The Homunculus Knight

Chapter Two: Scarlet Snow

“Everyone deserves a second chance, but not a third. And by my reckoning, you lot are begging for a fourth or fifth chance. A chance you never gave those poor people back in Marighold. So I officially reject your pleas for mercy. PULL THE ROPE BOYS!”- Marshal Seigfried of Hohenbaden speaking to members of the “Rusted Scythe” Bandit Clan before executing them.

Natalie closed her fist around the tiny skull she held in her hand. She’d pulled the soot-blackened thing from the previous night's campfire and now carried it as a morbid talisman. Telling Cole, she wanted a reminder of her first hunt. He’d seemed a little surprised but hadn’t pushed the topic. The slightly ashen squirrel bones in Natalie’s hand felt incredibly delicate. She could easily crush them to powder and be rid of the temptation. But she didn't, instead keeping the option open.

Grimacing slightly, she turned to her traveling companion and asked, “Do you think we are in the Southern Marches yet?”

Cole glanced around the snowy fields around them and shrugged. “I think so? The border is constantly shifting, but we should at least be close.”

For months they’d traveled through forest and foothills. Leaving the Zaubervold Gap and heading west. Skirting the Dragontail mountains and keeping away from the scattered towns and villages. They’d left the mountains behind weeks ago, their rolling peaks disappearing behind the horizon. The forest that had replaced them had also faded away. Turning to wind-swept plains and now what might be snow-covered farm fields. The weather had worsened in the few days since Natalie’s first hunt. With near constant snowfall covering the land in a white blanket. Only disrupted by an occasional copse of Trees and the Imperial road. A thin grey line cutting through indistinct fields, guiding Cole and Natalie onwards.

While the snow didn’t ever seem to stop, the wind was surprisingly mild. With only a rare gust sending clouds of loose snow crossing the road in serpentine tendrils. Leaving Cole and Natalie in the muffled silence of winter. The crunch of boots on snow and their conversation the only sound aside from the wind.

“Where exactly are we headed to?” asked Natalie. “I never got to really map this trip out with Barnabas. So I’m more than a little lost.”

Cole took a moment to pull up his mental map before answering. “We are going to continue heading west through the Southern Marches. Taking the backroads like we have been until we reach the Alidon River. That's when things will get a bit riskier. We will need to find a boat willing to take us to Vindabon.”

Glancing around the snowy environment, Cole appended his plans. “Probably a River Sled, now that I think about it. But after a few more weeks of travel, we should reach Vindabon. I don’t think getting into the city will be that hard. My status as a Paladin is known to the local Temples, and that should smooth over any issues we might have. From there, we will need to get lodging and make further plans. Vindabon is a safe city; we should be able to stay there for a few months if need be.”

Natalie digested that for a few seconds before asking. “I guess I still have some time to practice. I can sustain the False-Life for a few minutes now, but I’m not anywhere as proficient as I need to be.”

Shrugging slightly, Cole said. “Vindabon is an…eclectic city. While I wouldn’t recommend flaunting your condition, you won’t be marked for death like in most other parts of the Holy League.”

The matter-the-factness of Cole’s statement made Natalie miss a step. Almost stumbling, she caught herself and felt a whole new set of worries mounting. For some reason, she hadn’t even considered what Cole was suggesting. She’d been so caught up with her status as a fugitive heir in the Blood Duchies. She hadn't realized how other nations might consider her. Not as a pariah or potential asset but as a monster in need of slaying.

Shuddering slightly, Natalie crossed her arms over her stomach. Seeing this, Cole tried to brighten her mood. “You will be safe as long as you travel with me. It wouldn’t be the first time a Vampire has been bound to a Rest-Bringer.”

A grimace crossed Natalie’s face at that. The slight core of resentment she felt for Cole was not helped by his words. The idea of being bound to someone, even someone she loved, rankled some part of Natalie. Not only had she lost her home, family, and life, but now her autonomy was severely curtailed. Swallowing that bitter truth down her unnaturally dry throat, Natalie stared off down the road. The grey strip of stone seemed to go on forever, a drab line through the cold wilds.

Pushing past the bitter taint gnawing on her soul, Natalie put her arm through Cole’s and moved closer to him. The sheer body heat the Homunculus gave off stunned Natalie every time she embraced or touched him. She couldn’t tell how much of it was him and how much of it was her icy Vampire flesh. Either way, the warmth was nice and helped her spirits.

Looking to further distract herself, Natalie asked Cole. “Can you tell me a story? Something to keep my mind off the road.”

Reaching down and squeezing her hand, Cole gently said. “Do you want to talk about what's bothering you instead?”

Natalie shook her head in the negative, her cheek rubbing against Cole’s shoulder with the movement. Giving her cold fingers another gentle squeeze, Cole started speaking. “Have you ever heard of a Manei?”

Again shaking her head no, Natalie asked dryly. “Let me guess. Is it some kind of undead?”

Cole snorted in amusement. “I suppose I’ve become predictable. Yes, a Manei is a type of undead, but this isn’t one of my Paladin stories. I’ve never hunted a Manei and doubt I ever will.”

That caught Natalie’s attention. Cole had told her all manner of tales involving his duties as a Paladin. Grim stories about hunting the Undead and protecting their prospective victims. Stories that Natalie had found herself enjoying less and less these days. In part because Natalie wondered if she would star in one of those stories eventually. While she’d asked Cole to stop her if she became a true Monster. The dreadful prospect of dying by his blade still hung heavily over her.

