The blood of a god was scorching.

Cassio’s skin was burning where the bear prince had spilled his blood on him. His hands. His chest. His eyes. The blood on his face was a warpaint that let everyone know that he was a slayer of gods.

That he was like a god.

In the dark forest where he had killed the bear prince, goblins and skin-changers were chanting his name. Lionheart! Lionheart! Lionheart! They were worshipping him, and the bear prince’s corpse was an altar dedicated to him. The blood burned but not half as much as the crown of fire placed on his head. A crown other kings would behold with horror. He was the Lionheart. A descendant of King Eld. A hero of Garuccia at whose feet the bear prince lied dead …

… and a river of blood of flowed from his wounds…

The blood stained his feet and then started crawling up his legs until he was covered in gore from head to toe. When the blood dried and hardened, it cocooned him. Crystallized around him. Trapped him. Somewhere far away he could hear that goblin of the Hillside Tribe kept chanting his name. Worshipping him.

Lionheart! Lionheart! Lionheart!

King Eld Reborn! The First King of Men Come Again! King of Fire Reincarnated!

They worshipped him while he burned inside the blood egg.

… burned…

It burned!

The cocoon was burning him! Melting him down until his body broke apart! His insides turned into liquid while his limbs, genitals, nose, ears, and eyes fell off! The crimson cocoon had turned into a kettle, and he was boiling inside it.

It was changing him…

Remaking him…

Like a caterpillar going through a metamorphosis…

The pain gave away to nothingness and then the cocoon broke down. The man had been burned away so the god could be born. His body was sculpted from bronze and his hair was crimson fire. With his new eyes he could see the world the way gods did. He was…

The carriage hit a pump on the road and shook him awake.

Cassio jumped on his feet, ready to fight, and slammed his head on the carriage’s ceiling. He fell back on his seat while rubbing his head and cursing his own stupidity. Then he looked at his hands. Hands that had not been carved from bronze. He recognized his hands. He was still Cassio de Rossi.

He was still human.

A viscount. Not a god.

Cassio pulled the curtain on the carriage window and peeked outside at Leoden. The sight of the city calmed him down ever so slightly. It was the city his family had built. The construction had been started by the first lord of his House, Leon the Red, and seen to completion by his grandson. Leoden would never let any harm come to him. It would keep him safe.

If only the people that he drove past knew.

The carriage he had picked did not have the banner of House Rossi and he was lost in the everyday hustle of the city. He was no one. There were uses to the anonymity, but he didn’t think he could bear it for long. Fame was an addiction few could resist. Cassio rubbed his hands to keep the cold of the cool day away and wished he’d brought his gloves. Winter was almost upon them. Sal had been fussing about it like an overprotective wife and like a foolish husband he had ignored him. Now all he could do was rub his hands together for warmth.

After a few minutes the driver told him that they had arrived.

As per his orders, the driver had parked the carriage by the back entrance of a simple, multifloored, brick building where businesses and private enterprises could rent office space. Cassio climbed out of the carriage while the driver fed sugar cubes to his horses.

“Wait here.” Cassio ordered.

“Yes, milord.” The driver said.

When Sal had made the appointment for him, the agreement had been that the backdoor was open so he could sneak in undetected. As usual Sal had not left him wanting. He entered from the back and climbed the stair two or three at a time until he arrived at the fourth floor.

Where doctor Aldini’s office was located.

Cassio knocked on the door and heard a woman’s voice invite him in whom Cassio assumed was the doctor’s secretary. Behind the door was an impressive office where you could really get things done. There was an impressive view of the city which betrayed how high the rent had to be, but the furniture told him that the doctor could afford it.

A viscount would not meet a doctor in a shack.

The writing desk by the window was built from dark wood and seemed to have been commissioned from the same woodcarver he used. In the corner was a comfortable leather couch where people could easily share their worries and secrets. It was paired with an armchair and a small coffee table and next to them was a bookshelf with only three books which confused him. In his experience scholars liked to stack their shelves with books the same way hunters filled their walls with animal heads. A boast and a brag which made the barren shelves look out of place.

Then he realized that all the three books had been authored by doctor Aldini.

Tomes on dreams and their effects on the human mind.

The next surprise was the doctor and Cassio realized that whom Cassio had assumed was the doctor’s secretary was actually doctor Aldini herself. She was a woman in her early forties with dark, curly hair and narrow face. She was dressed smartly in a suit jacket and a black skirt. Around her throat hung a simple silver necklace. There was a quiet strength to her features that a woman would need to survive in Garuccia’s intellectual circles.

“Doctor Aldini?” Cassio said.

The doctor smiled like she had read his mind.

“In the flesh, lord Rossi. Thank you for coming. Why don’t you have a seat?” The doctor said and pointed at the leather couch.

Cassio nodded and removed his top hat before sitting down. The couch was as comfortable as it looked, and the doctor sat to an armchair by the couch.

“I wasn’t expecting a woman.” Cassio said.

There was a flicker of annoyance on doctor Aldini’s face that told Cassio she heard the same thing said often.

“Talking therapy is the only field of medicine that accepts women aside from nursing.” The doctor said and smiled apologetically: “I am sorry to ask this but will my being a woman be a problem?”

Cassio thought about it before shrugging.

“No. Not anymore.” Cassio said.

The doctor nodded while smiling. She took out a small notebook and an ink pen.

“Whenever you’re ready to begin.”

