The order was clear. Either everyone at the rendezvous complied with the order to withdraw, or none of them were to leave the meeting alive. Of course, It would not be easy to kill a deathless assassin. No task assigned to Balenkari Pren ever was, but how hard could it be. The Deathless were good at making others bleed, it was said. But then again, so was Balenkari Pren. Her Mistress had made quite sure of that.

A slick oily sensation danced across Pren's skin, as she drifted for a moment in the space between spaces, dousing her body like the chilling cold of freezing water. It surged through her, icing over her bones and causing her insides to lurch. It was not a pleasant sensation. But as quickly as it had begun, it ended, and Pren stepped from complete nothingness into a realm of stillness and twilight.

The slick obsidian surface of the Conveyor deposited Pren into vast antechamber. Reverting from liquid into solid in the instant after her body was no longer in contact with it. The hall was lit by glowing bulbs of dark-purple light, hanging from the archways of a high vaulted ceiling. Dark marble columns veined with lines of blue and gold held up the roof. Many were cracked, pocked, and scarred by age. While others had come down entirely, crumbled to dust and rubble by the inexorable passage of time. Worn tapestries hung over the windows, depicting forgotten battles from an age long past. The tapestries were so frayed and ancient that they no longer covered the view to the world outside, unfortunately.

Pren could see out into impossibility through those windows. The vast ocean outside looked much as it always did, crystal blue and glittering with the light of the two suns that dominated the horizon. Although in this place Pren knew, the suns never rose and never set. No mater how much time passed in this world, or the one she'd just left.

Pren pursed her lips, leaving the pyramid-shaped, obsidian Conveyor behind and proceeding deeper into the chamber ahead. At first glance the room appeared deserted, devoid of any life aside from her own. But looks could be deceiving, and Pren knew well the ways of spotting life without using her eyes at all.

Pren fingered the ring on her right ring finger set with a spotted orange sunstone emblazoned with the twin-sun emblem of the Ignian Alliance. The tiny orb of volcanic glass was flecked with spots that glowed like embers as she drank in the power stored within, and filled her body excess Life. She could feel it building inside her, a warmth in her middle that spread to encompass her entire body, driving the chill from her bones. Ether, that power, that essence of life itself, always made her feel like part of something bigger than herself. Like she was one with everything around her. People, plants, the world itself. Although there were none of those things in this awful place. Pren reached out with her power, attuning it outward. She radiated it, like the suns radiated light. Solaric power was the energy of life, and like all life, it came from the suns. The all seeing eyes of Dio Solis itself. Pren filled the chamber with waves of power, seeking, searching until… There!

Four sources of life, pulsing at the far side of the room. Pulsing, like the steady beating of a heart. Four of them. She turned to glance in their direction.

“A word, if you would,” Pren said into the darkness. “This won’t take long.”

She held her stare for several tense moments, one hand on the hilt of the obsidian dagger at her hip. Eventually, her targets gave up on the act. Four figures appeared before her in the antechamber, as if unveiled from behind a cloak of translucent mist. The mist evaporated immediately, like the fading haze of a mirage as the observer drew near. The four people before her all wore the same black uniform as Pren, only without the gold trim at the cuffs and collar and no rank patch featuring the twin-sun symbol on her ring and breast pocket. Also unlike Pren, they wore silvery masks to conceal their identity. Masks cast in the shape of a Byhound skull, a mythical animal that rose from the dead when killed. No matter how violent or gruesome a death it had suffered. Only one unit wore masks like those.

The Deathless unit. The infamous Everliving.

As the Deathless approached Pren, she instantly recognized the bearing and gait of the man in front. He walked with a confidence, and a surety that no force in the universe could stop him. A surety he had every reason to believe was well founded. He gave her a nod as he stopped before her, arms folded in front of him.

“Pren,” he said. “I expected a more... seasoned go between on this job, but you'll do. So long as you leave us to our work. You might even learn something.”

“Legate Lynch,” she said by way of greeting, pointedly ignoring his condescending tone. "The Molten Blade."

