"There it is."

Johann's voice was barely a whisper but in the unnatural silence of the forest it might as well have been a shout. The knight took a step forward, oblivious to the crunch of his footsteps on the dry leaves or the sharp, almost metallic smell of the coming snow.

His focus was entirely upon the spear. Its shaft was made of white wood, polished so smooth he had mistaken it for marble, and the bronze spearhead was shaped like an elegantly stylized shark.

It was presently stuck within the ribcage of an obscenely oversized humanlike skeleton, which was itself entangled in the gnarled roots of a tree the size of a watchtower. The giant's bones were twice the size of a man's. More remarkably, they were made of pitted, rust-flecked iron.

Johann reached forward.

"HOLD!"

Johann froze. Even though the salvation of his people was mere inches away from his outstretched hand, he dared not ignore the voice behind him. He felt the wizard's hand grip him by the shoulder.

"You know it is not meant for you." Aldara said. She squeezed hard enough for Johann to feel it through his mail shirt. He remembered her saying that wizards aged only on the outside. He had no reason to doubt her on that point.

"And who is it for?" Johann hissed under his breath. "That scum?"

The scum in question was already walking toward the spear. Galen VonZent, the cutpurse and murderer. Galen VonZent, the spoiled, cruel son of a merchant house who killed his own father and nearly bought his way to freedom. Galen VonZent, who Alex 'sacrificed himself to save.'

"Galan, take the spear. You're ready." Aldara said, her voice heavy with the import of the moment. When Galan moved to obey, she slowly pulled Johann back away from the spear, step-by-step.

The tall, golden-haired man grabbed the spear with both hands, and began slowly pulling it free of the iron skeleton. To Johann's shock and disgust, the shark-shaped spearhead bent this way and that in a swaying motion, aiding in its release.

"The gods must be insane, or cruel beyond reasoning. If that beast is their chosen one."

"You aren't incorrect." The old woman chuckled. "But why say that now? Why not when we found him?"

"I had faith the gods had chosen well, that he'd grow into the role. But since we saved him from the gallows he has done nothing but confirm that he was right to be there. He has been cruel, selfish, cowardly, and petty at every turn." Johann's voice was a barely subdued growl. "And even if you do not believe me, he murdered Alex."

"I told you to give him a chance." Aldara said. Johann braced to be lectured about some hidden goodness or potential for redemption. "I'm glad you took my advice."

"What? You agree with me?" Johann gritted his teeth. "You should have let me at least try to pull the spear free. If he can do it, I certainly can!"

"Why is a prophecy like a worm on a line?"

"Again with your riddles! I don't know!" Johann barely managed to suppress a shout. "Is that why I am unworthy? A riddle?"

Aldara sighed. She smiled in that way that made Johann think of his grandmother, and his anger faltered. She spoke, clear and gentle. "Do you think the Gods would leave something this important up to chance?"

"Obviously not, that's why the prophecy-"

She squeezed again.

"Tell me, how do you ensure that a chosen hero isn't killed before they can save the world?"

Johann glanced back at Galan. The brute had managed to free the spear halfway, and was taking a self-congratulatory break. "Whisk him away as a child to be raised in safety? Assign a wizard to watch over him? Place other heroes along the path to help him?"

"So many moving parts." The wizard laughed. "The gods can try and play us like puppets, but free will is a wildcat in a burlap sack-"

"-you can take it wherever you want until the sack tears." Johann continued the adage. "And you'll get cut along the way regardless."

"The task gets no easier by adding more cats."

"Then how?" Johann asked, somewhere between sullen and frustrated.

"If you need to make sure only someone who is worthy can take the spear, you make the spear ensure that anyone who takes it-"

The wizard paused, a wide satisfied smile on her face. It was not the smile she had worn when they were joyously feasting with the elf-folk five days into the quest. It was the smile she had worn when she made Vorn the Destroyer's blood turn to water in his veins.

Johann's gaze was thusly occupied when the sound of Galan's sharp, anguished scream ripped through the air.

"-is worthy."

Johann turned slowly. As a knight he had heard enough death rattles and screams to know that he didn't want to witness the cause of Galan's banshee-like shriek.

When he finally did turn fully, his gaze did not meet a horrifying eldritch mutilation as he expected. Instead, there stood Galan, holding the spear reverently with both hands.

Though nothing outward had changed, every aspect that Johann had found lacking was now plainly there in the lines of his face and posture of his body: compassion, thoughtfulness, maturity, competence, sincerity... even hope. Everything was there behind those eyes.

Everything except Galan VonZent.

You and I are the same. We're both so bloodthirsty.

In fact, if you asked my departed mother, you are so much worse. You, human, do not like blood as we do. Vampires sip the blood of man and beast for sustenance. My mother said you draw the blood of every creature because it excites you.

My mother said, that even those who faint at the sight of blood are hard-wired to love it, your desire just overcomes you. My mother said, you all will be the last species left on this planet because you are the cruelest. My mother said, across the millennia, it has not been good enough for us to bow to you, but we must be buried beneath you. 

I cannot even find peace in this cave.

My mother said, you have slain the Neanderthal, the Jinn, the Denisovans, the Paranthropus, Homo erectus, and even the vampire. 

That is what I was told for the first one hundred years of my life and I still don't know what to believe.

To be honest, I didn't care about any of that at the time. My mother lost my focus as she spoke as soon as she said both she and I would be dead soon. I had lived as a home-schooled child in in a small cave not knowing anything about the world for 100 years. She said she was on her last leg of life and I only had 40 or so years left despite my teenage look. She died that month.

Soon ( in vampire terms) I was going to be dead but before that, I wanted to live. I wanted to party. I've never tasted human blood and I would never be interested in it. 

There were songs to dance to and women to love. Why were we sitting in caves whining? I flew to the closest city and started my adventure. Then after failing in that city because I did not understand it (I was homeschooled remember) I went to a different city where things were much better.

I learned to trust humans along the way, all thanks to my best friends Kathleen and Barri. I want to tell you I became their friends over mutual interest, or something noble but that's a lie and I will not lie on my deathbed.

I met the girls when I was on a tear, going to a club or bar every night and waking up beside something pretty every morning. The hookups weren't important, just bodies for lust, adoration, romance, and memories for a couple of hours and then a bill for Uber in the morning. The night I ran into the girls something was different.

Kathleen sipped a blue drink and saw me coming. She tapped Barri, a girl who never understood subtlety, and Barri stared at my approach like a child does a new adult. Drunk and horny I sat beside Kath. Embarrassed easily, her face went red almost the same color as her pink dress.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," Kathleen said.

And then I vomited everything I had drunk in the last hour. The rainbow mix exhausted me and I almost fell out of my chair. Kathleen grabbed me before I could and Barri helped steady me.

Everything went blurry. I was blackout by this point so this is just what I was told.

"Oh, no," Barri said. "Are you okay?"

"Ah, man," a bouncer came by and grabbed me by the shoulder. "I'll get this guy out of here. Sorry, he's bothering you."

"No, actually he's our friend!" Kathleen interjected.

Now, why would this girl lie to protect a stranger? She said she felt bad for me but after getting to know her better I know that isn't the whole truth.

Kathleen was a girl desperate to find Mr. Right. This was her greatest ambition. Now when I vomited on her shoes she knew I was not Mr. Right but the thing is Kathleen had vomited on a shoe or two herself, she didn't even drink, she was that nervous.

Growing up fat, with a stutter, and bad skin, guys weren't the nicest to Kathleen. 

Extreme diet and exercise, speech therapy, and puberty changed who she was on the outside but the years of rejection and bullying did a number on her. She was a nervous wreck around men she liked. Her constant failures only made her want true love more. Like Harvard graduates lusted for political power, Kathleen lusted for love. 

Her lust for love caused her to be a nervous wreck when the opportunity approached. Her stutter returned, and she would tell jokes that weren't funny and she brought an air of anxiety to the interaction. So, when she saw a boy stumble over trying to introduce himself she saw a little of me in her.

Kathleen and Barri brought me over to a couch. They sat me down and Kathleen went to get me some water. So, it was just Barri and I. Now, this is the part where I start remembering again because I thought Barri's question was so strange it almost sobered me.

"Did you mean to do that?" Barri asked with genuine sincerity.

"What... no?"

Now, one thing you should know about Barri is that she might not have any idea about what's going on at any given time. It's interesting because she wasn't dumb either. She was accepted to an Ivy League school but turned it down to go to a school closer to her family. 

Barri just had gaps in her wide array of knowledge. I was homeschooled in a cave, I could relate.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said. “I just know guys have like um, pick-up lines and stuff. You guys can be real tricky." She said tricky in what I'm sure she felt was a funny accent. It was cringy.

I didn't say anything. My head was spinning.

"Oh, no, sorry I didn't mean to imply that you were tricky." She patted my back twice. "I'm sure you're a nice guy."

I looked at her and was greeted by the most unorthodox, unpracticed, and genuine smile I had ever seen in a club or anywhere in my life.

Now one thing you should know about Barri is that because she had trouble not offending people and understanding people what she really wanted was to be understood and to be good. She was a part of about five different volunteer teams, a consistent church attendee, and was a big sister in one of those at-risk youth programs. As for being understood, she was a constant over-explainer.

They were flawed, silly people and I loved them for it.

For the first time since I walked into the human world, I realized I had found some humans I wanted to be friends with. And that's how our yearlong friendship began—a rainbow of impulse and chasing after what we want. 

I traded sex for friendship that night and never regretted it. It was easy. The girls were a lot like me all they wanted was to have a good time before their first year of college. So, there was no sex but secrets shared, the only thing naked between us was the truth, and we were bound by trust, not fuzzy handcuffs. And I wouldn't take back that experience for the world.

There was another who did not like it though.

Perhaps, we all are slaves to our genetics... Do you know elephants hate lions and will chase a lion down to ruin its day? The same goes for whales and orcas.

There was something from the ancient world that was a proud slave to its genes.

We clubbed every weekend night and songs steered our summer.

In July we were singing our hearts out to Chapel Ronan's best song, not Pink Pony Club, not Good Luck Babe but Feminomen

Hit-like-rom-

Pom-Pom-Pom

Get it hot like

Papa John

As soon as we entered a club we went straight to the dance floor and earned our drinks through sweat and laughs. After that, we headed to the bar to grab drinks and then decided who would wing for who in the search for love. That night Barri and I left Kathleen at the bar so Barri could wingwoman for me.

While we were away an old man came up to Kathleen. Much to her chagrin, she always attracted men outside her age range. 

I don't remember what the girl I liked was wearing but Barri wore a bright yellow dress and had just re-dyed her hair to be blonde.

"Oh, you like movies," Barri said to my target for the night after awkward introduction and conversations. "Vlad really really likes movies," Barri said again without a hint of subtlety. In truth, she wasn't a good wingwoman at all but that was the fun of it. That's what made all of us laugh.

"Oh," the woman said, probably surprised by Barri's abrasive approach.

"Do you have a favorite director?" I asked.

"I don't know. I like horror," she was nervous. Her drink swayed ever-so-slightly in her hand. "Oh, I saw Get Out recently it's my favorite movie so I guess Peele."

"You like Get Out better than Peele's other one... US?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Pretty eyes and that little smile you do and blessed with good movie taste. I didn't know God played favorites," I mocked and flashed my smile and thanks to thousands of years of vampire genetics I'm told it is quite good.

She rolled her eyes but she did do that little smile I liked. My heart raced because I knew what this could lead to.

Behind us, the old man still chatted with Kathleen. He was out of place for the EDM club we were in. He wore a plaid suit and loafers. The room glowed under the lights of the dance floor. 

Neon, orange, yellow, and pink painted the club. Dresses, tank tops, and white sneakers flowed throughout the room. This was a place for drugs, dancing, and laughter. What did this old man want?

I am protective of my friends but Kathleen knew how to get rid of him. She was just taking longer than normal.

"Whatever," the nameless girl in front of me said. "What about you? Who do you like?"

"The only one better than Peele right now: Robert Eggers."

"Oooh he is good," Barri chimed in.

"Better than Peele? Lie again." She mocked.

"You think I'm wrong?" I pretended to be aghast and put my hand to my chest in protest.

"I know you're wrong."

"Jordan Peele didn't make The Witch," I countered.

"Well, he didn't," she said and fingered my chest. "You're right about God playing favorites because he definitely made you cute but gave you bad taste." Her touch and her teasing sent me into boyish ecstasy and she knew it. My toes curled and I fought back a larger smile that wanted to greet her.

"Oh," she said. "It looks like you have a cute little smile too."

That would have sent me over the moon until Barri chimed in.

"I liked The Witch," Barri added not understanding at all that I was doing quite fine without her there.

We both stared at her. She took two big sips of her fruity drink without a care in the world.

"Shall we dance," I asked the trio.

"Eeek, let's go!" Barri squealed

My film buff flirt shrugged and motioned for me to lead her. I did and looked back one more time at Kathleen and considered breaking it up.

The last time I did she got mad at me because she said he was offering to be her sugar daddy and she was toying with the idea if she should get one. Maybe, she finally decided on it.

Regardless, we got to the dance floor. I am not a good dancer but more importantly, I am a free man. I'm not afraid to be off-beat or a fool. I will do what my body tells me to do or jump and sing the lyrics. On the third song since we were on the dance floor that's what I was doing. I jumped, screamed, and sang in front of my girl's face and she did it right back.

Gimme Gimme Gimme

A man after midnight

Won't somebody come chase the shadow away

Yes, it was effeminate. Yes, it was corny but like I said I was free. I was having a great time.

The girl I flirted with wiggled her finger at me to come closer.

I pulled my new friend close to me for her to whisper something in my ear, purely for intimacy.

"That's not your girlfriend right?" She asked.

"Why? Jealous." I asked. It was my turn to mock.

"Maybe, I just wanted to give you a little film education at my place y'know because I have such good taste."

"Why, yes I would like a taste."

She gave me a playful smack on the cheek and pushed me off.

"That is not what I said."

"Sorry, the music is just so loud. It's difficult to hear can you say it again?" I said and stared at her lips, unashamed and making it clear what I wanted to do.

She bit her lip and glanced at me.

"Come here again and I'll show you."

She puckered up. I touched the small of her back and pulled her in. She put her two fingers on each side of my belt buckle and returned my embrace.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the old man in plaid grab Kathleen's wrist and pull her out of the chair. Kathleen and I made eye contact across the bar. Her eyes bulged and puffed with fear and tears.

That I would not stand for. I brushed my date aside and moved with the speed and strength that vampiric blood allowed me. Men dropped as I went through them. The floor of flashing lights and colorful shirts parted like the Red Sea and soon I placed my hand on the back of the man in plaid.

A mighty push would be enough. He would fly across the room, crash against the wall, and receive a broken body as punishment.

That's what should have happened.

Instead, he received the brunt of my power and only stumbled a few feet. He turned to me, his little head full of joy.

"Oh, you are from the old world too! I smell the old blood on you," his voice was curling, it was like every word was yanked uphill going higher in pitch at the end.

I was stunned into silence. I helped Kathleen up but didn't take my eye off the plaid man. He frightened me. No one should be this strong.

"Oh, she belongs to you! If I had known oh, if I had known. I have much gold and a few souls. I will buy her. Name your price."

"Not for sale," I said. I had never met another nonhuman who wasn't a vampire before and I was not enjoying the experience.

"Oh, everything is."

"Not her."

Barri came behind me and added "Yeah, not her," then gave Kathleen a long list of eternal sorrows for leaving her.

"Yes, her.” the strange man said. “Yes her indeed and the pitiful one as well."

"I said, no."

"My dear son of the Count, do you know I am dying? Do you know what you do to me? You saying no... your resistance... your protection. It only makes me want them more. Are you aware because I have lived 1,000 years I have had everything I want? All that is left is what you want. Now name your price because everything has one."

A bouncer came from around the corner and tapped the odd man on the shoulder.

"Sir, you need to leave."

He eyed the bouncer, all four foot of him eyed the six-foot-plus giant.

“No,” he said. “I’m negotiating. Don’t interrupt an elf as he negotiates.”

“Okay, let me walk you out,” the bouncer said.

With speed, much faster than me, the elf grasped the leg of the bouncer buried his hand in there, and yanked out dripping red bone.

The bouncer screamed and collapsed to the floor.

“How will you do that with no legs?” the elf asked and the turned to me. He wiggled the bone in his hand and said. “Now, we were negotiating…”

He had to see it in my face. He had to see the fear. That was a lot of strength. To much strength. I tried to reply back but my throat went dry. He could talk though he was unmoved as everyone in the club ran out screaming upon seeing the bouncer’s crawling body trying to make it to an exit.

I somehow found words and mumbled my reply.

“Is that a number? Go on speak up.”

“They aren’t mine to sell.”

“What do you mean, Son of the Count? Have you not made them your slaves?”

“No… they’re my friends.”

“Then I will take them.”

His eyes gleamed with a sickening delight as he tossed the bloody bone aside. I never heard it clatter to the floor. Screams, the bouncer’s gurgling, and the bass of the speakers drowned it out. The elf’s eyes gleamed with a primal hunger, and his body shook with wanting. He stopped looking at me and eyed Barri and Kathleen.

Kathleen trembled behind me, her fingers clutched my arm,  her nails dug into my skin. Barri stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. For once she had nothing to say.

I leaped to him with a punch that could shatter bones, but the elf merely staggered, a twisted smile still plastered on his face. He moved with a fluidity that was both mesmerizing and terrifying, his every step calculated, predatory.

Without warning, he lunged at me, faster than I could react. I barely had time to raise my arms in defense before he was upon me, his strength overwhelmed me. We crashed into the dance floor, the impact shattered it. My back burned.  My head bounced against the floor. Neon lights flickered and flashed above us to match the quick, violent tempo of the song.

His hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing with the force of a vice. I thrashed beneath him, clawing at his arms, but it was like trying to move a mountain. 

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” he said. “I am your brother here. You cannot befriend them you must rule them or they will betray you. I beg you. Yield.” 

“No,” I spat back.

“Then you will be made to yield,” he said and grabbed my thigh with one hand and pulled out a bone.

I howled. I cried. I was confused. And I was so angry.

“It’s for your own good, Son of the Count. These girls…” he stopped his speech as both Barri and Kathleen crashed bottles against his head. They did not affect him. He swatted them away.

I managed to free one hand. I unsheathed my nails and slashed them across his face. It loosened his grip. I broke free.

“I guess I deserve that.” the elf said unamused. “We can be done with this boy. Again, I just ask you for your women?.” he rose and extended his arm to me.

Something snapped inside me. With a primal scream, I launched myself at the elf, sinking my fangs into his face. He howled in pain and I chewed. I chewed like a mad dog and ripped out every piece of humanity from his flesh. The taste of his blood was foul, like poison, but I didn’t care. I bit down harder, my anger gave me strength. The elf tried to shake me off, but I held on and tore at his flesh with all the fury I could muster.

Eventually, I got off of him and stood above him on my one working leg. He crawled away on his back, like a worm. His nose was gone, I had swallowed an eye and his face was more bone than meat. I felt a gross satisfaction with myself.

“You… you..” he stuttered and sputtered his words, he only had one lip to speak with now and part of his tongue was torn. “ You would do this to another elder species for them? You have stolen an elf’s face for what? Do you know what they are?”

“They are friends,” I said. Both Kathleen and Barri helped me up.

“Oh, this... this… you betray your blood for humanity. They will betray you y’know? You see me as an enemy but one day you will look at me as a friend. Wait until you meet my friends.”

And with that, he ran away.

He sat alone in the dim light, reloading his rifle. His greatcoat was tattered, and his armor was damaged, but it had to be good enough. With only one grenade and nine rounds, he had almost two reloads left. His gas mask lay beside him, mocking him with its broken eyes as he carefully cleaned blood from the axe blade on the buttstock of his rifle. Runes on the blade glowed faintly as he washed away the filth. Dust fell as the constant artillery barrage shook the Vault, causing the lights to dim with every blow. Everything had gone wrong so quickly. Less than an hour ago, they had the honor of being the first Umril-Kai to walk in this Vault in millennia. That pride was quickly taken away. How many warriors were in the forward unit? Maybe 200 or 300. There were at least four squads of grenadiers at the front. The Kretch were upon them, in formation, as if they had been marching alongside the Stone Kin all along. How did they manage to get so close without being seen? The Umril-Kai were unaware of their presence until the screaming began. It didn’t matter right now. He needed to move. He needed to find his way back.

Everything in the hall had gone quiet. It had been 20 minutes since he heard any movement. With a wave of his hand, Bardin activated the rune, unlocking the hidden door. Creeping, rifle always at the ready, Bardin tried to retrace his steps. It was easier said than done. Once he had fought his way out of the ambush, he faced a grueling retreat deeper into the vault, scaling at least five levels. Gunfire in the distance. Bardin made his way toward the sound. As he rounded the corner, he almost collided with another body. In an instant, they had aimed at each other, fingers nearly pulling the triggers. Though he couldn’t recognize him behind his gas mask, this was undoubtedly one of Bardin’s kindred. There was a moment of tension, and then both relaxed. “Bardin Thorinson of Clan Drakkar, 1^(st) Grenadiers,” he stated in a hushed tone. “Grom Fire-belly, Engineers,” replied the other Dwarf, lowering his heavy revolver. “Come, there is still fighting to be done,” Grom said, nodding toward the sound of battle. Together, they edged closer, their footsteps halting at the faintest sign of movement or the scraping of footsteps on the flagstones of the nearby streets. They arrived at an entrance that opened onto a causeway offering a vantage point over the lower levels of the Vault.

Below, the dwarves formed a defensive ring with their shields tightly interlocked. As enemies approached, the dwarves skillfully wielded their axes and short swords, viciously cutting down any who dared to advance. Meanwhile, expert marksmen among them picked off distant threats with precision while the drake guns unleashed cascades of searing flame, engulfing and overwhelming the onrushing hoard of Kretch. The Rune Priest raised his hammer high in the middle of the circle while uttering sacred oaths and prayers. The dwarves found themselves enveloped in a radiant shield of light, creating a protective canopy above them. A foul voice drifted through the air just beyond hearing. Black lightning arced from above, claiming a few unlucky shield bearers. The ring pulled in tighter under the protective spell. The hoard surged forward with shrill cries and smashed upon the wall.

 Bardin and Grom stood on opposite sides of the causeway opening, while a hunched figure with a gnarled staff stood at the edge.  It spoke with a weak, croaking voice as it pulled dark energy into a crackling ball in its hand. The air took on an acrid flavor. Bardin’s hair stood on end, and a chill ran down his spine. With a glance at Grom, he formed the word "sorcerer" with his lips. Grom readied himself with a revolver in his left hand and a short sword in his right. Bardin gave the nod, and they rushed around the corner. As soon as they were through the opening, Bardin fired his rifle twice in a hammered pair. Both shots met their mark. The sorcerer let out a pained howl, swiftly spinning around to press his back against the railing and face the new intruders. With a raised hand and a guttural incantation, the sorcerer unleashed a curse upon the dwarves as the lesser Kretch charged at them from the causeway. Bardin was overcome by a sickening wave as everything around him faded into darkness. When he managed to open his eyes, he found himself standing in Zarakai. How did he get back? He was months away from the capital. Then he heard the screams and smelled the smoke. The Kretch were everywhere. Clan warriors fought and died all around him. The High King was lying dead in the square. His beard was torn, and his body was broken. The Kretch smashed the young on the hearthstones and dragged the she-dwarves away to be made into brood mothers. It was unbearable. The world came back in jarring flashes, punctuated by the sound of three gunshots. Bardin's head was spinning as he looked over at Grom, who stood before the sorcerer, now slumped on the ground. It held its hand out weakly as Grom pressed the revolver against its head. The fourth shot rang out. Grom hurried past the slain Kretch to help Bardin to his feet. Nausea overcame him as he stood, causing him to swiftly drop back to his knees and expel dark, viscous sludge onto the ground. It stuck in his beard like tar and emitted steam as it landed on the cold stone. “that’s right lad, let it out” Grom was slapping Bardin on the back as he fought to choke out the last of the foul magic. Grom finally got Bardin to his feet and said, “Come on, the little bastards are on the run. We need to get back to the others now”.

The journey back to the other survivors was swift as the Kretch retreated further into the Vault. The two dwarves made their way in relative peace, although they had expended all their ammunition and bloodied their blades by the time they reunited with the others. Of the hundreds that entered this long-lost vault, only 47 were alive. Dangerously low on ammunition and with many wounded, they needed to return to the rest of the army, still assaulting the outer defenses. Still, the earth shook as the dwarven guns hammered the walls. They all knew that if they tried to return the way they came, they would all die. The Kretch still firmly held the defenses. The Umril-Kai needed to find a new way out.

“Please don’t leave me,” Meilea said, but Karad did. He’d seen her tears most nights, when she thought he wasn’t looking, as she remembered her father. He’d traced the scars on her back, held her against him for stability. He couldn’t stay while she was like this.

He took up the quest for the Sword Which Parts All, the last of the Seven Dominions, which had not yet been found. The Crown of Knowledge of Realms had been found first, by some grand king; the Ring of Invisibility was found by someone who was never seen again. The more interesting Dominions, the Cup of Healing Waters and the Iron Tablet of Memory, had both been taken far away by beings Karad couldn’t hope to conquer. Of course he would have tried, if he thought it would help Meilea.

So, wandering, he joined up with others who sought the Sword. Mordwell, the dwarfish man, sought it to cleave through the hides of dragons. Vetterite, the thief, wanted to enter places the best of thieves had never reached. Amashiam, a warrior, wanted the sword for glory. Karad wanted the blade out of mercy. None of them knew who would take the sword, should they find it.

Amashiam died fighting a Bullvox, who gored her and drank her blood. Mordwell was cursed with a wasting, and died in the arms of Malirriya, his lover. Vetterite got the closest, pierced with twelve arrows on the steps of the Grand Temple where the sword rested. Karad alone reached the altar where the blade was held by the petrified Elder who had kept it. WIth it, he cleaved his way out of the temple.

Meilea was disheveled and thin, but she greeted him with kisses and laughter. She was not mad; she knew he’d had to go. Everyone in the house was amazed Karad had found the blade. He told them the stories of how he’d found it, and the people he’d lost along the way.

That night, when everyone was asleep, Meilea asked him the question; “Why did you have to go?”

“You were so broken,” Karad said, regret in his voice. He knew, if he’d told her his plan, she would never have let him go. He took the sword. “I will be merciful. I love you.”

He saw terror in her face, then understanding. She stood, arms out, eyes closed.

Karad struck.

He struck the bond, the link between Meilea and her father. He felt it tear beneath the blade, and saw Meilea recoil as some invisible force knocked her back. The world shifted around them. Meilea had no father. She never had.

Wonder was in her eyes; the memory was there, but detached, for none of it had ever happened. It was at a distance, safe to touch, safe to examine, but it no longer had power over her. She raised her shirt to see smooth, unscarred skin.

The two embraced. The sword clattered forgotten to the floor. They were together. Meilea was free.

(Here You can listen to audio version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCdlph835qc )

Today I’m going to tell you about a necromancer… Not just any necromancer, but the Necromancer… The one who was the first to make a pact with Death, who was the first to learn its dark secrets, who coined the creed of the ancient brotherhood of graveyard sorcerers….

But let’s start at the beginning. Centuries ago… No, more than centuries, thousands of years ago. It’s hard to say how long ago, because there are no chronicles so old as to date back to that time… In some country in the East; the name of that land, the name of the people who inhabited it, the language that people spoke, the names of the cities they inhabited. All this is lost in the darkness of oblivion….So, as I say, thousands of years ago, in some country in the East,  there lived a man. An ordinary craftsman. He made pots out of clay. He couldn’t be called rich, but he certainly wasn’t poor. Well, he earned enough to provide a decent living for himself, his wife and two sons. And he could even afford small pleasures from time to time, such as a jug of wine for dinner or a small trinket for his beloved….

But, although his wife was beautiful and diligent, and his sons were healthy and diligent too, this man was deeply unhappy. What was the reason for this?… His profession.

First of all, when a man sits at the potter’s wheel performing monotonous and familiar motions by heart, he often does so in passing, while his mind is sunk in contemplation.
Secondly, the potter’s life and work provided him with plenty of material for musings that were not very cheerful.

But before I go any further, you should know something : the people among whom the man lived have always been afraid of wraiths( the cursed corpses that walk the earth to harass the living). Ironically, the people feared the undead at a time when there was still no necromancer who could summon them from beyond the grave…. Therefore, they did not bury the corpse as we do today. Each body went to a pyre made of dry wood, which the priests set on fire. The pyre burned until all that was left of the deceased was ash, at which time the assembled family praised the merits of the deceased and raised a lament. The conflagration ritual was meant to ensure that the dead would not take revenge on the living, and the annihilation of the body was meant to prevent them from doing so, should the rite itself not be enough. When the fire was extinguished, the priests would collect the ashes and pour them into a clay urn, which was then buried in the ground.

We should remember that the future Necromancer was engaged in the processing of clay. But, as you already know, his creations were not only used to store wine, beer, water or milk… They were also a resting place for the dead members of his community. So, the Necromancer was not only a simple potter, but also a bit of a mortician. Every time someone died, the family of the unfortunate person would come to the potter’s workshop to order a new vessel in which the ashes would be placed. Therefore, the craftsman was aware of every death occurring in the area.

At first, this man felt a certain pride in the important role he played in society. After all, he ensured the souls of the dead a peaceful rest, and guarded the boundary between the world of the living and the hereafter… He had a stake in this as much as the priests .After all, they knew what prayers to say during a funeral, but they themselves could not create urns that were at least as important as the prayers they offered.

It was not uncommon for a potter to go to a funeral to watch what was left of the deceased’s mortal shell go into an urn. A person’s body, his entire earthly life, was finally housed in the vessel that his hands had made….Yes, at first this reflection was a cause of pride for the craftsman. He was young and foolish at the time. But over time, the thought that everyone, sooner or later, would become just a pile of ashes enclosed in an urn buried in the ground, became a cause of anxiety and bitterness for him.

Everyone was dying. Everyone. There was no turning back. This thought did not leave the future Necromancer day and night. As he caressed his wife’s hair and skin, he couldn’t relish it – he kept thinking about how her beauty would one day begin to fade as the inexorable old age arrived, until it would disappear completely when the inevitable death came. Looking at his sons, full of joy of life and strength, he couldn’t be proud of them ; all the time thinking about the fact that their youth was merely a postponement of judgment. While molding another urn, he couldn’t rejoice in his future earnings. He kept thinking about the fact that one day someone would pour his and his loved ones’ ashes into such a vessel. When he went to bed, he thought about how sleep was similar to death. When he woke up in the morning, he thought about how pointless it was to get out of bed ;after all, everything he had done was just a plaything in the face of what had to come. He might as well lie there and wait to die.

And so the thought of death flavored every moment of the potter’s life with bitterness. He raised prayers to the Gods to send him solace, but the Gods remained silent. Besides, what was the point of praying? Although the powers were said to have meddled in human affairs and lives, had anyone heard of the Gods saving anyone from the inevitable fate of all beings: death? No. As everybody could see, even they were powerless against it. Or did they not exist at all? After all, he didn’t see them with his own eyes.

But… Even if the Gods did not exist, there was another force ruling the universe. Impetuous, all-powerful… It could not be doubted because every day it showed its power. The only certainty in all the chaos was death itself.

And so the Necromancer stopped praying to the Gods and started making supplications to Death. And this time, he was heard.

What really happened then? The modern necromancers tell it differently. Some say: “Yes, there is such a thing as the God of Death, the Terrible One, an all-powerful being from whose hand no one escapes. Somewhere out there, beyond the veil of matter, hidden deep in the inaccessible, primordial layers of eternal Chaos. It rests and observes the world and mortals, its subjects… And sometimes, when its gaze rests on a promising being, its makes him its prophet… Who will comprehend its intentions?” Others shake their heads, answering: “No, Death is not a deity. It is something more. It is the fundamental power in the Universe, It is the basic nature of everything that exists, it is the force that drives the spokes of the Great Wheel… One can try to oppose it, but what is the point? It won’t accomplish anything. Nor is it possible to win its favor. But… Just as a ship going with the tide,  positions itself so that the wind blows in its sails, plows the waves unhindered so you can follow this great power that is Death… And then its strength will become your strength, and the currents of life lost by others will flow directly into your soul.”

Anyway, great changes have taken place in the Necromancer’s life. At first he didn’t notice them, until one day he accidentally grasped which way was the way to realize his dreams. His wife asked him to buy a goat so that their family would have fresh milk every day. The necromancer went to a nearby farm, where he exchanged freshly fired pots for the animal. He led the goat towards his house. At one point, the creature stopped. Tugging on the halter didn’t help, shouting didn’t help, the goat didn’t even think to move. It just stood there and barfed. Seeing that his attempts were to no avail, full of anger the Necromancer sat down on a nearby stone.

“Damned cattle!” – He growled at the disobedient goat. “Life is so short, and because of you I’m wasting a chunk of it on a stupid jerk!” – he muttered, unloading all his grief to the world on the animal. What? Aren’t you going to say anything? Maybe you could somehow make up for my lost time, LOST LIFE!” .He yelled, extending his hand toward the goat. Unexpectedly, the animal, which until then had remained insensitive to reproach, made a despairing moan, much louder than before, and took a few steps back.

At the same time, the Necromancer felt… strength. The fatigue disappeared. He felt crisp, as if he had just gotten out of bed. This feeling was so sudden that it seemed suspicious to the man. And his suspicions were going in a certain direction….

“Well, calm down now, come here, I won’t hurt you…” – he tried to make his voice sound soothing and reassuring as he approached the terrified goat. Finally, he ran his fingers into its fur.

“Well, give me some of your life, little goat…” – he muttered. He tried to imagine the force flowing from the animal’s body to his own. And indeed, the longer he did this, the better he felt. The energy was buoying him up. To say he felt rested is an understatement… Now he felt like he had lost years! Yes, he knew that wasn’t quite the case… He wasn’t getting any younger… But maybe… Maybe if he tried harder… He would make it! At that moment he realized that the poor goat was barely standing on its feet, trembling and moaning quietly. He pulled his hands away from her. After all, he did not want to put the animal to death. “ Don’t be afraid, little goat… Just in addition to milk, you will also give me something much more valuable”. – he said. This time there was sympathy in his voice – after all, this animal gave him hope to overcome his fears.

From then on, the Necromancer regularly fed on the goat’s life force, trying to draw enough to keep her from dying. Besides, she was not his only “feeder”. The potter became a regular at cattle markets. He could be spotted going from one animal to the next, occasionally patting down a particularly mature piece to check its fat and muscle. Curiously, he never bought any. One day the Necromancer thought: Since I can receive, maybe I can also give?. He began to conduct tests. He kept some of the strength he took from the animals for himself, and sent some to his wife and children. It worked.

Good days have come for the potter. Yes, he had not yet found a way to avoid death, but he finally gained hope that it was possible! All he had to do was fill his body with the life force he had taken from time to time. What’s more, he could also feed his loved ones with it!

The potter rejoiced that his wife was always full of strength and rest, that she was endowed with new life and became even more beautiful, full of energy and joy. He rejoiced that his sons were becoming healthier and stronger than all the other young men, that they were leading among their peers. He rejoiced when he worked and his hands did not get tired. He rejoiced when he went to bed, knowing that he would wake up crisp and rested. He rejoiced when he got up, knowing that with his new powers he would be able to do so much today.

