A New Star Chapter 48

Knight Errant Lester 

Sitting in this fucking warehouse almost every night and watching these criminal assholes steal petty cash and push small amounts of weak contraband was really becoming a pain in the ass. The Convocation, the organization that I was trying to become a full member of through these tedious jobs, insisted that the petty gang, whose name I couldn't even remember most of the time, were greatly important to the larger picture. Whatever they were doing that was so great, I wasn't seeing it, but I had to keep an eye on them and make sure they didn't get too far out of line. That, and I needed to make sure they remembered there was somebody that was actually calling the shots apart from their little boss.  

Tonight was just like any other night; boring and tedious. I was watching over these simple thugs as they went about collecting payments from gamblers that had gotten in over their heads and borrowed too much or shopkeepers that were down on their luck. Pennies most of the time, but what else could one expect from such a motley crew of goons and mooks? The night had dragged on until the midnight bells had chimed throughout the city, not that it mattered; the whole night was these petty imbeciles and they would only start to scurry like the rats they were right before the coming of the dawn. I watched them drink and smoke and divvy up little pouches of that stupid blue powder they sold, the drug causing a euphoric feeling but being highly addictive. Most of these punks business came from that powder, Whisper Dust, and several of them were addicts themselves, which just went to show where the bar was set.  

As I took a pull of the awful piss they called ale in this shithole, the front door banged open and one of the more particularly stupid enforcers, Thog or something, banged inside. What caught my attention immediately was the person walking behind him, wearing a quite nice cloak made of a fine material that completely covered them head-to-toe. The second thing I noticed, that made me sit up straight and toss the dross that passed for an ale to the side, was the way they moved. Whoever the hell they were, they stalked forward with the natural grace of a panther, everything about screaming they were a killer, though I had been on enough battlefields in my life to recognize the movements of a skilled soldier. They reminded me of someone that had served at the highest levels, the way someone who worked in clandestine operations or in the Royal Guards would move, and that was quite concerning. 

Even more concerning was when one of the two simpletons at the door tried to stop the person from entering, as Tom, that was his name, stuttering out a bunch of lame excuses wasn't working on getting them past the entry. The person's hand shot out, almost faster than I could follow, which was disconcerting in its own right, and gripped the tough by the neck, easily lifting the three hundred pound man from the ground and shaking him like a ragdoll. I was on my feet and moving forward even as the rest of the hideout started to react; these stupid thugs would only be throwing themselves to their deaths if I didn't step in and, much as I was loathe to save these clowns, I had a job to do here. The entire being slaughtered by a Royal Guardsmen or Special Operations soldier wasn't going to be conducive to our long-term plans and I quickly moved in front of everyone else. That let me catch the tail end of what the person, a woman, was saying to the door guards as I got close. 

"I was saying I'm just here for a simple conversation, and not with you. I would tell you to get your boss out here, but it looks like someone with some more skill, and brains, than you is already here," she said, casually throwing the massive thug with enough force he cracked several of the thick beams that made up the walls of the old warehouse we were in. 

"I don't know who you are, but you're not welcome here," I said, hand on the hilt of my blade as I confronted her. It was after I said that that I realized just how young she really was, which did not make me relax at all. Looking like she was in her early teens, she only made me even more nervous; she was either somebody ancient that liked to masquerade as a youth or she was really that young. Even if it were the second, she moved like a killer and had the strength of a monster and I wasn't going to dismiss the howling of my instincts based on something as foolish as looks. 

"Rich, coming from a knight playing thug," she shot back, calmly scanning the warehouse, the irises of her eyes so dark they blended in to her pupils, creating an eerie effect at close range.  

"You're interfering with business you ain't got a right to," I said, not backing down at all. "If you want to talk to somebody about something, you can either talk to me or get lost. I'd prefer you do the second, young lady." 

I wasn't just telling her to piss off like I wanted as I was still rather scared of who, or what, she could be and it seemed she realized that. Her thick lips quirked in an obvious smirk before she replied, "Well then, why don't we talk? Aren't you going to be polite and invite me for a drink." 

"I'd prefer to step outside," I said, glancing around the warehouse, which was dead silent and incredibly tense. "Besides, you don't want to drink the horse piss they consider ale in this hole." 

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she said, still smirking. "Still, I think I'd very much like to stay. Perhaps, even look around a bit? That seems like it would be a good idea." 

"I think it wouldn't," I said, still nervous but determined. I pushed with my thumb and a finger, freeing my blade from where it was wedged in the scabbard and sliding it about an inch forward in preparation of drawing, but I didn't unsheathe it yet. The most disturbing thing was, given my threat and who I was, the lady didn't so much as twitch, the smirk never leaving her face.  

"If that's how we're going to play it tonight, I will say the train ride down was rather boring," she said. 

"Train ride-" was all I had time to get out before she moved, exploding forward so fast I could barely register it. Years of intense battles was all that saved me from getting taken out in the first moment, as I both drew my blade with my right hand and punched out with my left, deflecting her initial probing strike. Even for a probing strike, I felt part of the metal of the back of my gauntlet deform slightly, and several of the bones in my hand ached. Shit, just how strong was this monster? 

I got the answer to that immediately as two of the stupid thugs tried to jump her and she manhandled both of them with no apparent effort at all, backhanding one across a table while grabbing the other out of mid-air and planting a knee so deep in his gut I was concerned it was touching his spine. The thug vomited out a massive spume of the aforementioned piss-like ale, managing to miss the woman with all of it but get some of it on my boots, the bastard, before the young lady twisted around, planting a kick in the tough that I heard break something before he flew across half the warehouse into a pillar. I slashed at her with my blade, a series of three quick slices that were meant to contain and pressure an opponent, but she literally shrugged them off, sliding out of the way and bumping the flat of my blade with her upper arm and shoulder. That, more than anything else I had seen so far, had me terrified, as that spoke to a level of both skill and battlefield experience that far outstripped even me.  

