Chaos had rapidly descended upon the Brotherhood’s bolthole. As soon as the goblin scouts returned, jabbering about seeing a squad of humans attacking them, two teams had been set up. One to hastily move or destroy any valuables that Velasco’s forces could make use of. The other was expected to reinforce the perimeter as best they could, flanked by the rest of the goblins.

  It had not taken long for the Manticores to make their move, now flanked by reinforcements assembled from the city guard and Arcadian army. Bolts flew, blades clashed, and explosions of black powder threatened to bring the roof down around everyone.

  In the chaos, Valle Irons felt it was the best chance he was going to get to slip away.

  Nobody had seen him leave his chambers, too engrossed with their own business to pay any focus to his wretched frame. And it would be easy to believe he had been killed in the fighting. All he had to do after getting to the surface was retrieve his hidden stash of wealth, and then he could flee Arcadia and make a fresh start elsewhere.

  After all, what hope did he have for a normal life in Arcadia now? No doubt word had spread far and wide that he’d been the one who killed Elijah, meaning Velaco’s headsman would be waiting for him. And that story he’d given Askyr had been his final resort. Once they found the casks of black powder the last king had hidden away (part of a mad scheme to wipe out swathes of Sentinel he had a personal disdain for) his usefulness would run out, and Leona would kill him on the spot.

  This was his only chance to live. And he was going to grab that chance by the short and curlies, and pull with everything he had.

  “Eldergard,” he huffed. “Eldergard for... for a few weeks. Yes. Nice and safe there. Lots of money to be made in that godless land. And then... then I can go south to somewhere warm and obscure. Asere, o-or the city states in Brohme. Yes, wonderful.” He’d been muttering words to that effect for several minutes now, regularly changing the possible destinations he could head for.

  The sound of clashing blades and screaming men echoed from somewhere behind him, gradually growing closer.

  He’d been pressing through a narrow tunnel, illuminated solely by a stolen lantern in his hand, when a voice reached his ear. “Nice plan. Unfortunately for you, they’re never going to come to pass. Because you’re going to die down here.”

  Valle spun around, the sweat on his face shining in the glow of his lantern. At the far end of the tunnel behind him, a figure was slowly approaching him. Valle raised his lantern for a better look, and paled as Coin emerged from the gloom.

  “You... you’re Elijah’s apprentice.”

  “And heir. Thanks to you,” Coin replied, watching Valle with an intense gaze. The sight of those eyes sent a strange shudder through Valle's body.

  More than once, when he was only starting out, he’d had to do many jobs over the mountains of Eldergard. And, on one particularly terrible job, he and his guards had become trapped by a blizzard. On that dreadful night, the wolves had found them. They fought them off, narrowly, but Valle never once forgot the eyes of that head wolf leading the pack. That burning intensity that had pierced his very soul.

  Coin had eyes just like those. The gaze of a merciless predator.

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  In a panic, Valle reached for his belt and quickly pulled a dirk free. He’d stolen it during his escape, figuring that he needed a weapon that was both lethal and easy to conceal. Just in case.

  “You... you keep back, you hear me?!” he snapped.

  Coin took a step forward, not even looking at his dagger. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why did you kill him? Elijah was your friend. Someone who trusted you a great deal. And you took his life. Why?” It wasn’t just some rhetorical question, there was genuine fascination in his voice. And white hot anger, of course.

  “He... he got in the way! He shouldn’t have been such a damn do-gooder, and just looked the other way!” Valle took an uncertain step backward. The knife quivered in his hand. “I didn’t want to! He forced my hand!”

  “Forced your...” Coin paused in place. He sighed. “I don’t understand. I can’t understand. And maybe that’s a good thing.”

  His right hand shot forward, his forearm erupting into a stream of unwinding and elongating sinews. Valle didn’t even have time to comprehend what he was looking at before a vicelike grip caught him by the collar and slammed him into the wall. Valle hissed, stabbing at the tendril-like arm in a desperate bid to break free. A portion of that alien mass spread outward, coiled around the blade of the dirk, and tossed it aside. It was no threat to Coin, of course, but he didn’t want Valle to feel he had even a minute chance of escaping.

  Coin drew closer to the man, narrowing his eyes. “I’m a mimic,” he growled.

  Valle’s jaw hung slightly ajar. “W-what?”

  “A mimic. A shapeshifter who eats people. I try, these days, to only eat people who deserve it. Bad people, criminals, murderers, people who try to hurt me or those close to me.” He fixed Valle with a nasty sneer, exposing rows of sharpened teeth. “But I don’t want any of your filth anywhere in my biomass. I just want you to die.”

  “E-Elijah... Elijah wouldn’t want you to do that! W-wouldn’t want you seeking revenge!” Valle wailed, great beads of sweat falling from his brow.

  “Maybe he wouldn’t. Who can say?” Coin pulled the man closer. Thin tendrils of woven flesh snaked around to encircle Valle’s head, holding it firmly in place to keep him from breaking eye contact. “He’s not here to tell us, is he?”

  He slammed Valle into the wall. Then he did so again. And again. And again. His expression never shifted. He did not rage, or cry, or scream, as he did so. Valle was much less taciturn, though his pained screams and sobs were soon drowned out by gargling rushes of blood that raced to flood his throat.

  Coin whipped his arm too and fro until Valle’s howls faded into nothingness. Until the man in his grasp was little more than a sack of broken bones and pulverised meat. Until the blood and brain matter had smeared across the wall.

  And once Valle was dead, beyond any semblance of doubt, Coin unceremoniously dumped his body against the cave wall. He stared at the ruined remains of Valle’s flesh, his expression a dull mask. He wound his arm back into its normal shape, his expression unchanging all the while.

  He didn’t feel any better.

  Nor did he feel worse.

  As he stared down at Valle Irons’ mortal remains, he didn’t feel much of anything.

  “Why did you take him away from me?” Coin asked. There was nobody around to answer.

  Coin didn’t stir, not even as armoured footsteps started echoing his way. A figure skidded to a halt a few paces from where Coin stood, panting for breath.

  “C-Coin?”

  He turned to the source of the voice, and found himself staring at a dumbstruck Illyana. Her eyes darted from Coin, to the pulverized corpse at his feet. “That’s... Valle Irons...” she mumbled. Though it took her some time to make out anything legible about the smashed figure.

  “It is...” Coin admitted.

  “You... were you the one who-?” Her mouth hung open in disbelief. She knew Coin had some fighting ability, but this was... pure butchery. The shock of it was so great that she didn’t even think to ask how he had ended up down here.

  Coin turned away from the elf and slowly strode for the mouth of the tunnel. Valle had been racing this way, after all. There had to be a way out somewhere nearby. Indeed, when he sniffed the air, the scents of the city were increasingly breaking through the gloom of the underground. All he had to do was follow his nose to safety.

  “W-wait! Where are you going?”

  “Home,” Coin replied.

  Illyana took an uncertain step forward. “You can’t just-”

  He turned to look her in the eye. “He killed Elijah,” he simply said. That was the only thing that needed to be said. The mimic turned and stalked into the shadows, until they swallowed him whole.

  Illyana watched him go. And despite her her horrified curiosity, she couldn’t bring herself to follow after him.