He hoped it would always be like this.

(Sorry, there is characters limit, rest of the text is avalaible here: https://adeptusrpg.wordpress.com/2022/12/14/tale-of-the-necromancer/ )

“Don’t assume my life has always been lollipops and rainbows, young man. Like most people, I’ve had my share of problems and difficulties. I have experienced frustrations, money troubles, issues with finding and keeping a romantic relationship, health scares, etc. I’m like everyone else in that regard. It may seem as if I don’t have a care in the world, but it hasn’t always been that way for me. The sweet ‘gumdrops’ of life came much later. My pivotal moment came when I met ‘the broker’. That changed everything. After my appointment with him, all my troubles melted away. I negotiated an amazing deal on that fateful day.”

“The ‘broker’?”; his captive audience-of-one, stammered.

The young man was perplexed and intrigued by the odd segue. It held the promise of offering an interesting story and fulfillment of the developing narrative. The curious lad prodded the conversation along by dutifully asking for an explanation of the curious term. Without further interruption or delay, the senior gentleman picked back up in his unveiling story of contentment.

Their unspoken understanding was confirmed. With his appropriate response, the question facilitated the means for the story to move forward. It was the equivalent of two people playing ‘catch’. The back and forth ‘give-and-take’ had been handled judiciously, and with nuance.

“Many, many years ago I had a similar conversation with an older gentleman who was about the same age that I am, now. He didn’t seem to carry the weight of hardship on his shoulders and I was fascinated by his enviable sense of calm. I was about your age; and I suspect, had similar troubles to those you have. After appealing to him for his secret, he told me about ‘the broker’. it’s about time I passed that torch to you. It’s selfish of me to keep such knowledge to myself.”

The young man smiled. He sensed an entertaining reveal around the corner.

“There’s an enchanted, magical being of unknown origin; collectively known as ‘the broker’. At least that’s what I was told, years ago.”

The old man had a twinkle in his eyes as he spoon-fed the strange details to his curious protege.

“The broker’ collects personal dreams, the same way others might desire to own a classic car, or rare coins. He is drawn to interesting and unique experiences. I can’t begin to explain to you why he collects such odd things. Regardless, you’ll only have one opportunity to meet him. If he is intrigued by your entry, he will offer you a deal for the rights to ‘own’ it. Heed my advice. Be fully prepared when that happens and don’t squander away your only chance. Wait to summon him when you have an exceptional item to offer, and know exactly what you want in return for it.”

The young man could hardly believe his ears. It seemed like an intricate setup to trick a gullible rube, but the older gentleman appeared to be dead serious about the surreal details he’d divulged so far. Despite suspecting it was a masterful joke at his expense, he dared to ask follow-up questions.

“How do I summon this ‘broker of interesting dreams’, when the right time arises? I don’t remember my dreams very often, nor are many of them exceptional in any measurable way. Of the few I do remember, most of those are sinister nightmares. If I do experience something that is vivid, positive, and highly interesting, I want to be ready to share it with the dream broker.”

“That’s both wise and very prudent, young man. I feel like you grasp the gravity of my advice, but you’ve taken the parameters too literally. It doesn’t have to be an actual dreamscape you experienced while asleep. It can also be about your hopes and aspirations for the future, you see? The only thing worse than not having a valuable item to barter with in the deal; is having the perfect one to present, but not having an audience with him. That’s a missed opportunity of a lifetime, for certain.”

The young man nodded in agreement. He was highly pleased and proud his personal advisor recognized his understanding of the seriousness of the matter. He waited as patiently as he could for the answer.

“When your time arives, you’ll know. It will soon become crystal clear. There will be no doubt you’ve secured the ultimate deal. Don’t waste time by asking for silly, impractical things like ‘eternal life’ or ‘vast riches beyond compare’. A dream broker isn’t the almighty, of a magical genie. His powers to grant you wishes aren’t limitless, and his pocketbook isn’t bottomless. If he is intrigued by the dream you share, he’ll initially offer you a pittance for it. He’s a shrewd businessman who has negotiated countless deals. Resist the urge to accept any ‘lowball’ offers. Be ready with reasonable expectations, and stand firm on your demands. Good luck young man. May you broker an amazing deal which brings you a lifetime of well-being and happiness.”

The old man winked and turned to walk away.

“But wait Sir! You didn’t tell me how to contact the broker of dreams, when I’m ready to strike my deal.”

He turned back around to face the curious youth. “Oh, you are ready! I already know what you desire, young man. I can see it in your humble eyes. I’ve heard the same requests a million times from others but that doesn’t detract from its validity or precious value. All reasonable dreams for the future are basically the same, and a delight for me to fulfill. You see, when I had my own special meeting, I asked to become a broker of dreams, myself. Happiness, and good health is a wise choice, my boy. I’ve already granted them for you.”

I am sure, as you read the last chapter, you felt underwhelmed. Don't be disappointed. I am not finished telling you the story yet. There are a few questions I have yet to answer. So many more stories to tell. I will begin somewhere sensible.

I wondered for the longest, why light? Why was Ming bestowed a beautiful glow. Hao told me one day, that the first time he noticed the light, he was filled with jealousy. I had asked him about it and he said:

Hao: The abbot, that used to be head of Ming's adoptive parent's household, was the one who named him. It was said that because he was not supposed to be alive. Having to get rid of the twin of a future king, meant death! Hence, when auntie took Ming in the middle of the night from the palace, she went directly to the temple. She was thinking she will hide him there. Apparently, the Queen had begged her to save him. Upon removing the silk that wrapped Ming, the abbot said Ming shone as delicate as a moon's night light. He said that he needed to be named after this light, that it will keep him safe. The light was blinding when it felt threatened. Therefore, hiding Ming from the harmful eyes of his enemies. However, on regular days, Ming walked around with a halo. He always had this brightness around him. I cannot describe it to you. You saw it in the temple before.

I nodded in agreement: It was bedazzling. I could see how he captured the unwanted attention around him. When did you see it first?

Hao, smiled gently: You ask about the first time I saw it! Hmm, we were playing near the pavilion in the palace. The pavilion was located on a deep lake of rain water. He almost fell in the water. But to mine and Wang's shock, we saw the gleam of the sun from the water, lifted him back up. Ever since then, Ming and I kept going to the abbot with questions. The abbot told Ming, the light chose him to be his warrior. In return for the protection, Ming had to lead an honest life. Abbot told us, this light selects specific warriors throughout the universe.

Upon speaking to Wang in depth, we came to realise many truths. Wang said that, one day, he and Ming were going to pay respects to his mother after studying. As they entered the Queen's quarters, they heard the Queen talking to both Ming's and Hao's mothers. She told them she picked wrong! That Wang was supposed to be sent to the temple! That God punished her, for giving away her child, by making the one she kept: "weak and incapable."

I won't lie. When Wang told us his side of the story! I was remorseful for him. To be regarded as inferior by your own mother! How terrible! The thing that made her choose Wang was because he was the firstborn. That was the rule anyway! Part of me resented her for saying her intrusive thoughts out loud! Wang told us that his minister caught on that same day! He heard the Queen's conversations and acted as a spy to her clan! Who he belonged to! The minister kept the information until Wang turned 16.

Then he told him that he is fully aware and that no one but him can kill the warrior of light! Apparently the minister had tried to kill Ming variously, yet failed. So he consulted the abbot of his clan's temple and was told: Only what the light trusts, can harm it. The minister knew of Ming's loyalty and condition to lead a noble life, He used it against him.

Wang recalls: The day I turned 16, remember Hao? You went to sneak into the kitchen to find us liquor. Ming was behind the screen changing his clothes. My minister walked in, he thought I was alone.

Minister, with a mean smirk, directly: Alone at last, your highness? These 2 annoying clowns seem to be glued to your sides at all times. Yes, I know Ming is your twin and all!

The minister approached Wang and came close to his face: This is how it will be, you have no choice or argument. Soon you will be King and you will allocate me as your main minister! You will discard Ming and Hao into the borders to serve our army. The condition is either that or I wipe their clans out. That is the only choice you can make!

He released an evil laugh and continued: Funny to think you will make a decision! We both know Ming is going to make the decision. It will be in my favour! Inform him and let us be prepared.

And as he left without even turning to face Wang: Ah, that was my gift for you. Happy 16th, your highness.

Wang, telling us: Ming came to catch me, just as my legs failed to keep me upright. I fell to the ground! Ming promised me he will leave and he will solve the problem. That I will not lose him or Hao. He made me swear that I will kill both of them if they ever came back! It was the only way their families could be spared. He even told me, if I couldn't master the courage, that he will hold the sword in my hands and help me kill him. Always, him playing the hero!

Hao, interrupting him: Aha, that is why you were crying when I got back! You said it was from laughing hysterically! How naive was I, to believe you!

Wang turned to Hao and extended his arms: I am sorry, Hao! Genuinely from the bottom of my heart! I lived so miserably after you both were gone! I was in solitude most days! Minister ran the Kingdom to the grounds! Sold us to different entities. But you know, Hao. Ming came to see me. I thought I had gone mad, how is a dead person coming to visit me. One night I was out for a walk. Leisheng was making its way to me. I was stunned, horrified actually! I thought it will kill me. But it just brushed itself onto me. We hugged and I saw Ming by Leisheng. He told me it was the just thing to do. Sacrifice 2 to save many. He said he wanted to die because he had lost the only father he knew. He told me not to live in guilt! As if I could help it. Moreover, Ming's light followed me around. When it got dark every night, I saw his halo. Remember Hao? That brightness that just shaped him. I was grateful both of my parents were long gone, before seeing me kill their other child. Also, Hao, I took care of your children. They grew up to be fine men. I made sure they never felt that you were missed.

Hao and Wang reconciled. I could feel Ming was content within my soul.

To be continued with side stories ...

Once upon a time, in a quiet valley nestled between rolling hills, there lived a family on a small farm that overlooked a vast wheat field. The father, known as Papa, and the mother, who was simply called Mama, had been told prophecies when they were younger. Papa had been visited by a wise witch who spoke of a destiny entwined with a great cosmic event. Mama had inherited a generational prophecy passed down through her family about a chosen one who would one day emerge to change their world.

To their great sorrow, when Mama gave birth, the child was stillborn. Papa, remembering the witch's prophecy, wished to find a way to bring the child back to life, but Mama believed they must let their son rest in peace. The tension weighed heavily on the couple.

Then, one fateful night, an asteroid fell from the sky and landed near their farm, lighting up the dark with a brilliant glow. Amidst the celestial wreckage, they found a child wrapped in cosmic light. The boy's skin shimmered like the stars, and he seemed to radiate an otherworldly energy. Mama and Papa took in the star boy, believing him to be a sign of the prophecy.

To preserve their stillborn child, they wrapped him in cloth from the asteroid and placed him in a special resting place. Years passed, and the star boy grew up to be strong, kind, and beloved by all. His presence brought great prosperity to the farm and the village.

The valley, however, was home to more than just farmland. Jacked, roided-out oxen roamed the wheat fields, making it difficult for the villagers to harvest their crops. Every year, the villagers would embark on a dangerous hunt to capture as many oxen as they could, ensuring their survival through the harsh winters. This challenge was made even greater by the island people, who would attack the wheat farm every winter in search of food. Eventually, a peace treaty was signed, allowing the island people and villagers to trade resources.

Despite the treaty, a minor villain continued to cause trouble, harassing the villagers and making life difficult for them. It became clear that a chosen one was needed to put an end to this reign of terror.

One day, the star boy discovered an old map that led him and his best friend to a hidden waterfall beyond Hermit Mountain. Following the map's instructions, they reached the waterfall and collected water from a clear pool beneath its cascading waters. They knew this water held special properties.

On their journey back home, the star boy and his best friend encountered a sinister figure who claimed to be the villain destined to die at the star boy's hands. The two clashed, but to the star boy's shock, he was overpowered, and his life was taken by the villain.

Heartbroken, the best friend returned to the star boy's family with the water from the waterfall. Papa, determined to bring their stillborn child back to life, poured the water over the cloth-wrapped child. To their astonishment, the child stirred and took his first breath.

The resurrected child, now imbued with the power of the cosmic cloth and the magical water, set out to avenge the star boy's death. He faced the villain who had killed his adopted brother and defeated him in a fierce battle.

But as the dust settled, the resurrected child discovered a darker truth: the villain had been controlled by a far more dangerous foe, a hidden puppet master who sought to plunge the world into chaos.

This is my first book kinda, I hope you enjoy it because I have been working on this story for a few weeks, enjoy. 😊

This is my first book kinda, I hope you enjoy it because I have been working on this story for a few weeks, I'll post the next chapter soon, enjoy. 😊

Chapter 1.

You know before the Great War, Lucifer used to be God's favorite angel, ha those were the days. so where do I begin? Well, he's the devil, who invited Daddy issues, waged a war, and was banished to hell. so grab a drink, you'll need one.

Title: Supernatural - Chapter 1: Divine Commission

In the vastness of the heavenly realms, where celestial wonders unfolded in divine harmony, Lucifer and Michael were summoned to the throne room of God. Their presence added a solemnity to the atmosphere as they stood before the Almighty.

"Father?" Their voices echoed respectfully, acknowledging the magnitude of the divine presence.

"I have summoned you both for a special purpose," God began, His voice carrying the weight of authority and love. "I am embarking on a new project, one that will shape the destiny of Earth."

Michael's eyes widened with curiosity, "Is this about the Earth, Father?"

God nodded, a gentle smile gracing His countenance. "Indeed. I want you both to create two beings, a male and a female, to inhabit the Earth. The one whose creation is deemed the best shall receive worship and reverence from their design. You will hold great power and influence among the angels, respected for your creativity and wisdom."

Lucifer's gaze flickered with intrigue and determination. "This is a monumental task," he remarked, already envisioning the possibilities.

"Ok, um, where do we begin?" Michael's voice held a mix of excitement and uncertainty as he looked to God for guidance.

"Come with me to the garden," God replied, God stands up, His presence imbued with a sense of anticipation. Without physical movement, the surroundings of the throne room transformed dramatically. The once grand chamber dissolved, replaced by a breathtaking landscape of lush greenery, blooming flowers, and a symphony of natural sounds.

"This garden shall be your canvas," God explained. "Use the elements here to sculpt your creations. Remember, they are not just beings but reflections of your creativity and the divine essence within you."

Lucifer and Michael nodded in understanding, their minds racing with ideas and visions for the beings they were about to craft. The stage was set for a grand competition of creation, one that would not only shape the fate of Earth but also test the bonds of brotherhood and loyalty in the heavenly realms. Thus, the first chapter of the Great War began with a divine commission to create beings in the likeness of their creators.

"Dad, you created all of this in just 7 days?" Michael's astonishment was palpable as he surveyed the vibrant scene, filled with diverse flora and fauna.

Lucifer, too, took in the beauty around him, his eyes alighting on the various creatures inhabiting the garden—birds soaring gracefully, butterflies flitting about, and majestic beasts like lions and giraffes roaming freely.

"Where are we making them?" Lucifer asked, his mind racing with excitement.

"Here," God gestured towards a specific spot next to a tree laden with fruits. "You will mold them from the earth in that location. I will then breathe life into your creations."

Michael, intrigued, inquired, "So what's so special about that tree?"

"That," God explained, "is the tree of Life. It symbolizes not only vitality and sustenance but also the essence of divine knowledge and power. By partaking of its fruit and imbuing your creations with it, you will establish a unique bond and authority over them."

They exchanged glances before turning their attention to the towering tree. Lucifer led the way, digging into the earth with precision. Michael observed before joining in. Lucifer sculpted the ground into a head, meticulously carving features. Progressing to the torso, he painstakingly crafted each detail, from the shoulders down to the feet. Returning to the head, he fashioned a second, morphing it into a bird, then a lion. He duplicated his creation, forming a female counterpart, completing the task in a mere ten minutes.

"I'm finished!" Lucifer exclaimed, pride evident in his accomplishment. He was confident no one could replicate his feat.

"Impressive, Lucifer. You may indeed hold sway over this new domain," God praised, patting Lucifer on the head.

God's gentle touch and encouraging words filled Lucifer with a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. However, as Michael began his creation, Lucifer couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension and competitiveness.

Approaching the figures, God knelt down and breathed life into their nostrils. Their chests rose and fell rhythmically, yet they remained in a profound slumber.

"Now, it's your turn, Michael," Lucifer taunted with a smirk.

Michael stepped forward, focusing his gaze on the earth. With deliberate movements, he gathered handfuls of soil, shaping it into a form. Carefully, he molded the figure, shaping the head, defining the features, and sculpting the body with precision. Each detail was crafted with intention, reflecting Michael's meticulous care.

As he worked, a sense of reverence filled the air, underscoring the gravity of the moment. With a final touch, God observed with quiet approval, acknowledging the significance of Michael's creation. It was a testament to his skill and reverence for life, marking the beginning of a new chapter in the unfolding story of creation.

With focused determination, Michael meticulously crafted every detail of his creation, pouring his creativity and care into each aspect. His attention to detail and the lifelike features of his creations surpassed even Lucifer's expectations.

Lucifer's initial smirk faded as he witnessed Michael's masterful work. Despite his inner struggle to contain his emotions, he couldn't deny the excellence of Michael's creation. The intricate details, the lifelike features, and the resemblance to their divine image left Lucifer in awe.

"Wow, Michael, I'm impressed," Lucifer admitted, a hint of admiration in his tone. "Your attention to detail and the way you've crafted them in our image is truly remarkable."

God, too, was visibly pleased with Michael's creation. "Well done, Michael. Your craftsmanship and dedication are exemplary," God praised, acknowledging the effort and skill put into the creation.

