"That's right, my little puppet! Just a couple more signatures and this whole ordeal will finally be over."

"Father!" Drake's cry of outraged fury broke the sudden spell of silence as Lord Hecklebart snarled over the trembling form of Lord de Leone, presently leaning over his desk with quill in hand, his ruffled full sleeve tunic of ivory now utterly covered black ink stains from the quill being held in violently trembling hands. The crimson doublet he wore over was it soaked through with sweat, the trembling man gazing down in horror at the sheets of parchment his own hands were signing.

And hovering over him, with a hand possessively squeezing the man's shoulders, was none other than the very same smug-faced bastard who had done all he could to keep Jack and his family away from the portal leading to salvation a lifetime ago, his pig-like features now glaring their way with a contemptuous sneer.

"Too late, fools! Your father and I have already come to a mutually profitable arrangement!"

Cold guttural laughter filled the well-furnished room, the bloated lord now gazing with smug satisfaction at the cherry-paneled walls and polished oak bookcases filled with hundreds of finely-bound volumes. "How sweet it is to take hold of my newest possession just in time to kick the former residents out!"

"Lies, you monstrous bloated pig of a bastard!" Drake roared, his eyes filled with terror as he gazed into his father's hopeless gaze. "Father! What did he do to you? Father!"

"I did nothing, you wretched piece of filth!" Hecklebart roared, spittle flying from his lips. "It was you who dared to cross my clan. It is you who dared to shame and humiliate my son!" He glared at Jack. "It is you who dared to claim my property, and it is your clan that will pay the price!"

His snarling lips wormed into a malicious smile. "And it is your father that just agreed to betroth your sister to my dear son as a way of making amends, with a dowry of absolutely everything of worth that he owns, and to which I have most graciously... accepted."

Drakes eyes widened with horror.

"No... you monster! You think I don't know Morlin's reputation? Jacy isn't even 18, you twisted bastard! She's thirteen! The very age she seems!"

"Which means nothing!" Hecklebart roared, face twisting in a gleeful smile. "The royal codices allow for conjugal marriages at twelve! And when my son is done with her, their nursery will be absolutely littered with screaming brats!"

The monster chuckled coldly, now smirking at a snarling Jake desperately tugging free his smallsword.

"Drake, don't! Why's he goading you? It makes no sense!"

"Or perhaps that little brat will spontaneously kill herself in a fit of melancholy. I hear that's quite common with wenches in her position. Or, barring that, my son can always throw her out the window!"

The monster mocked them with his laughter as Drake screamed and charged.

"Trap!" Jack howled with his mind, finally snapping free of the dream-like daze of utter disbelief that had struck him, that the monster before him truly was the same hideous bastard who had come so close to killing Jack's family a lifetime ago. That he really was this irredeemably and utterly evil in this, and every life he had ever lived. And if the twisted smile coming over his features was any indication, his malice had just begun.

Perception check made! No matter how sneaky the thief or clever the killer, your mother's gifts will not be denied.

"Drake, get down!" Jack screamed, eyes catching sight of that which could never be hidden from him.

No matter how well the assassin hiding in the shadows blended in.

Even as Hecklebart's bulbous lips widened with glee. "The covenants have been broken! I am being attacked by a fellow lord! Kill him, my righteous guardian! Bring him low, so his father may witness in full the price all fools must pay who dare to cross my clan!"

Quickness check made!

Strength check successful!

Willpower overrides common sense!

And Jack didn't even know why he did it, charging forward like a fool. Sending his friend sprawling upon the ground as death came crashing down upon them.

Maybe it was because he was still armored.

As if sensing the deadly strike coming made it any less of a guaranteed death sentence.

As if he could possibly hope to survive a feat-boosted attack by a rogue assassin who's eyes glittered with monstrous hate as his ebony blade tore right through Jack's crimson shield, as if the 120 points of damage absorption at Adept Rank 1 and 80 points of additional buffer as the shield crumpled and warped before exploding in a shower of ice and blood meant absolutely nothing, the ebony shard of death in the shape of a dagger still ramming up to the hilt into Jack's shoulder, sending him crashing into the nearest library case with a groan, Jack's mind spinning with pain and the sound of Drake's scream and Hecklebart's roaring laughter.

