I pulled myself from the brink of death only because of my overwhelming wrath. That wrath cooled during my travels, and at a certain point, I was left with clarity.

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Veera bit her lip, tapping a foot as she pulled out a clunky timepiece. Nearly midnight. Smog hung heavy in the Bellows, the industrial crescent of the Warrens. She bit her lip again, annoyed as she felt another spike of fury at her mission.

She huddled on a crate in a disgusting alley, a block away from the textile mill she was about to fight her way into. By the damned stars, she wasn’t even supposed to be working tonight. She had better things to do—namely anything else besides Sel’s work.

But no, little miss infamous had to continue her almost year long tradition of living at the bottom of a bottle, damned fool, she thought, pulling out a rolled terva leaf and firestarter.

Her right arm was a dull, ugly pain like always. She lit the terva, inhaling the earthy smelling, pain reliving plant. Veera knew it would barely help with the constant ache, but it did have other benefits. Namely intoxicating her enough to ignore pain and fatigue in short battles.

The fleshcrafted arm, hidden beneath a dark half cloak, itched and twinged like the Matron’s claws were digging around in the unnatural limb of flesh and scale. It twitched as she flexed the long claws of her grotesque replacement and took another draw on the terva leaf.

She absentmindedly gave her armor and gear a once-over after blowing a ring of smoke. Her blackened lightweight chainmail sat comfortably under her thin, black painted breastplate, all her straps secure around her broad, muscled frame. Though she had a short sword at her hip, she probably wouldn’t be using it tonight. She hefted a long heater shield that sat near her—something she’d borrowed from a particularly asinine garrison captain.

Veera inhaled the terva smoke again, letting it linger in her lungs until it burned. She stood, gave an exasperated sigh to no one, and headed to the street. She turned left, heading past three new alchemical refineries—courtesy of House Lorithian—and toward her bloody work.

According to the contract details(Not like she’d be getting paid, if she knew her master.), she was to crash the meeting at the Morganth textile mill that just started. On her own, she was expected to break into an immense, heavily guarded building—then wreck havoc as she cut her way through who knows how many Bloodwrights and Savant assassins, in an attempt to get to certain targets among their ranks.

Thanks master, so much. Of course I love going into a clusterfuck, without support or even a pep talk. So gracious, Veera thought, glowering at the smog around her as she ashed her terva leaf. At least the idiots of the Savant assassins guild won’t be much trouble. Those Bloodwright killers though…

The Savants were a sanctioned assassins guild, like her own, though they were smaller and only completed contracts that pertained to their specialty—subterfuge and high-profile assassinations across the entire region of the Eastern Heartlands. From experience she knew them to be cocky, egotistical, and exceedingly fragile.

The Bloodwrights, on the other hand, were well-known professional killers, with ties to powerful noble houses, and even to the Church of Ascendant Light. They were far worse news—she doubted even her powerful, armored limb would give them pause. She inhaled more smoke, letting the leaf hang from the corner of her mouth.

Before she knew it, she neared the textile mill. Veera was nothing but a shadow in the smog and darkness, even the light from her terva leaf dimming. She eyed the squat gray brick building critically. None of the typical Morganth guards hovered about. Instead, several patrols of cloaked Savants protected the building, but there were no stationary guards she could see.

Might as well go in through the front, and get this crap over with, she thought, smoke trickling from her nose as she exhaled.

She wasn’t exactly a creature of subtly and caution.

Veera advanced along the walls of a factory until she neared the alley of the textile mill. A pair of slender assassins walked from it, about to round the corner. She struck.

She may not be fast overall, but her fleshcrafted arm was a different story. She came up behind the closest guard, then slammed the edge of her shield into his temple violently. He dropped to the ash covered ground with a thump.

The other assassin turned, eyes wide but expression unreadable behind a gray cloth mask. Before he could raise the shard and star launchers on either arm, she thrust her right arm forward. It flared in pain as her claws crunched into his face.

Blood ran down the scales around her hand and wrist, and she let the corpse drop in disgust, flicking the blood from her. The other patrol coming at her from down the street hadn’t noticed, thank Aureon. She puffed on the half forgotten leaf, tensed, and charged, making the smog whirl around her with each step.

