Chapter 6

Learning on the Road

Terrance Clawford, alcohol, and now? Riding in a carriage—specifically, riding with someone who loathes me but refuses to speak. All things I hate, even if the most recent addition to the list is a low-burner. It's been, what, three months since we’d left? I glanced down at the wooden bench, noting two full tally marks.

…Eh. Close enough.

“This is your fault, you know,” I accused, directing a glare at said perpetrator. In response, she had the gall to raise an annoyingly perfect eyebrow, the silver hairs contrasting against smooth, bronze skin that my sister would quite literally kill for. But, as expected, she made no move to speak, her disdainful expression deemed sufficient to convey how little she thought of my remark.

I sighed histrionically, shaking my head in exaggerated disapproval all the while. “21:19-21: It’s better to live alone in the desert than with a quarrelsome, nagging wife,” I recited with a lecturing air, hiding a smirk. Was it a bit misogynistic? Yeah, probably. But did it also get a reaction? Definitely.

Violet’s face twitched in anger as she leaned forward threateningly, muscles tensing to explode, reminding me of a bow fully drawn and pointed right at me.

“Or a woman,” I added placatingly. Violet narrowed her eyes but leaned back, her very much not empty threat of violence momentarily rescinded.

“You know, in my culture, it is considered rude to ignore people when they talk to you,” I chided, swiping my finger against the other in a tsking motion. Seeing that she still did not deign to reply, I shook my head in melodramatic forlornness. “Here I am, stuck in an abomination of bumping wood, and my only friend refuses to entertain a conversation…”

With my eyes downcast and pointed to the floor, I could only see her elbows land on her knees as she leaned forward with a derisive scoff.

“Friend? I am no friend of yours, Hero,” she focused on, mocking the epithet I was given by my kidnappers.

But you finally spoke, I thought victoriously, pinning down the aura of smugness I was feeling at my win.

“No?” I questioned in faux disappointment and confusion. “We’ve been side by side for months, battling our most dangerous foe all the while.” I placed a hand on my hurt with a gasp of shocked pain.

Violet was not sympathetic to my plight.

“Finally gone insane, have you?” She drawled, once again raising an eyebrow that somehow looked meticulously manicured despite our time in the carriage. “It’s been ten days. Not even a fortnight, and yet you’ve already cracked,” she mocked.

I shook my head in denial, tutting my tongue in repudiation. “Ten days? Impossible,” I retorted, shifting my leg to cover my tally marks—a move Violet saw, just as intended. “Say, I have a proposition for you.” Violet’s eye narrowed at my leading statement, though this time it was in condescending curiosity rather than the banal irritation I’ve become accustomed to.

When she inclined her head, the most I could hope for in the way of approval, I continued. “A game, from my world–no need for equipment.”

At the lazy tilting of her head, I answered her unspoken question. “If I’m insane, as you say, then prove it.” I challenged. Violet’s eyes narrowed further in displeasure, but she was showing more anger than intrigue now.

“Of course, I won’t judge you too harshly if you don’t think you can beat an insane man-”

“-Boy.”

“An insane stud at a simple children’s game?” I added, stifling a huff of laughter as I saw her wrestle with herself, not wanting to give in to my obvious baiting but unwilling to back down from my challenge. When she turned her nose up at me, I knew her answer before she spoke.

“Very well. Instruct me the rules so that I may beat you at your own pathetic little game,” she ordered, choosing to act as if this was all beneath her whilst she lowered herself to play all the same.

And so I introduced her to a game I played throughout elementary and middle school. Where I came from, we called it Sticks, a finger game revolving around adding the other person to death. The rules were simple: both players started with one finger on each hand and every turn, you could tap one of your hands against your opponent’s, adding the number of fingers from your hand to theirs, or you could bring your hands together to distribute or combine your fingers. If a hand reached five fingers, it was eliminated, revivable only by splitting your remaining hand, so long as you had the fingers for it. When a player has both hands eliminated, they lose.

