The Power of Ten, Book Three : The Human Race

There wasn’t much alive around this place, and it was bathed in death. I had vivisized a large part of it, and the way the unwhite fires spread over the ground showed the necroic contamination.

It still didn’t bring the crickets back.

Perhaps the bats squeaking would draw attention, perhaps not. But the vylstrigoi wouldn’t be able to evade the echolocation, even if it had some method to turn invisible.

I hadn’t been able to discern any kind of waiting magic or Wards around the tomb we’d found, even a basic Alarm spell to warn of intruders. The rise of a vylstrigoi normally burned away any Class Levels, but nothing said it couldn’t have relearned them from scratch. Somehow or another it had brought in the Chinese undead...

A compound white shadow glided down from the surrounding trees, gathered and flowed down into The Mick. “He’s about two hundred paces down the hill there,” the Blooded reported, standing in front of the heavy stone that blocked the way into the tomb.

Master Fred calmly went up to stand next to the Blooded in white. The tall, rangy, scarred blond Warlock in rough black leathers made a singular contrast to the dark-haired, too-healthy and fit Blooded all in white. Glowing silver on blue eyes sat there next to the crimson ones shining in the dark, patiently, waiting.

Obviously the vylstrigoi knew his minions were gone, and was approaching cautiously. It was supernaturally sneaky... but the people it was trying to sneak up on were supernaturally alert, and their heads turned at practically the same moment as it drew closer.

“Och, there ye be, young fella. Led us quite a chase, making us wait here beside this stinking hole in the ground. Come out, come out, no need to be hiding. We ain’t going anywhere, and ya be getting some heavy-eyed, aye?” The Mick called out, looking into the shadows. He gave the creature ten seconds, and snapped his fingers.

A Wrathful Wall of Fire roared up in the darkness, and there was a raspy shriek as something leapt out of it with unnatural speed, in front of and down the slope from the two of them.

“Cursed angel-slave!” the vylstrigoi called out, his light burns healing away in seconds, but the rest of his clothes were kind of falling off. It did get rid of the sewage stink on him, and took care of some of his pestilent aura. His claws began to expand, jaw to lengthen, and feet to grow, putting on mass and size, while still looking gaunt, joints massively swollen and anchored by tendons like cables-

My Shards slammed into him from behind like a volley of tracer fire, Sleipner cloaking us both nicely as long as I didn’t move with the Vanish I gave him.

The boys were moving even as the vylstrigoi was blasted forwards, his left leg spinning away as he shrieked in agony. It slammed to the ground, twisting and writhing, and two Swords cut together.

The overlong arms were left behind, and both of the boys kicked together. It was like they had worked together before, or something.

The vylstrigoi, now armless and reduced to one leg, was thrown back and down the slope, smashing into the ground and crashing into the ground and tree basically right next to me.

Master Fred took a step and was standing next to me. I invoked the spell, swirled it around, and fed it into the torus of Wrath Master Fred spun up to receive it.

The Mick came down next to the vylstrigoi as it tried to wriggle away in my direction, and calmly kicked it back at Master Fred, who looked it right in the eyes as he brought his hands down and slammed them right on its chest.

Protection from Evil stops mental connections, and inverted, spiritual beings from moving around. The vylstrigoi got to feel the wonder of being trapped and bound inside its rotting skin... and then there wasn’t any skin anymore, as Master Fred blew a 1/day surge, and Topped the Wrath out.

Multi-colored Wrath blew the whole length of the vylstrigoi in an explosion of purifying and cleansing flame. The corpse went up like tinder thrown into an inferno, burning with incredible speed as the remnant vivus on it surged and turned it all to white dust, filling the air with sparkling motes.

“Keep the nose filters in for the tomb,” I reminded them, and The Mick stopped reaching towards his nose. “We’ll have Master Fred cleanse it on the way down, but the plague will still be viable for at least a week there.”

“Feh,” The Mick summed up nicely. I hopped down from Sleipner, which trundled after us as we made our way up to the tomb.

It had actually been screened behind a fallen tree, which the lads had heaved off to the side with equanimity. Now they combined to lift a rock massing close to two thousand pounds up, instead of pushing it away, and heaved it off to the side to roll down the hill.

A team would be coming in to seal the tomb and fill it in afterwards, Fred had informed me, so leaving it open wouldn’t be much of a problem. Its smell would certainly be driving away any animals which might want to lair here, if any would even approach the area.

Master Fred pulsed his Wrath into his eyes, and turned them into flashlights, lighting the way as he went first. I noticed The Mick flinch at the display, which was indeed sudden and a bit intimidating, while I popped up a hovering Light on the bandolier strap on my shoulder.

He just pulled out a small flashlight from an inner pocket, pushed the Eternal Light out, and held it in his scabbard hand, making it look like his Sword was serving as a flashlight.

Down we went.

------

It was a tomb, not a dungeon, but it was plain that it was intended as something more, as multiple rooms had been excavated in here. Twice Master Fred held up two fingers, pointed, and he went right while The Mick went left.

