Chapter 1

Senka

The night air was thick with the stench of death as it wrapped around me like a heavy cloak. Cold tendrils of power seeped from somewhere deep inside me, slithering to the surface with a single thought. Undulating darkness danced along the length of my outstretched fingers.

An old man lay in his bed, unaware that he was about to take his final breath. There was a woman snoring deeply next to him, her hair in a bonnet and a sleeping mask pulled tightly over her eyes. She wouldn"t hear a thing, even if I did make a sound.

Which I didn"t.

Ever.

Observing my mark gave me a thrill of anticipation that felt like butterflies swirling in my gut. Tilting my head, I allowed myself a moment to catalog everything about him.

Fat cheeks, gray hair, and a bulbous nose with little hairs that stuck out of his nostrils like spider legs. Sixty-something years had not been kind to the sleeping man.

This death was long overdue. I would have done it in my free time if it weren"t for the fact that I wouldn"t receive payment. Deaths had to be natural. Everyone had their time, and I was just the one who ensured it happened as painlessly as possible.

Deathbringers were rare, so I was constantly busy. People died in this city all the time. I only had to worry about the ones Merikh claimed for herself. I never understood how the death goddess chose which souls she wanted, and which ones would be released to eventually be reborn again, but it wasn't my job to question the gods, only to carry out their wishes.

Cross wouldn"t have been too concerned if I had decided to take the man before his designated time, but he would relish the opportunity to withhold payment just to prove a point. The goddess had been very clear about the timing of each death she demanded, and Cross despised letting her down.

Two weeks of stalking this disgusting waste of breath was enough, and I"d finally gotten the order to complete the death.

I unleashed my poisonous shadows with a single thought. Dark veins of shadow writhed beneath my skin, funneling down toward my wrists and my fingers. Tendrils of darkness poured from me like ink, latching onto the man's skin like a parasite seeking sustenance.

His breathing became labored, and his heart rate slowed to an eerie crawl. It was the loudest sound in the room, and oddly enough, I found it beautiful. The moments right before a person"s life was snuffed out for that final time were indescribably ominous, and yet still beautiful.

Being a deathbringer meant that I was constantly surrounded by death. I saw the beauty that lay in the moment of a person's final moments, but I also recognized the harsh reality of its injustice. No matter what you did to try and cheat death, if it was your time to go, Merikh would claim your soul. Better to die at the hands of a deathbringer than any other way.

The veins of poison that flowed from me to him began to burrow deep inside his body, shutting down his organs one by one. His eyes flew open, and his mouth did too, opening and closing like a fish gasping for water. It wasn't pain he felt. It was the absence of it. The absence of sensation, of touch, or breath of life.

The whites of his blue eyes were swallowed by blackness, much like my own. His back arched, and all I could do was watch in cold detachment.

How many times had he watched his victims writhe in pain? How many boys and girls suffered under this roof? I'd seen things in these weeks of stalking the man that made my stomach turn. Sometimes, people needed to die. I was glad his soul ended here and now instead of being shoved into the body of a newborn.

He couldn't see my face as he stared and stared, his mouth agape in a silent scream. I'd wrapped myself in darkness—a black cloak, a mask, and a hood, encasing me like a shield against the pale blue light of the moon through the window. All that he could see was my outstretched hand and my unblinking eyes—the eyes of death incarnate.

The thudding of his heart ceased, and pain wracked my body in wave after wave of intense agony. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut against it, trying to keep my breathing under control.

Every death came with a cost. Every time I used my shadows to snuff out a life, I felt the death in my own body. It was a cold, sharp kind of pain, as if a fist of ice had wrapped around my heart, squeezing the life out of me little by little.

My fingers trembled as they slowly released their grip on his lifeless form. The tendrils of darkness retreated back into my body, leaving behind a trail of bruises and marks along his skin.

For a few seconds, I simply stood there, trying to catch my breath and steady myself on shaky legs. It wasn't until I heard the distant sound of footsteps approaching that I snapped out of my daze.

My steps were silent as I made my way through the lavish hallways of his estate. The man was wealthy to the point of disgust. A crook and a thief. His repugnant existence deserved a much harsher fate than what I had delivered—one far worse than death itself.

A heavy silence hung around me, only broken by the echo of soft shuffling from down the corridor. I didn't want to make a scene and paralyze some unsuspecting soul who was probably only doing their job keeping house; it would bring too much attention and risk my mission.

Besides, my shadows were exhausted, and spikes of pain still shot down the length of my spine with every step. I decided instead to draw upon the darkness that surrounded me, using it as a shroud to conceal myself. That much, I could still manage.

The shadows were my constant companions, there from birth, woven into the fabric of my being. They moved as if in one mass under my skin, a living energy that I commanded with my thoughts. When released, they filled the world with their poisonous presence, safe for me alone to touch.

As far as I knew, I was the only deathbringer in the capital city of Andune, and the last one had died long before I was born. At least, that's what the underlord told me all those years ago when he convinced me to work for him in exchange for a place to live.

When I reached the gates of the estate, I lowered the mask from my face, and for a few precious seconds, I inhaled deeply. I paused only long enough to clear my head before putting it back into place. The dark fabric brought me a familiar sort of comfort. The comfort of anonymity.

The air was frigid and the night was silent, until a screeching cry cut through it like a knife. I knew immediately what it meant—the old man had been found beneath the sheets, pale and unmoving. His wife"s wails of agony rang out like a melody in my ear, coaxing a satisfied smirk from my lips.

