Pre-Author note: *Throws chapter into starving fish pond* Enjoy the food.

I tried my best to proofread this, read over it 4 times, but I'm sure there will be one or two mistakes. I'll re-read this in like an hour to check for mistakes since my eyes are tired rn.

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Battered, bruised, and slightly char-broiled Antonio walked through the streets of Campobasse, resting between intervals and slowly building up strength to continue his trek through the dark night. The area wasn't the most well-lit, only the occasional street-light dotting along the old cobblestone streets but it was enough for someone accustomed to transversing the wilderness with nothing but a torch.

So far, the night had allowed him a reprieve from encountering another soul, but the sun would soon rise over the city which forced him to move his aching body faster. He didn't have the time to get embroiled with a "concerned" citizen who upon seeing his bloodied demeanor would call the paramedics and crooked cops. He inwardly sneered at the thought of the paid-off Siracusean police "helping" him, something that would go south the moment they found out he was infected and lacked the funds to slick their hands. No, he would be forced to go through the back streets when the sun rose, and possibly hide among the slum residents there.

A sudden movement ahead made him snap his eyes toward his front, eyelids squinting and pupils dilating to assess possible threats.
At the end of the street, stumbling under the illuminating light of an old lamppost, was the lone vistage of a half-naked woman cradling her head. Immediately, Antonio's mind branched toward two possible explanations. Given the way, the woman's bounded chest was exposed and how her dress was scrunched up along her waist barely clinging on, she could possibly be a prostitute working into the early hours of the morning. He wasn't ashamed to admit, he immediately associated the woman's disheveled appearance with prostitution. He was located in Siracusa afterall, where almost every notable mafia presence held a finger in the said business.

Although the local Fang family wasn't well known for such actions, he wouldn't be surprised if they held a branch of prostitution in their territory as well. The woman could also be privately selling herself to earn extra funds, Terra only knew how often he had seen similar situations where someone would sell themselves to put food on the table.

However, as he neared, the second possibility coursing through his mind started becoming more likely. Mafia family's preferred to keep their territories as inconspicuous as possible. Sure, everyone knew they were living in gang-controlled areas but there was an unspoken rule to keep all "business" under the darkness of night, in an attempt to maintain the status quo. Without this thin thread of control, Campobasse and every other Siracusian city would plunge into anarchy. For that matter the entire country would become a mirror copy of their neighbors, Kazdel. Still, that didn't mean crime against the local populace didn't happen, and as he crept closer the possibility the girl had come across some more..." unsavory" people was becoming more prevalent.

The woman currently was cradling her face in her hands while stumbling along with a wobbly gait. Her hunched demeanor obscured the details of his initial sweep, but closer inspection showed blood was dripping through the gapes of her finger, and running down her chest.

It would seem he wasn't the only one injured this night, a fact which made him pity the injured woman. Antonio may have been brought up to revitalize the Texas mafioso, but he balked at the mere concept of hurting another intentionally. Pirtanaci would always scoff when he questioned the need to harm another, be it via extortion, assassination, murder, or other facets of the mafia lifestyle. It wasn't as if he was naive, no, he was well aware there was no such thing as peace on Terra. Catastrophe's, and Terran nature would always find a method to justify violence. It was a truth he couldn't dispute, but that didn't mean he needed to be a part of the issue.

Seeing an innocent needlessly injured by the probable hands of gang members still rankled his soul. It was pointless violence, and the underlying motivator for him fleeing the country. Some may call him a coward, for fleeing instead of working toward changing Siracusa, but he was a lone man against a country held aloft by organized crime. He failed to even save his family, how could others expect him to save them?

.......Still, despite his injuries, despite the lack of time he had left in the physical realm, he couldn't turn a blind eye toward the woman walking his way. It may be pointless in the grand schemes of the world, but extending a helpful hand shouldn't cause too much trouble.

"Miss, do you require medical attention? I am well-versed in treating wounds, I can take a look at your injury if need be." He spoke out with a firm, yet soft tone, intent on not scaring the woman away...despite his current sloppy appearance consisting of dried blood and torn up shirt. Still, it was true what he offered her, as constant struggles traveling through the wilderness had made him accustomed to giving onsite medical aid.

The woman merely continued walking toward him without replying. Worried she didn't hear him, Antonio attempted to grab her attention one more time.

"Miss, despite my appearance I am well versed in giving medical attention. If you are injured just te-"

His words died in his throat as fight-and-flight instincts flared to life, body muscles tensing, and his Art trigger rising to the forefront of his mind. The cause behind the sudden shift in Antonio's demeanor was simple, as during his inquiry his eye soaked in the bizarre scene of the lampost besides the woman suddenly missing a chunk of metal...No, it would be more appropriate to say an invisible blade had struck against the lampost and gouged out a piece of its main body. Antonio was well aware these lampposts were aged relics, antiques worthy of the city's age, but they were still made of heavy cast iron. Thus, seeing something unseen rend a deep slash mark through the metal, sent him on edge.

The woman was still on a collision course with him, but she was a fair ways off. The option to flee was still available for Antonio, yet he paused on deciding a proper course of action. Despite the odd scene, the woman wasn't actively coming after him.

