PART 1: THE GIRL THAT SURVIVED

The stories started when Cosette was six. In the southeastern wing, in a village easily forgotten, a lone girl survived a strange attack. It happened quickly, only leaving macabre reminders, and the filthy emaciated girl was one. The Magic Brigade found her; the recount giving even the hardened chills. On a day that should have been like any other, the horde emerged from the river. They looked human in every possible way, but hooted to each other, dressed in scaly pelts. Their pale skin made them shine in the daylight, and blond hair and blue eyes made them seem somewhat spectral. They had no words as they approached the village gate, and had no mercy when they fell upon its people. They trapped the villagers after hunting them down. Never going as far to damage their bodies, but fighting over and over till they gave up hope. The Horde gathered the villagers in a makeshift pen, and their leader spoke with clear jubilation. The hoots made no sense, but the idea was clear. The horde was here for a banquet, and it was time for them to dig in. There was no escape, not even death. They feasted while people were alive; screams the music of celebration. It wasn't that Cosette escaped—she was in the pen too. But the river folk ate around her, leaving not even a mournful eye. When the last villager was finished, the horde left her there—mind hidden from the horror. It took a week before anyone found out, and took longer for the Brigade to reach her. The stories said she was The Girl who Survived and left to an orphanage, it was the only ones she knew.

That changed when her Hemomancy developed. She was only eight when it awakened, and the stories grew from there. She wasn't just a survivor, but the harbinger of the attack. Her magic was a beacon, and it'd make you suffer too. The Girl that Survived was a curse to those around her. The orphanage abandoned her in fear of this, but Cosette was all right, she feared these stories too. The horde never came, but she stayed on the move. Each new week, month, and year would find her someplace new. The Girl Survived by working for pay. Her magic was strong; she could get the job done. The magic didn't take her life but gave it. And it was through her magic that she knew she wasn't alone.

Cosette could feel the heartbeats of the freedom fighters around her. She flared them when they weakened; ignited them when they stopped. When they bled, she kept the blood inside them, and bleeding inside came to a stop. She could feel the heartbeat of the girl up the stairs, pumping hard, and harder still when another Glutton dropped. She could feel the heart of the Rostradt boy, calm despite the difference between them; steady despite the battle he couldn't win. He could stall, however, and he did that well. The dome was her prison, and the warden was vigilant and quick. She could stop this assault in a second, but she’d have to stop him first...

PART 2: NOTHING BUT A KNIFE

Keigo was not a fighter. As capable as he was at holding his own, he was trained to be an assassin; honed to be a spy. Assassinations failed when your target could fight back. A fighting chance was a chance to scream—was a chance to tear the shadows away. As his brother taught him the sword, and father the power of less physical things, his mother taught him this. Be the shadow that fells foes quick, and the visage of death still in their eyes. Be nothing more than a whispered blade, or the hidden taste of potent poisons. Keigo was an assassin, but lately, he wondered if that was enough. Lately? No, it had been years, and he still hadn’t found the answer. At the time, he did everything he was taught. He had a plan—in and out—and reached his destination undetected. It should have been a success, but it took vile luck to reach the final step. Even then, it hadn’t been easy. The man fought the poison in his veins, almost taking Keigo’s life. He thought it was the difference in skill back then, but Diana and Danson opened his eyes.

Diana was more amazing than ever. When they first met, she was naive; foolishly fleeing into the wild. The person he met was too new to the world. There was so much to see, so much to do. She seemed more like a tourist than anything else, oblivious to the target on her back. Her first few days were spent in fear. She was always jumping; always checking corners. Even he wasn't allowed to stand at her back. Then they found the troupe and she was born anew. The stage became her canvas, and the paint was each new lesson she learned. An actress could come to her, asking if she wanted to get better, and Diana always did. For three years he watched in awe—left wide-eyed every time. From the girl that hid behind him, to the one that led him forward; Diana always found herself, without batting an eye. It made him wish he stuck with her two years ago. Diana showed him there was room to grow, and he was sure she did it spectacularly.

Danson was an entirely different story. From the moment they met, Keigo saw himself. They were two boys, left alone, forced to face a world that would rather see them die. Danson, however, faced that world head-on. When he walked into dire straits, he did it with his head high. He had a plan for either outcome. If he won, that was it, what else was there to say? If he lost, he'd survive, and then you'd see him later. Danson knew what he was good at, and how to make that work. Keigo had seen it, battle after battle, and even witnessed it. If Diana taught him there was room to grow, Danson taught him to master his craft. Sure, you could grow too, but masters knew how to stay on top.

