Chapter 1 - Giant killer rats are the least of our problems.

“I can't believe I'm actually doing this.”

Eric smirked at his own foolishness, daring to hunt down giant-sized rats in a city as dangerous as this one with nothing more significant than a pointy stick as he carefully made his way along the trash-strewn alleyway between two brownstone buildings in the heart of Gilton city in the dead of night, feeling the weather despite his woolen cap and the thick leather jacket he wore. At least his hands were protected from the cold as he prodded a particularly suspicious-looking mound of trash with his spear, thanks to his thick leather gloves.

He shivered when an errant gust of wind blew between the two buildings, nose wrinkling at the sickly sweet stench of decay while continuing to make his way through the trash-strewn alleyway filled with ruptured bags picked clean by desperate survivors and the prey he was hunting, with nothing to light his way save for the brilliant stars flashing like jewels all the colors of the rainbow overhead that would have filled an earlier, more innocent version of himself with awe and delight.

Before the world had ended.

For just a moment, Eric wondered what it would have been like if the heavens had abruptly changed without every electronic device worldwide abruptly shorting out, and every potential high chemical explosive instantaneously discharging. A gunshot that could be heard throughout the world, temporarily deafening near everyone even as it destroyed good portions of countless cities, instantly devastating every military and law enforcement force worldwide.

If there was one tiny blessing, it was that the world hadn’t erupted in a nuclear holocaust, and that humanity hadn’t been devastated by leaked viruses from bio research labs the world over. At least with cold storage now a thing of the past, those bio samples had all decayed and advanced germ warfare was a thing of the past. Or so Eric fervently hoped.

The only advanced technology left intact seemed to be AM Radios, now dominated by pirate stations and jockeys quickly making names for themselves as they tied humanity's frayed strings of society together, for all that their accounts of what had happened, both to the world and humanity, grew increasingly dire.

But what Eric would never forget was the way his mother’s flawless features had frozen to stillness and hard-eyed focus the moment a devastatingly loud crack echoed through the hotel he and his family were staying at. A crack that had been followed seconds later by a growing roar and boom as every battery, oil tank, and boiler room in the city simultaneously exploded.

It wasn’t fear he had seen in her gaze. It was anger.

Emerald green eyes crackling with a fury that had frozen him where he had stood, utterly oblivious the phone that had been rapidly heating up in his grip.

Certainly the way she had instantly reacted, tearing the phones free of both her children’s hands and tossing them aside before they burst into flame had been that of a woman able to think on her feet while the upscale hotel’s other guests had been gazing at their fellows in stunned confusion. Those not crying out when their fingers were burned, or their purses caught on fire that by some miracle didn’t take out the whole building.

Instead, his mother was already sprinting for the staff corridors, her trainer and bodyguards dragging Eric, Elonia, and their own children in their wake, his dazed and panicked-looking sister’s questions remaining unanswered as they all darted ever deeper into the bowels of the hotel, no staff daring to question Aurelia Silver’s no-nonsense glare as she raced for the bottommost flight of stairs before revealing secrets that changed absolutely everything for Eric and his sister both.

That was when he heard it, the unmistakable chittering of rats.

His heart started to race as he dared the latest alleyway cloaked in darkest gloom.

Knowing he was just feet away from his prey.

“You sure you want to do this, Eric?”

He smiled at the memory of his sister’s expression when their normal practice of hunting far smaller sewer rats with crossbows had become, for Eric, a compelling need to hunt the much larger surface-dwelling creatures above. And he was determined to do so while using only a knife and spear.

The look his sister had given him had been priceless, with the exact same exasperated look she had worn on the big screen in multiple teen heartthrob movies that would never play in any theater, ever again.

Still, she had been supportive, surprisingly so, when Eric explained why he was so desperate for a successful hunt.