A firm squeeze of Cole’s hand pulled Natalie from her melancholic worries. He’d felt the sadness radiate off of her. While Natalie had many skills, hiding her emotions was not one of them. Cole had quickly learned to decipher her moods. An impressive feat considering his own social deficiencies. She hadn’t shared what was bothering her, and that worried Cole. The stress of the past two months had withered some of their connections. A small but noticeable bit of distance had grown between them after leaving Glockmire. Natalie’s grief and ever-turbulent emotions had pulled her away from Cole. While his own guilt and exhaustion stopped him from truly trying to close those gaps.

Seeing no obvious solution to his worries, Cole started to tell his story. “The first friend I had in this world was a Manei.” Natalie raised an eyebrow at that and considered commenting but decided not to. Her Undead-Hunting Paladin of Death had already fallen in love with two Vampires. By that standard, Cole’s newest revelation was practically banal.

“I suppose I should explain a bit before continuing. Manei are Wraiths, spirits without bodies. Who are willingly bound to a location by a powerful ritual. They tend to be far more sane and sociable than similar types of Wraith. Acting like a ghostly protector or steward for their home. In the Old Empire, it wasn’t uncommon for Noble Estates to have one or two Manei inhabiting them. My friend was an example.”

“His name was Pavlos of Pleuron, and he’d watched over Thoas Citadel since the reign of Emperor Drusus. As he was so fond of telling me. Pavlos had been Majordomo to the old Noble Family who created the Citadel and ruled. A job he adored in life, and one he refused to surrender in death.”

Chewing on this information, Natalie asked, “What did you like about him? Why did you consider him a friend?”

Cole smiled warmly, old memories returning to him in a gentle trickle. “I’ve never met someone so devoted to a cause. The man spent twelve hundred years protecting and caring for those he was entrusted with. Pavlos had found a purpose and flourished in it. A rarity and something I’ve always aspired to.”

Absently, Natalie noted a pattern. This wasn’t the first time Cole talked about purpose and duty with such reverence. The man seemed to aspire to a level of commitment Natalie found obsessive. Which was perhaps why he’d been entrusted with the mantle of Paladin in the first place.

“As for why I considered him a friend?” Cole continued. “Well, I guess he was the first person I trusted.”

Absently itching at one of his scars, Cole grimaced. “I wasn’t born or even grown like a normal person. I came to life as an adult with all the knowledge and awareness you’d expect of an adult. Except without any of the structure or understanding to go with it. It’s a little embarrassing to say, but I spent my first few months of life little more than a feral animal.”

Shutting his eyes tight, Cole tried to describe his experiences. “In those months, Isabelle was busy trying to fix my jumbled mind, so it fell to Pavlos to keep me company. He did a good job too. Helping me learn what it was to be alive and giving me an anchor through the process.”

Cole looked down at Natalie and saw the confusion plan on her face. Attempting to better explain, he said: “Imagine you have a book with all its pages torn out and scattered about. That was my mind. Isabelle found the pages and put them in order while Pavlos rebound them. Does that make sense?”

Nodding slowly, Natalie commented. “I don’t ask much about your creation. To be honest, I sometimes forget you are a… what was the term?”

“Homunculus,” answered Cole. “I’m a Homunculus, an Artificial Person. Created using Flesh-Crafting and other Magic.”

Cole’s voice was slightly monotone, his face unreadable as he spoke. Frowning slightly, Natalie knew there was something painful under those words. Despite dealing with her own pain, Natalie felt the need to help. Unlinking her hand with his, Natalie stepped in front of the large Homunculus and put her hands on his shoulders. Stopping him mid-stride and forcing him to look into her eyes.

“Homunculus, Human, Vampire, it doesn't matter to me. You are a special person Cole, and despite everything, I’m glad to have met you. Remember that the next time painful memories are stirred up.”

Natalie smiled up at Cole, and after a moment, he returned the smile. The sight of her helped chase away some of the dreadful recollections unleashed by her innocent question. Cole’s status as a Homunculus had brought him much grief. Torture, mutilation, exsanguination, and devastating loss could all be traced to his unnatural nature. A fact that weighed heavily on Cole.

Taking one of her cold hands, Cole kissed Natalie’s palm and said. “Thank you. I feel the same way, Nat.”

With that little exchange, the two returned to walking down the road. Both knew there was more to be said, but both were also unable to muster the energy or courage to do so. Instead, they settled for the slight balm of mutual kindness. A powerful remedy, but not one capable of truly healing the deep wounds in both their souls.

Continuing the earlier conversation with a slight alteration, Cole asked: “Who was your first friend?”

Natalie smiled as old memories played across her mind. The smile died quickly as the conclusion to those memories also came forward. “Her name was Angela. We became friends when I was five, and she was six. Her Dad was a shepherd and farmer who supplied the Silly Goat. So she would come along sometimes when he dropped off produce. Angela had bright red hair, and I thought it was beautiful. I told her as much, and we quickly became friends.”

Staring off into the distance, Natalie wistfully continued. “We used to play in the Inn’s backyard. Chasing each other between the clotheslines and the like. As we got older, we drifted apart. I continued schooling, and she left to work with her father. But we still remained friends. In fact I played matchmaker between her and her fiance. Angela was always shy, and I pushed her to make the first move with the boy she liked.”

