"Son of a whore!" Whitcomb's scream pierced through the night, alerting the torch bearing mercenaries that wanted my head.

  Khaled shot out of the brush and grabbed Whitcomb by his throat, muffling his pained wails. The furious ninja's grey eyes met mine then flicked past me, watching the mercenaries doubling back toward our position.

  I spat out a mouthful of cloth and salty flesh at my side and tried calling out to the mercenaries only to discover my vocal chords were still frozen.

  Whitcomb squeezed his comrade's shoulder. Finally, Khaled relinquished his grip and Whitcomb doubled over, gasping for air. Blood drenched his gloves as he covered the loose flap of flesh dangling from his face, legs wobbling.

  Without delay, Khaled retrieved a bandage from his silk sack and slapped Whitcomb's hands down from the wound. He dressed it roughly, wrapping the bandage around his face and mouth, covering it tight with three rotations.

  I smiled at the wounded ninja. He reached for the blade at his side, but Khaled grabbed his arm and placed a small needle in his palm.

  "Release the wolves," a voice echoed from uphill.

  Whitcomb rushed over, planted the needle in my neck and heaved me over his shoulders. A wave of overwhelming numbness washed over me. Once again I sank into a near catatonic state.

  Worth it.

  I'd happily go down in flames with my captors covered in gasoline rather than allow them to silently whisk me off to a torture/murder chamber. If anything, I had better odds of survival in Black Diamond's custody. The mercenaries were likely still being contracted by Pearl Banner, who only wanted the chaos shard. Maybe if I signed it over at no cost they'd even forget about me slaughtering their men just a night ago.

  Sorry Justice, they can have it.

  Khaled and Whitcomb dashed through the brush and took a hard right, leading toward a steep incline littered with obstacles. Enormous roots and fallen trees obstructed the slope, leaving little room for error. If they managed to reach the bottom the road wasn't much further. From the road they could head north to Waystone, south to the Silverlight Plains, or take any of the countless smaller paths into the rural countryside.

  Vicious snarls exploded to our rear. I couldn't look back, but I heard the rapid patter of the wolves shooting after us. Numb pressure locked around my wrists, where Whitcomb had them in a death grip as he sprinted. Despite the duo's impressive speed, the cruel reality of nature trumped their training.

  A wolf the size of a two door Toyota lurched in from behind. Its claws swiped across my ass and down the back of Whitcomb's legs sending the both of us tumbling.

  I careened wildly down the hillside, eating cheap shots from the rough terrain as it whipped my body in every direction. While my vision spun, I watched Whitcomb quickly regain his footing and in one swift motion, he snatched a vial filled with white powder and launched it into the wolf pack.

  Boom.

  An intense burst of light stunned most of the wolves and exposed the droves of mercenaries drawing in from above. They were taking their sweet time navigating the slope, giving their wolves the right-of-way. As Whitcomb stumbled away from the impending hostiles, Khaled unleashed a flurry of needles, dropping a second wave of beasts before they could turn Whitcomb into puppy chow.

  I bounded into a blunt root, which spiked me into the air before a sturdy tree trunk intercepted me. Mossy bark exploded as I fell on my back, wondering how badly I was hurt. I lay at the bottom of the treacherous hill, laying on a bed of thorns with a decent view through a bushel of berries, watching the action unfold.

  Certainly, the echoing blast caused by flash powder was loud enough to reach the shack. I had been so concerned about losing the Gloomgem Tonfa I had nearly forgotten about the elf. If Viessa used the smarts she claimed to have, maybe she'd stand a chance to get out unscathed.

  Meanwhile, the Soul Viper duo zigzagged down the hillside, evading arrow fire. It warmed my heart watching them fumble their way through my kidnapping. Did Soul Viper have some kind of ironclad rule about assigning more than two people to a mission? Honestly, I was embarrassed for them, especially after Xodoven hyped them up with his spiel regarding Soul Viper's capabilities.

