I land hard, but my knees absorb the impact easily enough. When I bounce back up, I’m already closing in on the brothel's wall, claws out and ready for the climb.

  It doesn’t even take a full two seconds for me to reach the second floor window, and I all but throw myself into the room, careless of how much noise I make. Nobody cared when the girl was screaming, so they won’t care if I make a bit of noise either.

  The room is fancier than I expected, all silk and candles. The canopy bed is dressed in dark, sensuous red, its bedside tables flickering with magical candlelight. An open wardrobe proudly displays lingerie that’s more costume than clothing.

  But the smell cuts through it all.

  There is smoke, sweat, and sex in the air—nothing like the perfume and incense I remember from before. It’s no wonder the window was open.

  Things must be really dire if Madam Yvonne let it go this far.

  Well, it doesn’t matter right now.

  Human Rogue

  Level 27

  The thug doesn’t even hear me coming for him, and I was quick enough that he’s still drunkenly fumbling with his belt. The girl catches sight of me mid-wail, her voice cutting off with a choked gasp.

  And angry as I am, and as much as I want to make him suffer for even threatening to do this to a woman, one glance at the working girl makes me reconsider. Even if he deserves it, she doesn’t.

  So I control myself, retracting my claws. I loop an arm around his neck and clamp his mouth shut with the other. He manages a muffled “Mmph!”, but I wrench his neck to the side with a powerful twist, replacing his voice with the sound of bones crunching.

  The girl stares at me with a mix of terror, shock, and relief, so once I finish lowering the corpse to the floor, I just hold my hands out where she can easily see them.

  I speak, low and calming, “It’s okay, I’m a friend. Are you hurt?”

  When she doesn’t respond, I check her level before approaching slowly.

  Human Entertainer

  Level 19

  I approach her like I’m approaching a frightened animal. When I’m close enough for us to touch, I offer one of my raised hands for her to grab.

  Surprisingly, she instantly places a hand in mine without speaking a word, just continuing to stare. She’s young—eighteen or nineteen, maybe—with a touch of softness still lingering in her features. Her dark blond hair falls just above her shoulders in soft curls, slightly tousled from the recent abuse.

  Her dress is stunning, though. It’s elegant but clearly designed to entice. Tight at the waist, dipping low at the chest, with slits running all the way up the sides that leave little to the imagination.

  But right now, none of that matters. She’s trembling, her wide eyes fixed on me with something that makes me hesitate. That’s when my Charisma all but shoves me into a realization. She’s not looking at me with terror or shock. It’s awe.

  That might be worse, in a way. I'm honestly not sure. Before anything else, I push a bit of Arcane Regulation into her and find that she isn’t too badly injured. Probably just some pulled muscles and a few scrapes and bruises, but that’s about it.

  It looks like she got slapped pretty hard, but that's the worst of it. A little gasp escapes her the moment I push all of my regeneration her way. Even if the skill reduces the effect on others by ninety-five percent, she was still getting over 700 health regeneration per minute from me.

  “Thank you,” she says, breaking the silence.

  Her voice is sweet. I’m not sure if there is any other way to describe it. It was like a spoonful of honey, but for the ears.

  Entertainer Classes are weird.

  “You’re welcome. What’s your name?”

  “Nyria,” she answers instantly, as if she was waiting for me to ask.

  “Could you tell me what’s going on here? Where’s Madam Yvonne? What’s with the thugs?” I ask.

  I needed to know more before doing anything else. Hells, I’d just killed a man in cold blood and there's no way that'll go unpunished if this place is filled with others like him.

  “It’s the Ratweavers gang. After the update introduced criminal Professions, they all started leveling up a lot faster. They took over and forced Yvonne to work under them,” she says, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “She’s tried to keep us safe, but they keep getting stronger.”

  The Update, again. It both was and wasn’t my fault, in a way. I have no idea how the Update even got started, only that it probably had something to do with that strange red arcanite and the runes around it. That is, if I wasn’t already delirious and hallucinating from blood loss by then.

  But everything that’s fallen apart seems to be able to point to the Update as the cause, and I felt responsible.

  So I had to fix it.

  I realize I’d been quiet for a bit, off in my own thoughts, so I ask, “What’s their average levels? Who’s the strongest?”