“Alright. Makes sense. Especially if they're going to get bigger and deadlier over time. And while you do that, I’ll keep a lookout by overflow entrance. If it’s too much for you to handle, just race back as fast as you can and give me a shout.” She had patted her double-shot crossbow with a smirk. “I’ll snipe any oversized rat in time to save your goofy ass, and then we’re out of here.”

“Elonia, you don’t have to wait for me.”

His sister’s eyes twinkled at that. “What, and miss the chance for a quick smoke break with the breeze making sure mother dearest doesn’t pick up on it before I can take a shower?” Her bemused gaze hardened. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you do this alone, without any backup at all, brother.” The look she had given him, both entrancing and intimidating as hell, just like their mother’s, had quelled any further words of protest.

“Alright. Just promise me that if any trouble comes your way, you’ll dart back inside and secure the gate behind you. I can always use one of the other entrances in a pitch.”

Elonia’s features had immediately softened into a smile, a few of her golden blond curls sneaking free of the woolen cap she wore. “Don’t worry, bro. No giant city rat is going to get anywhere near me with the perfume I’m wearing, so I’ll be right as rain.”

Eric laughed at that. “Because my sister’s nostrils are far too upscale for the scents of the sewer, even if it’s more a series of storm drains than anything else.”

“That, and the scent of mother’s own brand means she isn’t endlessly lecturing me about being an idiot with my health after the world fucking ended, even if I’m down to just two cigarettes a day. Besides, it’s better this way. We can snipe the sewer rats at range with crossbows just as well as we used to hunt with our 0.22s. And they shy away before coming too close, which makes us safer. But as far as the monster rats up here go...” Her gaze grew haunted. “I’d just as soon they not come anywhere near me. But we both know I’m a better shot than you, so if you come running with rodents biting your butt, I’ll make sure you’re home free… even if I’ll be laughing about it till the end of days. Which, let’s be honest, probably isn’t that far off.”

He shook himself free of reverie’s grip when the alleyway he was investigating erupted in squeals, suddenly confronted by a trio of massive rodents glaring at him with vicious-looking incisors that practically glowed in the moonlight, as did their beady red eyes.

Eric hissed and jumped back, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling at the hostility he saw in the gazes of rats the size of pit bulls angrily chittering his way, and he couldn’t shake the certainty that it was they who had been stalking him, eager to take out the human they clearly considered dinner.

He quickly shifted his grip on the haft of his weapon from an overhand casting throw to a two handed stance, instantly sensing his peril.

Because his pitbull-sized prey —They weren’t this big before! How the hell did they get so big? — made it exquisitely clear that this was no longer a one-sided encounter. So he’d be a fool to give up the reach advantage allowed by his weapon, and he could only pray that all his hours of training under his mother’s no-nonsense instructor would pay off now.

Of course that was the moment that his left heel managed to catch and stumble over a trash bag filled with putrefying garbage now flooding the air with the stench of rotten eggs, Eric choking back the urge to vomit with the heart-pounding terror of imminent death when the trio of giant rats took that as the signal to strike.

“Leap back, lunge, and get your spear back in Crown guard, boy!”

Vincent’s words rang through Eric’s skull just as loudly as they had while training that morning as he lunged with his spear, by some miracle actually piercing the flank of the closest rat with surprising ease before leaping back and jerking his weapon free in a spray of blood.

The squealing rats rushed him then, their need to scurry over mounds of trash all that brought him even a second to raise his spear high overhead as he desperately stumbled back from vicious looking teeth that would cut through his denim jeans like tissue paper.

“Never forget that your spear is just a quarterstaff with a sharp end. When you’re fighting vermin, nothing beats a club!”

The memory of Vincent’s words were punctuated with a crack as Eric slammed his polearm against the back of the second rat, earning a furious squeal as the thing collapsed, which was of course the moment the third and final rat sprang through the air, vicious incisors tearing right through his leather jacket and the denim shirt underneath as Eric desperately dodged, yanking his arm free of the giant rat’s grip and choking back a curse at the sudden flare pain.

