The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 3: Crimson Flames

“Do not make peace with Evil; destroy it. Destroy it before it takes everything and everything. When the Hellkyn and their thralls come with honeyed words and silken overtures, greet them with Fire and Iron! Only through strength of mind and strength of body can we find peace. Never forget and never forgive those who’d compromise with the Darkness.” Collected Speeches of The Accuser. (Dated the Fourteenth of Stormthaw, 472 Fourth Epoch.)

: Thirty Five Years ago :

Countess Isabelle Gens Silva, ruler of Pleuron, Lady of the Thoas Citadel, Master Alchemist, and renowned magical Scholar, stared down at a burning village. The crackle of flames and screams of frightened peasants filled the night. Something that would not do. These mortals were under Isabelle’s protection, their lives only hers to spend. Not to be stolen by the scurvy-addled Corsairs raiding the town.

Isabelle had gotten word of the attack and quickly rushed to the fishing hamlet. It was one of the myriad similar settlements in her territory. A cluster of houses made from local stone and wood squatting in a natural harbor. Protected by a cliff, steep hills, and the sea. The Vampress hadn’t even bothered to learn the village’s name. Just Hearing of the attack upon waking and rushing to its defense.

She arrived just in time to witness the southern pirates begin covering their tracks. The bastards had set the village on fire, driving the few peasants they hadn’t captured towards the shore. Where they found chains and the lash waiting for them. With her enhanced eyesight, Isabelle could see the Corsairs gathering up their booty on the beach. Huddled groups of villagers were being shoved into rowboats. A large leather-skinned man loading crates of produce and valuables into an already packed dingy. Two brutish-looking Corsairs dragging a young woman away from her family and towards the nearby shadows.

The Vampress had seen enough; she would save her people and make sure these Corsairs enjoyed the bitter fruits of their labor. Standing on a cliff overlooking the village. Isabelle raised one of her hands high and made a gesture. A head-sized sphere of blue flame erupted from her fingertips and sailed through the air. It traveled in a great arc before landing in the sea. Hitting the water between the beach and the Corsair’s moored Galley. The warm summer sea started to boil, and froth as Isabelle’s magic did its work. Fog bloomed up from the water in a great cloud separating Pirates from their ships.

Two huge lumbering shapes clambered up to Isabelle’s position. Having finally crested the hill and joining her on the clifftop. Isabelle spared a glance at the two figures. Both easily three meters in height with ill-proportioned simian bodies. The two Flesh-golems were some of Isabelle’s cruder work. Stitched together from human, orc, and troll corpses. Each carried a large barrel over one shoulder.

“Gog, Magog, are you ready?” the Countess asked. Both Flesh-golems nodded, their disproportionately small heads bobbing at the end of over-muscled necks. Smiling fiercely, Isabelle gave the command. “Launch the payload.”

The two Flesh-golems shifted their barrels and prepared to throw them. Arms long enough to drag upon the ground stretched back like organic trebuchets. Unnatural muscle groaned taught, and Isabelle made a note to tweak their shoulder musculature next time she got the chance. Alongside the sound of cord-like muscle was the frantic skittering of the barrel’s cargo. Isabelle hoped the results of this generation would be better than her last experiment.

The Flesh-Golems heaved their cargo into the air with great grunts of effort. The barrels sailed through the air heading towards the Corsairs position. Spinning through the night sky, the barrels popped open and started disgorging their cargo. Thousands of rats fell over the burning village in a bizarre rain shower.

Shutting her eyes and reaching out with her powers, Isabelle opened up a link between her mind and that of her rat swarm. Roughly eighty percent of the rodents had landed without injury. A marked improvement over the previous test. Responding to her will, the rats scurried in all directions, flitting through the burning village and towards the beach in a small tide of furry bodies. Isabelle’s consciousness drifted between the rodents, scattering herself among them in a strange nearly-meditative state. She didn’t possess them but collected information from their minds and guided them as she saw fit.

Through a thousand different sets of eyes, Isabelle drank in the battlefield and made her plan. Where other Vampires used rodent swarms as war-fodder and spies, Isabelle found them much better as scouts. Especially when coupled with her experimental delivery system. A few years of selective breeding had produced this batch of fast, agile, and vicious rodents better suited to great falls than mundane rats. Rats that now swarmed between the legs of the unnoticing corsairs. While a few of the rodents climbed into the dozen or so dinghy the Pirates had beached, the majority clung to the shadows waiting for Isabelle’s appointed signal.

It came when the first Pirate noticed the scurrying shapes dancing between their feet. Letting out a startled scream, the pirate unknowingly sealed his fate. Hundreds of rats lept onto him and his fellows. Sinking vicious teeth into unprotected skin. Soon a chorus of confused shouts and screams echoed through the night. Surprise and pain were the first stroke of this fight, fear and death would be the second.

The clatter of bones and metal started to drown out the crackling flames. Isabelle’s army had arrived. From her perch on the cliff, Isabelle could watch as a solid mass of Rattlers came into view. Hundreds of undead soldiers marched down the hill opposite of her cliff and directly towards the beach. Pained shouts turned into frantic screams as Pirates and villagers saw this corpse legion arrive. The black steel of Eternal Soldiers pressed down the steep hill. An entire company coming to punish the Sea Thieves.

Or at least that's what it looked like in the darkness. Isabelle had only been able to rouse a squad of twenty Legionnaires from the local Garrison-Crypt for this fight. In rushing to meet the Pirates, Isabelle had outpaced all her servants except for the Flesh-Golems Gog and Magog. Forcing her to improvise and requisition the graveyards of every nearby town and village. It had been a tricky bit of necromancy to do on the fly, but Isabelle was nothing if not talented.

Smiling smugly, Isabelle watched as her army fast approached the raiders. The Corsairs were quickly abandoning any effort to loot and were busy trying to escape. Clambering into the rowboats, forgetting their prospective slaves and even their more mundane loot. Isabelle watched as one Pirate tried to throw some of the already loaded booty overboard to make room on the dingy. Another Pirate stabbed the first one in the gut and ordered his fellows to cast off. A dozen more of these ugly scenes played out across the beach as craven cruel men acted on their worst instincts.

