《The Plagued Rat》


 Chapter One - But Whips and Chains Bloody Hurt Me…

    Skrakch was pretty certain that this was the most pain any creature in Dray¡¯Mel had ever felt.


    Each lash across his back was agony, pure bloody agony. The thick leather whip with its multiple tails split his hide with each well-aimed blow. Worse yet was the feeling of those wounds as they closed themselves back up, months of his body¡¯s natural healing time being forced to cram itself into a few seconds. He¡¯d honestly always thought that listening to Zacharias witter on about his latest conquest was the most painful experience in his life but these sessions reminded him that things could get a lot worse.


    Gasping out in shock and pain, he blearily gazed up at the demon-spawned woman who was standing over him, holding the object of his suffering with a benign smile on her face.


    ¡®Demon-spawned¡¯ she quite literally was, judging by her blood-red skin. And there was an awful lot of it on display in her barely-there black leather dress that rode up her thick thighs and was cut so low that it displayed a large amount of cleavage.


    Still, she was mostly Human-looking and that was more than enough to turn the Ratling¡¯s stomach. All that exposed skin? She looked sickly without any fur. He was pretty sure that he was never going to get used to the amount of flesh that Humans have on display.


    Skrakch knew he wasn¡¯t a prudish creature, not by any means, but he preferred his females to not look like skinning victims. The next time he came here, he would have to-


    CRACK!


    Letting out, what he thought to be, an extremely manly squeal of pain, Skrakch felt his breath forced out of him as a leather-clad high-heeled boot suddenly connected with his stomach.


    Curling further in on himself in the fetal position, Skrakch struggled to remain conscious as his attacker looked down on him with a disgust-filled sneer, tapping the handle of the whip against her palm, glossy black nails catching in the candlelight of the dank cellar.


    He was going to have to get over this hurdle if he was going to make any progress. Pain is temporary, becoming a Chosen is forever, Skrakch thought to himself as he felt his wounds close once more. Skrakch allowed himself one more whimper of pain before he steeled his resolve.


    ¡°A-alright... let¡¯s take the next step,¡± He said, fighting against the rising wave of nausea in his belly from her kick. ¡°And by that... I mean can you step on me? You haven¡¯t broken anything yet... and I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s gonna be what tips me over the edge¡­¡±


    ¡°Sorry dear,¡± The woman purred with mock regret. ¡°But your time is up. That is, of course, unless you¡¯d like to extend your session?¡± She grinned at him. ¡°It¡¯s so rare for one of my clients to sign up for this package that it¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve truly been able to let loose,¡± She continued with satisfaction as she ran the tails of the whip through her slender fingers.


    The blood-splattered demoness put one of those fingers to her deep red lips, pretending to consider. ¡°Or perhaps for the low price of just twenty-five gold, I can offer you the deluxe aftercare package. I¡¯ll treat your wounds by hand, of course, perhaps offer you a relaxing massage?¡±


    She leaned down and started to run her hand across the fur on his chest, playing with the little rosette of dark brown in the center. Skrakch would normally consider this intimate touch a kind of foreplay. Gods Below knew it had been a while, but that hideously naked skin¡­


    ¡°And if you play your cards right¡­¡± She continued as her hand moved lower. Clearly, she thought that she was being a little too subtle with her massage comment. ¡°They won¡¯t be the only things that I treat¡­¡±


    ¡°Bah!¡± Skrakch moved from her touch, accidentally jarring some of the wounds that were still knitting together. ¡°We both know I don¡¯t have that kind of coin on me!¡± He let out a little sigh. Despite the skin thing, he¡¯d probably consider it. In his vast experience with the females of any species, it doesn¡¯t do to tell them that you find them utterly disgusting. Or that you¡¯d rather let a slum cat touch you first.


    ¡°Listen Survix,¡± Skrakch continued as he hauled himself to his feet. ¡°This has been a real...treat. But time¡¯s a-wasting. You know how it is. I¡¯ll let myself out.¡±


    Survix shrugged and headed over to her well-stocked rack that included various whips and methods of torture, while Skrakch hurried over to the wooden chest where he¡¯d left his clothes. He gave himself a quick check over. He knew that he was a fine figure of a Ratling, he was tall, a lot taller than his littermates had been, and his fur was the perfect burnt umber. Some clueless idiots had tried to claim it was just ¡®brown¡¯ but Skrakch knew the truth. He was a cut above your average servant Ratling with their common garden muddy brown fur.


    His whiskers were perfect, long and straight with no frazzled ends like the albino Iskrin had. In the past year, a streak of grey has appeared over his snout which, in his humble opinion, just made him look all the more distinguished. And his tail! Oh, his tail! His pride and joy. It was a pure work of art. In fact, he was pretty sure that there had been sonnets written about it. He¡¯s lost count of the number of females that probably wept in their beds every night, having lost the chance to bear witness to how truly majestic it was to touch.


    Still, as vicious as Survix had been with him, most of the wounds and marks had already healed by the time he was done worshiping himself. Smoothing down any leftover ruffled fur, Skrakch checks his legendary tail is still unmarred before beginning to strap on his leather armor.


    As always, his tail fit neatly through the hole he¡¯d cut into his pants. Frankly, Skrakch always thought it was a crime to not display it at all times. Once dressed, he hopped up the stone stairs that led to Survix¡¯s basement workspace and pulled open the heavy wooden door.


    He was always assaulted by the heavily perfumed smell whenever he visited this place. The ¡®front¡¯ of the business was as a general perfumery. The citizens of Dray¡¯Mel, at least the ones that frequented the area known as The Slums, weren¡¯t known for their hygiene standards. Rather than bathe, a lot of them would douse themselves in strong-smelling scents. It was a nightmare for Skrakch and his superior sense of smell.


    He made his way over to a woman he affectionately called The Denmother. She was a wrinkled old crone of a woman and the most unassuming person that he knew. Her back was arched with age, causing her to stoop like some poor hunchback whenever she stood up. Silvery-grey hair hung around her heavily lined face in dead-looking tendrils. She sat in the same spot every single day, an ornately carved wooden rocking chair that was the only outward sign of her wealth.


    Her knitting needles would clack rhythmically as she worked on a large blanket or scarf. Of course, it was all a clever ruse. No innocent citizen entering the shop would guess that this sweet, infirm-looking old woman was a master demonologist with a torture basement and several high-class working girls on her payroll.


    ¡°Hey, Ma! Notice anything different about me?¡± Skrakch asks hopefully as he did a quick twirl for her, the potions on his bandolier clinking as he swung in place.


    ¡°The only thing I notice about you boy is that you¡¯ve accrued quite a debt at this point,¡± The Denmother replied acidly. She dropped her knitting and pokes at him with one gnarled finger. It was a surprisingly strong stab for such a senile old witch. ¡°You come in here once a week, asking to be whipped and whatnot, then cry and squeal throughout the entire session. If it weren¡¯t for my silencing incantation you¡¯d be drawing all sorts here. Poking their noses in and asking questions!¡±


    ¡°And worst yet Ratling, you don¡¯t pay up at the end of the month,¡± She continued as she shook her head. ¡°Well, you¡¯d best be believing that I¡¯ll be calling in a favor for that when I need one!¡±


    Skrakch backed away to avoid any further physical retribution from the aged demonologist and backed off towards the shop¡¯s doorway. ¡°Don¡¯t worry Ma!¡± He replied with a wink. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you back in full soon, maybe even a little extra for your patience. I¡¯ve got a big payday planned,¡± he continued with an enigmatic smile as he rubbed his front paws together.


    Skrakch wasn¡¯t sure which one of her commonly used insults the Denmother called after him as he stepped out into the street, but the smart bet wasn¡¯t staying long enough for her to care enough to run him out herself.


    The Slums made up one of the largest parts of the city of Dray¡¯Mel. Skrakch supposed that they were similar to the poorest parts of any other city. The extremely originally named Merchant¡¯s Alley was probably the street that was in the best shape, although that wasn¡¯t really saying much. The rough cobblestones were chipped and battered and stained with a variety of God Above knew what. The stores that lined either side were ramshackle, with peeling paint and ancient signs that creaked when they swung in the breeze. Everywhere you looked beggars were sitting in their filth and demanding money from the passers-by.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Way above the crowds of people who were hurrying to and fro, going about their daily business, was a grey, overcast sky. The upper levels of each store were so close together that it almost blocked it out entirely. Skrakch had never tried it, but he was pretty certain if you stood at the top window of one store, you¡¯d be able to shake hands with someone standing in the opposite window. It was in one of those upper levels, above the old disused carpenter¡¯s store that Zacharias had made his home.


    It was a pretty perfect area for the Halfling thief. When Skrakch thought of Zacharias, he thought of shit. And it was apt because there were open sewers that ran either side of the street, the Ratling chuckled to himself. The smell was pungent, especially during the summer months. The ragged Human children tried to cash in on this by selling nosegags to those who had the wherewithal to afford such a luxury. Those without were forced to hurry from store to store, trying not to inhale too deeply.


    Yet it wasn¡¯t only the stench that encouraged the people to be quick with their daily shopping. Dotted randomly along the length of Merchant¡¯s Alley were the massive Undead Guards. These brutes wore heavy plate armor emblazoned with an ancient sigil that Skrakch remembered from the history books as belonging to Rath¡¯Mel, the Dreaded Archmage. They carried large halberds, ferociously sharp, each handle decorated with a band of dark green, the color of Rath¡¯Mel.


    The guards towered above the crowds, at least double the size of even the tallest Human. Through the eye-slits of their horned helmets, were the green flaming embers in the place of eyes. The seemingly soulless creatures were always on alert, scanning the crowd, looking for signs of escapees from the Undead District. They always gave Skrakch a sense of unease whenever he passed one of them. Their job may be to protect the living but their intimidating appearance gave the distinct impression that they were there to make sure none of the living left The Slums.


    Worse yet, the damned things were low on the totem pole when it came to the Tomb Makers. As indomitable as they appeared, Skrakch was well aware that a single Death Knight from atop the city walls could handle dozens of the soulless guards within minutes. Thankfully, it was rare to see a Death Knight in the Living District, as they only interacted with the mortals under their charge when a Breach occurred.


    Shaking away such dark thoughts and eager to forget all about the fearsome creatures, Skrakch hurried over to the empty doorway of an old tailor¡¯s shop. Taking a moment to ensure that nobody was following him or about to pounce on him, he closed his eyes and concentrated.


    He reached deep into his Core and found...the same thing he always did. It wasn¡¯t entirely surprising but he still felt a wave of disappointment. His Core was a calm pool of Mana that sat in his chest, with whispery tendrils that circulated throughout his body. It was impressive but nothing out of the ordinary for him. Out of the ordinary was exactly what he was hoping for.


    Scowling and muttering a few choice curses to himself, Skrakch lamented yet more wasted coin. He knew that eventually, something he did would make him a Chosen. It¡¯s practically guaranteed to happen to someone of his caliber. He¡¯d always known, ever since he was a Ratling pup, that he was destined for greatness. It¡¯s just a matter of time. And coin. Lots and lots of coin. Or so it would seem.


    Still, he did have that promised big payday coming up. Moving away from the disused shop doorway, he whistled to himself and had a look around at the merchants who were currently hawking their wares. And, of course, the rubes that were being suckered out of their coins.


    Skrakch, against his better judgment, attempted to take a deep cleansing breath and got a snoutful of the disgusting stench of unwashed Humans. He let out a disgusted snarl and started to shove his way forward through the crowd of shoppers.


    Of course, the Ratling was occasionally jostled by the much taller Humans who clearly didn¡¯t show him the respect he was due. Typical, really. Still, he brazenly attempted to push past them all, just barely resisting the urge to start clawing at a few calves or ankles but it was a near thing.


    He was just about to consider a trip to Kuosh to see what his old Grif friend had cooked up when, suddenly, Skrakch felt an ominous wave of frost blow through the street, chilling him to his very bones. He froze on the spot as all the Humans around him did the same. Almost instinctively, dozens of eyes that were widened with fear looked upwards.


    Skrakch took cover behind the nearest Human, grateful for once that he was not so easily spotted within a crowd. He watched as a pack of ethereal creatures descended through the gaps between the upper levels of the houses. Each one was Humanoid in shape but that was where the similarity ended. These creatures were a murky green color, somewhere between the mold that grew on rotting fruit and the sludge leaked from sewers. The mist-like shapes each bore a grimace of pain and agony as they looked through the crowd. Worse yet, they radiated Negative Energy which fell over the still crowd like a thick fog.


    It took them barely a few tense minutes to find their quarry. The swarm of Undead quickly swooped downwards into the crowd, pushing people back with their presence alone. Standing amid the specters, an old man suddenly clutched his chest and collapsed to the floor. He tried in vain to wheeze out a protest, a piteous barely-audible attempt to beg for more time.


    The creatures paid him no mind, bearing down on him, deaf to his pleas. They let out a collective unearthly wail before lifting the man from the cobblestone. As quickly as they arrived, they disappeared back through the gaps between the buildings above.


    Even as the creatures disappeared out of sight, the crowded street remained frozen in place for a few moments until, with a collective sigh of relief, they went back to their business. The merchants once again started to call out enticingly but with less vigor than before. The crowd slowly dispersed, people drifted back towards their homes and talked in hushed voices. Such was the way when the Wraiths descended. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of terror and gratitude that they weren¡¯t the ones picked up.


    ¡°I know it ¡®appens all the time,¡± A woman in a tatty dress and limp curls whispered to the man Skrakch was hiding behind. ¡°But it don¡¯t ¡®alf put the frighteners on me when them wraiths come!¡±


    ¡°Tell me about it, love,¡± The man replied, a visible shudder taking over his body. ¡°And who knows where the poor old bugger¡¯s off to? Likely be The Butchery if you ask me!¡±


    Skrakch shook himself out of his stupor and took a moment to calm his racing heart. While the sight of someone¡¯s life coming to an end was a normal enough event, actually seeing it happen in person like that always reminded him of his mortality. He raised his wrist and injected it with a sliver of Mana.


    Letters sprung forth, glowing blue against his fur and revealing to him his life expectancy. One year, eleven months, twelve days. Sighing softly, Skrakch looked away from the morose sight, dismissing his Mana and the projection, and absentmindedly swallowed a bit of bile that tried to escape. The Ratling had little under two years left before it was his turn to be swept away and he was determined that he was not going to waste it.


    Skrakch continued his walk up Merchant¡¯s Alley, enjoying the extra space. The crowd had mostly dispersed, leaving only the bravest shoppers and a few beggars still going about their business unhindered. Still, it didn¡¯t come as a surprise when he spotted a familiar face heading up the street towards him.


    The Halfling was barely three feet tall and had a mop of unruly ginger hair. He¡¯d shaved off his usual beard and smudged his face with dirt. Skrakch shook his head at the sight. The Ratling supposed he was trying to pass himself off as one of the slum kids again. The Halfling¡¯s clothes were ragged and were probably stolen from some poor woman¡¯s doorstep. The olive green tunic was tattered and frayed at the cuffs and hem and his brown tights, complete with holes in the knees, were held up with a length of filthy rope. He certainly cut a pathetic figure which was, no doubt, his intention.


    Skrakch watched as the Halfling moved easily amongst the people, nobody appeared to notice him, not even when he discreetly pocketed a pouch or two from his unsuspecting victims. His next stop was the bakers. The owner himself was standing in the doorway shouting his latest offerings. A jolly fat Human in a pure white apron, and an easy mark to boot.


    The Halfling approached the baker, and screwed his fists into his eyes, looking for all the world like a little boy who¡¯d lost his mother. The baker took one look at him before taking pity on the Halfling and patted him on the head before handing over a freshly baked roll with a flourish.


    ¡°Still playing fast and loose with the law Zacharias?¡± Skrakch asked when the Halfling finally approached him, still chewing on his ill-gotten provisions. ¡°You know, one of these days the Tomb-Makers are going to notice you,¡±


    ¡°Yeah right mate,¡± Zacharias replied through a mouthful of bread. ¡°They¡¯re gonna drag me away for a crust of bread,¡± He swallowed the mouthful. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk anyways. Besides,¡± He tossed a thumb in the direction of the Inner Wall ¡°Those old bones have been standing in place for so long, I¡¯m not even sure they can move,¡± He started going through the pouches he¡¯d stolen as Skrakch hustled him into yet another disused shop doorway. Sometimes Zacharias was way too cocky for his good.


    The Ratling watched as Zacharias emptied a few coins from the pouch into his hand before he tossed the now empty pouch into a dusty corner of the doorway. He pocketed the coins and grinned widely at him.


    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not like I need the copper,¡± He said when Skrakch rolled his eyes. ¡°But you know me mate, gotta keep those skills sharp. Too much rust and some piles of dusty old bones would be the least of me worries! Especially with this gig, we¡¯ve got coming up.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯re not going to get caught, are we, Zacharias?¡± Skrakch asked rhetorically. ¡°Humans can¡¯t keep up with a Halfling and a Ratling anyways. If worse comes to worst, we just run.'''' He added with a smug smirk. ¡°And I¡¯m faster than you.¡±


    It was Zacharias¡¯ turn to roll his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he palmed a dagger with an elaborate ¡®Z¡¯ etched into the handle.


    ¡°And if you fuck it up, speed ain¡¯t gonna save you Squeakers. You¡¯ll have a knife in your back quicker than you can say ¡®squeak squeak¡¯ or whatever it is you rodents say. Anyway, we¡¯re not going in loud. The plan this time is to be as quiet as a mouse. Which, if ya think about it, it should be proper easy for you,¡± He smiles slyly. ¡°After all, you¡¯re pretty much the same thing right?¡±


    Skrakch chose to ignore the pathetic insult. As if his stunning good looks could ever be compared to a filthy mouse of all things. Instead, he spread his arms wide, his whiskers vibrating with excitement.


    ¡°C¡¯mon Zach! After we¡¯re done with this we¡¯re going to be the richest living mortals in Dray¡¯Mel!¡±

 Chapter Two - The Residential Heist

    Leaving The Slums always threw Skrakch for a moment. It was easy to forget just how large a city Dray¡¯Mel was when you only ventured outside of your own district occasionally. Seeing the streets widen and the Humans dwindle was both a blessing and a curse. Sure there would be fewer Humans dragging their rotten smells everywhere but conversely, the diminished crowds made a Ratling stick out like a sore thumb.


    The Residential District wasn¡¯t the best place for a creature like him to be. Yet, he supposed that that would be the thing that would work in their favor, he mused to himself with more than a hint of bitterness. The Residential District was a far cry from The Slums that he called home, after all.


    It was the District of Dray¡¯Mel where the upper class made their homes. Reserved mostly for wealthy landowners, businessmen, and members of the Dray¡¯Mel living government. It consisted of their large mansion houses, each with its own sprawling grounds and each more elaborate than the last.


    There were no open sewers to be found here. The air was thick with the scent of freshly manicured lawns and various rare flowers that were grown in hothouses and shipped to the landowners at high prices. From there, the paid gardeners would replant them into neat, regimented rows. Gods Below forbid any lord or lady catch a whiff of something foul in their distinguished noses with their even more distinguished nose hairs.


    And Gods Below forbid they would ever have a non-servant Ratling on their property. The ¡®Richies¡¯ as Zacharias liked to call them, were very clear about their feelings on the Iskrin race and where they belonged.


    And that was why while Skrakch chased after the dream of being rich himself, there was no way he would ever live in the Residential District. The very thought made him sick to his stomach and threatened to re-open long ago closed wounds.


    No, the people who resided here weren¡¯t kind to Iskrin walking loose in their perfect slice of the city. In point of fact, if Skrakch hadn¡¯t been walking through the area with Zacharias, he¡¯d likely have been detained already by the occasional guard who kept eyeing him with disgust.


    Skrakch kept his head down and trailed behind the Halfling by a few steps, doing his best to avoid attracting attention. The only time he dropped the blank look he kept on his face, was as they passed a burnt-down shell of a mansion.


    It was the one spot of filth and imperfection in sight, the mansion-sized pile of rubble making a jarring sight. Skrakch was always surprised to still see it, but clearly, no one was quite sure what to do with the land yet, leaving the lot to rot.


    Pausing for a moment, Skrakch bowed his head in a brief show of respect, before catching back up with the whistling Halfling. It wouldn¡¯t do to get caught up in his own thoughts before a major job.


    Unfortunately, his momentary lapse in attention earned him a stern glare from a nearby guard, the man eyeing the Ratling with open disdain. As if the idea of a brown Iskrin showing sympathy for a Human¡¯s misfortune was somehow a rude display.


    Before he could school his features to stillness, Skrakch locked eyes with the guard, wrestling with a brief surge of anger. Still, this night was too important to ruin, no matter how much he¡¯d like to stab the smug prick. Settling for seething internally, it, unfortunately, didn¡¯t slip Zacharias'' notice, the ginger-mopped Halfling giving him a sly grin as they gained some distance from the patrolling guards.


    ¡°Oi!¡± Zacharias punched him on the shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s up Squeakers? You fancy him or summat? Don¡¯t get distracted, we need to keep our eyes on the prize. Just let me do the talking and we¡¯ll be inside in no time!¡±


    Skrakch turned to look at the Halfling. For once, Zacharias had cleaned himself up. His newly acquired scarlet jacket was immaculate, no rips or tears to be seen, its brass buttons shined to perfection. His black tailored pants were equally as spotless and he¡¯d even topped the outfit off with a velvet top hat that had a matching scarlet hatband.


    Certainly, the old gentleman who¡¯d had his laundry hanging on a washing line wasn¡¯t expecting to be a few articles of clothing short. Still, as Zacharias had said at the time, that guy¡¯s loss was their gain. As far as the ginger bastard was concerned, hanging your laundry out to dry in Dray¡¯Mel was asking for it to be stolen.


    Zacharias checked himself out in a nearby coach window and gave himself a grin and a supercilious wink. Skrakch rolled his eyes and sighed.


    ¡°Now who¡¯s getting distracted?¡± Skrakch said witheringly.


    ¡°Make sure you keep a clueless look on your face, Squeakers,¡± Zacharias continued, ignoring Skrakch¡¯s sarcasm. ¡°Summat tells me you¡¯ve had plenty of practice!¡±


    ¡°Indeed. I¡¯ve seen the look on your face enough times,¡± Skrakch replied quickly with a smirk.


    Once again, Skrakch found himself daydreaming of just how good it would feel to break Zacharias¡¯ nose. It was a fantasy that he found himself turning to more often these days. Still, he has a mantra that he always tells himself. There¡¯s a time and a place to get even. Skrakch fixed his face with his best blank look he could manage and the pair continued to walk towards their intended target.


    Luckily, the mansion that was their target was one of the larger ones, set away from the others, with decent-sized grounds around it. He was sure you could fit at least thirty of the hovels Skrakch was used to in just the grounds surrounding the home. Their target today was clearly one of the richer lords in the district. It made the plan all the more sweeter.


    It was a sprawling u-shaped three-story building. Built some five hundred or so years ago, or so Zacharias had told him. The red brick building had countless bay windows, some with balconies attached. Skrakch could easily imagine the lord and lady of the manor standing on those balconies on the third floor, which provided the perfect height to look down on anyone they so wished.


    As they walked up the inclined gravel path that led to the front door, Skrakch saw glowing balls of light here and there, hanging from the cornices. They were imbued with some kind of magic, some blend of enchantment and fire energy, no doubt. No run-of-the-mill fire torches for these fancy folk, no only the best for the lords and ladies of Dray¡¯Mel.


    The front doors themselves were heavy-looking dark wood creations, with carved birds flying in spirals from the bottom to the top with stained glass windows on either side. The handles were ornate-looking lead and there was a knocker that looked like the head of a griffin.


    ¡°Quite the fancy entrance, ain¡¯t it?¡± Zacharias said, nodding at the door with approval. Before he moved past it, much to Skrakch¡¯s confusion.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve gotten all dressed up like a fop just to sneak in one of the windows?¡± Skrakch asked sarcastically. Once a burglar, always a burglar, he supposed. The Halfling rogue probably had an aversion to doors. Too common for him perhaps? Not enough of the danger factor that he so obviously craved?


    ¡°Nope,¡± Zach replied, popping with the ¡®p¡¯ obnoxiously and, of course, not offering any kind of explanation. It was going to be easy to break the Halfling¡¯s nose when the time came. Honestly, he was practically inviting it, Skrakch silently praised himself for his impeccable patience.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    He followed in his companion¡¯s wake as the Halfling approached the side entrance. Skrakch spied two burly guards who flanked the much more basic-looking wooden door. Dressed in ill-fitting armor, the two guards were of Orcish stock. Their large size and massive tusks were enough to impress most nobles into hiring them. Still, while they looked terribly intimidating, one look at their lax stance and bored eyes was enough for Skrakch to discount them.


    The entrance they approached was for the mansion staff, probably the servants and footmen. Coming in the side entrance was not part of the plan that he¡¯d been privy to. Still, it would¡¯ve been pretty naive to expect much else from Zacharias. After all, the Halfling had an annoying tendency to explain plans when he was half cut on whatever alcoholic beverage he could filch, which didn¡¯t make for the best explanations.


    Zacharias fished through his pockets for his invitation. As much as it pained Skrakch to admit it, now that he was dressed in a much more impressive outfit, he did look the part of a bored nobleman albeit one who barely came up to the guard¡¯s waist.


    As Zacharias waved the parchment under the guard''s nose, the Halfling sniffed in disgust. ¡°Come now! It¡¯s bad enough you¡¯ve got me entering through the side gate, but to make me wait? Do you know who I am? I¡¯m the one saving your Lord from embarrassment in today¡¯s fights. Let me in at once, or I¡¯ll have you sacked¡±, he ordered loftily. His snotty tone was a perfect mix of derision and superiority and he¡¯d lost all trace of his usual accent. Skrakch had to admit the swift change was actually mildly impressive.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry M''lord, but the invitation-only permits you. I¡¯m afraid your¡­guest, must wait out here¡±, the taller of the two guards stated, looking down, literally, on Skrakch.


    ¡°Guest? Are you a simpleton?¡± Zacharias blustered with the affected expression of someone who should not be questioned ever. ¡°It¡¯s a Ratling, he¡¯s just here to hold my things. I mean, really! When¡¯s the last time anyone ever thought to invite a -rat- anywhere?¡±, Zacharias laughed while Skrakch kept a steady face, seemingly not paying attention to his surroundings and looking every inch the benign servant.


    The two guards looked them over one last time before the guardsman waved them through the gate. ¡°Hmph. Well, just keep an eye on your servant then. Most folks don¡¯t like seeing those¡­things out and about.¡±


    Zacharias quickly steered them inside the entrance, before he pulled open a cellar door. As a wave of drunken yelling broke through the night''s silence, The Halfling gave another supercilious wink to Skrakch and then led them down the stairs.


    Rather than a modest cellar that one would expect, there was a massive enclosure under the mansion. Drunken men and loosely clothed women galore caroused freely. Some were knocking back pints at a rudimentary bar, others were involved in intimate embraces with nary a care to who might be watching them, and others were focused on the piece de resistance of the cellar, the very center.


    Surrounded by wooden fences, with plenty of chicken wire between the posts to maximize visibility, was a deep sandpit, streaked with blood. In the center were two combatants, striking and punching at one another. One of them let out a loud cry of pain every few seconds or so, which fueled the audience¡¯s cheers to be even louder.


    Glancing at the state of the two brawlers, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but sneer. It seemed both men had more brawn than skill, taking turns slugging at each other. There was no finesse to their moves, no clever training behind it. They were two thugs just seeing which of them could draw the most blood. It was a pathetic display of masculinity, something that Humans seemed to be fond of. His paws itched to jump into the ring himself to show them how it was done, but he managed to resist, knowing there was bigger prey in mind.


    Pushing a few drug-addled fools out of his way, Zacharias led Skrakch towards the other side of the pit where a large blocked-off viewing area resembled a glass box. Inside of it was a raised dais with a plush red carpet leading up to a velvet and gilt throne. Sitting on this throne, which happened to be the largest Skrakch had ever seen, was an even larger Minotaur.


    Bloated and corpulent, the Minotaur barely seemed to be paying attention to the fighters and was clearly more interested in a junior slave boy he had perched on his leg. Still, the rather outsized Ratling knew it would only take one swing from his meaty hands to swat him aside.


    Looming over even the tallest of his servants, the Minotaur was massive, both in height and in size. Its richly embroidered tunic was nearly bursting at the seams, as the bull-headed creature drained an entire flagon of wine in a single gulp. Skrakch tried his best not to visibly retch at the smell of the unwashed creature, reeking of days-old booze. While most Minotaurs were known for their muscles, it seemed even they could succumb to the deadliest foe¡­ laziness.


    ¡°Rodyr!¡± Zacharias announced as he clapped his hands and stepped into the box. ¡°Looks like you started without me, you sly old bastard! Are you excited for the main match tonight?¡±, he cried out as he stepped up directly to the Minotaur¡¯s seat. Next to the throne, on either side, were two smaller chairs made out of oak, much less elaborate than the Minotaur¡¯s seat.


    Without turning, the Minotaur grumbled out, ¡°I can¡¯t say I am. We had quite the grand fight planned for our Champion to win, but his competition seems to have turned up dead. It makes for a very unfortunate fight when the opposition doesn¡¯t move or breathe. It tends to affect profits on the bets. It was nice of you to offer up your own fighter so quickly.¡±


    Rodyr pushed the slave boy off of his lap, making him tumble to the floor through sheer force. He finally turned his attention to Zach, though as soon as he spotted Skrakch he frowned with an all too familiar look of derision on his face.


    ¡°You invited an Iskrin to my mansion?¡± The Minotaur thundered. The slave boy, obviously sensing danger, hurried to his feet and disappeared through the blue curtain. ¡°You know how the filthy things breed. We¡¯ll all be wallowing in muck before the night is out!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry your Lordship!'''' Zach replied quickly. ¡°I made sure to buy one that¡¯s been well trained. Not to mention neutered. The little guy knows quite a few commands actually, perfect for any kind of manual labor!¡± He explained smoothly. He side-eyed Skrakch, obviously waiting to see if he showed any kind of reaction. There was something about the Halfling¡¯s sly smile that seemed as if he were almost daring Skrakch to do so.


    But, of course, Skrakch knew he would be a fool to react now. He thought of the mantra that he so often needed to silently repeat when he found himself spending any longer than fifteen minutes in Zacharias¡¯ odious company. ¡®The plan comes first!¡¯. Still, he¡¯d be damned if he wouldn¡¯t pay him back for that neutered comment. Maybe Kuosh could find him a Ghoul to put in Zacharias¡¯ bed. What he wouldn¡¯t give to see the look on the smug Halfling¡¯s face when he woke up to that!


    Rodyr grunted affirmation, focusing on the slave boy who returned with four other servants, each carrying huge metal trays between them. Each tray was piled high with various meats and luxury fruits. The four men placed the trays at Rodyr¡¯s huge cloven hooves and the unfortunate slave began to feed him, clearly still terrified. Skrakch ached to grab something for himself but he knew the burly beast would have his head off in seconds.


    He followed diligently as Zacharias made his excuses about checking up on his fighter and left the box. Ignoring the various sights and opting out from partaking in the varied offered narcotics, the Halfling led him to a side room and opened the door where an outpouring of scents washed over them.


    The stench of sweat and blood was almost choking in intensity, practically sticking to his whiskers. It was obviously some kind of locker room where the fighters would wait before and after matches. Although, Skrakch thought to himself, calling it a locker room might be too generous an explanation. Rodyr clearly didn¡¯t care about providing top-notch amenities for his fighters.


    There was little to look at other than a cracked sink with rusty taps that was spattered with blood of varying ages, and a rickety and equally stained wooden bench. It was covered in scratches and dates where previous fighters had decided to leave their mark, no doubt hoping something would outlast them should their bout go¡­ badly.


    Standing with one foot up on the bench was a familiar face, however.


    ¡°Well, well, well Winnie my dear!¡± Zacharias said before Skrakch could greet her. ¡°You¡¯re looking positively dangerous today! I¡¯m loving this bad girl motif you have going on. Very apt considering!¡±


    Winifred paused from wrapping her left hand. She gave Zacharias a bored look, rolling her eyes at him. Skrakch was always grateful that he had an ally who found the smart-mouthed Halfling as obnoxious as he did. As the Human race went, Winifred was one of the more pleasing ones... if you could get me past the abhorrent lack of fur anyways.


    She was tall and lean with impressive muscles and kept her long brown hair back into a functional plait. She¡¯d brought along her best gear, tight-fitting brown pants with armor plating at the knees and thighs and further plating on her shoulders and elbows over the ripped white shirt that showed off her flat stomach with its tight abs. The brawler cut an impressive figure on the streets of Dray¡¯Mel where most were used to women being fish wives or ladies of the night.


    ¡°Aye and it¡¯s about time ye showed up,¡± Winifred said eventually in her lilting brogue. She finished wrapping her left hand and started on the right. ¡°I was startin¡¯ to think I¡¯d be needin¡¯ ta rob these fools meself.¡±


    ¡°And let you down darling?¡± Zach gave another wink. ¡°No chance! Like I told you two, this is gonna be the biggest payday of our lives!¡±

 Chapter Three - Down In The Pits

    Skrakch double-checked that the door to the locker room was firmly closed. He wouldn¡¯t put it past Zacharias to speak so loudly that their plan would be revealed to all and sundry. Skrakch couldn¡¯t speak for the Halfling but he personally preferred his head attached to his body.


    ¡°I¡¯d love to see you rob these guys yourself,¡± Zacharias scoffed with a shake of his head. ¡°Unless you¡¯ve recently gotten some new skills like jimmying locks or moving silently then I doubt you¡¯d be able to do much,¡±


    ¡°Bah,¡± Winifred replied dismissively. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of all that fannying about if ye were brave enough to get into the ring with Rodyr¡¯s champion. I heard the bastard killed his opponent in his last match,¡± She explained. ¡°Something tells me he¡¯d skewer you, wee man!¡± She nodded to a particular large bloodstain on the old sink. ¡°I reckon that¡¯s all that¡¯s left of the poor bugger. It¡¯d be quite a sight to see ye as a smear on the wall I¡¯m telling ye.¡±


    Skrakch stepped between the pair, putting on a bright smile as if he were a parent dealing with a pair of unruly Iskrin pups.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you both shut up?¡± He said sweetly yet sardonically. ¡°We¡¯re all important to the plan so let¡¯s focus on doing our part. If all goes well then you can squabble over which mansion you¡¯re going to buy. Rodyr¡¯s one of the richest creatures in Dray¡¯Mel. You know that fat fool will have all kinds of treasures squirreled away!¡±


    ¡°Aye, ye make a good point Rat,¡± Winifred replied, throwing out a couple of swift test jabs. Skrakch wasn¡¯t interested in hand-to-hand combat but even he could see how fast and accurate she was. ¡°At least you and me are pulling our weight. All the wee man is bringing is an invite and some fancy clobber,¡± She eyed Zach¡¯s jacket with clear disdain. ¡°We all know ye¡¯ll be helpin¡¯ yerself to whiskey while yer sittin¡¯ pretty with the oversized cow!¡±


    ¡°You do make a good point Winnie!¡± Skrakch said delightedly. He rubbed his paws together. ¡°Maybe you should get a smaller cut of the proceeds Zacharias,¡± He added, taking great care to enunciate every syllable of his name. ¡°I mean really, you just get to sit on your arse while we do all the hard work.¡± He finished with a smirk. It was one of the reasons why he could tolerate Winifred. She was always as eager as he was to take a jab at the overbearing Halfling.


    ¡°Bollocks,¡± Zach replied dismissively, waving his hand. ¡°Let¡¯s be real here. There¡¯d be no plan at all without me,¡± He shrugged casually. ¡°After all, I¡¯m the brains behind this whole operation. I can¡¯t see a thug and an overgrown pet putting together such a genius plan,¡± He smiled as if he simply couldn¡¯t help being so perfect and intelligent. ¡°So how about you two shut up with your whining and we¡¯ll get started.¡±


    With a sardonic smile towards the obnoxious ginger thief, Skrakch took a moment to regard the ceiling. As he expected, it was in poor condition. He spied an area where it was coming apart and leaped up one of the walls. His sharp claws dug into the cheap, softened wood and he easily made his way up to the spot in a trice. He ripped open a large enough hole in the wooden ceiling and took a moment to look down at his companions.


    ¡°You¡¯d best be ready to run once I make it back!¡± He said triumphantly. ¡°Oh and Winifred? Try to make it out of the fight alive. Don¡¯t leave me with this idiot, even if splitting the gold two ways is better than thirds!¡±


    He cackled to himself and disappeared into the hole. Thankfully, Skrakch was blessed with flexible bones, contouring to the small space as he scuttled along the crawl-space between floors, keeping his ears on alert for any sounds above him.


    Luckily there didn¡¯t appear to be any kind of elaborate vent or plumbing, the Minotaur too cheap to save his servants from their back-breaking labors. It had always surprised him what could be found between ceilings and floorboards. In his previous jobs, he¡¯d found gems, coins, and even the odd scroll of two. Unfortunately, there would be no bonus loot to be had here.


    The space was tight and covered in cobwebs, dust, and mouse droppings. He paused for a moment, recalling his mental map of the mansion. He was currently in the North-East part of the mansion which meant... he would have to travel for roughly 3 minutes across and then another minute upwards to be right under the Minotaur¡¯s bedroom.


    Skrakch kept scuttling along trying not to breathe in the dust. It started to get stiflingly hot and his nose was assaulted with the foul stench of the mouse shit. He hoped that his job would be worth it, though he had to admit he¡¯d dealt with worse smells. The Ratling had to stifle a chuckle, as he thought about how Zacharias would react to being wedged in the walls, getting feces all over his arrogant face.


    When he reached his destination, he flipped onto his back somewhat awkwardly given the space and began to slowly scrape open a hole in the floorboards. It was satisfying to imagine Zacharias¡¯ face at the end of his sharp claws as he worked though he kept alert for any sounds above him. All it would take would be one nosy guard and he¡¯d be a dead Ratling.


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    Slowly but surely, he managed to create a hole wide enough for him to peek through. He took a look around the room and quickly confirmed his calculations, unsurprisingly, were correct. Despite this, he couldn¡¯t help but feel stunned by the display of wealth in Rodyr¡¯s bedroom.


    All the furniture, including the massive bed which would have comfortably housed an entire family of Humans, was ornately crafted from Beamlog. It was one of the rarest woods in the whole city, only growing from a sparse forest due North of Dray¡¯Mel. The drapes were made of thick black velvet with gold-threaded into them, here and there. Mage Lights made the room light up brighter than the sun itself could, only highlighting the opulence.


    Skrakch didn¡¯t take much notice of the rest of the furniture once his eyes had been drawn to the bed. It was beautifully carved and covered in gemstones. Unfortunately, it looked as though the craftsmanship was so perfect the gems wouldn¡¯t come away from their settings easily. If the rodent had access to his full assortment of gear, it might be possible to pry a few gemstones loose¡­ but thankfully even those gems should be worthless compared to the real score.


    Quickly gouging the hole larger, Skrakch pulled himself through the opening. He took a moment to check that his assortment of potions was still attached to his bandolier. It wouldn¡¯t do to lose the damned things, as most of his potions cost more than you¡¯d expect. Alchemy was sadly a dying art in The Slums, most of the craftsmen being swooped up by rich backers.


    Satisfied, he scanned the room for any likely-looking safes or lockboxes. He froze when he noticed a large emerald perched on a gold pedestal. The gleaming gem was almost the size of his head and polished so that it shone magnificently, in fact, Skrakch was almost hypnotized by its beauty. He ached to grab it but had to resist the temptation. It was so huge it wouldn¡¯t fit in any of the pouches hanging from his belt¡­


    But it was so beautiful¡­


    Before he knew it, he was standing right beside the brilliant gem. He watched it sparkle under the Mage Lights. It didn¡¯t matter that it was just sitting there, on display, completely out in the open. He didn¡¯t care that he would be instantly noticed if it were missing. He had to have it. He needed¡­


    To snap out of it.


    Skrakch quickly lurched backward and took a moment to gather himself. Making sure he kept his back to the gem, he shook off the enchantment. Rodyr had laid some kind of compulsion spell on it, a strong one too. No doubt there would also be some kind of magical alarm in place that would alert the guards as soon as he touched it. Skrakch supposed that, in Dray¡¯Mel, you didn¡¯t get as rich as Rodyr without knowing a thing or two. There was no way he was going to risk stealing the emerald.


    Still, where there was a trap, there would be treasure. Carefully keeping the emerald out of his line of vision, Skrakch began scanning the room once again, looking for anything else that may be of value. Checking underneath the various paintings of Rodyr didn¡¯t turn anything up, nor did searching for any hidden drawers at the beast¡¯s sprawling mahogany desk. Skrakch wasn¡¯t surprised. Rodyr obviously didn¡¯t like to take stupid risks with his fortune. A fellow certainly didn¡¯t stay rich by hiding your treasure in obvious places.


    Or did he?


    Maybe this room was just one big double bluff. If he was Rodyr, Skrakch postulated, then he¡¯d probably go with the obvious hiding places. Any stupid run-of-the-mill thief would waste their precious time checking the strange places before disappearing empty-handed. A genius one such as him would quickly realize that the most obvious place was probably the safest.


    Skrakch threw himself under the massive bed. He was rewarded for his genius when he found a large safe under it in plain sight. He chuckled to himself and pulled out his listening device.


    Zacharias was constantly nagging him to reveal the secrets of his safe-cracking expertise. He knew the Halfling was expecting some kind of magical invention or clever tool. In actual fact, all it took was patience and his simple homemade listening device. He was able to get it open within minutes, counting the clicks as he turned the knob. Of course, Skrakch made a mental note to brag about that fact at the tavern later.


    The umber-furred rogue resisted the urge to shout in triumph as he pulled out four rather heavy bags. They were a lot more than he¡¯d expected to find. Weighing them in his hands, he started to mentally calculate how much would be in each bag. If his calculations were correct, it was going to be a lot more than any of them had anticipated.


    He couldn¡¯t resist a quick fist pump of triumph. Naturally, he smashed his fist into the underside of the bed frame, a large crashing noise ringing out in the silent air. Skrakch froze in place for a moment, though all too soon he realized what a monumental mistake he¡¯d made.


    It didn¡¯t take long before he could hear the sound of the guards quickly approaching the bedroom¡¯s door, no doubt intending to check out the disturbance. Luckily, Skrakch prided himself on always knowing exactly what to do when he was caught in a tight spot.


    Making sure he attached the bags to his belt securely, he ran out from under the bed and across the plush carpet. He yanked open the black velvet curtains, smiling in satisfaction as he heard an audible rip. It was perhaps a bit petty, but the damned Lordling would probably lament the loss of his rather fancy curtains as much as the gold he¡¯d lost.


    A few previous seconds were spent fumbling with the locks, but Skrakch managed to open the window just in time, as a pack of burly guards burst into the room, weapons held aloft and the disposition to use them. Skrakch offered them his cheesiest grin and gave them a little wave before leaping straight out of the window.


    After all, smooth seas never made a good sailor. What was a plan if it didn¡¯t go off without a little hitch?

 Chapter Four - The Minotaur Charm Offensive

    Zach took a moment to watch Skrakch scamper up the wall and disappear just as quickly. He had to shove down a surge of jealousy at the sight. As difficult as life in Dray¡¯Mel was for Iskrin, any good rogue would give his left bollock for such nimble climbing skills. Not that he¡¯d ever dream of telling the vermin that, but it would certainly make his endeavors a hell of a lot easier.


    He cursed at the unfairness of the world before putting any thoughts of Skrakch to the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on Winifred¡¯s movements, watching as she moved through her various forms. Swift and graceful, she was certainly a sight to behold. Still, having the look was all well and good, but he needed to make sure she was up to snuff. Taking a discreet step behind her, Zach lunged downwards, sweeping his right leg towards her ankles.


    Winifred reacted quickly. She hopped above his sweeping leg and kicked out towards his chest. Zach had to scramble to catch her foot before she made contact with him.


    ¡°Woah now love!¡± He dropped her foot and raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. ¡°Just checking that you¡¯re up for this! Rodyr¡¯s champion is a big fellow and hard as fuck. I¡¯d hate to see your side of the plan go pear-shaped. Just keep in mind that you¡¯ve got speed over his brawn. Stay light on your feet and drag it out.¡±


    ¡°Oh aye, Wee Man,¡± Winifred chuckled, her hands on her hips. ¡°And the day I fightin¡¯ advice from you is the day I retire. Or at the very least question me own sanity. Ye know I¡¯m nay green to this right? I¡¯ve seen Gregore fight before. He¡¯s stronger than two men,¡± She looked down at Zach and smirked. ¡°Two normal-sized men. And he does nae just have the brawn either. The beastly fucker is lightning fast. It¡¯ll be a tough brawl. The only thing I have on me side is that he fights clean which is more than some of the bastards I¡¯ve dealt with in the pits. But dinnae worry your wee head. All I need to do is catch him off guard and I¡¯ll rip his throat out with me teeth.¡±


    Scoffing slightly, Zach shook his head. Why did he always seem to be the only sane one when it came to these gigs? Was it too much to ask to have a team up with someone with a full complement of brain cells rather than a savage pit fighter and a bloody rat? Still, he knew that Winnie¡¯s ferociousness in the ring would give them their best chance of distracting Rodyr long enough for Skrakch to uphold his part of the deal.


    ¡°Worst comes to worst? Just run the fucker around,¡± Zach continued. ¡°We don¡¯t have to care if you put up a good show or not so long as the Minotaur is kept busy enough.¡±


    ¡°Aye, and don¡¯t ye be forgetting...we¡¯re splitting this loot three ways,¡± Winifred added as she gave her hand wraps a final check over. Satisfied with what she saw, she knocked her fists together and gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Zach replied airly, making for the door. He opened it and turned on his heels. ¡°Oh yeah and Winifred... don¡¯t die out there? It¡¯d be a proper bugger having to find another pit fighter,¡±


    ¡°Aww, Zacharias,¡± Winifred said with mock sweetness, fluttering her eyelashes in a silly manner, ¡°Anyone would think that ye care about me.¡±


    ¡°You know I do darling,¡± Zach replied with his best supercilious wink yet, which caused Winifred to roll her eyes expressively.


    ¡°Dinnae be telling me that line works on any lassie ye try to get in yer bed?¡± She asked with fake innocence. ¡°Poor wee creatures,¡± she added acidly.


    ¡°Pleasure as always, Winnie my dear!¡± Zach answered with an exaggerated bow as he left the room.


    He quickly made his way back to the underground arena, happy to see that one of the previous fighters was laid splayed out in the sands with a dislocated shoulder and a head injury that slowly seeped blood. The fight was already over. The loser would be left to bleed out while the crowd refreshed themselves with more ale.


    People said that pit fighting was a cruel and brutal sport but Zach had never seen the point in offering medical help to those who were doomed to die. Once they shuffled off their mortal coil, the body removal team would get rid of the corpse and the next fight would begin. It made for better fighters that way. For him, pit fighting was a way to entertain himself while making some decent gold.


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    He headed directly back to Rodyr¡¯s enclosed dais. He kept his face neutral but inside he was grinning with anticipation as he moved past the drunken gamblers who were either cheering or loudly defending their losses. He was about to spend the next hour or so in the lap of luxury. His work was pretty much done. Now all he needed to do was sit back, have a couple of glasses of Rodyr¡¯s finest whiskey, maybe with something expensive and fancy to eat, and wait for the riches to come rolling in. Being an odd job man for the massive Minotaur had been annoying, to say the least, but it had been worth it. He was practically Rodyr¡¯s right-hand man and it made it all the easier for him to pull off the heist.


    He tossed open the door to the dais and took the seat next to Rodyr. The Minotaur was still noisily devouring the feast he¡¯d been brought.


    ¡°Looks like the appetizer is done,¡± Zach said, taking a proffered goblet and nodding at the slaves who had been tasked with the removal of the fighter¡¯s body. ¡°Time for the main course eh? I¡¯m excited to see Gregore in person. I¡¯ve heard a lot of good stuff about the guy.¡±


    Rodyr smacked his lips and little flecks of fresh blood flaked off all around him. The obese Minotaur gave Zach a bloody smile.


    ¡°Oh yes, this should be an impressive bout. I hope this fighter of yours will hold up long enough for us to get a good enough show. Gregore¡¯s past few battles have ended rather abruptly which tends to leave my bar¡¯s takings a little light for my liking.¡±


    Zach chuckled politely. He waved forward another one of Rodyr¡¯s attendants and grabbed a hunk of bread and cheese from her platter. She smiled at him politely when his eyes lazily roved over her barely clothed body. He was obviously in there with her, should he fancy lowering himself to have sex with a serving wench.


    ¡°How about we make this more exciting?¡± He suggested to Rodyr, biting into his food. ¡°I¡¯d be willing to wager twice our usual on this next fight. I¡¯ve got nothing but confidence in my fighter,¡± he added, mouth full of the rich creamy cheese. He hadn¡¯t told Winifred or the rat about making a bet. As far as he was concerned, it was none of their business if he happened to make a bit more coin on the side.


    Rodyr reached out for his goblet. It was three times the size of Zach¡¯s and ostentatiously decorated with tiny jewels in the shape of an ¡®R¡¯.


    ¡°Twenty gold?¡± The Minotaur replied, letting out a deep chuckle which seemed to rumble around the small enclosure. ¡°You must have quite a bit of faith in this one. I¡¯ll gladly accept the bet! As fast as your pugilist is, I doubt it¡¯s going to be an issue for Gregore¡¯s blade. What is it that they say? A fool and his gold are soon parted?¡±


    Zach froze for a moment. He adopted what he hoped was a calm expression as he looked up at the obese beast. A blade? Well, that was new¡­


    ¡°I must have misheard you there,¡± He said as calmly as he could. ¡°The plan was for a Brawler¡¯s match, wasn¡¯t it? I wouldn¡¯t have brought you a fist fighter if they were to use weapons.¡±


    Rodyr turned in his seat so that, even sitting, he loomed over the Halfling. He casually crushed the elaborate goblet he held in one huge hand, spilling a mixture of red wine and blood which trickled down to the floor. The tiny jewels that had adorned the cup sparkled in the mess and out of the corner of his eye, Zach could see the Minotaur¡¯s attendants stare at them longingly. ¡°You heard correctly Half-Man!¡± the beast spat out with venom on his tongue. ¡°Do you take me for a fool? It would be quite the coincidence that the fight we had lined up originally died, just as you came forward with an offer of this new brawler of yours.¡±


    Rodyr leaned back on his throne and beckoned to one of the attendants to replace his drink. He was handed yet another goblet, this time with the ¡®R¡¯ picked out in diamonds. ¡°It¡¯ll be good for you Zacharias,¡± He continued. ¡°We¡¯re going to sit here and watch your fighter die. That way you¡¯re going to learn that nobody makes a fool out of Rodyr.¡±


    Zach sat back in his chair, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable. Normally a small hiccup like this would barely phase the Halfling, but there was a lot of gold riding on this plan. He took a deep drink from his goblet and hoped the wine would calm his jangled nerves.


    While the new information certainly complicated matters, it didn¡¯t complete scupper the plan. He just had to hope that Winifred would be able to take long enough to die so that it wouldn¡¯t be an issue.


    Still, he was always able to make the best of any situation. Hiding a smirk behind his goblet, Zach relaxed and felt a thrill run through him. Twenty gold pieces and an acquaintance¡¯s life were hardly that big of a cost for the score of a lifetime, after all. Maybe Skrakch had been right, splitting the loot two ways was a lot better...

 Chapter Five - Fight! Fight! Fight!

    In¡­


    Out¡­


    Winifred took a series of deep, cleansing breaths. She was feeling the tension in her body beginning to rise. All her quips aside, she knew that Gregore was going to be a tough fight. The toughest she was ever likely to face in Dray¡¯Mel. She threw a quick jab and started to shadow box. She ducked under an imaginary counter before leaning in to throw out a solid right hook.


    She needed to calm down. She stopped in place and wiped the sweat from her brow. It wasn¡¯t a good idea to burn up all her energy before the fight even started. It was fine to warm up, of course, she¡¯d learned the hard way that going into a fight with a cold body ended up with bruises.


    She had her work cut out for her with Gregore. She knew a couple of other fighters who were in the pit circuit and neither of them had gone toe to toe with the guy but they¡¯d certainly had their share of horror stories. Gregore was known to be a clean fighter, just as she¡¯d told Zacharias, but that didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t brutal. Ivan and Apollo both had stories of the state of the bodies after stepping into the ring with Gregore and they didn¡¯t make for pleasant hearing.


    Winifred bounced on the balls of her feet restlessly. She briefly wondered if this was how people who were headed to the Butchery felt. Shaking her head, she tried her best not to think about that Gods-forsaken place. It would bring back too many painful memories for her, which, in the minutes before the biggest fight of her life, could prove fatal.


    There was a knock at the door and one of Rodyr¡¯s attendants entered the room. With a quick bow, the silent man gestured towards the door. Barely glancing at him, Winifred left the poor excuse for a locker room and made her way towards the center ring. She supposed the attendants never bothered to get overly attached to the fighters. She couldn¡¯t blame them. It would take a toll on a person to repeatedly get friendly with someone who would end up a bloody smear on the sand within twenty minutes or so.


    As so often happened in the moments before a fight, Winifred¡¯s thoughts turned to her parents. They would certainly disagree with her current lifestyle. Hells, they¡¯d be downright ashamed and would likely disown her for daring to sully the family name. Thankfully, she''d long since left them behind.


    She didn¡¯t miss their constant disapproval and frankly insane expectations for her. The funny thing about it is that her father often used to visit various fighting locations and would gamble on the pit fights he would find there. She was certain that her mother never found out about his little proclivity. Shortly after leaving the family estate, she¡¯d adopted a simple yet perfectly logical mantra. If it didn¡¯t help you out in a fight or taste good to drink, it wasn¡¯t a priority. It had served her well so far.


    Holding up her wrist and focusing on the small rune tattooed there, she took in the number. 67 years, 5 months, and 12 days.


    It was one of the longest life expectancy estimates she¡¯d ever heard of. And how it chafed at her. Sixty-seven more years of life and all she was expected to do was whittle away her years quietly before a Wraith swooped down and swept her away just like any other poor wee everyman on the street.


    Or she could live as free as a bird. And that was the option she¡¯d chosen. Winifred had no intention of wasting a single one of those sixty-seven years. She didn¡¯t want a simple existence, and she was damn determined to have a life worth remembering.


    Smiling to herself as she walked, the brunette idly thought of what she¡¯d do with her share of the gold. Most of it would go towards her habits of course, but after then who knew? Maybe she would buy herself a boy toy, Gods Below knew there are enough poor fools out there willing to sell their body to fuel their degenerate lifestyles... not that she was any better admittedly.


    Arriving before the arena door, the attendant once more bowed before her, before beckoning her onwards. Turning away from him, Winifred took another deep breath, before bringing a small vial to her lips. Roiling with Mana, the blood-red liquid churned as if at a permanent boil. Vile as she found the look of it, she had to admit to a yearning thirst towards it.


    Dragon¡¯s Blood, they called it. A pretty name for an illegal concoction, but Winifred had to admit it was fitting. The strength it gave was hardly comparable to that of a Dragon¡¯s, but the addictive quality was said to be as strong as a Dragon¡¯s thirst for gold.


    Tilting her head back and sucking the vial down in one gulp, it was all she could do to stay standing. As the foul-tasting liquid spread through her gut, she began to feel her veins burn with unrelenting cold. Shivering despite the sweat pouring down her face, she felt a swell of power fill her, lightening her body, and filling her Core to the brim with Mana. An intoxicating hit as always, the young brawler simply took a moment to luxuriate in the feeling, before stepping through the open door before her.


    Stepping into the arena, she quickly took in the blood-stained sands within the wooden enclosure with a practiced eye. Every little thing she noticed could be a tool for not getting your teeth knocked in. Still, she needed to remember her training. Blackmaul had taught her that no matter what the situation, she needed to keep her nerve.


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    Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath. Turning her eyes inwards, she imagined her Core of Mana. Wispy and ethereal, the Core was currently bulging at the seams. The vial of Dragon¡¯s Blood intermingled with her natural strength, and Winifred quickly spread the energy throughout her body, enhancing her strength and speed. Tightly clenching her fist, she felt her Core slowly dwindling, and smiled.


    This was what Winifred knew best, an arena of sand and blood, and a fool to crush. An errant thought had her Mana flowing into her skin, thickening and strengthening her defenses. Gregore was in for a hard fight, no matter how impressive his reputation was. Eyes roaming over the crowd, Winifred had a plan in mind. All she needed was to¡­ Fuck.


    Despite all that Blackmaul had taught her, she nearly began cursing aloud as the crowd started cheering. Near the opposite end of the arena was a table covered in a wide variety of weapons. From the humble dagger to a massive shield and spear, there were enough weapons to arm a small band of men.


    Shooting a quick glare towards Zacharias who was sitting pretty next to Rodyr, and getting a uselessly helpless shrug in response, she quickly lunged forward, grabbing a decently balanced metal staff. She was a fool for expecting anything more from the Halfling. Giving her new weapon a quick spin, Winifred felt the crowds cheering double in volume. Spinning on her laurels, she watched her opponent enter the ring with a quickly rising panic.


    Entering through the opposite door with the grace of a panther, Gregore raised his hands as he encouraged the crowd, whipping them into a frenzy. Long-limbed and heavily muscled with a deep, rich tan, he was exactly the type of man she would usually ogle. That is if it wasn¡¯t for the sword strapped to his back that was nearly as large as she was. And the fact that his yellowed eyes were thirsty for blood. Her blood to be exact.


    Towering above her, Gregore gave her a cocky smirk. ¡°Winifred! I remember you. The last time I caught one of your fights it was against a junior of mine. If I recall correctly you left him with two broken arms¡­ perhaps I¡¯ll have to return the favor.¡± He continued as he cracked his knuckles. They were hairy and scarred, connected to thick sausage-like fingers that could more than likely crush her skull with nary a thought.


    Spitting to the side, Winifred pushed some more of her Mana from her Core into her body. If she was meant to stop that giant sword, she¡¯d need more strength in her arms than expected.


    Feeling her Mana mingle with the Elixir she¡¯d taken, Winifred felt her body come alive with strength, her every nerve alighting with increased sensation, as she pointed her staff directly at Gregore¡¯s strapping chest. ¡°Sounds like yer pal got lucky, Laddie! I¡¯m not really in the habit of goin¡¯ easy on the wee weaklings.¡±


    Sneering, Gregore ominously slid his sword off his back. Ornately shaped, it was nearly as tall as he was, with the likeness of a Dragon along its back, the creature¡¯s fangs running along the edge. The large chunk of metal was clearly heavy as all Hells, but the brute of a man wielded it as if it was lighter than a feather. Swinging it in wide, lopping swings, Gregore began throwing out a few probing strikes as he began to close the distance between them.


    Fending off each blow with her staff, Winifred could feel the sheer force behind each swing pushing her backward. Even redirecting the full force of his blows was enough to leave her arms throbbing, the brunette knew better than to block when a quick dodge would suffice. Still, going on the defense was just letting the thug dictate the dance, and Winifred had always preferred to lead. Slapping aside a weak thrust, Winifred went on the offensive, burning Mana to quicken her strikes.


    Thrusting forward with flowing motions, she aimed each blow at his face, drawing his attention upwards. Gregore barely seemed to strain to block, simply holding his massive slab of a sword up to block each blow. Thankfully, the sheer size of his blade blocked his line of sight of her, letting her press forward and bring her staff downwards, jabbing towards his left foot and¡­


    The scrapper was rewarded with a lightning kick to her chest, the meaty blow sending her rolling in the sand, her chest heaving and leaving her gasping for air. Thankfully, the cocky prick didn¡¯t follow up his attack, simply grinning at her as he wagged his foot from side to side and drank in the spectator¡¯s loud cheers.


    ¡°Damn girl, you¡¯re a sturdy one. I didn¡¯t expect that level of reinforcement but¡­ next time I¡¯ll make sure to cave in that pretty bosom of yours.¡± Gregore laughed, as the jeering and catcalls started from the crowd. ¡°Maybe if you apologize properly, I¡¯ll let you walk out of here alive.¡±


    Jumping back onto her feet with a snarl, Winifred knew she wasn¡¯t going to be able to match his strength. Her best hope lay in getting the Champion mad enough to slip up. ¡°C¡¯mon now Gregore, it¡¯s bad enough yer nae man enough to fight me without hiding behind that hunk o¡¯metal you call a sword. If I didnae know any better, I¡¯d think ye were scared of a wee lassie.¡± She teased.


    Laughing in her face, Gregore simply kept his grin fixed in place, though it had stopped reaching his hungry eyes. ¡°I fear no man, nor any woman. But I won¡¯t lie, keeping my sword always makes these fights more enjoyable. There¡¯s nothing more satisfying than cutting someone down to size.¡±


    Rushing forward, Gregore feinted a two-handed overhead slice of his massive blade but released the pommel to drive forward his fist into Winifred¡¯s face instead.


    Reeling from the blow, the wiry woman attempted to sweep the Champion''s leg with her staff, but the blow lacked enough force to knock him off balance and merely collided with the thick muscle of his calf.


    Brushing off the attack, Gregore slammed into Winifred with his full weight, sending her sprawling. Taking a moment to play to the crowd, he simply waited for her to stand. ¡°Come now Winifred, get up.¡± he teased with a booming chuckle that seemed to echo around the ring and reverberate off the wooden fences. ¡°These good people have spent their gold on a night of entertainment. Let¡¯s give them a proper show! No ducking out early like some pathetic amateur!¡±


    Rolling onto her back with a groan, Winifred pulled herself to her feet and grabbed her staff. Taking a moment to scan Gregore¡¯s stance, she let out a heartfelt swear. Settling into a stance with her staff lowered, Winifred braced herself for the next blow. Who knows, maybe if she stalled long enough, she¡¯d get lucky and he¡¯d only break one of her arms?

 Chapter Six - Gardens Make Great Hiding Places

    As he leaped off the balcony¡¯s ledge, Skrakch took a moment to appreciate just how high up he was. It wasn¡¯t every day you got to escape a building with more than three floors! He grinned at the rapidly approaching cobblestone and twisted his form to ensure that he landed feet first. He pushed a wisp of Mana down to his soles and activated the enchantment inlaid in his boots.


    Feather Fall was perhaps his favorite spell he¡¯d learned, Skrakch mused to himself as his downwards momentum suddenly cut by more than half. He idly traced the Mana being circulated through his body, pressing against gravity to lighten him.


    As planned, he landed softly on his feet. He took a moment to wave towards the now bemused guards who peered down at him in confusion. It wouldn¡¯t be polite to leave on bad terms, he cackled to himself. As he turned to run off, however, he suddenly felt a physical jolt of pain start to spread through his back. He staggered forward and turned to glare at the guard who was now busy reloading a frankly ludicrously large crossbow. Skrakch quickly stumbled to the right, as he heard the clatter of another bolt slam into the ground.


    He hurried off into the mansion''s garden, and couldn¡¯t help but congratulate himself. Now, this was a plan! Any fool knew that any time you narrowly avoided death that often in succession, it only increased your odds of becoming Chosen. Tempted as he was to stop and see if anything about him had changed, the sound of guards yelling, and what appeared to be hounds barking, spurred his steps onwards. Avoiding death was the pivotal part, after all, Skrakch admonished himself...


    Both he and Zach had meticulously mapped out the gardens as well as the mansion so he took a few twists and turns through the intricate hedges. Despite all the preparation that had gone into the plan, the Ratling was beginning to feel trapped. The guardsmen were quickly beginning to pinpoint his exact location. How they were Managing it, he had no clue but he wasn¡¯t going to fail now, of that he was sure. For a start, he wasn¡¯t about to give Zach the satisfaction of him dying and getting his share of the loot!


    Skrakch ducked into a nearby bush and hid underneath the large kidney-shaped leaves. His admittedly barebones knowledge of potions told him that the bush was an Eremurus Laustris, an extremely rare plant that would¡¯ve no doubt cost the massive minotaur a pretty penny. Several pretty pennies. Skrakch helped himself to a few of the leaves and stowed them away in one of his purses. Well, it would be silly to look a gift goblin in the mouth!


    He laid in wait until the nearest guards came his way. A pair of Humans, dressed in bright and lively colors, was jogging through the garden. Wearing what seemed to be chainmail armour, Skrakch was happy to note it was mostly ornamental, the fools not even wearing helmets.


    When they approached his fantastic hiding place, the dashing rogue burst forth from the bush and quickly plunged his claws deep into the nearest guardsman''s throat. The unlucky guardsman collapsed to the floor almost instantly, choking and gurgling on his blood. The other guardsman leaped back in shock and Skrakch saw his moment to escape unscathed, swiftly scurrying away back towards the mansion. It was a shame that he couldn¡¯t stick around to admire his work but it was clear the guards were pinning him in, securing the mansion grounds more by the minute.


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    It was easy enough to sneak through the darkened paths, and the Ratling thief took a perverse pleasure in catching a few lone guardsmen unawares as he moved back towards the mansion. Slitting throats was always a lot easier if the targets couldn¡¯t see you coming. It somehow made it a lot more satisfying too, Skrakch tittered to himself.


    Unfortunately, the guards that avoided his deadly claws were quickly calling out the bodies they found, and the bloodhounds that had been dispatched were doing a good job of tracking him, limiting his escape routes. He could smell their foul canine musk, hear their frantic sniffing and low growls. Hiding deep inside of another bush, a downy windroot this time, not so rare but still expensive nonetheless, he took stock of his options. Risk running outside of the mansion¡¯s garden and getting nailed by crossbows. Re-enter the building and give up the cover of darkness.


    Or, he thought to himself as he stared at a sewer drain, he could take the third option. Sewers weren¡¯t so bad. It was a lot more of an attractive prospect than Human and dog stench clinging to his fur. He crawled forward and ripped the drain cover off, before beginning to lower himself inside.


    The large puddle of muck that he found himself in wasn¡¯t the most pleasant but it definitely smelled like victory. The Ratling couldn¡¯t help but cackle softly again. His plan was going perfectly, there was no way he was getting caught. Letting his eyes adjust to the near-complete darkness, he pushed on through the sewage with renewed enthusiasm.


    Each step that took him further from the mansion lightened his feet and spirits. Right up until he took a bend in the path, and ended up staring at a pack of ghouls, easily numbering in the dozens.


    The average undead cannibal looked about as you¡¯d expect the risen corpse of a long-dead villager to look. What little clothes garbed their flesh was torn and disheveled, their flesh rotting off the bone. But the worst of it was their tongues, long sinuous fleshy appendages dripping with a paralytic venom that could drop an adult centaur with a single slimy lick.


    The ravenous undead were aggressive as Hells, known for latching onto their target and draining the blood from their bodies. To make matters worse, the ghastly creatures were also capable of regenerating from all non-lethal blows, allowing them to ignore any attempts on their un-life.


    For a second, neither party moved as they stared at each other in surprise. Until suddenly, the ghouls lunged forward with a snarl. Letting out a deep curse, Skrakch ran back the way he came.


    Still, as dangerous as his situation seemed¡­ Skrakch grinned to himself. After all, it was a hallmark of the Chosen to be able to think on their feet. And a third run-in with death? Well, his status as a Chosen would be pretty much in the bag!

 Chapter Seven - A New Plan?

    Winifred quickly learned that the interesting thing about fighting someone twice her size and twice her strength was that she needed to dodge every single one of his strikes. Any time she tried to block one so far had ended with her rolling across the sand with blood seeping out of a fresh wound. She¡¯d barely been in the ring ten minutes and she¡¯d already accumulated numerous cuts as she dodged each fatal blow.


    The fight was so fast and furious that she was already panting with exertion. She glared at Gregore who was smiling smugly at her as he walked nonchalantly towards her again. For almost the whole ten minutes, he¡¯d been unashamedly showboating and the crowd was loving him for it. Their chanting and cheering were reaching a fever pitch. It was annoyingly distracting. Usually, when these fights would go down, the crowd would be split almost equally and, the more fights she did, the more they¡¯d started chanting her name. This crowd, however, was assuming the fight was a done deal.


    As pompous as the prick was acting, it wasn¡¯t unfounded. As soon as Winifred pulled herself back to her feet, The Champion was on her, slapping the staff out of her hands with one hand and backhanding her hard across the face with the other. She struggled to stay on her feet as she felt the blood start to well up from her newly split lip.


    The strangest thing about this whole situation was that Gregore was clearly holding back. If he was being serious about taking her life, he¡¯d have cut her down in the first five minutes. Instead, his focus seemed to be on putting on a show and getting the crowd excited by swinging his massive blade just fast enough to pressure her. Winifred supposed it was all Rodyr¡¯s doing. It probably didn¡¯t make a great night¡¯s entertainment if your main attraction cut down all his foes within the first few minutes of a fight starting. This crowd was a lot more bloodthirsty and wanted to see genuine torture.


    Still, she could work that to her advantage. She channeled a bit of her rapidly dwindling core¡¯s Mana into her waist. She grabbed the staff from where it had fallen and took a desperate swing for his throat. Even with the enhanced speed, the most she managed was to have his eyes widen in surprise before he deftly ducked under the blow. Realizing that his counterblow would most likely be one to her chest, Winifred brought her staff to bear just in time, causing his sword to slam into her guard.


    Sliding back to keep her balance, she spat a glob of blood into the sand. She lifted her staff into a raised stance, unsurprised to see that the damn thing had bent under the repeated blows. It was useless now. She tossed the malformed piece of metal to the side and threw her hands out to call out to the spectators. It was time to try and gear the excitement of the crowd to her favor.


    ¡°Is this all ye lads came for tonight? Watching some wee defenseless woman git cut down in her prime all because Gregore is so limp-dicked that he feels th'' need tae compensate? How about we git a cheer if ye want him to toss aside that unwieldy piece of shit he calls a sword and fight hand to hand like a real man!¡±


    It was a tactic she¡¯d been able to use before. Rouse the crowd and get them on your side by playing to your foe¡¯s obvious weaknesses. This time, however, instead of the usual rallying cheers of agreement, she received the loudest silence that she¡¯d ever heard. Gregore let it go on for an uncomfortable amount of time before laughing. It didn¡¯t take long for the crowd to join in, jeering at the tops of their voices, so sycophantic that it made her nauseated.


    ¡°Little girl, this fine crowd are here to watch one thing and one thing only,¡± Gregore said with a flourish. ¡°And that¡¯s some poor soul, man, woman, or beast, getting sliced into chunks of dripping meat at my hands. If you¡¯re lucky, you¡¯ll get the privilege of being in Rodyr¡¯s belly before the night is over!¡± Gregore turned to the crowd, all the while keeping an eye on her. ¡°So folks, who wants to see me start with an arm?¡±


    As she listened to the crowd¡¯s drunken cheering and the many, many shouts of ¡®kill the wench!¡¯, Winifred let out a low groan as she braced herself to dodge out of the way of the next inevitable attack. It was easy to slide under Gregore¡¯s blade, even easier to pick up a handful of the filthy sand and toss it directly into his face. She wasn¡¯t proud of the move, but it wasn¡¯t likely to be pride that got her out of the ring alive.


    While the giant of a man fell back, swiping blindly at the air with his sword, Winifred took a calming breath. She could do this. She would do this. Blackmaul hadn¡¯t trained a fool. Besides, she knew that she was bound for adventures and something more, not to die in some filthy sand in the basement of some mansion. She channeled the remaining dredges of Mana from her Core into her hands and adopted a proper fighting stance. Her knees were bent slightly. Left shoulder positioned towards her opponent. It instantly gave her a jolt of confidence as she fixed her eyes on Gregore¡¯s blade. She felt all the tension ebb away.


    Stepping into the range of the impressive greatsword, she felt the wind press against her as the blade just barely passed her by. Crouching down for a moment, she threw herself back upwards as quickly as she could, bringing her fist directly into Gregore¡¯s square jaw. As the man stumbled backward from the sheer surprise, she calmly followed, keeping her stance close to the ground. Every one of Blackmaul¡¯s lessons was playing through her mind. Even the painful ones. Her old dwarven master would¡¯ve been ashamed to see her losing to such a simple brute. Brawn was nothing, he would tell her. What would win the fight was making the right moves.


    Gregore regained his balance albeit with bleary eyes and bright red in the face. He let out a growl of displeasure and dropped his sword to bring his hands up in a tight guard. Hells, Winifred could¡¯ve laughed at the sight. If she¡¯d known that it was that simple to get the idiot to drop his weapon, she¡¯d have tried earlier. She reached up and calmly grabbed his closest wrist and wrenched it out of the way. Taking a deep breath again, she ignited the Mana that was traveling through her body before throwing a haymaker directly into his exposed cheekbone. The bones cracked like glass under her fist, as Gregore¡¯s jaw snapped under her blow.


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    It was worth it to get in a decent blow but, as quickly as it ignited, her Mana burned out, leaving her feeling drained and panting. Sucking down air as quickly as she could manage, it took every ounce of effort to stay on her feet. Her vision started to swim as she stood in the center of the arena, blood pooling under her soles. She was getting lightheaded from the blood loss, staggering under her own weight. It was obvious she had to end this, and quickly. She forced herself to focus on Gregore, trying her best to summon what little energy she had left, keeping Blackmaul¡¯s face in her mind¡¯s eye.


    But just as she began to step forward for her final assault, she felt an immense pain flare from her temple, her body being sent flying. As she lay in the sand, all she could make out was Gregore with his jaw hanging open as he grabbed his massive blade from the bloodied sands.


    Walking over to her prone body, Gregore tried to grin and mock her but all that came out was a mixture of gurgling noises. His eyes flashed with hatred as he raised his blade. His eyes flicked to some point above her head. He was silently consulting with Rodyr to see whether his master wanted her alive or dead.


    Rodyr simply smiled, leaning over to Zacharias. ¡°Looks like I¡¯ll be the one collecting the gold today, old chum. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find a replacement for her anyways. Though I¡¯ll admit, the fight was more entertaining than I expected. You do have an eye for talent.¡±


    Standing from his ornate throne, the monstrous Minotaur slowly dragged his thick thumb across his neck as Gregore grinned. Taking a moment to savor his victory, however, The Champion began to hear screams of death and pain. Snapping his head behind him, he watched as a brown Iskrin burst into the room, loudly proclaiming ¡°Don¡¯t worry everyone, I¡¯ve got a new plan!¡±


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-


    The interesting thing about the mindless ghouls of Dray¡¯Mel, Skrakch thought to himself as he scrambled up the ladder leading back to the garden, was that once the ghouls had the smell of blood in their noses there wasn¡¯t much that could get them to stop them from chasing down their prey. They were, ironically, single-minded in that way.


    Looking down below him as he pushed his way back above ground, he caught sight of a truly massive pile of ghouls, each piling on top of each other in their haste to catch him. There were so many that he couldn¡¯t even begin to count them. But, he knew that when the time came to relive the story in the tavern, he¡¯d state a huge number. It just sounded more impressive didn¡¯t it? Facing off against, what, two hundred? Three hundred?


    Someone really needed to speak to the Tomb-Makers about this, Skrakch quipped to himself, ghoul packs of this size were supposed to be quite uncommon.


    He honestly hadn¡¯t expected to find so many. The things usually didn¡¯t travel in packs, unless there was an Alpha nearby¡­ Shuddering, the Ratling doubled his speed, frantically pulling himself out of the sewers. With good luck and a fair wind, he wouldn¡¯t come face to face with the Alpha. They were the most ferocious of the pack, able to tear almost anything limb from limb. He could vividly recall the time he first saw one. It was deep in the sewers, and he¡¯d been hiding from something or other, and he¡¯d smelled the thing before he¡¯d seen it. It had been crouched over the remains of a Goblin, tearing into his flesh, stripping muscle and sinew off the bone as though it was a turkey leg in a tavern. It had barely paid any attention to Skrakch as it consumed its prey. It was one of the most terrifying things he¡¯d seen in his short life.


    Taking a quick look around, he noticed a handful of guards right as they noticed him pop out of the sewer grate. As they began charging over, Skrakch did the only sensible thing and ran to meet them.


    He could tell the exact moment they spotted the ghouls, their grim expressions turning into pure horror. As they turned to run, Skrakch managed to close the distance between himself and one of them, slashing the fleeing man''s hamstrings. The doomed guard fell to the ground with a cry of pain. The others didn¡¯t even bother to turn around, merely continued running. That was loyalty for you.


    Leaving the howling man behind, Skrakch and the remaining guards booked it towards the mansion. Doing his best to avoid looking behind him, the Ratling squeaked in fear as he heard the ghouls descend on the fallen guard. The dying man''s screams rose as he was torn to shreds before suddenly cutting off.


    Now that they were spreading out onto even ground, the ghouls quickly caught up to the running mortals, as screams from the living and the damned filled the air. Lungs burning, Skrakch reached into his Core, and shoved as much Mana as he could into his legs, pushing himself to run just a little faster.


    Reaching the mansion''s door first, Skrakch desperately pulled at the handle to no avail. Turning around as his mind worked frantically, he caught a splatter of blood across his snout as he watched the ghouls rip into one of the last guardsmen. Streaks of blood flew into the air as the ghouls simply ripped the man apart, limbs being pulled off as easy as plucking a stem. Guts and viscera showered the ghouls as they stuffed their undead maws, most of the blood running down their chin.


    Letting out a truly heartfelt curse, Skrakch quickly threw himself towards the mansion''s walls, claws scrambling to find purchase as he climbed upwards to a higher balcony.


    Not to be outdone, the ghouls began leaping towards him, necromantic energies fueling them to perform inhuman feats of strength. Pulling himself onto a balcony ledge, Skrakch was suddenly stopped short. With a squeal of pain, he looked down to see a ghoul grabbing onto his leg, its claws sinking into his flesh.


    Kicking desperately down onto the ghoul¡¯s head, he managed to dislodge the creature and roll to safety. Panting heavily, he started running down the hallway, ignoring the pain in his leg as he started playing the map of the mansion through his mind. Heading through to the arena in the most direct path possible, he passed shocked and confused attendants without saying a word.


    Callous as it may be, but if they slowed the ghouls down even for a second then Skrakch was more than happy to leave them to their fate.


    Practically jumping down a fancy staircase, Skrakch neared the fighter¡¯s entrance to the Underground arena. Tearing up in relief, the bloodsoaked Ratling couldn¡¯t help but catch his breath. Maybe if he was lucky, the ghouls were heading elsewhere, he chuckled to himself right as a massive crash rang out behind him.


    Spinning in place, Skrakch watched as the floor above him caved in, dropping bits of lumber and a mass of very irate ghouls down around him. Lurching away from their grasping claws, Skrakch rushed towards the arena doors, before throwing them open wide.


    Hustling through the doors with all due haste, the Ratling couldn¡¯t help but take a moment to shout out, ¡°Don¡¯t worry everyone, I¡¯ve got a new plan!"

 Interlude: In The Beginning...

    600 years ago...


    The rain hammered relentlessly against the windowpane, the tempest outside raging wildly as though it were an encroaching army, intent on bursting forth into the keep. Rath¡¯Mel could only contemplate how it would always seem that the most important decisions are often made on days like these. For the first time in a long time, his old body was feeling the weight of his advancing years.


    He turned with a sigh and looked towards his two long-suffering companions, his brothers in arms for many decades. They were standing beside his large oak desk which was currently covered in a clutter of maps and ordinance that he had prepared in advance for the meeting.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that we have no choice,¡± Rath¡¯Mel spoke up. He was careful to keep his voice low however, as even though the keep¡¯s guards were loyal to a fault, one could never be too careful. He didn¡¯t want them to hear what he was about to say lest it spread and create low morale amongst the troops. Low morale, as Rath¡¯Mel knew, could spread quicker than any virus. ¡°We must seal the city,¡± he continued gravely.


    ¡°Aye, the blasted beasts will arrive at our door before midday tomorrow. We must defend our home with all we¡¯ve got. Hells, we¡¯ve certainly beaten back worse threats. This stronghold is the only thing that¡¯s keeping Dray¡¯Mel from being ravaged uncontrollably. If we should happen to fail¡­¡± Fang¡¯Mel let his voice trail away, while his knuckles pressed futilely into the desk, denying any thoughts about the possibility of failure. While he was the youngest of the three, his hair had become mostly gray. His fair complexion had been marred, taking a turn for the worse in the past weeks as news from the front became more and more dire.


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Loth¡¯Mel snorted with a shake of his head. ¡°I know you¡¯re the Commander of the Guard but this encroaching horde is nothing but rabble! They only manage to march towards us as they do because of their sheer numbers. I¡¯ve heard of their ilk. They approach us with leather armor and outdated weaponry. They¡¯re naught but peasants dressed up and playing soldier,¡± He continued derisively. He ignored the dark look from Fang¡¯Mel, who was no doubt annoyed by yet another cheap shot at his own appearance.


    ¡°We should ride out and strike them down! Bring honor to our ancestors! To simply hold our position like this and allow these¡­ these peons to even touch our sacred walls? Perhaps too much time in the city with your stable hands and your tavern meals has made you soft, boy, but the knights in The Order won¡¯t fight on the walls like some subhuman filth. They¡¯ll ride into battle with honor and faith on their side and make those barbarians pay in blood for their defiance!¡± He added vehemently. He stood adroitly at attention, his plate armor shimmering with the mana that had been woven into its folds.


    Crumpling into his chair by the desk, Rath¡¯mel watched as the two tried to stare each other down. Both had been his sworn brothers for many moons, but there were no two more different defenders of the city.


    Fang¡¯Mel had been born a half-breed commoner. He had worked his way through the ranks, putting in tireless effort with his brilliant tactical mind and strength before he¡¯d earned the right to bear the family name of Mel. He brought with him vast knowledge and the experience to keep his men and his city safe.


    Light on his feet and often with a confident smile on his face, he¡¯d become a source of pride for the common city folk. The shining example of how anyone could make it to renown and fame with simple hard work. Blessed with good looks, his thick brown hair, although mostly grey now, is cut short as any good soldiers should be. His small beard is neatly trimmed around his strong jaw. With eyes as pure violet as the Poke Rum that grows in the forests of Dray¡¯Mel, they were filled with steely determination. And yet, as stoic as he is in battle, his smile has charmed many a maiden and foe alike. He proudly displays his pointed ears for all to see and insists upon wearing simple leather armor even though he can afford whatever attire he desires.


    Even the ever-increasing bleak news hadn¡¯t dampened his spirit or indeed his loyalty to his cause. His stalwart dedication has led him to often be called The Gray Fox of Dray¡¯Mel. For, like the vulpine creature, he was clever and quick-witted.


    Conversely, Loth¡¯Mel could be said to have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was heir to an offshoot of the Mel family and was raised by the finest tutors that money could buy. The stern man had grown into an excellent soldier, leading his family in both honor and spirit. Many used his name as an example of what the Mel family stood for, nobility and ferocity. He embodied the Mel family motto of Strength, Prosperity, and Perseverance.


    Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s flaw was that he was not as handsome as his brother in arms despite all of this. Not that Loth¡¯Mel would admit it of course. His face was more pinched, his features plainer. The man¡¯s dark brown hair was slicked back for ease and his facial hair grew much patchier than Fang¡¯Mel¡¯s well cared for beard. With eyes as cold blue as the Ribwort Snowdrops that grew in the isolated tundras to the North, he wore expensive armor forged by a master blacksmith and colored the deep blue and gold of the Dray¡¯Mel flag. Hefty and crafted from the purest of steel, his pauldrons were etched with the Dray¡¯Mel flag¡¯s Gargoyle, the grim creature sneering down at all who viewed it. He wore his armor proudly for it represented his nobility, and compared to Fang¡¯Mel¡¯s strife, nothing in Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s life has ever eluded him. Whereas Fang¡¯Mel often proceeds with caution, Loth¡¯Mel charges in with what, in Rath¡¯Mel¡¯s mind, is often careless behavior.


    Rath¡¯Mel let loose another deep sigh and turned his eyes upon himself. His hands were weathered and wrinkled, feebly clutching at the arms of his chair to calm the tremors that often threatened to overtake his aged body. His sunken chest rose and fell in shuddering gasps. He felt like a shadow of his former self. Too old and too tired to go into battle amongst his kinsmen, he¡¯s been chained to his desk for what feels like centuries. He¡¯d been cursed to live a long life by spending the blood of the young, asking them to fight in his name while he can do nothing but watch from his unwanted ivory tower. In truth, his once-coveted position now felt more akin to a prison cell of his own making.


    It¡¯s times like these that he often felt nostalgic. People in the city had largely forgotten his existence, his time spent amongst the common folk long behind him. He used to be spoken of in deferential tones, but now he was just a faded old mage. Powerful of course, but a forgotten one all the same.


    ¡°Do you remember the time we fought a pack of ghouls trying to defend Brath?¡± He asked, smiling to himself as he remembered the thrill of facing swarms of undead. ¡°We held to the last man, slaughtering the Ghouls by the dozens but they just kept coming.¡± He shook his head at the memory. ¡°Untiring, unflinching monsters,¡± He continued, pausing to cough into the sleeve of his robe. ¡°We killed nearly a hundred of the damn things and what did we earn for our trouble? The village was still razed, the people fleeing to the mountains and being forced to starve in the ensuing Winter,¡± Smile waning, he turned stern eyes to his companions. ¡°This will be the same I¡¯m afraid. We can only hope to slow the beast horde by offering our lives, so that the Kingdom may recover.¡±


    Rath¡¯Mel slowly got to his feet, quickly waving off his companions'' attempts to help him stand, grasping his staff and hobbling over to the door. Pulling up the hood of his robe, he stepped out into the downpour and gazed upon the stark black walls of Dray¡¯Mel. Almost instantly, he was flanked by his personal guard, men, and women wearing full black plate armor that hid any trace of the humans inside.


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    He looked over to the training yard and absentmindedly began to count the number of young recruits who are working down there, each of them stumbling in learning the basics of the shield wall as the unyielding rain turned the solid ground into slick mud beneath their boots. None that Rath¡¯Mel could see carried the grace and skill of each of his companions. It was a worrying sight, one that only becomes greater the older he gets. He wondered just how many of them would survive their first blooding. He sighed as he tried his hardest to remember his first battle. Had he ever been as green as them?


    Beginning to climb the battlement walls, with his companions and personal guards following closely behind, Rath¡¯Mel once more leaned on his gnarled staff and cursed the slipperiness of each step. It would not do for the infantrymen to see their once great mage appear so weak. Perhaps it was a good thing that he spent most of his time in his office.


    ¡°Evacuate as many of the villagers that remain and be sure to seal the gates behind them,¡± Rath¡¯mel ordered, addressing his guards. The order was somewhat of a wasted one. He¡¯d heard that most of the city had already evacuated when the rumors of an invasion had begun to fly around the taverns and Merchant District.


    The people that remained in the city were mostly military or families that had nowhere else to go. It would seem, to those poor souls, that death was a more attractive prospect than displacement.


    Rath¡¯Mel cleared his throat before magically augmenting his voice so that it could be heard to carry across the entire castle walls.


    ¡°This will not be a battle won on the fields I¡¯m afraid,¡± He continued. ¡°It¡¯ll be a battle lost as the towers themselves fall, our blood pouring down into the city below. They shall endeavor to wipe our names from the face of this earth. They will purge our very history from the annals of time and, in truth, they may succeed.¡±


    He cast his eyes over the sprawling city that he had protected for so many years. It had become a shadow of its former self. Rath¡¯Mel stepped onto the top of the battlement and drew himself up, casting his eyes far into the darkness. With a small wisp of will, he enhanced his vision until the darkness and rain fell away. Far beyond the castle wall, he spotted hundreds of campfires and scores of banners flapping in the wind. The rumors had been true. The enemy''s army was vast, perhaps even outnumbering their infantry. He took a deep breath.


    ¡°By the Gods Below,¡± He yelled, augmenting his voice to carry across the entire castle walls so that every soldier could hear. ¡°For every hit our walls take, we shall rip the life from one of their throats. For every one of our men that falls, we shall kill one hundred of theirs.¡±


    A loud, rousing cheer could be heard echoing its way along the walls. Cries of Fang¡¯Mel and Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s names and ¡®For Dray¡¯Mel!¡¯ were yelled over and over, reaching a fevered pitch. Rath¡¯Mel waited until the cheers had died down before continuing.


    ¡°Though we may end the morrow as fodder for the worms, know that for that we shall raze their army and spit in the eyes of their Gods!¡±


    Another round of cheers came. This time, Rath¡¯Mel ignored them. His focus was on the most concentrated area of his foe¡¯s encampment. While he may not be able to fight alongside his brothers and their noble army, he would be damned if he was going to sit idly by in that bloody office of his. This was the most important battle of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s history and, just like his brothers in arms, he was going to make sure that his name would ring out in perpetuity, no matter the result of the bitter war.


    Raising his staff high in the sky, the wizened mage drew deep from the well of power at his very Core and began to thread a tapestry of magic before him. He concentrated hard as the storm around the castle walls began to still and draw towards him like a magnet. He could feel an answering swell of power coming from the enemy camp but he couldn¡¯t afford to lose his focus now. As the storm grew smaller and smaller, it formed into a small orb that shimmered with droplets of pure blue. A thin mist swirled around it. As the beads of sweat began to pour down his aged face, Rath¡¯Mel focused his entire being into that bead of destruction, letting out a whisper that still somehow carried across the entire city.


    Devour¡­


    Now unleashed, the small sphere shot outwards, turning into a stream of water and sleet that barreled directly towards the invading army¡¯s main camp. It destroyed the ground as it moved, leaving a trail of destruction and devastation as it went. Swept along with the passing flood, the trees and rocks began to merge with the water, increasing the strength and ferocity bound for Rath¡¯Mel¡¯s hated foes.


    He watched as the torrential outpouring of a storm grew close to its target. The enemy¡¯s power source suddenly erupted into a glamorous golden shell, reaching far into the sky and providing a protective dome over the entire encampment and diverting the storm. While the shield flickered under the onslaught, it held as the storm assaulting it began to rapidly falter.


    With a cruel smile, Rath¡¯mel swept his hand towards his guardsmen, starting to drain the lifeforce from his willing subjects and channeled it into his spell. Ignoring the toppling corpses falling behind him, he poured all of himself into his magic, weaving arcane runes that glimmered into existence and bolstered the raging storm.


    Gasping under the strain, the mage fought against his body as his legs threatened to collapse under him. In the distance, the storm grew ferocious once more. It shattered the golden barrier protecting the enemy encampment with an ear-piercing wail.


    As their defense crumbled, the newly revived storm swept through the center of the encroaching army, ripping the ground asunder and sending hundreds, if not thousands, of enemy soldiers to their watery graves as their flimsy tents bowed to the pressure.


    Looking out at the death and destruction he had wrought, Rath¡¯Mel could not feel victorious. He knew it was but a drop of blood compared to the battle ahead of them. So far every rumor about the enemy had been proven true. If that pattern continued, the dead would be replaced by many more. He turned away from the fields and started to step forward on shaky legs, ready to rest and recoup his energy for the next onslaught. However, a sudden blinding light pierced through the darkness.


    Rath¡¯Mel reinforced the enchantment on his eyes with a snarl and stared at the source of this all-encompassing light. A young man, with a rather average build and wearing a simple peasant robe was holding his wooden walking stick aloft amidst the devastation of the storm. Even from this great distance, Rath¡¯Mel could see the look of contentment on his face, as the boy turned his face skyward.


    Rath¡¯Mel¡¯s frown deepened as an Ordained Angel descended to the battlefield, floating down from the very heavens. Shaped like an enormous human male, the Celestial Being glowed with purity and power, the darkness of the night being chased away by its light. Laying its hand on the young priest¡¯s shoulder, the light reached a crescendo of intensity that forced even Rath¡¯Mel¡¯s enchanted eyes away from its sheer splendor.


    It was as though time itself was being reversed. The enemies¡¯ encampment began to forge itself back to life, many destroyed tents were reassembling themselves without a single mark. Soldiers and mounts rose from their crumpled dead forms. Even the most damaged of corpses repaired themselves as shredded flesh threaded itself into the forms of stunned infantrymen.


    In time, the glowing Ordained Angel began to fade, and eventually, it rose back towards the skies, its power spent. Looking back over the fields, it was as if Rath¡¯Mel had never cast his spell. The encampment was whole once more and the revived soldiers were cheering, falling to their knees, and praying.


    Defeated, Rath¡¯Mel stood on the battlements for a few long moments. Letting out a weary sigh, he walked past the corpses of his Guards and returned to the small, dark chambers of his office. The Dreaded Archmage, ruler of Dray¡¯Mel, Champion of the Gods of Chaos, sat down behind his desk, drenched to the bone, and, for one of the first times in decades, he felt fear.

 Chapter Eight - Night Of The Living Ghouls

    The second he saw Skrakch burst through the door looking panicked, Zacharias knew that things were about to go sideways. It¡¯s what he got for sending a bloody rat to do a man¡¯s job. He immediately stood from his seat and quickly stepped out of Rodyr¡¯s sight. Luck was on his side, thankfully. The Minotaur was too busy focusing on the Ghouls that had just appeared in his Arena to notice Zach¡¯s sudden disappearance as he began to scour the room for various escape strategies.


    Quickly palming his two daggers with a small and subtle flourish of his wrists, he watched as the Skrakch charged forward through the drunken crowd and jumped down into the pit alongside Winifred and Gregore. That was another thing, watching Winifred get her arse kicked had been pretty painful and she clearly hadn¡¯t followed his instruction to make the fight last as long as possible, barely making the fight last ten minutes.


    Not that it mattered now. He pushed all thoughts about the two inept companions out of his mind as the swarm of Ghouls began to attack the crowd, tearing into the drunken fools and spreading through them like wildfire.


    The people closest to where the Ghouls had fallen hadn¡¯t even had a chance to react. Before they realized it, the Ghouls were already on them, latching on and biting mouthfuls of flesh before they could even comprehend what was happening to them. The next row of people stumbled backward, for the most part too intoxicated to react quickly as they were attacked in turn by rotten teeth and grasping dead hands.


    Seconds later, all Hells had broken loose. Shoving and pushing at each other, the crowd broke into a chaotic run, people doing anything they could to get away from the Undead threat. The whole room broke out in a deafening cacophony as people screamed and cried out in terror. Friendships and relationships mattered not to these people as they willingly abandoned those they¡¯d arrived with in a desperate attempt to get ahead and move further towards the exit. Some unfortunate souls, who¡¯d fallen to the ground in a drunken heap, were trampled under the sheer weight of the scrambling Humans. Those were the lucky ones, he¡¯d wager. It was a much better death than being ripped apart limb and limb by the Ghouls.


    Shaking himself out of his momentary state of shock, Zach began to head towards the exit himself. The damnable Ratling and Winifred were just going to have to sort themselves out. No way was he risking life and limb attempting to save them, no, it was time to get himself to safety.


    He shoved his way past drunks and whores, yelling at them to get out of his way, weaving between their legs, pushing them by the hip, and not giving a single shit if they fell over. There was no way in Hells he was going to end up as a Ghoul¡¯s supper.


    Moving swiftly, Zacharias was almost at the door when he felt someone grab hold of the tail of his fancy jacket. He turned around to see one of the serving wenches. She was laying on the floor, her whole face bloodied and swollen. The general noise wasn¡¯t as loud now that some had succumbed to the Ghouls and others had escaped. He could hear her labored breathing from her broken ribs.


    ¡°Help¡­¡± she croaked out. Her filthy, bloody hand clinging onto him for dear life. ¡°I...have¡­¡±


    Zach didn¡¯t hear what she had. Perhaps she was trying to say that she had a child or children at home. Well, whatever. It was his life versus hers. As one of the Ghoul pack started shuffling towards him at a terrifying pace, Zach quickly struggled out of the jacket, leaving the woman clutching onto the fabric. He turned away just as the Ghoul grabbed hold of her leg.


    Ignoring her broken screams of terror, he reached the door which had been slammed closed by the last escapee. He wrenched it open and two half-eaten bodies of Rodyr¡¯s guardsmen almost fell right on top of him. Flinching backward, Zach could feel the shift of the crowd as they began to realize the exit was as full of death as the way they¡¯d come. Immediately backtracking, the Halfling ducked and weaved through the crowd before running back to Rodyr¡¯s dais. Hopefully, he¡¯d be able to find something a bit heftier than his two daggers. It looked like he was going to need to fight his way out of this one.


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    Keeping his eyes ahead, Zach tried to slam the door closed but it caught on an Undead that lunged forward, getting its torso through the door frame. Holding the door closed as best as he could with his body weight, Zach slammed one of his daggers down into the biting Ghoul¡¯s head, even as more Ghouls began pounding at the door.


    As ferocious as the Ghouls were, they could still be killed by a pierced skull, the brain being the sole weakness of the bloodthirsty creatures. With strong regenerative abilities, anything short of a lethal blow would eventually repair itself as the undead feed on the living. Worse yet, the wild necromantic energy inherent to the city of Dray¡¯Mel meant the corpses would recover from even that in due time.


    Throwing his back against his meager shelter, Zach took stock of his surroundings. The side room was dressed as opulently as the rest of the mansion, not that it would help him in this situation. Taking up almost the entire length of the back wall was a giant black velvet chaise lounge. There were two scantily clad servant girls sitting on it and clutching each other in fear.


    Rodyr himself was standing in the center of the room. What remained of his security details were gathered around him as he bellowed orders at them. He didn¡¯t seem to care much for the spectators that were being torn to shreds mere feet away. Unsurprisingly, his number one priority was keeping himself alive. Despite the fact he was an overgrown cow, it was one thing Zach felt he had in common with the guy.


    ¡°You!¡± Rodyr roared as soon as he caught sight of Zach. He pointed a huge sausage finger in his direction. ¡°You brought that dirty creature into my mansion!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true¡­¡± Zach replied, aware of the fact that the Ghouls behind him were still trying to break through the door. He hoped the flimsy wood would hold. At least long enough for him to get clean away. ¡°But you also have to take into account the nest of Ghouls that seem to be in your mansion¡­¡±


    Rodyr growled in anger. He looked to the guard that was closest to Zach. He was trying to decide if he wanted to forego another possible Human shield or whether he should order the goon to attack. Behind his back, Zach could feel the door bulging, pressing into his spine along with ominous creaking noises. Well, if Rodyr wasn¡¯t going to decide, he sure as hell was!


    Springing forward, Zach grabbed the guard by the shoulder before heaving the fool behind him. Hearing the door splinter, he didn¡¯t linger and immediately rushed past Rodyr, pushing himself through the crowd of attendants and grabbing a tray from one of their slack hands. Taking a deep breath and raising the tray like a shield, he hurtled himself forward, slamming into the sheet of glass separating the room from the arena.


    Falling in a shower of shards, he rolled to his feet, bringing his daggers to bear as he spun in place. Half of the crowd was already dead, and the rest fled for the hills. Rodyr was bellowing a litany of curses through the hole in the glass. The huge Minotaur started yelling threats. Threats that told Zach they¡¯d all need to lay low if the Minotaur got out of the place alive. But from the sounds of the guards screaming, and Rodyr¡¯s painful bellows, it wasn¡¯t likely to be an issue.


    Glancing towards the arena in the center, he couldn¡¯t help but scoff as he watched Skrakch and Winifred desperately shoving away Ghouls. There was no way in hell he¡¯d be heading in that direction unless everywhere else was even worse. Winnie could handle herself, hadn¡¯t she just proved that? And as for the rat, well¡­


    Zach used his short height to his advantage, ducking into a darkened corner of the room behind some discarded mead barrels. They smelled like a mixture of rancid meat and sour mead but he wasn¡¯t about to complain about that. He realized it might come in handy.


    Trying his best to make as little noise as possible, Zach dipped his hand in a barrel that had been knocked over by some escaping drunkard. His stomach turned over when his hand came away covered in some black goo that was once probably a turkey leg. Without thinking about it too much, he quickly smeared some on his face. He figured if he smelt like rotting meat rather than fresh, he¡¯d have a better chance at survival.


    Suddenly, the screams of those still trying to flee increased tenfold. Zach looked upwards to see Wraiths beginning to drift in through the hole in the roof, no doubt attracted by the stench of blood pervading the air. That was all he needed!


    Zach clutched his daggers and watched the evacuating stragglers looking for an opening. He was going to make it out alive, there was no doubt about that. And if the rat did? Well, Zach was going to teach him a thing or two about revenge¡­

 Chapter Nine - The Final Round?

    Scanning the room, Skrakch realized that everyone had turned to stare at him. Under normal circumstances, it would be the perfect opportunity for him to take a minute or two to preen before them and show off his flawless looks but the ominous rumbling growls from behind told him it wasn¡¯t the time or place.


    Pressing into the crowd of panicked onlookers, he shoved and weaved his way in between them, most of them recoiling as if he carried some terrible disease. It wasn¡¯t a wholly surprising reaction. Some of the Grey Iskrin were known to be carriers of various things but, given the fact that everyone was probably about to die anyway, it didn¡¯t seem to be the most pressing issue. It was pretty impressive that despite impending death looming behind him, the Humans could still find the time to look at him like he was shit under their ragged shoes.


    Ducking under the legs of one of the pit guards, he hopped the chicken wire fence and landed into the Arena ring just as the Ghouls started to disperse amongst the crowd. Doing his best to slap a confident smile on his face, he twitched his whiskers as he looked over the state of the two fighters. Winifred was bloodied and bruised, still bleeding from various wounds which included a broken nose and split lips. She groaned, looking up at him through half-swollen shut eyes.


    ¡°By the Gods below, you look rough Winifred!¡± Skrakch said. ¡°No, no. Stay where you are. Keep lying there. You can thank me later,¡± He added reassuringly. Winifred gurgled something in response, which he took to be affirmative. Skrakch nodded at her and turned around.


    ¡°''My my, you¡¯re a big fellow aren¡¯t you?'''' He said as he looked Gregore up and down. ¡°Listen here you odious overgrown meatbag. I think this fight can be considered over. We all need to get out of here before the Wraiths show up or y¡¯know...we get eaten by these Ghouls,¡± Skrakch puffed his fur up and stood as tall as he possibly could, ignoring the fact that his max height reached up to the huge brute¡¯s bellybutton. The Champion himself seemed frozen in place, at a loss of what to do now that his master was occupied.


    Skrakch had learned enough about pit fighting to know that Rodyr¡¯s fighters weren''t allowed to kill without his explicit permission to do so. Dead bodies were costly to get rid of, even if the Butchery gave rewards for delivering ¡°fresh¡± corpses. Luckily, Gregore was faithful to his master to a fault and it was that fact Skrakch was banking on.


    Skrakch watched as Gregore scanned the crowd, and was pleased to see the exact moment the massive thug realized that he was the one needing to make his own choice.


    A swarm of Ghouls had breached into the side room and Gregore could see his master was being attacked by at least ten of the creatures. While the Ghouls individually weren¡¯t a match for the bloated Minotaur, the sheer volume of attacks had Rodyr reeling backward.


    Hells, all the Pit Champion could see of his employer were his large horns and his huge meaty hands as the braying manbeast swiped blindly at the incoming undead in desperation. The bodies of his guards, or at least the ones that had stayed, were strewn across the floor or pinned against the wall either dead or dying, sprays of fresh blood splashing their ravenous attackers. Gregore watched impassively as Rodyr collapsed to the floor, finally succumbing to his foes multiple bites, and was swiftly swarmed.


    Stabbing his greatsword into the sands, the towering Champion begins to laugh in a gurgling voice before reaching up and snapping his jaw back into place. He turned his attention back to the Iskrin, a simmering rage shining in his eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re just lucky I get paid in advance. There¡¯s an escape hatch in the pit, just watch my back.¡± Gregore smiles wolfishly and grabs his sword as the first of the Ghouls begins swarming into the arena.


    A quick flick of his wrist, and the giant slab of metal he called a sword had already bisected the nearest salivating Ghoul. Moving at almost double the speed as he had when fighting Winifred, Gregore almost contemptuously began slaughtering his way forward with deceptive ease. Ghouls flew at him from every angle but he cut each one of them down with a swipe from his weapon, battering the bodies aside as if they weighed nothing.


    The man had turned into a tempest of blade and blood, and it wasn¡¯t long before Gregore¡¯s body was coated in foul fetid blood, not that he seemed to mind it as he brazenly pressed forward.


    Skrakch watched the Pit Champion escape for a moment before realizing that it was time for him to be making tracks too. He would hardly become a Chosen if he just stood around waiting to be eaten! He scrambled over to Winifred and yanked her unceremoniously to her feet, quickly pouring one of his more potent potions down her gullet.


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    ¡°Looks like it¡¯s time to get out of here, you able to walk?¡± Skrakch says, trying to gauge how useful she¡¯d be in battle. The last thing he needed was someone slowing him down, but the Ratling was well aware it would take a while for his healing potions to make much of a difference. Unlike some healing magic he¡¯d seem, alchemical potions simply boosted the bodies natural regeneration.


    ¡°Fuck you ye vermin,¡± Winifred bristled as she staggered for a moment before getting her bearings. ¡°Even without any Mana I¡¯m twice the fighter ye are.¡± She quickly but gingerly felt her arms and legs, hissing in pain every time she came across an injury or open wound. ¡°Though I could use a bloody drink.¡±


    Grinning wildly, Skrakch began running in the direction of Gregore, half-dragging Winifred along with him. Rodyr''s fighter had managed to cut quite the swath through the crowd, sending bodies of either the drunken fools who had jumped into the pit to flee the undead, or the ravaging Ghouls flying left and right.


    Skrakch bolted down this newly created path, stabbing and shoving away any Ghoul who had survived the Champions onslaught. Honestly, at this rate it was smooth sailing, he chortled to himself as he stabbed a Ghoul in the eye, his long claws easily reaching the brain.


    Up ahead, Gregore continued his swath of destruction, slicing a few Ghouls in half. However, as the giant man reached the edge of the pit arena, he swiftly reached down and flipped open a well-hidden hatch in the ground. Smirking back towards Skrakch and Winnifred, he jumped into the hole, leaving a rapidly approaching horde of Ghouls the only thing between Skrakch and safety.


    As the Ratling considered his frankly horrible options, he heard a battle cry bellowing out from just behind him. Leaping into the fray, Winifred swung her previously discarded bent and scratched staff in a wide arc, shoving the Ghouls back. With a squeak of thanks, Skrakch threw himself down into the sand, and quickly began scrabbling at the hatch.


    Finally getting a decent grip, the desperate Rogue pulled it open just as Winifred began flagging in her attempts to keep the Undead at bay. Leaping down into the hatch with a strangled yelp, Skrakch landed with a splash, a small puddle of water and sludge breaking his fall. Wiping the mud off his whiskers in one clean swipe, Skrakch had just enough time to look up towards the hatch, as Winifred collided with him head first, throwing them both to the ground.


    Landing in a sprawling mess of limbs, Skrakch scrambled his way upright, and immediately looked upwards to see if any of the Ghouls were hounding them even now. Thankfully, the sheer throng of enraged Ghouls had clogged the hatch entrance, leaving a few unlucky Ghouls trapped upside down and grasping at air.


    Detangling himself from the Human, Skrakch thanked the Gods for his well-honed dark vision, and quickly took stock of his surroundings. They¡¯d landed in a small pitch black tunnel, and there was only one path forward. The tunnel itself was bare, stone walls stretching as far as the Ratling could see.


    Thankfully, Iskrin were blessed with the ability to see even in perfect darkness, though the bland gray tones and lack of any distinct colours was an unfortunate downside. Still, it could be worse, Skrakch mused to himself as he watched Winifred flounder in the mud. Taking a long moment to commit the sight to memory, Skrakch reached down to pull her to her feet once more.


    ¡°You know, at this rate, I think I¡¯ve saved you twice, Winifred, maybe I should be the muscle going forward. Clearly, I¡¯m more suited for the role.¡± Skrakch teased, pulling Winifred forward along the path.


    Grumbling under her breath, Winifred ignored him as she tried to take stock of the area. ¡°Can ye even see down here, it¡¯s pitch black? I¡¯m worried I¡¯m going to run into a wall. Or worse a Ghoul. Oh Gods Above, even worse. Another wee vermin!¡±


    Chuckling merrily, Skrakch had to admit it wouldn¡¯t be a good thing to find another Iskrin down here. No matter which color, it¡¯d just complicate things. Not that he¡¯d expect to find a albino Iskrin down in the mud, the prissy ruling class much preferred to leave such work to brown Iskrin like him. Of course, he was hardly a standard Ratling, no matter the colour, Skrakch reassured himself. No, there was only one proper umber Ratling as far as he was concerned.


    The mud-soaked Ratling was frankly just happy to have gotten out from the looming threat of being eaten, likely alive. A dank muddy tunnel was hardly ideal, but he¡¯d take the darkened route over a Ghoul¡¯s stomach any day of the week.


    ¡°I always forget you Humans have such shitty senses. I can¡¯t see that well either in the dark, but I can smell well enough. And I can smell a breeze coming from this way. So long as we follow the path, we¡¯ll be fine. Hopefully, anyways. For all we know, Gregore is waiting to kill us both.¡± Skrakch muttered, realizing they weren¡¯t out of the clear just yet.


    ¡°Aye, well, ain¡¯t that bloody good news. Do you think if I asked, he¡¯d let me die second? At least I¡¯d be able to go out seeing ye get what¡¯s coming to ye.¡± Winifred said with a smile.


    A moment of silence passed, and both of them broke out in laughter.


    ¡°Gods, we¡¯re fucked.¡±

 Chapter Ten - Caught Between A Ghoul And A Bastard

    Pitch black darkness, hungry Ghouls behind him, and an even scarier foe before him. Was this not what all good adventures were made of? Skrakch considered humming a jaunty tune, but he knew Winifred would join in. Considering how often he¡¯d heard her drunkenly sing, he knew he¡¯d end up regretting it. It was much better for his sanity, and his ears, to keep quiet.


    ¡°Are ye sure this is leading us somewhere Skrakch? It feels like we¡¯ve been walking for hours with nae sign of anything.¡± Winifred whined, and not the first time. Almost the entire time they¡¯d been walking she¡¯d kept up a steady litany of complaints. Whether it was the fact that she couldn¡¯t see anything or listing her various injuries that were aching or bleeding in some way. ¡°I¡¯ve got a sore head, and all this fucking mud is hardly helping.¡± She continued as if on cue, kicking her feet with a splash.


    ¡°Gods Below Winnie! If you ask me that one more time, I¡¯m turning around and feeding you to a Ghoul.¡± Skrakch said, irritated as he began half dragging his companion forward. It was no mean feat for him considering their difference in size.


    To be fair to her, he thought to himself, the last time he¡¯d fully drained his Core of Mana, he¡¯d passed out for a few days. Hell, even when he¡¯d woken up, everything had hurt for a week afterward. There was a reason most people never went below half Mana if they could help it. The more you spent, the longer it took to recover. So when you spent your last drop in battle and failed to kill your opponent? Then you were just meat on the chopping block.


    ¡°Can ye at least smell something different? Like the markets? Aye...a good old steak and ale pie would do me some good right now.¡± She said in an almost dreamy tone. Skrakch wouldn¡¯t have at all been surprised if she doused him with a liberal amount of slobber. ¡°I wonder how long it took Gregore to make his way through this muck. Can you imagine his face? I bet he fell on his ugly arse.¡± Winifred crowed weakly.


    Taking a deep breath, Skrakch tried to parse the different scents in the air. There was mud from all directions, death and blood from behind, and a fresh breeze coming from before them. It was getting less and less present though. Nose quivering, he did pick up a new smell, a greasy thick smell of sweat. He screwed up his face in disgust.


    ¡°Looks like we¡¯re getting close. So what¡¯s the plan? Something tells me we¡¯re not going to be able to take him in a fight.¡± Skrakch says.


    ¡°Oi! Ye tryin¡¯ to have a go?¡± Winnie asked, clearly affronted. ¡°That cheatin¡¯ beggar didn¡¯t say anything about weapons! Anyways...yer supposed to be clever. Think of your own plan!¡±


    ¡°Of course, not Winnie,¡± Skrakch replied soothingly. Although, if he was honest, he was kind of ¡®having a go¡¯ as she would put it. He¡¯d feel a lot safer if she¡¯d actually managed to do the massive brute some more harm other than a broken jaw. ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll be in a better mood than expected!¡±


    ¡°We trashed the arena he was the Champion of, killed his employer and got him attacked by Ghouls. Aye, I bet he¡¯s waiting to throw us a parade.¡± Winifred scoffed, rolling her eyes.


    ¡°See, that doesn¡¯t sound so bad!¡± Skrakch grinned, hoping for the best. ¡°The upside of it all is that he¡¯ll still have quite a difficult time speaking!¡±


    Pressing onwards, they began to see a light in the distance. Speeding up, they walked into a larger cavern, wide enough to fit multiple Human males side by side. There were small puddles of water here and there, obviously created from the dripping stalagmites above. Winnie, forgetting herself, rushed to the nearest puddle and splashed some of the water onto her face letting out a groan of relief as she did so.


    Skrakch could see Gregore at the other end of the opening. He was standing by a ladder that most likely led back to the surface. It was probably some secret escape route of Rodyr¡¯s designed for emergencies. The large man was incapable of pulling much in the way of facial expressions, his jaw was bound up tight with a piece of filthy material with a knot on top of his head giving him a slightly ridiculous appearance. There was nothing silly about the look in the eyes, however.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you both made it,¡± Gregore said as they approached him. With his jaw completely bound, he was forced to speak with gritted teeth. The effect was altogether pretty hilarious, or so Skrakch thought.


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    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure if you would get free, a Mana-deprived woman and a filthy rat. I wonder, did you have a method to control the Undead? Or were you just stupid enough to risk your neck bringing them here. Either way, I hope you have a good reason for me not to slice you apart, because I don¡¯t favor the odds against you here.¡± Gregore continued with difficulty, hefting his greatsword high in the air.


    Taking a deep breath, Skrakch left Winifred to stand on her own shaky legs. Stepping a bit closer to the Champion, he fetched one of the bags of coins he¡¯d stolen, tossing it at Gregore¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Listen, that¡¯s half of what we got from Rodyr¡¯s safe. We both know the old Bull had a lot of gold coming in from the arena fights. I bet you barely got a fraction of the income. Maybe you grab that bag, and we both go our separate ways.¡± Skrakch grinned cheekily, hoping the man wouldn¡¯t call his bluff. One-quarter of their ill-gotten gains was definitely worth his life, after all.


    Sweeping the bag up in an instant, Gregore tossed the bag in the air, testing its weight. ¡°Not bad, this is a lot of coin, But what¡¯s stopping me from killing you for the other half?¡± He smirked, pointing the massive blade towards Skrakch.


    ¡°Come now, it¡¯s two versus one. And we both know the Wraiths will notice this escape route eventually. Do you have the time to kill us before they swoop on through?¡± Skrakch countered as he stepped away from the young man.


    ¡°One cripple, and one cowardly rodent. Let¡¯s be real, it won¡¯t take me more than a minute.¡± Gregore states, stepping towards them, his intent clear as day.


    ¡°Actually, it¡¯s one cripple, one Iskrin, and one dashing rogue.¡± Stepping out of the shadows behind Winifred and Skrakch, Zacharias gave a small bow as a cheeky grin split his face. ¡°Plus, the last thing I saw before skipping down the hatch myself was the Wraiths clearing out most of the Ghouls. We have a few minutes tops.¡± He warned. ¡°And I wouldn¡¯t keep arguing mate because frankly, you sound fucking ridiculous.¡± Zach chortled, mimicking Gregore¡¯s current way of talking.


    Scoffing slightly, Gregore looked them over appraisingly. ¡°Alright, one bag will have to do. Pleasure doing business. But the next time I see any of you, you¡¯d best watch your back.¡± As much as he tried to make the threat sound intimidating, in his current condition, it came up short and he knew it.


    Turning swiftly, the Champion shot up the ladder with remarkable speed, leaving Skrakch and Winifred to stare at Zach.


    ¡°Looks like I earned my share after all, eh? Let¡¯s give it a moment, we don¡¯t want to climb up to a blade in the throat¡±, Zach chuckled, walking over to the ladder and looking upwards. ¡°I don¡¯t know about you guys, but that guy seemed seriously dodgy.¡±


    ¡°Hold on a minute, how did you get down here!¡± Winifred pointed a shaky finger at him. ¡°The hole was packed with Ghouls.¡±


    Shrugging casually, Zach shook his head. ¡°I saw you all jump down there, but not long after the Ghouls lost interest. It was a simple enough matter to make my way over after that.¡±


    Laughing uproariously, Skrakch walked over and clapped the Halfling on the shoulder. ¡°I knew you¡¯d make it out fine.¡± He paused for a moment and sniffed the air. His nostrils were assaulted with the acrid stench of rot. It seemed to be emanating from Zach¡¯s clothing in fact. ¡°Well that¡¯s just disgusting,¡± Skrakch said, taking a few steps back.


    ¡°You say disgusting, I say ingenious,¡± Zach replied with an easy shrug. ¡°Don¡¯t run the risk of getting your arse bit if you smell like death itself.¡±


    ¡°Well then, I supposed everything worked out,¡± Skrakch said. He was actually a little surprised, maybe even impressed that Zach had come up with such an escape plan.


    ¡°You mean other than almost being eaten alive? I swear you have a death wish mate.¡± Zach groaned out, before turning his open palm towards Skrakch. ¡°Well, let¡¯s see what we almost died for. It better be worth your weight in gold!¡±


    Rooting around in his pockets, Skrakch pulled the remaining three pouches loose, tossing them to Zach. Pulling them open, the Halfling froze for a moment, staring into the pouches.


    ¡°You¡­ you bloody idiot! This was all that was in his safe?¡± Zach roared out, tossing the pouches at Skrakch. ¡°It¡¯s nothing but food tokens, you bloody vermin. We just stole a lifetime''s supply of moldy bread!¡±


    Quickly snatching the pouches up, Skrakch upended them, pouring out batches of copper coins, each with the picture of a strand of wheat on them.


    ¡°No way, this was in his safe under his bed, why the hell would he keep food tokens in a safe!?¡± Skrakch asked incredulously as he stared at the piles.


    Chuckling quietly to herself, Winifred barely managed to gasp out, ¡°Under his bed? Did you think the Lord kept his gold under his bed like a child? You fucking thick brained muppet.¡±


    Shaking his head, Zach just sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here before Gregore realizes we just gave him less than copper. Odds are good he¡¯ll be even more pissed at Skrakch than we are.¡±


    Staring at the coins in disbelief, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but grumble to himself. ¡°But it was the perfect plan¡­¡±

 Chapter Eleven - The Next Fang’Mel?

    ¡°So there I was, trapped in a sewer. And two hundred feral Ghouls were bearing down on me! Foul wretched creatures, ready to tear me limb from limb! There was a stench of death surrounding me, cloying and set to overwhelm me. The Ghoul at the front, the biggest, stares right at me snarling with eyes ablaze-¡±


    ¡°Ablaze? A dead guy? It¡¯s a bit beyond ¡®em innit?¡± Zach interrupted as he took a swig of his ale and slammed the pewter tankard back down on the stained table. He raised a doubtful eyebrow as his rodent companion.


    ¡°Shut it!¡± Skrakch snapped. It was just like Zach. He always had to try and ruin a good pub story! ¡°Three hundred feral Ghouls, all wanting a piece of me!¡± He revved up, ready to continue the tale of his daring escape.


    ¡°Three hundred is it now?¡± It was Winfred¡¯s turn to interrupt. She shook her head as she looked at him and rolled her eyes expressively. ¡°Ye said there were one hundred when ye were tryin¡¯ to get tha free whiskey outta the barman!¡± She leaned back in her chair and cracked her neck loudly. ¡°At least ye weren¡¯t in the ring with that big brute,¡± She added. ¡°Nearly broke me in two. I¡¯ll be feeling this shite for a week!¡± She frowned when Zach stifled a chuckle into his tankard.


    The trio of thugs were long clear of Rodyr¡¯s estate and the rampaging Ghouls. They¡¯d arrived safely back in The Slums with their ill-gotten gains and, as was often the case on one of their adventures, unleashing an Undead horde proved to be thirsty work. Skrakch had been more than happy to lead the way to their favorite watering hole ¡®The Plagued Rat¡¯.


    It wasn¡¯t the most hospitable pub in The Slums and it didn¡¯t even stock the best booze. Hell, the staff were equally as likely to attack you as serve you but it was perfect for Skrakch¡¯s needs. It was in ¡®The Plagued Rat¡¯ that the lowest of the low were free to gather without fear of being kicked out. It was also one of the few pubs that would let an Iskrin inside its doors, even if it was covered in dried blood.


    Downing the last of his ale, Skrakch waved down one of the serving wenches. The homely barmaid was one of the few Humans in the darkened bar. The rest of the staff were made up of various other folks who¡¯d been unable to secure work elsewhere.


    As the wench thrust another slightly rusted tankard into his paws, Skrakch had to admit that, despite the smell of stale booze and unwashed drunks, he was fond of the place.


    ¡°I had full faith in ya Winnie,¡± Zach continued.


    ¡°Ha!¡± Winifred snorted. ¡°Dinnae even get me started on you Wee Man! This wee rattie might be fantasist but at least he¡¯s nae a bloody fool like you!¡± She continued, poking him hard in the chest with one of her thick fingers. ¡°Sendin¡¯ us into a place like that for food tokens of all things!¡±


    ¡°Hey now!¡± Zach brushed her poking finger aside and held up both of his hands defensively. ¡°You two might¡¯ve come up against Ghouls and a bloke with more brawn than bollocks but at least you weren¡¯t in the proper danger zone. Need I remind you which of us had to sit on that bloody dias next to an oversized cow with an anger problem¡±? He demanded. ¡°He could¡¯ve taken me bloody head off any time he felt like it. Now that¡¯s danger!¡±


    ¡°Aye and next ye¡¯ll be telling us it¡¯s your middle name,¡± Winifred replied sarcastically. ¡°I cannae imagine how terrible it must¡¯ve been for ye!¡±


    Skrakch grinned and leaned closer, a satisfied smirk crossing his face. The Ratling loved moments like this. He¡¯d heard plenty of people call Zacharias out on his shit before now but when Winifred did it, it was like listening to a beautiful symphony. Nobody this side of The Slums could put the Halfling in his place like her.


    ¡°Must¡¯ve been so hard for ye!¡± She continued, feigning sympathy. ¡°Sippin¡¯ his fancy wine and fillin¡¯ yer wee face with his food. Were ye afraid ye¡¯d forget to stick yer little pinky finger out in the air? Oh and that food of his! I bet it was like walkin¡¯ on a knife-edge aye? Who knows what delicious meats and herbs his paid cook with his fancy schoolin¡¯ would come up with? Yer full of shit Laddie, no doubt aboot it,¡± She shook her head as she wound up the rant. ¡°Have ye worked out how much that stuff¡¯s worth then?¡± She nodded towards the purse filled with the tokens.


    ¡°Uh well,¡± Zach scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. If he was rattled at all by Winifred¡¯s tirade, he wasn¡¯t showing it. ¡°These things don¡¯t exactly fetch top coin¡­¡± He started to explain. Skrakch reveled in the fact that the Halfling looked exactly like a kid caught with its hands in the cookie jar. It made hanging out with the insufferable prick that much more bearable.


    In fact, Winnie¡¯s anger was quickly becoming palpable, apparent within the unflinching gaze that she leveled at Zacharias as he began to hedge his answer. With each word, the pit fighter¡¯s fist clenched on her tankard so tight her knuckles were almost pure white. He¡¯d pay good coin to see Zach be on the receiving end of one of her punches.


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    ¡°Probably about one silver per token,¡± Skrakch filled in for the ginger Halfling as Zach hemmed and hawed and fiddled with his tankard awkwardly. ¡°People don¡¯t really use these things. It¡¯s not like the food our Undead ¡°protectors¡± give us is up to Minotaur standard,¡± He added with another smug smirk, ignoring Zacharias¡¯ sour expression.


    ¡°Thirty gold!¡± Winifred slammed down her tankard, spilling ale across the tabletop. ¡°Yer tellin¡¯ me that I almost got ma head ripped off for thirty fucking gold?¡± She pointed another accusing finger at Zacharias again.


    ¡°What and you think I¡¯m chuffed about that?¡¯ Zach snarled. He waved a hand angrily in Skrakch¡¯s direction. ¡°He¡¯s the one that broke into the wrong bloody vault! Why aren¡¯t you giving him the shit?¡± He demanded.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s completely normal to keep your food tokens under your bed?¡± Skrakch replied sarcastically. ¡°Especially when you have an entire kitchen staff on your payroll! Makes total sense! Listen Zacharias if you had any idea of what you were doing then I¡¯d have been made Chosen for sure! Serves me right for thinking anything you could come up with would work out!¡±


    It felt good to let go like this. To focus all his anger and resentment on one target. Zach was an easy target at that. It should¡¯ve been a simple enough mission yet a bountiful one. Skrakch could see it all now. If things had worked out¡­his Crux could¡¯ve been ¡®Steal¡¯. It would be the perfect one for him. He was destined for it and he was going to make damn well sure he got what he wanted. He just had the small problem of his idiotic accomplice.


    ¡°Ya fuckin¡¯ wish mate!¡± Zach snorted scornfully. ¡°You¡¯ve been chasing that bloody Pact nonsense for years¡­never get any closer to it though, do ya? Ever think that you might just be a boring old nobody like the rest of us? That ever occurred to you Squeakers?¡±


    Zach shook his head mockingly, he even had the gall to tut as though Skrakch were some naughty child.


    ¡°Have you heard this shit Winnie?¡± He continued, gesturing in Skrakch¡¯s direction. ¡°Rat boy here thinks that he¡¯s gonna be the next Fang¡¯Mel!¡±


    The Halfling made no effort to keep his voice down so, consequently, the tables nearby heard this proclamation. A few of the drunken patrons looked at Skrakch and started to guffaw idiotically.


    Skrakch lunged across the table towards Zach. To Hells with keeping his temper. He wasn¡¯t going to let some thieving Halfling mock him. He would bite the smug smile right off of his ugly face, consequences be damned. Dray¡¯Mel would probably thank him for it. The Hero who¡¯d killed it¡¯s biggest pain in the ass!


    ¡°Yer bloody fools, the pair of ye,¡± Winifred said calmly as Skrakch knocked Zach to the floor and they started to tussle messily. ¡°Nae point in killin¡¯ each other,¡± She added, grabbing Skrakch by the tail and pulling him off the swearing Halfling. ¡°Don¡¯t wanna get barred from here on top of it all.¡±


    ¡°Yeah Squeakers!¡± Zach got back to his seat quicker than he¡¯d been pushed off it. He straightened his shirt and had a quick glance around, making sure the clumsy fight hadn¡¯t been seen by too many people. Not that they would¡¯ve been sober enough to remember it. ¡°You need to calm yourself down, yah damned vermin.¡±


    Skrakch could see the logic in Winifred¡¯s argument as much as it pained him to admit. He gave a final hiss in Zach¡¯s direction before settling back into his own seat. He needed to remind himself that revenge on the Halfling would come in time. And it definitely wouldn¡¯t do any good for him to be kicked out of his favorite pub too.


    ¡°We need to lay low for a while,¡± Zach continued as he motioned over to the serving wench to bring them another round of ales. ¡°Everybody and their bloody wives are gonna remember a brown Iskrin actually doing something on its own initiative.¡± He added smugly.


    ¡°Would ye just shut yer wee piehole for five minutes?¡± Winifred demanded peevishly. ¡°The two of you are givin¡¯ me another headache on top of the headache I already have!¡±


    ¡°Your hit wearing off Winnie my dear?¡± Zach asked with mock charm. It was a tone Skrakch heard far too much for his liking. He watched as the Halfling patted the pocket of his large overcoat significantly. ¡°You always get arsey when it¡¯s wearing off¡­¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re always a wee shite after every gig!¡± Winifred sniped. Still, Skrakch noticed, she couldn¡¯t tear her eyes away from the pocket. ¡°But aye, if you¡¯ve got it, I¡¯ll have it,¡± She held out her hand, fingers and nail caked in dried blood. ¡°And don¡¯t ye even think of asking for any payment. You owe me, Laddie. Don¡¯t make me kick ye in the balls. Again.¡±


    ¡°Always so touchy,¡± Zach muttered, withdrawing a small vial of swirling red liquid from his pocket. From the look on his face, it was clear that he recalled the last time he¡¯d been on the receiving end of one of Winifred¡¯s kicks. ¡°It¡¯s always a pleasure working with you Winnie,¡± He handed over the vial, not bothering to hide it. The Plagued Rat was one of the many places in The Slums that couldn¡¯t care less about its patron''s little proclivities.


    Zach stood up and grabbed a tankard from a passing serving wench before downing in it one. He wiped the back of his hand on the sleeve of his overcoat and bowed mockingly.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure but the night is still young,¡± He announced. ¡°I¡¯ll be away to The Edges to find myself a gentle lady of the night to celebrate with.¡±


    ¡°Yer disgusting ya wee deviant,¡± Winifred said dismissively with a shake of her head. ¡°Ye dinna know what they¡¯re riddled with over there.¡±


    ¡°And therein lies the thrill my dear!¡± Zach replied with a dramatic flourish. ¡°We all know I¡¯m a gambling man!¡±


    ¡°Aye well, I hope it falls off,¡± Winifred spat, turning her attention to the serving wench and starting to ask about the types of pies they had on offer.


    ¡°And I hope your pie brings you a night in the shitter!¡± Zach said with a grin.


    Skrakch waited until Zach made himself scarce before finishing his drink. He hurried away from the table as soon as Winifred got deep in conversation with the serving wench.


    It was time to pay a visit to his good friend Meekknuckle.


    He was sure that Winnie wouldn¡¯t mind being left with the bar tab.

 Bonus Chapter - Kuosh

    There were few smells above ground that Skrakch could tolerate. One of them was a good tankard of mead or whiskey. The other was a hearty meal. If he was going to lay low for the next while, he sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to do so without the memory of a good supper to see him through the grim fare of the sewers.


    Picking his way past the occasional drunk or carousing market seller, he made his way through the filthy streets. Occasionally he nodded at someone he recognized and made sure to give the bumpkins who stared at him a good glare. Despite their lot in life, they apparently thought themselves superior to an Iskrin.


    He supposed he had to be fair though. The sight of an Iskrin in The Slums was a rare one. The sight of an Iskrin as good-looking as he was? Unheard of. Most of his kind lived in the bowels of the city, far below in The Depths. The few that made it above ground weren¡¯t exactly the sort to be at the pub and walking around on their own.


    As old of a Ratling as Skrakch was, it had been a while since he¡¯d seen any others of his kind beyond the occasional feral Grey. He counted himself lucky on that front. He knew that any of the Albino Iskrin he encountered would definitely take issue with his independence.


    Still, it was with growing annoyance that Skrakch made his way through the crowded streets. The Slums was the part of Dray¡¯Mel that never slept. Once the workers and families had gone to bed, the streets came alive with the folk of the night. Drunks, burglars, and, of course, the call girls. No doubt most of those poor painted women had had the terrible luck of spending the evening with Zach. Desperation was a hell of a thing.


    Skrakch was relieved when he caught sight of his destination. It felt like a shining beacon amongst the filth. As always, he was grateful that his good friend stayed open late enough to capitalize on the insatiable hunger of the drunken louts.


    The small food cart was quaint, sandwiched in the alley between a blacksmith¡¯s and a bookstore. As the Ratling pushed aside the hanging veils that led to the cart he was treated to an explosion of delicious smells that easily made up for the stench of The Slums.


    Sighing in contentment, Skrakch approached the cart and tossed a gold coin onto the wooden countertop that had been erected in front of it. Luckily, he¡¯d timed his exit from the pub just right. It was the golden hour, just before the taverns started throwing its patrons out for the night and late enough that any decent creature wanting a good meal had retired to its bed. Golden hour was Skrakch¡¯s favorite time to frequent the cart. Not only would he be able to avoid having to make small talk with some overly friendly stranger or drunken idiot, but he could also have a good meal. The quieter that place was, the more likely it would be that he¡¯d be able to grab a snippet or two of important information.


    Hopping onto a stool, he watched as the giant hippo-like creature stirred a massive pan of vegetables and meat, the food emitting a delectable fragrance of spices that made Skrakch¡¯s stomach growl. Despite his hulking form and constantly grump expression, Kuosh had a dainty hand when it came to cookery.


    The Giff moved around the small area fluidly, his fingers, as thick as the rest of him, deftly sprinkling seasonings onto delicious dishes. His huge head turned and, the moment he saw Skrakch, a massive grin split his grey leathery face, and revealed a powerful pair of molar teeth.


    ¡°My favorite customer!¡± He greeted Skrakch warmly. ¡°Excellent timing as always my furry friend!¡± He continued, his soft tone completely at odds with his intimidating form. ¡°I have just started a fine soup, a special recipe from my country. Very spicy but also a delicate flavor,¡± The Giff¡¯s chest heaved as he chuckled, his potbelly jiggling with mirth from underneath the white apron which was heavily stained with a full day¡¯s work.


    ¡°You know how I like my food, Kuosh. Double the spices and you¡¯ve got a sale!¡± Skrakch replied with a smile of his own. ¡°How¡¯s business been? Any locals giving you trouble? I can get them sorted out for you, free of charge of course¡±


    Skrakch nodded gratefully as Kuosh slid a glass of clear water across the countertop. The stuff was like gold dust in Dray¡¯Mel. Water from the taps in The Slums tended to be a slight brown or greenish color with bits of who-knows-what floating within it. Kuosh, in his infinite wisdom, had Managed to put together his filtration system ensuring that the stuff he served was as clear as the glass it was poured into.


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    It was a crying shame that Kuosh was limited to being a food cart chef. He had a brilliant mind and, back in his country, he¡¯d been a revered engineer. Skrakch had never really got into how he¡¯d ended up in Dray¡¯Mel. Whenever he got close to the subject, he got the distinct impression that the Giff didn¡¯t want to talk about it. It wasn¡¯t surprising however, only the truly desperate moved to Dray¡¯Mel, because once you entered, the Tomb Makers weren¡¯t keen on letting you leave.


    ¡°You¡¯re too kind as always Skrakch. But the business has been fine. Had a family of four here a couple of hours ago, all of them ate their weight in my Hooroun so this has been a good day!¡± The chef chortled, indicating the many empty stew bowls that were stacked up behind the counter. He grabbed a clean wooden bowl and filled it to the brim from the large pot on the little stove.


    Skrakch licked his lips when Kuosh slid the bowl across to him. As always the portion was a generous one. He dug into the dish with relish, allowing the wonderful flavors to overtake any thoughts or residual anger he had towards Zach.


    ¡°You¡¯ve outdone yourself as always!¡± He declared as he finished the last few drops of the hearty stew. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re able to make a good Hooroun dish though, aren¡¯t the ingredients quite rare in Dray¡¯Mel?¡± Skrakch asked, admittedly intrigued.


    ¡°That¡¯s just the thing!¡± Kuosh grinned widely. ¡°The Tomb-Makers have seen fit to raise my clearance level. I have been allowed to leave the city limits.¡± He pulled down his chef¡¯s jacket just enough for Skrakch to see the rune that was now emblazoned on his barrel-sized chest. Squiggly in a way that hurt Skrakch to even look at, there was no doubting the authenticity of the rune, clearly made by the most talented of enchanters.


    Indeed, it was the rune granted to those with the freedom to leave Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s city walls. ¡°Of course,¡± The Giff continued, rearranging the jacket. ¡°If I stroll too far their mark will set off¡­it was worth all the negotiating and nonsense just to walk out of this city into the open world once more.¡± He added dreamily.


    ¡°Gods Above!¡± Skrakch shook his head disbelievingly. ¡°You let them mark you with one of their tracking spells?¡± He grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped his whiskers. ¡°You know that means they can kill you whenever they want with that, right? It¡¯s not just a matter of if you stray too far away from the limits they¡¯ve imposed on you.¡± As much as he was pleased that his friend had some modicum of freedom, Skrakch didn¡¯t think it was worth being branded.


    ¡°Please,¡± Kuosh held up a huge palm. ¡°Settle down my friend. It is a small price to pay for a trip beyond Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s walls,¡± The Giff continued soothingly. ¡°Plus, they could take me anytime they wanted, just like all of us in this city. I may be of considerable size but there¡¯s no way I could fight off a Wraith, much less one of their Death Knights¡­¡± He reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of his finest sherry and two glasses. He poured both himself and Skrakch a measure. ¡°Sometimes the road we must take is a dark one indeed.¡± The chef mused morosely, before shaking off his dark thoughts.


    Leaning back from the counter and raising his glass to his friend, Skrakch could only nod slowly. What was done was done. He only had to hope that Kuosh would keep his head down. The Giff was the only creature for miles around that could make a proper meal. Bloody Human-prepared food was barely seasoned and the Elven food was even blander. Skrakch shuddered at the thought, remembering the taste of bark on his tongue.


    A few hours of eating and laughing later, Kuosh closed for the night and Skrakch stepped into the city streets once more. Immediately attacked by the scents of unwashed flesh, rotten food, and worse, Skrakch let out a small groan. It had been good to get away from it all for those few hours but, as it always did, reality had to smack him in the face. Or, at least, the nose.


    Pushing onwards, he started heading to the sewer entrance, his intended destination to lay low for the next short while. He couldn¡¯t help but look up towards the city wall surrounding the Living District on all sides; the Tomb-Makers patrolled them, ostentatiously to keep the Undead District¡¯s residents out. But as Skrakch watched the barely recognizable skeletal figures manning the ramparts, he reminded himself of the truth.


    As much as the Undead governing Dray¡¯Mel liked to pretend otherwise, the living were beholden to their demands. And once your time was up, it was a short trip to the Butchery. He only had to hope that his good friend wouldn¡¯t be their next target.


    Shaking free of his morbid thoughts, Skrakch hurried along his way. Because as bad as the living had it, he knew the only way to be truly free in a city like Dray¡¯Mel. Power, true power, was his ticket to freedom.

 Interlude - The Rise before a Fall

    <div>


    600 Years Ago...


    Sleet and rain showered down onto the defender¡¯s backs but not one turned away from the sight that was before them. The approaching army had broken camp at first light and had begun to spread out before the city walls. And, just moments before, the first wave of infantry had started to smash their spears against their steel shields. The intimidating cacophony reached a crescendo, reverberating around the city wall. It was all anyone could focus on, such as the army¡¯s intent, as they began to advance.


    Fang¡¯Mel took one last look towards them as he clasped hands with the Senior Captain, his most trusted brother in arms, who was put to the task of defending one section of the castle walls. The Captain was tall and broad, his muscular stature cutting an impressive figure. He had long, flaxen hair, tied back in a hand-woven braid. Like Fang¡¯Mel, his body carried the marks of his past victories. Deep scars criss-crossed his arms and there was a particularly ugly-looking, long ago healed mauve gash that started on his forehead, crossed over one clouded eye, and ended at his square jaw. Fang¡¯Mel knew that underneath the Captain¡¯s black armor, were more ancient wounds. His strong back was similarly marred by wide stripes that crossed the width of his flesh, a living memory of the time he¡¯d been taken captive years before.


    ¡°The good news is they still need to buy time to build their ballista. These first few waves should be easy enough to repel. Just make sure to clear those ladders,¡± Fang¡¯Mel ordered, his tone grave as the pair looked across the chaotic battlefield.


    ¡°Aye Milord, we¡¯ll hold. Those poor bastards may as well be dead already,¡± The Captain replied as he leaned over the blackened walls to spit. ¡°Not that they seem to know it themselves,¡± He smirked slightly, showing a hint of the cocksure young soldier that Fang¡¯Mel had met so many years ago that it seemed like an entirely different lifetime.


    With a nod of agreement, Fang¡¯Mel swiftly headed down the fortress walls, passing troops and runners dashing to and fro to the command tent near the center of the walls. They were his people and yet he felt such pity for them. The others, particularly Loth¡¯Mel, saw these grunts as expendable. Where they would fall, others would be found quickly enough. Some of them tried to get his attention, others began calling his name or shouting words and phrases designed to inspire and rally those around them. He admired their dedication to the cause. Each one of them knew the risks, knew they would likely not make it out of this battle alive, and yet they were each willing to lay down their lives for Dray¡¯Mel. He saluted every one of them that he passed as he hurried forwards.


    Jumping into the muddy ground below, he took off at a brisk jog. He passed by boarded over shops and abandoned houses. It was saddening to see how the city had so quickly become a shadow of its former self. Where once it had been prosperous, the war had taken its toll. Ruination and poverty fell over the city like a suffocating fog. Families were fleeing every day, businesses closing up for fear that the invading army would target them next.


    Fang¡¯Mel quickly arrived at one of the few bustling buildings in the area. A ramshackle old tavern, The Belching Boar. It was most often frequented by what was thought of as the dregs of society. Petty thieves and cutpurses made it their place of worship, gathering to tell tales of the numerous bounties that lay upon their heads and bragging about close encounters and ingenious getaways. Occasionally there would be mercenaries worth his time but, the more dilapidated the place had become, the more it became filled with drunkards and carousers, their interest focused on what lay at the bottom of their tankards rather than fighting for a noble cause.


    Fang¡¯Mel did not need the tavern itself, with its greasy smeared windows and splintered wooden door. It was the attached stables that were his true destination. Walking through a shroud of protective Mana, the ranger took a deep breath, ignoring the foul stench of shit and muck. He took in the scene of his soldiers attending to their mounts, of the stable boys scurrying out of the way of the massive beasts. The acrid taste of summoning magic lay heavy in the air. With a grin, he pressed his way through the crowded stables before arriving at his mount.


    Silvermane had been his faithful and devoted companion for almost his entire tenure in the army. The massive bat-shaped creature was just as old and scarred as the Captain and yet he was still as fast and true as any of the younger beasts that were being adorned with saddles by the stable boys. The creature¡¯s limbs were powerful and rock hard, his claws sharp and intimidating. Silvermane¡¯s black beady eyes were bright, flicking around the stables with interest. Its nose twitched and his huge leathery wings quivered at the tips, eager to take flight and join the battle.


    Fang¡¯Mel paused for a moment, running his hand down the thick stripe of silvery-grey hair that adorned the top of Silvermane¡¯s head. It made a low noise of welcome, a deep rumble that caused a couple of nearby horses to whinny in fear. Fang¡¯Mel chuckled.


    ¡°Good boy!¡± He muttered, trailing his hand across the gargoyle¡¯s stony hide, feeling the flow of Mana circulating through the beast''s body in a torrent of power.


    Taking a moment to check for any loose straps on the saddle, Fang¡¯Mel marveled as always as the care and attention that stablehands had lain upon his mount to ensure Silvermane was in peak condition. Leaping onto its broad back, he channeled a small wisp of his mana into the saddle, activating dozens of engraved runes that helped him control his mount in battle, and commanded his mount to take flight.


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


    Silvermane let out another low rumble before taking off with a leap and burst through the open roof of the stables. Fang¡¯Mel, as always, couldn¡¯t help but get swept away in the feeling of power that always came from riding his faithful mount. Sometimes he would just ride the beast for the fun of it, reveling in the feeling of thrusting into the open sky and the joyous sounds Silvermane would make as it stretched its wings out in freedom.


    The jubilation of the flight was soon extinguished when Fang¡¯Mel absorbed the view of the approaching army. A sliver of unease began to take hold inside of him. Somehow, the enemy had managed to erect three massive wooden contraptions already and was quickly loading large rods of molten iron into the body of them. At the height Fang¡¯Mel was hovering at, the men hurrying to load the ballista were little more than ants swarming the devices. He watched as one of those devices lurched into motion, discharging its payload that sped through the air with deceptive ease, the spear of metal smashing into the castle¡¯s walls. At the moment of the impact, hundreds of different runes inscribed into the metal rod lit up as a pure blast of arcane energy erupted outwards, destroying a large chunk of the wall instantly.


    Fang¡¯Mel watched in horror as his men and rubble quickly fell from the castle and onto the battlefield below. He turned his attention to the damn ballistas and, with a twist of will and another injection of mana, Silvermane flapped its leathery wings and shot towards its target. With the distance rapidly closing, Fang¡¯Mel closed his eyes and concentrated on his inner Core, his mana shifting into a complex shape. With a firm grasp on the saddle with one hand, the half-elf leaned back as a silver spear of pure mana coalesced into existence. Opening his eyes, he launched the spear at an immense speed towards one of the ballista operators, an older gentleman whose helmet sported a long feather.


    As the spear closed the gap, with the gargoyle not far behind, Fang¡¯Mel¡¯s target barely had time to look up before the spear took him directly through the skull. As his body fell to the ground, Fang¡¯Mel reached out to the mana within the spear and with a moment''s focus caused the energy to grow unstable. Before the shocked artillerists could fall back in a defensive position, the spear exploded into shards of silver shrapnel, piercing the vitals of a dozen men before dissipating entirely.


    Letting out a feral grin, Fang¡¯Mel began to charge up a second spear. But when his instincts, honed from years of battles, rang out he flattened himself against his stony mount. Moments after, he felt a surge of air press him and his mount downwards, as a massive beast flew past him.


    Looking above himself, he caught sight of a large feathered creature wheeling itself around to aim for a second charge. The beast was bespectacled with impressive plumes of brown and white feathers, and the head of an eagle, with the body of a lion. Its beak and claws were razor sharp. It let out a strange almost ethereal piping noise, a call, unlike any other beast Fang¡¯Mel had encountered. Worse yet however was the hulking human on the griffin¡¯s back, a massive bald wall of a man wielding an even larger two-handed maul. His shining armor glinted under the sun, the white plate a beacon of purity. The blasted foe looked capable of flattening a man with just one swing of his tree-trunk-like arms.


    Injecting his saddle with mana, the ranger urged his gargoyle towards the invading griffin. Both mounts raised talons to strike as the beasts smashed into one another. With an impact that jostled the older man''s bones and set his head ringing, Fang¡¯Mel was forced to grab onto his saddle with a death grip as both combatants began to spin through the air, plummeting towards the ground in a tornado of limbs.


    Head spinning, Fang¡¯Mel reached out with his mana once more, creating a glowing spear of silver that he quickly thrust straight towards the griffin¡¯s beak. With a bellowing war cry, the half-elf managed to slam his conjured weapon deep into the griffin¡¯s neck aiming with ferocious accuracy at the beast¡¯s jugular. With a deep grunt and a spray of hot blood splattering across his face, he pulled upwards on his saddle knowing that Silvermane would get the message and break free from the griffin¡¯s weakening grasp.


    Silvermane righted itself in the air with an unfurling of its wings, Fang¡¯Mel took a deep breath as he watched the griffin¡¯s corpse smash into the earth, clouds of dust rising in its wake and the echoing cry of some poor bastard that it had landed on.


    The victory, however, was short-lived. With a sudden start, Fang¡¯Mel realized that the griffin¡¯s rider was nowhere in sight of the lifeless body of his mount. With a glance upwards, he saw the hulking attacker hurtle towards him, screaming in pure rage. Fang¡¯Mel did not have the time to question how the man had seemingly cheated what was certain death.


    Instead, he desperately raised his silver spear in an attempt to block the heavy maul from pulping his head like a grape, as the plate-wearing man bore down on him with terrifying speed. But as the two weapons neared each other, the very air around the two combatants suddenly lurched, pulling Fang¡¯Mel¡¯s weapon off-course.


    Whirl...


    The old ranger felt the power of a Crux roll over him, the swell of strength pressing down around him. He began throwing himself out of the way of the onslaught but, with a sickening crunch, he felt the maul smash into his shoulder blade, wrenching him down as the force of the blow snapped his spine with an audible, sickening wet crunch.


    Thrown from Silvermane¡¯s saddle, he heard his faithful mount let out a shriek of pain, or perhaps fear. The last thing the Gray Fox saw was the city wall he¡¯d spent decades defending, his home, his very reason for fighting, crumbling like the bones of a broken man as he tumbled headfirst towards it. The only thought in his head was that of a single word, repeating, echoing as it got louder and louder. Failure.

 Chapter Twelve - Ugh. Goblins.

    As he often did when the time came to lay low, Skrakch climbed down into the sewers below The Slums. They smelled foul of course but less so than the Human stench that the streets above were drenched in. Give him rotting sewage over the freshest Human odors any day!


    As soon as he dropped down into one of the sewer tunnels, he was assaulted by the usual mixture of smells one would expect. However, more importantly, amongst those scents were traces of Goblin activity. Nodding to himself, the Ratling scurried through the piles of trash and headed in the right direction.


    He tried his best not to let his mind dwell on the food token debacle now that he didn¡¯t have alcohol and food to distract him. Of course, Zach had tried shifting the blame onto him. It was only natural when yet another one of his idiotic plans had failed miserably. Skrakch was grateful that he would be getting a respite from the moronic Halfling¡¯s company. The urge to bite his face off or maim him in some way was still far too strong for his liking.


    Still, he reconciled with himself, there was always the next adventure. And with it would come the promise of a good payday and the chance to prove that he had it in him to become Chosen. It was, after all, his raison d¡¯etre for putting up with Zach¡¯s nonsense and Winifred¡¯s sad addiction. Becoming Chosen always had been and always would be his life¡¯s focus. The coin that came alongside his efforts was merely a convenient benefit. Did he want to be rich? Of course, he did. He was pretty certain that most folk, Human and creature alike, wanted a better life than The Slums had to offer. But to become Chosen¡­


    Humming a jaunty tune to himself, the experienced Ratling quickly traversed the sewer with practiced ease. Though dark and cold, years spent traversing the sewers have acclimated him to the smell of sewer water, and the chilling touch of cobblestone under his claws. Turning from the main path, he kicked aside some debris, before stepping towards the source of the smell.


    Entering into a large chamber, he spotted the two Goblin ¡®guards¡¯. The short, dumpy creatures seemed to be in the middle of a simple-looking dice game. If either of them heard his arrival, they didn¡¯t bother to look up. So much for the quality of the security! Sighing dramatically, Skrakch suddenly reached over and snatched the few copper pieces they were gambling with.


    This move finally alerted the guards to his presence. They scrabbled backward with cries of surprise, both of them pointing barely sharpened sticks at him. They spat and hissed curses in Goblin while leering at him with expressions that, Skrakch supposed, were meant to be intimidating. It was honestly no wonder that most of the sewers were held by Iskrin or Ghouls. With a glare of annoyance, Skrakch held up a cheap-looking medallion. If you squinted hard enough at the tarnished surface, a crude Goblin face could be seen etched into it.


    One of the guards attempted to grab it from his paw but Skrakch was quick to slap the offending hand, with its filthy stubby fingers and grimy overgrown nails, away. Letting the thieving critters get their hands all over your belongings was foolish at best, dangerous at worst. Who knows what kind of diseases they carried? Still, the guards were quick enough to lower their weapons once they ascertained he was no longer a threat. Their intimidating growls turned to low grumbles as they both worked to pull open the makeshift wooden door aside.


    Once the idiotic guards had gotten the door open, the small underground village was revealed. It was a small and squalid place, with no buildings above two feet tall. Most of them were made from rotting wood or little pieces of scrap metal that had clearly been scavenged from the city above. It showed no signs of any kind of method or planning to the layout. The buildings were placed exactly where their owners saw fit. Still, that was Goblins for you.


    Making his way through these odd, crowded streets, Skrakch occasionally swatted away a would-be thief or pickpocket and the odd angry Goblin guard. It was known to be a weakness of their kind that they had short memories, so very few of them recognized Skrakch. Those that did were sure to give him a wide berth and any that had forgotten were greeted with a simple slap or bared teeth.


    Before long, Skrakch reached his intended destination. Unlike the rest of the filthy hovels or sad excuses of a marketplace, the stone building ahead of him looked like a pillar of order in the middle of all the chaotic sprawlings. It had been solidly built from an assortment of stones local to the city and was guarded by a group of Goblins who were actually paying attention to their surroundings, each armed with iron-tipped spears.


    Skrakch looked up at the imposing building. It was the largest of them all, with three stories. The levels narrowed as it went upwards, resembling a tiered cake. The windows were mosaics made up of broken ale or wine bottles and the main doors had been carved with a Goblin¡¯s face on each one.


    Quickly ascending the stone stairs that led to those doors, Skrakch was intercepted by the largest of the guards, one he hadn¡¯t met before, a goblin with a thick bulbous nose, and an equally wide belly. He also appeared to be the only goblin in the area with a helmet, wearing a garish iron cap with a massive, albeit dirty, feather on top.


    Scowling at the new guard, Skrakch prepared to show his medallion once more before a voice from deep inside the stone building, magically enhanced, rang out.


    ¡°Let the Rotten One enter, there is little one of its kind can do on its own.¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Skrakch smiled smugly at the guard and shoved him aside. He slipped into the building and instantly felt a wave of heat press against him as he entered the single open room. He looked to the other end of this large room and saw a bonfire blazing, the light illuminating the room with its flickering light.


    The room itself was very sparse, with a single stone pillar in the center, holding the entire building up. There were a few bookcases here and there crammed with leather-bound tomes as well as some potion-making equipment tucked away in one of the corners. There were little home comforts to be found. In fact, the only remotely comfortable-looking thing was the large high-backed crimson chair that had been placed in front of the fire.


    From this chair, a gnarled hand appeared beckoning Skrakch forward wordlessly. Skrakch approached the bonfire, its heat growing more intense the closer he stepped. He could feel himself beginning to sweat as he approached the chair, though it wasn¡¯t just the flames that had the Ratling on edge.


    While the umber Ratling had grown used to the sight, he can still remember how strange it had been to see a Goblin with such advanced years. There were no hairs left on Blazock¡¯s head. His green scalp looked like gnarled bark and he scratched at it frequently. While small in stature, his age had seemed to shrink his facial features. Whatever hair that he had left had migrated to his eyebrows, turning them into large bushy white strips with errant wiry longer hairs curling up and out. His long nose was covered in bumps and scars, hooking over slightly at the end.


    The aged Goblin¡¯s wrinkled lips gave way to a full set of yellowed teeth with larger than average sharpened canines. His receding chin was covered by a white beard that curled downwards, almost reaching his chest. The only part of the old Goblin that didn¡¯t give away his age was his eyes. They were yellow and still glinted with something that Skrakch had never quite been able to put his paw on.


    ¡°Master,¡± Skrakch greeted with a short bow. ¡°I¡¯m beginning to worry that your name-calling might stick one of these days. For all we know, you¡¯re the reason that I haven¡¯t been Chosen yet,¡± He added as he stood by the fire and watched the reflection of the flames dance in those yellow eyes.


    The old Goblin laughed wheezily and took a sip from a rusted tankard. Judging by the strong vinegary smell it emitted, Blazock was partaking in the sad excuse for alcohol that was produced in the sewers.


    ¡°You¡¯ve earned the name and more, Rotten One,¡± Blazock eventually spoke. He wiped his lips and set the tankard on a small, very crudely constructed wooden table beside him. ¡°But it is quite amusing that you are finding more excuses as to why you haven¡¯t reached that lofty goal of yours. You know Skrakch, I took you in. I treated you like one of my own and what do you do? Flounce off to Gods knows where, doing god knows what. And when do you choose to return? Only when you need a place to hide.¡±


    ¡°Haha, come now Master,¡± Skrakch let out a forced laugh, not wanting Blazock to know how much the ¡®lofty¡¯ comment had stung. ¡°You know whatever I do, I always come back to learn more from you. Why, I¡¯d be a fool to turn my back on such a powerful mage!¡±


    You wouldn¡¯t expect much from somebody living down in the sewers of a city, Skrakch mused, but the old coot was one of the most accomplished spell slingers he¡¯d heard of. Though to be fair, it wasn¡¯t like he knew many at all¡­


    Blazock regarded him for a moment with those creepy yellow eyes of his. He¡¯d always been a Goblin of few words. Even less so than your run-of-the-mill sewer dweller who understood only the basics of the language. It had always unnerved Skrakch that he was unable to read the aged creature¡¯s expressions. The Ratling prided himself on being able to tell who was trying to pull the wool over his eyes or would sooner rob him than look at him. Blazock always had been like one of those mysterious tomes of dangerous lore, securely closed with very few, if any, ever getting to see inside of it.


    Finally turning to face the Ratling fully, the wizened goblin leaned forwards before pressing his palm against Skrakch¡¯s chest. With a swell of Mana, the goblin Englyphed an arcane rune on Skrakch¡¯s chest.


    Looking down at it curiously, Skrakch tried to parse the rune, noting the aspect of arcane magic, similar to his Feather Fall but distinctly different.


    ¡°Master, this young one admits his failure. What does altering the Feather Fall spell so minutely do? Will it allow me to fly? Or perhaps to float?¡± Skrakch says as he ponders the rune. The ease of which Blazock had cast it was, he had to admit, impressive.


    ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it, Rotten One. The first rune you learned slowed your ascent. This one reverses your fall.¡± Turning back to the fire, the old goblin chuckles and with a snap of his gnarled fingers with their thick yellowing nails, activates the rune.


    Flinching at the noise, Skrakch felt a sudden sensation of lightness overcome him. Like with Feather Fall, the magic lifted him upwards but unlike the other rune, this spell didn¡¯t just attempt to lighten his weight, it fully reversed gravity¡¯s hold. Taken by surprise, the Ratling desperately attempted to grab something to hold onto but failed as he smashed into the ceiling.


    Pressed tightly against the stone above him, Skrakch struggled to breathe as the force pressing against him pushed the very air from his lungs. Trying his best to ignore his own feeble gasping, he focused on the way the Mana moved through his body.


    The old goblin continued to stare into the flames, seemingly indifferent to the soft groans eManating from above him. He nodded thoughtfully to himself, as he drank deep from his tankard, ale spilling down his bearded chin.


    ¡°The trick to casting runic magic is simple for creatures like you and I. Humans have the luxury of talent, learning from old books or tattered scrolls, but beasts like us? We learn from experiencing the magic first hand.¡± Blazock explained benignly. ¡°Feel the magic, absorb how it reacts to the Mana inscribed within. When you fully understand the principle involved, the spell will be yours.¡±


    Snapping his fingers once more, the old goblin cut his Mana from feeding the rune. As the Mana trailed off, so too did the reversal of gravity. Thus with a squeak, Skrakch plummed towards the floor, crashing into it with a resounding thump and feeling what little air he had left in his lungs, wheeze out of his body in a pained grunt.


    ¡°Best to brace yourself, Rotten One. You¡¯ve got a long way to go before you understand this rune.¡± the cantankerous goblin laughed before reaching out and re-glyphing Skrakch¡¯s back.

 Chapter Thirteen - A Goblin For A Best Pal

    Battered and bruised, Skrakch lay on the cold stone floor panting. Honestly, he was seriously beginning to wonder if he was some kind of masochist. Somehow, nowadays, nearly all of his downtime ended with him in pain or gasping for breath. Maybe he needed to pick up a hobby or something. It was all well and good to keep his eyes on the prize but it was beginning to prove a very exhausting and frankly humiliating pursuit.


    He felt someone nudge his repeatedly bruised ribs. Skrakch rolled over slightly to see Blazock standing above him. The ancient Goblin was smirking slightly, clearing relishing the situation.


    ¡°Have you at least learned the basics?¡± He asked disparagingly. ¡°Remember what I have always told you, Rotten One. Runic magic is about precision. Focus on the rune as you spill forth your Mana. If you do that, even an ungrateful lout like yourself can do great things.¡±


    It was, as usual, a terrible motivational speech from his taciturn Master but Skrakch pushed himself back up into a seated position. He¡¯d always known that he was destined for greatness, no matter what. Any of these tips and tricks he picked up? Well, they simply served to nudge him in the right direction.


    Plus, he told himself when he felt a particularly sore spot on his rump, if a Goblin could figure it out, anyone could. He chuckled to himself and puffed out his sore chest a little. He couldn¡¯t help but feel proud of himself.


    Blazock suddenly reached out and slapped him upside the head. Skrakch bit back a growl as the old coot let loose a drawn-out sigh.


    ¡°You¡¯ve nearly depleted your Mana reserves haven¡¯t you Rotten One?¡± He shook his head. ¡°As fun as I find it, there¡¯s no point in me tossing you around this room until your Mana returns.¡±


    He stepped away from Skrakch and made his way back over to the crimson chair, heaving his aged body into it. He picked up a brown leather-bound book from the table beside it and flipped it open. When he saw Skrakch looking at him questioningly, he sighed once more.


    ¡°Go and earn your keep Ratling. The guards tell me that Meekknuckle spotted a group of feral Iskrin. I have upheld my end of this bargain. It¡¯s time that you do the same,¡± He explained offhandedly, thumbing through the pages of his tome.


    Blazock gave Skrakch one final withering look before turning his attention to the book in his lap. A nearby nervous looking Goblin servant replenished his tankard and brought him a tin plate full of dubious-looking meat.


    Slowly picking himself up, Skrakch gave a small nod to his Master, limping his way out of the building. Still, no matter how much pain he was in now, magic was worth it. Who wouldn¡¯t break a shin to get the ability to toss his foes through a wall? Maybe the next time one of Zach¡¯s idiotic plans went awry, he¡¯d be the one dealing with the Gregores and Rodyrs of the city!


    Perking up at the idea of testing his newfound abilities, Skrakch set out to find Meekknuckle. Luckily for him, there was only one place in this dump of a village that the goblins went to for fun.


    Pushing his way through the streets, only stopping to grab a skewer of some mystery meat, Skrakch made his way over to one of the few hovels around that could fit more than five goblins inside at once.


    Garishly colored and covered in the chicken scratch goblins called a language, Skrakch stepped into a Goblin gambling hall. Inside he spotted goblins of all different shapes and sizes. Little mutants that they were, the Goblin race had a wide range of physical differences. From a lanky tall build to a rotund dwarf-looking fellow, Skrakch looked them over carefully to find his quarry.


    The gambling hall was to the Goblins like a church was to the Human folk. Except it wasn¡¯t some deity they were worshipping. It was gold, or more likely in their cases, silver and copper. At the various mismatched tables, the Goblins were all seated playing crude dice or card games.


    There was a bar at the other end of the room. It was nothing like the well-stocked tavern that he liked to frequent. No, this was a rudimentary bar at best. A plank of wood propped up on two wooden barrels to serve as the bar top and some crudely constructed shelving behind to hold a few barrels of the swill water that passed for ale with bent and rusting tankards hanging beside them.


    The barman was a squat fellow, his green-skinned belly bursting over his ragged trousers and straining the material of his stained shirt. He was picking at his teeth with a large splinter of wood, stopping occasionally to spit onto the floor beside him.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Every so often, a game would get out of hand, whether it be by cheating or the accusation of such. When that happened the barman nodded to a pair of burly Goblins in the corner who would make their way to the table in question and bodily throw the troublemakers out.


    Skrakch was tempted to spend some time here, gambling away the hours. He had a set of enchanted dice he¡¯d been meaning to try out. It was a subtle thing, nothing so overt as Zach¡¯s weighted dice, but the Ratling had enchanted the dice with his Featherfall rune.


    It took more Mana to supply then he¡¯d expected, but the lightness on half of the die was perfect to gently nudge the rolls towards desired result.


    He just needed to figure out a way to hide the effect from anyone with basic Mana Sight. The Ratling himself was a poor example, as it took him quite a bit of effort to read the flow of Mana in an area around him, but some folks did it passively, the lucky pricks.


    Still¡­ it was better to quickly snatch up his prize and get it over with. Skrakch scanned the tables quickly, eager to be done and away from the den of fools and the desperate both.


    It didn¡¯t take Skrakch long to find his target, as his eyes darted to the smallest Goblin in sight. Nearly half the size of the average goblin, Meekknuckle was a runt of a creature, the yellow-tinged goblin standing on his tiptoes just to see the top of the table he was at. Wearing little bits of fur that barely covered his scrawny backside, Meekknuckle hardly inspired dread as his overly large ears flopped down his naked scalp.


    Making his way over, he could tell Meekknuckle was well on his way to losing his dice match. Skrakch had spent years living amongst the Goblins, and he¡¯d never gotten the hang of the dice game they¡¯d play. Mostly because the little runts would change rules randomly, and would resort to fighting if you complained.


    Sadly for him, Meekknuckle earned his moniker by his cowardice, and it was in full display as he cowered back from the brasher goblins who were cursing and singing crude songs with aplomb. Snorting to himself, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but wonder why he bothered playing if he always lost. It was surely the definition of idiocy, repeating the same moves and expecting different results. Shrugging, Skrakch leaned forward before grabbing the scrawny fool by an oversized ear.


    Ignoring the now-squealing Goblin¡¯s protests, he dragged his quarry through the gambling hall as most of the other Goblins burst into unrestrained laughter at the sight. There were few things in life that they enjoyed more than the sight of physical violence. Especially when it wasn¡¯t directed towards them.


    Stepping out into what passed for a street in this dump of a village, Skrakch tossed Meekknuckle bodily into the dirt outside the gambling hall. He couldn¡¯t help but grin as he did so. There was nothing like the feeling of thrashing someone weaker than yourself. It was almost cathartic, really, getting to stretch your muscles, and not having to worry about your life. Skrakch was a fan of the simple things, after all!


    Stepping up to kick the goblin while he was down, the Ratling unfortunately heard a bone-shuddering thump ring out from behind him. Stifling a sigh, he turned around to see a massive stone statue looming over him, its grim countenance a Human male glowering in bestial rage.


    ¡°Oh hello Ornn, I was wondering what you¡¯d gotten up to.¡± Skrakch greeted the creature casually. ¡°I was just grabbing Meekknuckle so we could take care of my Master''s business. As you can see, he tripped over his own feet again. Odd that it keeps happening, no?¡± He said, his face a picture of innocence.


    The towering brute dwarfed Skrakch easily, standing at nearly 8¡± feet tall. With arms larger than Skrakch¡¯s waist, Ornn looked strong enough to squish the offending Iskrin¡¯s head into a disgusting mulch. Thankfully, the stone construct was just that, a mindless homunculus that followed Meekknuckle around like a lost puppy.


    The golem¡¯s overbearing presence was aided by its etchings, its chest chiseled to look like a soldier in plate mail. With a kilt of stone, the chunk of rock was quite the imposing sight, and the main reason Meekknuckle was considered one of the more dangerous goblins to mess with.


    Staring down at Skrakch, the silent behemoth simply remained fixated on the Ratling, its vacant eyes no doubt trying to understand if he was a threat. Scoffing, Skrakch turned to Meekknuckle and laughed.


    ¡°Still haven¡¯t taught him any tricks, eh Meek? At the very least you need to teach it to fetch. Something tells me no one would want to stop it from grabbing whatever you wanted.¡± The furry rogue chuckled, helping the mud-splattered Goblin to his feet. ¡°Listen, I don¡¯t have time for any of this anyways. I hear you found some feral Iskrin? Well, I¡¯m here to sort them out, one Ratling to another.¡±


    Rubbing his sore ear, the little goblin turned a scornful eye on Skrakch, ¡°Me was about to win game. Why you ruin Meekknuckle¡¯s chance to shine? Stupid vermin, Meekknuckle should make Ornn thump you.¡± The Goblin complained peevishly as he started to brush off his already filthy clothes.


    ¡°Ah, but there¡¯s the rub, my spineless friend. I¡¯ve only seen you sick your pet Golem on people you dislike. And I¡¯m your best pal!¡± Skrakch replied, clapping the goblin on his shoulder, almost knocking him down again. ¡°Who brought you that wheel of blue cheese you love so much, eh?¡±


    Nodding happily, Meekknuckle started drooling a bit, lost in thought while picturing the fine cheese delicacy. ¡°Me did like cheese. You okay, but me have news for you. Father say I have to show you to bad vermin.¡±


    ¡°Lead the way, Meek. I¡¯ll have them sorted out in no time.¡± Skrakch confidently claimed.

 Chapter Fourteen - Ratlings, Ratlings everywhere…

    Meekknuckle was still rubbing his sore ear as he guided Skrakch through the sewers, the Goblin¡¯s guardian Golem plodding along slowly behind them. A small current ran by their side, filled with the city¡¯s unmentionables, and the Ratling was well aware that most of Dray¡¯Mel residents were happy to ignore any of the goings-on beneath them.


    Personally, Skrakch thought that it was rather a shame. You never knew what you¡¯d find down in the sewers. Goblins, Iskrin, Ghouls¡­maybe even the odd mutated Human. It was a regular madhouse if you thought about it. Not to mention, there was the added benefit of it being the perfect place to dispose of a body.


    Gods Below knew, there would be something in the sewers that was going to be happy to munch away on any unguarded flesh. Those in the city above who would consider themselves expert mercenaries or murders were missing a neat trick for disposing corpses.


    Meekknuckle easily bounded ahead of the group, the idiotic creature surprisingly light on his feet as he traversed a cluster of metal shards. No doubt the metal was from some leftover experiment some aspiring engineer had ditched in the Sewers, but the metal had long since rusted to the point of being worthless.


    Still, Meekknuckle climbed to the top of it with ease, the scrappy Goblin moving with the assurance of a long-time denizen of the dark. Once atop this man-made mountain, Meek began waving frantically at Skrakch with all the excitement of a child discovering a new plaything.


    Turning his mind to the task ahead, Skrakch shuffled forward quietly. He could see that, beyond the metal pile, up ahead the sewer path abruptly cut off.


    ¡°Here! Here!¡± Meekknuckle whispered frantically, practically hopping up and down with excitement as he pointed downwards.


    Skrakch rolled his eyes and trotted around the metal to where the Goblin was pointing. The sewer path was cut off because it suddenly dropped down into a large cavern. As he looked down into the deep hole, he could see that the floor and indeed some of the walls, were covered in moss, vegetation, and, of course, Human filth. From what he could see, the cavern acted as a large hub for many of the different sewer runoffs that would lead to the different parts of the city.


    Well, Skrakch thought, so what? It wasn¡¯t like this was a new sight to him. There were plenty of these hubs throughout the sewer system. It didn¡¯t make this one special. He frowned up at Meekknuckle who was still perched atop the metal pile and shook his head. Talk about a wild goose chase.


    ¡°No! You see?¡± Meekknuckle nodded towards the bottom of the cavern again. Skrakch screwed up his eyes to focus them. He had to admit since he¡¯d stopped living in the sewers full time, his eyes weren¡¯t quite as used to low light conditions. Ironically enough, Skrakch saw better in pure darkness than he did with a few flickering flames guiding him. As he focused however, he could just about make out a large number of shadowed lumps in the darkness. He sighed deeply. He hated when Meekknuckle was right.


