《Vigil's Justice (Vigil Bound Book 1)》 Battle for Fallujah ¡°Hey, Cal,¡± I hollered down into the cab of the Humvee as our convoy crawled to a halt. ¡°Pass me one of those Rip Its.¡± I swept my free hand toward the dust-covered red cooler below. ¡°Yeah,¡± he replied. ¡°I got your Rip It right here, Boyd.¡± He lifted one ass cheek and cut the mother of all farts. An eye-watering stench drifted up, potent even over the smells of fires and smoke that always lingered in the air. ¡°Gas, gas, gas,¡± Private First Class Sanchez, Cal¡¯s A-Driver, called out while visibly recoiling from the noxious fumes. ¡°Sweet baby Jesus,¡± I said, eyes watering, ¡°you need to see a Corpsman about that, dude. I think something died inside of you.¡± ¡°Naw,¡± Cal replied with a grin, ¡°I have it on good authority that the Veggie Omelet MRE is supposed to smell like that on the back end.¡± He laughed before cracking the cooler lid and fishing out a chrome can of the most potent off-brand energy drink the Marine Corps could afford. The ever-coveted Rip It. He tossed it up with practiced ease¡ªwe¡¯d done this same maneuver a hundred times or more¡ªand I caught it in a dusty hand. The can was slick with water from ice that had melted days ago, and it was just this side of hot. Didn¡¯t matter to me, though. I hadn¡¯t slept in the better part of two days, and I needed something to keep me going. The endless cigarettes and PX caffeine pills would only take me so far. ¡°You¡¯re a lifesaver, bud,¡± I replied, cracking the top with a hiss and taking a long pull. It tasted like cherry flavored acid, and I couldn¡¯t have been happier. ¡°What¡¯s the holdup anyway?¡± ¡°Eh, nothing exciting. Chatfield radioed in that there¡¯s debris in the road¡­¡± He paused, drumming his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. ¡°Dixon probably just needed to drop a deuce, though. You ever share a tent with him? I think he might have IBS. He also screams in his sleep, which is not as much fun as you¡¯d think it would be.¡± I set the Rip It down beside me and directed my gaze back to the buildings all around us, searching the windows, doorways, and rooftops for any sign of movement. Of life. But the street was quiet. Most of the buildings were plain brown stone and improvised mud¡ªexcept for the one right in front of me. I¡¯d seen plenty of mosques since coming to Iraq, and this wasn¡¯t that, but it was definitely a temple of some sort. A ziggurat-like structure three stories tall, it was made from red-brown sandstone blocks. Gray stone pillars framed in a wooden door festooned with black rivets; above the door was a finely carved relief depicting complicated geometric patterns and a man with five faces, sitting crossed-legged¡ªa sword balanced in one hand, a scale in the other. The temple was old. Older than the rest of the houses and shops that pressed in around it. Weird, but not weirder than some of the other stuff I¡¯d seen since coming here. That was the thing about fighting in a place like Iraq. Every city was steeped in history. Stained red with it. Old and new lived side by side, snuggled up like lovers on a cold night, no distinction between where one ended and the other began. Honestly, I didn¡¯t care whether it was a temple or a gas station, so long as there weren¡¯t insurgents hiding inside, hell-bent on murdering me and my Marines. I paused. Squinted. For a brief moment I thought I¡¯d caught a glimpse of motion above. ¡°Hey, head on a swivel,¡± I called down. ¡°Something about this feels¡ª¡± The world erupted with light and sound and heat and fury. A plume of sand and smoke billowed up and washed over the Humvee, obscuring the world. The vehicle violently rocked and kicked me from the turret. I fell backward, head slamming into the side mirror before I spiraled onto the dirt-caked ground. A deafening ring howled in my ears, and white spots swam across my field of vision. What the fuck just happened? I thought, trying to get my bearings. Enemy contact. That¡¯s what the fuck happened. We¡¯d been hit. The ringing slowly subsided, replaced by the sound of frantic voices and the clatter of gunfire. The lead Humvee was a smoldering wreck. From my angle I could see the engine block utterly mangled¡ªprobably a remotely detonated IED planted in the road. Chatfield and Dixon were scrambling toward me, though there was no sign of Aguilar, their turret gunner. The pair moved with speed and purpose, while maintaining good cover and returning fire whenever there was a break in the volley of rounds raining down from above. Shit. They¡¯d hit the last Humvee in our convoy as well. It was a smoldering wreck, but at least one Marine had survived. Lance Corporal McInnes was scrambling toward us. Unlike Chatfield and Dixon¡ªboth old hands who had seen some shit¡ªhe was hauling ass, his rifle forgotten, terror brimming in his eyes. A guy could train and train and train, but the first real firefight was a proving ground, and you never knew how someone was going to react until the pressure was on. I shook my head, wiped some dust from my eyes, then checked the rifle strapped to my chest. Safety was on, but the mag was still in place and there was a round in the chamber. I¡¯d been in plenty of firefights. Game time, motherfuckers. I moved onto a knee, keeping a low profile, and stole a quick peek into the Humvee¡ªhad to check on Cal and Sanchez. My stomach lurched and I couldn¡¯t breathe for a second. The Humvee burned with Cal still stuck inside, slumped over the wheel. We¡¯d gone to high school together. Endured Recruit Training on Paris Island together. Deployed to the Fleet together. Now, my best friend in the world was dead and there wasn¡¯t a single thing I could do for him. He was crisped and seared, front and back, his flight suit mostly melted at this point. At a glance, it was obvious what had happened. We¡¯d suffered a direct hit on the driver side from a shoulder-mounted rocket-propelled grenade, or RPG. The blast had thrown me clear, but Cal hadn¡¯t been so lucky. Sanchez was propped up in the seat beside my best friend, groaning. I didn¡¯t know him well¡ªhe was a Boot, fresh out of 3/1, Company K. He¡¯d been with our command for less than a week. What I did know was that he was hurt but alive and that I wasn¡¯t going to leave him there. Damned if I was going to let some insurgent dickbag barbeque another one of my Marines. If his number was up, they could decide that back in the medical tent after they¡¯d found him some nice clean sheets, pumped him full of morphine, and gotten the company chaplain to say a few words over him. ¡°Chatfield, Dixon,¡± I barked as the two men ducked behind the front end of my Humvee. ¡°I need overlapping fields of suppressive fire. Strafe the building. Keep me clear for thirty seconds. McInnes,¡± I hollered as the kid slid to a halt, panting from his sprint. ¡°Stand by for injured!¡± ¡°Get some!¡± Chatfield called as he poked his head out and laid down blanket of heavy fire. His M-16 rattled, rapt-tap-tap, the muzzle vomiting flame and hot lead. Bullets chewed up the mud and stone, sending debris raining down onto the narrow street below. I jerked the Humvee door open and pulled the wounded Marine away from Cal. Poor kid was slick with his own blood and still leaking fluid, but the wheezing hitch in his chest told me he was alive, at least for a little longer. With a hand under one arm and the other on the back of his jacket, I dragged him free of the vehicle and passed him off to Lance Corporal McInnes. What Sanchez really needed was a Corpsman, but what I had was a green around the gills lance who¡¯d been in country for less than a month. It would have to be enough, because we didn¡¯t have any other resources available. Screw Semper Fidelis. Improvise, adapt, overcome- was the real Marine Corps motto, as far as I was concerned. McInnes pulled the IFAK from Sanchez¡¯s flak jacket and set to work, spooling out gauze, applying pressure, treating wounds as best he was able. My own limited first-aid training ran through the back of my head. Start the breathing, stop the bleeding, protect the wound, treat for shock. I doubted any of that would be enough. Sanchez rasped and wheezed, blood on his lips, eyes rolling wildly in his head. Despite the chaos around us, McInnes managed to do a decent job. He was efficient, tamping down the bleeding, then applying the gauze. That gauze was specialty stuff, designed to soak up three hundred times its own weight in blood, but it wasn¡¯t doing much for Sanchez. As soon as McInnes had one leak patched, another one made itself known. I didn¡¯t like the kid¡¯s chances. But then, I didn¡¯t like any of our chances. I peeked up to get a better look at what we were dealing with. We were hemmed in, and they¡¯d taken out all three of our vehicles. Cal was dead and so was Aguilar. Since McInnes was all by his lonesome, that probably meant Willmarth and Goodrich were gone too. There were only four of us in fighting condition, and McInnes didn¡¯t have a rifle. There were enemy combatants positioned on top of the buildings to my left and right and more hunkered down on the temple, using the stony crenellations jutting up for cover. It wasn¡¯t going to take them long to gun us down if we didn¡¯t change positions. