Book 3 - Chapter 118

Artillery and Blessed powers slammed into the fortress of Voska, marring its surface. Tremors rattled through the interior. Posts were abandoned. Violence erupted among kin. Others prayed with clasped hands. On the ground levels, soldiers still manned barricades, the main gate having been locked to buy just a brief moment of respite. Lower still, in the half-forgotten depths, two powerhouses got ready to tear each other apart.

Kattla, Prefect Armorum, and Wretch, Omen of Misfortune, stood upon the price of war—the corpse pit of Voska, filled to the brim. Five Blessed swords had caught him, each gifting him the downside of its weapon. Blindness, deafness, hunger, mutating flesh, and visions of failure.

Had he still been a Fireling, only a desperate gamble might have saved him. But he was no mere brute any longer.

He was the swarm itself.

In the bright light of Kattla’s shining stone, rats welled forth from the frozen corpses. They crawled up Wretch’s houndlike legs, growing so numerous that they swallowed him whole.

Now, the true battle was beginning.

Kattla’s brow furrowed, the five swords she commanded spinning around her form as they levitated from her Blessing. Each was an artifact in its own right.

“Here I come,” Wretch said, and the swarm moved. A thousand tiny claws and chattering teeth crawled forward in a chorus.

“They’re still just rats,” Kattla growled as the swords shot forward.

The swarm flooded ahead. The swords met them, cutting into the brood with ease. The rats diverted to either side as if Kattla were a rock in a river. Threatening to envelop her, she lashed out in a blur, a hundred of his flock dead in a moment.

But she was exposed from behind.

Ravenous tiny maws shot toward her ankle.

“As if!” she scoffed.

From her coat flickered a medallion of shimmering blue. A bubble struggled to form around her.

Kattla was a living arsenal of Blessed weapons, but Wretch wasn’t unarmed either. From his guts, he had wrung his only counterpart. A hand cannon he had hidden for months.

Final Purpose.

A weapon that demanded a coal and a precious memory each time it was used.

From the side, farther left and much closer than he had been just a few moments ago, Wretch extended the barrel from the moving mass of bodies.

A click beneath the hissing of a myriad tiny throats. The coal within burned away, taking with it the comforting memory of crawling into bed after a day of chilling autumn labor.

A flash of orange lit the cavern. The light reflected in the eyes of a thousand vermin, on the frozen corpses that made up the floor, and on Kattla’s furious visage.

Her swords blurred.

Steel screamed as the weapons deflected the shot, launching two arcs of sparks to either side. Kattla’s protective bubble grew to surround her.

Not a moment too soon.

From all sides, the vermin slammed against the barrier, crawling up the shield until it was wholly buried beneath moving bodies.

Within Kattla’s light source—the illuminating stone—cast her in a stark, white light. She had been quick to deflect the shot, quicker than even he could move. Without the element of surprise, she might have dodged entirely.

But he had still caught her with a grazing hit.

Her breath wheezed from her lips, superficial wounds covering her right side, and still she stood tall.

He had no more coal to fire his weapon. He was blinded, deafened, and hurt. Forced to see through the eyes of the vermin bound to him.

But what did that matter?

You have her, a part of him whispered.

He forced that ravenous and cruel part of himself silent as he hid within the swarm. He couldn’t underestimate her. She was capable of cutting his head off with a single strike should he grant her the opportunity.

Cold, malevolent thoughts rushed through his mind as a rat bound to him moved silently through its kin.

Kattla gritted her teeth, a line of blood running down her temple.

“You think I’m caught?” she said, trailing her gaze over the barrier and the rats rushing across the translucent surface sustained by the blue medallion. A thin crack ran through it.

“The moment the barrier breaks, I’ll dash straight through and retreat up into the infirmary. I’ll set it alight. Smoke you out.”

Wretch didn’t answer. Instead, the rats continued to scratch at the barrier with renewed ferocity.

Kattla frowned. “A truce, then. You go find your enemies, or I’ll whittle you down until they escape forever. Can you truly live with yourself knowing you let them go to hurt a hunter? What would your captain have wanted you to do?”

A tempting offer.

“Deeaal—”

A thick, inhuman voice called from deep within the swarm.

Even before the word had been fully uttered, Kattla catapulted forward. Her swords moved with her in a blur. She passed through the barrier as easily as air, blasting into the brood.

All five of her swords ripped through the brittle bodies.

All aimed at a single location. The source of his voice.

The swords sank into flesh.

A scream came from within.

Kattla had been shrewd. She had insinuated she could not move until the barrier broke, offered him a reasonable bargain, then launched a surprise attack with all her strength.

The light pierced deep into the swarm, and Kattla’s eyes widened.

Her swords had pinned a strange creature to the floor.

A rat with an elongated, thick throat and a human tongue hanging limp from its mouth.

Kattla pivoted a moment too late. A black claw ripped through her chest from behind.

Blood sprayed, and all the Blessed items she controlled quivered. She pressed her lips together, forcing a hand forward to control the blades.

“I’ll not—”

She began, but another of Wretch’s claws gripped her head. He tore her in two before she could utter her final words.

The swarm drew back, revealing the victor.

The battle had started in Kattla’s favor. She was better armed and more experienced. But she had let him lead her here.

The swarm had evened the odds, but the outcome had been decided in the blink of an eye.

