Lily woke with the sun in her eyes, the bright light a blinding red that filled her vision. Her body was stiff and hot, her clothes soaked with damp sweat and her muscles cramped from spending too long in one position. Starting in shock, she dragged in a painful breath, the air chillingly cold as it flowed into her chest. Alive, she thought in surprise, coughing as blood and spittle filled her throat. Her head spinning dully, she sat up, patting herself looking around to make sure everything was still functional. Glancing around, she saw herself lying in a pool of her own dried blood. A thin smile found its way onto her lips and a short chuckle quickly turned into a hacking cough in her throat. It was the simple things in life that she had learned to appreciate, like life itself.

On the ground next to her was the demon, covered in cuts and bruises and still as a corpse. There was a confusion then, an uncertainty as the realization processed that she was truly alive. She could not help but chuckle, coughing out, “So it seems the gods are not quite done with me.” It came logically, then, that the next question was why? Why was she alive?

Last that she recalled, she was being strangled by the demon. Now she lay living while it was the one that lay dead. The irony could not be richer. There was a short-lived twinge of offense that she was still alive. Perhaps death hadn’t much taken her for a lover after all. A mild disappointment ran through her, as stinging as it was ridiculous. Her first love had given her first rejection. She pouted at the thought, wincing sharply in pain as the motion inadvertently cracked her dried lips and brought blood to her tongue.

Yet she was struck with a sudden doubt: was the beast truly dead?

Placing her head dangerously close against its furred chest, she felt a weak pulse fluttering against her fingertips. She clucked her tongue in disappointment, fingers rapping out a short beat on its chest as new questions sprouted and bloomed like nightshade blossoms in her head.

“Flowers.” she murmured, distracted by the thought. “Should I have brought flowers if I wanted to see you, sweet sister?” The disappointment weighed heavy in her heart—she had so been looking forward to meeting her dead sister, to see those gentle eyes, to kiss those bloodied lips.

As her thoughts turned to the dead, she turned her head to gaze at the demon before her. So it seemed that it was not dead after all. Yet if it had not yet paid the blood coin, why had it not finished the job of killing her? Pity was the reason that came first to her mind, for who could possibly cut a more pitiable figure than her?

The notion of pity burned in her heart like a fire—who was he to pity her? Yet her thoughts were interrupted when the demon stirred in its sleep suddenly and her eyes were drawn to the latticework of scars on its chest, like the awful needlework of some thick-fingered nursemaid.

“Sworn stars, you’re an awful seamstress.” she whispered, a smile creeping onto her face. “Maddie would do a better job, and the hag’s massing five fingers—not all from the same hand, mind you. I think I still have the bones somewhere…” Lily pondered thoughtfully for a moment before remembering that she had burned Maddie in a fire, and it was Susan that she had cut. The street rat wondered for a moment if the demon was dying from its injuries, yet as soon as she looked closer that thought too joined Maddie as ash.

Its body might have been covered in scarred wounds, from a pink scar that ran down its right arm to the thin cut along its neck that she’d given it, but those nicks were about as lethal as children were inedible—there would be screams and curses over it but little else. The wounds should have still been fresh, but patchy new skin had already closed the wound and platelets had started budding. The same was true for the cut down its arm and the massive scar that ran down its side. At the very least, its flesh was durable.

“More’s the pity.” she muttered as searched for her dagger. “Tough meat is hard to chew, and my teeth aren’t what they used to be.” The meager diet in Rat’s Dam had not done much to help her health—she was missing two of her molars from rot. “If I try to eat you, little demon, soon they’ll be calling me the Toothless Rat.”

She could probably kill the demon right now with a single strike from a single blade. It would be her best chance—the creature seemed half-dead already. “Sorry, dear, but I’m promised to someone else.” she whispered in the demon’s ear before giving it a quick peck on the cheek. “Give sweet sister my love.” She pulled out a short knife and pressed it against its throat, the steel giving the demon’s neck a cold kiss. Yet before she could go any further, the demon’s eyes flickered open without even a pause in its breathing.

There was a sudden glinting flash, wispy black smoke swirling out of the corners of its eyes as it gazed at nothing a blank stare. A low growl rumbled from the back of its throat, fangs bared as she dropped her knife in shock. That smoke reminded her of something from her past, something painfully familiar.

“Blood and bones!” she cried out as she hurriedly scurried away before sinking into a low crouch, waiting for the thing to rise. Why was this crow-cursed demon proving so hard to kill? Was it thrice now that it had rejected her blade?

