Chapter 1

I wiped the crimson spilled over my shoulders and left of my face with a white cloth I have prepared earlier just for this purpose. My stiff hands were gritting with force as I remove the splatter of blood from my face all while staring at the horror before my eyes, sitting comfortably on a red couch remembering if I ever did my work this messy before. Bodies atop of one another and their blood spilled like hot milk on the slight sheen of the floor. The air is thick with the stench of blood as though you licked the rust off of the metal.

The warm glint of the lamp provides in the small corner of this chamber has given me enough light to see the scenery in detail. One particular body, just beside my seat, has been a bother among all. Her hair was sprawled and drenched in crimson from the cut of her neck. Her gown is made similar to mine, red silk and soft fabric, with embroidery of gold and silver. Her arms were twisted and turned, legs were bent to a certain degree, but her face was flat on the ground, thankfully. I cannot seem to endure the look on her ugly face.

I wiped off the remaining stain on my skin when the helpers, both males with lean figures and small bodies, approached my seat from the back door only the rats knew about. One of our advantages in this covert mission is the knowledge of the secret passage and doors of the establishment that we have obtained from the black traders.

"We have already ensured your leave." The other told me, his eyes pointed down with passive utterance. Their fright of knowing the Sister had made him a stone in his feet. Why, who would not when the price is worth more than a life?

I nod at them and leave them be on their jobs while I hastily changed the new fitting of my dress. I took off my artificial hair and untangled the ebony hair that went down to my buttocks. I wore a black cloak to hide the atrociousness of my gown and could easily blend through the shadows. I took the plotted path for my leave with so much ease as though nothing horrifying had happened. It made my stomach turn but this has been done for many years so I do not understand the rising fear and uneasy feeling each time I was done with it.

I went straight for a carrier lingering on the back of the establishment. The alley walk is dark at this time of the night. Most folks avoid this particular street since it is said to harbor dark spirits. To meet one is an omen of doomed fate and so the humans, ever hysterical with such superstition, by no means would stroll the alley in such fright.

The coachman, from his idling, jerked upright at the sight of her lady speeding in the distance. He held the door open in silence as I entered before we took off from the little town of Gilga to the big city of Dardau. He had made way for our destination in discretion, passing the patrolling guards with ease, all thanks to the banner we have acquired from the Hand. If remember correctly, it was the Gazratta's flag on the nook, one of the minor houses to join the league. The Hand had his fingers rooted in the core power of the city, twisting anything to his desire.

I took my cloak off and slump down the soft divan. Two nights of rest and booze is just about right after weeks of tasks and labor. I rummaged through the chest, certain that I will find something that could light up my spirit, and found a wineskin that had almost made me jump in mirth. I opened the lid in a haste and the smell of sweet grapes entered my nose and filled my lungs. I could not help myself but drink and replenish my stomach with its fruity sweetness.

I had not been always a drunkard. I took my duties earnestly after I had finished my five-year-long training. When I had my first job, I was a committed loyal servant of the Hand and fulfilled my duties without a drop of ale or wine. But with every shed of blood, screams of mercy, and wailing of babes after they have been ripped off from their mother's clutch, only drunkenness could make me momentarily escape the horror of my truth. Apart from those reasons, of course, the savory taste of grapefruit is not something I could decline with honesty.

We traveled the main road for a day. We find ourselves food from a small tavern along the road. The pie was particularly too salty for my liking but the hunger was stronger than disgust so I proceeded to hover my spoon in my mouth. The coachman had happily told me stories of his great voyage in the East as we dine. A known pirate in his youth feared and respected even to the chiefs until he stumbled upon the ship of the Lord Hand and his days as smuggler and thief ended, and now he rides a horse with his two fingers gone. I listened only, but I did not so much as to be entertained by his tale.

In truth, the presence of a confidante in my job is not necessary as it appears to be. But the task in Gilga was a delicate matter, and the route to escape is precarious that walking on foot on the street would rise the likelihood of being captured, so the Maestra appointed a carriage for the safest and easy departure. I did not complain further, however, the distress it causes me for I know my fragile situation and stubbornness would only prolong the task; something that has not happened before in any of my mission.

