The stone Echo gave a roar and charged at him, but a beam from me melted through its torso, and Sasrir crushed its head with a shadow hammer.
An abrupt, ringing silence fell over the alley. The transition from chaotic violence to utter stillness was disorienting. The only sounds were the wet, ragged gasps of the man with the severed ankles and the pained, terrified moans of the one Sasrir had pinned to the ground with his shadow dagger. The air was thick with the stench of blood, voided bowels, and ozone.
I walked forward, my steps deliberate and unhurried. The Starlight Shard's gentle glow seemed obscenely cheerful in the scene of carnage. Sasrir stood immobile, his chest rising and falling steadily, his dark eyes scanning the rooftops for any further threat.
He had already moved on; the fight was over, the survivors were a logistical problem, not a combat one. At the same time, he causally brought his sword down on the man with no feet, finishing him off through the back of the head.
I stopped a few feet from the moaning man. He was trying to crawl, his fingers scrabbling at the blood-slick cobblestones, leaving smeared red trails. The shadow dagger pulsed faintly, holding him fast. I crouched down, the fabric of my cloak pooling around me. He flinched away, squeezing his eyes shut as if I were a monster from his deepest nightmares.
I reached out, not to touch him, but to gently tilt his chin up with a single finger. He trembled violently at the contact. I wiped a speck of someone else's blood from my cheek with my other hand, then gave him a wide, warm, and utterly terrifying smile.
"Hi there," I said, my voice light and conversational, a stark contrast to the scene around us. "Rough day, huh? My name's Adam. It's a real pleasure to meet you."
*******************************************
The hazy sun of the Dream Realm did little to warm the chilling silence of the Dark City's central districts the next morning. We packed up our meager camp in the stone hut, the memory of the previous day's close calls a fresh reminder to stay sharp. The Starlight Shard felt like a second skin now, its gentle warmth and the subtle boost to my attributes a constant comfort against the pervasive gloom.
"The monster traffic has lessened," Sasrir observed, his voice a low hum in the quiet street. He was right. The frantic, predatory energy of the outer ruins had given way to a more watchful, controlled stillness. "We are approaching a territory that is actively patrolled and cleared."
"Or we're just lucky," I replied, stepping over a pile of rubble that had once been a wall. "But I'll take it. I've had my fill of six-legged needle-mouths for a lifetime."
We moved with a cautious but steady pace, the ruins around us gradually showing signs of recent activity. Not the mindless destruction of monsters, but the deliberate passage of people. A path had been cleared through a particularly dense collapse. A few hundred yards later, we found the first corpse.
It was a man in rugged, practical leathers, not unlike the ones we'd seen on the Hunters in the Academy bulletins. He was sprawled on his back, a gaping wound in his chest. His eyes were wide and vacant, staring at the bruised sky. A few feet away, the corpse of a Fallen beast—a twisted thing with too many legs—lay dissolving into black ichor.
"Pathfinders," Sasrir stated, nudging the dead creature with his boot. "They scout ahead, clear routes. This one met something he couldn't handle."
"Or someone," I added, my Spectator's gaze noting the clean, precise nature of the killing blow. It looked more like a weapon than a claw. We found two more bodies over the next hour, each telling a similar story of violent ends. The message was clear: the real danger here wasn't just the environment, but the other inhabitants.
We fell into an easy, grim banter as we walked, a way to keep the oppressive atmosphere at bay. "You know," I said, "for a divine incarnation of shadow and sacrifice, you're a surprisingly picky eater."
"I have taste buds, not a garbage disposal," his mental voice retorted dryly. "That last Scavenger demon tasted of rot and despair. I prefer my meals with a hint of terror, not existential dread."
I chuckled. "Noted. I'll try to find something more gourmet next time. Maybe a Fallen beast marinated in its own fear?"
"See that you do."
Our banter was cut short as we approached a wider, crossroad-like intersection. Sasrir, who had been walking slightly ahead, froze. "Presences. Up ahead. Human. Six of them."
Without another word, his form dissolved into a patch of living darkness that flowed to my legs, becoming one with my shadow. I adjusted the Starlight Shard, making sure its glow was subdued, and rounded the corner.
There they were. Six figures, standing in a loose group as if they'd just finished a conversation. Three of them wore a distinct, matching leather uniform, marked with a symbol I didn't recognize—a spiralled pattern of lines. They stood with a casual authority. The other three were rougher, dressed in scavenged gear, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. They had the look of thieves and cutthroats.
One of the uniformed men, a fellow with a disarmingly warm smile and friendly eyes, stepped forward. "Well, hello there! A new face! Don't see many solo travellers this deep in the city. Name's Kael." He spread his hands in a peaceful gesture. "You look a little lost, friend. Are you..one of the new arrivals?"
My Telepathist powers, always passively active, flared to life. The surface of his thoughts was a placid lake of friendly concern. Welcome, stranger. You look tired. You look alone. But beneath that, like piranhas circling in the deep, were other thoughts. Soft clothes. No visible wounds. Fattened calf. Perfect. Lure him in. Is he alone? Check the shadows.
"I am," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Showed up in that godforsaken labyrinth of death over there, spent the last few weeks fighting my way over-well, more like running and hiding. Of course, this city is also a hellhole."
Kael's smile widened, before he winced in "sympathy" and shook his head. "A hellhole indeed! And a particularly confounding one at that. We call this place the Dark City, and the region itself is the Forgotten Shore. Not many people successfully reach the City alive...you're one of the lucky ones."
Then, his voice changed. "It's not safe to wander alone. We're headed back to the Bright Castle. Safety in numbers, you know? Gunlaug's protection extends to all who contribute." The words were inviting, but the subtext my power picked up was a predatory glee. Take the bait. Come with us. Easy to corner in the side alleys. That cloak looks valuable.
Another thought, sharper, from one of the rough-looking ones: Let's just jump him now. He's alone.
I took a subtle step back, my hand drifting slightly closer to where the Azure Blade was sheathed. "Gunlaug? Who's that?"
"Ah well, it's the name of the boss here. He's...strong, but also heavy-handed. Actually, I won't kid you, he's a bloody-fisted tyrant, but he keeps the peace and keeps them away, so there's not much people can do about him."
"If he's so bad, why don't others just get rid of him?" I asked with an innocent blink. "Surely you can just gang up on him even if he's strong, right?"
Despite his malicious ulterior motives, Kael gave an honest laugh at that, and even the people behind him cracked a smile. "Sorry kid, I don't mean to insult you. It's just, well how do I put this-Gunlaug has a Transcendent Memory on his person, a golden armour that can also shift into weapons. I don't know how educated you are on the Spell, but a Fourth Rank armour and weapon? Yeah, he can singlehandedly kill every survivor in the Forgotten Shore. Numbers only mean so much, especially against sheer overwhelming power like that."
"Anyways," his focus came back to me. "I didn't hear an answer?"
"Sorry," I said, keeping a straight face. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'd feel more comfortable going on my own. This part of the City seems safer anyways."
Kael's friendly mask slipped for a fraction of a second, his eyes hardening. The piranhas in his mind surged to the surface. "Now, that's not very smart, friend." His tone lost its warmth. "The city has a tax for passage. Call it a toll for the paths we've cleared. That nice cloak of yours will do. And that trinket in your hand." He nodded toward the Crucifix I was subtly clutching.