Your vices are in order

[CaitieGirl]

Rose's eyes must have looked like saucers as the South Road led her into the largest city she had ever seen. If only Jacob could see this place.

She thought back to her brother's face as she had left The Hollow Oak, her father's inn. He had looked so lost. They had never been apart for more than a few days. She thought about Angela wiping tears from her usually hawk-like eyes, all the while looking disgusted at herself for being so sentimental.

“It's not as though you're not coming back”, she'd said gruffly.

Her father had also seen her off, but like always he had been quiet and thoughtful.

The trip here to Underwood had been the longest she'd ever made since the time she stowed away with a shipment of lumber headed for Radasanth years ago. The men had discovered her when, after two days with nothing to eat, she had fainted and simply rolled off onto the road. This time, she had remembered to bring food. Besides, as long as I have my bow I'll always be able to eat, she thought. She may not be much in the way of a swordswoman but if there was one thing Rose could to, it was hit a target.

Snapping out of her self-satisfied reverie Rose consciously shut her gaping mouth, repositioned her pack on her thin cotton clad shoulders and continued walking into the heart of Underwood.

Alright, now what genius? You made it to the city but it's getting dark. You know nothing about this place, and if anyone notices that you're in for it.

She made her way through the streets keeping her face in what she hoped was the expression of a hardened traveller. She didn't realize that from the way she looked anyone with a lick of experience could tell that she was exactly the naive young woman she pretended not to be. She was strong for her size, but by no means a warrior. It was partly the clothes that gave her away. She had a well made pair of leather boots but she was wearing the pants and white cotton shirt that she always wore out in the forest for freedom of movement. With the look of an innocent she would have blended in better in a dress.

Going by the tell-tale sounds of a crowd Rose steered her steps knowing that where there was whiskey there were places to lie down. She found herself looking between two buildings, The Peaceful Promenade and Last Night's Maiden. With a sigh Rose weighed her options. Peaceful? Yea, right. That place is practically bursting at the seams. I wouldn't get any sleep. But then again if everyone's there what does that say about the Maiden? I don't know what to do.

Unfortunately she never got to make the choice.

[Breaker]

Watching the one-armed drow sip his favourite whisky felt like watching an old man reunite with his wife. Cronen scraped back his chair and paced to the hearth. He swirled the amber contents of his glass and watched the dance of the flames, and waited for Phyr Sa'resh to speak.

It took some minutes but eventually the azure-skinned ragamuffin spoke, in a much smoother tenor register than before. He outlined his escape from a Salvic prison and a harrowing journey by sea to Radasanth. There he had encountered Kron Sha'keth, stolen information, killed some of the assassin's underlings and somehow escaped from his life. As Phyr described his subsequent covert journey to Underwood and his employment at various Inns, a ball of molten lead formed gradually in Cronen's gut. His mind coursed down several paths as Phyr paused to take a drink.

I can feel something dark and powerful... this is all just too convenient...

Slamming his glass down on the stone mantle, Josh whirled to face Sa'resh. The drow nearly dropped his tumbler in surprise, but recovered its balance as the Ascended spoke.

"Sha'keth is here." Phyr tried to stand up and opened his mouth in protest. Cronen reacted like chain lighting, snatching the tumbler and shoving the drow back into his seat. With a flick of his wrist he pitched Phyr's glass into the fire where it burst in a wave of combustible fluid.

"Don't try to tell me otherwise. I can sense him. Think about what you know, drow. Look at the facts. The two people Kron Sha'keth wants to kill most in all of Corone are in this room. He followed you from Radasanth - there's no way you shook him by more than a couple days." Cronen glided to the window and leaned his cheek past linen curtains, gazing out at the frosty night as if he might see Kron staring back. "You stay here," he commanded, taking a heavy iron poker from the stand beside the hearth. He strode to the doorway, wrenched Phyr's bayonet out of the wood, and tossed it back to him. "The only advantage we have right now is he doesn't know I'm here." The drow caught his weapon awkwardly and hid it beneath his rags as the Ascended vanished down the hall, calm voice echoing behind him.

