On all fours the creature hastened into a gallop, holding its head high and shrieking as it caught up to the five soldiers running from it. It quickly slashed one soldier down his back, and in one quick motion pounced on another. Roaring horribly, it tore through his chest with its talons. The soldier screamed as it pilfered through his torso, cracking bones and tearing at strings of flesh with its hideous fanged grin. As the creature continued to devour its meal, the remaining three soldiers reached Myrian and Romulus.

  “Gods, fuck, gods, by the fucking—oh gods,” hastily exclaimed one soldier through his heavy breathing.

  All the soldiers looked to Romulus.

  “Do something dammit! You’re the fucking bladed one!” Shouted one soldier.

  “You’re here to hide behind me?” said Romulus, slightly amused, his eyes fixed on the creature who was now pawing at the soldier’s carcass. “It’s still here. Why is it here?”

  “Do the thing!” demanded the soldier.

  “What?”

  “The whatever-the-thing it was! You know, to banish the fucker.”

  A loud crunch and snap sounded as the creature began tearing off large chunks of the body. It kept glancing at Myrian in between bites, its yellow eyes glowing more intensely.

  “I can’t,” replied Romulus.

  “You can’t!? You can’t?! Why are you—”

  “Listen!” interrupted Romulus. “Your beloved leader didn’t heed my wisdom. He killed Osto, the wraith’s intended victim—he interrupted the creature’s vengeance. Since the creature has been robbed of its victim, it now has a new one. We don’t know who that is. I can’t perform the ritual without the blood of the new victim.”

  “It’s over! Gods, pray to your Gods boys!” said one older soldier as he fell to his knees while holding his arms up to the sky, his body shaking and his face wet with tears. “I’ve been a shite man, a bad husband, a sinful and cursed person! Just please, Merciful Mother, Beloved Fates, the Holy Robes, and all the saints on high, spare me not the death of our comrades, let it be swift. Let me enter your kingdom quickly, oh holy—”

  “Get the fuck up,” said Romulus. “There might be a way out of this. I just need to think.”

  “You don’t have much time, priest,” said one soldier, noticing the creature finishing his meal, licking the blood off of an exposed ribcage. Myrian grew uncomfortable, her lips beginning to tremble. The creature kept glancing at her. She knew why it was here.

  Romulus noticed that Myrian had been quiet. He looked at her. He was surprised she hadn’t bolted away with the horse. She sensed something that Romulus didn’t.

  “What, Myrian?”

  She remained silent, a tear rolling down her cheek.

  “Myrian,” repeated Romulus.

  “Jakob, my love, he’s gone.”

  “Don’t look into the bastard’s eyes directly or you’ll end up the same way.”

  She began to sob uncontrollably.

  “Romulus, my dear Romulus, I—I know why the wraith is still here.”

  “What?”

  “It’s me! I should have known!”

  “Myrian, what are you saying?”

  “The Temple, Romulus, the Temple!” exclaimed Myrian in between sobs. “I was a fool, Romulus, such a fool!”

  “Myrian, stop, breathe,” said Romulus. Myrian got off of her horse and embraced Romulus, crying into his shoulder.   “Myrian, stop, we’re not but fifty yards from a hungry wraith.”

  “Romulus, I’m the new victim—that's why this beastly thing won't stop looking at me, grinning at me” exclaimed Myrian, the soldiers staring at her confused. “The Temple taught us years ago, and I remember now, that tampering with the remains of a restful soul can endanger the necromancer herself—it can make—”

  “Make her the new subject of its vengeance,” interrupted Romulus. “I see. Shit, Myrian. Disturbing the bones of a corpse at rest, cursing them to rise from their eternal slumber, no wonder why it wants to kill you.”

  “Kill her?!” Shouted one of the soldiers.

  “What? No!” replied Romulus. “What don’t you understand? We have a chance to get rid of this thing. Myrian, I’ll need to perform the ritual with you. I’ll bleed you out in the lake and then—”

  “Bladed one!” shouted a soldier.

