Hunger. It always comes down to hunger. No matter how much a man tells himself that he’ll never resort to unsavory methods for a warm meal, it’s always a lie. I know as much. I was one of them. Well, am. Have yet to die… Focus. You’ve got a mark.

Hal always prided himself in being a fair highwayman. A sort of brigand that only took enough to keep the meat on his bones. Take too much from a merchant, and there are fewer goods to come in the next turn. Kill too many people, and they send mercenaries and man-hunters. Kidnap anyone higher born than a farmer, and you’ll not live for the next darkmoon.

It was ironic how the success of banditry was predicated upon such stark foundations. Moderation, shrewdness, and compromises were vital.

Fortunately for Hal and his band of cutthroats, today, a group of peasants walked the king’s road. Easy marks with no one to draw a fuss if they went missing. The only thing that seemed off was a blonde-haired man with dark clothes and a dirty linen cloak that walked along with them. That cloth is too evenly and darkly dyed for a lowborn. Oh well, let’s hope they think he got done in by a bear. Maybe he just stole the clothes. He doesn’t look highborn.

Hal whistled the signal to draw their bows, a local type of morning bird as common as dust on the king’s road.

Hal pulled back his own yew longbow, a thing of fine craftsmanship—its wood was still stained the rich dark from when he lifted it off a merchant’s corpse, even a winter and a half later.

When his fingers brushed his face, and his arrow was held taut against his bow, Hal whistled once more. This bird call was in contrast to the last. Instead of the ubiquitous morning bird, it was an omen. The Southern Kedweni Shrike had struck again, arrows flying towards their mark.

Barry and the group started their trek once more. At around midday, they would arrive at an inn and get a bowl of something warm. Emi had given the family and even Barry some spare coin for hot meals. The memory of Emi handing Barry the coin and warning him not to spend it on anything sinful had Barry chuckling… And a bit apprehensive. I’ve no way of knowing if she put a charm on these or not.

A growl from Randy’s stomach got a sympathetic chuckle from Barry. By the Blind Mother, I really want some better food. Hard rations, jerky salted to the bone, and plain river water isn’t the best.

The morning air was fresh, the cold receding under the warm sun. Birds made their song, returning from wherever they exiled themselves in the dead of winter. Spring was coming, and it would be a relief when it finally arrived.

Barry had been slowly reading the tomes and papers Emi had given him. The once-mercenary had already learned the basics of the Vitaen alphabet and how the tiny squiggles and strokes represented sounds. Even staying mostly at the church of Berrowden, Barry got the gist that reading here in the Four Corners was remarkably widespread among the commonfolk. A recent addition by royal decree, or maybe not. It was hard to tell when all Barry had access to were rumors spoken in hushed tones around the temple infirmary. Hard to keep a conversation with arms made of pure shadow.

Thankfully, Barry had learned to disguise his Shadow Limbs. Still, the damage had been done. No one wanted to associate with the Void-tainted mercenary. Mercenaries were omens of death and strife. Add the possibility of being in contact with undead or the realm beyond the Veil, no Godsfearing folk would even look at his direction.

Randy’s family had no such reservations. But then again, it was hard to ignore or ostracize someone who traveled alongside them. Even harder to do so with a mage that had spared their kin.

The tomes and papers took Barry long hours in between treks to comb through. Reading them in his head took longer but had otherwise less risk of him looking addled in the head. Emi had even added some interesting tomes on theory and treatises on Shadow mana in between the more common tomes like Fables of the Corners for Children.

Apparently, there was not one singular type of Shadow mana. Even among other kinds of mana, there were always various other iterations with slight differences between each. Though most of it flew over Barry’s head and lack of academic foundation, he found himself with a passing grasp of how his Shadow Limbs functioned.

The arms would shift subtly between different permutations of Shadow mana between each Spell. The magical limbs were most likely a mixture of varying mana types, even at rest. Probably two different types of Solid Shadow mana. One for the muscles, and the other for the bones and claws.

Spells mostly consisted of some type of Shadow mana that changed his own.

Grasping Darkness unraveled his arms into numerous tendrils of shadow weaker than a full Shadow Limb, spreading the essence of the limbs between the dark coils evenly. If focused, it had a lot of force, but when dispersed over a large area, it lost most of its strength.