You have been critically struck! Instant Death attack mitigated by spell and soul-forged artifact to Serious Wound & Stunning Blow. Your left arm is broken! Your artery has been knicked! You are currently bleeding out.

Greater Artifact in use.

Lesser Healing spell engaged.

"You thought you actually had a chance, fool? Against me? Oh, the look on your face! Priceless!"

The bloated noble chortled with laughter as Drake cried out.

"Monster!"

"Indeed, you pathetic piece of pustulent filth. I am the monster of your nightmares! But I'm not without mercy. Of a sort."

The man's grin widened at the look of horror on Drake's face as the Rogue a nauseous and dizzy Jack vaguely recalled seeing once before effortlessly hoisted a limp Drake in the air.

Silk was his name. Jack recalled his companion, a beautiful Valkyrie-like woman with hair of silvery gold, calling him that.

Then his muddled recollections froze to a look of horror as he caught sight of the black iron collars Lord Hecklebart was holding.

Artificer skill check made!

Glowing with silvery runes.

Exactly matching the one Jack caught a glimpse of on Silk's neck, snapped over midnight leathers, from which Jack could sense a single, impossibly thin silvery cord sprouting from the back of Silk's neck to Lord Hecklebart's forehead.

The very cord that had clued Jack to peril cloaked in the shadows of the upper corner of the study, right before the rogue assassin had launched himself from the corner dagger first. Jack's arm throbbed with agony even now, no matter his soft, whispered plea.

So much thinner than the cord Jack could now so clearly see binding Lord Hecklebart and the palsied Lord de Leone. Only a fraction as thick as the cords of dominion that Inquisitor Usling had used. But more than enough, it seemed, to enslave the mind of another.

"This collar is excellent for keeping any slave docile when not obeying my direct commands, and was originally intended for that slave currently occupying the bookshelf right there."

Hecklebart flashed a cold, knowing smile Jack's way as he flipped the iron collar with his hand, before catching it once more. "And the boy has turned out to be a surprisingly resourceful tool, it seems, skilled at more than just healing. Oh, I think he will make quite a useful addition to my coterie. And you as well, my dear Drake." The man said, before his mocking smirk turned to a hate-filled snarl, and he pounded a surprised Drake in the mouth with a massive meaty fist in a spray of teeth and blood that caught Drake and Jack both off-guard.

"Just as soon as you tell me how you broke in here, fool! That door was rune-bound, and the councilmen in my pocket hire only skilled veterans who have mastered poleaxe and glaive both! Over Half a dozen men in full plate harnesses, wielding weapons that will tear right through your attempts to block or parry before cleaving you in twain or tearing out your livers, no matter how much confidence you noble brats have in your pathetic excuses for fencing blades! They should have been more than a match for you and that damned troublesome healer!"

Drake snarled and spat blood. Eyes filled with hate for a smirking Hecklebart, an instant before his eyes bulged and he howled in pain when the dark rogue tore off one of his fingers, with just a single whispered command given from the hotly glaring Hecklebart. The deed was done before the bloated monster had even finished speaking.

Even Jack was chilled by just how fast, and strong, Silk truly was.

And what could Jack possibly expect? Having dared the depths under the Academy college for who knew how long. He might be tenth level. Maybe fifteenth. Jack didn't have a clue.

He only knew that he and Drake were no more a challenge to Silk then Jack would find ripping apart paper targets.

Which of course made what Jack was doing inconceivably foolish, actually thinking he could hope to pivot around the rogue with anything like stealth. Even when he mentally pled with Drake to do what he could to distract Hecklebart for as long as he could.

Even if it was the truth.

He could only hope that Silk doing nothing until Hecklebart had commanded it might prove to be Jack's salvation.

Because Jack knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the assassin knew exactly where he was at all times, and was as aware of Jack pivoting behind him as he was of the now sobbing Drake carrying on a bit too much, in Jack's humble opinion, as he told a wild convoluted story of just how he and Jack had managed to get here, which had the added benefit, and peril, of being the absolute truth.

And maybe that didn't even matter, so long as it kept a now chortling Hecklebart entertained.

And distracted.

Distracted long enough for the crippling wound Jack had suffered to finally mend enough for Jack to do what he must.

Even if it did put his life in peril. Even if he would be far more likely to survive long enough to see another sunrise, as a free man, anyway, if he were to race for the all too inviting open door and leave the de Leone's to their fate, and this intrigue-filled duchy altogether, and never look back.

