Girl Who Killed a God Remake - Chapter 1

“Stop right there, you little thief!”

With a single raised finger of defiance, Grace ignored the guardsman’s shouts and took off through the bustling market at a dead sprint. She raced through the packed bazaar, weaving her way through the crowd all the while cursing her rotten luck.

An hour spent watching the Nawarian silk merchant who so carelessly left his bulging coin purse within easy reach.

Only for a guard patrol to happen by just as she cut the purse strings.

A loose cobblestone nearly sent her tumbling, but Grace adjusted her footing in an instant and continued running. Yet, despite her lithe speed, the thundering footsteps and jostle of plate armor continued to hound her.

The guardsman was gaining on her.

Her legs were just too short in comparison, and his stride ate up three of hers. Not to mention that the streets were far too crowded at this time of evening. There just wasn’t enough room to maneuver, and she was wasting time and energy trying to put distance between her and the guards.

Her only blessing was that the busy market streets were as much a detriment to the guards as they were to her.

And as if to prove her point, a middle-aged woman carrying a few bolts of cloth suddenly turned right into her path. Grace immediately dropped into a slide to duck under her. The rough cobbles dug into her side as she slid across them.

But it was just pain.

And pain and her were old friends.

Grace came up from the slide in a single fluid motion and as she rose, she turned snagged the edge of the cloth the woman was holding. She sent them tumbling out of the woman’s hands, and as they clattered to the street, Grace shouted back an apology and kept running.

Hopefully that’ll slow down the guards for a moment… but I can’t keep going like this. I need to get off the streets. The rooftops. The guards will never be able to keep up with me on the roofs in all that armor...

In any other city, all Grace would need was to break line of sight and then she could fade into the crowd like a ghost.

But in Toran, Malkin’s stood out like drops of ink on fresh parchment.

Her only choice now was to put enough distance from the guards as she could and try to disappear into the city itself. Just another Malkin refugee. Even in Toran, they’d never be able to find her if she could just get away.

Grace’s breath came in ragged gasps as her muscles quivered with fatigue. Running full out at a dead sprint wasn’t something she could keep up for long even in the best of conditions, and these certainly weren’t. She'd lost her favorite ribbon when the guardsman tried to grab her, and now, her thick, kinky hair crashed in front of her face like a midnight curtain. It stuck to the sweat beading across her forehead and lingered on her lips with every exhale.

Brushing her hair back, she danced to the side as a man and his wife dressed in the latest fashion from the capital started haggling with a robust merchant over the price of a pristine silver tea set. As Grace skirted around them, she nearly ran into another man in a finely tailored suit. He carried a small, lacquered chest towards one of the market stalls.

Her keen eyes appraised him in an instant.

His hands were full, and his attention was fully focused on not dropping the chest. So, he never noticed as a small hook knife appeared in Grace’s palm and she silently snipped the strings of his purse as she passed by.

Grace smoothly tucked it into one of the many hidden pockets within her coat and grinned at the extra heft weighing her down. She was good at a great many things, but resisting temptation wasn’t among them. And from the subtle clink of coin, she reckoned her sudden windfall might just be enough to make up for her absolutely shite luck and newfound appreciation for dedicated exercise.

As she finally broke free from the bazaar, a familiar store caught her attention. In all her haste, she hadn’t been terribly concerned with where she was running to and much more concerned with what she was running from—but now that she had a landmark to orient herself.

With Windom’s Quality Mercantile in front of her, Grace knew she was near Baraxan Court. There was an easy path to the roofs that she’d used before. If she could get there, she’d be safe.

A shout from too close behind her caused her to curse. She shouldn’t have gone for the rich man’s purse. It had been a risk, but it was too tempting a target, and if she was caught, the punishment for theft was the same no matter the amount.

They’d brand her a Blackhand.

Every bone in her left hand would be shattered, and then it would be dipped in boiling tar.

That thought put a little more speed into her steps. Though Grace had no idea where it came from since she was already pushing herself far past her limits. It had only been a couple of minutes, but she was already starting to flag as her stride faltered.

She risked a glance back and paled as people started hurrying out of the way of the three guards pursuing her.

