Every time the sun sank below the horizon, Anskar felt a wave of relief. That strange, nagging sensation that whirled around in his temples would fade away along with the crimson disc. Physical pain was nothing compared to this feeling. It had been with Anskar since the day he was born, and not even the ritual Ceremony of Light, which he underwent a year ago, could rid him of this internal itch.
Anskar was a ghoul. The Night Dwellers—that’s what those who lived in Langarae, the Kingdom of Night, called themselves. Undead bloodsuckers—that’s what Anskar and his kind were called by the rest of the world. A world that lay beyond the Veil, a magical barrier that, like a dome, encased Langarae, protecting the ghouls and the mortals who served them.
Anskar gazed thoughtfully at the Veil. The pulsating purple film, as strong as the mythril gates of dwarven fortresses, split the world into two—what lay beyond the Dome, and what lay within. The Eye of Day was on the other side, but… Anskar sighed. Even a sun-shielding helmet and armor didn’t do much to ease the Effects. Cursed Effects, cursed sunlight that caused them! The young ghoul knew well that the Effects fully destroyed only the Wild Ghouls, but he also knew that even Mid and High Ghouls could be harmed by it. Only the Highest, the ones called nosferatu, could withstand the Effects for long periods. That's why they were known as the Sunwalkers.
Despite the Ceremony of Light, which had elevated Anskar from the lowest to a middle rank, and even despite the magic barrier created by the Veil, here at the borders of Langarae, the sun still reminded him of its deadly power. In ancient times, it had forced ghouls to hide in caves, dig underground bunkers, and only hunt at night for their most coveted prize—human blood. Ghouls would either kill or turn people, and in return, humans would kill them, or… No "or." Humans only killed ghouls, period. They didn’t have the ability to turn others with a bite. Interesting. But what if they could? Just imagine: humans breaking into the homes of ghouls, elves, dwarves, hobbits, orcs, goblins, waspans, trolls, kenders, and many others, biting them and turning them into humans! No escape, day or night! Soon, the entire world would be nothing but humans!
Oh, Great Night, what a mad world that would be!
Such foolish thoughts. Unworthy. Entirely unworthy of a new warrior of the Daikar Clan, entrusted with the honor of guarding the Veil’s borders.
The days when humans were just food for ghouls, and ghouls were humanity's worst monsters, were long gone. Here, in the Kingdom of Night, the Night Dwellers ruled over humans and even allowed them to have their own cities. The foundation of relations between the undead and mortals was governed by the Blood Laws, which both sides followed and were overseen by both the Night Dwellers and humans, as well as other races who lived in the Kingdom of Night. These mortals either lived here before the Eleven Greatest Ghouls created the Veil and sealed off Langarae from the rest of the world, or they chose to move under the protection of the Blood Lords after the Dome was established.
In those ancient times, many of the kingdoms of Western Ravalon were highly suspicious of the fact that the ghouls had created their own country. Only the nations bordering the newly formed state went to war with the Night Dwellers. But the fighting quickly died down once it became clear that the Kingdom of Night was a tough nut to crack and couldn’t be conquered with a quick strike. The final blow to the conflict came when the magical instability created the Border—a hundred-kilometer steppe zone between Langarae and the surrounding countries, where strange, incomprehensible things defied all logic.
The truce and trade with the now-calm neighbors ensured the Kingdom of Night’s steady development and accumulation of wealth.
Of course, there were some "buts." Rumors that spread quickly across the Central Lands, claiming that the ghoul kingdom was overflowing with treasures and rivers of milk, attracted bands of cutthroats willing to spend good coin on a powerful mage to breach the barrier and break into Langarae. Small squads from all the clans of the Night Dwellers patrolled the Veil’s borders, guarding the peace of the Kingdom of Night. During the day, the watch was kept by humans and other mortals under the command of the nosferatu. At night, mixed patrols of ghouls and the living took over. Though, keeping watch at night was always easier—no one in their right mind would dare sneak into Langarae under the moonlight, when the power of the undead increased manyfold. Once, however, a team of mages from the School of Magic and warriors from the School of the Sword decided they were invincible and boldly broke through the Dome. Most of them were now personal Apostles of the ruling Saifial clan.
