Chapter Four

  Ambrose needed to establish a base in the city. Having easily escaped the authorities, he drove around the city looking for opportunities to establish one. Virion was very...advanced. There were drones flying around, cars that looked sleek, futuristic, and lights of every bright color imaginable pulsed to a rhythm he couldn't discern.

  The city stretched around him like a technological jungle, all sharp edges and neon. Unlike Earth or Avalon, technology here had advanced to a point where the distinction between flesh and machine blurred. Holographic advertisements shimmered across building facades, promising enhancements that went beyond mere convenience into something more fundamental, a transformation of what it meant to be human.

  Everywhere he looked, people milled about, their skin threaded through with gadgets. Some had ocular implants that cast faint light across their cheeks, others had neural interfaces visible at their temples, pulsing with information feeds. Each enhancement looked seamless, as if technology and biology had finally reached their inevitable convergence.

  It's a city of cyborgs, Ambrose thought. Some individuals walked as if they were zombies, with dead eyes, slumped shoulders, and constantly scratching at their necks. It was the behavior of addicts. The scratching seemed directed at their implants, as if the technology itself had become the substance they craved.

  When the barman had told him that the city was corrupt, he hadn't been lying. Ambrose could taste it on the air, it was practically a soup he was swimming in. Being in the line of work he had been in for most of his life, you got a feel for such things. Corruption had a certain atmosphere, a tension in the way people moved, avoided eye contact, or made it too aggressively. Virion had it in abundance.

  Ideally he wanted something on the downlow. Something that didn't attract attention. Some people might have thought that meant a seedy hotel, or a low income area.

  That was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

  He wanted normal, he wanted mundane. Being in a crime ridden neighborhood meant police, it meant attention. The problem was that he was having trouble finding such a place within this city.

  The Hellcat rumbled beneath him, its engine distinctly different from the whisper-quiet vehicles native to Virion. It drew glances, some curious, others calculating. Ambrose kept his eye moving, tracking potential threats while navigating the unfamiliar streets. His spiritual awareness extended outward, sensing the currents of intent around him. Most were focused on survival, a few on predation. This city had a predator-prey dynamic that was immediately familiar to him.

  As it turned out, low income neighborhoods accounted for most of the city. Trash was strewn out almost everywhere, and some kind of digital graffiti, gang signs he didn't recognize, decorated surfaces. The signs shifted and moved as if alive, adapting to their surroundings like technological parasites.

  People here were suffering. Beneath the neon glamour and technological marvels, the fundamental truth remained unchanged from world to world: those with power exploited those without. The forms changed, here it was corporations and gangs rather than nobles and monsters, but the underlying reality remained constant.

  Ambrose wasn't here to clean up the city, but a part of him felt satisfaction that his actions would lead to a better life for people. When you removed the people causing suffering from the equation, there was less suffering. His focus had shifted since becoming Knight of Avalon, but some core aspects of his nature remained unchanged.

  He turned a corner, his hellcat moving smoothly down the street, the familiar purr of its engine a reminder of Earth and simpler times. Sometimes he still expected to see Alice in the passenger seat, her green eyes bright with excitement about some new adventure. The phantom memory came and went, less painful now than it once had been.

  Sadly, others would fill that void of suffering eventually, to cause more of it. Because it wasn't just the criminals who caused it, but the officials that allowed it, and facilitated it for profit. You couldn't get rid of human corruption easily, all you could hope for was less corruption. That lesson had been taught to him repeatedly, across multiple worlds.

  But that wasn't his problem. He would dismantle the gang Vorshawn Red ran but not out of any sense of justice or commitment to Virion, but rather because they were a means to an end. His goal was to protect Avalon, that was his main purpose now. The Tree needed souls, and Vorshawn's organization would provide them.

  Eventually he pulled up to a realtor office, and he got out, locking his car. The building was sleek and modern, with a facade of polished metal and smart glass that adjusted its transparency based on the angle of the sun. It looked professional enough to be legitimate, but with subtle signs of flexibility that suggested operations beyond the strictly legal.

  He knew someone might try to steal it. His car was unique here, and he didn't fail to notice the group of thugs down the street eyeing him. They weren't even trying to be subtle about it, openly assessing the Hellcat with expressions of avarice. One had his hand inside his jacket, likely resting on a weapon.

  So he summoned Akaroth from his infernal dimension and placed it in the vehicle. The dragon axe materialized on the passenger seat, its presence immediately transforming the Hellcat from mere transportation into a deadly trap.

  I am not a watchdog, hatchling! She growled in his mind, indignation flowing through their connection.

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  No, you're a noble dragon, who also happens to be my companion. This car is my territory, I'm only asking you to help defend it.

  The dragon grumbled about it, but territory was something she could understand. Dragons were territorial by nature, and while Akaroth might resent being used as a security system, she understood the principle of protecting what was theirs.

  Grudgingly, she acknowledged him and he went inside the sleek silver building. The interior was climate-controlled to a precise temperature, with subtle aromatics designed to put clients at ease. The entire space was engineered for psychological manipulation, from the specific shade of blue on the walls to the comfortable but not too comfortable chairs.

  A man in a suit greeted him from behind a desk. His brown hair was combed over, and when he saw Ambrose, a beaming smile lit up his handsome face. His teeth were too white, his posture too practiced. Everything about him screamed "salesman."