  A sudden flash of the creature, the guttural cry of the horse, and the squelching sounds of eviscerated flesh. The wraith had tackled the horse at an incredible speed, its jaws tearing out the horse’s esophagus. Romulus unsheathed his blade and quietly sang a line from some ancient hymn. The chain in his hand began to vibrate. Tendrils of arcane energy wrapped around his hand, ascending up the metal of his blade. Romulus’ sword suddenly produced a radiant, white light, silvery tongues of fire lining its edges. He flourished his blade, readying his stance. Digging his heels into the sand beneath him, Romulus taunted the creature, pointing his sword towards him.

  “Come here! Kill me!” Romulus exclaimed.

  The creature looked away from the horse and towards Romulus. It walked slowly away from the horse carcass, its eyes glowing intensely yellow. The soldiers all held their swords out in front of them, their hands shaking. The creature’s forked tongue slithered out between two if its dagger-like teeth. It opened its jaws wide, a bloodied mess of stringy saliva dripping from its black lips. It let out an awful echoing roar and began to run towards Romulus. It wasn’t afraid of the blade’s holy flames. It was stronger than before, thought Romulus, much stronger.

  “Don’t look into its eyes!” Shouted Romulus to the soldiers as he prepared himself for combat.

The creature leapt with incredible height above Romulus’ head. The soldiers all cowered, one dropping his blade. Romulus slashed his blade above him, wounding the creature’s abdomen. A spatter of dark blood rained down onto Romulus’ head. Myrian screamed. Romulus turned around and saw the creature slashing its claws at her. She conjured a wall of arcane energy to deflect the blows, blue sparks ricocheting off of its surface with every slash of the creature’s talons.

  Romulus ran to the distracted creature and, in a dramatic spin, thrusted his fiery blade into the back of its thigh. The sword hissed as it burnt its flesh, the flames singing away some of the dry and decaying skin hanging from it. In a sudden sweeping motion, the creature threw its body around to face Romulus. Myrian began preparing some spell, a series of long white needles hovering above her fingers.

  “Myrian, no!” Shouted Romulus, as he eyed the growling creature. “Get to the lake! Bleed yourself into it. That’s the only way we can defeat—”

  The creature leapt at Romulus with unnatural speed. Romulus parried one slash of its claws, and nearly dodged a second slash. His talons were overgrown, the size of short swords. They made him inaccurate, thought Romulus, his claws were heavy—each slash slightly put the creature off balance, the weight of each talon causing him to stagger. He would take advantage of this. Romulus fought defensively, barely attacking, waiting for the creature to make the first move. The creature began to strike more frequently and more aggressively. Then, with one giant strike of his claws the creature lost balance, its body falling sideways onto the sand. He was prone for just a second, but Romulus reacted unflinchingly, spinning his sword in the air and striking downwards at the wraith’s face. The blow didn’t land perfectly but it left a deep wound across its face, both of his eyes slashed through cleanly. The glowing yellow eyes faded as streams of blood began to flow from them. The creature wailed, throwing its body back and forth in spasms of pain. He violently writhed on the sand, dazed and confused.

  Romulus walked towards the creature, ready to remove one of its legs. He needed to incapacitate it so he could conduct the ritual with Myrian without disturbance. He grabbed hold of one of the creature’s hulking hind legs and held it still as he brought his blade above his head. Then, in one sudden motion, the creature lunged towards Romulus and grabbed his torso with its jaws. Romulus let out a gasp and grunted in pain. The wraith had wounded him gravely, a few of his fangs deeply embedded into Romulus’ side. He could feel the teeth knocking against his ribcage as the creature gnawed on his torso. Romulus began to taste blood in his mouth. In a panic he thrust his sword through the creature’s shoulder muscle. A streak of velvet wetted the sand and the wraith shrieked, letting go of Romulus. Falling to his knees, Romulus saw Myrian in the distance, her body floating on the surface of the lake, a fog of dark red emanating from her. She was doing it, thought Romulus, she was doing the ritual. He needed to stay alive to save her. He needed to bless the water.

