A solitary snail traversed the swamp — gliding on the ground as if it was smooth ice. Shelby was on a mission. She wanted to investigate one of the smaller snail’s story about a strange snake her master visited.

Snake. That would certainly fit her master’s strange requirements for companions.

The swamps were not to her liking. She was beginning to understand her master’s aversion to dirt and jerms — especially now that her shell was pale white. Mud and dirt made her appear dirty — but she had to change the color of her shell to appease her master’s sire.

Still, the mystery of her master’s hidden snake companion drove her to the swamps — dirt and all. She wasn’t jealous or even overly curious, she was just bored.

It was a feeling that was strange to her. She remembered times when she would be satisfied to just eat, sleep, and explore all day — but now she wanted more.

It was the turtle curse.

The memories of the old turtle awoke something in her being — clearing her mind but also making her less content.

It went beyond the bond she shared with her master. The bond made her smarter, but it didn’t drive her to do things — like investigate a strange creature from the swamps!

Shelby passed a camp of children — strange-looking ones, a bit uglier than the ones on the farm.

Was making children work in a distant place a custom of softshells? It could be, seeing as there were no big ones in the camp. A strange custom — she should probably look into it.

Shelby cursed the turtle. She wouldn’t have had those thoughts if it weren’t for its memories. What did she care about softshells and their customs!

Still, it was probably good to learn about her master’s kind — even if he was worlds apart from most of them.

She neared the clearing where the creature was hiding. The smaller snail said it heard their master say the creature slept during the day — but Shelby couldn’t visit it at night.

There were too many intruders trying to get into their home in the cover of darkness. At first, she just didn’t want them to disturb her master — now, it was a matter of pride to keep them away from the Corner Shop™.

Shelby entered the clearing and beheld the creature. The smaller snail was right — it looked strange for a snake. It was more like a lizard with its four legs, though its necks were a bit long.

Necks. The poor thing probably had a birth defect. It was a miracle it could survive this long — or grow that big.

Hello, lizard thing.

I’m no lizard.

So it was a snake! Shelby couldn’t believe the little snail was right.

Why does my master keep visiting you? Why not just come home with us?

You! You’re with the bad man!

Bad man? Why does this snake sound like the softshells that visit master during the night?

That’s just his reputation. Master is a good person.

He comes here every three days, the creature shudders. I pretend to sleep when he does.

What does he do to you? The creature’s words confused Shelby — but she had to know.

He bites my neck and drinks my blood! The creature sobs. He’s a vampire!

Shelby watched the sobbing creature and sighed.

She was wrong — so wrong.

The snake creature wasn’t a companion — it was just food.

***

Sebas stared at the counter, his mind wandering to far-off places.

Yesterday, he took his master and his father to Evergreen. They would be staying there for a week or so and he was left alone to tend to the shop.

The shop had a fresh batch of juice, thanks to the strange hydra in the swamps. His master was quite meticulous with inventory — but he left all the pill-making to him.

Mineva was trying her best to help with the shop — even learning about its inventory and pricing. She had a lot on her plate, and Sebas thought adding shop work might be a bit too much on her.

He appreciated their afternoon tea time.

She grounded her in ways that her work with his master didn’t. Working with Jeremy steeled his resolve to resist the evil in his soul — but being with Min somewhat purged it of evil.

At first, he thought it was just the act of taking care of someone. Surely, his master thought Min was just a pet that he kept for company — he was strange that way.

Still kind — but strange nonetheless.

Jeremy had no experience connecting with people aside from his family. He considers people as pets — even using subtle rewards and punishments to train them or make them loyal.

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In a way, everyone does that to some extent — his master was just more aware of what he was doing.

“This is the Scourge’s shop, right?”

Sebas turned to the open door and to the burly figure that stood there.

He didn’t seem like their usual clientele — his spiteful use of “Scourge” was a dead giveaway.

Not that their customers didn’t use it — they just had more fear and doubt in their voice.

This one didn’t. This one was looking for trouble.

Sebas frowned. If Shelby was here, the bastard probably wouldn’t even have the guts to enter the shop. Sadly, the snail was off to who knows where — probably adventuring of sorts.

Two more men entered the shop. These two were less sure than their burly leader — their eyes darting from side to side, seemingly looking for danger.

Sebas exhaled and took their sins.

The leader was a murderer. Not an assassin — that took finesse. He was more like a thug who beat people until they stopped moving.

The other two were more run-of-the-mill minions — more weak than evil. Their guilt was more on the surface than hidden deep. One beat up a tavern owner for not paying his dues, the other felt his greatest sin was lying to his wife about what he did.

Weak minds all of them.

“This shop is ours now,” the burly man declared. “And you, shopkeeper — you work for us.”

It was such an unreasonable demand that no shopkeeper would have agreed to. They were clearly there to provoke a fight, else they would have more reasonable terms.

Sebas smiled.

