The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 3: The Storm of Blood

“Pestilence refers to any disease influenced or created by magic. We use this term because no matter the original pathogen used, magical alterations provide certain advantages and disadvantages to treating them. Pestilences are, as a rule, more infectious and dangerous due to their unnatural nature. However, they usually display weaknesses their mundane counterparts will not. Finding these weaknesses, these banes, and exploiting them can turn a nation-scouring plague into a mild cough.” - Commentaries on the Codex Aegror.

Natalie stared up at the domed roof of the Tenth Temple’s Arch Sanctum. A storm the likes she’d never imagined raged beyond the colored glass. The entire city shook as the wrath of Father Sky was unleashed. Even here, protected from the elements, strands of Natalie’s hair defied gravity, statically charged by the sheer power in the sky. Sucking in pointless breaths reeking of storm air, Natalie understood why Father Sky was patriarch of the Pantheon.

Hierophant Glynn approached her then, also looking up at the god-called storm with quiet reverence. “The wards are fully roused, the Temples are working in concert, and plague wardens are being dispatched as we speak. Your warning was timely and helpful, Natalie.”

Taking a moment to let a roll of thunder pass by, Natalie asked. “Can I return to Cole then?”

Glynn’s lips thinned in concern. “Potentially, he needs to be in quarantine with the rest of the possibly infected. But his nature and yours provides us with a fairly unique opportunity. You cannot be infected, and Cole will… ‘recover’ from the contagion even if he’s afflicted. We can use those factors to our advantage, but before that, I think we need more information from you.”

Frowning, Natalie said. “I told you everything I saw!”

Staring up at the roiling skies, Glynn selected his words carefully. “You have access to a source of information that might prove crucial in the coming days. The source you deemed too dangerous to use within the Archives.”

Shutting her eyes in exhaustion, Natalie asked. “What does she have to do with this?”

Glynn’s eyes flicked around the large chamber, lingering on the other occupants. They weren’t alone in the Arch-Sanctum; close to forty Priests were tending and directing the city wards. While a hundred templars and healers were being cloaked in protective blessings, the first batch of plague wardens to be prepared.

Natalie got the meaning of Glynn’s unspoken message, too many listening ears. Looking towards the Arch Sanctum’s door, Natalie said. “I guess I should go see what I can learn.”

Nodding, Glynn said. “That would be wise; I wish you good fortu-”

Mid-sentence, the Hierophant whirled to look back up at the skies; another peal of thunder shook the city, and with it came a keening screech. Natalie felt something itching at the edge of her awareness; the Aether was practically buzzing with information. Glynn was a seer of some power, and he was clearly getting messages from his fellow mind-magi.

Looking at Natalie, Glynn hissed. “Change of plans, go find Cole, tell him something managed to make it past the wards. It’s large, aggressive, and headed for civilians in Strausburg. Knights have been dispatched, but they will take too long. Move quickly; the trespasser is headed for Sullivav theater.”

Natalie swore under her breath and bolted out of the Arch Sanctum. She left the temple in a blur of inhuman motion, passing nervous temple staff and panicked patients faster than they could even register her. Out on the street, Natalie sucked in an involuntary and pointless breath as her skin prickled with an ugly itch. The city wards sensed her and the sample of blood she’d provided was the only thing preventing them from frying her like the ghoul-puddles dotting the street.

A high-pitched screeching roar caught Natalie’s attention, and she spared a glance toward the eighth district. For Glynn to flip so quickly from wanting Cole in quarantine to wanting him on the frontlines, something bad must have gotten into the city. Hells, anything that could get past the wards had to be nasty, and Natalie really hoped she wouldn’t see Cole die on his birthday.

Reaching the inn, Natalie burst through the door, earning some panicked shrieks and shouts from those within it. A flare of silver power shot towards Natalie, and she barely ducked underneath the bolt, avoiding having her face melted off by a holy lance. Still, it came close enough that Natalie felt streaks of her skin molt off into ash.

“FIRE-IN-IRON! MINA! IT’S ME!” Natalie shouted as she rubbed soot off her face.

The Priestess relaxed slightly and shot back. “Jagging announce yourself next time!”