But he could still hold his spear, and that was all that mattered, the air whistling as he windmilled the shaft of his weapon in a powerful overhand blow that cracked against the final rodent’s skull with stunning force. Not fatal by any means, but it brought Eric the precious seconds he needed to leap back before lunging his spear into the flank of his would-be executioner repeatedly until its squeals died off and it was most definitely dead.

A panting Eric then spun around just in time to meet the hot red gaze of the first rat he had clubbed, upright once more, for all that it’s head was tilting oddly as it squealed and lumbered forward, crimson eyes lit by a feral madness Eric prayed wasn’t contagious as he rammed his spear point down the vicious creature’s throat.

Before collapsing in a panting heap, gasping for breath while trying not to puke from the awful stench of blood, offal, and rotten garbage.

It was long seconds before he stumbled to his feet once more, using his spear like a walking stick to help right himself up, before quickly checking the haft of his weapon, relieved to see that the ash wood had held up admirably well under the abuse.

For just a second, he was filled with a fierce sense of accomplishment.

Because he had actually done it! Killed three clearly sentient homicidal monsters in the heart of the city with a weapon so like the ones he had trained his ass off with for over a year, all for the sake of a movie that would never see the light of day.

The farthest thing from a mechanical crossbow used at a distance, he had blooded himself in combat with a weapon used in his own two still shaking hands.

And he had most definitely been fighting for his life.

But he was smart enough to resist the urge to roar any sort of victory cry.

Because in this city, he was still an ant among literal giants, and massive, homicidal rats were the least of the monsters that now stalked the city streets.

The only reason why he had dared this bit of madness in the first place.

Chilled by the sudden sense of something watching him, Eric quickly lurched away from the sight where he had just finished fighting for his life, committing the cardinal sin of leaving his kills where they lay. He did his best to ignore the throb in his arm while slinking down another nearby alleyway as fast as he could while still being quiet and cautious, this particular alley thankfully free of the garbage mounds that could be hiding any number of hideous secrets, quickly putting added distance between himself and the sight of so much noise, and blood.

Sure enough, in less than a minute he could hear the sounds of angrily chittering rats back the way he had come. And Eric had no doubt a fresh pack of predatory vermin would soon be wild with the need to hunt whoever was stalking them… just as soon as they had finished devouring the remains of their kin.

Eric forced himself to stop after quickly scanning the area, seeing no signs of ambushing rats or predators of the two-legged variety, whether they be desperate survivors, or far worse creatures still.

Only then did he dare take off his partially shredded jacket and the pair of shirts he had worn underneath. Much to his profound relief, the wounds he had suffered were shallow, teeth merely scraping his flesh, as opposed to digging in with bone crushing force. He shivered in memory at just how big those massive incisors had been before hurriedly opening the fanny pack secured to his waist containing the handful of first aid and survival tools he’d be stupid to go without, using alcohol swabs to clean the wounds as quickly and thoroughly as he could.

He almost welcomed the abrupt fiery pain that snapped him back into focus and dispelled the shakes he felt before slapping on gauze and tape and dressing himself once more.

But not before cleaning off the blood that had spattered on him from rodents and his own injury as best he could.

“My first real hunt. Let’s hope it was enough.”

Eric forced himself to smile, though it was more an anxious grimace, never having felt more exposed and vulnerable than he did right then as he quickly made his way back to where his sister was waiting for him, having no doubt that she was as just as eager to get out of here and back to their family’s underground bunker, their sanctuary in a city gone mad, as he was.

He couldn’t quite hide his relieved smile upon catching sight of the familiar alleyway that would lead to a forgotten storm drain entrance carefully hidden under a wedged rear load dumpster with a partial false bottom that still remained undisturbed from anyone, save themselves. Of course, the padlocked entrance just beyond had served as one more deterrent that thankfully remained unbreeched.

