Chapter 18: Good Night Gone Bad
The casino's grand hall, once alive with the cacophony of clinking coins and raucous laughter, now felt like a tomb as Rilo was led away by Boss Shen and his entourage. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, whispers trailing in their wake. Rilo's heart pounded in his chest, but his face remained a mask of calm indifference. He had been in tight spots before, but this—this was different. Shen wasn't just a casino owner; he was a force of nature, a man who had clawed his way to power through sheer will and brutality. And now, Rilo was walking straight into the lion's den.
The group moved through a side door, leaving the glittering lights and opulent decor of the casino behind. The narrow corridor was dimly lit, the walls lined with faded tapestries that depicted scenes of ancient battles. The air was thick with the scent of incense and something else—something metallic, like the tang of blood. Rilo's senses were on high alert, his every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap.
They ascended a narrow staircase, the steps creaking under the weight of Shen's goons. The higher they climbed, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows deepening with each step. Rilo's mind raced, trying to piece together Shen's motives. Why bring him up here? Why not deal with him in the open, where everyone could see? No, Shen had something else in mind—something personal.
At the top of the stairs, they entered a spacious office. The room was a stark contrast to the casino below. It was sparsely decorated, with a large wooden desk dominating the center of the space. Behind the desk was a floor-to-ceiling window that offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, the moon hanging low in the night sky like a silent observer. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes and artifacts, their origins unknown but undoubtedly valuable.
Shen moved to the desk and took a seat, his massive frame dwarfing the chair. He leaned back, his scarred face illuminated by the soft glow of a single lamp. His eyes, cold and calculating, never left Rilo. The goons fanned out around the room, their presence a silent threat. Rilo stood in the center, his back straight, his hands loose at his sides. He knew better than to show fear, but the tension in the room was palpable.
"Sit," Shen said, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk.
Rilo remained standing. "I'll stand."
Shen's lips curled into a smirk. "Suit yourself."
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as the two men sized each other up. Rilo's mind raced, trying to anticipate Shen's next move. He had known Shen for years, had fought alongside him—and against him—in the past. But the man sitting before him was different. Harder. Colder. The scars on his face were new, as were the lines of cruelty etched into his features.
"You've done well for yourself," Rilo said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "A casino, a crew, a reputation. Not bad for a street rat."
Shen chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a chill down Rilo's spine. "You always did have a way with words, Rilo. But let's not pretend this is a social call. You've been gone for five years. And now, out of nowhere, you show up in my casino, winning big, drawing attention. What's your game?"
Rilo shrugged. "No game. Just passing through."
Shen's smirk widened. "Passing through? With your skills? Don't insult me, Rilo. You're here for something. And I want to know what it is."
Rilo's jaw tightened. He had expected this, but hearing it from Shen's lips made it real. He had hoped to avoid this confrontation, to slip in and out of the city unnoticed. But fate had other plans.
"I'm not here for trouble," Rilo said, his voice steady. "I came to play a few hands, maybe win some coin. That's all."
Shen leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "And yet, here we are. You, in my office, surrounded by my men. Doesn't seem like 'just passing through' to me."
Rilo's eyes flicked to the goons, their massive forms blocking the exits. He knew he was outnumbered, outmatched. But he also knew Shen. The man loved to play games, to toy with his prey before striking. Rilo had to keep him talking, buy himself some time.
"If you're so worried about me, why not just throw me out?" Rilo asked, his tone casual. "Or better yet, let me leave with my winnings, and we'll call it even."
Shen laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You always were a bold one, Rilo. But you're not walking out of here with a single coin. Not until I get some answers."
Rilo's patience was wearing thin. He had played along long enough. "What do you want, Shen? Spit it out."
Shen's smirk faded, replaced by a cold, hard stare. "I want to know why you're really here. And I want to know what happened five years ago. You disappeared without a trace, left me to clean up your mess. And now you show up, acting like nothing happened. I don't like loose ends, Rilo. And you? You're the loosest end of all."
Rilo's mind raced. Five years ago. The fight. The betrayal. The blood. He had tried to forget, to bury the past. But now, it was all coming back, like a tidal wave threatening to drown him.
"That's ancient history," Rilo said, his voice low. "I'm not the same man I was back then. And neither are you."
Shen's eyes narrowed. "Maybe. But some things never change. And one of those things is that I don't let people walk away from me. Not without paying a price."
Rilo's heart pounded in his chest. He knew what was coming next. The tension in the room was a live wire, ready to snap. He had to act fast.
"Fine," Rilo said, his voice calm but firm. "You want answers? Here's one: I'm not playing your games anymore. I came here to gamble, not to relive the past. So, if you'll excuse me, I'll be taking my winnings and leaving."
