The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 29: Intrigue

“The Final Gates are the greatest and final gift of Saint Mira. They enforce balance upon the world. Limiting the harm the Fell Gods can inflict at the cost of trammeling the Pantheon. A price the Saint and the Pantheon deemed worthy. Good requires only a little push to succeed. By contrast, Evil needs much to triumph.” - Writings of Saint Samos the Scale-keeper.

Natalie lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. Sitting next to her was a collection of objects. The book on Vindabon’s history, a now empty beaker of pig’s blood, and her amulet. Taking the beaker, Natalie let out a disgusted sigh and set it on the night table. After everything that had happened, she needed something to blunt her hunger. The Temple kept several pigs for medical use, and they’d been willing to let Natalie feed from them.

Looking at the book, Natalie marked her page and set it next to the beaker. She’d just finished reading a section on the city's squabbling aristocracies. Nothing had stuck out in a way that said ‘possible ritual killers.’ Just a lot of petty people with too much wealth and power to waste.

For maybe the seventh time, she glanced at the apartment door. Hoping Cole would step through it. Stretching out on the bed, Natalie let out an annoyed sigh. She hated the idea of waiting around like this. Playing this role of ‘fair maid in the fell mansion’ went against her instincts. Both natural and unnatural. Natalie, the human, rejected being left behind and protected. Natalie, the vampire, wanted to be out hunting her enemies and securing her territory. Looking at the door for the eighth time, Natalie groaned and rubbed her face. This was getting ridiculous.

Rolling onto her stomach, Natalie let her face rest in the feather pillows. One of the unexpected perks of vampirism was the ability to lay like this without fear of suffocation. Resisting the urge to complete her full juvenile pattern and scream into the pillow, Natalie sat back on her haunches. Lazing about in bed was an old habit from whenever she was stressed. Bitterly, Natalie thought on the irony of her two coping mechanisms being diametrically opposed. Either throwing herself into some project or flopping about like an overfed cat.

Letting her eyes rest on the yew amulet, Natalie licked her fangs nervously. She was procrastinating, and she knew it. The longer she put this off, the worst it would be. Still, the idea of speaking with Isabelle was about as appealing as slathering herself in honey and napping in a Direbear den. Frowning, Natalie realized she’d probably survive such an act of stupidity now. Shaking that distracting thought away, Natalie forced herself to grab the amulet.

Settling herself under the covers, ignoring the numbing cold in her right hand, Natalie prepared to sleep. Clutching the amulet to her breast, Natalie felt a wave of cold ripple over her. Exhaustion pressed her into the bed, and Natalie briefly wondered if this was what freezing to death was like. Before the full weight of that ominous thought could sink in, Natalie entered torpor.

Natalie expected to wake in her field of red lilies or Isabelle’s bloody lake. She did not expect the burning castle and the terrible screams. Surprised and scared, Natalie looked around, trying to ground herself.

She stood in the courtyard of a breached citadel. A little past its battered down gates and in the Castle’s arming yard. Dead bodies littered the ground; most were rotten or skeletal. From how they lay, Natalie knew these weren't old corpses but freshly slain Undead. Looking towards the citadel, Natalie was shocked by its beauty. Even engulfed in flames, the structure was a marvel.

Tall with magnificent towers surrounding a central citadel, the Castle was stepped, each floor slightly smaller than the one below it. Creating garden terraces decorated with statues and plants. Statues now shattered, and plants now burning. Above the terraced floors was a great clerestory that once held stained glass windows. Shards of which Natalie realized, decorated the courtyard around her.

Terrible screams pulled Natalie from her reverie. Moving towards the Castle’s main door, she found a small crowd of armored warriors. All watching a horrific sight. A woman had been impaled, a sharpened log driven through her. Caught on the wood like a rabbit on a spit, the woman was burning. A pyre built around her blazed with infernal heat. Disgusted and horrified, Natalie looked away from the brutal scene.

Just to see a familiar form lying on the ground near the pyre. Stripped bare and covered in ash and blood was Cole. Even lacking most of his scars, Natalie recognized her lover. Standing above him was a huge knight in red armor. One sabaton-clad foot crushed Cole’s right arm while the knight’s sword point was stuck in Cole’s mouth. The Homunculus thrashed and screamed, trying to pull free. Natalie saw where the sword tore at Cole’s cheek, cutting him from his lip to his jaw. Creating a scar Natalie sometimes traced while he slept.

