Torches lit the great feast. Light and shadow danced to the songs playing throughout the night as the ale flowed in abundance. He stared into his drink, oblivious of it all.

    It didn’t make any sense. Alazar had to be wrong.

    He scowled and took a swift gulp of ale and gagged.

    Damn numroot. The aftertaste wouldn’t wash away no matter how much he drank.

    He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and peered around the table.

    Dylan and Nash kept looking over their shoulders as if lord Albryte’s guards would appear any moment and drag them away.

    Taren picked at his plate and Sylvia sat beside him nursing her drink.

    The one he hadn’t expected to find sitting among them was of course the one man who kept showing up where he was least expected.

    Alazar feasted on his roast mutton with a delighted look in his eyes. He couldn’t keep his peace any longer and slammed his mug upon the table.

    “Why didn’t you stop him?” he snapped.

    Alazar paused and glanced up from his plate.

    “Pardon?”

    “I said. Why did you not stop him? Don’t pretend as though you didn’t notice. Barin used a real sword. I could have died.”

    “Ah,” Alazar said. “It was for your own good, lad. In the real world, there are no rules. You have to learn to overcome anything that wants to keep you from seeing the next sunrise. If you don’t, you’ll never amount to anything. Mark my words.”

    “That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard,” he gaped. “How am I supposed to amount to anything if I’m killed before then?”

    “Perhaps,” Alazar shrugged. “But am I wrong? You overcame your weakness and surpassed your limit. Didn’t you?”

    He hesitated.

    Of course Alazar had noticed. He took another drink and cleared his throat.

    “I still say that’s a poor excuse.”

    “You doubt my judgment? Look at where you are now. A first realm second World Essence Channeler. You’ve done the impossible, lad. Do you have any idea what that means? The old men of the Sun Temple will need to rewrite the holy scripture because of you.”

    Alazar choked on his laugh.

    “Just imagine the look on their faces! Have you ever tried pointing out to your mother whenever she’s been wrong before? Good luck getting out of this one alive. But with such a peerless talent, perhaps you have nothing to worry about at all.”

    He frowned into his mug.

    Him, talented? If such a thing were true he would have never needed the ring in the first place.

    “I was told,” he said, “not to trust you Alazar.”

    The captain mocked him by gripping his heart.

    “Ouch,” Alazar grinned. “You wound me. Who would dare say such a thing?”

    “Someone I met recently. Someone who knows you.”

    Alazar dropped his playful mockery.

    “Did this ‘someone’ happen to give you their name?”

    “He did.”

    “And?”

    He studied Alazar carefully.

    “Grendyl,” he said.

    A flicker of recognition. Alazar’s eyes widened slightly. The captain drummed his fingers on the tabletop and cocked his head to one side.

    “Is that so,” Alazar said. “I’d sure like to meet this fellow who’s trying to ruin my flawless reputation. You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find him, would you lad?”

    “He didn’t say.”

    “Ah,” Alazar sighed. “Well then. I’m afraid I’m short on time anyway. I have to check on the lads. Hopefully none of them have had too much. They tend to get a bit rowdy at these sorts of things.”

    The captain chuckled as he stood and carried his drink.

    “Actually, I just remembered something,” Alazar pointed out suddenly. “It’s likely nothing to worry about but I haven’t had the displeasure of seeing Kalys Murk at all today. Is he skipping out on his usual duty of grunting all over the place? Or do you suppose…”

    Dylan choked on his drink.

    “Everyone knows he’s a drunk,” Taren jumped in. “Probably passed out somewhere and hasn’t gotten up yet.”

    Alazar aimed an amused grin at his brother and left without another word.

    “He knows!” Nash croaked.

    “The sooner you let go of that idea, the better,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

    “Are we really talking about Kalys right now?” Sylvia asked, arching a brow.

    She laid a finger on his brother’s lips when he moved to answer. Taren blushed a deep red.

    “I’ll refrain from asking the obvious question. But if Saul says there’s nothing to worry about, then why worry so much?”

    She hooked an arm around Taren’s elbow and pulled him away to join the dancing crowd of revelers.

    “I’m so worried,” Dylan said, “I can’t even feel jealous of him.”

    “You and me both,” Nash mumbled, staring sullenly into his drink.

    “I haven’t been able to stop looking over my shoulder all day. And after what happened, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a dozen guards looking for us.”

    “Haven’t I told you already,” he said. “Barin doesn’t know you two were there last night. He’s focused on me. Only me.”