All in all, it was a simple game with simple rules played by snot-nosed brats…yet after hours of throwing her head against a seemingly impregnable wall, Violet still had not won a single match. Something I took great glee in.

After a dozen of our matches, I lost count, and a few dozen more later, I was wearing a smirk that seemed a fixture on my face after so long wearing it.

This round, Violet was the first to play, a position she swapped from every few failed attempts to win as if it would change anything. She began the match by tapping my left hand, bringing its count to two. In retaliation, I tapped her with my right, making our counts mirror each other. With the hand holding up two fingers, she tapped my right hand, causing me to snort in blatant, condescending amusement.

“Now why’d you do that?” I asked, my smirk almost audible as I tapped her two-fingered hand with my three, eliminating it.

“Shut up,” she groused back, too focused on trying to win our bout to package any wit into her rebuttal.

With only one finger to play, Violet had no choice but to tap a hand, choosing my left, the only one that wouldn’t immediately guarantee her loss. Now, I had three fingers on both hands, waggling them in taunt as I pretended to ruminate on my next move.

I gasped, as if in an epiphany, bringing three fingers to half-cover my opened mouth, both of us knowing I didn’t fool her one bit.

Instead of striking back and giving Violet more options, I used my turn to split my fingers, putting four on one and two on the other. Once again, Violet was forced into a single move, striking my four-fingered hand lest I eliminate her with it.

Lazily, tantalizingly slowly, I split my two fingers into one on each hand, eyes flitting to and fro both, silently asking which she would hit. Violet met my eyes in frustration and promised vengeance, the illusion of choice not fooling her.

Despite obviously wanting to growl, perhaps lunge at me–in a way that I would very much not enjoy–she continued the already lost game and tapped a hand.

I didn’t bother looking at which one, immediately combining my fingers into three for my turn before wiggling them tauntingly, waiting for her to hit them and give me the means to officially end the game.

As I looked at Violet in amusement, her face looking as if she were sucking a lemon, yet too stubborn to call it quits, I felt a feeling well up in me, almost foreign in its rarity. For a moment, I was confused, until I realized what it was: I was having fun. My smile was subdued but genuine, my eyes were crinkled in merriment, and for a moment, I felt content.

Naturally, that meant something had to go wrong.

Before Violet struck my hand, her own halfway in doing so, the carriage came to a sudden stop, the lack of crunching road making me feel as if my ears were unplugged despite tuning the noise out so long ago.

“Guess it’s a tie,” Violet quipped, smugness radiating off her as she looked at my frown. For her, this might as well have been a win.

“Violet, Caelum!” The booming voice of Valence shouted, his hand peeking through from the driver’s seat to lift the flap of tarp between us, showing him leaning back as he kept his eyes straight ahead. “Out, now. Trouble ahead,” he stated. He didn’t even look at us as he spoke, making me tense up as I felt my blood boil in excitement and trepidation both.

Violet stood up, features set in a wary scowl as she fixed her sword to her hip, hand on the pommel as if it was born there. She hopped out of the carriage, sending me a look as she left, like I was too afraid to join her.

I rolled my eyes at the taunt, her prejudice of me being a coward honestly just baffling at this point.

Grabbing my spear, I frowned at its unfamiliarity, even now unused to the weapon after days of training with it. Still, it wouldn’t do to disregard it now, even if I didn’t feel comfortable with it yet.

I landed on the dirt road in a half-crouch, my scuffed sneakers protecting my feet from the numerous rocks. Twirling my spear, I looked around, seeing a thick wall of trees on either side, immediately spotting the reason for our stop. Standing between the trees were men in dirty furs and ill-fitting leather armor, lining the edges of the road with shoddy weapons in their hands and hungry smiles on their faces.

They were haggard, leaves and soil covering their unwashed bodies, making me glad I was not close enough to smell them. Bandits, most likely, judging by appearances—not that I’ve ever seen any before.

