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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Index:
- Chapter 1 - The Big Score
- Chapter 2 - Hunted
- Chapter 3 - Breaking
- Chapter 4 - The Tyranny of Time
- Chapter 5 - The Cracks
- Chapter 6 - Erosion
- Chapter 7 - Broken Down
- Epilogue - New Dawn
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Title: Arcane: The Enforcer's Pet
Author: John_F_Drake
Story TagsTags: Plot heavy to start, Fantasy, Steampunk, Non-Con, Dominance and Submission, Bondage, Orgasm Control / Denial, Piercing/Modification, Electrical Play, Degradation/Humiliation
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The whole story is available now on my website if you are looking to skip the wait.
Thank you for the support!
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Arcane: The Enforcer's Pet
Chapter 1 - The Big Score
Unification Day. What a joke.
The rain was relentless, a torrential downpour that transformed the world below into a monochrome blur. Zelia crouched on the rooftop, her body sheltered by a small overhang, as she peered down at the Kiramman mansion. The large, grand estate certainly didn't look all that special in the rain and fog—it was reduced to a dreary shadow of its former glory as the storm swallowed it. The wind howled around her, carrying the scent of wet stone and distant memories.
Above, balloons drifted aimlessly through the turbulent sky, blown around wildly despite their anchors. Heavy clouds had muted the celebratory bright colors into dull, listless shades. Zelia couldn't help but feel that was appropriate.
Today was supposed to be Unification Day, the one-year celebration of Piltover's victory during the Noxian Invasion of Piltover and the battle at the Hexgate. A year since Zaun had, in theory, taken its rightful place in Piltover. But the rain felt more fitting, a somber reminder of false promises and broken dreams, far more appropriate than any kind of celebration would have been.
Zelia's eyes narrowed as she watched the balloons drift further away in the wind, each one a symbol of the hollow victory they had been forced to accept. She could remember having hope when Zaun was officially recognized... and now, a year later, she felt foolish for ever having dared to dream. It was shocking how little had changed in the last year. When Sevika was given a place on the Piltover council as an official Zaun representative, it had seemed like things were about to change. A year later, though, Chem-baron still ruled the streets, and she was still a veritable slave of the Thieves’ Guild. In fact, the only changes Zelia could see were a few more Piltover engineers pushing their idea of progress into Zaun, and more Enforcers patrolling the Undercity... making her job even harder.
She should have known better than to hope. When had hoping ever gotten her anything good?
Zelia sighed and ran her fingers through her dyed bright blue hair, the damp strands clinging to her skin. She wished Jinx were still here. There had been a woman who cared deeply for the Undercity and was willing to do whatever it took to protect them. Piltover, of course, couldn't let that be... they had killed her for it. Snuffing out the light that once burned so fiercely in the heart of Zaun.
The rain continued to fall, enough of it to fill the river between the two cities... a constant reminder of the chasm between her and the rich scumbags over here.
Zelia's gaze drifted from the balloons to the garden below, where flowers swayed and danced in the relentless rain. The sight was almost surreal—a burst of color amidst the gray chaos. She couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself. This was the first time she had ever seen a flower. Her mother might have named her after one, but no flowers grew in the Undercity. Down there, nothing but rot, disease, and misery flourished. It was a stark contrast to the fragile beauty before her, a reminder of how far removed she was from this world.
Her eyes shifted to the courtyard where she watched the men move methodically and load boxes into transports. Each box seemed heavy, laden with wealth unimaginable to someone like her. Yet her attention wasn't on the riches being carted away. Instead, it was fixed on the mansion itself, looming large and imposing against the dreary backdrop.
There, just a few dozen feet below her, lay everything she had ever wanted. Her way out of this life. Her escape from the endless cycle of poverty and despair. All she had to do was go down and take it. The rain continued to pour; each drop a cold, steady beat against the rooftop. Zelia took a deep breath, feeling the damp air fill her lungs. She knew what she had to do. The chasm between her and the life she craved was vast, but not insurmountable. The thought sent a shiver through her, not of fear but determination. She wasn't just another rat scurrying through the cracks; she was a predator, honed by years of survival in the Undercity. Tonight, she was going for the big catch, the one that would set her free from this wretched place forever.
If Rasco knew what she was about to do, he would kill her... or worse. Just thinking about him, Zelia could almost feel the guildmaster's lecherous gaze on her, a constant reminder of the predator she had to navigate daily.
