Chapter 1

Valkyrie muttered as she walked down the dirty, wet alley.  The rain fell like bullets onto her hooded head, seeped through the fabric of her threadbare outfit and chilled her right to the bone.  Shivering, she looked left and right, curled her lip at every grimy establishment.  Oh, the whole city smelled like piss.

            Thunder cracked overhead, and looking up, she sighed at the sky as if there were a being responsible for the weather.  Silently, she cursed the heavens for the hundredth time that day and pulled her cloak tighter around her body as if that would stay the rain.

            Tonight, she couldn’t sleep on the streets, not that she expected any tavern in this dung-heap to be any better.  Still, she needed a roof and that beggar had told her of a certain tavern whose owner had a soft spot for blondes.

            The sign caught her eye.  The Drunken Goat, it read in sloppy white letters, an image of a goat with a tankard balanced on its head plastered beneath.  She laid a hand on the door and shook her head.  How could she have let herself stoop so low?  She should’ve taken the execution when she could.

            Lightning flashed overhead, filling her ears with cacophonous thunder.  No amount of pride could put a roof over her head.  And thinking of Illium, she knew this was nothing less than she deserved.  Shaking her head in shame, she opened the flimsy, half-painted chunk of wood that passed for a door in these parts and walked in.

            Inside was a mess of humanity.  Men, for the most part, but a few women also cackled.  Valkyrie’s entrance drew no one’s attention, thank the gods.  Silently, she took a seat at the bar and made brief eye contact with the tender.

            He nodded and made his way over, a weaselly smile stuck to his face.  Oh, how she wanted to tear it off, but that would not protect her from the storm.  So she lowered her hood and pretended to grin, hoping her acting could make up for the measly change in her pocket.

            “What can I do for you, ma’am?” the bartender said in a weaselly voice that matched his face.  At the sound of it, Valkyrie’s weak smile faltered.

            “Dinner and a room,” she said, as if she was happy to be here.

            “Certainly,” he nodded, and she flicked a piece of hair flirtatiously.  As he lingered, he tapped the table as if thinking, an action Valkyrie was sure he wasn’t capable of.  “Don’t you worry,” he added, beginning to move toward the kitchen.  “It’s all on the house.”

            She held the smile until he disappeared, letting it vaporize the instant she couldn’t see his weaselly face.  That same beggar had told her she had a gift most of the destitute only dreamed of: a pretty face and a sultry figure.  It made it all the easier to sell herself.  But it made it no easier to kill her pride.

            She watched the direction in which the man had left.  He had charity because she was pretty.  Gods, mortals were shallow.

            The bartender gone, she rested her head on the bar and sighed.  Her only thoughts were of Elysium, the disappointed look in Sepheline’s eyes, the cold, aloof stares of her friends watching her punished.  Her eyes grew wet as she thought of the impossibility of her task.  She had a choice: die a gruesome death, alone in Pandemonium, or stay in this piss-smelling city and continue living this vagabond life.  But even then, angels couldn’t survive, estranged from their gods.  So she’d live, beg, and smile at petty mortals until she wasted away.

            She heard a clunk and a clatter and slowly looked up to see a steaming mess set in a grubby bowl in front of her.  The bartender looked at her expectantly, as if the puddle of feces in front of her deserved some sort of thanks.  Instead, unconsciously, her lip curled up the littlest bit.

            She spooned some of it into her mouth and looked at the bartender again as she swallowed it down.  She attempted a smile, but based on the man’s reaction, it must have looked more like a grimace.

            “Anything to drink?” he questioned, already reaching for a glass, covered in grime like the rest of the city block.

            She exhaled sharply, setting down the spoon.  “…Give me something strong.”

            He turned, grasping for a bottle.  “Tough day, eh?”

            She rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her hands.  Great.  Now he’s going for small talk.  “You don’t know the half of it.”

            She watched the drink pour out of the bottle and slosh about in the glass, watched him push it forward as if he were sharing a drink with an old friend.  He leaned on the counter, sighing as if he’d stay a while.  Great.  She’d come for a meal, and now she’d ended up with a conversation.  “I might.”

            She snatched the drink and eyed him suspiciously.  “I don’t feel like talking.”

            “Course not.  But I must say, most of the folks here are regulars, and I know for sure that I’d remember a face like yours.”

            She stopped, the glass close to her lips.  “…And?”

            “Someone who looks like you wouldn’t be caught dead in this part of town.”

            She narrowed her eyes and took the first sip of liquor.  It burned as it entered her mouth, burned as it went down her throat.  Her eyes widened, a breathy gasp escaped her lips, and with watering eyes, she set the fiery drink down.

            “See?” the bartender said, his tone even more annoying as it mocked her.  “You’ve never had a drink in your life.”

            Her eyes glowed with ever-intensifying contempt.  “My situation is not your concern.”

