*One week after the events of the previous chapter.*

*4/5/90*

The flight back to the Gulch was a quiet one. The Overlord had become used to the silence over its long life, but the silence was broken when it took in Silver. She would constantly look over the Raven's side, pointing out interesting landmarks or Spirit nests, her happy voice constantly chirping in its mind.

And without her voice, the Overlord found the silence unbearably deafening.

It thought it was ready to be separated from Silver for such a long time. It had been alone for millennia before Silver's transformation. The sole ruler of the Shadow hordes. It was ready to leave her in the north… but then she said goodbye.

“I love you…”

Those three little words had paralyzed the Overlord. And before it could respond, Silver dashed off with the local Shadows, not even waiting for it to leave before she began her temporary exile.

When those words were spoken, the Overlord couldn't fathom why they impacted it with such intensity. It almost wanted to bring Silver back with it, completely disregarding its words and reasoning for the trial, bring her back to the Gulch, and keep her there until the rumors of the Siren died.

But it knew this was the best course of action.

With Silver in the northern continent, the fledgling myths of the Siren will die without her signature attacks plaguing their nests. And if not that, her presence in the north will make the Spirits think it is not some special Shadow restricted to their Isle but a new and rare species found across the world.

Though the Overlord had not told Silver the true reason for her exile, it had meant the words it told her. The north was an almost barren place. Winter ruled much of the land for almost the entire year. Rockslides and avalanches were common, if not daily, hazards to be cautious of. And there was little food to be found in its harsh wilderness.

The Spirits and Greatwolves there were just as hard as the land was. It had shaped them into tough, adaptable warriors. The Spirits there had the most Crystals out of anywhere, and the northern nest was a high, impenetrable fortress. Tens of thousands of Shadows were killed in a siege before the Overlord pulled them back.

And if… when Silver returns after one year there, she will be stronger than ever.

The Overlord found itself feeling troubled, though. It held great trust in Silver and her skills, but something just felt wrong about leaving her alone like that.

A memory surfaced in its mind as it contemplated this feeling. A very old memory from when the Overlord discovered the Spirits after falling into this world from its own realm. It had just begun its campaign of genocide against Spirit filth. It was of a male, a father, armed with a pitchfork, cornered with two small Sprites trembling behind it.

Its nest was burning in the night, all other Spirits were dead, their battered bodies decorated the ground, and their blood stained the Overlord crimson. Yet, that Spirit would not yield, beg for mercy, or scream for help as the others of its nest did. It stood defiant, yelling at the Overlord and jabbing its improvised weapon in the air to try and intimidate it.

That ended with its chest being caved in and the two Sprites' bodies torn to pieces.

The Overlord had seen this behavior before in animals, but the discovery that Spirits possessed it, too, was somewhat surprising. They would place themselves between a threat and their offspring to protect them from harm. Putting their own lives on the line, if necessary.

Parental instinct. That's what it was.

Was this what the Overlord felt now that Silver had been left to fend for herself? Was this feeling the result of some unconscious urge to protect its heir from danger and ensure her survival?

Was it growing soft?

No… no, it wasn't. It wouldn't have left Silver in the north to fend for herself if it was. It wouldn't have allowed her to go off on her own multiple times to attack the Spirits and Greatwolves. It wouldn't have let her hunt down Trackers.

It probably wouldn't have let her even leave the Gulch.

No, the Overlord was not growing soft. It was simply concerned for its daughter's welfare, was all.

Turning its thoughts away from its long-away daughter, the Overlord began thinking over how it would quell the rumors of her existence among the Spirit masses. Time would ensure they're lost, but the Overlord felt it could not wait.

The survivors who escaped Silver's attacks were all located in the southern nest of the Isle of Britannia. They were where the rumors first sprang from, lamenting about earsplitting shrieks and demonic cackling. Killing them and anyone they told their experiences to would undoubtedly aid in smothering the whispers of the Shadow Siren.

But it'd be impossible to slip a Shadow of any size into the nest and reach them before it was discovered and killed.

The only one who could infiltrate the nest was Silver, and she wa-

… wait…

There was another who could perform this task. Someone the Dustlings would never suspect.

The Overlord grinned. Yes… it just might work…

~o0o~

Two weeks later…

"VINCE! VINCE! DON’T LEAVE ME! PLEASE HELP ME! HELP ME-AHHHHHHHHH!"

