[Revised](WLTK) B1: Chapter 13 - "... And Roll With The Punches."

————————————————

Friday, September 23rd, 2253.

10:12 AM - (67 Hours: 28 mins remain)  

————————————————

In the beginning, Nexus was rather chaotic, with numerous refugee settlements scattered across the dangerous wilderness. The town that would eventually grow into Prima City was a haven in the chaos, thanks to the powerful barrier surrounding the town.

As the barrier grew, it absorbed surrounding land and settlements, forming what would later become the various Outskirts districts.

Outskirts District 11 earned its name, the Crossroads, thanks to its strategic location at the intersection of major roads connecting various districts.

However, as Jeremiah turned onto Market Street, it was hard to miss the area's decline: many of the buildings were boarded up and in disrepair, with only a few seeming to house any kind of business, legitimate or otherwise.

He paused at the corner and frowned, then turned around to glare at the young boy behind him.

Mani grinned at him from behind his scarf. "See! What did I tell you?" he said. "You've got the pick of any building you like. I even know the guy who you want to talk to! Follow me."

Before Jeremiah could respond, Mani rushed past him and further down the street. This wasn't quite what Jeremiah was expecting… yet he couldn't say Mani had tricked him.

There were more than a few empty buildings in the area, and while Market Street was a shadow of what it once was, the area still had a reasonable amount of traffic. He wasn't certain what Mero and the System had planned, but it didn't hurt to keep his options open.

Jeremiah sighed and followed Mani down the street, noting the looks that several passersby gave him, an oddity in the Crossroads, where the general rule was to keep eyes and business to yourself.

He turned a corner to find Mani standing behind a large rusty mailbox and peering over the edge. Jeremiah walked up beside him and knelt down. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

Mani's wide eyes snapped to Jeremiah, and the young boy pulled him down behind the mailbox. "Get down, you idiot!" he hissed between clenched teeth. Surprised, Jeremiah didn't resist, instead following Mani's gaze as he stared across the street.

There, Jeremiah saw a small brick building. Unlike the buildings on either side, this one was in relatively good repair, with a large glass display window taking up most of the front wall. A sign hung over the entry that read 'Gjöll Bakery' and under that, 'pastries that could raise the dead.'

Jeremiah quirked a brow. Now that was a bold claim. He'd heard of cake to die for, but never one so good it'd bring you back from the grave. Then again, he doubted there were any other bakeries in the area, so maybe a little hyperbole was all in good fun.

Jeremiah could see several figures standing through the glass window, though they were too far away and the store too dark to make out much detail. However, the figure's exaggerated movements and the muffled yelling that could be heard from across the street made it clear something was happening.

Jeremiah's thoughts were confirmed the next moment when the figure of a young man catapulted through the front display window. The window shattered in a rain of glass as the young man hit the ground with a thud and rolled into the middle of the street, where he lay still.

The front door of the bakery was flung open, and three other thuggish-looking people practically fell over each other in their attempt to escape. They barely reached the threshold before something slammed into them, sending them tumbling into the street.

As the thugs groaned on the ground, a new figure emerged from the shop. He was an imposing man, so tall that he had to stoop to pass through the doorway, with muscles that made Mr. Roger seem small by comparison.

Jeremiah estimated the man to be at least eight feet tall, suggesting he might have some giant's blood in him — a rarity even on Nexus. This theory was supported by the man's thick, braided hair and beard cut short, both of which were so vibrantly blond they nearly shimmered gold. Despite his intimidating presence, he wore a flour-stained apron two sizes too small, emblazoned with the words 'Hey there, cookie,' contrasting his formidable appearance.

The man stared down at the group with his icy blue eyes and crossed his arms. "Tell your 'Oddfather' that he's no longer welcome in my store. I don't care who he thinks he is — the Gjöll belongs to me, and he has no right to barge in here and demand anything from me. Are we clear?" The man's accent was rather thick, making it hard to make out what he said, but the tone of contempt in his words was even harder to miss.

One thug pushed themselves to their feet and snarled at the giant of a man. "Don't think this is over, Ulrick! Big Red isn't around to protect you anymore. The Oddfather will rule the Crossroads soon, and then you'll be sorry!"

