Overcrowded to the extreme, the slums as they were known were stuffed to the brim with people trying to eek out a life. Countless went hungry, survival a constant struggle. Community mattered a great deal, banding together and helping your neighbour seen as the only logical option. Most were a bad week away from vanishing from the world all together, so everyone implicitly knew that to help another was to help yourself.

  Except for the gangs. Magnus had only ever dealt with the Goldlight Gang, who controlled the district he lived in. Sure, he’d heard tales from the other districts, how things were better or worse, depending on where one lived, and the dispositions of those who ran the show. Officially there were institutions and committees that should have been overseeing the districts, but they’d either been threatened, defanged, or bribed. Goldlight was reasonable in the grand scheme of things. They didn’t traffic people, assaults were rare, though intimidation wasn’t. Protection rackets and loans were their bread, which they used to great effect.

  Standing outside their hideout, a large solitary building that used to be a warehouse. The decayed logos had mostly worn away with time, replaced with sprawling colourful graffiti and neon lights. He knew the place well, having been hauled there whenever Goldlight’s leader had desired a show.

  Now, he was there of his own volition. It was late afternoon by station time, the artificial lights still bright and obnoxious, a few people milling about on the street. Most steered clear, unless you were affiliated, or so heavily intoxicated you didn’t know where you were. A heavyset man leant beside the heavy metal doors, smoking a cheap synthetic cigarette. He was barely even paying attention, and why would he have too. Who in their right mind would dare to cause trouble outside the gang's hideout.

  Magnus grinned wickedly, stretching his arms and feeling the power his body now held. He hoped those two meatheads were inside, he’d hate not running into them. Full of confidence, he left the shadowy alley and approached the door with even strides. Internally, he was brimming with excitement.

  “What ya want!” the heavyset man growled, breathing out a puff of smoke. “Clear off, or I'll thrash ya good.”

  Magnus was marginally disappointed, not recognizing the man. “It’s fine.” Ignoring the warning, he kept his pace up, reaching forward for the door. A large hand clamped down on his wrist, tightening.

  “You outta ya mind boy? Need a beatin, do ya?” He gripped down hard, as if trying to shatter Magnus’s bones. “Told ya to step off!”

  “Enhanced,” he thought dully, barely even registering the squeeze. Taking a deep breath, Magnus smiled up at the man. “I’d let go.”

  The hand tightened even more, to no avail. The gangmember, realising something was amiss, let his cigarette fall, right hand coming up and arcing towards Magnus’s face. The blow was faster than a normal man would have been able to throw, thanks entirely to the cybernetic augments implanted in his arms. It would have been too fast to dodge as well, especially seeing as he was being held in place.

  At least, for the previous Magnus. Lifting his free hand, he caught the blow easily. A meaty smack echoed down the street and drew glances from the few passersby. Hollow eyes quickly filled with intrigue, a small crowd gathering. Who didn’t love to watch a good fight?

  “Wuh?”

  Confused, the man attempted to move his fist, but found Magnus’s grip iron. Letting go of his wrist, he desperately swung his other fist in a vain attempt to cause some damage, but it appeared sluggish.

  Ducking it lazily, Magnus stepped in close and threw a swift jab into the man's shoulder. The crack was ear piercing. The blow was so powerful that the heavyset man, standing at least two metres tall, was sent flying like a sack of potatoes. Crashing into the wall of the warehouse, a muted cry of pain was cut short. Flopping to the ground, he lay there still.

  “Shit, I didn’t kill him did I?” Magnus, rolling his arm, stepped up and checked on the still gang member. Thankfully, though his shoulder was twisted unnaturally, the large man's chest rose slowly. Sighing with relief, he checked his hands, which were completely unblemished. “Glad I held back.”

  Pushing the doors open, he left the crowd behind, entering Goldlight’s main headquarters. It’d been a few weeks since he’d last been inside, but the familiar stench and grime were a grim reminder of what his life amounted to.

  “Used to,” he corrected quietly, listening carefully to the sounds of metal clanging and raucous cheering. Curiously, he couldn’t see anyone around, but he knew the layout well, and his destination was located in the hideout’s deepest recesses. Striding forward with purpose, he considered keeping his footsteps light for only a second. He wasn’t afraid, and honestly, he was itching to see what he could do.

  “Need to know what I’m capable of if I’m going to be fighting the other Chosen.”

