“Stay away from the door until I say so...” He whispered over his shoulder. Behind him, his beloved wife held their children to her chest in a cold embrace. As with the city itself, her body had shriveled and slowed- leaving her and her family cold and fatigued. They had never been well-off, having lived off of His salary alone, where he slaved away at the granaries and as such, they had been amongst the first to starve. But they had weathered the storm and lived thus far in their wooden house squeezed in between the many similar, two-story buildings on their street... a street now mostly abandoned. The lifting mist hung low over their district- dispersed from the cold, filthy river beyond the last row of rotten, disheveled houses.

They and they- alone now remained in this silent corner of Pilta. The others had been slower to board up their houses- leaving them easy targets for the looters, the bandits and-… the cannibals. She forced her eyes shut as her man opened their door to scout out the narrow crack. By long, they would be there- they always were at this time. Sometimes, they would be the kindly sort, but mostly, they were just like any of Titus’ men.

Peering through the crack of the door, he looked up and down the tightly packed row of thrashed houses opposite to their own- out over the road of rubble and discarded plank. In the distance, he could hear their clattering armor and their chuckles as they took heavy steps towards them. When they finally approached, he leapt from the building in what had become his oversized clothing and nearly dropped his pants in the process.

Once outside, he fell to his knees there- in the dusty, misty morning. He kneeled in front of the two Inquisitors and folded his hands before his face as his family crept closer to the door- careful to reveal themselves in the narrow aperture. She pushed her children out in front to make certain the two, visored guardsmen saw them first, before looking down at the pleading wretch on his knees.

He still had his uniform on- it was the only set of clothing that even remotely fit him and he had learned that the white overalls would oftentimes net him some more pity from the guardsmen. The two shot one-another a glance between the rails of their visors before cocking their heads to look at the disheveled building’s inhabitants. A girl and a boy- no older than ten, peered their bagged eyes at them from the darkness- unbeknownst to them... the darkness outside was far more profound than what shrouded their existence from rest of the cannibalistic populace.

One of the guardsmen reached down and grabbed the man by his dirty blond hair to have him face him. His brown eyes had seen much cruelty over the last weeks- far more than either of the guardsmen had... they were all too well aware that cruelty was, as Titus had said, a relative concept.

“P-please... my children are starving... anything you can spare- molded bread, a glass of water...” The guardsman moved his hand to stroke the pathetic dredge’s cheek and chin and chuckled.

“Look at ‘im. Begging on his knees- hoping for a handout... look at your children, man. They’re famished-lookin'. If you’d have joined the Guard, you could’ve fed ‘em all.” The man shrouded his defiance- his fury and explained: “I-I w-would, but... y-your archers shoot everyone who c-come close to the Garrison...”

The two men sounded muffled chuckles from behind their visors, before the first betrayed a secret. “Well, of course. We can’t have just anyone walk up to the Garrison... You’re not getting anywhere close to TItus unless you’ve got a recommendation.” The man swallowed the contents of his suddenly dry mouth- sensing a sliver of hope.

“P-please. C-can you recommend me? I’ll give my life to Him, if only for a chance...” The two men feigned a hesitance before turning to look at one-another.

“Gotta test your mettle first. You can either meet down at the Clocktower tonight or... we could think of something else.” He had heard of what went on down by the Clocktower- the Guardsmen’s arena, where desperate souls like himself would battle it out for a chance to join the guard, when in reality, they would likely never be seen again. He was no fighter- certainly not in his malnourished state, which was why he pleaded: “P-please. Anything but that...”

The sadistic guardsman sounded another echoing laugh beyond his mobile, metal fortress and again stroked the man’s cheek.

“Then we’ll think of something else.”

A pale, freckled girl with raven-black hair and a pristinely clean, black dress wandered in silence up the street to behold an unexpected spectacle. There, in front of his family, a man sat on his knees, while another armored guard’s pelvis thrusted rhythmically against his face - violating his throat. She could only see his armored back and the limp arms on either sides of the pants around the guardsman’s ankles as ungodly, guttural, choked retches shattered the deafening silence. She turned to look at the door, where a desperate woman attempted to shield a pair of children from the sight, only to have the guard roar at her: “No! You watch!”

The second guard’s chuckles came to an abrupt halt as he heard the taps of shoes against the dirt road behind his back. Turning around, he saw the gentle, young girl with her hands folded before her stomach- seemingly unbothered, seemingly unsurprised by the brutal visage in front of both of them. Ellie had seen worse from men in armors- far worse. The girl’s apathetic stare, the freckles to her pale cheeks- the Guard could not truly state what it was about her that made him so excited to see the encroacher, but as he did, he knew he had to have her.

