Grunts and thuds rang through the gym. The heavy bag swayed like a hanged man, as Ganjo's fists slammed into its worn leather hide. Each strike was a word unspoken, a sentence punctuated by the creak of chains and the rustle of the speed bag in the corner. Sweat beaded on his skin. The lights overhead turned it into a greasy sheen.

  His breath caught in ragged gasps, mirroring the wheezing of the old air conditioner struggling to keep up with the heat. Ganjo wasn't just working the bag; he was working through a problem, a knot in his gut tied by Veronica Guzman's visit. According to her, Ganjo had seventy-two hours to agree or he was going to regret it.

  The old Ganjo, the one who clawed his way out of the forgotten countryside and the dirty slums with fists and the occasional well-placed bribe, wanted to find this Guzman woman, and her whole crew. He’d line them up against the back alley wall, and remind them of what happened to snitches.

  But that was the punk in him talking, the one who got his teeth kicked in more often than not. Ganjo had learned that survival wasn't about brute force; it was about leverage. And right now, leverage was Veronica Guzman's game. For those with power, it’s always their game.

  He slammed a kick into the bag, its chains groaning in protest. The impact jarred his bad knee, a dull ache that mirrored the throb of the problem in his mind.

  He muttered, the words swallowed by the thump of leather.

  "Who the hell were those people? Nader loyalists? Some Uraan faction?"

  It didn't make sense. If they had something on him, why not go to the Dasa Vech directly? Why this cloak-and-dagger routine? Unless...unless they were playing a deeper game.

  He danced around the bag, a shadow boxer in the harsh light. Jab, cross, hook – the rhythm ingrained, a meditation as much as a workout.

  I obviously have something they need. But asking nicely ain’t gonna get them anywhere.

  The air conditioner sputtered, a blast of warm air momentarily breaking the spell. Ganjo paused, sweat trickling into his eyes. He blinked, the sting a reminder of his own vulnerability.

  Can't trust anyone.

  He was a pawn, caught between two sides of a war he didn't fully understand.

  A sharp voice, cutting through the rhythm of his workout, shattered Ganjo's concentration.

  "Ganjo!"

  Mariah stood at the edge of the training floor, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of annoyance and impatience. Ganjo, sweat dripping from his brow, glared back at her. He growled.

  "What do you want, now?"

  Mariah's eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance in their depths. She retorted, her voice laced with a quiet fury.

  "Just because I'm out of a job doesn't mean I'm gonna take your shit. So you better calm down!"

  Ganjo was about to unleash a verbal counter-attack when he noticed a figure emerge from the shadows of the hallway. Tall, bald, and dressed in a suit that could have been bought with a month's worth of his profits, the man exuded an air of quiet authority.

  Ganjo's voice was laced with confusion.

  "Ayuda?What are you doing here? You should be driving the enforcers around town."

  Mariah rolled her eyes, her impatience growing.

  "That's why I'm here. I've been getting non-stop calls about a customer who won an eviction case."

  Ganjo's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragmented information. He repeated, the gears turning in his head.

  "Eviction case? That must be the lady I spoke to on the phone."

  Ayuda stepped forward, his polished shoes gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.

  His voice was smooth but laced with concern.

  "I stopped by earlier to pick up Justin. But he was nowhere to be found. We're behind on some jobs."

  Ganjo's gut clenched, a knot of unease tightening within him. He directed his attention to Mariah.

  "Why was the lady calling?"

  Mariah threw her hands up in exasperation.

  "Because her landlord wasn't respecting the outcome of the trial! He was still evicting her by force."

  Ganjo swore.

  "Fuck! I'll have to handle this myself, before this spreads."

  He turned to Ayuda, his expression hardening.

  "Give me a moment to get ready. I'm going to pay this landlord a visit."

  …

  The sleek black sedan rolled to a stop in front of the dilapidated apartment building. Ganjo, crammed in the back seat like a prized bull in a too-small trailer, grunted as he unfolded himself onto the cracked pavement.

  "You sure this is the place, Ayuda?"

