Blood and Life (and other short stories)

The hurricane reached him at the edge of the village.

Rain fell in drops big as fists and beat just as hard. There was nothing natural about the storm. Lightning struck in the distance, closer every time, in far too straight a line to be random.

He had pushed on as long as he could, the pit of his stomach burning with exhaustion. The wind made his cloak flap and patter, wet cloth whipping around him. The settlement’s walls were poles struck in sand, and he feared they’d get ripped free as the storm gained strength. He hurried towards the buildings which grew as shadows in the dimming light.

The village was abandoned. That much was evident, even at a sweeping glance with little visibility. Doors lay off their hinges, shutters had fallen and roofs collapsed. The boats had toppled, sails tattered strips against waves.

One building, he found, still offered shelter: A house raised on stilts near the swelling shore. It had been the village chief’s house, perhaps, or a longhouse for the community to gather together. It had suffered, too, but was sturdy enough to leave the wind howling mad after him when he left its clutch and slumped against the door to force it shut.

Catching his breath, he lay there dripping, a puddle forming on the floor. His nose was runny, but through the snot pushed a musty scent. “Is anyone here?”

There came no answer. When he was certain the door would hold, he gained his feet to look further in. The small corridor opened to both sides. To the right were bed rolls a beast had used as a nest, visible in the ray of light through a crack in the ceiling. Water poured in, rattling the floorboards.

To the left were bodies. He couldn’t see them, but knew the smell well enough to recognise it with a clogged nose.

He found a lantern in the resting room. Lighting it with a flint and his knife, he found the mummified bodies of three men on the other side, laid down straight, arms folded over their chests. They had been chewed on. One missed a leg from the knee down, and he saw the signs of fisherman’s rot on their dry, pockmarked faces and scalps.

He bowed his head, curved his finger from heart to navel in the symbol of the god of fishermen. “Go safe to the shadow sea, sails full of fortune,” he whispered. “Arengeesus is your captain now.”

He started with a gasp at a shout outside, crossed to the barred windows and listened. His hand began to shake when the call repeated, and he grabbed it by the wrist to hold it still. He raised the plank sealing the windows, and they swung back with a clatter. Peering out, he saw a bobbing light approach.

He swallowed hard, throat the only part dry about him. The lightning struck ever closer.

Hands shaking as though electrocuted, he threw open the door and retreated into the storm.

***

Zana snarled with effort, trying to pry the cart loose with Vorici while Haku and the duelist lifted the rear. It had sunk deep into mud. Underneath had likely been a nest of burrowers. The sudden and strong rain had turned it into a grave for the creatures, and a vexing obstacle for the exiles.

“You’re lifting with your back!” Madrov shouted through the gales. “You’ll only hurt yourself! Use your legs!”

“It would be easier if you got down!” the duelist replied through gritted teeth. He let go with a puffing breath, staggered back a step and kicked the wheel. “Agh! It’s stuck for good. We have to leave it!”

“Come, old one,” Haku said, spreading his arms. “I will carry you.”

Madrov’s brows shot up. “I don’t need to be carried!”

“There’s no shame in it. I carried my father when he was too weak to walk, just as he carried me when I had yet to learn how.”

Madrov grumbled to himself, jumped down—and shrieked when he landed on his injured leg.

“Of all the humiliating… This is all because she stabbed me,” he moaned when they passed Zana.

“You have only yourself to blame,” Haku said sagely. “You insulted her strength. She was right to put you in your place.”

Zana regarded the Karui with a flat stare, but chose to accept the development with silent smugness.

“Are they still following, master swordsman?” Tamara said, helping the boy Tarris onto the duelist’s back.

The duelist shielded his eyes, turning back. “Yes,” he said, catching distant lights amidst the rain. “But a platoon that size will get slowed down by the storm. They won’t catch us even if we find shelter to weather it.”

“What sour luck to run into Blackguard,” she went on, helping others down. “And a group so large. Do you think they were after you and the other masters, master assassin?”