The screams of the impaled woman reached new terrible heights as the flames grew and grew. Natalie wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t. The sight of the burning Vampire and her tortured creation would not let her look away. She was witnessing the event that defined Cole and Isabelle. Hiding from that felt wrong.

The fire started to swallow the impaled Vampire. Her regenerating flesh failed under the flame, showing the bones beneath. Watching the cremation of a living corpse, Natalie frowned as she noticed something odd about the fire. Its tongues danced and whirled slowly like they were moving through water, not air. Looking around, Natalie saw the effect was universal. Ash floated down sluggishly, and Cole’s struggles became a slow pantomime.

The world slowly froze, leaving Natalie alone in a gruesome tableau. Stepping forward towards the pyre, Natalie felt a tingle of worry move up her spine. Glancing towards the knights watching Isabelle’s death, her eyes were drawn to one at the lead. Handsome with long hair and a thick mustache was a Vampire completely lacking in pigment. Only his eyes shone with color, a red somehow richer than blood itself. The lead Vampire’s armor was incredibly ornate, with images of whirling bats and dragons engraved on it. By contrast, a simple sword sat at the Vampire’s waist. It lacked a proper crossguard, and its grip was worn leather.

Natalie focused on all these details because they protected her from properly viewing the man. Something dark and powerful radiated off the Vampire. Even in this piece of a memory Natalie could sense the Vampire’s presence in the Aether. While she tried to focus on his physical body, her power felt the truth of him. Within that armored form was an ocean of oily shadows and bloody cruelty. A leviathan of malice peering into the world through blood-red eyes.

The closest frame of reference Natalie had was the Alukah, but that didn’t match exactly. There was a… rigid intensity to this monster. Something Natalie couldn’t put into words. As she considered stepping toward the Vampire Lord, a voice from behind Natalie whispered. “He’s even worse in person.”

Whirling, Natalie found Isabelle standing there. The Countess looked worn, her flesh palid and corpse-like. Her eyes didn’t blink as they stared at the Vampire Lord. “That is Drakovich, the so-called Archduke of the ‘Red Empire’ as he privately calls the Duchies.”

Finally pulling her unblinking eyes from the Monster of Monsters, Isabelle let them fall to the ground between her and Natalie. “I spend much of my time here in these memories. Either a witness or participant in my murder.”

Looking to where Cole lay, frozen in pointless struggle. Isabelle whispered, “seeing him hurts almost as much as the flames. I think he’d died six times that night. Defending me during the attack and trying to rescue me once it was too late.”

Grief and regret flashed across Isabelle’s waxy face as she looked toNatalie. Swallowing audibly, the older Vampire rasped. “I’m sorry for earlier. If… if you are here to destroy me, let me speak to Cole one last time before you do.”

The regretful tone in Isabelle’s words stunned Natalie. “Uh… no, I’m not here to release you. I’ve convinced the Temple to let me try something else instead.”

Isabelle’s expression snapped to cool neutrality, and words hissed from her. “I will not be sealed away. I won’t be locked in some reliquary. Kill me instead.”

Crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes, Natalie answered. “No, I convinced them I’d help you move on. To surrender your anchor and peacefully move into the Beyond.”

Isabelle’s eyes became red slits, and she bared her fangs. “You… you can’t honestly expect me to-”

Natalie interrupted her. “I don’t know if you can! But that doesn’t matter. What does, is that I bought myself some time and gave you other options.”

Fangs gleamed in the frozen firelight, and Isabelle started to snarl something. Natalie stepped forward and pressed an accusatory finger into Isabelle’s chest. “Stop that! Stop the whole paranoid, unstable monster goatshit. I understand your fear and worry, but it’s not helping anyone! Once I banished you, I got the Temple to come to a compromise. They listened to me and were willing to work with me. That’s what gets things done, not skulking about and acting like a cornered rat!”

Rage grew in the older Vampire’s eyes. Meeting the determination in Natalie’s. The rising swell of wrath crested and then started to fade. Shutting her eyes, Isabelle relaxed slightly. Dead muscle untensed, pale skin loosened, and she whispered.“You may have a point.”

Glancing toward the tortured form of Cole, Natalie said. “We need to talk about this. Can we do it somewhere other than here?”

