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A storm is on the horizon.
Kaz feels it in his leg before he sees it in the sky.
The rest of it has been building since his Wraith had been taken on the shores of Vellgeluk.
Those that pass him on the street are eager to avoid him. Eyes skitter over him, lingering on the crow-headed cane they’ve been taught to fear. He couldn’t care less. No, his mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only.
Revenge.
And he finds himself at home in her arms. Revenge has been as much a mother to him as anything else. She raised Kaz Brekker from the shores of Ketterdam. She taught him everything he knows. She gave him purpose.
He turns down an alleyway. His cane echoes in the space, louder than usual. Every step feels like a negotiation that he’s losing. The grip on his cane tightens. Kaz Brekker does not lose negotiations. Even so, the pull in his leg after a particularly rough stretch of cobblestone sends a flare of resistance that gives him pause. Ever since the Ice Court, his knee has been punishing him tenfold.
Something shifts in the corner of his vision. He immediately flicks his eyes to the parapet, already accounting for a second set of eyes that isn’t there. His teeth press together briefly, the muscle in his cheek tightening. Inej isn't here. When his eyes return to the road ahead, he finds the source of the movement.
Leaning hard against his cane, Kaz stares directly into the eyes of a man made of pure muscle. The absence he had felt increases tenfold. To his credit, the man meets his glare head-on. Though it could stem from the fact that it looks like there is no brain residing inside his thick skull.
Kaz feels the air behind him shift. He throws his cane up, snatching it at the opposite end before sending the crow’s beak into the head of the man behind him. His victim cries out as his blood sprays the weathered yellow building to his left. The second man approaches him, not much more than a twig of a thing, scraggly limbs exposed by the yellow-and-green plaid vest he wears. The ugly thing leaves his tattoo plain for anyone with eyes to see.
Dime Lions.
Every semblance of composure carefully threaded through his body snaps.
Flames combust inside of him. Days of pent-up rage finally, finally break the surface. He smiles. The maniacal look on his face makes Twig falter. Kaz doesn’t hesitate to hook his cane under his leg, sweeping the man off of his feet, his head hitting the cobblestone and painting it red. The man he had first made eye contact with barrels straight into him. Kaz staggers, the weight sending him scrambling.
He juts his elbow into the man’s stomach, the head of his cane sweeping up to meet with the man’s big head. The instant the meaty arms release from around his body, Kaz shuffles away. He isn’t fast enough, and finds himself playing a game of tug-of-war with his cane. With all of his strength, Kaz attempts to wrench it from the large hands holding it hostage. The man holds steady.
A well-aimed punch to the ribs sends Kaz staggering back, the grip on his cane releasing. He coughs, air evading him as he rights himself. His eyes flicker between the men surrounding him. The head of his own cane slams straight into his back. He buckles forward.
“Come on, crip, give it up already,” one of them shouts, laughter breaking up his words. “Ain’t got your Wraith to protect you now.”
His chest heaves. Anger surges in him, hot and ugly, twisting his insides into something unrecognisable. “I don’t need her to fight my battles.”
His eyes settle on the man holding his cane hostage. The man smirks. “From where I’m standing, it sure looks like ya do.”
Idiots. The lot of them. But he won’t take their need for incessant blabber for granted. There are six, no, seven of them now; whilst Twig is still unconscious on the ground, probably for good, the other guy who had received a beak to the jaw staggers up to join the others circling him.
While Muscles is busy looking at the others for approval of his joke, Kaz lunges for his cane. He manages to snatch it from his hand and hit him over the head. It draws blood and anger, but it isn’t nearly enough to take him down. His bad leg flares as he jolts out of reach, angry hands making a grab at him. He doesn’t let it show on his face.
He blocks the next strike with the cane, redirecting another with his shoulder. Something in his ribs answers his movements, sharply enough to steal the breath from his lungs. The world narrows.
Three moving in. Two circling. Two more hanging back, waiting to see how this will all play out.
