I have to force myself to suck down the juice this time. My belly is swollen with it. I’m only able to keep it down for a moment before it comes back up. Giselle is ready for this. She already has a wide bowl ready for me and catches the dark purple liquid as I empty the contents of my stomach. I look around the room when I’m done and am pleased to see Darius wasn’t here to witness that. Giselle coos softly and strokes my back until the last of the spittle drips away. Another goat is already strapped to the bleeding post and as I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve I see the door crack open; it’s the same page from earlier. When he sees the last animal he brought in is still alive he ducks his head and quickly shuts the door.

“I’ll let you know when!” Giselle calls after him.

“It’s bad,” I moan to her in a quieter voice. “Really bad.” Even through the juice my headache gets worse with each death.

She pats me gently on the shoulder and takes the bowl of liquid vomit away. “I believe in you, Wren,” she tells me. “We all do.”

I scoff as I pick up a knife whose handle is smeared with drying blood. “If only I could hold that same faith,” I tell her. I take another life.

The break in my rhythm takes me further back in the Bloody Path. “We demand the right to the Challenge of Combat!” I shout. That was a mistake. I can see it as soon as the words leave my lips. I accidentally let myself get frustrated and left the Path. I spoke the same words, but with far more anger than before. Emperor Klotak notices the difference and is more antagonistic towards me. This time he tells Brecklin to “teach her some respect” after agreeing to our terms.

I feint forward, then stop as I see Brecklin respond differently. Instead of sweeping the ground with his hammer he comes in high and cracks the stone floor with an overhand blow. I step back as shards of gravel shoot out then try to run around. He twists his wrist and rolls his hammer end-over-end far faster than I can run. It pummels me to the ground and collapses my chest. I can hear Klotak laughing as Brecklin stalks forward and wraps my head in his massive hand. The last thing I see is the palm of an enormous hand with wrinkles deep enough to fit my fingers into. He doesn’t even slam my head against the ground—only constricts his fingers closed with enough force to break bones.

I wake up. Furious.

I’m hungry for the juice this time, my stomach empty. I don’t say a word to Giselle as I snatch up my dagger to re-enter the Path. I don’t want her to ask me how it’s going and have to lie that I haven’t just gone backwards somehow. I cut—my blade gets caught. The edge is dulling. The goat screams as my dagger doesn’t quite go deep enough to sever the deeper parts of its throat. I’m forced to saw at it twice more before the blood starts to flow. A distant part of me feels bad for the goat; another part blames it for having such tough skin. I let them fight it out while the Bloody Path takes me.

I retreat closer to Present this time, careful to retrace the steps that had Brecklin sweep at me with his opening attack so I don’t have to start over with the pattern. I am calm in my Challenge to Emperor Klotak. I reassure my king with our secret signal and wait patiently for the great hall to be readied for our fight. I feel time slipping away from me as I’m forced to repeat a previous permutation. Then Brecklin once again stands before me.

He sweeps his hammer, I run in close. Slash the thigh. Dodge the hoof. Slash the knee. Dodge the elbow. Slash the knee again. Duck under the hammer. Race forward; give another slash to the front of his thigh. Then I open my mouth and brace myself for his ear-shattering bellow. It comes and I keep my eyes open. I see him kick forward with his left leg. It’s impossibly fast. Even knowing an attack was coming I’m unable to dodge it.

I wake up.

My head is cradled in Giselle’s lap as she forces another mouthful of salty juice down my throat. I sit up and find Darius in the room again. He inclines his head in a precise gesture when he sees me notice him. “That was the last goat,” he tells me. “From here you must use cattle.” I glance over at the bleeding post and see it has already been adjusted for larger animals and a cow is strapped to it, studying me intently with one eye.

“S’fine,” I say, noticing as I speak that I seem to have bitten my tongue during my last seizure. The healing draught is already at work knitting the flesh back together, but it makes speaking painful.

Giselle hands me a clean, newly sharped blade. I can see my reflection in the polish of it. To compensate for the cow's greater height, I have to stay on my knees as I lean forward to slash its throat. It’s been a while since I’ve killed cows; usually they are too valuable an animal to waste on my visions. The sharpened dagger bites into the cow’s neck and slides through like it’s passing through water. I fall forward and rather than letting the blood fall on my hands it rains down on me from above as the cow lets out a moaning death knell. I keep my eyes open against the salty sting of blood and manage to salvage this fading life by finding the Path in the drips that land on my face: a messy method, but functional.

I find myself in the middle of the fight. I see Brecklin’s leg shooting out at my face while he screams his distraction, but this time I can hear the moan of the dying cow still echoing in my ear which drowns him out. I drop flat and narrowly avoid the strike, then on an instinct I start to roll as fast as I can. I hear the impact of steel-on-stone sound from where I just was. I spring to my feet and see Brecklin’s hand extended where his hammer has just struck the ground. I see a rare opportunity and whip out with my right sword to slash at the fingers of his hand which are still wrapped around the shaft of his hammer. It works. His hand pulls away instinctively and the handle of his hammer drops to the ground. I press my advantage, slashing at his arm with the opposite sword. It gets lodged in the tight muscles of his forearm and I’m forced to let it go before he pulls me off my feet. I hear my king calling my name from behind with real hope inflecting in his voice.