With his hand atop the hilt of his blade, he stepped closer to her and spoke: “My, my, you’re a pretty one. How old are you, lil’ girl?” In the ensuing silence, all either could hear were the grunts of the two men behind the guard’s back. Ellie finally looked up at the visored giant, still in complete apathy. By long, the second guardsman would finish his violation of the man’s throat and soon thereafter, his post-release guilt would have him murder both his toy and his family... she had seen this all before.

Ellie was reminded of her Mother- how the two had never stooped anywhere close to the depths these pathetic dredges had. She imagined that, if they were as hungry- as hapless as they were, her mother might’ve done much- perhaps even more than what the man was currently doing for the guardsman... alas, Ellie would never know, as the armored men had set her mother aflame before they had the chance to suffer such malnourishment. In the narrow crack of the door, Ellie could see the boy’s distended abdomen- a sign Asrael had told her meant that, by long, the lack of protein in his diet would inevitably kill him. A corpse or two might save him, but neither the mother nor his sister would have the strength to take these men on... certainly not the father.

She could feel the pulses of lust bleed from the guardsman’s armor as he eagerly licked his lips and looked at what he thought to be a helpless, lost girl- desperate for his help... It reminded her of how Gerathar had looked at her. Much could be forgiven, but not this... Not lusting for her. The only choice to make was to decide which one of them deserved her one needle. She dropped down to her knees and reached inside her dress for something that caused the excited Guardsman to misunderstand their relationship- a paper. She could not imagine what the fool thought the paper to be, but he immediately began chuckling and set his mind on unbuckling his impressive armor.

But Ellie had a different plan. Scribbled atop the paper was a rune- a circular rune that she proceeded to draw in the dirt as the eager man struggled to present himself before her. A second form turned the distant corner and set down the dirt path- clad in a dirty, white dress and with a wide smile across her lips. Her long, honeyed hair flowed in the gentle breeze, but stilled as she saw the girl in her dress bending down before the puzzled guardsman. He momentarily paused to view the approaching beauty whose attention was split between looking at her eagerly scribbling companion and the half-boiled potato in her hand.

The guardsman could scarcely believe her luck as he saw the second beauty approaching- skipping merrily along the path, while his brother-in-arms had settled on tormenting a filthy granary-worker. When the desert wildling had come close enough for the guard to mire at her tanned skin and her red eyes, she took another bite of the potato and spoke: “Whatcha doin’?”

Ellie never once broke from her apathy as she finished drawing the palm-sized rune in the dirt and explained: “I am killing this man.” Before he could react to put his pants back on, she extended her magic through the pores of her palm and struck the edge of the rune. Her weeks of training had improved not only her ability to scribble, but her ability to empower the rune, as well. She felt her consciousness expand across the magical circle- congealing dirt to stone, before she intensified her efforts and shot forth a burst of energy to fully empower it. In the blink of an eye –the rune shot up in the form of a tall, limestone spike that struck through his pants- through his perineum, before traversing his flesh through his abdomen, chest and finally, exited his mouth.

She could feel his heart pound against the spike in the brief moment before their piercing collision- sating a thirst she had for vengeance. This man- the now-dead man might as well have been one of the ones skewering her mother before her pyring- how fitting that he, now, hung dead on a spike nearly as tall as her beloved Master- the one who had taught her this mode of claiming her vengeance.

Neda winced at the sight of it and felt her never-ending appetite come to an abrupt end. Blood trickled down the spike and onto the dirt path. Ellie was drained by her efforts- unable to move on to react as the guard turned over his shoulder to see his suspended companion and shout: “What the fuck-”

He backed away and released the man from his pelvis. The victim of his abuse fell forward to unleash an expulsion of blood and slime to the dirt, whereas the guardsman grabbed for his blade and readied it in the direction of the exhausted girl and the confused desert wildling with her potato still in her hand. He took a single step forward, swinging his blade in the air between them, but Neda had learned from experience how to handle these walking fortresses of armor. She raised her finger and thumb to her mouth- just as Asrael had showed her, and circulated her magic through the loop. Next, she gathered a gracious amount to the tissues in her lungs and blew out- exciting the energy in the air to further increase its velocity.

He was helpless to resist the powerful gust of wind knocking him backwards. He attempted to take a steadying step, but the pants around his ankles prevented any such motion and therefore, he flopped backwards onto the dirt path, where Ellie and Neda knew he would stay for a while due to the substantial weight of his plate.

The sword clattered across the path, over towards the abused man, where it remained far outside the Inquisitor’s reach. “Mine!” Neda exclaimed and reached into her cleavage to produce a pair of wooden cups. Splitting them from one-another, she retracted the needle and leapt towards him. Before he could recover his breath, Neda had already jabbed him in his upper lip- at least that was where she assumed his upper lip was... she could never really tell through the helmets. He, however, could feel the poison enter into his blood-stream, where it soon passed into his central nervous system and deprived him of his consciousness in a crescendo of agony.

