Silvia drew the broadsword at her hip, taking a defensive stance with practiced ease as Martin unsheathed his knife. I had just enough time to think something along the lines of isn’t it a bit small? Before he drew the blade across one forearm and smeared his blood across its surface. The knife began to glow with a soft red sheen, the blood finding its way into the delicately engraved inlay and taking the colour of fall leaves. I realized it wasn’t just a knife, but a talisman as well, no doubt crafted out of materials harvested from some sort of blood-sucking fiend. Such a weapon would be a powerful conduit for any human mage worth their salt, but was also very illegal in most places, Garrowgreim included.

While the two intrepid heroes took their positions and prepared to defend themselves from the shrieking menace, I heroically hid under the counter. I’m sorry, would you throw yourself into the middle of a fight between another monster and two professional adventurers, one of which is clearly a mage of some kind, armed with little more than a hardcover book? Didn’t think so.

Luckily, the Changeling had some sense of urgency when picking its targets and decided to go after the two people with shiny weapons before focusing on the loud-mouth kid who gave him away. The sounds of fierce fighting filled the shop, the clash of claws on steel mixing with the monster’s chittering and hissing to create a symphony of chaos that was an assault to the ears. Soon the crackling sound of spells being cast joined the throng of noises, no doubt indicating that Martin had finished whatever he was doing with his own blood. Honestly, the lengths Humans go to just to be able to wield magic is disgusting. It's all fluids and body parts with them.

I could feel the magic as it was used, the overflow from whatever he cast called to me like a siren’s song. It was intoxicating. Imagine it like eating. The townsfolk’s magic from earlier was like a thousand little tiny crumbs. When they’re taken in together, it's somewhat substantial. Martin’s magic, on the other hand, was like someone had thrown out a full-course meal! I could absorb it and be set for a week, no more worrying about keeping my disguise intact, no more worrying about reserves and how much I could regenerate, I might even have been able to go out in broad daylight unhindered!

The problem was that powerful magic always leaves a sort of, malignant air, after it’s been cast. Humans recognize it as the effect of their magical overflow, so If I was to step in and suddenly snatch it all up for my own benefit, they would very quickly notice that they no longer felt the hairs on the back of their necks standing up, or that the room no longer smelled like ozone. Sure, they may not feel the need to figure it out in the middle of a fight, but they would no doubt have questions for later. Questions that I don’t have any good answers for other than “Oh I’m a Shadeling but I’m actually not really that evil please don’t kill me.”

There was no chance of pawning the blame off on the Changeling either, since they have magic of their own in droves, and don’t need to leach off of others. Just my luck. So instead of enjoying all that lovely power just hanging about, I had to be satisfied with syphoning off a little amount at a time. To go back to the food analogy, it was a bit like licking a steak. Just enough to know what I was missing, not enough to satisfy me.

To make things worse, Martin was still casting, adding to the lingering magic with every spell emanating from his bloodstained hands. There was a violent cracking noise, accompanied a split-second later by an ungodly flash of light that stung my eyes even as I hid under the counter. A wave of second-hand power washed over me, and I could tell just from the runoff it had been a powerful one. The Changeling let out a piercing shriek, likely blinded and enraged but by the sound of it still very much alive. I was assured that it was when a moment later Martin was sent flying by a blow, spiralling over the top of the counter and through the door to the backroom, landing roughly and reducing it to little more than splinters on impact.

He popped back up a moment later, battered but unbowed, and cracked his neck from side to side. He dusted himself off, collected his little blood-stained knife, and vaulted back over the counter to get back into the fray. He even gave me a little cocky wink as he did it as if I was some awe-struck idiot teenager fawning over the possibility of seeing a real-life adventurer in action. Alright, I technically am a teenager, but by Shadeling standards, I’m basically ancient. Anyway, I’ve seen enough adventurers in action for one lifetime, so forgive me if I wasn’t impressed. Of course, most of the time it's me they’re fighting, and I don’t so much fight as much as I do flee for my life.

