Content warning:

-plurality things and problems

-big arguments within the head

-blood, violence, bodily dismemberment. And threats to do these things.

-despair...?

She’s going to hate us for that. We sigh as we approach the crowd that gathered around the maimed trio, dangerous weapons in either hand. Less than a dozen women, all drawn to the screaming wails of pain and anguish. Hurriedly trying to help and take them away to healers. No duenna we can see.

When Yrelia had refused to tell us. Had begun to scream and shout and hiss that we were not going to leave them. That we were going to pack up, get Lule, and fucking get out of this fucking city before–

But… Then we’d quietly lied that if she didn’t tell us then we’d have to break ourselves even more before our hunt. Have to make another one of these glorious bone knives from our own body before leaving.

We push through the crowd, most move aside at the sight of our two weapons. Especially the black blade of this city's duenna.

Two of the three have already been carried away, but one remains. Only just being helped to stand and walk while being wrapped in a large blanket to ward off the cold. We move to block the path. Raise the black glass blade.

“Where can we find the others?” We purr.

The two women balk and begin to speak, but something in our eyes stops them. Makes them step back. Only just leaving fingers on the elbows to keep the blind woman steady.

“Wha… what?” She stammers, jerks up at our voice. Blood and puss run down from the hasty blindfold bandage they’d made for her.

“The Murtaziq.” We touch the edge of the blade to her cheek, “Where would she go? Where can we find her and the woman who sent you?”

She can’t cry, no eyes to bring tears forth. But she does whimper. Pleads some variation of ‘I don’t know’. But we expected some resistance. Some fear, now we just need to make sure we hold it. Quickly reposition it on us, instead of the fucks she worked for.

We step closer. “Then what use are you to us? Only blood and death can settle things now. We have debts to settle, little one, and with delays come heavy interest.”

That does it, and we can feel the truth in her words as she sputters out meaningless names, and directions. She’s not lying, we’d learned to see those things many ages ago. But…

“If they are fled, warned, or gone.” We drag the edge of the blade down her cheek. “I’ll come back to you singing such beautiful fucking agonies.”

Then we’re off, and the cold night seems to melt at our growing furry. Images of blood, and pain, my lover’s wounds… and Tasii’s expression at seeing us–

We growl, Division will get us killed if it hits at the wrong moment. And… we examine our Amwella. Curse aloud in a long dead tongue. Barely enough left to keep us together, much less… much less heal anything but minor wounds and still have enough for the mind scars this will leave. And we’d like to heal Yrelia’s face besides...

If we were better filled, had a blazing core of Amwella like Emarial had, this would be simple. We could weave a song of Wrath and Ruin to end this easily. But as we are now… we’ll need to feed afterwards just to survive this. Need to… need to somehow convince our lovers to…

Division almost takes us then. But we shove the younger spirit’s worries and issues down. Focus on the now. Handle that later!

We’re amidst larger single houses now, mansions. With large spiraling towers and multiple dome gardens. If we weren’t… like this. Perfect. We’d take the time to walk the path of stealth. Carefully work through the process and thoughts so the half that will remain in the morning could draw upon them. Perhaps… perhaps even avoid future entanglements.

But… No. For now we will rely on this body’s strength, speed, and focus. End these fucks in a dance of bladework.

The house we stop at isn’t the biggest, or the smallest. Has only one spire and a single dome of glass that covers a third of the roof and the upper half of part of the second floor.

Deep breaths as we focused on the songs this house thrums with.

Hm… basic wards crafted from… Cultivation they call it now? How… strange. No traps. But… the grin that parts our face in what must be a horridly beautiful sight, we smell familiar blood. The Murtaziq walked this path, still has our blood on her boot.

So we stride up to the front door, consider how best to enter. It’s wooden, thick, and without a good song not easily cracked. So… We step back, consider the windows. But… no… this door would open inwards, correct? This body is more than strong enough to–

We lift a foot and kick at the fuck. It splinters, but doesn’t break. We dance back a few steps, shake out the pain in the foot, and launch at the door. Kicking it hard enough for the petty lock to shatter, but not both the inner hinges. It sags and falls crooked to one side.

Light plays over our form, a wash of warmth from the house's hearth fires, and we’re moving inside. The Murtaziq stands half-way up a central stairwell that runs up the middle and back of a grand central room. Lots of Everlights, strange paintings and sculptures, and rich soft carpets would have flabbergasted and entranced part of us any other day.

A second woman stands above her on the steps, just… like she just stepped from a room beyond. Simple robe barely pulled around what we knew to be an unclothed form beneath. Short dark blue hair atop a body barely taller than this one, albeit with more thickness, her dull purple eyes focusing on me.

