The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 34: Falsehood and Knighthood

“Binding a Demon to a consenting host is on parchment, a much easier task than binding one to a resisting body. In truth, finding anyone willing to share their flesh with Hellkyn is difficult. Even if you do find one, most willing hosts are subsumed by the Demon. Others of particularly strong will or careful binding can dominate and rule the Demon. Becoming something close to a Demonblood. Yet the rarest configuration is where the Demon and host reach a state of equilibrium. These willing hosts are incredibly powerful and provide a groundwork for transcendence.” - Grimoire of Davi Helltongue (Copy saved from an Inquisition pyre.)

“This is a trap; we are walking into a trap like fools,” Dietrich spat, as he and Scapin walked down the halls of DeMello Manor. Scratching the arcane brand placed on his left hand as he did.

Scapin just smiled and nodded. “Of course, it is, which is why we are springing it. Better to know the danger and work around it than stumble blindly.”

Grimacing as he looked around the opulent manor, Dietrich snapped. “The Players will let us capture the girl; once she’s subdued, they will break us with the brand. We are being used as a catspaw.”

Again Scapin smiled and nodded. “Not the optimum outcome but still a serviceable one. Our enemy will be killed or sealed away, removing them from the game. Keeping her from becoming a true threat and perhaps granting new opportunities to retrieve her or the power.”

Slipping on his gauntlets, trying to ignore the itching on his hand, Dietrich grit his teeth. “That is not our goal Scapin; returning her to the Archduke is.”

Scapin shrugged. “Very true, and if I get my way, that will happen, but failure is always possible. I like to plan things, so there is a gold trim even if it all goes to ash. Now let's make our preparations.”

Scapin pulled up his sleeve, and his skin melted into gritty soot. Revealing a hollow in his flesh holding two vials. Dietrich wrinkled his nose at the act but plucked his vial from the ‘pocket’ and downed it in one. A thrum of power pulsed through his body, and Dietrich felt the binding brand melt off his hand. The marked skin and magic faded to ash and a whisper. Bracing himself, Dietrich waited for the brand to reappear elsewhere on his flesh as it would normally. It did not; untensing slightly, he looked to Scapin and gave the barest nod.

They reached the end of the hallway and were announced by a very nervous herald. Arriving into the ballroom with as much flair as Scapin could muster. As hundreds of shocked faces looked up at them, Dietrich sought his rival. He wasn’t hard to find, partially because of his scars and the Alukah’s pull on Dietrich’s blood. Guiding his eyes to where Cole and the tavern girl stood.

Both knights met each other's eyes, red and blue boring into each other. Careful not to show his fangs, Dietrich smiled. If he could return to court with the Alukah and the Homunculus Knight, he’d be elevated to new heights by the Archduke. Maybe Scapin’s brash planning had some merit after all.

Scapin, for his part, bowed to the crowd and swept off his ridiculous hat. “Good people of Vindabon! I come with dire news and important aid. A criminal of the Duchies has hidden among you. She is a traitorous monster who stole an ancient relic and seeks dominion over your city.”

Eyes across the hall swept to Natalie, who recoiled slightly from the attention. Elsewhere a whistle blew, and a quartet of Centaurs appeared at the staircase’s bottom. Greeting Scapin and Dietrich with polished bronze. Dietrich reached for Lex and clenched his fist upon remembering the sword’s absence. He hated not carrying his prized blade, but if things went to plan, it wouldn’t be out of his grasp for much longer.

Trotting down the staircase, hands up in surrender, Scapin reached the Centaurs and let one of their lances press against his chest. Giving the appearance of total vulnerability. As he did, another quartet of Centaur’s trotted forward, flanking a woman in an extravagant dress. Pointing at Scapin, she opened her mouth to give the execution order.

Waving his hands, Scapin shouted. “Wait, wait, wait! Do you think I’d risk the wrath of Vindabon’s elite without good reason? The traitor we hunt will doom both the League and Duchies unless we act.”

The noblewoman in the dress hesitated, giving Scapin the opening he needed. “Natalie Striga, formerly of Glockmire, stole an ancient Vampire relic for her own purposes. A relic of the first Vampires, of the Alukah!”

