"How do we kill him?" Bull asked, looking up the hallway and the door out nervously.

"Same as any man," Fritz replied, stepping subtly so he blocked the escape route. "We cut his throat."

"I don't have a knife. Also, he took one of my arms," Bull said dejectedly, sagging his shoulders.

"All the more reason to take revenge. As for a blade, the walls of that butcher's room are covered with plenty of wicked weapons," Fritz said, motioning to the doorway behind the man.

Bull nodded.

"Go on, go pick one," Fritz ordered.

Bull obeyed, walking under the bloodied curtain. Fritz waited for some seconds to follow. He had no idea if the Rat Cleaver was awoken by their yelling and struggle in the pit, and would rather that someone other than himself would bear the risk of being the first into that room.

When there was no commotion, save a clattering of iron tools when Bull clumsily knocked them off their hooks, Fritz glanced within. He saw that the larder door was still closed, then he drew closer and listened to what lay beyond the wood. Frustratingly, he couldn't hear anything on the other side over the swoosh of a jagged sickle being swung through the air.

Fritz glared at Bull, who was testing how well the tool cut.

"Stop that," he hissed.

"Sorry," Bull said.

Fritz could have berated him further, and wanted to, but there was a shuffling behind the door. The unmistakable sound of chewing gnawed at his ears.

"He's awake and eating something," Fritz signed.

Bull just stared at him blankly.

Fritz frowned and used more simple gestures.

Bull nodded once, but Fritz could tell that the thug didn't catch his whole meaning. He was regretting his choice to free the fool from a fate of his own making, and wondered just how useful the complete incompetent could actually be as anything other than a battering ram.

His thoughts were interrupted by a thud, then the Rat Cleaver's rhyme leaked through the wood. Fritz retreated swiftly.

"Leave me be, little rat. Little rat, enough. Go away now, little rat. Little rat, piss off."

Fritz felt the enchantment slide right over his mind. Bull, on the other hand, moved towards the exit with a shuffling gait, eyes dazed. He couldn't let the man leave so easily, so he intercepted him and, placing one hand on his shoulder, shook him.

"What?" Bull protested, annoyed.

"Don't listen to the song," Fritz commanded, adding the ring of Dusksong. "Only listen to me."

Bull nodded.

Another rhyme oozed from behind the door, "Be away now, little rat. Little rat, go flee. Go astray now, little rat-" The words stopped suddenly, broken by a long yawn, a cough and a grumble. "Too tired, Hat, too tired to sing to rats."

Bull blinked stupidly, but didn't need to be shaken again. He did, however, need direction.

"The door is unlocked, but there's something in the way. Break it down," Fritz ordered.

After nodding and setting his shoulders, Bull faced the door. The air writhed around him for a moment, then he charged. With a crack and a thud, the wood trembled, yet still held. The thug backed up and charged again. This time the door shattered, and whatever had been barring the way was reduced to kindling.

Cool, foul air poured from the room beyond, nearly causing Fritz to retch. The clang of steel against iron sounded as the Rat Cleaver's sudden but sluggish strike was blocked by Bull's sickle. Still, the one-armed thug was thrown from his feet by the great strength of the swing and his weapon flew from his grip, lodging itself into a slab of hanging meat.

Fritz ignored the horror of the larder's contents, the horrible sight of human limbs suspended right by skinned rats and other vermin of all kinds, and focused on the monster who made this madness. Both his blades drawn, he pounced forward, attempting to end the battle before it could truly begin.

While lunging, Fritz activated a ring of grey marble he had taken from a browncoat's corpse.

Tentacles of stone slid out of the floor and swiftly grasped the Rat Cleaver's leg, holding him fast. Quicksilver snaked forward, aiming for his heart and followed by Mortal Edge's point. The beastly man slipped by the sword with some contortionist's trick. His back bent unnaturally and his captured leg snapped wetly at the joints as it was wrenched free from the stone's grip.

Fritz had to abandon his second strike when Danger Sense warned him he would be split in half by a horizontal swipe of the oncoming cleaver. He ducked, and activating the curse on his dagger, he stabbed the Rat Cleaver who was attempting to run past, trying to escape the larder. Mortal Edge parted furs and scales, and bit deep into flesh.

