The morning air hung thick over Xylodia, the city caught in the space between waking life and the remnants of the night’s secrets. The market district was beginning to stir—merchants setting up their stalls, beggars creeping from their hidden corners, and traders barking the first of their daily deals. The slums, however, were different today.

  Orion noticed it first.

  The usual energy of the lower district was gone. No drunkards groaning in the alleys, no street kids sprinting between buildings, no early morning fights over scraps. Instead, there was a stillness, something unnatural. The quiet before a storm.

  As he and his crew moved toward Farrow’s Pawnshop, their boots scuffing over uneven stone, Orion's golden eyes flicked to the side streets, watching the empty windows and half-open doors where faces should have been. It wasn’t right.

  Something had changed.

  Behind him, Kannie and Tara walked ahead, carrying the loot from last night’s job—a collection of gold trinkets, fine fabrics, and a noble’s signet ring swiped straight from the mansion’s vault. It was a clean job, and Farrow always paid well, but Orion’s gut twisted with unease.

  Nerpheus, Gabriel, Ra, and Tsuki followed closely, their conversation light but edged with caution. Even Gabriel, the usual instigator of jokes, kept his voice lower than usual.

  “Why’s it so dead out here?” Ra muttered, his emerald-green eyes scanning the rooftops. His muscular frame was tense, built for a fight, though none had come yet.

  Orion didn’t answer. He didn’t like guessing.

  The pawnshop stood on the edge of the district, its weathered wooden door and rusted metal sign swaying slightly in the breeze. A familiar place, one that had always been safe until today.

  When they reached the entrance, Orion gestured to Tara and Kannie.

  “Go inside,” he ordered. “Handle business.”

  Tara nodded, adjusting her grip on the sack of stolen goods before stepping through the door. Kannie followed, her rabbit-like ears twitching slightly as she disappeared into the shop.

  Farrow liked the girls.

  That was fine.

  Orion kept his eyes on the street outside, scanning the corners, the alleyways.

  And then, the people began to gather.

  At first, it was just a few—a handful of men lingering too long at the corner, others standing too still near the market stalls. But then, more came. Dozens. And they weren’t merchants.

  Orion’s golden eyes narrowed.

  They didn’t look like common thieves, nor like simple street thugs. They stood in formation, their hands drifting to the hilts of weapons, their expressions sharp with intent.

  This wasn’t an accident.

  This was a trap.

  Inside the Pawnshop: Violence Erupts

  Tara and Kannie stepped up to the counter, where Farrow leaned lazily on his elbows. His long, greasy hair was tied back, and his eyes ran over them with the same sleazy interest as always.

  “Well, well,” Farrow grinned, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface. “My favorite girls.”

  Tara wasted no time, pulling out the bag of stolen goods and dumping them onto the counter. “The haul from last night. Good quality. Pay up.”

  Farrow barely looked at the items, his beady eyes locked on Kannie instead.

  “You should stick around here, little rabbit.” His voice dripped with amusement. “I could keep you safe.”

  Kannie frowned. “Safe from what?”

  Farrow’s grin widened, a sick glint flashing in his gaze. “From what’s about to happen.”

  And then, four men stepped from the backroom.

  Orion heard the scream before he saw the fight begin.

  His body moved before his mind caught up, his instincts kicking in as he snapped to Tsuki and Nerpheus.

  “Go. Now.”

  The two were already in motion.

  Tsuki kicked the pawnshop door open with enough force to splinter the wood, his silver eyes flashing with fury.

  Inside, Farrow had Kannie by the arm, his grip tight and possessive. The four men who had emerged were already advancing toward Tara.

  That was the last thing they ever did.

  Tsuki moved like a beast let off its chain.

  His first strike shattered a man’s ribs, folding him like paper. The second barely had time to draw his knife before Tsuki caved his face in with a devastating elbow.

  Nerpheus moved like water, fluid and precise. From the pouch on his belt, he flicked his hand—a thin stream of water curling into a whip, slicing the air before wrapping around the throats of the two remaining men. He yanked hard. The men’s heads cracked together, their bodies slumping.

