was, he knew how to use the shotgun he was cradling to effect an entry and his quirk was heavy ordinance.

Takeda received a tap on the back from the fourth member of Michael’s team. Katia Kozlov, a tall Russian woman, whispered something in Japanese. Takeda nodded.

Michael raised an eyebrow at Katia as the blue eyed Russian looked at her commander. She was on the cusp of a name, they all knew it. The mercs in Mogadishu had started throwing around a few, ‘Dancer’ was a favorite, but none of them stuck. Maybe one would’ve if Zombie had started calling her one, but that was a bad idea. You couldn’t force a name. It was bad luck.

Katia nodded. Takeda was ready. Michael grinned. It was time to make history.

“G-!”

A flash of white light spilled from under the door. “The fuck was that?” Tony whispered. Michael’s team clenched. Tense moments past as they waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Was that a teleporter?”

Michael’s mind rushed, if that was a teleporter then their quarry was gone. All of this, getting hired by that stupid dog-faced coward, hiring Takeda, all of it was a waste.

“Mike!” Katia hissed. Michael nodded. It didn’t matter what the light show was, if they were going to have a chance at being the team to take down Desolator, they had to move now!

“Go!”

---

Takeda pulled away from the door frame, pointed his shotgun at the door’s lock and fired. Tony’s ears registered the noise, but it didn’t stop him from hearing Katia pull the pin out of her flashbang. Tony pushed the door open with one hand as Takeda moved back into a crouch. Before the door opened more than a crack, Katia threw in a flashbang.

This was the part where Tony was supposed to wait for the flashbang to go off so he could enter the room without taking a face full of blinding light. He didn’t. Tony shoved the door fully open with his shoulder as the flashbang exploded in his face. He saw it as a bright light, an annoyance, not blinding. His ears registered the deafening boom as a loud pop. This was why Tony was on Zombie’s team, there was no better quirk for a point man.

Tony button hooked the door. He found nothing. He looked around frantically for signs of movement, his rifle sweeping. Nothing. Just a trail of blood leading from the door to a puddle then… nothing. Tony approached the puddle, keeping his eyes up.

The apartment was a monument to excess wealth, the type of place Tony dreamed of. The floor was made of white marble with soft rugs in high traffic areas for comfort. The kitchen’s counter was a beautiful granite. The fridge looked like it could hold a buffet. The ivory couch looked particularly soft and enticing, as did the 2 meter flatscreen TV that rested in front of it.

If it weren’t for the blown out window, the pool of blood and the vivisected appliances, Tony would’ve moved in this afternoon.

Tony heard three sets of footsteps behind him. Takeda was directly behind him, hyperventilating in order to charge his quirk. Tony swept the room again. Desolator couldn’t have moved after losing this much blood… not unless the other members of the Five were…. No, they couldn’t be, they’d all be dead by now. This operation depended on Desolator being alone.

Tony took up position behind the ivory couch. Three sets of footsteps approached the puddle of blood. Why would all 3 of them...? No! No questioning! He had to keep his mind focused. He was dealing with Desolator, he couldn’t make a mistake.

Katia knelt next to Tony without a sound. Tony narrowly restrained a squeak. She’d surprised him. Bitch. Her quirk made it so he never could hear her footsteps--

Tony heard three sets of footsteps behind him.

Tony whirled around. “Contact!”

Zombie and Katia whirled at Tony’s warning. Too late. Takeda hit his knees. His fingers feebly grasped at the kitchen knife in his throat. Blood gushed. His face was pale. He fell.

Tony swept the room frantically. Nothing. He didn’t even hear footsteps now.

“Fuck!” Zombie screamed. “When the Hell did he--?!”

“Quiet.” Katia hissed. The noise didn’t bother Tony, a concert could be going off in his ear and he’d still hear and see anything he’d be able to hear or see in its absence. But… that was the thing. He didn’t have super hearing, his quirk filtered. He couldn’t hear a thing now, nothing other than Zombie sweeping the room angrily or Katia starting to curse in Russian. Tony’s teeth ground. He couldn’t hear a thing now. Was the bastard standing still? If he was, where?

