The Devil's Race 1 The Job

The desert sc.r.a.p city of Shakra was a dusty, dry place. Its beauty muted by bellowing winds blowing in from the Slate mountains of the north, picking up the powder-like sand and dust along the way, covering any exposed surfaces, slowly finding its way into every crack in the city, causing it to match the worn down look of its residents. Today, however, the city seemed to slow as a thin but constant misty rain descended, the skies covered in a dull grey, ground being churned into thick sandy paste as the people bustled about their business.

Upon the low, raised floor of a quiet bar in the trade district, sat a young man, his one leg dangling down just short of the wet floor, the other pulled up, his arm resting lazily upon it. Most would think he was a stray at a glance from the way he looked and dressed. Thin strips of cloth wrapped around wrists and palms covering lightly tanned skin, crisscrossed with tiny scars, a thin but large vest and a pair of dark brown leather shorts, with short but messy dark hair and blue eyes. What stood out were that his feet looked as if they were covered in some sort of very thin skin-tight material from the ankle down ending in short, thin but sharp looking metal claws, and a 7ft long glaive was resting against the wooden beam next to him. He seemed to stare through everything, looking into the distance at nothing.

Fenric blinked as his eyes came into focus once more. He had drifted off again. d.a.m.n. It had been happening more and more lately. A deep sigh followed as he looked down at his hands. They were shaking very slightly as drops of water dripped onto his open palms, soaking into the thin material wrapped around them, hiding the various pale runic scribbles running along the backs of his hands, and the strange symbol branded into his left palm. His eyes felt heavy as he dragged them unwillingly up to look at a very tall, very large man walking towards him. Another sigh escaped. Hopefully this next job will give him enough to fill his stomach as well as the fuel tank on TRANSMISSION.

"I take it you're Fenric?" the man in front of him asked in a gruff voice, nodding to the glaive resting next to him.

Fenric gave a soft "mhm" and slight nod in confirmation, but stayed silent as he scanned over the man in front of him, taking in the thick leather coat, the big heavy metal pauldrons, bare arms as large as most men's thighs and heavy boots covered in bits of steel all over.

Fenric snorted quietly. All that may look intimidating but it would seriously limit one's agility in a fight. Amateur.

The man either didn't notice or didn't care about the gaze on him as he jerked his head in the direction that he had come from and said with a glare "come with me. Now."

Fenric raised an eyebrow with a smirk, but acquiesced, unfolding his leg from under him and dropped down onto the damp ground, gripping the ground with the short claws attached to his toes as he padded silently behind the man, tucking his glaive in behind his back to avoid it hitting anyone as they pa.s.sed through several crowds of people.

Fenric sighed as they pa.s.sed through several alleyways, back entrances and hidden cubbyholes endlessly. This man was very clearly trying to make him lose track of his location.

Fenric wasn't sure weather to laugh or cry. As a child he and the others had been blindfolded, led through a maze and told to find their own way back out. Those that took the wrong path weren't heard from again.

Needless to say Fenric knew exactly where he was within the city.

Things changed after about 10 minutes, the escorting duty was handed over to another figure. This one had much more of an ordinary appearance, but he gave off a much more b.l.o.o.d.y and dangerous aura than Fenric's first escort. This new man didn't bother with any more confusion tactics, just headed in one direction to wherever their eventual destination was.

Clearly whoever was running things knew a little about his abilities. Things had become much more serious than Fenric would have liked.

Finally after around 20 minutes, they arrived in a dimly lit room, likely a bas.e.m.e.nt of some kind.

Fenric leaned on the wall to his left, observing the figures in front of him. An immensely large man sat slumped on a chair at the opposite corner, with a stick thin figure next to him standing straight as could be. It looked painful. Finally a figure covered in a cloak that was constantly changing shape, flitting in and out of one's vision was standing a little more apart from the other pair. Fenric was truly surprised this time. These were the 3 people who held all the power in the underworld of this city. The fat one in the chair and the thin man next to him held control over the trafficking, prost.i.tution and drug trade within the city. The third however was much more dangerous than the first two combined. This was Flint. If you wanted anyone within the city dead, this was the man who you paid to do it. If you had the coin, the target didn't matter. n.o.body knew what he looked like, and it was a rumour that he is a member of the Devil's Thirteen - a legendary group of a.s.sa.s.sins that was more of a myth than an organisation. Fenric didn't know how much of those rumours were truth, but he knew that in order for him to possess a cloak which maintained its magical properties without the user being a mage, he certainly wasn't ordinary.

