The first rule of the streets? Be fast, be quick—and never get caught.
Xeno knew that better than anyone.
His black hair, half tied up and half falling, swayed as he slipped through the crowded streets of the Second Ring.
The sun was low, streaking orange and gold between the crooked rooftops, painting the worn cobblestones in long, dangerous shadows. Every alley, corner, and stall whispered an opportunity and danger alike.
A mirror-image of him, almost indistinguishable except for the faintest smirk, slipped through the market crowd, fingers brushing purse strings and coin pouches with uncanny precision. Another twin, quieter and smaller, darted between legs to snatch apples from an oblivious vendor.
Xeno's own hand found a merchant's coat pocket, sliding smoothly inside and pulling out a handful of coins without leaving a trace.
He snagged a crisp red apple from the pile his clone had lifted and bit into it, then walked casually into a narrow side street, leaving the market's noisy hum behind.
The alley smelled of damp stone, rotting food, and smoke from nearby chimneys: a sharp contrast to the apple's sweetness.
A tavern's smell of roasting meat drifted across the dark alleyway, blending with the stench of garbage.He passed a stack of crates, teetering like a tower ready to fall, and sidestepped a puddle reflecting the fading sunlight. The distant chatter of townsfolk dimmed, replaced by the dripping water from a broken pipe and the occasional squeak of a shutter swinging in the wind.
"Hey! Give them to us!"
Xeno froze mid-step, glancing lazily over his shoulder.
Three burly kids, at least a head taller than him and shoulders wide as barrels, blocked the alley's exit. Their eyes were locked on the apples in his hand, and once Xeno realized, he rolled his eyes.
Ugh. Sorry Otto.
"Go away."
The oldest, and clearly the leader, laughed. "I don't think so, pretty boy."
Xeno's eyes scanned the alley, from the narrow walls, to the stacked crates, and then to a hanging sign swinging in the wind.
He took a slow bite of his apple as the boys advanced, fists raised. The alley narrowed, and the echo of their steps bounced against the walls.
Xeno's clones flitted in and out of sight, and he flexed his fingers, ready.
In the Second Ring, rules didn't matter.
Strength didn't matter either. Survival depended on your speed, how cunning you are, and the ability to strike your enemies the moment they underestimate you.
And Xeno? He was a master of that game.
Xeno barely flinched as the first fist swung toward his face.
With a tilt of his head, Xeno let the punch sail past, and the attacker crashed into a wooden crate. Splinters flew, dust rose in clouds, and a stray cat hissed and bolted into the shadows.
"Tsk," Xeno muttered.
From the darkness, his clone moved.
Perfectly synchronized, it appeared behind another attacker, shoving him into the wall.
Bricks rattled and a tin bucket clanged against the cobblestones and Xeno used the distraction to vault onto a low rooftop ledge, landing lightly, his hair brushing the rough stone.
The tallest boy roared and charged, arms flailing.
Xeno rolled along the ledge, ducking under the wild swing, and kicked a loose barrel. It toppled, slamming into the boy with a deafening crash. The kid stumbled, his arms flailing, and fell into a stack of crates that shattered under his weight.
Another clone appeared from the shadows, silently taking position behind the last boy. He lunged, fists clenched, but the clone jabbed him in the ribs, spinning him forward.
Xeno dropped down from the ledge, landing on the balls of his feet.
The first boy recovered, staggering forward but Xeno sidestepped, letting momentum carry him past, then twisted, sending the attacker stumbling into the puddle, splashing water over himself. The second lunged from behind, and Xeno caught the arm mid-swing, twisted, and slammed the boy into the wall.
Painful grunts echoed in the narrow alley.
The clone beside him duplicated again and another Xeno emerged from the shadows, appearing almost like a mirage.
The last boy charged, confused, seeing two Xenos now. He swung wildly, but both Xenos moved in perfect coordination—one ducking under the punch, the other catching the arm and hurling him toward the wall.
Xeno smirked, brushing a strand of his hair from his face.
The tallest boy, recovering from the barrel collision, lunged again with a roar, this time grabbing a loose chain hanging from a sign. He swung it like a whip, aiming for Xeno's legs.
Xeno somersaulted over it, landing behind the boy. Another clone appeared to the attacker's left, slapping a hand against his shoulder and spinning him around, sending him tumbling into a pile of crates.
Xeno kicked a loose lantern, sending it swinging into the tallest boy's shoulder. Sparks flew. Another clone dropped from a rooftop, landing silently behind the third boy, knocking him off balance.
Finally, the last boy tried to grab him, and Xeno caught the boy's wrist, spun around, and slammed him into the wall.
He pivoted, rolling past a chain, ducking a fist, and tossing a coin under the feet of the tallest attacker. The coin hit the ground with a sharp clang, causing the boy to slip and crash into another crate.
Silence fell. Dust floated in the dim light and splintered wood scattered everywhere.
Xeno brushed dirt from his sleeve, his hair still slightly messy from the flips and rolls. His apple, which had been forgotten in the middle of the chaos, was back in hand, a bite taken like nothing had happened.
"Go home," he said calmly, almost bored.
"Go pickpocket your own apples you little shits."
The three boys scrambled to their feet, still trembling from shock, and ran without a word.
Xeno watched them go, lips curling into a smirk.
He took another bite of his apple, savoring it, then disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the faintest hint of movement and the echoes of laughter.