Kaz moves before they’re able to get the drop on him again. The end of his cane makes a home for itself in the chest of the man in front of him; the man scrambles back, hands reaching for the indent the cane made in his sternum. Dodging the fist coming for his face, Kaz grabs it in his hands, twisting the skinny wrist until he can hear it snap. His crow-headed cane finishes the job for him, meeting the man’s head with all the strength he can muster.
He doesn’t notice the kick coming for his leg until it’s too late.
His knee buckles under the weight of it, sending him careening towards the ground. He tries to get his cane underneath him, but he is too slow. Blood floods into his mouth as he bites down hard on his lip. He will not give them the satisfaction of making him scream.
His knees hit the uneven cobblestone, but he doesn’t have time to let the pain sink in. Kaz Brekker goes on his knees for no one. But before he can push himself up, a boot meets his back. The cane slips from under him.
Loathe as he is to do it, he lets go of his crutch, catching himself before he can eat a mouthful of stone. Another boot, from the side, wastes no time in becoming acquainted with his bruised ribs.
Copper floods his mouth. He coughs, red speckles painting the alleyway. He can hear the buzz of laughter from above, teases and taunts blurring together as the pain overtakes him. Someone presses their foot down on his back, heavy. Kaz’s arms strain under the weight of it all. It doesn’t take long for his arms to fail him. The boot moves from his back to his head, shoving his face into the stone. Jagged pebbles claw into his skin. He clenches his jaw at the show of humiliation.
“Stay down,” the man above him orders. He sounds as if he’s already won.
Everyone loves to underestimate a cripple.
Kaz scans what he can of the men surrounding him. If Inej and Jesper were here, they’d pinpoint his expression for what it was: his scheming face.
Just as the man towering over him lets up on his face, he rolls, grabbing the man’s leg and yanking him down with him. His cane sits just out of reach. He makes do with his fists. One punch against the cobblestone is enough to take him out, his head caving in on the jagged, broken piece of cobblestone. The others around him cry outrage as he evades their hands. He grabs his cane, which the others had been too stupid to leave within his reach.
As soon as the familiar weight is in his hands again, he comes alive. Adrenaline helping with the rest, he staggers to his feet. His leg strains, but he can barely feel it against the bitter rage boiling up inside of him. No one, and he means no one, gets the drop on Kaz Brekker, and if so, they certainly do not get away with it.
His ribs scream in agony as he swings the cane at one of his knife-wielding attackers. It catches on his neck, reducing him into a sorry sack of wheezing and gasping. He grabs the dagger as it makes its descent through open air and wastes no time in throwing it straight at Muscles. Without looking to see if it hit the mark, Kaz stumbles over to his next victim. This one, Kaz notes with a hint of satisfaction, has fear in his eyes. As he should.
The man scrambles to attack, his weight leaning to his left as he gears up for a blow. Kaz deftly sidesteps the fist before bringing his own fist to the sucker’s sorry face. Blood spurts from his nose as he staggers back. Kaz sweeps the cane behind his legs, sending him onto his ass.
An arm closes around his throat from behind. His cane is sent clattering to the floor with a sturdy kick. He watches the coward on his ass trip over himself to get back up and run out of the alley, taking one of his even more pathetic friends with him. Muscles comes lumbering over to Kaz, knife protruding from his chest. His breaths are clipped, face paling as the blood seeps out of his wound. “You dirty bastard,” the man scowls at him, his voice little more than a grumble.
Kaz chokes over his response. “What’d you… expect?”
The man snarls at him, getting right up in his face. Spittle flies in Kaz’s face as the man says, “I’m glad I’ll be the one to put your sorry ass in an early grave.”
“Don’t be so sure about yourself.”