Anskar yawned. His squad consisted of seven ghouls, four humans, and one goblin. The humans and the goblin were currently asleep, while five of the Night Dwellers stood guard. Two others were performing the Inspection ritual, scanning the area within a two-kilometer radius of the Dome. Clairis was muttering incantations, maintaining a magical field around Vidan, which shimmered with ennearine and flashes of octarine.
Vidan, immersed in his Inner Sight, was methodically surveying the plain beyond the Dome. His chin had sharpened, his fangs had slightly lengthened, and through his half-closed eyelids, one could see his pupils glinting—ghoul magic always had an outward effect, in a way that brought the undead back to a semblance of their primordial appearance, before they had refined their looks thanks to… yes, thanks to fresh infusions of human blood.
The sun had finally sunk into the abyss of the horizon, and the stars lazily began their unchanging duty—to shine in the night, offering a sense of harmony and purpose to the universe.
Anskar restrained the urge to glance at the humans. It was only the Wild and Lowborn ghouls who struggled with their nature. He, however, was now a Midborn and had the right to interact with the warm-blooded. Besides, he wasn’t particularly thirsty at the moment, so he had no interest in the humans. He should think of them only as comrades-in-arms, weaker though they might be, but comrades nonetheless…
The young ghoul smirked.
Humans were weaker. Humans were always weaker. That’s why, despite their greater numbers under the Dome, the Night Dwellers ruled Langarae. And they would continue to rule for a very, very long time.
Anskar was puzzled by the behavior of some of the border veterans, who acted overly friendly with humans and other mortals. They would help them when needed, closely monitor them during training to ensure they didn’t get exhausted, as training for the Night Dwellers was nothing like training for ordinary mortals.
“Well, what’s the situation, Vidan?” asked Zatankar, the squad commander, a Highborn ghoul, as indicated by the luxurious purple cloak with silver fringes on his shoulders. Only Highborn princes and Sunwalkers were allowed to wear such cloaks within the Dome, and it was strictly forbidden for anyone else.
Highborn nobles usually weren’t assigned to command border squads, but Zatankar had fallen out of favor with the Ruling Lord. He had been caught in illegal blood trading and lost his privileges. Still, he kept his cloak—a right he inherited by birth, being the child of a noble ghoul and ghouless. The only way to strip Zatankar of his cloak would be by force. If Zatankar had been a Reborn, someone who became a Night Dweller after being bitten, not even his princely title would have saved him from execution. The Blood Laws were strict, and only that severity maintained order in Langarae.
Vidan took a deep breath, opened his eyes, glanced at the starry sky, and replied:
“Absolutely nothing, Highborn. Only the aura of plants and a few earth and wind elementals. No magical fields or flows, apart from the natural ones.”
There was no reason to doubt Vidan’s words. This was the Blood Power of the Daikar Clan—seeing everything within a given space with Inner Sight. All Daikar heirs possessed this ability to some degree. Vidan’s limit was two kilometers, and that only with Clairis’s support. Anskar, for example, could currently only use Inner Sight up to twenty meters. And while some mortal mages could cast spells to create something similar to Inner Sight, viewing objects from a distance, it wasn’t the same—Inner Sight worked in all directions and covered everything within its range.
“Good,” Zatankar smirked with satisfaction, “so no fool has decided to disturb us tonight. That’s very good. I don’t like to worry. I’d prefer to spend this time as peacefully as possible and return to my quarters when the Ruling Lord forgets about my little escapades. We don’t need any unnecessary trouble, right?”
Anskar, who had been hoping to prove himself tonight by cutting down a few hundred arrogant humans, or perhaps fifty orcs, thought that if he were the commander, he would have ordered the squad to advance another two kilometers. There, they would surely have found intruders! And dealt with them according to the finest traditions of Night Dweller combat!
But Anskar was not the commander.
Perhaps it was for this reason that the border squad under Count Zatankar’s leadership was unlucky that night.