He turned to leave, but the goons moved to block his path. Their massive forms loomed over him, their expressions grim. Rilo's jaw tightened, but he didn't back down.
"Move," he said, his voice cold and steady.
One of the goons sneered. "What did you say, little man?"
Rilo's eyes narrowed. "I said move out of the way, pea brains, or you'll regret it."
The room fell silent, the tension thickening like a storm cloud. Rilo's expression changed, his calm demeanor replaced by a cold, deadly focus. The air around him seemed to chill, the temperature dropping rapidly. Fog began to form with each breath he took, his eyes glinting like shards of ice.
The goons exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering. One of them muttered, "There are six of us, seven with Boss Shen. What can a lone waterbender do against seven earthbenders?"
Rilo didn't respond. He didn't need to. His body moved with fluid grace, his arms sweeping through the air in a precise, practiced motion. From a nearby glass of water, he drew the liquid into the air, freezing it into a cluster of razor-sharp ice needles. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them hurtling toward the goon blocking the door.
The man barely had time to react before the needles struck him in the chest, embedding themselves deep. He staggered back, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Rilo didn't wait. He launched himself forward, his movements a blur of speed and precision. He delivered a double kick to the goon's chest, sending him crashing into the wall. In midair, Rilo twisted, his legs sweeping out to knock two more goons off their feet.
He landed lightly on one foot, his body coiled like a spring. The remaining goons hesitated, their confidence shaken. Rilo didn't give them a chance to recover. He darted toward the door, his movements fluid and unstoppable. With a powerful kick, he shattered the door, sending splinters flying. He didn't look back as he sprinted down the stairs, the sound of pursuit close behind.
Shen watched from the window, his expression unreadable. The goon with the ice needles groaned, barely able to stand. Shen's lips curled into a faint smile.
"Not bad, Rilo," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "You've improved."
---
Meanwhile, in another part of the casino, Yogan found himself being led through a maze of corridors by Mariko. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint hum of distant music. Yogan's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, his heart still racing from the intensity of the game and the thrill of his victory. But now, as he followed Mariko, a different kind of anticipation began to build.
"Where are we going?" Yogan asked, his voice low and curious.
Mariko glanced back at him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You'll see."
They turned down another corridor, the walls lined with intricate tapestries and flickering lanterns. The atmosphere was intimate, almost surreal. Yogan's senses were heightened, every sound, every scent, every touch amplified. He could feel the heat of Mariko's hand in his, the way her fingers intertwined with his own.
Finally, they reached a door. Mariko pushed it open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. The air was warm, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine filling the space. A large bed dominated the room, its silken sheets inviting. Yogan's breath caught in his throat as Mariko turned to him, her eyes dark with desire.
"Enjoy yourself," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr.
Before Yogan could respond, Mariko closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a passionate kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, their bodies pressed together, their breaths mingling. Yogan's hands found her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.
They stumbled into the room, their movements frantic and urgent. The door slammed shut behind them as Yogan pushed Mariko against the wall, his lips trailing down her neck. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. The heat between them was electric, a fire that threatened to consume them both.
Yogan's hands moved to the hem of Mariko's dress, lifting it over her head in one swift motion. She stood before him, her skin glowing in the dim light, her eyes filled with a hunger that matched his own. Yogan's breath hitched as he took her in, his desire burning hotter than ever.
He pulled her to the bed, their bodies collapsing onto the soft sheets. Their kisses grew more fervent, their hands exploring every inch of each other. Yogan's shirt was discarded, followed by Mariko's remaining garments. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, the rustle of fabric, the soft moans that escaped their lips.
As they lost themselves in each other, the world outside ceased to exist. For a brief, fleeting moment, there was only the two of them, their passion a beacon in the darkness.
---
Shen smiled but smile was short-lived. The game was far from over, and Shen was a man who always played to win. He turned to his men, his expression hardening.
"Find him," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. "And bring him to me."
The goons nodded, their faces grim as they hurried out of the room. Shen watched them go, his mind already plotting his next move. Rilo had escaped, but he wouldn't get far. Not in this city. Not with Shen on his trail.
The night was far from over, and the stakes had never been higher.
Rilo's heart pounded like a war drum as Boss Shen's cold command echoed behind him—"Seize him!"—and the casino erupted into pandemonium. In one breathless moment, the opulent hall, once a sanctuary of glittering lights and raucous laughter, transformed into a savage arena where the forces of earth and water clashed in a chaotic ballet of violence.