            He leaned forward and drew breath to voice a weaselly reply, but some kind of uproar erupted toward the rear of the tavern.  It sounded like the shattering of glass then the sound of a fist pounding a face, then the sound of cheering as a body hit the floor.

            The bartender groaned and rolled his eyes.  “Oh, there they go again…  I tell you, a drunk man has no sense about him…”

            He looked at the erupting scene behind her, then back into her eyes.  “…Sometimes I wonder why I let those two sods in here.”

            Valkyrie smirked, knowing he’d have to break up the fight.  “Go.  You don’t want them causing more damage, do you?”

            He slapped the counter resignedly and sighed, moving to break up the two contenders.  That’s right, Valkyrie thought, breathing in contently.  Hopefully, they’ll hit you hard enough to fix your weaselly face.

            Her content smile vanished, however, when she saw the barstools on either side of her become occupied.  On her left, she noted, sat a corpulent man, his hair filthy and stringy, an unkempt beard growing in tangles from his double chin.  To her right was a skinnier man, almost lanky in proportions, with a nose so sharp it could have been a sword.

            “Hey, sweetie, you’re a new face around here…” the sharp-nosed man said in a voice so nasal she thought he was drowning in his own snot.  “Can I buy you a drink?”

            She refused to make eye contact, just sized him up through the corner of her eye.  She briefly brandished the disgusting liquid she held in her hand.  “I’ll certainly pass.”

            He didn’t like that.  His whole face scrunched up, like he was a spoiled prince being rejected by a peasant girl.  He moved closer.  Gods, if he would only move away.  “I don’t like being told no.”

            Valkyrie’s hand constricted around her glass, her vision flashed red.  Move away, d****t.  “Well piss off, then.”

            His face moved closer, so close that his nose almost poked a hole in hers.  The stench of ale was potent on his breath, such that Valkyrie wanted to gag.  “What if I   wasn’t--”

            She twisted, a hand striking his face as her teeth gritted together.  Gods, if only he would take a hint.  “I said… to piss off…”

            The man looked offended, and as he rose to his feet, she felt fat, meaty hands clasp her by the arms.  Valkyrie sneered and tried to wriggle free, but the fat man’s grip was iron.

            “What the hell do you want from me?”

            The sharp-nosed man smiled.  “…I thought we could do this the civil way but you need to be taught a lesson…”

            The fat man lifted her off the barstool and to her feet, slowly pushing her out the door.  She struggled, struggled, but he just had too much mass to him.

            He forced her toward the door.  It took her a few moments, but she thought she knew what they were trying to do.

            All of her anger at this weasel vanished instantly.  Her eyes widened and her heart plunged, cold.

            Desperately, she looked toward where the bartender had gone.  She needed to make eye contact, she needed someone to help her.  But when she turned her frantic eyes, no one looked back.  She was alone.

            They pushed her toward the tavern entrance, forced the rickety door outward, then forced her outside.  Wincing, she once again felt the cold rain fall like bullets, felt it sting onto her skin making her heart thrash even more.

            “…Please…” she muttered as their feet squelched on the cobblestone street, but the man ignored her.  He forced her forward, forward, such that she could barely take a step, such that he was almost dragging her down the street.

            There was a dark side alley, and the sharp-nosed man turned down it.  Already, Valkyrie was weighing her odds.  The fat man had to let her go at some point, and then she could kick him in the groin, knock the other one out, then sprint for all she was worth…

            No.  There was a figure, a shade barely visible for the rain and night.  A third thug, barely perceivable, but she was on guard.

            The grip on her arms loosened as the fat man pushed her into the alleyway.  She turned, her foot already rising, propelled by the force of her spin and the sharp force of her leg.  The blow landed right between the fat man’s legs, his eyes bulged out as he began falling to the side.

She turned to face the other, but the figure in the shadows had made himself more visible.  What little light there was glinted off something in his right hand, something that looked sharp and metallic.

            The two began to converge on her.  Slowly, deliberately, they marched, and despite how hard she tried to look for bystanders to help, there was no one within sight.

            “Help!” she yelled, as loud as her voice could go.  At the sound of it, the armed man rushed forward and punched her, hard.

            “Quiet, b***h,” he laughed as she checked the injury and found it bloody.  She rose to her feet to challenge the man, but before she could straighten, meaty hands dragged her backward, something rough and dirty closed around her mouth.

            The fat man had overcome the pain and managed to pull a gag around her mouth before doubling over and vomiting.  Her voice restricted, the others rushed forward, one pushing her down, the other holding the knife to her throat.  She struggled against the gag, but all that came out was a high-pitched jumble.

            “Shh…” the sharp-nosed one shushed, pushing her back so that her hand slipped on the puddle of the fat man’s vomit.  “We already know women talk too much, you don’t need to tell us.”

