A guard lunged at me, spear extended. I slipped around it, and with a closed fist struck his throat.

There was a moment, horrifically distended, wherein knuckles received the feedback of cartilage rupturing. The look of horror on the man’s face as he realised his windpipe had just ruptured. Death loomed in his eyes, taking the form of a monster. Taking the form of me.

People had become so delicate.

He was the nineteenth person I had killed personally. My memories told me of thousands more, using darker, more worn hands. And there remained an unknown quantity: every person dead by my actions. An exact count remained elusive. The math was beyond me. But nineteen were certain.

The man toppled to the liquor-stained dirt, clawing at his throat. Images flashed: my own slit throat, my own impending death. Blood on the head of the boy below. That would not be a problem in this instance. He wasn’t bleeding.

A bloodless murder. I could’ve laughed.

When Kit had hacked my sword into the side of Thom’s head, I had been stunned at first. The crowd had been on my side. I could’ve convinced him. Or at least, I could’ve grabbed the sword and Kit and ran. But instead, she’d killed him. I had been walking a knife-edge, and she’d simply pushed me off. All my efforts, swept away like footprints after rain. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.

At least I could finally move.

A sword sunk into my shoulder from behind and bounced off my collarbone. Blunt, I thought, lucky me. I snarled and groped behind me, managing to grab a handful of fabric. My tensing muscles were rapidly followed by me heaving a woman over my shoulder, hurling her over the bar and into the support pillar behind it. Kit cackled to the side of her, thrusting my onyx sword down, to cut a life out of my sight.

I turned as my mind worked. A distant part of me recalled thirteen guards – warriors – when we had entered. I saw eight approaching through a horde of tables, fighting through the crowd that was only beginning to flee just now. Despite Kit’s display of skill, a few of the gambling hunters drew weapons and began walking towards us. And that was just on my side of the hall.

A snarling guard shoved his way through a set of tables and stools, brandishing a thick club. He levelled it at me and opened his mouth, at which point I gripped it and repeatedly slammed my fist into his stomach. The second, third, and fourth blows were all met with tensed muscle, however the first had sunk in with a dangerous lack of resistance. His grip loosened, and a sharp tug sent his weapon into my hands.

He begun straightening, but with a bellow I raised my knee and thrust my boot straight into his stomach. The guard toppled backwards with a strangled groan, his weight splintering a cheap table. Two more stepped over his huddled form: a guard and what looked to be a furious patron.

Even if the pair had never spoken, animal instinct bid them to shuffle in opposite directions, giving each other space and surrounding me more effectively. Heat filled me at their audacity.

My face twisted. A tension gathered in my gut, and with a snarl I let loose a roar. The sound echoed through the hall, smashing through the panicked yelps of runners and the frantic whispers of onlookers. The duo facing me flinched. I chucked a club at one, and kicked a stool at the other.

An unconscious evaluation had me thundering towards the less armoured guard. She winced slightly as the seat smacked against her knees, only barely managing to avoid a blurring uppercut. Her alacrity wasn’t enough to prevent her from eating a straight to the face. The woman’s nose exploded beneath my fist. My knuckles ached – stupid – and my tendons strained. It was unwise to move this fast, this strong, with so many witnesses.

I didn’t care.

A flash of orange at the corner of my vision gave enough warning for me to hop sideways between tables, making space between the hunter and myself. He wielded a copper sword – thick and heavy – in two steel gauntlets. The man’s expression tightened, and he slashed diagonally again. I slipped underneath, snatching a table and managing to interpose it between myself and him on the return swing, the motion sending a deck of yellowed cards fluttering through the air. The blade caught on the edge of cheap wood.

Someone said, “mai bloodeh damn nose!” to my side. The guard was bent over, clutching her bleeding face. The sword began sliding out, so I spun the table, feeling the hunter’s grip loosen, and hurled it against the woman. Cards obscured my opponent’s upper body, but his legwork revealed his position. I lunged through the fluttering paper rectangles, caught my elbow around his throat, slid behind him, and squeezed.

