In the back office of the tannery.

  A woman's muffled sob came as a pudgy man had her pinned against the desk. Her dress was torn, tears streaming down her face as she stared vacantly in the air with despair as the pudgy man proceeded to violate her.

  The pudgy man grunted as he grabbed her hair, forcing her head down. "Quiet," he muttered. "I'm trying to have a conversation."

  Across the room, a tall man with intricate tattoos covering his arms and neck sat in a worn leather chair, completely unbothered by the scene. He wore dark clothes. His face was lean and sharp.

  "As I was saying, Viper" The pudgy man continued, not breaking his rhythm with the woman, "the Empire's advance is ahead of schedule. They'll reach Thornwood Pass within five months, perhaps less."

  The tattooed man leaned back, arms crossed. "And our arrangement?"

  "Of course. When the Empire takes Ashborough, you'll have free reign over the lower districts. No guards, no interference. In exchange, you provide intelligence on troop movements and help destabilize the town from within." Fordmarc's breathing grew heavier. "Simple."

  "And payment?"

  "Twenty percent of whatever you acquire during the chaos. Plus official recognition when the dust settles." The noble grinned, sweat beading on his forehead.”

  Viper's expression didn't change. "I like the sound of that, Lord Fordmarc."

  "I thought you might, but I need results. The garrison is preparing defenses. We need those preparations to fail at critical moments. Sabotage. Misinformation. Whatever it takes."

  "Consider it done."

  "Excellent."

  Fordmarc finished with the woman and pulled away, breathing hard. She collapsed against the desk, sobbing quietly, her body shaking.

  He looked at her with disgust. Then he pulled a knife from his belt.

  The woman's eyes went wide. "Please, I won't—"

  The blade went across her throat. Quick and efficient.

  She made a choking sound and fell to the floor, blood pooling beneath her.

  Fordmarc wiped the knife on his coat, unbothered.

  “Throw her in the river." He said as he poured himself wine, his hands steady despite what he'd just done. "The Empire wants weekly reports on Ashborough's readiness. Can you provide that?"

  "Easily.”

  "Good. Very good." Fordmarc drained his glass. "I'll be in touch.”

  Lord Fordmarc headed for the door, stepping over the body without looking down and left.

  As Viper stood alone in the office, looking down at his operation below.

  His face contorted with disgust and anger at the thought of Fordmarc. He hated that noble. Hated his arrogance. How he treated him like his own lapdog.

  But for his dream of becoming a noble himself, of rising above the filth of the lower districts, he had no choice but to be Fordmarc's dog.

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  For now.

  He looked down at the dead body and clicked his tongue. How disgusting.

  "Gren! Agiulf!" he shouted toward the door. "Get in here and clean this up!"

  Silence.

  He frowned. "Gren!"

  Still nothing.

  Viper's eyes narrowed. His men always responded immediately. They were obedient. The fact that no one was answering meant something was wrong..

  He moved to the door, hand going to the blade at his hip, and stepped out onto the main floor.

  The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

  Bodies. His men lay scattered across the floor like broken dolls. Dead. All of them. Dozens of them. Blood everywhere. Pooling on the ground, splattered across walls, dripping from overturned tables.

  The metallic stench hit him like a wall.

  And standing in the center of the carnage was a woman with long black hair and cold black eyes and a long silver sword on her hand.

  His hand tightened on his blade, knuckles turning white.

  He prided himself on his strength. B-rank, earned through blood and brutality. Years of living on the edge, fighting daily, killing daily. That kind of experience honed your instincts until they became sharper than any blade.

  And right now, every instinct he had was screaming at him to run.

  His B-rank strength wouldn't be enough. Not against her. Not against that wolf.

  He could feel it in his bones. The same way he'd learned to sense when a mark was too dangerous, when a rival was stronger, when a fight was already lost before it began.

  This woman had killed fifteen of his men like they were nothing. And she was standing there now, completely calm, not even breathing hard.

  She was stronger than him.

  Significantly stronger.

  And she knew it.

  "Who are you?!" he shouted at her, unable to keep the edge of panic from his voice.

  The woman didn't answer immediately.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was flat and motionless.

  "Your judgment."

  Before he could move, before he could even process what she'd said, the massive black wolf lunged.

  Faster than he could comprehend.

  He saw teeth. Massive jaws opening wide.

  Then darkness—

  =====

  I had no plans on killing the men. Well, maybe some for intimidation. I just wanted my money back.

  Sneaking in had been easy. Most of the guards were around C-rank at best. Fodder, in short.

  My plan was simple. Find the pudgy man Pierre described, get my money, maybe rough him up a bit, then leave. I wanted to be as quiet as possible, not alert any higher-ups in the gang. I still wasn't sure if someone stronger than me was lurking around, and caution seemed smart.

  But everything changed when I got inside.

  I thought I was a monster. After what I'd done in Oakenford, after the bandits, after all the killing I'd done without remorse—I thought I understood what being a monster meant.

  But what I saw inside made me realize what a monster truly was.

  Dozens of people. Maybe more. Civilians, chained to walls, lying on filthy floors. Dead and tortured. Some were still alive, but only barely. They weren't living. They were existing in agony, longing for death.

  Many had no limbs. Arms and legs hacked off, the stumps cauterized or left to rot. Some had no eyes, just empty, bloody sockets. Others had been flayed, their skin peeled back in strips.

  And there were children. Fucking children among them.

  A girl, maybe eight years old, curled in a corner. Her arms were gone. She stared at nothing, making small whimpering sounds.

  A boy, younger, with burns covering half his face. Not moving. Maybe already dead.

  Anger rushed through me like fire.

  How could they do this? What kind of sick, twisted people could do this to other human beings?

  I stood there, stunned. Unable to process what I was seeing. My mind refusing to accept that this was real.

  Perhaps that's why I didn't notice the guards approaching. Why I didn't hear their footsteps or their shouts.

  "Intruder! We've got an intruder!"

  "Get her!"

  I turned my head slowly, looking at them. Four guards, weapons drawn, running toward me.

  I didn't care anymore.

  Stealth didn't matter. Caution didn't matter. My money didn't even matter.

  These people. These monsters wearing human skin. They all deserved to die.

  Painfully. Agonizingly.

  Virel erupted from my skin before I even consciously decided to summon him. Black tendrils exploded outward, the armor forming in an instant.

  The first guard didn't even get to swing his sword. My tendril punched through his chest, lifted him off the ground, then slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack stone.

  The second tried to run. My tendril wrapped around his leg, yanked him back, then crushed it. He screamed. I didn't care. Another tendril found his throat.

  The third and fourth attacked together. Coordinated. Trained.

  It didn't matter.

  I moved through them like they were made of paper. Claws tearing through armor and flesh. Tendrils breaking bones, crushing organs.

  More guards came running from deeper in the building.

  Good.

  Let them all come.

  I'd kill every single one.