Shutting her eyes, Natalie finished sadly. “They were going to get married when she turned eighteen. I think they were really in love, not the silly kid stuff, but the real deal. But Angela died in the plague, and Eugen, her boyfriend, was killed in the Breach.”

The crunch of feet on light snow was the only sound for a little while before Cole let out a mirthless chuckle. “It seems the more things change, the more things stay the same. I seem to remember the two of us walking along a lonely road sharing harrowing stories on more than one occasion.”

Memories of Angela and Eugen were replaced in Natalie’s mind by her first real talks with Cole. Which seemed remarkably similar to the current situation. Both of them trying to connect to the other while only managing to dredge up past pains in processes. Natalie could see the bitter humor in the parallel and snorted in amusement.

Looking up at Cole with a bleak smile, Natalie remarked. “There is one major difference. Your story of the Undead was the pleasant one. While mine of simple village life was the tragedy.”

Nodding in agreement, Cole stiffened slightly as an errant thought crossed his mind. “Oh, I just thought of something I’d forgotten to ask you. Why did you put the statue of Stockings in my bag? I found it the first night after I left, and I’ve kept it. But I keep forgetting to mention it.”

It was Natalie’s turn to stiffen in surprise. Absently she raised a hand up to her covered hair before stopping herself. She couldn’t play with her hairpin like normal. Getting it in her hair without burning herself was difficult enough, let alone playing with it. Absently, Natalie realized she needed to find other ways to fidget.

“Ah… that,” she said, a mixture of embarrassment and anxiety coloring her voice. “It's silly, but I didn’t want you to forget me. A year is a long time, and I wanted you to have a reminder of me. I know it's dumb, but….”

Natalie stopped when she saw the large smile on Cole’s face. Old scars and burns were stretched in a wide grin Natalie hadn’t ever seen before. Eyes shining, Cole reached out for one of Natalie’s fidgeting hands and commented, “You are incredibly cute when you are embarrassed.”

Eyes wide with sudden indignation, Natalie spat back, “I am not!”

With the type of lazy amusement usually seen in cats, Cole replied. “Not cute? I must doubt your words, Ms. Natalie.”

Grinding her teeth in annoyance, Natalie glared up at him. “When did you suddenly become so clever?”

Cole just shrugged. “I don’t know; around the same time, I noticed you are positively adorable when annoyed.”

Giving him a playful swat, Natalie had to restrain herself from actually growling. The more animalistic tendencies she’d developed with her condition could manifest at the strangest times.

“But no, seriously, you have always acted so reserved and abashed. Why the sudden quips and cleverness?” she asked.

His smile turning fragile, Cole softly said. “I’ve not had anyone I could truly be honest and open with in over a decade. I trust you, Natalie, more than I have anyone in a long time. So I’m letting myself be a little more…verbose and passionate than usual.”

A flash of guilt hit Natalie. She still hadn’t told him about her talk with Isabelle. Cole’s honesty was not being answered in kind. Swallowing her worries, Natalie tried to push her mind back to better things. “So you really think I’m cute?”

Cole actually took a moment to consider. “Normally, I’d say you are beautiful or stunning. But yes, in some situations, you are indeed very cute.”

Basking in the compliments, Natalie snuggled up to Cole and latched onto his arm. Even through her layered clothes, Cole became very aware of exactly how soft Natalie was. Seeing his sudden awkwardness, Natalie smiled and remarked. “You are rather lovely yourself, Cole. Those eyes of yours, pale blue, yet gentle and warm. They are very easy to get lost in.”

Walking slower, enjoying the feeling of each other, the couple exchanged compliments in the strange, silly way of infatuated youths. To an outsider, it might have looked ridiculous, and if either Cole or Natalie stopped to think about it, they would probably share that outsider's opinion. But for now, both of them just enjoyed being silly with each other. The shameless flirting a balm to tense nerves and a sweetener for jaded hearts.

“Oh? So what exactly do you like about my-” Natalie’s bold teasing stopped as her sensitive ears caught something. Pulling Cole to a stop, she put her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. Shutting her eyes, Natalie focused on her ears. Feeding a little bit of blood to them to boost her sense of hearing. She’d not experimented with this before but could make some educated guesses about the process.

The sound of shifting snow and the creaking of distant trees filled Natalie’s ears. Broken up by the crunch of powder beneath heavy feet. No, not feet, hooves. Natalie could hear the steady rhythm of horses from down the road. Clenching her jaw in concentration, Natalie tried to focus on the hoof beats but found it difficult. Every errant gust sounded like a howling gale; every shift of snow was an avalanche. Still, she managed to scrape together a few nuggets of information.

Letting her focus drop, Natalie whispered to Cole. “Horses, maybe a kilometer or two up the road. I don’t know how many, but I doubt it's more than ten. Should we get off the road?”

Cole’s hand went to his belt, and the Axe slung there. He glanced around them and at the surrounding fields and ditches. “No, we wouldn’t be able to hide or cover our tracks. It's better if we stay on the road and try not to arouse suspicion.”

Nodding, Natalie reached for the short sword slung on her lower back. She hadn’t ever used the thing and wondered if it would be of any help if things came to that. Seeing her worry, Cole gave Natalie a reassuring smile. She tried to return it but realized the sight of her fangs might have the exact opposite effect.