Rasco was a burly man with a thick beard that seemed to house more vermin than hair. His eyes were small and beady, always darting around with a predatory gleam. Zelia hated those eyes, hated how they undressed her with every glance. She hated even more the way his hand was always in her pocket, taking half of everything she made—a cut that left her with barely enough to survive.
She might hate this life, but she had been forced to accept it... it was just the way things were. Undercity urchins never got ahead, and an orphan Vastaya girl like her... well, someone like her should count herself lucky not to end up as a laborer in the mines, choking on the Gray, or working one of the brothels.
A shiver shot down her spine, sharper than the knife stashed in her boot. Zelia was too small to work in the mines, and she was definitely no whore. She would make her own way through the world, thank you very much. The dubious protection of the Thieves’ Guild was the only reason she hadn't been captured by one of the Chem-Barons before now and forced to make her living on her back. But still, trying to steal from people who had almost nothing wasn't any way to get comfortable, let alone rich…especially when the guild took half of whatever little she did manage to take.
That ended today.
Zelia had just been leaving Rasco's office after paying her dues, the coins heavy in her pocket but lighter than they should have been. Her steps were quick, eager to put distance between herself and the guildmaster's undressing gaze. As she turned the corner, however, a group of Rasco's heavier hitters walked in... and their presence immediately drew her attention. Normally, she would have just slipped away. But something about their excited chatter and furtive glances made her pause.
Zelia had long since learned to trust her instincts... and those same instincts that had kept her alive for so long were now screaming at her to stay, to listen. These men weren’t just passing through; they were up to something big. Zelia's brow furrowed as her golden eyes sluiced through the shadows, her Vastayan ears twitching with anticipation. She knew better than to underestimate the value of her senses in a place like the Undercity—even if everyone else did.
After a quick glance, Zelia ducked into a nearby alley and scaled the wall. She moved silently, her fingers finding purchase on the rough stone as she pulled herself up to the rooftop. From there, she could see into Rasco's window, her vantage point perfect for eavesdropping.
The men inside were animated, their voices low but urgent. Their voices barely penetrated the smog-filled air, but Zelia caught a single word.
"...Kiramman..."
Zelia's heart skipped a beat. That noble bitch? Curiosity piqued, she leaned closer, straining to catch every word.
As Rasco and his men spoke back and forth, each word etched the big score they had planned into undeniable clarity. They were planning to rob the Kiramman mansion at the end of the week. The former Commander of the Enforcers, Lady Kiramman, was apparently moving some of the mansion’s vault contents into the Enforcer citadel. Once it was there, it would be far too secure to steal… so they were going to intercept the vault in transit.
At first, Zelia wasn't too interested. She was just one girl, and the riches they spoke of would be heavy, locked away in massive boxes. How much could she possibly carry while trying to escape? But as Rasco kept talking, the truth became clear. The contents of the vault weren't treasure—they were documents. Detailed maps of the ventilation systems. Precise schematics of the waterways and bridges. Information that could grant access to any noble house in the city.
The Vastaya girl could clearly hear the avarice filling Rasco's words as he outlined his vision... and she could understand it. With this information, he could become a Chem-baron in his own right, one of the wealthiest men in the city. He could rob anyone... Undercity dweller or Piltover noble. Zelia's mind raced. The real treasure here wasn't gold; it was information. Knowledge that people would kill for.
Or, more importantly, pay a fortune for.
Zelia's breath caught in her throat as Rasco's voice grew more animated. His words painted a picture of unimaginable wealth and power. "Make sure you get the key from the Kiramman girl’s bedroom," he instructed, his tone dripping with urgency. “We need that key to access the information vault. Without it, those documents are just a bunch of jumbled, encrypted text—useless."
The room fell silent as the men absorbed this crucial detail. Zelia's mind raced, piecing together the implications. The key was the linchpin, the one thing that could unlock the potential hidden within those encrypted files. It was small, barely larger than a pen, yet its value dwarfed even the most precious jewels. "It's the most valuable thing in the entire city," Rasco continued. "And if we don't get it, all our efforts will be for nothing."