Yet Jack's stubborn feet refused retreat.

Even if Silk could lash out and rip free his jugular in a heartbeat.

Because if Jack's hunch was right...

You have sent Adventurer Silk a Party Invite titled: The Sheers Will Free You.

Adventurer Silk has not responded to your party invite!

Heart pounding with the fear of his imminent death, Jack dared wait only a second for a mocking Hecklebart to smash Jake's sobbing lips once more, glaring into the boy's eyes. "So, you actually learned a shout class? Wonderful! A useful tool with which to destroy my enemies. Of course, I will solder your damned mouth closed and only allow you drink milk and gruel through your nose with a glass tube!"

His grin was positively malicious. "It will be such a delight seeing the panic in your eyes as you snort like a desperate fool and struggle not to choke with every sip of fluid you force down for survival! Ha! What sweet delight my son will have, kicking your broken body every day he comes home from the academy, gaining ever greater mastery over the ethereal arts that will never again be yours, broken fool!"

And Jack couldn't feel anything but absolute revulsion for the sadist taking such gleeful pleasure in Drakes mounting terror and despair.

So preoccupied that he didn't even note the sudden flash of silver that would be that monster's doom.

Even if Jack died in the attempt.

You have successfully summoned Silver Sheers! 14 Mana reserved.

You have successfully summoned Spirit Spool! 7 Mana reserved.

Already knowing he was courting instant death by slowly approaching the back of Silk's neck, keeping out of Hecklebart's line of sight... and was that a tremble in the rogue's posture? Was the man even now getting ready to spin about and cleave Jack's head off with a single swipe of his deadly blade?

A terrified Jack had no doubt that the man could do just that.

But it didn't matter.

At that moment, nothing mattered but cutting them free of the chains that bound them all.

And as terrifying as it was to slowly raise sheers Jack knew the man who had almost killed him seconds ago could sense, but not daring to move with anything but the calm slowness of a surgeon, Jack made his move.

Managing not to die with what came next.

Shear versus Soul-dominion (artifact boosted) skill check made:

Critical Success!

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Lord Hecklebart's Minor Binding has been effortlessly snipped by your shears!

And even as the assassin suddenly collapsed like a marionette, Drake stumbling to the ground with him, Jack himself was filled with a sudden fiery vindication when his now soul-gloved hand caught the tiny silver thread.

"What the hell are you doing, fool? Get up! I'm not done interrogating the brat!" Lord Hecklebart roared, before his eyes bulged with a sudden cry.

Seeing the strand of silver now in Jack's hand.

A piece of his soul.

Now being wound up in a spindle by dexterous fingers moving with a fey, supernatural quickness that sent the rotund man stumbling back before falling on his ass with a cry as Jack spooled up the stream of silvery thread, now streaming right from the center of Lord Hecklebart's forehead, in the very same way a fine silk shirt might be unraveled with the careful winding of a single key thread.

"No!" Lord Hecklebart screeched. "You can't do this! It's forbidden! You're kind were wiped out! I was assured you were all dead!" he howled as terror transformed instantly to fury, now jabbing a wand Jack's way.

"Jacio Funda!" The man cried, they air cracking with the sound of the arcane equivalent of bullets so much like the desperate mentalist Jack had faced down, just days ago. Which made perfect sense, Jack thought with a cold smile as he continued spooling up his foe's psyche while allowing his shield to rest on his forearm alone, hands filled with spool, his mind filled with darkest revenge.

Because why wouldn't master and servant favor the same attack with their wands? A strike far more earthly and low magic than ephemeral dreams and phantasms made real. For all Jack knew, mentalists might have far more in common with low mages than ethereal wizards.

Or perhaps, it was just a matter of taste. Of fashion.

As rifles slowly gained in prominence and notoriety, even if their use in magica-saturated lands would always be extremely limited, why wouldn't wizards specialize their spell slinging to mimic the deadliest of kinetic instruments? Even if they went no further than mastering a single tier 1 Earth spell, via their wands at least, so they could feel like a match for any rifleman. Even if duels between a pair of noble mages were limited to phantasm and wonder, no doubt the magical equivalent of a bullet was considered a more than fitting end for any common rabble that would dare accost them. With the added benefit that they couldn't be dispelled or disbelieved, with only an eyeblink of time before casting and striking.

