Several hours after meeting with the Bloody Prince, Ivy stood stiff as a board in a very familiar alley, staring at a very familiar house. Almost four years ago she had been at this exact same spot, scouting the exact same house. Deep into the dock district, it stood out as one of the few homes not in some state of disrepair; its stone facade a marker of wealth not prevalent to most inhabitants. Back then, she had tried to take some of that wealth for herself, but tonight she had something much different in mind.

She had almost not believed the prince when he had claimed he had found the men she was looking for so easily. Her description could hardly be relied upon, yet after she had brought his documents to Rose, all doubt had faded. Once Rose had read the details of the prince's investigation to her, Ivy had been halfway out the door. There was no need to study the map provided, she knew precisely where to go. All this time they had never moved.

As she continued to study the place where her old life had ended, a chill night air clung to her skin in a way that foretold violence. Tendrils of icy wind slithered along her body, freezing her down to the bone. It had been the same four years ago. The silence was no different either, the skittering footsteps of a lone rat the only sound to reach her ears. But she was no scared street thief anymore. A smile crept up her face.

The lock on the door she had once picked stared back at her, but Ivy had no need for such things anymore. She counted three heartbeats before falling into the witch world. For maybe the first time ever, she settled into the chaos swarming around her with a clear head. None of the usual dizziness or disorientation came with the transition, and several paths already became clear to her. Her power felt like it was helping too much. Making things too simple. Why now?

She glanced over her shoulder, and the demon's spike-toothed grin met her gaze. It seemed wider tonight, its black hole eye sockets bigger, glowing an impossible shade of darkness that both lit up and shadowed the otherwise grey witch world.

"You want me to do this, don't you?" she asked the nearly faceless thing. It just watched, and Ivy turned, unable and unwilling to face it any longer. Not tonight. Nothing would stop her.

There was only one way forward. She didn't even question it. Didn't go searching for an object she recognized. Her world responded to her will, and Ivy stepped forward. The quivering ground ascended to meet her feet, but it did not impede her movement. She had...expected it. Knew it was coming. She trod along a winding jumble of raised platforms that coalesced out of the clouded, dead air; each step a milestone to her purpose.

When she stopped, she did so for no reason other than her feet had halted on their own. She found a perimeter of wooden walls surrounding her, and realized that she had let go of her power as well. It had served its purpose. She was where she was supposed to be.

Rhythmic breathing filled the otherwise silent room. Directly in front of her sat a four poster bed complete with a feather mattress. Snuggled tightly within the covers rested a face Ivy could not forget. He was the oldest and most well dressed of the three thugs who had killed her friends on the day she had awakened. His smug little smirk as he had killed Thom had been ingrained into her head.

Ivy pulled her dagger from its sheath at her hip and held it aloft. It's dark blade drank in the moonlight streaming from the room's sole window. No light could escape the black void honed into the metal. The night itself began to swallow the moon whole. Something in the back of her head told her she should question such a phenomenon, should run and hide from such an overwhelming darkness. Yet she did not. Could not. Not tonight.

Her power returned unbidden, and her eyes flicked to the ever vigilant demon. A forked tongue lashed out, licking its fanged mouth. In the center of each eye pit, an infinitesimal speck of deep crimson marred the otherwise colorless witch world. She felt its desires. Its needs. It wanted...her. It said nothing, but its still growing smile told her to kill the sleeping man below her. Kill the man who had brought her anguish. It urged her on with an immaterial force, but Ivy shut it all out.

"I don't need your guidance to kill this bastard," she whispered, and forced the witch world away.

For a second time, the face of the leader of the thugs affronted her sight. He didn't deserve to sleep so peacefully. He didn't deserve this house. This bed. None of it! She climbed atop the comforter, hoping her small body would be helpful for once, giving way to little disturbance. The man lay sprawled in the middle of the king size bed, and Ivy wormed her way forward until she was right up against him. Swinging one leg high over, she straddled his torso on her knees, sitting high to avoid touching him. He snorted and Ivy froze, but after a small shift of his legs behind her, he steadied. Still, he slept.

She wrapped both hands around the hilt of her dagger, right palm against the butt end and eyed her target: a living, breathing person. A sickness bubbled in her stomach while looking down at him. She gritted her teeth and hesitated. Her arms shook and for a moment, drooped.

No! He was responsible for this retribution. Not her. He made his bed, and would lie in it. Forever. The sickness she felt would end with him. She need only cut it out. Her nausea heated into a raging fury that surged through her. Thom's carefree smile flashed before her mind's eye, and she plunged her blade down with all of her meager might. It pierced his chest center left of mass, and she hammered it further in, slamming down both hands onto the grip.

The man's eyes shot open, and he blew out a sharp breath, his arms jerking upward. He bucked, bouncing Ivy back a bit, but the strength of his struggling had not even thrown her from him. With a lunge forward, she ripped the weapon from his chest, a gout of blood coming with it. She went for another stab, but he rolled out from under her, making his way off the side of the bed, a dark red stain left in his wake.

