Vesper stares down at the paper the Wolf slides across the counter to her. “Ten more Harrow Coins, quadrupled with the leverage tokens,” she whispers.
“We gotta do it,” Locke points out. “They’re not real people, Hyena. Remember that.”
“It doesn’t make me feel better about it,” she grunts, even as she slowly walks toward Direfang Holdings.
The Wolf watches closely, hungrily, as she slides the paper across the broker’s desk and watches him stamp it.
The Wolf laughs as they turn back to him. “Excellent,” he growls. “You’ve learned finance.” He leaps from the podium, his jaw elongating as he starts to increase in size. His pinstriped suit tears as his muscles grow. His golden cufflinks snap to the floor, dancing across the marble. “Now it’s time to learn about appetite.”
Vesper drags her blade from her inventory again and looks at me. “Are you going to help or just stand there?”
“Looks like you’ve got it handled,” I say, crossing my arms.
She scoffs at me, her eyes hard. “Fucking asshole.” And then she dismisses me.
Locke pulls a large battleaxe from his inventory and settles into a ready stance. The ticker tapes start to snap out aggressively, trying to wrap their ankles. They shout and move out of the way as the elite finally descend from their balconies. Their clothing tears as they turn into smaller versions of the Wolf, their eyes glowing as they snap at the edges of the opening arena maliciously.
The bell chimes and Vesper stumbles, stunned for a few seconds by the grating sound. To her credit, she recovers quickly, her Fang lifted as she rushes the Wolf. No hesitation. She’s a Tier One, has nothing to her power yet, and here she is, the first to rush into battle.
“Magnificent, is she not?” Cipher purrs.
I raise my brow. “You got the hots for the Beast Bound?”
Cipher laughs. “I am a machine, Legend.”
“And I’m the Luxe’s Propaganda Boy,” I reply. “Seems like we can both call ourselves something we don’t enjoy.”
Cipher hums. “I wish to keep her alive.”
“Why?”
“Those reasons are my own.”
“How close are you to growing your control?” I ask, waiting. “Why is she so important?”
He hesitates. “I cannot answer those questions, Warden.”
I drag my sword from my sheath. Close and for reasons he can’t tell me. He’d once thought I could help, but I was never Cipher’s champion. For some reason, he’s decided it’s Vesper, and well . . . I hate Luxe as much anyone who came from Dross. I don’t need to help. I’d rather keep to myself, but . . . there’s only so long that it will last if Cipher is pushing forward. Luxe will fight back, and this woman, this brutal woman fighting a massive werewolf without hesitation, there’s something about her. Something . . . important. I can feel it in her presence.
Even if I don’t believe in prophecy and fate, I’d be an idiot not to follow it.
I leap into the fight, swinging my massive IronFold sword at the Wolf. He howls at the critical hit. “Correction accepted!” he shouts, and leaps toward Vesper.
I watch as his health starts to drop with the three of us attacking. The Ophanim hovers back, not attacking, not bothering to speak. The familiar attacks with a fervor, but she’s small and only adds small cuts to the Wolf of Wall Street. She drops his health down five HP each hit, but it’s barely anything. Our weapons do more damage.
When his health falls by half, the Wolf roars. “You were supposed to stay poor!” he roars, attacking with a renewed fervor.
Vesper is panting by the time his health falls to less than a quarter, her movements getting slow. She catches a claw across her front and goes flying backward into the ticker tapes. They wrap around her.
“Vesper!” Locke shouts, turning toward her.
“No,” I growl. “Defeat the Wolf. They’ll release her.”
Vesper screams as the ticker tapes wrap her completely, her familiar rushing to slice at them. I slash at the Wolf, knocking his health lower. Locke hesitates and then attacks the Wolf, but he’s clumsy because of his worry. That’s a weakness.
I hit the Wolf one last time and his health falls and pops. He looks down at the blood blooming across his chest and presses his clawed hand to it. Then he looks up at us.
“No matter,” he wheezes. “Another market opens tomorrow.”
