The line for Chaps moved with the speed of a tortoise.

  I waited for fifteen minutes, listening to the bass bleeding through the walls, watching people get turned away.

  Finally, I reached the front.

  Two bouncers blocked the way. The one on the right, Dabin, looked like he had been assembled from spare parts of other, larger men. He was brolic, with a neck that was wider than his head. The one on the left, Larry, was slimmer but had eyes that scanned everything.

  "Name?" Dabin grunted.

  "Kaz Kaaz," I said.

  Dabin checked a list on a tablet and scrolled down. Then up and then down again.

  "Not on the list," he said. "Next."

  He moved to shove me aside.

  I didn't move.

  "Check again," I said. "Or ask your partner."

  I looked at Larry. "I'm the Faction Leader of Eden. We control Southfield. We’re a Major Faction in Detroit."

  Larry gave me a polite smile. "I'm sorry, sir. Detroit credit doesn't spend here. Unless you have a referral or a reputation in Ann Arbor specifically, I can't let you in. It's house policy."

  "I just walked a hundred foot tree down the highway," I said. "Does that count as reputation?"

  Larry blinked. "Hmm? I’m not entirely sure."

  "Time's up," Dabin growled.

  He reached out and grabbed the collar of my jacket. "I said, next."

  He pulled.

  I stayed exactly where I was.

  I was locking my stance into the earth beneath the pavement and I became as immovable as a mountain.

  Dabin frowned as he pulled harder. His biceps bulged, straining against the fabric of his shirt. He grunted, putting his back into it.

  I stood there, looking at him calmly like a toddler trying to pick up their mother’s foot.

  "Are you done?" I asked.

  I reached up and gently removed his hand from my collar. Dabin stared at his own hand, then at me, confusion warring with fear in his eyes.

  "You..." Dabin took a step back.

  He pulled out his phone.

  He spoke into the receiver quickly, his eyes never leaving me.

  Two minutes later, the doors creaked open and a man stepped out into the cool night air.

  I recognized him immediately. The white armor was gone, replaced by a leather jacket and jeans, but the face was the same.

  Adan. The Third General of White Hill.

  He blinked in the sudden light, swaying slightly. He held a half empty glass of something blue. He saw me and a wide, euphoric grin spread across his face.

  "Well, well!" Adan laughed, the smell of alcohol wafting off him. "The Gardener! What the hell are you doing here?!"

  He turned to Dabin. "Let him in, Dabin. He's... a friend."

  Dabin unhooked the velvet rope immediately. "Yes, sir."

  "After you," Adan said, bowing mockingly.

  I walked past him into the belly of the beast.

  Chaps was dark, lit only by aggressive neon strips in red, green, and blue that ran along the exposed industrial pipes on the ceiling. The air was cold—hospital grade freezers were being used as tables, condensing moisture into a low fog that covered the floor.

  It was grimy, loud, and dangerous.

  We walked through the main lounge, passing mercenaries sharpening knives and merchants counting stacks of Spirit Stones and moved through the restaurant section where people were eating what looked like grilled monster tail.

  Then the dance floor. It was a pit of bodies moving to a rhythm that vibrated in my chest.

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  Adan led me to the back, up a flight of metal stairs to the VIP section. It was a balcony overlooking the chaos, separated by a glass partition that muffled the sound just enough to allow conversation.

  We sat in a circular booth upholstered in red velvet. Adan signaled a waitress.

  "Two house specials," he ordered.

  He leaned back, putting his boots up on the table.

  "So," Adan said, his eyes bright. "How's Bells? That spitting bastard."

  "He's fine," I said. "Likely annoyed that he's not here."

  "Good," Adan chuckled. "I like him. He fights dirty."

  I looked at him. This was the man who had summoned a dragon to kill me some months ago. Now we were sharing a booth.

  "Did you bring me here to kill me?" I asked.

  Adan waved a hand. "Kill you? No. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it outside. I have no interest in assassination, Gardener. I'm here on business."

  "What business?"

  "Mercenary work," Adan said. "When I’m not on active duty, I moonlight in the Wilds. The pay is good, the drinks are strong, and the violence keeps me sharp. White Hill is... boring these days."

  "So you work for the locals?" I asked. "Cloud? Black Hand?"

  "Both," Adan said. "Whoever pays."

  The waitress arrived with two glasses filled with a fizzing, multi-colored liquid. Adan grabbed his and downed half of it in one go.

