8 Chapter 8

Sirens approached, and I immediately dropped on my belly, watching the cop cars park and dozens of cops spill out, pinning the Santos in. In the blink of an eye, a firefight started after a portly Santos dude broke down negotiations with an opening shot.

"No way in hell I'm going back to jail!"

I couldn't agree more with the Sentiment. I slinked away from the madness, keeping my figure low, clutching my bag of cash as my life depended on it. I stuck to alleyways and paths I was sure had no cameras, slowly making my way towards the pawn shop with my babies.

Ebony and Ivory.

A few blocks out from the shop, I ran into a few homeless dudes hanging around a fire. The farthest from the fire freaked out when I tapped him on the shoulder. He had a shaggy beard and a shifty look in his eyes.

I pulled out a crisp $50 bill. "Give me your jacket and shirt, and it's yours." 

The man eyed me up and down and stepped back. "Is that blood?" 

"Do you want the money or not?" I asked, and the guy pursed his lips while giving me an apprehensive look. 

"It's my only pair. I can't exactly trade it away for just $50."

"$100 will be enough to get you a replacement and keep you fed," I said, rather hastily. The longer I stayed put, the easier it'd be to track me. I needed to run a few more errands before I was ready to disappear.

"$200," the dude declared, folding his arms. "Winter is coming soon; I can't afford to cheap out on a good jacket." 

I gave him a flat look "We're in California. We don't have winters."

The man blinked and rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "I'm still sticking to what I said." 

I shook my head. I could've haggled for a better price, but I had a boatload of money now. It honestly wasn't worth it. "Alright, hand it over," I said, pulling more cash from my jeans pocket that'd separated before approaching the man.

"Wait, really!" he said, startled. "Then, I'm thinking I'll charge $500. I've got to think about—" 

I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed hard. "You don't want to keep wasting my time. Are you interested, or should I keep walking?" My grip tightened on his shoulder with every passing second, and he quickly nodded.

"Excellent," I smiled. "Now, take it off." 

He did as he was told and promptly got paid, all the while I removed my bloodied jacket and shirt, changed it for the new one, and wrapped up the discarded mess. I would've liked to switch out my blood-stained jeans as well, but I had to draw the line somewhere.

The man shivered in the night air and looked at me pleadingly. "Can I have your old jacket?"

"No," I said as I tossed the bloodied jacket into the fire at the center of the gathering. I couldn't risk anyone getting a hold of my blood. This was the Marvel Universe. Any number of crazy things could happen. I didn't want to fight an army of Dantes in the not-so-far future.

"What are you doing!" A homeless Asian dude yelled at me. 

"More fuel for your fire," I simply said and left the alley.

--

Calling Kroul's place a Pawnshop was an insult to the man who ran it. It didn't just deal with trinkets and jewelry but had one-of-a-kind gems, Artifacts, and weapons he collected and sold to his exclusive clientele.

Dante's pistols had caught Kroul's eyes when he completed a job for him, killing the host of a minor demon. I hoped Kroul hadn't sold them yet. I was in no mood for a wild goose chase.

Kroul was a gaunt ancient man with slicked white hair and wrinkle lines that made him come accross as severe.

He was at the front desk when I stepped in, polishing a set of ancient throwing knives. I felt a strange energy wafting off them, and when I tried to identify them using my system, it came back with a unique description, earning me a new skill.

Fingers of Orochi

5 of 10

Demonic Kunai laced with poison that burns the body and mind. Favored torturing tools of Iwari, a 17th-century hand general.

Congratulations: You've unlocked Devils's eye. Basic.

Allows you to peer into the existence of all that you can see. The quality of information provided is determined by the level of skill.

I whistled internally. "That quite the set you got there?"

Kroul raised a brow. "You recognize the blades?" There was no mistaking the suspicion and respect in his eyes. 

"I might know a thing or two about exotic weapons."

"Odd," Kroul's intense green eyes landed on me. "I did not peg you for the…discerning sort. But I supposed it makes sense with your pistols. They're one of the finest pieces I've ever handled." 

"Does that mean you still got them?" I asked. "I've missed my babies. I'm ready to take them off your hands now." I patted by bag of cash.

Kroul took me in for a long moment, looking at my bloodied pants and sneakers and my sweaty and tangled white hair. I could practically hear the gears in his head turning.

 "I'm sorry, but you can't afford them."

I raised a brow. "Trying to twist my arm, Kroul? I can't say I didn't see that coming. Name your price?" This shit was starting to get old, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I just wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.

"Hand me that bag, and I might consider letting you walk out of here a free man, Mr. Dante," Kroul said with a dark glint in his eyes. "Ebony and Ivory don't belong in the hand of a common thief." 

My blood boiled. Who was he to tell me where my guns belonged? And I thought Kroul was one of the good ones!

"Pot calling the Kettle black, Kroul," I narrowed my eyes. "I'm trying to be reasonable here. Don't force me to be uncivil."

"My finger is on the silent alarm. Move even an inch, and every police in Los Angeles will in minutes. You'll be lucky if you see inside of a jail cell.." 

 "Jesus Christ, today is not just my day, is it?" I sighed as I considered my options. 

Killing Kroul would only draw more attention. It was a sure-fire way to put myself on the radar of every major underworld organization. The man was polishing a knife for the Hand, for Fuck sake…

Wait a minute.

My face bled all emotion.

"You drive a hard bargain, Kroul," I said. "I certainly respect the hustle, but I'll be sure to bring up your name when my Sensei asks who kept me." 

Kroul frowned. "Sensei?" 

"Of course, don't tell me you don't know?" I spoke. "When I saw the Fangs of Orochi, I just assumed." 

His eyes went wide. "Y-You're with the Hand?" 

"Were you expecting black fatigues and a katana strapped to my back?" I raised a brow.

 "You can't--- I thought—" Kroul's face cycled through a dozen emotions. It was the most expressive I'd ever seen him. I smirked internally.