Dietrich had descended the staircase some but still was high enough to see the Paladin and Alukah. He watched their shock and concern, which only grew as Scapin spoke. “It is a remnant of Lilu, second of the Alukah. Granting incredible powers of manipulation and domination at the expense of sanity. A Vampire using Lilu’s kiss can ensnare the minds of even a Paladin or Priest! Bewitching them without even the Gods noticing!”

The gazes upon Natalie grew shocked and warry. Scapin looked at the noblewoman and offered a deferential nod, even with the lance poking his chest. “Only the Undead are immune to the Kiss, and it cannot be used against large numbers of potent people. So my associate and I were forced to crash your ball, Baroness DeMello. It provided the best opportunity to take the traitor and her minion.”

Cole’s jaw was clenched so hard Dietrich could see the veins in his face bulging. Stepping forward, the Paladin roared. “You lie and scheme! I am under no compulsion, and Natalie fled your lands not as a traitor but as a refugee! Cease your filth, and let me end your stolen existence!”

Pointing at the Paladin, Scapin nodded as if he’d been expecting this. “Yes, yes, play your role, creature. I know what you are and what the traitor has done to you. All those scars must hide the stitches and bite marks wonderfully.”

A new voice spoke up, a lean man who danced between middle and old age. His sharp goatee and oiled hair gave him the look of some predatory bird. “The Paladin is under her thrall! She uses him to discredit my house and sow discord! Even our enemies admit so!”

The Baroness looked at the new voice and snapped. “Graf Louon, that is quite enough.”

Glaring at her, the Graf gestured towards the Paladin and Alukah. “No, I think not, Baroness! You’ve invited a monster and her thrall into your home! A monster dangerous enough to make her ilk come looking for her!”

With liquid grace, Scapin slipped under the Centaur’s lance and past the blockade of fae. Arriving closer to the Baroness and giving a deep bow, Scapin spoke even as the Centaur’s leveled their weapons again. “If there had been a better option, wouldn’t I have taken it? Instead, I came willingly, if unexpectedly, under your power.”

Murmurs spread through the crowded hall, and the Baroness raised a sculpted eyebrow and turned to the Paladin. “Is there any truth to what this… creature says, Sir Cole?”

Of all the things Cole might have done, he made the worst possible choice; he hesitated. Scapin came up from his deep bow and cut off the Paladin when he tried to answer after his moment of hesitation. “Interesting, it seems something of the Paladin remains in you. Maybe the traitor's claws aren’t as deep as they feared.”

The subject of all this stepped towards Scapin, ignoring her protector's warning hand on her shoulder. In a hissing voice, she spat, “Jagging Vampires, all you know how to do is twist the truth and hurt people! You took my family and my home from me! Now you’ve come to take what little I’ve regained? For what? to appease the evil bastard you call master?”

Graf Louon sneered. “See! She doesn’t even deny what she’s done. The Tenth Temple, and Pantheon know who else, are under her sway.”

Natalie started to snap back. “The power forced upon me isn’t what that goat-fucker says it is. I’ve been entrusted with something by Master Ti-”

Scapin laughed, cutting her off. “WE took your family and home? Oh please, traitor, spare us the drama.”

Whirling about, looking at the crowd, Scapin practically yelled. “You want to know what this evil creature seeking ‘refugee’ among you all has done? She stole, lied, and whored her way into Lord Glockmire’s graces. She even sold her father and mother to the Larder to get her foot in the door.”

Natalie looked like she’d been physically struck, actually stumbling back a step. Scapin looked at her, the smile on his face finally replaced with a look of disgust. “I’m a monster; I won’t pretend to be other. But to offer your own kin up for the chance to become a Vampire? That is beyond even me.”

Pointing at her with a single accusatory finger Scapin proclaimed. “You sold your Parents to a lesser Vampire just for the chance to be turned. Then you wormed your way into the Lord’s circle, murdered him, and stole the relic. Enslaving a Paladin of the Tenth God to your will in the process. Now you parade around your thrall and make him think he loves you. For these crimes, I name you as you are! Traitor! Thief! Monster and Kin-slayer!”