The wind elemental trembled in fear—or at least, that’s how mortals might describe it. Beings of the Air Element didn’t particularly experience emotions, but this particular elemental felt a bit uneasy about its existence. For a wind elemental, barely possessing self-awareness, this meant something wasn’t functioning properly. To mortals, it would appear the spirit of the air was in a wild panic.
The elemental didn’t quite remember what had happened before it was pulled into the physical world and forced to perform tasks it wasn’t designed for. It felt something was off, but nothing more. The existence of elemental spirits was something that would make the Vijnanavadin Buddhists of Mahapopa extremely envious—there wasn’t a trace of self-awareness. However, what was happening now had caused this elemental to slightly shift its perspective and attempt to understand why it was being treated this way. Without realizing it, it had become entangled in the world of suffering, just like many of its kin who had been plucked from the elemental plane before it by magical force.
As it began to wonder why this was happening, the elemental questioned why it didn’t like it, and then thought about why it enjoyed what had come before. Should it have liked that? Then it realized there must be something out there it would always enjoy, never having to doubt it. Finally, it understood how pitiful and insignificant its existence had been up to that moment, and that it was worth…
Just as the elemental was about to grasp a truth that could have revolutionized the world of elementals, it was dispelled.
In the midst of the swaying grass, the air began to crystallize, forming a transparent sphere. Four cloaked figures inside stood still and silent. The faces of all four were hidden by deep hoods. Only when the sphere shimmered briefly with dekarine and shattered, scattering hundreds of shards across the ground, did they speak.
“Well, how did it go, Zaton?” asked the tallest figure, cloaked in black, his voice hoarse.
“Easily, Tavill,” answered the shortest one, who barely came up to the others' chests, cloaked in brown. “His Sight brushed right over us without even noticing. My shadows, as usual, were flawless.”
“The ghouls have just gotten lazy, Zaton,” remarked the broadest figure in a gray cloak. “Your creations are good, but don’t underestimate the Blood Power of the Daikar clan.”
“Blood Power?” scoffed the last one, unremarkable except for his green cloak. “Ahes, Blood Power is only useful if you know how to use it. Spirit is what matters to a warrior.”
“Really, Olex?” Ahes said mockingly. “Evana managed to take you down without any spirit.”
“Don’t bring that up, Ahes,” Olex retorted defiantly. “You didn’t exactly perform well yourself that time. And we can always settle who’s right…”
“Are you challenging me, Olex?” Ahes whirled around. “Do you think you can stand against me?”
“I’ve grown stronger.” Olex stepped back, raising his hands. “Want to find out?”
“Enough, both of you!” Tavill barked sharply. “Are you trying to draw the ghouls’ attention? Do you really think Zaton went through all the trouble of crafting an air elemental into a barrier impervious even to the Daikar Heirs’ Sight for no reason? Or do you want the Master to learn of your squabble right before the mission begins?”
“His power isn’t great enough to watch us here. How would he know?” Olex muttered grumpily.
“Very simply. I’ll tell him.”
“O-o-oh…” Olex grumbled, but stopped provoking.
“Good. We’re close to the Daikar Vault,” Tavill said, glancing toward the massive Dome shimmering with ennearine. “Thank the heavens that the Ruling Lords keep the same kind of guard here as at the other border sections for secrecy’s sake. If there had been more sentries, we’d have had a lot more trouble and noise to deal with.”
“Rulers are all the same,” Zaton said. “If they have something to hide, they’ll hide it so well that they forget what they’re hiding and why.”
“Who will handle the Keeper, Tavill?”
“Eager to fight, Olex?”
“That’s my business, Ahes. I want to see how strong the ghoul is who’s been entrusted to guard…” Olex hesitated, then carefully said, “It.”
“He’s right, Ahes. We need to decide how we’ll act inside the Dome. The Vault is close to the Blood Temple, so someone will need to create a distraction in the clan village, while the rest of us deal with the Keeper and retrieve it.”
“I think I’m more than capable of handling him.”
“No, Ahes.”