    The little shit knew it too. He slid down the metal pile, landing neatly next to Skrakch, his chest puffed out, his expression proud.


    ¡°How many of those things did you see?¡± Skrakch asked witheringly. He wasn¡¯t about to congratulate him or anything. Too many compliments to a Goblin just made their heads far too big for their britches, as if they weren¡¯t insufferable enough.


    ¡°Me count three tens and one big one. See in middle?¡± Meek replied. The diminutive Goblin focused on the bottom of the cavern again and suddenly leaped back. ¡°Very, very big one! He trying to light fire.¡± he added, trying his best to hide behind Skrakch.


    Sighing, and kicking his cowardly Goblin minion away from him, Skrakch was treated to a burst of light as a burst of flame came to life in the cavern below. Now illuminated by the flickering firelight, he could tell the lumps were indeed a pack of wild Iskrin. He could almost hear their teeth chattering as they congregated around the quickly built bonfire, the lanky creatures huddled together for warmth.


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    Gangly from a lifetime of harsh meals, the ferals looked like an anemic version of Skrakch. Flea bit and mangy, the Grey Iskrin pushed and snarled at each other as they tried to get closer to the heat. Worse yet were the short nubs they called tails, the filthy things a mockery to Skrakch¡¯s best feature.


    As he¡¯d expected, they were a filthy grey color rather than a luxurious brown like Skrakch. Still, they were larger than him too, dense muscles compared to his sleeker build. Built more for brawn than speed, Skrakch had little intention of an upfront confrontation.


    A ripple of silence spread throughout them as Meekknuckle and Skrakch observed them, as the torch-bearing Iskrin drew up to his full height. Quite a bit taller than Skrakch, it was clearly the leader of the motley bunch, looking better fed and actually wearing some ill-fitting clothes.


    Most of the Ratlings wielded weapons, spears, and swords that had seen better days, rusted from the moist living conditions they dealt with on a daily basis. And likely stolen from some unfortunate guards. Skrakch only hoped they¡¯d killed the guards cleanly after taking their weapons. He¡¯d seen the remains of half-eaten Humans more often than he¡¯d like.


    Skrakch knew the feral creatures had little intelligence to them. Considered cast-offs from the Iskrin race, Grey Iskrin were barely considered sapient, no smarter than a particularly stupid dog.


    Still, to have escaped The Depths below the city, with only tattered rags on their back? They had to have been well versed in combat, as the trek skyward was no simple stroll in the park.


    Most likely the Grey Ratlings had practice defending themselves from weaker threats like Goblins, but Skrakch very much doubted they¡¯d faced a threat quite as vicious as him. Still¡­ the Ratling had to admit the odds were a bit stacked against them.


    Ducking back out of sight, the Ratling leaned over to Meekknuckle and whispered into his ear, rolling his eyes as his Goblin minion flinched back in fear.


    ¡°There¡¯s a bloody lot of them. Does the Master think that we can deal with this?¡± Skrakch said, shaking his head in consternation. ¡°I think it¡¯d be better if he got involved himself, we¡¯re liable to get ourselves stabbed. Or worse.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t scared of course, Skrakch reassured himself. But, as they say, prudence was a virtue. Why bother to throw himself into the middle of some melee when simple magic would take care of the vermin?


    ¡°Father not dealing with them,¡± Meek replied, shaking his head so hard that his ears flapped side to side. ¡°Too weak, too far. Not worth travel. Father only deals with threat when at village. Not just near village.¡± He nodded sagely as if this settled any possible argument. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell them go away? They listen to you since you rat too.¡±


    Hissing softly, Skrakch went to hit Meekknuckle but a large stone arm intercepted the smack. He tried to push the massive Golem backward but only succeeded in almost slipping in the slimy sewer water, forcing him to windmill his arms to regain his balance.


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference between Iskrin, you vapid idiot!¡± Skrakch spat, injecting as much venom into his tone as a whisper would allow. ¡°Greys are feral and attack other Iskrin on sight. They¡¯d attack me as quickly as they¡¯d attack you. Hells, quicker probably!¡± He shook his head at the ridiculous notion. ¡°I can¡¯t just wander on down there and offer them a tankard of ale and a friendly chat!¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Meek seemed wrongfooted by this. Not that it surprised Skrakch at all. The idiot had trouble stringing together a coherent sentence, let alone understanding such a simple concept that all members of the same species weren¡¯t alike. ¡°Why not just make you Grey. You Grey, they listen,¡± Meek mused, cowered behind Ornn as he spoke.


    ¡°And how exactly do you propose I change my fur color?¡± Skrakch let out a frustrated sigh. ¡°You expect me to just whip up a disguise, walk over to those monsters, and what? Tell them to shove off? How about we make you look like a rat and toss you down there¡­talk about stupid ideas¡­¡± Skrakch mused, stroking his whiskers. On the surface, it was a plan typical of the type that came out of Zach¡¯s ugly mouth. But, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the idea could be a viable option.


    Feral Iskrin weren¡¯t known for their intelligence and guile. If he could disguise himself, the chance was they¡¯d be fooled. Once he infiltrated their little bonfire club, they didn¡¯t really stand much of a chance. It would be like taking candy from a baby. Slightly homicidal babies but really, what was life without a little danger? Especially if that danger meant another chance to prove his mettle.


    Grinning, Skrakch turned to his idiotic minion and beckoned him closer.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ve just had a brilliant idea¡­¡±

 Chapter Fifteen - An Ingenious Disguise

    When it came down to it, for all intents and purposes, Grey Iskrin were just like Goblins. Not too bright but they were able to breed like rabbits. With the sprawling sewers of Dray''Mel being as massive as they were and the mostly uncharted cavernous Depths below that, there was a lot of room for both races to breed uncontrollably.


    Still, any time the two inevitably met, it was a bloodbath. And unfortunately for the Goblin race, Skrakch mused, it almost always went in favor of the Iskrin. As armed as Goblins could sometimes be, Ratlings were just made better. Bolder and quicker than a Goblin, and less likely to laze around, the only issue with Grey Iskrin was their tendency to attack anything other than their own on sight.


    And it was that aspect that made Skrakch¡¯s plan perfect. He held out his paws as he tried to remain perfectly still and tried his best to avoid sneezing as Meekknuckle showered dust down upon him. It hadn¡¯t been difficult, especially in the sewers to acquire enough dust to fully coat his fur.


    Once he was covered and successfully grey looking, the now disguised Ratling had to fight the urge to rub his glorious umber fur free of the offending dust. It was truly heartbreaking to see such perfection tainted. Especially when he caught sight of himself in a shard of broken mirrors that had been dumped in the metal pile.


    In order to keep his mind off his tragic appearance, Skrakch decided to run through the plan again. For a start, he needed to make sure that Meekknuckle understood it. When it came to the less than intellectually gifted Goblin, repeating yourself was just something that needed to be done with annoying frequency.


    ¡°Alright Meek, roll that grog over here,¡± Skrakch ordered. While he¡¯d been dowsing himself in dust, he¡¯d sent Meek and Ornn back to the Goblin village for a barrel of booze. They¡¯d returned quickly, the massive Golem carrying the barrel on one shoulder and Meek on the other.


    While Meek hopped on the barrel and ¡®ran¡¯ it over to him, a gleeful smile on his face, Skrakch pulled out a small vial from his bandolier. He popped the cork on the barrel and poured a healthy measure of his finest sleeping draught into it, mixing it in with a single clawed finger.


    ¡°This should be enough to knock out the whole lot of them,¡± Skrakch said confidently, stowing the remainder of the potion back in its slot. ¡°All I need to do is roll the barrel over to the bonfire and let the filthy vermin have at it! The mindless idiots won¡¯t think twice about easily found booze.¡±


    He chuckled as he rubbed his paws together in anticipation. It had been an excellent idea of his!


    ¡°Once they start drinking this horrible Goblin hooch, the potion will work its way through their systems in ten minutes tops. Then all you and Ornn need to do is walk on through with a spear and take care of them. Sounds like a perfect plan, right Meek?¡± Skrakch continued to explain, puffing himself up with pride. ¡°You have to admit that the disguise is truly a work of my genius!¡±


    ¡°What if grog taste funny?¡± Meek asked, looking worried. ¡°You sure rats not notice?¡±


    ¡°Listen, Meek,¡± Skrakch shook his head at the Goblin¡¯s stupidity. ¡°This plan is going to work. It¡¯s mine and that¡¯s all that matters right? We go into it with confidence and anything is possible. Plus, if it all goes ¡®tits up¡¯ as Zach likes to say, there¡¯s always Ornn as backup,¡±


    The short Goblin nodded but still looked a little unsure. He quickly scurried back to Ornn and hid behind him. Ornn, of course, showed no expression or feelings towards the plan but stood at the ready which was enough for Skrakch. The best thing about bringing Meek along on such adventures was that the trusty Golem was always there too. Oh, how much easier it would¡¯ve been to get the best of Gregore had Ornn been there! Skrakch would¡¯ve paid a decent amount of coin to watch the boastful champion go toe to toe with a large stone homunculus!


    Skrakch took the barrel and carefully started to roll it towards the makeshift camp. He was on high alert, making sure that nothing was sneaking up on him or about to attack. A couple of the Grey Ratlings were ambling around the perimeter of the camp, and looked at him in confusion, but swiftly continued to chitter at each other. Most of them were happy to argue with each other for space in the cavern, eager to get the best place to sleep, on top of the rags they used for bedding.


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    Keeping a brave face on, Skrakch focused his attention on the bonfire ahead, as it was where the most senior of the group had gathered, as well as the leader. As soon as they caught sight of him rolling the barrel towards them, the leader pushed its way past the others.


    Taller than most of the Grey Iskrin around him, the Grey furred Ratling was the only one who carried a weapon that looked as though it had been taken care of. Unlike the other¡¯s rusty excuses for spears and swords, the leader¡¯s sword was polished and sharp, no doubt all the better for skewering its prey.


    In fact, the leader was wise enough to wear actual armour, rather than loosely fitting cloths. It¡¯s grey fur was mostly hidden by some soiled chain mail armour, that hung a little too tightly on its form. The beast was missing an eye, the wound hastily and unprofessionally sewn up, but it¡¯s every action belied a certain feral cunning. There were further scars along his snout and his whiskers were kinked and curled over one another.


    As the leader started sniffing towards him, it was all Skrakch could do to stay frozen in place. They weren¡¯t clever, but the feral Ratlings were quick to resort to violence if they had any doubts. There would certainly be no smart mouthing his way out of this. He supposed, if worse came to worst he could always try offer up Meek as a sacrifice. That would certainly ensure Ornn would be kept busy. While the Golem tried to protect his master from becoming rat chow, Skrakch would quickly and quietly make himself scarce. Satisfied that he had a decent plan B, Skrakch felt more confident as the feral leader regarded him.


    Eventually, after looking him up and down, the leader stepped forward to clap Skrakch on the back. Hefting the proffered grog barrel over it¡¯s meaty shoulder, it let out a loud cheer that its men quickly answered ten-fold, the excited Ratlings eager to quench their thirst.


    Following closely, Skrakch took a seat near the now roaring bonfire. The Greys had found some rotting wooden beams and constructed some hastily put-together seating. As Skrakch sat down, the two nearest Greys clamped their paws on each of his shoulders in congratulations. Satisfied that he had fully integrated with the clan, all he needed to do now was wait for them all to take a drink from the keg. Which, from the way the leader was attacking the cork, it wouldn¡¯t be long!


    With the barrel uncorked, the leader raised it high in the air and started to gulp down the poisoned booze, letting some of it dribble down his chest. He let out a crow of satisfaction before passing it around, each Iskrin eager to get their claws on the keg.


    Eventually, however, the barrel ended up in Skrakch¡¯s claws, the Iskrin around him hooting and hollering as they egged him on. He¡¯d thought of this too. He raised the barrel to his lips and, for all the world it looked as though he were taking a hefty measure, but in truth he kept his lips in a tight seal so that none of the liquid got into his mouth. This did however mean some ran down his chest but whatever, it just made him look even more like an uncouth cohort, hardly a unique trait amongst the ferals.


    Letting out an exaggerated sigh of pleasure, Skrakch made a show of wiping his lips as though he¡¯d just partaken in a triple measure. He made to pass the barrel on to the next creature, before noting that some of the Iskrin had gone quiet. In fact, the leader of the ferals was staring directly at him with a confused look on his snout.


    Looking down at his chest, Skrakch was quick to realize the issue. By avoiding drinking the hooch, he¡¯d let most of it run down his fur. Fur that was currently showing off its wonderful brown luster. Hissing in alarm, Skrakch scrambled to his feet, before snatching the keg back to hold in front of him.


    The full group of Grey Iskrin were staring at him now, so it was time to get clever. And what better way to end a bit of drinking, than blowing off some steam, Skrakch thought to himself.


    Closing his eyes and reaching deep into his Core, he pulled a strand of Mana loose and sent it into the keg. Thanking his lucky stars that he¡¯d picked up his newest spell, the handsome Ratling desperately burnt through thread after thread of Mana to inefficiently complete the rune.


    Shrugging off a moment of exhaustion from draining nearly half his Core in one spell, Skrakch neatly engraved the rune of Gravity into the barrel''s wood, priming the spell and the barrel both.


    Carefully lowering the booby-trapped keg down by his feet, Skrakch gave his most disarming smile. Sadly, the Grey Iskrin were beginning to growl angrily, hefting their weapons as Skrakch took a few hesitant steps backward. Thankfully, most of them were looking woozy on their feet, but it was clear the sleeping agent hadn¡¯t kicked in yet but it was definitely only a matter of time.


    So Skrakch did what came naturally to him, and fled with his tail between his legs. Activating the rune on the keg and directing it to launch towards the bonfire, he quickly turned tail and ran.


    As the feral critter''s growling rose to a fevered pitch, Skrakch¡¯s efforts were rewarded by a massive flare of heat and light burst out from behind him.


    Rather than turn to admire his handiwork, however, the brown Ratling was already scurrying away as fast as his little legs would let him.


    After all, cool Ratlings never looked at explosions.

 Chapter Sixteen - Fancy A Pint?

    Flinching at the sound of a booze-based explosion ringing out, Skrakch focused on escaping his current predicament. All he had to do was stall while the sleeping agent in the booze knocked out the drunk Ratlings, and he was in the clear. Hopefully anyways, he thought to himself as he scrambled across wet cobblestone.


    But even as the feral beasts called out in pain and surprise from behind him, Skrakch could hear the patter of clawed feet on sewer stones. Simplistic as they may be, they were also very quick on their feet and there was little doubt in the scrambling rogue¡¯s mind what they¡¯d do to him when they caught up.


    Throwing himself downwards in a roll, Skrakch just barely dodged a swing of a halberd, the metal blade shaving off a clump of his fur. A quick glance behind him helped him step to the side as a second blow pierced through the air he¡¯d just vacated.


    Letting out an outraged hiss, Skrakch turned to face his foe. Luckily for him, most of the Grey Iskrin were cradling their faces or had slumped over on their logs. But the leader of the bunch stood with his halberd at the ready, slowing to brace itself for combat as it marched towards Skrakch with death in its beady eyes. Clearly, the big bastard hadn¡¯t taken enough of a drink for it to affect him deeply, though Skrakch detected a certain uneasiness to its movements.


    Normally in a fight, Skrakch tended to prefer quick brutal engagements, where he could get close to his target unawares, then do what he did best. But with a foe staring at him with hate in its eyes, things got¡­ trickier.


    Slipping past a deadly thrust of the halberd, Skrakch hollered out for help. He wasn¡¯t down and out yet, of course. He still had an ace up his sleeve. A large, stone, vicious ace, who had a proclivity to smash its way through problems.


    ¡°Meek! Ornn! One of you bastards needs to get out here!¡± He cried, hoping one of his two hidden minions would come to aid him as he narrowly ducked under the leader''s blade. Taking advantage of his opponents movement, Skrakch stepped forward and slashed with his claws, hoping to take the feral foe by surprise.


    While one claw bit deep into the Grey Iskrin¡¯s neck, rewarding Skrakch with a faceful of hot blood, his other clawed hand caught momentarily in the beast¡¯s chain mail vest. Caught off guard by the development, Skrakch couldn¡¯t gain any distance from his foe, who let out an enraged shriek and brought his head downwards for a crushing headbutt directly against Skrakch¡¯s skull.


    Falling back in a daze, Skrakch barely managed to move in time as the Grey Iskrin¡¯s halberd whistled through the air, and cut a deep slash across his chest. Shaking off his stupor, Skrakch bristled his beautiful fur in fear, realizing how close the blow had come to splitting him open.


    Reeling from the pain, he sought to dive to the side as the second blow from the feral Ratling went wide. Grabbing a vial off his bandolier, Skrakch quickly gulped down its contents. The vile liquid burned on the way down (and faintly tasted of cherry), but it also quickly put a stop to the wounded Ratling¡¯s bleeding.


    While a Blood-Clotting potion was overlooked by most, the effects were much more effective than a simple Health Tonic when it came to blood loss. The Health Tonic would have stopped his bleeding as well, but only for any blow he¡¯d already received. Sadly, Skrakch was fairly confident he¡¯d be getting new wounds before this battle was done, so he assumed the Blood-Clotting potion was the right choice to keep him up and running.


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    Still, staying defensive would only hasten his defeat, though the Iskrin leader was clearly starting to sag with exhaustion. Skrakch himself was barely staying on his feet, so as the feral Ratling¡¯s halberd¡¯s blade-edge clattered against the stone in front of Skrakch, he launched himself forward with desperate rage.


    Hissing and garbling in an unknown language, the feral Ratling brought his halberd up defensively, blocking off each side of Skrakch¡¯s flurried blows before ramming the length of it into Skrakch''s chest. Knocked off balance, Skrakch latched onto the weapon, pulling both combatants off their feet, and toppling them on top of one another.


    Falling as a heap of hissing and biting fur, the two Iskrin quickly reverted to their rat-like instincts. Scratching wildly at one another, both of them racked up quite a few cuts and scrapes before Skrakch managed to land a lucky claw swipe on the feral rat''s snout.


    Squeaking in pain, the larger rat fell backward as Skrakch attempted to get to his feet. With a bit of distance gained, the furry rogue took the opportunity to flee, never too proud to ditch a losing battle. He only managed a few steps forwards, however, before a piercing pain blossomed from his back, and a mouthful of blood burst outwards from his lungs.


    Staggering forward, Skrakch could see the tip of a halberd jutting from his chest. The adrenaline currently pumping through his veins was working overtime, letting him take a few more staggering steps, but the skewered Ratling¡¯s legs finally buckled as he collapsed against the damp floor.


    ¡°So this is how it ends,¡± Skrakch wondered to himself. It was always a risk on any of the adventures he chose to partake in. A strange sort of calm washed over him as he accepted his fate. ¡°Honestly, it could be worse. At least I¡¯ll be dead before one of these filthy things tries to eat me.¡±


    Collapsing onto his side, the unwieldy weapon lodged deep within his chest, keeping him from ending up face down in the sewers'' mulch, Skrakch helplessly watched as his opponent strode up to him, hatred and vindictiveness gleaming in its wild eyes. The leader of the Grey Iskrin raised its claws victoriously with a wicked grin, its lust for blood plain to see.


    Wincing in pain, Skrakch braced himself for the end, wishing he could flick Meekknuckle ears or call Zach a pompous bastard one last time. As the feral Ratling swung downwards in a lethal swipe, Skrakch closed his eyes and¡­ felt as fine as anyone suffering from a gaping chest wound could feel.


    Cracking one eye open, he caught sight of the Feral Iskrin being held up in the air by its skull, a massive, stone-wrought golem clutching the beast in its powerful grip. As Ornn calmly held the frantically squirming creature up, the beautiful bastard of a Golem turned its scowling visage towards a panting Meekknuckle running up beside them.


    ¡°Sorry boss, it all go crazy. You wanting to keep vermin?¡± Meek asked, poking at Skrakch as he lay groaning on his side. Skrakch hissed with pain when the idiotic Goblin poked a little too close to the wound.


    ¡°Gods Above or Below, no, kill the fucking lot of them.¡± He garbled out weakly. If he was going to go down, he sure as hell was going to make sure he took as many of them with him!


    With a nod of understanding, Meekknuckle mimed slitting his throat, and Ornn immediately went to work. Grasping the feral rat''s head in one massive stone hand, it casually crushed the poor thing''s head, gore raining down around Skrakch.


    Letting out a small groan, Skrakch and Meek watched as Ornn systematically walked among the now comatose Ratlings, putting them down with quick steps to the neck, or by plunging its hands into their chests.


    Coughing up blood, the brown Ratling felt his vision fading. The last thing he thought before passing out was¡­ ¡°Why the fuck didn¡¯t we just send Ornn out in the first place?¡±

 Interlude - A Bloody Reminder

    600 years ago...


    Blocking an overhand swing, Loth¡¯Mel casually brought his ornate sword, its shining blade slick with blood, down on his opponent¡¯s arm, severing it from the doomed infantryman¡¯s elbow. Kicking back the now screaming enemy, he took a moment to take stock of the battlefield around him.


    After the outer city wall had fallen, he¡¯d ordered a full retreat, leaving the dead and dying to suffer at the hands of the foreign invaders. Their desperate wails for salvation fell on deaf ears. Expendable peons, all of them.


    Though the inner city walls couldn¡¯t compare in size or scale to the outer walls, Loth¡¯Mel had commanded the soldiers to raze many of the stone houses and shops surrounding the walls to slow down the attackers. There had been protestations at this, some of the weaker men of the army bitterly refusing to damage their beloved city further. Loth¡¯Mel had cared not for these petty weaklings and had threatened them with being charged for the crime of mutiny.


    His plan, just as he¡¯d known it would, had forced them to encroach over rougher terrain. Consequently, the enemy''s tactical formation had crumpled, leaving them open to ambushes and surprise attacks.


    Still, no matter how many attackers he ordered forth or how many clever tricks he used, it seemed like the approaching army continued its assault unabated. Worse yet, the enemy''s ballista had been moved closer, allowing them to open deep cracks in the inner walls.


    Even now, they poured into the courtyard through these newly opened fissures. Loth¡¯Mel swore to himself he would sweep the rabble from his city like a sea of death and blood, pushing forward like an unyielding tide that would leave every one of his enemies rueing the day they tried to get the better of him.


    Stepping forward, the old knight thrust his sword deep into a man¡¯s throat, momentarily getting pleasure from the gurgling noises he made as he choked on his blood. Loth¡¯Mel smashed his shield and his weight into another, instantly crippling him. Taking advantage of the opening, his army behind him pushed forward, stabbing forward with their spears.


    With a wordless battle cry, Loth¡¯Mel turned himself into the spear point of his formation, charging deep into the enemy''s infantry brigade. Dealing lethal blows with one hand, and throwing off his opponent¡¯s balance with the other, he killed and maimed until his pristine plate armor was coated red with the blood of his enemies.


    Falling back and desperately choking down air, Loth¡¯Mel and his men pulled back to catch their breath. There were calls across the battlefield, shouts of victory, and cheers from his men. Some were even clapping each other on the back and joking about the night they would enjoy in the tavern. Loth¡¯Mel could barely contain his contempt for these lesser mortals. They would be nothing without him. Worse than nothing, he told himself. They would be dead. Every single one of them. After all, there was a reason he was in charge.


    In this courtyard alone there were dozens of bodies, and many more wounded, groaning on the ground. Some crawled towards their more brutally wounded companions, only to succumb to their own injuries moments later. The slurry drains that bordered the courtyard, normally filled with the city¡¯s waste and filth, were slick with blood. Loth¡¯Mel breathed in heavily, his nostrils filling with the familiar iron stench of death.


    The opposing army quickly regrew in size, as more of them spilled through the broken walls and into the devastated courtyard. None seemed eager to be the first to step into the charnel house that was Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s formation, however.


    As the enemy faltered, only one individual boldly walked forward, leaning heavily on a gnarled staff. Despite his youth, he had the appearance of some poor cripple, one leg dragging behind the other. Loth¡¯Mel heard the scattered laughter and derisive comments of his men as they watched the stranger advance. No doubt he fancied himself as some sort of hero. Loth¡¯Mel would soon put paid to that pathetic idea.


    Undeterred by the laughter and mocking taunts, the young man knelt in the blood, soiling the simple white garb he wore, and placed his free hand on the broken body of one of the infantry. With a single word, a wave of power erupted from him and began to infuse the bodies of his fallen countrymen.


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    Restore...


    Broken bodies began to twist and rejoin, wounds disappearing visibly before the naked eye. The laughter of Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s men died down, replaced with shocked gasps and terrified exclamations as the fallen enemy soldiers became whole again before their very eyes. None of them appeared any the worse for their previous wounds, flesh mending with supernatural ease.


    Brutally hacked off limbs knitted themselves back together, and organs pulled themselves back inside their shocked owners. Loth¡¯Mel heard the distinct sound of one of his men vomit at the sight of a soldier¡¯s spine fusing itself back together while his decapitated head, with its broken jaw, clicked back into place.


    Standing once more, the mysterious young man looked towards his infantry before yelling out, ¡°I am the White Mage, and so long as I stand, none of you shall truly die this day. Defeat our foes for the one true God, Order!¡±


    With a blood-curdling scream, the fully healed and newly rallied infantry began to charge forward once more, throwing themselves at Loth¡¯Mel''s formation with no self-regard for their safety. But for every ten men, Loth''Mel and his fellow fighters slew, one of his own would fall. And each time they were pushed further and further back, a Word of Power would ring out.


    Restore¡­


    With the enemies returning to life, the tide of battle had completely turned against the defenders. With no other option, Loth¡¯Mel once more charged forward, slashing and cutting his way forward as his companions died one after the other, sacrificing themselves to get their leader one step closer to the White Mage.


    Piercing into the enemy¡¯s formation, Loth¡¯Mel cut through his foes like a man possessed. He would not taste defeat on this day. Even if every single one of his men were to be cut into pieces, he would emerge victoriously. Slicing through one man''s shield and taking off the arm before bifurcating another in a shower of blood, Loth¡¯Mel threw himself forward relentlessly.


    Soon no one stood between him and the encroaching White Mage. Tossing aside his shield, the giant of a knight charged forward with his sword held high above his head, gleaming in his two-handed grip. Of all the souls he had banished to the Nine Hells, this would be the most glorious.


    But even as he began to bring his blade down, once more the White Mage let out a burst of raw Mana. Raising his staff to point directly at Loth¡¯Mel, the power shifted directly into his soul.


    Restore...


    Even as the aged knight slashed downwards, he felt his body begin to rip and tear itself apart. Each of his old scars, some blows he¡¯d barely recovered from, seemed to burst anew. Worst of them all, a hole tore through his midsection, the ghostly remnant of a lance plowing through him.


    The pain was immense, like nothing he¡¯d ever felt before. His flesh split open, and he could feel the blood seeping out of every wound. He felt his ribs start to crack and constrict his lungs. His spine felt as though it were aflame, a conflagration that was spreading to every single one of his nerve endings and turning them to ash.


    Letting out a wheezing cough and spitting blood all over his armor, he fell to the cobblestone, his sword clattering down beside him. Looking up in a daze, his head feeling as though it was being torn in two, he saw the blonde mage smiling down at him serenely.


    ¡°All things return to nothing¡±, The White Mage whispered, placing his staff under Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s chin. ¡°Repent before your death, and know true Order.¡±


    Closing his eyes in a moment of contemplation, Loth¡¯Mel let out a weary sigh. ¡°That¡¯s the problem... with you religious lot... You¡¯re... always so worried about... bloody souls.¡±


    ¡°If it was me, that had you under the knife?... I¡¯d have gutted you right away.¡± With a blood grin, the knight threw himself forward, grasping towards the White Mage with both hands. But with a practiced thrust, the man stabbed forward with his staff, crushing Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s windpipe before attempting to step backward.


    But even as he moved backwards, the White Mage felt a familiar pulse of magic coming out of Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s Core. Even with his body broken, blood dripping through the joints in his armor, he would...


    Endure...


    Stepping forward, the enraged knight slapped aside the young man¡¯s staff, before grabbing him by the neck. Squeezing hard, Loth¡¯Mel felt his foes spine shatter under the pressure, before snapping the surprised White Mage¡¯s head around.


    Lifting the now limp mage in the air with one hand, Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s casually tossed the corpse to the side. Turning to face all the invaders at once, he let out a bloody grin.


    ¡°Who¡¯s next to step forward, now that Death¡¯s back on the table¡±, he roared, raising his hands in defiance before his cowering foes.

 Chapter Eighteen- Rancid Bloody Goblins

    Skrakch had woken up in worse places. At least that¡¯s what he thought as a worm slowly edged its way across his nostrils. Still, he was just happy to be waking up at all.


    Wearily pushing himself upright, he took in the small hut he¡¯d awoken in. Filled with what could only be described as sewer mulch, bits of leaves and mud packed together so tightly it had become cake, Skrakch had to resist the urge to vomit. Swiping around in the dark, the Ratling managed to pull open a swath of cloth, letting in a burst of sunlight. Reeling backward, he fell back into the mulch, grasping at his eyes.


    ¡°Gods damn it, where the Hells am I? Meek? Meekknuckle, you rancid gremlin, what the Hells did you do to me.¡± Skrakch let out in a low moan, clutching the sides of his head. It felt as though he¡¯d had a wild night in the tavern then let a bloody horse dance a jig on his skull. His head was pounding, his body aching. What the hell had happened to him?


    Meekknuckle was sitting just outside the hut. He¡¯d made a small fire and was cooking what looked like sausages and onions in a small blackened frying pan. He poked at the sausages with a little piece of stick, trying and failing to turn them over before he noticed Skrakch.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Meek took the pan off the heat and set it down on the filthy ground. ¡°Oh, you awake. Meekknuckle save you, drag you back home. You not moving, so me put you in bed. You welcome.¡±


    ¡°You filthy little¡­ why did you throw me in this crap?¡± Skrakch demanded. ¡°Is this your home? Have some shame, for goodness sakes,¡± he added, groggily attempting to lean over and slap Meek upside the head. ¡°And what the hell happened? The last thing I remember is the keg exploding.¡±


    Grumbling to himself, the Goblin glared daggers at Skrakch. ¡°Me send Ornn in to save you. He keep bad rats from eating you. Not that you thank Meek. Maybe next time me let you die, huh?¡± Meek replied, coming as close to anger as Skrakch had ever seen his normally subdued minion. The irate Goblin plucked a sausage from the pan and bit into it, sticking his chin out and chewing open-mouthed, little bits of grease spilling down his chin.


    Admittedly, that did make a lot of sense to Skrakch. Falling back into the mulch, the Ratling let out a small sigh. ¡°...thanks Meek. I owe you, and Ornn as well.¡± He said reluctantly. Gods Above but he was aching. It all came back to him. The fight with the leader. The injury. His body felt the pain anew. He felt around his back, expecting to feel some kind of dressing or bandage. All he could feel was a neat, slightly raised line where the wound had been closed.


    Flouncing down beside the weary Ratling, Meek happily rolled about in the muck in celebration, his expression proud. ¡°You very welcome. Meekknuckle smartest Goblin around, that why he let Ornn go first. Me even kept some alive for Father.¡±


    Propping himself up on his elbows, Skrakch gave the Goblin a considering look. ¡°You know, you might be one of the smartest Goblins in truth. Any idea what Master wanted with them?¡±


    ¡°Meekknuckle not ask. Ask too many questions, Father make you go away. Meek not want to leave, all the best foods here.¡± Turning to face the Ratling, Meek grins happily as he points in the direction of the frying pan. ¡°Other than tasty cheese you got. So yummy.¡±


    Laughing, Skrakch simply lay in the mulch for a moment, taking a few seconds to recuperate. His head was throbbing, his eyes felt like they were burning, and his chest¡­


    ¡°So how did you heal me? I had a hole in me. How the hells am I even alive?¡± Skrakch asked, honestly shocked that he was even still kicking.


    The Goblin let out a small chuckle, before standing up and offering a hand to the Iskrin. ¡°Me heal you up good. Me also best healer in village. You sleep for many day, and Me use all Mana on you. But Skrakch¡­ Meek need to ask. Why you always risk life? You almost dead, stupid.¡± Meek explained, shaking his head.


    Skrakch dusted himself off as he considered the question. ¡°You know Meek, I¡¯ve been asked that before. But let me ask you this, do you know how long your father has lived? Honestly, The average Goblin doesn¡¯t live to see its tenth birthday. But my Master is older than that. By a lot.¡± He answered. ¡°I went digging into it when I was topside. I poured over texts in the Dray¡¯Mel libraries. And I found a text that referred to him when the Iskrin first tunneled out of the Depths and ended up under Dray¡¯Mel. That was over one hundred years ago. I couldn¡¯t believe it until I found something that could explain it.¡±


    Squeezing his paws in a tight grip, Skrakch spat to the side. ¡°The reason your father has lived so long is that he¡¯s a Chosen. Some God out there -chose- him. Raised him above us. Made him better than us. All because he reflects them in some small way.¡± He gazed at Meek who was listening to him, spellbound. Whether the idiotic Goblin understood a word he was saying or not, he didn¡¯t care. ¡°And because of that he gets to age slower? He gets to live longer than us!? There¡¯s proof out there that Chosen can live longer than fucking elves, so long as they can avoid taking an axe to their gut.¡±


    Grabbing the Goblin by his shoulders, Skrakch began to shake him. ¡°I¡¯d sell my soul to the highest bidder for that, much less the power that comes with it. The power to change your fate. Who wouldn¡¯t kill for it? Who wouldn¡¯t risk their meager time left?¡± He said, his voice getting higher, sounding more desperate.


    Staring into the confused Goblin¡¯s eyes, Skrakch took a deep, calming breath. The damned runt barely understood him at the best of times, much less following his rant against the very Fates. Tossing Meek into the mulch at his feet, the short-tempered Ratling pulled open the hut¡¯s entrance flap, stepped over the frying pan and its contents before kicking it aside, and heading out into the Goblins¡¯ underground village.


    Focusing on the small rune on his wrist, he checked the time he had left. One year, 2 months, and 5 days before the wraiths picked him up and brought him to the Butchery.


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    Once again vowing to himself, Skrakch would become a Chosen or he would die trying.


    <hr>


    The walk back to his mentor''s residence was as uneventful as a walk through an underground Goblin sewer village could be. That is to say, Skrakch only had three pickpocket attempts performed on him, and he¡¯d only had to break one of their wrists before they got the message that the Ratling wasn¡¯t easily stolen from.


    Luckily a handsy Goblin had volunteered to showcase their scream of pain as the would-be thief¡¯s ulna was broken. Unsurprisingly, that seemed effective enough to send the message that Skrakch wasn¡¯t to be messed with.


    Still, his excursion down here reminded him of simpler times. He hadn¡¯t grown up in the Goblin village or even the sewers itself, but he¡¯d spent the better part of two years down in this squalor dump. Sure the smell was awful, but it¡¯s not that much better above ground, what with all the Humans and undead running about.


    At least down here, he could command respect amongst the stupid creatures. That and the body odor of a Goblin, as nasty as it was, was much preferable to that of a Human¡¯s. Skrakch screwed his face up at the thought. He was not missing the smell of the crowd up above on market day. All those disgusting bags of flesh running to and fro in an effort to snag the best deals on day-old bread and withered vegetables. It was enough to turn even his strong stomach.


    Of course, his first attempt to enter the village ended with him stabbed in the leg. The average Goblin didn¡¯t exactly trust any member of the Iskrin race. They could be a feral, or worse, an albino Iskrin.


    Thinking about it, Skrakch had to admit most of his plans involved him being stabbed. And yet there was still no inkling of him being Chosen. A quick glance inwards revealed that his pool of Mana seemed to have deepened, so there was at least a silver lining to his last outing. Everyone knew that Chosen had the greatest reserves of Mana. The bigger his reserve, the closer he was to his goal, that¡¯s what he told himself anyway.


    Strutting confidently through the street, especially now that his fur had returned to its perfect shade of brown, Skrakch made his way to his Mentor¡¯s residence. Nodding at the guards, and quickly flashing his medallion, he walked inside with a grin on his snout.


    Not much had changed in the past few days, other than the appearance of what seemed to be the survivors of the Grey Iskrin pack, tied to the pillar in the center of the room. Each Iskrin was alternating between howling with rage and snarling in pain. Occasionally one would try to reach out with a broken claw in an attempt to swipe at nothing. Others bore their chipped teeth or tried to gnaw ineffectually at their bindings. Gods Below, they were pathetic creatures to behold really. Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but feel all the more smug about his flawless coat and beautiful tail. He walked past one of them, casually swishing his tail in its direction. It strained against its restraints in a desperate attempt to get at him. Skrakch chuckled to himself.


    On the other side of the pillar, still standing by his fire, Blazock was staring at the prisoners with a hungry look in his eyes as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.


    ¡°Ah, I was wondering when you¡¯d show up, Rotten One. Thank you for capturing these trespassers. Meekknuckle told me you were instrumental in taking care of them¡±, the Goblin greeted, stroking its long winding white beard.


    ¡°It was no trouble at all, Master. Most of them were easily knocked out with a small bit of Fernglow. I¡¯m surprised Meekknuckle left any of them alive though, he sent his golem out with the intention to kill.¡± Skrakch said with a smile, stepping forward to jab his claw into a hissing feral¡¯s shoulder.


    The old Goblin scoffed at him, before twisting his gnarled hands in the air. An intricate rune shimmered into existence, seeming to suck the Mana in the air into itself as it grew. Stabilizing at over 10ft tall, the rune burst into a dome, covering the snarling prisoners.


    As the dome came into existence, Skrakch felt the Mana push past him, as all the noise from the Grey Iskrin died out. Taking a moment to try and memorize the rune he¡¯d just seen, Skrakch was startled as a voice rang out from behind him.


    Stepping into the room, Meekknuckle greeted the two of them with his finger in his ear, trying to dig out some earwax. ¡°Morning Father, Skrakch. Meekknuckle not sure he can hear, why the rats not make noise? Can you hear Meek? Can you see Meek!?¡±, he shouted, his voice rising as he rambled. Successful in his personal excavation mission, his finger came out of his ear with an audible pop, the tip covered in brown wax. Skrakch looked away when Meek started to lick it off.


    Rubbing his nose dramatically, the old Goblin stepped over to his son, before kicking him in the shin. ¡°Yes you fool, we can hear you fine. I simply cast a Zone of Silence on them, so I could hear myself think. Best you be quiet too, or I¡¯ll put a spell on you and turn you into a mute.¡± Blazock warned.


    Ignoring Meekknuckle as he gasped and covered his mouth, Skrakch eagerly turned to his mentor. ¡°That rune was massive! Is it something that can be cast on the move? Think of how useful it could be when trying to sneak!¡± He squeaked excitedly. ¡°I¡¯m already quiet, but perfect silence? I could slit a guard''s throat and let him scream and still get away unheard!¡±


    ¡°At your level of mastery, you¡¯re more likely to bungle the rune and manage to amplify the volume,¡± Blazock replied, snubbing him. ¡°Plus, even if perfectly cast, it remains in place. It¡¯s predominantly used to counter mages who rely on verbal catalysts for their spells.¡± He offhandedly replied, as he returned to watching the Iskrin squirm.


    The aged Goblin watched the creatures carefully for a few moments, clearly enjoying every second of their pain and panic. It seemed to take little concentration on his part to maintain the cast and Skrakch had to admit he was impressed.


    ¡°Regardless, that¡¯s not why I wanted you here.¡± Blazock continued. ¡°These poor fools represent a perfect opportunity for you both. Magic is best learned on unwilling subjects. They¡¯ll help you test your spells on someone actively resisting.¡± The elderly Goblin nodded sagely.


    Meekknuckle let out a small whimper at his father¡¯s words. ¡°But they no hurt. How me fix if they no hurt?¡± He said in a small voice.


    Scoffing at his son, the wizened Goblin stepped forward and brought his foot down on one of the feral Iskrin¡¯s legs, snapping it to the sound of silence. The wild creature¡¯s mouth opened wide but his scream of pain was muted.


    Twitching at the sight, Meekknuckle resignedly walked over to the prisoner, hands glowing soft white light.


    Watching this unfold, Skrakch shook his head. At the end of the day, his magic was one of the few talents he had to his name. If he wants to learn, sacrifices must be made.


    He was just happy that today it wasn¡¯t him making the sacrifice.

 Chapter Nineteen - Magical Might

    He had always imagined it like a large marble, albeit one that metaphorically sat in his chest. Lazily spinning in place, Skrakch watched his Core slowly fill itself, drawing the ambient Mana from the air, and attuning it to the Ratling energy.


    Turning to one of the Grey Iskrin, Skrakch let out a small sigh. As he bent down to place his paw against one of their chests, he tried his best to avoid looking them in the eyes.


    Directing his gaze inwards was an easy task for the Ratling. Some creatures went their whole lives without manifesting a Core, simply instinctively using their Mana when distressed.


    The more competent practitioners could use their Mana freely but struggled to picture their Core. Experienced practitioners like Skrakch, could summon their Core, visualizing the ebb and flow of Mana.


    But it was the true masters who could directly influence their Core, speeding up the recovery of Mana, or imbuing a spell with extra Mana to bolster its effect.


    Staring at his own half-filled Core, Skrakch slowly pulled loose the Mana he needed. Weaving it into the shape of an arcane rune, he filled it to the brim with power. Panting with the exertion of slowing down the process, he was pleased to see he¡¯d gotten the spell down to using just a quarter of his Core¡¯s strength.


    The Ratling slowly opened his eyes, taking in the rune in its entirety as it struggled under his grip, wanting to cast the effect and disperse. For a moment Skrakch simply held the Mana in place, before letting loose the spell.


    He watched as the feral creature¡¯s torso pulled itself downwards, seeming to sink into the floor as Skrakch could make out the sight of ribs caving under Gravity''s pressure.


    The beast screamed, no doubt running its throat ragged in desperate pain, but Skrakch heard none of it. Looking over to his Master, he was met with approving eyes as the old Goblin nodded in satisfaction.


    Skrakch watched in deafening silence as his spell played out, slowly weakening in power as the Mana fled the rune, dissipating into the air.


    Once more, he cursed himself for not taking the easy road. It would be simply child¡¯s play to use his Mana as Winifred did, enhancing his limbs to strike with wild abandon. Even Zacharias¡¯ use of Mana would be simple enough, turning his Mana into living shadows which concealed the Halfling from sight, not that the Halfling bothered using his Mana much.


    But no, Skrakch dreamed of one day having the power to do more than mere parlor tricks. The art of runic casting was long and slow, but with practice, he¡¯d be able to thwart the laws that governed their realm.


    With practice, he¡¯d be able to fly. To spill lava from nothing, to claw victory from defeat. But for now, this was all he could do.


    After all, using your Mana wasn¡¯t as simple as picturing a spell and casting it. To truly influence the world, you needed knowledge. Any beginner could shove a mass of Mana into his arm, hoping to swing twice as hard. They¡¯d have some small success, but if you took a true practitioner¡­ Winifred would imbue her legs, enhancing her stability, then thread some Mana into her waist to enhance her pivot. Finally, she¡¯d use a sliver of Mana to maximize the force of her swing, using less Mana in total for a more devastating blow.


    And that was simply enhancing your own body. For a spellcaster like Skrakch, he had to truly understand the forces at play, understand all that came to pass on the mortal realm. Featherfall worked by using Mana to counterbalance his own weight, cutting gravity¡¯s hold on him, for example.


    Of course, there were practices that were easier than others. Divine magic came from a treaty with a higher being, who did most of the heavy lifting. How else could Meekknuckle cast anything, Skrakch scoffed to himself. No, knowledge was the main resource Skrakch sought, and there was no price too steep.


    So as he sat, watching his Core fill with Mana, he did his best not to look at his practice targets. The poor critters had stopped trying to escape hours ago. No, they simply stared at him with fear in their eyes. Knowing there was nothing they could do to stop him.


    Grimly focusing on the task at hand, Skrakch reached out once more, applying the rune onto the feral Iskrin¡¯s chest.


    Once more, he slowly watched his Mana and tried to stop imagining the creature¡¯s silent screams.


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    With a shudder, a boulder as large as a pony lifted off the ground. Slowly twisting in the air, it hovered off the ground before gravity returned in full force. Crashing to the ground, dust and sewer water splashed everywhere.


    Including all over Skrakch¡¯s leather jacket. Wiping off the grime, the Ratling stared at the fallen boulder with pride. Eleven seconds of reversing gravity didn¡¯t seem like much, but he could already think of dozens of uses.


    Tossing an opponent''s weapon away, scaling a wall, or hell, just throwing the opponent away physically. Each prospect was more satisfying than the last!


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    After two straight torturous days of practicing his magic, his mentor had deemed him prepared enough to dismiss him. He¡¯d happily collapsed into Meekknuckle¡¯s hut, not even thinking about the disgusting mulch he used as a bed or having to survive off of Meek¡¯s laughable excuse for cooking.


    Still, he couldn¡¯t get the feral Iskrin¡¯s eyes out of his mind. At first, it wasn¡¯t so bad, the beasts hissing in rage and defiance. After his wounding from their leader, it was pretty satisfying to watch them getting their slow, painful comeuppance.


    But hours later, near the end, seeing the look in their eyes¡­


    It was for the best. If they were free, they¡¯d happily rip his throat out, the Ratling reminded himself. They were Grey Iskrin, no real brothers to him. As a brown-furred Ratling, he was all too aware of how dangerous the other colors of Iskrin could be.


    But as he walked back towards the Goblin''s village, he was still plagued by the look on their faces. Skrakch was so distracted, he didn¡¯t even realize that he¡¯d wandered back to his mentor¡¯s residence.


    Steeling his courage, Skrakch decided it was best to say something. I mean, surely the old coot wouldn¡¯t oppose letting a few feral Iskrin loose, Skrakch thought to himself. If worse comes to worst, the damned things are hardly a threat to anyone anymore. They were far too cowed and injured and had more than learned their lesson about messing with the wrong creatures.


    Pushing past the Goblin guards without a second glance, Skrakch entered the building to see Meekknuckle holding his hands against one of the prisoners'' guts. Snarling softly and moving with determination, Skrakch pushed past the pillar that most of the despondent prisoners were tied to, before stepping up beside Blazock who was watching his son impassively. Skrakch knew he was waiting for the poor creature to be healed before wreaking havoc on it anew.


    ¡°Oh you¡¯re back,¡± Blazock greeted casually, barely flicking an eye towards his student. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see it, Rotten One. I¡¯m most impressed by your abilities. It¡¯s almost a shame you aren¡¯t one of my actual sons. Not that most of them are worth anything, the drunken louts. Only Meekknuckle has any aptitude for magic.¡± The Goblin spoke offhandedly.


    Skrakch quickly stomped down on the feeling of pride that blossomed in his chest. ¡°Thank you, Master. Actually, I was hoping you might grant me a request.¡± He paused for a moment. He wasn¡¯t scared of Blazock as such because he was Skrakch. He wasn¡¯t scared of anything! But, that being said, he needed to keep the Goblin on his side.


    The patriarch of the Goblin village was the key to becoming a Chosen and being cast out by him this late in the game would be disastrous to his plans. Skrakch swallowed hard and continued, turning to keep his voice steady. ¡°Perhaps it would be best to let the Grey Iskrin go. If you¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll spread the word to the other feral Ratlings. Tell them it¡¯s not safe in this part of the sewers.¡±


    The old Goblin didn¡¯t respond for a long moment, just listening to the crackle of the perpetually roaring fire he kept in his hearth. ¡°Isn¡¯t it curious that you¡¯d ask for something like that? Does the life of these beasts stir something in your chest? Do you feel guilty for what you did?¡± He questioned, his yellow eyes unreadable.


    Laughing softly, the normally stooping Goblin turned to face Skrakch, seeming to grow larger in the Ratling¡¯s eyes with each passing moment. ¡°It¡¯s almost droll, Rotten One. You speak of letting them live, but only now that you¡¯ve gotten your practice. And that¡¯s the thing, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯s simple to make the call once you¡¯ve no stake in it. Once you¡¯ve gotten your fill.¡±


    ¡°But know this, Skrakch.¡± The Goblin Runecaster loomed above the Ratling, the sheer pressure of his presence pressing down on Skrakch to the point where the scared rogue could barely stay on his feet. ¡°Half-measures get you killed in this world. Taking pity on your enemies only once you¡¯ve beaten them does nothing but weaken you.¡±


    Scoffing loudly, the overbearing presence of the Goblin swiftly dispersed, leaving Skrakch shivering in fright. ¡°O-of course, you¡¯re correct. I¡¯ll make sure to keep your lessons in mind.¡± He said nervously.


    Turning on his heels, the terrified Ratling practically fled from the building, only stopping as he heard his mentor whisper one last bit of unsought advice just as he reached the doorway.


    ¡°Keep in mind Rotten One, mercy is the prerogative of the strong. So long as you remain weak, all it takes is a flick of the wrist, and the choice no longer belongs to you.¡±


    Looking back over his shoulder, the cowardly student locked eyes with his mentor as the Goblin drew deeply on his Pact. The Mana swirled around him as he muttered a single word that seemed to ring out in a long-drawn-out hiss.


    Harvest¡­


    Breaking his gaze away from Blazock, the Goblin Skrakch respected and learned from with all his mental strength, the Ratling warily watched as the bodies of the prisoners began to atrophy before his eyes, their fur sinking into hollow flesh, their mass being drained away leaving naught but gaunt corpses behind.


    Shimmering vibrantly to Skrakch¡¯s naked eye, he watched the stolen vitality coalescing into a lump of pure Mana, Mana so bright it hurt to look directly towards it. It didn¡¯t take long before the energy shifted once more, jerkily moving towards Blazock and merging with his flesh. It almost seemed as if the energy was attempting to resist, but could only marginally hold itself back from the Chosen¡¯s magical grasp.


    Turning to his mentor once more, Skrakch watched as the old Goblin became flush with life, the very essence of the Grey Iskrin being absorbed into his master¡¯s Mana.


    Smiling at Skrakch, the Goblin Chosen smoothed away many of his wrinkles as his eyes danced with power. Offhandedly flicking his wrist, a dozen runes were filled with Mana, activating and grasping the leftover corpses of the Grey Iskrin. Turning away from his apprentice, Blazock stared into the bonfire as he casually tossed his victims'' carcasses inside. Softly whispering as the flames licked his face, Blazock once more addressed his apprentice. ¡°Remember the promise you made to me when you were brought here. That you¡¯d do anything for power. Anything.¡±


    Scrambling backward, Skrakch practically fled back to Meekknuckle¡¯s hut. Sitting in the dark, he didn¡¯t even notice the young Goblin had fled with him.


    It was nearly an hour later when his heart finally stopped beating so loudly that it was all the inexperienced mage could hear. Staring at his furred paws in the dark, Skrakch let out a low chuckle. Flopping back into the mulch, he muttered out loud to himself.


    ¡°I need a fucking drink.¡±

 Interlude - A Painful Reminder

    The worst part about The Tipsy Boar, the ginger Halfling mused, was the anticipation.


    Not that Zach usually minded spending his time in pubs, but ¡®The Tipsy Boar¡¯ was no ¡®Plagued Rat¡¯. His favorite bar was safe and familiar, whereas ¡®The Boar¡¯ was a simple facade for a much more sinister reality. As he sat in the shadowed nook of the raucous tavern, he did his best to ignore the noises and activity around him.


    It was a standard enough scene. Plenty of the patrons were gambling, playing card or dice games, and arguing about cheating and whose turn it was. There were a few working girls circulating the tables or hanging off the arm of one of the gamblers. The serving wenches were kept busy with demands for more ale and mead and, of course, there were a couple of low-lives trying to get one over on each other, seeing who could pickpocket the most coin. Or at least, they all appeared to be.


    To an outsider, it would look like your usual tavern in The Slums. Zach remembered when he¡¯d been that outsider, happening upon ¡®The Boar¡¯ and not realizing just how rotten its core truly was. Each patron was armed with at least a knife. Some had more sophisticated weaponry hidden away, but to Zach¡¯s well-practiced eyes, they may as well have been advertising the location and size of their weapons. While each of them played the role of the drunken fool, they made sure to keep a side-eye on Zach and the entrances. Hardly the most subtle of affairs, but the diminutive rogue had been expecting the attention.


    The pub was a legitimate front for one of the more notorious crimelords of the Slums, an overly arrogant Elven prick named Sykes. It was his base of sorts, and thus, it was also where he liked to conduct his business. The patrons? Hired goons and merciless killers, all more than happy to slice and dice at the drop of a hat. The serving wenches were all discreetly carrying poison, ready to be slipped into a tankard at a moment¡¯s notice. The working girls were violent women who were more than capable of taking on Winnie in a fight, with the advantage of numbers on their side...


    No, normally Zach would be in his element. Sure, the waiting around was a bit of a pisser but at least he¡¯d be able to con some coin in a card game or two and help himself to a couple of ales as he waited for Sykes. Hells, he might even toss a few coins to one of the lovely things working hard this evening, life was too short to spend it by himself after all.


    The sting of his recent failure, however, was far too intense to ignore. He never considered himself someone who wallowed in regrets. It was a waste of time, after all. You couldn¡¯t change the past so just live with it and move on¡­ but the whole thing with Rodyr¡¯s mansion? It had been a shit show, one mistake piled onto the next. The food tokens were bad enough but the hit on Rodyr himself had gone completely south.


    Zach hadn¡¯t bothered to share that part of the plan with Squeakers or Winnie. The side plot of grabbing some gold coin was more of a distraction really, an extra cherry on the cake. The main goal Zach had been tasked with was a mission to kill the fat Minotaur. The plan was simple enough, just poison the vast plates of meat the oversized cow ate at nearly every meal, then wait out the night before the Lordling had a heart attack during his sleep. A simple job that required some basic sleight of hand. He could¡¯ve done it in his sleep.


    Hells, everything had been going swimmingly until the fucking Ratling had crashed through the ceiling with those Ghouls¡­


    Now instead of a subtle, dare he say it, graceful assassination, the whole of Dray¡¯Mel was aware of the Undead attack on the Residential District. Thankfully, there hadn¡¯t been that many survivors which had certainly limited the number of witnesses. Despite that upside, there was no way in Hells that Sykes didn¡¯t know about it. Already there were rumors circulating about who could¡¯ve coordinated the attack.


    Luckily, no one seemed to believe that an Iskrin had let them loose. Everyone knew that a simple rat wasn¡¯t smart enough on its own to achieve such a task. Some people had heard that it was a Ratling, but that it was simply acting upon its Master¡¯s orders.


    Ultimately though, it didn¡¯t matter. The assassination was botched, and Sykes wasn¡¯t the kind of Elf to let that sort of thing slide. Zach had seen the psychopath smiling as he shoved his knife into the belly of one of his minions, the cocky prick barely needing a reason to gut someone. He had witnessed Sykes murdering more than one member of his own payroll for ¡®unforgivable crimes¡¯, ranging from talking shit about him to simply ¡®looking at him wrong¡¯.


    ¡°Alright, Zacharias?¡± Zach rolled his eyes as Finch or Butch -Zach had never been bothered to learn the guy¡¯s name, he was so inconsequential- approached him. The fat Dwarf had his typical supercilious smile plastered onto his face. He was Sykes¡¯ right-hand man. His little errand boy. Most of Skyes¡¯ men grudgingly accepted him but privately agreed that he was a loathsome toad of a man. In fact, a lot of them said that his beard was brown because¡­well¡­he really liked his boss. ¡°Mr. Sykes will be right out, perhaps you¡¯d like to wait for him at the bar?¡± Finch/Butch/Whatever continued with a smug tone when Zach didn¡¯t reply.


    Zach stood up from his seat, having expected something like this. The gathered group of hired patrons stared at him as he trudged towards the bar. The room was fairly small as pubs went but the walk from one end of it to the other felt like it was miles. Miles of trudging through treacle, with all eyes on him knowing that he¡¯d fucked up. Sykes only wanted to meet at the bar when he had public humiliation in mind, all the better to remind his men what happened if they too made a mistake. Zach slid himself onto one of the stools and stared down at the stained and filthy bartop, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes boring into his back.


    Minutes later, the Elven crimelord finally deigned to arrive. Larger than one would expect from an Elf, Sykes was a broad creature, with wide shoulders. Taller than Zacharias by half, the Elf loomed over him, wearing his signature swagger coat. Worse yet, in the Halfling¡¯s mind, was the colour of the jacket; a dark purple that clashed with Sykes¡¯ pale skin, but Zach was hardly about to point that out.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Like most of his kind, Sykes had long, graceful ears, each adorned in dozens of glittering piercings, most made of solid gold. The older Elf had a thick beard, black and wiry, tied with all sorts of various clinking trinkets. A heavy pipe poked its way through, lit up and smelling sickly sweet of Rotbloom. All in all, the Elf commanded attention with a heavy presence, with dark hazelnut eyes glaring at everyone around him, while his smile was smug and self-satisfied.


    ¡°Zacharias!¡± Sykes clapped him on the back as the Elf took a seat next to him. The rowdy chatter and noise of the pub had settled to barely audible whispers, as everyone turned towards the upcoming spectacle. Sykes had become near famous for his little public acts of remonstrations, Hells, he¡¯d even given them a title of sorts.


    A ¡°Punishing¡± was always a sight to behold and Sykes liked to keep people guessing how he was going to carry it out. No two ¡°Punishings¡± were the same and Sykes liked to approach them with the air of a showman, playing up to his audience who would hang on his every word.


    ¡°Alright Sykes,¡± Zach replied quietly with a nod. Why couldn¡¯t the blasted old fool just get on with it? Zach had enjoyed his fair share of a good old ¡°Punishing¡± but it turned out being on the receiving end wasn¡¯t quite as entertaining. Still, Sykes liked to see his victim scared and Zach was determined not to give the man what he wanted.


    ¡°I hear you got into a bit of trouble up in the Residential District,¡± Sykes continued conversationally. He nodded at the barman who slid a tankard of ale his way. Sykes had his own personal set of tankards, each inscribed with the letter ¡®S¡¯. Woe betide anyone caught drinking from one¡­it was a lot harder to sip your ale with a broken jaw.


    ¡°Well, Rodyr got what was coming to him didn¡¯t he?¡± Zach answered. He wasn¡¯t about to back down and show himself up to the watching crowd. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the poison that killed him but since the fat bastard is rotting away in the ground now, what¡¯s the harm?¡± He continued with a shrug.


    A couple of people let out a small gasp. Zach didn¡¯t have to see them to know they were probably on the edge of their seats. Not many people had the bollocks to answer back to Sykes once he got going.


    ¡°The harm?¡± Sykes chuckled and shook his head as though he was merely dealing with a naughty child. ¡°The harm, my dear Zacharias, is that I wanted him taken care of discreetly. You see, Rodyr was a good friend to me until he got it into his head that he could take some of my business. Hosting his own pit fights and not paying his protection tax? That¡¯s the sort of thing that spreads and gets people talking about how I can¡¯t manage my own business. You know better than most that I always handle my business.¡±


    Zach opened his mouth to reply, hoping that some ready quip would come out, anything to avoid betraying how nervous he really was. Before he had a chance to say anything however, Sykes¡¯ snapped his fingers and a dozen runes began to glow in the air, shimmering with power and frost both. Before Zach could react, the runes activated and ice blossomed on the bartop and covered his hands, swiftly spreading as the frigid ice welded his hands in place.


    The blistering cold hit him straight away, sending a jolt of pain through his body, his hands screaming from the sudden drop below freezing temperature. Zacharias bit down on his lip and tried his best not to show it, having no intention of giving the dagger-eared prick the satisfaction. He could feel beads of sweat start to gather on his forehead from the effort of keeping quiet.


    ¡°A breakout of Ghouls¡­¡± Sykes continued as though nothing had happened. ¡°Good, paying customers getting devoured? The Tomb-Makers questioning the survivors, getting more information about MY operations?¡± He sighed heavily, fingers rubbing his temple. ¡°The Undead in charge don¡¯t care about my work and I pay heavily for that privilege. But when it starts to create waves? Now that is an entirely different matter¡­¡±


    Sykes reached into Zach¡¯s pocket and pulled out one of the Halfing''s throwing daggers. The crimelord started to spin it idly in his hands, not caring that the tip of the blade dug into the pad of his index finger. A small bead of blood welled up and Zach tried to focus on it to give him something, anything to distract him from the pain.


    ¡°You see, my dear boy, your little stunt back at Rodyr¡¯s mansion happened to create a wave. A large wave of shit that is still raining down on me as we speak. Surely you understand where I¡¯m coming from?¡± Sykes inquired smoothly, his calm tone belying the rage Zach could see simmering below the surface.


    ¡°Listen, Sykes, I fucked up alright? But it¡¯s the first time. How about I bring you the Ratling? I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll make a good plaything for ya.¡± Zach replied, hoping that he didn¡¯t sound as desperate as he was beginning to feel. The Halfling had begun trickling some Mana from his Core to his hands, hoping to reinforce the flesh as much as he could and fight back some of the frost.


    ¡°Oh how I wish I could make an exception for you Zacharias,¡± Sykes answered with mock sympathy. ¡°But you of all people know the rules here. I don¡¯t give second chances. You¡¯ve made too big a splash. One thing you get to learn when you reach my level is that everyone is replaceable,¡± He shook his head, putting on a show as though he were struggling with some internal battle. ¡°I never thought you would be on the receiving end of a ¡°Punishing¡± and yet here we are¡­¡±


    Sykes suddenly grabbed hold of Zach¡¯s chin, squeezing his cheeks hard enough to bruise as he pulled the Halfling closer. Zach saw the glimmer of his own dagger¡¯s blade as Sykes held it up to his face. He felt another burst of pain as the blade sliced into the skin of his left cheek.


    ¡°I knew it was going to end this way,¡± Sykes chattered idly as he carved into Zach¡¯s face. ¡°The moment I heard you were running wild with a loose cannon of an Iskrin and some Dragon¡¯s Blood addict you picked up off the streets,¡± Sykes leaned back as if he were an artist viewing his own work and trying to decide if he¡¯d used the right color. ¡°You know, when I took you in you were nothing. Just a kid with a knife. Dead parents. A chip on his shoulder¡­¡± He slid the dagger back into Zach¡¯s pocket. ¡°But nothing gets in the way of business,¡± He continued, his tone steely. ¡°And now the whole of Dray¡¯Mel is going to recognize you for what you are. A marked man.¡±


    Sykes pushed Zach away and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He calmly wiped away some of the blood that had dripped on his hand. ¡°You¡¯re dismissed. Get out of my pub.¡±


    Zach glanced at his reflection in the filthy mirror above the bar. Carved into his left cheek, still steadily oozing blood was a large letter ¡®S¡¯. For a moment, the enraged Halfling struggled to hold back his emotions, but as he looked back at Sykes, Zach felt a sense of calm wash over him.


    Turning to leave the bar, he took a moment to remember each and every face in ¡®The Tipsy Boar¡¯, from the guffawing hired thugs to the tittering serving girls. Grinning widely, Zach left the bar behind him while a thrill ran through him.


    For the first time in years, he didn¡¯t have a crew behind him, or a mission to fulfill but his own. Gently touching his new wound, Zach knew deep down in his heart what he needed to do.

 Chapter Twenty - The Undead Heist

    ¡°Well this is exactly what I had in mind when you told us all to lay low,¡± Skrakch said sarcastically as he took a seat at the stained wooden table. Upon leaving the sewers, it had taken less than ten minutes before one of Zach¡¯s contacts had gotten in touch with him to tell Skrakch that he was needed at the Plagued Rat.


    Winnie was already there and waiting for him, looking a lot better than when he¡¯d last seen her. Most of the wounds she¡¯d gained from the fight had healed and only a couple of them had left behind scars. The crass fighter was sipping her ale seemingly without a care in the world. She¡¯d shed the usual metal-enhanced leather armour and was instead wearing her typical ¡®day off¡¯ clothes, consisting of a men¡¯s cotton tunic and pants.


    Conversely to her more understated look, Zach of course was all about showing off his so-called physical assets. With tight linen pants and a revealing blood-red jacket that showed off way too much of his furless chest, the Halfling looked ready for a night on the town, aside from the massive bandage he had covering half his face.


    Not that it seemed to affect his ability to chat up everything and everyone he laid eyes on, the ¡®playboy¡¯ deep in conversation with one of the serving wenches. The poor girl was obviously new, not yet used to the Halfling¡¯s wily ways. She seemed utterly captivated by his attention, idly playing with her auburn hair as if entranced.


    As soon as the Halfling saw Skrakch sit down, however, he swiftly lost all interest in his potiential conquest and hurried over to the table, his face momentarily souring when he noticed Meekknuckle hauling himself up onto one of the stools.


    For once, Skrakch had actually let Meek follow him up to the city. The Goblin no doubt had designs on finding himself some of the foul cheese he was partial to. Skrakch was more interested in the fact that he¡¯d brought Ornn along. It was quite fun to see the chatter in the pub abruptly end as all eyes turned towards the stone goliath. Skrakch figured that if anyone from Rodyr¡¯s estate did lurk around the Plagued Rat, one look at Ornn and they wouldn¡¯t be coming anywhere near them.


    The clientele of the tavern was accustomed to odder sights, and it wasn¡¯t long before the curious trio were once more ignored in favor of booze and conversation. Ignoring Skrakch and co., Meekknuckle was quick to wander off to stare wide-eyed at the tavern¡¯s clearly uncomfortable bard. Having a Goblin stare at you was never a good thing, much less when a massive golem looms over you both, as Ornn followed Meekknuckle studiously.


    ¡°Some things in life are more important than laying low Squeakers,¡± Zach said when Skrakch repeated his concerns to the Halfling. ¡°Namely, great business opportunities!¡±


    ¡°Oh aye? More food tokens?¡± Winifred replied sarcastically. Skrakch snickered at her. As disgusting as he found all Humans, Winifred was up there on his list of people that he found tolerable.


    ¡°Dragon¡¯s blood actually,¡± Zach answered sarcastically with a couldn¡¯t-care-less shrug. He grinned widely when he saw Winifred¡¯s body language change from slumped over done-with-your-shit to rigid and intrigued. ¡°Thought that might get your attention.¡± He added with a chuckle.


    ¡°And what¡¯s that got to do with me?¡± Skrakch asked. He¡¯d never cared a jot about Zach''s side hustle before. Skrakch had never really understood the lure of the stuff. Why bother wasting your coin on something that wears off after an hour or two when you can use that coin to stock up on ingredients and create something worth using? After all, it wasn¡¯t Dragon¡¯s Blood that got him out of that Grey Iskrin situation. No. It was his own sleeping draught!


    ¡°Well Squeakers, this is going to be a team effort,¡± Zach explained grandly. He leaned back in his chair and looked mightily proud of himself. ¡°It just so happens that I was in this very pub a couple of nights ago-¡±


    ¡°Laying low obviously,¡± Skrakch interrupted with a roll of his eyes.


    ¡°And while I was whetting my whistle with some ale, I heard two people having an interesting chat in the corner,¡± Zach continued, ignoring the interruption. He paused, obviously expecting some kind of interest or intrigue.


    ¡°Oh aye, people in a pub talking, Surely not!¡± Winnie cuts in, her tone heavily sarcastic. Skrakch glanced at her, it was obvious from the way she was still leaning forward that she was interested but trying her hardest to seem aloof.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°They weren¡¯t as quiet as they thought they were,¡± Zach smirked, rubbing his hands together. ¡°I heard them talking about a supply route that¡¯s been dead for years¡­except rumor has it that it¡¯s home to a big stash. The sort of stash that could set us up for life!¡±


    ¡°And let me guess, you want to get your filthy mitts on it?¡± Skrakch asked in his best bored voice. While he may not be into drugs, he knew how much Dragon¡¯s Blood would fetch on the market. Still, no reason to appear overly eager, it was never a good idea to seem too interested in the Halfling¡¯s ideas.


    ¡°Got it in one mate,¡± Zach replied, raising his tankard to Skrakch and taking a sip. ¡°It¡¯s a guaranteed gold mine!¡±


    ¡°Like your last one?¡± Skrakch sneered. ¡°As fun as that adventure was, the payoff was not worth the throats I clawed out,¡± He added. He¡¯d still not Managed to shift his share of the bloody food tokens. They weren¡¯t a sought-after commodity at all. Not even in The Slums. He was getting close to just throwing them out.


    While the Tomb-Makers would make good on serving bread in exchange for the tokens, the damned undead running the Bakery didn¡¯t have a good grasp on the concept of freshness. The last time Skrakch had been desperate enough to eat some, the bread had nearly as much mold on it than dough.


    ¡°I¡¯m nae in a rush to get me arse beat again,¡± Winifred interjected, drawing Skrakch out of his musings. ¡°And anyway, if this stash is so big, why has nae-one else gotten wind of it, eh?¡±


    ¡°But Winnie my dear, isn¡¯t your supply running low?¡± Zach asks, smiling at her when she involuntarily winced. ¡°And you know how you get when you don¡¯t have any¡­¡±


    Skrakch watched as Winifred fought an internal battle with herself. As much as he might try, he really couldn¡¯t find it within himself to feel sorry for her. Drugs were a fool¡¯s game. Winifred and Zach were always telling him that chasing his Chosen dream was ridiculous yet he, Skrakch, felt superior in the knowledge that he wasn¡¯t a slave to some liquid in a vial.


    Dragon¡¯s Blood was just another fetid layer in the decomposing onion that was Humankind. It certainly didn¡¯t have anything to do with the fact that Dragon¡¯s blood didn¡¯t seem to have an effect on Ratlings...


    ¡°Well this is all well and good but what exactly do I get out of it?¡± Skrakch piped up. ¡°You deal it, she takes it. Where does that leave me?¡±


    ¡°Oh Squeakers,¡± Zach shook his head mockingly. ¡°If only your brains were as big as your bollocks! From what I heard, that stash is huge. We¡¯re talking hundreds, maybe thousands of gold in product. Once we start selling, the money¡¯s just gonna roll in. Even me with my street smarts couldn¡¯t shift that much on my own and, as much as she wanted to, even if she lived to a hundred, Winnie couldn¡¯t drink it all!¡±


    ¡°And yer nae plannin¡¯ on giving any of it to Sykes?¡± Winifred asks. She takes a deep drink from her tankard before gratefully taking a pie from a nearby serving wench. Skrakch watched as she bit into it, not caring that some of the gravy dribbled down her chin. ¡°Have ye lost yer wee head?¡± She asked, mouth full of dubious meat.


    ¡°Oh well, this just gets better and better!¡± Skrakch spat sarcastically. Zach was honestly going to save the whole lot for himself and not even shift some of it Sykes¡¯ way? Sykes was the biggest dealer in Dray¡¯Mel and utterly untouchable. Everyone knew that. He was a well-known fighter himself, having worked his way up from the pits.


    Worse yet, he was famous for more then using his fists, no, Sykes was famous in Dray¡¯Mel for his command over magic as well. And as one of the largest drug pushers in The Slums, he had practically an entire horde of bodyguards who were more than willing to lay down their lives for him. Drugs were a fool¡¯s game but cheating Sykes out of product? That was just pure insanity.


    ¡°Look,¡± Zach lowered his voice and leaned in. ¡°Sykes doesn¡¯t need to know. The bastard has enough dosh already and I¡¯m getting mighty sick of hauling my arse all over town selling his shit while he sits back and reaps the rewards. So he gets a little bit of competition in the Dragon Blood market? He won¡¯t give a shite. He¡¯s loaded! And who knows? Maybe his bodyguards won¡¯t be so loyal when they find out there¡¯s more money elsewhere, perhaps with the up-and-coming Halfling they¡¯re hearing about on the grapevine,¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± Skrakch waved a paw dismissively, done with Zach¡¯s fabulist nonsense. ¡°As long as I get paid,¡± He added with a shrug. He highly doubted that Zach was about to become Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s next drug baron anytime soon but a new adventure brought more than the promise of monetary gain.


    Where there was danger, there was a chance to prove himself. And a chance to prove himself meant another shot at becoming Chosen. As always, Skrakch kept his eyes on the prize. ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± He continued, flagging down a serving wench for another ale. ¡°Plus, Sykes has always creeped me out. He looks at me like he wants to eat me.¡±


    ¡°Aye, and here ye both are forgetting the important bit,¡± Winifred said, wiping the excess gravy from her mouth with her sleeve. ¡°Where the bloody hell is this fantastic stash? Not under some noble¡¯s lock and key again?¡±


    Zach winced slightly, obviously still touchy about the food token debacle. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before shrugging and grinning.


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing. It¡¯s in the Undead District¡­¡±


    The three of them fell silent for a moment, staring down at their tankards. Winifred shook her head in disbelief.


    ¡°Well, fuck.¡±

 Chapter Twenty One - Casing The Joint

    ¡°Listen, it won¡¯t be that bad mate,¡± Zach said with all the confidence and bluster of a bloody fool. ¡°We¡¯ll head in under the cover of darkness and be out before you know it. Bob¡¯s your uncle!¡±


    ¡°Oh sure, a simple stroll through some Ghouls and Zombies! What could go wrong?¡± Skrakch spat. ¡°Everyone in Dray¡¯Mel knows the Undead are famed for their welcoming natures!¡± He affected the gait of a shuffling zombie. ¡°Welcome¡­¡± he hissed in his best ¡®uUdead¡¯ voice. ¡°Would you like some tea?... I only want to eat your face¡­¡±


    As soon as Zach had gotten their full agreement, the eager Halfling decided there was no time like the present. He wanted to get to the stash and claim it before anyone else did. Which is how Skrakch found himself leaving the comfort and ale of the Plagued Rat and following Zach on a trek around the Inner Wall instead.


    ¡°Oh and you best believe we¡¯re going at night,¡± Skrakch continued, dropping the accent. ¡°I¡¯m not sticking around until sun up. Just the idea of it is enough to turn my stomach and you know I¡¯m not exactly a delicate flower.¡±


    The irritated Ratling didn¡¯t need to see Zach¡¯s nod to know that the Halfling agreed with his sentiment. It was a well-known fact amongst the Slums that the denizens of the Undead District were much more active during the day. And by active, Skrakch thought to himself with a shudder, he meant they¡¯d move twice as fast and be even quicker to throw themselves at anything moving in their eyesight. Thankfully, the Undead calmed down somewhat as soon as darkness fell over the city.


    ¡°You know, nobody knows exactly why the Undead are calmer during the night,¡± Skrakch said as they moved along the wall. ¡°It¡¯s a hotly debated subject-¡±


    ¡°Nope. No book learning, please. Ain¡¯t got the stomach for it,¡± Zach interrupted, waving a hand dismissively.


    Skrakch rolled his eyes. Of course. You wanted to give Zach a good scare? Show him a library. He shook his head and tutted to himself.


    The Ratling turned his attention to the ruined houses close to the Inner Walls. A lot of residents of the Slums had tried their hand at scavenging past the Inner Walls. It was seen as something like a rite of passage for the teenage Human folk to bring something back from one of the houses as a way to prove themselves. The smartest of them went only once and saw firsthand how dangerous it was. The rest ended up fodder for the Undead horde.


    Still, if you were able to come across some truly impressive loot, it was a quick ticket to some hard earned coin but only the craziest Slum-Runners tried it more than once. Skrakch had personally seen one poor sap get ripped apart limb from limb the last time he¡¯d gone on a scavenge run. For a while, he¡¯d been convinced that was his route to becoming Chosen but, after seeing that, he¡¯d sworn on the spot not to do it again.


    And yet here he was. How quickly such oaths were broken. Now he was prodding and poking the Inner Walls, trying to find a decent break in the stonework so that he could risk getting his face ripped off.


    Even in the Slums, the areas around either side of the Inner Walls were left vacant. Nobody wanted to set up shop or home and risk finding that the Undead denizens had found a fresh opening. The Tomb Makers were pretty diligent at keeping most gaps contained but all it took was one particularly persistent Zombie or Ghoul and then all hell would break loose.


    Still, the lack of people around certainly made the job easier. The two rogues were able to quickly traverse the empty streets, picking their way around the occasional spot of rubble. Most of the alleyways, like the rest of the Slums, were rather cramped but Skrakch had long gotten used to the tight quarters.


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    It wasn¡¯t long into their search that Zach suddenly grabbed Skrakch by the shoulder and covered his mouth. Before Skrakch could bite him and protest about having the Halfling¡¯s disgusting hand touching him, he could see why he¡¯d done it. The usual eerie silence was disturbed by a rustling sound up ahead. Nodding briskly, Skrakch pulled Zach¡¯s hand from his face and slowly made his way forward.


    Everything within him screamed at him to turn tail and run but, with his body on high alert, he crept onwards, making sure Zach stayed in his sights. The both of them were adept thieves, well versed in keeping a light step, so it didn¡¯t take them long to get near the source of the sound. Arriving at a bend in the narrow street, Skrakch carefully poked his head around a dilapidated building. Just around the corner stood a figure, lean and gaunt in shape.


    Garbed in torn rags, the figure was hunched over, its back to them. One look at his twisted frame, even from this distance, was enough to let Skrakch know that it wasn¡¯t a simple thief or some dumb teen out to prove himself by the Walls. Keeping his eyes on the figure, Skrakch could make out the blood alongside the sound of flesh being devoured.


    Normally, such a sight would be more than enough for Skrakch to assume it was a solitary Ghoul. An easy enough threat for them to handle. But, as he continued to watch the figure, he was filled with a sense of dread. Things weren¡¯t going to be that easy for them.


    Carefully learning back around the corner, Skrakch knew that it would be suicide to speak aloud to his partner. Thankfully, most rogues within the city knew a common second language. The Thieves Cant. He had to admit that he was a bit rusty at it, but Skrakch quickly signed towards Zach in a flurry of hand motions. Careful. Threat. Not Ghoul.


    Zach stared at him for a couple of minutes, obviously trying to process whatever he¡¯d try to tell him. Eventually, he rolled his eyes and shoved Skrakch aside to take a look for himself. He peered around the corner for a moment before lurching backward. Slowly moving through the motions, Zach replied in a fully understandable version of the Thieves Cant that made Skrakch¡¯s earlier movements look like he was trying to wrap an invisible present. Badly.


    Threat. Dangerous. Avoid. Shade.


    Nodding to each other, the two stealthily crept past the creature, making sure not to make any noise. Thankfully, the figure was hellbent on devouring its meal, and as they made their way past it through the street, Skrakch caught sight of what it was eating.


    With a look of pure bliss on its face, the rather average looking Human was in the midst of stuffing his face with his own intestines. Gnawing and gnashing at his own bloody esophagus, the man dug deep into his own chest and stomach to pull more and more flesh loose. Blood was pooling by his feet, but the beast was too enraptured to notice.


    Swallowing the bile that threatened to spill forth, Skrakch hastened his steps before the two of them left the man behind, turning down a separate street.


    ¡°By the Gods Below, what the Hells was that?¡± Skrakch coughed out as soon as they were safely out of the creature¡¯s earshot, spitting a glob into the street as he continued putting as much distance between the creature and him as he could.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never seen one of those? That poor bastard was some schmuck who got unlucky enough to run into a Shade.¡± Zach looked a bit disturbed but had already returned to the business at hand. ¡°Bloody things are rare, thankfully. Supposedly it¡¯s some kind of Wraith, but instead of picking up fools for the Butchery, it just takes them for itself. Possesses the body, and then acts out however it wants. I guess by not having your own body, you end up missing things. Judging by what that one was up to, the thing it was missing was a good meal,¡± Zach let out a dark chuckle, prodding the walls as he looked for an opening.


    ¡°Shades are real?¡± Skrakch looked at Zach with wide eyes. For all his studying in the Dray¡¯Mel library, he was certain the Shades were a myth, a story brothers and sisters told their younger siblings to frighten them into fits. ¡°Gods Above¡­¡±


    Though to be fair, Skrakch had seen enough ghastly critters that he shouldn¡¯t have been surprised. If Dray¡¯Mel could be counted on for one thing, it was new and invigorating ways to get killed.


    ¡°Oi! Squeakers! Look what I¡¯ve found,¡± Zach was tossing aside a large piece of rotting wood, he let out a low whistle as he uncovered a decent enough sized hole in the Inner Walls. ¡°I bet we can fit Ornn through that bad boy. All we need to do is come back later with the Goblin and Winnie and then we¡¯re golden,¡± Zach grinned at him and Skrakch grimaced in return. ¡°Come on mate, it won¡¯t be that bad. Think of the coin!¡±

 Chapter Twenty Two - A Stupid Bloody Plan

    It was a stupid plan. A stupid bloody plan.


    Skrakch stood in the pouring rain, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, all the while getting drenched from head to jagged toenail. Because, of course, the heavens had opened as soon as they¡¯d set out on this fool notion of theirs. His fur was matted to his skin and his leather coat was stinking to high heavens. His mood was as dour as it had ever been as he looked over his motley crew.


    Zach had a confident grin on his face but that didn¡¯t mean anything. The Halfling would go to the grave wearing that shit-eating grin. Hells, he¡¯d be grinning even if he was being devoured by a pack of hungry Ghouls.


    In fact, that was one of the few upsides to the next few hours. He might actually get to see that happen and, quite frankly, it would be a joy to leave the bastard to get eaten. Skrakch just needed to make sure he didn¡¯t get dragged down alongside him.


    On the flip side to Zacharias¡¯ confident air, Meekknuckle looked like he was about to keel over or vomit. Perhaps both. It had taken quite a bit of bribery and cajoling to convince the Goblin to join him on the outing.


    Despite being a total coward, Meek was pretty damn useful when he needed to be. If they were going to need any healing, and given that Zach was involved they almost certainly would, Meek would be their best bet.


    More importantly, though, was the presence of Ornn who automatically came with Meek, no questions asked. The giant stone Golem stood unflinching in the downpour, its face set into its customary angry frown. The behemoth of a creation would be perfect at smashing their way through any Ghouls or Zombies they may encounter.


    Plus, Skrakch had seen the creature move at its top speed before and he was completely sure that he¡¯d had no trouble outrunning it. His number one rule was when going on a suicide mission, always make sure you went with someone or something that you could outrun.


    Last but not least, the Ratling eyed Winifred. Dressed back in her fighter¡¯s gear, she was currently downing a fresh vial of Dragon¡¯s Blood. Skrakch could understand why to a certain degree. Dragon¡¯s Blood was powerful, doubling the size of your Mana pool and enhancing the body.


    Of course, it was highly addictive and had a nasty habit of shortening your lifespan but hey, Skrakch wasn¡¯t about to judge. So long as she was willing to burn herself out, he would gladly take advantage. He watched as the brawler wiped her mouth and closed her eyes, allowing the drug to do its work and no doubt enjoying the high it gave her. It was pathetic to see really but each to their own.


    Scowling up at the rain clouds, Skrakch tried shaking his cloak free of the damnable water. ¡°By Krendor¡¯s Beard, how long are we going to be stuck waiting here, Zach? I¡¯m freezing my toes off, and unlike some of you, I only have six!¡±, the Ratling whined.


    ¡°Yeah, you mentioned that already,¡± Zach said with a roll of his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s only been a few minutes Skrakch. We just need to wait a couple more for the damn skeleton above to continue its patrol.¡± Zach said, absentmindedly spinning his daggers.


    Swearing at the damnable Halfling once more, Skrakch distracted himself by running over the plan. It was deceptively simple actually. The Slums were well known for having rather shoddy blockages that lead through the Inner Wall, so all they needed to do was wait for the patrolling Tomb-Makers above to leave the area, and they were clear to sneak through the crack they were all waiting nearby.


    Staring up at the ancient stone wall, Skrakch could just barely make out the shape of the guardsman above them. From the heavy thumping and the bits of blackened armor he could see, it was likely one of the Death Knights.


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    One of the upsides to living in Dray¡¯Mel was the tireless Undead defenders lining the walls. Of course, some people said they were less defending the citizens, more protecting their livestock. Personally, Skrakch didn¡¯t mind the idea of his body ending in some Mummy¡¯s stomach. Once he was dead, he was dead. No reason to care. Mind you, he had no plans to die anytime soon, and even less intention of ending up in the Butchery.


    Shuddering for reasons outside of the freezing cold rain, Skrakch bundled his cloak around him tightly. There was no good result from a living creature heading to the Butchery, as most folks called it. The Noble¡¯s called it the Resting Place as if anyone would believe that. To him, it was akin to the misleading fairy stories that Humans told their children. A way to sugarcoat something horrific so that they never had to face the reality of how harsh the world really was.


    ¡°Alright people, look alive! We¡¯ve got a few minutes before the next patrol heads by, so let¡¯s get going.¡± Zach calls out, nudging Winifred forward. ¡°There¡¯s a half-collapsed building on the other side of the wall, just make sure the coast is clear before we move on.¡±


    The young woman muttered a few curses under her breath, but she scrambled her way through the opening quickly. Following deftly behind, Zach climbed through with practiced ease.


    Shoving Meekknuckle forward, Skrakch turned an eye towards Ornn. He wasn¡¯t actually sure the big fucker would fit, but the Golem very single-mindedly followed Meek through, simply bashing the hole larger with his girth.


    The Ratling didn¡¯t waste any time following, pulling himself into the granite hole in the wall. Thankfully, Ornn had made the opening even larger, so it was easy enough to cross the wall splitting the Slums from the Undead district. Falling through in a silent roll, Skrakch quickly looked over his new surroundings.


    As Zacharias had promised, they stood inside a broken-down residence. Bare as the day it was built, anything of value had long been looted from the dilapidated building. Hells, even the roof had collapsed inwards, giving them plenty of cover to peek out of. Shifting some rubble out of his way, Skrakch surveyed the empty street.


    Wider than the Slums, the Undead district would no doubt have been quite impressive hundreds of years ago. Sadly, these days the cobblestone was torn and ruined, and the lampposts that adorned the streets were covered in blood and worse.


    Popping his head out beside the Ratling, Zacharias took in the empty street with a well-practiced gaze. ¡°Looks like we got lucky for once. I told you this plan was a banger,¡± Zach said with his customary grin.


    Skrakch was seconds from retorting angrily as they heard a low moan ring out from across the street. As a figure shambled into sight, the gang of thieves and worse all quickly crouched down and watched in silence as a Zombie shuffled into the open street.


    Decomposing flesh covered its frame, its eyes having long since decayed away, leaving sockets filled with fly larvae. One of its legs was twisted backward and it was missing its left arm. Only a fool would take that to mean that it didn¡¯t present any danger. As it ambled along mindlessly, bits of necrotic flesh dropped off it like blackened snowflakes. Watching as the creature repeatedly bumped into a door frame, Skrakch sent out a silent prayer, before pulling a stone from one of his many pouches. Reeling backward, he chucked the stone over the Zombies¡¯ head, as far down the broken street as he could.


    As the thrown stone clattered against the cobblestone, the Zombies¡¯ head snapped around to the source. Charging forward, the creature moved with unnatural swiftness, its broken leg barely slowing it down. Just watching the Zombie move like that made Skrakch feel sick to his stomach.


    As the lurching Zombie quickly reached a particularly large piece of ruined cobblestone, Skrakch¡¯s band of misfits gulped as one, as the zombie lifted the slab-like boulder like it was nothing, tossing it aside like paper.


    Thankfully, upon finding nothing of interest the Zombie once more resumed it¡¯s aimless shuffling. Whiskers quivering with fear, Skrakch stepped into the street, each step carefully placed.


    Unlike Ghouls, Zombies were almost blind. No, the necromantic energy had instead fortified the rotten corpses'' physical form, leading to an unnatural vitality. Thankfully, the damnable things fought each other as viciously as they hunted the living, and could be easily distracted. Just the thought of Zombies prowling in larger packs like Ghouls was enough to send a shiver down Skrakch¡¯s back.


    Motioning at the others, the quiet Ratling took a hesitant step into the street. Carefully watching the Zombie, he didn¡¯t notice any immediate reaction. Satisfied, Skrakch began leading the way further into the city.


    After all, the plan was simple. Just don¡¯t get caught.

 Chapter Twenty Three - A Bloody Fool

    She was a bloody fool for going through with this plan.


    Hells, she¡¯d said as much earlier. Multiple times if she recalled correctly. But, as he often did, Zacharias had somehow convinced her. Or, more accurately, the allure of a lifetime¡¯s supply of Dragon¡¯s Blood had convinced her. She didn¡¯t really earn that much coin from the various pies she had her fingers in and Gods Below knew fighting in the pits wasn¡¯t exactly lucrative, so the idea of never having to pay for her rather expensive indulgence again was definitely a positive one.


    Gingerly following behind the Ratling as he scouted a path through the empty streets, Winifred could feel the latest dose of the concoction pumping through her veins. The stuff was a bloody revelation even after all this time of taking it. It made her feel pretty damn amazing, stronger and faster, and goddamn invincible. The urge to just let loose and charge ahead was almost overwhelmingly strong. She felt as though she could take on anyone and do anything.


    Of course, that was just one of the many side effects. Dragon¡¯s Blood was Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s drug of choice for that very reason. Half of the seedy underbelly of the Slums was addicted to the stuff, desperate to feel anything but despair for once. Even a destitute''s life would feel wonderful under its spell. Grimacing, she tried not to put herself in that category. She wasn¡¯t rich but she wasn¡¯t really poor either, making enough to keep her drunk on ale, feasting on meat pies, and a warm roof over her head. It was easy for her to consider herself a cut above the losers who used it just for its cheap high and not to maximize its full effects on the body.


    She¡¯d gotten swayed into trying the Elixir after a particularly brutal loss early on in her pit fighting career. Zacharias had approached her and said he had just the thing to keep it from happening again. She hadn¡¯t been surprised when he¡¯d produced a vial of the thick red liquid. Most of the other fighters used it, so she¡¯d figured, why not level the playing field?


    With a connection to a supplier, it was easy enough to obtain and honestly, it didn¡¯t taste that bad. One dose of it and she was hooked on the feeling of power and the way it made her body feel. Naturally, that meant that she found herself needing more and more to obtain that unbeatable ¡®powerhouse¡¯ feeling.


    As the young brawler watched a Zombie shuffle around blindly, she was reminded of why -exactly- she shouldn¡¯t have taken any. Many fools had chased the Dragon to a painful death. But still, she could still remember that first time. The sheer bliss of it. It had been like nothing she¡¯d ever felt before. All her life she¡¯d been told to act the lady, simper, and giggle and flutter her eyelashes, waiting for the knight on the white horse to take her away and show her a life of luxury where all she needed to worry about was what dress to wear to the latest ball.


    She snorted quietly, shaking her head. She wasn¡¯t that type of woman. She hungered for power, for adventure, and chasing the Dragon gave her that power. She knew that her addiction would have brought shame to Blackmaul but he wasn¡¯t around, was he? What good was her dwarven mentor to her now that he¡¯d gone to the Butchery?


    Stumbling abruptly into Skrakch, the bloody vermin had the gall to shoot her a glare. Still, as they peered around the hollow shell of a building, she could see why they¡¯d stopped. A pack of Ghouls was in the middle of eating one of their own up ahead. Five of them seemed to be fighting over what little flesh still remained on the prone Ghoul''s torso, while four others had moved away with its now separated limbs.


    Ghouls were simple creatures. Their single-minded desire was for meat, and they certainly didn¡¯t care where that meat came from. This meant that most of the Ghouls in the Undead District had a nasty habit of turning on their fellows when other sources ran dry.


    It usually took the emergence of an Alpha for them to actually unite and seek living flesh. Alphas were few and far between these days. The Tomb-Makers were quick to put down anything that even resembled an Alpha, thankfully. She just hoped none of the eagle-eyed archers up in the city walls noticed their merry band of misfits.


    Still, even on their own, a Ghoul could prove a real threat. All it took was one slip up, and their thick paralyzing tongue could render a man immobile in seconds. Then came the claws, shredding your insides to bits as they crammed their fill down their rotting gullets.


    ¡®Course, she wasn¡¯t worried. The brunette brawler cracked her knuckles and kept her eyes on the lanky Ghoul¡¯s figures. She¡¯d long moved past the fear that came from a scrap. Hells, she almost welcomed the chance to gamble it all...


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    Unaware of her reckless thoughts, and sidling up beside her and Skrakch, Zacharias nodded in the Undead¡¯s direction. ¡°The building we¡¯re looking for is a few blocks past them. Any ideas for how to get past them quietly?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you usually the one with the great ideas?¡± Skrakch replied sarcastically. He rolled his eyes at the Halfling and continued. The relationship between the wee man and the rat was a strange one, to say the least. Most of the time the two acted like they couldn¡¯t stand each other but, put them on a job together, and they complemented each other perfectly. ¡°There are two options I can think of,¡± Skrakch continued. ¡°They¡¯re spread out enough that we could take them out and hope nothing more dangerous in the area doesn''t notice before we put them all down¡­or, even better I think, we could hogtie you and toss you out there. I reckon that¡¯d be a good distraction,¡± the glib Ratling added with an evil grin.


    ¡°Yer off ye wee head Rattie,¡± Winifred piped up, ignoring the banter between the two. She didn¡¯t really understand why they continued working together when they clearly hated each other but she didn¡¯t much care to pursue it. ¡°They¡¯re nae spread out. Most of them are clumped together there,¡± She pointed in the direction of the feasting Ghouls. ¡°I¡¯d say our best bet is hitting them all at once.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going with what Winnie says,¡± Zacharias said after surveying the scene once more. ¡°I¡¯ll trust a tactically minded pit fighter over a scared shitless vermin any day.¡± The ginger rogue smirked smugly in Skrakch¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Orrn and I can bash through the clumped ones nae bother,¡± Winifred continued. ¡°You wee dainty types can handle the stragglers I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Nodding sharply, Skrakch leaned over and grabbed a pair of daggers from Zacharias¡¯ waist. ¡°On it, try not to make too much noise. The last thing we need right now is to bring the whole Undead District down on us.¡± The brown Iskrin said, picking his way through the uneven streets and ignoring Zach¡¯s whispered curses at having some of his weapons stolen.


    Winking at Winifred, Zacharias moved off to follow Skrakch. A dark mist appeared to pour out from his body, swirling around him and enveloping him like a thick veil. Winifred watched him as he left. Once upon a time, she¡¯d been jealous of that particular trick of his. But, as she reassured herself, she was a simple woman and much preferred to spend her Mana on the more physical aspects.


    Giving the two of them time to get into position, Winifred pondered the best way to get it done. Really though, the simple approach would work, so all she needed to do was convince the Goblin to send his stone guardian away from himself. She hadn¡¯t had much to do with Meekknuckle before now. He was more of Skrakch¡¯s minion, though even he seemed to treat the Goblin badly.


    Cracking her knuckles once more, Winifred turned to stare at Meekknuckle as he tried to hide behind Ornn¡¯s thick stone legs.


    ¡°Listen, you wee shite. You¡¯re gonna send that pet of yours in there, and you¡¯re gonna follow close behind. If those wee Ghoulies bite me, the first thing you do is heal me. Is that nae clear?¡± Winifred demanded, calloused hands clapping down on the skinny Goblin¡¯s shoulders, making him jump. He nodded his head furiously.


    ¡°Me understand! Ornn go fight, and Meekknuckle supervise. Meek good at supervise.¡± The Goblin states, clearly trying to pep himself up. ¡°We smash them. Real quick. Very quiet. If Scary Lady get hurt, Meek heal!¡±


    Nodding to the daft wretch, Winifred watched the stone Golem start to lumber forward, stepping into its shadow as she trailed after it. There was no way she was going in first, not with such a convenient wrecking ball at hand.


    They managed to close the gap to fifty paces before the first Ghoul noticed the charging warriors. Tossing aside the ravaged meat in its clawed hands, it let out a snarl alerting the others, before rushing forward to attack.


    Throwing itself at Ornn without a single shred of hesitancy, the beast flailed and bit with all its strength. Still, the massive Golem was built with battle in mind and while it staggered from the force of the blows, its sturdy exterior shrugged off the ghouls'' frenzied attacks. Of course, bites weren¡¯t going to affect his stone form but the daft beasties still tried anyway.


    Stepping around Ornn¡¯s back, Winifred let out a feral snarl of her own, channeling her Mana into her arms before smashing downwards with her fists. Cleaving through one of the rotten thing''s head with her enhanced strength, she danced back behind Ornn as the rest of the ghouls reached them.


    Thankfully, the Undead weren¡¯t smart enough to try and get around the massive pile of rubble shaped like a man, so it was just a matter of taking her time to spot an opening and¡­ Winifred darted forward, grabbing a Ghoul and tossing it back into a sprawling heap.


    Throwing herself atop of it, she started raining down blows on its defenseless face, pulverizing it into the cobblestone. It still tossed out the occasional swipe, but the pummeling kept it disoriented until its face caved in with a squelch, and it finally went still.


    A quick glance around the battlefield showed that the fight was well in hand, the vermin and Zach handling the outliers. All she needed to do was help Ornn with his Ghouls, and they were well on their way to getting the Dragon¡¯s Blood.


    Watching the mindless things dogpile the Golem, she couldn¡¯t help but smile. She may be a fool, but she intended to be a rich one.

 Interlude - The Death of a City

    600 years ago...


    There were few places Rath¡¯Mel could remember from his vast travels that had taken his breath away. The Enchanted Forest of the Elves, which had been hidden away deep in an untamed jungle, home to trees as large as mountains with hundreds of little buildings adorning each one. The Home of the Gnomes, residing atop a perpetually drifting cloud, being held together with a staggering amount of arcane runes and the technomancy they had invented. Or even the deepest caverns of the Kobolds, massive chasms in the earth lit up only by the gems and minerals the Kobolds thought were beneath their notice.


    But even with such sights as grand as those, it was always the Dray¡¯Mel Gardens he thought of in his lowest points. Of quieter times, planting the rare and unique plants and nurturing them by hand from tiny seedlings. What had started as a simple bed of flowers had grown into a repository of truly one-of-a-kind horticultural phenomena. The hours he had spent and the love he¡¯d put into this place only hurt all the more, as he watched his apprentices finish clearing out space for his upcoming spell.


    In the place of life-saving herbs, fresh blood was being shaped into the formation of a variety of runes. It was fortunate that they still had a few prisoners languishing in the dungeons to drain, as each rune they sprawled out used the entire lifeblood of a human male. Standing amid the rapidly growing formation, Rath¡¯Mel channeled his Mana flow deep into the runes, attuning himself to the upcoming spell.


    With placement finished, loyal soldiers stepped forward kneeling all around him, ready to give their lives for their cause. Taking a moment to look at each of them, Rath¡¯Mel reached deep inside of himself, drawing forth the power of his Pact. The spell he intended to cast was beyond even him in scope, requiring a sacrifice and a portion of his soul to fuel the missing link.


    Devour¡­


    Imbuing the spell with his Crux, he slowly began to drain the life of the sacrifices, using their life force to power the spell needed to destroy the invading army, once and for all.


    As the torrential power coursed through him, he struggled to contain the sheer joy he was beginning to feel. With each drop of Mana he felt undulating within his very soul, the desire to lose himself in the magic grew and grew, almost overpowering him as he began to channel the mana into the air above him.


    The amount of mana being conjured forth began to twist the very air itself, the world seeming to pull down on the castle as it grew laden with power. Each of the ritual sacrifices fell to the ground, desiccated corpses drained entirely of blood. Even his apprentices began to fall to the ground, their life force being wrested from them. The spell Rath¡¯Mel was beginning to cast was taking a life of its own, just as he had intended.


    The spell would drain each living soul in Dray¡¯Mel, killing all of them in a last act of defiance. The only survivor of this battle would be the Dreaded Archmage, and with the dying gasp of the city, he would advance himself once more along his path to power. Leaning heavily on the power inside of him, he cast the Mana he¡¯d accumulated throughout the city.


    Devour¡­ Devour¡­ Devour¡­


    As the spell billowed through the city on foul winds, the defending army and the invaders began to feel weak. Their weapons dropping to the ground, the average soldier could barely resist as their life force drained away, leaving thousands dead or dying, falling on top of one another like so much meat on the chopping block.


    Even as the spell took away those lives, however, it gave back more and more to Rath¡¯Mel. The channeled mana swirled and churned, the faces of the dead screaming out in pain above him. With it burning through his veins, the once decrepit mage could feel laughter bubbling up inside of him as his flesh seemed to revert through time, the years falling off his bones. Infused with life, he began the final steps of his spell, drawing the wild mana into a single bead of power.


    <hr>


    Sitting atop his palomino steed Briarwave, Arthur Brighthammer stared at the sight of his men storming through enemy territory. His fingers itched to join them, and he shifted restlessly in his saddle. With every death of one of the soldiers, his heart bled for him to Aid them. He was one of the army¡¯s most decorated and revered Captains.


    Born to a noble family, he¡¯d shunned the airs and graces he¡¯d been expected to adopt and had spent his youth around the stablehands and the local blacksmith. When his peers were learning how to eat soup without spilling it down their fine clothes, he was involved in some rough and tumble with his wooden sword. It had broken his dear parent¡¯s hearts when he had announced that he was to join up and serve The Order at the tender age of seventeen.


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    But, even that rambunctious scrap of a boy who would spend his days cleaning out dirt in the stables for a free ride of a steed, had always known the military was his destiny.


    As such, the Hallowed Pilgrim had been forged in the crucible of war and he knew that so far, the battle for Dray¡¯Mel had been too easy. The conscripted soldiers in his army had talked about the great swell of power and death that had opened the battlefield, but Arthur knew enough about his enemy that it was but a prelude of what was to come.


    Instead, they had managed to breach the city walls on the first push of the army, their ballista allowed to fire with impunity. One Chosen had flown forth to stop them, but he had flown alone, and died to the Stalwart Paladin¡¯s maul. And while the White Mage had come into contact with a second Chosen and paid the ultimate price, the inner city walls would soon fall completely.


    All of this with no answer from the ruler of this grand city, the Dreaded Archmage himself. And it was that which told Arthur he would need to hold off. Who else but he would stand a chance at slaying the foul creature masquerading as a man, once and for all?


    Briarwave dug his left hoof into the ground as if sensing his master¡¯s restlessness.


    ¡°Steady boy,¡± Arthur said, patting the faithful stallion on his neck. Briarwave shook his mane and whinnied impatiently.


    Arthur¡¯s left hand touched the chest of his plate armor. Underneath it, hanging over his heart, was a silver chain with a drop of rose quartz hanging on it. It was certainly not the usual attire of a decorated soldier but Adelynn had insisted he wear it.


    ¡°Rose quartz, my brave captain, is the stone of unconditional love.¡±


    She¡¯d hung the stone around his neck and tucked it down underneath his armor before he¡¯d set out with his troops. Beautiful Adelynn Dorrel, eldest of the Dorrel sisters and his future bride. He had told himself on that first night away from the city, that he would marry her as soon as he was back in Chersetra. He¡¯d already been away from her for too long and his heart was sore with longing for her sweet face and the scent of her Lilfage perfume.


    It was almost a relief, therefore, when Arthur finally began to notice the Mana bubbling forth from Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s keep. Finally, the counter-attack was coming, but the sheer scope of it took him by surprise. Feeling the Mana in the air building to a ruinous crescendo, he immediately headed towards the source.


    Clicking his stirrups, Briarwave let out a whinny and unfurled two beautiful white wings from its equine back. Taking off into the sky, the Pilgrim had a first-hand view, as the foul magic began to ripple through the soldiers, perverting their life force and draining their souls.


    Flying overhead of the open Gardens, he took in the sight of his hated foe, the Mana accumulating above the decrepit Mage. An errant wisp of the Mana touched Briarwave, who immediately began to scream and writhe, the magic draining the Pegasus into a disgusting lump of rotting flesh in mere moments.


    Letting himself fall to the ground, there was no time to mourn the loss. He was immediately bombarded with pure malicious energies, seeking to inject itself into his very soul. With his limbs degrading before his very eyes, Arthur raised his hand to the sky, pushing forth with his all his might.


    Aid¡­


    Flying down from on high was the very basis of his faith. Once during his very first war, his eagerness to prove himself meant that he had taken a sword to the chest and nearly died. Left for dead by his band of brothers, he¡¯d been taken care of by the old man in the infirmary for weeks. And as he slipped in and out of consciousness, he had seen what lay in store for him in the afterlife. An endless battlefield, with creatures beyond comprehension battling each other relentlessly. Mortal souls at their feet, being crushed and reborn, just to be crushed once more.


    And from that dreary hellscape, a being of endless power had rescued him. Lifting him and healing his body, the Hallowed Pilgrim had spent his life in service of the Gods of Order, and the Angels who served them.


    Descending once more before him, Arthur hoped for an equal miracle, rewinding the damage done by the Dreaded Archmage¡¯s spell. But even as he felt the Angel¡¯s power repair his body, he felt the two opposing Mana¡¯s clash with one another, each smashing against the other like the ebb and tide of the sea. Finally, the two sources of Mana hit a tipping point, and rather than fight, they seemed to merge. One spell to save lives, one meant to drain them. Melding together to leave the inhabitants of the city neither alive nor dead in a strange purgatory.


    Retreating before the overflowing magical energy, the Angel fled without a single glance towards Arthur, as the Pilgrim coughed up his last breath. Laying on the Gardens soil, he looked up one last time to see Rath¡¯Mel frozen in place, the flesh and blood of his body peeling off his bones. The last thing Arthur saw before his last living moment though, was the Dreaded Archmages eyes, blazing in empty sockets with an unquenched fervor. Arthur raised a trembling hand to his chest and was still.


    <hr>


    Standing once more, Fang¡¯Mel could only stare at his hands. One moment, he was falling, the next he was whole. All around him, the infantry of both sides began to stir.


    It was only when he tried to take a step forward that he noticed the change. Broken and mangled as his body was, it had needed more flesh to recover. Choking on his bile, he stared down at his body, as he realized that everything below his torso had merged with his gargoyle mount.


    Casting his eyes around him, looking for salvation, the only thing he saw was the dead men rising, throwing themselves at each other in desperate hunger. Small pockets of surviving soldiers pushed to escape the swarms of undead, but the unending nature of their foes doomed them to failure.


    With a wail of anguish, the Gray Fox took to the skies with bat-like wings, watching as the city of Dray¡¯Mel came back to life, and died once more. Stuck in a cycle of rebirth and decay.


    Forever locked in a state of undeath.

 Chapter Twenty Four - Politics, Innit?

    Zach wasn¡¯t much of a fan of fighting the Undead. Most of the fun from a good scrap came from bloodying your knuckles on someone whose brains wouldn¡¯t explode all over your jacket. The living tended to bite less too, at least in his experience. The other thing was that Ghouls tended to have a rather distinct smell of rot which had a rather annoying tendency to hang around on your clothes. Not something the lovely ladies of the docks appreciated.


    Zach didn¡¯t find himself aiming for the face as much these days. It was a hell of a lot more satisfying to use his blade on his target''s neck, slicing it through the muscles from behind and watching his foe drop, choking on his own blood. There was something all the more pleasing about that desperate gurgling sound they¡¯d make as they slowly bled to death.


    Even that was ruined on Ghouls though. The damn things were slow, shambling, and stupid. Not capable of appreciating a good takedown.


    The two Ghouls currently in front of him were focused more on his companions. That was the joy of this particular trick of his. A quick veil of shadows was enough to trick a Ghoul''s shite senses, even if they weren¡¯t completely distracted. Hells, they hadn¡¯t even realized that he¡¯d gotten close enough to practically taste the damned Undead¡¯s foul odor.


    Letting the swirling shadows that hid his form away drop off, Zach brought one of his daggers up silently and thrust it straight into the first Ghoul¡¯s ear canal, plunging the blade deep into what was left of its brain. The creature immediately dropped to the ground bonelessly and Zach was able to close the distance on the Ghoul¡¯s mate in a matter of seconds.


    Calmly palming a second dagger, he plunged it swiftly through the beast¡¯s open mouth, up through its palate, and hit the brain once more. It was a risk, of course, aiming for such a dangerous spot on a beast known for their bites, but the creature had been mid roar, screaming at the sight of Ornn trudging into their midst.


    That was the magic of teamwork, he supposed. His moves with his daggers were a fucking work of art, naturally, and with a proper distraction, it was near child play. Carefully avoiding the spray of fetid blood that erupted from the Ghoul¡¯s mouth, Zach watched the Ghoul join its buddy on the cobblestone street, dead. Well, more dead, he supposed.


    Zach retrieved his daggers from the corpses, briefly reveling in the satisfying squelching noise as he pulled each one out. He wiped them clean on one of the Ghoul¡¯s rags and, checking to make sure that his jacket was pristine, he turned his attention onto his companions.


    Winnie and Ornn were charging forward through the main group, Ornn sending Ghouls flying left and right, their fragile necks snapping as they landed, rag-doll-like, on the ground. Winnie was hurling her fists left, right, and center, swiftly taking care of the ones that Ornn missed. The two worked well together, which was honestly surprising for a dumb rock creature and a hot-headed pit fighter. Maybe he¡¯d been wrong about Winnie. She was proving to be quite useful.


    He watched as Skrakch finished off the last of the outer Ghouls. The Ratling was clumsy as best, nowhere near his finesse at slaughter. Squeakers was the bookworm of their little group, hardly made for hand-to-hand combat. Still, his grasp on the arcane kept him useful, and the vermin was nearly as quiet as himself when it came to stealth.


    ¡°Alright Squeakers?¡± Zach greeted as he strutted over to him. ¡°I was expecting more Undead than this, kinda disappointing.¡±


    The Ratling ignored him for a moment, instead, he seemed focused on collecting some of the dead Ghoul¡¯s saliva. He pulled a small vial from his bandolier and filled it, raising it to the moonlight and studying it for a moment before stowing it away. Zach didn¡¯t even want to know, though no doubt Squeakers was collecting it for another daft potion of his.


    Skrakch didn¡¯t volunteer the information, but Zach was well aware that the Ratling was on good terms with someone in the Alchemist¡¯s Guild. Why else would the rodent be so keen on collecting random items, squirreling them away for later use?


    Hells, Zach had originally assumed Skrakch was making the potions himself until he learned how long it took to even become an apprentice of the art of Alchemy. The craft required years of dedication, years Skrakch simply didn¡¯t have, what with the pitiful lifespan of the average Iskrin.


    ¡°Aww, is it your first time out here Zacharias?¡± Skrakch sneered, grabbing the musing Halfling¡¯s attention. ¡°It¡¯s not so bad this close to the Wall. The Tomb-Makers shoot down any Undead that ventures too close to the city. Plus, it¡¯s still the middle of the night. We¡¯d be long dead if it was still light out.¡±


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    ¡°Why¡¯s that? They all come out to do their shopping or summat?¡± Zach replied with a snort. The rat was too clever for his liking. The little fucker always had been. He seemed to think his time wasted on books made him better than those out there living life. Consequently, it made him a bit of a know-it-all bastard, but so long as he was useful¡­ Zach would leave it be. For now of course.


    ¡°Ghouls and Zombies hunt based on their senses, so the dim light keeps them from acting up too much.¡± Skrakch continued, ignoring Zach¡¯s sarcasm and the fighting going on behind them. ¡°Once the sun comes out though, all bets are off. The damned things attack anything that moves, including each other. Then as night falls, they tend to recuperate, absorbing the Necromantic Energy to heal.¡±


    ¡°And I asked for the impromptu biology lesson when?¡± Zach spat, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s why no one has cleared them out yet-¡±


    ¡°Ah shit there¡¯s more¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d think some greedy Lordling would push to reclaim this part of the City, but there¡¯s little you can do against endless hordes of Undead.¡± Skrakch spat to the side, glaring around the destroyed city streets. ¡°The only ones with the power to do anything about it are the Tomb-Makers, but Gods Below know they aren¡¯t keen on the idea.¡±


    ¡°Politics innit,¡± Zach shrugged. ¡°And besides, all these Undead fuckers keep the people in the City under control. Pretty genius when you think about it,¡± He continued watching Winifred pull the jaw off a ghoul, before smashing its legs and tossing it aside. ¡°If you¡¯ve got a whole City that are shit scared shitless of what¡¯s just outside the walls, you¡¯re not gonna have an uprising on your hands-¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Skrakch said with enthusiasm. ¡°And that¡¯s how they make people think the Tomb Makers are a good idea! Because they keep the City safe and people are too scared to revolt against them and the Undead. It¡¯s way too much for-¡±


    ¡°Squeakers, Squeakers,¡± Zach waved a hand dismissively. ¡°You just agreed with me on something and honestly mate, it¡¯s making me feel a bit sick so how about we just get our eyes back on the prize and never speak of this again?¡±


    For a long moment, neither of them spoke, Skrakch¡¯s gaze affixed with a scowl and Zach grinning his damn perpetual smirk.


    ¡°We¡¯re looking for a large mausoleum, right?¡± Skrakch cleared his throat, and focused on the here and now. ¡°There¡¯s only one mausoleum in the area according to my research, belonged to some bigwigs back in the day. Lionheart¡¯s or some shit, just a bunch of rich folk who thought themselves too good for just lying in the dirt like us. So hopefully it¡¯s the one we¡¯re looking for,¡± He paused to side-eye Zach.


    ¡°Thankfully, the area ought to be clear for now,¡± He continued. ¡°If there were any more of the Undead in the area, they¡¯d be on us after hearing all that noise.¡± He tossed a paw in the direction of the ongoing melee between Winnie, Ornn, and the remaining Ghouls.


    Zach winced slightly as he watched Ornn pull a Ghoul off his back and pulverize it against the cobblestone. That really had to hurt. ¡°Yeah, I reckon you¡¯re right, Squeakers. I gotta admit, good call bringing the little thing and the rock.¡±


    ¡°The Goblin,¡± Skrakch corrected.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah whatever. We¡¯re not sharing the loot with ¡®em though right?¡± Zach continued, cutting to the heart of the matter.


    The Ratling made a small choking sound before chortling and shaking his head as though he¡¯d just suggested something ridiculous.


    ¡°Gods Below, I barely want to share it with you! The only payment Meek is going to get is with cheese. Goblins don¡¯t have a strong grasp on bartering, much less Ornn. Don¡¯t ask me how Meek tamed the damn thing but it seems happy to follow him around without any kind of reward,¡± He replied.


    Nodding to the fleabag, Zach decided to store that little tidbit of information for later. Maybe it was time to start befriending the little Goblin freak. Who knew what the future held? There could always come a time when he¡¯d need to part ways with the rat and the fighter. If either of them became an issue, it would certainly save him a lot of effort to have the giant rock Golem take care of them. He didn¡¯t know a whole lot about Goblins or whatever the hell Ornn was, but it seemed that they didn¡¯t particularly care for money. He wondered if that extended to loyalty as well¡­


    Of course, he had a handle on the rodent, for now the issue was Winifred. He watched as she walked over to them with a grin on her face, the high of battle not yet fallen off her. He¡¯d never seen someone look so damn pleased to be covered in Ghoul''s guts. If there was one thing Zach had learned, it was never to do business with someone you didn¡¯t have a good understanding of.


    Skrakch wanted to be a Chosen, he¡¯d made that fact more than bloody obvious, Meek wanted some cheese apparently, but Winifred? She wanted her dose, and for now, that meant working for her favorite dealer. But he¡¯d have to think of something to ensure her loyalty once they had the score of Dragon¡¯s Blood. He didn¡¯t trust her not to split as soon as she had what she wanted. Hell, she might even snitch on him to Sykes. It¡¯s not like there would be anything to stop her.


    So maybe it would be best if he took care of the issue more practically. Letting out a low whistle as they kept moving through the empty streets, he had to admit it. He did, after all, miss taking care of a living target.

 Chapter Twenty Five - A Damn Fool Crusade!

    It was all going so very wrong.


    He¡¯d started the day as any proper Goblin should do by making sure to shovel a hearty breakfast down his gullet. It had felt like a good day for a treat so he¡¯d even decided to partake in one of the finest Goblin delicacies, a large grub worm. Just thinking about its slightly acidic ichor tingling his throat on the way down put a smile on Meekknuckle¡¯s face.


    Sadly, following the delicious breakfast, his day had gone rapidly downhill after that.


    It was often the case where Skrakch was involved, Meekknuckle mused as he watched the Ratling study the courtyard surrounding a large mausoleum. Meek should¡¯ve known better. As soon as he saw the grin on Skrakch¡¯s face he should¡¯ve turned tail and run. Hiding in the Sewers was easy enough, even from someone as crafty as the Ratling. There were parts of the village that the Iskrin insisted on avoiding, mostly due to the stench that emanated from the buildings.


    But then -praise be to Maglubiyet!- Skrakch had promised him a massive chunk of moldy cheese. With the thought of that, all of his good Goblin sense had gone straight out of the window. There wasn¡¯t much he wouldn¡¯t do for cheese.


    Before he knew it, he was back up on The Surface and standing around watching Ghouls and Zombies shuffle around with a hunger in their eyes, their twisted hands reaching out to grab their prey. It didn¡¯t take a genius to know that as soon as a Zombie got within grappling distance of him, things would not end well at all.


    So he¡¯d done what any good Goblin would do in this situation. He¡¯d prayed.


    ¡°Please Maglubiyet,¡± He whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t let them see me. I¡¯ll be extra quiet and offer you this small prayer. If those creatures are to see anyone, let it be Skrakch. He doesn¡¯t believe in your wisdom and might, and I bet he tastes better than me anyway.¡± Meek finished, hoping his plea worked. Sadly, communicating with a Godly being was quite difficult, and he had to take a lot of things on faith. Which was the whole point, he reasoned to himself with a nod.


    Trailing behind the group, the skinny Goblin absentmindedly wiped bits of flesh off the back of his friend, Ornn. The big lug was a bit scary, but he was always nice to Meek, so it was only polite to be nice back. Meek was rather proud of that logic and considering most goblins didn¡¯t have a concept of politeness, it was indeed rather praiseworthy.


    Ornn was a curious creature, always moving with more care than anyone noticed, but still willing to charge into combat whenever Meek needed him to. The Golem wasn¡¯t exactly careful in combat either, hence how he always seemed to end up caked in gore. Meek wasn¡¯t even sure how he managed to get some Ghoul blood on the back of his head, but since it was far beyond his reach, it would just have to stay there for a while. It wasn¡¯t like Ornn was complaining.


    The group of scary-living people he was reluctantly part of, as opposed to the scary-Undead people running around, picked their way carefully through a large ruined courtyard, little bits of overturned stone and half-collapsed graves littering their path. Meek wasn¡¯t sure what made this location in particular more important than the rest of the Undead District, but the Goblin couldn¡¯t help but gawk at the large mausoleums scattered throughout the courtyard.


    One in particular stood out, twice the size of the surrounding crypts, and naturally Skrakch was heading directly towards it. Something about the marble tomb struck Meekknuckle as sinister, and he felt a rising sense of dread as they closed in.


    Two massive marble columns shadowed the doorway that led inside, and Meek was startled to realize it was the first building he¡¯d seen in the area that seemed completely whole, the marble floor unblemished and pristine. Idly clasping the medallion he used to focus his prayers, Meekknuckle thought he could sense a certain presence to the building, as if it were a place of power.


    Worse yet, Meek noticed with a fresh dose of fear, the mausoleum was engraved with depictions of battles, humans fighting demons, and adorned with hanging skulls and rusted weapons. It took Meekknuckle all of three seconds to decide he wanted nothing to do with it, so of course, that¡¯s where his companions were dead set on entering.


    The stuck-up Halfling jumped onto the steps leading up to a set of heavyset ornate doors, turning to them with a grin that betrayed just how naive and foolhardy he was. Meek was certain that his downfall wasn¡¯t too far away. He was extremely prideful and pride always comes before a fall. Or so he¡¯d heard. He wasn¡¯t particularly familiar with all the Human turns of phrase.


    ¡°Alright, that wasn¡¯t so bad. All we need to do is head into this mausoleum, find the secret passage, and we¡¯re rich!¡±, Zacharias whispered excitedly. ¡°Winifred, Ornn, if you¡¯ll do the honors.¡± He said, sweeping aside dramatically and motioning to the door.


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    Staring at the loud-mouth man for a moment, Meek realized he needed to tell Ornn what to do. Placing his hand on his friend¡¯s back, he offered a bit of Mana into him, thinking of opening the door. While he could make suggestions to his friend from a distance, it took a lot more Mana. And Meekknuckle wasn¡¯t fool enough to think they weren¡¯t about to be in imminent danger.


    With a rumble of grinding stone, Ornn strode forward and easily pushed his way into the mausoleum, his fleshier companions following hot on his heels.


    Thankfully the Mausoleum opening quickly widened into a cobweb-filled corridor. Lined with cracked coffins, the tunnel was eerily quiet, with most of its previous ¡°inhabitants¡± nowhere in sight.


    A quick look into the dark-filled tunnel was enough for Zacharias to put Skrakch in the lead, not willing to light a torch and risk alerting any Ghouls, or worse. Thankfully Meekknuckle was blessed with superior darkvision himself and was happy to enter the gloom, instantly feeling much more at home as they moved underground.


    As they continued forward, the non-Goblins amongst them seemed to think the area was safe, chatting amongst themselves about what they were going to do with their spoils. Meek of course knew exactly what he was going to do after this. Eat an entire cheese wheel in a single sitting, then see if he could steal a bit of whatever they found.


    He wasn¡¯t foolish enough to know that Skrakch wouldn¡¯t be risking his life if the payout wasn¡¯t worth it. His companions expected very little of him and it was that that would give him a carte blanche should he need it. Cheese was always a welcome prize but, if some of what they found went ¡°missing¡±, who would blame the addle-minded Goblin?


    They kept walking for ten minutes, the pathway before them slowly getting steeper as they entered into the bowels of the city. He was a bit surprised that they hadn¡¯t entered the Sewers, and was about to mention that fact when the Goblin finally noticed something.


    ¡°Um, Meek not sure about this. But short man said was abandoned tunnel, yes? Then why cobwebs only on ceiling, and no dust on ground.¡± Meek mused to himself, squatting down and checking the ground for any dust.


    The party stopped in its tracks, looking back at Meek for a moment, before looking at each other. Zach immediately began re-arranging the party, sending Winifred to guard the rear. It was a purely tactical move and Meek had to admire the Halfling¡¯s quick thinking.


    ¡°Alright, this doesn¡¯t change anything. We get down there, we get the loot and then we get the Hells out. Doesn¡¯t matter what¡¯s in our way, we just take them out,¡± Zacharias ordered, keeping his daggers in his hands.


    ¡°Yeah right, you told us this place was abandoned. Who did you hear talking about this place again?¡± Skrakch said while rolling his eyes. ¡°Maybe next time figure out a way to tell if they''re lying before we drag our sorry carcasses out here to get eaten by ghouls? The idiots were probably half-cut and this is just some damn fool crusade you¡¯ve taken us on!¡±


    ¡°Whatever Squeakers, at least I¡¯m trying to make some coin instead of risking all of our lives for nothing.¡± Zacharias fired back.


    ¡°Stop your bellyaching, ye bunch of idiots. But I swear to me Ma, if this is like the food tokens, I¡¯ll tan your wee hides, the both of ya. Don¡¯t even think I won¡¯t.¡± Winifred said, keeping a wary gaze out as she squinted into the darkness behind them.


    The group of them continued in silence, focusing their ears on even the slightest noises. Meek could barely hear anything above the sound of his own beating heart, he was so afraid. Cowardice was one of the unfortunate traits that he¡¯d inherited as part of his goblin heritage.


    Luckily it was only a bit longer before Skrakch called a halt to their slow, hesitant advance. Squinting into the darkness, the Ratling started chuckling.


    ¡°Oh you¡¯ve got to be kidding me, there¡¯s no way this is a smuggler¡¯s route.¡± He said, shaking his head in disbelief.


    ¡°What is it? I still can¡¯t see shite in front of me mate.¡± Zacharias said, finally pulling out a torch. When Skrakch didn¡¯t reply, he muttered a curse to himself and pushed forward, flint striking steel as the torch burst into flames. ¡°Screw this, I need to see what¡¯s ahead.¡±


    Flinching at the sudden brightness, Meekknuckle could only stare forward in confusion. As the marble path carried forwards, it came to a complete stop as a massive door blocked the way onwards. In the middle of the impressive steel-wrought door, there was an etching of the skull of a beast that Meek didn¡¯t recognize. Not that he had access to much literature. His father had built himself quite the impressive collection, one that the Patriarch hid under his building, but Meek never had much opportunity to partake in any of it. He couldn¡¯t be caught reading by his Father or any of that ilk.


    Underneath the etching of the grim visage was some scrawled message. Meek knew enough to recognize it as Seotada. A dead language that hadn¡¯t been spoken in Dray¡¯Mel for centuries. He couldn¡¯t translate what it said however and, even if he could, he was going to keep his mouth shut. It wouldn¡¯t do to show his hand. He would continue to play the role he¡¯d been thrust into and that meant staying quiet unless a quick escape was needed.


    As Zach brought the torch closer to it, the Goblin rushed over to Ornn to hide behind his legs. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that this trip wasn¡¯t worth any amount of cheese. Whatever lay beyond a large stone door in a district that few would venture to in the first place wasn¡¯t going to be anything good.

 Chapter Twenty Six - The Demon Door

    Skrakch ran his paw over the engravings slowly. Doubling checking your work was always prudent. Especially when it came to random Demonic Engraved doors, hidden deep below a long-dead city.


    He¡¯d so far passed this job off as just another one of Zacharias¡¯ get-rich-quick schemes. But this¡­this was something much more. Secret passages? Demon doors? That was the stuff of a true adventure. An indication that their brains would be tested alongside their mettle. A chance that he could prove himself in a trial. A step closer to becoming Chosen!


    Of course, Zacharias and Winifred were stumped by the engravings. And the less said about Meek the better. While they simply stared at the door in bafflement, Meek was now perched on Ornn¡¯s left shoulder, digging around inside his ear absentmindedly. The Goblin was keeping remarkably calm, but Skrakch figured the nitwit simply didn¡¯t realize what was going on.


    Skrakch grinned. There was only one logical answer to what the engraved sigils on the door were about. It was a relatively easy translation, the words written in a dead language, something that started with an S. Seotate, Seotades? It hardly mattered as Skrakch was familiar enough to get the broad strokes. He felt his heart start to beat faster as the etched words reinforced his certainty in the solution.


    ¡°Beware¡­Dungeon¡­Death¡­¡± Skrakch muttered to himself. It was a long-dead language with some relatively simple wordplay within the verse. Still, the message itself was clear. It was a Trial of sorts, the perfect place to show his mettle.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s not fucking ominous,¡± Zacharias muttered sarcastically, casting his torch over the letters and trying to parse them for himself. Skrakch shoved him aside in annoyance. Of course, the idiot had no clue what he was looking at. The next time the Halfling started up one of his rants about only needing Common to get by in Dray¡¯Mel, Skrakch was going to bring this up!


    ¡°Don¡¯t you realize what this place is, you fool?¡± Skrakch asked, relishing the situation. His tail was rigid with excitement as he rubbed his paws together. ¡°It¡¯s a Dungeon! With a capital D! These things are all across the world. Hidden away and just waiting for someone to clear them out,¡± He grinned. ¡°There¡¯s any number of treasures behind this. Forget about that stupid Dragon¡¯s Blood haul. Even if this isn¡¯t the place, what we have here is far more worthy of our time!¡±


    His companions blinked at him. Meek continued to dig around in the depths of his ear-hole, seemingly unroused by Skrakch¡¯s little speech.


    ¡°Are ye trying to tell me this is one o¡¯ them Dungeons of legend?¡± Winifred asked doubtfully. ¡°The ones that are supposed to kill most of whom enter?¡± She raised an eyebrow at him. ¡°I dinnae about you fellas but I¡¯d rather have the Dragon¡¯s Blood!¡±


    ¡°Bah!¡± Skrakch waved a paw dismissively. ¡°That¡¯s just to scare off kids and common thieves! Not an accomplished crew like us. We have to enter it,¡± He entreated with a nod. ¡°Think of the rewards that lay beyond this door! Think of the power!¡± He was practically dancing on the spot with pleasure, itching to get inside. ¡°I¡¯m talking magical artifacts¡­mountains of gold..¡±


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    ¡°The chance to become Chosen?¡± Zacharias asked wryly, arms clamped across his chest. ¡°Not sure I wanna die for your stupid crusade Squeakers. Why don¡¯t you just bring it down a notch or five? I ain¡¯t trying to piss on your campfire-¡±


    ¡°Ye are though,¡± Winifred cut in with a smirk.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying we don¡¯t go in,¡± Zacharias continued, ignoring her. ¡°But let¡¯s think about this for a moment, and yeah, it¡¯s me saying that,¡± He held his torch aloft to illuminate the walls around them. ¡°This is exactly where those two blokes in the pub were talking about right? Which means someone has already been down here. There¡¯s no way this is an old smuggler¡¯s run. Not if it leads to a bloody Dungeon. I reckon we¡¯ve been had good and proper.¡±


    ¡°Me not sure it good idea,¡± Meek suddenly piped up from Ornn¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Meek not want die. Not even for chance of power!¡± He let out a shudder. ¡°Better to play safe. There always more cheese to find!¡±


    ¡°I knew ye¡¯d lead us up the garden path, wee man!¡± Winifred said, shaking her head and scowling. She kicked out at a nearby pile of dirt. ¡°Bloody smuggler¡¯s run! Dragon¡¯s Blood! An¡¯ I was stupid to believe your shite! Now we¡¯re stuck at a fucking Dungeon and whoever led ye here¡¯s probably waitin¡¯ back up top for our hides!¡±


    ¡°There could still be Dragon¡¯s Blood in there!¡± Zacharias protested with a dramatic gesture towards the sealed door. It seemed he was trying to convince himself more than any of the others.


    ¡°Aye an¡¯ I¡¯m the Queen of Dray¡¯Mel!¡± Winifred spat. ¡°I say we go back up, see what¡¯s waitin¡¯ for us. If some fool sent us down here, there¡¯ll be men waiting for us when we leave. I reckon we could take ¡®em, especially with this rock man here. Between me and this brick shithouse, we¡¯d be good!¡± She added, clenching her fists.


    Skrakch shook his head as the bickering broke out in earnest. Winifred calling Zacharias all the names under the sun while the Halfling protested that the plan was still a valid one. They were fools. All of them. They didn¡¯t realize just how rare the opportunity was. The two of them had killed for a Hells of a lot less. Still, Skrakch told himself as he adjusted his bandolier and straightened his leather armor. Let the lower mortals prattle. He didn¡¯t care about stupid legends and wives'' tales. This was his new chance at becoming Chosen and he was going to take it!


    Summoning up all his strength, he pushed on the pertinent parts scrawling text below the door and watched as the Dungeon door slowly swung open inwards. His fur bristled as a cold blast of air hit him, and a rush of awe overcame him.


    Behind the door lay a glimmering wall of water, rippling in random patterns. Arcane power roiled off it in spades, almost drowning out Skrakch¡¯s ability to sense any Mana. Whatever had created the Dungeon and whatever it was protecting, it was powerful. Almost overwhelmingly so.


    ¡°Well, now ye¡¯ve done it.¡± The Ratling heard Winifred say as he took a step forward towards the water, almost hypnotized by the beautiful patterns. Giving a quick look behind him to his idiotic companions, Skrakch did the only sensible thing. Taking a deep breath, he rushed forward, plunging into the unknown depths.


    Winifred and Zach paused their arguement as they watched the Iskrin disappear into the shimmering magic, before shrugging at each other.


    ¡°In for a copper¡±, the ginger haired Halfling muttered, stepping through the doorway. ¡°In for a gold.¡± the brunette pit fighter finished, following in Skrakch¡¯s footsteps.


    Suddenly left alone in the dark tunnel, Meekknuckle turned to Ornn. ¡°Well we¡¯d be in trouble if we didn¡¯t follow, I suppose. It¡¯d be best not to be left behind.¡± The runt of a Goblin said with a smirk, grabbing the Golem¡¯s hand. ¡°It¡¯d be a pain getting back into the City if they get themselves killed, after all.¡±


    As the last of the rogues stepped through the door, it slowly closed tight, cutting off the rampaging Mana and leaving the tunnel once more pitched in darkness.

 Chapter Twenty Seven - How About Skrakch?

    It was a beautiful morning. The sun was out in force and the heat on his fur felt divine. The air was filled with the familiar sweet scent of the various rare flowers that were growing in the gardens.


    Skrakch knew that he wasn¡¯t meant to be out here but, as with most days, he¡¯d had an irresistible urge to get out of the mansion. Thankfully, he knew the whole estate like the back of his paw and it hadn¡¯t taken him long to traverse the various corridors and find a way out where he wouldn¡¯t be noticed. He knew that he needed to get back eventually. The Young Master had a dinner event to get to and who else was going to dress him?


    The Ratling stood in the open courtyard, staring into the crisp red sky and trying to remember a more beautiful sight. Skrakch couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d allowed himself a chance to just relax and soak up some of the early evening heat. The balmy summer nights seemed never-ending. He threw back his head and breathed in the fresh air. It was a wonderful day!


    Despite his relaxing surroundings, there was a faint sensation in the back of his mind, something that he couldn¡¯t quite put his paw on, that something was amiss. With the beautiful evening and charming scents, it was easy to ignore. Scoffing to himself, he straightened out his maroon servant¡¯s uniform and checked his toolkit. It was probably just tiredness. He needed to get done with his evening¡¯s chores. The sooner he did that, the sooner he would have some time to himself, time to rest. He couldn¡¯t spend all evening staring up at the beautiful skies now, could he?


    He headed to the nearest wrought-iron gate and slipped through it. He opened the first door he came to, one that would lead him into one of the mansion¡¯s many hallways. There was a trio of other brown Iskrin there, working hard at dusting the many paintings that lined the walls. It was imperative that the Master¡¯s things were always kept clean and presentable.


    And there it was again. That odd feeling. Like it had been a long time since Skrakch had seen any of the other servants of his kind. As vacant as most of their expressions were, it was still something that he missed. The oldest Iskrin in the mansion, Snift, had been like a father to him. He was nearly completely grey, though he was no feral beast, pushing eleven years old. Maybe once he was done getting the Young Master ready, Skrakch would seek him out. It was about time that he borrowed another one of the older Iskrin¡¯s many books.


    As Skrakch continued his walk down the long hallway, he came across yet another one of his littermates. This time, the Iskrin was on the floor, scrubbing the marble until it shone. Skrakch frowned at the sight, the feeling was back again¡­almost like¡­deja vu?


    He stared down at the other Ratling and it occurred to him that he couldn¡¯t remember its name. He reached down and, with a trembling paw, grabbed the Iskrin by the shoulder and turned it around intent on getting some answers.


    The brown Iskrin didn¡¯t put up a fight and Skrakch soon found out why. Recoiling in horror, Skrakch let out a curse as he took in the other Ratling¡¯s figure, the poor thing covered in scars and burns, each more horrific than the last. The Ratling¡¯s brown fur was soaked in blood, and deep gouges ran along its torn back. Pus was dripping from the open wounds, crisscrossing the poor creature''s body. Its eyes and nose were leaking blood and foam gathered in the corners of its twisted lips, its eyes locked in place, fear, and horror frozen in its gaze.


    Skrakch let go of the Ratling and watched as it simply went back to scrubbing the floor, the movements stiff and awkward. Now that he was properly focused, Skrakch could see that the Ratling was dripping pus and blood onto the marble tiles and it was simply wiping it up single-mindedly, its cloth stained dark red.


    Tearing his eyes away from the ghastly sight, Skrakch hurried down the hallway towards his Young Master¡¯s chambers. As he ran he passed more and more disfigured Iskrin. All of them were suffering from the same nightmarish burns, some were missing limbs and there was one poor soul who was cleaning one of the windows with both of its eyeballs missing from burnt sockets.


    Skrakch reached the end of the hallway and burst through a pair of ornately decorated doors. It was with relief that he saw his Young Master sitting at his desk, scribbling away at something. He let out a quiet sigh so as not to disturb him. The familiarity of the sight was comforting and no doubt his Young Master would have an explanation for the strangeness going on in the corridor¡­


    He stepped forward quietly, stopping immediately when he heard a voice from behind.


    Gingerly turning, he was surprised to see two pale, ghostly figures. A younger version of himself as well as¡­


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    No¡­it couldn¡¯t be¡­could it?


    It was Jace, but younger than Skrakch had last seen him.


    The young Skrakch looked nervous, wringing his paws, barely able to look the young boy in the eye. Jace smiled down at him, hand cupping his chin as though he was considering something. The boy was just as Skrakch remembered him. His messy blonde hair fell in his eyes, looking incongruous with the fancy silk shirt and tailored black trousers with gold piping. His shirt sleeves were rolled up showing a big gauze pad on one elbow and countless scratches crisscrossing his other arm.


    Jace had always been a clumsy child. Always falling over and getting into places that he shouldn¡¯t, much to the chagrin of his parents. They wanted the perfect little gentleman, not a harum-scarum lad who longed for adventures in the ornamental gardens or shunned his magic lessons in favor of exploring the local markets.


    The fully-grown Skrakch could only watch the twin figures in stunned silence. He knew this moment. He could hear the Young Master¡¯s words clearly as though it was yesterday¡­


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a name? Well, we can¡¯t have that now can we?¡± Jace grinned at him. ¡°If you¡¯re going to be serving me you¡¯ll need one. Let¡¯s see¡­how about¡­Skrakch?¡±


    With sudden tears soaking his fur, Skrakch continued to watch as the ghostly image of his younger self nodded happily before the two figures disappeared in a plume of billowing smoke.


    Skrakch dared to take a breath but no sooner had he started to relax, the ghosts rematerialized just as quickly as they¡¯d disappeared.


    This time the young Jace was practicing his magic, trying his best to levitate a feather. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, frowning as the feather refused to move despite the ministrations he was making with his hands. For a brief moment, the feather trembled slightly but nothing further happened. After each failed attempt, he would simply curse and try again. Skrakch remembered how hard Jace had had to work to accomplish even the most basic of spells. His father, Lord Oscar Logan was a master of alteration magic and he expected his son to follow suit and possess the same natural aptitude.


    ¡°You know, it¡¯s a shame you don¡¯t know magic Skrakch,¡± Jace said, looking up at the young Skrakch who was in the middle of folding some clothes to be put away. ¡°Then we could practice this stuff together,¡± he flicked the feather despondently before slumping back against his pillows and sighing heavily. ¡°At least I would have a friend¡­¡± he muttered, more to himself now. ¡°Actually!¡± Jace suddenly sprang upright again. ¡°That¡¯s not a bad idea!¡±


    Young Skrakch didn¡¯t question his Master as the boy leaped up from his plush bed and hurried over to the ottoman by the window. With a glance around to make sure they were truly alone, the boy opened it up and rummaged through its contents for a few moments before pulling out an old tome.


    Despite the years that had passed, Skrakch still recognized the fancy binding and red leather coloring of the book. It was one of Lord Logan¡¯s from his library. The personal library that his Young Master was never supposed to touch. Skrakch felt his heart constrict. He knew what was coming and yet it didn¡¯t make it any easier.


    ¡°Come here Skrakch!¡± Jace said excitedly as he sat back down on the bed and opened the large book on his lap. ¡°We¡¯ll start by getting you to speak Common!¡±


    The young boy and the ghostly Skrakch faded away once more. They were replaced by a teenaged Jace and a more fully grown Skrakch. Jace had grown much taller, his shoulders wider and his stance more confident. Despite the changes, his blonde hair was still as tousled and messy as always.


    ¡°Blast this, I¡¯ve been trying to get the hang of this for years!¡± Jace complained as he slammed a spellbook shut and let it drop to the floor. He kicked it and watched in disdain as it skittered across the wooden floorboards, coming to rest near his dresser. ¡°I¡¯m the laughing stock of the family. I overheard Father speaking of me, Skrakch. He intends to replace me as the heir.¡± The teen snarled, he glared at the wand that lay next to him on the bed.


    ¡°You need to concentrate your focus. Imagine reaching into your mana pool, and dragging the essence out. Then push the mana into a rune, before filling it in.¡± The Ghost-Skrakch replied, tossing a feather into the air, and casting a rune with his other paw. ¡°Then imagine the result you expect, and it will come true.¡±


    The feather gently glided down, before landing on the Young Master¡¯s head. Grabbing the feather, Jace crushed it in his palm, dropping it to the ground.


    ¡°What do you know of magic, Skrakch? All you do is use basic utility Runes.¡± Jace continued with a derisive snort. He leaped up from his bed and shoved his feet into his nearby boots that he¡¯d so carelessly discarded by his bedside table. ¡°I need to learn proper magic, I need to be able to fight with it! Not to float safely to my feet.¡± The young master glared at his servant for a moment, before grabbing his cloak. ¡°Enough of this, I have a plan to get my Father¡¯s respect.¡±


    Tears dripping down his snout from the pain of the memory, Skrakch turned away from the apparitions to face the Young Master sitting at his desk.


    The human teen abruptly shoved the desk to the side, turning to glare at Skrakch, a thin steel-like rod brimming with power in his hands. Sculpted from brass, the scepter glowed with fiery embers, the rod engraved with runes, and the tip styled to look like a small roaring bonfire.


    ¡°it¡¯s all your fault Skrakch. if I hadn¡¯t wasted so much time on a pet, my Father would still love me and I¡¯d be a powerful sorcerer! My family would respect me!¡± The man growled, pointing the scepter at Skrakch.


    ¡°It¡¯s all your fault!¡±

 Chapter Twenty Eight - All Your Fault

    Jace pointed the scepter at Skrakch, his features twisted with rage and a madness he¡¯d never seen in the Young Master before.


    ¡°It¡¯s all your fault Skrakch,¡± Jace repeated venomously. ¡°But we have one last chance to fix things. Yes. We¡¯ll fix things. It¡¯ll be easy¡­¡± He muttered to himself as he poured a trickle of his Mana into the scepter. ¡°It¡¯s all I need to do¡­yes¡­excellent.¡±


    Skrakch watched this performance breathlessly, he knew he needed to run but there was something stopping him. He felt as though he was trapped in a fog, his mind slow and sluggish. It was like watching his life unfold before his eyes while he was powerless to stop it.


    ¡®Move you, idiot! Take the scepter! You know what happens next! Move damn you, move!¡¯


    Skrakch¡¯s brain kept screaming at him, ordering him to move, to react. It was his chance to change history! And yet¡­he couldn¡¯t just reach out and try to wrestle the scepter away.


    His Young Master snarled, his face contorted with rage as a gush of flame poured forth from his wand. Pushing more of his Mana in the now glowing artifact, Jace managed to conjure a stronger burst of flame that shot by Skrakch, scorching his whiskers and igniting the plush velvet curtains behind him. With an unnatural swiftness, as though fueled by his Master¡¯s anger, the flames spread throughout the room, engulfing everything it touched.


    ¡°It¡¯s all your fault Skrakch!¡± Jace screamed. ¡°Why did you of all of them survive while everyone else suffered in agony and burned?¡± He continued to rant despite the flames edging closer and closer to him. They started to lick at his clothing, rapidly traveling up his tailored trousers and taking hold of his entire body. Skrakch watched with horror as his demented expression started to deform, the heat from the fire melting his flesh to reveal the muscle and sinew underneath.


    Blood started to boil and bubble from his burns, pus started to flow freely, and his entire face became an unrecognizable mess of gore. Yet still, flames shot out of the scepter.


    ¡°Why? Why? Why did you have magic and not me?¡± Jace was screaming dementedly, his voice cracking.


    Skrakch felt his own throat constrict as the flames got closer and closer. He finally managed to choke out a desperate response.


    ¡°Stop this! The whole place will burn to the ground! Drop the scepter and we can figure things out, Master!¡± He entreated, the heat and smoke were starting to make him feel nauseous.


    ¡°Why did I ever teach you anything Skrakch? You took everything from me! And you¡¯re nothing but a fucking rat,¡± The ruined monster that was once his Master continued to scream at him. Jace pointed an accusing finger at his lowly servant, or at least what was left of his finger. The skin was mostly gone, leaving charred and blackened bone. ¡°A dirty, fucking rat¡­¡± Jace raised the scepter again, this time shooting a blast of fire directly at Skrakch¡¯s chest.


    The Ratling was flung backward across the room from the force of the blast, his fur blackening as heat bore deep into his chest. He collided with a heavy credenza and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap of bones and burgeoning flames.


    Momentarily disoriented from the pain and the surrounding smoke, Skrakch struggled to his feet. He could hear himself beginning to wheeze, his every breath felt as though the flames were inside of him, scorching his lungs and throat. It was getting harder to see amongst the thick black smoke that was filling the room.


    He kept low to the ground, trying to stay below the smoke line as he groped blindly for an exit. Jace was nowhere to be seen or heard but Skrakch couldn¡¯t worry about that now. He needed to get out. As soon as his paw came into contact with the bedroom door, he felt as though he could weep with relief. Throwing it open, Skrakch scrambled to his feet and out of the bedroom which was now pretty much an inferno.


    The flames were everywhere, turning expensive furniture into nothing but kindling, the expensive carpets and paintings reduced to ashes. The flames grew exponentially larger, fueled by so many of the once-decadent possessions, spreading faster and faster, enveloping everything in its path. The smoke was chokingly thick and Skrakch¡¯s throat was burned raw as he ran full tilt down the corridor. He tried his best to call out to the other Iskrin, desperately urging them to escape with him. It feels as though a heavy blanket was falling upon the entire manor, suffocating everything in its path.


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    Skrakch quickly reached the courtyard. He turned around and, to his dismay, none of the other Iskrin within were reacting to the encroaching flames. Instead, he watched helplessly as they burned just like the furniture, flames rapidly consuming them whole. The most disturbing part of watching his kin burn is that they didn¡¯t even seem to notice the licks of fire roiling across their fur. Instead, they continued with their chores as their home burned to the ground around them, empty-minded servants missing the same spark that drove Skrakch onwards.


    Before he was fully able to mourn his fallen kin, Skrakch was suddenly struck from behind. The force of the blow flung him into, and then through, the courtyard¡¯s wooden fence, sending a shower of sparks and wood splinters flying everywhere. Jace suddenly appeared from where he¡¯d been standing and watching the mansion burn. His body was now completely scorched, little more than soot-covered bones, his limbs still wracked with flames. What remained of his skin dangled from his limbs, melted and deformed. His blonde hair was now charred wisps that fell off like ash as he shambled towards Skrakch.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never escape Skrakch. No matter how you struggle. You¡¯re just a servant. You¡¯re a pawn for people to use. You¡¯ll always be nothing but a brown Iskrin, used by your betters until you burn up!¡±


    The teenage boy looked down on Skrakch, more flesh sloughing off his charred bones. It pooled by his feet in piles, filling the air with the disgusting stench of burned human flesh.


    ¡°You¡¯re never going to become Chosen, not even if you had one hundred years left on that rune of yours¡­¡±


    Lying prone on his back, Skrakch could feel the flames starting to lick at his body, singeing his fur and starting to sear his flesh. His mind was pierced with pain. He hauled himself up until he was resting on his elbows, staring directly into what remained of his tormentor¡¯s face...


    And he laughed.


    Reaching forward, Skrakch grabbed the burning scepter from his foe''s hand, as easily as plucking a rose. Rolling the scepter in his paw for a moment, Skrakch¡¯s entire body language changed, the fear practically fleeing his body as his strength returned. Breathing in the smoke deeply as if it was the sweetest of air, the Ratling twirled the artifact before pointing it straight at Jace.


    ¡°Honestly Master, you had me going for a moment there,¡± Skrakch chuckled. ¡°I have to say, it¡¯s a pretty good illusion but you ruined it by overplaying your hand,¡± He continued, his fear melting away as quickly as the mansion behind them.


    The Ratling smirked as he watched the illusion of his young master froze in place. The flames around them started to ebb away and the fog in his mind seemed to be receding. The mansion was still merrily burning down to its wooden beams, which started to splinter and collapse.


    One of the smoldering beams hurtled down and headed directly towards Skrakch¡¯s skull. He turned his head upwards to watch it, refusing to move even a whisker to the side. He was prepared for the beam to crash straight down upon him but, at the last moment, it seemed to twist in the air, landing beside him.


    ¡°I have to admit, the other Iskrin were a nice touch,¡± Skrakch continued. ¡°But I didn¡¯t try to save any of them when this was real, much less now,¡± He swatted at some of the encroaching flames and realized that they weren¡¯t even warm. ¡°I don¡¯t even think any of them had names. But really? The biggest mistake was mentioning how I¡¯ll never be Chosen. I never spoke of my desire to you. Back when it was just you and me, Young Master, all I ever wanted was to be at your side. But now...¡±


    Skrakch turned to watch the flames lick away at the mansion and pondered how much the illusion had backfired. It had failed at whatever it was trying to achieve. Instead, it had given him some closure on his past with Jace. Sure, he was grateful to the young Human for teaching him how to speak, read and write but the magic he knew? That was all him. It had soon become apparent to him that Jace was merely holding him back by keeping him as a servant.


    ¡°I¡¯d risk the flames daily if I thought it would up my chance of becoming Chosen,¡± He said aloud. ¡°Hells, even if I had to burn this place to the ground a hundred times over, it would be worth it.¡±


    He chuckled to himself and turned back to the frozen representation of his former master.


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought a dozen foes much scarier than Jace Logan,¡± He continued as he casually pressed the scepter into his old Master¡¯s chest. ¡°He could hardly light a candle, let alone use this!¡± Skrakch turned the magical item over in his paws, admiring the glowing runes that had been etched into the steel.


    Turning the scepter over one last time, the furry rogue flashed a sardonic grin. Skrakch rose to his feet, idly brushing some fallen soot from his fur, and stood tall before the replica of his old Master. The interesting thing about scepters is that while they were often dangerous conduits of otherworldly magics, they were also steel rods.


    Raising the scepter high, Skrakch drove it down into Jace¡¯s eye, cackling all the while. The rod pierced deep, before flaring up, waves of flames burning away at the tortured form of his old Master until there was nothing left of him.


    Wiping the ash off his new weapon, Skrakch turned to watch the manor finish burning, delighting as each portion collapsed.


    As the manor¡¯s structure finally gives way to the fire, it crumples to the ground as though it had been crushed by a giant¡¯s fist, bits of embers and sparks exploding in a gust of air.


    Through it all, Skrakch bubbled over with laughter, standing safely in the epicenter of the ruined building.

 Chapter Seventeen - The Prisoner

    Pain coursed through his body, the crack of a whip resounded out in the otherwise silent cell. Agony spread through the bedraggled convict as he tried to lurch away, but all he managed was to pull at the manacles clapped to his wrists, which were already rubbed raw from the tight encircling metal.


    He couldn¡¯t remember anything but the pain. It felt like eons since he could focus on something other than his flesh being ripped, his organs being shredded, his back pulling apart at the seams.


    But today for the first time in what felt like forever, he was being unshackled. Something was roughly pulling him free, each tug at his wrists burning him anew, but eventually, his manacles dropped to the ground with a loud clang.


    Two strong hands pulled him bodily off the ground, his limbs too feeble to protest. He tried to open his eyes, but they¡¯d long since crusted over with blood and ichor.


    He tried to make sense of this change. It had been...well¡­who knew how long since he had any idea of time. They kept him mostly in the dark, forcing him to lose his sense of night and day, much less his ability to keep track of the months or years.


    Now his captors were moving him, but to where? He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d been moved, but he felt terror beginning to bubble forth.


    Something deep inside told him he was going somewhere worse. Each step his captors took, he felt fear build up within him. He¡¯d been here before, he realized. Every so often the pain ebbed away, to be replaced with terror. Beginning to struggle feebly against his captors grip, he felt their grasp press down even firmer. Gasping with pain, he tried to wrench himself free, only to be rewarded with a momentary pause in their travel. It didn¡¯t take them long to get him back in line. His weakened body protested every single time he moved, let alone when he tried to muster enough strength to break free of his captors'' firm hold.


    Heaved forward, it felt like he was being thrown off a cliff. He was flying through the air, down, down. He let himself fall, fighting against all his natural urges to throw his hands out and try to catch himself on something. For a moment, he allowed himself to dream of being free, of being tossed to his death, but he was sorely disappointed. Landing without grace, he plunged into a liquid of sorts. Thick and syrupy, it seemed to invade his every pore. It burned at him, yet also soothed his damaged nerves.


    His body was re-knitting itself, open wounds closing, his body miraculously repairing itself as the liquid churned around and inside him. As the ever-present agony receded from his broken mind, so too did the pale over his memory. Pushing upwards, he broke through the viscous liquid¡¯s surface, gasping for air as his eyes opened. Wildly flailing his recuperated limbs, he took in his surroundings, gasping as fear ran unbridled through his soul.


    Gnarled and twisted beyond comparison, he was surprised to find himself in a garden of wilted plants. The ancient trees with their withered branches bore atrophied fruit, strange cousins of the ones that used to sit upon his dinner table. Various plants grew around his ankles, twisting together as though they were fighting each other for space. Their leaves were curled and brown, and they shed withered seed pods and odd-looking blossoms. Yet these were not simple rotten corpses. Each one was still bearing seeds and blooms despite their deadened appearance.


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    Around him, the creatures of his nightmares lurked, each watching him with contempt. Their red eyes flashing. Their bodies undulating strangely as though they were poised to attack him at any moment. These were twisted versions of real animals, skeletal horses with rotting fetlocks and weird cat-like creatures, larger than anything he¡¯d seen before, their oversized canines dripping with black liquid.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a pale Human looking at him with hunger in its eyes, its fingers and hair adorned with golden trinkets. Dressed in billowing robes, it grinned at him with blatant malice, its two sharpened fangs practically quivering with the desire to drain his very essence. It pointed a trembling bony finger and his gaze followed it, breath hitching in his newly healed chest.


    A misshapen amalgamation loomed above him, one he recognized as an old foe. Silver hair fell down over half-elven features, a look of grim acceptance scrawled over its face. Dressed in a blackened vest of leather, that was where its Humanoid features ended, as a stony shape filled the rest of its body. Powerful limbs ended in sharp talons, as two bat-like wings burst from a broad beast''s back.


    The prisoner flinched backward, tumbling out of the healing vat he¡¯d been dumped in. Whispers flowed through his mind, memories of a time long past returning to him. He remembered the twisted centaur, he could just barely remember his name¡­ Lying against the broken cobblestone, he watched as two heavy-clad boots approached him. Looking above him, the tattered man let out a cry of horror as he took in his jailer''s face.


    Towering above him stood an intricate suit of armor, made from the finest of silvers. But rather than gleam with a beautiful polish, the armor appeared warped, twisted and burnt by the flame. The visor was lowered, but the prisoner knew first hand that no mere mortal lay encased within the plate armor¡¯s bosom. No, the armor stood on its own, its host having long since been burnt to a fading ember, and yet the hatred it bore gave it a life of its own.


    The prisoner quailed at the memory of the jailer''s thirst for vengeance, the unending whippings that broke and marred his back. But more than his fear of his captors, it was the memories of his failures that burnt him the most.


    He had lived a life dedicated to fighting evil¡¯s grasp wherever it dared to show its face. But his greatest failure stood before him, a constant reminder of the souls he had failed to save. Pushing himself to his feet, the prisoner warily turned his eyes to the true source of his torment, feeling his strength returning with each passing moment.


    Standing amidst the mockery of a garden was the undying horror that lay at the heart of Dray¡¯Mel. Hands raised in defiance of the Gods, Above and Below, stood Rath¡¯Mel. Frozen in place, the sorcerer who¡¯d doomed an entire city seemed to loom over them all. His flesh, wriggling wildly on exposed bone, was in a constant war of rejuvenation and decay, little pieces of life being devoured by unending darkness.


    More than any other feature though, the prisoner felt absorbed by Rath¡¯Mel¡¯s eyes. While the Archmage may have been trapped in a perpetual loop of suffering, his eyes still blazed with unholy light, taking in the sum total of the ragged captives soul. His skeletal lips unmoving, Rath¡¯Mel spoke directly into the minds of those around him, his tone light even as necromantic energies swirled in a chaotic show of power.


    ¡°How kind of you to join us once more, Arthur Brighthammer. We have need of your¡­ expertise¡­¡±

 Chapter Twenty Nine - Blackmaul’s Apprentice

    Pain blossomed in her cheek as her head snapped to the side with such ferocity, she was surprised it didn¡¯t break her neck. Stumbling backward, Winifred tried her best to shake her mind free of the fog. All of her instincts screamed at her to bring her hands up to block.


    But, just as quickly as the first, a second blow connected. The hit felt as though it shook her entire brain. Weirdly, it gave her the clarity she needed to focus, the brawler snapping to attention, raising her bloodied fists as her green eyes zeroed in on her attacker.


    He was standing a mere meter away from her now. A heavyset Dwarf, his thick black hair and bushy beard interspersed with flecks of grey. His steely eyes were boring into her, awaiting her next move. Dressed in his usual blackened leather armor, he looks every inch the formidable opponent that she remembered so clearly.


    Blackmaul.


    The Battle-master was currently unarmed but that made little difference to how dangerous he was¡­ his fists were more than strong enough to break her bones like twigs.


    The older Dwarf suddenly slid out of her sight, dashing to her left and throwing a cross hook into her sides. As always, his aim is perfect but instinctively, Winifred shifted her stance and was able to parry the well-aimed blow with one arm before lashing out with a quick jab of her own. Every single movement felt as natural as breathing. The thrill of a good fight was an exhilarating one, worlds away from sitting on the piano bench and listening to a lecture about arpeggios. Whatever they were. And the dress fittings? Gods, if she ever went to another one of those it would be too soon¡­


    Blackmail ducked under her jab but, in doing so, left himself open to a quickly thrown-out kick. The old dwarf may have strength on his side but Winifred was a lot faster. Reeling back from her, both of the fighters reset their stance, eyeing each other and breathing heavily. Winifred grinned despite herself. It felt good to be doing this again.


    But that was just it. Something wasn¡¯t right. Not right at all. Winifred looked past her foe and she was greeted with the sight of her family¡¯s training yard. The sandy pits were supposed to be for the estate¡¯s guards to train in but, this early in the morning, with the sun still tucked below the horizon and the grass still wet with dew, they would all be in their beds. But why was she here?...surely everything that had happened wasn¡¯t some dream?


    There was no time to further pursue those thoughts as Blackmaul quickly re-engaged the fight. He rushed forward with heavy steps, jumping into the air and leading with his right knee. Winifred used the power in both of her arms to stop the lunge but her stance was all wrong. With the sheer power behind his momentum, Blackmaul was able to send her sprawling into the sands.


    ¡°Mistake!¡± The surly Dwarf called out as she got a mouthful of sand and gravel. She was able to right herself, back onto her hands and knees and she started to spit it back out again. One of the knuckles on her left hand had split, blood oozing through the linen strips she¡¯d used to wrap it. No doubt her mother would have another one of her famous conniption fits when she discovered a second torn-up petticoat¡­


    ¡°Yer nae doin¡¯ too bad lass,¡± Blackmaul spoke. The old Dwarf held out a leathery hand and hauled her back to her feet. ¡°But yer head¡¯s not in it. No matter what else is given¡¯ ye strife, you¡¯d be doin¡¯ well to keep yer thoughts on the fight aye?¡±


    ¡°I know¡­¡± Winifred nodded. And it suddenly hit her with a force worse than any blow she¡¯d ever taken. This was it. This was Blackmaul¡¯s last day on the estate. ¡°It¡¯s yer last day¡­I cannae¡­I dinnae want to think about¡­¡± The tears welled in her eyes and threatened to spill over. ¡°I¡¯m nae ready for ye to leave yet¡­¡±


    Blackmaul had been the one ray of sunshine in her otherwise dull and dreary life. The old Dwarf had gladly taken her under his wing, not giving a fig that she was supposed to be a society lady. She was eager and quick to learn and that¡¯s all he cared about. He¡¯d been more of a father to her over this past year than her father had been. And she¡¯d been bloody stupid not to ask to be trained sooner. Blackmaul had been a staple of the estate since before she was born and yet she¡¯d only worked up the guts to talk to him in the last year¡­


    ¡°Aye, me times come,¡± Blackmaul replied. ¡°I cannae deny that. But it warms me heart to know someone will be missing me,¡± The usually taciturn Dwarf offered her a smile, showing off the gap in his teeth. ¡°Besides Lassie,¡± He continued, clapping her on the shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s nae much else I can teach ye at this point,¡±


    ¡°Ye could run!¡± Winifred suggested. ¡°I¡¯ll come with ye! We can hide out in The Slums and we¡¯ll get by, just you and me!¡± She continued desperately. ¡°Ye cannae go to the Butchery Blackmaul! I will nae let it happen!¡±


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    ¡°Aye, but ye must,¡± Blackmaul replied solemnly. He pulled his student in for a hug. ¡°It¡¯s part of being a citizen of Dray¡¯Mel, Lassie. My time has come up. But aye, who knows? Maybe I¡¯ll have the honor of joinin¡¯ the Tomb-Makers. They¡¯d be lucky to have me guardin¡¯ their fair walls!¡±


    ¡°You could fight them off!¡± Winifred started to cry desperately. ¡°There¡¯s nae one stronger than you Blackmaul. Not even Father. If ye go to the Butchery¡­they¡¯ll kill ye,¡± At thought of this, Winifred found herself sobbing into his shoulder. ¡°Please¡­don¡¯t go.¡±


    She could feel the Dwarf awkwardly starting to pat her back as he whispers gently into her ear. ¡°I¡¯m nae as strong as ye think my dear Lassie. The Tomb-Makers have Chosen in their ranks¡­I¡¯m nae match for the Burnt Husk I¡¯ll tell ye that. Nae Lass, it¡¯s time to lay these weary bones to rest¡­¡±


    Winifred collapsed to the ground. She had no idea how long she sat there in the filthy sands and cried but, the next time she opened her eyes, it was nighttime.


    Pulling herself together, she started to walk back to the estate. But each step she takes seems to drain more and more of the light from the world and feels heavier. She felt as though she were on her way to her punishment. Forever locked into a life that she doesn¡¯t want. Forced to become a person she never wants to be.


    It isn¡¯t long until it seems like all the light in the world has faded away, leaving her breathless as she tried to choke down on her fear in the total darkness. As she continued to stumble in the darkness, she finally spotted a faint flickering light in the distance.


    Jogging towards it, she can barely make out a shape, wreathed in the light. Inching closer, the light faded enough for her to make out a rotten corpse leaning against what appeared to be a dying tree. Winifred slowly made her way towards the body. As she got closer, she was able to make out its humanoid shape. Torn asunder by the elements, the flesh on the bones was rotten and loose, but the creature itself seems to be slowly shaking.


    With trepidation in her heart, Winifred felt compelled to look, even as her mind screamed at her to run. Grabbing the figure by the shoulder, she turned the creature to face her.


    Blackmaul stared back at her, his face ripped asunder, his head cloven open, nose split in twain. Somehow, his eyes still seemed to bore into her soul.


    ¡°This will happen to you too, Winifred. Ye can run from your family, ye can betray my teachings by fighting in those pits. Ye can drink as much Dragon¡¯s Blood as ye can get yer wee hands on, but one day, it¡¯ll be you!¡± He announced in a raspy voice. His torn lips flapped loosely, revealing a tongue that had been split completely down the middle.


    Reeling back as though she¡¯d been struck a blow, Winifred struggled to breathe. Her lungs felt as though they were on fire as she tried not to hurl her guts onto the grass.


    ¡°This is nae real!¡± She suddenly shouted. ¡°Blackmaul would never say that!¡±


    She wiped her face and shook her head, trying to pull herself together. As she looked back at the deformed body, it seemed to loom over her, much taller than Blackmaul had been in life. It felt as though she¡¯d been shrunk down to child size.


    ¡°The others will nae care, Lassie. Skrakch barely tolerates ye. And the wee Halfling? He¡¯s just using ye. Ye¡¯ll die alone, cursing the world. The only ones who¡¯ll pay ye any mind will be the Wraiths coming down to harvest ye bones!¡±


    Winifred let out an anguished cry and lashed out blindly. Her fist connected perfectly with the Dwarf''s rotten jaw. Through her teary eyes, she watched as Blackmaul¡¯s head toppled loose from his shattered body and rolled towards her feet. His twisted and torn lips grinned up at her, mocking her weakness.


    Suddenly, before she can react, Winifred was struck from the side. Staggering on shaky legs, she swiftly turns to see the owner of the blow, the now headless corpse of Blackmaul. Looming above her, the headless body stands over a dozen feet tall, with arms far thicker than they had been in life.


    Still, Winifred threw herself into combat, landing blow after blow in quick succession, throwing out kicks and blows with all her flagging strength behind them.


    While each of her well-timed and accurate punches was able to knock Blackmaul¡¯s corpse off-center slightly, none of them were having a strong effect. She pulled back to catch her breath and stared down at the prone head which began to laugh at her as his body beckoned her forward.


    Head heavy with confusion, Winifred found it much easier to fall into what she knew. Stepping forward, her stance precise, she recalled every one of her old trainer¡¯s techniques. It gave her the power she needed to gracefully dodge the corpse while dismantling it punch by punch.


    It was with relentless attacks that she finally rocked Blackmaul¡¯s body, throwing herself forwards with greater force. Winifred continued to lay into him with a well-practiced rhythm, every single blow and punch letting the fear bleed out of her until was overtaken with a surreal sense of calm.


    She barely even flinched as she realized that she was suddenly throwing out punches with a pair of knuckledusters, worn and well-used iron grips contorting to her knuckles like she¡¯d worn them for years.


    Truth be told. Winifred didn¡¯t bother to question how or why they¡¯d appeared, just appreciating the extra power to her blows. She certainly didn¡¯t stop as Blackmaul finally stopped grinning at her, his rotten face caving inwards from the repeated strikes.


    Because as confused as she was, Winifred has always preferred solving her problems with her fists. One blow after another, no matter her foe.

 Chapter Thirty - Down The Pub

    Pushing through the fog that had suddenly overtaken the Dungeon entrance, Zach stepped into an empty yet familiar tavern. It wasn¡¯t hard to recognize. It was the seedy tavern that his father used to frequent. Worn and dreary just like those who visited the Plagued Rat, the patrons visited night after night to seek solace in the bottom of a tankard.


    Not that his father ever found it. He¡¯d been just like the rest of the idiots, beaten down and out of luck. And, Zach mused to himself, it was the perfect combination that made the stupid saps easy to take advantage of. The tavern had been his playground and, from a young age, he¡¯d quickly learned the most important lesson in his life. A fool and his gold were soon parted.


    He chuckled to himself as he made his way across the sticky floorboards, listening to the familiar squeaks of old termite-ridden wood. If this illusion was some kind of trap to keep people out of the Dungeon, then it was getting very old, very fast. Or perhaps it wasn¡¯t the Dungeon, maybe this was a trap from his old pal Sykes? Hells, either way, this was just getting predictable.


    ¡°The old ¡°face your past¡± illusion?¡± Zach said aloud, shaking his head. ¡°Muddle through your fears while someone gets ready to gut you like a pig? I¡¯ll be having none of that mate, my mind¡¯s like a steel trap.¡±


    The illusion, he noted, wasn¡¯t even that effective. Gone were the crowds of drunks, the disgusting filth of the Slum-runners who had nothing better to do than drink themselves into a stupor night after night.


    The prostitutes were missing too, breasts practically spilling out of low-cut dresses, wound around seedy-looking men who might be able to spare a few coins for an hour of pleasure. There was no sign of Morwenna, the crazy old hag who used to sit at the corner table and screech if anyone came near it.


    She would sit there night after night, nursing her single drink, wearing a tattered gown, her wispy hair with its numerous bald patches done in wiry ringlets. Every night she dreamed of meeting her prince at the bar and every night she was left to stumble back to wherever the Hells she called home, alone. She was a great target to practice his sneaking on because the dumb old broad was so busy screeching at any drunken man dumb enough to approach her, she never noticed the young Halfling helping himself to her purse.


    And there was no sight of Maen, the busty lead serving wench. There wasn¡¯t a man or beast in the Slums that dared cause trouble in her tavern. She¡¯d been somewhat of a second mother to Zach, offering him hot potatoes and tea when he was barely a lad. There were many a night when his belly wouldn¡¯t go empty because of her. He could still remember her smell, beer, and her Wakeleaf scent. Sometimes, when he stole from her takings purse, the coins smelt like her.


    Zach approached the bar and realized that he wasn¡¯t alone. Sitting there, at the very stained old stool his father would often sit at, was someone that he recognized.


    Sighing heavily, the ginger-haired Halfling hopped onto a seat at the bar himself. As if by magic...because well, it was, a tankard of mead appeared in front of him. He drank a good half, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and set it back down on the bartop.


    ¡°Go on then,¡± he said in a bored voice. ¡°Say what you¡¯ve gotta say, I don¡¯t have all day here and when it comes to freaky fucking mirages or whatever the Hells-cursed place is, I¡¯d rather get it over sooner rather than later. I¡¯ve got some coin to make, and no bloody specter is getting in the way of my meal ticket.¡±


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    When he received no reply, Zach let out another heavy sigh, before draining another quarter of his mead.


    ¡°Ok, I get it. This is the part where I¡¯m supposed to spill me guts. Tell you how I regret all the shit I¡¯ve done?¡± Zach scoffed, leaning back on his stool for a moment.


    Still no reply.


    ¡°Or maybe you¡¯re like one of those preachy ones. Where you show me how things could¡¯ve been if I weren¡¯t such a shit person,¡± Zach continued.


    Silence.


    ¡°Well, what is it?¡± Zach pressed. He drank some more of the mead, the honeyed booze better than it had ever been in reality. ¡°Oh sorry Father, I didn¡¯t mean to put that knife to your throat? I just fell and accidentally landed on your jugular blade first? Or maybe I should feel bad because I didn¡¯t bother to find me Mam, after he sold her to the Butchery so he could afford to shag the fancier birds from a proper brothel.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe I¡¯m meant to moan and groan about the first time I had to stab a friend in the back? How it was either him or me, no other options.¡± Zacharias chuckled a little. ¡°That ain¡¯t me mate, I¡¯ve killed my fair share of men, women too. Sometimes I looked em in the eyes as I done it, other times they didn¡¯t even see the knife coming. Still ends the same way, with their blood on me blade.¡±


    His companion still said nothing, the damned illusion still nursing its cup of mead.


