There was an extra spring in Steward Bartis's step as he made his way down the long hall of Keep Starkrim. In actuality, it was still under the name of the previous lord, but Bartis figured he wasn't getting too ahead of himself.

The tall, arched ceilings of the noble houses had once seemed oppressive and awe-inspiring, but today they were a symbol of open possibilities. The ceilings were just as out of reach as the statuses they represented. In the great city of Sarkest, power was all about creating one's own luck through any means. Violence and deception were the rungs on the ladder to success.

The new waiting lord of House Starkrim had reached his title through a mix of both, but mostly the latter. He found success by breaking the sacred laws of the criminal underbelly. One of them was in regards to substances that had no other use but to harm the mind through numbing bliss. The Families despised the detrimental effects of the drug trade, and so they had established a set of laws dating back to the founding of the first noble houses.

It was a risk worth taking in Bartis's humble opinion. Even the most decrepit beggar on the street was capable of becoming a cornered wolf. A child weakened by hunger would find newfound strength from the comforting leather grip of a dagger. Life was about risk in Sarkest.

Bartis's partner had successfully infiltrated a canal run by one of the city's most influential crime families. Peddling drugs was a serious offense, punishable by death in many cases depending on potency.

The operation was trafficked behind the textile trade run by an influential crime family led by a man known as Kassel. The drug was concealed within the grounded metal powder used for special reinforcement within a special type of cloth. Using a concoction created by an alchemist, the powder from the drug concealed among the metal shavings could be extracted.

Despite being in a partnership, Bartis was content to let Starkrim receive the title of nobility. After all, it was merely just that – a title. They promised to remain on equal footing in secret. They would move the operation through their own channels within the next few months, and nobody would be the wiser. Once that plan was discarded, they would move on to more traditional means. Sarkest was a city of corruption and lawlessness on the surface, but even the criminals had their own rules to keep themselves from transforming into complete animals.

Or demihumans, Bartis thought with distaste. What a foul race that the gods allowed on this world. Probably born from fucking actual animals. Abominations, the lot of them.

He shook his head to dismiss the thought so he could return to his former levity. It was a time for celebration and merriment. They would soon be part of the nobility, and Bartis knew there was nothing that could take that extra spring out of his step.

Unfortunately, he soon learned that a crossbow bolt was sufficient...

The steward was about to reach the end of the hall when his knee suddenly cocked inward. The pain in Bartis's leg didn't fully register as he was staring wistfully at the arced ceiling. He had just stepped in front of the tall, oak double-doors leading to another chamber when his leg finally decided to give out on him.

He let out a high-pitched yelp as he fell forward. His vision was then entirely consumed by the red of the carpet. The air forced from his lungs as he collapsed, and he reached his hand out instinctively to break his fall. The wrist twisted awkwardly, but it was nothing compared to the pain that continued to intensify along his upper thigh.

One moment he was thinking of the bright future, and then he was on the floor.

W-what? Bartis thought. He shifted on his side and let out a sharp gasp as something wedged into the floor and prevented him from rolling on his hip. He waved his arm randomly to find some purchase on the wall.

Fucking hells! He released a trapped breath of air as the panic settled on him. At first, his mind was torn between denial and confusion. Had he tripped? Strained a muscle? An enemy attack was the last thing on his mind. There was no way someone had struck him within the safety of a noble house. It had to be something else.

Then he felt the warmth crawling down his leg.

“Oh-oh gods,” he moaned.

Bartis turned to his other side and managed to wedge an arm underneath him. He propped up on one knee, but the catastrophic pain in his other leg almost sent him to the floor again. His eyes were drawn to a thin length of steel sticking from his trousers.

After what seemed like an eternity of fitful gasps and struggling, Bartis heard soft footfalls from somewhere down the hall. He turned and noticed a figure in black garb approaching with slow, purposeful steps from the shadows. A hood was pulled up to obscure the individual's features along with a cowl that completely concealed the lower half of the face. The leather armor fit to the contours of the person's body and revealed only slight traces of dark skin beneath a tightly-strapped coat.

Bartis managed to gather his thoughts as his eyes were drawn to the small hand crossbow aimed at him. He watched as the individual's gloved hand brushed the coat aside and retrieved a new crossbow bolt.

Based on the person's figure, Bartis could clearly tell that it was a woman. A tall woman around six foot and built of strong, lean muscle. The outfit made her all the more intimidating – a powerful specter that seemed to draw from the few dark places in the brightly lit hall.

The woman in dark garb towered over him and leveled the crossbow at his other leg as she fitted the bolt into the serving. Even if it was only a hand crossbow, her strength was undeniable as she effortlessly pulled back on the string with two fingers pressed delicately together.

Bartis's fear morphed into rage when he looked up and noticed the furry, disheveled tail hidden within her outfit.

Impossible, he thought. A fucking demi?

His gaze shifted again when she deliberately flexed her fingers. The black gloves she wore had holes at the end to reveal sharp nails that blended with the leather to conceal them from a distance.

The fear returned when he saw the feral, animalistic eyes once-hidden by the shadow of her hood. Her eyes narrowed as she observed him, and he could see the faint crimson hue that traced her pupils.

Words left Bartis before he had a chance to retract them, “Fucking demihuman!” He growled and cursed as spittle crawled down his chin.

The mask covering the woman's mouth curled downwards a bit. She made no remark and aimed the crossbow at his other leg. She fired the bolt into the back of his knee as he crawled away.

Bartis howled as the bolt shattered his kneecap and pierced straight through. He punched the floor, and the muted thumps worked in tandem with the blood pulsing behind his ears. He desperately pleaded for someone, anyone, as he pounded on the double doors leading out of the hall. Despite its size, the walls seemed to close in around him.