Both stare, the woman in confused horror and fear as her eyes dart between us and her heavy front door. The Murtaziq keeps a calmer composure, but we can see the growing panic in those eyes.

Mercenaries, Jevita had said earlier today. The Murtaziq are… hired muscles. A class of women who have used cultivation to alter their body not for self-reflection or fashion, but combat. Specifically the best ways to intimidate, harass, and even harm other women.

Low and ugly and oh so close to the true monsters we’d normally be happy to keep our violence to. But unfortunately for her… she’d nearly killed Tasii. And… if tonight went poorly, Challa.

The silence betwixt us is… glorious. The two kicks we’d used to destroy her door would have echoed loud and resounding down these streets, and woken any who’d tried to sleep.

“Fuck.” The Murtaziq growls, gripping that horrid ugly club thing in both hands.

“O– Otrika?” The half-dressed woman hisses, eyes never leave us.

“Otrika? Is that your name?” We purr, but remain otherwise still as our eyes lock on the ugly woman. “Pretty. Will look wondrous on whatever marking you corpsefuckers use for the dead.”

She, that being the half-dressed woman… doesn’t react the way we expect to, eyes turn angry.

“Fine,” She hisses, eyes lock on us like… “I suppose a dead Sun–”

We decide to move then, ignoring whatever command she thinks will save her life. The Murtaziq, Otrika? She had been winding herself up, waiting for us to move. But this body is just too fucking fast.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

Three steps, we’re beside Otrika. She swings, we slip under her guard and draw our black knife along the soft leather behind one leg while the bone slides easily up beneath the gap in her armpit.

Five steps, up the stairs without looking back, and our still bloody obsidian blade rests at the other woman’s neck. She had time only to pull back and press against the cold stone wall. Her eyes go wide, then there is a grunt and a clatter as the Murtaziq stumbles.

A beat, a pause to show her how fucked she is. Then… “Question question.” We tilt our head.

A long pause, some shuffling from behind. We simply raise our bone knife and aim the tip down at the noises without even looking back. A few drops of blood leak from the gash our blade is beginning to leave.

“Why send that one to attack us?”

“Attack?” She huffs, “Her orders were to restrain you, bring you to…”

She trails off, spares a glare past us. Her expression feels… off. Not fake, not a lie. But… something is…

“What did you do?” She hisses at the Murtaziq. Still off though. Her anger is tilted in such an odd way.

We hear shuffling about behind us, barely even turn our head to–

A crack in the World Song, pain, fucking… wondrous and real and terrible rips through our right leg. We move, still fast, but… not quite at a speed to avoid the fissure that springs from this barely dressed woman’s right hand. A bolt of cerulean and green light sears the eyes for a second.

We leave her a parting gift though, sever the hand holding the ugly glimmering crystal she used as we tumble to the left.

She raises the bloody stump after us, still believing her hand is intact. Pauses in horror when the first spurts of crimson begin to appear. As she lets out a howl of pain and collapses to the floor, we take a second to look down and…

Oh.

Dripping muddy smoking flesh just below the knee. Nothing else. Nothing to even try to sing back into shape. No… No foot, no shin. Just… gone. Torn from the World Song entirely.

Before pain, before Division, before panic, we spring forward and bury the bone knife through the cunt’s left eye and ride her to the ground. A short pause. The pain is setting in. Shock would have a lesser body dropping into unconsciousness and death by now. But the horrid wonderful pain just hums through us and sharpens our minds.

So good to be alive again. The larger spirit hums. To feel anything! Even... even such agony.

“Stupid corpsefucker.” We twist and pull the bone knife free of the dead woman, glance over to the Murtaziq. “Was actually planning to let you all live. Just with scars and warnings.”

She’s standing now, but… just barely. Her crude weapon is next to her, but with only one good leg and useless good arm she can only just… lean against the handrail and glare up at us. Red eye follows as we adjust to a one legged crouch.

“So…” We sigh, considering…

Well… fuck. The smoke still rises from our stump of a leg as we consider our Amwella store and options. We can’t regrow our leg, not with this low of a store. Not quickly. Not… Well, we don’t have enough for a safe healing of this mind tonight besides! Need to try and get one or both of our lovers to let us embrace them. Probably… multiple times just to–

Movement, to our left. We jerk our eyes over, see an open door and someone peeking out. Staring down at the dead woman I’m basically sitting atop. Tears of fear and horror and shock have already begun to run down his face.

… His.

An Arudian male?

DIVISION!!!

The larger spirit peels off the smaller, shredding and shattering it as our body lunges. Parts of Her soul left adrift in the smaller while parts of it spiral after Her. We collapse and slams into the stairs in front of him. Memory and reason rot away and burn into the frills between our minds.