Zelia found herself leaning back, the sheer magnitude of their plan—and what it meant—making her reel. The key was something she could steal. Something she could hold in the palm of her hand. With it, she wouldn't just be stealing a piece of metal, or even the key to the vault. No, she would hold the key to her freedom. Enough money to escape this wretched city and start anew elsewhere. Even if Rasco failed in his grand heist, she could still ransom the key back to Lady Kiramman for a fortune.
The possibilities swirled in her mind, each one more tantalizing than the last. She could finally break free from the Thieves Guild. From Rasco's grip. From the smog and starving hell that was the Undercity. All she needed was that tiny, insignificant-looking key.
And just like that, Zelia decided that her days of sticking to safe, tiny scores were over. She was going to make a play.
As the meeting broke up and the men dispersed, Zelia slipped back down from the rooftop, her mind already formulating a plan. She had to get into the Kiramman mansion. If she could get her hands on the key first, then she wouldn't need to rely on petty theft anymore. She could buy herself a new life, far from the Undercity. Far from Rasco, his grubbing fingers, and his growingly perverse intentions for her.
All of that had led her here, to this perch... waiting for her opportunity.
Zelia's eyes narrowed as she spotted movement on the balcony below, cutting through the storm's relentless assault. A woman stepped out, her form barely visible through the torrential rain. She held a cup of steaming tea in one hand, sheltering beneath the awning as she watched the boxes being loaded into the transports. The woman's well-dressed appearance, with her dark, well-coifed hair, would have been unremarkable—just another pretty, vacant noblewoman—if not for the eyepatch over her left eye. That singular detail made her identity perfectly clear: Caitlyn Kiramman, the former Commander of the Piltover Enforcers.
A surge of rage bubbled up within Zelia, threatening to consume her. This was the woman who had invaded their city, who had brought the Gray back into Zaun's streets—the same Gray that had suffocated Zelia's parents when she was still an infant. The memories of that toxic fog, the screams of her mother and father, and their desperation to put her into the small, safe spot they had made for her flashed before her eyes. When Zelia had crawled out of that tiny shelter, she was alone in the world... and Caitlyn had been happy to use it as a weapon against the Undercity two years ago when she was hunting for Jinx.
The thoughts ignited a fire of vengeance deep inside the Vastaya woman... but Zelia knew better than to let her emotions rule her now. She had to stay focused, calm, calculated.
With a deep breath, Zelia forced herself to bury that sense of outrage beneath a sheet of icy coolness. She would have robbed anyone for a chance to escape this city. It was just a satisfying bit of irony that the person who held the key to her escape was the woman who deserved to be robbed the most.
Zelia fidgeted, her body trembling with anticipation. In the Undercity, staying still was usually a death warrant. The Vastaya had learned at a cruelly young age to keep moving, wits sharp and suspicions loaded. She wasn’t impatient, but being prone for even an instant wracked her body with nervous energy that demanded release. Bouncing from one foot to the other, her fists clenching and unclenching, Zelia watched the boxes being packed with growing anxiety. The rain continued its relentless assault, but it was the silence that gnawed at her—the absence of any sign that Rasco's men were about to make their move.
"Something's wrong," she muttered, her eyes darting around the courtyard. This was when Rasco had said they would act, wasn't it? Shouldn't she have seen some sign by now? The entire vault was nearly loaded onto the wagons. Her heart was speeding up by the second, the anticipation threatening to swallow her.
Come on, come on, come on…
Should she make her move without a distraction? The idea frightened her, but she knew she couldn't wait much longer.
Just as she was about to decide, a sharp pop echoed through the air, followed by a sudden burst of smoke from one of the balloons overhead. Zelia's eyes widened as the balloon exploded in a shower of dark, thick black smoke that cascaded down over the Kiramman mansion, blanketing it in an impenetrable haze. The rain seemed to intensify, but even its torrential force couldn't disperse the smoke, which clung to the air like a malevolent fog.
The silence was shattered, and voices rose in a chaotic maelstrom as confusion and alarm seized the courtyard. Zelia's eyes flicked to the balcony, but even through the smoke, she was pretty sure Caitlyn was no longer there. "Good enough," she whispered.
Zelia heard the muffled sounds of a fight erupting: a symphony of grunts, metal clashing against metal, and the occasional scream of agony. Rasco's goons were brawling with the Kiramman security and the laborers, and their desperation to intercept the vault was palpable.