A knife flew from the kitchen and slammed into Zombie’s head. He fell with a thud. Katia and Tony whirled towards the kitchen and opened fire.

‘Die motherfucker--’ Tony began his mental chant as soon as his finger pressed on the trigger. The granite counter shattered under the hail of gunfire. A cloud of granite dust filled the kitchen. Tony’s eyes pierced the dust like it was a light fog on a windshield. His quirk didn’t help. He didn’t see his target.

‘--die.’ Tony let off the trigger as he finished his chant. His gun sputtered to a silence. Katia stopped firing at the same time. Silence. Nothing moved. Tony propped his rifle on the top of the couch. Zombie was stirring behind him, “son of a bitch” their commander whispered. A knife to the head wouldn’t kill the bastard, but it still hurt like Hell.

“Anything?” Katia whispered low. Tony extended his ring finger. ‘No.’

“Cover me.” Katia commanded, she burst from cover for the doorway.

Tony opened fire as Katia began to move. ‘Die moth--’ MOVEMENT! He saw something dive from behind the granite counter out into the open. His eyes and his barrel instinctively followed the movement. It was a full tenth of a second before he registered that it was a can of cooking spray, rattling against the floor. A distraction.

“NO!” He screamed. His voice lost to his comrades beneath the gunfire. Katia didn’t take her eyes from her destination. She was trusting him to keep Desolator pinned. To make sure the bastard didn’t have a chance to shoot her, a trust he’d earned a dozen times over. A trust he’d just betrayed.

A figure appeared from behind the counter aiming a .45.

BANG

Katia’s head exploded. A pistol pinged. A round hit the floor. Katia didn’t make a sound. She didn’t fall. She didn’t even tilt. She stayed standing, blood and brains gushing from a wound the size of Tony’s fist.

Tony bit a curse. He finally had a bead on the figure. He fired. The figure was gone, back into cover.

“Fuck!” Tony resisted the urge to charge out of cover as he laid down suppressive fire. If he left cover the bastard could--

A pistol pinged.

Tony’s eyes widened. The bastard was out of ammo. “He’s reloading!” Tony shouted.

Zombie was finally on his feet. He didn’t hesitate. He charged. Tony kept pouring fire onto the counter. He had to restrain his instinct to let off the trigger as Zombie stepped into his cone. AP rounds never hurt Zombie enough to stop him.

Zombie button hooked the demolished granite counter. A figure flew from the other side. The same place that can of cooking spray had flown. The can that had cost Katia her life. Tony’s eyes instinctively followed the figure, but he kept his aim true. He wouldn’t make the same mistake tw--

The figure was crouched low, lower than Tony thought anything could run at. It was coming at him. It was fast. Tony didn’t let off the trigger as he tried to point his rifle at the figure as it drove towards him. His gun rattled helpless against the counter as it lagged behind his rifle. Zombie had seen the figure too and was trying to draw a bead, he wouldn’t hit in time. Tony would.

The figure was three meters away. Tony had him! Just a bit more and his gun would be pointed right at the--

The figure threw a beautiful black and gold gun at Tony’s head. Tony reeled as a .45 slammed into his face. His finger left the trigger, his gun went silent. The figure was on him; one hand craddled Tony’s chin, the other gripped the back of his hair. They fell backwards. Tony reached for his knife with a snarl. His hand closed around his knife’s grip. ‘Who the fuck was this?’ Tony thought as his mind registered the figure’s features. ‘Isn’t Deoslator ol-’ He heard a snap.

Tony was looking at the white floor. It was rushing towards him. How? They were falling backwards. He shouldn’t see the floor. He should be looking at a face. He should be stabbing with his knife--

Tony realized to his horror he couldn’t feel his hand gripping his knife. He couldn’t feel his arm at all. He couldn’t feel anything below his neck. He finally hit the ground. Tony tried to blink. He couldn’t even do that. Was he dead? Numbness radiated from his neck. Tony’s last thoughts were lost in terror.

