This crew clearly wasn’t anticipating being hit by a powerful foe with assassin-focused Abilities. They’d no doubt signed on to tonight’s shift expecting to sit around for yet another evening of chatting, playing cards, and killing time. Worst case scenario? A handful of petty thieves might try to sneak in through a side window and make off with a crate.

  If they’d faced Harald at the ready, lined up and with blades drawn, Abilities firing, and working together as team, they’d no doubt have wiped the floor with him.

  But lingering, lounging, laughing? Enjoying each other’s company while doing nothing for scales?

  They weren’t at their best.

  Harald pulled open the door an inch and listened. The interior appeared to be a singularly large room divided into corridors and small spaces by the towering crates. He heard the murmur of voices, a husky laugh. Close by, too. But distracted. By each other.

  Huh.

  Harald paused.

  A moment later he was sure of it.

  Two of the guards were close by and getting really into each other.

  Harald made a face. Could he kill people while they fucked? He suddenly felt squeamish. Not about the sex; spend enough time at the Kitty Kat and you saw just about everything out in the open.

  No, this was more about it feeling wrong. Killing someone while they were so caught up with their emotions, their passion, felt like a desecration.

  Disrespectful.

  Shadowpaw pushed his muzzle into Harald’s palm, impatient.

  “Yeah,” whispered Harald, getting his thoughts back under control. Ego 23. He was here for a reason, and that didn’t include accommodating other people’s momentary indiscretions.

  But still he bowed his head. Pictured the drained sentry that even now lay on the other roof. The second sentry, her head split nearly in two. It was one thing to claim boldly in Countess Sonora’s parlor that he’d go about executing Gorkin’s forces.

  Another to be out here by himself, blood and brains spattered across his cloak.

  Harald squeezed his eyes closed. He’d made an oath. These people were working for his liege’s enemy. They’d taken pay for this service, knowing that this was a stolen warehouse. Sonora’s crest was still on the damned keys.

  Harald steeled his heart and pushed open the door. Veil of Shadows writhed around him. Perhaps the hinges were already oiled and silent, but if not, the Veil silenced them. He prowled inside, the Dawnblade drawn, Shadowpaw and the Goldchops drifting in behind him.

  Dim lighting. Lanterns high up on support beams cast mellow pools of amber over the crates that cast velvety shadows everywhere.

  The sound of hurried breathing was to his left.

  The crates were large and reinforced. Painted sigils marked which belonged to which mercantile group. Stacked six high, they turned the interior of the warehouse into a natural maze. Harald moved toward the breathing. A couple were going at it in a natural alcove where some crates had been removed. Standing, the man with his back to Harald, the other person with their face buried in his neck.

  Harald summoned Dark Vigor once more.

  He was going to need the Strength.

  Then, before he could change his mind, he lunged forward, Abyssal Attunement sheathing his blade black, and stabbed the man through the back with all his strength.

  The tip of the Dawnblade punched through, powered by Strength 16. Wickedly sharp, the blade slammed straight through the man’s leather cuirass and into the woman beyond, through her chest and into the crate itself.

  Both spasmed.

  The woman’s head jerked up, eyes bulging, and went to scream.

  Harald pressed his hand against her mouth, muffling the cry.

  The man was gasping, choking, silenced by profound confusion and shock. Instead of bellowing in pain or alarm, he tried to pull away from the woman, looking down at the source of pain.

  Harald slid back, drawing the Dawnblade free, and when the man staggered around he cut him through the neck and stabbed the woman in the chest once more.

  It hadn’t taken more than a few heartbeats.

  The man fell over, boneless.

  The woman coughed up blood, blinked, then fell as well.

  Harald drew his blade back and took a shuddery breath.

  Four down.

  One left to go.

  Maybe.

  Shadowpaw made a whining yawning sound and smacked his jaws.

  He was bored.

  Harald stared at the corpses. Vic’s voice sounded in his mind: at least they died having fun.

  His gorge rose, his stomach cramped, but Harald brutally suppressed the gag reflex and turned away.

  One left to go.

  He crept along the crates to the warehouse’s far wall, and there turned to move toward the front. Breaks in the walls gave him glimpses of a central space, large and more brilliantly lit. The large man sat at a square table, frowning at a hand of cards.

  Veil of Shadows made it so that Harald was able to circle the whole warehouse and make sure there was nobody else left.

  Shadowpaw was close by, but hidden.

  The Goldchops floated alongside Harald, one by each shoulder.

  Harald paused at a suitable vantage point. The big man was playing a solitary card game, humming to himself as he picked up cards and put down combinations. His iron club lay on the table, right at hand.

  How long would he keep playing until he realized something was wrong?

  A wild desire arose within Harald. To step out into view. To announce himself and challenge the man to a straight-up fight.

  Harald suppressed it. That was his guilt talking. Wanting to cleanse himself of the sordid feeling of having committed four murders in a row. But this man was clearly the leader of the group. A higher-ranked Red Fist. There was no telling how powerful he might be. Certainly no Yseult Khan, but Silver-ranked? It was possible.