The foul man screeched and spun, sweeping his dimly glowing cleaver around him in a wide arc, nearly taking off Fritz's head in one cutting strike. Umbral Phase activated, plunging him into bleak relief.

While Fritz was a shade in truth, the Rat Cleaver fled, clutching at his rent side.

As he ran, he staggered, holding in his organs as they threatened to slip out of the deep wound in his gut and onto the larder floor to join the rest of the meat and offal in their cold putrefaction. The monstrous man dropped his cleaver and sprinted with all his Speed, which was all too fast to be anything other than magical.

Fritz cursed, he couldn't let the Rat Cleaver escape. If he did, who knew how many more victims he'd reap? He followed, slowly gliding, then running out of the larder as he solidified and leaving Bull behind in a tangle of limbs.

The injured man wasn't in the next room, but a trail of blood led to the hallway. Despairing that he wasn't quick enough to catch his quarry, Fritz broke into a full sprint, leaping over the pit with fluid grace.

Two screeches echoed from the hallway. One a woman's and the other the Rat Cleaver's distinctive high tone. Fritz made it to the doorway just in time to hear the thwack and witness the man tumbling back down the stairs. He fell in a heap at Fritz's feet, breathing rapidly, twitching and too stunned to move.

He himself was surprised the Rat Cleaver had slipped and stumbled when he'd been so close to getting away. Fritz peered up the stairway to see the ragged woman he guessed was the former missing captive. She brandished a thick plank of wood and stared down at the dark with fear. Her hands shook.

While Fritz had thought she'd fled, apparently she was simply lying in ambush, lurking in case the Rat Cleaver thought to escape.

He was glad he rescued her. The bestial man just might have gotten away without her sudden blindsiding strike. And although he felt capable of tracking the Rat Cleaver, while the blood was still fresh and the rain was as light as it was. It would have been a long and arduous endeavour, one he had neither the time nor the patience for. He also couldn't risk drawing the gang's attention or ire.

Without further delay and deliberation, Fritz strode to the broken, bruised man. Quicksilver's gently jagged edge cut his throat open in one smooth stroke. The man let out a long wheeze as blood poured out and pooled around his head. Then he was still.

Fritz felt cold, and couldn't rouse even a mote of pity. The Rat Cleaver deserved to die and that justice had finally, rightfully, been delivered.

"It's done, he's dead," he told the woman at the top of the stairs.

She dropped like a stone, her makeshift club toppling out of her hands. Curling into a ball, she wept.

Fritz made sure the Rat Cleaver was dead, stabbing Quicksilver's length between his ribs to bury the blade in his heart. The foul man twitched and spasmed one last time, but after, remained unmoving.

The woman didn't cry for long. Soon she stood, wiped her eyes and stared blindly into the dark, demanding proof of his demise.

Fritz lit the mana lantern that hung from his belt, using its more mundane, and milder, glow rather than its far more expensive Light Imbuement. Soft white illuminated the grizzly scene. The woman grimaced, then let out a wavering sigh.

"Thank you, whoever you are," she said solemnly, then she wobbled on her feet and slumped against the doorframe.

"Didn't you hear me before? I'm the Scarlet Shade," Fritz professed.

"Sure, okay," she muttered as she slid to the ground.

Fritz watched for a moment, then turned to investigate the rest of the rooms in this hideout. It looked to be one of the Rat Cleaver's main haunts, so there should be some coin or other loot to be found. He didn't bother searching the larder, the less he saw of that horror, the better.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

He had half a mind to burn the whole building down, but had none of the requisite materials. Unless he wanted to unveil his Eldritch Flame. Which he did not, not just for fear of searing himself, but because the fire was a distinctive blue-green that would be easy to recognise for anyone who had seen it before.

This assassination was meant to be quiet after all. And although there would be suspicions of his involvement, he didn't have to prove it so conclusively.

What he discovered while pillaging the place didn't excite him, but it at least paid for the activations of his Treasures and then some. Most of this scavenged wealth was hidden behind a loose brick and came in the form of a stash of gold and silver triads and a few baubles and rings. None were Treasures.

The same could not be said of the Rat Cleaver's leather cap. It was a foul thing, greasy and ugly, a bowl of dark brown with straps to secure it under one's chin. The cleaver itself was merely magical. It was lighter than its considerable size suggested and its edge was keen, almost as sharp as Quicksilver.

