The unnatural silence was broken by a scream filled with anguish and suffering.

Vizron, as an undead creature, was used to feeling nothing more than muted sensation from its physical body. At least, nothing like the waves of pain coursing through it now.

It screamed and screamed, pain driving out almost every thought except that it needed an end to the pain.

But Vizron could not remove its hand from the door. Try as it might, its hand was stuck fast, and as long as that was true, this excruciation would not end.

Utter darkness enveloped Varsus and the other mortal men, blinding them. They heard the scream, but their minds were too overwhelmed to understand what it was.

Then there came another explosion of blue-white energy, and this time Varsus was blinded by light.

He heard a somehow even more soul-wrenching scream, and then the silence returned.

But this time it was a mundane, natural silence.

Varsus felt a sensation as if he was crashing back into his body after being somewhere else. Where he did not want to think about. He was lying on the ground, wet with his own blood.

He heard the groaning and cries of his men, but could not see them in the dark.

Pain bloomed in his body as he became more aware of himself. The chest wound that the creature…Vizron… had given him was seeping blood. He knew he needed help, but that would have to come later.

“Who fights for Varsus?” he shouted into the darkness. Or at least he meant to. What came out of his mouth was more a ragged croaking than a voice of command, but it was heard and answered.

“My lord, it is Matthias of the Guard! We were sent by Master Multon!”

Varsus knew who the man was and felt a little better at that.

“For the love of LaKrona, light your torches, man!” Varsus thought he knew what he would find when the torches were lit, but he could not stand any more of this complete blackness.

He heard scuffling and more groaning, but finally one torch burst into life and the scene was lit.

The horror that Varsus had been expecting was not lessened because he anticipated it.

Two men lay dead, their remains lit by flickering torchlight.

Varsus forced himself to one knee, then to his feet, and stumbled over to the fallen men.

Dead is an understatement, he thought. The bodies of the two men were ravaged and nearly shredded.

Skin and muscle hung loosely off of bones, chunks of flesh were missing, either ripped out with teeth or gouged out with claws. There was so much blood.

One of the surviving men turned and vomited along the tunnel wall.

Varsus felt lighthearted, but refused to let himself pass out. He badly wanted this to be over, but it wasn’t yet.

The two creatures were gone.

***

Vizron had never felt this weak before. Even at Wademount, it had been stronger than this.

Another few moments caught in that trap and it would have been dead. And what death meant to one of its kind was something too horrible to contemplate.

It felt itself being carried, moving at great speed.

Of course, thought Vizron, my minion.

“Barnaby…!” Vizron said, its voice raspy and thin.

The movement stopped, and Vizron was tossed to the ground. The lack of deference in this handling was not lost on the lich.

They were in the forest, surrounded by thick trees, dirt, and rock. Vizron could feel eyes upon them. Likely the foul Elves that inhabited this forest. But those eyes did not matter. What mattered was what happened back in the tunnel.

The trap, and it was a trap, had almost destroyed it.

Vizron knew that some of these mortals had skill, as they had proven at Wademount, but they had not set this trap. The trap had been set by one of its own.

Another lich, in the service of Ergochann.

The mocking laughter it had heard as power had nearly ripped it apart. That laugher was merely left as a reminder, as a token of disdain from another such as itself.

No, not like I, it thought. More powerful.

Vizron’s thoughts played out over this whole misadventure.

Back at Wademount, he had felt the pull of the door from across the vast leagues of this Maeraland.

Too weak at the time to make the journey, it had searched through the minds of the mortals until it found one to take it where it needed to go.

It found Baron Varsus.

As it had lay recuperating during the ride back to this end of the realm, it had ruminated on the nature of the door.

The power of the door had seemed familiar. But how could that be?

Now Vizron knew.

Ages ago, centuries, perhaps eons, another of its kind had found this world and recognized it for what it was. A key world. A world that Ergochann would want for his own purposes.

What those purposes were, one such as it could not, and likely would not ever know. All it knew was that worlds such as this one were of interest to its master.

The difference between Vizron and the other lich from the distant past was that it had succeeded where Vizron had failed.

Beyond that door, Vizron knew there was direct access to the void, and thus a direct entryway for Ergochann to step through.