Cold sweat covering his body, Vince Lennec sprung up in his bed with a gasp, panting hard. The young albino placed a shaky hand over his face, muffling his air, gulping as his eyes threatened to shoot out of their sockets.

Eight months…

Eight months, and still, they haunted him. Blaming him. Hating him.

He was the reason they were all dead!

He tried to hold back the sobbing but relented after but a mere second, unable to hold in all the guilt he bore.

It was supposed to be an easy job. They investigate the increase of Shadow activity in the southeastern sector outside London’s one-hundred-mile defensive perimeter and report back. Piece of cake for a third-year huntsman team.

But it wasn't a piece of cake.

It started when they engaged a pack of Shadow Hounds on the outskirts of some ruins outside the city's barriers. The pack itself wasn't anything special, ten or so Shadow Hounds, nothing his team couldn't handle.

Then the last Shadow Hound turned tail and ran, something Shadows never do. His team didn't ponder on this behavior, though. They just charged after the fleeing Shadow, intent on adding it to their kill count.

They chased it for he didn't know how long and followed it into a large mud-filled clearing when it happened…

A deafening scream brought the team to their knees, clutching their ears in agony.

Ellie and Edmund were the first to go. The twins were standing in the middle of the muddy spot when the paralyzing scream sounded. Out of the muck sprung two massive heads belonging to two thirty-foot Shadow Snakes, breaching the mud like whales. They snapped up the two siblings with little issue, downing them both in a single gulp(s).

Tina was next. She had shaken herself out of her stupor just in time to watch Ellie and Edmund get devoured. Enraged by the sight of her teammates being eaten, Tina charged the Snakes with a mighty war cry.

She didn't get far, though. Out of nowhere, four bony spikes penetrated her left side, embedding themselves in her hip, shoulder, and torso. Her Energy was always considered weak and could not protect her from the attack. Tina crashed into the mud with a wet thud and a surprised scream. Vince, by now, had finally recovered from the sonic assault on his eardrums and was completely terrified by the scene before him.

His leader and friend is on the ground, bleeding out. Two massive Shadow Snakes turned their attention to the two surviving members of the team. Packs of Shadows menacingly emerge from the forest and into the clearing.

Vince couldn't take it. He ran.

He ran as fast as he could, trying to ignore Tina's cries for help as the Shadows fell upon her.

Several Shadows ignored his weakened teammate and ran right after him, hot on his heels. He could hear their snarls and grunts as if they were at his very side. Vince fired his pistol blindly at the Shadows, not bothering to aim.

Vince heard a few stumble, but he didn't look to see if he killed any of them.

He just kept running.

Then, the laughter began.

It sounded like a little girl cackling manically at his misfortune, mocking him. He couldn't zone in on it; his ears were still ringing from the scream, and the laughter seemed to come from all around.

Vince wasn't quite sure how he escaped death. He blacked out during the chase and found himself waking up in a hospital bed in London. The doctor told Vince he had been found screaming and crying just outside the city.

Vince tried to tell them what happened and how the Shadows led him and his team into a trap, but his words fell on deaf ears. He was diagnosed with PTSD, and his warnings were dismissed as trauma-influenced hallucinations brought about by the sudden loss of his team.

He was kept in the hospital for months until he was deemed safe enough to be let out into the world. By then, Vince was a completely different person. Where there once was a curious, funny young man who could be anyone's friend, there was now a timid, empty shell jumping at every shadow he saw. His survivor's guilt was always eating away at him. He never knew when he might break down in spontaneous sobbing fits.

He left London Huntsman Acadamy soon after being released from the hospital. He didn't care if people thought he was a coward for it. He was never going outside the city again.

He wasn't going to risk meeting the Siren again. Not for a trillion gold coins.

He stayed with his parents, having nowhere else to go. They didn't mind none, though. They were just happy to have their boy back, even if they didn't believe the truth about his team's demise.

Shortly after being released from the hospital, Vince heard about others who had survived the Siren's wrath. He tried to contact some of them, but most were too far gone. Little more than gibbering wrecks, even more worse off than Vince.

There was one, though, who still had a good grip on his sanity. He visited Vince multiple times during his stay in the hospital.

An old homeless man named Huckleberry.