Cassio leaned back on the couch and tried to relax. He stared at the ceiling and tried to find faces in the paintwork. Lying down while someone sat felt wrong. Like they were looking down on him. So he sat up and kept his hands on his knees.

“I am not very good at this. Talking about myself.” Cassio said.

“Mister Torrini did warn me about that when he booked the appointment. It takes time to open yourself up. Time, courage, and trust.” The doctor said and put down her notebook: “We don’t have to start talking about you. Maybe there is something else we could talk about.”

Cassio thought about what he wanted to talk about when he noticed a newspaper tucked under the coffee table. He reached for it and read the front page. For the past week all the papers would talk about was the series of murders all over Leoden. The retired head of a correctional facility for wayward boys had been slaughtered in his home as had coppers and security personnel.

“Have you been following the case?” Cassio asked.

The doctor glanced at the newspaper before nodding.

“I have. The police have even approached my colleagues and I for a psychological profile.” The doctor said.

“And what did you conclude?” Cassio asked.

“That whoever can tear a man to pieces with his bare hands is a very scary person.” The doctor said.

Cassio smiled his thin smile.

“I assume that’s confidential.”

“I’m afraid so.” The doctor admitted.

“Charming.” Cassio said and folded the newspaper before placing it back under the coffee table: “How do you usually start these sessions?”

“Normally I ask why the patient is here.” The doctor said.

“Client. Not a patient. Client. I am not sick.” Cassio said.

“My mistake, viscount.” The doctor said and picked up her notebook again: “This might bear repeating that nothing you say will leave this room. You can speak freely about anything.”

Cassio sank back on the couch and thought about Elysa. The fear in her black eyes when he had come far too close to hurting her than he dared to admit. A woman half his size who had been even more of a victim of Pietro than him.

“I always thought I can control my anger. That I can use it but recently I lost control and now I wonder.” Cassio said.

“About what?”

“If I can’t control my anger, it means it controls me. I lost my temper and didn’t even realize it. Maybe I have lost control before and was too arrogant to realize it. Maybe all this time my anger has been using me.”

“I see.” The doctor said while writing something down: “What was this incident?”

Cassio’s hands turned into fists when Elysa’s terrified face flashed before his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Cassio said.

“Then we won’t. We will return to it when you feel ready. Can you recall any other time when you have lost control?” The doctor asked.

Another time? There was Viktor and the scar he had given him.

“I was younger then. My family had arranged an official meeting with another noble house, and I had a boxing match with their son.” Cassio said while staring at his calloused knuckles: “He was smaller and younger than me, but he came at me harder than I anticipated. It irked me and I hit him back harder than I intended.”

“Why did it irk you?” The doctor asked.

“I felt I was being disrespected.”

“I see.” The doctor said and scribbled something down.

When he got into the rhythm of talking, Cassio felt himself relax ever so slightly.

“I always thought it was a one-time thing. That I had lost control once and would never let it happen again.” Cassio said: “I was wrong.”

Cassio kept staring at his hand that he had forged into a mace made of callouses and scar tissue. He could have killed Elysa with a single punch. When you were this strong you could not afford to lose control.

“What worries me even more is that my advisor never pointed out to me that my passion rules my reason. Which means he never noticed or kept it from me.”

The doctor’s scribbling intensified ever so slightly.

“You worry your advisor’s council is not honest?”

“Dishonest or incompetent.” Cassio said harsher than he intended: “When I pay someone to do my thinking for me, I expect them to do what’s best for me. Not let me engage in my worst impulses.”

The doctor nodded and put down her pen.

“In my professional experience, people rarely want what’s best for them. Your advisor… would you say he is of equal social standing to you?”

“Here? No.”

“Then try putting yourself in his shoes.” The doctor said.

“Shoe. He only wears one shoe now.” Cassio said.

The doctor gave him a strange look and then picked up her pen to write something down.

“You’re a very intimidating man, viscount. Try to put yourself in your advisor’s… position. You’re far more powerful than him both in terms of physical prowess and status. How would you tell someone like that what they don’t want to hear?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Are you saying that I can’t trust your services?”

“Unlike your advisor, I am not financially dependent on you. If I am to keep my job, I must be honest with my… clients.”

Cassio pressed his fingertips together.

“And what is your job? What is this talking therapy meant to accomplish?”

“I suppose it would be to help my client’s perception of reality to match reality.”

Cassio furrowed his brow.

“Explain.”

“Very well. You said you lost control when you felt disrespected. Why is that?”

“I am not a man who suffers disrespect meekly.” Cassio said.

“And there we have it. You believe that you are not to be disrespected and when the world does not align with that belief, you react negatively.” The doctor said.

Cassio fell silent when he mulled what the doctor had said over and then stood up.

“We will stop early for today. You will be compensated for your services.” Cassio said.

The doctor nodded and put down her notebook.

“Will I see you again, lord viscount?”

“My advisor will book the appointments. Should I not be at Leoden, we will have the sessions over the phone.” Cassio said and glanced at the newspaper: “Are you finished with that?”

“Yes.”

Cassio picked up the newspaper and put on his top hat. He climbed down the stairs where his driver was waiting for him with the carriage. To pass the time, the driver had been reading and quickly marked the page with a paperclip to Cassio’s satisfaction. Sal’s habit of folding the page to mark a spot always drove him half mad. Cassio was about to climb in the carriage when something on the other side of the street caught his eye.

It was a man.

