“There’s no returning to normalcy after this,” Vera complained, wading naked through sewage and shit. “I will never get this horrid stench off my skin! You two will have to stray far away from me when we get out of here! I’ll hunt us a pond, new clothes, whatever releases my senses from this fucking Hell-scent.”

  “Your ‘standard day’ was orgasming a man to death,” Death said. “This is tame compared to your antics. I intend to find that big old brute and kill him with his own sword.”

  “You can’t kill him.”

  “I shall.”

  “The smell isn’t that bad,” Snow said. “Just smells like home.”

  “Oh, right, you live in Sekoi!” Vera laughed. “I almost forgot you live there… there’s a reason I stayed on the outskirts, fortified in my nice smelling cabin!”

  “Your cabin hummed of sweat and cheese,” said Death. “These tunnels are an honest improvement.”

  “Take that back!” she yelled. “My home smells nice!”

  “He can’t lie, remember?” Snow teased. “Everything he says is the whole truth.”

  “Just keep that book above the water.” Death flicked her in the nose. “It will be damp from this air, keep it shut until we get it out in the sun, I will learn about those three Valan princes when we have time and try piece together why one of the siblings was left clear.”

  Vera was constantly turning around. “Do you think he’s chasing us through the tunnels?”

  “We’d hear him splashing,” said Snow.

  A crimson glow lit the wall after they turned a corner. Hushed whispers, mumbling voices, all heard on the other side of layers of rags and curtain. They pushed through and saw a small bundle of homes, using the flowing of the sewage as a moat to their shoddy shacks thrown together with soggy planks and nail. Flimsy bridges over the green rivers of filth, skinny dwellers eating rats raw as they were caught. All stared at Death as he entered.

  “An underground society,” Snow exclaimed. “I read about this in some books! Oh, gods, are they monsters?!”

  “Calm down, it’s not what you read about,” Vera said. “This is just a bunch of sewer rats hiding away from authority… criminals, homeless, bountied souls.”

  “Path of the Great Lizard Hall,” a little girl said to a blind woman. “Newcomers, three, two women, one man. Sweaty, walking for a while.”

  “Thirty minutes!” Snow yelled. “A long time!”

  Men in dirty robes pulled them out the sewage. The little girl described Snow, Vera, then Death, in extremely specific detail.

  “Get your hands off me,” he snarled at a helper. “I do not need your assistance being cleaned!”

  Vera flicked her wrist after shaking off the water like a dog. Her wrapping stuck to her wet body, still stinking, but only a little.

  “This is the Sewer Shade,” the blind lady said. “None have come from the direction of the library in decades. “We have rats, birds, a few cleaned vegetables we have sniffed out in the sewer-water and washed with urine and salt… are you hungry?”

  “Not for that,” Snow whimpered. “How do we get out of here?”

  The blind lady pointed her staff upward, the little girl pointed it towards a hatch far above them all, hiding between the stone pillars keeping the roof from collapsing. “One of many hatches hidden in these cursed tunnels,” she said. “I am a prophet, old lad, I sense you have escaped from a battle, you will lead those people here.”

  “So, you want us to leave?” Snow asked. “But this place seems so cosy! Can we stay here until the guards stop searching?”

  “We will not make you leave,” said the prophet. “You may stay as long as you want, as long as you follow our rules—all are equal, no sex without permission from the council, and no children are to be birthed under any circumstances.”

  The three of them rejected to join, each for their own reason. A bony hand reached out to Death, shaky and accusing, she cackled like an old witch before wetting her lips with a tankard of rat milk.

  “I foresaw that would be your choice,” she continued. “Know that you have brought death to our door…”

  “Death?” a watcher exclaimed. “Madame, what do you see that is coming?”

  “Raise the walls around the camp, that is all we can do, arm our strongest with daggers and pointy sticks.”

  “You don’t have to die for us,” Vera said. “Get us a ladder and we’ll get out the hatch.”

  “They were going to find us eventually, tear down our houses and destroy what we have created—that’s what the government of Valan do, sweet Vera, they crush what they cannot control.”

  “I never told you my name.”