Frowning at the sight of Natalie’s fangs, Cole said, “Keep those hidden and don’t make any sudden movements. Mistrust and aggression are cultural tenants here. The Southern Marches have a long bloody history, and even if they don’t guess what we are, they might still react badly.”

Natalie nodded and trailed slightly behind Cole. Figuring that he might make a better first impression in all his scarred glory. Trying to calm herself, Natalie forced her body to breathe. Setting a steady rhythm that her heart might follow later. Natalie didn’t know how long she could project false-life, but hopefully, she could use it to avoid any suspicion.

Cole prepared by nicking his forearm. Letting a little bit of blood flow onto his weapon. Recent experiences had pushed Cole’s skill with blood magic forward a smidgen. He’d learned to “prepare” his weapon beforehand. Shedding blood up to an hour before, he wanted to change its shape. The process wasn’t perfect, but it gave Cole a little more adaptability than he’d previously had. Focused on her breathing, Natalie did her best to ignore the sweet smell of blood in the air. Something helped by Cole’ quickly covering his injury. Deadening the smell just enough.

It didn’t take long for the riders to come into view. The snow had relented, and soon a black smudge became apparent down the road. The wind kept the riders scent away from Natalie but did little to mask the crunch of hoofs on snow. Squinting at the distant group, Natalie watched them come into focus. Lined up on the road, it was hard to tell, but Natalie was fairly certain five or maybe six riders were coming. She relayed this to Cole, who accepted the information without a word.

The sound of hoofs became loud enough for Cole to hear, and more details became apparent to Natalie’s enhanced eyes. There were six riders, each bundled up in heavy clothes. While their mounts were a rag-tag mix. The leader of the small column was astride a hulking War-horse. Yet one member seemed to be riding a skinny Mule. As the distance decreased, the leader of the riders waved at them. A curt gesture that conveyed a desire to speak with them. Cole and Natalie exchanged glances and kept moving forward. While Natalie feared exposure, she wasn’t afraid of being attacked. Her traumatic encounters with myriad Undead had altered her perception of what constitutes an actual threat.

A cloudbank parted overhead, and the too-bright winter sunlight poured down upon them. Muted gray was replaced with blinding white. Wincing at this, Natalie rubbed her eyes for a few seconds. Recovering slightly, she glanced back at the rapidly nearing riders and cursed. The shine of metal was apparent in the direct sunlight.

“Cole, they are wearing armor.” she hissed softly to her companion. Cole just nodded in acknowledgment and set his jaw. When Natalie relayed the number of riders, his fears had been confirmed. One or two riders out on the backroads wasn’t too odd, but six? That meant soldiers on patrol or other more worrying groups of armed travelers.

The riders increased their pace, trotting up to Cole and Natalie. Who could now see them in truth. They were each clad in a strange mixture of chain-mail, leathers, furs, cloth, and a few rare armor plates. There was no set color scheme nor even anything resembling a pattern to their clothing. Only the fact they were all armed and armored united them.

The leader approached Cole and titled the dented kettle-helm he wore so he could properly look at the Paladin. The leader's face was a work of inspired ugliness. Nose bent from multiple breaks, lips chapped from the cold, eyes sunken and beady, with a few missing teeth. He looked every bit the ruffian and thug Cole had feared.

Speaking in a lisping accent Cole vaguely recognized as some kind of Zentlander, the rider addressed him. “I’m Captain Volk of the 9th Hochburg Scouts. You are traveling on Holy League Roads and must pay a toll as commanded by the Lord of these lands, John of Harmas.”

In response, Cole fished out his amulet and held it up for the “Captain’s” inspection. “I am Cole of Atredia, servant of Master Time. I kindly request you let us pass in full haste.”

Cole knew this “toll” was utter horseshit. No lord, even one in a land as chaotic as the Southern Marches, would trust taxation to wandering horsemen. Doing so was asking for embezzlement, corruption, and banditry. But the lie was something a scared peasant might swallow a little easier than outright robbery. Which Cole suspected was the point. By informing these so-called Scouts of his religious affiliation, he hoped to avoid conflict. Even bandits might think twice before trying to rob a Priest or someone they thought was a Priest.

Captain Volk didn’t take the offered excuse and pressed the issue. “I’m sorry yer holey-ness,” he said with a sneer. “Not every traveler can rely on a God’s protection. Even some that can, might find these roads dangerous. Especially if my squad lacks the funds to properly patrol.”

As the Captain talked, some of his fellows unsheathed weapons. Mainly sturdy-looking swords and axes. With one large soldier holding a great axe and the mule-rider drawing a bow. Two of them bore shields. Whatever heraldry had decorated those shields had been purposely scratched away. Giving Cole bigger insight into who he was dealing with.

Softly, like he was speaking to a spooked animal, Cole addressed the bandits. “I know the fighting here in the Southern Marches can be bloody and near-endless. With incompetent commanders and thuggish officers looking to prove themselves. So it's one of the few places where a Deserter might earn some sympathy. You could all sell your equipment and horses and go somewhere far from this mess. Create a life for yourselves, and start fresh. There is no need for you all to continue down this path.”