The excruciating ball of darkness in Cronen's stomach pulsated opposite his heartbeat as he raced outside, breath steaming in the night's chill.

It took him all of two breaths to spot Kron Shak'eth. The smell of death hung on the assassin, pulled Joshua's eyes to him like iron bearings to a magnet. The black drow wore a deep grey hood which covered his eyes and tribal markings, but the way he prowled the streets like a panther on a riverbank betrayed his identity as quickly as the stench. Cronen felt Sha'keth's vengeful eyes drink his presence and heard a sharp intake of breath from beneath the hood.

The Ascended and the assassin seemed to disappear as they both bolted. A gasp issued from a crowd of astonished onlookers as Joshua skidded to a stop where Kron had vanished, digging his boots into the earthen road and turning as the drow's own burst of speed ended. But Sha'keth was not running away. He drew his sword and seized a chestnut haired girl as she turned toward the gasp of the crowd. His black diamond blade severed the straps of her backpack and his forearm strangled her scream of terror.

"This one's blood is on your hands if you can't save her Cronen!" Kron cackled in his thick Aleraran accent. The crowd rippled and grew, swarming behind Joshua as he advanced on the intruder. Kron backed away as his captive fell unconscious from the pressure of his chokehold. Even with adrenaline singing in his bloodstream, having the people of Underwood gather behind him to drive out an enemy elated the Ascended.

Dark energy lanced from the hilt of Kron's ninjato, building a shadowy staircase against a brick haberdashery. The assassin threw the girl over his shoulder and sprinted up those dark steps as if running unladen on flat ground.

Angry shouts from the helpless onlookers followed Cronen as he raced to the base of the building and straight up its side, the magical Breaker Boots sticking like a spider's feet. He vaulted onto the rooftop in time to see Kron crest its thatch peak and vanish down the opposite slope. His steps were silent, but the girl's legs dragged noisily across the rain grooves.

Gauging their path by the coarse sound Cronen adjusted his trajectory and launched off the peak of the roof just as Kron leaped from the edge. They crossed the alley in line, one above the other, an eagle hunting an osprey. They landed in a scattered thudding of metal and leather boots, accented by an involuntary cough from the girl's jolted diaphragm. Amongst the screaming figures far below Josh spotted several archers waiting with arrows notched on bowstrings. They cried out in frustration; they could not fire for fear of slaying the innocent girl.

"Let her go or I'll kill you before you take another breath." Cronen uttered as he spun the iron poker to a throwing grip and lashed his arm back, body coiled like an adamantine spring. Sha'keth snarled like a beast in response, grabbed a handful of the young woman's hair and jerked her head back at an unnatural angle as his sword licked upwards. The spring uncoiled and the blade bit, and Underwood changed forever.

[Les Misérables]

Phyr Sa'resh watched the altercation from the safety of the Maiden, long crooked nose poked around the half-open door. The drow clutched the bayonet's leather-wrapped hilt beneath his ragged cloak and bit his lip in bafflement. And I thought myself a fearsome fighter in the old days... I was a guppy in the ocean. he shook his head as Sha'keth climbed his staircase of shadow and disappeared over the rooftop an instant later, hostage bouncing on his shoulder like a silken doll. Cronen followed in close proximity, passing over the building like a jaguar navigating its jungle.

A vicious wind tore at his rags as Phyr slipped out of the inn and scuttled across the empty street. The crowd of locals had dispersed, those with a fighting spirit pursuing the criminal closely as they could while the others barricaded themselves in windowless rooms. These people have received military training... they do not respond to stress like civilians. Bent almost double to examine the ground, Phyr stalked to where he had first seen Sha'keth standing, before he and Joshua had both vanished in a blur of furious speed. Finding the spot, he gave up on attempting to differentiate Kron's footprints from the mess of boot and shoe marks and straightened his spine to a triad of pops.