Slowly, I made my way to the front of the carriage, keeping the bandits in my vision the entire time. They jostled with each other, laughing at the “cowering noble boy” despite barely giving them a glance. I ignored the asinine jeers, walking to stand next to Valence, Violet on his other side.

Ahead of us, there were more men, around a dozen if I had to guess, all standing in a wide-spread clump, blocking the road. At the front stood a man, at least a step ahead of everyone else. He wasn’t the tallest, nor the burliest, but there was a glint of cunning in his eyes that differentiated him from the rest of the vandals. Clad in semi-clean furs and well-fitting armor, a far cry from most of the other men, he seemed to be the leader.

“Glad you could join us, Caelum,” Valence greeted, voice casual and calm despite the group of men with clear intent to harm us. Based on their expressions as they stared hungrily at Violet, some going as far as licking their lips, they planned on inflicting more than just violence. I frowned in distaste at the lecherous gazes, but seeing their target just cringing in unconcerned disgust, I calmed down. Violet could kick my ass with a hand behind her back; I wasn’t too worried.

“Uh-huh,” I disinterestedly replied, not caring for chit-chat in the current situation. “This what I think it is?”

“If you mean roadway bandits doing their job, then yes,” Valence supplied, unconcerned. His nonchalance was to be expected, considering he was at least on par with Voin in terms of strength; I just didn’t know why he hadn’t gotten rid of them all yet. Whatever, I’d been itching to fight for a while now.

“Done talking, little nobles?” The leader of the bandits suddenly spoke, his voice an oily thing attempting to sound smooth. It made me want to have a bath, really. “My men are getting a little…impatient, shall we say?” He stated with a smarmy smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the bandits around him laughing at his quip with varying levels of sincerity.

“Very well,” Valence replied, “Get on it with it, will you?”

At Valence’s dismissive words, the man froze for a second, before he seemed to register that he didn’t mishear him. The man’s smile became all teeth, face twitching in anger, almost cracking his polite facade. “Cocky old man, you are,” he gritted out, trying and failing to inject joviality into his words. His gaze swept over Valence's imposing figure, a flicker of recognition crossing his face as he tilted his head curiously. "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

“Wouldn’t be here if you did,” Valence replied coolly.

The leader rolled his eyes impatiently. "Fine, have it your way." He waved a dismissive hand, growing tired of the banter. "Alright men, get on with it. Oh, but spare the girl. It's been a while since I've had a noble-born."

“Caelum,” Valence stated levelly, though I could hear the controlled anger in his voice. “Deal with those on the left, would you?” When I shrugged and nodded in agreement, he turned to his daughter. “Violet, the ones on the right, please.”

Without hesitation, Violet strode out of view behind the carriage, wolf whistles sounding out from the men on the other side.

Taking a final glance at Valence, I saw that he was unconcerned but simmering in ire at the bandits, noticeable only by the tightness in his face. I walked away, leaving him to deal with the group, their fate sealed by their stupidity.

Striding to the back of the carriage, I passed the bandits who had originally been lurking among the trees, now lining the dirt road, near the edges. They let me pass unmolested, seeing that I wasn’t running away, joking with each other in cocky amusement.

“So,” I began, pausing a safe distance from the carriage, ensuring ample room to maneuver my spear when the time came. “We fighting or what?” Standing firm in the middle of the road, I held the spear lightly in one hand, its shaft resting against my shoulder in deliberate arrogance. The evening sun, facing me, cast long shadows of the bandits, their silhouettes jeering at me as the wet, hot wind kicked up small clouds of dust that swirled around my feet.

Ahead of me, the six shadows were spread out in a loose semicircle, lightless hands pulling out shapes of war. Looking up, I saw their caster’s faces twisted in malicious glee, smiles stretched wide as they shared a laugh at my apparent brazenness. Yet, none stepped forward, pathetically waving their shoddy weaponry as if I would be intimidated by chipped metal covered in blood long dried and dirt freshly garnered.

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Annoying, I grumbled to myself. I’d seen their type before. It was always the ones who postured the most, who yelled and moved the loudest that were always the most cowardly, the most weak. If it weren’t for the evidence of use on their weapons, whether it was on animals or humans, I might have just waited in the carriage.

