Headed by a Snake

"Yeah, 'at's the one, kid," Porter nodded. "She matches the description: blonde, knife-eared, Caster Class."

"A Caster..." Fatty Doan grit his teeth. "How much firepower we talkin'? Or lightnin'? Or whatever the f*ck the b*tch shoots outta her cunt."

"Don't matter," Benji pulled his hood down to hide a smirk, "Can't ⌈Mana Ward⌋ a knife to the back if she don't see it comin'."

"Shut the hells up, kid," Doan growled. "You ain't never killed a real mage before... not like me..."

The fat man didn't like Casters much. Never did say why.

Benji took out his dagger and started picking at the dirt beneath his fingernails. It'd take him five seconds flat to give Doan a new smile-- a bright red line in his cowardly throat.

It'd be a waste of energy, though. Wasn't worth any coin. Would probably piss off the boss. And besides, it'd make a gods-damned mess.

Doan twisted his fat face into an ugly glower, "Boss, let's use the pearl on the elf b*tch."

"I don't pay you to *think*, Doan," Porter seethed... "And you, Benduin. You can *advise* but don't forget-- you ain't callin' the shots 'ere... not yet."

"Yeah, I got it," Benji shrugged. "Jus' tell me when I can gut the ho."

It was fair. Porter'd been in with the backstreet gangs for nearly twenty years. He had the brains for it. As for the proof of it-- it wasn't easy to stay alive that long while playing the game.

Benji wasn't offended. He was good-- damned good. He knew it. Porter knew it. The whole crew knew it.

Still... if the mark was a mage, it was better to be careful than to risk himself. A normal kid his age probably would... but Benji was anything but that.

« System, put all my experience points into ⌈Shadowtooth Strike⌋. »

⟬ Allocating... ⌈Shadowtooth Strike⌋ has reached Level Ten. ⟭

He might as well have been a gods-damned hero, like out of the stories... come to f*ck shite up and answer to no one.

« And how much longer until I reach Iron-Rank? »

⟬ The host needs to meet the following requirements: ⌈Iron Scale Body⌋ Level Five; ⌈Deadly Precision⌋ Level Ten. ⟭

So maybe one or two more missions to get the experience for that...

Benji figured that once he could show off some Iron-Rank Skills, he'd be able to get the attention of the guy running the shots behind the gang activity in Whitehearth.

The Wizard.

A scary enough motherf*cker that even Doan didn't dare talk sh*t about him.

For sure, the big boss' quests would net Benji even faster experience gain... maybe even enough to get out of Whitehearth within the year.

He'd been in the starter zone for too damn long... but he was pretty sure he'd be out before the prophecy came to pass.

It hung over his head every night... the song of which legends were sung.

It was the only reason he'd joined a Dark Guild.

He needed out of Whitehearth... and the collection quests from the city's Adventurer's Guild wasn't worth shite in the way of coin and experience points.

"The pearl..." Porter continued, "is enchanted with a gods-damned Third-Circle mind control spell... and the Wizard's only cleared us to use it on one of two specific marks. There's the Gold-Rank... eh... what's his name?"

"Tyco, Boss," Benji answered.

"Right, Tyco," Porter nodded... "an' then there's the knife-ear's boy-toy... another mage chump named Sloan Masterspark."

"Now that's a stupid f*ckin' name," Doan snorted.

Benji narrowed his eyes, "You got no sense o' style, fatty."

"Oh, shut uuup, kid," The fat man grimaced. "What are you, fifteen?"

"...Actually, yeah."

Doan opened his mouth and hesitated... "Oh. Huh. Smartest f*ckin' fifteen-year-old I ever met..."

"And don't you forget it," Benji grinned, "Plan still a go, Boss?"

"Yeah... smash and grab," Porter nodded. "The name Sol Invictus might be big across the pond... but it ain't worth shite here."

"Hey, Boss..." Doan leaned forward, squinting his eyes from barely-open to thin lines... "How 'bout that fairy next to the girl? The one that's-- you know, on fire?"

"Don't be daft, Doan," Porter twisted his scarred lips. "The girl's a Bronze-Rank. Means her familiar's only worth first-degree burns. Just cover up any exposed skin you don't wanna put aloe on."

"Ch-yeah, fatty," Benji shrugged. "Don't think about it too much. Not what you're here for, right?"

The Bone Rat Gang had more than enough strength to handle whatever the mark had to throw at them. Even though Benji's System couldn't figure out Ranks, Boss Porter was an Iron-Rank Slayer. The guy was superhuman...

Benji couldn't wait to be able to shrug off magic blasts and bullets like he was some kind of demi-god...

"Doan, take two and sneak 'round back to cut off their escape." Porter got up off the wall and started to cross the street, "Kid, eyes open-- you an' the rest're comin' with me."

"Got it, Boss," Benji smirked.

"Yeah, yeah," Doan groaned. "I hear ya..."

As their gang moved Benji kept his eyes to the streets. No copper-badges. No adventurers or rival gang members. It wasn't a road open to horses or their carts.

It was going to be another easy job. The experience point reward for quest completion was probably going to be shite... but at least he didn't have to think too hard on it.

"Hey, how's it goin?" Porter grabbed the chair opposite the elf and rotated it to the side so he could sit with the sword on his back hanging freely.

Coraline furrowed her brows... "Um. Hello? Do... I know you?"

"Oho... not quite," Porter smirked. "But I know you... *Miss Coraline*."

The elf girl's eyes grew wide and, as expected, her little fire faerie flew up and began to circle her head defensively.

Benji was watching closely. If that thing looked like it was about to cause a scene, it'd eat a Level Ten ⌈Shadowtooth Strike⌋.

"Wh... what do you want?" Coraline grit her teeth as her eyes darted around.

"How 'bout you come with us, little girl?" Porter offered.

"Yeah," Benji added, "We'll take real good care of ya..."