The Captain is dead. The Captain is dead. The Captain is dead.

These were the only thoughts that echoed in Jeveen's mind as she wrenched the blade from the spot where he had thrown it. The blade they had spent so long trying to find. Spittle flew from her lips as she screamed and readied herself to attack, weathered instinct covering her fury and sorrow.

And then everything went black.

***

Yylgratha watched with cold calculation as the woman dropped, feeling the dark energy leave her own body and enter the foolish girl. For several moments she kicked and twitched. And then she was still.

For good measure, she opened the corpse's throat and let the rest of the woman's lifeblood flow from her body. The infamous Witch of the Cold Death had seen lesser men pull stunts before, and she had paid for it dearly in the past. Better to be certain one was dead than to be surprised that they were not.

When there was no longer any question of the woman's mortality, Yylgratha stepped over her body and pulled the pale dagger unceremoniously out of her hand. It did not look like much, but it was not her place to question.

A tiny pang echoed from a spot just above her belly and she rubbed at it with her free hand. A thin trickle of angry crimson leaked from the slight tear in her silk gown and onto her fingers. The witch had not been fast enough.

She really was getting older.

Yylgratha exhaled a slow Breath of Acceptance, steeling her emotions, and sheathed the blade to her side. Her patron would be pleased, and that was all that mattered. Nothing else.

Not even the king's clown, she lied.

The witch lifted the candle that had betrayed her presence and gently set it on its side. The soft grey cloth that covered the wooden table began to peel and flicker as the flame tasted the material and found that it was good.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Her mission complete, Yylgratha entered the Place of Darkness once again. All the familiar horrors and nightmares assaulted her senses. Spectral creatures of such hideous arrangement called to her, mocked her, threatened her. Through the thick haze she recognized a form that resembled the man she had just murdered. He looked lost and sad.

"Who?" he asked in a ghostly whisper that filled her mind rather than her ears.

She ignored him as she had been trained, and made her way to another doorway. They were hard to find, and only one trained as she could navigate the paths towards them without being torn to shreds by the inhabitants, but none had been as quick to learn as Yylgratha. Few had survived long enough to learn.

Her Rotted Eye guided her to what she was looking for. She emerged through the doorway, feeling the familiar agony course through her soul, and found herself standing in an alley just outside of the corpse's apartment. The itch where the blade had struck her increased its fervor. She ignored it, knowing that such a scratch could never defeat one of the Darkened. The great Yylgratha had suffered much to gain immunity to all poisons.

Why then did the earth sway beneath her? Why then did her vision blur and shake?

The Witch of the Cold Death flung her hand out, catching herself on the grimy brick wall as her legs wobbled beneath her. The front of her gown was dark and slick from the point of the knife's prick down to the hem sweeping against the ground. She tumbled into a heap of refuse, scattering rotted cabbage, moist bones, and several inconvenienced rats.

A mysterious sensation began to flush through her system. It was not a pleasant sensation, though she assumed she recognized it well enough from the explanations of her masters, and the throes of her enemies.

Yylgratha was dying.

She tried to exhale a Breath of Acceptance, but her breath caught in her throat. No longer would she see him. No longer would he spin her his riddles. No longer would he steal from her the last dregs of laughter that the Witch of the Cold Death had in her broken, empty soul.

Death is the cup from which all must drink.

But that was not completely true.

Yylgratha forced the Breath out and felt the strange calm enter her body. This was her death. This was the end. It could be much worse. She would die alone, yes, but she had been alone for most her life.

As she entered the Place of Darkness, she realized how wrong she was. She was not alone. Waiting for her were hordes of angry, ravenous souls that had been denied their revenge.

And this time, she could not ignore them.