With a sweeping gesture, Isabelle melted the world. Castle, flames, bodies, and everything else turned into blood. Settling into the crimson lake and its oversized moon. Glancing around, Isabelle seemed surprised. “That was much easier than normal. I can get stuck in those memories very easily.”

Natalie raised out her hands and pulled up memories. She imagined two chairs from the Silly Goat. With a clunk and a splash, the two comfortable wooden seats materialized before her. Natalie let herself relax in the familiar chair. Isabelle raised an eyebrow as she went to the other seat. “You are getting better.”

Shrugging, Natalie let her fingers rub along the carved wood. A gesture she’d repeated a thousand times in another life. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

What might have been a smile crossed Isabelle’s face for a moment. Natalie rubbed the wooden ram’s head capping the armrest as she spoke. “How you acted earlier wasn’t right. You lashed out and acted like a demented monster. Something the Temple is already convinced you are. I want to think you aren’t, but old doubts are resurfacing.”

Scowling like a winter storm, Isabelle asked. “What are you doing, Natalie? Why are you talking to me like I’m some petulant child in need of a spanking?”

Raising an eyebrow, Natalie gestured wildly. “Because it’s either that or treat you like a lunatic. Besides, spanking doesn’t work. I’m trying to communicate with you.”

Seeing the annoyance in Isabelle’s eyes, Natalie continued. “Forging and maintaining relationships requires clear communication. After being turned, I forgot that and acted like an idiot. I’ve relearned that lesson, and it’s paying well. So let’s try and rebuild what you broke today.”

The barest twitch of anger was smothered under Isabelle’s control, and she let out an annoyed breath. “Fine. Thank you for convincing the Temple not to destroy me.”

Shrugging, Natalie explained. “I honestly doubt they could. Doesn’t it seem odd that you’ve survived as this… ghost in a skull all these years? Burning to death and being so close to a Paladin actively using his powers should that have freed you.”

Isabelle frowned slightly. “Even if that’s true, they can still shred my soul. It's well within the power of a Hierophant to rend me like that. Or they could lock me in a reliquary or something similar.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Natalie said. “They are Priests of the Tenth God. Destroying a Soul that can be saved is as bad as Necromancy in their eyes. Besides, Cole and I wouldn’t let them seal you away. The Temple has no love for you, but a Paladin and Stigma bearer do. That offers you protection.”

Natalie could see that sink into Isabelle slightly, opening cracks in the old monster's fear. Pressing forward, Natalie asked. “So why did you react like that earlier? You lashed out and seemed ready to kill someone.”

Shutting her eyes, Isabelle didn’t speak for a long moment. Just when Natalie was about to prod her again, she spoke. “Different bloodlines of Vampires develop… flaws. Different from the larger breed differences like Strigoi, Moroi, or Strix. These are personality defects, or quirks passed down with our blood's power. My line is known for obsession and avarice. Even more so than our fellow Strix.”

Shifting in what Natalie could only some was uncomfortableness, Isabelle explained. “Being stuck in this half-hell of memories has eroded me in some ways. My ability to handle my worse nature isn’t what it once was. So when I thought the Temple was taking away my only chance to survive. That they were taking away my student and… my friend, the Monster won over the Woman.”

It seemed to physically take something from Isabelle to say all this. To admit weakness and even affection was going against instinct and practice centuries in the making. A little stunned by this admission, Natalie took a second to formulate her answer. “Thank you for telling me.”

Isabelle jerked her head in what might have been a nod. They sat silently like that for a little while until Natalie mustered up the courage to ask her next question. “Why are you afraid of moving on?”

A twitch contorted Isabelle’s face for the smallest moment. “Why would I fear losing everything I am? Yes, why on Vardis would I fear that?”

Sarcasm dripped from the last sentence, and Natalie resisted the urge to bite back with her own venom. A decision that was rewarded when Isabelle let out a pointless breath. “Forgive my words. This is not easy. Tell me, Natalie, do you know what happens when a soul enters the Beyond?”

“They are judged and pass either into the Hells or the Heavens. Where they stay until the Gods decide it’s time for them to be reincarnated.” Was Natalie’s answer. Repeating old temple-school lessons.

Isabelle sneered with contempt. “Ah, so typical of the Pantheon. They tell the sheep a nice faerie story. No, the truth is much more complicated. Allow me to illustrate it the best I can.”