Natalie felt like the world was closing in around her. The world was becoming a bloody tunnel, with only her and Scapin in it. His words struck her heart like salt in a wound. Pure crimson hate washed over her, and Natalie fought desperately to keep above the monstrous violence brewing within. Natalie, the Vampire, was furious at the challenge and threat. Natalie the Human was outraged by the lies and slander. Both sides agreed that only ripped flesh and spilled blood would settle this.

Forcing down these worst instincts, trying to stop the fury from boiling up, Natalie looked around the ballroom. She escaped the tunnel of red, but in its place, she found naught but hateful and disgusted gazes. In those eyes, she saw what they thought of her, what they now believed because of a monster’s words. Looking behind her towards the rest of the table, Natalie hoped to see something else in her new friends. In the werefolk, she saw only doubt. People she had lived with for weeks wondered if these words had any truth.

In utter terror, she looked towards Cole, afraid of what she might find there. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. A vein pulsed in his forehead, and his expression was some unreadable form of intensity. In a very, very small voice, Natalie whispered his name. “Cole?”

He didn’t respond; he didn’t even look at her. With her last lifeline cut, Natalie Striga fell into the red. A scream of despair and rage exploded out of the Vampire. Drowning out the human and anything that wasn’t the desire to kill.

Cole was trying to speak; he was trying to move. He couldn’t do either; invisible wires wrapped around him, burning his flesh and stopping him from doing anything other than twitch. Pulling up his power, Cole peered into the Aether for an answer. He saw two things of note; both made his stomach drop.

A faint miasma extended out from the Vampire Scapin. Barely detectable even to Cole’s aetheric senses, it wafted over the crowd and seeped into them. The miasma stunk of suspicion and fear, infecting any who it touched. It was a spell and an incredibly subtle one. The type of slithering manipulation only the most dangerous Moroi could use.

Then contrasting the miasma was a swarm of burning chains issuing from Graf Louon and wrapping around Cole. He was trapped, and the crowd was being swayed. Pulling up more of his power, Cole tried to freeze the chains. In the mundane World, Graf Louon twitched in surprise as icy power dulled his spell. Struggling against the chains, Cole tried to break free. They were weakening, but not fast enough.

“Cole?”

Fighting with everything he could, Cole tried to turn his head. Aetheric chains snapped and popped as his physical and mental strength fought the spell. But it wasn’t enough; he’d hesitated earlier in the face of Scapin’s lies. Now he hesitated because of Louon’s power.

A keening scream exploded next to him, and Cole could only watch as a thing of blood and hate shot forward. Skin waxy, fingers turned into black claws, eyes alight with fury, Natalie looked every bit the monster she feared becoming. But that was just her mundane form. Still peering into the Aether, Cole saw the Alukah rise. A titan of black blood and screaming faces roiled in the spirit domain. Its body was a mountain and a tide of red-soaked darkness. An incredible mass of power that blotted everything out.

The Alukah’s body shot forward. People screamed and leaped out of the way as it literally flew towards Scapin. A red fog billowed from its hands and feet, suspending it like some bloody wraith. Cole could just watch as the Alukah slammed into Scapin, raking claws across his belly. The manipulative Moroi lept back to survive the strike. Even with that frantic dodge, gray intestines spilled out of him, and a genuine shock appeared on Scapin’s face.

Dietrich charged forward then, bringing an armored fist up strike the Alukah. It batted the blow and Dietrich aside. Scapin jumped away, putting himself among a group of ball-goers who shied away from the disemboweled Vampire. Frantically fleeing, Scapin grabbed a guest, a stunned-looking woman of maybe forty. Throwing her in the path of the rampaging Alukah.

The ancient Vampire didn’t hesitate and was about to cut through its living obstacle when the world froze.

“No”

A word echoed in the minds of everyone in Vindabon. Accompanying it was a wave of cold, cold power. Every living thing in twenty kilometers shivered in response. The chains binding Cole exploded like ice thrown into a fire. Freed, he stumbled forward, pushing through the familiar power that washed over him and everyone else.

A frozen corpse hung mid-air, a few centimeters away from the stunned woman. Its black claws outstretched in what should have been a lethal strike. Frost covered the body and everything else in the ballroom. The body was suspended by two pieces of ice, one extending down from the frozen city, the other up from the floor. Giving the impression of a morbid stalactite pillar. Silver-blue light danced over the frozen corpse, forming a maze-like pattern across its exposed flesh.

