Sunday dreamed of the tree, and he dreamed of the graveyard for his birth once again. What had been just a waking vision before was something real now, almost like being back in the city of stone and death. He took a deep breath of fresh air and lamented that he could not appreciate it for the simple pleasure it was. His lungs worked only as inflatable balloons, unable to deliver oxygen to his dead body and make it feel the wonder of being alive.

Thoughts of his situation were distant, unimportant, like vague memories one questions because they might as well be figments of imaginations given too much credit.

His spells too, were there, basking in the soft glow of the red moon that hung low above the Yew Tree. More moths were flying around than before, and the Yew Tree was larger. Its strange leaves pointed at the world with newfound but silent pride, and the bark was rougher than before. Sunday stood up and turned toward his benefactor with a renewed sense of appreciation. His thoughts were sluggish but as it was with sarcasm, there was always a place for gratitude.

He reached out with a hand and touched the warm bark. It was after an eternal moment, or perhaps just a miniscule part of a second, that his eyes opened and he found himself far from the tree, in a new place.

The black sands from the last part of his journey, before he was flung down through the universe and into the world he was supposed to save, covered the horizon. The light of an impossibly starry sky filled with galaxies and shooting stars allowed him to see far through the alien desert.

Is this still a dream?

Three stone doors stood before him, carved out for giants, but awaiting an ant.

One depicted a familiar young man with a bowl of wine in one hand, while his other hand was spread leisurely, showing his palm. There was a mockery of a smile on his face; a lazy twist of the lips, a glint in the stone eyes that suggested arrogance beyond any mortal means.

The second was carved with the forms of people. Faceless shapes, thousands of them, kneeling toward a building. And above it fluttered scrolls and books. Knowledge, perhaps? The thought of arts made Sunday’s soul tremble. They were far from limited only to soul-forging and awakening ones as he understood it. Who knew what was possible?

The third one didn’t depict anything related to his talents. Instead, the door was carved with weapons. Spears, swords, daggers, and staves. They all looked unique and seemed ready to pop out of the stone at a moment’s notice.

Far from those chosen to help you, far from the lands of opportunity and strength, you have carved a place for yourself. A commendable deed.

To deserve the gifts of the City, the praise of the Legends, the worship of the Lost, slay the Wicked. Fulfill your destiny, weak wretch, and punish the undeserving and the vile, and the rewards shall be yours…

Now awaken, chosen of the Forgotten. Awaken and face your trial. The hound hungers; enraged and ready it stalks the darkness. It has visited the bait hidden in the distant swamps and punished it for daring to pretend.

A hidden bait?

Sunday’s eyes fluttered open and he groaned. He pushed away from the marble floor and met the angry eyes of someone vaguely familiar. It took him a few moments to remember where he was and what had been happening prior to his breakthrough.

Savia was sat to the side, her eyes red from exhaustion and her fist clenched from nerves. How many hours has it been? There were fewer vampires in the room, but that still left four glaring at him with their piercing gazes, not counting the lord. That was good. He doubted the hound could face many more. The one that had pushed him into the wall as if swatting a fly stood still, like a statue just as Sunday remembered him.

“Sorry, I dozed off,” Sunday said as he stretched his body. He felt good. Truly good. He examined his soul space and noted how full and brimming with energy it was. That was good. It was larger too, and the thought of holding even more spells filled him with giddiness. He was unsure which ones he wanted, but Shield certainly sounded like a good pick.

“You vile creature,” the vampire lord spat. “Remove this foulness from my estate, or I shall tear you apart inch by inch and let you watch the worms feed on your flesh.”

Sunday raised an eyebrow. Just above his head were three of his trusted white moths, circling slowly and glowing with ethereal light. He focused and felt their existence, their exhaustion, and their mission – to protect him. Something inside of him moved but he suppressed it for the time being. Thank you, he sent mentally. The moths fluttered out of existence and the essence flowed back into his soul space.

The vampire didn’t wait even a moment and flashed into action. Sunday was surprised he could see the movements now, but it was hardly enough to react in time. However just as the hand reached for his neck once again, a moth flashed into existence between them, and the sound of hissing filled the air.

The vampire retreated once again, frowning.

“You’re the worst host ever,” Sunday noted. “No drinks, no food, not even a hello. Just violence.”

“You come to insult me with your presence. You dare to break through in my estate and shame me before my true guests. The Arcanum will have no issue with me dishing out some proper punishment and teaching you manners. However, if you insist on resisting with your petty tricks, then don’t blame me for showing you the difference between us,” the vampire said slowly. Each word was a needle trying to worm itself into Sunday’s mind and shake his confidence and resistance. He felt as if his mind had rats gnawing at the synapses.

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Is that bastard trying to influence me? It didn’t seem to be working, and the vampire’s face twisted further before he relaxed.

“In lieu of your relations to a very near and dear tavern in this city, I shall forgive you once. There will be no second time. What do you want? Speak!”

Ah, your trick failed so you’re playing it off as if you’re magnanimous to save face. I expected more from vampires. Then again, apart from sharp teeth and a shitty fashion sense, you got nothing more, huh?

“Can you turn into a bat?” Sunday asked. He looked around. The hall had many doors, but the four vampires behind the ‘Lord’ whose name he had already forgotten.

“A… bat?” The vampire repeated. His eyes grew darker still and with another hiss, he grabbed the white moth fluttering with a speed too high for Sunday’s eyes to keep up. He squashed it into a cloud of essence, and Sunday saw his pale skin burn and disintegrate. However, the damage started healing soon after and it took mere seconds for all traces of what had happened to disappear.