Blinking away spots, Natalie saw Mina standing nearby, motes of silver dripping from her eyes and hands. Cat-eyes was next to her, a dagger in one hand, a conscripted kitchen knife in the other. Skimming the room, Natalie noted an important absence among the bedraggled celebrants turned refugees within the inn.

“Where’s Cole?” she asked, wondering if he’d already left for the fight.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the inn’s staircase, and a familiar voice said. “I’m here; what news do you bring?”

Glancing at the stairs, Natalie’s reply died on her tongue, cast down by the warrior-saint descending the stairs. Clad in finely crafted laminar plate, each segment shining blue-black in the dim light was a true knight. A long dark cape fell from the warrior's shoulders while a foreboding helmet with hinged cheek guards in the imperial style covered his head. Marks of time and death decorated the armor, and Natalie realized she was wrong. This wasn’t a true knight before her, but something greater, a Paladin.

Cole, clad in his new armor, looked every centimeter the holy warrior Natalie knew him to be. An intimidating mass of steel and righteous fury, the type of being that could march into a dragon’s den and come out carrying the beast’s head. Letting out a pointless breath, Natalie swallowed nervously, the old habit painful for her undead flesh.

Suppressing a cough, she said. “Something big made it through the wards and is attacking Strausburg. Glynn thinks it's heading for the Sullivav theater, and the city has dispatched knights; they want you to slow it down until help arrives. So… happy birthday, love.”

A snort of grim humor escaped Cole, and he unsheathed Requiem, growing the weapon into its halberd shape. “Let’s get moving then. Do you have a weapon?”

Natalie grew a set of cruel blood claws from her fingers and held them up. “I didn’t think to grab my short sword, but I think these will do.”

Cole almost smiled at that, “I hope so, but still be careful, you might be hard to kill, but you aren’t immortal.”

Natalie bit back a snarky reply, and Cole addressed the inn’s defenders. “Mina, Alia, can I trust you to defend these people?”

The warden and priestess looked at each other and then nodded. Alia saying. “Aye, we can do that till help arrives. You two go fuck up whatever ruined the festival.”

With that, the couple left the inn and ran towards the eighth district. Thunder rumbled, and something massive screeched in the distance. Forcing herself to slow down so Cole could keep up, Natalie asked, “Any idea what we are facing?”

Cole’s eyes narrowed, “I did manage to catch glimpses of it when it crashed through the wards. Whatever it is, it's big, can fly, and survived multiple lightning strikes. That doesn’t leave a big list, but nothing on it is pleasant.”

Sighing, Natalie said. “Well, the peace we’ve had was fun while it lasted. By the way, the armor looks great on you; how does it feel?”

Cole glanced down at himself and flexed a gauntleted hand. “Emma is a remarkable craftswoman; I’ve never really liked heavy armor, but this… this could change that.”

He’d discussed his requirements at length with Emma, and she hadn’t balked at any of them. While she did say to temper his expectations on how well she could deliver, Cole felt she delivered above and beyond what he’d asked. The panoply combined modern innovations, ancient techniques, and Emma’s own skill to create a shockingly comfortable suit of plate. It sat well on his broad shoulders and barely hindered his movement, just like the old marching laminar of the empire. Cole needed to see how it would perform in actual combat. Still, so far, it was passing his requirements for mobility easily.

Cole watched as Natalie forced herself to slow down for him; while he was certainly faster than any mundane person, Natalie had gotten very good at using the sheer speed of vampire kind. Gritting his teeth, Cole forced himself to ignore his dogmatic desire to protect her. She’d grown stronger over the past few months, and right now, she wasn’t the person in the gravest danger. He was starting to hear panicked screams and shouts from the distance, Cole might be too late for some people, but Natalie wouldn’t be.

“I know you can move faster, go ahead, try and help who you can until I get there,” Cole growled, his Paladin oaths triumphing over his fear for Natalie.

Slipping in close, never breaking stride, Natalie planted a kiss on Cole’s face, an impressive feat considering his helmet. “I love you, and I’ll be careful.”

Cole just had enough time to respond in kind before she shot towards a nearby building and scrambled up it in heartbeats. Natalie ran and leaped between rooftops, a nimble shadow that melted into the cool spring night. Forcing himself not to think about her risking herself, Cole ran as fast as he could, passing a painted obelisk and entering into Strausburg proper.

