Girl Who Killed a God Remake - Chapter 2

After a few minutes of ducking through side alleys, Grace doubled back just in case she’d picked up a tail. She hadn’t seen anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. It was only paranoia when there weren’t people looking for you.

And even if she was being paranoid, it always paid to be cautious in this cursed city.

Finally, when she was sure she hadn’t been followed, Grace headed for the outskirts of lowtown to one her many stashes located throughout the city. With the amount she’d stolen tonight, she would have to hit a few of them.

Keeping her loot in one place was a recipe for disaster, so she worked hard to make sure it was distributed so even if one was found, she wouldn’t lose more than she absolutely had to.

It took a few minutes of cutting through the darkened city streets close to lowtown, but as she slipped out from the shadows, she came across yet another guard patrol.

And her luck must have truly been rotten, because as they caught sight of her, they paused and the guardsman directly in front of her frowned. Though he only wore chainmail under his tabard, he was thick enough not to need platemail to be intimidating.

“Is that her?”

One of the others stepped forward, his hand on his sword. “Kolben said it was a Malkin girl in a leather coat. Thick black hair, dark eyes and a lean face. She fits the description perfectly.”

It seemed that was all the confirmation the leader needed, as he slowly moved his hand to the sword at his hip. He used the motion to subtly shift his center of balance as he stepped into a sword stance. It was so smooth Grace would’ve been impressed if he wasn’t standing in her way.

It was clear the guard was ready for violence, but he still made no move to draw his blade.

After a moment, he finally spoke. “Surrender peacefully, and I can spare you the Justiciars.”

Grace sneered and took a step back. “How very generous of you.”

She risked a glance back and found the route behind her still clear for the time being. If she could get away from the guards in front of her, she might still have a chance.

“Don’t even think about it,” The guard snapped at her. “You won’t make it ten steps.” He sighed and slowly took his hand off his sword but didn’t drop his stance. “Look, there are worse ways to go than the guillotine. Struggle, and we won’t have a choice. If the Justiciar’s get ahold of you, they’ll take you apart piece by piece.” The guardsman offered her his hand. “Make the right choice here—before it’s decided for you.”

Regardless of the rest, he was right about one thing—she had to make the right choice here. Getting out of this clean wasn’t an option anymore. And surrendering would mean accepting her death.

Attacking the guard had signed her death warrant.

She didn’t regret it—it had been the only option available to her. But now, staring down the guards, she was going to have to decide if that was as far as she was willing to go. Grace was going to have to decide just how much she valued her life.

And what she was willing to do to keep it.

It wasn’t a hard choice.

And maybe that was a problem. But right now, she had four much bigger problems to deal with first.

Regardless of any of that, Grace had to act, and act now, if she had any hope of escaping this.

 She sighed and let the tension drop from her muscles. She glanced down with a resigned sigh and nodded. “Fine. I’ll come quietly.”

Grace reached into her coat and withdrew her stolen shortsword. She tossed it behind her and took a step forward. The guardsman seemed to relax slightly at that and motioned for her to come to him.

“Slowly now.”

Grace followed his instructions and crossed the street towards him. As she got near him, one of the other guards tossed him a set of manacles.

“Give me your hands.”

She did as ordered and proffered him her wrists. The guard’s eyes never left her as he reached out and took hold of her arm.

As soon as his fingers curled around her flesh, Grace drew her dagger and wrapped the blade around the guardsman’s wrist. With a savage snarl, Grace pushed the edge deeper into his forearm and shoved with all her might.

Her dagger flowed up to the guard’s elbow and flayed the very flesh from his bones. Blood showered to the cobblestone as the guard howled in terrible agony and ripped his arm away, a thick scrap of skin dangling listlessly from his blood-stained arm.

He stumbled back, leaving a viscous trail of gore in his wake, and Grace followed him. She slipped around the dripping blood and slammed her dagger to the hilt in the side of the guard’s leg.

The guardsman’s screams amplified, and his legs came out from underneath him. He hit the ground with a heavy thud as the others stared at her with wide, shocked, eyes. It had happened so quickly it was likely they were still trying to process it.

Even for a city like Toran, such vicious brutality wasn’t exactly commonplace.

And that she was a sixteen-year-old girl likely only added to that confusion.

But Grace was a survivor.

She had to be.

She’d survived the destruction of her homeland, and she was damn sure she was going to survive this skivving city as well. So, in the brief moment she’d earned herself, she twisted the knife and ripped it free from the guard’s leg before taking off running for the second time that night.