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! We had to move. It was that or die. As though to emphasize the point, a bullet whizzed by, barely missing my helmet. That was all I needed. Lead bouncing off the vehicle and tearing a hole in my jaw. If we were going to get clear of this position, we needed more power. More muscle. I signaled to Chatfield. Two fingers pointed at me, then back at the Humvee. He got it. He¡¯d been out here even longer than I had. The ¡°more¡± we needed was sitting right in front of us, nestled in the gunner¡¯s turret. All I had to do was get ahold of it without ending up like Sanchez. ¡°Reloading!¡± Chatfield called, dropping down and swapping out magazines while Dixon popped up, resuming suppressive fire. I took a deep breath and slipped back up into the steel-ringed turret. There was a 240G, medium machine gun sitting in the cradle, loaded with .762 and ready to rock and roll. Only problem was, with the gun locked into the cradle, there was no way I could get the range of motion I needed to lay down fire at the roofline. Improvise, adapt, and overcome. Harder, faster, more. ¡°You¡¯ve got this, Boyd,¡± I reassured myself. Not great when you start talking to yourself, but who was going to rat me out? Cal? On instinct, I grabbed his tags and shoved them into my pocket. Then, working as fast as I could, I popped the cradle pin and pulled the bulky weapon free. I jammed the big ol¡¯ buttstock into my shoulder pocket and angled the barrel toward the last place I¡¯d seen muzzle flashes. There was a brief break in fire. ¡°Get ready! We¡¯re going to stack on the temple door,¡± I yelled, heart thumping like a jackhammer as I nodded toward the ancient building across from us. Chatfield answered but whatever he said was whipped away on a blistering breeze and lost to the wind. I had to hope we were on the same page. ¡°Move on my mark!¡± I hollered. Chatfield let loose with a round of sporadic fire. ¡°Mark!¡± I yelled. Then I pulled the trigger and the machine gun chewed through the muddy walls of the temple, sending more dust swirling and dancing through the air. I was shooting low. Too low. I wasn¡¯t here to remodel Fallujah or try my hand at interior decorating. I crouched in the belly of the Humvee, angled my weapon as high as I could, and let it rip again. The 240 wasn¡¯t meant to be fired like a shoulder-mounted weapon, not unless you were Rambo. It kicked like an angry horse and my aim was shit as a result. I had volume but lacked precision. But that¡¯s the thing about machine guns. Accuracy isn¡¯t as important when you can lay down two hundred rounds per minute. That kind of quantity has its own quality. I don¡¯t know how, but I heard the man die. It was fast. He pirouetted from the roof of the temple and thwacked onto the hood of a rusted-out car across the street. His arm cracked and split, bending over the side of the vehicle like a disarticulated marionette. His eyes were open and vacant. He was dead and gone, which was fine by me. He¡¯d been willing to take me and my buddies down. For all I knew, he was the asshole who¡¯d killed Cal. Far as I was concerned, he got what was coming to him. I aimed the 240 back at the position where he¡¯d died and made a calculated guess. If I was camped out on top of a building and hoping to take out some United States Marines, I wouldn¡¯t organize my men in clumps. I¡¯d spread them out over as wide an area as possible and come at ¡¯em from all angles. I adjusted my field of fire and squeezed the trigger again. I heard another gurgling squeal from above. Bingo. Two down, no telling how many more to go. Chatfield was still at it, screaming at the top of his lungs, yelling obscenities whenever one of their guys snuffed it. I joined in and riddled the top of that building until I couldn¡¯t hear a single round of return fire. Then I waited. Silence. Nothing. Just the goddammed wind and a cat mewling in the distance. Poor little guy, I could practically hear Cal whisper, his voice a distant echo of the past. Cal would have gone looking for that cat. That was the kind of guy he was. A stupid son of a bitch with his head on backwards, but his heart in the right place. Something hurt deep down inside my chest as I thought about my idiot friend, but I pushed those intrusive memories away. I couldn¡¯t help him, and now wasn¡¯t the time for grief. Now was the time for survival, and my duty was to the living. ¡°We did good, Cal.¡± I touched the back of his jacket by way of farewell, ditched the 240¡ªout of rounds¡ªscooted out of the Humvee, and rushed across the street with my head ducked low, offering a silent prayer that I didn¡¯t catch a bullet to the back. I slammed into the wall beside Chatfield, breathing hard from the effort, hands shaky from the adrenaline. There was no sign of McInnes. I scooted right and spotted the lance corporal by the ruined Humvee. His body was hunched over Sanchez. Half his face was missing, even though his hands were still pressed up against Sanchez¡¯s wounds. The only thing I knew about McInnes was that he smoked Camels, but I¡¯d remember his name. I always did. He would go on the list with all the other friends I¡¯d lost to this war. I¡¯d also remember that he died trying to help one of his own. Chatfield and Dixon were in position, their backs pressed up against the sandstone blocks of the temple, weapons locked and loaded. The place was silent at the moment, but that didn¡¯t mean those sneaky bastards weren¡¯t in there waiting for us to let our guard down. We couldn¡¯t leave anything to chance. Chatfield, on point, slammed his heel into the sturdy door barring our way into the temple interior. The wood cracked and swung inward as though in invitation. Dixon reached around and lobbed a grenade in. ¡°Frag out!¡± Both men ducked back, waiting for the five count and the rattling boom that followed. Choking smoke billowed out from the entryway as they moved. Chatfield turkey-peeked the corner and hooked hard right, pieing his section of the room, while Dixon pivoted left, clearing his section. I came in hard on their heels, sweeping the top and back, searching for any combatants. All clear. All clear of enemies, at least. The room was a shitshow. There was debris everywhere¡ªtables and chairs in splinters, pictures smashed in their frames, bedrolls shredded. A quick scan revealed AKs lined up against a wall covered with runes and pictographs in a language older than Arabic. More of the markings were carved into the stones underfoot¡ªdeep channels zigzagging and swirling their way across the floor. Stacked in the corner were wooden crates that held Russian made rocket-propelled grenades. The same type of RPGs that had killed Cal. No bodies, though. Didn¡¯t mean there weren¡¯t bad guys in the building somewhere. This was a weapons cache¡ªthe mujahideen wouldn¡¯t just leave all this equipment sitting around, unprotected. They were probably tucked away upstairs, rigged with booby traps for the uninitiated and sentimental. We¡¯d have to take this place room by room. There was a staircase toward the back that doglegged sharply left after the first two steps, making it the perfect spot for someone to lie in wait. ¡°Moving,¡± I