As the two of us staggered around, knocking tables and chairs over, I choked him and evaluated our surroundings. The numbers had grown: ten were approaching, and would arrive in a few moments. Unless I picked up a weapon, I’d have little chance. I wouldn’t even have time to incapacitate the man in my arms.

A glance behind showed Kit spinning my blade through the chest of a man, his own spear paused mid-thrust. A body was slumped over the bar, and Siik only knew how many lay dead behind it. However, a handful of guards and moralistic hunters still approached.

It’d only been two dozen seconds since the fight started. No one present had fully comprehended what was occurring. They wouldn’t know they should run.

There were a few possible outcomes here: Kit and I got surrounded and promptly mutilated; the two of us managed to flee; just Kit managed to flee; or, finally, we defeated everyone in the room. The latter would’ve seemed unlikely, were I with anyone else.

A quick glance backwards revealed my companion burying a sword through dirtied lamellar and into the gut behind it. Next to her, another man wailed silently as his left arm grasped at the stump of his right. After a moment, he collapsed to the floor, insensate. But Kit was still moving, flicking her blade through the delimbed man’s throat and vaulting the counter to attack the coming group of five.

When I’d first seen her fight, I thought she was a Foxblood – an extremely strong one. Despite their idiosyncratic cruelty matching her own, she displayed none of the physical characteristics of such Blooded. Her sword was not preternaturally fast; it was simply always in the right place. Kit’s bladework was measured, precise, and graceful, full of large arcs and small, rapid movements. Unusual forms that were always motion, taking advantage of momentum and almost entirely bereft of any guard – her movements paid very little mind to blocking blows, instead either dodging aside or allowing an offensive manoeuvre to double as a deflection. It was likely meant for a larger weapon, and impossible to use effectively were it not for her bizarre comprehension of her opponent’s movements.

The sight of it was eerie; unnatural. But she was no Blooded. Thirty years of military experience recognised a simple fact: with a blade, Kit was a genius.

Even so, she only had one sword, and two hands. And she didn’t have eyes on the back of her head. Every warrior had the same losing match-up: too many people in too wide a space. Given a handful of seconds, they’d gather and overwhelm us. The solution here was simple. Finish them quickly.

The table slid off the broken-nosed guard, then caught on something. The short sword trapped in the edge of the table had pierced the woman’s chest. Her glassy eyes rolled, sliding across the room. I felt her life flicker, then vanish. Like a candle in a storm. Part of me longed to dip my fingers in the blood, save something from this incredible waste, but the rest of me cringed away from the crimson leaking from her chest.

Twenty, I thought.

Behind me, I felt Kit end another life, even as three more slowly approached. In front of me, warriors splayed out, delaying their attack until a good angle could be retrieved. Their lives flared, good and healthy and strong. Infinitely valuable.

My hands trembled around the hunter’s throat. I’d tried. It hadn’t mattered.

Within me, a beast licked its chops.

I looked at the Face slid beneath my belt. One arm remained wrapped around the man’s neck, constantly clawed by desperate hands, while the other tugged the mask out and pressed it against my head. With seasoned precision, I tightened the buckles around the back, pressed two indentations, and rotated it to the facet I needed: Kani’s aspect. A long, vulpine snout, four ears and eyes, and a wide, face-splitting grin full of endless teeth.

Supressed energy unleashed itself filling my ligaments and limbs and fingers and toes and tendons and veins and arteries and setting it all quivering, all shaking like some maddened giant had risen from beneath earth and stone and said ‘I will wait no longer’ and then cast its arm across the world and severed the necks of everything breathing and he smiled a black smile as finally in their death he was lord of a lifeless land because in their corpses his power was writ indefatigably undeniably irredeemably beyond the ability of any creature to deny except outside my shadowed chasm of bone and blood there was no giant; there was just me, twitching, smirking, ready to perform.