    ¡°Or is this some stupid puzzle I have to work out?¡± Zach said, not skipping a beat. ¡°Y¡¯know like, how many men does it take to dig a grave if they only have one arm?¡± He finished his tankard and slid it away. ¡°That¡¯s more Squeakers thing, I ain¡¯t much for riddles.¡±


    ¡°Can I get ya another drink, mate?¡± His companion finally spoke up, his accent as charming as his looks.


    ¡°Sure, why not? For mystical weirdness mead, it was pretty decent,¡± Zach replied, while his drinking companion snapped his fingers and another tankard appeared before them.


    ¡°So that¡¯s it? We¡¯re drinking buddies?¡± Zach questioned. He took a drink from the new tankard. It tasted just as good as the first.


    ¡°Well, what did you expect?¡± His illusionary companion, a doppelg?nger of himself, replied. The copy raised a tankard to the original, superior Zacharias, and took a deep drink. ¡°You don¡¯t have any regrets do ya?¡± Gods Below be damned, the clone of himself was handsome. Zach had always known that he was a good-looking guy but now that he was able to see himself from every angle? Well shit. It was no wonder he never wanted for a bedfellow!


    ¡°Too right mate,¡± Zach grinned. ¡°So what? We just get pissed? As far as illusions go, I can¡¯t say I mind this one. Though without the pretty birds to ogle, a bar loses most of its shine.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m supposed to give ya these,¡± Clone Zach replied, casually draining his tankard. He reached down into a scabbard he had around his thigh and pulled out a pair of ebony black daggers with hilts that resembled a dragon and snake entwined. ¡°Your mates will be getting stuff too but y¡¯know, they¡¯re gonna have to work for theirs.¡±


    ¡°Pfft.¡± Zach exclaimed. ¡°That¡¯s what ya get for having regrets and shit,¡± He said as he took the two daggers. They were a lot nicer than the ones he currently favored, feeling weighty yet light at the same time. The hilts seemed to pulse in his hands as he could feel the Mana they had been forged with acclimatizing itself to his grip.


    Swirling the daggers round, the blade¡¯s practically hummed with power, eager to seek fresh blood. Never one to disappoint, Zach lashed out swiftly, and to his great satisfaction, the shadowy blades expanded to the length of a regular sword, neatly decapitating his clone. As his head hit the sticky floor, Zach sheathed his new weapons.


    ¡°Bit of alright these are,¡± He said to himself as he finished his drink. ¡°It¡¯s a proper shame though. It would have been nice seeing the old Pa again.¡±


    ¡°I mean, how often do you get to kill your old man for a second time?¡±

 Chapter Thirty One - A Goblin’s Nightmare

    Shaking his head out of a strange foggy state, Meekknuckle took in his new surroundings and felt fear pierce his heart. The runt of a Goblin could remember entering the Dungeon but everything after that was blank.


    Most concerning though, was the sheer amount of Mana that was suddenly swirling around him. Thick and powerful, it infiltrated the very air, practically choking him with its cloying grasp. As Meek tried his hardest to follow the arcane flow, he realized that he was standing amongst his brothers and sisters, short squalid Goblins, one and all.


    His other kin seemed just as woozy and unfocused as he was, some of them visibly wobbling on their feet. His first instinct was to help them, but he quickly realized that it was impossible. His limbs appeared to be rooted in place making him unable to move even the shortest distance.


    With his thoughts still hazy, Meekknuckle glanced around the cavern that they all appeared to be trapped in. It was immediately recognizable as part of Kbaxg, the Goblin village he called home. It was the cobblestones that gave it away. They were exactly the same as the ones that lined the Sewers under Dray¡¯Mel. The very ones that the earlier members of the tribe had been forced to break apart to help build his father¡¯s home.


    Not that any of that mattered. The most pressing issue was that Ornn was nowhere to be seen. It had been a long time since his protective shadow had left his side. He couldn¡¯t recall the last time it happened. It filled the diminutive Goblin with fright. He was, by Goblin standards anyway, not much of a coward but the presence of a large, looming stone Golem always made him feel safer.


    With mounting trepidation, Meekkuckle finally managed to stumble forward a few steps before a loud, bellowing laugh forced his eyes upwards. His trepidation changed to outright terror as he stared up at his Father who loomed in the sky above him.


    Finally, the fog cleared in his mind and he realized exactly what was happening. It was the Selection, a once per lifetime ritual that every Goblin in Kbaxg had to go through. A ritual that he¡¯d already experienced¡­


    He tried to say something, anything, to get his siblings attention but his mouth refused to budge. Meek wanted to tell them to flee while they still could. But, with each passing moment, they ignored his desperate, silent pleas and continued to gaze upwards at their father.


    ¡°You¡¯ve all grown so very quickly. Safe and sound, protected by the good walls of this village. The same village that raised you. Protected by your elders but more importantly by me, your father. The one who gave each of you life,¡± His father announced, his voice echoing and ricocheting off the walls of the cavern.


    ¡°But it is time to give back to those who have aided you. You have all been selected, given a chance to become a part of something beautiful. Something powerful. You¡¯ve all been chosen to become a part of me,¡± His father continued as his brothers and sisters stared up at him with pious expressions of concentration.


    ¡°And with your sacrifice, the village of Kbaxg will remain strong. It will survive. It will thrive!¡± Blazock shouted with a euphoric look on his face. ¡°Bear witness to the power of the Gods Below and rejoice! For all of you are to become the very lifeblood of our village!¡±


    Reaching out before him, The old Goblin smiled sadistically, showing off his razor-sharp teeth, and he swept his gnarled hand outwards as an invisible force washed over the assembled Goblins. Meekknuckle shuddered as his brothers and sisters realized the danger too late, unable to move as they were held down by the unseen Mana.


    Harvest¡­


    It happened slowly, some of the Goblins beginning to choke, turning blue in the face. Then they convulsed, twitching under Father¡¯s power. Some collapsed, vomit spilling down their chest as Meekknuckle watched in horror.


    He was forced to watch, breathless, as his sibling''s small bodies buckled under the weight, their Mana being stripped from their withering husks. The lucky few died quickly, but the more resilient of them lasted for what felt like forever, gasping desperately for air that would never again fill their lungs.


    As the last of his siblings died, silence reigned absolute. Meekknuckle tore his eyes away from the nearest corpse, his youngest sister Writha. She was laying in a pool of her own fluids, her body nothing more than a shriveled husk. The remains of her tattered pink dress were draped over it. She had been a bright Goblin and now¡­she was gone.


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    Looking up again, Meekknuckle could see the absolute disinterest in his Father¡¯s eyes, even as his skin started to lose its creases, the wrinkles smoothing out. His sclera changed from yellow to brilliant white. He stretched out his limbs and back, obviously free from the aches and pains that came with old age. Before Meekknuckle¡¯s very eyes, the ancient patriarch of the village defied time and death with a wave of his hands.


    Meekknuckle had no idea how much time had passed before his father¡¯s eyes flicked to him for the first time. He could see the interest that bloomed in them but it was closely followed by an unsettling hunger. It was terrifying to see such desire in the usually soulless eyes.


    He backed away, tearing himself free from the frightening gaze. He turned and started to run out of the cavern blindly, only to find himself crashing into something solid. Looking up, he felt overwhelming relief. It was Ornn! The massive golem hadn¡¯t even shifted when confronted with his minuscule weight. Grinning up at his only friend, Meekknuckle let out a cry of happiness and embraced the giant stone creature¡¯s left leg in a happy hug.


    For the briefest of moments, all was right with the world again. He could do his best to forget about the mindless slaughter that he witnessed. He would concentrate on Ornn and their friendship, concentrate on cheese¡­anything to rid his mind¡¯s eye from the sight of his siblings being reduced to dust.


    But then¡­


    He felt Ornn¡¯s large stone hand clasp him by the head. Lifting him into the air like he was nothing, Ornn¡¯s grip got tighter and tighter. Meekknuckle let out a cry of pain as the golem held him in a vice-like grip, his skull starting to fracture. With a final flex of his unyielding hand, the thick stone fingers pierced through his bone and into his soft flesh.


    Almost screaming in pain now, Meekknuckle did the only thing that he could. Reaching down deep into his Mana pool, he drew forth a swell of power. He shaped it into a bubble and, pushing outwards with all his magical strength, the diminutive Goblin broke through Ornn¡¯s grip, sending the stone creature flying away from him like a repelling magnet. Through blood-clouded eyes, Meekknuckle saw a shimmering barrier surround his small body.


    Yet he couldn¡¯t keep it up for long, the searing pain in his head was too much to bear. He collapsed in a puddle of his blood, the metallic taste strong in his mouth as it dripped freely from his nose. And yet, despite the pain, all he could think about was how wrong this situation was. No matter what he did, what he said, Ornn always protected him. His stoic guardian.


    And it was that thought that carried him forward. Wiping the blood from his eyes, Meekknuckle smiled at his protector.


    ¡°I know it wasn¡¯t you Ornn¡­¡± He said. It didn¡¯t make sense of course. He was bleeding from his nose, his ears, even his eyes. Hells, his skull was pierced in five different places and yet he wasn¡¯t dying. He felt¡­normal?


    Ornn stared back at him, the stone Golem¡¯s expression neutral, still affixed in his customary scowl. His hand, his thick stone fingers, they were clean¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s just an illusion Ornn,¡± Meekknuckle continued. Of course, it was! Ornn would never hurt him and that was where the Dungeon had failed. ¡°This is all an illusion and I won¡¯t let it keep hold of me¡­¡±


    Closing his eyes tightly, Meekknuckle took a moment to gather himself. Whoever or whatever had created this illusion was strong. It had almost sucked him in. He took hold of his brimming Core and slowly began to circulate his Mana into the air. Each unrelenting wave of his essence started to clear the fog afflicting his mind.


    It wasn¡¯t long before he was able to fully purge himself of the invasive Mana that had been trying to overtake his small body. While it was a simple enough trick, he was beginning to worry about how the others would deal with it. Even Skrakch who was the most magically inclined of his comrades was but an amateur wizard.


    Now free of the invading Mana, Meekknuckle opened his eyes, blinking away some of the blurriness. Ornn was standing in front of him, one of his massive hands holding onto Meek¡¯s shoulder. As always, his friend¡¯s face was impassive but even so, Meekknuckle could still feel the concern inside.


    He smiled and patted his companion¡¯s hand. Taking in a large breath of fresh air, Meekknuckle quickly scanned the area for any threats. He saw Skrakch and Winfried looking as though they were trapped in some kind of weird mime. The Ratling was laughing silently, head thrown back and one paw pointing at an imaginary foe. Winifred appeared to be locked in combat, throwing out punches and kicks and dodging.


    Zacharias however, was leaning against a large rock, twirling a pair of daggers in his hands. The Halfing looked bored although he showed an expression of mild interest when he realized that he was being watched.


    ¡°Looks like we just gotta wait this out mate,¡± He said casually, nodding towards Winifred and Skrakch.


    Meekknuckle nodded. As concerned as he was about his companions, there was nothing he could do. They would need to dip into their own Mana and use their inner strength to break free from their demons.


    The adventure so far had only served to make him starving hungry. Luckily, he¡¯d prepared for such an eventuality. Meekknuckle reached into his backpack, rooting around until he located his prize. A large block of moldy cheese. Ignoring the Halfling¡¯s complaints about the smell, Meekknuckle dug into his treat happily.

 Interlude - Arthur

    It had been far too long since he¡¯d felt the wind on his face, the sensation of his hair blowing in the stiff breeze of the Wilds, and felt the freedom of a good hunt. Leaning against one of the city¡¯s huge flanking towers, Arthur took a deep shuddering breath.


    Dray¡¯Mel had changed. When he came to conquer the sprawling city, so long ago now, it had been surrounded by massive mountains. There had been a huge forest, filled with life that made for an exciting and rewarding hunting trip. Lake Dray¡¯Mel had been a sight to behold, a large piece of smooth, almost glass-like water that looked too perfect and tranquil to disturb with something so benign as a fishing trip.


    Now the land was blighted. The very ground beneath his feet cracked as it died, all its nutrients exhausted. The negative Energy had stripped away all of the beauty. The lake was nothing but a dry bed of sun-baked earth, the rotting marine life reduced to dust. The vast forest was now charred tree stumps and eerily silent, devoid of any wildlife. A hunter would be lucky to find a Ghoul for it was far less intimating than the Hooroun that stalked between the deadened wastes. While most native creatures had long since died out under the flux of Necromantic Energy, the local bear population had instead evolved to accept the blight. Swelling with cancerous tumors, and ignoring any wounds that covered their backs, the Hooroun were deadly beyond compare, ferocious and reckless beyond the norm of their ancestors.


    Of course, there were still signs of life if you need what to look for. A well-traveled road, worn from wagons full of goods. The rotting corpse of a Hooroun¡¯s prey, bones thrusting towards the sky, picked clean of any meat. The swarms of vultures that would gather, circling their prey from above as they waited for it to succumb to its fatal wounds.


    Off some ways in the distance though, across the vast desert to the east of the city, was the quarry Arthur hoped to spy. Just as he¡¯d been briefed, a massive pillar jutted from the earth, blighting the horizon. It looked exactly like the painstakingly inked drawings in his father¡¯s old history books. Raptaloekr. The ancient city was even older than Dray¡¯Mel itself. Centuries ago, when the first humans had grown intelligent enough to congregate and build, Raptaloekr was the fruits of their labor. The pillar had been the Tower Of Kings, built by the slaves brick by brick.


    Arthur had vague memories of being told of its downfall. How an invading tribe had wiped out the city¡¯s inhabitants and left it to rot. Slowly, as the sands shifted, Raptaloekr had been buried. Now, like some grim corpse, it had risen from the dead. It was surrounded by various beasts from the desert, all working together to some nefarious end that threatened Dray¡¯Mel.


    Rath¡¯Mel, the lord of Dray¡¯Mel, had summoned him for his aid. The people of the city were in danger and Arthur would be the one to save them. It was, after all, his new calling. The Hallowed Pilgrim was the bulwark of the masses, the savior to his fellow man.


    It was a glorious thing, Arthur thought to himself, to have a purpose once more. His torture at the hands of his captors had felt like eons but, Loth¡¯Mel had explained it all to him. Arthur had been cruelly blinded when he was young, indoctrinated by the forces of Chaos to turn upon his fellow man. Why else would he have willingly waged war on other humans? No, it was clear now that for so long, his eyes had been hooded. Now, he could finally see.


    He reached up to his neck and gripped the drop of rose quartz that hung there. Dear, sweet Adelynn. He wondered if she was still waiting for him? But he shook away that thought just as quickly as he¡¯d birthed it. Of course, she would be. Loth¡¯Mel had promised that it would only be a matter of time until they would be reunited. He was going to personally arrange for Adelynn to be brought to Dray¡¯Mel in his finest traveling coach.


    A feast would be prepared in her name and the whole city would rejoice on their behalf. Two lovers reunited. And it would all hinge upon his victory. Once the threat of Raptaloekr had been dealt with and safety restored to Dray¡¯Mel, Adelynn would be sent for. The death and destruction outside of the city walls would be conveniently forgotten and he would be allowed to retire in the newly constructed Residential District of the city. Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s finest builders were already constructing the mansion that was to be their marital home.


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    Smiling to himself, Arthur let out a whistle as Briarwave crested the battlements. Noble and pure, his palomino companion was as majestic as the day he¡¯d met him. The purebred Pegasus was still the gentle soul that he¡¯d always been but still possessed the steely determination that made him a fine warhorse.


    Swiftly mounting his companion, they took to the skies, piercing through the distance between Dray¡¯Mel and Arthur¡¯s target. As they rapidly approached the massive pillar, Arthur could make out hundreds of forms surrounding it. Cyclops and Manticores worked side-by-side to carve niches into the stone, pixies, and bats flying the debris away, while a pack of Minotaur worked to excavate the pillar.


    The reason for their cooperation was becoming clear, massive welts and unnatural pulsing sores spread across their bodies, pulsing with unholy might. Each beast, from the smallest of imps to the most gigantic Ogre, ignored their natural inclination towards violence and worked with a fervor that defied logic.


    Each of the affected creatures worked with unnatural coordination with their peers, acting as if they shared the same vision, the same goal. Rath¡¯Mel had spoken of a dire threat to Dray¡¯Mel, the daunting beast that threatened their home.


    The Restless Swarm.


    Little was known about the Chosen other than its ability to infect and turn any creature it got its hands on. Once infected, the creatures acted as one mind with each other, creating some kind of hivemind. Truly an opponent that would inspire fear in any man, the Pilgrim noted to himself.


    Grimly taking one last look at the jutting mass of stone, Arthur sped back to the city limits. Gently guiding Briarwave back down into the castle walls, the Hallowed Pilgrim dismounted with practiced ease. Hailing a passing guardsman, Arthur raised his hand to command the man¡¯s attention. Only, the hand he raised before him was wrong¡­


    Twisted¡­


    Instead of smooth unbroken skin, his hand was ruptured and gnarled. Sores and pus stood out on tainted flesh, his skin no longer tanned and whole. His fingers ended in skeletal claws, the bones showing where his tissue ended.


    This was all wrong, he heard a voice screaming in the back of his mind. Why was his flesh rotten, his skin grey like ash? Why had he forgotten the true depths of his torture, 600 years of pain and suffering? Turning to Briarwave in shock, he looked upon his oldest friend and saw a monster made flesh.


    Crafted from the deceased corpses of a dozen men, the flesh of the beast was molded grotesquely into a mimicry of a horse. Its tail was made from a dozen fingers, all undulating with each passing moment. Its body was red with flowing blood, flayed flesh convulsing into a mockery of a stallion. And its eyes, heartless and bereft of life, were two still-beating hearts, each pumping Necromantic energy throughout the creature.


    Reeling back in disgust, Arthur felt a blinding headache come over him. Panic and fear clouded his heart and mind, and for a short moment, he could feel the lash once more upon his back. Thankfully, Loth¡¯Mel had told him of these nightmarish visions, because of course none of this could be real.


    Pulling loose a vial of black liquid, he put the flask to his lips. A small part of him screamed to cast it away, but this madness was too much for him. Tipping back the vial, Arthur drank deep, his eyes shut tight as he tossed the empty glass aside.


    It took but moments for the elixir to do its work, his fears dissipating swiftly. It was truly a miracle drink, to cleanse him of his weakness so readily.


    Turning to his companion, he was glad to see Briarwave was whole and unchanged, the perfect Pegasus steed.


    He would do anything to protect this city, and that began with the Restless Swarm. He would gather a company of pure-hearted men and would slay this beast, the Hallowed Pilgrim told himself.


    And everything would be fine, once it was dead. The Archmage had assured him of it personally.

 Chapter Thirty Two - Carry On Regardless

    The first thing that Skrakch noticed was the sensation of being laid out flat on his face. Next was the horrendous headache that came with the realization that it hadn¡¯t been caused by his usual night of drinking in the Plagued Rat. Finally, came the memory of the burning mansion and Jace.


    Scrambling to his feet, Skrakch readied himself for the illusion¡¯s next move, claws spread wide and teeth bared. Instead of some monster from his past, however, or another ghostly version of Jace, he was met by the sight of a small, empty cave. A few meters away he could see Ornn and Meekknuckle, the latter of whom was scarfing down a large chunk of rotten cheese. Next to them was the incongruous sight of Zach and Winifred playing a game of cards, as casual as could be.


    He turned around and saw the sole distinguishing feature of the empty cave. Yet another large door adorned with a Demon¡¯s Skull, identical to the one at the entrance to the Dungeon. However, much more importantly than that was the object on the floor by his feet. It was the scepter from his illusion! Scooping it up, he slipped it into his belt and hoped that nobody had noticed. There was no way he was going to let Zach get his sticky hands on it.


    Skrakch wasn¡¯t sure what to make of the scepter yet. If it was truly the one from the illusion, it was quite a powerful tool. Artifacts, magical ones at that, were extremely rare in Dray¡¯Mel. The rich of the Residential District would bid on them for insane prices at an annual auction held upon the Casey Estate. Lords and Counts would frantically try and outbid each other, throwing gold around as though it were nothing. So why, if someone or something wanted to keep them out of the Dungeon, would they gift him with something so powerful? A scepter that could shoot fireballs? It didn¡¯t make any sense¡­


    Still, he¡¯d worry about that later.


    ¡°Well about fucking time Squeakers,¡± Zach said, tossing his cards down and stretching idly. ¡°We were getting sick of bloody waiting!¡± He nodded down at the discarded cards. ¡°Plus, I was about to beat Winnie¡¯s arse so it¡¯s probably a good time to stop.¡±


    ¡°Oh aye?¡± Winifred questioned with a raised eyebrow. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t have anything tae do with the extra ace that ye¡¯ve got squirreled up that sleeve of yours would it?¡± She smiled smugly.


    Zach pulled a face at her and she responded in kind with a rude gesture. Skrakch shook his head. Honestly, it felt as though he was dealing with a couple of kids!


    ¡°So Squeaks, Squeakers, Squeakeroo. You¡¯re the one with all the book learning. What¡¯s going on here?¡± Zach asked. ¡°Some kind of hocus pocus?¡±


    ¡°Magic. Yes.¡± Skrakch replied witheringly, rolling his eyes at the Halfling. ¡°An illusion and a powerful one at that. I assume all of you experienced one too?¡±


    Winifred and Meekknuckle nodded but Zach simply shrugged in return. Skrakch briefly wondered what the Halfling had seen although, if he thought about it, he probably didn¡¯t want to know. Both Winifred and Meekknuckle however, still looked rattled. Meek was practically clinging onto Ornn as if he was never going to let go. Winifred was busying herself by gathering up the playing cards but Skrakch could see her hands shaking.


    ¡°Meekknuckle was out second,¡± The Goblin spoke up through a mouthful of cheese. ¡°That make him second smartest!¡±


    ¡°Yeah right Shorty,¡± Zach chuckled. ¡°You have so little brains the illusion-whatsit probably had no fucking clue what to do with ya!¡± He turned back to Skrakch. ¡°So, what¡¯s the big theory then? Some kind of protection to keep people outta this place or what?¡±


    ¡°More than likely,¡± Skrakch said with a nod. He looked back at the Demon Door. ¡°If I had to guess, it¡¯s probably something to do with that,¡± He continued, tossing a paw in its direction. ¡°A lot of the magical protection in these old Dungeons is supposed to be about testing your mental acuity.¡±


    ¡°Ye mean it¡¯s tryin¡¯ to break us?¡± Winifred asked. She was shaking her head. ¡°I said this wasn¡¯t a good idea and look what happened. I dinnae think we should go through that door. I saw we turn back, go to the pub and forget this shite.¡±


    ¡°And give up the chance for unlimited Dragon¡¯s Blood?¡± Zach reminded her.


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    ¡°You shut up wee man!¡± Winifred continued, turning to face him. She pointed an accusing finger in his face. ¡°This is all yer fault! Tell us again about that shipment aye? Oh wait, ye heard it from some drunken idiot in a bar. What a reputable source! Let¡¯s risk our lives over that!¡± She spat sarcastically.


    ¡°Whatever love, you weren¡¯t pecking my head when you thought you were going to be able to get some of that Dragon¡¯s Blood were ya?¡± Zach shot back. ¡°Look, what¡¯s the big deal? So some fucking hocus pocus tried to trick us or whatever. We all got something out of the deal apart from shit-for-brains over there,¡± He continued, motioning to Meekknuckle. ¡°I got this pretty sweet daggers here, Winnie, I ain¡¯t seen those knuckledusters you¡¯re wearing before and Squeakers has that scepter thing he thinks I didn¡¯t see. Way I see it? We did pretty outta the deal. Sure, I thought this was a load of old bollocks when we arrived here but I saw we carry on, go through that door and see what other shit we can get our hands on.¡±


    ¡°Hmph,¡± Winifred made a noise that wasn¡¯t quite assent but it wasn¡¯t an argument either.


    ¡°So does that mean you¡¯re both agreeing?¡± Skrakch asked. ¡°We carry on? Because I only see one exit from here anyways, so I don¡¯t think leaving is in the cards regardless.¡±


    He didn¡¯t care to hear the answer either way. As far as he was concerned, there was no discussion. They were going to need to carry on into the Dungeon. There was no way he was going to give up what was likely going to be his best chance at becoming Chosen. As far as he was concerned, the idiots could continue arguing. Hells, both of them could fall afoul of whatever the Dungeon threw at them for all he cared. All that mattered was getting through the Dungeon.


    Deciding to ignore any further talk, he strode over to the door confidently, throwing it open with one hefty shove. Billowing smoke poured through the crack and it wasn¡¯t long before the cloying scent of death invaded his nostrils. Ignoring it as it threatened to overwhelm him, Skrakch stumbled through the door to get a better look.


    A massive cavern sprawled forth in front of him. Bodies littered the floor, each in various states of decay. Some were bloated, obviously fresh whereas others were putrefied and skeletonized. There were swarms of flies feasting on the rotting flesh and some of the bodies were so covered in maggots it looked like they were moving as one large entity.


    At the other end of the cavern, Skrakch spotted what appeared to be the only exit in the room. It wasn¡¯t exactly surprising to him. Dungeons were notorious for testing an adventurer¡¯s mettle. Wading through a sea of rotten corpses was considered almost amateur compared to some of the horrors that he¡¯d read about in the library.


    ¡°Fucking gross that innit?¡± Zacharias suddenly appeared at his side, letting out a low whistle as he took the sight in.


    ¡°And it does nae worry you?¡± Winifred asked, approaching Skrakch¡¯s other side. She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the area, shaking her head.


    ¡°Nowt the dead can do,¡± Zacharias shrugged easily. ¡°Although the stink¡¯s pretty ripe,¡± He added, waving a hand in front of his face. ¡°Still, there might be some decent loot on ¡®em. What¡¯s a bit of skin slippage compared to some fancy jewelry?¡±


    ¡°We should send Ornn first,¡± Skrakch replied. While he was used to the bad smells that would come from the Sewers, this was something else and his stomach was churning at the thought of having to wade through all that death. At least if the Golem went first, he¡¯d be able to carve a path through for them.


    ¡°Aye, ye go hideaway in the back Rodent,¡± Winifred said with a smirk. ¡°If this turns out to be another bloody illusion or what-have-ye, I¡¯ll be ready for a good rumble!¡± She added, cracking her knuckles.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t mind testing out my new gear,¡± Zacharias agreed with a nod, he expertly spun his new daggers in his hands as he looked over the sea of bodies. Suddenly he frowned, his head moving forwards and his eyes narrowing. ¡°Well, what do ya know? That dude over there, the proper ugly looking one¡­¡± He pointed to one of the bodies a few meters away. They were so tightly packed together, Skrakch couldn¡¯t work out which one he was pointing to. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s Marvin. He¡¯s one of Sykes¡¯ men. Oh aye, and look! There¡¯s Bargesh!...well, his head anyways,¡± He added casually. ¡°Ugly, ugly fucker he was. Well, it looks like we¡¯re hardly the first to find this dungeon. He must be sending people in to get the rewards, definitely lends credence to my idea that there¡¯s Dragon¡¯s Blood in there, don¡¯t it?¡±


    Winifred scowled, her expression was pensive for a moment.


    ¡°Have ye thought that maybe Sykes wants us in this place for some reason?¡± She asked. ¡°It¡¯s nae a good sign to see his men here.¡±


    ¡°Nah, won¡¯t be that,¡± Zacharias said confidently. ¡°He¡¯s a right bastard but he wouldn¡¯t send two of his best just to die. They were probably trying to screw him over just like we are. Which, by the way, isn¡¯t gonna happen if we stand around here gassing!¡±


    ¡°Meek agree with small man. Meek thinks we all go in. Best chance fight together yes? Me watch back. Me very good at watching for scary things!¡± Meekkuckle offered, nodding happily at his own idea.


    Taking a moment to think, Skrakch regarded the small Goblin.


    ¡°Y¡¯know, I¡¯m pretty sure if we toss the idiot in, Ornn will follow¡­¡±

 Chapter Thirty Three - Ever Chucked A Goblin?

    ¡°No! No throw!¡± Meekknuckle screeched as he sailed through the air, in what was quite an impressive arc, before he landed on top of a rotting body with a disgusting and very audible squelch.


    ¡°Ha! Just add Goblin chucking to my list of skills!¡± Zach boasted as he flexed his muscles and grinned.


    ¡°Aye, yer also good at makin¡¯ a racket too!¡± Winifred complained. ¡°Ye probably just woke at least a dozen beasties with that show.¡±


    ¡°Pfft. Do you see anything attacking the idiot?¡± Zach asked, waving over at Meekknuckle with a flourish. Coated in blood, and worse, the diminutive Goblin had leaped up from his disgusting landing spot and was currently trying to wipe himself down. Still, despite his scream and the noise he¡¯d made when he landed, there was no sign of anything coming for him.


    Skrakch shook his head at his idiotic companions. Despite Zach¡¯s stupid move, it had the desired effect. With a low grumble of rumbling stone, Ornn followed his master into the cavern, impassively crushing bodies under his heavy feet as he walked and created a path through the bodies. When nothing attacked him, Skrakch followed behind with Winifred and Zacharias bringing up the rear. While a path had been cleared, the floor beneath them was still saturated with bodily fluids from the dead. Skrakch shuddered as his uncovered paws came into contact with it. It was hard not to slip and slide amongst the blood and putrid liquids.


    ¡°Mate we are gonna fucking stink after this,¡± Zacharias moaned.


    ¡°Then at least you¡¯ll be more likely to take a shower!¡± Skrakch shot back with a smirk.


    ¡°Will the two of ye shut up!¡± Winifred demanded. It sounded as though she was speaking through gritted teeth. Skrakch didn¡¯t blame her, after all, this was probably the most disgusting thing that they¡¯d done.


    But, Skrakch mused as they pushed onwards, it wasn¡¯t without its perks. Being at the front meant that he was in the prime location for spotting any likely-looking loot. He chuckled to himself as he pulled a coin purse free and shook a decent amount of coin into his paw. They might stink to all Hells but the dead rarely complained about being robbed.


    He glanced over his shoulder to see Zach helping himself as well, quick fingers plucking anything of value with ease. Winifred was watching him, looking mildly disgusted but then she grabbed a coin purse too before showing some interest in a nearby sword. Meek stayed ahead, having pulled himself up on Ornn¡¯s broad shoulders. His scrappy clothing was stained with bodily fluids and he appeared to have no interest in the free loot, little fool that he was.


    Picking and looting their way through the cavern, the group of thugs stuck to the left wall, moving slowly in the hopes it wouldn¡¯t awaken whatever killed their predecessors.


    It was a slow, nerve-wracking process, but they¡¯d managed to clear a quarter of the distance soon enough.


    Leaning down, Zach let out a thoughtful hum. The Halfling reached down and pulled out a skeletal corpse by its breastplate from the sea of decomposing corpses.


    ¡°Bastard¡¯s been down here long enough, nothing but bones left to him.¡± He whispered, wiping the dust off his new friend. ¡°And would you look at that, that¡¯s the emblem of the Chersetra Empire, isn¡¯t it? The Hells is it doing under Dray¡¯Mel?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re forgetting that we¡¯re in a magical Dungeon,¡± Skrakch replied. ¡°I figure we¡¯re just entering through one of many portals. I mean, look at the number of bodies down here. It¡¯s quite a lot for a random Dray¡¯Mel mausoleum. It explains the fucking armour too.¡±


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    Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but grin wildly. As dangerous as this room seemed to be, just thinking about all the treasures down here had him salivating. Only the bravest of souls, or the largest of fools, would risk life or limb entering a dungeon. And those brave souls usually had decent gear, all for the picking. His new scepter could do with some decent armor to set it off.


    The group stayed against the left wall and continued to make their way towards the exit. They¡¯d so far managed to remain fairly quiet aside from the initial noise of throwing Meek. They were keeping their voices low and even Ornn seemed to be moving with more care than usual.


    Glancing back at the large Golem, it was then that Skrakch noticed that Meek had disappeared from his shoulder. He sighed deeply, feeling a sudden sinking feeling wash over him. Before he could say anything, however, there was a loud snapping noise from behind him. Skrakch whipped round and saw Zacharias and Winifred looking at him curiously.


    ¡°That sounded like a skull being crushed by a foot.¡± Zacharias mused.


    ¡°What, ye can tell it was a skull from the noise?¡± Winifred asked in an incredulous whisper. ¡°I dinnae think that¡¯s a thing,¡±


    ¡°Listen, love,¡± Zacharias replied, raising his voice ever so slightly and making Skrakch cringe at the noise. ¡°When you¡¯ve been in the business as long as I have, you get used to all sorts of shite. I¡¯d bet my bottom coin that it was a skull,¡± He explained with a sage look on his face.


    ¡°As much as I hate to say it¡­¡± Skrakch interjected, suddenly seeing the cause of the noise. ¡°He¡¯s right¡­¡±


    Skrakch pointed over to Meekknuckle. The Goblin was standing by a body, his left foot on the remains of a skull which he¡¯d seemingly crushed into powder. Meek had frozen in place, his eyes wide with terror. His left hand was outstretched, reaching for a hunk of rotten cheese that was poking out of a corpse''s tattered provisions bag.


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ hell you little-¡±!


    Zacharias¡¯ curses were lost when a loud rumbling noise seemed to reverberate around the cavern, causing the ground beneath them to shake. The piles of bodies began to undulate as if something underground was pressing its way through them.


    Skrakch froze in place, his eyes tracking the movement. His paw instinctively reached for his new scepter, as the source of the noise and movement suddenly revealed itself. A pile of bodies burst upwards towards the ceiling as though a bomb had gone off, gore and bodily fluids started to rain down upon them as a long serpentine creature burst free.


    Its body looked as though it had been crafted entirely from bones, its long spine punctuated with rib bones from tail to neck. Its skull was wide and flat and larger than a standard doorway. It had dark holes where its eyes were supposed to be, with two glowing green embers shimmering with malice. The creature¡¯s jawbone was fully on display, revealing a set of large spiked teeth that looked capable of tearing a man limb from limb. Skrakch vaguely recognized the shape of the creature, its skull at the very least, resembled that of a Nagas, a famed underwater creature of the Chestera Empire.


    Now that it had freed itself from the confining sea of bodies, the monster easily towered over them all, Ornn included. It was as tall as The Plagued Rat, easily over two stories in height and length.


    ¡°What the fuck is that?¡± Winifred demanded, her eyes wide with fear. The beast started to swing its massive head in her direction, its creepy eye sockets seemed to focus on her despite them being empty. It opened its huge jaw and let out a bestial roar, as the Naga began to slither sinuously towards its targets.


    ¡°It¡¯s commonly known as a run-the-fuck-away!¡± Zacharias cried out as he started to bolt for the other end of the cavern.


    Skrakch seemed frozen on the spot for a moment before his survival instincts kicked into high gear. Winifred certainly hadn¡¯t needed to be told twice, she¡¯d also started to head for the exit, looking back over her shoulder every so often at the beast.


    Meekknuckle was also doing his best to escape but the Goblin was a lot slower than the others, tripping and slipping. The creature¡¯s focus turned to him as it let out another roar. Skrakch was vaguely aware of someone, Winifred probably, urging him to help but the Ratling would not be deterred from his escape attempt. He¡¯d always been upfront to his companions about his first golden rule of adventuring.


    In case of emergencies, always bring a minion who¡¯s slower than you.

 Chapter Thirty Four - Leaving the Prick as Bait

    It wasn¡¯t surprising that it was difficult to run over a pile of corpses. The blood and various oozing bodily fluids made it extremely difficult to get any kind of grip on the stone floor beneath his paws, and frankly, Skrakch preferred not to think about it too much.


    After all, the alternative to escape would be fighting a massive Undead monster and that was certainly enough to keep his motivation high, no matter how disgusting his current predicament was. Almost tripping over some poor soul¡¯s femur, Skrakch risked a look behind just in time to see a large wave of bodies being shoved aside by the massive skeletal tail of the beast.


    Eyes widening in fear, he quickly dodged to his right, narrowly escaping the huge jaws of the Bone Naga as it burst through the bodies, creating another horrific shower of blood and viscera before it plunged back down into the sea of corpses.


    ¡°Fucking Gods damned Hells!¡± Skrakch cursed, shakily wiping blood from his eyes and whiskers. The beast was quicker than he¡¯d anticipated, if the thing had been just one single inch closer, he¡¯d have lost his head.


    ¡°What are ye doin¡¯?¡± Winifred demanded. She was standing a few feet away, holding up a struggling Meekknuckle by the scruff of his neck. She looked panicked but was trying to keep a lid on her fear. ¡°The beast¡¯s too fast to outrun!¡±


    ¡°And something tells me fighting it in close combat ain¡¯t the answer either,¡± Zacharias added, suddenly appearing at Skrakch¡¯s side. ¡°We¡¯re gonna need to think of a proper plan,¡± he carefully watched the now-undulating bodies once more, waiting for the beast to reappear for its next strike.


    ¡°I vote you be the sacrifice Squeakers,¡± Zacharias continued as he dodged the moving mass of bones. ¡°Shit! The bugger¡¯s coming back up!¡±


    The rumbling beneath them started to intensify once more. Before they could move, the Bone Naga burst free, ready for another attack. It moved through the bodies and bones as easily as if it were water. Winifred was right, it would have them in its jaws before they could even get halfway across the cavern.


    ¡°Ouch! Ye little shite!¡± Winifred cried out, letting Meek drop to the floor as she shook her hand. Skrakch could see the bite marks where the Goblin had freed himself. Before the pit fighter could rebuke him, Meek had scrambled away, digging into the pocket of his ragged trousers.


    The diminutive Goblin stood in the middle of them and confronted the charging beast, holding a gleaming silver medallion high above his head.


    ¡°Maglubiyet! Hear Meek¡¯s words!¡± He called out, his arms trembling as he held the medallion aloft. ¡°Defend from scary snake-¡±


    The beast, unfettered, opened its jaw wide and started to dive downwards, ready to swallow the Goblin, and the rest of them, whole. Ornn moved swiftly towards his Master but Skrakch could see there was no way the Golem would be able to get there in time¡­


    ¡°Protective Barrier!¡± Meek shouted, a pulse of divine Mana pouring out of the diminutive Goblin¡¯s Core.


    A shimmering wall of light suddenly sprung into existence between Meekknuckle and the Bone Naga. Undeterred, the beast committed to its attack as it slammed directly into the magical defense, its brittle bone teeth shattering against the barrier. Deflected to the side, it let out a roar of anger right into Meekknuckle¡¯s face, before sinking under the bodies once more.


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    The little Goblin was still bravely holding his medallion aloft, although the use of such magic was taking its toll on his small body.


    Gasping, he fell to his knees with blood dripping from his yellow eyes and large nose. Before the exhausted Goblin could sink into the bodies below him, Winifred lunged forward and scooped him up into a princess carry, trying her best not to jostle him much.


    Sadly, without its power source, the barrier that protected them started to flicker and disperse, leaving them wholly unprotected once more.


    ¡°Leave the little fucker as bait!¡± Zach yelled, turning tail and running for the exit while the barrier still held.


    ¡°He just tried to save us ye callous bastard!¡± Winifred shouted back. ¡°We¡¯re nae leavin¡¯ him behind, I¡¯ll throw ye to the beast before that happens!¡± She added, checking to ensure that Ornn was following along, the great Golem trying to stick to his master¡¯s side.


    ¡°Best to run quickly, it¡¯s coming back around!¡± Skrakch called out watching as the barrier finally fully dispersed, bursting into a hundred gleaming shards of light. It had provided them with enough ground to get a head start on the beast. ¡°I¡¯ve got a plan, Ornn I need you to hold back the blasted thing, just for a second!¡±


    Grabbing the scepter from his belt, Skrakch quickly traced the arcane glyphs running down its length with his finger. Magic items tended to need some form of attunement, or at least a certain familiarity with them, but as the desperate Ratling took in the scepter¡¯s design, he was confident that he could use it.


    Maybe.


    Hopefully.


    Pushing his Mana into it, Skrakch could feel the scepter hungrily soak in his power, draining nearly half his Core¡¯s Mana into one cast. With any luck, he¡¯d be blessed and the thing would work the same way it had during the illusion.


    Thankfully, Ornn seemed to have heeded his words, his large footsteps squelching loudly as he came to stand guard in front of Skrakch. The two of them watched with tensed bodies as the Bone Naga flowed towards them, picking up speed as it readied to engulf them both whole.


    Smashing downwards with both of its titan-sized fists, Ornn smashed into the beast with all the Golem¡¯s strength, yet it only delayed the inevitable as the Naga continued its lunge.


    As the mighty serpentine beast began to burst forth from underneath, Skrakch used the momentary delay to point his new scepter straight down at the swelling of corpses by his feet. With a curse and a final injection of Mana, the scepter lit up, the arcane runes glowing with a fierce light as the enchantment activated.


    The tip glowed a bright white as it momentarily charged up a large orb of fire. Swirling with potent Mana, its effect with a powerful gout of flame, unleashed with a fervent hunger, slamming into the erupting Bone Naga in a rising crescendo of flame and destruction.


    The mammoth-sized Undead serpent let out a roar of pain and hatred as its skull cracked from the force of the blow. Reeling off to the side, the Naga narrowly missed Skrakch. However, the flames did not.


    Screaming in pain and terror, Skrakch was knocked off his feet by the ensuing explosion as the Naga fell into the sea of bodies. Struggling to put out the fire that was currently burning his fur, he began to sink into the corpses himself when the Ratling felt something grab him by the scruff of his neck. He looked up to see Ornn¡¯s grim face staring at him. The Golem hadn¡¯t escaped injury either, a massive rend had been carved across the length of his chest. It was so deep that it was possible to see the intricate Mana inscriptions that powered him, and Skrakch could see the magical Core that resided deep inside Ornn.


    Delirious with the pain, Skrakch watched breathlessly as the Bone Naga swam once more amongst the corpses. Its very essence seemed hellbent on destroying them. Reorientated once more, the unnerving foe was quickly gaining on the scrambling rogues, picking up steam as it sped towards them.


    Dragged along towards the only exit, Skrakch barely managed to pat the last bit of fire off him, as he watched the beast get closer and closer.


    Screaming out a half-incoherent warning, the terrified Ratling barely noticed as they entered the next chamber, and Ornn slammed the door shut behind them.

 Chapter Thirty Five - The Idea Man

    It seemed like forever before Skrakch¡¯s shuddering heart stopped beating so frantically in his chest. He¡¯d had a few brushes with death before but they¡¯d always been at the end of a blade, not at the jaws of some giant bone monstrosity.


    ¡°Though to be fair,¡± Skrakch muttered, mostly to himself. ¡°I¡¯ve nearly been eaten by Ghouls before¡­¡±


    ¡°What are you wittering on about Squeakers?¡± Zacharias asked. The Halfling was trying to wipe away the worst of the bodily fluids from his leather trenchcoat with an old handkerchief.


    ¡°And you!¡± Skrakch demanded, completely ignoring Zacharias. He pointed a shaky paw at Meekknuckle who was currently slumped in Winifred¡¯s arms. ¡°Since when could you cast such strong magic?¡±


    Panting weakly, Meekknuckle let out a deep groan as Winifred set him down onto some cold soil.


    ¡°Me got from vision¡­¡± He explained, wiping at his bloody nose. ¡°It very strong¡­me am smartest Goblin after all¡­¡± He continued as he shakily got to his feet. His clothes were torn and stained with blood and various bodily fluids from the corpses. Even his large philtrum was completely caked in the stuff. The small creature couldn¡¯t look any less like a hero if he tried but, somewhat reluctantly, Skrakch had to give him his due.


    ¡°I won¡¯t argue with that,¡± He said, still shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°You pulled our butts out of the fire. Thanks, Meek.¡±


    In truth, none of his companions were looking great, the Ratling noted. His dark vision didn¡¯t give him much in the way of color, but he could still see the dripping fluids on most of their bodies. Worse yet, with their magical healer looking like a wrung-out rag, it was up to more mundane efforts to save the day.


    Of course, that¡¯s why the Ratling was adamant about bringing a healthy assortment of potions and elixirs with him on his adventures. Skrakch absentmindedly pulled a few vials from his bandolier, running over the injuries in his mind.


    A poultice for his burns, a stamina potion for Winifred and Zach each, and maybe something to numb the pain for Meekknuckle? Too many potions at once dulled the effects, or he¡¯d be happy to pour half his stock down the Goblin''s throat. Still, the cost of four potions alone left him wincing at the price. After all, there was a reason Skrakch always seemed penniless, even after a big score.


    Frankly, it would be best if he¡¯d been capable of making the more advanced potions himself, but sadly that was beyond him at the moment. The trickiest potions were those that could naturally fill up someone¡¯s Core, but the only recipe he¡¯d ever heard about for those was a well guarded secret of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s Alchemy Guild. And as much as he¡¯d learned from the Guild Mistress Jeeta, the damned Saxhleel had no intention of passing the recipe on.


    If he could make his own, he¡¯d be able to craft some Mana restoring potions, and could help the woozy-looking goblin out and let him do the healing. Still, Skrakch was just happy to be alive at this point.


    ¡°Alright you lot, come here. These won¡¯t do much, but they¡¯ll take the edge off.¡± Skrakch grumbled, holding out three small vials. While each looked similar, the Ratling could tell which was which from the lingering scent of the ingredients inside.


    It didn¡¯t take long for his greedy companions to grab one, and after draining their foul-tasting brews, they were looking quite a bit more hale and hearty. Skrakch himself was feeling much better after applying his poultice, his burnt flesh itching strongly as his flesh regrew from under his burns.


    ¡°That was quick thinking, Skrakch.¡± Winifred piped up, a look of contentment on her face as the potion did its work. ¡°I won¡¯t say I owe you my life, but perhaps I¡¯ll buy you an ale if we make it out.¡±


    ¡°Meek agree, Magic Rat make very big boom!¡± Meekknuckle nodded with enthusiasm. ¡°Me forgive Skrakch, even though it his fault.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough of the mushy stuff lads,¡± Zach said, pulling a face. ¡°Just be happy we made it out, and be done with it.¡±


    ¡°No thanks to you, oh Glorious leader. You were pretty bloody quick to ditch us, even for you.¡± Skrakch spat, glaring daggers at the Halfling.


    Zach scoffed loudly, giving the Ratling a shove. ¡°Please, I¡¯m the idea man, you lot are the muscle. Just be glad the door was open when we got there, eh? Anyways, I dropped my torch, so if anyone else has one, now''s the time to use it.¡± Zach said, still standing at the ready, peering into the darkness.


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    ¡°Keep your pants on, I¡¯ve got one right¡­ here!¡± Winifred exclaims, lighting a torch to reveal the cavern. ¡°By the Gods Above¡­ I bloody knew it!


    Skrakch¡¯s eyes took a little while to adjust following the sudden darkness but he soon realized why Winifred had sounded so excited.


    It was yet another cavern, but a lot smaller this time. Its purpose was obviously to be a treasury as was revealed by her flickering flame, and Skrakch can¡¯t help but watch with wonder as riches beyond his understanding were displayed. Most of the floor of the cavern was littered with gold coins, interspersed with gleaming jewels. He could barely make out the floor of the cavern, as the cavern was so completely stuffed with golden objects.


    There were weapon racks, each holding exotic weapons larger than the ratling himself. Delicate vases lined the walls, ornate paintings decorated each inch of the cavern, but above them, all was a gigantic carved picture of a Human face.


    Whoever had engraved it into the stone walls had a masterful touch, the work of art perfectly replicating the look of some nobleman Human. It even had the condescending sneer that Skrakch was so familiar with. Oddly though, one of its eyes was closed, leaving it in the state of a permanent wink.


    Twisting about to get a better look at the treasures, Skrakch wasn¡¯t surprised to see a mirroring engraving sprawled on the far side of the opposite wall. Rather than a portrait, however, this engraving was a written passage. Unfortunately, it was written in Seotada, a long-dead language that he had only the barest of knowledge of.


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever seen such a bald-face trap as this one.¡± Zach laughed, gesturing to the gold. ¡°I haven¡¯t the faintest idea what that says, but I¡¯m not touching anything until we figure out what to do.¡±


    Letting out an impressed whistle, Winifred cautiously kicks a gold coin, watching it roll away safely. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, trap or no trap, I¡¯m tempted to risk it. Look at the amount of gold in here! There¡¯s more bloody coin on the floor than in the entirety of Dray¡¯Mel.¡± She turned on Zach. ¡°Still not seein¡¯ that Dragon¡¯s Blood ye promised tho,¡± she added bitterly. ¡°Ye don¡¯t want to know what I¡¯ll get like when I start feeling the itch.¡±


    While the Ratling watched his companions argue over what he was pretty sure was fool¡¯s gold and the promise of Dragon¡¯s Blood, he turned an appraising eye towards Ornn, the hulking construct standing stock still behind them.


    In truth, Ornn was looking the most damaged out of all of them, having taken a massive blow to the chest. It didn¡¯t take a keen eye to spot that the Golem was missing a huge chunk of his ¡°flesh¡±, though the mute didn¡¯t seem that bothered by it.


    Not that it ever showed emotion, Skrakch corrected himself. No, it was just a tool and a rather impressive one. Judging by the now exposed runes uncovered by his chest, the level of Runecraft far exceeded anything Skrakch could manage.


    Distracted as the amateur mageling was, he barely noticed Meekknuckle limping over to him until the Goblin began prodding at Ornn¡¯s chest. ¡°Magic Rat have way to help Ornn? Meek think he need special rock for chest. Last time Ornn get hurt, Ornn ate lots of special rock.¡±


    Skrakch took a moment longer to memorize the exposed runes as well as he could before shaking his head to in disbelief. ¡°The magic involved is beyond me, so I¡¯ll not meddle with it. You¡¯d be best to ask your Father.¡±


    ¡°Plus, something tells me Ornn will be fine, he¡¯s tougher than the rest of us combined. Now help prop me up, so I can take a stab at the scrawl written on the wall.¡± Skrakch grinned, holding out an arm. ¡°The sooner I crack this death trap, the sooner we can get the Hells out of here.


    It didn¡¯t take long for Skrakch to lose himself in his studies, scanning the wall over and over in his search for a clue, all while standing on Meekknuckle¡¯s shoulders. The young Goblin tried his best to stay still, but Skrakch was quite animated as he tried to transcribe the text. Hells, the Ratling was so distracted he barely flinched as Zach snatched a vial from his bandolier, the roiling liquid mana inside a deep swirl of colors.


    ¡°Alright, second to the last test. If this Corrosive potion doesn¡¯t set off the death trap, who knows. Maybe we¡¯re rich boys!¡± Zach exclaimed, before chucking the vial towards a pile of gold.


    Skrakch sighed but decided not to bother telling him that he¡¯d grabbed a simple tincture of Flaxweed which would do wonders if you¡¯d had a dodgy pie the night before but wouldn''t do anything magical at all.


    The vial shattered as it came into contact with the gold, little bits of liquid splattering over the riches and sending the gold pile tumbling down, making noise so beautiful Zach had to fight off the urge to shed a single tear. ¡°Alright, one last test. Hey Meekknuckle, get over here. Why don¡¯t you go grab a handful of the good stuff?


    ¡°Me busy, me help Skrakch. You go grab coins, stupid half-man¡­¡± Meek mutters, holding Skrakch upright. ¡°Who care about stupid coins anyhow?¡±


    ¡°As much as it hurts me to say it, Meekknuckle is right,¡± Skrakch announces. ¡°As far as I can tell, the ancient script is saying something simple. ¡®Show me only Wealth¡¯, whatever that means.¡±


    As they all stared at the resplendent items before then, Winifred let out a long sigh. ¡°This puzzle better not be about teaching us the meaning of friendship, or any of that nonsense. I can honestly say, I hate all of you fuckin¡¯ idiots.¡±

 Chapter Thirty Six - A Giant Snake Under The City?

    The party stood together, pensively staring at the sea of wealth spread before them. It was straining at their nerves, resisting the urge to rush forward and start grabbing handfuls of gold coin.


    ¡°Ye know what?¡± Winifred suddenly said decisively, breaking the contemplative silence. ¡°Fuck it!¡± She stepped forward and grabbed a handful of coins from the nearest pile. Skrakch held his breath as she did so.


    When nothing happened, the pit fighter turned to face them, a triumphant look on her face.


    ¡°Ha! See? There¡¯s nae instant death, nae evil trap. Maybe this place is a treasury!¡± Without waiting for further replies, she started to fill a couple of coin purses she¡¯d filched off the corpses from the cavern, whistling happily to herself as she did so.


    ¡°A treasury with no way out, and a cryptic warning scrawled on the wall.¡± Skrakch scoffed, nudging over a pile of gems, sending them sprawling with a pleasant tinkling noise. ¡°We¡¯re in a Dungeon, there is no treasury, and there¡¯s no way we¡¯re going to keep any of this.¡± The Ratling continued, nodding to himself. ¡°Try not to get too attached, I¡¯m 90% sure it¡¯s all going to vanish once we leave.¡± He shook his head at the now bulging coin purses that Winifred attached to her leather belt.


    ¡°Well hold on mate, how do you know if we keep it or not?¡± Zach was quick to retort. ¡°Last I checked you weren¡¯t some mystical expert. Hell, this might not even be a Dungeon for all we know.¡±


    Skrakch scowled at the Halfling, looking at him like he was an idiot. ¡°It¡¯s pretty obvious we¡¯re not under Dray¡¯Mel, Zach. Use your brain, we¡¯d be deep in the sewers at the moment. And there¡¯s no way in hell there¡¯s a bloody giant skeleton snake under the city!¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± Zach replied incredulously. ¡°The city walls are lined with Skeletons, Wraiths fly over our heads daily, but a giant snake under the city is crazy? Stuff it Ratling, I¡¯m keeping the good stuff here.¡±


    Zach started to grab some of the rubies, turning them this way and that, looking for any flaws. Rubbing the largest of them, the Halfling happily began stuffing them into a soon-to-be bulging sack.


    ¡°What about the weapons, are they going to disappear too? ¡®Cus those gauntlets are looking wicked sharp.¡± Winifred mutters to herself, heading over to a weapon rack and grabbing a few specimens from the shelf to examine them. Her stock was pretty meager and anything she didn¡¯t want to keep for herself, she figured she could sell.


    As his tail lashed from side to side in anger, Skrakch made the only sensible decision, to tune out his companions. Let them make fools of themselves! He was going to work out how the Hells they were going to get out of here. What good would untold wealth and fancy weapons be if they were stuck in this room?


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    Reading the warning over and over again, he tried to parse out a clue from ¡°Show me only Wealth.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s asking us to hold a treasure up to the visage?¡± He muttered, eyes running over the words again. ¡°But no, that would be too easy... Maybe Winifred is right, and it wants us to act out a concept. I could show an empty coin purse, that¡¯s what Wealth is to me of late.¡± The Ratling mused to himself, his whiskers twitching as he pondered.


    ¡°You sure that what squiggly words say? They look weird to Meek. They in rat people language? Me not know how to squeak.¡± Meekknuckle speaks up from beside Skrakch, startling the Ratling. ¡°See, me not understand you.¡± He added when Skrakch let out a shocked squeal.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not in Iskrian, Meekknuckle. I think it¡¯s written in a dead language.¡± Skrakch clarified. ¡°It was something I learned when I was younger. My¡­ owner was a¡­ mage, of sorts. Part of his day included learning random bits of knowledge, and a bit rubbed off on me. So if I¡¯m right, that¡¯s written in Seotada.¡±


    Meekknuckle tilts his head to the side, thinking hard. ¡°Was he nice Owner? Father say it not good to be owned. That why he stay underground, keeps other Goblins underground too. ¡°


    ¡°He was¡­ he was nice enough, once upon a time. He taught me Common.¡± Skrakch mused, his tail flattening against the floor as he lost himself I thought. ¡°He said it was so that he had someone to practice speaking with. But that was before he¡­ Well, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    Skrakch shook his head. He needed to leave his thoughts about Master Jace behind and concentrate on the task at hand. He stared at the words again, focusing hard...


    ¡°Though you¡¯ve reminded me of something else I learned from his lessons. Sometimes the answer is right in front of your face.¡± Skrakch grins, cracking his knuckles. ¡°Go make sure Ornn¡¯s okay, we shouldn¡¯t be in here for much longer.¡±


    Casting his gaze over the piles of treasure, Skrakch makes his way over to Winifred. Ignoring the red-head, he throws all the weapons on a rack to the ground, before pulling the rack loose.


    ¡°Watch it vermin, you could take out an eye tossing weapons about,¡± Winifred warns, smirking slightly. ¡°The Hells do you need the rack for? I dinnae, there¡¯s all kinds of treasure to be had and yer yanking at that thing like yer life depends on it!¡±


    ¡°Maybe it does,¡± Skrakch said enigmatically, ¡°Help me move this, and I¡¯ll show you.¡± He asks, slowly pulling the rack into place. ¡°It¡¯s some sort of puzzle room, so naturally I¡¯m the one who figured it out,¡±


    ¡°Oh aye, yer quite the crafty one¡±, Winifred replies before getting in place to shove the rack. ¡°By the way, did I remember to thank ye for trying to run to safety without me in the last cavern?¡±


    Skrakch ignored her dig and continued to pull at the rack. Taking a firm grip on the rack, the brawler shoved it with all her strength, sending it straight into Skrakch¡¯s left shin.


    As the Ratling let out a squeak and began hopping in pain, favoring his right foot, Winifred showed a toothy grin, full of malice. ¡°Best not be trying to get the rest of us killed again, ye filthy Rodent.¡±

 Chapter Thirty Seven - Everything’s Fine

    After only one more attempt to break his shins, Winifred helped move the weapons rack over to the wall with the written passage. Skrakch scurried up the rack and regard the engraving once more, running his paw over the words.


    Show me only Wealth¡­


    ¡°Ha! I knew it,¡± He muttered to himself before turning to his companions. ¡°Alright, are we already ready to get out of this room? I figured out the puzzle and hopefully, it¡¯s going to lead us to the next part of the Dungeon,¡± He said proudly as he expertly balanced on the rack. ¡°Winifred, pass me one of those paintings!¡±


    Skrakch pointed a paw in the direction of a stack of fine-looking paintings in gilt frames. Winifred rolled her eyes but didn¡¯t argue. She grabbed the nearest one and passed it up to him.


    Skrakch took a moment to admire the painting. It depicted a large sailing vessel that was being chased down by a large sea monster. The colors and brush strokes used were beautiful. The Ratling was pretty sure that he recognized it from a book on fine art that he¡¯d read.


    ¡°Oi! Would ye get a move on ye furry bastard!¡± Winifred called out.


    Zacharias grinned as he hefted a bag filled to the brim with various pieces of jewelry and gems onto his shoulder.


    ¡°And let¡¯s hope once we get out of this place we get to keep all this loot! Fuck dealing Dragon¡¯s Blood! I got enough swag stuffed in here that I never have to work again! I¡¯ll be hob-nobbing with the Richies,¡± He added with a chuckle.


    Scoffing at his two companions, Skrakch lifted the painting in the air. Maneuvering the artwork just so, he managed to hold it over half of the engraved passage, leaving just the word ¡®Wealth¡¯ on display.


    ¡°The fuck are ya doing Squeakers?¡± Zacharias demanded, finally distracted from the loot. He looked up at Skrakch with a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°Solving the puzzle obviously,¡± Skrakch replied through gritted teeth. At least, he was confident that he¡¯d found the correct solution. The winking face was perfectly lined up so that the open eye was staring directly at the word ¡®Wealth¡¯. Now that he¡¯d used the painting to cover the rest of the words, he was sure that he was ¡®showing only Wealth¡¯.


    As he teetered precariously for a long moment, he was starting to think that he¡¯d gotten it wrong. Thankfully, a few seconds later, there was a large rumbling noise as the entire cavern began to shake and shudder.


    On the far side of the cavern, part of the wall collapsed away, revealing a small passage with a now familiar-looking Demon Door.


    ¡°Haha, I told you I¡¯d solved it. Truly, the lot of you would be lost with-¡° Skrakch crowed, clearly pleased with himself until a piece of debris fell down directly onto his head.


    Looking above them, Skrakch was treated with the sight of the roof above beginning to crumble apart, larger and larger chunks of rocks raining down around them.


    Hopping off the weapon rack with rodent-like grace, it was with swift feet that Skrakch led the party of rogues as they made their way to the door. Barely slowing as they escaped the cavern¡¯s collapse, Winifred slammed into the Demon Door with her full weight, wrenching it open just in time to avoid getting overrun by Ornn.


    Stumbling through as he was pelted by small stone pellets, Skrakch collapsed in a huff as he scanned the new room for any overt dangers. Dusty, dank, and dark, it only took him a moment to recognize the long passage they ended up in, as the tunnel leading down from the mausoleum. But if they were back at the entrance of the Dungeon¡­ Spinning in place, he was shocked to see the Demonic Door they¡¯d entered had vanished, leaving behind a smooth cavern wall.


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    ¡°Well, looks like we¡¯ve survived the Dungeon. Honestly, I was expecting more danger¡­ though I¡¯d rather avoid ever seeing another giant bone snake. And from the looks on your faces¡­ did the gold disappear?¡± Skrakch said, his whiskers twitching in amusement.


    ¡°Listen here Squeakers, you don¡¯t need to gloat,¡± Zacharias grumbled. ¡°Though I did know it would be too good to be true.¡± He added peevishly as he dumped his now empty sack on the ground and kicked it aside with a disgusted face. ¡°And is that it? For all the shite I¡¯ve heard about Dungeons, that was crap¡­¡±


    ¡°Aye and we¡¯re right back where we started an¡¯ all,¡± Winifred grumbled.


    Holding back his urge to mock his companions, Skrakch amused himself by watching Zacharias and Winifred pat down their emptied coin purses. Winifred in particular seemed annoyed, grumbling to herself about losing ¡°a surprisingly good looking set of armor.¡±


    ¡°Well, this was certainly a unique experience, but we¡¯re not exactly safe yet. Let¡¯s get back to the city before we lose the cover of darkness.¡± Zacharias cautioned, waving a hand in front of his face. ¡°Winnie, my dear, if you could grab some light?


    As Winifred blindly rummaged through her packs looking for another torch, Meekknuckle piped up suddenly. ¡°Um, but what that on ground? Look like magic, no?¡±


    Peering deeper into the tunnel, Skrakch could make out a small shimmering rune in the dirt. Creeping closer, the Ratling began to hum softly to himself. The runework looked familiar, but it wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d used before. ¡°I can¡¯t be sure, but it looks like a fairly simple alarm engraving. If we pass it, someone is going to get alerted that we¡¯re here.¡±


    Stroking his chin, Zach had a thoughtful look in his eyes as Winifred finally pulled out a torch and lit it. ¡°Well, that all but confirms it. Sykes set us up. I couldn¡¯t imagine it being anyone else, plus he¡¯s rather well known for being a decent enough mage. A small alarm spell would be in his repertoire. Unlike our Squeakers, Sykes knows a lot more than a few party tricks so we¡¯d best be careful.¡±


    Cracking her knuckles and ignoring Skrakch¡¯s indignant hiss, Winifred let out a small laugh. ¡°Aye, so the bastard knows we¡¯re down here. Does nae change anything. How about we just march up there, and demand to be let past? I doubt he brought enough firepower to stop us.¡± She clenches her fists. ¡°Besides, If anyone is gonna have some Dragon Blood on him, it¡¯d be him. Now that¡¯s a corpse that¡¯d be worth looting,¡± She added, licking her lips in anticipation.


    Ambling a bit closer to the rune, Skrakch could make out its shape, the Core of the spell resembling a small star. Eager to prove his Arcane mastery, the ratling began injecting his Mana into the rune.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I can get it to avoid triggering. So we might be able to get out of here silently.¡± Skrakch muttered, focusing most of his attention on his task.


    ¡°Meek prefer quiet way. We not know how many people with bad man.¡± The Goblin mentioned, looking over Skrakch¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Alright Squeaks, do it,¡± Zach announced, puffing up his chest. ¡°Follow my lead lads, and this will all work out. Worse comes to worst, Sykes is a reasonable man.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he tar and feather that one guy for selling on his street?¡± Winifred asked. ¡°Or what about the guy he fed to some Ghouls, one piece at a time?¡±


    ¡°Oh, what about the time his brother tried to escape the family business, and he hung him in front of the orphanage they grew up in.¡± Skrakch supplied, shuddering slightly. ¡°But yeah, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be fucking reasonable.¡±


    While Skrakch wouldn¡¯t say it to Zach¡¯s face, he was pretty sure Sykes was a much more effective crime boss than the ginger Halfling prick would ever be.


    Still, that hardly mattered at the moment. Injecting the last drop of Mana into the alarm rune and watching the spell overload and crumble into a disorganized heap, Skrakch clamored back to his feet and nodded to his companions.


    Zacharias just laughed, heading up the passage. ¡°Don¡¯t worry guys, we have a rapport. It won¡¯t be that bad. Plus, he doesn¡¯t know I was planning to screw him. It¡¯ll be fine!¡±


    ¡°Ah! The most comforting words you can hear,¡± Skrakch spat sarcastically. ¡°Zach saying everything¡¯s fine!¡±


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯ll be on his gravestone it will,¡± Winifred added with a nod.

 Chapter Thirty Eight - Going Belly Up

    Daggers in hand, Zach watched with interest as Skrakch canceled out the alarm spell that was blocking their way forward.


    He wasn¡¯t one to care much for magic outside of his own. But it did seem like the rat was well versed in a wide array of the stuff so it wasn¡¯t too likely he¡¯d set it off. If Zach could be bothered, he¡¯d actually be kind of impressed. Not that he¡¯d ever let Squeakers hear such a thing. The fucking Ratling was uppity enough as it was.


    Zach had always preferred a much more focused approach. Specializing in everything was all well and good until you got caught in a straight-up fight. Being kind of good at runic magic, or being slightly decent at slinking through the darkness wasn¡¯t enough to stop an enraged orc from cleaning your clock.


    Still, he was a useful one to keep around, and as Skrakch finished his work, Zach was quick to stride up the passage. He let his minions shuffle themselves to better positions, not surprised to note Skrakch and Meekknuckle hanging at the back.


    The fickle rodent liked to pretend to be brave, but the Iskrin defaulted to cowardice often enough. It was well known amongst the criminal underworld that they were one of the most cowardly species in the whole of Dray¡¯Mel. Of course, if things went sour it was Winifred and Ornn that would make the biggest impact. He kept them around for that purpose exactly. It was always good to have a heavy or two on your side.


    Both looked eager enough, or so he assumed in Ornn¡¯s case. The Golem¡¯s face rarely changed, except when Meekknuckle actually got hurt. Ornn liked to act as a simple golem would, but it was far too autonomous for that. But it didn¡¯t help Zach to pry, so he let the Goblin and his rock pet keep up the ruse. Besides, what would he really have to say to a bloody stone man?


    So they pressed on, weapons at the ready, and their senses heightened for the next sign of trouble. Zach found himself starting to wonder why the hell Sykes was hiding out. While the crime lord was known to be a powerful mage, patience definitely wasn¡¯t his strong suit.


    The party of rogues made their way up through the shadows, inching closer and closer to the mausoleum entrance. Even Ornn seemed to sense the need for stealth, keeping his heavy footsteps as quiet as possible.


    When he reached the open doorway to the crypt, Zach finally realized why Sykes was yet to make another move. He quickly peeked into the courtyard surrounding the mausoleum. There were a lot more people than he was expecting. Most of them were surly-looking humans wielding large clubs. Not the most intelligent of hardened thugs but they were Sykes¡¯ usual choice of muscle.


    Really, the only thing separating the thugs from the usual riff raff that skulked around the Slums, was their manner of dress. Each of them were wearing padded clothing, just enough to stop an errant blade, and they had a deep purple armband wrapped around their left arms. Most members of the local gangs wore the same, sporting their chosen colours to make sure everyone knew who they represented. Personally, Zacharias just thought they made themselves stand out in a crowd, and who didn¡¯t love an easy target?


    Most of the hired thugs were patrolling the courtyard, keeping an eye on both the Mausoleum and the streets leading to it. Gods Below knew how many Ghouls they¡¯d had to battle their way through to set up their perimeter, and quickly too. Time had felt a bit weird since the illusions and the fucked up magic of the Dungeon but there was no way Sykes knew to gather this many of his men and this exact location without someone tipping him off.


    Unless, of course, that was the bastard¡¯s plan all along. Zach muttered a curse to himself. That¡¯s exactly what this was! Payback for his fuck up at Rodyr¡¯s place. And he¡¯d fallen for it too. He wondered how much the goons in the pub had been paid to discuss the fake Dragon¡¯s Blood stash¡­


    Well, there was no way he was about to admit that to any of his companions. Winnie would probably smash his face in and Squeakers would never let him hear the end of it. He focused on the task at hand. Scanning the graveyard, he finally saw Sykes himself. Leaning against a statue of a weeping woman, looking as calm as could be, for a sociopathic crime lord.


    The Elf was broad-shouldered, standing tall in his usual long dark purple swagger coat. A fucking ugly swagger coat in all honestly. Of all the things to choose as a trademark! As usual, his thick black beard was tired with various threads and adorned with beads. A heavy wooden pipe stuck through the middle of it as Sykes puffed away. His eyebrows were long and pointed, stretching almost to his temples. His dark eyes glared and his smile was smug. That smugness was a common trait of the Elves of Dray¡¯Mel and Zach had longed to wipe it off the bugger¡¯s face.


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    The movement of Sykes¡¯ head as he presided over his thugs caused the multiple hoops in his ears to catch the light and draw attention to how massive the ears actually were. Apparently, when it came to Elves, it was the new dick size. Something that Zach had never really understood. You couldn¡¯t exactly pleasure a wench with your ears now, could you?


    Shaking his head, he checked the edges of the graveyard. It was a few seconds before he noticed the real threat. A small glint from the archway of another, smaller nearby building caught his eye, a thin reed of a man wielding a crossbow to his shoulder.


    Zach quickly ducked his head back into the room, and turned to his own motley crew.


    ¡°Well, it ain¡¯t looking good lads. He¡¯s brought scouts. I saw one and where there¡¯s one, there¡¯s more,¡± He explained. ¡°Squeakers, just in case this all goes tits up you¡¯re on ranged duty. Winnie, you keep the grunts busy. Sykes is out in force today.¡±


    ¡°What Meekknuckle do? Me can help with bad man!¡± The runty Goblin was quick to add. ¡°And Ornn help too, we team!¡±


    ¡°What? Oh¡­yeah, yeah¡­you can be back up,¡± Zach replied dismissively. Backup, fodder, it was all relative. ¡°If you see shit go down, send Ornn in.¡±


    ¡°Aye, and what are ye gonna do?¡± Winifred demanded as she glared down at him. Clearly, she was still smarting from the loss of her ¡®treasure¡¯.


    ¡°Why talk to Sykes of course!¡± Zach exclaimed. Before anyone could stop him, the Halfling stepped out through the crack in the mausoleum door, as bold as brass.


    ¡°Sykes!¡± He called out with a friendly wave. ¡°How fortunate to run into you here mate! We were just heading back into the Inner City for a pint or two. Having some friendly protection on hand would be great!¡± He added with his winning smile.


    The Elf regarded him for a moment before waving his men forward with a simple movement of his gloved hand, slowly taking a long puff from his pipe, before finally opening his prick mouth.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say that I¡¯m surprised you made it out Zacharias. You and that pet rat of yours always seem to luck out, don¡¯t you? I imagine he¡¯s hiding behind you as usual. We¡¯re going to treat this nice and simple. You give us what you got from the Dungeon and we escort you back to our place.¡± Sykes spoke, his voice smoother than his rough appearance would indicate.


    ¡°Now, now, there¡¯s no need to be like that pal,¡± Zach said, holding his hands out placatingly. ¡°We¡¯ve been in business together for years now, no need to get your knickers in a twist. How about we head back, and then we discuss the Dungeon?¡±


    There was no way that Sykes was going to be letting him off the hook like that. Just hand over the non-existent treasure and get a friendly escort? He may have been stupid enough to fall for the trap in the first place but that didn¡¯t mean he was going to be fooled twice.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t work for me, boy,¡± Sykes replied. ¡°I want to see the goods and I want to see them now. And, you know me, if you don¡¯t show it, then I¡¯ll just end up taking it,¡± He added with a grin. He snapped his fingers and his men continued to move forward, clubs at the ready. ¡°Make the smart choice for once in your life.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s stopping us from just legging it?¡± Zach questioned. He frantically moved his hand behind his back, hoping that his companions would understand that he wanted them to get into position. ¡°For all you know, we got something outta there that guarantees an easy escape.¡±


    ¡°Oh and I¡¯d be happy to see it,¡± Sykes chuckled. ¡°You¡¯d slip past us for now but then where would you go? You forget, I have eyes and ears all over The Slums and most of the Nobles are on my payroll,¡± He gestured to his thugs. ¡°These are just thugs on my payroll, mostly for show. You and I both know that you can¡¯t afford to say no to me Zacharias¡­¡±


    ¡°Just let me have a go at the wee bastard,¡± Winnie growled from behind him, her voice carrying in the silence of the courtyard. ¡°I¡¯d love to see that fuckin¡¯ smirk wiped clean off his face!¡±


    ¡°Muzzle your woman, Half-man,¡± Sykes ordered, shaking his head. ¡°And drop your weapons. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll see that my men treat you right¡­¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Zach asked. ¡°Well, I suppose you¡¯ve got us fair and square,¡± He shrugged, feigning sadness while he idly touched the bandage on his cheek, tracing the outline of the scar Sykes had given him. ¡°I got a pretty decent pair of daggers outta that Dungeon. Beautiful things, they are. And since you asked so nicely, I¡¯ll show you one now outta the goodness of my heart,¡± He grinned wolfishly, before spinning in place and launching one of his new daggers into Sykes¡¯ chest.


    Time seemed to freeze, everyone staring at the Elf as he staggered backward with a surprised cry. Zach couldn¡¯t believe his luck. Straight at the bastard¡¯s heart!


    He watched in muted surprise, however, as Sykes plucked the dagger from his chest. A layer of ice had slowed the blade enough that only the tip of it had connected. The look of fury on Sykes¡¯ face made it clear that negotiations had fully broken down.


    ¡°Well, now you¡¯ve done it!¡± Skrakch cried out as chaos suddenly descended onto the mausoleum entrance, Sykes'' thugs trying to bum-rush through them with clubs aloft.


    Zach watched as Sykes tossed the dagger aside, arcane runes quickly manifesting in the air around him, brimming with Mana. Around him, Skrakch, Winifred, the Goblin, and Ornn leaped into action to take down the thugs.


    ¡°This was yer big plan?¡± Winnie demanded, smashing into one of the nearest thugs, and swiftly snapping the over-eager fool¡¯s neck, causing his lifeless body to slump to the floor.


    ¡°Yep! Kill them all!¡± Zach cried out, a manic grin lighting up his face.

 Chapter Thirty Nine - Rumbling With Thugs

    Winifred had readied herself for the fight before Zach had even tossed the bloody dagger. She¡¯d gotten herself into the perfect fighting stance, eyeing one of the thugs who would dare to try and take her down. The brawler had been working with the Halfling long enough to know that any kind of negotiations that he involved himself with, usually ended with violence.


    As soon as Sykes had called Zacharias a ¡®Half-man¡¯, she knew it was all going to go South. Thankfully for her, once the melee had started, the nearest thug was still staring, slack-jawed at the Halfling. Breaking the guy¡¯s neck had almost been child¡¯s play.


    She quickly slipped on her new brass knuckles and stepped forward eagerly, challenging the next of the idiots to try and take her on. At first, she''d been somewhat disappointed when her prize for surviving the illusion had been the weapons. Personally, she tended to prefer the use of her kicks or her sharp elbows to get the job done. But that was before she¡¯d realized there was some kind of enchantment on them. Slipping them on while she¡¯d explored the fake loot room, she¡¯d felt a wave of power course through her. Not just any power¡­incredible speed. She¡¯d been itching to try them out since then.


    Thus, it was with near feral glee that she siphoned off a sliver of her Core¡¯s Mana and thread it into the artifact on her fists. She spied the next thug that was approaching for an attack. Crossing the ten paces between them in a sudden blur, she had just a second to see the look of surprise on his face before her right hook smashed his nose inwards.


    Ducking under his pathetic attempt to ward her off with his club, she stepped further into his personal space in an instant, stamping down on his foot to keep him in place. The poor sap started to fall so she quickly grabbed him by his shocked face and slammed his thick head into the cobblestone floor. She had to admit, she took pleasure in the audible crack of his skull that followed.


    Winifred could feel her blood beginning to boil, Mana slowly drifting through her as she launched herself at the next goon. This one threw up a defensive position long before she reached him, obviously learning from his fallen comrade¡¯s mistake.


    Still, from the way, he was holding himself, and his overly tight grip on his club, the pit fighter could tell he was an amateur. So she threw an obvious feint to the left, baiting out a hasty attempt to parry, before diverting her weight and putting it into a body blow on the right side of her opponent''s gut.


    Annoyingly, the thug collapsed into a pile of his own vomit from the one hit. Maybe this won¡¯t be that fun, Winifred sighed, turning to the next opponent just in time to catch a flicker of light approaching her.


    She threw herself to the side, hearing the crossbow bolt clamor against the cobblestone, and growled softly. Rolling to her feet, the brunette cast a look behind her and watched Skrakch pounce on her assailant on top of the mausoleum. Trusting someone to watch her back never sat right with her, but it wasn''t like she was capable of scampering around atop the rooftops like the Ratling was. So she''d trust the varmint to handle the scouts, and focus on what she did best.


    Grunting softly, she started making her way to Sykes, watching the crime boss toss spell after spell at Zach as he ducked and weaved through shards of sharpened ice. Thankfully Sykes was leaking blood from a dozen fresh wounds as Zacharias returned fire with his throwing knifes, so she doubted the Elf was on his A-game.


    Rushing the last few paces, Winifred tried to imbue her weapons once more, hoping to activate the effect. Sadly, the magic item seemed to have limits on how often she could activate them, so she resorted to bull-rushing him the good ol¡¯fashioned way.


    As she neared Sykes from the rear, Winifred decided to end this fight swiftly as well. Launching into a flying kick, she got within a single paces distance before colliding with some unseen force. A barrier of shimmering light flashed into existence, and just as quickly shattered against her approach.


    Unfortunately, the strength of the attack was spent, so she was forced to land, before lashing out with a simple sidekick. The distracted caster still hadn¡¯t looked behind him, as preoccupied as he was, and so it was surprising when her blow was blocked once more.


    This time, however, the blow had been blocked by Sykes¡¯ shadow, or rather, blocked by a rapidly emerging figure within the crime boss''s shadow. Lanky and gaunt, the figure looked rather like a ghoul, if it wasn¡¯t for the hide armor covering most of his body.


    Between his clawed fingers, and the look of raw bloodlust on his face, Winifred immediately recognized a professional. The man had his lower face masked, but he moved with the grace of a trained killer.


    Throwing Winifred back with a shove of his hand, the figure wasted no time in chasing after her, throwing a fast left jab at her face, while blocking with his right.


    Parrying the blow, Winifred pushed the jab from the inside, letting it harmlessly pass within centimeters of her face. Meeting her opponent in close range, she too began to throw jabs, left, right, and center, all trying to open up his guard.


    The shadowy figure moved with a feline grace that belied his misshapen features, blocking or dodging each blow while answering with his own. Eventually, after multiple exchanged attacks, the newly arrived fighter managed to land a blow across Winifred¡¯s cheek.


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    Reeling back, Winifred spat out some blood and a tooth, before taking a more aggressive stance. ¡°Finally, someone who appreciates a good brawl!¡±


    <hr>


    Skrakch hadn¡¯t at all been surprised that Zacharias had ended up tossing a dagger at Sykes. What had surprised him was just how long the Halfling had been able to keep his cool. It must have been some kind of record.


    Zacharias talked a mean game but the cold-hearted bastard didn¡¯t take kindly to being under anyone¡¯s thumb, so he¡¯d always been quick to set someone right, particularly with violence. And that was why Skrakch had taken the time while he and Sykes were doing their little back and forth to fully plan his moves once the fighting began.


    A quick glance around the graveyard had revealed too many thugs on the ground for him to want to mess with. That was obviously going to be Winifred and Ornn¡¯s department. His skills were much better used by taking out the crossbow-wielding scouts.


    Thankfully, he had just the trick to take care of the first few that he knew were above him. The top of the Mausoleum was just too good of a vantage point not to have placed men on and Sykes wasn¡¯t one to waste an advantage.


    Scrambling over to one of the ornamental columns of the mausoleum, Skrakch turned his Mana sight inwards, picturing his Core brimming with power. Pulling the Mana out was a simple task, and so was filling the Gravity rune in the space of a moment. Inscribing it on his chest, the Ratling inverted his own gravity, before launching himself upwards.


    Claws gripping onto the marble rooftop, Skrakch quickly cleared the top of the building, just in time to see a crossbow pointed at his face. Cutting the Mana to his rune, he managed to fall prone against the smooth marble roof, just as the bolt shot forth and sailed over his head by mere centimetres.


    Rolling to the side in case the thug had a repeating crossbow, Skrakch grinned as he watched the Human fumble with his weapon''s drawstring, before throwing himself bodily towards the doomed man. Eyes widening in terror, the thug tried, with little success, to throw himself to safety before Skrakch¡¯s claws raked him from belly to sternum, his blood and entrails splashing hotly against the rooftop.


    Sliding his claws across the thug¡¯s neck to make sure that he was well and truly dead, Skrakch turned to see another crossbowman on the roof in the midst of firing a bolt towards Winifred. Scowling to himself, the irate Ratling lunged forwards, biting down on the man¡¯s neck in a spray of blood.


    Ripping a chunk of flesh loose, Skrakch spat it to the side. While the flowing blood didn¡¯t taste too bad, the unwashed flesh of Humans didn¡¯t do wonders for his palate. Still, the Ratling had to admit it was nice to be facing off against living foes for once. Skrakch had tried biting a Ghoul once in desperation,.. and very much did not recommend the taste.


    Peering off the roof, he watched as Winifred mercilessly pounded one of the thugs into his next life, and he couldn¡¯t help but shudder. Maybe he ought to piss her off less, Skrakch mused as he grabbed a crossbow. Or maybe he just needed to make sure she¡¯s not in a violent mood, he reckoned.


    Drawing back the drawstring until he heard it click into place, the Ratling scanned for other scouts hiding amongst the courtyard. From the sounds of cobblestone being shattered before him, he could tell that Ornn had entered the fray, no doubt crushing anything in his path.


    But it wasn¡¯t until a light glimmered on a nearby building that Skrakch readied the crossbow. Aiming for the scout hidden amongst the smaller mausoleum parapets, he stilled his breath for a moment, before letting the bolt fly¡­ and watched as the bolt careened harmlessly off into the distance.


    Tossing the useless piece of wood to the side, Skrakch cursed whoever invented the crossbow, and cursed their mother for good measure. The unwieldy things never seemed to work properly, or at least, they never seemed to work when he was the one firing it.


    How to safely cross the distance between the buildings then, he thought to himself as he watched another bolt sail out into the chaotic melee. It was an interesting conundrum that he swiftly solved the simplest way. After quickly sizing up the distance, Skrakch was almost certainly confident he could make the leap the distance, with the aid of his magic of course.


    Turning his gaze inwards, he noted his Core was still mostly full. Once more imbuing himself with a Gravity rune, the blood-spattered Ratling flung himself off the roof, attempting to jump the distance.


    Taking off with a burst of weightless speed, he managed to gracefully make it almost halfway between the two opposing buildings before he started to feel the strain of the rune depleting.


    As lovely as the feeling of displaced air rushing past him was, he couldn¡¯t help but focus more on the imminent drop to the courtyard further below him than he¡¯d expected. Almost as if the Ratling had once more leaped before thinking about the consequences.


    As the last of the rune¡¯s Mana petered out, gravity reasserted itself with a vengeance. Twirling about headfirst, Skrakch immediately set about righting himself, orientating his feet towards the rapidly approaching ground.


    Squeaking with fear, Skrakch quickly activated the Featherfall runes he always kept charged on his leather footwear, the rune soaking up his Mana hungrily.


    As his dead drop became a gentle glide, Skrakch was quick to move onto part two of his master plan to handle the last of Sykes'' scouts. Pulling his newly acquired Scepter of Fireballs loose, Skrakch deftly pointed it where he last saw the ranged foe.


    With a twist of his will, and a dollop of Mana, the runes covering the scepter lit up as fire began to pool at its tip. Letting out a wild laugh, Skrakch let loose the Fireball, the magical flames shining spectacularly as it smashed into the building in a crescendo of fire.


    Not that Skrakch had time to notice, as the kickback from utilizing the scepter flung him in a backward spiral. Sent massively off course, the Ratling could barely make heads or tails of what was happening as the ground and sky repeatedly switched places on his view, his stomach churning all the while.


    In a mercifully short amount of time, Skrakch crash-landed against the cobblestone, smashing his unprotected head against the ground and promptly passing out in a crumpled heap.

 Chapter Forty - Starting To Go A Bit Pear Shaped…

    Zach watched calmly as a wave of frost unfurled across the cobblestone, seeping across it at an unnatural pace. Ice magic was Sykes¡¯ area of expertise, runes flickering in the air around the arrogant prick''s head, each shimmering with glacial Mana. The Elf was brutal with his attacks and Zach knew that he wanted to be out of the way of them when the spells were cast. Throwing himself to the side and snatching another of his throwing daggers from his left boot in the process, Zach launched it in Sykes¡¯ direction.


    But the older Elf was ready for it this time. With one deft hand movement, he created a wall of ice that expertly blocked the weapon before the ice shattered into brutal-looking shards that soared through the air towards Zach.


    Off-balance as he was, Zach found himself relying on more creative means to dodge. Sinking a hefty portion of his Mana into his own shadow, it froze in place below him, allowing him to drop down and meld with his shadow momentarily and effectively dodge the flying shards of icy death.


    Normally he hated such showy uses of his Mana, it was always better to keep his true abilities on the down low, but Sykes wasn''t an opponent to take with half-hearted measures.


    Canceling the flow of Mana from his Core once the ice was out of the way, Zach thrust himself back into the mortal realm, once more staring at Sykes as the latter chanted another intricate spell. Glowing runes shimmered into existence at a pace that would surely make old Squeakers go green with envy.


    ¡°Listen, mate,¡± Zach entreated as Sykes shot another blast of ice his way. He dodged easily enough and the gust of icy winds crashed into one of the Sykes¡¯ hapless thugs instead, freezing him on the spot and encasing the poor goon completely. ¡°This is all starting to go a bit pear-shaped. How about we give this up now and head back to The Slums? Neither one of us gets owt from this senseless killing.¡±


    Mana swirling around him, Sykes offered little more than a scoff as an answer. Not that Zach was surprised of course. The deaths of his thugs mattered little to the Elf. Now it was about reputation. About not losing face to a rag-tag bunch of rogues and thieves.


    Sykes¡¯ wove a set of runes in the air, before stomping forward and summoning a wave of spikes below Zach¡¯s feet, intending to impale him on the spot. The cocky upstart Halfling let out a heartfelt curse as he dove to the side, but Zach was just a hitch too slow.


    The icy spears pierced the Halfling¡¯s body, causing him to collapse against them like a puppet with its strings cut. The sheer number of spears left Zach¡¯s body looking more like a pincushion than a corpse, the heat rapidly leaving his cooling body. Yet underneath, his shadow swirled murkily, and no blood fell from the corpse harpooned above. Something that was unnoticed by his attacker, Sykes just focused on having one less pain in the ass to deal with.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wanting to do that for years, you fucking ungrateful pygmy of a man!¡± Sykes cursed, casting his hands out and causing the shards of ice impaling Zach to explode, rending the Halfling¡¯s frozen remains into little pieces.


    The crime boss let out a hearty chuckle. He looked around the graveyard-turned-battlefield, eager to finish up this excursion. A few more of his thugs were dead but much less than he¡¯d expected there to be. Collateral damage was always expected in these kinds of confrontations and Sykes had been around the block far too many times for it to affect him. He casually watched as a massive stone Golem, that seemed to belong to a tiny Goblin, rampaged through his remaining men.


    His personal bodyguard was currently going toe to toe with Winifred. Both were beginning to look the worse for wear, massive bruising covering their bloodied faces as they traded blows. She was almost impressive to watch. Not many people had gone against his bodyguard and lived to tell the tale. Threll was a cruel and vicious fighter who thought nothing of taking a life if need be. Despite the fight the pit brawler was putting up, Sykes knew it wouldn¡¯t be long until his faithful guard finished her off.


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    Threll was a lucky find, the man trained in a wide variety of martial arts. He was gifted in battle¡­ and unlucky in dice. The so-called-monk had quickly wracked up a massive debt, more than he had any chance to repay¡­ without illegal means. Threll got his debt repaid, and Sykes got himself a new shadow. Well worth the few thousand gold coins.


    With Winifred occupied, there weren''t many threats left in the courtyard. The Goblin was hardly one to worry about. The puny creature was more likely to be stepped on than cause any trouble. Which just left the Ratling.


    It would be a shame to have to kill the creature. He¡¯d heard rumors that the vermin had been receiving training from Blazock and was quite well-read. Something that would be an asset to his team amongst the idiotic thugs and untrustworthy thieves. But it was known that the rat refused to work with anyone but Zacharias which meant, like all vermin, it was time to put it down.


    Scanning the graveyard, Sykes was quick to notice quite a few newcomers onto the battlefield. Attracted by the noise and chaos, he could spot a few Ghouls munching on one of his men. More importantly, he could make out a couple of Zombies that were shambling over. It was surprising how fast the Undead creatures could move when a decent meal was on the table.


    He needed to finish this up quickly before-


    Snapping his head upwards, Sykes summoned a barrier of ice as the building nearest to him suddenly exploded. Bits and pieces of rubble shattered against his strengthened shield as he stumbled backward from the onslaught.


    As the debris settled around him, Sykes glared through his barrier. There had been a smaller mausoleum beside him which was now nothing but burning rubble flickering with smoke. The Ratling. Scanning for the creature, Sykes had to admit to himself that he¡¯d underestimated him. With that much power at hand, the vermin might actually prove himself to be a challenging foe.


    Finally, he spotted the Ratling, careening through the air before landing heavily in front of him. With a quick snap of his wrist, the Elf transformed his icy barrier into a sharp spear, poised to drive it straight through the Rat¡¯s chest¡­


    That was, of course, before he realized that the bloody vermin had collapsed at his feet, unconscious.


    Chuckling once more, Sykes couldn¡¯t believe his own luck. This had gone much better than he¡¯d foreseen. He clapped his hands and used his Mana to augment his voice, calling out to his remaining men.


    ¡°Time to finish this up, Threll, subdue the pit fighter! Men, leave the Golem. It¡¯s too slow to give us much of a chase,¡± He pointed to the two nearest thugs. ¡°And you two, pick up what¡¯s left of the Halfling. It¡¯s time we left this place,¡±


    The elven mage turned to help finish the battle, as pain suddenly blossomed in his neck. Protruding from his throat, he could make out the tip of a blade, its edge covered in dark, nebulous energy. Tottering forward, Sykes managed to collapse on his side, and face himself towards a grinning Zacharias, who was standing whole and hale before him.


    It only took a moment for Sykes to realize his mistake. The damnable ginger was known for being quick and quiet, but it was clear Zach was also an impressive illusionist. A painful glance behind him showed ¡°Zacharias¡¯ remains¡± melting into the ground and slipping back into the Halfling''s shadow that seemed capable of moving on its own.


    ¡°Come on love, it¡¯s not that easy to get rid of me. It¡¯s always a fool¡¯s errand to trust your sight around a master of shadow puppetry such as my humble self. Now let¡¯s finish this up, I have some folks to go save.¡± The smug little shit crowed, clearly thinking the battle to be over.


    To be fair, a knife through the throat would stop most casters, but as Sykes sealed the neck wound off with small shards of ice, the mage began quickly emptying out his Core, channeling his most impressive spell.


    The next time he skewered Zacharias, he¡¯d make sure to eviscerate the little shit properly.

 Chapter Forty One - So Help Me Maglubiyet

    He wasn¡¯t sure why he was surprised, but the merry band of murderers he¡¯d attached himself to had elected to, well, murder their way free of the Elven mage¡¯s trap.


    Less surprising was the fact it seemed to be working for them. They were vastly outnumbered, but idiots with sticks couldn¡¯t hold up to tried and true killers. Perhaps that was why Skrakch and his cohorts were so prone to violence, Meekknuckle had mused to himself.


    The aforementioned Ratling had quickly scaled the mausoleum and dropped out of sight so Meekknuckle did the sensible thing and hid out of the way, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible.


    Still, he¡¯d done his part and asked Ornn politely to go out and crush some skulls. The Golem had taken quickly to the idea and had already brutally smashed a few thugs into a paste when they had surrounded him, taking turns to bait out the admittedly slow swings that Ornn periodically threw out.


    Thankfully, it¡¯d take the goons hours before any of the blows was able to pierce his rock-hard exterior, so Meekknuckle¡¯s friend wasn¡¯t in any danger. The real issues on the battlefield were apparent, however, and none of them involved Ornn.


    Skrakch, fool that he was, had already collapsed, strewn out in the midst of the street. Winifred was currently embattled with some creature that was practically covered in necromantic energy, though it did appear that she was beginning to gain an edge on her foe. But worse of all was the fact Zach was in the middle of taunting his mage opponent instead of just finishing the elf off.


    Wisps of Mana were entering Sykes body, as the Elf greedily sucked in the latent energy of the world. He¡¯d already long past absorbed more energy than was healthy, and was practically glowing with strength, though sadly only those trained in proper spellcraft would notice.


    And while Zacharias was capable of an impressive range of tricks, he was no mage. No, the simpleton was poking at Sykes with his daggers, ignorant to the high-tier magic being made cast before his eyes.


    Sykes¡¯ spell work was advanced, each rune layering on top of each other precisely in a way that Meek had never seen before. But it was clear that Zacharias would not be the only target, no the incoming spell would spill outwards and consume them all if not properly mitigated.


    Bursting out from behind cover, Meekknuckle quickly sprinted closer to Zach. As detestable as the Halfling was, Meekknuckle assumed saving his life would only raise his chance at living through this deadly encounter.


    Reaching deep into his Core of Mana, Meekknuckle wove a spell of shimmering light, placing it around each of his companions. Each layer of the spell was more complex than the last until finally, he had to call forth his God to finish the spell.


    ¡°Maglubiyet, God of Goblins! Hear my prayer! Protect the useless ones from themselves! Protective Barrier!¡± The Goblin shouted, lifting his medallion as he ran as fast as his two stubby legs would carry him.


    As the barriers sprung into existence, Meekknuckle was treated to two of his addlebrained companions attacking their own newly erected barriers. Winifred had long since lost her senses and ineffectively attempted to strike her foe, and Zach seemed to believe it was a defense conjured by Sykes.


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    Still, the barrier held strong as the Mana within Sykes reached its peak, quickly evaporating as the Elf staggered to his feet. Ice crystals began forming around him as he let out a blood-curdling scream before exploding in a ball of ice and hail. It was as if a hailstorm had suddenly appeared from thin air, and its cruel winds were cutting deep into any exposed flesh.


    Sent rocking back as the barriers attempted to block the blow, Meekknuckle struggled to maintain control of his own spell work. Pitted in a style of wills, ice versus divine, the Goblin had to admit he was currently lacking. Watching the barrier begin to break, he could feel tiny slashers of frost lashing against his flesh, his skin peeling off him in bloody ribbons.


    Staggering as his Core of Mana was swiftly depleted from the onslaught, the last thing Meekknuckle saw before his vision went black was a familiar wall of stone, kneeling over top of him, blocking out the worst of the storm.


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-


    Pulse after pulse of frigid winds broke against his back, but it barely registered in his mind, focused as he was. Stubbornly holding his friend tight in his grasp, Ornament simply waited out the worst of the storm.


    As the storming magic finally abetted, Ornament took to its feet, cradling an unconscious Meekknuckle tight against his chest. Turning to the source of the snowstorm, the Golem slowly took in the sight of the Elven mage standing tall in the center of the courtyard, Sykes entire body encased in a reflective suit of ice armor.


    Most of the courtyard was covered in jagged blasts of ice, the cobblestone shattered and broken. The human thugs Sykes had brought with him were frozen in place like statues, eyes open wide as they were swallowed by the cold, even the Elf¡¯s bodyguard wasn¡¯t spared, the dead Human frozen in place.


    Those protected by Meekknuckle fared better thankfully, small isolated pockets of warmth, protected from the storm and spared the brunt of the frost''s touch. Still, the force behind Sykes'' spell had rendered Winifred and Zach unconscious, leaving only Ornament and Sykes as the last two combatants on the battlefield.


    Taking slow, heavy steps toward the mage, Ornament could feel the ice below him crinkling with every step, Sykes¡¯ magic shattering under his weight. His stone body was chipped all over as the breaking ice took some of his ¡°flesh¡± with it. Still, there was only one goal in the Golem¡¯s mind, and he refused to hesitate as he headed towards the source of his friend¡¯s pain.


    It was only after a few such steps, that Sykes was quick to look at the sole source of noise in the courtyard, watching with interest as the golem advanced slowly towards him.


    ¡°Oh, the Golem still moves. Most impressive, much more sturdy than I thought. Whoever sculpted you did a good job. Still, your master is unconscious, how are you moving?¡± Sykes pondered, not overly concerned by the approaching titan.


    ¡°Wait, where is your controlling Mark? I can¡¯t sense anything like that on you. Curious that you can move independently, but it¡¯s an unexpected boon for me. I was worried I would need to carry these pieces of trash myself.¡± Sykes smiled, conjuring a wisp of mana in his palm.


    The Elven mage let Ornament close the gap between them, before softly blowing the Mana towards the stone-wrought golem. And as the Mana washed over him, Ornament¡¯s simple mind was overcome with a feeling of exhaustion, his every movement a hundred times more difficult, before he came to stand still in front of Sykes.


    ¡°Perfect, grab the bodies Golem, we need to get out of here before the racket brings more Ghouls to the area. Quickly now!¡± Sykes commanded, watching as the Golem slowly obeyed.


    ¡°Interesting, you¡¯ve certainly slowed down from before. It¡¯s almost as if you¡¯re resisting. I¡¯ll need to do some research on you, an autonomous Golem is quite the magical marvel.¡±


    ¡°Maybe this Dungeon business was worth all this trouble after all!¡± Sykes grinned, his teeth stained red with his own blood.

 Chapter Forty Two - Unhand me, Good Sir!

    Zacharias awoke to an all-encompassing sense of pain. His limbs felt as though they were burning, his toes and fingers felt numb. But it was his chest that ached the most. There was an emptiness inside that tore at him, seeming to pull his very life force from his flesh as it tried to fuel itself.


    Thankfully, the gut-wrenching pain only lasted a few minutes before sweet unconsciousness reclaimed him.


    When he next awoke, the pain in his limbs had thankfully receded, but his chest still felt barren. Or rather, he weakly thought to himself, it was his Core that was running on empty.


    He hadn¡¯t felt so drained in¡­ever. The most that he¡¯d ever drained his Core was the time his father had come home after one-too-many down at the pub and had been in a shitty mood after losing at some stupid card game. Zach had almost drained his Core trying to enhance his own body to at least stand a chance against the drunken rage. Of course, it had backfired. It had just made the mean old bastard try harder, beating him down in both body and spirit.


    But this¡­this was a hundred times worse in comparison. Even back then he¡¯d managed to keep a little slither of his Mana inside but now it felt truly empty, a hungering cavernous hole inside of him threatening to spill out.


    Worse was the sensation of being carried, tossed over some creature¡¯s rock hard shoulder, something sharp digging into his stomach. He tried to rouse himself but with even the smallest movement he managed, jerking his injured body with every step, he felt his mind stumbling back towards unconsciousness.


    The Halfling decided to bide his time and let himself be carried. It gave him the opportunity to listen and to recenter himself. It took a while for him to parse his thoughts through the pain, but he eventually started to place what had happened to him.


    Sykes had been right in front of him. He, Zach, had decided to make a quip. What better way than to send the Elven prick off than with a laugh?


    Still, he hadn¡¯t expected Sykes to have such a devastating spell in his arsenal. That final blast of ice had nearly ripped him to pieces, and from the sharp pain pervading his body, it had left him in quite the state.


    Of course, now that he was awake, he had a chance. From the muted, yet still irritating sounds around him, Zach could tell he was back in the city proper.


    A lesser man would no doubt panic at the thought of being captured by a crazed crime lord with a grudge to settle. But he was Zacharias. He had more important shit to think about.


    Mainly, why?


    Sykes wasn¡¯t one to let a defeated foe off lightly so why keep him alive?


    The Dungeon.


    The prick didn¡¯t know what had gone on inside. Clearly he was hedging his bets, keeping him alive to question him. Oh, he was heading for the torture chamber alright¡­


    To be honest, Zach would do the same. Magic was a fickle bitch. Who knows how it works sometimes? Sykes had no clue what the Dungeon had given his companions or done to his companions. So the trick would be to figure out a way to keep himself useful to Sykes so that he would be kept alive.


    That was, of course, if they even made it back to Sykes¡¯ hideout. If he could escape before then, he¡¯d be home free. At least in the meantime. And Zach only ever really concerned himself with the now. What was the point of worrying about what came after? If only he wasn¡¯t in so much bloody pain. Whatever the hell was carrying him was walking slowly, almost painfully so, but every step still struck his body like a bolt of lightning.


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    If he was being transported on a wagon then it would be child¡¯s play. His movements wouldn¡¯t be so easily noticed and he¡¯d be able to get away scot-free. Still, he supposed, he could get away with the occasional jerky movement. No doubt it would be chalked up to unconscious twitches.


    Wriggling his fingers, he managed to get the sense that his hands were bound. Rope, from the coarseness of it. It was thick and well tied but it was a mistake. The rope wouldn¡¯t hold him for long, obviously. He was Zacharias! Hells, he could probably escape chains given the opportunity. He subtly shuffled his weight from side to side, testing the strength of the knot, and realized that it felt like stone underneath him.


    Something made of stone that walked? Ok, so that was obviously the idiot Goblin¡¯s Golem then. But why? Sykes preferred living minions. They were much easier to execute for failure. And if it was the Golem, why was it now working for him? Zach wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the Goblin had been dispatched with pretty quickly. Yeah, it knew some slick magic with that medallion but that was nothing against the Elven mage¡¯s magical might. There was no doubt that Sykes would be good enough to magically manipulate the dumb hunk of rock.


    A sudden shift in his weight caused a particularly painful lance of pain to shoot through his body. He¡¯d finally been released. To the ground? No¡­a chair of some sort. So they were most likely at the hideout, Zach reasoned. He could faintly hear movement behind him, the sound of heavy footsteps passing back and forth three times.


    It was probably the Golem depositing the others. There was no screaming, no yells of protest so he had to assume that they were either out of it or too shit-your-pants scared to say anything. Three meant that the Goblin was still alive, or they¡¯d already brought the corpse along. The little freak had probably pissed its pants already. No danger of it speaking up.


    There was a low shuffling sound from his left that grabbed his attention. A click of boot heels and the rasp of material as it swished by him. His nostrils were assaulted with the scent of Madajora. Sykes. The Elf couldn¡¯t get enough of smoking the stuff. Zach plastered a smile on his face just in time for the bag covering his head to be ripped off, the sudden brightness momentarily overpowering him.


    When the light faded and he could open his eyes, at last, Zach was treated to the sight of Sykes grinning down at him. To the Elf¡¯s left was a tray full of vicious-looking tools. A quick glance around and he could see the room was rather plain, outside of the blood-soaked tiles covering the floor and the drain in the middle of the room. They were in the famous torture room alright.


    Obviously, it was Sykes¡¯ intention to interrogate him or perhaps punish him further for the Rodyr thing. He¡¯d heard talk of the Elven Mage¡¯s torture techniques, his particular penchant for bloodletting. Hopefully, Sykes was in a more¡­forgiving mood.


    Smiling with a cheer that he absolutely, certainly, didn¡¯t feel, Zach was quick to speak up as soon as he¡¯d regained his senses.


    ¡°Sykes, me old mate! Clearly, there¡¯s been a mistake of sorts. How about we take a second and talk this through eh?¡±


    Grabbing one of the implements on the table, Sykes smiled down at his captor wolfishly.


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d be awake for this Zacharias,¡± He said, holding up the implement, a particularly nasty looking metal stick with a circular serrated blade on the end of it, and admired it for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re a tough one to keep down aren¡¯t you? And therein lies your problem. You always bounce back¡­never learning the consequences of a bad break¡­¡±


    Sykes toyed with the tool in his hands as though he was considering whether or not to use it. His face remained neutral as he continued to speak.


    ¡°But you and me? We¡¯re going to figure it out together. I think that¡¯s the best way, don¡¯t you? We¡¯re going to find out exactly what kind of man you are Zacharias. But first, we¡¯re going to need to peel back some layers¡­really get to know each other.¡±


    Infusing the tool with some of his Mana, Sykes watched as the serrated blade started to spin before holding it less than a millimeter away from Zach¡¯s right cheek.


    ¡°But don¡¯t you worry. You¡¯ll have your chance to speak. Plenty of chances in fact. We¡¯ve got nothing but time¡­¡±

 Chapter Forty Three - The Poor Wee Sod

    It was the screams that woke her up. At first, Winifred was convinced they were merely part of her nightmares, or perhaps thoughts just floating around her head but never quite solidifying. Almost as if it were another illusion. But, as they repeated, time and time again, Winifred realized that she recognized the voice.


    With a jolt, she awoke, just in time to hear another one of the bone-shaking cries pierce the air. Cracking open her eyelids, which felt gummed together with dried blood, she took what she hoped was a subtle look at her surroundings. Drab, cobblestone walls, bereft of anything to indicate ownership. Blood-soaked stone flag tiles, with a fresh stream of blood flowing across them. Her hands were tied to a chair with coarse, taut rope.


    Worse yet, all her gear was missing, including her new brass knuckles. The bastard had taken everything she had on her. To her left, Skrakch and Meekknuckle were strapped into their own metal chairs, stripped of their own gear as well. Neither of them were conscious. They looked like grim caricatures of royalty on a throne. Or perhaps guests at a dinner party, waiting to be served. The fact that they were out of it was probably for the best.


    The Ratling was fond of Zach, no matter how he might protest. And, judging from those pain-filled cries, the Halfling wasn¡¯t doing well. Steeling her resolve, she glanced quickly forward, her blood freezing in her veins at the sight. Directly in the center of the room, she could see Sykes grinning like a madman with blood splattered across his face. The Elf was holding a hooked knife, the blade heated with Mana, and was slowly sliding it across his ¡®patient¡¯s¡¯ face. The chair Zach was strapped to was tilted, giving the torturer access to any part of his captor¡¯s body that he may wish to use.


    Each movement of Sykes magical blade elicited a new groan of pain. Winifred forced herself to look. Numerous cuts crisscrossed the Halfling¡¯s face, blood and pus covering his visage completely. Each flick of the knife parted his flesh. Winifred could tell that the poor bastard was doing his best not to react but the pain and fear were clearly too much.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not him,¡± She muttered quietly to herself. ¡°Maybe¡­maybe it¡¯s another Halfling¡­some other poor wee sod¡­¡± She shook her head and, if it were safe to do so, she would¡¯ve laughed at herself for such a foolish notion. ¡°Aye and I¡¯m nae strapped to a chair in the madman¡¯s home,¡± She whispered, admonishing herself.


    She gently tried to free her wrist, but the rope refused to budge under her efforts. Her legs were the same, expertly restrained. Still, she was working with borrowed time and there would be no time for holding back. Twisting her left wrist under her thumb was flush against the metal, she began to bend it back as much as she could. Pain flared, but just as Blackmaul had taught her, she ignored it.


    She¡¯d suffered plenty worse in many a pitfight and lived to moan about it later and she would do it again. With a pop that was half sickening, half oddly satisfying, the tension went out of her thumb, the bone popping loose from the joint. Thankfully, this allowed her to wriggle her wrist free.


    Winifred stopped for a moment when she noticed the movement in front of her. She froze as Sykes took a moment to toss a wet chunk of flesh her way. It slapped against the tile, mere inches away from her calves. She fought against the urge to vomit.


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    ¡°C¡¯mon Zacharias! You wanted to talk did you not?¡± Sykes asked in a mocking tone. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been that long since we started and you¡¯re already running on fumes? The trick to being a good torture victim is to engage, did you not know that?¡±


    Sykes paused for a moment, raising up and grabbing a nearby rag to wipe the magical blade clean. It gleamed with heat.


    ¡°Oh, now you can scream as much as you need to. But in the downtime, I find it¡¯s much more entertaining for you to yell, bargain, plead, anything really. It lets you focus on something other than the pain you see¡­¡± Sykes continued, chuckling as he leaned back over Zach. Winifred could see the Halfling being grabbed by his left ear as the Elf drew the heated blade across his nose.


    As Zach began screaming anew, Winifred was quick to return to her own struggles. With a freed hand, it was a simple matter of undoing the knots binding her other wrist to the chair. Well, she internally scoffed, that was easier said than done. Whoever had tied the bloody knots was an expert. She fiddled with it as much as she dared, but no matter what she tried, the knot just wouldn¡¯t give.


    So she did what any well-trained fighter would do, she bent back her right thumb as well. She stifled a grunt, biting down on her tongue as she felt the bone break. Another quick tug and her right hand was free with Sykes'' left none the wiser.


    From there, it was easy enough to pull her feet loose from the rope holding her to the metal chair and take stock of her options. She could attack Sykes with her bare hands, an admittedly risky option. She could attempt to bolt for the door, but the Gods Below knows how many goons were watching that entrance.


    Or she could free Skrakch, and see if he had anything to contribute. Winifred had a decent handle on the Ratling¡¯s spell list, and unless he¡¯d learned something in the past few minutes, it wasn¡¯t likely to help.


    So really, she had only one decent option. Swallowing a burst of fear, she forced her hands into fists, ignoring the pain that flared out from her thumbs. Bracing herself, she waited until Sykes began slicing into Zacharias¡¯ face once more, figuring a distracted mage could only help her odds.


    Flowing forward, she managed a single aggressive step forward... before something smashed into her side with enough power to crush the air out of her chest. Flying across the room, she crumpled bonelessly as she hit one of the walls, dropping in a heap.


    ¡°Honestly Winifred, did you take me for a fool?¡± Sykes called out, humming as his blade flickered across the Halfling¡¯s face, a fresh spurt of blood landing in his beard. ¡°I had my new assistant instructed to watch you all, and if you tried to attack me¡­¡± Sykes trailed off, turning to walk over to her. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure you figured that out.¡±


    The crime boss chuckled as he calmly stepped over and grabbed a fistful of Winifred¡¯s brown hair. Lifting her chin, he angled her face so she could see her attacker. Standing behind her chair was Ornn, the golem face as impassive as always as he stood rooted to the spot.


    Groaning as her conscience faded in and out, Winifred stubbornly threw a look of contempt at Sykes. ¡°Fuck you, you piece of deranged filth. Once I¡¯m free, I¡¯m going to beat you to death with my bare hands.¡±


    Laughing as he dropped her, Sykes waved offhandedly towards his newest minion. ¡°Ornn, hold this one. Keep her arms spread, and she can watch the show. Don¡¯t you worry, Winnie. Once I¡¯m done with Zach, I¡¯ll have plenty of time for you.¡±

 Chapter Forty Four - An Eye For An Eye

    ¡°You¡¯ve been the snake in my operation for far too long Zacharias,¡± Sykes said silkily as the Elf turned his attention back to his captive. The pathetic Halfling still managed to look smug, even with blood dripping down his face, sitting on the metal chair like he owned the place. He obviously thought that he still stood some sort of chance at escape. While Sykes would love to see him go toe to toe with the Golem and watch him be torn apart limb from limb, it would be much more satisfying to do the job himself.


    ¡°You¡¯re a clever thief I must admit,¡± Sykes continued. He put his arms around his back and started to pace in front of Zacharias slowly. ¡°But it was only a matter of time that you would try to steal something above your skill level. We all know that you wish to usurp me as the Dragon Blood supplier in Dray¡¯Mel. It¡¯s an honorable aspiration, albeit a lofty one.¡±


    ¡°Well someone¡¯s gotta know what they¡¯re doing around here,¡± Zacharias replied, half choking on the blood in his mouth.


    ¡°And that would be you, correct?¡± Sykes chuckled. ¡°You have so much to learn, Halfling. Your conceited ways will always be your undoing. You think stealing my main supply would be as simple as overhearing some cronies in a tavern?¡±


    Zach tried to open his mouth and let out a snarky` comment, but the pain overcame him. Spitting to the side, Zacharias could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.


    ¡°And yet here we are,¡± Sykes motioned around the small room with a flourish. ¡°As you said earlier, we¡¯ve known each other a long time now,¡± He continued with a smirk. ¡°And as such, you¡¯ll know that I live by very few rules in my life,¡± He leaned over his victim slightly, a shiver of excitement tingled through him as he started to see a flicker of genuine fear in the Halfling¡¯s eyes. ¡°One rule I hold very dear to me is quite simple¡­¡± He took hold of either side of Zach¡¯s head taking great care to ensure the metal hook held in his right hand dug into the half-man¡¯s cheek, piercing it. ¡°An eye for an eye¡­¡±


    With that, Sykes tightened his grip and thrust his remaining thumb into Zacharias¡¯ left eye, driving it deep into the socket. Zacharias let out a satisfyingly loud scream of pain as Sykes felt the pressure of his thumb rupture the eyeball beneath it.


    Zacharias continued to howl in agony as Sykes calmly withdrew his thumb. A loud, wet squelching sound could be heard, despite the Halfling¡¯s screams. As blood started to course from the eye socket, Sykes calmly withdrew a kerchief from the pocket of his coat and wiped his thumb clean.


    Zach watched the movement through his remaining eye, his field of vision drastically shortened. He opened his mouth but instead of a witty rejoinder, all he could do was moan. He could feel the blood running down his cheek, the sharp pain that blossomed where his left eye had been.


    For a moment of time, all he could feel was agony, pervading through his body and twisting his guts. But even in his half-lucid state, Zacharias felt a sudden flare of power burst up from behind him.


    Head hanging low from the shock of his wounds, he could only barely make out a look of surprise on Sykes''s face, before a loud, grating boom resounded out. Flinching in his chair, Zacharias watched as Sykes began desperately conjuring runes in the air, but before he could finish a spell, a blur of movement rammed into him with incredible force.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill ye! Ya wee bastard!¡± He heard Winifred cry out as she and Sykes hit the floor. Zach lifted his head, careful to make sure he didn¡¯t move too much and tried his best to ignore the dizziness that threatened to overtake him. Winifred and Sykes were tussling on the floor, her hands were wrapped around his neck.


    Even in his weakened, injured state, he could tell there was something different about the brawler. She seemed...more powerful somehow. He slowly turned to look at Ornn, wondering how the hell she¡¯d been able to escape the unyielding grasp of a Golem. He got his answer pretty fucking quick.


    Ornn was standing in the same spot but his arms were mostly destroyed, two small stumps of broken stone and rubble moving ineffectively from his torso. The damned construct seemed almost confused, unsure of how to follow Sykes commands without arms to hold anyone with. The sight was almost comical if Zach ignored just how much raw power it would take to overpower Ornn in a contest of strength.


    ¡°Bloody hell!¡± He muttered to himself deliriously. ¡°How the Hells did she do that?¡±


    He groggily attempted to look back towards his captor and his savior both, but the stress and pain finally caught up with him. Lolling backward in his seat, darkness claimed his remaining eye, and Zacharias fell deep into unconsciousness.


    <hr>


    Pathetic.


    That¡¯s all she could think about herself as she dangled in Ornn¡¯s large stone arms. She hadn¡¯t even been worth paying attention to. Sykes had immediately ignored her attempt to break free of the situation. It was as if the mere idea of her attacking wasn¡¯t even worthy of his notice.


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    Relegated to the sidelines, she was forced to watch as Zach quipped and joked through his pain. Even as the blood poured down his face and the blades burned into his flesh. Taking a deep breath, Winifred turned her gaze inwards, watching her small supply of Mana slowly start to spread through her body.


    What could she do? Nearly Mana-less and held hostage by a Golem that was easily twice as strong as she was? Gritting her teeth, Winifred snapped open her eyes and tried to wrench herself free. Blackmaul would be ashamed of her for giving up so easily. She tried her hardest to rip her left arm from Ornn¡¯s vice-like grip. It was a poor idea at best but, at that moment, it was all that she had.


    As she expected, the Golem barely even moved and simply tightened its grip to almost excruciating levels. She felt the bones in her wrist shifting under the pressure. Softly gasping, she ceased the struggling and was happy to discover that Ornn softened his grip in return. Whatever Sykes had done to make the Golem turn against them, at least the Elf hadn¡¯t managed to turn Ornn as sadistic as he was.


    ¡°Brute strength is nae the answer,¡± She muttered to herself. ¡°But what else? All I do is break things¡­s¡¯all I can do.¡±


    In her mind¡¯s eye, Winifred recalled the many times that she¡¯d been told off back when she lived with her parents. A particularly painful memory that surfaced was when her Mother had yelled at her for almost an hour because she¡¯d been practicing her moves and a wayward kick had accidentally connected with one of her Mother¡¯s beloved vases.


    ¡°I mean really Winifred! Why must you always act so undignified? It¡¯s like you live to break things!¡±


    Scoffing lightly and trying to ignore the sting of her Mother¡¯s words that she felt even now, she instead turned her thoughts to her fallen mentor, Blackmaul. The old Dwarf had covered dozens of ways to break free of a stronger being¡¯s grip. Unfortunately, they all required a certain degree of strength that, despite her years of pit fighting, hardly matched up to Ornn¡¯s grip.


    She was up against her own limits. Her body betrayed her mind. If she was just a bit stronger¡­just a bit faster¡­Closing her eyes for a brief moment of respite, she fought to tune out Zacharias¡¯ painful screams until all that she could hear at that moment was her own beating heart.


    ¡°Screw it, I dinnae reckon ye can hear me Ornn, but if yer actually sentient¡­I¡¯m sorry about what I¡¯m about tae do¡­¡±


    Yet another long shot. But that was all she had. What was it that Blackmaul always used to say? You can¡¯t hit a target that you don¡¯t aim for, no matter how impossible it may seem. Grinning to herself, Winifred kicked back against Ornn¡¯s chest once more, trying to squeeze out what little bit of leverage she could.


    Unflinching once again, Ornn simply re-doubled his grip, grinding the bones in Winifred¡¯s wrist against themselves, causing the pain to flare up through her arms. The Pit Fighter simply grit her teeth however and kept going, fighting through the pain.


    Surely but surely, she struggled to break Ornn¡¯s vice-like grip, the Golem beginning to be bowed over from the sheer pressure. Spidery little cracks began to spread up his forearms, and yet he still held tight as commanded.


    Lurching forward as the veins in her temple started to throb from the sheer exertion, Winifred opened her eyes just in time to see Sykes¡¯ thumb sink into Zach¡¯s skull, the Halfling letting out yet another blood-curdling scream of pain.


    ¡°Fuck this! Ye bloody stone bastard! Is that all ye¡¯ve got Orrn? Ya dobber!¡± Winifred muttered, now slightly delirious from the pain. She wanted to scream and cry out herself. It was becoming rapidly obvious that she was getting nowhere fast. But she couldn¡¯t give up. Not now. ¡°I¡¯m getting the Hells outta here alive damn ye! Even if I have tae shatter ye into pieces!¡±


    Straining with all her might, Winifred could feel her focus draining. The last of her Mana was beginning to swirl away. Scoffing to herself, and keeping Blackmaul¡¯s words of encouragement in her mind, she redoubled her efforts. Her left wrist crumpled, the bones fracturing as pain lanced through her arm. It went limp as she pulled it loose from its own socket.


    Yet still, she pushed off with all that she had left, straining against her limits.


    ¡°Gods damn it Ornn! Why won¡¯t ye fuckin¡¯ let go? Ye useless pile of rubble. Why. Won¡¯t. Ye. Break!¡±


    A surge of strength suddenly started to flow through her. From where it came, she didn¡¯t have the time to question. Instead, working with it, she kicked Ornn backward. The Golem stumbled as she ripped her right arm free, Ornn¡¯s massive hand shattering as her fist plowed through his stone grip.


    Landing on the ground, Winifred brought her fist down on the Golem¡¯s left wrist, shattering the stone as easily as though it were glass. As Ornn fell backwards, it¡¯s stubs raised in confusion, Winifred turned towards Sykes with a snarl.


    At a speed far beyond her normal abilities, she plowed into the Elven Mage as though she were a wild Minotaur possessed with rage. They collapsed to the ground in a heap and she took the chance to mount the dazed spellweaver.


    Shouting out in incoherent rage, she grabbed the dagger-eared prick by his neck and squeezed until she heard the satisfying sound of bone snapping under her broken thumbs.


    Rolling off him and getting to her feet, she lifted the now limp body of the crime lord and slammed his smug face into the ground. She did it again and again, over and over until his head burst like an overripe melon, sending bits of his brain and skull across the tiles.


    Heaving and grunting with rage, Winifred fell to her knees beside the headless corpse. She breathed heavily, sucking in as much air as she could. A strong sense of exhaustion suddenly washed over her like nothing she¡¯d ever felt before. It was all-encompassing and she wanted nothing more than to lay down on the filthy stone floors and sleep.


    Falling bonelessly to the floor, she couldn¡¯t help but grin to herself despite how tired she felt even as she felt her consciousness begin to fade...


    ¡°Serves ye right, ye fucking muppet.¡±

 Chapter Forty Five - How Long Until The Meds Kick In?

    ¡°What in the Nine Hells¡­¡± Skrakch stuttered out, staring at a scene of absolute carnage. The last thing the Ratling remembered was his amazing display of bravery as he blew up a building, a purely impressive showcase of his peerless magic. Of course, that was followed by a sense of falling then a jolt of pain, swiftly followed by darkness.


    What he did not remember, however, was getting tied to a chair that was overlooking a half-dead Halfling, a comatose bruiser, or, oh right, a goddamn headless corpse. Twisting in his seat, the Ratling could also make out Ornn and Meekknuckle, both completely out of it. In fact, Ornn seemed to be minus his arms¡­ for some bloody reason.


    It took a moment for it all to register, but the furry rogue was nothing if not adaptable. Thankfully, Skrakch always kept a file taped to the inside of his thigh, which he quickly knocked to the ground. Scooping it up with his tail, he deposited it into his open palm. Immediately setting to free himself of the rope on his wrists, Sk`rakch hesitatingly risked speaking aloud.


    ¡°He-Hello? Are any of you awake? What in the fuck happened in here?¡± He called out, as he pulled one of his arms loose, and turned to the other. ¡°And who the Hells is the corpse? Is that Sykes? Serves the prick right, but¡­ How?¡±


    ¡°About time you woke up¡±, a coughing noise grabbed Skrakch¡¯s attention, turning towards the source. ¡°Picked a bloody good time to wake up, you did.¡± Zacharias grinned, the oozing flesh on his face pulling tautly as he did.


    Yanking the last bit of rope off himself, Skrakch gingerly made his way over to the Halfling¡¯s side. Looking him over, Zach¡¯s face was slashed with over a dozen wounds of varying depths. Some of his flesh was ripped clean off, and a large chunk of his nose was simply missing. Worse yet were the remnants of his crushed eyeball, blood, and viscera oozing from the now half-empty socket.


    ¡°He dropped our stuff in that chest in the corner,¡± Zach said weakly. He seemed in weirdly good spirits considering he¡¯d obviously been maimed, but Skrakch could see the anger simmering inside. ¡°Any chance you have some kinda potion for me¡±, the bloodied fool added, his head rolling to the side as he tries to keep his good eye on Skrakch. ¡°I could use a bit of a stiff one.¡±


    ¡°Fuck me Zach, I can give you a healing potion, but¡­ yeah, that¡¯s not gonna do much more than treating the surface wounds,¡± Skrakch answered. He turned away from the injured Halfling and started digging into the chest before pulling out his bandolier. ¡°Maybe if you¡¯re lucky Meekknuckle can help with the scars. But that eye isn¡¯t coming back anytime soon.¡±


    Running his claws over the vials, Skrakch swiftly unstoppered his sole Greater Healing potion and poured it into Zach¡¯s mouth. Honestly, just the thought of how much gold he¡¯d spent on that particular concoction¡­ still, with the amount of blood loss Zacharias was no doubt experiencing, a Lesser Healing potion wouldn¡¯t do near enough.


    Giving the blood-soaked room another once over, the Ratling let out a small shudder, before freeing Zach from his bindings. He didn¡¯t recognize the room at all but, judging by the various methods of restraint and the blood smears and splashes of varying ages, it was clearly Sykes¡¯ torture room.


    It was on the tip of his tongue to remonstrate Zach, after all, it was the cocky Halfling¡¯s fault they were even in this mess to begin with. But, surprising himself by his weird feelings of sympathy, he figured Zach had been through enough. The umber Ratling sighed heavily. ¡°Let¡¯s get the rest of the crew a potion too, why don¡¯t we?¡± He continued, barely able to tear his gaze away from the nasty injuries that now marred his companion¡¯s face. ¡° And you can fill me in about what happened.¡± He went back to the chest and rummaged in it for Zach¡¯s coat. Normally he wouldn¡¯t even dream of fishing around in his pockets because he was all too aware of the horrors that he might encounter but this was an emergency.


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    Luckily, amongst other things he really didn¡¯t want to think about, Skrakch quickly located a bandana. It wasn¡¯t the cleanest and had definitely seen better days but it would do for now. Ignoring Zach¡¯s attempts to weakly swat him away, Skrakch tied the bandana as neatly as he could so that it crossed over Zach¡¯s injured eye socket, forming a makeshift eye patch.


    ¡°Sykes got what was coming to him, that¡¯s what happened,¡± Zach replied shortly. He sat up slowly and gingerly, swaying a little as he did so. ¡°Fuck me...this hurts...how long until your shit kicks in?¡±


    ¡°Give it a couple of minutes,¡± Skrakch answered. His attention was now on Meekknuckle, still tied to his own iron chair. The goblin was out cold but didn¡¯t appear to be injured badly. Just a few surface wounds that would need a poultice or two.


    ¡°You might not like how though, Squeakers.¡± Zach continued. His voice was already starting to sound clearer as his dizziness started to ebb away. The potion wasn¡¯t even close to any kind of miracle but it would at least give the Halfling enough energy to enable their escape. ¡°I could be wrong but¡­ I think Winifred invoked a Pact.¡±


    Freezing in the act of pouring a potion down Meekknuckle¡¯s gullet, Skrakch dropped the bottle he was pouring. It shattered on the flagstone floor, spraying its liquid up to his fur but the Ratling didn¡¯t notice. He scurried over to the unconscious form of Winifred who was laying on her side near Sykes lifeless body. ¡°She¡¯s a fucking Chosen?¡± He squeaked incredulously. ¡°Do you know what this means, Zach?¡±


    ¡°That you¡¯re going to lose your shit with jealousy¡±, Zach chuckled but stopped short. He started down at his hands, some of his fingernails were missing. ¡°Listen mate.¡± He added, his tone changing swiftly. ¡°If she didn¡¯t¡­ if she didn¡¯t save me, save us¡­ Sykes was going to kill us all.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about you or me!¡± Skrakch snarled, rolling Winifred onto her back. Her eyelids fluttered slightly but she didn¡¯t awaken. ¡°If she really made a Pact, the Powers that be are going to know about it. Since you¡¯ve probably never read a damn book in your life, you wouldn¡¯t know but anyone gets Chosen in the city? The Tombs-Makers know of it. You either accept their terms, or you disappear.¡±


    Lifting the comatose woman¡¯s left arm, Skrakch could make out a small rune engraved onto Winifred¡¯s bicep that definitely wasn¡¯t there before. While the structure of the rune was exceedingly simple, the dense mana packed inside made it painful for the Ratling to even look at it.


    His quick glimpse was enough to confirm his suspicions, the rune a mess of squiggles and shapes, but through them all ran a stiff and unbroken line, powering through anything in its way. Just looking at it caused Skrakch¡¯s vision to swim, and it took all his focus to tear his eyes away.


    Tossing her arm aside with a groan, Skrakch stumbled across the room to the only door, before pulling it open carefully. If they were in one of Sykes¡¯ safehouses or his base of operations, there could be any number of thugs waiting to attack them if they noticed their escape, but they didn¡¯t have any time to waste.


    As the door opened a crack, a cacophony of sounds burst into the clearly soundproofed room. Screams and shouts washed over Skrakch as he peeked out into complete carnage. Sykes had clearly dragged them back to his gangs¡¯ hideout and surrounded himself with thugs.


    As it happened, he didn¡¯t need to worry about Sykes¡¯ men. Thankfully, the Thugs who would be out for blood for Sykes¡¯ death were currently being killed by the dozens by enraged Wraiths, the ghost-like beings scything into the dead Elf¡¯s minions like wheat. Less thankfully, It was clear that the Wraiths were setting up a perimeter surrounding the building they were in, slaughtering anyone who tried to escape the residence.


    Slamming the door shut, Skrakch retreated into the room with a gulp. ¡°We, uh, might have a problem.¡± He announced, right as the roof of the building collapsed inwards in a shower of splinters.

 Chapter Forty Six - We’re Screwed

    Descending amongst the chaos of the falling rafters, Skrakch could barely make out a burly form amongst the shower of wooden splinters. The Ratling narrowed his eyes to focus, barely making out the shape of a human figure, though it was twice the size of Ornn and coated in a similar dark stone pattern. Powerful limbs flexed as they struck the floor, a segmented tail flicking left to right, with deft cutting motions.


    But where a typical monster¡¯s head would be instead rested a humanoid torso, sporting blackened leather armor awkwardly hanging off an emancipated frame. Standing like some form of demented Centaur, the Undead looked like a cross of a Gargoyle and a Ghoul if someone went at them with an axe then mashed them together. Still, for a Ghoul, the creature looked remarkably well preserved, even if the Undead¡¯s face was frozen in place. The face of which was horrifyingly familiar, Skrakch absentmindedly noticed as his instincts screamed at him to flee.


    There were numerous paintings and prints that depicted what Fang¡¯Mel had looked like in his fighting prime. The ancient Monks of Dray¡¯Mel had poured over illuminated manuscripts with carefully inked depictions of the Gray Fox, all of which had been reproduced in the books that Skrakch liked to read on his frequent library trips.


    But this beast¡­this beast looked exactly like the Gray Fox himself¡­aside from the gargoyle-like bottom half that was. Just like the pictures that he¡¯d studied, the twisted version of Fang¡¯Mel standing before him had thick chocolate brown hair, cut short in a soldier¡¯s style and dappled with gray. His pure violet eyes stared blankly around the room, his beard as neat and styled as it must¡¯ve been when he was alive.


    But the deformed creature before them was deader than a bloody doornail, open wounds crisscrossing it¡¯s beast-like form. Each cut revealed diseased flesh and thriving maggots, eagerly eating at the rapidly regenerating blood and bones.


    Still, it wasn¡¯t any of those things that stole Skrakch¡¯s breath away as he tried desperately not to panic, but rather the realization of just -what- was staring down at them. One of the three pillars of the Tomb-Makers loomed above them all, the Undead Chosen¡¯s aura pressing down on Skrakch like the invisible hand of an angry God.


    Just looking at the Gray Fox was starting to give the Ratling a headache, and his vision was beginning to blur. Necromantic energy was roiling off the Half-Elf, in a unconscious display of power that had Skrakch¡¯s gut practically seething in envy, not that he was keen to admit it.


    ¡°Oh we are fucked,¡± Skrakch murmured to himself, dropping into a low stance with his claws at the ready.


    The newly arrived Undead calmly stretched itself to its full height, looming over the mortals in the room, as if dropping through the roof of a building was a normal thing to have done. It cast its gaze over the Sykes¡¯ headless corpse and flickered to Skrakch¡¯s companions before finally settling those deadened violet eyes on Zacharias.


    Fang¡¯Mel slowly pointed one of its Elven fingers in the Halfling¡¯s direction. ¡°Explain. This is not what I had expected to find here. I had assumed that it was Sykes that was Chosen. You¡¯d do best to explain this situation to me,¡± The monstrous figure''s calm voice belied its actions, as a spear of pure silver coalesced into existence in his palm. One look with his Mana Sight was enough to get Skrakch¡¯s fur to puff up, as power wafted off the weapon in troves.


    ¡°You what mate?¡± Zacharias stuttered. Skrakch could see that the Halfling was overwhelmed but was trying his best not to show it. ¡°I ain¡¯t sure exactly how this shit happened either, to be honest with ya¡­Sykes wanted me dead so we kinda killed him first¡­ you know how it is¡± He finished rather lamely, eyeing the door with longing.


    ¡°It¡¯s the woman,¡± Skrakch spoke up, pointing at Winifred¡¯s body. Fang¡¯Mel¡¯s eyes slid sideways and focused upon him. He could understand why Zacharias had felt so on the spot. It was pretty unnerving to have the eyes of a legend staring down at you. ¡°She¡¯s Chosen and we are her companions,¡± He continued to explain. ¡°We¡¯re definitely her friends so it would be a good idea to let us live. Uh¡­ Sir?¡±


    Turning indifferent Elven eyes downwards towards the comatose brawler, the abomination of a man lifted Winifred by her arm into the air with a single clawed hand, its Gargoyle-like front claw holding her up closely like she was a chicken to be slaughtered. Seemingly satisfied, the ghastly creature hefted her body over its shoulder with ease, before turning back to Skrakch, a bored look crossing his deadened features.


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    ¡°I shall be taking this one into custody, as per the Living Act, Article Twelve. She will be permitted to walk free after agreeing to Rath¡¯Mel¡¯s terms,¡± Fang¡¯Mel announced, with all the enthusiasm of a bored bureaucrat. The Elven torso bowed before them stiffly. ¡°On her behalf, I shall look the other way over this case of mortal against mortal violence.¡±


    ¡°Sykes was being monitored by the Tomb-Makers already, so we shall call this an unfortunate misunderstanding,¡± Fang¡¯Mel continued. ¡°Am I right in assuming the Chosen was the one to kill him?¡± The Half-Elf-Gargoyle hybrid asked, a dangerous gleam suddenly lighting up its deadened eyes.


    ¡°Yes, yes!¡± Skrakch nodded emphatically. ¡°Winifred killed Sykes. Gods Above and Below strike me down if I¡¯m lying, that¡¯s what triggered her Pact, I¡¯m sure of it,¡± He babbled, feeling as though he was wilting under the creature¡¯s pressure.


    ¡°Then I see no need for further involvement of the Tomb-Makers. A good day to you both.¡±


    With a curt nod, the creature dismissed the both of them before raising its monstrous wings high.


    For a moment, Fang¡¯Mel closed his violet eyes, before more Mana than Skrakch had ever seen before began pouring out of its Core. Flinching at the sudden outpouring, Skrakch watched as the Mana reinforced the Tomb-Makers wings and the Gargoyle¡¯s legs, before it braced its body and prepared to leap.


    With one large swoop of its bat-like wings, the creature thrust itself into the air, alighting through the hole it had created with its unannounced landing.


    Skrakch stared mutely upwards for a moment before turning to look at the equally confused Zacharias.


    Scoffing, the Halfling collapsed back into the metal chair that he¡¯d been previously tied to, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°What in the Nine Hells was that thing?¡±


    ¡°Are you serious Zacharias?¡± Skrakch demanded. ¡°That ¡®thing¡¯ was Fang¡¯Mel, the Hells-damned Grey Fox of Dray¡¯Mel and one of the leaders of our fair prison. I¡¯ve told you before, a new Chosen pops up in Dray¡¯Mel and one of the Tomb-Makers is dispatched to get them.¡±


    ¡°You think I listen when you start wittering on about that Chosen stuff?¡± Zacharias said with a roll of his eyes.


    ¡°We should just be glad it was the Grey Fox. If it was the Burned Husk or the Eternal Demise, we¡¯d both be dead. They don¡¯t exactly play nice with us mere mortals,¡± Skrakch continued, his whiskers trembling with a mixture of fright and excitement. It made him wonder who would be the one to collect him when it was his time, because -obviously- he¡¯d become a Chosen in no time.


    ¡°Well fuck me,¡± Zacharias replied with an impressed nod. ¡°Here was me thinking that it was just some bollocks told to kids like a fairy story. I had no clue they were real fucking things. I mean one¡¯s called the Eternal Demise for fuck¡¯s sake. If anything sounds like a kid¡¯s story it¡¯s that!¡±


    Shaking his head, and clapping himself on his cheeks, Skrakch focused on the present as he scoffed in Zach¡¯s direction. ¡°They don¡¯t choose the names, they just have them. Hells, Winifred will have one soon too. Listen, we need to go. I¡¯ve got no clue how long this place will stay safe, so help me grab Meekknuckle, and let¡¯s get the Hells out of here.¡±


    The two of them quickly strapped their gear back on before Skrakch pulled Meekknuckle over his shoulder. Staring at the door, the two of them barely glanced back as Ornn wobbled onto his two feet, plodding along behind them once more.


    ¡°One Ratling, one unconscious Goblin, one broken Golem, and a bloody Halfling,¡± Zach swore. ¡°If this was the start to a joke, I¡¯d swear it would end in blood.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t every good joke?¡± Skrakch laughed, before opening the door and darting through it. Thankfully, it appeared that the Wraiths had dispersed, and taken the corpses of the thugs with them. In fact, the street they wandered through was like a ghost town, empty of everything but them.


    Still, there were enough splashes of blood on the cobblestone to keep Skrakch wary. The Ratling was sure Meekknuckle just needed a few hours of rest to recuperate, but Zach still looked like he¡¯d shoved his face into a dozen freshly sharpened blades. And from the way he was wobbling on his feet, neither of them were going to be useful if a scrap broke out.


    No, it was time to lay low and rest up. Thankfully, Skrakch kept a few hideaways in The Slums, so he¡¯d have some supplies on hand. And once he had his companions back on their feet, it would be time to parse out the implications of Winifred¡¯s newfound Chosen status.


    ...After all, what was the point of making friends if you didn''t exploit them for their knowledge and powers?

 Chapter Forty Seven - Aye, Eye

    ¡°Me not sure¡­ Meek did best he can.¡± The Goblin muttered in a defeated tone, looking like he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. ¡°Wounds not infected, but Meek can¡¯t do nothing ¡®bout scars. Sight gone too. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°You did good Meekknuckle. Honestly, it looks a lot worse than it is Zach, you¡¯ll be fine. Ain''t that all that matters? Plus, we¡¯ll keep our eyes¡­¡± Skrakch winced as he realized his wording, the Ratling unwilling to meet Zach¡¯s remaining eye head-on. ¡°We¡¯ll find you a proper cleric, one who knows some powerful Regeneration spells. You¡¯ll be good in no time at all.¡±


    Nodding absentmindedly, Zach ignored his urge to stab Skrakch¡¯s throat with the broken shard of glass he was using to check out his wounds. It was hardly the vermin¡¯s fault, yet the rage building in his chest didn¡¯t particularly care about who it lashed out at.


    The trio of rogues had retreated to an abandoned house near the Inner Wall, where Skrakch had accumulated a small store of nearly rotten food, and a massive pile of discarded clothes he¡¯d turned into a nest. The Ratling had happily dropped Meekknuckle into the pile to recuperate, and Zach had felt too tired to do anything but drop down beside him.


    Thankfully, it didn¡¯t take long for the scrawny Goblin to wake up, though he¡¯d been distraught upon regaining consciousness. One look at Ornn¡¯s shattered arms had driven the Goblin to useless action, the damned fool trying to heal a Golem with Holy magic.


    Unsurprisingly, it hadn¡¯t exactly been effective. Ornn currently loomed over them all from near the back of the room, the Golem somehow looking sad even without being able to change its expression from its customary scowl.


    After wasting precious time on his unloving cohort''s behest, the Goblin priest had finally deigned to take a look at Zacharias¡¯ face wounds. But the Halfling already knew what he¡¯d say.


    One look into the shard of glass had been enough for Zach to know his face was ruined. Meekknuckle had healed his eye as best as he could, but the socket would forever look like an open wound, a mess of red flesh glaring out with unseeing hate.


    Perhaps even worse than the eye itself were the deep furrows in his face. Sykes had taken great delight in leaving deep gouges in his flesh, leaving the surface of his face uneven and twisted. Crisscrossing scars ran wild, and huge chunks of his nose and cheeks were simply¡­ gone.


    Zacharias had once considered himself a handsome son of a bitch, capable of wooing lasses with a single cheeky grin. But now? Now his face filled him with disgust, the hate filling him clear on his visage. Worse yet, the prick who¡¯d done this was already dead.


    So who the fuck would he make pay for this? At the end of the day, it was his own fault. His own hubris that lead to this Gods damned outcome. So Zach did what he¡¯d done since the first day his Father had taken a switch to him. The Halfling choked down his rage, and buried it deep inside his chest, turning a wide smile towards his two worried-looking companions.


    ¡°Chin up lads, you two look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost. It¡¯s a few wee scratches, it ain¡¯t hardly the end of the world.¡± Zacharias said glibly, tossing the shard of glass to the side. ¡°Plus, you should have seen the look on Sykes¡¯ face when Winnie charged him. T¡¯was priceless, it was.¡±


    Pulling himself loose from the pile of foul-smelling clothes, Zach dusted himself off absentmindedly. As always, the rage simmered in his gut still, but that was no reason to go about showing his weakness. No, the Halfling was more than willing to swallow his anger for now. He¡¯d wait for a more appropriate target to show itself, then he¡¯d let himself loose.


    For now, he needed the two filthy creatures behind him, much as he hated to admit it. This Chosen business had always seemed unimportant to him, legends from on high that would never affect him. But with Winifred becoming one, he¡¯d need to prepare for her return.


    Plus, the sly Halfling reminded himself, with Sykes dead there was a gap in the criminal underbelly. It would be a shame to leave the poor addicts of The Slums without their source of Dragon¡¯s Blood, after all.


    Humming a funeral tune to himself, Zach beckoned for his minions to follow him. He figured it was as good a time as any for a drink, plus Skrakch was always more forthcoming with ale in his belly.


    It was time for Zach to learn about this Chosen nonsense, and see how he could twist it to his advantage. The Halfling was, after all, never one to accept a bad deal of the deck.


    <hr>


    ¡°So let¡¯s get this all straight. The Chosen are a real thing. Winifred, our local Pit Fighter, a known Dragon¡¯s Blood addict, somehow became one of them. And then the Tomb-Makers sent another Chosen to collect her?¡± Zach took a long drink from his tankard, grateful to feel the taste of a good mead once again. ¡°And you¡¯re certain that is what all that was about how?¡±


    Skrakch chuckled and shook his head at the Halfling¡¯s stupidity. He flagged down a serving wench, ordering another round.


    ¡°You were the one still conscious Zach, you saw it all. She broke Ornn¡¯s arms then crushed Sykes¡¯ skull like it was nothing, right? There¡¯s nothing else it could¡¯ve been but the power of a Pact. I don¡¯t suppose you happened to catch what her Crux was?¡±


    ¡°Me not understand,¡± Meekknuckle piped up. The little Goblin was standing on one of the chairs, both hands clasped around his own tankard.


    ¡°Well to be fair, what you don¡¯t know could fill the whole of Dray¡¯Mel,¡± Zach snubbed him as he drained the remnants of his drink.


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    ¡°Me thought only Father Chosen,¡± Meekknuckled continued, not swayed by Zach¡¯s casual disdain. ¡°If Scary Lady Chosen, can Meek be Chosen?¡±


    ¡°Yeah fucking right,¡± Zach spat sarcastically. ¡°You¡¯ve got even less chance than Squeakers here and that¡¯s saying something. Speaking of Squeakers¡­¡± He turned his attention back to Skrakch. ¡°We all know you¡¯re a fucking nerd and in love with fucking books or whatever,¡± He continued, making air quotes with his fingers at the word ¡®books¡¯. ¡°As much as it pains me to agree with Short-and-Idiotic over there, but I don¡¯t exactly get it. What the fuck is a Crux? Or a Pact for that matter. All I know is that Winnie said a word and then she went a bit mental. It was Broke, maybe? Break? I don¡¯t know and, to be honest with ya, I don¡¯t really give a shiny shite.¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± Skrakch said with a hint of irritation. ¡°This is freely available knowledge. It¡¯s all in the history section in the Public Library¡­oh, wait. That¡¯s making an assumption that you can read,¡± He added snidely.


    ¡°Short Man no read?¡± Meekknuckle asked, an expression of genuine shock on his face. ¡°How you know where to find best cheese?¡± He gasped.


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ ¡®ell. I need another drink. Between the fucking Goblin and that fact that I can feel another lecture slash history lesson coming on, I¡¯m gonna need to be half-cut so I don¡¯t fucking puke.¡±


    Zach clicked his fingers and summoned the serving wench again. She returned within seconds with two large cups of whiskey. Zach quickly downed one on the spot before sitting back in his chair with the other. ¡°Go on then Squeakers. Let¡¯s ¡®ave it.¡±


    ¡°Meek need go,¡± Meek said, getting up from his stool. ¡°Meek need fix Ornn. Arms still broken,¡± he explained sadly. The damaged Golem had been left outside the tavern at the insistence of the barkeep.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Zach answered, yanking Meekknuckle back down on the stool by his ragged shirt. ¡°If I have to listen to this shit, so do you,¡±


    Skrakch sighed heavily, feeling no doubt similar to how Jace¡¯s tutors used to feel when his old owner was at his most unruly. He drummed his paw on the filthy wooden tabletop and waited for his two unwilling students to settle down.


    Once Zach had thrown back half his glass and Meek had stopped looking out of the window every few seconds, he started.


    ¡°Right. You both know about the Outer Realms right? That¡¯s where the Gods live, like your Goblin God, Meek. But that¡¯s also where Angels and Demons and Devils all live.¡± Skrakch says patiently, happy to have someone interested in his passion for once. ¡°And while Gods tend to stay in their realms, and only meddle a bit for their favourites, there are other things out there too.¡±


    ¡°Oh crap, he¡¯s getting all religiou-OW! The fuck?¡± Zach exclaimed as Meek kicked him in the shin to shut him up. ¡°Ya green little fucker¡­¡±


    Skrakch, ignoring the infuriating Halfling, continued.


    ¡°Unlike Gods, the Ancient Ones don¡¯t care about race or creed. They¡¯re forces of nature, representations of fundamental forces of Nature. When the first planets died and shriveled, Harvest drew its first breath. And even now, when some farmer Harvests their bloody crops, it sustains some creepy Eldritch abomination.¡± Skrakch muttered, taking a second to whet his lips with his mead.


    ¡°Meek no understand. Why some monster want give Father it strength? Why don¡¯t keep strength, get more Harvest?¡± Meekknuckle asked, tilting his head to the side, cogs visibly trying to turn in his mind.


    ¡°What other reason is there? To get more powerful.¡± Skrakch chuckled. ¡°When one of them Ancient Ones out there decides it wants to get stronger, and let¡¯s be frank here who the Hells doesn¡¯t, it reaches out to the Mortal Realm. Aka, us. I don¡¯t understand the specifics, but it chooses a mortal, and offers them a Pact.¡±


    Skrakch expected another interruption but, when there wasn¡¯t one, he carried on.


    ¡°The Crux is the Core of the Pact. You say Winifred¡¯s was Break? That makes sense, she breaks everything she touches. Alright, so some Ancient One, floating about between the Planes or some shit, it¡¯s the personification of Break. That¡¯s all it does too. It Breaks things. And it wants to find some lucky mortal who Breaks things as well. So when it finds some mortal it likes, it reaches down and shoves a little shard of itself down the mortal¡¯s metaphorical throat. So this ¡°Break'''' reaches out to Winifred, and she accepts. Maybe consciously, maybe not.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s kind of shit ain¡¯t it?¡± Zach said, draining the last of his whiskey. ¡°Breaking stuff? I do way more impressive stuff than that. Hell, for the number of women I get my power would be-¡°


    ¡°Shut up.¡± Skrakch quickly interrupted. There was never a time he wanted to hear about the Halfling¡¯s depraved sexual exploits but he was on a roll now and didn¡¯t want the conversation to veer off course. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be surprised you¡¯re being so literal,¡± he continued with a roll of his eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve no more brains than your average barstool. Break doesn¡¯t mean just breaking inanimate objects. It can mean anything, like breaking your own limits. That¡¯s probably how Winifred could break Ornn¡¯s arms with ease,¡± Skrakch theorized, ignoring Meekknuckle¡¯s small, sad whimper at the thought of his precious Golem being damaged.


    ¡°And Blam, she gets power. But it¡¯s more than that. It¡¯s like a little sliver of that being¡¯s power merges with her. So when she grows, it grows. But it comes with a cost. It marks her so that other Chosen can recognize her. That¡¯s where the ¡®mental-sounding¡¯, as you call them, Names come in.¡± Skrakch polishes off his drink, not used to talking so much without being interrupted, before grabbing another.


    ¡°The Dreaded Archmage sounds cheesy, but when a Chosen sees Rath¡¯Mel, they can apparently sense the other¡¯s Name? And how developed it is. So if Winifred looks at him, she¡¯d know that he could kill her with a thought. Or something.¡±


    The Ratling let out a small sigh, before drowning his sorrows with another pull of beer.


    ¡°As I said, this is all knowledge from some books. But the big cheese-¡°


    ¡°Cheese!¡± Meek¡¯s long ears perked up. Skrakch quelled him with a withering look.


    ¡°Look, Winifred¡¯s powerful now. And the best part is, she¡¯s immortal¡­ in a sense. I¡¯m not saying you can¡¯t stab her to death or anything, but she won¡¯t age. She¡¯s just¡­ not fully mortal anymore.¡± Skrakch dropped his head to the table, knocking over a bowl of nuts.


    Drinking his beer, Zach hides a wince every time his skin stretches. ¡°So, the real question here is¡­ are they going to kill her? Stop her from getting stronger? Fang¡¯Mel said something about a Living Act. I don¡¯t know shit about that though.¡±


    ¡°Oh we¡¯ve all established you don¡¯t know shit,¡± Skrakch said bitterly. Explaining this to the stupid Halfling was all well and good but it was making him feel pretty depressed. He let out another sigh.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never read anything about a Living Act. The books I found didn¡¯t mention it. What I do know is that there are a few Chosen in the city right now. Most keep a low profile though, so they¡¯re hard to get a hold of. But my Master, Meekknuckle¡¯s Father, says he was offered a choice. Help out Dray¡¯Mel when needed, or die. Not much of a choice really. I do recall finding out that some scholars out there put forth an interesting theory. He believed that the odds of being Chosen for a Pact went up, the more you interact with a Chosen. So all we need to do is stay on Winifred¡¯s good side if she comes back. She¡¯s our golden ticket, boys.¡± Flopping back into his chair, Skrakch stretches across the table with a grin.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the same as being Chosen myself, but I¡¯ll fucking take it.¡±

 Interlude - Butchery

    He spent the day doing his favorite things. Visiting his grandkids, spending time at his wife¡¯s tombstone, eating a meal with his family. And he wasn¡¯t ashamed to admit he¡¯d teared up a little when they¡¯d left him, the aged baker retiring to his bedroom and sitting on the step of his bed.


    Caleb had thought long and hard about his final moments and decided to dress appropriately. He¡¯d heard stories about people trying to fight the wraiths off, people who¡¯d snapped and taken others with them. Personally, he thought it was best to go with some dignity.


    An accomplished baker, he simply tossed on his old uniform, wearing the apron his wife Agnis had given him nearly 63 years ago. Turning his wrist so he could see the rune that all living creatures of Dray¡¯Mel shared, he activated it.


    One day and two minutes, it read. One measly day left. It all went so fast, it seemed like just yesterday he had so much time before the end. Sitting in his home, he let the memories play out and waited.


    Thankfully, they didn¡¯t make him wait long. He could feel them coming, his breath turning to mist as the temperature dropped. Finally, they slowly materialized through the walls. Ethereal and haunting, the wraiths circled him, their faces twisted with anguish.


    ¡°More than anything else, I hope I don¡¯t end up like you, you poor fools. Stuck in limbo, with no way out.¡± Caleb sighed, before waving them forward. ¡°Come on then, take your pound of flesh, you carrion.¡±


    The wraiths poured forth grabbing him, pulling him by his clothes, by his ears, by any piece of flesh they could grab. And with a disquieting sense of wrongness, Caleb was wrenched through his home into the night¡¯s sky.


    It was almost beautiful, looking down on the city from above. The old baker was glad he was being taken during the day, seeing the city where he¡¯d lived his whole life from the viewpoint of a bird. Seeing the inner citizens still busy within the city, going about their business with nary a thought to what was flying above them. His eyes however were drawn to the outer lips of Dray¡¯Mel, to the so-called Undead District.


    At first, he could barely make anything out, the air thick with foul energies. But as the Wraiths hauled him closer, the full tableau of violence unfolded before him. Ghouls ripping each other to shreds, zombies wading amongst them as they lay waste to anything that moved. Wraiths and spirits and shadows all fighting each other as they clogged the streets with death and mayhem.


    It wasn¡¯t long before they flew past even that, the wraiths pulling him past the walls of Dray¡¯Mel. Caleb¡¯s breath caught in his throat as for the first time in his long life, he left the city he was born in. Soaring past the small amount of farmland Dray¡¯Mel had, he spied his destination approaching.


    The Butchery, as most of the living, called it, or the Resting Place if you were to listen to the Tomb-Makers, wasn¡¯t a particularly impressive sight. Massive in size, the actual shape of it was rather uniform. Stone ceilings made up most of his sight, but there were dozens of vents, each disgorging heaps of acrid looking smoke.


    As the wraiths dragged him downwards, Caleb steeled himself for anything. There were more rumors about the Butchery than facts. Little was known about the workings of the place, beyond the one fundamental truth. Anyone who lived in Dray¡¯Mel went to the Butchery when they died.


    Rushing through the ceiling, the wraiths dropped their captive in a sprawling heap. Groaning with his age, Caleb struggled to his feet as his eyes soaked in the layout of the room he found himself in. He was expecting something much different, hooks and flames, and all other such torture devices.


    Instead, he was in a fairly small room, with a few chairs spread out in a half-circle. In their midst was a small podium, its back towards a large curtain. At first, Caleb just stood there in confusion, before warily taking a seat.


    He didn¡¯t have to wait long before a small form stepped out from behind the curtain, its short legs carrying it to the podium. Rather diminutively sized, the creature resembled a human, albeit a short one, that had been wrapped head to toe in bandages. Oddly enough, however, there was a pair of glasses sitting where its eyes should be, and it was wearing a rather dashing suit and tie.


    ¡°Well, this is rather rare. It¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve just had the one patron arriving with us,¡± the creature drawled in a dry tone. ¡°I¡¯m sure you must have some questions, and I¡¯m here to assist you with the transition.¡±


    It was, overall, just a bit too much for Caleb. Whisked away from his life and family, to be sent to the Butchery and then received by what appeared to be a gentlemanly mummy gnome. Bursting into laughter, Caleb laughed until his chest hurt, the mummified gnome simply looking on quietly.


    ¡°I suppose the main question I have is simple. What in all the Hells is going to happen to me?¡± Caleb asked as the laughter left him, his body still trembling.


    Stepping down from the podium, the mummy looked at Caleb and smiled, not that Caleb would notice. ¡°Well, that depends on you, good sir. There are two options before you, you can choose to go quietly into the night and donate your body to the Tomb-Makers. Or you can choose to -join- the Tomb-Makers. After all, We¡¯re always looking for fresh faces.¡±


    Frowning, Caleb quirked an eye at that. ¡°You mean, I get to choose? I thought my time was done, my rune said I had a day left.¡±


    Nodding, the mummy agreed. ¡°Indeed, your time has come to an end. Our approximation puts you at death from a heart attack in 24 hours. So, we plucked you up and brought you here. And so you get to choose. True Death, or something in between. We can¡¯t promise you what form of undeath you¡¯d have, but you¡¯d have a place in the Tomb-Makers.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d choose quickly though, only 23 hours and 36 minutes before the choice is made for you!¡±


    ¡°Can I ask what most people choose, or is that against the rules,¡± Caleb ventured. ¡°Hells, what even happens if I decide to join the Tomb-Makers.¡±


    Nodding enthusiastically, the bandage-wrapped gnome shuffled some papers on his podium ¡°As per the Living Act, article 2, I¡¯m required to answer any and all questions you have to ask, so don¡¯t be shy. As for what most people choose, I¡¯m sad to say that most choose a True Death. Fear of the unknown is one of the greatest barriers to taking the next step towards a better Undeath.¡±


    ¡°First, if you choose True Death, we simply administer an alchemical solution that numbs your body to pain, then cast a spell that renders you comatose. After a round of harvesting, which you won¡¯t even feel, we inject a rather quick-acting lethal injection. You pass away peacefully, none the wiser.¡± The gnome says, pulling out a pamphlet and handing it to Caleb.


    Leafing through the pamphlet, Caleb frowns slightly. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s¡­ a bit morose. Would it not be easier to let me pass naturally? You did say I would die from a heart attack soon, no?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true, you would pass away from natural causes soon. But many of the resources you, or rather your body, need to be harvested while living. For example, the vampires protecting the city require living blood, not harvestable from a corpse.¡± The mummy returns to his podium and nods amiably to Caleb. ¡°Which brings us to joining the ranks of the Undead. If you choose that option, which we highly recommend, you will instead be brought to see Rath¡¯Mel, the one true Lord of Dray¡¯Mel. As you enter his Sanctum, you¡¯ll naturally be transformed by the Necromantic Energy into a stalwart defender of our great city.¡±


    Softly scratching at his aged scalp, the old baker pondered for a moment. ¡°That¡¯s it? I just need to walk into a room and I become an Undead, just like that? Do I get to decide what sort of Undead I become? Cuz there¡¯s no way I want to end up like a wraith¡­ or a ghoul for that matter.¡±


    The gnome winces slightly, adjusting the glasses on his bandaged nose. ¡°Sadly, it¡¯s not quite so simple. The undead you become is affected by the amount of Energy you absorb, and the rate you absorb the energy is affected by the distance between you and Rath¡¯Mel. For example, I managed to make it halfway through his Sanctum before I collapsed. A respectable feat for a Non-Chosen, and thus I was blessed with a superior form of Undeath, I became a Mummy.¡±


    ¡°So, what happens if I make it all the way to this Rath fellow. Or wait¡­ what happens if I can¡¯t take a single step?¡± Caleb asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. ¡°How often do folks end up stopping right away?¡±


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    Coughing into his hand, the mummy replies. ¡°Well, the average person makes it a few steps into the Sanctum. They often become Skeletons, very important members of the guard, but not the most powerful. But if you only take a single step¡­ you do become a wraith, most likely. It¡¯s¡­ admittedly not the most desirable outcome, but many wraiths contribute in a meaningful way!¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s a complete crapshoot?¡± Caleb explodes, standing as swiftly as his feeble bones would allow. ¡°No wonder no one takes that option, who¡¯d risk being stuck as a wraith for all eternity!¡±


    Perking up, the gnome pulls a new pamphlet loose. ¡°That¡¯s a great point! That¡¯s why we¡¯ve introduced a new system in place. If it sets your mind at ease, you can sign a form to have your eventual Undeath terminated after a trial period of 50 years! If you succeed in reaching far enough into the Sanctum to have received a pleasing form, you can choose to void the contract.¡±


    Caleb looked at the gnome with growing confusion. ¡°That seems¡­ almost too good to be true. I must say, I¡¯m curious why these options are so favorable to the living. Why not just take what you need and turn me into a wraith. I wouldn¡¯t have any way to retaliate, after all.¡±


    ¡°Suffice to say, there was a time the Tomb-Makers did just that. 473 years ago, to be precise. The living were kept on as a food source, and not much else. But there were riots. Uprisings. More undead destroyed fighting the living then from protecting our fair city. Finally, a Living Chosen had the grand idea to put a treaty in place. A set of rules to get the best of both worlds, that mortals get to live out a full life, safe from the dangers outside Dray¡¯Mel, and the undead receives sufficient nourishment and bolster their number willingly.¡± The gnome stepped down from the podium and took a seat beside Caleb. ¡°Of course, there¡¯s few undead around from that time. I¡¯ve only been around 179 years myself.¡±


    The aged baker looked the gnome over, lost in thought. ¡°Can I ask a more personal question then? Why¡¯d you take the risk?¡±


    ¡°Honestly? I only had twenty-two years as a mortal. I had a bad heart, I had to take three healing tinctures a day just to survive as long as I did. Frankly, I took the deal to join up as soon as it was offered. Most of my life was spent as a patient, stuck in a Tombs-Maker run hospice. Why not try and live a little. Well, not live, but you know what I mean.¡± The gnome grinned, flexing his bandaged arm. ¡°My time as an undead has been great. Hells, I got lucky and earned a non-combat role. I¡¯ve been working as the Greeter for eighty-plus years now.¡±


    The baker nodded, mind drifting as he considered the possibilities. ¡°Does it hurt?¡± The man uttered, admitting to his sense of fear.


    ¡°Only for a bit. I can¡¯t taste anything anymore, and my sense of smell has long gone. But I can still read, still, converse. 179 years is a long time to pick up new hobbies.¡±


    Caleb nods once more, sitting up straight. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll join the Tomb-Makers. It¡¯s been a long time since these old bones have had my life in them. Why not see how it goes. I¡¯ll sign that 50-year pact though.¡±


    Leaping to his feet, the gnome claps excitedly. ¡°Excellent! It¡¯s been a while since I made a sale. Let me get it sorted, and I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    Dipping behind the curtain once more, the mummy left Caleb to his thoughts. The baker sighed as he looked around the room, a trickle of fear still present in the back of his mind.


    But for the first time in years, there was a bit of excitement as well.


    It was easy to tell yourself that you were ready to take a risk. It was much less easy to actually make the choice in the moment.


    Thankfully, the diminutive undead didn¡¯t leave him alone with his thoughts too long, so he didn¡¯t have much chance to rethink his decision. No, the Greeter quickly returned holding a large crystal ball, nearly the size of the small creature''s head.


    ¡°Place your hand here, and close your eyes. I¡¯ll be transporting us into the heart of Dray¡¯Mel. Just¡­ try to avoid getting too dizzy, the last mortal I took vomited everywhere.¡± The mummy said glibly, offering the orb up to the confused baker.


    For a second Caleb had an irrational urge to smash the orb, but instead he placed his palm atop it, and closed his eyes. After a long pause, the elderly man felt a sense of wrongness surrounding him, similar to when the Wraiths had grabbed him, but dialed up to eleven.


    Vertigo assaulted him as it felt like he was turned upside down, and pulled in a dozen different directions at once. His stomach roiled at the treatment but it mercifully passed quickly, so he opened his eyes tentatively.


    Shockingly to his senses, it appeared as if he¡¯d changed location entirely. Caleb had lived a long life, but he could count the number of times he¡¯d seen magic on one hand. Still, other than the Greeter and his magic Orb, the room was relatively plain¡­ outside of two massive doors that practically spanned a whole wall.


    Caleb knew his mouth was open as he stared slack-jawed at the ornate doors in front of him, but the aged baker had long left his sense of shame behind. At his age, he felt he¡¯d earned the right to make a fool of himself.


    It wasn¡¯t the doors themselves that had him flummoxed, though they were works of arts that he¡¯d likely not even be able to afford the doorknobs of. No, it was the sense of ill-ease permeating his body, the Necromantic mana pressing against him. Thankfully, it was currently held at bay by protective wards inscribed along the door frame, but even the whisper of that much power had his bones rattling.


    Turning once more to his guide, Caleb asked the only sensible question. ¡°Is it too late to change my mind?¡±


    Checking his papers, the mummy was quick to answer. ¡°You¡¯ve got plenty of time. If you decide True Death is what you want, we can handle that for you. But I¡¯d like to remind you, that while terrifying, that Mana is actually a good thing. It¡¯s an opportunity, just¡­ a scary one. I remember being in your shoes, and I do not envy your fear. Just know that it won¡¯t go the way you¡¯re afraid it will.¡± The Greeter nodded confidently, and Caleb could almost tell the Mummy was trying to give him a reassuring smile.


    Swallowing his tongue, Caleb tried to encourage himself. ¡°All I need to do is open the doors and enter, right? Each step I make is a good thing¡­ it¡¯s just walking. I¡¯ve done that for years.¡±


    Stepping up to the doors, the baker placed both hands against it, resisting the urge to flinch at the freezing metal''s touch. How hard can it be, he mused to himself encouragingly.


    ¡°One last thing before you enter, if you¡¯d please.¡± The mummy announced, his tone somber and respectful. ¡°As you enter, you¡¯ll feel the weight of your years press down on you. You¡¯ll feel the urge to lay down and sleep. You need to fight it. Every step you take is one step closer to true power. It can help to focus on your past life or to simply focus on your own feet. It¡¯s up to you.¡±


    Stepping backward, Caleb realized something with a start. ¡°You know, I never asked your name.¡±


    Stepping up beside him, the gnome patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Not many think to ask. It¡¯s G¡¯Nash. Now, remember, walk forwards towards Rath¡¯Mel. And good luck in there.¡±


    Hands trembling, Caleb once more placed his hands against the door. The biting cold was still there, but it was almost comforting. Focusing on the pain, Caleb took one last look at his hands. Old and gaunt, he could trace the veins that prominently stood out.


    Taking one last shuddering breath, he pressed against the door and felt it smoothly glide open. As the doorway cracked open, he felt a sudden drain, of his very spirit, that struck him to his core. Wincing as a sense of feebleness overcame him, Caleb took a step into the Garden.


    Twisted trees and monstrous plants went unnoticed as the baker gasped in pain. The very air seemed to be draining his strength, the small amount of Mana in his Core being swallowed by the Sanctum¡¯s dense Mana.


    Still, he managed to stumble forward. Thoughts of his wife Agnis flashed by, as he took uneven strides. His feet plodded against crushed stones as he focused all his attention on simply walking forward.


    The Mana in the Sanctum struck him, time and time again but Caleb barely had time to take notice of it as he thought back to his childhood. Of following his father through the shop and learning his tricks to baking. Of his years of labor perfecting his craft.


    And through it, all, wondering¡­ who cares. Years of his life were spent learning to bake. Time spent watching yeast rise. Years spent following his father as he was beaten for mistakes. Time spent raging at his own son for small mishaps in recipes.


    His steps, once faltering, became firm. An entire life was spent doing what he thought was needed. A life of work, day in and day out. He remembered his wife¡¯s smile as they talked about leaving Dray¡¯Mel one day. He remembered her tears when he would take to the bottle. The loving family, too scared to be anything but that, for fear of earning his ire. The rage in his veins, as he struck his own wife down.


    Smiling as his soul was flayed, Caleb walked with a spring in his step for the first time in years, the ache in his joints falling away. Eyes forward, he practically sauntered through the Sanctum as he stopped to smell the roses, misshapen as they were. His flesh fell to the ground, cast aside as his bones broke and crumpled. But still, his spirit carried on, his ethereal form expanding as he transformed. For the first time in his life, he felt in control. A joyous feeling arose in his chest, as he finally felt Unshackled...


    And it was with a savage grin that he stood before Rath¡¯Mel, the Dreaded Archmage. The lich looked upon him, his empty sockets glowing a deep crimson, and his Mana swirling across Caleb¡¯s face like a gentle breeze.


    ¡°Greetings child. I¡¯m glad to see you embrace the energy so strongly. Few make it to my feet, but even less truly revel in the Necromantic Energy.¡± The Lich¡¯s raspy voice whispered out. ¡°Take heed though. It is no small thing to leave a life behind. It is best to do so without hesitation, without remorse. Without¡­ reminders.¡±


    The wraith formerly known as Caleb nodded, accepting the truth behind the words. He still had things anchoring him to the living world. His mist-like hands crackled with energy, as he thought about what needed to be done. His family, his friends, the living anchors weighing him down.


    The aged baker was cast aside, and a new creature was born. Born anew from the flesh of the wicked, the Eternal Demise took to the sky under his own power. And as he watched the citizens of Dray¡¯Mel go about their insignificant lives, he ached to set them free.


    But first, a visit to his old home. Flying freely through the night''s skies, it felt like he could already hear the terror filled screams...

 Chapter Forty Eight - Three Months Later…

    It had been an atrocious three months. Coming so close to greatness only to have it cruelly snatched away? Skrakch could practically taste his chance at becoming a Chosen slipping away from him. He¡¯d even picked up the very unhealthy habit of checking his remaining time on a daily basis. Eight months. Thirteen days.


    Not that he¡¯d simply sat around, twiddling his paws and waiting for Winifred to return of course. No, he¡¯d dived back into his quest for longevity with a brand new fervor. Risking life and limb was now second nature to him. No idea was too foolish.


    He¡¯d helped Meek drive off a few attacks from the feral Iskrin that still lurked in the Sewers. He¡¯d suffered hours and hours of torture in the hopes of gaining a Defensive Pact. He robbed and killed at Zacharias¡¯ behest, in the hope of some slimy underbelly Pact. And through it all, he gained nothing. Nothing of any real value, Skrakch sighed, unless he counted his newly filled coinpurse.


    The Ratling was currently staring at his reflection, a pensive look upon his furry face. His umber fur was, as always, kept in pristine condition. Aside from the occasional burned patch that was. His whiskers were long and perfectly placed, no kinks in sight. Checking that his trusty bandolier of potions was securely strapped to his leather vest, Skrakch spun in place to ensure that his best feature, his long and beautiful tail was as wondrous as always. And easily viewable to the ladies.


    Not that he¡¯d had much luck on that front. Chasing your destiny left little time for that sort of thing. Not only that, the problem with being a rare non-enslaved brown Iskrin was that decent-looking -and- morally available Ratling females were hard to find. He¡¯d often considered going the route of Zacharias and buying himself a partner but one look at their deadened eyes had been enough to stamp out that idea.


    Still, procreation had definitely been on his mind lately. If the unthinkable happened and he was truly destined for the Butchery, what legacy would he be leaving behind? A Ratling as handsome, intelligent, and proud as he was clearly deserved some form of honor after death. It wouldn¡¯t do for him to simply fade away without his name being spoken on the lips of those to come.


    Chuckling to himself, he kicked over the small shard of glass that he¡¯d been using as a mirror. It was just one of the many treasures that he¡¯d accrued for his nest, a mess of blankets that he¡¯d shoved into an enormous and very comfy pile.