For just a moment, Zelia hesitated. This was a point of no return. If she were seen, Rasco would absolutely kill her for trying to rip him off... and that was if she was lucky. The moment she went down there, she was committed to breaking away from the Thieves' Guild, and that made her pause... but she had spent too long dreaming, too long hoping for change that never came. Now, it was time to act.
Her resolve hardened. She had to get that key.
The blue-haired Vastaya quickly wrapped a cloth around her face, the rough fabric just enough to prevent her from inhaling too much of the acrid smoke billowing from the courtyard. The tendrils assaulted her eyes, blurring her vision, but she blinked rapidly, determined not to let them deter her.
With practiced precision, Zelia fed a rope through her fingers, feeling its weight and texture as she prepared for her descent. She dropped rapidly, her body moving like a shadow against the tower's surface, her tail flowing behind her through the smoke like a specter. Just as she neared the Kiramman estate walls, she flipped gracefully, kicking off the tower and cutting the rope in one smooth motion. The momentum carried her over the estate walls. She landed on the mansion's roof hard, rolling to absorb the impact of her rapid descent.
The impact rattled her bones and the roll left her dizzy, but Zelia couldn't afford to let that bother her right now. Instead, the Vastaya thief sprang to her feet and grabbed the balcony’s edge. With a powerful swing, she lowered herself down and landed silently on the very spot where Caitlyn had stood just moments earlier. The door into the house loomed before her, a barrier between her and her freedom.
She tried the handle, finding it locked—no problem. Zelia pulled out her lockpicks, the familiar steel reassuring in her hands. She worked swiftly, her fingers dancing over the intricate mechanisms of the masterwork lock. It opened with barely a delay, the latch’s soft click deafened by the noise. Then she slipped inside, leaving the men and women to fight below, unaware of the thief who had just infiltrated their prize.
Zelia ignored the cacophony, her focus laser-sharp as she prowled through the mansion. The key was precious to Caitlyn; she would keep it in her room. Rasco had said as much. Zelia had been pretty sure Caitlyn's balcony would connect right to it, and she had been right—this was obviously the place.
Now she just needed to find the key.
The Vastaya wasted no time, ripping drawers out and upending them with a fervor that belied her usual stealth. She wasn't especially concerned about being quiet; the chaos outside provided ample cover, and speed was all that mattered now. Contents spilled onto the floor in a clatter of papers and trinkets. Zelia's hands moved like lightning, sifting through the mess with desperate urgency.
Outside, the pop of gunfire joined the fray, signaling that the fight was escalating. It was getting messy out there, and Zelia didn't want to be here when the dust settled. She hurried up, ransacking the room with a fervor that bordered on frenzy.
Soon, Every drawer, every cabinet, every nook and cranny had been turned inside out, and still…no key. Caitlyn must have it hidden somewhere less obvious. Zelia looked around the room, blinking away the tears from the smoke, and tried to think like that hated Enforcer bitch. Where would she hide such a thing?
Scanning the room, her eyes caught details she had overlooked in her haste. The bed was neatly made, the vanity untouched, and the walls adorned with framed portraits of a woman in various stages of her life—not Caitlyn, it seemed, but her mother. Nothing seemed out of place. But that was the operative word, wasn’t it?
Pausing, the Vastaya closed her eyes and took a slow, shallow, smoke-clogged breath. She couldn’t inhale too deeply, but she forced herself to hold it for a few beats before slowly, methodically exhaling. It calmed her down a little. Let her refocus as she opened her eyes again.
Zelia might be a street urchin, but she had one thing that had always helped her survive in the Undercity: she paid attention to details. Starting over, she traced over the room piece by piece. The shelves full of trophies and knickknacks, probably stolen from decent, hardworking folk like her, gleamed under the dim light. She sneered at them, imagining the lives they represented—lives far removed from her own grim existence.
The closet door stood ajar, revealing an array of clothing, each piece more elaborate than the last. Zelia's gaze lingered on the chairs nearby where crumpled garments lay discarded, as if Caitlyn couldn't be bothered to fold them properly. It was a small, petty detail, but it spoke volumes about the woman's disregard for anything but her own comfort.
Her eyes moved to the bookshelves, filled with various pretentious-looking tomes that it was unlikely anyone actually read. Titles like "The Art of Governance" and "Philosophies of Progress" mocked her with their lofty ideals. Zelia snorted, imagining Caitlyn flipping through these books with feigned interest, trying to appear cultured and wise.