“Why not?”
“Your abilities, like mine, are best suited for distracting the ghouls. Zaton and Olex will handle the Keeper.”
“Perfect! I’ll take him down in no time!”
“Don’t underestimate your opponent too soon.”
“I’m not underestimating him, Zaton. I just know exactly what I’m capable of!”
“All right, that’s enough talk.” Tavill raised his hand, marking out the precise path they’d take as they moved toward the Dome. “Let’s move out. Get ready to use morphe.”
Anckar grew up knowing that on the other side of the Dome, the Night Dwellers were not loved. Or rather, they were "loved" only with silver stakes and after being tied up first. Anckar smirked. Few mortals outside of Langaree knew that not just any silver, but only lunar silver, was dangerous to the Night Dwellers. Among young ghouls who had become Middle Ones, there was a fun game of sneaking into mortal lands and staging hunts for themselves. Many often returned, not only having enjoyed themselves but with a good haul—lots of silver stakes. Some guard patrols near the Dome even let these thrill-seekers pass, having made arrangements for a share of the spoils beforehand. Of course, sometimes a ghoul wouldn't return, falling prey to an unexpectedly powerful witch or sorcerer, but such incidents were rare.
Still, on the whole, the Night Dwellers were hated beyond the Dome. Humans, elves, dwarves, hobbits, and even orcish flesh-eaters—they all loathed the undead bloodsuckers. That’s why the Dome existed: to protect ghouls from mortals and mortals from ghouls.
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Yet it was interesting to ponder—what kind of tyrant must a human or other foreign ruler be for their peasants to flee to the Kingdom of the Night, which most of Western Ravalon despised? How bad did things have to be for mortals to overcome their fear and hatred and seek refuge under the Dome? To ask for protection from baronial warbands and ducal armies, from insane taxes and levies, to those who had seen your kind as food or enemies for centuries?
Such questions crossed Anckar’s mind whenever he saw yet another caravan of refugees at the border posts of Daikar Clan. Though, soon after, those questions would give way to more immediate ones, like how the blood of that trembling brunette with striking blue eyes would taste.
Ghouls would always be ghouls.
Sometimes, Anckar wondered about the world beyond the Dome. He knew that to the north and west, Langaree bordered three human kingdoms: two were fragments of the once-mighty Rolan Empire, and the third was part of the Herzan Trade Union. To the west stretched the small Forest of Karloo, one of many splinters from the original kingdom of the Wood Elves, Direndagatan, once enslaved by the Rola Empire and now part of the Black Empire. To the south lay the lands of the free-spirited Arachnotaur, and to the east stretched the Geburgian mountain range, home of the dwarves. The young ghoul knew this, though in his fifty-three years he had never been beyond the Veil. He knew Langaree had embassies in some countries, that it traded with other kingdoms, and (whispered quietly) that the heirs of the Noble Bloodlines and the Highest Houses would sometimes venture beyond the Dome to taste human blood—and human life itself.
Anckar wanted to escape beyond the Dome too, to explore the nearly boundless world. He wanted to, but he knew he couldn’t.
“What are you thinking about?” a voice asked suddenly from behind, startling him. It was Faytan, an old friend with whom he had gone through the Ritual of Light.
Anckar jolted in surprise, nearly dropping his spear.
“Oh, just... different things,” he smiled. “Just curious... about seeing what’s out there.” He glanced at the Dome.
Faytan followed his gaze and grinned.
“You’d see your guts first,” he teased condescendingly, “and then your head. Though no, you probably wouldn’t see your head. Still, some of the Highest claim that consciousness separates from the body at the moment of death, so you’ve got a shot at seeing your corpse. With the immaterial eyes of your nonexistent soul. And while you’re at it, you might see your corpse burn too.”
Anckar sighed.
“Maybe... someday... things will change?” he asked uncertainly.
“Well, maybe the warm-bloods will come up with even more ways to kill each other en masse,” Faytan replied. “That’s the only thing that really changes in the world. Here or in countless others.”
“You believe in parallel worlds?”