It was the biggest man Cassio had ever seen with the kind of a physique that could fill a door frame. He was dressed in a black, fur trimmed greatcoat and bowler hat to protect himself from the coming winter that didn’t quite hide his musculature. Their gazes lingered for a moment until the gigantic man took off his bowler hat in a greeting and Cassio saw his head was completely hairless. The bowler hat had also been hiding a starshaped scar on his forehead like the mark of a holy man. Cassio raised his own hat out of reflex before climbing into the carriage. When he glanced out of the window, the man was gone and for some reason he felt unnerved.

“Take me to the hostel.” Cassio ordered.

The driver obeyed immediately and got the horses moving.

There were hidden mansions all over Leoden whose addresses were well-guarded secrets. A mansion needed a village that could produce goods for the lord and the hidden mansions were usually built in secret upper floors of restaurants or hotels. Only the managers knew that their business’ true purpose was to keep the lord who sometimes used the secret quarters happy and well-fed.

The rider dropped Cassio by the hostel before returning to home to wait when his lord would require his services again.

The hostel had been built with weary travelers in mind who wanted to stay in Leoden for cheap. The only thing of note was that the small rooms were kept clean and lice free. Breakfast was thrown in with the bed and it never failed to disappoint. Cassio entered the hostel from the back and stepped into an elevator. The elevator had been installed twenty-years ago and went all the way up to the sixth floor.

Unless you owned the right key.

Under the buttons was a small keyhole and Cassio inserted the key that made the elevator rise to the seventh floor. When Cassio stepped out of the elevator, he came across a brick hallway and a steel door. He used another key on the lock and entered through the door.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The two secret floors on the other side were fit for a lord.

The couches and armchairs were built for comfort and to impress guests. Anyone who sat on them felt like a king on his throne. The carpets were soft to walk on and sown to be works of art with string of gold. The walls were lined with books and art of battles that honored the glorious dead and festivities of war. There were three guest bedrooms, a small pantry, a kitchen, and liquor cabinets that were never allowed to go empty. There was even a small garden on the balcony where you could look down on Garuccia without being spotted by onlookers. In that garden he had dug a small grave for a good boy and marked the spot with his broken rifle. It still stood there, and Cassio still paid his respects to Phobos.

But he was not staying alone.

Sal was lounging on a couch by the fireplace dressed in blue pajamas and a bathrobe. His left leg that ended in a bandaged stump below the knee was resting on a small mountain of pillows. He was going through a stack of letters piled on the coffee table and raised his teacup when Cassio entered.

“Welcome home, darling. You’re early.” Sal said.

Cassio took the kettle of sweet tea on the coffee table and poured himself a cup despite Sal always making it too sweet for his liking before shooting Sal a look.

“You bastard.”

“I love you too.” Sal said and clinked his cup against Cassio’s.

Cassio dropped his greatcoat and top hat on the floor before sitting in the armchair. He loosened his tie while sipping the tea.

“You could have warned me that the doctor was a woman.”

Sal stroked his short beard with a curious smile on his lips.

“Is being a woman a problem?”

“No but I looked like a fool.”

“All part of the rehabilitation process. Every man is a fool. Some are just more foolish than others. Besides me of course.” Sal said and pushed himself to a sitting position.

Moving his leg still made him grimace.

“How badly did it go?” Sal asked when the pain had passed.

“I felt overwhelmed, but I will go back if you’re sure she is reliable.” Cassio said.

“I ran the check up on her multiple times from multiple angles. She is clean and knows how to keep a secret.” Sal said.

“Good. I’d hate to have her assassinated.” Cassio said.

“And I’d hate to pay the assassin. She was a guest lecturer at Leoden University while I was a student there and it’s not every student’s dream is to kill their teacher.” Sal said and poured himself more tea: “Her theories on the collective unconscious were a treat.”

“My House paid for your degree in law not the talking therapy.” Cassio said.

“A lawyer needs insight into the mind and if you don’t broaden your horizons, you risk becoming a bore to yourself. I also think the collective unconscious is just another name for the Fourth Circle of the Wyrding.”

“The Dreamlands?” Cassio said.

“Yeah. The place that connects all living things.” Sal said.

“Interesting.” Cassio said and sipped his sweet tea: “Sal.”

“Cassio.”

“Have you ever told me what I wanted to hear instead of the truth?”

Sal kept smiling while he stroked his beard, but Cassio could tell when Sal used a smile to hide his uncertainty.

“Is she already turning us against each other?”

“Answer the question.” Cassio said.

Sal emptied his cup in one go.

“Have I sometimes been more diplomatic than I should? Yes. Have I misled you? No. Your success is my success. Quite literally. Who else would hire me?” Sal said.

“Nuncio would.” Cassio said.

“You wound me, Cassio. I am loyal to my sugar daddy.” Sal said.

Cassio snorted despite himself and poured Sal more tea.

“Very well.”

The matter was done with as far as he was concerned. If Sal had ever given him bad advice, he would not dare to do it again. Not when Cassio had brought it up once. Not when he was on the look for it.

They sat in silence for a moment and enjoyed the tea.

Then she noticed Old Badger’s pipe sticking out of the pocket in Sal’s bathrobe.

“Have you ever thought about trying the talking therapy?” Cassio asked.

“What makes you think I already haven’t?”

Cassio nodded.

“Old Badger was a good woman.”

Sal fell quiet when another kind of pain washed over him.

“Yes… she was. The kind that comes only once in a lifetime.”