Screams and crashes grew louder and louder; the monster was nearby. Crossing through a sidestreet and approaching a performance plaza, Cole smelled the monster before he saw it. Burning meat, festering infection, and the unmistakable cloying scent of storm air. The sound of splintering wood and a shrieking roar cut through the tumultuous night. Cole caught sight of debris flying through the air, launched by something huge smashing through the nearby plaza.

Finally, Cole rounded another corner and entered the Sullivav plaza, a curse escaping his lips as the source of the destruction finally came into view. “Oh… Jag…”

A colossal reptilian horror plowed through market stalls and wagons like they were shoddy models. Illuminated by burning refuse and scattered glowstones, the monster’s identity was revealed. A Wyvern the size of a large house was destroying the plaza.

Lines of bubbling burned flesh stretched across its brown scales, forming a lightning bolt pattern and revealing the injury's source. Each of its wings was tattered and burnt, the thin membranes torn and seared in countless points. Flailing its horned head, the wyvern slammed into a building, sending a rain of bricks and other wreckage across the plaza. Its huge serpentine tail thrashed about, a tree-trunk-sized whip that destroyed anything in its path. Vines and branches reached out from nearby trees and structures, attempting to ensnare the monster, but it's frantic spasms broke it free from any grasp.

Scanning the plaza, Cole felt his stomach drop as he took in the devastation. The plaza's centerpiece had been a small stone theater covered by a painted wooden dome; emphasis on had. The Wyvern apparently crashed into the western side of the plaza, evidenced by the flattened building and cracked cobblestone in that direction. Then it rampaged eastward, smashing straight through the theater and reducing the structure to rubble and splinters. The theater had been full, judging by the screams and gore. Cole hesitated then, torn between helping those in the wreckage and preventing further devastation by slaying the Wyvern. But Cole was no longer alone in his struggles, he caught sight of Natalie among the wreckage moving huge chunks of debris, freeing trapped people, and clearing a path for the survivors. She was doing her best to help; now it was Cole’s turn.

Checking his equipment, Cole flexed his hands, feeling the spark stone and amulet locked into either palm, a customization to the gauntlets he’d requested from Emma. Holding up Requiem, increasing its length and size, Cole sucked in a breath. Dredging up icy power, he let it flow through his body and into Requiem. Out of curiosity, Cole let some of the cold leak from his flesh into his armor. Spidering frost grew along the plates, and the metal creaked under the magical infusion. Normal cold could render stressed steel brittle, but nothing about Cole’s power was normal.

Running towards the Wyvern, Cole roared. “MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!”

The monster whipped its head around to see him, and Cole looked into its slitted reptilian eyes and saw madness there. Wyverns are relatively intelligent creatures, originally servitor beasts of the Dragons, now just another breed of predatory monster feared across the world. Pink foaming drool bubbled out of the Wyvern’s toothed maw, and ugly sores wept around its eyes and nose. It was sick and in pain, lashing out at the world around it, equally victim and villain.

Coming in low, Cole dodged as the Wyvern snapped at him with huge fanged jaws. The monster’s mouth was big enough Cole could easily fit in it, something he was working very hard to prevent. As he skirted past the head, Cole swung Requiem at the Wyvern’s long serpentine neck. The halberd’s edge cut through steel-hard scales and buried itself in cords of thick muscle.

An ear-splitting shriek erupted from the Wyvern, and it thrashed its head, dislodging Requiem and forcing Cole to come in closer to avoid its powerful limbs. Now directly below the monster’s body, Cole drove Requiem up into its carriage-sized chest. Dwarven steel punched through scales and caught on a rib. Cursing, Cole pulled his polearm back for another strike. He never got the chance as the Wyvern fell onto its side and rolled away from him. Its incredible bulk moved with disorienting speed and left Cole exposed to a sweeping tail.

The spade-tipped tail whipped towards Cole, and he took the bone-crushing blow full on. He skidded along the cracked cobblestones, his cape snapping free. Crashing into the remains of a market stall, Cole commanded his body to move, and to his surprise, it answered. The Hakon steel of his armor hummed like a gong, and plumes of icy frost billowed off him; Emma’s skill and his own magic had protected him.

