Inside the tavern I could sense Mama’s familiar sunshine and forest qi signature, along with various others, all of them moving around quite chaotically. Thank the heavens that Mama was still alive—although her signature was considerably weaker than it should have been. I needed to get in there!


    Our approach was blocked by phantom rats that appeared in the doorway, popping up through the floor and on top of the unconscious doorman, and sprouting through the rock in all directions, with no particular regard for gravity. They gnashed their yellowed teeth together with identical leering expressions.


    “Third time’s the charm,” said one with a face like a splitting tumour. I dimly remembered this lackey—Málester or was it ‘Off-clean’? Some other nonsense gobbledy-gook. It did not matter. I did not think they had autonomous thought any longer anyway. Their master was just using their left over parts. For-Molsnian’s puppets.


    “Come in, come in,” said another, looking past me to my living companions. “Welcome to all of you with warm blood and beautiful beating hearts! You are most welcome.”


    “You can bring your core,” said another to me. “Save some time and hand it over now?”


    “Come to die,” said yet another, “at last?”


    “It is not I who is the ghostie here,” I said, “clinging to life like a mewling wisp.”


    “Ohoho, hark at the sass!”


    “Bold words for a cat that is just too stupid to know it is dead.”


    “A fool and his core are soon parted.”


    They all laughed together with the nasally, spine-chilling chortle of their monarch.


    “A god does not fear death,” I said, puffing out my chest.


    “There are no gods here,” said the wraiths, all together.


    “Not yet,” I explained, “but I have had a dream.” And it was true. I had realised the truth of what I saw in the shadow dragon’s belly. I was destined for divinity as well as immortality, but of course, deep down, I had always known it.


    “Quickly, Jenkins!”


    The voice was barely audible over the wail of the wind around the stone pillars, even with my enhanced hearing. Panic gripped me. The rats were wasting my time on purpose, keeping me from helping those within.


    I attacked in a spinning whirl of death qi and vengeance.


    Moeee, Hush and Thimble raced at my back, each of their qi signatures flaring hot and bright. Delightful, black, wicked flame burst across the crystalline edges of my extended claws. Where the black flame danced, it absorbed the light. But as beautiful as it was, my claws still whistled through empty air.


    The ghosties lurched back, distorting their bodies into unnatural shapes to avoid the blows. The unexpected lack of resistance almost tipped me into the gully, but I held on. Was that a glint of fear on the rats’ faces? Yes, I thought so.


    “Come here,” I demanded. “I want to see what the dead flames will do.”


    They hissed and charged. I sprang high, as high as I could, leaping over them, barrelling past. I felt cold paws scrape along my sides, snatching at my qi, but I was away. Tucking myself into a roll, I landed, four splayed legs on the smooth stone of the tavern within.


    Inside was chaos. Glass and shattered mugs lay everywhere. Chair splinters, people splinters, fairy splinters, and there, in the midst of it all, the wraith rat king, lounging upon the bar, corpulent, transparent, his corrupted backside staining the wood with melting lines of rot and puss. Twelve spectral tails hung down to the floor. A tarnished crown of gold perked on barely there rotting flesh. One eye missing, leaving only a gaping ruin. The other glowed red.


    He saluted, spectral pieces of him lazily shifting around his body in a way that promised a very interesting fight to come.


    As I stepped closer, I realised the piles at his feet were bits of people and creatures, tossed amid heaps of bones and unquiet spirits. All of them tethered to him by translucent chains, rattling and shaking in unquiet horror. I did not look too long, there was no helping them. Not now. But I could still help the living.


    The surviving denizens of the tavern were barricaded by the hearth—pixies, goblins, spirits, Mama at the front. Mama! Standing firm and sure, her green gaze glittering with resolve, her aura warm and comforting. One of her eyes was closed and oozing, but she was alive, and I would make sure she remained so. She lifted her chin in greeting, not relaxing her warlike stance at the sight of me.


    The familiar but ragged figures of Polly-wally and Berryman stood on either side of her, cheering and waving cocktail forks.


    “Where is your giant toad?” For-Molsnian asked, lazily. He stirred one ratty finger in a circle and chunks of his flesh split off to float in their own orbit. “Where is your fat frog? Licking her wounds in the swamp? Far, far, far away? Has she washed her hands of you?” He laughed. “Does she even know you are here? I think she does, but she doesn’t care. Maintaining a sect is all about resource management after all, trust me, I know. You… you are no longer worth the air you used to breathe. Damaged goods. Once, perhaps, you were promising… But now she has cut you loose, even if you are too stupid to realise it. Still. You can be useful to me, even as you are. Your core is an acceptable size. Come here, cat.”


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Swallowing my growl, I stepped forward, as if compelled.


    His killing intent weighed us all down, but my shoulders were not as bowed as they had been the last time we met. I deliberately hunched them, faking despair. His qi tugged at me, yes, trying to steal my energy, yes, but with every part of me imbued with death qi, I was able to resist. It was like an anchor tethering me to my own wants—a solid, grounding force that played no games. I, however, had always enjoyed playing games with my prey.


    Cringing and ducking, I swayed melodramatically and rolled my eyes as I pranced my way across the tavern. It was funny that even rat kings did not grow wiser when they died, not like me. For-Molsnian did not remember that I was tricksy. More fool him.


    I tripped over a rock on the ground. Not a rock. The troll proprietor, laying out like the doorman outside, sprawled and unconscious. Another step, pretending, pretending. Once I got close to him, I would do something magnificent with death qi that would save us all! It would be excellent for all sorts of things… I just had to figure out what. Before I got there.


