Azure magelights shone bright atop iron posts lining the streets of northwestern Oarwin. The money the Slaver's Union brought in was evident in their well-maintained cobblestone streets and large storefronts that showcased immaculate masonry.

  The Slaver Union's Central Hall was clearly labeled by an intricate stone sign. There was one entrance, a front guard station and gate. Beyond the fortified wall, guards patrolled the grounds in tight knit groups.

  Garik and I blended into the crowd at the other end of the street. We were surrounded by weirdos conducting disgusting business in the dead of night. Almost everyone was wearing a mask or low profile disguise.

  Armored guards stood on every corner, overlooking business with watchful eyes.

  "What's the plan?" Garik whispered.

  "There's a balcony on the north side on the second floor. I can get in without making much fuss. I'll send Kelfloss to the balcony, then you snatch him and go."

  Minimal casualties. No blow-out battles or mass killings. Just a simple stealth operation. In and out with no frills.

  But less than halfway down the street, a woman's shrill scream cut through the noise.

  "You can't!" Her poignant sobs broke down into incoherent mutterings as she struggled against a burly slaver that almost rivaled Garik's stature. "My son... You can't take me from—"

  The slaver yanked her head back by her hair. "Don't worry. We'll watch after him."

  "Don't bruise her face," said a man wearing an owl mask. "Or we won't have a deal."

  I wanted to move on. But it was like I was ankle deep in wet concrete. Frozen on the sidewalk, watching humanity's worst hits play out before me. Garik traded a brief glance, his hands balled into fists, sharing my contempt.

  "May I suggest a different plan?" he asked.

  "Let's hear it."

  "I create a distraction, and you take Kelfloss..." he trailed off, focusing on the woman being sold to the owl-masked figure.

  I couldn't blame him for wanting to start a fight. Despite having already seen the slaver's territory with Void Seer, wading through it on foot revealed its true ugliness. Abhorrent transactions, normalized and casually accepted by all who walked this strip.

  It was all so... Gross.

  I glimpsed at the beady eyes staring out from behind the feathered owl mask. His grubby hands reached for the sobbing woman as the slaver finalized his purchase.

  "Can you handle yourself without dying?" I asked.

  "After I dispatch the weaklings and draw out their real fighters, you'll have an easier time grabbing Kelfloss."

  His indirect answer didn't inspire much confidence.

  It was too premature. I still hadn't shared my Divine Framework with him or the advantages that came with the companion system. While I trusted Garik, introducing him to the bigger picture was a separate matter—one I wouldn't discuss in the company of these freaks.

  "Your death would be a major inconvenience," I said. "But I respect your choice. Good luck."

  I walked onward, distancing myself from the giant before he stomped up and interrupted the transaction. Without saying a word, Garik slammed his closed fist downward like a hammer, smashing in the top of the owl man's head.

  The slaver released the woman's arm and she dipped back into the cage, leaping onto her child. The slaver swung a blackjack at Garik's head, but the giant stepped aside and caught the man by his wrists. He twisted the leather club from the slaver's hands, and tripped him to the ground.

  Screams erupted, and the guards came storming in. Garik dropped his heel on the fallen slaver's face, rupturing his jaw. Then, the giant grabbed a window shopper wearing a gimp mask and tossed him into the guards.

  One guard dropped his sword, and Garik caught it before it hit the ground. Three, four, five—all of them died after encountering Garik's sleek footwork.

  Is he a swordsman?

  I kept walking, throwing back the occasional look. Bells rang and reinforcements poured out from the Central Hall’s front guard shack. Frantic shoppers ran toward the Slaver Union's front gates, screaming and pointing at the carnage.

  I joined the tail-end of a six man entourage who rushed straight up to the guard shack, arms flailing like they were the ones Garik had assaulted. Though, it seemed their chic white robes had caught some slaver blood.

  Even at a distance, I could see Garik dispatching them one after another with a single swing. The guard shack emptied, leaving only one man behind on the other side of the gate.

  "Open the gate! That monster's killing everyone!" one man from the entourage said.

