Tsanaki was a sasin of rather particular skills, the skills that had made him highly appreciated within the less than savory circles of society. It was a rather dangerous job, and people such as himself heavily depended on reputation. After all, skills could only take someone so far when the true coin was trust.

Trust in results, and in discretion. Tsanaki prided himself on both.

And he’d failed, miserably.

The thought stung just as much as his face did.

Tsanaki’s right eye was still half-swollen and throbbing. The bones underneath ached from the partially healed state they were in. Four days, four, and he’d not fully recovered from that fight. The medicine helped greatly, but even that had its limitations.

Just thinking about the fight made his bones groan and creak, the feeling of getting hit by a smithing hammer, the way he was tossed like little more than a doll…

Tsanaki shuddered deeply.

Four days of rest meant four days of thinking. Thinking and planning and looking over the fight. Where had they gone wrong? How could they have worked to prevent such a thing from happening again? Every part of the plan had gone so smoothly, too…

Until the monster showed up.

Tsanaki had heard of users who’d pushed their grafts to the very limits. Of course he had, he lived in the city of the two Goddesses. Hell, there had been more than a few job offers involving higher-end users he’d flat out refused. What was the point of taking such risks?

Users at such a stage were in an entirely different realm. People who had upgraded their grafts to the point where their bodies looked no different from normal flesh and bone. If one came from a wealthy family, they would be a scion and default heir, no doubt.

Tsanaki’s own father…

He shook his head as he thought of the old man and quickly came to regret it. The pain in his head became all the worse. But it was hard not to dwell on the memory of the fight. In all his years, not once had he encountered such a quiet hymn.

Between Tsanaki’s fingers lay a rag. He’d been staring at it for far too long. It had been initially stained red with the blood of the man that had attacked them. Now it was a crimson so deep it was practically black. Red blood. Tsanaki couldn’t wrap his head around such a thing.

A monster’s blood was blue, a person’s was green, so what did it mean if it was red? Was this some strange consequence of some kind of graft that none had heard of before?

Four days of idleness had eroded at Tsanaki’s concentration, pushing the world to narrow down further and further into himself. The room with poor illumination, the scent of ash in the air from the chimney, the blood. The monster in the shape of a man.

It was necessary. The survivors had to keep their heads low, not make any noise. In that same way, the inquiries he made were equally discreet, things that wouldn’t cause waves, seeking to know at least the bare minimum on the one that had attacked them.

The man without a hymn had been greeted by the Goddess herself, it seemed, brought into the temple. Whatever had happened within was followed by that same man drinking himself into a tupor ever since. Never the same tavern twice, sometimes three in a single day, and not one witness had been shy to mention the deadly amounts of alcohol he would partake in.

To the professional, that clarified that their attacker had at least three highly advanced grafts: hymn suppression, poison neutralization, and strength. There were more, but he couldn’t run off of assumptions. Not in his line of work.

Certainty was important.

Tsanaki looked at the map of the city that lay on the table, a large disk built from rings upon rings, with the temple at its center. It was littered with dozens of markers. The taverns the man had visited. Was there a pattern? What was his goal? Why involve himself in such a way? Was his interests economical or personal?

Attempting to learn anything more about the mark or the man had been impossible. Both had come from out of the city, the one other piece of the puzzle being that they’d shown up in the same lift. Did they know one another? There were ways to pressure, to dig deeper, but there was also a risk. His client was not the sort that appreciated such things.

But Tsanaki needed to know. Their lives could very well depend on it.

“You are going to burn that map if you keep glaring at it like that.”

The leader didn’t bother to raise his gaze from the piece of paper, stretching out his good arm with the empty tin cup. “Need another round.”

“You’re cut off. You’re pushing it as is.”

The small annoyance made him turn his attention to his right-hand woman. Vurga’s hymn was as muted as his own, barely a whisper, trained and enhanced through some discreet graphs. Any other person would’ve mistaken it for background noise. But to him, it was clear she was being loud. The woman would not give him more medicine, no matter how hard he insisted. Which made everything all the worse.

He hated Vurga was right. Taking too much medicine was no different from taking poison. And it took far longer for the medicine to circulate out of the body than it did to accumulate.

That didn’t make the ache any more bearable. The bone underneath felt tender.

