The Extra Wants Control

The flickering candlelight danced on the faces of the masked figures gathered around a rough-hewn table. Madam Keller, the undisputed leader, sat at the head, her obsidian mask doing little to hide the steely glint in her eyes.

"Madam, have you calmed down now?" a woman with the insignia "002" tattooed on her arm inquired. Her black half-mask concealed her eyes, but a fiery orange glow emanated from behind the fabric. "As I mentioned, I've been monitoring Stonegate. They possess a remarkable structure – Babel. Commoners call it a city within a city. It holds immense potential for profit.

Perhaps we should reconsider your plan for outright destruction."

Across from her, a man with the number "008" scrawled across his bicep grumbled from behind a grotesque pig mask. He was an unkempt figure, hairy and large, gnawing on a discarded turkey leg. "Just a building! It can be rebuilt," he grunted, bits of bone flying through the air.

002 sighed, her shoulders slumping. "We don't know their production methods or their supply chain. Destroying Babel might kill the very people with that knowledge."

A heavy silence descended upon the room. Finally, Madam Keller cleared her throat. "Has anyone identified those backing this Babel operation?"

"No public pronouncements so far," 002 replied.

"Interesting. First, Null disrupts our branches, then this mysterious Babel appears. Suspicious, wouldn't you say?" Keller's voice crackled with barely contained frustration.

A gaunt figure, known only as "006," spoke up, his voice raspy. "Hold on. Does this mean we're backing out?" His scarred visage and sharp teeth potrayed a lifetime of violence.

Keller chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "No, 006. We simply adjust our approach. 002, how's your niece doing?"

The woman's posture stiffened. "What are you getting at, Keller?" Her voice vibrated with barely controlled fury.

"Now, now, no need for hostility," Madam Keller soothed, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "I merely propose a harmless little social gathering. Your niece can invite a few of her noble friends to Babel for a… lavish party. Naturally, I'll cover all expenses. During the festivities, some… accidents might occur.

This will undoubtedly stir the ire of their parents, potentially escalating to war with Stonegate. While they squabble, we can investigate Babel in the chaos, uncover who's behind it all, and ultimately weaken the nobility in that region, seizing control."

002's gaze remained fixed on the flickering flame, her expression unreadable. "We're not the only ones with their eyes on Babel. Whispers travel fast. Other noble factions, bordering Stonegate, have caught wind of this lucrative venture and are eager to claim it for themselves.

Additionally, rumors say of a war already brewing – kidnappings, assassinations, and nobility suddenly changing their behaviors, most likely victims of blackmail. The war you seek to orchestrate appears to be brewing on a larger scale than you anticipate, fueled by pure greed."

A slow smile crept across Madam Keller's face, her eyes gleaming with icy satisfaction. "Intriguing. This situation proves far more complex than initially thought. So, 002, can your niece handle this little soiree?"

002 leaned back in her chair, a single sentence escaping her lips. "Arrangements… will be made."

"Good. Get it started tonight." Said Keller.

"Tonight? That's not enough time for preparations." Argued 002.

"You said a war is brewing right? We better start early before it escalates into something the Clans have to interfere with or worse the Royals." Said Keller.

" But... Fine." Said 002 as she got up and dialed a number on her phone.

*****************

The lone lamppost sputtered, casting long, distorted shadows upon the cobblestones as a rugged man, tattooed with the number "011" on his neck, whistled a jaunty tune that died off into an irritated huff. His heavy boots echoed in the otherwise silent streets of Stonegate, drawing curious glances from behind shuttered windows.

"Now, then," he muttered, scratching his beard. "Where can I find a discreet organization? A brothel, perhaps? Nah, wouldn't be here. Bar? Maybe.

But a guild…" he paused, a light sparking in his eyes. "A guild! Surely they'd have some pull, some way of knowing where to find… those who've been messing with my business."

His self-talk was interrupted by the sight of a gleaming, newly constructed building that stood out in stark contrast to the weathered architecture around it. A large sign proclaimed it to be the "Dawn Guild." A smirk played on 011's lips. "A silver-rank guild?" he scoffed. "Putting on quite the show for a bunch of nobodies.

Maybe they're hiding their ill-gotten gains in there, the money they stole from me!"