  Farrow, caught off guard, barely had time to register what was happening before Kannie growled, “Get your dirty hands off me.”

  Her rabbit-like legs coiled, the muscles rippling with raw power.

  And then she kicked him.

  The impact sent Farrow flying backward into the remaining bodies, his arm and ribs shattering instantly on impact. He crashed against the shelves, sending items tumbling as he howled in agony.

  Kannie flicked her ears, brushing off the dust from her feet. “Creep.”

  The Battle Outside

  The moment the fight inside erupted, the ambush outside ignited into chaos.

  Jace’s men rushed forward, and the group met them head-on.

  Gabriel’s fists crackled with electricity, and when he punched the nearest enemy in the gut, a violent arc of blue lightning sent the man spasming to the ground.

  Ra slammed into two opponents at once, lifting one clean off the ground by the throat before throwing him into a market stall.

  Nerpheus, now outside, twirled his water whip in fluid, controlled strikes, knocking away blades and sweeping legs from under attackers.

  Orion fought like a phantom, dodging, weaving, striking with surgical precision.

  But there were too many of them.

  Dozens. More than expected.

  And Orion still didn’t know why.

  The slums of Xylodia’s Old Business District had always been a place of violence and power. Those who ruled here did so with their fists, not their words. Orion had humiliated Jace at the docks, and now, that insult was being answered.

  Orion and his crew had already fought their way through waves of Jace’s men, but the moment the dust settled, the real threat appeared.

  From the alleyways, from the shadows, from abandoned storefronts, figures stepped forward. These weren’t the usual street thugs.

  These were fighters.

  The bruisers of the Old Business District slums, the ones called upon when intimidation wasn’t enough.

  These were the real muscle, the ones Jace relied on when intimidation alone wasn’t enough. Fighters, brawlers, enforcers—young men, all between sixteen and eighteen, hardened by life in the slums and trained to fight in the dirtiest ways possible.

  At the center of it all stood Silas.

  He was broad-shouldered and built like a fortress, his body scarred from years of street fights and back-alley brawls. His most distinctive feature was the scar running from his jaw to his temple.

  And unlike the others, Silas wasn’t grinning.

  He wasn’t here to play.

  As the dust settled and Orion and his crew caught their breath, Silas cracked his knuckles, his piercing gaze locking onto Orion.

  “You really should’ve kept your head down, kid.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a promise of violence.

  Orion narrowed his eyes but didn’t reply.

  Silas continued, his lips curling into something resembling amusement. “You were lucky I wasn’t there that day at the docks. If I had been?” He shrugged, his heavy shoulders rising. “You’d be dead.”

  Silas wasn’t bluffing. He was Jace’s enforcer, the one who made sure order was kept. Unlike the wild and reckless Jace, Silas was cold, methodical, and deadly.

  Ra stepped forward without hesitation, rolling his neck.

  “I’ll handle this,” he muttered.

  Orion glanced at him but said nothing. He knew that tone.

  Ra had already made up his mind

  The moment Silas moved, Ra knew something was wrong.

  It wasn’t just his size—broad shoulders, solid frame, the kind of build that looked carved from stone—it was the way he moved.

  Fast. Too fast.

  Ra barely had time to take a defensive stance before Silas was already on him, closing the gap in an instant.

  A fist like a hammer swung toward Ra’s head, the air cracking from the sheer force behind it.

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  Ra reacted on instinct alone, tilting his body to the side just enough to avoid a direct hit—but even that wasn’t enough.

  The punch grazed his cheek, but the force behind it sent him stumbling sideways.

  His footing barely adjusted before—

  BAM!

  Silas’ knee slammed into his ribs, the impact sending a shockwave of pain through Ra’s entire torso.

  Ra’s breath left him in a sharp gasp, his vision blurring for a second as he staggered back.

  That hurt.

  That really hurt.

  Silas didn’t stop.

  He was already following up, his fists a blur, his movements too sharp, too practiced.

  Ra tried to regain his stance, but Silas was relentless.

  A left hook slammed into his side, knocking him further off balance.

  A brutal uppercut crashed against his stomach, making his muscles seize from the pain.

