I leaned against the alley’s wall, one hand braced against it while the other directed the stream of fluid. It dripped down, forming a small puddle on the ground below me.
“Hey!” I heard a voice shout. “You can’t do that here!”
Can’t a man empty out his beer in an alleyway without being interrupted?
Apparently not.
Still, I was already done - and I certainly wouldn’t make the mistake of drinking anything again. Once was enough of a humiliation.
I straightened, covering the tiny new hole in my side with my shirt. I would have to place a bandage over it later, just to make sure it stayed covered. That was a problem for the future, though.
For now, with the day passing steadily by, I was ready to head back to The Pits.
----------------------------------------
I was still a bit early, so I intended to make good on my promise to visit Jack and Will. After a bit of meandering, I managed to find the area of The Pits where Katrina’s Killers were based. I already didn’t know what to think.
Well, that wasn’t entirely correct. I did know what to think - it was just that the thought wasn’t particularly flattering.
Perhaps having someone like Jack as a superior officer should have clued me in. Then again, I had figured that the predominant personality type would skew closer to the somber and serious Will than it did the eclectic Jack. As it turns out, it did not.
The first thing that caught my eye was perhaps the most innocent: a group of mercenaries arranged in a circle and cheering vigorously. It all went downhill from there, especially when I saw what they were cheering for. Two men were in the center, drunk and staggering. One threw a knife, sending the blade hurtling through the air with surprising velocity. It missed slightly, his equally-drunk opponent not even bothering to move.
The near-miss was met with jeers and shouts.
“C’mon, Derrick, I’ve got my money on you!”
“You couldn’t hit a target sober, let alone now!”
Rather than throw another blade, Derrick stood still - or as still as his level of intoxication would allow. His opponent unsheathed a knife of his own, carefully aiming. Once again, though, everything was relative. As the blade left his fingers, he lurched, staggering forward drunkenly.
The throw went wide, whizzing through the spectators. They threw themselves to the floor.
“What the hell kind of throw was that?”
“If you want to hit me, then hit me! My poor mother could aim better.”
The shouts grew louder, increasing in intensity, lacing over one another in a deafening cacophony.
“Hey, you louts.” a woman barked. “Cut the shit before I cut it for you!”
The room fell quiet; silence became sacrosanct. The circle dispersed.
And then it was over.
“Markus! Katrina, look, it’s Markus. You remember him, right?” Jack, holding a mug of beer - I was becoming concerned that he had a drinking problem - just as before, nudged his elbow into the woman’s side, sparking a look of annoyance. Her brows furrowed, shifting into an angry slant - which was a bit impressive, as I had thought she already looked extremely upset beforehand. I could only hope that her ire was in response to Jack and not me.
She stepped forward, sauntering across the room with an unparalleled confidence. Her walk was cocky, imperious even, yet it didn’t quite cross the threshold into pure arrogance. I wasn’t sure why that was. It could have been the way that the other mercenaries deferred to her; it could have been the wiry muscle that composed her figure. Either way, she exuded an unmistakable, potent sense of self.
She oozed capability.
“Markus,” she said. “I hope you’re not here to push Jack further into drink. Again, that is.”
I shook my head. “I’m a changed man,” I said. “Still trying to figure everything out, after the last few days.”
Her unblinking gaze pierced my own, holding me in its grasp for what was surely an uncomfortably long time. She nodded.
“I see. William informed me about what happened.” She gave me a suggestive look. “And you do not remember me, I take it?”
Once again, I shook my head before replying. “Unfortunately, no. It is a pleasure to meet you, Katrina.”
Her lips quirked upwards slightly. “Well, you’ve gotten more polite this time, haven’t you?”
She turned to Jack. “Should I give you a smack upside the head, too?”
Jack smiled, taking the jab with good humor. “Katrina, I could never forget about what we have together.”
“Damn.” She scowled, but there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes despite the expression. “Maybe I could try, anyway. Give Markus here a bit of a show that he won’t forget, this time.”
His grin widened, taking on a dangerous glint.
----------------------------------------
“Does this happen often?” I asked.
The mercenaries had split into an impromptu audience, each yelling out in encouragement and excitement; they seemed less than surprised by the development, yet no less eager for it.
Will nodded, a lonely spot of calm in a roiling sea of chaos. “Unfortunately. Still, it’s helpful to have a demonstration every now and again - gives the rest something to aspire to.”