    “Then shouldn’t you be, I don’t know. Hiding?” Dylan asked.

    “Why would I hide? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

    Dylan fidgeted with the scar on his jaw.

    “It doesn’t matter what you did was right or wrong. That’s for him to decide. And you can bet he’s coming for your head. If a look could kill I swear you would have died right there on the stage.”

    He shuddered at the memory.

    “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look that angry. And I’ve seen him look angry plenty of times.”

    Nash looked up from his drink.

    “You could hide out at that cabin you wintered at. You and your family are the only ones who know where it is.”

    Dylan nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. You should leave tonight, while everyone’s distracted by the festival. Sure, they’ll all be either drunk or hung over by tomorrow but the longer you wait the harder it’ll be to get away.”

    He tightened his grip around his mug at the thought of running. It wasn’t the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the smart thing to do either.

    He couldn’t guarantee that his family wouldn’t suffer the next time Barin came for him.

    And then there was lord Albryte himself. The lord had to honor his bet unless he didn’t care if the whole village knew he went back on it.

    That didn’t necessarily mean he was safe either.

    He glanced over his shoulder and watched his brother dance with Sylvia under the light of the moon and flickering torches.

    “Saul?” Dylan said.

    He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the mug on the table with a curse. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve he eyed the two young men sitting across from him.

    “I’m not a coward,” he started. “And I’ve never asked anything of you two before-”

    Nash cut him off. “We never thought you were.”

    “You want us to help with Allanir?” Dylan asked.

    He licked his lips and nodded.

    “We can do that,” Nash agreed. “It shouldn’t be too hard with Taren around.”

    He glanced down at the table and bowed his head, fighting back the shame that wanted to swallow him whole.

    “Thank you,” he muttered.

    Dylan and Nash pushed themselves off the bench.

    “Come on,” Dylan said. “We’ll help you get your things together.”

    The music of the festival grew distant as they ran through dark and empty streets. Other than the occasional street lamp that broke the darkness here and there it was like the village had fallen into a quiet slumber.

    By the time they arrived, Dylan and Nash were breathing hard. The lack of light brightening the windows told him his parents were likely still at the feast.

    He lit a small candle and used it to light several others while Nash closed the door behind them. Even when racing against time he didn’t see any need to hurry in the dark.

    He handed them both a lamp.

    “The stairs are over there,” he said, nodding at the back. “Nash, keep an eye on the street.”

    They made it several steps across the room when a shadow caught his eye. He stopped and swung his lamp around.

    In his father’s chair by the fireplace sat a man all in black. His legs were crossed, fingers laced together, and he smiled as the light fell upon his face.

    “Grendyl,” he gasped.

    Dylan bumped into him and jumped when Grendyl spoke.

    “Saul. I was waiting for you.”

    He hesitated until Dylan nudged him and he blinked.

    “Go upstairs and pack my things,” he said. “You too, Nash.”

    Dylan gripped his shoulder and whispered behind his ear.

    “I don’t know what’s going on but we can’t wait too long.”

    “I know,” he said.

    Nash followed Dylan out of the room.

    “Just yell if the village comes knocking down the door,” Nash said.

    He watched them go and frowned when he was left alone with the man in black.

    “When I hoped to meet you again this wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said.

    “Is it now? Am I interrupting?”

    He ignored the question and grunted. “Is it normal to break into someone’s home, waiting to ambush them in the dark?”

    Grendyl chuckled. “I’d hardly call it breaking. It took far less effort than sneaking into the lord’s manor.”

    The shock this time was far less than what he’d felt a moment ago. The man had said something about watching him.

    He licked his lips and went to the window, peeking through the heavy curtains at the empty street out front.

    “I can’t stay in Falden,” he said. “It isn’t safe for me here.”

    “It isn’t safe for you anywhere. Sheep will always eye the wolf with envy. The stronger you are the more enemies you’ll acquire. This quarrel you have with young Barin is nothing more than a joke. Kill him and be done with it.”

    He looked back at the man sitting in his father’s chair. Grendyl’s face was hard to read but he couldn’t miss the blunt honesty in his tone.

    “You were right about Alazar. He pretends to be my friend but when my life was at stake he watched and did nothing. Even worse, he defended that piece of shit by putting a sword to my throat.”

    He set his lamp on a small table by the fireplace and paced around the room, remembering the rage he’d felt that afternoon.