Thankfully, she was close to lowtown, rather than the much nicer districts. There were plenty of places for her to hide. Lots of boltholes and smugglers dens. She knew of a few of them, and if she could reach one, she could hide out until they gave up looking for her.

She’d have to keep a low profile for a few weeks, but Toran had a very short memory, and as soon as the next myrk addicted Malkin beggar robbed yet another wealthy noble, they’d forget all about her.

Though, it was easier said than done.

Grace was utterly exhausted. After a dead sprint, and climbing up the buildings, not to mention taking down the guards. Adding another full out sprint was sapping what little strength she had left. And in this part of the city, the streets were a little wider to accommodate the wagons that brought goods up from the docks—and at this time of night—most of the lowtown residents were elsewhere plying their own illicit trades.

Which meant the streets were nearly deserted.

And unlike her, this patrol was fresh, so even with her head start, they caught up to her before she made it halfway down the street. After assaulting the guards, she wasn’t going to get a second chance. They would gladly hand her over to the Justiciars. And then there wouldn’t be enough left of her to bury in a thimble. They would spend weeks slowly breaking her. She would suffer every kind of torture imaginable.

And only then would she be allowed the mercy of death.

Well, I’m not going to make it easy for them.

If she was going down, she was going to at least take a few of the bastards with her. Grace couldn’t let them surround her. She needed to get somewhere defensible. A nearby house caught her attention. It was a rotten shell without a door and a roof that looked like it was one bad storm away from collapsing, but it was dark and hopefully empty. At this time of night, with only a fingernail moon for light, she could use her Malkin heritage to her advantage.

 Grace suddenly cut to the right and raced into the decrepit house with the guards hot on her heels. Shadows bathed her in darkness as she ducked into a corner right by the entrance and clutched her bloody dagger tight in her fist.

They rushed through the doorway and into the house. They fanned out into the darkened space, but while she was well and truly hidden in the dark, the faint glimmer of moonlight off their chainmail gave them away.

As the closest guard turned her way, she slipped out from the corner and buried her dagger to the hilt in his neck. With a savage twist, Grace opened his throat. A torrent of blood crashed down his chest and sprayed across his comrades as the tang of copper filled the air.

The guard dropped just as the others turned around.

In the split second of confusion, Grace slid around the man’s corpse and her dagger flashed as it caught a sliver of moonlight before she hooked it around the back of the second guard’s neck.

She dug the edge into his spine as she hooked his leg and took it out from underneath him. With him off balance, Grace swung him around just as the third guard raised his sword and brought it down where she’d been standing.

He reached the crest of his swing before he realized his grave mistake and his eyes widened in shock. His sword crashed down against the struggling guard and bit through his chainmail and stuck in his flesh.

With a swift tug, she cut the man’s throat and as his body collapsed, she shoved him towards the third guard while he tried to wrench his sword free from his comrades soon to be corpse.

Grace had no time to reflect on the horror of her actions. Or to feel sorry for the men she’d murdered. The rush of adrenaline and the fear of dying numbed her to her actions. If she lived, there would be time to deal with her feelings later. And if she didn’t, well, at the very least, the dead were mercifully free from regret.

As the guard’s body dropped, Grace used his body as a springboard and leapt up to the rafters overhead. She would only have a moment, but with the way the shadows clung to the ceiling, it would give her time to reposition herself while the remaining guards struggled to maneuver around their dead comrades.

She slipped across the worn timbers and eyed the guard in the far corner. His attention was fully on the dead and the rapidly growing pool of blood spilling across the rotting floorboards. If she took him down, she could deal with the last remaining guard, and she might actually have a chance to survive this.

But as she leapt, the wood creaked, and the guard suddenly glanced up. His eyes widened in surprise.

He moved on reflex and jerked to the side as he brought his arms up to cover his head and neck. Grace tried to angle herself in midair, but with less than a split second, she couldn’t do much.

She crashed into him and caught her temple on his raised elbow.

Grace winced as she hit the floor. The rotten floorboards gave way, and her breath caught in her chest. As she struggled to figure out how to breathe again and to get the room to stop spinning, one of the  guard's fist slammed into her side.  Regardless of the chainmail gauntlet he wore, something cracked on impact.

"You're a worthless Grumbderd!"  He shouted and then spat on her. “You’re gonna skivving pay for killing my friends, you whore.”

Taking a deep breath, Grace stared up at the enraged guard and barely managed a smile. “Whoops, guess my hand slipped. These things happen, you know.”

She started laughing—after all, there was nothing more she could do. She’d done her best and gotten further than she’d expected. And she’d killed a few of Toran’s rotten guards in the process.

 She was going to suffer for what she’d done.