Was someone targeting the woman, and had merely missed the blow? But if that were true wouldn't the woman be running away from her attacker, and not walking at such a slow pace?

Focusing, he carefully watched as the woman continued stumbling down the road, a pattern beginning to form in his mind's eye. The bleeding woman would take an unsteady step, and a slash mark would appear somewhere around her. Sometimes it would be a singular heavy blow, capable of rending stone and sometimes there would be a flurry of weaker slash marks that barely scratched her surroundings. Strength of the phenomenon aside, it seemed an invisible saber was constantly swinging around the woman, lashing out and causing a decent amount of property damage.

Antonio figured there were only two realistic options before his eyes. Either, someone was watching from afar and utilizing their Art's to actively torture the woman, creating a sick game of "When will the slash strike home" or the woman was willingly acting like a human blender. The lack of real urgency to escape gave credit toward the second option, but if the woman was willingly activating her Arts the question was why? And why was she injured? Something wasn't adding up, but it was obvious he needed to do something before she either aggravated her injuries or ran into someone with her accompanying blade storm.

Wiling his Art's augmentation to activate, Antonio's pain bled away, as newfound energy was injected into his system like a potent stimulant. The feeling was a blatant lie, however, as although his Art's allowed for increased tenacity, accumulation of fatigue and damage would incur overtime. This wasn't even including the fact; using his body as a catalyst would further aggravate his Orptahty, cutting down his life expectancy. Still, Antonio held no weapons at the moment, and he wasn't suicidal enough to willing enter what seemed to be an invisible blender unprepared.

Squaring his shoulder, he allowed his power to infuse his muscles and walked steadily toward the woman, calling out his intentions lest he spooks her.
"Miss, can you tell me what's wrong? I know you are injured but you need to calm down and reign in your Art's usage. You are causing a substantial amount of damage around you and should you need paramedics they wouldn't be able to pass through your blade field."

The woman still refused to answer, and Antonio was starting to feel a smidgen of annoyance. Something was obviously wrong but she wasn't...or couldn't do anything to help. Sighing, he decided to bite the bullet and cautiously approach her. Nearing her, another phenomenon became apparent as, surprisingly, he began to feel a burning pain spreading across his back.

Whipping his head around, only to find no one behind him, he was forced to come to the conclusion the feeling of discomfort was coming from the woman who had yet to acknowledge him. This boggled his mind as his Art's augmentation was designed to allow him to enter the fray of battle without the worry of sustaining meaningful damage. At full strength, he could tank concussive grenades to the face and continue without feeling the blow...Albeit he always refrained from utilizing his Art's maximum potential as an increase in his tenacity would also correlate to a slightly weaker increase in strength, meaning it would become easier for him to accidentally kill someone.

Still, even with his minimal output, he shouldn't be feeling any burning sensation unless someone was taking a blow torch to his back. Hell, the only reason he lost to his father's goons was because of those perverse electrical rods. If it was anyone else, a singular shock from those rods would roast someone alive from the rampant electrical currents.

Antonio's wariness surged to new heights as he eyed the woman capable of bypassing his Art, without showcasing any real aggression and being close to 20 feet away. Increasing the output of his Art's he continued to near the woman...only to feel the burning in his back increase the closer he came.

20 feet, his back was burning like someone was lightly roasting it.

15 feet, the burning increased to new levels.

10 feet, Antonio could literally feel burning hot blades beginning to carve into the flesh of his back.

The sudden increase in pain, and change of exhibited sensation, halted his movement as he quickly inspected his back with one hand. A quick pat-down, still indicated a lack of wounds, meaning the Art being utilized only affected his sense of pain....for the moment. He eyed the area around the woman, gauging the range where the physical manifestation of the ability occurred, and realized the "Blender" radiated 5 feet around the woman.
"Miss, please reign in your Art so I can help you!"

The increased closeness didn't matter as she refused to acknowledge him. Although his ears did pick up low mumbling coming from her, with the contents being too faint to make out. Attempting to converse was still met with non-compliance, thus Antonio grit his teeth and braced himself to enter the Art's field.

Contact with the field, luckily, went in his favor. No matter the strength of the invisible blows, they couldn't pierce Antonio's flesh....but the pain still filtered through unabated, ignoring his prized ability. It wasn't the first time a physical or Art's base attack broke through his innate defense, however, these attacks typically needed to brute force through his Art's. Now? His muscles twitched and jerked, with pain as he attempted to suppress his ingrained instincts to avoid the cause of the pain. Frankly, Antonio felt the esoteric ability he was facing was more mentally exhausting as opposed to dangerous....Still, he reached his target through the pain.

Suppressing his flinching muscles, he forced a steady hand to gently grasp the woman's shoulder. He softly spoke towards her in an attempt to halt her march and reign in her power.