  After passing through two rooms full of empty shelves and garbage, Magnus came upon a group of five people seated around a large holoscreen. They didn’t notice his arrival, completely enamoured by the Enhanced Gladiator’s fighting in one of the Martian Colosseums. Both combatants were covered head to toe in armour, and were in the midst of a savage brawl, blood covering both of them. Martian Gladiator fights were famous for their brutality, part of the reason he’d never been a fan of them.

  Grabbing the nearest heavy object, Magnus lifted the metal crate up and threw it through the holoscreen. The metallic screech as the crate smashed through both it, and the wall behind, stilled the room.

  “Wha?”

  “Who the-”

  Five heads turned as one, a mixture of surprise and anger. Every member of the Goldlight Gang was enhanced in some way, some more than others, so when one leapt towards him, knife in hand, Magnus was ready. A swift jab to the abdomen sent the knife clattering to the floor, its owner lying in a heap wheezing. The other four reacted slower, bellowing insults and rushing him as one.

  They fought well, coordinating with one another, surrounding him from the get go. Sadly, Magnus was no ordinary foe. Dodge each kick and punch, he deftly navigated the onslaught of blows. His first victim fell to a front kick, flying through the hole the crate had made. Blocking a heavy punch from a stout bearded man, he twisted his wrist, feeling metal snapping inside.

  “It’s too easy.”

  Surprised, he wasn’t wholly focused on the fight, throwing around the gang members like toys. The sound of something flying through the air caught his attention, a metal bar smashing into his back. His armed assailant looked utterly confused when Magnus turned around, unphased, and grabbed ahold of the bar. Panicked, he dropped it and tried to flee, but a well aimed throw sent him to the ground hard. The last member had wisely fled, sensing they didn't have a chance.

  “Just what did you give me, Dragon?”

  He was stronger than Enhanced fighters, while not having any hardware himself. It didn’t make sense at all. He wasn’t skilled by any means, but he’d still cleaned up four people easily. It almost didn’t seem fair.

  “THERE HE IS!”

  The shout drew his attention, just in time to see an identical metal crate hurtling towards him. A warmth flowed into his right arm, power rippling beneath the skin. Lifting his hand, he swiped at the crate, claws slicing through it like air. The metal crate fell to the ground in pieces, large gouges in steel.

  “Whoa!” Magnus exclaimed, looking at his arm in amazement. His skin had transformed from the elbow down into iridescent scales that shone a multitude of colours in the harsh warehouse lighting. At the end of each finger was now a razorsharp claw an inch long. Flexing, he could feel the sheer power held within his new arm. The warmth inside his chest hummed with him, making him feel invincible.

  “Cool!”

  Turning to the new arrivals, a savage smile grew on his face. The member who’d ran away had come back with reinforcements, and it was exactly who he’d been searching for.

  “Excellent, now I don’t have to go looking for you!”

  Red-face hadn’t managed to wash away the paint staining his skin since they’d last interacted, a fact that brought Magnus immense joy. Slate-eyes stared at him in his usual cold fashion. But between them, was the man he really wanted to find. Leader of the Goldlight Gang, and his own personal torturer, Roarke.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Magnus, how can you wal-” Red-face was cut off by his partner in crime's elbow, before he could reveal too much. The confusion in his eyes was clear though.

  “My boy Magnus, what brings you here,” Roarke said, the thin man staring at him with an easygoing smile. “Causing trouble has its punishments you know, I can hardly let you get away with it just because I enjoy your presence. My subordinates look to me for justice, stability, and a guiding hand.”

  “Shut it,” Magnus hissed, hands curling into fists. Wincing, he pierced his own skin with his new claws, unused to their presence. “Your subordinates are just afraid of you. You’re a petty tyrant who enjoys controlling others.”

  “Theres no need to be hurtful now, and after all I did for you. Letting you run amok, raising you even after your parents crossed me all those years ago. Few would have had my compassion, you know.” Roarke’s honeyed tongue spun sweet lies, a skill he had no doubt honed his entire life. Ordinarily, they may have had some effect, causing his opponent to hesitate, if only for a moment.

  For Magnus, it was just useless noise. Dashing forward, he raised his clawed hand and slashed wildly. Roarke took a half step back, letting his lieutenants block the blow. Despite his newfound strength, Magnus was inexperienced in a fight. Slate-eyes blocked the blow with both arms, shaking from the force, but stood firm. Red-face, taking advantage of the opening, hammered him in the chest with a heavy punch.