The corpse had little else on it save a coin pouch with a few triads. Fritz pocketed that with the rest of what he had found, then took the blade and the cap. Even if he wasn't likely to ever use them, they could be useful or could be sold to some morbidly curious buyer.

After searching all the corners and pulsing his Awareness to make sure he missed nothing, all that was left were the horrible tools and the captives. He decided to leave the instruments of butchery behind, but had to consider what to do with the unconscious woman at the door, and Bull who was passed out on the larder's floor.

The woman he could take to the Refuge without much trouble. It was the idiot thug that Fritz had no idea what to do with.

Bull had shown that he was duplicitous and selfish. Though on the upside, he lacked any ambition, cunning or guile and was easy to order around. Those traits could be useful in a tough or a guard.

No, he couldn't trust the fool. He'd just leave him here. He'd already set him free, what more could he really expect? What charity had he actually earned?

Still, Fritz dragged the man into the Rat Cleaver's 'bedroom', if it could be called that. Bull was light and easily moved as he mumbled incoherently. Fritz laid him on a nest of rags and left him some remedies, a ration bar and a cup of water, along with a couple of triads to keep him fed and housed for a week or two. With that small token of recompense, he felt no guilt leaving the thug behind.

The woman was no burden, thin as she was. Fritz slung her over one shoulder and was able to carry her through the streets and alleys of the drowned district without being seen or heard. It was only when Fritz reached a blockade that he had any trouble. Though that was easily dealt with when he took to the roofs.

Fritz left the dazed, borderline delirious woman with one of the Refuge's nurses, one of those folk that helped the sick and starving in a building to the west of the headquarters. Sid had set up this imitation of a house of healing, as she had the entire Refuge, but like the rest of the territory, it was undermanned and short-stocked. And although Fritz's triads had helped a lot, there was still a lack of truly skilled healers and the potent herbs they used.

He hoped that the building being prepared for the alchemists would be fixed soon to ease some of the burden on the wearied caregivers. With the Rat Cleaver out of the way, there would be fewer attacks, so he had some expectation that it could be done within the month, maybe the week if the work went well.

As he made to leave the healing house, leaving some silver triads to purchase more supplies, a nurse spoke to him. "You're really as gallant as they say. I doubted. But to bring this scarred and starved wench to be taken care of. And going so far as to give us coin to help. I can scarcely believe it. You might well be a knight from a fairy tale."

Fritz shrugged. "It would have felt bad to leave her where I found her. It was a terrible place. And to abandon her in the street would have been no better."

The nurse nodded. "Do you want me to tell her anything when she wakes?"

Fritz thought, then shook his head. "I can think of nothing."

"And if she asks for you?"

"If she wants to speak with me, tell someone in the Council. I'll hear the message there," Fritz allowed.

She nodded. And with that, he left.

Taking his place in the watchtower, as he had come to call the lookouts' residence, Fritz looked over the square. He found it far more pleasant to behold now that the cleaners and carpenters had been clearing and mending the various buildings. The plumbers, always needed in Rain City, had also been busy.

It had been a hassle to set all these efforts to restore the Refuge in motion, but Fritz could hardly regret it. Even the small progress that had been made filled him with pride for both himself and his fellow man. He couldn't wait for Sid to see it.

He missed her.

It was a dull ache in his heart, but he soothed himself with day-dreams of her smile when she came back and found all the good he had wrought. It was a warm salve to the cold weariness.

Fritz shook his head and remained vigilant. Though one of the gangs' heads had been cut off, there were still three more.

With that in mind, he watched and he waited. His plans were well underway and surely they'd bear fruit.

---

It took only two days for another of the bosses to fall. And Fritz hadn't had to do much at all, save rob the thugs carrying coin away from the hard-toiling residents of the Refuge. Without silvers or even coppers to spend on food and ale, that gang had become more than merely bored watching the outskirts of Fritz's territory, they had become... mutinous and a mite murderous.

Mutiny was just as deadly outside a Spire as it was within, and so it was that Paul Wallow had been replaced by one of his men. His right-hand man to be precise. This particular individual, Ned the Nicest, was rumoured to want nothing to do with the siege.