All he had to do now was cross a single car-lined street with row homes on both sides, flower beds now overrun with lush vegetation comprised of once carefully tended flowers and hearty weeds. A beautiful sight to see during the day, Eric was sure, but he and his sister had only ever dared the surface at night, with crossbows at the ready, for far shorter lengths of time than he had spent hunting this evening.

His gut clenched with sudden guilt, knowing his sister had been patiently waiting for him, and that he had been out far longer than he said he would, so desperate to make his first kill with his spear, or any weapon connecting him to his target.

Because if Four Dog and the other AM jockeys were right, it was his best chance of surviving the pods.

He shuddered, momentarily inundated with memories of the awful alien plant he and his sister had spied in the center of the city park, just a few weeks ago. A vegetative abomination that could open its trunk like a mouth and flex its arboreal limbs almost as well as any terrestrial mammal. Eric cringed in memory of the kicking and screaming captives that had been forced into the pulsating arboreal abomination by massive humanoid sentinels covered in mail hauberks with bayoneted muskets they used as spears, jabbing their victims as they were forced to enter that quivering vegetative maw. A race of alien invaders that actually looked like a cross between a gorilla, a man, and an oversized swine, with all the hate and spite and stupidity one could imagine. And they called themselves orcs. Of course they did. Though they were far more powerful than the cannon fodder so often described in his favorite isekai stories back when he actually read those things for fun. Because it had taken less than a thousand of those monstrosities to capture and subjugate this demoralized broken city. Declaring it their own, and all the humans within their property.

Of course there had been a point to those orcs shoving their captives into that hideous vegetative maw.

Transformation of hapless humans into actual Classers. Useful tools for the orc faction, according to the AM Jockeys.

“10% Survival rate was bullshit, Not one of them came out as anything but a mutated horror!” Eric muttered under his breath, recalling all too clearly the most horrific night of his life, he and his sister frozen with fear as they watched the nightmarish slaughter from the remnants of an apartment building overlooking the block filled with captives, orcs, alien pod monstrosity, and a roasting pit where their ever practical porcine invaders would throw in the vegetative remains of anyone who didn’t survive the transformation, before devouring them whole.

And so far as Eric could determine, that was every last one of them.

It didn’t matter that the actual numbers reported to multiple pirate AM stations made it clear that there were survivors, and yes, humans could actually transform, evolve, and grow stronger with the potency of their kills, once they dared the pods. All that mattered was that there was an absolutely absurd 90% mortality rate, and that most everyone who did survive were either ex-cons, hunters, former military, or worked on a farm where they regularly butchered livestock. Because the one thing that all the interviewed survivors, now referred to as Classers, had in common was that they had taken sentient life, and they had done it with a low tech weapon where the force generated had been their own. Just as he had done that very night.

Eric quickly shook away the awful memories that always lingered if he wasn’t constantly seeking distraction.

And that was when he felt it, an awful twisting sensation in his gut, just knowing that something was wrong.

He didn’t dare question it, quickly spinning around with his spear at the ready when he heard a distant scream and crash, his paranoia ratcheting up, peering into the dark alleyway behind him for any skulking presence.

But there was nothing. No one glaring his way in the gloom, when he had done his best to dress in dark colors, the steel head of his spear painted black so no light reflected off its razor sharp edge. Of course, even if he had been spotted, a man with a seven foot long spear was a threat best avoided, at least for fellow zero level scavengers like himself.

He couldn’t help but flash a relieved smile when he finally made his way back, sanctuary now just a single alleyway away.

That’s when he froze, eagerness to embrace the warmth and safety of their hidden bunker replaced with a lurching sense of dread in his gut.

Because the girl who should have been looking his way with a congratulatory smile, crossbow held at the ready to take out any threat that might be chasing his backside, was gone.

There was no sign of Elonia at all.

And that wouldn’t have been so bad if she had left one of the three scraps of cloth secured to a nail by the alleyway entrance that would have let him know that she had retreated back to the storm drains and bunker, was watching the area from cover nearby, or was just taking care of basic necessities.