---

CRACK

“Dammit!” Zombie hissed. He ran towards Tony’s position recklessly. He wasn’t scared. He knew Tony, Hell he’d trained the guido bastard! He knew Tony could hold--

Zombie came around the corner. Tony’s head was backwards. His stomach faced the ceiling. His face faced the floor. Zombie resisted the urge to vomit as he saw his protege’s sorry state. He scanned the room. Nothing. How?! How the Hell had Desolator already repositioned?! Who the fuck was that fast?

“Ahem.” A voice, a deep and powerful voice, cut through Zombie. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from. How? “So, would you like to call it here? I can’t seem to kill you, so I’m happy to let you leave intact as a professional courtesy.”

“You killed my team!” Zombie snarled. His head on a swivel. He didn’t go for cover. He didn’t need to. He was so angry right now he’d be able to fight through a mortar round.

“Why, yes, that’s why I’d think you’d take my offer.”

“…” Zombie didn’t respond. He continued to scour the room for any sign of his quarry. He found none.

“Oh? Is this the first time you’ve lost a team? It’s alright, even I’ve lost a team before, it happens. If it helps you would’ve gotten me if not--”

“Keep talking asshole.”

Desolator sighed. He just fucking sighed. Zombie’s blood boiled. When he found the son of a bi--

BANG BANG

Two 9mm rounds slammed into Zombie’s shoulders, shattering his joints.

Zombie’s nerveless hands let go of his gun. He turned towards the sound of gunfire.

BANG

Another bullet tore Zombie’s knee apart. Zombie fell.

BANG

The fourth bullet took out his other knee. Zombie hit the ground with a thud. The cold hard marble was made warm with his blood.

Zombie was stunned. Where had that son of a bitch gotten a gun? He’d thrown his empty one right?

“Your quirk is… annoying.” Desolator commented. “I’m rather fortunate your companion had hollow points loaded. I’m uncertain armor piercing, or even FMJs, would do enough damage to cripple you.” His footsteps approached Zombie.

“You took Tony’s gun?!” Zombie yelled, piecing the sequence of events together. How the fuck had he found the time to take Tony’s gun? He was on the bastard in less than a second!

“Yes, I only had one bullet on me for my .45 which I used on the woman. By the way… is she just gonna keep standing like that? I have a little girl I need to evacuate presently and while she’s not conscious--”

Zombie was silent. Desolator’s words faded into nonsense. His thoughts latched onto one thing Desolator had said. ‘I only had one bullet.’ He just lost his team to an old bastard with one fucking bullet.

“Fuck.” Zombie moaned.

“Don’t be hard on yourself. Your team performed as well as any I’ve seen.” Desolator used his foot to turn Zombie over. Zombie hissed in agony as Desolator’s boot dug into one of his new bullet holes.

Desolator leaned over his fallen foe. Zombie’s eyes widened as he saw Desolator’s face. It wasn’t a young face, but it was the face of a middle aged Italian man with well kept black hair and sunkissed skin. Who the Hell was this?! Desolator was old!

“It was only by the most unlikely happenstance that you lost.”

Desolator rubbed his newly bare chin. Zombie blinked in disbelief. “I suppose I should grill you for information, forgive me, it’s been years since I’ve had the luxury of taking someone alive. However, I already have a decent idea on who hired you. So, allow me to draw a picture and you stop me when I’m wrong.”

Zombie didn’t respond. Was this really Desolator? How--? How was he young again? Desolator didn’t wait for his response.

“You were hired by an anonymous party with orders to kill me. That the girl was with me was incidental, you would’ve found a time where the Five and I were otherwise occupied if she were your target. You didn’t ask questions because your employer agreed to pay up front. Now, if you’d been smart you’d have taken the money and run, but you decided to at least give it a look, so you could possibly ensure another upfront payment in the future. You wouldn’t. There are very few employers that stupid, even fewer dumb enough to do it twice.”

