CHAPTER ONE:
ENTER IGNATIUS
Ignatius drew the curved blade along the whetstone slowly, the gritty sound filling his ears. It had to be sharp, sharp enough to slice into bone if necessary. He didn't expect to kill the halfling boy, only to damage him, break him, before dragging his nearly-lifeless body before the Council, as he'd been hired to do. But if the boy gave him any trouble at all, Ignatius would take his bloody pleasures slowly, so that the boy felt every bruise, every cut.
He almost hoped the boy would fight back, give him an excuse to torture him. After all, he had it coming. His very existence was an abomination.
Small sparks flew from the blade and at last, Ignatius pulled metal from stone. He ran his thumb along the steel, splitting his pale skin open. Blood—rich, red—dripped from the cut before it healed closed again.
He was hungry. It was always better to hunt when he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in months, in eager anticipation of that insatiable need pushing him through the capture, and perhaps, the kill.
The Council had been clear: "Bring us Vladimir Tod and your reward will be immeasurable." They never mentioned in what condition to bring him, had only barely stressed that he should be living. Little did they know, Ignatius didn't require payment. Causing the boy's suffering—and perhaps even his death, he thought with a pleasant shiver—would be reward enough.
The boy who would be Pravus. The thought enraged Ignatius further and he returned his blade to the whetstone, working it slowly, smoothing the edge into a razor.
Soon. Once the final paperwork was signed, his hunt would begin.
And Vladimir Tod would be made to suffer.
† 