The city of Longton had been known for its morose atmosphere long

  before the Ripper made its home there.

  -From the writings of Objus the Limp, Renegade Historian

  CHAPTER 2

  Karis left the tavern before the other clientele, peeking behind her to make sure none followed. Then, after scurrying into the nearest dark alley and making double sure no over-eager demon hunter was on her tail, she put a hand in her hidden satchel and brought out a small knife.

  She then picked a single piece in the cobblestone street that lay right next to a house with a low enough roof for her purpose, and began carving on it, looking intermittently to the alley’s entrance to ensure a total lack of witnesses. The carving she made was crude, though it would do: three overlapping circles with a Yor glyph within each one. She then placed one palm onto the carving and whispered a chant in her mother tongue while thinking of great winds. She could almost feel them, blowing her robes and chilling her to the bones, her hair flying free and chaotic. She imagined the sensation was flowing through her body, beginning in her chest, before moving down her arm and towards each palm, then into the carved rock, which began to glow as her chanting stopped.

  She stepped away to catch her breath and balance, feeling as if she had been swung around for a moment. Then, after returning knife to bag, she stepped onto the carved glyphs and said: “Volis,” after which the intense wind returned, only this time real and blowing from beneath with such power that when Karis jumped, she was pushed higher than the surrounding roofs, onto which she landed with the grace of a falling leaf. She climbed higher still, stopping once she had a good view of the entire city, all of it bathed in darkness save for a few spots lit by torchlight, and of course, Longton’s centerpiece: a tall and domineering tower, the top of which glowed like a lighthouse, allowing all to see the eye and sun symbol depicted in stained glass. The eye of Qarthus, it was called, belonging to the Empire’s namesake and God-Emperor.

  Supposedly allowed him to view the lands. The belief among his followers was that all of his symbols, whether big or small or crudely drawn, were just one of his eyes, through which he could watch and guard over his flock. If true, then he had been watching on for the past two years as the Empire he founded was ravaged by demons, all while doing nothing.

  Karis turned her attention away from the giant stained glass eye and to her bag, from which she produced her knife. She then carved into the wooden roof on which she stood, drawing a near perfect circle, in which she wrote down five glyphs, each one connected by a line to form a pentagonal shape, in the center of which she placed her palm.

  What she imagined then was a replica of Longton, only every building was transparent, a ghost of its real-life counterpart, glowing a faint blue. She imagined herself flying over the city, after which her aura was projected out of her body, taking all perception with her, allowing the girl to view the city as a bird would, while also seeing the thousands of tiny lights that represented the auras of those around her. They were all so small, candle flames sprinkled all over the city like stars, each one a man, woman, child, or animal. Though three stood out. First one she noticed was herself, an azure light glowing like a campfire. Then there were two others, both just a few paces apart, one of them a sickly hue of yellow that almost trailed into brown, glowing bright as a burning house. The other was even larger, a red and raging inferno, almost drowning out all other lights around it, its power and ferocity unlike anything Karis had felt before, its heat so intense that she could feel it sting her skin.

  No human could produce such an aura. Only a demon, though this was far beyond any she had sensed before. But if one of the creatures she sensed was the Ripper, it would explain why the city watch and the demon hunters had such trouble collecting its head. She remembered what the demon outside the city had been capable of. What was needed to take it down, and shivered at the thought of what could possess the two auras she had just sensed.

  Not that she could afford to avoid it, as wherever the demons went, a hunter was sure to follow. And even though the chance was slim, there was ever the possibility that Laurian Cain would go for the kill.

  Karis opened her eye and lifted both palms from the roof carving. The spectral city faded away, and she saw Longton for what it was. She then looked to where she had seen the two large auras and glimpsed two figures, one following the other. She jumped from rooftop to rooftop, trying to keep sight of them, feeling winded and hungry. The spell had cost too much, Karis feeling as if she had run for an hour straight while starving. Though there was no time to waste, as every moment she stopped to breathe and rest her legs, the two figures walked ever further from her gaze, the city’s darkness hiding them well.