The masked man chuckled, wryly. "They still call me that?"

Pren shrugged. "Not where anyone who shouldn't can hear."

She looked over his shoulder at the other three legates, sizing them up. Two of them were men of average build, like Lynch, but she could see one of her countrywomen peaking out through one of those masks. The same pink skin and blue eyes that she herself possessed. One of her fellow Mazeroki, wrapped up in this treachery. Pren narrowed her eyes at the woman.

And in a time of war no less.

“Well?” Lynch asked, recapturing her attention. "What can we do for you, kid?"

Pren sighed. Drawing herself up to her full height. "You can Stow your weapons and gear, and prepare to return to the capital. I’m afraid you're done here, Lynch. The Everliving are to return to Central, at once.”

Lynch stood up stock straight, nearly matching her considerable Mazeroki stature.

“Why the sudden change? We are to return now, when we're so close?”

“Those are your orders, Legate.”

Lynch's fists clenched and unclenched at his side, but Pren did not take her eyes from that silvery mask. “Why?” Was all the legate said, once he'd had a moment to gather himself.

Pren hesitated, and the other Deathless began to tense. They grew taught, like elastic twine on the verge of snapping. Very well then, she supposed there was nothing for it.

“The Everliving are to return for questioning, under suspicion of treason against the Alliance…” Pren shuddered slightly. “And for crimes impeding the will Sun God Dio Solis.”

Lynch hesitated for several long moments before replying. The silence seemed to stretch in the empty chamber. But the tension did seem to have left the man. He did not seem surprised.

“Those are some serious accusations, Pren.” “Surely there must be some sort of mistake. Come on. How long have we known each other? I helped supervise your training for the Solis’s sake.”

He took a step toward her and Pren put her hand on the hilt of the weapon sheathed at her hip. Not the obsidian dagger, but the spiral cross guard of a sheathed, rapier thin lancer. Lynch stopped short, glancing down at the hilt through the eyeholes of his mask. Pren had bared a quarter pace of the thin, segmented blade so that Lynch could see just how serious she was. He had supervised her early training, yes. But her Mistress had taken care of the rest.

“If there is a mistake," she began coldly. "Then you’ll have no problem surrendering your weapons and reporting back to Central. Under guard, of course.”

“Kid, listen.”

“I am no kid, Legate.”

Lynch narrowed his eyes behind his mask, and the rest of his team put their hands to their own weapons. Lynch calmed them with a raised hand, before turning to look back at Pren.

“I’m afraid we can’t submit to your request, Pren,” he said gently. “Not yet. Not until our work here is finished.”

“Your work here is finished, Lynch.”

The masked man shook his head at Pren. “I'm surprised the Primes puzzled it out,” he said. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before the First casters caught on. They aren't stupid, just old. Old and blind.”

“You had to know how this would end,” Pren said.

“They didn’t leave me much of a choice. I tried to tell them. I’ve been warning them for years. But those short-sighted fools never could see past their pocketbooks and election cycles. I’ve wasted far too much time on them already.” He tilted his head to the side. “Haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Pren narrowed her eyes at the man.

“Central does what’s best for the Central. Not the Alliance. You know that as well as I do, Pren.”

“That is not for us to decide,” Pren shot back. “We are of the Second. They task and we obey. That is the way of it.”

Lynch laughed bitterly. “I’ve tried it their way, Pren. For twenty years I’ve done it their way. I’ve spent my life fighting and dying for them. Fighting against those who should be our allies in the true war. Well no more. Not one day more. Not now that we have a second chance, a chance to end it once and for all.”

Lynch held out his left hand, turning it over almost casually. Pren could feel the man cradling his Ether, his only Sunstone ring glittering in the soft light of the chamber. But the legate did not strike out with his power. Instead, he caused the air to distort above his hand. Like waves of heat over a stove. Then those waves began to coalesce into an image. An image of a young woman with coppery skin and dark hair tied up in a bun. She wore the same black and gold uniform as Pren. The garments of the second caste. She had a hard look in her dark eyes.

