Chapter Six

  Ambrose stood in the small, empty house, surveying the barren walls and scuffed floors. The emptiness suited him, though it wasn't practical. He had no furniture, not even a chair to sit in or a bed to collapse on. He could have solved this easily. A portal to Avalon, and he'd have everything he needed in moments.

  The house was strategically located in a middle-class neighborhood that had seen better days but hadn't yet degraded into a high-crime area. Anonymous enough to avoid attention, decent enough that police presence was minimal. It was a calculated choice, just like everything else Ambrose did these days. The walls were stark white, marred by patches where previous owners had hung pictures of happier times. The floors bore the scars of moved furniture and everyday life, silent witnesses to stories Ambrose would never know or care about.

  But staying on Avalon wasn't an option. There was too much to distract him there. People demanding answers, ongoing issues requiring his intervention, and endless responsibilities would pull him away from his goal. Here, on Virion, he needed a space free from all of that, a place to think, plan, and act without interruption.

  Andrea would be handling the settlement's politics in his absence, navigating the growing tensions with Cassius and his faction. Vivienne would continue strengthening the Tree with the souls he sent, monitoring the prison that held entities far more dangerous than the petty criminals he'd encountered so far on Virion. Avalon's needs would persist whether he was there or not, and right now, his duty as Knight required him to focus on this bounty.

  Opening portals everywhere wasn't a good idea either. Drawing attention, especially from Virion's more unsavory elements, would only complicate things. This small house served its purpose. His only regret was that Anthony, the slimy realtor, knew about it. Killing him had crossed Ambrose's mind, and there was no doubt Anthony deserved it. But that wasn't who Ambrose was anymore.

  He wasn't going to kill someone just because it was convenient. Ruthlessness was a tool, one he wielded only when necessary. After Alice's death, he had walked a dark path, consumed by vengeance. But now, with Eric dead and her memory properly honored, he found himself making different choices. Not softer, necessarily, but more measured.

  He had already made sure Anthony feared him enough to stay quiet. That would have to be enough. The realtor's eyes had gone wide with terror when Ambrose had described in precise detail what would happen if word of his location reached unwanted ears. The demonstration of [Retribution's Gaze] on a small insect had driven the point home quite effectively.

  Deciding he needed some furniture after all, Ambrose opened a portal to his home on Avalon. The process was quick, he grabbed a bed, a desk, and a few chairs, dumping them unceremoniously in the living room. The mismatched pieces gave the space a bachelor-pad vibe, but he didn't care. It wasn't permanent, and aesthetics were the least of his concerns.

  The portal revealed a brief glimpse of his cabin in Avalon ,the worn but comfortable furnishings, the weapons rack where Akaroth usually rested when not in use or in his infernal dimension, the scattered books on System mechanics he'd been studying to better understand his Words of Power. For a fleeting moment, he felt the fresh, clean air of Avalon contrasting sharply with Virion's perpetually recycled atmosphere.

  With the basics handled, Ambrose sat at the desk, running his hand along its worn surface as he considered his next move. The wood was smooth from years of use, marked with small nicks and scratches. Once, it had been in the main hall where Andrea conducted settlement business. Now it would serve as his command center for hunting Vorshawn Red.

  I could help you track this prey more effectively, Akaroth commented in his mind. Dragons are natural hunters.

  "I know," Ambrose replied aloud, finding comfort in breaking the silence. "But I need to understand this city first."

  He needed information. That was always the first step. Without it, he was blind, fumbling in the dark. The authorities were out of the question. He hadn't been subtle upon his arrival, and they were likely already looking for him. Any attempt to interact with them would be more trouble than it was worth.

  The System had changed how information flowed. In pre-System days, investigations relied on traditional methods—witnesses, evidence, interrogation. Now, with skills like [Analysis] and [Data Integration], information gathering had evolved. Fortunately, most law enforcement officials in Virion lacked the levels or specialized skills needed to track a C-Grade opponent effectively. Their reliance on technology rather than System enhancements would work in his favor.

  There were risks, of course. Virion's authorities might have tried to identify him during his chaotic entrance. If they had, it wouldn't help them track him directly—but it was a possibility he couldn't ignore. His status as Knight of Avalon wasn't common knowledge, and he preferred to keep it that way. The fewer connections made between his various identities, the better.

