SIXTEEN

They came in ones and twos and clusters and groups. The talented. It was less than an hour until globes out. A team of lamp lighters stopped to stare, neglecting their duties as they watched this unprecedented surge of people. Normally most folk were safely indoors by this hour, but today there was a great flurry of activity. And the Tattooed Men were everywhere, knocking on doors, chivvying the reluctant or simply escorting. The lamplighters scratched their heads and conferred in muted murmurs, wondering what the breck was going on, but deciding it was none of their business and probably better they didn't know.

A pair of dun-uniformed razzers, on their way back to the station after completing their final patrol of the day, stopped in their tracks and looked on, bemused. They wondered whether they ought to intervene, or at least enquire, but decided against the idea. There were Tattooed Men involved, after all, and who in their right minds wanted to interfere with them? So instead, in time-honoured tradition, they chose to scamper back to the guard station and report events to their superior. Let someone else decide what to do, if anything.

All the little knots of people were converging on one place: Iron Grove Square, where Kat was already waiting. Two braziers had been lit, their hot coals glowing red through the lattice of black iron that held them, while the smell of roasting nuts wafted on the breeze. Kat was kept busy making sure everyone was given a hot drink or a mug of soup as they arrived. It wasn't really that cold, but the glow of the braziers offered comfort and a sense of homeliness which would be welcome once the globes were fully out, while a drink was the very least they could do.

As the apothaker moved away, Kat took the opportunity to look around her. The square was now dotted with people of all ages, shapes and sizes, standing in groups and chatting, or simply sitting and waiting. For once she felt proud of where she was from, of being a part of a community that produced folk like this; people willing to gather here despite the danger, displaying the sort of gutsy defiance that had seen the denizens of the City Below emerge from the blood and the horrors of the war unbowed and unbroken. They'd seen off the Rust Warriors and the Blade, and by Thaiss they'd do the same with this Soul Thief!

There was no turning back now; this was actually happening. Kat felt certain that the bait would be taken – how could the Soul Thief resist an opportunity like this? She only hoped the firepower they'd amassed would be enough to stop her. It had to be. For her sake, for her sister's, and for the sake of all these people gathered in Iron Grove Square.

As more of the Tattooed Men started to arrive, their shepherding duties completed, Kat was able to delegate the serving of soup and hot drinks to others. Predictably, Shayna was among the first to offer, leaving Kat free to burn off some of her anxious energy by touring the perimeter and seeing for herself the preparations being made for their special guest.

The square was bracketed on all four sides by what must once have been a grand building. Two storeys of interlinked galleries and passageways boxed in the inner courtyard known as Iron Grove Square. On the north side, the building was punctuated by an imposing arched gateway which granted access to the street. Two large wooden gates, held together by bands of heavy black iron, guarded the entrance. When they first discovered this place, the gates had been as dilapidated as the rest of the building, but the Tattooed Men had restored them. This evening, the gates stood open.

The inner courtyard had been christened Iron Grove Square because of the metal sculpture of a tree which stood at its centre – now rusted, with leaves and branches missing, but still with enough form to hint at its former glory. A description which could easily be used for the whole of the City Below itself.

The Tattooed Men enjoyed a largely nomadic existence, maintaining several safe houses scattered across the under-City but this was by far the grandest and the most important. The secluded courtyard aside, this neglected fragment of Thaiburley's past boasted one particular feature which made it ideal as their base of operations. Partially hidden beneath the rubble that littered the floor of the place, they had discovered a small stairway giving access to a cellar, and in that cellar they found a safe. Not just any safe, but the sort of substantial, solidly built strong room which the owners of banks got all excited about and which most financiers could only dream of. The door was a wonder in itself, for this was no blank-faced slab of immovable metal, but rather boasted a large indented central panel, which displayed an intricate mechanism of giant cogs and levers and wheels, of toothed discs and metal bars. Somehow, Chavver came into possession of the key, presumably found elsewhere in the house, though she'd never bothered sharing the details with Kat. The first time Chavver opened the strong room, all of them had been there, crowded into the cellar and on the stairs, craning to catch a view of the interlinking wheels and components, holding their collective breaths in hope that the system still worked, which it did, even after so many years of disuse. Slowly, the cogs turned, one triggering another, and the solid steel bars and rods had been drawn back, to leave the massive door free to be opened.

