Two fingers ran across Duke's chest. He took another pull of his cigar and blew into the open air, releasing a mass of dirt-grey fumes.
"You seem on edge, baby," one of the three women in the room pointed out.
"Yeah, Duke," the other on his chest agreed.
"Usually we have the whole day with you to ourselves." She poured a dark red wine into a glass and handed it to him.
Without a word and with a thousand-yard stare, Duke took the wine and gulped it down. His eyes were fixed on the Scyld Colosseum, frustration etched into every line of his face.
"I'm sorry for the deep thinking, ladies," Duke grinned. "I'm just thinking about something Creighton told me." Another long drag of his cigar. "The queen of our country seems to have taken an interest in one of our fighters in the Colosseum."
"What?" All the girls gasped.
"Yeah. Our ice-hearted Maryann who swore she'd castrate me if I touched her—fell for a scrawny fellow who might die if I poke him too hard." Duke cackled.
"Who is it, Duke?"
One by one, all of them threw themselves onto his broad chest.
"The guy who beat the King of Fist." Duke stroked one of the girls' backs. "Japheth..."
"My fight should start in the next three hours." Duke got up and yawned.
"You're leaving already?" They groaned.
"Of course." He dressed swiftly. "I'll be back for you flowers after this fight. Wish I was fighting a nice-looking woman though." He sighed and looked out of the window—and paused. A young lass with silver hair caught his eye.
---
Misery placed the earpiece into her pocket. The streets were deserted, noise roaring from the Colosseum like a beast demanding sacrifice.
"I should help Joshua clean the inn, then we'll head there." She thought. "But first I should deal with Duke." Misery revel in the idea of having Evelyn as a little sister, she giggled and continued down the cobblestone pavement.
Her movement ceased when her target called out to her.
"Well hello there, cutie." Duke's voice curled from above like cigarette smoke.
Misery turned to the source. A shockwave rolled through her feet—he had leapt. The smell hit her first: alcohol, perfume, sweat. Her stomach churned.
"Honey," Duke stepped closer. "Everyone's at the Colosseum. Why don't I take you there and we can get to know each other on the way?"
"Sorry, not interested." Misery turned away the gesture.
"Whoa now." Duke tried once more. "You can't turn me down without a reason." His gaze narrowed. Her eyes were discolored. Blind. "Ah." He recalled. "How can I forget your blind!" He readied himself for another introduction. "I am...
"I know who you are, Duke Calzaghe." Misery's tone dropped. "A man who sleeps with three women and hunts a fourth is disgusting."
"How—"
"Blind to sight, not to scent. You reek of them." She stepped closer.
Anger flickered across Duke's face. She reminded him of another woman—one who rejected him, resisted his strength until he snapped and silenced her.
"Hey, you bit—"
His hand lashed out—but caught only air.
A whip of wind slashed across his cheek. Blood trickled.
She was on the rooftop, those blind eyes brimming with crimson.
"I wanted nothing to do with you," Misery said. "But this soul won't stop screaming for me to kill you."
Misery had always been cursed. Her village cast her out for speaking to the dead. At four, her mother pushed her into the wild.
She survived, guided by whispering spirits. As she grew older so did her resentment. Through the anger of spirits that possess her she gains sight of the real world temporarily, a boost of both power and speed came with it.
Duke saw crimson flood her eyes. In her hand, a glass shard—his blood dripping from its edge.
"What are you?" he roared.
No answer.
"Duke, are you okay?" One of the women from earlier peeked from the window.
"I'm fine, I jus—"
He didn't finish. Misery struck like a phantom, her blade singing past his throat. His reflexes saved him—barely.
Fear crept into Duke's chest. Real, paralyzing fear. Only two people in Brigaden ever made him feel this.
She blinked—and was gone. Her presence loomed.
He blinked—and punched.
Nothing. No contact. Only pain. Cuts lined his arms. Some deep. Blood ran freely.
"What the hell?!"
He swung again. Missed again. Her movements were snake-like, taunting him.
Duke's growl deepened. His body twisted and expanded. Teeth turned to daggers. Claws erupted. He howled.
"That form fits a dog like you," Misery whispered. She vanished again.
A putrid scent clung to the wind.
Duke turned. His room—once filled with life—was now painted in blood. Bodies gone. Only limbs remained.
Misery appeared beside him.
"I wasn't going to kill them" she said. "But witnesses are the last things I need, this us an assassination after all."
Duke's mind reeled.
She laughed, mad and gleeful. "You like the Colosseum, right? Then let's fight forever."
Duke lunged, mouth wide ready to consume Misery.
Glass met his throat. He choked, through a last minute effort to attain air again, Duke sliced his throat open to remove the foreign object. He hated the feeling of pain, but the healing is the worst part.
"Healing factor. That's troublesome," she mused.
"Wait—you're blind."
"Only when no spirits live in me," she answered.
He tried to bluff. "I'll wait until you're tired—"
She laughed like a parent humoring a child.
"Bad idea. If you just died, I'd leave you be. But now you're my toy."
Duke roared and charged. Then screamed.
His arms. Gone.
He stumbled.
His legs. Gone.
His blood soaked the alley.
She descended, smiling.
She plucked out his eye.
He reached for her—only stumps remained.
"It's going to be a long night."
---
Creighton clicked his pocket watch, watching the trembling fighter in the Colosseum.
"If he's fooling with women, take his arm," Maryann commanded.
"Yes, your majesty."
He arrived at the inn Duke resides in. No one was among the streets to see the savage scene. Blood and limbs were littering the alley as garbage does.
"What manner of beast did this?"
He smelled it.
Duke's blood.
He ran into the alley.
There sat Duke. Naked. Wide-eyed. Babbling.
"Duke! What happened?"
No response.
"Look at me!"
Duke looked—and screamed. Behind Creighton, the smiling devil.
He fled into the early morning.
---
"Where were you?" Joshua asked.
"Little detour." Misery smiled.
Evelyn slept nearby. Her older sister wept and vanished into the shadows.
Misery approached Evelyn, placed a hand on her head.
"You're a handful."
"You've eaten?" Joshua asked.
"I'm fine."
He placed soup before her. "E-A-T."
She smiled, tasted it.
"Terrible," she giggled—and took another bite.