The Shatters of Black Stars

Levi walked home at an unhurried pace. A small but cozy apartment in the Underground was an unattainable dream for most, but Levi could afford it. It was strange, really, coming back to a place that passed for one of the best you could scrape together in this city. And that “best” went to people like him. Criminals. He should’ve gotten used to it by now — how twisted this world was. Down here, notions of good and evil blurred and warped into something grotesque. Not every theft was a crime. Not every killing was a tragedy. The mafia ruled here like kings and gods, setting their own laws and morals, incomprehensible to the people up above. Morality and virtue were utterly useless in a place like this. You had to strike deals with your own conscience just to stay alive and sane. In Levi’s neighbourhood, things were relatively quiet — probably because he lived there. No one in their right mind wanted trouble with him. He rarely heard shouting or fights. Even if it started, it ended fast, usually with someone hissing a single name: Levi. There were days he thought about dropping it all — taking any other job as long as it didn’t involve stealing or killing — but he’d been in this too long. He couldn’t even picture himself doing anything else. And anyway, you didn’t just walk out of the mafia. Not someone like him. Levi was strong. He knew too much. If they let him go, it would only be in a body bag. He was fast, sharp, invaluable. The bosses needed him. And this life… it was familiar now. He felt at home here. And Kenny was nearby. Kenny had never shown much warmth or care—but he’d always had Levi’s back. They were of the same blood. That counted for something. Levi would save him if he were in trouble. Couldn’t even imagine never seeing the old man again. Hell, Kenny would probably drag him out of the grave if Levi ever tried to disappear. Kenny needed him too. Levi had to be grateful to the old man saving him. Maybe that was selfish, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Kenny hadn’t let him starve to death as a kid. That alone was enough to earn Levi’s loyalty. He often wondered if there had ever been another path for him—if he could’ve turned out different. But the truth was always the same: no. From the start, he’d been born to live like a parasite. A sewer rat who fed off his mother, then off Kenny. His keys clinked as he turned them in the heavy lock. The metal groaned. The door opened with a squeal. Levi moved it back and forth—same ugly sound. The lanterns outside barely lit the street. Hard to see much in the gloom. He ran a finger along the iron hinge and held it up to the light. A sigh. Rust again. He’d have to oil the damn thing. He left his filthy boots at the door. No one in their right mind would steal from Ackerman.Then he stepped barefoot onto the clean hallway floor and breathed in. No mildew. No mould. Just the smell of laundry detergent and freshly washed linens. Levi kept his place spotless. It helped him pretend — if only for a little while — that he had something close to a normal life. Dust, rot, cobwebs—those came free with every home down here. But inside Levi’s walls, the air was dry. The corners clean. It let him breathe. Let him forget the filth outside. The window was cracked open. The curtains hung like dead things, unmoving. Stale air clung to the room — no wind made it this deep underground. He stretched, bones aching. It was well past midnight. And he’d only just gotten home. Stripping off his dirty clothes, he stepped into the shower — thank god there was still running water in this hole — and then collapsed, still damp, into bed. He should’ve cleaned his boots, scrubbed his shirt, but not tonight. Tonight, he could skip the routine. He was still cleaner than half the pigs from the surface who sneered at everyone living underground. Levi still felt grimy, as if the smoke and grease of that bar clung to his skin. Even the shower hadn’t rinsed it all away. He wanted to sleep. Wanted to sink into the dark. But the thoughts — They wouldn’t stop. Tomorrow’s meeting with the bosses promised nothing good. He’d have to explain himself, again. Listen to whining from men who hadn’t lifted a finger in years. They talked like kings, strutted like warriors, but looked more and more like fattened pigs. The money they feasted on was bought with blood and sweat—usually someone else’s life. Levi hated it. But there was no other life waiting for him. There never had been. He was a criminal, through and through. Down to the bone. Levi sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes wearily. If only he could shut his mind off. That would’ve been a luxury. But the problems kept swarming in his head like flies. The only thought that brought even a flicker of relief was her. The songbird. She had a kind heart, that much was clear — she’d helped him, after all. But there was something about her that didn’t add up. Something unreadable. That revolver–styled lighter. The way she stayed so calm. It didn’t fit with the soft looks or that cute voice. Would’ve been nice to fall asleep in her arms instead of sitting here alone in a stifling room. He would’ve paid good money for a hotel bed—hell, even a decent inn. He still couldn’t figure out why she’d said no. Some pure little angel? The virtuous kind? Levi didn’t buy that for a second. He’d seen “pure” girls starve to death. Singers were little more than pretty decoration in sleazy joints—and the pay was garbage. They all had to earn extra somehow. Levi wouldn’t have minded seeing her regularly. He could’ve made her a decent offer. Maybe even booked her a fine room once this whole job was over. She’d mentioned a brother. Maybe he was bankrolling her. Or maybe she was just used to keeping up appearances, clinging to whatever was left of a spotless reputation. He wouldn’t find out tonight. But Levi was an Ackerman—and if he wanted to know something, he found out. Tomorrow, he’d pay a visit to someone who always had an ear or two inside even the royal palace itself. He’d find out who she really was. Why she was so goddamn elusive. And how to get close. Levi lay back down, eyes closing slowly. The faint scent of his pillow helped quiet his thoughts. What the hell had gotten into him? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? He could have any pretty thing from the local dives—half of them would’ve paid to be with an Ackerman. But her. Her distance. That soft “no.” That was what got under his skin. She’d helped him of her own free will—you didn’t see that often. She hadn’t asked for anything in return. Could’ve shot him right there in the bar and collected a fat bounty for his head. But she didn’t. Shame she slipped away so fast. Half-asleep, Levi’s thoughts kept circling back to Mikasa—still lodged somewhere deep in his mind. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. But desire? Curiosity? That fire had already been lit.