  “You didn’t need to,” she laughed. “I am a prophet, a seer, I gain knowledge from vision, the darkness has told me plenty. You seek a man with a scar, a succubus, a scythe, a trophy, so many goals, so many wobbles in your path…”

  “What do you know of the scarred man?” Death growled. “Tell me what you know of him!”

  “I know only what they show me, old boy, I see what you have come from and I see where you are now. I ask you this—why not be loved this time? A second chance at life, a future where you rule out of love and adoration, not fear and conquering.”

  “Ruling with love invites betrayal.”

  “And fear does not?”

  “I do not like your suggestions, hag. Did you not foresee the loss of all teeth but one? You are a pretender.”

  “Does the truth hurt?”

  “You know nothing about the truth.”

  “I see you as a little boy,” she whispered. “Naked, unloved, your family buried beneath dirt while drunk men kick you.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Silence.”

  “I see your first kill,” she said. “A farmer’s scythe used to cut the throat of your mother’s murderer.”

  “I said silence!”

  “I see a girl—”

  Death struck the prophet with the back of his hand. Snow gasped and hid behind him. “When I tell you to be quiet,” he said, “words should stop coming. You know nothing about my reasoning for any of my actions.”

  “A girl?” Snow squeaked. “Was she pretty?”

  “There was no girl,” Death hissed. “This prophet is a liar and a fool to believe she can con me.”

  “The bonds you make will decide your life,” she warned. “And to you, Snow, your loyalty to this man brings a balance you are yet to discover. The fox… well… fate has plans for all.”

  Vera offered to kill the prophet. A handful of stinky men drew pitiful daggers and protected the old hag. “No need for that. I can see these three will not bring us harm… if Death wanted us dead, we would all be corpses.”

  Death calmed at Snow’s touch. How can she calm my rage just by brushing against me? This is a weakness that I must escape.

  “Your fate was to die,” the prophet continued. “The sealed tomb you were imprisoned in was unbreakable, yet this young girl passed it and freed you… fate rescued you, fate sent you to us to cast a spell on you… one to free you from doom, to make your story yours.”

  “I do not believe in fate,” Death said. “We found this hag in a damned sewer beneath a boring town; do you really expect me to believe that we’d find a fortune teller capable of seeing the future in a place like this?”

  “I believe it,” Snow whispered. “After what happened in that library… nothing feels like a coincidence.”

  He reluctantly agreed to take the spell of protection after seeing Snow’s pleading eyes. He didn’t do it out of friendship, or love, he wanted to avoid the humiliation of her command. “Do what you must and then get us a ladder to that hatch… just keep those dirty lips sealed or I will kill all of you.”

  “I don’t doubt you would,” said the prophet. “Bring the traitor of the Sewer Shade, he shall be the sacrifice.”

  Sacrifice? Death thought. That’s one of my favourite words.

  It was also Vera’s favourite word.

  The residents of the Sewer Shade dragged a screaming man to a pyre made of shit-riddled planks. They chained him to it, carving runes onto the flesh of his stomach and legs. Five robed women whispered words of ritual as a man drew a line with chalk, joining them all in a drawn pentagram with the pyre in the middle.

  “Seems familiar to the mess in the Lizard Hall,” Vera said.

  “This ritual of protection requires a sacrifice to Hell,” said the prophet. “A sinner returned to the land of sin… this man has raped and pleasured his urges, he shall not do so again, even in Hell.”

  The prophet pulled a knife from her robe and gave it to the little girl, who delivered it to one of the robed women. She walked to the traitor, sliced his cock like a raw sausage, then cut open his stomach with a wide slash as the other four robed women lit the pyre.

  “His liver,” said the prophet. “You must search for it, do not leave the pentagram until you have taken a bite and swallowed it.”

  Death was more than happy to do so. He stretched his fingers to make it large and explored the wormy intestines, breaking through flesh and muscle until he found the familiar shape. He yanked; he pulled; he tore; the man begged to be saved, claiming he had a wife and child above the surface. Death cared little. The liver was freed, and the man began to scream in agony as the fire tickled the sole of his foot and whipped his calves without mercy.

  “Eat! Eat! Eat!” the watchers cheered. “Chew! Chew! Chew!”

