In an instant, the creature crawled onto the roof, spraying shingles and cracked wood behind it. Before the debris had settled, it dashed off, crawling along the rooftops with frightening speed despite its pulsing wounds.

  The Richters sprinted after it, but Wretch had climbed along the Spires his entire life.

  Clutching a drainpipe, he hauled himself upwards and vaulted onto the roof. Just in time to catch a glimpse of the grotesque silhouette as it jumped the gap between buildings.

  Wretch chased along the shambled precipice, racing through the night. His ears still rang from the fight, but he could hear the footsteps of the others from below. The creature picked up the pace, throwing itself forward on broken limbs like a half-squashed insect.

  It reached the edge of the district, the border to the industry standing in front of the inner wall. It vaulted from a rooftop over a spiked fence, crashing into a stack of barrels on the other side, already skittering towards the scaffolding of the factory.

  Wretch was almost at the edge himself, a sizable gap between the rooftop and the jagged fence below.

  It escaped because of me. We gotta catch it or I won't get a chance.

  He pushed his burning legs and lungs to speed up.

  He jumped, the wind rushed past his face and hummed in his ears. The metal spikes approached fast, he soared an inch over the jagged metal.

  He crashed into the scattered barrels. Pain erupted from his ankle but his head was clear. He rolled onto his feet and limped forward. The creature was already halfway up along the twisting pipes of the factory wall.

  The rest of the Richters were on the wrong side of the fence behind him somewhere, if he waited, it would escape, along with his chances to grow.

  “You’re not going anywhere, you little freak.” He said with raspy breaths and forced his flame to the hurt leg. With a pop the limb snapped straight and the pain exploded with the use of his blessing.

  He gritted through it, switching from a limp to a dash. Throwing himself at the nearest wall, he began to climb.

  The claws of his right hand were like hooks as he pursued it in a reckless climb, swinging along the metal beams and pipes slick with the creature’s blood.

  Below, he glimpsed Elenya bend a gap in the fence with her bare hands.

  He needed to prove the oversized woman wrong. And the scurrying beast was his chance to do so.

  They climbed higher and higher. The footing and grip grew worse, rusted scaffolding, and pipes wet from condensation. The beast crept up one of the chimneys. It was slowing, either from its wounds or exhaustion. He followed, two beings ascending through steam and smog, racing towards the top of the crumbling brick in the black of night.

  The creature climbed high enough to rise above the Inner Wall just to their side.

  Then it jumped.

  A dark silhouette of reaching limbs against the moon flew over him. It crossed the gap, and vanished onto the Inner Wall.

  Damn it.

  Wretch threw himself up to the same spot, his chest heaving. The Inner Wall stood close, though still a deadly jump. If he missed, well… he glanced down.

  The Richters were mere dots far below.

  “Either way, this will look impressive.”

  He braced, drew in a breath and pushed off. More falling than flying, the height stretched beneath him. Wind howled in his ears and the Inner Wall rushed towards him.

  He stretched his legs to brace the landing. His body slammed against the stone and Something cracked with the sound of eggshells under a boot.

  The world became a blur of gray and muffled pain.

  “Uggh.” He let out. Gasping for air.

  After a moment, he realized he was lying on his stomach. He pushed up and tried to stand, but his legs buckled instantly.

  He looked down. The left leg was twisted at a ninety-degree angle to the side while the other had a bloodied bone pipe piercing out from under the kneecap.

  “That doesn’t look like usual,” He mumbled, head still spinning.

  He forced the flame to his skull and shattered legs. The flame flared through him like a wildfire, his veins burned, bones snapped back into place and skin squirmed over open wounds. His head cleared and he breathed out with a shudder.

  “Will I ever get used to that damn pain,” he said with a cold sweat as he got up on unsteady feet.

  A narrow walkway connected the top of the Inner Wall to one of the minor spires. A trail of blood reflected the moonlight. He looked to the left and right along the wall. Far away in the distance, the low light of a lantern pierced the night.

  “Guards? I should probably get out of here.”

  He limped up to the nearest bloodstain. A powerful scent, sweet yet pungent, still filled in the air.

  “It’s hurt. I can take it down, or at least see where it's hiding.” He said to himself as he pursued. The creature was out of sight, but he could smell it. Its trail leading upwards along machinery and clustered pipes, disappearing up a medium-sized spire.

  He climbed after it.

  A quarter of the way to the top, the blood trail vanished. He switched his daring climb to a quiet stalking, following the faint scent that still remained. The higher he went, the steeper the climb and the stronger the smell.

  Dawn began to pale the sky above the smog. His arms burned as he clung onto a vertical steel beam. Far below, stretched the Lows. Above, the Spire continued to rise.

  He would have to give up soon. His arms and fingers were bruised and losing strength. The Richter Company would kick him out, but it beat falling to his death.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  A slight movement to his left.

  He froze, staring towards the spot. A bundled up mass tucked in the opening between two pipes on a solid steel beam. A dozen human hands holding it in place.

  A smile spread on his face.

  There you are! My little ticket to all I want in life.

  Wretch controlled his killing intent. If the creature saw him, he didn’t want to alert it with his Blessed name, as pathetic as it might be.

  He stalked up and around the creature in the dim lighting, perching on an outcropping above it.

  He could see it clearly now, just a mass of limbs strapped to a core somewhere deep beneath the twisting mass of arms. No head or face, though he’d heard it scream.

  After taking in the pleasant feeling of being the predator rather than prey, he looked around. They were between two levels of the spire, a steep wall of machinery and pipes. It would be impossible to alert anyone, much less corner the creature.