⸻・⸻♤⸻・⸻

Kenny stayed in the storage room, unwilling to move more than absolutely necessary. The alcohol was churning in his gut. Cigarette smoke clung to his nose, making him sneeze now and then. He could barely stand upright anymore—every step made the nausea worse. He slumped back down onto the wooden crates. No part of him wanted to go home. He’d drained the last bottle and now was doing his damned best to keep it down. That little bastard Levi had given him one hell of a scare. For a moment, Kenny had truly thought the kid was done for. And to think—back when he’d first picked the brat up, he swore he wouldn’t get attached. But he never had the spine to walk away. Blood was a powerful thing. Kenny had watched, amused, as the boy learned to handle a knife like a street rat born for it—and all while barely old enough to spit straight. And the older Levi got, the more that raw power started to shine. And God, how much he looked like Kuchel… Kenny had tried to leave. Time and again, he promised himself this was the last day—that tomorrow, he’d walk away for good. But each time, he stayed. And each day, the tie between them grew tighter. Levi’s father was a nobody—a ghost, maybe—but the kid had grown into a hard, sullen, stubborn loner. Just like him. Kenny saw himself in Levi. And in the end, he gave in. Took the boy under his wing. Taught him everything he knew. Brought him into the crew, hoping to turn him into the pride of the Underground. And it worked. Every dog beneath the walls and above ‘em knew Levi’s name now. His reputation spread like wildfire—right alongside the old stories of the Ripper. Kenny could be proud of his nephew. But he couldn’t be happy for him. He’d fed another cog to the machine. Another soul ground down by this hellish city. Just like him, Levi would be stuck running dirty jobs until he was too old to fight—or too dead to care. That wasn’t the life Kenny had wanted for him. The kid could’ve gone further than he ever did — if only he’d tried. But for some damn reason, he never did. To hell with it, Kenny told himself. But he knew it was a lie. He cared about Levi—far more than he’d ever admit. The kid was practically a son to him. So much for not getting attached. What a joke. And look how that turned out—now here he was, sprawled across crates of god-knows-what, barely able to hold his piss or keep from puking up the last bottle, just because the thought of Levi being dead genuinely scared the hell out of him. Climbing higher, carving a place safe from grunt work, had never been easy. Even Kenny, for all his clout, still got thrown into missions that smelled like a setup. The top brass didn’t like threats. Especially not threats with Ackerman blood. They saw the strength. They feared it. It had been clear for years now—the ladder only went so far for people like them. It was time they kicked the whole thing over. But Kenny had never made a move. Start making noise, and the bosses would find a way to silence it. Now all he had to do… was figure out how to make this failure look like an accident.