    There was no way the Ratling was going to pay for a living space. Especially considering just how much free real estate there was to squat in. The Slums were sadly known for having more rooms than people, or at least, people willing to pay for the privilege of living in decent conditions.


    Hence his current living arrangement, a decrepit old building that had partially returned to nature¡¯s grasp. One of many abandoned houses in the Old Slums, the location was deemed much too close to the Inner City walls that cast a perpetual shadow throughout the building. A bloody waste as far as the Ratling was concerned, gingerly stepping around an open hole in the floor. Why pay for a cozy room, when you could sleep rent-free!


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    Skrakch exited his nest and wandered into the city streets. He noticed a squatter as he passed by and ignored the man¡¯s surprised facial expressions as the layabout started checking himself for ticks. Iskrin had a reputation for filthiness that, quite frankly, was unearned. He was always sure to keep his fur in good condition, which wasn¡¯t a sentiment that was shared by very many humans in The Slums.


    Dray¡¯Mel was a city of unkempt savages but, compared to the Depths, it was paradise. The shudder that ran through him had little to do with the cold weather, and Skrakch hurried to put the thoughts of his birthplace out of his mind.


    What he needed now, he decided, was a good tankard of mead. The Ratling quickly made his way to The Plagued Rat. Twisting and turning through the streets, he was quick to show steel to the many humans who attempted to size him up, and equally fast to skirt around any particularly dangerous-looking thug.


    They hadn¡¯t gotten away with the Sykes episode entirely scot-free. While the Elven prick¡¯s gang had pretty much fallen apart without its harsh leader, there were the odd remnants who would want to cut him and Zacharias up sooner than look at them. It was mostly his low-level thugs, annoyed at losing a paying gig.


    Those few aside, most people were beginning to hear stories of a handsome rogue Iskrin, so most people would step out of his way without trouble. Humming a jaunty tune, Skrakch was pleased to see his investment had paid off.


    A month or two ago, he¡¯d taken to paying the local Bards to mention him. Chosen had a tendency to have stories whispered and sung about them. Skrakch wasn¡¯t above paying an entertainer or two to make those stories happen. He didn''t know if it would help... but it couldn''t hurt.


    He was almost at The Plagued Rat when he was suddenly flagged down. A young woman wearing a rather tight dress sporting a revealing hem and neckline waved at him frantically. She was obviously desperate for his attention. Puffing his chest out, he sauntered over to her with a grin. She was far too flashy for his tastes, with far too much horrible human skin on display but he could at least give her an autograph or two.


    As he got closer, the raven-haired woman waved him into a nearby alcove. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the bodice of her dress was torn and that she was sporting a fresh-looking black eye. With a glower at him, the woman of the night jabbed a finger, with its chipped black nail polish, directly into his chest.


    ¡°Oi, yer Skrakch ain¡¯t ya?¡± She demanded. ¡°Well, I gots a message for ya. Your mate Zacharias is looking for ya. Said something about a little birdie returning?¡± She explained. She shook her head in irritation. ¡°Ya can tell ¡®im from me that just because ¡®e pays for a full night, that don¡¯t me I ¡®ave to be ¡®is messenger! And ya can also tell the little bastard that I¡¯m done with ¡®im. And so are all of The Denmother¡¯s ladies. Not until ¡®e cleans up ¡®is act.¡±


    Warily nodding at the irate woman, Skrakch took a step back. She looked capable of plucking his eyeballs out with those nails of hers. And she certainly seemed angry enough to boot. He focused on her black eye.


    ¡°Did he do that to you?¡± He asked, trying not to show concern. ¡°I didn¡¯t think that sort of thing was his taste.¡±


    The woman snorted, touching her eye gingerly. She let out a hiss of pain as she came into contact with the heavily bruised flesh.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t used to be,¡± She replied. ¡°E¡¯s been a bit rough on us of late. The Denmother ain¡¯t ¡®appy I can tell ya that. It won¡¯t be long before she¡¯s after ¡®is ¡®ide and you knows as well as I knows, she ain¡¯t one to cross.¡±


    Letting that little tidbit sink in, Skrakch nodded at her, thanked her for her time, and stepped back into the street with a grim set to his jaw. Any thoughts of a jaunty tune or two were well out of his mind now.


    It was time to square up with Zach, and it wasn''t hard to guess where the lush was likely to be.

 Chapter Forty Nine - Itll Keep

    The Plagued Rat hadn¡¯t changed one iota in the past three months and, for that, Skrakch was grateful. The bar was still packed with The Slum''s worst characters, all hoping to drink themselves into oblivion for the chance at forgetting their terrible lots in life.


    The wooden furniture was still stained with various fluids, the chairs half broken and the tables were still kept upright by folded beer mats placed under them. As was always the case, a thin layer of depression and desperation hung over the bar. And yet, Skrakch reminded himself with a sigh, it was still the only pub in The Slums that would let him in for a drink.


    It made Skrakch laugh. Pubs would turn him down because he was an Iskrin yet they¡¯d let someone like Zacharias drink himself into a stupor with no questions asked.


    Skrakch knew he¡¯d find the Halfling in the pub. Ever since the night Winifred had disappeared, Zacharias had changed. He¡¯d always been partial to a mead or two but now it was more like six, seven, eight¡­Skrakch felt that he barely saw the half-man sober anymore, even when they were on a job.


    The Halfling was in the midst of polishing off a flagon of mead, so Skrakch flagged down the serving wench and went to sit with his old pal. It was clear the Halfling had seen better days, his silken black shirt rumpled and soaked with booze, his jaw sporting a clump of hair that hardly deserved to be called a beard.


    Worst of all was his face. The wounds Sykes had left had turned into deep scars that had transformed his face into a mess. Most of his nose was missing and he was now wearing an eyepatch that Skrakch knew was covering up his empty left eye socket.


    It was clear the half-man had been drinking for hours already, and the sun wasn¡¯t about to set any time soon. But, Skrakch mused, he certainly wasn¡¯t the guy¡¯s mother. Why should he be the one to try and reign Zacharias in?


    ¡°I got the message from one of your ¡®lady friends¡¯,¡± Skrakch said as he took a seat at the table. ¡°You said a little birdie was coming? Well¡­it had better be something impressive. I¡¯m not going to rob another empty house,¡± He complained. ¡°The pay is no good and the odds of me doing something impressive enough to get me Chosen is pretty much zero.¡±


    ¡°There y¡¯are Squeakers!¡± Zacharias replied, looking at Skrakch blearily. ¡°Late to the party but that don¡¯t matter! Come¡¯n get a drink with me¡­ and the little bird or whatever? Yer gonna love it!¡± He continued with a hiccup. He attempted to raise his tankard of mead in salute but he ended up spilling it over the table. ¡°Aw shit the bed!¡± He moaned.


    ¡°So, who is this little birdie then?¡± Skrakch asked impatiently, leaning back from the table and shooting a glare towards the well-lubricated Halfling.


    ¡°I ¡®ave it on pretty good authority that our dear Winnie is back,¡± Zacharias answered. He clicked his fingers at a nearby serving wench. She rolled her eyes but hurried off to fetch him a drink all the same.


    ¡°Really?¡± Skrakch replied, suddenly interested. He couldn¡¯t say that he¡¯d missed the pit fighter exactly, but having her back would give him the chance to find out more about becoming a Chosen which, in his book, was never a bad thing. ¡°So you¡¯ve asked her to meet us here I assume?¡±


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    ¡°Nah,¡± Zacharias shook his head. ¡°Only just found out meself didn¡¯t I?¡± He gave the serving wench a lecherous smile as she handed him a fresh tankard of mead. She smiled politely enough at him but, when she turned away, Skrakch saw the look of disgust on her face. ¡°I figured let¡¯s ¡®ave a good old piss up and then we can ask her what¡¯s what tomorrow.¡±


    The wooden chair scraped as Skrakch stood up, a disgusted look crossing his own features as the Halfling drank deeply from his fresh tankard.


    ¡°Gods Above Zacharias! Just look at yourself,¡± He admonished, shaking his head. ¡°It¡¯s your pit fighter that¡¯s returned after three months of doing who knows what and going who knows where and you still don¡¯t want to find out what she¡¯s been up to?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll keep mate,¡± Zacharias replied, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°Shit always does¡­sit back down, ¡®ave a drink¡­or six!¡± He guffawed with laughter at his own joke.


    ¡°You can stay and pickle yourself but I¡¯m going to see Winifred,¡± Skrakch said firmly.


    ¡°Well, tell ¡®er hi from me and to get her arse down here for a pint then.¡± Zacharias replied with a shrug. He got up from the table and wobbled over to a pair of dodgy-looking Halflings who were playing a game of cards. They wordlessly dealt him into the game, shooting each other amused grins as they prepared to fleece their drunken ¡°cousin¡±.


    Skrakch shook his head once more and left the pub. If Zacharias wanted to drink himself into oblivion then it was his choice, foolish or not. His priority was finding out about what had happened to Winifred during her mysterious disappearance.


    Thankfully, Skrakch didn¡¯t have to go too far to get to Winifred¡¯s place. The pit fighter lived in a small dwelling a few streets away from the pub. Skrakch had never admitted it to her, but he was actually quite jealous of her place.


    Many of the housing options in The Slums had been forced to take a more defensive approach to combat the rampant crime that dogged the area. Whoever had been responsible for building Winifred¡¯s home had had the ingenious idea of building it underground. The only indication of anything being there was an innocuous-looking set of basement doors attached to a bakery. It looked for all the world like the baker¡¯s cellar, tucked away as it was.


    He rapped on the doors, feeling his stomach turn over with excitement. A few seconds later, the doors opened and Winifred¡¯s head popped up into view.


    ¡°Oh,¡± She grinned for a moment but then looked disappointed. ¡°Is the Wee Man nae with ye?¡± She asked, looking around.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s just lovely,¡± Skrakch spat sarcastically. ¡°Here I am wanting to see how you are after your disappearance and all you can ask is if Zacharias is with me,¡± His fur bristled with annoyance.


    He took a more careful look at the pit fighter. There was an ansty expression on her face, her eyes flicking from side to side as though she was constantly on the lookout for something. Or someone. Her brunette hair was tangled and wild-looking. Despite the grip she had on the handle of the basement door, he could tell that her hand was trembling.


    ¡°Ye best come in,¡± She said, nodding downwards.


    Skrakch followed Winifred down the metal ladder attached to the side of the ten-foot hole that lead to her home. He¡¯d forgive her for the Zacharias¡¯ thing. If anyone was going to be the key to getting him to be a Chosen, it would be her.

 Chapter Fifty - It’s Crochet, Actually!

    Winifred supposed that it was only a matter of time before the Ratling or Zacharias showed up. Although she¡¯d really been counting on the Halfling to put in an appearance. A lot had happened to her in the last three months and, while she felt pleased to be back in familiar surroundings, by far the worst of it all was that she¡¯d been forced to go cold turkey.


    Three whole months without Chasing The Dragon¡­


    She didn¡¯t miss the physical effects of the heightened strength and speed. Becoming Chosen had made her faster and stronger than the Dragon¡¯s Blood ever had. So she¡¯d figured that she could live without it. What a fool she¡¯d been all this time! She¡¯d always considered herself to be a cut above the fools in The Slums who Chased The Dragon for the high and yet she¡¯d found that it was exactly that she was missing¡­


    It was much too easy, she¡¯d discovered, to give in to those despairing feelings without the comfort blanket of Dragon''s Blood numbing her pain. She¡¯d made a lot of mistakes in her life and they all seemed so much sharper, so much more painful with nothing to take the edge off. Hells, even looking into the mirror was a task and a half when all she saw was a stupid little rich girl who¡¯d hit rock bottom.


    She watched, scratching the inside of her elbow with agitation as The Rat entered her small abode. After coming from a mansion with its countless rooms and valuable antiques and stupid, pointless furniture that was only there to look good, she liked to keep things simple.


    She had her training dummy pressed against the northern wall, her battered old punching bag next to it. To the left of that was her small kitchen area with its tiny mana-powered stove and a couple of cupboards. Next to her kitchen was the little seating area with the couch she¡¯d rescued from an alleyway and the wonky wooden table she used to put her feet up on.


    Finally, in the last corner, was her double bed. It was a little rickety and had a tendency to creak loudly when she turned over, but it was comfortable enough. She¡¯d made sure to get herself a well-stuffed mattress and extra pillows. There was nothing like flopping onto it after a hard fight. She¡¯d made it even cozier with her homemade blanket¡­ which was lying in full sight of the rest of the room, her crochet hooks laid neatly atop it.


    Hurrying over to the bed, she quickly plucked the blanket up, balled it up, and shoved it under the mattress as quickly as she could. Apparently, she hadn¡¯t been quick enough¡­


    ¡°Didn¡¯t think you were someone who liked to knit,¡± Skrakch said with a smirk as he took in the sights.


    ¡°It¡¯s crochet actually,¡± She replied before she could stop herself. When The Rat¡¯s smirk widened she glared at him and hastily changed the subject. ¡°So, I suppose ye want tae know where I¡¯ve been aye?¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Skrakch replied, sitting down on the couch with all the grace and decorum of a wild beast. ¡°Start by explaining what happened to you with Fang¡¯Mel, he didn¡¯t exactly clue us in when he took you away.¡±


    Winifred shuddered at the mere memory, taking a second to collect herself before busying herself at the small lead stove-top. She might not welcome many guests to her small home but she certainly knew how to treat them. Setting a pot of water boiling she reached for two tin mugs, as she started to tell her side of the story.


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    ¡°The last thing I remember was crushing that Elven fucks Sykes¡¯ head against the ground,¡± She started to explain as she pulled her tea caddy out of one of the cupboards. She tried to ignore the full-body ache she¡¯d been feeling since her last hit. ¡°Next thing I knew, I was wakin¡¯ up in some sort of hospice. Horrid place it was¡­dingy and stank to all Hells. Ye could tell the bloody doctors they had there was nae used to workin¡¯ on the living,¡± She winced at the memory. ¡°Thankfully, they did nae keep me there long. Nae, Fang¡¯Mel brought me tae see the Dreaded Archmage himself.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Skrakch interrupted. ¡°So I suppose what I read was true then¡­ I heard they make new Chosen promise to protect the city, or some such bollocks.¡±


    ¡°Aye, seems that way,¡± Winifred continued as she finished making the tea. ¡°All he seemed tae want was for me to sign some contract affirming I would nae use my powers to act against the City¡¯s best interest,¡± She set the Ratling¡¯s tea down on the table and took hers over to the bed and perched on the end of it. ¡°The things I saw though¡­I¡¯m tellin¡¯ ye. Those Tomb-Makers are way more prepared than I thought. Ye always assume most of ¡®em are on the Inner City walls. Well, I¡¯m tellin¡¯ ye Rat, that¡¯s nae a quarter of ¡®em. They did nae have tae tell me twice to sign the bloody thing. There¡¯s no way anyone would win if they got on their bad side¡­¡±


    ¡°I always thought as much,¡± The Rat replied, looking pensive for a moment. Winifred stared into the dark depths of her tea. She wanted to grab the wee beast and demand he tell her where she could find Zacharias. The wee man would be quick to scratch her itch. ¡°And what about your Pact? I was hoping¡­since I wasn¡¯t exactly¡­with it last time, that I could see it? Is it something that¡¯s hard to replicate?¡±


    Winifred sighed deeply. She should¡¯ve been expecting that. She put down her mug and hauled herself off the bed. She stepped over to her training dummy. Summoning her Core, she could feel the Mana start to boil and hiss as usual. However, as she focused on the very center of the Core, she could feel a second compact clump of Mana there, just waiting to be used.


    Opening her eyes, she pulled that Mana outwards, letting it course through her veins. With gritted teeth, she channeled forth her Crux.


    Break¡­


    She could feel the new power roiling through her body, the energy practically rampaging through her veins. Thankfully the Mana seemed eager to respond, flowing into her limbs as quick as she willed it, pushing her physical strength past its limits.


    A quick jab took off the dummy¡¯s head. A follow-up kick exploded its chest, sending hay flying everywhere. She turned around to face The Rat, barely feeling breathless, despite the power behind her attacks. She couldn¡¯t help but grin as she clocked his slack-jawed expression.


    For a beat, she felt so much better. Her body was stronger than ever, her Mana was practically begging for her to use it... and that was the rub. As powerful as she felt, she knew it was just her power propping her up. As soon as she let go of her newfound source of strength, the cravings would return in force. If it was something she could hold indefinitely, there''d be no issue. Sadly, Winifred was more than aware that her Pact wasn''t meant for prolonged use. Already she could feel her muscles beginning to spasm, unable to contain the roiling energy coursing through her.


    ¡°I cannae tell ye much more than what I have,¡± She said with a shrug. She could, of course. She could speak of all the horrors that she¡¯d witnessed over the past three months but that would simply mean she¡¯d be forced to sit through endless questions. There was no time for that shite. Not when she needed to get her fix. The brawler turned her back to Skrakch before she let her Mana settle, forcing down the gasp that threatened to spill out of her as her body screamed once more.


    ¡°Look, I dinnae think this is something ye can fake. If ye have it, ye have it and that¡¯s the end of it,¡± She continued as she absentmindedly scrubbed at her nose. ¡°Now I¡¯m dyin¡¯ for a meat pie and a good tankard of ale. How about we forget this tea and go tae the pub?¡±

 Chapter Fifty One - Some New Nonsense Theory

    Skrakch rolled his eyes when he saw Zacharias drunkenly hand off the small vial of swirling liquid to Winifred. He should¡¯ve known that the wench wanted a fix. Here she was, newly Chosen and all she could think about was twisting her head with Dragon¡¯s Blood. It was pathetic, and no, he didn¡¯t just think that because he was jealous. Well, not -only- because he was jealous anyways..


    And Zacharias? Judging by the rapidly swelling black eye he had, he¡¯d either cheated in his card game or tried to flirt with one of the serving wenches again. That was the downfall of spending his time with two idiots. They were way too wrapped up in silly little things that didn¡¯t matter like drugs and drinking rather than looking at the bigger picture.


    He¡¯d been hoping that once she¡¯d gotten her fix, Winifred would¡¯ve been more open to talking about her time away. As it happened, they¡¯d been distracted by yet another one of Zacharias¡¯ plans for riches.


    ¡°I¡¯m nae gonna lie. I¡¯ve missed the feeling of sorting out a new gig,¡± Winifred said as she cracked her knuckles and tucked into the massive meat pie she¡¯d ordered, ignorant or uncaring of the gravy running down her chin.


    ¡°And this one is bloody massive!¡± Zacharias¡¯ replied. The Halfling seemed a little less drunk than when Skrakch had left him which made him question if he¡¯d been putting it on a little. ¡°We¡¯re talkin¡¯ big time here. The Casey Auction!¡±


    ¡°What? Ye must be jokin? Are ye off yer wee head?¡± Winifred asked through a mouthful of meat and pastry.


    ¡°Like you have to ask,¡± Skrakch said darkly. ¡°This is just drunken nonsense,¡± He continued with a shake of his head. Zacharias was prone to some idiotic ideas but this one surely had to take the cake.


    The Casey Auction was an annual event that took place at Lord Casey¡¯s palatial mansion in the Residential District. Lords, ladies, and even royalty would come from all over the world for Casey¡¯s grand ball and auction. It was the best place to find the rarest and most powerful magical artifacts. Once in a lifetime pieces that would be sold to the highest bidder.


    It was, undoubtedly, most thieves'' dream to get the chance to swipe something from there. But it was an impossible task. The Casey Estate was heavily guarded and extra security would be in place for the event. There would be no way even the most accomplished rogue would be able to sneak in undetected...


    ¡°Ya think you¡¯re so bloody clever Squeakers,¡± Zacharias said with a roll of his eyes. He leaned over the table, swaying slightly. ¡°But as it happens, I¡¯ve got my hands on a ticket! No need for us to sneak in when we¡¯re invited!¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? And how did someone like you get a ticket to The Casey Auction?¡± Skrakch asked. ¡°Let me guess. You forged one. That¡¯s really smart. They¡¯ll never be able to tell!¡± He added sarcastically. ¡°This is just another one of your hair-brained schemes,¡± He shook his head dismissively.


    ¡°Look Squeaks, you wanna get Chosen don¡¯t ya? Besides, it ain¡¯t forged. Doesn¡¯t matter where I got it. Fact is, I have it. Which means we¡¯ve got an easy way into the biggest score in Dray¡¯Mel,¡± Zacharias replied smugly.


    ¡°Aye, and ye reckon they will nae be suspicious if ye go in there with a pit fighter, a Rat, and a Goblin in tow?¡± Winifred asked doubtfully.


    ¡°Of course, I don¡¯t love,¡± Zacharias grinned smugly. He leaned back in his chair as though he were a king and he was waiting for his unruly courtiers to settle down. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re gonna use the ticket. Squeakers and the Goblin Idiot can hang around outside for backup and I figured I¡¯ll find me own way in.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Skrakch and Winifred said simultaneously, both sounding utterly incredulous. Winfred was shaking her head and started to protest about ¡®going back into that world¡¯ while Skrakch glared at the Halfling. There was no way he was going to sit around on the sidelines! How the Hells would he ever become Chosen doing that?


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    ¡°Well clearly we need to think about this more,¡± Skrakch dismissed the idea offhandedly. ¡°But Winifred, come on. Now you¡¯ve gotten your fix, tell us about the Pact.¡±


    ¡°Oh, here he goes¡­¡± Zacharias muttered with another roll of his eyes. He summoned a nearby serving wench and passed her his empty tankard.


    ¡°This is important.¡± Skrakch insisted. ¡°Start with how you used it to snap Ornn¡¯s arms like twigs. I¡¯ve seen that Golem break a man''s spine in half, more than one actually. There¡¯s no way that didn¡¯t require superhuman strength,¡± He continued. It was hard to keep the jealous edge out of his voice.


    ¡°Aye and ye think something I could tell ye would change much for ye?¡± Winifred asked. ¡°That bloody stone beast had me danglin¡¯ like a sack of tatties. It was only a matter of time after Sykes finished with the wee man here and then I¡¯d be next,¡± She explained with a shudder. ¡°But that¡¯s the thing¡­I figured, what¡¯s the point in being scared? So I got angry. Really fuckin¡¯ angry. I snapped a wee bit I reckon and I took it out on the stone beast,¡± She shrugged as if it had been some simple feat. ¡°And what else? Well, ye know. I killed the Elf and then I got taken away.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Skrakch waved a paw, irritated. ¡°That makes sense being that your Crux is Break, but-¡±


    ¡°Oi, hang on a sec. If your word-whatever is ¡®break¡¯¡­then how the fuck does that translate to you being able to move faster than shit off a shovel?¡± Zacharias asked.


    ¡°Do I look like the expert?¡± Winifred replied. ¡°I cannae tell ye, only guess. Probably because I broke myself as well as the Golem? It¡¯s like if yer a wee slouch in the pits¡­ye can only lift 100 pounds aye? Well, if ye managed to lift 200 pounds one day then ye¡¯d be breaking that limit right?¡±


    Zacharias seemed to take the explanation and shrugged, getting stuck into yet another tankard full of mead and making eyes at some poor soul across the room. Skrakch however, rubbed his temples. So she broke her own limits and got Chosen? What kind of bullshit nonsense was that? Had that not been what he¡¯d been doing this whole time?


    ¡°Well I¡¯ve heard some uses of a Pact can be esoteric,¡± He continued. ¡°But does that mean you¡¯d be able to completely lift Ornn? Or Hells, jump the city walls in a single bound? There¡¯s got to be some upper limit no?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told ye Rat, I¡¯m nae expert,¡± Winifred said peevishly. ¡°All I know is that now I¡¯m stronger, faster, and better than I¡¯ve ever been. It¡¯s nae my fault that yer nae up to snuff,¡± She added with a smirk.


    Skrakch just couldn¡¯t understand it. The implication of her Crux didn¡¯t make much sense. ¡®Break¡¯ was such a general term. Most of the Cruxes that he¡¯d read about and studied were more fantastical in nature. Hells, Blazock¡¯s Crux seemed more magical than it and frankly, a lot more terrifying to boot¡­


    Perhaps it had something to do with a Chosen¡¯s approach to life? The old Goblin was a master of runic magic while Winifred¡­well, she just punched things. Thinking about it like that made it seem as though a Crux reacted to the personality of its owner. Or maybe it just meant that it was bound by Winifred¡¯s own understanding of the word. Break in the literal sense of physically smashing something as opposed to breaking hold between realms or breaking someone¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Been a while since I¡¯ve seen ye so distracted Rat,¡± Winifred said as Skrakch continued to ponder the meaning.


    ¡°He¡¯s working on some new nonsense theory,¡± Zacharias chuckled.


    ¡°My theories aren¡¯t nonsense,¡± Skrakch shot back, letting out a small hiss, his fur bristling. ¡°They¡¯re perfectly logical which I know is something that continues to elude you, Zacharias. Just because I have a theory or two that doesn¡¯t work out¡­that just means they need more work.¡±


    ¡°Well how about laying off the theories for now and getting back to, oh, I don¡¯t know¡­only the biggest fucking score of our lives!¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Skrakch seethed. ¡°But one more thing¡­Chosen always receive a title alongside their Pact,¡± He turned back to Winifred with interest. ¡°Please tell me it¡¯s something more embarrassing than The Burned Husk,¡±


    ¡°Ye¡¯ll only take the piss,¡± Winifred answered with a scowl.


    ¡°Almost certainly,¡± Zacharias grinned, watching her expectantly. ¡°Don¡¯t leave us in suspense!¡±


    ¡°Fine¡­¡± Winifred sighed heavily. ¡°It¡¯s the Unbending Scrapper,¡± She muttered darkly.


    A few seconds of silence passed. Skrakch could feel the smirk blossoming on his face threatening to turn into a full-blown grin. He looked across the table at Zacharias who chuckled into his tankard and shook his head.


    ¡°Aye, well, at least I have a title!¡± Winifred replied defensively.


    ¡°You certainly do my dear,¡± Zacharias raised his tankard to her. ¡°A toast to our good friend Scraps here! Long may she not bend!¡±

 Chapter Fifty Two - Won’t Somebody Think Of The Gold?

    ¡°No. Nope. A thousand times over, Hells no. Get that thing away from me, ye wee dobber!¡±


    ¡°Aww come on Scraps!¡± Zacharias wheedled in what he probably thought was his most charming tone. ¡°It¡¯s perfect!¡±


    ¡°Ye can stop callin¡¯ me Scraps for a start,¡± Winifred said, arms folded tightly across her chest. ¡°I dinnae mind going along with this auction gig of yours but that!-¡° She pointed towards the offending object. ¡°Was nae part of it! So ye can get that idea outta ye wee head!¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re the only one that can do this!¡± Zacharias pointed out. He patted the lovely silken ballgown that was currently thrown over his shoulder. ¡°You said yourself, there¡¯s no way Squeakers is gonna be able to get in and we can all agree we don¡¯t wanna see that fucking squat little Goblin in a dress¡­ and as for me, well as great as I¡¯m sure I¡¯d look¡­ I doubt I¡¯ll convince the Richies I¡¯m one of them,¡± He tossed the ballgown onto her bed. ¡°Whereas you, well, you¡¯re from old money innit? You¡¯ll fit right in!¡±


    ¡°Aye, and what part of me is gonna fit in, eh?¡± Winifred demanded, looking at the deep blue silk horror in utter disgust. It was exactly the sort of dress her mother would pick out for her. All tight corset and stupid billowing skirt. ¡°Would that be my muscles or tattoos?¡± She flexed her left arm, showing off the impressive tattoo sleeve she¡¯d had inked. It was an intricate design, depicting a large scale battlefield of dwarven infantry clashing with orcish warriors.


    She¡¯d gotten the tattoo a long time ago, penning the design itself from memory. Blackmaul had sported the same design across his back but where hers was simple ink, his had moved like something more, the Dwarves and Orcs flowing from moment to moment as they battled against each other on his battle scarred skin.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s why when I robbed it, I made sure it¡¯s got long sleeves!¡± Zacharias explained, he grabbed one of the offending sleeves and flapped it at her. ¡°Isn¡¯t this the kind of shit you used to wear? You¡¯re-¡±


    ¡°If ye tell me I was born to wear that thing, I¡¯ll stuff it so far down yer wee throat you¡¯ll be shitting silk for a week!¡± Winifred warned, glaring at the grinning Halfling prick.


    As much as she was enraged at the idea, she also couldn¡¯t help but agree that it made a lot of sense. Out of all of them, she was the one who¡¯d be able to seamlessly fit in with the rest of the rich crowd of nobles and dignitaries that were invited to the auction. She hadn¡¯t really wanted to admit it, but she¡¯d even been to one of them a few years ago with her parents. It was hard not to openly cringe at the memory but there was no doubt that she knew how the auction worked, Hells she even knew the general layout of the mansion.


    ¡°It¡¯s only for one evening,¡± Zacharias continued placatingly. ¡°Come on, it ain¡¯t even for a full evening if ya think about it! Just long enough for us to get what we want and get the Hells out. C¡¯mon Winnie, you know it makes sense!¡±


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    Winifred let out an involuntary groan. She¡¯d known her day would be off to a shite start when she¡¯d woken up with a raging hangover and a thirst for another Dragon¡¯s Blood hit. Zacharias turning up at her door with the Nightmare In Blue Silk really hadn¡¯t helped matters.


    The wee Halfling had laid out the information about the latest gig at the pub the previous evening. He¡¯d heard on the grapevine that one of the lots at the Casey Auction was going to be the Purene Ruby. It was one of the most valuable magical artifacts in the world and hadn¡¯t been on public display for almost half a century. The previous owner had recently died and the gem was up for grabs once more, though how it''d ended up in Dray''Mel was anyone''s guess.


    That, apparently, was when Zacharias had the grand idea of stealing it. It had been easy enough for him to get his sticky paws on a ticket (and she¡¯d checked, it wasn¡¯t forged!)


    According to the wee man, Skrakch knew some Grif called Kuosh who could help them move the expensive artifact out of Dray¡¯Mel to find a buyer so it would be ¡®a piece of piss¡¯.


    And here she was being the fly in the ointment. It was well known that the Casey Auction was heavily guarded and would probably be even more so this year with the Ruby on display. Lord Casey never spared any expense when it came to security for his auction. Not only would it have wall-to-wall guards both in and outside the mansion, but he¡¯d also have mages on the payroll to detect and deflect any spells.


    So she could see how this way was their only real option. Zacharias¡¯ idea was that she¡¯d dress up as some silly, fluttery harlot and try to woo the winner of the Purene Ruby. Once the winner was ¡®handled¡¯ in the Halfling¡¯s words, they¡¯d be free and clear. In his head, seduction was the best way to go.


    Not that she really minded that part of things. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time that Winifred had had to use her feminine charms like that. It was definitely much easier than a punch-up. But spending a couple of hours before that dressed like some stupid princess? Well, that¡¯s where she had the issue.


    ¡°Just think of the gold mate!¡± Zacharias¡¯ fresh plea brought her out of her gloomy reverie. The Halfing had left the gown alone and was rummaging through her food cupboard. He emerged a few seconds later with a half-open sack of peanuts. ¡°And don¡¯t forget¡­this is probably gonna be one of the last times we can make a play like this. Once it gets around that you¡¯re a fancy-arse Chosen, you¡¯ll have people wanting a piece of you every which way,¡± He added as he tossed back a mouthful of nuts, obnoxiously smacking his lips.


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± Winifred huffed. She definitely wasn¡¯t about to admit that Zacharias was right but she had to concede it was the best and safest way of pulling it off.


    ¡°Nice one!¡± Zacharias grinned at her. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine Winnie! I cased the Casey estate the other day. There¡¯s a barn right near the edge of it. I reckon it¡¯ll be safe enough for Squeakers and the runt to hide out there-¡±


    ¡°Aye¡­and yer gonna be inside with me!¡± Winifred replied, a smile spreading across her face. Why hadn¡¯t she thought of this before? ¡°I¡¯m nae goin¡¯ in there on my own, what if I need backup?¡±


    ¡°Well, I know I¡¯m amazing and all that but we all agreed that place is hard to get into. I guess you could take the Goblin in with ya? Maybe hide it under your skirt? Then if it all goes tits up, just be like ¡®the Goblin tried to nick it,¡¯¡± Zacharias nodded at his own plan. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯ll work¡­¡±


    ¡°Dinnae worry Wee Man¡­I¡¯ve got the perfect way of getting ye in there. Ye just leave it with me!¡±

 Chapter Fifty Three - Dressed To Distress

    ¡°Och, this fucking corset!¡± Winifred grumbled as she fidgeted with her silken dress, trying to get it to drape correctly over her hips. The sleeves were tight, cutting into her muscular arms which, of course, she couldn¡¯t do anything about. Smoothing out some of the damnable ruffles, she glared into her mirror, half hoping the dress would spontaneously combust.


    Her reflection looked as miserable as she felt.


    She sighed heavily. It had been years since she¡¯d had to wear such a garment. It brought back uncomfortable memories of being forced into similar gowns for the various parties she¡¯d been dragged to by her parents. And the various lectures that she¡¯d suffered about etiquette, decorum, and ¡®being a lady¡¯, whatever the Hells that had meant.


    ¡°Meek think you look pretty,¡± The Goblin piped up from her chair, where Meekknuckle was currently perched as the beast stared at her in rapt attention. She had needed some help getting into the dress, and Zach had sent the daft thing to help, as much as the deluded thing could. Which, if she really thought about it, was probably the best option out of the three companions. ¡°For human-lady, anyways.¡±


    ¡°Hmph,¡± Winifred sniffed. ¡°This bloody charade had better be worth it,¡± She added as she pulled her hair up into as neat a bun as she could. She¡¯d done what she could with her wild, unkempt mane of hair but it was definitely a far cry away from the coiffed style she¡¯d been forced to keep back then. Just thinking of the sheer amount of bandoline she''d had delicated sponged into her hair... Disgusting.


    The Goblin handed her a ribbon which she took wordlessly and attempted to tie a bow around the bun which was already threatening to come loose. ¡°Life¡¯s too short for fucking dresses,¡± She muttered to herself.


    Winifred glanced at the rune on her wrist. She was still getting used to the idea that it would eventually fade away now that she was a Chosen. She didn¡¯t have to worry about the time ebbing away or becoming less as she fell deeper into Dragon¡¯s Blood. In theory, she would live much longer now, sustained by the power of her Pact. The Ratling, of course, was desperate for that boon, but Winifred still wasn¡¯t wholly convinced. An extended life span didn¡¯t mean much when you could still die to any old knife in the gut.


    Wanting to distract herself from maudlin thoughts and ball gowns, she turned to the Goblin. The diminutive creature was picking his nose idly, dressed in what she could only assume was a stolen shirt, considering it wasn¡¯t covered in sewer muck for once. Eyes vacant, and jaw slack, it was hard to remember that the yellowish-green Goblin was a credible threat in battle. Still, as she eyed him up and down with a searching gaze, she noticed something for the first time.


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    ¡°You know Meek, I¡¯ve never seen yer Life Rune. The wee blue Mark most people have on their wrist, you dinnae have one?¡± She asked, tilting her head to the side. ¡°Ye cannae tell me yer a Chosen,¡± she added unkindly.


    ¡°Goblin no have rune,¡± Meekknuckle replied, pulling his finger out of his nose and wiping it on his pants. ¡°No need.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Winifred asked, grateful for the distraction. Anything was better than wasting more time staring at her own reflection.


    ¡°Goblin already have Chosen,¡± the Goblin started to explain slowly as if he was the one speaking to a half-wit, even as the fool began rooting around in his own ear for Gods knew what. ¡°Father-Chosen say Goblin no need rune. Most Goblin die young, and no Ghosties come in sewer.¡±


    ¡°Aye well, I¡¯ve heard about the filth you live in so I¡¯m nae surprised,¡± Winifred turned to face her reflection in the mirror. A few loose strands of her brown curls had escaped from the bun. With an irritated tut, she started to fiddle with it.


    ¡°Father-Chosen keep other Goblin young,¡± Meekknuckle continued to explain. ¡°Young meat best meat, make best Harvest.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Winifred stared at Meekknuckle¡¯s reflection in the glass. The Goblin was still casually digging around in his ear as if they were discussing the weather or what to have for breakfast. ¡°Your Chosen eats his own kind?¡±


    ¡°Is Goblin way,¡± Meek replied with a nod. ¡°If all Goblin have Rune, they see they die young. They see they die young, they no want to live. Meekknuckle cousin die by choosing to leave city. As soon as leave, Tomb Makers attack. Kill cousin. It better this way, Father say so.¡±


    ¡°Fuck me¡­¡± Winifred breathed with a shake of her head. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you all put up with it. Chosen or not, he¡¯s just one Goblin. Couldn¡¯t you wee lads just hang up on him?¡±


    With a small smile, Winifred finished wrangling with her hair, just in time to catch Meekknuckle looking at her reflection in the mirror. For a moment, his eyes sharpened, and Winifred was reminded that his slack jaw housed dozens of razor-sharp teeth. Still, he was no threat to her, so she watched with interest as his eyes glazed back over.


    ¡°Meek no want hurt Father. Too scary, not end well. Father reason Rat-Men no hurt Goblin village.¡± Shrugging, Meek stepped up beside Winifred and passed her some powder for her cheeks. ¡°Goblins need ally, if Father gone.¡±


    Scowling at the offered make-up, Winifred was tempted to toss the damn powder at the mirror. Still, a heist was a heist, she reminded herself.


    Glancing down at her rather odd assistant, the Chosen grinned to herself. ¡°Well, if we get a proper payday or two, mate, you¡¯ll be able to buy all the help you need. In fact, I¡¯d be willing to give you a discount on account of our friendship¡­¡±

 Chapter Fifty Four - Bloody Elbow-Grease

    ¡°Fucking, stupid fucking arse, bloody fucking wanker!¡± Zach muttered to himself furiously as he plunged his hands back into the sink filled with near scalding sudsy water. ¡°Not good enough,¡± He continued in an affected tone. ¡°I can still see those soap spots! Just won¡¯t do now will it?... Fuck!¡±


    The Halfling continued to witter away to himself under his breath as he scrubbed at the fine silver cutlery for what felt like, and probably in fact was, the fifth time that evening. One fork has a soap spot? Hells, best do the whole bang-shoot again!


    Standing at the back of, what was admittedly, a splendid kitchen, Zach had his sleeves rolled up. He was wearing a simple white lined tunic and matching apron just like the rest of the serfs on the payroll. He looked like a git but his serving uniform was even worse. The ballroom was a million degrees and he wasn¡¯t relishing shoving the jacket with its stupid matching waistcoat back on. It was hanging over the back of a nearby chair, almost as if it was mocking him.


    It wouldn¡¯t be long before the ball preceding the auction started and he would be forced to prance about with a ridiculous smile on his face serving stupidly over-priced food and wine to ¡®his betters¡¯. He had no idea how the average scurrying servant handled the shame of this work. He was already feeling the urge to poison people¡¯s drinks and he hadn¡¯t even seen any of the guests yet.


    Winifred owed him big for this one. Really fucking big.


    When she¡¯d told him that she had the perfect way of getting him into the Casey estate, this isn¡¯t what he¡¯d had in mind. But, as it turned out, Lord Casey was still using the same catering firm that he¡¯d used for years. This had been exactly the kind of thing that Winifred had been hoping for. So she¡¯d sent the message and, the next thing he knew, Zach was being offered the ¡®prestigious role¡¯ of becoming part of the serving team for the evening.


    Which meant, of course, the plan was now fully set in motion. Winifred herself would shortly be arriving and would play the part of a lonely well-to-do young woman looking for a good time. The grapevine had told them that the wealthiest person in attendance, and therefore the most likely to bid on and win the Purene Ruby, would be the sickeningly affluent Count from Saint Aphastro.


    Rumour had it that he was a lonely single man with an insatiable appetite for the fairer sex. It was going to be a piece of piss for Winnie to turn on the charm and get herself into his chambers for the night.  Most of the guests were due to stay over at the Mansion having traveled from all over the place to attend the auction. Once the Count had drunk himself into a stupor, Winnie would take the Purene Ruby and drop it off at the edge of the ceremonial gardens where Squeakers and the runt would be waiting to pick it up. Job done. Simple.


    Now that Zach was on the inside, it would be his job to create a distraction if one was needed by dropping a tray of glasses or whatever. If Winnie got into trouble in the chambers then he would show up with a fake room service order and stop things from going tits up.


    The only problem was that, in order for him to seamlessly fit into the wait staff without raising any eyebrows, it meant that he¡¯d actually have to do some work.


    Scrubbing a silver knife until it gleamed, Zach once again had to resist the strong urge to go and find Jormir and sink it into the fat Halfling¡¯s eye. Most of the other workers in the kitchen had taken one look at Zach¡¯s handsome mug and made themselves scarce, obviously overwhelmed by his presence.


    Jormir however? The portly prick hadn¡¯t seemed intimidated in the least. Gods Below it would be satisfying to jam the knife straight into one of those fat jowls! He could almost hear the satisfying squelch now. The easiest way to take a smug smirk off a pompous arsehole¡¯s face was to cut it off.


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    He took a deep breath. A bit of hard work wouldn¡¯t kill him, Zach repeated to himself like a mantra. It was little respite to him of course. After all, he was the Zacharias. Rogue genius extraordinaire. He wasn¡¯t cut out to be somebody¡¯s serf. It was apparent to all who knew him that he was made for far greater things, like amassing riches and bedding women. Not fucking washing up. Tossing the wet washcloth to one side, Zach steeled himself to get dressed up in his fucking penguin suit. He¡¯d just grabbed the ridiculous tailcoat from the back of the chair when Jormir suddenly appeared as if from nowhere.


    Ginger-haired like the rest of the Halfling race, the head chef looked like a more rotund version of Zach. Half the size of your average human, but blessed with a youthful face, the half-man strutted over to the sink like he owned the place. He plucked a few pieces of cutlery from the drying rack and examined each one far longer than he actually fucking needed to. He even wiped a couple of pieces on his filthy chef¡¯s jacket. The fucking prick expected his team to be as clean as a whistle while he got away with being the grimiest Halfling that Zach had ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes on.


    ¡°Sloppy work I¡¯m afraid, normally you¡¯d need to redo most of them,¡± He drawled, over-enunciating each syllable. ¡°Thankfully we had a more experienced worker doing the actual cleaning so you¡¯re fine to start serving.¡±


    ¡°Hold on a fucking minute mate¡­this isn¡¯t even the silverware you¡¯re gonna be using? Then why the fuck have I been doing this for the past few hours?¡± Zach demanded, pointing towards the full drying rack. He stepped into the overseer¡¯s personal space as he spoke. Usually, that was more than enough to put the shits up someone but, annoyingly, the stupid git didn¡¯t even back up, just smirked at him instead.


    ¡°You¡¯re here to experience the average worker¡¯s life are you not?¡± Jormir chortled. ¡°That¡¯s what my team does, Zacharias. They do the same task over and over until I deem it¡¯s good enough. Now go clean yourself up and get ready. It¡¯s bad enough that I¡¯m sticking my neck out letting some thug be part of my exclusive team much less letting such an ugly bastard out there on the ball floor.¡±


    A quick twist of Zach''s wrist dropped a small throwing knife into his palm, the sole weapon he¡¯d managed to smuggle into the mansion, and a tempered thrust had Zach placing the point of the blade against Jormir¡¯s throat. ¡°Call me that again, you worthless prick, and I¡¯ll gut you like the fat hog you are.¡± The Halfling rogue spat out, trembling with rage.


    Looking at Zach with an unimpressed look on his face, Jormir scoffed loudly. ¡°Just try and knife me, and see how that goes! I imagine the Lord¡¯s already famously tight security will tighten up considerably when they hear a murderer is on the loose and they¡¯ll run you down in minutes. And let¡¯s be honest, You and I both know that Halflings don¡¯t get fair trials, not when we mess up our ¡°betters¡± swanky parties.¡±


    Locking eyes for a moment, the two Halflings glared at each other, before Zach lowered his blade with obvious reluctance. It was hard to bury the sudden surge of rage he felt but, as much as he would never admit it to anyone unless he was about to kill them, Jormir the Dickhead had a valid point. If he lost his cool and sliced the thick-necked fool¡¯s jugular, the plan would be well and truly scuppered.


    Abruptly sheathing his blade, he let out a few muttered curses and turned on his heel, stalking over to where the server¡¯s trays were set up with flutes of champagne.


    ¡°And do smile Zacharias!¡± Jormir called out after him. Sanctimonious prick. The bastard knew he had him over a barrel, but at least the generous donation they¡¯d given him would keep him quiet.


    Zach waited for him to go and hassle another one of the staff before helping himself to a couple of flutes of champagne. It was way too fizzy and tasted like horse piss but if he was going to keep his cool all evening, he¡¯d need a bit of liquid courage to see him through.


    ¡°Blend in, and don¡¯t make a fuss. I know how to keep myself out of the limelight mate.¡± Zach muttered to himself, picking up his tray and balancing it with ease. Kicking open the door to the ball, Zach plastered a smile across his face and glided forward. Who knows, maybe he¡¯d cheer himself up by lightening a few pockets while he worked.

 Chapter Fifty Five - Who Pissed On Your Bonfire?

    ¡°Egads, man! What happened to your face? I¡¯ve never seen such a malformed server in my life.¡± A thin reed of a nobleman said haughtily at Zach, all the while grabbing a drink from his tray and motioning for him to leave with a sweep of his hand.


    Keeping his face calm, the Halfling let out a small bow and continued prowling through the ballroom. Zach didn¡¯t give a fuck who the toffee-nosed prick was, all he wanted was to slice the self-important bastard¡¯s own face into ribbons. If it wasn¡¯t for the plan he¡¯d bloody well do it too.


    He tried to take a deep breath, practically choking on the thick cloying scent of perfume and cologne pervading the ballroom. Since Sykes had mutilated him, the nobleman''s overt disgust was hardly the first time he¡¯d gotten such a response, and at this point, he was finding it hard to keep a cool head about it. He could feel the scars beginning to itch as he felt his ire rising, though he gamely kept an admittedly thin smile plastered on his face.


    All these so-called noblemen and noblewomen loved to prattle on, swirling across the marble floor with all the grace and decency of peacocks. Beautiful, no doubt, but just as brainless, Zach thought to himself, deftly stepping out of the way of one extraordinarily drunk man¡¯s hapless gyrations. They were just a bunch of arseholes, thinking that they ruled the world because they had more gold than sense. It must be nice to be trapped in such a bubble, oblivious to the way the real world works.


    The idea of any of these fops tangling with Sykes for a few rounds brought a genuine smile to his face for a moment, until the next noblewoman let out a frightful gasp as she peered upon his visage. Truly, they must lead blessed lives if a few scars were enough to frighten them so, the Halfling grumbled as he stalked his way across the dance floor, heading back to the kitchen to restock his drink tray.


    Still, the surly rogue had to admit the ballroom itself was impressive. Sure, it wasn¡¯t to his personal taste but he could appreciate opulence like this. The ballroom was huge, a sprawling open area that was tiled in polished marble. He¡¯d already seen a toff or two nearly go arse over tit on it, the servants making sure it was so clean you could eat the overindulgent hors d''oeuvres off it.


    The walls were draped with spotless white curtains, perfectly laundered and smelling like Queen Duscle flowers. Placed around the edge of the ballroom were tables and chairs, each one covered with cream fabric, each place immaculately set with the bloody stupid silver cutlery he¡¯d spent most of his afternoon shining. Every table had a centerpiece made from more Queen Duscle flowers, each bloom the perfect pearly white.


    Above them, was a massive circular glass dome with stained glass panels depicting colorful birds and flowers. The panels seemed almost too bright amongst all the white and cream. In the center of this dome was a large chandelier, elegant and decadent at the same time, every single crystal droplet glittering in the light. It was a far cry from the hovel that Zach had grown up in. He reckoned that it would be possible to house half the Slums into this place, not that Lord Casey would ever deign to let a single peasant near his finery.


    Zach let out a growl and felt another flash of rage when one of the other servants nearly collided with him, the pinched-face Halfling servant trying to slip out of the kitchen right as Zach was about to enter. They¡¯d all been given a long, extremely boring lecture by Jormir about ¡®decorum¡¯ and ¡®professionalism¡¯, and here was this wanker acting like an idiot.


    Reaching out and tightly grasping the boy¡¯s collar, Zach bodily tossed the fool back through the kitchen door. Thankfully, the squeak of surprise as the lad no doubt collapsed did plenty to soothe his annoyance. Still, if this damnable ball went on for much longer, he might stab someone, he thought to himself almost ruefully.


    As if on cue, the master of ceremonies cut through the gathered noble¡¯s chatter, and announced a new face to the waiting crowd. ¡°Lady Armaria of the House Blackmaul.¡± Zach couldn¡¯t help but chuckle as he turned to see a very sullen-looking Winifred glide into the ballroom. She looked downright miserable in the dress he¡¯d nicked. It was a decent dress too, he¡¯d had to lurk about in the Residential District for ages before he¡¯d been able to purloin it.


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    Thankfully, her glum look lasted all of a moment before Winifred let out a charming smile, and began mingling. She looked like she belonged amongst the Richie-rich, her deep-blue silk dress flowing down her body, and her hair coiffed into a tight bun. If Zach didn¡¯t know better, he¡¯d certainly believe she was a proper lady, but as prettied up as she was, the Halfling preferred her bloodied look.


    They¡¯d gone all out on her accessories as well, and it showed in the gleaming jewelry Winifred was wearing. A well-placed garnet necklace to draw attention to her bodice, large shimmering diamond earrings, and a single ring of gold. Of course, none of it was real, but it looked the part, and if you couldn¡¯t tell a real from a fake, what difference is there really?


    Despite how miserable she''d looked, "Lady Amaria" was actually doing a decent job of looking like a snob. Sure of foot, and graceful to boot, there was still a sense of wrongness to the brunette as she walked amongst the nobles, stopping to greet a few she recognized. Perhaps it was the densely packed muscles barely covered by the dress, or the square nature of her shoulders, or, most likely, the way she genuinely threw back her head to laugh at some noble¡¯s jest.


    Offering his tray to the occasional noble, Zach made his way slowly over to Winifred, doing his best to avoid any attention on his journey. The plan would all go tits up if they were caught consorting too much but he needed to make sure she was going to play her part well enough to be convincing.


    As soon as he approached her, Winifred grabbed a flute of champagne and downed it, barely able to hide her disgust at the flavor. ¡°By the Gods Above and Below, that¡¯s too sweet by half. I forgot how awful this shite was,¡± She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.


    ¡°For God¡¯s sake woman!¡± Zach hissed through his gritted-toothed smile. ¡°You¡¯re acting like a bloody troll! Walking in here looking like a bulldog chewing a wasp and then having all the table manners of an Orc. You¡¯re meant to be a lady, so bloody well act the part. I know it¡¯s all a bit above you but you could at least put in some effort. You did alright when you walked in apart from the face like a slapped arse.¡±


    ¡°And who pissed on your bonfire wee man?¡± Winifred asked with a sly grin. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be Jormir by any chance?¡± She continued her face now a picture of innocence.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk about that later, don¡¯t you bloody worry,¡± Zach replied with disgust. ¡°In the meantime, try forgetting you¡¯re, well, you and try to fit in with these rich pricks. Luckily for you, there¡¯s no sign of the artifacts yet, nor the Count. Only a few of the true Lords arrived yet, just the usual popinjays.¡± Zach continued, the polite smile fixed on his face was beginning to hurt.


    ¡°The auction is still sealed at the moment, though. The other three of our companions are in position, so it¡¯s just up to us to deliver. I¡¯m keeping my end of this shitty bargain so you better too! Act like you¡¯ve got a stick up your arse and you¡¯re halfway there,¡± The Halfling joked grimly, resisting the urge to scowl at an older lady who¡¯d nearly hit him whilst dancing.


    ¡°Aye and you¡¯d know about that would ye? Wee man from The Slums, thrown a lot of fancy dinners? Inviting all the local riffraff for the event of the century?¡± Winifred mocked peevishly. She grabbed another flute from the tray but this time took great pains to sip it rather than down it. She even put out her little pinky finger in a very affected manner.


    ¡°Alright, alright. Don¡¯t take the piss,¡± Zach replied. ¡°I need to head back to the kitchen, come loiter by the door so we can plan.¡± The Halfling announced before promptly setting off, offloading the last of his drinks before sweeping into the back.


    The kitchen was mostly empty at this point, all the various servers working hard for their meager pay. Making his way to the blasted sink, Zach took a moment to try and relax. As irritating as the nobles were, it wouldn¡¯t do for him to let it show. He was calm, collected, and bloody well better than the lot of them.


    Promptly ditching the tray covered in empty glasses, Zach swept up a plate of mini quiches. Tossing one of the admittedly tasty snacks into his mouth, the Halfling grinned ruefully, before heading back out towards the ballroom.


    After all, a priceless artifact was worth a few disparaging compliments. Plus who knows, maybe he¡¯d pay their mansions a visit one day, torch in hand.

 Chapter Fifty Six - Lady of the Night

    Zach was beginning to get tired of the twinkling lights, white fabric, and idiotic bloody nobles. It had been at least half an hour since he¡¯d last talked to Winifred and there was still no sign of the Count. His back and face were aching from carting around tray after tray and smiling through insults and complaints. Frankly, Zach had always known he wasn¡¯t cut out for the manual labor his kind seemed to prefer and this evening was doing more than a good job of confirming it.


    He¡¯d kept his good eye on Winifred as she¡¯d finally started to act like one of the crowd at last. It was weird seeing the change from pit-fighter to society lady. She drifted through the crowds like a natural, stopping for a conversation here and there, all charm and politeness. She affected the delicate and dainty mannerisms expected of her, fiddling with loops of hair as she chatted, painted fingernails gleaming under the lights. She moved with grace as she mingled with the guests. If he wasn¡¯t so pissed off, Zach might have actually found the change impressive.


    He could tell that she was slowly working her way towards him. He was standing at the doors that led to the kitchen, waiting for the chef to finish his latest batch of hors d¡¯oeuvres, some sauteed Nagorac pate on Crocotta Toast that all the toffs were going nuts over. Frankly, it tasted like shit on bread but they seemed to love it.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing a better job,¡± Zach said when she approached him. ¡°I guess your upbringing is all coming back to ya? Before you know it you¡¯ll be just like these fops,¡± He mocked, keeping his social smile firmly in place.


    ¡°Oh aye, I love it,¡± Winifred replied sarcastically. ¡°I¡¯ve been called darling, princess, and sweetheart in the past half hour. It¡¯s every little girl¡¯s dream,¡± She spat sarcastically. ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give to kick their teeth in.¡±


    ¡°So I was thinking, how come none of these toffs seem to recognize you? Didn¡¯t you say you used to come here when you were younger?¡±


    ¡°Aye, once or twice. As soon as I worked out a good place to hide out with one of my adventure books, I¡¯d disappear and my parents stopped dragging me along,¡± Winifred answered, a small frown flittering across her face at the memory.


    ¡°And I¡¯m assuming you¡¯ll know some people here right?¡± Zach asked, nodding as though he was being asked a question. ¡°Why yes Milady, we expect fresh provisions to be ready shortly!¡± He raised his voice when a portly couple passed them and tried to ignore their shocked gasps when they saw his face.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Winifred replied. ¡°It¡¯s a full house from what I¡¯ve seen tonight,¡± She looked around the ballroom and nodded toward the champagne fountain that was steadily trickling away in the corner. A group of three men was standing around it, quaffing the beverage from the expensive wine glasses and patting each other on the back. ¡°The guy in the red sash? He¡¯s one of the dignitaries from the Chersetra Empire. Rumour has it that he¡¯s a little too fond of some of his housemaids,¡± She continued, glaring at the man in disgust. She nodded again, this time in the direction of a man who was currently barking orders at the pianist, he was as squat and wide as a barrel. ¡°That¡¯s Lord Ashkan. He¡¯s in charge of keeping the Merchant¡¯s Guild in line. He¡¯s probably one of the richer-¡±


    Winifred stopped her explanation as an awed hush fell over the nearby crowd. Heads turned towards the ballroom entrance as several men dressed in military-like uniforms were marching into the room with precision and perfect synchronicity.


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    Clearing his throat loudly, the Master of Ceremonies puffed himself up before bellowing out an introduction that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire room.


    ¡°My Lords, Ladies, and Gentleman! It is my pleasure to introduce Sir Romulus of House Killian!¡±


    ¡°Romulus Killian?¡± Zach said incredulously. It was finally a name that he was familiar with. Killian was the leader of the People¡¯s Militia and one of the richest men in the city. He¡¯d worked his way to the top by being vicious and brutal, not to mention duplicitously prone to backstabbing anyone who got in his way. Sykes had been his supplier, back when the slippery bastard was still in the lands of the living.


    ¡°Aye, didn¡¯t ye know he¡¯s mixing with the rich now?¡± Winifred replied in disgust as they watched the man strut across the ballroom as if he owned it. The rather large man was practically covered in the usual trappings of the wealthy. His fat sausage-like fingers were covered in numerous gaudy rings. Three heavy necklaces were draped across his chest and his robes were made from the finest silk that money could buy.


    These fancy accouterments did nothing to hide his squat, ugly face and pig-like nose with its greasy mustache, however. Not that it put off any of the women in the room. They were practically swooning at the guy¡¯s feet. It was clear that as wealthy as most of the assorted nobles were, Killian was a step above.


    To Zacharias however, it was nearly comical. At the end of the day, so long as there was someone out there with more gold than you, could you really call yourself rich?


    It was obvious that since he¡¯d made his wealth, he¡¯d given up working the nitty-gritty.


    ¡°Still, he¡¯s nae a man ye¡¯d want to cross,¡± Winifred continued. ¡°I¡¯m sure ye¡¯ve heard about his underworld connections.¡±


    ¡°Whatever,¡± Zach said with an easy shrug. ¡°Pretty sure I could trip the guy and he¡¯d roll away,¡± He chuckled. Killian was nothing like the man he¡¯d once met at Skyes¡¯ hideout. That man had been heavy set but with a layer of muscle beneath the blubber. Someone you genuinely wouldn¡¯t want to tangle with. Not this joke of a fat man strutting by them. Clearly, the guy had been sitting back on his laurels and quaffing too many glasses of fancy wine now he had others to do his dirty work for him.


    Zach was just about to go into detail about how little he cared about some big shot when Winifred let out a soft gasp. ¡°You can fuck off now,¡± Winifred said, smiling sweetly. Zach frowned until he realized who she was smiling at, as Zach noticed a much older and more dignified-looking nobleman heading their way.


    ¡°Good evening Count Kalisz,¡± Winifred simpered, bobbing him a little curtsy. It was almost impressive, the way she appeared to change everything about herself. She¡¯d gone from foul-mouthed pit fighter to classy society lady in seconds. He supposed old habits really didn¡¯t die hard.


    ¡°Good evening, my dear,¡± The Count replied, not taking his eyes off Zach. It was a little odd, but Zach had stared down weirder threats, so he locked eyes with the man silently daring him to comment on his face.


    Instead, the Count turned his attention back to Winifred. She extended her hand to him and he gave it a quick kiss. Not for the first time that evening, Zach found himself thinking about how weird the rules of high society were. If he did that to any woman he met in the tavern, all he¡¯d get for his pains would be a slap around the chops and a mouthful of abuse. And he would know. He¡¯d tried it before.


    ¡°I do hope that you don¡¯t find my attention too forward,¡± The Count continued smoothly. ¡°I was rather taken by you when I saw you across the ballroom and I thought to myself, there¡¯s a young lady who knows how to have a good time,¡± He smiled superciliously.


    If Winifred was taken aback by this statement, she hid it well. She simpered convincingly as Zach stifled a grin.


    ¡°Allow me to get us some of that delightful champagne,¡± The older gentleman nodded towards the champagne fountain and, giving a slight bow, he walked off in its direction.


    ¡°Well look at that,¡± Zach said, nodding in the Count¡¯s direction. ¡°He¡¯s the first bloke today that¡¯s realized he¡¯s got two hands of his own, almost makes me like him,¡± he glanced back at Winifred and smirked up at her.


    ¡°He totally thinks you¡¯re a whore though.¡±

 Chapter Fifty Seven - An Idiot And A Giant Rock

    It was pretty clear that this was the worst plan he¡¯d been part of for years. Skrakch let out a small grumble as he reclined in a pile of hay, the damn stalks piercing his fur and agitating his skin. He¡¯d slept on enough of the stuff in the past to know this was the cheap shit. No wonder the rich stayed rich.


    ¡°I mean, I understand why you two are stuck out here,¡± the Ratling muttered aloud, waving dismissively towards Meekknuckle and Ornn. ¡°But I should be sneaking into the ball right now. Breaking through Lord Casey¡¯s magic defenses, cracking open vaults -and- skulls. So why the fuck am I stuck in a stable with an idiot and a giant rock?¡±


    Meekknuckle and Ornn both ignored him of course. Skrakch didn¡¯t really expect tea and sympathy from a stone Golem and a dumb Goblin. But it was a slight against him, having to wait with them like he was some stupid sidekick. Apparently, it was better this way. Skrakch snorted in disgust. Clearly, it was Zacharias¡¯ idea of payback. Making him wait in the wings and miss out on the chance of extra loot.


    ¡°Just go nap. Meek take care of plan. Meek very depen¡­ debendaple... Meek very good!¡± The Goblin asserted. He was currently hanging from the rafters upside down. His yellowy eyes had lit up as soon as they¡¯d entered the barn and since then, the little Goblin had been treating it like his own personal playground. ¡°All me do is wait for dark. Then go get shiny from scary-lady.¡±


    Thankfully, the stable was currently empty of servants, as all the workers had been drafted into the estate for the big party. Thus the empty stable was perfect to loiter in, outside of the smell of horse dung. The only major concern was hiding Ornn. A ten-foot stone monster wasn¡¯t the easiest thing in the world to squirrel away.


    ¡°Bah, what do you know of putting a plan together Meek? I swear between you and Ornn, the Golem is the craftier one.¡± Skrakch mocked, scrambling to his feet. ¡°Just because his brain is made from stone doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s worse than a goblins¡¯ anyways.¡±


    ¡°Vermin make good point, Ornn super smart. He know quiet is best answer.¡± Meek let out a cackle, as he dropped into the hay. The diminutive creature was experiencing hay for the first time and had quickly become enamored with the stuff. Skrakch had lost count of the number of times he¡¯d watched him do just that. Which was probably a good thing. Winifred and Zach were in the mansion hob-nobbing with the rich and powerful and here he was watching a Goblin toss itself into a pile of hay. It was bloody depressing.


    Shaking his head at the buffoonery, Skrakch took a long look at Ornn. The Golem¡¯s face was as impassive as ever, stuck in a permanent frown. His stone body, however, no longer fully matched, as his chest and arms had since been repaired with a bronze-looking metal. Still, the rest of him looked like a warrior chiseled from stone, its massive chest looming far above Skrakch¡¯s height.


    ¡°You know Meek, you never told me how you fixed him up?¡± The Ratling inquired, stalking around the golem and examining it from all angles. ¡°I have to admit that you did a remarkable job sculpting the hands. You got the number of fingers correct and everything,¡± He smirked, unable to resist. ¡°It certainly disproves my theory. You can count to ten.¡±


    Bursting out of the hay pile and collapsing against the stable floor, Meek let out a chuckle. ¡°Meek just brought Ornn to metal.¡± He shrugged. ¡°The Meek watched Ornn make own hands. Then Ornn fix chest.¡±


    ¡°No shit? Ornn is more impressive than I thought, a self-repairing Golem can sell for a lot. You want my advice? Don¡¯t let Zach know, he¡¯d try and sell the rust bucket.¡± Skrakch said, poking at the new metal on Ornn¡¯s chest.


    Meekknuckle nodded absentmindedly, heading to the doorway of the stable and peeking outside. Scratching his cheek, the goblin tilted his head before asking a question. ¡°We need stay stable till dark, right? So what we do if guards come?¡±


    ¡°No one is coming, we¡¯ve got nothing but time to burn,¡± Skrakch answered immediately. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because Meek see people coming, they angry too.¡± The Goblin supplied helpfully, pointing a finger with its thick filthy nail outside.


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    Bolting over to the door, Skrakch took a quick look outside the stables for himself. Sure enough, heading down from the estate proper were indeed two angry-looking guardsmen. Judging from their livery, Skrakch could only assume they were Lord Casey¡¯s men, but he¡¯d be fucked if he knew why they were coming down here.


    A small hiss escaped the Ratling¡¯s throat, as he took a step back from the door. Taking a quick look around then, Skrakch had little time to ponder his options. Grabbing Meek by the arm, he all but bodily tossed the goblin into a haystack, before fruitlessly shoving Ornn back as well.


    ¡°Get into the hay, you giant hunk of rock, or we¡¯re all fucked!¡± Skrakch hissed, stifling his urge to shriek. ¡°Gods damn it Ornn, move!¡±


    Whether it was Skrakch¡¯s loving words, or the Golem¡¯s need to follow Meekknuckle, Ornn suddenly rushed into the hay pile Meek had disappeared into. Of course, there was no use trying to hide a ten-foot Golem in a pile of hay. The stone creature stuck out like a sore thumb. The hay barely reached its knees.


    ¡°Bloody ¡®ell, it¡¯s cold out ¡®ere tonight!¡± Skrakch heard one of the guardsmen say. They were getting closer. Any minute now they¡¯d burst through the doors and the jig would be up. He needed a plan and fast.


    ¡°An¡¯ I tried tellin¡¯ Samuel that the bloody magical alarm goes off all the time and it¡¯s usually just a rat,¡± The second guardsman joined in. ¡°But ¡®e¡¯s all in a flap cos of the bloody auction,¡±


    Just a rat¡­.


    That was it! Skrakch hurriedly undressed, pulling his leather armour off without bothering to unbuckle it. Standing in his plain briefs, he tossed his clothes into the nearby hay pile and hurried over to the feeding troughs that hung on the opposite wall. Looking inside he could see they were filled with dark pellets. Horse feed. Skrakch grabbed a pawful and stuffed enough of it in his mouth so that his cheeks were visibly bulging.


    He ran towards the stable door. They¡¯d left it ajar to give them the best chance of hearing any guardsman and it was that aforethought that would be their salvation. Skrakch peeked out and waited until the two guardsmen, one tall and lean, the other short and stocky, approached the barn.


    They were a few feet from the doors when Skrakch ran out of the barn, making sure to let some of the pellets fall from his mouth.


    ¡°Chuffin¡¯ Nora!¡± The stocky guard explained as Skrakch scurried in front of him.


    ¡°What¡¯d I tell ya?¡± The taller guard said, shaking his head. ¡°Bloody rats! After the ¡®orse feed an¡¯ all. Let ¡®im at it I say. It looks ¡®ungry. Let¡¯s go back up the ¡®ill. We can try and snag some mead to warm our bones.¡±


    Skrakch watched in triumph as the two guards turned away from the barn doors and started to walk back up the hill towards the mansion. He spat the mouthful of pellets into a nearby bush and hurried back inside the stables, wiping his mouth with his paw.


    ¡°Disgusting!¡± He complained, spitting out pellet crumbs. ¡°Those poor horses having to eat that shit, no wonder they''re prone to kicking their owners!"


    Meekknuckle peeked out from the hay pile. As soon as he caught sight of Skrakch, the little idiot burst out laughing.


    ¡°Where¡­your clothes go¡­?¡± He asked breathlessly.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Skrakch snarled as he grabbed his clothes and shook them free of errant strands of hay. The diminutive Goblin was so entertained by the sight that he actually started pounding his fists and drumming his heels on the floor.


    Thankfully, it didn¡¯t take long for Skrakch to slip on his leather tunic and strap on his bandolier. Sadly it would take a lot longer for his whiskers to stop twitching in embarrassment, but sometimes sacrifices needed to be made. At least it had worked, the damned guards not even realizing his fur was the wrong color to be a proper feral Iskrin.


    Dressed immaculately once more, the brown Ratling marched over to Meek, who was still snickering away, before placing a well-aimed kick into the Goblin¡¯s chest. ¡°Quiet down you idiot, and I best not hear you telling the others about this. I don¡¯t think Winifred or Zach would let me live it down.¡±


    Sobered up by the stinging blow, Meek was quick to scramble to his feet. ¡°Me sorry Skrakch. Meek keep secret, very good at quiet.¡± the Goblin volunteered before a grin covered his bulbous face. ¡°But me extra quiet when me eating. Especially big cheese wheel, that make Meek super quiet.¡±


    Letting out a weary sigh, Skrakch nodded at his minion before flouncing down in the hay with a heavy thump. Grabbing a piece of hay to absentmindedly chew on, Skrakch watched as Ornn lumbered forward and lifted Meekknuckle into the rafters once more.


    Frankly, he just wanted this job over and done with. It wouldn¡¯t be long until he acted as a glorified errand boy and went and grabbed the Artifact. Still, the Ratling wasn¡¯t known for his patience, grumbling softly to himself.


    Gods Above and Below knew, he hated his job sometimes.

 Chapter Fifty Eight - Well Deserved Murder?

    It had taken her quite some time but Winifred was finally realizing the truly worst part of the dress. It was a total bloody nightmare to dance in, the tight curves making her waddle like some flightless bird. The Count, of course, was enthusiastic about taking her for a spin on the dancefloor and, for the plan¡¯s sake, she¡¯d been forced to agree. She hated dancing with a passion and it was hard to not grimace from the sheer awkwardness of it all, as the Count expertly swirled her to and fro and whispered what he probably thought were sexy comments in her ear.


    It didn¡¯t help that she kept catching sight of Zach who was still under the pretense of being a server but every so often, would grin at her smugly while the corseted bodice of the dress choked the life out of her.


    Still, their dancing was getting a lot of the other women¡¯s backs up. Their thinly veiled jealousy was clear as Count Kalisz smiled at her, one hand in hers, the other wrapped around her forcibly thinned waist. Winifred supposed the older man was a bit of a heartthrob. Objectively she could see why the others were all aflutter. The Count was tall with broad shoulders and he was impeccably dressed. His jet black hair was starting to gray at the temples but his face was still handsome with its deep blue eyes and his perfect smile with its even white teeth. It was all a bit too obvious for Winifred, like looking at some masterpiece painting. His looks were just a bit too perfect.


    He was also incredibly boring. Winifred was pretty sure that if any of the women who were looking daggers at her actually spent time with him, they¡¯d be equally as bored. Unsurprisingly, his talk so far had mostly been about his wealth. He was buying some castle here, owning some livestock there, she was struggling to stay interested in his many boasts. The one good thing about his big-headedness was that he¡¯d confirmed that he was going to be purchasing the Ruby. He¡¯d spent a good ten minutes yammering on that he wasn¡¯t going to be outbid and that, come the end of the evening, the Purene Ruby would be in his possession.


    It pissed her off that Zach was right. The Count definitely saw her as some kind of prostitute. He was a handsy guy and he¡¯d already made more than one comment about how they were going to have an enjoyable night. Not evening. Night. The thought made her stomach turn. Just the thought of his sweaty body writhing away on top of her was temptation enough to wring his neck. At least it would make the job easier. It was obvious that she wasn¡¯t going to need to do much in the way of flirting to get into his chambers.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen!¡± The Master of Ceremonies announced as the music suddenly died. ¡°Please start to make your way towards the auction room, Lord Casey¡¯s auction will be commencing shortly.¡±


    There was a flurry of excitement as two of the servants opened the large white double doors at the Northern end of the ballroom with a flourish. The attendees started to surge forward, chattering away ten to the dozen about the auction and the various lots that were going to be on offer.


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    ¡°Excellent, excellent,¡± The Count said, stopping their dance abruptly so that Winifred almost tripped over the stupid hem of her gown. ¡°Let us go and find our seats, my dear,¡± He continued, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to his side. She hated the feel of his hot, sweaty grasp. ¡°Wait until you see the theatre, I¡¯m sure Lord Casey won¡¯t let us down!¡±


    Subtly motioning his hand, the Count quickly waved off two of his own bodyguards as they attempted to follow the Count. Dressed in plate mail adorned with the Count¡¯s crest, the two large Orcs had stood to the side of the room and had been watching all the goings-on with stern eyes and hands on their weapons.


    Extremely reluctantly, Winifred allowed herself to be led by the waist as they followed the crowd of people who were beginning to spill into the theatre room where the auction was to be held. The whole evening was one big painful reminder of the life she¡¯d left behind. The one she swore she¡¯d never go back to. Perhaps she¡¯d been an idiot for agreeing to this stupid plan of Zach¡¯s. There had to have been better ways to get the damned Ruby than this.


    The urge to put her hands around the Count¡¯s neck with its ridiculous frilled shirt and cravat was so bloody tempting. He looked like a weak foppish sort and it was easy to picture what that stupidly handsome face of his would look like as she squeezed the life out of it.


    But she had to resist. She was there to play her part, as irritating and idiotic as it was. She fixed a demure smile on her face and dutifully followed the other partygoers.


    She¡¯d heard of Lord Casey¡¯s theatre before. Her parents would talk about it frequently, making it sound as though it were some sought-after magical oasis of opulence. In her mind at least, it was a very basic rich-person type of room. Carpeted in plush deep red, white walls with hand-painted songbirds flying up towards the ceiling in spirals. Two rows of theatre boxes facing each other with more elaborate songbirds painted on them with gold railings and high-backed maroon chairs. There was a stage at the opposite end of the room with thick maroon curtains with gold fringing. In front of the stage was row after row of wooden chairs painted gold to match the room¡¯s accents. Automatically, she made for a row of the chairs until the Count¡¯s hand tightened around her waist.


    ¡°No, no my dear. I have my own box,¡± the Count chuckled as though she were just some airheaded society lady.


    She could feel her Mana swirling as she fought to keep a lid on her anger. She was a Chosen for god¡¯s sake! She could destroy this whole room in a matter of minutes if she so desired, or at least make a bloody good attempt at it. Zach owed her big for this shit.


    Winifred allowed the Count to lead her over to, and then through, a small door. She followed up a few stairs until they reached the Count¡¯s personal box. There were two of the high-backed chairs with a small table in between them. The table was already laid out with an ice bucket containing two bottles of champagne and some sparkling crystal glasses.


    At least there was more alcohol, she told herself as she did her best to sit down as daintily as possible. She was going to have to have a Hells of a lot more if she was going to survive this evening without committing some well-deserved murder.

 Chapter Fifty Nine - The Good Side Of A Vampire

    ¡°Ah, Zach! I¡¯ve been looking for you everywhere,¡± Jormir suddenly popped up in front of Zach as if from nowhere.


    The smarmy Halfling seemed to have forgotten Zach¡¯s earlier threat as he was back in full git mode. If Zacharias wasn¡¯t in the mood for it before, he was definitely, totally, completely not in the mood for it now. Not only was it a massive pain in the arse trying to come up with various subterfuges so that he could get close to Winfred and tell her what a shite job she was doing, but it had also been a hell of an irritating hour. Once he¡¯d been given the fresh fancy toast, he¡¯d circulated the room and been met with more people being pricks about his face.


    ¡°You¡¯re on box duty,¡± Jormir continued when Zach didn¡¯t bother to acknowledge his presence. ¡°You¡¯re to make sure that all of the distinguished guests in the opera boxes have ample food and alcohol for the duration of the evening. The more satisfied the guest, the more likely they are to part with their gold,¡± the rotund Halfling nodded to himself before turning on his heel and marching off to go harass the other servers.


    Well, Zach told himself, that was certainly a turn up for the books. The guests who would be sitting in the opera boxes would be the richest and most important of all the attendees. It would be the perfect chance for him to network with Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s most powerful. Whether it was getting in some face time or working out which chambers they were staying in so he could grab himself a treat or two before they left the mansion, all Zach could see to his latest work assignment was upsides.


    ¡°Would you be the fellow who¡¯s going to show us to my opera box?¡± A pompous sounding voice said from behind. Zach turned around to find himself face to belly with Romulus Killian. Behind him were two burly Orc warriors, boredom clear on their faces. Zach held back a snort. Typical. Now that Killian was a shadow of his former fit self, he needed to hide behind some filthy Orcs. The two warriors were looking out of place in crisply starched military jackets. The formal look was at odds with their blank slovenly faces, but Orcs weren''t exactly known for their social graces


    It was well known that the few Orcs that remained in Dray¡¯Mel were now bodyguards for the rich and important. Their kind had been instrumental in creating the mortal guardsmen that patrolled the Noble''s District. But they were quick to anger and even quicker to use their native blades which didn¡¯t make for a well-managed infantry. It was these traits that made them the perfect bodyguards, ready to pounce on anyone who looked at their master in the wrong way.


    ¡°I¡¯d be delighted to,¡± Zach replied with mock sincerity. It didn¡¯t seem like Killian recognized him from their meetings at Sykes¡¯ den or indeed the many times he¡¯d delivered the goods the fat bastard craved at the most awkward times. While Sykes was largely known for dealing Dragon''s Blood, he''d been more than happy to scrounge up any kind of drugs his rich suppliers had needed.


    Zach waved Killian and his entourage through the double doors that led to the auction room. Another boring richie-rich room. Zach was getting used to the sight now. Some people really did have more money than sense. Hand-painted songbirds? How fucking soppy could you get? Zach led his charges to the side door that led up to the opera boxes.


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    ¡°A remarkable view as always,¡± Killian said as he landed on a giant red velvet chaise lounge. The Orcs were to remain standing it would seem. ¡°Bring me my champagne and more of that delicious toast.¡± He continued, waving a hand decorated with numerous jeweled rings in Zach¡¯s direction.


    ¡°It would be my pleasure Sir,¡± Zach gave a little bow. He didn¡¯t have any problem with plying the fat git with as much alcohol as he could. It would make it so much easier to get every single one of those rings off his fingers.


    Zach left Killian¡¯s opera box and almost collided with one of the other Halfling servants. The other man cowered away from him which was definitely the ego boost he needed, though the poor git seemed half-dead with fright already.


    ¡°Yeah you better watch it,¡± Zach added with relish.


    ¡°S-s-sorry¡­¡± The cowardly Halfling replied. ¡°I was...j-j-just showing...the...g-g-gentleman,¡±


    ¡°I can make my way to the box from here,¡± A voice said from behind him. Zach looked up and saw a slim pale man dressed entirely in black. The suit he was wearing was a three-piece and expertly tailored. Zach had seen similar outfits in the window of a high-end tailor on one of his many sorties through the rich district. The suit was perfectly matched with a crisp white shirt, buttoned up to the neck. In his left hand was an ebony cane with a silver top. He looked down at Zach with intense dark eyes that almost seemed to glow with a faint luster. His hair was almost entirely black aside from a stripe of white and it was neatly slicked back.


    The other Halfling stammered an apology and rushed off. No doubt to fail to appease the next poor sod unlucky enough to have him wait on them.


    ¡°Uncouth ignoramus,¡± The gaunt man muttered under his breath as they both watched the servant run away. ¡°I trust you at least know how to speak in full sentences?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Zach replied. The man¡¯s tone instantly got his back up but this was the one time he was willing to forgive. Unlike all of the other arsehole nobles that were in attendance, Zach knew a vampire when he saw one. He¡¯d heard about them but never had the pleasure of coming across one. From what little he knew about the Tomb-Makers, vampires were the highest ranking of all their Undead forces. ¡°If you¡¯d like, I could even sort out that servant for you.¡±


    One of the more approachable forms of Undead, Vampires were often in charge of the various aspects of Dray¡¯Mel where Undead and the living might intermingle. Still, being social for an Undead was a low bar to cross, as the few stories Zach had heard of Vampires tended to end bloody.


    The Nightwalker chuckled. A deep rumbling sound, that raised the hairs on Zach¡¯s neck.


    ¡°I would like you to serve me for the rest of the evening,¡± He said as he started walking down the narrow corridor in the direction of the opera box at the end. ¡°I tire of simpering fools, so be quick about it... You may call me Lysander, or Sir. And fetch my bottle of wine from the kitchen staff, it should be properly chilled by now.¡±


    Zach nodded as calmly as he could, as he concealed a sly grin. Forget fat bastards and their stupid rings. If he could get on the good side of a vampire then he¡¯d be the one laughing.

 Chapter Sixty - Pompous Idiots

    It seemed to take forever for all the nobles to finally take their seats in both the boxes and what Count Kalisz called ¡®the common seats¡¯. Despite the announcement that the auction would be starting soon, the guests seemed more focused on posturing than actually sitting down. It was a painful reminder of her past. Winifred had always hated that aspect of her upbringing.


    She¡¯d lost count of the number of times that she¡¯d been forced into some stupid frock made out of some even stupider slippery, floppy material and had to sit around while her father showed off about his latest property acquisition and her mother tried to hob-nob with the richest of the wives just to get that little bit higher on the social ladder. The whole show of it made her sick. She was beginning to think that even the copious amounts of free alcohol wasn¡¯t worth having to hear some pompous idiot go on and on about his own superiority rather than planting his arse in a chair.


    It was a relief when, a few minutes later, the curtains on stage finally swept aside to reveal twelve wooden plinths, each with a large number painted on the front in gold paint. It made the final few stragglers settle down and take their seats.


    ¡°Huh, twelve items? That¡¯s nae much,¡± She muttered to herself.


    ¡°Ha! So blase!¡± The Count said, shaking his head as though she were a naughty child. ¡°Still, I suppose this is your first time at such a prestigious auction,¡± He continued.


    Strangely enough, now that they were alone together in the box, the Count had become decidedly less handsy with her. She¡¯d been steeling herself for whatever pathetic moves she was certain he was going to make and wondering just how far she¡¯d be able to let him get without bringing out the enchanted knuckledusters she¡¯d stowed in her garter. But instead, the Count was keeping his distance as though she repelled him in some way. While she was grateful for no longer feeling his sweaty hands on her arm or around her waist, it was a bit of a worrying turn of events. If he didn¡¯t want to have his way with her, what were her chances of being able to get into his chambers?


    Zach said that he had it on good authority that the auction winners were handed their items at the end of the auction and those staying the night would be responsible for taking whatever they¡¯d won back up to their chambers. Once the heaps of gold had changed hands, it would seem that Lord Casey¡¯s orders were to absolve him for any potential issues. It was therefore pretty bloody important that she get up there so the plan could go ahead.


    An excited chatter pulled her away from her thoughts about coming up with a quick Plan B. Winifred looked towards the stage and saw the auctioneer step onto the stage and begin preening in front of the crowd. Dressed in a burgundy tuxedo, the human male sported a thin mustache and a well-coiffed beard that complimented the wide grin on his face as he glanced over the crowd.


    ¡°My Lords, ladies, and gentleman!¡± He announced, spreading his arms wide as his voice boomed outwards. ¡°It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the seventeenth Casey Auction!¡±


    At this, the crowd below started to applaud fiercely. The Count scoffed at this display and shook his head, idly finishing off his glass of champagne.


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    ¡°Thank you, thank you,¡± the auctioneer bowed bombastically to his audience. ¡°As you can no doubt see, we have twelve, that¡¯s right, twelve fine lots for you this evening! Each rarer and more marvelous than the last! Now without further ado, let us discover who our first lucky bidder of the evening shall be!¡±


    He bounded over to the plinth that was labeled with a large number one. Out of the corner of her eye, Winifred saw the Count reach for one of the bottles of champagne. The ebony paddle with his silver bidding number on it lay untouched on the table. Clearly, the man thought the first lot wasn¡¯t worth his time.


    ¡°And there we have it, folks!¡± The auctioneer continued, waving his hands and breaking the cloaking spell on the plinth. Where it had previously looked empty, the first plinth now had a large vial filled with a heady aquamarine liquid sitting atop it. The velvet curtains parted once more and a young woman in a tight black gown strutted towards the plinth. ¡°And here she is! Let¡¯s give a big hand to my beautiful assistant for the evening, she¡¯s here for your viewing pleasure, it¡¯s Lady Catalina!¡±


    At this, Lady Catalina took her place beside the plinth and posed, hands outstretched, motioning to the vial with a theatrical look of awe on her face. The men in the crowd cheered uproariously.


    Winifred studied the woman. There was something familiar about her but she couldn¡¯t quite place what it was. She looked extraordinarily beautiful, her maroon red hair piled up on top of her head in a complicated style, her makeup perfect under the lights. The tight dress hugged her curvy figure. She was your typical auction house fluffer, designed to look good and little else. And Winifred had to admit, she excelled at the looking good part¡­


    But still¡­where did Winifred know her from?


    She tried to ignore the feeling and listened with interest as the man started his patter about how the liquid could be used to enchant a weapon or shield that would supply the user with extra Mana. None of the other bidders seemed particularly interested either.


    ¡°I would wager you haven¡¯t seen something so impressive,¡± The Count nodded down at the stage as he poured himself a large glass of champagne. ¡°But, as you can see, we don¡¯t view it as such.¡±


    ¡°That much is obvious,¡± Winifred replied under her breath. It was really getting to be quite the uphill struggle to control her violent urges. Instead, she turned to the Count with a simpering smile, all wide-eyed innocence. ¡°And why is that Count Kalisz?¡± She asked in a tone that matched her smile. At least pumping these idiots for information was easy. Just act as though the sun shines out of their arse and you were golden. ¡°Is that particular item weak?¡±


    ¡°The vial is formidable enough,¡± The Count replied dismissively, taking a deep drink from his champagne flute. ¡°But those of us who are, shall we say, more well off, know that the items are revealed by their worth. It would be quite gauche to appear too eager for the first couple of items,¡±


    Winifred turned away from him and rolled her eyes. Of course, it was more stupid posturing. Although Count Kalisz did seem right. As the auctioneer finished his patter, a small bidding war broke out by some of the people sitting in the chairs below. None of the nobles in the opera boxes joined in. It was shocking to hear some of the prices that the auctioneer was calling out. She listened as bid after bid was called out before the shield was finally sold for just over one hundred thousand gold.


    It was quite the food for thought. Winifred idly wondered how much her enchanted brass knuckles would be likely to fetch. She¡¯d never had them appraised by anyone. It was too much of a risk that it would mark her as a flush target. That being said, if they¡¯d fetch something like a hundred thousand gold or more, she wouldn¡¯t have to keep doing heists with an idiotic arsehole and a loud mouth Ratling¡­

 Chapter Sixty One - The Best Kind Of Undeath

    Zach grinned cheekily as he entered Lysander¡¯s viewing box, his serving tray laden with two bottles of the most expensive wine from the host¡¯s cellar. Finally the evening was starting to look up! The Vampires of Dray¡¯Mel largely kept to themselves, not that the other Undead were largely forthcoming. Nobody, not even that bloody Rat with his book obsession, knew much about them.


    And here he was, getting on the good side of one of them! He couldn¡¯t wait to rub it into the smug Ratling¡¯s face!


    ¡°Excellent, excellent,¡± Lysander nodded as Zach presented the tray with a flourish. He held his wine glass aloft with one pale hand, his long elegant fingers wrapped around the bowl. He was wearing a gold ring with a large ruby set into it. Zach didn¡¯t need to be a jewelry appraiser to know that it was worth thousands, the ruby''s shining exterior swirling like thick blood.


    ¡°Are you bidding on anything?¡± Zach asked as he uncorked the wine and poured some into the glass. Jormir had expressively forbade him to speak unless spoken to but, fuck that Halfling prick, there was no way Zach was going to let a chance like this slip him by while he stayed mute like a fucking idiot.


    ¡°Hardly. Every few years you mortals host this auction, and every time I¡¯m forced to endure this farce.¡± Lysander sniffed in distaste, sampling the wine and letting out a small noise of approval. ¡°No, I¡¯ve been sent here on the off chance something of real value is offered. But it¡¯s been quite a few decades since a proper artifact was up for grabs.¡±


    Zach nodded thoughtfully as Lysander drained his cup in one long drought. Quickly stepping forward to fill it once more, the Halfling was happy to play the part of a dutiful servant.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure Lord Casey wouldn¡¯t be thrilled to hear that. It¡¯s been said the man considers himself the peak of wealth.¡± Zach said glibly, watching the vampire carefully to catch any facial tics.


    ¡°Ah, but there''s the rub. For all the pomp and pageantry, this is an auction for mortals and thrown by mortals. As rich as Lord Casey might be, he¡¯s still not as powerful as the lowest of Tomb-Makers.¡± The pale man intoned, looking down as the second item was shown off.


    It was some kind of bracelet, and from the gasps of the crowd it was impressive in some way¡­ but Lysander took one look at it before rolling his eyes.


    ¡°Well, us mortals are just trying our best, can¡¯t fault a man for trying to earn some coin.¡± The Halfling grinned, taking a sniff of the wine and wrinkling his nose at the coppery smell. Zach was more than happy to stick with his meads, even if it was a poor man¡¯s drink.


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    Tapping the side of his goblet in thought, Lysander was slow to reply. ¡°Perhaps that is exactly the issue, indeed. Always scurrying about, searching for the next opportunity, the next meal. When one joins the Tomb-Makers, things change. Life doesn¡¯t feel like such a rush when you¡¯re no longer looking behind your shoulder for the Grim Scythe of Death.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d imagine it must be freeing, having such grand options.¡± Zach agreed, idly rubbing his chin in thought. ¡°Though I always wondered if the Undead on the Wall earned a proper wage. Can¡¯t quite picture them buying themselves a mug of ale.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not alone in that thought,¡± Lysander muttered in a dry tone. ¡°No, the lesser Undead aren¡¯t paid at all, they¡¯re simply told what to do, and are happy to have purpose in Undeath. Even those who¡¯ve been around since the beginning don¡¯t seem to mind, all too happy to protect their city.¡±


    Lysander raised his goblet and poured the last of his wine down his gullet, before beckoning Zach forth. ¡°The smarter Undead prefer to barter in favours. When you have time unending before you, simple favours can have quite the impact. Still, most Undead are happy to be a cog in the design of Dray¡¯Mel.¡±


    Tipping the bottle of wine slowly, Zacharias met the lily-white man¡¯s eyes, and watched them swirl. For a moment he felt an overwhelming urge to¡­ but then it passed, and the Halfling quickly stepped back, frowning to himself.


    For a long moment Lysander stared at the distracted Halfling, his eyes considering Zach for a moment, hungry eyes calmly calculating his prey. Circling the edge of his goblet, the Vampire let a small bit of his Mana pour forth, it''s very essence rooted deeply in blood and malice... before pulling it back inside of himself with an errant thought.


    Placing his goblet to the side, the vampire let out a single sigh as he leaned back in his chair and addressed the Halfling as Zach shook the cobwebs from his mind. ¡°Of course, those born naturally to Dray¡¯Mel aren¡¯t quite suited to dealing with mortals, so our family tends to... manage the living.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Zach considered, muddling through his thoughts and finally landing an a pertinent question. ¡°There are Undead in the Tomb-Makers that aren¡¯t native to Dray¡¯Mel? I thought our lovely city was special in that regard.¡±


    Standing from his cushioned chair, Lysander let out a throaty chuckle. ¡°There are all manner of Undead out there, but there¡¯s only one haven like Dray¡¯Mel. Is it truly so shocking that we¡¯d seek out such a home?¡± The vampire shook his head slowly, staring out at the crowd as the second item was sold for nearly three hundred thousand gold. Sneering in a way that showed off his elongated canines, the Vampire seemed to make up his mind about something.


    ¡°I tire of this conversation. Bring word to your employer that the wine offered isn¡¯t up to my standards.¡± Lysander announced, leaning over the ledge. ¡°And tell him to send up that first serving boy. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll do fine serving me, lout that he was.¡±


    Bowing quickly, Zach quashed his urge to complain. If the Vampire wanted a different server, so be it. Still, the opportunity wasn¡¯t a complete loss, the Halfling mused to himself. To think, the Tomb-Makers weren¡¯t quite the united front he¡¯d always imagined them as.


    Still, if he had his choice of Undeath after he finally kicked it, he surely wouldn¡¯t pick bring a Wraith over a proper Vampire.

 Chapter Sixty Two - Pompous Idiots, The Lot of Them

    ¡°Bravo Count Kalisz! An excellent boon to your collection!¡±


    ¡°Capital job on the bidding Count!¡±


    ¡°Bloody impressive acquisition there Count! Good show!¡±


    Winifred fought the urge to roll her eyes for the hundredth time that evening. The auction had ended, the whole process had been mercifully quick once it had gotten underway. She¡¯d been expecting some excitement over the Purene Ruby lot when it had been announced but its starting bid had been ridiculous. Ridiculous to the point that only one other noble had been truly in the running, though the Count hardly acted like it. The man had simply raised the bid without thinking of the price, until the artifact was sold for over a million gold pieces.


    Hearing the prices go so high had nearly floored Winifred, and for a moment she¡¯d been picturing literal heaps of gold changing hands. Thankfully, she¡¯d remembered that platinum coins were a thing, each worth a thousand gold coins on their own. Still, the thrill of that exchange was the only thing keeping her awake through the boredom of the after party.


    For the past half an hour she¡¯d been forced to stand by Kalisz¡¯s side with his arm around her waist as various other attendees congratulated him on his new acquisition. As well as being a complete insufferable arse, the Count was like an octopus again, his hands everywhere. She wasn¡¯t stupid. It was obvious she was very much playing the part of the trophy partner. She¡¯d seen her Mother do it enough.


    ¡°Perhaps my sweet flower for the evening would do me the honor of joining me in my private chambers?¡± The Count asked smoothly, causing the women around them to giggle and the men to grin and wink at him.


    Winifred forced a simpering smile on her face. ¡°Nothing would please me more my dear Count,¡± She replied placatingly, glad that Zacharias wasn¡¯t around to hear. There was no way the wee shite would let her forget this anytime soon.


    ¡°Excellent, excellent. Well, I shall retire to the chambers for a soothing bath,¡± The Count continued. ¡°Do excuse me gentlemen, after the excitement of the evening, this lovely lady and myself are in need of some rest.¡± Kalisz said, raising his voice so his gathered fanbase could hear. The men chuckled knowingly as his emphasis on the last word.


    ¡°I would like to admire my new piece this evening,¡± he said as he began whisking her off the ballroom floor. ¡°Perhaps you would like to fetch my new acquisition from the lot room before joining me?¡± He suggested. Winifred¡¯s eyes widened momentarily. How could the wee dobber be so flippant about something so bloody expensive? He was just going to practically put the gem in her hands, just like that? It was going to be easier than any of them had thought!


    ¡°Why certainly!¡± Winifred replied, suddenly unable to believe her luck and trying her best to remain calm and neutral. She remembered how collecting an auction piece worked easily enough. After the auction, each winner was given a small chip which they would hand over in return for the lot that they now owned. She tried to hide her disbelief as the Count handed her his token. It was a small silver coin-shaped item with Lord Casey¡¯s family crest on one side, and the lot number on the other.


    For a moment, Winifred thought it was going to be that simple, before the Count gave a curt nod to one of his looming bodyguards. The heavily armed man took a few steps behind Winifred before standing at attention.


    Still, she wasn¡¯t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all the meticulous planning and trying to think of every way this evening could go wrong, the Count had just handed her his prize. Better than that, she wouldn¡¯t have to do much more flirting and simpering!


    She grinned to herself as she departed the ballroom and headed for the Lot Room, her newly acquired shadow in tow. Her night of sucking up to some rich old bastard was over! She¡¯d take the Ruby and ditch it in the gardens just like they¡¯d planned. After that, she¡¯d make her exit from the ball and that would be the end of Lady Armara Of Blackmaul. She looked so different in her ridiculous getup that she wouldn¡¯t need to worry about anyone recognizing her in the street. Hells, most of the people at the auction would rather die than sully their eyes with the sights of The Slums anyways.


    With any luck, she¡¯d be done before they called the final round at The Plagued Rat. All the wine quaffing and ridiculously tiny slithers of food that passed for fancy had left her with a craving for a meat pie and a jug of mead.


    Really, the only difficulty that stood in her way now would be hiding the poor bodyguard¡¯s body after she was done with him. Winifred hummed in thought as she walked through gilded hallways. She slid her eyes surreptitiously sideways when they passed any open rooms as she thought of where to ditch her unwelcome new friend.


    Thankfully, it wasn¡¯t long before she spotted a roomy closet with its door ajar. It was filled to the brim with overly expensive fur coats. Grinning wolfishly, she veered through the doorway as the bodyguard followed closely behind. So closely, the poor sap barely had time to react as Winifred stepped to the side and closed one of her hands around his left gauntlet.


    Normally a well trained bodyguard, equipped with the finest armour gold could buy, would have nothing to worry about if a noblewoman lead him to a secluded area before laying her hands on him. But as Winifred¡¯s grip tightened and crushed his metal vambraces as if they were made of silk, the poor man barely had time to hear her whisper a single word before he was wrenched off his feet.


    Break¡­


    Reaching deep into her newfound Core, Winifred casually pulled the bodyguard off balance as strength coursed through her body. Sweeping his leg, and ignoring the sound of metal screaming beneath her shin, she tossed him to the floor. The poor bastard tried to get up almost instantly, uttering a litany of curses. Winifred didn¡¯t give him the chance to make any kind of comeback. She placed a hand either side of his hand and with one deft twist, she snapped his neck.


    The man slumped to the floor once more, his body becoming a dead weight. Winifred grinned to herself. Her new power was certainly coming in handy! Not that she couldn¡¯t have taken him on before, she thought to herself as she gave his body a quick kick with her high heeled shoe. But there was a marked difference between a close bloody brawl, and an almost pitiful execution.


    She grabbed the bodyguard¡¯s corpse and dragged it further into the room, tossing a few of the coats on top of the body before quickly tidying herself and leaving the closet. Winifred was quick to head back into the hall and start heading towards the prize. While she passed the occasional servant as she made her way forward, each one of them kept their heads down, obviously not wanting to risk pissing off someone in noble attire.


    It wasn¡¯t long before she made her way to where the artifacts were being kept. It was surprising just how much she remembered the layout of the place. She could only hope that once this bloody evening was over, she could expunge it from her memory.


    Thankfully, the Chosen didn''t have to wander too long through the opulent hallways before spotting her destination at the end of her current pathway. Fixing a small smile on her face, Winifred glided towards the doorway.


    Two burly guards flanked the entrance to the artifact room, nodding at her as she showed her chip and made her way inside.


    The small room was dominated by a massive safe. It resembled an old style bank vault, its circular door polished to perfection. Carefully etched into the center of the door was the Casey family crest.


    In front of the safe, sat behind a desk and flanked by two more guards was an official-looking man dressed in a scarlet uniform with a large ledger in front of him. Sitting to his left, perched on the edge of the desk, still looking resplendent in her evening dress, was Lady Catalina. Her long, lithe legs were on full display, her mouth set into an inviting pout. It was obvious that, just like the auction, she was around for decoration.


    ¡°Name?¡± The man asked in a clipped tone, barely bothering to look up from his ledger. His grey eyes looked tired behind the brass-colored pince-nez that was perched on the end of his nose.


    ¡°Lady Armara, collecting for Count Kalisz,¡± Winifred replied loftily. She glanced over at Lady Catalina who smiled at her. It wasn¡¯t the tight, professional smile she¡¯d been wearing for the duration of the auction. It was friendly, almost flirty¡­it threw her a little and she felt a weird fluttering feeling deep in her stomach.


    ¡°Chip?¡± The man replied succinctly, holding out his hand. He sighed irritably to get her attention.


    Winifred blinked and handed over the silver chip. The man took it from her and turned it over in his hands, investigating it from all angles and even biting into it. Clearly, he wasn¡¯t taking his chances in the case of clever forgeries. Once he was satisfied with the chip¡¯s legitimacy, he nodded to one of the guards next to him.


    Winifred watched as the guard went to the safe. A moment later, he returned, placing an ornate wooden chest on the desk. He withdrew a small brass key from his pocket and unlocked the chest. He wordlessly opened it to reveal the sparkling Ruby inside. As the artifact was revealed, a massive wellspring of Mana was let loose inside the room, almost suffocating in its intensity. From the expressions of greed and discomfort on the guard¡¯s faces, she could tell that they were quite the loyal servants of Lord Casey, as Winifred knew she wouldn¡¯t be able to resist the urge to snatch any of the magical items, much less calmly give them away.


    ¡°One Purene Ruby,¡± The man at the desk said in a strained voice as he scribbled something into his ledger before reaching out to shut the chest. ¡°Please give Lord Casey¡¯s compliments to the Count.¡± He added shortly.


    Nodding thoughtfully, Winifred made to snatch up the chest, when Lady Catalina stepped forward and placed a dainty hand atop the container.


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    "Allow me to escort you to the exit,¡± Lady Catalina said smoothly as she picked up the wooden chest and placed it into Winifred¡¯s arms. Winifred nodded wordlessly, breathing in the scent of the beautiful woman¡¯s perfume. If she wasn¡¯t mistaken, she¡¯d smelled that scent before in the weird shop the Rat liked to frequent when he talked about a ¡®Denmother¡¯.


    Lady Catalina swept her towards the doorway. The man was staring at his ledger importantly. If he noticed anything strange about the situation, he clearly wasn¡¯t going to bother doing anything about it. The poor bastard probably wasn¡¯t getting paid enough, but his loss was her gain.


    ¡°Meet me in the gardens in twenty minutes,¡± Lady Catalina whispered under her breath as they reached the door. ¡°By the cherub fountain,¡± She added, giving Winifred¡¯s arm a gentle squeeze.


    A shiver ran down Winifred¡¯s spine at her touch.


    The raven-haired beauty had long, elegant fingers, and her perfectly applied black nail polish gleamed under the lights. She flashed that smile again, the one that was obviously genuine and before she could really think about it, Winifred found herself agreeing before dazedly leaving the room, Artifact in hand.


    Forcing herself to walk with calm, tempered steps, Winifred found herself distracted from her current task. Just picturing that sly smile had her head bogged down with errant thoughts.


    In fact, Winifred was so dazed by Lady Catalina¡¯s grace, that she barely noticed she was making a beeline for the intricate gardens.


    Nobody paid her any mind as she entered the ballroom with the chest tucked under her arm. Most of the revelers must have retired to their rooms as the ballroom was now almost empty. Various Halfling waiters were bustling around, tidying away the remnants of the glorious buffet and mopping up spilled wine. Zacharias wasn¡¯t amongst them.


    There was a clump of men dressed in tuxedos standing by the wine fountain smoking fat cigars and congratulating each other. They each held a cut glass tumbler full of whiskey. Winifred rolled her eyes at them. They looked for all the world like fat hogs wallowing in thier own muck.


    She walked through the glass double doors that lead to the gardens. Zacharias had managed to find a map of the layout which she could clearly see in her mind¡¯s eye. While she was excited at the prospect of what Lady Catalina wanted from their meeting, she needed to keep her eye on the prize. She didn¡¯t want to take the risk of it being some kind of ruse orchestrated by the Count. Perhaps to test her honesty. No, she wasn¡¯t going to take that chance.


    Picking up her stupid long skirts, she tried to look as casual as possible as she hurried towards the pre-agreed drop-off point. It wasn¡¯t too far that she would risk being caught by one of the patrolling guardsmen yet wasn¡¯t close enough for anyone who may be looking out from one of their balconies to be spotted.


    She muttered a curse as she nearly went headlong into the bushes. She couldn¡¯t wait until the high heels she was wearing were a thing of the past. Pretty much all evening, she¡¯d been fantasizing about shedding them and possibly chucking them off the nearest bridge to boot.


    Thankfully, for all that Lord Casey promised a secure estate for the Auction, all of the attention was on the outside wall. It really wasn''t too much issue avoiding any errant eyes.


    When she reached the drop-off point, she could clearly see Meekknuckle¡¯s grinning face in a gap through the Rhododendron bush.


    ¡°Scary Lady!¡± Meekknuckle greeted in a stage whisper. ¡°You have shiny gem for Meek?¡± The Goblin¡¯s eyes lit up when he saw the chest under her arm.


    ¡°Here,¡± Winifred whispered properly, double-checking her surroundings to make sure the Goblin hadn¡¯t attracted any unwanted attention. ¡°I¡¯ll see ye back at my place with the others. I have something I need tae do first,¡± She added as she handed the chest over. A wave of relief washed over her and she wasn¡¯t entirely sure if it was because her part was finally done or that she could finally speak in her natural accent again.


    ¡°Ok, Meek leave fast,¡± The Goblin gave her one more grin before disappearing back into the bush. The blooms started to rustle and sway as he made his way back through the massive bush. Winifred wasn''t too worried about the little cretin, Jormir had given them access to the guardsmen''s routes, so as long as the Goblin didn''t completely much up the timing...


    Winifred let out a sigh and consulted the map in her head once more. The cherub fountain wasn¡¯t that far away, just a short walk through a cherry tree grove. Picking up her skirts once more, she hurried off in that direction.


    Carefully retracing her steps, Winifred lithely avoided any guards until she spotted the fountain amongst the trees, a fountain topped with a cherub. Freezing momentarily, she knew that she should really be getting back to the ballroom and letting Zacharias know that they were home free. But all such thoughts of her companions disappeared from her head when she saw the fountain in front of her. Or more accurately, the person sitting on the bench beside it.


    Awkwardly brushing little bits of dirt and leaves off herself, the newly minted Chosen, victor of dozens of pit fights, and an experienced hand at dispatching foes,... quailed at the idea of approaching a pretty lady.


    Still, Winifred had to fight to keep her pace steady as she made her way closer, not wanting to show just how eager she was feeling.


    As soon as Lady Catalina saw her approach, she smiled that beautiful smile again. She¡¯d let her hair down from its tight bun, the simple act making her appear much more relaxed.


    ¡°Good to meet you again Lady Armara,¡± The Lady called out as Winifred approached her. The brunette cocked an eyebrow. Catalina was acting like she was surprised by her appearance. Maybe she wasn¡¯t as smooth as she liked to think she was.


    ¡°Aye well¡­¡± Winifred started to answer automatically. She coughed and cleared her throat and hoped that she didn¡¯t look as embarrassed as she felt. ¡°You did invite me here,¡± She tried again in her ¡®ball voice¡¯, her tone light and teasing.


    ¡°I just wanted a break from that bloody awful show up there,¡± Catalina nodded towards the mansion house, illuminated in splendor behind them. ¡°Men and women congratulating themselves for being rich, all while forgoing showing any sense of real class.¡± She rolled her stunning eyes, each looking wonderfully expressive with the carefully drawn black outline.


    Winifred frowned at herself inwardly. What in the Hells was wrong with her? Gods Below, she never gave a shite about makeup. But she was noticing Catalina¡¯s carefully outlined eyes, her artfully contoured face, and her plump, ruby red lips. They were parted slightly so that she could just make out a flash of white teeth. It was certainly a more inviting sight than the usual rotting maws of the Plagued Rat¡¯s clientele.


    ¡°You¡¯re here with that Count from Saint Aphrastro right?¡± Catalina asked. She patted the space on the wall next to her. ¡°Come on, take a load off. If your feet are anything like mine, those heels are killing them,¡± She continued with a grin.


    Winifred looked at the space with a hint of longing. As a matter of fact, her feet were bloody killing her. The heels she was wearing were stupid dainty wee things, a far cry away from the comfortable leather boots she usually wore. Still, the mention of the Count had suddenly made her wary. What if Catalina was some kind of security plant? Trying to wheedle things out of the guests?


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to bite Armara,¡± Catalina said cheekily. She swept her mane of hair over her shoulder and leaned forward. The dress she was wearing was low cut enough that Winifred could see straight down it as Catalina bent low enough to take off her own killer heels.


    Fuck it. She told herself as she sat down on the wall. The concrete felt cold through the slippery thin material of her gown and it helped clear the fuzz in her brain a little. She was just having a friendly chat is all. She didn¡¯t need to give away any details. She could simply let herself enjoy being away from the mansion for some fresh air with a beautiful woman. It would be something to hold over the wee Halfling. She¡¯d seen him looking at Catalina during the auction with the same lecherous look he reserved for the prostitutes of the Market District.


    ¡°How long have you been working as a hostess?¡± She asked, hoping that it would distract Catalina from asking any further questions about Count Kalisz.


    ¡°Long enough to wish I had a different job,¡± Catalina replied with a chuckle. She dangled her ridiculously high heels from their ankle straps. ¡°It pays well enough but having to suck up to those people in there¡­¡± she rolled her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s a chore.¡±


    "You mean people like me?¡± Winifred asked teasingly.


    ¡°No¡­ You¡¯re different,¡± Catalina said simply.


    Winifred felt her chest tighten. Different? How could Catalina tell? She¡¯d been so careful the whole evening. What had she done that had given away the fact she didn¡¯t belong with these people anymore?


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I know you still probably have more money than I¡¯ll ever make in a hundred lifetimes,¡± Catalina continued. ¡°You¡¯re just not as up yourself as the people in there. You seem more human. Maybe it¡¯s just because you don¡¯t treat the staff like they¡¯re shit stuck to your heel. I saw you talking with that Halfling waiter. You were actually making eye contact!¡±


    ¡°Oh! Yes¡­well¡­¡± Winifred let out a dainty tinkling laugh, a perfect copy of the one her Mother used. ¡°He was very helpful,¡± She added awkwardly.


    ¡°It was- oh crap!-¡±


    All of a sudden, Winifred felt herself be catapulted backward as Catalina grabbed her arm and pulled her down into a large bush. Before she could let out a cry of surprise, or curse the crazy woman out, a hand was clamped over her mouth.


    ¡°Ssh!¡± Catalina whispered in her ear, her breath tickling her ear lobe.


    They stayed like that, frozen for a moment or two before Winifred heard two voices. From the noise they were making, it sounded like they were wearing heavy boots. She could hear the clinking of armor as they moved.


    ¡°¡®Ow many more times are we gonna walk round this ¡®ere fountain eh?¡±


    ¡°Shut yer trap, we can clock off after this, Captain says most of them posh nobs ¡®ave gone to their rooms.¡±


    Winifred listened as the two guards continued to bicker, their voices getting quieter and quieter as they walked away. Catalina moved her hand and let out a sigh.


    ¡°Nearly!¡± She said as she got to her feet, brushing some stray leaves off herself. She held out her hand.


    Winifred took it and was hauled to her feet, Catalina having a surprising amount of strength for her lithe form.


    ¡°What was all that about?¡± She demanded, barely remembering to use her ''more elegant accent¡¯. It wouldn''t do to slip back into her more Dwarven accent. Though perhaps she could blame it on the tumble, even if the fall hadn¡¯t hurt, it had taken her by surprise.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t want to get caught,¡± Catalina explained, stepping out of the bush. ¡°Oops! I left my heels on the wall,¡± She chuckled. ¡°Still, I doubt those two idiots even noticed.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t just pull me into some bush and say you didn¡¯t want to get caught!¡± Winifred bristled, brushing down her own gown which was covered in little twigs and leaves. ¡°Didn¡¯t want to get caught doing what?¡±


    ¡°Fraternizing with a guest,¡± Catalina smirked at her, a mischievous look in her eyes. Gods, if it wasn¡¯t for her beauty, Winifred would give her a good smack in the chops. As it happened, she couldn¡¯t help but smile back at her.


    ¡°And that¡¯s what we were doing?¡± She asked instead. ¡°Fraternizing?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­that,¡± Catalina replied. ¡°Or flirting¡­¡±


    Winifred¡¯s grin widened, feeling her pulse race in her chest.


    Maybe the Count was right, there was worse things then spending an evening with a beautiful woman...

 Chapter Sixty Three - A Shocking Finale

    The rest of the evening had turned out to be a bit of a bore. Once the fancy toffs had finished up with their auction, the excitement of the event largely seemed to peter out. A few of them were still congrugating in the ballroom, smoking and drinking and showing off. At least Jormir hadn¡¯t made him wait on them. With that, Zach thought his time as a bloody dogsbody had come to an end.


    But, worse yet, it turned out the wait staff were then expected to play ¡®maid¡¯ to the nobles who were staying the night at the mansion.


    Which was how Zacharias found himself dredging along, half-buried in silk sheets. Only the best for the rich tossers, he sneered to himself. Still, it was in the back of his mind to perhaps rob one for himself. The diminutive lover could imagine how the soft, silky feel would appeal to the women he liked to bring back to his place on an evening.


    More importantly though, was that Zach was currently bringing this load of overly indulgent cloth straight to Count Kalisz¡¯s guest bedroom. He hadn¡¯t seen head nor tail of Winifred for too long now, and frankly, he was concerned she¡¯d somehow fucked this all up. She was supposed to alert him if something had gone tits up but¡­what if she couldn¡¯t? The Purene Ruby was going to be the biggest score of his life. He wasn¡¯t about to let some drug-addled pit fighter fuck it up.


    Ignoring all the fancy decorations adorning the hallways of the mansion, Zach quickly found himself standing before Kalisz¡¯s door. One deep breath later, and the nimble fingered thief was ready to spin a web of woe if needed, to make sure Winnie got out alright. And perhaps more relevantly, that the Purene Ruby got safely into his pockets.


    As he reached up for the knocker, Zacharias stifled a curse as he realized it was positioned too high for any self-respecting Halfling. Shrugging, he kicked the door twice, and waited patiently.


    It wasn¡¯t long before he heard footsteps approaching, so he was ready with a smile when the door swung open to reveal the older nobleman.


    ¡°Room service!¡± Zach said glibly, stepping through the doorway without waiting for a response. A quick look around revealed everything in order, which was promising for the undercover pit-fighter''s health.


    Less promising was the fact Winifred was nowhere in sight, though perhaps she was in the midst of doing the hand-off now, and she hadn¡¯t had the time to let him know?


    Stepping up to the bed, Zach held the sheets to his chest for a moment as he thought things through. Dropping them in a bit of a clump, the Halfling admitted to himself that he hadn¡¯t the faintest idea of how to prep a room, much less to a nobleman¡¯s standard. Was he supposed to actually make the bed? Because fucked if he knew how to do that. When he was at home, Zach pretty much chucked his blankets in whatever way they felt comfortable and pounded them into submission until they felt right.


    But Winifred clearly wasn¡¯t around so he figured he didn¡¯t need to worry about it. Jormir could go fuck himself if he had anything to say about it. Or, Zach thought with relish, he could just smack him straight in his smug face. The dickhead had certainly earned it.


    The Halfling grinned to himself at the though of Jormir¡¯s nose becoming an impressive scarlet fountain and turned to head to the door, only to find the Count standing directly behind him with a curious look on his face.


    ¡°I saw you on the ballroom, did I not?¡± The older man questioned, looking down at Zach intently. ¡°You certainly have a memorable visage, after all.¡± He added. The older man''s eyes roved up and down Zach¡¯s body. There was something about his expression that instantly made Zach suspicious.


    Nodding swiftly, Zach stepped around the Human quickly before responding. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve been working for most of the evening, so I¡¯m not surprised you remember me.¡± He replied. ¡°I¡¯m actually about to clock off for the night so¡­¡±


    As Zach went to pass him by, the Count stepped behind the Halfling and placed his hands on Zacharias¡¯ shoulders.


    ¡°How¡­opportune,¡± The Count crooned. ¡°My, you must have had quite the tiring evening. Perhaps you¡¯d like to spend the rest of the night relaxing with me... I¡¯m sure your supervisor would understand. I have plenty of brandy and some of the finest cigars Dray¡¯Mel has to offer. We can unwind, really relax together...¡±


    Grimacing slightly, Zach was quick on the uptake. Honestly, the implication wasn¡¯t something he minded, though he hardly thought spending the night with the Count would look great once he realized the artifact he¡¯d purchased had gone missing. But then, there was always a more permanent solution to that problem¡­


    No. He had to make sure that none of his cronies had fucked up. The thief wouldn¡¯t feel satisfied until he''d caught sight of the ruby and was able to reach out and touch it.


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    Turning to decline the offer, Zach was cut short as the Count let out an appreciative noise, obviously sensing his unwillingness. ¡°You¡¯ll be compensated more than fairly for your time. After all, I¡¯ve never been with someone so¡­ unique looking.¡±


    He tried to swallow the surge of rage that suddenly rose up in his stomach. Zach absentmindedly touched his scars as he continued to face away from the Count. ¡°To be clear, you¡¯re hitting on me for my looks,¡± Zach replied in a deceptively calm voice.


    In his mind¡¯s eye he could hear her voice. She wasn¡¯t one of the Denmother¡¯s. Oh no. That would¡¯ve been shitting on your own doorstep. She was some random woman he¡¯d picked up at the docks¡­ new to the game¡­ she¡¯d barely charged him anything.


    ¡°Oooh I ain¡¯t never ¡®ad anyone who looked like you,¡± She giggled, flipping back her blonde hair and smirking at him. She pocketed the coins he¡¯d handed over. ¡°I bet you can¡¯t get it without paying for it¡­¡±


    New to the game. And now she was dead¡­.


    Zach felt hands land on his shoulders and squeeze the tightly knotted muscles. Count Kalisz let out a hearty chuckle. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not everyday someone would appreciate your handsome features, that¡¯s for sure. Perhaps you can tell me the story of how you got the scars, and we can do a little¡­ roleplay.¡±


    Pausing for a long moment, the Halfling momentarily relived more memories. This time of Sykes¡¯ lair¡­the cold stone of the dungeon floor. The stench of blood and stale urine hanging in the air causing a cloying, almost suffocating feeling. He could feel his throat begin to close up, his stomach undulating as hot bile shot into his mouth. The pain. The fear. He¡¯d been helpless.


    He felt the hot knife drag across his skin, he was on fire. Every inch of his body. He wanted to scream out. He felt his face split open, warm blood running down his cheeks and staining his lips. The taste was in his mouth once more. The disgusting taste of his own failure.


    He was frozen in time for a moment, feeling the anger bubbling up inside of him and threatening to come out the way it had with the slapper from the docks.


    He tried to picture the artifact, the big score. A coin purse brimming over. He focused on these images until they became clearer in his mind¡¯s eye.


    He was a professional, and he knew any outburst would only make him a target of suspicion when the Purene Ruby was found to be missing. He would simply agree to the foolish noble¡¯s request, but look for a chance to slip away cleanly. For once he would take the path of least resistance. Plus, if he was able to grab some coins or one of the signet rings on the fool¡¯s fat fingers, all the better for him.


    ¡°Of course I''d be honoured to accompany you for the night, Count Kalisz. Shall I retrieve us some wine first, compliments of Lord Casey?¡± Zach replied, his best supercilious smile on his face.


    Strangely, he was met with silence. The hands on his shoulder¡¯s gripped tighter, before releasing him.


    Turning to face the Count, Zach was blindsided by a sudden heavy blow across the face, leaving him sprawling backwards. Blinking away spots from his eyes, Zach narrowed his eyes at the Count who loomed above him with a wild grin across his face.


    ¡°Oh, Lord Casey has already given me his compliments. I do so love his Auctions, not for the Artifacts or the Ball, but for these lovely nights.¡± Reaching down beneath the ornate bed, Count Kalisz pulled out a length of rope. ¡°Feel free to scream for a Guard, I¡¯m afraid the room has plenty of wards to keep the sounds¡­ contained.¡±


    Both men stood staring at each other for a long moment, the Count clearly relishing the feeling of power he was experiencing¡­ until Zach tilted his head back and began laughing uproariously. A look of confusion crossed the older Human¡¯s face, before he snarled in unbridled rage.


    ¡°What in the Hells are you laughing at, you little shit.¡±


    Still struggling to hold back his snorts, Zacharias gestures broadly around the room. ¡°I just can¡¯t believe how bad your luck is mate. Trust me, you couldn¡¯t have picked a worse target for this little stunt of yours.¡±


    ¡°How about this¡±, the Halfling chortled. ¡°You back the fuck off, and I let you go about your disgusting way with your bollocks still attached?¡±


    Eyeing each other up and down, The Count was nearly busting a blood vessel as he stared at his ugly target. ¡°Don¡¯t be so confident, Halfman. I¡¯ve picked up quite a few Artifacts from my visit here, and they''re more than enough to handle the likes of you.¡±


    A twist of the Count¡¯s mana, and an infusion of power to a ring on his finger resulted in electricity sparking along the man¡¯s left arm. For a brief moment, Zach thought the fool had attacked himself, but the swirling energy quickly settled into an oddly beautiful cascade of lightning running down the length of the noble fops forearm. Stepping forward, Kalisz smirked triumphantly before mocking Zach as he licked his lips.


    ¡°Has no one taught you to respect your betters, boy? We¡¯ll see if your spine lets you last longer than the last wench I tasted.¡± The Count crowed, raising his hand high in the air, before swiping downwards as lightning sparked wildly.


    Staring up at the Count¡¯s arm, all emotion drained off the Halfling¡¯s face as he coldly stepped aside, Kalisz¡¯ attack being painfully slow to the seasoned fighter''s eyes. A quick twist of his wrist deposited the sole knife Zach had brought with him into his palm, and he casually lashed out as a few of the Count¡¯s fingers went flying.


    Zach watched the blood splatter across the room with a detached, almost bored expression. For a moment, he¡¯d actually expected something a bit more, but with the ring finger detached, the artifact was quick to peter out and the lightning dispersed harmlessly into the air.


    As the noble let out a blood curdling scream, Zacharias shook his head from side to side. Idly prying the magical ring from Count Kalisz¡¯ finger and lifting it up to light, Zach let a feral grin cross his face.  ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry Milord, I¡¯ll give you a night to remember."

 Chapter Sixty Four - Flirting with Lady Fortune

    Holding his breath tight in his chest, Zach stifled his urge to hum a tune as he stepped from shadow to shadow. While the night had certainly ended differently than he¡¯d expected, he couldn¡¯t say he hadn¡¯t enjoyed the¡­ finale.


    The Count had managed to keep up an almost admirable if blustering facade for longer than his tormentor had expected, but when the fool of a man finally broke¡­


    Zach found himself grinning. Just because the end of the evening had been unexpected, didn¡¯t mean that it was satisfying as all Hells. It had been a bloody end and consequently that had meant it had been very messy. He hoped that Jormir himself would be tasked to clean it up. That would serve the smug bastard right. He¡¯d heard that blood stains were murder to get out of silk¡­


    Getting out of the mansion had been a piece of piss. It was so late by the time that he was done that the corridors were completely deserted. He hadn¡¯t seen a single soul as he¡¯d slipped out of the Count¡¯s room and headed for the nearest exit. No worries about needing to off anyone who saw his bloodstained clothes. Zach had actually felt pretty disappointed about that.


    No, the only issue was avoiding the patrolling guards as he made his way out of the manor and into the carefully cultivated gardens. They weren¡¯t as easy to take down as the ridiculous fops inside the mansion. He¡¯d heard Jormir boasting to some other poor sod that the mansion¡¯s security team were as brave and as armed as guardsmen came.


    Thankfully though, luck was on his side yet again as the security was clearly designed to keep intruders out, not stop escapees. Though truthfully, Zach was sure it wouldn¡¯t be hard to make his escape regardless. So what if these clowns were supposed to be decent at their jobs? He felt alive in a way he¡¯d thought he¡¯d lost after going under Sykes knife, and his Mana was practically singing as it jumped to do his bidding.


    A twist of focus veiled his footsteps, a dollop of power extended the shadow he lurked in and all with no one the wiser. It was a shame the Count had been such a bleeder, or Zacharias would have simply blended back in with the wait staff, but with the copious amounts of blood on his uniform¡­ it wasn¡¯t likely to go well.


    Still, he was almost home free when he heard a cry go out behind him and an alarm began to ring. Zach tsked to himself as he sped up his pace, but the guards lining the manor¡¯s walls had exploded into motion, some even using some form of magic the Halfling rogue didn¡¯t recognize to light up the courtyard.


    The murder of a guest would look bad on Lord Casey, Zach chuckled to himself as he pressed flat against the ground, Or was this the hunt for the Purene Ruby? I have to assume the witless lass took care of it, or this was pointless after all.


    The most important aspect of being a thief of his renown, of course, was keeping your calm when the plan went to shit. So Zach was all too willing to wait patiently as he counted out the number of guards patrolling near him, listening to the footsteps as he tracked his path to freedom.


    Burning through his Mana in a swell of focus, Zach extended his own shadow as it swiftly connected to what little shadows remained in the garden. Each connection cost him more and more Mana, but as his shadow reached the manor¡¯s walls, Zach grinned as he tossed one of his many daggers straight up.


    As attentive as they were, the nearest guards quickly noticed the motion of the weapon and converged on the source, only to find a small shadow under a tree. Distracted as they were, no one had noticed Zach¡¯s prone form blend into the ground and re-emerge within spitting distance of the courtyard wall. From there, it didn¡¯t take him long to scale the stone wall, before alighting along its length.


    Luckily, there was only one mage remaining nearby, the robed Human shining a beam of light through the garden. In truth, it would be child¡¯s play to keep on his merry way, but just the thought that some upstart prick thought he could catch him, the one and only Zacharias? He barely even noticed as he palmed one of his enchanted daggers, extending the shadowy edge of his blade as the Halfling moved towards the poor schmuck.


    One hand covered the fool¡¯s mouth, even as the other sliced through his throat like it was butter, the mage¡¯s young face flickering through surprise, fear and pain in mere moments as the lad¡¯s lifeblood poured down his throat. And it was a young lad indeed, Zach noticed as he slowly lowered him to the stone floor, careful not to make any noise. Barely old enough to grow a beard, and dead to some rogue¡¯s knife. Well, not some rogue. Only the most suave, handsome and talented one in the whole of Dray¡¯Mel.


    For a beat, Zach imagined what it would be like to be someone who gave a damn, before he rifled through the unlucky brats pockets. Wasn¡¯t his fault the boy had gotten in his way, after all, and as Zach pulled loose a belt of rope,  he just thanked his stars that it was a boy indeed.


    A more experienced mage would have had some kind of defensive magic in place, and probably mucked the whole thing up. Still, luck was its own kind of skill, Zach reminded himself as he tied a rope around the boy¡¯s waist, and pressed him up against the stone wall. So he could hardly be to blame that the boy got unlucky, and he had Lady Fortune¡¯s taste on his handsome lips.


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    Rappelling down the length of the wall, careful not to drag the mage¡¯s body overboard, Zach landed with nary a thump, before strutting down the street. Blessed once more, it seemed most of the gawkers that such a commotion inevitably attracted were focused on the main gate, leaving his trip down to the Slums completely unguarded.


    It was nearly a shame being this talented, Zach mused to himself as he watched the buildings shift from sprawling mansions to disheveled hovels. But now that he was back in his element, things would be looking up for dear old Zach¡­


    Unfortunately for the cocky murderer, Zach turned a corner and ran smack dab into a group of thugs, each sporting the old and very recognizable symbol of being part of the late Sykes gang.


    Sadly luck was a fickle bitch at best.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------


    Zacharias let out a groan as he was roughly shoved into a chair, his head covered in a black bag. The prick¡¯s who¡¯d nabbed him had been all too happy to direct their blows to his dome, and the concerning amount of dizziness he was experiencing was not something he¡¯d recommend.


    Still, the Halfling was pleasantly surprised he was still alive. Though the last time he¡¯d been captured like this, he¡¯d needed Winifred to bail him out.


    But he couldn¡¯t get lost in thoughts like that. He needed his focus. Not that these guys were really much compared to Sykes. The old bastard hadn¡¯t been known for picking intelligent thugs. There¡¯d be no need for an overpowered pit fighter this time. Zach was certain it would only be a matter of time before he made his second escape of the evening.


    Of course, so as long as he was breathing, he had options. So the thief fixed a grin on his face and waited for the burlap sack to be pulled off his head.


    Blinking away a sudden burst of light, Zach was quick to take in his new location. He was currently sitting in the center of a large room, surrounded on all sides by familiar looking faces, old friends of his from his days working for Sykes. The room itself was familiar as well, beer stains etched in deep to dusty countertops, and a couple of dangerous looking gamblers were betting on a dice game in the corner.


    ¡°By the Gods Above, did you blindfold me just to bring me to The Tipsy Boar, you muppets? I already know the damn place, you fucking numptys, I was here barely four months ago.¡± Zacharias half-groaned, half-laughed as he took in the mooks staring daggers at him. ¡°Really guys, you¡¯re making us all look like amateurs here, you only bag someone when you-¡±


    Interrupted by a blow across his face, Zach reeled back in his chair and fixed his spinning vision on the smug smile his attacker wore across his dwarven mug. ¡°Always so smug, always so clever, eh Zach? Sykes may have let you run your mouth, but when you¡¯re dealing with me, you¡¯d be wise to shut yer ugly fat gob.¡± The brown-bearded dwarf practically crowed, preening in front of his captive.


    ¡°Oh, Tiamat be damned, you lot put Finch in charge?¡± The Halfling coughed out as he spat a glob of blood to the side. ¡°The bloody toady? Sykes¡¯ personal ball-tugger?¡± Zach barely choked out before a swift blow to his stomach left him momentarily breathless.


    ¡°It¡¯s Butch actually, and of course I¡¯m in charge. I was the one who managed the Dragon¡¯s Blood, not Sykes. It was easy enough to put these lots in their place, when they realized who held the purse strings.¡± Butch finished glibly, pulling a chair up beside his prone prisoners form. ¡°And while I appreciate the promotion, it would be remiss of me not to punish you for our dearly departed leader¡¯s death.¡±


    Gasping for air, Zach surreptitiously tested the rope holding his wrists behind his back. ¡°Sykes was a madman, and the lot of you should be thanking me. The Tomb-Makers had an eye on him, and they were likely about to take you all out. So you¡¯re all fucking welcome.¡±


    ¡°Be that as it may, that¡¯s not actually why we kept you alive Zach.¡± Butch grinned, leaning over his captive. ¡°No, we have it on good authority that you¡¯ve been getting deep in the cups and bragging about your supply of Dragon¡¯s Blood. You were always Sykes number one seller, after all, so you must have quite a bit of it stashed away.¡±


    Staring at the toady before him, Zach let out a small chuckle, that become a bellyful of laughter as Butch¡¯s grin slipped off his face. ¡°Gods be damned. You¡¯re running out aren¡¯t you? Did Sykes really take the recipe with him to the grave? I bet you¡¯ve got quite a few people pressuring you for their next fix, much less the Nobles expecting their share of the loot.¡±


    Ignoring the blow that came across his face, Zacharias let his head loll to the side as he looked over the crowd of angry looking thugs surrounding him. ¡°None of you give a single copper of fucks about Sykes, you all just want to make some goddamn coin, isn¡¯t that right?¡±


    Straightening up, Zach lifted his unbound hands up in the air before reaching out to Butch in a pantomime of a handshake. ¡°And I¡¯ve got a deal of a lifetime to make with you all. How about I tell you where the Dragon¡¯s Blood is, -and- how to make more. That¡¯s got to be worth my life and then some?¡±


    Blustering in rage, Butch¡¯s beard began to bristle in anger as he stared at the Halfling¡¯s offered hand. But the toady could hear his men grunting their agreement, so he stiffly grabbed Zach¡¯s palm and went to give it a quick shake.


    When their palms crossed however, Zach reached forward and grabbed Butch¡¯s forearm and pulled him off-balance as he leaned in and whispered into his ear. ¡°I never liked you, Bitch, and I¡¯ll be damned before I shove my nose up your ass.¡±


    Before the Dwarf could pull away, Zach pulled a sliver of his Mana from his Core and injected it into his newfound artifact, the ring he¡¯d rightfully acquired from the Count¡¯s corpse. Electricity danced along his arm and up Butch¡¯s limb as the ill-fated dwarf began to howl in pain.


    Flesh bubbling and blistering, it wasn¡¯t long before the toady¡¯s entire body slumped to the floor, bits of a steam wafting off his cooked corpse as Zach contemptiously dropped the disfigured arm before he turned a cheeky grin to the men surrounding him.


    ¡°But don¡¯t you worry lads, the Dragon¡¯s Blood will still flow. Now who wants to make some fucking coin?¡±

 Chapter Sixty Five - The Tribute

    ¡°Where¡¯s Zach?¡± Skrakch demanded as he burst into Winifred¡¯s apartment the next morning, Meek following close behind.


    ¡°Gods Above knows,¡± Winifred replied mildly. She didn¡¯t look up from the pot of tea that she was currently brewing. ¡°The wee man was acting a bit weird last night, don''t ye think?¡±


    ¡°My point exactly,¡± Skrakch replied. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you haven¡¯t heard the news this morning?¡± He added. Winifred shook her head. ¡°The Count was found murdered in his bed,¡± the Ratling continued grimly. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you know anything about that?¡±


    ¡°What are ye trying to imply Rat?¡± Winifred asked, facing him. She narrowed her eyes. ¡°Ye think I¡¯d be willin¡¯ to jeopardize our plan like that?¡±


    ¡°Well, we all know someone who would be stupid enough to do it,¡± Skrakch replied. ¡°And don¡¯t you think it¡¯s a bit funny that he¡¯s done a disappearing act this morning?¡± He shook his head in disbelief. ¡°Zach¡¯s really done a number on us. There¡¯s no way Kuosh is going to be able to offload the Ruby! Not when there¡¯s been a murder. Kuosh is a good friend but if there¡¯s a chance he¡¯s going to be sent to The Butchery for murder, he won¡¯t hesitate to lead it back to us and I don¡¯t blame him.¡±


    Winifred let out a curse. It had just been a stupid prank to get Zacharias back for goading her all night. She¡¯d made the fake room service call, knowing that Zacharias would go up there thinking that she needed some kind of backup. It would¡¯ve been a laugh to hear how he¡¯d dealt with the sloppy drunken Count. But this...well¡­she sure as shite hadn¡¯t expected it.


    ¡°Aye well,¡± She replied. ¡°So long as it doesn¡¯t link back to us, it¡¯s no skin off my back.¡± She shrugged casually, hoping not to betray the worry she was beginning to feel.


    ¡°He¡¯s a loose cannon Winnie,¡± Skrakch warned. ¡°Ever since that whole thing with Sykes. And I don¡¯t like it.¡± Skrakch folded his arms across his chest, as his tail whipped viciously side to side..


    ¡°I reckon you¡¯re makin¡¯ a mountain out of a molehill,¡± Winifred continued. ¡°Why don¡¯t ye save your accusations until we know the full story? The Count had any number of weapons in that room of his. If Zacharias did off him and I¡¯m not sayin¡¯ he did, it would¡¯ve been out of self-defense. But let¡¯s face it, anyone in that place could¡¯ve been after The Count since he won the Ruby and all.¡±


    ¡°Meek think that too,¡± Meek piped up. The diminutive Goblin had hauled himself up onto Winifred¡¯s table, and was idly playing with her salt shaker. ¡°If bad man attack Angry Man, then Angry Man have to kill or die.¡± He added with a sage nod.


    ¡°The plan was always to lay low after the auction anyways,¡± Winifred shrugged, pleased at the unexpected backup on her point. ¡°If anything, this is gonna take the heat off the fact that the Artifact¡¯s gone. Give it a few weeks, there¡¯s gonna be the next big news and nobody¡¯s going to care,¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, because rich nobles die all the time,¡± Skrakch said acidly. He wasn¡¯t convinced but, he thought to himself, it didn¡¯t seem that Winifred or even Meek were willing to agree with his Zach theory. His trust in the Halfling had always been shaky but he was certain that he was right about him.


    Still, it wouldn¡¯t do to keep rocking the boat. If they were going to offload the Ruby eventually, they¡¯d need to work together. Plus, Skrakch needed to keep on Winifred¡¯s good side if he was going to glean some information from her about becoming a Chosen.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Skrakch said eventually, basically biting off the end of the word. ¡°I¡¯m going to see Kuosh about some breakfast and then I¡¯ve got some things to do anyway. We¡¯ll keep the Ruby stored here. You out of all of us will be the best person to protect it,¡± He didn¡¯t add ¡®from any further fuck ups¡¯ but he was mightily tempted to.


    <hr>


    Pulling himself up out of Winifred¡¯s below-ground residence, Skrakch took a moment to take stock of what was around him. While it didn¡¯t appear that he and Meek had been followed, it never hurt to keep an eye open.


    Not that anyone would be following him, he admitted to himself with a hint of bitterness. The biggest heist of his life and all he¡¯d done was sit in a pile of hay while Winifred and Zacharias got to do all the heavy lifting. As nice as the eventual payday was going to be, it was little to ease the frustration of a missed opportunity of becoming Chosen.


    In fact, he¡¯d probably done about as much as Ornn had, which was a big fat nothing. The giant stone Golem was currently sitting in a small nook of the alleyway. He loomed over the grumbling Ratling just like the pile of boulders always did, looking none the worse for wear with his new arms and chest plate. Still, Skrakch mused, he¡¯d gotten so used to the stone behemoth that he rarely paid the thing any mind.


    So preoccupied with his thoughts, the Ratling didn¡¯t even notice as Meekknuckle rolled out of the ground beneath him. Covered in filth and bits of hay, the Goblin happily got Skrakch¡¯s attention by smacking his lips loudly.


    Turning an irritated eye behind him, Skrakch let out a deep sigh.


    ¡°Good job today Meek, I know you don¡¯t have much of an understanding of gold, but I¡¯ll make sure that you get a barrel of damned cheese once we get paid.¡±


    ¡°Meek like that,¡± Meekknuckle exclaimed. He did a little leap in the air and clicked his heels together. ¡°Happy to help friend anytime. Meek most useful Goblin in village!¡± The scrappy creature grinned and puffed out his chest. ¡°Meek very hungry now, maybe Meek come with Rat to get food?¡±


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    Skrakch let out another sigh. He didn¡¯t suppose it would hurt. He began to lead the way to Kuosh¡¯s food stall. Meek and Ornn fell into step behind him. They were an odd threesome as they walked through the cluttered streets. Skrakch dodged the piles of trash with ease and neatly side-stepped puddles of various dodgy-looking liquids. Ornn walked through it all with impunity as did Meek who, as Skrakch knew, was used to that sort of filth.


    As they walked along, Skrakch was careful to keep an eye on all the dark corners of the various alleyways they passed. The Slums weren¡¯t exactly known for being safe but the side alleys? They were something else entirely. The last thing he needed was to be smashed over the head by some over-eager thief. He¡¯d learned that the hard way when he¡¯d first arrived. Hopefully, Ornn¡¯s menacing presence would be enough to keep any would-be mugger at bay.


    ¡°So Meek,¡± Skrakch said with as much interest as he could feign. ¡°What¡¯s next for you?¡± Every so often, he had to remind himself to try and converse with the Goblin. After all, the little creature had saved their hides. ¡°The rest of us will be laying low for a while until the heat around the job cools off. We shouldn¡¯t need you or Ornn. Gods Below, I¡¯m not sure what I¡¯ll be doing myself,¡± He added. He paused to think for a moment. ¡°Maybe I should take a trip to the library. It¡¯s been a while, I always say, you can¡¯t do too much research on the Chosen¡­¡± He mused, more to himself than Meek.


    ¡°Rat feeling OK?¡± Meek asked with a frown. He titled his head to the side. ¡°Rat forget what happen tomorrow? Father need all Goblins for Tribute. He ask Meek to bring you too. Why else you think Meek stay in City after job?¡±


    ¡°Hells!¡± The Ratling cursed emphatically. ¡°You damnable wretch, you didn¡¯t tell me that!¡± He growled at the Goblin, his fur beginning to stand on end. ¡°There¡¯s no way in Nine Hells I¡¯m going down there. Master¡¯s always dealt with the Tribute on his own. Why would he need my help this time?¡±


    ¡°Because other Rat say you need be there,¡± Meekknuckle shrugged. ¡°Maybe Meek forget to tell you about that. Is Ok. You come down anyways. Or Father come find you,¡± He nodded as though that settled the matter. ¡°Now where this food? Me hungry!¡±


    ¡°Hold on a second,¡± Skrakch grabbed hold of Meek¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Other Rat? Which other Ratling is this?¡±


    ¡°Father didn¡¯t say,¡± Meek shrugged. ¡°He just say other Rat say you need to be there,¡± Meek lifted up his head and took a deep inhale. ¡°Me smell something good!¡±


    As Meekknuckle suddenly marched off in the direction his nose was leading him, Skrakch was left to ponder what the diminutive Goblin had just said. He was well-versed with the Goblin Tribute and the various rituals that accompanied it, but never before had there been a mention of another "Rat" joining in with the ¡®festivities¡¯.


    What did it mean? Skrakch suddenly felt torn. A part of him wanted to shrug the whole thing off, his gut telling him that he was a lot better off staying out of the whole thing. But his curious side was piqued. There was a horrible sinking feeling deep inside of him that he couldn¡¯t quite put his paw on. It wouldn¡¯t just be any Iskrin involved in Blazock¡¯s Tribute¡­what would be the point in that? No. It would be an Iskrin of power and importance. And that meant¡­


    Scratch shuddered. It really wasn¡¯t worth thinking about.


    Rounding the corner, Skrakch felt relieved to see Kuosh¡¯s familiar food stall. Meek was already jumping about in one of the seats, eagerly leaning forward to try and see what the Grif was cooking up. Ornn was by his side, watching over the stall like a mindless bouncer.


    Skrakch miserably slid onto one of the wooden seats. His nostrils were filled with delicious exotic flavors but he couldn¡¯t get excited about them.


    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ll have a full day tomorrow!¡± Kuosh said cheerfully as he slide a glass of water over to him. ¡°This little one here was talking about some tribute you have to go to.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. It¡¯ll be a barrel of laughs,¡± Skrakch replied sarcastically with a sigh. Kuosh raised an eyebrow before pouring out a bowlful of stew and putting it down alongside the crusty end of a loaf in front of Meek. The Goblin dove in immediately, ravaging the bread as though he hadn¡¯t eaten for a month. Skrakch wrinkled his nose at the disgusting slurping and chewing sounds the creature made as he devoured his meal.


    Kuosh took another dish off the heat and wiped his massive hands on a stained piece of cloth before slinging it over his shoulder and leaning against the counter.


    ¡°Something tells me this isn¡¯t some kind of party,¡± He said with the manner of a bartender who was willing to listen to a patron¡¯s tale of woe. It would¡¯ve made Skrakch smile had it not been for his depressing thoughts.


    ¡°Definitely not,¡± He replied darkly. ¡°The Tribute is part of an old agreement between the remnants of the Dray¡¯Mel Goblin tribe and the denizens of The Depths,¡± He let out an involuntary shudder at the mention.


    Just thinking about The Depths was enough to push his anxiety and fear into overdrive. Flashes of his early years skittered around his mind like venomous spiders, threatening to infect his brain.


    While the Sewers directly below the city were home to the Goblins, it was the Depths below them where the Iskrin dwelled. Very few of the living creatures in Dray¡¯Mel had any real knowledge of the Iskrin race other than seeing them as mere servants or vermin. The creatures liked it that way, preferring to have as little contact with the people of Dray¡¯Mel as possible.


    ¡°I remember you tellin'' me about that,¡± Kuosh said with a nod. ¡°Something about reparations?¡± The Griff asked.


    ¡°Yep, the Tribute is the Goblin way of paying them back¡­ only the Iskrin never come to the Sewers¡­ they just know Blazock will get it done. And yet now I find out they want me there,¡± Skrakch replied miserably. ¡°That another Iskrin wants me there.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Kuosh hummed as he took the news in. ¡°And you¡¯re going?¡¯


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any choice,¡± Skrakch shrugged. He nodded in the direction of Meekknuckle who was, by now, covered with stew and breadcrumbs. ¡°His Father will make sure of that,¡±


    Normally Skrakch was perfectly happy to be left in the dark so far as the Tribute was concerned. He knew when it was and roughly what happened but that was all the involvement he¡¯d ever needed. He was more than happy to pretend he had nothing to do with the others of his kind. Hells, just the sight of another Ratling was enough to put him on edge. But actually having to interact with them? After all this time?


    The morose Ratling stared into his clear glass of water, barely noticing as Meek happily accepted a second bowl of stew from the hulking Griff. He was lost in his own thoughts, remembering a long-ago nightmare that he used to have.


    Of a pair of malevolent red orbs blazing menacingly in the darkness¡­

 Interlude - Blossoming Friendship

    Confusion. Rage. Hunger.


    Wraiths felt very few emotions beyond the negatives. The Undead Ghosts were little more than echoes of their past lives. Shadows of what had been. Swirling above the city, they loom on high, waiting to harvest the souls of the dying. Hundreds of them blend in with the darkened sky, wailing in perpetual torment. It¡¯s a discordant melody and, once it falls upon the ears of the Dray¡¯Mel citizens, it strikes fear into their hearts.


    And yet, a distant call rings out, a subtle noise that ebbs and wanes before piercing into the pack of Undead. Without any hesitation, a lone Wraith swoops down and is pulled away from the rest. The simple-minded creature fails to notice that the others don¡¯t react, leaving it to plunge down into Dray¡¯Mel alone. It quickly makes its way to the source of the call, phasing through stone and brick, before bursting into a large open room.


    The single-minded Undead naturally failed to notice the arcane glyphs surrounding the walls, nor did it notice the humans funneling their Mana into the strange objects littered amongst the room. No, the only thing it had eyes for was the massive Core calling out to it.


    If it could see the Core, it would see a bastardized version of a human heart. Its veins and ventricles were made from rare ores, the likes of which most miners only dreamed of discovering when chipping deep into the land. Instead of blood, it was magical energy that pumped through the hollowed tunnels. And, like the human organ it had been built to resemble, it pumped this power through at a rhythm that was slowly beginning to build to a crescendo.


    Following its base instincts, the Wraith blindly lurched forward, flowing into the Core, feeling its essence bleed outwards, merging with the Core in a way that it couldn¡¯t comprehend. It never questioned its actions, working on a naturalistic urge that, if it spoke, it wouldn¡¯t be able to explain.


    As it intertwined with the Core, its fearsome loathing and hunger meet unending patience and acceptance. Mingling with one another, the Core began to crackle with Mana before the runes along the wall lit up and rendered the Core inert. What little remained of the Wraith was lost to wander in unending fog, the dim-witted creature unable to come to terms with its murky fate.


    After an unknowable amount of time, however, the Wraith felt a jolt of Mana course through it like lightning, jolting it awake. Straining against the Core, the once-Wraith slowly realized it could feel its body, a solid, corporeal body, for the first time in as long as it could remember. Shifting its arms felt like an exceptional effort as the creature blindly reached out, desperate to move, to flee, to live once more.  Its sense of touch, lost upon becoming Undead, returned to it as it clenched its fingers around something¡­ solid.


    Squeezing with all its might, the Undead ghost felt a new bodily sense ringing out, the coarse sensation of rubble crushing beneath its palms. Its vision slowly returned, but its eyesight had changed¡­ almost as though it had suddenly grown dim and faded as if it was seeing the world through a filter of grey wool.


    Casting its vision carefully back and forth, the Wraith-turned-corporeal immediately notes rows and rows of rock-like constructs, standing in single file and staring into nothing. The only Golem of note, however, lies before the Undead, its rocky body torn asunder by the Corporeal Wraith''s new hands.


    Looking down at its own body, the reborn Wraith realizes the same worn stone that of the surrounding Golem¡¯s bodies constitutes its newfound flesh as well. Opening its mouth to scream, no sound escapes, its vocal cords unbudging even as it pours all its focus into crying out.


    The Wraith staggered to the side as feelings of rage and impotence began to overwhelm it. Pressing into another Golem, the Corporeal Wraith acted on instinct as it lashed out around itself, blows raining down on the silent constructs surrounding it. Each blow bursts the lifeless Golems asunder, tiny shrapnel flying around the room, causing a cascade of violence and destruction.


    Standing amidst the rubble of its now-deceased foes, the Wraith-Golem finally regained its temper. Each thought it managed to push forward seemed to be more difficult than the last, the Undead beast barely able to control itself. Thankfully, a cursory look around the rather large room it was currently stuck in, revealed a door to potential freedom. Slow lumbering steps brought it closer, but right as the sentient Golem reached the door, it was suddenly wrenched open by a small Human screaming bloody murder as it stepped into the room.


    Both the rather sharply dressed man and the hulking behemoth of stone stood momentarily frozen as they locked eyes. But as the man staggered backwards in startled fear, the Wraith-Golem moved on instinct, charging forward towards this new threat.


    Lunging to the side, the terrified man barely bodily tossed himself out the way, just in time to watch as the Golem smashed its way past him and through the wall behind him, the warehouse around him shuddering...


    Freed from its apparent imprisonment and understandably disoriented, the Sentient Golem stood in a pile of rubble as it stared around itself. An overwhelming sight greeted it, bright lights and crowded buildings looked over it. Much more attention-grabbing, however, were the dozens of confused and surprised pedestrians who simply locked eyes with the rampaging Golem for a long moment.


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    As with all things, the moment passed, and with bloodcurdling screams of fear, the citizens began sprinting for cover, most simply dropping whatever they¡¯d been holding, quite rightly valuing their lives more than their meager possessions.


    It didn¡¯t take more than a few minutes for the street to clear, leaving the Golem alone as it tried to understand its new surroundings. Lumbering forward, its roaming eyes sweep past an ornate fountain and a few boutiques before landing on the front of the building it has just escaped. Lined up nicely on the windowsill stood two Golems, their vacant expressions a mirror to its own.


    Lifting its thick stone hands, the once-Wraith felt its own sturdy rock-hard face as it confirmed its suspicions. The same granite scowl was chiseled onto its own countenance, the rocky hide making up the Golem¡¯s body a mirror to its own. The sole difference seemed to be that the other Golems remained inert, staring blankly off into the horizon. Taking a tentative step towards them, the self-aware newborn Golem felt an urge to question its stony brothers¡­ but was distracted by a sudden blossom of pain erupting from its back.


    Twisting towards its unseen foe, the ten feet tall Golem turned to find an equally large Skeletal Guard bringing its massive sword to bear against him. Adorned in blackened plate armor emblazoned with fiery glyphs, the flesh-stripped skull of the Skeleton remained focused on its target as it brought its Greatsword to bear. It¡¯s unnerving empty eye sockets glowed with intent, and the hulking metal blade came crashing down against the Golem¡¯s form, scraping a deep wound into the Golem¡¯s chest.


    Stumbling backward from the pain, the Golem-Wraith took one long look at its new adversary... and promptly fled blindly. Off-balance and blindsided by another blow that carved deep into its side, the Golem tripped on the stone lip of the rather fancy fountain. Landing directly on its front with a mighty splash, it felt the marble fountain floor give way as it burst downwards in a shower of rubble and water to the open sewer below.


    Disoriented as it was, the Golem struggled to right itself, causing more and more damage to its new environment. Finally lurching to its feet, it barely noted the damp hallways and assorted pipework running through the walls. No, it simply chose to stumble forward, the water pressure from above nudging him in a random direction that was as good as any. With each trembling step the Golem took, it began to get a feel for its new ungainly body, each step becoming more coordinated than the last.


    Before long the Golem was sprinting down winding paths, barely noticing the occasional sewer denizen, most simply being run over by the massive boulder of a Golem, and the occasional unlucky creature being run -through- instead. After what felt like a safe amount of time, the Golem found itself staggering to a halt as it entered a larger cavern, the dank smell of fetid water finally registering itself to it.


    Rusty pipes protruded from the walls in a variety of shapes and sizes, each discharging thick black goop that pooled into a foul river of sorts. Taking a moment to recuperate itself, the Golem was surprised to realize it wasn¡¯t alone in the cavern. Frozen in its spot in the midst of the foul water, what appeared to be a rather small humanoid stared up at it in shock.


    In fact, the small green creature locked eyes with the Golem, both of them fearing the other, one for good reason. From the looks of it, the green humanoid had been caught in the act of rolling in the sewage water, black tar dripping from its scrawny frame. Careful not to make any sudden movements, the green beast slowly began to back away as it realized the Golem appeared to be frozen in fear.


    Though this new threat was barely able to reach its knees, the Golem had thus far felt attacked by each other creature it had seen. After all, its inert brothers were clearly asking for a beating. Still, as the diminutive green beast retreated a safe distance away, the Golem began to relax, leaning its firm stone back against the wall to the sound of scraping rocks.


    Safely reaching an exit to the cavern, the green beast ducked around the corner. Still, it was only a few minutes later that the Goblin poked its head back into the cavern, a curious look twisting its facial muscles. Slowly inching back into the room, the Goblin once more began to play in the black waters, as if daring the Golem to attack with its very presence.


    Watching with interest, the Golem felt an urge to test the water as well. Why was this black sludge worth this green foe¡¯s attention? Reaching down with its thick fingers, it scooped the sludge up and watched as it dribbled downwards, reabsorbing into the waste around its craggy feet.


    It wasn''t long before the Golem began to happily throw the goop around, splashing the dark liquid everywhere. While the foul smell increased, it felt it was well worth the price as it began truly tossing the goop everywhere, dragging its arms through the mud and causing large waves of fetid water to splash against the cavern walls. It was only after a few minutes of excitement that it realized the green beast had begun to do the same and even going so far as to toss the goop at the Golem himself.


    Fear forgotten in favor of this new exciting sense of adventure, the Golem had no intention of being outdone. Scooping heaps of heavy sludge towards the green beast, the Golem quickly tossed enough goop to completely coat the goblin in multiple layers of filth. Still, the beast seemed amused, and before the Golem realized it, the creature was beside him, grinning happily as it played in the muck, tossing it against the Golem¡¯s sneering face.


    Torn between the sudden flash of fear that demanded the Golem flee from the tiny creature and the urge to continue playing with the first thing it had found that didn¡¯t seem afraid or angry of it, the Golem chose to continue playing with the sludge and in turn, the green beast.


    Sadly it wasn¡¯t long after that decision that the Golem and the Goblin heard a racket of noise coming down the tunnels. Its head peeking up, the Goblin was quick to prepare to flee, before pausing. Tapping on the Golem¡¯s arm, the beast began speaking in a foreign language before beginning to head deeper into the sewers.


    It was aware of some of the words¡­ run¡­ quick¡­it knew those from before. The Goblin was making another noise, over and over again. It sounded like¡­a name? Ornn?


    Ornn.


    Stopping a few steps away, the drenched Goblin turned to Ornn and beckoned it onwards. Heeding the approaching racket, Ornn did the only sensible thing. Following the one thing that hadn¡¯t shown him any aggression, the Golem happily chased after the yellowish-green Goblin into the heart of the sewers, its heavy footsteps resounding through the tight corridors.

 Chapter Sixty Six - Coming Over All Mushy

    It was disconcerting how stepping into the Sewers did nothing to quell Meekknuckle¡¯s appetite. Despite three helpings of Kuosh¡¯s hearty stew, the diminutive Goblin still didn¡¯t seem to be satiated as he continued to gnaw on the crusty end of a loaf. Just the smell of the Sewers alone was enough to put Skrakch off even the idea of eating for a good few hours.


    Still, he supposed the little creature was used to it. The Ratling followed Meek as he led the way through the damp and gloomy tunnels. Not for the first time in his short life, Skrakch was glad to have been blessed with good enough dark vision that meant they didn¡¯t require torchlight. Gods Below knew what sort of attention they would attract at this time of night. Ornn followed behind the two of them, blindly keeping pace and unerringly following his Goblin master.


    This protection did little to ease Skrakch¡¯s mind. It was on Meek¡¯s insistence that the Ratling joined him. Skrakch certainly wasn¡¯t in a rush to visit the Goblin village, not since the mention of this other Iskrin.


    At least navigating the familiar twists and turns of the Dray¡¯Mel sewer system was simple enough. Skrakch glanced at the easily recognizable Goblin markings etched into the brickwork. A guide in case any of their kind lost their way. Most people, himself included, were quick to pass off Goblins as one of the stupider races but there was something to be said for them creating their own secret language that would lead the friends home whilst making sure any foe was kept at bay.


    Speaking of friends. It was a bit odd that there were no other Goblins traipsing and traversing the tunnels. Usually, on the way to the village, or Kbaxg as Meek called it, they¡¯d see a couple of other Goblins along the way.


    ¡°I suppose most of your kind is preparing for the Tribute,¡± Skrakch said, his voice a sudden echo off the walls of the desolate tunnel. It wasn¡¯t like he really wanted to engage Meek in conversation. It was usually a fruitless and frankly annoying experience, but he was desperate to take his mind off whatever would be meeting him in the village. ¡°I¡¯m surprised your father was willing to let you leave to help out with the Casey Auction heist.¡±


    ¡°Meek sent to find you,¡± Meekknuckle replied. He was jumping between the fallen bricks that jutted out of the fetid water. ¡°Meek just say he have trouble. Father no question. Too busy,¡± The Goblin explained. He paused by a cracked pipe and scraped some of the black goo off that edge of it. He fiddled with it, grinning to himself when it webbed between his gnarled fingers. ¡°It better to not be near village when Tribute coming,¡± He continued. ¡°Less chance of being one of taken.¡±


    Skrakch nodded. He¡¯d researched the Tribute well. There were numerous tomes in the Dray¡¯Mel library that explained the various things involved. While the Tribute could be many things, including precious metals or even foodstuffs, a lot of the time the ¡®Taken¡¯ part of the ceremony would be other Goblins. That was the part that Skrakch didn¡¯t really fully understand. What would the Iskin in the Depths want with Goblins? They had the Brown Iskrin if they wanted slaves.


    ¡°Me think Rats want smart and strong Goblins,¡± Meek said, as though he were reading his thoughts. ¡°That why Meek leave village for heist. Everyone know he smartest and strongest.¡±


    Skrakch let Meek witter on in the same vein while he pondered that thought. Sometimes he had to wonder if Meekknuckle was as stupid as he let on. It wasn¡¯t the first time that the Goblin had shown a tendency to be more astute than he appeared to be. It would make sense for him to hide any intellectual abilities that he had. Especially in front of Blazock.


    The trio lapsed into silence as they got closer and closer to the village. While they still had to avoid large bits of sewage and the occasional chunk of floatage, most of the tunnels leading to the village had long since been stripped of anything of even slight value.


    As they rounded the bend before their destination, Skrakch reached out to grab Meekknuckle¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Look, Meek¡­I¡¯m not the type to come over all mushy¡­but you¡¯ve done right by me and saved my whiskers a few times in the past. If you need me to do the same for you, just let me know. I can¡¯t promise anything, but I won¡¯t let Master send you off.¡± He promised solemnly.


    For the briefest of moments, Skrakch could¡¯ve sworn a look of cunning flickered across the Goblin¡¯s face as he took in the promise. However, before Skrakch was finished speaking, his expression had turned back to its usual dumb gawk.


    ¡°Meek always help Rat! We friends. Friends help friends. Scary Lady say so,¡± Meek replied with an empathic nod.


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    Unable to help but smile at that, Skrakch grinned. ¡°Yeah, she would say that. Just don¡¯t expect much from me. Or her. Rule number one of the Slums. It¡¯s everyone for themselves,¡± He sighed heavily with the air of someone on their way to an execution. ¡°Let¡¯s see what your Father expects¡­¡±


    Wandering around the bend, Skrakch was surprised to see that the usual pair of Goblins responsible for guarding the entrance to the village were joined by four more. The new quartet was wielding iron-tipped spears. Their slightly ragged tabards were emblazoned with Blazock¡¯s sigil. His personal guard, as it were. Not that they¡¯d be able to help the Goblin leader in combat, but Blazock was plenty dangerous on his own.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Skrakch said with a curt nod, flashing the medallion that allowed him entrance to the village. ¡°I believe Blazock is expecting me?¡±


    The guards looked at each other for a moment. They obviously came to the same conclusion as they nodded and parted clumsily to let Skrakch through. The Ratling stepped through the gateway, Meek hot on his heels.


    Kbaxg seemed like an entirely different village. Usually, its inhabitants could be found lazying around outside their shacks, or noisily devouring whatever tidbits they could scavenge from the tunnels. The Goblins weren¡¯t known for their proactive natures. Now, however, the villagers ran to and fro as they assembled large packages.


    One group of Goblins were standing around a larger shack, ripping apart bits of rotten wood with their bare hands, creating a massive pile of splinters. Another group was chewing up and spitting out mouthfuls and mouthfuls of Swampgrass, all of which were being collected in a large clay pot. Skrakch watched the activity with curiosity. The workers were being presided over by more of Blazock¡¯s personal guard. Occasionally, one of the workers chewing the Swampgrass would collapse. They would be dragged away and replaced immediately, their exhausted body left to spasm away from the crowds.


    Skrakch recalled reading about the nature of Swampgrass during one of his many visits to the Dray¡¯Mel library. It was a powerful weed that when ingested caused convulsions which would often result in brain damage. The Goblins were obviously preparing some kind of poultice. For what, Skrakch wasn¡¯t sure he really wanted to know.


    He headed further into the village and closer to the central tower where Blazock had made his home. It was more heavily guarded than he¡¯d ever seen it, with more of his personal guards standing outside the entrance in a somewhat haphazard formation.


    Skrakch scampered up the stairs and the guards waved him through, obviously recognizing him as important. At least that¡¯s what Skrakch told himself. It was just as likely they were slacking in their duties. You could dress them up as fancy as you liked but Goblins were still Goblins after all.


    As Skrakch opened the door to the tower, he noticed that he¡¯d somehow lost Meek and Ornn. No doubt they¡¯d decided to make themselves scarce. Considering what he knew about what was coming up, he was tempted to do the very same.


    But he needed to stay in Blazock¡¯s good graces. The aged Goblin was the only caster that he¡¯d found who was willing to share his magic with someone like him. Thus, it was this rarity value that made Skrakch continue to walk onwards, trying to expel the confidence that he didn¡¯t feel.


    He stepped inside the tower, becoming almost overwhelmed by the sudden blast of heat that hit him. It felt as though he were stepping directly into a fire. He felt the blood vessels in his majestic tail start to expand, allowing him to control his body temperature in the sudden heat. The cause of this heat was a massive bonfire that had been lit in the middle of the room. Blazock¡¯s bed, chair, and other furniture had been moved out to allow for the towering inferno. Thick smoke unfurled from the flames and drifted upwards towards the hole in the tower¡¯s ceiling that had been designed for that purpose.


    Standing in front of this impressive fire was Blazock The Ancient Patriarch. The Chosen Goblin was fixated on the flames, ignoring the flickering embers shooting off from the roaring fire. He was dressed in a hooded emerald green robe with silver piping around the collar and at the cuffs. Emblazoned across the back of the robe was his own personal sigil. Such was the intensity of his fixation, he appeared not to notice the Ratling¡¯s appearance. Skrakch approached him gingerly and cleared his throat.


    Yet still, Blazock seemed not to notice him. Skrakch could see the reflection of the flames in his sparkling eyes, the slight smile he wore upon his old wrinkled lips. He reached out a paw to tap him on the shoulder but was quickly rebuked with a hard tap with a short wooden staff.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool Rotten One, I may be old but I¡¯m not dead,¡± Turning to face Skrakch at last, Blazock grinned, full of malevolent glee. ¡°I¡¯m glad you made it. You couldn¡¯t afford to miss this year¡¯s Tribute Rotten One. It would¡¯ve been¡­problematic.¡±


    Skrakch bowed to his Master. He surreptitiously rubbed his paw and swallowed the curses that threatened to spill from his mouth.


    ¡°Of course, I came Master,¡± He replied, his voice sickly sweet. ¡°I set out as soon as I heard you needed me. Although may I ask why I was requested in the village for the Tribute?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Blazock smiled, showing off his yellowed jagged teeth. It was a predatory smile and did nothing to put the Ratling¡¯s mind at ease. He knew alright. But he¡¯d hoped that it was for some reason¡­any other reason actually. Yet all of that hope was dashed by the old Goblin¡¯s next words.


    ¡°The Iskrin want to make off with you, of course. They¡¯re hungry for their pound of flesh¡­¡±

 Chapter Sixty Seven - A Pound Of Flesh

    ¡°You see, you¡¯ve gone and got yourself noticed Rotten One,¡± Blazock continued to explain. The ancient Goblin dug into the pockets of his robe and pulled out a handle of silvery powder which he tossed haphazardly into the flames, ignoring the hungry burst of flames. ¡°Did you naively think that the Iskrin had no eyes within the City? Did you think yourself safe huddled up in your Slums? I told you, your obsession would be your end.¡±


    ¡°You say that like there was ever a choice Master,¡± Skrakch replied, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. ¡°You¡¯re the one who told me that becoming a Chosen was my only shot at living to a proper age. How am I supposed to be delicate and discreet when time is against me?¡± He practically hissed the words, feeling his furcoat start to puff up with irritation. ¡°What do the Iskrin even want with me? Why in the Gods Below do the Albinos even give a damn?¡±


    The old Goblin stared at Skrakch in disbelief for a moment. He shook his head and started to cackle to himself, his mirth rumbling out of his withered frame.


    ¡°What do the rulers of a massive Empire want with the sole runaway slave?¡± Blazock chortled. ¡°Use your brain as you are so fond of doing!¡± He continued dismissively as he wiped his eyes.


    Skrakch sighed to himself deeply. It was clear that he wasn¡¯t going to get any solid answer from Blazock. The ancient Goblin appeared to be reveling in the mystery of the enigmatic situation.


    The Ratling prided himself on his great knowledge of the ins and out of Dray¡¯Mel but, when it came to the Iskrin, he¡¯d never bothered to learn much. They were his brethren, the reason that he¡¯d been given life but, beyond that, they just weren¡¯t relevant to him. The likelihood of some hoity-toity indoctrinated Albino Iskrin being the key to him becoming Chosen was slim to none. Why waste the precious little time he had left on this mortal coil researching something that was of so little consequence?


    Yet now, it appeared that he was going to pay the price for his ignorance. The only comfort that he had was that he was pretty certain that Blazock had no intention of just handing him over to the Iskrin. The old Goblin wasn''t exactly dependable but he¡¯d spent months grooming Skrakch and sharing his magic. It¡¯d be in his best interests to keep him safe¡­right?


    ¡°Listen here Rotten One,¡± Blazock demanded, his staff once again swiping at Skrakch''s paw. ¡°There¡¯s no sense in getting worked up. The Tribute will be starting in about seven hours. Take this time to sleep, rest, and recuperate. Then you are to come with me and bring that oaf Meekknuckle with you. I¡¯ll handle the vermin, you just sit pretty. And remember, as always, that you owe me,¡± Blazock flashed his dagger-like teeth before waving Skrakch away.


    Skrakch didn¡¯t hesitate to scamper off at first, though he did pause to take a look over his shoulder. His Master was back to staring into the fire, a pensive expression on his ancient features. As Skrakch exited the building and once again took in the sights of the village preparations, he had to try and bury the urge to flee from the Sewers completely.


    It wasn¡¯t like the Goblins could stop him, the little voice inside his head nagged incessantly. The dumb creatures who were supposed to be guards could barely find their noses on their faces, let alone track down an accomplished rogue like him. He could easily slip out and avoid this whole ¡®Tribute¡¯ nonsense.


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    But, the sensible part of his brain reasoned, he wouldn¡¯t get away with the escape for long. Blazock knew him too well, knew his hideouts within the City. It would surely be a matter of when, not if, he was discovered. And then what? Skrakch shuddered to think. There was no way he could simply run away and avoid this. He was going to have to put his trust in his Master and face it like the Ratling he was.


    It wasn¡¯t long before he¡¯d reached Meekknuckle¡¯s run-down hut. As usual, Ornn was standing guard outside with his customary somber attitude. Entering the home without a sound, Skrakch was expecting to see the Goblin with a face full of cheese or perhaps sprawled out on the floor asleep. Instead, however, the little scamp was on his knees, his head bowed in what appeared to be prayer.


    Taking a moment to look over his friend. The Ratling was impressed by the sheer focus on his face. While usually Meek seemed either confused or totally gormless, the Goblin had a pious, content look on his ugly mug. As he leaned forward, Skrakch could barely make out the words coming from his parted lips.


    ¡°...me from dangers. Protect Ornn from vermin¡­Protect village from pillaging. Protect Goblins from ourselves. Protect us all Maglubiyet,¡± Meek muttered almost rhythmically. He drew a small mark across his chest with one finger before breaking a small bone in half as he finished his prayer. He tipped his head back and swallowed the two pieces.


    He got to his feet and turned around, jumping to an almost comic height when he finally realized that Skrakch was in the hut.


    ¡°Aargh! Why you sneak on Meek?¡± He asked. ¡°Scare Meek half to death!¡± He narrowed his eyes. ¡°Me get Ornn to thump you hard. Make you flat!¡±


    ¡°Maglubiyet,¡± Skrakch replied, ignoring the Goblin¡¯s idle threats. ¡°That¡¯s a Goblin God right? Or should I say, the Goblin God? I was never one for prayer but that was a good little speech there. I¡¯m surprised though Meek. How does a Goblin become a Cleric as opposed to just whacking people with a stick?¡±


    Meekknuckle looked around his threadbare home for a moment before huffing in anger.


    ¡°Meek not always strong. Not always fast. Not even that clever sometimes. Meek realize that he need help so Meek ask Maglubiyet. Now he smartest, fastest and strongest Goblin. Other than Father, Meek the best,¡± He puffed out his chest proudly.


    While that didn¡¯t really answer his question, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. It was somewhat clever of the little guy to put his faith in a higher being. Maybe it was time he should find himself a patron. He wasn¡¯t sure what the other Iskrin prayed to but he doubted that it would be the deity for him. Maybe there was some kind of god of thieves? Or rogues? He made a mental note to check the next time he found himself in the library.


    Taking off his bandolier of potions, Skrakch dropped into the warm muck that Meek had piled against one wall of his hut. The stuff made for a surprisingly comfortable sleep though he had no intention of admitting to that. The Ratling shifted around until he was in a comfortable position, curling his tail around himself.


    ¡°No touching those vials Meek,¡± Skrakch added as an afterthought.


    He smirked to himself as he closed his eyes to the sound of Meek¡¯s defensive mutterings. He tried to put all thoughts of the Iskrin and Tribute out of his mind. Gods Below he needed the rest. Maybe, if he was lucky the whole thing would go off without a hitch. Maybe the Iskrin wanted to worship him and give him all their gold for achieving heights they could only dream of...


    Surely crazier things had happened¡­

 Chapter Sixty Eight - It Begins

    Waking up to the smell of the Sewers and the feel of filth underneath him was hardly Skrakch¡¯s ideal but it was definitely somewhat nostalgic. Pulling himself upright with a yawn, the Ratling began to absentmindedly pluck bits of mulch out of his fur.


    The Ratling, satisfied his fur was back to its best, straightened his leather armor and reattached his trusty bandolier. He fluffed up his whiskers and felt ready to face the morning. Well, as ready as he could be of course. As much as it pained him to admit to himself, he¡¯d feel a lot more prepared if he had Winifred or, Hells, even Zacharias with him. As crazy as the Halfing was acting at the moment, it could be an asset in this situation.