They raised their teacups to Old Badger’s memory. He had known her only briefly, but Cassio missed Old Badger. It was hard not to be impressed by a woman who could win over the heart of a god. After Sal poured them a refill of tea, Cassio glanced at the letters Sal had been reading through.

“Status report.” Cassio said.

“The clean up at the mansion is almost done. The ghoul carcasses have been cleared up and once the grounds have been double and triple checked for the undead, we should be able to return home. I’ve placed a curfew on the villagers in the meantime.” Sal said.

“Good.”

“Now for the bad news. We must hire a new staff. The old one quit in mass for… obvious Pietro related reasons. We’re down to Francesca and Emilia. I’ve left this in Francesca’s hands. I took the liberty of handing everyone a generous severance pays and glowing recommendation letters.”

Cassio was about to object when he wondered why he was so irked by his household quitting. The doctor’s point had cut too deep. His servants were not soldiers and the deal he had with them had been simple. He would protect them, and they would care for him. He had failed to protect them, so they abandoned him. Fair enough.

“Cassio?”

“Good work, Sal. I hope them the best of luck in their future endeavors.” Cassio said.

“Nuncio also insisted that the ghouls get proper burials. They’ve had it rough enough. A coffin and a grave are the least they deserve.” Sal said while stroking his beard: “Because I am more god than man, I managed to get a discount on the coffins.”

“How generous.”

“It gets better. Nuncio paid for the cleanup. Not that it matters to him. I ran through the numbers and while math is not my strong suit… well… there is no nice way to say this… even discounting all the money Pietro hid from the taxman, Nuncio is far and away richer than you.”

This was a genuine shock. House Rossi had been amassing its wealth for centuries. As noble houses went, they were as old as House Eld and had survived longer. The idea that Pietro had surpassed them in a two decades was disconcerting.

“Really?” Cassio asked.

“Really, really.”

“I see.” Cassio said and had another sip of tea: “Anything else?”

“We have also been flooded with marriage proposals. Everyone wants a piece of the Bear Killer.”

“And here I thought my fellow nobles would need time to recover after Pietro.” Cassio said.

“These come from the Wyrding. The giants are very interested and so is the Snake Clan.” Sal said before pulling out a black envelope: “Proposal from Gehenna was a shock.”

“Gehenna? The Land of Demons?”

“The very same.” Sal said.

Cassio took the black envelope with a broken signet that had three stars on it. The handwriting inside was elegant and easy to read. Like someone treated writing as an artform.

My most honored lord Lionheart,

we have never met but your reputation precedes you. I am marchioness Usurria de Grimaldi of Gehenna, Princess of the Storm, and a lady of the City of Dis. I have heard of your duel with His Terrible Highness and how you overcame a Prince of the Wild. I propose a meeting so we can get to know each other better and perhaps discuss terms on uniting our Houses through marriage. There is Garuccian blood in me and I am sure we will find much common ground. The hospitality of my mansion is at your disposal. Just use the glyph on the back of the letter to guarantee safe passage. I hope to hear from you soon so we can form a long and lasting friendship. I have taken the liberty of sending my photo with the letter.

Sincerely, marchioness Usurria

Ps. Send my regards to His Savage Highness and my wishes for his speedy recovery.

After glancing at the rune at the back of the letter Cassio took the black and white photo out of the envelope and studied this marchioness Usurria. The succubus features might have been off putting to some and Cassio was not used to women having horns but there was mysterious beauty to her. She looked like a woman who kept her own council and did not hand out her trust easily. She could have been in her mid to late twenties but being born a succubus, she could have been centuries old.

“Why does a marchioness of Gehenna have a Garuccian name?” Cassio said.

“She is technically Viktor’s and Livia’s cousin. A very distant one. Her grandfather was the Starlight Knight. He founded a branch of House Grimaldi in Gehenna when she married the succubus Larissia.” Sal said.

“Charming. What else do you know about her?” Cassio asked.

“Not much. She is an enigma, but she was a ward of the Wyrd King a long time ago.”

“Most interesting.” Cassio said and handed the letter back to Sal: “Hold on to this. I will dictate my answer later.”

“It shall be done.” Sal said.

“Anything else I should know about?” Cassio asked.

“Sadly, there is. I got a call from Luciano Riggi.” Sal said with some venom in his voice.

“Did you now? And what does our beloved chief of police want?”

“The whereabouts of two missing officers. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.” Sal said.

“And what is the truth?” Cassio said.

“They’re dead. I ate one of them.” Sal said.

Cassio’s face rarely showed overt emotion but this time he couldn’t stop himself from grimacing. After knowing Sal for years, it was easy to forget that Sal wasn’t human and underneath the mask was a predator god. One that did not blink at the prospect of eating humans.

“Bad form to kill coppers, Sal.”

“They started it. Besides I only killed one of them. Nuncio shot the other one.” Sal said.

“Nuncio?” Cassio said surprised: “Never thought he’d have it in him.”

“You underestimate him at your peril. That was Pietro’s mistake. Beware the wrath of a patient man.” Sal said and sipped his tea: “But don’t worry about Riggi. He won’t be able to raise too much of a stink. Those coppers moonlighted as hitmen. You can count on three things. Death, taxes, and coppers being bastards.”

“Riggi won’t be happy about this.” Cassio said.

“He will throw his bitchfit, but he won’t go to war over two killer cops. Not after the blowback from Pietro. Besides he is busy with this serial killer running around the city.” Sal said and shook his head: “What the hell could rip a man to pieces with its bare hands?”