But a strong enough physical barrier, like Jack's summoned shield, could block them just fine.

You have successfully summoned Crimson Shield!

Crimson Shield successfully counters Stone Shots!

And as much as he savored the look of horrified confusion on his foe's face, he ached to pound it to a bloody pulp almost as much as Drake did.

But he dare not strike just yet. Not before he finished freeing a man he sensed was in desperate peril, as the furious Lord Hecklebart snarled and lurched to his feet.

For Jack was only spooling up the slenderest of threads.

The far thicker one was attached to the wide-eyed lord gazing around him in silent horror, as if trapped in a dream.

And should Hecklebart think to do what Jack feared he would...

"Don't, Drake!" Jack shouted at his friend, who was now inhaling for a roar, immediately catching Hecklebart's sneer, eyes going from Jack to Drake in an instant.

"That's right, whelp! Stay your place, I'll be dealing with you soon enough!" Hecklebart roared, before firing his wand at the now groaning Lord de Leone.

"Father!" Drake screamed as the bullet struck with a crack.

Bouncing off the crimson barrier now blocking lord from madman, as Jack gazed down with sympathetic eyes for the lord shaking and sobbing from his chair.

"Don't worry," Jack soothed. "This will all be over in a second."

"It will not, fool!" Hecklebart roared. "You think you have won? You have already lost, worm! The council is in my pocket and I have warrants out for your arrest! As for the fool trembling with half a brain? He has already signed over everything of worth to me!"

The red-faced Cornelius Hecklebart once known as Morlin Rothson chortled like a madman. "That's right, fools! You have already lost! Your assault and murders here will only delay the inevitable. Best you flee while you can. Flee, flee before the entire council—"

The man's tirade cut off with a surprised gurgle when Jack's silver sheers effortlessly passed through the thick cord binding Lord de Leone to the puppet master who had so eagerly sought his downfall.

You have successfully sheered your opponent's Cord of Dominion!

Cord of Dominion has been successfully Pinched and Spooled!

Hecklebart's furious, panicked tirade turned to a surprised screech when his eyes bulged and he began to choke and wheeze as Jack tore free great spools of his psyche that the treacherous schemer now rolling upon the blood-spattered wooden flooring couldn't claw back, no matter how he howled and sobbed and struggled for ethereal strands of psyche and soul, now forever beyond his quivering finger's reach.

Dark Master has failed to save versus Stunning Blow!

You have successfully spooled Psyche of Dark Master!

"No, you can't do this. You can't do this!" The man screeched, his eyes bulging as he flapped like a bloated fish, once Jack had bound up the entirety of the man's psyche.

Every shred of psionic power he would ever have, was now Jack's own.

To weave into wonders even his mother would be proud of, a part of his mind thought, though most of his focus was on his friends and the rogue who had collapsed so utterly that tears were streaming from furious eyes, and Jack instantly understood why.

"I'll free you too, and that's a promise," Jack said to Silk, before turning to a snarling Drake, blade once more in hand, charging a panicked Hecklebart, waving his wand like a fool.

"No, you can't do this!" Hecklebart screamed, his bloated features locked upon the doom Jack promised, not even noting the approaching deliverer of justice. "My powers, you took my—"

"Drake!"

But it didn't matter.

Incensed with rage for the sake of his tormented father, the threats of defiling and murdering his sister, and the pain and humiliation they had already suffered, there was only one recourse for Drake.

Death to his foe.

A fellow noble of the Council.

So Jack did the only thing he could.

Wrenching with all his might, even when his mind screamed with the struggle.

So that by the time Drake plunged his blade through the bulging-eyed lord...

The man was already dead.

Critical success! You have successfully Spooled and Sheared both your opponent's Psyche and Soul!

You have slain a Level 8 Dark Master.

Experience Earned!

Snip, Pinch, and Spool are now Journeyman Rank 4.

Shear is now Journeyman Rank 5!

The veil of dream between you and Elonia Windridge's only male disciple has now been fully lifted!

His memories are now fully your own!

For he is you, and always has been.

A trueborn Soul Weaver in all but name.

The surge of experience flooding his soul was unlike anything he would have expected from a Level 8 classer who had hidden his steps upon the Path of Peril so well with his contempt for delvers and commoners alike. But Jack's interface didn't lie, as his mother's deadliest gifts blossomed with power like never before.

