Stone walked in a careful circle around the office, the coppery scent of blood soaking the air. His hat was clutched to his chest, and his face was framed in a scowl as he surveyed the scene.

"How," Stone said calmly as he stooped over the puddle of crimson in the middle of the floor. It wasn't a question. It was an order.

"How do you think?" I murmured, my eyes never leaving Yared's body. His face was pale in death, and his expression was relaxed. He could have been sleeping if I didn't know better.

Stone's jaw hardenedas he followed my gaze, his eyes unreadable. He produced a blanket and gently pulled it over Yared's head. I heard him sigh distantly, but I couldn't summon the energy to look away from the man I had failed so utterly.

I still hadn't cried. I didn't know why.

Everything felt so far away, and yet familiar. Mechanically, I knew there were people to notify. Affairs to arrange. But I was too Gods-damned tired. I had been here twice before.

Mother.

Fayra.

Now Yared.

"Rowena!" Stone barked, snapping my attention to him. I realized that he had called my name several times.

"I need you to stay focused. That murderer is still on the loose. That is what your attention should be centered on," he said, waving a hand over the body.

"There is nothing more you can do for this man," he said, his voice low and calming.

He stood, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. It's warmth penetrated my dress I still wore from the Blue Moon Festival. I swayed with the contact, feeling weak.

"Listen to me," Stone said, "He is on the Far Shore now. He--"

"No. He isn't," I snarled, tearing free from his reassuring hands. He let me, his eyes pitying. I didn't care, even as he looked confused at my words.

He shook his head and let the matter drop, not bothering with false words of reassurance or kindness. We were past that and he knew it. He saw the rage in my eyes.

Stone had already asked me if I got a view of the shifter's face, but I hadn't. My soul was spent by the time the God of Knowing cast me out of his realm. Just like before, I hadn't been able to stay conscious long enough to see what face laid beneath that hood. By the time I had awakened, he was gone again.

But if I saw his face, did it really matter? The man was a shape shifter. He could be anyone. The only way to catch him was to kill him. I had failed in doing that in the worst way, and Yared paid the price.

"You're right though," I said softly, finally meeting his eyes, "There's nothing I can do for him now."

Stone was silent for several moments, his boots making heavy steps on the floor. He reached for the broken picture frame on Yared's desk. Slowly, he pulled out the photo of the dead man's family and considered it. I had given it to him as soon as he arrived, along with the note from the Chosen. Heat built behind my eyes as he replaced the picture in its frame, pulling out the shattered fragments of glass.

"You have two choices, Rowena," he said quietly, setting the frame on the desk with a feint tap.

"You can choose to drown in your grief while you hate yourself and all of your shortcomings..."

He came to stand right in front of me, stooping to meet my eyes.

"Or you can do something about it."

The heat behind my eyes intensified. I kept seeing Yared's soul dissolve, the pure golden light dazzling. Then, something occurred to me. How many people like Yared had the Chosen murdered? Sent to the Abyss.

How many people were now missing fathers, mothers, sisters, or brothers? And for what? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. For being Marked by a God who felt betrayed.

I thought about Myra and Levi. The life that would be stolen from them if I failed. I had spent so many years not caring about anyone and wishing the world would burn. But now, their futures mattered to me. I didn't have time to grieve. I had to do something.

"So," said Stone, "What's it gonna be, Little Lady?'

The corner of my mouth lifted in a grim smile as my mind formed a tentative plan. Yared's voice range in my head,

Gears...Gears...

"Stone," I said as I reached for Fayra's lone pistol sitting on the workbench. I twirled it on my finger and pointed it skyward.

"I'm going to need you to turn a blind eye for the next few days," I said with a glint in my eyes, "In the meantime, can you prepare his body for burial? Also I need you to ask Zachariah to protect Myra for tonight. I'll be back in the morning."

Stone nodded, matching my smile.

