[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 16]

Gazef rapped his fingers against the haft of his blade. He pumped his flesh in conscious rhythm with his companion, taking steps in stride. They moved with haste and purpose, yet not true urgency. Running would have been foolish, drawing attention when none would be wise. The sight of the Warrior-Captain running with blade in hand would quickly build in the minds who saw it. Words would leap from person to person, details buckling under the weight of an engreatening narrative. The collective minds of the city would shudder, rumors would turn to stories, stories to panic, panic to death - and in the hands of those highbloods wont to sunder their dues from the populace, death to a loss of face and coin. This was an unacceptable outcome, so Gazef and Eiger did not dash, but merely strode.

“How many men do you have ahead?”

“Four squads, and another two standing back.”

Sixty-count. Should be enough to handle containment of any lesser undead, if there are any.

“Are we seeking the aid of the guild?”

“To my understanding-”

No, that’s a foolish question. Of course we’re not going too. Jelka wants this kept tight to the chest; his majesty too. That’s why it's me, and the city guard alone.

“You needn’t continue. That ask came too quickly from me.”

“I understand.”

Gazef peeked toward the sky, the stars running broad and high afield. The moon was a sliver, looking ready to forget itself entirely to the vastness of the breach above. A sharp turn, Eiger led them down an alley. Gazef perked up at this, yet did not make conversation from it.

Dangerous of him. Is he seeking violence? Brave. No, perhaps I’m being paranoid. Though, it's not like I’m jumping at shadows. After all, an attempt was made on my life this week.

Within a moment. They had passed through it, simply cutting their route by bypassing one of the larger bends. This brought them onto a lesser thoroughfare, and they navigated with speed. The farther one got from the wealthy districts of the city, the sparcer the crowds became at night. Light did not come without cost, and even if recent inventions in long-lasting arcane motes could be made thrifty, the odds of places like they went to now receiving it were slim. The depth was consuming.

“What caliber of fighters are your men?”

“Most are just people who came right off the streets. That is to say, little to none. Some are dedicated, but even if they are, they’re under-equipped and under-trained. We only got a full complement of chest plates last month.”

“Oh? Improving, I suppose.”

“From my understanding, it was the Golden Princess who proposed it.”

She pushed for the guards in the city to have better armor? I don’t remember any talk about that. Normally, gossip about her suggestions would make it to my ears, even from the maids; especially for something like that.

“Why did you not have plates before?”

No, I’m almost certain she didn’t. It must have been someone else.

“The core and edges of the city get the funding.”

Rumors may have just given credit to her for it anyway. Fighting for the city guard to have fresh equipment sounds exactly like something she would do. Living in the palace and the way the nobility speaks about her makes me forget how popular she is.

“Edges, for the wall?”

“Exactly. You didn’t know that? Er, forgive me.”

“It's fine. No, I didn’t. I am a captain of warriors after all, not guards.”

When no laugh came, Gazef realized his jest failed to impact. He sagged slightly.

Didn’t mean to insult him. Oh well.

The darkness was oppressive, and he found it impossible to maintain a clear sightline. He clicked his tongue, disappointed at the unideal conditions for combat with a caster.

Such nights are perfect for… Ah what was it she said? “Ne'er-do-wells”? No one else of the Ryles speaks like that. Well, Zanac, but only to mock someone. She’s the only one in that clade, though Ramposa does too. It's strange how much she reminds me of him. I know she is his child, but they’re forty years apart. I suppose both of them are well seen.

“Warrior-Captain.”

Gazef thought about telling the boy to drop the false-title altogether, but decided it would be foolish.

For him, that sort of rigidity is the structure he clings to. No point in taking that away from him.

“Yes?”

“Who’s to be left at King’s side if you aren’t at the palace?”

“I can’t answer that. That's a matter of palace defense.”

“Ah. Yes Captain, I apologize for my indiscretion.”

Not like it matters much, but I do need to keep such topics hidden. I doubt you’re the sort of commissar to turn and sell that information to someone else, but vigilance only works if it's kept in moments like this.