I redirected my hands away from the fragile flesh of the man’s neck, instead grasping his skull with one palm and using the other to hammer his temple. He dropped instantly, and a small, silent part of me wondered whether the blow would bleed his brain. It was merciful, though – as merciful as I could manage. Radiant delight penetrated my mind as I stomped his arm, the excruciating crack permeating the room, as loud as any drum or scream. Those approaching hesitated, allowing me to grasp his hair and drag him backwards, towards the bar, my body shaking with uproarious laughter.

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With a heave, I lifted my quarry and slammed him atop the counter, its sturdy heartwood groaning at the pressure. I hurdled it, then scooped up a pitcher from beneath and hurled it at one of the people Kit was fighting. I turned, and a fraction of a second later I heard the agonised scream of a man being butchered.

I needed to be faster.

From beneath the bar, I brought up more jugs of stinking swill, reeking of diluted disinfectant, and began pouring them over the unconscious man in front of me. While I did so, I spoke, voice reverberating through the hall. “I’ve got three; what about you?”

Mercifully, Kit replied instantly. “Six,” she panted.

“Six, uh?” I repeated loudly, “that’s damn good work there, pal.” My teeth peeled back behind the Face, a human reflection of the impossible smile facing the rest of the room. While I did so, I leaned across the bar and snatched my companion’s cigarillo pouch from her belt, placing it on the counter and removing the flint and steel from it. “How many before this is all over?”

“Ten,” she coughed, even as another wretched bellow emanated from behind.

“Ten,” I laughed, “ten!” The ten on my side of the room shuffled, faces blank. Their weapons were gripped in bloodless hands. I began striking the flint as I continued. “I think I can do…” ‘Chink, chink,’ accompanied sparks. The liquor over the man in front of me caught alight, spreading across his body rapidly. “Four,” I said, pointing at him, “Five,” at another, “Six,” the hunter awoke and began screaming, “Seven; Eight; Nine,” I pointed, and then with both hands I grabbed his head and twisted his neck, leaving only a resounding crunch, the echo of a scream and a pyre of a dead thing. “Ten; Eleven; Twelve.” At that, they finally broke.

The corpse in front of me burned. Twenty-one, I thought.

One of the hunters began backing away. A woman to his left saw the sudden absence in their formation, gritted her teeth, and followed suit. The others hadn’t noticed. I heaved the body over my head and hurled it at them, and those remaining made the wise decision. There was nothing to be saved here, after all; only more losses. The room drained into the darkness of Spires.

Kit leapt over the counter and moved to pursue, only for her nearly to be taken off her feet as I grabbed her shoulder. The fabric beneath was wet with blood.

“Leave it, Kit,” I said, returning my Face to its satchel. “It’s over.”

The swordswoman turned, onyx blade still smeared with gore. “They’ll tell- “

“What in all seven gods did you think would happen?” I seethed, wincing as I flexed my blistering hands. “There were nearly fifty people in the Spiral.”

“But- “ She paused, seeing my expression.

I paced around the bar, looking at the wreckage. A cloaked woman straightened from behind a table. Nine were dead, including Thom. The flames from the body was spreading. A guard – one I had kicked earlier – staggered upright and stumbled from the hall. The Spiral was irrevocably ruined. There would be no recovery.

As I completed my circuit around the bar, I found Kit brandishing the sword at me. She wiggled her eyebrows and flicked it, sending a smidge of blood and gore through the air. I blanched and barely managed to cover my head in time.

“Stop,” I said.

She giggled nervously and did it again. I floundered over to her, vision concealed by trembling arms. After tripping over a stool, I stumbled into her, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. My blisters felt excruciating against her skin. Kit growled and struck with her free hand, only for me to lower my head, allowing unprotected knuckles to crunch against the hardest part of my skull. She winced and shook it, giving me time to twist around her back, catch both her legs with my own, and heave us to the floor. After the ground thudded against us, her grip loosened and I yanked my sword free, then immediately rolled to my feet.