But if Vurga knew anything, it was medicine, and she’d been pummeled just as bad as he had. Her arm was in a sling. Tsanaki could spot the exhaustion in her hymn even as she tried to hide it. Lying low could do that to someone. Rushing off with just what they could carry, changing bases of operation, cashing in on favors, keeping their hymns suppressed as hard as they could every minute of every day, changing safe-houses every three days, keeping a look-out at every hour of the day…

“Any news from the client?”

“Nothing at the drop-off point.”

That was both good and bad, if-.

THUD THUD THUD

The sound was a reverberation through the house, as if it’d just been hit by a charging rammer thrice over. Tsanaki’s instincts screamed that they were under attack.

“I KNOW YOU ARE THERE! OPEN UP!”

And the words confirmed.

Tsanaki and Vurga didn’t bother to check who it was. There was only one being in the whole city that could sneak up on their safe-spot like that. He grabbed the map with his free fist and sprinted for the backpack. The pain in his body was ignored in favor of survival. They were out through the window right as the door thudded thrice again. Their hymns were pulled in so tight it hurt, quiet, a fraction of a whisper. They had to run, escape and get out of there!

In their shared panic, the question boiled over, one that permeated their hymn.

How had they been found!?

And what had happened to the lookout!?

> ***

It had been a mad dash through the city. They couldn’t sense their pursuer’s hymn, but they could hear his steps, heavy thud of boots. It reminded Tsanaki of running away from monsters, the ever persistent pursuer, without a hymn, but making their presence known all the same.

Every time they thought they’d lost him, they would hear that noise again.

The heavy thud, shaking the city with every step. It drove them to run even as their lungs burned with every heave. And it wasn’t like they could just run forever, not in their current state.

But it was the only thing they could do. Every time they slowed there, it would be.

The steps.

Sometimes they would catch sight of him, wearing a heavy cloak and hood, a figure impossible to miss if not because there was not so much of a whisper of hymn. Such a creature, two full heads taller than most everyone around him, should not be so oppressively silent.

Tsanaki had been just about ready to turn and fight when he felt Vurga’s hand on his shoulder. Her hymn suddenly became loud. It clicked in a split second. Their years together could not have hidden her intentions from him.

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“Get him good.” She whispered under her breath.

“No!”

But it was too late. She’d turned and broke off, taking a sharp turn to the left. It was obvious what she was doing, making herself the bigger target, the easier target. Tsanaki clenched his fists and pressed on. Every part of him cursed.

The monster did not follow, having taken the bait and going after Vurga.

Tsanaki did not stop running until he collapsed, barely managing to drag himself into a defunct abandoned ruin of a house. His mind ran through his options. He had to call in favors, and do so quickly. The monster was after them, and that meant there was only one way to escape this.

He’d have to kill the monster.

> ***

One whole day worth of running.

That had been how much he didn’t trust the monster wasn’t still on his heels. Rest came frequently but in short frightful bouts of heaving air and sweat. Tsanaki was pushing himself as hard as he could, and by the time he collapsed, it was entirely because he just could not go any further.

His location of choice was a den in the underside, well away from everything and everyone. It was tucked away into the nooks of rust and metal of one of the pillars supporting the city. As far as anyone was concerned, this wasn’t even a place to live in, it was just part of a passage that led into the steaming metal insides of the city.

A place of heat from the hot water that was pumped from under the mountain up to the city itself.

Tsanaki’s body hurt from the exertion, and it screamed from the injuries that had not fully recovered yet. The man downed what was left of his medicine and checked his supplies. The monster was coming, there was no doubt he was a target now. Sooner or later, he would be found.

But if there was one place where he could outmaneuver and outwit his pursuer, it was here. The safest place in the entire city, the one location that had guaranteed him victory in every time of dire need.

The insides of the city were impossible to navigate for those unfamiliar with its layout. It was a death-trap of hot rooms and steam. The very machinery that fed the water from the underground all the way up went through this very place. One of several.

The marvels of engineering were foreign to Tsanaki, but the layout of this column was known like the back of his hand.

He just needed time to prepare… and most importantly, time to rest.

> ***

Three days of peace, three days of frantic movement through the maze, limping and struggling against the heat and exhaustion.

All to bring his plan to fruition.