    “I had him beaten,” he said. “He was broken and on his knees. I could have crushed his skull and painted the cobblestones red with his blood.”

    He stopped in front of the man and sighed heavily.

    “And it would have been utterly pointless. Lord Albryte would have seen me hanging from a tree before the day was done. I’m such a fool.”

    “I see,” Grendyl said. “In that case, the answer is quite simple.”

    He glanced down at the man, curious.

    “Kill them all.”

    His brows climbed up his forehead and he stared in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

    “I know I can’t hide my cultivation from you, so I wonder how exactly you expect me to do that.”

    Grendyl shrugged. “Perhaps that is asking for too much.”

    Boots thudding on the hardwood floor in the next room interrupted them as Dylan walked in holding a large canvas sack stuffed to bursting with Nash following on his heel.

    He eyed the pack appreciatively. “I was wondering what took you so long. Did you at least leave Taren his bed?”

    “Never mind that,” Dylan said impatiently. “Are you ready to go?”

    “And what about him? Who is he?” Nash asked, studying Grendyl while adjusting his glasses.

    “Ah, that’s right. This here is Grendyl. He saved my life last night.”

    “Wait, is he the one who killed Kalys?” Nash exclaimed, pointing his finger at the man in black.

    “That was my subordinate,” Grendyl said. The man rose and moved to the edge of the window, peering out behind the curtain.

    Dylan looked at him expectantly.

    He held up a hand. “Just a moment,” he said and turned to address the man.

    “You knew about Alazar. And you’ve been watching me. I have questions.”

    “I have answers.”

    “I hope you have more than that,” he said. “I need someone to teach me how to cultivate the Lycan form.”

    Grendyl grunted softly.

    “You presume a lot.”

    “Why else would you have come here?” he said. “But we have to leave now. There’ll be no escaping the hounds if we wait too long.

    “That eager to learn, are you?” Grendyl said, moving away from the window. “You needn’t worry about the hounds. It appears they’ve sniffed you out already.”

    He cursed and rushed by the man to glance out into the street. Torches bobbed in the darkness and were almost in front of the door.

    “I don’t like to get involved in other people’s affairs. But I’ll make an exception this one time.”

    “What are you going to do?” he asked.

    “I’ve persuaded men to lay down their arms once or twice. Perhaps I can do so again.”

    Grendyl looked toward Dylan and Nash who were suddenly in a panic.

    “You two sneak around the back. My men are staying at the Iron Heart. That’s on the other side of the village, isn’t it? You better get going if they’re to make it here in time.”

    They stood frozen in place, staring back in fear.

    “Go!” Grendyl barked.

    They jumped and ran for the back door, disappearing around a corner.

    “We should be running too,” he said.

    Shouts echoed through the street.

    He pulled back a corner of the curtain. Men wearing Albryte’s house colors of red and gold underneath leather vests and bearing torches packed the narrow street.

    A man in chest plate stood at the forefront pointing down the street as guards fanned out around him.

    “It’s better to confront a problem than to run away from it,” Grendyl said. “Be sure to pay close attention and remember that for the future.”

    He watched wide eyed as Grendyl strode out the front door and planted himself in the middle of the narrow street.

    He cracked the window and pressed himself against the wall beside it, peering out discretely behind the curtain.

    A gentle rain began to fall, filling the air with a faint, pelting rhythm and a subtle, clean scent.

    Two men came to the forefront to stand on either side of the armored guard.

    Barin appeared no better than he had that afternoon, only now his hands were wrapped and bound in place. His brother Jon, normally as calm as he was cold, looked furious.

    Barin’s shrill voice pierced through the rain. “Is that dog hiding inside? For your sake I hope you’re not protecting him.”

    “Peace, young lord,” Grendyl said. “I’ve just learned of the terrible events that you have been made to suffer through. If I may ask, show him mercy. He is young still and has yet to fully appreciate the consequences of his actions.”

    “Mercy?” Barin shouted. “You dare ask for mercy? After that peasant assaulted me? Both my wrists are broken. Even should they heal properly I’ll never wield a sword as I used to. Do you understand? Now get out my way before I have you hung from the nearest tree.”

    Barin pushed his way past Grendyl followed by several guards wielding axes.

    “Break it down,” Barin ordered, nodding at the door.

    He barely saw Grendyl move.

    His arm appeared from the darkness, holding a long, thin blade that curved slightly near the tip. Barin’s head fell from his shoulders.

