PROLOG

Manhunt

Hate was on her heels, out to punish her, to kill her. The ever-familiar fear that accompanied her clung to her like old favorite clothes comfortable, cozy, and familiar. Had she ever felt differently? She no longer knew. The joy she had felt as a child lay so far in the past that it could have filled two lifetimes.

Many had tried to bring her down before, all in vain until now. But the unfortunate wound on her leg slowed her down. Pain stabbed into her knee with every step, and she stumbled. These hunters were far more relentless than the others.
That was because the king’s brother led them a blond giant who had earned the reputation of a great hero. His armor and weapons were imbued with powerful enchantments. These had helped him turn many dire situations around and escape unscathed.
He had not only brought adventurers, fortune-seekers, or skilled warriors; among them were also capable mages. She had sensed them for some time. Weary of fighting, she hoped to make it east to the sea, where she planned to board a ship and leave these wretched lands of men behind once and for all. But first, she had to shake off this ragtag band, for now there were too many chasing her.

She prepared herself, focused, felt the adrenaline and her heart beating faster and harder also a long-familiar feeling.
At nightfall, they’ll try again, she thought.
Four strips of dried meat were left. She took a small vial of green liquid a healing potion that quickly closed her wound and granted her more endurance for the night. After a while, the bleeding in her knee stopped, and the pain subsided.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, she heard her hunters in the distance. They made no effort to hide, constantly shouting to one another, giving away their positions. From the trampling sounds, she deduced their numbers had grown. One thing was clearer than ever: tonight, it would be them or her. One way or another, there would be a massacre.

A calm, peaceful dusk descended, and most of the world fell silent.

It’s getting cold, she thought.

Suddenly, a rustle. An attack from a different direction but it missed. She easily dodged the spear. That was why the others had been shouting so loudly to distract her from the ambushers. But her attacker had to learn how unnaturally fast she was. Her delicate fingers soon wrapped around his neck. Panicked, he tried to scream and saw those deep red eyes. Then he knew the stories about her were true. To her, he was just another in a long line who had tried to kill her and return a hero. She did it as always without a flicker of emotion, without a trace of feeling. The life of a single person had long since lost meaning for her.

With one swift motion, her fingertips pierced his throat and ripped out his larynx.
But she noticed he hadn’t come alone.

His companion, rushing to help, was seized by fear, stumbled back in panic. Before he could flee, she grabbed his shoulder and swiftly drove her stiletto through his heart.
Ah, she thought, they’ve brought royal guards now. The white tabard gave it away.
To protect the king’s brother, perhaps? she wondered.

She grabbed her latest unlucky victim by the collar and dragged the body along. The sight was disturbing this frail-looking girl effortlessly hauling a man as large and strong as he was.

Her pursuers drew closer. Not just the revered royal guard was here. Those dubbed "heroes" accompanied them too famous fighters who loved to protect and collect coins in return. A few of them, like the king’s brother, were lucky enough to wield special weapons or enchanted gear with wondrous properties. Such items often made their bearers arrogant. They were meant to ensure the deadly quarry finally met her end. A massive reward awaited them.

Now she heard him Sir Godric of Ankarth, with his rumbling voice.
“Show yourself, demon, and receive your rightful punishment!” he bellowed in rage. “You’re trapped!”

She rolled her eyes. He always put on this theatrical display, and his followers loved it. She had always escaped him so far. Underestimating him, however, would be fatal he was cunning and always came up with something new.

“You think that?” she shouted back, annoyed. “I didn’t start this story.”
With superhuman strength, using just one hand, she hurled the lifeless body of her last victim a good distance. His bones crunched as he landed before Godric.
“How many more must die, Godric? How many, before there’s finally peace...?”

Her sentence was cut short by a hissing arrow. She pulled back, leaping behind a boulder.
The terrain was rugged and hard to see through. Large rocks jutted out amidst bushes. Scattered ancient trees stood atop small hills. Steep ravines everywhere offered cover.

The heroic leader barked a command. Now they came. Organized, they advanced, trying to surround her. But the warriors failed to bring down the Crimson Terror she was too cunning. The spectacle served only to distract her. Hidden in the rear, between rocks, a selected group of mages was preparing a ritual.
She could sense the essence of magical energy, saw swirling blue sparks forming between them. A powerful strike was being conjured. But of what kind? That she couldn’t tell. The spell was unfamiliar crafted especially for her to tear the soul from the body.

She realized the enemy’s plan too late. Desperately, she drew a throwing blade and hurled it at the group, hitting one of the mages.
But then her breath became heavy and shallow. She staggered. With all her might, she resisted the pull of death trying to drag her down.
Less panic, more sadness gripped her that she hadn’t reached her goal. Then she shouted at her enemies:
“So... easy... no! You’ll go down... with me... into the endless abyss!”

She channeled all her remaining magical power, aiming her rage at as many as possible.
Terrifying spikes of earth, ice, and blood shot violently from the ground tearing leaves and branches, smashing stone and bone. Screams echoed between the cliffs.
Those unlucky enough not to die instantly remained gruesomely impaled, hanging broken until eternal darkness took them.

She stumbled a few more steps, sank to her knees with a groan, eyes twitching. Then she reached for the round object in her satchel. With the other hand, she grabbed the slipping strap on her shoulder. She realized she could no longer keep her promise.

She whispered, “I’m sorry.” Then she collapsed into the bloody dirt at the roots of a tree.
Above her, blood dripped from one of her enemies, skewered to the trunk.
Dimly, she felt her soul slipping away. Filled with dread, she reached out into the void, seeking something that might save her. She groped with her spirit, for her physical senses had failed.
At last, she embraced the lonely and dark cold.