  Still, that was a problem for later. For now, he had to turn to less reputable sources. The streets would give him the answers he needed. He'd start with the lower-level operatives of Red's organization, working his way up the chain. Each interrogation would yield pieces of the puzzle, building a clear picture of his target's operation.

  Stars hung in the night sky like a thousand shattered diamonds, their pale light competing with the neon glow of the city below. Two full moons hovered above, their silvery luminescence blending with the multicolored haze that bathed the streets of Virion. Ambrose drove his hellcat through the winding roads, the purr of the engine low and steady.

  This was his third night in Virion, and he was starting to understand its rhythms. The city never truly slept, but it transformed as darkness fell. The corporate drones retreated to their secured apartments while the night people emerged: criminals, shift workers, the desperate, and the dangerous. The boundaries between legitimate business and criminal enterprise blurred until they were nearly indistinguishable.

  His Forge Icon resonated faintly within him as he drove, responding to the city's industrial nature. Virion was a place of creation and transformation, however corrupted those processes had become. The connection wasn't as strong as on Avalon, but it was there, a reminder of his developing power.

  He wasn't looking for trouble, though he suspected it would find him soon enough. He needed a lead, someone who could tell him where to find the kind of information he was after. Vorshawn Red's operation was vast, touching everything from cybernetic enhancements to narcotic substances to human trafficking. Finding the right pressure point would be key.

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  As he made a right turn, a sleek black-and-white vehicle pulled out behind him. Its blue lights began to flash, and a quick whoop whoop of its siren signaled him to pull over. The vehicle was more advanced than police cruisers on Earth, hovering slightly above the road surface, its engine nearly silent compared to the hellcat's rumble.

  Ambrose considered fleeing. It would be easy enough to outrun the cruiser, but he held off. The officer might have information, and this could be an opportunity to learn something. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, Ambrose eased the car to the side of the road and waited.

  Should have left this heap at home, hatchling, Akaroth commented from his infernal dimension. Too distinctive.

  "That was the point," Ambrose replied mentally. "Can't catch fish without bait."

  The officer approached, his solid build and gleaming glasses lending him an air of authority. The uniform was different from Earth police, more tactical, with integrated tech visible in the collar and wristbands. A small scanner hummed as he approached, likely attempting to read Ambrose's System level.

  He rapped on the window, and Ambrose rolled it down.

  "I'm going to need identification and registration for this vehicle, sir," the officer said, his tone clipped but professional. The scanner at his wrist flashed red briefly, suggesting it had failed to properly read Ambrose.

  Ambrose leaned back, studying him. Level 68, his [Retributions Gaze] revealed. Decent for local law enforcement, but no real threat. "Reason for the stop?"

  The cop shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing slightly. "This vehicle matches a BOLO we have out. Now, the items I asked for, please."

  So they were looking for him. Or rather, for the car. Not surprising after the scene at the realtor's office. The Leopard Claws were connected enough to have friends in the department.

  Ambrose shrugged. "I'm sure there are a lot of cars like this. Doesn't seem like a good reason to stop me."

  "No, sir," the officer said flatly. "There aren't a lot of cars like this one. Items, please. Now."

  His hand drifted toward his sidearm, a compact energy weapon that glowed faintly at the holster. It wouldn't do much against Ambrose's [Infernal Aegis], but the officer had no way of knowing that.

  "I don't have them," Ambrose replied, his voice calm. He kept his spiritual pressure contained, avoiding any display of power that might escalate the situation unnecessarily.

  The officer frowned, pausing as if listening to someone on his earpiece. After a moment, he straightened. "Sit tight," he said, stepping away.

  Ambrose watched as the officer raised a hand to his ear, speaking quietly. He caught fragments of the conversation, "confirms description," "possible C-Grade," "requesting specialist backup." His enhanced hearing picked up the transmission clearly despite the officer's attempt at discretion.

  Moments later, a gray car pulled up behind the cruiser. Unlike the patrol vehicle, this one was ground-bound, its wheels touching the asphalt. It had none of the markings of official police transportation, suggesting plainclothes officers or detectives. Its door opened with a soft hiss, and a woman stepped out.

  Her form-fitting suit and dark pumps gave her an air of polished professionalism, but it was her eyes that caught Ambrose's attention. Deep green, sharp with intelligence, they appraised him with an intensity that suggested she missed nothing. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her features carried a razor-sharp precision.