  "I'm Earl Dannonworth. If I suffer injury here, my kin will seek your kin's total destruction." The man pulled back his hood, expecting instant recognition.

  Instead, the guard dropped his helmet's face guard. "This is the Central Hall, and I'm not authorized to open this gate. But to quell your worries, the alarm bells have rung. The southern barracks will respond."

  "D-A-N-N-O-N-W-O-R-T-H. You moronic dog! I will end you."

  The guard turned his back and walked away, heading across the common grounds, ignoring everyone's shouts. I seized the moment and lunged over the gate with the trunk tucked into my shoulder.

  I landed on the other side and Earl Dannonworth pressed his face against the iron bars. "You! I command you to open the gate!"

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  "Sorry, I don't work here. I'm only the freelance phantom contracted by Milo of the Slaver's Union to murder Daven Murpharion."

  I popped open the trunk, showcasing Daven's dismembered corpse. Earl Dannonworth doubled back, then vomited on his ally's shoes.

  "Shit! I wasn't supposed to say that. Don't tell anyone."

  Their interest in seeking asylum on my side of the fence faltered and they dispersed. I had intended on using Daven's body as a prop to dissuade the Slaver's Union from digging deeper. But the angle of a noble witnessing the rumored phantom nonchalantly carrying the noble's chopped up body into an official Slaver's Union establishment was the kind of fateful opportunity I couldn't pass up.

  A second set of alarm bells rang with an urgency that suggested Garik was still holding his own. As a level 10 himself, I expected nothing less.

  "Who are you?" a voice bellowed, catching me before I could duck behind a manicured shrub.

  "I have a delivery for Milo," I said, as Karma's Gaze triggered.

  Target: Varkellius

  Level: 8

  Karma: -8,735

  Additional Data: A mage specializing in...

  As soon as I saw the word mage I stopped reading and lopped his head off with an instant Shadow Weave guillotine.

  Better safe than sorry.

  His body collapsed nearly 25 feet away in the middle of the courtyard. Knowing the patrols would stumble on him soon, I jogged across the grass between the tall stone walls and the fortress's west flank, circling toward the rear.

  I turned a corner and nearly slammed into a five man patrol.

  "Varkellius let me in, I have a delivery..."

  Nobody bought my lie. They reached for their swords and then their heads rolled from their shoulders. I stepped over their bodies, and approached the rear facade beneath the balcony.

  I manifested a shadow rope down from the back wall, lifting myself up to the second floor balcony in one smooth pull. I touched down and decapitated the guards in an instant.

  The hunger inside kicked and I bit down on my tongue until I tasted blood.

  I'm not feeding you. Not on a nightly basis.

  If the entity expected a 50 piece meal every evening for the rest of my life, then, I'd rather self-destruct.

  Blood pooled at my feet as I stood before the iron-banded back door. As I unlocked the door with Shadow Weave, my stomach dropped and the cool summer night's breeze turned into an arctic blast.

  Feed me.

  I denied its demand with a mental cold shoulder. Not even an acknowledgement. Instead, I looked down at my own shadow cast across the stonework beneath me.

  "Fayador, are you there?"

  The bony hellhound emerged out of my shadow from behind, shorting the balcony's magelights with his appearance.

  "Grand champion, hero of the people, it is an honor to be of service once again."

  He wagged his skeletal tail, shadows curling off his body.

  "Better, but that's still too much. I appreciate the effort. Listen, I need you to go down the street and look after Garik. If he finds himself in serious trouble, come alert me."

  "Yes, master."

  The dog wasted no time, diving back into the shadows.

  I opened the back door, and carried the trunk in with both arms. Tracking blood through the carpeted office, the lighting crackled with each of my steps, draping the open-plan workspace in shadows. Dozens of eyes tracked me, peering over their quartered partitions.

  Karma's Gaze activated again, as I glimpsed two level eights decked in heavy plate armor, their towering frames appearing at the other end of the hall, blocking access to Milo's corner office.

  I didn't bother with learning their names or backstories, too concentrated on batting back the entity's roaring jealousy. It sent forth another hunger wave, but I braced myself, growing more and more accustomed to the internal pain.

