The moon's pale light spread over the city, illuminating the cobbled streets and negating any purpose the streetlamps once had. No civilian dared to step outside once the sun had set, not in this part of the city. They said Lierris was a free city, but the slums were notorious for being so free that they were utterly lawless. Only fools, foreigners, and unsavory folks would dare lurk around at this time of day. None were in sight, leaving the streets in a silent and lifeless state.

The silence was a welcome reprieve as Fealtanis made his way through the narrow alleys and winding streets of the slums. The silence filled him with a peculiar bliss. Feal took a moment to bask in the silence of the slums, letting the serene stillness wash over him after the... exciting events of the evening. He had taken off his bloodstained mask and had hidden it underneath the folds of his dark cape, allowing him to walk to his destination without needing to worry about the glances that some people might give him. Not that there was anyone around to observe his actions in the first place.

He kept on walking through the desolate cobblestone streets, stepping over the muddy puddles that had formed within cracks and shallow pits in the road. Empty stores and dilapidated houses surrounded him like the stony walls of a fortress. The winding maze-like streets seemed to grow narrower as he walked, pressing in from both sides.

Eventually, after traipsing through the narrow winding streets, he reached his destination: a shoddy lower-class bar in the edge of the slums. A battered sign hung lopsided above the doorway, so weathered that Feal could barely make out the words "The Devil's Chord" etched on its wooden surface. Loud noises and music could be heard from within. He took a moment to readjust his hair and clothes before finally entering the building.

The dim lighting of the building's interior barely fazed him as his eyes were better adjusted to the dark. It was the stench that bothered him. The moment Feal had stepped into the bar, his nostrils were immediately greeted with the repulsive smell of concentrated alcohol. The yildean reeled instinctively from the scent, scrunching up his face. The music was not helping matters, if it could even be called music. It grated at his ears, due to the fact that it was played on an out-of-tune piano tucked away in a dark corner of the tavern by someone who was clearly a novice. This, coupled with the rambunctious chatters of the bar's patrons, only served to provide the place with a highly unpleasant ambience. Feal's scarlet eyes quickly scanned the place, looking for the other members of the Scarlet Masks.

Outside of their missions, the Scarlet Masks were neither masked nor scarlet. In fact, they looked perfectly normal outside of their foreboding masks and striking red raiments, albeit ethnically diverse. This was part of the reason why Feal particularly found missions in Roditerre to be convenient. It might have been the "nation of the rodents", but in reality, it was a melting pot of many different races from all over Jordarys. After all, it was situated in the middle of the continent, serving as the crossroads between many different nations.

Feal spotted Magni, an old one-armed hyrrean, conversing with a newcomer orkhus named Michael near the fireplace. Nadrien, a yildean nobleborn, was sitting on a rotting table. Her head was bent over a firearm as her pale, clawed fingers fiddled with it. Her light caramel brown hair was tied messily into a bushy ponytail to keep it out of her eyes.

One of their members did attract more attention than the rest, although Feal could not blame those who would shoot him furtive glances. The murky-skinned stygenian, looking like a frog with the body of a man, was fiddling with a strange ragdoll in a dark corner of the tavern with his webbed fingers. Stygenians were certainly an uncommon sight in the heart of civilization. The amphibious people were mostly reclusive and tribal in nature, preferring to stay in their small swampy settlements spread all over Jordarys. Even to this day Feal did not know why this particular stygenian decided to join their ranks.

His gaze soon fell onto Mirathiel, his second-in-command. She was sitting at the counter with a bottle of alcohol in her hand, just as he expected. Feal made his way for the counter and proceeded to sit right beside her.

"So, this is what you do the whole day while I'm gone?" he asked as he stared at the light-haired woman. He could see some faint scars on her face, the most prominent one running across left cheek. A light rosy shade dusted over the entirety of her face, extending to the very tips of her pointed ears. She looked very much like a pure aerhyan at first glance, though Feal certainly knew better.

Mira's head perked up and she looked at Feal, her light grey eyes locking onto his scarlet ones.

"Well, you specifically told me to not start a fight with anyone when you're gone," she answered, wrapping her scaled hands around her bottle as she took another drink from her glass. "So here I am, drowning in alcohol. Just like what I've always wanted."

The statement made Feal chuckle. Always the hopeless drunkard, he mused. Not that it mattered; drunkeness and reckless bravery were always the most defining traits of the aerhyans, alongside their strength and combat prowess. Mira certainly tried to hide her platinum draconic calaian origins by masking herself in every single aerhyan habit ever known. Not that he could blame her; she had good reasons for hiding her origins, after all. He just hoped that she would pick up habits other than getting drunk and initiating bar fights.