“Seems the noble is gettin’ impatient,” one of them said with a laugh, looking at the others with a wry grin. “Little boy’s all alone now, yet he still thinks he’s better than us.”

“You sure he a noble?” One of the others asked skeptically, though he only looked more excited at the possibility that I wasn’t. “Blonde-haired, blue-eyed fuck,” he grunted out with a spit. “Looks like a damn goldie boyo.”

“It’s boyar, dumbass,” another scoffed before his amused grin turned lecherous. “But who cares where he’s from? All that matters is that he’s pretty. Real, real pretty right now,” he breathed out, licking his lips.

I raised an eyebrow at the not-compliment, but before I could call him a butt-fucker another one chipped in, spoiling my opportunity to spur the creep.

“Bet we could make a woman outta him.” The man suggested, looking around at his cohort for approval of his idea. “Grow his hair out, cut the bits off. I probably couldn’t tell the difference!” He guffawed, the others joining him in coarse amusement.

“Har har har. Har. Har.” I joined their laugh with my own, interrupting their great amusement with my mocking. Their moronic banter had outlived its novelty, and my blood sang to me to get on with it, the strange, heady mix of excitement and fear that I had grown to love coursing through me.

Immediately, their chatter stopped, but they still seemed humored by my actions, as if they were the petty, futile rebellions of a child. They’d find out soon enough.

“Alright, boys. Seems we kept his majesty waiting long enough.” A towering man, broader than the rest, stepped forward. He was bald with a large, overgrown beard and a face covered in scars that did nothing to help his already crude appearance. “Maybe I’ll give you a show when I’m done,” he boasted to the others, the idea of defeat not seeming to even enter his mind.

“Not going to rely on numbers? Seems to be the only thing you guys have going for you,” I mocked, riling him up as my body thrummed in anticipation.

The bald man's face twisted in an ugly sneer. “Let’s see long you’re cocky when I’m on top of ya,” he spat out before stomping forward. In his hands was a large club the size of his legs, dark red blotches staining the sturdy wood.

When he stomped in range of my spear, he darted forward, stepping past the blade as he brought the club down in an overhead slam, putting his entire body into the movement. I watched the muscles under his skin tense and ripple, saw his mouth open as spittle flew out from behind his yellowed teeth, and heard his roar as he snarled, all while I stood in confusion, waiting for him to stop the charade.

Is he playing with me? I thought, eyes narrowed in confusion as he seemed to move in slow motion. Ever since I came to this world, no one had fought so languidly, so lamely, always moving at blistering speeds I had to anticipate and predict. Here, I could have jumped on his shoulders and gave him a noogie before he finished his attack.

Frowning, I stepped to the side, the bald man stumbling past me from the force of his clumsy blow, evidently not accounting for the possibility of missing. He turned around, bewildered, while the others jeered at him, laughing at him to stop messing around.

The man himself, however, was furious, and I knew he was seething from embarrassment, probably blaming his folly on some fluke. With a roar, he attacked again, his move so telegraphed I could have avoided it while hopping on one leg. But this time, when he came swinging at me with his dirty club, I didn’t just dodge.

In the same motion as twisting out of his strike, I bashed him with the haft of my spear right on the mouth. When the strike landed, I expected him to stagger back, perhaps be stunned by the force. I didn’t expect him to immediately fall over, eyes wide in pain as blood and shattered teeth littered the ground.

The jeering immediately stopped, our slice of the road now silent, the sounds of not-so-distant combat the only intrusion on our bubble of stillness.

“Huh,” I muttered in muted surprise, looking at the damage I caused. “Well, that was easy.” With a chuckle, I lightly kicked the whimpering man, who was clutching at his mouth in agony, rivulets of blood going down his hands and wrists. “You gonna make me a woman yet?” He didn’t respond, so I kicked him again, another little whimper–surprisingly high-pitched for such a big man–escaping him.