Wretch’s sight returned. The blurred vision of the rats was replaced by the crisp eyesight of his own eyes. The sound of scrambling claws grew loud, and his flesh returned to his control.

Half of his raging flame had been spent in that battle, but it was already refilling. The days of continuously treading on empty were long gone.

“All you had to do was not get between a beast and its prey,” Wretch said as he stood over her torn body. “At least you’ll rest with our city folk.”

A rumble came from above, and this time a deafening crack shot through the stone.

He shook his head.

There was no time to waste. He had sacrificed so much to hunt those who had killed his captain and protect those he had once held dear. He had spied, lied to his friends, and killed a Blaze of his own rank.

If he stopped now, it would all be for nothing.

He licked the blood from his claws, then quickly rummaged through her equipment, bloodied as it was.

Her coal glowed within her chest. So exposed by the dismemberment that he could see it forming from blood and flesh.

He plucked it free. A coal from a Blaze was wholly different from anything he had seen. Once, he and a red-haired warrior had slain a beast of that rank. But the coal they had not been able to retrieve. The Army had taken it, and now he knew why.

A rock of fiery light so strong it lit up the entire pit, the flame within so eager to be his that he could feel it pull at his will.

He licked his lips and drew out its power. A dozen fiery threads sprang from the stone, darting into his chest. His own fire stirred within, growing into a victorious roar and casting long shadows on the creatures he'd collected.

Within him, something unlocked, a path forward that previously had been hidden.

Coal's of worthy prey: 1/10

Curious, he thought. Is this the next ritual for a Beast Flame?

He would have to slay nine more of her caliber, it seemed. No easy feat, but with Kattla's gifts, that would be a far easier hill to climb.

Five swords she had carried, each beautiful and unique in both form and power. He went through them all, drawing out their secrets.

Eyebite

Expend flame for the next attack to inflict a wound that refuses to heal except through the strongest of flame. A successful strike robs you of sight until you have taken a life.

Flea’s Praise

Each attack robs you of flame to heal your wounds, but also forces mutations upon your flesh until parasites burst from your gifted skin.

Hunter's Chorus

Expend flame to sharpen your sight and reactions into those of a true predator. In return, the weapon claims your hearing from everything but the whispers of the flame within.

Blood-Starved Edge

The black steel drinks blood and gore, robbing your flame to induce bloodlust and brutal strength. The ravenous hunger in your gut refuses to settle until you have tasted the enemy’s flesh.

Pierced Breath

Expend flame to make your next strike aim for vital organs regardless of your skill. Upon activation, it plagues the wielder with visions of their own failure until a lung is pierced.

Wretch stared at the weapons lying before him. Each was a weapon worthy of a champion in its own right.

Beyond the blades, Kattla also carried a silver talisman that produced the shield, a crystal capable of emitting light, and finally a tiny necklace.

Wretch ripped it from Kattla’s corpse to examine it in the dim light. A locket of black and gold filigree.

With a click, it swung open to reveal a glassy surface.

A mirror. Reflecting his own grisly visage.

“She got what she deserved. Take her weapons and let’s find more. More to hunt. More to kill,” said the reflection.

Wretch ignored it, instead pulling at the information contained within the locket itself.

Forgotten Reflection

With a charge of flame, hides the wielder from divination and makes others see themselves in your likeness. Turns your reflection into something hideous for all to see.

Wretch couldn’t help but laugh. That was not a downside for someone like me.

With a pulse of flame, his reflection in the mirror grew fickle and shifting, but there was no other change. He was already something vile.

He clicked the locket around his wrist. There would be no more prying eyes on him.

A Blessed could only carry three items unless they interfered with one another. Kattla had naturally been the exception to that rule, her Blessings all associated with weapons and tools.

The hand cannon was powerful, but it had not been enough to kill either a Blaze or a Pyre.

The swarm crowded around, and he discarded the hand cannon into the roiling mass. Another rumble followed, accompanied by a thin crack through the fortress interior.

He picked up two swords, but to his monstrous stature, they were more akin to daggers.

Blood-Starved Edge and Eyebite.

The first was a wicked weapon. A dark red piece of metal that curved into jagged edges before arching into a dual-sharpened tip, clearly made to draw blood.

Eyebite, on the other hand, was formed of a dark alloy with a simple sickle-like appearance. Along the hilt and blade, the metal bore markings of eyes glaring in every direction.

He felt the weight in his grip.

It had been some time since he had used a weapon.

His claws had proven sufficient for most battles, either whittling down opponents or simply hurling them to the ground and tearing them apart. But a deadly strike from the roiling swarm had proven exceedingly effective.

He took a deep breath and exhaled mist into the cold air of the mass grave.

Now let us go.

Beneath the falling fortress, the rats crawled over one another to form a stair-like ramp ascending upward as he walked toward the exit.

The rest of the weapons he did not leave behind. The swarm could carry such minor things.

A single rat spy had been following Astrid and Fingers during their escape. The tiny Blessed had overpowered the guards and fled through the General’s tunnel. They had already traveled far into the dark underground.

He was terribly free, unbound by the chains of family, vows, and kinship.

He had nothing.

And he loved nothing.

His swarm roiled around him as he made for the infirmary and the main gate. Beyond lay the Gulschak army, and among them walked those he intended to hunt.

He gripped the blades in either hand and strode forward.