**The following two stories ("Mercy" & "Hero") take place after "Of Lowlifes, Lutes, & Liars" Chapter 11: Shattered.**

An ironwood blade sliced the air around the training circle as Tazanni Barshaw drew it from the Challenge Rack. A piercing, bright red light flashed around the perimeter of the arena, signaling the approval of another challenger.

The hide-wrapped hilt of her heavy wooden sword creaked under the major’s grip, her thick fingers indenting into the leather with ferocious intensity. It had been so long since she’d drawn a blade that it felt foreign and uncomfortable in her oversized hand.

In the distance, as far from the rack as they could be, Mister Hallem’s taunts reached Major Barshaw’s ears. Each word oozed hatred and contempt for his half-breed captive, who’d been beaten bloody, but was still clinging to life. The horrid sergeant had the outcast by the hair, and had tugged her face to meet his own hideous mug.

“There now, filth,” Hallem seethed, only inches away from the Deceiver’s face. Khazmine had fallen to her knees, yet refused to drop her weapon, her own ironwood blade clasped in trembling fingers. The half-breed was straining to hold onto the only defense she had against Mister Hallem, but she wasn’t strong enough to wield it anymore. “I say it’s about time we end this little spar.”

And at his last word, Major Barshaw took off sprinting toward the pair, with each footfall kicking up a cloud of dust as she raced forward. The major picked up speed with each thunderous pace, her ether powering boosted strides the close the distance even faster.

But that wasn’t all the dread major had planned. Splitting her ether between strength and speed, Major Barshaw summoned a localized storm around her massive body, swirling tight ribbons of white energy around her at surprising velocity.

It took immense concentration to rein in Tazanni’s storm, which risked injuring the outcast if the Solanai was too hasty. With remarkable effort and control, the Goddess of Vengeance readied for a targeted assault.

In the time it took Khazmine to launch a mouthful of spit at Mister Hallem’s cruel face, Tazanni Barshaw closed the gap between them and tensed to strike. With a powerful leap into the air, Major Barshaw accelerated on the downswing, connecting with an armored paudron with perfect timing.

Sergeant Hallem never saw it coming. Nor, for that matter, had Khazmine.

In a flash of blinding ether, the arena filled with an echoing crash of ironwood on steel, deafening the inner ring of spectators at the forceful blow. It sounded as loud and ferocious as a lightning strike, and proved equally devastating to the object of Tazanni’s aggression. Were it not for Mister Hallem’s armor, the major would have caved in his shoulder and bashed his sword arm to pieces.

Her ironwood blade splintered on impact, sending fragments of ancient timber all around the sandy arena. Scattered outside the training circle, initiates gasped at the force required to damage an ironwood sword, let alone obliterate one.

The arena filled with wretched, pained screaming as Mister Hallem hunched over from the blow. Onlookers watched on in stunned amazement, with a single exception ignoring the fight completely.

“Out of the way!” Jaycen shouted. “MOVE!”

His ears tensed and with another ether spark at the ready, Jaycen Mevralls dodged and weaved through the audience to reach a platform he could leap from. Between Hallem’s screaming and Barshaw’s blow, Jaycen’s orders couldn’t break through the crowds to beg them to make way for him.

“GODS DAMMIT! MOVE!” Jaycen roared as he shoved misters Allyn and Jarrow away from one of the many platforms surrounding the arena.

The lieutenant tensed like a spring before jumping from the raised platform. Swirls of aqua-colored ether softened his fall, and Jaycen took off running for the closer of two input panels at top speed, ignoring the combatants entirely. Had Jaycen seen the state of Barshaw’s weapon, he might have called out to stop her, but his mind was preoccupied at present.

Only the handgrip and half of the blade length remained from the strike, leaving Major Barshaw with a hellaciously cruel-looking broken sword. Each splintered edge could deal razor-sharp damage, which opened up new possibilities for the attacking Solanai.

It also easily filled her subordinate with a deep, bone-chilling fear. Reeling from the strike, Mister Hallem’s eyes squinted as they filled with tears and dust. The hand that had clutched onto Khazmine’s hair rushed to check if his shoulder was broken, only for the sergeant to abandon his plan for an evasive maneuver.