  The warriors charged down the hall, shaking the workstations as various union staff watched in stunned awe. A deep bass rumbled out of the darkness and the heavyset guards stopped a dozen feet away—a sudden reconsideration of their advance.

  "I told you. You dumb, stupid fucking mongoloid!" Kelfloss's voice carried through the corner office's walls. "Quick, we have to climb out your window."

  "Those curtains are for aesthetics," Milo said. "That's reinforced, mana resistant stone. By design, the central hall has no windows for security purposes."

  Feed me...

  The voice within bellowed obnoxiously. A crooked violin note screeched, and the hunger sucker-punched my heart. I fell forward, then caught myself on the darkness pouring out of my hands, pushing myself up straight.

  "Security!" an employee yelled, his voice shrill and inflammatory.

  I blinked and a wave of jagged shadows tore outward in the snitch's direction, ripping through workstations like paper props. Desks splintered, half-walls crumbled, and an entire division of slaver bureaucrats fell, as shredded masses of flesh.

  "Demon Stride," one of the level eight's shouted.

  A bright, white aura surrounded the heavy guard and his speed doubled. He shot straight at me, while his comrade muttered his own incantation.

  Between their attacks, and the entity's rebellion—I was more concerned with the latter. But, I'd happily fight a two-pronged battle if it meant putting the beast in its place.

  A pointed blade came stabbing at my mask. I dropped the trunk from my shoulder, and swatted the blade's edge away.

  Shock bled through the slits in the guard's armored visor, as I squeezed the blade's edge with my gloved hand, then twisted it from his grasp.

  His comrade flew in with dual one-handed swords, elbows drawn back as he drove both blades toward me in a crossing strike. I countered, piercing through his armor with the hilt of his buddy's stolen sword. An impossible feat enabled by a gigantic karma gap.

  "Karma's really a bitch, huh?"

  The dual wielder died, and the remaining level eight struck my jaw, his gauntlet buckling inward on impact. He screamed in my face, and I sampled the sound like a sommelier savoring a rare vintage. Notes of pain, panic, and the bitter tang of reality crushing terror—far better sounds than what the entity had played.

  I swiped my hand through his neck, and warm crimson rushed down my arm, intentionally teasing the beast with what it couldn't have.

  "If you want to be a bastard. I can be one, too."

  The Corrupted Choir unleashed a jarring flurry of crooked notes. I covered my ears as the second floor shook. Glass shattered, stone crumbled, and the surviving employees joined the chorus with their own piercing cries, blood pouring from their noses, ears, and eyes.

  This is it.

  Teeth clenched until my jaw hurt, bones rattling against an invisible G-force—I withstood its song. The music faded as did the hunger. A victory I wouldn't take lightly.

  The door to Milo's corner office fell off its hinges, and I walked in.

  Milo, Kelfloss, and two guards were huddled behind his desk.

  "Hi, I'm here to pick up Kelfloss."

  I waved at him, and the guards shoved the reluctant black-market broker over. I dropped my filter, and scanned Milo.

  Target: Milo

  Level: 4

  Karma: -20,155

  Additional Data: Official representative and sitting council member of the Slaver's Union. Oversees sanctioned trafficking logistics, procurement networks, and supply transfers.

  A quick death is far too good for him.

  "Milo, I've brought you a gift. Show it to the council, take it to a taxidermist, or let it decompose in a ditch. Consider it my personal statement to you and your kind. Anyone who shares such proclivities will meet a fate far harsher than death."

  I motioned Kelfloss out the door, then glanced over my shoulder. "Oh, and it was nice to meet you. Tell them to stop referring to me as the phantom. I am the Night Reaper of the Abyss: Carnage's Embodiment and the Arm of Unyielding Justice."

  The babbling word vomit had left the tip of my tongue before I even realized what I had said. It was like every cool nickname I'd ever considered, escaped at once in a single, tangled mess.

  Shit, I should've just stuck with the Phantom.

  So no breaks for March, Monday & Friday releases will continue. My desire for a vacation has withered. I really just needed to not be so goddamned stressed, and publishing 2 chapters a week feels good, so why stop?