I feel him rapidly approaching. His Fog is rolling, sweeping ever closer.

He is the Lord of these dead Woods.

The Curse of Libertas.

Kern, the Spirit of the Forest.

Come little spirit, heed my voice.

Come little Fae, answer to the Master of the Cursed Lands.

[Summoner’s Call]

-------------

Pain was what the little Wolf-folk girl woke to. Pain pounding her skull, pain in her side, and pain in her throat.

Lydia’s thin, malnourished body shook violently from a sudden bout of scathing coughs. She rolled against the hard ground, jarring her skinned knees and elbows in the process, sending fresh ripples of agony up her limbs.

Why does everything hurt so much?!

Her coughing fit was the worst part of this whole ordeal. When she tried to breath slower or deeper in an effort to calm her jerking diaphragm her lungs spazzed even worse than before. These coughing fits had to have come from inhaling that smoke during her escape from the ship.

A gentle weight settled on her head and shoulder, along with a low, gruff voice.

“Its alright little one, just let it out and try ta breathe.”

Lydia cracked open her hazel eyes and caught a brief glimpse of a bald, elderly man frowning down at her. She gradually gained control of herself and the coughing blissfully passed.

“Where… am I?” She croaked, her voice raw from the smoke and the coughing.

“You’re safe… for now.” The old man replied sheepishly.

Lydia pried open her eyes and stared down the old man with a blank expression. “W-what?”

“We’ll get to that.” The old man grumped. “Hmm, names first. You can call me Rufus.”

“Um… Lydia.” The Wolf-girl murmured. She squinted her eyes and peered closer at her savior. “You’re-you’re a human, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?” The old man’s brows furrowed sternly.

“Oh! She’s awake!” A delighted chirpy voice startled Lydia, a tiny squeak escaping her lips.

The Wolf-girl wiggled against the rush of adrenaline as a Cat-folk, naked as the day she was born, bounced over with a grin on her charming face. (though the darkened circle of bruised flesh rising on her cheek marred it)

“Umm… hi?” Lydia waved uncertainly at the newcomer. She was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the happy demeanor that jarred directly with the rest of the tense atmosphere between her at the old human.

“Hi! My name’s Arleen! What’s yours?” The peculiar Cat-girl asked.

“L-Lydia.” She replied faintly.

Arleen’s ears and tail shivered in excitement. “Oh, I’m so, like, glad you woke up! Rufus and I were worried one of the slavers would notice and…” her excitement died, and her ears splayed against her head. “well… They would… you know…”

“But they didn’t, because you’re awake now.” Rufus jumped in, salvaging the conversation from the awkward Cat-girl. He cocked his head and looked Lydia over. “How are ya feelin’? It was a close call last night.”

Lydia briefly considered lying to this human. Since she was snatched to the Castaway Isle and met her first human she has held a contempt for them, so why would this old man be any different?

In the end she decided it was too much trouble. “I’m aching all over, and my side and chest really hurt.”

Rufus opened his mouth to reply but Arleen beat him to the punch.

“Well, Duh. You got, like, tossed on a bunch of sharp metal teeth and shredded ‘n stuff. Rufus spent almost half the fuckin’ night pullin’ shards outta your-“

“Arleen!” Rufus’s barked, jolting the bubbly cat-girl from her enthusiastic rendition of last night’s events. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to hear about that?”

“Oh?” Her emerald eyes widened in guilt. “Oh! Ah shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It-it’s okay. Really.” Lydia stammered.

She was barely keeping up with the conversation and change in scenery as it was, to but hearing such foul language from a dainty looking face threw Lydia for a loop for a moment. She heard the words, but it took her brain a few seconds to realize it was Arleen who said them.

Lydia shook her head to clear the pointless thoughts clinging to her sleep idled mind. She looked up to Rufus with a small smile on her lips.

“Thank you for saving me.” She said reluctantly. Rufus chuckled.

“You’re welcome, but it wasn’t me that saved you.” He looked over her prone body and pointed with a knobby finger. “It was him.”

Lydia turned her head and blinked in confusion.

“What?”

------------

[two hours later]

“I still can’t believe it.” Lydia mumbled with a shake of her head. “How is that guy even alive?”

“Beats me.” Arleen replied behind her in a bubbly voice.

A couple hours ago the slavers had beaten every Nameless to their feet and shackled them together into a single chain gang. The chain held the 17 surviving Nameless one after the other in single file. Rufus, the kindly (?) old man, was mixed in somewhere in the center of the chain while Lydia was third from the rear with Arleen behind her and the strange one armed man at the very end.