Something. Anything.

There was nothing at all.

Which meant that his sister had been taken.

Or outright killed.

His heart lurched in his chest, momentarily overwhelmed by an awful surge of fury and terror and guilt before getting ahold of himself and taking slow, steadying breaths.

Panic would get him nowhere.

Beating himself up would just weaken him when he needed to be at his strongest.

What he had to do now was look for any clues or evidence as to what might have happened to his twin, and maybe pray to whatever god commanded the alien configuration of stars overhead that his sister had simply forgotten to leave a flag.

With all his heart, he prayed it was simple human error.

But he wasn’t so stupid as to go charging in blind, though it was all he could do to resist the urge to just race across the starlit street. He held off from that growing impulse for long seconds, eyes burning with anxiety, peering into the far alleyway as intently as he could looking for something. Anything.

Yet he saw nothing of note at all. No trace of blood by the alleyway entrance or artifact of clothing. Best of all, no slumped over body or remains that could be – don’t think about it. Don’t!

A cursory check of the far alleyway showed nothing untoward that he could see, save for the painful lack of his sister. So he quickly darted from the alleyway to crouch behind one of the many parked cars by the sidewalk of the tree-lined street that would never start again.

A necessary bit of cover as he gave the far alley a final careful look before sighing and shaking his head, praying that his sister had smartened up and just gone home, rag scraps being an uncertain thing in this gusty wind, and he’d better get his ass back himself if he didn’t want his mother to—

There!

Movement!

Alarm froze him stock still as anxious eyes peered into the gloom, seeing nothing but shadows in darkness until restless movement became the silhouettes of a pair of burly men with baseball bats casually held by their shoulders.

And no sign of his sister at all.

His heart lurched in his chest as desperate eyes continued to peer into the darkness.

Maybe it was just a couple scavengers checking out the alleyway.

No doubt his sister had spotted them and quickly darted back through the false bottom of the dumpster. For all Eric knew, there had been no time to put up any subtle flag indicating whereabouts and intentions. All that mattered to him at that moment was that she was safe.

He began whispering fervent prayers that such was the case, even as his hands clenched the haft of his spear painfully tight, silently screaming for the pair of scavengers to leave.

Yet they stayed right where they were, one even going so far as to stick his head out into the street beyond, showing off gaunt features and a scraggly beard as the broad shouldered man idly swung his bat around, eyeing both ends of the tree lined boulevard before sauntering back to his shadowy partner.

“Any sign of anyone?”

Eric flinched at the sound of the whiskey-roughened voice further in the alley.

“Nah, man. There ain’t shit coming or going. I told you she was a one-off. Just a stupid bitch thinking that crossbow of hers made her anything but a stuck-up cunt.” Scraggly-beard shook his head. “Now Aaron’s got a gut wound and we got no fucking doctors, so that fool’s going to have to dare the pods anyway. And Phil and the others are going to get the bounty because you’re a greedy fuck, thinking some other loser will actually show up at this hour.”

Other words were said then, but Eric could hear nothing but the roar of his own pounding heart as his worst fucking nightmare came true.

His twin sister that he loved as fiercely as his own life had been taken by these lowlife monsters, because he had been so headstrong and greedy as to race off on his stupid foolish quest, and she refusing to let him go without being there to cover his six, just in case he had heat on his tail. Both of them so stupid as to count on perfume that might irritate rats… but would only catch the nose and interest of gutter snipes like these.

If he had just gotten back a few minutes sooner… if he hadn’t bothered trying to hunt down that final pack of rats… it was all he could do not to scream as he raced across the street, the soft leather padded soles of his boots that had come so damn handy in rat hunting paid off one last time, as Scraggly-beard was so busy bitching with his partner that he didn’t even think to turn around until Eric had finished sprinting across the street.

But by then, it was far too late.

