Wicked men stalked the night, in the dark stretches under broken lamps, but they allowed a certain odd couple to pass. Certainly, when the woman was in a wheelbarrow, missing a leg, hugging a small arsenal of weaponry close to her chest, and they both smelled of blood and fire, which petty slasher would be daring enough to impede their passage?

Alyssa groaned every time the wheelbarrow jolted in and out of pits in the road. “Could you be any rougher?” Alyssa said with a lick of the lip — and then a stifled yelp as she took the full brunt of a pothole.

They reached the Theater’s plaza. At this hour, it was empty, save for a dim little lamp post in the middle. Under the umbrella of its light was a woman in the white robes of a priestess. A red sash, with ancient letters embroidered in gold, went around her waist, while a medallion hung from her neck. A translucent veil covered her face — but failed to obscure the surprise in her golden eyes.

“Alyssa!” She held herself back from shouting her name. She started on a light jog, heading for them.

“Agh! You of the light, stay away!” Alyssa said, dramatically throwing her head back.

“You’ve lost a leg!”

“But gained a man.”

Jon scoffed. He didn’t appreciate theatrics from anyone who was inches away from death’s door. “We need to get you a doctor,” he replied. Maybe a mental one, too, he added in his mind.

Alyssa looked up to him. “There’s one right there. See?” She pointed at the priestess who’d just reached them.

The priestess beheld Jon’s figure. Reaper, she thought. She looked back down at Alyssa, summoning a small light from her finger to take a look at the wound. At least, she thought it was just a wound, but with the light, she saw that everything below the knee was just gone.

“What is this? It’s like a cannon blew your leg off!”

“Hm, well, I suppose that’s what happened.”

“What? Never mind. I need somewhere with bright light.”

Jon started carting Alyssa, but seeing that he had started in the direction of one of the side entrances that had a ramp, Alyssa stopped him, instead pointing to the main steps. “To the top of the steps,” she said.

Jon stopped, and the wheels stopped creaking. “Why?”

“The Order can’t enter the Theater. Right in front of the door’s bright enough, isn’t it?”

Jon changed direction, and the priestess followed them. Once at the foot of the steps, Jon scooped up Alyssa with much less care than Alyssa had hoped. Still, he took care not to shake the wounded leg around too much.

Alyssa sighed. That was just about the limit of his decency that Alyssa could hope for. Hopefully it’ll get better down the road.

The clacking of the priestess’s heels behind them echoed about the plaza. “Who is she?” Jon asked Alyssa as they climbed the steps. “Someone I knew,” Alyssa said. She didn’t say more.

Reaching the light of the front door, Jon laid Alyssa down. The priestess settled down right next to her, examining the full extent of the wound. As expected, there were second and third-degree burns going all the way above the knee. “How are you still alive…”

“It’s the power of love, obviously.”

“Insufferable. Here” — the priestess presented a cloth wad — “bite on this. I’d rather not have your screams ringing in my ears until tomorrow morning.”

Alyssa obediently bit down, and the free-of-charge, no-anesthetic operation started. The priestess hovered her hands over the wound, emanating a soft glow that told her all about what laid under the skin. She found the remaining bone fractured further up the leg. The burn damage, too, ran much deeper. These had to be removed or else Alyssa risked necrosis.

She carefully formed a cleaver of magic — the thinnest she could manage — and aimed at a line six inches above the apparent line of the wound.

— Slice.

It happened so fast, Alyssa didn’t even realize she’d lost more of her leg until it started to feel all tingly. She was bleeding out fast, but the priestess worked faster. Tendrils of magic poked and prodded, tying off larger arteries and cauterizing everything else. At the same time, she worked to mold the soft tissue around the new stump to make a better fit for prosthetics.

After just twenty minutes, the operation was done, and the priestess was just dressing up the stump. “With the healing magic, you should be alright in about a week.”

Alyssa spat out the cloth wad. She was sweating bullets, and she had been cursing and screaming through her gag this whole time. She wished that the priestess would’ve at least twitched a little from it, but she was just too professional to notice.

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She considered the priestess’s words. “We don’t have a week.”

“On that subject” — the priestess stood — “I originally came here to warn you. On this occasion, the Order of Luminas has deemed the Theater’s actions justified according to the Laws inter Templar. However, I must officially remind you that if you move on the Houses of Bowyer and Wiz unprovoked, the Order will make a concerted effort to arrest you, at which point you will be subject to the Order’s courts.”

“Are you done?” Alyssa said.

The priestess sighed. Her official face disappeared. “The Three Houses? Really?” she said.

“When the Lady Herself orders it, then what else must I do?”