Getting to his feet, Cole nicked his left palm and fixed his stance, preparing for the charging Wyvern. He could see a slight patch of frostbite spreading along the monster’s neck, but the strikes he’d gotten in wouldn’t be enough against something this large. The Cold of Entropy needed time and preferably more contact with the Wyvern to weaken it. As for his other tools, his spark stone would be useless here. Nothing created by a Dragon would die easily from fire. It’s probably how the Wyvern survived the storm web above the city. This was a creature born of flame and used to flying through storm clouds; it could survive Father Sky’s wrath, perhaps not completely intact, but it could survive it. So steel and frost would be Cole’s tools; he just hoped they would be enough.

The Wyvern snapped out with its jaws then, sending a spray of pink spittal onto the stone as Cole dodged. He spared a moment to see the spittal smoke and hiss where it struck; wyverns couldn’t breathe fire, but their mouth housed a concoction of filth, bile, and venom capable of burning stone and liquifying flesh. Cole was not eager to add that method of death to his experiences.

Swinging Requiem, Cole went for one of the monster’s arms, trying to cut through the taut muscles supporting the powerful wing. The strike connected, and Cole hit bone, eliciting a horrific shriek from the Wyvern. Forcing physical and magical power into the blow, Cole watched flesh blacken and wither from unnatural cold. The Wyvern tried to roll away again, flopping down on its uninjured limb and hoping to pull free of Cole, something the Paladin had been counting on.

His halberd was lodged in magically reinforced bone and further trapped by rapidly freezing flesh. Giving Cole the leverage to hang on and ride the rolling Wyvern. Dangling from Requiem as the Wyvern rolled onto its back, Cole squeezed his weapon with his bloodied palm, shrinking Requiem’s head with a thought. Smiling inside his helmet, Cole remembered how Emma couldn’t understand why he’d want gaps in his gauntlets; well, this was why. The smaller halberd slipped from Wyvern’s flesh, and Cole landed on its chest.

It was rolling rapidly, but Cole didn’t need much time; he felt where the ribs were when he landed and knew where to cut. Driving Requiem down, Cole stabbed into thick chest muscles and forced more of his power into the halberd. Flesh froze and snapped, letting Requiem dive deeper into the monster until its tip reached Cole’s prize. Large animals need strong bones and stronger lungs, a rule of nature even magic somewhat respects; Requiem’s killing edge ripped into one of the Wyvern’s lungs and forced the monster to face the consequences of that rule.

Yanking his halberd free, Cole let the rolling monster’s momentum slide him along its chest. Stabbing the hooked side of Requiem into the Wyvern’s chest, Cole rode its thrashing body to the ground, cutting a line of red with his controlled descent. Hitting the cobblestones, Cole stumbled away from the wounded Wyvern. Stuck partially on its side like a beached whale, the Wyvern twitched and gurgled as its lung deflated.

Carefully moving towards its head, Cole grimaced; liters of blood poured from the Wyvern’s injuries. Eyes rolling, pink sputum dripping from its mouth, the Wyvern tried to scream but couldn’t. The monster was already sick and injured before Cole fought it, and he’d just added to its pain. His initial attempt to give it a clean death failed, forcing him to fight with crueler means. Cole couldn’t help but pity the monster as he stalked toward the twitching head. He’d drowned before, both in water and his own blood; it wasn’t a good way to die.

Muttering a prayer in saint-speech, Cole grew Requiem and brought it down on the Wyvern’s neck with all his strength. With a proper angle and momentum, the halberd cut through scales and flesh, only stopping when it caught on the monster’s spine. A lake of boiling hot blood spewed out from the Wyvern as it died. Cole shut his eyes and held his breath as the red tide spilled over him and out along the cobblestones. As the final beats of the Wyvern’s heart emptied its ichor onto the cold stone, Cole gently touched the monster and offered it another prayer. Intelligent for an animal, but still an animal, the Wyvern’s soul should leave without help. Still, Cole ensured it found its way to wherever monstrous souls went.