Gog and Magog started picking up large stones and tossing them at the escaping rowboats. They were purposely clumsy in their throws, doing more to scare the Corsairs than actually hitting them. Providing plenty of motivation for the Corsairs to abandon any pretense of a careful withdrawal. Dozens of panicked Corsairs waded into the water, trying desperately to reach the leaving rowboats. Other more foolish Pirates stood their ground on the beach. Those were subsumed under the wave of bone crashing down onto them.

More screams filled the night, and the smell of fresh blood mingled with the scent of sea foam, smoke, and old death. Isabelle hadn’t bothered to give her “conscripted” Rattlers any real dexterity, just using the mass of bodies to tear into the few remaining pirates. Combined with the handful of proper soldiers dispersed among them, the army did its grim work. Cleaving through the Pirates and driving the rest into the sea. Throughout this, the surviving villagers cowered in small pockets left in the corpse-tide. Isabelle doubted any of the traumatized peasants noticed the handful of rats scuttling nearby, marking their position and sparing them the army's onslaught.

The escaping Pirates rowed into the fog bank and tried to push through its murky clouds. Isabelle had mainly intended the fog as a way to protect her ground forces from the Pirate Galley. The fog obscured any enemy Mage’s line of sight and would force them to reveal themselves if they wanted to break the fog. No Corsair spellcaster showed themselves, but Isabelle didn’t consider the effort wasted.

At her command, Gog and Magog stopped being careless with their throws. The crunch of splintering wood and the scream of crushed Corsairs filled the night as the Flesh Golems started the bombardment in earnest. Deep in the fog bank, the Corsairs should have been safe from projectiles. But the handful of rats clinging to each rowboat told Isabelle exactly where they were, and she, in turn, relayed the knowledge to the Golems. Smirking at the screams and wails, Isabelle couldn’t help but feel proud of herself. This was how a true Vampire should fight. With guile and focus. Not the crude violence and bullying cruelty of her rivals.

Only one dingy remained afloat, and Isabelle ordered her minions to let it escape unmolested. She needed a few survivors to carry her “message” to the ship. The rowboat obliged, pushing through the fog bank and desperately paddling towards the Corsair Galley. Turning from this, Isabelle descended the cliff. Her dress flowed around her like liquid shadow as she lept between rocky outcroppings. At her command, the Rattler Company started work putting out the growing flames. Hundreds of skeletons forming a dozen bucket chains connecting the ocean to the burning village.

Isabelle did not offer this aid out of the goodness of her heart. Fire was as much a menace to her as any mortal, perhaps more so. But she would be equally deluded to think she was purely selfish in her acts. She saved these people and worked to preserve what little they had left. A Vampire protecting her property and foodstuff; a Countess helping her people in their time of need. Balancing those two aspects and finding goals they could agree on was something Isabelle had long practice with. Not surrendering her humanity nor ignoring her Monsterous nature.

The surviving villagers were huddled nearby. A motley collection of fisherfolk who looked at Isabelle with undisguised terror. In their inbred panicked eyes, she wasn’t a savior but simply a different predator. One with uncertain goals and plans. Seeing the frightened clustered peasants, Isabelle couldn’t help but reflect that perhaps her kindred had a point in calling these mortals sheep. Still, they were her sheep. To be protected and provided for until shearing or slaughter.

Isabelle unslung a bag from her side and fished through it. Finding the hypodermic needle, bottle of sterilizer, and beaker of elixir. At a snap of her fingers, Magog trundled down the cliff and set a table he found somewhere next to her. Placing her items on the table, she turned to the even more frightened peasants. Even in this backward corner of her realm, Isabelle Gen Silva’s reputation for dark magic and twisted experiments was well known.

In a clear orator's voice, Isabelle addressed the panicked villagers. “Approach and choose which arm you want to use.”

That got a stir of barely disguised panic from the villagers. Isabelle saw more than one glance at the surrounding Rattlers as if assessing their chances of escape. Realizing her choice of words might have been ominous, Isabelle rephrased.

“If I wished you harm, I would not have brought my army nor ordered them to spare you all. You are all my subjects and under my protection. Protection I extend in the form of this injection.” she gestured at the beaker of elixir. “My rats are infected with a breed of pestilence designed to ruin those Corsairs. I cannot be certain none of you were infected by accident. This potion will spare you from the disease.”

Still, none of the peasants moved, only looking more confused and worried. Sighing to herself, Isabelle remarked. “Oh honestly.” and strode forward towards the frightened fisherfolk. Isabelle grabbed one, a nervous-looking boy not older than twelve, and dragged him back toward her makeshift medical station. The boy flailed for a second but went limp in her grip. Muted wails and cries issued from the villagers at her “kidnapping”

Letting go of the boy, Isabelle snapped. “Stay put if you value your life.” the scared adolescent did as instructed and stood there perfectly still. Isabelle noticed he was doing everything in his power to not even twitch or change his stance. Taking her command as literal as possible. Deciding not to correct his assumption, Isabelle got to work preparing the first injection.

Flicking the glass and metal syringe, Isabelle inspected the yellowish solution inside it. The contagion she infected the rats with was a side project of hers. A nasty and highly infectious fever that killed slowly and painfully. It was also relatively easy to treat. Any healing magic or even sufficient rest and fluids would let most survive it. Things Criminals, Pirates, Rebels, and other undesirables would struggle to get. Isabelle called it Bandit Bane and was eager to see how well it performed.

Isabelle grabbed the scared Peasant boy's forearm and found his vein. Before the youth could protest or struggle, Isabelle stuck the syringe in and injected her serum into the subject. Removing the syringe, Isabelle licked a finger and smeared her saliva over the injection mark. Letting go of the boy, she turned back to her medical station.

“You will feel sluggish for the next day or two. Now, who is next?” quickly sanitizing the needle and refilling it, Isabelle turned back to the still nervous-looking Fisherfolk. After a moment, a middle-aged woman came forward. Brandishing her arm and a fierce glare. The volunteer had the same nose and eyes as the boy, probably his mother or aunt. Quirking her mouth at that little display of familial loyalty, the Vampire Countess got to work.

