All at once, the bandits drew their weapons. Spears for the most part—cheap and readily accessible—though I saw a few swords among their number. One dozen.
One dozen bandits, against the two of us.
“Who’s playing the hero?” shouted a stout woman with a naginata.
“O-Shizuka!” you roared. And as you entered the room, two of the bandits lunged at you. I remember distinctly your wooden sandals clattering against the ground; I remember you leaping up. You landed on the shaft of the spear with just enough time to cut the bandit’s throat. Spraying blood coated you in deep, dark red.
As you landed, you made a second, overhand strike. The second bandit was too shaken by your first strike to react in time; you cut him deep down the middle.
And I watched.
I do not like to admit this, Shizuka, but I was slow in drawing my second arrow. For there you were, cloaked in ruby, sticky with red. There you were with the snarl of war on your perfect face. There you were, at the zenith of your glory.
I licked my lips. I remember this. I licked my lips as I fought off the sickening thought that I should lick you clean.
No. No, no, I was not one of them, that was not how I thought, those were not my thoughts—
I forced myself to raise my bow, to nock an arrow and pull back—
But I snapped it. I snapped my own bow by pulling on it too hard, too fast. Qorin bows are notoriously flexible; when not in use, we can fit them in hoops hanging on our saddles. And I just broke one.
My hands shook. Blood rushed through my veins, but it was not good blood, not red blood. I could feel my heart pumping waves of black against my ears. Suddenly my teeth hurt; my whole jaw felt like it was splitting in two. I clutched my face, screaming in agony.
In front of me, you danced with the bandits. With every stroke of your flashing blade, you felled one. Droplets of blood flew from the tip of your sword like ink from a brush.
But even you cannot account for everything. Like a bandit, half-bleeding to death, chucking a throwing knife at you with the last of their strength.
I saw it land in your side.
I saw you crumple.
And then … ah, my Shizuka, I am glad you were not awake to see this.
Here is what happened, as near as I can remember.
Everything stopped. This is not to say that the bandits stopped moving because you were hurt. They did not. But in that moment, time stood still as ice for me. There you were on the blood-soaked floor, your lips parted as if you were sleeping, a jagged knife jutting out from between your ribs. There you were: my other self, my walking soul.
Unspeakable fury boiled within me. So far gone was I that I did not think in words anymore, only emotions, only images.
The bandits shared a laugh at your expense.
They did not laugh when I roared.
If you are going to imagine this, you must imagine it correctly. This was not the roar of your voice, nor the roar of a fire, nor the roar of a general. This was the roar of a creature twice as large as any tiger, and three times as hungry. This was the roar of an inferno swallowing an entire town whole.
And after it left me, I licked my teeth. Sharp. When did they become sharp?
Fast, faster than their eyes could follow, I lunged forward. With one hand, I grabbed the bandit on the floor, the one who threw the knife. My grip was strong enough to crush his throat; my nails were talons now, and sank into his flesh.
I took this man I held by one hand and I threw him at the others. They slammed against the wall. Four of them, I think; it is hard to keep track. But I can tell you I smelled their blood. I smelled their fear, sweet as nuts fixed in fat.
One threw a knife at me. It landed in my shoulder with a wet thunk. I did not feel it. I simply pulled it out and threw it back. A wail of pain asssured me it struck true.
I jumped forward again. I do not know what drove me to tear that man’s throat out with my teeth, but that is what I did, and when his coppery blood filled my mouth, I swear to you I grinned. It is the sorry truth. His body sank beneath me, and I leaped to another before he fell. A panicked young man this time, scarcely older than we were, pleading, pleading … I do not remember what he was pleading for. Leniency, perhaps.
It fell on deaf ears.
I sank my claws into his stomach. He emptied his bowels, and the smell made my stomach churn but did not stop me. As he screamed, I tore his throat out, too, and I sank to the ground.
Four bandits stood, four struggled with the body of their companion. I stooped opposite them, blood and gore stuck in my pointed teeth; my shoulder wound weeping black.
Weapons clattered to the ground.
“You’re a demon!” shouted one.
“Worse,” I said.
One still held her spear. She made a thrust. I grabbed the shaft and pulled her toward me, and I impaled her with my arm. I flung her body away from me; the crack of her broken bones rang out against the cold rock ceiling.
With every breath I took, I felt more powerful. Not only could I taste their fear—I could savor it, too. I could let it wash over me and give me strength. And, yes, they cowered before me now. Yes, their pants were dark with their own urine. Yes, I was something dark and horrible and wicked.
But they had hurt you, and so dark and horrible and wicked I became.
When one tried to run, I picked him up and slammed him against the ground so hard, his head split.
And when a second tried to run, I grabbed him around the waist and broke him over my knee.
Two.
Two left.
I was laughing. I do not know when I started laughing, or what it is I found so funny, but I was laughing. Already the gore was drying on my hands into thick cakes. Everything was so bright, Shizuka. The blood, the gore, the off-white chunks of bone. For once, I did not hear the voices at all. I was free of them.
And gods above, it felt wonderful. As if I’d had blinders on all my life.
“W-We surrender,” muttered one of them. He fell to his knees before me. The other soon followed suit. “B-blackblood-mor, we surrender, we did not know, we were hungry—”
“Hungry?” I repeated. I laughed. “You kill because you are hungry?”
“Our leader said we could get food this way—”
“Thirsty?” I asked.
“N-No, Blackblood-mor.”
I grabbed the two of them by the back of the head. As easy as lifting children, I picked them up and took them to the spring.
“Shame,” I said. Then I plunged their heads beneath the now-fetid water. “Drink.”
And I held them there as they kicked. I held them there as they struggled. I held them there until their bodies finally stopped their insipid protesting and they fell limp in front of me, until the whole room was thick with the glimmering of departed souls.
The remaining villagers were watching me, but if I am honest, I did not care—I could still barely think. But I knew you were bleeding, and that I could not touch you without contaminating you.
And so I picked one of the villagers to untie. I removed her gag.
She screamed.
“Pick her up,” I snapped, pointing to you. “I won’t hurt you.”