"Miss, stop, please. No one's here to hurt you. Now let me lo-"
"SHUT UP"

*Splech*

Several things happened in quick succession, as white-hot pain erupted along his arm. He couldn't even finish his words to the woman before she cut him off with a voice filtering palpable hysteria. Antonio would be concerned with the sudden outburst, especially when he wanted to offer aid, but he held more pressing concerns as his blood was finally spilled. Admittedly his augmentation could be stronger, but the surreal scene of seeing his hand almost split made his instincts kick in as he jumped backward, easily going beyond the realm of the imaginary blades' reach.

"Dammit"

Antonio could only curse, both at his pain and stupidity at not increasing his Art's output. A quick catalog of his injury made him internally grimace. The moment the woman had let out her outburst, it seemed the strength of her ability skyrocketed to the point of powering through his weak augmentation like paper. His hand was now sporting an increased gap between his ring and middle finger, with the esoteric blade having sliced through half his hand like butter before gradually losing strength at the halfway mark and continuing the trend up his forearm. The strength of the blow seemed to lessen with distance traveled, with the blade wound only showcasing a swallow cut on his forearm. It was the extent of injury his left hand sustained, which caused him to reassess the woman's danger rating. Muscle and bone seemed to be expertly sliced, making further utilization of his left hand difficult at the moment.

The wound may have incited panic in non-combatants but Antonio merely groaned at the prospect of waiting for the wound to heal. What would seem a debilitating wound for many, would only be a minor annoyance for him as his body's unnatural vigor would heal his hand within days....time that gnawed away at this already short wick. Frankly, he was debating on reigning in his good-will and leaving the woman to her own devices, as further risking bodily harm would hamper his goals....however...

"Shut up, be quiet, Shut up, let me think."

His ears involuntarily soaked in the insane mumblings of the woman, their volume now loud enough for him to hear ever since the earlier outburst. It was clear she wasn't in the proper mindset, seemingly battling an entirely mental conjured foe. Hands no longer covering her face Antonio could see the woman wasn't even acknowledging his presence, dilated hazel eyes merely darting around frantically and never zoning in on him. These small details hinted toward the disturbing prospect, that the woman didn't seem aware she was unleashing potent carnage all around her. If he truly decided to abandon the woman here, there was no doubt in his mind she would meet a gruesome end, either from crossing a mafioso family or engaging with the local "authorities". Potent ability or not, any organized group could easily "put down" a seemingly raging lunatic who was disrupting Campobasse's status quo.

Logic dictates he should leave, but his heart clenched at the thought of leaving the obviously ill woman to be eventually killed......

This was the crux of the issue for him. How was he expected to help his own daughter when he couldn't help a random person on the street? Didn't he promise himself he wouldn't cause needless harm to others, in an attempt to stray away from his past? Wouldn't his acknowledgment of the woman's plight and subsequent abandonment of her, merely be the equivalent of watching her kill herself? What difference is there between physically taking another's life, and willingly allowing another life to be taken when one action could prevent that?

"Aren't I pathetic, can't even save my own family and I want to help some random lady....but if I walk away now I wouldn't be any better than some random Siracusian ruffian...besides there's nothing wrong with helping another."

Groaning out the stifling feelings accumulating in his chest, Antonio squared his shoulders and righted himself. A mental flick and he willed his augmentation to reach half-capacity, an amount he reasoned should be enough to block even the woman's earlier blow, whilst also limiting the amount of strength he exhibited. It would be counterproductive to inadvertently harm the person he was trying to peacefully restrain.

Eyeing the now stationary woman, he grimaced at the way her field was leaving deep gouges into the cobblestone street, and a glance at the iron lampost showed it being steadily mutilated. If he didn't hurry, the lamppost would topple from the repeated blows, like an ax striking away at a tree until it fell. With steady steps he marched forward, phantom pain immediately striking his body but incapable of making him falter. As before, the real danger came within 5 feet of the woman.

The esoteric blade strikes tried their best to spill more of his blood, but the moment they came into contact with his newly ramped-up infusion they broke apart. The interaction between Art's wasn't power negation per say, but more akin to the physical phenomenon of watching an untrained person punching a tree with their bare hands. No matter the force thrown, the blow's power would meet an unmovable force and dissipate without accomplishing anything. Even when a blade struck Antonio's delicate eyes, it left nary a scratch and didn't even accomplish making him bat an eyelid. For all intents and purposes, Antonio may have been walking in a spring rain shower.

Now standing in front of the woman, he noted she still wasn't acknowledging his presence. Using his intact hand he attempted to garner her attention but was only met with more inane mumbling. Increasing his attempts, he began to gently start shacking the woman in an attempt to snap her out of her ramblings....something which was met with a fist blow to his right eye....followed by a groin shot.

Antonio's attempts at grabbing her attention only seem to be half-successful, the woman still darting her eyes around her but through her flailing, somehow, accurately hitting various vital points. The blows didn't bother him, and he would have continued increasing his efforts in snapping the woman out of her hysteria...if it wasn't for the sudden increase in power from the blades battering his body. What once was an occasional blade blow glancing off him, became a miniature cyclone of razors trying their damndest to dismantle him.