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  The creature, still squealing from its wounded shoulder, began to refocus itself on Romulus. Romulus slowly got back to his feet and began limping to the water’s edge, his breathing becoming shallow—he could feel the tingling sensation of shock overtaking him. He looked down at his left side. He was grasping it tightly with his hand, but the puncture wounds were too big. Warm blood flowed copiously down his armor. He held his mithril chain tight against his chest and spoke a few ancient words to himself. A soothing heat came over him. Romulus was no healer but he was capable of at least slowing blood loss, temporarily stalling an infection, or hindering the effects of poison—helping one to prolong whatever spare moments he has before death obliviates him. It wasn’t a cure but, if anything, it would afford him enough time to perform the ritual.

  The creature attempted to leap again at Romulus but it was interrupted. A biting pain shot through its back heel. It turned around quickly and found the three soldiers hacking away at its hind leg.

  “Fucking Inferno!” shouted one soldier. “Swing harder boys!”

  The wraith began to swipe its claws at one of the soldiers, but a blade cut deep into his ankle, separating a large portion of his clawed foot from its leg. The wraith howled.

  Romulus swam out to Myrian. She was nearly unconscious and struggling to stay afloat. Her eyes flickered as she saw Romulus embrace her. He held her in the nook of one arm, swimming with the other. As he swam towards the lake’s edge he noticed her wrists were slit deep, blood flowing generously into the water.

  “Fuck,” muttered Romulus, realizing how much blood she lost. He managed to lay her down on a scattering of rocks at the edge of the lake. Her trembling lips were blue and her eyes continued to flicker—she was hectically fading in and out of consciousness. In her dazed condition, Myrian was able to make out a hazy series of images: Romulus hastily bandaging her wrists, the brilliant streams of moonlight above the tops of distant pines, the orange glow of fireflies blinking among the lake’s reeds. She prepared herself for death, her mind slipping away, the world folding in on itself, the sky appearing to drift downwards, and her body becoming progressively colder. Her vision began to fade.

  “Myrian!” Shouted Romulus, noticing her eyes rolling backwards and her breathing turning into prolonged exhales.   “No, shit, no—Myrian, no.”

  Romulus held his mithril chain against her chest and, with a few esoteric words, her veins began to glow a deep red through her pale skin. A soothing heat came over her body and the bleeding was stabilized. She was cold though and Romulus feared the worst. In the distance the creature could be seen struggling on the sand. It had killed one of the soldiers and was now wildly swiping its claws at the others but missing nearly every time. The blinded eyes had severely crippled it. It was time, thought Romulus, time to end this aberration.

  Kneeling at the water’s edge, Romulus dangled his mithril chain into the rolling tide. He knew, if successful, what he was about to do would mortalize the creature, would bathe its flesh in baptismal waters—the wraith would become furious and incredibly violent. With a deep exhale he closed his eyes, focusing on the water, its sound, its meditative ambiance. His eyes moved rapidly, his mind raced, he could feel an arcane energy beginning to summon itself through his body—a thrumming vibration coursed through his flesh.

  “Of blood and water, velvet and silver, this pool now is made.

  The powers of the Ether come forth by the moon’s white gaze.

  Let this lake carry the essence of the one who bled.

  May such a substance purify the risen dead.”

  A moment passed and Romulus watched carefully. The water did not change. The lake remained as it was.

“Shit,” exclaimed Romulus. He had done this ritual several times before without issue—perhaps it was the exhaustion, perhaps his mind was too unfocused. Then, a flash of bright blue shone across the surface of the lake, crawling from one end to the other in an instant. An ethereal sparkling mist hung a few feet above its surface. He could smell the familiar scent of the Ether’s activity—like old charcoal and wet stone.