Ivy pounced like feral cat after him, but when she hit the ground beside him, she found an unmoving body. Blood pooled out from under him, muddying the fine, patterned rug beneath the bed. She kept her guard up for a moment, but quickly realized he would never rise again. No one could lose that much blood and still live. It was over.

It had been so...easy. The man who had frequented her nightmares was gone. Killed by her own hand. She and Atrican at large would no longer have to suffer the indignity of his stain upon the world.

The best part of it all? Her conscience was clear. The first time she had killed a man, she had been terrified and at a loss for words. Now? Now nothing could keep the grin off of her face. The kill was cathartic. Satisfying. Right.

She got to her feet and took in a deep breath, inhaling the fresh smell of wet blood. It...was not pleasant. The scent knocked her out of the adrenaline fueled trance she had been in. She replayed the last few minutes in her head and almost sank under the weight of what had happened. Her dagger gripped tight in her right hand, she raised it up to her face and gawked. There was not a drop of blood on it.

"Everything okay up there Farson?" A deep voice called up from the first floor of the building.

Ivy should have left the second she heard the voice, but couldn't. She knew that voice as well as she knew the face of the man she had just killed. It belonged to the second, and last man left who had murdered her friends. It didn't matter if he was awake and alert. He was hers, now. All of her previous anxiety and worries evaporated in the face of a new, just kill.

"I heard somethin'," the big thug said again, "you don't respond, I'm comin' up, so don't let me catch ya with your drawers down with some filthy bitch, ya hear?"

Of course, Ivy did not respond. She stood up straight, as tall as she could, and waited. Cold hatred engulfed her. After murdering Big Jack, this one had pretended that he would help her. She had pleaded with him to no avail. His useless sympathy had been worse than the others' unabashed cruelty. He would get the benefit of knowing who killed him.

Past the open door to the gang leader's room, Ivy could just make out a shadowed stairwell. A long, drawn out grown wafted up from below. The man's footfalls came like mini earthquakes as he stomped up to meet her, and his enormous silhouette in the dark chipped away at her confidence with each step. Still, she held her ground, leaning back against the foot of the bed, tapping her foot.

"About time," she said.

The huge man—nearly time and a half as tall as she—squinted into the dim light of the room.

"Who—" he stumbled back, "no. Is that..."

One. Two heartbeats and Ivy let the witch world take her. A single step forward was all it took. She needn't concern herself with anything else. It was as clear as day. No movement in the witch world had ever been as obvious. As perfect.

When she let go of her power, the man's back was exposed, inches from her blade. Five lightning fast jabs to his back and sides sent him reeling forward. The dagger had entered and left his body as easily as cutting warm butter. She wheeled around to his front and with a cry of fury, stabbed three more times at his gut. All of her blows connected, but as she tried to retreat, his meaty fist backhanded her. The force was so great, it sent her tumbling to the floor, her weapon lost.

The nearby wall stopped the momentum of her roll, her shoulder slamming into the hard wood. Her cheek and arm throbbed, but Ivy was accustomed to pain. She ignored it for now, and sprung back up, searching for her dagger. Her panic had been unnecessary. One quick glance to the man told her everything she needed. He was on his knees clutching his stomach, blood pouring through clenched fingers. Her attacks had been much deadlier than she had realized. How the hell had he still managed to fight after all that?

"Is that," blood dripped from his trembling lips, "is that really you, girly?"

His words brought her right back to that fateful night of her awakening. Hot tears trickled down her face and she cried out in primal rage. All of her emotions spilled out of her at once. Everything that she had been keeping in burst out. Most of it she hadn't even realized she had been holding onto. For so long she had only been surviving, meeting the next challenge. She had settled with Rose, but had never confronted her past until now.

"Did you think you would get away with it?" Ivy shrieked, "or did you think because you were the least terrible that I'd let you off?"

He laughed, more blood falling from his stained mouth.

"No. No, girly. Not at all. Everyday that the church did not announce your capture, made me more sure this day would come."

"Good! I'm glad you've lived in fear all this time. It almost makes up for what you did."

He laughed again.

"You make quite the witch, don't ya, girly?"

"Shut up! You're the despicable one, not me."

"Maybe we both are huh?" He coughed up red spittle, then shrugged. "At least I get to say I got in a hit on a witch."

"You won't be saying anything."

"True enough."

He winced, dropped his hand, and fell to his side, eyes closing.

"Nothing makes me happier than seeing you die in agony," Ivy said.

For a moment there was silence, and then he spoke again, his voice quieter than before, "Are you going to keep trying to ride your high horse after a comment like that?"

Ivy strode over to his fallen form, retrieved her dagger from the floor, and spat on him.

"Just wait," he said, "I suspect you'll suffer the same fate soon."

She smiled, remembering something he had said four years prior. She could use it to hurt him one last time.

"Don't worry, I'll send your sister to you soon."

She stepped over him, tuning out his gargled pleas for mercy. She didn't have time to listen to the begging of the dead. She still had the Bloody Prince's job left to do.