  Shooting across the room, dust and debris exploded outwards from the wall Magnus crashed into. Shaking his head, Magnus pulled himself out of the deep indent, rubbing his chest in delight. There wasn’t a mark on him. Glaring at the two lieutenants that had beaten him earlier that day, a savage grin appeared on his face.

  “Hows he up after that?” Red-face said, scratching his head in confusion. “I hit him real hard. He weren’t like this earlier when I was beatin’ him.”

  “Strange.” Slate-eyes watched Magnus’s every movement with a predatory gaze. “What do you want us to do boss?”

  “Don’t kill him, but rough him up good. Can’t set a precedent that anyone can attack us and get away with it. We’ll make a good show out of him for the whole district.”

  “It’s kinda weird though, don’t you think,” Red-face murmured, eyeing Magnus from across the room. “He managed to beat these meatheads all by himself, and look at that arm. Bio-enchancements for sure. How’d he get those?”

  “Ask the questions after you’ve subdued him,” Roarke said, watching Magnus with curious eyes. Careful to not let the greed leak out, he continued, “His secrets will be ours soon enough. Whoever gave them to him will regret it, mark my words.”

  The three leapt into action, exchanging blows in rapid succession. The warehouse shook from the violence of the battle going on within its walls. It was as if a group of wild beasts were fighting to the death, causing the crowd of onlookers to back away nervously. It wasn’t a place for regular people to intrude upon.

  Magnus was outnumbered from the onset, and with his limited combat experience, he was outmatched by his two foes who fought in tandem. One would draw his attention, only to feint the attack, enabling the other to score a sneaky blow. Corralled by a pair of hunters, he felt like a wild animal. Taking hit after hit, sending him into walls and furniture constantly, he rose every time uninjured and angrier. Logic went out the window, Magnus’s mind becoming clouded. His body reacted on instinct, intent on hurting those who dared stand in his way.

  The graceful dance was shattered in an instant. Slate-eyes attempted a mechanically powered punch from behind while Magnus was distracted by Red-face, but his blow only hit air. Spinning rapidly, Magnus had dodged beneath the blow and slashed upwards with his claws, feeling them slice through flesh, bone, and metal. Without pause, he followed it up by rotating his body and slamming the back of his foot into the man's chest.

  A sickening crunch filled the room, Slate-eyes sent flying into a corner, where he lay groaning. His entire arm had been shorn off, mangled flesh mixed with wire, leaking blood and other fluids onto the ground. Red-face was momentarily stunned by the brutality, reacted too slowly when Magnus darted forward and slammed his fist into his knee. The bone and metal snapped, the man crumbling to the ground.

  Red-face looked up, pain wracking his entire body, and flinched. Magnus’s face was twisted into a wild grin, smiling ear to ear. His teeth had sharpened into fangs, and his eyes were glowing a faint gold. Lying still, he didn’t dare move, body shaking uncontrollably in response to the monster looming over him.

  “What are you!” Roarke shouted, stumbling backwards. His two lieutenants had been swiftly trounced in a matter of seconds, the situation unravelling before his very eyes. “How can yo~”

  He was cut off as Magnus let out a feral scream and rushed him, shoving him against the wall before the gang leader could react. His claws sank into the man’s shoulder, the resonant sound of hardened metal screeching. The cry of pain brought Magnus a deep satisfaction, the grin growing impossibly wide.

  “You!” Roarke struggled, but was unable to escape the vice-like grip holding him.

  “Caught youuuu,” Magnus growled, grinding his sharpened teeth together. His glowing eyes flickered, growing brighter by the second. The hot mass of power within his chest threw off arcs of heat, making him feel all powerful. “What to do, what to do.”

  “Take it easy there Magnus,” Roarke stuttered, hands trembling at his sides. “You don’t wanna kill me, think of all the kindness I showed you over the years. It’s not my fault your parents tried to swindle me out of millions, right.”

  “You!” Magnus flexed his hand tighter, blood leaking out onto his fingers. The whimpering man let out a cry of pain. “You do not get to talk about them! You’re no better.”

  “Just, let me, go.”

  Roarke sounded almost out of breath, voice quiet and uneven. Magnus lingered for a second, his expression flickering as two conflicting emotions waged a war within him. Roarke, seeing this, sprung his trap with glee.