The rest of the injections went without issue, and soon Isabelle retreated to her vantage point on the nearby cliff. The last embers of the fire were dying, and her army was starting to disperse. With a lazy thought, she commanded the relatively intact skeletons to return to their place of rest and bury themselves. It was the least she could do after conscripting the bones. She’d sent Gog and Magog to help the villagers do what little repairs were possible. The two hulking Flesh golems were made for war, but could just as easily move timber as they could tear apart bodies.

Leaving Isabelle in relative solitude, watching the distant lights of the Corsair ship. The Galley was moving slowly and was still visible to Isabelle’s eyes. This far away, she couldn’t contact any of her rats and could only hope they’d been successful in infecting more of the ship. Idly she wondered if the vessel would limp back to some port, be reduced to a Ghost Ship, or more likely sunk by a storm. It mattered little; the catastrophic failure of this little raid would send a message to any other enterprising pirates.

Not that Isabelle feared other raids much. This had been a strange fluke. Few pirates were stupid enough to raid the Blood Duchies. So a crew going out of its way to sack one of her dirt-poor fishing villages made little sense. Too much risk for too little reward. Something about the situation stunk, and Isabelle knew she needed to investigate. An idea that rankled her. Every night spent playing politics was another away from her experiments. She was making so much progress! Distractions from her work, while never welcome, were now positively infuriating.

Her recent efforts in splicing had gone markedly better than previous attempts. The goat she was using as the primary host had so far survived decapitation and exsanguination. But the blood quality still left much to be desired, and the cost of sacrifices was proving to be- An odd sensation ended Isabelle’s musing.

Isabelle tasted something strange. The heady flavor of Vampire blood filled her mouth. Confused, she reached to her lips, wondering if she’d bitten herself. As she digested the incoming blood, information came to her. This blood belonged to a young Vampire, not even a year changed, but a powerful one, an extremely powerful one. Something that made no sense, a Vampire’s power is directly related to their age. How could she be tasting what she did?

Eyes widening, Isabelle looked around her and let out a silent “Oh” in realization. She wasn’t really sitting on a cliff overlooking the sea. She wasn’t really pondering her experiments. This was a memory. A recollection her trapped soul had immersed itself in as a distraction. A distraction she no longer needed as one of the few seeds she could still plant was bearing fruit. Natalie had made contact.

Two Vampires stood across from each other in a field of red lilies. Previously Isabelle had drawn Natalie into her soul for their conversations. Now they met in Natalie’s internal world. Standing next to a strange stream, Natalie folded her arms below her breasts and tried to look confident. Isabelle saw right through the display and found its bravado almost cute. The two Vampires eyed each other up. Both projecting confidence and control, but neither truly feeling it. For all of Isabelle’s bluster, she was actually concerned Natalie would turn her down or worse. But like any skilled political animal, the former-Countess knew the illusion of power could be just as effective as the real thing.

Grimacing slightly like she’d tasted something foul, Natalie spoke first. “I’d like to discuss the arrangement you proposed.”

Arms crossed and face screwed up in a foul expression, Natalie didn’t even try and hide her distaste for this whole ordeal. Lying to Cole felt wrong, and her shallow justifications held little water in light of her choice to make contact. Still, despite her shame and guilt, Natalie had gone through with her decision the moment she had the opportunity to. The night after the ordeal with the bandits, Natalie had pricked her finger on Isabelle’s fang while Cole relieved himself away from camp. Renewing the connection, Isabelle had forged and opened a bridge of dreams between the two Vampires.

Isabelle glanced around the field of flowers and smiled. “You have a lovely soul Natalie. The red lilies are a nice touch, very… poetic.”

Ignoring the unspoken insinuations she could only guess at, Natalie pushed forward. “I’m still not willing to commit to your offer. But I am willing to develop a partnership with you.”

Raising a single perfect eyebrow, Isabelle purred. “Oh? Whatever do you mean by that?”

Licking her fangs, Natalie took a useless but comforting breath. “If I am ever to make you a body, you need me alive and sane. Teaching me will ensure that”

Isabelle scoffed at that. “You want my knowledge and aid at no cost? Come now, Natalie, charity, and Vampires do not mix.”

An ugly grin, more like an animal's snarl than anything born of mirth, came to Natalie. “You do get something from this arrangement; the opportunity to convince me to help you. Earn my trust and protect the option I represent. Make an investment in both our futures. It's that or keep wasting away.”

The older Vampire became deathly still at the implied threat. Barely contained rage boiled below the surface. Isolation and helplessness had gnawed away at Isabelle’s mind. An ugly truth the former Countess was forced to contend with as she wrestled her anger back under control. Wrath had never been her sin of choice, but more than a decade as a skull had changed her tastes. Bringing forth fits of pique the likes she hadn’t felt since her first years as Undead.

Shoving the prideful anger of a petulant Vampire away, Isabelle came closer to Natalie. Her unnaturally smooth movements and flowing skirts let her glide over the flowers and approach the now nervous Natalie. The newborn Alukah had to stop herself from stepping back in fright. Natalie had no idea of what might happen if Isabelle harmed her in this soulscape and did not want to find out.

Enjoying the flicker of fear in her rival and possible student. Isabelle softly added a condition. “I am willing to teach you some basic skills, but I require a small token of your cooperation. Trust is a two-way path after all.”

Licking her lips, Isabelle explained. “I want to make this connection we have more permanent. It will let us keep in contact without the messy blood and lies.”

Natalie frowned; some instinct scratched at the back of her mind, sending unspoken warnings. But the idea of never having to feed the skull or sneak behind Cole’s back had an appeal. Hesitating, she weighed her options and decided more information was needed. “What will this involve?”

Isabelle smiled. “We will both be able to arrange these meetings when you sleep. I will also be able to speak to you while you are awake. Nothing too severe, just being able to offer you advice and perhaps catch a glimpse of the world through your senses.”

Natalie’s frown only increased. “I’m not liking this option. What's to stop you from abusing it to jag with me?”

