That night, Jakob left the bakery basement with Heskel and Holm in tow. As they traversed the district, they kept well-clear of any guards, by relying on Heskel’s superior sense of hearing and by keeping well clear of any light sources. It made the going slow, but was well worth it when they reached the gate-bridge uncontested, as fledgling sunrays stained the dark sky.

Leaving his servants out of sight, Jakob slowly started to approach the guards stationed on the bridge and in front of it. He had already decided what approach to take, hedging his bets that it would make it unclear what had happened, as opposed to the obvious signs a normal attack would leave. And while the guards and the Guild tried to figure out the cause, he would hopefully already have a new laboratorium underway.

But part of it was also because he wished to try this particular spell. So, while it was a decision calculated prudently, it could simply be called an experiment as well. Efficiency was one of Jakob’s fortes and his ability to exploit a situation to its fullest potential was why Grandfather had thought him ready to leave his sewer kingdom.

The spent condensation of his scent-mask sprayed to either side of him as he took it off. The stagnant smell of nutmeg and pine-resin hung like a fog about him, while he ran the back of his hand over his moist nose and mouth. Then he raised his right hand towards the guards, beginning his Hymn.

“All eyes avert thy gaze from the Great One Above!”

The guards clearly heard him and though they at first looked ready to draw their weapons, they quickly stopped and began laughing at the strange boy with his strange robes singing in his strange language.

“Look not upon its visage, burn not thy eyes on its glare, flay not thy skin to escape its grip, bite not thy fingers to flee its temptation, fling not thy soul into its maw! Do not look above!”

More of the guards came from the bridge itself to view the performance by the strange boy. Some had stopped laughing, while others found it to be the pinnacle of hilarity. Some thought it had a quaint sort of charm to it, others found it grating on the ears.

“Feel its gaze bristle thy skin, feel its glare burn the hairs on thy scalp, feel its tempting snare. Grab hold of its offering!”

A million pinpricks stung every microscopic section of Jakob’s skin and a heavy pressure fell on his shoulders, threatening to force him to the ground. Suddenly they all fell silent, a dull look to them. Perhaps they felt what he felt or perhaps they experienced something entirely different.

Jakob drew in a deep breath, and then shouted the final verse.

“Behold! The Great One Above bears witness!”

As one, the assembled guards, some twenty men in total, tilted their eyes to the sunrise-stained sky. Jakob looked at the ground instead, knowing that even he, as the Invoker of the spell, was not beyond the powers he had called upon.

Screaming and wailing rent the air. Despair, sadness, anger, guilt, and more; all of these feelings were evoked in the guards as they beheld the Great One Above, in the short moment it trained one of its uncountable and terrible eyes upon them; upon the entire district and its environs.

The Watcher of Worlds was almost exclusively invoked as an observer that would ensure the claim made in ritualistic contract, but for such proceedings it was only drawn with a single eye, despite the fact that it had as many eyes as there were motes of dust in all the many realms combined. Grandfather said that each eye of the Watcher served a different function, but most could be invoked to cause a profound madness in all that took in its visage.

Though it was the first time Jakob had ever used the Hymn of Devouring Madness, he had observed Grandfather perform a similar spell on a smaller scale, and the subject it was inflicted upon had quickly torn itself apart to escape whatever it had seen.

As he looked up from the ground, knowing that the Great One Above was gone from the sky, he froze in terror of what he had caused, the realisation hitting him so profoundly that he felt as though he had powers he could never hope to deserve. It seemed to him to be the ultimate hubris that a mere mortal like him could manifest an impossible being such as the Watcher in such a way.