⸻・⸻♤⸻・⸻

Levi stretched in bed, slowly blinking open his eyes. Outside, nothing had changed. The underground never saw sunlight; twilight reigned eternal here. A never-ending night lit only by the jaundiced glow of brothel lanterns and seedy taverns. Down here, time stilled. It was hard to say whether it was morning or night. Levi had long decided: morning begins the moment he opens his eyes. With no sky, no sun, it made no damn difference. His body ached. A glance at the clock told him he hadn’t slept long. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed—the cold floor bit at his feet, sharp enough to wake him. The last dregs of sleep clung to him stubbornly. He envied those pigs on the surface. Waking each day under golden beams, never realising how lucky they were. Levi rarely allowed himself the luxury of staying aboveground. Too much to do down here. Bosses to report to. Safer too, sticking to his cot in the dark. But up top… waking was easy. He missed that lightness—that surge of invisible energy that lifted you out of sleep, the kind of brightness that blinded through thin curtains. He filled the kettle, lit the gas burner, and trudged to the shower. The water, cold and tinged with the faint scent of mold, stung his skin awake. He washed fast. The towel rasped over his chilled limbs. In the kitchen, the kettle let out a weary whistle. A mug of strong tea cooled slowly as Levi polished his boots. As expected—nothing had happened to them overnight. The rhythmic brushing cleared his head more than the tea. One final swig drained the bitter drink. There was nothing pleasant waiting this morning. He had to report to the bosses. Explain. Justify. Like some schoolboy caught cheating. Levi was past thirty, and he was sick to death of the endless dog-and-pony shows. Any idiot could see you don’t send rookies on high-risk jobs. What explanation were they even hoping for now? He shrugged into a lightweight jacket and stepped outside.

⸻・⸻♤⸻・⸻

Kenny was already striding toward him as he descended the stairs. Wishing him good morning would’ve been pointless. Kenny looked like hell—reeked of booze, his clothes hung on him like a bad afterthought. Must’ve slept in a barn. Levi grimaced but said nothing. They were both in for a shit day, and worse still ahead. They walked in silence. Locals gave them a wide berth—vanishing down alleys, stepping aside like shadows. Petty thieves, hustlers, working girls—Levi no longer saw faces, only smudges in the grime. This was his home. He’d grown up in it. But loving it? That had never happened. “I’m doing the talking. You keep your mouth shut,” Kenny muttered as they stepped into the grand parlor. One of the seediest places in the Underground—the boss’s brothel. The scum of the criminal world all pooled here. For the right price, you could get anything. Girls, boys, older, younger—didn’t matter. Pay, and they’d find what you wanted. Even surface officials were said to visit. Levi believed it. The bosses probably paid a tidy bribe to the royal treasury—otherwise this place would’ve been levelled years ago. But the trade thrived. And every time, it left Levi more disgusted with himself. What the hell was he breaking his back for? Just so another group of rich bastards—only this time illegal—could yank his chain? The cloying scent of incense punched him in the face as the carved doors swung open. Everything screamed money. Girls lounged on velvet divans, dressed in sheer fabrics that left nothing to the imagination. Levi’s gaze snagged against curves he hadn’t meant to notice. Desire flared, uninvited. The bosses knew what they were doing—negotiating business in a setting where focus was near-impossible. The soft pluck of a guitar floated through the room, lulling senses, inviting surrender. Bodies tangled across the floor—men and women in sensual coils, twisting like snakes. The music barely covered the sounds of breath, cloth, and skin. And here, in the thick of it, they were expected to discuss failure. Past the hall, behind doors just as decadent, lay the guest suites—for clients seeking privacy. It was best to cross that corridor quickly, unless you wanted your ears burning before you reached the meeting room. Levi never felt comfortable here. He liked women. Liked pleasure. He even visited joints like this now and then. But knowing what really went on behind these doors… it sickened him. Memories of his mother. Of Isabel. They hit him like a wave. “You got that?” Kenny’s voice dragged him back. “Keep your head down.” “Got it,” Levi muttered. The thought of arguing made his blood boil, but he had no strength for it. Let Kenny smooth things over. Fine by him. They ascended a carved staircase, passed priceless paintings and tapestries—better than what the palace had, Levi would bet his life—and finally reached a lavish drawing room. One of the bosses lounged atop a mountain of pillows. Guards and sycophants lined the walls, faces blank as stone statues. They weren’t there to look pretty—they were a warning. Complain too loud, and they’d quiet you. At the boss’s feet lay a naked girl. One of the high-end workers. Her hair, a cascade of deep red, spilled across pale skin like silk. Her chest rose and fell in slow, even