Fiendhunter

**"No, no, my esteemed guest. Protocol precedes audience."** The chamberlain's smile held frost. **"Even Duvellian vermin bow here."** 

Bai Lang's nostrils flared at the jab—proof of how thoroughly neighboring realms demonized the northern kingdom. His mind conjured mutant pyres in distant squares, silver swords melting in bigot flames. 

**"Observe the sovereign's salute."** The steward retreated his left leg, right arm arcing like a heron's wing. Bai Lang mirrored the gesture with mechanical precision, his bow executed with the grace of a rusted automaton. 

**"Adequate,"** the chamberlain conceded. **"His Magnanimity tolerates... rustic charm."** 

Through an arterial network of corridors they proceeded, halberdiers thickening like clotting blood. The throne room unveiled itself in a cataract of stained glass—Vistandyn's rheumy eyes lifting from parchment seas. 

**"Mutant of Poviss."** The king's voice cracked like ancient vellum. **"You comprehend the gravity requested?"** 

Bai Lang's gaze snagged on the portrait behind the throne—a maiden crowned with frost-blonde braids, now caged in raven-guarded spires. **"Contractors always guess the quarry before seeing fangs."** 

Vistandyn's steepled fingers trembled. **"My daughter's flesh... it sloughs like autumn leaves. The casket barely contains her hunger."** 

**"Hemomancy leaves traces,"** Bai Lang countered. **"I require the witch's brew—vampire spleen, strigoi marrow."** 

The goblet shattered against marble. **"Charlatans spoke similar pretty lies! Their hex-unguent failed as your kindred fled!"** 

**"Your Ravenscroft ancestors,"** Bai Lang pressed, **"did they traffic with Nosferat?"** 

Silence pooled thick as embalming unguent. 

**"The sanguine curse..."** The king's whisper rustled dead leaves. **"...manifests at moon zenith. Seven guards drained this past month."** 

Bai Lang's medallion hummed—not at the confession, but the portrait's shifting eyes. **"Your bloodline's rot runs deeper than cursed princesses."** 

Halberds crossed as the mutant turned. **"I'll need access to your ancestor crypts. And the name of whichever court mage suggested that..."** His nod toward the raven-swarmed towers spoke volumes. **"...particular containment method."** 

Vistandyn's parchment face crumpled. **"You presume—"** 

**"—that dead kings make poor liars?"** Bai Lang's smile cut colder than his silver blade. **"The stench of necromancy clings to your House like grave mold."** 

Dawn's first light fractured through leaded glass as carrion-feathered sentinels took flight—sixteen shrieks weaving a king's requiem.