  She looks thoughtful for a moment, seemingly much calmer now that she’s safe and actively talking.

  “I think their average is around level twenty-five, but Jory is level forty-nine. I overheard him ranting about not being able to evolve…” she says. “Oh! And there’s Hogart and Tristy. They’re both level forty-three and practically always by his side.”

  “Classes?” I ask distractedly.

  My mind is already buzzing with ideas on how to deal with them. Almost all of the plans involved fighting them, but one was peaceful. Unlikely to succeed, but still. I’d try it first.

  Besides... it'll be fun.

  At the thought, I’m surprised by the flush of excitement that courses through me. I feel it as Fae Ferocity activates again, gleefully nudging me into action.

  Play.

  Well then. I guess I really will have some fun with it.

  “Uh… Well, Jory is a Rogue, some kind of duelist I think. Tristy is a Rogue as well, but she’s more the daggers-in-the-dark type. Hogart is just a brute. What are you going to do? If you don’t mind me asking,” she says, her voice becoming hesitant.

  Her question snaps me back to the moment. It’s an important question for her, and I can tell she’s struggling with a mix of concern and hope thanks to my appearance.

  “I’m going to stop them, same as I stopped him,” I say, nudging the dead thug on the ground with a heel.

  “But—”

  “I’m only level twenty?” I interrupt, already knowing what’s on her mind.

  When she nods, I ask, “Do you know who the Strikers are?”

  My question throws her off, but she nods anyways.

  “Well, I fought Darius one on one and won earlier today,” I say, holding up my Delver badge. “He was my tester. And I don’t mean I just passed the test—I mean I won. I knocked him out.”

  I was trying to offer her some measure of comfort after her ordeal, and I expected to have to defend my claim somehow. But instead of skepticism or disbelief, what I see confuses me. Her eyes sparkle with hope and a newfound admiration so intense that I almost take a step back.

  “Are you serious?!” she hisses, leaning closer.

  The moment I nod, she crashes into me with a hug. I could have stopped her, but I could tell she wasn’t trying to hurt me in any way. So I just let it happen. It was somewhat awkward for me, but after what she just went through I figure a hug is the least I can do to comfort her.

  Plus, she's a surprisingly good hugger. Or maybe not so surprisingly, given her job. Ugh, whatever.

  Eventually, she steps back and grins at me.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  I raise a brow at that.

  “Nothing, really,” I say, her mouth already open to object. It snaps shut an instant later when I speak up again, having just thought of something, “Actually, I need the other working girls out of the way. Can you gather them here? As many as you can, and discreetly.”

  She just grins.

  Not long after, I’m crawling out the window. I make sure to take the dead thug with me so that anyone she brings in here doesn't get a face-full of corpse. I’m on the ground in seconds, covered in darkness.

  When she stopped peeking out the window and vanishes back into the room, I quickly store the body in my bangle. There just wasn’t any good reason to leave it on the ground.

  Other than not liking the idea of having bodies in my storage item. But that was something I could live with. Getting executed for murder isn't.

  I double check my Status before moving on, quickly deciding to dump all twenty-nine free stat points I have into Dexterity. I figure that if I'm going to be outnumbered, I’ll need to be as fast as possible to avoid getting overwhelmed.

  Status:

  Name - Emilia

  Race - Faefox

  Age - 20

  Level - 20

  Health - 4260/4260

  Health Regen - 1110 per minute

  Mana - 21,840/21,840

  Stored - 43,680/43,680

  Mana Regen - 13,706 per minute

  Stats

  Strength - 106 (319)

  Constitution - 106 (319)

  Dexterity - 302 (906)

  Intelligence - 220 (441)

  Wisdom - 546 (1092)

  Charisma - 106 (213)

  Available Stat Points - 0

  I can’t help but grin at the sight. With Fae Ferocity and Enhance Body combined, my stats are a bit insane. So far as I’m concerned, if it’s enough for Darius, it’s enough for some Tier Zero thugs.

  I mentally offer a quick apology to Cari for what I’m about to put her clothes through, before stepping out of the alley and making my way to the front entrance. This late at night, the doors are wide open and inviting.

  With the help of Charisma and a firm will to shove any embarrassment aside for now, I put a bit of a sway into each step. Tail swishing, I waltz right in as if I own the place.

