Flames of the Damned

Chapter 1

IF THERE WAS ANYTHING, I DESPISED more than the smell of whiskey breath that often lingered on the tongues of humans, it was the pungent aroma of the dead that reeked throughout the entire underbelly of this isolated alleyway.

                With the fumes of cars polluting the oxygen that my lungs are inhaling, it still failed to mask the protruding odour of death. I cursed the engines that echoed on the street for not being loud enough to drown out the unsettling sound of bones being crushed down into splintering shards.

                Forced to remain ghost, the opportunity to scrutinise this Rogue's behaviour became absolute.

                Difficult to distinguish such an abnormality due to stomach bile threatening to rise, I instinctively bit a fair chunk of my cheek between my teeth as a suitable way to cope with what is currently unfolding just below me.

                How many Rogues does this make now?

                Having to endure such a sight by chance, the familiarity of these encounters I've had with such aggressive creatures are seemingly becoming more regular.

                Thinking back on the times I've witnessed Rogues bring forth despair and bloodshed within the mortal realm, these last two months have been the most frequent.

                Four Rogues within the span of two whole months? Something's not adding up.

                It's an Assaiter's job to ensure that all fae abide by the Laws within Phanto. Trained to hold an iron grip, it was a rare thing to witness any fae go Rogue—courtesy of us.

                Yet, after monitoring their activity, the frequency of their appearance has become more of a danger to society than ever before.

                A hassle to say-the-least and highly unusual.

                Not that any of this is my business, but...

                Taking a small leap, my breath hitched at the sound of my heels colliding against the iron. Peeping down briefly, it was clear that this creature was unfazed by the noise, so I continued to quietly lurk along the fire escape unnoticed.

                I had suspicions that needed to be addressed, now more-so than ever, and I wasn't going to allow this opportunity to slip away.

                Besides, if I'm to go to bed with a clear conscience after watching the mutilation of this stranger's demise unfold, I should at least find out what ended her short-lived life.

                To think, she was just a woman that happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

                Making my way down one level at a time, I remained thankful for the element of surprise I have over the Rogue that's feasting below.

                Though, it was proving difficult to determine what Class this monstrosity is categorised under since I can't see a damn thing.

                Due to the darkness that consumed the narrow area, no recognisable features have been highlighted to give me a solid idea.

                With so many potential hazards spread throughout the two buildings, it was ideal to have some knowledge on what I'm getting myself into. The element of surprise isn't enough to keep me ahead, especially when things are bound to get gruesome.

                Trust a mortal to be so simple-minded. Idiots don't know how to leave space for a successful beating.

                The thought of making it out without any casualties allowed me to experience a sense of hope. Even if it was only brief.

                It would be the most preferred scenario, but being the realist that I am, things are always guaranteed to turn bloody when going against any fae gone mad with adrenaline, magic and enhanced power.

                And knowing that humans are useless creatures when creating substantial buildings with little-to-no room in between, reality was about to give me a harsh slap in the face for even considering the possibility of leaving without any harm.

                A girl can always dream.

                Releasing a small sigh, I carefully jumped down onto the final level of rust. A crystal-clear view of what's left of the woman and what was finishing the last of her revealed to me.

                Some of the supernatural are truly ghastly, nowhere near the standards people hold them up to in this world.

                Gripping the railing, I crouched down and held onto what little material was left to cover my arse. Now that I was closer, the dark no longer affected my judgement, so all the details that I couldn't see before were now within my grasp.

                Whatever they are, they're large and have a thick fur coat.

                Witnessing the aggressive way it tore apart the flesh from what could have been the woman's calf, their pearly whites weren't so pearly or white now.

                Taking a moment to think, only two major possibilities came to mind.

                A: A Werewolf.

                Or

                B: A Shapeshifter.

                Now, if this were the results of a Werewolf, it would be treated as a B Class Rogue.

                Looking up towards the sky, the moon wasn't full.

                That would explain why it's in beast mode, I thought as my gaze returned to the monster. Going Rogue could have affected its cycle.

                However, there was something wrong with this conclusion. It just, didn't sit well.

                If this is the case of a B Class gone feral, an Assaiter should be present with a Guardian supervising. Yet, neither were around.

                A Guardian has the skills and qualifications to take care of B Class Rogues. To them, this would be considered child's play. They're our elites after all.

                Confident in what I know, logic made its way into my train of thought.

                No Guardian or Assaiter has been present the entire time. A Werewolf is categorised as B Class, suitable for graduated Assaiter's to take on when supervised by a Guardian.

                If this is the case of a Rogue Werewolf, then why isn't it aware of my presence? Rogue or not, they're known for their superior sense of smell and without my glamour, I should have been acknowledged a while ago—whether they're occupied or not.

                The more I thought about it, the more I believed that this may not be the results of a B Class but rather, an underclassman: C Class.

                So, is it a Shapeshifter then?

                Focused on figuring out what I was dealing with, I begun to feel the struggle of remaining in such a stiff position. My toes were beginning to go numb from being on the tips for so long—in four-inch stilettos—and it felt as though my legs are about ready to cave from underneath me.

                Feeling a warm, tingly sensation run through my lower half, I was desperate to stand and stretch out my legs.

                Damn it! Tonight is not the night to be getting into a fae brawl while suited in a body-con dress and heels.

                Clicking my tongue in frustration, I bounced a little in place to try and ease the pressure of being in such a tight stance for so long.

                Reviewing my choice of wardrobe that suited tonight's sinful deed, this type of clothing will restrict my mobility and free-range attacks. A major disadvantage on my part.

                I haven't needed to be concerned about my fashion style up until now, so my killer choice in tonight's attire may actually get me killed.

                Unprepared and about to perform an illegal execution—that should be dealt by the assigned Assaiter—I knew that I was way in over my head choosing to carry-out this assignment in an unprofessional manner.

                Normally, I wouldn't be so concerned about such consequential actions if it wasn't my life that was at stake.

                Typical. Exiled or not, I'm left to clean up the mess of what humans would refer to as a half-assed job.

                The only problem is, am I right about it being an underclassman?

                Hunting down our targets based on truths and facts was our only goal, it's what we're trained to do. So, any false accusations or curiosity never suited the Assaiter's lifestyle of kill or be killed.

                With curiosity, it leads to questions, and the more questions you had, the more you'd sacrifice to get the answers you seek.

                A truly dangerous habit to get into, but having to adapt and change my way of life, it's managed to influence my thought process.

                For better or worse, I was going to find out.

                And assisted with three-years worth of pent up emotions that have remained dormant, I'm okay with breaking a nail or two if it meant I could let out a little steam.