She had no idea what sort of wealth the house's original owners possessed, what might require such extreme levels of security, but presumably it must have been substantial; either that or they were extraordinarily suspicious breckers. Of course, the key's discovery was crucial. Without it, the safe would have been no more than an impressive curiosity. With it, this became the perfect place for the Tattooed Men to store their carefully gathered arsenal, confident that the weapons would remain secure.

As she turned a corner, she abruptly found herself confronted by a face so like her own; a little broader, a little rounder, with fuller lips, but unmistakably related. Charveve, who had been coming the other way. The two stared at each other, Kat wishing she was somewhere else but not about to give ground, and her sister looking as if she felt the same. Then Chavver said awkwardly, "I wanted a word."

Kat was stunned. This was the first attempt her sister had made at any form of communication that didn't involve a blade or a threat in over a year. Kat had never really understood the intensity of Charveve's hatred. Yes, they'd rowed about the leadership of the Tattooed Men and yes those rows had turned nasty and even physical on occasion, but in the end she'd walked away. Kat had seen what their fights were doing to the group, to the people who were the only family either of them had known since their mother's death, and she'd refused to go on. She'd given in because she had to. Chavver was too stubborn to back down, no matter what the cost, so Kat did. She resigned herself to a life of looking out for herself, of being alone, for all their sakes. But that hadn't been enough for her sister. Chavver's enmity had pursued her into the shadows, banning any of the Tattooed Men from even talking to her and threatening dire consequences should she ever cross the group's path again, effectively cutting her off from any hope of support should she need it.

This seemed an extreme reaction even for Charveve, and it had been more difficult to bear than anything Kat had suffered in the Pits. Now, she was beginning to understand, just a little. Jealousy. Of her, and of Rayul. Was that what lay at the bottom of all this: jealousy? The three of them were consigned to the Pits at around the same time and soon became firm friends. Yet Rayul had always been closer to Kat than he was to Chavver. She had become the glue that bound their little team together – the best friend of both. It was Kat that Rayul confided in, Kat that he talked to first. This had been the source of the occasional sulk and angry word even back then, but Kat had never dreamed her sister might harbour deeper resentments. Yet it seemed to fit.

Kat returned to the courtyard through one of the four doors – each wing of the building boasted its own – hovering in the doorway and simply watching. There was a great deal of laughter, the mood almost celebratory, and yet she could sense how fragile this was, the tension bubbling just beneath the service. It wasn't exactly forced bravado, but she suspected this atmosphere was only preserved because certain realities were being consciously avoided. She wondered how long the cheerful spirit would linger once globes were fully out.

Somebody, a man, started to sing in a strong baritone. It was a song Kat vaguely recognised but one which she hadn't heard in years, not since her earliest days in the Pits. A second voice joined in, a quavering elderly woman's, rising to complement the man's, and then others followed. Before long the whole square was filled with a chorus of singing. Even those who didn't know the words recognised the tune and were able to hum along, including Kat. She smiled as the song ended amidst a babble of mutual congratulation. Perhaps she hadn't given these people enough credit and the high spirits would survive beyond globes out after all. Another song began almost immediately the echoes of the first had died away. Kat even knew the words to the chorus for this one.

During the singing that followed, a Tattooed Man surreptitiously closed the twin doors to the arched gateway, effectively sealing in those in the courtyard. Others moved around the fringes of the crowd, lighting the bracketed lanterns which were dotted at intervals around the walls. The erratic glow from these lamps highlighted the faces of gargoyles and demons carved into the frames of doorways and gate, lending their faded features a sense of animation which made it seem they were observing those gathered in the courtyard with malevolent anticipation. Kat just hoped this wasn't an omen for what was to come.

Despite the low-key nature of the Tattooed Men's actions, people noticed, and clearly appreciated the significance. Kat heard the singing falter as realisation spread through the crowd. But it resurged almost immediately, as several people – including, Kat felt certain, the original singer – made a concerted effort to sing louder and bring the melody back on course. She had no idea who the baritone was, but determined to seek him out when this was all over and thank him.

Kat strained to spot the faintest sign of life behind any of the windows in the other wings – silhouette of a bald head, slight movement in the shadows, or a stray beam of light reflecting off uncovered metal. The flickering radiance of the lanterns made it impossible to see anything, though she knew the Tattooed Men were there. Waiting, even as she was.

Kat carried the whip Annie had found for her clipped to her belt, though she wasn't sure why. In truth she didn't have much faith in it. She also had the apothaker's luck potion, which she trusted about as much. After a moment's hesitation, she took out the small phial, removed the stopper and knocked back the contents. A minty sweetness with a hint of cloves, chased down by a kick that might have been alcohol, trickled down her throat. She took a deep breath, drew her two short swords and squatted down to wait, her back against the wall. She wondered precisely where Charveve was now, knowing that her sister planned to be on the building's upper floor when everything kicked off, to get a better view. This was the moment they'd both been waiting for virtually all their lives. Or at least it promised to be, assuming everything went to plan.