Sweat poured from the Namelesss’ bodies and their emaciated limbs trembled from the weight of the shackles and the long, stressful trek through the massive forests that made up the majority of the Cursed Lands.

Lydia and Arleen were better off than most of the Nameless, even considering Lydia’s wounds.

For some odd reason she couldn’t figure out Lydia felt a constant tingling coming from the cuts in her side. They didn’t hurt per se, but the fleeting absence of burning pain from her deep lacerations was a little alarming, as was the non-presence of blood.

It was like she was watching herself heal on a video stuck in fast-forward.

She resolved to find out the cause once they sit down and rest.

The old hum-… Rufus had mentioned something about that half-dead cripple covered in filth being the one responsible for saving her, maybe she can press Arleen or Rufus for more answers about her mystery savior.

Speaking of that strange one armed man…

“He looks really scary, huh? Like a walking skeleton.” Arleen commented airily.

“With one hand.” Lydia remarked.

“Yeah, that.” The Calico Cat-girl giggled. Her tiny smile pulled into a grimace as her bare foot crunched onto a dry stick, the splinters digging into her foot. She hissed in pain and half hopped a few paces, pulling on the chain at the same time.

“Ah! Watch it, you’ll take me with you!” Lydia cried out as she was jerked to the side by her shackles, the chain that interconnected each Nameless pulling her down.

Arleen’s foot hit a root and she yelped as she toppled over. She braced for impact but never hit the ground. A strong, careful grip wrapped around her waist and pulled her into the air.

“Whaa!” She squealed as her feet dangled in the air and the arm around her waist keeping her aloft.

A quiet, dry chuckle rasped behind her. Arleen’s hand found the blackened arm holding her and she half looked over her shoulder at the one embracing her, the strange one armed man.

“Thank you.” She whispered in a tiny voice.

“hmm.” Came the reply.

Arleen was gently set back on the ground without anyone in the chain without missing a step. She pulled a few paces away from her savior and tried to wipe the embarrassment from her bruised face.

“Fuck.”

Lydia’s wolfen tail and ears stiffened before she had to muffle her giggles.

“What?” Arleen titled her head in confusion.

“Nothing… I’m just not used to hearing someone pretty like you cuss so much.” Lydia replied honestly. It was Arleen’s turn to stiffen, her tail poofing out in alarm.

“Wha-? What are ya talkin’ about? I-I ain’t pretty. I’m just used for a good fuck.” She mumbled.

“Why would you say that?” Lydia asked, the shock evident in her voice.

“Why do ya think I was outside at the same time as the rest of the crew when every other Nameless was still in the cargo hold?” Arleen asked.

She saw Lydia’s bare shoulders shrug.

“It’s ‘cuz three of ‘em were already takin’ turns on me in the crew’s quarters right before the crash.”

“…Oh.”

A charged, awkward silence followed, hanging about the two beast-folk like a storm cloud. For a while the only sounds were the jiggle of swaying chain links, groans of pain and the scuffle of boots and bare feet against the dead forest floor.

Finally, with blistered wrists and bloodied feet Asmodeus called a halt. A few of the Nameless Handlers corralled the starved gaggle of Nameless dregs to a small clearing next to a river.

“Shit, it’s getting dark already? Its barely mid-day!” Asmodeus cursed as a thick wave of smoke-black fog rolled in from over the mountains and choking the sunlight from the sky.

“You and you go set up a perimeter.” Asmodeus flicked a finger at a couple of the crew and they reluctantly collected their sidearms and dredged off to find a good tree to lean against and keep watch.

Lydia shuffled after the male Raccoon-folk chained in front of her as she did her upmost to keep her eyes trained on the center of his scarred back and not stray towards the scowling Nameless Handlers glowering in their direction.

So focused was she on trying not to stand out that she missed the thick root protruding from the dead ground. Her toes plowed into the dry wood and hot stabs of pain raced through her swelling feet. The Wolf-girl bit back a cry of pain, the only sound that escaped came out a low whine.

“You okay?” Arleen asked on hearing Lydia’s distress and seeing her stumble.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just kicked a root.” Lydia saw it was the end of the line and plopped down on the ground.

She brought her foot over and flexed her toes experimentally. “See? It’s already feeling better, just a dull tingle now. It hardly hurts at all!”

--------------

Fuck that smarts!

