《Tales of Ordinary, Completely Unremarkable Contractors》 The Requiem - Introitus: I The writhing lump of interwoven tentacles was tied around the enormous stone block by the crowd of goat, sheep and bovine demons. Lit dimly by the green glow of the many pools of viscous fluid surrounding them, they paused to admire their makeshift rope. One of these pools was seeping the ill-coloured liquid into a shallow trench trailing the stone. ¡°Aaaaand¡­¡± The group - now holding the tentacle - braced. ¡°Heave!¡±, another demon¡¯s booming voice echoed through the cavern. The creatures strained, bulged and roared; the trench was extended by a few inches. The block was nearing its destination, a half-finished pyramid reaching for the ceiling of a colossal underground expanse. ¡°This is proceeding rather well, Gor. It¡¯d go better with wheels but none of these dwarven books really account for, well, slade in general. Fortunately, us demons can be just as efficient without.¡± Lorian spoke, observing the efforts from afar. His path had already taken him around the many assault preparations taking place; each one was examined with the closest scrutiny. Behind followed a towering humanoid, covered in a dark fur - its head of a bull looked out of place, despite its thick muscles. Its footsteps thundered into the darkness, adding to the deafening cacophony of the toiling creatures. As far as Lorian could see, there were no walls in this expanse - each sound resonated off the ceiling then dissipated. ¡°We did miss a few blocks in our calculations but those ones over there seem to remember the ropes well enou- Thumb off the handle!¡± A figure toiling at a sizeable boulder adjusted the grip on their chisel. Lorian paused, then walked to the stone. He stood straight, raised his arms to his side and circled it tightly. ¡°Two spans by two spans plus one height¡­ two blocks from that rock¡­ that¡¯s the last one we need to break apart. Anyways as I was saying, the ropes ¨C although not much more than that.¡± ¡°Have question,¡± The bullish figure looked down to Lorian, ¡°how big slade break with small tool?¡± ¡°True, it¡¯s big, hard and heavy ¨C dwarves say there exists nothing denser. However, their stonecutters also make some great tools ¨C even those you saw working earlier can work a hole or eight into a boulder. Have you ever seen those massive mushrooms growing in the acid pools? We harvest their stalk, stuff it in the crack and find someone with a stretched jaw to pour the pit acid into it. Dwarven books use water and wood but we''ve been making do with our materials. Think of your stomach expanding when you fill it up; those stalks do the same, only with enough force to splinter rock like this. We don¡¯t even need to be too accurate ¨C all we¡¯re doing is stacking a few¡­ hundred? to reach the place the dwarves broke open.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Lorian pointed and Gor saw a small beam of light shining from a crack in the ceiling of the cavern. Small, glittering particles floated down from it to the pyramid built beneath, coating it in a pale blue shimmer. ¡°Greedy dwarves¡­¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t necessarily say they¡¯re greedy, Gor. Adamantite¡¯s great! It¡¯s as light as it gets, it¡¯s sharp when sharpened and it¡¯s shiny ¨C perfect for either a sword or an earring. Only, what awaits at the bottom is just us. Normally they can¡¯t get through the layer of slade separating this world from theirs, but adamantite veins are remarkable! They ignore this bedrock, and end up as those pale blue spots you see far above on the ceiling. From what I saw in Nazgoth¡¯s dump, dwarves fear for the entire world if we ever get out. Yeah, I don¡¯t buy it too ¨C I don¡¯t think the world out there is small enough for some upright animals to take it over but their authors, ol¡¯ Gottfried for example, would need a new pair of breeches at only a mention. If I quote correctly, ¡®It would be unfortunate if miners dig deep into the vein of blue, for the end of the miner¡¯s journey would then coincide with the end of the fortress¡¯s journey.¡¯¡± ¡°Gor want adamantite axe¡­¡± ¡°Axe? Ah yes, I did tell you about those. It¡¯s a great idea, but personally I think something like a greathammer would suit you better. Like a big, meaty fist on a stick, that one ¨C you want it to be heavy, not light. If we had some tools made out of adamantite we¡¯d even fashion one up for you out of slade but that fortress needs a bit of invading first.¡± ¡°Tools? But slade cut here!¡± ¡°Yes, we did get some gear from the archives of ol¡¯ Nazgoth but not everything I¡¯d like. We¡¯re fortunate we can make blocks at all, even. Nothing anywhere near as accurate as a complete hammerhead. When an underground city literally flattens you don¡¯t get left with much, you see. Our terrible fortress-collapsing dwarves didn¡¯t remember to do in the trash dump, though. Plus, you¡¯re forgetting abou- Hey Zar, are the ¡®troops¡¯ ready? Ah, I can see you¡¯re in the process. Tell me when everything¡¯s done so I can give a speech to those who want one.¡± The humanoid, as tall as Lorian with legs and head of a goat, nodded. He turned back, away fromthe motley crew of otherworldly beings. ¡°As I was saying, you¡¯re forgetting about the handle. There¡¯s nothing strong or sturdy enough down here to use with slade. Do you understand what I mean?¡± Lorain looked back and saw Gor¡¯s brow furrowed, eyes staring into the darkness beyond. ¡°Sorry if I overwhelm you. If I don¡¯t unload all this on someone I go insane and that¡¯s not a state I¡¯d like to be in again. Please, bear with me for just this while¡± ¡°I listening.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t believe how happy I am to hear that. Those ones over there are finishing up with the stone block, so our assault would begin shortly. You know the battle plan?¡± ¡°Gor remember. Have question. Forgot ask. Why this city not fall?¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ a great question! Because it¡¯s the capital we¡¯re going up against this time ¨C the centre of the dwarven world. They¡¯re not going to collapse it, they can¡¯t ¨C it¡¯s been there for thousands of years, long before anyone even knew why they¡¯d need this kind of last resort. It¡¯s impossible to rig a city which in itself belongs in a museum to collapse at will without risk of it collapsing without will. Unfortunately, that naturally means they prepared for demons like us using other, more nefarious means; some of these, I imagine, were in none of the books I read. Either way, once we collected everything we could from Nazgoth, I knew we didn¡¯t really have much of a choice. It¡¯s between losing every second demon again in another collapse or having the chance to break free.¡± Lorian stopped and looked to the distance. ¡°Either way, I¡¯d greatly prefer dying at least a few heights closer to whatever awaits me above than in the literal bottom of the world.¡± Round Midnight: I The wagons arrived. The guards out pulled one person after another. Lined up. Clothes dirty, some faces battered. Armed man, guard, steps ahead. ¡®Speaker¡¯, as usual. ¡°Henceforth, you are property of Lord Henselt the Second by Section 16-72 of the Punishments Accord. You are to serve him any way he, thus by extension we, desires. You have no rights for -¡± ¡°Sirs, who should I talk to about an appeal for an unfair trial?¡± Interrupter - bearded. Thirty to sixty, hard to tell. As always. Confident, a mistake. Silence. ¡®Nail¡¯, now holding his spiked blackjack. Struck. Second swing, man falls. Guard kneels, slowly. Resumes. Seven swings for blood to touch snow. Twenty fifth was last, as usual. Needed less to send message. New ones learn, but caution is wise. ¡°Continuing. You have no rights, for you relinquished them with your inhumanly acts. You will die either on the cold ground of this land from your weakness, or on the crosses if you refuse to accept your punishment and flee. You are dispensable, therefore insubordinance or attempts at escape will be punished with no quarter.¡± ¡®Speaker¡¯ rolled up the parchment, placed it in his rucksack. ¡°Formality be over. Look to yer mates for help, meet quotas. All I¡¯ve to say.¡± Guard on each limb, body hauled away. Calmly. Long time since guards tripped.