    He watched as Meek went about what was presumably his normal morning routine. It mostly seemed to consist of the diminutive creature rolling around in a pile of mud before pulling on his ragged clothes, accidentally putting his left leg through a hole in the cloth, rather then the actual pantleg.


    Sighing to himself, Skrakch peeked through the opening flat of the hut.


    In contrast with the previous day¡¯s chaotic activity, the village seemed to have settled down. The few Goblins that Skrakch could see were scurrying from shadow to shadow, no doubt trying to make themselves scarce.


    Skrakch knew that it was pointless. In all the time that he¡¯d known Blazock, the Ratling had never seen one of his summons go unanswered. The ancient Chosen Goblin held a tight grip on the village and its inhabitants. They were treated more like livestock or servants, each one was as expendable as the last. In fact, if Meekknuckle prediction was correct, the Ancient Patriarch was more than willing to sacrifice a few of their lives in order to satisfy the Iskrin.


    There wasn¡¯t much that Skrakch could do for them though. So the Ratling tried to put that thought out of his mind as much as he could. He¡¯d been there before. The once-servant had lost count of the amount of brown Iskrin he¡¯d seen tossed by the wayside by Jace¡¯s father once they had lost their use.


    Skrakch stepped out of Meekknuckle¡¯s hut, leaving the small Goblin to continue his morning ministrations alone. Ornn, as usual, was standing guard outside the small home. The Golem hadn¡¯t moved an inch, content to simply ensure his Master was safe.


    ¡°Good morning Ornn,¡± Skrakch greeted. He knew there wouldn¡¯t be a response from the stone creature but, Gods Below, he was craving some iota of normalcy. What he wouldn¡¯t give to be waking up in the Slums right now, which was a sentence he thought would never cross his mind.


    He recalled his promise from the previous evening. Was he going to need to save Meekknuckle? The little Goblin would likely be accompanying him upon Blazock¡¯s orders but what if the old mage had designs on sacrificing his own son? Skrakch wasn¡¯t some kind of hero. Could he really risk his own neck for the hapless idiot? If push came to shove, could he really put himself in the line of fire like that?


    Either way, he''d probably be best to bring the scamp along with him, no doubt Blazock would want Meek involved. Turning to re-enter Meek''s less than stellar abode, Skrakch noticed a shadow fall over him.


    Suddenly, a massive stone hand clamped down upon his shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground. Freezing in place, he turned his head to see Ornn staring directly at him. The massive Golem locked eyes with him for a moment, his gaze unyielding as he slowly shook his scowling visage in clear denial of Skrakch''s plan.


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    ¡°So¡­that¡¯s a no to bringing Meek huh?¡± Skrakch said with a nod, too shocked to do anything but gingerly agree with Ornn. He wriggled free from the stone hand and stepped away from the entrance to the hut. ¡°That¡¯s awfully¡­thoughtful of you Ornn. I¡¯m sure our mutual friend appreciates you looking out for him yet again.¡±


    Quick steps had him distancing himself from the Giant Golem, even as his mind began to run a mile a minute. It was definitely Ornn who''d engaged him there, no sign of Meekknuckle giving him even a vague hint of an order.


    Once he¡¯d gotten a safe distance away, Skrakch did the most sensible thing that he could think of. Breaking into a full-bodied sprint away from Ornn. The Ratling had been surprised to get a response from the giant stone beast. How many times had he mocked Ornn straight to his face not realizing that it was capable of understanding him?


    Hells, how many times had he threatened Meekknuckle with some kind of harm, or even his life, while the Golem was in range and could¡¯ve so easily crushed him? He¡¯d always known that the Golem was capable was following orders but he¡¯d assumed that had been some system that Meek had worked out between them. He supposed he really needed to stop endangering the diminutive creature¡­


    So distracted by these thoughts, Skrakch barely noticed as he quickly arrived at the village¡¯s gates. He almost went headlong over a pile of wood that had been carefully packed and wrapped in some kind of leather and twine. Glancing around him, Skrakch realized that there were quite a lot of trade goods piled and parcelled up. He could see everything from more planks of wood, to various metals. There was even a barrelful of Garrolyte, a purple mushroom that was only grown in the most humid parts of the Sewers.


    As he looked over the wide variety of goods, Skrakch noticed that, for once, the village gates had been left wide open. A small stream of Goblins was making their way through it in a crocodile formation, each wielding a rusty spear and little else. Maybe one in ten of the creatures was dressed in something resembling armor but most of them were wearing the customary rags. Skrakch supposed they were meant to be assisting Blazock¡¯s personal guards for the Tribute. It was hard to take the critters seriously. They were more than likely going to end up injuring themselves more than any opponent they may have to face off against.


    Making his way through the gates, Skrakch spotted Blazock himself perched on a nearby pipe sticking out of the wall. The height gave him a perfect vantage point over the proceedings as he directed various Goblins to various tasks. The wizened mage was leaning heavily on his walking stick. Occasionally he would use it to swat one of the Goblin underlings if they didn¡¯t leap to his commands fast enough.


    As his Master spotted him, Skrakch forced himself to plaster a smile upon his face. There was no reason to give the ornery bastard cause to turn his ire against him, especially when they were heading out. Blazock beckoned him over with one twitch of a finger, the thick yellow nail looking particularly sharp. Skrakch scurried over to him at once.


    ¡°Come Rotten One. We¡¯ll be leading the way. Let my sons and daughters do all the heavy lifting. We have much more important matters to discuss,¡± Blazock floated effortlessly down from the pipe, landing on the ground lightly. ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to teach you a new Rune. Perhaps we can find the time to practice along the way,¡±


    Skrakch watched in disbelief as his Master turned away from him to berate a Goblin who¡¯d dropped its spear. As he moved into line behind the wizened Goblin, he was mightily tempted to simply knock him out and head for the hills.


    But the promise of learning a new Rune glittered before him¡­ a new spell to add to his growing arsenal¡­


    It would appear that a little risk was going to be worth the reward after all.

 Chapter Sixty Eight - You Want Me To Do What???

    The trip through the network of tunnels in the Sewers was largely uneventful but proved to be one of the nosier experiences Skrakch had experienced in recent times. The Goblins marching along behind them had, at one point, decided to sing some kind of marching song. It appeared to consist of the same two lines sung over and over in the same flat and tuneless voice. Those that weren¡¯t joining in with the ¡®song¡¯ were complaining and shouting as they hauled the massive parcels of trade goods along. The cacophony of sound was great at keeping away any beast with a modicum of sense, but it definitely made it harder to concentrate.


    Normally, Skrakch would find himself having to claw or perhaps whip a couple of the more annoying Goblins with his luscious tail. Things got pretty boring when you went so long without some thrilling combat to spice things up. Instead, however he was needing to turn his full focus on mastering his new Rune. Blazock had demonstrated it in his customary fashion, casting it on him a few times in order for his body to ¡°feel the energy¡±.


    Skrakch had always been certain that was total bullshit. He was sure the only reason the old coot did it was for his own sadistic amusement. Not that Skrakch overly minded of course. Blazock putting him through his paces might be more painful, but it was a hell of a lot cheaper than visiting Survix. And anyway, compared to having his gravity completely inverted when learning the last Rune, this most recent acquisition was positively harmless.


    He traced the Rune in the air with his left paw while slowly filling it in with his Mana. The rapidly growing spell started to shimmer a deep purple, distorting the air around it. Skrakch used his right paw to point toward some of the Goblin workers who were currently taking a rest stop from the long journey. He locked in their features deep within his mind. When the Rune was fully charged, he let the Mana run rampant, silver chains erupted from his chest and snaked towards the five chosen targets sinuously.


    A couple of them realized and tried their best to dodge the encroaching chains but they were no match for the power of Skrakch¡¯s Mana. The chains doggedly chased them down, wrapping around their bodies tightly. While Skrakch caught his breath from the exertions of his casting, he was happy to observe the effects of his new power.


    The spell didn¡¯t appear to fully restrict the Goblin¡¯s movements. Instead, the little green critters seemed to be reacting in slow motion, most of them flailing and trying to get the ethereal chains off them. More impressively though, one of them appeared to be completely still, focusing inwards. After a long moment, Skrakch felt a sense of resistance emerging from his Core.


    The fledgling caster did his best to keep his spell intact but, eventually, the resistance wore him down and overwhelmed him. The stoic Goblin managed to break free from the silver chains, resuming normal speed. He spat in Skrakch¡¯s direction, following up with a tirade of Goblin curse words before hurrying away.


    Skrakch ignored him. He needed to focus his attention on his remaining captives. He fed more Mana into the spell. The Goblin''s attempts at escaping were rendered completely futile. Eventually, though the swelling Mana costs became overbearing, forcing the Ratling to end the spell.


    Amusingly, one of the Goblins tripped and fell flat on his face as he was released from the chains, obviously thrown off by the sudden return of his normal movement speed. Grinning to himself at the sight, Skrakch looked over to his Master, hoping for a bit of praise.


    ¡°Not bad Rotten One,¡± Blazock intoned with a slight nod. ¡°Ironically, you¡¯ve taken to the Slow spell quicker than I could¡¯ve imagined. It¡¯s an Arcane Rune, not much different than your Feather Fall or Gravity Runes. Just remember to alter the Rune to accommodate different numbers of targets,¡± He continued as he paced to and fro, his walking stick clicking on the stone floor. ¡°Now, tell me why my son Quickfingers was able to break the spell so easily?¡±


    ¡°He did the smart thing and channeled his own Mana against mine,¡± Skrakch replied, glaring at the Goblin in question. Quickfingers was back in line with his brothers although he noticed that the disgusting little creature was smirking smugly. ¡°If I want to use the Rune on someone with any brains, I¡¯ll need to inscribe more Mana.¡±


    Distracted as he was, Skrakch didn¡¯t notice the walking stick until it smacked him upside the head. He supposed he should be used to Blazock¡¯s violent teaching methods by now but it still came as a shock. The old Goblin could move startlingly fast.


    ¡°Fool!¡± Blazock admonished so loudly that several Goblins turned and stared. ¡°It¡¯s not what Quickfingers did, it¡¯s that you aimed for too many targets at once. You must gauge the enemy¡¯s willpower and adjust accordingly. If your foe is wise, focus the full effect on him. And if you face mindless beasts, then you can spread the effect,¡±


    Quick to nod in response, Skrakch still eyed the muddy brown Goblin with anger in his eyes. Quickfingers had a reputation as one of the few Goblins in the village with as light of a touch as he did. It irked him that the creature had escaped so quickly. Skrakch knew there was little sense in developing a rivalry with a damned Goblin of all things, but still¡­


    ¡°Focus!¡± Blazock demanded. ¡°You¡¯ve done a good job at mastering the basics of the spells I have taught. Perhaps it¡¯s time for you to practice the next step,¡± He continued, stroking his beard in contemplation. ¡°Spells of the same strength can be combined to great effect, though it will take more of your Mana to manage it. You should practice combining your Feather Fall and your Gravity Runes,¡±


    Skrakch tried his best not to appear over eager but he was thrilled at this new prospect. From all the research that he¡¯d done on spellcasting, all the books agreed on one thing. The act of mastering a combination spell was considered to be the true starting point of a proper Mage. It was one thing to know a basic spell, but a whole other kettle of fish altogether to force together two separate effects to create glorious new magic.


    ¡°The trick is deceptively simple. All you need to do is cast the spells at the same time while firmly holding the new spells¡¯ effect in your mind. Easy enough Rotten One?¡± Blazock grinned, prodding Skrakch¡¯s chest with his bony finger. ¡°The issue is that the two spells need to be cast at exactly the same time. Failure means that you will send the Mana rebounding back inside you. Screw it up badly enough and the shock alone could kill you. The trick is to separate your focus, your very mind, into two halves. Then cast the spells individually, before melding them together and releasing the effects on your chosen foes,¡±


    ¡°Split my mind in two?¡± Skrakch asked incredulously. ¡°Is there a trick to help with that or is it something I¡¯m just supposed to practice? I can¡¯t imagine it¡¯s easy¡­¡±


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    Blazock laughed, a deep rumbling noise that caused all the nearby Goblins to flinch.


    ¡°Each caster must find their own way to manage it. Some consider it a private affair but I shall let you in on my own method Rotten One¡­¡± The Goblin stretched his hand skyward, and let out a small trail of Mana, glowing brighter and brighter by the second.


    ¡°For me, the solution was simple enough. What controls the minds of mortals? What governs our ability to control our Core?¡± Blazock reached out with his left hand, as it too began to emanate light. It was an unnatural red glow that hurt Skrakch to look upon.


    ¡°I reached deep within my Core and plucked at its very heart, the soul within. And I chiseled and smashed until it shattered,¡± Hair rustling from an unseen wind, Blazock brought his hands together, the two spells shining brightly as they seemed to fight one another until the shine abruptly faded. Opening his palms, sat a small bead, glimmering in the darkness of the sewers. ¡°I then bound my soul back together, separated yet whole.¡±


    Idly waving his hands, the small bead seemed to float lazily, before drifting back the way they¡¯d come from, any Goblin in its path scurrying out of its way. Watching it drift away, Skrakch was tempted to ask what it was, before a blinding light burst forth, and a deafening blast tossed him on his ass.


    Shielding his eyes, it took a few seconds for Skrakch to clear his vision, and look at the devastation Blazock had wrought. The Ratling expected to see rubble and debris, but instead, the path behind them had been forcefully enlargened. The walls had simply been shorn backward, gouged deeply on all sides. For a moment, Skrakch felt a tinge of disappointment, before a cry of pain grabbed his attention.


    One of the Goblins closest to the blast was still on the floor, screaming in pain. As some other Goblins rushed to help him up, the issue was readily apparent. Where the blast had touched the Goblin''s leg, the flesh had simply disappeared, the bone carved along a perfect sphere. The muscles still twitched convulsively, as blood pumped through empty veins.


    Looking back at the sewer, Skrakch realized an oddity that had escaped his notice. For all the damage the spell had done, there wasn¡¯t any sign of debris, the material seeming to have simply ceased existing. Glancing back at his Master, Skrakch met his gaze meekly.


    ¡°An example for you. Two simple spells, combined into a complex one. The effect is often more than the sum of its parts. Just know that the price will be steep. Not everyone has the aptitude to take the next step to greatness.¡± Nodding at his apprentice, Blazock started unhurriedly walking down the path once more, his Goblin children hurrying after him, whilst carrying the wounded Goblin.


    Trailing behind, Skrakch felt a thrill run through him. As impressive as the display had been, Skrakch was more focused on his own possibilities. Although he wasn¡¯t exactly sure what effects he could achieve with his own limited spell pool, it was definitely worth trying to master this new ability.


    The rest of the trek through the Sewer system was largely mundane. Skrakch became fully absorbed in practicing his new spell. It wasn¡¯t long before the warband arrived at their destination. In the center of the path, the stone floor simply fell away, a massive cliff suddenly spreading before them. Walking up to the edge gingerly, Skrakch peeked over, inhaling swiftly at the sight of a deep ravine, its depths seemingly endless.


    Even with his superior vision, he could see no end to the drop. It seemed as though the chasm lead into the very bowels of the World itself. The drop was a steep one, resembling an unending abyss.


    Skrakch reached for his bandolier and grabbed an empty potion bottle. Tossing it into the depths, he waited for the sound of the glass breaking to reach him. He waited¡­ and waited¡­


    Instead of the unmistakable sound of smashed glass, the Ratling began to hear the rhythmic beating of a drum. At a steady pace, the noise was getting louder and louder until it was all that Skrakch could hear. Jumping back from the chasm¡¯s edge, Skrakch turned to his Master. Blazock was standing nearby, a small frown starting to deepen his features.


    Skrakch scurried away, stepping behind the motley assortment of Goblins, doing his best to blend into the shadows. Some of Zacharias¡¯ magic would be great right now, he thought to himself. He¡¯d already gotten what he¡¯d wanted out of his visit and he was more than happy to stay out of the limelight.


    The drumbeat reached an ear-splitting crescendo and from his hiding spot, Skrakch was able to see the first creatures as they started to crest the chasm¡¯s edge. One long leg stretched out, a small claw digging into the stone. Then another, and another, before a large hulking beast pulled its gargantuan weight into the Sewer proper.


    Standing on six legs, the creature¡¯s massive body could¡¯ve easily weighed more than four standard humans. Yet its head was tiny, with beady eyes that looked about in a daze. It had two spiked mandibles which it clicked together rapidly. Most impressive of all, was its gleaming blue exoskeleton that covered the beetle-like critter¡¯s entire back.


    Strapped to the giant beetle¡¯s back was a rather familiar sight. Skrakch felt his stomach drop. An idiot like Zacharias would no doubt say that the rider looked exactly like him. But Skrakch knew that was far from the truth. The Brown Iskrin rider was far inferior in the looks department. Not only that but the poor bastard was crisscrossed with deep, ugly scars. He¡¯d probably been whipped since he was a Pup, Skrakch thought darkly.


    He watched as more beetles scuttled up the chasm¡¯s walls, each with a brown Iskrin riding on their backs. They fanned out with practiced movements, swiftly and efficiently directing their mounts to cover the rift¡¯s entrance.


    Skrakch had to admit that the procession was quite an imposing sight but it was surprising to see that it was the brown Iskrin that were being sent to collect the Tribute. They were mostly slaves, not warriors.


    Interrupting this train of thought, one of the Iskrin started to beat upon its drum once more. The sound echoed almost painfully in the confined area. Wincing at the sound, Skrakch froze momentarily as a large shape burst from the chasm, a beetle twice the size of the others flying through the air on rapidly beating wings. The mandibles of its brothers began to click in reverence, some even rearing back in their excitement.


    Atop this creature¡¯s glorious crimson back stood another Iskrin. Standing at least twice the height of the brown warriors, this Iskrin had blood-red eyes and a glossy white coat. While the brown Iskrin were mostly nude, the albino was garbed in red silk robes with various depictions of combating Ratlings upon it. His tail was crooked and hairy and it curled around his body. The Albino posed upon his mount¡¯s back, standing with grace as he stared down imperiously at Blazock.


    Worse yet, was the feeling of roiling Mana that emanated from the Albino Iskin¡¯s Core. It assailed the Goblins and Skrakch alike with the sensation of being buried alive. Struggling to breathe under the might of its Mana, Skrakch collapsed to one knee as his head spun, his sight starting to fade.


    ¡°Enough of that,¡± Blazock calmly ordered. A wave of power swept through the gathered villagers. Feeling the pressure lift, the Goblins were quick to recover as they dragged their spears upright. Gasping for air, Skrakch watched as the Ancient Patriarch beckoned the Albino Iskrin downwards. ¡°I¡¯m surprised to see you again Crown Prince. To what do I owe this honor?¡±


    ¡°I have come to collect our wayward slave,¡± The looming Albino announced, his gaze snapping over to Skrakch. The Ratling in question withered in fear as his breath caught in his throat.


    Resisting his urge to scream in panic, Skrakch settled for freezing in place and casting a terrified look towards Blazock... only to notice the grin playing across the old coot''s face.


    The bloody prick was enjoying this.

 Chapter Sixty Nine - The Meeting Of The Minds

    Skrakch had gotten used to risking his life, chasing after his obsession with a passion borne from desperation. If it increased his odds of being Chosen, he was willing to risk any odds that may be thrown his way. Still, just one look from the Albino Crown Prince awoke a feeling of terror that threatened to overwhelm him.


    As his beady black eyes locked with the deep red Albino''s, it took all his focus to resist the urge to simply crumble to the ground like a whimpering wreck. It didn¡¯t help matters that the sheer amount of Mana that the White Iskrin exuded was enough to dwarf his own Core¡¯s capacity a dozen times over.


    Thankfully, their eyes locked for only a brief moment before the Albino turned away, disappointment flashing across his sleekly furred snout. The newcomer turned his attention back to the Ancient Patriarch and brought his beetle to land, dismounting it with grace.


    ¡°Our representatives within the Tomb Makers sent word that a rogue Iskrin has been causing issues amongst the general populace,¡± The Prince announced self-importantly, venom laced into every word.


    ¡°More interestingly though, was the fact that this rogue seems to have spent most of his time underground,¡± The Iskrin spoke in Common with a precise accent, each word enunciated carefully, designed to assert his authority. ¡°Imagine my surprise when I learned the escapee was seeking refuge with one of our most trusted allies.¡±


    Skrakch¡¯s gaze flicked to Blazock. The old Goblin seemed unperturbed by the accusation. He let out a low rumble of a laugh as he stroked his long white beard.


    ¡°And you requested that I bring him to our yearly Tribute. Well, he¡¯s here Princeling. So what do you intend to do?¡± The old coot leaned forward on his staff, grinning as he glared at the Albino.


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t get your hopes up Blazock. There will be no altercation,¡± The Crown Prince replied. He snapped his fingers at one of the brown Ratlings. ¡°No, instead I bring good tidings. As I mentioned, you are one of our most trusted allies. So, to honor that bond that has been forged over many years, I am willing to overlook the Tribute this year,¡± He smiled benignly. ¡°In exchange for the runt of course,¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take me for a fool Princeling,¡± Blazock replied evenly. ¡°A brown Iskrin breaking free and you expect me to trade him in for a few scraps?¡± He scowled as he watched the Brown Iskrin offer a scroll to the Crown Prince. ¡°You¡¯re quick to remind me of our allegiance and yet you offer so little in return? You¡¯ll need to sweeten the pot before you get your ten pounds of flesh.¡±


    Skrakch¡¯s fur bristled in anger. So this was Blazock¡¯s plan all along? To use him as some kind of bargaining chip? He glared at the old Goblin¡¯s back. No wonder he¡¯d been so willing to teach him on the journey. He¡¯d needed to keep him sweetened for the betrayal!


    ¡°I suspected that might be your answer,¡± The Albino smiled, showing off two long fore-fangs as he slowly unfurled the scroll. ¡°I had an alternative drafted up for this eventuality. In exchange for the Brown Iskrin, we¡¯re prepared to alter our alliance. For the next decade, your kind will have free reign over the Sewers and the Tribute will be cut entirely for that duration.¡±


    As he watched Blazock rub his beard in contemplation, Skrakch realized that it was time for him to go. He was nobody¡¯s bargaining chip. He remembered little of his time in the Depths but there wasn¡¯t a chance in Nine Hells that he would go back there.


    Backing up slowly so as not to draw attention to himself, the Ratling only managed a few steps before he felt something jab into his back. Slowly turning his head, he looked into Quickfinger¡¯s muddy eyes, which lit up with eagerness as he poked his spear into his back.


    So it appeared they weren¡¯t guards for the Tribute. The odds of him getting out unharmed were dwindling rapidly. He turned back towards Blazock. His Master had promised him safety so surely there was something more to this?


    He felt the old Goblin watching him from the corner of his eye. Blazock shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit, your offer is a tempting one. But I¡¯m curious, what would you do with the runt? As he is, he¡¯s hardly a threat to your beloved Empress nor your Empire.¡±


    The Crown Prince inclined his head in agreement before stroking his whiskers.


    ¡°Be that as it may, something needs to be done. We cannot just let one of our own wander the city streets with impunity. That is how it always has been and always will be. He will be dealt with swiftly and, more importantly, silently. I don¡¯t intend to let Mother know at all. All the servants who come into contact with him shall be culled and our lives shall continue onwards in peace.¡±


    ¡°Tempting¡­¡± Blazock paused. ¡°Your offer is truly tempting¡­¡±


    Skrakch watched as the Ancient Patriarch, his Master, continued to stroke his beard. To the gathered audience, he appeared to be genuinely considering the proposal. Skrakch himself had even been fooled right up until he¡¯d seen the twitch of his Master¡¯s fingers from behind the wiry hairs of his silver beard. An old Goblin hand signal that meant ¡®trust me.¡¯


    So Blazock had a plan. Skrakch wasn¡¯t surprised, and definitely hadn''t been worried. What he couldn¡¯t work out was the reasoning behind this facade. If Blazock never intended to give him up, why bring him in the first place? Surely the risk of it going wrong was too high?


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    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I am going to decline,¡± Blazock continued. ¡°The Rotten One is my core disciple. None of my sons or daughters have displayed the aptitude he has. So I shall be keeping him.¡±


    As the old Goblin finished making his stance clear, both he and the Crown Prince let their Mana flow into the air around them once more. Just the small trickle of their combined strengths rippling outwards was enough to bring most of the Goblins and Brown Iskrin to their knees. As the two of them stared each other down, the Sewer walls began to rumble and crack as the ambient Mana threatened to tear the tunnel asunder.


    One more the feeling of the weight of the raw Mana pressing down upon his flesh, Skrakch could only crumple to the ground, gasping. Feeling his knees rip from contact with the stone floor, he struggled to keep his head up and his eyes open. He barely managed to keep the Albino Iskrin in his line of sight. He could see him judging his foe. It looked like the lines of allegiance between the two factions were slowly being severed.


    ¡°Is that wise Blazock?¡± The Prince asked calmly, ¡°My Mother has already defeated you once before. What would there be to stop the Empress from coming back and finishing the job? You do realize, you old fool, that by defying me here today, you are serving your precious village with a death sentence? The Iskrin have merely tolerated your kind but not for much longer!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see your Mother anywhere little rat, Just an upstart Chosen who thinks he can meddle where he isn¡¯t wanted¡± Blazock responded before calmly drawing two Runes in the air.


    Even from where he was being forced to kneel, Skrakch could tell the two Runes were Slowfall and Gravity. But, as the two activated, they seemed to slot together perfectly, forming two halves of a distinctly more powerful spell.


    Mana swelled around Blazock¡¯s feet for a moment before the Ancient Patriarch was lifted from the ground in a swirl of energy. Floating through the air with an almost bored look on his face, he flew rapidly closer to his foe. The old Goblin casually waved his hand as five Runes flitted into existence as one.


    While Skrakch could barely parse four of these Runes, the Ratling did understand the one that represented ¡®Slow¡¯. Although it had been modified in some way that he couldn¡¯t quite work out. Before he had a chance to take the others in, the Runes burst as the spell took effect.


    With an impressive swell of power, far beyond what Skrakch had ever seen, he was surprised to see that nothing appeared to have happened. In fact, nothing at all was happening, as he realized that he was completely unable to move. The Goblins around him were frozen too, as were the Brown Irskin atop their beetle mounts. It was like time itself had come to a stop, freezing everyone in the moment.


    Everyone except for Blazock.


    The Ancient Patriarch cackled, clearly reveling in his display of power. Two quick snaps of his fingers summoned over a dozen Runes, combining seemingly effortlessly into three different spells which were prompted activated.


    With a lurch, Skrakch could feel his body regaining control of itself. It was just in time to see Blazock¡¯s new spells surge towards the Crown Prince. A jet of flame, conjured from nothing, swirled around a hunk of debris as they were thrown almost haphazardly towards their intended target.


    Watching the incoming attack rapidly approaching him, the Albino Ratling didn¡¯t seem at all alarmed. He didn¡¯t even bother to raise a paw towards the incoming impacts. As the spells came within a hair¡¯s distance of hitting him, the Crown Prince learned towards them and opened his jaw wide, almost as if he was getting ready to bite into the spells¡­


    Consume¡­


    As the spells collided with the Crown Prince, they seemed to be funneled downwards into his now gaping maw, the spells being absorbed into his very being. Once Blazock¡¯s spells had completely vanished, the Ratling grinned widely before suddenly disappearing.


    At least that¡¯s what appeared to happen. Skrakch quickly realized that the Prince had simply moved too quickly for his eyes to follow. He reappeared within touching distance of Blazock. Rearing back his left claw, the Albino brought its arm down in a devastating chop.


    Frowning slightly at the physical attack, Blazock casually spun to the side and effortlessly dodged, before he snapped his gnarled fingers once again. As six Runes lit up behind him, the elderly Goblin lifted one arm and lazily swept his hand towards his foe as the Runes burst. Even with his slow movements, Blazock managed to just barely touch the Albino Iskrin¡¯s right arm before the Crown Prince dodged away and safely landed on the back of his beetle mount.


    The Prince sneered and tensed for a moment, obviously preparing to leap towards Blazock for another attack. Suddenly, a look of panic flickered across his face. Abruptly canceling the flow of Mana, the Albino snarled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so hasty Blazock, if you were to kill me, the Empress would be forced to take action¡±


    Blazock calmly lowered himself back to the Sewer floor. He idly ran his fingers through his beard as his own Mana flowed back into his Core and settled there.


    ¡°Hmm, I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± Blazock tapped his chin in a mocking display of consideration. ¡°Your Mother does have a bit of a temper, Little Rat. But maybe she¡¯d thank me for teaching her whelp a proper lesson.¡±


    Hissing in pain, the Albino suddenly pulled his robe aside to expose his chest. As Skrakch got to his feet, it was clear why the Crown Prince was so enraged. Whatever spell Blazock had woven was transforming the Prince¡¯s white-furred chest into stone. Worse yet, the rate of transformation seemed to be getting faster. His entire left arm and most of his chest were already petrified.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry Princeling,¡± Blazock continued conversationally. ¡°I made sure to use a non-lethal spell for you. Once your servants drag you back to the Depths I¡¯m sure your Mother will find someone to break the curse,¡± He grinned cheekily as he continued to watch the spell starting to take over the Ratling¡¯s face, whose visage was twisted with a mixture of horror and rage.


    ¡°How dare you! You filthy Goblin! Do you think that this transgression will go unanswered? You¡¯d best strike me down now so I will return with the full might of the Sunken Empire-¡±


    The Ratling¡¯s words were cut off as the spell began to work its way across his jaw and lips, causing them to lock up. He waved frantically to the Brown Iskrin standing around him with his remaining free arm.


    ¡°Return me¡­safely¡­.nearest Guard¡­post¡­do¡­not fail¡­¡±


    The Crown Prince was cut off by the petrification spell. He had finally been turned fully to stone, posed atop his beetle mount.


    As the Brown Iskrin burst into a sudden flurry of movement to get their Crown Prince away safely, Blazock turned towards the wide-eyed pack of Goblins and the equally shocked Skrakch.


    ¡°Well, I must say that went better than expected. Looks like we¡¯re getting to keep this year¡¯s Tribute after all!¡±

 Chapter Seventy - War?

    On the return trip to Kxbag, Blazock steadfastly ignored any questions that Skrakch had tried to ask him.


    In fact, the ancient Goblin had quickly resorted to spellcraft as he ensorcelled the Iskrin into silence. While Skrakch would normally have appreciated the chance to try and memorize the Rune of Silence, his mind was still reeling.


    It had become all too apparent that he¡¯d misjudged how important the Crown Prince would find him. He knew full well the type of power they wielded and how much they liked to throw it around, and he had no intention of going anywhere near the Albinos again.


    He was pretty sure he was still in a state of shock. Blazock had broken an allegiance of almost half a century and had pretty much brought war upon his people because of... him? It had been the main question Skrakch had demanded an answer to. Why? It didn¡¯t make sense. He¡¯d listened to the other Goblins chatter away on the long trek back and they seemed equally as confused as he was. Not that any of them had aired their opinions or grievances. Goblins may be stupid but they weren¡¯t stupid enough to challenge the Ancient Patriarch. Especially not after that potent display of power.


    As they entered the village through the main gates, Skrakch watched as the Goblins dispersed, all of them happy to return to their hovels. The Ratling watched as Blazock walked away in the direction of his own dwelling. He had to fight the urge to chase after him.


    He wasn¡¯t going to get any answers from the old Goblin any time soon. That was clear enough. It left him with nothing more to do in the Sewers. Laying low in the belly of Dray¡¯mel had been tempting but now he felt as though he¡¯d worn out his welcome. Not only with Blazock but with the rest of the village who, judging by the angry stares he¡¯d been receiving, blamed him for the latest developments.


    Still, Skrakch made his way through the village, staring down anyone who made eye contact with him. The Ratling was in no mood for tolerating the occasional attempts to pick his pockets either. One of the more ragged-looking Goblins tried to pluck his coin purse from his belt and got a dagger-like claw in the eye for his trouble.


    Skrakch left the screaming wretch behind him without a second look. Normally he preferred a softer touch when it came to the incorrigiable little scamps, but it was certainly nice to feel a sense of power again. Being at another''s mercy was another good reason why he was hellbent on becoming Chosen.


    Thankfully, after making his point at that would-be-thief''s expense, Skrakch made excellent time heading straight for Meekknuckle¡¯s little hovel. Ornn was, as usual, was looming above the entrance to the small shack. The Ratling gave him a quick nod and entered the shadowy abode, barely even noticing the thick scent of muddy muck. He quickly spotted the diminutive Goblin sitting in silent prayer in front of his shoddy little altar.


    ¡°Enough of that!¡± Skrakch snapped. He walked over and smacked Meekknuckle across the ear with one swipe of his paw. ¡°I need some answers and you¡¯re looking like my best bet right now. Plus, we need to get out of here. Blazock didn¡¯t sound happy that you missed the Tribute.¡±


    The runty Goblin scrambled to his feet, glowering sullenly at Skrakch. ¡°Meek not need go,¡± He said adamantly. ¡°He smart Goblin. No being part of Sacrifice,¡± he suddenly grinned, showing off his pointy yellow teeth. ¡°But me surprised you back. Me thought you gone-gone. Dragged down hole in ground,¡±


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    Skrakch barely took notice of what the Goblin was saying. He was pacing back and forth across the length of the small mud hut, his tail lashing from side to side in agitation.


    ¡°He used me as a bargaining chip. He wanted me there to bait the Iskrin into doing something. I knew Master was teaching me for his own benefit but¡­¡± Skrakch trailed off for a moment before looking at Meekknuckle, a serious expression cast on his face. ¡°You¡¯ve said it before, that your Father uses his Pact on other Goblins. Why? What does he get from it?¡±


    Meekknuckle stared at Skrakch for a moment. It appeared as though the small Goblin was deep in thought but Skrakch knew that that kind of thing eluded his friend. Instead, Meek began to gnaw on one of his fingernails.


    ¡°Father¡­¡± He replied indistinctly. ¡°Father get magic. He eat own family. One at a time,¡±


    ¡°And does it have to be another Goblin?¡± Skrakch asked insistently. ¡°Coould it not be something else?¡± The furry rogue felt his heart start to race as the pieces slotted together in his brain. The Goblins and the Iskrin at war. A whole village full of Ferals that could be conquered and consumed, making Blazock all the more powerful¡­


    ¡°Yes,¡± Meek nodded. ¡°It make him strong. Father want to be all powerful. Father make you good at magic. Then Father take it from you and other rats. He take everything,¡±


    Snarling, Skrakch grabbed hold of the little beast and slammed him up against the hovel¡¯s wall, nearly knocking the whole thing down. The ceiling shook sending clumps of sludge and mud raining down on them. Skrakch pressed one of his formidable claws against Meek¡¯s throat and leaned in close.


    ¡°Then we¡¯re just going to have to take care of your Father ourselves,¡± He muttered darkly. ¡°As soon as I have what I need from him, I¡¯ll slit his decrepit throat. You¡¯re going to help me Meek. Whether you want to or not.¡±


    Skrakch was so focused on his rage, that he didn¡¯t notice the little glimmer of glee that his threats brought to the diminutive Goblin¡¯s eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Instead, the yellow-green Goblin pretend to quake and quiver in the Ratling¡¯s grasp.


    ¡°Of course! Meek help friend. Meek do anything. Me tell you best way to kill father!¡± He entreated.


    ¡°As if I need advice from you,¡± Skrakch replied, tossing the Goblin aside and turning back to the hovel¡¯s entrance. ¡°First things first. We get back to the city and we plan this out. The sort of power that your old man wields isn¡¯t going to be easy to deal with. If we¡¯re lucky, we can get Winifred on board. And, I suppose Zacharias would be useful too. I¡¯m sure if I offered them both a larger cut of the Purene Ruby it would be enough¡­¡±


    Skrakch hurried through the front entrance of the hut. Meekknuckle allowed a grin before he started to follow. As the runt of a Goblin passed his Golem friend, he patted the large creature on the arm. He¡¯d had doubts that bringing the Iskrin back for the Tribute was the right play, but so far it had all gone to plan. The paranoid Ratling was ready to point his paws strictly in the direction of the Ancient Patriarch. And with his Father and the rest of the village caught up in this ridiculous war? His plan would be easy to enact¡­


    Still, it was prudent to remember that there was little to no chance of him overpowering his father himself. But if they added Winifred¡¯s power as a Chosen¡­Meekknuckle jumped a little as Ornn¡¯s large stone hand settled on top of his head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry my old friend,¡± Meek said, looking up at his faithful companion. ¡°If worse comes to worse and my Father finds out his apprentice is trying to kill him, we¡¯ll just deny any knowledge. After all, we¡¯re just a stupid Goblin and a non-sentient Golem as far as they¡¯re all concerned.¡±


    Ornn seemed to accept this as he lifted Meek bodily up onto his left shoulder. The Golem started to stride through the village and was able to catch up with Skrakch in just a few steps.

 Chapter Seventy One - A Bloody Demon Coin

    As soon as the sun kissed his slightly damp fur, Skrakch allowed himself a small grin. He¡¯d long since gotten used to the dank and musty darkness of the Sewers but the Ratling had to admit he still loved the feeling of the warmth from the daytime sun play across his fur.


    Although his venture down into the Goblin village had only last a few days, he was grateful to escape with his whiskers intact. Skrakch was used to risking his life. Hells, he¡¯d put himself in that position enough times. But just remembering the Albino Prince¡¯s cold eyes on him¡­it was enough to turn his empty stomach.


    Thankfully, he could put the image out of his mind and focus on getting something to eat. He turned an idle eye back towards Meekknuckle who was currently and very ineffectually trying to help Ornn through the open sewer grid. Shaking his head at the stupidity, Skrakch scanned the surrounding area. He¡¯d decided to play it safe so, consequently, they¡¯d headed above ground near the edge of the Inner Walls.


    Most folks in Dray¡¯Mel weren¡¯t keen to see anything trying to leave the Sewers. Which, Skrakch supposed, was fair enough. You didn¡¯t last long in the city without a strong fear of the unknown. Considering that Grey Iskrin and Ghouls had a tendency to pop out from underground, hellbent on killing anything they saw, Skrakch didn¡¯t want to risk being on the business end of a Tomb Maker¡¯s halberd.


    ¡°Alright Meek,¡± Skrakch said once both Meek and Ornn had successfully extracated themselves from the Sewer grate. ¡°It¡¯s time for some decent food,¡± he rubbed his paws together in anticipation. The pathetic excuse for food that the Goblin¡¯s offered nearly always tasted like a mixture of mushrooms and mud. ¡°I suppose we should head for The Plagued Rat, see if Zacharias is around. Gods knowns he likely to be half drunk as always.¡±


    Meekknuckle¡¯s chest was heaving from the effort in futilely of trying to pull Ornn upwards. He let out a low huff and shook his head so hard that his ears flapped.


    ¡°Meek prefer not to see Halfman. Day always end bad when he involved. Maybe go see big food man? Get some cheese?¡±


    Skrakch chuckled softly and he began to pick his way through the empty streets. ¡°Kuosh¡¯s food cart it is. Now that you mention it, I¡¯ve got a hankering for some Harouun myself. I can almost taste those spices he uses,¡± He replied as he licked his lips.


    The trio headed deeper into the City. Unlike the quiet atmosphere of the Inner Walls, they quickly found themselves amongst the regular sights of Dray¡¯Mel. There was a particularly sorry looking creature sitting in the doorway of an abandoned bakery. His matted brown hair was a wild mess and it appeared to have become one with his equally long beard. Skrakch¡¯s finely tuned sense of smell was assaulted by a strong mixture of body odour and stale alcohol. The man raised a brown bottle to his cracked lips and took a deep drink. The grim sight reminded Skrakch of the recent issues with Zacharias. Could the Halfling even be relied upon to help out? Maybe the best thing for him would be to put the drunken lout down, just like Skrakch intended with Blazock¡­


    As they moved through the streets of the Slums towards the food cart, Skrakch was glad, and not for the first time, that Ornn was with them. In fact, if it wasn¡¯t for the giant Golem slowly looming behind them, Skrakch certainly wouldn¡¯t have taken such a direct route. The behemoth did an excellent job as a deterrent. Not even Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s most desperate souls would be willing to risk being crushed to death for a few coins and some potion ingredients.


    Before long, they arrived at Kuosh¡¯s food cart. Skrakch was treated to the delicious scent of the Grif¡¯s unique spice blends and cooking meat. Indeed, the trusty creature was standing at his counter, tossing a mixture of vegetables and chunks of meat in a large frying pan. A large white cloth apron that could¡¯ve wrapped around Skrakch multiple times was stretched across his bulk. He was also wearing his version of chef whites, massive checked pants with a large white smock. Various kitchen utensils could be seen poking out of the top of his bulging pockets.


    What surprised Skrakch even more was the sight of a customer seat at the stall¡¯s counter. As talented a cook as Kuosh was, the denizens of Dray¡¯Mel tended to dislike his cooking. Heavy handed with spices and generous with loading his creations down with exotic ingredients, the simple folk of the Slums preferred to stick with their usual bland stews and soups. Most of Kuosh¡¯s trade came from after the pubs and taverns had closed for the evening when the patrons just wanted something hot and savoury to cram down their throats.


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    So the sight of the small grey creature happily devouring a bowl of stew was surprising. Coupled with the critter being barely two feet tall and so rotund that it was always a perfect ball, the sight of the Imp¡¯s corpulent sagging flesh meant that Skrakch was suddenly on high alert.


    Known for being morbidly obese with a never ending hunger to match it, Imps weren¡¯t exactly the most terrifying of foes. In fact, the little fiends defining trait was being at the bottom rung of the Lower Planes, acting as glorified messengers or used for fueling all sorts of painful sacrifices. Considering the gusto it displayed as it crammed the savoury stew down its maw, Skrakch had to assume it was here for the former.


    Skrakch smacked Meekknuckle upside his leathery head to break him out of his slack-jawed gawking. He supposed that his diminutive friend didn¡¯t see that many creatures as short as he was but still, the Goblin could at least have some modicum of decorum.


    The Ratling plopped himself down beside the Imp, which ignored him as it continued its feast. Skrakch grinned at Kuosh.


    ¡°Interesting day isn¡¯t it Kuosh? I was hoping for a hot meal but it looks like I¡¯ll have to come back. Do me a favour and feed the Goblin, whatever he wants. You can put it on my tab,¡± He said.


    At this, Meekknuckle gleefully leapt, leapfrog style, onto the stool to his left. He was practically drooling down himself as the little prick started to chant for some cheese. Kuosh laughed, a deep rumbling baritone, and slid a large chunk of cheese across the counter which Meek began to devour. Skrakch inhaled deeply to appreciate the spices that he¡¯d soon be missing out on before turning to the still eating Imp. The Ratling took a moment to make sure he didn¡¯t recognise the critter, before pushing the food bowl away from its greedy hands.


    Hate-filled crimson eyes turned towards him for a moment, before a look of surprised flickered across the Imp¡¯s misshapen face. With sunken eyes and two flat nostrils in the place of a nose, the sickly gray face of the Imp turned his stomach. But, he supposed, that was the price you paid for consorting with Demons.


    ¡°Ah! Skrakch yes?¡± The Imp said, as though he¡¯d only just realised he had company. Which, Skrakch mused, was probably accurate. ¡°I¡¯ve been stuck here for days. Mother demands your attention. She has an offer you can¡¯t refuse,¡± It grinned widely, its mouth opening to show off rows of razor sharp teeth and a worm-like tongue. ¡°Best you go to her now, before she decides to send something¡­less kind.¡±


    It was a casual enough sounding threat, but Skrakch knew the Denmother didn¡¯t play around. He took a moment to consider his options before nodding to the Imp and pushing himself up from his stool.


    ¡°Yes, yes. The Denmother wants to see me. Probably after me to settle my tab again.¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ I wouldn¡¯t blame her,¡± Kuosh piped up from behind the counter, giving Skrakch a wink. The Ratling bared his teeth in a cheesy grin for a moment before digging into his coin purse and handing over a few coins to the Grif who nodded gratefully.


    ¡°Finally! Finally! Zar¡¯vint gets to return!¡± The Imp chittered to itself before it turned to face Kuosh who seemed to be taking its presence in his stride. ¡°Thank you, strange mortal, for your offering of flesh,¡± The Imp let out a soft cackle before putting a blood red coin seemingly out of thin air. It slammed it down on the countertop before the Imp burst into strangle purple-red flames and disappeared, leaving only acrid smoke that chased away the lingering scent of spices.


    ¡°Pesky things, aren¡¯t they?¡± Skrakch muttered, waving a paw in front of his face to disperse the smoke.


    ¡°That was a vegetable stew¡­¡± Kuosh said, shaking his head. He wiped his massive hands on his apron and turned his attentions back to whatever he was frying.


    ¡°Right Meek,¡± Skrakch address the Goblin who was still cramming cheese into his mouth. ¡°Meet me at The Plagued Rat in a few hours.¡±


    Skrakch shot one last longing look towards the dish that Kuoah was frying up before he left the food cart.


    As he headed straight for the brothel, he wondered why the Denmother had decided to send an Imp of all things to summon him. He tended to be a frequent enough visitor to her establishment. Surely it meant that it was something important or serious and not related to his tab?


    He¡¯d almost scampered around the corner before hearing Kuosh call out in confusion.


    ¡°What in the Hells am I supposed to do with a bloody Demon coin?¡±

 Chapter Seventy Seven - Scent-based Service Needs

    ¡°I swear to all the Gods Below, if someone shoves me one more time¡­¡± Skrakch hissed, nearly tumbling straight onto his back as some overly burly Orc bumped into him.


    As he waded through the crowd of customers, the increasingly irritated Ratling regretting taking the Merchant¡¯s Alley route to the brothel. He should¡¯ve known when the first overgrown Human had stepped on the end of his tail.


    The human, who¡¯d been dressed in simple farmhand¡¯s clothes, had turned to apologize until he¡¯d seen what he¡¯d stepped on. His apology quickly withered away to be replaced by a look of disgust. Brushing off his clothes as if he¡¯d been touched by something filthy, the man had hurried past him, no doubt cursing his rotten luck to have accidentally come into contact with an Iskrin servant.


    Skrakch had rolled his eyes. Never mind the fact that he was clearly better dressed and far better looking that some stupid errand boy. Hells, he was much better looking than even your average Brown Ratling. But no, the first thing that most folks in Dray¡¯Mel thought when they saw a Brown Ratling was disgust following quickly by the thought of ¡°well, it¡¯s just a servant¡±. He¡¯d heard it enough in his short life.


    Although admittedly, and the Albino Prince was a shining example, the Iskrin race weren¡¯t known for their intelligence. They were, to most, little more than simple feral creatures. But to confuse his superior umber coat with his brethren¡¯s was the height of folly. Not to mention his non-servant attire! But, Skrakch was all too well aware of how little the average human noticed.


    Heavens forbid they actually take in his leather armour, or his bandolier of potions that was strapped to his chest! Perhaps if they did, they¡¯d realised that he was a formidable creature and they¡¯d be less inclined so show their disgust so openly. His claws had taught enough of them that pissing off something so openly inclined to violence was never a good idea.


    Thankfully, Skrakch managed to navigate the crowd of shouting merchants and dawdling shoppers. Right at the end of Merchant¡¯s Alley, on the corner, was the brothel. Or perhaps, it was a simple perfume shop. The Denmother certainly put in "some" effort to make it appear as such, even hanging a perfume shaped label over the entrance to "The Madame''s Boutique."


    From the outside, it looked like most of the other buildings in the Slums. Rundown and in serious need of renovation. The smeared window was filled with various glass bottles containing different coloured perfumes and colognes. Occasionally, one of the workers would try to do something creative with them, perhaps arranged them in some kind of order, but that obviously wasn¡¯t the case now. The bottles were placed haphazardly onto the rickety-looking wooden shelves.


    A glanced through the filthy window revealed a small shop floor with a wooden counter at one end. The shelving was stocked with more bottles and, in one corner, sat a battered old armchair covered in crimson fabric where the Denmother herself often sat. There were a couple of her workers dressed in simple smocks, intent on servicing a customer¡¯s scent-based needs with a smile.


    Skrakch wondered if the average shopper noticed that it was largely male clientele that passed through the store. It wasn¡¯t exactly a secret that the true nature of the business was a brothel after all. He knew that the more ¡®reputable¡¯ merchants down the alley took a dim view of it. It had been the Denmother¡¯s idea to present as a legitimate business in order to keep the peace.


    He walked through the door and a twee little jingle rang out as he knocked the bell. A rather bored looking attendant who had been fiddling with some of the bottles quickly perked up and plastered on a fake smile until, that was, she realized who it was. She sighed heavily and nodded him through a thick velvet crimson curtain.


    Passing by all the sickly sweet bottles of perfume, Skrakch tried to resist his urge to sniff the air. He knew that the mixture of strong scents would assault his delicate nose and no doubt send him into one of his sneezing fits. He pushed his way through the curtain and headed down a set of stairs. The change was like night and day.


    Instead of the storage area of a genteel perfume shop as one would expect, Skrakch stepped into a basement area that looked more like a palatial lounge. The walls were painted a deep crimson with matching curtains draped across them. Gold tassels and accoutrements hung from them to complete the look. There were various numbered doors leading off from this lounge area and there was an arrangement of couches in the middle of it that gave off the impression of some kind of waiting room. Next to the entrance was a scandily clad female Demon standing by a lectern with an open book laid out on it. She looked up as Skrakch strode in and rolled her eyes expressively. Wordlessly, she pointed one finger, her silver painted nail shining under the low lighting, in the direction of the only door that wasn¡¯t numbered.


    Skrakch nodded his things and strode towards the door. He couldn¡¯t help but sneer at the sight of some of the patrons waiting on the couches. Humans really were pathetic sometimes. He approached the door and walked in, not bothering to knock.


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    Not for the first time in his life, he found himself in the Denmother¡¯s office. It was the least business-like office that he¡¯d ever seen. It closely resembled the sort of lounge that he imaging some sweet old lady would have. It was carpeted in dusky pink with matching painted walls. There were various paintings of sunsets and vistas framed in gold painted frames. Atop a large oak desk which was covered in a white lace tablecloth there was a delicate looking china tea set painted with golden swirls and rose buds. One of the cups was currently filled with a rose-scented tea. To his right was a huge bookshelf made of wooden cubes. Each separate cube held a different coloured wool ball.


    Behind the desk was a wicker chair padded with pink cushions decorated with embroidered roses. The old woman sitting in the chair looked completely harmless, like a kindly grandmother. Her wrinkled hands were almost claw-like as her fingers with their pearly pink painted nails rapidly knitted a blue woolly jumper. The thick glasses she wore magnified her cornflower blue eyes. As she heard him open the door, she blinked at him owlishly.


    Anyone would be forgiven for thinking that she was simply a sweet old lady. Skrakch still remembered the time he¡¯d watched as some drunken idiotic lout had tried to put his sword into one of the working girls. The man had barely managed to clear his sheath before the Denmother was in front of him. She¡¯d simply pointed one of her gnarled fingers and croaked out a single Abyssian word.


    Oh how the fool had laughed when he¡¯d pulled his sword free! He hadn¡¯t even noticed the Hell Portal that was slowly opening below him. His eyes were on the working girl when he dropped straight through it, too quickly to even scream or shout out. The other Succubi had crowded into the room to watch the sight. Amongst the tittering of them all, Skrakch had been sure to keep on his best behaviour from then on.


    ¡°Ma! What a delight to see you, as always!¡± Skrakch said smoothly, dipping his head in respect. ¡°I came as soon as I saw that Imp of yours, I hope I didn¡¯t make you wait too long.¡±


    The Denmother let out a soft cackle as she continued to work on her knitting.


    ¡°Oh I¡¯m sure starting a war between two races can be considered a decent enough excuse for being a tad late,¡± She said smoothly, not missing a beat.


    It had always freaked Skrakch out that she did that. Although he had a feeling he really didn¡¯t want to know how and where she got her information so quickly.


    She leant forward in her chair, placing her knitting down on the desk and regarded Skrakch for a moment.


    ¡°I have need of your expertise,¡± She continued, a pensive look on her face. ¡°And it needs to remain strictly private. One of my girls has gone missing and I need someone to track her down and in return, I¡¯m willing to wipe your tab here.¡±


    Grinning to himself, Skrakch puffed out his furry chest.


    ¡°Well you¡¯ve come to the right person Ma! Tracking down one of your girls shouldn¡¯t be difficult. I¡¯ll have her back by tomorrow,¡± He said confidently. ¡°So who am I looking for?¡±


    The look on the Denmother¡¯s face turned from pensive to concerned. If she felt comforted by his dramatic proclamation then she certainly didn¡¯t show it.


    ¡°It¡¯s Survix,¡± She said. She looked down at her knitting and suddenly, it was like she¡¯d aged ten years. ¡°I believe she¡¯s been taken by a Shade.¡±


    ¡°A shade?¡± Skrakch raised an eyebrow. He¡¯d managed to build up quite the tab over the past few months. Dealing with a Shade was an easy enough task that was nowhere near the value of his debt. The Denmother was an astute business owner. There was no way that she would so willingly lose money. Which meant, Skrakch inwardly sighed, that there had to be some kind of catch¡­


    ¡°What would a shade want with Survix?¡± He asked curiously. ¡°Shades can only possess mortal and she¡¯s a Succubus. You¡¯re sure it¡¯s a Shade?¡±


    The Denmother nodded slowly. She opened her mouth and closed it again, it appeared whatever she was about to say, she¡¯d picked her words carefully.


    ¡°Well read as usual Skrakch. That is indeed true. Demons aren¡¯t able to be possessed¡­normally. But there has been talk amongst my girls about various people going missing in the district. People who should be capable of fighting off a mere Shade.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m waiting for the catch here,¡± Skrakch admitted.


    ¡°Well the reason it¡¯s you that I¡¯ve reached out to specifically, it because of your connection to Winifred. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re more than aware that it takes a Chosen¡­to hunt a Chosen,¡± The Denmother continued, giving him a significant look.


    For the briefest second, Skrakch stared at the old coot in utter confusion before the penny dropped. His eyes widened and he could feel every single hair on him spike up.


    ¡°Oh Hells no Ma!¡± He spluttered. ¡°I¡¯ll pay my debt off some other way. I¡¯m not dealing with a Chosen Shade!¡±


    The Denmother let out a sigh. She leaned forward in her chair, across the desk and poked Skrach¡¯s furry chest with one gnarled finger.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that you don¡¯t have a choice my dear.¡±


    She said it lightly enough but Skrakch was no fool. He saw the idiot that had caused such a kerfuffle disappearing through the Hell portal again in his mind¡¯s eye. She had a point. Taking stock of his situation, Skrakch turned on a very sickly smile.


    ¡°Well, how could I ever refuse you Ma? I¡¯ll have this taken care of in no time.¡±

 Chapter Seventy Eight - Piercing the Veil

    As soon as Skrakch had agreed to go ahead with locating the missing Survix, the Denmother had pressed him into service. He found himself in a part of the basement that he hadn''t even known had existed before.


    The Denmother had hauled herself out of her rocking chair and picked up her walking cane. Skrakch had watched, deeply curious, as she shuffled over to a corner of her office and used the ebony cane to rap on the floor three times in quick succession, all the while muttering something under her breath. From that bits that Skrakch caught with his superior hearing, it certainly didn¡¯t sound like Common.


    A trapdoor had appeared on her office floor and she¡¯d nodded at him. Skrakch had scrambled forward and pulled it open to reveal a further level below the basement. Thankfully, the room below was lit in an odd purple glow, casting a deep shadow across the Ratling''s eager visage. So eager in fact, that Skrakch didn''t even notice as two demons entered the Denmother''s office, carrying a large chair in between them.


    Under other circumstances, the sight of two muscular Incubi wearing little more than loincloths carrying the old crone and her chair down the stairs to her secret under-basement would have sent the Ratling into peels of mocking laughter. However, the possibility of facing a Chosen head on had him in a pretty humourless mood.


    Skrakch watched with interest as the Incubi placed the Denmother and her chair in the middle of the floor before she barked instructions at them. They nodded and wordlessly started to inscribe a complex pattern in the floor. Skrakch tried to follow their movements but it actually hurt for him to stare at the pattern they were creating for too long. A tentative sniff was all it took for Skrakch to confirm the two demons were painting the floor in crimson blood, but the Iskrin was hardly the squeamish sort.


    No, this was a perfect chance to watch a master at work, and Skrakch kept his eyes glued on the quickly expanding set of intricate runework. The strain of attempting to parse the magic unfolding before him was immense, but the Ratling didn''t look away until he felt the blood dripping down his fur, as his eyes began to weep blood. Even still, Skrakch couldn''t help but shoot furtive glances towards the immense spellwork.


    As soon as the inscription was completed, swirling runes started to move and flow around the precise geometric pattern. The Denmother remained still in her chair, a look of total concentration on her face.


    Despite his fear and trepidation at what was to come, the chance to watch a master of Demonology at work was nearly a reward in itself. Even confined to her armchair, the old crone managed to make the inscription work look simple. One of the Incubi proffered an earthware bowl full of blood which she splashed about in seemingly random directions, only for them to perfectly form archaic looking runes.


    Skrakch couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the Denmother as she took a stabilizing breath. With her loud exhale, Mana started to pour from her Core, the power billowing outwards towards the drawn ritual. Glowing with Mana, the ritual blood began to move, flashing through rune after rune as the spell neared completion.


    Suddenly, the blood began to boil and bubble and a wave of hellfire enveloped the ritual. Flinching at the sudden burst of flame and overcome by its might, Skrakch was forced to shield his eyes causing him to miss the final part of the ritual.


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    When he was finally able to look once more, the hellfire had been extinguished, taking the ritual with it. For a moment, Skrakch was convinced that whatever she had been trying to do had failed. That was until he noticed tendrils of darkness leaking from the Denmother¡¯s closed eyes.


    Waiting with baited breath, Skrakch and the brothel staff watched as the Denmother seemed to struggle with her spell. Once of the Incubi tried to reach for her gnarled hand but she appeared to sense the movement, batting him away with a quick shake of her head.


    Skrakch had no idea how many minutes had passed before she opened her eyes. Gone were the genteel cornflower blue irises. Her eyes were now pitch black and filled with demonic energy.


    ¡°I have pierced the Chosen¡¯s Veil,¡± The Demonologist announced in a breathless tone. ¡°I see through Survix¡¯ eyes and through to the soul that inhabits her,¡±


    She was silent for a few moments.


    ¡°The creature hungers, each breath it takes is filled with pain, but the hunger drives it onwards. She is surrounded with fresh death and decay as the beast feasts on the rot.¡± She continued. Her whole body was trembling violently from the effort of maintaining the connection.


    ¡°She sits in a pit of sand, lapping up the blood of the fallen. The walls, once resplendent and gilded, are now torn asunder.


    Once dead, twice risen, the bodies of the slain throw themselves against her futilely, breaking themselves against her Thirst¡­¡±


    Gasping as the Mana left her, the Denmother slumped in her chair. As her demonic servants rushed to check on her, Skrakch shook himself free from his own trance-like state. If he could harness that kind of power¡­ just the thought was enough to make him salivate.


    Still, if it took that much effort and energy just for the Denmother to try and track the Chosen Shade, Skrakch wanted nothing to do with fighting it. Though¡­ maybe there was a way to take care of the Chosen that didn¡¯t invoke scrapping with a Chosen in a head-on battle.


    Skrakch idly pawed at his snout as he tried to remember everything he knew about Shades. The things were considered dangerous, but hardly a massive threat. Most non-civilians were too strong willed to be taken possession of offhandedly, so the threat was often larger for the homeless or the young. After all, it was simple enough to put down a possessed child, so long as you didn¡¯t mind the nightmares afterwards.


    Thankfully, there were a few tried and true methods to handle a Shade-possession, the easiest involving a special alchemical treatment. While Skrakch doubted it would be as effective against a Chosen Shade, hopefully a liberal use of the alchemical brew would be enough to affect the target.


    Unfortunately, the quantity needed was far beyond Skrakch¡¯s current means, meaning he¡¯d need to call in a favour. Normally that wouldn¡¯t be an issue, but the only alchemist he trusted for such an important task was currently employed by one of the larger movers and shakers of Dray¡¯Mel, one Skrakch desperately tried to avoid.


    Merciless and remorseless, that organization was known for doing anything for the sake of gold, its members more than happy to track down and butcher anything someone was willing to pay for.


    It was time for Skrakch to take a visit to the Adventurers Guild.

 Chapter Seventy Nine - A Wretched Den Of Debauchery

    A heavy downpour of rain greeted Skrakch as he left the brothel. He sighed heavily. The dour weather seemed to perfectly match his current mood. The Ratling dodged from alcove to alcove, occasionally stepping on some pathetic homeless creature as he tried his best to keep his snout dry.


    His claws clacked on the slippery cobblestone. Dray¡¯Mel, particularly The Slums, had an even worse smell when everything was wet. Skrakch pulled a face as he moved through the streets. Thankfully, it wasn¡¯t that far to the Adventurer¡¯s Guild.


    It was placed in the perfect spot for potential clients, exactly where The Slums, The Merchant¡¯s Market and the Residential District intersected. Whoever had built it there had certainly known what they were doing. Skrakch had to tip his hat to that kind of genius.


    Sadly though, most of the clientele of the Guild were from the Residential District. Stupid noble fops with even stupider fetch quests. Having more coin than sense was a very dangerous thing. When that much gold started to get waved around, men, women, and all manner of creatures would quickly resort to extreme measures¡­


    Not that the Guild advertised themselves as such. No. It would not do to come across as cut-throat mercenaries out for whomsoever could hand over the biggest coin purse. If you didn¡¯t know any better, the Guild members were stalwart heroes of the poor, defenders of the weak, and living the ideals that had made Fang¡¯Mel such a legend. Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but give a snide chuckle at that. The delusional fools themselves probably believed it as well.


    The rest of The Slums knew different. The unlucky citizens who interacted with the Guild knew full well what they were and their true modus operandi. Thieves. Murderers. Muscle for hire. Tools of the Nobles to keep the peons in line. Even Skrakch, a self-professed thief,  thought the lot of them should rot in any of the Hells that would take them in. There was a certain honor amongst the underworld. A code if you will, and the members of the Adventure Guild failed to toe the line at every given turn.


    Unfortunately, the Guild¡¯s existence was tacitly approved by the Tomb-Makers which, of course, was more than enough to keep the wretched den of debauchery open and in business.


    Unsurprisingly for such a line of work, the Guild had a high mortality rate amongst its members. This, plus the sheer amount of people they brought down with them, meant that the ¡®chaff¡¯ was often brutally separated from the wheat. One less job for the Tomb-Makers. Why focus on those below them when they had a bunch of idiots willing to do it for them? Less scum walking the streets meant less trouble for them. More deaths meant more Wraiths and more bodies for the Butchery. It was a disgustingly symbiotic relationship.


    Still, the silver lining about this little excursion was that the individual he was on his way to meet wasn¡¯t strictly part of the Guild. They were certainly her main clients but she mostly kept herself to herself, spending most of her working hours in the laboratory that the Guild had supplied for her.


    It was with a slightly less heavy heart that Skrkach approached the imposing three-story tall wooden building. It stood out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the city¡¯s architecture as it looked relatively new compared to the crumbling stone of The Slums and the shiny ancient marble of the Residential District. Constructing it from mostly wood made a lot of sense due to the sheer number of times the building got damaged. While the average member wasn¡¯t anything particularly special, getting enough of the bloody adventurers bored and drunk and things were bound to get broken and need replacing.


    In fact, as he approached the building, Skrakch could clearly see a cannonball-shaped hole on the second floor that was being hastily patched up by a couple of Dwarves. How and why someone had gotten a cannon up a bunch of stairs and then actually fired it, the Ratling didn¡¯t want to know. It was just another in a long list of reasons as to why he¡¯d much rather be in the library.


    A number of flags and banners representing Guild rankings decorated the arched entrance. Someone had actually bothered to carve multiple weapons and adventurers in the wood. Skrakch reached out with his paw to touch one of the carvings. It was well done but Hells knew how long it would last before it was set on fire, exploded, or whatever else.


    In a way, stepping inside the Guild house was like stepping into The Plagued Rat. It had the same bawdy, loud atmosphere and the same Gods awful stench. Members of various races would be clustered around the stained wooden tables, some playing card games, others seeking entertainment in the bottom of a tankard and a few would no doubt lean back in the wooden chairs, boasting about their latest job and achievements.


    There would be more people lined up by the large bar. Jostling with each other to get served next and occasionally, blows would be traded. Skrakch rolled his eyes. As Zach had once so eloquently put it, none of the idiots looked capable of organizing a piss-up in a brewery.


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    Skrakch spotted a few folks standing outside of the building that he recognized. Mostly from defusing their pathetic attempts to kill him. It was oddly flattering just how often people posted low-tier missions about the monster Ratling that plagued Dray¡¯Mel. Most adventuring groups that he came up against were at least smart enough to engage with him verbally rather than blindly attempting to hunt him down. And, of course, those that opened with violence? Well, they tended not to return from the quest with a full roster.


    With all this considered, the building was pretty damn hard to miss, even without the gaggle of humans hanging around by the entrance and giving the stink eye to any non-adventurer who shuffled by. They were dressed mostly like the murderous vagabonds they were. Hells, he even spotted one prick who¡¯d clearly accrued his assortment of leather and metal garb piece by piece considering that none of the colors matched.


    Still, he couldn¡¯t put it off any longer. The rain was showing no signs of letting up and he hated the feel of soaking wet fur so, with a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes, he made a beeline for the entrance.


    Sadly, just as he reached the large wooden doors, they burst open to reveal a pack of adventurers in the middle of a heated argument. Ignoring the cold of the rain, Skrakch tried his best to remain patient and wait for them to either get out of his way or at least notice he was there. The idiots were too distracted to care, either way, currently debating loudly which creature was the easiest to fight, a single Houroun or a dozen Dire Rats.


    The argument was totally and utterly foolish, Skrakch seethed to himself. A single Houroun would decimate each and every one of them and not think twice. In fact, they¡¯d still probably be fiddling around with their armor as the beast took each of their heads off. The weather and their endless prattle was beginning to grate on the Ratling as he opened his mouth.


    ¡°Oi! Out of the way!¡± He demanded. ¡°Some of us are busy.¡±


    For a second, it looked like the group of idiots was actually going to move. That was, of course, until they noticed Skrakch¡¯s unusual form. He fancied that he could see the cogs turning in their slow minds, realizing the actual moment they realized that it was a Ratling that was speaking to them. A round of appalled looks quickly spread across their faces.


    The closest to him, a tall wiry woman dressed in a maroon flowing robe, made an audible noise of disgust.


    ¡°My goodness! Who bothered putting a Translation spell on an Iskrin? I¡¯ve never seen one capable of speaking Common!¡±


    She wasn¡¯t addressed him directly of course. Very few people actually did. She turned to one of her friends, an older man with a large nose and a snotty look on his face who was shaking his head.


    ¡°Probably some Noble that¡¯s too lazy to head over here himself,¡± He replied. He looked Skrakch up and down dismissively. ¡°Though why he bothered to dress him up in armor is beyond me.¡±


    As he always did when dealing with Humans on his own, Skrakch calmly counted to ten before deciding to respond.


    ¡°Listen up you gobshites,¡± He said, flexing his sharp claws. ¡°Just get out of my way before I have to carve my way through.¡±


    Admittedly, the counting to ten never really did all that much.


    His rebuke was met with stunned silence as the adventurers stared at him with confusion. It was broken a few seconds later as one of the group, a fat, red-faced human wearing similar padded leather armor to Skrakch, pushed his way forward.


    ¡°The fuck did ye say tae me, ye little-¡±


    The rest of his threat was cut mercifully short as a figure pressed his way through the crowd, easily knocking the adventurers to the side haphazardly.


    ¡°Best not be finishing that sentence if you want to keep your teeth,¡± A gruff voice spoke up as the figure continued to push their way to the front. Dressed in head-to-toe intricate plated armor, the figure cut an intimidating presence despite the fact that he was around the same height as Zacharias.


    However, from the way that he¡¯d almost offhandedly shoved his way past the much taller, seemingly stronger adventurers, it was clear that there was power aplenty in his short form.


    Looking at this stout newcomer for a moment, the robe-wearing woman grabbed her companions and pulled them aside, ignoring their protests.


    ¡°Of course Vice-Guildmaster,¡± She replied in a new simpering tone. ¡°Our apologies for blocking your way,¡± She practically purred as she moved aside. Despite being cowed as she was, she still took the time to throw Skrakch a death glare as the group departed.


    ¡°Aye, aye, get out of here!¡± The Vice-Guildmaster said dismissively. ¡°And you!¡± He pointed a fat, sausage-like finger in Skrakch¡¯s direction. ¡°Wee rodent! Welcome back! Did you come to accept my offer then?¡± The Dwarf shouted, almost bursting Skrakch¡¯s eardrums as he yanked the Ratling¡¯s paw into a bone-crushing handshake and tried to embrace him.


    This was reason nine-hundred and seventy-two that Skrakch hated visiting the adventurer¡¯s guild.


    They were always so bloody keen on recruiting him.

 Chapter Eighty - An Experimental Mood

    Ducking under the Dwarf¡¯s attempt to grapple him and freeing his paw from the vice-like grip, Skrakch let out an indignant hiss.


    ¡°Gods Below, why do you always butt in Spanner? I can handle a few of your lot easily enough!¡± He demanded, smoothing down his ruffled fur.


    Letting out a deep rumbling laugh, Spanner let his arms drop.


    ¡°I¡¯m well aware you can rumble away with the best of them, but Wujeeta said you¡¯d be on your way and what sort of friend would I be if I let you claw out a few of the rookie''s throats? No, it¡¯s better for everyone if I escort you to the back, eh?¡±


    Skrakch scowled but decided to acquiesce to Spanner¡¯s idea. The sooner he did, the sooner he¡¯d be able to leave. He ducked into the building, following his escort. As expected, very little had changed since his last visit.


    The centrepiece of the main area was a massive bonfire that remained lit around the clock. The flames and smoke swirled and twirled in fascinating patterns. While the fire emanated the heat as one would expect, the heat didn¡¯t affect the wooden walls or roof of the building.


    Standing by this rather impressive fire, was a robed figure who seemed to be tracing patterns in the flames. Skrakch could make out the patterns as they re-arranged themselves from seemingly nothing to look like Goblins, Iskrin and Ghouls. As he traced the patterns, the older Mage was speaking to a nervous looking crowd in basic leather armor. Obviously rookies, the old man was no doubt trying to instill in them a sense of the dangers that lurked below the city.


    Not that it was going to help them much. Skrakch snorted as he stalked past. Although he wasn¡¯t sure of the exact ins and outs, most of those who started out in the Guild didn¡¯t make it past the first rank. Spanner always seemed to have a new tale about some poor group of greenhorns who¡¯d been eaten up and spat out by the Sewers.


    Further past the roaring bonfire was the hub where the Guild members gathered. Just as Skrakch remembered, it was almost the same as the pub. There were rows of wooden tables and battered chairs, dented pewter jugs and tankards filled with cheap ale and every kind of adventurer you could imagine. Most of the Guild were Humans but some of the least common Dray¡¯Mel races were also members, including a massive Minotaur in a chef¡¯s jacket that was spattered with different coloured stains.


    All in all, it was quite a well run Guild, despite the members propensity for chaos. When they weren¡¯t on a job, the Guildhouse offered an assortment of entertainment and, as Kuosh had once told him, differing cuisines that would cater to almost any taste. It was all carefully designed to keep the members distracted. It wouldn¡¯t do for the adrenaline junkies to get bored and start re-thinking their life choices after all.


    Still, as Skrakch followed Spanner through the crowds, the Ratling grudgingly nodded towards a couple of members that recognized him. Spanner kept up a litany throughout, talking about the Guild¡¯s latest and greatest jobs and, of course, the rewards that had come with them.


    As it always did, Skrakch¡¯s very small quota of patience ran out about halfway through this impromptu and unnecessary tour. He whirled in place and jabbed the Vice Guild Master in his broad chest with a point claw. The Ratling let out an impatient growl.


    ¡°For the last time Spanner, I don¡¯t care about this lot. I¡¯m not about to sign up to this place just because you keep spouting stories about your hey days!¡±


    ¡°Aye Lad, but you cannae blame an old Dwarf for trying. I¡¯ve told ye before, ye¡¯d be able to do some real good as part of the Guild and for way more coin than you get for working for that Halfling pal of yours.¡±


    ¡°For the last time,¡± Skrakch said, trying his best to keep his cool. ¡°I don¡¯t work for Zacharias. He¡¯s a necessary evil. A very annoying means to a much more glorious end. You should know by now I don¡¯t do what I do for the coin,¡±


    Skrakch glared at a nearby Human who, upon hearing this, went round-eyed, his jaw slack and hanging open as if he couldn¡¯t even begin to comprehend another reason for working other than payment. When he saw the Ratling¡¯s furious expression, he swallowed nervously and turned back to the others at his table, withdrawing a deck of cards for him pocket as he did so.


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    ¡°Yer still on that case are ye?¡± Spanner was shaking his head, a pitying look across his scarred and pitted face. ¡°If I were you, I¡¯d be thinkin¡¯ about livin¡¯ the rest of me life with riches not chasin¡¯ some impossible dream,¡± He continued, nodding significantly at Skrakch¡¯s wrist.


    ¡°Well it¡¯s a good job I didn¡¯t ask you then isn¡¯t it?¡± Skrakch shot back. ¡°Besides, there¡¯s better ways to make coin in this City than the Guild,¡± He added, as if that settled the argument.


    It was easy enough to rag on the place. Treat them as though they were beneath his contempt. But, in reality, it was the darker elements of their work that made Skrakch immovable on joining. His first encounter with them had been in the Sewers. A group of would-be Feral Iskrin exterminators had stumbled across him when he was much younger, fresh from escaping Master Jace''s burning mansion wreckage.


    He could still remember frantically running through the complicated network of Sewer tunnels, dodging the arrows and bolts of sparks that were sent his way, desperately fleeing towards the Goblin village. If someone like Zacharias or Winifred had asked him, he¡¯d had described it as an easy escape from a bunch of idiots. But in truth... he¡¯d nearly died that day and the memory still sometimes haunted him in his sleep.


    Shaking off these unpleasant memories, Skrackh concentrated on making his way towards the Alchemy lab. He was just about to enter the area when a metal gauntlet grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around.


    ¡°Look Lad, I¡¯ll say it to ye plainly,¡± Sapnner said, gripping onto Skrakch¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The Guild did ye wrong. I know that. But we can fix that up. No problem. Just let me know what it¡¯ll take. Time¡¯s running out for ye and I dinnae want to see ye dyin¡¯ in some gutter somewhere thanks to those halfwits ye run around with.¡±


    Skrakch stared at the infuriating Dwarf for a moment. He¡¯d lost count of the amount of times they¡¯d had this very same conversation. No matter what Skrakch told him, Spanner was convinced that he was at death¡¯s door and about to meet his maker destitute.


    Still¡­he supposed he could leverage the Dwarf¡¯s insistence into something that could work for him¡­as he stared at Spanner¡¯s concerned face, he suddenly came up with a perfect idea¡­


    ¡°Y¡¯know what Spanner? I reckon you¡¯re right,¡± Skrakch sighed in a way he hoped would be interpreted as realization. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s hard to give up on something that you really want and I admire you for not giving up on this recruitment campaign of yours. Perhaps it¡¯s time for me to bury the hatchet with this place. As you pointed out, time isn¡¯t on my side. How about if you help me with my current project, I¡¯ll join the Guild. Sound fair?¡±


    Spanner grinned widely, his beard partially bristling with excitement.


    ¡°Of course Skrakch! Just tell me what ye need doing and ye can consider it done!¡± He let go of the Ratling¡¯s shoulder and clapped him on the back. ¡°I knew ye¡¯d see sense eventually!¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m about to get a few bottles of Placating Brew so I can risk my hide throwing them at a bloody Chosen Shade,¡± Skrakch replied, enjoying the look of shock on his friend¡¯s face. ¡°And it¡¯s all so that the Denmother will get off my bloody back so¡­how about it? Fancy going into battle with a Chosen, all to recruit me?¡±


    ¡°Aye¡­well¡­¡± Spanner opened his mouth and closed it a few times, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. ¡°Ye didnae say anything about Chosen¡­that¡¯s uh, that¡¯s a whole different kettle of fish ye see¡­¡± He continued as the colour drained from his face. ¡°Maybe¡­maybe I¡¯d best be leaving ye here¡­I¡¯ve got this meeting ye see¡­¡± He finished awkwardly.


    Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but grin. He hadn¡¯t really expected Spanner to agree to what was essentially a suicide mission for him although had he done so, it would¡¯ve made the whole thing a Hell of a lot easier. He watched as the Dwarf nodded at him and shuffled off, pretending he had better things to do. At least he¡¯d gotten him off his back for now.


    Skrakch turned back to the wooden door that led to the Alchemy labs. It was carved with potion bottles in a very rough hand. He put his paw on the knob and pulled it open, feeling a wave of hot air blast him in the face and stand his fur on end. Despite the sudden heat, a cold chill settled itself into his bones.


    He poked his head through the gap to ensure the coast was clear before entering the room, trying his best to ignore the shifting sensation of the heat running through his fur. As soon as the door closed behind him, a plume of flame suddenly erupted from the other end of the room, followed by a litany of curses.


    Crouching with much practised grace, Skrakch watched in awe as the flames were corralled above him before being ejected from the room by a Mana-intensive network of runes and shunted into the brick fireplace to his left.


    ¡°Well, looks like Wujeeta is in an experimental mood,¡± He muttered glibly to himself.

 Chapter Eighty One - Reed? Reek? Rude?

    One of his favourite parts of visiting Wujeeta was enjoying the multitude of otherworldly sights on offer. Born and raised in Dray¡¯Mel, Skrakch was hardly familiar with life outside of the city walls, much less knowledgeable about horticulture in all its forms.


    There was only so far book learning could take you. Living, smelling, involving all your senses in something tangible was an entirely different thing. Thus, the veritable jungle which Wujeeta painstakingly maintained, never failed to fascinate him.


    Every inch of the Alchemist¡¯s lab was covered in some kind of living thing. Whether it be the strange fungi that carpeted the floor, or the Mana-rich crops that grew in neat rows, or even the rare and valuable flowers that grew up the walls in intricate loops, there was always something to marvel at. To top it off, the entire laboratory roof was made of the finest glass, kept spotlessly clean to ensure that the natural sunlight was free to beam down upon the vegetation.


    Carefully stepping through the dirt path that lead deeper into the lab, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but call out.


    ¡°By the Gods Below Wujeeta, you nearly burned my whiskers off with that explosion! I thought an Alchemist of your level never made mistakes?¡±


    He moved aside a curtain of hanging, multi-coloured, vines with his paw and finally caught sight of the Alchemist herself.


    While the jungle-like entrance to her lab was like a trip through a strange and true wilderness, Wujeeta¡¯s actual experimental area was the complete opposite. Strange devices made out of metal cogs and gears whirred away, brass and surgical steel shining.


    Glass tubes and beakers held curious smelling liquids, bubbling away, vapours slowly rising upwards or, in the case of one curious blue liquid, defying all gravity and flowing down like a great steam waterfall.


    Wujeeta herself, was standing behind a steel counter. She looked no worse for wear after the loud explosion. In fact, the only sign of something gone awry was the black smudges on her scaled nostrils.


    A rarity in Dray¡¯Mel, Wujeeta was a member of the Ssah race. Their common name for those not in the know was ¡®Lizardfolk¡¯. Skrakch¡¯s time in the library had taught him that the Ssah were descendents of both humans and dragons. It was easy to see why. As humanoid as her form was, there was no ignoring the emerald green scales that gleamed with Mana, or the two ornate scarlet horns that jutted from the top of her skull.


    Lazily waving a clawed hand towards him in greeting, Wujeeta continued to stare down the lens of some strange looking lab instrument before quickly tasting the air with her tongue.


    ¡°Hah!¡± She said in her clipped tone. ¡°You¡¯d best believe that wasn¡¯t me. It¡¯s been quite a long time since one of my experiments caused such a small explosion,¡± She looked up from the lens, her yellow eyes narrowing. ¡°No, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve been saddled with yet another apprentice.¡±


    Feeling his ears perk up in excitement, Skrakch flopped atop a nearby stool before grinning widely.


    ¡°And here was me thinking the Adventurer¡¯s Guild were done foisting unlucky pricks upon you,¡± He shook his head in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯d think they¡¯d have learned their lesson by now. How many of them have died in this very lab? Six? Seven?¡±


    ¡°Pshaw,¡± Wujeeta rolled her yellow eyes expressively. ¡°You know how desperate they are to have access to a cheaper Alchemist than me. They want the goods but at half the price. No, they¡¯ll keep trying to force me to pass on my secrets no matter how many of them they lose in the process.¡± The Ssah scientist licked her lips before shooting a look over her shoulder. ¡°Although I have to say¡­this one isn¡¯t half-bad. For a Lordling anyways. The boy has deft fingers and a knack for measuring ingredients. In fact, I think I¡¯d go so far as to say he¡¯s half worthy of earning my knowledge,¡± She offered Skrakch a smile. ¡°Reed!¡± She called out, snapping her clawed fingers, ¡°Get the Hells out here.¡±


    For a long moment, the only answer she received was a sudden clang of metal scraping against metal. A few seconds later, a small door to the back of the lab opened and a rather generic looking Human strolled out. His face was completely black with soot, his blue eyes looking rather piercing by comparison. Half of his blonde hair was a singed mess, the other half was sticking out on its ends.


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    The only really remarkable thing about the young man was his height. The lanky figure looked down from above the both of them, Wujeeta''s newest apprentice doing a remarkable job of looming above Skrakch.


    ¡°Ha, I can see why you named him Reed,¡± Skrakch laughed. The kid was certainly as tall and as lanky as one. The Iskrin sniffed the air to try and guess what the boy had been working on. He could detect the faintly sickly smell of Fly Agaric in the air, mixed with a more earthly smell that he couldn¡¯t quite place. Still, Fly Agaric wasn¡¯t known to be used in that many potions beyond those meant to prop up a dying man in his final moments. ¡°An Elixir of the Final Stand,¡± Skrakch said.


    Wujeeta let out a chuckle at this.


    ¡°As always, you¡¯re a devilish creature Skrakch. If it weren¡¯t for your criminal tendencies, you¡¯d make a fine Alchemist¡¯s assistant. But yes, Reed was the most obvious name for him. He should consider himself lucky. It was going to be Reek because Lord knows you can practically smell the gold on him. Thankfully, I¡¯m nothing if not a merciful mentor. Isn¡¯t that right?¡±


    ¡°Y¡­yes Miss Wujeeta,¡± Reed said with a nod towards his mistress. Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but notice that the boy went bright red with embarrassment but continued to keep his head down, waiting for further instructions.


    ¡°Less proud than your usual fare as well eh?¡± The Ratling idly smoothed his furry chin as he looked the boy up and down. ¡°Maybe they finally did find you a decent student, Wu.¡± If the famously prickly Ssah was trusting a Lordling with Fly Agaric and other costly ingredients, Reed was undoubtedly a diamond in the rough. Not that Wujeeta would be letting him know that any time soon.


    ¡°Well he¡¯s certainly a quick learner. Somewhat reminiscent of a certain Vermin I found trying to rob me,¡± Wujeeta replied. ¡°Speaking of, I¡¯m surprised to see you back so soon Skrakch. Did you acquire more stolen reagents to sell me? I¡¯m running low on Ghoul Saliva so if you¡¯ve been dipping your toes into slumrunning again¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the opposite actually Wu,¡± Skrakch said. Not wanting the boy to hear his plans, he glared at him with his fiercest expression. He had to give credit to the kid, who stood his ground until Wujeeta got the message and waved him away with an imperious wave of her hand. ¡°I¡¯m here to buy as much Placative Brew as you have in stock. I know it¡¯s mostly reserved for the Guild¡­but I was hoping that you¡¯d make an exception for one of your oldest friends,¡± Skrakch continued, puffing out his chest and slapping on his most wheedling expression.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Wujeeta turned her full attention to him, flicking her tongue out and tasting the air once more as she considered. ¡°I can¡¯t say I have much on hand. Possession tends to end ugly, brew or no brew. Shades aren¡¯t partial to letting someone shove a potion bottle down their host¡¯s gullet. No, the Guild much prefers to cut their losses these days. Everybody¡¯s replaceable could be their new motto. Still¡­ I¡¯m intrigued as to why you¡¯re so interested in such a brew and in bulk? The Hells are you up to?¡± She asked, locking her cold repitilian eyes on his.


    Glancing behind the Alchemst to make sure that Reek, Reed, Rude¡­ whatever, had returned to his potion brewing, the rogue Ratling leaned forward.


    ¡°Listen, it¡¯s a favor for the Denmother,¡± He explained, whispering theatrically. ¡°Long story short, one of her Succubi got herself possessed and naturally, she turned to yours truly for help. You know me Wu, I¡¯m a loving and caring member of society. How could I ignore an old woman¡¯s plight?¡±


    Letting out a startlingly long hiss, Wujeeta jerked backwards as though she¡¯d been stabbed by a hot poker.


    ¡°The Denmother?¡± she whispered harshly. ¡°Gods Below be damned, you rotten little fool! I¡¯ll give you what I have on hand and then I want you gone. And don¡¯t you dare let her know where you got it from!¡±


    The Ssah quickly hurried over to a locked cabinet lined with wooden shelves. She fumbled in her robes for the key and quickly snatched a few elixirs off the counter, sweeping them into a sack. She pulled the strings tight and thrust it at Skrakch.


    ¡°Take them,¡± She hissed. ¡°For a normal possession one should be plenty¡­but for something that could take control of demon-spawn¡­I shudder to think. Just promise me that if the Placating Brew isn¡¯t enough, you¡¯ll cut your losses and run.¡±


    Quickly slinging the sack over his shoulder, Skrakch nodded solemnly and couldn¡¯t help but agree with her sentiment. Flashing his teeth in a ruthless smile, he was swift to reply.


    ¡°Come now Wu, when have you ever known me to let down a client? I¡¯ll take care of it. One way or another,¡±


    As he turned to make his way out of the lab, Skrakch allowed himself a mirthless chuckle. After all, the Denmother had asked him to free Survix from the Shade¡¯s possession. She hadn¡¯t said anything about making sure the Succubi actually survived the process.

 Chapter Eighty Two - The Sounding Horn

    With the bottles of Placating Brew secured, Skrakch eagerly made his way back to The Slums. There was only one more piece of the puzzle that he needed before he could start tracking down the Chosen Shade.


    The muscle. It would be complete and utter foolishness to try and fight a Chosen without an ace up your sleeve. Preferably an Ace with as much strength and power as possible. It was a good thing that Skrakch was on good terms with at least one such fighter¡­


    As he made his journey back to the familiar streets, he was struggling to think exactly how he¡¯d be able to bribe Winifed into helping him. Sure, she¡¯d been a more than will accomplice on plenty of jobs when the coin had been right. But chasing down a Chosen? Who happened to be a Shade? Well¡­that was on a whole different level. He had to hope that despite these rather dangerous terms, the former pit fighter still had a price.


    It was almost with a sigh of relief when he kicked open the doors to The Plagued Rat. The Ratling took a moment to savour the sights, sounds and even the smells that surrounded him. Sure, the mixture of sweat, cheap meat and stale ale didn¡¯t make for the finest of perfumes, but it was practically the smell of home as far as he was concerned.


    It was a stroke of luck, or just perhaps the fact that his companions were so oddly reliable when it came to mead, that both Winifred and Zacharias were sitting at their usual table in the corner. The pair looked as though they were in the midst of a heated argument.


    Winifred¡¯s powerful fists were clenched on the stained tabletop, her glare one that could cut through most other folks¡¯ resolve. Zacharias was standing on his seat, as if he could make up for his short stature by towering over the seated fighter. His trademark smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead he was scowling at Winifred as he pointed a finger dangerously near her face.


    Skrakch sauntered over to the table to enjoy the latest show. As he did so, he noticed that two rather unremarkable thugs were eyeing him up from the next table. It wasn¡¯t a weird sight by any means. Most patrons would enter staring contests with each other, desperately to prove who had the most bravado, but few of them dared to stare at the Ratling, knowing he ran with an accomplished thief and pit fighter.


    Flashing his sharp incisor teeth in a snarl, the Iskrin felt his fur begin to bristle as one of the goons had the nerve to stand up and actually block his route to the table.


    ¡°Oi, them seats is taken you filthy-¡± The thug started to say as he crossed his thick scarred arms across his barrel-like chest.


    Thankfully, Zacharias cut the man off before Skrakch could lunge at the poor idiot¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Alright, alright. Sit the fuck back down ya bloody knob. I told you about him. What other bloody Ratling would be in this pub? Fuckin¡¯ brainless wankers.¡±


    Skrakch pushed past the hapless oaf who was stuttered some half-assed apology to the Halfling and took his usual seat at the table.


    ¡°The fuck is this, Zacharias?¡± He demanded. ¡°Since when have you had a thing for picking up strays? Your little lapdogs need more training unless they want their throats cutting,¡± Skrakch continued, speaking loud enough to make sure the two thugs could hear every word. They shot him mutinous looks but continued with their card game.


    Skrakch looked at Winifred, who was halfway through a hefty looking meat pie that was oozing a rather gray looking gravy onto a filthy plate. Anger clouded her face, her clenched jaw was obvious despite her attempt to look neutral.


    ¡°Aye, I wanted tae know that too,¡± She said, glaring at Zacharias. ¡°So what¡¯s going on Wee Man? I think we both deserve tae know about yer new friends.¡±


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    ¡°Come on Darling,¡± Zacharias sat back down and rolled his eyes. ¡°How about you letting it go? So their old boss tried to kill us,¡± He shrugged. ¡°It happens a lot in our line of work. Get over it.¡±


    Winifred very much looked like she wanted to ¡®get over it¡¯ by using the Halfling¡¯s scarred face as a punching bag but, much to Skrakch¡¯s surprise, she managed to keep a lid on her anger and went back to her pie, chewing on the soggy pastry disconsolately.


    Zacharias ran his grubby fingers through his unruly hair, combing it down absentmindedly before helping himself to another glassful from the large pitcher of ale in the center of the table.


    ¡°The fine blokes you see here represent our newest companions,¡± He announced with his typical air of theatricality. ¡°As our dear Winnie has already worked out, they used to be part of Sykes¡¯ crew. The poor bastards didn¡¯t know where to turn when we offed him so I made them an offer they couldn¡¯t refuse,¡± He leaned back in his chair and grinned. ¡°If all goes well, we¡¯re going to get the Dragon¡¯s Blood business flowing again.¡±


    Skrakch stared at the smug Halfling in shock, slowly working his jaw open and closed. Now that he¡¯d mentioned it, the tattoo that one of the thugs was sporting on his chest was awfully familiar. It clicked into place exactly where he¡¯d seen the roaring Dragon¡¯s head before.


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding right?¡± Skrakch asked in disbelief. ¡°You told me yourself that Sykes was the only one in Dray¡¯Mel who knew where Dragon¡¯s Blood comes from. I know you¡¯re not known for your staggering fucking intellect but how exactly are you planning to peddle something you don¡¯t even have?¡±


    ¡°Aye, and messin¡¯ around with the people who tried tae kill us? It¡¯s not just bloody daft, it¡¯s fuckin¡¯ insane,¡± Winifred chipped in, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯ve clearly lost yer wee hid. May I remind ye of our most recent acquisition? Don¡¯t ye think we¡¯ve got enough heat surrounding us without falling in with worthless louts who¡¯ll betray ye soon as look at ye?¡± She demanded angrily, stabbing her knife into her meat pie.


    Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Zacharis flashed what he clearly thought was a cheeky grin. With his new scar-ridden face, it looked more like a pained grimace, angry red wounds stretched taut across his cheeks.


    ¡°That¡¯s the beauty of it! We take the coin we make from our ¡®sales¡¯ and we invest it in a new source of Dragon¡¯s Blood! We¡¯ll be up to our eyeballs in coin.¡±


    ¡°Aye and I¡¯ve told ye and told ye! Dinnae go messin¡¯ with junkies. Aye, they may be desperate for a fix and shower you with whatever coin they have, but what happens if ye cannae find this magical new source? I¡¯ll tell ye what happens, shite hits the fan and every junkie in the city will want ye guts for garters!¡± Winifired argued.


    ¡°So forget the coin, even though we¡¯ll have more than we¡¯d ever need,¡± Zacharias replied. ¡°Where the fuck does gold get you anyways? Nah, what we need is power. Real fucking power. I¡¯m not talking about some pathetic street vermin whining for his latest fix. I¡¯m talking about those up in the Residential Quarter. The so-called Lords and Ladies who like to ¡®indulge¡¯ in something from the dark side of life,¡± The Halfing continued. ¡°If I don¡¯t get this new source, and let¡¯s be real here Darling, it¡¯s a pretty big fucking ¡®if¡¯, you really think all of those richy-riches are going to be crying to the Tomb Makers that they can¡¯t have their illegal drugs? Do me a favour! It¡¯s a foolproof plan I¡¯m telling you. We end up with a shit-ton of coin and even more power or, it goes tits up and we still end up with a shit-ton of coin.¡±


    Winifred stared at Zacharias for a long moment, before letting out a weary sigh. ¡°Yer mental you are. Ye expect us tae become crimelords, and run the Slums? Yah got tae be kidding me, ye thick fuck. That only ends one way, as Sykes could tell ye. Ye know, if I hadn¡¯t bloody splattered his skull inwards!¡±


    Face twisting into an ugly scowl, Zacharias matched eyes with the brawler, neither backing down.


    Scoffing to himself at their pointless argument, Skrakch was about to speak up about his own business when a large booming noise blasted through the tavern, followed by a deep rumble that shook the building they were in to its very foundations.


    Tankards of ale spilled to the floor as patrons cried out in surprise and fear in equal measure, as the Rogues got to their feet. Before anyone had a chance to move, a deep horn sounded out in the distance, the air reverberating until it suddenly cut off.


    ¡°What in the Nine Hells was that?¡± Zach cursed loudly, the sentiment echoed by plenty of the bars patrons who were loudly questioning and shouting in the confusion.


    ¡°That would be the horn that the Tomb-Makers use,¡± Skrakch answered gravely, his tail going rigid with fear as he eyed the tavern¡¯s doorway. ¡°To signal when the Outer Walls are being attacked.¡±

 Chapter Eighty Three - Endure...

    The Outer Walls of Dray¡¯Mel shook to their very foundations as another massive boulder slammed into the stone. The force of the blow knocked a few of the defending skeletons asunder, causing them to tumble to the desert below.


    The mindless things were quick to reassemble themselves, broken bones knitting back together within seconds. Alas, it was all for naught as the stumbling defenders were quick to discover. The Necromantic energies that were sustaining them quickly dried up, causing them to become piles of useless bones once more.


    Many a simpleton thought that becoming an Undead was a gift from the Gods themselves. A boon of true immortality. But the Burnt Husk knew better. Undeath was simply trading the shackles of time for another foul host.


    While most of the Outer Wall was packed with skeletons and the Death Knights that commanded them, the heavily armoured form of the Burnt Husk stood alone, waves of heat emanating from his once fine silver armor.


    Many years ago, the armor had been decorated in family crests and gilded lilies. The scouring flames had left little space for fancy decorations. Now, small beads of the still boiling silver dropped down his breastplate and onto his mangled gauntlets.


    Casually listing a massive slab of stone ostensbility in the shape of a claymore that would normally require the strength of six men to even budge, the plated figure stared out from the wall in consternation.


    For only a few hundred feet away from Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s walls stood a host of a thousand monsters, behemoths of all shapes and sizes lined up in eerie stillness. From diminutive Forest Goblins and Kobolds to the sprawling forms of gigantic Behirs. The rag-tag bunch made for a formidable looking army. The Behirs alone were a sight to behold. It resembled a strange mix between a centipede and a lizard, its six pairs of legs joined onto a hulking body with a lashing tail and a snarling maw.


    And yet, for all the Manticores and Ogres, with their low intelligence and a penchant for violence, there was barely a trace of movement from the besieging army, most of the would-be attackers were standing perfectly still as they stared woodenly towards the city.


    It it wasn¡¯t for the pulsing sacs of blight rot that was undulating on the creature¡¯s flesh, the Burnt Husk would have assumed the creatures to be dead. Propped up in a parody of living, left to rot away in the harsh desert sun.


    But behind these lines of strangely serene, still creatures, there was a flurry of activity. Dozens of Treants reached deep into the desert sand before pulling up massive clumps of rock, only to pass them along in a chain to the heart of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s current woes.


    Because it was at the centre of the horde of monsters, that one creature towered above all others. Reaching down to pick up a boulder taller than an average human male, a towering Giant leaned backward before throwing it towards the city with all of its might.


    Thankfully, the beast¡¯s aim was off as the boulder crashed into the desert sands a few feet before the Outer Walls. It was little comfort. The Giant had ample time to improve upon its technique.


    Without the ability to wander past their imposed city limits, the Undead defenders were forced to watch as the Giant continued its one-monster assault. For every boulder than landed, three fell short. It was good odds but still the unending tide of stone eventually began to crumble a portion of the Outer Walls in an explosion of dust and debris.


    ¡°Finally¡­¡± the Burnt Husk rumbled, taking his blade and grasping it in a two handed stance. The armoured knight watched as the dust settled, peering down into the Undead District.


    It wasn¡¯t long before the clamour and noise of falling stone was overturned by howls of anguish and rage. It had been centuries since the Outer Walls had been cracked, and the mindless horde had a proper outlet for its rage.


    Grasping claws pulled their way over the rubble as hundreds of Ghouls began scrambling outwards, saliva dripping from open jaws. Dozens of hunks of stone were tossed aside as hulking Zombies barrelled their way forward, crushing rubble and Ghouls alike in their rush toward the living monsters awaiting them.


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    The first of the Ghouls scrambled into the desert heat and swiftly began to decay as their proximity to Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s necrotic energy waned. But, even as their flesh began to rapidly fall off their bones, a Word of Power roiled over the enraged Horde.


    Endure¡­


    Leaping down from the Outer Walls, the Burnt Husk landed amidst the Horde of Undead and pointed his blade toward the encroaching army of monsters.


    As the swell of Undead pressed past the molten knight, the ebb and flow of Necromantic energy was momentarily halted within the rampaging bodies of the dead. It left them free to charge towards the now moving puppets of the Restless Swarm.


    Flicking down his helmet¡¯s visor, Loth¡¯Mel strode towards the Giant with a raspy chuckle under his breath. It had been a long time since the Burnt Husk had had a chance to test his full might and he was certain that he would enjoy every second of it.


    The army of monstrosities didn¡¯t wait for the Undead to reach them patiently however. Acid sprayed from the Manticore¡¯s tails in sheets, ice shards rained down from the hands of the Ice Spirits and, as the Treants summoned roots, dozens of Zombies were knocked to their feet. An effective way to slow down the encroaching horde.


    And through it all, seemingly unbothered by the Undead army, the Giant kept tossing boulders without fear, raining death down upon Dray¡¯Mel. Whatever manner of beast that was controlling these creatures was looking down upon on the Undead. And it lit a familiar flame in Loth¡¯Mel¡¯s heart.


    Breaking into a brisk jog himself, the Burnt Husk reared back his colossal sword and flung it towards the Giant. The blade flew with remarkable accuracy and looked as though it was on track to impale the Giant¡¯s skull¡­until a massive Behir flung itself in the projectile¡¯s path.


    Such was the force of the blow that the blade barely slowed as it punched through the monster¡¯s flesh like butter. Spraying out the other side in an expulsion of blood and guts, the stone slab collided with the Giants chest, rocking the creature backwards just as the Undead horde reached the Monster army. Neither the infected creatures nor the ravenous Ghouls fought with any other preservation instincts, all too willing to sink their teeth in their foes flesh, even if it meant being ripped asunder themselves.


    Hundreds died in the first few seconds, but it wasn¡¯t enough for the Burnt Husk. As Loth¡¯Mel collided with the Restless Swarm¡¯s minions, waves of roiling flames burnt away at their flesh as the silver clad warrior marched relentlessly towards the Giant.


    Wounded as it was, the Giant pulled the blade out from its chest cavity and tossed it aside. Letting out a dull roar, it charged into the battlefield, crushing foe and friend alike and coating them in its blood as it made its way towards the Chosen.


    Looming over the knight, the Giant swept its grasping hand downwards, pulverizing a dozen Ghouls before closing around the Burnt Husks frame. The colossal Giant lifted its captive high into the sky, fully intent on smashing the Burnt Husk into the ground, when it let out a deep cry of anguish.


    Silver flames licked the flesh off the Giants grip, as the unnatural flames spread down the Monsters body. Screaming in anguish, the Giant steadfastly kept its grip sealed as it began bashing its burnt hand against the ground.


    Small goblets of burning silver spread with each motion, the entire battlefield lighting up the uncaring, unflinching combatants. Even with a quickly spreading inferno building around them, the Ghouls and Monsters continued their reckless battle.


    Before too long, the entire desert stretch was nothing but silver flames as even the Giant collapsed under the unbearable heat. As the flames reached their peek, Loth¡¯Mel lay in its epicenter, his left arm mangled and his legs crushed into meat paste.


    Still, the Burnt Husk couldn¡¯t help but laugh as he watched his beloved city from afar. His Core grew dim as his Pact ebbed in power, and yet, he still Endured¡­


    Reaching out with his sole good hand, Loth¡¯Mel began to pull himself towards the Dray¡¯Mel, leaving a furrow in the sand as he inched closer and closer.


    The defenders on the Outer Walls watched as impassively as they had watched the Monster army''s approach, mindless Undead sworn to defend their cities walls, and nothing else.


    The Chosen slowed his torturous crawl forwards, as he reached the shade cast by the City¡¯s shadow. Looking upwards, Loth¡¯Mel could see the Undead forces staring impassively down at him and he knew he could make it.


    He could return to the city he¡¯d spent six centuries defending, once more stand upon the walls waiting to beat back any invaders, he could repair his broken body and he could Endure¡­


    But why? Why force himself to climb the Outer Wall once more. Why stand on the Wall alongside his long dead brothers, why must he Endure¡­


    Once, he''d made a similar trek in order to aid his sworn brothers, but it had been six centuries since he''d counted Fang''Mel and Rath''Mel as true brothers. So why did he struggle so, and in a moment of weakness, the Burnt Husk let his arm go still.


    Lying in the desert under the burning sun, Loth¡¯Mel allowed himself to rest and Endure no more...

 Chapter Eighty Four - Another Fool Idea

    As the blaring horn sounded for nearly the hundredth time, Skrakch idly dragged his index claw across the tabletop in boredom. He scrunched his nose up at the black grime that accumulated on his nail from the simple movement.


    At first, the entire Plagued Rat had gone on high alert as the Tomb-Maker¡¯s battle horn sounded. There had been a cacophonous clatter as weapons and armor were readied, eyes searching for any signs of their beloved watering hole being breached. But, as the minutes passed and nothing happened, the pub¡¯s regulars were just as quick to settle back down to their drinking and card games as though nothing had happened.


    The more courageous of them had eventually poked their head out of the front door and returned muttering to themselves and shaking their heads. Unable to bear the waiting himself, Skrakch had done the same only to be greeted by the sight of empty streets devoid of both Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s citizens and the hulking Skeleton guards tasked with watching over the city.


    Something was definitely afoot. The horn didn¡¯t sound for no reason but, whatever it was, it hadn¡¯t yet hit the Dray¡¯Mel streets. By extension, that meant it hadn¡¯t yet affected its citizens directly. That was enough for the regulars to stop actively caring. It also meant that the Ratling and his nefarious cohorts were about to settle in for a long wait.


    Thankfully, the owner of the Plagued Rat had been more than happy to keep plying his patrons with the cheapest swill in the city. People tended to drink more when they were nervous and he was there to capitalize on it.


    ¡°Listen, mate, if it was a Crusade, I¡¯d know about it,¡± Zacharias said conceitedly as he tossed peanuts into his mouth. ¡°You really think one of those merchants from Cherstea would¡¯ve been able to keep their fat gobs shut? Fat fucking chance Squeakers.¡±


    Skrakch let out a heavy sigh as another peanut bounced off his furry shoulder. Apparently, the odious Halfling had yet to realize the loss of his eye had had a serious effect on his depth perception.


    ¡°And what the Hells else do you think would get the Tomb-Makers this riled up then? I¡¯ve never heard this bloody racket before,¡± The Ratling countered, taking a swig of his tankard as his tail lashed from side to side in agitation. ¡°The last time they sounded the alarm was because of a fucking Dragon. If those two brain cells you own could rub together to understand the written word, you¡¯d see it clearly for yourself in The History Of Dray¡¯Mel: Volume IV.¡±


    Biting deep into her third meat pie in as many hours, Winifred groaned theatrically as gravy dribbled down her chin. ¡°Yer both doing ma head in,¡± She groused. ¡°That and that bloody horn, ma head¡¯s about tae burst!¡±


    Skrakch and Zacharis scoffed in unison before taking another deep swig of their drinks. Looking around slowly as the other patrons, the Halfling dropped his tankard to the table and a thoughtful look passed over his scarred face.


    ¡°Actually, I heard some of the Caravans coming into the city have gone missing,¡± He mused. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine the usual dross managing to stop quite so many of ¡®em. Maybe it¡¯s something more local?¡± He suggested with a nonchalant shrug. ¡°Either way, it¡¯s out of my wheelhouse,¡± He added as he propped his feet up on the table earning him a filthy look from Skrakch.


    ¡°Aye, and what wheelhouse would that be, Wee Man?¡± Winifred asked with mock innocence. ¡°Whoring and drug peddling? I think the poor wee lasses of the streets should be thanking their lucky stars you¡¯re nae on the prowl tonight.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bit rich coming from you, Winnie my dear,¡± Zacharias shot back. ¡°I hear the Denmother¡¯s Incubi have been missing you of late. Finally got tired of all your boy toys? Cos any time you wanna get with a real man, you know I¡¯m more than happy to help,¡± He offered, flashing the former Pit Fighter his best supercilious grin, complete with a suggestive wink.


    Skrakch rolled his eyes expressively, fully expecting some kind of snappy comeback from the Chosen. It was a surprise therefore when she remained silent but blushed violently.


    ¡°What¡¯s it tae do with you what I do with my time?¡± She eventually rebutted sullenly, eyes pointedly ignoring Zacharias¡¯ growing grin.


    As the Halfling leaned forward, no doubt to continue his bizarre mixture of mocking and flirting, Skrakch loudly cleared his throat.


    ¡°Actually, I have something that needs doing,¡± He announced importantly as Zacharias¡¯ made a horrible ¡®kissy¡¯ face at Winifred who pulled a hideous face back in response. ¡°And it¡¯s something that¡¯s in both of your wheelhouses. With the Old Bones being distracted, I¡¯m thinking now might be the perfect time to get it sorted.¡±


    For a beat, both Winifred and Zacharias gave each other an appraising look before settling back to regard the Ratling with interest.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been pretty damn twitchy for a while now Squeaks,¡± Zacharias replied, eyeing him up. ¡°I figured you were just shit scared of the ruckus¡­we all know rats are skittish.¡±


    Snarling slightly, Skrakch fought to keep the instant feeling of annoyance off his face.


    ¡°This is serious Zacharias,¡± He continued in an uppity tone. ¡°The Denmother herself asked for my help. One of her girls is missing and she wants us to take care of it. Simple enough, even for your low intelligence, no?¡±


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    Winifred let out a loud scoff as she leaned back in her chair, crackling her knuckles loudly and shaking her head.


    ¡°Yeah, too bloody simple Rat,¡± She said. ¡°If it was just that, ye¡¯d be handling it yerself tae get the most coin. So how about ye tell us where the catch is?¡± She added as she spat to the side, earning a look of disgust from the serving wench who had to dodge it.


    ¡°Well,¡± Skrakch hedged, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. ¡°The missing girl is a Succubi. And we know who¡¯s taken her. It¡¯s a Shade,¡±


    ¡°Aye, and the rest?¡± Winifred continued.


    ¡°Yeah, Old Squeaks is definitely holding out on us here,¡± Zacharias added with a nod. ¡°So c¡¯mon, spill.¡±


    ¡°Ok so the Shade is likely a Chosen and the only clue I got from the Denmother was in the form of a damnable riddle,¡± Skrakch finished in a rush before sitting back and bracing himself for the inevitable response.


    ¡°Yeah, you can sod right off with that one Squeakers,¡± Zacharias replied instantly, slamming his tankard against the tabletop and spilling its contents everywhere. ¡°No way am I risking my neck going near one of them freaks. No offense, Winnie darling,¡± He paused for a moment. ¡°Well, maybe a bit of offense.¡±


    Zacharias¡¯ answer wasn¡¯t anything surprising, although he¡¯d expected a few more choice curse words, but the pensive look on Winifred¡¯s face was giving the Ratling some small amount of hope.


    The Fighter tapped her chin thoughtfully before looking at Skrakch and seemingly regarding him in contemplation. ¡°A Chosen Shade? I¡¯ve seen how strong Chosen can be. If we were to say no¡­how in the Nine Hells did ye intend on handlin¡¯ it alone?¡± She asked with genuine interest.


    Deliriously happy at not being totally dismissed by her, Skrakch grinned.


    ¡°That¡¯s just the thing, Winifred. It¡¯s a Chosen Shade. The bloody thing is probably weak as piss. Plus, I happen to have gotten my claws on a decent amount of Placative Brew. Worst comes to worst, I just need to pour some down it''s gullet,¡± He explained as flippantly as he could.


    ¡°Right, right,¡± Zacharias spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he rolled his eye. ¡°You¡¯ve bloody lost it you have. Even you can¡¯t be that bloody stupid! There¡¯s no telling if some potion is gonna work on a Chosen Shade and that¡¯s if you can even get close enough to poison it!¡±


    Skrakch raised an eyebrow and absentmindedly cleaned one of his whiskers.


    ¡°And what would you know about potions? I¡¯m pretty sure everything you know could be written on the back of a simple postage stamp,¡± He said derisively. ¡°Hells, I bet you can¡¯t even spell potions!¡± He added with a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, this plan of mine isn¡¯t perfect because the real plan is to get the two of you to help. With the three of us on board, we¡¯ll easily handle the Chosen. Hells, with the Old Bones distracted we could bring Ornn wherever it is and really smack it about!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a fucking idiot mate,¡± Zacharias shot back, quaffing his drink. ¡°This is you chasing your equally fucking idiot dream of being Chosen again, isn''t it. Ain¡¯t no way Winnie and me are gonna-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Winifred interrupted with a decisive nod. ¡°I¡¯ve nae had a proper scrap since I became a Chosen. Maybe this Shade will put up a decent brawl. Cannae be lettin¡¯ meself get rusty,¡± She continued as she got to her feet.


    ¡°Mental,¡± Zacharias muttered. ¡°You¡¯re both bloody mental. Winnie, you¡¯ve been Chosen for what? Six months? And now you reckon you can take a proper Chosen? You¡¯re having a fucking laugh. I saw fucking Fang¡¯Mel and I ain¡¯t going near that sort of monster. No fucking way!¡± He clamped his arms across his chest as if that settled it.


    A grin spread across Skrakch¡¯s face as he scrambled to his feet. Now that he had Winifred convinced, the Halfling would be easy.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a dolt Zacharias,¡± The Ratling said spitefully. ¡°Not all of the Chosen are like Fang¡¯Mel. The Denmother would have written her girl off if our mark was anything like that. Plus, you¡¯re forgetting that if it¡¯s too much for us, we bail. But surely even you can see with Winifred and Ornn on our side, it¡¯s going to be a piece of piss,¡± He leaned down so that he was inches away from the Halfling¡¯s scarred ear. ¡°The Denmother is one of the richest people in Dray¡¯Mel in both coin and connections. Don¡¯t be a fool¡­¡±


    Skrakch could see the Halfling¡¯s expression change at the mention of power. Still, he wasn¡¯t there yet. Just one more trick and the idiot would fall in line and he had Winifred¡¯s impatience to thank for that.


    The Fighter was cracking her knuckles and pulling out her knuckledusters, moving from foot to foot as she started to psych herself up. Her strong frame suddenly seemed like it was made of electricity and the mood was catching.


    ¡°So, do ye know where we find this Shade?¡± She asked with an excited grin.


    Good, old reliable Winifred. She¡¯d never back down from a fight. Skrakch gave Zacharias a cheeky grin as he turned on his heel and started to follow her toward the door. He didn¡¯t even get to the count of three before he heard the Halfling¡¯s resigned sigh.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll come with you on the bloody quest,¡± He muttered peevishly as he stood up. ¡°But you ain¡¯t getting away that easily. I¡¯m gonna need more than the promise of some goods from your precious Denmother. I need your word that you''ll help me in making more Dragon¡¯s Blood, Skrakch. I¡¯ve seen your potions, and I bet your mangy hide will be worth something at least.¡± The Rogue finished, holding out his hand towards the Ratling.


    Without hesitation, Skrakch grabbed his hand and gave it a quick pump. ¡°I¡¯ll help you with the alchemy, but I¡¯ll be damned if I help you peddle that shit.¡±


    As the two shook hands, Winifred cleared her throat before dryly remarking.


    ¡°Aww now isn¡¯t that cute you two wee men have patched things up? But ye do know that I¡¯ll be the one doing most of the brawling. I could take the both of ye while blindfolded with one hand tied around me back!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt that for a second,¡± Zach replied as he patted himself down momentarily, pulling out a gold pouch to drop on the table. ¡°Now where the Hells are we heading, Squeaks?¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t a done deal, but I¡¯m pretty sure I have an idea where the damned thing is. You¡¯ll love it, Zacharias, it¡¯ll be like heading home for you.¡± Skrakch finished with a chuckle, ignoring the two squabbling companions behind him as he confidently made his way through the Plagued Rat¡¯s doorway.

 Chapter Eighty Five - The Messy Aftermath

    It was a very surreal experience making their way through the Market Place of The Slums, Skrach mused.


    It appeared that they were the sole denizens still daring to be out and about after the Tomb-Maker''s alarm sounded out. Empty stalls lined either side of the street. Some of them had been fully cleared out but others had been left with their stock still on display. Clearly, some of the merchants had decided their lives were worth more than whatever trinkets they peddled on a daily basis.


    Occasionally, the Rogues would spot an Iskrin servant still working at a stall, buffing cheap looking gemstones even without their Master''s watching them. One brown Ratling was even cooking suspicious looking meat kebabs, piling up serving after serving. Still, Skrakch wasn''t the kind to get stuck up on the minutia.


    ¡°Ha! I could get used to this,¡± Skrakch chuckled, smoothing down his whiskers. ¡°No dolts bumping into me, nobody shouting directly into my ears or looking down on me, misunderstanding my obvious greatness! Whatever¡¯s going on, it should happen more often.¡±


    Zacharias merely offered a grunt in response. The Halfling¡¯s mind and indeed his hands were more focused on grabbing whatever he could from the market stalls. Not that there was really all that much of value. He pulled a face as he plucked a ring from a knick-knack stall and surveyed it glumly.


    ¡°Bollocks. It takes all the fun out of stealing. Everything here is worth jack all,¡± He moaned as he tossed the ring aside. ¡°If I¡¯m not ruining some poor bastard¡¯s day, what¡¯s even the point?¡±


    Stifling his urge to respond venomously, Skrakch continued to lead the way forward. He kept an eye out for any signs of the Tomb-Makers. For the entirety of his relatively short life, the Iskrin had never gotten on the wrong side of the Undead Guardsmen and he wasn¡¯t about to start now. Just the mere thought of the Wraiths swooping downwards towards him was enough to cause every single hair on his body to stand on end.


    And to see the entirety of Dray¡¯Mel abandoned? It seemed almost like a cruel joke. Sure, there were signs of life everywhere he looked whether it be the twitching of a filthy curtain or the anxious face of a human pressed up against the smeared glass. But seeing the dark sky above the City completely devoid of any of the malevolent spirits as it did now¡­was just plain odd.


    ¡°Meek not mind this,¡± The diminutive Goblin to his left spoke up as he swung his arms freely, clearly enjoying the extra space. ¡°Meek not like spooky Bonesmen,¡± He continued, giving a bombastic shiver. ¡°Always watching. Even if Meek not doing anything at all!¡± His large eyes roamed around as he spoke, almost as if he were expecting to be jumped at any given moment.


    One handy upside to Skrakch¡¯s visit to the Adventurer''s Guild was getting the chance to replenish his stock of magical Knick-knacks. For a few copper pieces, it wasn¡¯t hard to find someone to charge a Sending stone for the Ratling.


    One twenty-five-word message later and Meekknuckle had managed to meet up with the rest of the crew, Ornn lumbering behind him.


    Annoyingly, the Goblin seemed to have picked up a wheel of cheese somewhere in his time in the city, the foul little thing eating it like one would an apple.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s probably because they know the only reason most of your kind come to the surface is to steal shiny trinkets,¡± The Ratling mocked as he instinctively reached back a paw to swat his minions across the back of his bulbous head.


    He supposed that it hardly came as a surprise when instead of the Goblin¡¯s filthy green flesh, his paw came into contact with coarse stone instead. Looking up, Skrakch saw that one of Ornn¡¯s massive scoop-like hands blocked Meekknuckle from the Ratling¡¯s sight. The Golem¡¯s face was impassive as always but there was no denying its movement was intended as a warning.


    Since war had been declared between the Goblins and the Albino Iskrin, the Golem had doubled his protective efforts. Skrakch supposed that Meek would be considered a high-risk target, being the offspring of Blazock. Still, he rather missed Meek¡¯s uncanny ability to be an effective punching bag.


    ¡°Oi, hold on a sec,¡± Zacharias exclaimed suddenly, as they reached the edge of the Marketplace. His eyes lit up and a twisted grin spread across his scarred face. ¡°We¡¯re heading to the Residential District?¡± He continued hopefully. ¡°You said I¡¯d like this Squeakers¡­ don¡¯t tell me we¡¯re on our way back to Roydr¡¯s mansion?¡±


    Skrakch rolled his eyes expressively and started to slow clap toward the Halfling theatrically. Winifred snorted with laughter.


    ¡°Took you long enough to figure it out didn¡¯t it Zacharias?¡± The Ratling mocked. ¡°The Denmother said that it was a place of rot, fresh death, and decay. Gilded walls and an area of sand. It¡¯s hardly likely to be the pub, is it? Considering the mess we left behind on our last visit. Lord Rodyr¡¯s former abode definitely meets those criteria.¡±


    Skrakch grinned at the memory. Sure, it had been bloody terrifying at the time, that many Guardsmen and Ghouls, but now it was a brush with death that the Ratling remembered fondly.


    Zacharias was rubbing his hands together as they walked along, his face an expression of excitement.


    ¡°I¡¯d say it fits alright,¡± He grinned. ¡°I¡¯ve actually been keeping tabs on the joint. The Tomb Makers have kept it under lock and key. And now they¡¯re all bloody busy fannying around with Gods knows what,¡± He gave Skrakch a sideways glance and shook his head disbelievingly. ¡°You¡¯re a fucking lucky git. Has anyone ever told you that?¡± He added, almost sounding impressed.


    ¡°What can I say?¡± Skrakch preened. ¡°I¡¯m just that talented obviously,¡± He puffed out the fur on his chest a little bit. ¡°But let¡¯s not pretend this is going to be a delightful Sunday stroll. Getting in the place will be easy but it¡¯s taking care of the Shade that¡¯s going to be the tricky part. You¡¯re up for it though, aren¡¯t you Winifred?¡±


    The Chosen brawler was keeping pace with them all but had barely spoken since they¡¯d left The Plagued Rat. There was clearly something on her mind. She¡¯d even ignored the venomous barbs and silly flirting that Zacharias had been sending her way. She¡¯d simply continued to walk alongside them, adjusting and re-adjusting her brass knuckles.


    ¡°Hrm?¡± She blinked at Skrakch, suddenly realizing that he¡¯d been speaking. ¡°Oh aye, dinnae worry yer wee head Rodent,¡± She replied, albeit sounding more distracted than usual. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of that Shade. Just make sure yer backing me up,¡± She finished with a nod as she looked down at her brass knuckles again. ¡°Ye can do this,¡± She muttered to herself under her breath.


    Ears twitching at the muttered comment, Skrakch quickly shared a look with Zacharias who frowned at him for a moment before offering a shrug. It was clear as anything that Winifred was distracted. Skrakch just had to hope that as soon as they arrived at the mansion, she¡¯d get her focus back.


    Hopefully anyways.


    The walk through the Residential District was quick and they journeyed in relative silence. Just like the Slums and the Marketplace, there were no signs of life on the streets. No doubt the rich denizens of Dray¡¯Mel were tucked up safely in their mansions, gates, and security Trolls protecting them.


    Rodyr¡¯s former mansion came into view. The gates were still largely intact, and the large letter ¡®R¡¯s that decorated them were tarnished now, but nonetheless, it was still clear the place used to belong to the formidable Minotaur. The tall white walls which had been previously smooth and unblemished were now covered in pockmarks from arrows and spidery cracks from swords. There were the ghostly remains of blood splatters where someone had clearly hosed them down in an attempt to keep up appearances.


    ¡°Well, would ya look at that?¡± Zacharias said, shaking his head in disbelief at the gates. ¡°Last time I was around here, the dusty Old Bones had the whole place surrounded.¡±


    Just as Skrakch had hoped, the Tomb Makers that had been standing guard were nowhere to be seen. Clearly, they¡¯d abandoned their posts as the horn had started blaring.


    ¡°As well as this works out for us, I wish they¡¯d shut that fucking thing up,¡± The Halfling continued, twisting a finger inside of his left ear. Skrakch looked away as he withdrew it with a sizeable chunk of brown wax on the end which, in typical Zacharias fashion, he wiped on the sleeve of his coat.


    ¡°Whatever is going on with the Outer Walls must be really serious,¡± Skrakch mused, rubbing his furry chin as he stared at the gates. ¡°You and I both know the Tomb Makers don¡¯t abandon their posts for any old thing. Especially not around here. The residents would be up in arms, for all the good that would do for them.¡±


    ¡°Well Gods forbid the rich arseholes have to actually worry about something for once,¡± Zacharias replied with a sneer. ¡°So, what¡¯s the grand plan Squeaks? Are we bothering with stealth here or are we just gonna bash our way in?¡±


    Skrakch regarded the gates for a moment. Despite them not being as well maintained as they were in Rodyr¡¯s time, it was clear they were still locked up tight. No doubt to protect the residents. It was highly likely that there were a few Ghouls still wandering around the place, hoping to find some scraps of life.


    ¡°Just because there isn¡¯t anyone here doesn¡¯t mean we should risk alerting the Chosen,¡± Skrakch replied. ¡°Nobody¡¯s going to be bashing anything,¡± He continued as he moved towards the gate, pulling his thieves tools out of a pouch on his bandolier. ¡°It won¡¯t take me more than a few minutes anyway. The real deterrent in this place was the Guards, the actual gate is just for show.¡±


    Skrakch had never doubted his own abilities for a moment, but it was still a relief to find that the lock on the gates was an easy pick. He quickly inserted his lockpicks and set to work. Amateurs often thought you simply needed to jam your tools in, give it a bit of a jiggle, and hope for the best. In reality, the process was a lot more complex.


    It was a delicate operation and one that involved a lot of listening carefully and taking the time to really feel out the teeth of the lock before making your move-


    ¡°Fucking hell Squeakers, while we¡¯re young,¡± Zacharias spat, rolling his eyes. ¡°How long does it take you to pick one simple lock eh?¡± He moaned. ¡°This is why I never bother with kiddie shit like this. It¡¯s much quicker to pick a pocket and find the key you need,¡±


    ¡°Oh well, you¡¯re more than welcome to do that Zacharias,¡± Skrakch retorted. ¡°Which guard do you think has the key?¡± He added sarcastically. ¡°Do you think it¡¯s that one over there?¡± He pointed a paw towards a nearby bush that had grown out of control. ¡°Or could it perhaps be his companion there?¡± He nodded in the direction of a small crater by the wall.


    ¡°Would ye speed it up there?¡± Winifred demanded, staring intently at the gates. ¡°I can¡­ sense something in that manor and it¡¯s getting stronger. It¡¯s nae anything too crazy but I¡¯d rather hurry than fuck around too long if ye dinnae mind.¡±


    Skrakch took a deep, cleansing breath and mentally counted to ten as he returned to his work. It wasn¡¯t his fault they were a pair of philistines after all. He couldn¡¯t expect them to understand that the more technical aspects of thievery were just as important as a pretty face or quick fingers.


    The Ratling was just about there with the lock when he felt a placating tap on his left shoulder. He turned his head around in irritation to see Meekkunckle grinning up at him.


    ¡°It okay. Meek understand,¡± The Goblin nodded sagely. ¡°Sometimes things harder than you think. We only in big rush and have no time for mistakes, but you take long time if needed. Meek no judge.¡±


    Letting out a hiss, Skrakch ground his teeth together and tried to focus on the lock again. He was sorely tempted to see if he could just punt the stupid fucking Goblin over the wall. Putting his companion''s idle chatter out of his mind, it didn¡¯t take him much longer to get the lock undone, the Ratling happily shoving the ornate gate open with a grin.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see any of you lot manage that,¡± He announced triumphantly as the gate swung open. ¡°So we¡¯ll enter through here and head down towards the fighter¡¯s entrance again. If the Shade is in the mansion, we¡¯ll have more opportunity to come at it from behind that way. And if it¡¯s down in the pit? Well, that just gives us more room to work with.¡±


    They cautiously stepped through the gates and into the vast estate. The house was a few meters ahead of them, raised up on a slight incline. The gardens which had once been lush and a riot of color had been reduced to a tableau of violence and destruction. It was abundantly obvious that the fighting hadn¡¯t just been restricted to the manor house. Huge swathes of the land had been ripped apart and destroyed.


    Worse yet, were the remains of the bodies littered across the grounds. The torn-apart corpses of the guardsmen who had been dismembered en masse. Mixed in with these unfortunate souls were the remnants of their attackers, half-rotted Ghoul carcasses that dotted the landscape and filled the air with the stench of death and decay.


    ¡°Well isn¡¯t this a wonderful reminder of why we don¡¯t let Squeakers plan our outings?¡± Zacharias mocked cheerily as he stepped forward with glee. ¡°If I remember rightly, we didn¡¯t even get any coin for this shite! What was it again Squeaks? Food tokens?¡±


    ¡°Oh how original Zacharias, never heard that one before,¡± Skrakch spat back.


    Winifred was moving forward with focus writ on her face. She didn¡¯t even seem to notice the destruction surrounding them, let alone the horrific smell. Meekknuckle followed her, gingerly moving to avoid stepping in the dried puddles of bodily fluids and congealed pools of blood.


    It was actually pretty interesting, Skrakch mused as he followed along behind Ornn. It wasn¡¯t very often, in fact, he struggled to think of an actual time, that he¡¯d seen the aftermath of one of their heists. Sure, in an ideal world, the target would be completely unaware of the theft but there were always the messier jobs.


    The Ratling squatted down beside a corpse along their path, recognizing one of the servant''s corpses. Interestingly enough, the poor bugger hadn¡¯t been killed by a Ghoul, rather he seemed to have been bisected by a sword with enough force to launch the two halves of the body quite far away.


    ¡°Looks like the Old Bones cleared out any survivors,¡± Skrakch announced to his companions. ¡°Though that begs the question, why didn¡¯t they clear out Rodyr¡¯s basement? Think they just let the Chosen go about its business?¡±


    Surprisingly, it was Winifred who answered in an uncharacteristically somber tone. ¡°Aye, or whatever is down there was too much of a hassle for them to deal with.¡±


    Skrakch surveyed the estate, nibbling on the edge of his lip. Perhaps it was foolish to enter via the fighter¡¯s door¡­


    ¡°Change of plans, we¡¯re going in the main entrance,¡± He said after a moment or two. ¡°The entrance hall is bigger than the fighter¡¯s entrance¡­gives us more room to work with.¡±


    ¡°Wait, I thought you said-¡± Zacharias started to interrupt.


    ¡°Aye, I agree,¡± Winifred piped up with a nod. ¡°Whatever that thing is that I¡¯m sensing, it¡¯s coming from the basement I think¡­¡±


    ¡°Ok, ok, so what¡¯s with this sensing shite?¡± Zacharias demanded, kicking aside the remains of a guard. ¡°You¡¯re starting to sound like that mad old bird with the crystal ball that hangs out in the pub and tells everyone they¡¯re gonna die all the time,¡± He suddenly struck a hunched-over pose, his expression turned solemn with a slightly holy air. ¡°Oooh, I¡¯ve seen it in the ball me dears,¡± He continued, making his voice sound old and decrepit. ¡°I sense bad things afoot! Very bad things indeed¡­¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get a move on,¡± Skrakch butted in. The last thing he needed to hear right now was Zacharias being his usual self. They needed to focus on the task at hand. Once more advancing in silence, it didn¡¯t take long for the Rogues to reach the estate¡¯s main entrance, the gilded doorway half collapsed after being repeatedly smashed from inside.


    Concerningly, there was one marked difference between the Gardens surrounding the estate, and the main entrance they were about to enter.


    ¡°Where did all the bodies go?¡± Zacharias asked, fishing out one of his daggers. ¡°Bloody things were everywhere outside, you can¡¯t be telling me no one died -in- the estate. There¡¯s enough blood on the walls to paint the damn mansion!¡±


    Skrakch ignored his own sense of squeamishness as he knelt down near the entrance, one of his claws picking at the thickened blood clots that covered the stone walkway.


    Normally when the Rogues were tracking someone, they relied on beating the snot out of nearby citizens for information. On occasion, however, Skrakch had to trail a target through muddied sewers so he had some experience in scouting out a location.


    ¡°It looks like the bodies were dragged inside,¡± Skrakch said after a moment, eyeing the entranceway with suspicion. ¡°It could be leftover from the Ghoul swarm, but Ghouls aren¡¯t smart enough to bother moving their meals to a better location.¡±


    Zacharias scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°Might be the Chosen? I don¡¯t fucking want to know what it¡¯s doing with them, but it could be a thing?¡± The Halfling finished with a shrug.


    ¡°It does nae matter, I''ll deal with it either way,¡± Winifred said, waving Ornn forward. ¡°Mind opening the entranceway a bit, Big Guy?¡±


    After a few moments where Skrakch thought the Golem was going to ignore Winifred, Ornn stepped forward and moved aside the rubble with a simple sweep of his large arms. The ensuing clatter wasn¡¯t as loud as the Ratling had expected, but it still wasn¡¯t quiet.


    Still, the path forward was open, even if the massive stone Construct was forced to hunker down slightly to fit inside the doorway. .


    ¡°So¡­where to then?¡± Zacharias asked as they stood in the large entrance hall.


    The place was a lot less fancy than the last time they¡¯d been there. Everywhere as far as the eye could see, they could spot the signs of battle and mayhem. The portraits that Rodyr had no doubt squandered a huge chunk of his gold on were now slashed and torn, hanging loosely from their ornate frames.


    The marble statues that used to stand by the grand staircase had been smashed to smithereens. It was impossible to tell what they had once represented. The lush maroon carpet was ripped and stained with various bodily fluids. It was littered with scraps of clothing, gobs of rotting flesh, and bent swords.


    Despite this general detritus, the most surprising thing was the lack of bodies. There were none scattered amongst the hallways that lead away from the main hallway even though the scent of rot was still thick in the air.


    ¡°Well¡­ the mystery deepens,¡± Zacharias said as he scanned the ruined carpet, no doubt looking for dropped coins and jewelry. ¡°The Old Bones are too scared to clear out the joint and all the bodies are missing? You sure we¡¯re only dealing with one of these Shade things Squeakers?¡±


    Skrakch wasn¡¯t in a rush to answer. His hackles were raised and he was sure the sudden worry was as plain as day on his face.


    ¡°Actually¡­¡± He hedged. ¡°The Denmother might have mentioned something or someone else in her riddle¡­ but then, it¡¯s hard to bloody tell. Just, keep your eyes open,¡± He snapped, ignoring Zacharias¡¯ dramatic eye roll.


    They moved through the abandoned mansion with ease. Much to Zacharias¡¯ dismay, there was barely anything worth taking. It wasn¡¯t long before they arrived at the entrance to the underground Arena. The Ratling gave a considering look towards Ornn and Meekknuckle.


    ¡°You two hang back,¡± He ordered, waving a paw in their direction. ¡°We¡¯ll scout the place out. No offense Orrn but you¡¯re hardly a subtle presence.¡±


    With a final nod towards the diminutive Goblin and the stoic Golem, Skrakch led Winifred and Zacharias closer to the doorway blocking their path. While dented and malformed, with both the door and its frame warped, the damn thing was still locked tight.


    Skrakch once again fished out his lockpick tools. Unsurprisingly, neither of his companions had any complaints as he got to work. Without the annoying and obnoxious interruptions, it didn¡¯t take him long to crack the door. Winifred took the lead as she stepped up and carefully nudged the damaged door open.


    Peeking into the room around Winifred¡¯s broad shoulder, Skrakch let out a soft hiss as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The lanterns on the walls, lit by fading magic, cast a gloom across the entire room.


    Nearest to them, on their left, was the spectator''s seats which had been reduced to rubble. They¡¯d been the first location overrun when the rampaging Ghouls had descended on the gathered crowd. Dried blood was smeared and splattered across the stone floor. Skrakch shuddered as he noticed the thick streaks that led down toward the sandpit as though something had been dragged downwards.


    His eyes following the path of destruction, Skrakch quickly noticed where the missing bodies had ended up. His stomach turned over at the gruesome sight. Heaped in the center of the Arena, where Winifred had taken on Gregore, was a heaped pile of the dead in various states of decomposition. Limbs and torsos stuck out of the pile at random, some seemingly no longer connected to their deceased owners. The jaws of the dead were frozen open in terror, their liquifying eyes a home for insects that crawled across waxy-looking skin.


    Kneeling atop this mountain of horror was a hunched-over form. Her red skin glistened in the low light. There was no mistaking Survix. She was facing towards them but hadn¡¯t yet noticed. Her hands were shoved deep into a corpse¡¯s torso.


    While it looked like the Survix that the Ratling was used to visiting at the brothel¡­. there was undeniably something different about her. Her hair had turned a strange silvery grey color and moved around her head as though it were smoke, wild and twisting. The noises coming from her were guttural and animalistic and Skrakch could see that her eyes were completely black, wide, and staring as though her soul had been replaced by a void of nothingness.


    As Skrakch stared transfixed, he could see small bubbles of flesh rippling and undulating up the Demon¡¯s arms even as the body underneath her slowly withered away at her touch. It took mere seconds for the corpse to become naught but skin and bones. Skrakch continued to watch, frozen in horror as even those were consumed leaving not a single trace of the body.


    Moving slowly and methodically, Survix thrust her arms into the next body and the whole grim process started all over again.


    Tearing his eyes away, Skrakch reached into his potion bandolier, pulling loose a few vials of Placating Brew before handing them to Winifred, who pocketed them without breaking eye contact with the Demoness.


    Thankfully, they¡¯d already planned their attack, Winifred would engage in melee, while the others harried the Chosen from a distance. They just had to be smart, and they could handle this with ease-


    As if to spite him, Zacharias¡¯ hand suddenly gripped Skrakch tightly, the Halfling silently pointing into the room. Following his finger, Skrakch squinted as his eyes finished adjusting.


    Seated high above the Arena¡¯s sand pit, a massive form stared down at the Chosen from a raised throne. Even larger than he had been in life, the bloated and corpulent Minotaur corpse was slowly biting into what appeared to be a human¡¯s thigh, blood pooling down its chin.


    Worse yet was the pair of Ghouls to either side of the seated Undead, holding up body parts for the larger Ghoul to sample at its leisure. The tattered remnants of Rodyr¡¯s Guard''s uniforms clung to their bodies, large wounds spread across their gangly forms from being mauled to death before they were cruelly risen to join the ranks of their murderers. The whole display was a grim parody of the way Rodyr had overseen the Arena battles when he¡¯d been alive.


    ¡°Shite!¡± Zacharias cursed quietly. ¡°That¡¯s fucking Rodyr,¡± He whispered in a hushed tone. ¡°This is fucking over Squeakers, ain¡¯t no way we¡¯re handling a Chosen with any Ghouls around, much less with that big bugger involved.¡±


    As much as he wanted to disagree with the Halfling on principle alone, Skrakch eagerly nodded. ¡°There¡¯s no way we¡¯re going in there, it¡¯s worse than just some Ghouls.¡±


    ¡°They should be attacking the Chosen Shade on sight, the damned things are meant to be mindless monsters. The only time Ghouls can hold themselves back is if there¡¯s an Alpha Ghoul involved.¡± The Ratling finished in a panicked whisper as he started to slowly move backward.


    Each creeping step Skrakch took backward that didn¡¯t cause a Ghoul to rush him was a personal victory, but after a dozen careful steps with Zacharias hot on his heels, Skrakch heard a laugh ring out.


    ¡°So fucking what?¡± Winifred announced unworriedly in her normal volume, as she began limbering herself up. ¡°I dinnae give a wee shite, I¡¯ll bash the lot of them meself.¡±


    Eyes narrowing in fear, Skrakch let out a shrill noise in distress. ¡°Are you out of your mind?¡± The Ratling threw his paw back towards his companion. ¡°If you go in there and alert them, who knows what¡¯ll happen, you fool.¡±


    Giving a quick grin to Skrakch, Winifred shoved open the door with a massive clatter, and send a wave of Mana down into her knuckledusters from her Core. ¡°You lot handle the Ghouls, I¡¯ve got the Chosen. Piece of piss, eh?¡±


    Legs bracing against the stone floor, Winifred tapped into her Pact, Power roiling through her body as she activated her Artifacts, her knuckledusters lighting up with Mana. Moving in a blur of motion Skrakch couldn¡¯t even follow with his eyes, the Brawler surged downwards and collided with Survix¡¯s form, an explosion of power rippling outwards.


    Staring aghast into the Arena, Skrakch opened and closed his mouth like a fish, as Meekknuckle and Zach looked on gobsmacked.


    Ignoring the three other Rogues, Ornn barrelled down through the hallway and past the doorway, the Golem smashing through any debris in his way as he charged towards Rodyr on his throne.


    ¡°Ornn!¡± Meekknuckle cried out, hands raised as his companion went into battle. Taking a deep breath, the Goblin steeled himself before rushing after his friend.


    Zacharias and Skrakch looked at each other for a moment, before Zacharias let out a small huff.


    ¡°Yeah, fuck that. Good luck mate.¡± The Thief laughed, stepping back and melting down into his shadow and disappearing without a trace.


    They were going to die. Skrakch knew that there was no way his three companions could handle those enemies without him. He just wasn¡¯t sure if they could do it -with- his help either.


    Looking behind him at the exit with longing, Skrakch let out a small sigh. Pulling loose his own artifact, his scepter of fireballs, the Ratling let out a cackling laugh.


    After all, what better way to become Chosen, than another brush with death?

 Chapter Eighty Six - A Barren or a Brawler?

    Mana, as Winifred had often found, was a very fickle thing indeed.


    When she was just a child, her parents took her to a renowned Magus Practitioner to measure her Core.


    Her parents, her Father, in particular, had spent weeks building up to the event. Her Mother had flapped and fussed, insistent that she have just the right dress for the occasion. Her father had waxed lyrical about how magical and mystical it had been when he¡¯d found out which Aspect his own Core synergized with the most.


    She remembered him gesticulating wildly, his face expressive as he told her how proud he¡¯d been when he¡¯d first held his Gravity wand and realized the power that had been revealed to him. He¡¯d been quite unlike the stoic, taciturn man she was used to.


    Winifred had huddled in her bed the night before the appointment, unable to sleep from the sheer excitement of it all. She spent the long night fantasizing, not only about what her Aspect could be but how she was going to be tested. She didn¡¯t really understand what a Magus Practitioner was, but perhaps she¡¯d get to play with various wands or do crazy tricks. She¡¯d begun to imagine a veritable magical playground.


    And so it had been with bated breath that the eight-year-old Winifred had walked into Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s Library in the periwinkle blue silk dress her Mother had found (and she hated). Wide-eyed and full of vigor, the brunette had felt crestfallen when she¡¯d realized that the actual testing was carried out rather pragmatically.


    She¡¯d been shuffled into a small room that looked as though it was usually used for studying. There were old mahogany tables and chairs pushed up against one wall while another was lined with bookcases weighed down with enormous leather-bound tomes with dull names such as ¡®Runes and their meanings¡¯ and ¡®Astronomy Encyclopedia - A Guide To The Stars¡¯. Sitting in the middle of the room, on a rickety old chair, was a rather bored-looking Gnome. Beside him, on a small table, were a dozen or so rods of various shapes and sizes.


    The Gnome, who was dressed head to toe in flowing purple robes, greeted her clinically and introduced himself as the Magus Practitioner. He nodded at the table and encouraged her to wave around each one and to ¡®feel the Mana¡¯. Even at eight years old, Winifred had felt like a complete idiot as she¡¯d followed his instructions.


    It had been so long now that she couldn¡¯t recall his name. All she remembered was the disinterested expression that had been on his face and the fact that he¡¯d barely looked at her as he launched into what was undoubtedly a well-practiced spiel about the various types of Magic that existed in the world.


    Fire, he¡¯d informed her, was the most common Aspect of the Human race. He¡¯d directed her toward a thin stick of metal that had been painted red. She¡¯d been allowed to touch it for all of ten seconds before he¡¯d plucked it out of her grasp and shook his head. A similar wand had then been shoved into her hands before again, it was taken away while he lectured her about Metallic Mana and how she was obviously unsuited to it.


    Next, she¡¯d been told all about Water magic and although it was most often associated with the Elves, perhaps she should try it. She¡¯d been handed a wooden rod that was elaborately carved with little bubbles along its length. That too had been quickly taken off her, as did the following Drow¡¯s Blood Magic rod.


    She¡¯d then been forced to suffer a litany on Arcane and how it was rare to all species. The art of Rune-Smithing takes a very special talent and an abnormal amount of dedication from the caster.


    And on and on and on. The Gnome continued to prattle as she waved stick after stick and felt like an utter failure. She was beginning to dread leaving the room and having to tell her Father that she was a ¡®Barren¡¯.


    Winifred had felt sick as soon as she¡¯d even thought of the word. As far as people like her parents were concerned, it was a dirty word. Being ¡®a Barren¡¯ was one of the most shameful secrets that a Human could have. Barrens had a Core, but it was so minuscule that they had no Aspect and very little if any, aptitude for using Magic.


    She could imagine the look on her father¡¯s face if she walked out of the room to tell him the news that she was a Barren¡­it just wasn¡¯t worth thinking about that possibility.


    She had grabbed the next nearest wand with renewed vigor, waving the bloody thing around for all she was worth. Finally, the Gnome started to look interested.


    ¡°Oh, there we go,¡± He said mildly as she continued to wave it. ¡°It appears that we¡¯ve found what your talent is. Physical Enhancement. It¡¯s quite common really¡­not so much for, ah, the female of the species¡­¡± He let out an awkward cough as she glared at him. ¡°Let me see the output¡­¡± He continued, snatching the wand from her grasp.


    She¡¯d been ushered from the room soon after but not before she¡¯d seen the brief flicker of pity that had crossed the old Gnome¡¯s face. She remembered feeling utterly confused. Surely the news was good? She wasn¡¯t a Barren after all! She had an Aspect!


    ¡°Winnie my darling!¡± Her father had practically bounded up to her. A rare show of emotion from a man who normally barely cracked a smile in public. ¡°What¡¯s the good news?¡± He asked her eagerly. Her mother brought up the rear, looking down on her not with the slight air of loathing she usually used, but with hope.


    ¡°I have an Aspect!¡± Winifred had crowed excitedly.


    ¡°Well of course you do dear,¡± Winifred¡¯s mother had rolled her eyes and shaken her head. ¡°Now stop play-acting for attention and tell your father.¡±


    Her mother had rarely been loving or positive with her but at that point in her life, Winifred recalled that she couldn¡¯t care less. She had an Aspect and not even her mother¡¯s stupid snooty attitude could take that away from her!


    ¡°We must take you to the finest toy merchant in Dray¡¯Mel!¡± Her father had announced, puffed up with pride as he¡¯d taken her hand. ¡°Nothing¡¯s too good for my daughter on this special day!¡±


    Winifred¡¯s mother didn¡¯t comment as the young brunette had strolled down the library¡¯s corridors, hand in hand with her father. All the while he¡¯d been chattering excitedly about getting her some proper magical training and how he couldn¡¯t wait to ¡®show off to those fuddy-duddies at the Gentlemen¡¯s Club¡¯.


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t keep us in suspense any longer my darling! What¡¯s your Aspect?¡± Her father had said when they¡¯d reached the library¡¯s exit.


    ¡°Physical Enhancement!¡± Winifred had announced proudly.


    As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she¡¯d known that she¡¯d done something wrong. Again. Her father dropped her hand as though it had suddenly become red hot. Her mother had let out a horrified squeak. Her father¡¯s smile had completely vanished and he¡¯d looked around furtively to make sure nobody had overheard her.


    ¡°Come, Louisa,¡± He said in a very matter-of-fact manner as he addressed her mother. ¡°I¡¯m sure if we hurry we can still make the luncheon date with the Fetheringtons.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Winifred tried to interrupt as her mother and father started to stride down the stone steps and head towards their waiting carriage. She followed them, almost tripping in her haste to keep up. Her father had paused, his hand on the carriage door. He¡¯d taken in a deep breath, his shoulders tensing before he¡¯d turned to her.


    ¡°You must never speak of what happened today,¡± He muttered darkly. ¡°This was all just a¡­fancy. Yes. It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s not good for a society lady to use magic¡­if anyone should ask, you were never tested. Do I make myself clear?¡±


    He¡¯d looked so fierce, almost as if he hated her. She¡¯d been so scared and confused that she¡¯d nodded wordlessly and allowed him to usher her quickly into the carriage.


    Her parents being the way they were, it hadn¡¯t even taken them the journey home to start slipping fully into denial. Yes, they¡¯d confirmed with each other. The Magus Practitioner idea had been naught but a silly fancy. It was unbefitting for someone of Winifred¡¯s caliber to be a magic user. She was an heiress. She had certain duties and expectations to fulfill and none of them required magic to do so.


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    And, of course, the talk had quickly turned to what had been her parent¡¯s favorite subject at the time. Having another child.


    Less than a year after the disastrous appointment, her sister had been born. The true heiress to the family name and fortune.


    Winfred snorted derisively to herself. She was long past giving a shite over all of that. She took pleasure in the fact that they were stuck in that silly, empty life of caring about what other silly, empty people thought about them.


    No, everything she¡¯d done for herself and her Mana had been a struggle. And that was why she was proud of her Enhancement Aspect. Not only that, but she¡¯d attained a level of control over it that she¡¯d thought was way beyond what she could achieve. Let people like the Wee Man crow and prance about over his Shadow Aspect. A real fighter fought with their fists.


    And yet this was why her Crux was both a blessing and a curse. When she¡¯d become Chosen and formed her second Core, she¡¯d assumed that once again, she¡¯d have difficulty controlling it, just as she¡¯d done with her Mana.


    Instead, she¡¯d found that the Crux was eager to obey her every command with very little effort on her part. A simple, errant thought would send pure power coursing through her limbs, the sudden rush of energy electrifying her and yet scaring her in equal measure.


    Staring at the kneeling form of the possessed Succubi, Winifred barely had the focus to let the Crux loose, the power barreling through her body. She could feel her muscles tense and twist, her legs pressing down on the stone floor so hard that it began to crack beneath her feet.


    Her Mana followed suit, sluggishly flowing through and enhancing the muscle fibers that the Crux had missed. It eventually reached her precious Artifacts, the brass knuckledusters greedily soaking in any and all the energy they could.


    Before she let the enchantment take effect, however, the clear-headed and tactical portion of her brain carefully checked for any reaction from her target. Luck was on her side. The possessed Demoness was seemingly oblivious to her presence as she continued to hungrily devour her meal of corpses and guts.


    Survix was totally unaware and, from a tactical standpoint, Winifred couldn¡¯t have asked for anything better. Getting the drop on an opponent meant gaining an advantage over them. Blackmaul had always told her that. She recalled him calling her a ¡®heavy-footed oaf in a wee chook¡¯s body¡¯ and his constant nagging to work on her stealth skills. ¡®An enemy that does nae see ye comin¡¯ is an enemy that¡¯s going down¡¯, he would tell her.


    What Winifred hadn¡¯t expected, however, was the sudden rage that she was feeling at being ignored. Maybe it had been the memory of her Magus Practioner appointment, or perhaps the thought of her parents. Either way, the heat in her chest was urging her forward, to barrel in there with nary a thought. It was strange¡­despite her past, she¡¯d never considered herself to be a wrathful person. Not even in the heat of battle.


    Taking someone¡¯s head in her hands and kneeing their teeth out of their skull? Well, that was just business. Something she did to make herself some coin to keep food on the table and a roof over her head. And yes, if she was going to be honest about it, it gave her a sense of pleasure too.


    It seemed to be after getting her Pact that she¡¯d struggled to keep a lid on her temper. It was harder to brush things off and every stupid comment from the Wee Man stung her as deeply as anything her parents had ever said to her. She knew he was just a fucking idiot but that didn¡¯t help the burning feeling, the craving for some form of vengeance.


    But, just as she¡¯d had to too so many times when she was younger and struggling to get her Mana flowing, she let out a long breath and tried to relax.


    Letting her Artifacts pull her forward, Winifred barely felt herself move. It all felt so instinctive and natural as she simply stepped across the bodies, dozens of limbs disappearing beneath her.


    In a single step, Winifred crossed a hundred feet or more, the distance disappearing beneath her. The movement was quick, less than a second from start to finish as she blurred within striking distance of her target.


    Planting herself squarely beside Survix, the pitfighter reeled back her left fist and threw a punch with everything she had, muscles burning as she twisted her body to put all her weight behind the attack.


    The Chosen Shade didn¡¯t have the time to even blink between Winifred¡¯s lunge and the punch that followed. The impact collided with the possessed Survix¡¯s cheek. And yet, it didn¡¯t stop there. Not like it had when she¡¯d been under Blackmaul¡¯s tutelage. Her fist would collide with its target, the practice dummy or leather armor and that would be it.


    But now, with the might of her Aspect behind her, the sheer force it carried her punch onwards, the Succubi¡¯s flesh splitting apart from the force of it. Extending her arm to its full length, Winifred watched as the Shade¡¯s entire head shattered inwards, pieces of flesh and bone showering outwards in a visceral spray of gore that painted the far walls of the Arena red.


    Break¡­


    Dumbfounded, Winifred simply stood on the spot, gaping at her blood-soaked fist.


    Ever since she¡¯d become a Chosen, she¡¯d been looking forward to the chance to slug it out with another foe, someone equal to her new power. She relished the idea of testing and pushing herself to new limits, working out any kinks, and making Blackmaul proud of her.


    Instead, she¡¯d crushed the other Chosen¡¯s head like a grape.


    ¡°Winifred!¡±


    A shout from below snapped her out of her sudden state of shock. She blinked, coming back into herself. She looked around and immediately saw why someone had called her name.


    From almost every hole, crack, and doorway in the room, Ghouls were spilling into the Arena. They were clearly in a frenzy, making disgusting rasping sounds. It was as if killing the Chosen Shade had disturbed a beehive. Dozens of the rotting corpses stumbled to their feet and started to break into a sprint toward any living foe in reach.


    ¡°Shite!¡± She cried out. The damned things were attacking Meekknuckle and Skrakch. Zach, of course, was nowhere to be seen amongst the chaos. The Ghouls were charging toward her fellow rogues into the Arena from the Fighter¡¯s entrance. It was a veritable swarm of rotting, putrid flesh and it didn¡¯t take a genius or expert tactician to know that her companions would soon be needing her help.


    She grimaced as she watched Ornn clashing with a massive Minotaur Ghoul, the stone Golem straining hard as they grappled together. Bits of flesh and rubble were breaking away from them as they fought.


    As she prepared herself to jump down from the body pile and join the melee, she heard a curious wet sound. Turning back to Survix, she realized that the Chosen Shade¡¯s host had gotten to her knees amongst the corpses.


    The wet sound that she¡¯d heard was coming from Survix¡¯s flesh which was bubbling and rolling up the Demoness¡¯ arms. Arms that were still plunged into a dead body. Her headless corpse was staying perfectly upright.


    ¡°What in the fucking-¡± Winifred muttered under her breath. She gingerly nudged Survix with her foot. If the Demoness noticed it, she didn¡¯t react.


    Winifred frowned, distracted from the noises of the fight that was still going on below them. She pulled back her fist to drive a blow into Survix once again but a blur of sudden motion to her left grabbed her attention.


    The brawler jerked her head backward just in time as a large gleaming scythe-like blade passed by a mere inch from where her face had just been. Ducking underneath it as it tried to swipe down at her again, Winifred let out a laugh. Now, this is what she was thinking about!


    Survix¡¯s headless torso rose up before her. Where her legs had been, there were now dozens of thick, multiple tendrils. The tendrils seemed to be engorged, each one of them pumping the Chosen full of blood and flesh as they fed on the dead bodies. The blade that stuck out of the stump of flesh where Survix¡¯s head had been swung back and forth dangerously.


    Just as she was taking in this rather disgusting sight, it got worse. A lot worse. More tentacles suddenly rose upwards from the pile of bodies, these ones glistened with blood and viscera and each one ended with a brutal jagged point.


    It didn¡¯t take a genius to realize that the Shade was clearly well-suited to its current location. The bodies they were standing on probably hid even more of the gross tentacles. It was impossible to tell just quite how many were lurking underneath them.


    Common sense dictated that the best thing to do would be to back off. To regroup and maybe try and bait the Shade towards her. Perhaps she could even go and deal with the encroaching Ghouls and let Skrakch and the others pepper it with ranged attacks from afar.


    Cracking her neck from side to side and taking a deep, cleansing breath, Winifred could feel her Mana pulsing through her veins. Her Crux permeated her entire body and egged her onwards. Tactics be damned.


    She knew she was being a complete fool, but she couldn¡¯t help but remember the pure surge of adrenaline she¡¯d gotten when she¡¯d first become Chosen. The sensation of Sykes¡¯ head as it pulped inwards just like a rotten watermelon and she¡¯d felt invincible. It had been the most invigorating experience of her life and she craved to feel that good again.


    A grin spread across her face as she effortlessly dodged the large scythe and ducked under one of the thick tentacles as it flew toward her.


    ¡°Aye, this is the stuff!¡± She crowed with pleasure. ¡°There¡¯s nae gonna be any backing off from me lassie so do yer worst!¡±


    Winifred dashed forward and closed the distance between herself and her foe. It was like an elegant dance as she twisted her body to avoid the swiping blades. More burst out from the pile of bodies and she skirted around them. She¡¯d been an idiot to even consider backing off!


    She was a bloody brawler and she was more than happy to go toe to toe with any foe, Chosen or otherwise.

 Chapter Eighty-Seven - A Death in the Family

    There was no doubt in his mind. Meekknuckle was convinced that he was going to die.


    To be fair, half of the so-called ¡®adventures¡¯ that Skrakch dragged him on tended to end with near-death experiences. Hells, the last adventure that the damnable Iskrin had taken him on had ended with an all-out declaration of war.


    It was a bittersweet thing, the burgeoning war between the Goblins and the Iskrins. On the one hand, it seemed as though Meek''s work may be done for him. If the Iskrin wanted to take down his father, The Patriarch, then so be it. Meek wasn¡¯t going to look a gift-Golem in the mouth after all. It would certainly make his job a lot easier.


    But then, of course, there was the issue of the village. And more importantly, his Goblin brethren, his brothers and sisters. Those that remained after The Patriarch¡¯s latest purge would no doubt be forced to the front lines to fight in his name. The plan was already underway in that respect. The village had increased its fortifications and any Goblin that wasn¡¯t elderly or infirm was given weapons training by his father¡¯s guardsmen.


    Meek knew that he should be back home, trying to do what he could to shield his remaining siblings from the upcoming battles, to try and somehow convince his father that they were needed elsewhere. But he felt as though he was being controlled by something far greater than the concern for his brothers and sisters.


    His cowardice.


    It was his greatest failure in life. Goblins didn¡¯t have the best reputation for courage but even the smallest of his kind was far braver than he was. Luckily for Meek, he had Ornn to, sometimes quite literally, hide behind. But even Ornn hadn¡¯t been able to help him when he¡¯d suffered a call that had been far too close for comfort¡­


    Shortly after the war had been declared and the Goblin tribe had returned to their village, Meek had got it into his head that the best thing to do would be to speed up his grand plan.


    He could wait for the Iskrin to do the job for him but that had its drawbacks. What if, by sheer dumb luck, the Goblins won the war? it would make Blazock crave greater and greater power. If his siblings survived the fighting, then they¡¯d end up being harvested by the Goblin Chosen!


    No. If only he could end the Patriarch¡¯s cruel reign of terror, then perhaps he could avoid the death sentence currently hanging over his family.


    So he¡¯d hidden away in his hut, trying his best to come up with a plan. He¡¯d decided to keep things simple. An assassination attempt. The idea was ludicrous, a Chosen dying to a single Goblin? In truth, the young Goblin didn''t have the greatest confidence in his own plan, but perhaps simplicity was it''s own strength.This plan would be as simple as it could be, no need to rely on outside forces.


    Meekknuckle wouldn''t need to rely on Skrakch or either of his loudmouth cronies. Even Ornn would have to stay behind, the Golem was far too heavy footed to sneak.


    Meek could do this alone. After all, who would think it strange that a son would come to see his father?


    He¡¯d waited until the village had settled down for sleep. It had been a long, fraught few hours. Most of the villagers were discussing the war and seemed eager to whittle away the hours, working through what the coming battles would mean for the village. To keep things normal, Meek had gone to the Goblin''s tavern and listened to his fellow Goblins as they¡¯d got drunker and drunker, their worries morphing into foolish declarations of ¡®Grawp take on three Iskrin and win!¡¯ or ¡®Bash no worry about War! Goblins always win!¡¯


    Finally, when silence had fallen across the village, Meek had sneaked away to his father¡¯s home. Gaining entrance had been easy enough, there were countless ways into the building that Meek had discovered when he was a youngling. He¡¯d armed himself with a vicious-looking curved dagger. His older brother Zarx had made it for him. A week later, Meek had been forced to watch as Zarx had fallen at the hands of their father.


    Meek had stolen through the various rooms, dodging sleeping guardsmen who had nodded off at their posts, until he¡¯d found his Father¡¯s sleeping quarters. The Patriarch was sleeping soundly in his bed, so very safe in the den of his power. Meek had crept up to the older Goblin¡¯s sleeping form, heart pounding in his chest as he carefully watched the rise and fall of Blazock''s chest.


    His fingers had tightened around the grip of the dagger. In his mind¡¯s eye, Meek had seen all of his brothers and sisters fall to their knees, begging for mercy as his father cruelly stole their lives. He raised the dagger above his head¡­


    And he¡¯d never brought it down.


    Meek¡¯s hand shook as he held the dagger aloft. He looked at his father¡¯s sleeping form. He tried to picture the older Goblin¡¯s horrible crimes, the brutal Purges, the looks on his fallen siblings faces¡­


    All it would take was one swift movement. The blade was sharp, he knew that much. It would take seconds and Blazock¡¯s throat would be slit. All Meek would need to do was watch as his father¡¯s blood left his aged body and his reign of terror would be finished.


    And yet, he looked nothing like the evil dictator that so often appeared in Meekknuckle''s mind¡¯s eye.


    Deeply asleep, Blazock looked every one of his advanced years, looking like a peaceful old Goblin, happily snoring away.


    Could Meek really¡­?


    Meek gritted his teeth, praying to Maglubiyet to strengthen his resolve. The Halfling¡­ Winifred¡­ Skrakch, each of them talked of killing like others talked of what they¡¯d eaten for lunch.


    Meek had never taken a life before. It seemed so easy. One life for the sake of countless others, but now that he was staring his opportunity in the face, he was beginning to doubt that he could do it.


    Every day since that dreadful night, Meek could only curse himself for his weakness. He¡¯d stood over his sleeping father, the perfect opportunity right in front of him and he¡¯d done nothing. The Goblin had felt the dagger begin to vibrate as he trembled. His resolve, which had been so strong while he¡¯d been planning the hit, had crumbled away.


    He¡¯d tiptoed away from the bed, back through the rooms and he¡¯d escaped from the building, hurrying back to the safety of his hut. Ornn had wordlessly resumed guard outside his door, Meek had even fancied that he¡¯d seen a look of pity cross the stone face as if his friend knew what he¡¯d tried and failed to do.


    Curse his cowardice!


    If only he¡¯d been able to go through with it¡­if only! It would have made everything so much easier would it not? His father¡¯s chokehold on the village would be gone. His brothers and sisters could live out their lives, free from the fear and inevitability of becoming pawns to make The Patriarch¡¯s power even greater. Hells, maybe the death of the Goblin leader would mean the war wouldn¡¯t have to happen.


    Meek shook himself, his large ears flapping. The Ratling had caught him at the perfect time. What better way to make up for his bout of cowardice than by facing a Chosen Shade?


    What he hadn¡¯t expected on this quest was to be hounded by a large pack of Ghouls. They¡¯d started their ruthless attack instantly, forcing him to desperately summon Maglubiyet¡¯s unholy light on them so that he could reach his trusty Golem companion. Ornn was a few dozen steps ahead of him but the distance may well have been miles with the sheer number of Ghouls that had swarmed out of the walls and into the Arena.


    When Ornn had first barreled into the former pit fighter¡¯s circle, Meek had been too trapped in his own thoughts to stop him. The lumbering Golem that he thought of as a friend rarely needed direction. He was usually quite content to stay by his side, keeping him safe from any foe.


    Unfortunately, Meek had clearly underestimated just how much Ornn had bonded with the others. The Construct had seen Winifred¡¯s charge and had instantly moved to help protect her.


    It was foolishness in the extreme. Winifred, or ¡®Scary Lady¡¯ as he tried to correct himself, had broken Ornn¡¯s arms into piles of rubble less than four months ago. But then, Ornn had always been a surprisingly gentle soul. It was part of the reason why Meek felt so safe with him at his side. Perhaps he¡¯d let it blind him to the truth.


    He forced himself to wade through the waves of Undead flesh and searing flames. Meek could feel the rotting bodily fluids coating his entire body as he flinched at each leaping Ghoul that rushed towards him.


    It felt as though the damned creatures had become one with the Arena itself. The floor, each wall, raining down from the ceiling in an endless tide. They came from every single direction so that Meek never knew where to look next as he dodged rotting hands that tried to grab every part of his small body.


    Rubble from the destroyed room was everywhere, creating barriers that stopped him from reaching Ornn as quickly as he¡¯d liked to. He slipped on the wet mounds of stone, almost falling straight into the arms of his attackers once or twice. If only Ornn had stayed where he was supposed to!


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    And yet, Meek actually rather liked Winifred. Considerably a lot more than he did Zacharias anyway. It would¡¯ve made things ten times more annoying and, dare he admit it, terrifying if he¡¯d been forced to chase the Golem down because of the Halfling.


    Despite his irritation and fear, Meek couldn¡¯t deny that it had been almost inspiring to watch Ornn in motion. The Golem rarely chose to act of his own volition. Did the Construct ever feel fear? Meek had wondered that before. He¡¯d often watched his gigantic friend in action and fantasized that that could be him if he was not so held back by his own overwhelming sense of terror.


    But there was a big difference between being a diminutive Goblin and an almost indestructible stone Golem. His looming protector rarely encountered an enemy that could take one of its strong blows head-on, much less return such an attack in kind.


    And so it was surprising, and indeed terrifying, to see the Golem¡¯s charge get intercepted by a large Ghoul that seemed to resemble an Undead Minotaur. Meek had heard enough stories of Rodyr to recognize the creature. It barely seemed concerned by the charging battering ram of sentient stone that was headed its way.


    While not as spectacular as Winifred¡¯s enhanced speed and movement, Ornn¡¯s every step had shaken the ground beneath them, each step slowly gaining momentum and picking up speed until he was in striking distance of his foe.


    And yet the Minotaur had casually tossed aside its meal, barely bracing itself before intercepting the charge. It was stone colliding with rotting flesh and yet neither gave an inch, the sheer force of the blow sending two nearby lesser Ghouls flying across the Arena, only to splatter against a broken wall in an explosion of blood and viscera.


    Meek dived behind the remnants of an over-turned chair, using it as a makeshift shelter as he watched the two battle. If it wasn¡¯t so terrifying, it would almost be comical in a way. There were no clever tricks or well-thought-out battle tactics. Both creatures chose to ignore defense in favor of trying to bash the ever loving shit out of each other instead.


    With every meaty blow that was thrown toward Ornn¡¯s scowling visage, the Golem neither dodged nor blocked. Instead simply leaned into the hit and attempted to land an equally powerful blow on the Minotaur Ghoul in return.


    Blow after blow was exchanged with neither combatant showing any signs of backing down as flesh ripped and stone started to crack. Meek knew he was going to have to do something soon as every moment more and more of Ornn was being sheared away under the Minotaur¡¯s brutal claws.


    ¡°Gods Below be damned Meek, cast a Barrier!¡± Skrakch suddenly called out from behind him. The Ratling was in the middle of the sea of Ghouls, his magical scepter spouting tunnels of flames toward the swarming foes. ¡°We¡¯re not going to last much longer without it! Stop hiding and start doing something, you idiot little cretin!¡±


    Meek crawled out from beneath his shelter, cursing the Ratling with various Goblin profanities under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Minotaur break off another chunk from Ornn¡¯s shoulder. He was going to have to ignore the Ratling for now. Ghouls, as dangerous as they were to the inexperienced, weren¡¯t really that much of a threat compared to the Minotaur.


    The dead Lord of the manor was clearly the Alpha of the pack. The emergence of an Alpha increased the Ghoul threat tenfold. It wasn¡¯t just the fact that Alpha Ghouls were always larger and more powerful, their bodies swelled with Necromantic Energies, but it was the increased intelligence that made them dangerous.


    The former Lord Rodyr was a perfect example of an Alpha Ghoul at its most dangerous. Skrakch had told Meek all about the Minotaur, not only was he a cruel and conniving creature but he¡¯d been a brutal fighter back in his glory days¡­


    Ornn''s very body let out a deep rumbling groan from the pressure between the two gigantic combatants, which snapped Meek back into the present. The Golem had never indicated that he was in pain before. Not even when Winifred had smashed his arms to smithereens.


    The diminutive Goblin grit his teeth. Hands suddenly glowing with energy, he renewed his journey towards his friend. He focused his ire and distress on a nearby Ghoul that threatened to lunge in his direction. Calling out to Maglubiyet, Meek was able to smite the disgusting creature with righteous fire.


    He wasn¡¯t much of a fighter, he never had been. Meek was far more content to take a backseat on the action, preferring to defend with his Barriers or Heal his companions wounds. But he couldn¡¯t ignore that, as a practitioner of Divine Magic, he was uniquely suited to dealing with the Undead. As he continued to move forward, he plowed through the relentless sea of Ghouls, his Divine healing turning into searing flames that cut them down like wheat.


    ¡°Fucking finally!¡± Skrakch called out as he slammed the top of his scepter down into a Ghoul¡¯s head, causing it to explode outwards in a blast of fiery bits. ¡°Keep that up and we might actually stand a chance!¡±


    Meekknuckle ignored his furry companion. It became all too clear why he¡¯d been dragged along on this latest ¡®adventure¡¯. Ghouls and other forms of Undeath, were more than just corpses that had been twisted into a mockery of life via spells or natural energies. The pervasive Necromantic Energy that fueled thier bodies was the magical opposite of the Divine Energy that had created the whole world.


    Deep inside his father¡¯s library there was a section stuffed with forbidden tomes. Meek had found a secret entrance leading to it when he¡¯d barely been out of his Youngling years. He¡¯d whiled away many an hour reading up on all kinds of obscure magic and yet the one thing every single book had agreed on was thus, any Divine spell that sought to enhance or mend a mortal¡¯s body and spirit shall have the opposite effect on the walking dead.


    It had seemed such a foolish notion to the younger Meek at the time but living in Dray¡¯Mel had given him more than enough opportunities over the years to put the theory into practice. He had to admit to himself that it was more pleasurable to expend his Divine Energy on the Undead.


    Using it on the Ghouls meant that he could truly let loose and allow his Mana to flow unrestrained. Healing the living was a much more meticulous task, requiring him to carefully guide it through his patient¡¯s bodies until it reached the wound that he sought to treat.


    He allowed himself a quiet cackle of joy as he channeled the Mana into yet another lunging Ghoul¡¯s rotting face, the act burning it to a crisp in seconds.


    But, for each Ghoul he struck down with his flames, another three would be upon him. Ahead of him, Ornn was still locked in mortal combat with Rodyr¡¯s Ghoul form. The encroaching Ghouls seemed to be intentionally trying to push him away from the battling duo. It was yet another worrying sign of a guiding hand amongst the Ghouls, they were trying to isolate and overwhelm the Rogues, thus making it easier for them to devour their living foes.


    It appeared that Skrakch had noticed this too, with his usual speed and grace, the Ratling landed silently beside him, brandishing his scepter like a rapier.


    ¡°We need to get out of here,¡± Skrakch said, deftly spinning around to attack the heaving Undead sea from behind. The Ghouls rasped and screeched as his magical flames turned them to ash. The scepter was glowing brighter than before, the metal in the rod making a low sizzling noise.


    ¡°Ornn!¡± Meek cried out desperately before he could stop himself. His eyes slid sideways, Skrakch seemed too busy fighting off more Ghouls to notice that he¡¯d used his actual voice rather than the dumb tone he usually adopted. ¡°Ornn!¡± He correct himself, lowering his pitch and slowing down the speed. ¡°You no leave Meek!¡±


    The swarming Ghouls were trying to throw the Golem off balance and distract him. Every few seconds Ornn would have to break off from his duel with Rodyr momentarily to pulverize a lunging Ghoul. This allowed Rodyr to gain a free hit on his stone companion, shearing off even more of the Golem''s stone body.