I flashed the remains of those guards to vivus, carefully ignoring The Mick’s glance at my follow-up, and we moved through the cramped ‘guard rooms’ to two chambers that were obviously a magical lab and study room, complete with faint magical Eternal Lights under leaded glass on the desk there.

“Touch nothing,” I warned them both. “Master Fred, in detail.”

He stood there, and we watched the Lights in his eyes play over everything. There were a couple bookcases, including one full size, and shadows swam over the contents...

“Anything with undead affinity, Lord Mick?” I asked calmly, scanning for magic, evil, disease, undead, and Curses in series.

“Aye, there’s something on the desk...” he began, and I slapped Clavus down on his shoulder.

“Did you mean to take a step?” I asked him, very seriously.

He looked at me, opened his mouth, and closed it, before stepping back.

Master Fred’s eyes turned on the desk, and what was laying open upon it.

“A scroll?” The Mick asked, and I slapped Clavus down on his shoulder again. He looked down at his feet, swore openly, and stepped back. Then he took two more steps and backed out of the room. “The fuck?” he asked from the previous room.

“Curse on it. It’s calling to Powered, I think. Guess what might happen to you and your Tome-Tainted self if you go read it.”

There was a choked sound from the other room. “How the fuck did you know that?” he called out, as Master Fred raised an eyebrow.

“Vivic flame doesn’t hurt Tomb-Tainted, but it lingers on them,” I replied. “Tomb-Tainted are instinctively afraid of vivic fire, as it burns the undead, looks like white-hot fire to them. You not only weren’t afraid of it, you’ve seen it before.”

He swore again in Gaelic, while Master Fred looked intrigued. “So, what’s the scroll?” The Mick changed the subject promptly.

“Master Fred, I’d like you to Devour Magic on that thing thirty times, please.” He gave me a look, I nodded confirmation that he’d heard right, and the Light in his eyes winked out as he brought a rather hellfire-heavier Wrath up on his hand, and sent it coursing on out to the scroll.

I pushed The Mick back into the other room as he started to step out, and he swore and stepped back, his face a mask of annoyance. “How are you resisting it?” he asked, slapping his head.

“Put up a Protection from Evil on yourself, and you’ll be fine,” I told him.

He looked at me, I looked at him, and he rolled his glowing red eyes. With quick and practiced motions, he got the spell off, and flinched as something popped in his head after being severed.

“Fuck me running!” he exclaimed promptly.

“Let us know when the pressure on your Protection ends, if it does,” I said, crossing my arms and waiting patiently.

He nodded in irritation, brow furrowing as he concentrated. “I didn’t think anyone could slip an enchantment in on me so easily,” he cursed softly.

“It’s a Curse, not an Enchantment. You using The Blood or The Lore?” I asked him calmly.

“The Lore,” he admitted after a breath. “There’s dangers involved in me using The Blood...”

I nodded, staring at the bridge of his nose. “Were you going to Baltimore after this?”

He gave me an odd look. “Aye, the Elder that turned the renegade I staked and burned ran there. They’ve a strong temple to Aru there; figured I’d stop there, grab an eager vampire-killer, and send my senior off to its final end.”

My smile was odd, and he noticed it. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Do you know what a Forsaken Source is?” I asked calmly.

His scarlet eyes flashed and darkened in surprise. I just nodded. “Commander Briggs is at the First Light of Dawn. He is probably the most powerful Source alive. Right now, his Source Oath is to link up with Sama Rantha.”

He caught his falling jaw a little late. I didn’t wait for him to say anything as I continued, “They don’t teach the Flowing Waters swordplay in the Ocean and River style here, and Way of Water II makes you one of the best pure swordsmen alive. That warsaber you’re carrying is also at QL 32, and was forged by a Forsaken. The Milk-and-Crimson color scheme is a famous pattern called Heart’s Blood, as it was the original source of the Blooding enchantment you’ve got on there; the color schema appears if it is the first non-Tier enhancement on an edged Weapon. It is also not in the lexicon of options I can find anywhere, even on the Freemasons or Magi sites, despite being a low-Slot, basic enchantment option.

“I also notice that there’s a dash of magic between your eyes, that someone who wasn’t aware of what a Mark is would think is coming from them.” His eyes got very big and dark suddenly in shock. “Right now you are being caught up in a Source-generated wave of coincidence designed to get Sama and Briggs together, Lord Mick. Briggs would have noticed your swordplay and Sword as quickly as I had, and would have been very impressed that you have learned Tome-Tainted, which I believe is completely unknown among the other pseudo-vampire Familia.”

“Great Fucking Hell.” He was staring at me like I’d just walked out a burning hole in the ground. “Where in Hurn’s name did you learn all that shit?”

“Shroudborn. Do you have direct telepathic contact to Sama via that Mark in your nasal cavity?”

His jaw worked, stunned, and he nodded slowly. “I can reach her,” he admitted carefully, eyes narrowing and measuring my reaction.

“Contact her and say, Oh Sage of Swords, Grandmistress of The Sword Is A Shitty Weapon, and Tip of the Spear, Commander Briggs is in Baltimore, and asking you to get your ass out of Coralost and go visit him.”

I didn’t smile, promise.