In a frigid hall lit with buzzing gas lamps, a man in a bloody apron stood over a table fitted with leather straps. From the stone ceiling, hung hundreds of hooks most of which pierced through chunks of flesh. Torsos and human limbs all dangling like an inverted forest of anatomy.

  On the table lay a limbless body, a sack of cloth covering the head. Its chest rising and falling.

  The man revealed a scalpel from a fold in his apron. He held it up before him, then pressed it against the pale skin, drawing a clean cut along the ribs. He had a smile on his clean-shaven face as he broke into a cheerful hymn.

  Somewhere in the forest of hanging limbs, a door creaked open. The air shifted and heavy footsteps echoed over the stone floor.

  The man in his forties working the scalpel didn’t look up, flaying the skin with a steady hand.

  “You know I dislike interruptions while working,” he said calmly, laying another incision.

  A man in a dark suit parted two rattling chains to step closer. A longsword slung over his back. “Apologies, professor. But the situation has changed. They caught Milley last night.”

  The professor paused only for a second, shaking his head in grief.

  “Pity,” he said, then continued his gruesome work. “Be a dear and fetch me that leg, just to your right.”

  The man obeyed, ripping a leg from one of the hooks. Wet sinew snapped as it came loose, and a trickle of formaldehyde dripped down his sleeve.

  “Where was it?” The professor asked.

  “Our mole says a group of hunters called the Richters Company laid a trap in the slums. Milley escaped, but they pursued her to Jovovich Spire. Ended her there.”

  The professor held out a hand without looking up and the leg was placed in his palm. It was small, enough to be easily clutched in one hand.

  “This is the challenge, Marish.” The professor said, tapping the back of the scalpel against the exposed ribs. “Joints are the key. Without proper connection, a limb is just dead weight. But with a little orthopedic creativity.”

  He pulled out a grim tool that looked like a large spoon with a jagged and sharp rim.

  “Sir,” Marish began. “Without the gatherer, we’ll fall behind schedule. My superiors…”

  “Yes, yes,” the professor said with a sigh, “Your superiors are impatient to a fault. But little Milley took a month to create, another six to teach and refine. She cannot be easily replaced.”

  “I did hold some affection for her,” he added in a flat tone. “But what matters now is my access to material.”

  Marish stared at the back of his head. “We will have to gather ourselves. The old-fashioned way, but it comes with increased risk.”

  The grim tool rasped against bone, sawing in a circular pattern into the exposed rib and Marish winced.

  “Tell the mole to divert any investigation that is on the right track,” the professor said. “And to look for an Ember or Fireling with a regenerative blessing.”

  “You plan for us to kidnap a Blessed?”

  The professor stretched his back.

  “There Marish! Now that we have created a socket for the femur, we can sew the muscles and nerves. Fetch the thread, would you?”

  Marish drew out a purple string and metal needle from a table trolley, placing them in the professor’s waiting hand. The macabre room grew quiet except for the breathing of the limbless body fettered to the table.

  “My question still stands, professor," Marish said.

  The professor began stitching. Each motion was quick and precise, connecting sliced muscles and severed blood-vessels, attaching the human leg to the ribcage like a tailor working silk.

  “Marish, my dear friend,” he said. “Don't lose your curiosity. It’s the only thing that separates us from the beasts. That brilliant, curious nature of ours is our link to the Flame.”

  The body on the table let out a groan beneath the cloth sack.

  “Hmm. More sedation, then.”

  “Professor,” Marish pleaded, “please stay with the subject.”

  A long needle slid deep into the neck, pressing a blue-tinted liquid into the tissue and the body sighed and grew limp.

  “Understand this,” the professor said, flicking a drop of blood from the needle. “There are only so many poor souls we can collect before even this apathetic city notices, it's just another contingency. What's the current schedule?”

  “Between ten and fourteen months.”

  The professor nodded. “Then we must be willing to take bolder risks. Besides.”

  The professor paused his work to turn his head to Marish. He gave a warm, genuine smile, and a shudder went down Marish's spine.

  “Imagine what we could learn with Blessed tissue.”

  Wretch hit the ground with a heavy thump, bouncing on the stone floor before sliding to a stop. He let out a gasp, forehead throbbing with pain. Above him, the wooden beams of the roof spun and Elenya came into his field of view. Arms crossed with a distasteful look.

  “Bend the knees you rat, bend them!”

  The training room on the first floor of the Richter’s was modest and uncomplicated. An even stone floor of large white blocks and a vast array of wooden weapons and other training equipment pressed against the walls.

  Wretch’s jaw clenched and his eyes turned fiery as his regeneration did its work. The swelling disappeared and the spinning subsided, replaced by a heinous ache that always accompanied his Blessing.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He breathed out and rolled backwards and up to his feet in one smooth motion. Holding the dark, clawed hand forward and a wooden dagger closer to his hip, just like Elenya had drilled into him.

  “Ready?” He asked.

  “Ready and waiting.” She replied. Standing relaxed, with only a simple training sword in a loose casual grip.

  He bent his knees this time and sprung into a strike. The dagger shot forward.

  With ease, Elenya swiped away the wooden blade with her own. Wretch followed with a slash of his clawed hand. She simply stepped to the side.

  Damn.

  He didn’t let up, continuing in a furious mix of strikes. A swipe towards her neck, a stab towards the chest, a cut towards the wrist. Elenya dodged with light steps and little effort, weaving in the occasional parry.