Suddenly, the sound of strained metal began to fill the area, the origin coming from the lamppost whose side was riddled with gouges. With the sound of twisting metal, the lamppost's compromised body began leaning, incapable of withholding the lamp head's weight. Original status ruined, the lamppost careened on its side and, with an echoing smash, smashed into the side of the adjacent brick stone building. As if the horrendous noise wasn't enough to wake up any sleeping residents, the sparking lamp head which started forming a fiery blaze would certainly garner some attention. Antonio immediately understood he had overstayed his welcome, and it was time to bid a hasty retreat.

Looking at the flailing woman in his grasp, he could only offer a small apology for what he was about to do.

"I'm sorry, but we can't stay here any longer lest someone calls the authorities on us. Don't worry I'll try my best to patch your wounds....just know I don't enjoy what I'm about to do."

Antonio could only bury his feelings as he utilized his ingrained combat skills to swiftly make his way around the woman, and wrap his good arm around her neck. With a heavy heart, he began to put the woman in a chokehold, and slowly attempted to render her unconscious. He would have preferred merely attempting to talk down the woman, but the lamppost had certainty alerted some residents with the noise it created. If either the authorities or the Fang family were informed of what transpired here, it would end poorly for the woman. If taken into custody he held no doubts the corrupted officials wouldn't offer the woman the aid she desperately needed, satisfied to merely let her rot in a padded room. If the Fang family caught wind of the blatant destruction of "their" territory...well the woman probably wouldn't live.

His best method of actually helping the woman was by hurriedly bringing her away from the area and giving her medical aid....something which would be extremely difficult if the woman continued to fight. It wouldn't be farfetched for him to forcefully carry her either..but her field of blades would merely create a path of destruction that would lead right to them. Unfortunately, the best option at the moment seemed to be knocking the woman unconscious to deactivate her Art's and carrying her away from the scene.

Trying his best to apply the right amount of pressure, without harming the woman's neck, he ignored the blade blows and slowly deprived her of oxygen. Gradually, the woman's flailing began to weaken in strength until she went limp in his arms. Antonio immediately ceased his hold, and gently let the young woman lay against his chest. Quickly with one arm he cradled her body and prepared to leave the area. It was only a glance at the fiery lamppost which made him pause his quick retreat. Rolling over his hesitation, he activated his Art's to its fullest potential, grabbed the fallen post with one hand, and PULLED.

*WWWWWRN*

The sound of tortured metal once more echoed out as he ripped the lamp head away from its compromised support, flames attempting to reach his fingers. Without fanfare, he tossed the flaming piece of metal into the street, away from the adjacent homes and anything flammable. The fire would eventually die without any fuel, and he could now leave without the thought of inadvertently causing the district to burn down.

Heaving the woman into a bridle carry, he was only now capable of understanding the extent of the woman's injuries. Her back was currently streaked in blood from the raw blade wounds dotting it, and the woman's lack of weight made him immediately guess she hadn't eaten a decent meal in a while. Blood still poured down her face, both from the deep gash on her forehead and the various fingernail marks dotting her face, but he could still make out the sunken features denoting malnutrition. Whatever caused the woman to crazily walk out into the middle of a Siracusian night, leaving a trail of carnage, had to be "good". Good being the relative term for assault and possible rampant abuse.

Making sure his passenger was setup, taking extra care not to jostle her wounds, Antonio sped off into the night to avoid the incoming locals. As he sprinted across the back alley's of Campobasse to reach his hideout, his sixth sense never stopped alerting him to the prospect he was being watched. No matter how many turns he made in the back walkways of the city, the feeling never abated.

Antonio could only stifle the feeling and race to his hideout. His small base held enough medical supplies to help the woman but she needed care immediately. If he as was truly being watched, then he would merely vacate his current hideout at a later date. It wasn't as if there was a lack of shady apartment brokers in the city.

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Lily could only watch on as the tall Lupo man whisked her body away deeper into the back streets of the city. A part of her was wary of the man seemingly kidnapping her but a larger portion was thankful for the sweet release he inadvertently gave her by knocking her body unconscious.
Perhaps it was a racial trait of being a parasitic crystal, but she had long ago realized a peculiar aspect of her possessions. Whenever her biological vessel fell into the arms of unconsciousness, her mind, or if she was feeling whimsical her "soul" would be ejected from the body. The idea behind believing she could theoretically eject her soul from her body wasn't exactly farfetched when she realized she was reincarnated? transmigrated? of all things on Terra. Her original body's brain had died off long ago, so thinking she was a lingering soul of all things didn't really register as that weird given her current race of being a sentient rock.

It wasn't a grand ability in anyway, only allowing her to "ghost" around the area. She never bothered testing how far she could wander from her body since it would leave her vessel defenseless, but as Kazar, she had wandered throughout the vicinity of small towns whenever she could. Thus in time she merely started calling this weird trait her astral form, capable of being utilized via sleep, meditation, or when her body biologically "died".

Aside from the enforced insomnia, there was one aspect she was grateful for with all her illusionary heart. Astral form detached physical sensations, and "dulled" - or more accurately muted - her emotions like the time she had inadvertently consumed prescription strength Zantac on Earth. She supposed this little side effect, was what allowed her to not grow horrendously bored or borderline insane from never being capable of not "thinking" while on Terra. Now though? She was kissing the metaphorical feet of her little astral ability, as she felt the emotions lingering in her memories begin to fade.