  She could finally stop long enough to breathe in deep when the two entered a tight alley. From atop she could see each as clear as one could within such dimness, but still well enough to make out what was happening: One of them, a woman dressed in tunic and apron, was up against a wall at the alleys end, the entrance blocked by her pursuer, a tall thing obscured by a wide brimmed hat and a thick black cloak that covered all but its feet. Though there was one distinguishing feature of the cloaked stranger Karis could make out, as on its back it carried a blade, curved, single-edged, and near as long as its wielder, its width and thickness making it look as if it belonged to a large statue. Not a weapon any human could wield. But a demon, though.

  And as if to confirm her suspicions, the cloaked figure undid the straps holding the slab of metal and hoisted it up with one hand, showing no sign of the weapon's weight.

  The woman turned to face it, showing no sign of fear or fleeing. Karis, though, was quick to lunge a hand into her satchel, rifling through it in search for the first thing she could find that could in any way aid the woman. All thoughts of self-preservation disappeared from her mind. Any ideas of what the cloaked one could do to her, the memory of the immense aura she had just felt, and her goal, gone and replaced by the immediate issue at hand, as all she could focus on was the cornered woman and her assailant.

  Karis pulled out a pebble, looked at the glyph carved upon it for a second to confirm her find, then threw it into the space between woman and monster, shouting out: “Nirath,” right before it crashed into the street. A bright burst of light exploded from the stone, near blinding from where Karis was standing, and sure to stun both parties long enough for her next move. She then pulled out a pair of stones that were linked by a wire, spun them around before letting go, the two stones flying towards the cloaked figure who stood still, rubbing its eyes in confusion. And when they hit their target, the stones swung around the cloaked one, enveloping its arms and torso with the wire. “Caldreth,” Karis said, and the two stones locked together, their target straining against the wire.

  Karis then jumped down and landed behind the cloaked demon and shouted: “Run, I do not know how long it will hold,” to the woman, who in all the commotion stood statue-still.

  “You absolute halfwit, free me, or we’ll both die,” the demon said, freezing Karis in her place, the young girl’s heart feeling on the verge of stopping for a moment. She had heard much come from the mouths of demons, though only innumerable variations of monstrous growls. But never a word, no matter how simple. And yet the cloaked one kept talking. “I do not feel like waiting until I’m sliced up, thank you.”

  He looked back at her then, and she saw what was undoubtedly a human face, his nose an aquiline beak, on either side of which were a pair of severe eyes, the anger they expressed exacerbated by the pointed brows on top, his whole face given a sharp quality by the black chinstrap beard that came to an arrowlike point on his chin, and the twin lines of his thin mustache. He looked at her with more fury than Karis had ever seen, as if he was trying to cut her down with his eyes alone.

  Karis stared back, dazed like a prey animal that was cornered and caught unawares, struggling to breathe as she said: “But where’s the–”

  Karis was struck silent by a guttural sound, first a low moan, before it became more recognizable as laughter, coming from where the cornered woman stood. Karis looked to her and saw the once presumed victim huddle over as if in pain, her limbs growing with every second, her skin turning a dark green. It took only a moment, but what stood before Karis and the cloaked man bore no resemblance to the woman before, the only thing confirming it had been her being the tattered remains of her clothing. What had taken her place was twice her size, standing on thin and muscled legs that ended on clawed feet, her hands reaching all the way to the ground, each finger endowed with long, talon-like claws that looked sharp enough to carve through steel. But worst of all was her head, most of it covered in thick black hair that ran down to her throat, allowing Karis to see only the wide, thick-lipped mouth from which black ooze leaked, as well as her glowing white eyes that were bereft of any distinguishable feelings. She saw then that the creature before her bore all the distinguishing marks of the illustration of the Ripper, though no drawing could capture the monster’s true horror to full effect.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Now would be as good a time as any to set me free,” the cloaked man said.

