Morgan followed the two men who were oblivious to his movements. They pushed the cart two blocks back the way they had come from and found a half-open garage. They spoke in hushed voices as Morgan worked his way closer, focusing intently on being quiet. He had nicknamed them Fat and Stocky.

  “This one should work,” Stocky said, “send my brother a message letting him know where we are. They are waiting only a few blocks away. We can all walk back together.”

  ‘I’m telling ya’s, I got a bad feelin,” Fat said.

  “All these houses were cleared by the Academy wimps already. We just gotta make sure there is room in the garage for this,” Stocky replied.

  “I dun wanna go in there,” Fat stuttered.

  “Fine, I will go in and make sure the garage is cleared, while you stand out here and wait for me to yell for help,” Stocky said as he reached into the cart and pulled out a large club. He held out his hand to the fat man. Fat said a few words, and a marble of soft glowing light appeared in his hand. He gave it to Stocky, who rested the club on his shoulder. he walked up to the garage, and crouching, disappeared inside.

  Morgan was getting closer, just behind the cart, preparing to attack Fat. Unexpectedly, Stocky came out of the garage saying, “There is like furniture and shit in the way. I am gonna move it, but it’s gonna be a minute.” He walked over and set his club back in the cart. Morgan lay on the ground behind the cart, heart pounding. He was less than ten feet from the two men.

  “Do you smell trogids?” Fat asked, sniffing a few times before clamoring in the cart for an aluminum bat.

  Stocky grabbed his club again, then looked around, peering into the darkness. He slowly walked around the cart, looking into the spaces between buildings. Satisfied, he tossed his club back into the cart.

  “It’s rotten meat. Take a look around, there are dead folks everywhere,” Stocky chastised.

  “It’s not da same,” Fat said, unconvinced.

  “Well, yell if you see anything, I gotta move this shit so we can get back to boss before dawn. Unless you wanna come inside and help?”

  Fat didn't reply. Stocky turned and went back into the garage. Fat turned back and forth sniffing, as if he could tell the direction the smell was coming from. Then he made himself a marble of light. Morgan, his heart still thudding in his chest, lay under the cart, sword drawn and ready to attack if seen. Fat stood in one spot, holding the marble of light high above his head.

  Morgan slid from under the cart and circled on the house side towards Fat. The nervous man never saw the sword as it sliced cleanly through his neck. The hiss of the blade made him turn slightly just before the blade hit him. With a cut of exhalation of surprise, his knees went limp, and he toppled forward into the street. The bat bounced noisily on the street. The marble of light rolled backward and came to rest against a still quivering head.

  Morgan crouched and touched Fat’s hand.

  ::Absorption complete. You gained Human Core Ralph Mucharnis. Contents: Three Common. Two Uncommon. One Rare. One Legendary

  You gained 18CT, 1UT.::

  He turned as Stocky returned from the garage, a small marble of light in his hand. He saw Morgan, then glanced at the small aura of light around Fat’s head, then looked back at Morgan. He drew a large combat knife from his belt and placed the marble in his mouth. He walked forward slowly, both hands loosely in front of him. He knew how to fight with a knife.

  When he got ten feet away, his empty hand came up, a flashing sliver of metal buried itself into Morgan’s right bicep as he turned to dodge. Then, the man dashed forward. He was fast; he took advantage of the wound on Morgan’s right side, circling, striking out, and falling back as Morgan slowly swung the sword at him. Stocky struck his right arm once more, but the knife only cut deeply for a second.

  The familiar sting and itch are becoming an afterthought to Morgan now. He switched the bastard sword to his left hand. There was still a shard of sharp metal in his bicep, preventing him from healing, but also moving and slicing with his every move. It was razor sharp.

  Morgan spun, swinging the sword in a wide horizontal slash. The man deflected the blade away and took two steps back. Then he threw his empty hand forward, shooting a metal shard again. Morgan was ready and blocked it with a bracer. The metal shard ricocheted away harmlessly. Morgan grabbed the metal shard in his bicep with his left hand and pulled it out. It came out easily, slicing as it did. His wound itched and sealed. Seeing that this strategy wasn't going to work for him, Stocky sheathed the knife and grabbed his club from the cart.

  Rolling his head back and forth on his neck, Stocky swirled the large club with one hand. It was wooden with knobby bits of metal nuts and bolts through it. About four feet long, the club was impressive. Stocky swung the club overhand down at Morgan. It was fast, but Morgan was faster; he brought the bastard sword up to deflect the blow. The terrible impact caused him to get tossed back a foot, and pain shot up his arms as the club slid down and slammed into the concrete, crushing into the road a few inches.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  At least the bones in his wrist were broken; they itched and ground together as Morgan righted himself. Stocky was strong, like ridiculously strong. Pulling the club backup from the ground, he winced a little, looking down at his wrist. He swung again, this time a wide arc that Morgan jumped back from. A shard of metal came flying out behind the swing, catching Morgan in the thigh, but passing straight through. Morgan stumbled a bit to the side. The sound of voices raised from nearby, and Morgan could see light approaching from down a road. He had to end this before the man’s brother arrived.