“You know what she is. And more will follow, just like her. The Oracle and the prophets have been crunching numbers for centuries and all their calculations came down to her. The girl is dangerous, Pren. But she’s also a resource. One that Central is squandering out of fear and petty politics.” Lynch closed his hand into a fist, and the image of the girl puffed away like smoke through his fingers. “She looks harmless doesn’t she? Just like any other young DotaCorps cadet. But she’s not a person anymore, Pren. Not really. She’s a Seed, the first of many. A force of nature. In the right hands that force could decimate an army, level nations. Especially once she starts infecting others with her taint. This war you’re so all so worried about, could be ended in an instant, with a thought. We could end it before it even begins. With the seeds, Ignia could be whole again. We could end the wars. Peace in our time, The five heavens, The Dio Solis’ will realized at last.” He hesitated, looking her over. “If the seeds are wielded properly. By the right hands.”

Pren arched one eye at Lynch. “And whose hands are the right hands, Lynch? Yours?”

He hesitated before answering. “Would that really be so bad?”

Pren sighed and shook her head. The Deathless had made no moves to surrender their weapons. Why should they, when they were practically immortal. Pren drew her lancer fully. The pace-long segmented blade picked up what little light there was in the room, glinting brilliantly.

“Typhon Lynch, I hereby place you and the rest of your unit under arrest. On the word of the Holy Oracle and by order of the Prima Caste of the Ignian Alliance.”

Pren shifted her feet and entered moon stance, the fifth fighting form of the Asakar. Then she fed her weapon with the same energy she had used to sense Lynch’s presence. The lancer took on an orange glow, as she channeled it full of her Ether. Pure life and power, lighting up the room and letting out a soft hum.

“Surrender.” Pren said, coldly.

Lynch sighed, running a hand over the muzzle of his mask, a sign of respect between members of the Legio Legatus. “That’s a shame. I had high hopes for you.”

Everything that followed seemed to happen all at once. Lynch moved as if to strike, and Pren did the same, striking out with her lancer. Lynch’s team had attuned their own powers, and Pren could feel it beating within them. She didn’t hesitate. Her blade struck before Lynch could take more than a single step. She sliced through Lynch’s neck with a single stroke. It was a textbook maneuver, the perfect lunge. Only she felt no resistance, no tug as the weapon met flesh. Typhon Lynch vanished, his body became like colored smoke, parting where her lancer had struck before fading into mist and disappearing entirely.

Pren cursed in Mazeroki, just as she felt the tremors of another's Ether fly past her and into the corridor at her back. She turned to follow, just barely managing to deflect a knife that appeared out of nowhere, knocking the blade aside with her lancer. Lynch had always been good with knives. Pren cursed again, spinning and molding the Ether in her weapon into a different shape. The blade extended, segments separating but held together by long threads of wire. She spun the lash in the air, disrupting several gouts of flame and wind that would have otherwise torn her to pieces. Pren reeled back as the impacts nearly bowled her over.

Stupid! She chastised herself. Turning your back on three armed Solars.

Had they been even half a pace closer, then Pren would be dead. She scowled behind her mask, feeling Lynch’s tremors of life blur as he passed through the Conveyor. Then dissipate entirely. Pren let him go. She could not follow Lynch until these three were dealt with. They stood before her now, hands raised, to her senses, bursting at the seams with life and power. If she ran, they would shoot her in the back. She dropped into wood stance, one hand behind her back, turned to the side, blade forward.

“You must be something special, love,” one of the men shouted. He had a Driften prefecture accent. “The admirals must think real highly of you. Sending you out to take on the Everliving. All by your lonesome.”

“Four deathless freaks against one Asakar warrior,” Pren replied. “I like those odds.”

Pren shot a glare at the Mazeroki among the traitors. She glanced away. As well she should.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The third deathless, bigger and broader than the other two, snorted at her remark. “Take her.”

The Mazeroki and the Drifter raised their right hands, and bolts of fire and wind began surging towards her.