  “FOOL!” he shouted, a red flicker approaching Magnus’s head.

  A primal panic filled him, washing away everything else as his body screamed that it was in danger. Reacting inhumanly fast, he lifted his left arm up to block the light, eyes lagging behind. He managed to get it up just in time to protect his head. He innately trusted his newfound durability.

  The pain was sudden and sharp, the sharp red light slicing easily through his skin that had withstood enhanced blows no problem. Reflexively he felt his power flare up like a wildfire, left arm transforming to match his right. The iridescent scales reflected the red light brilliantly, bringing it to an immediate stop. Gritting his teeth, Magnus bore the pain and slammed Roarke back into the wall, shattering it in the process. The gang leader went limp, hanging loosely in his hands.

  Dropping the man to the ground, Magnus exclaimed his left arm, a knife wedged into, just shy of hitting bone. The edge of the knife held a luminous red glow, and he was able to recognize it instantly.

  “High-matter.”

  Pulling the knife out of his flesh, he bore with the sharp searing pain, blood dripping onto the floor. Amazed, he watched his arm knit itself back together in real time, until there wasn’t even a trace of having been cut on the iridescent scales. Flexing his arm, it felt strong. The pain having sobered him slightly, he stared down at his tormentor with a flat anger. Kneeling, he grabbed the man's head and slapped him.

  “Oi, can you hear me?”

  Receiving only a muffled groan in response, he pressed down into Roarke’s wounds, which seemed to jolt the man into some semblance of consciousness. His scream was pleasant, like a tune he’d always desired to hear.

  “Listen here Roarke. I know you’re feeling humiliated right now, but there's nothing you can do to me now. This was proof enough, you and your best men couldn’t bring me down, so don’t even think of revenge, okay.”

  Magnus quickly shuffled his thoughts, making plans for the future. Killing Roarke was off the table, even if he’d wanted to. There wouldn’t be a path back from that road, and Roarke was vital for the district's continued survival, even if he hated to admit it. There were plenty of gangs far worse than the Goldlight’s, and if he took out their leader, the power vacuum would send everything into chaos.

  “What to do?” he mused, still holding the bleeding man by the hair. “Something he’d understand.” He came to a decision quickly, not wanting to linger too long in the gang's hideout. The place was filled with too many unpleasant memories.

  “From now on, you’re going to treat the district's citizens better, Roarke. No more beatings, no more torture, no more killing. The Goldlight gang will start doing things in moderation going forward.” Magnus’s voice was cold as he spoke. “Don’t worry I don’t expect you to become an upstanding paragon, but you will stop hurting so many people.”

  Roarke let out a muffled whimper. Pressing a single claw into the man's back, he felt the gang leader squirm.

  “Do you understand? Because if I find out you don’t follow my words, or start taking out your anger on the people, I will come back, and I won’t be so gentle.” Magnus leant down beside Roarke’s ear, and whispered something only he could hear. “If I have to deal with you, I’ll make you wish you’d received a quick death.”

  “... I promise. You, have my word.” Roarke’s voice was airy and distant, but he sounded scared for his life. Magnus hoped the man would follow through, because otherwise he’d be forced to come back, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to follow through on his threat.

  “Good. Let's hope for your sake we don’t meet again Roarke.”

  Message having gotten through, Magnus stood, pocketing the High-Matter edge knife, and walked over to a wall. Shattering it, he stepped through into another empty room. He continued as such, walking in a straight line, until he finally broke through one revealing an alley that ran along the warehouse. Now he could slip away without anyone the wiser. First, though, he had to do something about his arms.

  Examining them, the iridescent scales caught the light brilliantly, shining like gemstones. As beautiful as they were, he could hardly walk around in that state. Focusing intently, he attempted to will them away. Straining his mind, he eventually found a metaphorical switch, and his arms shifted back to normal. Running a finger over his teeth, he felt their sharpness hadn’t disappeared completely.

  “I can worry about it later,” Magnus thought, eager to leave the hideout.

  A wisp of regret and longing filled him, his soul almost as if it contained a hole now. Something was missing. Clutching his chest in confusion, he stepped out and disappeared into the alley silent and unnoticed, destination unknown. The wake of his revenge would leave the district changed for many years, but he never saw it, for he never returned.