Inexorable Chaos: God Games

The armory doors creaked open under Quasi's hand, and the first thing that greeted them was the barrel of a trembling musket. The guard holding it looked pale, sweat slicking his forehead as he aimed it squarely at Quasi's chest.

"If you pull that trigger," Quasi rumbled, "you're dead."

The words weren't shouted, but carried a weight that hollowed out the guard's courage. His fingers spasmed once on the trigger, then he dropped the weapon with a clatter and threw up his hands.

"Good choice," Quasi said, growling as he stepped past him.

Daiyu stormed in next, eyes scanning the racks with a predator's focus. "Where are they…" she muttered, pushing past crates of powder and steel until her hands landed on familiar leather. She tore the filthy rags from her body without hesitation, slipping into her runed armor piece by piece. The dark straps tightened like an embrace, leather crunching from the motion.

But her revolvers were nowhere in sight. "Armor's here," she said coldly. "But not my guns." Her gaze snapped to the guard. "Where are my revolvers?"

The man swallowed hard, but before he could speak, Quasi cut in, voice smooth as smoke. "What about a necklace? Runed."

The guard opened his mouth, shut it, then stared at the floor like a child caught stealing bread.

Dr. Veynar's calm voice filled the silence. "Items of significant value wouldn't be kept here. They would be in Corvin's possession."

Quasi's eyes narrowed. "Who is Corvin?"

By then, Daiyu had strapped on her armor and begun raiding the racks with methodical speed. four flintlock pistols went to her hip. Another two slid into the small of her back. Then another, tucked into each boot. She found two more and secured them under her arms with leather cords. A musket was slung across her back over the straps of her armor. Throwing knives were tucked into every available strap, and a dagger was sheathed at her thigh.

By the end of it, she looked like a walking armory. Quasi tilted his head, ears flicking in quiet amusement, while Veynar blinked in something like disbelief.

Daiyu finally straightened, checking the balance of her weapons as casually as if she were brushing her hair. "Corvin Malvek," she said, "is a major player in Fumehold's criminal underground. Runs the Iron Fangs-specialists in kidnapping, body-snatching, and selling flesh to the highest bidder. I was after the bounty on his head when things went sideways."

Quasi glanced at Veynar. "Where is he?"

Veynar pointed upward. "Top floor. That's where you'll find him."

Daiyu tugged the musket strap tighter and grabbed a rifle for good measure, securing it alongside her growing collection. The weight hardly seemed to faze her. "If you're heading to take his head, I'll join you."

Veynar grimaced, his voice tight. "It might be better to leave instead. Corvin keeps his experts close. I'd rather not die before I escape."

Quasi didn't reply. His glowing eyes were fixed on the ceiling, a grin tugging at the corners of his maw.

Daiyu followed his gaze, then chuckled, the sound low and reckless. "Doesn't look like he's too worried about that."

_____________________________________________________________

The top floor of the building smelled of lamp oil, old tobacco and fine leather—a comfortable, studied richness that never reached the lower warrens. Here the carpets swallowed the sound of boots and voices; men spoke at table volume because this was their house, and noise within these walls was no scandal so long as it stayed inside. Maps and ledgers were pinned between brass sconces, and passages of tax and shipment were worked into the margins like prayers.

Corvin Malvek sat behind the desk as if he were the room's inevitable axis. He moved slowly, each motion deliberate: a man who measured time as he measured coin. Across from him, a Gambino representative relaxed into his chair with the confidence of someone who'd traveled many halls like this one and always emerged with profit intact. He did not look alarmed; he looked interested. A professional's posture, economy of worry.

"Discretion?" the Gambino asked in the even, practiced voice of a [Merchant] who sold silence as a service. "Of course. We will pay handsomely for no questions."

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Corvin's fingers toyed with a small object on the blotter between them—an oddly delicate thing with runes engraved in its setting. He tapped the necklace twice, listening to the note it made as if it were currency. The lamplight picked up over twenty runes and threw a scatter of bright points across the desk. "Discretion costs," he said, slow and flat. "It buys you time, and sometimes, favors. Terms matter."

The door opened without fanfare. Karthis entered clean, unruffled, the same man who led the elites on the top floors. He inclined his head in a succinct nod.

"Boss," Karthis said, voice clipped. "Breakout in the dungeons. Something escaped. It's moving up through the lower levels. Men are dead, crews report slaughter. Survivors say it's not human."

The Gambino representative set his glass down exactly once and fixed his attention on Karthis like a man listening for an unfamiliar note in otherwise practiced music. He did not look afraid. He looked alert in the way professionals do when opportunity and cost intersect.

