Darius Snowhair sprinted out from a trapdoor for the hidden tunnels that Steer and his men had stowed away in before their ambush. As soon as the battle started when the Silverstreak reinforcements attacked, he had no qualms with abandoning the Bodyhunters to their fate. They earned their deaths and the Fist were no friends of his.

  He halted for a spell so he could survey the battle and see how it was faring. When he saw the Fist trying to flee from the gate, only to be cut down by the swords of those black-clad assassins or slaughtered by that armoured raging Sarku, Darius saw how the wind was faring. Markus had lost. The Bodyhunters were dead. He turned and ran for his life.

  It was night time and the moon was reaching its full peak. The moonlight helped him see his way as he hurried down the main road and being careful not to trip on potholes or fall into the ditches on either side. He ducked down into a ditch for a spell to rest. His heart hammered wildly. He had escaped.

  After an hour he saw a merchant’s single-horse cart coming up alongside him, from a branching side road that merged into the main road. It seemed it was coming from the Northeast. He waited for the driver to cut along ahead of him. Seeing that he wished not to be seen arriving in the city, he darted back out and pursued the merchant’s wagon.

  He sprinted up and quietly climbed onto the back of the wagon, whilst being careful not to make a sound. In the wagon, Darius saw a collection of oak barrels, sealed with thick corks. Wine or another alcohol, he assumed.

  The merchant was none the wiser to his stowaway as he was busy talking to his partner, a woman with a smoker’s voice, about the moon. Apparently, not that Darius could give two shits about it, the moon’s cycle was off. The full moon wasn’t supposed to be for another week and it was bright, nearly too bright, for a full moon.

  The merchant’s wagon continued its painfully slow trundle towards the city. Darius struggled to keep calm.

  So much had just happened. So much. Markus was dead, or going to be very soon. The Bodyhunters were dead. The Barons had suffered a scathing defeat, something of a scale that would cause a power shift in the world. The rebels, if they truly were out there somewhere, would be further emboldened by this.

  A revolt was coming, Darius was certain of it. Either that or a revolution. In any case, Darius was dead certain to be anywhere but in the city. Being a Bodyhunter would be a death sentence for him now. They weren’t protected anymore by Markus's influence now.

  At last, he sighted Fennaposia’s northern wall. The gate loomed over them upon approach. Of course, the gates were closed, so Darius was curious to see how this merchant was going to be allowed entry. Surely he knew of the curfew?

  When the wagon slowed to a halt, Darius slid off the back and crawled under the cart, just as a guard who stood outside the gate as a sentry walked around the back to check the inside. Darius remained still as a rock, hunched and silent.

  The guard walked back and spoke with the merchant. Unable to see, Darius could only hear. “Oi.” The guard’s voice was a whiny adolescent. “What’s the delay then? You know what time you were supposed to show up with this wine, Nigellus?”

  The merchant Nigellus sighed deeply. An older voice. “The roadblocks those bloody rebels made from the north. There’s not just me that’s going to show up here, mate. There’s a whole bunch of wagons coming up the south road and heading for the southern Gate as well as this one. They’re only a couple of hours behind us.”

  “Yeah, we heard about the rebels’ goings-on.” The guard replied. “That’s why these gates are staying closed. We can’t be too careful. Can’t make exceptions here.”

  “Really?” Nigellus griped. “You’ve known me since you were a quarter your height. I’m no rebel!”

  “Not yet, anyways.” The guard retorted. “Sorry, Nigellus. Got my orders. You wait here until the curfew ends.”

  Nigellus shifted in his seat and then mentioned carefully. “I would really recommend you open this gate, Piken. Not just me showing up.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you said. A whole load of merchants as well. Look, it’s still curfew. I’ll get my arse handed to me on a spear if I let you in.”

  “I’m not talking about me. Baron Francisca’s on her way.”

  Darius blinked. Francisca, that’s worrying. He never trusted her. She gave him an uneasy vibe.

  Piken stuttered. “W-what?”

  “Yes, Baroness Francisca is coming. She had that southern rebel issue settled without any problems. She arrested the perpetrators herself and is bringing them here to face justice. I’d open the gates if I were you. She may come through this way.”

  Darius listened as Piken shuffled on his boots, turned and then ran for the gate. A man-sized door opened on the side and Piken ran in, clanging the door shut behind him.

