Jo had never stepped foot onto the small patio outside the living room, nor had she seen the now broken dark tile underfoot, or the ruined remains of couches and chairs scattered about, their firepit shattered against the stone walls that blocked off the street. From what she could surmise from the scattered remains, lit by the glow of Werond’s burning house, it would have been a nice patio, all things considered.

Jo and Cruck’aa crossed the ruined space in a few panicked strides. They both almost smacked into the stone wall, the cacophony of metal against metal ringing out from the gaping hole at the back of the house, echoing into the night.

“Front!” Cruck’aa yelled. “Get to the front!”

“The front?!” Jo shot back, scanning the wall for handholds. “Why?! What’s the –”

Cruck’aa spread his wings and launched into the air, easily clearing the head high wall; he did not look back as he leapt down onto the other side.

“Cruck’aa you motherfucker!” Jo bellowed, before launching herself at the wall.

Despite her frantic search, Jo found nothing to hold onto, and her attempt at scaling the wall proved that tenfold – though she dug her foot into the wall and almost reached the top, it wasn’t enough to haul herself onto the ledge. She cursed as she dropped back down, head on a swivel, looking for –

A whistling came from behind.

Jo whirled around and ducked as Simon’s sword blurred over her head, catching sparks against the wall.

Cursing louder, Jo leapt into a roll – awkwardly with her rapier still in hand – away from Simon, leaping to her feet off to the side.

Simon did not hesitate in his pursuit, nor his assault.

Each slash came quicker than the last, all aimed at Jo’s chest and neck; each blow was parried barely in time, Jo’s arm growing numb from the impacts. It didn’t take long for Simon to back her against the side wall, his blows never-ending, his face, contorted with fury, lit eerily by the flames that consumed Werond’s house.

Fear creeping up her back, Jo turned sideways, avoiding yet another strike, before stepping and slamming her shoulder into Simon; so single minded were his attacks that Simon failed to react in time, a yell of anger slipping from his lips as he crashed backwards into the tile.

Jo leapt around him and dashed back towards the center of the patio; she whipped her head around, frantically searching for an avenue of escape, and found nothing. The walls were just too tall for her to surmount in time, and any chance of dashing through the burning house was shattered as she caught sight of Pavel and Jarlaxle locked together, a pair of dancers lit by the flames of hell.

She yelled a curse into the night sky, that fear from her back flooding into her chest.

She was cornered – cornered with an animal hellbent on silencing her forever. An animal that she had already lost to.

Something blurred in her peripheral.

Jerking back, Jo barely dodged away from a well-aimed kick, Simon skidding to a halt on the tile barely a foot away. He whirled around and leapt back to a proper stance, despite Jo backing away towards the wall she first tried to climb.

“How much are you worth?” Jo asked, rapier held in a low guard, her heart smashing in her chest. “Always thought about buying someone like yourself. Never had the chance to do it though.”

Slowing his breathing, Simon straightened up, his eyes darkening, his body framed by the inferno to his back, cast like a revenant erected before the mouth of The Nine Hells themselves.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He said evenly.

“Tell me then. Explain it to me. Let me understand how someone like you ends up being jerked around on a leash.”

“He has us by the balls Johana. There isn’t anything I can do against him, least he threatens my men…” Somehow, his eyes grew harder. “Or their families. Or mine.”

“So that’s it then?” Jo threw an arm up. “Did you all even try or did he buy out everyone all at once?”

“Damnit woman, we did try!” Simon spat, taking a step forward. “You think we bent over the moment he stepped into this gods forsaken city?! We tried everything and not a single thing worked – and by the time we’d exhausted all our options, he already had the Lords in his pocket. There was no other recourse but to fall in line.”

“Spoken like a true craven.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Simon bared his teeth, jaw clenching. “He was right. What good will talking to any of you do?”

“The fact that you wanted to talk in the first place proves to me that, despite the coward you present yourself as, you still have a shred of dignity left in you.” Jo’s voice softened. “I’ve known so many like you, in the same horrid position you believe yourself to be alone in. And every time those men died, they left behind a legacy of regrets – regrets for all the horrible mistakes they made, because they felt as though they had no other option.” Her gaze flicked past Simon. “You have options. You still have time. Call this off. Turn on him. We can help you, but you must make that call.”

Simon grimaced, his face twisting with such force that Jo immediately knew her words had fallen onto deaf ears.

“I’m sorry.” The Major Captain of the Guard said. “I don’t hate you for trying, I truly don’t. I hate that you will never truly understand my position, and that there truly isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.”

“Miracles can happen.” Jo replied, raising her rapier.

“Then I pray for the one that puts you down swiftly.”

Simon jumped, twisted, and kicked at Jo, foot flying towards her head; she sidestepped, and thrusted at Simon’s neck as he landed.