Natalie struggled to keep her growing smile toothless. ‘There he is,’ she thought. ‘There is the Paladin, the divinely chosen hero. Right out of a storybook and standing right before me.’ The compassionate strength radiating from Cole was a beautiful rarity. Natalie knew without a doubt he could fight and kill all six of these bandits. It wouldn’t even be that hard for him. But he instead tried to push them toward a better life. This was a type of strength the foolish dismissed and the wise admired.

Volk proved which category he fell into quickly. Unsheathing his own sword, a long cavalry saber. The Captain snarled. “You think you know my story, Priest? Do you think your two-copper sermon is going to change anything? Hand over your fucking valuables.”

Sighing, Cole reached for his axe and asked with almost tired resignation. “And if I refuse?”

Volk’s snarl turned into a predatory smile. “Then we take your valuables after we rape your wife while you watch and then torture you to death while she watches. And when that's done, I’ll add that shiny axe to my belt, and the two of you will decorate the roadside as a warning to any other smart-asses.”

Cole got very still for a moment before saying. “I don’t like killing. True, I spend my life fighting, but I rarely have to kill. Most of the time, I’m simply… putting things to sleep. Aiding the cycle of life and death. While helping those I can.”

One of the bandits, a squat fellow with a sword and shield, spoke up. “We told you no more jagging sermons!”

Pulling his axe free, Cole shifted it to a halberd and stabbed its billhook into Volk’s far side. With a single swift tug, Cole pulled the bandit leader from his saddle and onto the frozen stone below. Volk hadn’t used his stirrups properly and had been easy to dislodge. The impact knocked all air from the bandit’s lungs and sent his world spinning. Volk had just enough focus left to realize a booted foot was about to slam into his chest. If he could have, Volk would have smiled. He’d stolen a breastplate months ago, protecting him from anything like a simple stomp.

The crunch of metal and bone filled Volk’s addled mind. To his horror, the boot hadn’t simply bounced off his armor but instead punched through the solid steel. In his last moments, Volk’s world was a thing of confusion and pain. As his chest cavity collapsed, he went into shock, despite whatever cruelties Volk inflicted on others and threatened to inflict on Cole and Natalie. The Paladin did not let the Bandit die slowly. A servant of Master Time ends suffering, no matter how deserved that suffering might be.

Gore staining his leg and body, Cole looked at the other bandits and said. “I said I don’t like killing. That doesn't mean I’m not good at it..” He then moved to the next bandit. Cole offered no chance to surrender or counter-attack. These people had chosen their path and refused a Paladin’s mercy. Their deaths would be swift but brutal.

Cole didn’t bother to pull this bandit off his horse. He simply drove his halberd’s spike into the axe-man’s side and twisted. Puncturing a lung in the process. Pulling his weapon free, Cole slapped the horse on the side. Sending it galloping away as its simple brain overloaded from fright. Uncaring of the dying man slumped on its back.

By now, the four remaining bandits had reacted. Three had dismounted. Being amateurs equestrians but experienced killers. They preferred their chances on the ground. Cole just let out a tired sigh. He’d hoped they would run with their leader's death. The next bandit, a plain-looking fellow with a sword and shield, charged Cole; the man wore a filthy tabard that flapped with his movement. To Cole’s perception, the man seemed slow and clumsy, his movements exaggerated and uncoordinated.

On some level, Cole knew that wasn’t a fair assessment. His standards were rather skewed. He usually fought Undead horrors warranting literal divine intervention, and that was before the recent changes to his body. Changes that had Cole far more worried than he’d even admit to himself.

He’d first noticed his enhanced strength back in Castle Glockmire when he recovered his equipment. Easily crushing plate armor with a barehanded blow. During his long trek with Natalie, he’d also learned his endurance, and even speed had increased. Cole had basically force marched for a month and a half through freezing conditions without any real physical issues. Only requiring more food and drink to sustain himself during the effort. Now, as he fought a seasoned veteran without any issue, Cole could no longer ignore how much his body had changed.

Cole swung his halberd down, hitting the Bandit’s shield. The Dwarven-forged steel of his weapon bit into the sturdy wooden round shield and caught on its metal underlay. The raw power of the blow pushed the Bandit back. Forcing him to stick his leg out behind him to keep his balance. Exactly what Cole had been expecting. Using his reach advantage, Cole swung one of his own long legs into the Bandit's forward leg. Catching the Bandit’s knee right on the side in a swift kick. Cartilage cracked, and the Bandit screamed as he collapsed.

Pulling his halberd free of the Bandit’s shield, Cole winced and prepared to finish the fight. It occurred to him that his fighting style, specializing in crippling blows, might seem unduly sadistic when used against living foes. Such ruminations could wait for later as Cole pulled back to dodge the massive great-axe heading for him.

Another Bandit had moved into the frey, this one a hulking woman with a crude tattoo covering part of her face. She was almost as tall as Cole, and the massive slabs of muscle on her made the Bandit even broader. Wild-eyed, with ashen skin and a bit of an underbite, Cole guessed this Bandit had some Orc blood in her. Not uncommon even in the Western Continent. Orcish nomadic traditions scattered their seed all across the world.

The Bandit Cole had knocked down, rolled away, and scrambled to his feet while Cole dodged another axe blow. While he was faster the woman was probably stronger. Every strike roared through the air as oversized muscles drove the axe towards Cole.

