Not thinking. Thought is slow. Reflex is survival.
The bolt hissed through the space where my head had been a microsecond before. My hand was already moving, drawing the stolen knife from my belt, my legs driving me forward to close the distance.
"YES!" Malgrin shouted, his voice echoing in my skull like a war drum. "FINALLY!"
Raubtier Speed.
The crossbow bolt left the string.
And the world stopped.
Like someone had grabbed time by the throat and squeezed.
The bolt hung in the air between us. I could see it rotating, the fletching catching what little light there was in the catacomb. Could count the threads in the bowstring still vibrating from release. Could see a bead of Korvan's sweat frozen mid-fall from his chin.
So this was Raubtier Speed. This was what Malgrin had given me. He told me he liked the name.
And god, it felt good.
The sensory dampening shattered. Everything came flooding back at once. The copper smell of old blood baked into the catacomb stones. The mineral taste of underground air. The texture of my stolen knife's wrapped handle against my palm, every thread distinct. Colors so vivid they almost hurt to look at.
I'd been living in a grey world for years. Now I was alive again.
The bolt was still hanging there. Still rotating. I had time.
I stepped to the left. Watched it drift past me like a leaf on still water. It would hit the wall behind me eventually. I didn't need to care about that.
Korvan was already reaching for another bolt. His hand moved through the air like it was pushing through honey. I could see every muscle in his forearm contracting, could track the path his fingers were taking toward his quiver.
I started walking toward him.
No need to run. I had all the time in the world.
His eyes were starting to widen. Frame by frame. The realization that something was wrong, that I wasn't where I should be, that the bolt had somehow missed. I watched the fear arrive on his face in stages. First confusion. Then understanding. Then panic.
I was close enough to smell him now. Metal polish and leather and the sour tang of someone who'd been sweating in armor all day.
His hand finally reached the quiver. Fingers closing around a bolt. Too slow. Much too slow.
I didn't slash. Didn't hack. That wasn't how I fought, even with all the time in the world. I calculated instead. Looked at his armor. Found the gap between helmet and gorget. A space maybe as wide as two coins stacked together. That was the target.
I brought my knife up. Positioned the point. Drove it forward with exactly enough force to punch through the gap and into the soft tissue beneath.
Impact.
The blood came out fast and bright. Arterial. It sprayed across my hand, my arm, hot enough that I could feel individual droplets landing on my skin. The color was incredible. Crimson so vivid it looked fake against the grey catacomb stone.
Korvan made a sound. It came out stretched and distorted, like a recording played at the wrong speed.
I stepped back. Let him fall.
Time started moving again.
The sounds of the catacombs crashed back in. Water dripping. The hum of distant mana lines. Korvan choking on his own blood, hands scrabbling at his throat like he could somehow undo what I'd done.
I stood over him and watched.
Forty-three seconds. Same as the Butcher. That's how long it takes a man to bleed out from a wound like that. I counted anyway. Old habit.
The colors were still so bright. The blood pooling around my boots looked like spilled wine in torchlight. My own sweat tasted like salt and copper and something electric, like licking a battery. Every breath filled my lungs with information. I could smell Nyssara's fear from across the chamber. It smelled like ozone before a storm.
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This was being alive. This was what Malgrin had stolen from me and now only gave back when I was killing.
It was sick. And I loved it. And I hated that I loved it.
"What the hell." Nyssara had her sword drawn. She was backing away from me, putting distance between us. Smart.
I turned to look at her. My eyes were still black. I knew that without checking. I could feel the mana swimming in them, could feel the Blood-Sense showing me her heartbeat hammering in her chest, the blood rushing through her veins.
"He shot at me," I said. My voice came out rough. Hoarse. Like I hadn't used it properly in days.
"You just killed an Inquisition hunter." She wasn't whispering but her voice was quiet. Controlled. The voice of someone trying very hard not to panic.
"He shot first."
She stopped backing away. Looked at Korvan's body. Looked at me. Looked at the blood on my hands.
"Fuck," she said.
And then it was gone.
The Raubtier Speed drained out of me like water through a sieve. The colors faded. The tastes vanished. The world went grey and flat and dead, and I was back in the numb place where I spent most of my time now.
The withdrawal hit instantly. My legs went weak. I locked my knees to keep from falling, but it was close. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking, actually. Coming down from that high was like falling off a cliff.
"Well that was exciting!" Malgrin cackled inside my head. "Much better than boring negotiation!"
Nyssara sheathed her sword. Slowly. Her hand stayed near the hilt. "You're a pact-bearer."
"Yes."
"Inquisition would've paid better than this conspiracy hunt." She was still watching me like I might attack her next. Fair enough.