  But before Karis had time to react, the demon lunged at them, claws first. The man backed off, almost avoiding the demon’s downward strike, as she managed to carve into his chest deep enough to produce blood. Though as Karis took a few hurried steps back, she began to think that it was perhaps intentional on the cloaked man’s part not to back away too much, as the demon had also cut apart the wire holding him, allowing free movement of his arms. He was quick to block the demon’s next strike with the flat side of his blade, before striking downwards, his target jumping away right before the giant blade would have split it in half.

  Both hunter and demon traded blows, each one blocking or dodging the other, each one moving with more speed and agility than any creature on two legs should be capable of. Karis had seen enough demons to not be surprised by the Ripper’s movements. But she found it hard to look away from the cloaked man, as not only was he standing on near equal grounds with a demon that was near twice his size, but also doing so with a blade that no mortal man should be able to hold up, let alone wield with the grace and speed he did, swinging it around as if it weighed no more than a stick.

  One other thing about his movements struck her, as he was more often than not on the defensive, only striking after the Ripper had tried to slash him a dozen times. And when he did, his movements were hampered by the tightness of the alley, allowing only vertical slashes, which the demon could evade with ease.

  Then, just as she feared, the Ripper came ahead in their exchange of blows and managed to pierce through his defenses, plunging one talon into his left shoulder, before pulling it out to lick it clean, smiling with glee while giggling.

  The man showed no sign of pain or injury, but he did let down his blade, leaving him wide open for the demon, which dashed towards him, clawed hands wide open. He responded in kind, though not with his sword, as he unclasped his cloak and threw it at his assailant, enveloping its head, and allowing Karis to see a clearer picture of how he looked: like a tall shadow of a man, dressed in dark leather with little in the way of armor on him.

  The demon retreated, clawing off the man’s cloak. And instead of pursuing, the hunter reached out his left hand, on which he wore a gauntlet made of some dark grey metal, every segment of which ended in a sharp edge, and all five fingers were tipped with claw-like points. “First Seal,” he said, and a row of Imperial numerals that ran along the back of the gauntlet glowed red. “Release.” The first numeral on the gauntlet’s hand leaked sparks and smoke, the air getting suffused with a sulfuric odor.

  Then, before Karis had time to figure out what he was doing, and just as the demon had freed itself from the cloak, a jet of flame spewed out of the palm of the hunter's gauntlet. Though it was unlike any flame Karis had seen, all deep crimson and black at the center, with not a hint of yellow or orange.

  The flames licked at the demon, which screamed in terror or agony as its right arm was enveloped. The man took a few steps closer, and the demon hugged the wall to its back as if doing so hard enough would let it break through. But just as he was getting close enough to burn its entire body, an arrow flew from the alley’s entrance and lodged in his shoulder. Both Karis and the man looked to where it had been shot, and saw a large gathering, both city guards and hunters, the foremost of which had their bows and spears aimed at them.

  “Found ‘em,” someone from the back of the crowd said. “Both the Ripper and his pet witch.”

  “You sure he’s the one?” one of the archers, a guardsman, asked in a trembling voice.

  “What you mean, sure? Look at his eyes and that blade of his. And fucker just summoned the flames of hell.”

  Karis looked to the hunter and saw what the speaker meant, as his eyes had changed, still expressing tired anger, but now glowing a bright yellow, as if each iris had been lit aflame.

  “I’m not your target,” he yelled at the crowd, coming near to growling. “She is,” he pointed to where the Ripper was. But when everyone focused on the back of the alley, there was nothing, the demon having climbed to safety, leaving only claw marks on the walls that led up towards the rooftops as proof of its presence there.

  He sighed at that, then turned to the crowd. The archers had arrows ready, and as far as Karis could see, they were all either near to pissing their pants or so angry they could attack at the slightest of movements from either of them.

  “Look,” the hunter said, “I wish you no harm. And I am sure you all want to either keep your lives, or at least remain living with a complete set of limbs. So I suggest a trade. You let me go to chase after my prey, and I’ll give you the witch girl.” He pushed the flat side of his blade to Karis’ back, edging her forward.