Before I could mock him again, hoarse screams interrupted our talk. Turning around, I saw two more bandits rushing me from either side, one with a dagger and the other a warped axe. I rolled my eyes at the revealing battle cry, but if that was what it took to get them moving, unlike their buddies who were frozen in shock and trepidation, then I suppose it served its purpose.

When they neared, I danced between them, my spear a blur for their slow, bloodshot eyes. The shaft struck the dagger-wielder in the stomach, doubling him over with a cough of blood, before I swung the spear around to crack against the axe-man’s knee, a sickening pop sounding out as he sprawled to the ground with a howl of pain.

“Have you been robbing paraplegics all this time?” I taunted, lazily twirling my spear as I prodded their downed comrades with my foot. The remaining bandits scowled at my jest, though some wore expressions of confusion, indicating they didn't fully grasp all of my words but understood the intent. This only added to my amusement. Despite their anger—both at my mockery and the damage I'd inflicted—they hesitated, their confidence wavering as they looked at their defeated allies, each brought down with such ease by my hand.

“Shut up, blue blood!” A third bandit charged, shouting to shroud his fear with anger. His chipped, unkempt sword was raised high as if it would empower him rather than give away his next move.

The final two bandits shared a look, hesitation and doubt in their eyes, but their fear of fighting me together far outweighed their fear of fighting alone. Seconds after their more valiant comrade, they advanced together, hoping to overwhelm with numbers and teamwork. I hoped they’d give me a challenge.

When he neared less than ten feet away, the first bandit changed his grip on his sword to point straight ahead, choosing to try and skewer me on its point. I stepped forward, thrusting my spear with the butt end and meeting his charge before he had the chance to hit me, taking advantage of its long range. With a terrible crack, my strike landed, turning the area of his chest I hit into a bruised, chunky mush. He gasped for air just before bile spewed from his mouth as he toppled over in the opposite direction, his buddies leaping over his fallen body as they continued their charge, too deep to turn back.

The left of the pair swung a mace overhead with one hand, half of the spikes chipped and blunt, a detail I was able to notice from how pathetically slow he moved. I ducked under his bumbling swing and used the blade of my spear for the first time since my bout with the bandits began, swiping at the back of his legs as passed, the man immediately falling with a yelp.

The second bandit tried stabbing me in the back as I was momentarily turned away, this one having the sense to not yell at me while he did so. It didn’t help him. I twisted around, pulling the blade of my spear down as I shunted the butt up and into his face. His nose immediately crunched under the force and he dropped like a sack of bricks, unconscious and eyes glazed over.

“Ew,” I griped, wiping at my forehead. The lowlife’s blood staining my hand, I looked around me for any more threats. Where there was once jaunty jeering and lecherous laughter not even five minutes ago, there was now muffled moaning and whiny whimpering. The bandits, so certain of their victory, of their expected future to violate me, now lay on the ground, clutching at their wounds as their world devolved to their immediate pain and suffering. At least, those who were still awake.

I looked down at the man whose legs I had cut, his blood leaving a small but wide trail from his aborted attempts to crawl away, the man stopping when he heard the final bandit flop to the ground. Now, he feigned unconsciousness, doing his level best to remain ignored and overlooked. I snorted in amusement, before helping him out with a lazy kick to the head. It was no longer an act, now.

Seeing that there was nothing left to fight, I took a deep breath, counting to ten on the inhale and ten on the exhale, lowering my heart rate as I calmed my body down. Adrenaline was pointless now that there was nothing to hurt. All it did was make me jittery, and not in the fun way.

Descended back to the world of boring grey, I noticed the quietness of the road, devoid of the sounds of combat. Leaning my spear against my shoulder, I made my way to the front of the carriage, where I saw the remainder of the bandits, strewn on the ground in various pieces.