Without hesitation, Rilo bolted from the corridor, his every muscle coiled with desperate resolve. His mind fixed solely on one goal: to find Yogan and escape this city of treachery. Behind him, a squad of ruthless earthbenders surged forward. Their massive forms, each wielding wickedly curved swords, heavy maces, and crude spears, moved in coordinated precision. Their hands—calloused and scarred from countless battles—choreographed elements as they summoned the very ground to their command.
The first of his pursuers lunged, his thick fingers curling in an ancient, deliberate gesture. With a guttural shout, he caused the mosaic floor beneath him to tremble, and jagged shards of stone erupted like daggers from the ground. Rilo twisted aside by a hair's breadth, his agile frame a blur. In that same fluid motion, he thrust out his hand, and from the moisture in the air a ribbon of water spiraled forth. The liquid, shimmering and potent, crashed into the earthbender's raised arm. The impact splintered bone and sent him reeling backwards into a shattered column of marble that collapsed in a cacophony of stone and dust.
In the midst of the melee, Rilo's every move was poetry in motion. His arms moved with a dancer's grace—each gesture precise and imbued with purpose. As a second adversary charged, sword raised high, Rilo darted low and spun, his fingertips flicking through the humid air. Instantly, a concentrated blast of water shot forth, disarming the attacker by wrenching the gleaming blade from his grasp. The sword clattered to the bloodstained floor, a stark reminder that in this battle, every weapon could become an instrument of fate.
Around him, chaos reigned. Boss Shen's men advanced like a living tide, their synchronized earthbending summoning tremors that shattered ornamental columns and sent opulent chandeliers swinging precariously overhead. With every forceful stomp, the ground itself buckled and heaved. One earthbender, his face set in a grimace of determination, swung a massive mace in a wide arc. Rilo narrowly ducked, feeling the rush of wind and the weight of impending doom as the blow collided with a gilded side table. Splinters of wood and bursts of shattered glass exploded into the air, mingling with spurts of blood from an unlucky onlooker.
Amid the bedlam, the ornate casino transformed into a nightmarish landscape of shattered décor and spilled opulence. The once-pristine marble floors were now slick with water and smeared with crimson, each step a perilous dance upon a stage of ruin. The vibrant glow of lanterns was eclipsed by flickering shadows, as if the very light itself cowered from the savagery unfolding below.
Rilo pressed on, his body propelled by sheer instinct and the burning need to reunite with Yogan. His waterbending was more than a defensive art—it was an extension of his will. With an intricate swirl of his hands, he summoned a spiraling vortex of water at his feet. The swirling column expanded, its surface a roiling, liquid shield that absorbed a barrage of crushing blows. His fingers, slick and precise, worked as if orchestrating an unseen symphony. Each twist and flick released a controlled torrent of water, knocking his enemies off balance and turning their rigid earth into a malleable foe.
An earthbender armed with a serrated sword advanced from the right, his every muscle tensed as he executed a low, sweeping kick intended to knock Rilo off his feet. At that split second, Rilo's left hand shot out in a graceful parry, channeling a jet of water that countered the force of the strike. The liquid burst forth like a cascading waterfall, deflecting the kick and sending droplets scattering in the air. The clash of water against hard, unyielding stone resonated through the hall, an elemental counterpoint to the savage brawl.
The frenetic battle pushed Rilo deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the casino. As he vaulted over overturned chairs and dodged through piles of splintered debris, his boots skidded across the slick floor. Each leap was calculated—a desperate bid to maintain his lead over the relentless horde. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the chaotic scene. In the periphery, desperate gamblers and panicked staff scattered like startled birds, their cries blending into the symphony of clashing metal, splintering stone, and the rhythmic roar of bending elements.
At one particularly brutal moment, an enemy lunged with a jagged dagger, its tip aimed for Rilo's heart. In a split-second decision, Rilo rolled sideways, his body low to the ground. As he recovered, he extended his hand, and a brilliant arc of water shot forth in a dazzling curve. The blade was deflected with a spray of droplets, its deadly trajectory ruined. The attacker's eyes widened in disbelief before he crumpled, clutching a deep gash in his side that bled freely onto the bloodstained tiles.
In another burst of fury, one of Boss Shen's elite earthbenders swept his arm upward. With deliberate, almost ritualistic precision, he extracted a jagged shard of rock from the very foundation of the casino floor. The stone, sharp and cruel, hurtled toward Rilo like a projectile. Rilo's own instincts took over; he thrust his hand forward, and from the air, a swirling shield of water emerged. The shard collided with the liquid barrier, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments that rained down like deadly confetti. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the soft, sorrowful whisper of water meeting stone—a fleeting moment of fragile beauty amid the bedlam.