¡°Joakim. My name is ¡­Amelia and I need an introduction to this place and the job.¡± Calm voice, feminine and soothing. She doesn¡¯t belong here. Would die today. Joakim looked at her. Beard swayed in the wind. A nod. ¡°Let us set off. I require yourassistancewitha certain task as well, I will tell you as we go.¡±, she continued. ¡°What.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll find out. Fourth layer of clothing, I offer you in return. This place is cold, and the ones we were provided are barely enough.¡± ¡°Guards strip bodies. Cloth put on wagon, sent back.¡± ¡°I did see the pit of bodies. I promise, the clothes you will be getting will be as fresh and clean as yours or mine. Regardless of any circumstances, I will give you a fourth layer in exchange for information. I offer this to you once, only during the labour training you are to provide me.¡± Silence. ¡°If you refuse, someone else will not. I need this, Joakim.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Silence. Few small nods from Joakim. Stands up. ¡°Now. While walking.¡± Joakim instructed. ¡°Collapsed dwarf city, underground. Clear it out, our task. To clear, we mine. Guards tell where and how. Sleep in tent now; in city when cold. Guards in house up here. Food once a day. Soup. Thick soup is good, thin not.¡° ¡°I need some information on the guards.To avoid unnecessary beatings, of course.¡± ¡°¡¯Short¡¯s cruel. All you should know. ¡®Speaker¡¯ follows orders, from above, mellow man. Break rules? Not mellow. ¡®Nail¡¯? Twitchy. Spikes in club, uses it often. ¡®High¡¯ sniffs powder. Good on high, not on low. ¡®Flay¡¯, he¡­¡± Amelia, attentive. Most who come new aren¡¯t. Panic, cry. Scared. Never determined. ¡°¡­claims was Royal Interrogator. Lies. Another one, drinks spirit. Passed out or sleeps. Never see him, no names we call him. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Perfect. I assume you would also be familiar with the guards'' rotations, sleep times and other schedules?¡± Breathing quickened. Dread. ¡°Why.¡± Raspier than usual. Mistake. Anticipation of suffering. Memories of it. Overwhelmed. ¡°Joakim?¡± Heavy breathing, attempts to calm it. ¡°I see.¡± Eyes. Dirty green, dark yellow - rare. Looking right into his. ¡±Standing in the line, I saw you drop your pickaxe; there was nothing unusual about that. However, your hand froze, as if it were still holding something invisible¡­ Take off your gloves.¡± Green and yellow eyes hardened. His breath, controlled now. Hard to stutter if breathing is slow. ¡°Too cold.¡± No stutter. Genuine confusion, acting convincing. ¡°Your gloves, Joakim. They come off now, or I walk and another person to ask.¡± Didn¡¯t matter. Leverage. Too tired to object, new clothes enticed. The gloves came off. Two hands. Wrinkled. Large scar in the centre of each. ¡°Damage, from sharp, thin objects ¨C nails, for example. No immediate medical attention and long-term motor damage as a result. This leaves but one explanation and as was explained at my arrival, the cross is only for escapees. You tried to escape. How did you survive the cross?¡± Voice, hard and demanding. Silence. Pain. ¡°This is the last thing I need to know before I am satisfied, Joakim.¡± The yearning of warmth, clothes. Pain. Deep breaths, slower now. ¡°Twin. Stole food. Lied, blamed me. Watched my screams. Broke. Confessed. Guards lowered me. Bashed him. Quick, painful.¡± Attempts, unsuccessful, to lose emotions in voice. Broke voice, middle of sentence. Breaths. ¡°Joakim, right now I can see your attempts at calming your breath - it''s easy to see you''re lying. However, unfortunately for you, lies can still be quite revealing.¡± Fear. Voice no longer soothing; hard, yet still calm. Quick breaths. Woman¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t relent. Body shaking. Feet heavy, drag across ground. ¡°Yes, Joakim, you are exactly the one I¡¯m looking for. I know precisely how the thief wanted to steal enough rations to flee across the border. In fact, the brilliance of the plan is that not a single person in this camp would even be searched for such an obvious theft.¡± Knees weak. Tripped, fell. Amelia stopped. Undid her third layer, dropped it. Same with second. Left on the ground, put third on. Picked it up, held it toward the man. ¡°You¡¯ve told me all I wanted to know. Your reward.¡± Clothes. Two layers for her ¨C suicide. ¡°Joakim, I have a quote to meet and I assume you do as well.¡± Clothes. Struggled, leaned on pickaxe, stood up. ¡°Before you leave - I have another proposition for you.¡± Walked past woman, looked straight forward. Silence. ¡°Your ¡®payment¡¯ for it? It will be freedom. Meet me the next time they assign us to the same section, or I will find some other help.¡± Feet pounded snow. No tears, all cried long ago. Little to lose. She''ll die today, or tomorrow. He paused. Clothes in his hand. They were cold. Round Midnight: II A boat. The man lay on his back on a deck, eyes shut, feeling his body sway with the sea. Only, the wave held ¨C as if the water and boat themselves were frozen in time. And the boat¡¯s deck felt like stone. He opened his eyes. He was greeted by a void. A darkness from all directions, broken only by the insignificant, warm, flickering glow. ¡°You¡¯re finally awake.¡± A woman¡¯s voice. He turned to look at her; indeed, she was holding a torch. He stood up, foot slipping slightly. Rocks tumbled down the slope he rested on and disappeared into the darkness past the light. He looked to the ground, and saw destruction. Deep cracks lined every part of the once ornate stone floor; the surface was in waves, as if an ocean was simply fixed in place in the midst of a raging storm. He tried to speak, but ¨C nothing came. The woman called out again. ¡°Can you understand me?¡± He nodded. ¡°Do you remember your name? You need to breathe to speak.¡± He did, then opened his mouth. He paused, then slowly whispered: ¡°I can¡¯t remember.¡± ¡°As expected.¡± She placed down a large dish and filled it with the waterskin around her belt. The torch was then carefully put on the ground; the surface of the water became a makeshift mirror. ¡°Do you recognise yourself?¡± He concentrated on his reflection. A bearded man with sunken eyes, long hair and with heavy wrinkles glared back. ¡°Mogren¡­ I feel that¡¯s who¡­ the person behind this face. That must be my name.¡± She picked up the torch. ¡°Interesting. Now, Mogren, you must follow.¡± A diagram faded into the light as she walked away ¨C it appeared to be a map. Distant, she became the only bastion of light, if small, amongst the suffocating darkness. Her glow passed by a diagram, drawn in dust on a rock ¨C a map, of sorts.Stolen novel; please report. ¡°Where am-¡± He breathed. ¡°Where am I?¡± ¡°Ruins, underground. Several hundred feet below the surface, half of this below the next lowest human.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel alone.¡± ¡°You would be correct. There is a reason I need a companion for this task.¡± A wall appeared inside the glow, then an opening inside it ¨C it felt out of place in contrast to the wall¡¯s decorum, and the same could be said of its pieces on the floor. The woman entered it, disappearing for a moment before bringing out a few small barrels. She took out several sets of these, setting them in neat piles around Mogren. ¡°You were not mistaken ¨C the camp does indeed store explosive powder. Now, I need you to carry it for me. I would suggest being careful with them ¨C if you drop one, you will bevaporised.¡± ¡°When was I correct?¡± ¡°Earlier. You have temporary amnesia.¡± The many barrels fitted into his open arms ¨C despite their appearance and cumulative volume, he found them to be incredibly light. He had little trouble maintaining a secure grip nor keeping balance. ¡°Here, I will need your assistance in placing these around some of the more fragile parts of the ruins. We will trace a path with this fuse, then light it from the surface.¡± As she was carefully fixing one end of the string to rest in one of the many barrels still lying in the nook, he spoke. ¡°How did the cut on your arm come about?¡± ¡°A small fight. The person who made it is dead.¡± ¡°No, that one is a flesh wound. The other, bandaged one ¨C I can smell the blood still dripping from it¡­ old blood, this isn¡¯t a fresh cut.¡± ¡°Yes, your sense of smell is as I would expect it to be. This one I inflicted myself ¨C you need not know the reasons.¡± ¡°How much else need I not know?¡± She stood up, picked up the torch and walked by him. The thick coil in her hands left behind a trail of fuse. ¡°Nothing I personally need to say. Your memories have everything, but it would be a terrible idea to rush the recovery.¡± Making their way through another opening, they began their journey up a steep slope of a corridor. From the sparse light, he could see the walls were covered liberally in decorations ¨C masterful artwork depicting the mundane, the not mundane and the very grandiose. Wheat, faces, battles, swords, funerals ¨C all etched lovingly into the rock, then pierced by countless cracks and put to rest for an eternity. ¡°What happened here?¡± She took one of his barrels and placed it in a corner, before sprinkling some of its contents to link it to the fuse. ¡°It collapsed. Or, to be precise, itwascollapsed. If my research was correct, dwarves build in a system in their newer underground cities to destroy them in case of an emergency. I have heard it has much to do with artificial destruction of supports, which would seem accurate.¡± While speaking, the woman set up another barrel. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°A threat from the depths.¡± She took one more of his barrels. ¡°There is absolutely nothing about this ¡®threat¡¯ in any literature I have seen,¡± she continued, ¡°other than the fear that it would bring ruin to the world. The extent of this fear can be seen in this very place.¡± She finished the new powder trail. It neatly connected the explosive to the string acting as a detonator. ¡°Is there truly no other way? Can this threat only be destroyed by collapsing a¡­ city?¡± ¡°Incorrect. It cannot be killed by collapsing a city, not to a significant extent. The best the dwarves hope for is to plug the depths to hold off their offensive.¡± She paused, another barrel in hand. ¡°The survivors of the collapse are still here, underground. It is difficult to not feel their very presence, after all.¡± She placed it down. ¡°Our goal, however, is to ensure they stay underground.¡± Round Midnight: Interlude - I Didnt Know About You A well-dressed dwarven butler opened the thick oak door of a large candle-lit office. ¡°Lord Wimbli, the lady wishes to see you.¡± Another dwarf sat at a desk facing the door, his face almost obscured by the colossal piles of paper. He looked up from his document, put down his pen and hastily cleared his desk. ¡°Of course, Bomrek. Let her in.¡± She entered. ¡°Good evening. My name is Wimbli and I believe you already know why I summoned you to this great city. Please, have a seat.¡± She did. Her long cloak obscured her body and face, making all attempts to read her body language useless. Wimbli sighed. ¡°I¡¯m offering your firm a private, confidential and a quite dangerous contract. If you choose to listen further, I expect you will understand the consequences of any information going further than this room. As such, this contract will not be given in writing and this conversation will be your only source of intelligence. In order to forge trust, I will pay three-quarters of the fee in advance and the rest after completion. Are you willing to hear out the details?¡± ¡°You speak with almost no accent. That is rare among dwarves ¨C you must have trained this ability for at least several years.¡± The woman stated this fact calmly, smoothly. He raised his eyebrows. ¡°However, Lord Wimbli, despite my respect I am afraid I must refuse. Considering the contract is not on paper, I could potentially be cheated out of a quarter of the pay with no recourse.¡± He shuffled in his chair. ¡°Dwarves are honourable folk, my lady. This would be a necessary precaution to take if you were to deal with your own people or - especially so ¨C elves; for our kin, however, honesty and integrity run deepest.