"Searching for anyone concealing their mana signature in a city this large is a fool's errand," Tai said, his voice echoing off the cracked stone of the coliseum's nook. "How many man hours have we wasted? Waystone village petitioned for aid twice and was denied because the Watchmaster wished to curry favor. He knew we'd never find the Phantom, but now he can tell his pal Baron Von Vonya he tried."

  His comrade turned away from him, shifting on his belly. They lay flat in a forgotten perch two stories above the arena floor, tucked beneath the remnants of a collapsed balcony. Only a thin crescent of stone still jutted over open air, its surface littered with broken tiles. A jagged gap in the terrace gave them an unobstructed view straight down into the bowl of the arena.

  "This is why nobody in the unit can stand you," his comrade said. "I asked why we're here after our shift and you launched into an unrelated tangent. You just don't listen."

  "Sorry."

  Tai's expression softened as he produced a canteen from a supply sling and offered it up.

  "I'm not thirsty. I just want to go home."

  "It's Gilly's moonshine."

  "Finally, you've done right by me."

  Tai's whiny comrade accepted the gift, and took a heavy sip before offering one to Tai, who declined with a polite head shake.

  "Don't drink too much. An informant I spoke with this afternoon swore the Black Table was meeting here tonight along with every gang in the city under the Phantom's request."

  "The same Phantom that's responsible for wiping out the Sanguine Syndicate and last night's false alarm with the Slaver's Union? Sounds like bullshit. Why would the Phantom meet with those that want him dead? Think, Tai, nobody organizes their own ambush."

  "That's what I thought until I heard about Daven Murpharion's disappearance. What kind of coincidence is that? Murpharion goes missing, it makes sense that the Black Table meets."

  His comrade downed another gulp, fighting off the shivers running down his spine. "A rumor doesn't validate another rumor."

  "No, but circumstantial evidence does. I saw an odd number of R.I.G.I.D. personnel snooping through our records hall on the way out this morning. And regarding that so-called 'false alarm' in the slaver’s territory, Dubler responded last night before the Union locked down their district. He said the streets were filled with blood and bodies."

  "If that's all true, then we shouldn't be here! Gilly's moonshine isn't worth my life."

  "Don't fret," Tai said, as he retrieved two lightweight blankets from his pack. "These have enchanted threads that will conceal our mana signatures. All we have to do is observe and stay quiet.”

  Tai's comrade examined the blanket before throwing it over his shoulders, shaking his head. "These don't make me feel any better. It already feels like someone's watching us."

  Someone is.

  When I performed my early sweep of Oarwin's long forgotten coliseum with Void Seer, I wasn't expecting to discover two off duty Royal Guards surveilling the area.

  According to Karma's Gaze, they shared several traits. They were both level three family men with positive trending karma, a taste for justice, and selfless acts. The odds suggested they were unlikely to be corrupt shitbags.

  Still, good men died. Just not by my hand.

  I hovered my vision out of their perch, the sun setting over the massive, crumbling arena. Shadows overtook the ruins and I used them to explore the grounds freely, letting my sight drift across what remained of Oarwin's once-proud arena.

  The coliseum's fractured arches blocked several of the ground floor entrances with debris. Whole sections of seating tiers rose in uneven terraces, many buckled or swallowed by weeds forcing their way through the masonry. Aside from an aerial approach, there was a single cleared entrance.

  Voices soon bounced off the aged stone, carrying in from the lone entrance—a cramped hall pocked with so many gaps that a stiff shove could collapse it. Gifford, a level nine with a boisterous belly that looked ready to burst through every shirt he owned, strode in with two men supporting his weight like a pair of crutches. The rest of the Gifford Fox gang followed their heavy leader, and his vice-captain, Fox.

  Gifford waddled into the center of the arena. “Guess we’re here first.”

  "Seems that way. My initial Clarity Sweep hasn't picked up any unusual mana signatures. Though, we won't be alone for long," Fox said.

  Their entourage carried in a broad, load-bearing chair with generous proportions. The Velvet Knives arrived shortly after, accompanied by Kelfloss, and another 80 men, ten of which were pulling a lengthy black table on a huge dolly while another unit carried the chairs.

  Target: Byron

  Level: 9

  Karma: -7505

  Additional Data: Founder of the Velvet Knives. Brainstormed his gang's name by pulling random words out of a hat. Does not tolerate any form of disrespect toward him or his gang.

  "Are we late?" Byron asked.

  "No, we're early," Kelfloss said as he bowed toward Gifford and Fox.

  They dropped the table and the captains took their seats.

  "Gifford, Fox, how are you faring since the last meeting?" Kelfloss asked.

  "Pleasantries won't save you if this develops into a waste of our time," Gifford huffed.

  Several smaller gangs emerged from the compact hall, but only one man representing them took a seat at the table. Together, they outnumbered everyone else gathered at the mouth of the arena.

  "What are those looks for? Kelfloss said to bring everyone," the level seven said as he motioned his army to give the table space.