waves. Fresh. Untouched. The bosses never dealt in damaged goods. Her job was simple—lie there and distract. Levi yanked his eyes away. And right on cue—Mikasa flashed through his mind. That red dress, the lipstick smudge on a white cigarette. Damn it. He forced the image away. Think about something else. Anything else. Her lighter. Guns. Yes. That’s it. The feel of his cold revolver would have been nice. To run his fingers along the shaft at least. His weapons were gone—left at the door. No one was allowed to carry here. Not out of fear of gunfights—this was the Underground, after all—but because half the people in here would off themselves if given the chance. Still, Levi wasn’t afraid. Those musclebound statues in the corners? They’d never match an Ackerman in speed or precision. They didn’t even know what he could do. The boss eyed Levi like spoiled meat, his fat chin resting on a jeweled hand. Rings glittered. He fancied himself a king—and Levi bet his influence reached further than the real one’s. A cigar jutted from his lips—an obscene luxury down here. Smoke coiled in thin silver streams, mixing with incense. No one else dared smoke near him. It was forbidden. A childish show of dominance—just another part of the pecking order. Keep the dogs in line. Levi hated every inch of it. But what choice did he have? The surface didn’t want him—except the police, and they weren’t exactly throwing parties in his honor. The boss exhaled slowly. Then: “Well?” No greeting. No pretense. Just a single word. A power play Levi recognized since he was a boy. Make your target think you know everything—and they’ll give you what you don’t. Terror turns the tongue loose. Truth spills in a blink of an eye. The bosses didn’t know everything. They had money. Power. But they weren’t omniscient. They could be played. Kenny and Levi had played those games before. “The operation failed,” Kenny said, crisp and clear. “We couldn’t get the Elixir.” Levi stayed silent. The boss snorted and flicked his half-smoked cigar into a glass of whiskey. Waste, Levi thought, biting back a grimace. Tobacco and liquor like that were worth their weight in gold here. “Why not?” came the sharp reply. Levi’s stomach twisted. What the hell was he supposed to say? Why’d they saddle him with a pack of rookies? Why send them to die? He bit his tongue. The incense clawed at his lungs. Tea and smoke churned in his gut. He stared at the floor. “If it was that important, you should’ve sent me alone,” he muttered. “Not kids who got in the way.” “You still haven’t learned to shut that filthy mouth, have you, pup?” the boss growled. So he heard that. Levi raised his head. Their eyes locked. The right move was to grovel. Apologize. Play dumb. But Levi was so damn tired of playing. “The serum’s worth more on the black market than the entire eastern quarter of Stohess,” the boss barked, voice rising with each word, “and you let it slip through your fingers!” His fury crackled louder than the fireplace. Levi said nothing. He sat still, the eye of a storm. “Boss, c’mon now—” Kenny’s tone was light, casual, the drawl of someone who knew exactly how to get away with anything. “Lay off the kid.” And just like that, Levi was a boy again, standing in his uncle’s shadow while men in silk barked orders and counted corpses in percentages. Kenny could get away with familiarity. He’d known the boss for decades. Levi didn’t know the full story—whether it was some twisted version of friendship or just a long stalemate—but it didn’t matter. The important thing was this: the boss listened to him. “My boy might talk back, but he’s not wrong,” Kenny said, folding his arms. “Save the lecture. We’ve got bigger problems.” The boss relaxed slightly, sagging into his cushions like a bloated cat. He reached out and let his hand rest possessively on the naked girl beside him. “I’m listening, Kenny the Ripper,” he said at last, drawling the name like a caress. A hush fell over the room. Even the guards flinched at the name. Kenny laid it out clean—just the bare bones of Levi’s report from the night before. No fluff. No weaknesses. Just facts, carefully chosen. Levi exhaled. Good. Let Kenny do the talking. He was too close to snapping. “And here’s what I think,” Kenny finished. “Sending in those kids was a mistake. We thought they’d be a good distraction so Levi could slip in quiet. But they kicked up too much noise and got themselves killed. Nearly dragged my boy down with them.” He paused. “If we still want the Elixir, we need a better plan.” At the word Elixir, the room stirred. Even the statue-guards twitched. Levi caught the flickers in their eyes—greed, awe, fear. The serum was legend. Worth fortunes. And every soul in the room was calculating what their share would buy them. The boss’s lips pursed. “We’ll deal with your failure another time,” he said at last. “Right now, I need to think. The police are probably crawling up each other’s asses. The Elixir is locked down.” Kenny nodded, but his gaze lingered. Something was off about him—tense, too still. Levi noticed. Filed it away. Ask later. “You’re dismissed, boy,” the boss snapped, waving him away like a fly. Levi nodded curtly, swallowing the bile in his throat, and turned on his heel. He fled