Steam rose from Angin’s gut. The needles hadn’t exited his body through his back, scorching him from the inside. Liron's breathing accelerated, the axe in his hands trembling. The Alchemist gave him a look, nodding to the torch. Liron gritted his teeth, hacking down the torch. It fell to the ground, and he kept beating until it went out.

  Blood spread around Angin. He pressed his left arm against his wound, his flesh hissing as it came into contact with it. Despite his lack of pain, Angin appeared like a ghost, feeling Sister Death’s cold grasp on his shoulder. He hadn’t given up yet, his eyes straining with the effort of creating a strategy to survive this battle.

  They sparked with something mad, a grin forming on his lips. “Liron,” he said. “Get behind me. We need to…”

  “Still alive, huh?” Amor asked.

  The assassin appeared from behind a wall, not ten feet away from them. He was covered in bruises, twigs, and dirt clinging on to his hair, beard, and clothes. But he watched them with the same ease as before. As if everything went according to plan. As if he was in control.

  Angin didn’t raise the rod. He was too close. Even with a smaller blast, the explosion would hit them, too. Amor’s smile told them that he was aware of that. He didn’t feel the need to summon even a single needle for self defense.

  He stretched his arm out, and a crow landed on it. Liron thought himself delusional for a moment. Perhaps the lingering pain in his shoulder had affected his senses. After blinking, he started to believe what he saw. The crow was tiny, the smallest bird he had ever seen. It didn’t measure up to Amor’s forearm. Its head could fit into the assassin’s hand with space to spare. The feathers were as black as the night, similar to Liron’s hair. It watched them both, crawling as Amor patted it.

  “Quite the beauty, huh? They cost a fortune. A personal gift from Rarn Urach. They breed them. To help their employees with their missions. Did take some time to get used to, but I’ve gotten the hang of it. Her signals are still difficult to read, though.”

  Amor whistled, and the bird took flight, hovering above them. “Well, I think we have things to discuss.”

  Two needles appeared in front of the assassin.

  “Liron, go back to the tower,” Angin said. Amor raised an eyebrow.

  Liron did so, too. Without further explanation, the rod came alive again, the runes raging like never before. The energy in it built up with a ferocity that demanded to be unleashed. Amor’s eyes went wide. Liron’s fear took over, and he ran away. He had seen Angin’s look. He must have had a plan. Hopefully.

  One needle shot would have been enough to kill the Alchemist, but Amor knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to do so without the rod firing. He fired the needles to the walls surrounding them, threads attached to them. He pulled at them, the walls breaking from their formation. Amor was a big man, but even he didn't have the strength to properly get them in front of him as he did against Angin’s first attack.

  The rod unleashed its fireball, the projectile colliding with the remnants of the walls. The explosion shoved Liron to the ground. He turned around in time to see Angin’s torn body hurled away. His arms and legs were mangled, twisted in impossible angles. The flames had burned away his skin on his torso, nothing but bloody gore. Liron retched, a silent cry dying in his throat.

  There went the only person he could have called a friend and ally.

  Liron saw nothing of the assassin. Amor was clearly experienced and might have evaded any serious damage. What hope did Liron have left with Amor being on the hunt with no help from Angin? Darker thoughts were a privilege he couldn’t afford. Angin wanted him at the watchtower for a reason.

  His fingernails dug into his ax handle as he hurried through the ruins. While the watchtower was clearly visible, the road to it wasn’t. He ran into several dead ends, cursing himself. He wanted to trust Angin, but he couldn’t help himself from tearing up, a heavy dread invading his body. The stench of Angin being cooked alive, his guts burning. The Alchemist didn’t feel pain, but Liron would.

  After finally making it back to the watchtower, Liron searched for anything useful. He panted, close to panic. But before he could take a single step, he heard a familiar crowing, followed by a needle grazing his leg. This brief touch stung like Drom’s embrace. Liron gasped, pressing his hand on the new wound.

  “Ah, so close,” Amor said, coming out of his hiding spot.