Barry tested the Spell until it became second nature. Chanting the Spell made it stronger and more efficient on how much shadow essence it consumed. The grasping arms made of darkness would bleed less mana and would be otherwise much sturdier than reflexively or manually performing the same feat. Though, Barry guessed it was a mixture of focusing on the intended technique and soul-Magi connection than channeling outside forces beyond the Veil.

The difference between village belief and local folklore on magic was stark when compared to the academic theory. Barry had to dissuade himself from many notions when reading the tomes gifted to him. Charms aren’t an actual term for any type of magic. At least nothing Kedweni...

Dark Mirror was a hard one for Barry to understand, even with Emi’s knowledge. Thank the Seven for that woman… But, Hell take me, I won’t ever glean even a bit of understanding on this thing. The type of Shadow mana that made up Barry’s Center wasn’t even known to the tomes. It was a fabled mana type of sorts, but then again, Emi had lived for a long time. The books were probably outdated.

From what Barry could parse, Dark Mirror had a hypothesized permutation of Shadow mana close to the essence of creation itself—Primordial mana. The sort of thing kings and empires would torture for. The thought sent a shiver through Barry’s spine. Lost two limbs once. Don’t wanna do that again any time soon.

Barry unconsciously lifted a gloved hand towards his opposite shoulder where the limb had been severed.

Shadow’s Embrace was an easy one. The most common type of Shadow mana was the one closest to mundane darkness. It was uncreatively called Dark mana—being just essence that absorbed most light. The tome Rendel’s Dark Arcana, a book on different shadowy mana types, stated that Dark mana was mostly used for gathering heat from the sun. The heat collection was useful for the creation of magical clothing fit for harsh cold climates and skulking in the night. At day, the clothing would warm the body. And at night, it would obscure shapes. That might be why I keep having to vent so much Fire mana. Maybe it’s that my Inner Shadow keeps overheating. The Fire mana is just a way for it to disperse heat…

The smug smile on Barry’s face disappeared when he felt a brush on the skin of his Shadow. Fortunately for him, they were downwind of the Ethereal tide, for else, he might not have sensed it. Sensed them.

There was a bigger concentration of essence coming towards the group. People, it has to be. There’s a narrow pass ahead, high walls on either side. Perfect place for an ambush.

Barry shook his head, chuckling darkly as another grin made his way onto his face.

This is gonna be so much fun.

The group continued their trek to their would-be demise, Randy’s family otherwise oblivious to the ambush. Barry kept them in the dark, lest they give away that they knew of the impending attack.

Most predators, when setting up an ambush, had too narrow a focus. Theirs was a sort of tunnel vision that left them exposed to other predators in turn. Barry would have to capitalize on the chaos and confusion as he had only briefly battle-tested his magic. Better a worn and rusty but otherwise familiar blade than a new and shiny one in hand. Stregor beat that bit of fact into me rather literally. The more acquainted and familiar one is in a particular set of arms, the more fluid and subtle their attacks.

The amount of mana that ebbed through the invisible tide had been relatively sparse. Especially considering Barry had felt a wave of essence originate near the narrow path when he was farther away. Interesting. The simple act of trying to hide also hides the spirit. I doubt they have mages. If they had any to suppress their essence leakage, they wouldn’t have let a wave of mana come our way… Or maybe it’s to ease us into a false sense of security, and they do have a mage cohort.

By the damned Blind Mother, I hate the first moments before battle. Self-doubt and nerves are so damn distracting. I can’t prepare any more than this. Otherwise, they’d know something was wrong, and the advantage of surprise would be lost. I can’t circle around them either. They know I'm here. Must’ve been watching us from far away, where my magical senses don’t reach.

Anticipation and trepidation mixed inside the cauldron of Barry’s mind. He was itching for a good fight, but the odds were too nebulous and zero-sum. Tiny tendrils of shadow danced underneath his cloak, his very spirit preparing for combat.

The group entered the pass, high sloping walls of rock and dirt closing around them.

Barry began chanting, his voice low enough that it sounded like a murmur or perhaps a hum.

“From a trunk comes splitting tendrils.

Above and below.

One is of the darkness and the other the light.