Eric’s scream was silent, projected in the fury of his blow as he slammed into the closest slaver with every ounce of force and fury he could generate, his spearhead leading the charge.

Yet it caught even him off guard, just how easily his weapon plunged through his enemy’s chest, Eric actually slamming right into his opponent’s back and bowling him over after completely running him through, his fallen foe now spraying hot blood everywhere.

The second figure lurched in surprise.

“What the fu—“

Eric didn’t hesitate, horror at his own actions, terror for his sister, and blinding fury for the assholes who had laughed at his sister’s kidnapping like it was nothing propelled him forward, Vincent’s lessons the only thing that made sense as the rest of his mind was a whirlwind of grief, fury, and a desperate need to kill.

“Fencing is all well and good, Eric. But if you’re ever in a real fight, you need to seize the Vor! Claim the initiative, take your enemies by surprise, and hammer into them with everything you got until you’re the last man standing. Because fencing skills don’t mean shit if you can close and kill before your opponents even have a chance to get their bearings, let alone unsheathe their blades!”

He didn’t dare waste a second, forgoing his now jammed spear to shoulder check the flatfooted asshole with his bat still held against his shoulder, gazing at the blond-haired youth now slamming into him in wide-eyed disbelief as Eric whaled into the stunned asshole with everything he had.

Because even if he didn’t know shit about boxing beyond throwing a solid right hook that looked good on camera, he knew that when your foe had a bat at his shoulder, you closed the distance and got right in his face just as fast as you could, giving him no room to swing. Preferably while pounding your foe’s ribs and face like your life depended upon it. Because it did.

His opponent’s flatfooted disbelief only lasted a second, the man now fumbling back and roaring that he’d kill Eric as he tried to get distance between them, but Eric pressed right against the asshole, shoulder slamming him into the brick wall of the alley, channeling his fury into pounding the man’s ribs as hard as he damn well could before the slaver dropped his bat, now wildly flailing at Eric’s face and ears so hard he saw stars.

But a desperate furious Eric felt nothing but the pounding of his own heart as he continued to pummel his slightly taller opponent whose blows grew weaker before he collapsed with a wheeze when Eric’s throbbing fist connected with the scavenger’s chin one final time.

“Where is she, you motherfucker!? Where the fuck is she?” A panting, exhausted Eric screamed, glaring down at the battered, groaning man, who was now gazing up at Eric in fear as he curled into a ball and wheezed for air himself.

“Whatever you want, just take it, man! Just please don’t—”

The scavenger’s eyes widened when he caught Eric’s gaze, and noted the fallen bat Eric had just claimed for himself. A bat he whipped around with a thoughtful nod.

“It will do,” Eric softly said to himself, once he finished catching his breath.

The battered scavenger quickly raised his hands. “No, please man, don’t… you don’t have to do this!”

Eric glared down at the man, his own bloodied and bruised hands clenching the comforting hickory shaft of the weapon he had claimed. His voice, when he spoke, was as soft as he could make it, yet for some reason the asshole at his feet still flinched, choking back a whimper.

“You assholes mentioned a girl with a crossbow.” Eric swallowed the awful lump in his throat. It was a struggle just to get the words out, to give life to his own worst fears. “Where is she?”

The man’s eyes widened in sudden alarm. “Hey man, look, seriously dude, we didn’t know she meant anything to you, okay? If we had known, we—“

His scream echoed through the alleyway when Eric’s new bat whistled through the air, obliterating the slaver’s knee.

The look of horror the shrieking man sent Eric’s way meant nothing, his mentor’s words overlaying the furious curses and desperate pleas of the asshole who had endangered the one person he actually gave a fuck about in this twisted post-apocalyptic hellhole.