“A chimp could.” Cassio said and stared at his drink: “I killed one before I met you.”

“Then I guess Riggi should ask if the zoo has an alibi.” Sal said.

“Perhaps he should.” Cassio agreed and stared at his teacup.

Nuncio was richer than him? And he had it in him to pull a trigger? The first thing he’d been taught in the military academy was that killing did not come naturally to men. Vast majority of bullets shot went to waste. It took months, sometimes years of conditioning to make a soldier ready to kill. When he had been picked to train with the king’s praetorian guard, the first thing he’d done was work at a butcher’s shop for a week until the screams of dying animals and spilling their blood no longer bothered him. Nuncio had gone through none of that and yet he’d been able to kill. This was disconcerting.

“What have you done to bring Nuncio to the fold?” Cassio asked.

“It’s under control.” Sal said.

“It better be. Nuncio might be the richest man in Garuccia right now and don’t think I haven’t heard how curious House Ferro is about him. I don’t want to see all that money and influence fall on Prospero’s lap.”

“Big cat, it’s under control.” Sal said: “Trust me on this.”

Cassio’s eyes narrowed and he looked Sal so sharply he was almost drilling through his skull with his glare. Despite having been friends for years, he still did not know Sal as well as he thought friends should but he had begun to understand how his mind worked.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Cassio asked.

“I’d be a fool not to.” Sal said.

A more emotive man would have been caught off guard, but Cassio was not a man easily surprised. But it was during times like this that he wished feelings of other humans hadn’t eluded him. That more often than not Sal had to tell him when he was being out of line. A man whose heart wasn’t a mystery to them would have known what to say when they thought their friend was making a mistake.

“Aren’t you moving too fast? Don’t you need more time to mourn and heal?” Cassio asked.

Sal’s eyes glazed over, and it felt like looking at a dead man. A haunted corpse.

“Never stop, Cassio. Not even for a second. If you do, the past will catch you and the past is a monster.” Sal said.

During his military academy days, one of the first lessons he had been taught was to never show uncertainty. The more uncertain he felt, the more assured he should look. A man and a soldier never hesitated or second guessed. He just acted. It was advice that Cassio had begun to doubt but it was all he knew so he looked self-assured and nodded.

“Good work, Sal.” Cassio said but the words felt bitter on his tongue

“Thank you, Cassio.”

With evening came hunger. Normally Sal would have insisted on preparing dinner for them, but he was still recovering from the loss of his leg, and they ordered food from a nearby restaurant. The lasagna was delivered on a silver platter through a dumbwaiter and Cassio carried it to the table while Sal made the torturous trip from the couch to the dinner table on his crutches.

It hurt seeing Sal like that.

Broken.

Crippled.

Before becoming his most trusted advisor and only friend, Sal had been an acrobat and a clown. His movements had been light and graceful. Almost like he saw the entire world as a dancefloor or a stage. Now he was clumsy and awkward in his movements like he was constantly having to remind himself he had only one foot to stand on.

The damage done to his true form was even more heartbreaking.

His Savage Highness was the prince of all foxes and if the wolf prince was the Wyrding’s greatest warrior, the fox prince was its finest adventurer. Or had been. Even the fiercest beast could not survive the loss of a paw. It was one thing to kill a fox. Maiming it was just monstrous cruelty.

“I know that look.” Sal said while carving up the lasagna.

“What look?” Cassio asked.

“Don’t play that game with me, Cassio. I can put with a pity party from Emilia but not from you.”

Cassio stared at his lasagna. It smelled delicious but suddenly he didn’t feel hungry.

“Sal, this might be a dumb question, but can you regrow limbs?” Cassio asked.

“I could but I’d rather not.” Sal said.

“And why is that?” Cassio asked.

“It would mean going back to my mother. She would eat me and rebirth me whole but… that would wipe my mind and soul clean. I would no longer be Salvatore Torrini. Just an empty vessel.” Sal said and poured them red wine: “Do you think I am helpless because I lost a leg? That I am powerless?”

“No.” Cassio lied.

“Liar. If being Salvatore Torrini was easy anyone could do it.” Sal said and raised his leg stump to the dinner table: “This? This is nothing. Just another setback. I’ve had them before, and I will have them again. I will overcome this because I am Salvatore Torrini and there is nothing that I can’t change.”

Cassio was quiet for a moment.

“My apologies.” Cassio said finally: “For the disrespect.”

“Apology accepted. Besides… losing Badger hurt infinitely more than one stinking leg. I have a spare leg. I do not have a spare Badger.”

“No. You don’t.” Cassio said and began eating: “You feel Emilia is pitying you?”

“She burst out crying when she saw me. I can take a hint.” Sal said.

“It’s never easy seeing your heroes hurt.” Cassio said.

“I’m her hero?” Sal asked.

Cassio didn’t believe for a moment that Sal hadn’t noticed how Emilia adored him, but he was more than happy to talk Sal up. He smiled his thin smile and washed down the lasagna with some red wine. Wine always made him feel nostalgic.

“Remember Lord of the Hunt?” Cassio asked.

Sal stuck out his tongue in response.

“I do. It took weeks to get his taste out of my mouth. His soul was a filthy thing.” Sal said.

“Men who prey on children are rarely known for their character.” Cassio said.

