Herald of death

Ethan fights to stay calm through the burning pain rising along his veins. He's accustomed to the pain of poisons, but this is a kind he's never felt before, an agony he didn't become jaded towards. He closes his eyes, forcing his mind to separate from the searing heat flooding his bloodstream.

"Do not focus on the pain; point your will at your corrupted blood," Alaric commands. "See it pure, clear, untouched by plague. See your body fighting off the illness."

Failing to dominate the pain, Ethan visualizes the microscopic war he knows takes place within. White sentinels rage against the intruders in his veins. He imagines the dendritic cells dormant in his tissue catching their prey to rip away their antigens and rush away to the lymphatic system. He forces his mind's eye deeper, picturing his B and T cells recognizing the marks of the invaders. In an instant he wills them to multiply and flood the plague with antibodies and macrophages.

"Your understanding of your body's own mechanisms is indeed a powerful tool," Alaric comments.

Ethan refocuses on the present to see the black veins shrinking but not vanishing. The pain becomes manageable, just in time for the beast to lunge forward.

Ethan visualizes his individual muscles contracting. He puppeteers his own body to rotate his torso away from the attack's path. He summons the Purgatory's right hand and strikes the beast square in the chest, pivoting his entire body, one muscle at a time. His gauntleted fist pierces through the creature, shattering its stone inners.

As the creature descends into sparks, Ethan is dragged back into the endless darkness, Alaric still in front of him. He dims back down to the normal intensity of his ghostly figure; Ethan's sufferings vanish at the same time.

"As you gathered, your mind's eye, your imagination, is the tool you will use to shape souls," Alaric says. "Your soul restores itself at a remarkable pace; for a squire, that is. Have you been using life force?"

"A few times," Ethan answers. He looks down and, like a child trying to use the Force, wills himself to float forward. The hidden water at his feet ripples, and he begins moving at a snail's pace.

Alaric glances in Ethan's direction, silent as he watches him struggle to move himself. After a moment he extends his right hand. An invisible claw grabs Ethan and pulls him forward towards Alaric's hand. "Moving becomes harder the further away you are from your body. You may even be dragged back to it if you lose focus."

"How far can I move my soul from my body?" Ethan asks. "Does it allow me to affect someone or something from afar?"

"Yes." Alaric lowers his hand; an invisible spring yanks Ethan back to his original spot.

A vertigo of unexpected intensity takes over Ethan. His sight shifts between his two selves, compelling him to steady himself in the material world.

"This state is what you'll be aiming for in combat. Half in the material, half in the spiritual. It is required to affect anything other than yourself," Alaric explains.

"I don't think I could fight shifting so fast between worlds," Ethan comments.

"I wouldn't recommend trying until it has become natural to you. At some point of your training, you should be able to peer into both worlds simultaneously."

'Like one eye in, one out? Maybe it is as natural as sniping, but I doubt it.' Ethan ponders. Looking down, he notices that Stormshard has been repaired.

"Do you have some junk in your Inventory you won't miss? Something simple, made of a single material, low in Ether," Alaric requests.

Ethan brings his hand before him and summons a Kobold tooth.

"Good, focus on it until you can feel its soul," Alaric commands.

Ethan fixes his gaze on the dull, yellowed fang in his palm. Something stirs in his mind – a faint, gnawing hunter's hunger, teasing his nose with the imagined taste of meat.

"That's it," Alaric encourages. "Sense how it remembers biting, gnawing, and killing."

Ethan shivers as hunger takes over his stomach, his mouth and hands wet with blood. It grows, wanting him to bite down on an invisible prey. He sees it – the tooth outline – bigger, and sharper than the one in his hand.

"Now," Alaric continues. "Reshape it, just as you reshaped your blood."

Ethan thinks of bacteria crawling on the yellowed tooth, eating the remains of the Kobold's last meal. He imagines them spewing out their acids, decaying the outer layer of the tooth and seeping into its cracks.

"It's a promising start," Alaric comments.

Ethan blinks back to the material world and sees blackened dots on the tooth. "Great, I'll be able to give my opponent a mild toothache," Ethan quips.

"Well, outside the altar I doubt you could even make one's skin itch," Alaric comments. "You'll need to train for a long time before you can reiterate any of this without its help."

"Supposing I master this ability, what could I do?" Ethan asks.

"At the height of my power I turned a man into a hog before his lackeys could draw their swords," Alaric answers. "And, though I lived long, I was only human. Someone like you may one day surpass me."

"Is mind reading something I could learn? And how can I protect myself from it?" Ethan asks. He thinks back to his fight against Kael, pondering if the disgusting man was attacking his soul.

"Yes," Alaric answers. "I can only encourage you to train your soul before fighting him again. He may be using abilities to attack you, but it is quite similar."

"You can see my memories?" Ethan asks.

"Yes," Alaric answers. "Do not worry, I'm not in the habit of sharing squires' secrets."