  No. He was here to do a job.

  This wasn’t about glory.

  It was about results.

  He needed to make this as efficient and quick as he could.

  Goldchops? Two hatchets to the back of the head had a way of slowing a man down. But he might have a defensive Passive that would alert him at the last second.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Harald chewed his lower lip.

  He just needed this man dead. Any second now his target would grow impatient with the lovers and call out to them.

  Abyssal Grasp was the right move.

  Harald thought of the sentry’s withered visage. But he’d not held on to the woman’s life force. Had only drained her of it. How was that different from releasing her essence out the back of her head with a physical wound?

  Both resulted in death.

  One was just neater.

  Harald stared at the man’s club. It was large, heavy, with six iron flanges enameled black. It had the look of an Artifact. Who knew what it could do?

  Harald extended his palm and extruded a shadow manacle.

  The black rope of sinuous darkness snaked forth, coming up silently behind the large man and then slipped around his waist.

  Everything happened really fast.

  The man shuddered, grunted, and stood despite the draining effect. Power began to flood into Harald, but where the sentry had been a bonfire, this man was a raging inferno.

  And he was resisting the Grasp. It was slowing him down, not paralyzing him. This raider didn’t give in to shock or confusion. He reached for the club.

  Both Goldchops hurtled forward. One buried itself in his ribs, right beneath his armpit, but he managed to somehow jerk his head away so that the second missed.

  Shadowpaw streaked forth and pounced.

  The raider got enough of a grip on the club to spin it around as he was knocked to the ground by the huge mastiff, who closed his jaws on the man’s head and crunched.

  Harald felt the man’s life force snuff out.

  With a gasp he felt the Grasp vanish and allowed Dark Vigor to fade away as well.

  It was done.

  Shadowpaw looked up, jowls glistening with black blood, and grinned, obviously proud of himself, great bushy tail thwapping from side to side.

  Harald moved forward. He felt shook. Even with the Grasp enervating him, the raider had managed to avoid a Goldchop and almost pick up his club.

  Challenging him to a duel would have been a bad idea.

  Harald stopped by the table. The club had spun around, ruining the layout of the cards. Harald blinked. For a second he was at a loss, but then he took a shuddering inhale and picked up the club.

  Artifact: Bonemelter

  Quality: Rare

  Special Ability: Osseous Liquefication

  Activation: When Bonemelter strikes a target, it channels a dark alchemy that liquefies bones upon impact, leaving foes crippled and vulnerable.

  +3 to Strength while wielded

  Moderate Fear Aura

  Limitation: Bonemelter’s power is calibrated to the wielder’s killing intent. Anything but a desire to destroy one’s foe will render the club inert.

  “Damn,” whispered Harald, turning the club back and forth. A Rare Artifact. It was worth a Horizon’s Whisper, easily some 100,000 scales. Combining a fear aura with the ability to liquefy bones was horrific.

  Harald felt marginally better for having assassinated the raider without giving him a chance to wield the weapon against him.

  Taking a deep breath, Harald gazed around the warehouse. It was packed with goods. A fire in here would deal a crippling blow to Gorkin’s wealth, would be a huge setback to the year’s profits. Plus he’d no doubt have to pay out to the clients and merchants whose goods he’d agreed to protect.

  But a fire would take the warehouse with it.

  Harald rubbed at his jaw. Now what?

  Harald stared at the body. Nobody would be coming around for a few bells at least. The man had been playing cards as if he’d had a long night before him.

  A plan coalesced.

  Harald dismissed Shadowpaw and the Goldchops, and hunted around until he found a janitorial closet. He took what he needed, filled a bucket from the rain barrel out back, and set to washing away the bloodstains.

  The floor was made of heavily waxed wooden beams. He mopped up the dead raider’s gore with a half-dozen thick cleaning rags and washed the rest away. Then returned to the lovers, and gingerly moved their corpses aside to do the same. The wooden side of the crate has absorbed blood, so summoning the Goldchops and Dark Vigor, Harald simply pulled them out, rotated them so a fresh side stuck out, and replaced them.

  He refreshed the bucket and climbed to the warehouse roof, where he washed the blood and brains off the tiles, then wrapped the head wound in an absorbent towel.

  That done, he dumped the bloody water out back, replaced the cleaning supplies, and bunched up the bloody rags and tied them off into a ball. He collected another dozen Golden Dawn’s from the dead lovers, along with a small black throwing knife from the man that proved to be an Artifact:

  Artifact: Heart Seeker

  Quality: Uncommon

  Special Ability: Relentless Pursuit

  Activation: Upon embedding itself in a target, Heart Seeker begins to burrow toward the victim’s heart, causing rapidly escalating damage over time.

  +2 to Dexterity when thrown

  Limitation: Heart Seeker’s effect can be resisted by those with strong healing abilities or armor that disrupts its magical progression. It can also be removed with quick medical intervention.

