Silenos allowed a curse to escape him. Vigour was remaining as stubborn a subject as ever, and the new Knight-flesh he’d seized in his conquest of Ironbane was proving no exception.

It was a remarkably tedious exercise, trying to manipulate it. Silenos had no inherent power to do so, no more than before, and even his ability to reshape the body holding it was resisted by the same power that left it so resilient against all other harm. He could see it, at least, but that was of limited use. Better to fumble blindly and have the power to touch it than clearly perceive a substance that was denied to his influence, surely.

He leaned back in his chair, considering the problem. There were only so many avenues to approach it, but Silenos had to admit he’d been rather monomaniacal so far. Insisting on learning to master the magic himself and twist it to his own ends directly. Perhaps that was possible, perhaps not. There were certainly powers not within the abilities of a standard caster, he knew that much and had done for years. Were there not, House Shaiagrazni would never have become masters of summoning and dealing with Entities.

Silenos considered the problem from a purely pragmatic standpoint, focusing exclusively on his desired end.

It was not, he realised, entirely necessary to directly alter the Vigour. Not…Not for sure. Vigour could, after all, change its own shape. People’s bodies could grow and change without simply diffusing the amount of magical strength they held in them- a teenaged boy with Vigour did not somehow leave it less concentrated in their flesh by reaching adulthood. So perhaps the solution was not solely in reshaping more tissue to create his works.

After a few moments to gather his thoughts and plan, Silenos began working on a new construct. This one was made of simple, mundane tissue, for he had no need of any supernatural prowess within it.

Silenos made it wide, tall. Large enough to fit a body, then larger still, and he began the careful process of leaving it fertile. He shaped proteins and worked them together, producing a nourishing fluid and slowly filling the cavity within his creation, then moved across his laboratory and withdrew a sample of particularly potent Vigour-infused tissue. Just a small amount, but large enough. He left it within the centre of the fluid, and worked it further still.

He keyed it to recognise the structure of the tissue sample suspended amid it, then altered the organoids at the interior of the sack to slowly produce and diffuse yet more cellularly-identical biomass to match it. Finally altering the tissue itself, Silenos made it into a growing thing.

A slowly growing thing, of course. He was not Fleshcrafting more of this tissue- he couldn’t do that while leaving the additional matter imbued with Vigour. This experiment was to see whether he could induce a state of growth within the stuff itself, using all the natural processes which turned an embryo into a foetus, into an infant. There would be no small time spent waiting before he saw any results, even if those results were a disappointment.

But that was research, there was a reason that the oldest of his Household held so much more power and knowledge than the younger ones. A reason why Silenos himself was under half the age of most of his peers.

A knock shook his door, and snatched Silenos’ thoughts back to the present. He stood, turning to it and calling out.

“Enter.” There was nothing particularly sensitive and in need of guarding on display, nothing that the savages of the New World could hope to comprehend, in any case. His apprentice was the first to enter, behind her Swick. Behind him, the Vampire responsible for killing king Alfonso.

“Master.” Sphera bowed, kneeling before him, eyes appropriately low. “We have done as you commanded and apprehended the Vampire responsible for throwing your city into chaos.”

As redundant as the explanation was, Silenos rather enjoyed hearing it.

“Excellent.” He nodded. “You have both done well, are either of you hurt?”

“Not much.” Swick the Swift grunted, eying Silenos, and his cloak, wearily. Clearly he was not eager to have his body Fleshcrafted, even for the removal of injuries.

“Then I shall begin the interrogation.”

Silenos turned, now, to the Vampire. He had hoped for some measure of fear in its face, but saw none. The undead remained defiant as ever, cold flesh untwitching, eyes hard and defiant. Were they immune to the sensation of pain? Silenos was rather eager to find out, he would learn a lot from vivisecting such a fascinating specimen, of that much he was certain.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“I’ll be…Heading off, if you don’t mind.” Swick muttered, turning for the door with no scarcity of haste. He’d always been rather squeamish, a curious trait in a pirate but one which brought Silenos no great inconvenience now. The door closed soon, and he was bringing his gaze to full intensity upon the undead.

To his surprise, the creature’s face was aimed down to the floor. As Silenos watched it, he realised its lips were moving softly, hands pressed together, eyes closed. Closed in prayer. He was halfway through a sneer when it struck him that he’d seen it all before. This was the very same prayer, with the exact same gestures, that he’d once observed his Paladin companion perform, kneeling down in the dirt every evening and dawn.

It gave him pause, bizarrely. As if the sight were something substantial, something to be considered for even an instant before moving past.

“Master?” Sphera asked, sounding revoltingly uncertain. It snapped Silenos from his stupor in an instant.

He ignored her, addressing the Vampire.

“That style of prayer.” Silenos began. “It is strange, I have made a study of this land’s religious customs. I’ve not seen that style of gesticulation much, even in the religious.”

The Vampire glanced up at his address, uncertainty no lesser to have been spoken to. Its eyes were pools of hatred, which was a comforting sight at least.

“It’s how people from my city pray.” The creature replied, tightly. “Or did, at least, when I was human.”

“And which city is that?”

The Vampire seemed more confused than anything, answering his question shortly.

“Elkatin.”