  Ganjo’s eyes scanned the building's chipped paint and rusted balconies with a mix of disgust and amusement.

  Ayuda, his face serious, consulted a notebook in his hands.

  "319 West 4th Street, Bonao, Apartment 1F."

  He looked up at Ganjo, slightly offended.

  "I take my job seriously, sir."

  Ganjo waved a dismissive hand.

  "Don't be so sensitive."

  He chided, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk.

  "Just making sure we're not about to walk into an ambush."

  Ganjo tugged at the edges of his trench coat. Its worn fabric contrasted against the sedan's polished chrome. The handle of his custom-made blade, a wicked curve of gleaming steel, peeked out from beneath the fabric. He discreetly adjusted the coat to conceal it. He muttered, a glint of anticipation in his eyes.

  "Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise,"

  He strode towards the building's entrance, its chipped paint and rusted iron gate showing years of neglect. The air within was thick with the stench of sweat and stale cigarette smoke, a familiar aroma that clung to Ganjo like a second skin.

  "Too damn hot for this coat.”

  The words were swallowed by the sudden eruption of commotion from the first floor. A woman's voice shrieked, the sound a mix of anger and desperation.

  "Stop ruining my stuff!"

  A man's voice countered, gruff but laced with a hint of weariness.

  "You need to leave, ma'am. You can't stay here."

  "I'm not going anywhere!" the woman yelled back, her voice rising in defiance.

  Another man's voice growled, the threat evident.

  "I'm tired of this."

  A sharp cry echoed through the hallway, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Like a predator, Ganjo’s lips curled. He quickened his pace.

  He burst through the apartment door. Three men with surprise on their face, turned towards him, their eyes widening at the sight of the imposing figure. The woman’s body braced against the wall, her belongings scattered around, and looked up at Ganjo with a flicker of desperate hope.

  "I think it’s y’all who have to leave,” Ganjo drawled. “You can’t kick this lady out."

  One of the men barked, his voice thick with suspicion. He was stocky, pale, with forearms thick enough to crush stone.

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  "Who the hell are you?"

  Ganjo stepped into the apartment, his presence filling the cramped space like a storm cloud. He rumbled, sarcastically.

  "Ganjo, nice to meet you."

  He gestured towards the woman, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance.

  "This lady has the right to remain here for another six months, as per the agreement made."

  The men exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering.

  The stocky one muttered, his gaze darting towards the shattered glass and scattered belongings.

  "Doesn't matter, she's on the eviction list and that means she’s out."

  Ganjo sighed with a weary exhale.

  "Hey, I get it. But sometimes, things get lost in translation."

  He turned towards the woman. She seemed to recognize Ganjo’s voice. She rasped, her voice hoarse from shouting.

  "You, you're the one I spoke to on the phone."

  Ganjo raised an eyebrow.

  The woman's eyes narrowed, her anger reignited. She hissed.

  "You promised me. You said they'd honor my case."

  Ganjo ignored her, his gaze returning to the three men.

  "Look, I'd rather not escalate this. Just tell me where to find your boss, the landlord, whoever he is."

  The men hesitated, their eyes darting between Ganjo and the woman.

  "She's on the eviction case,” the stocky man repeated. “We know nothing about an agreement. She's out of here, and if you don't want to catch smoke, you'd leave too.”

  Ganjo's patience was wearing thin.

  "I tried. People in this town just don’t understand the language of diplomacy. It must be all the hip shaking and alcohol."

  He growled, surprising the men as he lunged his fist at the stocky man's jaw. The impact sent the man reeling, a grunt of surprise escaping his lips. The other two men, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and anger, grabbed Ganjo, their arms wrapping around his strong frame.

  Ganjo roared, his voice a primal echo in the cramped apartment. He bucked and twisted, his muscles straining against their grip. Suddenly, a groan escaped his lips, a guttural sound that seemed to shake the very walls. A neon blue light pulsed from his neck, a network of veins glowing beneath his skin.

