The streets of Pragnosis were eerily quiet as they walked on the road to the east side of the city. It was the middle of the day and normally would be completely busy at this point, people bustling to and forth trying to get their second meal of the day endemic to this time period. Now only small puddles of melted gore were evidence that any other life ever existed here. His companion remained quiet throughout their journey, her face pale, eyes wide, surveying the empty streets. A few times she almost looked like she wanted to say something, but whatever words they were died in her throat. The walk felt both long and short. It was long because there was a subtle tension in every step, now and again mana would flare up occasionally from a distance, sometimes closer, sometimes swift and silent and sometimes overwhelming in power. It was short because no words were said throughout the entire journey and ultimately despite the tension, nothing happened, no words were spoken. Any narrative regarding the walk was purely internal and for the most part Banks just turned off the parts of his brain that did more than remain alert for any attacks.

  Eventually the girl stopped and Banks stopped with her. There was a set of simple squarish houses built out of rough looking bricks from the rest of the building but for a window planter containing several red petalled flowers. He had no idea what type they were. He was not the most knowledgeable of plants, as his dead cacti could attest. The waitress got to the door and then hesitated, it was understandable. For all that the uncertainty is often said to be the worst thing, the truth is the moment of despair that follows, when uncertain dread coalesces into certain doom is the time of greatest horror, and Banks had no illusions as to the certainty of their survival. He watched as she mustered her strength before darting into the house as if her courage would fail her. She disappeared inside and Banks waited outside like a potato, examining the unchanging scenery. Two people entered his line of sight but both left it almost as soon as their eyes met. Perhaps it was just as well. He wasn't really in the mood for talking now. Instead he sat and waited and watched as a town underwent a nearly silent apocalypse.

  "Gone," the waitress said as she pushed open the door. Her eyes were lifeless.

  "You're back," Banks said awkwardly.

  "Two of those piles," she said, her voice cracking. "One at the table, one in the kitchen." She took deep breaths as if struggling to breathe. "One more little pile in the little crib." For a moment she just stood there shaking silent sobs speaking when words failed. Banks was similarly unable to fill in the silence. After a few moments he decided to go with a classic.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, his voice calm and firm, unable to demonstrate the sorrow that he wanted to express.

  "Do...do you think there's an afterlife," she said, her voice completely off kilter. "Do you think they're there? They both believed in the Light."

  "Yes," Banks stated, causing her sobs to halt. Perhaps something in his tone caught her attention, because she wiped her eyes and put on a somewhat shaky smile.

  "That's a nice thought," she said. "I wish they got to see me enter magic school," she said before something inside her broke and Bank's eyes widened.

  "You just detonated your core," he said, his voice level despite himself. Core destruction was a possible, even necessary part of being a wizard, but detonating your core would surely kill. That amount of mana rampaging through the organs would lead to an almost certain death, requiring healers with the highest level of expertise to even allow a chance to live. It was something impossible to do by accident.

  "Thank you," she said. "I'll get to see them soon." She stood smiling even as the blood drained from her face, and Banks watched, struggling to find the words to say to a person beyond words. Even as the waitress collapsed and her body ceased breathing, he sat there silently watching a woman die, his mind full of his thoughts, but ultimately not saying a thing.

  xxx

  Banks turned over a last shovelful of dirt looking at the final resting place, he had hastily created. It had been a long, long while since he had to dig a grave. It was never a pleasant experience. The ritual of a funeral had never sat right with him, who could pop back ten or twenty years and see them as fresh as new. To people bound to the linear vision of time it always came across as some grasping attempt to halt the River, to preserve some scrap of the dead, some precious image that gradually began to distort, rather than giving it a clean break. Somebody wiser than he had once told him that the dead should not rule the living, and it was a practice that he heartily disagreed with.

  Besides in a very real way, until this time loop ended she wasn't dead. Her and every person within it existed in a state of flux, not quite alive, but the timeline in which they died didn't quite exist yet. He meant that to be a comforting thought, but it was less so than he anticipated. Tossing the spade away, he straightened out getting that click in his back before he surveyed the environment. The whole place just felt empty, with the vast majority of the place turned into heaps of flesh scattered here and there. While everybody that had at least a basic mana core would survive, that still eliminated over ninety percent of the population. Those that survive would hardly be able to continue their daily lives, he wondered if they were bunkered down, forming a resistance, organizing patrols, consolidating supplies and whatever else they felt they needed to do to survive this unexpected and unexplained apocalypse. The situation was complex and delicate and there was only one thing to do. He calmly stood up, brushing the dust from his pants as he turned back towards the market on the west side of town.

  "Five finger discount time," he said to himself pumping a hand in the air. Nothing beats the thrill of looting during a time of disaster. The combination of the the natural danger from whatever disaster is ongoing, the fear of getting caught and the delicious taboo of committing a crime in the middle of a state of emergency was both fun and a healthy way to get the blood pumping. Whistling to himself he started walking towards the Eastern side of town. His whistling echoed through the empty streets as his eyes swept left and right. His mana vision was still a bit wonky from that big showdown earlier, but recovered enough to hopefully tell if anybody dangerous was approaching him. It didn't.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  His footsteps faltered as he saw more bodies laid across the street, fresh bodies. Not the kind that were reduced to good, but a dozen men wearing guard uniforms. All of them subject to a violent death, bodies shattered from sheer force... and then he saw the killer standing on a nearby rooftop. His hackles raised immediately as he forced himself to not step backwards, the psychological comfort of distance, being entirely inadequate when dealing with this type of monster. Magic so dense and so condensed that it barely extruded from their body, casual examinations dismissing it as a shadow or a mote of darkness in the eye. Three things immediately became evident upon the first glance.

