Dedicated to so1tgoes

It takes all I the strength left in me to roll out of the way of the door as it falls.

I am still recovering from the pain as Verro soldiers flood into Artery. They yank me to my feet and walk me towards the Hearth.

People flood the Artery, cramming together in the mass of bodies. Today must be my execution.

When we get to the Hearth, I see that the entire Network has gathered to see my death, even the pacified clanless have joined.

I am strapped to a whipping post. My wrist are wedged into tight manacles, my chest pressed against the wood.

They slice the back of my tunic with a dagger and rip it off my shoulders, revealing my bare back.

"By the power vested in the Council of the Network, Alaric Constantine is sentenced to death for tampering with ancient magic. He murdered his oppressor, and his own mother. He must be brought down," the herald says.

"I didn't murder anyone," I say through grit teeth. "The Lizard of Death is coming for you-."

My words freeze on my tongue. I see him. In the shadows of the Artery, a bloodied villagers from my vision.

He bursts from the darkness, tackling the herald to the ground and twisting his neck with intense ferocity. He's like a crazed animal, craving death.

The soldiers are stunned for a moment.

My wrists feel hot. I look at the manacles and see that they've been melted off.

Escape to Daws, Alaric Constantine. The war will begin. Soon the doors to the clans will be closed and anyone left in the Artery will die.

I yank my wrists from the remains of the manacles and yank the sword from the nearest soldiers sheath. They react at that, lunging at me instead of the insane killer atop the carcass of the herald.

Time stops for everyone as the blade of the sword slides smoothly through the chest of the villager.

My hand releases the hilt, and I step back. Looking at the carnage my own hand created.

Two bodies. Two, making four, adding to all those who died in the village in my vision.

This is what war is, Alaric. Become accustomed.

"Only the soulless can kill without remorse," I say, not even realizing that I'd said it aloud until seconds later.

Then more animalistic villagers pour into the Artery, attacking anyone in their path.

My instincts tell me to fight, to defend my people, to play along in this war.

I yank the sword from the body of the villager and focus in on one particular target. A villager whom had ripped the throat of a man out with his bare teeth. Droplets of blood splatter his face, glowing like beacons against his porcelain skin.

My muscles are moving before my brain has time to register what's happening. My blade slashes shallowly across the man's chest. He howls in pain and lunges for my face.

I raise my blade and it slides through his Adam's Apple. He chokes for a moment, his body dangling gruesomely from the tip of my blade.

You are a natural killer, Alaric.

The blade falls from my hands, cushioned by the fine sheen of blood that has accumulated on the stone floor.

I am a killer...

I am a killer...

I can't seem to process the four words.

You are what I call, a Impulse Warrior. Under pressure of war you become a skilled killer without any background. You are truly a creature of history, Alaric Constantine.

I am an Impulse Warrior. I am a skilled soldier?

My mind retraces back to when I punched Carter. I'd had perfect precision with aiming my blow at his gut, and I'd swooped smoothly through the crack in the wall of the storerooms.

I'd also almost strangled my mother.

My mind digs further to the time my father died, when I was young enough to have forgotten.

At the time we'd been staying in Thalaxia, the clan of maternity, because my mother had just found out she was pregnant.. My father had been commuting me to Daws every morning. We'd been walking through the Artery after a day at school when a group of soldiers jumped us. At the time I had only been seven so no cared that I hadn't yet had The Dream. But my father was fortysomething and he'd not Dreamed. Verro was tired of having an outlier among them.

The soldiers cut my father's through before my eyes and through him into the Hearth. I watched as he body melted to ashes.

The soldiers were debating whether to kill me to and say we'd fallen into the fire.

All I remember beyond that point is getting angry one second and then being covered in blood that wasn't mine the next.

I'd killed them. I'd murdered them because my instincts told me to survive.

I'd hid in the Artery for six days, until the nurses from Thalaxia found me and washed me up. I told them the truth of what happened, and still to this day only those nurses, my mother, and the Council are the only ones who know how my father really died. Everyone else thinks he slipped.

Nine months later, I was eight. Until then everyone thought I'd just been a late-bloomer, but I'd still not Dreamed. So the Council decided that my mother wasn't to give birth because she had some Dream that didn't allow her offspring to Dream as normal. They'd taken Sue as she was born and thrown her into the fire.

I remember at her ceremonial sacrificing, I'd become so angry as they held my squirming sister above the Hearth, I'd nearly strangled the herald to death as he announced her death.

After that day everyone hates me. My mother tried her best to get people to like her, and she succeeded. I however, remained and abomination.

I am wrenched from my flashback when a villager tackles me, posing his gnarled fangs toward my eyes m.

My fists clench around his throat. I squeeze so tight my fingertips touch.

I throw the body off of me and charge down the tunnel towards Daws.

The Hearth's light has also been infected by war. The tunnel become dark. That's strange, the Heath's never went out off schedule before.

I bounce my tongue off the roof of my mouth, emitting a click. The Artery comes into focus. So does the villager charging at me.

We slam into each other. I wind jumps from my lungs as I fall to the ground. The clawing at my face with her grime-rimmed nails seemed unfazed.

I feel the muscles in my hands clenching. It's happening again. I'm going to kill this woman before I even know what I'm doing.

I fight my muscles, forcing my hands not to clasp around her neck.

Then everything stops. We both stop struggling with each other. She falls into me. I push her away, revealing Cicada and Jonah standing above. Jonah is holding a bloodied dagger.

Cicada pulls me to my feet. "What's happening?" She demands as if I have all the answers. Even though I do.

"I'll explain later, we need to get inside a clan."

"Verro's closest," Jonah says, and we sprint down the tunnel toward the portico in the distance, my tongue clicking wildly so I don't lose sight. I didn't have to mentally turn my echolocation on, that's weird.

Villagers are pouring out from the darkness beyond Verro's entrance, clashing with soldiers.

I am so focused on running to the portico, that I forget about the tunnels of water cutting through the floor in this area. My foot slips into one and my ankle twists painfully. I collapse.

A villager is one me in seconds, clawing at the skin of my back. I twist around, my ribs aching, and slam my fist into the temple of the villager. He flies off of me.

I take the moment to burst to me feet and start running. Cicada and Jonah are already into the doors, and they are closing.

The Dragon's words echo through my skull. "Anyone left in the Artery will die".

I push myself harder, my ankle wobbling and screaming in agony as protest as I sprint.

There's barely enough room form my to slip through the doors as I reach the portico. I turn my body, both doors pressing against me as I slip through.

The door slams closed as my finger passes through.

I barely made it.

You're lucky, Alaric, but don't celebrate too soon, the Dragon's voice says.