Fenric kept his calm but became a little more alert as he whistled in appreciation. "The three kings of Shakra's underground gathered in one place. For little old me? I'm flattered".

Fatty spoke first.

"Silence brat! If it wasn't for the fact that Flint recommended you for this job, we wouldn't even know who you are. I've no idea what or who you are, but if Flint says you're the one for the job, then we cannot ignore it."

Instantly Fenric shook off his remaining lethargy, focusing all his attention on the figures in front of him. This was no joke. He had been keeping a low profile, taking jobs that didn't pay too much so that people would ignore his presence as much as possible. If Flint had been watching him for a long time and seen through his avoidance of higher level jobs, then depending on how much he knew or had gleaned, this job would be much harder than he had originally thought.

He narrowed his eyes. It would be best to get this over with as fast as possible. "What's the job then?"

This time the Thin figure spoke, his nasally voice running through Fenric. Thankfully he kept it short and sweet. Well... he kept it short.

"Transport of a desolate"

"Sorry" Fenric instantly responded "I don't do slave trade"

A grating voice drifted from the figure under the cloak. "You do now".

Fenric already knew that this Flint guy had some clue onto what his abilities were. He wasn't going to be cautious about revealing the full extent of them now! In an instant his glaive was in his hand, strange runic symbols faintly glowing, hidden beneath the cloth on this hands and the strange footwear he wore. To most this would be a weapon with a huge disadvantage in such an enclosed area, but Fenric wasn't concerned. He knew his capabilities.

Fatty's face grew red in rage "You would truly refuse a job given by the 3 kings of shakra?! Most would kill to do this job for us for free, simply to curry favour!"

Fenric remained calm. "So what?" he shrugged "what're you gonna do?" at this, his eyes grew serious but also excited. He hadn't had a true fight for years. He was looking forward to it.

Just as Fatty looked as if was going to explode in anger, that same grating voice came from Flint "do not provoke him Red, you cannot take him". At this, Fatty turned to look at Flint's cloaked figure in astonishment.

Flint ignored his gaze and looked straight at Fenric.

"We cannot threaten you with death or torture. We do not have the capability to either kill you nor do we have sufficient manpower to waste trying to capture you. What we can offer in replacement is excessive reward. You do this job for us, and we can give you 10,000 plus a full refuel and water refill for the TRANSMISSION right now. Once you get the desolate to the location we give you, you will get another 10,000 and you will be waived any future refuel and refill costs for your ship when docked in the ports of Shakra". Flint finished his little speech with a hint of smugness. He had a right to be smug. Fenric was truly shocked to the core. 20,000 coins would be enough to buy another ship along with crew if he wanted, and not a small one either, however what tempted him far more was the refuel for his ship. It was the only place he could call home, one he had built himself. The first thing he spent money on was to refuel his ship and float aimlessly in the skies, high above the troubles of this shattered world.

On the surface he stayed calm. "This must be the most important desolate ever captured" he said. "What makes him or her that special?".

"Now that truly is none of your business" Flint replied, that smugness still in place. "I have laid out our terms clearly. I think it is a very fair offer" at this, Fatty at his side spluttered wordlessly. Fair?! If anyone was to demand that kind of payment from them, they would have them killed before they left the building!

"However" Flint's voice became ice as he continued calmly "If you are still thinking of refusing... I thought I should let you know that I am aware of where your weapon and footwear comes from"

Fenric Froze.

"And also how to get there"

He swallowed. It looked like he could not refuse this job after all. This Flint was much more dangerous then he had imagined. Now he was paying the price for his carelessness.

"Fine" Fenric spat out. "leave the desolate outside the cargo bay of my ship. I take it I'm heading to the blasted Isles?"

"Indeed you are" came the reply. "The exact coordinates will be transmitted to you on this frequency once you are on your way". At this, a folded piece of paper was shot out from under Flint's cloak.

Fenric caught it with his free hand as he walked swiftly out. "I better find my ship filled up to the brim with the best s.h.i.t you've got".