Hung on the pillar was its scabbard. I reached up and awkwardly wiggled it off its holster. A few seconds later and I managed to buckle it to my belt.

I turned around to find Kit conferring with a cloaked figure. Despite the interaction, her eyes were fixed on my own. The person whispered something, then patted her on the waist and began walking outside.

My blade slid along the clothes of the broken-nosed corpse, leaving a trail of blood and gore. The sight was nauseating. A brief examination revealed more human detritus along its edge, which I began wiping on an unsullied patch of the corpse’s clothes.

“What was that?” That was Kit’s voice.

I looked up for a moment. “That’s what I want to ask.” I waved my arm around, feeling the air caress my blistered palm. “What was the point of all this?”

“What was that?” she repeated.

“Nine people died, Kit – and for what? For a whim? For- for what? Why? Nine people.” Bile rose in my throat. The smell of organs and faeces permeated the room. “I don’t- I can’t…”

“How’d you take the sword?”

“…And now we’ve got to leave,” I yelled, eyes wide. “Nine people don’t die quietly. Don’t die without family, without friends. And they all know exactly who’s to blame. And Thom had friends, too. By the blood, if they’re not dangerous, too.”

“How’d you do that? Yer not that good. Have you been- ”

I hissed, coming to a realisation. “Raven’s bleached bones, what about Whip? What- what about Ronnie; Gast; Davian?” I clutched my head and continued pacing. “We’ve got to go. But where?” It seemed impossible to keep my breathing steady. “How do we eat? How do I keep them safe?” My hands and shoulders burned. The world wobbled. “Oh no, no, no, no. Please. No.”

“Vin?”

My stomach heaved and I retched, a thin stream of bile splattering against the floor. Nothing was within – I hadn’t eaten for some time. “I’ve gotta- I-“

“Vin!” Kit’s arms reached up and grabbed my shoulders. Blood was spattered across her face, slicked through her furred armour. Her face bore an uncharacteristic expression: panic.

“We’re dead meat, Kit,” I panted. “Do you really hate me so much that you’d kill us for it?”

She swallowed, patting me on the shoulder. “Uh, I don’t hate you.”

I screamed, “Then what below and above the earth was this butchery about!?”

The swordswoman rocked backwards, as if struck. “That was…” She licked her lips. “You were gonna let ‘em go.”

“What’s the problem- “

“Didn’t deserve it.”

“What?”

“They didn’t deserve it.”

“So you killed- “

She cocked her head, gazing up at me. “Look here, Vin. Some people’re better off dead. We did Spires a favour.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You don’t, Kit,” I hissed.

Without our voices, the hall was silent: empty but for the crackle of burning fat. Breathing through the nose was a bad idea: the scent of burning flesh set mouths drooling easily. Especially ones that hadn’t seen food for a while. This whole affair had been none of my business. Part of me wished I’d stepped away and left Kit to her fate. But at the time, I hadn’t been aware that was an option. Violence had a way of stealing choice.

Another mistake. Another slip. Another hand where it did not belong.

Eventually, Kit finished rolling my words around her skull and scoffed. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree,” she drawled. “Anyway, we’re here now.” More accurate words had never been spoken. “Might have a way out.”

Kit hands slid beneath her belt, and plucked out a thin strip of paper. The material was fine and bone-white; quite unlike the rough parchment that was usually used.

She offered it to me. “Here. Read it.”

I raised my hands, sneering. “You read it.”

“Don’t know how.”

I swore, then plucked it from her hands. Out loud, I read: “Employment as caravan guards through Heartlands. Find me between…” I paused. The writer used the official names for the Spires: the name of a Heltian general and a… playwright? I remedied that. “Smokes and Bleeds, lower markets, three days from now. Look for the carriage. Bring your team. Rations provided. Employment if service is decent. Silver paid, quarter up front…”

My mouth opened slightly.

