Six weeks passed in a blur of blood and steel and pain that never quite ended.
Nero woke on the forty-third day to find Lyon standing at the foot of his bed instead of the usual attendant. The doctor's face was unreadable in the grey pre-dawn light filtering through the barred window.
"Get dressed," Lyon said. "You have a hunt."
Nero sat up slowly, his body protesting. The modifications had settled into his flesh over the weeks, but mornings still brought stiffness that took minutes to work through. His left arm—the regrown one—ached differently than the rest of him, a deep cold that started in the bone.
"What am I hunting?"
"Grade C Abomination. Deep in Malady's Garden, past the second marker. It's been killing merchants on the southern trade route." Lyon set a bundle on the bed. "You have one day. Bring back the corpse intact."