Kat occupied herself by trying to guess how the Soul Thief was going to get in here. Would she burst through the twin gates, sending shards of wood and iron everywhere, or would she come straight through the house? Clearly, they'd prefer the former, so had sealed and barricaded both the street entrances into the house proper as firmly as possible, but the Thief had proven many times over that doors in general were no great obstacle to her, so no one was taking anything for granted.

Kat was looking across the courtyard, not focussing on anything in particular, when a flicker of movement caught her eye. She almost passed over it, but something made her look again, and this time there could be no doubt. A black stain was creeping down the far wall of the courtyard, an irregular patch of night which none of the lamps were able to penetrate.

Whether alerted by her call or not, others had seen it now. There was pointing and exclamations among the crowd, which surged towards Kat as people scrambled to put distance between the south wing and themselves. The stain had gathered substance, swelling to become a soot-dark cloud which slid down the brickwork towards the ground.

A flechette gunner opened up, sending a stream of silvered darts into the billowing mass. The thrum of crossbows sounded and a dozen quarrels sped in the wake of the flechettes. An inchoate shriek issued from the cloud, sounding like wind whistling through a narrow chimney but louder and somehow more aware. The form writhed and twisted, shifting shape in an effort to avoid the stream of missiles, which were chewing up the brickwork behind in a rain of chips and stony shards. Somewhere over there they'd deployed a flamethrower. Kat just hoped those wielding it could bring the weapon to bear and get a clear shot. It was an unwieldy contraption of valves and dials at the best of times, but she was itching to see what the Soul Thief made of a concentrated blast of fire. The flechettes and archers had managed to pin the monster down, preventing it from advancing into the square in pursuit of the fleeing people; and, judging by the increasingly plaintive sounds coming from the creature, they were hurting it, but Kat wasn't convinced they'd done any real damage as yet.

She was working her way through the throng of talented, who had rushed to cling to her side of the square. She had no intention of actually attacking as yet, not wanting to get caught by any of the lethal munitions that had already been brought to bear on the monster, but wanted to be in a position to do so if needed. The longer they could keep the Soul Thief in one place the more chance there was of bringing other weapons into play. A firebomb shattered at the edge of the tattered blackness, splattering the ground and the wall of the house with burning oil, as well as a patch of the creature itself. There was no mistaking the pain in the shriek this time; and the affected patch of darkness burned! Where the breck was that frissing flame thrower?

Kat had forced her way to the edge of the throng of people, reminded of their presence and their fear and their bravery when a girl immediately behind her sobbed. She suddenly realised that these people were no longer needed. They'd done all that could be asked of them without complaint and had succeeded, drawing the Soul Thief to where the Tattooed Men waited.

Kat glanced back towards the Soul Thief. The flechette gunner had ceased firing, presumably to reload. There now seemed little to hold the monster at bay, at which instant the very ground beneath Kat's feet shook as a huge dart, longer than a man is tall, erupted from one of the courtyard windows to tear across the intervening space in an instant, slamming into the Soul Thief and though the wall behind, bringing a wide section of it down. She just hoped there was nobody still standing in the room beyond. Despite a fresh shriek of anger and pain, the monster just flowed around the shaft of this enormous steel bolt and reformed. Kat knew the giant arrow had been fired from a steam-powered cannon which would take moments to reload. The occasional quarrel from a bow still flashed at the creature but without the incessant attention of the flechette gun this was no longer enough to keep her immobilised, and the black cloud, now looking vaguely human in shape, started to advance across the courtyard towards the trapped people.

Mercifully, another flechette gun opened up from the opposite side of the courtyard to the first, temporarily halting the creature's progress, and then a second fire bomb shattered on the flagstones in front of it. The flames danced up, partially hidden by the stunted iron tree which stood between Kat and the blaze, its crooked scantily-leafed branches momentarily resembling upturned hands, mimicking an appeal for mercy.

A new weapon opened up, a streak of blue light crackling across the courtyard, seeming to catch a corner of the Thief before spending itself against the far wall. Kat turned her head away and blinked to clear her dazzled vision of the afterimage. When she looked back, the broiling mass of darkness that was the Soul Thief seemed to have grown, swelling until it towered over the residual flames from the firebomb. Flechette darts passed through it now with no visible effect, as if the creature truly were composed of nothing more than smoke.