Ethan rolls his tongue around, hesitating. He closes his eyes and focuses on Maelor's memory of the Etherlight crucible. He imagines it at the bottom of the abyssal keep, before the scarred black stone, as assassins slay the priests.

The memory shatters as Ethan is dragged fully into the void. Pressure rushes downward as if Ethan had been plunged to the depths of a trench.

Alaric growls, "Very few people even know about the keep's existence, and even fewer know of the crucible. Who are you?"

"A dungeon stone brought me there," Ethan deflects.

"Liar!" The word comes with a crashing wave of force tearing Ethan's skin apart like rushing sand. "Only when a place is overrun by monsters can a dungeon stone appear."

"Corrupted Abyss Watchers, that's what took over the keep," Ethan explains through his gritted teeth. "The crucible was carried to the keep so priests could cast a ritual. They were killed by the assassins, but one of them decided to linger by invading my … soul."

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The pressure vanishes. Alaric floats closer, leaning forward to stare into Ethan's eyes. He lingers for an uncomfortable moment before moving back. "I see him; you are telling the truth."

'I tried to lie earlier but couldn't,' Ethan thinks. Could it be something I have to train for, making it possible to disturb his enemies' psych mid-fight?

"He's a powerful one, and he's gaining ground," Alaric comments. "I could rip him out of you, but it would leave lasting, grievous damage."

"That would have been too easy. I raised my Willpower to resist him," Ethan retorts.

"A temporary measure. It stops the symptoms – possession, mood changes, shifting personality, and conflicting memories. The only way to halt the slow dismantling of your soul is to solve the dead's remorse, or at least wholeheartedly try to."

"We came to an agreement some time ago – I'm am to find and ensure the return of the Crucible to the citadel of light," Ethan says. "But I've seen signs it is still worsening."

"You talked to him?" Alaric ponders. "A powerful one indeed. But tell me, what do you know about the murderers who took the Etherlight crucible?"

"Little, I –" Ethan interrupts himself as Alaric extends his palm.

"Listen to me, asking questions as if I were able to solve anything," Alaric says. "In life, I used to rely only on myself to get things done. Even when I had the order obeying my every command, I couldn't let myself rely on someone else. I shouldn't give you false hope; I can't help as a soul."

"You can still tell me everything that would help me find the crucible," Ethan says. A tightness forms in his throat as he apprehends the realm's master interjecting in the conversation.

Alaric melts into smoke to reform, rewound by an instant.

"Like I said before – only a select few know about this artifact," Alaric says. He lifts his head to stare at the endless void. "But you have excellent motivation to do the right thing."

Ethan stays silent, letting Alaric think.

"In death, I vowed to guide those who come to me to the secrets of the soul. I should not burden myself with the world's problems; gods know I burden myself enough in life." Alaric straightens his posture. "Exceed my expectations, and I will help the world one more time."

"How?" Ethan asks, feeling a hint of adrenaline.

Alaric descends until his feet touch invisible ground. The darkness around him morphs, taking on the shape and color of paved stone. In seconds, he turns the surroundings into the busy streets of a medieval fortress city.

High stone walls split rings of dense habitations from the heights of a cliff to a wide harbor surrounding a gulf. A fortress atop the city casts an engulfing shadow, making the surroundings feel cold.

'I haven't felt cold in a while,' Ethan remarks.

"Perhaps you ought to remind your soul of that fact," Alaric comments. He left his incorporeal form to appear as a man wearing a costume similar to Ethan's. He's an older man; grey hair and beard frame a wrinkled face, belying his muscular frame. "It is well fitted. Your tailor must be proud of his work."

"I couldn't say," Ethan answers, thinking of the dozens of such costumes stashed in his lockers. He looks back at Alaric to see him rewind by a second.

"Combat isn't the sole use of your soul," Alaric begins. "When your body is asleep, your soul is freed from many restraints, allowing you to will worlds of your own."

"My dreams haven't been great lately." Ethan scans the scenery. The illusion is indistinguishable from reality. Every human appears unique, and each group discusses varied topics with consistency.

Alaric continues, "Dreams are your own world, hardly accessible to any you do not invite in. It is a place of possibility and privacy. Outside of the altar, you must train to gain absolute control over them."

"I've read of people conditioning themselves to become lucid dreamers; I'll try their techniques."

"Maintaining a journal describing your dreams has been shown to be efficient in that regard." Alaric makes the landscape vanish, returning them to the void. "Will a place of safety, and I will share the Crucible's secrets with you."

Ethan feels a strange heaviness sink into his limbs, as though Alaric's voice carried the weight of a lullaby. He fights to keep a thread of awareness alive, jolting himself out of sleep's embrace. In the darkness of his mind, Ethan gathers scraps of memory from his youth. From it, he summons a forest of endless pine, where snow buries the ground, where silence wraps the world. He remembers the game trails, the predators' dens, and the bird nests. Recalling hours of hunting, Ethan reconstructs his camps and hideouts. He pictures the low, gray sky pressing against the tree line and the bitter wind that steals the warmth off his lungs.

