I despise this city already. How is it that a place like this can be so upbeat and jovial with a war on the horizon?

Maybe it's just that humans are stupid like that.

This place, Hal-Castemour, is apparently a 'thriving' coastal trade city. But to me it just reeks of fish and drunkard sailors, and its white towers have nothing on the finest architecture of our people. Personally, I feel that if this is the height of human culture, they all deserve the hell we are bringing to them.

Cultivator says that humans are most dangerous because of their weakness. If he means that this draws them to be cunning and desperate in a pinch, and capable of boundless cruelty in pursuit of their own greed, then I guess he is correct.

Still, I must set aside my hate, focus it for the job at hand. Our great leader has given me a job worthy of my skills at last, and I shall not deign to see him disappointed in me.

It will be here. The best way to kill an animal is to set a trap, or slay it before it becomes aware of its own doom. Pre-emptive destruction saves needless struggle in the long run. And this is the specialty of Barbatos Si'vesj, myself.

"Hey little lady. Are you lost? Wanna come have fun with us?"

A group of five thuggish men slinks in, two in front and three behind me in this filthy wharf alleyway. The ones in front have warts for days and rippling muscles. And they stink.

At last. I've been wandering shady alleyways for an hour in the growing darkness already just to find this kind of group of idiots.

"Why go anywhere? Here seems a perfect place for a bit of... fun." I grin.

The men are momentarily taken aback. I'm disguised like some noble human girl, so it's not a surprise, but the fact that they cannot sense the difference in strength between us and are underestimating me is strangely unsatisfying, even if it was exactly what I was aiming for.

"Feisty one, ain't she, lads?"

They all laugh. It sounds disgusting.

The head thug licks his lips and runs his tongue over a long knife. Fool. Who gives an opportunity like that to a potential opponent?

I flash step forwards in an instant, help him insert the knife into his own gaping mouth, and pray to its long maligned spirit of metal. With the spirits untapped rage at being forged and used against its will, the metal of the knife melts and rapidly re-forges, slicing out in all directions in a barrage of thin spikes. The foul idiot explodes at the neck.

I grasp the knife hilt, and the spikes shoot back towards it in glee, turning into a barbed whip of superhot liquid metal. I spin around to lash it at the still stunned group that was behind me. Part of the masonry is sent flying as one the thugs loses an arm, another the top of their head, and the third is simply bisected at the waist, intestines spilling down his legs.

I then call the metal back to me once more, making a spiked gauntlet, and slam it into the abdomen of the remaining man before he can even get his own sword fully out of its scabbard. I kick him off the spikes, and he goes sailing ten feet down the alley and crumples silently in a cloud of dust.

A delayed rain of blood cascades around me, softly pitter-pattering like a refreshing summer shower.

I pat the gauntlet affectionately, staining it with blood, and it purrs in satisfaction at delivering justice to its oppressors. I melt it down once more and take the spirit inside of me.

Hmm… maybe I was a ~little~ too hasty in releasing all of my pent up frustration. It seems I rendered two of the subjects unusable in my enthusiasm. But… perhaps it doesn’t matter. Yes.

I stroll casually back to the armless man, whom is squealing like a stuck pig and rolling around in his own blood. He starts to scream and back away on his rear as I approach, but backs into a wall, eyes full of terror as he wets himself.

I lick my lips. Yes, yes. This one will do. He's not horribly unattractive like the others.

He's so weak though. He passes out long before I can carefully pry off his face with my searing metal cutter.