  No, he would have to kill it himself.

  Wretch drew his dagger in silence, stood up and steeled his will. If he was serious with growing his flame towards the heights of his father, this much couldn’t sway him.

  He stepped off the ledge.

  He fell through the air with increasing speed, the creature approaching fast. A few arms suddenly moved, it had noticed him.

  He crashed into the creature with his full weight, the dagger struck deep into the core with a dull thud. The impact knocked the air from his lungs.

  Hands shot out in all directions, grasping at his torso and the machinery. With a shallow breath, he released every ounce of aggression he could muster. His monstrous hand clawed and ripped while the dagger stabbed into the core again and again.

  It gave a childlike shriek, tearing at his clothes, nails raked his skin and a sharp pain erupted from the left side of his head. Wretch didn’t mind it, deep in a dark and comforting place.

  In a sudden burst of strength, it pushed him away. His back slammed against the wall of pipes. It produced a gurgling groan and dragged itself towards the edge. Limbs hanging behind it.

  He saw an opportunity. Sprinting towards it, he launched himself at the creature, extending both feet forward like a spear.

  His kick hit with a soft thump, the bloodied mass slipping over the edge. It scrambled to hold on, fingernails screeching against metal to hold itself in place.

  It slipped, a dozen of its hands reached for him. Missing by a hair's breadth, then it disappeared down the edge of the Spire.

  Wretch fell onto the metal platform. Below him came a series of heavy thuds, ending in a gut-wrenching crunch.

  He smiled, panting and drenched in both sweat and blood, only now noticing the ache from his arms and back.

  “That has to do it right,” he said between harsh breaths. “That has to be enough.”

  Something hot dripped down his neck and he touched the left part of his temple.

  Blood. His ear was gone.

  He got up with a groan, picking up his dagger. His blessing, Flesh Stealer, said he could steal forms by killing and eating a blessed beast. He’d never done it intentionally.

  “Will this really work?” He said out loud.

  He gave the blood drenched dagger a careful lick and closed his eyes as a breeze blew through his hair high above the city.

  In his mind's eye, it was still. Then, a hand extended from the dark. She crawled forward, Milley, Tireless Gatherer, crouching with its many hands to the floor.

  “Hello again,” he whispered.

  She sat next to “Krii′ttch, Ravenous Ratling in a macabre pose of reverence. The light of the ember grew stronger and with a pulse of heat new cracks of fire formed on the ember.

  The fire flowed through him, clawing heat and raving whispers that made his temple ache. Like a mad beast biting into his flesh and mind.

  “Ugggh.” He let out, fighting to keep the content of his stomach.

  “So this is what it feels like to kindle?” He groaned. “Captain didn’t mention how bad it hurts.”

  After a few moments, the pain settled, and he breathed out. Something inside him had changed.

  Wretch, The Rat-Eater

  Ember

  Times Kindled: 1

  Regeneration: Consume flame to restore broken flesh. Purging rot and poison. Greater wounds demand greater cost.

  Flesh Stealer: Consume flame to reshape the body and take the form of any blessed you have slain and devoured, the change can be overwritten only by a new shape. Each change decreases your maximum flame permanently.

  “Kindled once, ey?” He said, blowing coagulated blood from his nose. “Nine more to go.”

  He didn’t feel stronger, no sudden surge of energy or power. But the flame felt deeper, if only a little. He shrugged his shoulders and walked up to the ledge.

  Far below, the city waited for daybreak, dots of lights from the gas-lamps and rooftops shining through the haze of smog. In the horizon, beyond the massive Outer Wall, the mountains named the Scar Spines rose like jagged teeth. The two suns just beginning to overtake the peaks

  “Time really flies.”

  Sliding down pipes and jumping between walkways, he made his way down until he spotted the creature’s body on a street below, still halfway up the Spire. A broken and lifeless tangle of limbs in an expanding pool of dark liquid, Illuminated by gas lamps opposite to a row of residential buildings.

  The torso had ruptured and organs spilled onto the cobblestone.

  A dim glow came from somewhere in the bundle of broken bones. The thing was far from symmetrical. Every human arm was different in shape, size and skin tone. They had all been stitched to the core with rough purple threads that reeked of dried herbs and mold.

  One hand still clutched something and Wretch leaned closer, it was his ear.

  With a grimace, he pried it from the cold fingers. Blew on it and wiped it on the front of his torn shirt. Then, held it against the side of his head.

  “Let's see if this works."

  He pushed what little flame he had left into his regeneration and series of wet twitches reverberated in his skull. The skin and cartilage of his ear growing back into place.

  He gave a smile despite the pain. “Only a Blessed could do something like that.”

  To the east, the first rays of the suns painted the Spires in gold.

  “Now… how do I alert the others?” He said pacing back and forth along the lifeless horror, rubbing his chin.

  An Idea formed in his mind and he rushed to the railing. Peering over and shielding his eyes from the dawn, the last true human city stretched before him. Past the curve of the Inner Wall, he could make out the industry and the house of the foreman.

  “Maybe they are still there?”

  He unsheathed the knife and, after wiping it clean, he held the blade at an angle. It caught the morning light, reflecting it towards the foreman’s house. He had used a similar trick to blind a shopkeeper once. Might as well try it now.

  He did two brief flashes, followed by a longer one, and continued like that. With a heavy chime, the clocks of the spire announced six in the morning and he found himself with a whole other problem. Explaining the broken corpse of the horrifying creature to the first commuters of the Spire.

  Here comes a word from friend, and fellow grimdark connoisseur