“No” was all Cole could say.

“No, no, no, no, no, NO!” he ran towards the frozen corpse of Natalie and felt pure terror. Was this how it ended? Losing one love to fire the other to ice? A voice whispered in his ear, a cold caress that made Cole’s heart skip a beat. “Look”

Following his God’s order, Cole did, peering into the Aether. He saw the mountainous tide of black blood before him. It was being pushed back, squeezed into Natalie by a glacier that dwarfed even the Alukah. She wasn’t dead; the Stigma had fulfilled its purpose. When the Monster had taken control, the Stigma had activated and sealed it. Saving Natalie and the woman she’d nearly killed.

But that wasn’t all Cole saw; the miasma had been broken with a cold snap of power. Its presence felt and rejected by everyone within the hall. Getting to his feet, Scapin looked around, seeming to sense his manipulation had been exposed. Sighing, he flexed his hands and said. “Ah well, it was worth the chance.”

Cole reached into his pockets and pulled out two things. First was a razor-sharp disk big as his palm and incredibly heavy. The other was a bottle of green fluid. Cole uncorked the bottle and downed it in one. Then he squeezed the sharp disk, letting his blood coat the object. In a voice more like a growl than anything else, he chanted, “Blood begets blood. Iron begets iron. A piece of my life for the power to bring death.”

The disk twitched, and the compressed runes along its inner rim glowed. With the groan of stressed metal, it started to unfold. Blood dripping from it, Requiem formed in Cole’s hand, creaking as it grew into its full halberd form. Twirling the weapon between his hands, Cole focused on the two Vampires.

“The death, the cruelty, the evil, it ends NOW.”

Letting his gaze sweep across the assembled people, he barked. “Natalie Striga is blessed by Master Time. Marked with a sacred Stigma! Do you really think she or anyone else could fool a God? These monsters have slithered into this city and spread poison. You felt my God break Scapin’s power. Now, will you do what’s right or keep drinking the Vampire’s lies?”

Hundreds of people looked upon the Paladin, for there could be no doubt that was what he was, and made their choice. Many ran, heading for the far walls of the chamber and its exit. Others did not; they stood to fight beside their champion. Three werewolves peeled off their clothes and transformed. An old shaman called up power and summoned her spirits. A handful of Magi whispered spells, cloaking themselves and others in arcane protection. Eight Centaurs leveled their weapons at the Vampire. While a few dozen others unsheathed concealed weapons or cast what little spells they had.

Dietrich had gotten to his feet and approached Scapin. The two looked at the surrounding army for a single beat. Then the Scarlet Knight plunged a hand into his companion's chest and yanked. Ash exploded out of Scapin as an impossibly large weapon disgorged from his chest cavity. It was an executioner’s sword, a huge ugly weapon of dark steel.

Scapin stumbled back as Dietrich dusted off his weapon, and seemed to unfold. Like his flesh and skin were being peeled. Where Scapin had been was a ring of ashen flesh and bone. Black blood started to drip down from the edges of the ring, all the edges of the ring. Defying gravity and meeting in the ring’s center as a curtain of dark ichor. A wave of power pulsed out from Scapin, and Cole sucked in a breath.

Shouting loud enough to be heard over the fleeing crowd, he bellowed. “RUN! GO TO THE IVORY TOWER AND THE TEMPLES! TELL THEM AN ASHBORN IS IN THE CITY!”

The curtain of black blood started to flex as something pressed on it; a skeletal hand pushed out of the black pool. With a sickening squelch, a misshapen skeleton was birthed by the Scapin-ring. Its bones were obsidian and gray effluvia boiled off of it. No part of it was proportioned right, like a morbidly creative child had been asked to draw a skeleton. As the bones twitched and shuffled towards Cole, a dozen more hands pushed out of the black pool.

Gripping his halberd tight, Cole heard Kistine suck in a breath behind him. “Is… is that a?”

Cole completed her thought. “Yes, that is a Grief Demon.”

The first Demon snapped its attention on Cole and stumbled towards him. Wooden flooring decayed and warped under each of its steps. Squeezing Requiem, Cole sucked in a breath. “MAGNI MORTAE MUN-”

Dietrich blurred towards him, cutting off the battlecry with a brutal downward slice. Barely catching it on his weapon, Cole glared at the Scarlet Knight. “I thought your order was better than this, Dietrich?”