“Are you Bartis?” the woman asked. Her voice was muffled by the cowl, but it held a mellifluous quality beneath the malice. It was the kind of voice a man wanted to hear at the tavern after a few drinks, but this woman was forcefully gruff in its delivery.

The steward gritted his teeth and forced the best expression of defiance he could muster. It vanished immediately when he saw the demihuman's cowl curl up in amusement.

This demihuman, he thought. He was drawn to her red-rimmed pupils again. She's not like...no...

“H-how did you-” Bartis started.

“I'm asking the questions,” the demihuman interrupted. “I'm not one for talk. If you don't provide answers” – she holstered the crossbow in favor of a dagger and rested the blade against one of his fingers – “I'll claim one of these,” she finished.

Bartis almost instinctively pulled away, but the powerful grip on his wrist held him firmly in place.

W-what the hell is she? his mind screamed. He needed to get away. This wasn't a normal demihuman. Demihumans always submitted to their animal tendencies when it came to violence. They weren't assassins. They were supposed to be brutes.

“Who is the alchemist you hired?” the woman asked. She pressed the blade against his finger for emphasis. A trace of red bubbled from the broken skin.

It wasn't hard for Bartis to piece everything together with that one inquiry. She knew about their drug operation in detail. She knew how they managed to mix them with the metal and retrieve them. She knew about the alchemist.

She worked for Kassel.

I knew we shouldn't have messed with him, Bartis thought.

The blade of the assassin's dagger dug deeper.

“I don't know!” Bartis blurted out. “He just showed us how it worked! That's all!”

The assassin pressed further. “Where did you meet him?”

“At the southern market. He was selling remedies for Eye Fever.” He already anticipated her next question, “He had long black hair, a beard, bushy eyebrows...ah, um, green eyes, I think. He was well into his years and looked like a starving beggar. I don't know...”

The assassin hummed to herself for a moment as she considered his answer. A silence lingered for almost a full minute before she seemed satisfied.

Bartis couldn't bear it any longer. Everything had fallen apart in a matter of minutes. It dawned on him that she must've killed the guards stationed beyond the doors he initially entered through. They were alive and hearty when he'd passed them shortly before. It was the only way from the main hall, and she had attacked him from behind. She'd been so silent that he didn't have a clue.

The shocking thought returned to him again, Demihumans don't work this way! Where the fuck is everyone?

This woman was powerful. She didn't have the build of an assassin. It was the body of a warrior. And yet, she had killed armored men with such silent lethality mere moments after he passed them.

The woman's voice jarred him from his thoughts, “Were there any other places?”

Bartis nodded vigorously. He figured that he might make it out of this if he cooperated enough. Kassel was known for taking prisoners to obtain every bit of information. The assassin would need to deal with Starkrim as well, and it wouldn't be long before the dead guards were found. The original lord of the estate would rally his troops shortly after.

He just needed to buy time.

“We met on the second floor of The Wayward Devil,” he answered. He found it much easier to speak as he felt the grip loosen on his wrist.

The assassin straightened herself and observed the hall before stepping over him. Her soft humming raised a bit in pitch, almost as if she were a giddy girl on a shopping trip. She approached the doors and pressed a palm against the center where they met. They easily opened with a quiet groan to reveal what lay beyond.

All hope left Bartis. The steward let out a choked gasp when he saw the lifeless eyes of a guard staring back at him. Blood pooled beneath the armored corpse, and a severed arm remained in place where the man had once attempted to stifle the bleeding. Another guard had been hoisted up and impaled by the stone sword of a statue standing diligently against the wall. Three more bodies lay face-down, clean kills with no blood to indicate the source of their wounds.

It wasn't the work of an assassin, but something else. There was too much brutality with some of the kills, yet many of them also showed signs of terrible efficiency.

“W-what the hell is this?” Bartis breathed.

His eyes left the bodies and trailed up the woman's form as she shifted her feet. She absentmindedly adjusted one of the straps on her light boots near the knee. The soles turned along the floor without a sound as she made to approach him.

“Please, no,” Bartis whimpered. “Listen, I know. You work for Kassel. I know he's reasonable. He'll want more information.”

The demihuman crouched next to him and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

“Aren't you just the steward?” she asked.

Bartis saw that she had lowered her cowl to reveal an open-mouthed grin. The whiteness of her two sharp canine teeth contrasted with the shadows and her darker skin tone. The faint, red-rimmed pupils stared back at him with a demonic thirst.

In this moment, he was convinced that his desperate assertions were correct. This wasn't a normal demihuman.

His head shook and eyes shifted instinctively as he saw a slight movement behind the woman. She followed his gaze, and they observed another spectre of death standing at the end of the blood-soaked hall. Bartis's despair was complete when he saw the familiar face of his comrade, Starkrim. He lay at the other assassin's feet. His eyes were closed as if he were merely sleeping. No wounds were visible.

The second assassin remained silent. His shadowed, distant eyes seemed to look through Bartis rather than at him.

Bartis fumbled with his words, but then he suddenly saw the ceiling as the beastkin woman jerked his head back to expose his throat. He felt the sharp bite as she drew the dagger along the flesh. He choked as the blood flowed freely and blocked his airways. His head hit the floor when she released him, and the world began to fade.

N-no...not like this, he thought.

Life can change drastically in but a moment. It may be dramatic or unceremonious. Brutal or compassionate. Quick or slow.

Not...like this...

His random last thought repeated the same thing.

The demihuman was something else – something far more ferocious.