  A desperate plan materialized in his mind.

  This time, Stocky swung his club down, and Morgan stepped forward, leaning into the blow while blocking it and directing it to his right. The crushing weight drove his bastard sword down and to the side, the club glanced off his shoulder and into the pavement. The bastard sword clattered on the ground. A grin broke on Stocky’s face, then a grimace, as his right shoulder started bruising. Spinning, right arm now dangling uselessly, Morgan drove the short sword with his left hand high into the man’s side. He cried out with a wheezing guttural noise.

  Stocky grasped at Morgan’s shoulders as he fell to his knees, then backwards. His eyes were frantic and wild, his breath came in quick, hissing noises as he drowned on the blood in his lungs. Morgan grunted as his shoulder popped back into its socket. Bending, he grabbed the bastard sword. He sheathed both weapons and scrambled over Stocky to get the note from his pockets. The light in the road was getting closer, and the voices were almost distinct enough to understand the words.

  Finally, he found the note. As he pulled it from the pocket, a viselike grip grabbed onto his wrist. He looked up into the hate-filled eyes of the man as he breathed a ragged breath. Then Stocky’s eyes hardened, and he started to squeeze tighter.

  Morgan drew out the goblin knife and stabbed it into Stocky’s chest, aiming for the heart. The hand spasmed futilely on his wrist and then went slack.

  ::Would you like to activate Absorption?::

  ::Absorption complete. You gained Human Core Samuel O'Neill. Contents: Four Common. One Rare. Two Epic. One Mythic.

  You gained 24CT, 4UC ::

  With that complete, he tucked the core into his pocket and parkoured from the railing of the porch up onto the roof of the house and over the ridge. There were muffled shouts from behind him as the group entered the area behind the garage.

  Edging back to the ridge, he risked a glance over. He saw three men running into the area where he had just killed the two men. One held a ball of fire in his hand. It was Sean; he stopped when he saw Stocky, his face drained of color. The fireball extinguished, and Sean rushed headlong to Stocky’s side.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” Sean screamed into the night.

  The pure anguish and agony in the word tore through Morgan. Realizing he had just killed Sean’s brother. Not a thug, or not just a thug. A person who had a family. He ran away, an emptiness clawing at his insides, a desperate dash to get back to the Academy before he collapsed under the pressure in his chest.

  Morgan sprinted to the gate with his pack, leaving a black smear of bloody handprints as he leaned against the wall. The handprints revitalized the dread and despair he had been fighting. He scrubbed his hands on the stones, trying to clean them.

  The gatehouse gate was locked. Morgan took off his helmet and placed it in the pack. With the pack on his back, he jumped and grabbed the lip of the wall, pulling himself onto the top. It was two feet thick. Morgan looked back the way he had come and sat, trying to calm his fevered thoughts.

  Sofia asked, a hopeless note in her voice.

  Morgan threw up unexpectedly, he vomited forward and fell backwards, flipping over his pack into the Academy as he lost his balance. Vertigo washed over him, and he slammed into the ground on his shoulder. He landed hard, an instant of intense white-hot pain lancing into his brain as his vertebrae shattered with the force of the impact.

  Sophia said sadly.

  His body fell sideways, leaving him paralyzed, staring at the stars on a twisted and broken neck. There was nothing he could do, not even breathe, as he felt the bones knitting back together. Anxiety began to howl in the back of his mind. His vision swam, another wave of nauseous fluid stuck in his throat. With a sputtering gasp, he was able to breathe again.

  Sofia begged.

  He broke into a coughing fit, rolling all the way over to throw up again. Shaking and feeling weak, Morgan pushed himself into a stumbling but determined walk, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He had to get inside and report to Katherine.

  He had stopped stumbling by the time he reached the building. There was a guard with a blue armband sitting in a chair outside the door. Morgan approached, and the man prepared to explain himself, but the man was asleep. Morgan squeezed his pack in the open door, thankful for his silent door skill. Once inside, there were no other people between him and Frank’s room.

  Frank had bathed and gotten some new clothes. He looked a thousand times better than he had when Morgan had left. Just seeing Frank’s recovery did something to repair Morgan’s fracturing self. Morgan placed his pack on the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down. He didn’t feel tired, but his mind felt numb, and he needed to think.

  He woke. Frank was shaking his shoulder gently. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep.

  “Hey there, Lad. You look like you got chewed up out there. Are you alright?” Frank asked him, concern heavy in his voice.

  “I killed two men,” Morgan blurted out. He felt himself starting to shake again.

  “Morgan,” Frank said, “That is the hardest thing a good man can ever do. But you need to know, really need to know. Some good men will always need to kill bad men. It is the nature of good and evil.”

  “You don’t know that the men I killed were evil,” Morgan scoffed. Bitterness biting in the back of his throat.

  “I don’t need to know them. I know you,” Frank said somberly. “The fact that we are having this conversation says more about the men you killed than you could ever tell me about them with words. I have known far too many good men who were forced to confront the evils in the world. The act will forever change you, but don’t let it lessen your conviction of your own goodness.”