Charred: Chapter 1

The city was dead. It had been that way for only a decade at

most. But anyone walking through would have sworn the city had been that way.

The ruined skyscrapers, burned out shells of cars, and streets soaked in the

smell of dried blood, similar to rusted steel.

The denizens of the city were rats. Not in form, not in

shape, but in the way they lived their lives. Human, Orc, or Fae, they fought

for scraps, scratched out a living amongst dust and ruin beneath skies black

with smoke.

And like rats, they scampered away in the face of a true

predator.

So they did at that moment, as a figure turned out of a side

street. The figure wore a black hooded cloak that hid her features, shadowing

everything but her jet-black boots from view. The figure was small, almost a

dot in the expansive city around her. And yet, the streets seemed to fill with

her presence. Shadows lengthened, and sounds faded as though muted by her

appearance.

She walked steadily, not fast or slow, simply headed to her

destination with the confidence of a predator in its territory. Soon, she

reached a green door built into the side of a rundown building, and knocked

four times.

The door disappeared. It did not open, or break down. It

simply disappeared.

Unfazed by the strangeness of this, the figure stepped into

the darkness left by the door.

"The mortals are scampering again." The figure

said as she stepped inside. "Someone will need to clean them out soon. Or

we'll be up to our eyebrows in the damn things."

Her flat, disinterested voice filled the shadows for a

moment, echoing.

"We'll speak to the hunters about it." A deep

baritone voice responded. "But that is not the issue at hand. Have you

read the report?"

"Yes." The figure removed her hood. Her hair fell

out of the confines of her hood in a dark black curtain of curls. Her eyes, a

strange violet hue that glowed in the dull light, looked into the shadows with

no fear. "What would you have me do?"

"Do you really need an answer to that?" A bored

voice said in reply. In a sudden burst, the room erupted in light from dozens

of candles. The candles were in all shapes, sizes, and colors, some clearly

salvaged from the rubble of the city. In their light, the room was revealed, an

enormous concrete space with discarded furniture and other assorted items that

had long ago been forgotten, like a hoarder's warehouse. The smell of dust and

decay hung over the place, giving it a sickeningly sweet smell.

Other than the figure, two people stood there, regarding

her. One was an old man, stooped over with age. He wore a tweed suit, and used

a cane. He looked something like an aging college professor.

Except his gray pupils covered the entire region of his

eyes.

The other person was tall, and thin as a whip. She was

sneering, purple lipsticked lips curling upwards. Her hair was short, and dyed

the same color as her lips. She spoke, revealing herself to be the bored voice.

“Find whoever is responsible. Inflict pain. Simple enough.”

The old man shook his head. “I'm afraid my dear Jezebel,

that will not be the best option. Finding the enemy will be hard enough. And

killing them will be more of a challenge.”

“I can do it.” The black-haired girl said simply. However,

even as she spoke, her eyes turned to stare at Jezebel. “I need the last known

location of the beast.”

“And, therein the problem.” The old man stepped forward,

handing the girl a piece of paper.

The girl opened it, reading quickly. She frowned

“This will be...odd.”

“Forget that.” The woman waved a hand in the air. “Go. Kill

the beast. And come back for your next mission.”

The girl didn't respond to the rude words. She instead

looked at the old man. He smiled, eyes flashing. It was not a kind smile.

Taking that as an order, the girl neatly folded the paper.

Then she looked at Jezebel again.

The other woman frowned at her. “What? You want something-”

Suddenly, Jezebel was choking. She blinked, confused. One

minute, the petite girl had been across the room. The next, she was in front of

her. And the girl had her hand outstretched. Jezebel looked down into the eyes

of the shorter girl, then further down.

The petite girl had entered her hand into Jezebel's chest.

As Jezebel watched in horror, she realized the sickening feeling that filled

her was her heart being squeezed in a grip of iron.

“I find that those who are rude, as a rule, tend to have

weak hearts.” The girl said in a clear voice, squeezing down a bit and watching

coolly as Jezebel made a noise somewhere between crying and screaming. “It's

good to know how true that is.”

With a pull, Jezebel watched the hand remove itself, leaving

her to fall on the ground. The girl's hand was thankfully empty. That was the

only thing Jezebel felt grateful for as she passed out.

The girl scoffed at the bleeding form, taking a handkerchief

out to delicately wipe her hand of blood. “Where did you find this one?”

“She used to do taxes or something.” The old man shrugged, unbothered

by the violence he'd seen. “I thought she'd be good for the finances of

business. I never had a head for numbers.”

“That's,” The girl blinked. “Actually a good point. Well,

she can stay...for now.”

The girl turned. “I'll head out to the front.”

“We'll have a transport waiting.” The old man seemed to

hesitate before speaking. “And Fred?”

She stopped, turning around. He gave her an apologetic

smile. “Please. For me.”

The smile became something vicious. “Bring back the beast's

heart?”

The girl smiled back, before leaving the room. With a skip

in her step.