He was a traveler who survived many, many Shadow attacks. Some thought the man was either the luckiest man alive or just unkillable. Said he heard the Siren's scream, too, just before the Shadows descended on his campsite. Said he believed the albino about the Siren controlling the Shadows.

Said he knew how frustrating it was to have no one believe him. He was found dead a few days after Vince left the hospital.

After some twenty minutes of sobbing and remembering the past, Vince stopped and forced himself out of bed. The clock said it was about 11:30 A.M., so his parents were both off at work. He took a cold shower to wash off the sweat before changing into fresh clothes.

He went downstairs and made some eggs, bacon, and toast, poured himself a bowl of cereal, and sat down for a late breakfast.

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!*

The sudden sound of someone knocking on his door jolted Vince from his seat, spilling the cereal onto the table.

"Hello?" A woman's voice called out. "Hello, is anyone home? I need to speak with a Vincent Lennec."

Vince wasn't expecting anyone, so he was on edge. His parents weren't home, so it couldn't be one of their friends.

Carefully, he walked over to the front door and slowly opened it.

When he opened the door, he was shocked to see a white-haired woman in her mid-thirties standing outside his house with a calm smile on her face. She wore mainly black clothes laced with red and white and had a large brown satchel draped over her right side. But what caught Vince's attention was the strange choker around her neck.

It looked like a spiked collar…

"Hello." The woman said, startling Vince out of his observation. "I'm Vanessa Kendrick. May I come in, please?"

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

~o0o~

"Here's your coffee, miss." The young waitress said as she laid the mug and saucer on the little café table.

"Thank you." Flinch said as she poured the cream and sugar into the coffee before stirring it.

When the black liquid changed to a suitable brown color, she brought it up to her lips and took a small sip. The coffee was still scalding hot, but Flinch couldn't care less. To taste something other than wild berries and raw meat was divine.

Flinch knew she would leave London briefly, so she was determined to enjoy as much of it as possible. She had bought several pairs of shoes that went fabulously with her new dress and a few pairs of black stockings. Some more… private garments were also purchased, but that was neither here nor there.

A small but cozy apartment served as her temporary dwelling. Flinch had forgotten the bliss and comfort of sleeping on a real bed instead of uncured animal furs on top of rocks. And after eating like an animal for over a year, the taste of cooked food brought tears of joy to the slave's eyes.

But Master had not given her this leave for her enjoyment. He had tasked Flinch with a critical mission. A mission that only she could accomplish…

~o0o~

Two weeks ago…

The caves were quiet with Master gone. The Shadows that dwelled within the spacious catacombs had departed to the surface soon after Master had left with Mistress on the giant Thunderbird. Those that remained were only a few of the armored Shadows and that damned Tombstalker.

Flinch hated that thing. She was always worried it would bite her when her Master or Mistress wasn't around. They were the only ones capable of controlling the Shadows, and without them here, it was only a matter of time before that little monster decided it wanted to do more than just bite Flinch.

Flinch's only safety from the Centipede Shadow was her Shadow Hound escort. It never left her side, ensuring she did as she was told and that the lesser Shadows knew to keep their distance. It was her warden as much as her protector, and she was perfectly fine with that.

So long as it kept the Tombstalker away.

Flinch was occupying herself with counting and recounting their supply of Elemental Stones. She could only do it when her master and mistress were away, as she was forbidden from leaving the caves when neither was in the canyon. It was an unbelievably dull chore, but it was better than simply pacing back and forth until they returned.

Flinch had just finished counting the wind Stones for the 4,134th time when the distinct sound of heavy footsteps made her and the Shadow Hound turn to see their master marching toward them.

Flinch bowed her head fearfully as he strode up to them. "Master," She began, "Was your journey ple-"

Flinch's greeting was abruptly silenced when her master clutched her entire face in his mighty fist.

"Huh?"

It was all she could utter before a wave of unfamiliar faces assaulted her mind. The images of thirteen people flooded into her psyche with such brutal force that Flinch's head felt like it would split open.

Then, with as much suddenness as he had performed the strange and painful act, her master removed his hand and let the slave crumble to the ground. Flinch groaned as she clutched her throbbing head, trying to relieve the pain.

What just happened? Why did those faces appear in her mind? Did Master do it? How did he? The questions only served to intensify Flinch's pounding headache.