Brecklin yanks my own sword from his arm and flings it at me. He doesn’t have anything like real technique, but raw strength propels the blade to unnatural speed. I manage to step out of the way but the steel wedges several inches in the stone. If I use this Path again, I will be permanently down one sword.

Dark blood gushes from Brecklin’s legs from half a dozen different cuts. Surely he will start to get tired from here. I spring towards him, hoping to press my advantage before he can pick up his hammer again. He doesn’t respond how I expected. He… drops to all fours and rams me. Unlike his emperor, Brecklin’s horns are long and straight, with only a slight upward curve at the ends. He charges me like a bull, head sweeping back and forth. I try to dive out of the way but am expertly impaled on one of his horns.

I wake up.

The first thing I notice is that even Giselle is covered in blood at this point. I realize she must’ve had to drag me from the pool beneath the bleeding post after my last seizure. I feel so guilty. She sees something in my eyes and shakes her head. She forces juice down my throat. I grab the new knife, and slash open the throat of the next cow. A torrent of blood rushes out. I’d forgotten just how much cows produce. It splatters over not just my hands but my arms and chest too. I’m not even sure how I can find the Bloody Path with how much death already covers me, but I do. In I go.

I’m back in the fight. Brecklin’s powerful cry once again coincides with the death knell of the cow I’ve just sacrificed. I duck under his kick. Roll. He pounds down on the stone with his hammer. I jump up and slash at his fingers. The hammer drops. I press forward and jam a sword in his arm, realizing too late that this will cost me the blade. Brecklin wrenches out the sword and hurls it at me. It jams in the stone. Then I wait in an athletic stance as he drops to all fours and charges me once again. I dive in the opposite direction as last time. He reacts, lightning-quick, using both his hands and back hooves to turn his horns towards me again. I see that he’s going to skewer me again, so I jam my sword in his eye out of spite. His horn sinks into my gut like a sword into its favorite sheath.

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I wake up.

Juice. Darius is there. No time. Knife. Blood. Path.

This time I find the Path just as he tosses my extra sword in the floor. He’s already dropping to all fours to charge me. I wait until he’s close, then feint left and dive right. Somehow, he anticipates this move. I catch another horn to the gut.

I wake up.

Juice. Knife. Blood.

Brecklin drops to all fours before me. He charges. This next sequence takes several resets to figure out, but I eventually settle on waiting until he’s close, then first feinting left, then feinting right, then actually diving left at the last moment. Anything else results in his horns finding me. When I finally avoid him, I’m not ready for it. I realize I don’t know what to do from here. He’s still on all fours. I watch him charge past me and see the royal retinue watching us from the other side of the room for the first time. King Leonid is dressed in his finest robe with all the jewels and gold he owns. I don’t have eyes for the finery, only for him. I see the way he looks at me with such hope. He’s seen me do the impossible and bleed Brecklin the Breaker and now he believes I can save our—

I wake up.

I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off the battle. Juice. Too much. I puke again. Darius is there. “What?” I moan when I see him.

For once he doesn’t look completely composed. He doesn’t exactly have the circles under his eyes that King Leonid gets, but there’s a general… droopiness to him. I think I can even see a sheen of grease on his skin, though what’s probably more impressive is how he’s managed to keep his suit clean of blood considering the state of my chambers. I am drenched head-to-toe. My blankets are covered, my handmaiden is covered, there’s even now a river of blood stretching across the room towards the door. The gods know what people are seeing out in the courtyard as I’m not aware of any proper drainage system for this much blood.

Darius tries to speak but the braying of the cow that’s been tied to the bleeding post drowns him out. I suppose it’s hard to convince the animals they’re not about to be killed when the evidence of all that death surrounds them. What manner of monster do I now appear to them? I see a wild eye—

“It is morning!” Darius shouts at me. “The king has bid me to see to the status of your… he’s bid me see to your status.”

My heart races as I realize the deadline is fast approaching. How much time do I lose with each seizure? It’s impossible to say. I had Giselle try to time me once, but the variance fluctuated too wildly to be of any use: sometimes a half hour, sometimes only a minute. “I’m close!” I tell Darius. “Really close! Stall them. Stall them as long as you can.”

Darius’s expression is tight. He eyes the room significantly, then nods his head. “I will do what I can,” he promises.

If the meeting starts at a different time, will the Path I laid out crumble? I can’t say. I’ve never worked on such a specific time limit before. I grab a dirty knife, look at it and toss it away. “Giselle!” I shout. “Where’s the new knife? All I can find is that old one that got too dull.”