The flabbergasted victim looked to the two magi in turn. The unconscious man- seemingly dead on the road- the skewered, still, draining man and the two, insane creatures ahead of him. Ellie stood up from her kneel to glance over at the petrified family peeking out at her with disgust and hate.

“Shesh. That was nasty, Ell.” Neda turned to look at the skewered man and cringe. She paused before muttering: “I don’t wanna eat anymore... do you guys want any-” She turned to ask the family, but before she could gauge their reaction, a loud roar behind her stole away her attention. Over the next blink of her eyes, the victimized man had grabbed the discarded blade and lunged forwards to strike at her. Neda imagined Ellie had prepared for it, judging by the speed of her movement.

A rain of sparks stood from Ellie’s lower arms as she raised them to defend her companion. The sword had collided with her antebrachi- stopping against her subcutaneous, impenetrable defense- the natural expression of her magic... the expression that had gotten her mother killed. Neda threw the potato at the man as she reached behind her back for her daggers, only for something tall and pale to crash down on the desperate man and pin him to the road.

Had the man still had air in his lungs, he might’ve screamed at the sight of the woman’s long claws- her green eyes and her gray skin. His children and his wife screamed in his place, but to all their surprise, the woman did not kill the man. Instead, she rose up from the man’s broken shoulder to slap the two, insane magi and point a directing finger down the road.

A man- a dark shape clothed in all black stood in silence and watched the spectacle with displeasure. Misery and fury pulsed off of him as the two girls swallowed the contents of their suddenly dry mouths and wordlessly followed the Banshee’s directions over towards their enraged Master.

“T-this is all your fault! This is because of you!” The man screamed with his first breath. Neda winced at the accusation and turned around to look at him with disbelief. They had just saved the man and his family- how could they blame them for having done all this? Ellie knew, however, that despite their torment at the hands of the guardsmen... the magi were the Demons. They would always be- despite their ample proof for the opposite.

Asrael watched the Banshee herd his two companions up the road of boarded-up, burnt-down and torn-asunder buildings. The winds carried with it the repugnant fragrance of the river as they animated Asrael’s coat. Ellie kept her apathetic stare up to meet her Master whose dark frame had positioned itself in the shade of the surrounding buildings, whereas Neda struggled to look up from the dirt path. When they were finally close enough, they turned around and sighed to receive their punishment. Neda rated it half-hearted- the slap against the back of her head, which meant that he was not at all as upset as he seemed.

“Foolish females... I had always thought men were supposed to be the impulsive ones, yet my men are divided between tending to the tavern or our Beasts.” Asrael turned around to begin his journey up the street- closely followed by his two, shamed apprentices and his fiercely loyal protector- Longa. He sighed and shook his head before muttering over his shoulder: “I should chain the both of you in the cellar. Better yet, perhaps I should send you to The Village...”

Both women dreaded The Village.

Traversing the tunnels had once been a nightmare for Barrel. For one, he hated the dark and cramped space and had always feared being stuck in such an environment above all else. Secondly, his talents for navigation did not extend to the dark, dreary world beneath the surface... now that most the side-passages had been collapsed by Ellie’s spell, however, it made navigation somewhat easier. Thankfully, now that he had transported Yurgen and his four horses through the darkness, he hoped he would never have to go back to that cursed realm. Asrael and his army of the dead had claimed every living soul of the ‘Village’- which was, in essence, but three houses and a barn. Sixteen people had lived there- all of whom were able-bodied adults fit for his service.

Whether he had done it in a feat of tactical genius or simply to appease his small, round driver, he had gifted Barrel this slice of heaven and he had to admit... it was not bad, however lonely. The tall barn housed all his favored creatures and the fields outside had fed them all for the weeks since the gates had closed. The only problem, as he could see it, was that Yurgen was not accustomed to being so far away from humans. In fact, in conversing with the beast, Barrel was quite certain he believed himself to be a human and therefore, he had taken to living inside the cozy cottage alongside the small, fat man.

The beast’s stomach was not meant for greenlander pastures and therefore, the small, enclosed space proved nearly unbreathable for the women, Kester and the girls- all of whom avoided the place like the plague. Whenever they visited, they would refuse to stay within the timbered, finely rugged place and enjoy the warmth of the fireplace in the evening.

“Their loss...” Barrel thought from where he sat on his rocking-chair by the fireplace- stroking Yurgen’s head, while reading his favored book. ‘The way of the Road’.