Michael, however, remained humble in victory. "Thank you, Father, but I'd rather you be their king. This is a team effort, and you will breathe life into them, making them truly divine creations."

God's smile widened at Michael's humility and unity. "Very well said, Michael. This is indeed a collaborative effort, and together, we shall bring life and purpose to these beings."

With that, God prepared to breathe life into Michael's creations, ushering in a new era for humanity and solidifying the bond between the divine and mortal realms.

"how about all angels bow to this marvelous creation, for they are in my image, and they're like gods."

"Great idea, Father," Michael's voice resonated with admiration for the new creations.

Lucifer's expression darkened as he heard God's suggestion. He felt a surge of anger and disappointment, a desire for recognition and power bubbling within him. Determined to address his concerns, he approached God.

"Dad," Lucifer's voice was edged with frustration.

"Yes?"

"A word?"

Lucifer took God's hands and led him away from Michael, wanting privacy for their conversation.

"Dad, I thought you said we would be kings of them, not the other way around," Lucifer's eyes flashed with defiance.

"Son, your brother made his choice. It's his creation, and whatever he says goes, got it?" God's tone carried a hint of finality.

"But dad!" Lucifer's voice rose with anger.

"No buts. Now go back. I have to make them alive."

Lucifer stormed back to his place, his emotions swirling with resentment and determination. He clenched his fists, plotting his next move. The tension in the air hinted at the brewing conflict—the seeds of discord sown in the celestial realm, paving the way for the Great War.

if you made it this far please leave a vote you don't have to but, it lets me know you liked it 🥹🫶🏾

part 2

If you don't wanna wait I already have the full chapters posted on Wattpad.

Title: Supernatural

General: Syfy, Bromance, adventure, action.

Status: Ongoing.

Tags: #fantasy #horror #brothersconflict #bromance #horror-thriller #lucifer #romance #religion #historical #god #demons #brothersbestfriend #angel #mystery #supernatural #satan #goddess #angelofdeath #adventure #syfy #paranormal

Description: Once hailed as God's favorite angel, Lucifer's descent from grace was marked by celestial chaos and family conflicts. Branded as the Devil, his rebellion and banishment to hell stemmed from unresolved fatherly tensions and a monumental heavenly war. So, grab a drink and prepare for a tale spanning eons of cosmic turmoil and intimate vendettas.

Please find Part 1 here.

At that moment, I felt how unsettled and nervous, was the General. The scenes repeated. It was that moment his mother caught him and begged him for marriage.

This time, my dream paused at the moment the General was apologising to his father. I awoke in sweat, the first thought that crossed my mind, my own father. We have not spoken, since I rebelled and decided to leave his nest. I called his mobile phone, but no answer.

I proceeded to call the samanera.

Samanera: Abbot says he is not ready! I wonder why is it taking long. I am not even sure, does he mean, the General is not ready or himself!

I, eager: Would it be rude, if I just show up?

Samanera: I am not certain. Come have tea with me tomorrow and let us see from there. I will call my senior samanera, he, also, wants to see you.

The next day, after distracting ma with work, I sneaked out of the house.
You know this feeling, when someone is looking at you, or following you? You usually get the sense of it. I turned around and saw that character, the one I suspected may be Hao.

I may have been out of work for a month, but my keen reflexes are turned on most of the time. I turned and pointed toward him, asking him to come my way.

He approached with a smile: Never fails! I missed you.

I, annoyed and not sure why I felt annoyed: Wipe that grin off your face.
I covered my mouth in shock! Did I just speak rudely to someone I do not even know! It felt like my mouth belonged to someone else. He continued smiling.

I, confused: Listen, I am not sure what was this! I have a meeting now. So, could you please just, I don't know, go away?

He shook his head left to right: I know you are going to the monastery. It is mind-blowing, every time you come back, it is always this monastery.

I thought to myself, maybe this being is useful. He will answer questions, that the abbot is avoiding.

I, throwing a bait: Hao, would you answer my questions if I said you can come with?

Him, with not even the slightest bit of shock: Sure, Ming's soul keeper. You never told me your name?
I: People call me, doc M. Just call me Kon Mooh.

Hao: Kon Mooh. I love that this time, you are a doctor.

I, inquisitive: Tell me as we walk, what was I the first time and thereafter?

Hao, looking up to the sky: You will not punish me with him in the next life, will you? He needs to know, so he stops coming back! God, I am so fed up.

Hao, turns to look at me: Last time I told you everything, I was reincarnated, even though, I believe I am not at fault and that my karma is clean. I am so curious, why does he keep bringing me back! I wonder if he wants us both to find Wang and clear the air! I hope Wang is a worm this time around! The horrid creature.

His verbal diarrhea is unmatched nor changed! He kept spouting random useless information.
I, interrupting without patience left in me: Hao, enough! You never change! I asked you a direct question, may I get a direct answer?

Hao, giggling: I missed this so much! I was lonely for the last 30 years. I waited for you, you know! The least you can do is hear me ramble! Anyway, sure, let me see, where do I begin?

I, waving away his nonsense: Tell me about that marriage ? My last vision was Ming's mother forcing him to marry.

Hao, smacking his lips: No, no, no Mooh. I can tell you many things. But this part, I do not want to risk. Whatever Ming is showing you and guiding you through is his business. I can tell you about later lives.

I, not hiding my disappointment: Let us hear it then!

Hao: Your last reincarnation, Wang, ended him with a supposed, accident! Wang, without hesitation, ran over your last body! He chose a large vehicle. When your old body expired, Wang said to me, he selected that vehicle to make sure you are gone, and not just hurt!

I, eager: Did you meet Wang this time around?

Hao, bothered by my interruption: I just said it, no I am hoping he reincarnated as a worm! You know, all three of us grew up together. We even had the same nurse! We were fed the same milk! I honestly have no sympathy for Wang. Without a doubt, he was treated better than us, being king and all! He just hated Ming, with passion. We assume it is because Ming was skilful. I am sure we keep coming back because there is another reason. Can you think of any?

I, more confused than before: No. I was told this is to cleanse his karma. You know, for all the killing you two did!

Hao, exclaiming: Huh!

Contemptuous, he continued: God is some joke! Like we wanted to kill! It was kill or be killed! No, no, it was kill, or your family be killed! Wang told both of us he will eradicate both of our family clans, have we not gone to war in his stead! Pfft! Joke, I tell you!

I, with a gentle smile, at the monastery within our sight: He must have a reason! Do not worry, I will protect us, at all cost.

Hao, reaching his hand to cover my mouth: Don't you dare! I swear, I am taking both of us out! Enough! Perhaps that is why I keep coming back! You always try to save me. But you know what, you are never successful! Anyway, abbot will not tell you anything. Not today, not ever! Well, at least not until Ming is ready. Abbots usually do not like Ming. His soul is furious, it unsettles the peace and harmony of temples and monasteries. Especially when he is making his existence, visible. Though, you shine like a bright sun to some eyes, not everyone can see it. He is indeed the bright light. He chooses who sees it and who does not. His light is so strong. It protects you well. You know, I saw it. The day you went to meet your cute younger brother. That car that halted at your thighs. You did Ming wrong, Mooh. He is traumatised. When he saw that car approach, his light pushed it back. You need to thank Almighty, that day Ming was in a good mood. Else, that car would have flown in the air and hurt many people. I love this light.

He leaped and hugged me: I missed you, brother, so much that I cannot wait for you to talk to me.
I moved him to the side: Are you wishing for me to disappear?

Hao: Mooh, I apologise, but I genuinely miss my friend. He is my soulmate.

I entered the monastery, with Hao following my steps. Samanera stood at the steps with his usual calm.

Samanera: Welcome.

I, pointing at Hao: This is Hao. Hao, this is samanera G. He is the younger brother of one of my colleagues.

Samanera: Nice to meet you. Come inside. The tea is ready.

Part of me feared, Hao, overwhelming the peace of both samaneras. Not like I am not doing the exact same!
To be continued ...

Please find continued parts part 2 post.

I have wondered, endlessly, how to narrate my story. I decided it will just go like this …

Hello my name is M, I am an immortal soul, stuck to fulfil a duty I never understood. Here is my story.

The battlefield was malodorous. The blood was everywhere, some organs had seeped out of bodies. Other bodies shook off the last remaining bit of their souls. On the other side of the field, some remained fighting. I stood there, first person view, with an overstimulating happenings all around me. I could not make sense of what was being told, or what exactly is going on, so I closed my eyes. Suddenly the same eyes that saw all the above, opened, there hung my ceiling fan. Not a sound around me, drenched in sweat. I sat up in my own bed and thought to myself: phew, that was disturbingly realistic.

Two nights later, the dream appeared again. First person view: battle raging, people talking, warriors are falling to their demise. This time I looked around more thoroughly. The buildings had a beautiful colonial design mixed with an ancient Chinese architecture. The sun was warm, which did not help the intensified sting of death. I paused to think: should I not close my eyes again and hope to open them to my ceiling fan ?

Obviously, this time it did not work! So I decided, let me walk around then. To my amazement, I wielded the sword that I carried so swiftly through, to the point where a building stood as the dead-end to my path. Someone was speaking to me, as I stood there. I could hear every word, so eloquently, but I understood nothing of it.

My eyes opened, my ceiling fan was ticking away that night. Repeatedly, I swam in my own sweat. Regardless of that, I lunged out of my bed, on my knees to reach my computer. Typed with desperation the words I could remember hearing. Here it was, the language of my recurrent dreams. A language I have not had the honour of knowing or speaking. It was in that precise moment that I promised myself to learn it before the end of the year.

Within a few months, I was able to speak a good 70% and comprehend almost everything that was being told to me. I, and many acquaintances, were astonished at the ease of how this language made its home in my head. Mind you, the country I lived in, did not speak that language either. I started understanding these recurrent dreams whenever they visited me. They just intensified in details and manner the more they appeared. To my horror, there were many to count battles, all grotesque and gruesome in imagery. I understood that my character was somewhat of a commander. I was constantly asked of the next step, where to aim next, which way was the easier access to the weakest point in the formation etc.

Every time I awoke from these dreams, I promised myself to never look up anything about them. Not anything I see or hear or understand. I decided I will just try to enjoy the show!

Fast-forward many years later, I was visiting a country that I loved so much, I never felt happier in my life before going there. I felt at ease and peaceful. I felt home. One night, as I wandered the streets of the city aimlessly, I came upon an area that they called: The Oriental.

The street was dark, not a soul was around at that time. I stood in, frozen. I could not move my body, and suddenly … Flashbacks of the battlefields that used to visit my dreams were appearing so vividly before my eyes. I reckon the only thing moving in that whole split of a minute was the rise of my chest and fall. My eyes were fixed, my legs planted on the grounds with such immense stiffness. I thought, let me just see where this goes. I am not sure how many minutes was I in this ordeal, yet to think of it as an ordeal is to say I did suffer this entire experience for years. Just never out of my dreams and spilling unto my reality. Nonetheless, I felt violated.

When my body finally decided to obey my command and move, I examined the area with my eyes. The buildings were a beautiful construction of Asian-colonial architecture. Similar to the ones I had seen in my dreams. I feared for a second, could it really be true? Is that why fate had led me here! Is this the reason I feel happy and peaceful here! Is this the home of my soul!

To be continued …

Long ago, the sky was filled with stars and light, and that light brought joy and warmth to people, who in turn brought forth music and dance, filling the otherwise silent cosmos with sound.

But a dark force known as the silence then marched across the cosmos, devouring the light of the stars, and with it the joy, warmth, and music that had once made the cosmos so brilliant and beautiful.

Most life took form on the worlds scattered across the cosmos, the worlds themselves having been formed from space dust, and so it was common for people to be known as Dust born. But there was another race, having been born not on worlds, but on the stars themselves. Solborne, they were called, and above all else they were beings of freedom and expression, wearing their emotions in the burning light of their very beings.

The Solborne refused to accept the silence's assault on the beautiful cosmos they had so much fun exploring and carousing in. And so for the first time since time had been conceptualized, the Sol-borne all gathered together to fight against the Silence.

Had the rest of us joined them, then perhaps the cosmos would have been saved from the silence. Alas, most of us were more concerned with our own peoples, our own lives and loved ones. We were afraid, we had every right to be, because to fight to change the future requires taking the risk of making things worse, and as long as your able to get by, it's easy to let someone else take that risk.

"But never forget, my dear Stella, that just like how you have to dance to feel the rhythm of music, so too do you have to act to make a difference."

Those were the last words my mother ever spoke to me, before her light faded forever. I still remember being confused by her words, I was too young to understand that she would never again speak to me.

It makes me wish I had spent less time playing outside and more with her, but then I know deep down what she would say to that. She would insist that regrets are no reason to stop doing what you love. She really was the best mom ever, and I should have told her that at least a hundred times.

"Stella, Come back to the house."

Markus, an older Kunori man marked by lines on his face telling a life story of concern and sorrow, whom I know by another name; Grandpa.

I glance back at him, but my voice catches in my throat, and I go back to looking at the sky. Just like I have done ever since that day, when I was just a child.

"Stella, Please."

With a sigh, I turn and lightly tumble from my perch. Grandpa reaches up and places a hand on my shoulder, his face creasing into ever more lines of worry even as his long elfin ears droop. I smile lightly at him, to show him I'm fine, which only seems to frustrate him further.

With that we begin making our way back, a task much easier for us to do together than it was for Grandpa to do alone. Our silent and still little world has no light, not anymore, not since that day. No light, that is, except for the one that shines from my heart.

Grandpa told me once that it is the gift of the Kunori, the people so beloved by the stars that they came from the heavens to join with us in beautiful embrace, and that our hearts shine with the light of our very souls.

At least, they're supposed to. Ever since the day the stars disappeared from the sky, my people have slowly lost that light. And as the light of our souls faded from the crystal hearts of the Kunori, so too has the very life faded from us. Our village used to be filled with song and dance and celebration of life, and now, as we walk past the outer walls, I look around to see my friends and their pale blue faces filled only with sorrow and despair.

Except for some, who look at me with anger and frustration. For of all the Kunori, I alone still shine with light. That light means that everyone now relys on me for everything. When they work the fields, when clothes are getting repaired, when someone is being treated, I must be there for them to see what they're doing.

All that responsibility bears down on me like the weight of the world, and at times I feel I am suffocating under it. When it gets to be too much, I flee to my little perch on the edge of our lands, and look up to the sky hoping to catch some glimpse of a star, some sign that mine is not the only light left in life.

Today was one such day, and I admit, I probably shouldn't have ran off. These regrets fill my head as I walk into healers home behind my grandpa, who steps to one side.

"Where were you!" An angry man whispers at me, even now too scared to raise his voice any louder for fear of drawing predators to the village. A part of me wants to shout as loud as I can at him, I know too well that the healers home is thoroughly soundproofed, so I could do so without fear of consequence. But the better part of me understands his anger isn't from malice, but from fear.

His wife lays on the table in labor, a hard one that may yet cost both the mother and her child their lives. The doctor cannot save either of them without light to see, and so I am needed.

I stand quietly to one side while the doctor works, only moving when asked to do so. The room is silent, save for the muffled pants and screams of the woman on the table, her husband clasping his hands over her mouth to keep her quiet. Even with his best efforts, the sounds she is able to make are bad enough to set my teeth on edge.

Trying to take my mind off things, to be anywhere else but here, I think of better times, back to the days when the sun shone over the plains, when children laughed and played. Children like the one being brought into the world... Our world, dark and joyless. Filled with nightmares and monsters that prey on anyone who so much as utters a single word.

Broken from my reverie by a hand clasping my shoulder, my Grandpa looks at me with eyes filled with concern. The doctor and the womans husband are less forgiving, and Its readily clear to me why; distracted as I was, the light was beginning to fade from my heart.

Giving myself a shake, I take a deep breath, and the light shines brighter once more, as the doctor goes back to work. It takes another hour before it's finally done and the child is born, but what should have been a beautiful moment celebrating a new life coming into the world instead becomes a tragic and heartbreaking farce.

When a baby is born, they should cry, an announcement to all that a new life, a new light, has come into the world.

But there was only silence.

The doctor takes the baby to another table and sets to work, but it's clear within moments as his shoulders fall, that the child was stillborn. It would be bad enough on it's own, but this isn't the first time this has happened. In the twelve years since the stars were stolen, there has yet to be a child born living to our people.

And then the husband begins wailing, startling all of us. We look to him and see him curled desperately around his wife's still form, her unmoving form, with pale, empty, and lifeless eyes.

Two more gone, two more Kunori dead and instead of crying and comforting the husband and would be father, both the doctor and my grandpa simply stare at the ground in silence. Giving them a reproachful glance neither of them notice, I walk up to the man and reach out to comfort him.

He smacks my hand away, and his face is lit up in anger. He says nothing, but he doesn't need to. In his eyes is the blame and anger, as clear to me as everything hasn't been to the rest of my people.

It hurts. It hurts like no injury I've ever suffered, to see his anger, to know he blames me for their deaths.

I recoil from his expression, and then again from my grandpa's comforting hand on my shoulder. Suddenly the room feels too small and suffocating, and before I even realize it, I'm running out past the village wall, into the fields and the plains beyond.

​

I didn't stop running until my legs gave out. By that point I was farther from home than I had ever been, past my favored perch, into a place we called the Shattered valley. The story goes that this was a site of a battle, where the Kunori fought a war against ourselves. Our numbers had grown such that the plains could not sustain us all, and so for the sake of our kin and loved ones, tribe battled against tribe.

Was it mere chance that brought me here? I have never been one to believe in fate, but the irony of this places story and it's likeness to the thoughts in my mind were not lost on me. But all of that was put out of my head in an instant when a soft, scraping sound reached my senses.