I have learned my lesson. The strike of the dagger to my confidente's neck as I plunged it further down his throat and blood once again spilled from the bare of my hands as he gasped his last breath capitulated me. I blinked and, at once, the pie untouched on a silver platter is laid in front of my eyes once again as the gruff voice of the coachman rang in the background, his words I cannot comprehend. The betrayal left a scar that I would forever bear and a lesson I will always uphold. So my sorry for the cold shoulders, but his stories shall not suffice to open a conversation, be it may his intentions are true and kind.

The journey was smooth and pleasant on a sunny day but I was restless inside this small cabin that without my wine, I think my sanity would be long gone. I slept most of the ride and have been recovering most of my strength. We made our leave from the tavern with two silver coins on the table, too big of a payment for an ill-cooked meal. I, however, am grateful for the service so it was worth the penny after all.

"How much longer 'til we reach Ganur? I need to fill my wineskin." I told my coachman.

Ganur is the last stop before we reached the city gate of Dardau. The folks there are friendly and peaceful, the reason why the trading has been boosting for quite some time for a village that small. Their primary sales are wheat since they have been blessed with rich soil to farm. Wine is scarce, but I know someone who hoards barrels of it. Maybe I could get one for free.

He turned on me slightly as he answered, "we will reach the village very soon, m'lady." His voice gruffed with tiredness.

I slumped back in my seat. Impatient as the gods condemn me to be, I could no longer bear this tiny space. I pulled my wineskin from the chest and shake it, making sure the last drops of the sweet wine went through my mouth but to my disappointment, nothing came out of the empty container so I tossed it.

I look at outside. The small peek through the velvet curtain tells me that the sun had gone to rest and so the crescent moon, along with stars glittering in the vast, descended to adorn the sky. One more night to endure the road, Wajan.

My mind wandered to the chaos I left in Gilga. The helpers, one never knew their names, are paid acquaintances of the Hand. They are picked mainly for their physical body, lean and small, easy to blend in the crowd, and could enter small narrow passages. They are a convenient help in tight situations and when they get an order, they do not ask questions. Getting the job done neatly takes precedence.

At this moment, a crow or a messenger should arrive at the Red Keep, bringing the message of the mess in Gilga. The Regent shall soon send a bunch of investigators to the Guarda, the city in which the town sits, to express his condolences and same worry to the ruler of the city. Indeed, the murder of the eldest son of a reigning Regent shall not be taken lightly but being on the top of the upper echelon means being vulnerable to those below you. You must not just look atop, but guard what was down below. Had you let the guard down even in a fleeting moment could be a disaster.

Of course, the wise and the clever Karlau De-Vargo has seen the fate of his enemies in a flick of his hand. He is no sorcerer, but in the literal sense, he is capable of such magic. His alliance with the Hand has made that possible. The thirst for power is what this company fed unto and fortunately for the Hand, the reigning Regent of Dardau has been addicted to the taste of it, so with his generosity, he provides.

The Hand has personally appointed the best in the sisterhood, one that is capable of perfect execution, with no mistake or miscalculated movements. One that mastered the blade, skilled in close combat, and well-educated in the art of seduction. The records suggest the name Wajan, and so I was summoned.

The mission itself was aggravating. Erlaz needs to die to provoke a civil war between the House of Asshir and Keldam, two of the prominent families in the city. One handles the major ports and trading in Gigla, and other holds the City Bank. The war would leave a gap of power in the government that is where the Regent would place his anointed puppet. For him to be able to wield his power and control the city, the two families must be eliminated from their leverage. Erlaz is no more than to satisfy Karlau's thirst for power, and I am his cupbearer. Lucky for me, the fool is a slave to his libido, as what the intelligence had gathered. A few strokes to his crotch are enough to make him bent to my will.

I was dissuaded at first since the mission was so precarious they say the execution was not an easy take. This was to be the most crucial converted task to ever be enforced outside the city. One of the master tacticians had even suggested the likelihood of this mission to be the ruin of the company, yet the Regent and all his confederates had threatened to withdraw from the allegiance if his request would not be granted, and so they pursued the success of this operation with utter vigilance that took them the span of thirteen cycles and deployed the most promising candidate from the sisterhood. I would be humbled to decline to the offer but the Hand had offered a considerable fee for my service. Two bags of silver coin and a one-cycle leisure, no disturbance from the Maestra or the Sisterhood was all it took for me to pack my belongings and ride for Guarda.