Pren scoffed.

A Scorcher and a Sparrow? I can work with that.

Pren spun her blade, extending it into a lash once again. It cut through her opponents attacks, the Ether in the blade dispersing the Ether of their blasts, reducing them to sparks and puffs of air. The big man charged her, drawing his own lancer. He hoped to strike her while she was on the defensive. What kind of novice did he take her for? She jumped to the side, positioning herself so that the man’s charge would put him between Pren and his allies. Just as she did however, the ground beneath Pren’s boots cracked and shifted.

One of her feet was pulled to the right, interrupting her stance and throwing her off balance. A gout of flame made it past her defense, nearly singing her left side.

“Merciful Oracle!” she cursed.

The big man was a Breaker, capable of manipulating the ground beneath her feet. Just as the man entered his ally’s line of fire, they cut off their attacks. This gave Pren the split second she needed to catch his lancer with her own.

He snarled as they made contact. “Last chance, pinkskin. If you know about Deathless then you know you can’t win,” he said. “Even if you kill us, you can’t stop us. Death is little more than an inconvenience. Listen to Lynch. Join us. Get on the right side of this while you still can.”

“If you think that you nahisi are on the right side,” Pren snapped. “Then you’re even worse than traitors. You’re fools.”

Pren roared with effort, pushing the big man off of her with a strength he’d not been expecting. Pren could have ended him right there, but instead she dove to the side as several shots of fire and air tore through the spot where she’d been standing. Pren rolled as she hit the ground, willing a change into her blade and coming up from her roll with the lash instead. The wire cord glowed golden with Ether as she swung, making the distance between Pren and her assailants negligible. The lash wrapped about the Sparrow’s leg, held taught, and Pren yanked with all her strength. The man yelled in shock as his leg was yanked out from beneath him. He hit the ground hard, yelping as he landed. Whether from the pain of the fall or the paralytic shock that the lash delivered when making contact, Pren did not know. She had other concerns at the moment.

The Scorcher resumed sending lethal blasts of fire Pren’s way, now that no ally stood between her and her target. Pren began working her lash again, cutting the flames into cinders as she stood up and mounted a running defense. Pren’s long legs carried her to the other side of the chamber in moments. She dove behind a black marble column, taking a deep breath now that she had cover. Pren’s senses prodded at her, the pulses of a life approaching, as the Breaker ran at her position behind the pillar. Pren peaked out from behind the column and struck out with her lash. She landed a blow across his chest, hoping to stun her attacker. He stumbled as his muscles seized from the shock, but he was otherwise unaffected. He kept coming, ignoring the oddly bloodless cut across his chest.

Still, it was enough for Pren. Pren did not have an affinity with an element. On her own, she could not shatter walls, or fly, or create mirages. No, what Pren could do was far more dangerous. She could do it all. Her affinity was an essence. Her affinity was Spirit itself. Pren attuned her Solaric power. She took the life within her, and willed it outward, seeking out the pulses of the man bearing down on her.

She could feel him.

Yes, he was a Breaker alright. Deep, stable, stubborn. There was something… off about the Deathless, something unnatural in the way their souls pulsed. But Ether, that was always the same. So she took the man’s pulses, and mirrored them with her own. She wasn’t sure how she did it, only that it worked when she did, when she had another Solar as a model.

The energy seeped into the ground beneath her feet. Then Pren raised her right boot and stomped. There was a loud cracking noise as the tiles beneath them split. She could see the cracks weaving through the ground toward the Breaker. Still unbalanced from the shock of her lash, he toppled forward and slammed into the ground with a loud grunt.

Pren blew out a relieved sigh. She was running low on Ether, and unlike in the world above, the sunlight here would not replenish it. Pren pulled another nugget of Sunstone out of her breast pocket, a larger one this time, and crushed it in her fist. This one would do for finishing this lot off. It would have to. The rest of her stones were little more than pebbles.