The barest twitch of rage hinted on Dietrich’s face but was hidden as he whispered. “Exceptions must be made, especially when dealing with something like the Homunculus Knight.”

Cole’s eyes widened in shock, and he barely parried Dietrich’s next strike. The blow knocked him back slightly, and Cole nearly tripped over a knocked-over chair. As he stumbled, Dietrich charged forward. But two massive furry bodies met him. Jaks and Jokin smashed into the Scarlet Knight. Cursed fangs sank into his leg and shoulder. Cole recovered and dashed to join them just as Jokin let out a gurgling wail. Dietrich had grabbed the werewolf’s lower jaw and yanked. The jaw skidded along the ground, and Jokin fell back, howling in pain. His brother hesitated to look and paid for it. Dietrich kicked him hard enough to break bones and sent the werewolf flying.

Cole swung Requiem at Dietrich’s shoulder, hoping Jokin’s bite had weakened that side. It had not, or at least not enough to make a difference. Dietrich folded his arm in a hand-to-hand block and caught Requiem on his plate mail. To the credit of whatever Dwarven smith that forged Requiem, the halberd punched through the plate. But it stopped when meeting the stone of Dietrich’s blood-enhanced flesh.

The great executioner sword Dietrich wielded swung for Cole’s head. Forcing power into his skull, Cole braced for impact. The world spun as Cole was knocked to the ground. Freezing blood ran down the side of his head, and the world rang like a bell. He’d avoided having his skull split thanks to the cold armor, but the impact had concussed him.

A voice both distant and close roared. “GET AWAY FROM MY FAMILY!”

Two wolves made of shining fog lept over Cole’s prone form and attacked Dietrich. An eagle made of the same substance swooped down and went for Dietrich’s eyes as he tried to knock away the ephemeral lupines. The sound of wings and bells reached Cole as a Spirit Dove flew towards him. It passed right through his head, and took the concussion with it.

Looking over to Kistine, Cole saw she had her wounded nephew, pouring healing magic into his shredded mouth. Cole didn’t know if a Werewolf could regenerate losing a jaw, but he hoped they could.

Across the ballroom, a dozen other fights were taking place. Ametza fought two Grief Demons, her claws glowing with moonlight. Nearby, Lord Kronor had unsheathed his cane sword, and it blazed with wyrmfire. Elsewhere a middle-aged Magi died as a Grief Demon sunk its boney fingers into his flesh, withering the man like a dried grape. Gritting his teeth at the scenes of horror, Cole refocused and charged Dietrich.

The Scarlet Knight had torn through one of the Spirit wolves and struck the Eagle with a hex. But the remaining wolf slowed him enough for Cole to strike. Requiem went for Dietrich’s knee, hitting the joint cleanly and splitting the armor but not the flesh. For the second time, Dietrich’s body resisted the edge.

Cole danced back as Dietrich shredded the second wolf. Only the eldest Wyrmoi could hope to manage this level of reinforcement, not a weakened outcast like Dietrich. Eyes widening in understanding, Cole spat. “The blood, you have more of the Alukah blood.”

Dietrich didn’t answer with words, just a brutal cleaving strike that made Requiem’s haft groan. Cole exhaled, looking at the Scarlet Knight and the Ashborn hell-portal behind him. This was the exact situation a Paladin was required. Whenever he faced a threat like this, his powers grew. Cole decided to roll the dice.

Sucking in a huge breath, Cole pulled on more of his power, letting the cold of Master Time permeate his being. Hoarfrost grew along his clothes and weapon. His skin grew paler and gained a hint of blue, while a silver fire burned in his eyes.

A long slow breath escaped Cole, a cloud of ice swirling out and over the head of Reqiuem. The weapon glowed slightly, and silver sparks danced around it. Dietrich glared at the Paladin and his halberd. Holding his blade up, he growled. “I underestimated you both times before. That ends now.”

Dietrich dragged the blade along his palm, cutting through the armor and smearing his oily blood on the blade. The dark substance started to boil and spread along the blade. Dietrich muttered words in a language painful to hear and flourished his sword. The black blood wriggled and writhed over the weapon. It stunk in the Aether, smelling of violence and efficient cruelty.

