Arnold’s face soured, nose twitching in anger and mouth turning into a scowl. He cursed under his breath and turned to face the front door as the banging continued.

“I’m guessing these are your friends?” Arnold said.

The large, pale man just smiled.

“The Night Hunt, right on bloody cue,” Arnold grumbled. “Minerva.” He held out a hand.

“Already on it, hun,” the rosy-cheeked woman replied, a frown marring her kindly features. She moved around the side of the counter, a heavy double-bladed ax in her grip, and placed it in Arnold’s outstretched hand.

Nathan wasn’t sure exactly what to do, but if it came down to it, he’d back Arnold. His eyes narrowed toward the ghost of a man sitting at his table, idly picking at a tooth with his forefinger. Cleo was nowhere to be seen.

Arnold cautiously approached the door. He slid a heavy chain into place that would keep the door from opening fully, then cracked it open. “Closed for business. Come back tomorrow,” he said.

Arnold moved to close the door, but a dark boot wedged its way inside before he could. Nathan couldn’t see the speaker, but he instantly hated him. His voice was lathered in false politeness, like someone from human resources telling you how great a job you’re doing right before they fire you. “Come now, Arnold. You know that ain’t no way to speak to us. We’re friends. Now open up the door and we can talk. As friends.”

The pale man loudly drummed his fingers atop the table, hollow sounds echoing in the tense air.

Arnold tapped his ax on the back of the door with a hollow thunk. A clear and understandable threat – piss off before you make me use this. “I told you, Raff, we’re closed. I’ve paid my money.”

“This is no way to talk to a friend, Arnold. Now open up the door before Mejah in there opens it for you.” The large ghost pounded his fist on the table. That must be Mejah.

“Are your ears full of wax, Raff? Or is your skull just as thick as a plank of wood? I said no. If you’ve got issues with that, take it up with Fallon.” Arnold spoke confidently, but his knuckles were white as he gripped the handle of his ax. “And take your friend with you.”

Nathan could practically hear the sneer through the next words. The man on the other side of the door – Raff – spoke slowly, as if to a child. “I already spoke with Fallon, Arnold. He sent me here. The payments gone up. Your boy’s a liability… a risk. Gotta pay more to shore up risks, you know. Just pay the sum and we can forget about what happened.” Raff paused.

The seconds ground by. Nathan expected the door to crash open at any moment. Arnold’s eyes were cold and hard as he stared at the people on the other side of the door. His hand clenched around the shaft of his weapon – the knuckles going so white Nathan could have sworn they were translucent – but he made no move to swing it.

“Open the door, Arnold,” Raff said.

Arnold begrudgingly reached up and undid the metal chain holding the door closed. It swung open to reveal five cloaked figures. Their dark black wrapping flapped in the wind, illuminated by the starlight outside. The one in front – likely Raff – had a dirty, scarred face and carried a well-worn blade at his side.

“How much?” Arnold spat, face to face with Raff.

“Fifty,” Raff replied, his face twitching as he smiled. His eyes glanced toward Nathan, looking him up and down, but otherwise not seeming to care about his presence.

“Fifty? That’s ten more than last time. That’s too much, tell Fallon to lower it.”

“No, Arnold. Not ten more,” Raff said. He sounded like he was relishing these next few words. Nathan saw the tavern owner’s face drop. “Fifty more. Ninety total.”

“Bullshit,” Arnold growled. “Tell Fallon to come down here and tell me himself. I’m not going to get cheated by your lies.”

Mejah loudly thumped to his feet, pushing his chair back so hard that it pitched over and clattered loudly onto its back. The pale brute cracked his knuckles and rolled his jaw.

It took physical effort for Nathan to restrain himself from letting the magic pool back into his hands. Arnold had said most would take that as a threat, which meant these thugs would gladly take it as an invitation to make things violent. His Veil supposedly worked, but he figured now was not the time to test its limits.

Raff reached into his cloak and Arnold tensed – Nathan half expected the man to pull out a pistol – but he only brought out a coiled up piece of parchment that he handed over. The older tavern owner took it and unfurled it, lips mouthing the words in a snarl as he read.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“You’re mad,” Arnold said upon finishing reading. He thrust the crumpled paper back into Raff’s hands.

“Quite,” Raff said. “Now either pay the difference you owe, or bring down the boy and he can be your payment.” One of the thugs behind Raff slapped his weapon into his hand menacingly.

“Or what?” Arnold said, hoisting his own weapon up into his grip. It was at this point that Nathan realized Arnold’s knuckles had done more than grow white. They really had become translucent. As had the rest of his hand, and his forearm, and the head of his ax. It was all a drowned, ghostly shade of white, like they were made of foggy glass.

