"How much are we talking?".

"Huh?".

Roman had almost made it to the exit when he heard the question. The tavern was mostly empty now, with doors wide open and a few windows ripped off their hinges in the people's haste to get out. But what made him look back wasn't the nature of the question, but the voice. So calm, almost delighted.

Behind him, way into the tavern, Victor had managed to get up just as the mace went down again. He'd just barely made it out of the way before the mercenary had swung once more. Roman knew Victor well. Almost too well, to his liking. The boy was squeamish and pompous, but he had the resilience of a pest.

It made sense, of course. He was set to become a scholar if he ever managed to get over his massive ego. Scholars and sorcerers were remarkably hard to kill. The way history had painted them, the ether - the very lifeforce of the world - kept them alive. Fed their flesh when no food was available, soothed their minds against the dark, and moved their limbs when fear struck them frozen in place.

Mother Nature's own hands cradling her favorite children.

The mercenary attacked again, and Victor didn't roll out of the way fast enough. He cried out in pain as the mace scrapped by his thigh, not enough to break, but enough to hurt.

The girl was hiding... No, that wasn't hiding. She was barely covered by the half-door that gave access to behind the counter, elbows propped up on that very door, watching that sorry excuse for a fight with an enthralled look in her eyes.

"Fifty tiles," said Roman.

Her eyes left the form of Victor running around for only a second, enough to stare at Roman. "Lunar?".

Roman shook his head. "Solar".

Her mouth opened, jaw hanging low. She immediately turned her head back to where Roman's previous boss was rolling around, trying to duck under a table, and whistled so loudly Roman thought she'd shatter the glass flutes hanging from the top shelf of the bar.

"Hey! D'ya want help?!".

Victor didn't have time to answer, but the desperate look he sent in their direction was very telling. Roman watched, almost unbelieving, as the girl jumped over the half-door. Her height barely reached his chest. Couldn't be older than sixteen. Maybe as young as fifteen. She was wearing a rundown dark green tunic and brown pants, but even so, Roman could see she was all bony elbows and knees and no muscle.

"Fifteen tiles!".

Even running for his life, Victor still managed to squeak: "Ten!".

"Twelve!".

"Stop moving!" Screamed the mercenary.

"Done!" said Victor.

The girl smirked. At first, Roman couldn't understand what was happening, right before his eyes. Almost as if someone had wrapped a cloth around his face, and cupped both his ears, stripping him of his own thoughts and mind. But, as it unfolded, he felt as if his blood was seething inside his veins, the smell of burnt flesh reaching his nose like a memory long castaway, thrown overboard, to be devoured by the sea, but always returning to torture him.

When she smiled, he could see the shape of her fanged teeth.

One single jump sent her so far forward that it felt less like a jump, and more like she'd just disappeared. He knew that wasn't the case, of course. The wind danced around her form, and cut his face. Sulfur engulfed his lungs, drowning his fear and his apprehension, and leaving only anger.

She was upon the mercenary in less than half a second. The floor where she'd been standing just a second before, split open like it'd been slashed by an array of sharp blades. She had no weapons in her hands, but when the mercenary instinctively turned around to the sound of her approaching, angry red blood splashed up, like paint on a canvas.

That was his first mistake.

Instincts. Reasons.

Nothing of that sort worked against a beast.

The mercenary's mace collided with her shoulder, still, proving him to not be completely witless. The weapon smashed her flesh and bone together, letting out an unholy sound of pain, as if her body, itself, was singing out in despair. His attack sent her flying towards a wall, wood splinting apart upon impact.

She was still smiling, and the blood left a trail where her body was practically carved into the wall. The mercenary looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, and then his eyes crossed, his skin paled, and his knees shook. He followed the blood, from her to the origin, and found himself just then realizing he was one arm too short.

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She was grabbing it by the wrist, mockingly shaking his hand. Using her legs, she freed herself from the wall, tossing the teared-off arm to the side, and fell to the floor, knees bent already, running, like a wild animal.

Even through sheer shock, the mercenary attacked. His mace came from beneath, trying to strike her on the chest or the chin, but she contorted her body unnaturally, twisting out of the way, and her feet came from the side, right into his ribcage.

Roman should've heard the sound of the mercenary's bones breaking. Should've seen him falling to the floor, gasping for air, the final moments of his conscience leaving his mind, as he bled to death.

But he neither heard nor saw such evil.

All he could hear was the sound of sizzling, like flesh on searing iron, and all he could see was the sigil appearing above her head. Two black lines, like teeth, bending where fangs would, over crossed by a single white overline.

"What the..." sighed Victor, still holding the back of his head.

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The pile of corpses was taller than him. Roman had yet to become as tall as the warrior he would grow to become, one day. Back then, he'd been just a child, hidden inside a barrel as the beast ran wild. The bodies of his brothers and sisters were covered with thick fabrics of cotton, dyed dark, but he could still see where the blood splatches bled through.

Someone had put a hand on his shoulder. Tried to pull him back, away from the rot. But he was frozen in place. No, not frozen. Rooted.

He'd only seen one dead person before. The previous master, when Roman'd been so young death barely made any sense to him. His burial had been a respectable matter, but his casket had been open. He'd paid his respects to the man's wrinkly, eternally resting face, and seen all the tattoos on the backs of his crossed hands.

His brothers and sisters were to be buried wrapped in cloth. Their wounds made them too unsightly for...

"Roman," his sister had called, kneeling beside him. "You have to come inside. It's raining".

Was it?

His brother's hand peaked from beneath the fabric. He'd lost two fingers. That was the same hand that had closed the lid of the barrel. The last thing Roman had ever seen before he was tossed into darkness and forced to hear his people being slaughtered.

And, now, even that would never be - never look - the same again. Not even in the eternal sleep it was shackled to.

He couldn't even save such a small part of his brother.

On the back of his brother's hand, the sigil still bleed. It'd never stop bleeding. Etched onto the skin, as if burned by wildfire. The three fangs of the beast.

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"... Heck,".

Steps weighed down the stairs. The man Roman had seen before, the monster wearing armor, came down. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the empty tavern, turned upside down, the dead mercenary, and three idiots still standing by.

Roman felt more than heard the grunt the man let out, reaching for his longsword.

He wasn't as fast a beast, but he still managed to make it to her just in time to see her grey eyes transforming, pupils shrinking down, like a feline, and her nails jutting out. Roman put a hand on her shoulder and shook her so forcefully she snapped out of it.

"Let's get out of here," he said, out of breath.

"I thought you didn't work for me anymore".

Ignoring Victor, Roman sent a look towards the girl. Her teeth were still peeking out beneath her upper lip, but her eyes were back to normal. And she had managed to calm down. He felt a lump down his throat.

She was so young.

Would he ever have the heart to kill her?

He bent down, picked up Victor, and threw the boy over his shoulder like a potato sack. "Shut up," he said to him.

The guard's sword glistened under the torchfire. He hadn't spoken a word, and, somehow, Roman knew his voice sang of certain death.

Beside him, the girl blinked, as if just remembering something: "Wait, I still get my money, right?".