There were many mistakes in how they arranged themselves around him, and more in the measures they took before moving off.

They took his weapons and Imbued—they were quite confused by the severed hand with his Sheltering Glove, tucked into his belt—but they couldn't take his Symbiotes. The Cultivator wanted to take them, but Nicolai simply said that he had none. The leader and the Cultivator argued.

Nicolai watched, and looked weak.

He knew that the Cultivator knew he was lying, and the leader probably suspected the same, but the leader was impatient and didn't understand Symbiotes. For some reason this Cultivator didn't have any, Nicolai guessed he must've ran out of food for whatever he'd been given. These people hadn't experienced how effective Symbiotes could be and didn't respect the danger. As they'd been talking, the castle had shook again.

Nicolai guessed that these guys were looking to go lower, looking for a way out into the jungle below. The elevators down were uncommon and many were broken.

Had Nicolai been in the Cultivator's place, feeling similarly unsettled, he'd have just ignored the others and pulled the trigger. But the Cultivator lacked the necessary testicular fortitude, while the leader was full of greed and the desire to get moving. He saw the moment where the Cultivator gave up.

As they moved off he noted more mistakes. They didn't bind his hand. One of them had thought about it, but due to Nicolai only having one arm, the simplest method of binding them together wasn't possible and the man gave up with a shrug. They could have looped rope around his chest to tie his arm against him. They could've just cut his remaining arm off. That would've been his preferred option, were he in their position. They did neither and his arm remained free.

Two of them went up in front. They moved only a couple of metres ahead of him. The others stayed behind. Another mistake. They should have had only one man going up front, and he should have kept further ahead. That man was necessary to check Nicolai wasn't leading them into a trap, but the second just further split them up.

Those behind kept their distance, which was correct… to begin with. But Nicolai imperceptibly slowed his steps, and gradually they pressed closer to him.

'Move faster,' barked the leader. 'We've got places to be.'

'I'm sorry.' Nicolai spoke slowly, exhaustion in his voice. 'I lost a lot of blood earlier.' He made his movements faster, exaggerating them. He staggered and acted as though he almost fell. He let out a pained cough then stumbled on. In spite of his apparent increase in speed, he was actually moving no faster and while doing the other acts, he had slowed down. They were closer behind him than ever.

Nicolai could have killed them all many times in this short journey, but he wanted to use their corpses. He had been missing a method to fulfil his Contract with Kleos; a large number of human corpses to dump in the Coffin. He'd rather not have to drag the dead too far.

The Cultivator was one of those right behind him. Like the others, he'd drawn closer as Nicolai held them up. That was lucky—if the Cultivator had been any further Nicolai would have struggled to combat his Soul Sense. Up close, even with the Soul Rot, he knew that his experience would allow him to win out.

In a sudden explosion of spiritual action, something that only the Cultivator would be aware of, Nicolai's Soul Sense lunged. He knocked the Cultivator's surprised and unready Soul Sense aside and his tendril found its targets. His fingers twitched as he activated the Repulsive and Grasping Fingers simultaneously.

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He pushed and pulled on the guns in the hands of the Cultivator and the leader, who filled the corridor behind him. The Cultivator fired anyway even as his gun was drawn off line, and the bullets carved a line in the wall to Nicolai's side.

Nicolai turned and stabbed out in a fluid blur, the hand talon emerging from his singular arm. He shoved it to the knuckle into the Cultivator's solar plexus and ripped it out in one move, so quick the man only had time to grunt in confusion before Nicolai was lunging for the leader.

Stab stab stab. A memory resurfaced, from many years ago. He recalled how Zero-Twelve had once found itself in a corridor full of security droids, after losing its left primary limb. It had torn through them just as easily as he now tore through the fleshy sacks of blood surrounding him.

Muzzles barked and spat in the close and chaotic confines, the sound of automatic fire almost deafening even through BSI audio inhibitors. Within his mind there was a mental model of those guns, tracked through Soul Sense and visual feeds, constantly updated by Simulations. The moment any gunbarrel was moving to aim at him he pushed or pulled with one of the Fingers, knocking arms and guns aside, and all the while he kept on stabbing. Blood poured and sprayed until he was soaked in it. Those who'd took the lead were taking aim at him but he was amidst their friends and they froze, staring in shock and horror, unable to act.

The world around him turned into a blur of blood and death, his hand-talon slicing and stabbing as terrified faces came and went. Some of them tried to fight back with knives and fists but it was useless, he read their moves effortlessly and the strikes found only empty air or their own friends. The dark was within him, pulsing, and as he killed he began to laugh. He couldn't help it. It spilled out of him, mad cackles of glee as he danced amongst them, and their screams mixed with his laughter and it all rang off the blood-coated walls in a wonderful medley.

In a short moment all who'd stood behind him were dead or dying but one, who Nicolai hid behind, gripping her by the back of her neck. He held her out as a hostage between him and those in front. It was the skinny girl and her breath was a loud, wheezy bubbling as she gurgled bloody froth. Her arms hung limp. He'd punctured her lung and disabled her arms with stabs through the shoulders. She didn't have long left.

The calculating core wanted to draw the pistol from her hip in a blur of movement and shoot the last two, but the dark hungered for something closer. In this moment, the dark won.

He advanced on them, shoving her in front of him.

They stumbled backwards, terrified. 'S-stop, we'll shoot!' managed one of them, though from their shaking hands Nicolai wondered if they were even capable of pulling the triggers, regardless of the hostage. Certainly they wouldn't be firing with any accuracy.

Now close enough, Nicolai used the Grasping Finger to pull the mags from both guns, one then the other, snap-snap. They both shot the single round left in the chamber reflexively. One caught Nicolai's flesh shield in the chest, the other pinged off the wall and away.

Nicolai tossed the dead woman aside and the distance between him and the last two was eaten in an instant as he threw himself forward. Both turned to run but he caught up with the slower and his hand-talon pumped out over and over.

Looking up he saw the last and reached out. The Grasping Finger grabbed that one by the head and he was hauled backwards, thrashing and screaming. Nicolai fell on him like some spectre of the night and the stabbing resumed.

He rose and breathed deep. There was blood on the walls and the floor and the ceiling and most especially on him and this was good; that was where it was supposed to be.

The Cultivator was the only one left alive, shaking and gurgling on the floor.

'Monster, m-monster,' mumbled the man through bloodied lips.

Nicolai fell into a crouch beside him, shadowed eyes staring down.

'Should've just shot you… moment I saw you,' the man choked out.

Before Nicolai could format a response, the spike on his hand spoke for him.

'Stab,' said the hand-talon, 'stab stab stab.'

'Twitch gurgle twitch,' argued the Cultivator.

'Stab stab,' retorted the hand-talon.

And that was that.

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