            The others laughed at that, but Valkyrie sobbed.  This… this wasn’t fair!  Sepheline had sent her down to learn, control herself, atone, not to be at the mercy of some horny low-lives!

            The weasel crouched, a knife in his hand, drawn from some unseen scabbard.  He crept closer, closer, and Valkyrie was completely unable to do anything about it.  She stared back, hopeless eyes gushing like the clouds above.  “Well, aren’t you a treasure...?”

            His hand crept up her leg, beneath her threadbare garment.  She squirmed back, screaming at her bonds, but that only seemed to make his smile spread.

            “Don’t resist,” he grinned, moving closer and closer.  “It really makes this a pain… well, for you, at least.”

            She felt his fingers creep past her calf, then her knee, and soon they crept by her mid-thigh.  Through the gag, she screamed at the injustice.  She tore at her bonds with anger and fear.  This is it.  I’m ruined.

            She watched his face, and with every motion he made, a little bit of her fear transformed into a little bit more anger.  She breathed heavier, heavier, and when the man made eye contact, he looked hesitant.

            How dare this man try to take something so sacred from her?!  How dare he think he can try and not suffer consequences?!

            Her vision began clouding red.  She knew it was wrong, but these men wouldn’t leave here alive.

            She sprang to her feet, flinging the men off her.  Turning, she put all her weight, all her motion into a vicious kick to the sharp-nosed one’s face, then turned and brought the shadowy one’s head down to meet her knee.  The fat one raised a disoriented, meaty fist to beat her down, but she sidestepped, punched his ample gut, then head-butted him and watched him fall.

            His body thumped against the cobblestone street.  Breath heaving, she tore the gag out of her mouth and threw it down onto the flooded street beside her.

            There was motion behind her.  Vision still red, she turned just in time to see the weasel’s body hurtling toward her, arms outstretched.

            He knocked her flat and kneed her in the stomach, making her wheeze.  He punched her once, twice, across the face with one hand as he undid his belt with the other.

            She felt him tear at her clothes, felt blood from his nose drip onto her bare skin.  All the anger erupted within her, so much that she screamed at the whole world, a deathly, piercing scream that seemed to make his ears bleed.

            The storm picked up suddenly, and in a searing display, lightning streaked onto the streets as if it had its own mind.  The bolts lashed first at the sharp-nosed one, then the other men, leaving smoking, charred craters in their wake.

            Valkyrie still lay on the cold, hard street, the red in her vision fading to black.  She tried to move but found unconsciousness rapidly taking her senses.

            It came, and she did not try to reject it.

* * *

            Valkyrie’s eyes fluttered open, and breath heaved into her lungs.  She sat up sharply, wincing as the action sent aching pangs echoing through her head.  What had happened?  Where the hell was she?

            Flicking between targets, her eyes bounced around the scene and she took it all in.  The rain, falling in a light drizzle, the flooded cobblestone streets, the three identical craters, and the three blackened corpses lying all around her.

            Slowly, her gaze drifted down, toward her own lap.  With horror she saw her garments torn, leaving her exposed, and everything rushed back at once.

            With tears in her eyes, she stood to her feet and closed her cloak around her to cover what they had left exposed.  Those men, those corpses still steaming… they had tried to rape her.

            But they were three more bodies she’d dropped, three more reasons for Sepheline to never take her back.  She’d lost control, she’d let her reason slip… she remembered the lightning reacting to her rage, lashing out and frying the three men, and nothing else.  Not only was she losing control, that side of her was growing more and more powerful.  It was capable… of some sort of fell magic.  

            She ran down the almost pitch-black street, illuminated only by what feeble moonlight permeated the rain.  Sobbing, sniffing, hiccupping, she looked back over her shoulder, terrified of what they’d tried to do, of what she’d actually done.  Sepheline was right.  She wasn’t getting better.

            She rounded a corner, found herself in the barren market square, left empty by night.  Glancing around, she made sure no one was there to see her.  Crouching on all fours, she crawled inside a merchant’s stall, and curled up in a feeble ball, away from the rain.

            There, she let all the terror, anger, and fear pour in tears down her face.  She wasn’t safe here.  She couldn’t stay.  She was broken, she was alone.

            But perhaps… perhaps redemption lay in Pandemonium.  She didn’t suppose she’d be any safer here on the streets, and every moment she spent away from her home she was slowly dying, no matter what side of the continent she was on.   At least… at least over there, there would be no vermin trying to steal her virginity.

            The merchants… they traveled around, they knew what went on.  Maybe they’d know about a group traveling into those lands, one that could make her burden lighter.

            Gradually, her crying stopped and her heart calmed.  It was settled, then.  She’d find herself a company and travel east.  East into lands where no man dared venture.

            For some reason, that comforted her weary mind.