But how long would I be safe? How long would any of us be safe? With that monster still walking, always stoking the flames of conflict and battle and bloodshed like a cackling demon at the furnaces of the hells, it was only a matter of time till his war flooded into the valley. He’d already killed Omen. Countless, countless others on the battlefields. How long till his menace and vitriol came to drag me down, or worse, Robin?

  My eyes found Robin in the dark. His peaceful sleeping face. He deserved better. We all deserved better. Someone had to slay this monster before he killed anyone else. Who else both had the means and saw him for what he really was?

  Robin slumbered still as I silently slipped from the room. I checked the hunting knife was in my pocket, and no one disturbed me in the desolate streets, minutes before daybreak. Minutes that would change the course of this godforsaken valley forever. I just had to find him. Couldn’t slow down. Couldn’t let doubt creep in. I knew exactly where he’d be. Always the type to sleep where he partied.

  That same tavern. I let myself in. Empty. Perfect. Slinking up the stairs, finding five rooms at the top. I knew Oldfield would pick the cheapest, the door closest to the stairway. I took a breath, steadied myself, aimed for the handle, and hammered the heel of my boot into it.

  Half-covered by the sheets, shirtless, barely rousing. His eyes confused. Darting. Widening. I slipped the hunting blade from my pocket and I swore I’d never hurt an animal with it but this Oldfield is no animal. A monster, a vile creature – not for what he is but who he chooses to be. I wouldn’t give him the chance: upon him in a flash, blade plunging into his stomach with an ease that shocked me as much as it seemed to shock him too. He yelled viciously and I barely avoided the swinging sledgehammer of a fist that would’ve knocked my head clear off my shoulders. Same fist that knocked out Omen so many years ago. I’d seen him crack bricks with it. I grabbed it and sunk all my sharp teeth into it and I heard something break and someone scream and blood spurted and I only bit harder.

  A jabbing hand too close to my eyes and I dashed back, searching for the blade: the floor. Dove for it and he kicked me so hard in my back the room flashed blue and red. I groaned and swung for the knife and snatched it up, remembered my training, rolled onto my back and kicked upwards. He can’t have been expecting it. Something connected with his jaw as my leg shuddered, and he shrieked and staggered back. I tasted something sharp and bitter. Blood? Maybe. A chance at victory? Certainly.

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  Blade in hand, I lunged for his neck. No more chances. Not for this monster. He ducked back so barely in time, the thinnest slice opening in his skin. He clutched at it, even two leaking stab wounds not enough to slow him, and I stared in awe at the laceration I’d caused: fatal move. His other hand found my throat, forcing me backwards, the back of my head thumping the glass of the window, his grip like a vice and I no longer felt the floor under my boots. My legs scrambled and kicked at the air. Nothing. They already buzzed and my vision swam and in the buzzing I realised I had more tools than this captain: I gritted my teeth and tried to focus a spark, in his hand or in his shirt or his hair or anything. Nothing. I tried and tried and if only I’d been better at this, actually practised it instead of just taking it easy once I’d been able to do it, actually developed myself like this Captain had always wanted me to –

  Was he right? Had he been right all along? I was nothing but a nuisance in the way of the natural order of things, the way things should be, and here he was, setting the world right, stronger than me from all his practice and training and dedication, far stronger than me, his grip clenching around my throat and squeezing me against the window and finally doing to me what he must have wanted to do for years. I’d ambushed him sleeping, and he’d still won like he’d barely struggled. All those years, he could have put me out of my misery any time he’d felt like it.

  Black spots filled the room. This was the end.

  My fingers weakened on the handle of the knife. Not enough power to lash out at him anymore.

  With the last of my strength, I raised the blade. Useless to try to attack him. He’d beat me anyday, even unprepared, even sleeping. I knew that now. But I had more on my side than he realised. I jabbed the knife backwards, the glass shattering instantly, and I clung to his wrist at my throat as we both tumbled back…

  Back…

  Back…

  Back…

  As we fell, the blade in my hand arced through the air. The chunk I sliced from his neck was so deep, blood sprayed as still we fell. I saw the flesh come loose. Even a monster couldn’t survive that.

  I glanced back. The ground was coming up fast.

  Too fast.

  This was going to hurt.