  The main lobby is almost as beautiful as I remember it. The theme of silk and sensuality is as present here as the room from before, with nearly every surface covered by enticingly soft fabrics of dark reds and even darker purples. Even the carpet, a rich mix of the two colors in a beautiful floral pattern, seems to caress around my sandals, tickling the edges of my feet.

  In the center of the room is a large semi-circular counter made of a dark, polished wood—but what really catches my eyes is the woman standing behind it. She’s stunningly beautiful, even when her face is twisted in a mix of concern and horror the moment she sees me.

  Human Entertainer

  Level 33

  Her long black hair tumbles in sleek waves down her back, framing a face that’s all sharp cheekbones and sultry eyes that shine with intelligence beneath the worry. The royal purple dress she wears clings to her like it’s a part of her skin, and seems cut to emphasize every curve without crossing into exhibitionism. Slits run along her thighs, and the neckline plunges just enough to leave my imagination hungry.

  But the beauty of it all is tainted by the presence of two dozen or so thugs carefully watching everyone within. They even carefully watch the working girls as they bustle about, serving drinks and flirting with any customer they interact with.

  Most lose interest in me immediately, their attention returning to the customers and working girls. But a few blatantly leer at me.

  I pretend to not notice.

  “Hello, and welcome to The Enchanting Embrace. How can I help you today?” the receptionist asks once I reach the counter.

  Her initial reaction to the sight of me is hidden behind a demure smile, showing a level of control that I’m almost jealous of. Still, my Charisma was no slouch, and with it being doubled by Fae Ferocity I was going to take full advantage of it. I have a role to play.

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  My tail almost betrays my excitement at the fun I’m about to have.

  “Ah, yes, I’m looking for Madam Yvonne. She and I have business to discuss,” I say with just a touch of self importance.

  At that, her mask cracks, showing the fear in her eyes. She hides it just as quickly as it appears, though, and as she opens her mouth to respond, she’s interrupted. One of the thugs that’s been all but stripping me with their eyes has finally arrived at my side.

  “I can help you with that,” he says, leaning in close enough that his breath warms my cheek. He inhales deeply, taking in my scent, and with his exhale says, “For a price.”

  Human Fighter

  Level 36

  My body wars with the urge to slap him and shiver with disgust, but I restrain myself. This is the chance I was waiting for, and is my best shot at getting Jory down here. So, I push the creep with my play-acting.

  My eyes rove disdainfully up and down his body before I wave him away dismissively.

  “You? Help me? Ridiculous. Now shoo, the adults are talking,” I say, my attention already back on the receptionist.

  His reaction is exactly what I was hoping for.

  “I wasn’t askin’,” he snarls into my ear before grabbing my hair and yanking.

  Sadly, even with my stats as high as they are, I still weigh next to nothing compared to him. And while I was specifically waiting for him to put his hands on me, I was not expecting him to do that. My head gets jerked back roughly, throwing me off balance for a fraction of a second.

  In an instant, I’m filled with blind rage, and I move.

  My right fist snaps out with full force and empowered by both Arcane Strike and Bloodmist Fist. I know it’s overkill, but at the moment I’m so infuriated that I couldn’t care less. It connects, instantly shattering the joint of his shoulder from below.

  The attack is so quick that I doubt he even saw it happen, but I don’t let up. Before he can even start to scream, my second attack lands, my left fist crushing his throat and instantly silencing him. He swings madly with his other arm, an act of desperation to get me away from him, but I just duck under it before snapping a kick into his left knee.

  It buckles under the force, and when he starts to fall I catch him by the throat, keeping him eye level with myself. I know I need him alive for this to work, but it’s a struggle to push back the embers of wrath within me.

  I manage. Barely.

  Who the fuck pulls on a woman's hair like that out of nowhere?

  I use Arcane Regulation to heal his throat just enough so that he won’t suffocate or bleed out. When he tries to scream again, I tighten my grip, strangling the noise before it escapes.

  Then, I start the act in full.

  “Ahem. Yes, well, as it turns out, neither was I. Now then, Miss Receptionist, this is absolutely unacceptable! I demand to speak to—” I pause for a moment to swat the thug's still functioning arm away, mid attack. “—Madam Yvonne. She is your manager, yes?”