“No,” Vorici said, taking her hand as she jumped off the wagon. They went after Elreon, who led the band away with a lantern in hand. “We left none alive in the one unit who knew of our presence, but they were searching for something. They’re spread too wide to simply be on the move.”

“But,” she glanced over her shoulder, “they are giving us chase now?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The assassin gave a wry laugh. “They’ve noticed us, that’s for sure, but I suspect we’re only sharing a direction.”

“Then why must we run?”

“Even the lazy bear will eat a rabbit it finds sleeping along its path. We could hide, but given we don’t know what they seek, neither do we know if they’re searching the areas they pass. If this is a manhunt, it is best we keep fleeing. If not… Well, we’re headed the right away, and they help us keep the pace.”

“There’s a settlement ahead!” the duelist called. “Elreon wants us to stop there!”

***

“A fishing village,” Haku said as they entered the premises. “I didn’t know there still were any in the region.”

“There aren’t,” Elreon said. “Look around you. Not a soul has lived here for years.”

“Not a soul,” Zana muttered, dropping fingers to the pommel of her rapier, “but I’ve seen enough undead in places like this to keep wary in the face of abandonment.”

Elreon raised a finger, pointing at a longhouse lit by a flash. “There! A building large enough for us all!”

“Does the lightning bother anyone else?” Zana said, flinching when it struck again. “It seems… precise. Like it followed the road.”

“Maybe the Blackguard have a mobile lightning rod,” the duelist said, catching up. “Or fools who hung onto their weapons in a storm.”

Zana blinked, looked at her rapier and sucked her teeth. Haku patted her shoulder.

“Your strength has grown,” he said. “Your wisdom will catch up.”

“Where is your sword, then?” Zana asked, leering at the Karui.

“I gave it to Madrov for holding,” the duelist said. Haku’s eyes shot wide; he noticed the bundle in the old man’s arms only now.

“I am a loyal squire—“ Madrov began. Haku dropped him, taking a step back, and the elder bit his tongue.

“Here, squire,” Zana said, unlatching her sheathe and gave it to the elder, who climbed onto his feet, rubbing his back. “Stay near in case I need it.”

Haku let out a rumbling hum upon inhaling the scent of death in the longhouse. Elreon raised the lantern high to illuminate the scene of disease, and Vorici went to the plank by the window while the Karui pushed the shutters closed.

“Someone was here, just now,” said the assassin.

“Why do you think so?” Haku said, nudging him aside so he could pick the plank. He dropped it onto the holders on each side of the window.

Vorici placed a finger on the plank, at the spot where the shutters parted and a trickle of water pushed through. “It was already wet. Whoever was in here lifted it after it began to rain.”

“Did… did that someone kill these men?” came Tamara’s voice. The other exiles had settled in the other room, casting wary glances at the bodies.

“They’ve been dead a long time,” Elreon assured. “And their black breath is stilled. The infection in their blood is a threat to none of us.”

“Must we leave them like this?” said Madrov, frowning at Tarris, who’d grabbed onto his mother’s waist and shuddered with effort not to look. “They’re making the lad uneasy. Could we not cover them with something?”

“We are visitors in their house,” Haku said with a huff. “Do you often go throwing covers over the masters of—“

He cut himself off when the duelist opened the door, letting rain blast in. He raised an arm to protect his face from pellets of water, groaning, “I think we will hear once it calms!”

“I’m hearing something else entirely,” the duelist shouted over his shoulder. Thunder cracked so close Haku still barely understood him.

Outside, two figures approached the longhouse.

Lightning struck at the pair, and the duelist was briefly blinded by the flash. When he regained his sight, he didn’t find charred bodies tossed askew.

Electricity crackled along the bodies of the arriving women, and they laughed.

***

Huddled in the corner of a shack, he wrapped his arms tighter around himself, shivering in his own grip.

The quaking of his body had prevented escape more than the hurricane, and so he watched from the shadows of a hut, storm melting away, yard blurring out, leaving only the two women—his sisters, in a way—standing in the gloom of a laboratory, the architect his memory. He blinked the lie away.

