The two men had spent their morning searching the plaza for any fresh meat, but to their dismay, it seemed that without the presence of the guards, few were interested in competing in the blood-sports, despite the Gang’s offered rewards. Brutus- the larger of the two, fidgeted the beam atop his shoulder and sighed as they passed by a familiar tavern- the Nightinggale, where both he and his companion had spent numerous nights discussing the fineries of dockside work over a cheap whore and overpriced wine. Now, the once-’reputable’ business stood as a monument to their unemployment and a constant reminder that once upon a time, they had both taken whores and wine for granted- limited only by something as foolish as gold.

“Hey, d’you think there could be anything left in there?” Brutus asked his smaller companion Vegard, whose sour frown was quick to shake back and forth.

“You keep asking every time we go by Her. How many times have we looked around that basement? There’s not a drop left of that mouthwash- everyone knows the only tavern that still has anything to drink belongs to that freak in the mid-per.” Brutus knew, of course, which freak Vegard referred to. ‘Kester the Crazed’. He shuddered at the thought of the legendary madman- the twice-winner of the Guardsmen’s blood-sports who always seemed to escape before they could grant him his reward.

Brutus returned to look down the once-magnificent street that would lead him to his station at the docking-bays. None, save for the Gang, ever dared venture this close to their turf, which meant that once more, they would return home without any last-minute findings of flesh or crotch... he wondered how much longer it would take before their tightly knit-together band of misfits would finally turn on one-another and who would be the first to go, when the hunger for flesh grew too intense?

He perked up as he saw something move up ahead- between the rubble on the street. He stopped to stare, only to verify that he had seen something... a girl, by the looks of it. Her long legs carried her down the road- towards their docking bay in a cautious, timid gait. The holes in her tattered, brown cloak revealed a white dress and soft-looking, tan skin- stopping both the men’s feet. She turned around and saw the two stumped men and quickly attempted to shield her supple form behind a barricade. In the brief glimpse they had caught of her face, both could see that she was a beauty worthy of legend. Her red eyes had conveyed an understandable unease, her smooth, tanned skin contrasted her white dress and further highlighted her appearance of being in good health- as opposed to most of the city.

“Hey, you there! Come here!” Brutus spoke through a wide, malicious grin. He could see it already- him and her, back in his chambers, while the rest of the men awaited their turn outside his door. It seemed, however, that Vegard was equally intent on not being the second man to make use of her loins and pushed his companion aside, before he began his sprint down the street- navigating the barricades like only his much smaller frame would allow.

“Vegard, you son of a bitch-” Brutus roared and pressed past the barricade ahead of him, only to catch something... off... in his peripheral view. Something brown hunched down by his feet- next to something scribbled in charcoal on the cobbled stones. He looked down to see that he was standing inside a circle with a number of intricate, arcane symbols- right before a small, trembling shape clad in a cloak. The young, beauty of a woman pressed her palm against the outer rim of the circle and before Brutus could question the strange designs, the charcoal lit up with a sickly brown glow.

An enormous, sudden tremor of energy shot up his ankles and transferred through his joints to the rest of his skeleton. Before he could utter a syllable to signal his surprise, he had heard a series of clicks and cracks... he had, at first, attributed the sounds to the rumbling beneath his feet, only to realize- as the pain set in- that those were not the clicks of broken stones... those were the sounds of every bone in his body breaking in a unified crackle.

Ellie had felt it too- the transfer of kinetic energy to the minerals in the man’s bones. The usually sturdy anatomical structures cracked and snapped as she directed her magic through the rune and excited the ions in his tissues... but something was wrong. Something had misfired. Whereas his body in its entirety had fallen to the spell, she still maintained the structural integrity to scream an ear-piercing shriek as the pain struck her, too. From the tip of the fingers in her right hand and up to her elbow, every bone and ligament cracked with the same energy that had reduced her target to a shapeless mass on the street.

Neda quickly shot up from her shelter- brandishing a knife in either hand. She, as the man who had been sprinting for her, turned to look at the screaming, kicking, weeping girl holding her arm next to the pile of dead flesh atop the scorched runes.

“Brutus!” The knife-wielding wretch roared and grabbed the knives at his hips.

Ellie was no stranger to pain, but this was far more than she could handle. Her spasming muscles pulled on the loose fragments of bones in her lower arm- sending constant barrages of unadulterated agony to overwhelm her slipping mind. She was in far too much pain to process her failure, nor could she arm herself against the charging madman with his two knives. Where she sat against the barricade and bit back her tears, she was helpless to do anything but watch as the grimacing thug approached with his blades at the ready- eager to avenge his fallen companion... and there was nothing she could do about it.