  She nods, twitching at the sound of the man's strangled scream as I break his functioning arm. Her mask of professionalism is completely shattered now. Instead, she stares at me with open terror.

  “Good! Then run along! I cannot believe this is how you would treat a customer in your establishment! She and I will have words!”

  The girl splutters out a quick response as she whirls and runs up the stairs to one side of the counter. “Y-yes, of course, my Lady. If you’ll, uh, excuse me, I’ll fetch her right away!”

  Once she’s gone, I speak up to the rest of the room. Most of the customers have already made their way out after the violence started, but the working girls are still there, staring at me in open shock.

  And they need to not be.

  “It’s so lovely to meet you all. I’m ‘E’, the new Enforcer. Girls, go to room 6-B and speak with Nyria. She and I had the chance to speak earlier, and I made myself very clear on what I expect from you all going forward. She’ll fill you in,” I say.

  When they look at me in confusion, I let the mask of restraint crack a little.

  “Now!” I roar, my voice cracking like thunder through the room.

  They scramble into motion, frantically running up the stairs and disappearing behind the balcony guard-rail. I keep up the act and glare at the thugs until the last girl is gone. To my delight, each one my eyes land on shifts uneasily or refuses to meet my gaze.

  Then I clear my throat loudly and make a show of tidying myself up, smoothing an imperceptible crinkle on my top and flicking my hair back before donning a new mask. One of serene calm, with a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

  I might need to increase Charisma more. This is fun.

  My image is tainted by the broken, whimpering man dangling from my right arm, but I ignore that, certain that I’ve properly unnerved my spectators. I stay like that for several minutes, unmoving, watching the stairs. The men around the room shuffle from foot to foot, their anxiousness visibly increasing with every minute that goes by.

  Suddenly, the quiet shuffling is interrupted by the click-clacking of fast moving heels, as the receptionist quickly descends the balcony stairs to meet me, panting heavily.

  “I apologize for the wait, my Lady! It will only be a moment more,” she says between gasps.

  “Thank you! Now, off you go; join the other girls in room 6-B. A lot of changes are coming, and you need to be made aware of them. Nyria will ensure that you are,” I say, my voice commanding, brooking no argument.

  Then, in barely a whisper, I continue, “Quick. This’ll be messy. Take any girl you find with you.”

  The idiot thug that attacked me starts struggling furiously in my hand, and I just tighten my grip even more, my claws puncturing flesh just enough to send a message. He stills immediately, and my eyes never leave the girl before me, and I watch as she looks between me and the thug, realization slowly dawning in her eyes.

  Her eyes widen in terror as she finally understands, but before she can move, new footsteps ring out from the balcony.

  “Get behind the desk. Now,” I hiss.

  She moves quickly, trying to seem professional but not quite succeeding. She makes it just in time, as a loud voice rings out from the balcony.

  “I must apologize for keeping you waiting, dearest customer,” a man says, his voice rich and smooth with a lazy kind of charm. He descends the stairs at a casual pace, and I focus on him.

  Human Rogue

  Level 49

  I know instantly that this must be Jory.

  He looks like a street-rats idea of nobility. All sharp angles and smug confidence, with just enough tousle in his dark hair to seem effortless. His shirt’s open low enough to suggest it’s deliberate, a silver chain glinting at his collar. Paired with fitted black pants and polished boots, he’s the picture of wealth and arrogance.

  I’ll admit, if I were into men, he’d pique my interest in the “I’m dangerous and we'll both like it” sort of way. As it stands though, all I see is swagger.

  I shift my attention to the two behind him.

  Human Fighter

  Level 43

  Human Rogue

  Level 43

  Hogart and Tristy. They are significantly less impressive. Hogart is, unsurprisingly, the walking definition of a brute. What does surprise me is that he’s somehow even bigger than Scruffy.

  I wonder for a moment how humans can even get that big, but I shake the thought off. Now's not the time.

  Tristy is… well, she looks like a knock-off version of Derek from The Strikers. Black leather, shady hood, daggers everywhere—but terrible posture.

  None of that matters though. What matters is that my plan worked. They’re all here.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” Jory continues. “I am Jory Sinest, owner of this fine establishment," he says with a light bow.