She could feel her body surging with fresh Ether as blasts of fire and air rattled the pillar she hid behind. They tore large chunks of stone off of the aged stone. She needed to distract them somehow before they… The attacks abruptly cut off. Pren narrowed her eyes, dropping to one knee, moving to peer around the column behind which she was barricaded. She felt the pulses just in time to throw herself flat to the ground, as a half ton of rubble slammed into the column that protected her. It was as if a giant invisible hand had slammed into the debris, sending it flying like so much garbage.

Looks like our Breaker is back on his feet again.

Another large chunk of rubble slammed into the column shielding Pren, cracking it and sending it careening to the ground around her in huge chunks. Pren then dove out of the way as the last of the pillar fell to the ground. She turned her dive into a roll, and came up just in time to lash a volley of fireballs and airstreams. She stared through the dust and sparks at her enemy, ignoring the Breaker for the moment. She could feel him readying more earth to toss, but relegated him to a secondary threat for the moment.

The Scorcher was pouring fire at Pren, her Sparrow partner sending rivers of pressurized air, likely hoping to tire Pren out. They all knew that she couldn’t keep this up forever. So she focused in on her target. The Sparrows jets of air were erratic, aimless. He was still on his knees, wobbly and disoriented from Pren’s lancer. But Pren could feel his fury, and sense him attuning the air, fueling the force of his power with anger and hatred. She had him.

Pren sheathed her lancer, pretending not to notice at first. A large chunk of destroyed column was shifting behind her, rocking back and forth, energized by the Breaker from across the room. If that hit her, there would be no getting back up. He would try to strike her with it from behind, assuming she was distracted by his teammate’s attacks. She would use that assumption to her advantage. It was time to press her attack. Just as the debris came careening across the ground towards her, Pren crouched, enabling her to reach down to her boots and draw her knife.

Before the boulder could reach her, she leapt into the air, attuned to the pulses of the Sparrow. Pren mimicked the energy that the man had forced into the air. Then she put it behind her. The pressure was almost painful, but using that force, Pren flew. Out of cover and straight towards her assailants. She kicked off the boulder that had been about to crush her and put it out of her mind as it scraped across the ground where she’d been an instant before.

Blasts of air and fire flew past Pren, but it did not slow her. She zoomed towards her target, aimed straight for the Deathless Sparrow. She readied her knife, a dagger so long that it was very nearly a short sword. An Asakar weapon, forged in the same fire as her sister soldiers. She held it out before her, ready to strike, just as the searing pain of a fireball scoured through her shoulder. She winced, but it did not stop her from burying her knife to the hilt in the Sparrow’s chest. He gasped, probably as much from the shock as the pain as Pren’s momentum carried them across the room and into the wall. The Sparrow’s body absorbed most of the impact, hitting the wall with a sickening crunch. But Pren still went sprawling as she and the man bounced off the wall.

One last burst of Sparrow wind was all that kept Pren from broken bones as she landed sprawled out on the floor. Fortunately for her, they had landed behind another toppled column. Her shoulder burned painfully, and her head was beginning to pound from so much Solaric exertion, but she could not give her assailants time to gather their wits. She needed to strike while they were still stunned from the boldness of her attack.

Pren got to her knees and reached into the Sparrow’s pocket, hoping to find a large nugget of Sunstone. Her fingers came out with only dust that quickly absorbed into her skin. The man had clearly used all he had to toss all that air at her. Reaching into her own pocket, she crushed her remaining pebbles and stood. Her head pounded worse, like the beating of a steel drums. She nearly stumbled back to the floor as a wave of nausea overtook her. However, she felt the familiar pulses of rock and stone as the Breaker began to charge toward her again. Pren shook herself, drawing her lancer and preparing another little surprise.

She peered around the debris to find the Deathless running for her position. The Breaker was out in front, just as Pren had sensed, his eyes blazing like embers through the holes in his mask. She pulled on his pulses again, drawing them in along with his rage, his determination. She raised her right boot and, with everything she had, brought it down hard.