The large man — Ulrick, apparently — bellowed with laughter. "I didn't need the old demon to watch my back when he was around, and I sure as hell don't need him now. As for your fool of a boss, how many years has he been spouting that nonsense? Tell him if he wants my bakery, then he can man up and take it from me."

Thug A didn't bother to respond. He only glared daggers at the giant before turning and pulling one of his companions to their feet. "Get up, you idiots! We'll see who's laughing when the boss hears of this!"

The injured men pulled themselves together and started limping away from the bakery. Ulrick huffed and shook his head, then turned back to his bakery. He stopped short of entering and frowned at his shattered window before sighing. Raising his hand, he snapped his fingers.

Jeremiah watched in stunned amazement as the broken glass shards lifted off the ground and soared back toward the window. As if replaying a video in reverse, the glass pieces reassembled until the window appeared unbroken.

Jeremiah stared, his mouth agape. What is a mage doing in the Outskirts? And why was he running a bakery, of all things?

Jeremiah shook the thought from his head, however. Now wasn't the time to get distracted or butt his head into other people's business. They had to leave before the thugs noticed them staring, or they might decide to take out their frustration on them. If it was just him alone, Jeremiah might not have been as worried, but with Mani here, he felt somewhat responsible for the kid.

"Woooow… that was some of the most cliche thug-speak I've ever heard. And I know a lot of thugs." Jeremiah's heart stopped, and he whirled. Sitting on the mailbox — with a bowl of popcorn, of all things… — was Mero.

Jeremiah's eyes widened, and he hissed at the tiny man, "Be quiet, you idiot! And where the hell did you even come from!?"

"OY! Who are you calling an idiot, you scrawny prick?!" came a voice from behind Jeremiah.

Jeremiah whirled again to see Thug A glaring at him from their side of the street. It seemed the thugs had crossed the street while he was distracted. Jeremiah turned to Mani and whispered, "Mani, ru —" Jeremiah's words proved useless as Mani was already half a street away, sprinting at full speed.

Jeremiah raised his hands and tried to defuse the situation. "Hey fellas, I'm not looking for trouble. I wasn't talking to you, so how about we both just forget we met and go about our ways, okay?"

Thug A laughed and spread his arms wide, glancing around the area as he walked closer to Jeremiah. "Not looking for trouble, are you?" he asked. "Then who exactly were you talking to? Cus' I don't see no one else around here."

Jeremiah's eyes flickered to the mailbox… only to see Mero had vanished. In fact, the entire street had emptied in the blink of an eye, leaving no one within eyesight other than Jeremiah and the group of thugs.

That bastard Mero! What the hell is he trying to do?! Jeremiah thought to himself before smiling nervously at Thug A. "Look, there's been a misunderstanding here. No one needs to get hurt, okay?" As Jeremiah spoke, he slowly lowered his hands. If he could just reach the switchblade in his pocket…

Thug A thumbed at Jeremiah and turned to the men behind him as he laughed even harder. "No one needs to get hurt, he says. Can you believe this joker? See, boys, this is why we can't let these scummy shopkeepers push us around like this! Show a bit of weakness, and the civs start to disrespect us!"

Then, in the blink of an eye, the man spun, snarling, his fist clenched in a vicious haymaker aimed squarely at Jeremiah's jaw.

Jeremiah's eyes widened, and his heartbeat sped up.

Then… the world slowed.

The surrounding sounds seemed to dim until the only thing Jeremiah could hear was the sound of his own breathing and his heartbeat. Yet, Jeremiah was surprised that he felt rather 'calm,' for lack of a better word. The man's swing just felt so… slow. Like all it would take was a slight movement to avoid the blow.

In fact, that's exactly what happened next. Jeremiah leaned back and watched as Thug A's wild swing slowly passed by. The man's eyes widened in surprise… right before Jeremiah's own fist slammed into his jaw.

Jeremiah's blow sent Thug A tumbling to the side, where he hit the ground hard, rolled for a few feet, and lay still.

The three remaining men stared at their fallen colleague in shock, as did Jeremiah. Sure, Jeremiah had taken self-defense lessons and even competed in a few martial arts tournaments in his youth. But he had never been particularly talented in either, nor had he ever gotten into a real fight.