Sunday half expected his throat to be grabbed again, but the vampire didn’t follow through. Was he wary that more could come? Despite healing from the burning, it had certainly not been a pleasant experience.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

Sunday raised an eyebrow. “For you to release my friend. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about.” Where the fuck is it?

The vampire frowned. “Your friend is too stupid for his own good. Living in our protection will be a gift to him.”

“You just want to use him as a hostage against his sister, right?”

“What do you know? Your kind has always held so much arrogance before their betters. Know when to retreat, little mage corpse. The one pulling your string might be strong enough to threaten us, but she’s confined and limited in what she can do so far away from the Rat and her strength will eventually flee her,” the vampire said. “I’ll hold on to Vyn until someone pays the debt he owes back.”

He knows about Mera then. That’s probably why I’m still in one piece. That, the moths, and curiosity, I guess.

“Listen –”

The shadows in the already low-light hall grew darker, and Sunday took a breath of cold air that was turning freezing. The vampires behind the Lord shuffled in discomfort and looked around.

“What is happening?” the Lord asked.

“My guest is arriving…” Thank God. If they were reasonable, I’d have felt bad about this. Hopefully, I won’t drag too many innocents into the fight…

“What have you done?!” one of the vampires screamed – a woman with ethereal beauty. In the next moment, the shadows lunged at her and she screamed. Everything happened too fast but the shadowy form was sent retreating after the vampire lady punched at it. However, part of her torso was already missing, having been bitten off. She screamed bloody murder and the shadows lunged again.

Everything devolved into chaos. Hissing and growls filled the hall and Sunday bee-lined for Savia as he ignored the fight that was too fast-paced for him to follow.

“Run!” he said. She only stared at him for a few moments, before nodding and heading for the door. He saw her shiver from the cold, or perhaps the terror.

Then, his attention turned toward the newcomer. He couldn’t let his hosts do all the work, but finding Vyn was paramount. It was a silly plan, but Sunday’s desire to break through had made him do silly things.

He followed after Savia and quickly caught up to the woman.

“You have any idea where they might hold him?” he asked.

“In the Dungeon. I’ll –”

“Just show me the way.”

She hesitated and nodded. There was no use in risking her further than he already had and considering the sounds coming from the hall behind, he didn’t have a lot of time. He knew the hound could just flee in darkness any second, just to attack when it saw another opportunity. Hopefully, the beast was too bloodthirsty to do that. The vampires certainly sounded like they weren’t quite happy with the situation.

Savia gave him brief instructions and Sunday headed down a corridor. The shadows seemed to follow in his wake and he clutched the true silver sword as he reached a heavy steel door. It took all of his strength to move, but it moved. The stairway that led down was still of lacquered wood and the ‘dungeons’ gave no sign of being a prison.

There were quite a few doors downstairs, and a single undead guard sitting on a comfortable chair and holding a book of all things. He stood up startled as Sunday appeared around the corner and moved to grab his sword, but stumbled and face-planted on the ground under the effect of Phantasmal Fall.

Sunday rushed at him, grabbed his collar, and then slapped him hard until the undead’s eyes fluttered and he lost consciousness. He considered breaking a leg or two and then healing them afterward, but that seemed like overkill. He took the bundle of keys and started trying each door.

Quite a few surprised and afraid eyes met his. The cells were furnished quite well. They were wide, with big beds, and stacks of foods and wines set on tables. Those inside them didn’t seem to be doing so well. They were mostly young girls and men, barely of adult age, dressed in skimpy clothes and sporting all sorts of strange markings on their skins. Wasn’t vampire blood supposed to be healing?

What sort of prison is this? Sunday pressed down on the feeling of disgust for now.

He found Vyn on the fifth try, having ignored each of the previous occupants. Whether they were kept as fancy meals or political prisoners, he didn’t care.

“Sunday?” the man asked. He was half-naked and doing pushups on the floor.

“Come on,” Sunday called.

Vyn needed no more convincing, but he flinched as his breath came out in a white cloud.

“What –?

Did the Vamps lose? Fuck!

The hound barreled down the corridor and Sunday cursed as he hit it with the full weight of Phantasmal Fall. It looked worse for wear, with big parts of its pitch-black mane hanging in loose bloody threads. The beast tripped over its feet and whimpered for a few moments before bursting into shadows and disappearing. It reappeared on Sunday’s other side and its massive front leg swung at him as if all effects of the spell were gone.

He managed to dodge as he threw himself back, and cursed as a tendril of shadows pierced his shoulder. Did it have new tricks?

“You dirty mutt! I’ll slaughter you all!” a scream echoed through the corridor. The vampire lord was a flurry of movement as he grabbed at the hint leg of the hound and tried to rip it off from the socket. His suit was nothing but rags and as the shadowy tendrils bore through his flesh once again, he screamed. It didn’t seem to stop or slow him down though.

Sunday used the opportunity to scramble backward. He hoped Vyn was smart enough to stay away from the situation since getting himself killed would defy the purpose of the whole exercise.

The vampire roared. The other three appeared at the start of the corridor, carrying all sorts of weapons, and went for the hound.

Was one of them dead?

Sunday was glad there were not as many vampires present as there had been initially, otherwise even the hound wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Fuck it!

With a snarl of his own, a blood moon lit up the surroundings. It was vibrant and redder than ever before, and through it crawled out more than a dozen black and white moths. They were as big as a human hand and as enraged as the hound.

Sunday hadn’t planned on slaughtering the vampires himself, but if he wanted to be left alone, he needed to send a message. And after seeing the state of some of those in the rooms, all thoughts of guilt or mercy had disappeared from his mind.