  And then—

  CRACK!

  Silas’ elbow smashed into Ra’s jaw, snapping his head to the side.

  Ra’s ears rang, his vision darkening for a split second.

  He felt his own blood on his tongue.

  Silas didn't let up.

  Another fist drove into Ra’s stomach, and this time, the impact forced Ra to double over, gasping for air.

  Silas grinned, eyes cold.

  "You're slow," he said. Then he grabbed Ra by the back of his shirt.

  Before Ra could react—he was lifted off his feet.

  Then—

  SLAM!

  His back crashed into the ground, dirt and dust flying from the impact.

  Ra tried to push himself up, but—

  A boot stomped down onto his chest.

  Hard.

  Pain exploded through Ra’s ribs. He gasped, teeth clenched, his fingers digging into the dirt beneath him.

  Silas stared down at him, his scarred face emotionless.

  "You thought you could fight me?" he scoffed. "You're nothing special."

  Ra's mind was spinning, his body aching from the blows. He had never felt this much force behind someone’s hits before.

  Every punch, every strike had been measured—not wild, not uncontrolled.

  Silas was a fighter through and through.

  The bruisers of the Old Business District weren’t like the thugs Orion had taken down before.

  These were the real enforcers—the ones who handled the fights that mattered.

  And Ra was losing.

  Silas lifted his foot off Ra’s chest.

  "Get up," he said. "If you're gonna talk big, at least make this interesting."

  Ra gritted his teeth, pushing himself up, his body screaming in protest.

  His ribs ached, his jaw throbbed, and his lungs felt tight, compressed from the hits.

  But he wasn't done.

  Not yet.

  Ra launched himself forward, throwing a punch straight for Silas’ face.

  Silas moved effortlessly, weaving to the side.

  Ra’s punch hit nothing but air.

  And before he could recover—

  Silas’ fist drove into his ribs again, then another punch to his side, then a kick straight into his gut.

  Each hit landed with terrifying accuracy, like he was playing with him.

  Ra coughed, stumbling back, his breath ragged.

  "Is that all you got?" Silas asked, voice mocking.

  Ra's fists clenched.

  His muscles burned. His mind raced.

  He couldn't match Silas' speed. Couldn't match his technique.

  For the first time in his life, Ra felt something he wasn't used to feeling.

  Helpless.

  Silas stepped forward again, raising his fists.

  "You should’ve stayed out of this," he said. "Now you're just another body in the dirt."

  Ra looked at him, breathing hard, every nerve in his body screaming.

  And then—

  Something shifted.

  It wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just frustration.

  It was something deeper.

  Something buried inside him.

  The last time he had felt like this—

  That day.

  The day he and Orion had gone after that dealer.

  The one who sold his mother the poison that killed her.

  Ra had gone back for revenge.

  And something had woken up inside him.

  Just like now.

  His body burned.

  His vision sharpened.

  He felt weightless and heavy at the same time.

  He didn’t know what was happening.

  But everyone else did.

  Because around his bruised and battered form, a faint green glow began to shimmer.

  Orion’s eyes widened.

  “What the hell…?”

  Kannie’s ears twitched. “Ra…?”

  Even Silas paused, watching the change.

  Ra barely noticed.

  He just felt hot.

  His muscles felt lighter. His breathing steadied.

  Silas, however, wasn’t impressed.

  Instead, he grinned.

  “Alright, then,” he muttered. “Let’s see what this is.”

  Silas’ body glowed faintly, his body enforcement magic surging.

  This time, he moved even faster, closing the distance instantly.

  Ra saw it coming.

  And he moved.

  For the first time, he dodged before Silas even finished his attack.

  Silas’ fist slammed into nothing but air.

  Ra twisted mid-motion, his own punch driving straight into Silas’ ribs.

  The impact sent a shockwave through the air.

  Silas staggered back, eyes wide in shock.

  Ra didn’t stop.

  He followed up—a kick to the side, a fist to the chest, another strike that knocked Silas’ head back.

  Silas was on the defensive now.

  His body enforcement magic was powerful—but Ra was moving differently now.