For both of them, he wanted to be more. There was a version of him, yet to be seen, lost when he lost his family. A deft assassin—deadly in a blink, able to do the job at a moment's notice. He'd still have his plans and reconnaissance, but he would kill a target if he saw them by chance. Unfortunately, it wasn't just about stealth and subterfuge. Keigo was a killer, and he had to be better at it. That's why he ran down a dead-end hall and bounced up the walls. Sliding down a tree punching through a window, he silently fell into an untamed garden. The circling shrubs were fat with leaves; the swaying grass, tall enough to reach his thighs. A dry fountain stood ahead, the figure of its centerpiece garbed in a gown of vines. His target sat on a bench in front of it—eyes turned to the full moon. As if there was any way to mistake it, he knew this boy to truly be a Myrin. Curls of pink-white hair sat atop his head, while long rabbit ears stuck up from the side. He sat in a loose white shirt hanging like a robe from his shoulders; long legs stuck out, lean, with bare clawed feet. A Rabbit Myrin; his greatest Gift would be speed. All he'd need was power to his strikes, and Keigo could already see it in his arms. Specifically, he saw it in the scars that spoiled the pale skin. Myrin usually healed too well to leave them. He hadn't just been given a magic item, the things were placed inside of him. His ears twitched as Keigo let out a pitying sigh, and his eyes flicked over.

"Why am I here?" His voice was soft; this rabbit was young. Maybe the same age? Maybe a bit older. "Who are you?" He was green, cautious that he didn't strike an ally.

“I have a better question.” Keigo replied. “Who are you?” The Rabbit's face remained blank, and somehow that was sadder.

“I don't have a name.”

“Still have to earn it?”

His hand moved to his chest. “Yes.” He said flatly, and Keigo sighed again.

“All right, I'm giving you one then. How does Takeru sound?”

“Why Takeru?”

“Because I like the sound of it.”

The Rabbit seemed to think for a moment. “Are you an enemy?” Keigo nodded. “Then I can't accept it.” But what’s a life without a name?

"I'm guessing that means there's no way this ends without one of us dying?" The Rabbit nodded; Keigo sighed for the third time. There would be no delaying it anymore.

Soul Shifting magic worked in a specific way. A slain target would become a new form, their life remembered as an Essence Spark. When he wanted to change, he usually had to eat one. Conjured between his fingers and tossed in his mouth, its magic echoed out as it reached his stomach. All he had to do was think of the face. It served its job, but moved too slow, keeping him out of battle too long. Focusing could make the spell faster, but that didn't work for free. The faster it was, the more it took to come undone. His brother, Eisuke, could do it with blinking ease. He planned to teach him one day, but the lesson never came. Still, there was one thing Eisuke left behind. With the Essence Spark sealed to his left hand, Keigo clapped and the spell began. Sparks sizzled like dynamite from his fingertips, racing down his arms and up to his shoulders. They split and spread out, writing across his body. Claws grew from his fingertips, as golden spotted fur trailed down his arms. Feline ears replaced his, their fur matching his changing hair. His eyes became more iris than white, large and brown with slit dark pupils. He could feel his teeth grow sharper and felt it like a pinch as a tail whipped out from his back. His legs changed too, as his slimming body crouched low to the ground. It was hard not to see the Rabbit as prey. Gift of Speed? Rabbits did have it, but it paled in comparison to the one a cheetah had.

Keigo bounded forward, hooked claws flying for the Rabbit's neck. Be him prey or not, he stood his ground, moving a second before too late. The Rabbit slipped to the left, but Keigo was already turning—evasion betrayed by the tensing of muscle. Again, he missed, but his target slipped further back. He dashed in pursuit, watching those arms glow with a crimson light. In clenched fists, hammers appeared. One knocked claws aside, and the other swung for Keigo's chest. He moved to the other side of the garden before it landed, looking at his left hand in dismay. A crack was on the back as if the flesh had turned to glass, spiderweb lines oozing with blood. What more, it wasn't healing. The Rabbit's scars were starting to make sense. Sealed beneath the flesh, or maybe written in the bone, something was producing Fracture Magic. In an instance, Keigo saw this boy's lethality—a crack to the back of the head landed in a blink. Only shards of flesh and bone with be the clue to the attack. Meanwhile, the killer would be on the other side of town. There was no doubting the danger of this combo. Even if the boy was sloppy, there would be little his target could do.

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“Are you sure you don’t have a name?” He had to ask. What type of organization stole him, took him this far, but still refused to name him?