“It will cost me to reach out to you. My blood reserve is small, and I use much of it to stay lucid. Communicating outside of dreams would be grossly expensive.” Isabelle answered.

Mulling that over, Natalie found herself ignoring her concerns just a little more. “Can the connection be broken?”

Isabelle nodded yes. “The bridge will fade if it's not reinforced. Refuse to meet me enough times, and our dreams will become disentangled.”

“Refuse to meet you? How is that possible? I’ve had no control over this so far.” snapped Natalie. She was warming up to Isabelle’s proposal, and that very fact annoyed her.

Isabelle started to idly pace, her skirt catching on the surrounding flowers as she moved. “Magic of any kind is based on intent and focus. Even this crude little dream bridge I’ve spun into being. Focus yourself on leaving the dream like you might to invoke your blood, and you will break free easily enough.” Natalie shut her eyes and started to focus, just for Isabelle to hurriedly interrupt her. “...I would suggest you wait on that. Reconnecting this sleep would be difficult.”

Feeling a little more confident that she had an escape route, Natalie was seriously considering taking the leap. While the more logical and paranoid aspects of her warned against this. But another far deeper desire held greater sway. Natalie just wanted to feel safe again. A primal but unquestionable hope both Human and Vampire aspects could agree on. The only way to fulfill that hope Natalie could see was to grow stronger. Either through her own desperate struggle or with Isabelle’s help.

Shutting her eyes for a long, painful moment, Natalie made her choice. “I chose this. I followed Cole, I fought Petar, and I accepted Lord Glockmire’s offer. I’ve claimed this power and become the Alukah. I’m a monster now, but I won’t let that stop me from being me.” She was speaking more to herself than anyone else, hoping to find grounding in her words. Fixing Isabelle with a fierce glare, Natalie hissed. “But betray me or swindle me, and I’ll grind your skull to dust, dump you into an outhouse and light the cesspit on fire!”

Isabelle looked at Natalie for a long moment before snorting in laughter. “Oh, you are positively adorable! Now then, let’s get started. Cut your tongue or lip deep enough to bleed.”

Incensed by the older Vampire’s reaction, but still willing to follow her instructions. Natalie bit down on her tongue, ignoring the needle of pain her sharp fangs brought.

“Okay, now wha-” she started to say before Isabelle shot over and kissed her. The action was so unexpected it caught Natalie totally off guard, and she didn’t resist. Natalie tasted blood not her own, flavored by some exotic spice, and found herself wide-eyed and utterly stunned. After a long moment, Isabelle broke the kiss and stepped away, dabbing at her own lips, and the blood smeared there. Looking at the stunned Natalie, Isabelle let a coy smile play across her lips.

Natalie slowly processed what happened and stared at Isabelle, aghast. A strange mix of wrath, surprise, and disconcertingly, desire played behind Natalie’s eyes. She’d kissed girls before but had always been too initiate. Being ambushed by the admittedly stunning Isabelle was just plain confusing. Balling her fists and tensing up, Natalie shouted the first words that came to her mind.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”

Isabelle just laughed, a tinkling thing made of poise and noble confidence. “Forming a stronger connection, young Natalie? What else did you think it was?”

Knowing she should be blushing and for once thankful for her undead nature, Natalie snapped back. “Don’t give me that! Why did you just JAGGING KISS ME?”

The sly amusement in Isabelle’s countenance infuriated Natalie. Partially because she recognized it. She was no stranger to the coy games of flirtation, but she wasn’t used to being on the wrong end of this type of spar.

Isabelle ran a hand through her long dark hair and shrugged. “Another lesson for you. Magic is often sympathetic, reacting to symbols and allegory in potent ways. We needed to form a bridge between souls. Arcane words and thoughts aren’t enough. The mixing of our blood during a kiss proved a potent if simple, ritual. Why did you think there was something more to the gesture?”

Smiling like a well-fed cat, Isabelle glanced over Natalie with an appraising eye. “While you are quite pleasant to look at, that kiss was strictly business. Don’t interpret my begrudging acceptance of Cole’s affair as any real desire to share him or a bed with you.”

Grinding her teeth together, Natalie licked her fangs and tasted Isabelle's ichor on them. Resisting the urge to spit out the flavor, Natalie refocused. “Whatever. Now make good on our arrangement. I need to not lose control. Teach me how”

Isabelle placed a contemplative hand under her chin and said. “Yes, I caught bits of your frenzy. All things considered, it went better than could be expected.”

Natalie’s nostrils flared in anger, and Isabelle put her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Fledgling Vampires have a long history of committing accidental massacres. You just killed two bipedal vermin only after being threatened. I’d considered that a success.”

Somehow hearing that from Isabelle was strangely comforting to Natalie. The blunt declaration from a fellow Vampire carried more weight than Cole’s well-meaning words. “So can you help me from not ‘frenzying,’ as you put it?”

After a moment of consideration, Isabelle answered. “I can but not easily. Gaining the discipline necessary to resist the Hunger isn’t like learning how to mimic life or enhance your body. It's something brought on by experience and self-control. I can help you gain both and perhaps offer useful advice.”

Natalie felt dissatisfied with that answer. In retrospect, she probably should have confirmed exactly what Isabelle was willing and able to teach before making any sort of deal. It was too late for that now; all she could do was go forward and get the most out of her Hellkyn Bargain.

Still, she asked: “Expedite? How?”

Isabelle glanced around the flower field and gestured broadly. “We are in a Corpse’s Dream. The usual limits of the unconscious mind are murky here at best. I can train you here, turning wasted hours into valuable experience. But we can focus on that later. Did you grab your kill’s skull?”

Absently, Natalie reached where her pack should be. Stopping herself halfway through the familiar gesture, just in time to feel a familiar cold shape press into her hand. Bringing her hand back, she looked down at the ashen squirrel skull and almost dropped in surprise. Internally she chided herself. ‘I’m in a dream, don’t expect logic’

Isabelle looked at the skull and nodded approvingly. “A rat or bat would be better, but a squirrel will do. Tell me, did you drink the rodent to death?”

