Clarity and dizziness took turns and made holding on to the current moment many times harder. The vampire that had struck him in the chest was looking at him in sheer confusion, and so were the others in the hall. Savia was wide-eyed and on the verge of passing out herself, judging by her breathing.

Any minute now. Sunday thought. The strange sensation of fatigue was making him worried, but he had accounted for that. His very status was sure to keep him safe even if a nap was deemed necessary for him to fully step into the next rank. The hound would probably come after that since it was all about the thrill of the hunt. What good was sleeping prey that couldn’t fight back or flee?

It was a pity.

He managed to stand up while holding the wall. There was definitely something broken, but he was kind of dead so it didn’t matter all that much. His mood was good, despite it all. A euphoria that made even the strangely menacing vampires just another little piece of reality that didn’t matter took hold of him. His soul space and his spells shook with joy, and the world was more beautiful for it.

Am I drunk… on essence?

Sunday chuckled, then stopped as a hand wrapped around his throat and lifted him up.

***

“You didn’t mention the supposed healer is insane, Savia,” the vampire muttered as he held Sunday up by the neck. She had seen that move before. Oftentimes it ended with a broken neck, but some undead – very few of them – could walk that off. It depended on the species really – she didn’t quite understand all the different nuances of it.

Savia didn’t know what to do. She had expected flashy spells, declarations of status, clever wordplay, perhaps using the Arcanum’s name or the connection to the only place the vampires seemed to avoid as a deterrent. Instead, Sunday was now alternating between smiling and frowning, behaving like someone who had completely lost their mind.

She didn’t understand it at all. A small part of her had hoped Sunday would be able to do what his confident demeanor had alluded to. Now all that was left was saving her own skin, and perhaps his. She was not hopeful for managing either.

“I… I didn’t know. He—”

A resounding slap echoed through the hall and a bunch of vampires flashed into action. They surrounded Savia and Sunday at a moment’s notice, and Savia felt her knees grow weak. There was nothing worse than the attention of an apex predator on you. Much less a dozen of them.

Most were looking at Lord Versum and Sunday though. The mage’s feet were back on the ground and he was swaying in place with a strange smile, while the Lord had retreated a step back, holding his cheek with an expression of utter shock that was quickly morphing into rage. He didn’t seem hurt, but something about it made Savia uneasy.

It was difficult to harm a vampire, especially as a human or a regular undead. She had researched the topic at length in the first years of servitude. Even if one had the tools, using them against someone so superior was a fool’s errand. They were stronger, faster, more vicious than any beast, and more observant than one could account for. Only magi at rank three had any chance of putting up a fight against anything below a Baron, and even such cases were strongly dependent on the spells they had. Some said vampires could resist talents and spells to an extent. Even the elusive wights, so powerful and so mysterious, were afraid of the vampire’s sheer ability to murder everyone and everything with abandon.

Her doubt crept in again. How had a half-sleepy mage slapped one then? She felt the bloodlust in the air grow. All knew what would happen in the next moment, and Sunday just stood there, smiling.

“He’s a mage in the Arcanum,” someone said. Savia felt sweat drip down her face and her mouth go dry. It was her voice that had sounded out and the attention on her only grew. Even Lord Versum’s tiny red eyes were now drilling holes through her skull.

“And he’s a guest… in the Wayward Rat.”

That finally brought out a reaction from the Lord and the surrounding vampires. Whispers, too fast for her human ears, movements too subtle to be caught. The Lord seemed uncertain for the first time.

It was then that Sunday flashed with brilliant white light and three snow-white months appeared, circling the mage in a slow dance as he fell face-first on the marble floor… and started snoring. Savia felt something inside of her break. This was the worst attempt at saving anyone in history. At least she would be remembered for something, even if it was idiocy.

***

Jishu opened his eyes and snarled at the air. The silence was strange. It was not silence brought by his roaming ghouls nor by his overwhelming presence. It was a different type of silence. It promised violence, suffering, and terror.

He was almost on the verge of breaking through the second step of Rank Two, so he was quite annoyed at being interrupted by whatever was happening. The villagers had been left alone for a while to stew in their fear. Taking one of them every few days was enough to keep the flame burning. He knew they would eventually break, and he wanted to see the results of it. Would the humans try to consume spells without awakening to make themselves spell-fused? Would they harm the little inferni girl, further driving a wedge between her and them in her mind and creating an opportunity for him to take a place there? He was going to make it special this time.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

A wave of fear – visceral, primal, and all-consuming slammed into him and made him groan. It was not a fear originating inside of himself, although it certainly fed his worries by the sheer weight of the feeling. It came from his many ghouls – his servants, and his protectors. Jishu had yet to hunt for proper spells, as he found that secondary to advancing his rank as a mage. The practice of the arts was easy since he had walked this road before.

However, this feeling… He had felt it only a few times throughout his lifetime. Once, when the high ranks had come to hunt him down for his sins, for worshipping, for the spell he had stolen, for murdering members of the same clan. The ghouls had sensed the overwhelming pressure of spells beyond reproach and refused to even listen to his words, much less fight.

The second time had been during Sunday’s nap when the young undead had become a mage. What had come after that had been something unnatural and terror-inducing. Something that could rival spells and topple the sanity of the greatest scholars.