"Find… them…" Her master's growling voice commanded, seizing Flinch's attention. "Kill… them…"

Flinch didn't understand. Kill them? Who? The ones who wore those faces? Why must they die, and why by her hand?

"M-Master… I-I don't understand." Stuttered Flinch, afraid stating her confusion might anger her inhuman lord. "W-why must I kill them?"

He growled briefly, making Flinch flinch. "Hidden… in… nest…. Out… of… my… reach…" He hissed, irritated. "But… not… yours…"

Did… Did he mean that they were in the nations? Did he want her to go to the nations and kill them?! Flinch couldn't do that! The nations were massive, and searching for them would be like finding a couple of needles in six massive haystacks. It could take her months, maybe years, to find them all! And even if she did find them, how could she kill them without being noticed or found out?

Besides, how could Mistress continue her lessons without-

Wait… where was Mistress?

Flinch looked both left and right but could not see her young mistress. Was she still on the surface?

"M-Master." Flinch began. "Where is Mistress?"

He looked down at her, his burning eyes boring into her soul.

"Northern… lands… across… the… sea…"

Flinch was speechless. Why was Mistress up in Scandinavia? Was she being punished for something? Was it some test thought up by her master? What was the reasoning for it?

Before Flinch could ponder this turn of events, she felt herself being hoisted onto her feet by the armored Hound. It looked towards Master for a second before bolting off, leaving Flinch alone with her captor.

Flinch's anxiety was growing with each passing second. Why did Master dismiss the Armored Hound? Was its presence no longer needed? Flinch's pupils shrunk. Was he going to have the Tombstalker bite her again? Oh, please don’t let it be the Tombstalker! Anything but tha-

*RIIP!*

"EEHH!?" Flinch shrieked when she felt the filthy rags covering her body ripped off with a single swipe from her master's gauntlet, leaving the slave wearing only the spiked collar around her neck.

Flinch's face flushed with embarrassment as she tried to cover her chest and privates with her hands. But Master forced them off her body, exposing her pale naked form. She tried to resist, but the annoyed growling of her master motivated Flinch to cease her struggle.

He made her hold her arms out to the sides and spread her legs open. Flinch was beyond terrified now. Her master had never shown this kind of interest in her before. She closed her eyes as tears of fear, shame, and embarrassment trailed down her cheeks and waited for the inevitable violation.

Flinch tensed when she felt a single, clawed finger rest on her waist. The cold digit traced around her midriff slowly, giving the slave goosebumps.

Then… he removed his finger from her waist and placed it on her left arm. Confused, Flinch cracked one eye open to see Master was now skimming the digit over her outstretched arm as slowly as he had done with her waist.

It took Flinch a few seconds to realize what her master was doing, leaving her at a complete loss.

He was taking her measurements.

Perplexed but relieved, Flinch relaxed herself slightly, knowing her master had not been intending to do… that to her. She stood there for several more minutes as her master traced his finger over her body, measuring every inch of it.

When he finished, Flinch quickly covered herself with her arms again, but Master was no longer paying attention to her.

He stared at his gauntlet, palm facing upwards and fingers poised as if clutching something. At first, it looked as If nothing was happening, but in moments, Flinch saw something frothing up from her master's hand. What happened next made Flinch's jaw drop. He grabbed the bubbling substance with his other hand and pulled it out of his palm, stretching it like a long wad of gum.

Next, he closed his fist around the base of the material, severing it from his hand. It swung for a while before hanging limply in his off-hand, dangling like a freshly caught fish.

Gray smoke poured off its stretched-out body, and a dark red liquid dripped from it like a soaked towel.

Master grabbed both ends of the… the thing and wrung it out before stretching it even more. He used his mighty strength to widen and lengthen it until it looked like a giant blanket with barely visible red accents.

He poked a hole in the blanket with his finger, which he widened further until it was large enough to pass a melon through the aperture without hindrance.

Flinch watched as Master worked on the blanket, stretching and cutting it with his bare hands. He pinched the edges delicately with the tips of his gauntlet and yanked out two lengths to the left and right of the hole, which he also cut open at the ends.

Her master surprised Flinch again when he draped the strange article over her. Her head slipped right through the hole in the middle, and her arms fit right through the two lengths at the sides, leaving the rest of her body concealed by the dark article. And despite looking like it was some kind of slimy putty, it felt like soft fabric. Silk, to be precise.