Reach for the sun, and shadow shall follow…”

Barry strained his magical Senses, letting the waves of essence wash over his spirit. Holding the Spell by not finishing the chant put strain on Barry’s Inner Shadow. Like stopping mid-stride, his spirit strained to not complete the motion. His Shadow Limbs writhed, tendrils of shadows threatening to spill out from under the brown linen cloak that wrapped around his body. Ninet—no, twenty. Most are behind the ridge, crouching. Bows. A few are rounding back to catch our rear. One is going to cut us off ahead.

Half’ll shoot the men. The rest with bows will standby in case someone misses. These are veteran bandits. Too organized.

The sound of birds came from above.

The essence ebbed, its flow stopping for a mere moment like the apex of a bird’s dive.

The shrill call of a Kedweni shrike pierced the air—Its wail like a screech of death.

The twang of string on wood resounded through the dying winter day.

Arrows came in its wake.

The Shadow mage whispered his last line.

“Grasping Darkness.”

Tendrils of darkness shot out from under his cloak into the hail of arrows. The coils of shadow caught the wooden shafts, flying backward with the added weight and force.

The mage turned with the weight of the arrows, spinning in a half-circle and swinging them back, the tendrils of shadow acting as a sling.

Screams of pain and grunts of surprise spread through the air as the arrows found their mark. The Ethereal tide thickened with the blood of brigands, wafting over Barry like storm upon ship.

The Shadow mage pulled his limbs back into two and began chanting, his voice cold like the blackness between stars.

“Take upon the luminous pinpricks that dwell in the void, and shadows shall come.

“Dark Mirror.”

Darkness seeped out from underneath the mage’s cloak like billowing clouds of night incarnate. Minor gusts of wind raged around the mage like the seed of a black tempest, turning the Ethereal tide into a vortex with Barry at its center. mana flooded into the darkest dark of his Shadow, tinging the night of his spirit with vibrant red. Arcs of angry red lightning spread across the cloud of night.

The darkness retreated into the Shadow mage, taking along with it the storm.

Blood essence coursed through Barry’s spirit, bolstering it and his Corporeal body. His complexion reddened, raised veins appeared atop his body, and his eyes turned bloodshot. Euphoria and the feeling of power came upon his psyche like a blaze. Barry forsook the intoxicating sensations, hesitantly and regretfully ignoring them. He had prey to chase and could not be blindsided by the chase itself like his would-be hunters were.

The Shadow mage fed the vermillion essence to his Shadow, converting blood to darkness. Shadow mana coalesced into his arms, bolstering them for what was to come.

His body turned pale as his arms darkened like blood under the moonlight, the redness of life being turned to shadow. Barry felt his muscles weaken, and his gaze blur and turn into many overlapping visions.

The mage chain-casted another Spell. As the darkness was taken from his Shadow, pent-up fiery essence seeped deeper into his spirit. His flesh seemed to boil from the inside out, and sweat dripped from his brow. His spirit burned like a conflagration, the sensation visceral like his very being was set aflame. Just a little longer.

“Grasping Darkness.”

Coils of darkness shot out from the mage, piercing the walls of the pass with hardened tips like daggers.

The strings of shadow went taut.

Barry leaned back.

The Shadow mage pulled, the coils of darkness propelling him up like a sling.

Barry shifted his Shadow Limbs back into their proper form as he shot through the air. Dark mist shrouded his form in shifting shadows, dying his cloak in the color of night.

Airborne, the Shadow mage shot out a hand made of darkness. It stretched out, grabbing hold of a tree.

Take out the weakest ones first. The psychological blow will make them hesitate.

Barry aimed towards the bandit with the lowest concentration of essence. The mage switched his direction, using a Shadow Limb to swing around the tree.

Barry vented the fiery essence through his back, propelling himself forward.

The mage shot through the air in a corona of fire behind him like the wings of a raptor, aiming a kick to a brigand’s chest. The venting of fire essence eased the burden upon his spirit like letting go of a heavy object.

The kick connected, knocking the bandit to the ground. The kick’s force broke the bandit’s sternum and ribs with a horrifying crack and sickening squelch. His bones broke like twigs under the boot of the mage. The momentum continued, dragging the bandit’s body through the ground with the Barry atop it.

