Chapter 15: Dreck
The kitchen doorframe pressedld against Kael's shoulder as he lingered on the edge, breath shallow, hazel eyes carving through the murk. A faint whiff of grease lingered from lunch, now curdled with something fouler—sweat, rust, a stranger's stink.
The bulb in the hall flickered, throwing jagged light across the tiles, and muddy bootprints smeared a crooked path from the busted entrance. His pulse ticked steady, a drumbeat under his skin, but his mind sharpened to a blade's edge. The takeout bag slipped from his grip, thudding soft, grease blooming dark through the paper as it hit the floor.
A shadow twitched deeper in—bulky, careless—followed by a scrape, metal kissing tile. Kael tensed, boots silent as he slid forward, power simmering in his palms, a low hum waiting to ignite. The figure turned, broad and slouched, a rusted crowbar dangling loose in one meaty hand.
B-Rank goon—Dreck, a name whispered in alleys, a thug who'd gut a beggar for a bottle. Aggressive. His leather jacket hung frayed, patched with grime, a cheap chain glinting dull around his thick neck. Scruffy hair framed a face pocked with scars, and his muddy eyes gleamed as they landed on Kael, lips peeling back into a yellowed grin.
"Well, shit," Dreck drawled, voice gravel scraped over glass. "Fancy digs, fancy prick. Thought this place was a ghost—guess I hit the jackpot." He whistled low, gaze raking the half-patched walls, the sturdyunter, the gleam of new fixtures among the shabby district's rot. "What's a pretty boy like you hiding worth taking?"
Kael rolled his neck, joints popping, voice steady as steel. "Wrong house, wrong night. Walk out, or I'll make you." His hands stayed loose, deceptively calm, but his stance shifted—wiry frameiled, ready. Physically, he wasn't a tank—lean, built for speed, not slugfests—but he'd danced this dance before.
Dreck's grin widened, crowbar tapping his palm. "Cute. But this?" He nodded at the room, the reinforced door down the hall. "Screams loot. I'll take it all—starting with you." He stepped closer, boots scuffing, and Kael exhaled slow, hazel eyes glintingld.
"Last chance," he muttered, but Dreck was already swinging—crowbar cutting air, a brutal arc aimed to crack ribs. Kael twisted low, the rusted edge grazing his jacket, and snapped a fist into Dreck's side—flesh soft, unguarded. Empathic Resonance flared, a silent jolt, turning the jab into a howl that ripped from Dreck's throat, pain spiking far beyond the bruise. The thug staggered, crowbar clattering wild, and Kael pressed in—knee slamming Dreck's thigh, boots skidding as they grappled, crashing into theunter. Pots rattled, a mug shattered, shards glinting like teeth on the tiles.
Dreck roared, shoving back hard—elbow smashing Kael's cheek, bone singing with pain. Kael reeled, vision flashing white, and hit the stove—metal groaning, a burner knob snapping loose.
Blood tricked warm down his lip,pper sharp on his tongue, but he ducked as Dreck swung again, crowbar smashing the stovetop, sparks spitting. Kael lunged, tackling Dreck's waist—both slamming the floor, tiles cracking under their weight, breath hissing out in grunts.