A board on the wall marked with pins and a map caught her eye, likely relevant to Caitlyn's upcoming trip but unimportant to the thief right now. Then on the next wall, there wa-
Despite herself, Zelia's eyes flickered back to the bookshelves. There were so many of them in the room. Rich people always loved surrounding themselves with books. They were like trophies to them—ornaments to display their supposed intellect and refinement. Zelia stared, thinking. Books like those could go one of two ways. Either these volumes were already devoured by their owners, reduced to useless carcasses on the shelf, or they had never been read, mere props to bolster an image of wisdom.
One thing both sets of books had in common, however, was that they weren't used. They sat on the shelf, forever frozen, gathering dust and serving no purpose other than to impress visitors. Following her instincts, Zelia pulled the cloth off her face, exposing herself to the acrid smoke. She walked up to the first bookcase and tried to ignore the sting as she took a deep breath. She coughed, of course, but past that, she smelled the thick scent of dust. It was overwhelming, cloying, and utterly unremarkable.
She moved on to the next one, repeating the process, and then again, and again, until one bookshelf smelled less of dust than the others. The difference was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Zelia's heightened senses caught it. This shelf had been disturbed recently.
Excited, Zelia's eyes scanned shelf by shelf, examining each book. Most people wouldn't heed such small details—most people, in Zelia's opinion, were idiots. She ran her fingers along the spines, feeling for any irregularities, any sign that one of these books had been disturbed more than the others.
Whoever cleaned this room wiped down the dust from the shelves... but not from between the books. They were much too lazy for that. And one particular shelf was less dusty than the rest... like the books were frequently moved. Zelia's heart raced as she focused on that shelf, her mind racing with possibilities. If Caitlyn was hiding something here, it had to be in a place she could access easily, without drawing attention.
Her eyes went title to title, scanning them... and settled on a book of Janna tales that didn't belong with the rest. What was a pretentious noble bitch like Caitlyn Kiramman doing with a bunch of Undercity Fairy Tales, anyway? The cover was worn, the edges frayed, as if it had been handled often. Pulse throbbing, throat sticky, she reached out and pulled it off the shelf.
The book should have been filled with stories of the wind goddess Janna, the woman who had banished the Gray from the Undercity. Instead, the book was way too light, and as she opened it and tilted it, a small, rectangular box the size of a pen fell out onto the palm of her hand. Zelia's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the object glinting in her hand—the Kiramman key. It was real, tangible, and within her grasp. Her fingers closed around it, and she felt a surge of triumph. This was it. This was her ticket out of the Undercity, away from Rasco, away from the Thieves Guild, away from everything that had held her back.
Zelia slipped the key into her pocket, her mind racing. She needed to get out of here, fast. The chaos outside was reaching its peak, and soon, someone would notice her absence. But for now, she had what she came for—
"How nice of you to find the key for us," a voice said from behind her.
Zelia whirled. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Rasco and two of his thugs had stepped into the room through the thick smoke... standing between her and the doorway with smug grins plastered across their faces. Rasco's beady eyes glimmered with satisfaction as he stepped forward, his thick fingers twitching with anticipation.
"Zelia, Zelia, Zelia," Rasco crooned, his voice dripping with mock concern. "You really aren't supposed to be here... and when we're done, we're going to have a long, involved conversation about your place in my guild."
Zelia backed away, hackles on her neck rising. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the weight of her precarious situation pressing down like a vice. She had to get out of here, had to get away. One of the thugs lunged forward, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her back against him. His grip was ironclad, pinning her in place as she struggled futilely.
"Let go of me!" Zelia snarled furiously, kicking at his leg.
The thug's grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh like shackles. His breath was hot against her ear, a rancid stench that made her stomach churn. "Shut up, girl," he whispered, his voice low and menacing. His other hand slid tauntingly slowly down her side. She stiffened, every muscle in her body tensing as his fingers brushed against her breast through the thin fabric of her black clothing. He squeezed hard, his touch invasive and demeaning.
Rasco sauntered over, his eyes never leaving Zelia's face. He reached out and patted her cheek, his touch making her skin crawl. "Such a clever little thief, aren't you? Always thinking you can outsmart me. But this time, you've gone too far."