Silenos was not surprised to see his suspicions confirmed, merely relieved to finally be able to move past them and onto more important matters.

“I see.”

Elkatin. It had been barely an eyeblink ago, since he’d last set foot there. Not very long at all measured against the span of his fifteen decades. It was curious how suddenly distant the city felt. Silenos turned his focus back to the Vampire, banishing the distraction with a swift jerk of his intellect.

The Vampire was looking at him. That, in and of itself, was curious. Silenos knew there was fear in the creature- a fearless thing did not pray before their torture and vivisection- but it seemed devoid of the emotion’s influence. Almost like those of his Household who had refused to properly purify their brains of primitive emotion, yet transcended them regardless through sheer age.

Those ones, Silenos knew, were always the most trusted. As this Vampire had been. Trusted enough that there might yet be a use for her, one worth pursuing in any case.

“I have changed my mind.” He declared, glancing to Sphera. “Take this one away, imprison it, but do not harm it. Have the deadliest of my grotesqueries guarding it.”

His apprentice blinked, stunned by Silenos’ order.

“I…Beg your pardon?” She asked. Irritation blossomed in him like the mushroom cloud of an atomic genocide.

“Take it away, imprison it but do not harm it.” Silenos repeated. “Have the deadliest of my grotesqueries guarding it. Shall I prepare a second cell to teach you how best to listen when your Master gives you an order?”

Her reaction was near-instantaneous, propelled by that most unrivalled of fuels that was fear.

“Of course not Master.” She shook her head, urgently. “My apologies, you merely took me by surprise, I shall do as you ordered of course. Please forgive me.”

----------------------------------------

Baird had enjoyed their escape far, far too much. Ado was not certain when she’d first noticed it, but when she had, it had become unmissable.

He’d been smirking, as their vehicle took off. Grinning as the attempts at pursuit started, and Ado swore she’d heard him giggle as the flying magi slowly catching up had started to fall back upon finding themselves impaled or dismembered by the impacts of high velocity iron shafts.

The ship had been entirely filled with his ammunition, of course. Dozens upon dozens of metal arrows, each weighing them down by another pound, each proving its worth upon use. Ado wondered, watching the display, just how costly it was for Baird to do his business.

Then she recalled the cost of repairing mangled steel each time a Knight’s armour was tested by weaponry wielded by a warrior equal to its wielder. Compared to that, it suddenly felt rather modest. It was, after all, pig-iron he was shooting. And largely lead-cored at that.

Soon enough they were over the city’s horizon, and their flight back to Ironbane was concluded without much more of note. The Prince Nemo kept mostly to himself for its duration, merely seated and staring absently outwards. His pet Demon, thankfully, was even more isolated. It had reverted itself to a smaller form, an almost innocuous ball of puffy flames that danced and crackled where it levitated a few feet above the ground, never at risk of generating any real heat or burning anything of import.

Ado did not allow herself to be fooled for even an instant. The thing she saw, the thing she would keep seeing at night until the day she died, was still there. Just hidden, as Demons were so fiendishly good at doing. When it saw fit, it would emerge once more. She could only hope to be far away when that happened.

“Your…Leader. What’s he like?”

Blinking, Ado turned and realised that it was Prince Nemo who had spoken, finally breaking his long-held silence. He’d picked a time for it, the city of Ironbane was just within sight, perhaps a few more minutes’ flight away.

She considered the Prince’s question, and quickly decided that it was not one she was best to answer. Particularly, not one she wanted to run the risk of answering. Ado turned, though it deeply disgusted her to do so, towards Baird.

“I believe the Kaltan has known him longer than I.” She replied, diplomatically. Prince Nemo’s eyes followed hers, to where the barbarian was testing the string of his recently-abused weapon. He answered without looking up.

“A bastard.” He replied. “Doesn’t really value people, or their lives. All he cares about is knowledge and power, in that order. He’ll cut you open as soon as speak to you, if he has his way, and every seemingly decent thing he does is out of pure pragmatism.”

If any of that bothered him, he betrayed no hint of it.

“Do you really not care at all about what you do? What you fight for?” Ado challenged him. Baird didn’t even bother looking up.

“‘Course I do.” He replied. “As soon as Shaiagrazni stops fighting the Dark Lord, I’m ditching him and finding other allies that will.”

Their flight continued in a grim silence, after that, and Prince Nemo seemed by far the more disturbed for it. They touched down in Ironbane blessedly quickly.

The city had not changed as much as Ado would have hoped, and much of the differences she saw compared to when she’d left were…Disheartening, to say the least. Rather similar to her own nation, during its final days.

She could only hope Shaiagrazni’s would prove to have a more robust future. The walk to Shaiagrazni, at least, was not a long one. Ado soon found herself moving past guards and steeling nerves as they entered his commandeered castle.

Ado had begun to tell herself she knew the man, perhaps, even, that she could predict him. Despite the perpetual terror that proved innate to his very presence, she found the fear blunted as it came for her this time. That effect did not survive entering his throne room, and finding him standing before a great pit holding several of his slobbering grotesqueries. Suspended above it, bound and tied by the ankles, was a familiar sight.

The twisted, ruined, struggling form of her teacher, Rochtai.

Below him, the grotesqueries leapt eagerly for their feast.