My hair stood on end, and my ears popped up in alert. It was a sound we had all heard oft enough to know it by heart. They were death, or agents of it, that came not long after the light was stolen from our world. They hunted us, tracking us by the lights we gave off, or by the sounds we made once our lights had faded.

With me, both were still terrifyingly viable to them. I covered my mouth trying to silence my panting and will my heartbeat to still, to darken. My light dimmed, but not nearly enough to hide me. The scraping sound grew closer, and in desperation I grabbed at the hem of my tunic and ripped a strip of cloth from it, using it to cover up my heart.

In the dark, my hand scrabbled against the ground until I found what I sought, a handful of stones, smooth from the passage of time but heavy still. One I tossed immediately, a handful of feet ahead of me and to my left. The things were not fools, if you tried to draw their attention by tossing a stone too far away, they would guess at your ploy.

But by making sound a little ways away from me, and then again a little further from that, I was able to trick it into thinking I was trying to sneak away from it. I had used this trick only once before, and it had saved my life.

If the stars were still here, I would pray to them now.

But then, there is another sound, behind me, distant. I would not have caught it at all, had I not been so intent on listening to the scraping of the thing in the dark. It sounded like foot steps, careful footsteps, of the sort one makes when they cannot see, but must still go on.

Grandpa!!!

As carefully and as quickly as I could manage, I turn and reposition myself, trying futily to see through the dark to where he was. The scraping had stopped, only for a moment, but then it began again. There was no doubt in my mind, it was heading towards him. Slowly but surely it made it's way towards his footsteps

What do I do? What can I do?! There has to be something, I have to do something! Think! Options, what are my options, rocks in my hand I have three left. But Grandpa is still walking, rocks won't trick the thing, grandpa can't see and his hearing has faltered with age. What else do I have...

My light, the thing will absolutely focus on my light, Grandpa will be able to see me, and if I shine brightly enough, maybe he'll see the thing too. We would know what it looks like, and if we know what it looks like, then maybe we can think of a way to fight it. But it will come after me, one hundred percent intending to kill me and snuff out my light. And if I die, the village will die too.

But I cannot bring myself to sacrifice my grandpa for the sake of the village. He's spent too long putting up with me, too long standing at my side and helping me bear with everything we've had to do to survive. I want to save him, no matter what the risks might be.

Twelve years in the dark, Countless trips into the lightless lands, I've memorized most of the journey. The village is in the direction grandpa came from, which means if I can just get back into that general area, I know the terrain. And that means I'll be able to escape it, with grandpa.

It's just a matter of running faster than death.

"Daddy, who is that man in the painting?" was the first thing my 5-year-old son asked when we moved into the house left from my great-grandmother."I don't know dear, probably a relative" the house is quite old and honestly I didn't even know all my relatives who lived here even though I used to stay in this house in the summer.The house is old, very very old,and the neighbors used to say that the house is even older than the city, that it was a hiding place for witches and wizards in the Middle Ages, I know how it sounds, like nonsense but I don't know if it true to be honest! Anyway, the man in the painting looks totally different from my dear great-grandmother, so the chances of them being brothers are low.

The man looks around 40 years old, with a rather cold expression, a few wrinkles on his forehead probably due to age, black long hair,dressed in a suit and with a mustache in the style of Salvador Dali, only not so long, and probably the most interesting detail was not his silk tie, or his long coat, or even his completely emotionless face as if someone had stolen all the feelings from his soul, oh no, the most interesting thing was his eyes, his left eye was blind and the right one was black, so black that we couldn't see where the retina was and where the pupil was, so black that if the eyes were the "window of the soul" it was impossible to see what was in his soul,black as coal I could say more simply!Just looking at him gave me a shiver, I could feel how his gaze was tearing my soul, so creepy!

But I didn't have time to waste and I didn't want my boy to think that his hero, his powerful father, was scared by a painting, so I started unpacking the furniture and belongings!Although I felt as if I was being followed by something, as if a being, a look that I could not see and understand found pleasure in my activities, following me like a cat follows a mouse, I continued to do my job,after all, it was dinner time soon and I had to cook!

The day continued ok, my son and I cooked something good to celebrate the new house and then we went to bed!

Around 2:40 in the evening I was woken up by a strange sensation, as if I was being watched! I opened my eyes and at the end of the bed was the man from the painting, straight with a sober face, I didn't have time to do anything until he turned his back and disappeared into the mist of the room as if he was never there.Except for that incident, the rest of the night went well, quietly, I was able to fall asleep, in the morning even coming to the conclusion that maybe it was all a dream,until my son asked me

• "Daddy, why is the strange man in the painting walking around the house at night?"

At that moment I froze, the blood stopped in my veins and I decided that whatever that demonic creature was, there was no way it would scare my son.I called a priest to bless the house and for a while everything was quiet, almost believing that we got rid of the being that scared us that night.Until the bodies started to appear, rats, dead dogs and cats, around the house. All with their eyes gouged out and their intestines made into porridge looking like a mixture of flesh and bones.A grotesque scenes, which could only worry me!

WW2 Story

My grandfather was a cold man in appearance and rather gloomy, but very sweet to me and my sister. He died a few years ago but I still could not forget his story,the story he told me for a history project! He caught the 2nd world war and its horrors and the fact that he lived in the Balkan peninsula, a region that suffered a lot even before the war did not help him to have a good childhood.People, especially children, were dying of hunger and disease even before the war.

In the early years, my country fought on the side of Germany.Soldiers not knowing the horrors they were defending, and those who did it had their hands tied, it was either their life or the enemy's.Once Russia invaded our country, the slaughter began and the things the Russian soldiers who attacked our villages did were indescribable, they mutilated children, raped women, stoled animals, poisoned wells and burned houses! So they were hated and cursed by everyone, local witches threatened them and people prayed that the Russians would be punished.

But it didn't take long until the cold bodies of Russian soldiers appeared, mutilated,looking horrible, disgusting and inhuman with broken ribs and necks and the spine pulled out of the back. Looking like the art of a maniac who found pleasure in blood like Van Gogh found it in paint! In my country there are horrible creatures, called poltergeists, who feed on people's blood and mutilate their bodies.Demonic creatures, people who died and were cursed to see neither the Devil nor God, with a nauseating hatred and bloodlust.Although it is surprising, we are taught from a young age that these creatures may even exist and to beware of them.

So when these bodies appeared all the young people of the village, including my grandfather, decided to look for the creature that was able to do these horrors, kill it before it can hurts them too! After about 2 weeks when several bodies appeared, looking like the devil's masterpiece,mutilated, with an expression full of fear frozen on their face, my grandfather and his friend, George, were on duty and patrolling the village with a hunting gun in hand.When they were near the bridge in the village, a bad looking place,under it, they heard scared screams and a man swearing in a language they didn't understand but they assumed it was Russian.When they went down to see what was happening, a Russian soldier was attacked by a man foaming at the mouth, he tried to bite his neck and break his ribs with a stone. My grandfather, scared, yelled at the rabid man to stop, he looked at him coldly, his eyes red and full of hatred, and jumped to attack him. My grandfather got scared, fired at him and killed him instantly.The cold body of the man was lying at my grandfather's feet, the hatred in his eyes still burning as if he was screaming, "You also know that I did the right thing"!Although the event was traumatic, it freed the village from that beast!

Or so they thought. The news spread and the village found out that the murdered man was the son of the village witch, a gypsy whose real name no one knew.The woman, wounded and angry, threatened the village with a curse

"Any first-born may die like my son or become a beast of the night"

Luckily for my grandfather, he was drafted into the army and didn't get to see the woman's curse, but he had heard from his mother that grotesque creatures had begun to haunt the village, sons of the devil! Of course, he didn't believe that until he found out, a year later, that the whole village was slaughtered with the exception of the witch who left the village not long after the death of the son and the placing of the curse. All the neighboring villages thought they were Russians, who found out about what happened and decided to destroy the village, but my grandfather knew the truth, the witch's curse was to blame!

Here is "Something else", a tasty mix of atmospheric, poetic and peaceful soundscapes. The ideal backdrop for concentration and creativity. Perfect for staying focused and finding inspiration during my writing sessions. Hope this can help you too :)

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0QMZwwUa1IMnMTV4Og0xAv?si=rEvrq8lCQpK9--Zg0jdVPQ

Curious to discover yours, feel free to share if you have any.

H-Music

Long ago in the days of old, where adventurers were many, and dangers were plenty, a Traveler walked. For many days and nights, he trekked across the lands.
Growing weary and tired, he set off to find shelter. The sun was setting, and the Traveler dreaded the long nights in the forest he found himself in.
Soon, a quarry came to be. Empty and desolate, with only moss, vines, and a stream of water giving it life.
For him to rest and survive, a bonfire was needed. And so, with his gear tucked away, the Traveler ventured forth outside. Picking up wood, flint, and stones.

The sun had nearly vanished by the time he returned. His heart pounded fiercely as he set to work, with the last of sunlight leaving and giving way for the night sky.
KLINK! KLINK! The flint went. Sparks arose yet it bore no flame.
KLINK! KLINK! It went again. The dark had taken over now.
Until finally...
KLINK!
The bonfire was lit. And to the Traveler’s surprise, he was no longer alone.
“Good evening to you, might you an adventurer, perhaps?” the Woman asked. Elegantly dressed she was, in garbs of crimson and black, long and luscious hair running down her back. She looked as though she were a noble, lost and barefoot in the woods.
The Traveler was taken aback by her sudden appearance. “W-who are you? How did you get here?” he asked with fear in his heart.
“I may ask you the same, what purpose do you find yourself here?”
The Traveler was suspicious of the Woman’s presence, but his fears would soon subside. Seeing her delicate frame and otherwise human attributes, he felt himself safe.
“I am...a Traveler I am. I came upon this quarry to rest, to leave at the earliest of daylight I aim to do” he surmised.
The Woman’s face lit up with delight. “A Traveler, you say? Of many trails and treks you’ve gone! And of many adventures you might have had!”
The Traveler grew to blush. “I suppose most of what you had said is true, but...my adventures I cannot tell thee so simply, dear miss...” he lamented.
“Oh? But what is a Traveler would be without an adventure or two in his past? Of what reason must you be so hesitant?” the Woman asked, tilting her head to the side.
“If...you care to hear my tale, that I ask of ye? For it is a long story with its own turns, of due time it will take I am afraid” the Traveler had asked.
The lips of the elegant Woman curled into a smile. “Tell me, oh Traveler, of what is your story!”
And so the Traveler had recounted his past.

Of his humble beginnings in a small yet lively town. A family of modest wealth and equal opportunity for more. Times of farming and fishing and gathering. Moments of delight when new faces would appear entering their vicinity.
Among these new faces lay a band of Merchants. Several of whom spoke to a Young Lad with a curious mind and a hard working soul. They told him tales of adventure and stories of wonder, with every turn and spin giving joy to his heart.
More delight came to be, in the form of an offer. Come with us, and aid along in our work told of the Merchants. In return, a life of adventure shall go to you...
The Young Lad decided that it was time for him to choose for himself. And choose to be with them he had. Without much thought, he bid goodbye to his old life. To his friends, to his family, to everyone that wished him well.
And true to their word, adventures were given. In mere days alone, he met countless warriors and fabled legends. People he only heard of from those that passed by his town.
Monstrous beasts of all kinds were shown to him. Both from afar and up close. A tiny Chimera in a cage, a Griffin soaring high above to the west, a Gorgon unable to notice their sneaking across her domain.
The Merchants taught him many lessons along their journey. And as they sought more treasures afoot, he would learn the world itself. Of where to go, and where to be. Of what to do, and what to be afraid of.
But alas, much to the Young Lad’s love for his newfound party, he would be left alone to fend for himself.
One day, the Merchants abandoned him. Stolen of his goods, to be kicked off from a traveling carriage. The Young Lad was alone now, and barely he had his bearings.
The Young Lad traveled for many days and nights. To different towns and different places. He knew of where he was, and yet his knowledge served no luck.
He would soon be called a Traveler, one who barely scrapes by for teaching others of the things he learned. The many directions he held were useful to many, or at least according his own hubris they had been. Be it as it may, the Traveler ventured on, wishing to bring more coin to his travel.
All the while, his love for adventure slowly began to wilt away. Yet wilt away, it never will in his eyes. For even at that moment, he still chooses to be a Traveler. To wander the world for adventure and thrill.

“That, is of my tale...many hardships I faced and continue to do so. Yet my love for adventure is not quite snuffed out” the Traveler tells the Woman. “I dare not return to my hometown without much riches and experience, for I know I need not return! Triumphant I shall be, nay, victorious I will become!”
The Woman clapped her hands and expressed her joyous thoughts. “Bravo, oh sir! For you are indeed a traveler with what ye have gone! And I see...many misfortune had befallen to ye, and ‘tis admirable that you still go farther and farther”
The Traveler had let out a satisfying laugh. “It is the life I chose! And continue to choose it, I will!” he would exclaim. “And...what of you, dear miss? If I may be so bold, may I ask why a noble Woman such as yourself can be seen in a quarry of this nature?”
The Woman looked away. “A noble such as I? Dear Traveler, you name me with such a word...” she would say, looking flustered.
“A-apologies then dear miss, but I know not of many to be in such garbs as yours” the Traveler admitted. “Of what reason ye be then, if I may ask once more?”
“Me? Oh, nothing, nothing at all...” the Woman playfully remarked. “I am here for a reason still...and for a Traveler such as ye the reason it is”
The Traveler grew puzzled. “Me, you say? Or rather of Travelers such as that I am?”
The Woman stared off to the woods ahead, the darkness that veiled its moor making it impossible to see. “Yes...I came to thee, dear Traveler...for I suppose ye not know of these parts?”
The Traveler shook his head. “Nay, I do not, yet slowly I am learning and mapping it all” he would reply. “Have ye met others in these parts then?”

“Hm, I suppose you have not heard of it, after all, haven’t you?” she vaguely asked, ignoring the Traveler’s inquiry.
“Of what that may be, dear miss?”
She looked towards him once more, and simply she asked “Had ye not heard of the Dragon That I Am?”
“Dragon...?”
“An old tale it is!” she gleefully announced.
The Traveler grew puzzled once more. “Ah, I see...but of what may that be relevant to?”
“Perhaps take a listen, and maybe you will see...”
With a shift in her seat, the Woman began.

Long before I nor you,
There came a Drake, soon a Drake of Two.
Her mind was hers and hers alone,
Yet her sins shall not be of her own...

In the lands of yore there she be,
“Why? Why not set me free?”
She says with lamenting remorse.
Yet her cries were unheard by the opposing force...

To her and her alone, she pleas and cries,
As the other soon takes another by surprise.
“Another weary soul, lost in his way,
His life and death, I shall come to play”

Yes, this was the curse, the curse of the Drake,
Of two minds and souls that left her awake,
She is alone, yes, indeed she is alone,
Yet her sins are not that of her own...

The Woman concluded. To this, the Traveler felt no closer to an answer. “A pretty poem that is, dear miss...yet I see not why bring this up at all”
“Indeed, you have not heard of it, I see?” the Traveler shook his head, and the Woman began to laugh. “Perhaps it has been too long. Such a rhyme was given to me and of my kin, provided that those naught of age and those foolish enough to dare fare better in caution. That of which within these very woods would be included”
“I see that...” the Traveler began to wonder what their conversation had become. He realized now that the Woman was warning him of the dangers of these woods, or rather the entirety of that land.
Still, many questions lingered in his mind in regards to the Woman and her poem, yet the presence of a Dragon in the piece came at the forefront of his curiosity.
“You mentioned a Dragon...the very title itself tells of that as well” the Traveler remarks. “‘Tis not unlike that of an old wives’ tale, a way for folks much like I to be wary of those that linger within areas as these. The Dragon is of a danger, and yet...I do wonder the reason of its title alone”
“Oh?” the Woman asked. “What makes you say that?”
“The poem tells the tale of a Drake, yet it is told in the view of another. Not of the Drake itself. A misleading verse in regards to that of its name, that being the Dragon that I am” the Traveler inquired.
“Aha! Quite the literate ye are, Traveler? Have you heard of many a tale such as this?” the Woman asked.
“In rhyme alone, many, yet not as mysterious” the Traveler admitted. “I have not heard of thy cautious tale...had there been many that knew of it?”
“Ho, that is a mystery on its own...perhaps in a different time, many knew of it, but if ye not know of it, how am I to know others are not of the same?”
The Traveler grew confused once more, and every question and of every answer given seemed to yield no further future.
The Woman seemed to be young in her status and age, and yet she spoke of times that have come past. Mistaken was the Traveler? Or had this fair lady been hiding her age well enough? More and more, the intrigue grew, and of its wake, came feelings of doubt.
And worse still, fear.
Even so, the Traveler was curious. He heard tales of Women in her stature being more danger than the most furious of beasts. Yet signs of such were not there; tells of calluses, bruises, nor scars of any kind. Magic, it could be, yet that too felt odd in the view of this Woman.
Only in the words that she spoke did the Traveler feel weary. Yet all the same, curious.

“That poem is a warning, I am to hear...yet it feels incomplete in its structure” the Traveler remarked.
“That is because it is” the Woman simply stated.
The Traveler was perplexed. Had she been pulling his leg all this time? “Well then, why leave it unfinished?”
“Hehe, it is said that the latter half is not to be heard for those faint of heart...” the Woman replied.
The Traveler grew frustrated. “Enough of these vague statements of yours Woman! I feel as though you toy with my comprehension!”
“Do you wish to hear it, then?” the Woman offered. “But once more, are ye prepared for it?”
“By all means, I wish to know. Doth ye not insult me anymore, I plea of thee, dearest maiden”
“Very well...” the Woman said with a laugh, and she began to ready her voice.
Intrigued the Traveler was. Listening with content to the words the Woman would bring him...