  "I know why you're here, Gardener," Adan said, wiping his mouth. "Information travels fast in the Wilds."

  He leaned forward. "You're expanding over Cloud and Black Hand."

  "I am," I admitted.

  "And you need intel," Adan said.

  "I do."

  "I'll give it to you," Adan said simply. "Everything I know about Cloud and Black Hand. For free."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"

  "Because I want a rematch," Adan said, his voice dropping. "A real one. No retreats. No spitting. No tricks. I want to fight you and Bells at full power on the battlefield."

  He clenched his fist.

  "I want to see if I can beat you two in an all out battle."

  I looked at him. He wasn't plotting or anything like that. He was just a battle junkie bored of the peace in Detroit and wanted a war worthy of his time.

  "Deal," I said. "We fight and the winner takes Michigan."

  Adan threw his head back and laughed.

  "Take Michigan? You think it's that simple?"

  He shook his head.

  "Gardener, do you know how many people live out here?"

  "A lot," I said.

  "Ten million," Adan said. "Ten. Million. The population of the Detroit Metro area is maybe three or four million, combined. The Wilds has more than double that."

  He pointed to the crowded bar below us.

  "Axehill tried to conquer this place months ago," Adan revealed. "Secretly. He sent divisions out to annex settlements. He failed. Not because he lost battles, but because he couldn't hold the ground. You can't garrison ten million people when your entire population is only a million. The math doesn't work."

  "That's why he switched to the Dealer Model," I realized. "He arms the factions so they kill each other, and he profits from the chaos."

  "Exactly," Adan said. "The Wilds is a money printer for White Hill. Why own the farm when you can just sell it bullets?"

  "I don't want to sell bullets," I said. "I want to own the farm."

  "Good luck with that," Adan smirked. "But if you want to try... here's what you're up against."

  He took another sip of his drink.

  "Black Hand," Adan started. "They are your standard Cultivator Clan. Traditional. Hierarchical. Honorable. They believe in the 'Order of the Universe,' which basically means the strong rule the weak."

  "Leader?"

  "Amoto," Adan said. "Realm 3. I don't know his Path—he rarely fights personally—but his faction is disciplined. They are strong, but they are predictable. You can negotiate with them."

  "And Cloud?" I asked.

  Adan’s expression darkened.

  "Cloud is a bit different," he said. "They're a cult that worship the Awakening Event as a divine rapture."

  "Fanatics," I noted.

  "Worse," Adan said. "Their leader is High Priest Qolius. Realm 3. Path: Almighty Exorcist."

  "Exorcist?" I asked. "Does he fight ghosts?"

  "No," Adan said. "Do not let the name fool you. He doesn't banish spirits. He banishes will. His main ability is Corruption. He can infect a cultivator's Qi, twisting their mind, turning them into his minions. He drives them insane and enslaves them."

  I felt a chill.

  "He can also disable abilities," Adan added. "Temporarily shut down your Qi flow. He's the reason Black Hand retreated from Lansing. Qolius single handedly corrupted half of Black Hand’s core fighting force and turned them against their own brothers. It was a massacre."

  "So Black Hand is hiding in Gaylord because they're terrified of him," I said.

  "Yes," Adan said. "Cloud is the apex predator out here. If you want to conquer Michigan, you have to go through Qolius."

  Adan finished his drink and slammed the glass down.

  "That's all I know," he said. "Now, hurry up and finish whatever you're doing. I won't wait long for our fight."

  He signaled the bartender. "Another round!"

  I stood up.

  "Thank you, Adan," I said. "I'll see you on the battlefield."

  "Don't be late," he muttered, already focused on the menu.

  I walked out of the VIP section, down the stairs, and through the crowd. My mind was racing.

  Ten million people, a cult leader who could mind control cultivators and a clan of traditionalists hiding in the north.

  "Well?" Goros’s voice cut through my thoughts, echoing from the Gourd. "Do you have a plan, or are you just going to stand there looking presidential?"

  I pushed open the doors of Chaps and stepped out into the night.

  The air was cold, but my blood was hot.

  "I have a plan," I said.

  I looked west, toward the horizon where the Cloud faction waited.

  "We can't fight everyone at once," I said. "And we can't negotiate with a cult that enslaves people."

  "So?" Goros asked.

  "So we remove the variable," I said.

  "We're going to Grand Rapids," I declared. "and declaring war on Cloud."