I stifle a growl as the little Wolf-pup kicks a gnarled root and her pain barrels through our shared [Twilight’s Mark], forcing most of her physical pain for me to deal with.

[Twilight’s Mark] isn’t so much healing magic as a magical contract that shares vitality between its users.

The only sticking point? This Wolf-girl has virtually no life-force of her own, so she has nothing to share with me, she was (and basically still is) on death’s door. Instead I’m the one supplying her with vitality.

Basically the only thing keeping little miss kick-every-root-in-the-woods alive is me.

I’m constantly racked with pain from the young girl’s vicious wounds while she gets off with a little tickle. Every time she moves she actually aggravates her injuries, however the Mark pulls the pain to me before she can feel it.

Judging from what I’m feeling right now the shock from her injuries alone would have killed her, never mind bleeding out first. She is fortunate I even know this obscure magic, otherwise she would never have woken up this morning, even with medical attention.

Our benevolent idiot overlords lead the chain gang and I to a little clearing. As the merry band settle in a sudden wave of heavy fog darkens the dead forest. I watch at our little band is swallowed by the fog.

The Spirit of the Forest found us faster than I anticipated. He must have had centuries of practice keeping out invaders, so I suppose he would have to get better at a tracking. He will be here very soon. I better prepare. Don’t want any Nameless being caught in his wraith.

No doubt the Spirit of this forest is the cause of this land’s “curse”. After I was defeated at the Battle of Libertas all those years ago he must have gone on a rampage and pushed out any that dwelled in these lands.

It warms my heart a little knowing he was angered at my supposed demise.

A tiny noise tickles at the edge of my hearing. It’s a gurgling of sorts, but not the sound of from a dying creature, it’s the happy kind. It sounds almost like-

I feel my eyes widen and my brows shoot to the skies.

-It’s water! It’s gotta be actual flowing water!

Giddy excitement races through my bones. When was the last time I drank water let alone bathed? It was before the Dark, of that much I am sure. The alternatives I had to resort to in order to survive during my stay in the Dark were… better left forgotten in the Dark.

To my infinite joy I catch a glimpse of a muddy, filth ridden stream frothing against a cluster of smooth rocks. Its nasty water, but water nonetheless.

If we stopped close to water, perhaps there is food?

I have to swallow thickly to keep from salivating.

My wandering eyes settle on The Feline Beast-girl with the pretty eyes, perhaps I can ask her?

The frail creature chained with me was dutifully avoiding the eyes of the Wolf-girl I saved. Those two must have had a disagreement of some sort during our nature walk. They had stopped speaking a number of hours ago, now all that remains between them is a guilty, saddened air.

I end up sitting relatively isolated against a decaying pine tree with the kind Feline-folk sitting a few feet next to me. I notice that if I wanted to reach the water I wouldn’t have enough chain unless she moved with me.

I delicately reach over and tap her shoulder.

“Meep!” The sound that slipped from the poor thing was nearly enough to keep me rolling on my back in laughter, but I settled for a painful, raspy chuckle instead.

The naked Cat-girl’s calico ears shot ram-rod straight and her tail bushed out twice its normal size as her back arched in surprise. I watch patiently as a visible shiver ripples up her spine before she whirled around to face me with wide, scared eyes.

Her voice is several octaves higher than last she spoke to me, her question coming out as more of a squeak than anything else.

Guess I startled her.

I still have no idea what she actually said but I do catch a few familiar snippets of Common tongue.

I decide to try responding this time. “Help me to the water?”

--------------

“Help ic æt se burna?” The strange man rasped.

“What?” Arleen asked automatically without really listening. Her wide deer-in-the-headlights look pulling a smirk onto the one armed man’s bearded face.

“Help ic æt se burna?” He repeated. His voice was still grating to listen to, but it was in a rather saddening way.

It was clearly difficult for him to speak, most likely it caused him pain to do so, but he still tried. Somehow knowing that even this creature still felt pain put Arleen more at ease. Hearing the hitched agony in his plea made her realize this wretched creature wasn’t some emotionless alien abomination.

He was hurting, just like her.

“Do you want water?” Arleen asked. The strange man tilted his head for a moment to comprehend her question before quickly nodding.

Arleen glanced around nervously. None of the slavers or crewmembers were paying attention. They were either distracted by the unnaturally thick fog looming among the woods or pre-occupied with resting their aching limbs. She took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart and gave the strange man a nod.

“Okay, I’ll help.” She whispered.