Flinch watched as Master continued to work on the silk-feeling tarp covering her body. He adjusted it where it wasn’t too big or too small, laced elaborated patterns into it, trimmed off parts he did not like, and so on. As he worked, the very look of the tarp changed. With each pull and pinch, he made it more and more cloth-like in appearance.

Flinch was speechless when she finally understood her master's actions…

He was making her a dress.

Flinch had been wearing nothing but the clothes she was captured in ever since she had been taken. They were rotten and torn, more akin to tattered old rags than articles of clothing. Her socks and shoes suffered worse, having eroded from age and use, leaving the slave barefooted for much of her stay here.

Master truly was serious about her traveling to the nations, it seemed. Flinch was amazed by his perceptiveness. Somehow, he knew that a woman clad in filthy rags would be more suspicious and garner more attention than a woman dressed in expressive garments. Individual expression was one of the pinnacles of mankind's artistic culture. After all, she'd blend in by standing out.

When Master was finally done, he stepped back and stroked his chin thoughtfully as he scrutinized his work. Flinch felt like she was royalty in the dress. It fit her body perfectly. It wasn't restrictive at all, but neither did it feel loose. It was incredibly soft, too. She'd have thought she was covered in kittens if she didn't know any better. Unable to help herself, Flinch did a little twirl. She smiled as the long skirt rose and spun with her body, becoming a white-trimmed black saucer.

A strange, growling hum made Flinch look to see her master narrow his eyes at her, displeased with something. He stepped forward and raised his right hand to her chest, where he traced his index finger across the surface of the dress. Flinch felt the burning heat of her blushing face as her master continued to etch some strange symbol upon the fabric just above her right breast.

After a minute or so, he retracted his hand again and inspected the dress. This time, with an approving clicking noise emitting from his mouth.

Flinch looked down to see that he had drawn what looked like a horned skull onto her dress. The skull was dyed blood red, and dagger-like teeth filled its open maw. It was so masterfully detailed and life-like that it looked ready to jump off the fabric and rip the throat out of anyone foolish enough to approach it.

During her inspection of the skull, the armored Shadow Hound returned, holding something in its claws. Flinch was surprised to see a brown leather satchel in its grasp. It presented it to Master with a bowed head, who took it from the offered claw and opened it.

Flinch studied the pack in her master's hands. It looked familiar to her, but she couldn't place why. Her attention was torn from the satchel to her master when she saw him dropping something into the bag. He did this again, and Flinch saw that he was dropping tiny harvestmen, scorpion-like Shadows in the bag!

They were materializing right out of his hand, like the material he used for the dress, except the Harvestmen came forth from black vapor instead of tarry bubbles. Each one was made within about thirty seconds, the vapor twisting and shifting into the bodies of the malevolent scorpions.

Tombstalkers and harvestmen were extremely similar creatures. They were both rare and powerful Shadows, protected by hard exoskeletons and armed with pincers strong enough to snap a car in half. They were also extremely venomous when small.

Unlike Tombstalkers, who lose their poisonous bite when they are large enough to coil around an armored truck, harvestmen kept their venomous sting long after they reached full size, albeit not as potent, but still lethal. But just like normal scorpions, harvestmen venom is more potent the smaller its owner is.

The harvestmen her master was dropping into the satchel were about baseball-sized. They could kill a man in minutes with just one prick of their golden stingers.

Her master placed about twenty harvestmen in the bag before he was satisfied and closed the main compartment's flap. He then walked over to the small crate where they kept the looted fire Elemental Stones/Crystals and took from it several Crystals. These were placed in one of the secondary pouches on the satchel.

With that done, Flinch's master held out the bag for her to take. She was tentative to do so, as the bag was filled with deadly harvestmen ready to sting anything they warned. However, her fear of her master's wrath outweighed her fear of the Shadows in the satchel, and she took it.

Once in her hands, Flinch noticed something embroidered on the satchel. A picture of a flower encased in flame, and below it were letters, five words. It had been a long time since Flinch had read anything, but she still retained her ability to decipher words.

They read…

Property of Vanessa Hvit Kendrick

Vanessa Hvit Kendrick… Vanessa Hvit Kendrick… Vanessa… Hvit… Kendrick.