  Ganjo snarled, his voice laced with a chilling amusement. With a surge of superhuman strength, he lifted the men off their feet, their bodies twisting in his grasp like rag dolls. He slammed them against each other, their heads colliding with a sickening thud. They crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

  The woman, her eyes wide with terror, scrambled away from the carnage. She dashed out of the apartment. Her screams vibrated down the hallway.

  Ganjo turned his attention back to the stocky man, who had managed to regain his footing. The man's eyes burned red. He had summoned his power.

  "Smart man, your boss,” Ganjo commented with a hint of admiration. “ His minions have access to the Aether."

  The stocky man didn't respond. He lunged, his hands morphing into crude axes, their edges shining with a metallic sheen.

  Oh, we have an advanced user here. This just got interesting - Ganjo thought, his eyes widening slightly.

  He sidestepped the attack, the axes slicing through the air where he'd stood moments before. With a swift motion, Ganjo drew his blade from its holster, the machete shinned, reflecting the light.

  The two men clashed, their weapons meeting with a screech of steel. Ganjo parried a blow aimed at his head, the machete deflecting the axe with a shower of sparks. He countered with a swift strike, but the stocky man dodged, surprisingly performing a backflip. He amazed Ganjo with his agile style, an unexpected feat for a man of his size.

  The fight escalated, steel and superhuman strength clashing against each other. Ganjo, his muscles rippling with the power of the Aether, pressed his attack, the machete slicing through the air with deadly precision. The stocky man countered with wild swings of his transformed hands.

  Suddenly, the stocky man leaped into the air, his body a projectile aimed at Ganjo. Ganjo's eyes widened, but he reacted instantly. With a grunt of effort, he reversed his grip on the machete, the blade pointed downwards. He channeled the Aether, the neon blue light in his veins surging brighter.

  The stocky man crashed down, his axes aimed at Ganjo's head. But Ganjo was ready. He swung the machete upwards, the blunt side of the blade connecting to the stocky man's kneecaps with a sickening thud.

  The machete snapped, the blade flying off and embedding itself into the wall. The stocky man's eyes widened in shock, his blue glow flickering and dying. His hands reverted to their normal form, the axes disappearing as if they'd never been.

  With a horrific scream, the stocky man crumpled to the floor, his legs twisted at an unnatural angle. Ganjo stood over him, his chest heaving, the neon blue light in his veins slowly fading.

  “Now, tell me where I can find your boss.”

  …

  Empty liquor bottles littered the coffee table.The television, its screen a kaleidoscope of daytime talk show drama, blared out voices. Freddy, still clad only in his faded underwear, scratched his ample belly and chuckled at the antics unfolding on the screen. The ice in his glass clinked a cheerful rhythm against the crystal as he took another swig of amber liquid. Life was good.

  Suddenly, a crash erupted from the hallway, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass echoing through the penthouse. Freddy's eyes widened, his laughter dying in his throat. Before he could even register the surprise, a body came hurtling through the doorway, smashing into the dining table with a sickening thud.

  The stocky man, his face in pain and terror, crumpled to the floor. He whimpered with a desperate plea.

  "Freddy, help me!"

  Freddy swore, his eyes wide with disbelief. He scrambled to his feet, the ice in his glass sloshing over the rim, staining the plush carpet.

  "What the fuck is going on?"

  A figure emerged from the hallway, stepping over the wreckage of the door as if it were a fallen twig. Ganjo, his eyes still glowing with a faint reddish hue, strode into the penthouse.

  "I hope you pay for his medical bills. One leg’s pointing east, the other west. Yikes.”

  Freddy's eyes narrowed, recognition dawning on his face.

  "You, you're the booker."

  Ganjo shrugged, a subtle flexing of his shoulders that hinted at the power he wielded.

  "Yup, and you must be the landlord."

  Freddy replied, his eyes darting between Ganjo and the crumpled figure of his henchman.

  "I, I’m Freddy."

  Ganjo looked across the penthouse, taking in the tacky furniture, the empty liquor bottles, the lingering scent of stale cigar smoke. The sight of a grown man dressed in nothing, but tidy widies.