“Are they that strong?”
“Katrina’s one of the only people I know with three filled conduits in the city; there’s a few others roaming around, sure, but they’re few and far between. It helps that the ones she received synergize well together. Not sure if she’ll use all of them, though, her offensive conduit is fairly one-off in nature. She might not want to waste her day’s allotment on a spar. Still, we’ll see. Hasn’t stopped her in the past, once she starts to feel pressured.”
“And Jack? He doesn’t exactly seem…”
“He’s an idiot most times, yes. Still, if anyone was a savant of fighting, it would be him. It’s one of his few admirable qualities - part of the reasons I put up with him, honestly.”
Jack had stepped to the side, putting down his beer - to my complete and utter shock - and gathering a few items to prepare for the spar. Among them were two ropes, one of which he coiled around his waist, while he held the second within his hand. I had to admit, I was already not seeing what the plan was.
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“What’s the point of the ropes?” I asked.
Will glanced away for a moment, meeting my eyes. “Ah. Just some things he likes to use whenever Katrina and he spar. She’s nearly impossible to actually hurt, so it’s best to just try and stop her instead.”
“That seems like it would be harder, actually,” I said, watching intently as the two began to circle one another.
He shrugged noncommittally. “You’ll see.”
The two mercenaries clashed. Contrary to their respective appearances, Katrina fought like a juggernaut - forever moving forward, ignoring the potential of injury and pressing ahead in an inexorable charge. Meanwhile, Jack fought with a surprisingly fluid grace that belied his customary tendency towards foolishness.
Jack unsheathed a knife with his left hand, throwing it end over end. The blade tumbled through the air, an unerring missile. It caught Katrina directly in the throat. She choked; her eyes went wide. A hand reached towards the hilt, grasping it tightly.
It pulled.
Blood spurt from the wound, her lifeblood streaming away. Suddenly, it stopped. The wound closed - only the trails of blood remaining as testament to what might have been.
“What the hell was that?” I asked. “I didn’t see her use [Woundshift].”
“That’s because she didn’t,” Will replied. “She doesn’t have it. She has [Bloodbond].”
At my confused look, he continued. “Right, your memory. [Bloodbond] is similar to [Woundshift], in that it pulls mass from Risen to restore wounds. The difference is that it cannot be used to help others, nor can it be used offensively. It creates a link between Katrina and a selected one of her Risen; any time she is hurt, it pulls from the beast to restore her wounds. Combined with another of her conduits - [Augment], which can increase the mass of a Risen - it is extremely effective.”
Katrina tossed the knife back.
Unlike her, Jack avoided it. He twisted under its arc, sending his rope whipping through the air as he came back around.
“Still, she is no stronger physically than anyone else as she is now.”
The rope twisted around Katrina’s ankle. Just before it uncoiled, it suddenly shifted into bone, the material transmuting in an instant. She slowed for a moment, and Jack pulled her from her feet with the now-rigid rope.
A number of the mercenaries cheered at the sight.
He rushed forward, his position having shifted from prey to predator.
One hand reached out, touching his leader’s sleeve. Her shirt, too, shifted into a thin layer of bone - its stiffness enough to temporarily arrest her movements. She looked annoyed.
“Really, Jack?” she asked. “You’re paying for my shirt. Not that you didn’t already ruin it with all of the blood.”
He smiled brightly. “As long as it makes you take this seriously, that’s fine. Weren’t we going to give Markus a show?”
The mercenaries cheered even more, at that. She shook her head ruefully.
“You know it always fucking hurts when I do this, but fine. We’ll give everyone a real show. Don’t say anything when I look like a freak for the rest of the day.”
Jack laughed. “Would I do that?”
“Every fucking time.”
He laughed again.
She grimaced; her Mark flared. Her skin erupted, destroyed from within. A sword of bone cut its way from her right wrist, extending from her grip, the wound quickly sealed as it healed over. Her left hand shifted, skin ripping and peeling as the bones of her arm and hand merged into a thick club.
At the same time, Jack’s skin shifted, turning into black carapace.
She smashed her right elbow with the hammer, breaking the sleeve-turned bone to free the joint, before smashing the bone rope around her ankle to escape its grasp.
She stood up, growling in pain. “That really fucking hurts.”
