"What?" Zane's voice cut through, low and sharp. He tilted his head, unsure if he'd heard right, his tone laced with a mix of disbelief and amusement. The seven thugs—five men, two women—were the kind of people the old world had chewed up and spit out. They were bottom-feeders, living off petty theft, bar fights, whatever kept them alive another day. No dreams of glory, no plans beyond the next hustle, and definitely no grand ambitions. They'd always slunk through life, taking what they could, consequences be damned. A stolen wallet, a smashed window, a quick scam—they didn't care who they hurt, as long as it filled their pockets.
But the System had flipped their world upside down, pouring power into their hands like whiskey into a drunk's glass. Strength that could crack concrete, speed that outran the wind, abilities they hadn't earned and barely controlled—it was a rush that made them reckless. The old rules were dead, trampled in the Tutorial's chaos, and now it was dog-eat-dog, a world where the strong carved their own path and the weak were just meat. These thugs, once small-time crooks, now saw a shot at something bigger. They'd heard the whispers rippling through the crowd: a Primordial was passing through, Ariel Walker, the president's daughter, a name worth more than gold in this broken world. They knew Primordials were powerhouses, their abilities the stuff of nightmares, but this one? Just a teenage girl, strolling with a blind guy and a redhead who looked like she'd jump at her own shadow. The world was still a mess, no cops, no order, just chaos ripe for the taking. Why not snatch her, ransom her to her big-shot father, and live like kings? They weren't just chasing money—they wanted respect, fear, a name that meant something in this new jungle. And if it meant stepping over a blind man and a scared girl, so be it.
Another thug pushed forward, a wiry guy with a scar slicing from cheek to neck, like a bad tattoo, his voice rough, greedy, like he was already counting the cash. "What we're saying is the world's gone to shit. Nothing works like it used to. But the president's gonna pay big to get his little girl back, right? You know how much we'll make if we grab her?" He glared at Zane, gripping a crude axe carved from Gemini bone, his stance cocky, like he thought the blind man was just a speedbump.
Zane's mind churned, his calm face a mask over a storm of cold calculation. 'Idiots drunk on power, thinking they're predators now because they've got a few tricks. Kidnapping Ariel in broad daylight? Ballsy, but stupid. I knew I'd run into fools like this, but not this soon.' He turned toward Ariel, expecting fear, but she was a rock, her blue eyes steady, her stance relaxed, like she was daring them to try. Celine, though, was unraveling, her hands shaking, her hazel eyes wide with panic.
The scarred thug leaned closer, his voice dripping with fake kindness, like a conman playing nice before the knife comes out. "I'd hate to mess up a blind guy, so how about you pretend you didn't hear us and hand over Ariel Walker? Let's keep this simple, pretty boy." His buddies grinned, their weapons—clubs, knives—shifting in their hands, eager for a fight they thought they'd win.
The crowd around them swelled, a restless mob drawn to the scent of trouble. Phones flashed, recording every second, while voices hummed with excitement. "This guy's done for," one man muttered, clutching a recorder. "That's Ariel Walker—what's going to happen now?" a woman whispered, her tone buzzing with curiosity. Some snapped pictures, others leaned in, hungry for blood or drama, their anticipation thick in the air.
Zane tilted his head, and then a laugh ripped out of him, loud and raw, like a crack of lightning in a quiet sky. The crowd froze, the thugs flinched, their bravado cracking like cheap glass. "Is this guy high or something?" a thug—a lanky woman with a dagger carved from Gemini bone—muttered, her voice shaky, thrown off by Zane's reaction. "What's so funny?"
His laughter cut off like a snapped wire, his voice dropping to a low, dark growl, each word heavy with menace. "Who do you think you're talking to?" The question landed like a brick, making the thugs hesitate, their confidence wobbling. He stepped forward, his presence a storm brewing, his voice sharp enough to cut. "You want to kidnap a Primordial? You must think Miss Ariel's a joke, huh?" His tone was laced with mockery, daring them to make a move.
