The night became day, and day became night again, as the gang waited with baited breath for Damien’s revenge. Damien was well known enough that the majority of people in the gang had gotten in his bad side at one point or another. They knew he did not forgive and forget, but instead believed in retribution for the slightest infraction.

This had not stopped people from wanting to work with him, however. He was horrible, arrogant, and downright dangerous at points, but he was excellent at his job. Despite his bulky frame, he was one of the best members of the gang at stealth and reconnaissance. Coupling that with his immense strength meant he was well wanted by many people, even with his unfortunate character defects.

No matter where Jim looked, the members of Spring Street shared his sense of paranoia. It was more comforting than he would have liked to admit, knowing he was not alone in this terror. Unfortunately, they still had no idea what Damien had planned. No matter who tried, the members of Spring Street were being shut out. The death knell was ringing for the gang, and no one wanted to be part of it.

He sat in his room, fiddling around with his purple leather-bound book. It was the only real memento of his family he had left. When his father was lucid, he often said that it was the only thing that the elders of the clan could not take away from them. Caesars are strong, he would often say, but even the strongest Caesar cannot deny another the path to Order.

He had read parts of the book hundreds of times, but only since he met Laurence had Jim wanted to complete his first full reading. He knew what the book was, he had known for a long time, but he was scared that by completing his first reading, by becoming a Saint of Order, he might begin the transformation into his father. That was what scared him most.

Finally, after much deliberation, he opened the book and began to read in earnest. He knew that he would be behind the best of the other people in his age group, but if he could complete the path to Sainthood in a couple of years, then he would still be able to hold himself up with pride. He hoped that beyond everything else, the clan would allow him a small amount of pride, even if he was his father's son.

He read and read, turning page after page, and quickly lost track of time. The book had so much information, more than he could actually take in at any one time, but he sat, processed and kept reading. Eventually, he closed the purple book. He had read enough. It was time for him to build upon his knowledge. He sat in the middle of his room, legs crossed and arms spread wide, with rich tendrils of mana spreading through his entire person. With each breath he would draw in a large amount of mana through his nose and let it flow through his body. This flow of mana would collect in his hands, head and abdomen, forming a spiral that centred around his heart. With each rotation of the spiral, his body became more suffused with mana, became stronger, and came closer to Sainthood. The Spiral Breath Formation was the one that his family used, because the spiral shape was so important to their cultivation path. The perfect spiral was in all things, artists and mathematicians called it the golden ratio. Some people said it did not exist, but the Caesar family knew better, they knew that this ratio, this spiral; it was the key to understanding the fundamental order in all things.

His understanding of this spiral deepened with each breath, as did his understanding of control, and order, until something inside him seemed to coalesce. The spiral shrank inside him and slowly started to solidify, before morphing in shape. Two thin strips slipped from the sides of the spiral, and the solidified gem of mana began to turn into a beautiful crystal diadem. It was not what he was expecting, but the form of his soul was surprisingly reminiscent of the symbol of the Caesar clan.

As his soul condensed into physical form, there was a burst of energy that rippled through his and the surrounding rooms. He had surprised himself, he assumed that it would take him months longer to actually become a saint, but here he was, becoming what he knew he might hate. He thought back to Laurence, how the boy seemed perfectly happy with his status, and was content with himself. He was still not entirely comfortable, because he had seen that cultivation had got his father nowhere but the bottom of a bottle, but he was willing to give it a go. After all, it would give him an edge.

He closed the book and lay down in bed, sighing at the comfortable sensation in his body. He was so comfortable that he ignored the sounds outside his room. He could hear shouts and yelling of an indeterminate origin, but could do nothing but relax into a light sleep. About half hour later, Jim woke from his slumber, with a thin layer of grime around him and thoroughly stuck to his clothing, but his flesh was as soft as a newborn baby’s.

His body felt like it was floating, and he could vaguely hear something happening around him, his natural response to this was panic, so tried to rouse himself from the situation he was in. His eyes opened wide as there was a crash against the door in his room, shards of wood splintered off across the room, and the body of the door shook. There was another crack as the door gave in, the hinges tearing free from the frame itself. In the doorway stood a man, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, with a devilish look on his face. He frowned at the young boy on the bed in front of him and muttered “I thought there were supposed to be girls here. Oh well, sometimes a boy is just as good.”

Jim propelled himself back as far as his body would allow him. He was still in that odd half-asleep state, but it was fading; he simply felt like his body was covered in pins and needless. As his back hit the wall, he froze. There was nowhere else to retreat. All his exits were behind the man who was quickly cornering him.

“Come now, I'm a Saint, this will only be painful for a little while. I promise your death will be quick after I'm done.” The man pulled a knife out from his belt and levered towards Jim. He could smell his rank breath and tanned leather in far greater detail than he had any wish to. Focusing on the small details helped, but soon nothing would.

There's no cure for being dead, Jim, he thought to himself. He knew he had to do something, but the man was a Saint. If he wanted to win, then he would have to accept who he was, truly give in to becoming a Caesar. He did not know if he was ready to do so, but he knew he had no other choice.

Growling, he looked the man in the eyes, summoned his diadem and yelled “Stop!” putting the entire force of his being into the command, as well as a sizeable chunk of his mana. Blood began fleeing from his nose, and slightly from his ears, as he stared at the man, now thoroughly stopped by Jim's command. He laughed. He had been a Caesar for all of five seconds, and had already broken the cardinal rule of the Caesars, Do not order, shift order instead.

Jim could see the man's mind, he could see his wants, his dreams and his priorities. And he could change them. This was the power of the book of order, it did not affect the physical, but instead it changed the order of things. Jim has recklessly forced an action that was contrary to the man's priorities, causing a backlash that nearly rendered him comatose. He had stopped the man, but he knew he had one more thing to do. The man had to die.