"One to go." Says Old man Bey as he hobbles over on crutches. "Damn messy work, Magi. But no finer killers I say."

"You followed?" I ask him.

"I wouldn’t miss it for the world." He says with a wide toothy grin.

"Well, Old man." I say and gesture extending my arm out to the array of corpses. "Here is the face of death. I wonder which face you will see in your twilight moments."

"Hope it is a damn sight prettier than you are, demon." He guffaws in response.

I bare my teeth but say nothing.

"Loosen up. Magi." Commands the Child to which I raise a brow.

"The job is half done."

"Indeed."

"Not yet, a gathering is underway Child. We must go hither."

"Hither?"

"To, damn it."

"I know where Grecis is anyway." I interrupt and Jerrick nods.

"We can finish the job." Jerrick adds.

"No, come." Says the Old man.

"Come." Says the Child.

They walk off and with a shrug of his shoulders, Jerrick follows. I sigh and jog to catch up.

The bustling crowds continue moving about their busy lives, the citizens ignorant of the killers among them. The Old Man and Child sidestep into an alleyway; Jerrick and I follow on their heels. Broken buildings and rickety ruins lean against one another for support. Built long ago without planning the gaps between the abandoned structures form a network of narrow paths. We squeeze down the slim streets, stepping in stagnant pools of water, avoiding the beggars, and vermin.

"Swiftly, Titar’s death changes everything." Old Man Bey calls out his face red with exertion as he hurtles down the roads supported by his crutches.

"Fine, Old Man. This better be worth it." I respond.

I walk slowly to match the pace of the Child and the Old Man.

A maze where one is liable to lose their coin or life if they venture carelessly.

The two of them come to a stop as we reach a wide-open square filled with rubble and debris. There are at least two dozen children with all kinds of impairments. One of them is missing a foot and another bears scars across her body and chugs on alcohol.

Every kind of horror imaginable had been inflicted to make the children as piteous and useless as possible.

These are the living ones.

There are adults as well twice as many as the children. Few bear any birth formed wounds all seem to have been inflicted their wounds. It seems Old man Bey was right that this group was made to blend in among the city’s homeless but remain loyal to their master.

Who if they can sense would not be moved to pity? Is pity enough? Will feeling pain from observing their suffering help? What is it that I can do to help? Do I give money? So, they can exchange it for the goods needed to survive.

Would not their stench, accents and miserable expressions prove to anyone that it would be discrediting to engage in exchange? How does one escape their stigma? How do dozens? Why would they want to exchange with the very people complicit in their oppression?

Who has driven them to the desperation where we have the food, the space to shelter them but for the comfort of elites and the inculcated ignorance of the working many it is better to let people beg for help and give it only when it suits us?

What horror thought it was just to dominate a person wholly till the near total of their being was under complete subjection.

Is it because life is pain that it is delightful to make others suffer? Who erases the face that we see, the weakness that compels us to help?

When did I stop caring?

And when did it become normal to do nothing to bring the very act of enslaving and keeping slaves into a dark memory of the past to be forgotten and made impossible to repeat?

“No more.” Says Jerrick.

"We kill Grecis then it is over." I reply.

"No, I think that would be little more than a ripple when we need to enact a storm."

"A storm, you say, speaking in metaphors now? You’re a Hunter, not a poet. If you are unsatisfied with cleaning house then take it up with nobility. They can change the laws."

"Laws do not change the appetites of people and the rulings of the privileged are hardly the basis of morality." He responds with a frown.

"This is not some discussion within academy walls. These people are here now, and they matter."

"I know. When I see their faces, I feel I must act. It is my responsibility to do so."

"Is it seeing the weakness of others then that we become moral?" I ask.

"Did you forget the coin? I’m paying ya." Interrupts the Child.

"No, we didn’t."

A young woman with a dirt-smeared face and a gaunt frame speaks and calls the gathering to silence to hear her words.

She wears a ragged cloth stained with dirt, her round face is clean of dirt; she has a bulbous nose, small eyes and thin lips. She has the ugliness characteristics of philosophers yet has none of the bearings that come with discipline.

She raises her hand in an open palm gesturing for silence.

"It is true. Titar is dead." She says in solemn tones.

The people gasp and mutter amongst themselves.

"Today is one of celebration. Our freedom is at hand. Grecis is to die by sunset and the chains that bind us will be broken."

"Can it be true? If you are wrong Tuli how many will die from the wrath of the slavers before they replace the dead with fresh meat?" asks a blind grey-bearded man from the crowd.

"It has been confirmed, that the Magi killed the gang with a wave of their hands. The story comes from Begger Bey and Young Mouse." Answers Tuli the young woman.

"You expected us to trust an outsider and a child?" Shouts an armless woman who wears but a loincloth naked in the upper body as if to emphasise the loss of limb.

"Please, others have seen the bodies and speak the same story." Lies Tuli.

In doing so, she placates the concerns of the armless woman.

Tuli’s expression is still radiating calmness with a small smile.

"Titar is dead by magic." She adds truthfully.

There is no way for others to have come in time to corroborate the kills. She does not care if it is true, the possibility is enough for her to take action.

"They bound our bodies, profited off our sex for pleasure by selling us like cattle, sold our flesh like meat. We became metal separated from our bodies till we became coin. We were traded, used to make the greatest profit. No More!" booms Tuli.

"We are free!" screams the Child.

"We must seize our future." Screams a young girl.

"We must tell them of our struggle; never again must history repeat itself." Declares an old woman.

If Grecis dies, maybe something will change for these people. So long as she lives, this brutal slavery continues.

The meeting was in full swing and I whisper to Jerrick. My lips by his ear.

"Stay here. I will finish the job."

He smiles.

"Are you sure, I can do it?"

"I’ve got this." I answer patting him on the shoulder before I walked away back into the maze of alleys.

I hear them rallying.

"For too long have we been bound. No more. We are free! But this is just the beginning, we must unite with the fellows across the city. No more are we homeless, our home is Athfen!"

I take a few long strides and I notice the Child is rushing to keep up.

"You will be lost without me to guide you out."

I snort and disregard my plan.

"Take me back to the inn. I have business with its owner."