With a gesture, Isabelle pulled a sphere of blood from the red lake. The sphere split into two and then pressed against each other. Creating a section where they overlapped and mixed. The higher sphere changed color, turning silver-white. In contrast, the low one became oily black. The area where they mixed was hard to look at. Simultaneously being a mixture of countless colors and shades of grey.

Pointing at the silver sphere, Isabelle explained. “That is the Light. The Pantheon, Seraphs, and the Heavens compose it.” Then, pointing at its oily twin. “That is the Dark. Realm of the Fell Gods, Demons, and the Hells.” Gesturing at the mixed area, she said, “And that is the Grey. Home to the Sidhe, unaligned Spirits, and other things. But they aren’t important for this lesson.”

Now Isabelle manifested a small doll in her hand. It looked like a crude representation of Natalie. The depicted Vampire raised an eyebrow at this creative choice but stayed silent. Holding up the painted doll, Isabelle said. “This is a soul. Now let me demonstrate death.”

She threw the doll into the two spheres. It was sucked into the middle area and bobbed up and down between the Light and the Dark. Natalie watched as the paint and detail were stripped from the figurine. Flakes of paint and splinters floated up into the Light or down into the Dark until nothing of the doll’s appearance remained. Just a crude body of wood without identity or detail.

The doll was spat out and then into Isabelle’s hand. “This is life.” the doll was slowly carved into a new form before Natalie’s eyes. Paint was added to the emerging figurine. Clarifying its new identity. A new woman with features completely unlike Natalie. Isabelle tossed the doll into the spheres, and the whole process repeated.

“That is the cycle of reincarnation.” the old Vampire said as the third doll variation entered her hand. “All that makes a person is fed into the Beyond. The stripped soul spat out once it’s been consumed to be used again.”

Isabelle squeezed the doll then, and it changed. Its hair became white, and its eyes turned red. Painted blood trailed from its mouth and hands. The doll depicted a Vampire soaked in sins. Isabelle tossed the Vampire doll into the model afterlife. When the doll entered the twin spheres this time, it didn’t stay in the Grey. It plummeted into the Dark and stayed there. No worn figurine escaped the Darkness. All was consumed.

Isabelle stared at the sphere of oily shadow for a long moment before saying. “That is damnation. To have a soul so laden with darkness, it is consumed utterly. Anointment isn’t much different, becoming part of the light instead of the dark.”

The spheres splashed into the lake, sending red ripples over Natalie and Isabelle’s feet. Looking at her protegee, Isabelle said. “Now, do you understand why I fear death? I fear the total obliteration of who I am. At best, I’ll be stripped of my identity and recycled into the farce of life. At worse, I’ll be devoured by things made of sin and suffering. Neither fate is something I’m keen to experience.”

Natalie swallowed nervously. Ever since her transformation, her throat had always been a little dry. Now it was practically a desert. Reminding herself that Isabelle was biased against the Pantheon and not above a little truth-twisting. Natalie tried to find words. They did eventually come, but not as easily as they normally would.

“Everything dies eventually, Isabelle. Even if the cycle isn’t… pleasant. Delaying the inevitable by staying in this half-life of yours seems horrid. Wouldn’t… wouldn’t it be better to take the leap than stay locked in memories of your own death?”

An actual smile split the Countess’s face. “Not everything has to die. I proved that, didn’t I?”

In that smile was a hint of maniacal obsession. A flicker of madness different from the rage Natalie was used to. That rage was lunacy born of blood and trauma. While this… this madness was all Isabelle.

Leaning back against the padded headrest of the chair, Natalie let out a sigh. It would be easy to just be rid of Isabelle and be done with it. But more than Cole’s love stopped Natalie’s worse desires. If Natalie could save Isabelle. Either by helping her move on or resurrecting her as a better person. Then maybe if she could save another cursed monster in love with a Paladin…

Cole walked through the Sun Gate, the stunned guard trailing after him. “A Vampire! There is a bloody Vampire out there!”

Nodding, Cole grunted. “Yes, I must get to the Temple and inform people.”

The Guard surprisingly put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “You… you are the Paladin, right? The one who is hunting the Heart-Stealer?”

A little annoyed, Cole nodded, and the Guard released a relieved breath. “Sir Paladin… I hate to ask this, but could you wait a moment? The Sun Gate needs to be closed if a Vampire is nearby. I need three other Guards to help me. Part of the protocol and all. I’d feel much better if you stayed with the Gate until they arrived.”