called, assuming point as I glided for the stone steps. Everything slowed to a crawl, time doubling back on itself as a barely audible plink drifted to my ears. That was a sound I knew well. It was death. I screamed at Chatfield and Dixon to take cover. I knew what was coming. I felt it in my bones even before I could see it with my eyes. The sound was followed by the appearance of a green sphere, no bigger than a tennis ball, rolling down the stairs like it was nothing at all. An M-67 frag grenade. ¡°Back,¡± I screamed, eyes wide, face beet red. My legs moved like pistons, driven by adrenaline and the need to protect my friends better than I¡¯d protected Cal. That little green ball, packed full of hell and vengeance, thudded down the last two steps and came rolling to a stop. I knew what I needed to do. It was stupid. Moronic. And the only way to save Dixon and Chatfield. I leapt, smothering the grenade with my body, curling into a ball and muttering a silent prayer under my breath. I positioned my flak jacket over the top, hoping it would offer me some scant protection from the imminent blast. A part of me knew that was a pipe dream. There was no coming back from this. But I was dead anyway. This way, my friends might have a chance to live. I tensed a second before the explosion ripped into me, hot and crazed and metallic, turning my world upside down. I cartwheeled through the air and landed on my back with a resounding snap. Resounding snaps were never good. My legs weren¡¯t my legs, and my arms weren¡¯t following my orders, but worst of all, my guts were outside when they were supposed to be inside. There should¡¯ve been stabbing pains, the smell of burned flesh, and a shit ton of screaming, shouting, and swearing while my buddies dragged me out, patched me up, and lied about my chances. None of that was happening. The pain was amped up to an eleven out of ten, but that score was intellectual, rather than physical. I floated outside my body, detached and distant, waiting for reality to sink in. But it seemed reality didn¡¯t have time for me or my bullshit. Reality had left me to my fate, and I had the weirdest sense this was all happening to someone else. Start the breathing, stop the bleeding, protect the wound, treat for shock, I repeated inside my head. Except, it was going to be damned tough to stop the bleeding, because my blood was actively crawling up the goddamned walls. The strange grooves gouged into the floor were rivers of crimson. I could feel my body growing cold as the room siphoned out the life force flowing through my veins¡ªfunneling it away from my body and directing it into the runes and shapes decorating the walls. What I was seeing was impossible since, as far as I knew, gravity only worked in one direction. I chalked it up to shock. Some people saw tunnels made of light when dying, others saw friends and family members welcoming them with open arms. I saw my blood crawling up the walls. What does that say about me? I wondered idly. ¡°They get you when your guard¡¯s down,¡± Cal said. I could hear his voice even over the ringing in my ears, courtesy of the frag grenade. ¡°Come on, Boyd, if you don¡¯t get your shit together, you¡¯re gonna die here. We both can¡¯t die here, man. I don¡¯t want First Sergeant Cortez breaking the news to my mom¡ªthat guy was such a colossal douche. You gotta be the one to do it. I¡¯m counting on you. So move your ass and get into a better fighting position.¡± ¡°That¡¯s easier said than done,¡± I muttered under my breath, frothy blood coating my lips. Hallucinatory Cal was right¡ªobviously it would be better if I could sit up and find some cover¡ªbut with a stomach full of shrapnel, it was going to take more than sheer willpower to get me off my back. With a grimace, I groped at my midriff with a trembling hand. Soft to the touch, meaty yet pliable, my intestines were kind enough to slide back inside without too much hassle. I held my hand over the gaping wound, still waiting for the sensations to kick in, but damned if I wasn¡¯t immune to the whole experience. God bless adrenaline. It had spared me the worst. Better yet, I was alive. Maybe not for long, but alive was still alive. My heart and lungs hadn¡¯t been shredded or nicked. My ticker was ticking and my wheezybags were filling and emptying the way they were supposed to. Turned out, I¡¯d been saved in part by the ceramic SAPI plates in my vest, but there was something wet soaking through my cammie bottoms. Likely another injury I couldn¡¯t feel. ¡°You got this,¡± I told myself. ¡°Just get up. Get up, you miserable son of a bitch. I am not going to join Cal in Hell. Not today. I am not gonna give these insurgent assholes the satisfaction of killing me.¡± As soon as I turned my attention to my legs, the nerves fired up, sending jolts of energy surging down my thighs and into my feet, which twitched and flapped, ready to move. With a groan, I slowly stood. I wobbled on numb, unsteady legs. But I didn¡¯t fall right back onto my ass. So far, so good. Next, I drew my service pistol¡ªa matte black Colt 1911 that fired .45 ACP rounds¡ªfrom its holster with one hand and my service issued K-Bar with the other. Chances are I wasn¡¯t walking out of here, but at least I would die on my feet with a weapon in my hand. Couldn¡¯t ask for much more than that. Interlude of Gods The walls were shimmering, dancing with my blood, and there were shadowy figures flickering and crawling out from the cracks between the stones. They were hunched things, bent and twisted. I ignored them. None of it was real. Probably just hallucinations conjured by a mind flooded with a chemical cocktail of endorphins. Instead, I focused on the stairs. Grenades didn¡¯t toss themselves. Some mujahideen dickhead had thrown it, and I intended to see they got a face full of lead for their trouble. There was no sign of Chatfield or Dixon¡ªno bark of rifle fire or the shots of the dying¡ªbut it was impossible to miss the steady thud of footsteps that emanated from the staircase. I braced myself, weapon at the ready. But what rounded the corner wasn¡¯t human. Humanoid, sure. But not human. It was a creature of shadow and smoke, ten feet tall, with writhing tentacles protruding from its back. It had no face. No eyes. No defining features at all. Its body was a void space filled with the twinkling lights of distant galaxies. I blinked, trying to banish the hallucination, but it didn¡¯t disappear. It drew closer with every second, marching inevitably toward me like death made manifest. ¡°Ritualas kaipic atliktaes,¡± the creature intoned, pointing a finger straight at me. Its voice was like the crooning of a thousand locust and set my teeth on edge. ¡°Aukaum bryuvo preimtia. Kompaktias pragamintas. Dubar ateinek ruosprendium.¡± Maybe I hadn¡¯t survived the grenade after all. I¡¯d spent more than a few Sundays cooling my heels in church, and if this ugly sumbitch wasn¡¯t a demon getting ready to drag my unruly ass straight to hell, then I didn¡¯t know what was. But I didn¡¯t lower my pistol. Even if this thing was the Devil himself, I wasn¡¯t going down without a fight. ¡°Come and get some,¡± I growled, squeezing the trigger three times in quick succession, two shots to the body, one to the head just like I¡¯d drilled a thousand times. The Colt barked but the rounds disappeared harmlessly into the empty void that comprised the creature¡¯s shadowy form. It didn¡¯t slow. Didn¡¯t hesitate. More of the shadowy creatures¡ªthese smaller than the behemoth in front of me¡ªwere closing in on every side, their motions disjointed and strangely out of synch with time. Shadowy hands reached toward me. I lashed out with the K-Bar, but the blade passed harmlessly through their limbs. ¡°Yes, this one will do nicely,¡± the creature said, this time in English. A shadowy hand the size of a hubcap closed around my throat, squeezing until my eyes bulged and my lungs burned. More of the otherworldly shades wrapped themselves around my arms and legs, dragging me down into the floor. I felt myself sinking into the ground while the walls of the temple pulsated with crimson light, strobing in time with the thunderous hammering of my heart. I screamed as the world spun apart around me, flinging me not into a burning lake of fire, but into the vastness of the Milky Way. In the span of an eyeblink the inhuman shades were gone, replaced by an endless sea of twinkling stars and spiraling galaxies, spinning away in the distance. Far down below I watched my body slowly die. Watched as Chatfield and Dixon surged up the stairwell, guns blazing as they dropped the man responsible for my untimely demise. I should have been happier about that¡ªmy friends had survived and avenged me, hell yeah!