Learning of this disposition, Fritz had paid him a visit in the dead of night. It was a simple act of sneaking and stalking to find where Ned holed up. There wasn't even a trap laid, nor an ambush, so he had crept in like a cat's shadow.

After a brief, but enlightening conversation, Fritz had left without having to bloody his blade or empty his purse. The new boss, though he didn't live up to his name one bit, was thoroughly reasonable and eagerly removed his men from the gang alliance with the assurance that the Shade would guarantee that there would be no grudges held.

Fritz agreed and soon Ned's men had abandoned their posts.

There were just a pair of gangs left. Though they were the larger two of the previous four, their dwindling numbers, lacking funds and drowning morale were taking their due toll. At this point they could only just maintain the siege, and if Fritz's next scheme went as well as his others had, then the blockades would be all but broken.

Days passed, nights dragged on. Training, studying and stalking took up all of Fritz's precious free time. Craig had taken to skipping their meetings, saying he hadn't any new jobs for them and that they should be happy things were quite quiet. It hardly felt that way to Fritz, but he was leading at least two lives. Three if he counted his duties to his family.

He visited Thea when he could, chatting about this and that, telling of small things and delightful tales that were of little consequence. There was a distance between them, one that had been there ever since he was exiled and one that he now felt more keenly. He had hope that it would fade when he was granted their families estates, when they could live together again in their old home. If it still stood, and if they could stand to return.

Elliot was a different story, his brother had been avoiding him and outright ignoring his presence. One afternoon, Fritz had even attempted to spar with him while he trained, but Elliot had simply set down his practice blade and strode out from the small hall.

Fritz wanted to scream at the idiot, shake him from head to toe, but pushed that anger down. Still, he didn't feel he deserved such scorn. Just how perfect was he supposed to be? Just how much should he have to give?

Another annoyance caught his notice during these days. Louisa hadn't stopped following him, despite his obvious annoyance and cutting confrontation. She merely became more circumspect and careful. So he decided to use that to his advantage. He might as well get the drizzlers to do some cleaning up and earn their keep for once.

---

It was on the misty dawn of a thirdsday when the drizzlers raided Jill Jilted's warehouse, where all sorts of illicit powders and tonics were stored. The gang boss had quite the ordeal when the Storm Guard Sergeant in charge of the strike wasn't one to take a bribe. Louisa could be trusted there. Or so Fritz had hoped when he had 'dropped' a small notebook that just so happened to contain the location and details of the warehouse.

He had been right. When the threats and generous offers were ignored, the gang boss had to flee and then go into hiding. And when Jill sent her men to check her other two well-stocked safehouses of ill-gained goods, they found them burgled, doors open and banging in the wind and rain.

Fritz hadn't the men to break into both, so he had conspired with Ned the Nicest, each taking the contents of one of the warehouses for themselves.

Their plan succeeded with little trouble.

With the help of his newly recruited militia, Fritz had stormed his target without injury or casualty, and then they had looted to their hearts content. Of course they were dressed as common labourers, and the burglary looked more akin to loading up goods for a simple shipment than some grand larceny. So they attracted very little attention, especially with the drizzlers being more preoccupied in another part of the district.

Fritz credited his clever strategy and the practical wisdom contained within the pages of 'The Observations' for his great success. Though there was something to be said about the stalwart men and women he'd found for his militia. They were tough and loyal, and what they lacked in fighting experience they made up with dependability and devotion to the Refuge.

Unfortunately, even though they had planned and covered their escape well, one cart team, of three, had gone missing after the raid. Thankfully, the other two arrived at the refuge with little more than a scratch. Fritz worried for the milita guarding the carts more than the goods, but they eventually turned up, bruised and beaten, though fortunately not dead and drowned.

When asked who stole from them, the name Todd Sleeper fell heavily from their lips.

And so it was that there was only one gang with any real power left. They had taken in any stragglers still willing to wage war against the Shade, or any who held bitter grudges against Sid Smiles or the Scarlet Storm. Still, the odds were grim for them and only getting grimmer. Many thugs left for other gangs in less dangerous alleys, and many more left due to the slim pickings and bleak profits.

Evidently the risk of angering the Shade wasn't worth the few coppers in the pockets of the peoples that passed the blockades by. Or at least, that's what was being grumbled.