The next little bit was a blur, the thugs throwing themselves at her and trying to drown her in numbers, which was an idiots game. Likely why they did it, but no simple street toughs were going to beat a trained killer, not with such obvious tactics, and I realized that it hadn't even been a full sixty seconds to leave just the young woman and myself. I hadn't been idle, but that entire time she had ignored my blade, and the occasional bursts of electricity I sent out, either dodging or deflecting everything I sent her way. I was left alone, confronting her in the center of the main room, every thug that had been in there before battered and broken, including the fool who had brought her here. He had worked up his gumption during the early seconds of the fight and tried to leap on her from behind, a costly mistake that saw most of his face broken and an arm twisted at an unnatural angle. He was unconscious in a corner now, still breathing but in no shape to do anything more than be a burden.  

I wasn't really doing so well myself even considering the massive brawl that had just happened in the span of fifty seconds had been a whirlwind surrounding me. I had thrown out a few punches and kicks during the battle and had been met by the same in kind and now my muscles and bones ached. I think my left wrist was fractured. I had slashed so much with my blade but hadn't even done more than cut her cloak just slightly once. My blade, and blade arm, hadn't fared nearly as well in the chaos, as my sword was slightly warped and chipped in one place and I wasn't even sure why or how. My arm was in worse shape, the deflections and parries she had done containing a truly staggering amount of force that likely had given me a few fractures, which was doubly annoying considering I didn't have any kind of healing or regeneration affinity. Just as I was about to say something, the door to the central of three rooms at the back of the large area flew open, a tall man striding out and bellowing at us. 

"The fuck is goin' on, ya bastards?! Who the fuck is breakin' shit-" he said. The man was Malcolm, the vice leader of this stupid little gang, a short, thick-necked ruffian with hands like mattocks and deep-set, beady eyes under a shelf of a brow. He stopped in his tracks, his cursing and demands cutting short as well when he saw the general area of the warehouse, looking much like a hurricane had just swept through, turning his glare to me. 

"Ya fuckin' knight bitch, the fuck is happenin' here?!" he roared, curling his hands into fists and stomping forward. 

"An associate of yours?" the young lady asked in her all too sweet voice.  

"He's the second in command of this gang. I guess if you're looking for someone important to talk to, he would be it. The boss doesn't hang around this shithole," I said. I muttered, too quiet for the vice-leader to hear, "The only dumb bastard of this group with any brains." 

The young lady had clearly heard me, as I saw her smile widen for a moment before she adopted a much sterner countenance. Malcolm had stopped in his tracks, only realizing there was somebody else still on their feet when we had spoken, but he now started forward again. 

"Was she the bitch that did this?" he hissed as he got next to me.  

Quick as lightning, before I could say anything, she appeared right next to me and planted her fist in Malcolm's face with a satisfying crunching sound. Bastard had annoyed me for a long time. It was only then that I realized, a little belatedly, that she had been holding well back earlier, even as she turned the inside of the warehouse into the aftermath of a battlefield. I had neither seen nor sensed her move, and yet she had done so she effortlessly it didn't look like it had put a strain on her, covering the distance so quickly I scarce believed my senses. She'd also hit Malcolm with a light jab that I expected to break his nose, which had the appearance of oft being the target of such violence, and that the big man would maybe stagger and curse, but I was much more surprised when the loudmouth was lifted off his feet by the strike and sent tumbling over an already half-broken table.  

"Heavens," I muttered, seeing her turn and give me a very predatory grin. 

"Don't worry, sir knight, you and I aren't through just yet," she said before turning back to the second in command. 

I didn't like the sound of that. 

The young lady moved over to Malcolm, who had taken a moment to get back on his feet, shaking his head as he held his nose. That hit must have been even harder than I thought. Considering Malcolm had a tier two body that he was quite proud of, having been one of the only ones in the gang to actually improve his body's grade, that gave me some idea of the woman's power. She had hit him hard enough to partially break his face and send him flying, which was no mean feat, and pointed to the fact she either had a strong body, a powerful affinity that boosted her physical strength, or both. Not someone I wanted to keep fighting. 

"You 'umb bith!" Malcolm shouted, his speech impaired by the broken nose and swollen lip. 

"Classy," said the woman, her voice quite cold. Malcolm, almost childishly easy to read, lunged for her, hardening his skin with stone, a classic tactic that people with similar affinities used to brawl. His hopes, if he even had anything more than rage and hurt in his tiny pea-brain, were dashed when the woman hit him again, and like a ton of bricks. I didn't sense any affinities at play, but I was not, if I must admit, all that strong or skilled, and she could have been using something I was unfamiliar with. I honestly hoped she was, as, if that was just her raw strength, I didn't have a lone sailor's hope on the far seas of competing with her.  

Malcolm's face made more cracking sounds, not quite all of them due to his stone skin being crushed, and he went down in a heap. He tried to rally a second time, and was lifted off the ground by an impressive high kick to the gut that produced more noises of stone breaking and sent him slamming into one of the rafter. As he fell back down, he encountered the young lady's fist another time, smashing him flying across the warehouse with even more snapping and popping sounds, enough force having been used that he hit the back wall where the offices were located. I sheathed my sword with a small sigh; it wasn't going to be needed, or even useful, and the only way we were getting out of this was through talking. With Malcolm involved at all, that path was looking rough, but I was determined to not piss off this young beast any more than I absolutely had to. Better to cooperate and live, and maybe even be let go, than try to fight and end up the same as Malcolm. Or worse. 

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