Once dreamlike childhood memories he had only begun to accept as truth had abruptly transformed to crystal clear recollection, Jack shuddering as he was forced to endure with exquisite clarity the bittersweet recollections of a true disciple of those deadly arts. Skills of weaving and cleaving that had been honed like blades since earliest childhood upon the whetstones of countless foes drawn like pustules of darkness to realms of Shadow. Their family foes determined to bring down a town unable to completely cloak in Regio parents who had walked a Path of Peril that Jack increasingly sensed had been dark indeed.

Nor did his immediate sense of calamity deceive, gut lurching as he somehow sensed that all he had fought to save, including the hidden quest about to reveal itself, was just a heartbeat away from crashing into the shoals of folly and bitter despair.

And it said something that the first trembling words that Lord de Leone uttered were what they were, his garbled voice only normalizing when Jack place his copper and crimson armband upon the lord's forearm before placing his hands on the man's head and carefully allowing de Leone's strained coils of grey matter and soul to gently ease back into their proper shape, fully awakening once more the keen mind of a man still in his prime.

"My son, what have you done!?"

Only then did Drake take a shuddering gasp, looking at the body at his feet, and the executioner's blade in his hand.

Drake gasped and fell to his knees, tears already streaming down his face. "Father!"

His father's exhausted sobs were a match for his own.

He roared and cursed, glaring at the mound of parchment stained with his own ink and tears. "That monster has now taken everything. Everything! Even with his death, he damns my son!"

Jack took a deep breath, tasting the ashes of bitterest folly and peril, before his eyes widened at the sudden acceptance of his party invite.

"Help me."

Jack blinked and shivered, sensing the dread power of that voice, now whispering inside his skull.

He turned Silk's way, the prone man's eyes filled with fury and despair in equal measure, and Jack instantly understood.

"My oath upon it."

But first, before despair became reality, he had to act.

"What do you mean, he damns your son?"

Lord de Leone flashed a bitter smile. "As a newly risen lord of royal blood, my son has already taken oaths before the council. It doesn't matter the circumstances, Jack. By killing a fellow council member—"

"—he didn't."

The man's eyes widened with surprise.

Then, when Jack finally revealed what was in his hand, something close to fear.

Drake was gazing at Jack in confusion, with just a shred of desperate hope piercing his despair.

"What do you mean, Shieldbrother?"

Jack sighed, lifting up his shimmering spindle full of Silver thread sparkling in ethereal moonlight that was otherwise invisible to all. "Before your blade pierced his heart... I had already claimed his soul."

The room turned deathly quiet as two intent pairs of ice-blue eyes fastened upon his own.

Jack did his best not to flinch, though he did swallow. "You have my oath upon it, Drake de Leone. All you struck was a corpse. You are guilty of no more than that. All you did was jostle the dead. Like shoving him aside with the toe of your boot. Or, in this case, the tip of your blade."

Drake, however, was just shaking his head. "No, Jack. I know you want to take the fall, just like with the bastards outside this room. Because you're common-born and no oaths bind you, and I will forever be grateful to you for shielding me with the armor of your friendship, and resolve. But there are some things that are just fairy tales told to scare children to bed and—"

His words died in his throat and his father gasped when Jack almost ceremoniously lifted the locks of hair blessed by his mother's tiny fairy that so perfectly covered his ears.

The ears of an elf.

The ears of a Grey Witch.

Jack flashed a bitter smile. "The fear in my friend's eyes tells me all I need to know. The tales of my tribe haven't quite faded away as much as I might have hoped."

Drake paled...before bowing his head. "I will never tell my brother's secrets! This I swear with my dying breath!"

Jack smirked, having a hard time believing he had just openly revealed what he had tried so damned hard to keep hidden.

"Then don't. My understanding of these lordly battles is that they pertain to you, and only you. So on the off chance that someone actually challenges you for truth... it will showcase Hecklebart as the monster that he was, and you as being guilty of nothing more than yelling and getting your face smashed in. Because whatever else you did, you caused absolutely no harm to that man. By the time the tip of your blade caressed his flesh..."

"He was already dead," said Lord de Leone solemnly, now truly looking like a new man as he unclasped Jack's healing bracer and returned it with a grateful bow. "And don't think for one moment that we will ever forget what you have done for our clan." His solemn words turned to a bitter glare. "Even if that bastard still managed to rob us utterly."