Exhaling in a tired sigh, Cole agreed. “I will do as you ask.”

The guard, a broad-shouldered man with a spear and leather armor, went over to a nearby watch post and grabbed a whistle. He blew three shrill bursts before returning to Cole. As he put the whistle away, the guard fumbled with his jerkin. He had a hard time finding the pocket. Seeing this, Cole found his eyes drawn to other curious details.

The jerkin was inside-out hence why the guard couldn’t find a pocket. Eyes traveling up, Cole noticed the guard’s tunic was a little tight on him, and its collar was slightly stained. Something the Paladin hadn’t noticed until he was inside the city and in the streetlight’s glow. Cole knew that type of stain; he knew it very well. Freshly dried blood.

Unsheathing Requiem, Cole exploded towards the Guard. Bringing the axe head up to the man’s neck faster than he could react. The broad-shouldered guard tried to pull back, but the bite of Requiem convinced him otherwise. Eyes wide, Broad-shoulders asked. “Sir Paladin! What are you doing!”

In the warm glow of amberlight, Cole saw Broad-shoulders’ tongue. A black splotch covered much of it. A house mark. Cole shot his free hand forward and punched Broad-shoulders in the nose. At the same time, using his right leg to catch the back of his enemy’s calf. Broad-shoulders fell backward, his nose cracking under Cole’s fist and his skull bouncing against the cobblestones.

No sooner was the ‘guard’ down than Cole heard a whistling noise from behind him. He spun just in time for a bolt of fire to slam into his chest. The armor held but barely. Cole winced in pain as the metal in the jack heated up, and the leather burned. Ducking down, Cole scooped a handful of dirty snow and pressed it against his chest. The snow sizzled against the leather and cooled the armor. Cole knew he would have burns, but this would keep them minimal.

The whistling noise came again, and Cole dropped to the ground. Just fast enough to see the spear of flame shoot over his head and slam into a nearby wall. Tracing the path of the projectile, Cole saw his attacker. In a nearby alley were three figures. Two charged toward Cole when they realized he’d spotted them. The first was a hulking man with heavy armor and a cruel-looking war hammer. Beside him was a lean woman with a long exotic spear gripped in her hands. Behind them in the alley was the Magi.

A scarred woman in red robes. She held one hand up before her, palm open and thumb splayed. The other hand was pulled back, her stance reminiscent of an archer. Something Cole quickly realized wasn’t a coincidence when a lance of fire materialized between her hands like a cocked arrow. Her pulled-back hand twitched, and the fire arrow loosed. Cole barely dodged again by watching her hands.

Warhammer charged then, holding his weapon up for a brutal downward strike. While Spear circled around, trying to flank Cole. Cutting himself with Requiem, he turned the enchanted weapon into a pole-axe and reached for the new brace of throwing knives he’d acquired. They were practically useless against the undead, living targets, however…

Old muscle memories came alight as he hurled a knife toward Arrow. It was a sloppy throw, but it did its job. The Magi changed her stance and summoned a force barrier to deflect the projectile. Giving Cole a few moments free from potential spells and time to face the two warriors.

Spear came in low, trying to put her blade into Cole’s ribs. He batted her lighter polearm aside with Requiem and moved to intercept the charging Warhammer. The large warrior was wearing proper armor and nearly matched Cole in size. But he wasn’t as fast as the Paladin. Enhanced strength didn’t completely translate into speed, but it still let Cole get close to Warhammer. Bringing Requiem’s spiked head to the side of his knee.

The armor-piercing spike of the pole-axe did as it was meant to and punched through the steel poleyn knee armor and into the joint. To Cole’s shock, the crippling blow didn’t faze Warhammer. He kept moving forward, his weapon coming for Cole’s skull. Frantically, Cole pulled back, ripping Reqiuem right through Warhammer’s knee and falling to his back. Barely rolling out of the hammer’s arc. Cole got to his feet just to see the strike shatter cobblestones and spray pebbles everywhere.

Arrow struck then, launching a barrage of fire at Cole. Spinning, the Paladin pulled his cloak up to take the firebolts. The projectiles lacked any real mass and burst against the fabric, burning fist-sized holes in it. Cursing in frustration, Cole barely noticed Spear come from behind before she put her weapon into his left calf.

