Wurhi cursed beneath her breath.

A trio of swords rattled in her grip as she raced through the hall. The two bronze leaf-blades were the Vestulai’s, while the long ivory hilted sword, belonged to Kyembe.

Her own sword was shoved through a belt at her waist.

The lock had posed no problem; it opened with a single twist of her knife. On any other night, she would have enjoyed foiling one of the trove guardians’ prized contraptions. On this night, even the short time it took to open, was unbearable.

Throughout the building the din of violence grew, but seemed to have changed for the better. Blade spat against blade now. At last, some of Paradise’s other occupants had joined in mounting a resistance.

Now, if only her comrades had survived.

“Calm down, Wurhi,” she told herself. “Kyembe and Cristabel…they’ll be fine. They’re both mad. And basically unkillable. The two mad Vestulai won’t drop dead so easy either.”

Yes. It would be so. She’d hand everyone their weapons - except for the saint’s; the small Zabyallan didn’t even consider trying to lift that giant blade - and then they’d chop these monsters into dog meat.

Afterward…

The thief cringed. There was no way that she could tell the Sengezian about the jewel now. He would abandon her in a heartbeat. Her teeth ground. She would abandon her in a heartbeat if she could. But who could have predicted that stealing it would have brought the abominable hounds of hell down on her?

“Damn all the gods!” she cursed.

At first light, she would march back to that spoiled brat’s estate and toss the jewel right over his wall.

Light flashed at the end of the hall.

Hellfire. A good sign. How strange had her life become when seeing hellfire had become a boon?

“Let go of my leg!” she heard Ippolyte’s voice. “Die! Damn you!”

Crack!

She reached the Vestulai just as they stove in the head of the last masked man in the hall. Wurhi glanced to the floor. Bodies littered the passage.

“Here!” she pushed their blades toward them.

“At last!” Thesiliea cried, dropping the poker and taking up her sword.

“You took long enough!” Ippolyte snatched her blade.

“I almost died!” Wurhi snapped.

“As did we!” the Vestulai fired back.

The Zabyallan drew her sword. “Forget it! Let’s just get down there and-”

Vrooosh!

Hellfire roared close to the stairs. Close enough to sting her eyes and send all three women reeling back.

“We must stop them!” she heard Kyembe cry.

Stop what?

She quickly had her answer. Another pair of devils crested the stairs and were upon them.

The first lunged at Wurhi: bounding over the heads of the Vestulai. The second - the monstrous hulk of black fur - mounted a savage assault on the two warrior women. Yelping, Wurhi raised both swords - Kyembe’s and her own - toward the beast attacking her.

Crash!

The monster barrelled into her on all fours, its jaws nearly snapping off her nose.

She screamed.

Schnk.

The beast’s weight impaled the blades through its chest as it bore her to the ground. It stiffened, but Wurhi knew well such injuries would not hold it back for long.

Yet, its attack ceased. It stared down at her, seemingly transfixed.

Squelch.

A strange liquid sound came from its flesh. She looked up at its wounds and gasped. Kyembe’s sword had driven deep - no doubt due to the beast’s great bulk and the blade’s magic - but she could see its flesh closing around the wound.

Her own blade was dealing an altogether different effect.

The flesh surrounding her silver sword was writhing…and shrinking. Fur retreated and sinew withered. The area around her blade softened. What formed - spanning about the size of a fist - was human flesh. No fur, nor beast’s skin, nor sinewy mass.

Blood spurted freely. The wound showed no sign of closing. With a groan nearly human, the light left the beast’s eyes. It slumped down on its side; its full weight fell across her legs.

“What…what in all hells!?” she cried.

The creature’s form shifted. Bone broke and knitted together. The scent of canine fled, leaving only the scent of man and death. In heartbeats, a man’s bleeding corpse lay over her.

The transformation had frozen her blood to ice. It was familiar. Too familiar. “They’re…they’re like me,” the rat-shapeshifter whispered.

Rip!

A scream broke her from her reverie.

“Ippolyte!” Thesiliea cried.

Ippolyte stumbled back, her hands pressed to her belly. Wurhi’s head shot up. Claws had torn the mercenary’s flesh to tatters. Crimson poured through her fingers like a waterfall.

Thesiliea roared in anguish and charged the beast, her sword poised. The blade stabbed just beneath the armpit, but the creature gave it no heed. Ippolyte’s blade still protruded from the monster’s neck, having the same effect as a fly on an elephant’s back.

The beast pulled away, ripping the sword from Thesiliea’s grip. Its claws flashed forward.

Sqnch!

They rent her body. The force of the blow threw the warrior into a wall. Red streamed down the stone.

Panicking, Wurhi slid her sword from the dead man and tried to kick him off, but - as quick as she was - the ravaging beast pounced upon her and pressed her down with a great hairy hand. Its other hand slammed her sword-arm into the stones.

Its jaws parted.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” she cried.

Her free hand reached for the only thing she thought might save her. She dragged the Eye of Radiin from her clothes. “Here! This is what you came for, yes? Take it! Take it!”

The wolf paused, looking directly at The Eye.

“Yes! That’s it! That’s what you want! I’ll give it back! I’ll-”

It snorted. With a single claw, it hurled the corpse off of her, flipped her over and caught the back of her tunic in its teeth.

“What!? What’re you doing-”

The beast lurched forth on all fours.

“No!” she shrieked, fighting to escape. “No!”

It crashed through the closest door. The occupants - hiding from the violence - screamed as it passed, but the wolf did not slow. Before Wurhi could react, it dove through the open shutters.

Whoosh!

Cold air and moonlight struck her.