  Faster. Sharper. More precise.

  Silas wiped blood from his lip.

  And then—

  He laughed.

  “Oh, hell yes.”

  He charged forward again, and this time, it was a true fight.

  Fist met fist.

  Kick met kick.

  Every impact sent dust and debris flying.

  It wasn’t like before.

  Now, they were even.

  Blow for blow. Strike for strike.

  Neither backing down.

  Neither willing to lose.

  Ra and Silas were locked in a whirlwind of fists and kicks.

  They moved too fast for the normal eye to track—a brutal, high-level battle that had long surpassed the average street brawl.

  Their blows met in the air, shockwaves cracking the ground beneath them.

  Each strike sent vibrations through the street, the sheer power of their battle forcing others to keep their distance.

  But the rest of the bruisers weren’t going to stand and watch.

  A gruff voice from their ranks barked a command.

  “Take out the rest of them! NOW!”

  And then—

  The slums exploded into violence

  Orion didn't hesitate.

  The moment the bruisers charged, his dagger was already in motion.

  The first man lunged at him, a thick-armed brute swinging a rusted iron club, aiming to take Orion’s head off with a single blow.

  Too slow.

  Orion dropped low, his body twisting like a serpent. The club whistled over his head, hitting nothing but air—

  And then his dagger flashed.

  SHLICK!

  A clean, precise slash across the bruiser’s chest.

  Deep. Fatal.

  Blood sprayed into the air.

  And yet—

  The man didn’t stop.

  His snarling grin remained, even as his chest bled freely. His muscles twitched, but there was no pain, no hesitation.

  Orion’s golden eyes narrowed.

  What the hell did they take?

  No time to think.

  The second bruiser was already attacking, his fists swinging like hammers.

  Orion twisted sideways, dodging one, then another. His dagger whipped out, aiming for the bruiser’s exposed ribs—

  But the third man was already charging from behind, a blade flashing toward Orion’s back.

  Orion’s instincts screamed.

  His body moved before his mind did—

  He jumped.

  The third bruiser’s dagger stabbed into nothing but air.

  Orion flipped over him, his boots planting against the bruiser’s shoulders—

  Then—

  CRACK!

  Orion launched off him, using the momentum to flip high above the battlefield, his golden eyes scanning the chaos below.

  Six men.

  All surrounding him.

  Each one built like a warrior, their movements too controlled for street thugs.

  And they weren’t slowing down.

  Their wounds?

  Useless against them.

  Pain meant nothing to them.

  Orion exhaled sharply as he landed, his dagger spinning between his fingers.

  “Fine,” he muttered.

  “Let’s do this the hard way.”

  The moment Orion's feet touched the ground, three bruisers attacked at once.

  The first swung wide, trying to crush him with sheer brute strength.

  Orion sidestepped effortlessly, his blade whipping upward—

  SHLICK.

  A clean slash across the throat.

  The man’s eyes widened, blood pouring from his neck—

  But even as his body collapsed, his face remained locked in a grin.

  The second bruiser lunged forward, swinging a broken steel pipe.

  Orion caught the movement in the corner of his eye, his body already shifting—

  Too slow.

  The pipe whistled through the air, inches from his ribs—

  Orion dropped to his knees, sliding under the swing, then kicked out with all his strength.

  CRACK!

  His foot collided with the bruiser’s kneecap, snapping it backward.

  A normal man would have screamed in agony.

  The bruiser?

  He just kept coming.

  Orion rolled forward, avoiding a second attack—

  And then, in one swift motion, he drove his dagger upward.

  Straight through the bruiser’s jaw, piercing his skull.

  Instant kill.

  Orion yanked the blade free, spinning on his heel—

  But the third bruiser was already there.

  A massive arm wrapped around his throat, crushing him like a steel vice.

  Orion gasped, his air supply cut off.

  The bruiser’s voice was a low growl.

  “Let’s see you dance now, kid.”

  Orion’s vision blurred, his body struggling against the chokehold.

  Too strong. Too tight.

  His fingers tightened around his dagger, but he couldn’t get the angle to stab.