While the Refuge didn't exactly flourish, the drowned district wouldn't allow for that, it was steadily improving with each dawning day. More and more rooms were becoming habitable, the leaks were slowly being fixed and the gutters cleaned and unblocked. In the day, the residents would linger out of doors, less frightened and more hopeful than Fritz had ever seen. Children had taken to running through the square, playing and chasing each other while the rain was light.

It was while Fritz was watching such a display of fun, a few days after the warehouse raid, that yells and shouts rang out and the alarm bottles chimed all around him. He soon saw what had caused all the commotion, or rather who.

Todd and the most trusted of his men strode into the square, children shrieked and ran to their families and the residents retreated into their homes.

Six browncoats and Todd as well as some six other levelers.

Fritz grimaced. Each of the Browncoats on their own were deadly, together they were a terror. He wondered what their plan was. Was it to be another bloodbath?

He doubted it, since he'd received a warning from the Nightshark only a night before. A pale letter, sealed with the black fang and left upon the writing desk in his bedroom. He'd asked who had put it there, but none could say.

What was written within was brief and to the point, it chastised him for assassinating one of the bosses and involving the Storm Guard in his feuds. It warned him not to do so again, saying that he'd only earned such leniency due to the Rat Cleaver's senseless acts of violence and complete degeneracy. And that if another boss or Browncoat was murdered by his hand, without good reason, he would be met with punishment.

Severe punishment.

Fritz watched the thugs assemble, fingering the message stone in his pocket. He'd bonded it to the other one he had found and was contemplating activating it to call for aid.

He waited for only a moment longer before he did. It was best to have Bert here, even if he wouldn't need him for a battle. I was best to be safe. That, and he had been missing his friends presence keenly this long week of dark deeds.

Sure they spoke to each other every night, but their schedules had become too full and protecting the Refuge had them tired, grouchy and almost fed up with the whole endeavour. It didn't feel right.

Fritz would welcome the end of this siege and the fulfilment of his oath.

At least that could be soon.

"Where's the Shade!? Where's Bloody Bert!? Were are your defenders!?"

"What's it to you, Sleeper?" A guard from the headquarters answered. One of Fritz's militiamen. Tim.

"I've come to challenge them. A duel, a brawl, honourable combat and all that," Todd sneered. "For the territory."

"Is that so," Tim scoffed. "And why should they listen?"

"Cause if they don't I'm going to kill you and every bloody wretch that lives here. One by one until they come out," Todd stated.

The mechanism clacked. Fritz stood, and wrapped himself in a long, black cloak that was greying and stained with mud at the bottom. He made his way to the square where Todd still shouted for the Shade to appear.

When he did, stepping quietly from the shadows, it was to gasps from the Refuge and jeers from the Browncoats.

"Finally got the guts to show yourself," Todd said.

Fritz nodded once.

"Gonna face me like a man? Coward," Todd mocked.

"Is it just you I face?" Fritz asked, subtly altering his tone with Dusksong, lending it a wispy weight.

"That's right one on one, winner gets the territory," Todd said, grinning smugly.

"It's not mine to give," Fritz said.

"Well, I don't see Sid anywhere. So you'll have to do, unless you just want to give it up?"

Fritz shook his head.

"Right, then we fight, just as the rules say we can."

Fritz nodded. "Any other rules? Treasures? Abilities?"

"Anything goes. But I hear you're good with a dagger, why not use that?" Todd said, tilting his head and cracking his neck. "You ready, knife boy?"

Fritz nodded, but before he'd even put a hand on Mortal Edge's hilt the boss was already barrelling towards him.

That was within Fritz's expectations. Levelling the crossbow hidden under his cloak, he loosed a bolt straight at the man's chest. A trail of shadow streaked through the air behind it as it whispered its way through the wind and rain. Though Fritz didn't have a particularly good feel for aiming with the crossbow yet, he didn't need to be as keen eyed as Sid to land a hit from such a short distance.

The bolt thudded home into Todd's torso, right below the heart. He staggered and stared down at the protruding shaft of wood.

"What?" He wheezed. "You cheat."

Fritz shrugged and cranked the lever, preparing to loose another bolt.

"Anything goes."

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