    “Now,” Grendyl said, sheathing his sword. “Does anyone else care to listen to reason?”

    Time slowed down. His breath caught. An age passed before the young lord’s headless body finally collapsed.

    The guards stared in shock. No one moved an inch. Even Jon stood paralyzed.

    But the moment passed and Jon’s cry spurred them into motion. The young lord drew his sword and swung his blade wildly above his head.

    Grendyl easily avoided it and drew his thin blade once more, slicing through Jon’s wrist without so much as giving him a glance.

    Jon screamed and fell to his knees, clutching his bloody stump to his chest. Everything happened so fast.

    The guards drew their swords and circled Grendyl, pale faces grim. Grendyl danced around them as if they stood frozen to the cobble stones and cut them down like chopping wood for the fire.

    A few broke away and kicked in the door with a bang. He scrambled away from the window as a pair of grizzled men wielding swords strode in.

    He gritted his teeth and drew his own.

    One guard eyed him keenly while the other smiled at him through a thick curly beard.

    He activated his essence body and kicked his father’s chair into their path. The man with the curly beard stumbled face first to the floor and cursed.

    With one down he took the chance to charge the other man who wasn’t quick enough to stop his sword from parting his neck open with a spray of blood.

    Without wasting time he drove his sword down through the other guard’s back before the man could fully rise to his feet.

    His hands trembled. He stared at the blood pooling on the hardwood floor.

    Kalys had been one thing. This was entirely another.

    He’d just killed a man. No, he thought. Two men.

    Shouts and clanging steel echoed from outside. He could take his chances and flee through the back door but what would that mean for Grendyl?

    He cursed and bolted through the front.

    A dozen men sprawled motionless on the ground. Grendyl stood with his back facing him, sword held casually by his side. What must have been all of Lord Albryte’s men filled the narrow street on both sides leaving no room to escape.

    He took a spot beside Grendyl and measured up the surrounding men. Fear bleed through their eyes, gripping the air around them.

    “I thought you weren’t going to kill them,” he said.

    Grendyl chuckled. “You weren’t listening. I said I would persuade them. It’s not my fault the young lord chose not to listen.”

    “But now there’s no chance of us getting away. There’s too many of them!”

    “Listen, Saul,” Grendyl explained. “It doesn’t matter what you do to get what you want, so long as you get it in the end. It’s fine if you could have talked your way out. But you couldn’t. That leaves you with only one option.

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    "If you’re not strong enough, or even willing, to fight for what you want then you have no right to complain. When these men came looking for your head they should have been prepared to die for it.”

    He opened his mouth but closed it without a word. He couldn’t argue with that logic.

    Instead he wiped the rain from his brow and prepared himself, wishing he’d taken the back door while he still could.

    Shadows dropped from the rooftops behind the guards. He blinked as screams split the air and the men circling them turned to face the new threat.

    Towering figures with glowing red eyes scattered the guards and tore through them with ease. Grendyl sheathed his sword with an unworried expression.

    He did the same, only much less confidently, after wiping the blood from his blade on a dead guard’s cloak.

    “It appears,” Grendyl said, “that my men are going to clean up the rest. You should watch and learn, Saul. This is the power that you seek.”

    The Lycans towered above the guards.

    Thick shoulders supported a head shaped like a wolf’s, ears like arrow tips, and jaws lined with glistening sharp teeth. They made quick work of the guards like children knocking over toys.

    The last of the guards, the man wearing plate, died horribly, lying prone on the ground as a Lycan planted a foot on his back and twisted his arms behind him until they ripped off, blood pooling into the mud and stone around him.

    Grendyl laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “As you said before, it’s best we leave the village tonight. Let’s go somewhere quiet for now where we can talk in peace.”

    He nodded absently. So much death littered the street that he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Grendyl wrapped an arm around his shoulders and began to lead him away.

    “That’s far enough, Grendyl. Take your hands off of him and let him go.”

    The familiar voice caught his attention. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

    “Taren?” He said. “What are you doing here?” His eyes swept over his brother to the man standing beside him and his mood suddenly darkened. “And why is he with you?”

    Taren stood further back up the street from where the guards had come. Beside him Alazar crossed his arms. His usual lightheartedness replaced by a deep frown and a solid determination in his eyes.

    Behind them, Alazar’s soldiers formed a line from one side of the street to the other.

    “Saul,” Taren called out. “Grendyl’s not your friend. He wants to use you.”