The bone blade cut through the air, glancing off the carapace that had replaced Jack’s skin. It left a small scratch. He grinned. “It’s more fun this way, though, isn’t it?”
She grunted, pointing her hammerhand at the man. “Well, you better hurry and have your fun,” she said. “You’ve only got ten minutes, at best.”
Jack moved.
He was fast. Far faster than I would have given him credit for. Blades tumbled through the air, loosed from his many sheaths; Katrina ignored them as she stepped forward, allowing herself to become a pincushion.
I goggled.
“Do they...do they do this normally? It seems a little...”
“Insane? There’s a reason Jack took a liking to you. You’re not much better, you know.”
I shrugged. Maybe that was true to an outside observer, but I didn’t exactly experience pain at the same level as normal people. I winced as another blade stuck itself in Katrina’s skin.
“So what conduits were those, anyway?”
“That was [Transfiguration] on Jack’s end; it lets him temporarily take on a specific quality of a Risen that he touches. He probably has it in his pocket or under his clothes, knowing him. Katrina used [Boneshape], though you won’t see many others using it the way she does. Being able to instantly heal lets her get away with a lot. Still hurts, clearly.”
Katrina grunted with each new blade that landed, not bothering to remove them this time. I was nearly certain that she would have extreme difficulty in doing so, with the altered bones of her arms. Finally, a blade that was tossed towards her head made her flinch back; whether that was a necessary reaction or simply a reflexive one, I wasn’t sure.
As Jack approached, Katrina swung with her boneblade. He raised his arm at an angle, forcing the blade to skitter off of his plated exterior and deflect over himself. Ducking under it, he pressed inwards, unlooping the second rope as he did so. The hammerhand came down.
The impish mercenary twisted, pivoting on his backfoot around the blow, and caught the swinging hand within a loop of the rope. He jerked, overpowering Katrina and forcing her arm back, all while dashing around to her back side.
His second hand had already managed to twist the other half into a loop as well; it found its way around his opponent’s neck. He pulled, pushing with one leg against her back as he did, tightening the loop. Her hand was forced behind her back as the rope’s length shortened, her ability to breath reduced at the same time.
Katrina’s blade of bone darted back; rather than stabbing behind herself at the elusive mercenary, as I had expected, she instead sliced deeply into the rope that tightened around her neck. The blade cleaved through, coating itself in her own blood.
The rope fell.
Her wound healed, disappearing like it had never been.
As it descended to the floor, the rope transmuted into bone - Jack’s conduit activating a moment too late.
She was already free.
Like that, the spar continued. The two were lost in the fight; Jack tried his hardest to put Katrina down, while Katrina shrugged off wound after wound. It was a bit disturbing, actually, being on the other end of it all. Now I knew what people felt when they saw me fight.
Still, its efficacy couldn’t be denied.
Despite his best efforts, there was little that could be done now that she was playing for keeps. He managed to slow her down a few times - once by transmuting part of her pants, which mostly just pissed her off, and another time by nailing her foot to the floor - but nothing truly made a difference.
Despite that, he was holding his own. The man moved with near-supernal agility; at times, it was as if he had begun to move before there was any indication that it would be necessary. Wound after wound marred Katrina’s flesh, yet each restored itself with no semblance of strain on the woman’s part.
Their duel continued, displaying a level of combat ability that left me in awe. While I knew that I could defeat either of them, likely even with Markus’ body, they would not make it simple - nor would they make it cheap.
However, the combatants did begin to slow eventually, subject to human fatigue if not human rationality. Jack, especially, began to suffer as the fight progressed. His movements became just a little more stilted, his dodges just a little more sluggish.
Katrina began to land blow after blow, pounding and cutting, only the hard carapace that covered Jack saving him from harm.
Eventually, even that ran out. Ten minutes; just as Katrina had said. The carapace vanished, replaced by flesh from one moment to the next.
Katrina held her blade to his throat.
She grinned, sucking in air all the while. “You...really need to...last longer,” she panted. She stepped back, before starting the delicate process of removing the many blades. For a moment, she fumbled, her awkward attempts to pluck them foiled by her heavily-altered bones.
Jack laughed at the sight.
Katrina scowled. “Get these damn things out of me,” she demanded. As he began to remove the blades, I noticed her begin to scowl even harder. Her brows twitched, furrowing with ever-increasing irritation. Finally, she spoke again.
“My nose fucking itches.”
Jack only laughed harder.