The blow drove Cole to the ground. Pain and horrible realization filled him. These three were professional killers. Two Paragons and a Fire Magi. Alongside the false guard, they’d been a trap waiting for him. Looking up, Cole saw Warhammer approaching him, weapon held up in a killing blow. Reaching towards one of his pockets, Cole almost wanted to smile. The gold coin he’d gotten from Antony sat in his bandolier. He’d taken it with him in hopes of luring another pursuer. He hadn’t expected the gambit to be this successful.

As the war hammer came for Cole’s skull, he mentally apologized to Natalie. He might be a little late getting back to her.

*CRUNCH*

Cole had never experienced a hangover. He didn’t like to drink, and his body processed toxins too efficiently for him to ever get properly drunk. Sure, he could probably manage to get drunk with some brutal liquor and effort, but he’d never wanted to. So Cole could only imagine what the legendary pounding headache of a hangover was like. He could, however, guess the after-effects of having your head smashed in with a hammer were similar enough.

Doing everything in his power not to wince or groan in pain. Cole slowly opened his eyes. Darkness greeted him, and some experimental movements revealed he was trapped inside something. Letting his fingers examine his prison, he realized it was a burlap sack. Cole counted himself lucky; his killers hadn’t buried him yet. Digging yourself out of a shallow grave was a truly miserable experience.

As the headache started to recede, Cole heard voices nearby. A gruff zentland accent complaining a room away. “Pah! It’ll take a week for my knee to heal properly. Crafty bastard ruined my Poleyn.”

Another voice, this one thickly accented and feminine, replied. “I’m not impressed. The client said he was a Paladin. I know we ambushed him after some sort of fight, but I expected more.”

A third voice, female and brisk, said. “Did you see the number of scars on him? I’m surprised he could move, let alone fight. I think our Paladin was getting close to being put out to pasture. Honestly, it was better we killed him quick rather than letting a monster eat him.”

The gruff voice, which Cole guessed was Warhammer, remarked. “Don’t matter much. He’s dead; once the client’s toady confirms the body, we can get our coin and leave.”

Slowly, carefully, Cole checked his weapons. Reqieum was missing, so were his throwing knives and bandolier. But his spare knife was still in place. He’d lost the hunting knife but not the short blade in his boot. Unsheathing it, Cole slowly slit the burlap sack. Poking his head out, he tried to figure out his location.

He was in a warehouse, laying between some crates. Hidden out of view to prevent accidental discovery. While also giving him a little privacy and cover. Slipping out of the sack, Cole let his eyes adjust to the dark and took a deep breath. The smell of dried blood came first. Followed by freshly dyed fabric, sweat, and steel. Looking around his little alcove, Cole found his bandolier nearby alongside his cloak and, surprisingly, the spark-stone. They’d taken his weapons, probably to sell, but left everything else with him.

Slipping the bandolier on and refastening the spark-stone to his hand. Cole reached to his neck and was glad to find his amulet still there. Taking a dead man's religious paraphernalia was apparently too far even for these mercenaries. Getting up into a crouch, Cole peaked over the boxes he was hidden behind. Near the warehouse entrance, past rows of empty shelves were a table and chairs. A lantern sat on it, illuminating his killers. Rolling his neck, Cole let out a slow breath. It had been a long time since he’d killed using stealth and shadows.

Skulking out from his resting space, Cole crept over to an empty shelving unit. Cutting his finger, Cole daubed a crude sigil on the wooden rack. In an inaudible whisper, he cast his spell. “A call upon force to set matters onto a proper course.”

The scrape of a chair pulled Cole from his finished spell towards his target. Arrow was standing up, scanning the warehouse. “Magic, I just sensed magic.” she hissed.

Cole winced in annoyance. He’d underestimated her aetheric senses. Maybe he wasn’t fully recovered from his braining. Still, he might be able to use this to his advantage. Slipping away from the marked shelf stack, Cole watched as Arrow started to walk toward where he’d left the spell.

Warhammer got up as well. “You think he had something enchanted on him we missed? I told you that rock looked funny. “

Arrow shrugged. “Maybe, but that ‘rock’ is a Dwarven luck charm. Not exactly magical.”

