By Kayleigh Whybrow

Aila had never seen anything quite like Manx-Vegas. The moment she stepped past the rough-hewn archway, the city slapped her senses awake with a whirlwind of sights, sounds, and smells. Roaring laughter echoed down the cobbled streets, music burst from every corner, and the air was thick with the scent of roasting meats and strong drink. Her heart raced with a strange mix of excitement and just a smidge of unease.

“Ah, we’re finally here!” Del boomed, clapping Aila on the back as they stepped through the archway into the infamous city. “The self-proclaimed greatest city in the world,” he added with a grin. Aila’s eyes darted around at the gaudy lights and larger-than-life spectacle, but beneath the dazzling facade, something darker seemed to lurk. She’d heard rumours about the city’s past—a thriving tourist trap, sure, but also whispers of shadows in high places, strange alliances, and certain people with too much influence. 

“Not quite like home, is it?” Del teased, his voice brimming with mischief. “Come on, let’s see what trouble we can stir up. I know just where to start.”

Del had visited Manx-Vegas before, so the chaos of the city didn’t faze him. But Aila—this was her first time, and it showed. She was still taking it all in, her eyes wide, trying to process the noise, the people, and the strange energy that filled the air. Del yanked her down the crowded street, banners fluttering like battle standards overhead. Performers juggled flames and bards belted out rowdy songs that made the crowd laugh and shout. One cheeky bard conjured an illusion of a pixie mid-song, dancing a jig over the heads of the onlookers. Aila squinted at it.

“That’s not real, is it?”

“As real as it needs to be!” Del laughed, dragging her along. “Come on, let’s get some scran here —no one ever lived their best life on an empty stomach!”

He led her into The Claymore Arms, a lively tavern, where tables were piled high with thick cuts of roasted meat, rustic bread rolls dripping with butter, and tankards of golden ale. Aila paused at the doorway, feeling a flicker of uncertainty. The noise was raucous, the laughter loud, and the scents of food and drink almost overpowering. She wasn’t used to such raw, untamed environments—places that buzzed with wild energy and unfamiliar faces. But the warmth of the place and the enticing smell of the food gradually melted her hesitation. Soon enough, she found herself at a table, tasting the bold, hearty flavours, each bite more satisfying than the last.

As the night wore on, the tavern’s atmosphere grew louder, more unruly. Tankards of ale were emptied and refilled, and Del, always keen to stir things up, slipped a few stronger shots into the mix. Aila grimaced after each one, finally jabbing him in the ribs with a laugh. “You’re the worst,” she declared, though the alcohol was starting to loosen her up.

But it wasn’t just the drinks catching her attention. Between the clinking mugs and boisterous laughter, Aila’s gaze drifted toward a corner of the room where a crowd had gathered around a table. Dice clattered across the wood, followed by cheers and groans. She nudged Del, her curiosity piqued. “I see a dice game over there,” she said, nodding toward the group, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Del raised an eyebrow. “Feeling lucky, are we?”

“Why not?” she grinned, the thrill of Manx-Vegas getting the better of her.

Before long, Aila found herself deep in a game of dice, the pot on the table growing as the bets piled up. She’d had a few lucky rolls, her pile of winnings steadily growing, but as the stakes rose, so did the tension at the table. Del stood nearby, watching with a knowing look but keeping silent.

Just as Aila was about to throw her next roll, someone stumbled past, knocking the table. The jolt threw her off balance, and the dice slipped from her fingers awkwardly, clattering across the wood too quickly.

The dice landed on snake eyes.

Aila’s heart sank as the burly man across from her leaned back with a smug grin, his cronies roaring in laughter as he raked in the coins. “Better luck next time, lass,” he said, throwing her a wink that made her blood boil.

Something wasn’t right. She’d been thrown off at the crucial moment, and the audacity of the man’s grin only fueled the fire in her chest. She’d been cheated—whether by accident or design, she wasn’t sure—but the unfairness of it sent anger surging through her veins.

Aila’s heart pounded in her chest, her fists clenching at her sides. She should  just walk away. She *knew* she should just walk away. But the loss, combined with the smug look on the man’s face, pushed her over the edge. Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet.