Eiger again pivoted down an alley. This time they were not alone, some urchin children nesting in a wrecked wooden crate stuffed with whatever soft things they could find. One of the three was awake, a girl of nearly eight or nine, and upon seeing the pair walking down the closed space quickly woke her fellows. They watched nervously as the commissar with captain as escort walked by, the girl holding a small makeshift shiv assembled from something Gazef could not discern in the dark. Their silhouettes were the only true details he would make; gaunt and thin.

Children standing watch as they sleep. Not a sight I want to see.

Gazef and Eiger passed them, finding their egress back into a true road. The space did not grow to its full space, the gaps between buildings tightening. The farther from the palace they got, the more the streets wound and twisted in on themselves. The firm challenge of navigating such a maze was made worse by the softness of the roads, no longer stone but mud. Tonight was not a bad day for the soundness of the ground, though nor was it good. Eiger did not break pace, navigating the narrows, and Gazef simply followed his lead.

I’m never this deep in the space between districts. Never get called to places like this. I suppose it's not everyday that some mad caster appears in the middle of the warrens.

“How much further?”

“Minute, my men are just up ahead. Here.”

Eiger gave a gesture towards yet another alley inlet, quickly turning into it. This space was tight, Gazef barely being able to fit abreast. Eiger strode proud and confidently through the dark.

He has no fear. Good. Men like him let this nation function.

“Commissar Eiger, you seem like a fine man.”

“Thank you Captain. Indeed, he was.”

‘He was?’ Strange thing to say.

“Was that a slip of the tongue?”

“No, Eiger died two hours ago. I killed and replaced him.”

He heard the faint sound of a weapon being drawn, scraping against its sheath. Gazef reacted suddenly, stopping halfway through his pace and reversing his fingers mid stroke on his haft. Gripping it, he realized the space he was in was too tight to draw his bastard sword. The noise came from his front, yet Eiger seemed to pause, merely looking ahead.

Shit! ‘Possibility Sense!’

He spiked as much of his aura as he could to his head, amplifying his perceptions as much as he could. Danger to his abdomen. He jerked back, but not before a weapon lacerated it. The cut was not deep, but he could see no weapon that made it, only some of his blood seeming to hang in the air.

An invisible blade?!

A faint whistling came from behind. Gazef threw him back flat against the wall to his right with explosive force, narrowly avoiding a hail of four curved blades, scimitars, whipping end over end. The shockfront of energy burst his nostrils, and what blood had already fallen from it whipped in the air as he jerked. All four reached Eiger, but rather than pincushioning his form, simply passed through him as if he was not there.

Illusion spell! That strike had to have come from somewhere.

Gazef lifted his dexter leg and swiftly kicked to his right. To the eye, he was doing so into the air, but he felt his boot crunch into flesh. A yelp came from his right, and satisfied he had bought at least a moment from his illusory attacker, he whipped his head to the left. Catching the silhouette of a woman framed at the entrance to the alley, he made the swift decision to charge towards her. He burst forward, pumping his legs as quickly as he could, filling them with the returning shockwave of his focus that had reflected from his skull.

I need to push through.

Closer now, he could see the woman had superimposed an additional two scimitars before her, yet was not holding them. He realized that they were floating blades, and that the ones that had passed him by were likely on the return. He had no room nor time to draw his own properly, rather jerking the haft of the sword cross to its bonds, breaking the clip that affixed the sheath of his sword. He had scored it just for this purpose, and ripped it away from his body, holding it out like a lance as he charged. Bolting towards the woman, the blades leveled,and Gazef suddenly let his legs give. Dropping into a slide, he caught her left leg with heel, kicking it out from under her as he re-entered into the street he had turned from. He used the spare time to quickly grab and slide off the sheath from his blade. His abdomen screamed, the pain overwhelming. Using the stiff leather of the sheath as a lever arm, he dug it into the ground, allowing him to spin back onto his feet and take stock of his opponents. His opponent did so in tandem. There were four in the street, all armed.

Left to right: that blade dancer, fencer, Lich, and the heavy-armor fighter. The illusionist is still in the alley.

“I knew this job wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Shut up. I almost had him if Succulent hadn’t blown his performance.”