A current ran through him, too cold to be adrenaline, too hot to be of fear. His shoulders itched, and damp clothes pricked against his skin. A slight smell of burning tickled his nose.

The women explored the surroundings with their gazes, and one’s eyes landed on him before flicking back towards the longhouse. Breath hissing against gritted teeth, he wrapped his fingers around the grip of a glass dagger sheathed on his belt.

***

“Come out, Beren,” called one of the women. They were impossible to distinguish yet—both wore standard Blackguard arc witch uniforms and were too far for the duelist to notice separating features. He drew back against the wall.

There was something wrong with her voice. It was too tense, like she were trying to speak softly and scream at the same time.

“We know you’re here,” said the other. “Are these your friends? They can go. We only want you.”

She raised her hand. The duelist snarled, leaping aside when a bolt of lightning burst out of her fingertips.

“But if you test are patience…” she called. “Well, I’m sure the Lady won’t mind if we try out our talents.”

“Allow me,” Elreon said, stepping past the duelist. He pointed his sceptre towards the women, and the gem in its hilt began to glow.

The women glanced at their feet, shared a look over a growing fiery rune. Lightning struck four times in the span of a second, even as Elreon swung his mace. Once more, instead of charred bodies, the duelist found the women unharmed, standing just outside the edges of the rune as it exploded.

“They’re aching for a fight, Mirin!” cried the first, creating a chain of electricity between her fists.

“So they are, Seren. I, for one, am glad to oblige!” yelled the other, blasting an arc into the corridor. It struck Elreon in the chest, tossing him against the back wall.

“Elreon!” Zana shrieked. She swooped to his side, fingers fumbling to open one of her flasks. She pressed it onto the elder’s lips and let him drink deep. He coughed, breath cloying with the scent of the potion.

“Strong, that one. And good aim,” he muttered, flexing his fingers. “I’m afraid I’m still a little shocked, more physically than mentally. I’ll need to sit a moment.”

Haku nodded. “They are too quick for your magic.” He brandished his weapon, making the others step back in the narrow corridor. “But the wood of my mace doesn’t fear lightning. I will fight.”

“Give me a chair leg or another baton and I’ll join you,” the duelist said, glancing around. “My sword is more scared than I am.”

“I may have something you can use, master swordsman,” Tamara said, gently pushing Tarris aside and searching the pouch he’d been protecting. She found a pair of rings embedded with topazes and offered one to the duelist, the other to Vorici. “They are warded against lightning. You will be grounded, even holding steel.”

The duelist placed the ring on his finger, but Vorici said, “Give it to Zana.” He took one of his potions, gripped it by the bottle’s neck and smashed it against the wall. “I have no metal on me.”

“Is that going to be enough?” Zana said, eyeing the bottle shank as she slipped on the ring.

“Flesh doesn’t care what it’s cut by. It’ll bleed all the same,” the assassin said, going after Haku and the duelist to meet their foes.

“Is this your vanguard, Beren?” Seren laughed, too-shrill voice making the duelist cringe as they formed a line opposite the arc witches. “Are you not joining them?”

“I don’t know who you’re hoping to find,” the duelist said, “but we don’t have…” He trailed off, realising he still didn’t know the names of some of the exiles.

“You don’t, don’t you?” said Mirin. “Perhaps your tongues need a little jolt to spur them into speaking.”

Seren swung her arms in a circle, the charge between her fists taking the form of a ball she hurled at the exiles. Lightning struck, and she had moved off to the side, throwing another crackling orb at them. Sparks shot out of the ball, and the group scattered away from them.

Mirin chose the duelist as her target. Her fingers as a conductor, she gathered lightning onto her palm. It streaked out, seeking his blade—and ran through his body as only a mild discomfort. The gem seemed to glimmer as the sword glowed with heat.

Vorici was upon her in a blink, slashing with his shank. She sidestepped, knocked him off his feet with a bolt from the sky. He rolled up, vision swimming with stars, trying to locate her. They really are using the storm to move around. No wonder they caught up so quickly—

His thought was interrupted by an arc seeking him, dropping him to his knees. The duelist dashed over, yanking him up.