  Without the paralytic, I would've easily dismembered them. Even with their slight level advantage, I imagined one well placed punch would likely implode their bodies. I eagerly waited for the poison to fade once more.

  The mercenaries broke into two groups. One comprised archers on the high ground, firing in waves. The second group consisted of ten mercenaries ranging between levels 4 to 6, who advanced downhill in between the volleys.

  Please Justice, let these arrows land.

  Instead of seeing my prayers answered, Khaled and Whitcomb pulled off their own miracle. Moving like parkour experts, they picked up momentum and launched themselves through the air, flinging themselves over the rough terrain. They landed in a synchronized roll and sprang to their feet, suddenly appearing a few feet from my side.

  As they loomed over me, I saw several wolves emerge atop the hill, speeding down in our direction.

  Target: Mountain Wolf

  Level: 5

  Karma: N/A

  Additional Data: Trained and sponsored by Black Diamond Mercenary Company.

  Bonus Data: N/A

  I always thought wolves were such majestic creatures, although I preferred the ones on Earth. The canines currently converging on our position looked like genetically modified uber wolves raised on human flesh and daily beatings. They bore Jurassic sized fangs and held an indomitable blood lust in their shimmering yellow eyes. Even their thick, fluffy coats were stained with blood.

  "Grab him and keep moving," Khaled ordered, his breathing strained.

  Whitcomb's glare could've shattered anyone but his comrade's soul. "I'm not fucking carrying him. I need to catch my breath."

  An arrow caught Whitcomb in his back. He stumbled into me and yelped as a second arrow landed in the tree trunk overhead. Khaled snatched me by the cuff of my armor and dragged us out of the clearing. He waded into a dense brush with chest high grass and thorn laden branches that stretched out in every direction.

  "I'm hit! Those sons of bitches hit me. Use the signal, this is beyond us," Whitcomb shouted, voice dripping in panic.

  "Shut up and don't stop moving. There's no need for that, yet," Khaled said with the same reassurance as an oncologist delivering a terminal diagnosis.

  A whole ten seconds later a wolf lunged out of the clearing, into the brush, and snapped its maw around Whitcomb's left leg. Khaled pivoted, skidding backward on his heels as he tossed a throwing knife into the beast's side.

  The beast dropped atop Whitcomb, who slid out from underneath its corpse and limped toward me.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Take them alive!" a mercenary shouted.

  Khaled fired a round of throwing knives back in response, buying time for his comrade. The mercenaries had reached the clearing at the bottom, but left plenty of space between us for their bloodthirsty companions to take the first stab.

  After incapacitating two more wolves with poisoned needles, Khaled chucked me toward his partner and turned his gaze toward the influx of hostiles.

  "Keep the wolves off him," Khaled commanded.

  Whitcomb retrieved a cleaver with an angled blade from the sheathe at his side. For a second, I thought he was about to take Khaled's head off. Instead, he dug his feet into the ground, bracing himself as the second wave of beasts charged in.

  The first wolf dove at Whitcomb, but he ducked, and the beast turned its attention toward the easier target, me. Two wolves circled Khaled as he danced between them with a scythe in hand, slashing away, keeping them at bay.

  Despite his injuries, Whitcomb cleaved through three wolves with calculated precision, ignoring the one showering me in drool as it loomed over my head. Victorious in his standoff, he turned around, watching with glee in his eyes as the hulking beast towered over me.

  Move, you pathetic weakling.

  Mental fortitude aside, my body remained immobile, splayed out like a turkey on a dinner plate.

  "Get the beast off him, now!" Khaled yelled as his blade screeched across fangs.

  As much as I appreciated Khaled's concern for my safety, I already knew Whitcomb wouldn't intervene. Saliva dripped from pointed fangs, wetting my hood and the wolf's golden eyes locked with mine in a fierce staring contest.

  I'll gut you and turn you into a throw rug.

  The beast relented, turning its head away and I thought I had won. A second later its jaws snapped around my face, giving me a close-up view of its tonsils. Its jaw flexed and an immense pressure bore down across my skull. I wondered how much pain I would've been experiencing if my nervous system hadn't been zonked out beyond recognition.

