why can I never keep myself out of trouble? I must have some kind of deathwish. Silas ran his hand over the bandage on his upper chest. He had seen the savage red wound that had resulted from his foolish attempt to fight a Banisher wielding a power sword. That fight had cost him his chainblade, and by all rights should have cost him his life. It had also resulted in his precious shemagh being ripped almost clean in half. For some reason the little bit of fabric's wounds had been more bothersome to him than his own. Silas resolved to repair the scarf as soon as he could find some decent string to bind it back together. He also resolved to stop picking unwinnable fights. A resolution he knew he would break before the month was out. Why did I think I had a chance against that man? It was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever seen, this angry kid running at him. But I was just so angry. That entire world was nothing but backwards, frothing, illogical, "I art holier than thou" morons. First the festival-goers, then the instructors at the scholla, then those pompous banishers. Too stupid to do simple math and decide that two more people up and fighting would only help us kill that thing. What had he said? "We don't need our sacrifices to fight for us"? Human sacrifices. If they had seen any other holy man from any other faith even insinuate the idea of what they were about to do... He exhaled. Let his pointless rage at what had passed drift from his mind. At least I'm alive. They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Whoever said that should try getting HIS ass skewered by a fracking Daemon Prince. Silas ran his hand farther down, to the patch of cloth that covered what was probably the worst wound he would ever live through. A flaming sword longer than he was tall had been thrown through is body, pinning him to the wall. He didn't remember the pain, and he thought that was odd. Every other scar on his body was a reminder of pain. But this? The blow that had filled his eyes with an image of death waiting for him at the end of a long dark tunnel? All he remembered was the thought that death looked a lot like his middle finger. Silas chuckled, remembering the act of defiance that had caused that sword to be thrown at him. Again, me picking impossible fights. That thing had me running out of my own skull. Hell, I spent half the fight trying to get as far away from it as I could. And when it's finally brought down by Aksai and that Brave, baddass, beautiful fracking servitor, I think I'm the big man agian. I flip it the finger and profane in triumph. I would have thrown a flaming sword at me too. But how many people can actually say they've flipped off a daemon and lived? That's got to mean something right? Silas thought about it. Then he thought about all his other narrow escapes. The Gadtson, Pearalix, Ceazerus II, the Fjordes, 624-VL, [more on that coming whenever I get around to writing it down] When Silas actually thought about it, it hadn't been any skill on his part that kept him alive. It had been someone else's help, or the mistakes of his enemies, or just plain fracking luck. And sooner or later that luck would run out. Silas couldn't take it any more. He had been stuck in this bed in the medical wing for days now with no one to talk to but the preacher, and it was driving him mad. He recalled the old spacer legend about the freighter Ishimura whose crew had gone insane and killed each other, and decided that the story probably started something like this. He jumped off his cot, ignoring the protestations of the medical staff, and awkwardly walked through the ship to the hanger deck. He climbed into a one man utility flyer and powered it up. He didn't intend to run. He knew he would never get far. He just wanted to fly. He pulled the pod out of the hanger and used the maneuvering thrusters to put him into a parallel course with the Inquisitor's massive ship. He shut off the meager artificial gravity, cut power to the inertial dampeners and gyros and just drifted. It felt good to be in space again, back in the arms of his friend, his mistress, his mother. In the black, everything felt right. In the black nothing could reach him. In the black nothing could hurt him. In the black, he was safe. So what if my luck is finite? I lived today, I'll live tomorrow, and I'll stretch my luck as far as I can.