At his release, the half-breed face-planted into the dirt, her sword still firmly tucked into her clenched hand. Hearing the muffled, dwindling whimpers from the outcast, Major Barshaw scowled at the man who’d beaten her new hire so savagely.

A swipe of splintered ironwood missed Hallem’s neck by inches, with the sergeant sensing the rush of wind trailing behind it. Mister Hallem was immediately aware of just how serious Barshaw was with her strikes, and tensed at the prospect of one of them landing.

The major could hear the fright in Hallem’s breaths; short, strained, and filled with barely contained whines with every pathetic exhale. For as malicious and miserable as the sergeant was, he folded immediately in the presence of superior force.

Good. That served the major just fine.

Mister Hallem would find little mercy here. With so many onlookers having witnessed the entire spar, Major Barshaw saw fit to make an example of Hallem. If anything, and demonstration of actions and consequences should prove educational for all passersby.

A rapid sword strike from the major rattled against Hallem’s blade, sending shocks of pain down his already battered limb. Weakened and throbbing from Barshaw’s hit, Mister Hallem was forced to switch hands and block her horrific strikes with his non-dominant limb.

Already on the back foot, Mister Hallem quickly ran out of energy trying to defend himself. His superior’s blows kept coming achingly close to shattering Hallem’s defenses, and time was on the major’s side. She could wear Hallem down for ages before taking the whelp apart, piece by piece.

The gallery of onlookers watched on as swipe after swipe of Barshaw’s splintered sword ripped plates from Mister Hallem, carving him up like a Merkander beast. Only Lieutenant Mevralls averted his eyes in favor of the task at hand.

Reaching an input panel and frantically pressing buttons to override the current program, the Solanai slammed his hand into the light console before shouting obscenities at it. The panel refused to shut down or stop the fight, and searing-hot rings of the training circle restricted Jaycen from entering.

There was nothing for it. One last jarring insult to the panel was all Jaycen could spare before sprinting toward the Challenge Rack. The lieutenant reached in for the smallest weapon he could draw—something lightweight, that could be wielded with one hand. A dagger would do, so the Solanai grabbed it, triggering the training circle rings to flash for another approved challenger.

Jaycen ducked between two rings and made a mad dash for the fallen Deceiver, wholly uninterested in Tazanni thrashing her subordinate. He wasn’t worried about Barshaw in the slightest, not even sending a single glance her way.

Major Barshaw was deadly, dangerous, and far too powerful to take lightly. Sure, there was a certain brutality in their trade, but a proper Solanai knew the difference between meting out justice and deriving pleasure in inflicting pain.

The dread major, for all her victories, had never, not once, felt fulfilment in hurting others. Unlike Mister Hallem, who reveled in the rush of power over weaker opponents, Tazanni Barshaw saw strength as a tool to write wrongs and enforce justice.

As with most soldiers of her rank and higher, Tazanni had skills to leverage and the experience to know when to use them. Anything else was needless cruelty.

But by gods did Hallem tempt her.

He’d been a bully and a sadist from day one of initiate training; a brute and a tyrant to anyone underfoot. He’d cowed Quin Scurving, Mister Allyn, and Mister Jarrow, making them underlings of his own. Hallem had even taken to mistreating servants, charwomen, and fetch-and-carries, just to feel a rush of dominance among peers.

And that starving half-breed Barshaw had taken in off the streets? The poor creature was sprawled face-down in the dust and dirt, bleeding badly from multiple wounds. Even now, her pale lilac skin was darkening from savage bruises left by the insidious Hallem. He’d beaten her half to death for his own amusement, and to sate some secret desire Hallem couldn’t give voice to.

That nonsense stopped today. Not between their rounds, not after meal-time. Now.

Major Barshaw had enough to deal with as it was. Strange happenings in The Dregs, an unusual rise in Star Guard activities, and secret rumblings she neglected to worry subordinates with; all weighed heavy on Tazanni’s mind. She had little time or patience to reeducate foolish beasts who should have known better.

