The boy winced and tore the last tiny mouth from his left forearm. The arm pulsed… bloody, streaked with purple demon spit. The foul little things skittered around the gatehouse – creatures happy to feed on livestock, to pillage and more, but they always secured their commission. Danad spoke the banishment and, as the room filled with smoke, heartily wished Hyde would move him to something a little more violent and a little less personal.

He found Mefuje pacing beside the inner wall, flames still flickering along her cheekbones and between her fingers. At eighteen, two years older than Danad, Mefuje was the self-appointed leader of their apprentice cell. Now she looked tired, streaked in soot and gore… but Danad sensed a grim satisfaction.

“Late.”

“The little bastards made for OUR horses. Pulled ‘em into th’gatehouse. Whur’s Yanda?”

“Invisible. Still.” A giggle without source rose and floated down the street.

“She found something.”

Mefuje lit up the dead guard in shadows.

“…Our game continues.”