Seeing the insignia of the Night Guard laid out so plainly in front of me, I knew I had to kill the other one as fast as possible. The twisted fanatics were known for their vile trickery and magic bestowed upon them by the patron god they served.

“Come out and face me, heathen!” The taller of the two cultists shouted, unsheathing a dagger with one hand and keeping his other firmly secured the staff that hung from his belt.

All the worry I had for the kids was immediately pushed to the back of my mind in favour of analysing the man in front of me and how best to deal with him. It wouldn’t do me or them any good if the cultist managed to pull a fast one on me. He was tall, much more than me and bulky enough even with tight clothes to emphasize the muscle he packed on. That didn’t mean much in a fight though, what I was more worried about was the gut feeling that this man was a mage; that he knew how to use Ichor.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

I lined up my hand towards his direction, feeling the Ichor course through me more fluidly than ever after that meal. Was there a connection? Who knew, this was no time for such distracting questions. Focusing solely on the shimmer translucent lustre I formed the same Arcanes before, slightly more stable, then ignited the Ichor of fire in my blood.

Again I was dazzled momentarily by the scarlet flames that congealed around my fingertips, burning the edges of my claws before spewing forward in a jet of fire. Fire was certainly not the best choice for this situation, given my advantage with a lack of illumination but I didn’t trust myself to create a new spell sequence that would accomplish what I needed.

If it isn’t broken, I may as well use it.

The flames flew towards the man who saw them just a little too late, or at least that’s what I thought. Diving back he grabbed one of the cloaks he had drizzled blood on previously and shielded most of his body with it, only missing an arm he didn’t have the time to cover. The fire caught onto the cloak but dispersed seconds after, leaving only the man’s arm burning from the spell.

The whole effort was only a few meagre seconds before my Arcana started to burn with a mind-numbing ache that made me dizzy and dispelled the focus necessary to keep the spell up. I may have been able to cast spells now but that didn’t change the fact I’d only been training as a mage for a collective time of maybe a few days at most.

“I’ve had it! Arggghhh, revolting heretics!” He said, grunting through the pain as he began to speak in a low voice, muttering words I didn’t recognise.

No, they weren't words, just sounds.

I used the time he gave me to capitalize on the potential hostages, dropping down with an astounding amount of grace, then sprinting to snatch the kids like I had his comrade. The little boy I picked up with little struggle but the girl kicked and screeched at me like a banshee. My body reacted faster than I could process, flicking the child across the head to shut her up and keep my location within the outskirts of the grove somewhat hidden. It worked like a charm, as guilty as I may have felt about it.

Dropping them on the rough and even ground then getting back up to my vantage point had given the cultist time to put the fire out, signs of pale skin and frost still creased across his arm from what I assumed was a spell. He stammered to stay on his feet for a moment then frantically started spinning from left to right, swinging a torch he had lit in the brief moment I had been distracted with the kids.

How do I go about this?

I wondered, debating internally now I stood at an impasse. Part of me knew that our side would win out and as long as I had the kids this man couldn't leave, meaning I just had to wait for the others to catch onto my scent and follow. But then, what about that… thing. The ripple in space was like a vertical pond extending up in the shape of a curved diamond. I felt drawn to it and imagined that if I waited the senior members of my clan wouldn’t let me near it.

But it was mine, this man was mine.

I chased and cornered them so they were my prey alone.

AND THEIR BOUNTY BELONGS TO ME!

…

For the second time since waking today my train of thought diverged to a more grim thought process, one I didn’t recognise as my own. Yet it was distinctly different from my blood. Strange, very strange.

You could intimidate him.

A voice from the back of my head chimed in, offering their two cents of the situation. Intimidation? Would that even work? I didn’t think I was intimidating at all and the man in front of me waving his torch like it was a weapon was deranged, that much being plainly transparent. No, there was no way I could intimidate someone like that… right?

But that other one did seem scared out of his wits and it does feel very natural to stalk like this.

There was no harm in trying.

I dropped from my branch with as loud of a thud as I could make, parts of the soil giving under the force of me throwing myself to the ground. His head snapped in my direction, aiming a light I found distracting at me while shouting a slew of curses. Still, I tried to keep my calm and suppress the urgent desire to tear his head off, now curious as to whether this would work or not.

A poem came to mind, a rather ominous one that I felt fitting for this moment.

“Oh, little sheep lost, led by crooked hands. Oh, little sheep found, seen by eyes, not of this land.”

My slow pace brought me out of the shadows and just enough into the grove for his shoddy torch to light a faint glow across my face. I saw him grip his staff harder, slowly backing away as I grew closer. He seemed so sure of himself moments before; that was gone now. There was a fear growing within him with every step I took.

“Where do you come from heathen, what vile house dares lay their rotten hands on our holy quest!” He shouted, trying to make himself feel bigger.

He was bigger.

Yet he looked so small.

“Oh little sheep quiver, for those eyes will not leave. Oh little sheep calm, for it can hear your chest heave.”

He stumbled back more, unsheathing one of his daggers and wavering in not just my direction but all directions as if he couldn’t see me. I could have sworn the light made my figure clear for him to see, but apparently not.

“Oh little sheep move, those steps begin to echo. Oh little sheep run, those eyes refuse to let go.”

“Back! Damn you! Back, monster!”

Monster? That's rich coming from you.

“Oh little sheep slip, its nose can smell your fear. Oh little sheep jolt, it’s a presence you feel drawn near.”

At this point, he almost hit the Seam before falling back and I was frankly stunned by how unsettled he looked. Why was he so afraid? Why did he seem so confused? Those bronze eyes that shuddered with every flicker of the flame, holding onto it for dear life, reminded me of something I’d rather forget.

But they also made my blood pump so hard I worried the exhilaration might cause my heart to burst.

“Oh little sheep scream, the hunt starts now. Oh little sheep shiver, the surrounding will shutter under its frightening howl.”

Apparently, the man had truly had enough and cut my rhymes short, charging at me with two knives in hand, dropping his torch in favour of another weapon. An interesting choice, however misguided it was. I managed to catch the one from his right hand and slip past the stab from the one in his left.

I heard the dirt beneath me kick up as his foot filled with compressed Ichor tried to smash into my side. After Spinning his hand round as hard as I could till I heard a snap, I jumped back, letting his kick hit the air and causing the man to stumble while grunting in pain. He glared at me with manic and enraged eyes but I didn’t care.

For the third time today, I let off a spell that became easier with each use, sending a stream of scarlet flames at him from the tips of my fingers. This time he hadn’t the luxury of distance nor the coat in hand, his clothes catching alight. He ducked and rolled, muttering a string of sounds that almost resembled words, chanting most likely. A wave of frost splashed over him quick enough to ensure none of the burns were life-threatening but not nearly fast enough for me to have not taken my opening.

Kicking him hard enough to roll the downed man on his back I wrenched the dagger from his hands before thrusting into his throat so hard the ground below croaked. It took a few moments with my claws at the ready before my paranoia ceased and I was sure the cultist was dead.

His bronze eyes left hollow as alluring nectar seeped from his neck.