"Cucumber gave me one, but I haven't earned it yet." Did it take a dead man then? It had to be a blessing this organization was so blind. "Sunder." The boy said, and Keigo believed it. The name prophesied his target's fate.

Keigo suddenly felt a connection to who he was trained to be. The person before him was someone he had to kill. There were dangerous weapons in this world, made more so when put in the wrong hands. Sunder was one such weapon, and if his kidnappers hadn't noticed before, they'd never get the chance. Keigo crouched—duty in his blood and bones. With fervor, he went back in.

He returned to Sunder's side with a spear hand thrust. It tore through his shirt, missing the flesh. The hammers flew for Keigo's back, arriving too late as he escaped with a flip. As he landed, Sunder came swinging down. The hammers fell an inch from his nose; his claws clipping hair as he swung for the head. On a playground of seconds, their clash played out. Keigo's claws sliced the wind; each one the edge of a knife. They cut little more than that as the Rabbit timed his dodges. The hammers didn't do much better though, for his body betrayed their arc. The false-metal just couldn't land, their bulk only torturing exhaled breaths. With heft and certainty, they drummed the air, missing Keigo as he moved in half-inches. They tested each other with each failed strike. Who would retreat? Who would err first? There was permanence in moving hands; advantage in landing the first true blow. Suddenly, it hit! Warm blood stained fingertips as claws parted meat. Keigo caught Sunder in the chest! Through a wince, the rabbit responded! A hammer to the forearm, the inner elbow, the shoulder as it bent forward. Cracks blossomed along the assassin's arm, and they both pulled back, assessing the damage.

Keigo's claws hadn't gone deep enough. They touched the bones, but little more than that. Sunder won that trade—the battle though, but not the war. The growing red stain said far too much. There would be no debate, Keigo was faster. Sunder accepted it when claws flashed too close to his eyes. The mind raced; a plan came together. It could have been bait, but blood was the toll of desperation.

The fractures hurt when Keigo tried his arm. Hardened pieces of flesh scraped against each other; nerves agonized by shifting tectonics. He could ignore it though, it was just a transformation. It would be bad if it came undone, but he could end this fight before then. While Sunder was taking risks, he hadn't even shown all his tricks. He could be that version of himself. This was going to be his first real chance. The grass stirred, and he dashed in again.

Sunder went for the head as Keigo got close. The blow landed, but unseen claws raked across his chest. They left shock and scars in their wake. He struck for the space where they leaped off and shuddered as more tore down his back. Haste drove his spin— panic driving his hammer. Empty space took the hit, and his head swiveled; senses on high alert. Keigo was standing close to the house’s wall. Something was off as he bounded back in. Again, Sunder took a whack at Keigo’s head, eyes widening as his hammer passed through. His mind finally caught up to what was wrong. Despite the speed, despite the power of the charge, there was no weight behind the footsteps. Unseen claws came again, swatting at his face. His eyes survived but scars tore to the other side. He hopped back as Keigo came apart.

Drip. Drip. He could finally hear it, the sound of blood dropping elsewhere. Drip. Keigo stood off to his right, and then the sound was gone. Drip. As Keigo raced forward, drops fell behind the Rabbit. He followed the splatter, ignoring the form, swinging his hammer as the droplets came close. This time its purchase was complete. A crack blossomed on the shifter’s forehead, and another stamped his chin. Hammers flew as Sunder seized his chance. A crack on the neck. A crack on the chest. Shards chipped from the shoulder, stricken before. A crack on the stomach. A crack on the cheek. Another for Keigo’s head, coming up short when the drops went silent. Drip. Behind him! Sunder spun. His hammers passed through Keigo again. Drip. It was almost too late, he heard the blood, and dove instead of turning. The slash's tailwind breathed down his neck. Haste with the spin, finality with the hammer. He swirled, striking, but Keigo was gone. He was on the fountain now, looking at his wounds.

Keigo scoffed. He could hear his father chuckle in his mind. If you use a Fade enough, a person could get used to it. Sunder wasn't quite there, yet, but Keigo knew his guide. It stained white stone even now, as drops fell from their wounds. A steady stream even poured in his eye, painting the Rabbit crimson in the moonlight. Fracture scars needed treatment to come undone. Making matters worse, Sunder wasn't dying. It wasn't that Keigo thought a few scars would kill him, but those scars didn't go as deep as he thought. The muscle was tense and hard to tear. Though he seemed frail under the billowing shirt, Sunder had a lean, sturdy form. Keigo looked him up and down, his eyes lingering on the ears. He hadn't acknowledged that before; black fur dying their tips. He scoffed again, and his cheek and chin smarted.