Jakob was not a squeamish person, hardened by the sights he had seen and the things he had endured under Grandfather’s tutelage, but he had never before witnessed such utter devastation. The guards had become abominable beings. Their eyes were smoking and bleeding, a couple even burning with fat yellow flames. Arms and legs all had broken, repaired themselves, and broken again, to such an extent that the limbs were so misshapen and alien that it was difficult to look at for more than a few moments. Some had gone the route of the subject Jakob had seen Grandfather inflict madness on: biting off their fingers, flaying their own skin with their nails, gouging out their smouldering eyes, or bashing their heads against the stone of the gate and the bridge. Others turned their madness on each other, laying in with savage swipes of distended fingers adorned with claw-like nails that had in an instant grown to four times their usual length.

Blood, intestines, organs, skin, flesh, fat, and effluvia all coated the bridge, as the guards continued their destructive behaviour, all the while screaming and wailing incoherently, with vocal cords turned to demonic instruments by what they had seen.

“Hurry.”

Jakob snapped out of his reverie and quickly followed behind Heskel, who was dragging an unconscious Holm by his hair. One of the Wrought Servant’s eyes was melted away, but it seemed Heskel had managed to prevent Holm from going entirely into the embrace of madness. He realised that he had never told the Servant to avert his gaze, but had just assumed he would follow the example of Heskel. It was a lesson in not expecting the unsaid to be obeyed.

With a few strikes and throws, Heskel cleared the way for them. Jakob’s new tail quickly proved its worth as it kept at bay the few mad guards who leapt for him, slapping them so hard their skulls caved in and their spines snapped.

Holm’s head had been bound with some cloth, to prevent his eye from developing an infection, as the three moved through the Market West District. Its location next to the Residential District and the Slum, meant that it had far seedier traders and clientele than some of the more upstanding parts of the city, but this was exactly what Jakob was after.

He was still quite shaken by the Hymn and its aftermath, and he could tell that even Heskel was bothered by it. Unlike most other offensive spells and invocations that Jakob knew, the Hymn of Devouring Madness could not be utilised in the sewers, as it depended upon the open sky. Lesser versions of the Hymn could manifest the Watcher in the mind’s eye of the target, but a physical manifestation required a visible sky above. When Grandfather had taught him the Hymn, he had never mentioned the devastation it would conjure up, but had instead focused solely on stating its requirements and Toll.

Like most spells, Hymns required a Toll of one form or another, though they were generally quite bizarre and esoteric, such as: the saddest memory of the target; two-thirds’ of the air in the invoker’s lungs; or a three-day-long coma with mind-shattering nightmares.

With Devouring Madness it was straight-forward, however, as the Toll was the turmoil it caused. This meant that if nobody was affected by it, the Invoker would incur the backlash and no doubt kill himself as a result. Grandfather had been quite clear in ensuring that Jakob knew this fact, as well as that he knew not to look upon what he invoked, as, without proper protection, he too could fall victim to it, even if the requisite Toll was paid.

While Grandfather was harsh and ensured Jakob made his own mistakes, so that he may best learn the lessons and imprint them on his soul, he was not so callous nor uncaring that he would not warn his apprentice of mistakes that could only be made once. If he had not cared, he obviously would not have gifted Heskel as a Lifeward to Jakob, to ensure his apprentice would have ample room to err, without suffering greatly as a result.

They continued deeper into Market West, passing a dozen people who had looked to the sky at the same time as the guards and suffered similar fates. Unsurprisingly, all but one were dead, the remnant being restrained by four guards while his wife and kids looked on in horror.

“Hymn dangerous.”

“You’re right. I wonder just how widespread its effect was felt. That said, did you see the instant transformation?”

Heskel grunted affirmative.

“If I could harness that power somehow…”

Before he could finish the thought, his sense of smell drew him towards a little flower stall. His scent-mask hung behind his flesh apron, as he had been too distracted to put it back on after the gate-bridge.

He continued sniffing the air, tasting the scent that called to him. As he inspected the various flowers on display, the man behind the stall focused mostly on Holm and Heskel.

“What happened to your friend?” he asked in Novarocian. “Was he attacked by one of them?”

Heskel grunted.

“Terrible thing that was,” he went on. “I won’t easily forget those screams, I tell you that.”