Stepping away from the Wyvern’s head, he walked along its body, feet splashing in blood as he did. Reaching the hind legs and lower abdomen, Cole found what he sought. The final frayed remnants of scorched rope that once bound something to the Wyvern’s belly. Cole thought he’d seen scraps of it earlier and wanted to confirm what he saw. With this information, he better understood what happened. Wyverns were originally created as war animals and beasts of burden by Dragons. They could carry tremendous loads across huge distances with relative ease. Someone with the exact sort of malicious creativity Cole feared decided to drop infected people into Vindabon. Using wyverns and some sort of underslung ‘carriage’ strapped to the monsters to commit this atrocity.

Frowning in sudden worry, Cole peered into the Aether; his increased practice made it easier to use the technique and stop himself from getting glimpses he didn’t want. Only one group of creatures could command a wyvern to undergo such a dangerous mission voluntarily. Cole hoped a dragon wasn’t involved with this.

Looking at the spiritual echo of the dead Wyvern, Cole let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a curse. While the monster may be dead, magic effecting it would take a little time to fade. So Cole got a very good look at the powerful geases and mental bindings inflicted upon the Wyvern. It had not taken this path voluntarily; so no Dragons to worry about for now. Still, something with formidable psychic power and a lack of morals enslaved the Wyvern and probably other monsters for this attack. But that information was secondary to the other revelation Cole uncovered. The Wyvern was infected with the plague, horrifically infected, in fact.

Looking down at himself in the Aether, Cole cursed as he saw threads of black filth boil up from his body. Then he looked over to the spreading tide of blood, seeing it slowly bloom out in a lake of infected ichor. He had the plague, it would take time for its symptoms to show, but the Aether reflected the contamination before his body did. Shutting his eyes in exhaustion, Cole knew this was bad; he’d died from the plague before and should be immune. If a new variant of the pestilence was spreading, one strong enough to bypass his unnatural immune system, then things were about to go from horrible to nightmarish.

Watching the slowly cooling blood of the Wyvern ooze out in a spreading pool of death, Cole decided desperate times came for desperate measures. Stepping over to the Wyvern’s split-open neck, Cole placed his right hand into the wound still dribbling blood. He made a point of only using his blood to fuel his magic, but when an entire city was at risk, such rules needed to be bent.

“Fire, create a pyre, and feast upon this beast.”

The blood around his hand started to boil and sizzle like hot oil. Flames danced atop the fresh ichor, leaping between puddles and delving into the dead monster’s flesh. Wyverns can withstand incredible temperatures, but having the very blood in their veins ignited was too much. Pulling his hand free of the smoking ichor, ignoring the searing ache, Cole watched the Wyvern burn.

Unnaturally red flames cooked through arteries and veins, burning the dead monster from the inside out. The effect was more than disturbing; the Wyvern’s flesh was hardy enough to let the magical fire spread out. It’s innards glowed a horrible scarlet as Cole’s blood magic did its grisly work. The fire didn’t stop with the body either, it followed the growing crimson pool, igniting the shed blood like spilled oil.

Standing there, the dancing light of a pyre reflected on his stained armor; Cole looked up at the sky. The storm was settling down, and the last bits of thunder were distant rumblings. A voice from behind him asked. “Are you alright?”

Cole turned to find a concerned-looking Natalie holding his cloak; she’d found it somehow in the crisis. Glancing past his lover, Cole saw medical wagons wheeling into the square, with the first plague wardens and priests arriving to help the survivors of the theater massacre. A flight of Griffins and Hippogryphs also soon came into sight, giant wings audible over the crackling of flames.

Natalie slowly stepped closer to Cole and repeated her question. “Love? What’s wrong?”

Shaking himself slightly, Cole turned to her. “I have the plague, and so will most of the city by the month’s end.”

Old instincts made Natalie pull back slightly, but upon remembering what she was, she ran forward and hugged Cole. “You will be okay, right? You… you can just come back if it kills you?”

Grimacing, Cole said. “Yes, but no one else will have that luxury. This was an attack on the city, the type meant to soften a target, which bodes very poorly.”

Letting go of Cole, Natalie said. “We might know someone who can help… Glynn seemed to think Isabelle might have some information about the plague.”

A deep frown settled on Cole’s face, and he shrunk Requiem down and buckled it to his belt. “I will admit even I don’t know everything she researched, so Glynn might have a point.”

The rustle of wings and call of a great beast caught Cole’s attention as a Griffin landed maybe ten meters away. A large knight, a VERY large knight, in fact, dismounted the hulking creature and came towards them. The warrior was tall as Cole and even broader, resembling nothing so much as a castle wall on two legs. His armor was dark red, and he wore a great helm with a scarlet plume.