It knew not what circumstances had occurred, but somehow the mortals of the time must have stopped its counterpart, though they were unable to close off the portal to the void completely. As such, the door had been hastily erected.

And a trap had been set.

Vizron could imagine its brethren, another lich, improbably defeated by mortals, using the last of its power to set a trap on the door. Not for the mortals, but for others of its own kind.

If it could not bring this world to Ergochann, none of the others would either.

Vizron smiled. It was exactly what it would do.

The mocking laughter had been the last remains of a long dead lich of astonishing power.

“Master…?” Vizron heard the voice of its minion. The voice no longer sounded harsh and raspy.

Vizron opened its eyes and looked up at the vampiric creature it had created.

Barnaby again appeared fully human. Having drunk deeply of human blood, all of his wounds were healed. Even his torn out throat was repaired.

Conversely, Vizron was almost completely drained of energy and still in a great deal of pain. It lay at the base of a tree, unable to move at any great speed.

The two locked eyes in the harsh moonlight, shadows from the trees playing over their faces.

Vizron could tell Barnaby was appraising its condition, wondering how strong… or weak… it was.

“Careful,” said Vizron, its voice cold and hollow. “You will still serve me, human.”

“But that is just the thing, Master,” said Barnaby, his voice scornful.

The vampire moved in closer to Vizron, leaning over him. Vizron could see the white fangs lengthening.

“I’m no longer human now, am I?”

Then Barnaby leaped at his former master, claws out and teeth gnashing.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

***

Varsus and the four surviving guardsmen emerged from the tunnel into the night. Varsus swore they would return for the bodies of the fallen, but they could not afford the time.

It felt good to be above ground and out in the open air, but he knew they were not safe yet.

Around them were the thick trees and ominous vegetation of the Endless Forest. Varsus stopped for a moment, sure that he could feel eyes on him.

“It’s them,” hissed Matthias, “Elves! We have to get out of here before they get us!”

The other men voiced assent, speaking over each other in rushed, low tones.

“No, not yet,” said Varsus.

The men stared at him in astonishment.

“But my lord…” Matthias said. “We have just barely survived, and some of us did not. I was charged by Master Multon to—”

“And now I am charging you,” Varsus snapped.

Matthias recoiled at the rebuke. The men gritted their teeth but said nothing.

Varsus knew he had to make his case quickly, or face full-on insubordination. He would not blame them if they all left.

“Men,” Varsus began. “We all have experienced true horror this night, but we must be after those creatures now, and we must end them tonight, else who knows how many others will experience worse than this in later days?”

The men looked down, but did not appear convinced.

“You all felt what I felt! You saw what I saw! An endless void, a vast creature of pure evil that does not want to rule us, it cares absolutely nothing for us! It wants this world, and we are nuisance creatures that are in the way!”

Varsus saw two men shiver uncontrollably then.

“That nightmare creature is hurt. I know not how, but it is vulnerable. We need to end that thing, and whatever Barnaby has become, this very night! Before they can reach out to their master!”

Going after Vizron was the last thing Varsus wanted to do, but he could not let that thing walk loose in the lands.

The men recovered themselves, gripping their swords.

“Lead on, Baron, we follow,” said Matthias.

Varsus smiled, impressed with the bravery of his men. Just as he was about to search for evidence of the passing of the two foul creatures, an explosion of red light and guttural moaning came from the distance.

Smile now gone, Varsus set off toward the light show, making his way through the thick trees as best as he could, and his men were right behind them.

***

Barnaby curled himself in fetal position, trying anything to stop the pain stabbing through him, crushing him, ripping him apart.

Nothing worked.

And so he howled in impotent, desperate agony. He heard himself begging and pleading for mercy, but no mercy came. The burning, freezing pain tore through him again and again.

Above him, Vizron the lich stood awkwardly, red eyes aglow, yet illuminating nothing. A sadistic smile appeared on its face as it punished its minion.

Then the punishment ended, and Barnaby was left shivering on the forest floor, the memory of the pain almost as bad as the real thing.

How is this possible? he asked himself. He looked so weak, so pitiful.

“You ask yourself how you fail?” Vizron asked, mirth in its still weak-sounding voice.

Vizron stepped closer, and Barnaby wanted to slither away, but he hadn’t the strength to move.