Ariel glanced at Celine, her eyes twinkling with confusion. 'Miss Ariel? What's big brother cooking up?' she thought, her hands loose but ready.
Zane stood still, his mind racing as he weighed the situation, calculating the best way to handle these thugs. He wanted to send a clear message, one that would echo through the streets and beyond: no one disrespects a Primordial, and no one threatens his sister, Ariel, without paying a price. His goal wasn't just to stop them—it was to make an example so sharp it would burn into the minds of anyone foolish enough to try this again.
***
Meanwhile, a few streets away, Valmer and Kenshi wove through the chaotic crowd fascinated by seeing two Primordials together. Valmer scrolled through his phone as he spoke. "Zane's info's gonna be useful, don't you think?" he said, his voice light but probing, glancing at Kenshi. "All that talk about demons, other worlds, the System's tricks—it's a lot, but it gives us a starting point."
Kenshi's amber eyes narrowed, his katana a steady weight at his side, his brow furrowed with frustration. "What info? All he did was tell us we're screwed and there's no fixing it. He's just a teenager, but when I'm around him, I feel like the kid. He's got this… weight, like he's seen things we can't even imagine." His voice was low, grudging respect mixing with irritation, his hand tightening on his sword's hilt.
Valmer grinned, undeterred, shoved his phone under Kenshi's nose. "Hey, Kenshi, look at this." His tone was urgent, his finger tapping the screen, where a shaky video showed Zane facing the thugs, the crowd circling like vultures.
Kenshi pushed the phone away, his voice sharp. "I told you, I'm not into your list of dream girls, Valmer. Stop bugging me with it." His patience was thin, his mind still wrestling with Zane's words.
"No, idiot, it's about Zane," Valmer snapped, thrusting the phone back. Kenshi grabbed it, his eyes locking onto the screen, the video showing Zane's laugh, his dark words, the thugs' hesitation. His jaw tightened, memories flashing—Zane shrugging off his best attack, drawing just a drop of blood when Kenshi had thrown everything he had. "Valmer, we need to call Yuna and Kai and get there now. He'll wipe them out. You know he doesn't hold back when it's about Ariel."
Valmer shook his head, his grin fading to a knowing smirk. "And do what, Kenshi? Be real. Zane could take over the damn world if he wanted, and nobody—not you, not me, not anyone—could stop him. If we go, what's the plan? Stand there and watch? He's not gonna kill them. He hates the spotlight, remember? He'll do something big enough to scare them, but not so big it draws every eye in the city. And if it gets bad, Ariel's there. One word from her, and he'll stop cold. She's his anchor."
Kenshi frowned, his amber eyes skeptical. "You sure about that? He's not exactly predictable."
"I'm sure," Valmer said, pocketing his phone. "He's a storm, but Ariel's the one holding the leash. Let's just keep moving. They'll handle it."
***
Back on the street, Zane's laugh had died, his voice now a low, dangerous growl, each word a stone dropped into the tense silence. "My name is Void, and I'm the bodyguard of the great Primordial, Ariel Walker." His tone was ice, heavy with authority, his blindfolded face unreadable as he stepped forward, the crowd's murmurs fading. "You'll have to kill me to get to her."
The thugs froze, their confidence cracking, their weapons twitching nervously in their hands. The scarred leader's bravado faltered, his voice shaky. "Void? What's that supposed to mean? You're just a blind guy!" But his eyes betrayed doubt, his grip on the axe tightening.
Ariel's eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips twitching as she whispered to Celine, "Big brother's putting on a show." Her hands were relaxed but ready, her calm a stark contrast to Celine's trembling, her eyes wide with fear, her breath hitching. The crowd leaned in, phones still rolling, whispers rippling—"Did he say Void?" "He's her bodyguard?"—their excitement a fever in the air.