¡ªbut honestly, I was pretty fixated on my soon-to-be corpse. All the duct tape and morphine in the world wasn¡¯t gonna fix what ailed me. ¡°He isn¡¯t the worst candidate we¡¯ve ever had,¡± someone whispered. The words drew me from my thoughts and dispelled the gruesome scene below like the rising sun burning away a layer of morning mist. The voice¡ªsoothing, and sweet, and oddly feminine¡ªreverberated through the cosmos, bouncing off distant planets. Above me the faraway stars began to swirl and morph, taking on the rough visage of a face. I squinted, confused by what I was seeing. Not one face, but five. Five faces built out of constellations and galaxies, all of them inexplicably intertwined. ¡°Far from the best either,¡± came a retort from one of the other faces. She was gruff and matronly. ¡°He¡¯s physically and mentally fit, I¡¯ll give you that, but the transition will be jarring. His is a world devoid of magic. They¡¯ve long ago given up the old ways in favor of their science.¡± ¡°Oh, give over, Gadriel. I like him,¡± growled a man positioned just to her left in the swirling star cluster. ¡°His death was glorious. I could watch it a thousand times and never grow bored. Saving his comrades. Jumping on that grenade. Scooping his guts back up. He even tried to fight off the heralds. That¡¯s what killer instinct looks like. That¡¯s the warrior spirit. I can mold that. By the gods above and below, I can mold that!¡± ¡°We all know you¡¯d approve, Thuriel,¡± sniffed a fourth voice, regal and somehow more levelheaded than the rest. ¡°But Gadriel¡¯s point is valid. Our ways will be strange and foreign to him. Mastering our magicks is the work of a lifetime, and most of the Vigils start training from infancy.¡± ¡°We always have this problem with Inkarnates, though,¡± said the first voice. ¡°By their very nature they are outsiders. We¡¯ve always found a way before.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, Lero,¡± chimed in the naysayer, Gadriel, ¡°but usually they¡¯re from shadows that are far closer to our own realm.¡± The voice paused, clearly worried. ¡°This one is so far off the central finite arc¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying that like we have a choice,¡± interjected the final member of the odd celestial group. ¡°Why are we even discussing it? It¡¯s not like we have another option, do we? We wouldn¡¯t be fishing so far from Cantorii Prime if we had better candidates. He died valiantly, defending his brothers in battle, and fell with weapons in hand. And the sanctum sanctorum accepted his blood offering, or else he would not be here. Those are the criteria, are they not? Akora, surely there must be a way? You¡¯ve done more with less.¡± ¡°Once or twice,¡± the levelheaded voice in the center replied. ¡°It will all be moot unless he decides to take on the mantle. But assuming he is agreeable, I can adjust the system so that it will work with his¡­ natural aptitudes.¡± The cosmos whirled and I abruptly found myself sitting on a velvet chair across from what might have been a man, if a man had a rotating head with five different faces protruding out from each side like cancerous growths. There were two female faces¡ªone steely eyed and matronly, another young with a dazzling smile¡ªand two male, one stately with a black beard peppered with silver, the other gaunt and slightly crazed looking. I¡¯d seen battle-hardened Marines with that same thousand-yard stare. The final face was androgynous, the skin waxy and pale, its eyes a milky white. Naturally, weirdo face was the one that settled on me. ¡°Welcome, Boyd Knight, to the Inbetween. I am Akora, Ward of Truth, and we collectively are Raguel.¡± It dipped its head in a small bow. ¡°This is a space that dwells in the crevices of existence, tucked away between time and matter and space.¡± ¡°Am I dead?¡± I asked, my voice a hoarse whisper. ¡°Oh, most certainly,¡± the pale face replied. ¡°And in a most glorious manner,¡± the gaunt, crazed face added. ¡°Does that mean you¡¯re God?¡± I asked. ¡°I always pictured God¡­ well, with less faces I guess.¡± ¡°Some call us a god,¡± Akora replied with a shrug, ¡°though we are not the god you are thinking of. We like to think of ourselves as a protector. As for our likeness, that is not our doing but your own. Whatever you are seeing is not really us as we are in truth, but rather a rough facsimile that your mind is capable of comprehending. None of that matters, though, Boyd Knight. What matters are these things three. First¡±¡ªa pale finger went into the air¡ª¡°would you like to live?¡± I squinted at the five-faced space freak like it had just grown even more faces. What kind of question was that? Did I want to live? Of course I wanted to live. Who didn¡¯t want to live, given the option? If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Honest question. Does anyone say no to that?¡± I asked. The gaunt face chortled. ¡°What¡¯d I tell you? I knew he had it in him. Takes a special kind of crazy to lose all of your intestines and want to go back for seconds.¡± ¡°A simple yes or no will suffice,¡± Akora replied, ignoring the other face¡¯s remarks. ¡°Yes,¡± I grunted, not entirely sure where this was going. ¡°Very good,¡± Akora said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want there to be any loopholes or misunderstandings. There are powers that be, other than ourselves, you understand, that might take umbrage should the process not be followed to the letter. Now, if you were to continue to live, would you willingly pursue justice, valor, balance, wrath, and truth?¡± Now that question took me a moment longer to parse. I definitely wanted to keep on kicking, but that sounded like a lot of commitment to me. Sure, I was dedicated to Corps and country, but outside of that I was mostly dedicated to the pursuit of drinking good beer, eating good barbeque, finding the perfect fishing hole, or grinding out levels in Deadwatch Crusade. I couldn¡¯t say any of that, though. I might¡¯ve grown up in the backwoods of Kentucky, but I wasn¡¯t stupid, and the way Akora was looking at me practically screamed that if I said no, I was going to get my ass booted straight into the sun. Since I was interested in not being a charbroiled soul I said yes. ¡°Excellent,¡± Akora replied with a nod and a slight smile. ¡°And three.¡± A final finger joined the other two. ¡°Do you like to play games?¡± ¡°Games? What¡¯re we talkin¡¯ about here? Risk? ¡¯Cause if it¡¯s Risk, I¡¯m gonna whoop all your asses, gods or not. I¡¯ll just hole up in Australia and wait it out.¡± ¡°There is Risk indeed, but you won¡¯t be a general. You will be a piece placed carefully on the board, but a potentially powerful one, given time. The game we are playing is Risk on a cosmic scale, Boyd Knight, and the rules we use are called the Ascendant System. The world we are sending you to, Alkran, is but one of many we oversee. Yet it is of great interest to us. It is a world out of balance, and we are unsure why. Something dwells there that even we cannot see. You will ferret it out in due time. Assuming you survive.¡± ¡°And if I don¡¯t survive?¡± ¡°We will find another and try again,¡± Akora replied evenly, folding its hands passively in its lap. ¡°Now, there will be many dangers presented to you,¡± it continued after a moment. ¡°Alkran is not a particularly kind or coddling world, especially to an outsider. Which is why we shall give you what advantages we may. First, I will assign you a spirit guide to act as your intermediary while on Alkran¡ªwe have a host of accomplished warriors who may guide you along the path.¡± I froze. Spirit guide? ¡°I want Cal,¡± I blurted out. ¡°As my spirit guide, I mean.