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°I plan on leaving this room with the full cheque or nothing. An army needs feeding, paying and arming. You also know just as well as I do that the only possible reason for this contract to be left incomplete is if every single one of my soldiers dies in the process of trying.¡± Wimbli leaned back in his chair. He looked to the ceiling in thought; the face of Urist Bomrekkivish, engraved masterfully in marble, stared back. After a few seconds of deliberation, he leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk and attempted tofind the woman''s eyes in the darkness of her hood. ¡°Agreed. I will write you a check for the full fee, redeemable immediately. Does this mean you are satisfied with the conditions?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°Excellent! Let us begin. The completion of this contract will entail you to accomplish the following tasks. First, King Henselt¡¯s punitive forces - or labour camps, if you will - must abandon the ruins of Nazgoth. Second, it must be verified beyond a reasonable doubt that the ruins in question are still in complete disrepair and are not open to entry from the lower depths. Anything needing elaboration?¡± ¡°Why is Henselt sending prisoners to work in a decimated city?¡± ¡°I assume he plans to make as best of a use of the lands we sold him. He¡¯s already building roads to the mountain ¨C it¡¯s easy to deduce his goal is either to reclaim the city or simply turn it into a mine.¡± ¡°These operations of his, do they need to be halted permanently?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Do your spies have any intel which would assist in this task?¡± ¡°They can forge papers to arrange an infiltration of any one of Henselt¡¯s punitive expeditions, including the one in question. Exfiltration is a different matter entirely ¨C you will have to arrange this yourself. As for intelligence, I was not able to acquire any for the simple reason that exclusively humans are sent to the Nazgoth camps.¡± ¡°What of the fortress destruction? What would you qualify as ¡®complete disrepair¡¯?¡± Wimbli leaned back on his chair. ¡°A crater, or something similar. If no creature on this earth can pass through the ruins, your job is complete.¡± The woman sat forward. The candles gave her eyes an eerie glint inside the shadows of the cloak. ¡°I need your espionage team to prepare documents for one female prisoner on a punitive expedition to King Henselt¡¯s lands in proximity to the dwarven fortress of Nazgoth. This needs to be done with due haste. Please keep the cheque and instead deliver an equivalent value of gemstones to our headquarters ¨C you can subtract delivery costs from the final payment.¡± She stood up and held out her hand. ¡°In no more than two months, I will provide all you have paid for. Let us hope this is not the last time the dwarves call upon the assistance of our firm.¡± Reluctantly, he stood up from his chair, reached with his own hand and shook. ¡°If you don¡¯t get this done, you will rot alongside me deep beneath this earth in our dungeons. Do not fail,¡± he whispered. Round Midnight: III Two perfectly rational beings walk into a room, or a bar. The riddler then asks the riddled: ¡°what happens next?¡± To solve this riddle, one must consider every detail of every circumstance of this encounter and every motivation of the people involved, and then remove every application of the two onto the problem in question which is not absolutely and unwaveringly rational. When there is only a small pool of details and motivations, this is considered an incredibly difficult task. Applying more and more variables to the equation transforms this problem into an unsolvable one ¨C layers upon layers of each rational being¡¯s personal experiences congeal together into complex, unpeelable onions. This is what one must take into account when one considers that - much like in reality - the beings¡¯ entire lives do not revolve around this riddle; outside armchair discussions, there exist no plausible solutions.
Flay¡¯s awkward punches slowed until he was doing not much more than caressing the air to his sides. His neck remained in the woman¡¯s arms for a few minutes longer to erase any trace of life; it was possible she missed his carotids. The man¡¯s hands were rough, but lacked any distinguishing marks or scars ¨C he was never an interrogator, much less a royal one. She stashed his body underneath the guard cottage¡¯s supports next to Short¡¯s. Flay leaving the guards¡¯ chambers wasn¡¯t accounted for in Joakim¡¯s descriptions ¨C it¡¯s possible, though unlikely, she was now compromised. Taking the two blackjacks, she approached the door, confirmed the inside was dark and raised her foot. The door flew off its hinges and a sharp clattering followed its graceful flight from its frame. She waited.
The truth about these rational beings is truly quite simple ¨C they¡¯re as irrational as the normally irrational. When two are presented with what is even a mostly similar set of information, they can create for themselves two completely different onions; a single blemish on one fact can direct attention to another, which can, in turn, remove another fact from the equation, which in turn results in further deviations ¨C a butterfly effect of sorts. Even considering all this, there exists a way for one to convince several scores of these rational irrationals to accept what is, in essence, a suicidal mission.
A door inside - presumably to the bedrooms - was opened by a bearded man in nightclothes. He already had a blackjack in hand ¨C Speaker. Two more stood behind, lit by a lantern. The tired guards¡¯ lack of sleep was quickly countered by the adrenaline. They held their weapons with fury, with clear intent to maim and kill. She, on the other hand, held hers with precision. A jump and a pirouette brought her to face Speaker, already charging. It also brought her blackjack to his jaw; he miraculously blocked the deadly impact with his arm. A loud crack echoed, then a scream. The second hit came from below, part of her next rotation. ¡®Speaker¡¯ collapsed, now silent. He had obtained a third bend between elbow and hand.
The labour camps were perfection. Perfection in the art of shattering human psyche. Anyone entering whole leaves broken. They become a living contradiction, finding more solace in the suicidal work they¡¯re forced upon than in even the most minute resistance or thoughts of escape. The cold penetrates the little given clothes even in summer, the unyielding cycles of endless day and then endless night hammer down upon circadian rhythms and the meagre feed leaves most with aching stomachs constantly pleading for more. Their only pleasure is when the tasteless soup generously referred to as sustenance is poured thick; they all savour the little aroma and taste they can, for tomorrow¡­ tomorrow it could be thin. The forests and plains of the taiga taunt with hopes for an impossible escape; there are no fences, for none are needed. It¡¯s no surprise that only a mere handful of guards are required to keep this cycle of torment afloat. However, this strategy has far more reaching implications, particularly in the field of perfectly rational beings.
She stepped back to avoid the swing of the spiked blackjack, then - ignoring Nail - smoothly charged forward with a pirouette toward High. The dreadfully gaunt man was caught off guard. He raised his club to block, not realising he was defending against a feint; a swing again from a different direction and he crumpled. The woman ducked and from behind a spiked baton arced over her head. Her hands wrapped around the swinging arm then pulled ¨C driven by his own weight, the guard fell forward onto his back with a weighty thud. Helpless, he received an accurate strike to his chin.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
In order to create consistent behaviours in these rational beings, the same principles must be applied. Starve them of information. Redefine their definitions of comfort and adjust their motivations to align with this task. Simultaneously overwhelm and underwhelm with exact copies of consistent information, engineered to create one and only one logical conclusion. Foster an irrational rationalisation of this suicidal task while convincing that escape from is impossible. Force their world to revolve around this one riddle and thus build their onion¡­ ¡°¡­as you see fit,¡± she mouthed, almost unnoticeably. ¡°That was some very smooth fighting, if I say so myself.¡± A man dressed in a full uniform leaned on the doorway, seemingly unarmed. His long, matted hair and beard were long unwashed, and a very noticeable stench of alcohol followed him. With a reverse pirouette, her club whistled toward him. It halted within an inch of his face. She noticed his fist, now near her stomach, did the same. They jumped back, simultaneously. ¡°I wonder what a werewolf is doing killing guards in a prison camp¡­ You are, after all, a lycanthrope? Vampires would have no need for escape since they have all the blood they could ever want, necromancers would have all the corpses they could ever want and¡­ you definitely don¡¯t look undead either¡­¡± Another swing from her, and an effortless dodge from him. ¡°If you want to escape, I suggest you take a horse and ride as far as you would like ¨C I won¡¯t stop you.¡± While saying this, he dodged two kicks and another swing. ¡°You see, I don¡¯t care much for these compatriots nor for the prisoners ¨C all I need to do is splash my clothes with whiskey every now and again. In return, I get an unending supply of blood and absolutely no attention. What else could I want?¡± The woman continued her dance. Lacking emotion in her voice or face, she spoke. ¡°If you believe I will ever leave this room behind with a living vampire inside, you are simply naive. Creatures like you a canker and will continue to be nothing but a canker to this world. Do not trouble yourself in answering, or attempt to justify your existence, for you will meet your end here regardless.¡± Without a pause, his arms folded into defensive stance as a dagger revealed itself in his hands. ¡°That was accurate,¡± he admitted, ¡°but fighting a vampire isn¡¯t as easy as you believe, especially for a human. If you¡¯re planning to defeat me by transforming, you¡¯re off by one day ¨C the full moon is tomorrow.¡± He dodged two swings and let the punch halt in front of his face. ¡°On top of this, we¡¯re both cursed creatures. You will pass out of exhaustion much sooner than you will land a hit on-¡± She landed a hit on him. Two of her fingers were now coated in fresh blood and the man¡¯s eye became little more than red pulp. ¡°This is very interesting. What is your goal here?¡± Seeing through her feint, he deflected her true attack. His dagger slid along the club and across her arm. ¡°Intriguing. The unusually succulent odour of the soup tonight¡­ that was your blood.¡± They parried each other¡¯s swings in quick succession ¨C the woman¡¯s baton gained several deep gashes. ¡°I understand your plan now, but what is its purpose? As soon as the others recover from their initial amnesia and regain their memories, they will simply betray you - you know how vampires are. An army of them is fickle, and if you thi-¡± He did expect her rotation to end with a kick. Its incredible strength reduced the man¡¯s jaw to fragments and the tip of his tongue landed on the floorboards. He froze for a single second, eye staring blankly into the ceiling, desperately fighting the body¡¯s autonomous processes shutting his brain down. He tried tightening the grip around his dagger only to realise it was missing. The man succeeded. He looked down into the cold, blank eyes of the woman. He could not speak, for his tongue was filling his lungs with blood ¨C a temporary setback, he could drain it later. He saw a glint in the woman''s hand. His beard was shorter and wet with blood. His throat; it was cut. Fifteen seconds remained of his life - he could feel both arteries losing blood. He stood still, continuing to stare. Even in the light of the lantern lit by Speaker earlier, he could make out the face of the woman who killed him. A pale triangular face, green - no, green and yellow - eyes and narrow, slightly contorted lips. A small bit of black hair peeking from underneath her white cap. He gurgled as his lips attempted to whisper a phrase. Then, he collapsed. The woman slit the unconscious guards¡¯ throats, then took the vampire''s dagger andhis enigmatic foot holster. She left the cottage and followed a familiar route, one engraved into her memory by the guards'' whips and shouts, one she walked across exactly 46 times for 23 days. At its end, a dwarven monolith stood alone in the centre of a field. It radiated both despair and disrepair, for the portcullis long lied on the grass around in fragments and the structure itself was tilted and partially sunken into the earth. What she had set in motion was impossible to stop, so the only way left for her to go was forward. The vampiric guard''s final words echoed in her skull. Hypocrite. Round Midnight: IV - Vorkuta, Leningrad ¡°I agreed to this¡­ Amelia.