    Grendyl held him close and sighed, whispering in his ear. “It’s unfortunate but Alazar has fed him nothing but lies. Just look at how close they are. We can help him but for now we need to leave.”

    “Why wait,” he said. “When we have the power of your Lycans?”

    An irritated look flashed through Grendyl’s eyes but it was gone so fast he wasn’t sure if he’d seen it or not.

    “He has the numbers.”

    And he saw that Grendyl was right. Only four Lycans stood in the street where Alazar had brought all of his men.

    Alazar’s voice carried through the rain. His eyes flickered a brilliant shade of blue.

    “Grendyl! You’re not escaping this time. I’ll have you finally answer for your crimes.”

    The man formed a glowing blue sword and pointed it directly at Grendyl. A bright wall of light erupted from the darkness behind him as essence swirled around Alazar’s soldiers.

    The Dragons who emerged extended their hands and swords erupted from their palms in bright gouts of flame. Grendyl shoved him aside and cursed.

    The man’s eyes suddenly glowed a deep, solid red.

    “Lycans, with me!” Grendyl roared.

    The man bolted across the street littered with the bodies of dead and dying guards. He stood mesmerized by the Lycans who followed Grendyl.

    Glistening black armor coalesced out of shadows that washed over their black fur. Shadows sprang from their hands, revealing long, wickedly curved blades.

    Grendyl and Alazar clashed in a flash of pulsing red and blue light, swords hissing and hurling sparks as they clanged together, surrounded by a red and blue glow of essence that bore against each other.

    Oddly enough neither man manifested the form of his soul. It was just like when Alazar created that blue flame in the Tipsy Hound’s common room. They didn’t need to become a Lycan or a Dragon for more power. The essence itself bended to their will.

    He gaped, amazed by the incredible display of power. He felt like an ant crawling at the feet of giants. Then it suddenly occurred to him that Taren was still out there, caught right in the middle of it.

    He ground his teeth together and urged his legs to move but they wouldn’t budge. The pressure exuding from the two men felt like it could crush him at any moment and his breath caught in his chest despite his best effort to take a deep breath.

    Coward, he thought, cursing himself. Pathetic, useless coward.

    Then he saw him. Taren threw himself at Grendyl, swinging a sword that he must have taken from one of lord Albryte’s men. Grendyl dogged the blow with ease.

    Taren’s momentum carried him forward and Alazar was forced to take a step back or get struck by Taren’s sword. Grendyl spun on his heel.

    The back of Grendyl’s boot caught Taren in the waist, sending his brother flying across the street. Taren bounced off a brick wall and landed face down on the cobble stones.

    He finally found the will to move. The Lycans and Dragons ignored him as he ran past them and knelt by his brother’s side.

    Taren groaned when he rolled him onto his back. His brother smiled up at him, ignoring his protests as he pushed himself off the ground unsteadily.

    “Don’t worry,” Taren said. “Everything will be alright. We can handle this.”

    He grabbed Taren’s arm but his brother pulled away.

    “Why are you with him?” He demanded. “What haven’t you told me?”

    Taren glanced over his shoulder, his beard parted by a sad smile.

    “It’s a long story. Just stay back where it’s safe.”

    Taren took a few steps toward the clashing sides. He shouted through the rain but a blinding light suddenly engulfed his brother.

    It pulsed and waivered, erupting from the ground, and spiraled toward the dark sky above. It flashed and a moment later it blinked out of existence.

    He stared, shocked. He had never heard of anything like what stood in front of him. A small stab of pain wormed its way through his chest.

    Why hadn’t his brother told him? For that matter, what kind of soul was this?

    From the light that split the dark, his brother stood, tall and gleaming. A Lycan that towered above all the others.

    His shoulders were thick as a dread bear’s and his arms and legs stretched tight with muscle. The pressure he exuded spoke of tremendous power but that wasn’t what had him staring.

    The color of Taren’s soul shone a bright gold that pushed back against the night.

    His brother glanced over his shoulder once more, as if aware of the thoughts racing through his mind. Taren’s eyes flickered a bright blue that danced and twisted like a flame.

    Taren met his gaze for a moment and then he was gone. It wasn’t as if he had disappeared. His brother was simply that fast.

    He followed the blur as Taren crashed into Grendyl. Flames burst from his hands as a pair of giant double sided axes dropped into them.

    The assault caught Grendyl by surprise and the man stumbled backward.