“You found I’d be alone on babysitting duty. Bribed my now deceased partner. And thought to kill me, fulfill your obligation and perhaps receive one of those stupid names. (I’m very sorry for my part in starting that particular obsession by the way.) How close am I?”

“Very.” Zombie managed.

“Very is good enough.”

“How’re you youn--”

Desolator kicked Zombie’s jaw. Bone snapped. Zombie let loose a muffled cry. He squirmed on the ground as Desolator squatted next to him. He waited for the mercenary to stop sobbing before he began again. “No, I shan’t be answering questions at this time. Instead, let me tell you something. You are going to lay here, very quietly. The little girl I was babysitting is unconscious at the moment and you will not be the thing to wake her up so that she can see this horror show. Am I clear?”

Zombie nodded.

“Good. Oh! One more thing…” Zombie blinked tears from his eyes.

Desolator studied his bare feet.

“What’s your shoe size?”

---

“Eri’s quirk really is amazing Boss. Jirachi says we could use it to synthesize a quirk suppressant.”

“And what? Make my granddaughter a product?”

“It’s not like that Boss, she could HELP us bring the clan back to prominence.”

“At the cost of her safety, maybe her life. Imagine if people found out where the quirk suppressant was coming from. Her quirk already makes her a target and you’re asking me to draw attention to it.”

“Boss—”

“This discussion is over.”

---

Eri woke to the feeling of faux leather against her cheek. She opened her eyes slowly. She felt drained, worse than she ever had before. It felt like she’d been playing ninja with Inigo and Hoge for three hours straight… with none of the fun parts. That constant buzzing in her tummy was gone. The last time she could remember not having a buzzing tummy was when she woke grandpa up.

Eri opened her eyes and found herself looking out the window of a moving car. The buildings towering over her were bathed in the crimson light of dusk.

“You’re awake.” A familiar yet changed voice came from the driver’s seat. Eri whirled to face the voice. There sat a young man that Eri had never seen before. She squeaked. Had she been kidnapped? Was Wilson-san dead?

The man tensed at her squeak. “What’s wrong?”

“Who—”

“Ah,” The man relaxed. “you must’ve passed out before. I’m Wilson-san.”

Eri blinked. Wasn’t Wilson-san an old man? Even older than grandpa? Eri frowned. She had a memory, a very hazy memory of this man. He was carrying her into that apartment’s bathroom. There were bad men outside. Wilson-san had been fighting them all day. Eri had been so tired. She couldn’t keep her eyes opened, but she was too scared to sleep. Then, this man laid her in the tub. He smiled.

‘Don’t worry Eri-chan, the scary part’s over.’

That was the last thing Eri remembered. She must’ve fallen asleep.

“…” Was this man really Wilson-san? How had he gotten young? Had she done that? Could she do that? She studied his face intently.

“Yes I’m really Wilson-san.”

Eri jumped. Was he a mind reader?!

“And I owe you a great deal young lady.”

“Huh?”

“You saved my life Eri.”

“… I did?”

Wilson-san laughed. “Yes, you did! And you were incredibly brave while doing so! If there’s ever anything you want, name it.”

Eri furrowed her brow. She didn’t really remember saving him. She just remembered hugging Wilson-san. She’d been too scared to move. That wasn’t brave. She looked at the road in front of her. The passing lights strobed across the car’s windshield. Night was falling. They stopped at a traffic light. Eri looked to her right. She saw a big kid from school, a fifth grader, a bike standing next to him. He was fiddling with his phone waiting for his light to change.

“… can I have a bike?”

Wilson-san snorted. He looked at Eri smiling broadly. “You want a bike?”

“I--… I dunno, maybe?” Was that too much to ask? Was she being greedy? She wasn’t that brave afterall.

Wilson-san shook his head. He was still smiling. “Done.”

Eri’s eyes widened. “Really?!”

“Yes, really.”