So why had that been so… simple? Jeremiah asked himself. Okay, so 'simple' might have been a stretch, but it had felt 'natural.' Easy, even. Like an adult playing with a child.

Jeremiah didn't have long to consider the odd feeling, however, as one of the remaining men roared and charged him, their fist raised. Just like the first, the charging man's movements seemed… slow. Sluggish almost, like he was moving through water, while Jeremiah felt free and unrestrained.

Drawing on what he remembered from his self-defense lessons, Jeremiah stepped to the side and deflected the man's punch with his hand. Then, as the man stumbled, Jeremiah placed his palm in the middle of his back and shoved hard. Thug B went from stumbling to falling as his moment was redirected to the side. The man fell and slammed face-first into the nearby brick wall with a crunch. He slowly slid to the ground and didn't get back up.

By the time Jeremiah looked away, Thug C was already on him, having followed close behind Thug B.

Too close to dodge. He'll bring me to the ground if I try to block, too, Jeremiah thought, again surprising himself at how quickly he could process the situation.

Instead, Jeremiah stepped into Thug C's punch, letting the man's fist shoot past his head, and raised his knee. Jeremiah's knee slammed into Thug C's gut, mostly propelled by his own charge.

The man gagged, clutched his stomach, then fell to his knees before toppling over with a moan.

Jeremiah took several rapid steps backward as the world returned to normal, and the adrenaline finally hit. A cold sweat broke out over his body as he raised shaking hands and stared at the men laying on the ground in front of him.

What the hell was that?! Jeremiah thought to himself. Had he really just taken down three street thugs in a matter of seconds? How!?

Jeremiah looked up and locked eyes with the final thug, the one who had been thrown out the window by Ulrick. The man stared back at Jeremiah, the thug's eyes as wide as saucers and his mouth hanging open. Slowly, he turned and looked at his fallen comrades… then turned and ran.

As the thug ran as fast as his legs could carry him, Jeremiah took several deep breaths and tried to still his shaking limbs. Whatever had just happened, Jeremiah was certain it wasn't normal. Something told him he had would have to have a talk with Mero.

Click…Swish.

The fire in Jeremiah's veins suddenly turned to ice as he heard the unmistakable sound of a switchblade being opened. He whirled around to see Thug A struggling to his feet behind him. One of the man's hands rubbed a bruised jaw while the other held a six-inch serrated knife.

Thug A sneered at Jeremiah and waved the knife around. "You think you're some bigshot, punk? Do you have any idea who you're messing with?! You think you're the only Gifted around these parts?! Let's see how smug you look when you're breathing through a new hole!"

The man suddenly lept at Jeremiah. Not charged, but physically lept at him, the knife extended forward as he crossed the distance in the blink of an eye.

Jeremiah's eyes widened. He's fast! Brute Gifted, Speed-type, maybe Strength, Jeremiah thought, as the world once more slowed.

As he watched the blade draw ever closer to his kick, a memory flashed through Jeremiah's mind.

An old, bald man with a greying bread and wearing a well-worn gi stood before a group of kneeling children. A young Jeremiah, only ten years old, was among them. The old master smiled down at his class and smiled.

'Okay, class. Today, we will learn about how to defend yourself. Tell me, if you were to be walking down the street when some ruffian was to pull out a knife — or worse — and demand your wallet, what is the best thing you can do?' the old master asked.

The gathered children shouted out various answers.

'Kick him in the legs!'

'Deflect his hand!'

'Run away!'

The old master chuckled and shook his head. He then pointed to a girl sitting beside Jeremiah. 'How about you, Samantha? What would you do?' he asked a 10-year-old Sam. The young girl who would one day grow to become an A+ ranked Gifted blushed at being called and stared at the floor. After a moment, she looked back up at the old master.

'I… I would probably just give him my wallet. A wallet can be replaced,' she said finally.  

The old master grinned from ear to ear and nodded. 'Very good, very good. You're quite right, Samantha.' The old master's unexpected response sent a wave of mutters through the students. Finally, an older boy raised his hand, and the old master nodded. The boy stood and asked, 'Master, I don't understand. Aren't we supposed to be learning how to defend ourselves? Isn't that just giving the mugger what they want?'

