The wooden gate of the Tafari mercenary company's headquarters loomed ahead across the empty street. Shrouded in the shadows cast by the lanterns hanging above it, the gate looked none too inviting.

"Are you quite sure these ruffians really have all the wine I could ever need, Oak?" Okoro Acheampong asked and narrowed his dull eyes at the men standing guard behind the crenelations.

"More than sure, Okoro, more than sure. I am certain. There is more wine behind those gates than you could drink in a lifetime, I guarantee it."

"How odd." Okoro rubbed his flat forehead, a look of confusion on his simple face. "This doesn't look like a tavern. And those men don't look like Borsippans. Their skin is too sun-kissed."

"Ah, I thought so too at first, but first impressions can be deceiving, dear Okoro." Oak replied with a grin on his face. He leaned closer so he could whisper conspiratorially right into the drunken werewolf's ear. This next bit requires some delicate re-framing of the truth. "They are a gang of Borsippan wine thieves, and they have painted their faces to avoid being recognised. My friends and I uncovered the unlikely truth completely by accident."

Oak looked at the werewolf's expression closely, watching for any signs that the drunken moron might have caught on to his ruse.

"Truly? I would never have guessed! What a dastardly plot!" Okoro's eyes widened in shock. The werewolf licked his lips, and his breathing quickened, leaving no doubt of his growing excitement. "If–if I kill them and drink–I mean save all that precious wine, that would be a good deed, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, more than that, Okoro. I would hazard a guess that such a fine feat might make you into a hero."

"A hero? Me?" Okoro's childlike wonder at the notion almost broke Oak's poker face. He pretended to cough into his fist so he could hide his smile.

"Yes, Okoro. By this time tomorrow, you could be a genuine champion of Mashkan-shapir."

"A hero!" Okoro smiled the smile of the mad and the deluded, straightening into his full, but meager, height. "I will not fail my city. As my father used to say, the only good Borsippan is a dead Borsippan!"

"Wise words, Okoro. Wise words." Oak clapped the werewolf on the shoulder and gave him a slight push towards the gates of the prison compound. "Go with God, and the faith of your city."

Okoro stumbled across the street just like a man deep in his cups would, veering left and right without rhyme or reason.

I am the greatest. The best spinner of tales on this side of the Nin-gublaka.

Oak watched the werewolf go, trying his best to keep the giggles fighting to erupt from his mouth hidden behind his lips. Considering his state of inebriation, the drunken killing machine reached the light of the lanterns with remarkable speed. Okoro screamed something incoherent about the Borsippan skull shape and half fell, half lunged at the gate, banging on it with both of his fists.

The two guards chatting above the gate pointed and laughed at Okoro, slinging insults at the slovenly drunkard. One of them scooped up a small rock and chucked it right at the werewolf's head, clearly seeking to chase him away.

Okoro didn't even notice when the rock bounced off the top of his head and clattered at his feet. "Wine! What have you simian bastards done with the wine!" the werewolf shouted, voice positively churning with fervor and bottomless self-confidence.

Mission accomplished. Oak turned away from the coming tragicomedy and sneaked back into the shadows as fast as he dared. His friends waited on the other side of the compound, and if Oak wanted to be the first man over the wall, he would need to hurry.

***

In the time it took Oak to circle around to the other side of the former prison, a full-on shouting match had erupted between Okoro and the mercenaries by the prison gates. The werewolf's nasal and creaky voice carried quite far in the cool night air, and the guards made no attempt to limit the volume of their replies.

To Oak's untrained ears, it sounded like a symphony of success.

Yakubu, Ur-Namma, Sadia, Geezer and the Sakyi siblings stood ready at the base of the prison's walls, waiting for him. "Sounds like your diversion worked," Yakubu whispered as Oak crouched next to him and snatched one of the grappling hooks Karoukian had seen fit to offer them for the assault. The Koromite had a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes, but Oak could see the worry in the creases on his forehead.

Soon they would find out if Itoro, Yakubu's son, still lived. Oak made a point not to mention the corpse-pit inside the prison's walls or the young Koromite boy one of the mercenaries had disposed of earlier. The odds of success were bad enough without him speaking the worst-case scenario into being.

"You have seen nothing yet, Yakubu. I promise you that," Oak replied. There was a long rope attached to the grappling hook, and he spun the contraption around absentmindedly, staring at the top of a tall building right across the street.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

It was the top of the same building he and Ur-Namma had used to scout the former prison a short while ago. Karoukian had wanted to see the coming bloodletting and keep himself out of harm's way. Sticking him up there took care of both birds with one stone and gave Oak and his friends the added benefit of knowing when it was safe to scale the wall.

Okoro's barrage of insults just kept on going and going, showing no signs of slowing down. If anything, the werewolf got louder with every passing heartbeat.

"Do you reckon they are going to kill him?" Sadia whispered. The girl shuffled closer to Oak, hugging the wall. "He sounds like a complete pain in the ass."

An inhuman roar split the night, followed by a thunderous impact of something heavy crashing against the compound's wooden gates.

