I took my fight stance as fast as I could. My hands moved to my shins, going for my materializing daggers. While I had been non-stop practicing my invocation skills, that wasn't the moment to put them into practice; if I failed, I would die without even standing a chance. And all that training with Spare, it had been in preparation for that moment; every fight, every kick, every getting up from the ground had been a teaching lesson that I had to put into practice.

My thoughts were cut short as I heard something coming from my right. My head sprung to look into that direction. I could see nothing. The agitated breath from Horas the only constant noise in the background that I could barely filter out. Left! I turned to look in the direction that the noise came from.

“Fuck!” I couldn’t help it but swear, perhaps mimicking my teacher’s favourite word. I wasn’t complaining to anyone in particular, the stress of the situation was getting the better off me.

The dimly lit room was not helping me. Certainly not to spot her, but neither for my mental health. I saw flickering shadows, product of the flickering flames of the scarce lights. I could swear there was an unnatural wind blowing randomly from all directions. I felt eyes locked on me. And the thirst of a blade aiming for my neck.

Yet another noise came from my back, not a product of my imagination nor the assassin looking for me. This time it was a man's grunt. Wide-eyed, I witnessed as Horas launched himself over Yaasir.

“Yaasir, you don't want to do this!”

I had missed the triggering event, but I was sure Yaasir was probably trying to help me, and Horas didn't want him to interfere in the fight. In the fight that I was suddenly and abruptly remainded of. The air compressed on my side, as if an invisible hand had quickly passed by my side. A sharp pain travelled through my forearm, sending shivers all over my body. Yaasir had managed to distract me, or rather I had commited the fatal error of not caring for myself.

Startled and caught completely unfocused, I watched in horror as my right arm had been ripped. It wasn't deep, albeit it dripped with blood. A slash aimed to scare. To produce pain and suffering. But not one designed to kill its prey.

Yaasir is strong, he will survive, I had to say to myself, even if it was obvious right from the start. There was nothing for me to do there, even if I wanted. My life was on the line, as the throbbing wound on my arm was reminding me.

The shadow was no more. A woman, tall as Yaasir and surely fit as him. She was right in front of me. Black, tight clothes hung close to her skin, hiding what surely were countless tattoos designed to kill me. Nothing was left to luck, her hair was tied in a perfect bun that didn't leave even a single hair loose. Not a single inch of unnecessary skin was exposed, even her neck was covered by a thin and long rope. But I didn't have time to contemplate.

She spun in place. Her arm extended after a half-turn and her hand released a hidden blade with all the accumulated force. I saw as the events unfolded. My eyes could see her doing all of that. But my mind couldn't process it in time. I couldn't dodge without risking my balance. Instead, I took the next best option. I quickly moved my right hand, intending to intercept its trajectory with my dagger.

She was busy herself, though. Close and again looking right at me, I barely had time to register what happened as she got ready to sprint. Fast wouldn't make justice to what I saw. Every step was calculated to be optimal, she floated in the air as the distance was being shortened by the moment. And, in that perfection, I didn't fail to notice her stance; one hand in front, the other behind. Exactly what Yaasir had been teaching me since the very first day. The exact same pose that should be use to kill. And, against that, I knew some basics of how to defend.

We engaged in a lethal dance. Her hand on her back moved upwards to strike on my armpit as I slid one step back to narrowly dodge it, and its following downwards slash. I couldn't even think of counterattacking, her other hand already slashing diagonally, and my own fending it off with my dagger.

It was a fast interchange followed by another. Our eyes locked and darted as she stabbed and I defended. But I knew. She is playing with me. She must had noticed my realization, my moment of hesitation, given her face became a contemptuous smirk. I'm not fast enough! Her free hand sprung forward, aiming for my stomach and unmistakably about to rip it open. That was a killer move. The ending that the pose taught. Stab only to kill.

In a fraction of a second, all possibilities flashed on my mind. Can I dodge in time? Maybe I can block again? Jump back? Crouch? All of them I answered at once, no. None of those would have worked, I had to think of something else. If I didn't die of that movement, it was either bleeding out or falling to the next one. There was no wining combination.

Her smile grew wider; I felt the cold touch of the blade’s tip on my chest. My clothes were being ripped open, and only my skin separated me from my death. I controlled my breath, attempting to control composure as Yaasir had told me. If I panicked in front of an enemy, no amount of training would save me.

I have to do something!

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I moved an almost indiscernible amount back, just enough to make sure the dagger wouldn't stab me for the next fraction of a second. And then I willed it. I put all of my mind power to invoke the Ink. It had to be perfect, it had to be precise, fast, and accurate to the millimeter.

Clang! The woman's dagger clashed against metal, and I saw her eyes open in horror and shock. White flames. Snakes crawling towards her arm. They had wrapped around her dagger and were making their way up her arm. I wasn't holding La'er, but that wasn't necessary for it to anything. After all, hadn't I just learned that formations didn't need to be on skin? It was trying to engulf that woman, to defend its rightful master, even when not told to do so.