Shakily, the Bandit who’d barely survived Cole cackled. “That's right! Fuck him up Helga! Show him what our War-Master can do!”

Cole’s eyes widened in surprise at that statement. Just in time for him to catch Helga’s war-axe on his Halberd’s haft. The strike sent Cole to one knee, the impact overtaxing even his enhanced body. Twisting his waist, Cole knocked the axe away and rolled back, getting to his feet, halberd tip pointing at Helga. The axe-woman had a cruel look in her eyes, a bully eyeing up a potential victim.

While Cole doubted this Helga was an actual War-Master, he could believe she was an Axe-Adept. Which made things somewhat more complicated. While Mage’s could be divided into the categories of Magi, Shaman, Priest, Cultivator, Contractor, and Savant. They are not the only type of being who used magic. The Aether reflects the Material and connects it to the Beyond. With actions and events causing a resonance between the different facets of existence. While naturally occuring Undead, dimensional rifts, and ritual magic are some of the flashier examples of this. Other more subtle examples are almost commonplace.

Like people who spend an incredible amount of time on a particular skill. Practicing and perfecting a talent to the point the Aether itself reflects this. Enhancing the skill to a supernatural degree. A swordsman's blade might cut what its edge alone wouldn’t. A painter's brush will be as precise as the painter desires. Or a smith might find steel unusually pliant under their ministrations. Of course, many people use this boon unconsciously and never realize what they are doing. Those that do understand are called Paragons; people can channel this instinctual magical connection in surprising ways. Classified by their specialization and skill, Paragons could be found in all walks of life, but the majority of them are Warriors. A sad truth that reflected poorly on the World.

Cole was a skilled Halberd user, but he was no Halberd Paragon; he had no training or insight into how to use the “flow.” What Paragons call the magical blessing they are imbued with. Even with his now truly superhuman physical capabilities, Cole might not win a straight duel with this Helga. So Cole didn’t fight a straight duel. With the space he’d gained, Cole had the time to reopen the cut on his forearm from earlier and let a little bit of blood drip down to his fingers. Muttering a spell he’d been working on, Cole swatted his arm in front of him. Droplets of blood sprayed out from his fingers and connected in the air. Forming a crude scarlet net.

The blood-net caught itself on the advancing Helga’s legs and made her stumble. Cole charged forward and swung his halberd into her right side, ready to take her arm off. Tearing through the net, Helga regained her balance and folded her arm to block the halberd. A foolish move meant to block unarmed strikes, not sharpened steel. The weapon’s killing edge tore through Helga’s chain and leathers, sinking into the meat of her arm but going no further. By some Paragon processes Cole didn’t understand, Helga had strengthened her bones into something stronger than steel.

Grimacing in pain, Helga spoke in a deep Eastern Marches accent. “Good trick, but not enough.” with her uninjured arm, she swung her great-axe at Cole.

Cole had just enough time to bring his bleeding hand up to bear. After his repeated failures at Castle Glockmire, Cole had been forced to expand his arsenal. Developing a few new spells and techniques to compliment his growing strength. Including a little trick inspired by his fight with the Varcolac. The blood covering Cole’s hand pooled together and covered his palm in a black mirror. The great-axe struck his palm and the hardened blood shattered on impact, and Cole’s arm instantly went numb from the impact.

Both Cole and Helga stared in surprise at what had happened. Cole had caught a battle axe in his bare hand, or at least that's what it looked like. Under his breath, Cole exclaimed. “It worked!”

Knocking the great-axe aside, Cole pulled his halberd free and spun away from Helga, coming in a full rotation to bring the halberd to her opposite side. The risky spin gave Helga time to bring her axe up into a guard. It did her little good. Cole’s weapon splintered the axe’s haft and continued onward to cut a long red line across Helga’s torso. Not a killing blow, but the strike had done plenty in destroying her axe.

Just then, the other bandits made their move. An arrow whizzed a handspan from Cole’s face, and the two other dismounted Bandits attacked. The first one to dismount and attack came from the back, while the other, a wiry fellow with a longsword, came from the side. A beautiful pincer maneuver that should have skewered Cole. But one he saw coming thanks to his spin. Cole lurched sideways, shoulder-tackling the longsword wielder, catching the Bandit with his sword up in a chop. The weight of Cole’s body knocked the man back and gave him time to whip his halberd’s haft back and catch the first attacker in the face. The clubbing blow let out a sickening crunch, and Cole dismissed the bandit as dead or unconscious.

With both attackers dealt with, or at least delayed, Cole returned his attention to Helga. To her credit, the large Axe-Adept had recovered quickly. Dropping her ruined axe and instead wielding an oversized dagger. Helga rushed Cole when she realized his attention was back on her. Coming in low, attempting to put her full momentum behind her weapon. Cole faced her charge with one of his own.

Cole swept out with his halberd and watched Helga duck underneath it, coming up inside his guard. Where she met Cole’s free hand as his fist slammed into her face. Cole winced in pain as his blow hit home. While her nose shattered without issue, her skull felt like punching a boulder. The strike was still enough to send Helga reeling and let Cole move in for the kill. Bringing his halberd back around, Cole Gripped it with both hands and swung for Helga’s neck. A fountain of blood escaped the dying woman's throat as she toppled down. Her enhanced bones prevented a clean decapitation but did little to stop her throat from being slit.