Natalie nodded, thinking back to her ugly experience with the trapped animal. Isabelle came closer and grabbed the skull. Holding it like a prized jewel, she examined the bones. “This should be enough to begin your Necromancy lessons.”

Eyes wide, Natalie sputtered. “WHAT?”

It had been two days and two nights since the encounter with the bandits. Cole and Natalie continued their trek west, following the tesselating bricks of the Imperial road. The weather had changed from near-constant snowfall to bleak sunlight filtered through high clouds. Neither traveler was much pleased by the shift. Natalie found the sun reflecting off the snow blinding and irritating. While Cole felt exposed without the shroud of winter to obscure their passage. This contributed to the low mood shared between them.

Shedding living blood and wrestling a frenzied Natalie had brought up far too many ugly memories for Cole. Putting cracks in the mental wall he put up around his past. The ugly life and deaths of the Homunculus Knight were not things Cole liked to think about. Natalie, for her part, was distant, jittery, and guilt-ridden. Her lessons had started in earnest with Isabelle, and they had been less than pleasant so far. Cole knew something had changed but didn’t know exactly what. He’d tried and failed to breach the subject thrice so far. Each time earning a cool non-answer from the distracted Natalie.

The distance between the two was growing with each step down the road. With neither knowing how to fix it. Something about that scared Cole more than every nightmare he’d faced. Staring off into the middle-distance, he wrestled with his feelings. Natalie’s presence and affection had warmed part of his heart so cold he hadn’t even realized it still existed. For a few precious moments, he hadn’t felt alone anymore. Now that flame was fading, and Cole had no bloody idea how to stop it. That threat, the idea of being alone again, terrified Cole.

Grappling this problem internally, Cole kept trying to breach the subject again, but no configuration of words sounded right. Leaving him grasping for a solution to a problem he didn’t truly understand. All while Natalie buried herself under a mountain of secrets and mired in self-loathing. Unable to reconcile her involvement with Isabelle and her commitment to Cole.

So they traveled like this, stuck in the silent hell of the distant and disturbed. The monotony of step after step is broken by a few simple words and little else. Until the wind shifted and Natalie caught a strange scent. “Smoke, I smell smoke and lots of it,” she murmured.

Cole turned to say something to her, but a sudden cold yank on his chest stopped him. It felt like an icy hand had gripped his heart and pulled it down the road. Putting a hand to his chest, Cole cursed. “Something’s happening. I doubt it's anything good.”

Nodding in unspoken agreement, the duo started down the road with new haste. Between Natalie’s nose and Cole’s god-touch, finding their target wasn’t difficult. A column of thin gray smoke billowed up over the horizon, and with it came the smell of fire and death. A worrying marker of where they needed to go. It took them another hour to reach their destination. Cutting off the road through snowy fields towards the smoldering remains of a destroyed farm.

A blackened skeleton of charred timber marked where a barn once stood. While a smoking farmhouse stood nearby. Its thatch roof long burned away, and its last wooden innards still smoldering in the late afternoon sunlight. The cold-blunted smell of dead flesh flavored the smokey air, an unmistakable scent of burned and spoiled meat. Cole stepped over to a snow-covered lump and brushed away the powder dusting. The dead body of a hound lay before him. The lean creature’s fur was matted with frozen blood, and its glassy eyes stared up blankly. Cole shut the beast's eyes and looked back to where Natalie stood nearby.

Natalie had moved over to the barn and looked at its burned husk. While the style was different, the basic layout of the farm was similar to the few she’d visited near Glockmire. A similarity that brought a pang of homesickness to her already beleaguered soul. In the ash and soot-stained timber that might have once been a barn door was a blackened skeleton. Or at least part of one. There was no sign of its limbs, and its ribs were split open. Cole approached her, looking at the skeleton.

“What happened here?” asked Natalie, glancing around the ruined homestead and pushing back memories of Glockmire and Lungu.

Cole leaned down and looked at the ground near the stable. Patches of disturbed snow and ash-smeared gravel started to tell a worrying picture. A number of large creatures had left the barn before it burned, their tracks obscured but still faintly detectable in the snow. Looking to the barn, Cole picked up a rock and stepped into the ruined structure. Flicking his wrist, Cole threw the stone up towards the hay loft and the main post supporting the barn’s roof. With a crunch and a clatter, the stone fell back, followed by a puff of ash and a dirty hunk of metal.

Picking up the piece of iron, Cole held it up to Natalie. It was a horseshoe, and a large one at that. “Farmers often put old ones up high as a luck charm. The larger the shoe, the more luck it can catch. This one belonged to a War Horse judging by the size.”

Leaving the barn, Cole looked back at the faint tracks and dropped the old horseshoe into the snow. He couldn’t be certain since multiple days had passed in bad conditions, but Cole guessed the shoe’s former owner had made some of these tracks. “A good horse is valuable, especially for those on the run.”

Getting what Cole implied, Natalie looked at the burned farm with new disgust. “You think those bandits did this?”

Cole shrugged, “it's a reasonable guess. Do you smell anything familiar?”

Natalie shook her head in the negative. “No, just death and smoke. Lots of death and smoke.”

Narrowing his eyes, Cole quickly walked back to the dead dog and looked around the farm for similar lumps. Finding none, he moved over to the still-smoking farmhouse. It was a large building for the area. Easily twice the size of what Natalie remembered from near Glockmire. Cole quickly ducked his head inside the building and looked around. Leaving with an annoyed cough as the smoke found his lungs, Cole started moving towards the farm's other side. Head bobbing back and forth like a bloodhound on the trail.

Confused, interested, and a little bit worried, Natalie followed after the skulking Paladin. She found him on the other side of the building, staring out at the white field before them. Even to Natalie’s untrained eyes, what he found was obvious. A ragged trail cut through the snow as if a small crowd had cut across the field, all moving in the same direction. Cole had his hand on his amulet and let out an unusual oath. “Fixed Stars.”