It was a name, obviously, and for one reason or another, it felt eerily familiar to Flinch. Perhaps she knew someone named Vanessa Hvit Kendrick before her capture. It didn’t matter, though. The person was probably dead now, anyway.

"Use… against… them…" Master commanded, spooking Flinch from her thoughts. "Will... not... hurt… you…." He pointed at the skull on her chest. "My… Mark… pro… tects… you… Re…turn… when… done… or… face… con…se…quences…"

Flinch bowed her head instinctively at his orders before she spoke the words she had uttered more out of any during her servitude.

"Yes, my master. I live to serve."

~o0o~

Present…

Flinch found herself smiling as she recalled how easy it turned out to track down the ones her master desired dead, in contrast to her original assumptions.

Shortly after being dropped off by her master just a day's walk from London's defense zone, a fifty-mile perimeter surrounding the nation's capital where the Dustlings living there had access to modern technology. A team of first-year LHA students and a Huntsman found Flinch. She told them she survived a Shadow attack that wiped out her entire village. They believed her and offered to escort her back to the city's safety.

Interestingly enough, during this journey, one of the students asked Flinch if the Siren had attacked her village. Flinch asked what the Siren was, and the student unwittingly explained the reason behind Flinch's mission to her.

For over a year, people had been found on the outskirts of London raving about a Shadow whose screams heralded the destruction of entire towns. The few who survived were usually insane by the time kingdom security patrols found them, and most didn't recover from the trauma.

The Huntsman chided the student for spreading rumors about fictional Shadows. As far as he was concerned, the survivors were just hallucinating.

Oh, how wrong he was…

Flinch was very aware of her pupil's partialness to terrorizing others, having been victim to this affinity herself for a short while, and quickly came to understand the true goal of her mission.

Disposing of witnesses.

That night, after they had stopped to make camp, Flinch let loose the tiny Harvestmen in her bag. They stared up at Flinch with angry clicks, but just as her master stated, when they spotted the skull on her dress, they immediately ceased acting threateningly towards her and turned their sights on the sleeping forms of her "rescuers."

They did not wake when morning came.

The harvestmen scurried back into the bag soon after dispatching Flinch's would-be escorts. She looted their bodies for money and Stones, storing them in the empty pockets of her dress and the vacant pouches of her satchel. Flinch also found a plain but effective-looking dagger on the student's belt who had asked her about the siren. Flint decided the dead girl had no use for it now and took it for herself, strapping its sheath and the belt holding it to her waist.

Sadly, none wore shoes her size, so she was forced to continue barefoot.

But she did take something that proved immensely helpful. One of their notebooks. Flinch took it and looked for "Siren attack survivors."

In under a minute, Flinch had a list of names and locations. This training Huntress must have noted every little detail she could find about the survivors. Must have been a conspiracist.

Of course, this also meant enough time had passed for the rumor of her mistress's existence to reach the masses, making it impossible to erase.

Thankfully, there was close to nothing about the "Siren" herself, as many of the survivors were too traumatized to recall anything except for shrill screaming and mocking laughter. There was only speculation and theory about what the Siren truly was, and Flinch would need to work fast to ensure it stayed that way.

And work fast she did. Within three days, Flinch had already killed three of the survivors. Now, she had around half of them dead, the latest being that albino boy.

However, She could not plant a Havestman within his home as she had done with the others and was forced to resort to more… direct methods.

The struggle was fierce. A table was overturned, dozens of dishes were shattered, and an antique clock was smashed, but Flinch eventually overpowered the younger boy and stabbed him in the chest with her previously looted knife.

The fight resulted in her dress being thoroughly stained with blood, which panicked the murderer. She franticly searched the house for some soap to wash the blood from her gown, but when she finally did, she was amazed to see the blood slowly recede into the fabric and varnish.

Undoubtedly, it is a quality bestowed upon the garment by Master.

With the albino boy dead on the floor and her dress free of evidence, Flinch searched the house for anything she could use. She found a couple of hundred dollars, some Elemental Stone power assorted in vials, and a few miscellaneous items she'd have used for back in the Gulch. She placed them all in the satchel, careful not to squash the harvestmen.

Loot in the bag and the target dead, Flinch left the house behind her.

Along with an active fire Stone.