Lady Aindra mentioned a team like this was in the service of Eight Fingers, Six Arms. Two coordinated attempts on my life in one week. Foul luck.

The rush of combat stripped all fear from him, and for a moment, he simply found his mortal peril overwhelmingly humorous. Gazef smirked, yet it quickly went stale.

I need to get back to the palace immediately. There are likely threats against the King.

A fifth man entered from the alley. He was dressed as Eiger was, but his face was thinner, and he held himself lower. A glint of moonlight streaked across his blade.

“I didn’t even need to perform, it was Zero’s paranoia that had me do that. Tell me Warrior-Captain, you didn’t actually know Eiger, did you?”

A swift and brutal realization hit Gazef.

Gods, that’s why he took continuous cuts into alleys. To get me to slacken myself at their use. I would have noticed that space was too tight otherwise. Cunning, coordinated. This was planned in advance. Shit! They’re trying to delay me. I should play along, see what I can draw out.

“No. I didn’t.”

“Did you buy all that bullshit I said? That act of mine?”

They’re taunting. Just trying to catch me off my guard?

“Yes, I did.”

The blade dancer chuckled.

“Ha! So he is as humble-”

Gazef burst forward, swinging his blade. He imbued it with his energy, and its form split sixfold into luminant forms aligned in-step. The blade dancer brought the scimitars before her in a wall of cold metal. He let it release, the ephemeral edges launching forward, striking, and sundering all six. Her face was not discernable in the gloom, but the whites of her eyes doubled in size. The three swordsmen jumped forward, the armor fighter’s blade suddenly springing into a long wire. He cracked it at Gazef, catching his blade, whipping around it and up his arm. A long spiral cut dug into his dexter flesh, the coil’s edge frighteningly sharp.

I need to keep the initiative.

Gazef bore the pain, pivoting toward the armor fighter. The line slacked, and in that precious moment he loosed his arm from the bind. More of his flesh sloughed off, but his maneuver had made what was lost just skin, not muscle. He kept charging, thrusting with his sword. It deflected from the plate to the right, his blade being only an iron steel, not a more robust metal. His momentum quickly left the two of them entwined, Gazef shooting a rapid flat palm strike against the armored attacker’s helm.

That dazed him!

Gazef was shoulder in shoulder with his enemy, forcing his wounded right arm inward and pushing the man off his balance. This managed to superimpose the man between Gazef and a jab from the fencer just in time, the saber also deflecting from his comrade’s backplate. Gazef shoved the armored man towards his compatriot, him spinning in place just in time to avoid it. Two flashes in the moonlight. He swung his sword, knocking a pair of throwing knives out of the air before they reached him. The man who had disguised himself as Eiger advanced.

He’s cloaked his blade. The one I see is a false image.

The illusionist shot a rapid thrust. Gazef made the split-second gamble to dodge into its path, betting that the real blade was not there. When the blade passed into his form without piercing him, he knew he had guessed correctly, sweeping his left arm through the empty air and catching a translucent form. He gripped it, and with a swift grapple throw and kick broke the illusionist's blade arm at the elbow. An agonized scream confirmed he was down for the time being.

Four.

The fencer closed in and jabbed with his saber, catching Gazef’s left abdomen and piercing it. Gazef grunted at the pain, but managed to grab the man’s right shoulder with his left hand. Gazef pulled, pushing the saber deeper inside him and at the same time running his blade through the fencer’s thigh. A swift wrenching action ripped it free completely, severing the flesh of his quadriceps from the bone. A second yell of pain came, and Gazef lept back off the blade, vitality pouring from his fresh wound.

Three. I’m losing blood quickly. I need to down a healing salve, but reaching for one leaves me vulnerable. That lich still hasn’t loosed any spells. Why?

The armored man had returned to his feet and whipped his coil in a low arc, Gazef leaping over it. His abdomen burned, and when he touched the ground again, the impact was far rougher than he anticipated. Gazef’s legs gave out from under him without warning. Falling, he realized what was wrong.

Shit, poison!