Barry used the sliding corpse's momentum, grabbing a tree trunk and swinging back towards another target.

The figure cloaked in shifting darkness, and the mist of night shot towards another bandit. In a blink, the man’s throat was ripped by dark claws, leaving him to hold it closed as he choked on his own blood. Barry felt the man’s boney throat tear like parchment, a shudder going through his body as he advanced towards another.

The mage dashed towards prey, his form shifting like shadow upon water. He covered a bandit’s face with a dark claw; a flash of yellow and white left his face sizzling, and his eyes sealed shut. The bandit fell to the ground, clawing at his melting face as the mage found the next target.

Arms of darkness, that bent in ways too fluid for simple flesh, wrapped around another’s throat, twisting it till he had eyes at the back of his neck.

The mage shot through the air, too fast to track, dispatching the bandits with calculating precision. One after the other were felled, their deaths shocking their cronies into despair and terror. Fear paralyzes for but a blink. But, a blink is all you’ll need. Use it.

Those that tried to fight back, missed. The shifting shadows hid the man underneath. The brigands’ blades found air, and their arrows found their way back to their throats.

The smell of burnt flesh seeped into the air just like the day it all changed. The day the thing had taken it all away. Ash and darkness clouded the sky.

The band of brigands had fallen, their morale sufficiently broken. The dregs fled like headless chickens, screaming and wailing.

The dark figure approached a catatonic man sitting on the ground. The bandit was the best dressed one of the group, a richly-stained yew longbow lying near his right.

“Where’s the camp?” Asked the dark figure.

“...North… Two leagues north of here and to the right… I think.” Answered the well-dressed cutthroat.

“My thanks.” Said the dark stranger, his voice distant like the pinpricks that dwelt in the dark.

The mage that had felled the group went towards a downed body.

He picked up a rusted carpenter’s axe. The flat was brown, but the edge otherwise shone the true glint of the metal that dwelled beneath the gritty dull.

He brushed his hand over the axehead, palm over the flat. Black flames appeared, licking away at the burgundy rot. The caustic blood of the black between stars devoured the rust, leaving behind cold steel in its wake.

He gently pushed the leader onto his back with a bloody boot.

And swung the axe down, severing mind from body.

Barry started to chuckle darkly. The unexpected laughter uneased Randy. The man had been lost in thought, sometimes smiling or nodding to himself. It was surprising how relaxed the mage could be amidst the group, letting himself daydream or follow a chain of thoughts and memories without worrying about what his face gave away.

Then again, the mage had dominion over flame and shadow, disappearing into the night and conjuring otherworldly fire. Barry could take care of himself just fine. He had nothing to worry about when he had magic. Dammit, what wouldn’t I give for that? Not having to look over my shoulder. Not having to worry about my betters or bluebloods.

Randy’s chain of thought was interrupted when the group entered the pass. A chill went through his spine. Something wasn’t right. Someone was watching.

Barry began muttering something in a low voice. It could’ve been a mumble or a hum—Randy couldn’t tell. Birds sang, their songs a little strange and staccato. Randy was an avid listener of birdsongs and knew these could not have been the genuine thing. A bird’s voice was fluid and sharp, like a leaf fluttering in the wind. These were stocky and low, lacking the subtlety of the things that made the sky their home.

The piercing call of a shrike stabbed the air; Barry advanced forwards, his back towards the group like a shield.

The tell-tale sound of bows being loosed washed over the narrow pass.

The mage’s voice seeped into the group’s ears like cold mist in the night.

“Grasping Darkness.”

A hail of arrows flew through the air towards the group.

Tendrils of shadow like serpents shot out from under the mage’s cloak. The coils quested towards the arrows, grabbing hold of them.

The mage turned his body, spinning with the arrows and swinging them back with the coils of shadow acting as a sling.

Grunts of pain arose from the air in response.

The dark tendrils coiled back into twin arms of darkness, their tips pointed like daggers.

The mage started chanting, his voice cold like steel.

“Take upon the luminous pinpricks that dwell in the void, and shadows shall come.

“Dark Mirror.”

Darkness seeped out from the mage like mist and smoke, eating away at the light and something else… The mage became the seat of storm, gusts of wind battering around him. Coils of blood-red light arced around the tempest. Randy felt a pull on something nestled deep inside him.