Another arrow flew towards Cole, this one was luckier, catching him in the chest. Luckily it struck bone and didn’t sink in too deep. Knocked a step back by the arrow, Cole glared at the mule-rider. Who was drawing back his bow for another shot. Gripping the arrow lodged in his chest, Cole pulled it free and whispered another spell. He’d used blood darts as an improvised ranged weapon, but hadn’t ever considered combining them with an actual projectile. The results were impressive as the arrow-turned blood javelin struck home. Hitting the archer square in the chest and knocking him from his mount. The mule, for its part, seemed markedly unconcerned by events.

“Drop your jagging weapon!” screamed a nasal voice. Cole spun around to find the two remaining bandits regrouped behind him. The first one hadn’t been knocked out but had his nose broken. A small stream of blood poured down his face and onto the robed figure he held to him. Cole’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was seeing. The Bandit had Natalie pressed to him, his sword to her throat. But that wasn’t what made Cole’s blood run cold. The steady stream of blood flowing from the bandit onto Natalie did.

“Back away from her!” shouted Cole, his halberd raised. “I’m begging you, step away from her.” the Bandit just sneered and pushed his sword closer to Natalie’s throat. The slight shift moved Natalie’s cloak enough for Cole to see her eyes. Wild terror and ravenous hunger shone in those red orbs. Cole could actually see the war going on in Natalie’s mind, and he could see the human part of her losing. Unconsciously, Cole took a step toward Natalie, his mind racing for a solution.

The Bandit saw Cole’s movement and let his sword scrape along Natalie’s throat. Enough to draw a little bit of blood if Natalie was alive; enough to trigger her instincts now that she was dead. Moving faster than even Cole could follow, Natalie lunged for the bandit’s throat. Serpentine fangs struck and pumped the Bandit full of venom. Cole could only watch as a silent scream died on the Bandit’s lips as the paralytic compound did its work. The other bandit let out a surprised yelp and charged Natalie. The motion was enough to pull the young Vampire from her meal. Spinning on the second Bandit, Natalie leaped onto him. Fangs bared and eyes filled with blood lust.

Cole rushed forward but wasn’t fast enough. Natalie tore the second bandit’s throat out with a vicious yank and rode his collapsing body to the ground, drinking his life-blood. Pulling his amulet free, Cole roared. “STOP!”

Cold silver light erupted from the amulet, and Natalie flinched away from it. The Vampire turned on Cole and let out a furious hiss. Cole dropped his halberd and tackled Natalie. Clutching the amulet to her in a furious bear-hug. Natalie screamed when the amulet touched her, a sound that broke Cole’s heart. But he didn’t relent, he wrestled the Vampire so her fangs couldn’t reach him, and her thrashing limbs were restrained.

Keeping the amulet pressed to her, Cole held Natalie tight. His own enhanced strength warring against Natalie’s own. Denying her leverage and keeping the amulet in place, Cole wrapped around his lover in a twisted parody of an embrace. Natalie’s screams turned to hissing cries and eventually to angry wails. Before slowly dying down to sobs and finally low weeping. Throughout the whole ordeal, Cole kept her contained, only removing the amulet when she stopped struggling.

Listening to Natalie’s sobs, Cole just held her close. Cradling the fading monster and returning woman to his chest. Gently rocking them both and trying to hum a tuneless song, Cole did all he could. While they sat in the scarlet-stained snow.

Cole didn’t know how long they sat there, only noticing the snowfall had started again. Covering the massacre in a thin white pall. The horses had run. Without riders to soothe them, the death and destruction proved too much. Leaving Cole alone except for the shaking figure he’d wrapped in his cloak. Natalie hadn’t said a word, ignoring Cole’s questions and just oscillating between sobs and silence.

Morbidly, Cole glanced over at the two bodies nearby. She’d torn the throat out of one and pumped the other full of paralytics after ripping open his jugular. They’d both died badly, but thankfully Natalie hadn’t been feeding when it happened. For a Vampire, drinking a person to death was an addictive rush. Consuming a piece of the victim's soul and increasing the Vampires' own power. It was bad enough that Natalie had killed him once. But apparently, his deaths were “watered down” compared to the real deal, at least according to his former jailers.

Resisting a pained shudder at that thought, Cole squeezed Natalie closer. Fighting her had been bad. Seeing the monster take over and forcing him to hurt her in order to save them both. Cole had seen many horrors and experienced more nightmares than he’d wish on anyone. But violently subduing a loved one was a new variety of pain for him.

Cole’s distress bled more into his actions than he expected as Natalie made a pained noise at his embrace. Loosening his hug, Cole murmured an apology. Surprisingly, Natalie answered.

In a small voice, she rasped. “It's okay. I’m okay; everything will be okay.” Natalie unfolded herself from Cole’s lap and pushed away his cloak. A mixture of dried blood and dried tears stained her face. Coupled with her soul-crushed expression, she looked every bit the tortured Vampire.

Letting out a deep sigh, Cole grimaced and asked. “Can I help you in any way, Natalie?” Shaking her head in response, Natalie just slumped against him. Her head nestled next to his heart.

After a moment, Natalie finally started to speak. “I understand they weren’t good people. They were bandits, deserters, thieves, and probably rapists. Not the type of person to shed tears over. I know it was self-defense; he had a sword to my throat. I did what I had to do. It's just….”