  Snow entered the circle with Death. She didn’t have to, but she took his red hands like they were about to wed each other. “I will eat with you,” she whispered. “Together.”

  “Eat! Eat!” Vera joined the chanting. “Chew! Swallow!”

  Death gave her the first bite, gently pushing the smallest lobe into her lips. She bit down, the flesh was chewy, Death grabbed her chin and tore the muscle free. “Wait,” he ordered. “We shall dine on this flesh together… be thankful that I share.”

  Death squeezed the liver above his mouth, the fatty juices and thick blood leaking into the hungry hole. He took a bite, tearing it apart and tossing away the remaining muscle into the pyre.

  “Eat, Snow,” Death commanded.

  They chewed until it was mush. The screaming was music to his ears, the suffering of others pleased him, which made Snow feel joy in her heart. She shown him her hard work before gulping down the flesh, then rested her head against his chest and moaned from how toasty the warmth of the burning man made her.

  When Death swallowed, the chalk turned a deep red. The man was stripped of his flesh and reduced to bones, the pyre turned to a black ash in the blink of an eye. The ritual was done. Death kissed Snow in a quick moment of desire, their bloody spit exchanged. He liked how she tasted, the willing tongue of a worshipper laden with flesh of a sacrifice… but he then pulled away after realising what he had done with an audience.

  I do not love this woman, he told himself. That was instinct, not a desire… she is only her to further my hunt of the scarred man.

  “That was your reward,” Death forced. “No more until we make another discovery.”

  “But that was so short,” she said, stomping like a rabbit. “Fine, next one better be longer!”

  The people of the Sewer Shade cheered. Vera clapped. “Never thought this is where I’d be,” she said. “Thought I was doomed to a life of living in that shitty hut for my whole life.”

  “Oh no,” the prophet mumbled. “You three must leave quickly.”

  “Huh, why?” Snow said. “Did we do something wrong?”

  “No. A strong warrior has entered the tunnels… they come with such speed.”

  “I can kill them,” Death said selfishly. “Not to aid you, but to take their powers.”

  “You cannot fight this man here,” she said. “Our fate is to die here, protecting our home… carry us with you through that spell, you must climb.”

  The robed women brought an iron ladder and held it straight.

  “That doesn’t look safe,” Vera said. “What if it wobbles?”

  “They won’t let it fall!” the prophet yelled. “I can see that they won’t! You must go now!”

  Water licked their ankles. The robed women stood strong with unmoving grips on the ladder.

  Vera climbed first and opened the hatch, pulling herself up into an abandoned shack. Death was second; he heard the sloshing of water and doom approaching, a boastful laugh echoing. He stopped halfway up, trying to see who or what was coming.

  “Go!” the prophet yelled. “You cannot stall! If you stay any longer, he will see you exit the hatch, he doesn’t know you’re here!”

  Who has got them so frightened?

  Death climbed into the shack. He heard Snow scream as she got to the top, the ladder had fell, but he caught her wrist before she plummeted below. The sewage water had washed over the small camp like a tsunami, screams and booms heard. He saw blood run thick in the wreckage, then pulled Snow up, shutting the hatch.

  “What the fuck,” Vera yelled. “How did we go from existing to climbing for our lives in under a minute? Did Killian catch up to us that fast? We would’ve heard his feet… they seemed nice!”

  “It is not our problem,” Death sighed. “They made their choice and were fine… my only regret is that I couldn’t leave that hatch open to listen to their suffering.”

  “They helped us!” Snow whispered.

  “You have blood on your lips. I will clean it off,” he said. “Very good, Snow, you heard my offer to fight that man, they rejected my proposal without any complaint.” He sniffed himself, repulsed by his odour. “We must get out of these filthy rags.”

  Vera opened the door to the outside of the shack. “There’s a pond a few minutes away, I can see it, we can clean ourselves.”

  “A pond so close to an underground sewer system? Doesn’t that sound odd?” said Snow. “That water must be rank.”

  “We will go to it,” Death ordered. “With the luck we’ve had, I would nay be surprised if the Kraken dwelled in shallow waters.”

  “The Kraken is real?” Snow Squealed. “What does it look like? Where does it live? Is it big? Hoh, was it your pet!?”

  “I regret making a joke.”