Boss Shen himself was not content to merely let his minions play their part. With an almost imperceptible gesture, his dark eyes narrowed as he extended his arms toward the trembling floor. The ground rumbled, and with a force that seemed to draw on the very soul of the casino, the earth split open. Cracks snaked across the mosaic tiles, and massive chunks of stone erupted upward in a violent counterattack. Rilo staggered as the shockwave roared through the hall, a roar that drowned out the anguished cries of the wounded. Yet, even in the face of such overwhelming force, he did not falter. Instead, he summoned every ounce of his waterbending mastery, weaving his hands in rapid, graceful movements. From the fissures, he coaxed forth streams of water that intermingled with the shattered earth, softening the impact and creating a temporary haven in the chaos.
Through the swirling maelstrom of battle, Rilo's mind remained fixed on a single, desperate vision: the faint outline of Yogan near an ornate archway, half-hidden among the ruins. That vision lit a fire within him—a fierce, unyielding determination that pushed him past exhaustion and pain. "Yogan, I'm coming!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but resolute, echoing over the tumult of clashing elements and shattered dreams.
Every muscle burned as Rilo sprinted forward, dodging the relentless barrage of earth-shattering blows and swift, deadly strikes. His body moved with the fluidity of water—each dodge, leap, and twist a testament to his agility. His breath came in ragged gasps as he navigated a gauntlet of overturned tables, shattered mirrors, and splintered wood, all the while fending off a new wave of attackers. One goon, swinging a heavy sword in a wide, brutal arc, found himself caught off guard when Rilo's water formed a whip-like lash that wrapped around the blade, yanking it from his grasp and sending it clattering to the ground.
Blood spattered the ornate floor as a particularly vicious clash sent one adversary tumbling into a decorative fountain. The fountain, once a pristine relic of the casino's former grandeur, erupted in a cascade of water and shattered stone. The mingling of crimson and liquid silver painted a surreal portrait of carnage and despair. Every drop of spilled water, every shard of broken marble, bore silent testimony to the fierce struggle unfolding.
As the battle raged, Boss Shen's chilling laughter reverberated through the hall. His eyes, dark and unyielding, never left Rilo as he continued to command the earth with the effortless power of a man who had long mastered its secrets. With a final, sweeping gesture, Shen summoned a wall of jagged rock that barreled forward like an avalanche. The stone sent a shockwave that rattled the very foundations of the casino, threatening to engulf Rilo in a tomb of crushing debris.
But Rilo was prepared. His eyes flashed with determination as he spun, his arms slicing through the air with elegant brutality. In a desperate, defiant moment, he summoned a concentrated surge of water that collided headlong with the advancing wall. The two elements—earth and water—met in a spectacular explosion of steam and shattered stone. For an agonizing moment, time seemed to freeze as the raw forces of nature battled for supremacy, each drop of water and each fragment of rock suspended in a silent, deadly dance.
In that suspended instant, Rilo felt both the weight of his past and the promise of his future. Every scar on his body, every bruise and cut, fueled his drive. He knew that his escape—and Yogan's safety—depended on his ability to outrun the storm of violence that Boss Shen had unleashed. With a fierce cry that pierced the tumult, he leaped forward, his form cutting a swath through the chaos.
The melee continued unabated as Rilo surged deeper into the maze of corridors, the vibrant heartbeat of the casino now a distant murmur behind him. His limbs moved with a dancer's precision and a fighter's ruthlessness; every twist of his wrist, every deft shift of his weight, was a calculated defiance against the crushing force of his pursuers. His waterbending, honed through years of hardship and countless battles, was as much a part of him as his very heartbeat—a fluid shield and a lethal weapon in one.
The cacophony of Clashing elements, the roar of enraged earthbenders, and the desperate shouts of panicked onlookers wove together into a brutal symphony. Amidst the chaos, Rilo's eyes locked onto Yogan's distant figure. That solitary beacon of hope, half-hidden beneath the shattered remnants of an ornate arch, spurred him onward. With every step, every daring maneuver to evade a crushing blow or sidestep a deadly swing, Rilo inched closer to his friend—and to the promise of escape from this blood-soaked nightmare.
Even as the world around him descended into a maelstrom of chaos and carnage, Rilo's determination burned brighter than ever. The battle was far from over, and every drop of blood and burst of water marked another page in this brutal saga. The fierce interplay of earth and water was not merely a spectacle of elemental fury—it was the embodiment of Rilo's struggle against a past that refused to be buried and a future he was determined to seize.