Stripped of his armor, Zatchery Hallem resorted to evasive maneuvers, backing away from deadly swipes of ironwood edges. Every last metal plate had been removed, their rivots torn and straps sliced clear, leaving only his practice gambeson, pants, and boots.

For the life of him, Mister Hallem couldn’t figure out why his commanding officer had bothered to remove his armor. Major Barshaw could have easily shredded him without removing a single plate, yet Hallem was exposed, humiliated, by the protracted seige.

In an instant, it dawned on Hallem why. This wasn’t about simply punishing him, nor of getting revenge for the injuries to her new hired help. It was about teaching him a valuable lesson.

Mister Hallem had begged for years for Major Barshaw to teach him, to take him under her wing, and accept Hallem as her apprentice. But his cruelty of spirit and his wanton disregard for weaker beings had only ever earned Mister Hallem a cold shoulder.

And now, after all this time, Zatchery Hallem felt the full force of Major Barshaw’s ether storm. A tight spiral of ether lifted Hallem off the ground and whipped into his beaten body. Bolts of electricity zapped into the sergeant, seizing his muscles in unfathomable agony. Shocks of pain rippled through his face, chest, and limbs, yet his tormented body was incapable of screaming.

Mister Hallem was so wracked by punishing energy discharges that he couldn’t recognize Major Barshaw’s one act of mercy. If she hadn’t removed Hallem’s plates, and stripped his brutish body bare, he’d have been cooked alive by the might of her storm.

An errant flicker of swirling ether sliced into Hallem’s cheek, and a trail of blood stained his face red. The sudden stink of fresh blood snapped Major Barshaw out of her fury, and she recalled the violent energy back into her core. Mister Hallem plummeted to the dusty ground, his ravaged body landing hard like a sack of grain.

A single cough was all Mister Hallem could manage as silence descended on the arena. It was proof enough that he hadn’t died, and that Major Barshaw had at least a scrap of mercy left for this horrible man.

Unable to move, and still trembling in pain, Mister Hallem awaited a sound beating, closing his eyes and straining to listen to Major Barshaw’s approach. His terrified sniveling caused the dread major to squint at him, abandoning further punishment as an unnecessary show of force.

Instead, Tazanni stooped low, pried the ironwood sword out of Hallem’s clenched hand, and watched as the training circle rings flashed yellow at the sergeant’s defeat. If he had any sense at all, Mister Hallem would learn to value kindness, and heed the major’s warning from then on.

To Mister Hallem and every initiate in the arena, Tazanni’s message was clear. No pleading, no excuses. Whoever mistreated the half-breed refugee would answer to Major Barshaw, likely suffering the same fate, or worse.

Just as the major tossed Mister Hallem’s sword away, a tickling sensation from an ether spark caught her notice. The Titan of Tevrose bristled at the feeling, only to snap her head toward its source, just in time to hear her subordinate cry out.

“MAJOR! HELP!” Jaycen screamed from the other side of the arena, drawing his superior from Mister Hallem’s side.

Major Barshaw raced over to the rumpled pair, with the lieutenant hugging the wounded outcast in his arms, spreading her blood all over his hands. Jaycen was weeping openly, his mental wounds reopened long after his physical ones had healed.

“I can’t stop it, there’s so, there’s just so many…” Jaycen sputtered. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave…”

Tazanni winced at seeing her friend so upset, reminding her of days gone by on the battlefield, and all the sorrow that followed them.

Jaycen mumbled pitifully to Tazanni, rocking back and forth with the Deceiver in his embrace. “P-please, Major. She’s bleeding internally. I-I don’t, I don’t know what to do.”

Without a second thought, Major Barshaw reached over to Jaycen’s breastplate and unlatched the clasps holding his cloak in place. The heavy black cloth was wrenched away from the Solanai, and Major Barshaw wrapped up the outcast like a newborn.

Swaddled in her arms, still and cold, Khazmine nestled against Tazanni Barshaw, unaware of the people around her. Initiates, officers, even Colonel Glazebane himself watched the two Solanai dash off with the beaten outcast, racing full-speed to the nearest hovel for care, leaving Mister Hallem all but forgotten.