I let my bloodthirsty daggers, the intent burned in the Ink, wash over me. The opening was right there, I had caught Valana off guard and I had to use the opportunity. My left arm moved of its own volition, aiming for her ribs. My right was ready for her answer, a movement that would throw her out of balance and leave her undefended for a brief duration.

The Ink's prediction came true, she fended my initial strike with her free weapon, but then had to jump out of the way to fully avoid my attack. And I was ready. My right hand struck like a viper, straight for her neck, leaving no doubt whatsoever that if I struck home, I would kill her.

And I will kill her. I was drunk in Ink, letting it tell me my next steps, and I fully trusted that the fight was mine. My hand came down, and so did the dagger I was holding. The fight should have been mine. Should have been mine. Yet, from that very moment, it made a turn for worse.

I felt the dagger meet an external force, all its deadly intent stopped at once. Right after, the characteristic sound of metal clashing against metal reached me. And I realized, I was not the only one that could invoke Ink. My fights with Yaasir had been basic, with him not bothering to materialize Ink, so I unconsciously assumed that was the general norm. Norm or not, my opponent had just blocked me by materialising Ink. Nothing as fancy as my La'er, but certainly enough to turn the tides.

I felt, more than saw, her boot kicking my stomach. As if stepping over me, her full weight sent me flying against one of the nearby columns. I came crashing down to the floor, uncomfortably sitting with my butt against the ground and my head dropping to one side. I genuinely tried to get back up, to at least raise myself from the floor, but I couldn't.

“Did you really think I could not do the same as you?”

This time I saw it coming, the round kick that mercilessly connected to my head. I couldn't fall any lower, but that didn't save me from rubbing my head into the dirt as I slid away.

“You've dared touch me! Look at my skin!”

I could hear her enraged voice, the undignified tone on her phrases, the vile she was throwing at me. But I didn't have any spare energy left to check what La’er’s flames had done to her.

“You know,” she shouted over a background conversation that I couldn't quite hear, “I would have made it fast, painless even.”

I led a pained scream of agony escape as she pierced right through my exposed thigh.

“But now, you're in for a world of pain and suffering.“ There was some premeditated calmness in her voice, as if it was routine work. It made my hairs stand on end.

I felt as my thigh was pressured, her next steps quite obvious going by the impending sensation that the dagger was attempting to turn from inside myself.

“Valana, that's enough.” Horas’ solemn voice filled the room.

I felt, for a brief moment, as the pressure subsided, but just to come back at double the strength.

“Valana, I will only say it once more, that's enough.”

She had been calm and collected when menacing me, but Horas was at a whole different level. It was a damn about to burst. Immense power that could overflow at a second’s notice. He didn't bother to hide it. He didn't care that we could see the bulging vein on his neck. He even wanted to let us know that he was containing himself with great effort.

“He dared touched me!” Valana replied. “He dare-”

I saw, or rather was eclipsed, by the curtain of swords that flew from Horus and towards Valana. They appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, but I knew that all of it had been invoked by the man single handedly.

Valana had time to open her eyes round and raise her hands and weapons in a cross above her chest, covering both that and her head. Gruesome felt short to describe what I saw. The sharpened blades pierced and slashed her like dead meat being cut open. She fell to her knees, and then collapsed to the floor.

“Is she…” I ventured, alternating my eyes from Valana to Horus.

“That,” he momentarily confused me until I followed his finger’s direction, getting La’er in sight. “Is that your creation?”

"Y-yes," I immediately replied, afraid of asking again about the unmoving woman on my side.

“You have my interest,” he snapped his fingers and continued talking while two people dragged Valana out our sight, as if nothing bad happened. “Sloppy, but you managed to hold against Valana. And you might even have some talent as an Inker.”

“Yes?” I tried, but I couldn't really think of any other word at that moment.

“The way I see it, you have two options.“ His 180 change in attitude, smile included, made the situation worse than it was. ”One, you work for me and prove that her death was not meaningless. Two,” his creepy smile became a childish grin, “you join her in her death.”

“Y-ye-I mean I want work,” I nervously looked at Yaasir, but all I could see was him staring at Horas and a tense position.

“Then out of my sight, and don't think of wasting any more of my seconds.”

For a brief moment, right before I turned to leave, I thought I saw sweat on Horas’ back. And maybe it was a product of my imagination, but I could have sworn he was relieved to see us getting out of there. Relieved, grateful even, that only Valana's live had been lost in the process. That his own life had been forgiven and that he would live a day more.

I never got Yaasir to speak, so I've never discovered what happened while I was too busy trying to forget the dagger in my thigh. He never confirmed it, nor denied it, that the only reason the dead body was Valana's and not mine was his own doings. That Horas was surely afraid that pressing Yaasir more, that forcing his hand, would have meant that Horas himself took his own second option.

And, for that and others, I'll be eternally in debt to the former master of the Congregation of Shadows.