The city continued to thrive in the wake of Hellawes, the absolute darkness of the night dispelled within the boundaries of this city, evident from the countless lanterns that lit the streets like glowing, red fruits of the flowering metal jungle.

  The road had come to an end at last. The rest of the journey had been uneventful, with no one else daring to cross her path. Her enemies were still there though, like the Beasts in the Woods that knew well to steer clear of Zaphrriyah's way, hiding in their homes, peering at her from the heights of balconies and balustrades where they thought they were safe. She could hear their chattering, full of fear, hate and wrath directed at her, as though words could change the fact that they were utterly powerless to stop her.

  Now there stood a massive structure whose heights were lost to the dark sky, interwinding with the buildings around it as though it were a singular structure, and the entire road leading up to it, the thoroughfare of its piazza. It had a grand entrance fashioned of magnanimous marble pillars supporting an entablature carved to depict a multitude of nude nymphs and warriors. In the center of the entablature was signed the name Sanguinis in deep, glowing red lights. The gates were gigantic and shut tight. And there were two guards standing by.

  The guards seemed different from the enemies Zaphrriyah had faced on her way down the road. They were specialized, unique in some way she couldn't pinpoint just yet, and they had faces that wouldn't be as easily forgotten. The one on the left donned no armor and looked more like a gigolo than a guard, wearing only a leopard-patterned thong. He was a large man, nearly as tall as Aphrodisia, with a clean-shaven face like the rest of his smooth, shiny pearlescent body smeared in fragrant oils, hard and shredded like diamond. He had short, curly blond hair that completed his look of a marble statue carved in the likeness of an enticing demigod. His partner was nearly the complete opposite. She was small, close to Zaphrriyah's height, ragged in a tattered traveler's cloak and an old straw hat, her arm resting on the hilt of her sword sheathed by her waist.

  Zaphrriyah stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to the gate and drew her blades.

  "There’s no need for that," said the gigolo, his voice a pleasantly princely tone that Zaphrriyah found quite irritating. "We saw you slaughter all those samurai on Lance Avenue. You are strong and your style is most exotic. I trust you enjoy the bloodshed?"

  "I do, and you're next."

  "Please, we are civilized sinners, a street fight is below us and surely you as well, witch."

  "Sinners? So that is what you are.”

  "Yes. May we share a truce?”

  "Maybe. Let me pass."

  "And just what exactly are you planning to do once you get behind these doors?"

  "Kill."

  "As I expected. Could I instead offer a more civilized alternative to your chaotic slaughter?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Your King. Bring me to him, and perhaps I may spare the likes of you sinners."

  "I'm afraid that is a task above my jurisdiction. I can, however, steer you towards the right direction, should you wish to earn an audience with the King."

  Zaphrriyah silently contemplated the offer, blades still armed at her side. "The King of Shadows is in this city, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "And he is somewhere beyond this gate?"

  "Yes."

  "Very well. I have made my decision." Zaphrriyah lowered her blades and ascended the stairs. "Take me to him."

  "Thank you," the gigolo said with a faint smile, "I'm glad we could resolve this reasonably. Now come," he touched his hand between the gates and they parted. "Welcome to Club Sanguin-"

  Kr-ching!

  Zaphrriyah's blades were met by sword of the other guard, held firm to protect her partner's back. The man seemed exasperated at her betrayal, almost disheartened, but this was quickly replaced by the stoic rage of battle. He grabbed Zaphrriyah by the shoulders over his partner's sword and pushed her down, though Zaphrriyah stood strong. He flipped over both of them, landing behind her back, grabbing her beneath the arms and pulling her with such great and focused strength she couldn't even struggle against. Her blades were forced apart from the swordswoman, leaving her wide open to an attack which came swiftly and precisely for her heart. The sword was sharp, its wielder skilled and careful not to hurt her partner; the tip of its blade punctured just the front of her left ventricle. A fatal strike for any other creature, just not Zaphrriyah. But not only was the swordswoman skilled, she was also cautious, thorough, twisting her blade and tearing through the entire right side of Zaphrriyah's torso, exiting from her liver. Blood erupted from the cut like a geyser, exaggerated to the point that it was quite literally intentional, drenching the swordswoman whole with blood. At the shocking sight of that, the grappler loosened his hold, enough for Zaphrriyah to slip out, duck low away from his follow-up grabs and slice his ankles – only he was spright on his feet, stepping out from the dangerous trajectory of her blades and catching her leg with his as she tried to scramble and get back to her feet. He brought her down to the ground with him, arms locking around her neck as her blood drenched them both. Rather than snapping her neck, he decided that choking was a more promising way to kill her, and so he did as his partner stood by, taking off her blood-soaked cloak to reveal a battledress of white-gold linen and chainmail.

  Choking was working. Her consciousness was fleeting, her vision darkening, her body weakening. As more blood spilled out from her gutted torso, so did viscera, silently slithering off her body to the ground, behind the grappler, sneaking around his neck and over his face. Then they contracted, pulling and squeezing tight. The grappler grunted, but refused to relent his hold, even as her blood and viscera forcibly slithered into his every open orifice. The swordswoman acted to help her partner, aiming a strike to sever the intestines from whence they spilled out of her belly, but Zaphrriyah kicked up her legs, throwing her blades at her feet, impaling through them to deflect the swordswoman's attacks. She was able to counter a few of the blows, but the swordswoman still got past her last-ditch defense and severed her viscera from the roots.

  That was a mistake. From the severing cut, new viscera gushed out like baby serpents, and as the grappler drew breath from the severed intestines loosening around his neck, the new viscera rushed inside his mouth and deep down his throat. His hold broke and Zaphrriyah kicked, forcing the swordswoman a pace back, as she got to her feet. The grappler also scrambled to get away, grabbing at the viscera pouring into his mouth and nostrils, trying desperately to stop it. Zaphrriyah fended off a combo of strikes from the swordswoman before chaining a feint into a counterattack into a spin, where she sliced off the grappler's arms at the elbows and drove her blades into his abdomen as he screamed incoherently from the viscera still flooding lungs. Zaphrriyah gutted him wide open, unleashing a flood of fresh blood and viscera, both his and hers, and hefted the grappler's large body overhead, retracting her own intestines as she threw the bloody body at the swordswoman who was stunned in horror at the scene.

  Fully regenerated and replenished by the blood of a fresh kill, with blood and viscera still hanging from her mouth, Zaphrriyah wasted not a moment, dashing at the swordswoman before the body could even hit her, eclipsing behind the body as it landed in front of the swordswoman, ripping through it with both blades hailing down. The swordswoman was skilled enough to meet her khukuri even in the bloody chaos, and she may have even parried Zaphrriyah's attack entirely if it weren't for all the blinding gore. But because she couldn't parry, Zaphrriyah's blades pushed right through her feeble defense, latching deep into the shoulders of her chainmail, drawing a small trinkle of blood. Zaphrriyah adjusted her grip, and before the swordswoman could hope to recompose her stance, Zaphrriyah swung her blades into a fluent flurry of dozens, hundreds, thousands of cuts across the swordswoman's entire body in the span of two seconds. When she was finished, she lowered her blades to her sides. The swordswoman remained standing a second longer, sword still in hand. Then she exploded in a burst of blood and gore.

  The entrance and its white, marble pillars and stairs were painted chalk red in the dripping blood and viscera of its former guardians. The gates that had been cracked apart let out a ray of red light to illuminate the bloodbath in an even more splendid clarity. Zaphrriyah pushed them open the rest of the way and sauntered inside.