Wretch flipped through the Compendium of the Hunt, clinging to the fading memory of the strange man who called himself Dimitrov.

  He slapped a page to the side, revealing a plate of a humanoid beast printed in dark ink. The only human in the book.

  The others leaned over. A beast looked back from the worn page. Long, thin limbs, a thick mane dissolving into a veil of mist around its head. Crouched on the rooftop of a burning village. Beside the beast was the print of a relaxed human face. A young man with sharp features and a scholarly air. Like the twin of Dimitrov, but without glasses, pure white hair instead of black.

  With a bounty of 80,000 pounds, enemy of man. Grendel the White Death.

  The group paused for a moment. The only noise was the rhythmic thumping of the train.

  “...No bloody way,” Elenya whispered. Edmund’s face drained of color. “We need the conductor. A telegram has to be sent to Nov Yanosk immediately."

  Wretch sat stunned, staring at the picture.

  Does this monster know my father?

  Thirty minutes later, the train rumbled into Stonemourn. The conductor and Edmund rushed off into the station.

  Soon, every Blessed in the city patrolled the streets. Soldiers ripping through cargo and searching passersby. Wretch couldn’t even imagine what the situation in Voska was like.

  Astrid patted his shoulder. “Cheer up, Wretchy. We just survived contact with a hostile Pyre, whatever tier that even is. We should be glad we’re still alive.”

  “The Professor called him his son, yet he seemed to know what was written in my book.” Wretch said as they hauled their luggage toward the designated hotel. “It doesn't make sense. But anything dear to him, I'll happily destroy.“

  “I have to agree with four-eyes,” Elenya said, one pack on each shoulder. “We don’t even know what a Blessed like that can do. You saw the Saint fighting Shasmara the Storm Cadaver. It was a light show from miles away.”

  The memory resurfaced. Fish cadavers flopping against glass, rotten creatures crashing over the city, a horror crawling over the wall. The entire city trembling.

  “I know,” Wretch said through gritted teeth. “But I killed a Fireling as an Ember. When I reach Blaze, not even Pyres will be safe.”

  Astrid was scribbling on her half-filled notepad. “Let’s leave it to the higher-ups and focus on why we are here.”

  Stonemourn was a fortress built from a hollowed-out petrified tree of giant proportions. Inside was a labyrinth of winding dark corridors, lit only by gas lamps stretching in the stone roots beneath.

  Edmund returned, and they found their hotel, nothing but a stone door carved from solid rock.

  Inside, a warmly lit room filled with voices opposed a bar counter. A surprisingly normal feel for a place deep underground. The hum of dozens of conversations but beneath them came a low growl.

  A giant dog pushed up from the floor. It was massive, head well above Wretch's height. He recognized it, both the dog and the woman next to it in an oversized hat. The hound’s ears pricked up and it sniffed the air, turning to Wretch with a low growl. It bared teeth as long as his fingers.

  “Dalynja!” Edmund said, wading through the tightly packed guests. “I wasn’t informed that you were on the job. Heard it was a military crew.”

  “We were nearby,” Dalynja said with a businesslike smile from beneath a wide-rimmed hat. “But something went down in Voska. Got the order ten minutes ago.”

  The two captains talked to each other, and Wretch took the opportunity, whispering to his two colleagues. “We met her at the hunters’ feast, right? What was her name? And why is her dog staring at me like that?”

  “Dalynja the Beast-Breaker,” Astrid said, looking over the room to produce a quick sketch of the interior.

  Edmund sat down at the table and the two captains engaged in a friendly conversation. Still, the dog refused to look away from Wretch.

  “You’re right, it definitely doesn’t like you,” Elenya said, adjusting her grip on the luggage. “Maybe you smell too much like a rat.”

  Edmund introduced them to Dalynja, and Wretch made a brief bow. She tilted her head. “So you are the guy that smoked out the Gulschaks. You don’t look that fearsome,” she said with a faint smile. Wretch returned her a grin filled with sharp teeth under joy-less eyes. The wolf gave a low growl and the smile on Dalynja’s lips faded.

  “I wouldn’t say I found them,” Wretch hissed. “More like they found me.”

  Dalynja squinted her eyes. “How did you escape, stole a key?”

  Wretch was about to respond, but Elenya beat him to it. “He cut off his arms. Severed his spine to squeeze through a cage, then killed half the Gulschaks before we even arrived.”

  Dalynja blinked. “Apologies.”

  She cleared her throat. “The repair train leaves the station at nine tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll get to witness that power of yours firsthand”

  Wretch didn't look away from her gaze. "I wish for nothing else."

  “Check the rooms,” Edmund said without looking up. “Get settled. Me and Captain Dalynja have some things to discuss.”

  “Food?” Wretch asked.

