The night in Greywick had its own texture. It was gritty, damp, and smelled of stale beer, piss, and the kind of desperation that clings to cobblestones. As Blaze moved through it, the sounds weren't just noises; they were pressures against his eardrums. Laughter from a shuttered tavern that sounded like breaking glass. Footsteps that weren't just following, but hunting.
Kael, a hulking shadow at his side, let out a low rumble. "They're close. I can smell their sweat."
Blaze didn't need to smell them. He could feel the vibrations of their boots through the soles of his own, a clumsy, uneven rhythm. "I know."
The scrape of a blade being drawn was intentionally loud—a boast. It was the sound of men who thought they were in control. When the alley dead-ended in a mess of splintered crates, Blaze stopped. He didn't turn around with practiced calm; he simply let his momentum die, his body a study in stillness. Five of them stepped out to block the entrance, their forms distorted by a single guttering torch. They were canal rats, puffed up with cheap courage, their mismatched armor clinking with every shift of weight.
The one in the lead had a grin full of gold teeth, a gaudy display in the flickering light. He spread his arms, a showman playing to an audience of none. "Well now. Look what the cat dragged in. Nice cloaks. Bet those boots cost a pretty penny."
A low growl vibrated in Kael's chest. The leader's eyes flicked to the spawn, but there was no recognition. He just saw a large man, another purse to be cut.
Blaze's gaze was fixed on the man's mouth. "Are you going to ask for our money now?" His voice was quiet, almost conversational, but it cut through the damp air.
The directness seemed to wrong-foot the leader for a second. He recovered with a wet chuckle. "Smart one, eh? Saves time. Purses and boots. Hand 'em over, and we might leave you with enough teeth to chew your breakfast."
Another thug, a man with a scar that twisted his cheek into a permanent sneer, gestured at Kael with a rusty dagger. "Big one first. Get to it."
Kael's lips peeled back from his fangs, a silent promise of violence. But Blaze just lifted a hand, a subtle, almost lazy gesture. It wasn't a command, but it was enough. Kael stilled.
Blaze took a single step forward. The air thickened. "You call this a hunt?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Five of you, in a space this small?"
The leader's grin tightened. "It's enough to bleed you."
"No," Blaze said, and the word was colder than the stone walls. "It isn't."
It wasn't a threat. It was a statement of fact, and that unnerved them more than any shout could have. A man in the back shuffled his feet. The leader forced a laugh, but it sounded thin. "Last chance. Pay the toll."
Blaze let the silence stretch, letting them stew in it. He could feel their heartbeats, a frantic, uneven drumming. He focused on the scar-faced man, the one who had threatened Kael. He didn't just look at him; he saw him. He saw the tremor in the hand holding the dagger, smelled the sour fear-sweat beginning to prickle his skin.
"You," Blaze said, his voice soft. The man flinched as if struck. "You're afraid of the dark, aren't you? You always carry a torch. Even when you don't need it."
The thug's eyes widened. "What? How—"
"I can hear your heart," Blaze whispered, and the lie was more terrifying than the truth. "It's beating so fast. Like a trapped bird."
The man's bravado shattered. The dagger slipped from his numb fingers and clattered on the stones. He stared at his own hand as if it had betrayed him, a choked sound caught in his throat. He stumbled back, shaking his head, until he hit the wall and slid down into a heap.
The others stared, their confidence beginning to fray.
"He's messing with you!" the leader snarled, but his voice was a half-beat too high. He turned his golden grin on the next man, a lanky youth whose eyes darted everywhere at once. "Don't just stand there, gut him!"
Blaze shifted his attention. The lanky thug flinched as that cold, pale gaze settled on him. "You killed a man last week," Blaze said, his voice a low murmur. "A merchant. For a handful of silver. You stabbed him in the back."
The youth went pale. "Shut your mouth."
"Does his face come to you at night?" Blaze took another slow step. "When you're trying to sleep? Do you still feel the way the blade caught on his ribs?"
"Stop it!" the man shrieked, clapping his hands over his ears. He dropped his own knife and collapsed, curling into a ball on the filthy ground, rocking back and forth.
Two broken, without a single blow.
The leader's golden smile was gone, replaced by a snarl of disbelief and dawning terror. The remaining two thugs were looking at each other, their eyes wide. "What is he?" one of them breathed.
Blaze turned to him. "Kneel."
The word was not a command. It was an inevitability. The man's legs simply gave out from under him. He dropped to his knees with a wet smack, his face a mask of horrified confusion at his own body's betrayal.
"Please," the man sobbed, the word torn from him against his will. "Please."
The last thug standing took one look at his kneeling comrade, at the two broken men on the ground, and at Blaze, who stood untouched in the center of the ruin he'd created, and he bolted. He scrambled past the leader and fled into the night, his footsteps a frantic, panicked tattoo that faded into the city's hum.
Kael snarled. "You let one escape."
"Fear is a message," Blaze said, his voice like silk. "He is my messenger."
Now it was just him and the leader. The man stood alone, trembling, his gold-toothed grin a mockery on his terrified face. The knife in his hand shook violently.
Blaze walked toward him, his steps unhurried. "You wanted my purse," he said softly. "You wanted my boots." He stopped, close enough for the man to smell the cold, clean scent of the grave on him. "But you don't want them anymore, do you?"
The knife fell, clattering beside the others.
"You built your little kingdom on the fear of weaker men," Blaze whispered, his voice laced with a cold, predatory hunger. "Now you know what it feels like to be the weakest thing in the alley."
The leader sank to his knees, a broken, whimpering thing.
Blaze crouched, his fangs extending with a faint click. "Death would be a gift," he murmured against the man's neck. "And you've earned nothing from me."
He drank. Not to kill, but to taste the man's terror, to brand the memory of this moment onto his soul. He pulled back, letting the thug slump to the ground, alive but shattered.
Kael stepped forward, his claws extending. "Master?" he asked, his eyes on the sobbing man who had been forced to kneel.
Blaze looked at the pathetic figure, then back at Kael. "Clean up," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion.
A wet, tearing sound and a single, choked-off scream followed.
Blaze turned and walked out of the alley, Kael falling into step behind him. The city's sounds washed over him again, but they were different now. They were the sounds of his new hunting ground.