    A sudden flare of pain shot up Meek¡¯s leg and he let out a cry. He¡¯d been so distracted that he hadn¡¯t noticed one of the Ghouls laying in wait underneath an overturned chair. The Undead beast had sunk its sharp teeth directly into his thigh, and Meek could already feel the paralyzing sting of the Ghoul''s saliva.


    Letting out a strangled cry, Meekknuckle was nearly knocked off balance before the Ghoul was pierced through the skull, one of Skrakch¡¯s clawed fingers deftly putting an end to it.


    Before Meekknuckle could react, the Ratling grabbed him by the shoulders, ¡°Meekknuckle, if you don¡¯t cast a Barrier, there won¡¯t be anything left of -us- to save bloody Ornn.¡± Skrakch growled, the Iskrin¡¯s fur slick with Ghoul¡¯s blood. ¡°Hurry the fuck up!¡±


    Casting one last look in Ornn¡¯s direction, Meekknuckle cursed in his native tongue at the swarm of swiftly approaching Ghouls that swelled towards them in a flurry of gnashing teeth and grasping claws.


    Closing his eyes for a moment, Meekknuckle focused on his Core as he chanted a prayer in his mind. Communing with Maglubiyet was an exercise in control, the Goblin God more than happy to take as much Mana as it could from its followers. Each mote of Mana offered was well worth it though, as a single fragment of Maglubiyet¡¯s Divine focus concentrated on his believer, forming the offering of Mana into a true miracle.


    Shimmering gold light coalesced into being around Meekknuckle and Skrakch, blocking any attacker from reaching them. Sadly, no power was absolute, the barrier being maintained by Meekknuckle¡¯s sheer force of will.


    No longer in movement, it didn¡¯t take long for the roving group of half rotten Ghouls to surround the barrier, teeth breaking against the golden walls as the Undead desperately sought living flesh.


    Stuck in place, there was no stopping the increasingly large pile of Ghouls from swelling in number. Soon, Meekknuckle couldn¡¯t even see past the Undead, the sheer number of them canvassing the entire Barrier¡¯s exterior.


    ¡°Use fire! Use fire now! Big fire!¡± Meekknuckle cried out nodding at the scepter in the Ratling¡¯s paws, sweat pouring down his forehead and stinging at his widened eyes.


    Safe momentarily under the Barrier, Skrakch let out a choking breath as he wiped blood from his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s just the thing, Meek.¡± The Ratling muttered, worry in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ve finally used the damn thing up.¡±


    ¡°Magic stick no work?¡± Meekknuckle said through gritted teeth. Coupled with the sheer effort of maintaining the barrier, plus the blossoming pain in his thigh, he was surprised that he could keep up his ruse.


    ¡°Just give me a moment and I¡¯ll think of something!¡± Skrakch snapped back, rifling through his bandolier before coming up empty.


    Closing his eyes, Meekknuckle focused all his attention on the barrier. One way or the other, the only thing he could do now was keep the Barrier up as long as he could.


    He¡¯d have to trust Skrakch to pull through¡­ by the Gods, Meek really was going to die.

 Chapter Eighty Eight - Yep, We’re Gonna Die

    Skrakch had always been proud of his bandolier and the multitude of items that he kept within its pouches. A range of magical potions, his trusty thieves tools, he¡¯d accrued quite an impressive amount of jewels too. He didn¡¯t fully recall where he¡¯d gotten them from, but there were also various teeth he¡¯d decided to keep on his person, ranging from human to animal.


    Hells, there was even a matching pair of wooden whistles that he¡¯d grabbed a year or so ago on a lark, tucked down into the bottom of a pouch.


    The one thing that Skrakch¡¯s wondrous bandolier didn¡¯t have, it would seem, was a way to get out of their current situation.


    Surrounded as the Ratling and Meekknuckle currently were, by the murderous Ghouls hellbent on ripping them both to shreds, he¡¯d normally rely on his artifact. The scepter of Fireballs hadn¡¯t been in his possession for very long but he¡¯d come to rely on it. For a mere trickle of Mana, he could cast wave after wave of magical flames against any foe.


    What Skrakch hadn¡¯t realised, hindsight be damned, was that the damn weapon had an upper limit of spells within it. One minute he¡¯d been holding a powerful relic from a time long lost to this world, feeling it sear his flesh as he desperately poured more Mana into it than he ever had before. And then, just like that, in the next moment he was holding a worthless chunk of metal, his Mana colliding uselessly against the inert specter¡¯s frame.


    Skrakch however, refused to be beaten. He¡¯d never been the type of creature to lose himself in the ¡®What Ifs¡¯ of a situation. He was a Ratling, a bloody survivor, damn it! And nothing if not adaptable. There was a solution to their current situation, he was sure of it. Skrakch just needed to look past the writhing and snarling wall of Ghouls that were currently attacking Meek¡¯s Barrier spell, each swipe or bite slowly cracking the sole thing that was keeping them alive.


    ¡°Hells,¡± He muttered under his breath. The Iskrin could see Meek¡¯s hands shake with the effort of maintaining the magical shield. The diminutive Goblin was bleeding from a bite wound on his thigh,one more injury wearing on Meek''s small frame. As far as Skrakch could see, Ornn was still locked in combat with Rodyr¡¯s corpse with no sign of it ending. The Minotaur-turned-Alpha Ghoul was clearly more than capable of standing up to the Golem¡¯s hefty blows.


    Each and every one of those brutal hits would¡¯ve no doubt turned Skrakch into meat-paste on contact. Not that he was stupid enough to stand there and take the hit. Neither of the titanic fighters were particularly agile in their attacks. No, he¡¯d been more than capable of running circles around them¡­


    ¡°Rat¡­ do¡­ something,¡± Meek ground out through gritted yellow teeth, a mixture of panic and concentration both equally clear on the ugly bastard¡¯s face.


    The Ratling began to worriedly pull at his whiskers. He needed to focus. What good would postulating about fighting an Alpha Ghoul be if he could barely get past its minions? The pain from the tugs at his whiskers kept him in the moment as his tail lashed from side to side.


    Escaping certain, if slow, death¡­ The other ally Skrakch might have been able to rely on was also neck deep in combat. A glance towards the center of the Arena confirmed that Winifred was still dueling with the possessed Survix, though at this point it was hard to recognize the Succubus as a wall of bladed-tentacles blocked his vision.


    Where Ornn was slow and deadly, Winifred was moving at a speed far beyond a normal human¡¯s limits. The Pit Fighter was a literal blur of movement to Skrakch¡¯s sight, the Chosen clearly liberally leaning on her Crux to further augment herself.


    As the Shade¡¯s sharp bladed tendrils cut down towards her, Winifred casually ducked, weaved, and once deftly leaped over the attacks, raining down blows against Survix¡¯s flesh in retaliation.


    Each blow decimated the poor host¡¯s body, the Demoness¡¯ bones breaking and meat rupturing from the force of the blows. Unfortunately the Shade seemed to be regenerating rapidly, large chunks of flesh regrowing every second.


    Worse yet, with every attack Winifred landed, more tendrils burst from the pile of corpses below her, leading to a veritable storm of attacks. Every shard of bone that dislodged from the Brawler''s attacks bloomed into yet another tendril.


    Sure, Winifred was dealing with it fine for now, but who gave a shit about her? She wouldn¡¯t be freed from her battle any time soon, so the odds of her helping Meekknuckle and Skrakch out dwindled by the moment.


    And as for Zacharias? Hells¡­ that was always going to be a lost cause. The Halfling was no doubt on his way back to the Plagued Rat, not a shred of indecision in his cold, black heart.


    Slowly but surely, more and more cracks were spreading across Meek¡¯s Barrier. The Divine shield was beginning to resemble a dropped glass bowl, right before it''s content were smashed into little pieces. It was clear that Meekknuckle would eventually buckle in his spellcraft, just from the sheer pressure placed upon the Barrier, as the volume of the Ghouls¡¯ frenzied attacks overwhelmed the Goblin¡¯s Core of Mana.


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    ¡°Meek! Keep that Barrier up!¡± Skrakch ordered. It made him feel mildly soothed to bully the diminutive creature. Almost as if this was a normal situation and he was not staring down the barrel of his impending doom.


    ¡°Meek¡­ trying¡­¡± The Goblin replied weakly, not even sparing the energy to angrily retort to the Ratling¡¯s words. Still, Skrakch was certain the Goblin would hold for a while yet¡­ or at least, he certainly hoped the Goblin would.


    Was this really how he was going to die? After everything that had happened? Skrakch suddenly felt the urge to laugh. He¡¯d certainly danced with death on more than one occasion and yet somehow, he¡¯d always managed to pull through. Now it felt as though he were a sitting duck, forced to watch as his death slowly inched towards him, one jagged tooth at a time.


    There had to be a way¡­


    ¡°Potions¡­ potions¡­¡± Skrakch muttered to himself as he mentally went through the stock he was carrying. There were a couple he could maybe use but nothing that would ultimately stem the horde and stop it from overwhelming him. Which left his Runes¡­


    A Rune of Slow would only serve to give him enough extra time to really appreciate being mauled to death¡­  an application of Gravity? Well, that would toss a handful of the creatures away but that left a few dozen of the feral beasts to kill him.


    Feather Fall? A great idea! Each of his limbs would land as light as a feather after they were cast off his dead body. His Enkindle Rune? No good. He¡¯d only ever had to use that once just over a year ago when he¡¯d needed to start a fire.


    So what exactly had Skrakch spent his time on? Struggling to learn all these types of Runes and risking his life for nothing? A few mediocre spells and not one of them were capable of sending a dozen Ghouls flying!


    He knew that he was truly feeling desperate when a fleeting hope of the Halfing suddenly popping out of nowhere to save the day came into his mind. Perhaps Zacharis would use a trick of his Shadow Magic to distract the Ghouls somehow?


    ¡°Yeah, right,¡± Skrakch muttered sarcastically to himself. The Halfling was as likely to risk his life for any of them as he himself would.


    Though¡­ maybe now that part wasn¡¯t as true as it had been. Well, not the part about Zacharias. The heartless prick wasn¡¯t about to risk himself any time soon.


    No, it was the fact that Skrakch had slowly come to rely of his fellow Rogues. Sure, Ornn had all the charm of a rock and was about as chatty as one, and Winifred was a simple creature, her former drug habit having switched over to an unhealthy obsession with meat pies, but the Brown Iskin had really started to get along with them of late¡­


    Hells, he¡¯d even been finding Meekknuckle less of an irritation than usual. Skrakch had always considered the Goblin an expendable minion, something that gave him an ¡®in¡¯ with Blazock and was mostly useful for his relationship with Ornn but¡­


    Watching the diminutive Goblin struggling to keep them both alive, the Ratling had to admit to himself that it was good to have the idiot around. Meek had gone out on a limb to help him out quite a bit recently and that including tagging along with him now with barely any needling or bullying.


    So what if he didn¡¯t have any Runes that could help him out of this mess? Smoothing down his luxurious fur, Skrakch took a deep, cleansing breath as he watched the Barrier continue to fade. If he was about to die anyway, he¡¯d just have to risk it all. Maybe if he got lucky, he¡¯d be able to help Meekknuckle make it out alive, if he, Skrakch, failed.


    Closing his eyes, Skrakch did his best to mute his senses. The sound of Ghouls growling and spitting with rage and hunger became a gentle breeze. The stone floor he was standing on, slick with blood and gore, was truly the most comfortable bed he¡¯d ever used. The scent of decaying flesh and worse became one of the Denmother¡¯s perfumes, a relaxing lavender scent tickling Skrakch¡¯s nostrils.


    At first, unsurprisingly, these foolish lies he sought eluded him. Thankfully however, it didn¡¯t take him too long to finally block his surroundings out, focusing on emptying his mind of distractions.


    Turning all of his attention inwards, Skrakch could sense the ebb and flow of Mana within his chest. His Core was still brimming with power, even after using his sceptre to fell dozens of beasts. The Ratling imagined his clawed fingers as they reached out to delicately wrap the shimmering Core in their grip, little wisps of Mana surging outward.


    When Blazock had told Skrakch about how a true Rune Mage took the next step on his magical journey, the Goblin Chieftain had stressed the importance of preparation.


    ¡°You must maintain a mental image of multiple Cores,¡± Blazock said calmly as he stroked his long beard. ¡°Keep that image fixed within your mind, see them working together. It¡¯s all about mutual co-operation!¡±


    ¡°But how-¡± Skrakch blinked, wondering what the Hells the old wrinkled Mage was talking about. Surely he only had one Core? Was that not the whole basis of magic?


    ¡°Concentrate!¡± Blazock growled, tapping his walking stick on the stone floor with annoyance. ¡°I am not talking about gaining a second Core, you idiotic creature. You must carefully divide your Core into equal portions before re-assembling it. This is pivotal to casting the next level of Runes! Each spell that you cast must be intertwined with one another. A deadly dance that requires perfection and grace,¡± The Goblin paused and snorted derisively. ¡°This will enable you to transform your very essence into a higher plane of existence.¡±


    Skrakch knew that The Patriarch had taken years, even decades, to perfectly chisel at his Core and, even then, most lesser talents simply failed at the next step, their Core breaking apart forever, leaving the Mage as a hollow husk.


    The act of stepping into the next tier of magic was no joke and should only ever be considered when the Mage was both prepared and entirely safe. Ideally with a Mage of greater experience on hand. Even the slightest disturbance could have life threatening implications.


    So, naturally, Skrakch smashed apart his Core with all the grace of an Ogre smashing into a large boulder. The Ratling watched as hundreds of glittering shards burst into existence in his mind''s eye, and for a moment all Skrakch could feel was wonder at the sight.


    If only the spectacle wouldn''t likely lead to his untimely demise...

 Chapter Eighty Nine - Four Measly Bloody Spells

    Runic magic was, in Skrakch¡¯s very important opinion, bloody awful. The whole basis of its strength came from the idea that each spell you learned could help influence the next tier of spells, this functioning as a sort of building block towards the Mage¡¯s future.


    The flipside was that the strongest of Rune Mages had a massive base of spells to build on, each one of them individually suited to a specific situation. Sure, if you had learned a hundred basic spells like Feather Fall or Magic Missile, you could simply combine those hundreds of spells together in any way you cared to. That way, you¡¯d be able to achieve truly powerful and impressive effects.


    And there was the rub. The trick to Runic Magic would be living long enough to be able to build up that large a base. Rune Mages were one of the rarest types of Casters and it was a total crapshoot if a fledgling Mage could find someone to guide them along their journey.


    The greatest of Rune Mages, the ones written about in the epic tomes that Skrakch had once poured over in the Library, were unstoppable juggernauts of arcane might. Practically Gods on Earth that were capable of wielding dozens of spells from vastly, often conflicting, schools of magic.


    Any up and coming Runic Mage in Dray¡¯Mel though? They were doomed to languish in mediocrity. With nobody to train or nurture their talent, due to most simply not understanding its intricacies, they were reduced to using a spell of two as a party trick to entertain at the bar. It took years just to track down a spellbook that even referred to Runes, much less one that instructed how to learn the spell from scratch.


    Then, of course, there was the natural lifespan of a brown Iskrin. Adding those two factors together and you got a pretty depressing recipe for dismal failure. Skrakch had spent years pestering Blazock for new Runes to learn and what did he have to show for all that hard work on his part?


    Four. Measly. Fucking. Spells.


    Skrakch well and truly despised Runic Magic but, that had been the cards he¡¯d been dealt. It was all that he knew. As a young servant, his Master Jace had let him read his spellbook and the only magic that had ever worked for the young Ratling had been Feather Fall.


    It was shortly after escaping the burning Logan estate, his first true home, that he¡¯d stumbled into the Goblin Patriarch¡¯s attention. But then, even with a dedicated master demonstrating the Runes to him, Skrakch had only been able to wrangle three more Runes. He was certain that this was a tactical move on Blazock¡¯s part. The old Goblin was clearly threatened by someone who could overthrow him and therefore tried to keep a tight leash on Skrakch¡¯s learning.


    Feather Fall¡­ Gravity¡­ Slow¡­ Each of those Runes had a common thread, manipulating space to achieve their desired effects. Skrakch had long struggled to think of how clever applications of those three Runes may work and hadn¡¯t come up with barely anything worth trying, not that he¡¯d ever admit it to anyone,


    Each Rune affected the weight of the world itself. Feather Fall lightened his target¡¯s mass and had certainly come in handy the first time he¡¯d needed to escape from Rodyr¡¯s mansion. Gravity inverted his target¡¯s natural gravity and Slow worked by greatly increasing the target¡¯s weight, acting like chains to bind them down.


    ¡°So what?¡± Skrakch muttered to himself, making sure that Meek wasn¡¯t listening. His mind churned wildly and he needed to talk this out, even if that was only with himself. ¡°I could combine Feather Fall and Gravity¡­ extra light¡­ launch them into the sky? Or maybe¡­hmm, Gravity and Slow? To launch them¡­ slowly?¡±


    Hundreds of thoughts and ideas collided with each other, looping around the Iskrin¡¯s mind as he idly stroked his furred chin, trying to solve an issue that he¡¯d already spent so long pondering. The issue of casting his second tier Rune was, of course, a much more pleasant distraction than focusing on his current predicament.


    When the time came for Skrakch to gallantly risk his own future to save his lessers, he imagined it would be a similar situation to the Dungeon they¡¯d encountered before. He would be forced to rummage through his memories, piecing things together bit by bit until he awoke with a glorious new Rune to save the day.


    This though¡­


    Well, this was very much not that.


    Instead, he¡¯d shattered his Core like glass. His entire world had gone black outside of the twinkling shars that were suspended in the air all around him. It didn¡¯t take some kind of magical genius to realize that he needed to get the bloody things and mash them back together somehow but¡­


    ¡°How in the Hells am I expected to move in this fucking abyss?¡± Skrakch asked out loud. He knew he was speaking, his mouth was certainly moving, but his voice didn¡¯t reach his own ears.


    The nearest shard was only a few feet from his line of sight and yet, no matter what he tried, he couldn¡¯t seem to get his feet underneath him to move. Without footing of any kind, he was left suspended in place.


    What made matters all the more confusing for the Iskrin, was that he also had the oddest sense that he wasn¡¯t actually stuck. No, he could feel his fur rustling as if a stiff breeze was blowing past him, and the shards of his Core were tumbling downwards around him¡­


    At first, he hadn¡¯t quite managed to place the situation but he swiftly realized the issue. Wherever he was, whenever he was, he was currently falling. Much like the shards around him, he was falling down into some kind of void and, he was quickly realizing, that there seemed to be nothing that he could do about it.


    What would happen when he finally arrived at the bottom of wherever the Hells he was? A small part of him couldn¡¯t help but wonder if that was indeed his destination, the Ratling having dropped dead and was on his way to his eternal damnation. Or some kind of messed up purgatory and this was it. He¡¯d be destined to fall forever into the dark void.


    With that lovely sobering thought ringing in his mind, Skrakch had tossed himself into finding a solution, any solution.


    His first attempt involved more wild flailing than he¡¯d like to admit, Skrakch just desperately waving his limbs to and fro.


    Once he¡¯d gotten that out of his system, he¡¯d turned to the more logical approach, trying to use his Runes to escape. Which lead into his current quandary, how does one use their Mana when their Core is shattered into a hundred pieces?


    Looking inwards, Skrakch could envision where his Core usually resided in his chest. It was situated where a heart lay in most mortals, overlapping with the physical organ to spit out Mana throughout his body.


    Instead, all that was left was a ruinous cavern, no sign of his Core nor his Mana. Just looking at the emptiness felt abhorrent, a sense of dread overtaking Skrakch. It was somehow -wrong- for his body to be without a Core and he couldn¡¯t help the rising panic building inside him.


    Which led to his third plan for solving this mess, once more panickedly flailing his legs, but this time alternating it with flapping his arms like a demented bird and desperately attempting to swim in great heaving strokes.


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    Desperation was never a good look, but the Ratling was more than willing to do whatever it took to get this show on the road. Still, it was clear that nothing he did physically would have an effect.


    As odd as this endless Abyss was, in theory he should still be in his Core. ¡°So maybe I need to treat this as a test of my mind?¡± Skrakch mused, settling down as much as his beating heart would allow him.


    Calming breaths helped the Ratling centre himself, allowing him to take stock of his options. In truth, his body was still standing near Meekknuckle, who hopefully was still keeping the both of them amongst the living.


    The only thing actually here in the void was Skrakch¡¯s consciousness. And, he supposed, the shards of his Core. No longer blinded by his panic, Skrakch settled in to inspect the nearest shard to him.


    Twirling in place, the shard looked almost like molten silver. It had a gleaming quality to it, but Skrakch quickly realized the shard was actually slowly leaking Mana, giving it an otherworldly sheen.


    The sight was intimately familiar to him, in fact. It didn¡¯t take the Ratling long to place the Mana, because of course it was his.


    With his Core shattered, what Mana he had inside it was clearly seeping outwards. What threw Skrakch initially was the fact that the Mana was¡­ off.


    Rather than his usual Arcane Mana, the seeping Mana from the Shard was tinted, slightly different from normal. It was almost as if the Mana was already cast into existence, the Shard leaking the source of one of the Ratling¡¯s Runes.


    Casting his gaze outwards, Skrakch realized that each Shard was emitting its own version of his Mana. Most were slowly leaking the Rune of Feather Fall, the Mana tinged with a light purple energy.


    The Shards leaking Gravity had a darker purple energy to it, almost seeming heavier than the others. Only a few seemed to have the Aspect of Slow, but¡­ it was his Enkindle Rune that had the clearly lowest of Shards.


    Focusing on the closest Shard, Skrakch tried to envision the energy of the Shard moving towards him but the Mana wouldn¡¯t respond to his call.


    ¡°But it¡¯s my own damned Mana. Why the fuck can¡¯t I control it?¡± Even as Skrakch struggled to control the Shard, he began to feel a weight blanketing his mind. It felt similar to Mana exhaustion, antipathy running through his thoughts.


    Still, Skrakch kept running ideas through his mind, testing each one to no results. Until finally he had the idea to use the Mana in a Shard, not on him, but a similar Shard to itself.


    Reaching out to the nearest Shard, Skrakch tried to get his Mana to respond to his call, attempting to tether the Shard to one a dozen feet away. Surprisingly, the Mana followed suit, both Shards slowly moving towards each other.


    Emboldened by his success, Skrakch began weaving all the nearby Shards together. As each Feather Fall tinged Shard moved together, he felt his understanding of the Rune advance.


    He¡¯d known Feather Fall was just lifting his own mass, but how was that any different then reversing a target¡¯s mass? Really, Gravity was basically the same Rune, simply used in a different way.


    That errant thought was all it took Skrakch to start threading the Gravity Shards together, each aspected Shard moving together in a breath-taking swirl that nearly overwhelmed Skrakch¡¯s senses.


    Breathing heavily, Skrakch felt as if he was casting each spell dozens of times over, but the Ratling refused to back down. Reaching out mentally to the Slow Shards, it was just another application of the same Rune, the knowledge seared into his mind.


    Before long, the majority of each Shards were assembled in three separate clusters, each revolving together at break-neck speeds.


    A few Shards were still tumbling in the void as they leaked a red-tinged aspect, but try as Skrakch might, he could barely keep the Shards he already had moving, much less reach out to the Enkindle Shards.


    Reaching out clawed hands Skrakch slowly closed his fists, and mentally attempted to crush each Shard cluster against themselves. He could feel his body failing, his mouth dry and his eyes burning in their sockets but as each Cluster of Shards merged, he was left with three separate Cores.


    Each was much smaller than his original and with nothing tethering them together, he knew backing out of this state would spell his death. None of his attempts to reach between the Cores yielded fruit, even though he -knew- that the Runes were basically the same, he couldn¡¯t get Feather Fall to connect meaningfully with Gravity or Slow.


    He needed something new. Something more. Each Rune dealt with controlling the mass of his targets, controlling the individual targets sense of gravity. Lightening the target. Reversing the gravity to pull the targets inwards. Binding the targets attempts to break free.


    In the real world, Meekknuckle was down on his knees, blood beginning to pour down his cheeks as the Goblin burned his own life force to keep steady on his feet. As Meek inched closer and closer to using up every drop of his Mana, his body began to crumble to dust like a dried up prune.


    The only reason he was even still conscious was his own healing abilities, draining even more Mana as he kept himself standing.


    Meek was only able to see Skrakch¡¯s catatonic state from the corner of his eyes, but the Goblin was sure his companion wasn¡¯t going to be able to help. The only solution was to keep the Barrier up and pray Ornn or Winifred saved them.


    Skrakch¡¯s body had despondently slumped downwards as Meekknuckle sensed the Ratling¡¯s Core begin to fluctuate and then finally burst. In truth, the Ratling seemed as good as dead, but Meekknuckle didn¡¯t have any time to spare for his companion.


    So the Goblin was beyond surprised as he felt Skrakch¡¯s Mana suddenly stir to life behind him. It was sluggish and slow, but with each moment it seemed to build back up. In fact the churlish Mana began to overwhelm Meek¡¯s own spell, the Barrier breaking apart at the seams.


    Instantly, blindly grasping Ghoul arms began reaching through the gap of the golden shell, clawed hands ripping through Meekknuckle¡¯s back. Finally collapsing, Meekknuckle closed his eyes and braced himself for his final moments as the Barrier fully collapsed.


    But outside of the throbbing pain of his wounds, Meekknuckle felt no further assault. Peeking out from his closed eyes, the Goblin could see Skrakch¡¯s raised arm as a swell of Mana rippled out of him.


    Struggling to his feet amidst the blood and carnage, Skrakch felt the last of his Mana pull itself out of his body as he completed his newest Rune.


    A look downwards let him see his Core in all its new glory, three jagged spheres haphazardly smashed together. Each individual piece of his Core was smaller than before, and his total capacity had dropped precariously, but the combined might of his new Core had the Ratling smirking in pride.


    ¡°Fuck the second tier of Runes,¡± Skrakch¡¯s voice slurred out as he dazedly stared upwards. ¡°I definitely knew I could do it. Zero doubts at all.¡± He finished smugly, before collapsing backwards in a heap as he watched his Rune as it activated above him.


    As the two Rogues lay near comatose on the Arena floor, a single mote of Darkness lazily spun in the air in the centre of the Arena.


    Each of its gentle spins slowly spread rippled Mana outwards that attached to near everything in the room. All of the Ghouls that had come streaming into the Arena, the Chosen Shade¡¯s host body, even the still struggling Minotaur Ghoul, each of them slowly began to be wrapped up in the increasing pressure that dragged them upwards.


    Held aloft as Meek¡¯s Barrier shattered, the Ghouls still mindlessly swiped towards Meekknuckle and Skrakch, barely realizing as they began to move increasingly quickly upwards. The Minotaur Ghoul, formerly known as Rodyr, began to lose the force behind its blows, barely able to scratch Ornn¡¯s form as it too was dragged off its feet.


    Survix, and the Chosen Shade puppeting her body, were also affected by Skrakch¡¯s spell, forced to tether itself down with more of its snapping tendrils to negate the pull. Which only let Winifred¡¯s unrelenting assault continue with unabated ferocity, the fighter¡¯s instinct instantly urging her forward to take advantage of the opportunity.


    Above the two Chosen, Skrakch¡¯s Rune forcibly pulled its targets inwards, bones crushing and flesh pulping as the hundreds of Ghouls that had charged into the room were pulled together under unrelenting pressure.


    Sickeningly slowly, the mass of Undead compressed until they fit perfectly inside the spinning pinprick of darkness. As the Rune finally dispersed, and the hardened bead of his foes remains dropped to the floor, Skrakch weakly laughed out the name of his newest Rune.


    ¡°Black Hole.¡±

 Chapter Ninety - From Bad To Worse

    The sudden silence inside Rodyr¡¯s estate was almost overwhelming to Skrakch¡¯s ears. It was disturbed only by the sounds of combat coming from the corpse pile in the center of the room where the two Chosen were still locked in mortal combat.


    Shakily lifting a paw, Skrakch pulled a healing potion from his bandolier, popped the cork top, and then drained it in one big gulp. The thick, bitter liquid burned his throat on the way down but, thankfully, the damnable potion was effective. There was a limit to self-healing properties, but it''s effects on his body mostly took care of the smaller, minor wounds as they knitted themselves together without him even noticing. The potion was quick to do its job and the Ratling could feel the strength returning to his limbs.


    Crawling toward Meekknuckle, Skrakch grabbed another potion from his stock and forced it down the diminutive Goblin¡¯s throat. He couldn¡¯t help but chuckle to himself at Meek¡¯s rather flustered reaction to the taste.


    Skrakch looked up to see that Ornn was lumbering his way toward them. It seemed like things were finally looking up. Sure, Skrakch had practically zero Mana left and Meekknuckle looked like he¡¯d drained any semblance of power, but at least they still had the Golem. Even if the said silent guardian appeared to be missing an arm. Still, even a one-armed Golem was better than nothing.


    Although Ornn did look very worse for wear. As the Golem moved closer, Skrakch could see that not only had he lost an arm, but large chunks of his body were also missing, huge chunks ripped out of his torso.


    It seemed that the battle between the Construct and Rodyr had reduced much of Ornn¡¯s body into ruined rubble. Deep gouges crisscrossed the Golem¡¯s chest, some of them seemed scarily deep. In fact, Skrakch could see a bright purple light emanating from some of the worst wounds. Golemancy wasn¡¯t exactly the Ratling¡¯s area of expertise but it didn¡¯t take a genius to realize the shining light was coming from the innermost part of Ornn¡¯s body.


    Just like he had after Winifred had crushed his arms, Ornn would no doubt be able to recover from his wounds in time. The rubble that made up most of the Construct¡¯s mass was actually pretty irrelevant. What really mattered was the heart. Skrakch just had to hope it was still completely intact. Although a one-armed Golem was still better than nothing at all, it wasn¡¯t the most promising of situations for the coming confrontation with Survix¡¯s possessed form.


    Thankfully, the Golem didn¡¯t seem in any way hindered or perturbed by the loss. It seemed more concerned with Meek, who was currently struggling to his feet, leaning heavily against Ornn¡¯s thick stone leg.


    Skrakch took stock of the situation, eyes flickering around him, he had to admit he may have been a little too optimistic thinking that things were looking up. Sure, he wasn¡¯t trapped in some weird magical void anymore but the trio of Rogues weren¡¯t exactly at their best.


    Winifred appeared to be holding her own with the Chosen Shade though Skrakch was beginning to have his doubts that, even with her Pact, her blows were doing much harm to the Demoness.


    Each of Winifred''s blows were thrown with enough force to crush stone or warp metal, and yet Survix was recovering from the attacks at an increasingly quicker speed. There was little left of her Demoness body, her body twisted beyond mortal standards. At this point she was mostly tentacles, each with twirling blade-like appendages ending in sharpened edges that looked dangerous enough to eviscerate someone with a simple, accidental cut¡­


    That being said, Winifred seemed to be able to dodge the blows with relative ease. Hells, even the ones that landed on her form seemed to barely scratch her. The former Pit Fighter was a blur of motion that Skrakch was struggling to follow with his bleary eyes. Her every movement seemed to lead to an explosion of the Shade¡¯s flesh as tendrils practically popped under her fists.


    And yet, none of this seemed to be slowing down or deterring the Shade¡¯s onslaught of attacks. Skrakch had never seen such a thing before. It barely twitched from the powerful blows and each exploded tendril was replaced in seconds by a new one popping from its stump, its blade-like attachments shining.


    Even more concerning was the fact that the Shade had yet to invoke its Pact. They needed to back Winifred up, the sooner the better. Skrakch had no idea how long Chosen could rely on their Crux, but the way that Winifred was expending her energy¡­ it likely wasn¡¯t going to be too long before she ran that well dry.


    Staggering woozily to his feet, Skrakch pulled loose a vial of Wujeeta¡¯s Pacifying Brew from his trusty bandolier.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just lob a few of these in,¡± He muttered to himself. ¡°Gods Above know I can¡¯t miss¡±


    Before he could start to edge his way closer to the fight, he felt stubby fingers close around his wrist. Skrakch looked down to see Meek, the cowardly Goblin''s eyes saucer-like with fear.


    ¡°Wait! You no hear that?¡± The Goblin whispered, his eyes moving toward the entrance to the Arena, his expression wary. ¡°Listen!¡±


    Taking a second to strain his ears, Skrakch shook off the Goblin¡¯s grip. He had enough trouble hearing anything other than the thudding of his heart. But¡­ yes¡­ Meek was right. There was something, ringing out in the distance. The sound was subtle enough but it was starting to get louder by the second.


    It sounded like¡­ pure destruction. Skrakch could hear wood splintering and metal being torn apart. The sounds were echoing down the Fighter¡¯s entrance, getting closer and closer to the Arena. Carpets were being ripped up¡­furniture was being smashed to pieces¡­ vases shattering as they hit the ground¡­ Whatever was causing them was big and, worryingly, picking up speed as they closed in.


    Skrakch took a wary step behind Ornn. If it was another Ghoul hoarder¡­ the Trio were well and truly fucked. The Ratling wasn¡¯t even sure they¡¯d be able to make a run for it, not as tired and depleted as they were. He glared at the scepter of Fireballs that was lying by his feet. A quick thread of Mana channeled toward the magical artifact told him that the damn thing was still out of juice, not that Skrakch truly expected anything else.


    Life was rarely that simple, groused the Ratling as he stared towards the direction of the incoming noise was coming from.


    Nodding towards Meek, Skrakch raised his claws and took cover behind a particularly large piece of debris, carefully tucking himself out of sight. If they were going to have to fight, he wasn¡¯t going to make it easy!


    Meek motioned wordlessly to Ornn and the damaged Construct planted himself in front of his Goblin friend. Skrakch braced himself to deal with another onslaught of rabid Ghouls. He wasn¡¯t exactly sure how they were going to handle it, but hiding would give them a chance, albeit a slight one, at escaping without being spotted.


    From his new vantage point, Skrakch saw the doorway to the Arena crash open in an impressive spray of timber and splinters.


    The Ratling could only make out a bloody smear as the object¡­ creature?¡­ whatever it was barrelled toward him with such speed that it seemed to bounce erratically before coming to a rest. At first, Skrakch couldn¡¯t place the damned thing, until he realized that he wasn¡¯t looking at a mundane item, but rather the crumpled heap of a Halfling-sized body, one arm twisted behind its back.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°What in the Hells?¡± Skrakch muttered to himself as he carefully poked his head out from behind his cover. He gingerly crept forward, keeping one eye on the body but making sure to check the now burst-open doorway.


    He reached out a paw and prodded the only part of the flesh that he could see, a tear in the shoulder of the leather coat the body was wearing.


    ¡°Zacharias?¡±


    Rather impressively, it appeared that the Halfling was still conscious. The Thief shakily opened his good eye as he struggled to move his battered limbs. Zacharias¡¯ mouth worked silently as he struggled to speak, his one working arm grabbing hold of Skrakch¡¯s wrist as the Ratling hurried to pull another healing potion from his bandolier.


    Even as he lay on the stone floor, blood slowly streaming from the open wounds scattered across his body, Zacharias¡¯ scarred face formed a mocking grin as his eyes locked with Skrakch¡¯s.


    ¡°Bought ya some time¡­. didn¡¯t I Squeakers?... I reckon¡­ we need to get out of here¡­¡±


    Tilting the potion to Zacharias¡¯ lips, Skrakch awkwardly shuffled to the side as Meekknuckle made his way over to the duo with Ornn close on his heels. The Goblin¡¯s right hand was glowing white as he struggled to channel his Divine healing into the prone thief¡¯s body.


    ¡°Meek not think stupid Half-Man in danger,¡± He spoke up after a moment, focusing intently as he directed his healing magic toward the more threatening of the Halfling¡¯s wounds. ¡°But¡­ Meek not sure-"


    Practically tackling the diminutive Goblin to the ground, Skrakch clamped a paw down on Meek¡¯s mouth in a sudden burst of movement. The startled Goblin struggled to free himself, Ornn stepping towards them threateningly, that was until he realized why he¡¯d been shut up so quickly.


    Skrakch¡¯s focus was back on the doorway that Zacharias¡¯ had broken through merely seconds ago. Originally, the fear had been another pack of Ghouls but this¡­ this stunned the Ratling.


    The doorway that had comfortably allowed passage to the nearly ten-foot-tall Ornn, was currently completely blocked off by what appeared to be two massive clawed hands. They scrabbled as they reached through the hole, blindly grasping at the open area near the entrance.


    The colossal hands were covered in innumerable scars and stitches, topped off with long, pale fingers that were the length of a large sailing vessel. The fingers ended with thick curved claws that were as long and deadly looking as the scimitars the Arid Gangs were known to carry. More concernedly, the flesh seemed to be writhing unnaturally as the hands jerked to and fro.


    With a sick feeling in his stomach, Skrakch noted the odd bit of flesh that stuck out from the palms and backs of the monstrous hands. These grasping bits of flesh were smaller, more naturally sized pairs of hands that were blindly groping just like the oversized ones they were connected to.


    Breath caught in his throat, Skrakch jerked into motion, grabbing Meek by the shoulder and shoving him backward toward the ruined Arena floor. Grabbing Zacharias¡¯ body next by the back of the Halfling''s jacket, the Iskrin began tugging his prone companion further from the door, ignoring his occasional groans of pain as he was dragged across the uneven and debris-littered stone. Even as panicked as he was, Skrakch refused to break eye line toward this new threat, stumbling backward with hurried steps.


    The two gargantuan hands appeared to finish their fruitless search and still momentarily. For a beat, Skrakch hoped that whatever was on the other side of the door would simply move on, satisfied there was nothing of interest for it in the ruined Arena.


    Instead, the hands grabbed onto the stone doorway and began to heave, the walls crumpling as though they were made of paper beneath its powerful grip.


    ¡°Watch... the damned thing''s... tongue...¡± Zacharias¡¯ heaved out in a raspy voice, trying to shift himself into a more comfortable position. He was blinking rapidly, obviously trying to force himself to stay conscious.


    Turning back to the door, Skrakch watched in growing horror as the entrance fully broke away, revealing a huge, hulking form that hauled itself through the enlarged opening in the wall. It had torn a hole almost fourteen feet high and wide and yet, the creature still seemed to be struggling as though it was a tight fit.


    The first proper look at the monstrosity making its way into the Arena made every single drop of blood in Skrakch¡¯s body run cold. One of the hands disappeared from sight but, in turn, the creature¡¯s other arm reached fully into the room. Grisly scars ran wild across this meaty, snakeline arm which was dotted between open festering wounds. The arm itself was as long as the tallest building in Dray¡¯Mel and an equally huge shoulder followed it through the entrance as the creature continued to wrestle with the opening it had created.


    The neck followed the shoulder as the creature stuffed itself through the entrance, contorted itself just to fit. The head followed the neck and, if Skrakch wasn¡¯t so frozen with utter terror, he would¡¯ve vomited on the spot. The colossal moon-like face had malformed human features. Where its nose should be, there were two bloody holes, maggots and bits of necrotic flesh leaked from the two open wounds, filling the entire Arena with the unmistakable stench of rot. Pale grey, lipless skin was stretched across an open mouth that would¡¯ve had no trouble swallowing Ornn whole. Its jagged, rotten teeth were sharp and broken, each one as large as a regular human male.


    Worse than that, however, were the huge empty eye sockets. The black voids stripped the creature of any kind of emotion and as the head came into full view, Skrakch could see that they weren¡¯t empty sockets at all but rather filled with pulsing veins and dark, almost black, blood that dripped down the creature¡¯s face. Each droplet seemed to be viciously acidic, causing an audible sizzle as they fell to the floor.


    Once the new arrival finished pulling itself through the hole in the wall, it staggered onto its misshaped feet and let out an otherworldly wail, the sheer volume of the noise hitting Skrakch like a physical blow, rocking him back on his feet.


    Just looking at the humongous, vile creature was enough to make Skrakch lose his nerve and the sight of Meekknuckle¡¯s cowering form to his right was completely understandable. He¡¯d thought that he¡¯d planned for every eventuality¡­ some Ghouls? Sure. The Chosen Shade being the toughest character they¡¯d come across? Expected. But to see a creature Skrakch had only ever read of in history books, mentioned in passing as more of a myth then an actual beast.


    Unless the Iskrin was completely incorrect, the only thing the Abomination that was staggering to it''s feet could be was a Ghast. One of the legends of the Undead District, Skrakch could barely remember the bits of lore he''d read about Ghasts, but he knew he wanted nothing to do with the truly massive Undead.


    Still. There was hope. Skrakch watched as the Abomination began sniffing the air around it, its attentions suddenly focusing on the dueling Chosen.


    Winifred¡¯s battle with Survix was blessedly loud, each of the Chosen¡¯s attacks destroying huge chunks the Arena around their battleground, and Winifred grunting loudly with effort as she continued to rain blow after blow on her opponent. With any luck, the mammoth-sized Ghast would ignore him, Meek, and Zacharias completely.


    The other ace they had in their hand was that Ghasts were completely blind. The hollow eye sockets might as well not be there for all the good they were doing. The creature was tilting its head this way and that, zeroing in on the source of the sound. And if there was one thing that Skrakch was confident he and his companions could do, it was remaining undetected.


    Though¡­ As talented as Skrakch thought of himself as, the Ratling was aware Zacharias was more capable in that respect. Which begged the question, how did this freak of nature manage to track the now comatose Thief?


    Unfortunately, he quickly learned the answer to that question as the creature opened its gaping maw and revealed its ¡°tongue.¡±


    Skrakch felt another wave of revulsion pass over him as he watched as a thick, blood-red tendril burst forth from the Ghast''s mouth, the "tongues" leathery skin stretched over a worm-like form. Worse yet, the tip of the tongue split open like a grub, four hardened spikes flickering back and forth.


    Suddenly the tongue snapped back into the Undead¡¯s mouth as it turned to face Skrakch and his companions. Letting out another shrill wail that curdled the Ratling''s blood, the Abomination began to rush towards them in an inhumane gait, nearly tripping over itself in its rush to attack them.


    For a few precious seconds, Skrakch was simply too dumbfounded to react, but as the adrenaline started coursing through his veins, he did the only thing that made any goddamn sense to him.


    ¡°Scatter!¡± The Ratling yelled as he made a break for it, not even sparing a glance at his companions.


    Hadn¡¯t he just been thinking about how he was starting to actually care for his fellow Rogues? Indeed, Skrakch was willing to risk death to save his companions, but there wasn''t any way in Hells he was risking being eaten by -that- freakish foe.


    Now it was every Iskrin for themselves, as far as he was concerned.

 Chapter Ninety-One - Into The Shadows

    -Moments Before-


    When Winnie had decided to charge head first into the Arena and go toe to toe with an unknown Chosen and a bloody Alpha Ghoul, Zach had already been tempted to leg it and bail.


    With Ornn and Meekknuckle charging in afterward without a single thought in their tiny little brains between them, leaving Squeakers standing there gobsmacked, Zach decided that he had zero problems stepping into the shadows that surrounded them and veiling himself in a Shroud of Shadow Magic.


    Zach had always been pleased that he¡¯d been born one of the lucky few, born with a rare Shadow-aspected Core, his natural Mana seeping into who he was and how he looked at the city of Dray¡¯Mel.


    Not only had it been a boon to his thievery career, but the stuff came in bloody handy when you had to make a quick getaway. Doubly so for a quick, unnoticed getaway.


    The Thief grinned as he felt tendrils of shadows start to wrap around his body and clothes, concealing him perfectly. The shadows beneath his well-worn leather boots leapt to his command. A simple step backward and the Halfling¡¯s blurred form was indistinguishable to all but the most discerning eyes, melting into the darkness that filled the estate¡¯s ruined remains.


    It¡¯s a bloody good thing that I did too, Zach thought to himself as he continued to watch as Ghoul after Ghoul charged past him and flooded into the Arena. Like gutter dogs chasing a rotten bone.


    At least the Undead were simple enough for him to avoid as he dashed out of the Arena via the servant¡¯s entrance. It was time to hot-foot it out of the cursed place. No amount of coin would be worth tangling with that crap.


    Plus, I¡¯ve got my whole new venture to keep me in coin! Zach smirked as he rubbed his gloved hands together. Taking over Sykes¡¯ goons had pretty much been a cinch. Sure, there¡¯d been a couple of them that had some things to say about the new change in management but Zach had easily sorted that issue by cutting the tongues from their doubting mouths.


    After all, low lives can¡¯t complain when they can¡¯t even speak. The Halfling stifled a chuckle as he moved from shadow to shadow, easily making his way down the estates ruined hallways with a skip in his step.


    Zach had spent a good portion of his young adult life amongst the Undead District working with various Slum-Running gangs. The pay had been total shite but it had given him plenty of first-hand experience with how dangerous Ghoul swarms could be.


    It had also shown him exactly how easy it was to fool the rotting senses of the mindless creatures, especially since they all seemed Hells-bent on rushing towards the Arena his old companions had just entered. Fools that the are. Or were, anyways.


    Wrapped as Zach was in his protective Shroud, the Undead couldn¡¯t see him at all. Escape, therefore, was a simple case of stepping out of their way as they passed him by. He had to resist the urge to trip one or two of the fuckers though. As hilarious as that would be, it would be drawing unnecessary attention to his presence.


    The Ghouls were decisively single-minded as they continued to swarm down the corridors in the direction of the ruined Arena, smashing what little remained of Rodyr¡¯s grandeur to pieces in their haste. He supposed there could¡¯ve been a small chance of a few of them smelling him if they weren¡¯t making such a desperate dash for the easy meat but then, well, that wasn¡¯t really his problem now was it?


    I reckon it would¡¯ve been nice to have Squeaker¡¯s perspective on Alchemy, Zach mused internally as he continued down the hall, dodging every so often to avoid hip-checking a rampaging Ghoul. ¡°But maybe I¡¯ll make another trip back here in a bit, do a quick recce of the Arena, can¡¯t imagine the Ghouls will be eating the Artifacts.


    Zach was pretty sure that Winnie¡¯s knuckle dusters in particular would be worth a decent amount of coin at the weapons trader¡¯s place, or he could give it to one of his new goons to make them a little less useless in a fight.


    There was a small part of the Halfling that was tempted to go back and wait out the deaths of his companions in person¡­ but who knew what that Chosen Shade could manage? For all he knew, the damn thing could accidentally splatter him into a meat-paste, even while it was actively trying to kill Winnie and that would certainly put his future plans in danger.


    It was definitely a shame about old Winnie though. Zach pictured the burly fighter as he swiped a nearby vase of one of the few tables that hadn¡¯t been upended, his thoughts lingering on her fit form.


    He could¡¯ve definitely done with shagging her before she met her Maker, but there was no accounting for taste. On her account of course, it was obvious that Zacharias was as handsome as a Halfling could be, even with his facial scars. To be honest, the Thief barely remembered they were there recently.


    Sykes¡¯ had given him a lot more than some cuts on his face, and Zach had to admit he thought of the dead elven prick in rather positive terms nowadays. After all, Sykes had put so much effort into setting up his ill-gotten businesses, just for Zach to swipe them after the prissy dagger-ears got himself squished.


    By Winifred, no less. But what a way to go, Zach mused, I¡¯ve known plenty of pricks who dream of dying by the hands of a beauty¡­ or their thighs.


    Still, if it wasn¡¯t meant to be, it wasn¡¯t meant to be.


    There was no way in the Nine Hells he was going to be some collateral damage between two Pact-Crazed bastards. Zach had seen the look on Winnie¡¯s face as they¡¯d been on the journey to the mansion, and she¡¯d looked like every other one of his precious addicts, jonesing for their next hit.


    Once an addict, always an addict. She¡¯d just happened to change up what she was craving. More''s the pity really. She¡¯d always been one of his most reliable customers when it came to coughing up coin for the next vial of Dragon¡¯s Blood.


    As he moved down the hallway, he noticed that the passing Ghoul-swarm seemed to have thinned out, only the odd straggler limping along on a missing foot in their wake.


    Which was weird in itself. In the short time since he¡¯d made his escape, only thirty or so Ghouls had swarmed past him.


    Yet, he could certainly hear the others up ahead, moaning and groaning away, but the sound no longer appeared to be moving towards him.


    Maybe the damned things had gotten themselves stuck? It wouldn¡¯t be the first time he¡¯d seen some mindless Undead try and squeeze themselves through some tiny gap, trapping themselves for all eternity. Or at least until something came by to snack on the unexpected free meal.


    Still, with his Shroud stalwartly surrounding Zach in its shadowy embrace, it wasn¡¯t really anything to be concerned about. He idly glanced at the remnants of the paintings on the walls as he continued in his merry way. None of them were really in any state to sell anymore, definitely not worth his time trying to liberate from their hangings.


    Which was why Zacharias¡¯ attention was grabbed just as he rounded a corner at the end of the hallway, as the Halfling spotted an interesting vase perched precariously on a pedestal that had somehow survived up until now.


    It was a smaller piece in the form of some aquatic beast, shining a brilliant cobalt blue, and obviously hand-blown out of the finest colored glass. It definitely looked as though it was worth a decent amount and while Zach had plenty of rescued plenty of things from Rodyr¡¯s estate, this could prove to make the trip worth it on its own.


    The vase, however, momentarily distracted the creeping Thief from what lay beyond its beguiling shape¡­


    It was a good thing that he¡¯d cut off the dead weight of his companions, as Zach was pretty sure that Squeakers especially wouldn¡¯t let him forget that he hadn¡¯t seen the waiting Abomination lurking around the corner until it was almost too late.


    A truly massive face was peering in the Halfling¡¯s direction as the source of all the Ghoulish morning revealed itself, black blood dripping from its enormous empty eye sockets. The gargantuan Undead seemed to be struggling to fit itself through a doorway only big enough to fit its skull. The creature¡¯s shoulders were far too wide for the doorway and, true to mindless Undead fashion, the thing had got itself wedged in pretty deeply.


    The sight of the monstrosity, heaving itself from side to side in an attempt to get itself some leverage to free itself, would¡¯ve actually been pretty amusing if it wasn¡¯t so goddamn fucking terrifying.


    Thankfully, the only thing that kept Zach from cursing audibly was the fact it wasn¡¯t his first rodeo with this particular brand of Undeath but it didn¡¯t make the horrible creature any less intimidating.


    How exactly in the Hells had a Ghast fumbled its way, not only into this bloody estate, but into the actual mansion itself?


    Most of the poor bastards who were just signing up for their first Slum Run naively thought that the biggest danger was a pack of wild Ghouls, or perhaps a hulking Zombie that managed to catch you out in the open.


    The old-timers though, they knew better. They liked to gather round tables in the pub, sharing tales and legends of much more terrifying types of Undead that lurked deep in the Undead District, barely held back by the Tomb-Makers as they patrolled the Inner Walls that kept ¡°us mortals alive,¡± as they¡¯d no doubt put it.


    In their minds, when an experienced group of Runners went missing, there was no way it could be your run of the mill Ghoul. No, they liked to tell tales of bigger creatures lurking in the Undead Districts, and a fan favourite of Zacharias¡¯ had been the Ghast.


    Supposedly, the Abominations came into being through a massive pool of Ghouls attacking and consuming each other. They would meld into a fleshy soup until they came out as one, humongous single creature, craving death and flesh.


    Occasionally you could spot a still twitching Ghoulish limb poking out from the beasts enlarged form, or so the tales went, Zacharias was never one to dig into the validity of a story.


    It had been easy for Zach to dismiss it as an urban legend. An interesting tale to listen to over a pint at the pub, or a amusing entertainment to watch and mock the crazed ravings of a Runner who¡¯d been doing the job too long and lost his mind.


    That was, of course, until he¡¯d seen one first hand.


    He¡¯d been Slum-Running for three years at that point and was barely into his teens. Most folks used his size to their advantage and recruited him as a scout, capable of fitting through the smallest gaps amongst the rubble.


    For years he¡¯d bounced from group to group, always careful to leave once each group began to get too big for their britches, taking ridiculous risks for very little payoff. Still, one of his more commonly run with gangs had been able to convince him to do a deep dive of the Undead District.


    The theory was that if they ventured into hitherto uncharted territory, that one single Run would make them all rich. Afterwards they¡¯d have delved deeper that most would ever go, and have countless tales to impress the others with at the pub.


    Zach, as usual, had taken up the scout position. His experience had running circles around any Ghoul or Zombie that spotted him, herding the daft Undead away from the main group.


    And it was while he was leading a pack of Ghouls away from his companions that he¡¯d spotted it, the sight immediately sending a tingle of danger throughout his body.


    The massive Abomination had clearly collapsed against a building with no care for its own comfort, dragging its torso against the coarse stone walls.


    The building, surprisingly intact for the Undead District, was still struggling to remain standing under the Undead¡¯s colossal weight as the frame slowly cracked under the pressure.


    More interestingly to Zach¡¯s wide eyes were the signs of battle crossing the Undead¡¯s body, black blood dripping from dozens of open wounds on the beast¡¯s frame.


    A life of taking risks meant that the Halfling had rolled with the sudden surprise, ducking out of sight as the chasing pack of Ghouls ran past his hideaway, and charged thier new target.


    For a beat, Zach assumed that the Undead Abomination would struggle to throw them off. For all its size, the way it was using the building for support looked as though it was struggling to remain standing.


    But then, as soon as the Ghoul pack threw itself at larger Undead¡¯s flesh, the Ghast¡¯s once struggling form swiftly became a whirlwind of utter destruction. Massive claws tore the Ghouls apart in mere seconds, little bits of rotten flesh soon sprinkled the landscape like a gory burst of paint.


    It didn¡¯t even bother itself with consuming their remains. It¡¯s killing spree was relentless, throwing the rag-doll like bodies of the Ghouls from side to side with such force that they went through the brick walls of the surrounding buildings.


    Once it was done, the Ghast began to sniff at the air, standing amidst the carnage. From where he¡¯d hidden himself away, Zach watched as the Undead turned its attentions in the direction that Zach¡¯s companions were currently making their merry way down the street, ignorant of what awaited them.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    It didn¡¯t take long before the Ghast began to lumber towards them, making deep growl-like sounds that caused the earth beneath their boots to shake.


    As a scout for the party, Zacharias was theoretically the one who¡¯d normally tell the musclebound fools he¡¯d entered the District with to make themselves scarce but¡­ The Halfling only began to move once he was sure the Ghast wouldn¡¯t notice him.


    And I was a fool for even thinking of trying to distract it! Zach remembered as froze in his tracks, watching the trapped Ghast in the hallway.


    Back then, he¡¯d tailed the beast as it charged his companions position and could distinctly remember in his mind¡¯s eye as his fellow Runners were ripped limb from limb by the relentless creature.


    Thankfully, the Ghast in the mansion didn¡¯t seem any more alert than the other had been, unaware of the younger Thief shadowing it.


    Now, the damned Undead was still trying to break itself free from the doorframe that currently held it down. Pouring more Mana into his Shroud, the shadows wrapped around the Halfling¡¯s body further stilled, as he watched the creature struggle for a moment, before continuing on his path past the beast.


    All that power and it was wasted on a simpleton. Zach shook his head. But then, maybe it was a more common occurrence than he¡¯d originally thought. After all, Winnie had managed to get herself Chosen.


    Step after step led him closer and closer to the Ghast, though that Halfling wasn¡¯t worried. Eyeless as the thing was, his Shroud muffled even his steps. So any heightened senses would be useless as no sound came from his careful advance.


    Nine times out of ten, the trapped Ghast would never have noticed the Halfling as he crept passed, and Zach would¡¯ve gotten cleanly away.


    Luck however, wasn¡¯t on his side as the entire estate suddenly rumbled. Falling debris began to shift around the two of them, as both Zach and the Ghast froze in place as they took in their shifting circumstances, though the Halfling was careful not too move his eyes away from the Abomination¡¯s form.


    Thankfully, none of the crumbling ceiling directly disturbed Zach¡¯s Shroud, leaving him mercifully undetected. And yet, despite his cover, Zach remained frozen on the spot as he continued to stare at the Ghast, his instincts screaming at him to remain as still as possible.


    For what seemed like a long while but was only a handful of seconds, the Ghast didn¡¯t seem to notice Zach. The Abomination appeared to have given up trying to free itself from its self-inflicted prison. Instead, it seemed to be on the verge of vomiting, the walking Corpse apparently struggling with something in its throat.


    Finally, the Ghast opened its cavernous mouth wide, it¡¯s glistening teeth dripping with rotting viscera and gore, and Zach continued to watch with detached curiosity as a long tendril of squirming flesh burst forth from the depths of its throat, appearing almost like a tongue, though it was rough and scaly looking.


    The tongue tendril appeared to move around independently from the Ghast as it lashed from side to side. Weirdly, the Undead¡¯s empty eye sockets seemed to be tracking the movement as it moved its head in the direction of the tongue.


    The worm-like appendage smashed into a wall near Zach, just a little too close for his comfort. The Halfling slowly began to move away, keeping his Shroud wrapped tightly around himself.


    Step by step, Zach managed to gain some distance from the probing tongue, his breath held tight in his chest. Once he¡¯d made it a dozen paces away, Zach dared look over his shoulder and he was just in time to watch as the tongue tendril split open at the tip.


    Four jagged claws sprouted from the deformed tongue, resembling the gaping maw of some twisted worm. Even from afar, Zach could tell the sharp bony points were the remains of some unlucky Ghouls leg bones, sharpened to a point.


    The tongue tendril opened and closed with a disgusting wet squelch sound before jutting itself straight outwards from the Ghast¡¯s mouth. There was an odd rigidity to the motion, a tenseness in the tongues form that set the Thief¡¯s teeth on edge.


    As Zach watched carefully, he barely had time to consider his options when the tongue suddenly started to ¡®inhale¡¯, large amounts of air rushing toward the tip¡¯s new opening.


    Even with his experience of Ghasts, Zach didn¡¯t have the faintest clue what in the Hells was happening. The only thing that was currently on his mind was keeping a tight clamp on his Mana as it was pulled towards the tongue¡¯s wide-open waiting maw.


    The sensation was bloody unpleasant, the feeling of his own Mana being unwillingly ripped from his Core pervaded his mind, yet the Abomination only managed to maintain the strange suction for a few moments before the tongue, its pronged mouth snapping shut, retreated back into the Ghast¡¯s mouth. The Undead snapped its mouth shut with enough force to dislodge one of its sharpened teeth.


    Yeah¡­ fuck this. Zach¡¯s instincts exploded as he burst into movement, a sense of sudden doom guiding his actions.


    Throwing himself backwards toward his waiting shadow immediately, Zach only had a mere second to see the Ghast as it lunged towards him, the wall that had it ¡°restrained¡± exploding outward in a burst of plaster, concrete and shrapnel as the creature closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye.


    Falling into his own Shadow was always an interesting experience, to put it mildly. Even when an Undead Abomination wasn¡¯t moments from pulverizing the Thief¡¯s body into paste, Zach found the process disorienting to say the least.


    He¡¯d once described the process of Shadow Stepping to Winifred as a simple affair. Once you entered your own Shadow you simply used the magic to pop out elsewhere. All that it felt like, he recalled telling her, was like that moment before gravity took hold of you after a tumble.


    Accurate as that description was, as Zach¡¯s body dipped fully into his shadow, the only thing running through his mind was the biting cold, a deep chill that permeated his entire body as he fully submerged himself in the fickle Mana.


    Most Halflings that Zach had known were loud obnoxious people, each of them vying for the world¡¯s attention as if that would make up for their lack of height. His father was similar, a rash man who was quick to swat his misbehaving son over any slight, perceived or real.


    Hells, Zach himself was the same. He couldn¡¯t deny that he was prone to making the odd spectacle or two, happy to mouth off to anyone who would listen. But when he slipped into his Shadow and the entire world went quiet, Zach felt a peace wash over him as his veins turned to ice¡­


    Then he was out. His glimpse into another realm was nothing but a flicker. And he was back amongst the living, the mask pulled tight over his face once more.


    Erupting a few yards further down the corridor amidst a flurry of Shadow Mana, Zach took the utmost care to keep his Shroud pulled tight around him. Momentarily disoriented, the Halfling quickly snapped his gaze toward the hulking Abomination as it smashed the estate¡¯s wall into rubble, blindly groping for its prey as the ceiling collapsed around it.


    The sheer amount of raw physical power on display had Zach weighing his options for escape, but it was the fact that the damned mindless beast had managed to track him that had the Thief utterly stumped.


    Either way, Zach was never one to waste an opportunity when it present itself. So, as the Undead rampaged in the corridor, the Halfling began to move backwards in the direction of the Arena. It was hardly an ideal situation but there was no way he was going to break his line of sight with the Ghast, so Zach simply walked backward as he slowly crept away.


    He only managed to make it a few dozen paces before reaching a bend in the corridor but the Thief was more than happy to put some solid walls between himself and the Ghast.


    His spirit was buoyed by breaking line of sight with the Abomination, and Zach broke into a light jog as he stealthily moved down the servants hallway, focus of putting as much distance as he could between him and the Undead.


    The Thief carefully inspected the now ruined estate hallways as he moved, no longer distracting himself by looking at the ruined riches that surrounded him, making sure that no straggling Ghouls were lying in wait. The last thing he needed was a bloody minion getting in his way, even if the damn things were of no threat to him.


    Hells, Zach huffed to himself, even the Ghast isn¡¯t really that big of a deal!


    And yet, as he scrambled over a large piece of ceiling rubble that had come crashing down in his path, a small lapse in his concentration had his Shroud waver for a single, very inopportune moment.


    As his foot came into contact with the filthy carpet, a tiny pinprick of sound could be heard before his shadow fully wrapped around his body again. The Halfling froze, focusing on the noise in the distance as the Ghast rampaged down the hallway, destroying everything in its path.


    Sure enough, even with the distance that he¡¯d managed to gain on the creature, and in spite of the stone walls between them, Zach noticed a sudden distinct lull in the sounds of destruction.


    Fuck.


    Moving immediately to throw the Undead off his trail, the Halfling burst forward. Yet, even with his quick reactions on his side, Zach had severely underestimated the sheer speed of the giant Abomination when it sensed its prey was nearby.


    The mindless beast didn¡¯t bother trekking down the hallway, taking any turns as it moved towards Zach. No, instead it barreled straight through the walls like a cannonball through wood, sending concrete and dust flying into the air around it.


    Caught off guard, Zach moved to Shadow Step to safety. But, even as he dove toward the floor, the tip of the Ghast¡¯s claws sliced through his shoulder, blood spraying out and splattering on the stone. To Zach, the sound was like heavy rain upon the concrete.


    Submerged in the swirling shadows, the Thief felt ice run through his veins, draining all the warmth from his body. Still, as Zach pulled himself to his feet a dozen paces away, he was more than happy to avoid the sheer destruction that the Ghast had brought with it.


    Entire sections of the formerly impressive estate were beginning to collapse around them, the structural integrity of their wing of the building was simply too unstable to keep up with the Ghast¡¯s wild attacks.


    Breathing heavily, Zach grabbed his injured shoulder, feeling his glove slip on the blood that was now pouring down his back and his front. The wound wasn¡¯t a fatal one, but his Shroud was struggling to keep the blood from continuing to splatter on the floor as he moved.


    Desperate times called for desperate measures, he told himself. Reaching into his Core, he dredged up more of his Mana than he¡¯d spent in months as he began to weave multiple spell arrays in his Shadow.


    To the layman untrained in Shadow Magic, the spell work would be near undetectable, but Zach could trace the building Mana easily as he deftly wove it into his essence. His Shroud burst from the fluctuating Mana, but as the Ghast began to react to his presence, Zach fell into his shadow once more, a frigid chill waiting to embrace him into its grasp.


    Normally, his little jaunts into this strange icy realm would last a few moments at most. But with the sheer amount of Mana that he¡¯d invested into his Shadow Step, Zach could feel his breath freezing in his chest.


    Not only his breath but his blood too. The trickling wound on his shoulder began to freeze over, his fingertips underneath his leather gloves were beginning to crackle and he knew without looking at them, that they were turning an unnatural shade of blue. It should¡¯ve been terrifying, or at the very least, a sign of his impending death. And yet, Zach couldn¡¯t feel anything than at peace.


    In this empty void landscape, the Halfling didn¡¯t feel like he had to pretend to be anything other than what he was. He didn¡¯t have to pretend to care about his companions insipid little lives. He didn¡¯t have to joke and laugh and witter on endlessly with stupid fucking banter. No. He could just seethe along with the ice burning in his veins.


    He could just¡­ let go. Zach mused. His thoughts slowed to a crawl as lethargy set into his bones. But, all good things must come to an end. And as the Halfling felt his Mana begin to dry up, so did his peaceful new setting. Instead, he found himself deposited back into the remains of Rodyr¡¯s estate, his body heaving as he lay prone on the stone floors.


    Coughing up black clouds of inky smoke, the Halfling looked around wildly as his every sense felt as thought it was assaulting his own body. To go from blessed silence to such sudden warmth had Zach reeling, feeling as though he was going to melt on the spot. Though he quickly regained enough control to stagger to his feet.


    It was either a twist of fate or simple cosmic irony, that the Shadow he¡¯d emerged from was right where he¡¯d watched his companions march to their likely deaths, cast from the now closed doors to the Arena.


    Leaning against the doorframe, Zach let a small smile cross his scarred lips as he steadied himself. Alls well that ends well, as his Ma was fond of saying. Tempted as he was to peek into the Arena, the Halfling stilled as he heard the sounds of continued destruction ringing out from behind him, each burst of noise getting louder and louder as it rushed towards him.


    ¡°You have got to be fucking kidding me,¡± He muttered to himself. Zach sluggishly used what little Mana he had in his reserves to replenish his protective Shroud, the shadows struggling to cover him fully as his dwindling reserves of Mana failed him.


    He hadn¡¯t a bloody clue how the Ghast was still tracking him. But, as the Halfling began to think of his next move, another desperate distraction no doubt, he noticed that his fingers still felt¡­odd. He tore off the leather glove on his left hand, allowing it to drop to the floor. Sure enough, his fingers were still blue, darkening to almost black at the tips¡­


    The Shroud of Shadows that Zach kept on his body to avoid detection was powerful in its own way, but what if he did more than just cover his body? What if he actually left the Shadows in?


    As the rampaging Ghast burst its way toward him, the Thief drew himself inwards. He lessened his physical presence first, before attempting to use his Mana to fully submerge himself in the waiting shadows.


    The creeping Shadows that covered him began to suck away the warmth of his body, but Zach leaned into his sensation. First, the tremors that ran through his limbs settled, then his breath stilled in his throat. The icy touch spread throughout his body and the Halfling could feel himself begin to still, the very trace of his existence thinning out as he merged with the unnatural stillness.


    Zach watched as the Ghast reached the corridor he was standing in, the massive Undead forced to smash the ceiling just fit in the hallway as it loomed above the Thief.


    The Undead let out a keening wail, but it fell on deaf ears as Zacharias detachedly watched the Abomination pause in place, its leathery tongue erupting from its throat to once more taste the air.


    It began to absorb the ambient Mana, just as it had done before. The tongue tendril inhaled deeply as it sought to consume the Halfling¡¯s Mana. It was almost as if the beast could feel the stronger, more plentiful Mana in the air yet as it groped blindly with the tongue, it appeared to elude it.


    Finally, Zach felt the waiting Shadows reaching his beating heart, and he felt its steady rhythm begin to slow within his chest. Even as the Ghast swung its claws in blind and overflowing fury, directly through the spot where Zach stood, its fingers simply passed through his body with barely a ripple in his Shroud.


    There was no pride, no satisfaction in the Halfling¡¯s now frozen heart as he achieved the perfect state of being for a Thief. Consumed by the icy realm where his Mana could freely make the impossible happen, Zach became one with his Shadow. Undetectable. Invisible. Intangible.


    From another plane of existence, a being of immeasurable power desperately sought to escape the prison of its continued existence, a small piece of its essence travelling through time and space to merge with its lesser reflection.


    That little wisp of power began to coalesce inside Zach, a burgeoning Pact creating itself in the Halfling¡¯s chest as the connection between the two solidified further.


    As the touch of the Divine manifested itself in Zacharias, his Crux became Silen-


    Unfortunately, in a truly frustrating twist of fate, just behind the confused Ghast and the unlucky soon-to-be-Chosen, Skrakch finished completing his latest Rune in the Arena just through the doors behind Zacharias¡¯ still form.


    The ¡°Black Hole¡± the Ratling had summoned and was hovering above the Arena, finished dragging dozens of Ghouls to their deaths and let loose a final burst of Arcane Magic that went spiralling outwards.


    As the Rune burst, the ancient Runic Magic clashed with Zach¡¯s Shroud, the slightest flicker of his Magic ebbing, and the Halfling let out a single, audible, stunned breath.


    With all the fury that a mindless Abomination could muster, the Ghast slammed its meat-y tongue into Zach¡¯s body and watched as the Halfling was sent careening out of the shadows that hide him.


    One of his arms dangled lifelessly from his torso as Zach collided with the large wooden doors and flew into the splintered remains of the Arena. He could briefly see the confused looks on Squeakers'' and the Goblin¡¯s faces as they watched his bloody form skid and bounce against the floor, chunks of wooden splinters pressed into his body.


    Confused and battered, the only thing Zach could muster as his body flopped pitifully against the stone floor was a single, confused whimper.


    ¡°Why?¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Two - Just Bloody Punch It!

    Break¡­


    The Word Of Power resonated in Winifred¡¯s mind as her Crux flowed throughout her body. Her every movement was boosted far beyond a normal human¡¯s limits, as her considerable physical strength was multiplied beyond her wildest dreams.


    A veritable swarm of black tendrils shot towards her from all directions as her Chosen foe threw its whole being into trying to defeat her. It clearly wasn¡¯t going to go down without trying to take her along with it.


    Scythe-like blades aimed for her neck, barbed tendrils sought to grapple her in place and the occasional thrusting tendril was launched straight toward her face at almost breakneck speeds.


    Each and every one of the attacks would have been more than enough to utterly pulp a random Dray¡¯Mel citizen, the unlucky idiot would be dead before they could even register the threat. But, with her Crux fueling her, Winifred wasn¡¯t overly worried.


    A small, well-practiced, shuffle of her feet had her shooting to the side. She crashed bodily into the wall of tendrils that were trying to surround her. The sensation caused her stomach to lurch dangerously, but the impact was so much worse for Survix¡¯ body.


    Just the simple impact of the brawler''s body¡¯s sidestep into encroaching tendrils was enough to send a rupturing ripple through the Chosen Shade¡¯s twisted form. The air was suddenly filled with a cloying acidic smell as dozens of the tendrils burst apart under the sheer force of Winifred¡¯s body coming into contact with them.


    For a moment, she thought she was choking to death. The acidic cloud seemed to be everywhere, wrapping around her throat and filling her lungs. She could feel her chest constrict painfully. It was gas but she was drowning, drowning, drowning¡­


    And then, just as quickly, she could breathe again. No doubt this was yet another bonus of her Chosen status, as yet again she felt herself growing stronger. Growing¡­ more. She wasn¡¯t out for the count yet.


    Unfortunately, neither was her foe. The dozen or so tendrils that had burst into blood and acid only took a few moments to fully regenerate. Winifred¡¯s eyes could barely keep up with the shifting flesh as the Shade¡¯s flesh pulled itself back into shape, the tendrils already grasping towards her before they fully recovered.


    Her feet haphazardly, yet firmly, planted themselves on the writhing pile of corpses that had become her battleground. Throwing a backhand toward the largest mass of the black swirling mess, Winifred felt the power of the blow surge forward past her fist. Her eyes opened wide in shock as a mallet of air was created between them.


    The mallet hammered into the Shade¡¯s body with enough force to shake the ground. It buried itself into the writhing flesh and seconds later, it was as if the body exploded from the inside out. Blood and gore rained down on the Arena. More than half of the Shade¡¯s body was just¡­gone. In less time than it took for her to blink, Winifred had turned one of the greatest threats to her life into nothing but meat paste.


    She breathed out heavily, wiping the gore from her face and flicking it onto the floor. Her entire fist was red. The level of strength she¡¯d just displayed could rival any legends Winifred had ever heard of.


    So why in the Hells did she feel so¡­ hollow? It was the least satisfying fight that she¡¯d ever been part of. Throwing herself into battle with a Chosen was meant to be the ultimate thrill, the perfect battle. She was at the peak, fighting against foes that would make most folks shit themselves, even as they fled.


    The brawler barely even noticed as the Shade began rapidly recovering from a single piece of corroded looking flesh. Winifred had demolished the Chosen¡¯s body a few times now, and it barely seemed to phase the Undead.


    In less than a handful of seconds, the Shade would finish repairing its broken form, and the pointless battle would continue. Already Winifred could spot some of the tendrils coiling themselves together as they prepared to launch their bladed tips at her vitals.


    But she really couldn¡¯t care less. Each time the Shade recovered, Winifred would just crush it again. Honestly, she couldn¡¯t recall a single fight that had appealed to her less than this one.


    And that included her early days in the Pits, fumbling through sloppy fights where neither fighter was worth betting on. Each and every single one of her early fights were abysmal showings, where she was just signed on to whet the appetites of the spectators before the real warriors came out to battle.


    Those early fights though, those were some of her fondest memories. Blood pumping in her ears, the roar of the crowd, the dance on the razor''s edge. That was the sensation Winifred craved, not whatever the Hells this was.


    The spoiled little rich girl, who dreamed of throwing herself into pitched battles with anyone who looked at her wrong, now had more power in her little toe than most could ever dream of but the price of it was beginning to gnaw at her.


    Winifred had never really understood how most folks¡¯ minds worked. They all seemed so happy to accept their lots in life, spending the entirety of their time in the City being¡­ less. All too content to safely stay put and give away their autonomy to anyone who¡¯d promise them protection and an easy life.


    She¡¯d fallen for that herself, hadn¡¯t she? Gone deep into Dragon¡¯s Blood addiction because it made her feel safer¡­


    The first time she¡¯d seen Blackmaul training her family¡¯s guardsmen, she¡¯d been immediately enraptured. The bulky Dwarf had been more muscular than any mortal she¡¯d ever seen, but even then he was half the size of most of the Human guards that he was commanding.


    It had astounded her that someone who looked so¡­ small could command so much respect from those around him. She¡¯d assumed, even as a kid, that he was the estate¡¯s trainer through virtue of knowledge, not actual strength of arms. So to see him walking up to those trainees and throwing them around the training pit with ease? It had immediately enthralled her young mind and heart.


    Every single knitting or decorum lesson that she¡¯d skipped was all in chase of that dream. To get to the point where she could rush into battle with anyone she saw, to be able to go toe-to-toe with foes twice her size and come out on top. It was her lifeblood, her reason for living.


    And now? Well¡­ what now?


    It was a morose thought. There seemed to be no flair or skill to her ducks and weaves, it had all been instinct. Her feet had moved on their own to kick out at the disjointed torso of the Chosen Shade to crater its solid flesh.


    When the brawler had first charged into the corpse-ridden Arena, the poor Succubi playing host to the Shade was fairly normal looking, outside of the blood-red skin and the short twin horns peeking through her blackened hair.


    Now though, little of Survix physically remained intact, the Shade twisting the poor woman¡¯s flesh into demonic tendrils that lashed and moved in inhumane manners. At first, it was just a few sprouting out wildly from the Demoness¡¯ flesh, but Winifred was now struggling to see if her blows were landing on anything -but- the damnable tendrils.


    The Shade had become nothing but a tentacled monstrosity at this point, hundreds of blades swinging wildly in all directions. Winifred could see it being an effective tactic against most fighters, especially those like herself that moved into melee range of the Undead.


    Throw Skrakch or Ornn into the damned thing''s attack range and they¡¯d be nothing but giblets in no time. Hells, Winifred had trouble with them at first too, forced to barely manage to deflect with her wrists, accumulating little cuts all over her body as her arms began to bruise and tire.


    Yet Winifred¡¯s Crux pushed her to keep up with the swinging blades, each new tendril flying at her neck helped Winifred break through her body''s limits. Each tendril she ripped free of the Demonic mass made her feel stronger than ever.


    Now, she was more powerful than any creature Winifred had ever seen, with more strength in her limbs than she¡¯d ever dreamed of. She was moving at such speeds that she doubted anyone could even make out her movements, completely dominating her Chosen counterpart.


    Break¡­


    It was beating in her chest, the Crux pushing her Mana out of the way as it fueled her every motion. A small flick of her hand ripped the Shade into dozens of pieces, yet Survix¡¯s regeneration easily managed to keep up with the damage being piled on it.


    Winifred could tell that the source of the Shade¡¯s healing power seemed to be coming from the corpse pile beneath their feet. Each time the Shade reconstituted its form, the bodies beneath them dwindled as they drained of fluids, their bones turning to brittle dust as Winifred stepped across them.


    But even with that knowledge in her head, the Brawler was struggling to focus her attacks on the thicker tendrils that connected what little remained of Survix¡¯s torso and the corpses. Each time her body moved to throw an attack at the Shade¡¯s center of mass, Winifred was left mentally screaming at herself.


    Another one of the thick, grasping tendrils tried to grab her ankle and force her to the ground. Her legs blurred as she weaved her way around it, lashing out with a swift kick to turn the offending tendril into mush. As she kicked out, another tendril moved to pierce her left shoulder. It thrust so fast that Winifred could barely follow it with her eyes and yet her body grabbed hold of it and pulled, pulping the flesh with its grip alone.


    Break¡­


    Faster and faster, her body was moving to defend Winifred from attacks that she could barely perceive. Her Pact was pushing her body to incredible heights¡­ but it was doing nothing at all to bolster her mind.


    What was the point in moving so quickly that you could catch a speeding arrow, if your eyesight couldn¡¯t track it?


    What was the point of being strong enough to lift a colossal weight as you would a feather, if you could barely keep track of what you were holding?


    The only thing that was piloting Winifred¡¯s physical being was the years of dedicated training she¡¯d endured, her figure reacting to immediate threats with an alacrity that frankly shocked Winifred. Her body was a confusing blur to her, leaping over the Shade¡¯s tendrils, smashing through any attack that threatened her.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    That was, unfortunately, the rub. As powerful as she felt, without being able to track the battle as it unfolded around her, Winifred was nothing more than a spectator. It was exceedingly obvious that the Chosen Shade was drawing strength from the corpses underneath them, but without the ability to act on that knowledge, she was left ineffectively swiping at a foe that could heal from her every attack.


    The only blessing was that the Shade was just as mindless as her physical form, the damned thing simply attacking her recklessly after it healed from the last attack. They were locked in the most pointless fight Winifred had ever heard of, and all she could feel was a sense of nausea as her body jerked to and fro.


    ¡°I should have just used the Placating Brew the wee Ratling gave me as soon as Survix stood up after having her head smashed into bits.¡± Winifred scolded herself, trying to distract herself as her body did some sort of overly fancy flip as it dodged and weaved.


    When the wee Ratling had come running into the Plagued Rat spewing his inane nonsense about a great opportunity, Winifred couldn¡¯t have cared less. However, once the wee beast had mentioned a foe worth scrapping, she¡¯d been on board instantly.


    In fact, trapped as she was at the moment, Winifred was beginning to regret her haste. She had to admit that she¡¯d been a bit too excited at the prospect of throwing down with another Chosen. There¡¯d been a time when she¡¯d first joined up with Zacharias as a Pit Fighter that she¡¯d happily taken up any scrap that happened to come her way.


    Now though, years later, Winifred had already proven that she was just as deadly as any who graced the underground Arenas.


    ¡°So why in all Hells did I jump at this bloody chance tae fight a Chosen? Fucking thing is terrifying!¡± She muttered to herself as her body tried to grapple a tendril that shot out toward her waist, only for her strength to squash the tendril before her body could¡­ drop to the floor and attempt an armlock?


    Landing amongst the drained bodies littering the floor, Winifred corporeal form grappled the shit out of an already deformed tendril of flesh, managing at last to defeat a single of the Chosen Shade¡¯s thousands of tendrils.


    Worse yet, Winnie was all too aware that the second her body let go of the tendril, it would recover near instantly.


    All she¡¯d managed to accomplish was kicking up a cloud of dust that had once been a spectator¡¯s flesh, the withered remains burst apart after even the slightest touch.


    ¡°Aye well, looks like I¡¯ve got all of me instincts and none of me brains,¡± Winifred said to herself sarcastically. ¡°Just goes to show the wee Half-man was wrong about me just being muscles. Clearly, I had some impact on me fights!¡±


    Winifred grimaced, her instincts had apparently guided her physical body upwards, throwing herself onto her feet and lashing out with a haymaker as a dozen tendrils tried to stab her exposed flesh.


    Of course, the Shade burst apart once more, more acidic blood sprinkling down around Winifred as she idly noted the Chosen begin to reconstitute itself. ¡°Bloody waste this is.¡±


    For a blessed moment, Winifred¡¯s body remained still amongst the blood-soaked remains of her regenerating foe. She was standing, not only on the pile of corpses but in puddles of blood and the mushed-up remains of the various tendrils she¡¯d managed to tear off or pulp. It seemed that she finally had a second to try and mentally catch up.


    Her body, however, still wouldn¡¯t comply with her attempts to move thwarting any chance she had of grabbing a bottle of the placating brew.


    Thankfully, she was facing toward her companions and although she had no way of calling out of them, she was fully capable of staring, gobsmacked, at the Arena¡¯s newest arrivals, a bloodied Halfling and the biggest Undead she¡¯d ever seen.


    Winifred hadn¡¯t the faintest of clues about what or where the massive Undead monstrosity had originated from, but she watched, breathlessly, as it charged straight for Zacharias¡¯ prone form.


    From its sheer size alone, she¡¯d expected it to move sluggishly, but instead, it practically flew forward as it smashed its oddly bruised-looking hands down in an explosion of stone fragments and debris. Small chunks of stone and grit flew upward from the impact and, completely rooted to the spot as she was, Winifred could feel them hit her, though her enhanced flesh barely registered the contact.


    She wanted to yell out, to warn the wee man or just cry out his name in panic, but she remained frustratedly locked in place, forced to watch as Skrakch desperately started to yell and wave his paws toward the hulking Undead creature.


    The Ratling was clearly trying to draw its attention but, as the massive beast turned its eyeless face toward him, Skrakch visibly blanched, turned tail, and started to run.


    Whatever in all Hells this creature was, it only took a moment to begin its charge. It was clear that Skrakch wasn¡¯t going to be able to dodge in time, panicking and lunging to the side, just in range of the beast¡¯s claws.


    Winifred wished that she could turn away, not wanting to see her another companion smashed into a bloody pulp. However, just as the Ratling was about to be crushed, a faint shimmering wall of light momentarily flared into existence between Skrakch and his imminent demise.


    The golden Barrier shattered almost as quickly as it had appeared but it was just enough to delay the Undead, and save Skrakch from being crushed beneath the giant¡¯s massive bulk.


    Eyes darting over to Meekknuckle, Winifred watched as the Goblin seemed to waver on his feet, his yellow-green skin looking remarkably pale as he dropped the hand he¡¯d pointed towards Skrakch.


    Winifred hadn¡¯t even known Meek could summon a smaller version of his Barrier, and from the surprised look on his face, the Goblin hadn¡¯t known either. Nor had he expected the Undead to immediately whirl towards his position, now that the Ratling had barely dodged the onslaught.


    The hulking abomination had smashed a hole in the Arena walls, but the falling bits of Rodyr¡¯s mansion did little to deter it as it began to focus its building speed towards Meekknuckle. Winifred barely had time to watch the beast as it threw itself forward, when her body suddenly lurched to the side.


    Unsurprisingly, the Chosen Shade had finished healing the damage she¡¯d inflicted on it and had mindlessly begun throwing out more ineffective tendrils towards her. Instincts kicking in before she could even try and resist them, Winifred fell into a boxing stance as she wove around the tendrils, before letting out a few jabs.


    That was the most frustrating part as her instincts chose the ¡°right option¡± in the moment. All the training the brawler had put herself through was with normal physical prowess, not with the sheer power running through her limbs.


    She was ducking and weaving like she was facing another human, albeit at a massively increased speed, but the damn Shade couldn¡¯t handle her strength in the slightest.


    ¡°Just fucking punch it!¡± Winifred mentally screamed at herself as her head narrowly dodged a dozen blows with perfectly clean instincts. ¡°Let the damned things hit us, they cannae do anything.¡±


    It felt as though she was going through hours of needless and seemingly endless to-ing and fro-ing but, in reality, it was no doubt only moments. Her body lashed out with a proper punch as her torso twisted to deliver the blow. The resulting blast of Shade-possessed flesh was impressive, but it all felt so damn hollow.


    No, the important part was that it had left her staring at her companions as they struggled to handle the Undead beast. Or, more accurately, it let her watch as the Undeead mindlessly smashed the ground where Meekknuckle had just been standing.


    Her stomach was doing flips as she desperately pleaded with her eyes to move around and find some sign that the Goblin had managed to dodge the attack. Thankfully¡­she was rewarded as she finally noticed where the diminutive creature had ended up.


    Hovering near the ceiling of the Arena, just off to her left side, and wildly flailing his limbs, Meekknuckle was floating upside down in the air. His skin had paled to being nearly white even as the blood rushed to his face and fear consumed his features.


    It was clear the Goblin hadn¡¯t been the agent of his own safety, and it didn¡¯t take long to notice Skrakch laying in a crumpled heap where he¡¯d landed from his own close save.


    The Ratling was completely prone but shimmering in the air in front of his furred and glaring face was a glowing Rune, crackling with Arcane Mana. Winifred hadn¡¯t the faintest clue how he¡¯d managed it, but the Chosen could help but heave a sigh of relief at the sight.


    Still, the Undead Abomination was clearly too much for her companions. If she didn¡¯t move to save them, who would? She still couldn¡¯t see any sign of Zacharias after the monstrosity had leaped toward him, so who else would smash the fucking beast?


    Break¡­


    Her body threw itself to the side as her instincts took over, but Winifred barely noticed. She could feel her heart pounding heavily in her chest. She needed to help her companions. But it was obvious she wasn¡¯t going to be able to force her empowered body to respond to her mental commands.


    There was only one option she had that made any sense. As her body continued its empowered movements, Winifred tried to keep track of each blow the Chosen Shade threw at her.


    ¡°Come on, ye ugly sack of shite!¡±  She growled internally. Her head felt as though it was going to split open with the sheer force of will required to keep up with the blurring combatants movements. ¡°Ye¡¯ve done it before! Throw one of those bloody grabbing tendrils at me!¡±


    Winifred nearly missed the moment she¡¯d been waiting for, as her foe finally shot one of its enlarged, regenerated tendrils toward her in an attempt to grapple her, at breakneck speed.


    Brea-


    One moment she was moving through the battlefield with all the grace and speed of a rampaging bull, the next she was screaming in pain as every nerve in her body rang as though they had been lit on fire.


    Cutting the connection her Crux had with her physical form wasn¡¯t something that she¡¯d tried before, but it had been surprisingly, almost frighteningly, easy. The issue lay in the complete absence of Mana in her body, as the Crux fled her form.


    One second she was a God amongst mere mortals, and the next had her wallowing with the rest of them. Suddenly bereft of her strength, Winifred¡¯s body began to slump in place, unable to move and feeling every inch of her wounded, battered, and bruised form.


    And then the tendril hit her. She could feel her ribs as they shattered, the Shade¡¯s attack launching her in the air. As powerful as Winifred¡¯s hide was from years of training, there was no contest between her mortal strength and the Chosen¡¯s enhanced might.


    If it had been any other attack from Survix possessed body, Winifred wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d have been able to withstand the blow. The grasping tendril had been trying to, well, grasp her. Not simply mush her into a thick congealing paste.


    Still, as she was sent careening out of the sand pit, Winifred only had a moment before she would collide with the stone walls, no doubt still splattering into pulped meat.


    Break¡­


    Thankfully, Winifred had planned for this eventuality. Her body was refilled with energy as she desperately righted herself. By only momentarily severing her connection with her Pact, the brawler had managed to regain full control over herself. And, with that helpful push from the Shade, she was well on her way to being able to help out her companions.


    Interestingly, she could feel her body hadn¡¯t regained the same level of strength even as the Crux returned to her. Still, she managed to flip herself forward so her feet could take the impact of her landing as she streaked across the room.


    Winifred had originally expected to collide with the wall nearest to the Undead Abomination. What she hadn¡¯t expected was to collide with the massive beast itself, effectively turning herself into a human javelin as the Chosen¡¯s feet crashed into the Undead¡¯s torso with a sickening crunch.


    Thrown off balance, the Undead went down in a heap of oversized limbs as Winifred rolled to her feet. It seemed her Crux hadn¡¯t fully taken over her body yet, so Winifred was able to look towards her gobsmacked companions as they tried to understand what had just happened.


    Shooting a grin towards Skrakch and Meekknuckle, Winifred rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles as she watched her newfound target pull itself upright and roar in her direction.


    ¡°Switch!¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Three - A Moment of Peace

    ¡°Switch!¡±


    Skrakch openly gaped at Winifred as the Pit Fighter rushed straight toward the Ghast, her legs a blur as she launched herself forward.


    One second the Ratling had been trying to avoid being ripped apart by an Undead that was over three times his size, and the next he was watching as it slammed into the Arena¡¯s walls with a sickening, very audible crunch. He hadn¡¯t even -seen- Winifred until she¡¯d stopped moving, and given a cocky command to-


    Rolling over in place without a care for the bits of rubble that were poking into his hide, Skrakch focused all his attention on the Chosen Shade. Without Winifred to distract it, and the Ghast¡¯s sudden appearance, it seemed that the massive beast was left wrong-footed, unsure of how to proceed as it stood completely still in the center of the Arena.


    The damned Shade looked more like a lump of twisted and coiled snakes than the Demoness it had possessed at this point, little to no signs of Survix¡¯ original form left. It was strange, but the Shade no longer seemed interested in chasing after Winifred to resume their battle.


    What in the Nine Hells? Is it just going to sit there? Skrakch had to fight off the urge to let loose a chortle. He wasn¡¯t entirely sure he¡¯d be able to stop once he started laughing in relief but it was clear he and his companions were in the clear, at least momentarily anyways.


    There was a sudden meaty thump beside him, followed by a string of curses in a guttural Goblin tongue. The Iskrin half-turned to see Meekknuckle as he laid heaving on the stone floor beside him.


    Without any Mana being directed toward it, his Gravity Rune had dissipated and dropped his companion unceremoniously onto the ground. It was an unexpected consequence of Skrakch¡¯s wandering mind but the Goblin certainly had no business complaining as far the Ratling was concerned. Not after Skrakch''s quick thinking had saved the buggers life.


    ¡°Meek not like this,¡± The Goblin moaned adamantly. ¡°Meek go home now?¡± He asked as he writhed dramatically from his prone position. Skrakch rolled his eyes but couldn¡¯t summon the energy to blame him.


    Pulling his exhausted body upright, Skrakch laboriously regained his unsteady footing, all the while keeping the Chosen Shade in his eye line. ¡°No, of course, you can¡¯t go home yet,¡± He snapped as he felt his fur spike up, his tail lashing from side to side. ¡°Get on your feet before the Shade decides to attack us you blithering idiot!¡±


    ¡°But scary Snake Lady not even looking at me!¡± Meekknuckle muttered. He still got to his feet anyhow, brushing the dust and debris off his front. His eyes suddenly widened and a panicked look crossed his features. ¡°Wait! What happen to Ornn?¡± He demanded in a near shout, his head swiveling left and right. ¡°Where Ornn?¡±


    Lunging toward the diminutive Goblin, Skrakch smacked him upside the back of his head with one swift movement. ¡°Shut your mouth Meek!¡± He hissed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not getting ripped apart because you¡¯re bloody blind!¡± The Iskrin continued, grabbing hold of Meek¡¯s thin shoulders. He made sure to dig his claws in a little as he bodily turned the creature around.


    ¡°Ornn was thrown off by one of the Ghast¡¯s attacks,¡± The Ratling explained. ¡°But he¡¯s still in one piece¡­ kind of.¡± Skrakch finished lamely, releasing one of Meekknuckle¡¯s shoulders and waving a paw to a pile of rubble a short distance away.


    Sitting there, amongst a cluster of freshly shattered stone that used to be more Arena seating, lay a decently sized sphere that Skrakch was fairly confident usually resided in Ornn¡¯s broad stone chest. Purple runes were etched deep into a metal Core and, if he had the time, the Ratling was sure that he could decipher the purpose of the Runeworks.


    A choked noise rumbled out of Meekknuckle¡¯s throat and the Goblin broke free from Skrakch¡¯s grapes as he moved toward the remnants of his trusted friend. ¡°Oh, Ornn! You down to just center again!¡± Meek said quietly. Skrakch watched as the Goblin ran one of his warty hands over the surface of the sphere. ¡°Meek keep you safe, no worry. No worry at all.¡±


    Skrakch slowly made his own way over to his two companions, making sure that the Shade was still rooted in the same spot. He snorted as Meek continued to run his hand over the sphere as though he were trying to comfort it.


    ¡°You¡¯re not keeping anyone safe at the moment Meek, just¡­ try not to move around too much. We don¡¯t know what the Shade is going to do next. For now, it just seems to be standing there but we all know how quickly that can change.¡±


    Ignoring the rather heated glare that the Goblin sent his way, Skrakch kept a wary eye on the Shade. He could hear the sounds of Winifred battling the Ghast behind him, but frankly, he didn¡¯t have the confidence to dodge another attack from it, so what was the point in watching their scrap.


    If the Ghast tried to kill him, he¡¯d have no choice but to just accept it. Still, as he watched the tentacled Shade just stand there, motionless, Skrakch had to admit that he let himself get momentarily distracted as he noticed ¡®Ornn¡¯ slowly began to pull bits of rubble inward toward his Core.


    ¡°Huh. So this is what you meant by Ornn repairing his own arms?¡± Skrakch asked as he watched little pebbles rolling toward the Core, clustering together into a thin layer that surrounded the metal orb. It was an interesting use of Mana, the Golem seeming to naturally attract the bits of stone surrounding it towards itself.


    ¡°Ornn very smart,¡± Meek replied proudly as though he were building the Golem back up himself. He only removed his hand from his friend whenever a bit of rubble pushed it away, ¡°He fix fast. He not normally use boring stone but he not picky. Right Ornn?¡± Meek continued to explain, gently patting the stone layer as it built up, pebble by pebble.


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    Skrakch silently watched, somewhat in awe, as the Golem slowly pieced itself back together. Though, he couldn¡¯t help the small frown that crossed his face. ¡°I suppose with Ornn currently out of commission, and Winifred busy with the Ghast, we should just¡­ wait quietly?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in no rush to piss the Shade off, though I imagine it¡¯s not the best idea to let it go back to whatever it was doing with those corpses¡­¡± Skrakch continued to think aloud, one claw idly scratched at his furry chin in contemplation.


    What he really want to do was cut his losses and get the Hells out of the place. But why give up when they were, in theory at least, so close to success?


    Letting out a small huff of annoyance, Skrakch squatted down beside Ornn¡¯s Core and watched its sluggish process of repairing itself. ¡°Anything that we can do to speed this up? With Zacharias squashed, we¡¯re down a man already,¡± He asked. ¡°Not that the bloody prick was really much use in general. I know full well he was just trying to es-¡±


    ¡°Now, now. Come on Squeakers, that¡¯s no way to speak of the dead,¡± An annoyingly familiar voice suddenly interrupted him. Skrakch sighed heavily.


    As he glanced to his left, he wasn¡¯t surprised to see Zacharias lounging in his own shadow, a cocky grin on his heavily scarred face. What he hadn''t expected though, was to see just how worse for wear the Thief was looking despite his nonchalant attitude.


    Leaning up against a large piece of carved rubble, a remnant of an ornate pillar if Skrakch had to guess, the Halfling had clearly seen better days. There was a small puddle of blood pooling by Zacharias¡¯ body, a few jagged cuts crisscrossing the Halfling¡¯s exposed bits of flesh, and his normally clean clothes were in tatters, the gaps revealing already purpling bruises.


    The worst of it was a large rend that look like it had damn near taken the bastard¡¯s arm off. It looked like the sole thing keeping it attached was a web of shadows that were spread tightly against the wound, no doubt a stop-measure to keep Zacharias from aggravating it with his movements.


    ¡°What, no heartfelt yelps of surprise? No triumphant cries at my amazing return from the brink of death? Zacharias grinned, showing off bloody teeth. ¡°Squeakers, you wound me, you really do.¡±


    ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve got enough wounds right now,¡± Skrakch replied shortly, trying to keep the sudden surge of anger from showing on his face.


    ¡°And here was me thinking that you¡¯d be close to tears with worry for me by now!¡± Zacharias exclaimed in mock upset.


    Turning his attention back to the Shade, Skrakch let out a bark of laughter as he fumbled with his bandolier. ¡°Please, nothing goes that well for me,¡± The Ratling replied sarcastically. ¡°You¡¯re a bloody cockroach Zacharias, you¡¯ll outlive us all,¡± The Iskrin finished bitterly as he pulled loose a vial of healing elixir. ¡°Now cram this down your rotten throat.¡±


    With a few quick steps and with an unbroken gaze levied towards the Chosen, Skrakch handed the cocky Halfling the flask. He almost jumped back in surprise when he felt just how cold the Thief¡¯s hands were. They felt closer to the touch of the dead, then that of a mortal man.


    ¡°That¡¯s the plan Squeakaroo, that¡¯s the plan.¡± The Halfling laughed mirthlessly and downed the alchemical brew in one go before tossing the empty vial over his shoulder.


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ ¡®ells those brews taste foul,¡± He grimaced, wiping his mouth with his ragged sleeve. ¡°So, no questions? No words of concern?¡± Th Thief continued as he wrinkled his nose at the taste. The motion caused the scarring on his battered face to wrinkle and turn red. ¡°No mention of how I heroically distracted that big Undead fuck from coming and making you its dinner?¡±


    Skrakch felt his teeth begin to grind together as he tried his best to clamp down on the long-simmering anger that was growing in his furred chest. At the end of the day, when it came to Zacharias, there was just no point in haranguing the guy. "The bloody prick isn¡¯t ever going to change. He¡¯s happy enough to look out for number one and leave the rest of us to die. There was no way he¡¯d feel guilt over leading the Ghast to them either."


    "Not that I¡¯m much better." Skrakch mused as he toned out Zacharias¡¯ continued self-serving prattling. He watched Meekknuckle as he continued to lovingly tend to Ornn, helpfully pushing piles of small stones toward the regenerating Core.


    "Just seconds after saving each other, I¡¯m back to hitting the little idiot as I feel like." Clearing his throat, Skrakch ignored the sense of embarrassment and shame that was threatening to bubble over. Frankly, he was just happy his fur kept his cheeks from turning red as a human¡¯s did.


    ¡°Hey Meek, and Ornn too I suppose,¡± Skrakch started to say awkwardly. ¡°Thanks for saving me back there¡­ I uh, I owe you one. Both of you, that is.¡± The Iskrin rubbed at his nose as he kept his gaze on the Shade.


    Meekknuckle looked up in surprise at Skrakch¡¯s admission, the Goblin letting a small smile cross his face as he rolled a small pebble across his palm. ¡°Meek not worry. Me just help out friend. Same for Ornn. He always like Scary Punching Lady.¡±


    For one peaceful moment, the Rogues allowed the silence to linger¡­ before Zacharias let out a deep groan and mimed vomiting.


    ¡°Hells, that was worse than being chucked through a door! And what the fuck happened to my thanks, eh Squeakers?¡± The Halfling let out a theatrical sigh, before pulling himself to his feet.


    ¡°Listen fellas, the damned thing is clearly just going to sit on its arse for now. We don¡¯t know how long Winnie¡¯s gonna take to beat the shite out of the Ghast so I say let¡¯s cut our losses and leave them to it. She¡¯s a bloody Chosen, she¡¯s got it.¡± Zacharias said, waving his uninjured hand toward the open entrance.


    Skrakch opened his mouth to protest but the Halfling cut him off quickly.


    ¡°Hells, I¡¯m feeling pretty fucking charitable at the moment. I¡¯ll even help roll the giant rock to safety. All because we¡¯re such good mates innit¡­ uh, Goblin?¡± He continued, genuinely looking like he was struggling to recall Meekknuckle¡¯s name.


    ¡°Idiot.¡± Skrakch said out loud as soon as the thought crossed his mind. ¡°The only thing that you¡¯re right about, is that the Shade currently isn¡¯t moving. But just because it¡¯s not moving doesn¡¯t necessarily mean it¡¯s doing nothing. Winifred called out ¡®Switch¡¯ so¡­maybe we need to soften it up for her?¡±


    Rooting around in his trusty bandolier, Skrakch idly noted that his stocks of healing elixirs were running low. Eventually, he pulled a new flask loose and gave it a small swish as the mercurial liquid sloshed about in the fragile glass container.


    It was time for them to go back to the original plan, the one that Skrakch had intended to carry out before Winifred had charged into the Arena with all the grace of a drunken Dwarf.


    ¡°Ten gold to the first one to hit the Shade!¡± The Ratling laughed as he pulled loose the cork of the Placating Brew¡¯s vial.


    Leaning backward, the Ratling ignored his companion¡¯s varied reactions as he threw the flask directly toward the Shade, his whiskers vibrating with excitement.


    Sure, Winifred couldn¡¯t handle the damned Shade but that didn¡¯t mean that he couldn¡¯t take it!

 Chapter Ninety-Four - An Unlucky Shot… or Two...

    As the bottle of Placating Brew sailed through the air in a graceful arc, Skrakch, Meekknuckle, and Zach all stilled as they watched it soar majestically. Skrakch grinned and complemented himself on his superior aim as the bottle crashed down onto the stone floor¡­ missing the Shade completely.


    In fact, it had veered so off course that even the splattering drops of the alchemical concoction went absolutely nowhere near its intended target. Not that that¡¯s my fault, clearly. Skrakch told himself. He was tired and the events had obviously taken a toll on his mind and body.


    ¡°What in all the Hells was that supposed to be Squeakers?¡± Zacharias asked as he burst out laughing. He ignored the rather heated glare that the Ratling shot in his direction. ¡°Me old Mam could¡¯ve thrown it closer! I¡¯d wager ten coins that Ornn could throw better than that and he¡¯s got no fucking body!¡±


    Feeling his fur begin to bristle and stand on end, Skrakch let out an annoyed harrumph as he pulled loose another flask. ¡°Well actually Zacharias, I¡¯ll have you know that that was merely a test throw. I need to make adjustments to the heft. It¡¯s just common sense.¡±


    Heaving backward once more, Skrakch really took his time to aim, concentrating as hard as he could on his target. With a grunt of exertion, he threw the flask in a beautiful arching shot and watched as it flew near perfectly toward the idling pile of fleshy tendrils that made up the Chosen Shade¡¯s body.


    This time, the potion bottle flew completely over the Shade and careened into the far wall of the Arena. The thick, green elixir splattered harmlessly onto the floor once more.


    Freezing in place, Skrakch stoically chose to ignore the renewed burst of laughter that came from the Halfling. Instead, he glared at the Chosen Shade. While he¡¯d completely missed on his thrown, the Brown Iskrin had taken note of the way the Shade had minutely adjusted as the flask passed overhead.


    The tendrils had coiled together as one and turned to track the new object although they¡¯d remained passively stuck in the center of the sand pit.


    ¡°Hmm, at no point have the tendrils turned to face us¡­ Perhaps the Shade can¡¯t see or detect us at this range?¡± Skrakch mused as he stroked his furry chin.


    ¡°Meek want to try!¡± The Goblin¡¯s high-pitched voice pulled Skrakch from his musings. He turned to see the diminutive Goblin proudly puffing out his chest. ¡°Me one of best hunters in whole tribe! Ornn help with that but me good at throwing rock. Weird green bottle not that different¡­¡±


    It wasn¡¯t very often that Skrakch was wholeheartedly behind rooting for Meek. In fact, this may be the very first time. Still, the idea of being forced to ask Zacharias to take care of it didn¡¯t exactly appeal to him. The Halfling was already grinning at him smugly, hand outstretched for a potion bottle. Skrakch smiled back at him and happily passed the Goblin one of the many flasks he had stuck in his bandolier. Zacharias rolled his eyes and shrugged as Meek seemed to weigh the bottle in his hand before rotating his arms a few times to limber up.


    ¡°Meekknuckle got this!¡± The tiny Goblin yelled as he took a few steps forward to get into position. He let out a small grunt as he tossed the bottle. Surprisingly, his aim was actually very good. The vial made its way into the sand pit where it collided with one of the many bodies littering the ground.


    As the potion bottle burst into shards, the Placating Brew splashed outward and covered the Chosen Shade¡¯s body in the green liquid. Even from their vantage point, Skrakch could smell the thick, cloying smoke as the affected tendrils burst into black flames.


    A sharp-sounding scream bubbled out of the Shade as it became a wildly flailing mass. The Shade reacted to the brew by repeatedly smashing its tendrils down to the ground near where the remains of the flask lay in a pathetic attempt to try and smother the flames.


    ¡°Not bad Goblin, not bad,¡± Zacharias commented from beside Skrakch, the Thief having clearly finished chortling at his misfortune. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to have the arm strength to reach the thing, but your control is definitely better than Squeakers.¡±


    Lashing his tail to the side in anger, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help his retort.


    ¡°Fuck you, Zacharias, I¡¯d like to see you do any bette-¡° Skrakch clamped down on the end of his sentence, but the damage was done.


    With a wide grin, Zacharias grabbed two of the vials from Skrakch¡¯s bandolier and gave them an appraising look and hefted them up and down. ¡°Heavier than I thought. But with no wind down here, this is a piece of piss.¡±


    Not bothering to even try throwing them once at a time, the Halfling deftly spun the bottles so that the stems were between his fingers before tossing them with a seemingly careless throw.


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    As the flasks arched perfectly toward the Shade, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but grind his teeth together in frustration.


    As annoying as Zacharias was to have around in general, the drunken prick was always so damned proud of his bloody aim. The Halfling was even the champion of the annual Plagued Rat¡¯s darts contest for six years running, and Skrakch¡­


    Well, he¡¯d stopped signing up after his third abysmal showing. He simply couldn¡¯t afford to keep losing money like that. The Ratling was pretty sure that his inability to aim a crossbow or toss a dart was clearly something that all Iskrin struggled with. After all, there was no way it could just be him right?


    It was hard to discount the results of Zacharias¡¯ throw however, as both flasks collided and burst with the Shade¡¯s tendrils, blanketing the creature in the Brew.


    The unholy wailing rose to a nearly unbearable crescendo as the Shade¡¯s inhumane form began frantically spinning in place. Skrakch could spot dozens of tendrils that simply burned to a crisp and fell to the floor in a disgusting heap of burnt flesh.


    More importantly, Skrakch could tell the creature wasn¡¯t recovering from the effects of the onslaught of the Brew. It was simply attacking the sand and the few remaining rotting bodies around it as though it was the floor of the Arena itself that was causing its pain.


    Ignoring the shit-eating grin he spotted on Zacharias¡¯ face, Skrakch just silently passed over a few more of the vials for the Halfling to toss. Hells, he even passed a couple more to Meekknuckle to throw as well. They might as well use their full might, such as it was.


    With each flask that landed on or near the mindless beast, its size began to diminish more and more. Even though it was clearly in a state of panic, the Shade didn¡¯t appear to realize that it could move from its current location. It was almost as though it was rooted to the spot, perhaps by some of its tentacles.


    Skrakch didn¡¯t know or care. Each of those tendrils would be plenty to kill them twice over. But, without being able to move? It was simply a sitting duck. Wujeeta had given him plenty of the flasks and while the price of each Placating Brew added up quickly, Skrakch had no intention of quibbling over material costs.


    After a dozen or so throws, Meekknuckle let out a happy shout of triumph as he finally landed a flask directly on the Shade.


    ¡°Haha! You take that, Snake Lady! You not so scary now!¡± The Goblin exclaimed, doing a little victory dance on the spot. ¡°Meek thought Chosen meant to be scary but Meek think this easy!¡± He chirped joyously. He was quickly silenced as Skrakch hit him upside the head, acting entirely upon instinct.


    ¡°Shut your mouth, you foolish idiot!¡± Skrakch practically hissed as he frantically scanned the Arena for any new threats. If there was one thing that he¡¯d learned from his frequent bouts with Death, it was that the second you started thinking that everything was going well, it all turned to shit.


    As the Ratling checked around the room, he was pleasantly surprised to notice that not much had actually changed. There were no waiting swarms of Ghouls, and Winifred still seemed to be holding her own against the massive Ghast.


    The colossal Undead now seemed to be missing one of its arms, the tangling stump still twitching as the Ghast tried ineffectively to swat the annoying human attacking it, although Winifred had her fair share of nasty-looking wounds too.


    Skrakch watched as she sidestepped the Ghast¡¯s claws¡­ but she didn¡¯t react in time to avoid a bit of broken bone that was sticking out of the Abomination¡¯s arm. It swiped across her stomach, causing a rather horrible-looking gash that started to seep blood. It looked as though the Chosen was struggling with the Undead¡¯s unique frame, but so long as she wasn¡¯t getting completely overwhelmed¡­


    Turning back to watch as flask after flask of Placating Brew crashed down onto the Chosen Shade¡¯s tendrils, Skrakch had to admit that the plan finally seemed to be going well, all things considered.


    Fuck.


    Wincing to himself even as he had the thought, Skrakch watched as the Chosen Shade finally began to move. With its tendrils still aflame, the center of the Shade rose above the rest of its now-blackened flesh. With each inch it moved upward, more and more of its tendrils pulled themselves loose from the pile of rotting bodies.


    Before long, the Ratling could see a faint outline of a human form at the apex of the Chosen Shade¡¯s mass of writhing tentacles, as the host body began to rise up among the mass of putrid flesh.


    Surprisingly, Survix looked none the worse for wear considering her entire being had been taken over. It was clear that the Shade had treated the Demoness with utmost caution. At least up until this point anyway.


    Grasping soot-stained tendrils began to wrap around her slim waist only to suddenly toss her comatose body to the side, letting her limp form collide with a nearby wall with a resounding thud.


    Skrakch took in the shifting events with an open mouth before his sense of danger kicked in. Diving downward, the Ratling bodily hauled Meekknuckle along with him as he sought refuge behind a large pile of rubble.


    ¡°What in the Hells is going on?¡± He whispered out loud. ¡°Everything I read about Shades and their host bodies¡­ they never¡­ the way it just threw her¡­¡±


    He wasn¡¯t really speaking to his Goblin companion but Meek nodded as though he understood anyway.


    A few seemingly never-ending seconds passed and Skrakch began to think that he¡¯d momentarily jumped the gun. Suddenly, a wave of Mana rippled over him, pervading his mind as he desperately tried to resist the sudden mental intrusion.


    The foreign energy attacked like a battering ram, ripping apart the Ratling¡¯s hastily summoned Mana defenses as a twisted cry sounded out from the center of the Arena.


    Thirst¡­

 Chapter Ninety-Five - Brother, Who Art Thou?

    Thirst¡­


    Drip. Drip. Drip.


    Thirst¡­


    Drip. Drip. Drip.


    THIRST¡­


    Groggily shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog in his brain, Skrakch winced as the movement elicited pain throughout the whole of his body. His bleary black eyes tried to focus on his surroundings but all he could make out was a darkened room and a steadily dripping faucet.


    Not for the first time in his life, he was glad of his Ratling senses. His nose painted a much clearer story, his snout picking up a musty, earthy smell paired with an almost overbearing scent of honey. No¡­ wait, it wasn¡¯t honey¡­ but mead! A rich mead, heavily sweetened but no doubt perfect on his parched tongue.


    The Ratling could feel the dryness in his throat as he breathed in the aroma. He felt that all he needed to do was just move a few steps and then he would have his prize. A flagon of perfectly chilled, freshly poured mead¡­


    But as he struggled to move forward, he found himself unable to advance as the rattle of chains clattered annoyingly in his ears.


    Chains? What the Hells? Where is this? Where am I? Skrakch tried to parse through his muddled and rushed thoughts but there wasn¡¯t any clarity to be found, his mind churning fruitlessly to itself.


    Especially not when every single drip of the faucet was louder than anything he¡¯d ever heard before. Not when every little drip was a dollop of Heaven that was wasting itself on a stone floor¡­


    The last thing Skrakch could remember was¡­ drinking at the Boar¡¯s Head with his brother. It was so rare for his sibling to join him on a night of wild, frivolous fun so, of course, Skrakch had indulged himself.


    One beer had become three, which had become six which had become¡­ ten? He couldn¡¯t remember the full amount but what he could remember was stumbling into the alleyway after a night of merriment. His brother tried to keep him upright and steady, but he¡¯d always been big for an elf, and with a bellyful of mirth and mead weighing him down¡­


    This is so wrong. I¡¯m no fucking Elf¡­


    The intrusive thought tickled at Skrakch¡¯s mind, but what really confused him was why he could so clearly remember walking through an alleyway in the first place.


    They¡¯d been drinking at the Boar¡¯s Head and he could picture it in his mind as they made merry with their friends. But Skrakch knew that whenever he had a few too many drinks, he was always sure to book himself a room. Better safe than sorry, he¡¯d always said.


    Panic was beginning to pierce through the fog in his mind so Skrakch once more began trying to move his limbs. The rattling of the heavy chains rang out in the tiny room, but Skrakch could only focus on the new smell that was suddenly tickling his nose.


    Blood. Thick, cloying blood. It smelled almost sickly¡­ wrong somehow. Left to fester and rot. Combined with the smell of the mead and the mossy earth, Skrakch could feel bile rising up his throat.


    Turning his head to the side, Skrakch stared gormlessly at his arms, chained as they were to the wall behind him. Thick steel links were woven around his biceps, though the manacles dangled empty, just out of reach.


    Why my biceps? Why did they leave the manacles empty? It doesn¡¯t make sense-


    Or, at least out of reach for Skrakch as he stared at what he soon realized were the bloody stumps of his forearms. The smell and sight threatened to overtake him, as though it were finally getting through to him.


    Seriously. Where the fuck am I?


    Skrakch opened his mouth to call out, only to fumble with his plea for help. His tongue felt heavy and his mouth was full of cotton, dryer than it had ever been. Each drop of honeyed mead that splashed onto the floor in its steady stream was torture. But, with his newfound focus, Skrakch knew well that it was intentional.


    Ok. I¡¯m in a cellar of some kind. Or maybe a dungeon. Who the fuck would¡­Why would someone keep me in a dungeon?


    The sheer idea of it was laughable. Or at least, it would¡¯ve been had it not been for the fact it was playing out in front of his very eyes. Someone had captured him, cut off his hands, and then¡­


    My brother!


    Skrakch tried to free himself with renewed focus, pulling at the chains as he struggled and twisted his body to try and get some leverage. His muscles burned as he threw himself forward but it was all for naught.


    Slumping downwards against the cold stone wall, he could feel despair bubbling up in his chest, sweat pouring down his skin and the unrelenting thirst gnawing at his gut. All the while, the steady drip of the mead continued. Soon, it was all that the Ratling could focus on. The steady drip, the ever-building thirst.


    It could¡¯ve been hours, or even days before something finally broke the monotony of his new life in the cell. A harsh grinding noise suddenly reverberated off the walls around him as an opening in the cell suddenly appeared above him, alongside a sudden burst of light that burned his eyes.


    ¡°Hello?... Who-who is it?¡± Skrakch croaked out, desperately trying to keep the fear out of his trembling voice. ¡°Do¡­ you know who I am?¡±


    Hells, do I even know who I am?


    An odd shuffling noise was his only answer. A figure dropped into the small cell near him, a pair of padded soles dampening the noise of its landing.


    Fear clawed at his belly, but Skrakch wasn¡¯t going to let that fear show if he could help it. Defiantly staring up at his captor, he let a sneer cross his face.


    ¡°My family won¡¯t stand for this! You fool. I¡­ I don¡¯t know who you work for but my brother will find them and when he does, he¡¯ll put the screws in them. They¡¯ll turn on you in a heartbeat. A fucking heartbeat, you piece of filth!¡±


    Gasping as he said his piece, feeling his dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, Skrakch kept his gaze locked forward, desperately trying to avoid blinking. To avoid showing any form of weakness to this new foe.


    A strong front can face anything. Father loved to say that. Smooth seas never made a good sailor, Oliver.


    And yet, despite his threat, his captor¡¯s only response was silence.


    The figure simply stood there, waiting as Skrakch glared at him. His eyes strained to get a good look at whoever it was that was holding him captive but the darkness seemed all-encompassing. Finally, the strain on his tired eyes became too much, and the prisoner began blinking rapidly.


    When Skrakch was able to open his eyes properly again, he was finally able to see his captor. He also noticed the sudden lack of dripping, the ever-present sound finally coming to an ominous stop. A candle had been lit within the cell, giving the small room a soft glow.


    Able to see once more, Skrakch could only stare in confused silence as he watched his brother filling a tankard full of the honeyed mead, one steady drip at a time. The Elf was dressed in simple dark maroon robes, but even then, he had a certain weight to him.


    Dozens of gold rings graced his large ears and his long beard had been groomed into a sharp point that hung down almost to the black sash holding his robes together. His emerald eyes glittered wickedly as he gazed down at Skrakch with a lofty air. The thin, bordering on frail, Elf lifted the metal tankard to his lips and took a deep drink.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Have you figured it out yet, Brother?¡± The Elf said in a honeyed tone, his smirk turned to a placid calm as he titled the tankard to one side, their family¡¯s famous brew pouring out onto the stone floor. ¡°Come now, Oliver. Has all your time spent getting drunk and whoring about made you that much of a slouch?¡±


    I don¡¯t have a brother! Wake up!


    Skrakch could feel the sting of the betrayal, the hurt, as it burned at him. His brother, his very kin¡­ Skrakch could still remember slipping him his first ever taste of booze, teaching him how to pick someone¡¯s pocket and then filter seamlessly back into the crowd. He¡¯d taken his little brother under his wing and taught him all there was to know about the family business.


    ¡°Why?¡± Skrakch coughed out, disbelief still warring within his mind, refusing to believe his eyes. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°The mere fact that you have to ask is proof enough of why I did it,¡± His brother spat, venom dripping off his tongue. ¡°Our family¡¯s eldest, a drunken fool who can¡¯t even see the shifting times because he¡¯s too focused on the bottom of a tankard. I did it, dear brother, for the family.¡±


    Skrakch struggled to make sense of what he¡¯d just been told. He was still feeling weak from his injuries, but worse was the deep feelings of betrayal ringing out in his mind.


    ¡°You see, with you gone, I¡¯ll inherit the tavern and the contacts. I¡¯ll finally have the pieces I need to raise the family up,¡± The Elf continued to explain, the venom dying out as he returned to a detached calm. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure the family starts making some real gold, not just the dregs the Nobles deign to leave us.¡±


    Pulling a vial loose from beneath his robes, Skrakch¡¯s little brother swirled the red liquid from side to side before popping the cork loose with his teeth. ¡°The Thieves Guild has stagnated for far too long. Something needs to change and I have just the thing¡­¡±


    Dragon¡¯s Blood? Dear Gods, what is this?


    Slowly pouring the vial¡¯s contents into the now empty tankard, the bearded Elf crouched in front of Skrakch and placed the concoction before him with his sole arm. Just the mere fact that it was liquid sorely tempted the Ratling to take a sip, but Oliver did his best to resist.


    ¡°This is just the first step brother, but I¡¯m afraid you won¡¯t have the chance to see the rest I¡¯ve got in store. But, I¡¯m nothing if not a fair Elf. It only seems right that you get a taste of our future¡­¡±


    Skrakch stared at the contents of the tankard despondently before turning a begging eye upwards. ¡°Why are you doing this, Sykes? Just¡­ kill me and be done with this farce.¡±


    Straightening to his full height, Sykes let a satisfied grin cross his face as he flattened out his robe and stepped under the sole entrance before finally bothering to answer. ¡°What a quaint question, Why? Only scholars and fools ask the world why it works the way it does, Oliver. They question their lot in life, like the worms they are. Never realizing there¡¯s a better, more pertinent question to ask.¡±


    This isn¡¯t right, you idiot. Sykes is dead. Wake u-


    Hands tracing through a complex array of magical figures, the air filling the cellar turned brittle and cold as the arrogant Elf finished his spell, and gifted his Skrakch one last parting line.


    ¡°Why fucking not?¡±


    A wave of Mana moved with a flick of Sykes¡¯ wrist, and a thin spire of ice guided his brother out of the dungeon, leaving Skrakch alone in the dark once more.


    No! Don¡¯t leave me, don¡¯t leave us!


    Each passing moment burned away at Skrakch, burned at Oliver. Chained as they were, all they could do was stare down at the cup. Their throat ached and burned, urging them to take a drink. Finally, after Gods knows how much time passed, it was too much for the Ratling, too much for the Elf, and they couldn¡¯t help but bend down to grab the mug with their teeth.


    Holding it steady, Oliver struggled to lift it up, to bring it to his lips with his dehydrated senses. Finally, with a sobbing cry, Skrakch flung it away from him.


    Trapped in the dungeon, the only source of consistency was the drip of the mead and the unending thirst in their chest as they slowly waited for death.


    Drip, drip, drip¡­


    Thirst¡­


    Drip, drip¡­


    Thirst¡­


    Dri-


    Fuck that.


    Skrakch coughed to himself as he focused on the dripping noise, willing his Mana to start moving through his body.


    What sort of useless prick just lets themselves die?


    The thought roared in his head as the Ratling struggled against the chains, forming his unwieldy Mana into a sloppy version of a familiar Rune.


    His Mana felt sluggish to him, barely able to respond to his call, but Skrakch had nothing but time on his hands. Eventually, he managed to corral his Mana into a Rune of Gravity and pulled his chains loose from the wall, bits of the cellar peppering his back.


    Staggering to his feet, each movement the Ratling made helped to clear his thoughts.


    This isn¡¯t real. This isn¡¯t happening and I¡¯m sure as Hells not some dagger-eared prick!


    The more Skrakch struggled against the strange, dreamlike state that he found himself in, the more it strained to hold him back. The cell around him began to twist and bend as Skrakch stared down at the desiccated remains of the Elf that had been left to die.


    The body he¡¯d been forced to inhabit in this fucked up dream.


    ¡°Oliver huh? What a small word it is. I knew your brother. Good news! He¡¯s fucking dead,¡± Skrakch laughed and watched as this strange new world crumbled around him. ¡°Sadly, so are you, and I¡¯m not about to let some Shade puppet my body!¡±


    Even as the world began to crumble around him, Skrakch watched as the long dead body of Oliver began to move. At first it was just one finger, then a hand. Before too long, the desiccated body was able to lurch forward and threw itself towards the barrel of mead.


    Shoving its head against the barrel¡¯s tap, the corpse let out a wail of anguish as the long dried out barrel crumpled under its weight. Tossing back its head, it¡¯s scream grew so loud Skrakch could feel it hastening the destruction of this strange dream state.


    Even as the shriek reached a fevered pitch, a blossoming of power washed over the Ratling onlooker. Oliver¡¯s body began to crumble to dust, but the elf¡¯s spirit kept up its unholy wailing as it raised into the sky.


    Thirst¡­


    With a sudden, massive lurch, Skrakch rapidly regained his consciousness and finally he felt properly anchored in his body, happily reunited with his glorious umber fur and, thank all the Gods, his dexterous tail! He reveled in the feeling of his own flesh and blood, even as it was dragged through the rubble.


    Wait¡­


    What?


    Eyes snapping open, Skrakch cast his gaze around in a new wave of fresh panic. He stared down at a mass of blackened flesh as it undulated around his torso.


    Immediately recognizable tendrils held him tight as they pulled at his prone form, having dragged him nearly halfway across the Arena while he was busy being distracted by a damn spiritual vision.


    With each passing second, he was dragged further and further, reeled towards the Chosen Shade¡¯s immobile body, the fleshy pile of tendrils lashing around wildly in an enraged flurry of blows. He could feel fragments of the rubble biting into his flesh as he was dragged along.


    While Skrakch could be, and often was, called many unfavorable things, the Ratling was never a slouch when it came to fighting for his life.


    Bursting into action, Skrakch began trying to claw his way to freedom. His paws moved wildly, but even as he raked his sharp claws against the tendrils that were holding him down, the damned fleshy things regenerated almost instantly.


    ¡°Gods Below! Fuck this!¡± Skrakch called out, desperately trying to hold back the tendrils whilst twisting his head to and fro.


    What the Hells! Where¡¯s Winifred? Or Meek? Hells, I¡¯d even take Zacharias at this point!


    Sadly, Skrakch was able to answer those questions for himself as he finally managed to squirm and twist enough to free himself. He rolled over a few times before finally coming to a stop amongst the dirt and rubble. It was then that he could see both Meek and Winifred being dragged along in a similar fashion, with the Undead Ghast sharing their fate.


    All of them were similarly as comatose as he¡¯d no doubt been, the feeble minded fools not having managed to shake themselves free.


    ¡°Meek! Dammit Meekknuckle, wake up! Winifred! Do something! Anything! You¡¯re a bloody Chosen, it¡¯s no time for a nap,¡± Skrakch screeched out as his voice broke from sheer panic.


    With each moment that passed, they were being dragged toward the center of the Arena and that much closer to an ignoble end.


    Squeezing his eyes shut as he frantically ran after them, Skrakch tried to summon his Mana to aid him¡­ only for it to be absorbed into the tendrils wrapped around his body.


    Gods dammit, I need someone to wake the Hells up or I¡¯m fu-


    ¡°Alright there Squeakers? Looks like you¡¯ve got yourself into a bit of trouble!¡±


    Popping open his eyes, Skrakch found himself staring up at Zacharias. The Halfling appeared to be casually strolling along aside him, looking like he didn¡¯t have a single care in the world. He opened his mouth to reply but Zacharias got there first.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry though mate, your good pal has your back,¡± Zacharias grinned, looking like he was having the time of his life. ¡°We¡¯ll have to discuss what it¡¯s gonna cost you of course,¡±


    ¡­Gods Above or Below, any chance I can ask for literally -anyone else- to wake up?

 Chapter Ninety-Six - Well, at least it’s a rescue…

    The second that Squeakers let out the loud, and frankly damned shrill, screech of fear, Zacharias had immediately dropped to the ruined Arena floor and sunk into his shadow with well-practiced ease even as his body cried out in pain.


    Gods Below, but he was banged up. The Ghast had really done a number on him. His muscles were aching in places he didn¡¯t even know he had. Not to mention the gnarly wound on his shoulder blade which was still bleeding intermittently. Every time he seemed to move the damn thing, it tore at the dried bloodied scabs and re-opened.


    Luckily, although he was running seriously low on Mana, it wasn¡¯t too hard for him to manage the short trip below his shadow''s surface. The black emptiness of his shadow momentarily swallowed him, stealing his breath away.


    Counting to five, Zach re-emerged without a wisp of sound and idly noted that nothing about his current situation seemed to have changed. While he hardly considered himself an accomplished Mage, the Halfling had been around long enough to recognize the tinge of Mana bubbling in the air around him¡­ which was strange because it seemed to be having no effect on him whatsoever.


    Of course, caution was often a Thief¡¯s best mate, so Zach waited in a crouch for another ten seconds as he listened intently to the sounds around him. The only noise of any note was an odd scraping that distinctly reminded him of flesh being dragged across the stone.


    What can I say, that¡¯s a noise I could place anytime. Zacharias grinned without mirth, his scars pulling tight across his face.


    If he were the type of Halfling to be concerned about other people, which he certainly wasn¡¯t, he probably would¡¯ve been freaked out by the distinct lack of angry grunts that usually came along with Winifred when she was locked in a brawl.


    Getting himself back on his feet, Zach slowly raised his head high enough to do a quick visual check on his surroundings, looking out for anything that might explain the oddly deafening quiet that suddenly filled the arena.


    Beyond the absence of the Ghast or Winifred¡¯s blurring forms, there was one major difference to the Arena that Zach couldn¡¯t miss. Still sitting amongst the pile of rotting corpses laid the Chosen Shade¡¯s monstrous form, though the flames from the Placating Brew that had been eating away at the Chosen Shade seemed to have completely petered out.


    The lump of burned flesh clearly hadn¡¯t been idle, however, as the much smaller core of undulating tendrils appeared to be reaching outward as four spears of blackened flesh stretched out and upward beyond the sand pit¡¯s confines.


    Each one reached toward where Zach had last seen his companions so it didn¡¯t exactly take a genius to work out what the Shade was up to now.


    Zach grinned to himself as he confidently stretched to his full height, working out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. His shoulder injury complained at him, and no doubt started to bleed again but whatever. He had a job to do.


    Moving toward the closest spear of flesh, he idly noted that the spear was slowly retracting itself, no doubt reeling in its prize back to the misshapen source.


    Flicking a dagger down into his waiting palm, Zach stepped to the end of the grasping Shade¡¯s tendril and as expected, there was one of his companions. He looked down at the prone body of¡­ whatever the piss-tinged so-called ¡®Cleric¡¯ was called.


    Gods be damned, Goblins are fucking ugly when they aren¡¯t moving about. Actually, it¡¯s not like they look any better when they¡¯re awake, vermin that they are.


    ¡°You¡¯re really fucking out of it, eh¡­ Feek? That¡¯s not right, maybe¡­ Bleak?¡± Zach let out a huff of a laugh.


    He squatted down beside the comatose Goblin, leaning in as close as he dared to the tendril of flesh that was wrapped around it¡¯s prey like a winding snake.


    The Halfling carefully inspected the tendril and noticed smaller offshoots that seemed to be growing out of it at various points, and these were slowly acting to pull the Goblin¡¯s form closer to the Shade¡¯s main body.


    Most of the Goblin¡¯s itself was completely covered by the shifting flesh, though it had left Deek¡¯s mouth uncovered.


    Huh. Interesting. Guess it likes to play with its prey for a bit¡­


    ¡°Maybe it thinks you¡¯ll taste better alive or summat,¡± Zach said aloud as he kicked the nearby flesh with his boot. He¡¯d expected the thing to attack him, maybe try and twist him up in its tendrils like it had the Goblin, but no. The thing didn¡¯t react to his kick at all, seemingly devoted to its current fleshy task.


    Well, it doesn¡¯t seem interested in me at all. Fucking odd¡­ but I¡¯ll take it. Better than the alternative anyways.


    ¡°Stay where you are Gobbo, I¡¯ll come back for ya¡­ maybe.¡± The Halfling said with a mocking smile, boldly walking toward the next extended ¡®spear¡¯.


    ¡°Ah now, that¡¯s just sad,¡± He said aloud with mock sympathy as he neared the next victim. He stared down at Skrakch who was tangled up in the tendrils, his face dragging against the stone floor.


    Again, Skrakch¡¯s face was the only boy not currently wrapped up in Shade¡¯s twisted body but the fact it didn¡¯t seem to care about how the Ratling¡¯s face was being cut up from the bits of sharpened stone was interesting indeed.


    Welp. If ol¡¯Squeakers isn¡¯t waking up from his face being turned into pie meat, pricking him with a dagger ain¡¯t gonna do anything.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°And here you whinge about how I never do anything for you,¡± Zach muttered. He stepped in closer to the tendrils and held his breath as he reached within a palm¡¯s reach of the Shade and waited.


    And waited.


    Just like before, the tendrils didn¡¯t seem to give a shit about him. So, confident that he wasn¡¯t about to be smashed into little bits, Zach began trying to wedge his dagger into the flesh nearest to the comatose Ratling¡¯s body, trying to pry him loose.


    The only place that the Thief could reach was just below Skrakch¡¯s neck, but Zach didn¡¯t take much care to avoid the Iskrin¡¯s body.


    Little bits of blood and fur began to fall down to the stone floor as he continued his efforts to wedge his knife between the comatose body of his companion and his grappler.


    Unfortunately, however, any small amount of progress that he was able to make was quickly erased by the tendril¡¯s rapid regeneration as it and Skrakch continued to be slowly retracted towards the center of the sand-pit.


    ¡°Gave it a shot, didn¡¯t I Squeaks? Can¡¯t fault me now, can you?¡± The Halfling shrugged, before realizing something, turning an appraising eye to Skrakch¡¯s prone form. ¡°Doesn¡¯t hurt to test this out, well, on anyone other than Winnie anyways.¡±


    Flipping his knife with a flourish as he brought it down, Zach¡¯s blade bit deep into Skrakch¡¯s shoulder and yet the brown Iskrin barely budged, even as blood began matting down his fur.


    ¡°Yup, you lot are fucked.¡± Pulling his dagger loose, Zach wiped off the Ratling¡¯s blood against the tendril, dispassionately pondering his next action.


    Interesting that this thing managed to take down Winnie though. You¡¯d think another Chosen would be able to fight it off. I wonder if it covered her artifacts¡­


    There was a stillness to the air that suited Zach just fine as he made his way over to Winifred, noting that the Shade had dedicated even more of its writhing flesh to keep her contained. Which, frankly, wasn¡¯t at all surprising.


    Winifred was so neatly wrapped by the Shade¡¯s skin that the Thief would have more luck prying the knuckle dusters off her if she was up and moving.


    Interestingly, however, Zach did note that there was a small patch on the Brawler¡¯s hip that the Shade seemed to be actively avoiding.


    Bending down for a closer look, he quickly fished out a small elixir with a crack on it, green liquid staining Winifred¡¯s leather pants. Even as Zacharias pulled it loose, the flesh began to eagerly cover up Winifred¡¯s leg.


    ¡°Still not a fan of the-¡° His words cut off as the Halfling heard sudden burst of yelling coming from behind him. Whipping his head around, he could tell the sounds were coming from the Ratling¡¯s direction, the half-strangled noises breaking apart the quiet.


    Well, well. Looks like Squeakers woke up, after all. Good thing I didn¡¯t bail too early. That fucking Ratling can hold a bloody grudge¡­


    Leaving Winifred be for now, Zach hopped and dodged his way past the tendrils back to Skrakch who was currently twisting around and cursing wildly in an attempt to free himself from the swarming flesh¡¯s grip.


    ¡°Well now Squeaks, you¡¯ve got yourself in a bit of a situation innit?¡±


    Watching the Ratling¡¯s face as it contorted in irritation and annoyance was always a treat. The Iskrin had a way of looking like he¡¯d just been force-fed a tankard of pickled ale any time something didn¡¯t go in his favour, and wasn¡¯t it just delicious that things so rarely did.


    Zach couldn¡¯t resist winding him up further by giving his nose a little tweak, leaning down into the Iskrin¡¯s eye line and sporting a wide smile.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry though! Your best mate has your back. We just need to decide what it¡¯s gonna cost you.¡±


    ¡°Gods Below curse you, Zacharias! Help me get out of here!¡± Skrakch yelled back, as he continued to struggle in a futile effort to free himself from the Shade¡¯s grasp. ¡°What the Hells is going on?¡±


    ¡°Well, if I had to guess¡­¡± Zach replied as he started to idly stroll beside the slowly retracting tendrils. ¡°I guess the thing¡¯s got sick of you guys using it for target practice and now it¡¯s proper pissed off¡­¡± He shook his head with mock seriousness, ignoring the fact he¡¯d been the one toss most of the vials.


    ¡°C¡¯mon Squeakers, it¡¯s a pretty poor show that you got yourself into this situation innit? I mean, you¡¯re always banging on about how great you are and here you are being dragged face-first into your doom.¡±


    ¡°How about you shut up and help get me free?¡± Skrakch replied acidly as he continued to twist and writhe around ineffectively in the Shade¡¯s grip.


    ¡°I mean, I guess I could,¡± Zach replied with a heavy sigh. ¡°We can always talk payment after the fact I suppose¡­¡±


    Truthfully, Zach just wanted the Ratling to owe him one. It never hurts to have a favour banked away after all.


    ¡°Wait¡­ how are you even awake?¡± Skrakch called out, eyeing Zacharias suspiciously with one eye, even as half his face was dragged across a bit of rubble. ¡°There¡¯s no way you managed to escape the Shade¡¯s grasp easily, much less the bloody vision.¡±


    Moving a safe distance away from Skrakch, Zach tossed his retort over his shoulder. ¡°Please, a thief of my caliber? It didn¡¯t even affect me.¡±


    ¡°-But it affected an Undead? The Ghast is down as well, isn¡¯t it? Is this another dream?¡± Skrakch muttered to himself, still struggling to break free.


    That¡­ was a good point. If it affected the Undead Ghast, there wasn¡¯t much chance my little trip below ground would have stopped it. Why -am- I still awake when even a Chosen went down¡­


    Zach paused as he considered it, but ultimately shrugged to himself. ¡°Eh, fuck it Squeaks, you¡¯ve got bigger things to worry about. No idea why you¡¯re so arsed about what the Shade did or didn¡¯t do to me while you¡¯re still stuck in its grasp¡­ speaking of which, best brace yourself.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± Skrakch asked warily. He was beginning to wonder if he was caught between a Devil and the deep blue sea. Would Zacharias¡¯ idea of saving him really be much better than being eaten alive by the Shade? Somehow he truly doubted it.


    Ignoring the panicked-sounding Iskrin, Zacharias pulled the cork loose from the vial of Placating Brew he¡¯d pulled loose from Winifred¡¯s pants and took a few measures steps backwards as he hefted the elixir.


    ¡°Zacharias! What in the Hells? No! Don¡¯t you dare, you fucking simpleton!¡± Skrakch yelled out, futilely struggling with all his strength.


    Wincing as the motion pulled on his wounded shoulder and, ignoring his Iskrin companion completely, the Halfling tossed the bottle towards his prone companion and watched as it broke apart in a twinkling crash of glass and green slime.


    As the alchemical liquids splashed over Skrakch and the tendrils, a massive burst of black flames swiftly blocked Zacharias¡¯ vision of the screaming Ratling, and Zach coldly watched as the Shade began screaming once more in earnest.


    ¡°The lot of you are lucky to have me around,¡± the Thief mocked, waiting for the fires to die down. Either Skrakch would get free, or¡­


    Well, Squeakers can''t exactly get revenge on me if he¡¯s burnt to a crisp, now, could he?

 Chapter Ninety-Seven: A touch of Madness

    One second, Skrakch was twisting and struggling to free himself from the constricted, fleshy embrace of the Chosen Shade¡¯s tendrils and in the next his vision was suddenly completely clouded by black fire.


    He screamed as the flames poured over him but, to Skrakch¡¯s own ears, it was completely overwhelmed by the Shade¡¯s own cacophony of anguish. The meat surrounding him from all directions rippled and squirmed as a high pitch shriek seemed to billow out from every inch of the tendril¡¯s grasp.


    With each passing moment, the Shade¡¯s grip tightened and loosened erratically as the burning flesh jolted and tossed the Ratling from side to side as it went through its protracted death throes.


    It only took a few seconds for Skrakch to realize that the black fire from the Placating Brew wasn¡¯t actually burning him but that did little to dent his wild shrieking. Arguably worse than the feeling of burning, was the sensation of his body being pulled in different directions. He let out a particularly high-pitched howl as he felt his shoulder being yanked from its socket.


    He was pretty sure that the only reason that he wasn¡¯t being crushed like a grape was the fact that the tendril, despite burning alive, was still trying to drag him toward the main mass that made up the Chosen¡¯s body.


    No doubt it¡¯s looking for a new host.


    It was hard for the Ratling to stay rational when he could feel the panic and fear sweeping through his body at an alarming rate.


    It was the oddest sensation, one that Skrakch might have enjoyed out of sheer novelty, if it wasn¡¯t so incredibly visceral for the poor Ratling. Thankfully, the Pacifying Brew was quick acting and it didn¡¯t take that long for the fleshy tendril to burn away completely, leaving him choking for breath on the blessedly cold stone floor.


    ¡°Well, well, the ugly fucker cut loose its tendril,¡± Zacharias¡¯ filthy boots suddenly came into Skrakch¡¯s view. ¡°Gotta admire preservation instincts like that eh Squeakers?¡± He chuckled to himself and Skrakch could hear the sound of him dusting off his hands. ¡°I¡¯d say that was a resounding success. You can thank me later of course.¡±


    Laying breathlessly and in considerable pain on the ruined floor, at first Skrakch couldn¡¯t even muster a modicum of anger as he focused on sucking in as much of the cool air as he could manage. Eventually, he managed to roll to his feet and, gingerly clutching his dislocated shoulder, pulled himself up with as much dignity as he could muster.


    ¡°I fucking hate you, Zacharias.¡±


    ¡°Love you too Squeaks!¡± Zacharias grinned widely.


    Shaking his head in an effort to clear his mind, Skrakch knew it wasn¡¯t over yet. The Shade was still in the process of pulling Winifred and Meekknuckle toward itself. Worryingly, it seemed to be doing so a lot faster than before.


    ¡°It...it sped up?¡± He asked incredulously. He wasn¡¯t really asking anyone in particular, more thinking out loud. But, of course, Zacharias being Zacharias, the meathead Halfling couldn¡¯t help but reply.


    ¡°Aye, as soon as it bailed on absorbing you,¡± The Thief answered. He reached out with filthy hands to pat down Skrakch¡¯s bandolier, fingers deftly checking pockets. Thankfully, the leather band had survived being dragged across the rough stone floor and was still mostly intact on the Ratling¡¯s blood soaked chest.


    ¡°Got any more of that special fire shit? Probably best to get the other three burning. The sooner we get this shit over with, the sooner we can get back to the pub.¡± The Thief said in a joking tone, as if the lot of them weren¡¯t inches away from death.


    ¡°Three?¡± Skrakch muttered, still feeling dizzy as his mind sputtered and stopped. ¡°We just need Meek and Winifred, right? Leave the Ghast alone, better that it¡¯s still asleep, no?¡±


    Zacharias let out a loud scoff, pulling loose a shattered vial from Skrakch¡¯s bandolier. ¡°Yeah, because we -want- to let the Shade have a new body. There¡¯s definitely no downside to combining the Shade and the Ghast¡¯s strength together. Fuck me Squeakers, you¡¯ve said some dumb shit in your time but I reckon that tops it.¡±


    Feeling a shiver pass through his bones, Skrakch didn¡¯t bother to agree, but instead began patting down his own chest and wincing at the sensation of broken glass. ¡°Fucking¡­ Fuck! The Shade¡¯s destroyed so many of my potions. My hard work! Do you know how much gold I spent on that collection? Fucking hundreds, nay, thousands of coins?!¡± Skrakch moaned, mourning the loss of his livelihood.


    Sure, he had some more ingredients tucked away back in his nest, but recreating those potions was going to take so -damned- long¡­


    Even with as bleak as the Ratling was feeling, the anger burned at him and forced his hands into motion. Sure, most of his potions were rather minor in scale or effect, but each had its purpose. Dozens of vials had burst, including most of the Pacifying Brews, but there were still a few that were left intact.


    It was hard for Skrakch to focus on counting his intact options as he was forced to slap away Zach¡¯s probing hands. ¡°Gods Below and Above, damn it all! I¡¯ve only got two more, so¡­ I guess it could have been worse. I¡¯ll go toss one at-¡°


    ¡°Yeah, let me stop you there,¡± The Halfling said with a cocky shake of his head. He held up a gloved hand. ¡°Give ¡®em to me before you waste the bloody things. You couldn¡¯t aim your bottle tosses -before- the Shade threw you around like a rag doll. Fuck knows what your shitty aim is gonna be like now.¡± The Halfling laughed, holding his palm out towards Skrakch.


    One reluctant sigh later and Skrakch had passed over the last two vials of Placating Brew. ¡°Make it quick, once we get Meek and Winnie loose we¡¯re getting out of here.¡± The Ratling said, not even trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.


    ¡°See, that¡¯s the first sensible thing you¡¯ve said today.¡± The Thief hefted the vials, measuring his distances with a tilted eye. ¡°Oh, and don¡¯t forget to kill the Succubus.¡± He added offhandedly, barely paying attention to his companion.


    Woozily passing a furry paw over his face and pulling at his whiskers, Skrakch arched a questioning eyebrow towards the Halfling. ¡°Why the fuck would I kill her? We just rescued the poor thing.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a Demoness. The Denmother is some kind of warlock. Do the math.¡± Zacharias let a little hint of annoyance leak into his voice as he turned a glare to Skrakch. ¡°Seriously? The old crone can just summon her back to Dray¡¯Mel once she¡¯s back in whatever layer of Hell the Denmother pulled her out of. Gods Below, seriously now mate, how hard did you hit your head?¡±


    Blustering slightly at the blatant disrespect, Skrakch couldn¡¯t think of much of an answer to that, so he fell back on tried and true methods to move on from the subject.


    ¡°Just do me a favor and make sure the other two actually wake up, Zacharias. Maybe try not to immediately bail on us for once, eh?¡± Skrakch bit out the last word, his long tail lashing back and forth as he grabbed his dislocated shoulder and began to circle around the fully destroyed Arena floor to take stock of the situation.


    The Ratling wasn¡¯t exactly sure when the upper levels had begun crumpling downwards but the entire area looked less like a Noble¡¯s basement, and more like a war torn battlefield. If anyone was planning on taking over the place following Rodyr¡¯s death, they¡¯d certainly have one hell of a rebuilding project on their hands.


    A battlefield wasn¡¯t far from the truth, admittedly. The amount of damage the two Chosen had managed to do to their surroundings was impressive, in the terrifying sort of way.


    Still, the ruined bits of ceiling and crushed archways made for slow going as Skrakch was forced to scramble his way forwards. His claws helped him keep a steady grip as he climbed over ruined pillars, half-leaping from one piece of ruined architecture to the next. His injured shoulder screamed at him, but he pushed through the pain as much as he could. Every break he had to take was time taken away from getting the hell out of this hellhole.


    Thankfully in his line of work, Skrakch was often required to make short work of traversing all kinds of terrain so the trip across the room was more of an annoyance than a true obstacle, even with his injuries.


    Keeping his eyes peeled was second nature to Skrakch but as he reached the Demoness¡¯ crumbled body, the Ratling couldn¡¯t take his eyes off of her prone form.


    The wall she¡¯d collided with after the Shade had discarded her was covered in a cobweb of little cracks and dried blood. Just below lay the Demoness herself, her limbs twisted into inhuman positions from the force of the impact. Skrakch felt another wave of bile rise up in his throat at the mere sight.


    Survix¡¯ normally ruby-red skin was now a pale shade of pink, with little streaks of black sludge squirming beneath her flesh. Lying as she was, the Demoness was unnaturally still outside of the slightest rise and fall of her chest.


    Originally, Skrakch hadn¡¯t fully agreed with Zach¡¯s plan to kill the poor captive, but with that much damage done to her¡­ Maybe it would be a mercy after all. He highly doubted she¡¯d be as in demand at the Denmother¡¯s place anymore¡­


    Sliding down beside her still form, the Ratling wasted no time as he pulled loose one of Zacharias¡¯ blades and moved to press it against the Demoness¡¯ throat¡­ when Survix suddenly reached up to grab his forearm.


    Skrakch wasn¡¯t the most dextrious thug who¡¯d ever lived, but in pure reaction time he could give Zach a run for his gold. So the brown Iskrin was well and truly surprised when the previously still Demoness managed to twist her broken body into a lunging motion and grab his arm before he could even blink.


    Trying to flinch his whole body backwards and failing to escape the Succubi¡¯s surprisingly strong grip, the startled Iskrin locked eyes with the now-staring Demoness.


    Whatever semblance of awareness Skrakch had been expecting to see in her eyes, however, was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused but her grip was like steel. With a sudden wrench, she pulled Skrakch close and began to speak, each word spoken with more force than he¡¯d expect from a half-dead corpse.


    Her fingers tightening around his furred wrist even more. ¡°Ahhh, excellent work Skrakch.¡± The Demoness said in a distinctly older voice. ¡°I¡¯ve regained my connection with the poor girl, but I think it would be best if she stayed unaware for a bit longer.¡±


    ¡°Some of what the Chosen had her doing would be disheartening, even for a Demon.¡± The familiar voice continued. ¡°Regardless, you can consider your task completed. I¡¯ll be able to summon her out of there soon enough.¡±


    Caught off guard as he was, Skrakch took a few seconds to calm his racing heart before he pulled his arm loose. ¡°So we¡¯re even then, Denmother? I don¡¯t know how much you saw but this was much more effort than expected. In fact, I¡¯d say this makes us much more than even.¡±


    Settling into as restful of a pose as the Demoness¡¯ body would allow, the once more possessed Survix turned a sagging eye towards Skrakch before answering.


    ¡°Indeed, you¡¯ve gone above and beyond what I¡¯d hoped for, little Ratling. Truth be told, I hadn¡¯t anticipated you managing to succeed quite so well.¡± The Denmother continued, her voice turning thoughtful.


    ¡°If I had known Winifred was a Chosen herself, perhaps I¡¯d have planned things out differently. It is a genuine shame you most likely won¡¯t survive long enough for me to reward you properly.¡±


    Hissing in outrage, Skrakch tried to scoff in dismissal but only ended up letting out a wheeze as the motion jostled his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯ll take more than this to keep me down Ma, you know that. Though there¡¯s no reason for me to stick around if we¡¯re sorted, the fucking Shade will no doubt start moving soon and I¡¯ve been there and done that. Once is more than enough.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand Skrakch, I¡­ I called in another favor. A much larger one than yours.¡± The Denmother¡¯s voice sounded off to Skrakch, until he realized her voice had taken on a tinge of fear. The sick feeling was back again, his stomach churning. Never in all his time knowing her, had he heard Ma sound so scared¡­


    ¡°They normally wouldn¡¯t bother to humor me, but the idea of killing another Chosen seemed to appeal to them.¡± Denmother explained, a deep sigh coming from Survix¡¯ mouth. ¡°If you want any chance of living, little Ratling, you need to get away from the Shade before they arrive. Go, now!¡±


    Skrakch was many things, but even he could see the writing on the wall. Anything that scared Denmother wasn¡¯t something he wanted anything to do with when he was at his very best, much less with his Mana drained and his body near-broken.


    Bursting into a mad scramble, Skrakch didn¡¯t even bother to spare a quick glance behind him as he felt a new strand of Mana burgeoning from the Demoness'' body. It reeked of disease and rot, and was no doubt the Denmother¡¯s handiwork, but the Iskrin didn¡¯t waste time looking behind himself to confirm one way or the other. Survix was clearly the least of his problems now.


    His task was done, now he simply needed to survive long enough to enjoy it. His claws skittered along stone as he pushed himself forward, making his way towards where he¡¯d last seen Zacharias.


    Eventually the Iskrin crested a tall enough pillar that he could make out the forms of his three companions, Winifred and Meekknuckle both seemed to be screaming at an openly laughing Zach.


    Both Meekknuckle and Winifred looked worse for wear but the fact they had enough energy to yell at the Halfling boded well, and they¡¯d even found the time to roll Ornn¡¯s Core near their feet as well.


    Running down a bit of marble steps towards the full group of Rogues, Skrakch began frantically waving towards them, urging them towards the door. ¡°We¡¯ve got no time for that, move!¡±


    ¡°Meek not leave without Ornn-¡°


    ¡°This wee shite tried to burn me to-¡°


    ¡°Squeaks, looks like we¡¯ve about ten-¡°


    Skidding to a stop, Skrakch didn¡¯t let the bickering trio keep spouting their nonsensical drivel. ¡°The Shade isn¡¯t the only issue, there¡¯s another Chosen on the way. We need to leave, now.¡± He ordered in as commanding a tone he could manage. He was feeling completely exhausted and the pain in his shoulder was relentless.


    ¡°Then me need help!¡± Meekknuckle yelled, rushing to Ornn¡¯s inner Core and beginning to shove it. ¡°Too heavy just me.¡±


    Sucking in a deep breath, Skrakch turned a clinical eye towards his companions. Zacharias had a shit-eating grin on his face, but it was clear the Halfling was paler than usual and was favoring his left side.


    Meekknuckle looked the best of the bunch, no doubt due to his healing magic but as he struggled to move what was left of Ornn¡¯s body, it was obvious just how exhausted he was.


    Where Zach and Meek looked worse for wear however, it was Winifred who was wavering on her feet and struggling to keep her eyes open.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Normally, the brunette looked like a brawler through and through, her arm muscles alone thick enough that they were larger than Zacharias¡¯ legs. Now though, she looked worn down and haggard in a way that defied belief.


    Pale as a ghost, her entire body looked like she¡¯d aged thirty years. Her arms were dangling limply by her side, and she looked more like a kind old lady than a bloody Chosen. She was covered in patches of dried blood and already had numerous nasty-looking purple and black bruises blooming across her body.


    ¡°Gods Below, you look fucking awful¡± Skrakch let out a startled gasp, before shaking his head. Winifred opened her bloody lips, no doubt ready to severely rebuke him. ¡°Wait, we have no time for this.¡± He continued.


    The Ratling shot a worried look back towards the Shade, and the column of flesh that no doubt carried the Ghast towards it. ¡°Zach, help Winifred get going. I¡¯ll help Meekknuckle.¡±


    He looked around for the clearest route through the rubble. Moving Ornn¡¯s Core was going to be a massive pain in the ass but it wouldn¡¯t do to leave the Golem behind. As much as Skrakch didn¡¯t want to admit it, he was a vital part of their team.


    He was about to turn around to order Meek about when suddenly, his arm was yanked into the air. There was a sickening popping noise and a fresh flare of pain and then, as quickly as it happened, the pain subsided to a more manageable level. Skrakch twisted around with a snarl as he wrenched his arm free, turning to see what had just happened.


    Winifred grinned at him through bloodied teeth as she let go of his arm. ¡°Ye can thank me for that later.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ that was heartwarming,¡± Zacharias said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. He offered his arm to Winifred in the perfect parody of a gentleman about to escort a lady. ¡°C¡¯mon on then Winnie love, let¡¯s get outta here.¡±


    ¡°I dinnae need help from ye, ya wee fucker,¡± Winifred coughed out indignantly, before beginning to hobble her way to the exit. ¡°Yer more likely to ditch me as help regardless as soon as the change presents itself.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon Winnie, you wound me!¡± Zach said glibly, before stepping beside the slow moving fighter. ¡°I¡¯ve never disappointed a lady before.¡±


    ¡°Only cuz you¡¯ve never met a proper lady, ye little shite-¡°


    Ignoring the bickering duo, Skrakch hurried over to Ornn¡¯s side, momentarily marveling at the much thicker layer of stone covering the orb-shaped Core of the Golem.


    Though any wonder quickly fled the Ratling¡¯s mind as he realized how much more weight they would need to get moving.


    In fact, Meekknuckle himself barely seemed to be able to move the Core, straining heavily only to budge the fairly large boulder his friend had become.


    Thoughts rapidly flickered through Skrakch¡¯s mind as he tried to think of a clever way to speed up the process¡­ before letting out a growl of frustration and trying to push Ornn across the broken ground. His formerly dislocated shoulder was still very sore so wasn¡¯t really much help with moving the damn thing.


    It felt like¡­ well, like trying to push a boulder with only one arm. For every massive push the two smaller creatures managed, Ornn barely budged as his Core caught in random bits of debris.


    As they accidentally wedged his Core up against the ruined rubble of collapsed podium, Skrakch let out an angry yell as he half-leaned, half-collapsed against the cold stone that made up Ornn¡¯s exterior.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t working Meek,¡± The Ratling finally mustered, turning around to eye the Shade. From where they were standing, Skrakch could actually make out the Ghast¡¯s well-wrapped form as the Undead was dragged towards its eventual fate.


    The damn thing had nearly killed the brown Iskrin in a single lunge, and now it was nothing but rancid meat on a chopping board. Just the thought of that made Skrakch seethe in anger and jealousy both, but he prided himself on making rational decisions.


    And it was obvious they weren¡¯t going to make it out of the estate, not while carrying literal dead weight.


    ¡°We need to run Meek. If we¡¯re lucky, the damned Shade won¡¯t bother with Ornn and we can come back for him. No sense in us all dying, right?¡± Skrakch said.


    ¡°Meek not leave Ornn behind.¡± The Goblin stated resolutely, facing Skrakch with a serious look on his face. ¡°But me understand. You go, Meek figure out new plan.¡±


    Skrakch couldn¡¯t help the hiss of frustration from slipping through his lips as he considered turning away. ¡°Gods Below, you¡¯re an idiot Meek. You¡¯ll get yourself killed¡­or worse!¡±


    Lining up his sore shoulder with the Core, Skrakch tried to brace himself before muttering, ¡°But I guess so am I.¡±


    Slamming his full weight into Ornn, he nearly blacked out from the pain but grit his teeth and started shoving with everything he had.


    It was a long, painful few seconds before the Iskrin felt the Core begin to move once more, dislodging and rolling once more.


    Desperation fueled their bodies as Meek and Skrakch threw all they had into shoving Ornn, but they were only halfway to the only open doorway nearby when Skrakch felt a strange chill run down his spine.


    Switching to shoving with his back against the stone orb, Skrakch watched as the Ghast finally reached the Chosen Shade.


    He hadn¡¯t fully known what to expect. The Ghast was a completely unknown factor, but as the Undead reached the massive lump of twisting flesh, it finally seemed to wake up in a sudden lurch.


    The Ghast moved oddly tentatively at first, seeming confused by the tendrils holding it down. It began a slow struggle against the bindings, but it quickly seemed to gather steam as it began to resist the Shade¡¯s grasp.


    Mindless as it was, the Ghast had already shown just exactly what it was good at. Even as it was pulled inside the full, thrashing mass that compromised the Shade¡¯s actual body, its long claws began to rip and tear with wild abandon.


    Black blood sprayed freely across the Arena as the Shade¡¯s tendrils struggled to keep ahold of the Ghast, both foes unrelenting in their ferocity. The Shade regenerated from any blow dealt to its mass but the Undead Abomination didn¡¯t tire, didn¡¯t need to breathe even as its chest was constricted, until one of its legs finally crumpled under the pressure.


    As the Ghast was brought to its knees, more and more of the Shade began wrapping around the Undead¡¯s body, its torso being punctured by slimy blackened flesh. When the Shade had possessed Survix, it had taken on her general form but with the monstrous Undead, it simply plunged itself deep into the Ghast¡¯s body. Despite the Ghast¡¯s huge size advantage, their deadly tussle was clearly going in favor of the Shade.


    Bit by bit, the Shade¡¯s tendrils wrapped about the Ghast¡¯s bones, mimicking tendons and muscles. Before long, the Ghast¡¯s left arm was covered by a skinless facsimile of a mortal arm, appearing more as a Giant¡¯s mutilated limb than an Undead¡¯s arm.


    Rather than continue its relentless attack on the Shade however, the Undead¡¯s left arm began to grapple and tear at its own flesh as it betrayed the Ghast¡¯s body. Before long the only part of the Ghast that remained above the Chosen¡¯s swarming mass was the Undead¡¯s head, dagger-like teeth still ripping and tearing at everything within reach.


    The sight of the Ghast being submerged was an image that would haunt Skrakch for years but even that paled to the sight that swiftly followed as the ¡®Ghast¡¯ took to its feet.


    Now fully encased within black and burnt flesh, the Abomination no longer looked like a hollow shell of a man, but stood as a true Undead Giant.


    Slowly swirling flesh adorned the Shade¡¯s newest host and Skrakch felt his breath freeze in his chest as it let loose a roar so loud that the very ground trembled beneath his paws.


    ¡°Gods Above¡­¡± Skrakch could hardly think, pure panic pulsing through his body as he struggled to get his paws to move, to do anything but quake in abject fear.


    Mentally willing his body to move, the Rune Mage struggled to think of anything that could save him, before he heard a distinct keening noise that rivaled the Shade¡¯s own scream emanating from above.


    ¡°Move, stupid Ratman!¡± A sudden jostle grabbed Skrakch¡¯s attention away from the Shade as he looked down at Meekknuckle, the Goblin still shoving against Ornn with a focused determination in his eyes.


    The idea was so nonsensical that it nearly made Skrakch burst out into loud manic laughter. ¡°There¡¯s no point Meek, as soon as that -thing- wants to, it¡¯ll kill us in a second!¡±


    ¡°You really stupid, Rat. You no feel Mana, feel where it go?¡± Meek mocked, taking a second to jab a finger upwards before redoubling his efforts. ¡°Meek thought you Mage but Rat just blind.¡±


    Tilting his head upwards, Skrakch hadn¡¯t the faintest clue what the Goblin was yammering about. The only thing Skrakch could see through the ruined frame of the estate was the sky, the bright blue sky¡­ in the middle of the night.


    In the perpetually cloudy Dray¡¯Mel.


    Sucking in his teeth, Skrakch pushed the faintest trickle of his remaining Mana towards his eyes and felt his fear melt away in place of unbridled awe.


    When Skrakch had first discovered his Core, before he even knew what his Core actually was, the young Ratling had opened his eyes to see Dray¡¯Mel as in its full, terrible, glory.


    No matter where he looked he saw the same sight, a thick cloying smog that clung to everything he could see. A horrific layer of depression that seemed to coat the buildings and the people making them appear ugly and twisted. Even when he would cast his own Runes, there was only ever a brief flicker of purple Arcane magic that was swiftly reclaimed by the ever present death that filled Dray¡¯Mel.


    He¡¯d since learned that it was the Necromantic taint in the air, corrupting everything it touched, until it was the only naturally occurring Mana in the city.


    Every time Skrakch had used his Mana Sight prior, the inexperienced Rune Mage had to parse through the unending haze to pick through what little remnants of other Mana was left behind as it slowly disappeared.


    It was a known reality of any mortal Mage living in Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s limits, an unbreakable truth to Mana that Skrakch had never seen overcome, not even the Goblin¡¯s Patriarch spellcasting could break through the ever present Necromantic energy for any lasting amount of time.


    Which was what made the sight above Skrakch all the more impressive, as dozens of different aspect-tinged motes of pure Mana floated throughout the destroyed Arena.


    Everywhere the new Mana touched swiftly became dyed with a different aspect, flecks of red painting a pillar red to Skrakch¡¯s Sight. Another mote would soon land and create a dizzying mish-mash of colors as the motes blurred together.


    If it was just that, Skrakch would have been suitably impressed no doubt, but as the colors intermingled, the aspiring Mage began to see hundreds of Runes being painted with an impeccable touch.


    Before long, the entire Arena was covered in Runes of all kinds, each defying Skrakch¡¯s knowledge and common sense. It was like an amateur bard watching a maestro at work, struggling to understand even a fraction of the notes, much less understand the flow of the melody.


    It was a true feast for his eyes as the amateur Rune Mage tried to remember each little detail he could spot. Skrakch had always prided himself on his memory, but the Rune¡¯s felt elusive to his senses. Each new Rune was a glimpse into another world of spell casting¡­


    It was a bittersweet sight though, because if Skrakch had the time to study each Rune in detail, his own comprehension would progress through leaps and bounds. He itched to try and break down each and every one, to take his knowledge further than even The Patriarch could take it.


    What little he could parse in the moment though, seemed to be a truly eclectic mixture of Runes. Some seemed to be created to speed up a target with Fire aspected Mana, then another would be to perfectly sear a hunk of meat.


    A repeating Rune that the Ratling kept seeing was one meant to¡­ teleport cattle? Honestly, Skrakch wasn¡¯t entirely convinced he was understanding that one properly at first, but each Rune he struggled to understand even a glimmer of, just led to more confusion.


    It was the largest display of Arcane might that he would probably ever see in his life and it was being used for baffling drivel. Why was someone casting a Rune to lightly vibrate laundry enmasse?


    In fact¡­ as his wonderment at the sight settled down, Skrakch began to see that almost -all- the Runes were simply a jumbled mess sprawled in a confusing mixture of perfection and carelessness. Truly, the very idea of them all activating at once was madness itself.


    Once they activated, each Rune would at best feed into one another, and at worse¡­


    Oh¡­ shit.


    The sheer madness -was- the point, each Rune hastily flung outwards without care for the end result. Skrakch couldn¡¯t decide if it was brilliant or sheer madness, but as soon as the Runes were activated, only the Gods Above or Below knew what would occur.


    On one hand, the aspect of Fire might win out and a blazing inferno would cook them all in seconds. Or the Light Runes would cascade beautiful with the might of the sun itself.


    Living shadows might consume the city, or the fabric of reality would crumble as Gravity simply broke. Metal shards could phase into existence and turn the Arena into a hurricane of sharpened death.


    Time itself could erode and they¡¯d all be forced into an endless limbo where even death would be an escape. Or maybe the Naming Mana would take hold, and possibly all that would happen is that he wouldn¡¯t -be- Skrakch anymore.


    Even that wouldn¡¯t be clear cut though. Would his name simply change, or would he -become- a different person. With that much wild magic spiraling out of control, one second he was the most handsome Iskrin around, the next he could be a human. Or a Halfling, or a bugbear, or a thousand different things.


    It all came down to a roll of the dice, and Skrakch had a front row seat to unadulterated-


    Chaos¡­


    To Skrakch¡¯s eye, it was like the beautiful blue sky above him simply cracked. A huge fissure running from one end to the next. As the first of the Runes activated an invisible pressure came down on him and Meekknuckle, the Goblin dropping to his knees as Skrakch collapsed beside him.


    The cascading energies kept swelling, the Mana-tinged air shifting colors as Skrakch struggled to keep his eyes open. One moment the Ratling could smell burning, the next a refreshing meadow, and then a sensation of falling.


    For a confusing few seconds, Skrakch could distinctly feel time moving backwards, his mind struggling to reconcile the fact his existence was being rewound. Then time slammed back into place and he felt his heart skip a beat, before his skin began to melt. Little bubbles began bursting out of his body, each metallic orb a dizzying mixture of clashing colours.


    Grabbing onto Meekknuckle, he stopped moving Mana to his eyes and just tried to hold on as The Ratling finally closed his eyes and prayed¡­


    After the longest five seconds of his life, the turbulent storm settled into a dull thrum. Whatever the final result had been, the Mana that remained seemed almost as prone to fluctuating as the madness that had presided over it.


    ¡°Me not dead!¡± Meekknuckle called out, joyously, shaking Skrakch from side to side as the Ratling cautiously cracked an eyelid.


    All he could do was let out a choked sob as Skrakch struggled to his feet. Part of him was amazed but most of all, he was confused. Right up until he spotted the elephant in the room, an idiom that felt oddly fitting.


    Looming above them was a creature unlike any Skrakch had seen before, its massive form dwarfing the Arena itself as it struggled to keep its head from bashing in the little bits of ceiling that remained.


    It was, without a doubt, the most deeply concerning creature Skrakch had ever dreamed of. Not only because of the sheer size, but because of the wildly contradicting elements that made up its body.


    Eight long thick black legs stabbed into the floor, bristling with little bits of hair that looked sharp enough to gut someone with. Each leg was long enough to raise to the ceiling before dropping down and connecting to the monstrosities back.


    It¡¯s furred back specifically, the torso of the beast looking oddly reminiscent of a Houroun¡¯s brown fur, which might explain the dangling pair of arms that ended in sharp claws. But curiously, it¡¯s back resembled something closer to a turtle shell, domed and hard with spiny nubs adorning it.


    Interspersed amongst the spider-like legs were wings, each one pointing in a different direction. Confusingly, they were all of varying sizes and so thin that Skrakch couldn¡¯t imagine them actually helping the monster fly.


    Its head was at the bottom of the creature¡¯s torso, where it seemed to twist and turn as its massive slitted eyes peered out from thickened scales, the head resembling some kind of lizard, long tongue lolling out of its mouth in a decidedly uncomfortable manner.


    Finally, stabbing down into the stone floor was a massive horn, the entire length of the blade-like appendage a warm crimson color that clashed with the rest of the creature.


    The Chosen, because what else could it be, was wrong. Everything about it made no sense to Skrakch, the combination of what could only be random animals making up the form of a truly nonsensical creature.


    The bear-like arms are too high up to reach anything down on the floor, the horn is too damned long to move around naturally. The fucking wings are just¡­ decoration?


    For all its size, Skrakch honestly couldn¡¯t imagine the new arrival squaring up against the Shade possessed Ghast, right up until Skrakch watched gobsmacked as hundreds of different coloured eyes began to open on the creature¡¯s torso.


    Each eye was a uniquely-shimmering color as they peeked out from the entity''s furred body, each glowing with a different kind of Mana as the entire room began light up with an increasing variety of Runes as the pressure built up in the Arena once more.


    The Ratling¡¯s mouth was hanging open as he stared in shock when a massive roar brought him back to reality.


    Compared to the looming Chosen monstrosity, the Shade¡¯s new form seemed severely lacking but the mindless Undead didn¡¯t seem to notice. Dashing towards the nearest spider leg, it screamed out in anger and began to claw into the other Chosen¡¯s flesh with ease.


    Each swipe of its claws was thrown out with such rage that the wind itself cut through the Arena walls, and-


    ¡°Nope.¡± Skrakch turned back to Ornn and rammed his weight into the Golem¡¯s Core. ¡°Nope, nope, nope...¡± He muttered the litany as he pushed against the stupid inert Boulder.


    Hopefully Zacharias had helped Winifred out of this place because there was no way in all Hells that he was going to turn back. Not now. Not ever.


    Fuck this for a load of Wraith-shit. I¡¯m going to get out of here, and then I¡¯m going to drink an entire pint of piss-ale until I pass out.

 Chapter Ninety-Eight: A touch of Madness

    Interestingly enough, the Dray¡¯Mel library only had the on single book on Iskrin biology amidst it''s surprisingly full shelves. When Skrakch had first found ¡®An in-depth Autopsy of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s Native Creatures: N - Z¡¯ as he ¡®helped¡¯ the librarians properly organize the shelves of his favorite haunt all those months ago, the brown Iskrin had been properly ecstatic.


    Finally he¡¯d had a frame of reference for his own body, the book had been an invaluable tool that had helped him learn more about his own physique then ever before. Skrakch hadn¡¯t been entirely sure he needed to know that his tail was essentially part of his spine, but the fact he did know was of great comfort to him.


    Which was why the Ratling was feeling slightly betrayed by his own body as he could feel each of his individual tendons and bones screaming out in pain as he pushed past his own limits to move a goddamn boulder while two fucking Chosen threw around enough strength to kill him a dozen times over by accident.


    Skrakch kept his eyes forward as he heaved up against Ornn¡¯s Core, slowly making their way towards the nearest exit and the freedom it promised.