Jack frowned at that. "I'm not sure I understand that part. You have the contracts he forced you to sign, right here. Let's just burn them."

The man flashed a bitter smile. "If only it were that simple, Jack. Because the corpse at your feet had taken great pleasure in my moments of greatest despair. After every cursed paper I was forced to... sign, he gleefully reminded me that copies were automatically placed in his council's possession, not to mention a final copy back at his manor, which I'm sure is being drooled over by his treacherous little worm of a son, even as we speak."

Jack gazed at the man before him for long moments. "By council, do you mean Barrister Polja?"

This earned a cold chuckle. "The very one."

His chuckle died out with a surprised double take when Jack summoned forth the blackened remains of a certain barrister who had been fried to a crisp as a Level 0 annoyance, even when only peripherally exposed to the blast of deadly crimson flame that had turned a fully armored pair of knights to half-melted slag in the blink of an eye, and nearly burned down the entire manor.

Jack flashed a cold smile. "Extra crispy. Just like the satchel he's still holding."

And sure enough, when Jack pulled out the papers, they sprinkled to ash. And Jack didn't ask, instead he just did what needed doing, stripping Lord Hecklebart utterly bare before transporting his body and that of the barrister back into storage. Both chilled and grateful to find, again, that storing bodies didn't seem to effect his bag's carry weight limitations at all.

He then looked at the stunned pair of lords. "Now, we just need to handle the two bodies at the end of this corridor, and somehow figure out a way to retrieve that final copy."

Drake shook his head. "The bodies Jevon can handle. He wasn't always just the beloved family seneschal."

Jack smirked. "I had gathered that much already."

Drake dropped his gaze. "But as far as the Hecklebart compound goes, what you're talking about is impossible, Jack. You have no idea how well that bastard's manor is protected, no matter how much of a joke the silvered gates might look to an outsider. He's paranoid, and with good reason. Half the city really does hate him."

Jack frowned, before wincing at the mental plea he received.

"Let's put that on hold. There's something I have to do, first."

Drake glared at the fallen rogue. "Take care of—"

"No!" Jack snapped, glaring at his friend. "He was bound by the same collar that asshole in my pouch wanted to put on you. He had no more control over his actions than your dad did, maybe less. And, if you'll recall, he only struck when ordered, and didn't reveal my pathetic attempts at stealth to our enemy at all."

Drake winced in apology. "You're right. I'm an idiot."

But Jack was already kneeling over the trembling man, his sleek build hinting at deadly coiled power, for all that his actual mass might be no more than Jack's own.

Jack smiled into dark eyes masking covering the terror within.

"It will all be over in a minute." With that he turned all his focus to the iron collar about the rogue's neck.

Familiar magical disciplines detected. Artificer skillcheck made!

And between one blink and the next, he understood. It was an artifact of iron and silver, somehow conducive to a mentalist's arts, and completely bound with runes, one of which he knew already.

But there were several that he didn't.

So, taking a deep breath as Lord de Leone and his son began a tense discussion, Jack forced himself into the rune.

Artificer Skillcheck made!

Finding himself swimming through endless loops and coils. A network of twisted compulsions designed to enforce compliance... and to crush the will of anyone not acting on the will of another.

And for all that the rune had been forged in antiquity, the original Dark Master who had originally inscribed these runes long since crumbled to dust, the barest echo of that man's terrible power near strangled Jack in oblivion's caress.

And it was everything he could do to break free.

Willpower check successful!

But break through that endless maze of twisting paths and thorns he eventually did, accepting in the end that there was no way out of the maze of confusion and despair echoing with the ancient laughter of a long dead wraith that he now found himself in. No way out, save to pick a wall and tear right through.

No matter how badly his arms bled with the memories of past regrets.

No matter how much his heart ached with the memory of loved ones he would never see again.

No matter how much his long dead enemy shrieked and howled, as its last vestiges of sentience became the crystalline awareness of the twined pair of runes, Submission and Despair, that were now Jack's own.

"Formo," he whispered in an eyeblink of time that had seemed to last forever to Jack's mind, as runes now mastered held back the flow of his own art no longer, Jack now finding it almost effortless to bend back the ancient metal collar like softest clay.

And as simple as that, the assassin was free.