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The lion dancer leapt and spun, a whirl of red and flashing gold at the center of the crowd, their claps and cheers his only music. He pranced closer, jingling happily, before trotting away again. Only one pair of legs was visible beneath the costume.
“He’s alone.”
“How… unorthodox.”
“I’d like to talk to him first.”
“Is that a good idea?”
The dancer finished with a mighty flourish and the metronome beat of claps scattered into a flurry of raucous applause. A few small children waved and the lion crouched and edged nearer as if to sniff them, then shook his head, jingling and sparkling as they laughed.
“Indulge me. Aren’t you always telling me to take time for myself?”
“Not quite what I meant. I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thanks.”
As the crowd began to disperse, many stopping to drop money in a dish on the ground, the dancer finally removed his lion head. He was sweaty but beaming, thanking those who stopped to offer compliments or coins. Ears twitched atop his head, half hid in his mussed hair, but when he turned to follow them, there was no one there.
⋆｡°✩
The warm day gives way to cool evening as Sett orders his second helping of food, enjoying the breeze on his heated skin even as he nearly burns his mouth on a pork bun. Dancing is like fighting in a lot of ways; it’s fun, he’s good at it, and it works up a hell of an appetite. The little table he’d been sitting at had been nabbed as he ordered, so he leans against a lamppost instead. The marketplace is small but bustling even at this hour. He knew it would be a good venue, and the heft of the coin purse on his hip is proof of that. The buzz in his blood still lingers, too. Dancing, fighting, it’s all a show, and Sett loves nothing so much as attention.
Maybe that’s why he’s gotten so good at recognizing it. Or maybe it’s because in his line of work (the other one), not recognizing it gets you killed. Either way, he’s considering following his nose to whichever vendor stall smells like grilled squid when his ears twitch. He can feel eyes on him, same as earlier, but this time when he scans the street, he finds his mark. He’s leaning against a wall, nearly imitating Sett’s posture, and eating something off a stick. Even from across the marketplace, his dark eyes burn holes into Sett. The most interesting thing, though, has got to be the pair of horns curving up from his head, like firelight in the dusky evening. The man chews on the end of his empty skewer for a moment before dropping it on the ground and disappearing into the alley behind him.
Sett shoves the last half of his bao in his mouth and takes off after him. What the hell is an Ox Squad member even doing here? This is no backwater village, but neither is it the type of big city that lunar beasts are often drawn to. Then again, Ox was a few years ago; Sett never really considered what the Bull God’s chosen got up to the rest of the time. Apparently, he thinks as he picks through the crowd, some of them get their rocks off creeping in alleys.
The discarded skewer seems to point the way into the shady side street, not that Sett needs any help. Even without his keen senses, those horns ruin any chance of subtlety. The Ox Squad member is halfway down the alley, once again leaning against the wall like he hasn’t a care in the world. Color Sett intrigued. He swaggers his way over, hands on his hips and a little grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “You catch the show?”
“I did.” The man doesn’t move, just watches as Sett comes to stand in front of him. He’s handsome, Sett has no qualms admitting that. A crescent tattoo cuts through both of his sharp eyes, a mirror of his horns, and another drips from his lower lip down his chin. The horns don’t glow but rather… seethe , like metal heated to a shimmering orange. A sign of status, of danger. Sett always wondered what kind of power the gods bestowed upon their chosen few. His grin stretches wider.
“I don’t usually do private encores, but I’m willing to negotiate,” he says, “if you’re willing to make it worth my while.”
“Lion dancers come in pairs,” the man says, apparently choosing to ignore Sett’s offer.
“What can I say? I don’t really play well with others.”
A hint of a smile pulls at the man’s full lips. “Funny,” he says. “Do you remember a man called Big Wei?”
Sett quirks an eyebrow at the non-sequitur. “Can’t say that rings any bells.”
“His brother remembers you , Sett.” The man’s dark eyes seem to flash in the last dregs of pink sunlight. “He says that you killed him.”