    Alazar used that moment to strike, his sword leaping forth like a bolt of lightning for Grendyl’s heart. Grendyl barely twisted away in time.

    Alazar's sword bit into his shoulder instead. Grendyl grabbed it with his free hand.

    Before Taren could strike again a pair of Lycans fell from the sky. They weren’t a part of the original four. As he looked up a cold dread crawled up his spine.

    Dozens of glowing red eyes floated in the darkness. Lycans crowded the roof tops along the narrow street like a murder of crows gathered for a feast.

    Taren fended off the Lycans, backing away from Grendyl and Alazar’s fight. His brother had always been average with a sword at best.

    But with axes…he’d never seen Taren train with an axe.

    Against two assailants he doubted Taren would hold out for long. His brother needed him.

    Grendyl, still gripping Alazar’s sword with his free hand, broke the blade and ripped the broken shard of essence from his flesh.

    Alazar stumbled and Grendyl swung his sword. A red light coated the length of the blade as it crashed into Alazar’s rippling blue aura.

    The sword came to a halt and shattered as though it had struck a wall.

    Grendyl and Alazar studied each other as they extended their hands. Glowing streams of light sprang from their palms and coalesced once more into solid essence blades.

    He tore his eyes away from them.

    Taren was on the losing side and yielding fast. He needed to make them stop.

    Nothing made sense but if nothing else did, at least the fact that Taren was fighting meant that he couldn’t just watch.

    He drew his sword and caught his reflection in the wet, glistening steel. The eyes staring back at him were full of fright. He needed power.

    He focused on the essence circulating through his body. It flowed like a steady stream. The more he focused the wider it grew until a flood of essence filled his veins, but still it wasn’t enough.

    Frustrated he eyed the ring, hoping it would suddenly give him the power he needed. But nothing happened.

    He took a deep breath and wiped the rain from his brow. He was done doing nothing.

    His brother was getting punished for his lack of skill and it looked to him like they were playing a game and his brother was their toy. That made him mad.

    He took one of them from behind, leaping onto the Lycan’s back, and drove his sword down with all the strength of his cultivation behind it. He yelled as he felt the steel sink into hard muscle.

    The Lycan form suddenly vanished.

    He dropped out of midair and landed awkwardly on top of a man dressed in black. Red tattoos climbed up the man’s neck and one side of his face, disappearing into a crown of long black hair.

    There was an eerie lack of blood on the blade but the man’s eyes stared out lifelessly.

    The other Lycan roared, but instead of coming for him it renewed its frenzied attack on his brother. Its sword found Taren’s belly, plunging all the way to the hilt.

    Taren dropped his axes and fell to his knees.

    He screamed. The sound ripped from his throat. He threw out his hand as if he could somehow reach out and take back what had happened.

    His face twisted and his heart clenched. He felt something as his hand stretched, as though he were pushing against a wall.

    He rose to his feet, denying what had happened. Refusing the pain that welled up inside his chest and dug into his throat.

    A darkness enveloped him.

    He blinked away the rain and tears pooling at the corners of his vision and realized he was suddenly as tall at the Lycan. No, taller even.

    The Lycan took a step back and tilted back its wolf like head. Its red eyes appearing confused.

    He threw himself at the Lycan. A shadow leapt from his right hand and suddenly he was holding a narrow sword, long as a man, that curved near the last foot of steel.

    It glistened black in the night and sliced through the rain as it found the corner between the Lycan’s neck and shoulder.

    The Lycan’s thick muscle stopped the blade and it howled from the shock.

    He clenched his jaw and gripped the blade with both hands. He roared and threw all of his weight behind it, tearing through the Lycan’s neck and splitting its torso in half.

    The Lycan vanished. A man slumped to the ground. He ignored the body and knelt beside his brother. Taren’s Lycan form hadn’t disappeared like the others had when they died.

    That was a good sign, right?

    He examined his brother’s wound and found the sword had vanished too. Thins whips of essence trailed out from the wound but otherwise it was healing.

    “Saul,” Taren said feebly. “You’ve done it.”

    “Done what?” he said.

    “Haven’t you realized? Go look at yourself.”

    He held his hands up to his face. Short black talons tipped his fingers and small interlocking black scales beaded with rain drops covered over every trace of skin.

    “He’s not going to want you now,” Taren said. “I think you’re safe.”

    “What are you talking about-” A body flew past them and crumpled against a brick wall. Alazar’s face was a bloody ruin.