  The wolf thrashed its head, jerking me like a chew toy from side to side, tightening its jaw until its fangs chipped. Suddenly, the pressure released and the beast sent me soaring into a dry creek bed.

  I lay face down, nose in the dirt, listening as Soul Viper finished dispatching the wolves. Something sizzled, then popped and a thick lime green smoke billowed out and up into the valley like a morning fog.

  "How could you let this happen? Hurry and see if he's alive," Khaled shouted.

  A pair of hands roughly turned me over. I stared up at Whitcomb's dumb bandaged face, pleased by the sense of dread creeping through his soul. He took a step back.

  "What's his condition? He better still be breathing," Khaled said as he chucked another vial of white powder at the swarm of mercenaries.

  Another deafening bang reverberated through the night along with a blinding flash of light.

  "He's... Uh, he's uninjured." Whitcomb gulped, thoroughly disturbed, probably wondering why the wolf's fangs didn't pierce my flesh.

  "Grab him and move," Khaled said.

  "To hell with that." Whitcomb pushed back.

  Khaled shoved him toward me. "We will complete this assignment as it was assigned."

  "He fucking tore off my cheek. You carry him."

  Karma's Gaze highlighted a single status out of the corner of my eye.

  Target: Fisk

  Level: 13

  Karma: -3120

  Additional Data: Senior veteran of Soul Viper. Honorably mentioned as one of Aclana's most feared killers in Underground Assassin's Monthly Issue #304 under the pseudonym Void.

  The status belonged to an elusive silhouette that glided in across a grove opposite from the hill.

  The system prompted me for bonus data, which I quickly accepted.

  Bonus Data: Currently plays a key role in Soul Viper's day to day operations. Always skips breakfast, but consumes a calorie dense lunch.

  The assassin emerged from the shadows. His sudden appearance nearly made Khaled and Whitcomb jump out of their skin.

  Fisk was dressed in loose fitting rags—a style more befitting of a beggar than a high ranking Soul Viper alumni. He wore a walnut colored gimp mask with tiny bronze rivets embedded in a straight line across his mouth. A pair of beady eyes peered out from behind the mask's thin slits.

  I was more intimidated by his level than his homeless sex offender attire.

  "This is all incredibly disappointing," Fisk said, his voice smothered by the mask.

  Khaled took an immediate knee, ignoring the wave of mercenaries incoming from the brush.

  "Your instructions were clear. The signal was not to be used unless the situation was dire," Fisk complained, eyes lingering over me.

  "Dire? What do you call this?" Whitcomb pointed at the shreds of tangled flesh on the back of his legs. "I'll fucking bleed to death."

  Fisk tilted his head to the side and exhaled an annoyed breath. "So?"

  Adding Fisk to the equation dropped my odds of survival by a depressing amount. My best bet was getting captured by the mercenaries. But unless they produced an equalizer, they were doomed.

  Speaking of mercenaries, a brave level six stomped out of the brush with his sword raised, reinforcements filing in beside him. " Stand down and yield your weapons!"

  The mercenary took one cautious step forward and the rest of his squad followed up, pouring out of the brush. They stood in a line, forming a wall only a dozen feet away from the creek.

  Khaled stayed on his knees and sheathed his scythe while Whitcomb leaned against a tree next to Fisk, who purposefully stood between me and the mercenaries.

  "Surrender your arms and state your names!" the mercenary yelled.

  "Huh?" Fisk twisted around with his arms outstretched and shrugged. "You strangers dare ask our names after your mutts attacked my associate? Apologize and bring your healer forward."

  The level six mercenary lifted his hand up and raised his middle finger.

  Uh oh.

  Going off a very brief first impression, I figured Fisk wasn't the type of psycho capable of swallowing such blatant disrespect. Yet, the offense left him unbothered. Instead, someone in the mercenary's back line sounded a horn.