¡± Despite being dead, I was still wearing my full battle rattle. I reached into my pocket and pulled out his dog tags. ¡°You want me to play your game, I want you to do me a solid and bring my friend back.¡± ¡°That¡¯s quite an unusual request,¡± Akora said slowly. ¡°It is possible, especially since he died in such close proximity to you. But I have to warn you, he will be a specter, not a creature of flesh and blood and bone as you shall be.¡± ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t give a shit,¡± I said, shrugging one shoulder. ¡°Bring my pal back and I¡¯m in.¡± ¡°It will be a very difficult transition for him,¡± Akora said after a second, ¡°and he will make a terrible spirit guide. He¡¯ll know little more of the world than you do. Are you sure this is a wise move, Boyd Knight?¡± ¡°Listen,¡± I replied, leaning forward, ¡°I didn¡¯t get to be where I am by making wise life choices, okay? Bring my friend back. I¡¯ll deal with the fallout.¡± Akora frowned, their lips little more than a slit. ¡°Unorthodox, but very well. I shall also allow my brothers and sisters to each grant you one boon to aid you on your journey. Gadriel, I supposed we¡¯ll start with you? I assume you¡¯ll give the same boon you always do?¡± ¡°What other boon would I give?¡± the stern-faced woman replied, a deadly fire burning in her eyes. ¡°What kind of warrior can seek justice without weapons to enforce his will? Only a fool. To you,¡± she said, pinning me in place with a steely gaze, ¡°I grant the boon of the Soul Bound Weapon. I¡¯ve given the same gift to every Vigil who has ever served the Five.¡± ¡°And if his weapons fail him?¡± asked the maiden face. ¡°Then I suspect he shall die,¡± she replied, largely indifferent. ¡°Dear me, but I certainly hope not,¡± the maiden replied. ¡°Which is the very reason I always grant the Language of the Heavens. There will come a time, Boyd Knight, when the weapons of war will be inadequate to the task, but the balance must still be maintained. In my experience, balance is more often served through revelation and conversation than through violence. How shall you search out the truth without a proper means to communicate? Accept my boon. Know and be known. Speak, listen, and be understood.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Akora said with a sigh of resignation. ¡°So we¡¯re just going to play this by the numbers then? Same as it ever was? Voch, I suppose you will grant him the boon of Diamond Body? And you, Thuriel, will bequeath him Arcane Insight?¡± ¡°If I don¡¯t gift him Diamond Body,¡± the bearded man retorted, ¡°he¡¯ll never survive his first encounter. Soul Bound weapons won¡¯t do him much good if he can¡¯t regenerate fast enough to use them.¡± ¡°And how will he accomplish his goals without Arcane Insight, hmm?¡± asked the crazed, gaunt-faced man. ¡°His mind must be prepared if he is to have access to the Ascendant System Interface.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Akora conceded. ¡°I am merely suggesting that if we want different results, perhaps it is not best to play the game the same way.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that why we¡¯re bringing in an Inkarnate in the first place?¡± asked the matronly face. ¡°Perhaps,¡± Akora conceded once again. ¡°But this one¡­ He intrigues me. Already, he is playing the game in a way we have not seen before. This could be to our benefit. A true wild card, as your people say, Boyd.¡± ¡°It could also be to our detriment,¡± the matronly face growled. ¡°Perhaps. But that is a risk I am willing to take. I think I will do things just a tad different this time. I¡¯m going to let him decide what boon I shall grant him.¡± ¡°Decide?¡± said the man with the stately beard. ¡°Decide how? Decide what?¡± ¡°Decide everything,¡± Akora said cryptically. ¡°For my boon, Boyd Knight, I give you the gift of choice.¡± In front of me, golden words flashed by in a whirlwind. Essence Coalescence¡­ Incatno Recall¡­ Magnus Arcana¡­ Differential Channeling¡­ Terrain Dominion¡­ Planes Totem¡­ Heresy Pact¡­ Oblivion Conversion¡­ Valor Eater¡­ Bladebound¡­ Quni Attunement¡­ On and on they went like a Star Wars opening crawl. ¡°Cool. Cool. Now what exactly am I looking at here?¡± I asked, squinting at the passing words. ¡°Everything,¡± Akora replied softly. ¡°When you enter your new life, you will be granted access to many powerful spells and abilities, which you will be able to unlock over time. But these boons we grant are the foundation upon which all else is built. Arcane Insight gives you the ability to interface with the Ascendant System, and all that it entails, while Diamond Body will allow you to survive the many horrendous physical challenges that will surely face you in the coming days and months. ¡°We five are bound by pacts older than time to grant only a single boon apiece, yet there are so many to choose from. For the first time in living memory, I am going to let you select which boon you would like to receive from me. Heresy Pact would allow you to forge additional alliances with other deities, for example, while Oblivion Conversion would grant you the ability to channel and work with the wildly unstable Oblivion Essence that permeates the darker regions of the universe. Some of these boons are never granted because they are too dangerous, others because they are useless. Choose as you will, knowing that whatever decision you make will have eternal consequences¡­¡± So, no pressure, I thought as I searched through the list. There were a hundred different abilities. How the hell was I supposed to know what a good choice would be? If they really were whisking me away to some new world, I couldn¡¯t even begin to comprehend what might be useful and what would be totally worthless. Sure, Oblivion Conversion sounded cool, but what if I ended up on a world where there was no Oblivion magic to harness? Forming a pact with some other deity could also be useful, or I could wind up running for my life from some alternate reality version of the Spanish Inquisition. Bladebound had a nice ring to it and some solid utility. With it I could telekinetically manipulate and control bladed weapons. I could envision myself with a cloud of knives circling around me like planets orbiting the sun, lashing out at anything that got within striking distance. Badass, but not particularly useful if I ended up on a world with high-powered sniper rifles. I read through ability after ability, feeling more unsure by the passing second. Quick Draw¡­ Empty Body¡­ Bloodline Essence¡­ Maker¡¯s Mark¡­ Hex Meld¡­ Any one of them could be amazing or useless, and it all depended on the circumstances. Then I spotted an ability that stopped me dead in my tracks. Threads of Fate. It didn¡¯t sound nearly as cool as Hex Meld or Valor Eater but damn did it have some serious potential. Threads of Fate (Active) Who can know what the future holds? Only the wise of heart and those with the vision that comes from experience. The threats a Vigil faces are as numerous as the sands on the shore, and the solutions are just as varied. Unwilling to leave his fate in the hands of others, the Vigil with the Threads of Fate Boon becomes the master of their own destiny. By visiting an altar dedicated to Raguel, a chosen Vigil may reweave the tapestry of their fate once every 12 hours, reclaiming spent Ward Points. All of these foundation skills were vague and somewhat unhelpful, and this one was no different, but I could read between the lines. Unless I was way off base, it sounded like Threads of Fate would allow me to respec my skills later on. Since I had no idea what I would be facing, having an ability like that in my back pocket could be invaluable. How many times had I started a DnD campaign only to realize I¡¯d picked the worst possible build? More times than I could count. My life was on the line here, and I was playing a game I didn¡¯t even remotely understand. Improvise, adapt, and overcome. ¡°Threads of Fate,¡± I finally said. ¡°Hmm, an interesting choice indeed,¡± Akora said, sounding more than a little pleased. ¡°A bold choice. We shall see if it pays out. Welcome to our game, Boyd Knight. We will watch your progress with keen interest. Now¡­ Sleep. Forget. Prepare. A new world awaits¡­¡± Memento Mori I gasped