Eri was so ecstatic at the news! She was getting a bike! A real bike! She would look so old and cool riding that into-- oh. Eri’s face fell. Grandpa would never let her ride a bike to school. He’d tell her it was too dangerous.

“What’s wrong?”

“… nothing.”

“Are you worried you won’t be allowed to ride your bike?”

Eri blinked. HOW’D HE GUESS?! Then again, grandpa was like that too, he’d always know what Eri was thinking. Maybe grown ups just had mind reading powers?

“Hrm,” Wilson-san pondered. “I’m sure I can talk your grandfather into some supervised bike rides.”

“… oh.”

“You wanted to ride it to school didn’t you?”

“kindof.”

“No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Eri smiled broadly. In her experience ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ meant ‘yeah in a while.’ “Thank you Wilson-san!”

“Don’t thank me.” Wilson-san laughed. “We’re nowhere near ev-- hrm.” A shadow passed over Wilson-san’s face, like he just felt something slimy wiggle between his toes.

Wilson-san pulled over to the side of the road without warning. He put the car in park. He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Wilson-san?”

“Stay in the car. Keep your head down.”

Eri obeyed… at least at first. As Wilson-san exited the car, Eri, for the first time today, decided to be naughty. Maybe it was the fact that she’d been in danger so much today that his orders lost their urgency. Maybe she was just that tiny bit petulant because she was going to get a bike! Whatever the reason, Eri disobeyed Wilson-san and peeked her tiny head above the car’s dashboard and watched.

Wilson-san walked towards two figures. One was a massive black haired bearded brute. The other was a slight man with silver hair, vaguely handsome. Eri felt something tug at her mind as she looked at the man, but she couldn’t quite place the tug.

Wilson-san approached the two stiffly, like he was a zombie in those movies Eri wasn’t supposed to watch. The silver-haired man started talking. He was laughing. He held out his arms as if to embrace Wilson-san. Eri got scared. Who were these men? What was wrong with Wilson-san? Why was he moving like that?

Wilson-san came within the silver-haired man’s reach. The silver-haired man started to wrap his arms around Wilson-san and then… there was a gun in Wilson-san’s hand. It was pointed at the silver-haired man’s forehead. The brute started to react, but Wilson-san said something. The brute stopped moving.

---

“Please try.” Desolator taunted Mauler. The big brute’s features turned a deep shade of crimson.

Desolator increased his pressure on the trigger. There was less than a tenth of a gram of force separating Luccione from Hell. The cold steel of his gun felt good in his palm. Better than it had in a very long time. He was itching to use it again.

Mauler stepped forward.

"NO!" Luccione ordered. Mauler was going to get him killed and he knew it.

Mauler looked from Desolator to Luccione. Desolator couldn’t gauge the expression Mauler wore when he looked at Luccione. It was like a mixture of disgust and love; maybe it was both in equal measure? Mauler kept staring at Luccione. He looked to be on the cusp of defying orders and go on the attack. He didn't.

Mauler backed down.

Desolator was disappointed.

He turned his attention back to Luccione. The white-haired man kept blinking, like he couldn’t comprehend that the tables had just turned on him so rapidly. He’d thought Desolator had been under his thrall.

“How?” Luccione whispered.

“I’ve been dealing with mind control quirks since before your grandpa learned how to wax the dolphin. Your’s is nothing special.” Desolator grinned manically. “So, as you were saying. That entire fiasco was some sort of audition?”

Luccione didn’t respond. He kept staring blankly into Desolator’s eyes. Was he in denial?

“How dare y--” Luccione finally began.

Desolator pulled the hammer back on his pistol. Luccione froze. The bone chilling sound of a pistol cocking against your skull sent brave men into hysterics. Luccione did better than most. He just froze.

“If I so much as suspect you’ve called out that gold bastard, you’ll join your ancestors in Hell.”

Luccione didn’t respond. Desolator suspected he got the message. “Now, what on earth possessed your empty skull to give me an ‘audition?’ You aren’t even part of my employer’s organization anymore.”

