The World Is Mine For The Taking

When I told him I wanted more, something in his face crumpled. The easy smile that had sat on his lips evaporated like mist under sun with the expression that replaced it was tight, bitter, like iron folding in on itself. For a second the room seemed to lean toward that moment—as if my words had landed on some hidden fault line and finally cracked it. I must've pissed him off. I didn't mean to, honestly. That was because this was a negotiation, a thing that needed to be said. Still, when two people start pulling at the edges of a deal, one of them is bound to snap.

Really, it was only a matter of time.

Wanting more reads the same as greed. He knew that. He lived for opportunity and accumulation—always wanting the next piece as well as the next conquest. That appetite is what made him successful. It's what let him plant fingers into dozens of businesses and twist them into profit. But his hunger was also a lever I could use and I intended to turn his greed into my gain, to take advantage of his eagerness in a way he hadn't expected.

"I don't think that's enough to satisfy me," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Surely you still have things to consider, don't you? Business is never easily won. Partnerships are supposed to be mutual—if one side takes everything while the other gets nothing, that's not a partnership. That's theft. Don't you agree?"

He blinked like I'd said something impertinent. "So you want more of it? But, Sir Faust, aren't you being a bit greedy? I've already thrown all my businesses into this deal. What more do you want from me?" His tone tried for wounded, then shifted toward offense.

Truth be told, I didn't need sub-ownership of his petty enterprises. Snatching his holdings would have been trivial for me because they were mere loose change. What he failed to grasp was what Leonamon truly was. He was selling himself short if he thought the sum of his stables and corrupt contracts could buy even a scrap of our company.

"You don't even know the reach of Leonamon, Lord Cross," I told him. "You're underestimating its financial clout."

"What…?" he muttered, the word thin.

"Do you really think that making me sub-owner of your companies will make you a sub-owner of Leonamon?" I pressed. "Not all the horse trades, not all the side deals, even the corruption you profit from—it's not enough to net you what I want."

Surprise rippled across his face—wide eyes and a jaw that tightened—then anger flickered into being like a black flame. "It seems you don't understand my proposal, Sir Faust. I am offering something that benefits both of us. Sure, those assets may not match Leonamon's value by themselves, but you can't afford to be picky."

At that moment the air snapped. Soldiers erupted from shadowed corners, metal flashing—a ripple of uniforms and cold barrels. The sound of boots against flagstones filled the space. Cross's voice slid into relish as he spoke, cruel and smooth.

"It was a mistake to come here alone—with such a beautiful wife, and an elf besides. I've wanted an elf in my collection. Elven slaves are rare," he said, like he was naming a prize.

There was a sour, sick twist to the sentence and it made my skin crawl. Whatever he meant, it felt performative—an attempt to humiliate and to wound.

Also, judging by the way he said it, there probably wasn't an elven slave here at this place at all.

Aegis stiffened beside me. Her fingers clenched at the hilt at her side, knuckles white. The insult to her blood, to her dignity, set a vein in her temple pulsing. Cross had found a place that landed.

"You can still sign," he went on, oozing false magnanimity. "Sign here, put your name, and I'll accept co-ownership of Leonamon. I'll look after it for you."

"We both know co-ownership is not your endgame," I said, keeping the chill in my voice measured. "You want full control."

"That's right," Cross said, leaning forward as if sharing a delicious secret. "I sent you letters—hundreds, thousands—until you finally agreed. I planned everything down to the roots. I hired mercenaries and adventurers because I expected bodyguards. To my surprise, you came with only your wife. Chivalrous, perhaps, but foolish. Thank you for trusting me, Sir Faust. And because of that trust…" He smiled with a predator's patience. "…I will fuck your wife in front of you."

The words landed like a slap. They were vulgar, sharp, and meant to incite. My lips shaped a response I didn't expect to mean, but which carried a warning.

"Go ahead, then," I said.

For an instant he froze. Maybe it was the flatness of my tone, or something like a dark warning that emanated from me. My voice had allowed him to think he had the upper hand—but I'd let him know, just enough, that pressing further would be dangerous. There was an aura around the words and that was telling him to be careful. Push the wrong way and you will lose more than pride. Your cock could be sliced as well. There's a sliver of threat buried in the calm.

Cross's answer came as a sharp command. "Grab him. Don't kill him—yet. Make him sign. And keep the elf alive. She's mine to take."

The soldiers surged, certain of victory. They had numbers, steel, and arrogance. Just two of us—me and Aegis—against that tide. They lunged.

And then the scene ruptured.

Men who came for us didn't reach their targets. They fell mid-step, necks split in a brutal, grotesque ballet. Heads flew. Blood arced through the air like crimson curtains, painting the stones. Bodies collapsed simultaneously, limbs folding into grotesque poses as life left them. The sound was wet and final and the room filled with the metallic scent of blood and the hollow silence that follows sudden slaughter.

Where there had been a smug, contemptuous grin, Cross's expression unspooled into raw terror. The smirk cracked and dissolved, replaced by disbelief and a panic that spread like oil over his features. He had expected theatre and a show of dominance. Instead he found himself staring at a scene of utter, lethal consequence.