“I’m sure they exist. Where else would all the things I lose in my room end up?”
Faytan slapped Anckar’s helmet and knocked on his armor.
“All these thoughts—must be the Moon influencing you,” the ghoul pointed to the sky. “The Eye of the Night is huge tonight.”
And it was true. The moon was swollen, as if trying to take up as much space in the night sky as possible. Or maybe the gods were just toying with them, pulling the Moon closer to Earth to flood half the continent. Gods—they were like that. Only the Night was merciful, only the Night, which had once cradled the first Night Dwellers in its embrace...
“Strange clouds,” Faytan suddenly frowned.
“Clouds?” Anckar asked, surprised, and looked at the sky, which was indeed being covered by a thick gray blanket. “What’s strange about them?”
And then he realized. First, they stood out too sharply against the black void of the sky, studded with shards of stars. Second, they had a distinct circular shape. And third, they were approaching the Veil at a speed not typical for clouds. It was as if a snail had suddenly overtaken a professional sprinter.
“Magic?” Faytan glanced towards the main camp.
If something was wrong, Vidan, who was still using his Inner Sight at half power, would’ve already sounded the alarm. But everything was quiet, and Zatankar showed no signs of concern, still ranting about how the current advisors of the Ruler were pathetic wimps, obsessed with formalities, paying no attention to heritage—after all, he himself had been judged like some lowly Apostle...
“Maybe we should warn them?” Anckar asked, gripping his spear tighter.
“Maybe we should…” Faytan began, but the clouds reached the Dome and, without stopping, continued forward. There was nothing surprising in that, since air masses passed through the Veil, supplying Langaree with air. What was surprising was that the clouds suddenly stopped halfway through, then began to twist together. And there were no flashes of magic colors that would indicate the use of Power. Then—before either ghoul could react—the clouds formed into a cloaked figure, who, with a single hand gesture, tore the Veil in two as easily as one might rip a worn-out bedsheet.
A scream caught in Anckar’s throat. Thoughts flooded his mind: “What in the gods' name is happening?”, “Here’s your chance to prove yourself!”, “Why is Vidan silent?” The Night Dwellers froze for a moment, trying to figure out what to do, and in that instant, Faytan, drawing his sword, charged at the intruder.
“Damn it,” Anckar thought, watching as the broad blade glittered in the moonlight, making a deceptive strike toward the intruder’s chest, “now all the glory will go to him!”
Then the thoughts disappeared—and terror took their place…
Faytan, having driven half a meter of solid steel into the intruder, imagined mentally how he would continue the motion, plunging his hand into the body, then pulling out the heart and drinking the delicious blood... Hey, may the gods and ungods send him luck and make his victim a human! According to the Blood Laws of Langaree, all those who crossed the Dome's boundary were no longer considered to have natural rights but were viewed as food. Of course, it was fortunate if the prey turned out to be human; the blood of other races not only brought no pleasure but wasn’t even digestible. So whoever managed to take down the intruder first was considered lucky—the victim was in their complete and undeniable power.
The sword easily pierced the chest of the fool who dared stroll onto ghoul territory. Faytanth grinned in anticipation, involuntarily baring his fangs, but the grin suddenly vanished from his face. The sword froze, unable to move either forward or back, as if someone was holding it tightly and refusing to let go. A strange tingling sensation spread through his right hand. The ghoul glanced down, activating his partial Sight, which allowed him to see the structures of an active Spell to some degree. But, as when the Dome was breached, he saw no trace of magic.
"Sand?" Faytan marveled, noticing what was pricking his hand, crawling under his sleeve. Dozens of grains of sand crawled up his arm like ant armies drawn to a piece of sugar. They had already reached his shoulder when the ghoul felt a gust of wind on his face. And then...
The earth, lifted by the wind, surged before Faitan. Clumps of dirt pressed tightly together, like lovers who hadn’t seen each other for ages and were consumed by passion. The wind shaped the swirling earth, and then a massive earthen hand grabbed the ghoul and squeezed. Faitan jerked, trying to free himself, but the grip was monstrous. His bones cracked, he growled, starting to transform, but it was already too late.