She was about two blocks away when she heard the explosion. People were running around in panic, screaming about terrorists and bombs. None paid attention to the pale, white-haired woman dressed in black walking away.

And now, she was sitting down at a café, drinking a delicious cup of coffee paid for with the money she had taken from the boy's home, now nothing but a pile of ash.

Flinch often burned down the houses of the witnesses who were out of the hospitals or asylums. It destroyed any evidence that might expose her mission to the authorities, and the flashy explosion made everyone assume it was the Independent Fist’s doing since most of the targets were not albinos.

It was after Flinch ignited the home of her third victim that she started to wonder. Should she feel some form of regret or guilt for her actions? They were people like her, yet felt no remorse for the lives she took in the name of her master and mistress, nor shame for taking things from their homes or persons when they died.

But Flinch soon realized they weren't like her, not at all.

They were free. Free and completely ungrateful. They did not cherish their freedom. They squandered it, abused it. To see these people who did not know what it was like to survive on scraps complain about not getting the right toppings on their hot dogs made her seethe with rage and purpose.

They were pigs, fat and lazy.

And they deserved to be slaughtered like pigs.

Even that man she vaguely remembers from time to time going by Joey was no different. He would drown himself in his flask's smooth, powerful liquid whenever he could. He was a slave to the drink, but not in a way she was to master and mistress. He was a willing slave. She wasn't.

Flinch doubted Master would mind if she added a few more marks to her tally. It wasn't like he'd be upset, right? The harvestmen certainly didn't mind it, especially when she’d drop bits of flesh into the satchel for them to nibble on, which she admitted was rather cute to watch.

"Excuse me?" A man's voice said, jarring Flinch from her thoughts as she turned to look at him. "Would you mind if I took a seat?" He gestured to the chair opposite her own.

"Go ahead." Flinch offered with a fake smile.

"Thank you." He said, sitting down across from her. He looked at the same waitress who had brought Flinch her coffee. "A cup of black coffee, please."

She nods politely and walks off to get his order. The man then turns to face Flinch, his eyes half obscured by the glasses over them and a patient smile gracing his lips. “This is one of my favorite cafés." He says. "They have some of the best coffee and tea in London, wouldn't you agree?"

Flinch nods. "It is delicious." She agrees.

They sit in silence after that. Flinch, taking fast sips of her coffee to pay and leave. While the man sat patiently, idly waiting for a cup of his own. She briefly entertained the thought of adding him to her tally. After all, he had interrupted her coffee time, forcing the slave to finish her beverage quickly instead of enjoying it slowly as she had been before his arrival.

Not to mention, that arrogant look on his face made her want to claw his eyes out.

After several awkward minutes, the waitress returned with his order. "Here you go, sir." She placed it on the table and left with another polite nod.

Flinch was happy to see her mug was empty and stood up to leave. She grabbed her satchel off her chair and reached in for several dollar bills, which she placed next to the empty mug.

With the fee on the table, Flinch quickly turned and left.

"Have a pleasant day, Ms. Kendrick." The man said.

Flinch stopped.

“H-how did he...!?” She thought, her eyes wide from the surprise farewell.

She used the name on the bag as a cover during her stay in London. The name was unique but needed to stand out, making it a good cover identity.

Flinch suddenly was afraid. Was he aware of her involvement in the murders? Maybe he knew the woman named Vanessa Kendrick and thought Flinch had killed her, too. Her blood ran cold. What if he was a Huntsman assigned to investigate the murders?

Not wanting to risk exposure, Flinch tried her best to walk away from the café calmly. She made a beeline for her apartment when she felt out of view. She would need to lay low for a few days. At least until she felt it was safe enough to continue her mission.

He frowned as Vanessa Kendrick tensed before she resumed walking away from him. The long-lost wife of his right-hand man, Joey Kendrick.

He had wanted to ask what had happened to her over a year ago. During an escort job, the Huntress was last seen a few miles past London's defense barrier. After that, she just vanished. Nobody, no blood, not even a drag trail.

It made him wonder what she was doing here in London, drinking coffee at a café and wearing one of the most expensive-looking dresses he'd ever seen.

He would have asked her, but she left before he could converse with her.

King Arthur raised the mug of black caffeine up to his mouth and took a sip as his thoughts drifted to the black gown she wore.

Specifically, the red-horned skull embroidered on it.