The wind roared past her ears as they fell. In her fright-stricken mind, one thought stood clear: at all costs she must keep grip on both the jewel and her sword.

“Wurhi!” she heard Kyembe’s voice shout from the pleasure-temple.

They monster landed upright. Her sword slashed backward. The impact of her blade shook her arm. A poor blow, but enough to surprise the beast. Its jaws parted in a yelp and, freed, she rolled through the snow and to her feet.

Her breath came hard, misting in the cold. Blood and desperation surged through her body. Each heartbeat slammed in her chest. She’d never outpace this thing. All that could be done was hold it at bay until Kyembe could arrive. It was a feat beyond her.

At least while she was like this.

While it stared at the wound bleeding on its shoulder, she snarled at it.

“I’ll have your throat!” she howled, tensing as animal desperation took her. Anguish tore through her body. Her bones shattered and reformed. Fur sprouted; her jaw lengthened.

By the time its eyes returned to her, a monstrous rat-thing stood where the tiny thief had been. Still, one thought burned in her mind - she must keep her grip on her items. So strong did it remain, that even the bestial instincts raging through her could not shake it.

She leapt at the beast, flailing her sword and gnashing her jaws. It flinched in surprise, yet easily stepped out of reach of her blade. All her lessons from Kyembe had evaporated in her bestial state.

Meanwhile, the wolf-devil had long married its instinct and intellect.

It feinted a lunge to the side. When she turned, it surged forward to smash its fist into her snout. The blow jarred her and left the world spinning. Wurhi stumbled in the snow.

The beast let loose a long howl that brimmed with purpose. Catching the thief by her ripped tunic, it loped for the wall surrounding Paradise.

“Stop, dog! Stop, damn you!” Through a haze she heard Kyembe’s cry.

The world blurred around her. The jarring blow, the fright filled night, and her rodent’s panic-frenzied instincts were too great a burden to bear. Though her grip remained tight on the jewel and weapon, her vision dimmed.

The world began to fade.

“That’s Berard’s signal! It’s time to leave!” Adelmar cried, rushing from the building.

“But what about the others?” Haldrych managed to force his mouth to say. In truth, the violence he had heard from within had broken his nerve some time ago. He lifted his robe as he ran.

“We’ll regroup later! We must go, now!” Adelmar cried again.

There was no need to tell Haldrych a third time.

Kyembe let out a shout of dismay when he crested the stairs.

Ippolyte and Thesiliea lay in spreading pools of their precious blood while the largest devil burst through a door ahead, disappearing from the hall. Wurhi struggled in its jaws. He heard another crash from the room beyond.

“Wurhi!” he cried, sprinting after them. He spied his sword gleaming on the stone near a dead man. He snatched it up.

“Amitiyah’s Tears!” St. Cristabel immediately went to the Vestulai. She knelt over them. “They yet live! My god’s mercy may still heal their wounds!” She raised her hands to spread the tears of Amitiyah. “I must see to them! Go! Get the villain and rescue Wurhi!”

“That dog is mine!” Kyembe pronounced.

He pursued the black-coated beast with long strides. The occupants of the chamber screamed once more as he rushed by, and a long howl issued from outside. He peered through the window.

The devil snatched Wurhi in its jaws and raced through the snow.

“Stop, dog! Stop, damn you!” He leapt onto the windowsill and plummeted to the snow below.

Whoosh! Thmp!

Landing in a half crouch on the balls of his feet, he bounced up and sprinted after them. His teeth grit. The snow sucked his every step, robbing him of swiftness and balance.

The black-coated monster shrank in the distance.

“Stop!” he roared, but knew it was futile.

Ahead, the beast reached the wall of Paradise’s grounds and vaulted to its top in a single bound. It gave him a quick glance, its eyes flashing.

Then, disappeared over the wall.

“No!” he cried. “No! No! Wurhi!”

He redoubled his speed, calling on every reserve he had ever used in the wilderness. A jump carried him halfway up the wall and he scaled the rest, leaping into the street below. He peered about. The beast was nowhere in sight.

Cursing, his eyes fell to the snow.

There! Tracks that were a cross of wolf’s and man’s.

He tore after them. “There is no escape for you, beast!” he roared. “Drop her and I will consider letting you die quickly!”

His roar echoed through a night that was slowly turning to dawn. None answered. Growling, he continued to follow the tracks. Prints of hoof, boot, and wrapped feet covered the road, but the monster’s tread was unique: impossible to miss.

Schnch. Schnch.

His bare feet stung in the snow, but he bore the pain. It would only be a matter of time until he found them. The wind whispered through the sleeping city.

An odd change came over the tracks. “What?” he cried.

They shrank. The mark of the claw disappeared. They sank shallow in the snow.

“No…no…no…”

Now he followed the prints of bare human feet. Shortly after, the bare footprints vanished, replaced by cloth covered ones, like others on the road. Anger burned in Kyembe’s breast, but anger could not make his quarry easier to follow. As the trail weaved through the roads more traveled, they became harder to discern.

He came abruptly to a massive crossroad.

He stopped. “No. No!”

The tracks blended with countless others that had churned the snow throughout the day.

All looked similar. The tall Sengezian turned in place, peering desperately down each road.

Any of them could have been the one his quarry had taken.

Shaking with anger, The Spirit-Killer gripped the hilt of his sword. “Damn you!”

He charged down the eastern road, trusting his path to luck.

Yet, such good fortune did not walk with him this dawn. As if mocking him, fresh snowflakes began swirling from the sky, gently hiding what he sought. His wanderings took him deeper and deeper into the maze of Laexondael. Yet, no matter how hard he searched, he could find no sign of wolf or rat.

Wurhi of Zabyalla was gone.