    “It’s seems,” a voice rang out, “I’ve misjudged you.”

    Grendyl studied him with his hands clasped behind his back. A trail of blood soaked his shirt and cloak where he’d been stabbed in the shoulder, but otherwise he seemed untroubled by it.

    “I thought you were one of us,” Grendyl lamented. “But you’re one of them. The color of your soul is correct, but not the form of it. You’re a Dragon.”

    Grendyl cocked his head to one side, red eyes glowing through the rain.

    “It’s peculiar. You and your brother posses the blood of both races. It’s strange enough already that you can manifest your soul, but it appears that somehow it became twisted and perverted. You’re abominations both of you.”

    He realized suddenly that other than the soft pelting of rain on the rooftops and cobble stones the street was now quiet.

    The Dragons were gone and Alazar’s men were all down, either slumped against a wall or sprawled out motionless upon the ground.

    Dozens of red eyes glowed through the rain, in the dim shadows of the street and on the roof tops surrounding them.

    He gulped. “What do you plan to do now?”

    “I’m going to wipe away this embarrassment.”

    “Wait,” Taren pleaded.

    His brother rose unevenly to his feet, a golden tower of fur and muscle.

    “If you leave my brother out of this, I’ll go with you. I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Just don’t kill him.”

    Grendyl hesitated. A tiny smirk crept out from the corner of his lips. One that failed to touch his eyes.

    “It’s good that you’ve finally come to the right decision. You don’t belong with them, despite sharing their color. You’re Lycan. But he’s killed two of our own.”

    Before Taren could say another word Grendyl moved faster than a blur.

    He saw if before he felt it. Grendyl’s face appeared below his chin, arm glowing a violent red. The man’s fist sank deep into his gut.

    Air exploded from his lungs as he flew through a nearby wall. He crashed into a house-his house he realized-and smashed the table bearing the lamp he’d lit earlier that night.

    It shattered against the floor. A fire burst into life from the oil splattered by the impact.

    Grendyl appeared above him. The man bent and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him back into the street.

    The force of Grendyl’s punch made him lose the form of his soul.

    His limbs felt lifeless and the flow of essence in veins halted completely.

    “That was for my subordinates you killed,” Grendyl said kneeling down.

    “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Saul. Truly I am. You would have made the perfect Lycan. But sadly, we don’t have the freedom to choose the legacy we inherit. Had I not come here fate would have found another way. You would have joined them eventually.”

    Grendyl stood and Taren joined him, dropping his Lycan form. His brother wore a sad, pained look as he stared at all the carnage.

    He tried reaching out to him but his arm wouldn’t move. Nothing made any sense. Why did Grendyl want to kill him? Why was he taking Taren and leaving him behind?

    A Lycan bowed before Grendyl and growled.

    “The Dragons are dead and the village surrounded. No one left to speak of us, as you ordered.”

    “No,” Taren said. His voice quivered. He reached for Grendyl with a trembling hand. “Please, no. They have nothing to do with this!”

    The Lycan shifted his attention, tensed as if he’d tackle Taren to the ground if he came too close to his master. Grendyl eyed his brother with a smirk.

    “You care for these people too much,” Grendyl said. “And that will be the collar you wear from now on.”

    Grendyl ordered the Lycan beside him.

    “Farol, have the others meet us at the rendezvous point. Immediately.”

    The Lycan bowed once more and retreated into the shadows.

    “If a time should come where you ever consider disobeying me,” Grendyl said. “Remember this. I can do more than burn this village off the map. Not even its name will be remembered after I’m done with it.”

    Grendyl gave a signal and the Lycans dispersed, merging into the night.

    “I have no doubt we’ll meet again, Saul,” Grendyl said, addressing him with a cool casual tone. “If you haven’t surpassed all your limits by then you likely won’t survive our next encounter. So I’ll leave you with one last piece of advice.

    “Three things make a cultivator powerful. But only one will make him strong. And that is the ability to produce results.”

    Grendyl left him on his back as he absorbed the shock of hearing his father’s words.

    His brother’s face was the last thing he saw as Taren followed the man in black down the dark, narrow road.

    He lifted his shoulders off the ground, the most he could move. A pelting rain drowned his meager shout as he cried out Taren’s name. No one answered.

    It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

    He dropped his shoulders and rolled his head on the cold, wet cobble stones. His vision blurred and the blood coated street faded into the night.