"They burn pact-bearers."
"Usually." She tilted her head. Looked at me properly. Not like a threat anymore, more like a puzzle she was trying to figure out. "But you just saved me from having to explain to Korvan why I was hiring criminals instead of reporting them. So I suppose I should say thank you."
"You're welcome. I still want seven-fifty."
She laughed at that. Short and sharp and surprised, like it had escaped before she could stop it. "You're insane."
"Practical."
"Same thing in this city." She walked over to Korvan's body and nudged it with her boot. "We need to move him. Hide the evidence."
"No. Leave him where he is." I wiped my knife on my sleeve. The blood was already turning tacky. "Send an anonymous tip to the Inquisition tomorrow. Say you saw someone suspicious going into the catacombs. They'll find him, assume a Glitch got him, and close the case."
She thought about that for a second. Then nodded. "You're disturbingly good at this."
"I've had practice."
She reached into her belt and pulled out a coin purse. Tossed it to me. I caught it one-handed. Heavy. Real weight. The only solid thing in my world right now.
"Three hundred seventy-five. Half up front, like I said. You get the rest when we're done."
"What exactly are we doing?"
"Stopping people from dying." She turned and started walking toward one of the dark side passages. "Come on. We need to find somewhere private to talk. And you need to tell me what you are."
"Already told you. Pact-bearer."
"I meant which demon. What kind of pact. What it costs you." She looked back over her shoulder. "That speed thing you did. That's not standard possession. I've never seen anything like that."
I followed her into the darkness. "That's personal."
"So is hiring a demon-touched killer to help me investigate a conspiracy that involves the Inquisition." Her voice echoed off the narrow walls. "We're both taking risks here. Might as well be honest about what we're risking."
"I like her," Malgrin observed. "She's pragmatic. Like you, but taller. And with better posture. And significantly less murder trauma."
"Thanks for the comparison."
"You're welcome!"
We walked in silence for a while. The tunnels got narrower. The smell of mana-runoff got stronger. Somewhere above us, the city was going about its business, completely unaware that there was a dead Inquisitor and two criminals walking around beneath their feet.
"You felt it, didn't you?" Nyssara asked eventually. Her voice was quieter now. "During the fight. Everything came back."
I didn't answer.
She stopped too. Turned around.
"How did you know that?" I asked.
Her grey eyes were sad in the darkness. Not pitying, exactly. More like she understood something she wished she didn't.
"Because I've seen it before," she said. "Pact magic always takes the thing you need most. That's how it works. It hollows you out so it has room to pour something else in. And then it makes you chase the thing it stole. Gives you little tastes, just enough to keep you hungry."
"You've worked with pact-bearers?"
"Killed them. Dozens of them." She paused. Something flickered across her face. Regret, maybe. Or just exhaustion. "You're the first one I've hired."
"Why start now?"
"Because the people I'm hunting are worse than demons."
She turned and started walking again.
I followed.
My hands were still shaking. The adrenaline crash was hitting hard now, leaving me feeling hollowed out and empty. Like someone had scooped out my insides and left just enough to keep me moving.
But my pockets were heavy with silver.
And for the first time since the arena, I had something that felt almost like a purpose.
"Told you this would be fun," Malgrin whispered.
I touched my forearm through my sleeve. Under the cloth, under the grime and the old bandages, I could feel the black veins. They'd spread during the fight. Past my elbow now. Crawling up toward my shoulder like roots looking for purchase.
Always spreading. That was the other cost. The one Malgrin didn't like to talk about.
The senses came back when I killed. But every time they did, the corruption spread a little further. Crept a little closer to my heart.
I wondered how many more kills I had left before it reached something important.
I wondered if I'd be able to stop when it did.
Probably not.
But that was a problem for later. Right now I had silver in my pocket and a conspiracy to investigate and a woman walking ahead of me who'd killed dozens of people like me and decided to hire one anyway.
Later was later.
Now was now.
One problem at a time. That's how you survive.
SPECTACLE REPORT: FIRST BLOOD
Performance Rating: ?????
Malgrin's Note: "THERE it is! Did you feel it? The snap of his neck? The taste of salt and iron in the air? You felt human again for exactly 12 seconds. Tell me you don't want more."
EXPENDITURES:
Ability Used: [Raubtier Speed] (-1 Charge)
Remaining Charges: 2/3 (Refills at Dawn)
PAYOUT (The High):
Touch: [RESTORED] (Duration: 4 mins)
Taste: [RESTORED] (Duration: 2 mins)
Adrenaline: Critical Levels
CORRUPTION:
Current Level: 13% (Spike Detected)