Then the black cloud detached itself from the ground and started to drift towards Kat and the crowd of talented, floating over the burning oil and the iron tree, drawing ever closer. Until now, everyone had stayed remarkably calm, but people's resolve finally started to wilt and for the first time people around Kat began to panic. Somebody screamed, and the sounds around her grew increasingly desperate. "For Thaiss's sake get that gate open!" the woman closest to Kat shrieked.

Her relief was short-lived, as a fresh wave of screams and shouts erupted – from the front of the crowd, near the gates. Kat couldn't see what was happening. She was too short and so was unable to see over the intervening mass of people, but something was obviously wrong. Desperate for more information she jumped in the air but still couldn't get high enough to make anything out beyond the fact that nobody seemed to be leaving yet, despite the gates being open; and the screams and curses and shouts of desperation were only getting louder.

The night abruptly lit up, as a stream of fire erupted from one of the windows to her left, like the breath of some indignant dragon. The flame thrower! Somebody had finally brought it to bear. The heat was intense, even though Kat stood some distance away. The nebulous form of the Soul Thief was enveloped in flame. The black cloud burnt and sparked and crackled, visibly contracting, curling in on itself like an injured spider drawing in its legs. And the thing screamed. A high-pitched shriek of torment which cut through every other sound and caused Kat to wince, as it hurt her ears. She watched with a sense of elation as the still-smouldering bundle of darkness plummeted to the ground.

Yet it fell almost on top of one of the talented, a young woman who screamed and tried to back away but couldn't go far because of the press of bodies around her. A tendril of smoke reached from the diminished Soul Thief, to curl around the foot of the hysterical woman. This seemed to act as a tether and within an instant the creature's entire remaining substance flowed along that tenuous link to engulf the woman in a nebulous greyblack mist. The mist began to darken immediately, gathering substance. Brief seconds after the cloud had surrounded the unfortunate soul, it released her. A desiccated husk dropped to the floor as the now stronger, larger Soul Thief streamed away from this first victim to attack another.

This couldn't be happening. The fire had come so close to killing it, and yet the monster was already restoring itself by feeding on the talented, and with this many of them here, Thaiss alone knew how much feeding it might do. People started to scatter, fleeing the creature and moving away from the gate, enabling Kat to catch a glimpse of the front of the crowd. A solid line of armed men stood across the exit, blocking the gate and penning the talented in.

Kat hesitated, torn between the urge to attack the Soul Thief directly and her desire to ensure these people could escape the courtyard. Before she could make up her mind, the decision was made for her. A jet of flame engulfed the Soul Thief once more. It wasn't indiscriminate, but it was all-consuming, as fire tends to be. The Soul Thief and the poor man she was currently feeding on were engulfed, and several people beyond were caught as well. Whoever wielded the weapon had obviously realised that the only way to save the majority was to take the monster down, no matter what the cost. Screams of agony joined those of terror. The cloud of darkness detached itself from its latest victim, a high pitched wail issuing from the creature as it burned, a sound which rose above the human voices. The Soul Thief then fled the withering flame by racing across the intervening ground to smash through the nearest window and into the building itself. A fresh stream of fire pursued it, playing across the smashed window and leaving the surrounding frame and brickwork blackened and charred once the flames relented.

With the Soul Thief having slipped beyond her grasp again, choice was no longer an issue; Kat had only one immediate enemy to deal with. She forced, slid and wormed her way through the panicked crowd of people, not hesitating when she reached the front but instead launching herself straight at the line of armed men. Her erupting from the crowd with twin swords at the ready seemed to wrong-foot them for a second – all the time she needed. Kat caught a glimpse of white open mouths crudely daubed on black shirts. The Fang! Then the thrill of combat roared through her blood, bringing her fully alive and suppressing other thoughts. For the next few moments all she was aware of were blades to block, openings to strike at and adversaries to disable and kill.

A lull in the fighting allowed her to pause; a degree of sanity returned as she took stock of the situation. Kat was dimly aware of four, perhaps five men having fallen to her blades, and she'd suffered a raking cut to her left shoulder – a blow that narrowly missed taking her ear off – but that had only acted to goad her on at the time. She remembered laughing as the sting of steel kissed her skin, before blithely cutting down the man responsible.