To the two assassins, it was as if an especially large, unfriendly, and muscular wraith materialized straight from the acrid smog. One almost got out a yelp or curse—but her sickening clawed fist grabbed his head, then she slammed his delicate skull into the textile mill’s wall, ending him.

The other one leapt back, trying to gain some distance, then clenched his right fist. Veera almost rolled her eyes as she brought up her shield and advanced, letting the constant flurry of small, sharp five pointed stars hit her shield. She fell upon him, her right arm sweeping out for his throat.

The small man managed to bring up the long, wicked shard of steel sticking from a device on his left arm, parrying her claws with immense difficulty. Admirable, but it wasn’t enough—

He shifted the shard, clenched his fist, and shot the shard into her right upper arm. She cursed as hot pain burned through her arm, but she didn’t let him get another shard ready.

She bashed his face with her shield, then swept her claws across his neck, nearly taking his head off. She left him there without another glance, strolling to the wide front door. She drew in a deep breath of terva smoke, then tore the shard from her arm without hesitation.

That hurt worse than it did going in. Blood spurted from the wound between her scales, but after a moment, the flow ebbed. The monstrous arm had its benefits—like not letting her bleed out because she stupidly yanked the shard out. But at least this pain was fresh and sharp, far preferable than the constant dull ache she lived with.

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She rolled her shoulders, squared her stance, and pulled back her right arm. The muscles and tendons audibly tightened, then she struck at the door. It’d been inches thick, yet it splintered into a thousand pieces as her fist smashed against it. She walked inside with a casual pace, flinging her half cloak out of the way of her right arm.

New foes already rushed down the wide hallway to halt her advance—a hallway cluttered with fine rugs, fancy gilded portraits, and odd trophies. Certainly not a textile mill. She eyed the five enemies, all Savants, but she wasn’t too concerned. She ‘borrowed’ the shield for a reason, after all.

Dumb little launchers. Who thought that was a good enough of an idea to make that their only weapons, she thought, smoke curling up past her dark eyes as she grinned, then shook her uneven black hair from her face.

She moved the tall, wide heater shield in front of her and charged. The Savants unleashed dozens of razor sharp stars, though they did little besides give her a handful of shallow cuts.

When she drew within ten feet of the first few, they unleashed a concentrated barrage of five steel shards. They were well aimed—her shield splintered and cracked, several of the shards scoring her left arm. She tossed the shield at the first man on the left, almost smiling as it hit his face.

She lunged to a nearby assassin on her right, twisting her too large right arm just the right way, feeling bones click and shift.

Before she reached the tall man, a slender blade of bone shot out from the flesh of her right palm. It pierced his light leather vest with ease, and she didn’t wait to see if it was fatal—she tore the retractable bone sword free, gripping it with her right hand before sweeping it to the left.

The one sharp edge of the straight, unnaturally smooth blade sheared through the man’s right forearm with just a tug of resistance as he put it up to fire. From the corner of her eye she saw a flicker of movement.

She drew her short sword with her left hand in a fluid motion, spun in a semicircle, finishing the wounded man with a slice across his neck with her sword—and ducked just in time to avoid two lengthy shards to the eyes.

She closed in on them, right arm forward to let some frantically shot stars glance off the thick, dark scales there. One woman turned to run, but she skewered both of the assassins in little over a moment.

So far, so…okay, I guess, Veera thought, trying to distance her mind from the gore and blood around her. She was good at what she did, and sometimes enjoyed a good fight—but it took a sick fool to take pleasure in snuffing out lives. And she wasn’t quite that sick yet. Probably.

She moved on, striding down the hall at a brisk pace. It was quiet besides some distant voices. If the plans she’d been giving were correct, she just needed to get to the room at the end of the long hall. She—

A slim crossbow bolt slammed into her right shoulder—she nearly dropped her terva. With gritted teeth, veins pulsing across her forehead, and a puff of smoke, she tried her best to ignore the bolt and continue forward. Two more bolts blurred toward her after a moment, but she was ready this time.

She dodged one, then turned her body, letting the other one snap against the broadest, densest section of scales on her right shoulder. From there, it was an annoying dance—and a few bolts later, she finally spotted the sleek black crossbows sticking from firing slits built into the doors of the meeting room. It was about forty feet away now, and their rate of fire only increased the closer she got.