“You did that on purpose” Aila snapped, her voice rising above the tavern’s din.

Del, who had been watching from the sidelines, stood up straighter, sensing trouble. “Aila, maybe let’s just—”

But Aila wasn’t listening. The fire inside her was burning too hot. “You cheated,” she hissed, stepping closer to the man, her body tense with barely contained rage.

The man laughed, loud and obnoxious. “Cheated? Maybe you’re just bad at dice, love. No shame in it, but if you’re done whining, I’ve got more to win.”

That did it. Without thinking, Aila swung her fist, catching the man square in the jaw. He toppled backward, crashing into his chair, andthe entire tavern erupted into chaos—cheers, shouts, and the clattering of mugs hitting the floor.

For a split second, Aila felt a surge of satisfaction, but it quickly faded as reality set in—what had she done? 

"Uh… oops," she muttered, her stomach knotting with dread as the man staggered to his feet, fury burning in his eyes. Aila realised, all too late, the chaos she had just unleashed.

The man charged at her, fists flying. Aila ducked his first swing, her reflexes kicking in. “Wait, I didn’t mean—” she tried to say, but the tavern was far too loud, and the crowd was loving every second of the brawl.

Del grinned from where he’d been watching. He tossed back his drink before calmly pulling a pair of brass knuckle dusters from his coat. “Looks like we’re having a proper night, eh?” he said, slipping them on with a slow, deliberate motion.

Without hesitation, Del waded into the fight, delivering a devastating punch to one of the man’s cronies who had jumped into the fray. The crunch of impact was unmistakable as Del’s brass-clad fist met the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling across the floor.

“Now this is more like it!” Del laughed, taking on the next opponent who foolishly rushed at him. He weaved through the chaos, his punches precise, and each swing of his brass knuckles left his opponents stumbling, bloodied, and dazed.

Aila dodged a wild swing from her opponent and managed to land a swift kick to his ribs, sending him crashing into a nearby table. For a brief moment, she caught sight of Del, grinning like a wolf in the thick of the fight, fists flying.

“Nice work,” Del called, delivering another bone-cracking punch as the brawl surged around them. The tavern was in full uproar now, with chairs and tables getting overturned, people leaping into the fight just for the fun of it. Mugs and tankards went flying, and soon enough, it was impossible to tell who was fighting who.

But amidst the chaos, Aila noticed the brawl spreading toward the tavern doors. People were being pushed outside as the fight grew, the fray becoming too wild to control. Del glanced around and saw the opportunity.

“Aila!” he called, dodging a punch and ducking under a flying tankard. “Time to go”

Aila, still narrowly dodging punches and kicks, glanced toward the door. The fight had created just enough of a distraction. “Right behind you!” she gasped, ducking under a swinging chair.

With one final shove, Aila and Del darted toward the exit, weaving through the chaos of the tavern. They dodged past a group of brawlers, narrowly avoiding a flying mug, and burst out into the cool night air.

Breathless, Aila leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. “What just happened?” she asked, her head still spinning from the adrenaline and sheer madness of the fight.

Del, laughing as he rubbed his knuckles, gave her a wide grin. “You gambled, lost, and then punched a guy. Classic Manx-Vegas,” he teased.

Aila groaned, rubbing her face. “I didn’t mean to hit him. I just… I lost, and then I couldn’t stop myself.”

Del chuckled, clapping her on the back. “You’re in Manx-Vegas, cousin. Sometimes the city wins, and sometimes you land a punch for it. You’ll live. But maybe steer clear of the dice games for a bit, yeah?”

She sighed, her muscles still trembling from the fight. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Del grinned. “Probably not. But hey, you’re still standing, so that’s something. If you’re still looking for trouble, Quaggs Place is just down the street. King of Manx himself owns it—Dr. King Quagg, MD. Huge doctor mask out front, can’t miss it. Could be fun, if you’re feeling bold,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Aila shook her head, half-smiling as they started walking away from the tavern, the chaotic glow of Manx-Vegas still buzzing behind them. “I’m done with gambling,” she muttered, but deep down, she knew that in a city like this, promises like that never lasted long.