  “Price is on your head,” one of the archers said. “And from where I’m standing, you’re in no position to make deals.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The archers let loose, firing at will. But the dark clad man shot out another jet of flame, burning the arrow shafts down to ashes within seconds, their heads falling to the ground, glowing bright orange. The archers did not relent and began shooting with greater haste, a few of their arrows escaping the flames and coming close to hitting them. Some from the back began hurtling spears and rocks, all missing, but getting closer with every one.

  Karis hid herself behind the dark clad man, breathing heavily, both the encroaching death by arrow or spear or rock to the head and the ever stronger smell of sulfur coming near to choking her. She thought it almost funny how soon death would end her journey. She had not even found her target

  But just as she was about to close her eye and accept whatever struck her dead, she took one deep breath, grit her teeth, and pulled a pebble out from her satchel. She then screamed at the top of her lungs: “Hear me, foul lambs of Qarthus,” holding the pebble aloft. “You wish to end me here? Then I will pull all of us down.” She threw the pebble with all her might, aiming as far into the crowd of killers as she could. Terror replaced all of their resolves as they scattered from where the pebble landed. “Nirath,” she yelled, loud enough to hurt her throat, her voice echoing throughout the alley as the pebble burst into a bright explosion of white light. It was then that every hunter and guard shouted in terror, the ones closest to the blast holding their eyes as they cried.

  She was about to say something to the dark clad man to let him know he should run for it, but he had recognized the chance and took it, dashing forth before Karis had time to find the words. The archers had no time to respond, the man scorching them with his flames. He then silenced their screams of agony by cutting them down with his blade, killing three men at once with the first strike, then two others with the second, finishing off the rest one by one, never relenting until everyone in his path was dead.

  Karis followed, trying not to step into the gore. But as she ran past the corpses, it became impossible, their blood and innards covering almost every inch of the street. And even as she tried not to look, the smell still got her, the singed flesh and exposed insides creating a sickening aroma that reminded her of both cooked pork and sewage.

  More gore spread all around her, as the dark clad man was unseizing in his slaughter, cutting down guard and hunter alike with all the ease of a farmer harvesting wheat, none, no matter how well armed or armored, no matter how many were grouped together, could match up with the speed of his strikes and the overwhelming force of his weapon, the giant blade cutting through whatever it came in contact with, whether it be flesh, or leather or steel. And when any tried to run, he would catch them with his flames, sending them falling to the ground, screaming as they tried to quench the crimson fire that enveloped them before he ended their cries and misery.

  Karis had learned much of what went on in the outside world. Stories of war and slaughter. Stories of street murder and brawls that got out of hand. And of course, she had heard of executions. But what she witnessed there made it clear that stories could never do justice to the real thing. Never describe the suffocating smell and the deafening yells of battle. Never capture the visceral horror of seeing several people get opened up with violent force and left to lie on the ground.

  Karis tried to keep from puking, tried to focus on anything other than the death surrounding her. But no matter where she looked, all she saw was corpses and those still clinging to life. Dizziness made her steps irregular and unsteady, as she ran towards the only opening in the ever diminishing crowd, her sight blurred by tears.

  What made it worse was not just the sight of death, but also the idea that she caused this. She had been the one to disrupt the hunter. She had been the one to make an opening for him, allowing for all the slaughter to happen. And for all she knew, she could have been the one to alert the entire crowd, her magic lights having perhaps made their location clear and awakened everyone’s curiosity.

  She tried not to think about it. Tried to just focus on running away, not knowing where or when to stop. But just as she had run past the pool of gore, she was stopped by something tightening around her neck. She managed to grip it and ascertained it was a rope just as she was pulled down to the ground by whoever was holding it. And as she was dragged across the street, Karis looked behind her and saw that the one trapping her was a woman, tall and well muscled, wearing the mismatched armor of a demon hunter. And she saw as well the dirk the woman unsheathed from her belt, right before her vision darkened, the noose tightening until breathing became impossible. Karis tried to claw at the rope, but the last of her strength was robbed away as her vision blurred to a point where all she saw was the vaguest of shapes.

  The last clear thing she could make out was someone's head flying over her with a trail of blood following, and then what seemed like the dark clad man’s face as he grabbed her by the shoulders.