  She isn’t quicker, just perfectly precise.

  “Good, good now you got it,” she said, without any signs of fatigue. “It’s all about footwork, it gives you the chance to both dodge, parry and strike.”

  Wretch was panting with burning lungs. He made a desperate lunge with all his strength, forcing the wooden dagger forward. Elenya raised her weapon and struck his dagger with a hard whack, sending him stumbling two steps backwards.

  He let out a wheeze and clutched his shaking legs as sweat dripped down his nose.

  “You are fast, lean into that.” Elenya said with a tilt of her head. “Now try defending and I want to see the same fast movement.”

  “Can I get a moment?” Wretch said between raspy breaths.

  Elenya gave a crude smile in the corner of his eye.

  “You got three seconds, soldier.” She said, raising her sword high, letting it sit in the air like a threat.

  “One”

  Wretch struggled to stand straight.

  “Two”

  He took a deep breath and jumped on the spot. Forcing his legs to limber.

  Just dodge.

  That’s what you’re good at.

  Elenya moved, striking downward. It was a straightforward, yet surprisingly fast attack with flawless execution.

  Wretch just had time to take a step to the side. The wooden sword whizzed past his temple. Elenya pivoted, angling the sword and struck sideways.

  Wretch dodged low, crouching to the ground. He was too slow. The wooden sword struck his shoulder with a wham.

  He was sent tumbling along the ground again. Stopping in a groaning heap on the floor.

  “Eyes on my shoulders.” She said, swinging the sword before her. “That’s where the movement begins, not the weapon or you will be too late.”

  He took a few breaths and gritted his teeth as his eyes lit with fire.

  “Are you ready to give up? Maybe this was too much for you.” Elenya said and cocked her head to the side.

  “Nahh, I am good,” he said through gritted teeth, getting back on his feet as regeneration healed the bruises.

  A smile flashed on Elenya’s face.

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Thirty seconds later, Wretch skid along the floor for the third time. Coming to a stop as his head bounced against the stone walls with thud.

  “Again.” He let out between breaths, healing his injuries once more.

  Elenya shook her head.

  “Take five. This is about technique, not ramming your head against the wall. But I am impressed by your will… if only a little.”

  Drenched in sweat, Wretch caught his breath, sitting slumped against the wall.

  “As far as blessings go, that regeneration sure is useful in training. Wish I had something like that,” Elenya said as she poured water on her face from a metal canister.

  “What are your blessings, then?” Wretch asked.

  “That’s another lesson.” Elenya replied. “Pay attention to what blessings your enemies have. Embers only have two, Firelings three.”

  Wretch blinked at her.

  “You didn’t answer.”

  Elenya sighed.

  “Yeah yeah I’ll get to it, but for the future, it’s considered rude to ask someone about their blessings. Unless they are your team, of course.”

  “Good to know,” Wretch said between raspy breaths.

  “My first is Fire for Power, impressive name, right?" Elenya said as she bent low and stretched her muscular frame. "It costs flame and makes these shades of red appear on my skin. The shades strengthen that body part. It doesn’t cost that much flame either.”

  Elenya held out her arm and pulled back the white sleeve. As her pupils took on a fiery hue, shades of crimson burst along her skin, fluttering like the shadow of a burning candle.

  “That is impressive! I only glimpsed it before,” Wretch answered with a gasp.

  Elenya crossed her arms in front of her chest and tried to mask a smirk without success.

  “I know. My second is less flashy. Weapon Savant, it doesn’t cost flame at all. And gives me the ability to just… understand weapons and how to use em. Doesn't make me a master or anything, but at least it’s free.”

  “Damn, no wonder you’re the sword of the team.” Wretch said, taking a sip of water. “What about Astrid and Edmund?”

  Elenya gave a boisterous nod and continued with no need for encouragement.

  She is weak to compliments, I have to remember that, he thought.

  “The captain Is a Fireling so he has three. He can absorb wounds from others, increase the weight of his armor, and do that shockwave thing.

  “A proper shield!” Wretch said with a nod as Elenya continued.

  “Astrid can grow plants, and heal wounds on others. She always carries around a handful of thorny seeds.”

  “That’s a good combination. Astrid can’t heal herself, but Edmund can take her wounds.” Wretch said, stroking his chin. Elenya nodded. “It has come in handy a few times. My last team didn’t have a healer. Maybe that’s why they—”

  She froze for a moment. Holding the canister halfway to her mouth.

  After a moment of hesitation she took a large swig and continued.

  “Our usual strategy is simple. Go all out, kill fast and take the pain. Astrid can always patch you up later, as long as the enemy is dead and gone.”

  Wretch looked at her for a few breaths of time.

  “What is it about me you hate?”

  Elenya turned her head towards him with a surprised look.

  “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  Wretch shook his head and she crossed her arms with a look of amusement “I don’t like you because you’re weak. It’s that simple.”

  “I see,” Wretch said with a thoughtful nod.

  “Listen, you little rat, I never leave a mate behind. And you look like someone who’d need a whole lot of saving.”

  Wretch rose to his feet.

  “So if I get powerful and make sure you never need to save me, you’d accept me?” He said with a smirk.

  She tilted her head.

  “I would at least be able to tolerate you.” Elenya said with a hint of irony.

  Wretch flashed a grin on his pale and scarred face.

  “I am going to grow fast, you’ll have no choice.”

  Elenya gave a dry laugh.

  “You’re a bloody lunatic, that’s what I hate the least about you.”