The old master chuckled. 'Ahhh, but I am. Let me ask you this, child. Is the mugger a Deviant? Does he have some power like those fancy 'Heroes' on the news?'

The older boy opened his mouth to speak, but paused and frowned. 'I don't know, Master. You never said.'

The old master nodded. 'Correct. I didn't. Perhaps he is. Or perhaps he is a mage in hiding. Maybe some Fae trickster… Maybe he's just a normal man with a gun you don't see. How would you tell?' The old master paused to let his words sink in before continuing.

'My point being, you never know these things until it is too late. Why take the risk when, as Ms. Samantha put it, a wallet can be replaced?' He turned and addressed the class as a whole, 'This is my first lesson; if you do not have to fight, don't. Your physical possessions can be replaced, but your life can not.'

The old master fell silent as he let the students mutter among themselves for a moment. Jeremiah could tell from their words that many didn't quite understand what the master was saying.

After a moment, another boy raised his hand, and again the old master nodded at him. This boy stood and asked, 'But what if you don't have a choice? What if the man doesn't just tell you to hand over your wallet, but charges at you? Or is threatening someone else?'

The old master's grin grew wide. 'Ahh! Now you are asking the right questions, my child.' He then gestured to the class as a whole. 'Come, come, stand, students. What I teach you today may not be as flashy or impressive as what you see in the martial arts movies, but I promise you this; it may one day save your life.'

Jeremiah blinked as the vivid memory faded. He hadn't had martial arts lessons in years. At the very least, not since he had started classes. He knew Sam still did, as she had mentioned their old master being disappointed he never visited, but Jeremiah just didn't have the time anymore. He tried to keep in practice, of course, but like many things, it had fallen to the wayside with time.

Yet even after all these years, he remembered that lesson. The old master had taught the children how to deal with an aggressive, weapon-wielding enemy. Of course, there were the expected deflects and redirects, but the old master had emphasized one very important aspect to remember.

If someone charges at you with a knife, expect to be cut.

All those movies and stories of martial arts masters nimbly dodging blow after blow, only to land a flashy counter, were just that — stories. In real life, things just didn't work like that. There were too many variables to account for. Unless you were a Reflex or Speed Brute, trying to dodge a flailing knife-wielder was next to impossible.

What anyone with the training could do, however, was affect how and where you were cut. A grazing blow on your forearm, for example, was far less dangerous and debilitating than a stab to the gut.

And that's exactly what Jeremiah did. As the knife drew close, Jeremiah's own hand shot upward and slammed into the man's wrist.

The thug's blow was forced upward, and instead of digging into his neck as promised, cut a burning line across Jeremiah's cheek. Jeremiah winced at the pain but didn't let it distract him. Instead, he tried to grab the man's wrist with the same hand, while throwing a much with the other.

Even in Jeremiah's accelerated state, however, Thug A proved he was faster, and why his kind were called 'Gifted'.

The man smirked as he easily dodged Jeremiah's blow, then, in one motion, released his knife and let it fall. Before Jeremiah could react, the man's free hand shot out and caught the falling blade. The wrist Jeremiah had grabbed twisted, and he found himself caught in turn.

"Like I'd fall for that again!" Thug A laughed. The man grinned wickedly, flipped the blade around so it pointed down, and raised his hand high.

Jeremiah's heart froze. He knew he'd made a terrible mistake, and the knife fell like an executioner's blade.

THUNK!

With a metallic sound, a large grey blur suddenly slammed into the thug's head. Thug A was thrown to the side of the nearby building with such force that Jeremiah could hear the bricks crack.

Jeremiah stood there for several seconds, his eyes locked on where the descending blade had just been, as he struggled to draw in ragged breaths. Then, slowly, he looked down and saw the object that had likely just saved his life.

There, lying on the ground next to the thug… was a crumpled cake tin.

Jeremian then turned and looked in the direction it had come from. A frowning Ulrick was quickly crossing the street in their direction. Though the man's face looked more annoyed than angry, the glare in his icy blue eyes sent a fresh shiver down Jeremiah's spine.