They barreled through the snow, pursued by flicking shadows and the relentless Lichspawn.

Chukshene glanced over his shoulder, panting hard. “They're still coming.”

The elf grunted in reply, drawing The Bustin Maestro and spinning the broad-bladed throwing knife in her fingers. The fear buzzing in her belly mingled with frustration as she realised she was running in the opposite direction to the Bloody Nine.

She wanted to turn around so much she could taste it in her mouth like iron filings and splintered glass. But the thought of the dark wires touching her instinctively horrified her more than anything else in the world.

Catching up to the spellslinger, the elf grabbed a fistful of his robe and dragged him off the path, heading toward a small clutter of ditches curled up around a slight hill.

He gave a strangled gasp and nearly lost his footing. “What the fuck?”

“This way,” she growled.

“What for?”

“The hill. It's the only fucking advantage we're gonna get out here.”

“You want to stop? We can't stop! They'll be on us like fucking beggars on a dead rat! Grim's eyes, I fucking hate beggars.”

“You think they're gonna give up? Think they're gonna run out of fucking breath and just let us go?” she pointed The Bustin Maestro over her shoulder. “They ain't gonna stop, Chukshene. Best we can do is find a spot that gives us a chance.”

They leapt one of the deeper trenches and the elf landed awkwardly on the side of her boot, but her ankle held. Chukshene wasn't so lucky. His foot slid in the snow and he fell forward, flat on his face. “Ah, fuck,” he flailed about, searching for the grimoire.

Nysta kicked the heavy book toward him with her toe and spun quickly to see the cords of black shadow fast on their heels. Dragged him to his feet. “Come on, 'lock,” she snarled. “This ain't time to be learning how to slide.”

“What?”

“Push on, you cross-dressing fuck!”

“I'm not-”

She shoved him in the back, sending him cartwheeling toward the hill as she rounded on the swarm, throwing The Bustin Maestro into the buzzing mass of cords with all her strength. Splinters of black shadow rained to the ground as the wide blade carved elegantly through them.

She watched the blade ricochet off a few rocks before being lost in the snow beyond them and regretted not being able to retrieve it. She hated losing knives, and The Bustin Maestro had been a good one.

When she'd bought it, Talek told her it was too broad. Too unbalanced to be thrown. The metal too thin.

That it would break on impact with anything harder than milk.

He'd been wrong.

The sound of snow whipped up by the flurry of cords broke her train of thought and she sprinted away, scratching at her palm. “I'm getting fucking board of this,” she spat.

The frozen wind felt like it could cut holes in her skin and, for a moment, she welcomed it. The smell was clean and fresh, wiping away the stench of rot wrapped around the town.

Wasting no time as he reached the top of the hill, the warlock dropped to his knees and began rifling through the pages of his grimoire. Didn't even look up as Nysta launched herself over the top while cords of black glided into view behind her.

A few Lichspawn managed to keep a good pace and clawed their way up the uneven slope. The elf's eyes glittered as she studied their progress, but she didn't move. Preserving her strength, she slowed her breathing as the cords slithered closer.

“Haven't you killed them all, yet?” Chukshene scowled, feeling the pressure and unable to find what he was looking for in the old pages.

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her heart drummed steadily in her ears.

A tingling sensation rippled down her shoulders and arms and she realised she hadn't felt this alive in so long. With the crisp smell of fresh snow filling her lungs and the residue of adrenaline needling her veins in anticipation of another blistering flood, she couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face.

Could almost hear a clank of chains falling from her body. She felt light. Released.

Ready.

Rolled her shoulders. Pumped her fists around the handles of her blades. Realised she'd run out of time.

Pulled her mouth into a mirthless grin.

Said; “I'm working on it.”

And moved with a speed that stunned the warlock. Love Me Deeply in one fist, A Flaw in the Glass humming in the other, she whirled through the long snaking cords, cutting and slashing.

The ground was soon dark with the shattered remains and her boots crushed them mercilessly with each dancing step. The sound echoed in her ears and served to keep hope burning through the fear.

But they kept coming.

The first of the Lichspawn made the top of the hill and Love Me Deeply splashed into its face. It fell in a fountain of blood as the elf tore the lightly curved blade free and stomped hard on its chest to spring onto the next pale-skinned attacker.