Even in her astral form, intrusive memories filtered through her mind, but without the associated emotions soaking the memories. This way she was better capable of forcing down the intrusive thoughts. It would take time to fully bury the memories back in the grave they belonged, but for the moment she was just happy the pain was gradually being washed away.

However, for the time being, she will continue to watch over the man carrying away her vessel. For an obvious kidnapping, the man was going through great lengths to make sure her vessel was comfortable in his arms, taking care not to cause her more injury. So far the man had yet to give her cause to return to her vessel, and fight him.....not that she figured she would win given her current health. Still, Lily figured keeping a close eye on the man was the best solution.

If he truly did do something unsavory, then fighting tooth and nail was always an option, with eventual possession of the man's body being an appropriate "fuck you" should she die.

Now, with her thoughts being settled Lily was left with one glaring question. A question that formed the moment she took in the scene around her unconscious body.

How did she become a blender?.....And how could she do it again?

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Pirtanaci's Home Base- Currently Under Repair

The dining room was unusable, the table having been smashed to pieces when his stupid son threw a goon into the wooden table at insane speeds. The grunt in question surprisingly survived, although he would have to be let go due to the injures he sustained. Pirtanaci was an aspiring mob boss, not a cushy employer who offered injury leaves. The moment you joined a gang in Siracusa, you already knew your life could end in a matter of moments. Still, it aggravated him seeing his home casually destroyed, and based on his granddaughter's demeanor he was the only one upset.
Texas was casually playing with her hat between her hands, seemingly uncaring of her surroundings, but Pirtanaci had basically raised the child so he understood the small telltales that explained her true thoughts. The way the girl's eyes quickly glanced around the room to assess the damage, and the minute twitch of her lips which flickered a frown for a millisecond, showed him the girl was less than pleased.
Ruined dining room or not, he still offered his beloved granddaughter a meal and he was going to deliver it even if he had to personally flay the head chef out of bed.

" *Sigh* Lets go eat in the back kitchen, shall we. Attempting to eat here on... what's left of the dining room table will only ruin my appetite." He intoned out. Texas merely nodded her head in reply, prompting him to walk toward the adjacent kitchen.

30 minutes later, a light verbal whipping of the chef and both of them were seated eating warmed-up pasta made from basil seasoned linguine, onion infused pork sausage, and heavily Tumeric spiced tomato sauce. For how little Pirtanaci cared for his employees, he could certainly appreciate his chef's capability to make such a simple dish exquisite to his taste buds. The food barely calmed down the raging indignation that he was eating in the kitchen like a servant...barely. His granddaughter didn't seem to be suffering from the same problem as she basically inhaled the food.
Dinner was a quiet affair, with Pirtananci casually ignoring the longing looks of Pedro and Luigi. There was a limit to the man's patience today, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to dine with his subordinates. Let their betters enjoy their meals, while they eat the cold leftovers later.
Texas wiped her face of any lingering pasta sauce, having consumed her meal before Pirtanaci, and turned to face him.

"Would you like my report now?" She blandly let out.

Pirtanaci wasn't ashamed to admit, in the confines of his own mind, that it took a small wracking of his brain to understand what his granddaughter meant by "report". It took a few moments before the memory of sending her on a mission sprang to the forefront of his mind. The mission was a standard one really, eliminate a small gang that thought they could "make it big" in Campobasse. The city wasn't like the other cities ruled by the current great six mafia families and was a city dedicated to being a more "neutral" hub of commerce due to the location.

Campobasse was originally a nomadic tribes' attempt at forming a stationary fortress city devoid of the other six families' influence. They were actually capable of building a fairly sturdy city before others took notice, too busy with their own inner squabbles. However, once everyone realized some no-named tribe had set up shop in the middle of Siracusa and were actually doing fairly well in trade....well the owners of the city came under new management immediately. The only issue that sprung forth was, Who was going to rule the city? The scales of power would easily tip in the favor of whoever owned the city smack dab in the middle of multiple respective trading routes. So a compromise was made between the major families. Campobasse would be a place where the main families would exercise little control, as long as each family received a decent share of the revenue.
Essentially, any gang or aspiring mafia family could "set up shop" in Campobasse, but they had to pay their "rent" to a specific main family.

Underground brokers made the process extremely easy, meaning it attracted various people looking to "get rich quick". The only people who didn't pay this hidden rent were civilians, affiliates of the major families, small-time gangs starting out, and any families the major ones "respected." Overall, the six major families didn't care what really happened in Campobasse as long as they received enough of the city's revenue. The added aspect of not charging small-time gangs, merely being there to hone the edge of any aspiring gangs, or more frankly a game of watching delusional mice battle for delusions of grandeur.