"M'lady, we are approaching the village!" Shouted my coachman. I jumped from my seat and parted the curtains expecting Sigmund, the jolly gatekeeper, yet I was greeted with a strange deafening silence. The lamps posted on the gatewall were not lighted. The horse whined and halted, refusing to near the gates which made the old man upset.

"Forgive me, my lady, but would you mind walking on foot? The horses are acting strangely. I will be with you in a moment." He said, a bit shyly as he open the door for me.

I fixed my clothes as I get off the carriage, thankful that I had changed my garments along the journey to something comfortable and light as I have been feeling the need for it. The wind whistled quietly, not for a refreshing caress but a strange one. Behind the tall wooden fences made from bamboo sits the small village. I walked towards the gate - a fine finish of oak tree- careful and alert as the coachman was left with the stubborn horses.

Something in me stirred awake. I gritted my teeth in frustration, arousing the beast more. She is sensing something strange in the air, a trait she use to do when she felt that we are in trouble. Though not so fond of her presence, I let her surface a bit, to my advantage.

The wind blew south and the smell of burnt wood and the sickening pungent scent of rotting meat hit our senses. Fire. Dead bodies. My feet moved hastily to uncover the horridness hiding behind the wooden fences. With a force, I kicked one of the wood down in one strike and without a thought entered the forsaken village.

I had been accustomed to watching brutality unfold before my eyes for years of serving for the Hand. The sight of blood was no fright to me. Whether I was the perpetrator or a victim or a watcher, my indifference to violence remains constant but this scene made a churn in my stomach and washed my feet cold.

The bodies scattered on the ground drenched in dried blood. Old and young, man or woman, it does not matter, everyone in the village met the same fate. Their arms and legs were torn from their bodies. The organs are ripped open for flies and maggots to feed on. Some heads are tossed on the ground, half of their faces unrecognizable. The pieces of bodies that are spewed throughout the vicinity were either flayed or nipped down to the bone. An infant, covered in cloth, was half eaten leaving just the lower half of her small body. These people are killed beyond torment that the culprit had left no decency of their bodies. May the gods punish these monsters.

This is no raid nor simply an attack from a group of wild animals nor an invasion from a faction of bandits. I kneeled as I study the bruises and wounds of a corpse laid just a distance from the gate, his body faced the ground dried with his blood. His clothing was torn into pieces, leaving the body bare to the eyes. His head is no longer attached and god knows where it might be. Half of his torso was completely ripped off, or rather, eaten. The flesh has been infected with maggots, chewing the rotten meat. The claw marks along the body left deep wounds that alone could kill the poor man.

The village sits on a valley. Such an attack from wilderness would not be possible as they do not dwell in these mountains. Yet, how could one explain the bite and claws left on the body only a big creature is capable of?

The beast stirred from my consciousness, foretelling the great danger had we stayed for long. I agreed. The bodies still had warmth, which would mean the culprits are not far from the village. The irony of it when I had escaped Gilga unscathed only to be killed for my curiosity. I decided to get back to the carriage and when we reach the city, report the incident to the Maestra. Certainly, cases such as this should not be disregarded.

Just as I turned to retreat, a scream and a horse's whine broke the silence. I cursed aloud. The only person in the area was me and the coachman. I hurried to him yet was stunned on my feet as an overwhelming stink of a dying hound entered my nose. The smell was too awful that made my beast react with so much belligerence, eliciting my blood more with adrenaline.

A howl was heard from a distance as I walked to the carriage. The coachman, whom I had left earlier in his plight, is lying face on the ground as a wolf dragged him by the snout, its drool dripping to the ground and wetting the strands of his hair. I had noticed claw marks on her back, bleeding.

I lunge a quick kick at its mouth while I pulled back the old man, now wailing like a child, and placed him near the wagon for a cover. The wolf growled in annoyance. I placed my fingers at my lips, a gesture to silence his frantic. "Stay here and don't do anything stupid. Run, if you may. I cannot guarantee your survival, after all."