"How many lost?" Corvin asked, not a flinch in his tone, just calculation.

"Three working squads hit it directly," Karthis replied. "It moved through containment fast. It's hunting or searching; it tears through men and keeps going. The boys are sealing routes as best they can, but it's destroying the walls as though it were paper. It doesn't look like it's trying to leave, but if it does, I'd expect further problems." He let the meaning stand plainly.

Corvin's eyes narrowed fractionally. He set his palm on the necklace and turned it, feeling the metal catch the light. "I will not be spending coin to bribe Fumehold's leaders twice this season because some… unpredictable asset wandered beyond my walls."

Karthis' jaw tightened with the expected professional acceptance. "Understood. I'll assemble the experts. I'll make sure it's dead before it escapes." He was already moving to the door as if the next act were inevitable.

"Good," Corvin said, dismissing the matter with one slow, satisfied motion. "Make it quick." He watched Karthis go, the man's footsteps muffled as he disappeared down the hall.

The Gambino representative hadn't flinched during the exchange; his composure was unmarred. He smoothed a crease from his coat and asked in a tone of mild inquiry, "If this is a poor time, we can delay our business."

Corvin's eyes slid back to him, cold and steady. "No. A minor inconvenience, nothing more. My men will handle it." He leaned forward, tapping the jeweled necklace again.

"Now," Corvin said, his mouth curving into a thin smile, "let's return to what matters. What will the Gambinos pay for this trinket?"

The rep's eyes flicked to the necklace, professional calm unshaken, but interest sharpened like a knife's edge.

________________________________________________________

Karthis strode down the wide stone corridor, the click of his boots echoing off the walls. The upper floors of the headquarters were nothing like the dank dungeons below, reinforced archways, lanterns blazing violet flame, and the ever-present hum of embedded runes. Behind him came the sound of his team, each step heavier, stranger, more unnatural than the last.

To his right walked Dregan, a towering colossus whose frame filled the corridor. His skin gleamed like tarnished iron, shot through with veins that pulsed violet light. Every movement looked as though it could crush stone. Dregan glanced down, lips twitching in a grin.
"Tell me this thing's worth breaking a sweat for, Karthis."

Ahead of him slouched Morrow, encased in a heavy leather coat. A mask of glass and iron hid his face, and a faint haze of violet poison coiled about him, clinging like a second skin. His voice hissed through the filters. "If it bleeds, it dies. Doesn't matter what it is. Question is, will it die quick… or slow."

On Karthis's other side walked Veylric, the mage. Silver spikes jutted grotesquely from his shoulders, glowing faintly in rhythm with the staff he carried. His eyes darted about, ever restless. "You should hope it doesn't die quick. I've been meaning to test a new spell."

Trailing behind was Korrin, smaller than the others, but encased in a harness of steel. Armored appendages extended from his back, jointed limbs tipped with blades, each twitching with nervous readiness. He chuckled low.
"I say we tear it apart piece by piece. Make it scream before we finish it."

"Focus," Karthis cut in, his voice clipped. He adjusted his goggles, the violet veins creeping toward his eyes pulsing faintly in the lantern-light. "We're not here to play. Something broke free from the lowest dungeon. Something that's been slaughtering our men."

That sobered them, if only a little.

Dregan rumbled, folding his massive arms. "Funny. Nothing that dangerous should be in the dungeon."

"Exactly," Karthis muttered. He slowed, scanning the corridor. His head tilted, that single spike jutting from his spine catching the glow. "We should be right on it…"

The veins in his eyes flared like fire. His expression snapped from cold to sharp alarm.
"-Dodge!" he barked, hurling himself to the side.

The others reacted instantly, instincts honed by countless hunts. Dregan slammed his metal-skin bulk into the wall, stone cracking. Veylric hovered away in a cloak of wind. Korrin skittered backward on his steel limbs.

But Morrow, encased in his haze of poison, was a heartbeat too slow.

The wall to their left exploded inward. Stone and dust erupted as a shape hurtled through it with terrifying force. A fist, massive and wreathed in raw fury, connected squarely with Morrow's chest. The impact boomed through the corridor, sending him flying like a ragdoll through wall after wall until his haze dissipated into nothing.

Silence followed, broken only by the slow crumble of falling debris.

When the dust cleared, the beast stood where the wall had been—hulking, eyes glowing with unnatural light, chest heaving with controlled violence. Its gaze swept across the group, settling at last on Karthis.

Karthis's veins pulsed harder, his teeth gritting. He had sensed the strike an instant before, but only an instant.

And the monster was already staring at him.