  Apparently, he made it to the watchtower first, lying in wait for Liron. No surprise, as Angin hadn’t whispered his command. The assassin bled from his head, his clothes scorched by the explosion. But again, he had escaped with no severe wound. He strolled towards Liron, summoning a needle.

  A thought occurred to him, though, and the needle vanished. Instead, he created a fire thread. He wrapped his hands with the string, holding either end, keeping the thread tense between them. Liron’s legs trembled, losing all strength. The wound wasn’t the source of it, but it worsened it. Confronted with the assassin, Liron knew his fate to be sealed. What could some shovel boy like him do against Amor.

  His teeth chattered against one another before he ground them. If he had to die, he would die fighting. He hoped some of this conviction showed itself in his face as he rushed the assassin. Unlikely, as his scream sounded anything but brave.

  Amor greeted him with an approving smile. Liron swung his axe around, desperation silencing his wounds. The air whistled as the iron cut through it. Working in a forge had its benefits. Liron packed a nasty punch. Should that axe collide with the assassin, blood would flow.

  But it didn’t.

  Honed through countless fights, Amor used the thread held between his hands as a shield, anticipating each of Liron’s savage strikes. Once, Liron hit the thread dead on, but the iron of his weapon suffered while the fire of the spell remained unharmed. Their exchange didn’t last more than ten seconds.

  Amor read Liron like an open book. He stepped in close, bringing his elbow under Liron’s arm as he went for a downward slash. All force taken from him, Liron had no defenses. Amor wrapped his thread around the spot underneath the axe head. He pulled it tight, cutting through the wood.

  Liron stared at his decapitated weapon. Amor didn’t give him a moment to breathe. His thread disappeared, and he punched him in the stomach. Liron had been in many fights, thinking him decent in taking damage, but this fist had killed people. He buckled over, the pain ending whatever resistance he had left in him.

  Amor grabbed Liron by his collar, his hands like the paws of a bear. And with the same strength he threw him against the nearest wall. Liron’s entire system shocked underneath the impact, all thought ceasing. Amor sprinted forward, slamming his shoulder into Liron’s chest, hammering him against the wall once more. Something cracked inside of him. He didn't have the capability to care about such a thing.

  His only desire was to slide down on his ass. But any rest was forbidden from him. Amor had him by his left hand, pressing his arm against the wall. Cold and calculated, with no wasted time, Amor summoned a needle with burning thread and stitched Liron’s arm to the wall. He did it slowly, allowing Liron to hear his skin melt as it was attached to the old stone. His skin fused with the wall, the fire marrying the two without either’s consent.

  He screamed with every new stitch, another part of him dying in the heat. The string remained in place, the living flames burning without scorching his flesh. Amor stepped back, leaning forward, his hands on his knees, resting. He allowed Liron to dwell in the pain, making him understand his fire wouldn’t stop and that the agony wouldn’t dull. It remained as sharp as it had when biting into him.

  Liron pressed himself against the wall, forcing himself to stand. Amor had stitched his arm to the stone as high up as he could. If he would lower himself, his weight would tear his skin off him as the arm would rip free. Liron could barely breathe, tears blurring his vision. He whimpered, his throat raw from screaming.

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  “Yeah, hurts, right?” Amor asked. No venom or hate in his voice. Simple exhaustion. “I get fighting back, but Harras, you two are stubborn. I would rather not do this… Liron, Liron,” he snapped his finger, garnering his victim’s attention. “Listen to me, alright? Good. I don’t like doing this. I want this to end as fast as you want. But I can’t until you start working with me.

  “So, the Faeling is dead. Didn’t see much of his body, as I had to run after you, but from what I saw, he didn’t look good. I’ll be honest with you, you’ll die. But it can be painless. The Faeling must have told you something about the Resistance. I need to impress Rarn. Killing you two might not be enough. So, tell me everything he told you. If not, it’ll get worse. Liron, I’ve broken better and stronger people than you. Help me out, and I’ll help you out.”