The darkness collapsed back into the mage, entering his limbs made of shadow like a flood. The mage’s claws turned to spear tips, elongating. His arms seemed to somehow darken further, turning into the color of a darkmoon.

“Grasping Darkness.”

The words were like a command given to the darkness. It responded in kind.

The mage aimed his arms towards the pass walls.

Coils made of shadow shot out from the arms, unraveling them into serpents that burrowed into earth and stone.

The mage leaned back.

The coils went taunt.

He sprung out into the air like an arrow himself.

Airborne, dark mist emanated from the mage, and his cloak turned black. A shadowy arm shot out, elongating and grabbing hold of a tree, swinging the mage into the fray and out of sight.

Screams of horror and screeches of death resounded into the air.

Flashes of fire and light shone over the narrow pass.

The mage flew over the pass, his form enshrouded in shifting darkness and quick as a bird of prey.

Ash and darkness billowed into the air.

The mercenary-turned-mage approached the group, a shiny axe in hand. The blade looked polished, and the handle had blue strips tied around it.

“Randy,” said Barry, his voice tired and distant, “continue on without me. I need to bury the bodies.”

The mage headed towards the wagon, taking out his travel bag filled with books and parchments. A waterskin and a few smaller pouches dangled from the knapsack like temple chimes.

Randy felt pity for Barry. The man was clearly in no shape to dig graves deep enough to stop animals. Or, Gods forbid, corpse-eaters.

“I’ll help?” Said Randy, his tone bending into a slight question.

The man still scares me, even now when he looks like he just ran the whole Four Corners.

“Come with me then.” Said the mage, beckoning with a darkly gloved hand. “The rest can continue onto the inn. Any bandits that survived won’t have the will to attack.”

Barry turned to look at Randy’s father. The mage’s face was impassive like the surface of a still pond. His eyes seemed to look through the man.

“You’ll get to the inn by midday." Said the mage, throwing a pouch towards the elder. "Get a few rooms for all of us. This is for my share.”

Barry led Randy towards a pile of bodies. Weapons, coin pouches, and other assortments were laid out next to them atop a large cloak.

“We’ll take the weapons that are in the best condition.” Said the mage. “The rest will be gone with them.”

“Where are the shovels?” Asked Randy.

“There are no shovels. I am going to burn them. I am no priest. I cannot consecrate ground.”

“... Oh…”

Barry picked up the spoils of battle, carrying them farther away from the bodies.

The mage headed towards the pile of corpses, bodies strewn over atop one another like logs to a pyre.

He touched his hand to a foot, his eyes open but far away.

Black flames like holes in the tapestry of day spread out from underneath a dark hand. The shifting shadows of flame slowly spread, eating away at the bodies.

The smell of burning flesh did not come to their nostrils, for there was nothing that the flames did not devour.

No ash was left behind from the dark conflagration, for there was nothing that the flames did not devour.

There was no light.

There was no crackling of bone.

Nor smoke.

Only the sounds of shifting bodies as the corpses fell, having nothing to hold them up.

The black flames left nothing behind in its silent wake but itself.

Slowly but surely, the flames ate at the corpses like locusts to crop. Inexorable doom came for the dead to drag them away to the next turn of the Wheel.

As the vessels for their spirits were eaten away, blood essence bled into the air. It was thick like fog, sending the taste of copper to Barry’s nostrils. Such a waste. Do I take it for myself or let it drift away? Why not have just a bit? Just to regain some strength.

Barry followed his instincts, inhaling slowly. The blood that seeped into the air came into his spirit like a windy balm. Instead of easing the tension in his muscles, it created more. Intoxicating ecstasy filled his psyche as he regained the strength in his muscles. His complexion reddened as veins bulged atop his skin, and his eyes turned bloodshot.

I need more.

A feeling of wrongness came over Barry like a distant call of warning. Barry quickly closed his spirit, stopping the influx of Blood mana. He looked inside his Ethereal Self, seeing the blood-red festering essence eating away at his Inner Shadow. He quickly vented the essence, blood pouring out of his skin, eyes, and mouth, and dissipating into nothingness.