Speaking more to himself than to Dietrich, Cole whispered. “Death is the strength of mortals.”

The Homunculus Knight and the Scarlet Knight charged each other. Requiem and Lex clashed in a scream of steel. Whatever spell Dietrich laid upon his blade stopped the Cold of Entropy. As he dodged the black blade, Cole knew this fight wouldn’t be settled through magic frost or flame. Steel would be the deciding factor.

Breathing hard, Cole felt the potion he’d taken at the fight’s start finally activate. The world slowed slightly, his perception of time and reaction speed changing thanks to the arcane drug. As Dietrich swung, Cole kept up with the Scarlet Knight. No more near-misses or harrowing parries; they fought as equals.

Blades clashed, mettle was tested, and the Knights matched each other blow for blow. Cole felt strange: a numb clarity filled him. The brisk sharpness of winter married to a soothing cold. As he batted aside a vicious strike from Dietrich and warded him off with a slashing counterstrike, Cole realized he’d never fought this well in his lifes.

As Dietrich thrust forward with a rib-splintering strike, Cole dodged and sent Requiem’s butt into his enemy's jaw. The Scarlet Knight stumbled from the blow and spat out a tooth. Resisting the obvious jest about Dietrich’s missing fang, Cole pressed his attack. Swinging the spiked head of his halberd for Dietrich’s hip. It hit, punching through armor and flesh, striking the bone. Dietrich roared in pain and smacked Requiem away with his sword. Glancing down, he saw where the Cold of Entropy was growing on his flesh.

Dietrich wiped his blade on the wound, hissing in pain as something steamed off his exposed flesh. Resetting his stance, he growled at Cole. “You are better than before.”

A voice right behind Cole answered Dietrich. “Yes, he is; it’s getting annoying,”

Cole screamed as a dagger entered his kidney. Stumbling forward, he looked to see Scapin reform out of ash behind him. Reaching for his back, Cole found the knife sticking from him. Even with his obscene pain tolerance and the numbing Cold, that sort of wound was enough to put Cole on his knees.”

Scapin materialized another knife out of ash and approached Cole. A spirit hawk swooped down and raked the Ashborn’s face. Slashing out with lightning speed, he destroyed the hawk’s body and whirled on Kistine, who sat next to her unconscious nephew. Twirling his dagger, Scapin sighed. “Interfering in a fight is poor sport.”

Dietrich barked, “Hypocrite! You spoiled my victory against the Paladin!”

Shrugging, Scapin advanced towards Kistine, who frantically tried to call up another spell. “Never said I wasn’t one.”

Kistine threw a bolt of moonlight at Scapin; he dodged it, and his smile intensified. “I’ve not tasted a Werefolk shaman in decades.”

Jaks struck then; the Werewolf slammed into Scapin like a battering ram. The Ashborn Vampire exploded into a cloud of soot and reformed a few meters away. Continuing his charge, Jaks swiped at Scapin again and again. Every strike came close to hitting but slippery monster, but Scapin kept dodging by a hair's breadth.

Cole focused his power on the dagger in his kidney, pulling the wretched thing out and trying to numb the pain into something he could handle. As he tugged the wickedly barbed knife from his flesh, Cole noticed something about Scapin. Every time he dodged, a little ash would fall away from him. Ash that was moving and forming together nearby.

Before a warning could be shouted, a second Scapin materialized and drove a dagger through Jak’s heart. Kistine screamed “NO” as her nephew collapsed. Forcing himself to his feet, ignoring the horrible pain, Cole ripped the dagger free and most of his kidney with it. But it was too late; as if to ensure there wasn’t any speck of hope, the two Scapins brought their knives down on Jak’s neck. The Werewolf’s head rolled away, returning to its human shape as it did.

Kistine and Cole just looked at the head for a long moment. Then with a shriek, the Sharman grabbed one of her bangles and snapped it. Looking at Cole, she growled. “Do your duty!”