  Liron breathed hard, tears streaming down his cheeks. The pain didn’t lessen, and something in Liron hardened in response. The fire laid something bare, burning away all that had buried it. He had cried enough. He bared his teeth, the agony encouraging him. As he looked at Amor and his smug face, he saw all the bastards of Eisenrahm that had treated him worse than the dirt underneath their feet. He heard their insults and their laughter for all the jokes made at his expense. The little boy who had hurt because of their treatment, Liron had thought him long dead. But he was still there and would be for all his life until he died by his own hands.

  He mouthed something, keeping his wrath from his voice. Amor pursed his lips, coming closer. As soon as he got into his reach, Liron let loose. He pulled out his mother’s knife from underneath his coat, going for Amor’s throat. The assassin caught his hand, the blade close to touching its target. He rammed his hand against the wall, smiling.

  “You’ve still got some spirit left in you. I like that, kid. But I’ve got my answer then. Don’t blame me for what’s about to come.”

  “Shut your fucking mouth, you lowlife!” Liron screamed. His throat hurt, his voice rasping. “You’re nothin’ but a waste of air, you fucking whore!”

  “Whore?” Amor asked, taken aback.

  “You’ve heard me, you fool! You’re the lowest of the low! For the right price, you'd drown your own mother! You believe in nothing but yourself! The moment you step into a room, you make everybody there worse, you cunt! Hiding behind your magic to torture me?! You fucking ass! If I could, I’d shove all the coins you got from this kinda thing up your ass! Ekon would be a better place without your kind!”

  The words didn’t hurt Amor, but he did seem awkward around that kind of language. “Harras’s will, you did spend too much time around the Faeling.”

  “Yeah, and he helped me to see the truth. Harras my ass! Where is the fucking cunt when I need him?! Does he watch while my family gets tortured or when you satisfy yourself by doing this to me?! I spit on you and your Empire! I spit on everything you stand for, if it allows something like you to do this! You believe yourself safe, huh?! You think there will be no justice, but there will be!

  “I’m glad this other me killed the Emperor! I wish I could see him do it again! I hope he fed you to his sword when he ravaged the Empire! And you know what? You better kill me right now because I made up my mind! I will follow in his footsteps! I will not rest until I’ve killed you, and bring down your Empire of filth and lies! By my name, I swear this! An ocean of blood, and you will be the first drop! I will kill you all!”

  As the last word had left his mouth, a ripple responded to him, reaching his mind. Its touch made him shiver. A foreign presence, thoughts that weren’t his. They had listened, and they had liked what he had to say. Amor’s uncomfortable expression vanished. The wall and burning thread were no more. Liron floated in a constant flow, a current of colors he had never seen, ruled by a gold that led them to a great unknown.

  Liron could have followed their flow, trying to determine where they went, but the tree in front of him demanded his attention. Its root held to nothing whatsoever, hovering the same way Liron did. The tree towered over Liron, dwarfing him in all regards. It carried no leaves, it branches barren and dry. They thirsted for sustenance they hadn’t grasped in years, suffering an eternal hunger. But now, Liron had brought them what they sought after.

  He didn’t feel threatened once. Whatever this thing wanted from him, it needed him alive. The tree didn’t give him anything in the seconds Liron had with it. It made him no promises of miracles, nor did it say they would meet again in the foreseeable future. All it did was to help him, a push in the right direction, a key to open a door that he didn’t know was there. From here on out, he would have to fight himself. But through the mental link they shared for this moment, the tree spread one single ideal Liron should cling to.

  Continue being ambitious.

  Liron returned to reality, the grip around his knife filled with new life. His mind was raw, a storm of thoughts and ideas, demanding his whole attention. But one image kept showing up again and again. It had slumbered inside of him, hidden: only when standing in the forge, shoveling the coal, and hearing the hammering of metal, it had emerged, responding to the sweat and effort. How did Liron never notice it being there?

  He grasped it, and it conquered the chaos in his head. Liron saw glimpses of its true realm, but it remained outside his reach. He only held its herald, the thing the tree had promised him. Something that would give him a fighting chance. Smoke and embers. They would serve him but not without a form to take. Something to be summoned. They needed a conduit.