The killer faced north... probably came from the south. Sa'resh turned around and scanned the shadowy faces of the buildings on either side of the street. He was scouting, making the rounds... Cronen interrupted his search. But once he found me, the one armed drow strode down the frozen rode, past a candle shop and a low-income commune, he would have waited for me to come out and killed me from a distance. Easy shot, easy escape. Phyr scampered down an alley between the commune and the abandoned taxidermist's next to it. He examined the building's back door and found the lock had been picked and the door was merely latched with a chair placed against it to simulate resistance. Putting his shoulder to the oaken timbers he forced his way in, and found a long rectangular crate concealed in the corner of the shadowy back room. Looks like bad luck for the taxidermist meant storage space for Kron Sha'keth... and good luck for Phyr Sa'resh!

The crate was made from black eklan, a wood native to the dark forests of Alerar. Phyr's azure eyes sparkled like a starry night sky as he lifted the lid and looked upon the contents.

*

Jaliss Evenkeel bared his teeth and growled at the other elves and humans in the streets until they parted to let him pass. The Captain of the Watch beat the frigid earthen road in double time with his wolfskin boots, marching past the Peaceful Promenade and turning a sharp ninety degree corner. He broke into a run as he saw the black-cloaked assassin leap onto the shale shingled roof of Edmund Tanner's leatherworking shop. Jaliss swore as he saw Joshua Cronen pursuing the drow. Let the Tap sap me dry if some famous warrior gets himself killed on my watch!

"A ladder, make haste!" Jaliss commanded, and several men nearby snapped to, one elf throwing down his bow in frustration and helping to carry a heavy ladder to the tannery. Jaliss scanned the square with experienced elven eyes as he followed them, pawing at the pommel of his longsword. The people cried out for action, but so far no one other than that young gun known as the Breaker had been foolish enough to join the battle. Evenkeel gnawed at the inside of his cheek and spat on the ground. He had no real desire to fight on the frosted shingles of that building, but responsibility drove him up the ladder as fast as his hands and feet would work.

The sudden violence of the scene seemed to freeze time. Cronen faced the assassin, who held the girl between them. Cronen's arm a dark blur matched by the tip of Sha'keth's blade. The iron poker turned a full rotation then struck Kron's elbow a fearsome blow, but too late! Blood from the innocent's neck fanned the air and spattered the rooftop as the poker deflected downwards, shattering a shingle and sticking fast in the timber beneath. Shak'eth's sword fell from nerveless fingers, clattered off the shale and tumbled to the ground. The assassin sneered and threw the lifeless girl away, but the Breaker followed her in a blur of dark clothing.

Jaliss Evenkeel drew his serpentine mythril sword as formally as the day he'd passed the testing to become a master of the blade. His green eyes shone catlike in the night and his pointed ears quivered beneath straight grey hair as he advanced on the enemy. Kron Sha'keth threw back his hood and cackled, revealing the angular tribal tattoos and crisscrossing scars from his youth spent in the dark forests of Alerar. He drew a curved black skinning knife from a sheathe on his shin and raced to engage the Captain of the Watch. Evenkeel's blood pounded in his ears as he stabbed at the evil one's throat, giving honour to his homeland with a battle cry that echoed throughout the rooftops of the town.

"Raiaera and Underwood! 'Sssdeath!" Sparks flared as the two elves fenced the length of the rooftop, Jaliss driving Kron back with a staggering flurry of precise thrusts. Even as they fought shadowy tendrils gathered and wrapped around and around Sha'keth's shattered arm, binding it tightly as he defended himself with only his curved black diamond dagger.

[Breaker]

No.

A scream sounded from the crowd of citizens as blood fountained from Rose's jugular, steaming as it spattered the frosted shingles and frigid ground below. Breaker's feet propelled him faster than eyes could follow. She can't die. The chestnut-haired girl tumbled away from Kron in a corkscrewed arc, and Josh dove after her like a seal finding a hole in the ice. He snagged the embedded iron poker as he sailed past and caught the girl by the collar of her jacket. Not like this, not poisoned by trash I forgot to dispose of. The jacket tore and the roof timber splintered, freeing the poker. The girl's head lolled at a horrific angle as they fell. Josh dropped the poker and clapped a long, thick forearm roughly over the length of the gushing laceration. He manoeuvred beneath her and absorbed the impact of the fall with a tactical roll, cradling her body within the ball of his own.