¡± The duo ascending to the surface had exhausted most of their explosives and fuse. Lurking just beyond the reach of the torch¡¯s light, the abyss was customary, comforting even. Only a few of the barrels remained. ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°This is a steep price for my freedom¡­ becoming a monster.¡± ¡°It is also a price you already paid.¡± ¡°I will be free soon, but I doubt the person who wanted to be with every fibre of his being is still alive. When was it you poured your blood into my feed¡­ when who I used to be died?¡± ¡°Yesterday.¡± ¡°Then that was the day I lost who I was. I should feel regret¡­ but I don¡¯t, simply because I can¡¯t feel regret. You forced this curse upon a man who thought he had nothing to lose, but was wrong. You-¡± ¡°Mogren,¡± she interrupted, ¡°there is no going back. Accept what you have become ¨C you can handle the consequences without me.¡± He tried to find the words to reply, but was rudely interrupted by a blade shooting from a hole between the masonry. He fell, trying to dodge the attack and failing ¨C it hit him, somewhere in the centre of mass. It retreated as fast as came out, preventing Mogren from catching more than a glimpse. He tried to stand up. He couldn¡¯t. A thorough diagnosis revealed half of him was missing. Particularly, the lower torso and below could be seen lying next to him, quite aways from their ideal position. His fresh wound was leaking blood and bowels in uncomfortably large amounts, seeping into the small piles of explosive powder spilt during his dodge. He accepted death, for what else could he do? He felt something wrap around his arm, then body- the woman had picked up him and began to run. ¡°Doesn¡¯t hurt¡­ not surprised¡­¡± He felt that his newfound immunity to pain was quite welcome at this particular time. He could speak still, as much as his body would physically allow. ¡°Mogren, I¡­ I am Joakim, I killed Mogren.¡± His next breath came as a gurgling gasp. ¡°I wanted to¡­ frame hi-¡± He coughed. ¡°frame him¡­ for stealing¡­ then guards would think he¡­ already ¡­ ate it. Nobody would look ¡­for it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I thought, Joakim. Brace yourself.¡± He didn¡¯t have time to do much bracing before her torch hit the half-broken barrels. The explosion rocked the tunnels, the shockwave strong despite the spilt gunpowder. Chunks of masonry flew in all directions, exposing the many layers of the floor. More importantly, the wall that hid the origin of the blade disappeared. Chunks of burning wood created an eerie light, filling the ocean of black created by the lack of a torch. They illuminated the tunnel, and the room behind the wall; he could see the fuse she laid beginning to spark. He saw a glint. It whistled and cut the air as if the hook of a fishing rod about to be dunked, swinging freely in all directions. A blade, attached to a tentacle; this tentacle was, in turn, attached to a creature. In the dim light, the being resembled a cyclops without a skeleton ¨C an overwhelming mass of sore-covered skin and fat; a gaping maw with sparse teeth which could be passed off as a mouth undulated, drooled and wheezed, while its nose above was no more than a bloody hole in its face. The many wounds leaked multi-coloured juices into small puddles on stone.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The eye opened. It looked around, frantically. Then, it stopped. Staring into his eyes. The tentacle contracted, and Amelia parried the first blow with a dagger. The strange appendage was flung away, swayed then came whistling back, before she had recovered. A sidestep into a pirouette brought her out of harm¡¯s way, then another parry deflected the next swing. Mogren¡­ no, Joakim stretched out his clothes and tied them into a makeshift knot. It was only partially successful in preventing blood and organ leakage. Satisfied that he did all he could, he looked back at the fight. A jump, a slice, an impact. The weapons collided, recoiled, then struck again. The tentacle swung, then sprung away and sliced downward. The woman fell for the feint ¨C despite her following pirouette, her leg sprayed blood. The assault was unyielding, giving her no time to recover. She didn¡¯t need it. Reading the next feint she ducked beneath the tentacle, and left the dagger in her place. Blue blood began dripping with its every motion, the creature letting out a guttural gurgle in response. The dance continued. The woman¡¯s body reacted to every new bend, every motion of the blade, twisting, jumping, spinning gracefully in a seemingly instinctual way. The tentacle would bend or turn, and she would glide around accordingly. The jagged zipping of the creature¡¯s appendage and her fast, intricate manipulations blended together into a beautiful tune, a stalemate accompanied by the endless staccato scraping of metal against metal. Except, she was advancing. Two steps back and three steps forward¡­ slowly but surely, the woman¡¯s efficient dance brought her closer to the monster. She was patient; her graceful hops, ducks and turns brought made use of all available space. It was no longer than a few seconds - yet no less than a century, it seemed - before her dagger found its way into the eyeball; it caught both Joakim and the monster by surprise. The tentacle attacked, but she was already gone; it instead struck the eyeball, creating a second slice. Taking advantage of the distraction, she gripped the creature¡¯s own gruesome weapon, held it in place and began sawing it with her dagger. A deep, animalistic yell echoed off the walls of the ruins as blue liquid leaking from the eyeball and tentacle coated the surroundings. The blade squirmed inside the gash it made, held in by the woman¡¯s iron grip as her dagger continued its journey down. The creature was helpless, and tormented. Finally, the tentacle came apart. The section still attached to the creature began swinging as if its end was a fly trapped in a box; the mouth stretched wide and released a scream ¨C a visceral, horrifying scream ¨C to echo across the walls of the tunnel. She held onto the blade, still stuck inside the deflating eye, and pushed. The creature squirmed, its sores excreted rapidly, the tentacle swung even faster; all while the blade, then her arms, moved further into its head. The scream came into a crescendo, then abruptly cut off. The tentacle flopped down. All Joakim could hear was the soft trickle of its blood spilling out onto the stone, a stark contrast from the metallic percussion and ear-piercing yells. She pulled the blade out ¨C it was covered in pink chunks, which she carefully wiped off using the body. ¡°Im¡­ pressive.¡± His voice came as little more than a croak. He continued, to no-one in particular. He spoke with the conviction and wistfulness of a man with the knowledge that every next breath, every next word is borrowed. If not for his curse, he would not have even been conscious at this point in time. ¡°It feels¡­ strange. Whenever I thought¡­ about spending my last momen-¡± A cough, weak. A few more blotches of red seeped through his knot, adding to the growing red pool; the flow was slowing. The many times he inhaled were accompanied by an unending and unyielding gurgle. ¡°I thought I¡¯d¡­ think of my family¡­ my¡­ children. I would¡­ remember them even¡­ while I was¡­ alive, that was what¡­ drove me¡­¡± His arms had fallen limp by his sides. The man¡¯s eyes appeared to be staring into a single spot on the ground, for he could not see. Vampires never lose consciousness, but they do die. ¡°¡­drove ¡­to frame my brother, then¡­ escape¡­ or, try to¡­¡± His head rolled down. His own voice sounded distant, quiet; he didn¡¯t notice it was now no more than a whisper. The gurgling was becoming quieter. ¡°¡­now, I don¡¯t¡­ think¡­ all I want now¡­ blood¡­ give me some, before I¡­ go¡­¡± Amelia paused, then dropped her blade. She wiped her blue hand on one of the few remaining unstained sections of her white overalls, then touched the wound on her leg. With a bloodied finger, she kneeled and traced a red line on his cold, stiff lips. The body lay in its own blood, motionless, unresponsive. She stood up, picked up the blade, and continued on. She didn¡¯t look back. Round Midnight: V - Give It All You Got The bell at the centre of the circles of tents rang. The deep clangs resonated across the ground, carried to the nearest forest. The sun was beginning to set ¨C never before was the morning bell tolled this late. The first people emerged from the tents. They were haggard, unkempt, frail; yet, their movements reflected none of this. Their arms, legs, feet moved with utmost precision, their poses exuding confidence and efficiency. Walking at a lavish pace, they began making their way to the centre of the tents, congregating around the sound which awoke them. They were greeted by a bizarre sight. A woman with short-cropped tar-black hair stood on a platform next to a bell larger than herself, hitting it repeatedly with a weighty hammer. Her clothes appeared identical to theirs only in general shape ¨C they were worn and torn, and covered in series upon series of blue and red stains. She continued with her task, ignoring the crowd. They watched attentively. Suddenly, the hammer was thrown to the side. The ringing stopped as soon as the last person left their tent. ¡°In about ten minutes, that field with the obelisk will cave in. Currently, you do not know anything ¨C where you are, who you are and what you were doing before you left.¡± Her voice was loud, clear, precise ¨C and hard. ¡°You have consumed a part of me, thus you have become a creature much like I am. You are faster than any human alive, you are stronger than any human alive and you think with more clarity than any human alive¡­ for you have lost your humanity. As mindless machines, you can and never will feel emotions as before. You cannot taste this fresh summer air, savor it, enjoy it - for you need not breathe. Lost are the pleasures of the flesh, and gained is the pleasure in the flesh ¨C you have no choice but to drink blood, for from this moment on, this pleasure will become your only meaning of existence.¡± She paced across her small stage. ¡°You can run from this place. You can find a nearby town or village and integrate into there for the remainder of your eternal lives. You can also stay, performing labour trivial for someone with such abilities while using the fresh blood to feed. The choice is yours. However,¡± She paused. ¡°In about seven minutes, that field will cave in. What will come out of the remains will be of a different breed to you or me. What will come can smash a skull into paste with no more than a single swipe of their fist, can slice a body into ribbons before the body can even blink and will not stop this crushing and slicing until every single living creature in the vicinity is dead. You run, and they run faster. You fight, and they fight harder.¡± She picked a large blade of the ground; it resembled a longsword, although of a shape quite bizarre. ¡°However, we can still fight. Together, as one group; together, we can defeat any threat simply by the power of sheer numbers. Of course, there will be losses. However, the numbers will be nothing compared to those of the hunt which will come about as a result of a failed defence. You will find every weapon you will need in the large warehouse to my right ¨C anyone who wishes to risk their eternal life to ultimately keep it, you must join me. If you do, bring one black barrel each alongside your weapon. You have five minutes. That is all.