Gently Cole answered. “They were still people, and no matter what they’d done, that hadn’t changed.”

Natalie vigorously shook her head in the negative. “No! It's… it, Jag! It’s because I didn’t get a choice. The moment he cut me, I just lost control. The Hunger just took over, and I had no say in what happened. If it had been me, I could justify it. I could say it was self-defense and move on. But it wasn’t me! It was the jagging monster I’m becoming!”

Cole tried to think of something to say, but everything he considered sounded trite or condescending. So he just settled for silence and let Natalie speak. “That’s what’s breaking me! I’m losing my choices; I’m losing myself. Jag, it's breaking me, Cole, and I don’t know what to do!”

Seeing no good options, Cole shrugged and said. “Help me deal with the bodies.” Slowly moving Natalie off his lap, Cole got up and looked down at the bewildered Vampire.

“What?” asked Natalie, confusion evident on her face.

Gripping her hand and pulling Natalie to her feet, Cole explained. “You didn’t get any choice in killing those bandits. But you get a choice in how to treat them after death. Your curse stole a choice from you, so steal one back. Help me do the right thing and do the opposite of what a true Monster would.”

Uncertainly, Natalie stood there in the falling snow. Watching Cole grab his dropped halberd and go over to one of the bodies. Fishing his spark-stone from his pocket, Cole used its flames to clear a spot of ground next to the road. Blood-enhanced flames carved a muddy circle in the snow-covered fields. With that set, Cole dragged the body of Natalie’s first victim to the circle’s center. His enhanced strength turned a difficult labor into just a bothersome one. Turning back to the road, Cole smiled as he saw Natalie dragging her second victim towards him.

Natalie answered the smile with a nauseated expression but finished the task. Eventually, they gathered up all six bodies. Even taking the time to track down the bandit Cole hadn’t knocked off his horse. The horse in question had bucked its dying rider off maybe a hundred meters down the road. Forcing Cole to hoist that corpse onto his shoulder and heft it back. The six bandits now lay in a row on the muddy ground.

The duo admired their handiwork for a moment before Cole stooped over the bodies and started checking their pockets. A stunned Natalie asked. “What in the Hells are you doing?”

Cole looked up at her and shrugged. “They aren’t using their coin. Other people can, maybe even some of the people they robbed.”

Mortified, Natalie asked. “You are grave robbing! You are a Paladin of Master Time, and you are grave robbing!”

Giving her a peculiar look, Cole went back to his task. “I’m not taking mementos or grave goods. Just their coin.”

Still stunned, Natalie didn’t say anything more and just watched Cole finish up. The Homunculus had a small pile of silver and copper in his hand. Depositing them in his pack, Cole pulled out his bottle of Pyre Wine and sprinkled a few drops over each body. With the bodies so fresh, the Pyre Wine wouldn’t be as effective as normal, but it would still be sufficient. Flames shot from Cole’s spark stone and ignited the bodies.

Cole and Natalie watched as the flames consumed the corpses. The Pyre Wine covered the bodies in orange flames and filled the air with grape-smelling smoke. An alchemical property of the substance covering up the smell of burning flesh and giving the concoction its name. Looking at the flames and smoke, Cole bowed his head.

“Forgive me for the pain I caused you and beg forgiveness for those you wronged in life. Ignore the whispers of Hellkyn and pass through Master Time’s Halls without incident. Bear your sins well and do better in your next life.”

Turning away from the bodies, Cole scratched at his chin and absently muttered. “I wonder if we can find the horses? They might have supplies in their saddlebags.”

Natalie, for her part, was still stunned. The weirdly callous way Cole had dealt with the whole situation was enough to distract her thoroughly. “That's it? You aren’t going to say more?” she asked. “You sang a Saint-Speech hymn when you burned the Vryko-Ghouls.”

Cole glanced back at the burning bodies and remarked. “The Vryko-Ghouls were innocent, or at least more so than those six. They deserved all the respect and compassion I could muster. These bandits… did not.”

Hard-faced, Cole frowned and elaborated. “Everyone is entitled to a quick death and last rites. Anything else I might spare for another, those bandits had long given up any claim to. I don’t know how many people they’d hurt, but I doubt it was few. They also hurt you and threatened to do worse. As far as I’m concerned, becoming an ashen stain in a nameless field is an appropriate end for them.”

While he hid it, Natalie heard the undertone of anger in Cole’s words. In everything that had happened, she’d almost forgotten the bandit leaders' foul threats. Cole, it seemed, had not. The rage he felt in Natalie’s name was darkly flattering. Both Natalie’s Human and Vampire sides appreciated it. Deciding to drop the topic, for now, Natalie followed after Cole as they hit the road.

Adjusting her bag, Natalie felt a strange shape press against her hand from inside the leather sack. The squirrel skull. Feeling it, Natalie was struck with a sudden thought. “Cole, did Isabelle ever have issues losing control?”

Surprised, Cole took a moment to think. “No, she was more than a few centuries old by the time I was created. Vampires of that age develop remarkable control. They don’t react like young ones do,” pausing for a second, he continued. “Don’t ask me how they do it. I’ve no real idea, but if I had to guess, it’s some sort of mental technique or the result of experience.”

Accepting his answer, Natalie fished the squirrel skull free from her pack and held it in her palm. A technique or experience? After today's horrors, Natalie realized she might just have to ask Isabelle.