Unsheathing his axe, Cole looked back at Natalie, a worried expression on his face. “This was a large Farmstead. Probably home to a successful family, a retired soldier by the looks of things, and a dozen or more field hands. I’ve found evidence of violence but only one body. I doubt those bandits took the time to consecrate their victims. Probably stealing any valuables, including the horses, and torching the rest to cover their tracks. Maybe thinking that was enough.”

Gesturing out at the field and the tracks, he continued. “It clearly wasn’t. There are probably close to twenty Ghouls moving as a herd. That might be enough to overwhelm another farmstead. From then it will just get worse and worse. I need to clean-cut this before the rot spreads.”

Clicking her teeth together in worry, Natalie asked. “Twenty ghouls? That shouldn’t be that bad to deal with, right?”

Cole’s momentary silence was all the answer she needed, but he elaborated anyway. “If they were normal ghouls, not at all. But I don’t think these are. They reanimated too quickly, and the tracks are strange. Moving too quickly and too much in concrete. I think these are Grinners.”

Seeing her confusion, Cole waved a hand towards the tracks. “Grinning Ghouls. Faster, smarter, and deadlier. They can quickly overrun entire villages if not dealt with quickly.”

Natalie had heard of Grinners and even seen some during the Plague and Breach but hadn’t known the correct term for them. Which, in retrospect, should have been obvious. Considering the undead’s signature rictus smile. Of course, the people of Glockmire hadn’t bothered with clear labels, just calling them ‘The fast ones,’ Which was enough to describe the nightmarishly quick Undead who swarmed over people like starving wolves.

Turning his axe into a pole-axe, Cole asked Natalie. “How are you on blood? We are going to move fast and probably jump right into a fight.”

“I’ve got a good amount. Let's go.” was her answer. She still had the glut of blood taken from the two bandits at her disposal.

They dashed off into the field after the herd of Grinning Ghouls. Following Cole’s example, Natalie unsheathed her shortsword. While Isabelle had promised to train her in its use, their two lessons had focused on other skills, and Natalie had no faith in using the weapon. But she considered swinging it like a bladed club a better option than using her hands and mouth to fight rotting Ghouls. She also pulled out the squirrel's skull. Natalie was more confident in using that to fight but somehow doubted it would prove particularly useful.

Dashing through the snowy plains, Cole and Natalie were both reminded of their unpleasant forced march after leaving Glockmire. Neither tried to dwell on that comparison as they pushed forward. After nearly two hours of following the trail, more structures came into sight. A windmill and a few surrounding hovels cut up the monotony of white fields. Even in the calm weather, the windmill's great sails turned. A slow creaking waltz of groaning stone and worn wood.

Weapons raised, Cole and Natalie exchanged glances and approached the miniscule settlement. No sound other than the mill greeted them. But the smell of fresh death more than compensated. Black patches of half-frozen blood slicked the ground, and the acrid stink of torn innards colored the air. Slowly, with his weapon at the ready, Cole swept between hovels. Checking for signs of life, death, or undeath.

No bodies, just more signs of violence and little else. As Cole crept closer to the windmill, a wet bubbling growl caught his ears. Sitting in the mill's doorway was a ragged-looking sheepdog. The creature had noticed him and was building up to a loud bark. Cole paused and looked at the Dog. Nasty-looking bites covered its flank, and fresh blood dribbled out onto the wooden floor the Dog lay on. Black gore covered the hound's muzzle, and its eyes were fevered. Stepping closer to the Windmill, Cole watched the Dog carefully. Its presence concerned and befuddled him. The Ghouls had obviously attacked, but somehow this lone dog had survived. That did not make much sense.

Pole-Axe leveled, Cole, stepped closer, provoking a series of snarling barks from the Dog. The Canine tried to stand up but only managed to drag itself forward a bit. Trembling limbs unable to support its wounded bulk. Natalie hung back slightly, glancing around the Millstead, expecting an ambush. Skull in one hand, sword in the other, Natalie felt like she was being watched.

Cole reached the entrance of the windmill, keeping the Dog at weapons-length but close enough to see inside the Mill. Blood, both red and black, covered the Mill floor. While the crude wood and stone machinery of the Mill trundled on, uncaring of the carnage decorating its home. The Dog’s barks became more frantic, yipping pained snarls.

A flicker of motion caught Natalies attention, and she looked up to the Windmills top. Something hung from a window in the Windmills cap. A rotting corpse leaning out of the Mill and just about ready to fall. Eyes widening in surprise, Natalie yelled, “COLE!”

The Paladin spun to her just as the corpse plummeted. It fell the twenty-meter drop and smashed into Cole with a sickening crunch. The impact knocked Cole right off his feet, and the two bodies became entangled in a thrashing pile of limbs and cloth. Cole’s Pole-Axe went skittering away, knocked from his grip. The Corpse’s mouth spread open in a rigor mortis smile as it snapped at the stunned Paladin’s flesh. Cole got his arms between him and the revealed Ghoul and tried to push it away. But he lacked leverage and strength. The Grinning Ghouls' ambush had knocked the wind from him and left Cole struggling to breathe. Blood-stained teeth lunged for his throat, and it took all of Cole’s effort to shove the thrashing Grinner back.

Natalie charged forward, her sword at the ready. She faltered as no clear avenue of attack showed itself. The thrashing pair were stuck in a close ugly grapple. She couldn’t just stick her blade into the mess and hope for the best. Even if Cole could survive, or well, revive from such an accident, they didn’t have the time to waste on his resurrection. So she did the only thing she could.

Natalie hurled the Squirrel skull at the Ghoul. As it flew through the air, she spat out the crude incantation she’d made with Isabelle’s help. “Biter, Biter! BITER! I call yee!”

A small sigil Natalie had carved upon the skull’s forehead flared red, and gray smoke poured from the skull. In less than a second, the smoke congealed into a shape. An ethereal squirrel with bones made of red light. Partially translucent, the Squirrel-thing’s flesh and bones faded in and out of existence. Its skull the only thing composed of true matter.