Luccione teetered. Desolator was pressing the pistol against his head in such a way that he couldn’t quite achieve a resting stance. He was constantly in danger of falling. Keeping him just slightly off balance like this was an old trick of Desolator’s to keep people from thinking of something stupid. It wasn’t as effective on Luccione as it was on most. Desolator could see the wheels turning in Luccione’s eyes. It was like he didn’t acknowledge the gun pressed against his head.

Desolator thought Luccione really was in denial about his situation. Like he couldn’t accept that he’d been bluffed into letting his guard down and let an active threat into his reach. Then he spoke and removed all doubt.

“Not an audition to join something so petty as the Yakuza!” Luccione thundered. He was rapidly regaining his courage… or arrogance, it was really hard to tell with him. “I’ve joined an organization with a higher purpose.” Luccione built momentum. “One which will bring this arrogant world crashing down around the ‘heroes’’ ears. And you! You have been deemed worthy to--”

“For fuck’s sake.” Desolator sighed.

Luccione sputtered. His momentum was lost in a puff of smoke.

“Just say you’ve joined the Night Parade and would like me to join. Leave the monologues to Midas.” Desolator stepped away from Luccione. He kept his gun trained on the fool’s head. “Thank you for the offer. I decline. In light of my VERY good mood: I will not kill you for what you’ve done. Thank whatever gods you worship and go home.”

Luccione seethed. “You don’t understand the gravity of what I’m offering! Soon the world of heroes--”

“Will fall screaming into an abyss? And then what? You’ll replace the system? Revive the warlords? Just because I’m young again doesn’t mean I want to live through reruns.”

Luccione ground his teeth, but said nothing. Even he accepted Desolator was a lost cause at this point and a small part of him even accepted that a fight right now didn’t have a certain outcome. It wasn’t worth the risk. But, there was one thing that was bothering him, one thing he couldn’t let go.

“How?”

“How what?”

“I can feel the desires warring inside you. You are a beast of lust, greed, wrath and pride. How could YOU resist me?”

Desolator was vaguely insulted, but couldn’t deny those vices. At least he didn’t list gluttony, sloth or envy. That was an improvement from the last time he’d had this conversation decades ago with a similar quirk user. “The how is very simple. What I want, I take. There’s nothing you could offer.”

---

Desolator turned his back on Luccione and walked back towards the car. Luccione was stunned by Desolator’s impudence. Did he no longer see Luccione as a threat? And that explanation, was he calling Luccione weak?

Luccione’s anger flashed to a boil. He began to summon his beast. Before the golden dragon could wiggle free of his master’s mind, Desolator said something that stopped Luccione in his tracks.

---

“Tell Midas ‘thanks for the offer but I’m happy with the Five.’” Desolator opened his car door.

“Mi-- IT WAS MY IDEA!!”

Desolator rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you think that.”

Eri let loose a laugh at Desolator’s tone. Desolator looked inside.

“You’re supposed to be keeping your head down.” He said gently.

Eri sheepishly placed her hands over her head, then peeked at Desolator.

“Good enough.” The merc smiled.

“Is that Eri?” A cold voice cut through the air like a knife. Eri froze. Desolator’s face turned dark.

“My little brother seems to have taken an interest in her.”

Desolator stood and closed the door.

---

Luccione smiled. He’d finally hit a nerve! Desolator had dominated the conversation from the first and now! Now Luccione had a chance to even the score! He pressed on, heedless of any danger.

“Perhaps I should take her hostage. That would surely draw him to m--”

Desolator’s eyes met Luccione’s and the air in Luccione’s lungs froze. Those eyes!

Luccione blinked. It was gone. He just saw the eyes of the man he’d met so often before. The eyes of a killer certainly, but nothing compared to what they’d been a moment ago. Luccione thought he’d just seen his death in those eyes.

“Luccione.” Desolator said. A shiver ran up Luccione’s spine. That voice was placid as if describing the curvature of the earth. “If you touch the girl, you will die screaming.”