Silver fog issued from the snapped talisman and struck Cole. Kistine slumped forward, whatever magi she’d used taking its toll. Power pulsed through Cole, and the pain in his kidney faded. Shocked by the strength flowing into him, Cole jerked forward and looked up slightly. Lines of blue light caught his attention, spindling webs of energy crisscrossing the frozen city. Cole could feel the complicated spellwork keeping the city intact above them. In fact, he almost could touch it…

Sucking in a breath of realization, Cole reached up with an empty hand and squeezed. Lines of power extended from his hands and touched the spell. Magic warped, and he yanked downwards. A model city block hurtled downwards and smashed a Grief Demon sneaking up on Ametza. The boulder-sized ice chunk splattered the Helkyn with a crunch. As it started to reform, Cole forced some of his power along the line of magic. Arcane frost slithered from the ice chunk and cocooned the Demon. Its body shattered, and its tattered essence went screaming back to the Hells.

Driving Requiem into the floor, Cole held up both hands and got to work. Dietrich lept out of the way as another ice chunk plummeted towards him. The Scarlet Knight was momentarily startled when the falling ice followed him. Grinding along the frost-slicked floor like a miniature glacier. Cole watched as Dietrich slashed the ice in twain, his cursed weapon splitting the boulder easily. With a gesture, Cole moved the two halves apart, on opposite sides of Dietrich, then brought them together.

Dietrich drove his sword into one and caught the other with a gauntleted hand. He didn’t, however, react in time to the carriage-sized glacier dropping on his head.

A deafening crunch filled the ballroom-turned-battlefield, and splinters of wood shot everywhere as Dietrich was crushed.

Focusing his attention elsewhere, Cole bombarded Grief Demons and protected his allies with sheets of falling ice. Seeing this, the two Scapins charged or, more accurately, slithered toward Cole. They didn’t seem to walk or run but slid along the ground on ash plumes. Gripping Requiem, Cole went to meet them.

He pulled down a quartet of ice rocks around him, and the Scapins dodged them easily. Making a fist, Cole crushed one rock and launched showers of shrapnel at his enemy. One dodged, the other didn’t. Scapin was shredded by the hail of ice, torn into clods of ash, while Scapin moved closer to Cole.

Pulling downwards, Cole unfolded the remaining ice rocks, painting the floor around him with a centimeter-thick layer of solid ice. Scapin saw this and lept over the ice, his body partially dissolving into a cloud of ash as he did. Cole made a rude gesture and summoned up a spike of ice from the frozen ground. The Ashborn Vampire was fast, and the spike only hit his semi-ephemeral leg, tearing it off. Scapin kept coming, materializing knives in both hands and grinning madly as he moved for the kill.

Cole swung Requiem, and Scapin leaped over the strike. Just as the top of Cole’s summoned spike broke off and hurtled towards him. The hunk of ice slammed into the back of Scapin’s skull and sent him sprawling to Cole’s feet. His form was a shifting morass of vampire flesh and ash, looking like some kind of corporeal Wraith. Cole rammed Requiem’s spiked head into Scapin’s ‘center’ and pushed Cold through the weapon. The Ashborn melted into a pile of frozen soot, which was quickly encased by the ice below it.

Heart thundering like a warhorse’s hoofs, Cole leveled his weapon at the shredded Scapin, which was in the process of reforming. A sharp pain behind Cole’s eyes told him this new power was not without a cost. Sparing a glance for Kistine, seeing her twitch and shake on the floor, Cole worried how much of the cost would fall on her.

The reformed Scapin walked to the ice's edge and pointed at Cole with a dagger.

“You are much stronger than before. It seems the Tenth God’s hypocrisy might be worth something after all.”

Squeezing Requiem, Cole practically growled with frustration. They knew; someone in the Duchies knew. They’d told Dame Lorena first, now Dietrich and Scapin. The Homunculus Knight was no longer dead. A breath filled with stress escaped Cole; that would be another challenge to face. But for now, the mutant Vampire before him was his current concern.

The crack of ice pulled Cole’s attention to where he’d buried Dietrich. The boulder he’d dropped on the Scarlet Knight fractured and moved. Chunks of it exploded out, and it took Cole an effort of will to stop them from hitting anyone. A furious Dietrich climbed out of the crater Cole had made. His armor was utterly destroyed, and patches of frost clung to his skin. He still held his cursed weapon and raised its blunt tip at Cole.

“PALADIN!”

Moving Requiem into a low guard, Cole answered the challenge. “Come then, you both have debts to settle.”