Zeke yawned through his voice-altering mask as he and Fredric arrived at the Golden Baron Casino, signaling the beginning of a scandalous night. The towering edifice loomed over the neon-lit streets like a monolithic titan of excess. The opulent casino stood as a beacon of allure, its façade adorned with flickering holographic displays and luminescent symbols of fortune. A grand entrance beckoned the denizens of the night with sweeping staircases flanked by towering pillars, casting long shadows into the dimly lit alleys below.

Within its gilded walls, the air was thick with the scent of wealth and ambition. High ceilings stretched overhead, festooned with intricate digital projections that danced and shifted, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the marble floors. Crystal chandeliers hung seemingly out of place, perhaps a nostalgic nod to times before the Cataclysm.

The heart of the establishment pulsed with the rhythms of chance and risk. Multiple gaming rooms sprawled throughout, each a labyrinth of temptation and deceit, their themes ranging from retro-futuristic to noir. Patrons immersed themselves in the electric thrum of slot machines, neon lights flashing hypnotically as credits vanished into the digital ether.

Amidst the whirlwind of fortune, the casino offered respite for the weary traveler. A restaurant nestled within its luxurious enclave promised culinary delights to soothe any palate. The bar, a haven for the disillusioned and the desperate, served concoctions of synthetic spirits and liquid dreams.

As the night deepened, the true allure of the casino revealed itself in the pulsating rhythms of the nightclub. A cacophony of beats and synths reverberated through the halls, drawing the lost souls of the city to lose themselves in a haze of hedonistic respite.

This was a world that lived and breathed by its own rules and mechanisms—a hideous contraption fueled entirely by human greed and depravity. It was the epicenter of hedonistic dreams within Lower Babel, known as the Golden Baron Casino.

As Zeke and Fredric ventured inside, the neon-lit interior enveloped them in its embrace—a labyrinthine maze of decadence and danger. No sooner had they crossed the threshold than they were accosted by henchmen, towering figures cloaked in sleek gray suits adorned with the unmistakable insignia of a golden dragon—emblems representing the power that Maki Lin possessed.

The henchmen's eyes gleamed as they sized up the newcomers, their presence a silent warning of the shadows lurking within. These were not mere lackeys but enforcers of a private militia, some daring to compare them to the Knights, their loyalty bought with promises of wealth.

"State your business," one of the henchmen grunted, his voice a gravelly rasp that cut through the ambient hum of the casino floor like a blade through silk.

Zeke yawned again, either overcome with tiredness or simply unimpressed by the lackluster opposition. He looked them deep in the eyes, seeing no sign of weakness.

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"These men," he thought, "most of them are enhanced."

He was right. Their bodies were modified in unimaginable ways. Their brain stems were replaced with superconducting implants that allowed information to travel faster. Most of their endocrine glands had been substituted with cybernetic augments, pumping their bodies full of hormones to function at peak human efficiency. Such technology was only available to the extremely wealthy, and only those obsessed with violence would dare to install it into their bodies.

"We're here to see the boss," Fredric remarked, staring one of the large henchmen directly in the eyes.

"And you are?" the guard grunted as his cybernetic eye flickered, attempting to analyze Fredric's patterns.

The Golden Baron Casino's henchmen possessed another formidable advantage: a combat-designed artificial intelligence embedded within their very eyes. Linked to a digital overseer, it scrutinized every flicker of movement, every twitch of muscle, with unerring precision. The AI meticulously analyzed opponents, dissecting their actions and reactions, parsing them through a vast repository of data and predictive algorithms. Yet no matter how long the computer tried to analyze Fredric, it could not get a read.

"Interesting," the guard murmured to himself.

"What, you can't get a read?" Fredric leaned in, peering right up under the guard's nose. "Do you know why?" he asked with a smirk.

"Who are you?" the guard reiterated calmly.

Immediately, Zeke pulled out the blade that was securely hidden within the sleeve of his jacket.

"How did he hide that thing?" one of the guards thought, surprised by the sudden appearance of the sword.

Zeke handed the sword to Fredric. "You said you'd take care of this," he remarked.

"I suppose I did," Fredric sighed, shaking his head.

He held the blade in front of the guard's eyes with a captivating flair. "Recognize this?" he asked.

Along the front of the blade, it read: One Hundred Thousand Credits.

"It's the Debt Sword!" the guard exclaimed, but before he could finish the sentence, the upper part of his head was already severed clean from his body. No blood came out—only a strange, pale liquid fueling his system, a testament to the fact that he had long given up his humanity.

But Fredric's attack was not over. The slash continued as he moved gracefully, slicing the air between him and the next opponent, twisting and turning along with the blade long after it had already struck. In a single continuous motion, he eliminated all six of the goons, who, in a flash, collapsed into a slurry of white paste covering the floors and walls of the casino's grand entrance.

Zeke stood motionless, fully absorbed in the spectacle of unexpected savagery.

"Is it the killing thing?" Fredric wondered aloud. "I don't even consider them to be alive to begin with. The implants have long scrambled what little life was there. Honestly, I'd be surprised if their vital organs weren't decked in body armor."

"That blade," Zeke sighed, taking a step forward. "It cuts pretty well."

"Well, of course. It was forged by Cassimyr Bertold himself," Fredric said, reminiscing.

"What?" Zeke wondered. "Then how did she have it?"

"It was a precious gift," a voice over the speakers replied, echoing through the grand hall. "A gift that's become even more sentimental now that the famed weaponsmith is dead."

"Oh hi, Maki. It's been a while since I've heard your voice," Fredric remarked casually.

"You've made quite the mess," the voice said, audibly frustrated. "Come and see me upstairs. You will meet no resistance if you do."

Fredric smiled. "Baby, that's not how this is gonna work—not after I asked you to play nice. Now that you've touched something that belongs to us, we are the resistance you'll have to face. But cheer up; this might be a learning experience," he explained coldly. "If you can survive it, that is."

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