  "You know, I think if you’re gonna run real-estate, you should be a bit more respectable."

  Freddy's face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

  "What do you want? Why are you here?"

  Ganjo raised an eyebrow. He spoke, his voice low and dangerous.

  "You should know why I’m here. Don’t you see your boy over there, twisted like a pretzel?"

  Ganjo paused, letting the implication sink in. Then, he realized that by the looks of the place, there could be a possibility that this man had no idea why Ganjo was here.

  "Wait, you really don't know why I'm here?"

  Freddy's bravado faltered, his gaze flickering towards the crumpled figure of his henchman.

  He stammered, then stopped, his defiance melting into a confused frown.

  "No, I don't."

  Ganjo sighed, the sound of a weary exhale that echoed through the penthouse. He proceeded to explain, his voice patient but firm.

  "You have a tenant, a tenant who was up for eviction. She took her case to the dark court, and guess what? Your representative lost. She has another six months here, and you have to honor that. Not doing so puts you against the law of these parts, and none of us want that.”

  Freddy's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing.

  "I don't know anything about that. I have people who take care of that shit for me."

  Ganjo shrugged, his expression hardening.

  "Not my problem. You broke the rules. And you should know there are consequences."

  Freddy scoffed with indignation.

  "Consequences?Whose rules are we talking about here? Yours?"

  Ganjo shrugged, his expression a mask of nonchalance.

  "Those are the rules in this part of town, Freddy. You know how it works."

  Freddy's sneer widened, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. He reached for his glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal as he took another sip.

  His voice was thick with disdain.

  "Rules? I wouldn’t be here if I cared about rules."

  Ganjo's brow furrowed. He was confused.

  "Do you even know what you’re saying, or is it the alcohol talking?”

  Freddy laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the penthouse. He gestured towards the crumpled figure of his henchman, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

  "Don't worry, Ben. We'll get you patched up in no time. This guy’s a fucking idiot."

  He turned back to Ganjo, his eyes narrowed into slits.

  "You're a fool. I was scared for a moment there, but now it makes sense."

  Ganjo's unease grew, but he maintained his composure, masking it.

  "What are you talking about?"

  Freddy's smile widened, revealing a set of teeth stained with years of indulgence.

  "I see you're just an enforcer for the Dasa Vech, enforcement that doesn’t apply to me. No wonder I was clueless when you budged in here."

  He paused. Then continued, charismatically.

  "Buddy, I am the Dasa Vech."

  Ganjo's eyes narrowed.

  Freddy's laughter echoed through the penthouse, a grating sound that set Ganjo's teeth on edge.

  "Do you have any idea who Lupito Hanover is?" Freddy asked, mockingly.

  Ganjo's suspicion grew.

  "How do you know about Lupito?"

  Freddy's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. He commanded Ganjo.

  "Answer the question!"

  Ganjo hesitated, then replied.

  "He's the heir to the Synoro branch of the Dasa Vech.”

  Freddy's laughter echoed through the penthouse once more, a grating sound that set Ganjo's teeth on edge.

  "It seems you've made a powerful enemy today. I'll be sure to let Lupito know about the little disaster you caused here today."

  Ganjo's unease deepened.

  "I give three fucks if you know Lupito, I work for Ves Malmo and that’s who you have to answer to.”

  Freddy's laughter intensified, his body almost shaking.

  "Ves Malmo? That pompous asshole?"

  He shook his head, his eyes gleaming with a cruel glint.

  "Of course he’d be behind the Dark Court. No wonder most of the family can’t stand him."

  Freddy shrugged with a smile.

  “Oh well, you two are fucked.”

  Ganjo's anger surged, but he didn’t want to escalate the situation. This was not what he expected. And there was some validity to Freddy’s words. Ves Malmo was extremely influential, but he had many enemies and all from his own family.

  Without saying a word, Ganjo turned and stormed out of the penthouse. Freddy's laughter shook the hallway, a grating sound that followed Ganjo like a curse. If things weren’t bad enough, they just got a whole lot worse.