  Elenya put a large hand on his shoulder. “Nope, let’s go, Ratty,” she said and pulled him away in an unsubtle manner.

  They got their keys and walked along a narrow corridor lined with numbered doors.

  “I don’t get it. Why can’t we get something to eat?”

  “He is a widowed man,” Elenya said matter-of-factly. “Needs every chance he can get with women his age.”

  Wretch raised an eyebrow. They found their respective rooms and ordered a light meal to be delivered. Astrid said goodnight, planning to wander around the fortress taking notes. Wretch wished them well and locked himself in his chamber.

  His room was simple but spacious: a narrow bed, a cupboard, and a chair opposite a desk. He undressed in front of a squared mirror mounted to the stone wall. Placing the Blinking Blade down with care, he inspected the new scales. Greenish-blue gems playing in the light, covering his torso up to the neck. Beneath them were his black bones, stolen from a Fireling with the Flame of Ends. The power of his permanent power, Flesh Stealer, was apparent, but his new blessing, Form Weaver, held new potential.

  Closing his eyes, he sank into the dark space within him, lit only by a flickering flame. His flame casting shadows on the horrors he’d consumed. He brushed against one with his mind. The black eyes opened and a faint flame lit inside the iris.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Flesh plunged out of his back, twisting around itself, pearly teeth ripping out the newly formed skin. They grew heavier with each heartbeat. Two grotesque claws grew from his back, quickly becoming so heavy he planted them onto the floor with a thud. Rattling the bedframe.

  It only took a grisly moment, then he was done. Two massive black arms adorned his shoulder blades, too long to unfold in the tight space, each lined with dual rows of sharp teeth. A piece weaved from Jonah’s form.

  Good enough. With another thought, he let the memorized form go. The two limbs shriveled back into his scaled skin. Barely a moment later, they were gone.

  Wretch straightened his back and cracked his neck. “Damn, that is heavy. Edmund was right, power isn’t easy to bear,” he said to the reflection.

  He moved on to the next form, focusing on another monstrous figure. The flame answered his wish eagerly. The black skin of his right hand twitched. In a sudden ripple, the skin and flesh of the hand moved. The clawed fingers melded together. The thumb enlarged, a thick grey exoskeleton pushed through the skin until his hand had become a crab-claw, heavy and crude.

  “No need to make it bigger than this,” he mumbled, swinging the snapping claw.

  His flame was bleeding to keep the form stable, though not as much as before. To Wretch, it made sense: the larger the form, the bigger the upkeep.

  He released it, and the claw fell in on itself, reversing back to its regular form. A breath later, his hand was back to its normal, dark and claw-tipped self.

  “All right, last one,” Wretch said as he flexed the fingers of his right hand. The last form he still hadn’t mastered. Despite the fast change of Form Weaver, he still needed to connect the structure to his regular body. That included nerves, joints, and muscles. He breathed in and stared at his reflection.

  The eyes lit and the skin squirmed. Wretch gritted his teeth, more out of concentration than pain, though it was agonizing. The skin of his torso bubbled and split, worm-like appendages bursting free. Each twisted into human arms. More followed, each unfolding into a humanlike hand. Wretch breathed in. The pain was brutal, but the true challenge was the concentration. He forced the nerves and sinews to connect, aligning them to his own body. The last moment of transformation was crucial. A moment later, he exhaled, sweat running down his forehead.

  A dozen arms stretched from his upper body, chaotically protruding from his regular form. They swayed under his control, and a smile grew on his lips.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said to the reflection. Then he let himself fall to the side, vanishing from view. Before he hit the floor, a dozen palms caught him. He crawled across the room like an insect of human limbs, climbed onto the bed, and then returned to the mirror. This form was quick.

  The flame was already running low, and he released his hold. Milley's form crumbled back into him, disappearing beneath his skin until only the man with claws, tail, and teeth remained. Perhaps he should have smiled at the fruits of his labor but he found no such urge. There was another feeling nestled inside his chest however. That unceasing urge to rip and tear that these days were never truly quiet.

  No matter the Gulschak, horror, or enemy of man waiting beyond the gates, he would fight them all.

  The next morning the crew met over breakfast and soon they were moving back toward the train station.

  The regular service train was well protected, but the repair train was a moving fortress. shorter and bulkier, twenty meters long and five meters wide. Nestled on the roof were three steam cannons, protected by metal spikes that covered every inch of the sides. Other machinery, cranes, and lifts were fixed to the front and back. Behind the steel behemoth stood an unprotected, open cart stacked with steel rails and squared stones.

  Wretch gave a whistle. “And I thought the regular train was impressive. This thing looks ready for a siege.”

  Edmund answered with a steady voice. “The repair trains stop out in the wilderness. It’s much more exposed.”