“If you’re to kill me, hurry up and do it.” she called out to the figure that was twisting on the floor. “Otherwise, calm down and let me cut your head off.” It was a reasonable offer, at least in her mind. If someone was to die, there was no reason they could not go about it like civilized people.

Its back suddenly arched madly, arms slamming in the ground again and again with clenched fists. Lily was suddenly reminded that the creature was not a person, and most certainly was not civilized. Steam vented from its pores, billowing into the air as the demon twisted wildly.

Tentatively, she crawled closer to the spasming creature, dagger in hand. She was well alert and quick to dodge, but even so a blind swipe from the demon caught her backhanded in the chest and she fell to the floor with a thud. A thin trickle of blood leaked out of the corner of her mouth as she got up, breathing hard. A sudden maddening thought flickered in her mind and Lily giggled uncontrollably, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “Oh sweet sister, I’ve finally found a man to rival all five of yours. I’ve learned so well haven’t I?”

The demon growled as if in reply, slashing wildly at the air. Its black claws glinted dangerously in the light, whistling as they but the air. “All of your men killed you, and mine wants to kill me too, even in its sleep!” she tittered as she leaned in close, before suddenly dancing out of a swipe just moments before it would have torn open her chest. “Bad boy.” she admonished the creature. “It’s rude to touch a woman there unless you’re taking her to bed.”

Without warning, the demon’s contortions froze and it sat up to gaze straight at her with fangs bared. She flinched, yet she could not even pull back in time. Its muzzle was nearly touching her nose, nostrils flaring as its lips peeled back in a snarl. Tense seconds passed as it stared at her soundlessly, a blank look that showed nothing. All thoughts of romance fled the sloane as her heart sped up for entirely different reasons. She held her breath in her nervousness, palms sweaty as she gripped her blades. If it chose to attack her now, she was not confident in her ability to survive. No magic, no traps, no plans. Nowhere to run. Fortunately for the wretch, it closed its eyes and returned to its slumber.

A slow sigh escaped from her mouth, half in relief and half in despair. Even with it this close to dead, she still did not have it in her to kill the demon. “That’s not how it works.” she pouted, prying cramped fingers off the hilt of her dagger. “At least one of us has to die. If you won’t kill me, at least be courteous to let me kill you.”

It was rude, really. A gentleman should always listen to the lady. It was a foolish thing to believe in manners, but she was a young girl, after all. Now was the only time for her daydreams to take shape.

Lily gave a short huff in exasperation, settling her feelings with a short “Men.” before leaving the demon to its twitching dreams. If it would not let her kill it while it slept, then she would just kill it after it woke. In either case, it would have to die at some point, if not for any other reason than simply because she was still alive.

She had never been one for arithmetic, but she liked to think herself a logical person. “If one of us must die,” she spoke to the dreaming demon, “and you let me live, then you must be the one to die.”

It was a last grasp at life that had saved her: the thing had called her sister. It was ridiculous, really, to think that it would have done anything, but she had been desperate. Still, she had always wanted to be killed by a family member—it’s so much more intimate that way. So, she had called it brother when it tried to rip out her throat. Alas, she truly was but a hopeless romantic. A tittering laugh escaped her as she realized how mad she truly must be.

It truly was a surprise to be alive. Thoughts were scrambled in her mind, roiling like a churning sea as her beleaguered mind struggled to wade its way through. Her foolish heart fluttered in her chest as if rejoicing in its ability to do so, but she ignored it. Taking in a deep breath, she focused her thoughts. First priorities were to assess her situation. Her supplies, weapons, and surroundings were crucial. After that she would have to plan her course of action.

Opening her eyes and taking a deep breath, Lily grabbed the knife on the ground that she had dropped during all the commotion, feeling its familiar hilt in her palm. It was always calming to have a blade in hand—it let you kill something, and hopefully most of the time you would end up killing enemies.

Searching for her bag, the girl found it by the mouth of the cave where she had dropped it, the insides speckled with blood. It had never been anything spectacular to look at, but now the leather was stained and the stitching frayed. Fortunately, as far as she could find, there were no holes in it as of yet. Inside she found some meager rations: crusty bread, some dried fruit, and dusty water. She would need to gather more, it would barely last her for the next two days. The witch was out of magic crystals now; she had used all of them during the fight. In retrospect, her actions had been rather wasteful considering that she had accomplished nothing in the end. She shoved her regret to the side—wishing never made anything come true.