Though another bolt embedded itself in her fleshcrafted arm, she ignored it for now—the mounting pain only set their fates in stone. She charged forward with a raw shout, retracting her blade painfully as she neared the large, thick looking wooden door. Her right fist curled and her muscles bulged uncomfortably, then she smashed her fist into the door.

The wood cracked but it held. She bit the butt of the smoldering leaf, then jabbed twice more—the hinges gave out before the door did. It flew back a few inches and fell, crushing the two Bloodwright crossbowmen who’d been right on the other side.

The room was a moderate size, but was all garish porcelain tiles and gaudy tapestries. Plush furniture sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by rugs, refreshment tables, ornate lanterns hanging from the ceiling and other frivolities. She let herself in, twisting her arm to extend her bone sword so she could brandish it at the crowded chamber alongside her short sword.

I bet Sel’s tiny arse couldn't take this room. I do sort of wish I was the one getting blackout drunk, though, she thought grimly.

Like her master said, the leaders of the guild and the gang weren’t among the room’s occupants—only several of their lieutenants and some of their more influential or senior members. The meeting was to set up the murder of their two leaders—the mysterious master of the Savants had contracted her guild to make sure that didn’t happen.

The six Bloodwrights were the first to react, twelve blades sliding from six pairs of long, stiff blue sleeves with sharp hisses. They darted for Veera, their leader the farthest from her, his expensive looking white mask bearing red crystal eyes slits instead of the azure of the others. She charged in turn, but twisted to kick up a long refreshment table.

Food and wine flew everywhere as the table knocked two of the professional killers aside. The leader of the Savants hesitated to join the fray, but his men readied their annoying launchers.

She leapt over the table she’d thrown, parrying the first Bloodwright’s twin blades with her own. She pulled her head back, then delivered a painful headbutt to the man’s mask. It cracked, blood leaking from the fractures as he became limp.

The Savants let loose their volleys of stars and shards, but Veera grabbed the unconscious man and used him as a shield while running forward. He jerked and started struggling as the projectiles dug into him. When the next Bloodwrights came into reach, she tossed the man at a few Savants to her left.

What followed was an exhausting exchange of blows, seconds dragging by as Veera took more and more wounds from her foes. Once she cut her way to the leader of the blue coated killers, she surprised him as she shot forward. Instead of meeting his blades, she feinted with her bone sword.

Then she swept her sword across his chest, sending polished silver buttons flying and ruining his fine outfit. He staggered back, letting Veera ram her short sword through his left eye slit. She let him fall away from her, helping him on his way with a kick, then turned to the Savants. She almost laughed.

The few living Bloodwrights had already fled—now six of the Savants saw the wisdom in that and did the same. She didn’t mind not having to cut them down, and the only ones who truly mattered were the leaders. The Savant lieutenant shoved his last remaining man forward.

Veera strode forward, unhurried and with both blades coated in crimson. The last lackey raised both arms—

Then ran to her right, in a wide circle.

She blinked, confused, as he called over his shoulder, “Have at it lady, I never liked that bastard!”

The Savant leader shrunk a bit, looking after the other assassin as he ran away with what Veera would call ‘dignified cowardice’. She enjoyed her slight amusement a bit.

“Seems you should’ve treated them better. Your master sends their regards,” Veera said, closing the distance in an eye blink and knocking aside his shard launcher. Before he could fire his other one, she buried her short sword in that arm, then slid her bone sword into his chest.

The moments dragged by as he gurgled, blood dripping from his mouth beneath the cloth mask, until he finally gave a finally rattle and stilled. She pushed him off and leaned down to clean her weapons on his cloak. She sheathed her sword and retracted the bone blades, letting the pain of too many wounds wash over her.

She stumbled over to one of the plush, round seats with a table next to it. After she sank down with a sigh, she pulled out and lit another leaf of terva. She thought for a moment, then grabbed the tiny crystal bottle of liquor on the table, sipping from it—damn it was the smoothest brandy she’d come across.

Veera let herself lean back for a few minutes, trying to rest before reporting back to the castle. But despite the growing haze from the terva and liquor, she couldn’t stop looking at her blood covered form in disgust—but she reserved a look of utter contempt for her fleshcrafted arm. The light almond tones of her face were almost hidden beneath excessive amounts of blood. She tried to wipe it away, and only managed to smear it across her skin more.

She sighed, plopped back against the seat, and closed her tired eyes as the adrenaline of the fight started to leave her.