  They waited for a moment, and then the gate began to open with a slow, loud groan.

  Piken’s voice sounded out. “Okay, you can come in. But we’re closing it after you. We’ll open the gate when the Baroness shows up.”

  “Many thanks, friends! Many thanks.”

  The Western Gate opened wide enough for the cart to begin pushing through. Darius, still crouched under the wagon, began to shuffle along with the wagon. Keeping himself abreast of the wheels on both sides, he imagined he would be kept out of sight for the time being.

  A few more guards stationed inside the gate waved over the cart and greeted Nigellus as he sighted them. The light of the torches was very bright, sending dangerous shafts of revealing firelight under the wagon’s shadows. Darius felt his heart freeze. He was unsure if he was going to make it.

  As the cart was just about to enter the gate completely, there was a shout from Piken.

  “Hey! Who goes there!?” He commanded.

  The wagon came to a sudden halt. Darius stopped too and turned around to glance behind. In the open gap of the gate, the darkness of the road was all they could see. There was a pale border of sight revealed by the lights of the inside. The gate’s opening provided a scant view.

  But it was still enough for all the guards, the merchants, and the possibly fugitive Bodyhunter to see the figure emerge from the shadows.

  A tall, slim figure in black and dark leathers with boots. But the figure’s clothes were badly burnt and frayed, the hair sodden with mud and blood, a face as pale as the moon, and wielding a shining silver sword stained with blood. Darius felt his heart twist.

  It was Arcos Blade.

  The young man— no, a wraith in the form of a young man— stepped quickly from the darkness and headed for the gate. Darius felt a shiver of fear crawl up his spine. Arcos looked nothing like what he saw in the fortress. He was changed, and for the worse. There was a coldness in his stride. A sureness in his face. And his eyes… gods… was he blind? His eyes were a milky white.

  Piken declared in a shaken voice, obviously deterred by the frightening image.

  “Halt! In the name of the Oligarchy, I command you to identify yourself and sheath your sword!”

  Blade did not stop his stride; he was ten or eleven paces from the entrance.

  “I follow no man’s command.” He snarled. “I follow my desire. Stand down or be cut down.”

  Darius shuddered. The boy’s voice was deep and sullen. Little emotion to be found. Had the revelation that Markus revealed to them hit the boy that hard? Of course it did. Darius couldn’t have imagined that happening to Sandra or what he would have done if he found out…

  Piken advanced towards the gate, allowing Darius to see the young man in armour. He was barely into his twentieth year. He was quickly flanked by the five guards on duty for the gate. They had their swords and shields out. But their stances were unsteady. They did not look ready for any combat. Doubtless, they were raw recruits.

  “Stand fast.” One of the guards barked horsely.

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  “Yeah. There’s only one.” Said another unconvincingly.

  Darius had no doubt Blade would make quick work of them. Run, you fools… He’ll kill you.

  Piken coughed and pointed with his sword. “We have been appointed guards for the Northern Gate, mate.” He stated clearly and shakily. “You just stop where you are and surrender yourself to questioning. Otherwise-” Piken didn’t get the chance to complete that threat.

  Blade burst into a sprint, turning into a black and white blur.

  Darius stared. Gods, he’s fast.

  In three seconds, Blade cleared through the gate and smashed into the centre of the formation. With a snicker-snack, his silver steel cleaved through Piken’s throat and cast his blood across the ground.

  The woman who travelled with Nigellus screamed in horror.

  Nigellus swore and then whipped his reins. The horse squealed and bounced ahead.

  Darius scrabbled out from under the wagon before he was revealed by its movement or crushed under its turning wheels.

  Barrelling to the side and then leaping into an open stable that housed the guards’ horses - they wouldn’t need them anymore - Darius hid in one of the pens and watched in fascination at the ferocity of Blade’s attack.

  Blade spun his sword through the shields and defensive stances that the men used against him. It was no use. His sword found the exposed joints in their armours, cutting into armpits, legs, and wrists. With the guards slowly disarmed, Blade followed through and killed each and every one of them without mercy. His expression was stone and ice. There was nothing behind those blind eyes. The horrors of the fortress had truly broken the boy. He had become something monstrous. Very much like Darius before he met Sandra.