¡± She hopped off the podium and walked in the direction of a hill overlooking the field. The crowd parted to make way, then dissipated. Standing on a boulder and feeling the sun on her back, she looked over the now armed crowd. The skewed obelisk was clearly visible from her perch and a sizeable pile of barrels filled to their brim with explosive powder lay to the side. Full attendance, as before; it was impressive yet expected that this was achieved in four minutes. ¡°We will let any creature which exits advance to our position, where we have the advantage. Once we have cleared out anything that comes for us, we come for them. We will use the explosions of these barrels to trigger a landslide, permanently burying the crater which will appear in minutes.¡±Stolen novel; please report. The audience was silent. They were cataloguing and capturing every word she had said in their minds ¨C they were not going to forget any of her words. Their wait was short. A single tremor, running through the ground. It began abruptly, then quickly became quiet. The earth seemed to settle. They stood still. They could feel it in their chests. A feeling, a terrible feeling of something horrifying taking place beneath the earth. More tremors, of a much different sort, began gathering pace. Deep and menacing vibrations made themselves felt. They could see the angle of the entrance to the ruins become more acute, until it simply began sinking into the ground. The grass around it sagged as if a drumskin loosened. The obelisk held its place above the surface for a few seconds longer than it should have, then was abruptly swallowed by the earth. The rumble became deeper, more intense. The loose earth cracked, tore, fell into the forming abyss, swallowed by the maw of the unknown. They could feel the impacts of the pieces striking the bottom, however deep it lay. The ground calmed, leaving behind a field covered in dust. They waited still. The dust was being blown away from the wind, revealing a large crater at least four hundred feet in diameter. A figure clambered out of the pit. Facing the afternoon sun, the creature cast a large shadow on the dust behind it. It resembled a humanoid, although ¡­wrong. It looked around. Then, it saw the crowd. A deep, hollow bellow made itself heard. The creature began to sprint. Even at this distance, they could see its limbs seemingly dislocating with every step; its arms flailed behind it, twisting and snapping in every direction as its legs tumbled at breakneck speed. Somehow, it was making incredible ground. It was already in the shadow of the hill, and they could see its finer details. A rotting human cadaver was its body while its head much closer resembled a goat¡¯s. One of its eyeballs was completely gone, while the other was dangling on a red thread. Its entire body oozed a red fluid. It hit the front lines. Unfortunately, the slope was not enough to slow it significantly. The makeshift army, armed with little more than pickaxes, shovels and axes, was clearly unprepared for the barrelling creature twice the size of their largest. Bodies flew in all directions from the initial momentum of its swinging arms. Some agile enough to dodge them did so, then responded with strikes of their own. Their weapons tore the flesh off in chunks with ease and exposed bone and tendon to air. If the creature was even affected by those injuries, it gave no indication. It continued its onslaught with its constant and consistent vigour, bellowing then simply slapping those who dared stand in its way. A rogue shovel, not the first, hit its femur. One of the bone¡¯s many cracks and dents expanded. It fractured, sending pieces flying. The creature toppled to the earth. Its roar increased in pitch. Seizing this opportunity, two dozen people dropped their weapons and grappled the monster¡¯s decaying arms to hold them in place. Its legs were thudding frantically against the ground at a frightening pace. The survivors gathered around the head. It was swinging around, beating itself in all directions, seemingly panicked. They raised their weapons, then struck. Again. Chunks of flesh and scraps of skull began flying in all directions, clinging to the weapons and then scattering across the grass. Again. The crowd trampled the grey matter oozing out of the head while continuing to pulp the head. Again. The bellow ceased, becoming little more than a soft gurgle. What remained of the head was little more than several fragments of flesh clinging to the neck. ¡°Target its joints! Sever its arms and feet, then elbows and ankles; once you have done that, destroy the torso.¡± The woman¡¯s voice broke the eerie silence in which the battle was now taking place. All which could be heard was the sound of weapons hitting flesh and the occasional thudding of the creature¡¯s legs on the ground ¨C no grunts, shouts, yells. The crowd began doing as they were told. The group who had just reduced the head to slag began targeting the hands, which disappeared into pieces with little effort. The intact fingers crawled away like worms, while the fragments of skin twitched. The elbow joints came next ¨C after a short struggle, the final pieces of sinew came apart to drop the forearms onto the earth. While the shoulders were in the process of being reduced to fragments of bone and flesh, the crowd began the mostly unsuccessful attempts at grappling the still-swinging legs. The muscles of the severed parts, revealed by the gaps in the rotting skin, were still contracting in spasms. The sun¡¯s edge approached the horizon. Most of those who were thrown by the wild swings had already stood up ¨C a little less than half of the total group. Some lay completely motionless, their head or neck having hit an unfortunate rock. Others were making unsuccessful attempts to simply move, for their legs twisted were beyond recognition or simply paralysed. Despite most of the survivors having broken bones or limbs, they continued moving about with a consistent grace. The creature had at this point been crudely disassembled into still-twitching chunks of gore. The crowd stood before the woman, motionless. ¡°Nothing else escaped the initial collapse, so we can now bring this fight to them. Take at least one barrel each ¨C we must carry the full pile to the crater, then detonate it. Keep in mind this must be accomplished before more breach the temporary barrier that is currently there.¡± She had at most two hours before most of the group began recovering their memories. It would have to be enough. Round Midnight: VI - For a Few Dollars More The pickaxe pierced the tentacle. It was enough to break its loose grip on the ledge and force it to slide down, split in two by the metal. The colossal writhing mass attached to it shot up another one, to a different section of the rim. The ex-prisoners rushed between the sparking fuses to strike them off; despite their efforts, the monstrosity was still slowly ascending the steep slope. ¡°Impede it as much as possible! Little of the fuse is left!¡± Her voice rose above the sound of metal striking dirt and flesh. She was lying, of course ¨C the fuses had only recently passed the halfway point. The bundles of barrels hung over the edges of the crater, perfectly cut flammable string running to each one. They had wasted too much time cutting the rope bundles and fuses into perfect lengths, measured and engineered immaculately for maximum perfection. The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains; she estimated a total of twenty minutes before her entire venture would end in death. The tangle of flesh and tentacle towered over every other creature attempting to scale the walls. The flood of intricately carved dwarven stone which held the monsters captive for centuries had parted ¨C at the bottom of this sinkhole, those sealed had finally seen light. They would do their utmost to ensure this is not squandered. ¡°A few more minutes until they will be stopped! You must hold on!¡± The betentacled mass was the closest to scaling the edge, with only a third of the sheer path remaining. The other - more humanoid - creatures were not far behind. The pickaxes and shovels threw arcs of dark red with every swing, sending the grisly droplets plummeting across the earth. A tentacle rose from the depths and crushed a man¡¯s foot; he teetered, then a section of soil slid away beneath him. His body crumpled and broke underneath its own weight as tumbled across the dirt and rocks to the distant depths. ¡°It is time! Abandon the crater!¡± In fact, it was past time. Despite their grace and speed, her soldiers made little distance before everything lurched and shuddered. The surface of the pit was smothered by a cloud of dust in an instant. The grass beneath the group¡¯s feet quaked. Holes tore open in the grass; several men fell through. The ground was deflating before their very feet ¨C they were climbing a slope rapidly gaining steepness. Some slipped, others tripped ¨C the flow of the earth did not discriminate in who it consumed. It flowed as if a thick syrup, covering the crater in a tomb no less than sixty feet of soil. The tentacles had long left the ledges and vanished beneath the surface. The dust settled. Twenty-eight fighters. And less than ten minutes. ¡°This is the battle to earn your freedom - when the last of those who rise are dead, you will be safe to leave!¡± She was lying, of course - they were far from safe, if not because of the demons then because of her. They charged. Hands, legs and other appendages burst through the settled dirt, but her makeshift troops were already rushing through. Her blade spat flesh and blood as it cleaved its whirlwinds of destruction at the vanguard. A humanoid with legs and horns of a goat burst through the earth. Before he could dodge, her sword sent his head and arms flying off in gruesome arcs. The other combatants were not as efficient. More creatures, some resembling humans and others not, wreaked havoc amongst their flanks. With an unparalleled ferocity, the pickaxes and shovels descended upon each one without fail, but always at some loss. The earth trembled. A long, flexible blade shot up from the ground and impaled one of her soldiers through the torso. The body was raised in the air, then flung beyond sight. More pierced the soil, not discriminating between demon or human; gore flew in all directions as the grisly tentacles of pure blade sawed their way through flesh.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The last of the sun disappeared behind the mountains. One minute. She glimpsed an attack aimed at her and dodged... into the path of another one. Its incredible sharpness and speed left her arm hanging by a rogue tendon - she quickly severed the rest of it with her own sword. Another strike, aimed at her legs, went unnoticed by her. As a result, it hit its mark. The woman was flung to the ground in an instant; a flexible blade cut the air where her neck resided moments ago. Twelve seconds. She was covered in blood of different colours. Various body parts - human and non-human - lay scattered across the battlefield. Without warning, a blade pierced her left lung from below. The barbs on the tentacle hooked into her insides and pulled her along with the blade. Nine seconds. From her view above, she could see the full depression in which the battle was taking place. Or, took place - in its blind fury, the creature had forced both sides of the conflict to become little more than visceral ribbons. The soil was saturated with multicoloured juices. The monstrosity held her, suspended, for several seconds. She observed soil separating in a large patch - it had finished digging itself a path to freedom. She could feel the strain of her weight on her organs hooked onto by the barbs. Little was left of her left lung or liver and the bones in the area were shattered; her heart and right lung were beginning to tear in two. One second...