They were clearing a path for them, and they were gaining on her.

She was never going to make it to Braxen Court.

Grace made a split-second decision and suddenly darted to the right. She slipped down a side alley between two brick buildings. Up above were a handful of windows with empty clotheslines strung between them like spider webs. Though it wasn’t nearly as easy a route, if she didn’t get higher right now, she wouldn’t have the strength to keep running.

Grace slowed just long enough to orient herself. She took a deep breath and then stepped back before sprinting towards the weatherworn brick wall. As Grace neared it, she leapt off her back foot, and as she hit the wall, she pushed off and upwards, propelling herself higher. Grace reached up as high as she could, and her fingers just barely curled over the lip of the second story windowsill.

She hauled herself up and then vaulted over the roof as quietly as she could.

Grace crawled low over the slate tiles for a moment and then lay flat—the mottled grays, browns and blacks of her outfit would help break up her silhouette. If only for a moment. Just long enough for her to catch her breath from her mad dash from the markets.

As she lay there, breathing heavily, the heavy clamor of armor down below alerted her to the fact that the guards had caught up to her a lot sooner than expected. It just went to show her decision was the right one.

Grace would’ve been caught by now if she hadn’t taken to the roofs.

“She went this way, didn’t she?” one of the guards asked.

“It’s the only place she had a chance to lose us in, so of course she did.”

For a moment, there was a heavy silence before another guard spoke, “She’s on the roof! Quick, cut her off!”

Shite… Grace hissed under her breath and rose into a silent crouch. Just what I needed. A guard with a brain.

She only hoped her brief rest would be enough, because it would have to be. If she let them surround her, they’d just wait her out—or worse—send for the Justiciars. If Count Toran’s thief takers got ahold of her, she’d be damned lucky if all they did was kill her.

The Justiciar’s liked taking their time with Malkins.

If I’m going to go, it needs to be now, while they split up, and before another patrol shows up.

Grace sighed and worked to shake the fatigue from her screaming muscles. She then took off and raced across the rooftop. The sudden rush of wind was a balm to her feverish skin and it wicked away the lingering taste of salt on her lips as she ran. In a flash she was on the other side of the building. Grace allowed herself a single glance at her destination, and without breaking stride, leapt off the roof.

The ground quickly rushed up to meet her, and her heartbeat drowned out the world around her as she fell. But a second later, Grace caught herself on the opposing brick windowsill. Clinging to the side of the building, she took a deep breath to steady herself and then dropped down. Grace absorbed the shock of the fall with the balls of her feet, and before she’d fully rose from the crouch, she turned and bolted down the alley.

Though as she reached the entrance, a shadow rolled around the corner and blocked her escape.

In front of her was a Toran guardsman.

From the full kit he wore, Grace knew he was at least a sergeant, if not a lieutenant. Only higher ranked guards were worth outfitting in plate armor. Though he lacked a helmet, giving her a good look at his face. He was young looking, with sandy brown hair and sharply defined features.

His green eyes narrowed at the sight of her.

With a jolt of realization, Grace recognized him as the guard that had initially caught her at the market. He still had her ribbon tucked into his belt next to a row of leather pouches and a guardsman’s dagger.

She immediately ducked to the side, hoping to take advantage of her rapidly shrinking window of escape, but the guard surged toward her and clamped a gauntleted hand around her arm.

He jerked her to a stop as a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “The others thought you’d try to double back. But I figured you’d attempt to lose us by heading into the city proper rather than risk the markets again.” He snorted. “Glad to see I was right.”

“Fuck you,” Grace spat out through bared teeth.

“Yeah, you got some fight in you, alright.” He grinned, showing a row of teeth stained yellow from smoking too much myrk. The lingering sickly-sweet stench of the narcotic brushed past her nose with each word. “A shame really. With a fire like that inside you, you could’ve made something of yourself. But now… no one will hire a Blackhand in this city—especially a Malkin Blackhand.”

With that he jerked her towards him as his free hand went for a pair of manacles inside one of the pouches at his waist.   

Sensing her moment to strike, Grace surged into action. She went with the motion and grabbed hold of the guard’s arm. She pinned it tight to her chest and suddenly pivoted to the side. No matter how strong he was, his one arm wasn’t stronger than her entire body and she broke the guard’s hold on her with ease.