The result was a shockwave that could’ve brought down a small building. The Scorcher stumbled, then toppled to all fours. But the Breaker, stabilized by his abilities, managed to stay up right. But he was off balance, just as Pren had expected. Pren extended her lancer, sending the blade surging forward, right through the center of the masked man’s throat.

Everliving indeed.

The man jolted from the thrust, stumbling on his feet, held aloft by Pren’s extended blade. Then she retracted the weapon, and the interlocking segments realigned with a satisfying SNAP. The Deathless went down like a felled tree.

The Scorcher did not cry out or rage at her comrade's death. She simply scowled and got back to her feet. Death was no more than an inconvenience to them, it was said. If that were true, and they did rise again like the legendary Byhound of the far east, she suspected they would not be doing so anytime soon. The Scorcher raised her right hand and ran, firing off more gouts of fire at Pren as she approached. But Pren already had her weapon at the ready, cutting fireballs from the air with the lancer in her off hand. Pren attuned to the pulses of her Mazeroki countrywoman, her pride, her dedication. Then Pren raised her own right hand.

Pren’s first fireball took the Scorcher in the chest. She didn’t go down, but the impact did cause her to stumble.

Still, the woman kept coming. A knife appeared in her hand, similar to Pren’s own, but with a serrated edge as opposed to straight. Pren kept firing at the woman, who seemed to see no point in blocking or dodging. Several shots to the chest, left breast, the sternum, right shoulder. Still the masked woman kept coming, her knifeless hand raised to shield her head. Pren had been taught who she was dealing with. She’d been trained to fight the Deathless, in case it had ever become necessary. But part of her had never really believed. These people felt no pain, no fear. Why should they, when they could not be killed? It was the coldness of the woman’s eyes that finally convinced Pren. She nearly stopped firing at the woman from the shock alone. Instead, she changed tack. There was one surefire way to end this, Pren knew.

Pren switched her lancer back to a lash and swung at the other Mazerok’s legs. Had Pren not already shot one of her legs, the woman might have been able to hop over the swing. Instead the lash swept her legs right out from under her. She landed roughly, splayed out on the floor. But Pren knew she would not be deterred by a bad landing where multiple fireballs hadn’t slowed her, and the shock of a lancer’s lash only lasted so long. Pren sheathed it instead, then steadied her right hand with her left. Just as the Lynch himself had taught her only a few years ago.

The Scorcher made as if to rise again. She looked up just in time to see Pren standing over her with two fingers aimed at her head. The explosive sound of the blast echoed throughout the chamber, and Pren’s wrist twinged painfully from the recoil as she fired. The Scorcher jolted from the impact, then fell back to the tiles, still.

Pren breathed a sigh of relief, breath coming in sharp heaves of exhaustion. That had been more work than she’d thought. Of course Pren’s unique ability had given her an edge the Everliving couldn’t possibly have known about. Next time, and she was sure there would be a next time, they would be ready.

Pren knelt, looking over to the dead woman, byhound mask holed by her fireball. It was a pity. Pren would have preferred to leave one of them alive for questioning. Her superiors would already be displeased. Whatever Lynch had expected from his team in regards to dealing with Pren, they had managed to stall her long enough from him to escape. He would move on to his quarry soon. Pren needed to return and report before Lynch got his shot at the girl.

Pren winced in pain, suddenly getting a very painful reminder that her shoulder had been hit. She put her hand over the burn by reflex, which only made it sting that much more. Lynch would have to wait a bit. Pren needed to find a Nymph to mimic so she could heal the wound. But that would take time. Well at least she knew Lynch would have a hard time closing in on the girl. On today of all days there would be far too many guards and witnesses for him to move in.

Pren sensed the pulses an instant too late.

The air bullet took her in the side of the head, just as she turned to meet her attacker. Pren went down with a thud and she heard her mask go skidding across the floor. Her vision swam as she struggled to remain conscious. She grew dizzy, unconsciousness threatening to claim her already exhausted body. She wanted to let it, but knew that she could not, not now. Not if she wanted to live to see another sunrise. Pren forced her eyes open and stared blankly up at her assailant.

