The arena roared, thousands of voices layered into one deafening wave, banners of Sector 1’s guild snapping in the wind above tiered seating packed shoulder to shoulder. Execution nights were spectacle here — a normal, celebrated kind of entertainment for the wealthy, screens broadcasting the feed to towers all across the district, drinks and bets circulating through the crowd like this was just another sporting event.
At the center of it all, Ignis knelt in chains.
Anti-mana restraints wrapped around her wrists, her throat, thick iron etched with suppression runes that glowed faint and cruel against her skin. Her hair was a deep, smoldering red, fading to something like ember-orange at the tips, and even bound like this, even weakened, there was fire simmering just beneath her skin, flickering faint every time she strained against the chains. She struggled, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something between fury and fear, but the restraints held firm, grinding her down to her knees no matter how hard she fought.
The crowd’s roar spiked as a figure stepped out onto the platform.
Vince.
Tall, composed, movements precise and economical in the way only true S-rank hunters carried themselves — no wasted motion, no performance for the crowd beyond what was necessary. In his hand, resting easy against his shoulder, was the spear. Even sheathed in its inert state, it radiated a pressure that made the air around it feel thinner, sharper, wrong in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.
He raised a hand, and the crowd’s noise dropped into an eager hush.
"Citizens of Sector 1," Vince announced, voice carrying easy across the arena without needing to shout. "Tonight, justice is served. This demon threatened the peace of our district, and by guild right, her core will be harvested for the safety and prosperity of us all."
The crowd cheered again, hungry, entertained.
Ignis’s eyes lifted toward the sky, toward nothing in particular, like she’d already accepted there was no rescue coming.
Somewhere above the arena, a black chopper cut silent through the clouds, closing in fast.
The crowd’s chant built to a fever pitch — "VINCE! VINCE! VINCE!" — thousands of voices slamming together as he raised the spear high, point aimed straight down at Ignis’s chest, muscles coiling for the strike.
Then the sky tore open.
The chopper screamed down out of the clouds, engines roaring louder than the crowd could manage, and it hit the arena floor hard, skidding, throwing up a spray of dust and debris across the front rows. Gasps replaced the chanting instantly, the whole crowd flinching back as one.
The chopper sat there smoking slightly, rotors winding down — but the hull barely scratched, some reinforced plating from the "discretion guaranteed" price tag actually earning its cost.
The cabin door blew open.
I stepped out first, Viperess and Frostine flanking me on either side, Seraphina close behind with her tablet already forgotten, hand hovering near a weapon at her hip out of pure instinct.
Vince froze mid-strike, spear still raised, eyes narrowing at the sudden intrusion. The crowd went dead silent, ten thousand people holding their breath at once.
Ignis’s head snapped toward us, chains rattling, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to hope.
I looked past Vince, straight at her, and then up at him, spear still hovering inches from ending her life.
"Sorry," I said, voice carrying easy across the sudden silence. "Execution’s cancelled."
Sector 1’s border came up fast on the chopper’s radar, checkpoint towers lit bright along the perimeter, automated scanners already pinging against our unregistered approach.
"They’ve flagged us," the pilot said, tense. "Border security’s requesting immediate landing for inspection."
Seraphina’s face went pale. "Jake, if we don’t comply, we’re committing an actual federal offense. I can’t have a criminal record, I just signed a professional contract, this is not—"
"Relax," I said. "Nobody’s catching a criminal record tonight."
I pulled up the wealth interface, checked the balance sitting fat from the multiplier cycles, and withdrew a chunk of it — physical currency, converted and loaded into a cargo case in the back the pilot kept for exactly this kind of emergency.
"Keep going," I told the pilot. "Don’t stop."
He gave me a look like I’d lost my mind, but the money already in his account from this job bought his silence same as it bought everything else. He pushed the throttle forward, and we tore straight through the checkpoint’s airspace, alarms blaring behind us.
Ground vehicles peeled out in pursuit almost immediately, security cars weaving fast through the streets below.
"Open the cargo door," I said.
Seraphina stared at me. "You’re not seriously—"
I already had the case open, and I dumped it out the side the second we cleared over a crowded street, bills scattering into the wind like confetti, drifting down over the pursuing cars and the civilians packed along the sidewalks below.
The reaction was instant — people abandoning whatever they were doing, sprinting into the street, grabbing at the falling cash, chaos spreading fast enough that the pursuit cars had to slam their brakes just to avoid plowing through a crowd. Traffic snarled up behind us in seconds.
"That’s insane," Seraphina said, half-laughing despite herself, disbelief written all over her face.
"That’s resourceful," I said.
We didn’t stay clear for long — a second chopper peeled off from the tower defenses, faster, better armed, closing the gap fast. But Viperess was already moving, leaning out toward the open door, shadow pouring off her hands and stretching wide across the sky, wrapping around the pursuing chopper’s rotor and cockpit like living smoke, blinding the pilot completely. It peeled off hard, veering wildly before falling back, blind and disoriented.
Clear skies again. I told the pilot to push it, full speed, straight for the execution site — I’d caught sight of the arena lights blazing in the distance, torches and banners visible even from this altitude, a crowd already gathered thick around a raised platform.
"Dive," I said.
The pilot turned to look at me like I’d finally, completely lost it. "That’s an execution site. You want me to crash a helicopter into an active execution."
"That’s exactly what I want."
He didn’t argue again. Just nodded once, grim, and put us into a steep descent.
Which brings us back to now — chopper smoking on the arena floor, Vince frozen mid-strike, ten thousand people holding their breath, and Ignis staring at us like she doesn’t dare believe what she’s seeing.
"Sorry," I said. "Execution’s cancelled."