He jerks at the horrid lilting sound that must growl from our lips. He tries to pull back, but stumbles over one stupid foot and is falling. Before his butt hits the soft carpet we’ve skittered like some kind of big hobbled spider to straddle him.

“So… you're the opposite then?” The larger spirit spits through our mouth at the cowering Arudian male.

“Wh–” He struggles, but with a loud slam We've stabbed our bone dagger through the palm of his left hand, pinning it to the thick carpet and the stone beneath. He screams, tries to reach across his body to free it, but the black obsidian to his throat stops him.

Wh… what are we doing? The smaller spirit pushes against the rot and the fog that surrounds the larger.

The male is… well not naked but only has a small blanket or sheet. Him and the woman behind were obviously close. And… while killing her is… well... We're not sure how we feel about that. We’d agreed, wordlessly, even thoughtlessly. Not to kill these people. Just to… to hurt them. Leave them bloody and ruined. Force them to expend every resource to recover from the wounds we’d left. Then she… this cunt pulled out that magic rock and fucked our leg up!

But… this man… Was… was he even involved? The lady admitted to directing this all. He’s… he’s also like us? Like this body and little soul? Transgender. Not–

The big rotting spirit growls. Filth hiding among jewels. Parasite in the nest.

B– but. Wait!

“We’d love to have your heart between our teeth. But… we only have time for this.” We growls as he dissolves into whimpering painful sobs beneath us. Blade obsidian blade twists and prepares to–

NO! The smaller yelps and wrestles at gaining control. And plunges herself through the rot and fog and division. Barely gains a grip before that final thrust. The thing behind the rot and fog turns that horrid attention to her. She withers back, but keeps the blade still.

Let. Go.

No. The smaller hisses. We’re… I’m not letting you do this. He wasn’t involved. Is… is probably just… just here with her as a Hetaera or something.

Let me finish off this horrid creature and we’ll Rejoin.

We... we feel more of the smaller spirit wither away, strain and flake away into rot. Feel our mind begin to… to go fuzzy.

Challa!

The larger is regaining control of the blade, is.. Beginning to… slide it… press it…

Tasii is safe, Yrelia is safe. We should have stayed with them. The smaller realizes, Ignoring Her cries. Stupid stupid so fucking useless and STUPID STUPID STUPID!!!

The pain of that old command stabs through our mind like an ice pick through the temple.

CHALLA!!!

Head hurts… oh it’s not a glorious pain either. Just… just horrible and fuuuuuuuck.

That jerks us back, the sudden pain like a blow to our head. Then we’re Falling… falling…

The floor is carpeted, but… it must have been a solid five foot drop back amidst the dead woman’s corpse. So it’s not a soft landing. Black blade shatters as it catches the edge of a wall or… something.

Distant sobs and cries echo as we lay there, mind a flutter of pain and division.

Not yet.

They came to this cold horrible land for us! The smaller whimpers. To try and… try and help us figure this out! And we couldn’t even–

The rotten fog of the big spirit curls around her, cradles the dissolving muck that are her thoughts as she tries desperately to remember their lover’s faces and warmth and…

Deep Breaths. The larger demands. Rejoin!!!

Can’t… can’t even go back. Was… was too… The smaller stops before the thought. Skip the self-harm… I’m probably the reason the leg is gone. I fucked this up. Now we can’t walk!

The rotten fog growls.

Can we please go back? The smaller pleads. Just… need to… need to… see them. One more time. Apologize and…

The anger of the big spirit doesn’t leave, just… calms. Thinks. Then… Rejoin. And we’ll go back. She promises.

Deeeeeep Breaths… We shudder.

Then we’re one, but… one spirit is so much weaker and… struggling. Barely here and contributing.

“Fuck.” We hiss, pushing ourselves up onto the one good leg we still have.

The Murtaziq is half-way up the flight of stairs, dragging that fucking ugly club. Her eye goes wide as we spring back up. We share a long, silent pause. Our weapons are gone or broken, but she can barely move.

Hm… a gamble then. We rise, move to use the hand-rail of the stairs to serve as a balance. All without ever taking our eyes off her. She can try to attack… but, if she misses…

We give her our best smile, break off a chunk of the wooden handrail to use as a crutch, and begin to leave. The Murtaziq doesn’t shift, and from the moment the wood shattered and we began walking from this place as if we simply had a limp and not a severed leg, we know she’s chosen to live.

It’s only when we reach the door that we hear… a cry. A sob. A name.

Tears and wails of torment ring out. We glance back, and division is threatened but… not enacted. Just… a smoldering hate is allowed to exist alongside a strange pity as we watch the Arudian male drag themselves to fall upon their dead lover. Consumed by grief.

We turn and leave. This parasite isn’t worth it. Perhaps… but no.

We need our lovers.