The crowd roared with excitement.

The Casanaddi brothers watched the butcher with terrified eyes, still pinned to the stage by a single arm. The butcher gradually extended his free hand to their backs. They seemed to realize his intent, and all three of them began to buck and twist, but the butcher held them easily. He smiled grimly the entire time as he reach to one of their wings. He caressed it, running a finger along the leathery membrane and graceful bones.

Then, slowly, he began to rip it off.

He went to the next one and repeated the motion. Blood sprayed everywhere, but the butcher only smiled wider. After he was done with their wings, he flipped them over to their backs. He pinned them again and began to pull their toes and fingers off one by one. The Incubi tried to counterattack, but they couldn't make a single scratch on the butcher.

The butcher let them escape at one point. He sat up and waved for the brothers to run.

They tried on their bloody stumps, hobbling pathetically.

One of the Incubi actually made it off the stage, but the butcher eventually dragged all three back to continue the torment.

Myra leaned over Dusk's side and wretched. I just continued to watch.

With the efficiency that must have been granted by his trade, the butcher systematically moved up each limb. It was clear to me what God had Marked him. This wasn't an execution. This was revenge. It was a one-sided slaughter. It was what the butcher had asked for, and now he was getting his wish. There was only one God that fit that bill.

The God of Wrath.

When the Casanaddi brothers threatened to bleed out, the butcher took time to relieve them of what laid between their legs while they were still conscious.

The screams which echoed in the air didn’t sound humanoid. They sounded like dying animals. It was hard to tell when they actually died, or what injury killed them.

It was all over in three minutes. I know because I counted them. One man killed three Incubi effortlessly. Even making sport of them.

There was a story of a single Incubi killing squads of highly trained soldiers. But to a Deified? No. Three of them were child’s play. I wondered if the butcher would make their wings into trophies later, because he set them aside gently as he continued his revenge.

When it was done, the guards wandered about the stage with barrels to load the body parts into. The barrels were then set on fire near the river.

The smell of burned flesh permeated the air like a greasy and sweet perfume.

I watched the entire time, my eyes never leaving the butcher.

His clothes were covered in blood. He looked like he had just gutted three pigs for all the pity on his face. Stone stood just behind him, a hand on his shoulder, and tried to speak to him. The butcher didn’t seem to hear as he watched the town guards do their work.

To my point, he still held the six wings in his hands. As the final barrel turned to ash, the glow in his eyes faded and his Mark became a scar.

The butcher collapsed, and Stone caught him before he hit the blood-sodden wood.

I sighed, looking away at last. I didn’t want to know what he had given the God of Wrath in exchange for power like this.

A part of me was impressed with him for staying conscious this long after killing the Incubi. Using a Mark’s power was a bit like running from a predator at top speed. You didn’t realize how much of a toll it was taking on your body until you stopped.

I patted Dusk, and he began to walk again. The crowd dispersed gradually, and I caught murmurings of several people talking about what they had seen.

Now the butcher would be one of the most sought-after men in town. I knew his business would flourish, and likely he would have to expand. Everyone wanted to be associated with a Deified, even if they had already used their Mark.

Nobody would remember the blood on his hands.

Nobody would remember the screams of the dying.

Nobody would remember the smile on his face as he did it.

Not one.

*******

Court Road gradually changed from dirt to cobblestone. Borobelly Lake drew nearer, and people walked the shops and market along Main Street. Couples held hands in the late afternoon as horses and carriages clattered past. Craftsmen called their wares to them, and laughter could be heard amongst the rumble of basic conversation.

I dropped off my reply to Lord Beaufoutonte’s office, ensuring it went directly to him. Then we went to the general store so I could stock up on ammo and other needs.

I peered over my shoulder again, but Myra just stared fixedly into her lap, her face still pale.

“You’re quiet,” I said to her. I didn’t mind the change, but something this drastic didn’t bode well.

She only shrugged in response.

I checked ahead of me and saw we were almost at the general store. It’s front, like several on Main Street, was painted largely white with blue and red accent colors. Small pots with flowers sat on either side of the door. A large sign mounted above read “Jose’s Basic Needs”.

A memory came, forcing its way into my brain like an ice pick.

Fay and I stand in the store. Jose’s daughter, named Camila, is helping Fay sort through different types of ammo orders while I stand next to her. Her eyes keep lingering on Fay, and at one point she trails a finger down her arm. Jose cuffs her on the back of the head as Fay slides her arm around my waist.

I cleared my throat as Dusk came to a stop.

“I have to buy some supplies,” I said carefully, “Do you want anything?”