"What are you planning?" he asked, but I was already turning, heading out the door. I paused at the threshold, looking at him over my shoulder.

"I owe Death a debt. It's time to make some progress in paying it."

*******

Gear's End. It had been a few years, but the city was as busy as ever. Even in the middle of the night, people still crowded the streets. Everlights stood atop posts lining the cobble stone roads. Carriages run by steam rattled up and down the road, paired with horses and mounts from distant lands of sand and snow alike. The buildings had an organized chaos to them, with large industrial buildings towering over older ones from the original town. Gear's End was a city that continuously grew layer upon layer of complexity with each passing era.

I swept off the saddle in my riding tights, runic armor, and black duster coat. My hat was pulled low over my brow and my hair was unbound, catching in the cool breeze. The moon was setting on the horizon by the time I had made the long journey. Well over five hours of hard riding.

"Good boy, Dusk," I murmured, setting a bag of apples in from of his stall of the temporary stable, "Now take a well-earned rest."

He grunted and lowered his head, nearly devouring his first apple whole. Patting him and tipping the stable boy, I began to walk in the city of inventors and innovation. I rolled a stone from the Elemancy gun in my palm as I glanced around.

Yared may be dead, but maybe it wasn't in vain. He had been able to tell me a clue as to where the soul crystals were being made. His words could only have meant to go to Gear's End.

My energy had steadily returned on the ride here, the purpose keeping my fatigue at bay. Hands tucked into my pockets, I looked up and grinned as I say the sign for the bar I was looking for.

The Tipsy Fulcrum.

It was a small bar with a door made of steel and rusted iron bolts. Grease and dirt caked the inner windows. Bars and shops never really closed in Gear's End because of the odd hours it's inhabitants kept. Feeble light bled through the glass next to the door as I pushed it open.

There were only a few people in the bar. Some were passed out on tables, hands still clutching their tankards. The bartender was one of the tallest women I had ever seen. She had bulging muscles to suit her generous frame. Her hair was cropped short on one side of her head, while the other was braided intricately to extend down her back. She looked up at me as I entered, squinting in the low light.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

In answer to her scowl, I pulled my bandanna free from my neck, allowing all of my Marks to show. My violet eyes met her black ones as I began to burn a Mark.

She held up two hands defensively, a hoarse laugh escaping her lips.

"Well I'll be a God's fat arse. Is that Rowena McAlister I see? I guess no hour is too early for you to have a drink," she said, reaching for a bottle under the oiled wood of the bar top. It was patterned intricately with glossy steel lines. I laughed, sliding onto a bar stool as she slid me a glass containing my favorite color of liquid.

"Too late or too early. That all depends if you've gone to bed yet," I said, swirling the snifter, "How are you, Gwen?"

She smiled, a few hairs pulling free of her braid as she stifled a yawn and leaned on the bar in front of me.

"I broke a couple stools in a fight the other day, so I'm stuck working the night shift until I can afford new ones," she answered with a grimace.

"What brings you out of whatever hole you've been hiding in?" she asked, pouring a drink for herself. She checked over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed, before taking a long sip.

"I'm looking for the Crucible," I said bluntly, making her choke on her drink.

"Why in Fate's fucked design would you want to seek him out?" she asked, jamming a burly fist into her chest as she coughed. I leaned in, not wanting to waste time.

"Where can I find him?" I pressed, even as Gwen's eyes trailed over my shoulder. I heard distinct footprints behind me as a man leaned on the bar next to me.

Every town in Luradia had two sides to it. First was the law-abiding citizens. Then, there was the seedy underbelly. Every city had a king or queen on that side. Every thief and vagabond feared them above all else.

The king of Gear's End was known as the Crucible.

"My, My," he said in a sycophantic voice, the barely-leashed insanity just below the surface, "There are rumors of Deified being murdered, the Elemancers retreat to their forests, businesses play a deadly game for control of the economy, and now The Blight of Grimwater makes an appearance in my city."