through the haze of incense, through the stifling heat and the muffled moans, out into the corridor that stank of rotting velvet and perfume. Outside, the mouldy stink of the Underground hit him like a slap. And it was glorious. Let them deal with this shit, Levi thought. I’ve got more important things to do. Levi walked briskly down a cracked, uneven road leading toward one of the few bars he could tolerate. He hadn’t waited for Kenny. Let the old man deliver whatever updates needed passing on—Levi wasn’t about to loiter outside like some mutt waiting for its master. The Underground stank as usual—stale water, human waste, old rust—but today it clung to him more than ever. The air was thick, greasy. His coat would reek by the time he made it to the bar. So would his hair. He hated that. Still, what fumed inside him was worse than any city stench: frustration, and something dangerously close to excitement. The kind of twitchy heat in the blood that came after a fight—or a woman you couldn’t forget. There were things Levi wanted to say to that bloated sack of jewels back in the brothel. But saying them would’ve been suicide. He was neck-deep in mafia affairs already. One wrong word, and that same pit would become a grave. Recklessness wasn’t his style. He’d mastered the art of waiting, of swallowing poison with a dead face. One day, that pig would croak on some fresh girl, and the cartel would throw a quiet tantrum while Levi laughed himself sick behind a locked door. He needed a smoke. Hands dug through pockets—empty. Of course. He’d left the pack on the damn table last night while undressing. And around here, buying anything halfway decent was impossible. Agitated, he picked up the pace, hoping someone at the bar would lend him a cigarette or two. The bar belonged to an old contact. The kind of guy who could sniff out secrets like a bloodhound if the price was right. Levi figured if anyone had known something about the singer with the too-beautiful name, it’d be him. The sign above the door creaked gently in the stagnant air—a mug painted on rotting wood, frozen mid-slosh. No breeze ever reached this far. The doors, though, stood wide open, inviting. Levi stepped inside. A few regulars glanced up from shadowy corners. One squint. That was it. Then they went back to their drinks. He strolled to the bar. The bartender was wiping a glass with mechanical indifference. “Well, look who crawled out of the gutter,” Erd said, tossing the glass aside with a grin and leaning forward on the counter. “I need you to dig up something,” Levi said, pulling out a stool with a scrape. “Her name’s Mikasa.” Straight to business. That was how they worked. Erd had been in the Underground since he was practically a fetus—no one really knew how he ended up here, but he’d made himself useful fast. “Ooh,” Erd drawled, brows climbing. “That’s a tall order. Want a beer first?” “Got cigarettes?” Levi snapped. “Sure, sure.” Erd slid over a nearly-empty pack. Levi took two, ignoring the glare. He’d repay him. Eventually. Erd struck a match and lit one for him. Levi took a long drag. The smoke was cheap, acrid—but hot. It filled his lungs like a fire blanket, and the fog in his brain started to clear. “Do you know her?” he asked, finally. “City girl,” Erd replied, already lighting one for himself. “Performer. Hangs out with the upper crust. Her brother’s some big deal in the Scouts, rumor has it. What’s some fleabag like you doing tangled up with her?” Levi didn’t answer right away. “Call me a fleabag again,” he muttered, flicking ash into the tray. The threat lacked venom. He was just tired. Angry. Confused. Erd chuckled. “So what’s the story? You two hook up? Don’t leave me guessing—I’ve only ever seen her once in the flesh. A girl like that? You don’t forget.” Levi took another slow drag. What was the story? Nothing. Just a fleeting encounter, barely a handful of minutes—and yet she was lodged in his skull like a splinter. Every time he tried to yank her out, it only burrowed deeper. “Tried to spend the night with her,” he said flatly. Erd choked on his cigarette, coughing smoke in short bursts. “You serious?” he wheezed. “Open your damn eyes—where do you see girls like that working corners? You’d only find someone like her in the royal boudoir. And even if she was for sale, what’d you pay her with? Your knife collection?” Levi didn’t answer. He wasn’t joking. And suddenly, he felt like an idiot. A city singer. With a brother in the Scouts. What the hell was she doing in that bar? If he’d known, he wouldn’t have dragged her into that mess. Wouldn’t have touched her. Wouldn’t have insisted on— “Hey, I get it,” Erd said, clapping a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “She’s got that look. I’d fall for it too.” The bitter smoke curled through the space between them. Levi stared past it, through it, trying to find a path forward. She was in his head now. No point denying it. “Where does she perform?” he asked, shaking off Erd’s hand. Erd shrugged. “Hell if I know. Places like that wouldn’t let you in, anyway.” “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Just find out.” He rose, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray. Without a word, he turned and left.