Jakob looked up from where he was crouched, holding the stem of a grey-blue flower in-between the fingers of his glove. Its petals curled slightly inward like a half-made ball of blue. “What is this flower called?”

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“That there is a Misty Reminiscence. Strike your fancy does it?”

“I’ll buy them all,” Jakob said, hefting a bouquet of the flowers in his left glove and offering up his coinpurse with the other. It was still spattered with blood, but in the week’s time that had passed since he had acquired it, the blood had turned from a dark-red to a rusty-orange.

If he thought anything about the disturbing sack of coins, the Florist said nothing of it. Instead he gleefully dove his hand in and withdrew several of the big coins.

“I get it now!” Jakob exclaimed in Chthonic, startling the Florist into dropping a coin to the cobbles underfoot. “It’s like the Blood Toll!”

Heskel nodded sagely.

Holm bent down to grasp the coin as it rolled between his boots. As he lifted it up between his fingers, he stared at it longingly for a moment before putting it back into Jakob’s coinpurse.

“FIVE…”

“Yes, it’s a five coin,” Jakob replied.

The Florist cleared his throat. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Jakob, hands full of flower bouquet and coin-sack, looked the man dead in the eyes.

“Do you also have seeds for this Misty Reminiscence. For my laboratorium.”

“I don’t know what that is, but yes, I do have some seeds. Wait here a moment while I get them.”

Jakob watched him scurry off into a nearby house, then Heskel grunted.

“What?”

“Bad business. Take many coin.”

“I suppose I should have asked for a price.” He peered into the coin-sack. “We still have plenty left though, and if we run out we will just take what we need.”

Heskel nodded.

After getting the flower seeds, Jakob and his entourage went into an alleyway, so that he could properly appreciate his purchase.

The scent of the flowers made a strange warmth fill his cheeks and seemed to ease the tension from him. He thought it reminded him of something, but he was unsure what. It was possible it was a memory from before being summoned into Grandfather’s lab, but he was unsure.

He took a few of the flowers and crumbled up their petals and stems, then pressed them into the little recess in the nose of his scent-mask. It normally held a greasy ball of nutmeg-and-pine-resin suspended in an odourless fat, which released the scents within whenever a bit of heat activated it.

Once he got the flower seeds back to a laboratorium, he could grow his own and begin making a similar scent-ball for this new smell that he had instantly grown to favour.

Jakob attached the scent-mask to his face and took in two deep breaths before expelling the spent air through the vent-pumps as condensate.

Holm bent low to grab the coinpurse that Jakob had set down next to himself while fiddling with his mask. As the Wrought Servant lifted out a coin to stare at longingly, a wind seemed to whip through the alleyway.

Acting purely by reflex, Jakob’s new tail unfurled itself from his waist, dragging him upright as it whipped through the air in front of him, nearly taking off the head of a guy who ran past with the speed of the wind that had preceded him. He knocked Holm aside, grabbing the coin sack in his hand, leaving the servant behind with the one five-coin held aloft between his fingers.

Heskel eyed the thief as he rounded a corner and disappeared with all their money.

“What was that?” Jakob wondered out loud. Holm was still just staring at his coin, not seemingly bothered by what had just transpired.

“Thief.”

“Thief? What’s that?”

“THIEF…” Holm repeated angrily, finally looking away from his coin and down the alleyway.

“Take thing not theirs.”

A puff of the new scent stained the air as Jakob had a revelation. “Just like the rats in Grandfather’s storage and lab!?”

Heskel grunted affirmative. Much of Jakob’s initial work as an apprentice had been as much about fostering his talent as it had been about finding solutions to the ever-present infestations they suffered in their sewer hideout.

Jakob narrowed his eyes. “Do you have his scent trail?”

The Wight nodded.

“We’ll follow him then. Rats are easily eradicated once their nest have been found and they think themselves clever and hidden, comfortably-ignorant of what wrath they have summoned.”

