Taking Over The Criminal UnderWorld As A 21st Century Magus!

The Red Vultures' compound was alive with tense energy as Halda, the gang's formidable leader, addressed the gathered crowd. Her voice was calm yet carried a weight that silenced any murmurs. 

Halda's office was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a lantern on her cluttered desk. She leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking under her weight, and studied Elian and Lena with her cold, calculating eyes. The young pair stood before her, small and defiant against the shadowed room's oppressive air.

"Listen well. Tonight's mission will test more than your nerves; it will test your worth. Royce Fenlan, a merchant in the Ardent Quarter, has betrayed us.Profiteer. Traitor. He's been selling information to the Iron Guard and keeping a cut of what should be ours. That makes him a problem, and problems need solving. Your job is simple—eliminate him."

Elian's stomach knotted, but he forced himself to hold Halda's gaze. The weight of the Red Vultures' expectations pressed heavily on his shoulders.

A large gang member leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You're trusting a pair of kids with this? Sounds like a waste of time and resources."

Halda's sharp gaze snapped to the man, her lips curling into a sneer. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I ask for your opinion, Dren? Last I checked, you're the one who botched a simple smuggling operation last week. Perhaps you'd like to take their place?" Her voice dripped with mockery.

Dren flushed and looked away, muttering under his breath. Halda turned her attention back to Elian and Lena as if dismissing the man entirely.

"Why us?" Lena asked, her tone steady. "Why not send someone more... experienced?"

The hint of a smile flickered across Halda's lips. "Because the last thing anyone expects is a couple of kids. You can slip through places my other enforcers can't. And let's be clear: you asked to prove yourselves. This is me giving you the chance."

She leaned forward, her piercing eyes locking onto Elian's. "You've got a gift, boy. Those vines of yours? They'll come in handy tonight. But don't get cocky. This mission isn't about magic tricks—it's about results. Bring me proof Fenlan is dealt with, and you're in. Fail, and you won't be coming back. Understood?"

Elian swallowed hard, nodding. He glanced at Lena, who stood resolute, her face a mask of determination.

"Good." Halda tossed a crumpled piece of paper onto the desk. "That's his address. Now get moving."

The walk to the Ardent Quarter was tense and silent. Elian's thoughts churned, a chaotic mix of fear and determination. The district grew increasingly pristine as they ventured deeper into the city. Ironhold's technological might was on full display here: streetlights powered by hidden mechanisms cast an even, artificial glow, and sleek, horseless carriages hummed softly as they passed. The stark contrast to the filth and desperation of the outer districts was jarring.

"They have everything," Elian muttered, his voice bitter. "And they let the rest of us rot."

Lena didn't respond, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. She led them to a narrow alley that ran alongside a towering estate, its wrought-iron gates gleaming under the lamplight. She motioned for Elian to stop as she surveyed the area.

"Looks like there's a side entrance," she said. "Fewer guards, but it's locked. Can you…?"

Elian nodded, stepping forward. He pressed his hand to the ground, and after a moment of concentration, thin vines snaked up the gate, weaving through the bars to find the latch on the other side. With a soft click, the gate creaked open.

"Handy," Lena whispered with a hint of admiration. They slipped through the gate and into the estate's shadowed gardens.

Inside the estate, the opulence only grew. Polished stone paths wound through immaculate hedges, and fountains gurgled softly in the darkness. Elian's unease deepened with every step.

"Why do you think Halda trusts us with this?" he asked quietly.

"She doesn't," Lena replied. "She's testing us. If we fail, we're expendable."

Her bluntness sent a chill through Elian, but he nodded. The truth was unavoidable. They reached the house and peered through a tall window. Royce Fenlan sat in his office, his back to the glass, counting coins by the light of a gas lamp.

"This is it," Lena said, her voice low. She checked the small blade strapped to her side, then turned to Elian. "Stay close."

They slipped inside through an unlocked door, moving silently through the lavish interior. The scent of wax polish and expensive spices hung in the air. Elian's heart raced as they crept up a staircase, each creak of the wood sounding deafening in the stillness.

When they reached the office, Lena pushed the door open cautiously. Royce looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing. "Who—?"

Lena lunged, her blade flashing in the lamplight. Royce reacted with surprising speed, knocking the weapon from her hand and shoving her back. She stumbled but recovered quickly, her fists raised in a fighting stance.

Elian froze, panic gripping him as Royce grabbed a letter opener from his desk. He charged at Lena, who ducked under his swing and retaliated with a kick to his shin. The merchant staggered but didn't fall.

"Elian, do something!" Lena shouted, dodging another swing.

Elian raised his hand, and thick vines erupted from the floorboards, their sharp thorns glinting dangerously. They coiled around Royce, pinning his arms and legs as he struggled and screamed.

"What—what is this?" Royce gasped, his face pale with terror. "What are you?"

Elian hesitated, the sight of the man's fear sending a pang of guilt through him. Lena didn't hesitate. She grabbed her blade from the floor and pressed it to Royce's throat.

"Finish it," she said, her voice cold.

"I can't," Elian whispered, his hands trembling.

Lena's eyes softened for a moment. "Then look away."

With a quick motion, it was done. Royce's body slumped against the vines, which loosened and withdrew into the floor. The room was silent except for Elian's ragged breathing.

As they fled the estate, the streets of the Ardent Quarter seemed eerily quiet. Elian couldn't shake the image of Royce's terrified face or the sound of his last breath.

Back at the Red Vultures' compound, Halda was waiting. "Well?" she asked, her sharp eyes scanning them.

"It's done," Lena said flatly, tossing a blood-stained coin pouch onto the desk.

Halda's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "I knew you two had it in you."

Elian felt sick. Halda's praise meant nothing; the weight of what they'd done was too heavy. As he lay awake that night, the memory of Royce's pleading eyes haunted him.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this," he whispered to Lena in the dark.

"You can," she replied. "We don't have a choice."

Elian wasn't so sure. The vines that answered his call—the power that set him apart—felt more like a curse than a gift.