  Quantity over quality.

  Aside from a few standout level sixes and sevens, a majority of their combined forces ranged between three and four. The captains themselves were decent levels, but nothing concerning.

  Hunger pangs pitter-pattered through my gut, joining forces with my own overwhelming desire to kill. So much fresh meat was showing up, anticipation rose the hairs across the back of my neck. I just wished some heftier targets would appear.

  Over the course of an hour, more gangs and their leaders arrived, filling the arena until their forces spilled out into the ancient stadium seating. Idle chatter flatlined the moment Joelle of the former Nuff Knives, now known as the Velvet Knives Are Pussies Clan, came walking in with a legion of thugs at his back. Byron jumped up from his seat, his gang swarming to his side, weapons out.

  "You dare show your face after killing three of my men?"

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "They crossed into our territory. You know the rules," Joelle scoffed.

  "Enough," Gifford shouted.

  Kelfloss slammed both hands down on the table. "Take your seats! Both of you."

  "You don't order me around little man. Nobody ever orders me around!" Joelle shouted, as he loomed over the table, gaze locked with Byron.

  "Fine, stand. I don't give a shit." Kelfloss retrieved a flask from his inner-breast pocket and took a long drink.

  That single action took everyone at the table by surprise.

  "What's the matter? You look terrible and sound even worse. Tonight should be a night of celebration and crushed quarrels. We're finally out from underneath Murpharion's boot," Fox declared.

  "After we kill the Phantom," Gifford added.

  Kelfloss looked around the arena, then up and down, searching for something that did not exist. "Where are they?"

  "Huh? What are you on about?" said the unnamed representative, his level far too low to get through my filter.

  "Where are the men who are going to kill the Phantom? I don't see anyone capable of such a feat."

  "You're late," Joelle called into the darkness, as he finally took his seat, spinning a silver stiletto between his fingers. "I hired him just in case. But the Phantom won't show. If he did he'd die. The only reason Murpharion could rob us of such an outrageous percentage was because of his influence and endless connections. A small unknown crew can't subdue us."

  "Hi, hey, ho, I hope you folks didn't start drinking without me!" a cowl masked figure, dressed like a ninja with a longsword on each side of his hips, appeared in a flash, making waves with the gangs as they turned on edge.

  Target: Seidou

  Level: 10

  Karma: -8150

  Additional Data: Holder of last year's 'Assassin's Monthly' award for Best New Professional Killer of the Year. A freelancer who specializes in mana lock techniques and swordsmanship.

  "Who is this? You know better than to bring an outsider." Fox scowled, tugging on his ginger beard.

  "Insurance. Kelfloss said the Phantom uses elaborate magic," Joelle tipped his stiletto toward the pale-faced fence. "But that's all he's given us, vague hints and nothing more. You've wanted us to move against Daven for years, to claw back our forty percent. And now you're happy to hand it over to some masked man?"

  "He has a point," Gifford added.

  "The Phantom is no man. He is a demon who controls the shadows."

  OK, now that's rude...

  "Controls the shadows? Then what are we doing sitting here under the moonlight? This whole damned place is covered in shadows," Fox said. "Are you suggesting he's a user of black magic? Why wait until now to tell us?"

  "Because it's pointless," Kelfloss said, before he took another drink.

  Gifford patted his friend on the back. "Calm down. This sounds like the work of an illusionist or trickster. In the end, dark magic’s volatility always results in the caster's demise—if such nonsense were true."

  Seidou scratched his head. "So there's no drinks?"

  "No. Do your job!" Joelle shouted.

  "Well, aside from two weaklings trying to conceal their mana signatures upstairs. I don't sense any mana of significance within a half-mile radius," he said. "So can I drink now?"

  "Wait, where?"

  Seidou tilted his chin up toward the nook where the two Royal Guards were hiding.

  ***

  Disappointment settled over me like a wet blanket. My hopes for formidable opponents crumbled inward as I approached the abandoned coliseum on foot.

  Maybe more level 10s will show up. It's possible, right?

  Earlier that afternoon, after holding Anomaly's interviews, the elf and I picked up lunch for Veigan and Garik. Then she and the annoying little mage spent hours reiterating how tonight's move was a rushed mistake. I had almost reminded the elf of why I wanted to move on an expedited timeline, but hated the idea of tanking the mood by mentioning the end of the world.

  I palmed the sheet of paper Viessa had tucked into my pocket, re-reading the outline of how she wanted the night to go as I walked toward the heavily guarded entrance. Tiny, elegant scribbles covered both sides, and even her directions managed to feel pushy.

  "Who goes there?" a man wielding a rusty iron hook asked.

  "Hello, I'm here for the secret Ingcaster bad guy club meeting. It’s me, the Phantom, I should be on the list."

  "There is no list."

  "Technically, I'm your new boss and I think there should be a list. You wouldn't want just anyone walking on in. I'm not impressed. You're all a bit disorganized for my liking."