The very least she could do was piss them off before they handed her over to the Justiciars.

The guard standing over her snarled and stomped down on her ribs. A white-hot agony blinded her entire world for a long moment as her laugh was silenced by the snap of bone as her ribs buckled. Grace wanted nothing more than to scream, but she couldn’t figure out how to breathe in enough air to be able to.

She curled in on herself as the iron tang of blood brushed across her lips. Grace coughed and added her blood to the growing pool soaking into the floorboards.

That’s not good.

Coughing up blood meant internal bleeding. If she didn’t remedy that soon, she’d be dead long before the Justiciars could get ahold of her. She had the health potion she stole from the lieutenant, but right now, dying choking on her blood was still a much better way to go.

Damn it… all this—and this is where my story ends…

She’d gotten out of Malkin, saved her little brother even as the city burned around them, and with it her parents. All because the gods wanted to wage their little wars in her home. She’d lost everything when the champions arrived.

Now Malkin was little more than a blasted stretch of wasteland—a playground for the godblessed warriors. As well as a striking reminder what happens when the gods meddle in the affairs of mortals.

She’d had no choice but to shelter in the kingdom of the very same god who’d brought hers to ruin.

Despite the pain, Grace rolled over onto her back and stared into the eyes of the guard standing over her. These were going to be her last words, so she was damn sure going to make them count. “Screw you and your blighted god. Next time you bend your knee to your lord, you tell Grimdon I’m coming for him.”

The guard kicked her already broken ribs.

Grace wanted to scream, but was unable to from the lack of air in her lungs.

Suddenly there was a rush of wind and the air chilled considerably. The pain in her side vanished as a cool hand pressed itself to her side and with a sharp pop, her ribs settled back into place.

Her head swam from sudden lack of pain and as she glanced up, she found a tall figure wearing a hooded cloak standing over her. Right next to the guard who’d kicked her.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?” the figure spoke, and his voice reminded her of her grandfather’s before he passed, heavy with kindness and the wisdom of age.

It was a lovely voice that brought with it a host of memories she’d long forgotten. It made her feel like everything was right with the world, that if she just closed her eyes, she would be with her family again.

All she had to do was sleep.

Sleep deeply and dream forevermore.

She wanted nothing else, and the urge was so overwhelming, she nearly gave in. But as her eyelids grew heavy, a thought brought her out of her stupor.

Levi!

If she gave in, she’d be leaving her little brother in this world all alone.

And that was something she could never allow.

She forced her eyes open and stared up at the man. He was looking down at her, and though his skin was pale, he looked just like her father and grandfather. It was strange to see Malkin features on a paleskin, but as she blinked, his features changed, and a kindly old man stood before her.

He smiled at her. “Very good. I thought you had potential. Glad to see I was right.”

"Who the hell are you?" one of the two guards asked, both spinning and looking at the old man. "This isn't any of your business."

He merely chuckled, moving slowly toward the two guards. The one closest to him already had his hand on the hilt of his sword. "What if I make this my business? After all, I can't ignore the cry of a young girl. Especially one brave enough to curse Grimdon right in the seat of his power.”

 The guard who had kicked her turned, his chainmail rattling as he raised his sword to the old man. “Then you’ll die just like the Malkin bitch.”

The floorboards creaked as the guard rushed him, he stepped with his strike and thrust his shortsword straight through the old man’s chest.

Grace gasped and, ignoring the pain, craned her neck to get a better look at what had just happened.

The old man’s hood had fallen back, revealing a bald head and a neatly trimmed white beard that covered his jaw. He slowly glanced down at the sword sticking out of his chest and smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth.

"You know the problem with being immortal? This won't do a thing."

Faster than Grace could believe the man reached out and grabbed the guard by the throat. With a wicked smile, the old man snapped the guard’s neck with single flick of his wrist.

The other guard squeaked out a cry of surprise and scrambled to climb over the corpses of his comrades. But as he leapt over the guard Grace had stabbed through the throat, he slipped on the puddle of blood and crashed back against the corpse.

He screamed in panic and dropped his sword. The guard scratched at the floor on his hands and knees trying to escape. As he reached the rotting doorway, the old man vanished from beside her.

He stood before the guardsman and as the dumbstruck guard lifted his head to stare at him, he raised his leg and brought it down sharply. There was a crack of bone and then a thud as the guard’s body crumpled lifelessly to the floor, the clink of his chainmail joining his death rattle.

With every guard in the room dead,  the old man finally turned back to her and slowly moved to stand before her.

He knelt, the same kind smile never leaving his lips as he looked at her with anticipation in his eyes.

"How would you like to become immortal?"