"You're not a Rabbit, are you?" He didn't expect an answer, but he already had one. "You're a Hare." He grimaced and remembered Eisuke's ramblings. The Myrin race; humanoid people with animal features, bearing power for their traits. A Rabbit had the Gift of Speed. A Hare, however, had that and Might. It wasn't the best, but it didn't need to be. The powers varied between Myrin. As fast as Cheetahs could be, they didn't have might. Keigo was as strong now as before his transformation. Sunder, however, was holding back. It made even less sense that he didn't have a name, and made even more sense that Keigo had to kill him.

“What about you?” Sunder said back. “Why haven’t any pieces of you shattered?” He didn’t know? Maybe Keigo could understand. Or maybe the organization wasn't teaching him the right things. A full-speed fracture could kill unless the target practiced Gyo.

“I guess I could tell you.” He needed the time. To beat Sunder, he needed to push this form. To be a swift killer, he needed the ability to do this on a whim. Feed the Essence Spark. Draw out its potential. “There’s a spiritualist technique practiced in the Orchid Triumvirate. It’s called Gyo. When you use it, it lets you do interesting things with your Aura. Like making mirages, or condensing it over your skin.” Or growing a Spark from a seed to a tree. “I’ve been using it since I was small. It’s pretty much in effect all the time.”

“So your Aura absorbed a part of my attacks?” Sunder looked up, but Keigo didn’t answer.

He already said too much as it was. Once they knew about the Coat they always figured it out. He still got wounded, it could only block so much. His body reacted to impact, it didn’t negate shock. He still avoided blows, so it had its limit. Keigo could see the thoughts playing across Sunder's face. It made him focus on the Spark more, toying with the intricate piece of magic. Drawing it all out was beyond his abilities, but he only needed a fraction.

Below, Sunder came to a conclusion. Fur rapidly began to cover his body. It gained bulk as the muscle expanded. A snout jutted out as he let out a feral roar. Finally, unnervingly, his limbs grew longer, the pink-white fur of his arms glowing crimson with his magic. Keigo didn't need his brother's ramblings for this. A Myrin had just entered their bestial state, pushing their Gifts to the limit. His hammers burned as he clapped them together, and his eyes settled. Keigo's claws grew dagger long. This was all he could manage in the time he had left. Myrin burned a lot of stamina to go full beast, so this one was planning to end things now.

At the limit of the Hare's speed, it took everything for Keigo to keep up. The take-off was shrouded in an eruption of dirt. As chunks fell, Sunder did too, hammers cresting overhead. The fountain exploded as Keigo flipped away. In the cloud of its remains, he watched shadows move. Cat eyes saved him from a right-hand swing. A crack ran up his cheek still, written by the wind. As the left hand came around, he went forward. He sliced the arm and shoulder, driving the hammer aside. Sunder swirled with a hit for his back. It connected, but with a mirage; Keigo flipping over it. He didn't land before the leg came up, turning speed into power. It sent him skipping across the ground—coat wrapped tight. He quivered in pain, paralyzed as the hare charged. Drip. Sunder stopped, gaze snapping back. Blood stained the grass; confusion stained his face. When he turned back, Keigo was sure to be gone, his mind on the move.

A plan came together that made him cut his arm. The blood let Sunder find him, but a flick made him stop. Drip—the sound of blood on stone. Sunder shot at it, smashing the fountain again. More dust filled the air, and Keigo saw the ears move. Drip. The hare came back, hammer spinning. It hit another mirage as Keigo ducked. His claws lanced up, carving flesh from Sunder’s side. The hammer fell, the wind driving another crack down his face. He put his tail between his head and the other, howling as a piece broke off. That nearly pushed the form away, its magic pulling at his skin. He held it tight as he fled, tossing the flesh on the tail of a mirage. Drip. Splat. Blood trailed as it hit the ground. Sunder bounced after, and Keigo came up behind. His claws flew through the hare’s shoulder, sending the arm twirling overhead. Blood rained—Drip ad infinitum. Sunder glared and Keigo grinned. Ears twitched as Keigo stepped back. Dirt erupted again, and again the hammer soared. For the final time, it hit a mirage; claws ripping through his chest from behind. The confusion was back, and Keigo kept his smile.

“When you couldn’t hear the blood, you listened for footsteps, right?” The fading light spoke for him. “But my feet never made a sound.” He drew back, and his foe fell.

As the dust settled, he looked enviously toward the moon. It was hard to tell as he fought, and it had the best view from above. Did he look like the Keigo he wanted to be...?