    ¡°Almost there,¡± he muttered, mostly to himself. ¡°Just a bit further. Just a bit¡­ further.¡±


    Slipping on some loose bits of stone, the Iskrin let out a deep groan as he looked over at Meekknuckle, the poor Goblin in an even worse state than he was.


    If it wasn¡¯t for the fact Skrakch could see the Goblin straining to push his companion''s inert Core, Skrakch would be certain Meekknuckle was practically comatose on his feet. Meek had his eyes closed, his whole body pressed against the boulder that was Ornn¡¯s body, and even without Skrakch¡¯s Mana Sight, the Ratling could tell the Goblin was running on fumes alone.


    Skrakch¡¯s own Mana reserve were running low, a fact made all the more painful by the sheer amount of ambient Mana flowing in the air around them. Whatever the newest arrival was doing was leaving quite the mark on the Arena and the change in Mana density was giving Skrakch a massive migraine.


    Unable to resist himself at the reminder, Skrakch peeked behind his back and let loose a whimper at the sight that awaited him.


    The brown Iskrin had personally seen quite a few battles in his days, but none came even close to matching the brutality of the two inhumane Chosen currently attacking one another. Even Winifred¡¯s battle with the Shade had a veneer of civility but this? This was all out war. A brutal one at that.


    Sure, Winnie could move at speeds that boggled his mind but Skrakch could still see her reliance on training, distinctly human, no, mortal movements guiding her attacks and footwork.


    The two monstrosities behind him had no such instincts as they fought tooth and¡­ claw?


    The Shade-Ghast was massively outsized by its looming foe but every attack it threw towards the spider-like legs of the new Chosen cut deep into the monstrous beast¡¯s hide with a fountain of sickly red blood. It was a stark reminder that if Skrakch had been forced to continue fighting the Ghast in close quarters, the odds were decent he''d be mincemeat in no time.


    Worse yet, that was before the Shade had seemingly merged with the Undead. Each rending claw seemed less like a single blow and seemed more like a living, or unliving, butcher''s grinder made flesh.


    Skrakch hadn''t the faintest clue what the other Chosen even was, but the monstrosity was just as deadly as it fought back with it''s own jerking motions. Yet with surprising precision, one of its legs pierced clean through the Shade''s body and pinned it to the floor, before two other spear-like legs began rhythmically stabbing into the Undead. Even from a distance Skrakch could see dozens of gashes piercing through the Shade¡¯s chest, each recovering just in time to be replaced with another two stabbings.


    ¡®What in the Nine Hells even is that? It¡¯s almost as if it was a twisted mishmash of the natural order.¡¯ Skrakch thought to himself as he stared gobsmacked, before pulling himself together. ¡®The only thing similar that I¡¯ve read of is a bloody Chimera, but¡­¡¯


    Pinned as the Shade was, the Ratling assumed it would be in danger of being overwhelmed but the Undead-Shade barely seemed to notice as it continued its own reckless attacks. Even held down against the Arena''s floor as it was, the Ghast refused to relent from it''s mindless aggression. For every piercing blow it took, its body rapidly healed from the attacks, and having a leg in its chest just gave it a better target for its claws.


    In turn, the ¡®Chimera¡¯ as Skrakch decided to christen it for now, seemed to be actually taking damage as its leg was ripped apart, but the swelling Mana in the room meant it was likely about to cast more of its insane, almost apocalyptic magic.


    Turning back to Ornn, Skrakch let out a shrill squeak as he began shoving once more. ¡®Please let us get out of here, I¡¯m so done with this shit!¡¯


    In his desperation the Ratling tried to shove some of his Mana into his arms, hoping to give his struggles a helpful edge.


    While Physical Enhancement magic really wasn¡¯t his cup of tea, he¡¯d seem Winifred cast basic enhancements on herself constantly. ¡®How hard can it be?¡¯


    It turned out the answer was ¡®extremely difficult.¡¯ Almost instantly his Mana began running out of control and before he could stabilize it, Skrakch accidentally pushed the Mana out through his hands and directly into Ornn¡¯s Core.


    Lightheaded from the failed attempt, Skrakch was about to collapse on his knees when an answering swell of Mana flowed into him.


    Gasping at the sudden influx of energy, the sudden reversal of Mana left Skrakch feeling overwhelmed until he felt the foreign Mana settle into his own Core.


    ¡®So tired. Let me¡­ sleep¡­¡¯


    Even as numb as Skrakch was feeling, the message was as clear as day to him. Ornn, the lumbering Golem, could think. Could bloody well communicate. He¡¯d seen Meekknuckle touch the Golem before, even noticed him offering his Mana to the construct, but this was more then Skrakch had ever expected.


    If he had the time or the energy, this revelation would have blown Skrakch¡¯s mind. As it was, the Ratling just immediately pulled that foreign Mana from his Core and directed it right back towards Ornn.


    ¡®Wake the fuck up! Now!¡¯


    <hr>


    Each rumble of the floor lulled the Golem further into his slumber, each tremor running through the stone floor pulling him deeper into his blissful rest.


    The earth sang to him, promising an uncompromising sleep and the Golem let the lullaby guide his mind towards stillness. He knew intrinsically that he had nothing to fear from the deep sleep, from the siren call lulling him to rest amongst the dirt and stone surrounding him.


    It felt right for Ornament to fall asleep, to let time pass him by as he reconstructed himself. His Core was more exposed than it had ever been and he could feel his thoughts peter out into the world without his stone shell.


    Like most Golems, he had no true understanding of urgency, no concern for the passing of the sun and moon¡­


    But that wasn¡¯t true for his companions, the little ones always clamouring around him. Each was so distinct and¡­ loud. Even his life long companion was always poking at him with his Mana, always egging him on to another adventure.


    ¡®No, not egging. Encouraging.¡¯


    The urge to sleep was overwhelming, and he could feel it affecting his mind. Over the years he¡¯d learned that most Golems were rather sedentary in nature and it was clear to Ornament that he¡¯d be much the same without Meekknuckle behind him.


    Even now, Ornament could feel Meekknuckle¡¯s Mana slowly dripping into his own Core, each little sprinkle of Mana carrying the little Goblin¡¯s intent clearer than any words.


    We. Will. Be. Fine. Do. Not. Worry.


    Even as the Goblin¡¯s Core emptied out in his chest, Meekknuckle kept sending what little Mana he could collect towards his companion. Each droplet was filled with warmth and comfort, white lies said with pure intentions.


    When the Golem was whole and well, each message was a welcome reminder that his protector was nearby. No matter what came for them, Ornament had been confident that his crafty companion would know just what to do.


    When the duo would stumble across bits of broken sewers, Meekknuckle would be the one to guide Ornament to safety. The Goblin could outsmart the beetles that so often sought to carve out the stones that made up his chest, he was even nimble enough to dodge attacks that Ornament could never avoid, deftly hold fragile creations that simply broke when Ornament went to touch them.


    Meekknuckle had always been his guiding light and Ornament was all too happy to follow in his wake.


    Whenever they¡¯d run into something strange or unusual, Ornament¡¯s instincts would scream at him to flee, each new encounter filling the Golem with uneasy dread. ¡®What new way will this attack us? What twisted being haunts us now?¡¯


    And each time, Meek would laugh and send him reassurance with a gentle touch of his Mana before going to investigate the nuisance. Before long, his companion would have diffused the situation or explained to Ornament that it was an easy thing to avoid.


    There had been only two times that Ornament could remember when his earnest protector hadn¡¯t been able to save him.


    The last time Meekknuckle hadn¡¯t been able to protect them, Ornament had nearly gone to sleep as well. The Golem could only remember the blistering cold as it cracked away at his body, then the sensation of an overwhelming amount of Mana overpowering him.


    Then pain, as his arms were ripped away from him.


    Even that paled in comparison to the time the Patriarch had taken note of him. Meekknuckle had taken great pains to hide Ornament from his father, and for good reason. The Golem could still remember the sensation of his body being torn apart piece by piece. There had been no malice in the act, just an uncaring exploration of what made Ornament tick.


    Only to be tossed aside when Blazock decided he was of no interest to him. Ornament had fallen into a deep slumber then, and been so very surprised to wake up to an entire Goblin nest having been built around his idling Core. One more time that Meekknuckle had done his best to help him...


    This time though, this time Ornament was going to stay awake. This time he would be the one to protect his friend, no matter the cost.


    And so, the Golem struggled to move. His body had been shattered by a beast so strong, Ornament could barely comprehend it. Bit by bit though, he could repair himself. Little pieces of stone, upturned during the fight between ¡®strong-friend¡¯ and the ''unholy-thing''.


    ¡®Sleep would be so easy though. Just to drift off, only to wake up once I¡¯m fixed.¡¯


    Drifting in that state of uneasy awareness, Ornament continued his struggle in quiet contemplation. At least until he felt a foreign touch on his mind.


    Whenever Meekknuckle would speak with him, the exchange of Mana was always small. A little nudge of intent, a question asked in a whisper. Just a dollop of Meek¡¯s Mana was enough to facilitate an entire conversation¡­


    With Skrakch, however, the Ratling¡¯s erratic sending of Mana collided with Ornn¡¯s Core with all the subtlety of a battering ram. A confusing whirlwind of emotions bombarded the Golem, each bit of Mana drenched in desperation and fear or tinged with bravery or jealousy.


    The deluge of sensations and emotions overwhelmed the Golem and left Ornament momentarily adrift. Painstakingly examining the new emotions with a curious mind, Ornament was still reeling when he heard the earth¡¯s lullaby wash over him again.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.It was all very exciting but a Golem wasn¡¯t meant for excitement, it seemed to say. Still, Ornament felt compelled to answer the little one¡¯s message. Filtering through the foreign Mana, Ornament let it energies his Core before sending it back to Skrakch, signalling his intent to sleep, to recover, to rest.


    ¡®Wake the fuck up! Now!¡¯


    As the Mana spiralled into his Core, the Golem would have audibly gasped if he¡¯d had a mouth, as he felt the foreign energies deep into his soul. Where Skrakch''s first infusion of Mana had been directionless, this new message was all too clear and it cut deep into the Golem''s mind.


    It was like a lightning bolt to Ornament¡¯s Core, a wave of Mana filled with too many complex emotions for the Golem to fully understand but more than that, it flowed throughout his Core, filling and activating the Runes edged into Ornn¡¯s very being up in a way that the Golem had never experienced.


    For a disorientating moment, Ornament could feel his thoughts adapting to the sudden change, questions he¡¯d never bothered to ask were suddenly being answered.


    He was a Golem, but he was also not. The few brethren he¡¯d seen were empty things, empty of thoughts and soul. Shuffling mindlessly to obey their masters, but he was something more than that. Ornament had no master¡­ but he did have friends.


    While Ornament couldn¡¯t perceive the world through eyesight, the Golem could sense his surroundings by slowly cycling his Mana outwards from his Core. Now though, the process was rapid to the point of being near-instant, and what the Golem saw nearly broke his rocky ¡®heart¡¯.


    Pressed up against his stone exterior were Ornament¡¯s two most common companions, both little creatures still trying to move the weight of his Core with their dwindling strength.


    Even as he ¡®looked¡¯ down at them, Ornament could see the frustration on Skrakch¡¯s face as the Ratling sent spike after spike of Mana toward¡¯s the Golem¡¯s Core. Each bit of offered Mana splashed against Ornn¡¯s Core as the Golem rebuffed it.


    Not out of indifference or out of the urge to slumber, but out of worry as Ornament instead focused on Meekknuckle, as the Goblin struggled to save him. With Ornn¡¯s newfound awareness, it was obvious to the Golem that Meekknuckle had completely emptied his own Core. Each little bit of Mana came from his body''s natural regeneration, the Goblin¡¯s lifeforce draining itself away so that Meek could connect with his rocky companion.


    Ornament¡¯s Mana flowed through the air around them as the Golem struggled to get it¡¯s bearings, seeing the Arena with fresh senses. Watching as the two creatures he didn¡¯t recognize battled with one another, watching as ''strong-friend''... No, as Winifred held open the door and called back to the trio, with ''Zacharias'' nowhere to be seen.


    The Golem also noted the broken rubble floor surrounding them, noticed the little bits of earth clinging to his Core as he instinctively tried to pull himself back together. Each little piece was slowly attached as it melted together to form a rough outline of his body. It was how Ornn had always recovered to his natural state of being, small additions adding upon themselves bit by bit.


    And it was so very painfully inefficient.


    Plunging his Mana into the rubble surrounding his Core, Ornament beckoned the stone floor itself to move towards him, asking it to melt and merge into a tidal wave of earth that swept up and over his companions, pulling them safely upwards as he began to refashion himself. The melody of the earth surrounding him seemed to change, the lulling tones turning questioning, but still the earth was happy to listen to his call.


    Ignoring Skrakch¡¯s cry of terror and Meek¡¯s quiet acceptance, Ornament first began to build his body as it had been, shaped in the form of a human before realizing that it would take far too long. Instead, he requested the stone rubble beneath his companions to form itself into a loose cup of stone as Ornn held them steady.


    Finally, Ornn let his Core drift below the ground¡¯s surface as the stone welcomed him as a long-lost brother, bits of dirt circling his Core as the Golem fell into the cold embrace of the earth itself.


    From there, it was as simple as requesting the bits of stone to move forwards, his Mana politely infusing itself into the surrounding rubble began to shift and swirl. The top layer of stone shifted towards the exit, as the bottom fled towards the back of the room.


    Moving across the ruined Arena floor in a surprisingly graceful flow of stone, Ornament could still feel the urge to slow down, to embrace the tranquillity of the earth.


    But it only took him one look at Meekknuckle¡¯s face as the little Goblin passed out to remember why he needed to keep on fighting.


    ¡®We must flee, flee before-¡®


    <hr>


    Winifred let out a wheezy gasp as she watched the Arena floor begin to shift and move, blood trickling down her limbs as she struggled to remain standing. At first, the brunette had assumed it was an attack by the goddamn spiderthing that had shown up out of nowhere, but watching as Skrakch¡¯s muzzle went from terrified to delighted¡­


    ¡®Well, the Ratling has definitely smiled in the face of death before.¡¯


    Still, she was happy to see her companions moving. As soon as Zacharias had helped her reach the door, the heartless prick had muttered something about preparing the estate¡¯s gate.


    Seconds later he was gone, no doubt fleeing for his worthless life. Leaving her standing amongst the ruined Arena¡¯s walls, just steps away from freedom. Only a flimsy, half destroyed door stopping her in her tracks.


    She wasn¡¯t an idiot. Every second she spent standing by on bloodied feet was another second she risked getting attacked by the two Chosen but Winnie wasn¡¯t going to run. Not before the other two got out. ¡®I¡¯m nae fucking Zacharias.¡¯


    She wasn¡¯t entirely sure what she¡¯d been expecting from the Halfling but his abandonment still stung.


    ¡®Bloody hell, this shite is affecting me more than I thought.¡¯ Winifred coughed a glob of spit into her hand as she waited by the doorway to freedom.


    It had been hard to watch Meek and Skrakch as they struggled to move the Core without her but the number one rule she¡¯d learned in her fights in the pits was to always be realistic with your body.


    ¡®An¡¯ fuck me does -all- of me hurt.¡¯ Winifred had always thought of herself as a fighter, someone who could take their licks and still come out swinging but¡­


    This was so much more than a dislocated shoulder or a broken nose. She¡¯d felt her body breaking down as she forced herself to match the Ghast in combat, felt her muscles atrophy in her arms.


    It was Hell. Pure and simple torture, but she''d kept swinging. ¡®What else are ye good for, lass?¡¯


    This entire venture was a disaster but the fact she hadn¡¯t been able to take out the Shade gnawed at her.


    This was what she did. Who she was. Fighting was what made her ¡®Winifred¡¯ and not a Lady Of Society.


    Her mind skittered back to that first moment when she¡¯d woken up after becoming a Chosen. Crushing Sykes skull in her hand. The sheer ecstasy of it.


    But she also remembered what had happened afterwards. Waking up to Fang¡¯Mel taking her. Being strapped to the table, examined by the Tomb-Makers like she was just a slab of meat. Three months of poking and prodding, of being forced to fight that monster. Again and again, getting slapped down with such¡­ ease.


    Winifred could feel her eyes sting as she fought off the memories, bringing up a gore soaked fist to haphazardly swipe away her tears.


    This was meant to be her shining moment. Winifred the unbreakable, domineering and powerful. Hells, the Ratling had done more than her with his potions and his new spell.


    ¡®It was disgusting. Pathetic. What¡¯s even the-¡®


    A sense of danger slammed into her and pulled her from her morose thoughts. Even distracted as she was, Winifred knew enough to keep an eye on Ornn and the two enemy Chosens as they clashed against each other.


    Which was why she was able to notice the Shade-Ghast as it ripped itself free from where it had been impaled on the ground. She could clearly see the way it looked around for something to attack, even as the monstrosity above it reeled backwards on skittering spider legs, even it''s Houroun-shaped head opening its mouth to scream incoherently.


    Leaving just Ornn in the Shade¡¯s sights. As fast as the Golem¡¯s impromptu wave of rock was, it was nothing compared to the speed of the Shade as it began to lunge towards where Skrakch and Meekknuckle were coasting along the Arena floor, attracted by either the Mana the Golem was tossing about wildly, or just seeking to attack anything that moved.


    As tired as she was, Winifred didn¡¯t even notice as she began to move towards them all, time slowing down as her senses began to speed up. Her body screamed in pain but it was a distant thought as the brawler burst into motion.


    Break¡­


    The ground cracked below her feet as she kicked off, eyeing the distance with a critical eye. There wasn¡¯t any way she would make it, not at the speed the brawler was currently moving.


    Before Winifred could consciously think of it, however, her Mana began to move through her body. Fighting its way past the power given by her own Pact. Both sources of strength seemed incompatible with one another, but Winifred couldn''t care less about that. Not when her companions were about to die before her eyes.


    It was a fickle thing, but instinctively Winifred knew what she needed to do. Balancing the two different sources of Mana was improbable at best, but she only needed to manage it for a moment.


    Mana coursing towards her hands, Winifred could feel her bones breaking from the pressure but as her Mana reached her artifacts, the Chosen couldn''t help but grin.


    Before Skrakch or Meekknuckle, or even the Shade could realize it, Winifred appeared beside the Undead monstrosity as her Blink strike activated, the ability of her knuckledusters propelling her forwards in the blink of an eye. Dwarfed by the Ghast''s size, the sight may have looked comical to anyone who had the ability to see her blurred form as her full body haymaker connected with the Shade¡¯s body.


    For a few fuzzy seconds in Winifred¡¯s foggy mind, she could picture a small little orb travelling through space.


    The sight should have been alarming, or at the very least confusing, but the Chosen felt an odd connection with the marble.


    It drifted aimlessly for what seemed like eons, before a massive planet began to show up in the corner of Winifred¡¯s vision. The drifting mote of energy she was tethered to, made it¡¯s way closer and closer, until it finally reached the planet.


    Winifred hadn¡¯t the faintest idea what was happening, but as she watched the marble-sized orb as it collided with the hunk of rock and life billions of times bigger than the orb, she felt a flush of power ring out.


    Without stopping or slowing in the slightest, the orb penetrated deep into the planet crust, the area nearest to the collision point becoming a wave of rippling molten rock that spread outwards, even as geysers of lava broke out across the planet''s surface.


    The force of the impact was so powerful, Winifred could see existence itself being pulled inwards, the planet''s matter pulling in on itself even as it crumbled into millions of little shards of stardust.


    It only took less than a second for the entire planet to succumb, its entire physical structure collapsing inwards, outwards, truly and utterly destroyed, an entire world destroyed in the time it would take Winifred to blink.


    The only thing left an unphased orb, continuing onwards. Everything that it touched, annihilated completely.


    Break¡­


    Suddenly back in her body, Winifred watched with fascination as her fist collided with Shade¡¯s torso, her knuckle dusters shattering to pieces even as the Undead¡¯s blackened flesh and bones practically evaporated from the force of the blow.


    Huge chunks of the Chosen¡¯s flesh melted instantly, an intangible force spreading outwards from Winifred¡¯s attack. What little remained didn¡¯t break or bleed as it broke apart, no regeneration following as the Shade tried to flee the Ghast¡¯s broken body, the black sludge that made up its body desperate to seek its freedom.


    Small parts of rotten meat managed to disengage from the melting bones, but the rippling aftereffects doggedly pursued all traces of the Shade¡¯s energy. Finally, the ghostly form of Shade abandoned even those same bits of flesh, the wraith-like Specter desperately attempted to escape upwards through the shattered mansion¡¯s body, but there was no respite to be found.


    As the dust settled in the Arena, Winifred stared up in shock as the Shade died its final, true death. The befuddled brawler took in the massive gap in the already destroyed mansion roof, what little remained of Rodyr¡¯s estate obliterated by a single punch.


    As she stared gobsmacked at the burnt husk of her right arm, a brilliantly white sheen on the pointed tip of the exposed bone that was her forearm.


    As a raw scream ripped itself from her body, all she could make out was a thousand shining eyes staring down at her as the remaining Chosen moved its torso down towards her, a smoking hole having been blasted through its center of mass.


    As she fell backwards, her eyes rolling into the back of her-


    <hr>


    Skrakch had never felt more confused in his life. One second he was staring at Winifred and his freedom as the goddamn ground itself ferried him to safety, and the next he felt an explosion of power behind his head that beggared all belief.


    By the time he turned around, all he could see was Winifred¡¯s body tumbling backwards, the absolute maniac¡¯s right arm a disgusting mess of gore.


    Even though his muscles screamed in protest, Skrakch lunged to grab at the ruined remnants of her shirt, his tail desperately swirling as he tried to keep his balance inside Ornn''s impromptu stone grasp.


    Heaving Winifred towards the barrel of stone that may or may not be Ornn¡¯s body, Skrakch just tried his best to stay awake and hold onto his companions slack body for dear life.


    The Ratling couldn¡¯t help but stare at the Chosen he''d dubbed ¡®Chimera¡¯ as Ornn led them to safety. Even with nearly all his companions unconscious or fleeing, the Chosen didn¡¯t seem that interested in them, it¡¯s thousand eyes simply tracking their movements.


    Thankfully, as Ornn reached the Arena doorway, the Golem didn¡¯t bother to slow his charge. Bits of wooden support beams crumbled or cracked as the Rogues burst out from a cellar door, finding themselves in Rodyr¡¯s once fanciful Estate Gardens.


    Now the corpse-filled, half-destroyed gardens looked like the most beautiful thing Skrakch had seen in what felt like months, his heart finally slowing to a normal level as freedom seemed within his grasp.


    Slowing slightly, Skrakch couldn¡¯t help the laughter that came bubbling out of his chest at the sight.


    ¡°We¡¯re alive! By the Gods Above or Below, we¡¯re fucking aliiiiiiive!¡± He screamed at the top of his lungs, even as his laughter turned to panicked whimpers.


    ¡®¡­How the Hells are we still alive!?¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Nine: Rat-Kings and the Ties that Bind

    The Gardens of Rodyr¡¯s mansion were a far cry from what Skrakch would consider ¡®safe¡¯ but just being free of the damned Arena and tasting the above ground night air had Skrakch¡¯s whiskers trembling in excitement. The once finely manicured gardens looked more like an empty battlefield than an artistic canvas ready to win a gardening competition at this point.


    Bushes were torn apart, some were punctured with massive holes. Others had been reduced to piles of leaves and bent twigs. The topiaries, which had once been carefully clipped to resemble Minotaur heads, had been torn asunder by the cleaving swords of the Tomb-Makers or ripped into pieces by the claws of their Ghoulish foes.


    The hoards of flowers, which had once been the jewel in the crown of the gardens, had been pulled up and were trampled into the grass and soil. The air was an odd mix of clashing scents from the crushed blooms mixed with the stench of the rotting bodies of fallen servants and Ghouls.


    Still , even in the oddly quiet night the Rogues had escaped too, there were plenty of reasons for Skrakch to keep his eyes peeled, so the Iskrin dutifully kept his gaze roving as he visually scanned the ruined hedge maze and stomped down flowers.


    The path Ornn was leading them down was on the opposite side of the estate that they¡¯d entered but the tableau that awaited them mirrored the front entrance.


    Bloody bodies and deep cuts were commonplace, remnants of the few survivors from the initial Ghoul swarm lying dead by Tomb-Maker blades. There were less corpses than before, but considering the sheer number of Ghouls he¡¯d killed with his new spell¡­


    ¡®We checked a few bodies and called it a day. Idiots.¡¯ Skrakch chastised himself as he continued holding Winifred¡¯s nearly lifeless body steady, resisting the urge to check her many wounds, especially the worrying stump adorning her right arm.


    ¡®Time enough for that when we get out of here, though normally I¡¯d give her a potion. Or get Meek to deal with it...¡¯ The Goblin in question wasn''t in much better shape than Winnie, slumped against the barrel-shaped cup of earth that Ornn had stuck them in. ¡®Not that I¡¯m complaining, but the rockhead could have gone for something more stylish.¡¯


    Which was how Skrakch found himself finally able to take a moment just to think, even if he absentmindedly kept his head on a swivel. Being on edge and aware of his surroundings had quickly become second nature for the Ratling over his meagre seven years of life.


    ''Ornn was sentient.''


    Not just a weirdly intelligent or sophisticated Golem, but a full blown creature with thoughts and¡­ well, maybe not desires, but the pile of stones clearly had its own set of principles.


    It explained why Ornn had gone charging after Winifred at least, ignoring Meekknuckle¡¯s warning cry. The brainless idiot was trying to protect the best fighter the Golem had ever met. Winnie had quite literally ripped Ornn¡¯s arms off, and the dolt still sought to protect her.


    ¡®It was heartwarming in a way,¡¯ Skrakch mused to himself, one of his claws idly tracing the stone underneath him. ¡®And I¡¯d best not call Ornn brainless out loud any time soon. His ability to shape the stone around him is clearly new, I wonder what prompted the change.¡¯


    Thoughts spinning a mile a minute, the furry Mage had to admit he hadn¡¯t the faintest clue. A lot had happened in quick succession, and frankly Ornn¡¯s change wasn¡¯t the most important thing to focus on at the moment.


    Neither was the arrival of yet another Chosen, the damned monstrosities crawling out of the woodwork. It was something of a hard pill for the Iskrin to swallow.


    After all, he¡¯d done so much over the past few weeks and months, when would it be his turn? Surely, something he¡¯d done had been worthy of being granted such a power? Why, after everything, was his own damned Pact still eluding him?


    Skrakch could only assume Winifred¡¯s ascension to their ranks was at play somehow when it came to the new Chosen''s rapid appearances. The brawler had certainly been laser focused on getting a chance to go toe-to-toe with one herself, not that it seemed to go well for her.


    As it was, Winifred was fully out of it, her sweaty head lolling to the side as Skrakch tried to hold her steady. If she¡¯d looked a little rough around the edges before her final attack on the Shade, the blasted woman looked closer to a Ghoul than a living human now. He¡¯d never seen her skin look so pale, her lips, at least the parts not crusted with dried blood, were almost white.


    Skrakch was certain that her blood soaked armour was hiding even worse wounds. He somehow doubted that even if he had a healing potion left to give her, it wouldn¡¯t do much.


    Hopefully Meekknuckle could help on that front once he was back on his feet but that was another of Skrakch¡¯s doubts. Healing cuts and closing wounds was one thing, but fully recovering a lost hand? Especially one lost in such a magical manner?


    That was the sort of thing you heard of from high ranking priests of the Gods Above, not a fledgling Goblin cleric to a fickle God Below. Maglubiyet wasn¡¯t known for his healing touch, so much as his brutal enslavement of his own race.


    ¡®And that¡¯s supposedly from -before- he became a God of Chaos.¡¯ Skrakch shook the thought from his head as he finally spotted the gate Ornn had been leading them to, and the real issue that needed to be addressed.


    ¡®Zacharias.¡¯


    He wasn¡¯t sure if the Halfling was really as confident as he seemed, considering they weren¡¯t exactly that far from where the Chosen had been battling it out, but Zach was shining a bright grin towards his approaching companions.


    ¡®He¡¯s never been the friendliest sort but he¡¯s never bailed on us quite like that before.¡¯ Skrakch could feel the heat of anger rising in his chest just looking at the Halfling, but the Ratling tried to keep it off his face as Ornn adruptly came to a complete stop by the half-twisted gateway.


    ¡°Lovely to see you all in one piece lads, mostly anyways.¡± Zacharias said smoothly, without a sliver of contrition in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ve got the gate unlocked, so we¡¯re good to go.¡±


    ¡°Good to go? Damn it Zach, you left us to die. Twice!¡± Skrakch felt his voice raise an octave as he struggled to keep his cool. ¡°I ought to gut you where you stand, you little shi-¡°


    The Halfling cut Skrakch off with a short guffaw, before wrenching the servant¡¯s gate open to let them through. ¡°Listen mate, I¡¯ve been upfront with you since the beginning. We¡¯re a team, right up until you try and get me killed. I¡¯m a thief, Squeakers, and so are fucking you.¡±


    ¡°We. Are. Thieves.¡± Zacharias enunciated with more raw venom in his voice than Skrakch had ever heard from him. ¡°I¡¯m not your fucking best mate, I¡¯m not your meat headed pal, and I¡¯m certainly not your little muppet of a pet Goblin.¡°


    ¡°The second we saw that the plan wasn¡¯t feasible, we needed to leave. Period. No fucking ¡®ifs ands or buts¡¯. You and Winnie¡¯s nonsensical delusions of grandeur shite are fuck all to do with me. Until, that is, you expect me to walk to my own death for them.¡± The Halfling spat each word, glaring upwards at Skrakch as the Ratling stood there frozen.


    ¡°So yeah I bailed. What did you expect? Really think about it, Squeaks. Not everyone is on a time limit like you, I¡¯ve got plenty of years of life left in me. And I¡¯m not gonna throw ¡®em away on a bunch of fucking idiots.¡±


    Skrakch wasn¡¯t sure how long he spent just looking at the Halfling as Zacharias¡¯ chest heaved in big gulps of air, the self-proclaimed thief glaring at Skrakch with all he had.


    ¡°You know¡­¡± Skrakch finally said, looking away from his companion before him. ¡°I would have chased you into that room too, if it was your hare-brained charge into danger.¡±


    The Ratling missed the slight look of shock that washed over Zacharias¡¯ face, before it morphed into a tight grimace as the Halfling¡¯s facial scars drew themselves into angry red lines.


    ¡°Then you¡¯re a fucking idiot Skrakch. We¡¯ve worked together for years, and I¡¯ll tell you now, I¡¯d leave the lot of you behind again in a heartbeat. It is what it fucking is.¡± He finished, folding his arms across his chest with an air of finality and giving an adamant nod.


    With a quick responding nod Skrakch turned back to the Halfling, keeping his face cast in an intentionally professional manner as he suppressed a sigh and looked past Zacharias and out of the estate.


    ¡°Noted.¡± Skrakch answered simply, staring down at his former companion. ¡®And that¡¯s what he is. If I can¡¯t trust him even a little¡­ what difference is there between him and the Denmother? She didn¡¯t expect me to survive either, but I showed them both. We all did.¡¯


    ¡°We¡¯ll table this for now, deal with it once the others are awake.¡± Skrakch finished the conversation simply, before nudging Ornn with his foot.


    ¡°Alright, we need to get out of here. Ornn, can you shift into something less noticeable¡­ and less likely to leave a trail of property damage behind us?¡±


    Honestly, he still wasn¡¯t entirely sure if the Golem could hear him especially with his Core nowhere in sight, but it wasn¡¯t long before the rumbling of stone sounded out.


    Ornn seemed to pull his surroundings towards himself as the ground seemed to rush upwards in a swell of Mana and the Golem''s Core broke through the cobble yard floor of the Garden path.


    The shape that Ornn chose wasn¡¯t one Skrakch was familiar with seeing, the Golem simply settling for a large boulder-shaped lump for a torso, with two ungainly looking stumps for legs. In fact, the only part Ornn seemed to give much focus too were the two large arms he¡¯d adorned with dirt.


    As the ¡®barrel¡¯ holding the trio of Meek, Skrakch and Winnie began to collapse, Ornn happily shuffled Meekknuckle to rest on top of the most abundant dirt piles, the Goblin slowly shuffling himself into a comfortable position.


    Skrakch might have even enjoyed the slightly comical sight of the odd-shaped Golem swaddling Meekknuckle in his arms, if he hadn¡¯t been suddenly forced to deal with Winifred¡¯s full weight.


    Scrambling to keep the Chosen from colliding with the ground, Skrakch shot a baleful eye towards Ornn, before muttering to himself. ¡°Well, shit. We aren¡¯t getting far if Ornn isn¡¯t helping move Winnie. Got a plan for that, Zacharias?¡± He added, taking great care to sound as sarcastic as possible when saying the Halfling¡¯s name.


    ¡°Actually, I do.¡± The Halfling nodded and stepped out of the estate for a moment and Skrakch could hear murmured voices from around the corner. Tensing up slightly, the Ratling kept a wary eye on the entrance as he watched Zacharias swiftly return with his usual grin on his face.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll love this, Squeaks.¡± Zacharias chortled, waving his hand behind him before barking out a terse order. ¡°Get the woman into the cart. Help the Ratling too, if he accepts it.¡± The Halfling called out behind him.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Whatever Skrakch had been expecting, like hired thugs to shank him and rob him blind, he certainly hadn¡¯t been prepared for a group of brown Iskrin to jog into the estate, a large wagon made of gold-plated wood dragged along behind them.


    ¡°Wait, what the Hells?¡± Skrakch muttered in disbelief as the Iskrin at the front of the group ran up to him and opened its claws questioningly towards him.


    It had been a long time since Skrakch had last interacted with his own kind but unlike most humans, it wasn¡¯t too tricky for the Ratling to pick out the discerning features of the Iskrin lining up in front of him.


    The lead arrival was a younger female of their species, and she was surprisingly healthy looking for a brown Iskrin with a rather thick coat of hair. Most Iskrin that Skrakch saw in the city had been unkempt and unwashed, slaves treated indifferently by their masters so long as they fulfilled their purpose. They tended to have filthy overgrow claws or patchy ragged coats stained with filth, treated as less than the trash they often found themselves squatting in.


    These distant relatives of his though¡­ they had a certain weight to their frames, perhaps kept even healthier than Skrakch himself. He was shocked to notice that most of them were missing the usual pockmarked look common to brown Ratlings, Skrakch included.


    They were even fully clothed and not just in sloppy undergarments or bits of cloth. Dressed in matching uniforms, each wore what appeared to be black servant¡¯s livery including a pair of Iskrin-designed boots.


    It was an odd thing to notice and an odder thing to fixate on, but all Skrakch could think of as he looked at their boots was; ¡®Why did I never think to make boots that let my claws stick out. That¡¯s just a great bloody design, really.¡¯


    Even the ¡®golden¡¯ wagon had a certain appeal to it, unlike most of the rickety pieces of garbage Dray¡¯Mel merchants commonly used.


    It looked as though it had been hand carved from a wood that Skrakch didn¡¯t recognise. It was almost as though the entire carriage part, designed to carry passengers, was made out of a red tree trunk that had been painstakingly hollowed out. The wooden wheels appeared to be lined with a bronze-like metal to protect them, the spokes gleaming. His admittedly cursory glance didn¡¯t spot a single nail holding the wagon together, the realization surprising him.


    ¡®Elven made then? The carriage itself at least, not the plank of wood stuck on the front for the Iskrin to grab onto¡­. Still, this would cost a small fortune.¡¯


    ¡°Come on Skrakch, don¡¯t make me order them to grab Winnie, we need to get going if we¡¯re making it back to the Den before the Tomb-Makers return.¡± Zach said drolly, as Skrakch jerked back from staring at the Iskrin.


    ¡°Hold your fucking horses, where did these¡­ these Ratlings come from? Since when could you afford hired help? Much less bloody indentured servants?¡± Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but raise his voice at the end of his sentence, eyes flitting about in open disbelief.


    Zacharias snorted, and waved towards the wagon. ¡°Listen for a second, and you¡¯ll notice why we¡¯re in a rush. I¡¯ll tell you about my new help as we travel.¡±


    Warily watching Zacharias and his minions, ¡®none of which looked half as good as he did¡¯, Skrakch turned an ear skywards, listening intently. The only sounds he could hear were the noises of a city waking from a long night and¡­ ¡®The horns stopped?¡¯


    Hesitation be damned, he wasn¡¯t going to end up cleaved in twain like Rodyr¡¯s minions.


    Shrugging Winifred¡¯s heavy body towards Zacharias¡¯ new hires, Skrakch scrambled his way on top of the wagon as his clawed toes dug deep into the wood, and helped pull Winnie up on top beside him as deftly as he could.


    With practised ease, Zacharias deftly scaled the side of the wagon and casually waved his hand forwards. As the Iskrin resumed their brisk march, Zacharias shot an amused look towards Skrakch.


    ¡°Glad you finally noticed. Whatever had the Tomb-Makers all riled up finally got itself squashed no doubt, though Gods knows how long it¡¯ll be till they get themselves sorted. No reason to loiter though, eh Squeaks?¡±


    The cobbled street below them passed by with surprising speed as the Iskrin jogged in lockstep with one another, each movement made with diligent precision as they made their way out of the remains of Rodyr¡¯s estate and the Residential District.


    Not far behind them, Ornn trailed the wagon with thundering steps, the few people awake and preparing for their day fleeing the area as soon as they saw the twisted procession travelling the streets.


    Compared to facing the Chosen, this should have been a minor surprise in the grand scheme of things, but Skrakch was struggling to wrap his head around it.


    There were a dozen questions running through his head, but only one seemed the most obvious. ¡°How, Zacharias? How did they get here already? How did you afford them? And how the Hells did you think I was going to react to this shit?¡±


    Lazily waving his hand as the wagon was pulled down the Residential District street, Zacharias answered with a laugh. ¡°What, you assumed I spend all my gold on wenches and beer? Did you forget that I stepped in for Sykes, after his oh-so-unfortunate demise?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been carving out my own little slice of the pie and you¡¯re looking at one of my more recent innovations.¡± The Halfling continued with a surprising amount of pride in his voice. ¡°Sykes'' men were always one step away from mutiny. Hells, that¡¯s true for most criminal organizations. But with Ratlings? These poor bastards are just happy to be working in decent conditions.¡±


    ¡°Honestly Squeakers, you¡¯re the reason I thought of it. You¡¯re a clever little shrew of a thing so I asked myself, ''why weren¡¯t all Iskrin in Dray¡¯Mel just as crafty, just as useful?'' Turns out the answer was simply untapped potential.¡± Zacharias laughed, leaning forward off the wagon and shouting out.


    ¡°Double rations if you get us home before dawn break!¡±


    Skrakch would have scoffed at the announcement if the wagon hadn¡¯t begun picking up speed. There¡¯d been a time where he¡¯d wanted to save his fellow brethren but he¡¯d failed. Time and time again, they¡¯d refused to see the truth that they didn¡¯t need to be slaves -or- servants.


    ¡®And Zacharias was the one to help them?¡¯ The idea stung at him, his already tired mind reeling from the revelation as Skrakch took in the Iskrin pulling the wagon, talking amongst themselves as they jogged.


    He couldn¡¯t make out the words, but one interaction gave Skrakch pause above all others: one of the Iskrin laughed. Freely and openly. Skrakch had never seen another brown Iskrin laugh in his life, much less do so in sight of their supposed master, and the sight of it burned at him.


    The rest of the wagon ride was made in relative silence, Zacharias happy to ignore Skrakch as the Ratling adjusted to this new piece of information.


    Soon the streets began to narrow, the roads became less well maintained, and the Iskrin-led wagon had to slow as they entered the Slums. It seemed Zach¡¯s hires were well versed in their craft however, making their way through winding streets and kicking sleeping bums out of the way as they navigated cramped alleyways. Hells, they were even adept at dodging the piles of shit and piss that littered the filthy cobbles.


    Skrakch could recognize most of the more popular buildings they passed, heading further and further into the heart of the Slums, until he sat upright as he finally realized their destination.


    ¡°No! Gods damn it Zacharias!, this is too far. Even for you.¡± Skrakch made to jump off the wagon, but Zacharias leaned over and hooked his hand on the Ratling¡¯s bandolier.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a baby, you act like this every time you see Kristoff.¡± Zacharias pulled Skrakch off balance, keeping him on board. ¡°Plus, we¡¯re going behind his business, not inside of it. I own his warehouse now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re his boss? Fire him. Do it.¡±


    ¡°Quiet Squeakers.¡±


    The wagon came to a drundling stop in front of a large building that had clearly seen better years. Nearly three stories tall, the stone columns holding the walls up seemed to lean heavily to the side, and the entire place had a thick cloying smell to it that pervaded your nose.


    Not too far off however, was a smaller replica of the same building, the only difference being the large, ¡®hideously ugly, over the top grandstanding¡¯ sign that read ¡®Kristoff¡¯s Magical Emporium and House of Worship; Newly Renovated!¡¯ in a purple font that hurt Skrakch to even look at.


    Hopping down from the idling wagon, Zach beckoned the lead Iskrin over to him, giving them a wide grin. ¡°Excellent work, see to it the men get double the rations, Craw. But first, let¡¯s get our guests situated, shall we?¡±


    Slamming a fist against her chest in an approximation of a salute, the Iskrin, apparently named ¡®Craw¡¯ of all things, nodded in appreciation before moving to squeak at the Ratlings, though it wasn¡¯t in any tongue Skrakch knew.


    It was enough to get Skrakch¡¯s nose twitching as he made his way over to them, curiosity driving his approach. Sadly, the Ratlings turned a wary eye towards him as he ventured forward, ceasing their conversation before he could piece together their words.


    Craw moved swiftly to stand between the other Ratlings and Skrakch, once more slamming her chest guard in greeting. ¡°Ah, honoured Elder! It is this one¡¯s honour to meet you! Lord Zacharias has told us many tales of your exploits.¡±


    ¡®¡­What?¡¯ Skrakch thought, in shocked confusion.


    ¡°¡­Wait, what?¡± Skrakch said as he stared dumbly at the Iskrin standing in front of him, mutely trying to wrap his head around her words.


    Before he could eloquently continue his conversation, Zacharias wrapped his healthy arm around Skrakch¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t be like that Squeaks, these guys are practically family at this point! Ah, to me, not you¡­¡± He finished with a laugh, before waving towards the warehouse''s entrance, a nondescript iron door that seemed to have been bent from the inside.


    ¡°Someone get that open please, we''ve got two humanoids in need of alchemical attention.¡± The Halfling directed the surrounding Ratlings, each one seemingly happy to jump at his every word. ¡°Craw, get someone to grab Kristoff, we¡¯ll likely need his healing abilities as well. Don¡¯t let him shrug this off, I don¡¯t care how close he is to a supposed breakthrough.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and someone get the shipment door open, the Golem isn¡¯t going to fit through the front.¡±


    As the Ratlings scurried into action around them, Skrakch pointed a sharp, accusing claw towards Zacharias. ¡°Listen, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on here but if you don¡¯t start making some sense I¡¯m going to gut you like a fish. These¡­ these replacements won¡¯t stop me.¡±


    ¡°Squeakers! You wound me.¡± Zach laughed drolly, turning to wave at the heavy warehouse door as it opened. ¡°Just step inside for a second and it¡¯ll all make sense.¡±


    Skrakch turned to watch as the strange brown Iskrin gently lifted Winifred from the wagon and began to guide Ornn out of sight, with Meekknuckle waving weakly towards Skrakch as they trundled along.


    Letting out a weary sigh, Skrakch listlessly nodded to Zacharias. ¡°Fine, but if this is a trap, kill me quickly okay? My head feels like it¡¯s about to burst as is.¡±


    Laughing louder than strictly necessary, Zacharias just waved Skrakch through the doorway in a lordly fashion. He hadn¡¯t been sure what to expect but as the Rune Mage crossed into the warehouse, he felt his heart as it fluttered in his chest.


    The smell of incense was thick in the air, the pungent aroma of dozens of different ingredients being smoked, boiled, simmered down to nothing, wafting over Skrakch.


    Dozens of cauldrons had been set up in rows of four, each larger than he was tall and wider than that too boot. Swarming over the pitches of boiling liquids were more Iskrin than Skrakch had ever seen in one place. Each brown Ratling was carefully measuring beakers of toad¡¯s saliva or Ghoul tongues, arguing with one another as they jostled to add their piece of the alchemical concoctions.


    Skrakch had no words, only turning a befuddled look to Zacharias as the Halfling stood there with a smug grin.


    ¡°What¡¯s the only thing more useful than one Alchemical Rat?¡± Zach mocked in a sing-song voice. ¡°A hundred of them, of course.¡±


    The sight was both beautiful and terrifying to Skrakch as he watched his brethren hard at work. On one hand, he¡¯d never seen or heard of such a large-scale setup of potential potions or elixirs. On the other hand¡­


    ¡°You really are trying to replace me.¡± Skrakch said softly, watching a nearby potion as it began to bubble over the lip of the cauldron.


    ¡°Not quite.¡± Zach said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. ¡°They¡¯re doing alright considering who¡¯s teaching them, but I need better results. And more importantly, I need this.¡±


    Skrakch turned to see Zacharias holding a crimson vial of Dragon¡¯s Blood, the liquid shimmering as if it was still alive. ¡°I need to know how to make Dragon¡¯s Blood, or this whole thing goes belly up.¡±


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m not sure how many ingredients I¡¯ll waste.¡±


    ¡°Sky¡¯s the limit mate. Can¡¯t cost me more than not getting a new source of the stuff, I¡¯ll tell you that.¡±


    Nodding absentmindedly to himself, Skrakch rubbed a paw across his whiskers as he considered it. A chance to replenish his own stock of ingredients on the witless Halfling¡¯s coin? Plus unrestricted access to whatever new and exotic ingredients he could get his paws on? He¡¯d surely be stupid to say no. And indeed, if things did go ¡®belly up¡¯ as Zacharias put it, then he, Skrakch could always cut and run¡­


    ¡°You¡¯ve got yourself a deal.¡± The Ratling said, holding out his paw.

 Chapter - One Hundred: Zacharias and the Alchemical Factory

    As Skrakch walked through Zacharias¡¯ warehouse and peeked into the various jars of alchemical ingredients that were strewn haphazardly all across the floor, the Ratling felt a migraine building in the back of his skull.


    The massive warehouse was large enough to fit multiple of the Slum Districts so-called residential buildings inside with ease, and yet the place was packed from wall to wall with shrieking vials and bubbling cauldrons.


    While there were only four of the massive cauldrons actually being used to brew the elixirs, each standing easily three times as tall as Skrakch himself, there were plenty of similar smaller apparatus resting on overstacked workbenches.


    It was infuriating to see a crate of beakers wobbling atop an overfull bench, only to watch as it was knocked offhandedly onto the floor with a deafening crash. It was a small wonder that Skrakch had managed to get anything sorted at all, much less managing it without a constant headache.


    Which was certainly not helped by the clatter and banging of a few dozen brown Ratlings running amok, screaming at each other in their unique Iskrin dialects and banging pots and pans against each other as they squabbled to grab the ingredients their specific cauldron needed.


    In fact, there appeared to be no rhyme or reason to any of the ingredients'' current locations, no shelving or proper storage facilities set up to aid the Iskrin in their alchemical work.


    Instead, the hapless fools would simply run to the nearest container and grab what they needed, before doubling back and simply hoping they wouldn¡¯t run into another Ratling in the middle of the same braindead dash.


    The first time Skrakch had seen it happen, he¡¯d been amused. By the tenth, he¡¯d begun to think he¡¯d overestimated his brethren¡¯s supposed intelligence.


    A proper alchemical set-up was a thing of beauty, everything perfectly in the right place, waiting for you to need it.


    This, in comparison, was a mockery of all Skrakch held dear. It was clear that Zacharias had only put the barest minimum of thought into this little plan of his.


    But, Hells, the ingredients that the reckless Halfling had somehow gathered, came from far and wide and in such quantities that it boggled the Ratling¡¯s mind. Some of them Skrakch hadn¡¯t seen for months, others were so rare that he¡¯d only ever seen them depicted in faded old scrolls! The Ratling didn¡¯t know if he should be impressed or absolutely enraged.


    Zacharias had clearly spared no expense on this little project of his but it was obvious why the Halfling hadn¡¯t gotten much in the way of results.


    ¡°These vials of ¡®Ice Wraith Tears¡¯ should be kept frozen, it¡¯s in the bloody name.¡± Skrakch waved dismissively towards a stack of glass bottles, a pale liquid settling in each bottle. ¡°If they¡¯re left out, they lose potency. From the looks of it, these barely have any juice left in them.¡±


    He turned around just in time to see an Iskrin in shabby leather boots and a torn crimson cape that was idly throwing some deep purple worms into a large pewter cauldron.


    ¡°You there, what are you doing? You can¡¯t just toss ¡®Blood Worms¡¯ into a cauldron and call it a day. You need to let them feed on blood for at least a fortnight before they have any potency.¡± Skrakch called out exasperatedly as he passed another station, and another waste of resources. ¡°You¡¯re just throwing in useless junk, it¡¯s more likely to explode than anything else.¡±


    The Iskrin in question just blinked at him blankly before putting the jar down on a stained wooden work surface, and thumbed his chin in thought.


    From his left, Skrakch heard the familiar sound of metal against wood, but instead of the measured rhythm he was used to, it was clumsy and erratic.


    ¡°¡­is that a Cherbium Root? How in the Hells did you get that? And why in the Hells are you dicing it into pieces!¡± He couldn¡¯t help his voice going shrill near the end, as Skrakch stepped up to a worried looking Ratling that was guiltily holding a knife. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare slice another piece off, how and why did you get this just to waste it!?¡±


    It reminded Skrakch of watching one of Wujeeta¡¯s failed apprentices as they fumbled their way through a basic recipe, only for the whole thing to blow up in their face.


    The only difference was that there wasn¡¯t anyone with any experience to guide the process along, to help turn the failure into a teaching moment. No, the Iskrin workers didn¡¯t seem to be learning anything, likely just repeating the process they¡¯d been told without any change in the end product.


    It was lunacy of the highest order. Made all the worse by the blas¨¦ look of indifference on Zacharias face as the Thief trailed behind Skrakch, nodding knowingly to the Ratling¡¯s every word. As if the jumped-up thief had a bloody clue!


    ¡°See, this is why I need you Squeakers, you know all that random shite.¡± Zacharias said, waving a gloved hand dismissively. ¡°You¡¯ll have this stuff sorted in no time, aye?¡± He questioned, watching impassively as a nearby cauldron began spewing chunks of what looked like meat down the side of its iron frame.


    Turning to glare at his companion, Skrakch resisted the urge to stab a claw into the idiot''s chest. ¡°No, no, no. You can¡¯t just toss me this problem and expect instant results. You need a full-time alchemist to guide these people, not just your usual ¡®devils-may-care¡¯ attitude. Alchemy is an art form. It¡¯s not a case of throwing everything at the wall and seeing what sticks!¡± The irate Ratling shook his head disbelievingly.


    The proud potion-brewer fingered his near empty bandolier obsessively as he watched the workers swarming the cauldrons, each seeming to just be excited at the chance to toss something into the bubbling liquids.


    While each servant had been equipped with incredibly dirty looking aprons, the poor bastards weren¡¯t wearing masks or gloves. Some of the ingredients they were working with could absolutely burn through flesh and fur if handled wrong, and the fumes drifting from the furthest of the cauldrons were likely toxic.


    Skrakch supposed he shouldn¡¯t be surprised. After all, it was still a plan thought up and implemented by Zacharias after all, and just like everyone else in Dray¡¯Mel to the callous Halfling¡¯s eye, Iskrin were barely counted as citizens. Merely creatures to be used and discarded as-and-whenever needed.


    ¡°What confuses me is the fact you¡¯re almost set up properly. That cauldron is where you¡¯re trying to make Thimbledust, right?¡± Skrakch waved a hand towards the closet workstation and watched as a Ratling tossed a handful of Pixie dust into the cauldron. ¡°You¡¯ve got the right ingredients, you¡¯re just preparing them wrong.¡±


    Shooting a sidelong glance at Zacharias, Skrakch tapped a clawed foot along the warehouse floor. ¡°So, who did you bring in for this? Did you poach Reek, or whatever his name was? It¡¯s no trained alchemist, that¡¯s for sure. No one worth their salt would be so sloppy¡­¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon Squeaks, you already know who I turn to in times of trouble,¡± Zach responded dryly, though a shout from the entrance to the warehouse caught his attention. ¡°Ah, and here he comes now.¡±


    The shouting grew louder as the source approached, a rather annoyed looking Iskrin with the name Craw hastily stitched on her filthy apron was leading a bellowing humanoid towards the bickering pair.


    Where Craw¡¯s blackened wool outfit was meant to blend into the background, the incoming short man¡¯s outfit ¡®brilliantly¡¯ achieved the opposite goal. The oaf was wearing a truly hideous silken shirt, blues and oranges clashing with one another in a sight that burned at Skrakch¡¯s eyes. He didn¡¯t consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to fashion but surely an outfit that made you want to vomit on sight was bad?


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The absurdity didn¡¯t stop at his garish clothes, though his pink leather pants were offensive enough. No, the Gnome making his way towards them had his shoulder length hair twisted upwards with a flagrant disregard for alchemical safety. The resulting spike of hair ended in a pointed tip that looked like the idiot had painted it gold.


    Skrakch had lost count of the amount of times he¡¯d wished for Kristoff to succumb to a horrible accident and his most common wish involved the fool¡¯s hair being dragged into a boiling cauldron by Eldritch tentacled horrors beyond mortal comprehension.


    ¡®A guy can dream, can¡¯t he?¡¯


    Luckily, Kristoff was somebody he¡¯d only ever dealt with a mere pawful of times but it was certainly enough. Hells knew where or when Zacharias had become associated with the little wretch.


    It didn¡¯t take long for Kristoff to reach Zach and Skrakch, the spiteful man only stopping his irritating squawking as he caught sight of his betters.


    ¡°Zacharias! What is the meaning of this¡­ nonsense. How dare you let this small vermin into mon boutique.¡± The Gnome spat out in a rage, glaring daggers at Skrakch as the Ratling did his best to look down his nose at Kristoff.


    It was after all so rather rare for Skrakch to be able to look down on someone quite literally, after all. Compared to humans, Iskrins were quite short but Kristoff¡­


    The Gnome would be lucky to reach a full two feet tall, his diminutive frame placing him among the smallest sentient races that Skrakch had ever seen or read about. He¡¯d often wondered if the reason the little man wore such loud clothes was because he so desperately wanted to be noticed¡­


    ¡®Never, it¡¯s because he¡¯s a tacky little asshole.¡± Skrakch dismissed the thought even as he sneered down his nose at the Gnome, matching him glare for glare as Zacharias huffed out a laugh.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®your shop?¡¯ I don¡¯t see any tacky fortune teller¡¯s ¡®tools¡¯, no filthy little ¡®magic tricks¡¯ secreted in the walls.¡± Skrakch sniffed dismissively, before letting a sly smile cross his face. ¡°Though I suppose this explains the ineptitude, Zacharias, I can¡¯t believe you were desperate enough to hire this charlatan.¡±


    ¡°You pathetic worm, mon creations are perfect! Zis¡¯ entire design came from moi and it is without flaw!¡± Kristoff spat back, actual spittle flying from his mouth as his face turned red. ¡°You¡¯re as blind as ever, you worthless hack-¡°


    The sound of glass breaking cut the Gnome mid sentence, as both Skrakch and the newcomer turned to Zacharias as he dropped the broken remains of a vial on the floor.


    ¡°Gentleman, gentleman. No need to fight over little old me. Kristoff; Skrakch is here in an advisory position. Skrakch; respect the fact that Kristoff here is the Gnome who had the vision of creating a set up like this.¡± Zach smirked, ignoring the hate filled glares the two alchemists shot each other.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen how ze Alchemist¡¯s Guild runs things! Zat Wujeeta fulfils the basic requirements for the Adventurers Guild, but she doesn¡¯t care to go above or beyond. Why would she? when ze Guild is ¡®appy to bend over backwards for ze only classically trained Alchemist in the city! Zey do not even consider ¡®iring someone with my talents!¡± Kristoff said dramatically, waving his hands in the air.


    ¡°No, they take what they can get and import the rest. So did Sykes, smuggling in bits and pieces to fulfill the cities various vices.¡± The Halfling had begun to pick up steam as he watched the cauldrons being filled by his industrious workers, not even flinching as the furthest off of them belched up a purple smog. ¡°They¡¯re happy, well, were happy in the late Sykes case, happy with the little sliver of pie they¡¯d gotten.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m fucking not. I¡¯m not going to be ¡®appy until I own ze Slums! All of it. They will all bow down to me and recognize me as ze finest artiste zey ¡®ave ever seen!¡±


    Skrakch snorted at the mere thought. He took great pains to make it as loud as he possibly could and grinned at the filthy look that Kristoff shot his way.


    ¡°And this is the next step towards that. Imagine it, both of you. Imagine buying a healing potion for a single gold coin. Imagine there being enough Thimbledust to keep my clients happy for years, not just waiting for the next shipment as the hunger wanes and their need falls off.¡± Zacharias continued. To Skrakch¡¯s abject horror, the Halfling picked up three Chundat Berries and juggled them momentarily before carelessly tossing them into the nearest cauldron.


    ¡°They¡¯ll have all they ever fucking need so long as they come to me. I¡¯ll sell it for nothing at first, just so they try it. Until they can¡¯t imagine anything else, until they can¡¯t remember what life was like without it.¡±


    Zacharias picked up another vial and turned it in his hand, his usual smug smile plastered on his face. But Skrakch couldn¡¯t help the little shiver he felt moving up his spine as he listened to his oldest companion¡¯s cold, indifferent voice.


    Usually the Halfling liked to get a cheeky word in here and there, always so smug as he taunted anyone in earshot, but there had been the rare occasion that Skrakch had heard him talk like this before.


    It had always been when Zacharias was talking mostly to himself, planning out his next move. The next person to grift or the next heist to pull.


    ¡®Or the next person to murder.¡¯


    ¡°Then when they can¡¯t get that same high anymore, we reveal our master stroke. We can make our own Dragon¡¯s Blood. Not just some piss-full vial that you can knock back with a single sip, but entire gallons of the stuff.¡± Zacharias grinned widely, showing his disgusting yellowed teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give them enough of the rotted filth to drown the entire city in. I¡¯ll become the next crime boss of this shit hole and then I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll¡­¡± Zacharias¡¯ voice trailed off as the Halfling¡¯s eyes fixated on the far wall of the warehouse.


    At first, Skrakch just assumed the sudden lull was just the Halfling pausing for dramatic effect but as he looked closely at Zacharias¡¯ face, there were alarm bells ringing in the Ratling¡¯s ears.


    Zacharias¡¯ face had gone unnaturally slack, vacant and expressionless, nearly wooden in nature. As the moment was drawn out, it looked more and more alien to Skrakch, a sense of unease settling into the Iskrin¡¯s heart.


    Opening his mouth to say something, Skrakch only managed to take a half step towards Zacharias when suddenly the Thief seemed to snap back into the moment, like a broken puppet leaping back to ¡®life¡¯.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s off in the future lads, and we need to focus on the here and now.¡± Zacharias suddenly adopted an easy mannered smile, waving past the working Iskrin towards an opening in the warehouse wall. ¡°But first, we have need of your skills, Kristoff. There¡¯s two wounded humanoids in the back room, and I could use some healing myself.¡±


    Perking up after becoming the centre of attention once more, Kristoff rubbed his hands together for a moment before nodding towards Zacharias. ¡°Mais oui, but of course, for a good friend I¡¯ll even do it for free. After all, we¡¯re all in ze same airship, as mon p¨¨re used to say, eh?¡±


    Without waiting for a response from Skrakch, the Gnome eagerly led the way to the backroom as Zacharias followed suit. Both men seemed indifferent to the Iskrin workers who had to scramble out of their way, though only Kristoff was forced to bark out warnings as an unlucky Ratling accidentally came close to colliding with the much shorter man.


    Skrakch watched the odd pair with a pensive frown on his face, as they retreated towards the back room where he knew Winifred, and likely Meekknuckle, were waiting to be healed.


    Not out of any particular worry about whether or not they¡¯d be okay, because as talentless of an Alchemist as Kristoff was, the Gnome was actually a rather talented healer. Not that Skrakch would ever admit as much to the ugly git¡¯s face of course.


    The man was one of the few Clerics of the Gods Above that were tolerated in Dray¡¯Mel as an Arch-Priest of Nuitari, God of Still Death and Moonless Nights.


    How a servant of a God of Order found themselves in Dray¡¯Mel had been an oft-asked question, but Kristoff hardly acted like an earthly conduit to a being of untold might and majesty.


    The mouthy prick was more likely to try and sell you a worthless trinket or a shoddily crafted potion than to extol the virtues of his God.


    And yet, when push came to shove, most residents of the Slums knew that the Gnome was the one to turn to if your ailment took a turn for the worst, if that little cough began to press against your ribs with every wet hack of phlegm.


    ¡®Honestly, the little prick might infuriate me to no end but there¡¯s no denying his mastery over healing magics, or his willingness to help his fellow man.¡¯


    Not that Skrakch would ever admit that fact aloud anyways.


    No, the issue was clearly with Zacharias and whatever that unsettling pause had been. The Halfling had looked flat out wrong in that moment and it had Skrakch¡¯s hackles raised.


    Worriedly tugging on his whiskers, Skrakch followed after them, his eyes flickering between both of their backs. There was something fishy going on and it reeked of sloppy craftsmanship.


    This entire venture was out of character for Zacharias, mostly because it¡­ well, the plan actually made sense. Cornering the alchemy market could be huge, for both profits and influence, but the Halfling wasn¡¯t the sort to think big picture, was he?


    The question was, who was the one pulling the Halfling¡¯s strings and was the damned fool even aware of it happening?

 Ch 101: Crumbling Glass Towers

    As Skrakch stared down at the cauldron full of boiling pitch, while idly noting the rather steep price of the ingredients currently going to waste as they melted, the Ratling struggled to resist his urge to let out a long-suffering sigh.


    ¡°Damn it Ripper, I just told you this yesterday. You have to let the ¡®Displacer Ash¡¯ settle into the mixture for half an hour before pouring it into the damned pot. This whole batch is going to be a lot less effective and that¡¯s on your head.¡± Skrakch spat out without thinking, before rubbing his eyes in regret.


    ¡°This lowly one begs for forgiveness, Honoured Elder!¡± Came the hurried response. Skrakch watched in annoyance as the servant assigned to this cauldron nearly managed to bash his own head into the floor by bowing low repeatedly.¡°A thousand lashes would be a small mercy for this one¡¯s sins.¡±


    ¡®For the love of Gods Below and Above¡­¡¯


    Skrakch watched the display with bewilderment, even as the dozen of other Ratling servants who¡¯d been hard at work nearby moments before, suddenly found themselves a task to do that required them to be somewhere else, Immediately.


    From the inflamed redness of his ears, the bowing Ratling named Ripper was either beside himself with embarrassment, or about to keel over from heatstroke.


    Considering the blackened wool servant¡¯s outfit all of Zach¡¯s ¡®newest hires¡¯ all wore, it could be either. Hells, it was likely both.


    Ripper was one of the youngest Iskrin out of the whole bunch, the Ratling still suffering from overly large ears and feet that immediately outed his age.


    Of course, Iskrin aged much more rapidly than humans, so the kid could be anything from six months old to a year. He even reminded Skrakch a little of himself, a stuttering, stammering mess whenever his old Young Master took umbrage with his actions.


    ¡®But my fur is definitely twice as luscious¡­ definitely.¡± Skrakch blatantly lied to himself, wondering once more where Zacharias had found such impressive ¡®hired¡¯ help.


    Brown Ratlings weren¡¯t uncommon in Dray¡¯Mel compared to some of the fairer races like Pixies or Gnomes, but to get such a large number of them in one place like this?


    ¡®He must have bought out an entire shipment of the poor buggers as they first arrived. But that still didn¡¯t explain their competence or their physical quality¡­¡¯


    While Skrakch himself was clearly an exemption, most Iskrin living on the surface had clear signs of neglect or malnourishment sported across their bodies. Spotted patches of missing fur, bent tails, even clipped ears if they¡¯d been sold in large enough numbers.


    But Ripper had a truly flawless set of fur, he spoke in near perfect Common, and seemed remarkably quick on the uptake when Alchemy was concerned.


    The young Ratling wasn¡¯t even the brightest of the bunch, though he was certainly up there. No, the entire lot of them were unlike any brown-furred Iskrin Skrakch had ever known¡­ outside of himself.


    Still, for all their surprising intellect, it was clear as day they considered themselves one thing and one thing only. Servants, and not particularly cherished ones.


    Even as Skrakch pondered the predicament for the dozenth time, Ripper was still bowing repeatedly, though it was clear he was starting to get woozy on his feet.


    Worse yet, this wasn¡¯t the first time Skrakch had let a bit of his displeasure be known and sadly it wasn¡¯t even the most drastic of responses. At least Ripper was just stuck in a loop of apologies and prostration.


    One of the workers had fainted on the spot at a minor beratement and had fallen into an active cauldron. Skrakch had nearly been dragged in himself as he¡¯d grabbed the poor Iskrin¡¯s tail and yanked him clear of the liquid but not before the comatose Ratling had gotten completely soaked in the acidic mixture.


    ¡®Hopefully all his fur will grow back¡­¡¯


    Shaking his head to clear away his wandering thoughts, Skrakch reached down to steady the younger Iskrin that was still bowing before him.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine Ripper, it¡¯s fine!¡± Skrakch consoled him, tugging the younger Ratling¡¯s loose workman''s apron tight and holding him upright. ¡°I just wanted to know why you made the mistake, there¡¯s no need for bowing or damned lashings of all things!¡±


    As Skrakch watched the young Ratling take a few steadying gulps of air, he tried to keep his face schooled neutrally in a look of placid calm. It had been nearly five days since he¡¯d agreed to help with Zach¡¯s idiot idea, and Skrakch was regretting every moment.


    It was the first time Skrakch had really had a chance to interact with other brown-furred Iskrin and the experience wasn¡¯t at all what he¡¯d expected.


    When you spent your entire life being treated as a leper, it wasn¡¯t uncommon to fantasize about a reversal of fortune. Finally having people bow down before you as you basked in the respect you were due.


    ¡®Turns out it¡¯s actually worse somehow.¡¯ Skrakch resisted the urge to chortle, knowing it¡¯d just cause more issues. ¡®At this point I¡¯d almost prefer to have someone toss an insult my way, or aim a bottle at my head¡­ actually no, fuck that for a load of bollocks.¡¯


    Skrakch was pulled from his thoughts as Ripper finally seemed to get his bearings, the young Iskrin pulling at his blackened wool shirt with trepidation.


    ¡°I was letting the ¡®Displacer Ash¡¯ settle into the mixture as you asked, when Lord Kristoff arrived and told me to add it immediately. I must have misheard him, because I believed he told me that you had approved the change in recipe.¡± Ripper finished before he cringed, eyes closed as if expecting a sudden blow.


    Skrakch throttled back his urge to huff in annoyance, before intentionally letting out a small laugh in its place. ¡°Ah, I expected as much. You¡¯re doing good work Ripper, but use the method I showed you. I¡¯ll have a word with¡­ Lord Kristoff.¡±


    Hopping down from the small ladder he¡¯d constructed himself, Skrakch began stalking his way through the throng of scampering workers, all while resisting his urge to start swearing left and right.


    Kristoff was a persistent thorn in his side, and every moment Skrakch wasted on fixing the Gnomes shortsighted mistakes made him angrier and angrier.


    Hells, at first he¡¯d considered rejecting Kristoff¡¯s offer to heal his wounds out of sheer spite but eventually Skrakch had graciously accepted the Gnome¡¯s Divine magic halfway through his first day of guiding the warehouse''s efforts.


    Worse yet, the Gnome¡¯s healing was truly remarkable, his control over his Mana placing him head and shoulders above poor Meekknuckle.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    No, the issue was with the fools complete inability to understand -proper- alchemical procedures!


    All of Skrakch¡¯s various potions and elixirs had been created the old fashioned way, each concoction created one at a time throughout his life and stored away for the perfect moment.


    It was a slow and gradual process, and the effort in each moment reflected that fact. Conversely, managing four oversized cauldrons of wrought iron steel was harder on his body then he¡¯d believed possible.


    All made that much harder by Kristoff and his gracious help.


    Skrakch was hardly an expert nor was he close to rivalling Wujeeta from the Alchemist Guild, but he had an inquiring mind and a certain degree of perfectionism towards the art of Alchemy in his heart.


    Recipes were the products of years of processing and experimentation, often times passed down from master to student, refined to be as optimal as possible before they were painstakingly written down in scrolls or books. All for the sole purpose of elevating the craft for any who had the will or the wit to secret out the process from the dusty old scrolls.


    ¡°¡­What you aren¡¯t supposed to do, is just toss massive bits and pieces into a bowl and just assume it will work out!¡± Skrakch spat the words out, not even caring that he¡¯d simply began ranting in the midst of his thoughts.


    ¡°The problem with Kristoff is that the Gnome cheats!¡± The irate Ratling cursed out, glaring at anyone on his path as he made his way to the back of the warehouse.


    ¡°He gets away with this sloppy work because he relies on his damnable Mana! His potions are nonsensical gibberish, low quality piles of steaming manure that only function at all, because he Blesses the lot of it as it finishes!¡±


    As Skrakch reached the small entrance way that separated the warehouse from the smaller area that Zach had largely commandeered to use as his ¡®office¡¯, the irate Ratling barely slowed his charge, still muttering curses to himself.


    Throwing the door open with dramatical flair, Skrakch finished his warpath with an angry shout, ¡°That¡¯s it! I¡¯m done, I quit. I refuse to work with-¡°


    ¡°That idiotic little Gnome. He keeps messing with my stuff, blah-blah-blah.¡± Zacharias finished with a sigh of his own as he sat at a desk, poring over a rather yellowed book. It was an odd look for the Halfling, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face as he leafed through one of Sykes¡¯ old ledgers.


    ¡°Listen mate, it was funny the first few times, but we¡¯re getting bored of it. Even your pet Goblin is sick of it, look at the daft thing.¡± Zach finished by waving his hand towards Meekknuckle, the Goblin in the midst of building a tower of glass bottles, stacked precariously higher and higher.


    ¡°Meek agree with Ugly-Man, Skrakch repeat self too much. Maybe Skrakch just kill little Gnome, so life be quiet?¡± Meekknuckle answered without looking up from his makeshift glass tower, as Ornn delicately passed him another bottle with surprising gentleness in his stone fingers. ¡°¡­maybe Meek kill Rat, that make everything much quiet.¡±


    The back room that Zacharias had claimed as his own little workplace was surprisingly small, only furnished with the desk that the Halfling was sitting at, two cots that were jammed into the corner, and the pile of random junk the Halfling had decided to drag over from wherever he¡¯d been living at up until now. Skrakch really didn¡¯t pay too much attention to it. Gods Above would only know what he¡¯d catch!


    Ignoring Zacharias, Skrakch turned his ire towards Meekknuckle first, as the sickly green coloured Goblin tried to precariously balance a bottle, straining on his tiptoes for the attempt.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get me started on you and that useless lump of rock!¡± Skrakch half-growled, half-whined as he glared at both Meekknuckle and the lumbering form of Ornn beside him.


    Due to the smaller nature of the room, Ornn had been forced to get creative to fit within the confines, and Skrakch had been originally impressed to see how he¡¯d managed it.


    Instead of shoving his way inside, Ornn had once more showcased his new ability to shape his own form, sidling up to the furthest wall and spreading himself against it. It had made for quite the intriguing sight at first, his rocky form slowly spreading outwards like a grasping vine.


    When he was finished, he blended admirably in with the warehouse''s wall, the small room simply getting that little bit shorter length wise as Ornn¡¯s body filled the space.


    From there, a small boulder shape had settled into a corner, no doubt housing his Core, as a smaller clump of earthen clay still towered over the trio of shorter races.


    ¡°I told you and Ornn to get rid of Zacharias so we could get out of here, and look at you now. Playing with your stupid tower, wasting time¡­¡± Skrakch¡¯s chest heaved as he pulled loose a vial of his own and raised it menacingly above his head. ¡°I¡¯ll smash the whole thing, don¡¯t think I won¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Stupid Rat say that last time too, Ornn stop vial again.¡± Meekknuckle mocked, turning to stick out his tongue. ¡°Stupid Rat so stuuuuupid-¡°


    The Goblin was in the midst of taunting his companion when he accidentally knocked over the side of his precariously stacked tower, and could only watch helplessly as it shattered against the warehouse floor in a deafening cascade of twinkling shards.


    ¡°No! That take Meek all day!¡± The Goblin exclaimed looking utterly bereft.


    ¡°Good riddance, that¡¯s what you get you little-¡°


    As Skrakch was about to continue kicking the heartbroken Meekknuckle while he was down, a sudden cough from one of the cots in the corner had everyone freezing in place.


    Meekknuckle was the first to move, heading over to the cot even as he began chanting a prayer under his breath. ¡®Meekknuckle beseech Maglubiyet, guide me Mana into healing touches.¡±


    As Skrakch carefully stepped over any bits of glass on the floor, he heard a distinctly angry sounding voice swearing under her breath and the sounds of swishing bedsheets.


    ¡°Damn it Meekknuckle, get off me. I¡¯m fine, alright? Where the Hells are we? Did everyone get oot okay?¡±


    Winifred mumbled, her words starting off drowsy and getting increasingly agitated as she no doubt took stock of the unfamiliar location.


    As Skrakch peered over Meekknuckle¡¯s shoulder, he couldn¡¯t help the grin that played over his face. While Kristoff had been able to patch up the rest of the Rogues with only minimal grumblings, the damage that Winifred had done to herself was far beyond any of them.


    It had been clear enough that Winifred had tapped into something she hadn¡¯t been fully prepared to handle, and her body had paid the price.


    During their escape, the brawler looked like she¡¯d aged a hundred years in the span of minutes. Skrakch was fairly confident she¡¯d somehow fueled her use of her Crux by burning up her life force but he wasn¡¯t an expert, and none of them had any idea if she¡¯d recover.


    So they¡¯d made sure Winnie was breathing, and made doubly sure she was comfortable, before they¡¯d settled in to wait. There hasn¡¯t been much else they could do, though Meekknuckle stayed beside her bed the entire time, and Skrakch had tried various elixirs and potions that could help her out.


    Now though, as she fought her way past Meekknuckle¡¯s probing hands and tore her way out of the tangled sheets, she looked¡­ better.


    Her hair had regained its brown colouring, though there were more wisps of grey intermingling than before. Her skin was smoother, though the twenty-something had clear wrinkles on her cheeks, and crow¡¯s feet by her eyes.


    It was hard for Skrakch to put an estimate on it, but he¡¯d hazard a guess that Winifred looked to have aged a decade through her life after a single battle.


    As Winifred got to her feet and cast a wary eye around her, the pit fighter began to grin before a puzzled look crossed her face.


    Staring down at her right arm, Winnie cautiously began turning her arm from side to side as she stared at the bandaged stump.


    Even when Meekknuckle had recovered enough to help with healing Winifred, Kristoff had been unable to heal the wound. The cocky prick had muttered something about foreign magics, but Skrakch hadn¡¯t been surprised.


    There was power in committing yourself to a desperate attack, and the consequences of such a blow weren¡¯t something a mortal could just shrug off, and apparently neither could a Chosen.


    Meekknuckle and Skrakch had been waiting for Winifred to wake up for five days now, but they just stood tongue tied as the brawler tried and failed to hide her grimace, letting her hand drop to her side.


    Skrakch had no clue what to say, no idea how to offer his support or admit that he couldn¡¯t help her. It was a quiet moment, as they all struggled to find the words to-


    ¡°Finally you¡¯re up, love. Had us all worried, you did. But now that you¡¯re awake, what say we all head to the Plagued Rat. I¡¯ve been going stir crazy, and I¡¯m not even the one missing an arm.¡± Zacharias said with a smirk on his face, standing up and letting his chair drag on the floor with a shrill squeak. ¡°Could absolutely neck a pint, eh lads?¡±


    As all three of his companions, and possibly even Ornn, stared at him in shock and rage, the Halfling just quirked an eyebrow in return.


    ¡°What?¡±

 101.5 - Cloaked Daggers in the Dark

    It was a beautiful night, or at least as beautiful as it ever got in Dray¡¯Mel. Sure there was a thick smog blocking out the sky, the usual smell of shit was strong in the air and he could hear the faintest of ghastly wails coming from the Wraiths above, not to mention the state of the Slum streets were littered with filth and rot, but¡­


    ¡®Nah, now that I think about it, this city is still a shithole.¡¯ Zacharias laughed to himself as he approached the filthy, stained door of the Tipsy Boar. He could hear the roar of a drunken crowd before he even opened the bloody thing.


    When the establishment had been run by Sykes and his odious toadies, it was a quiet bar filled with the elf''s own men and no one else. More of a cover story than any real place to visit or a place to make a decent profit. His cronies could gather and plot in relative secrecy without any Tombmakers sticking their oars in.


    At first Zach had treated the bar the same way, using it as a meeting place to arrange business first and foremost. After all, if Sykes was worried about attracting the wrong attention, maybe that was the ¡®thing to do¡¯ as an up and coming crime lord. Something about showing your hand too early and all that.


    It wasn¡¯t until Zach really thought about it that he¡¯d decided to change things up. Sykes was a patient elf, clearly, but that hadn¡¯t helped him in the end, had it? So instead, the Halfling had decided to do what he did best; spit in the face of anyone who fucked with him.


    The once naturally coloured wooden walls of the tavern were now coated with bright red paint, all the better to catch people¡¯s eyes. Golden trim, ¡®well, fool¡¯s gold anyways¡¯, decorated the ornamental pillars he¡¯d had installed by the entrance.


    The Halfling had even gotten one of his men to enchant him a stunning new sign for the Tipsy Boar, a glowing image of a charging boar nailed to the front of the tavern in tasteful scarlet lettering.


    Sure, it cost him a pretty penny to keep a mage on hand to fuel the damn thing, but the five minstrel¡¯s he had on retainer cost him more than that. This gave the Tipsy Boar its edge above the competition, being the only tavern in Dray¡¯Mel to have music at any hour, so it was worth every silver coin.


    Oddly enough, his neighbours hadn¡¯t felt the same way about the admittedly bright lights and the constant noise from the singing or the drunken shouts for more. And they¡¯d been particularly vocal about the dancing girls he¡¯d hired straight from the docks.


    Worse yet was the ever present smell of vomit and various bodily fluids, all barely masked under a layer of cheap perfume that wafted off the tavern and out into the streets.


    And sure, there was a noticeable increase in knife crime, not to mention the uptick in street walkers and pimps in the area, but Zach was a benevolent soul so he was more than willing to pass on some gold to help folks resettle somewhere else.


    Some folks were happy to pocket the payout, but there were always belligerent sorts out there. A few visits from his men took care of that thankfully, though one persistent old wretch had earned a special visit from the top man himself.


    As Zacharias threw open the tavern doors and let the cacophony of noise wash over him, all he was thinking about was how much he preferred the sweet serenade of an old ladies'' brittle bones, as they snapped like twigs.


    ¡®No accounting for taste though.¡¯ He chortled to himself, making his way through the screaming crowd. You¡¯d think most folks would be adverse to coming this deep into the Slums for a drink, but Zach had happily slashed the price of booze.


    At first he¡¯d dropped it to half, then cut it again down to a quarter. He was losing coppers for every gulp that went down these people¡¯s gullets¡­ but that wasn¡¯t the point.


    Even as he walked past the loaded tables, Zach gave quick nods to his best workers as they blended in with the drunks, making friends and plying more booze down their mark¡¯s throats.


    Some were men, mostly a mix of humans and the odd Halfling, but most of his agents were older retired prostitutes. Even when he was still just a kid, trying to sling his first vial of something sweet, he¡¯d known to get in the good graces of his elders. Hells, some of them had even been around when we were just a wee lad, picking the pockets of drunks for a meal.


    Most folks would turn to the younger, sweeter lasses to entice buyers into a honeypot, but Zach knew just how much of a diva the fresh blood could be. But the older gals, the ones who were on the way out? Those were the cunning ones, the desperate souls that Zacharias had made a network out of.


    And with his newfound status, he¡¯d pulled them all along with him. They¡¯d seen the worst of this city, so they knew what was waiting for them if they couldn¡¯t sell.


    So they lied, as freely and as cheaply as the ale that trickled down the Tipsy Boar¡¯s patrons'' chins. They¡¯d be your best friend, your new confidante, Hells, they¡¯d treat you like a son or daughter so long as you stayed and drank.


    It was enough to bring a tear to Zacharias¡¯ cold heart, seeing just how hard the old tarts worked at getting their targets nice and tipsy.


    Then, when they were drunk enough, they¡¯d offer a new taste, something much better than some cheap swill! ¡®Oh, you¡¯ve never tried Thimbledust before? That¡¯s such a shame, the stuff is out of this world. It¡¯s grown in Faerie itself, quite a hassle to get it into Dray¡¯Mel. But oh so worth it.¡¯ They¡¯d purr in the drunken ears of the patrons with well practised charm.


    Like deadly sirens, ready to beckon a sailor to the rocks.


    It didn¡¯t always work but more often than not, why wouldn¡¯t they give it a try? And when they came back, why wouldn¡¯t they try it again. And again, and again.


    Still, that wasn¡¯t Zacharias¡¯ job anymore, so he¡¯d leave the drug peddling to his lackies. Sure, his men would stab him in the back if they thought they could manage it, but already rumours of him having bigger backers were spreading like wildfire which made some of even Sykes most stauncher lackeys reconsider their mutinous plans.


    People even said he had the Denmother in his corner, why else would she be letting his pet Ratling into her shop? Pulling the filthy thing aside, only to send him off running to his Master.


    ¡®Idiots might actually vomit if they realised their favourite ales and drugs were made by little Ratling paws.¡¯


    Zacharias mused, stepping atop a conveniently empty chair and shouted out, ¡°Next rounds on the house, we need more booze in all of you! And you, Bard! Let¡¯s hear that voice nice and loud, I shouldn¡¯t be able to hear myself think!¡±


    Hopping down to thunderous applause that momentarily dwarfed the bard''s ribald song about a plucky fair maiden and an oh-so-noble knight, the Halfling stepped past the two muscled-clad green-skinned men casually leaning against the wall by the tavern¡¯s stairs.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The two orcs had all the subtlety Zach had expected from their kind, but the added security never hurt. Nor did the two much more heavily armoured orcs that were stationed at the top of the stairs. Their green skin and jutting tusks made for a fierce visual combination, but the Halfling always loved the quick little bow they¡¯d do whenever they saw him.


    ¡®Respect is a fickle thing.¡¯ The two orcs could probably mince him in seconds if the thick-headed thugs got the drop on him, but Zach trusted they knew their place.


    It was much the same for the rest of the men sitting on the top floor of the tavern, most counting out coins in one room or pouring various alchemical goods into the precisely sized bottles in another. Sure, the ragtag bunch of louts pocketed bits here and there, but that didn¡¯t really matter.


    Zacharias had long since moved past needing to watch every coin that crossed hands. No, it was respect that mattered now, and making sure all aspects of his business all kept flowing.


    He made his way past his lieutenant and ignored his fellow Halfling¡¯s little nod towards him, barely able to remember the other Halfling¡¯s name. The toady was a bit more useful than the last had been, but he¡¯d end up with a knife in his gut soon enough.


    After all, that¡¯s how Garryl, ¡®or was it Geralt?¡¯, had gotten the position in the first place.


    Throwing open the only room of the tavern that hadn¡¯t been gutted to make room for more empty vials or safes to keep the flowing gold in, Zacharias walked into his bedroom with a smile.


    As the doors sealed behind him, the booming noise coming from below cut off and the Halfling finally let the cheery smile on his face slide off as he moved to his wardrobe.


    He¡¯d had the entire place renovated once he moved in, plush carpets brushing against his feet, furniture made of the finest woods Draymel could offer and, of course, a large bed draped in silken sheets. On the ceiling, a large mirror had been placed above it, creating the final classy touch. There were few personal effects, no silly trinkets cluttering up the place. That wasn¡¯t his style. His bed and his reflection was all he really needed on a night.


    Peeling his black leather outfit off his body, Zach gingerly rolled his right shoulder to try and loosen the stiff muscles from where Kristoff had healed him. The Gnome was a useful find, but hardly the ¡®partner¡¯ the Cleric considered himself.


    No, Zach only had one partner and they were considerably more decked out in fur.


    Moving to his washstand, the crime lord grabbed a small innocuous stone from where it waited by his soap, before channeling his Mana into it. The pebble lit up with a small ritual before crumbling into ash as the spell within activated.


    With that sorted, the Halfling turned to start washing the blood off his body. The Shade had turned out more dangerous than Zach had expected, but it had been worth it to go along on the Ratling¡¯s little adventure.


    A little of his own blood was a small price to pay for an edge, Zacharias had learned that lesson long ago. As his eyes flickered to the mirror he¡¯d propped up to help him shave, he absentmindedly touched the scars covering his face.


    That had been another lesson worth learning, never to underestimate his competition. At first he¡¯d hated the scars as they¡¯d severely limited his ability to blend in with the crowds, but that was an issue for a thief, for a pickpocket.


    He was so much more than that now. When people saw his face, the scars were the first thing they saw. It made them understand just who they were speaking to.


    Respect.


    As he finished up washing up, Zacharias moved towards the queen sized bed on the far wall, sitting on top of the rich red silken sheets and pulled loose his set of knives and set in to wait.


    Minutes turned to hours, as Zacharias patiently worked on sharpening his daggers until a flicker of movement caught his eye.


    It took all of focus to resist the urge to look directly at the source of the motion, but subterfuge was second nature to the Halfling at this point. And so, he just continued oiling his latest daggers edge, lightly dragging a cloth across the kukri with steady motions.


    ¡°Some people might take that as a threat, you are surely aware?¡± A voice rang out from the shadows near the window. ¡°Are our arrangements not to your liking, Halfling?¡±


    Slowly looking up from his blade, Zacharias widened his eyes slightly in mock surprise before throwing up a wide friendly grin as he stared at the only thing he could see peering back at him.


    Two red orbs hovered in the darkness, an odd sight to be sure. The set of eyes swayed minutely from side to side, but remained pointedly fixed on Zacharias.


    ¡°The opposite, actually. I¡¯ve got nowt to complain about the shipment or the new servants. We¡¯re making good headway into mass production for some of the elixirs, should have results before the end of the month,¡± Zacharias answered smoothly, dropping his knife on the bed beside him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised, those Iskrin cost me a small fortune.¡± The voice lied surprisingly well, as Zach noted as a subtle sense of annoyance entered the figure¡¯s tone. ¡°And the regents weren¡¯t cheap either. Still, I¡¯ve been working on locating-¡°


    Zach interrupted the shadowy figure with a loud bark of laughter. ¡°Locating Sykes¡¯ source for the Dragon¡¯s Blood, yes. Fortunately for us, I¡¯ve managed to make inroads on solving that issue.¡±


    ¡°Wujeeta¡¯s Ratling apprentice has signed on to help figure out the ingredient. It¡¯ll just be a matter of time before we can figure out the recipe.¡± Zach finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.


    ¡°Ah, you pulled your partner in?¡± The voice responded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. ¡°You¡¯re aware that once he completes the recipe he¡¯ll be a loose end. I won¡¯t lose out on this opportunity over a Ratling.¡± The shadowy speaker finished with a scoff.


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯ll gut him myself.¡± Zach answered languidly, rolling up his knife kit and sheathing his weapons across his entire body. ¡°Now, do you have the extract for him to work on?¡±


    The blood red orbs didn¡¯t move immediately, watching the Halfling¡¯s movements with care before the figure took a step forward and placed a blood red vial of swirling liquid on the ground.


    ¡°My men were able to distill a portion of Dragon¡¯s Blood down to its finest essence, but they were unable to find the source.¡± The voice lied once more, though Zach noted it was with much better control. ¡°Do not delay, if we miss this opportunity it will be on your head, Halfling.¡±


    As the eyes blinked shut, Zacharias tossed the whetstone he¡¯d been holding to the side and picked up the vial, turning it each way in appreciation.


    ¡®Not bad, not bad at all.¡¯ The once-thief thought to himself, before turning a wondering eye to his open window. ¡®The enigmatic mysterious benefactor routine is a pain to put up with, but such is life.¡¯


    While it was true that Zach couldn¡¯t see his visitors face as they stood in their little bubble of enchanted darkness, it was clear the fool hadn¡¯t done his research properly.


    Shadows were, after all, his main area of expertise. It was simple enough to use a trickle of his Mana to get a sense of what he was dealing with and the target wasn¡¯t exactly a difficult creature to place.


    Every little movement he¡¯d made had left ripples in the very shadows the ''man'' had hidden in, letting Zach know his height, his weight, and the length of his tail. The Halfling could even tell the exact number of whiskers adorning the Albino Iskrin¡¯s furry cheeks.


    Combined with Skrakch¡¯s inability to keep his mouth shut, it was pretty clear why the Crown Prince had been so eager to fund Zacharias¡¯ little project, and leading either of the Ratlings on a little bit didn¡¯t hurt anyone.


    Skrakch didn¡¯t need to know who was funding his current efforts, and the Crown Prince certainly didn¡¯t need to know that Zacharias was aware that all he really wanted was a dead Ratling delivered to his feet.


    ¡®No, the real question is, how is the Prince getting his hand on such pure Dragon¡¯s Blood¡­ and how do I get him to give the source to me?¡±


    Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Zacharias spun the bottle between his fingers with well-practiced movements as he considered his options.


    It was the oldest lesson he¡¯d learned after all, that blood was worth its weight in gold, so the Halfling wasn¡¯t shy about risking his own neck.


    But it was always better to pay a blood price with another soul¡¯s life.


    ¡°After all, if the price is one Ratling¡¯s head, who am I to decline?¡¯

 102 - Breakdown

    Before she even knew what exactly she was doing, Winifred had stomped her way over to Zacharias and lifted the cocky little ponce up by his silk undershirt, her left hand more than enough to heft the Halfling off the ground with ease.


    As tempted as she was to slam the prick into the wooden walls they were surrounded by, Winifred choked down that impulse as her eyes skittered across the unfamiliar room.


    Outside of the cot Winifred had just awoken in, there wasn¡¯t much to see, a plain looking desk with cluttered papers atop it, her other two companions who were nervously staring at her and¡­


    ¡®Why is there shattered glass everywhere?¡¯


    ¡°What in the Nine Hells, Zach? Where are we and what the fuck happened?¡± Winifred blearily croaked out, her eyes still roaming across the room, looking for anything dangerous . ¡°What happened with the Gods damned Shade?¡±


    If Zacharias had any objections to being so severely manhandled, the thief didn¡¯t let it show on his face as he smirked up at Winifred.


    ¡°Easy there darling, easy. You handled the Shade before you passed out, or so Squeakers has been crowing about for the past few days.¡± Zach snorted, but otherwise remained motionless as his feet dangled off the stone floor.


    ¡°As for where we are and what¡¯s been going on, we¡¯ve been waiting for your Eminence to wake up somewhere safe. Talk about a sleeping beauty¡­¡± He trailed off with a little laugh.


    Taking a moment to look at her surroundings properly, Winifred could see both Skrakch and Meekknuckle staring at her worriedly, the former seemingly trying to decide if he should intervene and the latter actively channeling Mana into her body.


    She let Zacharias drop to his feet as she lifted her right arm again, staring at where her hand should be. Her companions had clearly taken the time to bandage the stump, but Winifred could see the bits of blood bubbling through the cloth.


    ¡°Did¡­ was it the Shade?¡± Winifred heard herself ask, her voice quivered slightly as she moved her arm up and down. ¡°The last thing I remember was throwing a punch at the damned thing as we booked it out of there.¡±


    After a long pause, Skrakch was the one to answer. ¡°No, it was the punch itself that did it. The, uh, current theory is that you somehow tapped into your Pact more than you should have, and the result is¡­¡± The Ratling trailed off as he shifted his eyes to the side.


    ¡®That is the stupidest thing I¡¯ve ever heard.¡¯ Winifred couldn¡¯t decide if she should laugh or shout, so she settled on making a fist with her remaining hand.


    Though even that familiar sensation felt off as her bones creaked ominously in her hand for a moment.


    Turning her fist over, Winifred could trace the veins in her forearm, each more prominent than they¡¯d ever been. Her skin was pale, almost pallid, as if she¡¯d been locked away for years.


    Taking a deep shuddering breath, Winifred closed eyes and held out her good hand before muttering a single word.


    ¡°Mirror.¡±


    It took a few seconds before she heard movement, but before too long she felt a glass shard being slipped into her waiting grasp.


    ¡°Now get the fuck out.¡±


    Again, there were a few long moments of silence before Winifred heard the sounds of her companions as they moved about the room, going Gods Below knew where, but at the moment she couldn¡¯t make herself begin to care.


    As the sounds came to a standstill, Winifred let out a small noise of anger. ¡°I meant all of ye, damn it.¡±


    ¡°Meek not leaving, Meek busy healing now you awake. But Meek not care if Scary Lady upset. More important to help and heal.¡± The quiet response came from nearby.


    Nodding to herself, Winifred resisted her urge to toss the piece of glass at the Goblin, then begin raging at the foolish little bastard.


    Instead she opened her eyes and took in the broken glass bottle she¡¯d been handed, and used it to check the wrinkles lining her face. The small age spots that were now speckled on her cheeks.


    The splashes of gray in her hair, mixed amongst the tangled brown threads. The crows nest by her eyes, and a half a dozen other things.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Winifred had always prided herself on not giving a flying Owlbear¡¯s tits about looks, but this wasn¡¯t just an issue of vanity.


    Ever since she¡¯d woken up, she could feel the muscles in her back twinging in protest, she could feel the creak of her bones as she moved.


    It truly felt like Winifred had lost something intangible, more than just a bit of lost time. More than a piece of her body, as if that wasn¡¯t bad enough.


    She felt like a sliver of her soul had been taken from her and she didn¡¯t have the first clue how to get it back.


    Winifred clenched the glass until it shattered in her hand, shards breaking off and cutting through her flesh as she tossed the bloody remnants against the far wall.


    Before she knew it, she was besides the small desk Zacharias had been sitting at, hands reaching out to grab the wooden piece of filth-


    Until she realized she couldn¡¯t grab it with her right hand, her new stump smashing a dent into the desk¡¯s frame.


    Screaming wordlessly now, Winifred changed her tactics and simply began beating her damaged forearm against the top of the desk as splinters and flecks of blood splattered across the room.


    Bit by bit, she smashed the rest apart with a single-minded determination, no rhyme or reason to the action other than a growing sense of despair that curdled up from her stomach.


    If she¡¯d been focused, only a moment¡¯s thought would allow her Mana to enforce her arm''s strength and durability to the point where she could smash the furniture apart without a care.


    Hells, even calling on a sliver of her Crux would let her break the desk with a single flick. But there was something deeply satisfying and primal about smashing the wooden object to pieces that made Winifred feel better about herself, even if it came at the expense of her own self.


    It felt good, it felt right, it felt-


    Unfortunately, the desk fully collapsed at this point as Winifred glared down at it. As she stared past the broken stump where her hand should be.


    ¡®How am I meant tae throw out a right hook now?¡¯ The thought struck her out of nowhere, stopping the brawler in her tracks.


    Even as she stood there, she could feel the soft glow of Mana restoring her broken skin, she could watch the pieces of wood pull themselves out of her arm.


    But the stump remained, taunting her.


    Slumping to her knees amongst the debris, Winifred felt a sob rip from her chest as she struggled to breath, struggled to process everything.


    As her fight with the Chosen Shade had continued, more and more fear had seeped into her, fear at losing the fight. Fear that her companions would get hurt. Fear that she¡¯d lose control and¡­


    Tears began streaming down her face as Winifred sat there, scrubbing at her eyes with her one good arm before she felt a soft weight collide with her back.


    Meekknuckle could barely wrap his arms around her waist, and even sitting she dwarfed his meager form but for a second the Goblin was the only thing holding Winifred together.


    It was a few minutes more before Winifred got her thoughts and emotions back under control, but she didn¡¯t move to pull away from Meekknuckle for a few more moments.


    ¡°Thanks Meek.¡±


    ¡°No worries Scary Lady. Meek always like you best.¡±


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    Skrakch and Zacharias stood by the warehouse¡¯s back entrance with no small amount of trepidation as they flinched at every resounding crack that emanated from the small office space.


    ¡°Oh come on.¡± Zacharias mumbled after a particularly loud thud as the Halfling watched the warehouse¡¯s cheap walls shudder slightly. ¡°I needed that stuff, y¡¯know.¡±


    Skrakch scoffed loudly as he fingered through his freshly stocked bandolier, though he kept a watchful eye on the door between him and his Chosen companion.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky she didn¡¯t crush your skull, you idiot. I can¡¯t believe I ever let you do the talking for us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s Winifred. The old gal has taken a beating before, how was I supposed to know she¡¯d take offense.¡±


    Skrakch shot the Halfling an incredulous look, before chortling. ¡°You seriously have all the tact of a Houroun. Even the Goblin has better social skills than you do.¡± The Ratling finished with a grin.


    Zacharias turned to glare at Skrakch, distracted from his earlier worry about his warehouse. ¡°Please, one look at either of you two and most folks go running for a Tomb-Makers to put you down.¡±


    ¡°Listen here, you scar-faced jumped up prick, I¡¯ll have you know that-¡° Skrakch started to retort as his tail lashed from side to side as he glared at Zach, before the warehouse door opened with a thud and cut him off.


    Standing in the doorway, Winifred cut a rather beleaguered sight. Still, the Chosen just let out a scoff as she rubbed one hand offhandedly against a reddened eye.


    ¡°Right, we need tae talk.¡± She announced simply, as she strode past the bickering duo. ¡°And if I¡¯m going tae listen to ye two whinge, I¡¯d like a pint to wash yer nonsense down with.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m nae paying for any of it.¡± Winifred announced as she headed further out into the Slums, with Meekknuckle scurrying after her as the Goblin stuck his tongue out at Skrakch and Zach.


    Zacharias let out a small huff of laughter at the sight, before leaning towards Skrakch and muttering. ¡°Bloody Hells, and you all glared daggers at me for mentioning it. Told you she was a pisshead.¡±


    Pushing past Zacharias, Skrakch began to hustle after Winifred as well, but not before calling back to the Halfling. ¡°Whatever Zach, you¡¯re still a prick. But you can make up for it by footing the bill!¡±

 103 - A Taste Of Home

    Winifred found it a decidedly odd sensation to be once more seated at a table across from her companions at the Plagued Rat, as they waited to be served amongst the rowdy bunch of degenerates who called the tavern their second home, after having just fought for her life against a monstrosity that could level the entire room of drunks with a single swipe of it¡¯s claw.


    Still, the smells of ale and vomit were surprisingly soothing to Winifred¡¯s nose, and the hint of cooked meat in the air had her stomach rumbling.


    ¡°Stop glaring at me, Squeaks. I just thought the poor woman would want a taste of something strong after waking up.¡± Zach said with a chuckle, before continuing under his breath. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯ve all forgot our ¡®sweet lass¡¯ has a bit of an addictive streak. Probably the longest she¡¯s gone without some vice or another.¡±


    Skrakch let out a low hiss and jabbed at Zacharias with a sharp claw. ¡°You shut your mouth Zach, you¡¯re the last person who should say anything about vices. After all, you¡¯ve ¡®sampled all the flowers worth tasting¡¯ at the Denmother¡¯s brothel.¡±


    ¡°Me not like eating flowers, best taste one¡¯s always full of pokey bits.¡± Meekknuckle helpfully contributed, even as the diminutive Goblin sat quietly on a stool, using one of his sharpened fingernails to aimlessly scrape at the blackened gunk that coated the underside of the booze-stained table.


    The bored simpleton played with the gunk between his green fingers, as he rolled it into a ball before flicking it off disconsolately in whatever direction pleased him, much to the annoyance of the nearby tables.


    Still, from the wary looks and the whispered warnings, none of the taverngoers intended to cause a fuss. Interestingly, their eyes tended to stray towards Zacharias over her, as fear and anger flitted across their faces.


    It was almost a shame, but¡­ ¡®Would I even enjoy a scrap right now?¡¯


    How many years had she spent throwing punch after punch, perfecting her techniques as she broke hundreds of training dummies under Blackmaul¡¯s careful eye.


    How many close fights in dirty alleyways had she survived, how many little cuts and bruises had she accrued on her body, only to stand up and throw another fist.


    Every time she came back for more, as the thrill of throwing herself at something drove her forward.


    Winifred was under no illusions about herself, she was a blunt instrument. Prone to violence and rage, happy to bash things, or people, into smithereens if they offended her. Or looked at her sideways.


    Or just for fun, really.


    But now¡­ ¡®I¡¯d crush them. Even without using me Pact directly it would nae be a fight. Even if Skrakch or Zach joined in against me¡­¡¯ The thought weighed at her, even as Winifred half-heartedly kept an ear on her companions'' useless prattling.


    ¡°See, the Goblin knows a thing or two about trying new things,¡± Zach mocked the table, no doubt knowing Skrakch would take offense at the implication that Meekknuckle could be more experienced than the Ratling.


    ¡°Nothing wrong with having a taste of something new. You might end up liking it, eh Winnie?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Winifred muttered as she cast her eye out for the serving lady, her stomach rumbling out its hunger for all to hear. ¡°I¡¯m beginning tae think it¡¯s better tae just stick with what ye know¡­ like a pitcher of ale and a steak pie.¡±


    ¡°Seriously, where is-¡° Winifred was cut off at the sudden appearance of a portly matron, who was wiping her hands on the grimy apron hanging off her white linen shirt.


    As she smiled at the table with surprisingly white teeth, the newcomer greeted them with a motherly greeting. ¡°Hello there dears, what can I get you fine folk today? We¡¯ve got a fresh pot of soup on the hearth, and some bread to go with it.¡±


    Skrakch was the first to respond, the Iskrin¡¯s eyes squinting at the server. ¡°Since when does this shithole offer a ¡®fresh pot of soup¡¯, or Hells, fresh anything. And you must be a new hire yourself, yes?¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, I just started this morning.¡± The waitress beamed at the Ratling, before pulling a sheet of paper from one of her many pockets. ¡°And the previous owner just retired, or so I was told. People are saying someone bought the place up for a pretty penny.¡±


    Before Skrakch could inquire any further, Zacharias waved his hand across the table dismissively. ¡°As thrilling as the little details always are, we¡¯ll just take four tankards of ale. And¡­ three meat pies, I¡¯d wager.¡±


    Ignoring the Halfling¡¯s tone with well-practiced ease, the older woman jotted down their order. ¡°Perfect, we just got a batch out of the oven. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll love them.¡± She finished her sentence by jotting down a final note, and flashed them another smile before making her way to the next table.


    ¡°Is it just me, or did she seem familiar?¡± Skrakch asked, his eyes trailing the waitresses movements. ¡°And since when was Ol¡¯Deckard wanting to sell the place? I thought this tavern was with his family for generations.¡±


    ¡°Who cares?¡± Zach answered back instantly, leaning back on his chair. ¡°So long as they don¡¯t start watering down the booze, it¡¯s no skin off my nose. Really it¡¯s-¡°


    Winifred let the Halfling¡¯s ramblings flow past her as she kept her eyes on the new matron as the woman jovially laughed with the clientele, taking orders and swerving from table to table.


    ¡®She is familiar, isn¡¯t she¡­¡¯ For whatever reason, Winifred wasn¡¯t able to pull her eyes off the woman¡¯s form.


    And yet, she was certain she hadn¡¯t ever laid eyes on the waiter before, so the sense of familiarity felt off. ¡®It¡¯s more like I¡¯ve seen someone who moves the way she does, with the same confidence. The same poise, but who¡­¡±


    As a flash of black hair and beautiful eyes flickered across Winifred¡¯s mind, the brawler had to resist the urge to snort in derision, as the image of Catalina propped up in her head.


    Catalina had been a stunning woman, sure, but the eyecandy from the Auction couldn¡¯t look less like the waitress if she tried. Still, maybe there was a similarity to the pair. Something about the way they both moved to showcase their assets, grabbing people¡¯s attention with ease.


    ¡®How could ye resist staring?¡¯


    ¡°-you alright Scary Lady? You face go red, stomach hurt maybe?¡± Meekknuckle¡¯s voice broke Winifred out of her trance, the little Goblin poking at her side as he peered up at her.


    A quick glance shot across the table was enough to confirm the other two hadn¡¯t noticed her wandering gaze, so Winifred let out a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Aye, it¡¯s fine Meek. I was just thinking about¡­ something else.¡± She finished, touching her warm cheeks and willing them to cool down. ¡°Nothing to worry about. I¡¯ve had enough poking and prodding for today from you anyways.¡±


    The Cleric squinted up at her for a second, before giving a small shrug. ¡°Me just making sure you okay. Scary Lady sleep for long time, not good for health. Unless human¡¯s like sleep lots?¡±


    Chuckling in response, Winifred was about to answer when a thought struck her. ¡°Hey, yer back tae calling me Scary Lady? What happened tae Nice Lady?¡± She asked with a smile, settling back down at the table and looking at Meekknuckle.


    ¡°That obvious. Scary Lady is scary, Meek not sure if you wake up. That extra scary, and not nice, so you back to Scary Lady.¡± The Goblin confirmed with a resolute nod.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Winifred trailed off, not quite sure how to respond to such a unique sentiment. ¡°How about ye start using my actual name then? That way it can work for either scary or nice?¡±


    Meekknuckle seemed to consider the idea for a moment, before giving a quick nod and a flash of his yellowed fangs. ¡°Then Meek call you Winnie. Like the others. But me no get why Ugly-One makes mean-smile when he says it.¡±


    Snorting in amusement, Winifred leaned back in her chair and reminisced about her heydays for a bit. ¡°Yeah, I used tae find the nickname annoying. So of course the wee man started using it constantly. Dinnae worry though, it¡¯s long since grown on me.¡±


    It looked like Meekknuckle was about to respond, but a small clattering sound drew the tables attention towards a serving girl with a tray of drinks and food as she arrived by the table.


    Winifred felt a small frown begin to cross her face as she realized the motherly waitress from before was nowhere to be seen, but as Skrakch shoved a tankard of ale into her hands, the Ratling turned a rather intense stare in her direction.


    Before the Ratling opened his mouth, Winifred held out a placating hand, almost going to raise her bloodied stump before swapping to the other arm. ¡°Any chance we could skip this little chat? Chalk it up tae a dumb mistake and move on?¡±


    From the snarl that crossed Skrakch¡¯s face, she knew that wouldn¡¯t be good enough. Winifred was still surprised however, to notice both Zach and Meekknuckle staring at her in curiosity.


    ¡°Alright, alright. Let me start from the beginning then,¡± Winifred growled out the words, before taking a swig of the mead and testing the heat of her food with a prodding finger.


    ¡°First off, let me tell ye all a bit more about the three months that the Tomb-Makers had me confined in that Gods be damned tower of theirs for¡­¡±

 104 - A Bitter Memory

    ¡°That first night after I¡¯d been Chosen was the worst of it fer sure,¡± Winifred half-mumbled the words, as she idly stabbed her fork into the meat pie and watched the rush of steam that burst out of the pie¡¯s golden-brown crust. ¡°I did nae even ken what was going on. The last thing I could remember was fighting for ma life against Sykes¡¯ fucking bodyguard, then all of a sudden, I was in the sky.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t resist the small shiver that ran through her at the memory. ¡°It was so much colder than I¡¯d ever imagined, being that high above the city. Dangling in the air with nothing but a slab of stone to rest on.¡±


    ¡°I felt my damn heart stop in my chest, and I¡¯m bloody thankful my body seized in fear. Just thinking of that drop¡­¡±


    ¡°The only thing worse was realizing the only thing holding me steady was some nightmare monstrosity come to life. Or unlife. You know what I mean.¡± Winifred punctuated her statement with a growl of annoyance.


    She could still remember the shock and fear in her gut as she¡¯d locked eyes with her kidnapper¡¯s Elven features, and taken in the powerful gargoyle body she was draped across like a sack of potatoes.


    Frankly, Winifred hadn¡¯t even known who, or what, had apparently kidnapped her. As far as she was concerned, the Tomb-Makers were mostly Wraiths or Skeletal Guards.


    Not misbegotten chimeras of flesh and rock. No, she hadn¡¯t had a clue what was going on in the slightest.


    ¡°No amount of courage prepares ye to be staring down some fooking monstrosity out of nowhere, I¡¯ll tell ye that.¡± Winifred spat to the side, as she recalled how she¡¯d screamed in fear. ¡®I near pissed meself, but who the Hells would nae have?¡¯


    Seated at the table with her companions, safely tucked out of sight from any Tomb-Makers, and Winifred could still feel the fear from that moment.


    It didn¡¯t help that even the tavern full of drunken louts would only slow the Skeletal Guardsmen down for a mere moment, if they really wanted to get ahold of her again.


    The brawler was pulled from her morose silence when Zacharias knocked a ring against the table. ¡°Please, it¡¯s a bit of altitude!¡± The Halfling said derisively as he rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I used to love scaling buildings as a kid. It can¡¯t be -that- different.¡±


    ¡°Must you always be such an idiot!¡± Came Skrakch¡¯s scathing rebuke, the Ratling¡¯s whiskered face twisted into a snarl. ¡°Going a few stories up isn¡¯t the same as actually flying, you fool.¡±


    ¡°Aye, remind me next time we get the chance to dangle ye from somewhere high and see how ye fair,¡± Winifred snorted as she shook her head, before she continued her tale.


    ¡°Well, it was nae long before I passed out again, whether because of ma wounds or ma newly Chosen stature.¡±


    ¡°When I next awoke, I was back indoors. Clearly I¡¯d been dropped off somewhere, but I had nae a single bloody clue where I was.¡±


    ¡°The room itself was¡­ bare. Nay, more like¡­ sterile?¡± Winifred continued, her eyes focusing on something out of sight as she tried to remember the moment.


    ¡°It reminded me of a funeral room, all white sheets and nae colour. It was cramped too, only a dozen or so feet in length and height.¡±


    The drab featureless walls had been rather daunting to take in at the time, and Winifred hadn¡¯t been able to find a way out of the room, with no doors or windows in sight.


    With nothing but time as she sought a way to escape her confines, her mind had twisted on itself, wandered and wondered through memories she¡¯d long thought forgotten.


    Had the walls actually been closing in on her? Or had it just been her own mind trying to fool her? It seemed nonsensical in hindsight, but she¡¯d felt trapped. Like a caged animal, locked away and out of sight.


    She¡¯d recalled the last time she¡¯d seen such a sterile, cold room. It had been at her Uncle Hamish¡¯s manor house, the old man having had kicked the bucket and she¡¯d been led into his bedroom by her mother to say her goodbyes.


    In life, Uncle Hamish had been a mean giant of a man. Broad shoulders, broad face, broad bloody everything. His flame red hair and beard had been his crowning glory, proof of his noble heritage.


    The man was, in hindsight, a drunkard. Liking the finest whiskey money could buy and drinking it to excess. It made the man mean as a rabid Lionbear and just as dangerous. So his death hadn¡¯t been something Winifred had cared too deeply about.


    Uncle Hamish had been laid out on his bed on pristine white sheets, surrounded by white lilies. She¡¯d stared at his strange, waxy face so different to when he was living, and listened to her mother¡¯s soft cries. She¡¯d been merely five years old at the time but sometimes, in her dreams, that same dead pale face would come visit her even now.


    ¡®It was the quiet that really got tae me though. I¡¯d been so used tae the thrum of the city, that being without it¡­¡¯


    The sounds of the busy tavern began to fade into the background as the Chosen felt herself falling deeper into her memory.


    ¡°They¡¯d left me in me bloodied leather, thank the Gods Above and Below. Dinnae ken I¡¯d have reacted well tae being stripped, let me tell ye.¡± She took a sip of ale as her companions focused on her words, the revelry of the tavern around them contrasting their silence.


    ¡°I could nae tell ye if I was left in that wee room, that bloody cell, for hours or days but I was going mad in there by meself.¡±


    ¡°All I wanted was for something tae break the monotony, but once someone finally did¡­¡±


    She trailed off, remembering the moment¡­ it was still so visceral to her and yet, especially with her missing arm, she wasn¡¯t willing to show that to her companions.


    The wee Halfling, and probably the Ratling too, would jump at the chance to use it against her should the need arise.


    ¡°Never show your opponent yer weaknesses, Lassie!¡±


    ¡°Who!?¡± Skrakch only just managed to keep from yelling in consternation at the lull in Winifred¡¯s words, the Ratling slamming a fist onto the inn¡¯s table and knocking bits of peanut shells onto the floor. ¡°Was it a human, or a bloody Undead! Maybe it was a-¡°


    Skrakch was suddenly cut off as Zacharias¡¯ smacked the Iskrin upside the head, the Halfling let out a half-laugh, half-sneer as he shook his head. ¡°Shut your gob, Squeakers. Let the poor wench talk.¡±


    Ignoring the duo¡¯s antics, Winifred just continued her tale. ¡°Actually, it was a bit of both I¡¯d say. The¡­ man who came tae check on me was almost mundane looking, really. Bit of an ugly wee lad if yer askin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°He was dressed well enough, in such an impressive swirl of red silk that I¡¯d say he had more grace than any Nobleman I¡¯d been forced tae chat with before. He even had this perfectly pleated cravat that¡­¡± The Brawler cut off with a quick cough, her cheeks momentarily flushing pink. The wearer of the clothes certainly wasn¡¯t a prize pig but the clothes themselves? Things of beauty.


    But she wasn¡¯t interested in clothes. ''Obviously.''


    Before any of her companions could remark on her last comment, Winifred barreled onwards with her story.


    ¡°Listen, the point is, the man was well dressed. He even had a rather impressive collection of jewelry on his fingers. The size o¡¯ them gems, ye¡¯d have been drooling Wee Man.¡±


    ¡°But one look at him and ye could tell he was nae right. Was nae some mere mortal richie from the residential area. Pale as a ghost, with pointed teeth to boot. All the finery in the world couldn¡¯t hide the look in his eyes, looking at me like I was food.¡±


    ¡®It was like staring at a wolf in the guise of a man,¡¯ Winifred could still feel the fear that had blossomed in her chest that day. ¡®One second I was adjusting to waking up in some bloody crypt, the next I was staring down a¡­ a bloody Demon.¡¯


    ¡®I did nae even see him enter the room, he just appeared. Staring at me with such unnatural stillness from within my arms reach. It was like a corpse had wandered into sight from the depths of the Abyss itself.¡¯


    Winifred stabbed her fork down into her meat pie before taking a bite out of it, trying to shake off the memory as she listened to the tavern crowd around her as they cheered the arrival of a minstrel, here to entertain the drunken louts.


    ¡°So, naturally I told the bloke off. Ripped him a new one, for daring tae touch a sleeping woman of ma clear virtue.¡± Winifred continued, until Zacharias started laughing uproariously. ¡°What? I¡¯ll have ye know I gave him whatfore!¡±


    ¡°Please Winnie, you¡¯re all talk love! I bet you near pissed your knickers at the sight of him.¡± Zacharias could barely speak as the laughter bubbled out of him as he slapped the tabletop for effect.


    As Winifred glared at the Halfling, Meekknuckle finally piped up with a comment. ¡°Me confused. Was he human? Or spooky-Undead-human?¡±


    Scratching at his chin for a moment, Meek thought of another important question to ask. ¡°Wait, why all spooky Undead be human? Where all Undead Goblins! Or Rat peoples. Not fair, not let me be Undead.¡±


    ¡°Actually, there¡¯s a good reason for that!¡± Skrakch chimed in, sitting up more adroitly as the little prick prepared himself for another of his long winded, boring lectures. ¡°400 years ago, the Tomb-Makers did supposedly let-¡°


    ¡®Well, that was easy enough tae distract them.¡¯ Winifred thought to herself as she resisted her own urge to laugh easily tuning out the Ratling¡¯s grating voice as he webt off on another one of his impromptu history lessons. ¡®If I¡¯m lucky, they will nae even remember tae keep pestering me, for awhile at least.¡¯


    Still¡­ just thinking about that day was enough for the meat pie she was eating to taste like ash in her mouth.


    ¡®What I was saying was true enough, Gods Below strike me dead if it weren¡¯t.¡¯


    Winifred shuddered as she remembered the way the pale creature had looked at her, as if she wasn¡¯t even a person. Even her Mother and her fellow acolytes had never looked at her like that before. Like she was a commodity of sorts¡­


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡®Just a pile of meat, waiting tae be ripped apart.¡¯


    ¡®I did nae say a word tae him, no, you dinnae try tae talk with something like that. I threw myself at him, and the monster did nae even budge! I smashed ma fist into his face, and all it earned me was a damn near broken hand.¡¯ She crammed in another mouthful of pie, hoping the familiar meat and rich gravy would do something to the cold pit of her stomach.


    ¡®He just stared at me around my aching hand, blood red eyes looking into ma damn soul. Just thinking about it¡­¡¯ Winifred could feel still feel the chill, even with the tavern warm enough to be uncomfortable heated by the sheer mass of folks inside the rickety walls.


    ¡­innie? Winnie, don¡¯t bloody ignore me.¡± Zacharias voice cut through her memories, leaving the pit fighter to glare at the Halfling. ¡°Listen, best get talking before Old Squeakeroo starts trying to bore us all to death again.¡±


    Ignoring Skrakch¡¯s cry of annoyance, Winifred was just happy to move on from the moment. ¡°Well, turned out it was all a bloody misunderstanding, and the Tomb-Makers just wanted tae make sure I would nae hurt any of their precious citizens alright?¡± She lied through her teeth, already feeling done with this damnable conversation.


    The next few seconds were spent in complete silence as Zacharias and Skrakch marvelled at the sheer gall of such a bald-faced lie, but the killing blow went to Meekknuckle as the small Goblin rested a bony hand on Winifred¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Me not sure that true, Winnie. Maybe, you just tell important bits of story?¡± Meek asked as he beamed a calming smile up at her. The damn wee creature had seen through her easily. Never a good sign.


    Letting out an exasperated sigh, Winifred did what came naturally to her in moments like this. Grabbing her tankard of ale, she drowned her momentary feelings of embarrassment with alcohol before wiping away the frothy remains on her lips.


    ¡°Fine, Fine. The damned thing was another Chosen. But nae like me, or even like that bloody Ghast. Nae, I was but a pup before him. He never talked tae me, just grabbed me by the throat and dragged me to where I was needed.¡±


    ¡°That first night, he just attacked me. Over and over again, he¡¯d throw me across what I quickly realized was ma cell.¡± Winifred¡¯s voice fell, a small quiver in her words. ¡°He did nae even use a weapon, he never even bothered tae make a fist. He just lifted a single pale finger, and tossed me about like I was bloody paper.¡±


    ¡°And I threw everything I had at him. Ma training with Blackmaul, ma tricks I picked up in the pits. I used ma Mana until I puked blood, and he never had tae use more than a finger to deflect ma attacks.¡±


    ¡°For the first time since I was a little girl, I was helpless.¡±


    Winifred choked down a lump in her throat, staring down at the table. Zacharias and Skrakch were the two worst people in her life to be baring her soul to and yet, here she was. Maybe it was a momentary weakness due to Kristoff¡¯s pain receding brew? If she was to be asked, that would certainly be the reason she¡¯d give anyway.


    ¡°Even after I gave up on attacking him, he¡¯d just keep poking me. Prodding me. Looking at me like I was some kind of defective toy.¡±


    ¡°I dinnae even remember the first time I ended up using ma Pact against him. I did nae realize what I was doing until ma fist moved so much faster than it should have. I punched him harder than I could ever throw a fist before, and all I achieved was forcing him to catch my punch with the flat of his palm.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s when he was finally done with me. I never saw that particular Tomb-Maker again, but¡­ the way I was just a joke tae him.¡± Winifred growled out the words, blinking back tears as she cracked her knuckles together. ¡°I swore I¡¯d get stronger. So strong that I could break that prick¡¯s finger. Rip it off his fist and force it down his gullet.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I wanted tae fight that Chosen in the Arena. I need tae get stronger, I need¡­¡± She let her voice trail off again, as the table fell into silence.


    It was after nearly a minute before Zacharias broke the silence.


    ¡°You know, my Pa used to take a belt to me.¡± The thief offered up in a casual tone, as if just recounting a fun little anecdote. ¡°Just went to town with it, and the man was a retired blacksmith too. Had a mean wrist on him, by the Gods. One whack from him and you¡¯d be feeling it for hours let me tell you!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d spend most weeks limping, all throughout my childhood.¡± Zacharias shook his head as if the thought amused him, grabbing his own tankard and running his finger around the rim. ¡°Nothing I could do about it though, the man was just bigger than me. Stronger, faster, Hells, I was a kid!¡±


    ¡°But eventually I got older and got wiser. Me old man was always going to be stronger than me, but he still slept. Still got hammered on booze, and fell into a stupor. So one night I choked him to death with his own belt.¡±


    Zacharias¡¯ grin pulled his scars taut on his face, and for a moment Winifred thought the look rather suited him. ¡°Still one of my treasured memories that. Talk about poetic fucking justice. So if you want someone or something killed, we¡¯re the men you need in your corner. Eh, Squeaks?¡±


    The Ratling was tapping his lip in thought, mumbling to himself.


    ¡°Pale, rich, powerful as all Hells. Sounds like a vampire to me. Probably just need to load up on garlic or something¡­ Hrm? Oh, my first kill was my supposed Master.¡± He added when Zach gave him a nudge.


    ¡°A human noble, with all the brains that entailed, no offense Winnie. And me just a lowly Iskrin, barely a servant. Didn¡¯t stop me from watching as he burnt alive though, did it?¡± Skrakch finished by grinning so wide Winifred could see nearly the full length of his yellowed, oversized two front teeth.


    Meekknuckle spoke up next, the Goblin keeping it short and simple.


    ¡°If Pale human Undead, it easy for Meek. Just go ¡®Zap-Zap¡¯ with magic, and he go down.¡± He explained with an easy shrug.


    ¡°Meek happy to make Undead stay dead, for a friend.¡± The Goblin mused, rubbing at his chin before turning a considering look towards Winifred. ¡°After all, friends help friends make annoying people dead. Winnie help me if Meek need people made deaded, right?¡±


    Before Winifred could answer the Goblin¡¯s offhanded remark about blatant murder, Skrakch let out a shrill laugh.


    ¡°Who the Hells would you want to have murdered Meekknuckle, you don¡¯t know more than ten people in Dray¡¯Mel to begin with.¡± Skrakch mocked. ¡°Unless you think we¡¯ll help you kill a cousin or something. Did Quickfingers steal your prized possession, a linen rag with only three holes in it? Hahaha.¡±


    ¡°Bloody rich coming from you, Squeaks.¡± Zacharias butted in. ¡°You wear the same leather outfit for weeks on end and don¡¯t exactly keep it clean.¡±


    ¡°At least I bathe regularly, you disgusting halfwit. We can all smell your filthy-¡°


    As her trio of companions began arguing over each other, Winifred couldn¡¯t help the laugh that bubbled out of her.


    Truthfully, the idea of the three of them standing up to her tormentor was a nice thought, but if even she had trouble, they were next to useless.


    ¡®Too bad none of them could help with the real issue.¡¯


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-


    As terrifying as the ¡®Pale Man¡¯ had been, he¡¯d been a physical creature. Something stronger than her, sure, but something she could fight. Something she could punch.


    It was what came after she¡¯d tapped into her Pact that truly terrified her.


    ¡®I could barely breathe at that point, the sheer exhaustion that weighed me down was overwhelming.¡¯


    ¡®Maybe if I was still fresh, I¡¯d have noticed that ma tormentor had finally left me, or that ma wee cell had finally opened up to reveal a stairway.¡¯


    ¡®But nae, the first thing I noticed was the shift in the air. The sudden breeze on ma skin. The worst part had been the glimmer of hope that I¡¯d felt at the sensation. It felt like¡­ freedom.¡¯


    One of the cell wall was simply gone, with a new hallway leading into a winding stairway of jagged obsidian-wrought stone.


    The tunnel walls themselves were made from the same blackened material, the only difference being the occasional torches dotting the walls.


    Only the nearest of the torches were lit, but Winifred welcomed even the smallest bits of light.


    Even as she blearily stared upwards, she couldn¡¯t see the end of the unchanging ascent, but anything was better than being locked in the dark, all alone.


    The flickering spectral flames lit her way ahead and so Winifred began the long climb. Her first step brought fresh torment as the rough edges sliced into her bare feet but she barely noticed the sensation of her blood being spilled.


    Her entire body ached with each step, her calves burning as she moved ever onwards. An hour into her climb, and her balance began to shift, her feet slipping on the now slick steps.


    ''Worse though was the air itself.¡¯


    ¡®The books I¡¯d read as a child said that air grew scarcer as ye went higher, but that was nae the case for me. Nae, the air was becoming thick, practically a damned roiling smog that refused tae enter ma lungs.¡¯


    It was a fresh form of torment, but Winifred couldn¡¯t help but be relieved. Anything was better than being struck again and again without recourse.


    ¡®At least with this, I¡¯m in control.¡¯


    Her blood ran down the tower¡¯s steps as she climbed, step by step, the dripping blood making the blackened stone slick and unsteady.


    Mentally exhausted, Winifred climbed with a sheer determination that surprised her, her body refusing to drop to the building pressure.


    So focused on her ascent, she nearly ran directly into the first obstacle in her path.


    Looming above her was an ornately carved door, wide enough for five men to cross comfortably.


    A part of her was elated, the part of her that had refused to bend to her new circumstances, but she found herself staring at the door in front of her.


    Even as she struggled to pull her attention elsewhere, Winifred could see a spreading web of gold cross against the stone door¡¯s surface.


    Her mind traced the delicate lines etched in gold, but she couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of the dizzying pattern.


    Instead, she could feel a strange attraction towards the door handle, urging her onwards. Just through the door and she¡¯d be free.


    Free from all her struggles, free from the curse of life. Winifred stepped up to the door and shoved it open, her tired arms burning from the strain.


    The massive stone slabs barely budged, until she called on the power within her.


    Break¡­


    The sound of the doors crashing against the tower walls wasn¡¯t worth registering to Winifred as she stepped into the long dead remnants of a garden, nor did she notice the chilling bite of the wind on her exposed flesh.


    ¡®The smell of rotten flesh was stronger than ever in my nose, but I was finally free. I¡¯d climbed tae the very top of Dray¡¯Mel, standing atop the spire that had loomed above me ma entire life.¡¯


    The entire garden couldn¡¯t have been more than a few dozen feet in length, but Winifred gravitated to the nearest edge and stared downwards.


    The whole city was spread out before her, as the wind whipped her hair wildly about. Winifred could make out the Outer Walls and the hundreds of Tomb-Makers who patrolled the city limits like a swarm of ants marching in an orderly line.


    In all directions, she could see the broken desert that surrounded the city, and the thick fumes of miasma that poured out from the city.


    All originating from behind her.


    Turning to follow the potent Necromantic Mana that choked down her lungs, Winifred looked past the desiccated bits of foliage and broken stone floor to take in the twisted statue that dominated the entire area.


    ¡®It was glorious, in a twisted way, a monument tae death and rebirth. I felt the statue¡¯s Mana reaching out towards my chest, ma Core both drinking deep of the miasma that seemed born from the abhorrent monstrosities form, and rebelling at the sickly sweet scent of death in the air.¡¯


    ¡®The statue depicted a man, dressed in once resplendent robes as he cast his arms towards the heavens in defiance. His face was morphed in glee and terror in equal measures as the flesh sloughed off its bones, before regrowing in a matter of moments.¡¯


    ¡®Every inch of its entire body was locked in a perpetual cycle of death and decay, balanced out by powerful regrowth and purity. Neither aspect seemed to outweigh the other, the constant mingling perverting both into something profoundly¡­ wrong.¡±


    ¡®But it wasn¡¯t until I locked eyes with the monstrous figure that I truly realized what I was looking at. Where the statue¡¯s eyes should have rested, only burnt out sockets peered back at me, but I could feel the pressure of its gaze.¡¯


    ¡°Greetings, little sister.¡±


    The words reverberated in her skull, sounding both as the rasping of a dying man and the crying of a newborn.


    The weight of the statue¡¯s attention pressed down on Winifred, even though the statue itself remained perfectly still.


    Darkness began to cloud Winifred¡¯s vision as she felt her body drop bonelessly to the garden floors, though her eyes remained fixed on the statue¡¯s perpetually rotting visage.


    The last thing Winifred heard before she fell unconscious was the statue¡¯s pervasive voice as it rang out with cold disinterest.


    ¡°The time has come. She must be ready.¡±

 105 - Your Maams a Kipper

    ¡°Yah ma¡¯am¡¯s a kipper!¡± Zacharias yelled out after an extremely drunken Ogre that he¡¯d just won a hand of Five Finger fillet against, the Ogre stumbling away to find something to quell his bleeding hand.


    The Halfling weighed his newly earned bag of coins with one hand and let out a roaring laugh as he slammed back the last dredges of his drink with the other, more of the cheap ale ending on his clothes than in the Halfling¡¯s gullet.


    ¡°What in the Nine Hells does that even mean?¡± Skrakch sighed, sipping his own beverage as he gave a sidelong glance at the drunken lout at the other end of the tavern table. ¡°I swear, if I hadn¡¯t met other Halflings with the same accent, I¡¯d assume you were just making it up on the spot.¡±


    ¡°Short man never make much sense, but that because he too short to think good.¡± Meekknuckle agreed, his head pressed against the wooden table top. ¡°Smartest people Meek know all tall. More room for ideas to grow.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Skrakch rubbed at his temples as he resisted the urge to sigh again. ¡°Seriously, you¡¯re not even drinking Meekknuckle, why are you spouting nonsense? Winnie, back me up here.¡±


    The last of the companions answered with snort, the brunette leaning back on her creaking chair with a grin. ¡°I dunno, the Goblin has a point. Us ¡°tall folk¡± do have the best plans, might be because we have the most room tae-¡°


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Meekknuckle interrupted the Chosen, suddenly sitting upright. ¡°Winnie real smart, but smartest is Ornn! Meek always like his plan, cuz he always want to rest!¡±


    At the Goblin¡¯s proclamation, the assembled Rogues stopped to stare at Meekknuckle before each began to chortle while the diminutive Goblin puffed out his chest with pride.


    Skrakch pushed his chair back with a scrape, eyeing the mostly empty tavern floor as the morning light petered through the boarded windows of the Plagued Rat.


    Only the die hard drunks and gamblers remained. Either collapsed over the stained tables, or desperately trying to compensate for a night¡¯s card game losses by playing ¡®just one more hand¡¯. It was a depressing sight for sure and one the Ratling usually chose to avoid.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s my cue to call it a night. One more stupid comment like that, and I¡¯m liable to start clawing the lot of you.¡±


    ¡°Aw, come on Squeaks! The night¡¯s still young!¡± Zacharias cajoled, even as he nearly toppled out of his chair.


    ¡°You should be happy, you twit. I need to go make sure Kristoff hasn''t sabotaged any of last night''s potion batches with his ¡®helpful¡¯ nonsense.¡± Skrakch spat acidly.


    Delicately thumbing through his many bandolier pouches, Skrakch pulled loose a few silver coins before tossing them on the table. ¡°You¡¯re all welcome to come back with me, but I¡¯m not helping carry Zach. Last time he got this tanked, he puked all over my best tunic.¡±


    ¡°You mean, your -only- tunic!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Skrakch waved off the Halfling¡¯s slurred rebuttal and began making his way out the tavern door, cringing as even the small bits of sunlight that broke past the dour clouds above him were enough to momentarily blind his tired eyes.


    Thankfully, most of the streets surrounding the Plagued Rat were quiet enough this early in the day, as the residents of the Slums weren¡¯t exactly known for their early morning work ethics.


    No, the only people hustling through the filthy alleyways were other drunks or addicts, stumbling back to their own little slices of home, too drunk or high to pose much threat.


    Even the pickpockets were mostly absent, knowing that most of their potential marks had already turned in what little coins they had for a taste of Dragon¡¯s Blood, or a more¡­ physical touch.


    Taking a deep breath of foul air and exhaling through his nose, Skrakch began moving forward at a brisk pace. Just because the streets were empty, didn¡¯t mean it was a good idea to loiter. Drunk or not, few citizens of Dray¡¯Mel were kind to an Iskrin who was out on their own.


    Keeping a wary eye on any nearby shadows was second nature to Skrakch at this point though, so the Ratling made good time as he picked his way back to Kristoff¡¯s warehouse.


    It was still a bit surreal to the fledgling Alchemist that Zacharias had somehow put together an entire warehouse dedicated to crafting cheap potions and elixirs, but Skrakch wasn¡¯t going to complain.


    The Ratling had already restored most of his stock of minor healing elixirs, and his new minions were getting the hang of brewing various potions.


    Of course, most of their efforts went to making cheap knock off narcotics for Zacharias to peddle, but Skrakch was more focused on his own gains.


    ¡®Though Zacharias has been surprisingly focused on learning how to make Dragon¡¯s Blood.¡¯ Skrakch idly rubbed his chin as he walked down a dirty alleyway. ¡®Normally he gets these ideas in his head, only to drop them when something new catches his eye.¡¯


    Frankly, Skrakch hadn¡¯t minded the chance to try his paws at reverse-engineering an alchemical recipe, but his initial efforts had been¡­ middling, at best.


    ¡®Still, it was great practice. Just a shame it was for some useless drug, not for anything actually useful.¡¯


    Dragon¡¯s Blood was all the rage at the moment, it¡¯s users getting more desperate for their illicit fix as the city¡¯s supplies dwindled, but Skrakch couldn¡¯t give less of a fuck.


    ¡®Gold coin can only get you so far in life, and I¡¯m not interested in stockpiling my own share of our loot.¡¯


    As he splashed through a puddle of what he dearly hoped was only dirty water, Skrakch kept his eyes peeled and moved with a quick pace.


    ¡®No, I was going to spend my cut of the Purene Ruby¡¯s heist on making new potions, but that¡¯s been covered and then some.¡¯


    ¡®So what should I spend my share on?¡¯


    With the fallout of rescuing the succubus for the Denmother, Skrakch had been far too distracted to wonder how selling the artifact they¡¯d stolen was going, but now that he thought about it¡­


    ¡®I wonder how far along Kuosh has gotten in the process? Yes, I should double check with him, and maybe grab a bite to eat...¡¯


    The thought had the Ratling drooling, but Skrakch shook his head and attempted to plaster a wise smile on his face.


    ¡®Yessss, it¡¯s my duty as the group¡¯s official leader.¡¯ The Iskrin lied to himself and took the next turn out of the tight alleyway, making his way towards where he knew Kuosh¡¯s food stall would be waiting for him.


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    While the cramped streets were a disjointed maze of dilapidated houses and littered debris, Skrakch knew the Slums like the back of his furry paws.


    Slipping through open windows was easy enough, the Iskrin taking the quickest path to his destination.


    ¡®Sure, I startle a few squatters as I go, but I¡¯m not wasting time -following laws- or anything else half as silly.¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t long until Skrakch hopped off a slanted rooftop and cleared a final half-broken wall, before Skrakch started to see more early risers making their way to and fro.


    Unlike most Slum denizens, people living in the Merchant¡¯s District tended to be early risers, bakers blearily kneading dough, craftsmen pumping iron, and hawkers setting up their stalls.


    Still, there was a muted sense of unease in the air, each citizen staring wide eyed at anyone who came near, as if they were expecting an attack at any time.


    It had only been five days since the Tomb-Makers had sounded their warhorn and departed from the city enmasse, but Skrakch could still spot the massive Skeletal Guardsmen who¡¯d returned to watching over the streets.


    He hadn¡¯t had a chance to catch the Undead¡¯s movements, but rumours were that the Guardsmen had been surprisingly quick in their movements, and even faster to cut through anything barring their path.


    Skrakch could even spot a few merchant stalls that had been bashed into little bits, marking where the nearest Guardsman had rushed to the East.


    The remnants of the stalls had clearly already been picked through by looters or, perhaps the owners themselves who¡¯d been desperate to salvage what they could from the wreckage.


    Knowing the direction the Undead had traveled was interesting¡­ but without a way of knowing fully what was beyond Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s walls, it meant little to the Ratling.


    Skrakch wasn¡¯t half as deluded as Zacharias was, believing himself the center of the world, but it still gnawed at him to not know what the Tomb-Makers were up to.


    Still, the shifty eyes of the people and their general panicking ways weren¡¯t Skrakch¡¯s problem, so the Ratling was quick to move on.


    ¡®The simpletons should be scared.¡¯ Skrakch groused, baring his teeth at some baker¡¯s apprentice who stumbled too near him. ¡®And not just because of this sudden march. It wouldn¡¯t take a Guardsman more than a dozen moments to clear this entire street of life.¡¯


    But that was an uncomfortable truth, and few people were keen on focusing on their inevitable end. If Skrakch had more time, maybe he¡¯d have ended up the same but¡­


    Skrakch could practically feel the Tomb-Makers brand on his wrist, and he knew the ticking countdown by heart.


    One Month, twenty five days, and less than three hours...


    ¡®Two measly fucking months, before the Rune activated and the Wraiths drag me off to the Butchery.¡¯


    ¡®Two months until I¡¯m dead and gone.¡¯


    Ignoring the disdainful gazes of merchants and craftsmen both, Skrakch tried to focus on anything else but the rising panic in his chest.


    ¡®I was meant to have been Chosen by now. I¡¯ve -earned- it. More than Winifred has, certainly.¡¯


    The Runic Mage ignored the little mocking voice in his head, shaking the untrue thoughts away. ¡®No, Winnie has done great things too. I just¡­ need to do something equally as spectacular. Clearly. Easily.¡¯


    With his recent work alongside the Iskrin slaves of Zacharias¡¯ new ¡®business venture¡¯, he¡¯d taken his eye off the prize. Acted as though he had months, years left to obtain his goal. He¡¯d been stupid. Naive almost. He was going to have to double down on his original goal of obtaining the status of Chosen.


    Distracted as he was, Skrakch nearly stumbled into the back of a cluster of citizens, each murmuring to one another in hushed tones as they crowded the centre of the streets.


    The closest of the idiots had even dropped her basket of bread, the rolls of dough lying carelessly in the dirty street, momentarily forgotten by the young baker.


    ¡®What in the Hells-¡®


    Even as Skrakch opened his mouth to harangue the fools blocking his way, the Ratling caught sight of what everyone was staring at looming above them all.


    Standing near the shattered remains of an unlucky merchant''s stall, a Skeletal Guard rested perfectly still as it held its massive greatsword in a fleshless one-handed grip, the pointed blade resting against the cluttered street floor.


    Its empty eye sockets flickered with a deep burning flame, ceaselessly enacting its eternal vigil, but that wasn¡¯t what had captured everyone¡¯s attention.


    It should have been a normal sight for any citizen of Dray¡¯Mel, as hundreds of the guardsmen were scattered throughout the city, enacting swift justice to anything that disturbed the peace.


    Skrakch had spent years of his life carefully watching dozens of the Tomb-Makers brethren, waiting to see if any of his ¡®four-fingered¡¯ discounts would bring down death upon his head.


    Nothing he¡¯d even done had ever motivated the Guardsmen into actually bothering to move though. Only a direct threat to a citizen would propel their Undead watchers into action, a rare sight even in the dingiest areas of the city.


    No one wanted to risk nearly certain death after all.


    No, Skrakch had plenty of experience with watching the Guardsmen, but he¡¯d never seen one in such rough shape.


    The damned Undead were usually enough to inspire fear into the living with a single look at their imposing frame, but the poor soul looked half dead¡­


    ¡®Well, more half-dead than usual.¡± Skrakch corrected himself as he started pushing his way through the dazed crowd.


    The Guard looked like it had been mauled by a  Houroun, its enchanted iron chest plate scored by long furrows and gashes. Worse was the Undead¡¯s bony skull, its helmet forcefully caved inwards and with only one eye socket left intact to glare from.


    The bones that showed in the gaps between the armor plates were either horribly cracked, deep fissures that displayed the marrow within, or missing entirely with only jagged stumps of the bone they were originally connected to remaining.


    Skrakch hardly even had to crane his neck upwards to see this, as the Guardsmen appeared to have been cleanly bisected in half, the Undead¡¯s hips and legs nowhere in sight.


    Hells, the only way it was still upright was because it was holding itself aloft by virtue of its grip alone, eerily keeping its balance by squeezing the hilt of its greatsword with an iron hold. .


    ¡®How did it even get back here in this state?¡¯ Skrakch cautiously approached, eyes peeled for any sign of movement from the barely intact Skeleton. ¡®It only has one bloody arm left, did it drag itself back here, sword still in hand?¡¯


    It was almost comical to see the wretched state of the Tomb-Maker, but as Skrakch neared the Undead¡¯s form, the Ratling watched as its remaining eye snapped towards him in baleful warning.


    Stopping in place, Skrakch tried to resist his urge to flinch backwards as he stared at the Skeleton Guards open chest cavity.


    Because lodged deep past the Undead¡¯s broken rib cage, Skrakch could make out a hunk of bloodied carapace of some kind.


    ¡®No, not a carapace¡­ It¡¯s some kind of stinger.¡¯ Skrakch shuddered slightly as he made out the pointed end, wedged in place.


    ¡®Looks like whatever attacked this Guardsmen didn¡¯t survive the assault, but what the Hells could have done this?¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t any beast that Skrakch had ever heard of, though that didn''t narrow it down as much as he¡¯d have liked. Few citizens of Dray¡¯Mel had the opportunity to see what lay beyond the city''s walls, after all.


    ¡®Though maybe that¡¯s for the best, hrm¡­¡¯


    A loud shout from behind Skrakch pulled him from his thoughts, two disgruntled looking humans beginning to push and shove at each other. No doubt the idiotic excuses for humanity were arguing about some inconsequential nonsense.


    Keeping an eye on the Undead Skeleton, Skrakch began moving towards Kuoush¡¯s food cart, his mood thoroughly dampened.


    He didn¡¯t exactly know what the battle damaged Tomb-Maker meant. But whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t anything good.


    But a small voice still tickled at the back of the Ratling¡¯s mind.


    ¡®If it¡¯s something that can mobilize the Tomb-Makers, maybe it¡¯s finally something that can earn me my deserved Chosen status¡­¡¯

 106 - A Meal to Die For

    Skrakch¡¯s tail slapped against the cobbled street as he warily turned off the main Merchant District¡¯s path, his feet gripping the slick ground beneath him with his claws as the Ratling was buffeted by an outpouring of rain and whipping winds.


    The cobblestone was freezing and he was already missing the warmth of the Plagued Rat as the numbness started to spread up his legs. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was time to consider footwear.


    The weather had taken a turn for the worse, as it so often did these days. Dray¡¯Mel had an unfortunate tendency to gravitate towards sweltering heats or fitful storm bursts, with wind so strong it sounded like the howling of banshees in the distance.


    ¡®Though that could just be the Wraiths flying down to grab some unlucky sod.¡¯


    Scowling in annoyance, Skrakch tightened the neckline of his leather jacket, absentmindedly tracing the potions strapped to his bandolier as the Ratling resisted his urge to hurry forth.


    Most of his trip through the Merchant¡¯s District had been safe enough, even if there''d been an aura of concern and worry over the citizens he passed by.


    It seemed they were all still unsettled from the sounding of the horn. It was such a rare event that, according to others at least, it would be talked about for months after it happened. People would be more cautious, more suspicious and would view anything out of the ordinary as something to fear.


    But fear didn¡¯t warm your belly, or earn you enough coin to eat that later that night, so even with rising tension in the city, most of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s living citizens were rousing themselves out of their drunken stupors or tangled bedsheets.


    And that unfortunately included the ruffians and thieves that called the darker corners of the District home, all hoping to catch a fat carp and relieve them of their worldly possessions.


    ¡®It¡¯s a lovely morning to shiv some sap, the rain even clears up the blood for you.¡¯ Skrakch huffed to himself, his lips drawn into a mirthless grin. ¡®It¡¯s just the idea of being on the wrong end of the blade that rubs my fur the wrong way.¡¯


    In fact, restless weather like this always reminded Skrakch of his early years after the Young Master¡¯s death, forced into living as an urchin, waiting with hungry eyes for some foolish child to isolate themselves, perfect to prey upon¡­


    Not to eat, of course, but to rob. Not that children had much coin, but even at his lowest, Skrakch hadn¡¯t ever considered eating another sentient humanoid.


    ¡®Well, I never went through with it anyways. Can¡¯t blame a fellow for a wandering mind.¡¯


    No, Skrakch had been forced to pilfer and steal like so many others¡­ until he stumbled upon a clueless fool who didn¡¯t mind serving a meal to a ¡®Rat-Man¡¯.


    At least, that¡¯s what the Ratling had thought of his friend at the time. But Kuosh was far from idiotic. The Grif was whip-smart and knew how to forge a deal. He also had the experience of life beyond the cities Walls, an experience that was vital when the need came to discreetly move ¡®hot goods¡¯.


    One bite of Kuosh¡¯s curry and Skrakch had become obsessed. Most of what he¡¯d been forced to eat on the streets was moldy old bread, or discarded trash, so when he tasted something that didn¡¯t taste of mold or dirt?


    ¡®It was love at first bite!¡¯ Skrakch did let a chuckle escape from him at that thought, though he didn¡¯t let himself get distracted.


    Kuosh may have been the best chef in the entire damned city, in Skrakch¡¯s unbiased opinion, but the Grif¡¯s restaurant potential was wasted on a dingy, darkened, useless side alley that wouldn¡¯t ever attract a decent client base.


    It would have been maddening, if Skrakch wasn¡¯t fully aware why the Grif had been run off the main Merchant District¡¯s street.


    There was only one Grif in the entire city, but that was one too many in most citizens'' eyes.


    It didn¡¯t help that the thick purple skinned race¡¯s naturally massive bulk was intimidatingly broad, to the point where even Kuosh¡¯s ridiculous chef¡¯s hat still left him as a scary sight.


    ¡®The old fool is cuddlier than he looks of course, the only thing a local would need to worry about is if they disrespected his cooking¡­¡¯


    Cutting himself off mid-thought, Skrakch immediately noticed as the first scent of Kuosh¡¯s cooking broke through the thick miasma of unwashed piss and rot that usually pervaded the city.


    The Grif was always rather secretive of the herbs he used in his dishes, but Skrakch was fine with the man hiding the products he used, so long as each meal smelled as perfectly pungent as they did.


    Unconsciously, Skrakch picked up his pace, practically hopping from foot to foot in his haste to get to his favourite diner.


    It may have been a scrap heap of a food cart, but what mattered was-


    As Skrakch turned the last corner before he reached the cart, the Ratling froze in place as he took in the sight of Kuosh¡¯s food cart being absolutely swarmed with customers.


    The Ratling had never seen the place so busy before. Usually, he¡¯d either be on his own or there would be a couple of other lonely or drunken souls looking for something hot to cram down their throats at the end of a night¡¯s carousing.


    This time however, there were nearly a dozen plus ¡®people¡¯ waiting in line, with a dozen more sitting at a set of nearby tables, each scarfing down their meals like there was no tomorrow


    The noise was utterly indescribable. A cacophony of slobbery, chewing noises, shouts and taunts in a language Skrakch couldn¡¯t understand, claws scraping against the metal plates and cups.


    As much as Skrakch hated the idea of unwashed filthy locals eating -his- favourite foods, the reality was even more worrying as Skrakch took in the unmistakable sight of thirty or more demonic Imps scrabbling with one another as they fought for a place at the front of the line.


    The entire lot of the corpulent demons were a miniature sea of colours, each a varying shade of red, as they lashed out at each other with claws and barbed tails.


    It was a scene straight out of a nightmare, a miniature battlefield of blood and guts, but even as Skrakch watched an Imp eviscerate his fellow Demon, the wounded Imp healed moments after and immediately leapt back into the fray.


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    Staggering closer, the Ratling was half convinced it was an illusion when Skrakch finally looked past the Imps and noticed his Grif friend merrily spooning a heaping of food on an outstretched tray.


    The Imp who was receiving the meal looked positively ecstatic as they watched the chicken and rice dish land on their plate, and it swiftly pulled the meal close to their chest and guarded the tray as if it was a cherished treasure as the lucky Imp fought their way to the nearby tables.


    It was the busiest Kuosh¡¯s had ever been, but Skrakch couldn¡¯t exactly feel happy for the Grif.


    ¡®How in the ¡®literal¡¯ Hells did this happen? How is he even feeding them all? How¡­¡¯ Skrakch cut himself off as the Grif stepped aside to grab some herbs, revealing what looked like an additional Imp in the back of the cart, busily dicing away at some vegetables.


    Skrakch¡¯s confusion only grew as the Ratling finally took in Kuosh¡¯s stall. For the past four years of Skrakch¡¯s life, he¡¯d seen the Grif toiling away in a small rickety stall with cheap, peeled paint hiding the rotten wood underneath.


    Now though, the small food stall had been replaced with¡­ ¡®Well, it¡¯s still a small building, but it¡¯s a big upgrade from what he had.¡¯ Skrakch mused as he stared at the red-bricked building that absolutely hadn¡¯t been there a week ago when he¡¯d last stopped by.


    Gone were the rusty nails poking out the side, replaced with carefully smoothed cement, and well placed bricks of clay. The opening that the Imps were fighting to reach was lined with a blackened metal, the faint sheen turning the light from the stoves in the restaurant into an ominous glow.


    And smack dab in the center of the building, Skrakch could spot his Grif friend beaming with a smile so wide you could spot the creatures two massive front teeth as they sparkled even amidst the rain.


    Of all the races Skrakch had encountered, Grifs were some of the most unique, appearance wise at least. It was said they were kindred spirits to Iskrin, in that they were the result of a mad wizards experiment gone wrong.


    But whereas Iskrin came from the diminutive rat, the Grif descended from a mighty creature called a ¡®hippo¡¯, that had long since gone extinct.


    Still, it was clear that the monstrous hippos must have made for quite a sight, as most depictions of Grif focused on their size and valor, and Kuosh had once confided in Skrakch that he was considered small for his size.


    ¡®Which only makes it more obvious how much larger the Grif was to most humanoids.¡¯ Skrakch thought to himself, with only a hint of bitterness.


    As the next Imp staggered up to the counter for his meal, Kuosh finally seemed to notice Skrakch as the Ratling stood dumbfounded in the rain.


    ¡°Ah! Skrakch my friend, give me one moment and I¡¯ll serve you!¡± The Grif called out as he pulled his apron over his head and tossed it aside, though he struggled with the cloth as it caught on his snout.


    Letting out a grunt, Kuosh took a moment to lean over to the Imp in the back, waving his hellspawned sous chef towards the front of the building.


    The Imp seemed happy to take over the duty of slopping food onto the outstretched trays, though Skrakch spotted the Demon¡¯s forked tongue snaking outwards to steal mouthfuls of the curry that seemed to be driving all the Imps into a craze.


    The Grif chef stepped out of sight as he headed further into the back of the restaurant, before reappearing at the side of the building, waving a massive hand towards Skrakch and beckoning him over.


    Snapping out of his befuddlement, Skrakch hurried over to Kuosh¡¯s side, giving the still scrambling Imps a wide berth.


    Thankfully, the restaurant''s newfound walls broke the falling rain enough for Skrakch to get some comfort as he shook the water from his fur, splashing the Grif with every shake.


    Not that Kuosh seemed to mind, as most of his considerable bulk was sticking out in the rain regardless.


    ¡°My friend! It is lovely to see you Skrakch, I have much to owe you!¡± The Grif announced in his booming voice, before clapping Skrakch across the back so hard his teeth rattled. ¡°Finally, I am getting a decent place for my work, and many happy mouths to feed.¡±


    Skrakch scoffed loudly as he tried to smooth out his ruffled fur before turning to peek around the corner at the fighting Demons.


    ¡°How in the Hells is this my fault? Where did the Imps even come from, much less the building. And why the Hells do they want your food so badly?¡±


    There was a sharp pinching feeling at his leg. Skrakch looked down and saw a tiny Imp, most likely a youngling, clamped onto the bottom of his leg. Luckily, it still had its blunt baby teeth, so it was more of an annoyance than anything else. He glared up at Kuosh who gave him a ¡®I have no idea either¡¯ kind of shrug.


    ¡°Does this¡­thing belong to anyone?¡± Skrakch called out to the bustling crowd outside. He shook his leg slightly, trying to shake the damn thing off but it was clamped on for dear life.


    When nobody came forward to claim the damn thing, Skrakch leaned against a counter and did his hardest kicking motion.


    The tiny Imp released its grip and, at the top of the arc of Skrakch¡¯s kick, went sailing through the air making a noise that was either abject terror or pure amusement. It landed with a not-so-gentle thud on top of one of the work surfaces where it immediately grabbed a nearby spatula and stuffed the handle into its mouth.


    ¡°Ah, you do not remember?¡± Kuosh said excitedly, ¡°One week ago today, you had a little Imp friend waiting for you, goes by Sgirthkic, yes? Well, he had some of my world class jalfrezi and loved it enough to tell -his- friends.¡±


    The Grif cleared his throat and rubbed away a tear in his eye before continuing. ¡°Now Old Kuosh¡¯s curry is famous in Hellscape too! Many Imps have come to try out my dishes. And it is thanks to you, Skrakch!¡±


    Skrakch let out a nervous titter as he stared up at the beaming chef, before pinching his own arm. After a long moment as the Ratling confirmed he was awake and this was not some bizarre fever dream or the result of too much whiskey, Skrakch turned back to Kuosh with a snarl.


    ¡°Are you -insane-? Those are Demons. The only thing they eat are the souls of the innocent, they aren¡¯t here for your curry! They must be here to¡­ to¡­ entice you to sin?¡± Skrakch sputtered out, his train of thoughts tapering out at the end.


    Because, if he was being honest, the idea that demonic beings from Hell could be satiated by a simple dish off food, was a strange mixture of worrying and intriguing.


    ¡°Now Skrakch, don¡¯t be rude to my new customers.¡± Kuosh momentarily frowned, before his face split once more back into a wide grin. ¡°Demons don¡¯t need to eat mortal food, but apparently my cooking reminds them of their past lives. A few of them tried to buy my secret recipes with extravagant offers, but I am not so easily tricked, my friend.¡±


    Skrakch stared up at the grinning old fool before letting out a sigh. ¡°Fine, fine. Just don¡¯t come crying to me once they drag your soul down into the Abyss.¡±


    ¡°Hah, even if they try, I know you¡¯d aid me then too.¡± Kuosh declared with another laugh, and clapped his hands together. ¡°Now tell me what you¡¯ve come for, do you have time for a meal? I promise the Imps won¡¯t attack you for it, we¡¯ve sorted out that issue already.¡±


    ¡°Mostly, anyways.¡± Kuosh chuckled awkwardly. The little Imp, now bored of the spatula, had decided to try its luck with making an empty pan into its new sleeping quarters.


    ¡°No, no.¡± Skrakch answered quickly, casting a wary eye around them. ¡°I think I¡¯ll have to pass, you¡¯re busy enough. No, I¡¯m just here to ask about the Purene Ruby, how close are we to selling the damned thing.¡±


    As Skrakch asked his question, the Grif noticeably flinched, taking a half-step backwards. ¡°Woah, I cannot help you there Skrakch, I already gave it back to the Boss. I didn¡¯t realize you were here for that, or I wouldn¡¯t have wasted your time.¡±


    ¡°The¡­ Boss? Wait, you gave the Ruby away!?¡± Skrakch let out a shrill hiss in disbelief. His fur bristled and his tail whipped from side to side. ''After everything they¡¯d been through to get the damn thing? And now it was gone? And who in all Hells was this ¡®boss¡¯ guy? Surely Kuosh wouldn¡¯t be so stupid as to hand it over to just anybody claiming they were in charge?''


    Kuosh raised his hands in surrender, before clarifying. ¡°I was happy to help sell the damnable thing, but that was before my newfound success. Frankly, when Zacharias showed up to take it back last week-¡°


    Bursting into movement before Kuosh had even finished speaking, Skrakch started dashing back down the alleyway he¡¯d just come from, only deigning to throw back a scant few words in parting.


    ¡°Damn you Kuosh, that idiot is -not- my boss!¡±

 107 - Blood Red Jewels

    His paws slapped against the cobbled street in a hurried pace as Skrakch passed by plenty of startled faces without stopping. The Ratling raced towards Kristoff¡¯s warehouse, cursing loudly with every step.


    He forcibly shoved his way through the bustling crowds, pushing aside men, women and children alike. All of them looked at him as though he were some demented fool, muttering to himself, his fur bedraggled, as he ran.


    Half of the curses were aimed at the torrential downpouring of rain, but the other half were reserved for ¡°that idiot Halfling prick.¡±


    Thankfully, it wasn¡¯t a long jog from Kuosh¡¯s food stall, but even the short dash had the Ratling panting from the exertion when he finally reached the alchemical laboratory.


    With the falling rain warping his vision, Skrakch likened the building to a slumbering beast, surrounded by the abandoned or destroyed buildings of its leftover meals.


    ¡®But that might be the hypothermia talking.¡¯


    Making his way to the warehouse''s back entrance, Skrakch yanked the wooden door open with all his might, and tried to ignore the wave of mud and filth that splashed over his ankles.


    ¡°Gods Below damn you, Zacha-!¡± The Ratling started to yell as he stepped into the fairly cramped space Zach had claimed as his ¡®office¡¯ before wrenching his head backwards.


    As a flash of steel crossed by where his nose had just been, Skrakch turned his anger-filled glare at the throwing knife that was wedged into the warehouse¡¯s door.


    ¡°Right back at you, Squeakers, you¡¯re lucky I¡¯m still a bit tipsy or that would have gone clean through your left eye!¡± Zach retorted, lowering his outstretched arm that had held the knife.


    The Halfling was lying sprawled out on one of the four cots he¡¯d managed to fit into the admittedly cramped space. Despite that, Zach somehow still managed to look like he was as comfortable as a newborn babe. Maybe it was something to do with the silken sheets he¡¯d insisted upon to match the plump goose down pillow.


    It didn¡¯t hurt that Zacharias was the only one of the companions that had actually changed his outfit recently, the Halfling wearing a bright purple shirt with an open collar that displayed his mess of chest hair.


    Combined with his scar covered face, the thief looked like a crossbred of a noble fop and a hardened criminal¡­


    ¡®Which is oddly fitting for the prick.¡¯ Skrakch thought to himself as his eyes wandered over the office space.


    More curiously, Skrakch noted that Meekknuckle and Winifred were in the midst of sweeping up the mess they¡¯d made of the place, Meek sweeping up glass and Winifred tidying up the leftover splinters of Zach¡¯s desk. The diminutive Goblin was whistling tunelessly to himself as he hefted the broom to and fro.


    And while Meekknuckle had the decency to look up at Skrakch¡¯s entrance, Winnie seemed more focused on figuring out how to hold her broom one-handedly than in stepping in to help.


    ¡°Are you shitting me?¡± Skrakch practically hissed the words as the Ratling slammed the door shut behind him, glaring at Zacharias even as a puddle formed underneath his feet. ¡°Did you really just try and kill me, you useless bloody prick!?¡±


    Zacharias let out a groan and placed his free arm over his eyes before responding. ¡°Come on mate, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn¡¯t be standing there to shriek at me, eh? Just a little bit of a laugh, innit? You take shit too personally.¡±


    ¡°Prick! Moron! OAF!¡± Skrakch yelled, before shaking loose a spray of water from his fur, much to the annoyance of Meekknuckle, as the Goblin took the brunt of the spray.


    ¡°Why Rat Man yelling this time?¡± Meekknuckle asked, seemingly happy to have an excuse to stop his sweeping. ¡°You louder than usual, too!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m with them,¡± Winifred added on, tossing her broom to the side with a dismissive grunt, all while still eyeing the pile of splinters at her feet. ¡°It¡¯s been a little over an hour since we last saw ye, how¡¯d ye get a burr stuck up yer arse in such a short time, Skrakch?¡±


    Shooting a glare towards his companions, Skrakch let out an angry laugh. ¡°Ah, of course. -I¡¯m- the one being dramatic, not this foolish idiot. Clearly.¡±


    Skrakch waved one of his hands towards Zacharias, and finished in a calmer tone. ¡°You¡¯re right Winifred, you¡¯re right. I shouldn¡¯t be yelling at Zacharias, all he did was take the Purene Ruby for himself, cutting us all out of the profits. But you¡¯re right, that¡¯s not worth getting angry over, right? After all, we all know just how much you adored wearing that ball gown!¡±


    Winifred finally looked over at that, the brunette scoffing audibly. ¡°Are ye serious, Skrakch?. Even Zach is nae that stupid.¡± She finished, eyeing Zacharias as the Halfling fixed a beaming smile at her. ¡°¡­Tell me yer nae that stupid, Zach¡­¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Letting out a yawn, the Halfling in question didn¡¯t bother standing up from his cot, instead propping himself upwards on one elbow as he faced the others.


    ¡°Of course I didn¡¯t go behind your back and sell the Ruby, lads!¡± The thief confirmed with a smile, before continuing. ¡°I¡¯ve just decided it¡¯s better not to sell it at all.¡± He shrugged nonchalantly.


    Zacharias lifted his free hand, and with a roll of his wrist, plucked the artifact in-question from thin air and held it out towards them, the blood red Ruby practically glowing in his palm. ¡°Kuosh couldn¡¯t shift the damn thing anyways, and I¡¯ve come to realize it¡¯s not like I need the gold anyways.¡±


    Skrakch let out a snarl at that, pointing a claw towards Zacharias. ¡°Then you ask us first, you don¡¯t just go stealing from us all, you-¡°


    ¡°Please Squeakers, you barely even helped on this one.¡± Zacharias laughed, as another twist of his wrist had the Ruby disappearing from sight. ¡°And since when do you care about gold coins? Last time I checked, you tended to just steal anything you wanted to buy.¡±


    ¡°Aye, and what about me?¡± Winifred cut in, her tone dangerously low as she glared at Zacharias, taking a step towards the Halfling. ¡°I¡¯m the one who did the legwork on that heist, I¡¯m the one who got us in the door. Without me, you lot would nae even have dreamed of stealing something that valuable.¡± She tried to clamp her arms across her chest, realized her mistake and settled for glaring at the Halfling with narrowed eyes.


    Finally deigning to sit upright on his cot, Zacharias gave a quick nod.


    ¡°You¡¯re right about one thing there, Winnie. Before that night, I wouldn¡¯t have had the stones to risk it all. Hells, even afterwards I let myself get distracted by the idea of a pretty little pile of gold coins.¡±


    ¡°Dinnae forget that you did nae seem tae mind cosyin¡¯ up tae that rich bastard,¡± Winifred pointed out with a gleeful smirk.


    Zacharias snapped his head around to glare at her. He still visibly bristled if anyone dared to bring up what had happened in the nobleman¡¯s bedroom.


    ¡°But I already have more gold than I know what to do with,¡± Zach spat the words out as he rose to his feet and walked up to Winifred, even as he craned his head back to stare the Chosen brawler in her eyes. ¡°And you know what? Turns out gold has a limit, because there¡¯s always a bigger fish. But if we -use- the damned Artefact, maybe that won¡¯t always be true, eh?¡±


    Winifred scoffed audibly, glaring back at Zacharias for all she was worth. ¡°That may be true of you, Wee Man, but that Purene Ruby is just another payday tae me. I already have all the power I need, and if ye dinnae back down I¡¯ll be happy tae show it tae ye! One arm or no I can still take ye down without so much as breakin¡¯ a sweat!¡±


    As Winifred and Zacharias stared each other down, Skrakch watched from where he was leaning against the door with a frown on his face.


    ¡®As painful as this is to admit,¡¯ Skrakch mused as he rubbed his chin in thought, ¡®Zach has a pretty good point.¡¯


    ¡®It doesn¡¯t take a genius to know that the amount of cheap flasks and potions we¡¯re churning out here would be making an absolute killing.¡¯


    ¡°So¡­¡± Skrakch drawled out the word, a smirk crossing his face as Winifred and Zacharias refused to look away from one another. ¡°I¡¯m seeing one obvious way to fix this issue!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Both of the idiots snapped back at the Ratling.


    ¡°Zach doesn¡¯t need the gold, so why don¡¯t we let him pay each of us off. Since we¡¯re such good pals, we can even offer him a discount rate!¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡± Zacharias countered, shooting a glare towards Skrakch. ¡°You don¡¯t even need the gold, you little-¡°


    Cutting off the Halfling before he could get started, Skrakch pushed off the wooden door and walked over to Zacharias to drop a damp arm over Zach¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Sure, I don¡¯t -need- the gold, that¡¯s why it¡¯ll only cost you¡­ Well, what¡¯s a priceless artifact worth, split four ways?¡±


    Slapping Skrakch¡¯s arm away, Zacharias returned to his cot with a thump. ¡°Sod off, you and Meekknuckle barely did anything. Plus, the Goblin doesn¡¯t need gold anyways.¡±


    Still glaring intensely at Zacharias, Winifred let out a small grunt. ¡°That¡¯s true, so I¡¯ll agree tae the Wee Man under three conditions¡­ Firstly, I get a thousand gold coins from yer pockets, today.¡± She said, holding up one finger.


    ¡°Secondly,¡± she continued, holding up another finger, ¡°ye have tae treat Meekknuckle tae whatever he sees and wants for one year,¡±


    The Halfling sat in thought for a moment before shrugging, ¡°Easy enough, how much can a dried up piece of snot want anyways? He¡¯ll cost me less than a hundred coins in a year, mate.¡± He replied, waving a dismissive hand in Meekknuckle¡¯s direction.


    ¡°¡­And thirdly, we all get a use of the artifact before ye take it all for yerself¡± Winifred finished as she held up a final finger. ¡°And before ye start yer grousin¡¯, I think I¡¯m being more than fair. There¡¯s folk in this shitehole that¡¯d have ye hangin¡¯ from the city walls fer goin¡¯ behind our backs like that,¡±


    ¡°Wait, how would that work?¡± Skrakch interjected, as he tilted his head in interest. ¡°I thought the Purene Ruby was something that could only be used by one person.¡±


    ¡°Nae, or at least that¡¯s nae what the rumors were.¡± Winifred shrugged as she made her way to the only remaining chair in the room. ¡°Supposedly the last owner was paranoid of losing the damn thing, to the point he did nae let anyone even look at it.¡± She flipped the chair around with her one arm and sat down on it backwards.


    ¡°We¡¯re nae talkin¡¯ about yer regular artifact here remember. This thing¡¯s different. If what people say is true, the last owner¡¯s son was sneakin¡¯ around on the sly, usin¡¯ it fer his own gain outside of Daddy¡¯s knowledge. It¡¯s all hearsay I¡¯ll grant ye that, but what matters is, we can use the thing ourselves¡­ maybe?¡± Winifred finished, though without much confidence. ¡°If yer askin¡¯ me, it¡¯s worth a shot. What else have I got tae really lose?¡±


    As the Rogues fell into an uncomfortable silence as they each stared at Zacharias, the Halfling seemed unperturbed as he thought over the proposition.


    ¡°Fine, fine.¡± Zacharias eventually agreed, bringing out the Purene Ruby with a flick of his wrist. ¡°But either the snot ball or Squeakers has to use it first.¡± He added, nodding at the Goblin and Ratling in turn.


    Skrakch and Meekknuckle both perked up at that, shooting each other a glance.


    ¡°But why Meek first?¡± Meekknuckle asked, finally finishing up his sweeping now that everyone had settled down. ¡°Small man never think Meek worth much¡­ why he say Meek get first go?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious ya little wart?¡± Zacharias laughed. ¡°If it turns out the artifact does attune to its user, you two are easier to get rid of!¡±

 108 - Eternal Recurrence (Part One of Two)

    ¡°Are you two sure about this?¡± Skrakch asked as he nervously stared down at the crimson jewel resting on the flat of his palm.


    ¡°I still think Winifred deserves the first crack at using the Artifact.¡± He added, nodding towards the fighter. She was still sitting backward on the only chair in the small warehouse backroom, her arm resting on its back as she gazed at him impassively.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Squeakers.¡± Zach half-whined, half-mocked.  ¡°Just do it already before I change my mind.¡±


    ¡°Ignore him, Skrakch.¡± Winifred scoffed at the Halfling. ¡°This way everyone is happy, so feel free tae test it¡­ I mean, use it first.¡±


    After the Rogues had finished their little disagreement, the group of thieves had easily settled in to use the artifact immediately.


    ¡®Quick tempers, and even quicker resolutions.¡¯ Skrakch tried to distract himself from the fact he was holding the most expensive object he¡¯d ever seen in his hand. ¡®Though some of these idiots are a little too relaxed.¡¯


    While Winifred was closely watching Skrakch as he slowly turned the Purene Ruby over in his hand, Meekknuckle and Zacharias had elected for a¡­ different approach.


    Once Zacharias had agreed to Winifred¡¯s plan, the Halfling had hopped to his feet and hurried into the main area of Kristoff¡¯s warehouse.


    At first, Skrakch had wondered if the Halfling was aiming to protect his merchandise or the Iskrin workforce he¡¯d mysteriously acquired¡­ only to be disappointed when the Halfling sauntered back in with an entire barrel of booze.


    Which was how Zacharias had ended up another few tankards deep, all while egging Skrakch onwards. He was now sitting atop the oak barrel, his shirt half open, spilling ale all over the place as he cajoled Skrakch to just ¡®get it done¡¯.


    Worse yet, the tipsy lout had managed to convince Meekknuckle to have a sip of the so-called ¡®Dwarven Ale¡¯ which had immediately gone to the short statured Goblins head.


    ¡°Yeah, you do it now, little Ratman!¡± Meekknuckle cried out, spilling his drink all over his already ragged tunic. The diminutive creature was jumping up and down on his small cot, giggling and yelling with all the exuberance of a first time drunk.


    Skrakch let out a slow breath as he tuned out the two morons and their brainless carousing, and appreciated the feeling of the artifact in his hand.


    While artifacts were a rare enough item that most citizens of Dray¡¯Mel would never hold one in their hands, this was the second artifact Skrakch had held with the intent to use.