The artery isn't completely severed, blood soaked both their clothes. She lives, she will live. He tore his shirt to shreds and wrapped them around and around. Thick crimson fluid still seeped through so he tore her jacket as well, adding layer after layer. Voices in the crowd called for a healer. If they hurry... why isn't she breathing? Rose's wound was fully immobilized but her face was too pale, lips turning blue. Her eyes hung open, shockingly violet but gazing at nothing, like frosted flowers. Breathe. He sealed her mouth with his and exhaled softly. Her heart still beat, if weakly. His hand went beneath the bandages, touching, healing, doing what he could. Pressure on the wound. He breathed into her again and she coughed and gasped. Soft soled shoes, running on the road. He looked up as a healer knelt beside him, a bearded elf in pristine white garb. The druid let his robes stain crimson as he cupped Rose's chestnut crown.

"Go warrior. You are needed!" The old elf barked as he stuffed a pellet of sacred herbs beneath the girls tongue and bowed over her pale form, closing his eyes and uttering ancient words in his native tongue. Lithe, spindly fingers traced the length of the gash, willing torn flesh to knit.

Breaker rose like a reanimated corpse, bare to the waist and baptised in blood. Wildfire blazed in his eyes as he picked up the iron poker and leaped to the rooftop, following the sounds of battle.

[Les Misérables]

The familiar smell of gun oil seeped into Phyr's nostrils. Packed in a nest of cotton wadding, the Aleraran technology seemed to have come from the ancient drow's dreams. He dipped into a ragged pocket and found a book of matches, struck one between his fingers and cast its flickering light across the weapon. It was a short heavy musket, perhaps as long as his arm from shoulder to fingertip. The mechanism was a new model of the flintlock, complete with a ramrod, bayonet bay and canvas shoulder strap. He searched throughout the wadding and came up with a book-like box full of paper cartridges and a small leather tool pouch. Pocketing the pouch and a handful of cartridges, he checked the gun's firing pin and barrel then shouldered it and stole out of the building.

He felt like a fugitive again as he scurried to the Maiden and along its side wall, to the sheltered stack of wood at the back. Phyr tore away the tarp with a series of frantic jerks, and then stopped to rest. Won't get to shoot anyone if I burn out my arm out now. He paced in frustration as the cramping in his shoulder eased, hearing screams and shouts and the roar of Joshua Cronen from blocks away. To Haidia with sore muscles. The stacked firewood provided more hand and footholds than Phyr could possibly use, and he powered himself upwards with surprisingly strong legs. The musket hung on his shoulder like an anvil and splinters gouged the soft skin between his fingers, but finally he hauled himself atop the two story inn and lay there panting, and watching. Tired fingers readjusted the dirty rags around his neck wound, which had begun leaking with the effort of the climb.

Kron Sha'keth and Jaliss Evenkeel circled on the rooftop of the tannery as if caught in a vortex. The Captain of the Watch had shed his heavy cloak, and his delyn half-plate shone in the moonlight as his sword drew intricate glowing patterns in the night. Sha'keth's cloak fluttered and snapped as he slithered and struck like a hunting viper, curved black diamond dagger gouging his opponent's armour on several occasions. Evenkeel used each shrieking strike on his platemail as an opportunity to stomp at Kron's legs, but the assassin only cackled and showed no signs of slowing.

Phyr managed to catch his breath and sat up, propped the musket vertically and held it between his knees. As he cracked a paper cartridge and reached up to pour black powder down the barrel, Breaker gained the roof and raced towards the duelling elves. Phyr fumbled the steel ball into the musket as Sha'keth caught one of Evenkeel's kicks with the tendrils of shadow binding around his broken arm.

"Watch your balance..." Phyr muttered helplessly as he shifted his back against the nearest chimney. The brickwork warmed him and the smell of woodsmoke crept up the passage of his old sinuses. He levelled the musket awkwardly in his left arm as Kron jerked Jaliss off balance and stabbed him at the same, finding a home for his razorlike knife beneath the Captain's ribcage. An instant later Joshua bowled into Sha'keth, breaking the assassin's grip on his knife. All three of the tall, broad shouldered warriors tumbled off the tannery together. Even with a knife through his midsection Jaliss clawed at Sha'keth's throat as they vanished from sight.