Natalie’s aim was true and her Undead Familiar latched onto the Ghoul's back. With a mental command, she got the Squirrel to scamper up to the Ghoul's face and start biting and tearing at its eyes and mouth. The surprised Ghoul reached to its face, trying to remove the distraction. Giving Cole the moment he needed to roll away. Scrambling to his feet, Cole grabbed his Pole-Axe and turned back to his foe. The Squirrel had shredded the Ghoul's face, its rodent dexterity put to good work.

Barely pausing to process the bizarre sight, Cole charged the Grinner and swung his Pole-Axe in a wide sweep. Dwarven steel and Homunculus strength lopped the Grinner's head off. The headless corpse collapsed, and its head tumbled to the ground next to it. Scratching his thumb, Cole pulled out his spark-stone and launched a gout of fire at both body and head. The Squirrel Familiar just barely leaping away from the flames. Scuttling back to its mistress on phantasmal limbs.

Cole sucked in deep breaths and looked at the Squirrel and then up at a very guilty-looking Natalie. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the creaking windmill. “That… is a Bone-Bound Familiar. A potent bit of Necromancy. Would you please explain how and why it exists, Natalie?”

His tone was perfectly calm and unfailingly polite, but Natalie stopped breathing at his words. The steel-hard and winter-cold undercurrent to his words startled her out of the habit. Cole was asking her not as a friend or lover but as a Paladin.

Looking away from Cole’s hard eyes and down at the familiar she’d so creatively named Biter. Natalie told the truth, or at least part of it. “I’ve been having dreams recently. Dreams of other Vampires, dead Vampires. They’ve been teaching me things. How to use my powers effectively.”

Cole didn’t respond. Leaving a cold silence between them. Wincing, Natalie tried to muster up the courage to tell the full truth. To say who exactly had been teaching her. But that idea scared her even more than anything. She’d lied to protect Cole; that's what she told herself. But at that moment, she was forced to admit the truth. Natalie was afraid to be alone. She was afraid if Cole was given the option to pick between his original lover or her replacement, she’d lose the one bit of stability and happiness left.

Sucking in useless lungfuls of air, Natalie wrestled with her emotions and words. This had grown into a massive mess because of her own foolishness, and she couldn’t even confess properly. “I was scared of how you’d react. I know it's stupid, but I didn’t want to lose you. I…I don’t want to be alone in all of this.”

Cole became very still at her words. His own fears were bitterly reflected in Natalie’s words. Shrinking and sheathing his axe, Cole walked toward Natalie. Gently he held out a hand and took hers into his own. “Look at me, Natalie,” he murmured, pulling her eyes from the ground.

Lip trembling, the closest she could come to crying without feeding, Natalie looked at Cole. She expected anger but not the saddened disappointment she saw there. Which was somehow worse. Squeezing her hand gently, Cole let out a pained sigh.

“I know you are suffering. You’ve lost much and fear losing more. But please, PLEASE trust me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to abandon you. So no more lies, no more secrets. Alright?”

That broke Natalie, she wept, but no tears came. A dry parody of grief. Cole let go of her hand and embraced Natalie. His arms wrapped around her frame and nestled her close. Gently in his rumbling voice, he murmured. “No more secrets.”

Enjoying the warmth of his embrace, Natalie swallowed back her sobs and licked her lips. He was right. No more secrets. It was time to tell him about Isabelle. “Cole, I-”

A loud snarling bark startled both of them. Breaking the embrace, they whirled back to Windmill. The dog had dragged itself out of Mill’s doorway and sat next to the smoldering Ghoul Corpse. Its blood-flecked muzzle spat a few more bubbling barks at the pair. Cole looked at the Dog, circled around it, and went towards the Windmill. The Dog followed him with its head but refused to move from its new place. Cole stepped into the Windmill and looked around.

The trapdoor leading to the structure's second floor was shut, its ladder pulled up. Taking advantage of his great height, Cole reached up and pressed his hands onto the trap door. It barely budged. Something very, very heavy had been put on top of it. Leaving the structure, he returned to the dead Ghoul, placing it between him and the growling Dog. Getting closer to the body, Cole looked at its arms and legs. The clothes were torn, and ugly bites were visible on the Corpses’ forearms.

Nodding to himself, Cole retrieved the ghoul’s severed head and placed it next to the body's neck. Looking at the snarling dog, Cole noted its bloody paws and numerous bites before speaking. “Your master was a good one, wasn’t he?”

Setting down his pack, Cole pulled out some pyre-wine. Natalie stepped up behind him and asked. “What did you find?”

Letting a drop fall on both body and head. Cole watched as the smoldering body quickly caught flame. The Dog didn’t shy away from the flames, just watching them for a moment before letting out a mournful howl. Watching the pitiable display, Cole answered Natalie.

“I can’t know for certain, but I think this poor fellow survived the initial attack by hiding in the Windmill's upper levels with his dog. But he’d been bit, badly too, by the looks of it. With no medicine or magic, he was doomed. The Grinners left, and he knew once he turned, his Dog was also doomed. So he left the poor thing downstairs and locked himself up high to protect it from himself.”

The dog in question stared at his master's burning body with glazed eyes. “A pointless tragedy, all of this. I doubt the dog will live to see dusk.” Cole remarked. “But the Grinners must not be far. We might be able to catch them before the next attack.”

Looking around the Millstead, Natalie asked. “How many Grinners will there be?”

Cole grimaced and looked to the tracks leaving the settlement. “Thirty or forty easily. This will not be easy.”

Tentatively, Natalie looked at the dying dog and back to Cole. “Could… Could I maybe help?”

Cole glanced back at her and saw the nervous tension on her face. “What did you have in mind? You are stronger than a Grinner and aren’t at risk from their bites. That should be enough to help destroy the herd.”

Natalie stepped toward the Dog and chose her words carefully. “My Squirrel would be helpful; you’ve seen that. But another familiar might be more useful.” glancing down at the sickly creature, she remarked. “It seems cruel to leave him to die here, and like you said, this is a waste. What if I could help even the odds and help this creature avenge its master?”

Natalie was surprised by her own boldness. The words seemed to flow out of her faster than she could think of them. Something about creating another familiar felt right. It scratched some itch she never knew existed. A Vampire's urge to grow an army surfacing with the opportunity.