and coughed, clawing at my throat, desperate for oxygen. But with my first full breath came fire, coursing through my veins like molten lead. I rolled to one side, willing the flames to die down. Instead, they blazed through me, cauterizing rips and tears and scrapes as they went. All that hollering and screaming I hadn¡¯t done when the grenade went off came rushing out of me now. I cursed the war, the desert, the back alleys, the bomb that took Cal, and the snipers who picked off Sanchez and McInnes. Then I yelled at my company first sergeant, the battalion CO, Drill Instructor Screw Y¡¯all, and every other lousy son of a bitch I could think of. I¡¯d done what everyone had asked, and it still hadn¡¯t been enough. The fire ate away at my insides until there was nothing left to consume. Then, as fast as the pain had come, the raging wildfire guttered and died, leaving me in blessed peace. I heard the gentle burble of water nearby. My tongue felt like it was made of low-grade sandpaper, and my throat was an inverted cactus. I¡¯d need to drink, but first I needed to get my bearings. The questions piled up on top of one another. Where am I? How did I get here? How long have I been out? Why does my mouth taste like cat ass? Water dripped down onto my face from overhead in a steady plink that reminded me of the sound a grenade pin made when it was pulled. Begrudgingly, I blinked my eyes open. My vision adjusted slowly to the gloom all around me. I was in a cave lit by the smallest pinprick of light in the distance. Beneath my hands was a mossy carpet interspersed with smooth round stones. I slid my palms toward the wall. Damp, wet, chilly, still running with water. I licked my hand. Calcium deposits. I looked up. The ceiling was strung with stalactites, dripping right onto me. Seriously, what the hell was going on around here? A cold chill raced across my body, and goosebumps sprinted along my arms and legs. I groaned and sat up, which was a damned good sign. That meant my guts were inside where they belonged. I ran a hand over my belly and felt unbroken skin beneath my palm. Fuck me. Someone had pulled me out of that hellhole, patched me up, and managed to stitch me back together. I paused, uncertainty burbling up inside my chest. But if that was the case, how in the hell had I ended up in a damp hole in the ground? An even better question: why was I butt-ass naked? I was underground, practically licking water off the walls, just as bright and shiny and bare-assed as the day I was born. That didn¡¯t seem right. My head felt fuzzy, but I vaguely recalled floating through the cosmos and talking to God. Except God was a cryptic asshole with five faces and a personality disorder. After that, I remembered plummeting to the earth like a friggin¡¯ meteor. The details were blurry, like a bad dream half remembered on waking. I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Now I was talking crazier than Cal. I¡¯d probably hallucinated all that universe bullshit when they¡¯d given me whatever they¡¯d given me before surgery. Morphine is a helluva drug. Yeah. That made total sense. I was naked because I¡¯d had surgery. I was in a cave because my brain was as crispy fried as KFC chicken and still processing the shock and trauma of nearly dying. Soon there¡¯d be a nurse¡ªcurves in all the right places, a smile just for me¡ªwith a hot meal and a cool explanation. There was going to be a reason for all this, there had to be. The warm and fuzzies in my chest lasted all of three seconds. Then I realized I was armed, and warning bells clanged inside my head. Why did I have a Colt 1911 in one hand and a K-Bar in the other? Those? Yeah, those were not standard issue in hospital settings. I clambered to my feet and did a quick rundown of my body. Head, shoulders, knees, and toes. Check, check, check, and check. Everything seemed to be more or less where it was supposed to be, which was good news, though I¡¯d added a metric shit ton of new scars. Pockmarks covered my thighs, there was a violent slash mark across my abdomen, and an enormous glossy scar damn near as big as my fist adorned one hip. That had to be from the frag grenade. But how had my wounds healed so fast? My mind was galloping backwards and forwards, trying to piece together what had happened and in which order, but I kept bumping into one big, looming question. How was I alive at all? I mean, I was fairly certain I was alive. My weapons were reassuringly solid and heavy in my hands. I checked out my Colt and squinted in bewilderment. Huh, now that¡¯s different, I thought. Instead of its usual plain, matte black finish, it was now cool blue steel with strange jagged lines etched into the metal. As I stared, the lines took on meaning, glowing and pulsing. Golden light coalesced in front of my eyes, forming what looked for all the world like a video game text box: <<<>>> Peacemaker Type: Planar Colt 1911; Soul Bound Class: Fatemarked Ability: Soul Summon Primary Effects: Temporary Effects: <<<>>> Screw me sideways. Seeing magical game pop-ups was a bad, bad sign. I was either high as a goddamned kite or losing my mind¡ªneither option was reassuring. I blinked and willed the screen away, then stole a look at my K-Bar. The blade was covered in glimmering golden sigils just like my pistol. <<<>>> Bloodguard Type: Planar Dirk; Soul Bound Class: Fatemarked Ability: Soul Summon Primary Effects: Temporary Effects: <<<>>> ¡°Dude, that is so badass,¡± Cal said beside me. I jumped at the sound. His voice seemed to bleed from the air all around me. ¡°This is just like that RPG Deadwatch Crusade,¡± he said. ¡°You have video game powers and shit. Man, I would¡¯ve given my left arm for video game powers.¡± ¡°Not badass,¡± I whispered under my breath as I dismissed the magical text written on the air. ¡°I mean, I guess it¡¯s badass if it¡¯s real, but there¡¯s a ninety-nine percent chance it¡¯s not real and that I¡¯m actually running around Balboa Park naked, talking to myself like one of those weird hobos that live under a bridge. You know my number one goal after getting out of the Marine Corps was to not be a hobo under a bridge, Cal. That¡¯s my biggest fear!¡± ¡°I thought your biggest fear was your own crippling sense of self-doubt, brought on by the fact that your father abandoned you as a child? That or spiders.¡± ¡°Not helping. At all,¡± I mumbled. ¡°The fact that I¡¯m chatting with a dead man also isn¡¯t helping and strongly points to the insane hobo angle.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll admit, the evidence isn¡¯t looking so good, bud,¡± Cal replied. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m real, but I guess that¡¯s what a figment of your imagination would say. Chances are you¡¯re naked in a park, turning tricks for beer money¡ª¡± Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°Wait, what? I never said anything about turning tricks for beer money,¡± I shot back. ¡°Hey man, I just calls ¡¯em like I sees ¡¯em. But¡ªand just bear with me for a second¡ªwhat if it¡¯s not the hobo, beery money thing? What if this is real?¡± ¡°How can it be real?¡± I asked. ¡°Does it matter?¡± he answered. ¡°You can always figure out the logistics later. But assuming there¡¯s even a remote possibility that this is real, and you screw around, then you¡¯re gonna end up a dead man for the second time today. It¡¯s like Drill Instructor Screw Y¡¯all used to scream at us, ¡®hope for the best, prepare for the worst.¡¯ We should treat this like it¡¯s real until we¡¯re one hundred percent certain it isn¡¯t.