Clith was a man made up of many things. Fragments of a life lived on the edge, pieced together by sheer force of will. A puzzle to those who knew him, and an enigma to those who thought they did, and most of all, a walking contradiction, forever torn between the man he was and the man he needed to be.

He found himself in a dimly lit alleyway between buildings, the cool night air biting at his skin as he waited for his contact to arrive.

“Hey, shitstain.” Kenrith slid up next to him in the alley. “No other shady looking characters hanging out out here, so I assume you’re the shitling that I’m supposed to nurse while I figure out how I’m supposed to get out from under your employers.”

Clith lit up a cig, the embers from the tip the only piece of color in the darkness. “I hear you’re my ticket in. What’s the route up?”

The cold sea wind swept up through the place, suddenly sending a breeze down around them.

“Here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to shut up, we’re going to walk, and then you’re going to fight.”

Clith gave a brief thumbs up, flicked his cigarette, and smushed it into the ground, and with that tone, they headed into the night.

“You sure about this, Ken?” Ethen’s voice whispered, a mix of concern and skepticism, as they moved through the winding alleys of the docks. “Bringing an outsider into the fold, especially one with ties to another organization... it’s risky.”

Kenrith kept his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. “No choice,” he said flatly. “The Syndicate’s got me in a bind. This is the only play.”

“But can you trust him?” Ethen pressed, her tone urgent. “What if he’s playing you, using you to get what he wants?”

“Trust isn’t part of the equation,” Kenrith replied, his voice cold and even. “He’s a means to an end, nothing more. I’ll handle it.”

Ethen fell silent for a moment, and Kenrith could almost feel her weighing the situation. “Watch your back, Ken,” she said at last, her voice tinged with resignation. “Don’t let your guard down.”

Kenrith gave a curt nod, acknowledging Ethen’s warning without a flicker of emotion crossing his face. He had a job to do, and sentiment had no place in the world he inhabited. All that mattered was survival, and he would do whatever it took to ensure his own.

As Kenrith and Clith reached their destination, they took a moment to assess each other, two men shaped by the harsh realities of their world, yet each bearing the marks of their unique experiences.

Kenrith was a lean, wiry man with a face that spoke of hard living and tough choices. His piercing gray eyes, cold and calculating, remained vigilant in their assessment of potential threats and opportunities. A network of scars crisscrossed his weathered skin, the marks of a man who had survived countless battles. He moved with the coiled grace of a predator, his muscles tensed and ready for action at a moment’s notice. But beneath his stoic exterior, there was an air of weariness, the sense of a man carrying the weight of too many secrets and too much guilt.

In contrast, Clith was a man of quiet intensity, his presence more felt than seen. He had the lean, muscular build of someone who had honed their body into a weapon, but there was a fluidity to his movements that spoke of a more subtle kind of power. His eyes, a deep, piercing blue, seemed to hold a world of pain and loss, but also an unbreakable determination to see his mission through.

Where Kenrith’s scars were visible, etched into his skin like a roadmap of violence, Clith’s deeper wounds were hidden beneath the surface, the invisible scars of a life spent in the shadows. He carried himself with a sense of purpose, a man driven by a cause greater than himself, but there was also a hint of vulnerability, a glimmer of the human beneath the hardened exterior.

Both men were products of the unforgiving world they inhabited, each bearing the weight of their own demons and desires. Kenrith, the battle-scarred survivor, his loyalties and motives shrouded in mystery. Clith, the haunted assassin, driven by a desperate need to protect the one light in his life. Together, they formed an unlikely alliance, two broken pieces fitting together to navigate the dangerous game they found themselves in.

As they arrived at the venue, Clith finally got to see his destination.

“If you die, my life gets easier.” Kenrith said, bluntly.

“Sucks to suck, then.”

With that, they headed down the short steps into the unremarkable building. No signage on the front, and no windows. The inner hallway led to a staircase, the walls covered in a paint that was pitch black and smooth, and the steps were etched alternating marble and stone.

The wooden door at the end led to a reception area, where a bored-looking staff-member sat behind the counter. Two bouncers waited at the double doors leading farther in.

Kenrith approached the counter, his expression impassive. The receptionist looked up, her eyes sharp and assessing.

“The moon hangs low tonight.” The receptionist spoke.

“Yet the stars remain hidden.” Kenrith replied.

“Secrets whisper in the shadows.”

“As the spider weaves its web.”

“The silk, strong and unyielding.”

“Binds the fate of the unwary.”

“In the depths, the venom flows.”

“And the darkness consumes all.”

The staff member nodded almost imperceptibly, satisfied with the exchange. She gestured towards the double doors, where the bouncers stood, their massive frames blocking the way.

“The path lies open to those who dare.”

“For in the Veil, truth is laid bare.”