  Ambrose hated him instantly. Despite this, he shook the man's hand, his brown eyes looking over him with studious practice, clearly trying to read him. Ambrose maintained a neutral expression, letting his physical presence—the obvious strength, the eye patch, the subtle but unmistakable sense of danger, speak for itself.

  "I need a house, something in as good a neighborhood as you can give me."

  He nodded enthusiastically, pumping Ambrose's hand. "Of course! My name is Anthony! Nice to meet you! We have a bunch of houses we can show you that fit the bill! Even some that come with enhanced security options! All we need is your citizen registration card, and then we can do a credit check and get you started!"

  Ambrose was shaking his head as Anthony was speaking. He had no intention of entering the system here, of leaving a trail that could be followed by authorities or, worse, by Vorshawn's people once he began dismantling their operations.

  "I don't want to do any of that. How about you sell me a house without all of the paperwork and I'll give you something for the trouble? The quicker you get me the most secure house you can that fits my needs, the more of that something I will put on top."

  Anthony was as corrupt as the rest of this city, and instantly picked up on what Ambrose was saying. His grin never wavered, but his eyes grew sharper, more calculating. He recognized an opportunity when he saw one.

  "Sure, we could facilitate something like that. How about this one?"

  He held up a hand, and from a silver band embedded around his wrist, projected a huge house spanning over a large property, sleek and uniform in design. The holographic display showed a veritable fortress disguised as a luxury home, complete with what appeared to be automated defense systems and a private landing pad.

  Ambrose sighed, rubbing his face. Always the same with these types, trying to maximize their commission rather than meeting actual needs.

  "Listen, don't try to sell me on the most expensive thing. I want a simple, secure, home in a decent area. The quicker you get me that, the better for you. Stop wasting my time."

  Before the man could speak, Akaroth spoke within his mind, her mental voice sharp with alarm.

  Fleshlings are attempting to steal your machine.

  Ambrose whirled around, seeing a group of men trying to break into his car through the front window of the office. One had some kind of electronic device pressed against the door lock, while another kept watch, his hand now clearly holding a compact energy weapon.

  Growling, he walked out of the realtor office, letting his spiritual pressure build. The familiar heat of the Forge Icon flared within him, reality growing more solid around him as he prepared for conflict.

  "I'd step away from my car if you know what's good for you," he said calmly to the thugs. His voice was level but carried weight, a gravity born from countless confrontations across multiple worlds.

  One stood up, a skinny man whose skin was nearly all metal, all the way to his jaw. He shined in the light of the dying sun. His eyes were artificial, glowing with a dull red light that pulsed in time with whatever processor controlled his augmentations.

  "How about you give us the keys to this sweet ride, eh? Maybe then we won't hurt you." His compatriots all wore nasty grins, they too were covered in metal and what non-metallic skin they did have was a canvas of ink. Their augmentations were crude compared to the higher-end modifications he'd seen elsewhere in the city, but no less dangerous for their lack of refinement.

  Ambrose could have engaged in conversation. He could have tried to de-escalate.

  But it was pointless. These men's body language screamed potential violence. He was new in the area. He had an interesting vehicle they wanted.

  He had a fight on his hands, it was just a matter of when they got there.

  Starting it would give him the advantage, and allow him the element of surprise. It was a lesson he'd learned early and well: never let your opponent choose the moment of engagement if you can help it.

  Activating [Infernal Sanctuary] he sent his ghostly chains writhing with stygian fire striking outward like a viper. At the same time, he opened up two portals using [Hellfire Portal Manipulation], setting them to spinning like saw blades. The familiar silver-red flames cast eerie shadows across the street as reality bent to his will.

  The chains yanked two of the unsuspecting thugs into the spinning portals, and they let loose terrifying screams as their bodies were eviscerated, gore and guts raining downward, splattering the ground in red, a hot rancid smell bursting into the air. Their augmentations sparked and shorted out as they were destroyed, adding the scent of burned electronics to the metallic tang of blood.

  Ambrose closed the portals, crossing his arms as the remaining thugs tried to react, but he unleashed his spirit before they could use skills. The pressure of [Infernal Aegis] flattened them to the ground as chains wrapped around their ankles. His spiritual pressure intensified, crushing their resistance with the weight of a C-Grade existence.

  One was lifted up and tossed into a portal leading to the tree of Avalon, a bemused Vivienne staring at him. Her form solidified slightly as she recognized what was happening, her violet eyes widening at the unexpected delivery.

  "Presents for you, Vivienne. Penance Protocol Three, I think."

  "Sir Knight," she inclined her head as Ambrose tossed two more criminals to her, leaving the leader alone. Even across realms, her voice carried the gentle rustle of leaves, a sound that had become oddly comforting to him over time.

  He closed the portals, and strode over to the leader. Lifting him up with a single hand, he stared into his dark, wide eyes, and activated [Retributions Gaze]. The skill connected them on a level beyond the physical, forcing the thug to experience every ounce of suffering he had ever inflicted on others.

  The criminal let out a scream as Ambrose's skill ignited every ounce of suffering he had inflicted against others within him. He watched as the thug's eyes turned to ash, and Ambrose tossed his broken husk of a corpse to the side. The body lay crumpled and smoldering, the cybernetic implants still sparking weakly as the last traces of life faded.

  He turned back to the realtor who was now standing on the sidewalk, mouth open as he looked over the carnage. The man's perfectly maintained composure had cracked completely, revealing the fear beneath.

  "I'd like that house now," Ambrose said.