The Drake’s many cries and woes,
Are not all unheard nor unfollowed.
Some have been heard by I,
For I know, indeed I know of her cry,

T’was I whom laid here, within her soul,
Tied together, mixed with a burning toll.
And now she sees what I see, to her dismay,
As I lure, entertain, and torture in my stay.

In this quarry and rubble that was once her home,
Much like her, I’ve taken it as my own.
To bring forth more souls to thrive and thrash,
To burn their bodies all to ash.

The Travelers that do and will arrive,
Those naive enough to rest and survive,
Know not of my cunning and dubious plan,
For they will soon know, the Dragon that I am.

Dearest Traveler, now do you see?
How Aloof and Unwise you came to be?
To visit this quarry, nay, this den of safety be a scam...
For now, you shall know the Dragon that I am.

The Traveler felt beads of sweat go down his brow, as a new unwavering sense of danger had taken over.
“What an...what an interesting latter half, I must say...” the Traveler knew not of the capabilities of this Woman. Nay, he knew not of this Woman at all, and only now had it dawned on him.
“Indeed, it is a wondrous little spin...” she would remark, picking away at the undersides of her long painted fingernails. “So, dear Traveler, I ask of you once more...do you know of the Dragon that I am?”
The Traveler shivered with fear, knowing not what would happen if he chose to answer her question.
“You’ve traveled so far, seen many beasts...surely you’ve heard of a Drake or two? What did they look like, if I may ask? Would they have long tails full of scales and spikes?”
THUD!
Right behind the Woman, something large and wide full of gleaming scales came to be.
“Or perhaps...their horns! They often are proud of the horns they bear!”
With a blink of an eye, the Traveler saw the Woman’s horns. Long and curved, looking as if both were always there.
“Hehe, I suppose now you’d have to thank your party for leaving you...I doubt they have seen a Drake before”
The Woman’s two eyes drastically changed, as they began to glow in the twindling light of the fire between them.
“And I suppose I may thank thee, dearest Traveler, for not only refusing to return to your hometown unburdened only with pride, but for coming here. To my den, completely aloof of the dangers that lurk...”
The fire would be snuffed out, leaving only complete darkness in the quarry.
The Traveler would feel the Drake’s breath inches away from him, as she began to whisper...
“Now, you know the Dragon that I am...”

In the days of old, where adventures were plenty, and dangers were many, a Drake is known to be. One with two souls within her, whilst many, many more are trapped within her domain.
Her sins were not that of her own, as one soul wishes to take others for her own. To toy with them for eternity and more.
Of those parts, Travelers would lose their way. And in older days, several warnings came to be. Of a noble Woman as innocent and sweet to be, is of the Drake with two souls, ruthless and merciless as can be...

Jeremy met Allie four years ago on vacation. Jeremy had a girlfriend, but he made the poor choice of telling other people at the resort that he had a crush on Allie. Allie was very excited to hear that a guy finally liked her back. Jeremy genuinely liked Allie, but he cut her off to be loyal to his girlfriend (after all, he had only known Allie for four days, and they lived in different countries). Jeremy noticed that after the trip, his TikTok videos, Instagram reels, etc., skyrocketed (due to Allie watching them). Jeremy is single not long after, and while he has his social media public for a while, he eventually makes all of his profiles private, but does not block Allie.

Three years have passed, and while Jeremy and Allie are still not in contact, it's clear that Allie still thinks about Jeremy from time to time (e.g. accidentally liking old videos). Around the three year mark of Jeremy and Allie's meeting, Allie begins posting a bunch of sad videos on TikTok regarding romance. Jeremy thinks they might be about him. He asks the few mutual friends he has of Allie to check on her. He just wants to know what she's doing, and if she's also posting weird content on her other private platforms. While he could care as an old friend, he hasn't reached out to Allie. Some may even consider her to be a stalker. So why does he care about her?

Edit: what I mean by option #4 is that he may not like the stalking, he "appreciates" that she's able to restrain herself. Other stalkers do way worse things, and she doesn't.

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The Old Ways can rub some people wrong — especially those coming into the supernatural world fresh from this modern era of excess, privilege, and internet anonymity. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen societal changes and cultural shifts in every direction you could plot an axis for; live for nearly 3500 years as I have, and you too will come to understand that Change is the one and only constant in this world. But what our more, shall I say, exuberant (indignant, entitled, take your pick) newcomers tend to misunderstand is that Old Ways — and those of us who uphold them — don’t stand in opposition to change; we’ve just already seen all their ‘new’ ideas brought forward before, been accepted, gone stale, and get discarded for the next.

The Old Ways aren’t rules, they’re just how you come to behave once you’ve lived through a few revolutions of the cycle. They’re also not written or codified in any way, but if I had to articulate the particular tenet that seems most abhorrent to our most recent newcomers, it would be this: Respect is owed to your elders, because they’ve already damn-well earned it in the past.

The recent upheaval in the supernatural underworld wasn’t particularly upsetting, or even that surprising: some newly-minted vamp shaking things up, gathering a following, killing off a few of the established vampire lords. I don’t overlap much with the neck-biter scene, so it wasn’t very concerning to me. But as ill-luck would have it, he kept growing more famous, and thus harder to avoid hearing about.

He was turned fairly late for a vampire, in his forties, having already led a deeply troubling life steeped in conspiracy theory, hoax, and rabbit holes into the occult. So rather than take the traditional path toward amassing strength for a vamp — which is basically just to feed regularly and get older — he instead continued his dive into the occult. To his credit, this did score him the power he needed to oppose (and depose) many of the vampire lords of London; to his detriment, it also placed him rather firmly on a collision course with me.

I’d put a handful of wards and contingencies in place out of habit, but I wasn’t particularly concerned. Vampires are about as dangerous to me as… eh… now that I think of it, I don’t have a great analogy on hand for this. There isn’t much that’s truly all that dangerous to me at all, anymore — about as dangerous as a mosquito, I guess? In that I’d be annoyed if one bit me?

Still, he did manage to surprise me, if only because I never thought he’d be stupid enough to come for me there, in the Tavern. But like I said: in this storied community, the impetuous youth flaunt or ignore the Old Ways at their own peril. And it had started as such a nice, quiet night, with me seated at my usual booth in its dimly lit, secluded corner of the restaurant.

“Here you are, darling, you just let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

The head server of the Tavern is a lovely woman, seemingly thirty to forty years of age, who despite the many years she’s spent in England, still speaks with an accent from the American south. Her ethnic heritage is clearly from a region further south-west in Africa than my own.

“Of course, thank you Catherine,” I replied as she placed an impeccably plated salad on the table before me. It was one of my favorites at the Tavern, a delightful little number with tender bamboo shoots, and some kind of sweet and spicy mustard vinaigrette. Catherine smiled and whisked off toward another table. I folded a piece of baby spinach over an arugula leaf and pinned them to a bamboo shoot with my fork, and had just lifted them to my lips when the doors to the Tavern slammed open into the walls of the entryway. The small, decorative windows in the doors shattered on impact, showering the hostess’ podium with shards of glass.

Most groups of vampires want to be called ‘covens.’ Some of the weirder, extra culty groups prefer the term ‘hive.’ Judging by the collection of washed out, middle-aged vampire bros who sauntered in through the broken doors, I can only assume this group called themselves something extra stupid, like ‘the posse.’

He was immediately evident. His four goons looked like your average jocks who’d had neither the skill to go pro, nor the sense to plan for anything else in life, and had spent their subsequent years in disappointment of themselves and others.

“Barkeep! A round of your finest libations for the entourage of…” the fucker actually paused, as though for dramatic effect, “the Dread Prince Lestat!”

An audible groan of disgust rose from a table of Lesser Devils in the next alcove down from mine. Abyssal-speech is difficult to decipher even when there isn’t a group of demons all talking over one another, but I did manage to make out from one of them, a trickster muse by the name of Mamenoche, <It’s too insulting. If I stay, I’d have to kill him> just before he dissolved into a cloud of flies and dispersed. The remaining devils grumbled in disappointment, but still turned with eager smiles to watch the drama unfold.

The keeper of the tavern, for his part, simply raised an eyebrow while he wiped down a freshly washed stein with a drying rag. He nodded to an empty table. “Take a seat, we’ll be right with you,” he said, and then turned away to shelve the clean glass.

The keeper is a slight man, of average height, perhaps in his early to mid fifties. He wears the same costume every day: dark brown slacks and a burgundy tweed vest over a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. His voice is rich and resonant, and though soft-spoken, he is never difficult to hear. Beyond that, I can only say that the tavern keeper looks exactly as you think he would, and do understand that I mean that literally. His features, his hair, the color of his skin: they all exist only in the eyes of the beholder. It’s part of the Glamour.

The four underlings slid chairs out from the table and plopped down with what some of my younger students have recently informed me is known as the ‘Riker maneuver.’ Lestat remained standing and circled the table while he addressed the patrons.

“Well, well, well. So this is the storied Tavern. Drinking hole for the Greats of the underworld, the movers and shakers, the true titans of the occult.” He smirked and paused for effect again. “At least now it is. Bit of a slow day before I got here, eh barkeep?”

The keeper responded with silence as he filled five elaborately crafted snifters from a small, gold-banded barrel behind the bar.

“No matter, we’ll liven things up here real soon. I’m looking for a woman — no, not you love, some other time maybe.” He gestured across the bar to a woman of simply indescribable beauty, whom he utterly failed to recognize as Titania. Lounging beside her, Oberon narrowed his eyes, but remained otherwise still.

It had been at least 150 years since the last time a patron had stepped out of line in the Tavern, and the mood of the crowd was positively electric with anticipation. The vampire, bless his shriveled little heart, clearly interpreted this as deference to his prowess.

“The woman I’m looking for is… Egyptian. An Empress. Her very name and image carved off the face of history by her own son. Probably on the masculine side, considering how she managed to pass herself off as a Pharaoh and usurp his reign for twenty years. Just a guess, but probably a two or three out of ten.”

“I’ve had kings put to death for far less impetuous horse shit than that, young man,” I said. How rude — I looked positively fabulous with a false goatee.

He turned to me with a broad smile and threw his arms wide open. “And here she is, The Empress Undying. The ‘last word’ in all things occult and arcane, so they tell me.” He approached, squinting into the gloom surrounding my dining table. “And wow, I take it all back, for a 3,000 year old mummy, you are surprisingly bang-able. You know I love a girl who plays hard to get, and let’s face it — erased from history, all that jazz — you were difficult to track down, Hatshepsut!”

“Really? I have a page on Wikipedia.”

“That’s not— I mean I prefer— that is, well, primary sources are—”

“Which, if you’d bothered reading, would have told you that Thutmose the Second was not my son, but my step son, and that at two years old he was not in the best position to rule when my husband passed. Not to mention it was actually his bratty son Amenhotep who ordered the whole defacing of my icons thing.” Which is also untrue. I ate my own name as part of my Ascension. But he doesn’t need to know the details of my life.

“Here’s your drinks boys,” Catherine said behind him with her typically cheerful demeanor as she set the tray of snifters down between Lestat’s posse. “Seeing as how it’s your first round at the Tavern, darlings, this one’s on the house.”

The vampires grabbed their drinks without so much as a thank you. Lestat wisely took the interruption as a reprieve from this sudden hiccup in whatever grand plan it was he had in mind for me, and retreated to the support of his minions. One of them sniffed at the drink suspiciously, while the others simply threw them back like shots and immediately grimaced. One got it down before sputtering and coughing uproariously, the other two spit it out back into their snifters.

“What is this shit?”

“That’s Ambrosia, darling,” Catherine said as she gently patted the coughing vamp on his back. “Nectar of the gods. It’s a bit of an acquired taste for sure, and most people do prefer to sip it. They say it’s ‘too much sensation’ for us lesser beings.”

“They don’t want Ambrosia, you wench,” Lestat howled, “they want blood!”

“Well I’m sorry darling, but we don’t serve blood here. You asked for a round of our ‘finest libations,’ and there’s no drink finer than Ambrosia in the Tavern, nor outside of it as I’ve ever heard. That barrel over there was handed off by Hermes himself.”

One of the vampires dashed his drink on the floor and pointed at Catherine.

“You’ve got blood, don’t you lass?”

“That will be enough.” The tavern keeper’s soft, mellifluous voice draped over the exchange like a weighted blanket. “I’ve served you drinks, and in return you have been exceedingly impolite to my establishment, my staff, and my patrons. Learn the meaning of deference before you visit next, for you will not be well-received without it. Now, leave.”

Lestat’s four hulking minions might have succumbed to the spell of the keeper’s voice had not their ring-leader, to his detriment, managed to shake out of it.

“Leave? No, we just got here,” he turned back to me, “and I’m not finished with her.”

“But I am finished with you,” I said.

“Ten,” the keeper said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bar.

“The only reason I haven’t ended your miserable existence thus far,” I continued, “is out of deference to my elders. It is not my right to take your life inside the walls of this Tavern. I suppose I’ll soon be forced to do it outside, but do understand, I’ll approach that no differently than I would stepping on a scarab.”

“Nine.”

“The truth of it is, Prince Lestat, that you are not worth the breath spent uttering your ridiculous name.”

“Not worth your time, am I? I’ll show you what your time is worth, you decrepit bitch!”

“Eight,” the tavern keeper said, and Lestat flung an outstretched claw in his direction while hissing out a spell in medieval Latin.

Generously translated, it came out to roughly <fly your body to these fingers which are mine.> As though caught on a hook, the keeper tumbled over his bar and forward through the air. Lestat caught him by the neck and wrenched sideways, spinning the keeper’s head fully around with a loud crunching sound. Then, with the inhuman speed inherent to vampires, he hoisted the keeper’s body over his head, darted across the Tavern, and slammed him down through a table surrounded by a flock of naiads.

He turned and caught Catherine in the hypnotic gaze his kind uses to trap their prey, and strolled leisurely back over to his group. I crossed my arms.

“Sorry ‘darling,’ but I like my meals a little toasty.”

He hissed in his awful Latin again, along the lines of <your life fluids are hot like fire.> Catherine convulsed and shrieked, unable to move while locked in his gaze. He yanked her head to the side and made a show of sinking his fangs into her neck with a ripping motion, splattering droplets of blood across the tavern that sizzled and steamed where they landed. Her lifeless body rolled under the table as he turned his bloody face back to me.

“How do you like me now?”

I pushed my untouched salad, now flecked with Catherine’s blood, away from me on the table and let out a deep sigh.

“First, your grasp of Latin is elementary at best, you really should have practiced more before coming to see me. No, <QUIET> now, this is the part where you listen.”

I pinched my forefinger to the thumb to seal the air inside his lungs. He stumbled back and clutched at his neck in surprise — he wasn’t going to suffocate of course, but it’s an unpleasant feeling for sure if you haven’t yet come to the realization that you don’t actually need to breathe in undeath.

“Of course it is the intent that matters somewhat more-so than the language used — but, and I cannot stress this enough, good syntax simply never hurts. The age of your language also should not be overlooked. The older the language, the truer it is to the One Tongue of Magic, before it was fractured and the tower fell. You came with a form of Ecclesiastical Latin from around the 12th century, taught to Catholic priests. Underwhelming at best. You should have at least brought Classical Latin from the time of the Caesars, that would have shown me you were trying.

“Second, you demonstrate a lack of finesse that is simply appalling. I will commend your creativity in bringing your own spells to demonstrate. It is a key craft that many young students of the occult struggle with terribly for many years. You are also clearly capable of drawing significant power to bear, which is always a good start. However, the path to enduring success in the arcane arts isn’t power, it’s efficiency. What you did worked, but it took far more power than it needed to. I can think of a dozen ways to boil someone’s blood off the top of my head, and none of them require much more focus or power than this.”

I released my fingers, letting the air out of his lungs in an involuntary wheeze.

“Since you were turned, I suspect you’ve never met a door you couldn’t break down with brute force. But that’s only because until today, you never really went looking for one.

“Third, and most damning of the indictments against you is this: you absolutely and utterly failed to read the room, nor did you accept the un-earned grace that was offered to you. Thus ends our impromptu lesson, prince. Good luck.”

I leaned back and draped my arms across the cushions of my booth, while Lestat yanked one of his minions to their feet and stood behind him, tensing for a fight.

“Mother… fucker…” came a mutter from under Lestat’s table, as Catherine stirred and rolled over onto her side. The newly-minted vampire lord paused and looked down at her with a furrowed brow.

“Wait, was she not a human? That normally kills humans.” He looked to his cronies, who gave him an array of shrugs and uncertain mumblings.

<Of course she’s a human you imbecile,> I said in Classical Latin, <But she works for him.>

The vampire cocked his head, clearly trying and failing to work through the declensions and figure out exactly what I had said. I pointed across the room to the tavern keeper, standing up out of the wreckage of his table. Loud crunches of grinding bone sounded from his neck as he rolled his head from side to side, reforming the shattered vertebrae inside it. He spat out a mouthful of blood, then plucked a wrinkled pocket square from his vest and dabbed the corners of his lips.

“Zero,” the keeper said once his larynx had reformed enough for speech. “It’s the medical benefits of her employment package: immunity to death, disease, etc. Cuts the insurance middle-men right out of the picture, I find it’s very efficient.”

“Ah.” Lestat eyed the keeper, far too late showing the slightest hint of caution or concern. “So she’s human, but you’re not. Well then, what are you?”

“Immortal,” the Keeper replied simply, as he plucked a shard of glass out of his skull and tossed it aside. It landed with a loud tinkle in the otherwise silent room.

“That means nothing,” Prince Lestat waved his hand dismissively. “I’m immortal. Half your bloody patrons are—”

“No,” the keeper cut him off as he straightened out his vest and stepped out of the wreckage of the table. “You are ageless, thanks to the curse of undeath upon you. That is a very different thing than being immortal. Numerous vampire lords you’ve killed in the last few months would attest to this, were they not dead, no? They may not like to acknowledge it, but this is a simple fact that every entity in this establishment is keenly aware of, save for you.”