For a while, there was no reply. Even if they were on opposite sides, they both served their goddesses with equal vigor. The Order would die for Lumina, while the Theater would kill for Ravena. That was just how it was, and the priestess wouldn’t argue against that. “I see. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Well?” Alyssa asked, seeing her acquaintance make a complicated face.

“Bowyer and Wiz are forming an alliance. I thought I should let you know.”

“Typical.” Alyssa chuckled. “I’m sure Jon here can manage both of them at once.”

The priestess turned to look at Jon. Now that they were in the light, she gasped. “Johann Wick?”

“No,” Jon replied. It was that name again. It probably wasn’t a good idea to perpetuate this strange misunderstanding, so he corrected her. “Jon Fuze.”

“I…I see. You look fairly identical, I apologize.”

Before the priestess could turn, Jon asked, “Who was he?”

The priestess paused. She had complicated feelings on the matter, but she answered anyway. “A businessman. When we couldn’t protect him or his family, he took matters into his own hands. That’s all you need to know.”

Jon nodded, and he watched as the priestess went down the long steps, disappearing into the night. He thought he’d seen some shadows move around her, but seeing that she came and went without much trouble, that must’ve been her protection detail.

“I’m surprised you were curious,” Alyssa remarked. Jon looked back down at her. Even if she was still on the ground, she still had this smug grin that made her look like she’d figured out something new and deep about the man.

“Okay, priestess.”

Alyssa scoffed. “I’m nothing like her.”

“That’s what I said.” Jon scooped her up and brought her inside. He put her down on her bed. She winced a little, but that was all.

Jon recovered extra medical supplies stowed under the bed, placing a stack of thick gauze and bandages next to Alyssa. “I’ll be alright,” Alyssa said. Jon nodded and retreated to a workbench, where he checked and cleaned each of his pistols.

He didn’t know what to think of the priestess — of the Order who stood behind her. It was obvious that the Order and the Theater had a working relationship, especially considering those knights he’d encountered in the underground.

“Reaper.” That was the name they’d kept calling him, as if they all already knew who he was and what he was capable of. The nervousness they showed around him didn’t escape him, either, but it was something that puzzled him. Nothing on the voodoo tattoo squirming around on the back of his palm said anything about being a reaper. Ravena did mention it once, but she’d also called him a ‘black knight,’ so ‘reaper’ shouldn’t be a special title.

This was a problem. He hadn’t been in this world for long, and yet it was like he’d spawned in with a preset level of infamy. He couldn’t exactly conduct clandestine operations if everyone knew who he was.

He looked over to Alyssa. She was still awake.

“The Order,” Jon asked, “what’s the Theater to them?”

Alyssa chuckled, and maybe felt a little happy that Jon initiated the conversation — though a prick of pain reminded her not to move too much. “They think us to be problem children. They will not interfere in our activities as long as we have divine sanction and we abide by the Laws inter Templar, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

‘Laws inter Templar,’ and the fact that they were explicitly warned not to attack the Houses... Were they a governmental organization? “They work for the Houses?”

Alyssa chuckled, even through the pain. “Heavens, no, but that would be hilarious. No, they abide by a strict codex, but that is also why they will not move against the Houses without compelling evidence. Ah, just think of them as children who can’t decide things on their own — ah, please don’t kill any of them. Lady Ravena will be upset.”

“A codex? The Laws inter Templar?”

“That’s different. The Order has its own rules, and so do we, but seeing that the Lady and Goddess Lumina are sisters, we both at least, let’s say ... ’agree’ on a few things.”

That was concerning. He didn’t know anything about these rules.

“Oh,” Alyssa recalled, “don’t worry about our rules. Our Lady is...shall we say, flexible.”

Considering that Ravena was an otherworldly goddess and the world’s Big Sister, Jon translated this in his mind as: “Three strikes and you’re out.”

He wasn’t worried that he’d mess up so badly that he’d even get a strike, and really, he couldn’t even conceptualize how he could.

“The knights,” he continued, “they called me ‘reaper.’ ”

Alyssa paused before she answered. “Did they, now?”

She took too long to answer. Jon stopped cleaning. “Does it mean anything?” he asked more explicitly.

“It’s a term only outsiders use. It’s like an omen to them whenever they use it — like a crow’s call.”

Alyssa’s explanation was strange. The explanation itself was fine, but she seemed taken aback at first. “It doesn’t mean anything more?” Jon continued.

“Not at all! It’s — what was the word...an epithet!” Alyssa hid her dissatisfaction with fake enthusiasm.

No, really, wasn’t it strange? She’d killed way more people than this guy, so why didn’t anyone call her ‘reaper,’ too? It was so unfair!

Jon turned his attention fully to the pistol in his hand and continued cleaning. The bore should be pristine, ready for the killing that would surely come.