It was difficult to tell from the matted length of hair and dirty beard, but Arleen was confident he smiled. The feline Beast-girl crawled to her knees as the poor man got up to follow.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Lydia hissed.

Arleen looked back over her bare shoulder and shrugged. “I’m gonna go with this guy and get some water.”

Lydia scowled.

“You’re going to get us in trouble!” She bickered. Disdain and acidic malice poisoned Arleen’s sweet countenance.

“What can they possibly gonna fuckin’ do to me that’s worse than what they already put me though, eh?” She growled. “They gonna kill me? They gonna off their fuzzy little fuck-toy for getting thirsty?” She laughed bitterly at the double innuendo. “That would be a gods-damned blessing.”

Lydia leaned away from the sudden verbal assault with her ears peeled back and her mouth hanging open in stunned silence.

Arleen took this as her cue to leave.

She and the stranger stayed low and crawled over to the stream while keeping their chains from rattling or getting caught on protruding roots.

Arleen’s knees hit the edge of the stream with a wet squelch. She dug her hands into the cloudy water and drank greedily with complete disregard for what else may be in the water.

Despite the grit and filth the water went down cold and relief spread from her stomach, easing aches and pains she didn’t even notice she had. Arleen didn’t have to look up to know her feral companion was enjoying this as much, if not more, than she was.

When she took a moment to come up for air and glance over at the stranger she had to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle a snort of laughter.

Where Arleen had chosen to cup water into her hands the poor man next to her opted to dunk his entire head into the stream and slurp like a dying man in a desert. The water around his head visibly darkened as years of filth and grime was washed off his hair and face.

Arleen watched him for a while with an amused grin on her lips. After a minute of him not coming up for air her grin faded into a concerned frown.

“Uuum… hey. You can stop drinking now.” Arleen shook his shoulder. Some of the grime on his skin stuck to her wet hand.

Thankfully he did resurface. Arleen was worried he was trying to drown himself. When his head splashed up from the stream his long dark brown hair clung to his head and his beard thinned out into a sopping pointed on his chin.

He looks like a wet cotton ball. Arleen giggled at the thought.

The cotton ball noticed he had an audience. His eyes twinkled with mischief, only Arleen noticed too late. Before she could get away he shook his sopping wet head around like a dog, flinging rings of water droplets all about.

Arleen squeaked as she was struck by the flying liquid, the cold water sending chilly tingling trills up her naked body.

When he finished air drying his hair he smirked at the wet (and grumpy) Cat-girl frowning comically back at him with water dripping from the tips of her ears and nose.

“Fuckin’ asshole.” She muttered. He snorted in laughter and inclined his head back over to the rest of the Nameless.

Arleen’s frown vanished as she made her way back through the quickly thickening fog, still a reveling in the after-glow of drinking her fill. As she and her companion neared their tree she saw the rest of the Nameless gathered in a huddle around Rufus, must wearing expressions of concern or outright horror.

“What’s goin’ on?” Arleen asked as she slid next to Lydia. The wolf-girl was on the outer edge of the little gathering to avoid getting their chain too tangled.

“I don’t really know.” Lydia admitted. “The old human- I mean… Rufus- said he had something important to tell us. Since the fog is thick enough to kind of hide us from the Handlers and the crew this was the perfect time.”

She glanced over as she spoke but did a sudden double-take. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are you two wet?”

“Uum…” Arleen shrugged. “Accident?”

“Sure, whatever…”

Rufus’s gravelly voice brought everyone’s eyes and ears, even the stranger paid attention despite most likely being unable to understand a word of what was being said.

“We can’t stay here.” He began. “These slaver yahoo’s have no idea what’s comin’. If they did, we wouldn’t be settin’ down here. We need to get movin’ and outta this fog as quickly as possible.”

“Why?” The male green-skinned Orc asked from his gray-skinned mate’s close embrace. “What is coming?”

Rufus was quiet for a moment. The old wrinkly man leaned forward and took the opportunity to look his fellow Nameless in the eye.

His answer was barely above a shallow breath.

“Kern.”

No one noticed the one armed stranger’s expression perk up.

“Kern is the Spirit of these Woods. An incredibly powerful Fae creature that once served the Magebreaker before his defeat at the Battle of Libertas.” Rufus continued in his rough growl.

“When someone mentions the Curse of Libertas they are actually talkin’ about Kern. When the Magebreaker fell in battle against the Regulators and their army Kern went on a rampage.” The old man’s bald face broke out into a grim frown.