“A grappler fighting from the ground might think he’s being clever against a boxer. But he’s a damned fool if there’s any chance you can bring a weapon to bear. But don’t strike at his torso. You’d be surprised at just how quickly a skilled martial artist can sweep-kick you right off your feet and choke you out using skills I never had a chance to teach you. Instead, you aim for the legs. Just like you do the hands and wrists of someone fighting you with saber. Because if you can take out the limbs, the body will follow soon enough.”

“I asked you a question, I expect a fucking answer!” Eric snarled, glaring at the man, before flashing a hard smile. “And don’t think I’m so blind to the dark that I didn’t see you reaching for that Bowie sheathed at your hip. Now, how about you pull it out nice and easy in a two-finger grip? That’s right. Now toss it behind you. Good.”

The pleading scavenger’s eyes flared with sudden heat. “I could have gutted you like a fish, you stupid prick, but I didn’t!”

Eric nodded. “True. Not because you were feeling merciful, but because all you could focus on were my fists slamming into your face and ribs when I crowded you too close for you to use your fucking bat. Which is now my fucking bat. How about that?”

Another lesson he had learned from his mentor. Even if his mad charge into his first target, running his foe completely through, had temporarily cost him his weapon.

That wasn’t a target, that was a person! I just killed someone!

He desperately pushed the thought away. Focusing on what mattered.

The only thing that mattered.

His family.

He’d bear all the guilt and sleepless nights he knew would be coming his way, if he could just save his sister, he promised himself, glaring down at the bastard who had jeopardized the life of his twin.

“No more fucking stalling. Where the hell is she!?”

Much to Eric’s horror, the panicked look in the flesh peddler’s eyes told him everything he needed to know.

“Oh god, jeez, I swear, if we had known she was yours...”

“Say it.”

The man began to cry. A predator who thought nothing of hunting his own kind broke down into desperate sobs by Eric’s feet.

“Fucking say it!”

“We took her to the pod, man. Please! We had to! If we don’t meet their quota, they’ll—“

CRACK!

A sobbing Eric sank to his knees as post-battle shakes overtook him, gagging at the coppery stench of blood as he took shallow breaths, eyes squeezed tight against macabre scene before him. Blood and death he had caused, choking back his despair.

His sister had been taken, and it was entirely his fault.

And he sure as hell didn’t have time to lose sobbing over slavers who had sentenced his sister to a horrific death.

He shook away grief he had no time to feel, choking back the urge to vomit as he yanked his spear free of the now lifeless corpse before him. Forcing himself to take basic care of his weapon, wiping it down with a scrap of cloth to make sure the shaft wouldn’t slip in its grip, the practiced movements helping him to focus, girding himself for what came next.

First, he dragged both corpses out of the alley hiding too many of his family’s secrets before dropping them to an adjoining one and covering them both with a few scattered heaps of refuse, having no doubt that the feral Pitt-bull sized rats would be taking care of them soon enough.

Next, he claimed the vile crimson bands the men had tied around their shoulders, instantly understanding what they signified as a desperate plan he knew didn’t have a chance in hell of working percolated through his terror-laden brain. A plan that demanded he check the pockets of both slaver assholes in case there was anything else he needed and didn’t even know that he needed it… chilled to find a scrap of vellum that told him everything he needed to know. Finally, he found a small pair of leather pouches containing a small fortune in silver eagle coins between them.

Blood money in the most literal sense. Both for the slavers, and he who had cut them down.

He then stepped out of the alleyway and took a shuddering breath of far fresher air as the wind rustled his golden locks, woolen cap somehow lost in the scuffle. He gazed up at the brilliant stars once alien to his world, blinking back the hot sting in his eyes as before making his way to the quarter of the city that had filled his nights with so many nightmares.

A nightmare he would face for family he loved. Family he should never have put in peril by coming out here in the first place.

And if by some miracle he could actually rescue his twin from a camp full of orcs…

Maybe he could live with himself again.

He’d certainly have all the time in the world to go over everything he had done wrong and the tiny handful of things he had done right this night.

Because with two men cut down in hot blood now on his conscience… he wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.