Turning to him, I placed a hand on my pistol.

"What exciting times we live in."

He grinned at me with sharp teeth. The Crucible had risen to power around twenty years ago in Gear's End, but nobody really knew what his real name was. He was known only as a beast-kind with wolf-like traits. His eyes were brownish-yellow, and his skin was tinged with gray. His ears were angular, and lifted with interest as he stared at me.

"News travels fast, I see," I said, giving him a lopsided grin. He chuckled, looking to the door.

"It does when you have eyes everywhere," he replied amiably, looking at the door. A few people stood outside the bar, nodding to the Crucible. He bowed his head to them, and their attention returned to the street.

"What breed of insanity has made you think it was alright to come back?" he asked, hopping and sitting on the edge of the bar top. Gwen grumbled, sliding a drink made of a thick dark liquid toward him wordlessly.

"Still licking your wounds after I toppled your jewelry store front? What did it cost you? Two-hundred thousand Brill? Three?" I asked, pulling a few coins out of my pocket and sliding them to Gwen without touching my drink. They disappeared with a flash of her fist.

"Oh please, don't flatter yourself," said the Crucible with fangs descending past his bottom lip, "It was one-hundred thousand at most."

He drained his glass in a single gulp, smacking his lips.

"We both know you want something from me, Blight. What can I do for you to get you the hells out of my city as expediently as possible?" he asked, grinning as Gwen refilled his glass. Normally, the use of my dark title made me instantly angry, but for some reason it didn't feel like a jibe coming from the Crucible. He seemed to say it with a modest amount of respect.

I pulled out the soul crystal, sliding it toward him. He took it with a clawed hand, whistling in appreciation.

"Oh, a Perdita Stone. Where did you get this pretty thing?" he asked, holding it up to an Everlight lamp for inspection.

So that's what they're calling them, I thought.

"The real question is where they're being made. Any ideas?" I asked reaching to take it from him. He held it away, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"That is costly information, Blight. What's your offer?" he asked, dancing away from me as I stood.

I pullied the shadows from the far corners of the room. The Everlights were cloaked in darkness, and the bar was robbed of all light.

His vision obscured, the Crucible chuckled as he sank into a fighting stance. He let out a whoop as if this were a game. I shook my head in my shelter of shadows, glad he had not changed at all.

I used my shadows to glide toward him on silent feet, but he sensed me anyway. I managed to clamp tendril of black around his fist clenching the Perdita Stone, taking a swipe of his claws to my chest. My runic armor absorbed the impact, making this seem almost too easy.

Ota had been right.

"How about we flip for it?" I asked, turning and pulling his outstretched arm into a reverse hold. Using my shadows and body weight as leverage, I flipped him over my shoulder, slamming him bodily to the floor.

He began to roar with laughter, both hands going to his belly as I prepared more shadows to pull the Perdita Stone from his grasp. In the time of a blink, he was on his feet and I registered his fist flying toward my face.

He stopped it right before it met it's target.

We stood, frozen in mid attack for several heartbeats, both grinning at one another. The Crucible was the first to speak, still laughing madly.

"Flip for it! That's a good one! I didn't know you made puns, Blight!" he said, relaxing his stance as I recalled the shadows away from the light. He extended his fist toward me, dropping the Perdita Stone into my hand.

"There's a warehouse by the Silkendale Docks with a new gang of self-important shits playing at war. They call themselves 'Black Pegasus' and all wear Master Smith rings with a winged horse carved into them. No imagination at all," he explained, sitting on the bar again. He crossed his legs as he helped himself to another foul-looking drink.

"Exterminate them for me, and I'll consider this little nugget of information free. You can do that, can't you Blight?" he asked, grinning with black-stained teeth.

"Oh, you'll owe me more than that. But we can discuss my fee later. Thank you Crucible," I said, wavering goodbye as I tucked the Perdita Stone back into my pocket.