Ah. So that’s what this is. Sett’s grin returns in force. “Oh, that Big Wei. Yeah, yeah. Not big enough, turns out. So what, the lunar beast gig doesn’t pay the other eleven years? You gotta do mercenary work?”
He shrugs. “It passes the time.”
“I hear that. I only killed Wei because some other bastard wanted him dead and was willing to pay for it. Probably killed someone else's brother.” Sett steps back and leans against the opposite wall, matching the Ox Squad member’s crossed arms. “Ain’t that funny?”
The man smiles and huffs a little nose laugh, like it really was a joke and they aren’t both contract killers. Like both of them would leave the alley on their own two feet.
“Bit unfair, though, you knowing my name and all.”
Firelight horns catch the scant light as he tips his head in concession. “Aphelios.”
“Aphelios. Nice to meet ya,” Sett says in a parody of friendliness. “I don’t know how long you’ve been doing this, but a bit of advice: when you’re gonna kill a guy, don’t tell him. Because Ox Squad or not, your only fighting chance was catching me by surprise.”
Aphelios moves for the first time since Sett entered the alley, fluidly pushing off the wall and stepping closer. That glint is back in his eyes. Sett maintains his leisurely posture even as his blood sings at the promise of a fight.
“I thought vastaya were more magically attuned than this. But then I guess you’re only…” Aphelios’ eyes sweep over Sett and he leaves the sentence hanging.
Half.
Sett’s mouth twitches. Those sharp eyes catch it, of course. Aphelios uncovered a sore spot, and worse? He knows it. That pisses Sett off.
“It’s been real fun, mooncake,” he says, pulling himself to his full height and relishing how Aphelios has to tip his chin up to maintain eye contact as he steps closer. “But to be honest, this little game is starting to get old, and I can tell you right now that it takes the magical affinity of a fuckin’ rock to know that you’ll be–” Sett raises his hand to shove Aphelios back, but the second his palm makes contact, he feels it. It rushes up his arm and down his spine, electric gold and white-hot. Every hair on his body stands on end. He snatches his hand back even as Aphelios stumbles backwards a few steps.
“Oh,” Sett says, realization dawning. It’s true, his senses aren’t as sharp as full vastaya, but he really would need the power of a rock to not feel that. In the back of his mind, he wonders if ma would have sniffed it out even before entering the alley. He smiles, more a feral baring of teeth than anything. “Oh, I see it now. You weren’t chosen. You were born.”
He doesn’t give Aphelios a chance to respond, yanking him forward with his own magic and gripping his neck. He’s ready this time, and the surge of deific power only excites him more. Aphelios’ eyes go wide and Sett feels petty satisfaction curl in his belly. Only half, my ass.
He throws Aphelios back but instead of a satisfying crack as his skull connects to the bricks, he feels a hand close around his wrist. With liquid movements, Aphelios pivots and whips Sett into the wall in his place. Sett has barely enough time to block the knee flying toward his stomach and kicks Aphelios’ other foot. He slides just an inch but it’s enough to unbalance him. Sett pushes again and Aphelios hits the ground. He rolls in time to miss Sett’s punch, his fist leaving a dent in the concrete where Aphelios’ face had been only a half second earlier. The alley is tight and he has to dodge another hit before he has the opportunity to find his feet again. Sett allows it, taking a step back and watching as Aphelios falls into a defensive stance.
“Not bad! You’re more than just a pretty pair of horns after all.”
Aphelios seems to barely resist rolling his eyes. “I think you’re having too much fun.”
“Hey, you know what they say,” Sett laughs. “If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.” He surges forward, almost entranced with how Aphelios moves to dodge his punches. The last one he deflects instead, and Sett just barely overcorrects to avoid the alley wall. He hears the blade being drawn before he sees it and leaps back. Icy pain streaks across his arm, Aphelios only making a shallow cut instead of lopping his entire limb off. Sett sees the weapon now, a curved blade of wicked blood red. Good, he thinks. Fair fights are always so boring.