"Get your hands off of me!" Zelia snarled, her voice a mix of fury and desperation. She twisted and kicked, but his grip only tightened further, holding her immobile. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in as if they, too, were conspiring against her. With a swift motion, Zelia reached into her boot and pulled out her knife, its blade glinting in the dim light. Rasco rapidly backed away, proving that the cowardly little eel was at least as cautious as he was predatory, but he wasn't her target anyway - Zelia sliced the blade along the thug's arm, the sharp edge cutting through skin and muscle with ease. He let out a pained grunt, his grip faltering just enough for her to wrench herself free.
The thug stumbled back and clutched his arm, blood trailing between stubby fingers as his eyes blazed with anger. "You little bitch," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I'm gonna show you the only things a furry Vastaya fucktoy is good for, Zelia... I'm going to teach you thoroughly, and I'm going to take my time with it!"
Zelia didn't wait to hear more... instead, she bolted for the door. Rasco stepped forward, blocking her path. His beady eyes shone with a mixture of amusement and malice.
"Going somewhere, Zelia?" he asked mockingly. "You really thought you could steal from me and just walk away? You're going to regret this."
Zelia's breath came in ragged gasps as she backed away, her eyes darting around the room for any possible escape route. The other thug moved to block the window, leaving her with no clear way out. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm and think.
Really though, there was only one option. Besides… what did she have to lose? Fail, she was fucked. Do nothing, still fucked. She had one chance, and she had to take it. With a sudden burst of speed, Zelia lunged at Rasco, aiming for his midsection. He barely had time to react, and she managed to knock him off balance, sending him crashing into a nearby table. The sound of breaking glass filled the room as the table collapsed under his weight.
Seizing the moment, Zelia darted past him. Behind her, Rasco’s thugs shouted, their footsteps pounding on the floor as they gave chase. Her heart raced for the door nearly faster than she did.
As she grabbed the handle, she heard a loud crash behind her. A quick glance told her that the second thug had tripped over the fallen table, giving her a precious few seconds to make her move. She yanked the door open and sprinted down the hallway, her boots pounding against the polished wood floors.
The mansion was a labyrinth of corridors and rooms, but Zelia knew she had to find a way out. She turned a corner, nearly colliding with another of Rasco's thugs. Bouncing off him, she changed direction, running, her mind focused on one thing: survival. The thugs were closing in, their voices growing louder with each passing second. She needed to lose them, to find a place to hide until she could make her escape. Her eyes scanned the hallway, searching for anything that could help her.
One of the doors beside her slammed open with a bang, and a red-haired woman in an Enforcer's uniform rushed in. Zelia's eyes flared as she recognized the familiar face.
Vi! The sight of a former Undercity-daughter-turned-Enforcer sent a jolt of resentment-tinged fear through Zelia, but there was no time to dwell on it. One of the Enforcers being here meant trouble.
Rasco and his thugs pelted into the hallway, one of them trying to get in Vi's way. With a swift motion, Vi punched him across the face, her fist connecting with a sickening crunch. The thug staggered back, dazed. Vi followed up with a powerful knee to his gut, sending him sprawling to the floor, gasping for breath.
Rasco, seeing the unexpected arrival, wasted no time. He bolted back and away, seeking another escape. Zelia had to admit that his bulky frame moved surprisingly fast when he was running away. Another thug, emboldened by desperation, lunged at Vi with a knife, aiming for her midsection.
Vi dodged the attack with cat-like agility. She grabbed the thug's wrist, twisting it until he dropped the knife with a cry of pain. A swift kick to his shin him to his knees, and Vi delivered a brutal uppercut that sent him reeling backward, unconscious.
Zelia watched in awe and terror as Vi dispatched the thugs with ease, but she didn't pause any longer. Unbidden hope surged into the Vastaya’s throat; this was her opportunity to get away with the key...
She ran. There was only one way she was getting out of here now... and it meant she needed to get back to that balcony.
Zelia sprinted through the mansion's hallways, breathing in ragged gasps. She retraced her steps back to Caitlyn's room, the chaos she had left behind still echoing through the corridors. The door was ajar and she burst through it, nearly tripping over the debris she had scattered earlier. Without pausing, she dashed onto the balcony, rain pelting her face, the damp air smelling like sweet, blissful freedom.
Instead of leaping down, Zelia searched for the gutter, grabbed hold with both hands and hauled herself up the slick metal, her body moving like a blur against the backdrop of the storm-lashed mansion. Every inch was a battle against gravity, and her fingers slipped more than once, but she climbed with the desperation of someone throwing their last silver on the gambling table.