  "Black Diamond's healers and officers are on their way. I suggest you surrender Cyprus before they arrive," the level six said.

  "Oh?" Fisk crossed his arms, tapping a finger against his chin. "Black Diamond you say? Is Burtrip among your forces?"

  The level six narrowed his eyes, lips slightly parted as the answer lingered on his tongue.

  "How unlucky. I was hoping you'd introduce me." Fisk said as he drew a line in the dirt with the tip of his boot. "What's your name, soldier?"

  "Decker, gold ranked Black Diamond mercenary. Impede our objective any further and you will not be spared."

  "Hmm... Yes, I see." Fisk paced back and forth. "Damn. Damn. Damn. What would dear leader do in this predicament?" he muttered.

  An air of uneasiness seeped through the atmosphere. Being an unhinged individual myself, I recognized Fisk's fuse burning dangerously close to the dynamite beneath his surface.

  "Decide your fate. Hand him over and we'll treat your friend. This is your last warning," Decker said with the confidence of a mouse stuck on a glue trap.

  "Friend?" Fisk turned to Whitcomb. "Did you tell all of these people that we're friends?"

  Whitcomb's soul looked like it wanted to escape out of his ass. "No—no! Those words never came out of my mouth!"

  Fisk turned back toward the mercenary, veins protruding up his neck. "Let's not start leaping to insane conclusions here. I'll disregard your egregious defamation, Decker, but only this once."

  The puzzled mercenaries anxiously shifted among their ranks, weapons ready.

  Karma's Gaze automatically lit up, unveiling an armored mage squad drawing in from the hill. I assumed they were mages because they carried staves with fancy gemstones embedded along their shafts. Among the mage troupe were three officers, all level 10s. One of which pushed his way to the front beside Decker. He wore a full suit of sleek silver armor with a gaudy red feather that swayed atop his helmet.

  According to Karma's Gaze, his name was Meltyaet, a veteran Black Diamond officer who was only a few promotion points away from a pay bump.

  "What in Galdir's name are you fools doing?" Meltyaet growled.

  Fisk greeted him with a friendly wave of his hand.

  Decker said, "Sir, these unknowns have Cyprus and—"

  Fisk interjected, "Hello, there. Decker and I have already negotiated the terms of our arrangement. Your healers will tend to my associate's leg and then we'll peacefully be on our way with our cargo."

  "I didn't say," Decker started, but his commanding officer shoved him aside.

  The feather atop Meltyaet's helmet flopped forward on his face as he shouted, "Seize them."

  Fisk stumbled backward, clutching his chest. "Decker, how could you? This betrayal runs deeper than the blood in my veins."

  Decker and the rest of his squad stormed forward, but Fisk cupped his hands around his masked mouth and shouted. "Wait!"

  The mercenaries hesitated as Fisk pointed at the line he'd drawn in the dirt. "You are all within the realm of the living due to the courtesy I've extended thus far. This line represents the limit of my kindness."

  Fisk's icy confidence struck the chords of those marching forward. Their full strides devolved into meandering steps as they approached the groove in the soil.

  "Stop hesitating, you worthless pussies!" Meltyaet screamed at their backs.

  Fisk rapidly flailed his arms back and forth. "Decker, don't do it. There's still so much you have to live for. Love, food, the melodic patter of rain dancing across a castle's stone on cool, stormy nights."

  I couldn't blame Decker or the other mercenaries for not listening to the gimp mask wearing weirdo. Decker and nine other men charged across the line, swords, spears, and shields raised high.

  A split later they dropped their weapons and fell to the ground. Their statuses vanished into thin air along with their lives.

  What kind of magic is that?

  They had been killed instantly without a drop of blood being shed. Nor did I hear Fisk's incantation. Silence draped over the forest until Fisk exchanged a glance with Khaled, who dashed across the creek bed, scooping me up.

  Whitcomb chased after him while Fisk held his ground. Battle cries erupted and the mercenaries advanced as my kidnappers carried me into the night.