¡± I had to admit, ghost Cal made a pretty compelling case. I pulled back the slide and checked the chamber on my 1911. The gun looked different. Strange. But by god almighty, there was a round in the chamber, even if those were a little funky, too. The rounds didn¡¯t look like they had shell casings at all; instead, they appeared to be crafted from golden light like the runes covering my weapons. I had no idea how a bullet would fire without gunpowder or a primer, but at this point I didn¡¯t give a shit. They could be sacred bullets gifted to me from hippy tree Druids so long as they slayed some bodies. And it looked like I was gonna need to slay some bodies. My eyes had finally adjusted to my surroundings. My new home away from home wasn¡¯t so dim after all. A gloomy cave, instead of a black pit. And what I saw wasn¡¯t exactly welcoming. There was a crude campsite ten feet to my left. It was composed of a banked fire ringed in stones. Outside the stones were hide mats¡ªdeer maybe, or cow¡ªthat covered the floor like ye olde carpet. The wall behind me was slick with moisture, but the stalactites overhead weren¡¯t calcium deposits. At least, not in the traditional sense. They were calcium of another kind. Bones. The cave was littered with bones. They were absolutely everywhere. The walls, the arched ceiling, the crude chandelier that hung over the firepit. All bones. Femurs, fibulas, carpals, metacarpals. It was an emo kid¡¯s wet dream. The worst of it was the array of skulls studded around the doorway that led to the only light source in the place. In the gloomy half-light I picked out the rotting remains of a deer carcass, strung up near the rear of the cavern. Beside it was what might¡¯ve been a birdcage, several rabbits, and a brace of pheasant. Well, almost pheasant. Pheasant-like, but with longer necks, sharper beaks, and talons that could rip the head off a weasel. They were big ol¡¯ sons of bitches. I tore my gaze away the food supply and tried to add up what I¡¯d observed so far. Fire meant these people had a basic grasp of utility. Whoever lived here knew how to hunt, prepare meals, and stay warm. As for the bones, they were either a show of strength or a warning. That or whoever lived here had some wonky ideas about interior decorating. ¡°It¡¯s the interior decorating thing,¡± Cal said, seemingly able to read my thoughts. ¡°I mean, this place is a little over the top, but like, I get it. Remember when we went to Portugal? Same energy.¡± I did remember. We¡¯d visited a place in Evora just like this, called the Capela dos Ossos. The Chapel of Bones. It had been created by monks when they ran out of consecrated ground to bury the local dead. Rather than doing what anyone sane would do, those monks decided to dig up the corpses and turn all those old bones into a living testament to death. It was an invitation to contemplate your mortality. How short is life, they chanted. How close death. There was an old Latin saying I¡¯d heard once, Memento mori. Remember you too must die. The cave around me had an inscription of its own, carved over the door in some language I¡¯d never seen before. I shouldn¡¯t have been able to read those words, but I did without missing a beat. ¡°We bones are here, waiting for yours.¡± Okay, so one, the bones and skulls were definitely a threat, and two, whoever lived here didn¡¯t believe in subtlety. But subtle or not, the message came across loud and clear: Fuck around and find out. Whatever lived here was human, not animal¡ªthe mats and camp gear told me as much¡ªbut based on their living conditions, they were completely, utterly, totally batshit crazy. Suffice it to say, I did not want to meet them. I wasn¡¯t prepared to die in a cave in my birthday suit with nothing but my Colt and K-Bar for company. The runes on my Colt flared fast and bright, shimmering golds laced through with electric blue. I heard movement up ahead. It was soft, the clinks of rocks and the silky whisper of bare feet over stone. I¡¯d been living on edge for months, and I knew the sound of feet when I heard it. I dropped into a crouch, my nakedness temporarily forgotten. I couldn¡¯t square how the mujahideen could be in this cave, or how they¡¯d kept me alive for so long without me being conscious of time, but there was no other explanation. I¡¯d been kidnapped by the enemy, stripped down, and fed hallucinogens as preparation for a full-on interrogation. Three shapes resolved out of the murky darkness ahead. They paused, still hidden in a pool of inky shadow. Golden words flashed across my vision. <<<>>> Bounty Dark Lair: A pack of vile Crave Ghouls have nested in this location. Kill them, harvest their Essence, and avenge those who have been slain by these monstrous beasts. Reward: +150 Essence; 5 Ward Points <<<>>> I skimmed the prompt then waved it away with a flick of my hand. I had more important things to focus on right now. Like the insurgents up ahead. And not dying. I raised my weapons and squinted, studying the three men. As I did, I realized that I¡¯d made a vital error because these creatures were most definitely not human. Humanoid, sure, but not human. They were squat things with bulbous bellies, gangly arms and legs, and sunburnt red skin. They had misshapen heads with beady, bloodshot eyes, overlarge ears that reminded me of bats, and wide mouths filled with jagged black teeth. Leather wrappings covered their shins, and crude loincloths thankfully covered their junk. They padded toward me, slowly and deliberately, toes feeling their way through the scattered bones and piles of cast-off debris. The closer they got, the worse I ranked my odds. They weren¡¯t just clawed and fanged and muscled, they were in tactical formation. They might be monsters, but they were monsters on a mission. The trick was to keep ¡¯em in front of me. If they split up and circled behind me, I¡¯d need to have Bruce Lee¡¯s speed and skill paired with Chuck Norris¡¯ brawn, grit, and expert choreography to make it out of this alive. Things were not looking good. The stench of flesh marinated in sulfur wafted over me. Maybe I hadn¡¯t survived the grenade attack after all. Maybe I¡¯d landed in an outer ring of hell and had only one choice. I had to hack my way through these freaks to freedom. Even if the pinprick of light at the far end of the cave was a raging pit filled with brimstone and demons, it had to be more welcoming than these chuckleheads. The three of them paused again, hunched and huddled, claws tapping frantically, then huffed and wheezed and blew their fetid breath in my direction. If a smell could kill, this one was a truck-mounted .50 cal. My eyes watered and my nose ran, so deep and penetrating was the odor. I cleared my throat and spat to one side, but the taste didn¡¯t budge. Seriously, these guys were worse than the inside of a Porta-John baking in the Iraqi sun. That only fortified my will to fight. Anything to get away from the godforsaken stink. ¡°I made it through boot camp with a hundred reeking teenagers, you no-good, fat-bellied, lizard-eyed skidmark. No way a bad case of BO is gonna put me down.¡± They grunted and clicked their tongues, heads swiveling on their stalk-like necks. The one in the rear chittered and cawed like a kookaburra who¡¯d swallowed a bag of cicadas. He was smaller than the other two. One of the larger creatures backhanded him, sending him sprawling across the cave floor. He cackled, rubbed his belly with his misshaped claw-hands, and sprang to his feet. It was one of those hyper-gymnast moves that only the very young, the very fit, and the utterly alien can pull off. ¡°Better if you turn around now and leave me alone before I carve a nice big smile across your throats.