“Upon attempting to withdraw from Libertas with their spoils the forest itself rose up from its slumber and attacked the battle weary army, killin’ hundreds of the surviving soldiers. Since that day over a 1,000 years ago Kern’s wraith has kept his lands hostile and the forest itself would descend on any fool who has dared trespass his woods.”

“And now…” Rufus sighed heavily. “We are smack dab in the middle of a gods-damned forest haunted by an angry Fae wit’ a bad habit of impalin’ intruders on sharp tree roots.”

The Orc couple scooched wearily from their tree.

“W-What are we gonna do?” A bone thin human asked from somewhere in the middle of the audience.

“We gotta make a run for it.” Rufus answered confidently. “I’m confident in my navigation skills. I ain’t a Level 76 Ranger for show ya know.” He replied with a tiny smirk.

“Level 76?!” Arleen squeaked in awe.

“What does that mean?” Lydia arched an eyebrow, not comprehending what was so amazing. Arleen’s incredulous stare made the Wolf-girl curl her head into her shoulders. “What? I… I’m not from around… here.”

“You’re one of those Outsiders?” Arleen asked with wide shining eyes. “Wow! I never met an Outsider before! How did you get to the Castaway Isle? What was it like?”

“Umm…” Lydia was clearly not comfortable with this line of conversation. “I… I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry?”

“Oh… Okay.” Arleen’s ears flattened in embarrassment. “Sorry, I like, just got so fuckin’ excited. I always wondered what it must be like outside the Castaway Isle.”

“It’s fine… So, Levels?” Lydia asked, trying valiantly to get the conversation back on track. She’s clearly in the dark about something very important here.

Arleen’s face brightened. She’s usually the one that has no idea about what’s going on, so actually being the one to teach someone else is new and exciting for her.

“Right. So Levels… Well, I’m Level 6. I’m pretty fuckin’ weak for someone my age. I also don’t have a Class. You need to be at least Level 10 to get one.”

“Okay… so the higher the Level the stronger you are?” Lydia’s brows furrowed in thought.

“Yup!” Arleen chirped, happy that her “student” caught on fast. The Cat-girl always wanted to be the smart one in a conversation. Her tail whipped animatedly behind her naked body.

“Alright, so how do you get a higher Level?”

“To ‘Level up’ you gotta get Attribute Points. Every 10 Attribute Points gains you a Level.”

“Wow, that’s… straight forward. I was worried it would be complicated.” Lydia mused, more to herself. “What Level am I?”

“Solas, The Master of the Castaway Isle, gave everyone a way to look at that. Just think about your ‘status’ realllllly hard and you’ll see it!”

“M’kay…” Lydia closed her eyes and thought with all of her mind. She felt ridiculous, but the absurdity of her current situation help soft the blow to her common sense. (Or what was left of it anyway)

To her relief Arleen hadn’t been pulling her leg.

[Status]

True Name: Lydia Acacia Fenrir

Level: 4

Age: 19

Class: N/A (Requires Level 10)

Race: Red Wolf-Folk

Basic Attributes: (Each Level is gained every 10 Attribute Points)

Strength:4

Agility:7

Intelligence:9

Wisdom:7

Endurance:3

Perception:9

Dexterity:5

Vitality:4

A little blue screen popped into existence behind Lydia’s closed eyes.

She felt an odd pull from somewhere in the back of her head, almost like her eyes were sucking something from the base of her brain. It was an unsettling sensation but not an overall unpleasant feeling.

“Huh, it says I’m Level 4…” The Wolf-girl murmured and opened her eyes. The status screen flittered out of existence and the pull behind her eyes relaxed.

“Yikes.” Arleen commented. “That’s really weak. Here I thought I was bad.”

Lydia leveled a deadpanned stare at her companion. “Right, thanks for that…”

“Heh, my bad.”

A badly shaking voice cut through the beast-girls’ conversation.

“W-w-what are we gonna do?” One of the beast-folk moaned. “If we make a run for it these drain manacles will make it impossible and the Handlers will hear that chains rattling!”

“Yeah!” A middle aged female human piped up. “We first gotta get these damn chains off.”

“I agree, that’s one o’ the reasons why I gathered everyone here.” Rufus explained. “Someone is gonna have to sneak over an’ snatch the keys. Any volunteers?”

The air of anticipation soured in an instant. Weary glares and whispered arguments erupted like tiny wildfires. No one wanted to be the unlucky bastard, but everyone wanted someone else to do it. The fragile sense of unity against a common enemy shattered now that everyone else is a possible threat to their survival.