In that iron-calm voice Cole used when acting as a Paladin, he rebuked her. “I cannot let you enslave this creature's soul Natalie. Even if it is a simple animal, it deserves to rest.”

Natalie vigorously shook her head in contrition. “No, no, nothing like that. I would just use its remains and its Hollow.”

Surprised, Cole asked. “Hollow?”

Natalie quickly explained. “Imagine a person is a jug of water. The flesh is the jug, and the soul is the water. When you die, the soul is dumped out, but a little bit of moisture clings to the jug. That's a Hollow. Trace elements of a soul I can use to make a more effective familiar.”

Letting out a slow breath, Cole answered. “I see. You wouldn’t actually be using the Dog’s soul, correct?”

Nodding quickly, Natalie stepped closer to the rapidly weakening dog. “Yes, and I can get the Hollow easily enough. This poor thing is already dying. I’ll just be easing its passage.”

Speaking so softly, Natalie could only hear it because of her enhanced senses; Cole agreed. “Do it if you must.”

Looking at the stoney-faced Paladin, Natalie nodded weakly. Kneeling down next to the dying animal, Natalie made a shushing noise as she lowered her face to it. Before the Dog could react, Natalie sank her fangs into its throat. She injected her full complement of venom into the animal, hoping to remove its pain. Then she drank, killing the dog and consuming a tiny scrap of its Soul.

Feeling the little bit of stolen life enter her, Natalie unsheathed her shortsword and her carving knife. With a single clean motion, she cut the Dog’s head off and set it in front of her. Wincing slightly, she forced herself to not apologize to the corpse. Setting her weapon down, she held up her artisan's tool. Jabbing her finger with its tip, she covered its point with Vampire blood and got to work.

Whispering strange words of a dead language, Natalie carved a symbol into the Dog’s forehead. For this type of ritual work, Isabelle had told her to make up her own unique sigil. It hadn’t been hard for Natalie. She simply reused her artist's mark. A pair of looping ram's horns outlining a Cat’s eyes. Now with an added loop at the center representing a drop of blood. As she carved, Natalie kept thinking how this was just like her normal art. She wasn’t carving through flesh but through green bark. Her knife wasn’t etching bone but a tree’s solid heart. The lie helped, just a smidge.

Hands coated in dried blood, Natalie finished. Holding up the skull, she whispered. “At a Mill, you were found. After a Mill, you shall be named. Grist is your name. At my call, you shall answer.”

Natalie’s ritual sigil glowed bright red, and Natalie felt the consumed Hollow flow from her along a magical bridge into the severed head. The great pool of blood in Natalie’s soul shrunk as her power fed the ritual and created her second familiar. As the sigil became more intense, Bloody flames started to leak from it. Grimacing, Natalie had to resist the urge to drop the head. The flames spread out, consuming the Dog’s flesh and leaving polished bone behind. Gingerly, Natalie set the cleaned skull down and called upon her new familiar.

“Grist, Grist! GRIST! I call upon yee.”

Red light and gray smoke bled from the skull, and soon the phantom shape of a Sheep Dog stood in front of her. The undead creation looked at its corpse and that of its former master. Then looked up at Natalie. It cocked its head to the right and then licked her fingers with a tongue made of icy fog. Getting back to her feet, Natalie looked at Cole.

His expression was completely neutral, and Natalie could almost see the mental barriers coming up inside him. Wincing, she looked back down at Grist and said. “Let's go.”

Cole nodded, and the Bone-Bound Familiar trotted off in the direction of the Grinner's trail. Natalie turned to follow it, but Cole set a strong hand on her shoulder. Wobbling under the phantom weight, his hand added to her back. Natalie went perfectly still.

In a sad murmur, Cole said. “When the Ghouls are dealt with, we will need to talk.”

Without turning to look at him, Natalie nodded in agreement and went after her Familiar. For a second, Cole watched them both and looked back at the bodies of Dog and Man. “I’m sorry. Sleep well and awake in a better life.”

Following Natalie, Cole set his jaw. She wasn’t telling him everything. He knew that now. A Bone-Bound Familiar is a complicated piece of magic created by an Atredian Vampire long since dead. Isabelle’s sire. While her Sire had certainly taught others that unique piece of Necromancy, the number was small. And it was possible Glockmire might have learned it. Or maybe the ritual wasn’t created but rediscovered, having roots back to the Alukah’s era. Believable, if flimsy explanation that crumbled under the next bit of evidence. The term ‘Hollow.’

Cole had never told Natalie about Isabelle’s research. How she explored the mechanics of souls in ways no other scholar had. It had been Isabelle who coined the term Hollow and learned how to use the spiritual residue to bolster spells. Potent magical secrets that had died with her. No one had inherited Isabelle’s knowledge, not even Cole. He only understood the most basic principles, not the actual ritual work involved. But Natalie had cast them expertly like she’d learned them directly from Isabelle herself.

Reaching back to his pack and the familiar lump of Isabelle’s skull, Cole knew the truth. Isabelle had contacted Natalie and was teaching her magic. Natalie had hoped to hide this from him, but Isabelle was clever. She’d taught Natalie something that gave the secret away. A message in a bottle only Cole would recognize.

He should have been angry. At the betrayal and lies from Natalie. And those emotions were there, but hidden. Buried under another far more powerful and shameful reaction. Cole was afraid. Isabelle was strong enough to reach out and teach Natalie, but hadn’t made contact with him. Why send a subtle message instead of just speaking to him like she had in the past. Something about this whole situation stunk, and it worried him. Forcing him to consider a possibility he’d never let himself dwell upon.

Isabelle’s soul, or at least part of it, had clung to her skull. Trapped for twelve years after a particularly horrible death. Persisting by feeding on Cole in some process he didn’t fully understand. But while she survived, had her sanity? Had the good he’d helped foster in her? Or was there nothing left but the Monster both Cole and Isabelle feared she could become?

Shutting his eyes for a second and unsheathing his axe, Cole focused on its comforting weight. Those questions could wait. He had a duty to fulfill. The Grinners needed to be stopped. Then he could worry about the two monsters he loved.