About an hour later, the trio found their way to a secluded courtyard that lay overshadowed by taller buildings all around it. It was accessible only through the narrow alleyways, and before its modest fence gate stood three men, eagerly talking about women and the stuff they would do to them. Jakob did not fully comprehend what was so exciting about the topic, but there were also quite a few phrases he did not even comprehend, despite his mastery of Novarocian.

“In there?” he asked Heskel.

The Wight nodded.

“Holm, if you would? And keep it silent.”

“KILL…?” the Wrought Servant asked.

“Yes, kill.”

As soon as the command left his mouth, Holm leapt across the uneven stones that blanketed the alleyway, the claws from his right hand extending fully, followed quickly by the blade within his forearm, which was the length of a steak-knife or a dagger.

Before the first of the three men had finished looking up, his two fellows were reduced to bleeding rags and he soon followed, as the forearm-blade gutted him from shoulder to navel.

Jakob and Heskel came over as Holm finished cleaning his bone-made weapons, retracting them into his arms. At a slight gesture, the Wight shattered the primitive lock on the fence gate and they walked through.

“Bring the bodies in,” Jakob told the Wrought Servant. “Then stand guard outside.”

“GUARD…”

“Lead the way,” Jakob then told Heskel.

Instead of going into the building itself, the Wight led them down a basement staircase in the corner of the courtyard, next to the wall of the house. With what seemed like a light tap, Heskel broke down the door at the bottom of the stairs, and they walked into a room where five men were gathered, the Thief amongst them.

The basement was dimly-lit by just a couple of candles on a central table, and the spoils of several robberies lay strewn about atop its marred wooden surface. One man remained seated, while three rose to defend him with shortswords and knives. The Thief hung back, recognition stark on his young face. Compared to his mates, he seemed quite young, though he still easily had four years on Jakob.

“Look what you’ve dragged in, Veks.”

“I wasn’t followed, I swear!”

“It doesn’t matter. Gut ‘em boys!”

The three men charged Jakob, and Heskel stepped forward to meet them, tearing off the arm of the firstcomer before he even got the chance to swing his knife, and, as he fell screaming to the floor with blood squirting all about, Heskel punched the next man so hard in the throat that it left a permanent indentation. As the man bent forward and whimpered in pain, the Wight hammered his fist down on the back of his skull, making his head bounce up off the stone floor when he hit it, before he finally settled and blood drippled from ears, mouth, and nose.

The third man managed an impressive dodge of a swing from the Wight and came right at Jakob, shortsword held aloft. Without even giving the prompt, his tail unfurled, dragging Jakob with it as it whipped around and caught the attacker by the wrist, wrenching him off-balance. As the man staggered forward, the tail released his wrist and grabbed him by the ankle, spinning him around so that he landed flat on his back and all the air was knocked from his lungs in a loud grunt.

His breathless scream was cut short by the tail slapping against his skull, shattering his cranium like an egg, the brain yolk spilling all about.

The leader stood up in sudden realisation that he was about to be next, but before he could say anything, a hand reached around from behind and dragged a blade across his throat, letting out a pressurised blast of blood, before he collapsed face-first on the table, upending it in a loud cacophony of coins spilling everywhere.

“You got what you deserve, Toby,” the Thief said. Then he lifted his arms into the air, letting his blade plonk to the floor.

“I surrender,” he said with a fake smile, terror quite evident on his face.

Heskel looked to Jakob for command, but he shook his head.

“This one we’ll keep.”

Veks wondered if perhaps he had made the wrong choice when he heard the young Boy’s words.

It seemed quite a fortuitous event to have been robbed, as the Thieves’ Den presented Jakob with a perfect place to set up a laboratorium within Market West. He had also acquired what seemed a very swift subject, and his mind was racing with the possibilities. Unfortunately, he was all out of Demon’s Blood, so subjugation was out of the question for now, unless his experiments with his Charming Hymn bore fruit. Thus far, all it had borne were piercing headaches, temporary memory loss, and sleepless nights, not to mention dozens of ruined subjects.