Thankfully, Barry had his back towards Randy and his cloak's hood up.

Gods, that was close. I’ve gotta be much more careful with that stuff. I should only use it during bursts. Can’t use it for recovery.

The mage extended a hand towards the flames, darkness emanating from his gloved hand like a storm come harbor. The darkness slithered through the flames, snuffing them out and retreating back under his cloak.

My magic looks remarkably like snakes. Randy was right.

Barry let out a dry chuckle. He remembered it was something that would make him chuckle, and so he did. But, Barry did not get why it was humorous. He just remembered it as such. The husk left in his wake was a puppet that tried to mimic him. The emotions that once took rein seemed distant. Far too distant.

"If I said I was going to burn them," said Barry, "your family would get suspicious. Since, you know, these flames of mine have no smoke."

Barry looked down before continuing.

“Take the weapons and coin back to the inn.

"I’m going to hunt the rest of them.”

“Why?” Asked Randy, surprised by his own voice.

“Why? I am not sure myself…” Said Barry, looking through Randy like his thoughts were somewhere far, far away.

Barry seemed to come back for a moment, his gaze gaining substance and awareness of the near and now.

“Maybe it’s so no one else has to suffer. Do you know why their arrows were aimed at just me and you?”

Randy shrugged his shoulders.

“They wanted your sister and mother alive. Your father didn’t need an arrow to the chest. He could be felled by a quick slit to the throat…”

Barry shook his head, his face constricting in disgust.

“There were women among the bandits. Bandits themselves. And they didn’t care what would happen with your sister. After all, why draw the line at rape when you kill innocents for a warm meal? They can just set their tents farther away from the men at night and look the other way.

“Decency has no place where there is hunger. And where one kills for food, another takes for pleasure or the feeling of power…

Barrys scoffed, his lips tightening in a sharp smile, a small chuckle escaping his mouth.

“The highborn do nothing for the Corners. Newly-banded robbers are taken down by mercenary bands, but brigands this organized?"

"No one culls them." Said the mage, answering his own question.

“Most of these bandits are just deserters from the war with the Middle Kingdoms. The rest are peasants and commoners alike that are too starved for working fields whose crop will not be theirs…

“And… I… Have to kill them. Or else, people like you suffer.”

Barry looked at Randy, his gaze turning distant once more.

“You know, I used to like battle before… All this. When you have comrades by your side, you have someone to commemorate with. You have someone to share ale. Surviving a fight means that you’ve fought well with your band.

“Here? I killed them with my own hands. I had no one to bolster my morale. No one to make the decision to take up arms.

"It wasn't even a fight. It was a slaughter. I pranced around like a little bairn, not knowing how to quickly dispatch all of them without causing so much...

“I killed them. It was the easiest and hardest thing I’ve ever done. Their bones brittle from famine snapped like a hare’s. Their flesh was like butter to the knife of my claws. Their terror was just like...

From Barry’s throat came the chilling laughter of understanding. Lilting and bitter like kahveh.

“I killed them. I was the blighted thing that slaughtered them. Just like that day. I filled a place with ash and darkness. And destroyed all trace of their bodies. Just like that day…

Barry’s eyes widened, his hands going up to his head as understanding hit like a mountain ram. The Man Clad in Black destroyed their bodies by using black flames… Where did all their spirits go? Did he…? Did he take it for himself? Is that it? He killed them all for some essence? No. He could’ve killed anything else for that. Then why?

Barry shook his head, sending away his dark questions. Questions for another day.

“Take the bundle of weapons to the inn.” Said the mage, his voice firm and resolute. “I have bandits to kill.”

“Wait…” Said Randy.

Barry turned around, his gaze sharp like daggers.

“Take me with you…” Randy looked down before returning the mage’s gaze.

When his eyes met the mage's, there was stone in them.

“I can help. I’ve no will to do anything else. Let me fight by your side.”

“You sure? I can’t protect you. If you come, you might die.”

Randy nodded in response.

A small smile started to take root on Barry’s face before he snuffed it out.

“Don that chain mail, and grab a weapon and a few extra daggers and knives.”

"It called either chain or mail, you bumpkin." Said Randy, a small smile forming upon his lips.

"Ah, shut up." Said Barry, chuckling.