I stood stock still at the sight for a moment, my brain seeming to short circuit as it registered what I saw. It wasn’t the first time I had seen a body, but back then it was in a morgue, sanitized and clean, almost mockingly so, garbed in freshly pressed clothes as their faces were drained of blood and their eyes stared blankly at the…

I stopped, taking another deep, quivering breath, emotions I had thought I’d choked down to the bottom of my soles bubbling up like a poison into my mind. Teeth clenched, I stomped forward and forced it back where it belonged, letting the remnants bleed away as I neared Valence.

“Ah, Caelum,” he greeted as if I had returned from taking a piss rather than fighting for my life–even if it did feel like I was throttling children. In front of him kneeled the leader of the bandits, who looked like he was about to take a piss himself, eyes darting around like his very world was crumbling, which it was.

“Valence,” I replied, more terse than I intended. He raised an eyebrow at my attitude, before sighing in understanding, gaze softening in sympathy.

The leader’s eyes suddenly widened in recognition, followed by further panic. “Valence Ironmane?” He gasped out. “I knew you look-”

Valence slapped the man across the face without even turning to look at him, blood and spit flying out of the leader’s mouth, but he didn’t make a protest, mutedly groaning as he looked down and away.

“First time witnessing death?” Valence asked, gauntleted hand–the unbloodied one–resting on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to shrug it off.

“First time seeing it fresh,” I answered, then walked towards the cowed leader, Valence’s hand falling off as I physically exited this line of conversation. I flicked him on the forehead and turned around, pretending not to notice as my spear sent him face-first into the ground from the movement. “Why’s he alive? You questioning him or something?”

Valence nodded. “I was. I had hoped he would have some relevant information on the Badlands.” He tsked his tongue. “Unfortunately, he did not.”

The downed leader sprung up at his words–his upper body, that is–movement fueled by panic. “Wait, wait, wait! Please wait, Lord Armsmaster!” He begged, hands clasped together with a shaky smile that wanted to be ingratiating, but came off as fearfully slimy. Seeing that Valence had yet to backhand him, the man continued. “I may not know about the current-abouts, but I was there, not ten years ago! You can take me with you, I can help you–be a guide!” He offered with all the desperation of a man grasping at his final lifeline.

Valence minutely tilted his head, expressing his curiosity. “You traveled to the Badlands?” The man nodded. “And you left?” He asked, as if answering positively would be a contradiction.

The man’s face twisted, his teeth clenched as his smile transitioned into a grimace. “Had to ‘prove myself a man,’ father said,” he spat out.

“Ah.” Valence nodded in understanding. “I see. A noble?”

“A third-born,” he supplied.

My eyes narrowed quizzically at the information. I palmed the top of his head, pulling it back to stare properly at his features. Surprisingly, he didn’t resist, his annoyance hidden well. “And yet you’re some road bandit?”

“Third-born,” he answered as if it explained why. Thinking about it, it did. I doubted third-borns were treated much better here than they were back in medieval times, the little history I knew telling me they were telling me they were used more as tools than children.

“Didn’t fancy fighting bugs?” Valence ventured, his guess confirmed when the man looked away with a minute nod that I allowed to happen. I assumed he was talking about fighting against the parasite lady–or whatever her name is. “Hm,” Valence grunted, not showing his feelings for the man’s answer, one or another. He turned to me. “Well, Caelum, what do you say?”

“About what?” I gave the man’s head a shake. “Him?” Valence nodded affirmatively, and I shrugged my shoulders dismissively. “Dunno. Don’t really care, to be honest.” I felt the man tense beneath me through his head, his whole being coming to a sudden stillness.

“And what about you, Violet?” Valence asked, turning to address his daughter, who leaned against the carriage, dwarfed by the two enormous horses in front of her, her presence only discernible from our oblique angle.

I mentally clicked my tongue at his acknowledgment of her; I had been pretending she didn’t exist all this time, feeling her gaze intensify in annoyance the longer I did so.

“Kill him?” Violet replied as if it was obvious and she was annoyed we hadn’t done it yet, making the man in question let out a panicked whimper. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at her answer, looking at the state she was in. She was covered in blood, her traveling clothes dyed crimson from the spilled liquid. Seeing the lone arm lying a few feet away, it was obvious what the cause was. Color me surprised: I didn’t take her for a fan of dismembering.