Pirtananci's regrettably couldn't use his full name when re-buying his family's manor, lest the wind of his family's revival attracts one of the major families. Thus, as far as the Campobasse underground was aware, he was only known as the old man starting a small gang in the southern part of town, the borderline slum where every two-bit gang started out. It rankled his pride to be degraded in such a way, but the area held potential to revitalize the family. The only real organized crime family in Campobasse was the Fang family, who specialized in trading, the rest of the gangs ranged from large to small and were scattered throughout the city. One could easily become a "major" player in Campobasse if they absorbed multiple other gangs and consolidated their power. His granddaughter would become the enforcer the family needed, and easily beat down any two-bit opposition, then once the smaller gangs were under his thumb Pirtanaci could gradually ramp up his schemes. Eventually, Siracusa will realize the Texas family had come back but it would be too late to stop them. None shall trample on the Texan name again!

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Texas merely looked on at her daydreaming grandfather, who no doubt was thinking of some convoluted plan to "revitalize" the family name. It was more humorous than anything else, watching the normally crabby man daydream like a baby or senile old man...the last option being probable based on some of the lower family members' opinions.

Calmly she signaled for Pedro and Luigi to leave them, but not before offering them the pot of cooling spaghetti the cook had left behind. Luigi, graciously took the pot, goofy smile on his face, while Pedro spoke out his thanks in a low voice.
"Thank you, Caporegime"

Texas merely gave the man a nod and offered them a shooing gesture. She impassively watched as they left the room, slightly miffed at the title Pedro still used to address her in private. It wasn't a wrong title to give her since on the field she was the head of the combat squad, but she always wished the other family members would drop the formalities in non-working environments.

She was well aware, they were too scared of her grandfather to do that, however. The man had made it clear on multiple occasions that he didn't care very much for the well-being of the others. Even if she viewed the others as true members of the family, her grandfather merely saw them as a means to an end.

Still, she wanted to shower after a long day and her grandfather was starting to drool......

"Grandfather?"

It was slightly humorous watching as the man was jostled from his dreams, coughing awkwardly into his fist. The flying pasta-tinged spittle was less humorous but the slight jiggle of his bushy eyebrows made up for it.

"*Cough* *Cough* What were we talking about again, Texas?"

She merely gave her blood relative a small smile, answering in a voice many others told her was too bland. Personally, she didn't find the point in reflecting her true thoughts into her speech, it wouldn't aid her in combat and she felt if people truly wanted to know how she felt they could just listen closely.

"The Report Grandfather. From the mission."

"Ah yes yes. Did everything go well? Is that small-time gang dead?"

Yes, the crux of the current issue was her telling grandfather about the success of the mission. Earlier in the week, he had gotten information on a rival small-time gang setting up shop near their, admittedly, meager turf. Texas had been given the job of exterminating them before they could build up their influence. A standard mission was given to her, the main enforcer of the family.

" Yes, grandfather the mission was a success and the gang will no longer cause trouble for us."

Left unsaid but implied was the fact, she had personally cleaved the head off of every member within their storehouse. That night she had been the cause for ten heads to roll along the cobblestone streets, blood soaking her twin sabers in crimson.

"Wonderful! Well, Texas I shouldn't keep you when your no doubtly tired, go on to your room, I still have to coordinate the cleanup."

Texas noticed the way his tone turned darker at the mere mention of cleaning up their ruined home. Personally, she was also angry at the prospect of someone randomly coming into the place she slept and wrecking it. But, grandfather had mentioned it was taken care of, meaning the perpetrator was truly dead or the man was lying to her. She wasn't anywhere naive enough to believe her grandfather would always tell the truth. Before he was her grandfather, he was Pirtanaci the aspiring mob boss, thus if he truly didn't want her to know she wouldn't pry.

Normally she would simply follow his prompt and leave for her upcoming shower, but she needed a point to be made clear right then.
"I need more troops."

"What? Again? What happened to the grunts I gave you yesterday."

Texas inwardly cringed at the casual remark her grandfather used to call the lower-tiered family members. She was well aware they were less than powerful...and more prone to accidental injury but they were still a part of the small group they called their own. She could never understand her grandfather's casual disregard of them...although at the moment she was feeling sad for what happened to the ones under her command.

"They died."

Two words easily explained the situation of her previous troops. The previously discussed mission was a success but somehow the small-time gang had acquired a small cache of explosives. The explosive in question were tube-like things with an accompanying wick coming out of one end. Initially, everyone under her command had been able to avoid the thrown explosives, but when it became apparent the opposition was going to die, they decided to throw the entire crate of explosives at her team. She was capable of avoiding the box with her natural speed, but the undertrained members of her command couldn't avoid the box in time....they died immediately.

It was true, that she took revenge for her fallen allies, but it annoyed her that they died in the first place. It was true that they were weak and more liable to die in her line of work, but she couldn't suppress the nagging thought that if she commanded them better they could have lived. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she only held talent in combat and killing, and her on-field command ability left much to be desired of. On the way to the manor she had questioned herself multiple times on how she could've performed better to allow those under to live. The answer was unfortunately, she couldn't.

The men given to her by grandfather were just too weak, having not trained a day in their lives and only capable of sloppily swinging knives or pipes. It would have been simpler to merely complete the mission by herself and leave the other team members in the backline, but they would tattle on her to grandfather. The whole reason they were there was to help her, or in grandfather's terms be used as "meatshields". Even when she told them not to tell, they would still tattle since they were more scared of their "Don".