  “And something out there destroyed the tracks?” Wretch said.

  “It’s not uncommon,” Edmund continued. “They always seem to know when a line is damaged though. Don’t ask me how.”

  The crew gathered. Twelve laborers in blue overalls, six soldiers that manned the three steam cannons, a conductor, and finally the two groups of hunters. Wretch took a glance at Dalynja’s group as they climbed onto the train. Dalynja herself was dressed in leather gear with a coat and a hat, an exposed toolkit of knives and pouches clinging to her belt. Behind her walked two well-dressed hunters. Only one seemed geared toward close combat, a man carrying a large shield and hammer with an impressive height.The other cradled a crossbow to his chest. Lastly came the giant dog, squeezing through the door to the wide eyes of the laborers.

  The Richters were the last to board. Edmund in a chestplate under his coat, Elenya armored head to toe, Astrid in a tidy black dress, and lastly Wretch, claws hidden in his pockets and tail swaying behind him.

  The interior was sparse but functional and made use of every centimeter of space. Packed bunk beds nestled in rows around a ladder that ascended to the roof of the steel behemoth. A humming furnace in front. The space was filled with conversation and mumblings.

  “Cover your ears, son,” Edmund said, placing two fingers between his lips. Wretch cupped the sides of his head just as a whistle cut through the noise, bouncing between the steel walls.

  The crew froze in the middle of unpacking, eyes turning to the Hunter Captain. Everyone but Astrid, who was furiously scribbling in a notebook despite carrying a pack twice her size. Edmund waited a moment in silence, his back straighter than usual.

  “I am Captain Edmund of the Richter’s Company. I am a Fireling and will oversee this excursion along with my colleague here,” Edmund said and gestured to Dalynja, standing to the side. She raised a hand, her unleashed dog lay by her feet.

  “I am Captain Dalynja, head of the Deadeye Hunters. My second in command is Gulner over there,” she said and pointed to the youth clutching a crossbow.

  Edmund removed his hat, eyes piercing the workers and soldiers with a grim look. For a moment he gave the impression of a man who had seen countless horrors and survived a hundred battles. Something Wretch realized was likely true.

  “We are seven hunters,” Edmund said. “An overgrown dog, three steam cannons, and two dozen men. A capable bunch, but I expect you to report any problem, any mishap, or shadow to me or Captain Dalynja. That’s an order. Do I make myself clear?”

  An unsynchronized chorus of “Yes sir” and “Yes, Captain” answered.

  Edmund nodded in response. “Good, now then, the tracks ain’t going to repair themselves. Get to it and let’s earn our pay.”

  The conductor threw coal into the furnace and soon a loud whistle rang.

  That’s how a captain should be, kind, firm, and with the strength to back it up, Wretch thought as he put his tiny pack of belongings on an unoccupied bed.

  With a groan, the metal behemoth crawled into motion, and they left the dark tunnels of Stonemourn, and with it, civilization.

  “Want to climb to the top?” Edmund asked when they had settled, his stern exterior exchanged for a pleasant smile that reached his eyes.

  “Yes!” Wretch and Astrid responded simultaneously.

  Edmund laughed. “Finally, two who can answer in unison! Let’s go.”

  They climbed the ladder. The wind rushed against them, cold and fresh, ruffling their hair. The cannon operators nodded behind their contraptions. The top was flat with a metal mesh and a low fence circling the edge. Below, countless spikes pierced outwards in every direction.

  “That’s the Scar Spines!” Astrid said with wide eyes. “I have never seen it from this angle,” pointing to the horizon with one hand, the other holding on to her hat.

  The train was darting through a birch forest, blurring beside them. In the distance rose the mountain range, jagged, snow-covered teeth reaching in different directions like a shattered jaw.

  A half-sunken stone ruin whipped by in a blur.

  “Maybe Grendel was telling the truth,” Wretch said over the wind. “Maybe there really was a war?”

  “WHAT?” Astrid shouted over the wind.

  “Never mind,” Wretch shouted back.

  The steam engine vibrated, smoke churned, and the world blurred past. Wretch caught himself being at ease. He was heading somewhere, moving forward. Whatever had broken the tracks was out there, a beast with a form to steal, or better yet, a Gulschak to sink his teeth into.

  He remembered a line from one of Astrid’s books. A line from Maria the Impaler, left hand of the Saint and patron of the hunters:

  The freedom of a bird is to fly free from a cage.

  The freedom of man is a cage of duty.

  A bird wasn’t born to serve. And a man wasn’t born to fly.

  Wretch didn’t quite understand it. With the wind in his hair, barreling toward the horizon, he was certain that if he had wings and spread them wide at this moment, he would soar up into the sky.

  Maybe one day he would.