The Sparrow was hobbling toward her. One of his legs was bent at an awkward angle and his left arm drooped lifelessly at his side. He made his way toward her with a limp gait, and most shockingly, he still had Pren’s knife jutting out from his chest, where his heart should be. His byhound mask had been knocked free, and to Pren’s horror, she could finally see what it meant to be Deathless. Veins in his face throbbed and bulged, glowing with a sickly orange light. Cut and bruises that should have bleed, were instead caked in a brown sludge that oozed from the wounds. And his eyes… his eyes had turned a pure white. Empty and vacant, but somehow still fixated on Pren.

Great Beyond, she thought. They really are freaks. Pren inched back from the man, crawling backwards on her elbows as she searched the floor for her lancer. She’d dropped it when that blast of air had hit her. The Deathless… the creature hobbled toward her, and Pren could faintly feel him attuning his powers. Pren’s Solarics had not abated yet. If she could just push them a little further…

The Sparrow smiled grimly down at Pren as he reached up and took a hold of her knife. Pren had to act. She had to do something, pull on his air pulses. No? No! He had stopped attuning. Had he figured her out or… No, that look in his empty eyes. The fury that had accompanied his pulses. This man wanted to savor this moment, make it last. He wanted to kill her with her own knife.

The Deathless limped toward her, hand slowly pulling the knife from his chest. Where was her lancer! Pren searched the ground with both hands as she crawled backwards, eyes never leaving the hobling figure that stood over her. But her palms met nothing but cold tiles. When she finally spotted it out of the corner of her eye, spiral cross guard glinting in the light, it was lying on the ground near the Scorchers body. Several paces away.

Too far.

The Sparrow ripped her knife free, wet with reddish black ooze. He stood over her now, still smiling. He dropped to his knees and swung. Pren kicked backward crying out as the blade came within inches of her face. The Deathless was on top of her now grinning like a mad man and raising her blade to strike again. He was going to enjoy this. Then, oddly, his grin faded. He looked down at his chest frowning, then back to Pren. His mouth opened as if to speak, but all he could muster was a wet gurgling sound. Eyes widening, he looked at Pren’s knife in his hand.

His tremors of life ceased.

He tottered slightly, then fell backward with a thud.

Pren’s knife fell and clattered to the tiles at her feet. Her breath caught, and she forced a strained gasp through her clenched throat.

For a disturbingly long time, the Sparrow’s body continued to twitch beside her. But then, with one last staggered breath, finally went still. Pren groaned, falling back onto the ground, panting. She had been holding herself up awkwardly on her elbows, waiting for the man to finally die. She was sore all over, and her head felt as though she’d been the one to take a fireball between the eyes. The burning in her shoulder returned then, the pain rising to the forefront of her mind.

“Cracks and chasms,” she groaned.

She really needed to heal that. She did not relish having to explain an injury with a lie to mask her activity. She already needed to change her singed and filthy uniform. None could know what she did for the admiralty. She had sworn a solemn oath. She would catch Legate Lynch, and she would bring the five hells down on him when she did.

Then, as if to spite her, a trickle of blood streamed down her cheek and across the side of her face. She groaned again. Had she so strained her Solarics that she’d given herself a nosebleed. Pren reached up to her face, and felt at a cut on her right cheek, criss-crossing the old scar that had been there for nearly ten years. How had that happened?

She grunted, gritting her teeth. She must have been sliced on the cheek when that Deathless had swung at her. Pren felt her brow furrow in agitation. A Kipanga wound was not like that of an ordinary blade. You could not heal it with Solarics. She would have a new scar now, perpendicular to the first. At least it would be the regular kind of scar. The kind you could see. Pren already had far too many of the kind you could not.

*****

“Life begets life. With good deeds create good fortune and with evil create calamity.”

Conception: The 1st Law of Causality

From The Prima Kama

The 4th Century AE.

Interpretation by Uni Haruka of the 142nd Sun Cycle