“That was the new knife,” she says. “Wait. Here.” She reaches into the blood-spattered fabric of her dress and pulls out a new blade. I don’t recognize it as one of my own, but the edge looks sharp, so I don’t question it. I fall on the cow. It sees me approach and starts braying loudly, kicking and straining to free its head from the cage of the bleeding post. It’s harder on me when they see it coming… but not hard enough to stop me. Cut. Blood. Path.

Brecklin charges at me on all fours. I’m ready. I fall into the familiar pattern I established last time I walked the Path, feinting twice before diving out of the way. But this time I know what I must do to follow-up. I chase after him. He slows to a stop before he hits the wall, then as he starts to turn around, I dive on his back. I jam my short blade into chords of muscle that are hard as wood, wishing my sword was twice as long and twice as sharp. I’ve only reached his ass, which is far from vulnerable to attack. I climb further up his back but reach the protective layer of his hardened leather armor. I don’t bother trying to punch through it, instead climbing higher. If I can reach his neck, I think I can still do enough damage to finish him off. He tries to reach back to pull me off, but his arms are too swollen with muscle to bend that way. I climb higher. He stands up. I grab desperately for something to hold onto but find only the smooth sheen of his armor and slide to the ground. One stomp of his hoof and he puts me down.

I wake up.

Juice. The door to my chambers are open. A small crowd has gathered out in the courtyard. I hear panicked shouts from the onlookers as I grab Giselle’s dagger and open another throat. A river of blood takes me down the Path again.

I feint around Brecklin’s charge, then rush after him. I jump up on his ass, using my blade as a climbing tool. I scurry over the hardened leather that covers his back as his arms reach for me. I dive up and manage to get my hands on the top lip of his armor as he stands. I hold on with my left hand and try to stab at the back of his neck with my other hand. I feel it hit flesh, though from this angle I can’t tell if it’s doing any damage. Brecklin lets out a loud bleat, just like those cows I’ve been killing, which seems like a good sign. But he doesn’t go down. Instead, he tries to shake me off. I stab again. I stab—

I am crushed between his back and the stone wall.

I wake up.

I can hear a loud commotion even before I’ve had my juice. I feel a cup touch my lips and suck it down instinctively. Reluctantly, I open bleary eyes to see what’s going on. The doors to my chambers are open. It’s a zoo. Peasants and courtiers are outside my chamber screaming all kinds of things. Among them I also see some nonhumans: two owlings, a handful of stoic elves, and the unmistakable outline of a minotaur standing in the back. It’s too much to make out what they’re all shouting, but I’m sure I hear the word “witch” being thrown around, which is not a new or inventive accusation for me. I can only imagine what all this looks like to an outsider that doesn’t understand why I’m doing it. Royal guards in blue livery have formed a half-circle around the doors to my chamber and are struggling to keep the crowd back. I don’t care one whit for all that. All I care about is that there’s another animal in my bleeding post for me to sacrifice and that the sun is out. Has the Summit started without me? Can I trust Darius to delay it this long?

I fumble along the ground for the dagger Giselle lent me before but it’s impossible to find. The ground is covered in layer after layer of blood in various states of coagulation. “Need a dagger,” I say as I feel along the ground for anything that can open this cow’s throat.

“Use this,” Giselle says as she presses something much larger in my hands. I look down and see she’s handed me one of the short swords I keep in my chamber. It is one of the very same blades I was planning to carry with me to today’s meeting. I take it without question.

The much longer blade doesn’t have quite the same leverage to open an animal’s throat as the daggers I’m used to, so I use a much more brutish method: I jam the tip sideways into the cow’s exposed throat, then pull down. Like tipping over a bucket, blood comes gushing out. With it, a cry of outrage ripples through the crowd. I kneel under the blood and let it drip over my head and chest. As it blots out my vision, I find the Path.

I’m on Brecklin’s back. I grab for the lip of his armor. I scream as I reach up and stab him in the back of the neck even as he stands up. I pull out my sword and stab again. And again, and again. I’m furious with desperation. I have no plan. What plan could I have? He’s going to crush me against the wall in a few seconds unless I can stop him. If I let go and drop to the floor, he will step on me like he has so many times before. I stab. I stab. Blood drips down on me. It tickles my mind in that strange and familiar way.

Can I… walk the Path… from within the Path? Where would I go? What would I see? I push it away. Reject it.

Brecklin lets out a death knell, like the ones I’ve grown so accustomed to hearing. He drops to his knees. Then he falls… backwards! I try to push away but the weight of his body collapses on top of me. I hear my ribs snap like I have so many times before. It’s okay. I can die on the Path. My vision starts to narrow but I don’t die immediately. I see a tear-streaked King Leonid fall to his knees before me. He pulls at my arms, trying to free me from the weight that’s crushing me. I try to suck in a breath but can’t. “Did I… win?” I ask.

“Yes, Wren!” my king says. “You were amazing! Untouchable. But not like this. Not like this! I can’t lose you, Wren, I can’t…” The vision fades away.