Philippa met it head-on, knife raised. She sacrificed again — this time the sharp sting of every argument she'd ever had with her brother. The memory tore away cleanly, leaving a strange hollow ache behind her ribs. In exchange, her reflexes sharpened further. The world seemed to slow just enough for her to see the creature's weak points.
She sidestepped the snapping mandibles and drove the serrated blade upward into the soft joint beneath its head. The knife punched through chitin with a wet crunch, sinking deep into pulsing tissue. Thick, dark ichor erupted in a pressurized spray, splattering hot across her neck and chest. The stench of rot and bile was overpowering. She twisted the blade viciously, feeling muscle and cartilage tear with a series of wet pops, then yanked it free with a gruesome sucking sound.
The skitterer convulsed, legs scrabbling against the pavement. One barbed limb caught her across the ribs, reopening the earlier crack with fresh agony. Blood welled up instantly, soaking her torn shirt in a warm, sticky flood. She staggered but didn't fall.
Behind her, Sylcath moved.
His crimson energy flared brighter. He targeted the wounded skitterer, fingers splaying. The creature froze mid-thrash, body jerking violently as invisible force ripped into its opened wound. There was a sickening wet tearing sound — like wet fabric being shredded — as another glowing chunk of essence was violently extracted through the gaping hole in its thorax. Strands of muscle and dark fluid trailed after it. The skitterer collapsed in a twitching heap, its carapace split wide, pale innards leaking onto the blood-soaked ground in a spreading pool.
Sylcath absorbed the essence with a slow breath, his posture straightening. The Echo Ripple from Philippa's latest sacrifice brushed against him again — this time carrying the hollow ache of lost memories. For a split second his smirk faltered, replaced by something closer to irritation.
"You're getting reckless," he said, voice low and edged. "Trading away family arguments? What's next — your name?"
Philippa wiped ichor from her face, the motion leaving another dark smear. She almost laughed bitterly at the absurdity. "Better than stealing everything someone else fought for," she replied, breathing hard. "At least I'm paying my own price."
More skitterers poured from the fresh rifts, their jointed legs clicking against concrete. The heavy coppery stench of blood and opened bodies hung thick in the air, drawing them like flies. Philippa's leg and ribs burned with every step, but the clarity from her sacrifices kept her moving.
She spun to face the next wave. One skitterer leaped at her injured thigh. She brought the knife down in a savage arc. The blade split its head open with a juicy crunch, pale pus and dark blood exploding outward, splattering her jeans and boots. The creature's legs curled inward with soft, wet clicks as it died.
Another latched onto her already torn forearm, barbs sinking deeper into muscle. Pain flared white-hot. She felt the barbs tear flesh as she pried it off and slammed it against the ground. Its body burst with a wet pop, insides smearing across the pavement in a slippery mess. The metallic-rot smell made her stomach turn, but she kept fighting.
Sylcath stayed close now, no longer just watching. He dispatched another skitterer with casual efficiency — crimson light flaring, body convulsing, essence ripped free through its back with another wet tearing sound. He absorbed it smoothly, but Philippa noticed the way his jaw tightened when her Echo Ripple hit him again, feeding him echoes of her pain and the hollow feeling of lost memories.
"You're dangerous to be around," he muttered, stepping over a twitching corpse. "All this leaking… it's like walking with a beacon that screams 'easy prey'."
Philippa didn't answer immediately. She could feel the next sacrifice hovering at the edge of her mind — something heavier this time, something that would cost more. Her brother's face flashed briefly in her thoughts before she pushed it away. She couldn't afford sentimentality right now.
A particularly large skitterer — thicker than the others, with longer, sharper barbs — broke from the pack and charged straight at her. Its mandibles clicked open, revealing rows of jagged teeth glistening with saliva and blood.
Philippa raised her knife, muscles screaming, blood still flowing freely down her arm and leg in warm rivulets. She prepared her next desperate sacrifice as the creature closed the distance, spiked limbs tearing up the ground. Sylcath moved parallel to her, crimson energy gathering in his palm once more, his eyes locked on the approaching threat — and on her — with an intensity that felt far more complicated than simple rivalry.
The large skitterer reared up, ready to strike, as Philippa lunged forward with the knife, heart pounding, fresh blood spraying from her wounds, and the weight of her latest sacrifice still echoing hollowly inside her chest.