Landing in a three point pattern, he leveraged the ground and spun, dodging a third spasm from the whip. As he pirouetted, he reached into his pocket and gripped a vial. He had no time to drink it, so he simply crushed it in his hands, the glass slicing his hand and introducing the antidote immediately into his bloodstream. Shifting his hand, he grabbed a second vial of medicine, shattering that one too.

The lich is keeping his mana banked, waiting for me to disengage. I should close the distance now.

Gazef righted and ran, evading a fourth strike of the whip, cracking against the mud. The lich, its flesh rotted and bone exposed realized it could no longer stand passive. It raised its right arm, flicking a finger at Gazef. A conflagration shot forth, Gazef charging into it with his pauldron. The heat was painful beyond reckoning, the flesh of his right side wilting and crisping in the flame. Healing alchemy still flowed in his blood, his seared and burnt skin quickly being consumed by the wet-pulp of yewling flesh. He rammed the lich full bore, feeling its half-exposed ribcage crack.

They’re never that tough at close range. Still, a wound like that could mean nothing to an undead.

Gazef kept charging, sweeping the monster off of its feet. He carried it full speed into the wall of a nearby building, its breast bone giving way completely as its chest shattered. A brackish bile flowed from its body, staining Gazef’s skin wherever it touched. This earned a cry of pain, a far more foul sound of an overdrawn moan.

Two. Their range is gone. I should break away now.

Gazef kicked away from the wall, adopting a low stance. Against his better instinct, he let himself hesitate.

Gods, what of that man’s explanation was true? Obviously this was the lich, but are there undead? I can’t let them avoid the grave if so. Shit! This is to keep me here. Their attempt on my life is expert.

Gazef raised himself, but before he could fully lengthen, a blow of overwhelming power struck him square in the back. Before he knew it, his feet had left the ground and he was flying through the air. Approaching the ground, he tried to catch himself, but a second strike into his back drove him into the mud.

Lakyus spoke of a sixth; a monk.

A stomp came down upon his back, then a second, then more. The strength was raw, each strike pounding him deeper into the ground. They came with such force that Gazef rattled in his armor, struggling to maintain breath support. Gazef tried to twist his head to look at his attacker, but this only provoked a kick to his head.

This is bad.

Gazef turned his head again, flowing aura into his jaw. Another kick to it came, Gazef catching the boot in his teeth and biting down tight. He torqued hard, pulling the attacker off his balance. The owner of the boot flailed their foot, managing to wrench away and taking two of Gazef’s teeth with it. This gave Gazef a precious moment, and he threw himself to his side, rolling onto his back. Another kick, but this time he caught it in his hands. He caught clear sight of his opponent.

A hulk! Orc? No, his features are human. How does one ever build such muscles?

Gazef reversed the flow of his strength, dragging down on the monk’s foot. He jerked it upward, but this was exactly what Gazef wanted to happen. Gazef released as the man reached the apex of his movement, grabbing the man’s left arm to pull himself up fully. Now standing, Gazef swung his blade, concentrating his energy on its edge. He slashed across the man’s chest, bisecting a tattoo of tauruskin.

“Your title isn’t hollow, Warrior-Captain.”

His voice was low and firm. Even upright, Gazef could see how towering he was. He quickly swept his gaze, not sure how much time had lost on the ground. The three he had waylaid were still down, the armor fighter, blademaster, and now monk the only ones standing.

She can’t engage into me, not without her weapons. That makes this two to one. Manageable, except I get the feeling that monk has been holding back. Do I run? No, there's a chance he runs me down even if I dash flat out. I would compromise my ability to maintain breath support. It's hard enough pulling in any air as it is; I think I have broken ribs.

“Way of the Panther!”

“A violet glow enveloped the legs of the monk, the iridian inks of his shamanic tattoos shining light into the night. He exploded forward, using his momentum to throw a punch. Gazef deflected it, his blade resonating from the blow, as if it had been struck against rock. The monk unleashed a flurry of blows, Gazef managing to interpose his sword nine times before he let a fist slip through his defenses. The glow turned crimson, the arms of the monk alit in a deep red.

“Way of the Rhino!”