  The knife’s once flawless steel was drained of all its beauty, devoured by a dirty black. Smoke and embers danced around it, their touch turning their blade into a part of them. Liron sensed his weapon not as a tool he held, but as an inherent part of himself. An extension he could rely on. And with that, Liron had destroyed his mother’s last gift. A thing pure and made with a parent’s love tainted into something wicked. They had said a Ravenspawn would corrupt all. Perhaps they were right. For what Liron would do, though, he didn’t need gold or a silver soul, but the blackest of hearts.

  Amor stared at the knife shifting, becoming a blade of smoke. He knew what happened to Liron. He summoned a needle in his right hand, aiming for Liron’s throat. With the knife having taken shape, he knew he wasn’t defenseless anymore. He opened his mouth, spitting out a gush of smoke. The dark clouds hit Amor in the face, making the assassin yell out. He stumbled backwards, getting his head out of Liron’s attack. It hadn’t done any real damage, but Amor coughed hard, his eyes bloodshot.

  Liron closed his mouth and held his knife in front of him. Smoke plumes arose from it, but its blade appeared sharp. The time for worry and second-guessing was over. He took one last breath, cutting through the fire strings and his melted skin, freeing himself from the wall. The pain was short but sharp, making his entire being quake. He was stunned, unsure whether he would fall unconscious. His legs wavered, but they remained firm. His newfound wrath and ambition kept him steady.

  His left arm trembled, half of it a burned and bloody mess. The faintest kiss of the wind became the claws of a dragon when touching his arm. Tears continued to stream down his face, but he would fight. Liron dashed forward, knife ready to enact his revenge. Amor had coughed out all the smoke from his lungs, but his eyes hadn’t recovered yet. He rubbed them, but he noticed Liron’s attack, switching stance to counter him.

  But Liron never did. He stopped outside Amor’s natural range, letting the knife vanish. He didn’t understand how, but he had become a Wizard like Amor, and the assassin had taught him well. Liron aimed his left hand at the crow searching the ground for any ambush, shooting knives at it. It was easier than expected, summoning and commanding it to cut through the air like moving his limbs, an instinctive part he just knew how to do. But his aim wasn’t too good. He didn’t need a good one. Another thing Amor had taught him.

  The fifth knife pierced the bird’s back. It screeched one last time before it fell from the sky. “No!” Amor screamed, seeing his companion dying.

  He had promised this to not be personal. This has changed. With surprising speed, he crossed the distance to Liron, devastating the younger man with a punch to the face. He followed up with a needle, firing it at his enemy. It tore into Liron’s right shoulder. Its force, combined with his weak stance after the punch, drove him back. The needle didn’t leave his body, its tip bursting through his flesh on the other side, nailing him to the wall.

  The pain blinded Liron, but it fueled his rage. Before his strength left him again, he summoned a knife, hurling it at Amor, piercing his foot. The assassin stared at the blade, hissing. He endured the pain better than Liron, ripping the blade out. Liron snorted, building up all the courage he had left, twisting forward. The inferno in his shoulder intensified to a devious crescendo as Liron ripped the needle out of him. He collapsed to his knees, pressing his hands on the ground.

  Amor grimaced as he tested his foot. The bastard managed to take a step on it, carrying his weight. He laughed at the pain that followed. “Respect, kid. Haven’t seen anything like this in quite a while.”

  “Me too,” Angin said from behind Amor. “You never fail to amaze me.”

  The world froze for Amor, his expression neutral. He turned around, shooting a wave of needles at the Alchemist. But it was too late. The fireball was already upon him, and this time he had to bear the majority of the explosion. The assassin was ripped from his legs. Liron couldn’t suppress a smile as he saw Amor crash against a wall, his left arm hanging from him on nothing but strands of muscle and flesh.

  But the fight wasn’t over, the assassin groaned, his eyes opening wide. Liron grunted and summoned his knife back to his hand. This time, the cunt wouldn’t rise again.