  The wraith suddenly disengaged the soldiers, its wounded eyes now glowing a soft blue. In a hypnotic manner it carried itself, limping and bleeding, into the water. Romulus watched as the creature’s flesh slowly singed as it bathed in the lake, a thin smoke emanating from its burnt skin. The creature squealed yet, compelled by its attraction to the lake’s pure essence of Myrian’s flesh, it waded further into the water. Romulus drew his blade, its metal ringing. He walked out into the water and stopped once knee-deep. The creature was no more than forty feet from him. Its body began to twitch in pain. The wraith noticed Romulus and began snarling—it was intelligent, thought Romulus, much more intelligent than previous wraiths he had fought. It sensed that it was now mortal, that it could be killed. The creature began to enter a blood lust, its massive veins tensed, its muscles spontaneously flexing. Letting out a deep roar, the creature’s full set of pointed teeth were visible, glinting in the moonlight.

  Romulus was exhausted. He still felt the pain in his side and, glancing down at his torso, saw how deep the bite marks really were—his armor punctured with massive holes, a few pieces of flesh hanging out of them. He knew he couldn’t fight this wraith head-on. The encounter would have to be less calculated than others. Look for opportunity, he thought, hope for lucky changes in positioning, find the openings, the vulnerable spots.

  The wraith thrashed through the waters towards Romulus, shrieking as it did so. The water continued to singe its flesh with every movement. Romulus held his blade partially beneath the water and readied a wide stance. He remained still, clenching his teeth, as the wraith ran towards him. It lunged at him with its talons, but Romulus reacted quickly, swiping his sword up from beneath the lake, trailing a long tendril of water directly into its face and mouth. The wraith shrieked again and flailed its limbs in the air. It stumbled and fell partially beneath the water, but quickly got back on its feet. It looked at Romulus menacingly. It was revolting—the decaying flesh, the contorted face of a child, the hanging forked tongue, and the various bruises and burns from the water, were absolutely nightmarish.

  “Come, fight me you ungodly piece of shit!” shouted Romulus, adrenaline now pumping through him, his body numb, his mind immersed solely in the battle at hand. The creature swiped twice at him, Romulus parried, but couldn’t counter the second. The creature’s claws left their mark across his armor. He could feel a deep wound on his shoulder, it ached and tensed with sharp pain when he moved. The creature began snapping at him with its jaws. Romulus dodged each attempt until the wraith pawed at him, pinning him down underneath the water’s surface. The creature’s face growled at him. He could see it bare its teeth from beneath the water, its horrible visage distorted by the refraction of the lake’s surface. The wraith shoved its face into Romulus’ wounded side and began to tear at it. Still pinned underneath the water, Romulus let out a deep cry, a burst of bubbles escaping him. It was the end, he thought, a fitting one. A priest sworn to defend the world from the unholy monsters, the aberrations, the living dead—to be devoured by one of these ungodly beings was, in the end, a natural yet poetic consequence of his profession.

  The wraith continued to tear at his side. He could hear the muffled sounds of chewing through the water—it was eating him. In one last attempt to seal his fate with some grandeur, Romulus held his blade tightly and, in a rapid motion, aggressively stabbed through the creature’s neck and throat, the onyx blade jutting out from the other side. Romulus grunted, a few bubbles escaping his mouth. The beast, in an awful cry, began to wobble, its legs becoming weak. The cry transformed into a wheeze and then, in its final breaths, a small child’s voice—a shrill yet delicate voice of a young boy. The wraith fell, collapsing into the water next to Romulus. Its blood, mingled with Romulus’, fogged the lake with a deep red.

  Romulus could hardly move. He remained beneath the water, watching the mesmerizing moon above him sway with the motion of the lake’s surface. He saw stars glinting in the black expanse. He felt cold yet peaceful. His vision began to leave him, patches of darkness invading his sight. More bubbles left his mouth. Romulus’ mind began to drift backwards. He could see flashes of his brother, flashes of the throne, of his training at the Temple, his mother, his father, Myrian. Then, he slipped into the coldness, the darkness, preparing himself for the beyond, be it paradise or oblivion. He drifted into this state for what seemed like hours. It was dark, completely pitch black, and freezing—but, suddenly, everything became oddly warm. He saw the red of his eyelids glowing like the dance of some fire’s flames. He heard a voice and felt something on his cheek.