With a loud "squelch," the hand tightened, sending sprays of blood in all directions. Faitan didn’t even have time to scream. Instead, Anskar screamed for him, letting out a wild yell as his friend’s head landed right on the tip of his spear. Throwing the weapon aside, Anskar bolted toward the camp, still screaming. The figure in the cloak, who had stood motionless throughout, watched him leave without making a move. The cloaked figure patiently waited as the blood-stained grains of earth swirled toward him, streaming under his hood. A sound like someone taking a deep breath filled the air. Only after this did the figure let out a satisfied grunt and started walking after the fleeing ghoul.
However, Anskar didn’t get far. Charging toward him with wide, terrified eyes came a goblin, swinging a yataghan wildly. His crazed look didn’t seem to notice anything around him, and despite his fear, Anskar realized it would be wise to step aside unless he wanted a sword through his stomach. But the goblin never reached the ghoul. He stopped suddenly, trembling, and was instantly ensnared by thick vines with large red buds that burst from the ground. The goblin whimpered but didn’t try to move or break free. Then the buds opened and latched onto the goblin’s body like... like... well, the only comparison that came to Anskar's mind was "like a ghoul biting a human's throat." The goblin went silent and deflated like a balloon. First, his skin peeled from his bones, then it began slowly sliding off, being absorbed by the flowers. His long nose dangled, flopping around like a hanged man.
Anskar took a step back, stumbled, and fell onto his rear. He was an Heir and had no idea what it felt like to die or what humans experienced when they became Reborn. Do they feel such terror that they’re ready to soil themselves? If so, then Anskar understood them perfectly now. His hand reached for the sword at his belt, but he couldn’t seem to find the hilt.
"You're a ghoul! Stand and fight for the pride of the Night Dwellers! Now is your moment! The Night’s moment!
Who’s saying that?
Is it really me?
But I’m afraid...
You wanted this! To fight and protect your comrades! So go! Transform and fight! The Night blesses her children!"
That’s right... It’s nighttime... The time when the Non-living are especially strong.
His fingers quickly found and gripped the cold hilt. Anskar began to rise. He was a ghoul! The Night was his element! No matter how strong the attackers were, no one could match a ghoul at night!
Anskar roared. His jaw shifted downward, making room for the growth of sharp fangs. His body changed rapidly, and his armor couldn’t withstand the transformation. The breastplate and backplate split down the middle under the pressure of his vastly expanded muscles and the spikes that sprouted all over his body. His earlobes grew longer, his eyes filled with blood and glowed red, his wrists became covered with scales, and his toes sprouted powerful claws. The transformation of the Daikar clan ghoul was complete. Now Anskar’s strength had increased fivefold, and with his bare hands, he could snap an ogre’s neck without breaking a sweat.
"Interesting!" a voice suddenly came from the right, and Anskar sharply turned, pointing his sword in that direction. He was ready to pounce on the enemy with nothing but his bare hands, but his reason, kept intact by the Light Initiation after transforming, told him that he would still need his weapon.
Standing next to the transformed Anckar was a figure wrapped in a green cloak. From the outline, he resembled a human, but he could just as easily have been an elf. The ghoul sniffed the air and growled in disappointment. The enemy had no scent: neither of a human nor an elf—no smell at all. Either he had used some sort of alchemical elixir, or he wasn’t emitting any odors, which meant...
No, the second "or" was ridiculous. Zombies usually don’t talk. They obediently follow the commands of a necromancer, but they don’t speak. And they don't smell: their tissues don’t decompose, and no regeneration processes occur. But if this creature were a zombie, his clothes would have an odor, yet there was no scent even from them. So it must be alchemy, specifically designed to counteract the heightened senses of transformed ghouls.
“Interesting,” the mortal repeated. “So that’s what the transformation of the Daikar clan looks like. I wonder how strong you are, Nightdweller.”