  “Nasty,” whispered Harald, turning it over then stashing it in his belt. He rose, glanced around, then let himself out, bag of bloody rags in hand.

  Locked the door, looked about, then headed out.

  His mind was blank, his thoughts still. Ego 23 allowed him to remain on task. He quit the warehouse district and made his way to a market on the far side of the Marheim Gate where he purchased a covered cart for a Golden Dawn. The mule cost four Silvers.

  He led this team back to the Sonora warehouse by a circuitous route, and checked out the warehouse before deciding he was satisfied the alarm hadn’t been raised.

  The wagon barely fit down the back alley, and for the next ten minutes Harald carefully placed each corpse in the back, scaled each rooftop and wrapped the wounds in oilcloths.

  The bodies were already cooling.

  Harald then forced himself to do a slow walk through the premises. Under his Ego of 23 he could feel his roiling need to be gone, to not press his luck further, but this plan required his being careful. So he checked for blood spots, found a few, wiped them away. He unlocked the heavy door of a side office with the main raider’s key, and there found a lockbox which he drew out from under the desk to place out in the open.

  No key.

  Probably only Gorkin possessed one, or the overseer.

  So Harald drew on the Goldchops and Dark Vigor to increase his Strength, and inserted the tip of the Dawnblade between the hinges. The iron worked against the strongbox. The metal edge gave him the leverage he needed, and with the Artifact being unbreakable, he only strained for a few moments before the lock popped open.

  Within were four Aurora Veils’ worth of scales, along with mass of tightly rolled scrolls. Harald opened enough of them to realize they were contracts. Contracts that spelled out the details of Gorkin’s mercantile interests.

  He left the strongbox open, scales in view, and took only the scrolls with him in a sack.

  A final sweep of the warehouse led him back to the table.

  Ah. He’d almost missed the last detail.

  Carefully, he gathered all the cards and placed them in a pile in the table’s center.

  That done, he locked the back door behind him, pocketed the Sonora key, and moved up alongside the mule.

  It was distressed by the smell of blood, and for a moment refused to walk, but Harald’s gentle insistence got it going, and soon they left the warehouse behind. The cart trundled along behind them, contents covered and hidden from view.

  They went a block before Harald stopped and walked back, ensuring they weren’t leaking a blood trail.

  Nothing.

  On he went, leaving the Gate, nobody bothering him and his humble cart. He took Hangman’s Avenue down past Execution Square and from there into the Shambles.

  Not a smart place to go at this hour, but something about his setup, his hooded form, the nervous mule, the covered cart, kept curious toughs at bay.

  No doubt they could instinctively sense a bigger predator than they were.

  Harald went deep enough into the worst part of town that even he began to grow nervous, and there abandoned the cart and mule.

  The people of Flutic would make everything disappear, and nobody would come down to these dark corners asking questions.

  And if they did?

  They’d get no answers.

  Suddenly exhausted, Harald made his way back to the Sonora Manor, but stopped en route by a canal to sit at the edge and gaze out over the dark waters.

  He sat still, thinking about nothing for a good long while.

  The first blow against Gorkin had been struck.

  Harald considered the sack of scrolls, the other bag in which the Bonemelter and Heart Seeker were held. They’d not be able to sell the Artifacts through the Platinum Rose, nor use them openly. Even using them in the dungeon was risky. If they ran into another party who saw the weapons, word might get out.

  Perhaps Vic knew unscrupulous fences.

  No matter. A problem for another day.

  Harald felt calm. Still. But it wasn’t a sense of peace.

  His mind turned to his father’s admonishments.

  You’re going to become a monster, son. That Seed will consume whatever Class you get and give you more than you can dream of.

  It was too much for me.

  Harald stared out at the night. Listened to the distant sounds of Flutic, the liquid whispers of the canal flowing turgidly by, its surface marred by slicks of oil and floating debris. He sat so still that a wisp-fox emerged from the noxious weeds on the far bank to stare at him, eyes glimmering with soul candlelight, then melt back away into the urban undergrowth.

  Had he gone too far?

  Would he have been able to execute tonight’s plan without Abyssal Grasp? He’d vowed one moment to only use it on dungeon monsters, then turned around when it proved expedient and used it again.

  How did he feel?

  And Harald realized that right then, he couldn’t tell. Ego 23 was keeping everything within him ordered and calm and purposeful.

  That’s how he felt.

  Purposeful.

  He’d struck a blow for Countess Sonora.

  Gorkin was going to have a hell of a morning.

  The Red Fist would be up in arms. Depending on the nature of the dead raiders, all manner of speculation might be made about why they’d disappeared.

  A first blow.

  And not one that could be tied back to the countess.

  Harald sighed and rose slowly to his feet.

  He’d not puzzle out the morality of it tonight. Time for sleep. It had been a long day, and tomorrow he was hitting the dungeon with Wirmas to explore the effects of the Amulet of the Hobgoblin King.

  So thinking, Harald hefted the bag of scrolls and Artifacts, and turned to begin making his way back to the Angelic Quarter.