  His mind raced.

  Think.

  Then—

  He relaxed.

  The bruiser laughed. “Givin’ up alrea—”

  Orion threw his entire weight forward.

  The sudden shift caught the bruiser off guard, his grip loosening for just a second.

  That second was all Orion needed.

  He slammed his head backward, cracking his skull against the bruiser’s nose.

  The grip weakened—

  Orion drove his dagger into the man’s forearm, twisting it violently.

  The bruiser roared, finally letting go.

  Orion hit the ground, coughing, his throat burning.

  But no time to breathe.

  The fourth bruiser was already charging.

  A massive blade swinging down toward his head.

  Orion rolled to the side, barely dodging in time.

  He needed to end this.

  He grabbed one of the dead bruiser’s weapons, a curved machete—

  And with one clean motion—

  He slashed upward.

  The fourth bruiser’s chest split open, blood spraying into the dirt.

  Orion didn’t even stop to watch him fall.

  Two left.

  The final two bruisers were hesitating now.

  They had watched Orion take out four of their own in seconds.

  But they didn’t back down.

  They charged together.

  Orion exhaled.

  Then he moved.

  Duck. Twist. Slash. Kick. Step back. Counter.

  His body weaved between their attacks, his dagger flashing in the dim light.

  One bruiser swung—Orion caught his wrist, twisted it—SNAP!

  The other stabbed—Orion redirected the blade, shoving it into the first bruiser’s gut.

  Before the second bruiser could react—

  Orion slammed his dagger through his chest.

  One final heartbeat.

  The man collapsed.

  Silence.

  Orion exhaled sharply, his golden eyes cold and unreadable.

  Six men.

  Dead.

  And he had barely broken a sweat.

  From their vantage point atop a crumbling rooftop, three figures watched the battle unfold below.

  The tallest of the three, a cloaked man, crouched at the rooftop’s edge, his arms draped lazily over his knees. Though his hood concealed most of his face, the gleam of white dreadlocked hair peeked from beneath it, shifting slightly as the breeze passed through. His grin stretched wide, teeth flashing beneath the shadows of his hood as he watched the carnage with obvious amusement.

  Beside him, the young woman stood with her arms crossed, leaning slightly on a staff adorned with gemstones. The massive wizard’s hat atop her head hid most of her features, casting her face in deep shadow. Only her violet eyes gleamed beneath the brim, tracking every movement below with playful curiosity.

  The third person, smaller than the others, sat motionless behind them. His entire face was wrapped in dark cloth, concealing everything but his mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown—both locked onto the fight below with cold precision.

  The cloaked man chuckled, the sound a low rumble of amusement.

  "They've got backbone," he mused, his voice deep, laced with undeniable amusement.

  The woman smirked, tilting her head slightly.

  “So,” she murmured, tapping a finger against the shaft of her staff, “So that’s Orion.”

  Below, Orion moved like a storm, fists and feet striking with brutal precision, every movement sharp, measured, and deadly.

  She sounded entertained.

  "Interesting he reminds me of someone,” she added.

  The cloaked man let out a genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly under his heavy cloak. "Interesting? This is better than entertainment."

  The ninja-like boy, face still covered, finally spoke, his voice even, calm.

  “…You think I could take them?”

  The cloaked man’s grin widened further. He didn’t turn to look at him, but there was something knowing in his posture.

  "Probably" he said

  The masked boy didn't answer immediately. His mismatched eyes didn’t leave the fight below, watching the way Orion dodged, the way Ra fought with sheer force, the way Gabriel’s lightning punches disrupted enemy formations.

  The cloaked man’s laughter hadn’t stopped, his grin stretching as he watched the chaos unfold.

  From above, the three travelers remained unseen, unknown, and untouched by the storm raging below.

  They had no reason to interfere.

  Not yet.

  We're several chapters in now—what do you think of The 10 Suns: A Saga of Legacy and Strife so far? Any favorite moments or theories? Let me know in the comments! Your thoughts help shape the journey.

  And if you’re enjoying the story, consider leaving a rating or review—it really helps! Thanks for reading!