The air in the Labyrinth of the Flayed was stagnant, tasting of wet limestone and old rot. The only thing cutting through the oppressive dampness was the thick, cloying smell of sandalwood and blood emanating from the censer in Dver's hand.
Purple smoke curled around his ankles like a living thing.
"He's here! I smell the Saintess's incense!"
A shout echoed from a side tunnel. Footsteps—heavy, desperate, and filled with the murderous intent of men who knew they were in a zero-sum game.
Dver didn't run. He leaned against the damp stone wall, his face falling into that pathetic, wide-eyed mask of terror. He began to hyperventilate, his chest heaving as three disciples burst into the corridor, their swords drawn and glowing with Qi.
"Look at him," one of them laughed, a jagged-toothed youth with a scar across his nose. "The Saintess gave us a beacon. Easiest jade token of my life."
They lunged.
Dver's fingers tightened on the bronze handle of the censer. He was a microsecond away from snapping the lead disciple's neck when a blur of silver light intercepted the strike.
CLANG.
A girl, no older than seventeen, stood between Dver and his hunters. She wore the tattered grey of the Outer Sect, but she moved with a fluid, disciplined grace that spoke of a hidden legacy. Her sword was a simple iron blade, but it hummed with a sharp, focused intent.
"Three against one?" she spat, her voice cold but steady. "And he's carrying a censer. Have you no shame as cultivators?"
The three men hesitated. "Move, Ren! This isn't your fight. That trash is a dead man anyway. Give us the tokens and we might let you crawl out of here."
"No," Ren said, her knuckles whitening on her hilt. She didn't look back at Dver, but her presence was a shield. "Run, you idiot! Get to the ventilation shafts!"
Dver blinked, his expression perfectly bewildered. Inside, the Void God was cackling. "A hero," it whispered, sounding like it was choking on its own amusement. "She wants to protect the Abyss. Should I eat her heart first, or her hope?"
Wait, Dver thought. A shield is useful. A witness to my 'struggle' is even better.
"I—I can't!" Dver whimpered, clutching the smoking censer to his chest like a child. "My leg... it's stuck!"
Ren cursed under her breath. "Then stay behind me!"
The three men snarled and charged. Ren was fast—terrifyingly fast for an Outer Disciple—but she was one person against three Rank-9 cultivators. She parried the first blade, ducked the second, but the third man circled around her, aiming a lethal thrust at Dver's throat to end the "easy" target.
Dver watched the blade approach. In his perception, the world slowed to a crawl. He could see the microscopic chips in the attacker's sword. He could see the sweat flying off the man's brow.
As the blade was inches from his skin, Dver "tripped."
He fell backward, flailing his arms. In that "accidental" movement, the heavy bronze censer swung in a wide, clumsy arc. It looked like the desperate act of a coward.
CRACK.
The solid bronze hit the attacker squarely in the temple with the force of a battering ram. The man's skull didn't just fracture; it collapsed inward. He was dead before his body hit the floor, his sword clattering harmlessly against the stone.
Ren, busy fending off the other two, didn't see the impact. She only saw the man fall.
"He... he tripped over the censer!" one of the remaining attackers yelled, his eyes widening.
"Luck!" the other roared, swinging at Ren again.
Dver scrambled to his feet, "accidentally" stepping on the hand of the dead man. His weight, backed by the Asura's Iron-Blood density, crushed the bones into powder. He "panicked," swinging the smoking censer again.
It looked like a blind, terrified flail. But the edge of the bronze burner caught the second attacker's throat. The man collapsed, gurgling, his windpipe shattered.
Ren finished the third man with a clean thrust through the heart. She turned around, breathing heavily, her sword dripping with blood. She looked at the two bodies near Dver, then at the "trembling" boy who was currently sobbing into his sleeves.
"You... you're alive," she panted, her eyes softening with a mix of pity and disbelief.
"I—I hit them," Dver blubbered, pointing at the bodies with a shaking finger. "I just swung the pot! I didn't mean to! I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!"
Ren sighed, sheathing her sword. She walked over and put a firm hand on his shoulder. "It was self-defense. If you didn't hit them, we'd both be dead. Listen to me... Dver, right? My name is Ren. My family was purged by the Blood Lotus. I'm only here to get strong enough to leave. You won't survive this maze alone with that smoke."
Dver looked up at her, his eyes watery. "Y-you'll help me?"
"I'll get you to the exit," she said, her voice full of a doomed, noble resolve. "But you have to do exactly what I say. Keep that smoke behind me."
"Thank you, Sister Ren!" Dver cried, bowing low.
As he followed her into the dark, carrying the purple beacon that would draw every killer in the labyrinth to them, Dver's watery eyes went cold and sharp.
"She thinks she's the shepherd," the Void God purred.
"And I," Dver whispered so softly Ren couldn't hear, "am the wolf in the sheep's clothing, following the shepherd to the pen."