“Are you okay?” the duelist asked. Mirin fired another arc, and it caught them both—but Vorici only groaned, more vexed than in pain, with the duelist’s arm still on his.

“Should’ve taken the damn ring,” he grunted, and they parted from the way of rolling thunder.

Zana and Haku had Seren cornered—until she vanished in a flash once more, reappearing elsewhere in the boat-lined arena. Avoiding the rolling lightning was easy enough, but they were already fatigued with cold before having to chase the arc witch. Now and again, Mirin would throw arcs their way, adding another layer of difficulty to maintaining positions. Zana stayed between her and Haku, but also needed to be mindful of not getting too close to the Karui to keep the lightning from chaining.

Even with the ring, the little jolts here and there were starting to make her muscles spasm and her chest feel tight. The lustre of the topaz was dimming.

“We need to stop the warping!” Zana growled after stabbing only air. Haku swung at where Seren landed—but before the blow connected, she was gone again.

There was only a lightning ball, too close for Haku to avoid. Mirin shrieked with laughter, letting a thunderbolt fly his helpless way.

Haku roared with fury, wet skin burning from the sparks shooting from the ball. His head whipped to the side, catching the flash in the witch’s palm.

Three breaths caught in their throats. Only Haku breathed easy, grunting with surprise when the bolt and the orb fizzled against him.

“Beren!” Seren hissed.

Behind Haku stood a cloaked man, fingers reached towards the Karui. Haku looked at his arms in confusion. Over his skin was a thin layer of glowing blue.

“There is a gem in each witch’s shoulder,” the man said, lowering his hand. The glow faded, found a new place at his feet. “Dig them out and they can’t warp. The spells are socketed in the bodices.”

“Easier said than done,” Zana muttered. She dashed to Seren, but the witch warped away before she got close. She landed much farther away than before, and kept going.

“She’s running away!” the duelist yelled. Mirin snapped around, letting out a cry at the sight of her fleeing comrade.

“Seren! Come ba—“

Tendrils of lightning coiled around Beren’s outstretched arm. They launched at Mirin, startled her into staying still just enough for Vorici to reach her. He wrapped an arm around her throat, slashed her sleeve open. Lodged in the shoulder was a metal plate socketed with a blue gem the size of a dove’s egg. He dug the shank under the plate. It came loose with a scream.

The assassin grunted, grabbed her hand to narrowly avoid a bolt in the face. He cut the strap of her leather breastplate. It came loose, a number of gems hidden on the inside scattering on the ground. She writhed in his grip, yowling like a wildcat as the duelist jogged up to them and shattered the gems beneath his boot. Once the deed was done, Vorici let the woman go.

They surrounded her, and Mirin spun between each, face twisted into a grimace, one hand clasping the wound.

“SEREN!” she screamed, flailing a fist to the sky. “COME BACK!”

“You’re alone, Mirin,” Beren said, lowering his rain-battered hood to reveal a face half burnt. He shied away, covering the hurt side when she bared her teeth at him. “Wh-why do you insist on coming after me?”

“You made it this far,” she hissed. “The Lady needs to know why you’re different.”

“I’m not! I-I… I can’t sleep, can barely eat. I’m on the verge of losing my mind!” He wiped at his face, rubbed his eyes. “I’m just another miscreation, Mirin. Why can’t she see it?”

A wave of consternation passed over the exiles. The duelist flinched when the door slammed open and Elreon hobbled to them.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked, coughing.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” the duelist replied.

Mirin spat at his feet. “And you. Do you even know who you’re helping? Has he told you anything worthwhile?”

“We’re meeting for the first time, actually,” the duelist said, glancing at Beren. “But so far, I like him. He hasn’t tried to electrocute any one of us.”

“And now she won’t either,” Zana said, folding her arms. “Perhaps we should take her with us, as a bargaining chip if we get in trouble with Blackguard.”

“We’re already low on food,” Vorici said.

“She fought bravely, for a flitting little bird,” Haku said. “We won’t tarnish her honour with imprisonment.”

