Olimpia

Tath huddled into the corner of her little alcove, checking again that she was hidden from the rest of the alley as she pulled her legs into her chest. Grabbing the frayed edges of what at one time should have been a well-made blanket around her shoulders, she pulled it tight across her back as her anxiety grew. Her hands were clutching at the cloth so tightly that she heard the sound of threads straining and tearing.

Immediately stopping at the sound, Tath forced her grip to loosen while pressing her head into her knees, but she knew it was already too late. She could hear the clack clack clack of steady steps moving down the alley. No! No! No! No! She screamed desperately in her mind. Move on, move on, move on. Please…

She could not see it. Did not want to see it because if she did, it would be the last thing she ever saw. So long as she never looked up, there was at least a chance.

Tath didn't know where they came from. Didn't know why they were here. All she knew, and wished was anything but true, was that one of them had stopped before her. The one that was the most feared within the slums. The Butcher.

The scrape of pebbles shifting under their feet made her flinch. As they bent, the rustling of cloth made her heart flutter. Like a faint gust of wind on a summer's day, she felt his breath running over her neck.

Smashing herself into the wall, she felt pain shoot up her body as a stone stabbed into her backside. The little protection her threadbare clothes offered was nothing before its sharp edge, but she ignored it as she tried to escape the creature by shifting back further without looking up.

Pain and fear filled her mind, and while she was breathing raggedly into her tiny cloth cave, she knew. Could feel the figure inches above her grime-matted hair.

There was a dry halting chuckle that, if she had not heard of it before this cursed night, she would have guessed was a cough. Then there was a long sniff strong enough to rustle her stiff hair.

“Fear… Pain…" Hissed a dry voice. "You reek of it. Even within the heart of your cities and fortresses, you cower from us in your own filth. All you have to do is call for your guards and tell them where we lurk… Everyone knows they are searching for us. You suspect where we keep our base. And yet, you do nothing… Pathetic. Cowering in this corner, pretending I don't exist, will not save you. It is better to die in service to your people than to live in shame."

At the end of his sentence, his voice was filled with disgust. A hand grabbed Tath's hair and yanked her head back. Her back arched, and her feet scrabbled against the ground as she tried to relieve some of the pain, but no matter how she writhed, the man changed how he twisted her hair to always keep her in discomfort.

"It is only right," Sneered the man, "A weak culture births weak people. I will set you free, and if the Mother is kind, you will be reborn as the vir to work your way up the casts."

The man's left hand came up, and he was holding the hilt of a curved blade glinting in the moonlight lighting the alley.

Tath followed the blade as the man raised it to his face, and fear filled her heart as her eyes finally looked upon his form.

He was not human. And while some of his features resembled that of elves, like his ears, they were too sharp.

That was ignoring his completely obsidian eyes, slightly pointed teeth, and dark purple skin bordering on black.

While the black pits he called eyes should be able to express nothing more than the emotionless stare of the dead, they gave off a feeling of cruel pleasure. Tath could feel his building anticipation. Every moment the monster could draw out Tath's suffering, it built upon his feelings of sadistic euphoria.

He placed the hilt of his blade on his cheek, deforming his skin. The moonlight reflected off the side of his knife, lighting up his face, revealing a patch of thickly layered scars. Dozens, if not hundreds, of thin lines pattered his flesh. As he tilted the blade to meet his skin and drew it forward, he sliced it into his cheek, covering the edge of the silver blade in crimson.

"Let the blood of the Matriarch cleanse this lesser being." He hissed as he raised the knife above Tath. The blood ran down the edge of his knife until a drop of blood started to collect at the blade's tip.

I should have never come to this cursed area, Tath thought in despair. But the recent shifts in the street gangs drove her from her home, and she had no other option. She heard of the Butcher roaming this area but didn't believe it until now.

As the drop of blood fell from the knife, the knife drove toward Tath's chest.

Her eyes were locked on the descending blade, unable to look away from its glittering edge.

Then the man jerked, and his eyes widened in shock, his knife halting its decent.

The dark elf's head tilted down to lock onto the knife buried in his guts. His brows drew together in confusion, and the knife he held twitched, but his time was over.

Sliding the dagger out, Tath's hand twisted and drove the knife threw his jaw and into his skull. Using a tendril, she twisted the hilt of her knife, ignoring the cracks of protest his skull gave as she stirred his brains.

The elf's arms fell to his side, and his black eyes dulled. Tath held up the elf's body by the handle of her knife, then all at once, she let out a small gasp of shock and flinched back, letting go of the weapon and body.

Her feet scrabbled against the grime-covered stones as she tried to distance herself from the body and the pool of blood spreading out from its head. She could not stop herself from staring at her blood-stained hands.

Scrubbing them against the ground, she tried to hide the blood with dirt as she searched the alley for witnesses. Though piles of trash took up every section of the passage, there were no people.