This entire situation wasn't even new and had happened multiple times already. She was tired of her lack of ability causing needless deaths, and after some thinking came to a singular conclusion: She needed better team members. If she had people who were decently trained or at least knowledgable on how not to poke themselves with their knives, then they would survive long enough for her pitiable commanding skills to ensure their lives....at least on paper.

Glancing over at grandfather, she could see him shaking his head with an exasperated look on his aged face.

"*Sigh* Don't worry I'll assign you a new group by tomorrow?"

Grandfather was already beginning to exit his stool, but the issue still hadn't been resolved and she needed to voice that out.

"No."

A singular word was all it took, as she watched him clamp up and face begin to go blank.

"Excuse me?"

Texas could never understand why he would always become like this whenever she disagreed with anything he said. He would always lock away his feelings and answer in a monotone voice. It wasn't so much that he was penalizing her for thinking out her thoughts, but it felt like he was expecting something to happen. That something always eluded her.

Still, odd behavior or not she needed new team members.

"I need stronger members so they don't die. Can we recruit?"

Texas wasn't aware of the intricacies of recruiting stronger members, but she understood that mercenaries were always willing to be employed if there was enough money involved. If she could get one of the Sarkez mercenaries from the neighboring country she could use their expertise to teach the other family members. She thought it was fairly easy to get a devil mercenary as well since a steady income seemed more appealing than working on a battlefield.

Slowly, she watched as grandfather's face scrunched up in thought, jaw moving in a way that seemed as if he was chewing the words he was about to say.

"Texas, am I to assume you mean trained personnel knowledgable in combat?"

She nodded.

"Well, my dear, you do realize we aren't rolling in money at the moment...especially given the status of our home." He waved a hand toward the direction of the ruined dining area and lobby, but she wasn't going to back down.

"We should have enough for at least one or two personnel right?"

His bushy eyebrows scrunched up, and he let out a sigh.

"It's true I have enough to hire someone with actual expertise if it's only one or two people, but Texas, I hope you aren't thinking for me to hire a devil are you? You are aware of my preferences no?"

Ah, she forgot. Grandfather was always telling her stories of reviving the Texas familiga, and while 80% of those dreams involved her, 20% dealt with how he wanted the clan to be revived. One of his rules was that all members needed to be Lupo's like the "Real" families were supposed to be like. The issue with that mentality is that most hireable Lupo's in Campobasse were no better than poorly trained street urchins who couldn't swing a stick right. Any Lupo with actual combat experience wouldn't debase themselves in a small gang and look for work in one of the major gangs that offered benefits. She highly doubted grandfather would dish out new health care packages for Lupos, but if he wasn't going to hire a Sarkez she would be stuck in square one.

Inwardly panicking she blurted out the singular thought that came to her mind.

"A lupo is ok, they just need to have talent."

Grandfather gave her a deadpan look as she stifled the embarrassment threatening to surface. How did she expect him to make the recruit notice? "Apply now if you're talented!" Terra only knew how many false-positive applicants there would be, and truly trying to find a talented individual in the area was like finding a diamond in a coal pile. Still, she needed better team members and decided to continue digging her hole.

"They should at least be capable of wielding a saber correctly, and I would be the one to train them to meet my standards. Preferably the intended applicant should be young or close to my age, both to allow them to acclimate to the training and to make sure they won't be too full of themselves to accept being taught the blade by someone with my physique."

This was the most she had said in a while but she truly needed someone who wouldn't fall over from a stiff wind. It seemed her babbling was working based on her grandfather's scrunched eyebrows, so she decided to buckle down.

"Please Grandfather, you know how hard it is to find...decent grunts..but I truly need a team of fighters who can actually survive a high-stakes fight. Wouldn't this make our dreams of creating the best family have a better chance at succeeding? With me at the front of an elite trained team for the Texas family cause."

She felt she was laying it on thick at the moment, but seeing the smiling face gracing her grandfather's lips showed it was working. It seemed the man was beginning to wander off into his delusions again, so she called him one more time.

"Grandfather"

"*Cough* Urmm. Yes, well that sounds like a grand idea. I'll see what I can do, but realize that's a very tall order you're asking for Texas. Based on your requirements there will be many applicants and it will be your job to weed out the undesirables. Now shoo, go to bed while I take care of the cleaning."

Texas listened to the words her grandfather offered and left the kitchen.

She walked down familiar hallways, glancing at the aged wallpaper and no doubt knowing there was ample amount of mold behind the walls. The manor had essentially been abandoned when they moved in two years ago, and it was essentially a money sink. Still, it held the budding family she always wanted so she didn't mind the area.

Opening the door to her room, she glanced at the spartan layout devoid of any meaningful items. It was purposely made to look bare in case someone entered her room, un-invited. Her trinkets which she actually cared for were carefully stored away in a small hole in the wall, she carved out herself. The metal box in the wall held all the items she accumulate through the years while traveling with her grandfather, country to country. Secretly she hoped to show the contents to someone she truly trusted but for the moment the trinkets would only be for her viewing pleasure.