“You plan to kill me?” Mirin snapped. Her wild eyes fixed on Beren. “You think that’ll save you? That Seren won’t find you and come back with more like us? We aren’t unique, Beren, not anymore! The Lady will lock you up and lodge a hundred—no, thousand more gems in you! She’ll—“

With a cry of anguish, Beren lunged forward, slashing his glass dagger across her throat. Her insult turned into a gurgle, eyes bulged in their sockets.

Beren dropped the dagger. His face was drained of colour when he caught her. He pressed her head against his shoulder, hands shaking when he wrapped them around her in an embrace.

“No! No! I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—“ he stuttered. Blood streamed onto his shoulder, dripped off his arm. The others watched solemnly; Zana dove to her, flipping the cork off a potion with her thumb.

“Quick! Drink this!” she urged, trying to open Mirin’s mouth. The arc witch only stared at the ground.

“No potion heals an open artery,” Elreon said. “And she was only last rites away from an execution.”

“I’m so sorry,” Beren stammered against Mirin's neck. “When you said… I thought—I thought I was back—and that you were another monster…“

His voice waned into sobs, and Haku laid a hand on his shoulder. “To perish by the hand of someone who cares so deeply,” he said. “There is no better death.”

“She didn’t deserve to die at all,” Beren whispered. “She wasn’t like this. That damned woman—she made them this way!”

“Who did?” Zana said, lowering herself to one knee beside him.

“Piety. Dominus’ pet.” He lay Mirin down, gently pulled her hood over her eyes. “She… Mirin was a chambermaid, and I a valet in Dominus’ palace. Seren, too, served with us.” His face took a troubled twist. “I can’t remember what we were called then. These new names—Piety gave them to us.”

“Beren, Seren and Mirin,” Elreon said, nodding. “Figures in Vaal mythos. Children of a thunder spirit, if my memory serves me.”

“I-I don’t know, but it would sound right. Piety has a… penchant for lightning magic.” He raised the blood-drenched sleeve of his tunic, revealing a gem grafted onto the skin of his shoulder. “I have two of these. They make the magic much stronger than normal, but… but at a cost.” He groaned, pressed a palm against his eye.

“I still have the potion,” Zana offered. Beren shook his head.

“Potions do nothing. The gems are rotting my mind, but I need them now. One to protect, one to kill.” He let out a long sigh, stood up. “And one to give the spark of life, one to keep it contained. I’m lucky, in a way. A third gem attached directly on the body is deadly, if one is fortunate. Otherwise it makes you…” A shudder ran through him, and his voice died away.

The duelist blinked when a ray of sunlight landed in his eye. The storm had calmed during the discourse. War horns blew in the distance not a moment later, and Tamara came running out of the longhouse.

“Masters! The storm has ended!” she called. “Are we going to get the wagon? I noticed my journal is—o-oh no.” She slapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of Mirin. “Is she the enemy? Are you all unhurt?”

“More or less,” the duelist said, rubbing his hand to soothe its pins and needles. “You’ll have to abandon the journal. We ought to walk for the time being.”

“Run,” Beren said. “The army is vast. I am, unfortunately, a person of some importance to Piety’s research, and so the Blackguard will spare no expense getting me back.”

“Typical,” the duelist said in a quiet singsong tone, rolling his eyes. Zana gave him a glower. Beren either didn’t hear or chose to ignore him.

“You cannot get around the troop, but there is a passage through the mountains close by. That was my destination before the storm hit. Where are you headed?”

“Sarn,” Haku answered. “To hunt Dominus. You are welcome to join our quest, should you so wish. He has done you grave injustice.”

Beren’s mouth fell open and his lip quivered. He shook his head vigorously. “No. No, I want to go nowhere near that accursed city. I’m a shadow of a man, too weary to seek retribution.” The horns blew again. “It will be a detour, but I fear you have little in the way of alternatives.”

“A detour?” the duelist groused. “The pass is the exact opposite way! We’ll have to go around the whole damn mountain to get back!”

“Complain all you want, but he’s right,” Zana said, then turned to the others. “I’ll get the others ready to leave. Give us a minute.”

