The storm grew heavier that night.
Vellhart always stank when it rained. Like the city's filth rose up from the gutters to choke you.
Suna sat in the corner of the rundown tavern, hood drawn low. His drink sat untouched. He wasn't here for ale. He was waiting — watching.
The Black Maw moved fast. Word had already spread through the streets.
Some nobody beat down their men in broad daylight.
And in this city, nobody could touch the Black Maw without bleeding for it.
Suna's fingers tapped once against the wood. A subtle signal — an old habit. He counted the men entering through the tavern doors.
Three. No, four. All wearing dark coats, blades hidden but easy to reach. Their eyes scanned the room until they landed on him.
Too late to walk away now.
The lead thug grinned, showing broken teeth. "You're the bastard that stuck his nose where it didn't belong."
He cracked his knuckles. "Boss says you need a lesson. Public and loud."
Suna stood slowly. His cloak shifted, rainwater dripping to the floor.
He didn't speak. Didn't explain. Words were useless here.
The first thug lunged. Fast, but not fast enough.
Suna caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted, and drove an elbow into the man's throat.
The thug crumpled, gasping like a dying fish.
The others moved in, blades flashing.
Suna sidestepped the first slash, his movements smooth, calm — like flowing water.
But when he turned, his hood slipped back.
And the tavern fell silent.
Those watching — drunkards, beggars, even the barkeep — all froze when they saw.
Eyes like fresh-spilled blood.
Burning crimson in the dim light. Cold, sharp, inhuman.
One of the thugs faltered. "Shit… those eyes…"
Suna's gaze locked onto him, and for a heartbeat, the man forgot how to breathe.
Then Suna moved. Fast. Brutal. Precise.
The fight ended in seconds. Three men groaning on the floor, bleeding and broken.
The last one tried to crawl away, but Suna stepped on his hand, pinning him. His voice, quiet but iron-hard, cut through the rain's roar.
"Tell your boss. I don't want trouble. But if you come again…"
His red eyes flared.
"…I'll send him your heads."
The man whimpered and nodded frantically.
Suna stepped back, letting him scramble out the door, leaving a trail of blood behind.
The tavern stayed silent. No one met his gaze. No one dared.
In Vellhart, people knew better than to cross a man with eyes like that.
Old tales whispered in the dark — about cursed bloodlines, forgotten clans, monsters in human skin.
Suna pulled his hood back up and left.
The rain welcomed him again, cold and endless.
He should've stayed in the shadows. Should've walked away.
But now, the game had changed.
The Black Maw would come harder. Others would start to notice.
And the city would soon learn that the nobody they ignored had teeth.
Sharp, crimson-eyed teeth.