"Amelia Belomdomi... A peculiar name. Sentenced to lose all rights as a human as a result of her crimes, according to these papers. As a result, transported to the Nazgoth Labour Facility to serve her life as little more than an expendable tool at the hands of our Empire." A well-dressed man read to nobody in particular from sheets of paper he held in his hands, lit by the morning sun. Despite the practicality and travel-readiness of his outfit, it was clear from its seams of golden thread he was no ordinary grunt. Another three soldiers, more modestly clothed, were tying several horses to a nearby pole; the beasts resisted the attempts and whinnied in protest. "Although, I have no doubt most of this is forged. Why someone would contact the dwarven espionage teams to then be sent off to a place such as this is a puzzle that needs solving. Dima? What have you found for me?" "T-They''re dead, s-sir. A-all of them." "Who is?" "Every- everyone" The man stroked his chin. "This definitely does complicate things... How do you know everyone is dead?" "L-lord Artemis..." The soldier breathed deeply, closed his eyes, swallowed and continued. "Lord Artemis, I knew the guards myself. It was them, it was definitely them. The prisoners... you need to see them for yourself." The man put his hands on Dima''s shoulder. "Excellent work, soldier. Please, rest - I will continue the investigation myself, for I need you in your best shape for when you''re needed."
"Twenty-seven heads. Put in a straight line, outside where the entrance used to be - someone wanted to do some counting. Six of these have been brutalised past anyone being able to rationally call them heads, but are still definitely heads. No faces matching our ''Amelia'' here either." Nobody heard his words, but nobody needed to. He waved some curious flies away - they had separated from the large cloud circling the grisly spectacle to observe the newly arrived stranger. "The dwarven forger gave a good description of his contacts even before we brought out the hot irons... little reason to disbelieve him. She didn''t escape until after the caretakers'' deaths, that is certain - there were only four confirmed disappearances in that month, none female. Last one happened a week before all this, a certain Joakim - in short, unlikely any of them were her acquaintances. Impossible to trace to the dwarves." He circled around, to the edge of the pit. "Old entrance has vanished, replaced by a pit covered in a layer of topsoil. The bottom has either been used as a battlefield or a burial ground - difficult to tell with the flies." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wetted it with a small bottle from another, then tied it over his face. His feet found the small ledge where the slope began, found their footing, then slid him down to the bottom. The air was thick with flies and - despite the handkerchief - a thick, cloying aroma of death stuck inside his nostrils. "Humans and animals... cut into pieces, perfectly. The weapon was exceedingly sharp and the hand holding it exceedingly skilled. Very strange, although I''ve seen stranger." His boots squelched in the moist dirt; the earth was soaked in a rotting, viscous cocktail of gore, the smell of which most likely had already seeped permanently into his shoes. "I... digress. This... what is...?" He froze at the sight the parting cloud of flies greeted him with. A towering lump of ...tentacles lay still, surrounded by pieces of its own self. Its appendages had mostly deflated with rot and were being stripped by scavengers. It was covered in a congealed purple fluid, most likely once its blood. The man approached. "Creature... not of this world, at least four times as tall as I am. Surface... and insides, it seems... coated by deep gashes, in a row of two to four - claw marks and bite marks. Died from a loss of blood... if this thing can even die from that..." His legs weakened. He sat himself down, paying no heed to the ruin now coating the back of his pants. "What kind of monster... what monster is this? A-and... what kind of... what was the other monster that it could even... do this to it?" He said this to nobody in particular, this time hoping for an answer. The flies kept their secrets. Round Midnight: I [REWRITE] ¡°Forget it, too risky. Trainee, I¡¯m through filling out the paperwork and waiting to see if they show me the door.¡± Two men walked down a cobbled road. The uniforms they wore were fresh and clean - long coats emblazoned with red and green covering a shiny hauberk, the standard attire of guards patrolling the streets of King Henselt¡¯s domain. In stark contrast to their shining sparkle, their boots clanked on the cobblestones - no trace of their leather could be seen underneath the hundreds of layers of brown stains. On one¡¯s chest proudly shone a silver star, polished clean; the letters on it spelt ¡®detective¡¯. ¡°You always say that sir, ¡®too risky¡¯, ¡®too dangerous¡¯, ¡®we¡¯re never going to follow this through¡¯ - just before you bring your bag into their cell and have at them.¡± ¡°True. Although, every time I¡¯m the one who¡¯s right, trainee.¡± ¡°Never stopped you.¡± ¡°It has, I think.¡± ¡°I hear this every time we head out. This complaining. Frankly, sir, I¡¯m tired. Just vent in front of a mirror - don¡¯t use me instead.¡± He fell silent. They glimpsed a nightman cleaning out a ditch filled to the brim with human waste. Hurriedly finding an opening between the carriages and pedestrians, they crossed the road to avoid the mess. ¡°You know where they have it easy, trainee? The Royal Guard.¡± ¡°Do you plan to join them, sir?¡± ¡°No, of course not. Doubt we¡¯ll ever get promoted there anyways, and too much bureaucracy even if I get an offer. What I¡¯m saying is - they don¡¯t have a boss, other than the king. If you¡¯re an investigator there they¡¯ll let you get away with anything. As long as you can show you did it for some ¡®greater good¡¯, that is.¡± ¡°The ¡®greater good¡¯? Serving the king, like?¡± ¡°King or kingdom, doesn¡¯t matter. Thing is, you¡¯re too valuable to replace - it¡¯s easy to put down ¡®he was probably a spy¡¯ and get away with walking into a house and stabbing a man and his kids on a whim.¡± The other man thought for a second, then asked, ¡°Was that a joke, sir?¡± ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Was friends with this guy who went Royal a while back - you¡¯d never believe half the shit coming out of his mouth when we¡¯d get drunk. One time, he finds this lead for this guy who¡¯s supposed to be some local crime boss and a spy to boot. He gets an address - 14 Grey Avenue. The contact is reliable, the neighbourhood checks out, everything¡¯s pointing to this house being the real deal. So, he sets out. He finds the house, kicks down the door, ties up the guy inside with nay but a peep, so to speak, and drags him off to the nearest guard station through the sewers.¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t he just kill him then and there, sir?¡± ¡°Well, no, not really. On record, Royals don¡¯t exist - they have to keep it that way. Every time he claps a crook, he needs to change some numbers and letters here and there to make it look all legit and official. You know how the elves can - what¡¯s that word again¡­ sue? - the kingdom for mistreating the denizens? This is to stop them digging too far.¡± They dodged a shower launched by a wagon wheel rolling over a foul puddle. A few pedestrians nearby weren¡¯t so fortunate. ¡°Moving on, my friend had some pretty thick boots he could use to wade through... well, whatever you wade through down in the sewers, but this guy, he didn¡¯t. Fell over a few times as well - wasn¡¯t given enough time to dress for the ¡®occasion¡¯ after all.¡± ¡°Was this a bad lead?¡± ¡°No, no no no, the lead was very good. Let me finish. Hmm¡­ picture this. You¡¯re an ordinary guard chief, sitting at your desk, enjoying your whiskey - or whatever you like drinking, I don¡¯t judge - when your secret bookcase sewer door just bursts open and out comes a guy with the Royals¡¯ badge and some crap-stained fellow in tow.¡± ¡°¡®Secret bookcase sewer door¡¯? What?¡± ¡°That urban legend about the Masons'' Guild and other conspirators creating a series of underground passageways? You must have heard of it at least once, no doubt. You see, it''s true - although only partly.¡± ¡°No shit, sir?¡± ¡°No, a lot of shit. He ended up buying the chief a new carpet after the guy rolled around the office by accident. Or by design, I''ve never known. Anyways, the chief points him to his file - this crap-stained fellow had a recent run-in with the guards, it turns out - and my friend, he finds the things he needs to ¡®touch up¡¯. He pulls it out of the bookcase, looks at the name, gender, date of birth... and address.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Oh no.¡± ¡°Oh yes. Thirteen Grey Avenue. So there he was, standing in the middle of the chief¡¯s office, file in hand, guy rolling around on the floor spitting out teeth and blood while screaming for help and the chief booting him, again and again, to get him to shut up. He told me he damn near shat himself when he realised what kind of mess he got himself into.¡± ¡°What did he do?¡± ¡°Nothing. Or, almost nothing. They had a very firm talk with the guy about spreading dangerous rumours, cleaned him up and sent him on his way. Just think about it¡­ Can you even imagine how hot our asses would be if we ever got ourselves stuck in such a clusterfuck?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I can, sir.¡± ¡°Exactly! Meanwhile I so much as touch someone in their cell and our chief will, without delay, burst through the door - or the wall, if there is no door - and hand me the classic ten sheets to write up. People want their ¡®rights¡¯ nowadays, you see, ¡®innocent until proven guilty¡¯ and all that. Those god-damned elves with that treaty a few years back¡­ they stick their nose in everything and what do they give us? Wood. Fucking wood. As if we aren¡¯t surrounded by trees already.¡° The trainee was surprised to see a smile on the detective¡¯s face. He shook his head, confused. ¡°How do we get our guy to talk then, sir? I¡¯ve heard forgers rarely leave anything that sticks in plain sight.