The first scream is thin, almost swallowed by the wind. The second one cuts sharper.

the man steps into the alley before the sound fades, boots splashing in a ribbon of rainwater that glistens under the flicker of a half-dead streetlamp. Three of them, all teeth and rusted blades, cornering something smaller, faster — but not fast enough. They don’t hear as he approach. Seems like he has got a knack for that.

A flash of movement, and one goes down choking on his own breath, the knife slipping from his fingers before it clatters into the dark. The second stumbles back when the man grabs him by the collar and introduce his skull to the wall. The third… runs. Smart. The person Zodyl “saved” is pressed against the wall, wide-eyed, hands trembling like they can’t decide if they should thank him or run too.

“You alright?”

the man asks, voice low and smooth, like this is just another Tuesday — which, for him, probably it is. He crouched to pick up the dropped knife, turning it over in his hands before tossing it into the gutter.

“Ugly thing. People make ugly things when they’re desperate.”

he muttered. They stammer out a thank you, but he waves it off.

“Don’t thank me. I don’t do charity.”

he let the pause linger just long enough for the cold to settle in their chest.

“You owe me now,”

the man says simply. No threat, no bark. Just truth.

“And debts… have a way of finding you, sooner or later.”

he steps past them, brushing a fleck of someone else’s blood from his sleeve. But before he disappears into the dark, he glanced back.

“When the time comes, I’ll tell you what I want. Until then… stay alive.”

The rain starts again as he vanishes into the maze of streets, leaving them with a choice they’ll never get to make.

what to do now?