He had begged me to save him, praying and weeping, as I saw how his sanity had left his brains. I cursed at him, slapping him across the face to wake him from his madness. And so he did, and I left him to fend for himself.

"What the fuck are these?!" I lamented with utter madness as I walked towards the tree line. I unhooked the pin of my cloak to lessen the weight, enabling me to move freely and fast, and threw it just about a bit harshly. My unruly hair would be better tied but I have none of the bands to make a knot so I let it be. The northern wind blew and the trees danced in harmony, yet I was all but in peace.

The beast had once again surfaced. Her presence is now irresistible more than ever. She is restless and aggressive, striking me most when I lose my control over her, but managed to silence her nonetheless. It took me years to master the resistance but still, the rejection she felt resonated in my body.

I glanced at the carriage. I have with me three of my daggers, strapped on my hips and one to my leg, and the others are on the chest inside. I'd be eaten to death before I could reach it, so speeding to grab is not an option. I should wield this dagger as long as I could.

Five wolves appeared to my right, growling and drooling, and three more to my left with the same approach. These animals don't look like anything from their natural environment. They looked disfigured and beaten. Most of their wounds and lesions are still visible on their bodies, now darkened and rotting emitting a foul smell. None of them have ears intact, with half of it gone or completely ripped off from their heads. Their furs had fallen out, leaving bald patches that showed the dirty scalp.

They snarled at me, teeth bared and dripping with their saliva. Their ears pulled back but their eyes, the color of red, remained sharp - guarding my every movement and seeking an opening to strike. I focused on their smell, that sickening reek of rot similar to the decaying flesh back in the village, and confirmed their number. There are more of them, hiding and waiting for their turn.

With preciseness, I grab the dagger from my legs and flung it to my right hitting the wolf straight in its skull. It fell with a whine, dead on the ground with its blood soaking the fur wet.

That surprised them but without a second, the two on my right plunged their canines at me. I cursed as I struggled to dodge the attack with a leap. Quickly, I shot the other with the dagger in my right hand, hitting its eyes, and immediately regretted it for I have likely lost an arm in this battle. But before I could lament, another sped towards me unnoticed, its teeth almost ripped my legs off but I managed to swerve in the other direction, completely evading the attack while maintaining a safe and precise distance. With my precision in swordsmanship, I managed to thrust my blade into its throat, dragging the edge from below to the nook of the neck. I kicked its dead body as I pulled the dagger only to be slammed into a big trunk, and my weapon flew from my hold. The next thing I knew, I was pinned down by one, fighting for my life as I restrain her snout from ripping off my head.

The beast from deep within me emerged with much aggression, enabling my hands to shove the wolf with such force that it flew meters away. I got up on my feet only to be slivered by a claw from my behind, causing me to fall over my feet. Blood was drawn from the wound.

"Fuck you!" I shouted in frustration. It lunges at me again instantly, the beast strikes my back, preventing me to rise to my feet and so I kneel. Crouching and expecting the assault, the wolf leap at me and I grabbed it by the neck, burying my claws into its flesh and squeezing the muscle with a tight grip as I put force on my feet to leap and swerve around, twisting the head until I hear a crack. I let the body fall with a thud.

The first wolf to die earlier was at my side now. I had not noticed the distance I have reached. I pulled the dagger out of its body, blood spilled more to the ground, and bits of it splattered on my face. The beasts from the distance had pulled back, seeing that the three of their kind had died. But one remained emboldened with rage and hunger as it ran fast toward me with a roar. The knife flew from one precise forceful flick of my hand as it pierced the beast right on its head, blood splattered from the impact.

Now, four of them are gone, along with it my weapons. I could still sense more of them from everywhere. The wound on my left arm felt different as it slowly begin to sting and throb. Not all of my missions were accomplished unscathed, but mostly when it happens, the wounds are not a bother when I engage in a fight and they heal just in time before I arrive from the venture.

I tap at my beast from within. She responded with eagerness to surface and get a taste of the battle. We had not done this for a longest time so I have my doubts, but the urgent situation requires great strength that I could not provide, thanks to the gushing wound on my arm. I watched the wolves from the distance, now hesitant to attack, hiding at each other's back, afraid that they'd be long dead before they could near me. They are growling with a great hunger to finally end their prey, but their body tells the opposite. I took the time to conduct my plan, the last resort to this damned dilemma.