  "No one is just walking on in," he said, pulling a blade and pointing it toward my neck.

  The guard thumbed over his shoulder toward the growing crowd of pissed off looking thugs. They came trudging out from the coliseum’s side entrance like rats from a nest on a quest for Gouda.

  "I see. Not leaving witnesses really is problematic. Take them all, but this clown."

  "Who are you talking to? Are you nuts?" The thug glanced back just as a cold breeze slid in from the night, carrying fleeting screams from those who no longer existed on this plane.

  "Where did everyone go?" he asked.

  I placed my hand on his shoulder and his back exploded like someone had dropped a concrete block on him from a dozen stories up, collapsing into a mess of broken bones and blood from the unintentional blow.

  "Shit," I muttered under my breath as I strolled into the coliseum's hall.

  Thankfully, more witnesses arrived en masse, meeting me halfway down the corridor before the arena.

  "Leave two this time, for safety's sake."

  A violin screeched, freezing the thugs mid?step as the entity smothered the moonlight at both ends of the corridor. Darkness rushed through in a single, tidal sweep. Prayers, shouts, and terrified howls sounded and vanished in a ravenous flash.

  Like I requested, two remained with shaky arms and wobbling legs. Their breath curled out in faint, ghostly wisps.

  "Are you finally going to invite me in?"

  I wiped the sudden condensation from the front of my Grimstone Mask as the warm summer air flowed in from the arena's pit. The Black Table turned their heads as I entered the arena, eliciting a variety of reactions ranging from startled to “someone’s getting whipped for letting him in.”

  An azure beam flashed out of Seidou's palm from the center of the arena. I activated Abyssal Veil, but I wasn't sure if it did any good.

  "He's mana locked," Seidou shouted.

  A variety pack of criminals belonging to different gangs charged forth, and I turned Shadow Weave into an automatic decapitation aura. Several unlucky thugs discovered the arbitrary eight foot radius I had set, where the darkness sharpened into blades that brushed through their necks, then vanished.

  Blood spurted from the impromptu neck fountains, stoking the entity's flame, its hunger burning bright.

  "Calm down before I lose my patience. There's much to discuss."

  A second wave of melee specialists charged in and lost their heads, confirming the eight foot death radius.

  "Oh, you're the type of idiots that have to burn your hands on the stove twice before you realize it's hot."

  While the melee oriented thugs backed off, the mages and archers opened fire from a distance.

  "Or three times."

  Wraith Phase.

  A fireball flew through my torso and exploded in the hallway behind me, collapsing walls in a violent burst of rubble. Arrows zipped toward my last known position. My body flickered like a glitched hologram each time a projectile passed through.

  In the blink of an eye, I appeared in the middle of a mage gang and sent rippling ribbons of shadow outward. The sweeping blast shredded them like a woodchipper, showering the arena in gore and bits of bone.

  Everyone's propensity to attack me suddenly hit rock bottom. The lower level thugs looked toward their captains at the Black Table, who also tasted hesitation, and iron if they had their mouths open during the blood shower.

  "Stop this madness!" Kelfloss screamed in a piercing tone. "Can't you fools hear it? It's all around us."

  He covered his ears and slammed his head down onto the table. "Make it stop, please!"

  Kelfloss was right, the entity nipped at my heels and the insatiable hunger escaped. Everyone's eyes were on me, when they should have been paying attention to the world around us. How the darkness filled the gaps and cracks in the stone, suffocating the moonlight as it poured upward like ink defying gravity, blotting out the coliseum's high arches.

  "Stand strong, he's far outnumbered and his mana can't last forever," Gifford said from behind ten rows of men. "How long can you keep that aura up? When it comes down, you're dead."

  A group of level sixes and sevens formed, surrounding me in a loose circle, maintaining a generous distance. More arrows flew in, only to get dispatched by the darkness. The clinking ricochets almost covered up the tinging of chimes echoing in from above.

  You can't have everyone, understand?

  "You don't realize you're all already neck deep in quicksand. I've been going easy as a courtesy. If I kill all of you, there won't be much of an operation to take a cut from." I raised my hands up, palms out. "None of you are out of my reach."

  For a second, I thought things might actually de?escalate. Then Joelle yelled, “Bluffing bastard,” from the arena’s edge, tucked safely behind the entire Velvet Knives Are Pussies Clan, clearly under the assumption he was safe.

  I formed a claw out of the ample darkness and reached through his back, bursting through his chest. Gripping him by his spine, I hoisted him into the air, making it a spectacle before slamming his body into the floor, leaving the captain as an unrecognizable mess tangled with the poor fool he landed on.

  Seidou, the one I expected the most fight from, crouched behind a group of thugs too low level to trigger Karma's Gaze. He held a hand to the side of his cowl like it were a curtain capable of hiding his identity as he stared at the wall.

  I walked toward the black table in the middle of the pit. Their forces parted like sheep fleeing from a wolf. The chair screeched as I dragged it out and sat, crossing my leg.

  "Everyone. Sit.”