Slowly, she walked over to her wardrobe and took out her sleeping attire, a pair of shorts and an undershirt. Walking over to the adjoined bathroom, she began to undress and turned on the shower. It was the movement in the sink mirror that cause her to pause and look at her reflection. The same dull golden eyes met hers, coupled with her black hair which was cut short to just above her shoulders. Grandfather had always taught her she shouldn't have her hair long as it was a liability in battle, and although she wished she could grow it out, she listened to him.

Why wouldn't she?

Grandfather was the only family she had left and would always look out for her because he loved her.

The same golden eyes staring into the mirror Texas didn't bother suppressing the small voice in her heart that made itself known.

Grandfathers will always love her because they were family.

But Pirtanaci loved his dreams more...

Texas walked into the shower and cranked open the cold water, letting it fall on her face. Hoping the voice was merely a figment caused by tiredness.

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Pirtanaci was looking over the damage report and was on the edge of ripping out his hair. His stupid son had essentially caused half a million in damages with the amount being so high due to the age of the manor. Specialists would have to be called to preserve as much of the original building as possible and that increased the price of repairs. Still, it was worth it to keep the Texas lineage alive.

"Don, you called?"

He looked up to see Pedro at the door waiting for his next command. The man was a part of the standard batch of goons he had first hired but had proved to be semi-competent, thus was given more privileges than the rest. It was too bad his brother Luigi was a little soft in the head, but Pedro made up for it in spades.

Taking a note he passed it to Pedro who took it graciously.

"Take that note and make a requirement flyer for the family. Instead of the typical one, that's a request from Texas, she wants someone who already has some knowledge on blade-wielding. And I mean real blade-wielding, not the party tricks ruffians know for an extra can of beer. Also, they should be about her age if possible. Makes it easier for them to learn new tricks since Texas wants to train them from the ground up...

Also, make a note to anyone being given that requirement request. Give them the description of my idiot son, and tell them to send us a message in case the stupid fool thinks he can sneak into a chat with Texas using the notice as an excuse. The age requirement isn't mandatory so I wouldn't be surprised if the idiot used it as his chance."

Pedro glanced down at the note but didn't immediately leave, causing Pirtanaci to frown.

"Don, may I speak?"

Pirtanaci nodded his head.

"Wouldn't it be appropriate to allow the man to at least talk to Texas. She is his biological daughter, isn't she? Shouldn't she at least have the option to know her father is still alive?"

Pirtanaci thought his subordinate was smart enough to not poke old wounds like an idiot but it appeared he was wrong. Anger began to transfuse in his veins, partly at the prospect of having a grunt talk back to him, a hint with the idea of Texas listening to his idiot sons words, and largely with the fact he wouldn't be sitting there at the moment as a lowly small-time gang leader if his stupid son didn't abandon him all those years ago.
In a rage, he grabbed his half-empty wine cup and threw it straight at Pedro's face. The man at least had the decency no to avoid the blow or flinch as the cup smashed into his face.

"I see you have become complacent Pedro Too used to seeing me act like the jolly grandfather in front of Texas but know that you are still as expendable as the rest of the grunts working in the lobby. Don't question me and fulfill the order like a good little worker that you are...there's no lack of applicants vying for your position. Pedro, best you know that."

Pedro merely bowed his head, leftover wine dripping down his face.

" Yes, Don. My apologies for speaking out of line."

Disgusted, Pirtanaci merely waved Pedro out of the room. Without even waiting for the door to click shut, he took the adjacent bottle of wine and began chugging down the contents without any decorum. The wine would eventually soothe his anger, but his thoughts kept coming back to his idiotic son.

"Antonio, I was gracious enough to give you one last chance. Don't squander it like a fool."

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Authors note: You know that moment you realize that you wrote a lot but at the same time didn't really expand on the story. This was basically that chapter sigh. Half the time was spent describing Antonio's first interaction with the MC and that was simply blown out of proportion even after I cut it down. Its like 3 k words.

I wanted to write how Antonio actually thinks beyond his whole mission.

Then I used the space to help instill more plot with the city of Campobasse.

THEN i had to fix a little plot hole I made first chapter dealing with the racial trait of our mc, the whole "I can't sleep because i become a spooky ghost when my body is asleep."

Then a simple dinner with Texas became some sort of overarching plot to incorporate the mc...which i actually enjoyed writing.

Basically first half is written mediorcrly in my opinion and i enjoyed the later half. The shit is that overall I find the information described extremely important for later chapters, like greasing the wheels so i left a majority of the text intact.

I think I made a believable pre-canon Texas personality. How the heck do you get in the head of a stoic character anyway? It's like I'm trying to combine her general personality when happily dealing with Penguin logistics but also putting in the naive notion that Pirtanaci "really" loves her.

Sigh I really wanted to get to the meal scene but that will be next chapter i guess. Heres the supposed plan for next chapter:

Shopping

Bar

Meal
...........Is this still considered an action novel or a slice of life?