The forest folds around Ethan like a cloak, hiding his form as he sits on a high rock, surrounded by bushes. He breathes in the biting air, feels the familiar crunch of snow beneath his hand, and lets the stillness settle.

Alaric's form shimmers beside him, eyes narrowed as he surveys the lonely scene. "This," Alaric says at last, voice edged with curiosity, "is the sanctuary you choose? A desolate wood, empty of comrades or comfort. My squires have always summoned halls of their brethren, the warmth of their homes, and the protection of watchful eyes. But you call forth the wilderness … alone."

"Well, it was my home for a while. It's how I learned to survive cut off from civilization's amenities." Ethan hesitates, watching the moonlight glint on the frost-coated branches. "Wherever I find myself, I can make it safe. But I never fully relax around people; out here I find a strange, twisted sense of belonging."

"You trust only yourself," Alaric says, nodding. He plucks a bilberry from a bush and flings it in his mouth. "Tasteless. You need to descend to the most minute detail of your dreams to truly control them."

"I'm not sure I remember how they are supposed to taste," Ethan comments. He stops himself from talking, realizing his social restraints weakened. 'Am I getting mentally tired? It feels like it.'

"It doesn't matter; you could make them taste like raspberry sorbet." Alaric raises his hand into the branches of a pine where an apple grows rapidly. He grabs it and shows it to Ethan. "If someone you invited in or, gods forbid, an invader demonstrates great control over your dream, wake up."

"Why?" Ethan asks.

Alaric explains, "Souls are generally considered to be indestructible. You may damage, weaken, morph, or strengthen them, but as long as it latches to a body, it will regenerate. However, if you kill someone in their dream, you sever that link and turn their body into an empty husk. It's the same risk as when using life force."

"You could have warned me before coming in," Ethan comments. 'How far can an invader's real body be from their target? Could someone attack me in my sleep?'

"Experience has shown that it is unwise to worry squires before their first success," Alaric retorts. "However, it is extremely hard to kill someone in their dream; you will have to face the full might of anything they can imagine. Those strong enough to invade dreams would rather not; even an untrained man's dream can be a dangerous place."

"Can you trap someone in your own dream?" Ethan asks.

"Yes," Alaric answers. "It's a gamble, but done right, you can deal tremendous damage to their soul."

"About the Crucible," Ethan reminds Alaric.

"I did not forget," Alaric says. "Though it can be used as a tremendous source of light Ether, it is first and foremost … a prison."

"For whom?" Ethan asks. "Don't tell me I have another apocalyptic event to worry about."

"Whoever took it, I can assure you it wasn't to open it," Alaric answers. "No sane, priest-killing cultist would."

"Kind of an oxymoron," Ethan mutters. "According to the priest, the Crucible's Ether vanished with it."

"Well, it cannot have been teleportation, unless these thieves reached magic heights unimaginable in my time."

"I have a strong feeling that the world's populations are generally weaker than before. Something about weakening the monsters by limiting human strength," Ethan says. "Even if they are not mythical mages, they were strategic about it. By grabbing the crucible mid-ritual, they allowed a monster to escape the stone, decimating your order. I'm sure not being hunted by Watchers eased their next moves."

"A demon," Alaric specifies. "To move the Crucible undetected, they can absorb or consume its output. However, it can only be a temporary measure. Storing it requires a space impermeable to Ether; otherwise, it would be detected by the church's Scryers."

"I don't like the sound of that," Ethan comments. "Don't tell me that they have omniscient spies among their ranks."

"You'd need to unleash a tremendous aura for them to pinpoint you. I wouldn't worry about that," Alaric reassures. "Building a vault to contain it requires incommensurable resources – rare materials, a skilled workforce, and a lot of time. They'd need people versed in architecture, enchantments, and magic. I know of only one such place, in the citadel of light."

Ethan thinks for a moment. "That narrows things a lot; rich people hiring lots of skilled contractors cannot be a well-guarded secret. I'll soon be in the capital of the continent containing the keep; maybe I'll find something there."

"I hope you do." Alaric's form begins to dim. "The condensing Ether of the crucible will form light Ether crystals in such a place. Seeking new, opulent sources of these crystals is how it was recovered in my time."

"I guess it's the end of this class," Ethan comments.

"A warning if you care to hear. What I showed you today is the foundation of the confrontations between souls; what any human can achieve with training." Alaric turns around, scanning behind him as figures form from smoke. One Abyss Watcher screams in pain as his eyes burn like embers. Another plunges his sword into the gaps of a comrade's armor, his eyes looking into the void. "Demons, or men, will use abilities that can tear your soul apart. But no ability I know of will affect your soul as long as its defenses stay strong."

Ethan is flung back into the material world. The restraints that hindered his movements are gone, but he finds himself sweating, his breathing unsteady.

"Adding the Spirituality skill. Based on your previous experience, a level of 1 has been applied."