With a final surge of adrenaline, he vaulted over a collapsed barrier, his body twisting mid-air as he sent a defiant glance over his shoulder at the huddled forms of his relentless pursuers. "Yogan, hold on!" he roared, his voice a beacon amidst the chaos. And with that, Rilo propelled himself forward into the fray, every step and every heartbeat a testament to his unyielding spirit and the desperate hope that somewhere, beyond the maelstrom of battle, salvation awaited.
The night was alive with violence, and the chase—fierce, chaotic, and soaked in both blood and water—raged on, leaving no doubt that Rilo's struggle was only just beginning.
Rilo's voice cracked through the chaos as he dodged falling debris and splintered beams. "Yogan—use your airbending! We have to get out now!" he shouted, his tone strained with desperation. In the melee's frenzied blur, Rilo glanced back to see his friend—draped in familiar yellow and brown airbending robes—halt in mid-stride. The young man's lean, agile form assumed an airbending stance; his arms spread wide as if about to command the very winds to carry them away from the nightmare.
"Do it while we move, Yogan!" Rilo barked, urging him on with fevered intensity. For a suspended moment, the would-be savior offered Rilo a playful, almost mocking smirk. Then, with an elegant sequence of deliberate, fluid movements, the figure's hands swept through the air. Instead of summoning a roaring gale, however, the ground erupted as a swarm of jagged rocks burst forward. Before Rilo could register the betrayal, the barrage slammed into him, hurling him headlong into the side of a nearby building.
Stunned and aching, Rilo forced himself upright. The Crescent moon's pale light revealed the striking details of the man he'd just mistaken for his friend: while the dark, unruly hair and the distinctive yellow–brown robes were unmistakable, the features now were carved with the weight of age. Where Yogan had always been a lean, agile youth barely nineteen, this man was older—his muscles rippled like a battle-hardened earthbender in his thirties, his face etched with scars and lines of experience. Confusion and dread warred in Rilo's eyes as he wondered, "Where is the real Yogan?"
Before he could gather his thoughts, a thunderous roar split the air. Boss Shen descended from the night sky like a meteor crashing into earth. His colossal form slammed onto the ground, the impact cracking the mosaic floor and splintering marble with devastating finality. In one swift, balletic motion, Shen unfurled his arms and executed a series of intricate hand movements. His fingers traced ancient, commanding symbols in the air—and the earth obeyed. Massive slabs of stone erupted, encasing Rilo in an unyielding prison that locked him in place.
Boss Shen's voice boomed through the din, laden with both scorn and pride. "I have changed, Rilo," he pronounced, his tone cold and measured. "I am no longer just a muscle-bound brute. I have evolved beyond what you remember." Trapped and helpless, Rilo's eyes roved to the uncanny doppelgänger of Yogan. His mind reeled—if this was not his friend, then where was the real Yogan?
***
Up on the upper floors of the casino, the contrast could not have been starker. In a lavish, dimly lit chamber adorned with silken drapes and soft lamplight, the real Yogan reclined on a sumptuous bed. His youthful face wore a satisfied, almost serene expression—a remnant of the passion he had just shared with Mariko. The sheets, still warm from their embrace, clung to his skin as he savored the afterglow. Mariko had slipped away moments before, promising to fetch drinks and food, leaving Yogan in a blissful state of post-coital contentment.
That fragile peace shattered with the force of a slammed door. The chamber's heavy door burst open, and Mariko stumbled in, disheveled and wild-eyed. Her clothes were torn and soiled with cinders, and her usually graceful appearance was marred by frantic disarray. Trailing behind her, a squad of city guards marched in, their uniforms a vivid patchwork of green and yellow. Spears and swords glinted ominously in their grip, and their stern expressions brooked no nonsense.
Yogan leaped to his feet, confusion etched deep into his features. "What is happening?" he demanded, voice tight with alarm. In the ensuing clamor, Mariko's anguished cry cut through the tension like a knife: "There he is! He was the one who rapes me!" Her voice, historical and dramatic in its cadence, filled the room with a palpable charge of betrayal and despair.
"What!?" Yogan sputtered in disbelief, his mind reeling from the sudden, unthinkable accusation. Before he could process further, one of the guards stepped forward in a clipped, authoritarian tone. "You are under arrest, buddy," he declared, his words final and chilling.
The room spun for Yogan as the realization of the bizarre turn of events crashed over him. In that moment, the joyous remnants of intimacy evaporated, replaced by a crushing weight of confusion and betrayal. The guards closed in, their eyes unyielding behind the stern masks of duty, while Mariko's tearful, furious gaze bore into him. Yogan's heart pounded with shock as the swirling chaos of the upper floors merged with the relentless brutality of the world below—a world where friend and foe blurred, where trust shattered, and where the night had become a tapestry of treachery and unanticipated arrest.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]