"So," one of them said, voice low and amused, "what's it like, getting a taste of the second-in-command?"
"Don't know."
Kael stepped into the light behind them. "Me neither."
The man on the right started to turn, mouth opening.
Kael's blade flashed. He cut across the man's throat in one clean motion.
The man staggered back, a wet sound forcing its way out as he clawed at the ruin of his neck.
Kael twisted his wrist and drove the knife through the throat of the second man from behind.
The body shuddered. A muffled whine escaped him as his legs buckled and gave out.
They collapsed almost together, boots scraping weakly against the dirt.
Blood sprayed across Kael's cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and moved on.
Two down. The camp went on breathing, unaware. The dog by the tents didn't bark. It only lifted its head, sniffed once, then settled back down.
Kael stepped into the first tent. A snore. A shadow. The knife went into the ear canal. Silence.
This was slaughter.
He worked the way men work livestock—one throat after another, quick cuts, letting the blood run out before a sound could carry.
Most of the bandits were asleep, sunk deep in liquor and heat. Kael moved from tent to tent like a plague.
A few stirred. Eyes opened. Some even understood.
It didn't help.
Years of drink had dulled their bodies and slowed their minds. By the time danger registered, their hands wouldn't answer. They knew what was happening. They just couldn't react.
[Aether: 1.6]
Next tent. Two men sleeping back to back. One slash to a throat. One blade punched straight into the heart. A wet sound, a brief shudder, then stillness.
[Aether: 1.8]
He worked methodically. It was intimate, quiet work. The numbers in his mind ticked up. It wasn't a fortune, but it was steady.
He cleared the outer ring. Then the middle. Twelve men died without ever touching their weapons.
Now, only six of the lesser bandits remained, scattered in the tents closer to the center.
And the Leaders.
Kael approached the large pavilion in the center. But he stopped at a smaller, canvas tent pitched right beside it. The fabric was thin. Light flickered inside.
Voices drifted out. Low, urgent, and poisonous.
Kael paused in the shadow, listening.
"...I can't," a man's voice whimpered. It sounded broken, edged with hysteria. "I can't go back in there, Mara. Not tonight."
"Hush, Caleb," a woman's voice answered. It wasn't kind; it was impatient, like a mother scolding a slow child. "He asked for you. You know what happens when he waits."
"It's not right!" Caleb's voice cracked. "He... he rips me apart. And you just watch! You sit there and drink while he uses me like a—"
"I keep you alive!" the woman hissed. "I share my bed with you when he's done, don't I? I give you the powder to numb the pain. Don't you forget who saved you from the cage, little rat."
"I hate him," Caleb sobbed. "And I hate you."
"Hate keeps you warm," she said. "Wipe your face. If he sees you like this, he'll enjoy it. You know what that leads to."
Kael stood outside.
Filth, he thought—no different from the dealings of nobles.
He shifted his position outside the tent, easing along the canvas, careful to keep his weight low.
Knife ready. He waited.
Someone inside would step out soon enough.
Snap.
A stone scraped softly under Kael's boot.
The voices inside stopped instantly.
"Who's there?" the woman, Mara, called out. Her voice was sharp, dangerous.
Kael stayed silent, muscle coiling.
"Is that you, Griggs?" she snapped. "I told you to stop creeping around my tent, you pervert. I'll cut your hands off!"
She moved. Kael saw her shadow grow large against the canvas. She was coming to the entrance, aggressive, expecting a peeping subordinate.
She threw the flap open. "Get in here, you gutless whore's—"
She stopped short. She didn't see a subordinate. She saw a shadow with burning blue eyes.
Kael acted immediately. Silent.
Kael acted immediately. Silent. His arm struck forward like a snake.
Thwuck.
The knife entered her right eye socket. It went deep, punching through bone and brain.
Mara stiffened. The snarl never formed. Her hands twitched, then dropped.
Kael yanked the knife free with a wet sucking sound. She collapsed backward into the tent.
Inside, Caleb stared at the woman's body. He stared at the blood pouring from her ruined face.
Then he looked up at Kael.
He screamed.
"AAAAHHH! ATTACK! ATTACK!"
Caleb scrambled backward, tripped over a cot, and snatched for the revolver on the table.
Kael dropped the knife and drew his iron. He squeezed the trigger, the shot cracking through the smoke.
The shot caught Caleb mid-motion.
His head snapped back as the round tore through his skull. He went down hard.
Bone cracked. The body slammed into the table, sending it skidding, the revolver clattering across the floor.
The gunshot echoed like thunder in the canyon. The camp woke up.
"What is it?"
"Who's shooting?"
Men stumbled out of the remaining tents, pulling up pants, grabbing rifles. The six survivors.
Kael was already moving. Stealth was finished. Shots would follow.
He sprinted toward the barrels he had seen earlier. The oil.
A roar cut through the camp. "Who the fuck's making noise at this hour?"
Another bellow followed, thick with rage. "I'll skin you alive!"
Rounds snapped past Kael's shoulder and ear. He dove behind a stack of crates near the cooking fire.
He grabbed a heavy log from the fire pit. It burned bright orange.
Gunfire cracked from behind the crates opposite him. Rounds punched into the wood as men fired blind toward his position.
Someone shouted over the noise, voice raw with panic.
"Fuck! He killed them—he killed our boys!"
Kael watched the muzzle flashes stutter. A pause. Reloads.
He moved in that gap.
The burning log left his hand, arcing through the dark, trailing sparks as it smashed into the base of the leaking barrel.
WHOOSH.
The oil caught instantly. Fire rolled outward, swallowing the nearest tents.
Men screamed. Shapes broke and ran. Smoke thickened, black and choking.
Kael stepped into it—
The shotgun went off.
The impact hit him like a sledgehammer. The spread caught his left side, chewing through leather and flesh. The force lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the dirt.
For a moment, there was nothing. No pain. Just heat and pressure. Like someone had buried a coal under his ribs.
Then it started to spread.
Boots crunched closer through the smoke.
A laugh came through the smoke, low and wet, dragged out like it was being chewed on.
"Fuck," the voice said. "So it's you. El Lobo."
The steps stopped nearby.
"I ain't killing you quick," the man went on. "I'm gonna keep you breathing."
A pause.
"I'll peel you slow. Piece by piece. "