“Stand, slave,” said Vizron.

Remarkably, Barnaby felt his body respond and begin to stand. He tried to stop himself, but he could not. He had no control over his own self.

Now standing, he was forced to look into the red eyes of the lich that was his master.

“When I said you would still serve me, I meant until the end of eternity,” Vizron said.

“That is the way of things, slave. My kind controls your kind. You are powerful compared to a human, but to me, a vampire is naught but vermin.”

Briefly, Vizron wondered why it must be so, but as many had before, it gave up.

“V-vampire?” Barnaby croaked out, his body held stiffly in the grip of Vizron’s power.

“Yes, fool, a vampire!” Vizron snapped. How it hated vampires. They were lower creatures that always had the same questions and could never control themselves.

They had to be controlled by those of higher intelligence, lest they ruin everything with their bloodlust.

Vizron then decided that it had answered its earlier question, and was satisfied.

But now it had to decide what to do next.

Barnaby had not been entirely wrong. Vizron was indeed weak, though it was never in any danger from the vampire. It could have simply told Barnaby to stop and be still, but it had decided that a lesson was necessary.

Unfortunately, teaching that lesson had cost a great deal of power. It found itself in a similar situation to Wademount.

It needed to heal, badly, but to do so would place it in a stasis which could last for weeks or months as humans judged things.

It already knew some humans had enough power to destroy his kind. If it was inanimate for months, they would have time to find such a human. No, it could not let that happen.

There was a still a way to win, to re-open the door to this world for fearsome Ergochann. It paused, tuning out the natural world around it, sending out its senses, searching for something, an object it had gleaned on the other side of the realm.

Yes, it thought. I have found it!

And it was much closer than he had thought. Even better, the object was with someone known to it.

It laughed, and the sound was terrible.

“Laugh while you can, creature!” shouted a mortal voice. “Your time for laughter is now over!”

Vizron turned, genuinely startled. It had lost itself in its mental wandering, allowing these humans to creep up on it.

Varsus and four men rushed toward it, swords raised, and faces grim.

Stepping back, Vizron said a single word.

“Barnaby.”

Immediately, Barnaby was released from thrall, and the smell of blood from the open wounds on the men drove him into an instinctive attack.

Vizron delighted in the cries of fear from the mortals as the vicious, whirlwind form of Barnaby hurled himself at them.

Shaking its head, Vizron watched the carnage. New vampires were the worst. They would lose control over a pinprick of blood.

Although frightened, the men were not fools. Trained fighters all, and they surrounded Barnaby, striking at him from all sides.

Backing even further away, Vizron spoke.

“Pawn! I take my leave of you now!” Its voice was easily heard over the sounds of the struggle.

“Know that I go to call upon one you care about. The human cow you call Avalaine!”

Varsus stopped cold when he heard that, earning himself a clout across the face from Barnaby, which dropped him to the ground.

“Yes pawn,” Vizron laughed, “I will have my fun with her before she dies, I promise you!”

Vizron’s last words seemed to grow in volume, and then it was gone.

Varsus saw this, but could do nothing about it. He and his men were still in mortal peril.

As much as they struck the creature, it did not seem to do permanent damage, and they themselves were tiring quickly.

Finally, Matthias went down, a fresh claw mark across his face. Barnaby leapt upon him, reaching for his throat.

Resigning himself to death, Matthias reached into his throat and pulled out the pendant of LaKrona he wore around his neck.

“LaKrona, prepare my soul!” he shouted, holding out the pendant.

All the men were astonished at the shriek of pain from Barnaby, who recoiled in shock, his skin burning.

“What—!?” he cried. “What is happening?”

“The pendant!” shouted Varsus. “It cannot bear the power of the goddess!!”

In a quick motion, he snatched the pendant from Matthias and advanced on Barnaby, who was cowering and snarling.

Barnaby did not understand what was happening, but it could not bear to even look at the pendant. The power emanating from it was more than he could stand.

With another snarl, he turned and ran away, which to the men looked as if he had been shot out of a cannon.

Then the five men were left alone in the quiet forest, stunned and surprised at their own survival.

***

In the following days, Varsus had much to contend with.

With the exception of Master Multon, only those who had faced the undead creatures were aware of them, or their plans.

