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Jaron, horrified, and fled down the steps of the Tower. Jaron had not been a gentle woman—it was hard to live this life, and to hear all of the dirty little secrets of all of the people of the city, and still have a gentle heart. The life of a Sin Eater seemed to breed callousness, but Jaron had been kind in her way. Vekal had turned to her when the secrets that he had held were too many and too painful, and she had counseled him on what to do next.
    She was like the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever had…
    “Now we both know that isn’t true, don’t we?” s aid the voice of flies in the back of Vekal’s head.
    “What? What do you mean?” he asked out loud, as a trio of drunken Menaali soldiers fell out of another of the open doors to spill wine and scrolls on the floor. They saw him, stopped, and frowned, and Vekal could see the thoughts cross their addled minds: was this the one that they weren’t supposed to kill? Or the one that they were?
    “Well, you are quite recognizable, with all of your scars,” s niggered the buzzing voice of the demon inside of him.
    “Shut up!” Vekal hissed, even though he knew that the creature lodged in his soul was speaking the truth. The scars of Vekal’s childhood in the desert, by luck or by curse, had never healed fully. They grew as his body did, forming white criss-crossed streaks all across his face, his arms, and the ruinous forms of his feet. They had stopped hurting many years ago, and he would have had as much movement in his body as anyone else did, were it not for the beating that he had sustained and the arrow wound in the middle of his back. At least they bound it for me. Vekal winced.
    “You what, worm?” said the nearest soldier, squinting and swaying on his feet. “What did you say to me?”
    “No, I didn’t say anything, it wasn’t you…” Vekal started to say, before his lips suddenly growled, morphed, and a new voice came out of his face. “ You are a fat fool whose best days are behind him. Better to lie down and die now, so that you can’t ruin your next life anymore!” s aid the buzzing demon with Vekal’s lips.
    No! The Sin Eater tried to shake his head, but the damage was already done. The soldier snarled, stepping forward into the cramped corridor and widening his stance into a classic fighting pose, one hand drawing a long, curved dagger, as his friends leered and started to draw their own weapons.
    Vekal felt a pulse of something flood through his limbs, like the hottest and strongest of coffee from the souk markets at the edge of the city. His heart was thumping in his chest like a charging horse, his body felt light and suddenly without pain, and a feeling of anger was welling up through his spine and chest.
    “Kill. Kill. KILL!” The demon’s voice and his own intermingled as the demon lent him energy, power, and purpose. Everything was so simple now. Vekal laughed at how ridiculously slow the bigger Menaali soldier was, and how he was relying on his dagger to provide most of the threat for him. A feeling not like rage, or anger, but like joy flooded through his body as he went forward towards the blade, but then at the last possible moment stamped out with a foot, connecting with the soldier’s own kneecap. It crunched horribly, and the man howled in pain, slashing wildly.
    But Vekal, moving faster than his wounded current state should allow, caught the forearm and wrestled the dagger from the crippled soldier, before elbowing him in the face, and sending him sprawling into the soldier behind him.
    The Sin Eater couldn’t be sure just what was happening to him—whether he was in control of his body or whether the demon was. Together they were forming an unholy, terrible union of will, training, and unnatural speed and strength. The demon was feeding off of Vekal’s knowledge of the place, knowing that these corridors were too small for anything more than a grappling brawl, and too narrow for a weapon to swing.
    But the