Anckar crouched, preparing to leap. He had not only become stronger but also much faster. Although transformation enhances the abilities of the Nightdwellers, it comes at a heavy cost for ghouls of the Middle rank. Reverting to a state resembling the Wild ones is abnormal for those advancing toward the Sunwalkers. Lower ranks handle the changes more easily, as do the Highest, but for those newly ascended to Middle or High ranks, the transformation can be perilous. A few gallons of human blood could spare a ghoul from disastrous results. But where could one get blood on the battlefield?! Drink the humans in your squad? It was possible, but no one would pat you on the back for that, and if they did, it would probably be with a spiked club.
Anckar willingly took the risk, one that could end catastrophically for him. He wanted revenge for Faitan. He wanted it more than he had ever craved human blood. And for a ghoul, that meant a lot. He feinted to the left as if preparing to leap from that side, then quickly darted toward the enemy’s left flank. The Daikar clan’s inner vision, inherent in their transformation, allowed him to track the opponent from all angles. No matter how the enemy reacted to the attack, Anckar could anticipate his every move and adjust his assault. He was ready to strike the mortal in the right side, release the sword, punch the throat with his free hand, grab the sword with the other hand, and slash open the enemy’s belly. At his current speed, the ghoul had no doubt of his success.
The enemy would die. The enemy must die.
A slash from the left to the enemy’s right side. His left hand in front of his chest as if to guard it, but actually preparing to grab the sword. He was already close to the cloak flapping in the wind. Just a little closer, and he could finally see the face hidden beneath the hood! He struck and...
What?! Why was his right hand firmly gripped by the enemy’s left hand, and his left hand pinned to his chest by the enemy’s right? How hadn’t he seen the movement? How, with all his transformed strength, he, a child of the Night, a Nightdweller, empowered by its energies and forces—how could he not break free from the grasp of some mortal?
The sword fell softly into the grass.
A chuckle came from under the hood.
“Is that all?”
Silence. Anckar ground his fangs, struggling to break free from the iron grip.
“Is that all the Daikar can do?”
Silence. Anckar hissed through clenched teeth as the enemy tightened his grip on his arms.
“What a pity!”
The hood suddenly moved closer to the ghoul’s face. From the dark void beneath, a red eye gleamed.
“You have no spirit at all.”
In a swift, seamless motion, the enemy grabbed Anckar’s arms above the wrists and with one move, lifted them high. The ghoul only just began to realize what the enemy intended when he twisted Anckar's arms and pressed hard on the wrists, breaking the radial bones. But the mortal wasn’t finished. Anckar didn’t even have time to scream from the pain before the enemy leapt, driving his knees into the ghoul’s elbows, snapping the joints. His arms cracked like dry wood under the foot of a giant.
“Your spirit is weak,” said the mortal, releasing Anckar, whose limp arms hung uselessly at his sides.
The ghoul howled in pain, tears welling up in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he remained standing, forcing himself to endure, to resist the urge to fall to his knees and beg for his life.
He knew—there would be no mercy. Because...
“Those with weak spirits should not fight,” the mortal continued, leisurely gripping Anckar’s head. “They deceive themselves. The weak-spirited may excel in other things, but not in battle. But if you fight someone whose spirit surpasses yours...” Anckar somehow knew what was coming next. “...Prepare for no mercy.”
Strong hands clamped around the ghoul’s ears, muffling the words, but he still heard what the mortal was saying.
“For by showing you no mercy, the strong-spirited show you respect. They compare you to themselves by letting you die as one with spirit.”
The darkness of the hood swallowed the entire world, drawing it into itself, even pulling in the last remnants of Anckar’s inner vision, as if into a whirlpool. Yet the ghoul still couldn’t see what the hood concealed, as though there was truly only emptiness inside.
And then the world ceased to exist. As if it had been entirely consumed by the darkness of the hood.
…Olex sighed. Daikar's skull had broken easily, and the ghoul’s brain oozed through his fingers along with fragments of bone.
"What a shame," the mortal muttered, trembling. "I needed a stronger opponent."
He glanced around. Ahes was slowly walking from the Dome he had pierced. His cloak, caught in the wind, billowed behind him, giving him the appearance of a bat. The Master had mentioned that this was somewhat similar to the transformation of the Soon clan...