Note to self: Keep her below boiling, I thought.

However, that didn’t mean I would stop annoying her for fun.

“What?” I asked in exaggerated shock. “This guy?” I moved my hand to grab at his face, spreading his lips into a stretched smile. “Look at him! He’s harmless. Isn’t that right?” The man nodded frantically when I tightened my grip, my fingers keeping his lips still as he did so, his palpable fear oddly amusing.

“Harmless?” She scoffed in disbelief. “Check his left breast,” she ordered. The man became very, very still at his words. I think he stopped breathing as well.

Looking over at Valence, I saw him sporting an almost imperceptible smirk, and he nodded in approval when he noticed my gaze. “Fine,” I grumbled, taking my hand off the bandit’s head and planting my spear in the ground to free up the other.

When my hand neared his chest, the man moved his arms out of the way willingly and slowly, giving me access to the opening in his leather armor. Reaching into it, I kept my eyes locked on his, conveying what would happen should he rebel better than any words could.

Soon, I found the reason for Violet’s order, a smooth pommel that led to an ivory dagger. I pulled it out, admiring the piece while sending a half-heated glare at Valence for not warning me about the weapon he apparently was aware of. The dagger was long, the blade a tad shorter than my forearm despite the wicked curve it exhibited. The whole thing seemed to be carved from one piece, looking as if it was made from bone. Putting a finger on the edge, I was surprised when my red barrier immediately appeared despite the feather-light touch, the man directly below not noticing from his position.

Health: 207/210

This thing was sharp. If it weren’t for my magick, I might have cut straight to white with that move.

“Where’d you get this thing?” I asked in wonder, twisting the blade this way and that in front of me.

“Taniwhale’s Cry. Father’s most prized possession,” he stated proudly, smiling vindictively as his hands snaked behind his back. I ignored his little pose, more interested in the cool dagger that was now mine.

“Not very filial, eh?” I gave him a nudge on the head. “Well, whatever.” I turned, facing Valence, and stepped forward, done with the man. “Do what you wi-”

The next moments were a blur. Suddenly, before my brain could even process what my body was doing, I twisted around, my eyes inches away from the bandit leader’s, his face twisted in a manic grin that was slowly fading.

I looked down, seeing my hand wrapped around the hilt of the ivory dagger pressed against his chest, warm blood seeping out against the contact point to drip from my fingers. Slowly, robotically, my gaze moved to the hand of the bandit, a knife of his own pressed into my stomach, the red barrier surrounding the hilt, and I felt no pain in the area.

Health: 176/210

My stabber looked up at me in confusion, hand twisting and wiggling the blade to no reaction from me.

“Magick,” I answered the unspoken question.

“...fucking goldie,” he muttered through the blood spilling from his mouth, before his entire body slacked, dead.

I stood, frozen, as he fell over, his weight sliding him off the white dagger with a small schlick, his hand slipping off the knife in my stomach as he did. Mechanically, I looked down, seeing the once smarmy, then cold, then fearfully desperate man now lying on the dirt road, eyes blankly staring at nothing. And yet, when I met them, I felt like they were staring back.

The realization was delayed, but it hit me, at that moment. I had killed him. I had killed a man, a human being. For so long, I had dreamt of doing such a thing, fantasized about it, planned a thousand times how I would do it, how I would brutalize the man who couldn’t take a fucking cab. But that moment never came to fruition, never came close, protected by a wall of stone in his orange jumpsuit. So my fantasies changed, the drunkard’s face slowly fading, my dreams degrading until it was the blood of a faceless man covering my fists, the blank eyes of any who would give me the excuse that would close one final time.

And now, now that fantasy had come true before I even realized. For so long I wondered how I would feel, what I would do when the moment came. Looking down at the lifeless man before me, felled by my hand, I found my answer.

I laughed.