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been thinking about, but the last thing I want to do is haul him back to the post to have his lawyer - or whatever those pricks are called, the ones elves want crooks to have - bust him out in an hour. God forbid a hair falls off his balding head in our cell and we¡¯re not there to show our papers straight away.¡± The detective sighed. Swinging at an invisible foe, he concluded, ¡°Times get the stick of change but it¡¯s always our arses it¡¯ll be going into!¡± The ensuing quiet was very quickly filled by the sounds of a bustling city street. The endless clanking of hooves, the squealing of wagon wheels, the shouts of merchants and peddlers, the background chitter-chatter - all blending into a single, comforting cacophony. ¡°I¡¯ve read through more than one case file, sir - forgers all get caught, eventually.¡± ¡°Only the ones dumb enough to get caught are put on record, trainee¡­¡± The detective¡¯s face lit up with realisation. ¡°Hold on," he began, "I think I might-¡± In his excitement, he tripped over a beggar. He left the man to grumble as he continued on, quieter now. ¡°His house,¡± he finished. ¡°His house, sir?¡± ¡°Of course! One minute this dwarf is sitting down, guzzling some slop he imported from who knows where and the next he¡¯s being fucked with a red-hot poker. He knows we mean business, he knows we don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s arse and he knows that there¡¯s no help coming. None of that lawyer bullshit, no rookies, no chiefs to drag us away for ¡®being too rough¡¯. Either he talks or he dies - we won¡¯t off him, of course, but that¡¯s what he¡¯ll think.¡± ¡°I do suppose you can cut down on the bureaucracy factor here...¡± ¡°Correct. Remember that raid a few weeks back, the one where that idiot thief broke out of his chair and tried to charge us?¡° ¡°The one whose arm they had to amputate?¡± ¡°Exactly! Remember how we fucked him up real bad?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± The detective frowned for a moment. ¡°That was a rhetorical question. As I was saying, you then got the absolutely brilliant idea to tell him he¡¯s going to be wallowing around in his own blood and piss until we find the stash. It was one hell of a sight to behold when he pointed - amidst his squealing, no less - to that one exact shittin¡¯ floorboard we missed. About three hours of searching, ended by mere bloody circumstance.¡± ¡°And the self-defence slip?¡± ¡°And the goddamned self-defence slip! We thought it was a joke when that fatass chief handed us that tiny-ass paper for the whole affair. If I could cut up shitheads for a fucking self-defence clip every criminal in this city would be walking around with one arm! Either way, my idea, his house... pretty smart, eh?¡± ¡°Pretty smart...¡± They stopped in front of a gate. Behind it was a small house with a small front yard - both were a luxury behind the city walls, even for the outskirts. The trainee walked closer to take a look at the number embossed above the handle. ¡°Forty-nine, sir - the right one. I''m with you on this.¡± The hinges of the gate moaned in protest as it swung open. With the stench of horse dung no longer clogging their noses, they could pick up a faint whiff of pleasant odours from flowers placed grouped carefully on the lawn. Their boots found the large stones marking the path to the house and left mucky footprints on these polished surfaces. In the distance, hooves clattered and horses neighed - this was more of an embassy of the countryside than a house. ¡°We¡¯re going in as per the usual, trainee. You¡¯re to take care of the good act...¡± ¡°I think it would be better to have two bad guards take turns if we''re doing this, sir.¡± ¡°You have a point. Let¡¯s go with that.¡± They paused in front of a masterfully carved wooden door. Both drew swords. ¡°Time to get in character...¡± the detective sighed. ¡°Search and seizure, sir?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what it says on our warrant.¡± The combined force of the men¡¯s boots permanently ruined the engravings on the slab of spruce as it was sent flying into the house. Pieces of the door¡¯s handle bounced off the hardwood floor of the entrance. ¡°This is the city guard!¡±, both shouted in unison, ¡°We have a warrant for search and seizure, as well as for arrest!¡± They saw a dwarf sitting at a desk, most likely writing something before their arrival. His dropped pen began staining the carpet beneath him with black ink. ¡°Throw down any weapons on your person and get your ass on the floor! And if you so much as move a muscle I¡¯ll gouge your fucking eyes out!¡± Round Midnight: II [REWRITE] A man¡¯s arms dropped to his sides as his body became limp. The elbow locked around his throat patiently maintained its grip for minutes, then carefully lowered him to the ground. Hands gripped his boots, tugged; dragged across the rough soil, the warm body collected mud. Despite the numbing cold of the night air, the man¡¯s clothes were thin and light - it was likely he left with little more than a simple trip to the outhouse in mind. Now, the muddy wake of his corpse sat parallel to an identical trail, both leading to the large cottage he recently left. Disappearing into the dark forest of supports, his hands were the last of him to be enveloped in the shadow of the building. It was clear he was never an executioner - his fingers and palms were free of the distinguishing mess of burns and scars. A woman emerged from the darkness. Each layer of the loose-fitting clothing draped over her was soiled with aged dirt and torn with wear - they spoilt the air around her with the sour stench of hard labour. Soft jingling came from the keys in her hand as she inserted one into a lock. A twist, then a click. The cottage¡¯s thick door creaked open. A lantern sat on a large table in its centre, filling the room with a dim light. Almost lost in a sea of bottles coating its surface and leaking onto the floor, a man in full uniform snored resoundingly. His hands clasped an invisible glass - in his dreams, unlike reality, it hadn¡¯t already slipped from his hand. In the corner of the room, a figure of a man shot up from the bed. The almost unnatural speed of his dreadfully gaunt body caused much distress to the groaning bunk bed underneath him. Slowly, his head turned to stare at the doorway. Then, he squealed. The woman responded with a swift dash. Flowing across the air and bouncing off the hardwood floor, she moved to rapidly close the distance. Her body twisted in a full pirouette and her arm swung; a blackjack she scooped up mid-turn connected with the frail man¡¯s skull. A satisfying crunch ensued. His cry became a wheeze. From his bunk, he tumbled onto her - despite the injury, the man¡¯s narcotic-addled brain didn¡¯t deem it necessary to pass him out. She was caught off-balance, fell; the baton clattered to the ground. The man wasted no time in sinking his rotting teeth into her cheek. His arms flailed wildly, although only occasionally finding their mark in her sides. Unflinching, he took countless knee swings from the woman; the dull, heavy impacts were futile against his sore-riddled body. Skin and muscle began to tear. The woman could feel the vice of his mouth take more and more of her face with it. Her eyes stared into his rapidly contracting nostrils as the stench of his decay filled her own; she was helpless, for the crazed man¡¯s head was simply too close to land any sort of clean swing. Woman and cheek parted. The momentum of this bite carried his head up. Staring directly into hers, his eyes screamed victory. He observed her face. He wanted to see terror, pain, anything... He saw nothing - the exposed muscle and teeth of the lower-left quarter now gushing blood glared in stark contrast to the otherwise bored expression. Out of the blue, a wet crack came from his temple. The man¡¯s left eye rolled back into his head as a drop of blood trawled from his nose; his other eye still stared into hers. His arms froze, then dropped to his sides. A trickle of blood dripped onto her forehead from between the man¡¯s matted hair. It traced a line of dots as the body collapsed her side. She pushed off the corpse and stood up. The bottle she had picked up now glistened with gore. Pale red foam pooled from the man¡¯s mouth and nose and the inside of the cottage was rapidly consumed by the sharp stench of human excrement. ¡°Get ¡®er!¡± ¡°Where¡¯s Wick and Reeves?¡± ¡°Fuck me bloody if I know! Go get!¡± The other beds were empty and their two remaining occupants faced her, uncertain. As they inched forward in a pitiful advance, weapons in their hands trembled. The one with a thick accent held an ordinary baton while the other¡­ the other held a strange congealment of club and nails. Meanwhile, the woman nonchalantly wiped her bottle on the still-sleeping guard¡¯s uniform. Another one of many found its way into her hands, then both were smashed; she now held two makeshift knives. ¡°Well?¡± she said, turning to face them. Their stomachs churned as they watched her teeth and tongue move along with the word through the new window to her mouth; the skin usually keeping them from sight lay on the wooden floor next to the fresh corpse, covered in bloody foam. Adrenaline kicking in, they charged. A pirouette, a shuffle; then, she was behind them. Their fury added equal parts strength and predictability to their swings. Buckling to the ground, one of the men screamed. A broken bottle dropped from a gash in the back of his knee as his own weapon clattered to a corner of the cottage. He saw the woman swing for another strike, this time to his face. He turned away, by reflex. By doing so, he revealed the side of his neck. The sharp edge of the bottle sliced through skin and vein, creating an impressive spurt of blood. Red splashed onto her trousers but disappeared amongst the grime. His attempts at a shout bore fruits no greater than that of a gurgle. The spiked baton made small gashes on her leg as she narrowly dodged another swipe. A pirouette, a counterattack; trailing a red arc, the edge of the bottle cut into his eye. His scream of rage became a scream of pain - his whole body recoiled and shuddered in a frenzy. It crashed against a nearby bookcase; reaching out for some form of support, his arms only succeeded in launching stacks of paper flying. He teetered, then fell. The shelf toppled alongside. With one hand on his ruined and bleeding eye and the other on the floor, he began crawling. The new carpet of ledgers and roll calls gained bloody handprints. He sobbed, alternating between curses and cries for help. He did not see her approach or her arm wrap around his head. He did, however, feel her bottle create a jagged cut in his throat; he also felt the excruciating pain of blood flooding his lungs. ¡°What will be the next step of your master plan? Walking a hundred miles through this taiga?