Roan gulped, pushing down the bile rising in his throat.
He had seen dead bodies before. Horrific deaths too. But this was something else entirely. The stench of blood and shit clung to the air, thick and suffocating.
More than seventy bodies lay before him. Some fresh, some not. Some had missing eyes. Some had no hands. Others had their privates sliced clean off.
He tasted iron as he neared the mass grave still being filled. The nearest body clutched at a torn-open stomach. Her insides were gone. Now Roan understood why everyone had been looking at Robber, who was eating happily, with quiet disgust.
Bile rose again at the thought of what he might've been eating. Roan looked at the woman's face to distract himself.
Her lips were shredded, parted mid-scream. Her cloudy eyes were wide with terror. Her colorless skin sagged with exhaustion.
A man clicked his tongue and kicked the naked body into the giant hole.
Roan stared, dazed, before pulling himself together.
All around, people stripped the corpses bare and tossed them in like garbage. The sound of bones snapping echoed up to him.
They didn't even flinch. Just went on chatting. Another day's work.
Monsters. They were monsters. And he would have to become one too.
He stood on a makeshift stage of stacked crates. Shila to the boss's right. Roan to her left.
Saying he was overwhelmed by thousands of eyes would be an understatement.
From here, he could see it all. Some were grinning. Others shifting nervously. But one thing was common—confusion. No one knew what came next. Neither did he.
The boss cleared her throat beside him. He didn't look.
As he scanned the crowd, a strange pride swelled in his chest. He crushed it. He hadn't earned this power yet.
Boss waited a beat. Silence settled. Then, her voice rang out.
---
"We weren't born with blood on our hands," she said.
Someone sneered. Quietly. She ignored it.
"We were forced to become what we are. By fat merchants who look down on the same hands that fill their coffers."
A murmur of agreement. Everyone hated merchants. That was universal.
"The laws? They weren't made to protect us. They were made to use us. Grind us down. Bleed us dry."
The silence after that was heavier than the noise.
Then a boy—maybe thirteen—spoke up:
"The Lord will save us. After the war's over."
Boss didn't hesitate.
"You think the Lord isn't part of this?"
Another voice responded,
"So what? The Lord's tolerant. Could've killed us anytime."
"It's coin he wants. That's the price for his patience," a loan shark snarled.
Disdainful looks flew at him from the crowd.
Boss raised her hand. Two men dragged out a bound prisoner.
The man glared at her as the cloth was pulled from his mouth.
"You've gone mad," he spat. "You'll be butchered for this."
"By who? The Lord? The same one who's months away?" she mocked.
That wasn't true. But it didn't matter. Doubt was already spreading. Roan could see it ripple through the crowd.
He felt his respect for her deepen.
"The young lord's still here! Half a thousand men. They can crush you anytime!"
That only fed the fire. Half a thousand wasn't much. Not against a united front of every gang.
Boss laughed. Cold.
"Then why did the Lord make a deal with us? Why did he want us to keep the guilds fighting?"
Gasps. Murmurs. A current of excitement sparked across the crowd.
It had tipped. Roan knew it. Everyone did.
"Tell us," she said to the prisoner, "what the deal was. And you walk away one of us."
The man glared. But the boy shouted again,
"Tell us!"
Another voice joined. Then another. Soon the whole crowd roared.
The man's shoulders slumped. He gave in.
"It's true. The Lord paid us to keep the guilds busy."
Outrage exploded. Roan saw something die in the boy's eyes.
And in him, Roan saw his old self. Naïve. Loyal. Blind.
Back straight, Roan looked over them all. Whether Boss lied or not didn't matter. Her goal didn't matter.
They had power now. That's what mattered.
Boss raised her hand. Silence fell.
"Gangs. That's what they call us."
Another wave of fury rolled through the crowd.
"They made us this way. Turned us into thieves. Killers. Whores. Slaves. They fed us fear and called it mercy."
Even Roan felt the heat rising in his chest.
"Do you still want to be their hound!?"
"NO!!"
"Do you still want to live on your knees!?"
"NO!!"
"Do you want to be spat on by the same dogs who feast on your blood!?"
"NO!!"
Her voice soared.
"Then we stop. Today. No more crawling. No more chains. No more being their tools. We rise. We take what's ours!"
The crowd erupted. She raised her hand again.
"They call us gangs?"
A pause.
"Let them."
Confusion swept the crowd.
Boss continued:
"Because tomorrow… they'll call us something else."
A breath.
"Rebels."
The sky could've cracked from the sound that followed.