For some reason, Evana came to mind. Though it was clear why…
Olex trembled even more. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked it. The ghoul's brain tasted bad, like raw shrimp, and a piece of bone had gotten stuck in his teeth, souring his mood even further.
Sensing something was wrong, Ahes quickened his pace.
Olex clenched his fists. Why do they always leave him the weaklings? Do they think he’s not good enough for tougher opponents? Do they think he’s weak? He stomped his foot angrily, leaving a 20-centimeter dent in the ground.
“Fuck!” Ahes swore and broke into a run.
Why had Tavyl said he’d handle the High Ghoul and told them to deal with the guards? Did he not believe Olex’s spirit was strong enough to face the High? Did he not believe in Olex’s strength?
Olex smiled. Oh! He knew what needed to be done. They would understand how powerful his spirit was! They would see the strength of Olex's spirit!!!
He brought his hands to his mouth, licking the last remnants of the brain, and prepared himself. The morphe would soon give him access to the entelechy, and then…
Ahes slammed into him from behind, grabbing Olex's hands and pulling them away from his face. Olex hissed in frustration. Ahes pressed on the pressure points on Olex's wrists, driving a knee into his back, pinning him in place.
"You all... you all envy my spirit!" Olex shouted.
Zaton and Tavyl were already hurrying toward them. Ahes held Olex firmly, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. Their abilities differed—and his wasn’t designed for close combat.
"Shit!" Tavyl cursed, plunging both arms elbow-deep into the ground. The grass immediately stirred, rising and wrapping around Olex.
Ahes breathed a sigh of relief. It was easier to hold the madman now, but he couldn’t let his guard down.
"Open his mouth," Tavyl said, grimacing. He hated the smell of the medicine they used to sedate Olex during his fits.
Zaton, clearly familiar with the procedure, swiftly grabbed Olex’s jaw and shoved a metal cylinder between his teeth. Holding Olex's chin with one hand, he retrieved a foul-smelling vial from his cloak and poured its contents through the spout in the cylinder. Olex convulsed, his muscles tensing. Ahes braced himself, ready to break Olex’s arms if something went wrong. But Olex was calming down; his breathing steadied, and the murderous intent—so thick it could have been shaped into deadly snowballs—began to fade.
"Are you alright?" Tavyl asked cautiously, not yet pulling his arms from the ground, his eyes fixed on Olex’s hood.
"Yes," came the muffled reply. "We can continue. I’m in control."
“If you need to lose it, save it for when you face the Keeper,” Ahes said grimly, slowly releasing his companion. “Let him judge your twisted mind, not us having to witness your madness again.”
“I said I’m fine!” Olex shouted, shoving Ahes away.
The cylinder, bitten in half, fell to the grass. Tavyl withdrew his hands from the ground, brushing off the dirt with distaste.
"Alright then," Tavyl said, "the next fit won’t come anytime soon, so it’s actually good it happened now. Zaton, how much medicine do you have left?"
“Four ampoules.”
“Perfect. That should be enough. Let’s proceed as planned. You head to the Repository, and Ahes and I will take care of the village. Zaton, as soon as you retrieve it, signal us with a flare. We’ll meet back here."
“And if something goes wrong?” Zaton asked, carefully picking up the broken halves of the cylinder.
“Then we’ll pray to every god and ungod we know that the ghouls kill us themselves. Because you know the Master won’t let us off easily.”
"Especially not Evana," Ahes muttered under his breath.
“Enough talking. Let’s move and execute the plan.”
The four figures quickly vanished into the night. Only the corpses remained, illuminated by the shimmering Dome.
Minutes after the group departed, the ground near Daikar's remains began to tremble, slowly rising to form a small mound. The top of the mound then exploded outward, revealing a twisted figure that immediately began twitching its head.
Far away from this section of the Dome and the shattered remnants of Count Zatankar's forces, someone who had been manipulating dozens of invisible threads reaching toward them from all directions said:
“How interesting. How incredibly interesting.”