The other vagrants knew better than to come to these alleys. It wasn't the… dark elves' territory, not officially at least, but… he hunted in this area. Nearly every morning, a body was found with a look of agony on there face and partially skinned.

Only the most desperate spent the night in this area. And Tath…

She only came here because she was forced…

Looking at the body, she felt…

Triumph.

Clutching her head, she groaned into his hands as she hunched over. Images flashed through her mind in an instant, and her back straitened.

Kathren looked at the body of the dark elf, a small smile of satisfaction twitching at her lips. Then her eyes glazed over as she remembered the last week and a half of her life.

As she worked her way into the slums of South Town, she quickly realized that things were much worse than anyone thought, so their plan would never work.

The farther she moved into the slums, the more she felt like she was being watched. No matter how hard she searched, Kathren could never find those watching her. It was only when a legion patrol happened to pass that the feeling would vanish for a time, but it would always come back.

After the third day, the feelings of danger got so intense that Kathren woke in the middle of the night and started slinking around. The next day, it seemed like the feeling was constant, and she seriously considered giving up. Luckily, Kathren heard the whispers circulating around the other vagrants about what she was feeling.

They, the dark elves, were constantly reading everyone's thoughts. Those who thought of going to the guards disappeared. Those trying to spy on them were found gutted in the middle of some street in the morning.

People didn't know who they were or what they were trying to do, but Kathren knew.

It was only thanks to her dedication to playing her role that she already hadn't been found and killed.

The choice was simple, either back off while she still had a chance or fully commit. She committed.

Kathren forced any thoughts other than survival out of her mind. Even as she listened to gossip around her, half of her mind was focused on the rock she was always placing underneath her butt. If anyone read her surface thoughts, they would see pain.

But she knew that wouldn't be enough, deeper thoughts would slip through. So she dredged up all her memories in the slums and pushed them to the front of her mind. Kathren even started using her old street name from childhood.

Within a couple days of practice, her mind got to the point that it was divided. The surface thoughts were that of her childhood living in a slum, guided by her real self hidden below.

It went… better than she thought. A little too well if she was honest with herself.

Kathren hated remembering her time on the streets, but she had no choice. The fucking elves were hardly ever seen alone on the rare occasions they were seen at all. And sneaking up on them was impossible. Everyone unlucky enough to pass the hooded figures on the street spoke of an oppressive aura they gave off.

And there were plenty of hushed stories about when they first appeared months ago — which was not a good sign they went unnoticed that whole time — and how they would preemptively attack assassins hiding behind walls or posing as street vendors. And it wasn't a single occurrence. All of the major gangs tried attacks at one time or another.

In all those attacks, there wasn't a single story of anyone ever getting the drop on them.

The only good thing about all the failed attacks, other than being the cause of the rumors for her to gather, was the turmoil. With all the deaths and shifting of territory, having new people appear wasn’t uncommon, making her job easier.

Then Kathren — really Tath — heard of the string of deaths in this area and whispers of the Butcher walking the streets every night, so she set her trap. It only took three nights of sleeping in this area before she was found and approached by the bastard.

Groaning, Kathren stood up and placed her hand on the small of her spine, leaning backward. A series of pops sounded, and she groaned in pleasure as her hunch straitened for the first time in a week.

Kneeling down, Kathren patted down the body but only found what felt like a single small coin purse. Stuffing the bag into the folds of her clothing, she grabbed his knife and sheath, sliding it into her belt.

Without hesitation, Kathren yanked her knife out of the dark elf, then started slicing through his neck.

It took some time and more than a bit of blood, but she finally got through the flesh and bone holding his head to his body. Grabbing the silver hair of the dark elf, she picked up the head and threw it into a lumpy sack. There were enough pieces of cloth, dirt, and other items in the bag that no blood should leak out, and one more lump shouldn't make it suspicious.

Throwing the pack over her shoulder, she hunched over and focused on getting out of here. She even fanned her anxiety about getting noticed to the top of her mind, so any quick scans of her mind should be ignored.

She kept her steps short and quick, like the steps of a rat ready to dart to the side at any moment. Sticking to the side of the street, she kept her head moving.

While she did finally get her target, it was late in the night. The sun was coming up in a couple hours. While it was rare to see the dark elves out in the daylight, they had many humans working for them. And she had to assume that he was supposed to check at some point, mean—

A mental pulse washed over Kathren, and she stumbled to the side. The only thing keeping her up was the rickety building she was leaning against.

The pulse was… complex. It was a single pulse but contained layers of intricate connections that she didn’t even know was possible. It was like every single legion signal pattered was combined and compressed into a single casting. The level of skill it would take to do something like that was simply absurd, and she doubted that even Instructor Green could come close.

Kathren had no idea what the message contained, but few strong telepathic casters stayed in the slums. Assuming it was about the Butcher's death seemed like a good idea.

Keeping her head low, she started quickly striding forward, searching the shadows out of the corners of her eyes. They would be coming for her soon.