Metal clanged against metal as Simon parried, following with an underhand punch; Jo weaved around the blow, lashing out at Simon’s shoulder; he jerked to the side, the point missing by inches.

Jo cursed; it was to be the same dance as before.

Simon lashed out with the sword, weaving in punch after punch, slash after slash, anger boiling until it was all that fueled his strikes; Jo bobbed and weaved, parried and thrusted after each punch and slash, yet her rapier bit only the air.

Jo cursed as they continued to spin, each dancing about the other, neither gaining any ground; vision beginning to swim, she became acutely aware of the lump against her back, tucked into her belt and under her shirt, slowly coming loose. She gritted her teeth but found no opening to yank it free.

Simon yelled in frustration as they spun back to their original positions; he slashed out desperately, aiming a sloppy blow at Jo’s neck; she ducked, vision spinning, and thrust.

Simon screamed as the rapier pierced through his knee – unarmored to accommodate his kicks – thin blade poking out the other side.

In one swift motion, Jo yanked the rapier out, blood spurting with it; Simon dropped to his knee just as she did, and, vision still swimming, she was powerless to block the punch aimed straight into her sternum.

Pain exploded across her chest as the air was driven out of her lungs; Jo flailed and tumbled back, before shoving herself away from a still cursing Simon, crawling backwards until she smashed into the wall behind her.

She pushed herself up just as Simon did the same; he too staggered back until he fell, wounded leg stretched out in front of him, blood staining the tile beneath him. The flames at his back had, surprisingly, remained in place; burning but static, none advancing any further than they needed to.

Jo blinked and shook her head, vision finally settling – just in time to see Pavel, laid out on the floor of the burning house, receive a dagger thrust into his chest from the shadow that loomed over him.

Jo’s body went rigid, her eyes wide, too shocked to scream.

Simultaneously, a detachment of guards – seven in all, dressed in full plate – came storming from the foyer hallway, around Pavel’s writhing form, and out onto the patio. Her heart smashed against her chest as they formed a semi-circle around Simon, their plate glinting in the orange blow at their backs, their spears leveled to cut off any avenue of escape.

A wave of cold realization washed over Jo as the guards took half a step forward, their boots like thunder against the tile, the clap dashing the last hope that Jo had clung to.

“Johana,” Simon shouted, trying to force himself up, face twisted in pain. “please! You’re surrounded! If you drop your weapon, I can ensure your safety! You have my word on that, I don’t want this to continue!”

“And why should I trust you?!” Jo yelled back, body trembling, tucking her free hand behind her back.

“Because you have nothing else!” The guards advanced another step, sending Jo’s heart into her throat, her skin prickling. “Please Johana, I don’t want to give the order to put you down!”

Jo barked out a laugh, harsh in her chocked throat, and yanked from her belt the new toy she’d been provided, courtesy of the Citadel of the Arrow, praying to every god she knew that the damned thing would work.

A few of the guards cocked their heads as Jo leveled the odd-metal shape at them; a handle with a cylinder at the top, an odd-looking hammer behind it, and a long barrel that extended out the other way, a stick of metal attached to its underside just within reach of her index finger.

Jo pulled back the hammer with her thumb, squeezed one eye shut, and aimed directly at Simon’s head.

“Jo –” Simon began.

She squeezed the trigger.

Thunder erupted from the piece, echoing into the night, startling her, throwing off her aim – but that was expected.

What wasn’t was the streak of silver flame that roared out of the barrel, igniting the very air as it screamed towards Simon like a bolt directed from the Nine Hells themselves, punching through and utterly obliterating his shoulder into a spray of pink mist, white fragments, and brilliant flecks of fire.

Simon screamed as he flew backwards – Jo screamed as she adjusted her aim – the guards screamed as they charged towards her.

Five more thunderclaps – five more bolts from hell.

Three guards smashed into the title, dead on impact, chest and necks ruined, brains and gore splattered across the tile in horrible pink flecks and globs, blood spraying and spurting in awful fountains.

The remaining guards screamed louder as they leapt back, spears visibly trembling, their faces as white as sheets – one fell to a knee and vomited, his bile mixing with the lake of blood that encroached upon the tile.

Shaking, Jo dropped the metal thing, her ears a ringing mess; she glanced down at her hand and was stunned to see the skin burnt and peeling, as though she’d stuck her hand into an open flame. Strangely, she felt no pain.

Her head shot back up; the remaining guards looked at her with wide eyes, tips of their spears trembling. Behind them, Simon writhed on the title, still screaming as silver flames began to erupt across his body, turning him into a grotesque, howling bonfire.

“Fuck.” Jo muttered, eyes wide, body still trembling.

Something screamed overhead.

“Fuck.” Jo muttered again, staring up at the storm of brown feathers and metal halberds that descended upon her