I relaxed my shoulder as the first phase of the shift began. It usually takes just a second when your body is accustomed to the alteration, but the long period had taken effect on our body, making it difficult for the organs and bones to contort and form a new being. My body emitted intense heat radiating from the inside, as though boiling me alive. I felt my muscle contract, lose, and bent again. My veins pulse with the rush of blood that I thought snapped in such urgency. When the middle phase occurred knocking me to my knees, bones from all my parts breaking, twisting, and tilting, I groaned in agony and despair blaming whoever has placed me in this predicament. I caught sight of the wildings from the corner of my teary eyes. They are watching, feet on the ground, with curiosity and bewilderment flashing in their red, glassy eyes.

Soon enough, and rather longer and more painful than I would want it to be, I stood with four limbs. My body felt bigger and much stronger as the blood rushing through my veins pulsed with such anticipation. The transition had weary me, leaving me a stroke of strength enough to settle in the back of my beast's consciousness, letting her regain control of our body, her wrath ready to devour all these creatures who dared lay a hand on her.

A low growl, warning, had erupted from her lungs. She bared her canines, long and sharp, to her prey rattling with fear beyond the line of trees. Few took a step back, waiting for another to test the new fellow on the field, but no one dared; and so she lunge forward in speed as patience was not truly her virtue. Her muscles jolted with a force, leaping from the ground through the air like a lightning.

Now that she has her body free from my restraints, her senses have intensified better. She had already ascertained the number of wolves in the area at such time. Four lies on the ground, dead. Although I had reduced their numbers, the danger is still imminent as six more wolves wandered in the vicinity.

She was fallen to her knees when one wolf, almost as big as us, knocked her over to the dirt. She immediately stood, now more furious than ever. The wolf was brown with streaks of black hair from his chest. Its snout is longer than any of the wildings I have seen so far. What strange I am that its eyes were not swollen red but with hues of golden fleck on the rim. Its smell, though as potent as it could be, was not so much of a stink. From the smell, she had identified him as male, the dominant of the pack.

The wolf looked at me directly, eyes pointed with concentration that the other wolves I tangled with lacked. Others have simply been driven by blood lust or desire to a challenge, but this one I felt different. My beast could feel his thrill for a fight worth his capabilities, a foe that could match him in a brawl. She despise the idea, she whispered in my mind. She is insulted that he would even think of him to be her equal. That made her even more ravenous to put the low-life beast in his place, below her and the ground, buried with dirt.

He roared at us as he leaped from the ground to assault us head-on. She received the impact but not without scraping the side of his jaw with the sharpness of her claws. The beast did not yield to the wound she had inflicted but rather, incited by it as my beast felt the rush of his blood. Standing on both our legs, he attempts to gnaw at my neck which he failed miserably as my beast shook him like he would a rat.

That insulted him, I know, for he once again bared his fangs with utter uproar and charged at my beast which the latter snarled about, striking him in his rush in the abdomen. They clashed on the ground, kicking, biting, and snapping at each other's bodies until a pool of blood-soaked them both on their fur. The male had attempted to nip at her legs. She snarled at him, 'tis one attack she hated the most, and delved her sharp fangs unto his neck that he left open unknowingly for a bit of wound on her lower body. She sank her canines unto the flesh, quickly and precisely, deep enough to earn a whimper from the male who bolt to break free from her hold, but she was ruthless as she was born to be, and so she went deep down his opponent's neck with violent writhe to subdue his squirming until she felt a muscle, and reached further down until a vein popped from the force of her jaw.

The male soon had his last breath, unable to break free from her grip. The Alpha of the pack had died. She unhooked her canines, licking the blood from her lips as she watch the carcass of the male fall down on a slope. She had won the brawl and that made her ever proud.

She turned for the pack, hiding behind the trees, tails tucked between their legs. She made them heed her warnings, erupting from her chest and resonating through the silent forest, daring those who possess the courage and stupidity to step foot and meet the fate their leader had, but to her satisfaction, they turned and hurried back to the dark woods, accepting their defeat as the pungent smell of dying hound faded. They were no match for her, as their alpha did.