As she reached the rooftop, Zelia hunched over, her breaths steaming in the air. Below, the chaotic symphony of clashing steel and shouted curses raged on. There hadn’t been much to be thankful for, but that was definitely one of them. Every minute it continued was a gift… it meant that much more time to slip away before Caitlyn—and now Vi, apparently—noticed the key was missing. But she couldn’t linger. Straightening, teeth grit as if that could ward away her exhaustion, Zelia sprinted across the roof, her feet barely touching the slick tiles.
"Stop right there!" a voice shouted.
Zelia's heart froze as she recognized Vi's commanding tone. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the red-haired Enforcer chasing after her, her movements more fluid and precise than her muscles would have said possible. Zelia cursed under her breath; this was not how she had envisioned her escape.
Ignoring Vi's order, Zelia pushed herself harder, her muscles burning with exertion. She reached the edge of the roof and didn't hesitate. With all her might, she vaulted off the ledge, her arms outstretched. For a split second, she felt suspended in mid-air, the ground far below her. Then her hands closed around the thick tree branch she had targeted, and she swung down, using the momentum to propel herself further.
To her astonishment, Vi followed suit, making the same daring leap. Zelia's eyes widened in disbelief as the Enforcer landed gracefully on the same branch, her form impeccable despite the risky maneuver. They raced down the tree, branch to branch, their movements almost synchronized. Zelia's pulse quickened, reacting to the urge simmering inside her; she had to stay ahead.
By the time they hit the ground, Zelia was only a few paces ahead. She didn't look back, her focus laser-sharp as she sprinted for the estate walls. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but she pushed on, driven by the thought of escape. Vi was barely behind her, threatening to eclipse her at any moment.
Zelia reached the wall just a few heartbeats before the Enforcer caught up. Her breath was ragged, like she was trying to draw air through one of Rasco’s tobacco pipes but she didn't dare slow down. The estate walls loomed ahead, a final barrier between her and freedom. She could hear Vi's footsteps closing in, each one a relentless drumbeat of pursuit.
"Stop!" Vi yelled again, her voice cutting through the rain-soaked air. "There's nowhere to go!"
Zelia didn't heed the command. Instead, she turned and flashed a triumphant smile at her pursuer. Between her teeth, she clenched the Kiramman Key, its cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her resolve. Vi stared as she recognized the object, and a low growl escaped her throat. "Give it back," she demanded, her voice a mix of frustration and urgency, betraying none of the alarm Zelia had seen shimmering in her eyes a second earlier.
She had no intention of complying. Not to Rasco. Not to Caitlyn. And certainly not to her.
"Your sister was quicker," she growled around the key. Then, with a single, deft motion, she reached into the shrub at her feet and yanked on the chem-balloon she had hidden there yesterday. It was a small, fragile thing, but one tug on the string, a sudden burst of igniting chemicals, and it expanded rapidly, shooting up into the air and pulling her with it like she was weightless.
"No!" Vi lunged forward, her hand outstretched, but the Enforcer was too slow. The balloon yanked Zelia high into the smoke-filled sky, the world below blurring into a swirl of gray and black. In an instant, she was above the fray, the mansion and its turmoil fading into the distance. Zelia grinned to herself, a sense of exhilaration coursing through her veins. She watched Vi grow smaller and smaller, a pinprick of red, blue, and gold smeared against a gloomy backdrop. The Vastaya didn’t have to be able to see her to know that the Enforcer was looking up, watching the thief drift away… knowing she had failed.
Serves her right, Zelia thought, the wind buffeting her back and forth. She laughed then, the sound a cocktail of relief and disbelieving triumph.
Heist successful. Now she just needed to get down...
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Vi kicked a scrap of metal that one of the thugs had dropped, sending it skittering past the Enforcers who were still arresting the remaining thugs. The clang reverberated through the otherwise silent courtyard, a stark reminder of the chaos they had just quelled. Her boot connected with the metal with more force than necessary, but she couldn’t help herself. Anger simmered beneath her skin, a relentless heat that threatened to consume her. In an irrational flash, Vi was pissed she hadn’t felt more resistance, like when her fist met a punching bag… or a particularly stupid thug’s jaw. Sighing, she looked around the courtyard.