The Charming Hymn was a pet project that Jakob had been working on for years, having started on its creation when he realised that Demon’s Blood was a rare commodity and not without side-effects to its subjects, such as the strained speech and intellect seen in Holm. But making a spell from scratch was arduous and came with significant risks. Fortunately, Jakob was fluent in Chthonic, so he was somewhat shielded from accidentally invoking some Greater Entity or spontaneously exploding, like with the Implosion Hymn that Grandfather had created on accident, when he tried to teach one of his creations a simple Hymn. Additionally, the trial-and-error process of finding the right combination of words and inflection and tempo, meant that it could take decades before his experiment bore fruit.

He let out an irritated sigh. In hindsight, it had been a foolish move to spend Demon’s Blood on Callum, especially considering how great of a failure that had turned into. Katja, Ehlo, and Holm were all thankfully still alive and functioning as per his directives, but as he stared at the Thief, Veks, he had nothing but regret. How could he ever hope to tame a wild spirit such as his without the prerequisites for his subjugation spell?

“You don’t have to kill me, I can be useful to you, I’m sure!”

“Should we keep him caged?” Jakob asked Heskel.

The Wight shrugged.

Veks looked from one to the other as the strange Boy spoke with words that shook his organs with their awful cadence. The muscular and giant Freak was clearly just a guard, and it was the Boy, in his weird hooded apron and with his gloves and tail, who he truly feared.

Jakob looked at him. “Do you know where to find Demon’s Blood?”

The Thief blinked twice in surprise, then shook his head. He instinctively knew that lying would not serve him well.

Then the Wight spoke, its voice ominously deep. “Mage Quarter.”

“I know where that is!” Veks said immediately.

“Find me some Demon’s Blood there,” the Boy said. “And return here again when you have it.”

Veks stood up from where he had been kneeling, his knees aching from the hard floor.

“You got it, boss!”

Jakob was surprised by the Thief’s willingness, though he knew that he no doubt only said what he thought Jakob wanted to hear, so that he would be allowed to leave with his life intact. He thought about how to ensure his return, then came up with an idea.

The Thief stared at Jakob’s gloved finger, as the bruise-hued stitched-flesh-covered digit pointed to the overturned table and the scattered coins.

“You may keep those coins as a Toll.”

“You mean, I’ll get all of that as payment??”

“That is what I said,” Jakob replied flatly. He spoke Novarocian with the clipped tone of someone who had only practiced it from books.

Veks nodded eagerly. Suddenly, his thoughts were not on escape, but rather on the task at hand, though he had no clue how on earth he was supposed to find a Demon, let alone drain its blood. But he was sure that the Mage Quarter would have such oddities, though he had yet to set foot there and was only going off of rumours.

Jakob did not switch to Chthonic as he told Heskel, “Lead him outside, and make sure Holm doesn’t kill him. Then bring the bodies down and have Holm remain guard. I want the laboratorium set up and running by the time the Thief returns with the Blood.”

Veks felt a chill run down his spine at the words, wondering if the Boy had spoken his language to unsettle him. It was in many ways similar to how Toby had treated him, using terror as a leash, but his former boss now lay dead, and the Boy before him seemed uninterested in coin, which meant that Veks would make a fortune if he could deliver whatever he sought. And if he failed, he would just avoid Market West and hope they would not find him again. The latter seemed a dubious thing, considering the ease with which the brute and the boy had located the Thieves’ Hideout.

Heskel looked at Jakob inquisitively, while he leaned over one of the corpses that he had put atop the makeshift workstation in their new lab.

“What?” Jakob asked without turning from his work, his blade perfectly separating skin from meat and bone.

“Concern?”

“No, I’m not worried. Just puzzled by this Thief I’ve acquired. I was not aware that subordination could be gained in such a simple way.”

“Blame not the beast…”

“Truly.”