Holding out a hand, Cole said. “I’m infected with the plague; come no closer.”

The large knight held out his own hand and flapped it, sending a spray of blood onto the cobblestone. Cole blinked in surprise and realized the knight’s armor wasn’t red at all; he was just covered head to toe in blood. With a booming voice, the newcomer proclaimed. “Ha! If I’m not tainted already, then you certainly won’t do the job!”

Taking off his helmet, the knight revealed himself to be an old man with a shiny bald head and a full beard. His skin was deeply tanned, while a collection of ritual scars decorated his forehead and scalp. “Ho there! I am Pankrator Marcus! I’ve come to apologize for the delay.”

Gesturing at the burning Wyvern, the Pankrator continued. “Four more of those creatures were in the sky and needed to be dealt with. Good to see your reputation isn’t overblown, Sir Paladin!”

Pankrator, the title reserved for martial Paragons sworn to a Temple; they are to Templars what Hierophants are to Priests. Or at least that was the common usage of the word; it had a second meaning as the title applied to Hierophants of Misbegotten War. Which made sense, as every high priest of the Eleventh God was also a fearsome Paragon. Looking at the honor marks cut into Marcus’s skin, Cole guessed the hulking warrior fell under the latter definition.

Nodding, Cole asked. “Did any of the wyverns escape? Do you have people disposing of the bodies?”

Marcus shrugged. “I think we might have missed others, but I have two flights of knights working with a cadre of storm monks to check. As for the ones we took down, well, let's just say some Pyromancers are earning that title tonight.”

A little tension left Cole’s shoulders. “What’s next then?”

Scratching his beard with a blood-stained hand, uncaring of the red smear he left in the gray hair, Marcus gestured at an approaching wagon. “I think that’s up for them to decide.”

Six plague wardens clad in thick robes and the characteristic beaked mask of the profession dismounted the wagon. Covered head to toe in alchemically treated black leather and layered with blessings, the plague wardens were a mixture of healers, priests, and soldiers trained to deal with pestilence. An unfortunately common occurrence in the Western continent, with a new outbreak stalking the land roughly every fifty to a hundred years.

One of the wardens carried a long wooden rod capped in silver. Holding it out, the warden prodded Cole with the rod, letting the silver edge tap his forehead. He winced as it left an itching welt on his forehead, the complicated enchantment reacting to the infection within him. Marcus let himself be subjected to the same procedure, and Cole saw the sigil of illness appear on the Pankrator’s forehead. The inverted hand of healing marked them both as infected, and would take days to fade away.

Natalie shied away when the rod came close to her; silver would do more than leave an itching welt on her skin. Cole held up a hand and said. “She isn’t infected; she can’t be.”

The plague warden glanced at his colleagues, the unnerving glass eyes of their masks hiding any expression. Natalie opened her mouth and showed her fangs then. The wardens recoiled at the sight but didn’t press the issue; Natalie’s presence in the city was more than well-known at this point.

Gesturing at the rod, Natalie asked, “What is that? I’ve never seen one before.”

In a muffled voice, one of the wardens answered. “It's an ancient Caduceus; they are irreplaceable relics from the Old Empire.”

Natalie nodded; that made sense. If magic disease-sensing sticks existed, there had to be a good reason one wasn’t in every village across the world. Careful not to get too close to the infected knights, the Wardens gestured to the wagon they arrived in. The talkative one explained. “We are setting up quarantine and tirage centers at the different Temples. Wait while we gather up other confirmed infected for transport.”

“Are you headed for the Tenth Temple?” Natalie asked the warden.

He nodded, sending his beaked mask bobbing in a display both comical and creepy. “Probably, it's one of the closer ones, and it's also well equipped to handle the ill.”

Sighing, Natalie leaned against the cart Cole, and Marcus were getting into. “I guess I’ll go with you then.”

An unspoken message flicked between Cole and Natalie. She would consult with Isabelle and gather useful information about the plague. Glynn must have found something in the records to indicate Isabelle’s history was relevant to a new plague variety. Natalie vainly hoped whatever the old monster was involved with wasn’t too terrible…