I once again considered making a dash for the back, but still, my shaking legs betrayed me. Instead, I sat there trembling like a lost dog, still clutching that stupid Shadeling book to my chest as if it held the secret to immortal life while begging whichever of the gods that were listening to give me a break for once. In the typical fare for whenever I try to ask the gods for a favour, I was answered with a face full of splinters as one of the adventures, -likely Silvia-, dodged away from one of the Changeling’s wild swipes, and its claws slashed a quartet of gashes into the counter instead.

While the sudden barrage of wooden fragments was both terrifying and painful, it did give me four pretty decent viewing holes to see the rest of the fight through. The shop was a mess, with the area around the door largely reduced to litter, rubble, and the odd fluttering page.

The pair of adventurers were facing off against the other monster in the ruins of what had once been Mae’s poetry section. The changeling was battered and burnt, with a spider-web of scars winding across its abdomen, likely from the lightning that must have caused the flash of light. A half dozen nasty-looking wounds from Silvia’s sword crisscrossed its body, with black blood welling up from beneath the monster’s pallid skin. One of its eyes had been slashed, and it was swollen shut.

Silvia and Martin were better off, but still looking worse for wear. The swordswoman was taking short, ragged breaths that seemed hindered by three shallow wounds down her side. They didn’t seem life-threatening but were likely painful. The mage’s wounds seemed almost all self-inflicted, but he was still slowed from his flight into the door. He lingered behind his companion, muttering spells as he pulled the knife across another yet uncut portion of his skin. He seemed to be done with the flashy offensive magic. That sort of thing takes a lot of power, and it was no doubt too taxing for him to continue. Instead, he was supporting Silvia, using his magic to give her whatever advantages she would need against their foe. A red glow emanated from both Martin’s blade and Silvia’s side, and slowly but surely the three jagged wounds knitted themselves closed, leaving only fresh pink skin to mark where they had been.

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The warrior's breathing became deeper, and with a grim scowl, she pushed herself forward to end the fight. The changeling charged up to meet her, keeping itself low to the ground as it ducked past her first wide swing. It tried to gut her as it came under her guard, both its clawed hands slashing from different directions. Rather than finding her unprotected stomach, the monsters’ claws struck an invisible barrier and slid off impotently. Martin grunted as the blows struck, but his magic held strong, protecting Silvia from the otherwise mortal blow.

Utterly surprised by its failure, the Changeling was caught off guard by Silvia’s next strike, a knee brought up firmly into its jaw. It tumbled backwards, crashing through the F-H bookshelf in the magical literature section with a sickening crunch. I winced at the impact, out of sympathy for the books, not the monster. It may be hard to believe it, but I was definitely not rooting for the Changeling. Not all dark creatures are on the same side you know. A lot of humans tend to think that, like there’s some sort of overarching evil force commanding us all like puppets, and that we’re all collaborating to bring an end to civilization as you know it. Now to be fair, most monsters probably do want to see the collapse of civilization, but they most certainly are not willing to work with other monsters to see it done.

Collaboration, as a rule, tends to require actively helping and supporting whoever you’re cooperating with, and that in turn requires you to care about them. Monsters being monsters, we tend to only care about one thing, ourselves. That generally puts a damper on any villainous team-ups between the denizens of darkness. The dumb-as-bricks monsters are just too stupid to see anything that isn’t themselves as something other than prey, and the smarter of us generally can't get past their own egos, and can never truly see who they’re working with as an equal, which unsurprisingly causes a bit of strife between them and their soon-to-be-erstwhile allies.

The exception is when monsters are created unnaturally by humans, like the sorcerer squatting outside town who was inadvertently ruining my already pretty measly excuse for a life. Artificial monsters are beholden to the will of their creator, at least so long as the said creator has the magic to keep the bond intact. That’s mostly where the idea of all of us being on the same side came about, from adventurers dealing with the minions of some evil prick.

No, I was rooting pretty firmly for the humans, considering they still hadn’t figured out what I was, and that the Changeling was as likely to kill me as it was them. Because for all it could tell I was just another human, so if Martin and Silvia were its main course, I was dessert.