Her leg snapped out, the heel of her boot crunching nose. A satisfying feeling which vibrated up her thigh and was reflected in the cruelty of her smile.

The second creature dropped quicker than the first, A Flaw in the Glass choking its final breath as it shredded its throat.

But they kept coming.

She tunneled through their ranks, blades flashing until the snow was stained with foul blood. She relied on short sharp attacks to tear ragged holes in flesh. Wounds which, while they weren't gaping, were enough to bleed them out.

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They died passionless deaths, writhing quietly in the snow as their life swept out of their bodies in thick black strings. It was as though they held no attachment to their lives, so losing them meant little.

Had she the time to wonder at it, the elf might have shuddered at the awfulness of their final moments.

But time was something she didn't have.

All she had was the frenzied need to stay alive. And this need overwhelmed all other thoughts as their hands battered at her, clawed at her. She pushed through on a tide of rage and determination.

Stabbed anything that ventured close enough.

Sliced anything that grabbed her.

Felt a surge of horror as it seemed they just kept coming.

And coming.

Black cords weaved between the flow of violence, whipping her wrists and knotting themselves around her arms. Chewing at her skin.

She cut through these and nearly fell beneath a charging Lichspawn.

Only at the last second did A Flaw in the Glass plunge into the gaping maw. Rammed through the back of its mouth, and cleaved its brain. She felt the fanged mouth close over her knuckles but it had lost all power to break skin.

The elf twisted the blade and wrenched it free. Cursed as the creature dropped on top of her, its dead weight forcing her onto her back. Sprawled beneath its weight, she strained to push it off. Or to roll out from under it.

Failed.

Saw more cords sniffing the edge of the hill, snaking forward. Her blood ran cold as she tried to bring her legs up between herself and the corpse.

Air squeezed from its rotten lungs and black fluid dribbled out of its mouth to splash onto her neck and shoulder. The cold rancid stench made her dry retch.

But she found the strength of desperation to lift her knees up.

Snarling, she used them to roll the body off.

It flopped onto its side, dead eyes staring at her.

Nysta powered to her knees, shaking off the awful gore on her shoulder as another wire-thin cord darted in and looped around her neck like a garrote. It jerked hard and she lost her footing, falling backward.

Gasping for air, she tried to cut the thin cord of black, but it had taken her from behind and kept thrashing to avoid her blade. Panicked, she swiped blindly, searching, but couldn't find it.

It squeezed tighter and she felt it burn into the skin of her neck. Her face purpled as she lost all ability to breathe. Panic shot showers of sparks into her mind.

“Chuk-” she managed to choke out.

Ignorant of her plight, Chukshene fended off a Lichspawn with his grimoire, pounding it in the face until it staggered backward and fell.

Lifting himself to his full height, eyes glowing bright with magic, he held his hand out toward the struggling elf. Fingers splayed. Magic bubbled from his palm as words of power tumbled across his lips like distant thunder.

The air around the warlock rippled and bent.

Then, with a loud groan, the ground heaved as though a wounded dragon writhed beneath their feet. Fathomless cracks webbed outward from the warlock's feet. Green fire roared from the depths the ground was ripped open wide enough to swallow many of the approaching Lichspawn.

Those who kept their footing tried to dance out of the way, but scaled demonic arms clawed up through the fire to snatch with evil scything claws and dragged them down into the demonic heart of the warlock's spell. The gruesome sound of shredding meat and snapping bones filled the elf's ears.

It lasted for only six heartbeats, but it was long enough to leave only a few Lichspawn and a few strangled cords weaving unsteadily in their wake.

As the wounds in the earth closed with an awful grinding sound, green light flickered in the thinning cracks. One of the cracks, inches from the elf's face, spat sparks at her.

The final crunch of rock and earth slamming shut made the hill shudder and dark blood and clumps of tainted flesh gushed with a finality that made the warlock wince.

He exhaled heavily, spinning on his heels. The strength of the spell had drained him, and he wanted to throw up. He shuddered violently.

And then squealed as something bumped him.

He spun grimoire held high, to find the elf grabbing hold of his robe. Her face was covered in thick black gore and a dark bruise was spreading quickly over her scarred cheek. Her own blood smeared across her brow.