Nathan finally let his own magic bloom within his palm, the ghostly flame appearing. He had never been one to stick his neck out for others, but Arnold was currently his best shot at finding out anything of value about this new world. And damn it, he liked the man.

All five figures strode into the tavern as Arnold backed away, not taking his eyes off of them. Minerva was far back, behind the bar counter, her face that of a stony gargoyle, etched in mighty anger.

“Or,” Raff said, lazily waving a hand around, one lip curled in tired disgust, “we sack the place, find the boy, and drag him back to Fallon with a pair of freshly broken legs.” He unsheathed his blade. “Your choice.”

Mejah loomed in the center of the room, his face twisted in a sickly, excited grin. It looked like the man had fangs. That, or he’d filed several of his teeth to points. A shudder ran down Nathan’s spine.

The tension hung taut in the room like a wire waiting to be cut. Nathan had fallen into a comfortable fighting stance, weight low, ready to move, and his eyes scanned the shadows for Cleo, but he couldn’t find her.

Damn it, did she run? Wouldn’t put it past the hag, she never did like a fair fight. But she should know better. If I die, I’m pulling her with me.

For a too-long moment, nobody moved, afraid that even the slightest breath would ignite the tinder pile of this conflict. Nathan’s skin prickled with anticipation. Then he heard a familiar, soft twang.

You slimy bastard, he thought smiling. His mouth split into a bloodthirsty snarl, despite his best efforts to keep it contained. At least you didn’t run.

A wooden bolt sprouted from the front of Mejah’s chest, its metal tip glinting with dark red blood. The white brute weakly slapped a hand to his heart, fingers wrapping around the shaft as his eyes grew wide. And then he crashed to the ground, dead.

The wire had been cut, and the conflict exploded in a blazing inferno. Raff roared with fury. “Take Arnold and the boy alive!” he cried. “Kill the rest!”

A bolt tore through the air from within the folds of one of the thug’s cloaks. It was aimed straight for Nathan. He still wasn’t fully healed from Cleo shooting him point blank in the chest and the idea of taking another bolt didn’t fill him with warm fuzzy feelings.

He spun, twisting out of the way. The bolt sailed past him, embedding itself over an inch into the countertop.

“You better bloody pay for that!” Minerva screamed from behind the bar as Arnold was busy engaging with Raff.

The tavern owner was colorless.

His skin, clothing, hair, and ax was drained to a drowned, ghostly hue. It was as if Nathan was looking at him through murky water. Even his once vibrant irises had turned milky, blending with the whites so they looked like pearls set into his head.

Raff slashed his blade down toward Arnold. The man moved to block, but shifted at the last moment as Raff’s blade passed through the axhead, then through Arnold himself.

Nathan yelled, not believing what he saw. Arnold was–

Very much alive. Raff’s blade had passed harmlessly through the man, as if he weren’t even there.

What the hell is his class? It’s like he’s a ghost.

Nathan didn’t have time to think about it, the thug was reloading his crossbow and another one was dashing toward him with a drawn blade. He ducked under the first strike, sending a green-flame wreathed fist into the gut of the man. The fire singed the thug’s side and Nathan felt the familiar surge of strength, as if his strikes were draining strength from his target and sending it to him.

The man doubled over, gasping for a moment, but quickly regaining his composure. These people may be from the same guild, but they are much more than the second rate thugs that the man in the alley was.

Near the door, Cleo fought viciously against two men. She was dodging backward, weaving in and out of strikes, never being hit, but always forced to shift her body before she could fight back.

Raff was viciously beating Arnold back. Despite Arnold’s ability, he was barely able to hold his own. It seemed that with every strike that passed through him, his strength was sapped. His movements grew slower and slower by the second, like his ax was growing heavier and heavier.

But Nathan couldn’t do anything to help, he had his own two men to deal with. Two versus one, quite the unfair fight for his opponents.

The nearest one jabbed once more with his blade, but the strike met only air. Nathan raised his hand, flame alighting upon them in their ghostly shade of green. But this time, he noticed something more. Something he’d seen and heard before, but this time… different.

As the flames flickered in his palm, he heard voices calling to him. From within his head, they echoed. Asking, pleading, desiring to be let out. A face flickered in the tongues of fire before shifting to another, and then back. Everchanging.

He’d heard the voices before. They sought purpose, direction. To any other killer, the voices would have been dismissed as the haunting curses of those they’d killed, damning them from hell. But Nathan was no longer just another killer – he was going to be more. He wanted to be.

The flames grew higher, hotter. They were asking to be let out, given one last chance to affect the flow of their life’s river and alter their destination. It was his duty to grant them that mercy.

With a clench of his fist, quenching the flames within, he heeded their call.

A howl ripped through the air as the form of the first man Nathan had killed in this world tore itself from the flames. The brute of a man, his body formed of rippling, emerald fire, charged forward, and slammed its fist into the thug’s face.