The line of those penning in the talented had broken. The remnants of a melee surrounded her, small knots of struggling figures while many more lay unmoving on the ground. She assumed people must have followed her lead and taken the fight to the Fang. Beyond the gate she could see figures scurrying into the night, so at least some of those who had come to help would make it home.

A figure reared up to her right, face contorted in a snarl, sword already descending. Kat stepped to one side, thrust with her right-hand blade – knee flexing, arm fully extended – then pulled the sword back and let the body fall. She walked across towards the gaping door that gave access to the house proper, hacking down in passing another of the Fang who had two of the talented backed against the wall, fighting for their lives. The pair smiled their thanks and then made good their escape, joining the steady flow of people fleeing Iron Grove Square.

She stepped into the building, to find the floor of the small gate room littered with bodies. Five or six of the Fang and one Tattooed Man: Adam, one of the oldest and one of the first people to take her under his wing when she was consigned to the Pits. The next room was larger but told much the same story. Heavy fighting had taken place here. She counted seven dead Fang and two of the Tattooed Men. How many of these frissing Fang were there and what the breck was going on here?

She charged along the corridor, growing angrier with every step. It had all been going so well until the Fang intervened, trapping the talented and now, apparently, attacking the Tattooed Men. Whatever their part in this, she determined to make them pay, dearly. Judging by the number of bodies she was again stepping over – four more scattered along the corridor – it seemed the process had already begun. They must have brought a small army with them. But why?

As she turned the corner she gained a partial answer. A Tattooed Man sat collapsed against a wall: Rel, badly injured, most likely dying. Two of the Fang lay dead at his feet. A little further along Chavver and M'gruth stood side by side, holding off a group of the Fang and a figure Kat instantly recognised.

Further yet along the corridor a fire had somehow started, which doubtless explained the elongated shadows she'd seen fighting on the wall as she reached the top of the stairs. Chavver and M'gruth had been pressed back close to the flames. No question this Brent was good; he was keeping Chavver pretty much fully occupied, leaving M'gruth to contend with the Fang. Kat's arrival changed the odds dramatically. The Tattooed Man took advantage of the distraction she'd provided to drop one of his opponents. Kat dispatched another. Three against three; or maybe not, as one of the two surviving Fangs evidently did a little mental reassessing of the odds and didn't much like the sums. He turned tail and ran, heading back towards the stairs for all he was worth. After brief hesitation, the other followed.

Chavver and M'gruth were too experienced to be distracted by this little interplay if that was Brent's intention, though doubtless Kat would have some explaining to do once they'd finished off this interfering brecker. The three of them fanned out, making sure Brent had no avenue of escape while maximizing their own space to avoid tripping over each other when they pressed their attack.

Now at least she knew what had caused the fire. The creature must have fled up here, weakened and smouldering, only to ignite some cloth or piece of wooden furniture in passing. Then it had cowered amongst the shadows in the stucco design of the ceiling, greatly diminished and too weak to escape, while Brent and his Fang cohorts had forced Chavver, M'gruth and the fallen Rel ever closer, until finally the Thief saw her chance.

"Chav, above you!" Kat knew her call was too late. In manoeuvring for the perfect attack, her sister had inadvertently stepped directly beneath the Thief's hiding place. A smudge of blackness fell towards Chavver, covering her face even as she attempted to turn and twist and react. The darkness immediately began to swell and gain substance, taking on an almost human shape.

Charveve was thrashing, struggling against the shrouded figure that now seemed to envelope her. The suggestion of a face started to appear amidst the chaos. Kat didn't hesitate, stabbing at the thing's head. As before, the blade passed through with minimal resistance, but this time the creature cried out, as if stung. Kat stabbed again, growing increasingly desperate, the fear of losing her sister something she refused to accept.

M'gruth finally came back, clutching the leg of a chair with fire smouldering at its top. He and Kat shared a desperate look. Too late and they both knew it. Kat felt numb, defeated, robbed of all hope. The Soul Thief flowed across the floor towards a window and all she could do was watch it go. M'gruth flung his burning brand. It sailed through the tattered trail of the killer without discernible effect.

Somewhere deep inside Kat the knowledge stirred that the murderer was about to leave. She stumbled forward, realisation that yet again the slayer of her mother and now her sister was going to escape overriding her paralysis and despair. Desperation empowered her and she ran the few short steps to the window, even as the last of that black cloud passed through. And then she remembered Annie's whip.

She yanked the barbed leathery length from her belt and held it properly for the first time, feeling a thrill of energy course up her arm, and dared hope that this seemingly vulgar thing might be more than it appeared to be. Without pause, Kat drew her arm back and cast the tip towards the patch of darker night, leaning out the window to do so, oblivious to the shards of shattered glass that still clung to the frame.