As they approached where he’d been, Cole thanked Master Time the Magi couldn’t read Dwerick. When they got close to the shelf, Cole made a gesture and released a spell. The force of a solid kick slammed into blood-marked wood and splintered the old shelves. Arrow and Warhammer’s attention pulled towards the boxes, and debris crashing around them. Charging towards the lantern and the sitting Spear, Cole held his knife at the ready. To her credit, Spear saw him coming and sprang to her feet. But the sight of a dead man charging forward with murder in his eyes was enough to make her hesitate.

Cole’s knife entered her throat and tickled her spine. She died trying to understand what she was seeing. Looking away from the dying woman Cole glanced at the table and was glad to see Reqiuem sitting there in its pole-axe form. Leaving his knife in Spear, just to make sure she died. Cole picked up his favored weapon and doused the lantern. Casting the warehouse into near-darkness. The sun was up, but there weren’t any windows in the structure. Only the door frame and Arrows frantically summoned fire provided any light.

Resisting the urge to smile, Cole shut his eyes and moved forward. His newly empowered sense of smell guided him through the dark while his eyes adapted to it. In contrast, Arrow's magical torch would ruin her and Warhammer’s night vision. Slipping through the shadows, ignoring the panicked shouts from the two surviving mercenaries. Cole let his eyes open enough to check their position. Warhammer was facing where Spear had died, calling out what Cole thought was her name.

“Pouri? Pouri! What’s happening.”

The shouts covered any noise Cole was making as he slipped around behind Warhammer. Exploding from the shadows, Cole brought Reqiuem down on Warhammer’s skull. Repaying his earlier death. Enhanced as the Paragon’s bones were, they didn’t stop the dwarven steel from killing him. As the mercenary died, Cole pulled his pole-axe free and lunged for Arrow.

She whirled on him and froze in shock. Giving Cole the opportunity to swing Reqiuem for her fire-cloaked hand. The magic flames she’d been using to see didn’t stop his weapon. Flesh split, and fingers went flying. A blood-curdling scream escaped Arrow as Cole grabbed her other hand and bent behind her. Taking the time to break a few of her hand bones in the process. He’d seen how she cast spells. Using pantomime gestures instead of words or other methods. Ruining her hands would stop her from casting normally, and the pain would interfere with any backup methods she had.

Slamming her to the ground and placing Reqeim’s axe into the floorboards next to her head. Cole growled. “I don’t like killing people. I couldn’t risk your colleagues fighting back; I had no guarantees of disabling them. I’m trying to be merciful with you. Please don’t make me revoke that mercy.”

Arrow shrieked, “FUCK YOU!”

Sighing in annoyance, Cole asked. “How long till your employee arrives?”

Seeing the glint of his axe in the near-total dark, Arrow hissed. “Any-any minute.”

Calling up his Aether sight, Cole saw she was telling the truth. Dying had refreshed him, and the power he’d expended fighting Dietrich had returned.

Shivering and twitching as she went into shock, Arrow spat, “What are you? What are you-you fucking Monster!”

Cole didn’t want to kill to keep his secret, but letting a person like this know about him… That was not acceptable. To assuage his conscience he asked. “How many people have you murdered?”

The Aether filled with a mix of confusion, uncertainty, and the stink of death. Nodding, Cole made his choice. While morality was always complicated. Mercenaries who had no idea how many people they’d killed weren’t exactly the type Cole would lose sleep over. Picking up Requiem, Cole killed Arrow before she could realize what was happening. Taking his amulet, Cole prayed over her body and freed the soul trapped within.

Going over to the other two, he repeated this gesture. Then gathered up his equipment. Burned cloak safely on his shoulders, Requiem at his side, Cole sat in one of the chairs and waited among the corpses he’d created.

Ten minutes passed, and Cole heard noise from the door. Getting up, he went to the door and opened it. Finding a short, balding man with a bulbous nose standing on the other side about to knock. Upon seeing Cole, the man’s eyes widened in recognition, which was all the confirmation the Paladin needed. Shooting out a fist, he punched the man in the gut and then knocked him out with a second blow to the head.

Searching the unconscious man, Cole noted his clothes were plain, but he carried a large pouch of silver and gold. The Mercenaries payment. Cole didn’t hesitate to take the coin. Morality was complicated, but stealing the money paid to murder you seemed like justice. Checking the balding man’s mouth, Cole found another house mark. With that, he tossed his newest living clue over one shoulder and left the warehouse.

Looking back at it and the corpses inside. Cole let out a sigh. He’d have much explaining to do when he delivered the balding man to the Guards.