Lestat said nothing, but his body language spoke volumes for him, as he shrunk half a step backward toward the support of his underlings.

“My patrons from the Fey realms, or the Abyss? They experience death on this plane of existence as a banishment back to their own. But once there, they age and die the same as all other creatures in existence, if perhaps at a different rate than a human does. My dear employee Catherine, whom you’ve treated with such brazen disrespect, will live as long as she wishes to. But some day, be it centuries or millennia from now, she will grow tired of life, and request I terminate her contract.”

He gestured to me, seated in my quiet, dark corner, and a chill ran down my spine.

“Even the Empress Undying, whom you unwisely came looking for tonight, will only survive so long as she maintains the numerous spells and failsafes she has crafted to preserve and extend her unnatural life.”

My thoughts flickered in succession through my 5 phylacteries, painstakingly secreted away in sealed and warded caches both near and far-flung — and I watched in horror as the keeper’s eyes lifted briefly to the keystone of the stone arch over his doorway, then settled on me, and he winked.

By the gods, my cold heart would have skipped a beat were it able. How did he find it out? Or, more likely: has he simply always known?

“One day, when she has grown tired of this endless upkeep, she too will come to me for release. You see, Edwin, everything dies eventually.”

He held his hand calmly out to his side, and wisps of shadow materialized and snaked through the air into his grasp. The Dread Prince Lestat — Edwin — first shivered, then spasmed, and finally, as his entourage withdrew from him in horror, collapsed in a fit of convulsions. The shadows continued to flow into the keeper’s outstretched hand, gaining solidity and texture, until he was left holding his implement: a bowed farmer’s scythe, worn and battered, but with a keen edge that felt dizzying and somehow wrong to look upon. The keeper stepped forward.

“Everything dies, except for me.”

It was a magical thing to watch the sun set. No, really; dusks and dawns were times of great significance to practitioners of the arcane arts. They symbolised a lot of important things to a lot of people, and through the belief people had in those symbols, dawn and dusk were granted a certain sway over the whims of magic. Some arcane undertakings—rituals, specifically—became more powerful under the light of the rising or setting sun. An attempt to magically charm a person may last a day instead of an hour if performed just as the first rays of daylight hit the spellcaster’s skin. It was just as noon and midnight were symbolically tied by many people to the concept of good and evil, and the collective magical essence of the people that believed in this gave it truth, and as such, divine workings were most powerful when the sun was highest, and at their least when performed at midnight. These were mostly unspoken rules, with only the highest in the organisations dealing with magic and gods in the know of such cosmic whims, but everyone felt them, even if they had no business in those realms. Anyone could feel it as they watched the sunrise early on a winter day—the power that was held by that moment—before it was dispelled as fast as it had come, the viewer none the wiser.

Ellis pulled himself from his thoughts as the carriage he was riding in jolted to a stop. He blinked and looked around, taking in the sight that met him. The horse-drawn cart had pulled into the pen outside of the small town known as Yellva. It was a quaint town, rustic and painted by a heavy sense of nostalgia, even though Ellis had never visited the town before. It felt like someone’s home, and it shone through to his senses, trained to detect subtle, unseen things. Pivoting to take in the feeling of the crisp evening air filling his lungs, Ellis exited the carriage, putting both feet on the ground for the first time in hours. He stretched the stiffness out of his limbs as he hauled his things out of the luggage compartment. He only had a few spare belongings with him on his travels; food and drink, a few books he’d been procrastinating on even with his abundance of time, a few keepsakes from his time in school, and of course the most important of his possessions, his spellbook. It was all wrapped up in a rucksack that he slung over his shoulder, leveraged with a six-foot long wooden staff, the head carved into an orb with carvings depicting four lines meeting at various intersections around it—the standard staffhead of an evoker, the one that Ellis had received as a graduation gift when he’d left school two months ago.

He aimlessly began walking toward the centre of town while he considered his options for the night. Ellis decided that he really should secure a bed for the night before anything else, and started towards what was hopefully some kind of central square for the town so that he could ask where the cheapest inn was. A few minutes into his walk, he came upon a woman on the street. She was of a height with Ellis, a little under the average, and sported bright red hair and pale, moonlit skin. He briefly thought better of trying to corner a lone woman on the street at night, but he noticed that she was very relaxed, her posture slack as she leaned against a wall playing an instrument, a lute if Ellis was correct. She was clearly unafraid of anyone attempting to hurt or steal from her, so Ellis guessed that he wouldn’t alarm the woman if he were to approach.

“Hello,” he said as he got closer. “Do you know where I can find a decent bed?”

The woman looked up at Ellis, seemingly being brought out of her own mind. Interestingly, she did not stop playing her song when she spotted Ellis, simply strumming along to what looked and sounded like an improvised melody. She smiled when she met Ellis’s eyes, and said, “Well, sure. Just down the road is the Pink Melon. Their beef stew is sublime, and they’ve got decent-sized rooms for barely any money at all.” She pointed as she spoke, her finger leading Ellis’s eyes to a two-story building where shadows danced in the windows. It was around dinnertime, so he would have to share the place with others for the time being.

“Thank you,” he said to the woman, who smiled serenely as he nodded to her. He reached into his pocket to pull out his money pouch, but she held up a hand, her song ending abruptly.

“No, thanks. I’m not out here for pay. I just like to strum,” she said.

“Very well,” Ellis sighed. “Regardless, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

Ellis started down the street once more, this time with a destination in mind. It was a short walk, but a quiet one, and it was the kind of night that made one think. Ellis looked up at the sky and noticed with amusement that a full moon hung in the darkness. He knew that full moons also had some significance in some circles, particularly occult ones. The full moon was also important to a lot of spiritual beliefs and magical practices. He didn’t know if it worked all too well, considering that some of the monsters that went bump in the night were also bolstered by the full moon, but Ellis wasn’t one to disparage others for their personal beliefs, at least not verbally. Ellis also recalled all the times he’d spent the night in a cave, or similar natural shelter, and avoided thinking of how many more times he was likely to sleep in that manner. Ellis wasn’t exactly rolling in money, and so he’d had to rough it plenty of times more than he’d have liked, which admittedly was none, but it had still hurt to leave his dormitory back in the city and transition to a nomad’s lifestyle. He may have been due for a visit to the capital, his old home, in the next few weeks.

A high, shrill scream cut through the nighttime silence like a hot knife. It set Ellis’s mind alight with shock and panic, his fingers tingling as his senses were accelerated by the scream. Ellis gripped his staff tightly, feeling the power coursing through its core like a lightning rod as his fingers completed the magical circuit. He took off running, towards the scream, and scowled as the blood pumped through his body like fire and he regrettably began to sweat in his winter clothes. While he sprinted to the small home at the end of the street that the scream had issued from, Ellis wondered what could’ve made someone make a sound like the one he’d heard. The voice had broken in the middle of the shout, and it could’ve been pain or anguish or fear that had torn the scream from the person’s throat, and Ellis wasn’t excited to find out which it was. It sounded like whatever the person was experiencing was truly terrible, and Ellis wondered for a moment why he was running as fast as he was. Technically, it was his job to help in emergencies, given that he’d graduated from the academy months ago and was on the job as long as his spellbook was on his person, but it also sounded like whoever it was simply needed help, and Ellis was willing to give it. He had the power, so he was willing to take the responsibility.

Reaching the house, Ellis saw that people were beginning to emerge from their homes to investigate. He thought about telling them to stay inside their homes, but he didn’t think he had the social authority with these people to be giving orders. He certainly had the legal authority, as wizards such as Ellis had been peacekeepers in the Empire since before his great-grandfather had been born. However, these people didn’t know him, so they’d likely just ignore his orders unless he was actively displaying magic, and he wanted to save that for whatever was happening in the little cottage that he barreled through the front door of without skipping a step.

The door was already broken, an outward-opening door forced inward. The hinges gave way entirely as Ellis slid his rucksack off his staff, letting it drop to the ground just outside the threshold of the small house. He felt a change in the way his feet pounded against the ground as he ran on the wood of the floorboards instead of on the cobblestone street. Ellis opened his senses beyond the physical as he called on the magic of the staff in his hands, of the spellbook he’d thrown to the ground with his other belongings, and inside himself, and recalled the things he knew he could achieve for certain in this moment. The words of the spellbook, the handwritten transcriptions of the chants and hand gestures needed to channel and guide raw, unsculpted magic into the spells he’d learned during his education and his journey so far. Ellis knew that he was skilled at some basic magic, but he wasn’t nearly as powerful as some of the more famous wizards of the age—he was no Archmage, but he could reliably put himself through a tough situation and come out on top. Hopefully, this was a time he wouldn’t need to.

The sight that greeted Ellis was more than strange. Three people were in what looked to be a small living room, a fireplace on the far wall and two doors on either wall to the side. There was a young boy, a teenager if Ellis was to judge by appearance, on the floor clutching his arm with a pained, shaky frown on his face. He was crying, tears flowing freely and without shame. He must’ve been the one to scream. Another looked like an adult woman—lean, athletic and clad in dark shades of green and black. The other took Ellis by surprise. The third person was a large, hairy, bipedal canine with dark fur and bright red eyes. It towered over Ellis himself and the woman in camouflaged garments, and was currently pinning said woman to the ground as its bloody snout snapped at her, only kept at bay by the impossibly sturdy longbow she was hitting it with. The three of them all took a glance at Ellis as he barged in on their scene, and instinct guided his hands and tongue in the next moments.

Ellis felt the power of the staff, previously dormant, pulse out through his body and into his free hand, with which he thrust three fingers out toward the creature overpowering the other two people. He then said, his voice booming though the room didn’t allow for it, “Magicae telum!”

Magic left Ellis in a surge that flowed from the head of his staff to the tips of his fingers, and the three of his pointed fingers each fired off a surge of magical force, rippling through the air and towards the creature in three distinct arcs. Each of the magical attacks tore into the creature, causing it to reel back and stand, taking its attention off of the woman in green in the process. It stood up to its full stature, at least seven feet tall, and roared at Ellis, spit flying into the air as the three humans flinched at the guttural noise. Ellis wondered if it was a good idea to shift its attention onto himself, since he wasn’t very tough and he was atrocious in a brawl, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He simply yelled, “What is that thing?”

“It’s my prey, so get out of here!” the woman in green yelled back. She leapt to her feet and drew an arrow, firing it at the beast while she spoke. The arrow left a thin trail of emerald smoke behind it, as if propelled by magic and not an ordinary bow. Ellis realised that this woman must have been some kind of spellcaster herself, even if he was certain she wasn’t a wizard like him.

The arrow landed right in the neck of the thing, and the veins around the impact area seemed to glow green for a moment, causing the creature to yelp in pain as its head tipped from the strike. It didn’t seem to do much lasting harm to the thing, however, as it roared once more, an ache-inducing sound that rattled Ellis’s teeth. It swept its claws at the woman, catching her with one claw in the side and causing her to stumble as she dodged the others. She cried in pain, but bared her teeth and moved her hand to knock another arrow into her bowstring.

Ellis could see that, while his previous spell was effective, and it was strong in many scenarios, this beast was a league above the usual problems he’d solve with simple magic. He then decided to use one of the spells he’d learned during his journey, when he’d already left school. “Urens radius!” he bellowed, roaring like the fire that, similarly to his previous spell, was conjured through his three outstretched fingers and hurled with the swing of his arm towards the beast in three motes of flame.

The first streak of orange fire very nearly missed, but scorched a portion of the creature’s flesh on its side. The other two, however, were on centre, crashing into the monster’s chest, washing over it with a painful looking flash of orange-white light and causing a squeal of agony to ring out from the thing. Ellis smiled as he watched his spell do what he’d wanted, appreciably harming the towering creature, but felt a surge of lethargy sweep over him as he cast the spell. It was his most powerful spell, so his body wasn’t ready to cast it with no warm up, and it would’ve drained him even without that, as bigger spells tended to do to novice wizards. He would’ve remarked upon the inconvenience this monster attack imposed upon him, but Ellis somehow thought that the other two wouldn’t appreciate that.

The monster roared and leapt at Ellis in a sudden flash of incredible speed. It thrust both of its clawed hands out at him and wrapped its inhumanly large fingers around his throat with one hand, using the other to slash at his belly. The wounds weren’t very deep, skin deep in fact, but the claws of the creature were razor sharp. Ellis felt the hot streaks of fire erupt out of his torso, but couldn’t look down to see what the creature had done to him, so chose to believe he was hallucinating, especially given that his adrenaline and his shock kept him from feeling what must have been excruciating pain. He chose to believe that the whiteness that came over the woman’s face was imaginary, too.
Her expression then hardened, and she moved her hands again, though she didn’t knock another arrow this time. She seemed to grip the air itself in her hand, and it rippled in her grasp, and she screamed, “Nebula nubes!” as a thick cloud of fog erupted from the ground below both Ellis and the creature, so thick that he couldn’t see even a foot in front of him.

Ellis almost felt his staff slip out of his fingers, but he maintained his grip as a thought came to him. Fog, he thought, of course. He himself knew very well the spell she’d cast, but he had a different magic in mind. It was another of his most powerful spells, and he’d be burnt out except for the most basic of magic after this spell, but it would get him away from the monster, and with his strength fading and what felt like his insides spilling out onto the floor, Ellis needed to act.

“Nebulosum saltu!” he barked. Immediately, Ellis’s body, along with his clothes and the staff, turned to mist, and space around him warped as he teleported about twenty feet away, to the back wall of the room. Ellis stumbled, but stayed on his feet as he leaned against the wall and heaved to catch his breath. He watched the boy, watching with fear in his eyes as a man he didn’t know appeared in his room spilling blood all over the floor. He thought about yelling for the boy to get to safety instead of just sitting there, but he didn’t want to alert the beast to his new position outside the fog cloud. Instead, he used a spell he knew well, once he could cast at little cost and with littler sound. “Nuntius,” he whispered, pushing his intent from the staff through to his pointing finger as he silently reached out to the boy telepathically. “You need to go,” Ellis said in the boy’s mind, inaudible to anyone else.

“What?” the boy yelped out loud, making Ellis scowl in annoyance. Commoners rarely understood magic when it happened to them, which frustrated many of his colleagues back at school to no end, and Ellis was finally beginning to understand why they thought the way they did.

“Just go!” Ellis yelled, causing the boy to understand him this time and leap to his feet to flee.

The monster made an inhuman sound, squealing as the noises of flesh being rent filled the room. The woman gasped in pain, and Ellis wished he could simply reduce this thing to ash, but he’d already used up a lot of his energy on his fire spell and his disappearing trick. He was heaving, and not just from the pain; Ellis hadn’t been in a real fight before, only theoretical training for said fight, so this was new to him. He was usually helping with mundane problems, not a damned mutant wolf, so he wasn’t up to par in combat magic yet. If he lived, he’d fix that.

“Venator marcam!” the woman called. It was a spell, Ellis was sure, but he’d never heard that kind of chant before. This was a kind of magic he’d never encountered during his journey, and that gave him pause. Just who was this woman? He decided it didn’t matter as long as they were working together. Another puck of the bowstring rang out in the room, and the fog cloud pulsed green as another arrow landed right in the forehead, breaking off but sending some kind of magic into the creature’s system. The fog then dissipated, like it was never there at all, and the cloud parted to reveal the woman, still standing and fighting the creature, and the creature itself, bleeding and heaving raspily.

Ellis was bolstered by knowing that this thing could be fought at all. He couldn’t use either of his big impactful spells anymore, but he could still apply the basics. “Magicae telum!” he roared, three forceful arcs of invisible power arcing toward the monster flowing from his three outstretched fingers. One hit it in the knee, rocking it on its already unstable foundation, another in the chest, winding it with a wheeze, and the last impacted the snout, knocking a few teeth out as the spell assaulted the monster. It cost him more energy than he would’ve liked, though, and Ellis reckoned that he only had one or two more spells like that in him before all he could do was the little telepathy trick he’d tried with the boy.

The creature, tall and muscular and shaking with pain and power equally, lunged at the woman. It sent two swipes toward her with each of its hands, one being parried by a shortsword that the woman drew from her hip and the other managing to sink a claw into her shoulder, causing her to swear as her firing arm went limp and dropped her bow.

This isn’t worth it, Eliss’s mind told him. Run, it warned. He was tempted to, his feet instinctively backing him into the corner of the room, but his hands and tongue still fought. “Magicae telum!” he cried, his voice trembling as he hesitated. His fingers stretched once more, firing off the three bolts of power that collided with the hulking beast’s body, causing it to yelp as they all targeted its legs, forcing it to its knees and, unfortunately, the woman down to the ground under it in the process.

Eliss felt his fingers go numb. He only had one more chance to save this stranger, both of these strangers, before he’d be completely out of stamina. He could feel the sweat running like rivers down his back, and his hands were tingling with the raw arcane power he’d been slinging around. He didn’t know how he was going to do this. The thing looked fairly injured, with welts and cuts and burns all over its body, but it looked energised, and it was fighting as if it felt no pain at all. Would one more spell be able to put it down? Eliss couldn’t know, he could only try.

However, the creature acted before Eliss could. It ripped its claw out of the woman’s shoulder, causing a platter of blood to spill out onto the floor, and then snarled. It put its snout directly over her shoulder and sunk its teeth into her, sending convulsions throughout her entire body. She screamed, akin to the first scream that had drawn me here, and it sent shivers down my spine to hear the rawness of the sound. It hurt Ellis’s throat simply hearing it; he couldn’t imagine what it must take to force that sort of scream out of someone. She fell to the ground, unconscious but breathing fast, and the creature rose to its feet and turned its bloody snout, dripping wet and coloured crimson with the blood of the fallen stranger, to Ellis now that he was the only one left standing. The boy had escaped at some point during the fight, so it was up to him now to kill this thing. Ellis readied himself, preparing to cast his last decent spell before he was tapped completely, but the creature rushed forward before he could recite the words, dashing toward him with blinding speed.