  [Retribitions Gaze] revealed her as Level 126, higher than the patrol officer but still well below Ambrose's capabilities. What was more interesting was her class: Investigator, with specializations that suggested enhanced perception and analytical skills. She would be more dangerous than her level suggested.

  Once, Ambrose might have found her attractive. Now, it was just another detail to file away. After Alice, he had closed that part of himself off, focusing instead on duty and purpose. The emotions remained, but distantly, like stars viewed through thick cloud cover.

  A second man emerged from the car, his rumpled suit and balding head contrasting sharply with his partner's immaculate appearance. Yet his calculating gaze betrayed a keen mind. Level 134, Ambrose noted, though something about the reading felt artificial, as if the man's level had been artificially boosted rather than naturally achieved.

  The woman approached, her stride confident. "Hello. I'm Detective Smith, and this is my partner, Detective Fielding."

  Ambrose said nothing, watching her in silence. Smith's eyes swept over him, her expression unreadable. He could see her taking in details,his eye patch, his build, the subtle signs of his readiness for conflict. She was good at her job, that much was clear.

  "Pardon me for asking," she said, "but are you newly integrated? You don't often see people wearing gear like yours around Virion unless they are."

  An interesting approach. She was fishing for information while establishing a non-threatening dialogue. The question contained assumptions that might lead him to reveal more than intended if he wasn't careful.

  Ambrose remained silent, letting her fill the silence. His [Infernal Aegis] remained ready but dormant, a precaution rather than a threat.

  "Would you mind coming down to the station to talk?" she continued, her voice smooth. "It's much more comfortable there, and we have coffee."

  The offer was presented casually, but Ambrose recognized the strategy. Get him into their territory, surrounded by their people, where they could control the situation. Standard procedure, but executed with a finesse that suggested Detective Smith was better than most at her job.

  He wasn't about to walk into their trap. That would be idiotic. "What do you want?" he asked.

  Smith crossed her arms. "I'd really prefer we discuss this at the station."

  Her persistence was admirable but misplaced. If she knew what he was, what he was capable of, she wouldn't be standing so close to his car, wouldn't be trying to bring him in. Her ignorance was the only thing keeping this confrontation civil.

  "No," Ambrose said simply.

  Her partner cocked his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Sir, you're a person of interest in our investigation. I'd prefer not to bring you in by force, but we will if necessary. Please comply."

  Fielding's hand drifted toward his weapon, a more advanced model than the patrol officer's. Still nothing that would threaten Ambrose seriously, but the gesture itself was enough to signal the end of peaceful discussion.

  Ambrose had learned enough. He now knew they were looking for him, and he wasn't about to waste more time playing their game. He'd gathered what information he could from this encounter, confirmation that his activities were being investigated, an assessment of local law enforcement capabilities, and the identities of two detectives who might become obstacles later.

  He opened a portal beneath him, dropping into his hellcat before the officers could react. The familiar silver-red flames of his [Hellfire Manipulation] illuminated their surprised faces for a fraction of a second before he disappeared from their view.

  "Skill activation!" one of them shouted, summoning a weapon. The detective's reflexes were impressive for her level, but still far too slow to counter a C-Grade opponent's abilities.

  Ambrose shifted into drive and peeled out, the engine's roar echoing through the streets. Behind him, sirens blared as the officers gave chase. The patrol car's lights flashed frantically, its hover jets straining to keep pace with the hellcat's acceleration.

  The night was alive with the wail of sirens and the roar of his car. Neon lights streaked past as Ambrose pushed the hellcat to its limits, weaving through traffic with ease. The vehicle responded to his touch like an extension of himself, the infernal energy he'd infused into it enhancing its performance beyond what any normal engine could achieve.

  That detective would be trouble. Her eyes had held a determination that wouldn't be easily deterred by one failed attempt. She would keep coming, keep investigating, driven by whatever sense of justice she maintained in this corrupt world. Under different circumstances, Ambrose might have respected that. Now, it was merely an inconvenience.

  He opened another portal directly ahead, driving through it to emerge on the opposite side of the city, leaving the pursuing officers with nothing but the fading echo of his engine and the lingering traces of hellfire.

  The chase was on. But Ambrose knew they weren't the real hunters here. They were merely obstacles in his path to Vorshawn Red. And obstacles, like everything else, could be overcome through proper application of force and strategy.

  The real hunt was just beginning.