The Rogue, Russ, had remained behind to quietly congratulate me on not drowning and to return Honey. He also reassured me that Kork’s entourage had been warned about seeking repercussions.

Before disappearing, he’d promised to meet up again at the tavern when he could sneak away from them. Now, after several days of recovering in the stable hay, I am still gritting my teeth in pain as I travel to White Chapel.

A district in Undercity that the normal folk try to avoid due to the thriving gangs and illicit activities. Whatever happens Topside or when Harper calls will require my full strength, which means I need more spirit.

I could have done with a whole week in bed, but Honey is severely suffering from the curse. Her head is lopsided from the weight of the coral, her eyes stressed from the excessive stimulating itch.

I’d even hotboxed one of Folkston’s wagons with ebony smoke to help relieve some of its effects. The old merchant had been more than happy to oblige since hearing of my tale. He apologised profusely, not realising that Portland had been so highly regarded and assumed the gambling addict would be easy to find at the bookies or in the stalls.

The man’s always been good to me, however upon my return to the tavern I’d discovered the merchant talking with another in the stables. They seemed to be discussing Cane with interest and were a little surprised at my sudden return.

“Not every day you see a Hippo from the Daemon wetlands.” Folkston had said. Only wishing to show off my exotic companion.

Paranoia whispers as I push into an even grottier part of the city, the scene playing over in my head. I wish I could take Cane with me. His girthy stature was always a comfort in the wilds, unfortunately, now it’s a hindrance.

Folkston’s always been good to me while I was useful, now I am living in his stables. My flock offers a business opportunity to the right buyer, and my brand is now worth a hundred gold pieces. I tear the wanted poster off the rusty lamp post, inspecting it under my hooded cloak.

The Brotherhood of Disorder symbol lies in the middle of the paper with black trees in the corners. ‘Wanted: Any information leading to the man bearing this mark will be rewarded with 100 gold pieces and a place in the Blackroots’.

Quickly stuffing it away, I glance down the grimy street. It reeks of filth, litter blows in the warm winds and plastered every few metres is another poster. I watch the pedestrians around me, none notice the offers of money.

They’re all lost in their daily struggles, few are happily smirking and laughing as drugs mask the misery. Who can blame their escape when you live in the gutters? Plus it distracts them from noticing me.

A large street sign dangles from the paved ceiling above, ‘White Chapel’ painted in off-white. Considering the district’s poor reputation, I am surprised by the sheer volume of people. They spill out of alleyways where people dance around small braziers and toss stones for coin. Brothels and drug dens make up every other business.

Alcohol hangs in the air as bottles of swill are passed from hand to hand. I notice odd couples and individuals, some are children with the sour expressions of a lost childhood.

They stand vigilante, on street corners and near doorways. Apart from their watchful eyes, a simple white cloth on their persons identifies them as a group. A black Cheshire cat smile is painted across it, a few individuals have it tattooed on their chins and necks.

The Smiler gang. Hadn’t those nighttime raiders on the road had a similar tattoo? I tried to remember but it had been hard to see in the moonlight. Only the grim girl I’d let live is cemented in my memory.

A woman in a fur cloak and little underneath calls from the verandah. “Why so serious young man? Want a shag to distract ya?”

The Smilers sitting on the balcony watch like prison wardens. I ignore them and head for a quiet side street.

“Ugly prick, couldn’t afford me anyway!” She shouts as I disappear.

A few streets back the activity dies down. A few stumbling bodies lean on the walls or have made beds in doorways.

The curse intensifies with each weak peasant I see, it would be a true escape from their hardship, I tell myself. But a small part of me from my past wants justification. What separates me from the Blackroots or Hunters who just take everything for themselves?

They claim it’s their jobs, for their children, how they survive. Who am I to walk down a street of people suffering and execute my judgement? I move on, knowing there will be more.

From a dark archway, I hear a hacking cough and a clink of metal. I peer in as two men rummage through the remains of a dead old woman. What little possessions she had are quickly taken before they turn to flee.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Not before Riptail takes a bite, severing one's head in half. The saw-like edge of the sword chews through the man's face. I tear it free as his body slumps to the ground. The other is out into the street, sprinting for all his worth when the tip of my sword knicks his achilles.

Snapping it in a cry as I recoil my blade back into a normal sword. He crawls a few metres, desperately trying to escape, turning and begging for mercy at the last leaf fall.

“What mercy did that woman receive?” I ask before ending him.

