A tall figure stood expressionless at the edge of the third story rooftop staring down at the ground, watching like a sentinel at the scene unfolding below. A soft wind tossed back his dark grey hair, his eyes shielded behind dark sunglasses. Powerful forearms, exposed by rolled up sleeves, lay folded across his chest. Below him, the infamous Lucania Bloody Sleeves Castalia tore away at Captain Worth of the Winged Guardians, a man of almost equal infamy down in the slums. Accompanying her was a man who could only be Leoluca Castalia, head of the family’s operations in Russell City, and second son of Don Castalia himself. Surely they had made quite a scene for themselves down there.

Bento lifted a hand to withdraw the rolled cigarette from his lips and let it fall to his side as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. If he found the scene distasteful his face didn’t show it, having long been jaded towards the sounds of suffering. The problem with these Mafia types was that they always felt the need to make a spectacle out of things… It didn’t really matter, they would give him a better life than wasting away in the slums, whether by participating in their rise, or by profiting from their fall…

From his vest pocket, Bento retrieved his flask and took a long pull before replacing it in his pocket. This woman certainly lived up to her reputation, slashing away at the broken man, [color=ed1c24]"This!”[/color] She cried, [color=ed1c24]“Is what happens to those who wrong you! Who wrong us!"[/color] Even from a distance, Bento could see tears streaming down her face as she raised the mutilated cock of a helpless man, a gesture testifying more to the depth of her grief than the breadth of her power. [color=ed1c24]"Not just the Winged Guardians, I will personally bring death to any figlio di troia who crosses the Castalia Family!”[/color]

[color=662d91]“Hmmpf”[/color] Bento grunted, entirely unimpressed. Intimidation was one of the lowest forms of power, yet those who wielded it always seemed so sure of themselves. They were all the same, not one week ago he had returned to his apartment to find a group of five men posted up outside, claiming that they owned the street. Bento showed them the consequences of trying to use the power of intimidation against a man without fear. Even though their leader had been busy giving some lame speech, Bento could only hope that in the split second between noticing the gun that had just been pulled in his face, and the bullet entering his skull, the poor bastard saw the truth. That in a single moment, every ounce of power he had gained beating up old ladies in the street had been reduced to ash. What use was it then? Something that could be taken so easily was hardly even worth having.

As her uncle dragged Lucania away from the scene thrown over his shoulder like a child, it was clear what kind of power she held. Bento raised the cigarette to his lips once more; there was no need to hurry after all. He knew exactly where they would be going, he might as well finish his smoke. The Immortal stood and watched as the crowd tore the old man down and ripped him to pieces. It was almost humorous to imagine, the foolish captain had been swayed by the same illusion that had now passed to the Castalia girl. He had tormented the slums with impunity, secure in the notion that his power would protect him from harm. But could it stop someone stronger than him from stringing him up from a lamppost? 

[color=662d91]“Glass houses…”[/color] He mumbled to himself, pulling out the flask again. He was not with without weakness after all, Bento mused, pouring more whiskey down his throat than he really should have. Recalling the events of the afternoon should have made it clear that there was nothing strong about him. Whether he knew it or not, the truth was that he had come to this place to die. The bastards had broken him long ago and since then Bento had turned down every chance at happiness he’d been given. His father in Aspin, Sarah in Gate’s Pass, and dear Promos…

[center]---

[hider=Six Months Ago]

Two men stood at the edge of town, staring up at the stars. The waterworks had concluded and the loot had all been sold to Motum Diversum traders, all that was left was the future. [color=0072bc]“So where are you going to go now?”[/color] The older man asked, the concern evident in his worn face. 

Silence hung in the air for a short while as Bento paused to think. [color=662d91]“I have a childhood friend living up in Dresden…”[/color] He lied, [color=662d91]“It shouldn’t be too hard to get a job up there.”[/color] Stepping forward, the Immortal turned away so his friend couldn’t see the guilt in his eyes. It didn’t stop Promos from seeing straight through Bento’s fiction, though the old man was too well-natured to mention it.

[color=0072bc]“You know, you could always stay here with us…”[/color]

[color=662d91]“I wish that I could, but-“[/color]

[color=0072bc]“Then do. Forget about the past, my friend.”[/color]

[color=662d91]“It doesn’t work like that…”[/color] Bento snapped, turning back to the old man, and waving his hands in frustration. It wasn’t fair for the old fool to be so kind. Bento shook his head and regained his composure, [color=662d91]“You don’t understand.”[/color] He added, the warmth returning to his voice, not without bringing in a touch of sadness. [color=662d91]“You lost your family, and now here you are, back in the arms of your wife and son. You can just go back… But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t explain what it is, but I lost something in those damn mines, and I just can’t go back anymore… Not after all of the things I’ve done.”[/color]

[color=0072bc]“Then promise me this.”[/color] Promos finally said, after a short pause. [color=0072bc]“Once you find whatever it is you’ve lost, promise me you will come home.”[/color]

[color=662d91]“Thank you old friend.”[/color] Bento replied, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. 

[color=0072bc]“Be sure to visit often.”[/color] Promos said, forcing a sad smile, knowing he’d likely never see his friend again.[/hider][/center]

[center]---[/center]

Bento flicked his cigarette off the roof and traced its fall to the dirt below. There was no point in dwelling on the past any longer. He took one last look at the mangled corpse of Captain Adam Worth as light winds started to pick up around his feet. Finally, the Immortal did a quick once over to make sure all of his belongings were securely attached to his person before leaping off the roof. Instead of falling hard to the earth, he was propelled through the air by a powerful burst of wind, landing easily on the opposite roof. It was time to find the Bitches Brew…