“You do know who owns this shop?”

“The Scourge?” the leader spat. “What of him? He’s been exiled to the Ice. There’s only us here now.”

There was no avoiding it. These people had an agenda — though Sebas knew they were just pawns.

He closed his eyes and braced his hands on the counter.

Onlookers might see it as a sign of fear — and in a way it was.

Fear of the Void Below * Enchantment * Infernal * Psychic

Effect: The spell imbues its targets with the knowledge that they are bound for hell due to their sins. The intensity of the images and emotions are dependent on the mana used in crafting the spell as well as the mental fortitude of the affected individuals.

Sebas opened his eyes — his irises now red and his pupils yellow slits.

“The Scourge only takes you to your destination. It’s up to you where you end up going.”

The two smaller men collapse where they stood, their knees buckling from the crippling fear. One of them even started frothing in the mouth.

The leader managed to keep his legs. He was shaken but he managed to run out the door.

Only to be met by Shelby.

A monstrous snail coming at you at full speed was indeed terrifying. Sebas watched as the man fainted a few steps away from the shop.

He should probably get one of the kids to make sure he was alive.

The two in the shop were less of a problem. The fear of hell should have them walking the straight and narrow — even it was for just a short while.

Sebas frowned. He started to turn the salivating mine to his side — before stopping to get a rug to put beneath him.

He called for Warren. Warden now, it seemed.

They would have to fix the shop before the next customers arrived.

***

Jeremy now understood why his father sent him to train with Captain Cicero and his men instead of the mages. Soldiers were sent to the front, while mages stayed behind to protect the citadel and its walls.

He thought it was overly cautious or maybe mages were deemed more valuable than soldiers.

The captain was glad to have a wizard in their midst — especially one who could keep up with their training.

The terrain was unfit for cavalry. Patches of ice could make even the most sure-footed horse slip, and melting ice broke up the ground, creating shallow chasms.

Each team of soldiers carried planks for crossing these chasms, and Jeremy had to learn the commands and protocols when crossing them.

The chaos of the battlefield was not something that he expected. The noise alone would confuse the average person — what more the angry horde aiming for your head?

It was spontaneous — reactive, even.

Jeremy’s first few bolts of hellfire tore through the enemy, but soon they swept through the battleground and engaged with the soldiers.

Ogres, orcs, and trolls battled against mana-driven armored soldiers.

The enemy horde confused him. They held no traces of mana — but they moved as if empowered by it. He imagined tendrils of power coming from the Ice, empowering the monsters — and his assumption had weight.

Captured orcs would wither and die when brought into the citadel, where the Ice had no hold.

Ancient magics protected Evergreen — with records saying its wards were raised more than two thousand years ago.

“Fire on the trolls!” Cicero barked at him.

Jeremy nodded in acknowledgment — sending two bolts towards one troll and another three towards a larger one.

“Learn the soldier’s names so you can warn them if you’re hurling a spell,” the Captain suggested.

He wouldn’t need to if his father let him keep his helm. He said the helm was a dead giveaway that he was the Blackstaff’s son — and that he should learn to not rely on it too much.

There were other ways to warn the soldiers of his spells — though not as efficient as the helm.

“The red skull means fire,” Jeremy roared, his voice amplified by mana.

He shot a beam of amplified light towards an orc that formed the shape of a skull. It was one of Sebas’ spells. His butler called it the bat signal — which was strange because he never used it to attract bats.

The modified light spell was easy to copy. Jeremy primarily used it to entertain his sister — little did he know it would find use in the battlefield.

He waited for the soldier to react to the glowing skull on the orc’s chest before sending a bolt of hellfire into the creature.

Captain Cicero was once his father’s man, and he taught his soldiers the same thing the Blackstaff taught him — to focus on the body and not the eyes.

Some soldiers were slower than others to respond, but they knew the drill after one or two bolts swept past them.

It was easy pickings for a while — but then their left flank collapsed as soldiers from a noble house retreated without warning.

A new wave of enemies crashed into them.

Jeremy could barely cast a spell in the chaos — relying on his staff in its glaive form to hold back the enemy.

Whenever he saw them, he jabbed wounded soldiers with the barbed end of his staff — healing them even as his staff sent jolts of pain into their bodies.

That feature didn’t seem compatible with his current situation — but he never intended to use his staff as a healing implement in the first place.

A massive ice troll landed in front of him.

Jeremy wondered how high trolls could jump, even as he sent three bolts of hellfire into the creature.

The troll barreled into his bolts, seemingly unaffected. It slammed its club of solid ice towards Jeremy, intent on crushing him to a pulp.

His shield of cold arid air barely held up, sending Jeremy crashing into the ground. He waited for the next blow to come — but none came.

Captain Cicero was there battling the troll, trading blow for blow against the creature.

The captain was wounded and bleeding in several places. All Jeremy could do at the moment was stab him in the back with his staff.