The Tree Dagger pierced warm flesh. With a jolt, Arro plunged the blade even deeper, ensuring that her victim’s next breath was his final. He fell to the floor, blood oozing around him.

Arro’s work was not done yet. She wiped her blade on her dress; its leaves glowed a gloomy grey color, as if the light were dimmed by mist. She plucked a Greyleaf from the dagger and let it flutter to the floor in staccato movements. It landed in the pool of blood, turning everything grey.

Arro looked down at the body. She had no idea who this man was, nor did she have any personal quarrel with him. But someone did. Someone who hired her to do their dirty deeds. The type of person who hid behind moral compasses. Arro was the only assassin with enough jurisdiction to carry this job out. Her Greyleaf spoke for itself.

Now, her payment was earned. She moved on to the next job – and her first meeting with this client was in an hour, an entire continent away. Teleportation elevated life’s rush to another level indeed.

The store was quiet. Spices filled the shelves, their range of scents reaching her nostrils. She left the building through the front door, as if she were an ordinary customer. Outside, the overwhelming buzz of the largest city on Earth surrounded her.

Arro made her way to the teleports, the pulsing blue light just a few yards away. Nobody paid her any attention. She was simply another consumer to the eyes of the city.

Sidewalk merchants tried to sell her things. Restaurants with open roofs carried the aroma of hot food. Screens overhead, strikingly bright in the night sky, displayed adverts for “inclusive skincare products” – inclusive here meaning Faefolk were now eligible to give these companies their money in return for low self-esteem. Giant baobab trees towered before the crowds, their thick trunks decorated with Fae orbs of light.

Amalgam. The heart of The Hybrid Age. Where street magicians earned their coin without sleight of hand or trick boxes – but with magic running through their veins. Where glass buildings housed a human interviewing a wizard for their podcast. Where mermaids and cosplayers alike promoted the latest film.

Amalgam. The hybrid creation of dangerous parents – war, natural disaster. And at the core of it – greed and desire.

She passed a motley group of teenagers talking about MagiTech’s net worth heading towards a trillion. Arro doubted they could comprehend how much a trillion was, and what it meant for one red-eyed goblin to be hoarding that much coin in the first place. But he was a businessman first and foremost. Arro could respect that.

When she reached the teleports, she stepped into the glass booth and swiped her card. She selected her destination as the screen became a frenzy of estimates; calculating her total cost, numbers rising and falling, taking guesses at her choices before she could properly finish typing the address.

Three hundred Amalgam was deducted from her account. The lights changed to red as the air was sucked out of the cubicle, creating the vacuum needed for a successful trip. As the lights turned to green, Arro shapeshifted.

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And then she burst into a billion particles – becoming a microscopic galaxy travelling faster than light.

When Arro’s feet touched the ground again, she had already shapeshifted into another form – one with a lean frame and a tight jaw that meant business.

Arro often took the form of a man to meet her clients. It spared her much ado with anonymity, being able to have many identities. A tree spirit was notoriously formless. Her clan would harshly disapprove of the use of her powers now – but she had long dislodged herself from their oppressive list of commandments.

Arro – as a man – was the only face her clients ever saw. This was so that Arro – as a woman – could execute the job however she liked.

It was raining. Arro adjusted his hoodie and walked amid the bustling crowd.

The only thing he knew about this client was that he was the owner of an arcade franchise. The arcade wasn’t the most ideal place for a meeting, but it was inconspicuous enough. Plus, Arro liked the arcade, particularly the ones with games that challenged his aiming skills. He felt it reminded him of his days before the war when he trained in hiding, trained for violence in ways that no tree spirit should have had the heart to.

Inside was stuffy. Instantly, the gloom of the cold rain was replaced by demanding lights and glitchy 8-bit video game soundtracks. Arro waltzed the hall with ease, a dance of camouflage he knew the choreography of all too well.

A misty grey light near the wall attracted his attention, its graphics glitched and its lights flickered ominously. The screens displayed a formally dressed skeleton with a top hat and monocle. It glitched from the right screen to the left screen, shuffling notes of money as bones fell from the sky behind it.

Absentmindedly, Arro swiped his card. The game’s music began, a trilling harp playing a modern rendition of Mozart’s Fantasia in D minor. The composition stuck out like a sore thumb for a place such as this. Arro was glad he was here to appreciate it.

The wait wasn’t long now that he found the perfect game to occupy him. Arro tossed bone after bone into Grimm’s mouth, his score ever increasing. He hardly registered the stout man come up behind him.

“Grimm’s Bowling Alley,” said the newcomer. “Personal favourite?”

Arro turned with a plastic bone in hand. The Grim on screen flicked from screen to screen, raising its hat amiably. “Who?”

Swallowing, the stout man lowered his voice and said: “A human. Young man named Shane. Opened an arcade like mine in the same town. Competitor like that –”

“I don’t need context,” said Arro. “You know my price?”

“Yes. Paid you just before I got here –”

“Good. The victim – he’s off continent?”

The man nodded. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that –”

“He’s off continent or not? I need an address and accommodation close by. The job will be done within the week.”

Arro watched him grow pale. He wiped his brow, gleaming with sweat in the dull white light of the game.

Arro couldn’t waste time with chit-chat, but he gave the man the benefit of the doubt since he seemed to be new to this business. He waited, tossing the plastic bone into Grimm’s mouth.

The screen erupted into celebration. He had just made a new high score.

“Off continent,” he said finally, “near my other branch. Sort of a tourist site, the town. The first forest cemetery ever built is there.”

“And accommodation? I’ll need to stay nearby for a few nights.”

The man looked as if about to ask questions, but Arro raised a cunning eyebrow that warned him not to.

“I didn’t know about any accommodation. I’ll find something.”

“Good. I need the details by tonight.”

Arro left the arcade then, the finishing notes of Fantasia escorting him off to his next assassination.