A noble fighter that one. A good elf, Phyr noted with a sour look on his face, boosting himself to his feet. He pulled the ramrod from its sheathe and packed the shot down the barrel, then slung the musket over his shoulder and padded carefully along the thatch roof. I'll set up at the front chimney... perhaps Kron Sha'keth will come around the corner and get a ball of steel as a final meal. The poetry of the thought brought a smile to his chapped lips as he set about finding the best way to operate a two-handed firearm.

[Breaker]

For the second time that night Cronen curled into a ball and tumbled across the frozen ground of Underwood. He heard Sha'keth do the same as he came to rest next to the twisted form of Jaliss Evenkeel. The elf had fallen on his enemy's dagger, and blood gushed out of mirrored wounds in his stomach and back. Cronen grabbed the Captain of the Watch and leaned over him in time to catch the elf's last words as they rattled in his throat.

"Stop him..." the Captain's eyes glazed over as his life made a steaming river in the road. Joshua looked up and saw Kron Sha'keth surrounded by villagers, would-be warriors armed with bows and swords. The assassin's purple tattoos lit up his face in the moonlight as empty black eyes surveyed the circle of prey. Three archers bent their bows and took aim while three stout men with broadswords advanced. The chain of shadow on Kron's right arm lashed the air like a horsewhip, taunting them as the crazed drow cackled his rage to the night.

"Stay back!" Cronen called, but they would not stop. He sprinted towards Sha'keth. "Get away from him!"

The shadow whip split the first archer's belly before he could loose, arrow dropping harmlessly as he fell with a cry of anguish. Like an enraged viper the whip struck the next archer's face as he fired, the arrow veering and burying itself in a swordsman's back. The last archer's aim was true but Kron caught the arrow casually as a thrown twig with his uninjured hand. The shadow chain lashed out again and wrapped around the archer's neck as the remaining swordsmen attacked Sha'keth together. Their tactic made little difference. The assassin skipped and ducked, jerked the whip and stabbed twice. The last three men fell simultaneously. Two bled from holes torn in femoral arteries by the barbed arrow, the third with his neck brutally broken.

Sha'keth turned toward the sound of metal pounding earth as Cronen struck like a meteor. He wrapped both legs around the assassin and pummelled him with both elbows, knocking the blood drenched arrow away and driving the drow flat on his back. A stiffened hand chopped down like an executioner's axe, aiming a finishing blow at the cartilage of Kron's throat. Sha'keth thrashed and squirmed like an electric eel and managed to roll away, leaving his midnight cloak in Cronen's deadly embrace.

The mortal enemies stood and faced one another, a moment of stillness as they each hoped the other would make a mistake. The road was deserted except for them, corpses and wounded alike dragged to safety by concerned citizens. At last, they've understood they can't fight him. But hundreds of eyes watched through windows and between cracks in boards as the titans sized each other up.

Kron flexed the fingers of his empty hand and licked the air like a lizard. The smell of blood must excite him. The assassin's damaged arm was immobilised by overlapping tendrils of shadow, and seemed not to bother him as he whirled the lash about in a lethal figure eight. He wore black scaled clothing that seemed to shimmer even as it devoured light as hungrily as his shadow magic.

"That armour looks like it used to belong to a dragon," Joshua commented, his face and voice expressionless as when he'd questioned Phyr. He glued his boots to the ground for traction and tensed his legs. Blood from the innocent woman and the slain captain dripped down his chest and stained his waistband, pooled in the hollows of his hips. The Ascended lifted both hands as if to wipe himself clean, "good thing I don't intend to stab you."