An out-of-place gust of wind shot Ellie’s hood back and knocked the charging madman off his balance. He slid forward on the cobbled stones and turned to look at the desert wildling with confusion, but before he could lock his eyes on her, a dagger pierced the right side of his neck- slicing through skin, veins and arteries before it came to a halt deep within his trachea. Before he had even understood that the wind had been some form of attack, he was staring up at his wide-eyed, panicked killer- looming above him in a crouch. The sudden drop in his cerebral blood-pressure immediately deprived him of his consciousness- leaving him in an uncomfortable, chaotic stack of arms and legs. Before Neda had risen up and retracted the dagger, he had already succumbed to the grievous injury.

“Neda! Neda, I’m sorry!” Ellie continued to scream. As much as Neda would have liked to actually fight the man, rather than savagely murder him by surprise, she was relieved to see that the danger was over-… for now... Ellie’s hand was bent and broken at an unnatural angle, meaning Asrael would have to fix her up once they returned home. They might’ve just survived their first battle on their lonesome, but the worst was yet to come... As she sprinted over towards her teary-eyed companion, she could already hear his displeased lecture.

“Ah! What do I do, Ellie!?” Neda sat before the pained, young woman and looked at the crooked, bent hand with the fluster of panic. Ellie bit back her agony and shouted: “I-I d-don't know! W-we need to g-get to Asrael!” Neda signaled her understanding by grabbing Ellie by her good hand and leading her up- cautious as to not step on either of the dead men or the scorched circle on the bricks.

“Go! Get ‘em!” A man’s voice roared from down the road- down from where they had come... down towards where they needed to go to escape back into the tunneøs... Neda turned to see that six men had appeared from the Gang’s shelter- all of whom were already sprinting towards them with swords, knives, fire-pokers and planks at the ready. Had Ellie been more conscious, she might’ve cursed herself for signaling them with her loud screams, but her excruciating pain had called for a reflexive expression- an expression which they would now suffer dearly for.

Neda led the way and had to secretly admire Ellie’s persistence, as the girl pushed through the agony that shot from her arm with every disfiguring step. Her arm crackled every time one of her feet touched the ground, but she continued- she had to... alas, as Neda looked over her shoulder, she realized that Ellie's stubborn resistance to would do little to help them... not now. She knew it, Ellie knew it- the men were nearly upon them, already... Finally, Ellie dropped to her knee and pushed the back of Neda’s thigh.

“G-go! Keep running, t-they'll take me instead!” She shouted. Neda held both her knives in her left hand and turned to look at the pained, pale, weeping girl with horror. This was not supposed to happen- they were supposed to quickly go in, find a man to test the spell on and then run... if it came to it, she could have defended Ellie- she should have! All her night-time training should have made her capable of it, lest it had all been for naught? Neda’s knees tremored as they came close enough to look at them with their ravenous glares- eyeing the pair up and down- sizing them up for food or... Neda could not stomach the thought of it.

She had been Lena’s plaything- she had almost been made Gerathar’s plaything. Now, they would do the same to her and poor, pained Ellie... no. He would come- he always did. He had promised he would...

“Asrael! Asrael!” She screamed at the top of her lungs as she grabbed one dagger in either hand and readied herself for battle. In their sparring, Bartholomew had often spoken of uneven odds, but this... herself against six others- not even Manjuseth in her glory-days would’ve been capable of facing such odds. But what was the alternative? Had she not murdered Lena to prove to Asrael- to prove to herself that she was still worthy the gift of Life? If she were to willingly submit herself to them, she might as well have leapt back into the pit and stayed there- she would be the same, foolish Blightlander that she had been born and raised to be... she shook her head.

She had improved- she had become something better. And if she was to be worthy of being Asrael’s Pa’namph, then she had better prove it- not only to him, but to herself. She swung the blades around as the men spread out to surround them in a conical formation at their front.

“Fuck off and I won’t kill you all!” Neda shouted, only to have the hardened men laugh at her. Ellie remained on her knees- waiting for them to lunge forwards and begin their savage abuse, but... none of them came. Through her tears, she looked up to see that every single one of them had... frozen. Up above, Neda was no less confused, but before she could leap forwards and strike at the closest man, he swung out- not for her... but for his friend. The nail embedded in the plank in his hands crashed with the other offender’s forehead- entering into his left eye, where it undoubtedly scrambled something, judging by the goop that summarily leaked from his perforated bulb. But the sword-wielding miscreant would be no worse- he struck out for a third man.

Neda had seen that look in their eyes before- that distant, horrified gaze as all knew what they were doing, but not... why.

“The day has finally come.” A melodious, soft voice spoke from behind the two women, as the six men lunged at one-another with the intent to rip one-another apart. Slashes, thumps, cracks and sickly clicks shattered the deafening silence of the city, as they proceeded to drop their weapons and smash one-another and themselves against the street and the barricades- their eyes pleading to be allowed control of their bodies again... but to no avail... Neda knew it- even before she turned around to see the deep-blue eyes and the white, robed form of... Lita... smile back at them.