I twirled around and blended in with the shadows, my feet pounding against the cobblestone streets of Andune. An eerie stillness had taken over the city—a sharp contrast to the raucous noise of nearby taverns that echoed off the walls of the narrow streets.

I moved like a phantom as I darted around every corner, consumed by elation. The pain of the man's death was wearing off, and adrenaline replaced it.

As I ventured past an open tavern, I could hear a cacophony of laughter and slurred curses. Drunkards staggered all around, some still clutching nearly empty mugs as others wretched onto the dirt below them. The air reeked of stale ale and sweat, so I hurried away from the chaotic scene, ready to put the night behind me.

The upper city was a putrid place, filled with pretentiousness and ostentatious displays of abundance. It reeked of excess, drowning out any trace of genuine culture. The people who lived there were shallow and consumed by their insatiable desire for more material possessions.

I despised it all with every ounce of my being. I hurried through the streets, disgusted by the sight of them pretending to be unaware of their hoarded riches that could have helped an entire nation.

As I descended into the dark underbelly of Andune, I let my guard down just enough to slow my pace to a leisurely stroll. I dropped my shadows once I reached the lower city. The streets were a riot of colors and sounds, teeming with life.

Unlike the pristine upper city, where people retired soon after sunset, the denizens here prowled around well into the witching hour. Buskers and beggars cavorted on every corner while merchants set up shop along the walkways.

Despite their poverty and abandonment, the people in the lower city seemed much happier than the snobby upper class, that constantly tried to one-up each other.

The lower city was brimming with authentic culture. Music floated through the air and the aroma of spiced meats had my stomach grumbling. I made a mental note to return in the morning for some food and perhaps a little shopping after receiving payment from Cross.

This place was a refuge for undesirables whose blessings were deemed unimportant or useless to the empire. The only reason I wasn"t living glamorously in the upper city was because my particular blessing would be too much of a gamble to keep unchecked. Deathbringers were seen as threats, no matter what family they belonged to, or how young they were. Well, unless they were the royal family, that is.

Many of us walked a delicate line between being valuable to the empire and presenting a danger to the emperor"s authority. If only I had been blessed with tamer abilities like breathing underwater or flying, then my life would have been different.

But unfortunately, my skill set was centered around taking lives, which was considered a crime punishable by death, ironically enough.

I remembered a woman from my childhood who had the unique ability to turn her skin a bright shade of purple at will. We were all fascinated by it, and it even became a party trick for a while. However, since her blessing had no practical use, and the fact that she wasn't highborn, she was confined to living in the lower city for the rest of her life, unable to rise above her circumstances.

As I turned the final corner towards home, a delicious aroma of whipped sugar and bread filled my nostrils. A vendor had stationed himself close by, offering an array of freshly baked scones. I couldn"t resist temptation and swiftly grabbed one from his cart without being seen, leaving behind a single gold coin as payment.

The sugary glaze melted on my tongue. I was famished after a long, drawn-out death order. I licked my lips, wanting more, but it was too late; the scone was gone. If the baker had the blessing of weaving magic into every bite, it worked.

I walked confidently down the darkened street, my mask and hood safely put away, my mask tucked into my cloak pocket. In this part of Andune, it wasn"t uncommon for women to dress as men, so my trousers, boots, and cloak didn"t attract too much attention. Sometimes it was better to blend in and stay anonymous.

I never flaunted my blessing. It would be suicide, even for me. I could wield shadows that could kill a man with a single touch, but if I was forced to kill more than a few at one time, it would incapacitate me long enough to be captured. I'd made that mistake before, and it never turned out well. I only killed for Merikh now.

Sometimes I wondered why I'd been chosen to live with this blessing that felt more like a curse. Why the death goddess had chosen me. I didn"t personally worship any of the gods, who were said to have passed their blessings down through bloodlines after mating with mortals.

They"d been gone for over a thousand years and hadn"t done me any damn favors. I could feel Merikh's power running through me, but that was about the extent of it.

If undesirables had god-blood in our veins, then why were we so few? And why were blessings becoming useless party tricks? Back in the ancient days, blessings turned god-bloods into warriors and rulers. Those days were long gone.

I passed by the rowdy taverns and bustling brothels, taking care to keep my head down and my shadows wrapped tightly around me. The night was young, but all I wanted to do was find my bed and sleep for the next week without interruptions. Maybe once I visited Cross and debriefed, I would take a few nights to myself and search out a bit of fun.

I spotted a group of young men out looking for trouble where they clearly didn't belong. They were stumbling around drunkenly, shouting and laughing without a care in the world. It was clear they were wealthy, judging by their finely made clothing and shiny boots. There were already eyes following them from rooftops, windows, and alleyways. They'd be robbed blind before the morning sun rose.

Normally, I would have just walked past them without a second thought, but something caught my eye—one of them had a weapon strapped to his belt that glimmered and gleamed. There were intricate carvings along the hilt and a small green jewel embedded into the side of it.

My hand instinctively went to the hilt of my own worn out blade, and I stepped closer to get a better look. It was a slender, curved dagger, well-crafted, and highly polished to an impressive shine.

I grinned at the rich young man.

Robbed blind, indeed.

I reached out with my shadows and snatched it from his belt. He didn"t even notice—he was too busy slurring his words and trying to coax his companions into the brothel next door. Too bad, because blades this nice were hard to come by.

I made my way back into the darkness, feeling the weight of the shiny new dagger in my palm, satisfied with how this night was turning out.

A completed mission and a new toy.

Now, all I needed was a bath and a long, long sleep.