Tsanaki had not dared to try to figure out what was the situation outside the narrow corridors and abrasive heat of the column’s machinery. By now the entire team had likely been hunted down, dead or alive wouldn’t matter, since anyone in the latter category would end up in the former once it was apparent they couldn’t be tortured for information.

And now he was ready.

He only needed to lure in the monster.

So, against every instinct, he’d wandered out and made a scene in public. Nothing large, just some minor thievery, enough to cause a disturbance, exactly the sort of thing that would draw attention. He stole medicine since it was undoubtedly the kind of thing someone hunting him would have kept an eye out for.

Tsanaki was ready.

Today would be his victory.

To reach his hiding spot, there was no way other than to climb through the insides of strut column number nine, one of forty, that kept the city suspended high over the mountains like a carefully balanced plate. The columns were impossibly wide, each floor was large enough to house a village, and the interior was nearly entirely occupied by kilometers upon kilometers of pipes the size of buildings. Most of its volume was intended for carrying massive quantities of water. One part moved the water up from the steamy depths, the other returned everything that was left back down so it may be heated under the mountain once more.

Strut column number nine was one that moved hot water upwards. The inside was a conglomeration of metal walls and hissing steam.

To attempt to move through such a place would be a death-sentence for the unwary and the impatient. Even those prepared would find it to be a challenge. Heat and humidity sapped away at your strength, suffocating and constricting your lungs and body. Tsanaki had made his way up using the outside of the column, a technique that would be suicidal for anyone not knowing exactly where the hatches were located.

Now he sat in wait, looking out through the hatch to keep himself refreshed. Mentally, he checked everything once again.

The first part of the plan was simple. Just the heat and humidity would drive the monster into extreme exhaustion. Moving through three levels should be nothing less than impossible, made all the unlikelier since the interior of the column was labyrinthine, filled with debris, dirt, or parts that had collapsed into themselves. The place was full of dead ends.

But the traps were the really dangerous part. No one would be able to make it past the gauntlet alive, not without taking considerable time to dismantle each one.

Confirming the monster had come for him sent a shiver through Tsanaki. His victory was imminent!

The creature approached the column from the only direction one could: walking through the walkway that connected the Underside with the strut. Wind howled. The massive man’s cape billowed all around him, making him seem that much larger than he already was.

It was impossible to tell from the distance, but Tsanaki saw a glint of metal. A weapon, no doubt. When the man entered the column, the first trap triggered, with a clang, the exit was sealed. And Tsanaki’s victory became all but certain.

The door would not open until a whole day from now.

The sasin turned towards the board filled with rows upon rows of green lights. Each light represented a trap. Once one would go off or was dismantled, the light would go out. He couldn’t afford to be fancy, not with what little time he’d had available. But it was more than enough.

He allowed his hymn to scream out in smug confidence, taunting the man. And just as he’d expected, the first light went out. Darts, coated in poison that would cause hyperhidrosis. The victims of such a concoction would sweat themselves to death within a matter of hours. The heat of the column would make it all the faster.

And… then the second light went out only ten seconds later.

Tsanaki hesitated. The second trap was a simple spike on an arm, placed right where it might impact against the man’s chest. Even if the monster had apparently ignored the first rather than investigate it, the second would surely show the deadliness of-.

The third light went out.

Then the fourth.

That could only mean the monster was moving at least at a leisure walk. Tsanaki’s eyes bulged as his mind boggled at the consideration. Sure, the traps nearest to the door were slower to trigger to lull the man into a fake sense of confidence, but this was absurd.

“He must have healing supplies.” Tsanaki decided after the fifth trap went off, crossing his arms. “No matter, this only means he will push saturation soon enough.”

And thus he kept pushing out his hymn as loudly as he could. Gloating, needling the monster to try and reach him faster. A challenge to show his superiority, for his victim could only really push forward and die against the traps, or stay and risk death against the heat.

And the monster’s pace did not relent.

Seven became ten, and then fifteen, and then the first traps for the second floor were being set off after just two hours. The pace made Tsanaki’s hymn waver ever so slightly in concern. He tried to imagine himself moving through the maze at that speed and could only see his demise. Blades, spikes, projectiles, even deadly gasses. How could this monster keep pushing without slowing down!?