As she jogged off, the duelist stuck his fingers into his belt and sullenly kicked a seashell. “Detour after detour,” he muttered. “I’m never getting to Sarn at this rate.”

“Um, master swordsman,” Tamara said, pulling on his sleeve. “Could I have my rings back?”

“They took a bit of a beating,” the duelist said, rolling the ring off his finger. The gem had turned a dull brown.

“That’s all right. I’m glad they were of use.”

The duelist nodded. “Zana still has the other. I’ll get it for you.” He ran off, and Vorici joined her, inspecting the ring as she stashed it away.

“Those are powerful enchants,” he said. “Where did you get them?”

Tamara sealed the pouch, gave him a rueful smile. “Why are we exiled, master assassin? We have talents we oughtn’t have.”

“Your fingers don’t look nimble enough to be a thief’s, and one would think a gifted enchantress would be appreciated in a place like Oriath.”

“Yes,” Tamara said. “An enchantress would be.”

Vorici considered the answer, nodded slowly. “I see.”

She looked warily into the assassin’s eyes, but read no emotion in them. “Does that trouble you?”

Vorici hummed, shrugged. “No.” He nudged her to move when the horn blew, a little closer now.

*Because the date is unfortunate for any kind of self-promotion, let it be stated explicitly that this is not an April Fools' joke.**

Arrows chasing their heels, Haku rallied the band up the slope and towards the mountain pass. One bearing an explosive charge had knocked off a wheel of their cart, and he now carried the lad Tarris in his arms while Madrov, too weak to walk, slung to and fro with an arm around the Karui's neck.

"They're closing in!" shrieked the elder. "We must scatter! If they fire another explosive—"

"If they had more, they'd have done so," Zana said. She paused for a grunt when an arrow struck her plank-shield. "Though their aim with ordinary ones is getting better."

"Those rocks look loose enough to collapse," Vorici said, peering at a ledge above the passage. "If I can get close enough to plant explosives, I could cut off their chase."

"There's a way up, but it's on the far side," Beren huffed. His gait was shambling, but he kept pace despite having been short on breath since they had started running.

"Even better. I can collapse it on top of them."

"Half of them would make it through," Elreon said, "and that is still too many for us. Even were we to assault them at the far end to worsen their position, we would be outnumbered."

"Can you not throw a bomb?" suggested the duelist.

"With one of those arrows, maybe. I can't throw that high, and I don't trust the aim of Haku enough to hand him one."

"Then, I will guard your retreat," said Haku, stopping to hand the boy over to his mother and shake the elder down. Madrov landed on his hurt foot, glared at the giant and continued his flight in a wobble. "I will let none through until you're safe."

"Don't be foolish!" Zana snapped. "You cannot stand alone against an army."

"I will not," Haku said. Even before his arm fell on the duelist's shoulder, a torrent of curses flooded the duelist's mind. "There is no better death for men of war than to protect their allies. I would not insult my friend by depriving him of such honour."

"You'll protect nothing. They'll run over you before you can raise your weapons—"

"I will not listen to you slander my brother!"

"Let her speak," the duelist grated. Haku gave him a curious glance.

"It's not as poor an idea as it may seem," Beren said, unsheathing his glass dagger. "The passage goes through a short cave further ahead. If you
were to challenge them there, you would be safe from arrows and could establish a choke point. And," he pulled up the duelist's hand, pressed the dagger's handle onto his palm and closed the hand into a fist. "With this, you may yet live. It is a terrible tool, one I urge you not to get attached to. I want it back. Need it back."

The duelist turned the dagger around, felt its weight. It was balanced poorly, with an edge so light he wondered how it hadn't broken yet, and a hefty pommel further weighted down with two gems pressed in side by side. Both shades of green, one clear, one deeper, with a red gash spoiling its purity.

An arrow zipped to ricochet off the ground by his boot, and the duelist noticed only Haku and Beren stood by him. "These bowmen would have a lot to learn from my people," Haku said, watching the sky with a hand on his waist. "We might as well make our stand here. They would not hit us if we stood still."