Kaz reaches up, tearing the knife from its place in his chest. The man grabs at his chest, gasping for breath. Blood comes down in waves now, unhindered by the metal that had staunched the worst of the bleeding. He doesn’t give either of the men enough time to think before he plunges the knife into the side of the man holding him. Sure enough, the grip around his neck loosens, giving Kaz ample time to twist around and slash his neck like a pig marked for the slaughter.
He hears Muscles scream of rage from behind him. He waits, watching the shimmering glass sign of Orin’s Glass Shop. At the last second, Kaz dodges out of the way. His leg buckles against the full force of his weight, but he stands steady. Fire licks up through the muscles of his leg, overused and aching for rest. He hasn’t the time.
Muscles catches his foot on the uneven terrain, his large body crashing to the floor.
Through the silence of the night, a steady stream of snivelling whimpers crawls out of the pathetic man’s mouth. Kaz hobbles over to his cane, grinding his teeth as he bends over to pick it up. Muscles claws at the cobblestone, dragging his large body over the stones and smearing them with his blood.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
The cane echoes through the alleyway as Dirtyhands stalks his prey.
The cane thuds against his shoulder, tipping his body over, so he lies on his back. Muscle’s face is a mess of snot and tears, entirely red as he heaves out a sob.
Kaz sneers down at the snivelling man as he pleads for mercy. “Please, please, it was Pekka. Please, I didn’t want to do it. He made me! Please don’t-”
“I’m not known for my mercy,” Kaz says, his voice even despite the agony tormenting his every move. Kaz bends down then. The man blocks his face with his arms, crying out. It’s only after Kaz rises, not touching a hair on his body, that the man peeks out from behind his hands. His eyes widen when they settle on the hunk of loose cobblestone weighing heavily in the black-gloved-clad hands of the Bastard of the Barrel.
“Please! Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll-”
Kaz stomps his good leg down on the man's left arm. He relishes in the scream echoing through the alleyway. Relishes in the fact that no one will come running to protect this man. Not when they know who he’s up against. It’s almost enough to make the excruciating pain in his leg worth it. The man’s other arm instinctively goes to cradle the broken limb. Kaz wastes no time in crushing that one too.
“Please!” The man cries. “No more! I'll get you anything you want. There's—there's a shipment, you can have first pick."
"What shipment?"
"Heard' bout your whore." The man gasps as Kaz puts more pressure on his broken arm. "I'll getcha a new one, young and pure—not stretched out like—"
Kaz cuts him off with a kick to the head.
"Please! Let me go. Haven’t- Haven’t you done enough-”
“No,” Kaz says, examining the rock in his hand with the cool air of someone testing its worth. He lowers down to the man’s level. “You deserve everything I give you and more.”
Kaz delights in the way the man’s eyes widen as he raises the rock.
He brings it down without a second’s hesitation.
The man jerks underneath him, a sharp, broken wail forcing its way out of his mouth. The stone in his hands gleams crimson under the faint lighting from the streetlamp. Resistance meets him as he brings it up once more. The resistance doesn’t come from the weight of his brutality; no, it stems from his own arm, the strain already settling in his shoulder, his ribs, his leg.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s had this festering anger building and building with no release. Kaz won’t stop when the man takes his final breath; he’ll stop when it makes a point.
He brings it down again.
And again.
Every strike is a measured hit, enough to brutalise him beyond recognition. The only thing that shall be left of this Dime Lion rat will be the tattoo connecting him there.
Once the ugly, too-large face is nothing more than crimson and bits of flesh and bone, he stops.
The stone hangs in his grip for a moment longer than necessary. His chest heaves air back into his chest. A drop of something falls on his face, dripping down to his chin. And another. Soon the heavens unleash their tears at the display of brutality before them.
He lets the rain soak into his coat, into his hair, and his gloves. He watches as it pelts the dead body in front of him. His mind wavers. He loses time.
When he finally drops the stone from his hand, it lands with a dull, unremarkable sound against the sin-stained street.
Kaz pushes himself upright, slower now that he can afford the time. His cane takes the brunt of his weight. He doesn’t spare a glance back.