"For someone who promised to take it slow with this mission, you're back here surprisingly fast."

Feal shrugged. "That mansion wasn't tightly guarded. I had no reason to take it slowly, knowing that their guards are not very well trained." He then began to use his claws to carve on the rotting counter. "I'm surprised that the Provolones barely invest anything into security these days. Their grounds used to be quite formidable."

Mira finished her drink. "I've heard that they moved all of their guards to their newest mansion. Besides, they were probably expecting to see their contracts finalized tonight, which didn't happen thanks to you."

She then turned towards a hyrrean waitress, who happened to be walking past on her stunted legs. "Oi, Eilen, can you get Saoirse to come downstairs? Just tell her that the person she sent is back from her little errand."

"But the lady specifically said to not disturb her when she's working," the young hyrrean said in a rough low pitched voice. Carrying several empty bottles in her hands, she then made an attempt to walk away from her.

"So, you're saying that I should get her to come down here by myself, huh?"Mira demanded, her voice rising. She glared at the waitress.

The waitress stiffened. "No, ma'am, that's not what I meant. What I mean is that you both would have to wait until she's done with her work."

"Can't you at least tell her the message that her payment is due now?" Feal's voice rang out. "Because we can't wait for long here."

"My deepest apologies, sir, but no."

"So, you're telling us that we would have to wait?!" Mira's voice rang loud and clear throughout the whole tavern. "I- we don't have time for this nonsense! If I have to break into her room and threaten her for payment, then I will."

She stood up and grabbed her drink. She began to march towards the staircase, pushing aside the poor waitress, who was only trying to do her job. As she walked towards the staircase, Feal noticed that her movements seemed unsteady. She almost fell down and tripped on a chair that was right in front of her. The young woman spilled her drink on the head of a young thieran man, much to his dismay and annoyance.

As Feal expected, she was drunk again. That fact ceased to surprise him one bit. He just watched as she drunkenly stumbled around, trying to reach the stairway with her now-empty bottle still in hand. Her braided hair swished behind her back, following the direction her body swayed.

"Oi, lady, what's that on your hands?"a hamster man suddenly asked. He pointed at Mira's scaly hands. "It looks like scales..." the hamster hissed. His black fur was adorned with various accessories that almost reminded him once more of the eccentric Mrs. Provolone.

"What, this?" Mira raised her empty bottle up. "Well, are you blind? It's obviously an empty beer bottle."

"They say that only platinum calaian hybrids have scales like that," another voice piped up. This time it was the hyrrean waitress.

"Lady, we will ask you nicely. Please leave." A young capybara rodent stood up, facing Mira. "Nothing against you or anything, but we wouldn't want to get into trouble with them platinum tyrants."

Feal could see the alcohol-induced delirium leave her face, replaced with rage and hatred that burned in her eyes.

"Excuse me, you fodder-chewing skunk? You want to repeat what you just said to me?" she questioned the capybara, slowly walking towards him. Her tone was low and filled with menace.

Feal could only hold back a sigh. He could only see one outcome to this situation... and he did not particularly like it. He stood up in defense of his dear friend and compatriot, calmly facing the bar's guests, who had then begun to direct their attention towards Mirathiel.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I request that you just leave her be?" he spoke, keeping his tone even. "I've known her for ages and trust me when I say that those... 'scales' are just old scars."

"Battle scars? Battle scars don't come in patterns as far as I remember," another man piped up- a thieran this time. The thieran man balled his fists and he weaved past the tables towards Mira. "The others are right, this little lizard has no place in society. Might as well finish her of-"

The poor thieran did not even get the chance to finish his sentence as a scaly fist connected to his nose at full force. A yelp of pain escaped the thieran man's throat as he stumbled backwards, his back colliding with the edge of a table. His palms rose to his face, covering his crooked nose. A stream of blood leaked through his fingers.

Mira stood her ground. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl as she poised her fists in front of her, well-prepared to deliver another punch. The bright red of the man's blood shone against her fair skin. "If you want to start a fight, you might want to check your fighting skills first."

Her silver eyes shot a challenging glare towards the rest of those who insulted her. "Well?" she shouted, her voice filled with raw defiance. "Anybody else want to take me on? I've had enough of sitting in this termite-infested poor man's bar. You might as well give me a fun entertainment." She stretched out her hands in a boastful manner.