  “Owner? What nonsense. Where is Madam Yvonne?” I say, never breaking character.

  "Ah, unfortunately she is no longer the one in charge here. She decided to allow me to run this fine establishment, you see," he says with a malicious grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you, you know. The debacle with the guards this morning was quite a juicy morsel of gossip. But I must say, the rumors hardly did you justice. Far from an escaped tunnel beast, you’re more akin to a Goddess of beauty,” he says, his voice an immaculate blend of reverence and veiled desire.

  My mask cracks ever so slightly at the seemingly genuine compliment, a blush creeping its way onto my cheeks. It takes nearly every ounce of willpower to control my tail, and what’s left of my mental fortitude struggles with maintaining my composure.

  It was easy to ignore the ogling of others around me because I’d done it my entire life. But his words make me think back, and in hindsight I can definitely see that the looks I’ve been getting since my return were decidedly not the looks of disgust I’d grown so used to.

  In retrospect, I knew that already. I just... blocked it out. Sure, Cari called me all kinds of pretty; but she wasn’t actually attracted to me.

  This is totally different. I don’t even like men, and still my heart flutters. Being desired is… weird. My mask may still be mostly intact, but my thoughts are rioting, the idea of actually attracting a girlfriend being the most pervasive.

  Ugh, not the time!

  To my great shame, the smirk on Jory’s face tells me that he noticed my reaction, and he continues before I manage to gather my scattered thoughts. “It was brought to my attention that one of my employees has displeased you? Might I hear what happened?”

  “Well, I have quite a few complaints, now. First, this man here—” I say, shaking the thug vigorously, “—decided to attack me while I was talking with that lovely receptionist.

  "You see, I have been away from home for some time now, and when I returned, what I saw was… upsetting,” I say, my smile cracking slightly at the memory of this place.

  Then I start ranting. “And the crux of my issues seems to reside with you and these thugs. The fact that you're here in the first place is beyond ridiculous! I will have words with Yvonne for allowing so much filth to enter this place. Absolutely disgusting. Some fool of a trumped up guttersnipe thinks he's the owner? Hah! I will have to force her to take back control, after I'm done with her, so she can return this place back to its former glory."

  As I monologue, his smile falters. When I'm done, he just stares at me for a second before his professional posture slumps.

  “Seriously? That’s what this farce is?” he asks with a disappointed sigh.

  Finally.

  I didn't expect my little tirade to actually convince him to give the place up, but there was the tiniest, most insignificant chance that he might have. But now that I'm certain he won't, I can really begin.

  With a grin, I end the act, my voice now sickeningly sweet. “I heard your little gang has something to do with the mess here and around the city. You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”

  He seems to stiffen with the sudden change, then laughs.

  “Ha! You’re funny. What are you? Some guard's lapdog? You should have taken a look around,” he says mockingly, motioning to the nearly two dozen thugs around the room. He points above his head. "Have you even checked our tags? What, exactly, do you think is going to happen here?"

  Instead of responding, I nod my head towards my captive, indicating he should look.

  “You beat one of my bruisers. How impressive,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to meet with Yvonne? Fine then. You can join her in decorating my office."

  He snaps his fingers, and the thugs stationed all throughout the room start to close in.

  I start slowly clenching my hand currently wrapped around the thug's throat, his blood gushing freely now as my claws dig inexorably through flesh. He starts frantically kicking me with his last good leg, then starts even using his broken limbs to attack, injuring himself further as he frantically attempts to save his own life.

  I ignore it all, never shifting my gaze from Jory. I don’t even blink as blood explodes from his throat in spurts, timed to match his racing heart. In just a few seconds, it’s done. My hand is a tightly balled fist, held in the air exactly where the man's throat once was as he falls to the ground.

  Now the only sound in the room is the gurgling gasps from the twitching heap on the floor as he dies, every thug having paused to look on in horror.

  “Capture her. I want her alive,” he says.

  The room around me explodes into movement, and I enact another bit of trickery.

  Using Willpower’s second milestone, I rip the mana out of the lights all throughout the space, plunging us into complete darkness. When it actually works, my laughter breaks through the shouts of surprise and anger, the sharp yips bouncing off the walls.

  Then, I begin in earnest.