A flat palm strike sundered Gazef’s breastplate, splitting it in two and thrusting shards of its ruined form into his chest. Blood came up Gazef’s throat and sputtered out of his mouth. His bladescreen was broken, and a second fist shot through. Gazef flowed the sum of his aura to the air just adjacent to his breast, slowing the monk’s strike in an ephemeral drogue. Gazef kicked back, using everything he could to get the monk out of measure. He tried to step in, but Gazef was faster, using the opportunity to twirl his blade and grab it at its midsection. He broke forward with deadly bearing in a half-swording assault.

You won’t escape this!

“Way of the Falcon!”

The monk tried his best to leap back, his body flexing at the use of evasive arts, but Gazef closed the breach anyway. His sword - much of its broad form slickened by the blood of his hand - entered the man at his dexter shoulder and pushed deep inside of him, nearly severing his arm all together. Gazef cleaved the crossguard to the man, and with a quick blow to the pommel, freed his sword. The monk gave a muffled cry, his arm only hanging to his body by what skin of his that had remained unsevered.

I would try and seize you, but I can’t restrain six, and the threat you pose is too great. I need to return to the side of the King. There’s likely a parallel plot. I can’t let you live.

Gazef arced his sword low, swirling to reposition it for a second killing blow. To his surprise, slipped from his grip. He could not understand why, feeling that he had just made some mortal mistake. He shot a look to his right arm and was shocked at what he saw. What was left was a slurry of vital coagulants, oily mud, snipped sinew, charred skin, shattered bone, and torn muscle - all the live components of which were in a state of accelerated necrosis. The bile that passed for the lich’s blood had seeped into the cuts made by the whip of the armor fighter, voraciously consuming the tissue inside. The worst of the rot had spread at his elbow, the faint bluish tint of newly exposed bone unmistakable even in the gloom of the umbra. Gazef snatched at the haft of the sword before it clattered to the ground, bringing it level as his right arm fell limp, dripping fatty slush onto the ground.

I need to sever or scorch that limb immediately. Gods know how long my body can bear necrotic sludge eating at it… I need to heal it now. But I have no salves left... I would need to run.

The monk tilted, then fell to his knees, then face-first into the quagmire. The armor fighter contorted his whip again, but the attack was unsteady. Gazef caught it with his sword, the wire-blade coiling rapidly around it. It slipped into a groove and snagged there, a chunk of steel that had been sheared off while parrying the assault of the monk. Gazef torqued the haft, snapping the coil at its bond to the enemy’s hilt. Gazef wished desperately to swiftly end the lives of those present, but he was overcome with an inescapable woozieness.

If I… lose consciousness here… they’ll kill me. Shit.

He took a step back, then another, building a pace. The blade dancer and armor fighter did not pursue, instead falling into postures of a defensive melee, holding their arms taught and ready for violence. They too looked exhausted. Shouts echoed from the night, and the street they were on was licked in the orange light of flame. City guards were arriving, drawn by the commotion of the melee.

They can kill the guards… but they must think… overcoming the reinforcements would be… another matter. They fear guildsmen… Who wouldn’t seek a bounty… on the heads of those… who attacked the head warrior?

The two standing members of Six Arms seemed to make the same calculation, and they both rushed to the side of their comrades, hoisting them fast to their arms. They tugged, the woman handling the illusionist, the armor fighter gripping the monk and the fencer. The lich dragged itself. Gazef tried to reverse course, desperately wanting to pursue, but his balance was threatened when he tried to root his feet to do so. He could barely hold up his sword, his body barely being able to support his consciousness.

If they knew… how wounded I was… they would finish me off… instead they run… a sick joke.

He blinked, his eyes fluttering as he struggled to keep them open. When he finally managed to force them open, they had disappeared, the signs of struggle the only indicator of their presence. He turned sluggishly, his hand loosening and letting free his sword. He walked toward the approaching city guard, the task becoming more arduous with each step.

I wonder if those were Eiger’s men… before he was killed and replaced.

The last thing he saw before the world slipped entirely to black was the horrified face of a young guardsman. He slipped off his feet and into the mud not in victory or defeat, but simple survival.