  Sandra. Thaddeus. Darius tore his gaze away from the fight and calculated his path through the city. The fastest way was best now. He had little time. Just find them and take them out of the city. That was the only way out now. Not even a boat towards the Southern Coast would be viable, not with the rebels acting up down there. He did not know why Blade was here. No doubt, he was after the other Barons. So be it. They deserved whatever they had coming. Let them be dead.

  He remained hidden as the fight drew to its speedy conclusion. He was not going to show himself to Blade. Blade blamed him as much as anyone connected with Markus.

  He would kill him on sight.

  A gurgled plea was cut short by a slice, and Blade sighed heavily. Blade sprinted away from the dead and called out sharply after Nigellus and his woman. Darius peeked out from his hiding spot and saw that the poor merchant’s horse had panicked and driven itself into the open veranda of a market stall. The wagon was wedged in place, and the merchants were in the fearful position of either leaving their possessions or risking their lives. They were still caught in this indecision when Blade rushed up to them and tackled Nigellus to the ground.

  Nigellus shouted for mercy. His woman shrieked and moved to kick Blade off her man. But Blade caught her foot and twisted it with a violent jerk. There was a snap of bone, and the woman screamed as she dropped to the ground with a broken ankle.

  Nigellus was going to call for help before Blade grabbed his throat with one hand and lifted him clean from the ground with little effort. He then threw the man down next to his woman and poised his silver blade over them.

  Darius watched Blade ask Nigellus something, but was too far away to hear. He watched both man and woman point down the same street and towards what Darius assumed was either the Merchant District, Central, or the Dockyards. Blade gave them a nod and then pointed towards the bodies at the gate. He pressed a finger to his lips before sprinting away into the night.

  Darius counted to three before leaping out from the stables and rushing to the merchants.

  Nigellus was tending to his woman who was gasping and weeping from the pain.

  Her left foot was twisted the wrong way and her broken shinbone was poking through the skin, threatening to break the surface.

  “What did he say to you?!” Darius asked in feigned shock. “I saw the assassin kill those guards!”

  “He was a monster…” Nigellus stammered. “I- I- I never saw the like before. He was like a demon. A man in black!”

  “A demon…” his woman gasped.

  “But what did he say to you?” Darius asked again, tension straining his senses.

  “He wanted directions. A house. He was looking for a house in the Central District.” Nigellus’ woman answered as Nigellus brought first aid from the wagon. “A house with ivy on the walls and a-”

  “A blue door.” Darius concluded with a horrified whisper. He felt the blood drain from his face and neck. “Gods no…”

  Without saying goodbye to the unfortunate merchants who only sought shelter and safety from a dangerous countryside, Darius sprinted with the mad speed of a rabbit hunted by wolves after Blade.

  Darius begged and sobbed in his run. “Please let me be first. Please gods! Let me be first!”

  After a minute of running, turning, jumping, diving, sobbing, and swearing, Darius turned the corner of the street his home faced. And he saw the door, his blue door that Sandra had painted with expert care, smashed in.

  No. No. No. Gods. Please be merciful. Please!

  “No!” He cried as he pelted up the street, leapt over the small fence of the front garden, and leapt into the doorway. The door had been kicked inwards and hung lazily from one hinge. The second hinge was bent crazily and lay twisted on the floor. The table of his living room was flipped over, the candles that would light up the room at night were smashed across the floor. Wax spilled in dirty splashes on the hardwood. The chairs were turned upside down in crumpled, broken heaps.

  A cup of tea with a teapot was also smashed on the floor, with a sofa flipped over. It was like a bull had charged into the room and rampaged.

  Darius felt his heart ready to burst. He drew his sickles and advanced quickly into the space. Blade was still here or he was not. But Sandra and Thaddeus, where were they?

  Darius stalked through the kitchen, finding no sign. It was untouched. It was clear that Sandra was not expecting any company. She was utterly unprepared. Darius sobbed.

  He couldn’t handle the fear. The stress. The panic. His wife. His perfect, innocent, and wonderful wife. He knew that somehow, the sins of his past would come back to haunt him. He had feared as much. But he could never imagine it would come in the shape and face of Blade. The boy who had brought such destruction down upon the Bodyhunters. Darius wished he could go back in time. He would have stopped himself from taking the boy. Let him live in peace. He would—

  Darius came out from the kitchen and saw the stairs leading up to his room and his son’s. And at the foot of the stairs, sprawled on her back in a terrible angle— legs up the steps and hands down on the floor— was Sandra.