Kat had no idea what to expect. Swords had failed, while flechettes and crossbow quarrels merely slowed the creature down; what good was a whip likely to do? But she was desperate and had nothing else to hand. Her delight when the whip bit and the handle jerked violently was therefore matched by her surprise. There was a shriek of frustration and perhaps even pain from the nebulous cloud, and Kat had to hold tight with both hands to prevent the whip from being jerked out of her grasp. She found herself pulled forward, clothes and skin tearing on the window's glass-fragment teeth. She could have let go then, but refused to; refused to live with the knowledge that her family's killer had escaped again. So instead she clung on for dear life, and was physically dragged through the window.

The wrench on her arms was immense, as they were suddenly asked to take the weight of her entire body. She waited for the whip to pull free, or for the leather to snap, to send her tumbling towards the ground. They weren't high, and she knew how to land. Kat reckoned she could survive a fall from here without too much injury. But it never came.

She found herself carried across the courtyard while the creature above her shrieked its consternation. Perhaps the Soul Thief writhed and twisted, trying to shake off the whip's dogged grip; Kat couldn't say. Her attention was fully occupied with the wall of the opposite wing to the house, which was starting to loom large ahead of her. They'd gained a little height since leaving the window but not enough for her to clear either wall or roof. Fortunately, they weren't travelling quickly. Kat was able to bring her feet up, planting them on the wall and then using them to scrabble up it as she was pulled forward. The same tactic worked with the shallowpitched roof. She could have let go then and been safe, but the possibility barely crossed her mind. She was in this until the end, however bitter that might prove to be.

They were free of the house now, drifting over smaller, single storey dwellings and still gaining height, little by little. Kat dangled, arms and body extended, like some lead weight hanging from a line. The solid presence of the grand conveyor loomed large. In fact, that seemed to be where the Soul Thief was headed.

They were fairly high up now, and Kat wondered whether the Soul Thief was intending to pass over the belt, though to do that she would surely have to go higher still. To her right, Kat could see the chophouse where she'd first encountered Brent; a painful reminder of another score that needed settling. Then they were coming in close, approaching an archway two along from the one housing Coalman's. Kat could see a fissure towards the top of this arch, a dark hollowing in the right-hand wall where some of the bricks had fallen out or been removed. Of course; no wonder she hadn't uncovered the Soul Thief's bolt-hole despite all that searching – this was it! She'd never even considered including the grand conveyor, yet it was ideal – within easy striking distance of the streets. It was also in spitting distance of where Brent had chosen to meet Kat. Coincidence? She doubted it. The man had been mocking her even then.

They were coming in too high. She was carried above the archway, and found herself careening towards the brickwork of the viaduct itself. Glancing quickly up, she saw that the Soul Thief had stopped, though Kat continued forward, swinging like a pendulum. Presumably a deliberate attempt to dislodge her.

With her hands fully occupied, she brought her feet up to absorb the shock of impact. As they connected she immediately used them to push herself off, as gently as she could, anxious not to add to the momentum. The result was awkward and only partially successful, her upper-body continuing towards the viaduct. She twisted so that her left shoulder took the brunt of the contact. The Soul Thief was moving again, pulling her away and then dashing her towards the brickwork once more.

No question now, the creature was definitely using the viaduct to try to rid itself of this troublesome burden. The combination of momentum from her kick and the Soul Thief's movement sent Kat spinning, twirling around on the whip, which did nothing to improve her concentration. She saw the brickwork racing towards her again. She tried to bring her feet up, to kick herself off as she had before, but the spinning made judgement impossible. She slammed into the viaduct sideways, her shoulder and hip striking with bruising force, followed a split second later by her head. Pain lanced through her thoughts, fracturing her attention.

Kat's right hand slipped, losing its hold on the whip. In desperation she tried to adjust her grip by reaching higher, only for her fingers to close on nothing at all. The horror of that barely had time to register before her left hand's hold failed completely. With no time to react in any way, she was falling. This was no mere drop from a first floor window, she was far higher, fatally so. Her arms were flailing, body tumbling, the brickwork of the conveyor flashing past with sickening speed.

Seemingly from nowhere a dark shape appeared. The Soul Thief, come to claim her life force as it had the rest of her family. Too fast. She barely had time to register its presence before the thing was upon her. Kat felt the juddering force of impact flare through every part of her body. Her last memory was of all-consuming pain.