Varsus and twenty men returned to the Endless Forest to retrieve the bodies of those who had fallen in the fight under the earth.

He had expected some sightings of Elves, but although many complained of feeling eyes watching them, none of the wild creatures were seen.

A guard of ten men were left stationed there, also sworn to secrecy, and to remain indefinitely. They were told a partial story, just enough to impress the gravity of the situation on them.

To what end, Varsus did not completely know.

If something happened to the door, or something came through, perhaps the guard could give them enough warning to make their peace with LaKrona before the end.

All understood that this was a violation of the tacit detente they shared with the Elves, as the ragged tunnel and iron doorway were just to the inside of the forest, but it could not be helped.

Later, back at his keep, Varsus had two letters drafted. One to lady Avalaine in Teyscha, warning her of the danger from the creature.

Reading the letter back, it had looked completely ridiculous, but he could do no less. He had to try.

Worse, he did not even know if Avalaine was in Teyscha. Given the interest the younger prince had shown in her, he could have whisked her away to anywhere.

Varsus roughly pushed that thought aside. There was nothing he could do about that.

The second letter he had sent to Chancellor Brent at the royal palace. Chancellor Brent was the advisor to the King himself, and would be the best way to gain the King’s ear.

Varsus grimaced as he stamped his device upon this letter. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the royalty knew something of this threat and chose to keep it to themselves.

Just as he was now doing with his own people.

Even so, back in Wademount, they must have banished or otherwise defeated something akin to the creature he faced.

Vizron.

It had to be stopped.

Varsus handed the second letter back to his scribe to be sealed. As the scribe was leaving, Varsus called him back.

He decided there was one more letter to send.

Master Multon entered the room just as the scribe was leaving with all three letters.

“Are my effects packed, Multon?”

Multon, a sour look on his weathered face, did not respond immediately.

“Speak, man!” Varsus snapped. “What troubles you?”

Not at all cowed by the outburst, Multon stepped forward.

“You should not be leaving now, my lord!” Multon growled.

“There is much to be done here. You have sent three letters, and there is naught else you can do. Besides, you have taken wounds!”

Varsus had expected this.

“Wrong, my wounds matter not, and the letters are not enough. Only I and the two men I travel with have faced these creatures. No one else will be likely to believe me until it is too late. I cannot let that thing walk loose in Maeraland.”

Multon still shook his head.

“What about Barnaby? He is still loose here, is he not?! Who will stop him?”

“The other two men from the tunnel will hunt down Barnaby,” said Varsus. “Believe me, they have the easier task.

“We now know something that can hurt Barnaby, but we still have no reliable weapon against this Vizron. That foul thing is the larger threat. It must be destroyed before it can reach its master.”

Multon had stopped shaking his head, but he still frowned.

“This is because of her,” Multon said, and they both knew who ‘her’ was. “You could just send your two men without going yourself.”

Varsus grew angry, but tried to quell it.

“I have no desire to face that creature again. I wish it could be someone else, but I cannot leave it to others. It would be the act of a coward.”

The two old friends stood in silence for a few heartbeats.

“So, will you wish me well?” Varsus asked, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Bahhh, get out of here, you lackwit!” Multon said, with gravelly affection.

Varsus clasped the shoulders of the older man in a short, fierce grip, then walked out of the room.

Multon watched him go, not wanting to admit to himself that he was afraid.

He had thought the Elves were the most inhuman things in this world. What Varsus had described to him made his blood run cold.

Truly, he hoped that Varsus knew what he was doing.

Unbeknownst to Multon, Varsus also hoped that he knew what he was doing.

He reached the courtyard and found Matthias and his man Wendell, a large ogre of a man who Varsus thought would be very useful in the coming days.

They had three horses ready, and they were all packed for long travel.

“Men,” he said, “shall we be off to Teyscha?”

“Indeed, my lord,” said Matthias. “I must confess, I almost hope we don’t find that thing.”

Varsus mounted his horse, and the other men did the same.

“You and me both,” said Varsus, but he knew they could not afford to let that thing lose itself in the kingdom.

“Now, let’s ride — for Maeraland!”

He spurred his horse, and the other two men followed, echoing his cry.

Varsus could only hope he would reach Avalaine in time.