As soon as she was free, Grace slithered around beside him. Before he could react, she plucked the guard’s dagger from its sheath. With a deft roll of her fingers, Grace caught the dagger in a reverse grip and struck at the unprotected gap at the back of the guard’s knee.

Blood trickled around the split leather and stained her blade as the guard let out a sharp hiss. Grace didn’t let up and shoved the knife deeper before ripping it through his flesh as a rush of crimson spilled to the ground and pooled between the cobblestones.

The guard howled as his leg could no longer support his weight and he dropped to one knee. For a split second, Grace eyed the slight gap in the man’s gorget. She could so easily slip the dagger through it and into the guard’s neck.

It would be so easy.

Let the other guards deal with his corpse while she slipped away into the night.

Instead, she dropped and slashed the dagger across the back of his ankle, hewing a chuck of meat from his tendon. In the same motion, she withdrew her hook knife with her off hand and cleanly snipped the guard’s coin purse at his side. Grace dropped it into her pocket and eyed a small leather pouch with the seal of the Apothecary Guild stitched into it.

With a twist of her fingers, she opened the pouch and stole a single small vial that held a thick, brackish liquid inside it.

A health potion.

The guard groaned, a primal sound of misery, and crashed back to the ground to clutch at his ruined leg. Blood snaked through his hands and quickly grew into a small puddle beneath him. He glared up at her, his eyes filled with hatred and agony in equal measure.

His deeply tanned skin was ghostly white from the blood loss, and after a few shallow breaths, the guard grimaced as he eyed the bloody dagger in her hands.

“Go ahead, you grumbderd bitch. Kill me.”

Grace tried not to wince at that. No matter how long she was in the city, the slur never got any easier to deal with. Instead of giving the guard what he wanted, she plastered a grin across her lips and chuckled.

“Ouch, you kiss your sister with that mouth?” Grace snorted. “No need to get nasty. The leg wasn’t personal. I just needed you out of the way for a time,” she held up the vial she’d stolen and smirked. “I was going to return your health potion… but now, I’m not feeling quite so charitable.”

She flicked the vial up and it caught in the lambent flame from the streetlamp in the distance. The guard’s eyes followed it hungrily. She snatched it out of the air and, with a little sleight of hand, made it vanish before his eyes.

Grace smoothly tucked it into one of the many hidden pockets secreted about her person and winked at the dumbstruck guardsman.

“I am a bitch after all.”

The guard snarled at her. “Then quit fucking playing with me and just get it over with.”

Grace knelt and snatched her ribbon from the guard’s belt and swiftly tied her mess of hair back. “Didn’t I already tell you. I’m not going to kill you. You’re more useful to me alive than as a corpse.”

He frowned at that, his brows knitting together. “How?”

“As a distraction.”

As soon as she spoke, Grace whipped the pommel of the dagger across the guard’s jaw. There was a sickening crack as bone gave way and his head snapped to the side. An arc of blood scattered through the air as a pair of broken teeth skittered across the ground.

The guard crumpled to a heap in the slowly growing pool of his own blood and whimpered as he curled in on himself.

It’ll be damned hard to swallow a potion with a shattered jaw, now won’t it?

With him in such a state, the other guards would more than likely prioritize getting their squad leader to a cleric or apothecarist, giving her plenty of time to escape.

Grace spared a second glance at the guard—but not out of mercy or regret—instead, she undid the dagger’s sheath as well as the city issued shortsword the man carried. The dagger was hers to keep, but the sword would fetch a good price from any one of the lowtown gangs looking for quality weaponry. She patted down the guard for anything else of value and came away with a few bits of jewelry hidden under his armor and his Toran guard lieutenant’s seal as well. Grace didn’t know how best to use the seal, but she knew it was valuable to the right person and vowed to ask Lawrence about it when she saw him next.

If anyone knew, it would be her fence.

With her haul secured, Grace took off before any of the other guards caught up to her. They might have been looking in the wrong direction, but it wouldn’t be long before they found the lieutenant, and she wanted to be well away by then.