A hound of darkness. A beast that could tear apart the soul.

No. It was impossible. Jishu knew where Sunday had holed up. He could sense him well now that he had worked on the connection some more. His disciple. Many ghouls had escaped Jishu’s clutches, trying to find a safer place, but they had run into issues. He knew of the settlements, and he knew of the city near the swamps. They had gathered there and served as markers and Sunday had certainly had an altercation or two with them.

But this—

The night grew darker and colder and Jishu clenched his jaws. Using every ounce of his willpower he ordered all of the ghouls under his control to return, making the swamp buzz. Why was the hound not going for Sunday? Was he the target? Why? What was this beast?

It came without warning. None of the posturing of the first one, and none of the announcement. Jishu watched it charge and for the first time in decades, he felt something… No. It couldn’t be. That terror wasn’t his. It was fabricated, an illusion, a lie! It came from the ghouls! Certainly—

The hound seemed to mock him as it bared its teeth. For a moment the slightest trace of confusion passed through its nightmarish features, making it slow down. Just a moment. Then confusion became anger.

Jishu knew then, that he was afraid.

He screamed and his will burst like a tidal wave, forcing the nearby ghouls to attack. There was only a brief hesitance, which was enough to make him imagine the death of his own soul before the creatures succumbed to his strengthened talent. They poured out of the trees around him – dark silhouettes ready to die at a thought of his mind. His greatest shield and his greatest weapon, especially now.

The hound tore through them without a care. Its movements were faster than Jishu had anticipated and he barely dodged its first attack. In a matter of seconds, more than ten ghouls had been torn apart as if they were nothing more than weeds in the path of a forest fire. Even the darkness following the beast-like smoke seemed to occasionally lash out at the ghouls as if it held myriad other monsters.

This was not right! The monster hadn’t been so powerful last time! Was it a different one? Why now?

Jishu took out his sword and tried to stop his arm from shaking. It was a decent sword despite the rust and marks of time. It had kept its bite, but it was no true silver.

“COME AT ME!” Jishu screamed, giving himself some courage. A sword in his hand calmed him down.

The hound was happy to oblige. It disappeared into a cloud of darkness only to reappear next to him. Jishu ducked a swipe and returned with one of his own. With his new body, each movement flowed beautifully, allowing him to reveal the mastery of the sword he had once been so proud of.

It meant nothing to the hound. The sword hit its dark mane and stopped there, unable to go further. It barely sank an inch into the hide, before the hound retaliated. It tried to bite at Jishu’s head but the rabid ghouls threw themselves in its jaws without regard instead. It gave Jishu the opportunity he needed.

Their terror and pain echoed in Jishu’s very soul and fed him the energy needed to scramble back up. He abandoned the useless sword and ran.

Without spells, he was helpless against the creature. He deeply regretted not grabbing a few of the worthless swamp spells he had seen around, but his pride hadn’t let him. His recovered soul space needed more than petty tricks.

Most of his ghouls were rushing from afar and he needed to earn time until he had the numbers to overwhelm the beast. The few hundred he had around himself and the village were nowhere near enough to stop the stronger hound.

Their claws and teeth still left marks on the beast’s hide, unlike the worthless steel of the sword, but the hound was unbothered. It followed Jishu slowly as if it was enjoying the hunt, and the high ghoul felt his terror grow. He had not yet cast the last seed of his spell, nor had he created a connection suitable for another rebirth. If he died now, then that was it.

And even if he had done it, he doubted the spell would work to rebirth his soul. It could help him heal, but that was only due to the connection of the three pillars. The hound was a beast going for the soul – a rare and terrible thing indeed.

His thoughts were interrupted and Jishu yelled as a claw struck his side, sending him flying into a nearby tree, shattering its bark and the wood beneath and making it pierce his skin. The beast approached slowly, and Jishu’s eyes surveyed the carnage behind it while he was getting up.

Tens of ghouls, or pieces of ones, littered the swamp’s floor. What had happened? He had felt them die, but he ignored the constant feeling in the back of his mind. They didn’t matter. There were always more. However, the creature had somehow killed more than a hundred of them in a mere minute.

Was this it? The end of his path just as he had tasted victory? No. Jishu roared.

Another group of ghouls jumped on the hound, screaming with the insanity of those being driven to suicide. Jishu didn’t care. He turned to flee again, only to feel something grab at his arm. Unapologetic sharpness. He screamed as teeth pierced his flesh and tore at his soul.

The pain was worse than anything he had experienced. It was worse than the last time the hound had taken a hand, and it was worse than having his soul rotting.

“NO! NO!” he begged.

Then all seemed to be over. He looked around madly. Most of his ghouls were dead, but many remained and more were coming with each passing moment. They were looking around in fear, silently waiting for the beast’s return.

Jishu did the same. The hound had taken his arm, and part of his soul, and left. Why?

A terrible thought appeared in his mind and made him want to vomit. He screamed and hit the soft ground with his remaining hand. He was just a toy to it. A passing distraction. It had come and taken the same hand the previous hound had, before leaving. Was it a warning?

The pain in his soul was stronger than ever, making his rage lose its momentum. All that was left was loss, humiliation, and agony.