“Nor their brains.” Sal said while munching down the lasagna: “I think the idiot actually thought he could hide there until everyone forgot about him. The jokes on him. Immortals are slow to forget and even slower to forgive.”

“Brave move from Emilia to survive him then. Impressive from such a mousey thing.”

“Mice have to survive cats. Never underestimate a mouse. They just might outlive us all.” Sal said.

“I trust your opinion on this.” Cassio said: “Pity still what happened. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to go back home only to realize decades have passed in Garuccia.”

“I wouldn’t call it a pity. Not considering what she would have had to go back to. My only regret is that I couldn’t teach her drunken lout of a father some manners myself.” Sal said.

Cassio didn’t argue the point. The Twelve-Year-War had broken his uncle and from what he had gathered of Sal’s human father, the war had broken him as well. Broken men tended to seek solace from drink or opium. Or they took out their grievances on their children.

“I guess that would have made you even more of a hero in her eyes.” Cassio said.

After dinner, they decided to share a brandy over a game of Knight Guard before retiring for the night. They could never stop at one game nor one glass and kept going until they were suddenly plunged into darkness.

“Goddamn fuses.” Sal groaned and lit a candle: “That has been happening all week.”

Without light, they decided to call it a night. As a viscount, Cassio slept in the master bedroom with a king-sized bed while Sal took one of the lesser guestrooms. Uneasiness took over him when he put out the candle. After dueling the bear prince, the skin-changer was waiting for him every time he closed his eyes.

But not tonight.

This night the bear stayed far away.

The ogre had found him.

The dream was so vivid that it didn’t feel like a dream, but a memory relived countless times. A memory like a treasure you would take out whenever you wanted to cheer yourself up. The dream had made him an invisible spectator like a ghost, haunting a room decorated with heavy and richly patterned curtains. It was like someone had managed to catch shooting stars on fabric.

The room was divided between two groups of men.

Blocking the entrances was a band of thieves armed with revolvers and rifles. They had cruel eyes and sneering grins when they pointed their weapons at the other group of men driven into a corner. They were drunk on their own power and putting off the execution like a fine cigar just so they could enjoy the moment a bit longer.

The only one of the prisoners who showed no fear was the oldest of them.

The old man was ancient and wrinkled but too proud to let time bend his back. His head was shaved clean, but his long, scraggly beard brought to mind icicles. His eyes were the color of glaciers, and you could have been mistaken that the only reason no one had pulled the trigger was this man’s indomitable will.

And between the two groups of men was the ogre.

The ogre strode amidst the rich curtains, gorging on a bowl of blood with its venomous, slithering tongue. It was nude, revealing a colossal over-muscled body that made its massive head look tiny on its bull-like neck. The creature’s skin was dark gold and scaled like a reptile’s, with short spikes running down its back. The glaring eyes had nothing but hatred for all living things and no matter how much blood the monster feasted with; it would never be enough. Not even if it drank the whole world dry.

Cassio tried to scream but no sound came out.

He wanted to tell everyone in the room to run. Did they not see what he was seeing? This horrendous beast that walked like a man? This monster that would turn on its allies the moment it had destroyed its enemies just to spill more blood? How could they be so blind?

One look at the army of thieves following the ogre revealed why.

Everyone in the room was enthralled by the ogre. By its power. Charisma born from terror and strength had cast a spell over these men who only understood violence and were enslaved by it. Even the men being held at gunpoint could not help but be taken in by the ogre’s might.

All except one.

The old man who had managed to maintain his composure before certain doom and stared at the ogre with open contempt. Contempt for the ogre and anyone who would follow it.

“You’ve always been a cunt, Maximo.” The old man said.

The ogre never took its eyes off the old man while it emptied the blood bowl in one last greedy gulp. It put down the bowl and walked over to the old man. Only when the old man was before the ogre did Cassio realize just how huge the ogre was. It had to be closer to seven feet in size.

Then it spoke.

The ogre’s voice was a surprise. Cassio had expected a growling snarl like an animal’s that could barely form words. But instead, the ogre sounded dignified. Smooth and powerful with a layer of friendliness and charm that you would realize too late were a sham. The tone was calculated and was just quiet enough men would have to pay attention to hear everything.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t done the same thing. Time and time again.” The ogre said and caressed the old man’s face who shivered like the ogre’s hand was a large spider: “We have followed the same rules and now it has brought us here.”

“You have no rules, you animal.” The old man said.

The ogre’s short laugh sent a shiver down Cassio’s spine.

“I am no animal. I am well-acquainted with civilization. Civilized men like you taught me everything I know, and I know this. Might makes right.”

The old man spat on the ogre’s face and Cassio couldn’t help but respect him for it. Even if it meant dying, the old man would not grovel.

“Don’t expect me to beg, monster.”

There was a flash of the ogre’s fangs when it smiled. It let go of the old man and walked over to the window. Outside uncaring stars and a cold moon shined down on a white dessert that a freezing wind blew over.

“Ever think about the troll, old man? I do. Often. Every day. You judged that I should die but what you didn’t know is that I was judging you too.” The ogre said and glared at the old man’s court who were hiding behind their ancient king: “All of you. When I killed the troll, I killed all of you. You just didn’t realize it yet and now it’s time for you to go.”

The ogre turned to look at his captives.

“Everyone. Strip.”

For the first time the old man was caught by surprise.

“What?”

“We’re going for a walk.” The ogre said: “Clothes off.”

