We all turned to the voice and saw four men appear from a narrow street behind us. They were dressed in dark, ragged cloaks that hid their faces in shadow, and walked with an odd limp, which almost seemed to propel them forward quicker than usual. The one who shouted at us had a dirty white scarf wrapped around his neck and chin.

“Should not be walking in these streets by all yourselves,” another voice called out as we turned to see five other men approach. They came from the other side of the building, walked with the same limping gait, and quickly made their way beside the others, stopping only a few feet away.

We had no choice but to retreat toward the dock, where only an old black iron chain was between us and the water. We could not go forward, or back. The ragged gang of thugs advanced until eight of them stood in a half-circle in front of us, hooded and cloaked, their hands hidden in their dark clothes. I couldn’t see their eyes, except for one man, who stood further away. He looked younger, but desperately thin and with a long face and drooping skin, and dark eyes. In them, I sensed the same hunger as those wild men in Veneiea, but less. It was not as overwhelming, and there was still a thought behind the hunger.

And very little fear.

“Those are some fine coats,” one said, his voice almost a whisper, his crooked lips forming a disgusting, drooly smile.

“And that sword looks expensive.”

They advanced with a predatory slowness.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” the first man said to Florencia, his hand reaching out to touch her hair. The hand had a large, bulbous growth with a black tip on his knuckle. “I have just the place for you in my basement. But the rest of you are going for a long swim.”

His voice was low and menacing as he leered at her, the implications clear and chilling. He was not only threatening her with death but also with a horror that preceded it. The other bullies chuckled, enjoying the threats made.

“Stay back,” Florencia said, with no malice in her voice. This was strange. I thought she would at least be furious, if not scared, but she showed no emotion except for dismissal.

With no effort or warning, she turned the scabbard from her back and drew out her sword in a single, fluid motion. She did this so fast that I almost missed it. The three men standing in front of her, roughly at arms-reach, could not even react to it. Before they even could register what happened, Florencia had her longsword, the blade as tall as her, pointed at the chest of the man who threatened her.

The keen blade shone with a dim orange light, but there were no streetlights around us to explain it. It was the sword itself that was glowing, and now I could see a thin trail of smoke rising from the man’s coat where Florencia had pressed the tip of it.

The sudden attack caught our attackers off guard, and they stumbled backward, fear and confusion etched on their faces.

Meanwhile, two men advanced at Jace, meaning to grab him. But Jace was quick, stepping aside at the last moment with a speed that my eyes could not follow him. He reappeared behind the second attacker, tripping the first onto the chain. And in a swift, but violent motion, he grabbed the wrist of the second one, who now had his back to him, and pulled hard.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Ah!” he cried, and twisted his upper body impossibly so Jace would not break his bones. He let out another wail of pain as his wrist was twisted and he fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

While my attention was on Jace, I almost missed a tall and hooded man step forward, face shrouded and hand gloved, and extend his arm with something in his grip. Something small and shiny, which caught light for the briefest moment. It did not even cross my mind that he held a knife, sharp and thin, and it was already wetted by blood that night.

The man dashed forward, wildly slashing with the knife. Without a second thought, I lept to my left. The blade slashed, barely missing my neck as I leaned aside, and in retaliation, my right fist shot up and into his jaw.

There was a loud crack, and my fist went through his jaw and came up.

“Ah!” the hooded man yelled and stumbled back, dropping the knife.

With a strange gurgling noise, he clamped his jaw shut, desperately trying to hold back the tide of blood that was now flowing from his mouth. Bright red droplets erupted from between his fingers, splattering onto the sidewalk.

He kneeled down, wrecked in pain. Like tiny pebbles, I saw teeth falling from his mouth and tumbling onto the smooth cobblestones. He let out a loud and long cry, desperate and in great pain, and he fell on his back. The cry stopped the other attackers, who looked at the splattered blood and teeth.

“Run!” the young man with the long face and dark eyes, shouted frantically. “They’re fucking mages! We gotta get out of here!”

“Fuck this,” another screamed, grabbed two of his friends, and stormed off, their loud footsteps echoing through the streets.

“Wait, what about Rors?”

“Fuck him!”

I looked down in front of me and mumbled: “Rors.”

The man’s screams still filled the air as he writhed in agony on the ground, clutching his shattered jaw with both hands in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Blood flowed freely from between his fingers still and pooled on his cloak and ragged shirt underneath, and then onto the flat stones. He looked up at me with wide eyes, filled with fear but without depth or warmth. There was only a void there, cruel and needy, but not without intelligence. I saw a cold cleverness there, but it mattered not.

“Nothing personal,” I whispered, grabbing his shoulder and pressing my fingers deep into his skin. He had dropped the knife to his side, and I took it—it was nothing much to look at, just a simple knife with rust marks, and dark red drops on it. The handle was of old, worn wood, and the edge had many chips on it. But for stabbing, it would do its job well.

As I looked upon Rors, I couldn't help but fixate on the pool of blood that had formed around him. I was captivated, and it drew me in and held my attention. All around me, the voices and sounds of the world grew distant and muffled, as if they were happening on the other side of a thick glass window. Despite the horror of the situation, I felt power pulsing through the blood. It was as if it was alive. I reached out, extending my arm, and spread my fingers wide. I thought to myself that it would only take a slight pull to harness it. To mold it to my will before it was gone.

A faint shadow rose above it, dancing like a whirlwind of water, almost unperceivable.

“Jonas!” I heard a voice push through the strange spell, and two warm hands grabbed my cheeks. It was Florencia who pulled me up and embraced me. The warm kiss from her lips took my attention off the blood and back to her.

“You’re safe,” she said. “Oh, thank Iscia, you’re safe. I’m sorry, they’re never that many, or this confident! I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” I said, suddenly discovering I was out of breath, but otherwise perfectly fine.

“And Jace, you’re alright as well?” Florencia asked.

I looked aside and saw Jace swiping dirt off his coat, and his smile returning.

“I’m alright, but this was definitely more intense than usual, that’s for sure,” he said.

“Come on, let’s get to the Academy,” Florencia said and pulled on my hand.

“We’re going to leave him here?” I asked about Rors, but Florencia did not even bother with a reply.

As we left the docks, all three of us without a scratch, I glanced back at Rors. He was now slowly rocking back and forth with a vacant look in his eyes. The cold, hungry focus was gone, replaced by an increasing emptiness. I found myself unable to feel compassion for the man, who was slowly withering away because of his own actions.

I should’ve said something to him, but did not find the correct words, nor a single bit of pity for the lowlife.

And that was troubling.