Aphelios goes on the offensive, supplementing his strikes with slashes of the scythe. Sett has plenty of practice blocking knives but the curve is providing a challenge, muddling his read of Aphelios’ movements and, more than once, catching on his bracers and throwing a wrench into his own moves. Finally, Aphelios hooks his arm and pulls. Sett tries not to think about how a slip to the left would mean losing his hand and instead channels his momentum into a gut punch. He has no time to appreciate the guttural noise he knocks out of him before Aphelios’ free hand connects with his jaw hard enough to rattle his teeth and make him taste blood. He slips his hand free, feeling the edge of the blade just barely scrape his thumb, and Aphelios kicks him in the chest hard enough to send him into the wall once again.
Sett gasps, his eyes focusing in time to watch Aphelios spit on the ground. A thin string of it falls along the same line as his tattoo. He snarls, a display of animalistic fury that Sett finds strikingly attractive, and hurls the scythe at him. Sett’s head twitches to the right and the blade embeds in the brick. He chuckles breathlessly. “I think I like you, Aphelios.” His hand closes around the scythe’s hilt and pulls it out of the wall. Aphelios’ lips twitch into that tiny smile again, a little more frayed this time, and the blade dissolves in Sett’s grip. He watches, mouth slack, as it reforms in Aphelios’ hand. “Oh, yeah,” he says, grinning wide, “I like you a lot.”
He starts forward when suddenly he gets that feeling again, of being watched. He stops just in time for a bullet to whiz past his nose. Even Aphelios looks surprised. The blade dissipates once more and he holds his hand up, palm out, to the mouth of the alley. Sett whips his head around to look and sees nothing– wait, there, a glint of gold atop the building on the far side of the marketplace. Aphelios makes a quick series of hand signals that Sett doesn’t begin to understand and then sighs, sliding down the wall into a squat. Sett frowns. Easy to relax when you have a sniper watching over you. “That’s a bit more than unfair.”
“She’s… protective.”
“No shit.” Sett plops down across from him and spits, a little red splatter on the concrete. Apparently if Aphelios really wanted him dead, he’d be a much bigger splatter by now. So, fuck it. “If she’s been up there the whole time,” whoever she is, he thinks, “then why am I still here?”
Aphelios shrugs. “I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I really did like your dance.”
Sett barks a laugh. “So my dancing saved me?”
“Maybe.” Aphelios props his elbow on his knee and cradles his chin in his hand. “Why don’t you have a dance partner?”
Sett opens his mouth to repeat his earlier answer but stops. It’s not something he considers often but he supposes he owes Aphelios a real answer in exchange for his stay of execution. He thinks about it for a moment, and Aphelios lets him. “Other people can’t keep up with me,” he finally says. “I won’t slow down. I’ve tried before and it just ruins it. It’s a good dance but it doesn’t feel the same. I wanna let loose and if that means doing it by myself, I will.”
Aphelios hums. The moon is the only light left by now, full and bright, and it paints Aphelios in shades of silver. Even his molten hot horns seem to have cooled. Sett wonders if it would feel any less potent now to run his fingers up the curved edges or if it would still make his skin buzz like electricity. He wants to find out. His arm twitches as if to reach for Aphelios as that thought takes hold, but then he remembers that he’s being watched through a scope and thinks better of it.
“You said you’d give me an encore if I made it worth your while.” Aphelios’ eyes are shining again, playful now instead of hard and challenging. Not even the woman with the gun can stop how Sett’s stomach lurches pleasantly. “Have I?”
Sett tilts his head in a show of consideration. “Are you gonna kill me after?”
“No,” he says around that whisper of a smile. “But I wouldn’t mind sparring again sometime.”
“Really?” Sett perks up at the suggestion. Aphelios huffs a laugh and Sett finds that he doesn’t care if it's at his expense or not. He wants to fight Aphelios again, to feel the thrum of power that lives just under his skin, the half-heavenly strength that hides in the grace of his movements. Hell, he'd be happy if Aphelios beat him black and blue. Aphelios pushes to his feet and holds a hand out for Sett. Sett takes it and the crackling magic potential is no longer a shock. It curls and flows, licking like flames all the way up to his neck.
“Yeah,” Aphelios says, pulling him up. “Other people can’t keep up with me.”