While Mira was bragging and taunting, Feal began to make mental calculations of the amount of picas they might have to pay due to the amount of property damage caused by the brawl. He did not even bother to try to stop her, knowing perfectly well that any effort spent for that would be futile. Nothing could talk her out of her drunken rage. The one time he tried to restrain her, he found himself getting thrown into the fray instead. The rest of the Scarlet Masks seemed to be aware of this fact. They merely stood by to watch the drunken, alcohol-fueled carnage unfold. Feal could hear Nadrien, the caramel-haired yildean, let out a small groan.

The hamster struck first. Feal secretly found this to be hilarious, seeing that the rodent barely reached Mira's hips. Mira saw it coming and she kicked him at full force, sending the poor rodent flying across the bar. The rodent crashed into the piano on the other side of the bar, the impact causing discordant chords to resound from the piano.

A hyrrean man, who Feal was sure had no idea on why the fight started, and the thieran who had first initiated the fight lunged at her. The hyrrean threw an empty glass bottle at her.

Mira moved to her left, dodging the bottle. She then brought her own bottle down on the hyrrean's face. The force of her swing shattered the bottle and sent the short man crashing down on the floor. Shards of sharp glass flew everywhere, cutting at the hyrrean's skin. He laid on the floor, whimpering slightly.

The thieran did not seem to be eager to get left out from the brawl despite his broken and bloodied nose. He picked up a plate a smashed it across the drunk hybrid woman's face. The impact from the hit caused Mira to drunkenly stumble a few feet backwards. Her fingers curled around the backrest of a chair to steady herself, before she lifted it up and used it like a club against the thieran.

It hit the drunken fool, sending him crashing backwards landing just in front of Feal. A loud, sickening crack sounded from the impact, causing some onlookers to grimace. The yildean was very much familiar with the sound of broken bones, especially when Mira was involved.

The foolish youth tried to stand up again, and Feal decided to knock him out with a swift kick from his boots to save him from further embarrassment.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Mira shouted, placing one of her foot on the passed out hyrrean sprawled out on the ground. Scorn and disdain were evident in the silver glint of her eyes. She scoffed. "Does anyone in this rat hole pose a true challenge to me? Three against one, and yet I only suffered from a single scratch. What are you? Canids?"

That statement made most of the bar patrons laugh and clap. They cheered for the young woman, entertained by the whole spectacle. Mira stood victorious, one foot on her opponent and a proud drunken grin on her face. The members of the Scarlet Masks cheered for their undefeated champion of bar fights.

Their cheers were short-lived. As Mira tried to walk back to her seat, she wobbled and collapsed, the alcohol having gotten to her head. Feal reacted quickly, managing to catch his drunken second-in-command before she hit the floor.

"Really, Mira?" he said, raising a silver eyebrow. "I thought I already told you not to get into more bar fights."

Mira struggled to open her eyelids, her stormy eyes gazing at Feal sleepily. "You told me to not start bar fights when you're gone. Now that you're here, that rule doesn't apply."

Mira attempted to straighten herself, though Feal still kept his tight grip on her shoulders.

"Sheesh, let me go, Feal," she complained, "For the love of the gods, I still have both of my legs. No need to hold me."

Feal complied and he let her go. This only caused her to fall forwards. The yildean reached out and caught her, pulling her back into his arms. "How many bottles did you drink today?" he asked as he held her closer. His eyes ran across the scratch that she got from the fight. It was not a deep scratch, but he would still need to treat it later.

"Ehhh, somewhere around... seven?"

"By the seven stars...What in the world happened here?!" A voice suddenly rang out.

All the eyes in the bar turned to the staircase immediately. The voice came from a yildean woman. She was obviously of a lowborn origin, as her dirt brown eyes lacked the vibrant luster that most highborn yildean had. Her unruly blonde locks looked more like a lion's mane than a lady's hair. Feal spotted a cane on her left hand. Her gaze rested upon the yildean assassin with his very drunk second-in-command resting in his arms. A smirk lifted the corner of her lips.

"Well, it looks like the devil himself has graced us with his presence."

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Chapter Writer: Fiona_jessie

AN: [In the words of Fiona_jessie] So, I was at first very dissatisfied with this chapter, as I feel that I failed to meet up to my expectations, but I still had a fun time writing it. Again, VeryBigMess helped me with editing this chapter. As usual, please give me feedback and criticism because I am very new to this sort of writing, so any forms of review would help me a lot.