The transports were still intact, and the archives remained unharmed... for now. But that wasn’t good enough. Her stomach felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, each step toward the mansion’s entrance dragging it downward. The guilt gnawed at her, a relentless beast that refused to be silenced. How could she have let this happen? How could she have failed Caitlyn, especially after everything Caitlyn had done for her?
She walked up the drive and in through the front door, but it wasn’t a door anymore, so much as a twisted slab of wood and metal dangling off its hinges. Stepping over its remains, her boots crunched on broken glass and debris, marking her path through the once-elegant foyer. More like a battlefield now, evidence of the struggle that had taken place here. Vi’s fists clenched at her sides. Her mind replayed the events of the night over and over again, each round only deepening her urge to punch the shit out of whoever was responsible.
Her eyes swept the room. Took in the destruction. The chandelier lay shattered on the marble floor, its crystals glittering like fallen stars. Paintings had been torn from their frames, their canvases slashed and ripped. The air smelled of smoke and sweat, an acrid reminder of the violence that had transpired here… but none of it compared to the feeling of failure crushing her chest.
Vi took the stairs two at a time, her heart roaring in her ears. She needed to see Caitlyn and make sure that she was alright after the chaos that had filled her home. She reached the top of the stairs and hurried down the hallway, her breath hitching as she approached Caitlyn’s room.
Pushing the door open, Vi was met with a scene of utter devastation. Caitlyn stood in the center of the chaos; her usually composed demeanor shattered like the glass around her. Her hands moved mechanically through the wreckage, picking up broken baubles, pieces of torn clothing and splintered furniture. Her remaining eye was wide with fury.
“I can’t believe this,” she growled quietly, her voice trembling. She held up a snow globe, its delicate figurine of the council building now cracked and useless. Caitlyn stared at it for several seconds, her expression softening as she spoke.
“All those late nights, the endless meetings, the compromises…” she trailed off, her voice simmering with exhaustion and frustration. “And this is what I get? This is what they do to everything I’ve worked for?”
Her words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. Vi watched, unable to speak past the knot in her throat. The moment seemed to stretch forever. Then, in an outburst of outrage, Caitlyn hurled the snow globe across the room. “I can’t believe I let this happen!” she yelled as it shattered against the wall just a few feet from Vi, sending shards of glass in every direction.
Vi flinched at the pain in Caitlyn’s eye, her heart aching at the sight of her so hurt. She took a step forward, her boots crunching on the debris a stark reminder of the night’s failures, but she hesitated, unsure what to say or do. The dumbbell of her guilt flattened her voice. All she could do was stand there, watching as Caitlyn sank onto her bed and seemed to sag, shoulders heaving in small, silent, and tearless sobs.
“It’s not your fault,” she finally said, her voice firm and resolute, cutting the silence. Vi stepped forward. “You’ve been working nonstop, Cupcake. This isn’t on you.” Her words were a shield, trying to deflect the blame away from Caitlyn… but even to her, they sounded hollow.
Caitlyn’s shoulders slumped as if the fight had drained from her. She held her head in her hands, fingers digging into her hair as she whispered, “The key is gone, Violet… they took it right from this room. My mother’s legacy… it’s gone.” The despair in her voice was like a dagger to Vi’s heart.
Vi sat beside her, arms wrapping around Caitlyn’s trembling form. “I know,” she murmured. “I chased the thief to the walls. A Vastaya woman. One of the..." Vi sighed, looking down, the word she was about to utter only piling onto her guilt. “...Jinxers. She took to the air."
"Then she got away with it." Caitlyn's voice was flat, almost dead.
"Doesn’t mean it’s lost forever,” Vi said, pressing her lips and teeth together.
Caitlyn looked up at Vi, her eyes red and puffy, a flicker of hope struggling to ignite within them. “What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vi’s resolve hardened. Softly, she kissed the side of Caitlyn's neck, her fingers twining between Caitlyn’s. She felt tension there and squeezed, waiting, supporting Caitlyn in all the ways words couldn’t. It took a moment, but finally, Vi felt a firm, reciprocal squeeze… and then Caitlyn’s fingers loosened. Only just. But right then, it was enough, and Vi released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding since she stepped into the room.
“We’re going to get it back,” she said, her tone brooking no doubt. “No matter what it takes, we’re going to bring it home.”
End of chapter 1
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