With newfound purpose, he stormed towards the guild's entrance, his boots clanging against the steps. He flung open the doors with a bang, startling a young guild member who was just polishing a table.

"Where's your guild leader?" he bellowed, his voice resonating in the surprisingly large hall.

"Huh… Who are yo…?" The young man stammered, his question cut short as 011 lunged. A sickening crunch resonated as the guild member's face connected with the hard floor, his eyes rolling back in his head before fading to unconsciousness.

Just then, a tall figure emerged from a back room, his face etched with grief. "What's all this racket? I just laid my sister to rest," Viktor sighed, his voice laced with weariness.

011, oblivious to Viktor's emotional state, narrowed his eyes. "Are you the leader here?"

Viktor's posture stiffened. "Depends on who's asking," he replied, a hint of steel creeping into his voice.

011 scoffed. "Huh… Can you repeat that?" His arrogance was palpable, a thick fog obscuring any semblance of reason.

Viktor, however, remained undeterred. "Sir, we're closed for the night. Come back tomorrow if you must. Get this man out of here and kindly get Jerry treatment." He gestured towards the unconscious guild member with a sigh, already turning away to retreat back into his office.

The veins on 011's forehead bulged, a deep flush creeping up his neck. The leader's casual dismissal fueled a fiery rage within him. "Ignored? Dismissed?" he roared internally. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he vanished from his spot in a blur of movement, reappearing behind Viktor with lightning speed.

A fist, crackling with raw mana, aimed for the guild leader's back – a sneak attack fueled by wounded pride.

But...A sickening crunch echoed through the Dawn Guild hall as Viktor slammed his fist into 011's jaw. The man, momentarily stunned, stumbled back, spitting blood to the floor. Yet, the surprise was fleeting. A feral roar ripped from 011's throat as he charged, his fist crackling with a raw, green aura.

Viktor met the attack head-on, his own fist shimmering with a deep blue glow. The collision was like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves that rattled the remaining furniture. Plaster rained down from the ceiling as cracks spiderwebbed across the walls. Both men grunted, their muscles straining against the impact.

This wasn't a brawl for the faint of heart; these were two pseudo-seven-star brawlers, their blows infused with violent aura.

They traded punches and kicks, each strike leaving a crater in the polished stone floor. The air crackled with raw power, the scent of ozone stinging nostrils. Viktor, younger and nimbler, relied on swift dodges and precise counters. 011, older and brutish, countered with brute force, his attacks shattering anything in their path.

The fight became a whirlwind of limbs and glowing auras, transforming the once-proud guild hall into a warzone. Tables shattered, chairs splintered, and the grandfather clock lay in pieces, its gears scattered like fallen soldiers. Yet, neither combatant gained a clear advantage.

They were evenly matched, their styles clashing in a brutal ballet of destruction.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement in the periphery caught Viktor's eye. A shadowy figure, cloaked and silent, emerged from a doorway, its form blending into the background. Before he could react, another figure materialized, then another, until a dozen cloaked strangers stood like silent sentinels, forming a ring around the combatants.

Their presence was an unwelcome distraction. Viktor, momentarily thrown off guard, felt a searing pain erupt in his shoulder as 011 landed a solid blow. He stumbled back, snarling in frustration.

011, however, seemed oblivious to the newcomers. He saw only Viktor, his eyes burning with a manic glint. With a roar, he charged again, his fist aimed at Viktor's head. But this time, Viktor was ready. He sidestepped the blow, using the momentum to launch himself into a spinning kick. His foot, imbued with blue aura, connected with 011's chest, sending him flying back several meters.

As 011 crashed into a mangled bookshelf, the silence in the hall was deafening. The cloaked figures remained motionless, their yellow eyes fixed on the two battered combatants. Viktor, panting heavily, surveyed the wreckage around him. He knew he couldn't sustain this fight much longer.But with this unknown man's attack, retreat was not an option.

He had to fight, not just for himself, but for the future of his guild and more importantly his sister, now an unwilling stage for this brutal spectacle.

He straightened his stance, his blue aura flaring anew. A fresh wave of determination coursed through him. He wouldn't let this thug, break him.

He was Viktor, leader of Dawn Guild, and he would protect his home, even if it meant spilling the last drop of his mana.