(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Chapter 19
Ash-Mantle may have been a sorry excuse for a Dustman, but he ran on his
skinny little legs with the skill of an experienced thief. He dodged past Hive
dwellers who didn't spare a second glance for a fleeing rogue, and bumped
into a man carrying a basket of soft, purple fruit. Flinging the fellow behind
him, Ash-Mantle spun nimbly on his feet and fled. The basket flew from the
man's hands, scattering the soft pear-shaped bulbs across the ground.
They squelched underfoot, slippery as lard, and I nearly fell as I skidded
forward.
"Morte!" I yelled, "Quick!"
"Chief?!" he cried back, and with one flailing hand I grabbed onto him by the
jaw.
"KIEF?!"
I swung.
"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"
Morte spun through the air as he flew, whirling like a pale white top as he
spiraled towards the false Dustman...
And whizzed past his ear.
For a split-second my breath caught, until I heard a pitched, girlish scream.
Ash-Mantle's hands flapped as he slapped at Morte, who now clung by his
teeth to the man's rust-brown mane of hair. When he spun and tugged,
Morte came free with a mouthful of stringy brown, flecked with bits of
blood and flesh that had torn from the man's scalp.
"Give back what you stole!" I snarled, grabbing a fistful of his robes.
He looked at me calmly, as if about to comply, "With pleasure." With that,
he slid my own dagger deep into my belly.
I looked down to the torn flesh and blood trickling around the wound. It hurt
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