"Honestly? I reckon there is nothing they have on hand that could kill him," Oak said and felt a touch of uneasiness creeping along his spine. I hope I won't regret my choices, if this all goes to Hell in a handbasket.

On the far side of the street, Karoukian popped into view against the backdrop of the black sky above, leaning over the edge of the rooftop. He smiled at Oak and waved furiously before pointing towards the prison gates.

Good. My diversion worked. Oak spun the grappling hook around once, twice, thrice, and launched it over the prison's wall. It clanked loudly against the stone, but caught on the crenellations and refused to budge.

"Alright. As discussed, Yakubu will go first, I will go second, and then the rest will follow. Climb fast and keep moving," he said. "We need to secure the walls before they realize what is happening."

Yakubu took the rope from Oak and pulled himself up the wall like a man possessed, his feet barely even touching the stone.

"Hey, Northerner, I just realized something. How are we getting Geezer up there?" Ur-Namma asked. "He is the size of a small pony."

"Shit. I totally forgot." Oak rubbed the back of his head, feeling embarrassed. "Maybe one of you can fashion a harness? I could pull him up?"

"NO HARNESSES." Geezer huffed, and his shadow flexed like a living being. The hellhound hopped right onto the wall, claws scratching furrows into the stone. His shadow stretched and grew, forming spikes and feelers, gripping the brickwork like a thousand small limbs.

Geezer crawled up the wall like a giant spider. It looked extremely disturbing.

Ur-Namma cocked his head at the strange sight while Sadia and the Sakyi siblings stared with wide eyes. "Huh. I didn't know he could do that," the elf said.

"Believe me, I didn't know he could do that, either." Oak shook his head. He would discuss this fresh development with Geezer at a later time. "Right. Let's kill these sons of bitches."

If Baako and Onyeka Sakyi had not been on his side, the happy little grins his declaration summoned to their faces might have felt disturbing. The siblings were like a pair of starving wolves. Killing a slaver or two would help to sate their appetite.

Oak doubted a mere kill or two would sate his own hunger for bloodshed, but a man could hope. Sometimes, hope was all you had.

Yakubu vanished over the crenellations, and Geezer followed right on the Koromite warrior's heels, flowing out of sight like he was more liquid than flesh. Oak gripped the rope and hauled himself upwards as fast as he could, desperate to join the action. Sounds of frightened shouting woke ‌a smoldering wrath inside him. Thump. Thump. Thump. With every beat, Oak's heart stoked the growing fire and pumped red-hot rage down his veins.

Muscles straining with effort, Oak left his companions in the dust. He reached the top without incident and pulled himself over. Passing the wards felt like squeezing through a malleable icicle, but Oak was used to the sensation, and took stock of the situation inside the walls with a practiced eye. Yakubu and Geezer stood close by on top of the wall, a few feet to his left. The keep of the former prison stood between the three of them and the mercenaries gathered at the gate, shielding Oak and his compatriots from view.

The mercenaries had not yet realized they were under attack, but that would not last.

Oak's boots had barely touched flat stone when Yakubu called out to him, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Come, my friend. I wish to show the depths of my displeasure to these mongrels," Yakubu whispered and stalked forward, sword and shield at the ready.

"Ay," Oak replied and unsheathed his massive falchion in the same breath. "We are of one mind."

The three of them raced along the wall, towards the inhuman roars, splintering wood, and frightened shouting. It sounded like Okoro had transformed and tried his luck at burrowing right through the front gate.

I can't compliment his intelligence, but Okoro sure is persistent. A real go-getter.

Yakubu ran like the wind itself, murmuring prayers to the Hounds of War. Oak followed, heart racing, boots slapping against warm stone. Wrath and struggle awaited beyond the bend in the wall. Geezer jogged languidly by his side, flowing forward like a splash of liquid darkness, red eyes gleaming in the moonless gloom.

Oak's stomping feet carried him past the bend, and then he saw beyond the corner of the keep; six walking corpses standing atop the gatehouse, calling out in dismay and pointing at the beast below. Shadows danced on stiff faces in the lantern light, highlighting every shiver of fear and making a mockery of courage.

They were maybe thirty feet away from the gatehouse and the six mercenaries gathered over the gate, when one of the bastards glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Oak. The slaver opened and closed his mouth like a fish on dry land before shoving his fellows and pointing them towards Oak, Geezer and Yakubu.

Vigilance was always helpful, but it wasn't enough to save the slavers. Oak called for the flame inside his immortal soul and spun up two spirals of glowing fire with spikes of kinetic force hidden inside of them. It was as easy as breathing. He launched the spirals at the two closest guards. The spells ripped through chain mail and gambeson, blowing fist-sized holes through the slaver's chests and exploding out of their backs in a splatter of smoldering gore.

A second-level Boon made all the difference in the world. The men dropped like a pair of flies smote by the Corpse-God herself.

+ 2 Souls

+ 2 Fuel

With Yakubu leading the charge, and roaring loud enough to wake the dead, they smashed into the retreating group of slavers and got to work.

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