Steward / Swindler Spirit collected

Guardian / Hunger Spirit collected

I leave the bloody mess behind as I find an abandoned warehouse. Killing them with my Searing Blade would have been cleaner, however, my performance at the Zoo may help anyone investigating these hunts to connect the dots.

Simple metal is the choice of many in Undercity. I wipe the bronze edged vertebrae on a rag, well not that simple, but gruesome wounds won’t full back on the nobody shepherd who cheated the Defier.

Honey’s glow is non-existent as I remove her from within my cloak. Quickly pushing the spirit into her body, the majority of the coral disintegrates but leaves a few barnacles across her slimy skin.

“Don’t worry my girl. I’m not done yet.”

Her brilliant light blooms in response, warming the decrepit room and my heart.

Back on the street, a dainty woman stands under a street light talking with two kids. She slaps one across the face and snatches a few coins from him. She then hands them a few small bags and barks at them before they scurry away.

I watch from around under a dying tree. Patterns of insufferable human nature fit this world, the crime, the excessive abuses. But not a skinny woman openly brandishing so much wealth. An attractive opportunity for a petty criminal, and probably suicide.

I notice the curtains shift and the glow of ebonys burning on the third floor of the building behind her. Far too many guards sit in that room and the graffiti of a large smile tells me exactly who’s inside.

Two bodies drop from an adjoining balcony and set off along the children’s path, I let them get ahead before following. I give chase with as much guile as Toomas taught me. Down a long winding alley, the two smilers hide behind bins, silent and still. The children are at a dead end, nervously looking around before disappearing down a narrow gutter.

Their pursuers attempt to squeeze themselves in but quickly give up, choosing to break into a neighbouring basement door instead. Close on their heels, I lift the chains to see the metal had been melted. These gangsters are packing abilities meaning a straight fight may go sideways on me. Between the dangling chains, I notice a small symbol drawn in the corner with chalk, a four winged Volt in flight.

A crash through the basement doors draws me in. Inside I discover the remains of an abandoned brewery. Between huge casks and industrial machinery are an army of beer bottles, they threaten to clang and shatter as I step through. A pathway through the formation is tight and child size. I hear more glass shatter and a hissing of whispered swear words. Clambering upon a shelving unit, used to store the barrels, I climb until I find an empty shelf and crawl along until I’m just above them.

“... a bottomless bucket has more worth than you.” A female voice snaps, failing to also stay quiet.

“My new jacket keeps catching them. Who sets up all these rutting bottles anyway?”

“The bloody kids you moron. They don’t want to be found…especially by us.”

They slowly slink through the path, taking their time in the silence.

“A large funnel.” The idiotic man suddenly states.

“Eh?”

“A bottomless bucket would make a good funnel.” He repeats.

She smacks him across the head. Eliciting a greater cry of pain than her frame should be able to muster.

“I’ll be funnelling your rotting balls through a keyhole after this. We’ve been sent to find out how these little turds are selling so much powder and to who. You know what happens if we screw this up?”

He uses his index fingers to push his face into a broad smile.

“Exactly, so if I have to start pulling baby teeth, I will.” She sets off again.

“Good thing I brought my lucky pliers then.” He giggles.

I try to crawl further but the shelf has rotted away and collapsed. I slither up to the next row but the barrels block my route. The couple are moving slowly but they’ll soon get away at this rate. Can’t have them torturing children, that’s Nazi level evil.

“Did you hear that?” She hisses.

A loud crash and the shattering of a thousand bottles follow as the barrel lands on them. I send another over to crumple the man. They gasp and struggle to collect themselves as I drop down. Shanking the woman in the chest as her hands began to glow.

Balance / Sadist Spirit collected

“You’re a dead man!” He yells as pushes himself free. “No one messes with the smilers.”

He pulls a fat cleaver, its sharp edge barely visible in the darkness. I snap Riptail out, remembering the moves Alec taught me to overwhelm an opponent. He deftly blocks and parries with the knife, his skill far surpassing mine.

The fallen bottles threaten to trip both of us as we step around each other, looking for an opening. With a dramatic overhead chop, I bring my sword down with one hand. Closing my eyes and briefly removing Honey from under my cloak.

The blinding light catches the man off guard, as does my last moment change in direction. Chopping at his knees to ruin him in one move. His screams of agony fade as I saw through his throat.

Symmetrical / Expanding Spirit collected

“Good job my girl.” I pat Honey's head and tuck her away.

The scrape of metal on metal causes me to look up. I see the barrel just as it smashes my face.