As Cronen streaked forward Sha'keth dodged sideways and brought the lash about. Rather than change direction as the tip of the whip hissed towards his face, Josh planted both hands on the ground and cartwheeled twice, smoother than a rolling wagon. The lash stung the air behind him as his metal boot collided with Kron's skull at the end of the wheel-chain. The assassin staggered backwards as the whip gathered to him and then snaked out in a different direction, forming a cable to a nearby rooftop which Kron ran up nimbly as any circus balancer. Cronen pursued as he had previously, but was forced to sprawl flat as he vaulted to the rooftop, avoiding a snap kick from Kron's leather boot.

Prone on the frigid thatch, Josh caught his enemy's heels and heaved but the drow backflipped away, gashing Cronen's chest with the whip as he went. The Ascended's blood joined that of others on his flesh and garments, and he rushed the assassin with a wordless roar.

Cronen fired lethal strikes faster than a repeating crossbow, short direct punches and kicks that battered Sha'keth backwards, each turned away by the drow's swinging forearms and pedalling legs. Finally he smashed the drow's sternum with a palm-strike which pushed Kron's heels to the splintering edge of the roof. Rather than knock him backwards Josh grabbed a handful of thick oily black hair and drove knee after knee into the enemy's midriff. Kron gasped for air and sagged to his sideways, then shoved his thumbs at Cronen's eyes and turned his hips suddenly, attempting to flip the Ascended off the roof. Joshua seized the opportunity like a starving wolf taking a rabbit. He leapt on the assassin's back and bore him down on the rooftop, long legs constricting that lithe body like twin anacondas. Blood made his chest and arms slippery so he knotted his hands in Kron's hair and shirt and sank into a murderous stranglehold. Sha'keth shook and snarled but could not escape the merciless power threatening to separate his head from shoulders. As his movements slowed the evil smell of him grew stronger, seeping into Cronen’s sinuses until it tormented him.

Blast you, why won't you die?

[Les Misérables]

Phyr had braced his aching back against the foremost chimney of the Last Night's Maiden. It was the largest, the one which vented the hearth in the common room. It was built from sturdy grey brick which blended with his layers of dishevelled rags well enough, and the warm smoke billowing from within smelled of flowers. Elena's rosewater... Phyr's mind drifted below, praying the serving girl was safe inside as he jammed the musket in the crook of his right armpit. It felt comforting there, worth the anguish of not having fingers for the trigger. He reached across with his left hand and manoeuvred the barrel as best he could to a steady angle. His bare stump, severed and healed just above the elbow, braced the eklan stock.

Couldn't ask for a better musketeer nest. You'd have to be a one armed old fool to miss a shot like this.

The wry thought shrouded images of Elena's rosy cheeks as he removed his right foot from the friction of the thatch roof and extended it unsteadily away from him. Compromising the seated firing position. Only as necessary... the old ankle crackled as it rotated through the gun's canvas strap. Phyr tugged with his foot, then curled his knee to his chest, pushing the stock snugly into his armpit. With his left hand on top of the barrel he touched cheek to breech and lined his eyes up with the dot-and-points sight.

Along the titanium barrel of the musket he saw an empty dirt road running to the east. Not a soul occupied it. Seems they finally decided to leave this one to the Breaker. Gives me a long clear shot so long as Sha'keth decides to dance in the street. Phyr snorted and spat off the edge of the roof.

When he turned his head back, they appeared.

First Sha'keth like a monkey on a vine, and Cronen the panther gnashing at his heels. They clashed on the rooftop three winding blocks away, each seeming too swift and canny to absorb a deadly blow. I've never seen two killers so deadly, or well matched... Phyr longed to upset that balance with a well placed steel ball, but had no chance of hitting his mark at such a range. Out of habit he re-checked his weapon, and found to his dismay he'd left the ramrod lodged in the barrel. By the towers of Kachuk, could have painted the chimney with my innards. He fumbled the ramrod into its home beneath the muzzle.

And then Josh had him! The hooks set deep, that tattooed head twisted back, bulging muscles smothering bloodflow to the brain... Cronen tightened around Sha'keth like a pair of well-oiled vices.

"Unh!"

The choked, pathetic sound was all that came out when Phyr Sa'resh tried to shriek a warning. The shadowy tendrils on Kron's arm had oozed onto Joshua's face like living bile and slithered into his ears, his nose, his mouth, his eyes. Phyr coughed and gagged just watching as the Ascended released his enemy and staggered away, falling to his side in the middle of the roof.