“Divina percussio!”

A flash of yellow light erupted from the right of Ellis’s vision. The monster lunged forward, its mouth flying toward his face, but the monster was suddenly knocked off-course, jostled so hard that it flew into the wall instead of killing Ellis, its head lopped off by something and its body slumping to the ground with a spasm that came too late to save it. Ellis looked to his right to see a figure standing a few feet away, holding a sword that seemed to shimmer as a sterile light surrounded it before dulling so that it lit up the room but didn’t pain Ellis’s eyes to look at. The person that held the sword was a woman also, taller than Ellis and muscular, tense. She sent glowing golden eyes his way, and he knew he was safe; she was a knight, it was clear.

Ellis relaxed, letting his legs fail him and slumping against the wall and to the ground in exhaustion. He took deep, worthless breaths as he tried to calm down but couldn’t. His heart was still beating hard in his chest, and he was still shaking, though he finally let his staff clatter to the ground, unable to keep his grip tight any longer. After a moment of this, a surge of the same golden light to his right alerted Ellis of the woman, as he looked up to see the knight placing a hand on the stranger’s back and spreading that golden glow to her, the wounds on her shoulder and neck sealing up as if time were reversing. She groaned hazily, stirring on the ground but not quite getting up just yet. This caused the knight to scowl, and turn to Ellis instead.

“What happened here?” she barked. Her golden eyes bore into Ellis’s soul, and he flinched as he rose to his feet.

“I know no more than you do. She was here from the start,” Ellis said, gesturing to the slowly recovering stranger.

The knight huffed, but accepted that answer. She glanced down at his staff, still on the floor, and looked back up at Ellis curiously. “You’re a wizard. Certified, I hope.”

“Of course. I’m not dumb enough to go around without my licence,” Ellis said, retrieving a badge from his coat and showing it to the knight, who nodded casually and waved it away. As he stuffed it back in one of his many pockets, he said, “I don’t need to ask if you’re legitimate. Those powers speak for themselves.”

“Yes, they serve me well in many ways. I would think your powers are similar. That thing was on its deathbed just before I arrived,” the knight said as she knelt down over the corpse of the beast, examining cautiously.

“Yeah, and so was … I,” Ellis said, trailing off as he stared at the beast.

It happened in a flash, as fur retreated into the skin and muscle simply melted off the bone, and the creature transformed in a process that looked like it would have been painful in life. The wet cracking and popping noises told Ellis that the process wasn’t purely magical—some of it was simply the bones and muscles of this creature being displaced as it shrunk and folded in on itself. What was left was a person, a human woman from her looks. She was nude, giving Ellis pause, but the injuries from her monstrous body carried over to this form, so he wasn’t feeling bashful about the former. Ellis felt his stomach lurch as he saw the harm wrought by his own spells depicted on a human form, as he’d never done something like this before, much less to a person. It left a lump in Ellis’s chest, a cold knot that forced him to take deep breaths to avoid wincing.

“What was that thing?” he asked. Ellis had never seen anything like a human transforming into a monster in his life, and he hadn’t read about any kind of spell that could do that either. Transforming into regular animals and creatures, magic could do that. This was something beyond that.

“I don’t know. I’ve never encountered a beast quite like this before,” the knight replied.

“I have.”

Ellis and the knight both turned to look behind them as the stranger clad in green got her feet back under herself at last. She looked at the two of them with a gravely serious sharpness in her gaze, and haltingly stepped closer. With the fight ending and the adrenaline of battle dying down, Ellis got a good look at her face for the first time. She had a very slim, angular face, with dark, sharp eyebrows and light green eyes staring at him with an intensity that made Ellis fidget with his fingers in the absence of his staff. She’d had a hood on before, but it had gotten knocked down in the fight, and as such he could see her curly, knotted black hair that made Ellis wonder how often she brushed it, or if she brushed it at all. She looked at him with urgency, and spoke.

“It’s a werewolf,” she said. “I’ve been hunting it for weeks, but only just caught up to it tonight. As I said before, it’s my prey, so you two can leave now that it’s dead.”

“Werewolves are real?” Ellis asked in a small voice that was lost under the conversation happening between the other two. He’d had no clue they were anything more than a fairy tale meant to scare kids off from playing with feral dogs. It was telling that even a learned wizard such as himself, though he was still a newcomer to the practice, could learn something new every day.

“This werewolf attacked a kid in his home; we can’t just let you do what you want with it. There are laws and policies we have to enforce and abide by,” the knight said, standing over the archer.

“You’re lawmen?” she asked, looking sceptical at the knight, who towered at least half a foot over her.

“The Lady and I have rules to follow, that’s all. I think we also have to ask if you’re okay. That bite looked like it hurt a lot,” Ellis said.

“I am fine,” the archer groaned, rolling her shoulder. “You hold a royal station?”

“No, it is tradition to refer to knights as Sir or Lady. Are you unfamiliar with knighthood?” the knight said, staring at the archer with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t think that matters right now. Don’t werewolf bites curse whoever’s bitten to also be a werewolf?” Ellis asked with an undertone of shaky fear. He didn’t want to go through another fight with a beast just like the one he’d nearly been killed by minutes ago.

“Yes,” the archer said. Ellis unconsciously took a step back.

“So you will transform?” the knight asked, a hand going to the sword sheathed at her hip. Ellis suddenly realised the absence of his staff, still on the floor where he’d dropped it.

“No. It takes time for the curse to set in, enough that this full moon won’t force me to turn. Also, a lycanthrope can resist transformation if their will is strong enough,” the archer said.

“Is your will strong enough?” the knight asked, an edge to her voice that Ellis picked up on.

“I’d say so,” Ellis said, drawing the womens’ gazes. “I saw her fight, and I’d say her will is plenty strong.”

“Very well. Even so, we need to take you to see a priest. I know one who may be able to remove the curse entirely,” the knight said. She turned back to the beast, the werewolf’s corpse, and began to pull it along, the body in one hand and the head in the other.

“No,” the archer said. “I don’t deal in the Empire’s magic.”

“You need to be healed,” Ellis said. “If you don’t, you’ll turn into that thing eventually. I trust that you’re strong, but strong enough to resist curses like this? I’ve met powerful wizards that can’t resist curses to save their lives—literally.”

“I refuse to be subject to the heretical magic of false idols,” the archer shot back.

“What does that mean?” the knight asked. There was an edge to her voice, and Ellis could gather why. Knights were holy warriors, sponsors of the gods; their magic came from the deities this stranger was insulting.

“It means that I hunt alone, I fight alone, and I will heal alone,” the archer spat, before turning and beginning to walk toward the destroyed door.

“You seemed to appreciate my help before she showed up!” Ellis yelled, stopping the archer in her tracks.

“That was different. I can admit that I would have lost had you not intervened. She and her kind are not so helpful,” the archer said.

“Watch your tongue!” the knight yelled.

“Watch yours! You can’t seriously believe that figments of imagination from a man that’s been dead for centuries give you your power,” the archer said with a bitter laugh.

“Better than drawing power from weeds,” the knight shot back.

The archer and the knight stared at each other with hot glares filling the room with tension. Ellis sighed and put his hands up, stepping between them and dispelling the hostile attitude.

“Let’s not fight. We still have things to take care of. You’ve been bitten,” Ellis said, turning to the archer, “and that kid could have been, too. Do you know if anyone else was bitten?”

“No. And … you’re right. It’s just as much my duty as a Grove Warden to ensure the wilds harm no one as it is to ensure that no one harms the wilds. And to do that, I need your help. Both of you,” she replied. Ellis didn’t know what a Grove Warden was, but he could gather that it was some kind of protector of nature. He’d heard of those types of people before, but never met one in person.

“I agree. It is our place as protectors to ensure that no one is harmed. You seem to be knowledgeable and skilled in this area, so despite your attitude, I am willing to work with you. A knight, a wizard and a wildling—an unorthodox but potent group,” the knight said. Ellis also didn’t know what a wildling was, but the archer seemed to be insulted by the name by the way she recoiled at it.

“It’ll be a breeze,” Ellis said with a smile.

The knight turned to Ellis and held out a gloved hand. “My name is Lady Lydia Kexur of the Church of the Shield.”

“Ellis Penbrooke of the School of Evocation. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

“Likewise.”

“I am Shannon Westcliff. I’m tolerating this until I can confirm the werewolf and its spawn pose no threat. Until then, don’t get in my way and we will not be enemies,” the archer said, not offering a hand nor taking the hand that Ellis offered.

“Very well. Do we want to get to work right now, or can we sleep on it?” Ellis asked as an ache racked his body.

“We will begin tomorrow. I will cover the fees for rooms at the local inn. You both look like you need rest,” Lady Lydia said.

“I appreciate that. That werewolf was tough; I don’t think I’d have survived if you hadn’t come along,” Ellis said, falling into step beside the knight as she began to exit the house.

“Nor do I. It is lucky that we all have the skills we do. The wildling started this, and you were competent enough to keep you two alive until I was able to finish it off for good. If even one of us were not here tonight, the other two would have surely perished,” the Lady said.

Ellis didn’t reply to that. He knew it, and he was sure Shannon knew it as well. He wondered how this temporary alliance would work out; would their skill sets would work together like he was hoping, or would they fall apart before they could determine if there was still a threat? They had until morning to rest and recover their wits and their strength, though, and Ellis was planning to take advantage of that to gain his energy back for spellcasting. He was all but burnt out after holding off the werewolf, as well as taking an attack from it in return, and he needed sleep. Luckily, the beds were supposed to be decent at the inn, and for that, Ellis would gladly thank the gods, even if he wasn’t exactly driven by faith. A good bed was just as divine as any holy warrior could ever be.

Growing up I heard many stories of demons and angels as I grew up in a very religious household. But that is not relevant to my first encounter with a demon. I am an uber driver so I often bring young kids home from the bar on a late friday night. This was like every other stop that I have had as an uber driver. I pulled up outside of a popular nightclub and my client opened the passenger side door. It was odd that he sat upfront. Most people just get in the back. His ride was a bit farther than the normal distance that I liked to travel but it was close to my home and it was almost 3AM so I was about done for the night. After he got in I started to head towards his destination roughly 31m away. I typically like to make small talk with my passengers and I looked in his direction and noticed that he was dressed very formally for your typical night club kid. He was probably around 27 and 6ft 3in. And his face seemed to be quite handsome. So in an attempt to start some small talk I asked him.

“So did you have a good night Kyle?” I got his name from Uber when I picked him up.

“Not terrible I got what I needed but hoped that I would receive more” He said in a deep but very reassuring voice. I don't know how to describe this but it felt very trustworthy. Similar to a fatherly like tone.

“How has your night been? Had any interesting encounters tonight?” He said.

“No not for me” I replied showing him my wedding ring “18 years happy and counting” I responded.

He waited for a moment and said “Is that really true? Did you not cheat on your wife Samantha 3 years ago after a fight that you had about money because she lost her job?”

I looked at the GPS and it said 26m. “I am not sure what you are talking about” I replied with a stern tone in my voice. I increased the volume of the music on my steering wheel. This was not possible. I must just be hearing things since it was so late, no one knows that I had an affair and it was a mistake. He must have just had a really good guess I thought.

“Would it cause you despair if she found out?” He said

“There would be nothing to find out because that didn't happen and we are happy.” I replied.

“True It wouldn't make much of a difference because she has been aware since early last year. Stephanie works at the new firm that she works at. I never understood how humans forgive each other for such betrayal a truly despicable quality”

We hit a stop light and I slammed on the breaks and exclaimed loudly.

“Who the fuck are you! What do you want from me!” Visibly angry at this time. Glancing at the GPS 18m Until arrival. The man took a moment to straighten himself in his seat after the sudden stop.

“Please refrain from outbursts of anger. I have no use for anger, what I am interested in is your sins.” He said almost sounding annoyed. Like he was supposed to be the one that was annoyed in this situation.

“So then what do you want, what do I have to give you to leave me and my family alone” I said.

He smiled a large smile “I do not want anything from you. I would much prefer to make a deal instead if you are interested?” He said.

“It doesn't feel like I have much choice. What kind of deal do you want.” I glanced at the time 11m until arrival.

“What I want is your sins” He said with a slur like a snake.

“You want my sins? What does that even mean? You want me to confess to you like some kind of priest?” I replied only getting angrier.

“Quite the opposite actually. I would like you to commit sins in my name and I will reward you equivalently to the sin that you have committed how does that sound”

I checked the time, 3m left. I just wanted this crazy man out of my car at this point and just wanted to keep him talking so that I could drop him off and head home.

“Uh, ya, sure can you give me the rest of the details and I will give you all of my sins” I said in an overly dramatic tone.

The man smiled ear to ear. “Great! This makes my night a good night sir. If you accept please take my card and keep it with you as you commit your sins. It would be even better if you say my name as it is printed on the card when you do it. I will visit you again next year at this time to collect. I should also mention If I return and I am not satisfied with what you have to offer me I will take something else as payment and never visit you again.

I then pulled up to the location that he requested to be dropped off at. It was just an old 24h diner just off the highway.

“Ya sure kyle were here so get out” I said

“Wonderful!” He said as he placed a card on my seat as he got out and I peeled out of there.

The next year was rather difficult for me. I hit a man with my car by accident, killing him. I then became quite the alcoholic and this affected my marriage. My wife and I had another fight and I ended up spending the night at a hotel with a lady of the night. I stepped outside the hotel for a smoke. Another bad habit that I had picked up along the way. I lit my cigarette and took a puff when I heard a familiar voice.

“Absolutely marvelous my new attendant of sin. I truly did not expect products such as this from you!” Kyle said in an almost overjoyed tone.

“Manslaughter, infidelity, addiction and neglect! I never imagined that you would produce such fruits! For such miraculous contributions to myself I will grant you 3 rewards. What can I do for you in return for such quality sins!”

I stumbled back, almost dropping my cigarette. What the hell? How? What?

“What, what, are you doing here! How did you find me! What are you talking about” I yelled.

“Why, whatever do you mean? It is 3:31AM on the same day as the last as I said I would return. I am here to collect and reward just as I promised. A demon never goes back on his word. Now tell me what it is that you wish for in reward as part of our deal.” He replied.

“Wait, you're a demon?” I said.

“Indeed I am, Specifically a demon that is in need of sins and you are going to give me some quite valuable sins. Now what would you like as your reward so that I may collect your sins”

“Wait hold up what do you mean? I never kept you card shit I almost completely forgot about you, Just leave me alone and get away from me.” I yelled at him

He then looked down at the ground and I felt very uneasy. Even though he was standing several parking spaces away from me I felt very unsafe.

“Do you remember what I told you would happen If you did not fulfill your end of our arrangement? And you did keep my card. It has been in your car this entire time you never got rid of it and that means that you accepted our deal. The very car that you committed these very sins. I will take from you the equivalent of what I am owed today if you do not agree.”

I started to speak but he began to walk towards me and cut me off.

“Have you ever heard the human saying do not write checks that you can not cash?”

He was standing right infront of me now and looked me in the eyes. I could see his eyes were pitch black consuming any light that was around them.

“I will ask you once more, do you wish to select your payment or would you rather I take mine!” He said this in a deep below that sent shivers down my spine. I stumbled back and almost pissed myself. He was very serious. I was terrified of him and I had no Idea what he was going to do. So I screamed.

“Yes! Yes! But I don't know what I want, please just leave me alone!”

Kyle then calmed a bit. Spoke in a much calmer tone.

“Well you do have great sins to offer but since you bear such fruit I can't exactly just let you go. The sins you will produce in the future are worth much more to me than that. I can also not influence your decision. You must make it and my patience is wearing thin.”

Thinking fast I just blurted out what came to my mind as I was terrified and just wanted him to leave his eyes, his eyes! I swear to you that they were the most unnatural thing that I had ever seen. Like he had black holes where his eyes should be.

So I just said the first three things that came to my mind. “Money! Safety! And Health! Now please just go!”

Kyle smiled and his eyes went back to normal.

“Very well. I will grant you money, safety and health in exchange for your sins. Please let this be easier next year.”

I then blinked and I woke up in my bed at home with my wife. The demon kept true to his words. No one remembered the sins that I committed that the demon had taken from me that night. Everyone forgot about the man that I hit with my car. I felt no need to drink or smoke. My Wife forgot all about the fight that we had the other night.

He also made true his “rewards” as he called them. That same day a bank account with $10 million in it was opened in my name. My body became athletic and I probably lost 65 lbs overnight. I was in sheer awe at everything that had happened. I fell down the stairs that morning because I was too bewildered to realize that I had missed a step. When I hit the bottom and got back up I felt no pain, not even a bruise.

Kyle or his real name that I came to learn later Kalsifer. Would visit me every year to collect my sins and make them as if they never happened, and would then reward me for it. It has been almost 55 years since I met Kalsifer in the passenger seat of my Uber. I have committed many sins in his name. I have yet to disappoint him yet and I do not want to find out what happens If I do. But the one thing that I know for sure. Once you make a deal with the devil there is no turning back; all of these deals are eternal. I have now lived over a hundred years. My wife died 8 years ago. I am getting old again and I will no longer request youth as a gift from Kalcifer. At first I thought this was a great deal I could do anything with no consequences. But year after year he continues to take my sins and slowly taken my emotions along with it. I will continue to fulfill my end of this deal until I die. I no longer wish to live. There is no point because without knowing Kalcifer took something that I didn't know I even had. The ability to make mistakes in my life is almost completely without consequence. I no longer even know what the difference between right and wrong is. There is no point to anything anymore.

Demons will take things you didn't even know that you had to lose. Never make a deal with a demon; you never know what they really take in return.