The Changeling leapt out from the ruins of the bookshelf with a howl, plucking splinters from its skin and throwing away a book that had been impaled on its claws. Silvia rushed towards it, anticipating another wild charge, and swung diagonally across its body in an attack that would have cut me in two from shoulder to hip. The monster dodged it, but barely. It stepped backwards just enough that the swing cut a shallow gash across its chest. Blood welled forth like spilled ink, and the Changeling leapt at Silvia, pushing off its back foot to launch itself at her head. With her blade swept down and not enough time to catch the monster on the backswing, the towering swordsman shifted the sword so it was held in only her left hand, and grabbed the Changeling by the throat with her right. It clawed franticly at her forearm, and rather than hold on and endure the attacks, she hucked it across the room. Directly at my hiding spot.

I made a mad dash for the back, trying to move as quickly as I could without stumbling. This proved to have been the worst idea possible a moment later, when a bruised and confused mass of claws and teeth crashed into my back. I fell forwards, the impact driving the air from my lungs, and landed amongst the shattered remnants of the door Martin had been thrown through. The both of us tumbled through the now-open doorway to the storeroom and barreled through a stack of empty boxes before hitting the back wall painfully.

Dazed and confused, I found myself half-leaning against what remained of a box with the crumpled form of the Changeling at my feet. My lungs ached as if I’d been drowned, my head was spinning viciously, and I could feel a warmth radiating from my side. Surprisingly, I still had the tome I had been reading clutched to my chest, although it had suffered a swipe to the cover, and three deep groves had ruined the lovely craftsmanship. It had also saved my life, as if I had not been holding it the blow would have likely ripped through my rib cage and killed me.

“Hey, kid you ok?” Martin’s voice called through from the room, sounding rightfully hesitant after his companion had thrown a deadly monster at someone who they had every reason to believe was a defenceless human teenager.

I tried to say, “Come and finish this thing off before it guts me like a fish you complete idiot,” but all that came out was a thin, painful wheezing noise, and a feeble cough that sounded like a geriatric dog trying to bark. It was safe to say that trying to sit up was well out of the question, so for the moment I just did my best to keep breathing and not pass out. The last thing I needed was for those two to come rushing to my recuse only to find two unconscious monsters instead of one.

Then, to my complete and utter horror, the Changeling got up. Not only had those two adventuring assholes thrown a Changeling at me, but they also hadn’t even managed to kill the bloody thing in the process! It crouched, hissing in agony, and taking in its surroundings, before locking its eyes on me and growling. Though it was badly wounded, it no doubt saw me as an easy target, the quick morsel it would use to get some strength back and return to finish off the real threats. It leapt at me like a cat, its blood-encrusted talons reaching for my throat.

So, I hit it with the book. The spine of the tome smashed into the side of the Changelings head, turning its eyes crossed and pushing its frantic attack sideways so that it missed me entirely and drove itself head-first into the wall. This didn’t do a lot of damage to it, but it did make the other monster seem to think twice. It scampered back away from me, eyes wide, and looked me up and down with a newfound caution in its eyes. It lingered there for a moment, eyeing me carefully before finally the exhausted-looking figures of Silvia and Martin appeared at the door, and it decided it had had enough.

The Changeling dashed for the back door, escape now its sole priority. The two adventures made to give chase, but really they needn’t have bothered. Even injured as it was, it was clear that the monster would easily outpace them, and once it was out the door it would just be another bystander in a city of thousands, blending into the crowd with its illusions. It reached the exit and grabbed the knob with one clawed hand to wrench it open.

The door was flung open before the Changeling even turned the handle, crashing inward with a familiar reckless abandon that smashed the monster between the wall and the door, catching it completely by surprise. It sank to the floor and lay there, unmoving, as a puddle of black blood pooled under it.

Mae stood in the doorway, holding a greasy paper bag in each hand. I could not see their contents from my position crumpled on the floor, but from the smell, I could tell she’d been to the bakers, the good one on the main street no doubt. I smiled softly. She’d always had a sweet tooth. Her foot was still half raised from when she’d kicked the door open, the way she always did when she had her hands full. She stepped into the room, looked down at the monster, over at Silvia and Martin, and then down at me.

“CORIN!” She snapped. “I THOUGHT I TOL’ YA NOT TA WRECK THE BLOODY PLACE!”