I ran, because what else was there to do?

Behind me, the old man was calling out, shouting—something, I couldn’t make out what. I sincerely hoped that he’d be okay, that his injuries weren’t life threatening, that he could stumble his way back to whatever place he called home, and that the other Guard, who was now also shouting, would leave him alone.

I burst out of the alley and directly onto the main street. People saw me, saw the rush I was in, probably saw the alarm written all over my face, and parted so easily that it was like magic. Wide eyes regarded me as shouting followed my mad dash. I saw, written plainly across the eyes of a dozen individuals, the mental arithmetic playing out in their minds—stop me and possibly earn the favor of the local authorities, or simply get out of the way, keep their heads down, and avoid all risk.

Most decided to avoid all risk.

Except for one big bastard who grabbed my left arm with a grip so strong that I was brought to an immediate halt.

We locked eyes for a moment. Probably he was a blacksmith or some other kind of laborer currently on his break. He wore an apron, was smeared with grease, was bald and covered in old scars and burns. He said something that my panicked mind filtered out. This was very bad indeed and all I could about, all I wanted, was to get away from all of this, to make it safely back to the inn, to be in my room, to be back on the Withered Isles.

Maybe I wasn’t cut out for any of this.

Maybe I’d made a big mistake—and a fatal one at that.

“Let go of me!” I cried out, immediately embarrassed by how undignified I sounded. The big man just squeezed my arm even harder. I twisted in his grip, saw the other Terarch Guard emerge from the alley, his sword drawn, mouth wide open as he bellowed as loudly as he could. And now I saw, to my right, perhaps fifty feet away or so, a squad of four Guard cutting their way through the crowd.

Directly toward me.

Justinia, please save me.

I scowled at myself. The thought struck me, even in the moment, as childish.

It was my mess, and I’d just have to get myself out of it.

My limbs felt leaden. This was an effect of the shadow magic I’d performed just before.

All necromancy has a cost—I have already alluded to that, and you will learn more about it soon.

I focused on the big man’s hand, the one bruising my arm.

And then, with a thought, I shattered every single bone from his fingertips to his humerus.

It was easy for me to do—far easier than the shadow magic.

Bone necromancy was what I did best, after all.

The blacksmith’s face went blank, the pain so sudden and intense that his mind failed to properly register it. His hand immediately fell away. I wasted no time, throwing myself away from him, in the opposite direction of the squad of Terarch Guard, and committing to a sprint that sent me barrelling through the crowd. I slammed into a woman, shouldered a boy out of the way, pushed a girl to the side—but I didn’t need to do much more than. Many of them had just seen me destroy a man’s arm. Fact was, they didn’t know what they’d seen—only that I was trouble, and it was in their best interests to get as far away from me as possible.

The crowd parted as though by some act of magic unknown to me, and I found myself unimpeded as I sprinted down the street, boot catching on a loose stone and threatening to send me plunging head-first onto the cobbles—but I recaught my balance at the last moment, managed to twist my head and glance over my shoulder as I reached a corner and turned it.

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The Terarch Guard were coming for me, hard and fast, half having drawn their weapons, the other half clearly figuring they could move faster with them sheathed. It occurred to me, as I threw myself around the corner, that the more I ran, the more public this little chase became, the more Guardsmen would join it, and the more my chances of surviving the day would diminish.

Also, even worse—I didn’t know the city, and I had a feeling that these men knew it intimately.

They’d find a way to trap me, or cut me off; it was just a matter of time.

Sweat dripped into my eyes. My lungs burned. I was reasonably fit, and had, as I’ve mentioned, spent a good amount of my free time on the Isles swimming in the sea, which had conditioned my body well.

Exertion while panicked, however, is a different thing altogether. One loses control over one’s own breathing, and the body fatigues quickly.

“Stop that man!” One of the Guard shouted.

A group of civilians stood up ahead, now facing me, and staring in a way I didn’t like. I swerved out of their way, pushed myself to move faster as one woman tried to grab my arm. I turned another corner, running into an even wider street filled with so many people that my heart immediately sank—before I realized that none of them had yet noticed what was happening, most had their backs to me, and there were so many of them that I had a chance, I felt, at losing myself amongst them.

I slowed down and entered a casual stroll, attempting to wrestle control back over my breathing. I pushed my way into the crowd, weaved off to one side. Had to act like anyone else, like I belonged. This crowd didn’t know my face.

“Stop him!” Someone else bellowed, and now some in the crowd started to stir and turn.

Not me. As casually as I could, I pressed forward, wanting to create as much distance between myself and the Guards as possible.

Had to be calm. Had to relax. I kept my head down, but noticed that a man just in front of me was looking directly at me, a frown twisting his lips. He opened his mouth to say something but I shoved my way past him. I couldn’t stop moving. Had to get away. Had to get off of this street, out of sight of those Guards.

A disturbance up ahead in the crowd.

Through the shifting mass of people, I saw another group of Terarch Guard, six of them, blocking off the street.

Fuck me, but they’d acted quickly. I was learning very fast that the Autarch’s police force were quite competent indeed.

My head swiveled around, searching for a way out. My heart was beating so hard and so fast that the irrational fear that it might explode in my chest suddenly struck me. That would likely be a mercy compared to whatever the Terarch Guard would do to me if I was caught.

There were buildings on both sides of the streets, some perhaps residential, others shop fronts. I could slip through the entrance of one, try to hide—but what if the Guard searched through them all? They might very well assume that’s where I’d go. And what if I just ended up trapping myself?

I closed my eyes for a second and sought composure. There had to be a way. There had to be.

An idea came to me.

A very, very bad idea.

But it was the best I had.

I surged forward, toward the line of Terarch Guard. So far, I was yet to be spotted.

The solution I had in mind was not a clever or subtle one. Nor was it kind.

It was, in fact, horrific.

But what else was I supposed to do?

I fixed my gaze on the captain of this particular squad, a tall woman with a plumed helmet. She was shouting to the crowd, trying to get them to comply with her demands.

I visualized her skeleton. The way it stood at her center, sheathed in armor of tendons, ligaments, meat and skin. I conjured up a perfect mental representation of its structure, of every single bone and the ways in which they all attached to form a greater whole.

Then I worked my aura, drawing power from it, and from the devoured souls that would forever shriek within me.

And in a flex of head-aching power, I commanded the captain’s skeleton to free itself from her body.

The captain stiffened. Her expression immediately changed. Her eyes bulged in her head.

And then her flesh began to bulge, to become misshapen.

Infused with necromantic power, animated against the will of its owner, the captain’s skeleton gained independence—and it tore itself free.

A fine red mist filled the air. For a moment, silence.

And then the screaming started.