"Let's not give them the chance," said the duelist, chasing the crew running up towards the canyon.

By the time they reached the cave, the pass had narrowed so that only three men could pass side by side. The cavern itself was rounder, almost an arena. "You know," said the duelist, slowing to a walk to get a gander at the space, "this doesn't seem like such an awful idea anymore. It's almost homey in here."

"I knew you would come around," Haku said, slapping the duelist's back with spine-crunching force. "We will part ways here. Ancestors guide your flight, my friends."

"The way to the shelf also parts here," Beren said to Vorici, "so this is where we must leave you, too."

The assassin nodded, scouring his belongings for munitions. "If I have to come back this way, I truly hope you'll stand your ground."

"They ways down are more varied. Were it not for our sentinels, I would suggest you to seal it once you go."

"I would rather you placed some faith in us," the duelist said.

"I'll come with you," Zana said, leaning against her arrow-riddled plank. "If they spot you, you'll get pinned down without protection."

"Then, it seems this is a parting of ways for our fellowship altogether," Elreon said. "If we do not meet again, may God keep you safe."

"Oh? Are you sure you'd rather not see us get trampled?" the duelist said.

"Do not insult him further," Haku chided. "We all know Elreon wishes for nothing more than join us, but someone must shepherd our wards to safety."

"I wouldn't mind swapping," the duelist suggested. Haku burst into a laugh, slapping his back for another crunch.

"It is the sign of a brave man to keep such high spirits at the cusp of battle! I could not wish for a better compatriot."

Elreon smiled. "I suspect you'll do better than I would." He nodded at the duelist's new dagger. "That gem, Beren. It is of Vaal origin, is it not?"

"It is," the man confirmed. He adjusted his position, and the duelist caught his hands shaking in the folds of his clothes. "And the gem paired with it is no less terrible. I meant what I said—they are powerful, and may see you fight another fight."

"I've never felt comfortable around blades," Elreon said. "So, I will leave this to you. Godspeed, friends. May we share the tale of your conquests today, whether in this world or another."

"Damn it," the duelist said, when the shouted orders of a Blackguard commander bounced to them down the cavern. "Go, then. Give us some room. Oh, Zana," he went on, caught her arm when she turned to leave and whispered, "since this may be the last we see each other… A kiss for good luck?"

Zana returned a wry smile. "Yours or mine?"

"I've not decided yet," he said with a grin.

"I couldn't possibly kiss a man whose name I don't know."

The duelist snorted. "Fine. It's—"

She pressed a finger on his lip. "I was making an excuse."

"Oh."

"You may be reading too much into our friendship. But… perhaps, for your show of bravery, I might grace you with one once we're back with the others."

"Ah, well. It's a promise, then."

She ran off after Vorici, and the duelist went to Haku. The Karui stood with his mace pressed against the ground, hands folded atop the tip of its shaft. "Are you frightened?"

"A little miffed at most," the duelist replied.

"Then why are you shifting, if not for nerves?"

"Trying to find a good stance. I'm not used to a blade in both hands."

"I hope you find one quickly." Haku lifted his mace. "Here they come."

The Blackguard poured in, quickly forcing the pair to fall back. The plan was as efficient as the duelist had thought—they were spared from arrows, yes, but that made no difference when each enemy they cut down was backed by a hundred more.

But, he had not expected them to fall this easily.

The duelist danced between the spreading lines like a manic artist spreading blotches of paint in a canvas all around him, blood spraying in arcs along the lines of his blade. He struck faster, harder than he ever had, so swiftly and brutally the cavern floor might've been covered with tar that wouldn't touch his boots. It seemed the Blackguard resorted in numbers only, for this group was wholly talentless; they scored only nicks and grazes, and though so many ought to've eventually slowed him down as they slowed Haku, the duelist kept hacking and slashing through the crowd.