The thought of dying to exposure in the freezing night made one of the old man’s lackeys remember he was a man and he stepped forward with all the bravado of a millionaire.

“You can’t be seriously following this lunatic. Whatever he pays, I’ll double it. Who shoots him first will be made my top guy.”

The old man stared at the fool who tried to negotiate with a hangman’s noose. The ogre’s eyes shifted from the old man to the foolish peacock and then he walked over to him. The ogre’s long legs carried him to the peacock quickly and he put his hands on his shoulders.

Cassio had seen headbutts break noses.

This was the first time he saw one break a neck.

When the ogre headbutted the peacock, his head snapped back unnaturally and tore the skin around his throat. The wet crunch when his skull exploded made stomachs tie into knots. One of his eyes had popped out of its socket and his teeth had shattered. They rained on the carpet like shards of glass. Brain matter and blood was spilling out of his ears and when his corpse fell to the floor, his skull looked like a broken eggshell. The room had fallen quiet, and everyone stared at the dead man horrified. You could have heard a spider spin its web. The ogre put out its hand and a man with an owlish look to him walked over to it and handed it a handkerchief.

“Thank you, Accountant.” The ogre said while wiping the dead man’s blood off its forehead: “Now. Strip.”

Even the old man’s will had been shattered by the sudden display of violence and he had fallen under the ogre’s spell. When he took off his black suit, the old man lost all the dignity he’d had left. He had gone from a stern king to a scared old man with skinny legs, weak arms, and a sagging stomach. His court didn’t fare any better and after they’d stripped, they’d gone from prisoners to pigs waiting for slaughter. A slow slaughter that came when they were all driven out at gunpoint.

The cold had as little mercy as the ogre.

The freezing wind cut like a knife through flesh and bone straight into the very soul of the men driven into the winter. They walked barefoot in the snow while the sneering men with guns cheered them on. The ogre followed the band of doomed men, but Cassio sensed no satisfaction in it. It was a dark need that had to be satisfied. Cassio tried to look away, but the first rule of a nightmare was that you could never avert your eyes. He was trapped with these dead men walking. Forced to bear witness to their death march.

The cold and snow turned men’s toes, fingers, genitals, and noses black over the following hour.

The winter gnawed on them like carrion birds, sapping their strength until they fell to the snow, begging for a blanket. For any kind of warmth. They cried out to their mothers. To be let to go home. They promised the world and the stars above to anyone who would save them but there was no saving any of them.

Those who could keep going walked over them.

Those who could not keep going met their end under the ogre’s heel.

Cassio wondered if that was a kindness. A swift execution when the ogre’s foot stomped down on the freezing men’s skulls. But those still standing were only pushed to go further. To cling to life just a bit longer. Hoping against all hope they would find a way out of this.

They never did.

The old man was the last prisoner standing but he was no longer a king who had spat in the face of the ogre when his feet gave out under him. He had been reduced to a bawling child whose tears froze on his cheeks. Even the armed men who had mocked and jeered at him looked uncomfortable now. One of them was even on the verge of taking off his coat and giving it to the old man when the ogre strode towards the old man. The old man was begging for his mother and God to warm him up when the ogre took the old man’s head gently in his hands.

“… Maximo… please…” The old man pleaded.

“Did you really expect this to end any other way? That you would be allowed to retire in a country house somewhere?” The ogre asked.

“… friends… kill you…” The old man sobbed.

“Your handlers in the government? Yes. I know. That you were always an agent of the secret service. Too bad for you that they have deemed you too old. This operation needs some young blood.” The ogre said: “Imagine my disappointment. You made me a government stooge. I hated you before that and even more after finding out.”

“… they’ll… kill you too…”

“One day but not today. If I accept how the game will end, I have already won. Now tell me something, old man.” The ogre said quietly: “Have you found Jesus?”

The old man let out a sob.

Then the ogre started squeezing.

It squeezed until the old man’s head exploded between its terrible palms.

The old man collapsed into the snow and his blood stained the winter scarlet.

The band of thieves stared at the ogre who looked back at them, and Cassio knew they were his. Body and soul. Like the Hillside Tribe had worshipped him after the bear prince’s death, the band of killers were worshipping the ogre. The thieves began returning to the mansion where they would celebrate their victory and newfound fortunes, leaving the ogre alone with his victims.

Alone with Cassio.

Cassio tried to follow the men, but the dream was tied to the ogre who would never let him go. Cassio floated around the ogre that was staring at the dead old man whose head he crushed. It looked almost disappointed. Like a child who just now realized that wanting was better than having. Then the ogre grabbed its cock and pissed on the dead man’s remains and a warm steam rose in the cold night.

“Old Man of the North.” The ogre said while shaking its member dry: “Only the North could kill him.”

Then the ogre turned to look directly at Cassio.

“Do you think silence will save you, Cassio?” The ogre said.

Cassio had thought he was a ghost, but the ogre could touch him just fine, and its fingers gripped his throat. He tried to break himself free of its grip, but the ogre’s strength was far beyond anything a human could match.

“I see you, Cassio.” The ogre said: “It took a long time, but I am here now. You will never again be safe from me. Not even in your dreams. I have found you and I will hunt you down. I will kill everything you love until you know loneliness like I do.”

Cassio woke up in his bed stained with sweat and a scream lodged in his throat. He fell out of bed and scrambled around blindly trying to find a light switch, certain that the ogre was hiding somewhere in the darkness.

“Sal!”

