My palm settles over the wound as I lie to myself:this is for him, not for me.
He can’t be more than six, slumped against the alley wall, left for dead as blood pools black beneath him. His hair is dark, matted to his forehead with sweat and grime. Small fingers curl against the cracked cobblestones, nails broken and dirty. He’s wearing what might have once been a shirt, now little more than torn fabric barely clinging to his thin frame. No shoes. His feet are pale against the filth of the alley. Through the thick crimson glow of Marslight, I watch as his eyelids flutter briefly, a shallow breath rattling his tiny ribcage. He’s all sharp angles and hollow cheeks that speak of too many hungry nights. The wars left Mars with more wounded and starving souls than we could keep up with, and the Cardinals cut what little aid we had left.
His injury is deep, and as I crouch next to him, I can see sharp bone protruding from his chest. My fingers find sinew and cartilage, slowing down time as a rising tension begins to build inside me. I feel the magic coil high and light beneath my skin, slowly stretching through my veins, slippery and ethereal.
Then … it hits.
A crescendo of pleasure erupts from within me, drowning out the world. I lose all sense of time and place, not even registering the broken cobblestones beneath me anymore. I just feelthis– the throbbing of blood being pushed through veins, and the skin like warm threads sewing shut. The addiction sinks its claws deeper with each pulse … a desperate, gnawing hunger that demands more …always more.
The skin on my chest prickles coolly, and the faint outline of a crescent moon glows under my cloak.
Reality swims back into my peripheral as I gently whisper, “You’re going to be alright…”
The boy’s eyes slowly open and lock onto mine. His face relaxes into relief, but his eyes drift past me and look ahead, his expression turning into terror.
A shiver of awareness creeps down my spine – a sensation I’ve felt twice now in the slums – like unseen eyes observing my every move. I push the feeling aside as footsteps echo down the narrow alley, the subject of the little boy’s terror inching closer.
“Hey,” a voice snaps. “What do you think you’re doin’?”
I turn slowly to see a man lurching towards us. Through the darkness, I spot greasy hair and a silver shine on his belt. His approach is deliberate, posture predatory. I’m frozen in place as I listen to each step echo off the alley walls. Up close, he’s worse. Stubble shadows his jaw, patchy and unkempt. His coat hangs open, revealing a stained shirt stretched over a misshapen belly. The silver on his belt is a flask, dented and worn.
“You know this kid?” His words slur together, thick with whatever cheap alcohol they’re peddling in the taverns tonight. Then the smell hits me – a putrid combination of sweat and liquor.
I stand slowly, placing myself between the boy and the approaching threat. Every instinct screams at me to run, to abandon this child and save myself. My thoughts begin to spiral:I’ve never been brave, never been a fighter … I heal people, I don’t protect them…
“H-He’s hurt,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “Let me help him, p-please…”
The man laughs cruelly. “This fuckin’ thief tried stealin’ the very gold in my pocket. I gave what was comin’ to him.” He spits, and I flinch as the warm saliva hits my cheek.
Behind me, I hear the boy whimper, and the sound makes a spark of rage flicker in my chest – but it’s quickly swallowed by fear as the man steps closer.
I’m a coward.
“One less mouth to feed if he dies, if you ask me,” the man continues,his eyes sliding over me with growing interest. “Butyou,pretty thing … you’re somethin’ special, aren’t ya?”
That’s when I see it – the way his pupils dilate, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. A clear shift from casual cruelty to something far worse.
“You shoulda just left him, sweetheart…”
When his hands find my body, everything turns to chaos. Rough fingers grabbing at my arms, my breasts, my waist, while I scream and claw and hit anything I can reach. His breath is hot and foul against my neck as he presses me against the piss-stained alley wall, the boy’s terrified sobs echoing behind us. Fear swallows me whole until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can only fight with the desperate fury of a cornered animal.
That’s when the shadows begin to move.
At first, I think it’s my imagination, tricks of light and terror making me see things that aren’t there. Then the darkness at the far end of the alley detaches itself from the brick wall, flowing across the cobblestones. It quickly but gently approaches my feet, swirling softly, then moves to exist between us.
The man notices too. His grip on me loosens as he steps back, confusion replaces lust on his face. “What the hell?—”
The shadow rises, taking shape. Tall, with shoulders broad enough to block out the dim light behind him. More shadows move to his side, pool at his feet, curl around his arms. A bone-white mask appears, covering his face except for two dark hollows where eyes should be. Dark hair escapes from beneath his hood, and underneath the mask’s edge I catch the barest glimpse of a jawline, something human in all that darkness.
Shadows continue to pour from every corner of the alley – from doorways, from gaps between dilapidated shacks. They move with purpose, converging on us like a pack of hunting wolves.
The man releases me entirely now, stumbling backward. “Who …whatthe fuck are you?”
The masked figure doesn’t speak. Instead, he raises one white gloved hand, and the shadows respond. They coil around the man’s legs first, snaking their way up his torso. He tries to scream, buttendrils of darkness wrap around his throat, silencing him completely.
I watch in fascination and terror as the shadows lift him off the ground and hold him suspended in the air. His eyes are wide with panic, but he can’t move, can’t speak. The masked figure turns, and even though I can’t see his eyes, I feel him focus his attention on me.
Suddenly, a low voice brushes against my ear, somehow both a command and a plea:Run.