¡± The man in full uniform at the table had sat up and was now stroking his chin. His hair and beard were long and dishevelled - it was difficult to estimate his age. Glistening in the lantern¡¯s light, the fresh gore wiped earlier on his back detracted little from his otherwise filthy attire. Despite the appearance, his speech was controlled and without a hint of an accent. ¡°I can understand your motivations behind killing the officers, but you do need to think of the consequences.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He remained seated, watching her intently. She had reached down to pick up the spiked baton, now that its owner finished squirming. ¡°Who are you? But, more to the matter - why have you not attacked?¡± she replied, still standing. ¡°I watched you brutalise three soldiers at once and I am still watching you ignore your face or lack thereof. If possible, I would like us to simply part ways. Although, I¡¯m unsure about the logistics of such an arrangement¡­ our only lifeline in this place is the prisoner and food caravan. Unless, as I suggested, you would prefer walking.¡± She pulled up a chair, then slowly set herself down across from him. ¡°Interesting,¡± she said. ¡°Yes, but not quite as interesting as a woman doing hard labor for twelve hours after eating a quarter of a meal every day suddenly gaining enough strength to sneak past a platoon of guards and then murder four officers,¡± he replied. ¡°I hate to disappoint, but Flay¡­ Wick will not be coming back from his trip to ambush me.¡± ¡°Five officers, in that case. My point still stands - what next?¡± ¡°What next? You tell me what you are, of course,¡± she said, her eyes hardening. ¡°I don¡¯t seem to understand-¡± ¡°You are a cursed creature. What are you?¡± ¡°How did you-¡± ¡°I tried kicking you and failed. This is the last time I will ask nicely. What are you?¡± His beard muffled a soft chuckle. ¡°And here I was wondering why you chose to sit down. You¡¯re well versed in the curses, I see - at the very least, you¡¯re aware cursed creatures have safeties to prevent infighting.¡± ¡°My patience has a short fuse.¡± ¡°Very well. I am an ordinary lycanthrope, nothing more.¡± The woman did not relax. ¡°If you are a vampire,¡± she said, ¡°this will be your last night.¡± The man leaned forward in his chair, elbows now on the table. ¡°Pray tell the reason for this reasoning.¡± She mirrored his stance. They glared into each others¡¯ eyes, unflinching. Droplets of blood gathered around the edge of her exposed flesh, crisscrossing a row of red lines across her neck. Without looking away from his eyes, she began, ¡°It is quite simple - vampires are little more than a parasite to this world. Dwarves, elves, humans - they all possess a drive. A drive to gain power or wealth, a drive to create a timeless masterpiece or even just a drive to protect their homeland; they pursue it at all costs, or live with it as a quiet narrator - either way, it is always with them.¡± She leaned back in her chair, then continued, ¡°These ¡®drives¡¯ are what forged, forge and will continue to forge this world - every dream, coming together to form relationships, build cities and create complex societal structures. Of course, not all are perfect - or even good for that matter - but the alternative¡­ the alternative is nothing short of destructive.¡± Standing up, the woman began to pace. ¡°You see, vampires have none of this ¡®drive¡¯. Or, no proper drive to speak of - every fibre of their existence is used to either find blood to drink or to ensure they will have blood to drink in the future. They possess no emotion, no sympathy, no empathy, no pain - all that is left is pure rationality. Replicating human phrases to blend in, restructuring kingdoms and laws, waging lengthy, bloody conflicts - they can and will do everything possible to secure and maintain their supply. They will destroy millions of lives to obtain but a more concrete guarantee of their status - as a result, in their solid neutrality, vampires possess the potential for limitless ruin.¡± ¡°Why do you tell me this?¡± he interrupted. ¡°Your superiors... will they not be upset that someone slaughtered every single one of your comrades and escaped?¡± ¡°They will believe my story if I blame the whiskey.¡± ¡°Of course, they will have no choice but to believe your tale.¡± Her pacing halted abruptly near the table, opposite to the man. ¡°However, immediately after believing, they will execute you.¡± ¡°That is the worst case, yes. However, I doubt it will ever result in such drastic consequences,¡± he replied. ¡°What is the reason for you risking everything to avoid fighting me, in that case? I have no doubt that a few injuries would be an acceptable price to pay to avoid a court-martial.¡± He was silent. She pressed further. ¡°Vampires often go out of their way to avoid long-term injuries, unlike humans. Tell me, is this not an excellent indicator of your lie?¡± ¡°Of course not. Everyone prefers to avoid being crippled if they can.¡± ¡°The problem is, you would not be crippled. The full moon is tomorrow - if you were truly a lycanthrope, you would pay little heed to any long-term or even short-term injuries.¡± Silence filled the air - he had no retort. After a short pause, he whispered, ¡°So, the rumours of skinwalkers regenerating during their transformations¡­ weren¡¯t rumours?¡± The woman¡¯s spiked club swung toward his face, but he was prepared. Ducking, he smashed his nose against the table; the attack passed by him. He threw himself back against his chair and kicked the table, soaring then landing on his feet in a graceful backflip. A flying bottle hit his forehead, knocking him slightly off balance. By the time he recovered, the woman was already throwing out her next attack. He sidestepped, then pulled a small dagger from a pocket in his boot. With unnatural speed, he turned to swipe at her next attack with his knife. The force of the deflection forced both to stagger back. The spiked baton had obtained a new, large gash. Their weapons began their respective flurries - dagger and club sliced the air apart, striking either nothing or each other. The movements of this battle transcended human sight as it travelled around the inside of the cottage; papers, chairs and shelves flew. Absorbing the heavy punishment, her monstrosity constantly scattered pieces of wood and metal. He saw her overextend and stabbed. With her baton still in its momentum, she had no choice - her hand shot up to intercept the attack. The dagger skewered her palm. The woman¡¯s blood trickled down its short blade, pooling at its hilt. Small pieces of torn sinew poked out of the exit wound. ¡°It was foolish to seek a fight with a vampire, woman. Your humanity and inexperience will be your downfall - it seems as if you were unaware there exist methods to bypass this forced non-aggression pact.¡± His gaze moved from her destroyed hand to her face, while his chest swelled with realisation. It was serene, as if she slept with her eyes open; judging from her expression, she clearly didn¡¯t lament the loss of a quarter of her face or particularly mind the knife currently inside her palm. ¡°This¡­ is impossible. Why would you¡­?¡± The man¡¯s question was interrupted when he saw her baton winding up for another swing. The near-instantaneous movement of the arm was, unfortunately, still enough for his eyes to capture and analyse. The contractions of her various muscles under the layers of clothing revealed the next attack would be a vertical downwards strike to his head; he knew from previous exchanges that a simple backstep would be more than enough to guarantee his safety. That was when he noticed her stabbed hand had wrapped around his own in an iron grip. His balance was lost as she pulled him with incredible strength. In his eyes, time slowed to almost a standstill. They looked up at her arm. A brute swing, filled to the brim with strength - no style and no grace. The air escaped from under the baton¡¯s path, whistling. It was closer now, this wind. It caressed his scalp, ruffled his hair. For the fraction of a second, he felt the cold steel of its nails touch his skin. Then, time resumed. It struck. The force of it was enough to fragment his skull - he could sense each chunk move on its own, barely held together by his skin. He felt the steel enter his brain through the fresh cracks. Wounds rapidly flooding with blood, he was losing control over his own body - on this world, he had little left to live. His leg collapsed under him before one of his eyes stopped seeing. Helpless, lying on the ground, he watched her lift his dagger and approach the still-twitching bodies of the other men. The blood from their throats soon stained the floorboards, released by its blade. This was no fitting conclusion to the epic that was his life as a murderer by necessity. Aeons of this world¡¯s history, the births and deaths of entire civilizations, kings and queens growing from toddlers into senile, paranoid schemers - all memories he kept shelved, archived for centuries, all untold and unheard¡­ Her footsteps were becoming distanced, muffled. Vision gone, his eyes stared with an empty glaze at the cottage ceiling. Clear fluid, mixed with blood and chunks of grey and white, seeped from his decimated head. The woman¡¯s knife moved to the throat, but a single word already escaped his lips - too quiet to be heard by human ears. Then, a single, clean swipe... The vampire didn¡¯t feel it, couldn¡¯t. She wiped the knife on his crusty jacket, then wrapped it in a makeshift sheath of cloth. As she walked to the door, her quiet footsteps did little to break the now deafening silence. The echo of the handle¡¯s squeaks heralded the night, with its soft whisper of wind and refreshing air. She stood in the open doorway, cold drowning the room. As it extinguished the lantern, she thought back to what left the vampire uttered just before his death, the one word - above all others - he chose to leave this world with. Hypocrite. Round Midnight: III [REWRITE] The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.