Myra shook her head, and her gaze drifted to the butchery next door. Her eyes became glassy, and her lip quivered before she looked down again.

I hitched Dusk and waited, but Myra just sat there. I knew it was dangerous to leave her, even in a nice part of town. It was just begging for trouble.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Slowly, I held out my hand to her. She looked at me for several seconds, her mouth tight, and then dismounted.

She ignored my hand.

*******

Myra didn’t say a damn word on the way back home. At times I swore I heard her sniffle, but I didn’t respond. The road felt far longer on the ride home with Myra’s eyes on my back. Finally, my house came into view.

About a hundred feet from my cabin, I knelt on the ground. With my shadow ward tattoo hand, I reached into a small shadow cast by the grass. The tattoo glinted as I did, and the shadow reached up to caress my hand like a long-lost pet. I felt a tiny pinprick, and knew it tasted my blood.

Suddenly, a huge ring of darkness extended around the cabin from where I knelt, matching the image in my mind. Then two more concentric rings formed inside one another, with my cabin in the center. Finally, I saw the image of the ornate skull encased in flames glint on the walls of my cabin and the stable. The shadow wards that I had set the other night would reset the moment I entered the perimeter, but I knew this would make them stronger.

A second later, they all faded, and everything looked normal again. I looked down at my wrist but wasn’t surprised when the wound from the shadow ward’s payment was already healed.

As I pulled up to the cabin, Myra swept herself off Dusk without warning and went inside. She slammed the door behind her.

I eyed the door for a moment as I brushed Dusk’s mane. He looked at me, his dark eyes steady.

“Any advice?” I asked quietly, but he only looked at me and nickered gently.

After feeding Belle and Dusk, I finally had no choice but to go inside. Myra was sitting at the kitchen table when I entered, her head bowed and elbows resting on the wood. Her hair knot had loosened, but Myra had made no attempt to redo it. Stray strands hung in her eyes as she continued to ignore me.

I went to the pantry and loaded food and ingredients into it. Then I went to the hearth, coaxing a fire from the blackened coals with fresh wood. I peered over my shoulder at Myra again.

Still nothing.

“Myra this isn’t going to work if you just ignore me,” I said quietly. Her shoulders stiffened, and a few more moments passed, the crackling flames the only sound. I opened my mouth to continue, but Myra cut me off.

“How can you act so normal?” she asked, her voice thick. I paused, genuinely caught off guard.

“Their screams…I’ll never get that sound out of my head. They were torn limb from limb! And you don’t even care!” she continued, her voice steadily getting shriller. She finally looked at me, her face catching the rays of the setting sun coming through the window. Her eyes were swollen, and tears stained her cheeks. We lapsed into silence as I searched for words. I saw the horror in her eyes, and I recognized something I had numbed myself to a long time ago.

Slowly, I stood from the hearth and walked to a small cabinet stained a dark varnish. It had symbols of the Gods and Goddesses carved on its surface. It had belonged to Fay, and I hadn't had the heart to throw it out after she died. I traced one of the symbols, a small irregular circle. It was lighter at the edges and grew black near the center. Like a void.

I opened it and took out a bottle or blood-red wine and two glasses. One had an engraved “F” on it. Thinking better of it, I put it back and simply pulled out another bottle of aged red wine. I looked straight at Myra as I approached the table.

“You’ve never seen someone die before, have you?” I asked quietly. Myra just kept glaring at me as I uncorked the bottles. I took a si[p from mine as I set the other down in front of Myra.

“I’m sorry if you got scared, but I only know one way to make it better,” I said calmly. I tipped my bottle back again, but Myra just looked at me blankly.

“Drink. You’ll feel better,” I said, pushing Myra's bottle a bit closer. Her eyes narrowed.

“What is this? Are you being nice to me, Miss Rowena?” Myra asked suspiciously. I just shrugged as I swallowed another mouthful of wine. She looked down at her own bottle and back up at me.

“Is this your answer to everything? Getting drunk?” she asked sarcastically.

“Indisposed,” I replied as I took another sip. A smaller one this time. Myra raised her brow at me.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, some of the posh returning to her voice.

“Didn’t you say ladies are never drunk? They become indisposed,” I explained, looking at her over the tip if the bottle. I gestured toward her glass and lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“The wine works best when you empty your glass.”

The corner of Myra’s lips lifted ever-so-slightly as she grasped it and took a sip.

“My apologies. I wasn’t aware you considered yourself a lady,” she said and lifted her glass toward me. I smirked as I mirrored the motion.