  No. No. NO. NO!

  Darius choked on tears as he dropped his sickles and rushed for her. She had a gash of blood on her head, probably from falling. There was fresh blood seeping from a wound in her shoulder and she wasn’t moving.

  Darius burst into tears of terror and pain. “Not like this.” He begged. “Punish me, but not this way!”

  Sandra’s eyes were closed and the blood trickled in rivulets past the corner of her eye and touching the corner of her mouth. He stroked her face to wipe the blood away.

  And then she coughed.

  Darius sighed with deepest relief as his wife, his Sandra, opened her eyes in shock. She instantly tried to lash out, but Darius caught her wrist and held it tight and warmly.

  “I’m here, my love!” Darius said. “Look, it’s me.”

  Sandra blinked many times. She was definitely concussed. “What-? What?”

  “It’s me.”

  Sandra smiled weakly upon recognising her husband. Then her face grew pale and she screamed in sheer panic. “Darius! He’s upstairs! Our baby! He’s upstairs with our baby!”

  Darius looked up the stairs where the lights from the candles were menacingly dim.

  He lowered his wife gently against the stairs, grabbed his sickles and charged upstairs, enraged. Worse enough, he thought Sandra was dead; he was murderous at that. But if Thaddeus was harmed… Darius would lose his mind and no power on the world would stop him.

  Right then, as his boots pounded the steps, he wanted Blade dead.

  Reaching the top, Darius spied his son’s room across from his and Sandra’s. The door was open.

  Darius growled and rushed forward, throwing all caution to the hells. Leaping into the entrance, Darius was halted in his place by the sight.

  Perched on his son’s opened window, like a bat in the dead of night, was Blade. In one hand, he held the dangerous silver sword that could seemingly cut through armour. In his other hand was Thaddeus’ wrist.

  Darius shook with anger.

  His son was in his bed clothes, his slippers included. He was shaking uncontrollably. A dribble of blood came from his lips with a slight bruise formed in that area. He had tried to fight back, but had lost. His eyes widened to saucers upon seeing Darius and his whimpering only increased in volume. “Daddy…?” he squeaked.

  “Release him.” Darius ordered with a barely controlled growl. “Now.” He felt like he could burst into flames.

  Blade watched him silently. His grip did not lessen. Thaddeus struggled to get free. But the grip was a vice. It would not yield. Thaddeus began to cry. And his bed trousers started to get wet.

  Blade glanced at the wet mess the boy was making. “Foul.” He said softly. “A boy should bear up and be a man in all adversity.”

  “Let go of him, Blade!” Darius roared. “I will not ask you again!”

  Blade glowed in the moonlight of the night outside. His eyes, blind, seemed to reflect the light, bringing clarity to the room. The silver blade began to glow as well.

  “Bodyhunter.” Blade spoke in that softness that unnerved Darius in a way that Markus wished he could. “You will suffer for this. I will make it so. Come to the grave of my childhood.” He then hissed and his eyes flared like stars. “Or suffer the fate that all parents of this world have when your kind came scratching at their doors.”

  Without another word, Blade whipped his hand away from Thaddeus, looped it around the child’s neck and fell out the window, dragging the screaming Thaddeus into the darkness.

  Darius howled and flew across the room, fingers outstretched.

  His fingers only brushed the hem of his son’s trousers, but could find no grip.

  In that instant, his son was gone from his very eyes. Taken into the dark by a deranged young man with nothing to lose.

  Darius stood there at the window, in his little boy’s room, staring at the night where he had last seen his son. Breathing heavily and shaking from his boots to his head, Darius could not imagine living without his son.

  He could not imagine Sandra living without their son.

  He had to get him back.

  But he knew that he could not do it alone… He turned and charged back down the steps to retrieve his wounded wife.

  Darius knew that they were the only ones who could help him now. And he also knew that they would have every reason to deny him and leave his son to his fate.

  Darius made another prayer to the Hands of Fate. He prayed that the Waywards and Four Claws Torrance himself would be more humane than he himself could ever hope to be.