Taking Over The Criminal UnderWorld As A 21st Century Magus!

The cold wind bit at Elian's skin as he sat alone on the factory rooftop, the cacophony of the Red Vultures' compound faintly audible below. His knees were drawn to his chest, his fingers tracing patterns in the thin layer of soot that covered the ground. The events of the past week swirled in his mind, an unrelenting storm of grief, confusion, and determination.

Jace was gone. The Iron Guard had taken him, snuffing out his vibrant energy as easily as crushing a flame underfoot. Elian's chest tightened at the memory of that fateful night. He'd arrived too late.

The sight of Jace lying in the dirt, lifeless, had seared itself into his thoughts. His blood—so bright against the drab streets—haunted him, even now.

"Why didn't I act sooner?" he muttered, his voice hoarse in the stillness.

He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. His powers, this anomaly that set him apart, had saved his life and the lives of others time and time again. But it hadn't been enough to save Jace. The vines that erupted from the ground at his will—once a source of wonder—felt like a hollow gift now, unable to undo the irreparable.

The world of Ironhold weighed heavily on him, a place of cold steel and grinding machinery where people like him didn't belong. Magic didn't exist here. Not in a land ruled by technology and the Iron Guard's oppressive fist. Yet he existed, a contradiction in a world that didn't believe in the impossible.

The Red Vultures had been their only option. After losing Jace, the group had been fractured, their resolve wavering. Tobin, too young to truly grasp the loss, had clung to Marla. She, ever the optimist, had tried to hold them together, but even her sunny demeanor couldn't mask the cracks forming in their little family. And Lena… Lena had been resolute. Determined.

"We can't just keep running, Elian," she'd told him that night, her voice filled with steely resolve. "We have to fight back."

Her words had struck a chord deep within him. He'd agreed to follow her, though a part of him wondered if it was desperation more than conviction that pushed him forward. Now, here they were, accepted by the Red Vultures after proving themselves in battle. The memory of that confrontation burned vividly in his mind.

The vines he'd used to choke out a guard. Lena's sharp movements as she dismantled her opponents with calculated precision. Halda's cold, appraising stare as they fought for their place in her world.

Yet even now, among the ranks of these hardened criminals, Elian felt out of place. What was he? He wasn't like the others, whose scars and hardened expressions spoke of years of struggle. His power set him apart.

He'd never met anyone else who could do what he could, and the looks of fear and awe from the others only deepened his isolation. They didn't trust him, and he couldn't blame them.

The sound of boots on metal snapped Elian out of his thoughts. He turned to see Lena climbing up to join him. She crossed the rooftop with her usual confidence, plopping down beside him without a word. For a while, they sat in silence, the city sprawling before them like a labyrinth of shadows and flickering lights.

"You've been quiet," Lena finally said, her tone light but probing. "That's not like you."

Elian shrugged, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline. "Just thinking."

"About Jace?"

He nodded, his throat tightening. "And everything else. This place. The Vultures. What we're even doing here."

Lena leaned back, propping herself up on her hands. "We're surviving. That's what we're doing. Just like always."

"Is that enough for you?" Elian's voice was sharper than he intended, and Lena's gaze snapped to him, her expression unreadable. "Just surviving?"

"It has to be," she said after a moment. "For now."

Elian frowned, her words offering little comfort. He turned the question over in his mind, his thoughts returning to his parents. Their faces were a blur, their voices faint echoes. The mystery of their deaths hung over him like a shadow, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the answers lay somewhere within the tangled web of the Red Vultures and the Iron Guard.

"Do you ever wonder why?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Lena arched a brow. "Why what?"

"Why we're even still here. Why Jace had to die. Why I have… this." He held up a hand, and a small vine sprouted from his palm, curling around his fingers before withering away.

Lena stared at the display, her skepticism evident. "I'll admit, I don't understand it. But does it matter? You're here, and you can do things no one else can. Maybe that's all the explanation you need."

Her words, though meant to reassure, only deepened his unease. He didn't want to be unique. He wanted answers. He wanted to understand what made him different and why he'd been cursed with this power in a world that didn't believe in it.

Elian hesitated before speaking again. "I remember some things," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I came here. It's all scattered and blurry, but… there's something."

Lena tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Like what?"

He closed his eyes, trying to piece together the fragments. "A forest. Tall trees that seemed to touch the sky. I remember feeling safe there, like it was home. And there were voices—gentle, kind, but I can't remember what they said. It's like trying to hold onto water. It just slips away."

Lena studied him, her skepticism softening. "That doesn't sound like anywhere in Ironhold. Maybe it's just a dream."

"Maybe," Elian admitted, though the ache in his chest told him otherwise. "But it feels real. And the way I can do… this." He gestured to his hand, where another vine sprouted briefly before withering. "It feels connected to that place somehow."

Lena frowned, her expression unreadable. "You really think you're not from here?"

"I don't know what to think," Elian admitted. "But I know I don't belong in this world."

The faint sound of despair drifted up from below. It was not the lighthearted laughter of children but the anguished cries and muffled sobs of the impoverished, echoing in the alleys of Ironhold. Their wails formed a haunting backdrop, a constant reminder of the city's cruelty. Elian felt a pang of guilt. He'd barely spoken to Tobin since Jace's death, too consumed by his own turmoil to offer comfort. The boy's wide eyes and trembling form from that night lingered in Elian's mind, a silent reproach to his inaction.

He glanced at Lena, who was watching him closely.

"You care too much," she said softly, her voice carrying both admiration and warning.

"And you don't care enough," he countered, though there was no malice in his tone.

Lena's lips quirked into a small, humorless smile. "Maybe. But that's why we're a good team. You keep us grounded, and I keep us moving forward."