    "It was breathtaking, really. And of course, he couldn¡¯t forget what this could mean. Two artifacts that he¡¯d found and handled? Could this finally be the way to him becoming a Chosen?"


    He thought somewhat sadly about the beloved Sceptre of Fireballs, as he¡¯d named his wand, and how it had been taken from the Ratling all too soon.


    That artifact had turned out to be limited in its use, and Skrakch had been able to feel the power within drain away as he used it.


    This though¡­ the Purene Ruby was different.


    Looking down at the gem, it appeared to be a fairly standard looking cluster of red gemstones, shaved down to a perfectly spherical shape. It¡¯s polish had been tarnished somewhat by its time in storage,  first with Kuosh and then wherever the Hells Zacharias had been keeping it.


    A rarity, to be sure, but not something to be deemed nearly priceless. No one in the Slums would pay much for it, most folks more focused on the immediate usefulness of a new purchase.


    Still he could see how, from size alone, the nobility would fight to own it, utterly ignorant of its true power.


    No, to the Ratling¡¯s naked eye, the Ruby appeared as a beautiful yet simple stone, but things changed drastically when he looked down at it with his Mana Sense activated.


    Most magical items Skrakch had seen before practically oozed Mana, the power invested inside hungrily spreading outwards as if the artifact simply couldn¡¯t contain itself.


    In stark contrast, the Purene Ruby seemed almost¡­ calm. Serene. A perfect sphere of unaspected Mana without flaw or deviation.


    A small part of Skrakch¡¯s brain was warning him that nothing good could come from meddling with something this perfectly crafted, that there was no way he could handle the amount of Mana inside the artifact. It sounded an awful lot like the Patriarch, his slightly mocking tone as he looked down at Skrakch.


    As usual though, that part went ignored.


    Reaching out with a tendril of his Mana, Skrakch felt it connect with the Ruby and-


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-


    His breath was shuddering in his chest as Skrakch desperately ran down the rubble-strewn streets, blood and sweat trickling down his body as he pushed himself to his limits. His heart was a drum, beating a fierce and repetitive taboo as it hammered away.


    He could hear the moans and whines of the pack of hungry Ghouls behind him, snarling and snapping at each other even as they hunted him, but Skrakch didn¡¯t waste time looking back at them.


    At first, his plan had worked wonders, as the Ghoul blood he¡¯d coated himself with had been enough to trick most of the Undead District¡¯s citizens he¡¯d passed by. Perhaps a couple had questioned it, sniffing the air. But then they¡¯d quickly become impassive once more as they ambled around aimlessly.


    If he hadn¡¯t stumbled across a trapped Ghast, and damn near stepped on top of it, he¡¯d have made it to the Mausoleum unscathed.


    Still, he was so close he could taste it. The smuggler¡¯s entrance and exit to the city was only a few blocks away, he just needed to keep on running.


    Panting from exertion, Skrakch dodged around a piece of broken building with sure footed steps, only to run directly into a Zombie shambling towards the noise.


    The fetid corpse was nearly as surprised as he was, but the Undead reacted far quicker, its clawed hands gripping onto his leather jacket. Its grip was horribly strong for a creature that was rotting away.


    ¡°No! No, no, get off me you stupid-¡° Skrakch started to yell, even as the rotting teeth of his attacker clamped down on his neck.


    Choking on his own blood, Skrakch felt his body going cold as the Ghouls caught up to him and began fighting for his rapidly bleeding out corpse.


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    ¡°Damn it, Meekknuckle!¡± Skrakch angrily whispered, carefully making his way through the Goblin¡¯s so-called city. ¡°I thought you said everyone had left to deal with an Iskrin attack?¡±


    From behind Skrakch¡¯s crouched form, Meekknuckle traced the Ratling¡¯s footsteps, the duo darting from shadow to shadow.


    ¡°Most Goblins gone, just few watching city. Me told you, perfect time to get Father¡¯s dusty old books.¡± Meek whispered back, though the Goblin¡¯s head was still whipping back and forth as the idiot tried to keep a lookout. ¡°Trust Meek. This best time.¡±


    While there -were- more Goblins than Skrakch had been hoping for, most of the shantytown the ¡®Gobbos¡¯ called home lay vacant.


    Which meant it was easy enough for the pair of Rogues to sneak their way towards their destination, Blazock¡¯s tower.


    Or at least that was the theory. If they were spotted by one of the townsfolk that had remained behind, this could all collapse around them. Blazock ruled by fear and even Skrakch knew that his punishments were vicious and painful. ''Gods below only knew what kind of torture the old Goblin would dish out if they were caught¡­''


    Still, The Patriarch¡¯s home was the only thing of value in this entire dump, and it wasn¡¯t because of any hidden jewels.


    ¡®No, it¡¯s because the old bastard kept a meticulous record of his Runes on hand, the very basis of his spellcraft.¡¯ Skrakch could practically taste the dusty tomes now, the Ratling practically giddy at the idea of looting the home of his former Master. If his theory was correct, Blazock¡¯s personal library far surpassed that of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s in terms of magical learning.


    Ducking past the occasional half-asleep Goblin guard was easy enough for the duo, Skrakch leading the way to Blazock¡¯s stone tower and the enchanted wooden door that blocked his path.


    As Skrakch pushed his Mana into his eyes, the apprentice Mage could just barely make out the mess of Runes that Blazock had used to protect his domain.


    There were enough moving parts here that Skrakch knew he¡¯d never be able to enter on his own merits.


    Thankfully, that was where Meekknuckle came into play.


    Reaching behind him, Skrakch grabbed the Goblin by the collar and shoved him towards the door. ¡°Get it open already, we¡¯re tempting fate by wasting time here.¡±


    Pulling at the collar of his ragged shirt, Meekknuckle let out a small whimper. ¡°You sure about this? If Father find out¡­¡±


    ¡®It seems that now they were here, the little runt was beginning to have his doubts.¡¯


    Meek had been strangely¡­agreeable to this particular mission. It had taken very little convincing on Skrakch¡¯s part before the Goblin had made his mind up. Perhaps the creature had his own reasons for wanting access to his father¡¯s vast library. Whatever that reason was, Skrakch didn¡¯t care. No doubt it would be for something idiotic.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Do it, you simpleton. I need¡­no, we need this!¡± Skrakch corrected himself with a snarl, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of alarm.


    In fact, he was so focused he didn¡¯t even react as Meekknuckle let out a sigh, and pulled the door open with a quick tug.


    ¡°What are you-!¡±


    Harvest¡­


    As the Crux roiled and emanated outwards, all Skrakch could do was gasp as the sickly Mana gripped him tight, and the Ratling couldn¡¯t help but drop to the floor as painful convulsions wracked his body.


    He could feel his mind and energy being torn apart and siphoned away from his body, his flailing limbs soon unable to move under his own power.


    Skrakch could feel himself withering away, but all he could do was watch as Blazock stepped up beside Meekknuckle and rested his gnarled hand on his son''s shoulder, the Patriarch beaming all the while.


    It felt like it took hours as his body burned itself up, but in truth, Skrakch was dead in mere moments.


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    ¡­the sickle-like edge of the corrupted beast''s forearm slammed down just beside his skull, the force of the blow sending Skrakch rolling through the sand as he desperately tried to dodge the monstrosity¡¯s edged claws.


    The assault had started off with such ferocity that Skrakch had let himself get swept up in the moment, but this was insanity.


    ¡®I can¡¯t fight these things!¡¯ Skrakch thought to himself as he whirled to face his attacker, matching the insect¡¯s beady eyes as it pulled his bladed claw out of the sand.


    ¡®I just need to find Winnie, where the Hells did she go?¡¯


    With the sun beating down on him, Skrakch felt half-blind but he refused to take his eyes off the massive bug that had launched itself at him.


    The creatures¡¯ dozens of legs let it glide towards him as the pustule-ridden main body raised its claws high in the air. It was vicious and unrelenting. Skrakch could feel his heart pounding in his furred chest, his eyes darting frantically to and fro in an effort to keep up with the beast¡¯s rapid movements.


    For a ludicrous moment, Skrakch fancied the raised blades like a executioner''s axe, poised to sever his head from his body. It would be so easy for him to give in now and allow it to happen¡­


    ¡®No, I can do this.¡¯ Skrakch felt his tongue loll awkwardly in his mouth, feeling more like chewed up old leather than a real part of him.


    ¡®Though I can¡¯t decide if it¡¯s the heat or fear.¡¯ The thought took him by such surprise that he let a bark of laughter roll out.


    Interestingly, the bug monster reacted by taken a sudden lunge forward, perhaps seeing the laughter as a sign of provocation.


    Not that it mattered to Skrakch, the Ratling dashing towards the beast even as its sickle-like appendages swung downwards, forcing him to tuck himself into another roll as he dodged the creature''s stomping legs.


    The beast was massive and he was small, the mantis-like creature dwarfing him by fourfold. He could use that to his advantage, darting between the attacking limbs in an effort to confuse the creature.


    Sliding to his feet miraculously unharmed, Skrakch took advantage of his foes'' awkward attempts to turn quickly, throwing himself on the beast''s back.


    Scrambling up the chitinous armor that decorated the insect''s abdomen, Skrakch threw himself upwards and jabbed his claws into the protruding left eye, ignoring the spray of black blood that doused his fur.


    Digging through the mess of blood and flesh, Skrakch knew he¡¯d found his target when the insect collapsed underneath him in a twitching pile of disjointed limbs.


    Panting from exertion, Skrakch breathlessly watched as hundreds of similar battles raged around him, painting the desert sands a wide array of colors as monsters and demons died by the dozens.


    It was a canvas of death and destruction, and if it weren¡¯t for the pure terror that he felt, Skrakch was sure he¡¯d be able to appreciate being part of what would no doubt be a historic moment for the city.


    Still, he couldn¡¯t help the laugh that burbled out as Skrakch realized he¡¯d done it, he¡¯d killed his foe without needing assistance.


    ¡®I don¡¯t need Winnie! I don¡¯t need anyone! I¡¯m unstoppable, I¡¯m-¡®


    Cutting off mid thought, Skrakch froze as the desert sun above him disappeared in a single moment. Turning to look behind him, he could see the towering form of a gigantic Cyclops falling to its knees.


    Leaping down onto the burning sands from the insects back, Skrakch made a desperate attempt to vacate the area the Cyclops'' corpse was teetering towards¡­


    Until the crushing weight turned him into just another bloody smear in the sand.


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-


    Sitting against the cavern wall, Skrakch took a deep swig of his water canteen.


    The desert heat was oppressive in a way the Ratling had never experienced before, but at least the shaded hideaway he¡¯d found sheltered him from the worst of the sun¡¯s rays.


    ¡®Looks like Kuosh was right, the desert was no place for an Iskrin.¡¯ Skrakch mused to himself as he kept a wary eye on the cave entrance. ¡®But at least the air is fresh here.¡¯


    A part of the Ratling¡¯s mind couldn¡¯t believe it, but he was free. Free of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s foul air, free from the Tomb-Makers control, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. He knew that he should feel happy, excited even, but it hadn¡¯t been without its troubles.


    Skrakch couldn¡¯t help but stare down at his bandaged wrist. It had taken all the favors he¡¯d earned from Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s citizens, but he¡¯d finally figured out how to remove the Rune on his wrist.


    But even without being able to see the ticking countdown, the Ratling knew the time off by heart. And it wasn¡¯t something that he was going to be able to forget any time soon.


    Stepping to his feet, Skrakch walked to the edge of the cave and blearily blinked upwards at the bright morning sky.


    Living in Dray¡¯Mel and suffering through its perpetual smog, Skrakch had never really had a chance to appreciate the beauty of a sunny day.


    Still, a part of his mind was too distracted to enjoy the sight, mentally counting down.


    3¡­


    2¡­


    1¡­


    Breathing in deep, Skrakch could only enjoy the dry desert air as it tickled his snout.


    ¡®I knew it. I fucking knew it was all bollocks.¡¯


    There were no Wraiths to lead him away here, no sudden death to be had. He was free!


    ¡®Free!¡¯


    Moving back into his hideaway, Skrakch could feel his joy bubbling in his chest, even as his feet slipped on the cavern rocks.


    Landing in a confused heap, the Ratling tried to pull himself upright, but his feet betrayed him as a growing pain began spreading through his body.


    Coughing weakly where he was, Skrakch stared dumbfoundedly at the blood staining the cavern floor beneath him even as everything began to slip away.


    ¡®¡­finally free¡­¡¯


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    ¡®It¡¯s finally over.¡¯ Skrakch thought to himself as he stared down at the Rune on his wrist with the resigned air of a deadman walking.


    He could hear the Wraiths as they no doubt swirled downwards towards him, but all Skrakch could muster was indifference.


    ¡®I tried everything. Any idea I could think of, any opportunity I could ferret out.¡¯


    ¡®And nothing worked.¡¯


    He¡¯d failed. Even as the Wraiths swept into the abandoned building he¡¯d been calling home, Skrakch barely flinched at their frenzied cries. Why give them the pleasure, if they even felt it, of screaming and pleading like he¡¯d seen so many people do before?


    Without physical forms to rebuff, Skrakch couldn¡¯t deny them their prize without calling on his magic, but¡­


    ¡®What was the point?¡¯


    The shrieking Wraiths swarmed him with their chilling touch, wrapping him in their embrace as they pulled their Ratling charge upwards into the night sky.


    The rush of the passing wind was enough to drown out the Wraiths'' cries, but Skrakch could still feel their chilling grasp as they heaved him ever upwards, until they were flying higher than any of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s numerous city walls.


    Some would no doubt find the barely lit city spread out underneath them beautiful in a way, one last sight before they were brought to their death, but all Skrakch could see was a map of his failures.


    Whisked away under grasping arms, Skrakch instead focused his attention on their quickly approaching destination.


    The Butchery.


    He¡¯d managed to find some little hints as to his future there, but nothing he¡¯d found was calming.


    Nobody really knew the truth of the place. And so, it was mostly down to word of mouth, tales of horror and mystery passed along in the pub, or between the youth of the city in an attempt to scare each other senseless.


    Some said they offered the citizens a choice, to join the ranks of the Tomb-Makers, or give their very body up to their Undead Overlords as nourishment.


    It was a pretty picture that didn¡¯t reveal the truth.


    Some folk were given the chance to join the Tomb-Makers, sure. But most were brought straight to the Butchery to be harvested for parts.


    ¡®No, not parts. Food. A tasty treat for any Tomb-Makers that required living sustenance to survive.¡¯


    Merchants visiting the city, under strict supervision, would sometimes let slip that they could hear screams coming from the depths of the massive iron building.


    At least, those were the rumours. Most merchants with loose lips like that didn¡¯t last long in Dray¡¯Mel.


    The Tomb-Makers didn¡¯t care about spreading dissent in their cattle, but they were happy to harvest fresh flesh in any form.


    Still, a small part of Skrakch was hoping he¡¯d be part of the former, destined to survive in some form. It was all he¡¯d ever wanted, really.


    Even if he was trapped in a state of Undeath for all eternity.


    As the Wraiths began their slow descent, Skrakch was treated to his first sight of the Butchery.


    Unlike most of the city, the Butchery hadn¡¯t been part of Dray¡¯Mel before it fell, and it was easy to tell just from looking at the ominous framework.


    Most of Dray¡¯Mel was made from decades old stonework, left in a perpetual state of disrepair by its uncaring Masters. Still, you could make out a sense of style to the buildings, an architect¡¯s loving care to the stone designs.


    The Butchery however, was crafted entirely from wrought steel. The overall look reminded Skrakch of an oversized coffin, though the irony did little to amuse him.


    Without windows to peer into, no one living had any insight into what lay within, but Skrakch could spot a few opening¡¯s in the drab building¡¯s walls.


    Even as he watched, he could spot Wraiths flying in and out of those entryways, and Skrakch could even make out a few other unlucky souls being brought to the Butchery¡¯s depths.


    ¡®Stonemasons or prostitutes, nobles or fools, everyone living ends up in the Butchery after all.¡¯


    It was¡­ inevitable. Skrakch had learned the truth of that months ago, as he watched Winifred as she was cut down by a Guardsman.


    After he had watched Meekknuckle get ripped to shreds by a Ghoul, and he''d chosen to run for his life instead of helping his friend..


    ¡®One way or the other, we were all destined for an Undead¡¯s gullet.¡¯


    It was such a known fate that the children of Dray¡¯Mel would often be heard chanting a rhyme as they used a found piece of rope, or a stolen skipping rope to play with.


    ''You can try to run


    You can try to hide


    You¡¯ll never escape


    The final ride ''


    ''Here comes the Wraith


    To pull you from bed


    Away to the Butchery


    They¡¯ll chop off your head!''


    As his own personal escort of shrieking ghosts brought the Ratling closer to one of Butchery¡¯s entrances, he finally spotted the main source of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s ever present smog, two large smokestacks positioned on the top of the building''s rooftop.


    Each human sized piping continuously belched thick billowing columns of filthy gray clouds that rose to join Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s blackened skyline.


    Even from a distance Skrakch could tell that the thick plumes of smoke were drenched in cloying necromantic Mana, but up close and personal, the Ratling could barely breathe.


    Every second that the Wraiths brought him closer to the Butchery led to an increased amount of Necromantic energy filling his lungs, and pumping its filthy touch through his veins. It felt like it was wrapping around his heart and brain, squeezing them both with choking evil tendrils, injecting him with terror.


    The Mana seemed to have a mind of its own and as the Wraiths brought him down towards a small opening in the building''s exterior, it took all of Skrakch¡¯s efforts to choke down the foul air.


    Head swimming from the lack of oxygen, the Ratling finally began to struggle against his captor''s grip, but his feeble efforts were far from enough to stop his descent through one of the Butchery¡¯s entrances.


    Thankfully, his consciousness finally fled him as Skrakch fell into a deep stupor, but that didn¡¯t stop him from hearing the sounds of screaming ringing out in his ears.


    Nor did it stop his dreams from being filled with gnashing teeth and grasping jaws.

 109 - Eternal Recurrence (Part Two of Two)

    Before Skrakch had even fully recovered his consciousness, he could feel the panic rising in his throat. His stomach churned and undulated as he was bodily dragged through a dimly lit corridor. The shadows from the torch scones danced and flickered across the walls so you couldn¡¯t work out what were simply harmless shadows and what could be some kind of horrific creature ready to tear you apart.


    Much like the outside walls of the Butchery, there were no furnishings in sight, just cold and unyielding steel on all sides. The only thing Skrakch could really see beside the moving shadows was the occasional splash of blood that no one had bothered to wipe up.


    He was still being ferried along by his Wraith kidnappers, though they¡¯d finally stopped their infernal shrieking.


    ¡®Though that¡¯s probably just to enjoy the god awful screams in the air.¡¯


    The sounds of the tormented citizens screaming were so loud that Skrakch doubted he¡¯d be able to pick out an individual¡¯s specific cry of terror, but the Ratling had heard plenty of similar screams in his life.


    He could make out vocal explosions of rage and angry threats, belted out with such force as if to cut the target of their ire. Underneath those shouts, he could hear desperate pleading as people begged for their lives and offered up coin, no matter how large or small the amount.


    Skrakch had heard plenty of his own dying victims, but it was the wordless screams of fear that had Skrakch bracing himself as his Undead captors pulled him towards the source of the cacophony.


    Their ghastly hands gripped his arms and squeezed his flesh in vice-like grips, hard enough to cause bruising. It was like a warning, a ¡®little treat¡¯ of things to come.


    What scared Skrakch the most was the fact that there were no apparent security measures in place as they moved further into the Butchery¡¯s depths, no sign of any Undead Guards watching the perimeter.


    It was as if the Tomb-Makers simply didn¡¯t need any in place¡­ because no one lived long enough to make the attempt.


    It was that fear that had him frozen, unable to free himself from the Wraith¡¯s grasps. They moved him toward a large doorway, his ethereal captors remaining mostly silent but there was a sense of celebration in the air. They were clearly proud of bringing yet another soul to the chopping block.


    Skrakch just stared down at the floor and tried to count the distance back to the entrance, as he heard a heavy door open. He was dragged through it, the floor changing to a dark gray marble.


    ¡®All the better to remove the blood easily no doubt.¡¯


    He could¡¯ve been dragged for minutes. It could¡¯ve been hours, Skrakch had no way of knowing and he¡­ found himself not caring.


    The simple act of being brought into the building had done something to him. He could feel it deep within his soul. It was like every positive emotion had been snatched from his soul. Hope, happiness, confidence¡­all gone.


    He felt like a shell of a Ratling. It had to be some kind of spell, or perhaps some kind of potion, although what that spell or potion was, Skrakch hadn¡¯t the faintest idea.


    All around him the cacophony of sound continued. Screams, shouts, begging, bargaining¡­his fellow citizens were doing it all. He could hear the pleas of the damned echoing off the walls as he was dragged onwards and onwards.


    He¡¯d once read a theory of a special part of the Butchery, reserved for those who would be given a slow death. They would be cut into and dissected for weeks, months, maybe even years at a time. They were known as ¡®The Goners¡¯.


    Soulless pathetic creatures that had once been human but were now disfigured husks that would shuffle around, only able to communicate in a series of pain-riddled groans.


    ¡®Who would have guessed I¡¯d be hoping I¡¯d die quickly¡­¡¯ Skrakch would have laughed at the absurdity of the idea, but he couldn¡¯t even muster the energy to laugh at his own hubris.


    Suddenly, Skrakch was slammed down onto his back, painfully colliding with a hardened marble surface. He felt leather restraints slide over and then tighten around his wrists and ankles. A large orb of light shone above him, obstructing his vision.


    All he could smell was blood and putrid flesh. The Wraiths silently drifted off and left him there. He heard a door closing and then the place was plunged into darkness.


    Was this some form of torture? Some kind of sensory deprivation designed to make him descend into madness? All he could feel was despair. It was stifling.


    Minutes¡­hours¡­days later and the light above him came on again. Flinching away from the searing light, the Ratling could feel a cold hand grab his chin and force his head from side to side.


    As his eyes finally adjusted to the light and his tears, he found himself staring straight into a pair of soulless blackened eyes. They stared down at his restrained form unblinkingly as though assessing him.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The nose and mouth of this pale human creature was covered by a leather mask, similar to those the Dwarven miners on the outskirts of the city would use when in the pits.


    But this was no happy-go-lucky miner. The pale man loomed above him, impassive like an executioner. And he, Skrakch, was the one about to be executed.


    Skrakch watched as this newcomer pulled a tray of surgical implements closer to the slab he was trapped on, the pale skinned creature idly tracing his fingers across sharpened tools with a smile crossing his bloodless lips.


    The vampire, ¡®and there was no way it wasn¡¯t one¡¯, swept his whitened hair back as he plucked a crystal from the tray and tossed it into the air.


    The crystal began emanating a sickly green colour as it activated, tangling in the air and slowly revolving in place.


    Distracted by the sight as he was, Skrakch didn¡¯t even notice the vampire as it grabbed its next tool until the bloodlust-addled creature turned its attention back to him.


    A potion bottle was forced to his lips and tipped so that the vile liquid flowed into his mouth and down his throat, forcing him to swallow it. It tasted bitter, with a metallic aftertaste. And no sooner than when he¡¯d swallowed the last drop, the Ratling felt a numbness come over his body.


    He couldn¡¯t feel the cuts and grazes from his journey, and when he tried to lash his tail to the side it barely moved. Hells, Skrakch didn¡¯t even feel it when he let it drop back down onto the stone table he was tied to.


    ¡°This is the third recorded inspection of a living Iskrin.¡± The vampire suddenly spoke, stepping to Skrakch¡¯s side and placing its palm on the Ratling¡¯s chest.


    ¡°The specimen is in good condition, and due to its unique nature, is not bound by our treaty with the Empress.¡± It chuckled. ¡°A rare specimen indeed and, perhaps, a treat one must savor¡­¡±


    It was only when the vampire placed one of its unnaturally sharpened nails against his fur that Skrakch finally found his voice.


    ¡®Wait, stop! This isn¡¯t-¡® Skrakch struggled to yell out, but his lips wouldn¡¯t move correctly, and his cries only came out as a wordless mumble.


    Glancing down at Skrakch, the vampire didn¡¯t even bother to halt his report as it plunged its nail deep into Skrakch¡¯s chest.


    With a sickening squelch, Skrakch¡¯s tormentor began dragging its nail downwards as the Ratling felt his flesh pulling apart at the seam.


    While his sense of pain was completely dulled, all Skrakch could focus on was the sensation of his chest splitting open as the vampire gutted him from sternum to his hip bone.


    ¡°Sedation is holding up well,¡± The vampire continued, before reaching down to pry open Skrakch¡¯s chest with a resounding crack. ¡°Interesting, specimen Three¡¯s heart is located on the left of the torso, previous inspections had the heart on the right.¡±


    Skrakch could barely focus on the vampire¡¯s speech as his body began to struggle to survive, blood spilling into his lungs as they desperately struggled to pump.


    He waited with choked breath for his self healing to start kicking in. Every Iskrin was born with a naturally increased ability to heal from their wounds but¡­ Skrakch had never had the misfortune to test such a severe injury.


    Still, if he was lucky it would at least mend some of the wound, maybe even enough for him to try and make a break for it.


    But he wasn¡¯t feeling his blood flow slow down¡­he couldn¡¯t feel the accelerated coagulation that would normally happen to stem the blood loss. His skin was refusing to knit back together¡­


    This wasn¡¯t just sedation. This was something else entirely¡­and he couldn¡¯t force his mind to focus on what it could be. An enchantment? Some kind of advanced potion?


    He could feel his mind drifting towards unconsciousness. But Hells, even his damn eyelids seemed to be paralyzed! It was as if this vampire wanted him to watch himself be eviscerated¡­


    Skratch couldn¡¯t think of a worse hell. It had been one of the most feared rumors he¡¯d heard about the Butchery. Not only were you torn apart, but you were forced to bear witness to it. They had ways of keeping you alive, people said, to prolong your agony and suffering. Skrakch had merely shrugged it off as pub talk. Stupid stories and idle chatter in an attempt to frighten those who would gather round to listen.


    The vampire continued to mumble away to himself as he poked around Skrakch¡¯s insides. The Ratling could see the sharp shining blade as it plunged into his stomach, saw it move in a swift arc as it sliced his organ open for the contents to be examined.


    At each cut, Skrakch prayed with increasing fervor for it to end. He didn¡¯t believe in the Gods Above, not really, and yet he silently willed them into existence now, to save him from his grizzly fate at the hands of this monster.


    But absolution failed to come.


    The vampire delved into his open digestive system and started to pull. Skrakch could feel the motion as something started to give way inside his own body. It sounded disgusting, wet and sloppy as the vampire continued his mission.


    Skrakch was forced to watch as his intestine uncoiled from his body and at that moment, trapped in the prison of silence and immobility, he let out a long, loud internal scream of terror¡­


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-


    And on and on, the visions flashed past as the Purene Ruby seemed to have a never ending stream of potential deaths that it was all too willing to subject Skrakch to.


    Time and time again he watched as his skull was caved in, his neck was snapped, or he tripped and fell down a flight of stairs only to land on an unlucky rock.


    There were so many visions that his mind couldn¡¯t comprehend them all, only retaining little snippets from each death until finally he was back in his own body, staring down at the artifact that had haunted him for what felt like days.


    He wanted to scream, to smash the artifact, to destroy the source of the vile images, but more than that¡­


    ¡®How many times did I watch myself fail? Not once did I become a Chosen before I died.¡¯ The thought was sobering enough to cut through the rest of his emotions, and he let the Ruby fall through his fingers as Skrakch staggered to his feet.


    ¡®It¡¯s pointless. It¡¯s¡­ all fucking pointless?¡¯ He couldn¡¯t believe it. Even now, it seemed so unbelievable. At the back of his mind, Skrakch had always assumed, deep down, that he¡¯d make it. That he wouldn¡¯t end up dead before his next birthday¡­


    Skrakch could hear the others calling out to him but he couldn¡¯t focus on them at the moment. Instead the Ratling staggered to the warehouse door and threw it open before stumbling out into the rain.


    He only managed to make it a few steps before he slipped to his knees and began to clutch at his stomach. In all his years in Dray¡¯Mel, he¡¯d never felt this¡­ alone. This cloying sense of dread that threatened to crush him underneath a tidal wave of self-loathing.


    So Skrakch did the only thing he could do.


    He fell to the ground and began puking up his guts, tears streaming down his face.

 Chp. 110 - Twisted Visions

    While Zacharias and Meekknuckle were too distracted by being fools, Winifred kept a close eye on Skrakch as the Ratling finally decided to use the Artifact.


    She¡¯d never been good at the fancier aspects of using Mana, preferring to focus on enhancing her blows, but even without Mana Sight it was abundantly clear to her the exact moment that Skrakch first activated the Purene Ruby.


    Immediately, the Ratling had frozen in place as a myriad of emotions flickered across his furry face, but it only lasted a few seconds before his ugly mug settled on just one; despair.


    Even as Skrakch¡¯s body went slack, Winifred was on her feet and moving towards him.


    She watched as the Ruby slipped from his grasp and plummeted to the floor and drew on her Crux to hasten her step.


    Lunging forward in a quick burst of speed, the brawler snatched up the artifact before it could potentially shatter on the ground.


    ¡°Fucking Hells,¡± Zacharias called out from his cot, the halfwit only now propping himself onto his feet. ¡°Seems a bit dramatic there, Squeakers.¡±


    Winifred shot an angry glare towards the Halfling, only to get distracted by Skrakch as he suddenly staggered to his feet and began heading for the warehouse door.


    ¡°Skrakch, are ye hurt?¡± Winifred called out as she made to follow him out into the rainy street, only to see the Ratling collapse to his knees in the mud and filth.


    She was about to follow him out when the idiot began to vomit, all while openly sobbing¡­


    There were many things Winifred was fucking fantastic at, but consoling a weeping colleague? Yeah, that wasn¡¯t exactly her wheelhouse.


    Winifred stood in the door frame awkwardly, all while eyeing Skrakch¡¯s heaving back until she saw the Ratling wave her away without turning his head.


    A good friend would step in and help¡­ But Winifred was just happy to have an excuse to leave him alone.


    ¡®I¡¯m the muscle, nae the bloody weeping heart.¡¯


    Not that the other two in the warehouse would be much more help, Meekknuckle was still giggling to himself as he prodded at Ornn¡¯s bulk and watched as the Golem shifted with every poke.


    ¡®And the idea of sending Zacharias out there tae cheer up the Ratling was even worse¡­¡¯


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s one of you pricks down.¡± The Halfling smugly remarked, pulling on his eyepatch with a smirk on his face. ¡°Having second thoughts Winnie? Or are you up next for trying out today¡¯s entertainment.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be such a prick, seeing yerself die cannae be easy fer anyone.¡±


    ¡°And yet that¡¯s exactly what Squeakers signed up for, the bloody fool.¡± Zach spat to the side, before taking a step over to Winifred. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with. If you don¡¯t have the stones, I¡¯m going next.¡±


    Winifred took a calming breath and tuned out the Halfling¡¯s goading as she lifted the Purene Ruby in front of her, admiring the large gemstone.


    For all that Zach might mock him, Winifred knew that Skrakch was usually made of sterner stuff than most, so the fact he¡¯d freaked out so quickly¡­


    ¡®Ah well, fuck it.¡¯


    Stepping across the wet wooden floor with determined steps, Winifred absentmindedly grabbed Meekknuckle by the scruff of his tunic and bodily tossed him towards a further cot.


    The cot creaked dangerously under her weight, but Winifred put everything around her out of her mind, focusing her attention fully on the Purene Ruby as it flickered with an unearthly glimmer.


    Channeling her Mana towards the Ruby, Winifred wasn¡¯t surprised to see the Artifact greedily latching on to her Core¡­ but she was startled to realize that the Artifact seemed unable to pull her Mana inside of itself.


    In fact, everytime the Artifact brushed up against her Mana, she could feel whatever fueled the Purene Ruby as it actively pulled itself away from her, only to begin reaching out immediately afterwards.


    Winifred let out a sigh of annoyance, as she leaned back and rested against the warehouse¡¯s wall.


    ¡®Damned thing is skittish. Maybe only one person can use it after all?¡¯


    If that was the case, Winifred wasn¡¯t quite sure how to proceed. It wasn¡¯t like Skrakch even seemed particularly pleased with his own visions, but there was an undeniable appeal to seeing your own future.


    ¡®Well, if it¡¯s useless already¡­ Does nae matter if it Breaks?¡±


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    Pulling on her Pact, Winifred began channeling her Crux¡¯ wellspring of Mana towards the Purene Ruby, idly noting as the Artifact attempted to pull back from the invading Mana.


    It was a surprisingly odd sensation, reminding the brawler of the time she¡¯d once force-fed Zacharias a meat pie to shut him up, and Winifred amused herself by picturing the Artifact making the same choking noises.


    She wasn¡¯t sure if this would work, but as more of her Mana flooded into the Artifact, the Chosen could feel the Artifact trying to lull her mind into its grasp.


    Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Winifred let herself get pulled under, her consciousness slipping away even as she continued to force her Mana onwards.


    <hr>


    -feel the sand scratching at her face, her hand only blocking out the beating sun and doing nothing to-


    <hr>


    -the ground underneath her feet trembling as a massive roar rang out, the waiting Monsters finally deciding to meet their expediation party.


    She hated the idea of helping the Tomb-Makers, but she¡¯d be damned if-


    <hr>


    -the blast of air threw her through the air, but it was the impact of her back as she crashed into the surprisingly firm sand that blew all the air out of her lungs.


    Rolling onto her side, Winifred choked down what air she could, though she was forced to spit out a mouthful of sand soon after.


    Still, she couldn¡¯t remain down for long. She couldn¡¯t see her companions, but the bastards would need her-


    <hr>


    -Winifred kept one hand securely holding Skrakch up by his foot as both of them dangled above the enormous opening that had swallowed them.


    ¡°Let me go, you bumbling bafoon!¡± Skrakch was screaming at her, but there was something uneasy in the air.


    She¡¯d have to-


    <hr>


    -Splattered across her face as she ripped the infected Bugbear into two still twitching pieces.


    ¡°Gods Below, its fur is stuck tae me.¡± Winifred groused as she shook her hands in annoyance.


    They¡¯d been seeing increasingly less-


    <hr>


    -ceiling was crumbling around them, bits of sandstone crashing everywhere as Winifred tried her best to avoid the falling debris.


    ¡°What the Hells do we do?¡± Winifred screamed at Skrakch, all while trying to keep her eye on the passing blue scales as the-


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    Gasping wildly, Winifred stood beside Skrakch as they both stared up at the massive hole in the ceiling in bewilderment.


    The Ratling was trembling in either fear or excitement, and was about to speak when Winifred felt it.


    In the span of a heartbeat, she felt a painful sting at the back of her neck, before a jagged knife tip pierced through her neck.


    Throwing a wild punch behind her, her fist only hit air as her lungs futilely struggled with the blood rushing into-


    <hr>


    -The last thing she saw before she slipped into the waiting darkness was Skrakch¡¯s unseeing eyes as they both bled out without even seeing their assailant.


    <hr>


    As the connection between Winifred and the Purene Ruby cut out, the brawler had to resist her impulse to throw the cursed object away from herself.


    Her head was throbbing and, as a wet sensation rolled down her cheek, she was surprised to realize it was blood, not tears.


    ¡°Gods be Damned, finally!¡±


    Closing her eyes and tuning out Zacharias¡¯ babbling, Winifred tilted her head back and counted to ten as she tried to adjust to the sporadic visions she¡¯d seen.


    Considering that Skrakch had been left heartbroken, but otherwise physically healthy, the Chosen could only assume the headache was from forcing the issue.


    Still, a bit of blood was worth the price.


    ¡®The Tomb-Makers will be sending me out to battle in the desert. Because there¡¯s an¡­ underground cavern?¡¯


    The memories were already becoming fuzzy in her mind, but she could still remember the awe and fear she¡¯d experienced upon seeing the blue lizards scale.


    ¡®And the feeling of being shanked through the neck.¡¯


    Breathing out heavily, Winifred took in the state of the warehouse, noting that the light that was poking through the shabby wooden walls had seemingly gone out.


    Waiting for her with a concerned expression was Meekknuckle, the little Goblin already channeling his Divine Mana into her arm, and Zacharias, who¡¯d clearly been in the midst of tossing daggers at the ceiling.


    ¡°How long was I out for?¡± Winifred asked as she pushed herself onto her feet, and rubbed a swiftly bloodied palm against her eyes. ¡°And did Skrakch finally¡­¡±


    The brawler trailed off as she noticed the Ratling had indeed come in from the rain, but judging from the fact Skrakch had his threadbare blanket pulled over his head, the poor fool wasn¡¯t in a place to speak about their shared experience.


    ¡°Nice Lady¡­ Winnie only out for few hours. You feel okay? Me not seeing anything wrong, but blood not meant to come out human eyes¡­ right?¡±


    ¡°Stuff it, Gobbo. Humans bleed out of their eyes plenty, though that¡¯s usually because of a well placed stab.¡±


    ¡°No, what matters now is the Artifact. I couldn¡¯t pry it out of your freakishly strong hands and Reek there wouldn¡¯t let me cut a finger or two loose.¡± Zach continued.


    ¡°Meek not healing fingers after you cut! And Meek not heal you after Winnie smash you too, dumb man.¡±


    Cutting the two idiots off, Winifred tossed the Purene Ruby towards Zacharias and started making her way across the room and grabbed a half-drunken tankard of ale.


    ¡°Listen, take this seriously you two. Seeing yer own death¡­ it¡¯s nae something to be taken lightly.¡± Winifred counseled, absentmindedly rubbing a hand against her throat.


    ¡°Please, I know exactly how I¡¯m going to die.¡± Zach retorted, hefting the Artifact before he suddenly pressed it into Meekknuckle¡¯s chest. ¡°I¡¯d tell you all about it, but considering there¡¯s a lady in the room, I can¡¯t go into very explicit detail¡­.¡±


    ¡°But just to be safe, it¡¯s your turn next, Snotbag!¡±

 Chp. 111 - A Blessed Life

    ¡°Alright Snotbag, your turn!¡± Zacharias said, placing his filthy boot in the middle of Meekknuckle¡¯s back and pushing him towards a nearby cot..


    Meek stared at the shining jewel that he was cradling against his chest. He¡¯d seen Skrakch and now Winnie mentally crumble upon using the cursed Artifact.


    He felt fear as it twisted in the pit of his stomach, and yet there was still something beguiling about the Ruby. He could feel its power emanating throughout the room, as he had the moment he¡¯d first seen it.


    Before he could think about it further, he reached out with his Mana and gently pressed his intent against the Purene Ruby¡¯s exterior. It felt heavy in his palm¡­yet¡­it also felt oddly familiar? Like he was meant to hold it, meant to wield its might.


    The diminutive Goblin blinked, taking in a deep breath as he felt the Artifact¡¯s Mana began to unfurl from the gem, twisting and snaking around his whole body before enveloping him.


    Meek¡¯s sight darkened, making the office and Zacharias¡¯ self satisfied smirk fade away. He felt a strong wave of something akin to slumber wash over him before his vision was restored and he could suddenly see an unfamiliar stone ceiling.


    ¡®Or was it unfamiliar?¡¯ Meek wondered, staring at the seams in the construction, before the dreadful truth hammered into him. ¡®I¡¯m in Father¡¯s home!¡¯


    ¡°Ornn?¡± Meek called out, as he began to panic, finding himself bound in some strange net. ¡°Ornn!¡±


    The trusty Golem was never a few feet away from him at any given time, ever ready to attend to his every need. Calling out to the stone giant had become second nature.


    ¡°Lord Meekknuckle?¡±


    An oddly familiar voice seemed to come from beside him. Meekknuckle stopped his scrambling effort to free himself and dumbfoundedly turned his head to find that he was staring into the eyes of Babbua¡­


    ¡®But¡­surely that couldn¡¯t be? Hadn¡¯t she fled the village?¡¯


    That had been years ago when Meek had discovered she¡¯d been ear-marked for the Patriarch¡¯s next Harvest, slated to be withered away like so many of his fellow Goblins.


    There had been no way Meek was going to lose her to such a horrific fate.


    Instead, he¡¯d given her warning, helped her pack some meager possessions in a haversack and escorted her out of the village under the cover of darkness, with Ornn¡¯s help of course.


    Their parting had practically broken his heart.


    The Patriarch had assumed she¡¯d tried to run and sent some of his faithful zealots into the Sewers to track her down but had barely seemed to care otherwise.


    Goblins couldn¡¯t get very far on their own, especially not one like Babbua, who was only good for menial work. At least, that¡¯s what The Patriarch had always said.


    ¡°Every Goblin has their role, my son. And none shall deviate from the path laid before them by my own wisdom. It¡¯s a mercy to take them when the time is right, instead of letting them waste away.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll understand one day, Meekknuckle.¡±


    Killing his brothers and sisters had driven Meek to hate his father deeply, but the thought of the Patriarch sacrificing Babbua, labeling her as something replaceable? Well, that had secured his father¡¯s fate¡­


    ¡°Lord Meekknuckle seem tired,¡± Babbua continued in a teasing tone that brought an unbidden smile to Meekknuckle¡¯s face, as she laid a hand across his forehead. ¡°Perhaps you sleep more?¡±


    ¡°Babbua, what are you doing here?¡± Meek demanded, sitting up as he finally realized what was going on, where he was. He was in the Patriarch¡¯s abode, resting on a pile of clean hay, and the net was truthfully a pile of warmed blankets.


    His blankets.


    The thought felt wrong to him, but he couldn¡¯t place why. He¡¯d been sleeping in here for the past few years, hadn¡¯t he?


    ¡°Meek take a hit to head?¡± Babbua asked, her face wrinkling with concern. She¡¯d always been a pale green, very wan and exhausted-looking from her thankless chores. But even by the dim light in the mud hut, Meek could tell her skin was now a beautiful apple-green.


    Her brown eyes, as inviting as a fresh puddle of mud, were alive. Her hair, which had been stringy and prematurely graying looked shiny and lucious, raven black with a large silver streak at the front, neatly tied back into a bun.


    ¡°Babbua, what happened?¡± Meek asked. He felt as confused as she looked.


    ¡°Rest now,¡± Babbua tried to ease him back down onto the mattress. ¡°I already make sure children fed. They  so excited that you back from talk with stupid Uplanders.¡± She explained tenderly as she pressed her palm to his forehead.


    Meekknuckle instantly felt the calming influence of her touch. She wasn¡¯t a healer, and Meek assumed she only possessed the barest wisp of Mana, but her cool palm against his skin felt like¡­ like home.


    Babbua smiled down at him, and for a moment Meekknuckle just wanted to melt back onto the comfortable hay and rest his head.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡®But where is Ornn?¡¯


    It was that thought that drove Meekknuckle to push away Babbua¡¯s hand and fully extricate himself from his bed, rushing to the front door of the stone building and throwing them open before¡­ completely freezing in place at the sight that awaited him.


    As much as Meekknuckle loved Kxbag, even his best recollections of the underground village he called home were bittersweet at best.


    Most of his fellow Goblins lived in hastily constructed tents, or were forced to sleep in large piles with one another to keep themselves warm through the colder seasons.


    Light was a rare resource, provided through the occasional bonfire or dimly lit by the odd glowing fungi that would crop up on occasion.


    And the people in his tribe were cold, jaded creatures that were more likely to fight each other than band together for survival.


    Just the way his Father kept them; Starved, separated¡­ Easily controlled.


    ¡®Only under my guiding hand can Goblins exist in harmony. Without me, all of you would be little more than beasts.¡¯ The Patriarch was oh-so fond of saying, as he demanded resources be collected for his whims.


    But the village that spread out before Meekknuckle was unlike anything he could imagine.


    Everywhere he looked, Meek could see groups of Goblins working together to build proper stone buildings, each group working together with minimal bloodshed.


    Hells, he could even see a group of five Goblins stacked on top of each other to reach the roof of a building, the bottom Goblin passing hay upwards towards the next set of grasping hands.


    Staring in bewilderment, Meekknuckle could even see groups of Goblins wielding what looked like pickaxes as they worked on smashing down the sewer walls that had limited Kxbag¡¯s overall size for¡­ for¡­


    ¡®For longer than I¡¯ve been born, anyways.¡¯ Meek thought to himself as his jaw hung open, the diminutive Goblin unable to process the sight.


    Even more unbelievable to the Cleric was the fact that Meek could even spot the far edges of the village, and while it was clear as to how Kxbag was fully lit, he couldn¡¯t immediately comprehend how it had come to be.


    A large section of the sewers above the village had been excavated upwards, and in its place rested the largest cluster of crystals Meek had ever seen.


    Each of the hundreds of stalactites seemed to glow with light, ebbing and flowing to their own rhythm and lighting up the area around them with a dozen different colours and hues.


    If it had just been one such crystal, it would no doubt only serve to brighten the area for a few moments before dimming again, but combined¡­


    ¡®It¡¯s beautiful.¡¯ Meek stared at the resulting shades of light that played out across the cavern, as individual crystals dimmed and other crystals began to brighten and took their place.


    Meekknuckle could have stood there and stared down at his home for hours, but when a little hand slipped into his own, the bewildered Cleric was broken from his revelry.


    Looking down at the little Goblin child that had grabbed onto him, Meekknuckle could see the familial resemblance. The little girl looked so similar to the aunts and cousins he¡¯d seen come and go over his lifetime, each stolen away by the Patriarch.


    Unlike those memories though, there was no exhaustion on the yellow-ish face that beamed up a toothy smile at him, no hint of fear or resentment.


    ¡°Dad, what are you stawing at?¡± The Goblin asked, scrunching her stumpy nose as she stumbled over one of her words. ¡°Mom said that since you were back, it was your turn to make us breakfast!¡±


    ¡°Leave you Dad alone, Winnie. He make you food in bit.¡±


    Spinning in place, Meekknuckle stared in disbelief back at Babbua as the beautiful woman hefted another child onto her hip, and smirked a grin towards him.


    ¡°Me not¡­¡± Meekknuckle began to say, before catching himself. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not sure if I can cook as well as your Mother, but maybe you can help me out¡­ Winnie.¡±


    ¡°Plus we can practice our letters!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Came the instant answer, Winnie pulling her hand from his only to run over to her mother. ¡°You can¡¯t make me pwactise, Mom already said we could go play with Uncle Skrakch!¡±


    Meekknuckle could only shake his head as he followed his daughter back into their home, and began making his way to their larder to get started on their morning meal.


    As much as Winnie liked to complain, she was already doing so well. And a visit to Skrakch¡¯s was a good excuse to get the kids outside-


    In the midst of grabbing a wheel of cheese to start making breakfast, a sudden sense of terror came over Meekknuckle.


    He was in danger, his family was in danger. Instinctively, he knew he had to protect them, he had to hold on to the Artifact.


    He had to-


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-


    Blinking blearily, Meek found himself back in Zacharias¡¯ office, the filthy wooden floor and the lingering stench of vomit washing over him. His hands were curled as though something had been knocked from his grip, and a sense of loneliness struck him like a physical blow.


    It took Meekknuckle a moment before he grasped that the Purene Ruby was now sitting in Zacharias¡¯ gloved hand, the Halfling smirking at him.


    ¡°Meek. What the Hells happened?¡± Winifred asked.


    ¡°Ye were in a trance,¡± Winnie continued, looking concerned. ¡°But it was like ye were¡­happy? Never seen ye smile so wide,¡± She shook her head in disbelief. ¡°Weren¡¯t ye seeing all the bad shite that we saw?¡±


    But the Goblin wasn¡¯t really listening to the burly human. Instead, he had his full attention on the smug looking Halfling, glaring at him through narrow eyes. The one who¡¯d stolen Babbua away from him¡­


    ¡°Stupid little snot bag probably didn¡¯t realize what he was even seeing!¡± Zacharias chortled, only seeming more amused when he noticed the way the Goblin tensed at his provocation.


    Which is why Meek leapt at him.


    ¡°Oi! What the fuck?!¡± Zacharias yelled as Meek¡¯s sharpened nails went straight for his face. The Halfling was quick on the draw, throwing himself down through his own shadow and reappearing over to the other side of the office.


    Meek snarled and started to charge toward him again until he felt himself in the strong grip of Winnie, the brawler effortlessly lifting him off the ground and clamping his back against her chest as he flailed and struggled in her arms.


    Still, all three of the Rogues stilled when an explosive shout grabbed all of their attentions.


    ¡°For the love of all the Gods, all of you need to shut the Hells up!¡± Skrakch roared out as he threw off the blanket that he¡¯d been curled up in.


    ¡°Or I will gut the lot of you myself!¡±

 Chp. 112 - Built for Perfection

    ¡°What is wrong with you morons?¡± Skrakch spat out the words, his chest heaving, his fur spiked in pure anger, as the Ratling struggled to calm himself.


    ¡°The last thing I need right now is you simpletons fighting, much less over that cursed thing!¡± He growled, tail lashing from side to side as he glared at his so-called associates.


    Winifred and Meekknuckle at least had the awareness to look momentarily ashamed, even as the Goblin dangled helplessly from the much taller woman¡¯s hold.


    ¡°Meek not mean to yell, Meek just need Ruby back! Because little half-man take what not his. What Meekknuckle need!¡±


    Each word that came out of the Goblins mouth seemed to reignite his fury as he began scrambling to break Winifred¡¯s handhold on him, but the brawler barely seemed to notice his attempts as she maintained her grip on the squirming creature.


    Only it wasn¡¯t Winifred that spoke next, as Zacharias let out a short bark of condescending laughter. ¡°Listen Squeaks, you¡¯d best keep your pet Goblin in line, it¡¯s not my fault the little freak tried to attack me. And it sure as shite ain¡¯t gonna be my fault when I give him a good thrashing either.¡± The Halfling shrugged nonchalantly.


    ¡°Meek¡­hate¡­short man¡­take happy from Meek¡­¡± Meekknuckle growled as Winifred continued to hold him back.


    ¡°Calm yeself,¡± The brawler said. ¡°The Wee man¡¯s nae worth it¡­ and if ye don¡¯t knock it off, I¡¯m gonna have to put ye down. Hard.¡±


    ¡°If you let him go, I¡¯ll be the one to put him down hard.¡± Zach agreed with a grin as he plucked one of his daggers from his sleeve. ¡°But trust me, the little shite won¡¯t get back up afterwards.¡±


    Skrakch let out a controlled breath, as he struggled to calm himself, before a sly smile came to him. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about Meekknuckle, Zacharias.¡± The Ratling said silkily.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s your turn to use the Purene Ruby, and I sincerely hope whatever you see when you touch that damned thing is the worst experience you ever have,¡± Skrakch added scathingly.


    Zacharias shot an irritated glare towards Skrakch, before relaxing his demeanor with a shrug and a roll of his eyes.


    ¡°Listen mate, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be fine since I¡¯m not a fucking overgrown mouse, a dramatic bloody woman, or a puke-covered Gremlin.¡±


    ¡°Some of us,¡± he grinned, puffing his chest out with pride, ¡°Are bloody professionals.¡± He rubbed his gloved hands together and cracked his fingers ostentatiously. ¡°Now enough of this bollocks, let¡¯s see what this shite is all about.¡±


    Zacharias ignored any of his companions idiotic rejoinders as he pulled his glove off with his teeth and let the stained leather drop to the floor, before encasing the Purene Ruby in his open palm.


    While he¡¯d been glib in his responses to Skrakch and Meekknuckle¡¯s attempts with the Artifact, that didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d been ignoring what had been going on in the small office space. Quite the contrary in fact. He¡¯d been careful to monitor the flow of Mana from the Ruby as they¡¯d interacted with it¡­


    Which was why the Halfling was momentarily surprised that the Ruby didn¡¯t appear to react at all to the physical contact with his skin.


    Closing his eyes, Zach commanded his Mana to surround the Ruby and watched in confusion as the Artifact refused to respond in any way.


    The hunk of gemstone simply sat in his hand like a lump of stone, not a hint of the Artifacts power peeking through its exterior.


    He was aware of the eyes of his fellow Rogues on him. No doubt Squeakers would be wearing that shit-eating grin that Zach had come to despise so much.


    ¡®Well.¡¯ He silently told himself. ¡®There¡¯s more than one way to skin a Sunglow Mongrel¡­¡±


    ¡®So what if it¡¯s not willing to play,¡¯ Zach thought to himself, ¡®Then I¡¯ll just force the sodding thing to open up.¡¯


    While Skrakch always liked to think of himself as the most magically inclined of their group, Zach had nothing but confidence in his own abilities. Magic was all well and good, but sometimes shite just needed to get done.


    ¡®After all, I¡¯ve never met a lock I couldn¡¯t force.¡¯


    Commanding his Mana to swirl over the Artifact in his palm, the Halfling didn¡¯t bother with any half-measures, instead hammering his intent into the Purene Ruby.


    And it wasn¡¯t long until his assault was rewarded, his Mana pouring into the Ruby as Zacharias¡¯ vision began to swim.


    <hr>


    When he next opened his eyes, Zach found himself in a familiar location, yet oddly, not one he felt he¡¯d ever been in. It just had a strange sense of familiarity to it, although it was impossible to tell whether that was a good or a bad thing.


    He hadn¡¯t been exactly sure what he was about to see, but the thief had no illusions about his likely untimely demise.


    He¡¯d been prepared to see a painful, slow death at another¡¯s hand, as someone usurped his burgeoning criminal empire. After all, wasn¡¯t that the way of the world? Kingpins didn¡¯t stay at the top of the pile for long before someone came nipping at their heels.


    Maybe it would be a cloaked dagger to the spleen from one of his many unsavory thugs, or perhaps a late night visit from one of the Crown Prince¡¯s more violent minions.


    Which was why Zacharias was surprised to find himself standing in an empty tavern, and the realization quickly hit him as his surroundings became clearer. It was the same one he¡¯d grown up in. He could even smell the exact same hints of bile and piss that had etched itself into his nostrils all those years ago.


    ¡°The Hells is this?¡± Zach spat to the side, eyeing the empty barstools with disdain as the floorboards creaked underneath his feet. ¡°Where¡¯s the gruesome deaths I¡¯ve been promised? Squeakers is going to be pissed if I''m destined to pass away from a touch too many pints.¡±


    ¡®Though¡­ that doesn¡¯t fit either.¡¯ Zach mused as he scanned his surroundings, looking for any hint of what was to come. ¡®Bloody place got ripped down and replaced on some noble¡¯s command.¡¯


    He¡¯d been there to see it. And, of course, to have a good scavenge through the building as it had been torn down.


    But now¡­.


    It looked as ¡®good¡¯ as it always had done. As he¡¯d always remembered it. Hells, the bloody floor was still sticky underfoot with Gods Below knew what!


    ¡°Well, come on then. If I¡¯m not about to see some bloody future visions of deaths and devastation, at least have the decency to show me something I don¡¯t already know.¡± He goaded the empty air around him with irritation.


    Maybe what the others had seen had started this dull? Some kind of nostalgic trip before everything went completely tits up?


    ¡°Hells, the Dungeon under the Old District had the decency to include a decent pint at least.¡± Zacharias finished with a huff, though as he continued his scan of the empty room, he was surprised to notice someone had suddenly appeared behind the bar.


    It was a lovely lass, or at least the body of one. Zacharias could spot the billowing curves from a mile away, but the Halfling didn¡¯t let himself get distracted by the woman¡¯s ample exposed cleavage.


    Instead, he focused on the creature¡¯s face, or rather, the lack of one.


    Which, fair adieus, was a bit of a mood killer.


    The apparition didn¡¯t have any of the facial features Zach associated with humanoids, instead having pale, smooth skin without blemish or feature.


    It reminded Zacharias of a painting half-finished, as if someone had gone to the trouble of carefully colouring a person¡¯s dress, then just completely ignored the dame¡¯s face.


    More interestingly, the figure didn¡¯t seem inclined for movement, simply staring off into space.


    ¡®Well, she would be if she had eyes, anyways.¡¯ He mused, stroking his chin.


    It was a surreal sight to see someone without eyes or a nose, but the thief simply kept a wary eye towards her as Zach continued his scan.


    ¡°Going to need more than that to spook-¡°


    As he continued his slow spin, Zacharias could see more of the apparitions had joined the first, though most of them were simply shades of men, each quietly standing near the previously empty tables, or sat near the bar.


    Each one tickled a memory in the back of Zacharias¡¯ brain, but without their faces, the Halfling couldn¡¯t place any of them. They were like parodies of the patrons that used to frequent the place. Like weird faceless puppets waiting to be controlled by unseen hands.


    They could have been anyone really, unlike the hunched over form that had suddenly appeared on one of the stools at the bar. Even from behind, Zach could place the disheveled blacksmith¡¯s clothes anywhere, so he wasn¡¯t totally surprised to see his father¡¯s form sitting at his usual spot at the bar.


    The drunken lout had been a near permanent fixture at his favourite pub, and when his Mother would send him out to retrieve his wayward parent, Zach had always known exactly where to head.


    Now though¡­ Zacharias flipped a throwing knife into his palm before tossing the blade directly into his father¡¯s back, though the thief wasn¡¯t surprised when the blade barely seemed to pierce the man¡¯s flesh.


    ¡°Can¡¯t blame a bloke for trying.¡± Zach huffed out a laugh, before making his way over to the hunched form, making a show of his nonchalance as he pointedly ignored any faceless spectors he passed. ¡°So what¡¯s the trick here? Cuz stealing most of these ugly fucks faces is just doing the world a favour.¡± He grinned to himself as he strutted toward the bar.


    If this was similar to what the others had experienced? Well shit, they were clearly just being overdramatic about it all.


    Settling down on an open seat at the bar, the thief wasn¡¯t surprised to confirm his father¡¯s face had been wiped clean as well, smooth skin staring down at the countertop.


    ¡°Hah! How¡¯s the poor worthless git supposed to get pissed if he¡¯s got no mouth?¡± The Halfling smirked at the pure irony.


    ¡°Truly, the world is a better place without the old bastard¡¯s face in it.¡± Zacharias laughed as he reached out and plucked the throwing knife from his father¡¯s back. A quick look at it confirmed there was no blood on the tip, and no wound either,  but Zach focused on his air of nonchalance.


    ¡°Seriously, I clearly got my looks from me mum. She was the prettiest lass in the land, whereas The Old Man?¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Ugliest fucking git this side of Dray¡¯Mel, always looked like crap that had been run over by a horse drawn carriage.¡± Zach grinned as he kept his eyes roaming, though¡­


    It started as a quiet sound, just barely on the edge of his hearing. Like a whisper. A single voice in the silence.


    ¡°gniyaced dna daed ,eno sselluos ,eno sselluoS¡±


    Zach looked around the tavern once more. The beings were still faceless and yet the whisper was getting louder as though other voices were joining it.


    The patrons stood up, one by one, blank empty faces turned in his direction.


    ¡°!Eno sselluos !eno sselluoS¡±


    The Halfling narrowed his eyes, hands twitching over his daggers as the whispers became a chant, the chant became a crescendo.


    And then¡­ as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The faceless patrons turned their backs and slowly began to fade away on the spot, black essences like smoke, unfurling and drifting downward into the disgusting floorboards¡­


    ¡°Well, what the fuck was that all about?¡± Zach demanded angrily.


    During the weird turn, his ¡®father¡¯ had remained entirely motionless.


    A thought was nudging at him as he stared about the bar, taking in the entire place, looking for the next odd occurrence. The place was a rancid sinkhole as it always had been, but it was large.


    Hells, it was nearly twice the size of the Plagued Rat, and that particular slice of mediocrity was one of the largest taverns in Dray¡¯Mel.


    ¡®So¡­ where was this tavern actually located? And why can¡¯t I remember what it¡¯s name was.¡¯


    Distracted as he was, Zacharias almost missed it when his father¡¯s head swiveled towards him. The Halfling didn¡¯t have enough time to dodge back before a wave of disorientation washed over him.


    <hr>


    A torrent of debilitating vertigo crashed into him, but Zacharias pushed past the dizzying feelings as he forced his eyes open, immediately scanning the area for any signs of danger.


    He wasn¡¯t in the bloody tavern any longer with the fucked up smoke-like creatures, but he was surprised to realize that this time, he knew where he was immediately.


    After all, it was his home¡­.


    And not one of the many he¡¯d bought for himself with his ill gotten gains, or one of his secret boltholes dotted throughout Dray¡¯Mel, but rather he was standing in the center of his childhood home.


    It was a simple homestead and it had never been the height of decadence, but as the Halfling looked around himself at the state of disrepair, Zach could tell exactly when it was meant to be.


    He spotted the shattered plates that had been shoved to the side and left to rot. There were hunks of fuzzy green bread alongside fruit that had been reduced to black puddles of ooze that coated the tops of the cabinets in the tiny kitchen area.


    A mirror, once polished every morning, was now smeared with grease and blood, an ugly crack splintering it straight down the middle.


    His nose was assaulted with the fug of old wrymwood leaves, the remnants of the rolled up sticks overflowing from an old chipped mug.


    He could see the dirt and filth that coated the only good rug that his mother had diligently weaved from various rags and he wasn¡¯t surprised to see the filth covered armchair his father had taken to sleeping in once¡­


    ¡®Once my mother was gone.¡¯


    It had been years since his father had pawned his mother off for a mere pittance, no doubt to clear some kind of ill-acquired debt, so Zach had to admit that he¡¯d made peace with the fact at this point. Murdering the duplicitous old fuck had certainly helped, but he vaguely recollected how angry he¡¯d been as a child, but now¡­


    Well, you see enough shitstains selling out their friends and family for a taste of Dragon¡¯s Blood,  you grew numb to it. His father wasn¡¯t a monster like he¡¯d thought of him as, he was just another pathetic junkie.


    ¡°So if you¡¯re showing me this to get under my skin, it¡¯s not working.¡± The Halfling announced in a bored tone as he kicked his way through the filth and over to the nearby chair.


    He couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on it but he had the distinct feeling of being watched.


    ¡°Seriously though, is this some kind of trap? Or are you pissed that I killed your last owner.¡±


    He laughed as his own joke before spitting on the floor and shaking his head in disdain.


    ¡°Whoever heard of an Artifact that held grudges? Fucking pathetic mate!¡±


    As the Halfling kept a steady eye on his surroundings, he wasn¡¯t overly surprised when two figures suddenly appeared beside him, but just as it had been at the tavern something about them felt off.


    His father looked exactly as he remembered him, his open vest soaked with booze and flecks of what he could only assume was vomit. The old git certainly smelled the same too. Rancid sweat and stale wrymwood leaves.


    The only thing that had really changed from the faceless form that had greeted Zach in the tavern was the leather belt that was tightly squeezing the life from his lungs.


    The Halfling remembered the belt clearly. It had, at one point, been brown. But it hadn¡¯t taken long for it to look and smell as foul as the man himself. Zach could still hear the crack of the belt as it tore through the air before the inevitable blossom of pain when it hit his young flesh.


    His arm, his back, his face. The old man was never a good aim even on the rare occasion that he was sober.


    Now the drunken lout was frozen in the midst of being dragged off his chair, though Zach had to admit it was a shame he couldn¡¯t make out the face his father had made as he died.


    The other figure though¡­ most of these unmoving spectors had seemed fully fleshed out, clothed in distinctive robes and their bodies were at least in a semblance of normal proportions.


    It didn¡¯t take a genius to know that the other figure was meant to be Zach himself, as he choked his own father to an early grave.


    It was poetic that he killed his father with the one thing that had caused him so much pain.


    What didn¡¯t make sense was the fact the image before the thief was distorted, the child version of Zacharias being shown with limbs out of proportion with his body, and the clothes he was wearing were a strange array of leather and cloth, each of a differing colour.


    It looked like a mashup of a dozen different children, each body part lifted from a different humanoid to form a foreign creature. The faceless figure looked closer to a misbegotten chimera than a Halfling child.


    Its left hand looked normal enough to match Zach¡¯s own, a pale Halfling arm holding one end of the leathery belt, but his right arm was nearly twice as long and covered in scales.


    ¡°The fuck¡­¡± Zach snorted out a laugh to himself. ¡°Is that supposed to me, mate?¡± He addressed the strange feeling of being watched once more.


    ¡°That¡¯s just wild, the Hells do you think I am? Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever sported scales before. Much less¡­ does that thing have a cat¡¯s tail?¡±


    Looking it over closely, the Halfling quickly moved past the nonsensical monstrosity, but as he looked at his father¡¯s flailing arms, a small frown crossed his face.


    When he¡¯d finished choking the life out of his father, he could distinctly remember that the only thing that had irked him afterwards were the scuff marks that his father¡¯s nails left on the wooden flooring.


    He recalled looking down at the ugly lacerations. The filth and grime could be washed away but those marks were permanent. Forever a scar on the floor his mother had taken so much pride in cleaning every morning.


    Zach glared at them. Deep, thick grooves from where the old bastard had struggled to pull himself away to safety as the air constricted in his throat.


    Checking below the chair was easy enough, and they were exactly where he remembered them being. It all made sense, right up until Zach thought about the actual kill.


    His father had been wasted, slumped over in his chair and sleeping away his celebratory booze. The pockets of his ragged pants had been empty, and Zach knew it had been wasted away behind the bar or across the card table.


    An empty pocket meant an empty belly.


    The drunken prick didn¡¯t have a care in the world and hadn¡¯t even moved as Zach threaded the belt around his neck.


    Hells, it was a good few seconds before his father had even reacted to being choked, the lack of air finally cutting through his clouded mind.


    The old timer barely had time to flail his arms around near the end, but in truth, it hadn¡¯t been a murder to boast about. It had been easy enough that even a small underfed brat had managed it.


    No, the small detail itching away at Zach was something both obvious, and yet something he¡¯d never thought about before today.


    ¡°How the Hells did the old man leave those marks when his feet weren¡¯t even able to reach the ground?¡± Zacharias muttered to himself, pacing about the murder scene in front of him.


    ¡®It wasn¡¯t possible. So why do I remember it so clearly? I remember my old man choking so viscerally, his¡­ his face contorted in pain¡­¡¯


    The Halfling could feel a pressure building in his skull as he tried to picture his fathers face, staggering backwards against a nearby wall. The old man had been¡­ elderly? With wrinkles or maybe a mustache? Surely there had been a beard? Had it been gray or perhaps salt and pepper?


    Zach felt like he could almost remember it, his father¡¯s drunken face and his bright yellow scales from his constant drinking.


    ¡®Scales?¡¯


    Halflings don¡¯t have scales.


    Yet why had that felt so natural to think?


    His father¡­


    His father had been¡­


    ¡®What was his fucking name?¡±


    Zach suddenly felt a sick feeling settle into his stomach like a rock.


    ¡°Fuck him. What was her name?¡±


    ¡®What was my mother¡¯s name? How can I remember this bloody shithole right down to the fucked up state of it, but I haven¡¯t got a clue what my own mother¡¯s name was?¡¯


    Zacharias could feel his breath run ragged as he struggled to stay upright, sweat dripping down his face as he stared at the monstrous image that was meant to reflect him.


    He backed up, away from the fallen body of his father and the freakish creation of his younger self. His sweaty back came into contact with the greasy wall as his stomach churned.


    It was chaos incarnate, but piece by piece Zach felt like he could almost remember each individual limb, like an itch at the back of his mind.


    But why? Why would he ever remember something like that? He was a Halfling through and through¡­


    Why would he remember that he was¡­a thing¡­a creation¡­


    An amalgamation of this and that, thrown together in a gross parody of life.


    And then, of course, he suddenly knew why. It suddenly all made sense.


    ¡°The fucking Ruby. It¡¯s all the fucking Ruby¡¯s doing. This shit is supposed to twist my melon exactly like it did with those other fucks. Only I¡¯m savvy enough to realize before I freak out.¡±


    The thief felt a renewed sense of calm, even as his body collapsed to its knees, and the scratched floor rushed to collide with his skull. His eyes closed as Zach felt himself drift away, darkness pouring over him.


    <hr>


    There was no panic, no fear. The darkness was all he¡¯d ever known, and it washed over him like a blanket. It held him together as he became more aware.


    That was the way it had always been. The darkness meant shadows and shadows meant deception. A protective cloak that gave him the edge. The only accomplice that was worth his time.


    He could feel viscous liquid on his skin, the air inserted into his lungs. He could feel the metal tube lodged down his throat, and the occasional flush of nutrients discharged down into his stomach.


    There was nothing, and he was nothing. These simple wandering thoughts perhaps but what were they really? Some said the dead could speak, could think. Hells, some wankers thought the dead could dream and imagine and create.


    Didn¡¯t mean shit.


    You were the sum of your parts. And wasn¡¯t that all he was?


    Parts.


    Until he felt the command as it pierced his soul.


    ¡®Open your eyes.¡¯


    At first, he didn¡¯t understand. The command washed over him, yet he ignored it. A part of him knew he was meant to respond, but it didn¡¯t matter. Not yet.


    Instead, he only continued to exist. There was no drive, no desire to plague him. He simply was, just an empty shell with no purpose. He was-


    Create¡­


    Zacharias thrashed wildly in a surge of movement, his lungs burning as he desperately clawed at his eyes. Surrounded on all sides by thick water that stemied his movement, the Halfling began to retch as he felt the metal tube digging at his throat.


    His fingers scrabbled at his face in pure panic as the thief realized his nostrils had been sewn shut, and his eyes were covered in a layer of gunk that blocked his vision.


    With his breath caught in his chest, he desperately wrenched himself from side to side as the metal tubing finally dislodged itself from his throat, only to be replaced by an unending stream of liquid as Zacharias struggled to close his mouth.


    Each breath burned at him while his lungs filled with water, Zach could feel his eyelids being ripped apart with his own fingernails as he desperately cleared his vision.


    He needed¡­ He had no idea. No clue where he was, or why he¡¯d been trapped like this, but as the stench of his own blood mingled with the liquid around him, he could barely make out a faint light near him.


    Kicking out desperately, Zacharias was stunned to feel a solid barrier just in front of him. Stamping down on his panic, he kicked out with as much force as he could and ignored the jolt of pain that spread through his legs.


    Because he was rewarded with a beautiful sight, a web of cracks spreading out around him. All he needed to do was keep kicking. Keep struggling even as his brain began to cut off.


    His second kick pierced the barrier of whatever he was being kept inside, and Zach watched as liquid began jettisoning past him.


    ¡®Glass. It¡¯s fucking glass.¡¯


    Reeling back for a third kick, Zacharias felt a tendon tear in his left leg, but the Halfling refused to stop. His foot smashed out of the glass container¡­ only to remain wedged in place.


    Spun out of control, Zach couldn¡¯t yank himself free as bits of broken shards shredded his leg into mincemeat, but he couldn¡¯t stop here.


    He would¡­ he¡­ would¡­


    <hr>


    As the sounds of the pathetic snotball ranting drifted into his consciousness, Zacharias felt an urge to gulp down the fresh¡­ Well, fresh enough air.


    He was back in his warehouse office, whole and uninjured. And being stared at by a smug fucking Ratling.


    The Goblin was studiously ignoring him, instead choosing to direct his complaints to Winifred who was nodding at him, one hand on his shoulder, a sympathetic look on her face.


    Disgusting.


    Resisting the urge to shake off the experience, Zacharias instead plastered a wide grin on his face, and watched as Skrakch¡¯s own smirk fell away.


    ¡°Well, that was a bit boring.¡± Zach lied glibly, rolling the Purene Ruby across his palm and shrugging nonchalantly, ¡°Turns out I¡¯m going to die of old age, not exactly thrilling stuff.¡± He mock-yawned and stretched idly. ¡°Nowt we didn¡¯t know, eh? Dying rich and comfy, in bed with a couple of good looking birds! I can think of worse ways to go!¡±


    Across the office from him, his Iskrin accomplice let out a feral sounding snarl as the idiot puffed up his fur. ¡°You¡¯re shitting me. You saw one death? That¡¯s it!?¡± Skrakch demanded with a glare.


    ¡°Listen Squeakers, some of us are destined for greatness.¡± Zach replied smugly as he polished the Ruby on the sleeve of his jacket. ¡°And some of us, well, just look at yourself mate.¡± He added with a snide chuckle.


    ¡°And I¡¯m not worried about some shitty little magic toy.¡± Zacharias lied through his teeth, staring down at the Ruby and noting the little swirl of darkness that seemed to be swirling in the center of the Artifact.


    "Some of us are just made better."

 Chp. 113 - What Next?

    ¡°I don¡¯t buy it.¡±


    Skrakch folded his arms across his leather strapped chest as the Ratling stared levelly at the smug Halfling.


    ¡°Dunno what you mean, Squeakeroo!¡± Zach replied nonchalantly. He fumbled in the bottom of a wooden storage chest that had once been hidden under his desk. Thank fuck it was one of the only things that had survived Winnie¡¯s rampage.


    He reached into its depths and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. It was one of the more expensive brands out there and Zach had actually been saving it for when they¡¯d finally sorted out the Dragon¡¯s Blood recipe.


    His fake Dragon¡¯s Blood was going to sweep the market and he was going to rake it in, so it seemed the perfect reward.


    ¡°But does that even matter anymore?¡±


    Zach shook his head and pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth. He really didn¡¯t want to pull at that thread. Not now. Not with the others watching his every mood.


    If he was going to deal with his suspicions around his vision, he sure as shit wasn¡¯t going to do it under the watchful eyes of the bloody rat.


    Zach spat the cork toward the floor, smirking a little as it narrowly missed the Ratling¡¯s left foot.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you saw some cushy death.¡± Skrakch said, refusing to break eye contact. ¡°In fact, I¡¯d say Meekknuckle was the only one to see something positive, which is a whole other issue.¡±


    Skrakch continued to stare Zach down, obviously looking for some kind of falter or nerves. Zach took a healthy swig of the whiskey, though it tasted like ashes on his tongue.


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna see me sweat, mate!¡±


    ¡°I mean, what the Hells?¡± Skrakch suddenly pivoted, as he raised his paws to the ceiling in frustration. ¡°I had to see myself die on repeat, and Meek wants to use the Ruby again? Where¡¯s the fairness in that-¡°


    Skrakch cut himself off as he rubbed both hands against his face. ¡°Listen, cards on the table. I can barely remember little flashes of what I saw, but it¡¯s already fading.¡± He turned to Meekknuckle and Winifred as though he was appealing to them. ¡°Can either of you two remember anything useful?¡±


    Instead of paying attention, Zach simply dipped his bottle of booze back as he necked the drink, flipping his middle finger towards the waiting Ratling.


    Thankfully, it wasn¡¯t too much longer before Winifred answered Skrakch¡¯s question, all while still holding Meekknuckle off the ground. The Goblin¡¯s struggling had calmed down but he was still glaring daggers at Zach.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ already a bit hazy.¡± The brawler noted with a far-away look in her eyes. ¡°But aye, I can remember wee snippets of it. I was outside the city walls, in the bloody desert.¡±


    ¡°There was something¡­¡± Winifred trailed off for a moment, before snapping back to attention and dropping Meekknuckle to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs. ¡°We¡¯re going tae be sent into the desert. And I end up¡­¡± The brawler began rubbing at her throat, clearly having said her piece.


    ¡°Meek know Ruby show him future. Me was happy. And village is better. So much better!¡± Meekknuckle crowed as he wobbled to his feet. ¡°Me not remember details, but Meek was¡­ Chief?¡±


    A sudden choking noise brought the attention of the room back to Zacharias, as the Halfling spewed a mouthful of his hooch across the floor. ¡°Bloody Hells, I didn¡¯t realize Artifacts could lie. Or maybe Hob-nuts over here just can¡¯t remember the more sensible bits.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, what stupid man see then?¡± Meekknuckle demanded, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out. Winifred was quick to put a hand on Meekknuckle¡¯s shoulder, just in case the urge to hurl himself in the Halfling¡¯s direction overtook him once more.


    ¡°Ye need to calm down,¡± She muttered into Meekknuckle¡¯s ear. ¡°He¡¯s nae worth it.¡±


    Zach, clearly overhearing her, offered a wan smile before going straight back to nonchalance.


    ¡°Already said it didn¡¯t I? I died happier than you lot ever even lived.¡± Zach replied glibly. ¡°How about you then Squeaks, any of your deaths stick out? I notice you¡¯re keeping your furry trap shut while quizzing the rest of us!¡±


    Skrakch glared over at the Halfling for a moment longer, until his shoulders suddenly began to slump. ¡°The Ruby showed me¡­ Fuck, it showed me a lot of Deaths.¡± He admitted defeatedly.


    ¡°I die if I run, I die if I hide, and I die if I¡­ if I do fucking anything.¡± Skrakch started to mutter, the fur on his body beginning to spike. ¡°I can remember getting out of the bloody city, and I still die.¡±


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°No matter what I do, who I kill or what I manage to pull off, I¡¯m going to die. That¡¯s my lot in life,¡± Skrakch continued, ¡°Or so it would seem.¡±


    The silence between the Rogues stretched out for-


    ¡°So?¡± Zacharias let out a cutting laugh, as a sneer stole across his visage. ¡°That damn Rune on your wrist already told you that, you fucking fool.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to die, and the Ruby doesn¡¯t change that. Hells, Winifred is going to get herself crushed like a grape by some ancient Chosen who decides she¡¯s a bit too big for her britches.¡± He continued, tossing a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the brawler.


    ¡°The Goblin is fucked too, you know.¡± Zach continued, now slurring his words somewhat. ¡°Even if his vision was actually something positive. Fucking think about it, the Goblins are at war with the Iskrin, right?¡±


    ¡°You picked a great time to suddenly be up to date on your politics,¡± Skrakch muttered sardonically.


    ¡°So if that useless sack of piss is the Goblin Chief, the best they have? The main defender of his shitheel of a village?¡± Zach continued, ignoring the Ratling. ¡°Well then fuck me, it¡¯s only a matter of time until someone comes along and stomps his little paradise into a million pieces and kills ¡®em all to boot!¡±


    Zacharias took a swig of his drink, as the other Rogues glared back at him. Not that it seemed to bother the Halfling as he theatrically smacked his lips. ¡°Mmm, damn. This shit is good enough to die for.¡± He grinned sadistically as he realized what he¡¯d just said. ¡°Aha! Too soon?¡±


    ¡°So what,¡± Skrakch angrily stomped over to the Halfling, jabbing a claw into the irritating prick¡¯s chest. ¡°You¡¯re trying to say you¡¯ll outlive us all then, you cocky piece of-¡°


    Flicking his wrist, Zach let one of his knives settle into his grasp before pressing the point tight against Skrakch¡¯s throat.


    ¡°How about I give you a poke in the chest with somethin¡¯ a little sharper eh?¡± Leaning closer to the suddenly still Ratling, Zach shot his partner a grim grin. ¡°And I¡¯ll have you know, I¡¯m not saying anything of the sort, Squeaks.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re thieves, we¡¯re murderers. Every single thing you¡¯ve ever taken from the world has been someone else¡¯s and you think we deserve anything better than a sudden death?¡±


    ¡°How many lives have you plucked short? You think they wouldn¡¯t have panicked like this if they knew it was coming?¡± Zach pressed the dagger further into the Ratling¡¯s neck, a streak of blood darkening Skrakch¡¯s fur.


    ¡°All it takes is one lapse in judgement, one missed step and we¡¯re all dead. Winifred alone could kill us both before we could blink, and she¡¯s just as pathetic as the rest of us.¡± Zach hissed the words, his scars stretched tight against his skin. ¡°Take this as a lesson you should have learned forever ago, Skrakch. You¡¯re only a second away from death at any time, and three months is more than any of us deserve.¡±


    ¡°Or who knows,¡± the Thief let out a disarming laugh as he sheathed his knife with a flourish. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll get your Pact, and live forever. Can¡¯t see a specific future if you never end up croaking.¡±


    Winifred let out a grunt, before nodding her head. ¡°Wee Man has a point for once. Anytime you get into a fight, you should expect a chance to end up with a knife to the gut. And if the Ruby only shows certain types of final moments, who knows. Maybe there¡¯s a world you still make it, eh?¡±


    ¡°Well you certainly picked a time to wax lyrical about our lot in life,¡± Skrakch said, shaking himself free from Zach¡¯s hold. ¡°It¡¯s a shame you can¡¯t be this effusive or coherent when you¡¯re not getting pissed.¡±


    ¡°Either way,¡± Skrakch continued, not wanting to dwell on his various untimely demises any longer. ¡°Now that we know what the Ruby does, what the Hells are we going to do with it?¡±


    He looked over at Winifred who shrugged. Zacharias seemed too busy chasing the bottom of his whiskey bottle¡­


    ¡°If I never touch the damned thing again it¡¯ll be too soon,¡± The Ratling continued. ¡°I say we find ourselves a buyer and get rid.¡±


    ¡°Aye, I know someone who might be able tae help us with that,¡± Winnie said. ¡°I met her at the Ball, she¡¯d know some rich fool who¡¯d be willing tae part with their money for it.¡±


    ¡°Meek want to see future again!¡± The Goblin piped up, as he absentmindedly picked at his ear. ¡°Not Meek fault you all saw bad things. Meek loved future!¡±


    ¡°Shut up Meek,¡± Skrakch snarled. ¡°We¡¯re not keeping a valuable artifact just so you can keep seeing some stupid made up nonsense,¡± He turned back to Winifred. ¡°I have a contact, the Denmother, I say I fill her in on the situation and see what she has to say. Anything she doesn¡¯t know about these kind of artifacts isn¡¯t worth knowing,¡±


    ¡°If ye think that¡¯s best,¡± Winifried replied with a shrug. ¡°I¡¯m nae gonna be around for a wee bit,¡± she added as she pushed herself off the wall she was leaning against. ¡°I¡¯ve got me own quest tae be workin¡¯ on,¡± She cracked her knuckles on her remaining hand. ¡°Just make sure the Wee Man does nae drink himself tae death? I want my share of all this,¡± she added, nodding at the door leading further into the warehouse.


    ¡°I¡¯m keeping hold off that Ruby, you all go off and do whatever,¡± Zach said. The Ruby was back in his gloved hand, whiskey bottle still clasped tight in the other.


    ¡°No!¡± Skrakch and Winifred said in unison as Meekknuckle let out a cry of frustration.


    ¡°Look at it this way,¡± Zach continued. ¡°There¡¯s no safer hiding place. No fucker will dare come in here and if they do, my workers have gone through¡­ certain training.¡±


    ¡°I dinnae really want tae agree with the Wee Man twice in one day, but he¡¯s got a point,¡± Winifred said, letting out a shudder as if going along with the idea actually caused a physical reaction.


    ¡°Well then, Meek, you¡¯re staying here. Keep an eye on him,¡± Skrakch pointed a claw in Zach¡¯s direction. ¡°And no more attacking him, not unless he actually tries to screw us over, get it?¡±


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ hell Squeaks!¡± Zach chortled. ¡°You really think that even if I did want to screw all of you over which to be clear, I fuckin¡¯ don¡¯t by the way since I¡¯m sitting in a gold mine here, but if I DID you really think Snotbag could stop me?¡±


    ¡°Maybe not,¡± Skrakch replied calmly, a smirk twitching on his lips. ¡°But we all know someone who can¡­¡±


    At that, the warehouse wall opposite of them all suddenly started to move. Zach blinked blearily at it for a moment, looking more confused than scared, as the shifting stone wall morphed into a  slightly more compact version of Ornn.


    The Golem was still far too large to stand upright within the room, but his body seemed to stretch ominously as Ornn loomed over the lot of them, even dwarving Winifred in size.


    ¡°Yeah, alright, you made your fuckin¡¯ point,¡± Zach muttered moodily as the Golem¡¯s unblinking face stared directly at him.


    ¡°Fucking forgot the bloody bugger was even there¡­¡±

 Chp. 114 - A Good olFashioned Brawl

    Weave.


    Dodge.


    Duck.


    Crunch...?


    A left hook to the nose sent her stumbling back, as Winifred¡¯s broken cartilage gave a satisfyingly audible crack. A loud cheer echoed from the stalls as a fountain of scarlet blood burst forth down onto the sand under her feet.


    No matter. That, along with the three broken ribs and swollen kneecap would fix itself in time.


    One of the benefits of being Chosen.


    When Winifred had left the other Rogues behind, mentioning a personal quest, she honestly hadn¡¯t expected it to be so straight forward.


    There was no way she would ever admit it to the others but what she¡¯d seen in her future was, quite frankly, fucking terrifying


    She was a Chosen for Hell¡¯s sake!


    There was more strength in her one arm than a dozen men, and yet¡­


    She wasn¡¯t supposed to be taken down so easily. Her might was her power and yet when she¡¯d seen her death play out, it was as if that power hadn¡¯t existed at all.


    Back when she¡¯d first been taken by the Tomb-Makers, they¡¯d made her fight day after day, and while it had galled her¡­ she¡¯d known exactly who she was.


    There¡¯d been no question of it. She was a fighter, a scrapper. She¡¯d thrown herself into each fight like it was her last, and she didn¡¯t regret a single punch.


    Fight. Just fight.


    Fighting was all she knew. For so long it was all she had to count on. To earn some coin and keep a roof, albeit a humble one, over her head.


    So, what did she do when all else seemed bloody crazy?


    She would fight.


    Winifred had expected it to be much harder to find a fighting arena whose speciality was ¡®enhanced folk¡¯. Gods forbid they¡¯d outright say ¡®Chosen¡¯ though. It was a word that created too much fear in the hearts of those with the coin in their purses, and made predicting bets much too unreliable for any self-respecting bookie.


    Especially when it came to fixing fight knockouts.


    But she¡¯d used some of her old contacts, those who¡¯d been in the Pits long enough to have seen the seediest underground arenas, if not fought in them themselves.


    And that is how Winifred had found herself at The Sleepy Moon.


    Such a gentile name for what was effectively paid for bloodletting. Chosen fighters would test their powers, sharpen their Pacts and it was all done for the entertainment of the noble folk, those of them that wanted something more than your run-of-the-mill Pit Fight.


    Turns out coin could get you anything, no matter how gory your particular proclivity may be¡­


    So Winifred had signed up. She¡¯d shown off her Pact in the backyard of the tavern, breaking a large stone into pieces as though it were one of the tea biscuits her Mother had always forced the family cooks to make.


    The sleazy owner, because they always were the Zacharias type, had hastily made her an offer.


    Not that it was about the coin.


    Dodge.


    Weave.


    The loss of one of her arms had thrown her off, had her balance all out of sorts and yet, it was astounding how quickly she¡¯d adapted to it.


    It was a good thing too, as she¡¯d needed all the skill she could muster. A small part of her had still assumed she¡¯d get by with ease. Winifred never really thought of herself as a braggart, but if there was one thing the brawler knew best, it was how to enjoy a good scrap.


    Which made the beatdown she was currently experiencing all the more humiliating.


    They¡¯d scheduled her first fight with a Chosen who¡¯d seemed nearly as unfamiliar with their Pact as Winifred was with her own, though that did little to soften the sting of the blows that they did land on her.


    Her foe loomed above her own fairly fit frame, but there wasn¡¯t much of a chance that her physique could match that of a huge, hulking Minotaur. The beast had at least three feet and two hundred pounds of solid muscle on Rodyr, the only other Minotaur she¡¯d ever known, much less on a human woman.


    Its red eyes were ablaze with anger and adrenaline, its sharp yellow teeth and elongated tusks already dripping with her blood. Thankfully, the brute seemed at odds with their own strength, which was why it was sporting half a dozen bruises across its torso from her repeated attacks.


    The beast had slipped up a few times already. No doubt thrown off by its new bulk. Winifred had found herself thanking all the Gods Above that Blackmaul¡¯s teachings were all about adaptability.


    ¡°If ye cannae adapt in the moment, ma wee chook, ye might as well be dead.¡±


    ¡°Come on darlin¡¯! Give us a show!¡± Someone called out to her from one of the nearby stalls, a roar of approval sounding out from the crowd. They¡¯d been getting slowly more raucous as the fight had continued. Clearly blood and broken bones weren¡¯t going to satisfy their need for gore.


    Winifred smirked through bloodied teeth as she kicked out at the back of the Minotaur¡¯s knee, imagining it was the face of the fool who¡¯d just yelled at her. Unable to dance back in time due to its ungainly size, the brawler felt her poor opponent¡¯s kneecap buckle under the strength of her kick, as the beast tottered helplessly for a moment before crumpling to his knees.


    Winifred stood over the Beast as it roared in pain, ignoring the flecks of saliva that splattered across her cheek. Decisively, she aimed one swift punch directly towards the Minotaur¡¯s exposed neck.


    It no doubt seemed comical to the onlookers due to the size difference, but Winifred knew that it didn¡¯t matter. For all that the Minotaur looked like it could crush her without a thought, she was a Chosen.


    Drawing deep on the Crux hidden within her chest, she moved the energy in tandem with her fist, slamming her knuckles into the Minotaur¡¯s throat. She would end it with this strike, because this was who she was. Who she had to be.


    And the fucking Minotaur would Brea-


    In the blink of an eye, the enormous form of the Minotaur disappeared in a gout of mist. One moment Winifred¡¯s fist was impacting soft flesh, and the next there was nothing but air under her blow. It almost seemed as though her foe had melted into the blood-stained sand of the arena.


    Mogrify¡­


    ¡°Aye, quick wee shite ain¡¯t ye?¡± Winifred spat out a globule of blood, cracking her neck as she retook a more defensive posture.


    She spun around, all her senses on high alert. This wasn¡¯t the first time her opponent had seemingly vanished like this, but it was certainly closer than the last exchange they¡¯d traded.


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    The idea of a Crux that could enable you to change your form so easily was pretty appealing and would certain give an edge in battle but a morphing body was never going to really beat a strong one.


    The other Chosen had made the mistake of trying to fight brawn to brawn with Winifred, something that the Brawler couldn¡¯t help but assume wouldn¡¯t be happening again.


    No, the beast would need to shake up its tactics, and that was exactly what Winifred was hoping for. She wanted the challenge. She desperately needed to prove to herself that she could do this. That she could be victorious. That those damned visions that she¡¯d witnessed were just that. Visions. Not certainties.


    Still, there was no sign of her opponent anywhere in the ring, and Winifred was left panting slightly as she used the sudden lull to regain her breath.


    That was until-


    A thick tentacle suddenly wrapped around her neck. Before she could raise her hand up to her throat it was joined by two more. A fourth ripped through her hair and she felt herself being lifted upward toward the center of the arena.


    The crowd was going wild. They were shouting and catcalling, a cacophony so loud that Winifred couldn¡¯t make out a singular voice, just a cry of excitement for the blood being spilled.


    Her blood.


    Winifred was slowly rotated to face her opponent even as it continued to squeeze her throat with its tentacles.


    It was¡­. Huge. Truly gargantuan in size, it resembled a crossbred of an Octopi and a particularly ugly eldritch abomination.


    It was a massive round blob of undulating gore, crimson and pulsating flesh seemingly moving at random with a mind of its own. It had one large glassy-looking amber coloured eye in the center of this mass and, underneath, a maw that was so wide it looked like the blob had been split in two.


    Black drool hung from misshapen teeth, the largest of them were as tall as her, the smallest perhaps the length of one of her legs.


    That single eyeball leered at her hungrily as the tentacles wrapped tighter and tighter¡­


    ¡°Squashing me. Like a grape.¡±


    With lightning fast reflexes, Winifred used all her strength to swing her feet forward, aiming directly for the creature''s massive eyeball¡­


    Break¡­


    Suddenly the grip around her throat was loose as the tentacle she was grasping tightly started to pulp under her fingers.


    Winifred fell a good few feet down onto the sand, getting a mouthful of the filthy stuff, even as she staggered back to admire her blow.


    Even as large as the large blob monster was, its girthy mass still sailed the entire length of the arena as it desperately tried to stop its impromptu flight.


    She¡¯d kicked her hard enough that its singular eye had pulped under her foot, and the rest of its body was left trying to grasp at anything that would slow its eventual collision with the nearest arena wall.


    CRASH!


    It collided with the one of the basement borders that wasn¡¯t adorned with stalls of noblemen. Brick dust and wooden splinters flew into the air, raining down on the crowd who, instead of fleeing, started to cheer ever louder at the tops of their voices.


    Clearly she¡¯d given them the show that they¡¯d been so desperate for.


    Winifred was back on the balls of her feet, ready for the next shape the Chosen would take on.


    When the dust finally cleared, Winifred wasn¡¯t too surprised to see that the creature hadn¡¯t stopped upon contact with the Arena wall, instead collapsing through it into another portion of the underground arena.


    From the new hole on the basement wall, Winifred could see into the next room which was stocked with large barrels of what was probably mead. Some of them had toppled over, burying her opponent.


    She kept her eyes on them as they started to jostle and vibrate. She heard Blackmaul¡¯s voice in her head, telling her to stay alert, keep her wits about her¡­


    She told herself this was a Chosen and that meant this wasn¡¯t over yet.


    What Winifred hadn''t expected however, was the bloodied and filthy woman that appeared from underneath the barrels, with a hand shakily raised above her head.


    ¡°I¡­ I give up!¡±


    Cries of outrage sounded out around the fighters, but Winifred just stared at the young-ish Elven woman across the Arena from her with confusion.


    ¡®She gave up?¡¯


    ¡®What the fuck does that mean? She¡¯s meant tae be a Chosen. One of the strongest fucking things out there.¡¯ Winifred could feel her Pact in her veins, the heat of it scalding her and empowering her in equal measure. ¡®I¡¯m nae even close tae fucking done yet, so what the Hells does she mean when she says she gives up?¡¯


    ¡°Sorry, but I¡¯m really not cut out for this sort of thing, can we just call it here?¡± The blonde woman hesitantly asked, patting dust and sand off her red tunic. ¡°I absolutely forfeit, so sorry to anyone who bet on-¡°


    When Winifred¡¯s fist collided with her foe''s stomach, the brawler was nearly as surprised as the Elven woman looked, before the force of the blow sent the blonde rolling backwards in the sand.


    Break¡­


    The same strange sensation that she¡¯d felt while fighting the Shade washed over her, an unwelcome disconnect from her mind and her body.


    Back then it was because she couldn¡¯t even keep up with the speed that the Shade and her own body had been moving at, but now¡­


    With a roaring crowd behind her, Winifred dashed over to her groaning opponent''s prone form before delivering a kick directly into the Elf¡¯s abdomen.


    The sheer force of it lifted the slender woman high into the air before she came crashing down onto the sand with a sickening thud.


    ¡®I dinnae want this. She¡­ she gave up. I need tae stop, I should stop this.¡¯ Winifred watched as her own body confidently crossed the distance between the two of them, helpless to stop as she reached down and lifted the Elf by the neck.


    ¡®I want tae stop¡­ don¡¯t I?¡¯


    Whether through the tempered strength of a fellow Chosen or pure willpower, Winifred¡¯s Elven opponent was still lucid as she tried to break the hold the brawler had on her neck.


    ¡®She¡¯s going to die if I dinnae stop.¡¯ Winifred chastised herself, ¡®She cannae even breathe. Why isn¡¯t she fighting this? Transform again! Do something. Do anything!¡¯


    Break¡­


    The sound of the Arena¡¯s spectator¡¯s jeers washed away as Winifred stared at the other Chosen, absentmindedly noting the streaks of tears and muddied sand on the Elf¡¯s face.


    The woman was feebly kicking her feet into Winifred¡¯s chest, but the seasoned brawler could barely feel the blows.


    All the power in the world, and it couldn¡¯t help her. Winifred was more powerful then she¡¯d ever been, but she still ended up with a dagger through the throat.


    ¡°Fight back!¡± Winifred cursed at the Elven woman, watching her face as it started to turn a blue hue. ¡°Ye need tae fight back!¡±


    One of the first rules of the Slums was that death was always around the corner. One wrong move and you¡¯d end up being ripped apart by a peck of Ghouls, or on the wrong end of some thug¡¯s dagger.


    For as long as Winifred had been sneaking away from her home to visit the fighting pits, she¡¯d been telling herself she wasn¡¯t afraid of death. That she¡¯d take it all head on with a grin.


    ¡®But what if my death does nae come at me head on. What if I end up dead out in the desert without ever even seeing my attacker.¡¯


    Break¡­


    Winifred almost didn¡¯t notice the sound of breaking bones, distracted as she was, but the sudden sensation of her foe going completely slack in her grasp was impossible for Winifred to ignore.


    All at once the roar of the crowd slammed into her awareness, and Winifred felt in control of her body once again, her labored breathing helping her focus.


    Which was how Winifred suddenly realized that she was still holding the dead body of the other Chosen in the air by her broken neck.


    Snatching her hand back with a snarl, the brawler didn¡¯t bother to watch as the Elf¡¯s body landed amongst the sand, instead stalking towards the fighters exit.


    The sleazy fight organizer tried to catch her attention as Winifred stormed past, but she couldn¡¯t stop, not without crushing the halfwits skull in her hand. She needed to get outside, to get some fresh air in her lungs.


    The brawler was greeted by a light drizzle of rain once she stepped out of The Sleepy Moon.


    She slumped against the filthy brick wall of the tavern and stared down at her remaining hand as though it were a stranger.


    Winifred wasn¡¯t stupid. This wasn¡¯t the first time someone had died at her hand. But it had always been for a reason. Defense¡­ protection...


    It had been a matter of survival.


    But this. This was senseless.


    This was murder.

 Chp. 115 - When it Rains, it Pours

    Skrakch had been lying when he¡¯d told his fellow rogues that he was heading straight to the Denmother¡¯s ¡®perfume shop¡¯.


    As much as Skrakch hadn¡¯t wanted to admit it to himself, the visions of his death that the Purene Ruby had subjected him to had shaken him to his very core.


    He¡¯d known his life, such as it was, was going to end soon. He¡¯d tried his damnedest and had so far failed to obtain the near mythical state of becoming a Chosen, after all, so it wasn¡¯t a leap to know his hourglass was running low.


    But those deaths¡­


    They were horrific, brutal and harrowing.


    ¡®So can anyone really blame me for buggering off?¡¯


    He¡¯d run straight from Zach¡¯s foul warehouse to his main nest in the Slums, hiding himself away from the world and his problems.


    He¡¯d lain there for the best part of two days, not wanting to move or face his impending mortality. The wave of depression had hit him with such force that even the mere idea of dragging his hide out of the mess of scraps and straw the Ratling used as a bed, was an overwhelming thought.


    Finally, the need for sustenance had dragged him out of his gloomy reverie and towards his favourite food cart.


    Now, dashing from cover to cover, Skrakch resisted his urge to swear up at the Heavens in annoyance as he tried to keep his fur relatively unsoaked from the increasingly violent storm that had started while he¡¯d been eating at Kuosh¡¯s cart.


    The weather in Dray¡¯Mel was rarely what anyone would call pleasant, but the seemingly nonstop deluge of rain was already putting strain on the city''s shoddy sewer system.


    Skrakch had already had to turn back on his trip towards the Denmother¡¯s brothel twice after eating his meal because entire streets were absolutely waterlogged.


    ¡®And there was no way in Hells I was going to try and swim in that shit.¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t even the fact that his fur would be damp for days, but the water had a black-ish tint to it that frankly worried the Ratling. And that was not to mention the foul stench that assaulted his delicate, yet far superior,  nose.


    He¡¯d seen his fair share of horrors in his years down in the city¡¯s sewers, but the most horrifying had been the time he¡¯d seen an entire dozen Goblins simply disappear under an unexpected tsunami of rain water.


    It wasn¡¯t the little freaks'' deaths that had bothered him, but just how quickly and easily they¡¯d been swept away. One moment he¡¯d been following behind them in secret, and the next he was staring at a submerged sewer channel.


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    After that, Skrakch had developed a small phobia of any suspiciously large pool of water¡­


    ¡®But is it really a phobia if the bloody fear is oh-so-logical?¡¯ The Ratling mused to himself as he scaled the side of another building, using it to bridge the gaps above the blackish gunge that was pooling below him.


    A small part of him was thankful for the weather though, for clearing Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s streets and helping him avoid having to deal with any of his fellow citizens.


    He wasn¡¯t in any mood to match glares or looks of disgust with the merchants today, not with the usual glee he normally felt anyways.


    No, the still rather wet Iskrin was in a foul mood, and the last thing he needed was some human ponce recoiling from an accidental touch.


    ¡®Might be liable to just stab the git, if it happened.¡¯ Skrakch chuckled darkly to himself, jabbing one of his claws into the air in front of him. ¡®It¡¯d almost be worth getting skewered by the Old Bones, really.¡¯


    Sure, the Tomb-Makers tended to maintain a hands off approach to ruling their city, simply by using fear alone, but letting someone be openly murdered was pushing it a bit far.


    It was a much better idea for Skrakch to tail his target until they retreated into the ¡®safety¡¯ of their homes before he gutted them. Plus, there was the added bonus of whatever coin or trinkets they may own for him to take after the deed was done.


    Most folks kept a lock in place on their front entrance ways, but when you were as nimble as Skrakch was, gaining access to a second or third story window was a piece of piss.


    Jamming his claws into a small gap in the stonework of a nearby building he was climbing, Skrakch pulled himself up and over the lip of a rooftop, taking a moment to scan the area for anyone with a wandering eye.


    Cursing the falling rain, Skrakch was about to continue on his way when a faint scent grabbed his attention. Most of what the Ratling could smell was either the fresh rainwater ruining his fur, or the rank smell of the sewer gunk below him, but¡­


    With his curiosity piqued, Skrakch crossed the rooftop as he tried to get a clearer whiff of the smell so he could place it, his snout twitching as he tried to catch another whiff of it.


    ¡®It smelled like¡­ eggs? Rotten ones, maybe? With a hint of burnt wood¡­¡¯


    Bursting into a run, Skrakch leaped across the rooftop he was on, and clumsily rolled to his feet as he redoubled his efforts to make his way to the Denmother¡¯s brothel.


    Each step he took only heightened the smell as he began to take ragged breaths as a sense of panic washed over him. It was definitely coming from the direction of the Denmother¡¯s perfume store/brothel. Which could only mean¡­


    The Iskrin had only ever smelled that scent once before, a stench of burning ash and sulfur that had left him feeling nauseous for days.


    He¡¯d once had the brilliant idea to sneak into the Denmother¡¯s little nook and cranny in the brothel¡¯s basement, and his reward had been for the startled old lady to lash out at him.


    The only reason Skrakch had survived was because his instincts had told him to drop everything and flee, because as the Denmother raised her hands, the very flames of the Hells themselves burnt through everything it touched.


    Brimstone wasn¡¯t something any old witch could conjure, and the foul reeking flames had nearly burnt Skrakch to a crisp before the Denmother had realized who it was, and called the black flames to rest.


    It was a scent that he¡¯d never forget, and as it wafted his way from the same direction of the brothel, Skrakch wasn¡¯t entirely sure if he should even be willingly running towards its source¡­

 Chp. 116 - Bonfire of Sin

    Kneeling underneath a gargoyle statue, Skrakch ignored the rain dripping down his snout with a determined focus as he tried to make sense of the incongruity that was spread out before him.


    The Ratling had come to rest atop the nearest building directly across the street from the Denmother¡¯s brothel. He breathed in great gasps of, relatively at least, fresh air. His tail shuddered from the anticipation of what was to come. As much as he wanted to avoid the situation, there was no turning back. He needed the Denmother, needed the answers she could offer him. And it was to that end that he didn¡¯t turn tail and run.


    ¡®Not that I¡¯d put it like that, if she turns out to be alive and well. No, then I was just concerned about my favorite human, and I¡¯d simply felt compelled to check in personally¡­ Yeah, she might believe that.¡¯


    He could still smell the sickly sulfur scent of brimstone emanating from the brothel, but where Skrakch had been expecting to be greeted by a hollowed-out shell of a building, instead stood the intact perfume shop that the Denmother used as a cover for her demon¡¯s real work. There was nothing blatantly untoward about its appearance. It looked like it could just be any other day.


    ¡®It makes no sense.¡¯ Skrakch mused to himself as his eyes roved restlessly over the perfume store''s front entrance, with elegant, hand-blown bottles on display through a glass veneer that looked as polished and clean as always.


    If it weren¡¯t for the Ratling¡¯s keen sense of smell, it would appear that the brothel¡¯s shop cover was exactly how it always had been, but¡­


    ¡®I can smell more than just the brimstone now that I¡¯m closer, I can smell the stench of burning wood and spilled blood.¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t a faint scent of blood either, the smell was so strong that even a human would fail to notice it after getting closer, blunted sense of smell or not.


    Fishing through his pockets, Skrakch settled on pulling loose a copper coin and gripped it tightly in his palm, before winding up his arm for a throw.


    Doing his best to stay out of sight beneath the shade of the nearby Gargoyle, the Iskrin leaned forward and tossed the copper coin, watching intently as it¡­ slammed down onto the cobblestone below, missing his target entirely. At least Zacharias wasn¡¯t around to see it. Gods know how much the annoying little freak would have enjoyed the sight. And never let Skrakch forget it to boot.


    ¡°Motherless son of a whore.¡± Skrakch swore softly under his breath, eyeing his surroundings with a grimace as he sheepishly grabbed another coin from his bandolier.


    Shaking off a spray of water, Skrakch tried to realign his aim, rearing back and letting the second coin fly, and the Ratling watched as the coin came into contact with the outside of the brothel¡¯s walls¡­ only to disappear out of sight, a small section of the building momentarily shimmering before settling back into its deceptive image.


    Skrakch let out an appreciative hum as he stroked his chin, a small grin spreading across his snout.


    While the image of the perfume shop had only distorted for a moment, it was enough to confirm things for the apprentice Mage.


    ¡®Someone put up an illusion of sorts to keep things under wraps, but they didn¡¯t bother to consider the smell? Either the illusionist was a fool, or the caster didn¡¯t have time to consider each angle¡­¡±


    No, the real question was why anyone would bother to try and hide the attack on the brothel. especially considering the whole effect would be ruined if a customer tried to step through the illusion.


    ¡°Which means¡­¡± Skrakch murmured to himself, lost in thought. ¡®There had to be something to stop any old rube from just walking headfirst into whatever the mage had gone to the trouble of concealing.


    As curious as he was, Skrakch had no intention of just walking through the front door like some kind of lamb to the slaughter, so the Ratling began making his way to the closest section of the rooftop that would lead him across the street.


    That was one of the best parts Dray¡¯Mel''s architecture in his eyes, the cramped and crowded streets were perfect for any hoodlum with a quick enough step, and the balls to make a short leap.


    Of course, it helped to have a spell like Feather Fall up his sleeve, but Skrakch could remember the days that any missed step could have been his last.


    ¡®On a stormy night like this, even a pro could end up mulched on the cobblestones.¡¯


    Lining up his trajectory, Skrakch sprinted across the rooftop and aimed to keep his feet steady, even with the slick stone underneath him.


    Kicking off the building¡¯s edge, he felt the same sense of vertigo he¡¯d always felt mid-jump, as he couldn¡¯t help his wandering eyes from taking in the open air below him¡­ and then he was safe, even if he was forced to slip into a tumble upon landing.


    He¡¯d managed to cross the street fairly close to the brothel, thankfully, so it wasn¡¯t long until he was a step away from the illusionary wall. As close as he was, the brimstone stench was near overpowering, but that didn¡¯t stop the Ratling from sticking his head through the spell''s edge.


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    Frankly, a part of Skrakch had still been holding out hope that most of the Denmother¡¯s place would still be largely intact if a bit singed. After all, the more of the building that remained intact meant more clues and more evidence to work out exactly what had gone down since his last visit.


    Instead, most of the building looked to have completely collapsed in on itself, blackened wood nearly turned to char as it crumbled inwards, with nothing of the perfume shop being even remotely salvageable. There were huge puddles of melted glass, some that actually were quite pleasing in their mixture of colors and textures. The air was free of any mixing perfume scents as, Skrakch theorized, they probably almost instantly evaporated during the heat.


    The wooden desk that served as the counter was completely obliterated. The only thing remaining were the metal innards of the rudimentary cash register. Even those were twisted almost out of recognition.


    A thick carpet of ash layered over everything, to the point where it took Skrakch a moment to spot the first of the bodies.


    Lying near the doorway with a sizable hole through its chest was a brown Iskrin, garbed in blackened cloth and with a blade having fallen just out of its reach. It was lying on its back, its paws curled inward in the tell-tale pugilistic stance of one who¡¯d met his maker through fire.


    The corpse¡¯s sword looked to have been carved from an overly large bone, rather than solid steel, and Skrakch could imagine that somewhere on the Ratling¡¯s body he¡¯d find traces of a slave-mark branded on its body.


    ¡®The poor sap must have been forced to make the initial charge, and earned himself a fire bolt for his troubles.¡¯


    Strewn about the destroyed building, Skrakch spotted more and more deceased Ratlings, each killed in a single stroke of spellwork. Some, like the first he¡¯d seen, had either been burnt or had been hit with some kind of pyromantic spell. Others had large scorched open holes in their chests where whoever, or whatever, had ripped out their hearts. The rest were a mess of tangled limbs, leg bones, and ribs piercing through charred flesh.


    It helped paint a clear image that whoever had led the attack certainly hadn¡¯t cared about the lives of his men, though that didn¡¯t narrow things down much. A goon or foot soldier, no matter what race, were expendable to most who ordered him to charge towards mayhem, after all.


    ¡®Most folks consider us little more than beasts, after all.¡¯ Skrakch resisted his urge to let out a snarl as he began creeping further into the building¡¯s gutted remains.


    It was only when Skrakch¡¯s gaze roamed to the stairway leading down to the brothel-proper, that he noticed the first non-Iskrin causality.


    It was one of the Denmother¡¯s Incubi workers, the demon lying splattered against the floorboards. His torso had been hacked asunder, bits of his red flesh and blackened blood splattered haphazardly near his corpse.


    He¡¯d likely been rushing towards the safety offered by the basement when the Iskrin had caught up to him, and considering the garbed silk adorning his corpse, it¡¯s not like he¡¯d been dressed for melee combat.


    Skrakch slowly began to move further into the burnt-out husk of a building, intending to move closer to the basement¡¯s stairs to find out more about the state of the Denmother, when the sound of steel-clad footsteps ringing outwards halted the Ratling in his tracks.


    Deftly ducking behind a collapsed archway, Skrakch held his breath and stilled his movements as he watched a chilling figure dressed in bone-clad plate armor as it walked up the stairs, moving with a supernatural grace that few would associate with the Undead.


    Skrakch could feel his tail stiffen behind him, as his breath caught in his throat and he tried to shrink in on himself as much as he could. A vicious shiver ran down the whole of his spine and he had to clench his jaw hard to stop his teeth from chattering together.


    The figure could have been anyone, really, if it wasn¡¯t for the two eyes that peered out disinterestedly through the skeletal-shaped helmet as they came to a rest at the top of the stairs and scanned the building.


    Whereas Skeletal Guards had two brightly burning orbs in their eye sockets, and Ghasts had rotten empty eyes, the creature standing a few short feet away from Skrakch had two empty, soulless black flames fervently burning in its skull.


    Just looking into those blackened pits filled Skrakch with despair, and the Ratling could feel his heart as it began to beat erratically, even as an overwhelming sense of fear gripped him. His paws trembled and a horrible sense of foreboding washed over him. If he was spotted, there would be no escaping this. He would be dead before his body had time to hit the floor.


    Unlike a Wraith that screamed out its hatred for the living, the knightly figure before him appeared with the facade of nobility, moving with the grace of a nobleman, but one look into those eyes was enough to chill Skrakch¡¯s blood.


    The Deathknight, for it could be nothing else, seemed satisfied with its quick scan of the building and began to move towards the doorway, only to pause beside the lifeless body of one of the Iskrin.


    Unsheathing its well-notched iron blade, the Deathknight reversed its grip and plunged the blade down into the Iskrin¡¯s torso. Skrakch¡¯s eyes immediately fell onto the part of the sword where the hilt met the crossguard. Dozens, if not hundreds, of black tally marks glowed there. A tally for each of the Deathknight¡¯s victims.


    For a moment, Skrakch could only assume the Iskrin target had still been alive, and the Deathknight was only finishing off a wounded creature when a piercing wail spread throughout the building.


    At first, it was a wordless scream of pain, reminding Skrakch of a Wraith, but all too soon he saw the source of the cries. As the Deathknight slowly lifted his blade free from the Iskrin¡¯s corpse, he dragged a spectral form free from the poor Ratling¡¯s body, writhing and screaming frantically as it was forced from its resting place.


    The ethereal creature looked like a paler, slightly more disheveled version of Skrakch, but as he watched with bated breath, the Deathknight dragged the creature''s soul free from its body and lifted it before him.


    With a resounding crack, the Deathknight¡¯s skull mask opened at the jaw, revealing a row of blackened teeth and a dried hunk of meat that was once its tongue.


    A chorus of wails began to echo out of the creature¡¯s maw, even as the spectral Iskrin¡¯s soul began to float ever closer to the Deathknight¡¯s open jaws.


    Slowly, the stolen soul was forced down the Undead¡¯s gullet, with the skeletal mask slamming close and abruptly silencing the incessant, piercing screams.


    Satisfied with its meal, the Deathknight marched out the burnt entranceway to the brothel. Clearly, whatever it had come for, it had gotten.


    It took a few minutes for Skrakch to gather his wits about himself, stop his body shaking, and risk heading to the now-open stairway.


    ¡®Though maybe¡­¡¯ Skrakch thought to himself, still crouched as low as he could go.


    ¡®Maybe I¡¯ll wait a bit longer. Just to be safe.¡¯

 Chp. 117 - Tapestry Unveiled (1 of 2)

    He wasn¡¯t proud of it, and Gods Below knew he¡¯d never admit it if anyone asked, but it took Skrakch nearly a half hour to finally uncrouch from his hiding place behind a crumbled wooden pillar, his knees groaning in protest as he straightened his form, uncurled his tail, and cracked his knuckles.


    His body was sore all over from remaining crouched in one position for so long. But what other choice had he really had?


    There was, after all, a difference between bravery and recklessness in Skrakch¡¯s eyes, and messing with a damned Death Knight would have been the height of foolishness. Not even Ornn¡¯s presence would¡¯ve made much difference. Hells, maybe even Winifred would¡¯ve struggled.


    Still¡­ the appearance of the Death Knight certainly complicated matters. It was one thing to inspect the Denmother¡¯s burnt down brothel after it had been destroyed and abandoned, and another thing entirely to risk meddling in the Tomb Makers business.


    It was an unspoken law of sorts amongst the criminal underbelly of Dray¡¯Mel. You could steal, swindle or maim anyone as you saw fit but when it came to the Tomb Makers, you left well alone. Not even the most hardened of criminals would dare mix themselves up in that kind of caper.


    Death Knights were considered to be a higher tier of Undead, as far as Skrakch had read anyways. They were seen so rarely amongst the living populace of Dray¡¯Mel that the few tomes that mentioned them had always seemed suspect to the Iskrin mage. It was easy enough to simply shrug off their existence as some kind of stupid tall story for the pub. A mysterious Undead boogeyman even your boss wouldn¡¯t dare piss off.


    What didn¡¯t exist couldn¡¯t hurt you. Or string up your intestines and organs for all to see¡­


    In theory they were amongst the same rung of leadership as the vampires that dwelled in Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s center tower, but the cold, soulless knights instead kept an eternal vigil on the Outer Walls, where they commandeered the lesser Undead.


    ¡°And get this mate. You never see ¡®em coming and you never see ¡®em leaving either. Not like them others that take shifts. Proper puts the shits up you if you think about it, eh?¡±  Zacharias¡¯ slightly slurred voice was clear in Skrakch¡¯s mind as if the conversation had just been yesterday. The one thing they¡¯d agreed on was that the archers who guarded the walls were bad enough.


    Because a skeletal archer was intimidating, Skrakch supposed, but the brainless things likely needed a firm hand... Especially if the Tomb Makers wanted to avoid killing any of the rare, or reckless, merchants who were willing to make the long trek through the desert surrounding the city.


    It was actually rather remarkable that Skrakch had gotten to see one of the Death Knights up close and personal, and if it wasn¡¯t for the terror the sight had inspired in him, he¡¯d honestly have been rather elated.


    Here he was, one of the very select¡­no, elite few who had gotten to see one in the flesh, as it were.


    ¡®Maybe¡­ I should pen a scroll.¡¯ Skrakch let the thought play out as he slowly began picking his way past the fallen beams of wood and singed Ratling corpses that blocked his way to the stairways further into the brothel.


    Now the Death Knight was well and truly gone, it was easy for him to take a more laid back approach to his latest task. After all, what was the worst that could happen now? Some dirty scavenger trying to find something useful or worth coin amongst the charred wreckage?


    Ha! Skrakch could take care of them with one quick flick of a paw.


    The Ratling deftly wove his way through the wreckage, dodging holes in the flooring and easily hopping over any nearby corpses as he continued to elaborate on his newly formed scroll idea.


    ¡®It would need a good title, something to really grab the attention,¡¯ he mused. Writing the damn thing would be a piece of cake. After all, he had to be one of the best read creatures in the city. And they always say you can¡¯t be a writer if you¡¯re not a reader.


    ¡®The Valiant Iskrin?¡¯ Skrakch scrunched his nose up at that one. ¡®The All-Powerful Iskrin Mage?¡¯


    On the right lines but it was still missing a certain something¡­ mages were bookish by nature, and most people craved high adventure¡­


    ¡®The adventures of the legendary thief, the absolutely dashing Iskrin and his slack jawed assistants.¡¯ The idea was almost enough to elicit an audible snort from the Ratling, but Skrakch waved the thought off as he reached the top of the stairway.


    Unsurprisingly, most of the steps were as similarly burnt as the rest of the Denmother¡¯s brothel, but Skrakch was confident he could make his way down, though the trick would be to keep his descent silent, his paws light.


    Gingerly making his way downwards, doing his best not to put too much weight on any individual step and using his wondrous tail for balance, Skrakch kept a wary gaze on his surroundings.


    When he¡¯d last been down in the proper brothel, there had been plenty of scantily clad Incubi and Succubi around each corner, with garishly bright art and decoration lining the walls. Silver chalices of wine and mead would appear from nowhere and there was always a staff member on hand with a laden tray of delicious treats.


    Truth be told, Skrakch had always had a soft spot for this part of the brothel, where each demon or demoness who¡¯d seen him had actually treated him like any regular ol¡¯customer.


    It had been a balm of sorts for the Ratling, especially when he¡¯d only recently rid himself of his Young Master, and had freshly discovered how small minded most of Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s citizens could be. But a brothel of all places had scarcely blinked when he¡¯d arrived at their doorstep.


    The Denmother prided herself on running a whorehouse that could soothe the mind and the body alike, with ¡®workers¡¯ who would just as happily spend the night discussing anything a customer could dream up, as they would voraciously satisfy a more carnal desire. It offered an equality that nobody bothered to try and manifest outside of its walls. The rich humans of the city were determined on staying that way, fucking their cousins and even closer family members to maintain a bloodline. Skrakch doubted that even the apocalypse itself would see them welcoming the Iskrin or Goblin races into their folds with open arms.


    It had truly been a haven of sorts for any lonely soul, no matter the type of companionship their clients sought, and the Demons had always been surprisingly kind¡­


    And now the entire place was covered in ash, the paintings that had lined the walls were replaced with streaks of blood, and large swaths of the ceiling had collapsed inwards.


    The sumptuous fabrics, velvet curtains, soft carpet, the hundreds of cushions. They were all gone. Even the small bar was quite literally a shell of its former self.


    Skrakch heard the crunching of charred glass underneath his paws, the tiniest whiff of the alcohol they once held that hadn¡¯t been fully boiled away from the heat.


    The amount of hours he¡¯d spent at that very bar, waiting for Survix to become free and tend to his next attempt at forcefully becoming a Chosen. He¡¯d seen all sorts from across the formerly resplendent oak bar top. And now it was all gone.


    It was hard not to feel something for what had once been. But Skrakch stubbornly ignored the small surge of anger stirring in his chest. That had never gotten him anywhere before so why start now?


    Interestingly though, the only corpses Skrakch passed by were more Ratlings, with nary a sight of any Demons. It was enough for Skrakch to hold out hope that most of them had somehow survived the assault, but¡­


    Skrakch refused to let that ember of hope ignite in his chest, stoically moving towards the Denmother¡¯s office.


    Good endings weren¡¯t exactly commonplace in Dray¡¯Mel, and it seemed more likely the Death Knight he¡¯d spotted had simply collected the corpses for some nefarious plot.


    After all, the Tomb Makers weren¡¯t shy about their obsession with the dead, the only question was if the Undead would consume the flesh, or enlist the Demons in their eternal vigil.


    ¡®Can they even raise a Demon¡¯s corpse?¡¯ Skrakch mused idly as he clambered over the debris in his way, eyes darting in all directions as he scanned for an ambush. ¡®It¡¯s not like the Demons even had mortal souls, really. Or would they just be reanimated as mindless Ghouls¡­¡¯


    The theory behind it all ruminated in the back of his mind, but Skrakch didn¡¯t let the thought slow his methodical path forwards through the brothel¡¯s hallways.


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    The burning sulfur smell was worse the further he traveled into the bowels of the building. Surely nothing could have survived down here? Perhaps even she was¡­


    Skrakch didn¡¯t want to think about that eventuality.


    Thankfully, it wasn¡¯t long before Skrakch managed to pick his way through the debris and arrived before the Denmother¡¯s office, and he was greeted by the sight of a dozen Iskrin corpses splattered against the walls surrounding the office¡¯s entryway.


    It hardly took a keen eye to spot that the worst of the assault had been concentrated here, with most of the wooden building having been reduced to blackened char and reeking of sulfur, but the thick lacquered door seemed to be mostly intact.


    ¡®Outside of a few scratches on the damned thing, anyways.¡¯ The Iskrin¡¯s had assaulted the door with their halberds from the looks of it, but Skrakch didn¡¯t need to activate his Mana Sight to know the door had been heavily enchanted and fortified.


    ¡®The massive Demonic visage had always been a bit of a give-away.¡¯ Skrakch mused ruefully to himself.


    After all, protruding from the center of the blackened door was a grinning fanged face, two prominent horns bursting outwards from the creature¡¯s brow.


    The Demonic visage looked rather similar to an Imp¡¯s uncannily human face, but there was a sense of power and might to it that no Imp had ever instilled in Skrakch. Unlike the rest of the wooden door, the red-tinged wood seemed almost alive, with two beady black eyes that both seemed to be staring into Skrakch¡¯s soul.


    The damn thing had always freaked him out. He knew it was wood. He could feel it was wood. Hells, it even smelled of wood¡­but he got the feeling those eyes saw a lot more than plain wood ever could.


    Not to mention the fact it seemed to have survived the assault on the brothel with barely a scratch, which considering the amount of literal hellfire that had been thrown about¡­ Skrakch wasn¡¯t in any rush to provoke the demon door¡¯s ire.


    Still, the rest of the brothel was nothing but embers, so where else was he to look? Gingerly stepping towards the door, the Ratling noticed a large set of door knockers dangling from the demon¡¯s nostrils.


    ¡®Not alarming at all.¡¯ He thought to himself, before resigning himself to reaching out and letting out a tentative knock that seemed to ring out louder than it should.


    For a long moment that had Skrakch reflecting on his life, the Demon Door remained resolutely shut. At least until the Ratling heard a muffled voice from inside the office call out. With a resounding creak, the door pulled itself open, and Skrakch was quick to shuffle his way inside.


    Unlike the rest of the brothel, the Denmother¡¯s office was largely intact, other than a few scorch marks haphazardly spread around the room, and the various loose sheets of payments that were strewn about carelessly.


    The office, even in the brothel¡¯s heyday, was by far and away the most beautifully decorated part of the building. Hells, Skrakch thought it could give some of the rooms in Lord Casey¡¯s mansion a run for its money.


    The furniture was the finest ebony that money could buy. Who knew where the Denmother had come by such a large amount of the stuff. It wasn¡¯t native to Dray¡¯Mel, nor the forest on the Eastern Outskirts. Yet the walls were lined with bookshelves crafted from the black wood.


    Every shelf, save for the one behind the Denmother¡¯s desk, was lined with books. Green, red, blue leather tomes that she had collected. Skrakch had always longed to get his paws on them, knowing the sheer worth of the magical knowledge they must contain.


    In the corner of the room was a squashy looking red velvet armchair next to a small fireplace. Skrakch knew that the fireplace wasn¡¯t merely for keeping warm. It was usually glowing with some kind of mystical flame, purples, pinks, or blues¡­any type of hue you could imagine.


    There were no windows in the office, meaning that it always had a slightly cloyingly sweet scent. Like perfume and herbs, which somehow helped cover the lingering stench of brimstone.


    And sitting pretty in the center of the room, was a large ebony desk that took up most of the office space, with the wall furthest from the doorway covered in occult looking knick knacks.


    They ranged from what appeared to be severed human hands, all the way to floating jars of distinctly human tongues, though the most eye-catching were the glowing spheres that the Iskrin was confident hadn¡¯t been there previously.


    Even with Skrakch¡¯s experience dealing with the less savory aspects of his line of work, just looking at the red and orange spheres had his stomach churning. There was just something distinctly wrong with the mana leaking outwards from each of the orbs, and that sense of wrongness only heightened as Skrakch noticed one of them seemed to be peering back at him.


    The Ratling could just make out a ghostly image of a large unblinking eye matching his inspection with an equally inquisitive stare. The longer Skrakch looked, the more he could make out visions of an unending roiling flame that was consuming and burning everything it touched.


    It brought him back to the night the Young Master¡¯s mansion had burnt to the ground, the searing pain as the flames seared his hide. And yet, it was somehow worse, as feelings of hunger washed over him. The fire didn¡¯t just want to burn him, it wanted to devour him. Use him up until all that was left was ash, then move onto the next victim in an unending cycle.


    Skrakch flinched away as he desperately tried to avoid looking at any of the burning orbs, his tail physically overheating as it tried to regulate the sudden onslaught of heat that was spreading through his body.


    Gulping audibly, Skrakch focused his attention on the Denmother who was standing on the far side of the office, the ancient woman in the midst of adding another glowing orb to her collection, the apparent artifact faintly glowing with an amber light.


    Every time Skrakch had seen the Denmother previously, the old crone had been swaddled in thick layers of woolen clothing or swaying from side to side as her summoned demon¡¯s brought her palisade to and fro.


    So it was a little disconcerting for Skrakch to see the Denmother standing on her own two feet, as he¡¯d frankly believed the old crone to be physically incapable of such a feat.


    Still, the warm smile the Denmother shot Skrakch as she turned to him in full helped quiet some of his burgeoning fears. ¡°Skrakch! How lovely to see you, my dear.¡±


    ¡°Though¡­ you¡¯ve chosen a rather unfortunate day for your visit. If you¡¯d been a few hours earlier, you might have gotten caught up in some of my spellcraft.¡± The Denmother greeted him calmly, waving her hand towards a small stool on Skrakch¡¯s side of the office¡¯s table. ¡°Have a seat, and tell me what brought you here.¡±


    Gingerly, Skrakch took his seat while letting out a scoff of disbelief. ¡°That¡¯s a bloody understatement. What the Hells happened here, Ma? Your entire brothel is burnt to a crisp, your demons are all dead, and you¡¯re just¡­ brushing it off?¡±


    Skrakch ran one of his paws across his nose, shaking his head in bewilderment. ¡°I thought I was going to find your corpse down here, you know. Fuck, there¡¯s an army of dead Iskrin out there and a damned Death Knight wandering the grounds. The reason for my visit doesn¡¯t matter right now.¡±


    Pulling her own well-cushioned chair away from the table, the Denmother settled into her seat with a weary sigh. ¡°You¡¯re right Skrakch, I can see why you¡¯d be concerned. And thank you for worrying about little old me.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re wrong about a few things, dear. My demons- No, my family are just fine, first off.¡± Waving a hand to the shelves lining the office¡¯s walls, the Denmother idly pointed to one of the ominous orbs she¡¯d just been rearranging.


    ¡°Traditionally, when a Demon is killed in the mortal realm, it can take years before they can retake their physical form. Most will lose what sense of self they¡¯ve gained during that time, returning to their basest instincts.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve found a way around that small wrinkle over the years, thankfully. Most of my sons and daughters will be back in this realm within the week, so please don¡¯t fret about that.¡±


    ¡°As for the building itself, it¡¯s hardly the first time it¡¯s burnt down on me.¡± The older woman waved dismissively at the thought. ¡°Once I have a few hands on deck to help me, I expect we¡¯ll be back up and running in no time. I¡¯d been meaning to restructure the perfume shop for a while now regardless.¡±


    Skrakch leaned back on his stool as he considered the Denmother¡¯s nonchalant manner, before leaning towards her. ¡°And the horde of dead Iskrin? You can¡¯t convince me that being attacked by a bunch of Ratlings is a common occurrence!¡±


    Nestled amongst her pillows, the Denmother once more looked the part of an older crone, but Skrakch watched as her eyes narrowed and the warlock stared off into the distance.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m fairly confident I know what sparked this little tiff as well. While I was distracted by the filthy rodents, someone broke into my office and stole a¡­¡± The Denmother¡¯s words trailed off, and she suddenly looked towards Skrakch with a sniff. ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to have words with the one responsible for this, don¡¯t you fret about that Skrakch.¡±


    It was a little surreal to hear the calm manner that the Denmother was speaking of what could only be considered an attempt on her life, and Skrakch felt a surprising burble of anger welling in his stomach.


    ¡°I can¡¯t accept that.¡± Skrakch retorted hotly, his face twisting into a snarl. ¡°I¡¯ll be the one to find out who did this, and I¡¯ll make them pay. Don¡¯t you worry, Ma, they won¡¯t get away with¡­ with¡­ burning down my home!¡±


    While Skrakch would spend most of his nights in one of his little hide-aways, the Ratling never really considered any of them as anything more than a place to rest his eyes. No, the only two places Skrakch turned to for safety and comfort were the Plagued Rat and the Denmother¡¯s brothel.


    He¡¯d come to know most of the Demons who worked the counter at the perfume shop with his frequent visits to the Denmother herself, and he¡¯d even gotten to know some of the Demons who worked the ¡®night shift.¡¯


    Certainly not in a carnal manner, he had too grand of tastes for that, but¡­ they were some of the only people to treat him decently since he¡¯d found himself on the streets of Dray¡¯Mel scrounging for coins.


    In a way, the Ratling was closer to Survix, Irina and the Denmother than he was with the motley crew he ran jobs with. Hells, he¡¯d trust any of them more than he¡¯d trust Zacharias any day.


    The Denmother¡¯s was a constant in his little corner of the world for his whole life, and to see it reduced to ashes and rubble¡­


    Skrakch could feel himself trembling with the rage that had been boiling deep within him ever since he¡¯d first smelled the cloying acrid burning sulfur. He balled his paws into tight fists, his tail whipping from side to side.


    A murderous need for vengeance overtook him. ¡®How dare they. How dare someone have the nerve to destroy his home, his family.¡¯


    ¡®They would pay. Dearly. He would get his revenge in the name of the Denmother. Whoever was responsible was going to live just long enough to regret¡­¡¯


    A sudden peal of laughter tore him from his thoughts.


    ¡®Wait, laughter? Who could possibly¡­¡¯


    The Denmother was laughing! She was sitting in her chair, rocking slightly to and fro with merriment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you could possibly laugh at a time like this!¡± Skrakch said incredulously.


    ¡°My dear child,¡± the Denmother said, shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. ¡°How long have we known each other? When have you not known me to have a plan up my sleeve?¡±


    Skrakch glared at her, biting back his urge to say anything he might come to regret.


    ¡°You know, That Patriarch of yours¡­ and that young brawler you know, they each have their own tricks for getting themselves out of trouble but neither of them can possibly compare to my own special little trick,¡± The Denmother smiled smoothly before she began to move her hands around in the air.


    ¡°Now watch my dear, watch as I-¡°


    Weave¡­

 Chp. 118 - Tapestry Unveiled (2 of 2)

    Weave¡­


    It was obvious in hindsight, Skrakch numbly thought to himself as a wave of power emanated from the wrinkled elderly crone. She was currently engulfed in a nest of pillows and blankets on the other side of the mahogany table from the Ratling, looking for all the world like someone¡¯s gentile grandmother.


    Well, a gentile grandmother with magical powers beyond his mortal comprehension, anyways¡­


    Everyone knew the Denmother had been around for longer than anyone could remember, and considering the varied threats that a citizen of Dray¡¯Mel faced throughout their lifetime, it was a rare feat for someone to reach a truly old age without something going on under the surface.


    ¡®So of course she¡¯s a Chosen. The Tomb Makers would have sent her to the Butchery by now otherwise, the old tart looked like she could barely stand on her own.¡¯


    ¡®But¡­ even that¡¯s not true, is it?¡¯ Skrakch argued with himself even as the unique Mana the Denmother was manipulating began rising towards the ceiling of her office.


    It was a truly impressive sight. Far greater in size and scope than anything Skrakch had witnessed the Patriarch crafting, and twice as subtle.


    ¡®She killed over a dozen Iskrin without receiving a single scratch. She¡¯s talking about summoning dozens of demons in a matter of days as if it was only a mild inconvenience, you dolt.¡¯


    Skrakch briefly thought of The Patriarch. With everything going on above the surface, he¡¯d barely given the state of the sewers a second thought. There was something strange about the city¡¯s inhabitants being completely unaware a war was being waged below their feet.


    ''What would this mean for Meek? For Ornn?'' Skrakch shook off the thought as soon as it invaded his brain. The Crown Prince and his army and The Patriarch and his minions were going to have to wait.


    The rippling waves of Mana above him began to take a tangible form, adhering to the ceiling and beginning to tumble downwards in dozens of threads, splitting over and over.


    The threads were as black as the darkest Dray¡¯Mel¡¯s nights, the ceiling becoming like a vast darkened sky above him.


    Some of the shimmering threads had begun to take on unique colours, but the majority remained a deep black as if they were empty voids in a tapestry.


    Soon there were hundreds of them dangling above, most only falling a small distance towards the two humanoids as Skrakch struggled to keep most of his attention on the Denmother as she finished whatever ritual she was fueling.


    Still, some of the dangling threads began to slowly absorb the Mana in the air and took on glimmering colours, vibrant hues that demanded the Ratling¡¯s attention as those threads overtook the surrounding sea of darkness.


    In particular, one thread dominated all of the others surrounding it, jutting down towards them like a spear. It was dozens of times thicker than most of the other pillars, and was glowing a deep red that lit up the small office they were in with ease.


    Skrakch looked down at his paws, usually a healthy pinkish color, were now tinted red from the glow.


    ¡®I had no idea.¡¯ Skrakch had to admit to himself, the thought unsettling him as he clenched his paws. ¡®I¡¯d have been less surprised if I¡¯d just learned that bloody Kuosh turned out to be a Chosen in disguise, blessed for having the only decent cooking skills in the city.¡¯


    The Denmother¡¯s abrupt display of what Skrakch could only assume was a part of her Pact ended nearly as suddenly as it started, the roiling Mana deceptively drifting back into her diminutive form, though the shimmering tapestry remained above their heads.


    Settling back in her oversized chair, she calmly matched Skrakch stare for stare, clearly waiting for the Iskrin to take the lead in the conversation. It was almost as if she were silently daring him to challenge or question what he¡¯d just seen.


    ¡®But what in the Hells am I supposed to say? Do I just ask what she just did? Do I ask why she kept this from me? Or how the Hells she ended up a Chosen running a damned brothel of all things?¡¯


    As the seconds stretched into tense minutes, Skrakch asked the only question that seemed right in the moment.


    ¡°Why? Why now?¡±


    ¡°Because it felt like the right time to let you know my little secret.¡± The Denmother answered calmly, waving her hand upwards at the Mana construct she¡¯d created. ¡°If I can even call it a secret truly, since I don¡¯t go to any lengths to hide it. I suppose it¡¯s just not something people think to ask.¡±


    She smiled at him, giving him her best frail old grandmother look.


    Skrakch let out a bark of laughter, surprising himself in the moment. ¡°You¡¯re right, I don¡¯t make a habit of asking everyone I meet if they¡¯re blessed by the Gods themselves. Mostly because it¡¯s not something anyone I know would likely tell me, and-¡°


    ¡°If you¡¯d figured it out on your own, I¡¯d have admitted it.¡± The Denmother cut him off, pushing a cushion behind her back to sit up a little straighter. ¡°I¡¯d been hoping to have this conversation at a later date, but I did always intend to tell you one day.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± Skrakch cleared his throat before nodding his head upwards. ¡°What does that even do? Outside of looking rather pretty, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe in fate, Skrakch? The tangled web of life pulling us all to our inevitable end, one piece of yarn at a time?¡± She asked, looking at him over the top of her round glasses.


    The Iskrin rubbed at his eyes for a moment, and let out a grunt. ¡°If you¡¯d asked me a week ago, I¡¯d have laughed in your face. Nowadays though¡­¡±


    Skrakch was beginning to wonder what was real any more. He¡¯d always thought talk of fates and fortunes was something that the peddlers in the Markets did. Telling some sucker a good fortune just to get some coin out of them as they dressed in pseudo-mage garb to look ¡®mystical¡¯.


    But this? This was something else entirely. More power than he¡¯d ever read about. Certainly more than he¡¯d ever seen. It terrified and intrigued him in equal measure.


    The Denmother lifted her hand towards the ceiling, Skrakch watched as one of the threads pulled itself taut as it began tracing downwards and began to spool on the old woman¡¯s open palm.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    It was a gleaming teal colour that felt oddly familiar to Skrakch, the sight of it reminding the Iskrin mage of bloodied knuckles and cheap booze.


    ¡°This one belongs to a friend of yours I believe.¡± The Denmother confirmed Skrakch¡¯s suspicions as she waved her palm and let the thread return to the ceiling. ¡°It¡¯s a fragile thing at the moment, but it shows great promise. If it doesn¡¯t snap anyways.¡±


    Skrakch snorted. That sounded more like Zacharias than it did Winifred. Well¡­the bit about him being fragile. Ever since he was maimed by Sykes, Skrakch had felt Zacharias was teetering on the edge of something dangerous.


    Yet another note in his mental ledger under ¡®things to deal with later¡¯.


    Skrakch looked back up at the Denmother¡¯s woven tapestry, pointing upward.


    ¡°That makes the massive one in the center Rath¡¯Mel¡¯s then?¡± Skrakch mused, taking in the threads he could spot. Now that he¡¯d assumed each dangling tendril corresponded to Chosen within the city, he couldn¡¯t help but want to guess which Chosen he knew were shown above.


    ¡°Hardly.¡± The Denmother scoffed in dismissal, before waving towards one of the larger pillars offhandedly. ¡°My tapestry is woven based on the present and the future both. And that old bag of bones has no future.¡±


    Entwined in a cluster of threads, an ominously black pillar connected to all the others nearby it, practically absorbing what little vibrancy the smaller threads appeared to contain within themselves. It reminded Skrakch of some feral beast, determined to devour everything smaller and weaker than itself.


    ¡°The Tomb-Makers may control this city, but they can only claw so much power to themselves.¡±


    Staring up at the Mana Construct was an interesting experience, to say the least. The shimmering colours were a disorientating sight and Skrakch repeatedly found himself startling as he realized one of the threads he¡¯d been inspecting apparently swapped to another colour or length.


    Still, the Iskrin Mage wasn¡¯t a slouch when it came to dealing with odd forms of magic and his experience with forming Runes gave him a deft hand at interpreting the clusters of Mana, no matter their current form.


    He could spy another one of the threads as it cycled through differ colors and lengths at random, never staying any one color for more than a few moments.


    Another far longer thread reminded Skrakch of the colour of wheat just before it was reaped, as just looking at the sickly yellow formed a pit in his gut. The Iskrin could smell the decades of blood pooling together into one congealed shape as it burrowed deep into the earth.


    The Mana Construct was truly a dizzying sight, though for some reason Skrakch¡¯s eye kept being drawn to a small gap between the others, as if a translucent part of the yarn was missing or blended in with the background.


    Truly, he felt like he could stare at the tapestry above him for years and still find something new to notice. It was as if he¡¯d been blind his whole life, and only now could he see. He just needed to reach out and grab the threads, hoard them all for himself. They would be-


    A sudden flare of pain from his palm broke Skrakch from his sudden fixation, the Ratling trying to pull his hand back towards him only to see the Denmother¡¯s fingernails as they pierced through the back of his paw and pinned him to the desk between them. Small beads of blood started to form where her nails, gleaming with lavender nail polish, met his flesh.


    ¡°What in the Hells, Ma!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go getting lost in other people¡¯s lives, dear. It¡¯s no excuse for missing out on your own.¡± The Denmother warned, as she pulled back into her chair. She wiped her hand idly on a handkerchief pulled from her pocket.


    Rubbing his paw, Skrakch risked a glance skywards before responding. ¡°Well, if the large one isn¡¯t his thread, who¡¯s it meant to represent? The Tomb-Makers have been around for nearly 800 years at this point, so who else could it be?¡±


    The Denmother didn¡¯t answer right away, and instead staring knowingly at Skrakch for so long he¡¯d begun to worry she meant to strike him again before it finally clicked into place.


    ¡°You¡¯re not serious,¡± Skrakch asked. ¡°How old does that make you Ma, if an 800 years ancient Lich is still just a ¡®spring chicken¡¯ to you¡­¡±


    The Denmother let out a sigh, and reached out an open palm as the crimson thread pulled itself towards her, each part of the Mana Construct pulling itself taut as the wizened woman quietly observed.


    ¡°Is that really what you want to ask me right now, Skrakch? With the whole tapestry of fate sprawled out before your eyes, do you really want to know more about me?¡± Her eyes fell on him once more, blinking owlishly.


    ¡°Or would you prefer to find out more about yourself?¡± The wrinkles on the Denmother pulled into a knowing smile, as she reached her free hand, and swiftly penned out a sigil in the air.


    The Rune swiftly began to glow with an unearthly light, as demonic energy fueled the miniature ritual nearly immediately.


    Before Skrakch could even react, the Denmother lazily snatched the conjured object before it could drop and put it to her lips, revealing an intricately carved pipe with a winking demon¡¯s face adorning the bowl.


    As the sweet smell of burning Duskleaf wafted over Skrakch, the Ratling scrunched up his nose in distaste.


    ¡°Don''t think I¡¯m that easy to distract.¡± The Ratling rubbed his paw over his face for a moment, before shrugging. ¡°But we both know I want to know more about myself as well, so fuck it.¡±


    A familiar voice echoed at the back of Skrakch¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Blackmaul always used tae say, nae man should know too much about his own future.¡±


    The Ratling dismissed the thought as quickly as he¡¯d heard it. He didn¡¯t need Winifred¡¯s stupid old wives¡¯ tales. Besides, it was alright for her, she¡¯d already been Chosen.


    He didn¡¯t just want to know. He bloody deserved to know.


    The Denmother matched Skrakch grin-for-grin before waving her hand in dismissal as the Mana Construct above them both began to shift.


    Stepping off her chair with a groan, the Denmother placed a hand on the small of her back, before stepping towards the back of her office and began sorting through her various knick knacks.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do you one better Skrakch, and let you try out the rewards I owe you for helping with Survix.¡± The Denmother plucked loose a thin book, before pausing for a moment.


    ¡°Actually, I have another reward of sorts to offer you, but I have to stress it¡¯s not something I personally support.¡±


    Moving back to the desk that separated the two of them, the Denmother placed the book in front of Skrakch.


    ¡°First, I wanted to give you this. When Survix was taken, I was distraught. Normally I¡¯d never have involved someone else in my¡­ difficulties, but you went above and beyond what I asked you.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead and take a look.¡± She continued, sliding the slim volume across the desk.


    Reaching down and flipping the book open, Skrakch was treated to a dizzying pattern of moving glyphs and burning etchings. The Ratling¡¯s skull began to feel like it was about to split open, but the moving shapes finally coalesced into something more familiar.


    Burning the paper surrounding it, Skrakch found himself staring down at a full fledged Rune, the magic within reaching out to him and priming the spell in his mind.


    ¡°This¡­. What in the Hells?¡± Skrakch whispered in shock, the searing image of the Rune burned into his mind. ¡®No, not just some random Rune. The Rune for Immolation.¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t just that Skrakch recognized the Rune, even though this was his first time seeing it, but rather it was the fact that Skrakch felt like he knew exactly how to cast the Rune.


    The knowledge sat in his mind as if he¡¯d always known the exact intricate lines all his life, and had simply forgotten until this point.


    ¡°I take it that you¡¯ve never seen a proper Spellbook before then?¡± The Denmother smiled at the stunned Ratling as she once more took her seat. ¡°You¡¯ll have to give the Rune a try later, since I have one other reward to give you. But this one¡­ perhaps it¡¯s best to treat it as an invitation rather than a reward.¡±


    It took him a few moments to register Denmother''s words, but Skrakch finally swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up at the old woman.


    ¡°What sort of invitation?¡± Skrakch asked gingerly.


    ¡°Your current mortality situation has inspired one of my Patrons to reach out towards you with open arms.¡± The Denmother frowned slightly, before continuing. ¡°Now, I know how that sounds, but it truly is just an invitation.¡±


    ¡°If you agree, I personally promise you won¡¯t be forced into anything, and I won¡¯t let them take advantage of you¡­ well, within reason. It is a deal with a Demon, of course.¡±


    The Denmother took a puff of her pipe, before pointing it towards Skrakch. ¡°So, what do you say?¡± She leant back in her chair, her eyes directly on him.


    ¡°I mean, if you say it¡¯s safe, I suppose I don¡¯t mind accepting. What sort of thing-¡° Skrakch began to respond, claw raised to scratch at his ear, when the entire office was suddenly lit up by glowing sigil lines.


    ¡°Perfect!¡± The Denmother preened, as she lazily waved towards the overwhelmed Ratling. ¡°We¡¯ll continue this talk once you get back from the Hells!¡±


    Before Skrakch could react, dozens if not hundreds of sigils began glowing ominously around him, as a massive ritual that spanned the entire office space lit up around the dazed Ratling.


    Before he could so much as scream in fear or protest, a wave of darkness stole over him in full and dragged him under it''s spell.

 Chp. 119 - A One-Way Ticket Below...

    As the Denmother¡¯s ritual suddenly blazed to life, Skrakch felt a wave of weightlessness that suddenly washed over him, as the rational part of his brain desperately tried to remind him he was going to be okay. This was the Denmother, he could trust her. She knew what she was doing¡­


    Of course, the rest of his mind immediately began screaming in pure panic as the Ratling found himself drifting in an empty void, darkness surrounding him in all directions.


    ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck¡­. Fuck!¡± Skrakch screamed out the obscenities as he felt himself turn head over heels, but he couldn¡¯t even hear his own voice as it was swallowed by the abyss. His stomach turned somersaults, as it leaped over and over at the terrifying change in gravity.


    He¡¯d spent most of his life sticking to the shadows of Dray¡¯Mel, so one would assume he was used to the darkness, but this was on an entirely different level.


    This was somehow more than darkness. It was pitch black, unnatural. The void was all-encompassing, even his own body suddenly undetectable to him, with the tip of his snout simply¡­ gone. It was horrendous, soul crushing even. It gave him time to reflect on himself, time to really focus on his deepest darkest insecurities-


    ¡°Oh thank the Gods.¡± Skrakch tried to exclaim, as he noticed a break in the monotony. It was so far away but he could barely make out the smallest blip of a strange, yet welcome, golden mote of light.


    Thankfully, the small orb was moving closer to him by the second, but as Skrakch stared at it in astonishment, he quickly came to realize it was less of a golden sphere, and instead the top down view of a truly massive city.


    There were dozens of spires covered in exquisite works of art sprawled out below him, lines of gold detailing heroic acts of bravery that had been painfully recreated in breath-taking detail on the obsidian stonework. Even as he plummeted towards this mysterious location, Skrakch was able to make out entrancingly massive gemstones of all colours and sizes embedded in the city¡¯s buildings that gleamed with unbelievable polish. The Ratling could identify most of them, although a few of them were utterly foreign, even to an accomplished thief like himself.


    His eyes were drawn to a particular spire which was studded with seemingly hundreds of strange, milky teal looking, pampel-cut gemstones. He¡¯d never seen anything like them before. As he continued to fall, he tried to make note of the spire. Perhaps he¡¯d have time to come back to it. Rare gems, never the likes of which had been seen in Dray''Mel, that each would be worth serious coin¡­


    As he fell further, Skrakch could tell that the city itself was dozens of times larger than Dray¡¯Mel, and everywhere he looked, he could spot another beautifully designed building complimenting the area around them with their open designs.


    It was a breathtaking sight¡­ only slightly ruined by Skrakch¡¯s sudden realization that he was moving towards the city at what would surely be fatal speeds.


    He began to desperately claw at his bandolier, as he tried to find a piece of charcoal so that he could inscribe his black leather tunic with a Rune of Featherfall.


    His panic reached a feverish pitch as he sought out something to use for his spell, even as his mind subconsciously focused on his soon to be landing spot. He cursed himself as not being more prepared for this. But then, how could anyone be prepared to fall through the sky like a bloody stone dropped from a rooftop?


    Luckily, the area he was bound to crash into was an open field with lush vibrant emerald green grass. That would at least cushion his fall. Perhaps if he was lucky, he thought grimly, he¡¯d just get horribly maimed rather than killed.


    As the ground hurtled toward him, faster and faster, Skrakch noticed a shape in the middle of the field. It was a large and rectangular, easily four times his height in length. And it was covered in¡­


    ''Pillows?'' Dozens of them in fact, each covered in silky looking purple pillowcases.


    ¡°What in the Hells?¡± Skrakch cursed to himself, as he took in the rest of the field, and the unexpected sight waiting for him. Although at this point, he thought to himself, should he really be all that surprised? A massive bed in the middle of a field in a huge gem encrusted city? That was practically pedestrian.


    Spread outwards from the oversized bed were dozens of what appeared to be brown Ratlings, each in the act of cavorting with one another. He could spot hundreds of the creatures, males and females both, and all of them were fully focused on their carnal task.


    Most of the creatures were in pairs, but Skrakch could spot a few larger groups where¡­


    Distracted as he was, Skrakch let the shock of the sight stop his efforts, and his complacency was rewarded as he plowed down into the bed with the force of a meteor.


    He swiftly found himself ensconced deeply in the finest of silk sheets that felt more delectable than anything he¡¯d ever imagined. They felt buttery soft against his fur and he seemed to almost melt into the plump mattress. It felt like his stress and worries were bleeding out of him, whisked away as a sense of calm and safety washed over the Iskrin.


    It was a special kind of bliss on a level that Skrakch had never known, so incredibly vastly far removed from his usual bedding of discarded rags and the occasional bit of old straw.


    Which was how the Mage found himself unable to resist the heavenly allure of the most comfortable bedding¡­ if only for a moment.


    ¡®Because something this good can¡¯t be real.¡¯ Skrakch stubbornly clung to this idea, as his innate pessimism urged him to reach out with his claws and tug and shred his way to the surface.


    Even just pulling himself through the strands of ripped bedding left his fur sticking up as goosebumps traveled up his arms, the textures inviting him to blissfully enjoy himself.


    A small part of him just wanted to fall backwards into the soft pile, becoming one with the silken sheets for as long as he could, but you¡¯d have to be a fool to trust such a gift.


    ¡®Especially after falling through a Gods Damned Hells portal.¡¯


    It wasn¡¯t a massive leap to make such an assumption, with the massive orgy Skrakch had seen just before landing. Considering the explicit nature of what was going on around him, and the damned fact the Denmother herself ran a brothel, it wasn¡¯t a stretch to assume he¡¯d been sent to a layer of the Hells themselves. Likely one dedicated to Sin and Wanton Debauchery from the looks of it.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    As Skrakch finally found his way to a side of the bed frame and pulled himself loose and tumbled down to the grass waiting for him below, he cast a suspicious glare around himself.


    The cavorting Ratlings ignored him which didn¡¯t really come as a surprise, as he tried to ignore the sounds and smells of the undulating bodies. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a particularly pretty looking female and felt a wave of lust.


    It would be so easy for him to give in and have a little fun. After all, how long had it been?


    ¡®No, not a chance in Hells.¡¯ He mentally berated himself. He had a task to do.


    The Denmother may have surprised him with the fact she was a Chosen, but he still fervently believed there was no way she could so easily cast someone to their eternal damnation, so the Iskrin could only assume there was a method to getting out of¡­ wherever he was.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the thanks I get for arranging such an exciting entrance to my city.¡± A melodic voice called out from behind Skrakch, causing the Ratling to spin about in surprise. ¡°Personally, I thought all of the mating to be a tad on the nose, but you¡¯d be surprised how often mortals get blindsided by their groins.¡±


    As Skrakch turned about with a caustic remark on his tongue, the sight awaiting him caused his words to die in his throat. Sitting on the side of the bed behind him was¡­ Perfection.


    He had trouble thinking of the creature as anything less, as her snow coloured fur practically gleamed, it was so resplendent Her whiskers were unerringly straight and positioned just right on her dainty nose. She made the other female Iskrin Skrach has just lusted over look positively ugly in comparison, such was her beauty.


    All his life, Skrakch had looked at his fellow Iskrin¡¯s eyes and wondered how they could be so¡­ vacant.


    But the albino Iskrin that stared down at him with her head resting in her palm practically radiated an air of mirthful indulgence. Her eyes were as bright and red as the Purene Ruby. Even her tail was stunning, wrapped around her hips and dangling just so, as the absolute vision reached out and tapped the side of the mattress nearest to her with perfectly pointed claws.


    ¡°Come now Skrakch, it¡¯s rude to stare at a lady you know.¡± She smiled at him cheekily, her eyes practically ablaze with life. She put one pointed claw to her lips and tilted her head to the side, as if she were considering, before adding, ¡°Actually, there¡¯s a decent chance you wouldn¡¯t know that, considering how little you¡¯ve engaged with female Iskrin.¡±


    ¡°W-who. What are¡­ Wha?¡± Skrakch mumbled incoherently as he struggled to reign himself in. Suddenly all the amusing reactions he¡¯d seen Zacharias and Meekknuckle display around their potential mates made more sense. Not that he was comparing himself to bloody Zacharias of all people.


    Though the thought of those two fools did manage to ground Skrakch back into the moment, the Ratling shaking off his stunned silence.


    ¡°I mean, you must be the Demon who was interested in meeting me.¡± Skrakch forced himself to stand naturally, trying to resist giving away anything more in his body language. ¡°It¡¯s certainly an interesting opening tactic, but I¡¯ve seen better.¡± He bluffed with what he hoped was an impassive nod toward the Ratling orgy.


    ¡°You wound me, dearest.¡± The albino rested her paw on her chest, feigning hurt, as her crimson eyes continued to shine invitingly like a pair of rubies. ¡°Though I can appreciate a mortal with a bit of bravado to him. You have no clue how boring having everyone just throw themselves at your feet can get.¡±


    Skrakch let a sneer cross his face, as he pulled himself to his feet and adjusted his leather tunic with what he hoped was an air of nonchalance.


    ¡°It takes more than a few gemstones and some pretty pictures to rattle me, plus it¡¯s pretty obvious this is some kind of illusion.¡± Skrakch replied.


    ¡°Oh, this is no illusion, though I suppose I can understand why you¡¯d think that. It¡¯s not everyday a mortal gets dropped into the city of Auridine¡­ living ones anyways.¡± The Albino said coolly.


    She gracefully dropped to the waiting grass, and walked closer to Skrakch as a gentle smile crossed her face. ¡°No, your spirit is truly in the Hells now, Skrakch. It took me quite a few favors to get you down here, but I just couldn¡¯t resist.¡± She purred.


    ¡°Forgive me if I don¡¯t immediately take the literal Demon at their word. Not when they¡¯re clearly about to break into a speech about how I should willingly trade away my mortal soul anyways.¡± Skrakch retorted, resisting his urge to back away, as the other Iskrin came to a stop uncomfortably close to him.


    He could smell her musk. It was just as perfect as the rest of her. Vanilla mixed with a hint of the finest Bloomflowers. It was intoxicating but the Ratling remained resolute. There was no way he was going to give into the charms of a Demon!


    The Demon paused for a moment, before a look of delight stole across her expression before a peal of what seemed to be genuine laughter burst forth. ¡°Oh my, that is absolutely adorable.¡± She raised one of her paws and gently poked at the center of Skrakch¡¯s chest, her claw digging slightly into his leather tunic.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to try and steal away your soul Skrakch. Why would I bother? You¡¯re already heading down here when your time runs out, after all.¡± She continued, an impish grin spread across her features.


    Unable to stop himself, Skrakch flinched backwards and swatted away the offending paw. ¡°More trickery, no doubt. You¡¯ll need to-¡°


    Skrakch¡¯s voice cut off in his throat, as his vision abruptly warped and the two Ratlings were suddenly standing in a smaller, more private room.


    It was certainly as exquisite looking as the outside walls had appeared. There was a thick purple carpet plush under his paws. The circular walls were made of obsidian and highly polished until they almost gleamed. Judging by the walls alone, they were obviously in one of the spires.


    Part of his attention was grabbed by the rows of books lining the walls. There must have been hundreds of them, with leatherbound and golden gilt spines. Some of the titles were truly astonishing and Skrakch could feel his paws itching to grab a tome or two.


    Even more impressive were the alchemical tools that were setup in the corner to his left. Neat wooden shelves stocked with jars and bottles of almost every ingredient he¡¯d ever seen. Strange runes were etched into the obsidian tabletop, glowing slightly red.


    To his right were a pair of plush couches covered in red velvet. Between the Demon and himself, rested a small obsidian table with an expensive looking china tea set spread out before him. It looked totally incongruous amongst the rest of the room, but Skrakch could smell the sweet rose tea in the air.


    But most of his attention was captured by the large leaded window that lead out to the city he¡¯d arrived in. He stepped up to the polished glass and stared at the impressive view laid out before him.


    If Skrakch had any doubts as to the size of the city, he couldn¡¯t deny the sheer scale of it as it stretched off towards the horizon, countless spires one after the other. But what he was staring at was much closer than that.


    There was a colossal rift in the sky that demanded his focus, a tear in reality that seemed to shimmer between cities and rivers, or volcanos and cobbled streets at random in a blend of locations. He could see glimpses of ice covered tundras, small rustic villages, vast forests. There were hundreds of them and they kept switching rhythmically, almost as if the rift was breathing.


    And dropping through this terrifying rift were hundreds if not thousands of mortals. Humans, dwarves and elves made up the majority of the falling creatures, but there were more races falling through the rift than Skrakch had ever seen. He could just barely recognize some of them from the books he¡¯d read back in the Dray¡¯Mel, but others were a total mystery to him.


    From where he stood, he could make out some of their terrified faces as they plunged into the depths of the city. Their mouths, or multiple mouths in some cases, were all open wide in utter horror as they hurtled closer and closer to the ground.


    Unlike his own cushioned landing, these unfortunate souls were all falling towards a massive black cauldron which was filled to the brim with boiling pitch of shimmering molten gold.


    As far away as he was, Skrakch knew he shouldn¡¯t be able to hear their screams as he watched their flesh melt away under the intense heat, but the cacophony of wails managed to reach him anyways.


    ¡°It¡¯s absolutely beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The Demon¡¯s serene voice brought Skrakch back into the moment, as he staggered backwards and met the gaze of his captor.


    The white-furred Iskrin had claimed a high backed seat facing the window, but her blood red eyes remained fixed on Skrakch¡¯s own as he tried to recover from the gruesome sight.


    ¡°Welcome to my realm, the second layer of the Hells themselves. Welcome to my city of Lust.¡±

 Chp. 120 - The taste of Sulfur...

    Skrakch could feel the panic rising in his chest, taste the bile that threatened to spill from his throat, as he stared at the most beautiful creature he¡¯d ever seen in his admittedly short life. She was smiling at him benignly, her ears either deaf or impassive to the horrific sounds of suffering that seemed amplified around them.


    ¡®No, not a creature. A Demon.¡¯


    It didn¡¯t matter that it looked like the most perfect Iskrin Skrakch could ever dream of, it was a dangerous and soulless monstrosity that fed on fear and pain.


    The screaming drifting through the glass window behind the Ratling¡¯s back confirmed that.


    Still¡­ Skrakch wasn¡¯t dead yet. The Demon had invited him to this layer of the Hells but had spared him from the brutal and twisted fate of the other visitors, and that meant it wanted something from him.


    ¡®And I can work with that.¡¯


    Schooling his facial features as much as he could, Skrakch did his best to appear confident. In control. He wasn¡¯t going to let the show of brutality rattle him. Or, at least, he didn¡¯t need her to know he was bloody terrified.


    ¡®Poised and ready for anything.¡¯


    Keeping his back towards the screaming souls as they dropped into the literal Hells, Skrakch kept his eye on the Demon as it perched on the edge of its high-backed chair, resting atop a pedestal and looking down on him.


    Even the act of sitting somehow gave the albino Iskrin an air of poise and regality, though Skrakch was beginning to realize that didn¡¯t make the Demon any less dangerous or unpredictable.


    ¡°How about we start our chat from the beginning, Miss¡­?¡± Skrakch ventured, his tail lashing back and forth due to his strained nerves.


    ¡°Of course, I thought you might be more agreeable now.¡± The Demon¡¯s voice was almost musical to Skrakch¡¯s ear. She leaned forward slightly, tenting her claws under her chin as she regarded him. ¡°I have more titles than you have spoken words in your life, some in a tongue that a mere mortal such as yourself could only dream of understanding, but you may refer to me as Mistress Glasya,¡± She answered smoothly. ¡°And I have been looking forward to speaking with you for a few years now.¡±


    Skrakch nodded slowly, as he gathered his thoughts. ¡°And why exactly has a Demon been looking forward to speaking with me specifically, uh, Glasya?¡±


    ¡°Mistress Glasya,¡± The Albino Ratling corrected, a sudden flare of irritation in her ruby eyes. The look passed within a second as her benign smile replaced it and she stuck out a paw to casually examine her claws. ¡°Oh, my lovely dear Skrakch, you don¡¯t even know how tantalizing of a morsel you are, do you?¡± The Demon answered, stepping off her chair and moving just past Skrakch to look out the window.


    ¡°Every time the Denmother has summoned me for a chat this past half-decade, I can barely think straight as I try to peek past her scrying defenses.¡± She started to explain as she watched more bodies drop into the colossal cauldron of boiling liquid gold.


    ¡°All because of you and your stench as it wafts through that boring little city of yours, pervading everything you touch with your¡­ musk.¡± She turned and smirked at Skrakch for a moment before looking back at the window.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any musk!¡± Skrakch retorted hotly, though a flash of regret made its way across his face shortly afterwards. This wasn¡¯t The Plagued Rat and this wasn¡¯t Zacharias taking the piss. This was a powerful Demon and he needed to watch his tongue if he wanted to keep it.


    Thankfully, Miss Glasya only let out a small musical chuckle at his response before continuing. ¡°Oh but you do. The perfect blend of desperation and despair, simmering under an ever so thin layer of cockiness. If I could wear you like a perfume, I¡¯d be the happiest Iskrin in all the lands.¡±


    ¡°As¡­ charming¡­ as that idea is, we both know that you only look like that because you pulled the inspiration directly from my mind.¡± Skrakch countered. ¡°If I were someone else, you would¡¯ve taken on whatever form they desired.¡±


    It was common enough knowledge that Demons could shift their physical aspects akin to clay, though the Denmother¡¯s working succubi tended not to bother¡­ unless the pay was right, of course.


    Mistress Glasya smiled at Skrakch resplendently, before moving towards him. ¡°There¡¯s that bravado of yours again. How delightfully misplaced. However, I¡¯m afraid to say that you¡¯re as mistaken about me as you are about yourself.¡±


    Skrakch opened his mouth to ask what the Hells she was talking about but she cut him off by continuing.


    ¡°I¡¯m a little surprised you don¡¯t recognize your own Empress, considering most Iskrin instinctively know to worship the ground she walks on, but I suppose you haven¡¯t had the misfortune of catching her eye yet.¡± The Demon spoke with a mischievous grin on her face, spinning in place as her albino fur glistened under the burning candles that lit up the small room. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    It was difficult to keep his expression neutral, but Skrakch tried his best to taper down the sudden wellspring of curiosity that sprung forth in his chest.


    ¡°That¡¯s what the Iskrin Empress looks like?¡± Skrakch asked her, sizing up the Demon once more. He tried to keep his face neutral but she was so damn captivating it was hard not to let his true feelings surface.


    ¡°Yes, she¡¯s quite the ravishing figure is she not? It¡¯s a truly rare occasion that I get to take on her form, but it¡¯s not everyday I get to meet an Iskrin as independent as you, Skrakch.¡± Mistress Glasya explained.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know how lucky you are, one of the few Iskrin in the world who don¡¯t have the Empress¡¯ claws rooting about in their gooey brain matter.¡±


    ¡°What, the Empress has the ability to control minds, does she?¡± Skrakch asked with one eyebrow raised. ¡°Is that part of her Pact? I¡¯ve read that the Iskrin ruling class has quite a number of Chosen amongst their number, but¡­¡±


    Mistress Glasya let out a small chuckle, before lifting a paw to gently caress Skrakch¡¯s cheek, either not noticing the Ratling¡¯s flinch or simply not deigning to acknowledge it.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing like a Chosen¡¯s Pact, my sweet boy. Hmmm, how do I put this so you¡¯ll understand.¡±


    Skrakch felt his fur bristle with irritation. ¡®Surely he¡¯d already proved he wasn¡¯t some mindless drone?¡¯


    ¡°It¡¯s something that was intentionally bred in the Iskrin species as a whole. The lowliest of your species inherently follow the orders of those above them in the hierarchy.¡± Mistress Glasya continued after a moment or two. ¡°Think about it! What does it mean, Skrakch, that you met a Crown Prince of the Hungering Empire and managed to resist his words?¡±


    The Demoness grinned toothily at Skrakch. ¡°Oh, the shame the Crown Prince had felt in that moment was absolutely blissful. A common brown Iskrin, ignoring the commands of its better? You made an enemy for life, and didn¡¯t even speak a word to the little Princeling.¡± She chuckled. ¡°Such a joy to witness!¡±


    Skrakch barely let the idea mull about in his skull for a moment, before a disbelieving chuckle escaped from him unbidding. ¡°Are you being serious right now? You¡¯re trying to talk me up as some kinda special Ratling?¡± A scoff rippled its way out of his chest before he could stop himself. ¡°Do you have a magic goose to sell me as well, that shits golden eggs?¡± He added with a derisive snort.


    He could see what she was trying to do. It was as clear as the whiskers on the end of his nose. There was still a part of him that wanted to go along with what she was saying, take it at face value and believe that yes he, Skrakch, was an important link in the chain all along.


    But where had that gotten him in the past? One failed idea after another, and still he hadn¡¯t become a Chosen.


    ¡°Seriously, am I supposed to take the word of a literal Demon on this one? So when is the other coin going to drop, do I need to sell my soul to unlock my full potential then?¡± He spat sarcastically. Skrakch¡¯s face contorted in disgust as he waved his hand dismissively towards the alchemical tools lining the room¡¯s walls. ¡°Next you¡¯ll tell me I¡¯m a prodigy at alchemy, I just need a little boost!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to think this entire thing is bullshit, and I¡¯m not about to-¡° Skrakch cut off abruptly mid-sentence as he stared down at the Empress¡¯ arm that had suddenly blurred forwards. Before Skrakch could blink, the Demon had sunk her entire fist into his rib cage, and the only reason he wasn¡¯t screaming in pain was the lack of air flowing into his lungs.


    ¡°I like to think I¡¯m a fairly calm Mistress¡±, the Demon began speaking even as she wriggled her claws inside Skrakch¡¯s chest cavity calmly as though she were rooting through a dish of sweetmeats to locate the choicest one. ¡°But even someone as gracious as myself has limits.¡±


    The Demon retracted her arm, a bucket''s worth of blood bursting out of Skrakch as he fell bonelessly to the floor. ¡°We were having such a lovely chat as well, were we not? You just had to go and ruin it, didn¡¯t you, Skrakch.¡± Mistress Glasya chided.


    ¡°But fret not dear, I¡¯m not mad. Not truly anyways.¡± Waving her bloodied paw from side to side, Mistress Glasya grabbed Skrakch¡¯s falling body and leaned his still gasping form against the nearby glass window.


    ¡°Goodness, I hadn¡¯t even gotten to my sales pitch, not in earnest at least.¡± The Demon looked around seemingly without a hurry, before pulling her throne closer to Skrakch¡¯s dying body.


    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to skip to the good bits.¡± She smiled, talking over the choking gasps Skrakch was making as his body ran cold. ¡°You see, you¡¯re in a rather unique spot my dear. Events are swirling around you like muddled water, even if you yourself aren¡¯t that important.¡±


    Despite the rising panic, Skrakch still has the presence of mind to realize that here it was. The other shoe was about to drop just as he¡¯d expected it would.


    ¡®Just as it always did.¡¯


    ¡°Which brings me to my offer. One I think you¡¯d be ecstatic to hear about if you weren¡¯t actively bleeding out on my very expensive carpet.¡± Mistress Glasya examined her bloodied claws in a disinterested sort of way. Casual murder was all in a day''s work for Demons. Hells, who knew if he was even the first mortal she¡¯d stabbed today?


    ¡°Because I have a deal to offer you Skrakch. You were right, of course, I do want something. And I¡¯m willing to give nearly anything to get it.¡± The demon¡¯s albino eyes stared down to match Skrakch¡¯s desperate stare, pinning the Ratling in place.


    He could feel his very lifeblood draining out of him and yet he was still conscious. He was still able to think as clearly as he ever had been.


    ¡°I¡¯m willing to give you what you want most. A new lease on life. No more checking your Rune, and no more whittling down the hours until your death.¡±


    Skrakch, lying in a swiftly growing pool of his own blood, was struggling to stay conscious and yet the Ratling was more focused on the white-furred beauty in front of him than before as he felt hope stirring in his bosom.


    ¡°All you need to do¡­¡± Mistress Glasya finished with a smile that seemed to stretch monstrously with sharpened teeth, ¡°Is find out who robbed the Denmother, and bring me what they stole.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll give you everything you¡¯ve ever wanted. Everything you¡¯ve always known you deserved.¡±


    Skrakch tried to speak, but only managed to spit up a burst of blood as he was plunged into darkness, the hole in his chest leaking red as he fell further into peaceful oblivion.