    I got there.


    For-Molsnian reached, and I uncoiled like a spring, raking my qi-enforced claws through his big, corpulent belly. There was a satisfying squelch as they gouged deep, seeping lines through his ethereal tummy ectoplasm.


    My elation turned to distress as For-Molsnian grabbed my paw, holding it fast in a vice grip that somehow was at once solid and… well… I could feel his fingers inside my body. And it hurt! No matter how I tugged or pulled, I could not rip it away.


    How could I get away from something I could not touch? I panicked, hissing and spitting, straining to rip myself free.


    “Tricky, ay,” he said, his single red eye boring into mine. “Is it my imagination, or is it getting a little warm in here?”


    I screamed as my skin started to burn.


    My sinews, my muscles, all of me burning where he touched. Demonic qi bent and twisted, consuming my flesh in a stinking haze. I could not pull away, though I tried. Sizzling drops spat across the room, burning the wood, scorching the stones, destroying anything or anyone that stood in its way. I screamed as more and more of my paw was subsumed in agony.


    “You see,” said the rat king calmy, as the wood of the tavern around us caught fire and my essence continued to burn. “Everyone ends up dead either way. We can do it fast, or we can do it slow…”


    Noxious smoke billowed out into the room. White hot pain filled my brain, making it hard to think, but behind it all I could hear Mama coughing. At least I did not need to breathe. The living most definitely did need to breathe though. Desperately, I fought, flooding my body with death qi, spinning my dantian like a top. The wraith rat king laughed, and I heard my bones crack under the strain.


    Doggedly, I kept fighting. This was not how I was going to go, not after everything. Not like this. What was I missing? Sinking my other three legs into the rat king’s belly, I bit and kicked and kicked some more, all the while the agony of unfriendly fire consumed my flesh. But even in my pain-addled state, I knew, this fight would only be won with qi. With all of my might, I slammed qi into his body, again and again, death, death, death. Into the demonic squeaker! It was not as effective as blazing sunlight, but I had none of the precious gold left. Only bitter death. Still, at last, he let go.


    I sprang back, nursing my steaming flesh. Or what was left of it. The broken bone showed through the remains of ragged, smoking fur, huge bits burnt to a crisp, the flesh still bubbling most unpleasantly, but there was no time to mourn my perfect coat. Fires still burned elsewhere, and the denizens of the tavern were coughing hard now, choking on the fumes.


    “Get out!” Thimble roared in the distance, but I couldn’t see him through the smoke. Those who were trapped by the flames could not leave.


    I couldn’t get to them, the rat king blocked my way.


    I dodged and weaved, but the king squeaker toyed with me, a smile on his ghastly, ghostly, ratty chops. The room was growing darker with the thickening smoke. I lost sight of those by the door. Further back, Mama was using water qi to dampen the fumes, but it was not enough. She didn’t have enough.


    I ducked a foetid tail. Then another, and another. The tails were like whips, sliding and cracking through the air. It took all of my might and skill to avoid them. I had death qi in abundance, but not much else. My water qi was spent, likewise my air. Narrowly avoiding another wraith-whip tail, I dribbled some mist into the atmosphere. It dampened the smoke a bit and then vanished in a sorry little puff. What good was strength and speed if I could not save those that I loved?


    I was missing something.


    Jump, thwack.


    I was not a broken piece of glass put back together. I was something new, but I still cut. I knew I was missing something… A host of wraith rats reared up around me, mimicking the shadow animals, stalking me in a circle. I twisted, watching for their strikes. They were both eerily like the shadow animals and unlike. I dodged, again, my injured paw was slowing me. I needed to get to Mama and the others, but every time I tried, For-Molsnian reared up in front of me, blocking my way.


    “Don’t worry, little cat,” he said with false sympathy. “Death is merely part of the cycle.”


    He was right.


    But I could not accept this outcome. Leaping from shelf to ground to nook, avoiding the wraiths, leaping the smoke… Hush and Moeee’s qi signatures flared momentarily, bright in the distance. The pixies were coughing, hacking up their tiny lungs. Focus. Berryman vomited into the hearth, collapsing onto his knees. His head rolled to one side. Death was natural, yes, a low point, yes. Mama was wheezing, crouched on her belly, gasping for breath. Polly-wally fell, her eyes rolling back into her skull. Natural. Part of the cycle, or the point of transformation?


    Ashes returned to the earth, from which sprung new life, the wheel turning.


    Mama was… she rolled onto her side. Thimble howled somewhere. Were they dying? We were just points on the wheel. Which meant… which meant… Corpses returned to the earth. Or the flames. Hot fire to cold ashes, new life, flowers blooming from the detritus of the past. They were dying, and I was watching.


    A shadow leaned against me, this one a friend in the carnage and stink of death and chaos.


    “Like this,” said my shadow self. And he passed me the fire qi from the air.


    I spun it into myself, blending it through the death qi, through and out, and round and round, precious threads on the wheel of my existence. As it passed, something wondrous happened. The fire qi flared, then blinked out, fading into soft grey ashes. The spark of life was lost, the once hot flame spinning cold and chill through my veins as it cycled. Fluffy. No, not lost, merely transformed. The energy remained, it was hidden in the ash qi.


    “More,” I whispered, ducking another blow. I forced my death qi out into the air, out like a lattice, like an enticing net, simultaneously pulling the fire into me.


    With a dull WHUMP the flames extinguished, and the tavern was filled with soft, drifting ashes. Through the grey cloud I saw the For-Molsnian’s veneer of unharried amusement drop like a stone.