Sha'keth tottered, looking semi-conscious, but reached beneath his right sleeve with his left hand, the battered and now bare limb swinging limply. Phyr squinted, his elven eyes not quite sharp enough to see. What's he got there- Sha'keth answered the question when a compact flintlock pistol popped out of his right bracer and clattered to he rooftop. Neat mechanism, that. Would have put the pistol straight into his hand if it weren't broken. Kron knelt and snatched the gun with his left hand, turning with tangible relish to face his downed nemesis. Three blocks away, Phyr cleared his throat.

"Sha'keth!" He roared in their native tongue. Phyr always swore by the medicinal properties of Yurik's, and it seemed as if the half-tumbler he'd consumed earlier had zapped a lifetime of sickness from his sore throat. "Fancy toy, wish I'd stolen that from you in Radasanth!" His voice rang clearly across the rooftops, and Kron whirled at the sound, turning his back on Josh for a moment.

It took those dead black eyes a few seconds to find him, but when the assassin's gaze settled on his hiding spot Phyr felt his blood turn to frost.

[Breaker]

The shadow matter consumed Cronen's senses with the horror of knives in his eyes and fire in his throat. The foul, oily links of magic blocked out the light of the moon and the smell of the night, deafened him as he retched on the rooftop. Nothing could compare with the soul-searing agony, nothing but when he'd fallen into that pit of lava in the Cell. In the moments before death and Ascension, the magma had taught him a thousand lifetimes of lessons in pain. The current of the Eternal Tap tugged at him, urging him to relinquish physical form.

No! Sha'keth is mine, mine to finish. I choose life. Out vile matter, release me!

He could not see or hear, smelled and tasted nothing but bile and soot. But he tore one hand away from the dark element and splayed a callused palm flat on shale shingles. Felt the tiles cease vibrating as Sha'keth stopped nearby. He could still sense the assassin, like a ball of grease in his stomach to match the one wrapped around his head. Cronen embraced the pain and released the memories, rolled over and kicked Sha'keth in the back of the knee.

He sensed the assassin's fall from the rooftop. As if proximity reduced control over the dark matter, Joshua suddenly felt it pushed back by his adamantine will. He clapped both palms to his ears and drew the matter out like pulling a double handful from a writhing nest of snakes. The pain fled and he cackled to match Kron's laugh as he pulled the last of the dark matter out and held it like a ball before him.

His head swam and his vision shifted but his feet never wavered, remaining rooted to the shale as he tracked Sha'keth along the frosted roads of Underwood. The assassin was sprinting toward the nearest intersection. Cronen pitched the ball of energy, which had turned pure white as he cupped it, on an arcing collision course with his enemy. Kron seemed to sense the projectile and stopped short, spun, dropped to one knee and fired his pistol in response. The shot went high and wide and the ball of energy erupted in the roadway with enough concussion to knock Sha'keth off balance. Joshua lunged like an arrow arrow from a bow, enchanted boots beating the ground as he chased his nemesis around the corner and towards the Promenade.

As he ran Cronen realised Kron's destination; he spotted Phyr, concealed in the lee of the Maiden's largest chimney, and put on a burst of speed. His muscles flared and his lungs clenched but he pushed his legs to greater haste, until he caught his quarry ten yards from Sa'resh's nest.

Sha'keth spun, screaming like a cornered bobcat as Cronen snared a handful of his dragonscale shirt. The pistol in his left hand swung for Joshua's skull, but the Ascended drew a prevaldia bayonet from the back of his belt and dropped into a crouch. The razor tip of the bayonet tore a swath in Kron's lightweight armour as he ducked, and his other hand heaved on the garment with all of his weight and might.

Ssschrip!

The front of Sha'keth's shirt tore away and Cronen exploded out of his crouch, back-flipping to the eaves of a nearby building and leaving the assassin alone in the road.

[Les Misérables]

The lock snapped back with a well-lubricated click that echoed down to the streets. Phyr gripped the top of the musket till his knuckles paled and lined the sights up with Kron's center mass as the assassin whirled once more.

