I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Five boats glided silently through the dark waters, their hulls scraping against the worn wooden docks of Drakoria. Under the cover of night, nearly 250 men disembarked, their movements hushed yet purposeful.

The air was thick with tension as Xylar's gang spread out along the waterfront, eyes darting warily in all directions.

Thunder, his tattooed scalp gleaming in the moonlight, was the first to spot the approaching figure.

The distinctive red and white uniform of an Enforcer sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.

The Enforcer, a stocky man with a face etched by years of suspicious scrutiny, planted himself firmly before the group. His hand rested casually on his own weapon as he addressed them, voice gruff with authority. "What business brings so many to our shores at this late hour?"

Thunder stepped forward, forcing his features into a mask of nonchalance. "Just here for a business meeting, sir," he lied smoothly, years of practice evident in his easy tone. "Big opportunity in town, you understand. Couldn't wait till morning."

The Enforcer's eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. He surveyed the rough-looking crowd, taking in their weathered faces and nervous energy. 'Business meeting, my arse,' he thought, but found himself in a difficult position.

There was no concrete evidence of wrongdoing, just a gut feeling that screamed danger.

As the Enforcer opened his mouth to press further, a cold voice cut through the night air. "Is there a problem here?" Xylar emerged from the shadows, his presence immediately commanding attention.

The Enforcer's spine stiffened involuntarily. Something about this man set every instinct on high alert. "Just doing my job," he replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Lot of you arriving awful late."

Xylar's eyes, dark and pitiless, locked onto the Enforcer's. "And you're wasting our time," he said, voice dripping with barely concealed menace. "We have urgent matters to attend to. Unless you have a reason to detain us...?"

The unspoken threat hung in the air. The Enforcer glanced around, acutely aware that he was outnumbered and alone.

Swallowing his misgivings, he stepped aside. "Move along then," he muttered, "but I've got my eye on you lot."

As the group began to file past, Thunder couldn't shake the feeling that they'd narrowly avoided disaster.

His palms were slick with nervous sweat as they made their way into the heart of Drakoria.

The gang moved through the moonlit streets like a dark tide, drawing curious and fearful glances from the few citizens still about at this hour. Whispers followed in their wake, and curtains twitched as they passed.

Thunder, keeping pace beside Xylar, couldn't contain his unease any longer. "Boss," he murmured, "is this wise? Walking openly like this? We're wanted men, and word travels fast in a place like this."

Xylar's laugh was sharp and devoid of humor. "Let them talk," he sneered. "Let them run to their precious Enforcers. With our numbers, we could paint these streets red before they even mustered a response."

Thunder felt a chill run down his spine at Xylar's casual reference to bloodshed. 'This is madness,' he thought, but kept his reservations to himself.

Questioning Xylar's judgment was a quick path to a shallow grave.

As they rounded a corner, Xylar held up a hand, bringing the group to a halt before a dilapidated warehouse. "We'll base our operations here," he announced. "It's defensible, and the owner knows better than to ask questions, whoever he might be."

The gang filed inside, the musty air a stark contrast to the crisp night outside.

As the last man entered, Xylar addressed the crowd. "We search the town tonight," he declared, eyes glinting with fervor. "Every tavern, every alley, every rat hole. I want Zafron and Matilda found before dawn."

A murmur of assent rippled through the gathered men, but Thunder noticed a few exchanging uneasy glances. The scope of the task was daunting, and Drakoria was not a city to be trifled with.

Before anyone could voice concerns, the warehouse door creaked open. One of their men with a pockmarked face slipped inside, immediately dropping to one knee before Xylar. "Xylar the Soulless," he intoned, voice reverent. "I bring news."

Xylar's eyebrow arched, a flicker of interest crossing his otherwise impassive features. "Speak," he commanded.

The man rose, eyes darting nervously around the room. "Word on the street is that the Enforcers know something about the Malachi mansion massacre. The one where Gustavo and the others fell. But they're keeping it quiet. Seems they're not certain of the culprits' location, or they'd have made arrests already."

A predatory smile spread across Xylar's face. "Interesting," he mused, mind already racing with possibilities. He turned to Thunder, his grin widening. "I think it's time we paid a visit to an old friend."

Thunder's brow furrowed in confusion. "Old friend, boss?"

Xylar chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "You remember Rattlesnake, don't you? Word is he's gone straight, joined up with the Enforcers. But I'm betting he hasn't forgotten where he came from."

Thunder felt his stomach drop. Rattlesnake had been one of their most ruthless gang members before disappearing some years before their failed assassination attempt.

The thought of confronting him now, as an Enforcer, sent a shiver of dread through Thunder's body.

"Boss," he ventured cautiously, "Rattlesnake left us. Why would he help now?"

Xylar's eyes glittered dangerously. "Who said anything about asking?" he replied. "We'll be waiting when he finishes his shift. And he'll tell us what we want to know, one way or another."

Thunder swallowed hard, knowing better than to argue further.

As Xylar selected two more men to accompany them, Thunder found himself wishing he'd never brought news of the bounty. The path they were on now seemed to lead only to bloodshed and ruin.

The small group made their way through Drakoria's winding streets, finally coming to rest in the shadows across from a modest dwelling.

Thunder shifted uncomfortably, every passing minute feeling like an eternity. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, half-expecting Enforcers to materialize at any moment.

'This is madness,' he thought for the hundredth time. 'We should be lying low, not hunting down Enforcers in their own city.' But he knew voicing such thoughts would only invite Xylar's wrath.

As the night deepened, Thunder's nerves frayed further. 'Where is he?' he wondered, fighting the urge to pace. 'Did Rattlesnake get wind of our arrival? Is this all an elaborate trap?'

Just as Thunder was about to suggest they abandon the plan, a figure appeared at the end of the street.

The distinctive red and white uniform was unmistakable, even in the dim light. Thunder tensed, hand instinctively moving to his weapon.

As the man drew closer, seemingly oblivious to their presence, Xylar's voice cut through the silence. "Well, well," he drawled, "if it isn't our old friend Rattlesnake."

The effect was instantaneous. The approaching figure froze, then in a fluid motion, a blade materialized in his hand. "Nobody calls me that anymore," he snarled, eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the voice.

Xylar stepped into the moonlight, his face a mask of false cordiality. "Now, now, Rattlesnake," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace that fooled no one. "No need for that. We're just here to ask a friendly question. Answer it, and we'll be on our way."

Rattlesnake's stance remained defensive, his blade gleaming in the moonlight. "I've got nothing to say to you, Xylar," he spat. "I left that life behind."

Xylar's smile never wavered, but his eyes grew colder. "Oh, I think you do have something to say," he replied, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

"You're going to tell us where we can find Zafron and Matilda."