“That’s better.”

Our bottles chimed as we clanked them together.

We didn’t know what we were toasting to. We only knew it was the first of many.

*******

“Miss Rowena, how can you drink so much? You can’t be human,” Myra slurred as I carried her to the guest room. I chuckled as I pulled the blankets back and flopped her unceremoniously onto the mattress. Myra had let her hair down as we drank, and now it spread around her like a silky red curtain. She blew some of it out of her eyes.

“Maybe I was cheating,” I replied as I pulled her boots off. I rolled her, undid the back of her dress and corset, then pulled the comforter over her. Myra sighed and wriggled out of her dress from beneath the blankets. She curled into a ball and burrowed into the pillows. A moment later, I heard a soft feminine snore.

Leaving the door open, I walked back to the hearth. I stoked the flames again. The room became a bit warmer, but it was well into the night now. The chill was persistent.

Not ready to sleep yet, I settled into a plush armchair near the fire and kicked my feet up on a stool. The fire cast strange shadows on the walls as I looked around. Frost gathered on every window and the wood floor was frigid beneath my feet.

I was fairly certain Myra would have vicious hangover when she awakened, and I didn’t want her to puke on my floors. I left a bucket by her bed, but I didn’t trust her to use it. I didn’t want to be far when the inevitable happened.

My body relaxed as the stoked fire steadily brought warmth to my bones. The drinks had helped, but I hadn’t tipped over the edge to full-bore drunk tonight. I peered into her room again, but nothing seemed amiss. I resolved myself to stay awake as she sobered, but the fire was so warm and I was…so…tired…so…tired…

*******

I awakened as pain shot through me. The moon had set in the sky, and the house was dark apart from the feint glow emanating from the coals of the forgotten fire.

I looked at my wrist. The tattoo was glowing, but not just the feint glow as before. It’s eyes shone like beacons, and the burning was far more intense this time.

Something told me to keep as still as possible, so I barely moved my head as I glanced toward Myra’s room. My heart pressed against my ribs as I did. Everything in me wanted to run in there, but I kept myself under control.

Even in the low light, I saw a shadow standing near her window. It was humanoid in shade and tall. The edge of a cloak caught in the breeze as it approach. Silent as death, it started to open the window.

Gods, why hadn't I locked the window? Had I really gotten that lazy?

I slowly reached for my holstered pistols, wanting to catch the figure off guard. With their cloak I couldn’t tell if it was a man or women. I just kept inching my hands toward my pistols, a bead of sweat rolling down my brow.

The window was open now and the figure stepped into the room soundlessly. I pulled the pistol out and took aim with a steady hand. I took a calming breath.

Almost…there…

The cloaked head pivoted toward where I sat, and in a moment, they vaulted out the window. Their black cloak whispered as it slid out.

I was on my feet a fraction of a second later and running toward the window. Myra sat up as she heard my pounding steps over the wood, her hair a mess. She rubbed her eyes.

“Hmm? What’s—”

“Hide!” I barked at her as I jumped out the window. The figure was running away as fast and graceful as the wind. I aimed my pistols and pulled the trigger. Exactly as I did, the cloaked person pivoted out of the way without turning. My bullet struck the ground exactly where they had been, the shot echoing in the night.

What the hell? They couldn’t possibly have known—

I saw the cloak streak across the plane toward an abandoned barn off my property.

I sprinted after them, my leg muscles moving powerfully beneath me. I closed my eyes for a second.

The bounty hunter opened them.

I skidded to a stop as I entered the barn. I looked around, but there was nobody to be seen. There was no exit apart from a small window thirty feet above. The barn was crowded with rusty tools and decaying wood. A huge stack of moldy hay was at the back, and the roof was supported by sagging rafters. Starlight could be seen through holes in the tin roof, and bulky objects jutted out of the shadows in awkward shapes.

It seemed deserted, but I knew they were here. They had led me here on purpose. It was what I would have done if I were being chased. This was no average criminal. They had done this before and planned what to do if they were interrupted. I pivoted in a slow circle, staying close to the dilapidated barn door.

A rustle sounded in a smaller mound of hay at the back. I centered my pistols on its source and took a step closer.

A step too many.

The barn door groaned as it was slammed shut behind me. I fired another shot at the other end, but I heard someone spring away, a low laugh escaping their lips.

Silence fell as I waited in the darkness. I couldn’t help but smile as I took a fighting stance, my pistols still at the ready.

Something watched me from the shadows, waiting to strike. I let out a dark chuckle.

Who’s hunting whom?