Searching for her other weapons, Lily found one dagger on the ground from when she had first tried to kill the demon. A broken piece of the blade lay by the mouth of the cave, broken sometime during the melee. It was certainly unfortunate; she would have to rely on her blades without any crystals to cast her spells with.

When she had killed her mentor, the ungrateful fool had not gone quietly. He had stolen with his death her mahji—her magic—and left her empty inside. The sloane was a witch without magic, with hundreds of spells at her disposal but no way to use them. She became forced to use crystallized magic, far weaker but still better than naught.

With all magic now denied to her, she would have to rely on her blades. It would not usually be a problem for her, but physical strength was not her fortitude. Here in the Outlands, where the wildlife was so vicious one half expected the plants to grow knives, fighting would bring too much danger with it. One hit from any number of sources, one misstep or stumble, and her death would be guaranteed.

She checked that the demon was still sleeping before she quickly undressed herself. “No peeking now,” she warned the demon’s sleeping figure, “or I’ll cut out your eye and stuff it down your throat. It’s rude to watch a lady.” Keeping one eye on the beast, she checked for wounds scanning her body. She found a small cut down her midriff, with another slash running down her back. There was bruising too on her ribs and neck, and a wounded ankle along with small cuts on her hands and face topped off the list. Physically, at least, she had gotten off easy. For all its bloodlust, the demon had done little to harm her, with the only lasting harm to her coming from having her neck strangled. The vast majority of her injuries were simple scrapes that would have been more dangerous from a thornbush.

Spiritually however, she was left devastated. Her spirit was aflame with red-hot pain, throbbing madly in her chest. The tether to her body had been severed when she slipped into the demon. Healing it would not be a simple matter, and until it did, she would be unable cast spells. The natural pulse that was needed for making a pact was weak and irregular, in no condition to fall into rhythm with the earth. Even if she had crystals, she would not be able to use them. Nor would she be able to use vahma, as long as she was unable to attune her soul’s wild pounding with the pulse of the world. It would be a long time before her fingers hurled any spells.

With a rather bitter taste in her mouth, she put her light armor back on, fastening her knives and tidying her pack with practiced fingers. She would have to leave before the demon woke, since she would not be able to handle it in a fight.

Turning to leave, she ran outside, planning where she would have to go. Perhaps she could escape west to the Edgelands, where she could find a ship across the sea. South to the Crimson Lands could work as well—the fighting there with Malifor was bad enough that another refugee would attract little attention. In any case, she would have to leave the country. Nowhere here would be ever be safe for her.

Suddenly, she froze in shock, arms falling slack by her side. The earth in front of her was alight with darkness, a madness that spread its taint into the very air. Pitch-black fissures ran through split stone as shadows darted forth, writhing like serpents of tar. Bolts of black lightning licked the broken skies that burned with marai, wild magic.

The earth had split, deep fissures carved into the rock like the work of terrible gods, and from deep within—so far down that light did not even shine—the Skal had crawled out. It was a flood of black, a colorless void that was utterly empty, like a lake with no bottom. It bore no face, held no heart, had no soul. It had nothing, for it was nothing. Where is stood, there was not.

Skal was a thing of nightmares, for it was a taint, a force, and it was alive. It had no eyes, but it saw, no head, but it knew, and no heart, but it lived. It spread over the earth and ate and grew until the land was covered in nothing and the light shone on naught.

They brought a terror with them that twisted her stomach into knots and turned her muscles into string. It was a primal fear, the fear of prey when the hunt is set upon them. That was what this was, she realized suddenly. A hunt.

And nowhere was safe from the Skal, for it was living shadow. It commanded the darkness—wielded it much as men wore blades. If Skal was the hunter, then the shadows were its hounds, for every man bore a shadow—a personal shade and a pair of eyes for the Skal.

All this, she knew. All this, she saw as the Outlands sundered and died. Her heart was beating fast against her ribs, her chest suddenly tight and the air hot in her lungs. She had to run, she had to flee. In front of her was death, inescapable and terrible. She had to run.

Her heart thumping, her breath came ragged and short. Suddenly feeling a presence beside her, she turned with knives flashing in hand, heart sinking as she feared the worst. To her shock, the demon’s face greeted her, mismatched eyes red and yellow glinted with green light from the magic in the air. It was a curious sort of relief that leadened her limbs, a comfort in a death at the hands of something with a soul.

A throaty growl rippled from his throat, like the sound of thunder splitting stone.

“Go. Now.”