Those eyes! An eviler obsidian could not exist. Sha'keth cursed in Aleraran and tossed his head like an enraged stallion. Sa'resh tugged the strap with his foot, leaned to the left and coiled his good arm around the barrel until his thumb reached the trigger. He could only see a fraction of his target under his arm but aimed low, allowing for the kick, and squeezed the trigger.

The musket roared and spat a gout of flame. Sha'keth's fingers fluttered like the wings of a black moth on the wind, and then the assassin went down. Blood seeped from a hole in his left hand and where the ball lodged itself in his bare shoulder. Like some cursed insect he scuttled to the side of the road and vanished amongst the shadows.

The recoil jerked Phyr off balance and he fell sideways, sliding, the the rough thatch grating his rags like a fresh nail on the forge stones. He cried out and rolled frantically, long gun tangled beneath him as he clawed his descent to a stop just shy of the gutter. Face pasted to the frigid roof, Phyr Sa'resh found himself laughing softly at first, and then a hysterical tirade of shattered nerves which nearly rocked him off the rooftop anew.

[Breaker]

The swell of relief and victory never came. Sha'keth nearly caught the musket ball before it pinned his hand to his shoulder, and went down but disappeared into the shadows of a nearby alley.

Cronen sensed a sudden fade in the assassin's presence - as if Kron had jumped three blocks eastward in a single step. The lingering taste of bile diminished as well but the Ascended launched himself back to the road and sprinted east towards the shadowy depths of Concordia.

The wind drifted lazily westward, rattling the needles and leaves of the trees on the fringe of the great forest. Joshua arrived along the middle of the beaten road so fast the the nearest branches stirred against the breeze, buffeted as if caught in a gale. The storm subsided as suddenly as it began. Cronen lost track of Sha'keth as the assassin fled into the forest, flitting from shadow to shadow like a ghostly wraith.

Josh breathed in, and for the first time let the cold bite him. It fought to freeze the blood and sweat which glazed his torso, and he allowed its needled teeth to drain the rage he'd used against Sha'keth. He breathed out, and let go of the angry and hopeless feelings, abandoned the urge to track an uncatchable quarry through the night. But somernthing stuck in his soul like an arrow through the chest. Guilt turned him around like a whirlwind and drove him back along the beaten roads of Underwood, through slanting alleys and over frosted rooftops until he stood outside the infirmary.

The sprawling three story building had become more of a hospital in recent times, a wooden top floor and expansion adorning the original limestone walls. He strode to the door but it opened before he could enter the wash of lantern light from within. An ancient elf with long flowing white hair and a beard to match stepped out and barred his path.

"Let me pass, please," he said quickly and continued moving until the last possible moment. He halted a pine needle's width from colliding with the elf, who did not flinch. The druid was several inches taller than the Ascended yet their eyes seemed to meet at level, forest green facing stony hazel.

"Only healers and those in need are welcome here, warrior. If you require healing I can-" the elf crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow as Cronen twitched away from his reaching hand. The gash in his chest clotted well, and he preferred not to have unknown magics used on him. "I see. You may not disrupt the proceedings herein." The druid stepped back onto the threshold of his territory but paused as Cronen held up a questioning hand.

"Is she well? When can I see her?" he asked, tone level and respectful as he compartmentalised searing frustration and fed it to the cold bit by bit. There was no question of whom he inquired about - the infirmary received only one female patient that night.

"She is alive and she will be well enough to leave in a fortnight. Please do not attempt to enter the premises again unless you require healing." The elf's smile and kind tone offset the harsh words, and his eyes shone as he stroked his long beard thoughtfully. "If not for your action, basic as it was, she surely would have died. Her name is Rose Vasston, and her gratitude to you will match this city's, I am certain." The door whisked shut, leaving Breaker bare chested and alone with the wind.

Rose Vasston.

Regardless of what anyone said, he owed her a debt, not of gratitude but of blood, almost more than could be spared. Her name burned in his mind, and no nighttime chill could snuff out the surrounding inferno of guilt.