She snagged the last remnant of a shadowy tendril from around her neck and tossed it to the ground.

And the look on her face as she stamped on it with her boot was one of bloodlust and joy.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered. “You're loving this, aren't you?”

The elf blinked, her expression twitching into impassiveness. Turning away from him, she watched a few quiet cords of black cautiously nose through the devastation as the remaining Lichspawn picked carefully up the hill.

They looked lost and confused. She wondered what kept them going. What drove them. Their desire to share their darkness with her must be powerful if it drove their hunger for flesh away.

Nysta shuddered. “Got any ideas, 'lock?”

“Give me a minute,” he said. Then shook his head. “Nope. None. You?”

“Kill them, I guess.”

“How? They keep coming.”

“Fucked if I know,” she shrugged and gave a weary grin. In the distance, she thought she could see more, dragging themselves from the cursed town. Wondered if Gaket was able to summon an endless number of them. “But we've whittled them down this far. Be a shame not to make something of it now.”

He sucked at air. “I can't believe it. The chances of so many Lich in one place were a million to one,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “But still, they come.”

“Ain't a war of the worlds, Chukshene,” she said cryptically while studying a bleeding wound on her wrist. It wasn't deep, but her forearm felt numb. Had one of them bitten her? “Whatever the chances are of them being here, the chances of us staying alive are probably less. That's still better than no chance at all, right?”

“Ever the optimist,” he muttered. “But there's one thing I don't get.”

“What's that?”

“You said they were tough.”

She shrugged. “That's the legend.”

“Yet they die so easily? I mean, they're so slow. So weak. Why don't they just mob us? Why come one or two at a time? We should be dead. You know it. I know it. What are they doing?”

The elf rubbed at the scar on her cheek. The same thought had been rummaging around her head, too. She thought of the expression on their faces when they died. “I reckon they were made for only one thing,” she said slowly. “To kill. But they don't want to kill me. Look at them, Chukshene. They're mindless. Only Gaket has the power to think, and he controls them in the same way the Fatman controlled his cows. Just points them in a direction and tells them to eat. It's limited because they might as well be puppets on knotted strings. But this time, the order ain't to kill. It's to capture. So, they're all fighting the instinct to kill and it makes them confused. I figure they're also tired. They're older than we can imagine. And they've had enough. Every single one of them wants to die. But first, they want to pass their darkness on.”

“I don't think that would be good for you.”

“Reckon you're right, 'lock.”

“We'll have to kill them all, then.”

“Right again. Two for two. Bit of a record for you. But it's my skin they seem to want to be in. And I don't reckon that suit's me. So I'd be real grateful to you if you killed a few more of them.”

“I'll see what I can do,” he said, though his voice was shallow as he opened the grimoire in his hands. It looked heavier and the elf wondered if the spellslinger had anything more to give.

She doubted it.

But she didn't doubt he'd done what he could and accepted he'd done more than his share.

Without a word, she leapt at the Lichspawn hauling itself over the rise. Love Me Deeply ripped into its bare back and A Flaw in the Glass followed with a vicious rush of enchanted steel.

The creature gave a wretched twitch and collapsed in the snow.

Tugging the blades free, she cut herself free from two grasping cords gripping her leg.

Rolled to one side.

And was thrown down by a second Lichspawn pouncing on her like a mountain cat. Caught off guard, the elf slammed hard to the ground, her shoulder absorbing most of the impact.

Pain exploded across her back and shoulder and, for a moment, she thought her arm had shattered under the impact. Bruises were growing over the top of other bruises, she thought grimly. If she survived, she was going to feel like shit for days.

Sucking air in pain, the elf shook her head to clear the stunned fog and batted at the clawed hand wrapping around a fistful of her jacket.

Shakily, she made it to her knees in time to get a fist smashed hard into her forehead. The impact snapped her head back. Her blood spattered over the creature's chest and it let out a thin hoot of triumph.

With her arms moving as though made of rubber, the elf wriggled desperately in the creature's impassive grip.

It pulled her close, its wide mouth filled with rotten teeth. Its eyes swirled with shadows as it rasped; “Why do you struggle? The Darkness will fight again. It must fight again. You are her chosen vessel. Submit to her will!”

“Only just lost my husband,” she squeezed out through her teeth. “I ain’t ready for another marry time…”