One of the bouncers opened the door to lead them through. Immediately, they were assailed with a deep, thumping bass and neon lights lining the walls and roof. There was a mass of people, dressed and undressed in a vast number of different clothing items from across the universe, all shaking to the rhythm of an almost unheard song over the roar. The bouncer parted the waves of people and they followed them through the throng.

“Is this normal?” Clith, barely heard over the bass, spoke.

Kenrith didn’t respond.

They reached a section of the dance floor that was barred off from the public, and Clith was pushed in. The floor had checkered squares with white light emanating from them. The space was circular, the ground was sticky with spilled drinks and sweat, and the air was thick with the mingled scents of adrenaline and fear.

Across from him, a man stood trembling, his eyes wide with terror. He was young, barely out of his teens, with a thin, wiry frame that seemed to shrink under the weight of the crowd’s gaze. Clith recognized the look of a cornered animal, desperate and unpredictable.

“The rules are simple,” Kenrith’s voice cut through the noise, cold and unfeeling. “Fight until one of you can’t continue. No weapons, no mercy. Only one walks out. Points for brutality.”

Clith swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry. He had taken countless lives before, but never like this, never so raw and exposed. The crowd’s chants grew louder, a primal rhythm that pulsed in time with the music. They were hungry for blood, for the visceral thrill of watching two men tear each other apart. Clith could feel their eyes on him, could sense their twisted anticipation.

He looked at his opponent again, saw the fear etched into every line of his face. This wasn’t a hardened killer or a trained assassin. This was just a kid, thrown into a nightmare he couldn’t escape.

The boy made the first move, lunging forward with a clumsy swing. Clith dodged easily, his body reacting on pure instinct. He countered with a quick jab, catching the boy on the chin and sending him stumbling back.

They traded blows, Clith holding back. But the boy was growing more desperate, his attacks more erratic. Clith knew he couldn’t keep this up forever.

Suddenly, the boy charged forward, throwing his whole weight behind a wild haymaker. Clith saw his chance. He sidestepped the blow and grabbed the boy’s arm, using his momentum to flip him onto his back. The boy hit the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs.

Clith pounced, pinning the boy down with his knee on his chest. He leaned in close, his voice a harsh whisper. “Stay down,” he hissed. “Don’t get up.”

The boy’s eyes widened, confusion and fear mingling in his gaze. But he didn’t struggle, didn’t try to fight back. Clith held the boy down, his knee pressing into his chest. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Clith could feel the boy’s heart racing beneath his hands, could see the plea in his gaze.

For a moment, Clith hesitated. This wasn’t right. This boy didn’t deserve to die, not like this. He was just a pawn in a twisted game, a sacrificial lamb thrown into the arena for the amusement of the crowd.

But then Clith thought of Selan, of the promise he had made to keep her safe. He thought of the Syndicate, of the threats they had made and the price he would pay if he failed. He thought of the life he had built, the fragile peace he had carved out for himself and his daughter.

And he knew what he had to do.

With a heavy heart, Clith shifted his weight, moving his knee up to the boy’s throat. The boy’s eyes bulged, his hands scrabbling weakly at Clith’s leg. But Clith didn’t relent. He leaned forward, applying pressure, feeling the boy’s windpipe collapse beneath his weight.

It was over in seconds, though it felt like an eternity. The boy went limp, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Clith stood up, his hands shaking, his stomach churning with revulsion. The crowd erupted in cheers, their bloodlust sated. Kenrith nodded in approval, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. But Clith barely noticed. All he could see was the boy’s face, the life fading from his eyes.

He had done what he had to do. He had protected Selan, had kept his end of the bargain. But at what cost? How much more of his soul would he have to sacrifice? How many more innocent lives would he have to take?

Clith walked out of the arena, his steps heavy and his mind numb. The cheers of the crowd echoed behind him, a twisted soundtrack to the horror he had just unleashed. But he also knew that he would do it again, a thousand times over, if it meant keeping Selan safe.

He went outside and turned a corner. He found himself face to face with Kenrith. The other man leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his expression inscrutable.

“You passed,” Kenrith said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact.

Clith met his gaze, his own eyes hard and unflinching. “I did what I had to do.”

Kenrith pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. “The Silk Veil has no room for weakness.”

Clith’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t argue. He knew the rules of this game, the price of admission into the Silk Veil’s world.

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Kenrith held his gaze for a long moment, his eyes cold and assessing. “See that you do.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Clith alone. Clith took a deep breath, his shoulders squaring and his spine straightening. He knew what he was, and he accepted it. He was a monster, a killer, a man who had sacrificed his humanity for the sake of his loved ones.

But he was also a father, a protector, a man who would stop at nothing to keep his daughter safe. And in a world as cruel and unforgiving as this one, that was all that mattered.

Clith turned and walked down the alley, his steps sure and his resolve unshakable. He had chosen his path, and he would see it through to the end, no matter where it led him. For Selan, for himself, for the chance at a better life, he would do whatever it took.

Even if it meant embracing the darkness that lurked within him, the monster that he had become.