He did not relent even when they reversed the flow and began to push the Blackguard out—though a glance Haku was now covered in a red coat of his own vitality. He did not, however, realise he was screaming madly, caught in a trance that only grew with each falling enemy. Drops of blood touching his skin seeped through, closing ever minor wound he received moments after it was inflicted. Those that struck arteries spouted as fountains, for so long and so profusely he should have bled out in the span of breaths. Instead, they kept spouting, as though he was a channel drawing from his foes, and further inflamed his inhuman rage.

The duelist was vaguely aware of a newborn urge within him, a sensation of deep, deep hunger, but rather than centred in his stomach, it pulsed along his left arm. His yearning to sate it saw the Blackguard pushed to the mouth of the cave, then outside it. He never noticed Haku falling behind, forced to his knees by the riddle of wounds obscuring his old scars.

***

"By every gracious god," Zana hissed through her teeth. Behind her, Vorici prepared his munitions underneath a pile of rocks. "He's about to make himself a legend, and I am the sole witness."

"What's happening down there?" the assassin said, pricking his ears at the clatter and screams.

"A massacre. By one man. What curse resided in the dagger to allow such slaughter?"

"A simple gem, I suspect. They can be quite the boon if used right." He left the bomb to run crouched to the ledge. "Oh, my. Crude work, but effective nonetheless."

"Are you almost done?"

"Almost. There's only problem."

"What is it?"

"He's right where the rocks will fall, and if he keeps pushing them back, he'll be cut off when I detonate the charge."

"At this rate, we won't need the blast," Zana mumbled, watching the duelist forge ahead, only the flashing arcs of his weaponry allowing her to follow the speed of his moves.

***

When the hunger became unbearable, the duelist heard a whisper in his thoughts. Release me, spoke the charnel voice. I've eaten enough. Let me feed myself, now.

Lifted from his rage for a moment of sentience, the duelist caught the second gem, the marred one, pulsating with light in its socket. Though unsure of how to respond, he allowed the voice its freedom.

With that decision, force erupted from the edge of his knife. He slashed with an immaterial blade to cut down an entire row of Blackguard ahead of him, and another, and another. His arm stung unbearably, like the pain from the wounds he did not feel concentrated in the single limb. With every death throe, the pain soothed the slightest bit, only to relapse each time the strange hunger was almost nourished.

Only once there was no one else left to cut, he dropped the knife. He stood on shaking feet, but held his poise. With no one to turn on, the rage carved him in turn, feeding on his insides like a beast that had crawled into his belly and nibbled at his heart. He fumbled for a potion and drank deep, until his thoughts clarified and he regained control of his senses.

Made aware of his surroundings, the duelist surveyed the carnage he had caused—first in awe, then with horror, and once again in awe. He caught Zana and Vorici on the cliff, gaping at him, and raised his sword at them in greeting.

Instead of calling out, he grunted when an arrow struck his shoulder. He spun towards the direction it had come from to find a bandit on the other side of the pass, aiming another arrow at him. Zana cried something, but he never heard what. A rumble followed by a terrible pressure from the arrow drowned her voice. The duelist, unaware of what was happening, suddenly struck his head at the wall despite having stood paces from it. Breath fled his lungs, but he felt no need to inhale. A ringing in his ears concealed the thud of his arm when its short flight came to a spiralling end.

I should've been more persistent with that kiss, thought the duelist, one trance replaced with another—but this one was calm, euphoric, where he was showered in golden sunlight. Ah, Zana, but am I glad I was wrong and got to see this city. Sarn is as majestic as I imagined.

A knife thrown to the throat sent the bandit down to join the duelist, but rather than a man falling to his death, the duelist saw a flower thrown at his feet. When Haku found him and lifted him from shadow to sunlight, the duelist came walking out from a sheltered pathway into the brilliance of Sarn's arena. The Karui's mournful face was the face of an emperor, unwanted tears diamonds of his mask.

People cheered at him, multitudes of them, and most precious were those of Sarn's darling women. Only one voice in the tumult cried objections, strangely like Zana's, but he cared none for it. Why should I, thought the smiling duelist, when all the others love me?

From his liminal place in the Karui's arms, the duelist spoke thusly—to his crowd a boisterous bellow, to his friend a rapturous whisper: "Who is my next challenger?"