A door slammed open, and the floorboards creaked when Sal hoped on one leg from the guest room towards the master bedroom. Sal burst inside and turned on the lights looking ready to wrestle the boogeyman himself. There was a moment of blindness when Cassio’s eyes tried to adjust into the light and he was sure that when he could see again, Sal would be dead at the ogre’s feet.

“Cassio?” Sal said while putting his hand on Cassio’s shoulder.

It had been a long time since he had hugged anyone but at that moment Cassio hugged Sal who fell to the floor. After a moment of shock, Sal wrapped his arms around Cassio’s wide back.

“It’s okay, Cassio. It’s okay. You’re safe.” Sal said while holding him: “What happened?”

Cassio scanned the master bedroom while holding onto Sal, trying to find a shadow where the ogre could be hiding.

“I had a nightmare.” Cassio said finally.

Sal agreed to sleep in his room that night and poured them brandy to calm Cassio’s nerves while he recounted his dream. Of the mansion decorated with rich curtains, of the men being held at gunpoint until they were driven into the snow to die. He told Sal of the ogre. Sal listened without a word but when Cassio mentioned the ogre, his blue eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Do you think it means something?” Cassio asked when he was done.

The brandy made him feel like himself again and warmed him up. He could almost forget the chilling wind that cut you right into the heart.

“Badger came originally from the Sharp Paw Tribe. They dedicate their lives to studying the Fourth Circle.” Sal said and emptied his brandy glass before pouring himself a refill: “Dreams mean far more than we realize. They connect all living things after all.”

“Then what does an ogre want from me?”

“About that…” Sal said slowly: “Are you sure it was an ogre? Absolutely sure?”

“That’s the only way I could describe it. What’s so special about an ogre?”

Sal had another sip of brandy to steel himself.

“When the ogre comes, it will eat the sun.” Sal said: “That’s part of a prophecy. A small part. Most of it was lost thanks to Girusai but… the ogre is the final Screaming Beast. The one that puts out the sun and usher in the end of everything. The one who delivers the world to the Queen of Cold and Dark.”

There was gravity to Sal’s words he found almost as unsettling as the nightmare.

“Charming.” Cassio said.

Sal patted his shoulder and poured them more brandy.

“Don’t worry. No ogre will get to us here.”

***

Gino had been working the graveyard shift at the hostel for two weeks now and although the pay was better, it did not make up for the sheer boredom and loneliness. He wasn’t allowed to leave his counter in the lobby in case someone decided to check in the middle of the night. Days could go by without him seeing anyone and thanks to working all night and sleeping all day, his skin had gained a sickly pale pallor. Far cry from the life of excitement he had thought he’d find in Leoden.

This sucks balls, Gino thought to himself.

When the bell on the hostel’s door rang to let him know someone had entered, he almost cried from relief. He hadn’t exchanged a word with another human being for far too long. Sometimes he suspected that only difference between a nightshift and solitary confinement was that in nightshifts you tortured yourself willingly.

Relief turned to anxiety when he saw what kind of a guest entered the hostel.

He was so big that when he entered through the door, he had to actually lower his head to fit through and so wide that at first Gino thought he was morbidly obese but then he saw how he moved. Lightly like a boxer in the ring. He wore a greatcoat the size of a small tent with a fur trimmed collar and a bowler hat. When he got to the counter, he removed his leather gloves and took off his bowler hat. His hands were the size of shovels, and his shaved head resembled a boulder. The scar on his forehead was the shape of a diamond.

“I would like a room.” The man said.

The man’s voice was a surprise. It was cordial and genteel raising barely above a whisper… with an Osetarian accent. Gino’s father had been a veteran of the Twelve-Year-War and called Osetarians tarts as a point of pride despite never being to the front lines. Gino himself had thrown rocks at kids in his village who had been rumored to be part tarts but… when he looked at this man carved from granite, slurs were the last thing in his mind.

“… I… you’re an Osetarian?”

The man’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Eyes that were green as poison.

“And what is that any business of yours?”

“Nothing! Nothing… I… we just… don’t see many Osetarians here.”

“Then take a good, hard look.” The man said: “A room. Now.”

“Right away, sir. Uh… under what name?”

“Magnusson.” The man said.

Gino wrote the name down with trembling hands. Magnusson’s shadow felt so heavy he was afraid he would be crushed.

“Sign here please, mister Magnusson.” Gino said.

The pen disappeared inside Magnusson’s massive hand when he wrote his name down and Gino handed him the key. He tried to avoid touching Magnusson’s hand when he passed the key. He was sure just touching him could be… deadly.

“If there is anything I can do to help… do not… hesitate to ask, mister Magnusson.” Gino said while praying he would never see Magnusson again.

The key disappeared inside the pocket of Magnusson’s greatcoat while he looked at the floor plan of the hostel. The floors, rooms and fire exits were marked in red.

“Why does the floor plan have only six floors?” Magnusson said.

“… excuse me?” Gino said.

“Why does the map only show six floors? I counted the floors outside. There were eight. Why does the floorplan only show six?”

A drop of sweat had started running down Gino’s back when he wondered if he would live to see the morning. A simple question from Magnusson felt like a threat but… there was also something captivating about him. Something… majestic. It was like standing before a god.

“I… I don’t know, sir. They… they must be used for storage. Off limits to customers.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer Magnusson wished him goodnight before leaving the counter and heading for the elevator. Gino spent the rest of the night staring at the elevator, terrified that Magnusson would return.