By the five-hour mark, the traps on the third floor went off, and Tsanaki feared for the worst. He had seen the man bleed, grafts or not. The steel had dug into the flesh. Dodging was impossible, and nothing short of a real monster could even hope to shrug off such damage.

And yet the traps kept going off.

What was he missing? Tsanaki’s jaw tightened. Was it possible the man had some way to remotely trigger the traps? It couldn’t be electronic, a familiar? But even that had been accounted for, such a thing would’ve died by now!

And every minute, a new trap went off, and the monster got closer. And closer.

No matter.

The heat and humidity would have weakened him, to say nothing of the pace. If the traps couldn’t finish him off, then a fight would be inevitable. But there was no doubt in Tsanaki’s mind that it could only ever go in his favor, no one, no matter how capable or enhanced, could not fight against the heat.

Especially for five hours.

Meanwhile, he was fresh, at his best, and he placed the deadliest traps right at the entrance of the floor he was in. No matter how impossible the situation was, victory would come, invariably, inevitably. Revenge would be his today, no matter what.

He would find out how the monster had avoided dying from the corpse.

All thoughts on the matter ran straight to a grinding halt when he picked up on a sound, a rather peculiar unnerving sound.

THUMP CLANK THUMP CLANK THUMP CLANK

At first, he’d thought it was some machine within the strut that was acting up.

But there was an irregularity to it, a slight pause whenever a trap would go off. It was growing louder and louder, bit by bit. Getting closer and closer. Tsanaki’s ears sharpened, realizing the sound brought with it the sound of scraping metal against metal.

A light went out, the sound stopped. And after a second, began once more.

No hymn. No other sounds. Just the thumps, slow, steady. Screeching metal that made Tsanaki’s hairs raise on end. The column was sweltering hot, and yet he felt a chill run through his body.

The first light for the first trap on the floor went off. A blade meant to decapitate the monster.

What should have happened was the sound of a wet crunch and silence.

Instead, what came was a screech of metal against metal, louder than before.

“MOTHER FUCKER!” The voice rang out right after the steps had stopped. “HEY! TSANAKI!” The monster echoed through the metallic walls of the column. “I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! I’VE COME TO GET YOU.”

A taunt, a lie, or perhaps a trap. Tsanaki hadn’t bothered to hide before. It was not yet the time, there were still traps left between the monster and himself. He’d have to fight. The traps had failed. Was the monster carrying some shield of some sort? Was that how he’d blocked the traps?

For Vurga, for his companions, for himself. “I don’t believe you.” Professionalism took hold. He grasped his blades and slunk against a wall. He would fight, he would win.

“Your people are alive. We made a deal, but you’re a part of it.” The voice had a slight heave to it, panting. Exhaustion? It certainly should have been more than just slight panting. The thudding returned. It was the steps, Tsanaki realized, heavy like a mountain. “I’m seriously not in the mood for you to be an ass. Reliving memories of playing renaissance knight in New Orleans is definitely NOT fun.”

Was he spouting gibberish to confuse him? It made sense, but Tsanaki wasn’t about to let himself be tricked. The sound was getting closer. He tried to imagine the monster and his height, his size, his gear. He would draw first blood, hopefully end the fight there and then as well.

Just. One. More. Step. The trap was right there, the perfect chance.

“Seriously, if you-.”

Another screech, and more swearing. The sound made it clear. The man had turned to the wrong side.

Tsanaki took his chance, lunging, twisting around the corner, and striking with his blades. If the man dodged, the strike would carve into his shoulder, maybe his arm as well. If he did not, it would be certain doom, as the metal would bite into his ribcage.

Victory.

But his blades rang and pain shot up Tsanaki’s arms, his grip faltering as if he’d struck a wall. And indeed, it was exactly that, for before the professional assassin stood not a man or a monster but a golem of steel.

It mimicked the form of a person: two arms, two legs, one torso and a head. But it was so massive, so thick. A creature covered in so much steel, it was impossible that any person could possibly exist within. They’d surely be crushed by the weight alone. Even a machine would have trouble carrying that much and remaining steady.

Tsanaki’s blades bounced off and he stumbled back, eyes wide.

The following backhand moved with far more speed than it should have.

It knocked him out instantly.