“Actually…”

Everyone’s eyes turned to the tiny voice. Arleen raised a trembling hand. Though she looked extremely nervous the serious glint in her normally playful eyes silenced any sort of argument.

“What is it Arleen?” Rufus asked gently, prodding the shaking Cat-girl into action.

“I…I have an idea” She stammered. “You… just ain’t gonna like it.”

-------------

My sense of dread boils hotter the longer I watch. At first, I was curious to see what sort of result I’d get to see from this little pow-wow. It was fine, but something the elderly man said set everyone off. My unease spiked when my kind feline companion paled and swallowed thickly and raised a trembling hand.

I do not know what she said but the dumb stare of shock on the old man’s face and the guilty shuffling from the other Nameless sets off alarm bells in my head.

Whatever she suggested, I don’t like it.

The old man tries to dissuade the frail Cat-girl from her plan of action, but she puts a brave face on and stiffens her upper lip.

She is going to do this… whatever it is.

This little mystery was solved not two minutes later when one of the Handlers slogged by with a scowl on his face and an energy pistol in hand.

Why would they even hold onto those energy weapons? Don’t they know that Tech weapons don’t work on Arcane saturated worlds? It’s a fancy paperweight here.

The Handler gave the occasional kick to any Nameless that he deemed either out of line or just kickable.

Except when he stopped in front on a certain Calico Cat-folk.

It frustrates me to no end in being unable to understand a word of what was being said, but the grin that split the Handler’s ugly mug was enough. With hands shaking slightly with anticipation he plucks a key from his pocket and unlocks the scared little Cat-girl from the chain and pulls her towards his fellows.

The Nameless around me avert their gaze and some even cover their ears. The brunette Wolf-girl actually sputters into tiny sobs. I push away the dread in my throat and take a deep breath to center myself.

Then I listen and watch.

A burst of gruff laughter and vulgar hoots and hollers from the slavers and crewmembers camped out behind the curtain of thick fog that hung over the forest like a bad omen.

A flare of soft orange light and the long forgotten crackle of a campfire teases my senses as repulsive jeers and laughter poison the nostalgic break back to past experiences. Shapes and silhouettes dance about the obscured campfire. The heavy fog scattered the flickering campfire’s glow, bending the shadows and silhouettes into nightmarish abominations and bizarre creatures of light and dark.

Next came the smell.

The canine-folk recoiled from the distinctly earthy stench of sex a few seconds after me. The salty tang of semen overpowered the more feminine smell, for obvious reasons. Reasons that took me far too long for my isolation-idled mind to piece together.

Naked cat-girl in the middle of a gang of slavers.

Even without knowing their language I should be ashamed with not figuring out what my feline companion was trying to attempt. She must being trying to get a key for these chains. And the only way she could get close was… while servicing them.

I go to get up but the clang of these chains binding my arms around my torso brings me back to my situation.

I can feel these manacles constantly bleeding away my mana and stamina. In my weakened state I expect I’m not even a 20th of my power. Whatever. I can make due. However the danger comes from snapping apart these chains and endangering these innocent Nameless Dregs.

A loud slap of an open hand against bare flesh and a feminine squeak of pain makes every Nameless flinch in guilt.

I only feel a burning growl of anger rise in my throat.

Fine. You know what? Screw this. Consequences be damned.

Motherfuckers are going to die tonight.

While the other Nameless are looking away in shame or, especially in the case of the wolf-girl, were burying their heads in their hands and crying as quietly as possible.

I slide around the side of the tree I had been resting against and flexed my arms. My muscles were made feebly thin from centuries of malnourishment and overuse, but even in my desperately terrible shape snapping chains with my bare hands and tearing the jewels of a bunch of rapists.

My biceps and traps tremble as I strain against my bonds. The thick manacles dig into my skin and I am confident do manage to draw a little blood. With the chains stretched taut I sharply tug my arms apart and the poorly maintained iron chains warp and give with a groaning snap and the broken links fall away with a loud jingle.

I flex my freed limbs and reach around to the manacle on my shortened arm and crush the hinge and flick the offending accessory to the dust. Instantly I feel the drain from my mana and stamina stifle to an uncomfortable trickle. I can work with this.

I feel a feral grin spread across my face and my body vibrates with the primal excitement of a predator starving for the hunt as I fade away into the pale white fog.

Time to go to work.