"Always a pleasure to see the backside of you, Blight," he called as I shut the door.

*******

"Bastard! He's late picking up his order. He was supposed to be here hours ago," said a gruff female voice. She rested her cheek on a smudged hand, ring glinting in the predawn light as she held up an unmarked Perdita Stone. The shape was the exact same as the one I had in my pocket, but it's surface was smooth. I breathed a sigh of relief that it didn't have a soul in it yet.

Good to know that the Chosen has to be the one that fills them. But why make these guns at all?

"Patience," counseled a deep male voice from a place in the warehouse I couldn't see, "We still need him, and he's been late before. Hopefully he will no longer be necessary once we do more research."

In the back, moans came from an Elemancer as he was prodded with a hot poker, his skin hissing. He was chained to the wall, and iron spikes were driven through his limbs and into the wall behind him. His dark skin was drained of all tattoos. In their place were deep cuts looking like the soul bind mark.

"We are running out of components," called another voice from further in the building. Boxes and boxes stood just inside the door, and I had a pretty good idea of what was in them. I took another peek inside, seeing the tables of glass tubes, powders, and a thick gelatinous substance that glowed with its own white light.

From what I had gathered so far, there were at least thirty of the Master Smiths in the building, but they weren't warriors. Most of them were hard at work producing the Perdita Stones with alchemical genius. Finding the warehouse had been a bit of a trick. It wasn't where the eye normally looked, and it looked run down from the outside. But then again, I'm sure that was the point.

Burly guards were posted at nearly every corner both inside and out, all with guns and swords of various brands. I kept to the shadows, using them to cover my presence. Now I stood poised behind the door, making sure I had the right place. Slowly, I pulled out my pistol and cocked the trigger.

"Yes, but if he makes a mistake, we won't get our coin!" came the female voice again as she shot to her feet.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," I said, striding through the door, my pistol held aloft.

"You won't be getting your coin regardless."

I swaggered forward with every ounce of arrogance I could muster, my eyes glowing a bright blue as my Marks burned bright. The Black Pegasus members all shot to their feet, and their guards ran toward me.

Shadows pulled away from everywhere, forming shields around me as they all screamed. One of them took aim, and fired. He grunted as it was swallowed by the blackness.

"QUIET!" I bellowed, throwing spears of shadow at the one who had fired at me. It struck between his eyes, and he sunk to the floor lifelessly. A few more fired at me, and they too received a spear to the head.

Four more soul marks were added to my back.

One shot made it through my shield, clipping my side. I hissed as the blunt force sent me back several steps. My armor did it's work, but it had a hole in it now.

I growled, looking at the remaining guards, who went quiet.

"W-Who are you?" asked one of the men with a Black Pegasus ring on. He stepped forward on quacking legs.

"We aren't afraid of you, Deified! Soon all of you will perish!" he said, jabbing a finger my way.

I gave him my best predatory smirk.

"I'd believe you if your knees weren't shaking and you didn't look like you were going to piss yourself," I said quietly. Quick as lighting, I sent a spear of shadow his way. He screamed in pain, sinking to his knees as he clutched his bloody hand. The shadow curled around his severed finger, ring now wet with his blood. I pulled it to me, tucking the ring into my satchel and tossing his finger over my shoulder.

"I have unfortunate news for you all," I said conversationally as I returned my attention to all of them. They stared at me with wide eyes, unsure of what to make of me.

"Your benefactor has made his God pretty angry, and I'm sure he is very busy enduring his punishment," I explained, summoning more shadows. I fought back the wave of exhaustion as I did, knowing I was nearing my limit.

"And now," I said, sending the darkness around all of them, "You have me to deal with. And I need you in order to send a message to him."

They began to murmur to themselves as they saw the blackness surrounding each of them, lapping at their feet. One of the guards was dumb enough to fire at his blackness.

"And that message is," I said as I burned my Marks even brighter, "That he messed with the wrong bitch."

That was when the screaming began.