“What?” Kit asked.

I rubbed my eyes, and held the paper closer to my face. My first reading had been correct. “Two-hundred silver chits.”

“Ox’s balls that’s dodgy.”

A nod was my only response.

“It’s a lot, though.”

I nodded again. “But why? After seeing us murder- “

“No one’s gonna call that murder, Vin. Godsdamned…” she squinted, running her tongue over her teeth. “Pre-emptive defence.”

I scrunched my nose as if I’d smelled something rotten. “Oxdung.”

“It was always gonna be a fight.”

“Well why the blood would that lady want a bunch of ‘pre-emptive defenders’, Kit?”

“Aw, believe you me, she wanted t’see us fight, practically invited me to.” She cocked her head and affixed my gaze with her quivering eyes. “An’ we’re just that good, Vin.”

“Or she’s got something over us.” Before Kit could reply, I made the connection myself. “And we don’t have a better option, anyway,” I said, closing my eyes and rubbing he bridge of my nose.

“Well, if that lady was tellin’ the truth, it’s a damn good deal.”

I clicked my tongue. “The Heartlands aren’t safe, though.”

Kit hummed her assent. “No better ways to travel than in a group, though. An’ we can leave this sinkin’ ship.”

I ran my hand through my hair. “I’ll have to tell Bhan.”

“Ban?”

“Bhan. My mentor.” At her blank look, I added, “He’s a Face.”

“Ah…” Her eyes flicked around. She leaned closer towards me. “Yer really a Face?” Kit whispered.

“Yeah.”

She groaned and slapped her face. “Damnit. Shoulda been nicer.”

I shook my head sadly. “Too late. I’ve already cursed you,” I joked half-heartedly. Had I the power, I probably would have.

“Har, har, har. I’ll needa uproot my family, too.”

“Will that be difficult?” I inquired.

“Nah. They hate it here. Like the woods better.”

I thought for a moment. “So. We need to contact the rest of the team, visit Bhan, see your family, and spend three days laying low.”

Kit nodded her assent. “Needa buy some stuff too.”

“Gods,” I said, running a hand through my matted hair. My patchwork bandana was slick with sweat. “Gast still needs to rent that runestone.”

The swordswoman laughed. “Heh, ‘rent’. If we’re leavin’, she can ‘rent’ it permanently.”

I grunted. “That’s still a lot to do.” Clacking my teeth, I thought out loud. “Whatever’s going to happen, we have to leave. Maybe we should get everything done first, then hole up at home.”

Kit shook her head. “Nah. Give it two, maybe three days. Let ‘em look, let ‘em come up empty.”

I sighed. “That will give them time to gather, make plans.”

“Chances are they’ve already told people,” argued the swordswoman. “All those details’re fresh.” She patted me on the shoulder, right atop the shallow wound I’d received at the beginning of the fight. The pain forced a slight wince. “Give us some time to think. Come up with some, uh… disguises, or somethin’. Find a quiet route through Spires.”

“And clean the blood off you.”

She looked down. The blood was beginning to thicken, matting the fur of her armour. “Godsdamnit,” she said, then continued with a series of escalating swears. When she finished, I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or not; she’d referred to the gods’ genitalia at least eighteen times.

Kit noticed me staring. “I just cleaned it,” she offered as explanation.

My lips curled. “Avoid murdering people, then. You can wear my tunic until we get to Wastes.”

Her face twisted in confusion. “Wastes,” she asked, “the poop Spire?”

“Yeah. No one’s going to find us there.” I licked my lips. “It’s also where I live.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”

For a moment, I considered laying into her again, going over the horrible thing we had just done in excruciating detail. Or leaving her here, to find her own hole to hide in. In the end, though, I gritted my teeth, shrugged off my satchel, and peeled off my shirt.

The fact that I hadn’t washed it in weeks was a small victory.