Pyromancer- The chronicles of Isaac Karthall

A lover's betrayal.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through-

The blade hissed as it stabbed through his chest. He saw the steel emerge from the front of his torso. He watched as it seemed to grow out of his flesh, a metal thorn growing from blood. He turned as quickly as he could, to face his attacker. The sword pulled from his asailent's hand. The man before him was wide-eyed, amazed his target had survived what had meant to be a killing blow. Few others would have, but the target was part of those few. He brought his hand up as though to punch his enemy, and watched as his assailent's eyes widened further in horror as the target's hand shifted like water over stones. Like flowing liquid, the flesh seemed to flow and vibrate, expanding and imploding upon itself as the distinct features, wrinkles and nails, fingers, turned into a solid lump of meat. The attacker soiled himself when the hand turned into the taloned claws of a bird. The skin shifter stabbed his new claws into his enemy's chest and ripped them back out, covered in blood. The boy dropped, killed instantly by the couter-attack. Zherrif, the man who had been stabbed, stood over his assailent's body. His hand slowly formed back into that of a nomal human's. The rune carved into the skin of his chest, like a religious symbol of penance, stopped glowing. Zherrif collapsed to one knee, the pain of the blade in his chest over-coming his will to stand. Zherrif tried to focus, and his chest rune began to glimmer like a covered candle. Zherrif willed his own flesh, and the wound around the blade began to retract, allowing the blade to fall straight through and hit the ground. It took most of what little energy he had left to close the gaping hole in his chest. Zherrif's title of skin-shifter wasn't an exageration. He should have heard the assassin approaching, and would have if he weren't already exhausted. He'd been chased by parties of military scouts for the past three days. He hadn't slept in all of that time, and had been eating a stale loath of bread. Zherrif neded rest desperately, but he also needed to keep moving. It wasn't just exhaustion weighing down on him, but also rejection. Three days ago he'd finally worked up the courage to tell his girlfirend, his maria, of his plans, to desert the military, to escape the corruption seeping through the ranks of the runists. And what had she done? Screamed and summoned the night watch, cursing him as a demon. He'd come close to killing her. Zherrif had stood there while three members of the night watch, all armed with heavy clubs approached, himself dumbfounded to see his Maria standing with them and pointing at him while tears streamed from her eyes. He had destroyed the guards in seconds. And the voice that seemed to be a thought put into his mind had demanded her blood. He remembered running, his claws shifting back into his own hands. In the last days, the voices had been Zherrif's constant companion. He assumed he was going mad, he remembered an aunt who had claimed to hear voices. He still found it hard to believe that Maria could betray him like that.

BANG. Zherrif was pulled from his day dreaming by the sound. It could have been a gun, but in his exhausted state he wasn't really sure. Even so, Zherrif pulled himself to his feet. The path ahead was cobbled rock, and to either side forest stretched as far as the eye could see. Zherrif wore rough trousers, sandels, and no shirt. Zherrif was on the taller side, and more mucular than some. His head would usually be shaven but now a thin buzz of hair had grown, and similarly on his face. Zherrif's eyes were a deep brown, almost black. Zherrif stumbled off of the trail, though the trees. His runes allowed him to take on the aspects of any creature, all he had to do was focus. In employment to the military, Zherrif had worked as a scout. He'd used his abilities to take on the senses of a hound, or the eyes of a bird of prey. Zherrif concentrated, and felt his rune flicker to life. His pupils dilated and constricted, focusing beyond normal parameters. The edges of his eyesight blurred as his depth perseption altered. As a child, learning to use his abilities, he would get dizzy doing this. His eyes were like lenses, he could focus them on any distance. His pupils turned an amber colour. Zherrif turned back to the path, focusing his eyes on the cobble. He'd have to fight. In this state he couldn't keep running.