  1) The person on the roof was an orc. This was very evident even though the extinct race was normally green-skinned. Their skin always turned darker as their mana levels increased, and this person's skin had the faintest coloration of green that prevented it from being seen as purely black.

  2) The orc was a woman. This was made clearer by the fact that the warrior race were always bare from the waist up, male or female and despite the ten pack that he could only ever dream of obtaining, there were two large things marked her as very definitely female. The only other scrap of clothing was a waistcloth that went down to her knees revealing legs and arms that even a decade of gym could never get him.

  3) The orc had a full head of hair, lush locks flowing down her back and sides and carpeting the nearby rooftop, like a thick black moss cloak giving her an air of regality. This was most alarming of all, as orcs were by nature hairless, gaining braids of hair only as they increased in power and rank up to a supposed maximum of five braids.

  For a long moment she stood there silently regarding him and he did the same, a degree of silent scrutiny between experienced combatants evaluating their potential opponent. Then...

  "My eyes are up here," the orc woman said, her voice low and smooth, every words slotting together as if they were stamped onto the air.

  "I'm not looking at your eyes," Banks freely admitted. His frank admission caused the orc's sharp teeth to flash, whether in aggression or amusement he couldn't tell. Sometimes the two for orcs were not as far apart as they may seem.

  "It's a strange narrow road that we both find ourselves on, Lord of the River," the orc said. Her words caused Banks to blink before he finally locked eyes with her.

  "You know me?" he said, thinking back over his history, trying to place a name to a face...or a chest. "And yet I cannot quite place your name. Would you mind helping the memory of a humble traveler?"

  "Oh, you do not know my name," the orc woman said with that bared teeth. "It is a refreshing experience to meet as a stranger."

  "With those luscious locks I've probably sworn by it a few times," Banks admitted, looking at that ridiculous amount of hair. "I can probably make an educated guess."

  "We both fought against Reincarnation on that day," she said causing Banks to take a deep breath of cold air, thinking about that day so long ago. A single name from back then stuck in his head, among the multitudes of people involved in that skirmish.

  "Nime," he said feeling a thrill of ice down his back. "The woman that shattered the glass ceiling, how nice to finally meet." This was not a fight that he could win.

  "Likewise Lord of the River," the woman stated. "Now if I could just ask you to come with me." Her hair swirled around her, creating a tornado of threads before lunging towards him. He leapt back, but the strings of black were relentless following each and every one of his movements. Rhinestones appeared around him and were fired at at the mass of hair, only to be casually caught by the dark locks. He summoned more rhinestones, only to pause as he felt a grasp around his ankle. A a single hair, had caught him, and before his eyes it multiplied strand by strand until a thick rope wrapped itself around his leg and pulled him off the ground. Everything was jumbled for a brief moment until he felt a surge of magic and the tightness around his ankle suddenly ceased as he felt himself grabbed out of midair.

  "Bad hair day Banks," Ascrew said as he casually tossed him to his feet. The man's lazy disposition had reduced by half as he ran a hand through his stringy hair, eying up the orc woman with an unusually intense glare.

  "You should see the other guy," Banks said pointing at Nime.

  "Man, I thought orcs were extinct," the assassin said. "But either tusk over there is one, or the dentists are getting more creatively."

  "For the most part they are," Banks said. "The orcs being extinct, not the dentists of course. But the dead have been surprisingly active as of late."

  "Yeah, it has been just a bit on the disturbing side," Ascrew stated. "I've never had to worry about the possibility of repeat customers before. It's put a lot of stress on my love life."

  "Your..." Banks started, before sighing. "Is this really the time for nonsense."

  "Take all the time you need River Lord," Nime said. "My schedule is momentarily empty."

  "Care for an introduction Mr. Lord," Ascrew said poking his side.

  "Ascrew meet Nime," Banks said bluntly. "Nime, Acscrew."

  "That's not how you do it Banks," Ascrew. "Listen up my man. Behold I am Ascrew, the world's greatest assassin, slayer of tyrants, overthrower of emperors, the daylight assassin, the silent executioner." The last one was one hundred percent made up. Nobody would ever accuse Ascrew of being silent. "And if you don't leave, the one who will kill you."

  "Nime," the orc woman said, casually baring her teeth in what Banks was pretty sure was a smile.

  "Just Nime," Ascrew said deflating silently. "That's a bit underwhelming."

  "Orcs names are always followed by the name of their clan and a curated list of achievements," Banks said shaking his head. "There's only one instance in which they only go by one name."

  "Exile?" Ascrew piped up.

  "Then there name would be orc the exile, followed by a list of achievements," Banks stated. "No, the only orcs that just go by one name are those that have transcended their role in the tribe entirely and whose achievements cannot be measured by any other orc. Those are then enshrined as deities."

  "Oh, we're not going to have an easy time are we?" Ascrew said, a pair of daggers appearing in his hands.

  "Practically zero percent chance of victory," Banks admitted.

  "Oh, and you did such a great job of cutting my hair earlier," Niime stated, a hint of challenge in her voice as a wave of black threads seemed to fall upon them. "It has been getting a bit too long lately. Let's see if you can cut the rest of it."