¡± I raised my K-Bar over my head and let the rune light glimmer like angry embers. I might¡¯ve been naked, but I wanted them to know I was packing heat and ready to fight. Only one of the creatures was armed. He had a pitted machete-like sword and held the thing like he knew how to use it. I opened my mouth for one more taunt, but they came fast and they came all at once, scratching and screeching and kicking up sand and dust as they ran. I swiveled at the hips, planted my feet, and brought the pistol up. I settled the iron sights and gently squeezed the trigger three times, aiming at the most prominent threat¡ªthe freak with the machete. As I pulled the trigger, power surged out from my chest, leaving me feeling hollow and oddly numb. A glowing blue bar appeared in the corner of my eye. I was so surprised that my first shot went wide. The second shot drained more of the blue bar¡ªand my energy¡ªbut my aim was true, and it caught the creature in the chest, punching a hole through his body. The third round grazed his neck, sending out an arc of blood as the creature spiraled down to the ground. Dead even if he didn¡¯t know it yet. One of his fellow monstrosities stopped and hovered over him, crooning and swaying, which gave me time to reposition myself. The baby of the pack¡ªthe one with the kookaburra laugh¡ªnarrowed his eyes and dragged his claws down the wall closest to him. He eyed me like he wanted to throw down, but then he glanced to the pistol in my hand, suddenly unsure. Apparently wherever the hell I was didn¡¯t have a lot of firearms. These wrinkly red nutsacks were about to learn a lesson or two in modern warfare, assuming I could muster the strength to fire off another few rounds. Under normal circumstances I would¡¯ve emptied the mag into them without a second thought. After just three shots, though, my blue bar was empty and I was feeling winded and shaky, like I¡¯d just sprinted three miles while wearing a combat pack. Since I wasn¡¯t a moron, and could do basic math, it was safe to assume the Colt, the blue bar, and my sudden exhaustion were all somehow related. The weapon description had said the gun acted as a metaphysical focal point that allowed me to channel raw Arcana into deadly force projectiles. I wasn¡¯t one hundred percent sure what raw Arcana was. If Cal was right, however, and this was Deadwatch Crusade, then it was probably this world¡¯s version of mana, and I would bet every dollar to my name that the blue bar was my mana gauge. It was refilling, but at a sluggish pace. I needed to buy myself some time, so I waggled the gun and bluffed. ¡°Wanna see how it works again?¡± I taunted. ¡°Take one step closer and I¡¯ll be happy to demonstrate.¡± The little one threw back his head and clacked his tongue, beating his chest in impotent rage. But he stayed put, waiting for his buddy, who was tending to the one I¡¯d just shot. The beast on the ground coughed. Had they not been trying to kill me just seconds earlier, I might¡¯ve sympathized more. The creature let out a last final hitching breath, and golden light wafted up from its mouth, slipping across the ground and filling me in an instant. It felt like pure life flowing into my veins. A can of Red Bull, a gallon of coffee, and a snort of coke all rolled into one. The blue bar lurched back to full at the exact same moment that flowing golden sigils swam across my vision. Once again, the words were in a language I¡¯d never seen before, but their meaning was crystal clear inside my head: [You have killed a Crave Ghoul! The world has been cleansed! You have been blessed with 293 Essence!] His buddy, the one who¡¯d been hovering over him while he died, reared back and howled, the sound part wolf, part monkey, all rage. He crouched on his haunches and leapt, so fast I could barely track his movements. The gangly creature slammed into me like a linebacker, and my pistol clattered across the rocky ground. Lanky arms wrapped around me, pinning my hands to my sides. The beast pressed himself against me, drilling me to the ground, assailing me with his putrid stench as much as with his body. The Cackling Clicker¡ªthe one who¡¯d tagged along for shits and giggles¡ªwaited, waving his preternaturally long arms in the air while he pounded the ground beneath his feet. He kept his distance, though. Whether because he was worried about me or because he was offering the kill to his grieving buddy, I wasn¡¯t sure. Didn¡¯t matter in the long run. The beast who straddled my chest tightened his grip, and for the third time in hours uncountable and time unknown, I felt my life slipping through my fingers. What an utter bunch of bullshit. Get Some This shithead might¡¯ve eaten a hundred times his weight in human meat, but I was not going to end up on a spit over his fire with my jawbone slapped up on the wall in a display of cannibal feng shui. I kicked my legs out and bucked my hips, forcing the creature off-balance, then broke its grip with a jerk. Arms suddenly free, I drove my elbow straight up into his chin, knocking the creature off me. I scrambled to my feet and darted in while it was dazed from my strike. With a scream, I brought my elbow down again, this time smashing into the back of his lumpy, mishappen skull. My arm connected with a crack, and the creature let out a startled squawk. The youngster with the clicker laugh retreated a few paces and watched in morbid fascination as I wrapped my right arm around his buddy¡¯s head in a guillotine choke and pulled his neck back so it was nicely extended. Then, with a snarl, I drove the K-Bar hard and deep into the creature¡¯s upper chest, just below the throat. Had to be something vital in there, I figured. The creature let out a wet gurgle and toppled straight down, legs refusing to support his weight any longer. Two down. One to go. I turned to face the last remaining member of the pack. He grabbed a femur and ran in circles, all the while screeching and clicking and breathing that godawful stink in my direction. But he didn¡¯t come at me like a cracked-out murder hobo, which was encouraging. Of the three, he seemed the most cautious, which meant he was probably also the smartest of the lot. He had just seen his two buddies die, so I was half-heartedly hoping he would scamper off and leave me in peace. ¡°Think it through,¡± I said, alien words rolling off my tongue. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to kill you¡ªall I really want is a pair of pants. You and me? We can go our own separate way, no harm no foul. Or¡­¡± I raised my bloodied knife so he knew I wouldn¡¯t hesitate to do to him what I¡¯d done to the others. ¡°Or you can dick around and learn the hard way.¡± I stepped closer to his dying friend and placed my foot on his chest. The mortally wounded creature made a feeble attempt to lift his arm and push me off, but he was on the down escalator and not coming back. Unfortunately, my bluff had the opposite effect. The creature lost his goddamned mind and slammed himself into the wall so hard he tore through the calloused skin covering his forearms. Then the wily knucklehead spun and charged straight at me, his arms and legs high and wide, ready to grab me and pin me just like the other one had done. My Colt was just out of reach¡ªknocked away during my tussle with Crave Ghoul number two¡ªand man oh man was I regretting it. Jagged claws whistled through the air and raked across my chest, slashing through skin like it was made out of tissue paper and digging down into my muscle. ¡°Son of a mother-loving donkey.¡± I brought my leg up and kicked the son of a bitch in the loincloth. No clue if there was anything down there to damage, but they were wearing junk covers, so one had to assume there was something worth concealing. He squealed and leapt out of reach, hands clutched over the family jewels. Pretty much what you¡¯d expect after a blow to the balls. I might be tripping, but at least there was some internal consistency to my hellish dreamscape. Monsters hunted in packs, ate humans, and screamed bloody murder if you caught them in the crotch. It all tracked. I danced back, circling the creature, my feet faster than his, and used the momentary lull to scoop up my Colt from the floor. With the pistol back in my hand, the Ghoul hesitated, which was a huge mistake, because I didn¡¯t. Not for a heartbeat. I raised the gun and squeezed the trigger, eating through a third of my blue bar. Well worth the cost, since the round blasted a hole in his head at six feet out. The monster dropped like a sack of bricks and didn¡¯t even twitch. I looked down at the second Crave Ghoul¡ªthe unlucky son of a bitch who¡¯d caught my knife with his chest. He twitched his claws and whimpered up at me. I aimed my Colt at the spot above his quivering nose and between those bloodred eyes and put him out of his misery, too. It was a mercy as far as I was concerned. And it was always best to make sure with these kinds of things. Couldn¡¯t afford to have a bloodthirsty enemy at my six. [You have killed an Immature Crave Ghoul! The world has been cleansed! You have been blessed with 192 Essence!] [You have killed a Crave Ghoul! The world has been cleansed! You have been blessed with 293 Essence!] <<<>>> Bounty Fulfilled Dark Lair: You have slain the pack of Grave Ghouls who have defiled this nexus with their unclean presence. As a reward for a job well done, you have been granted an additional 150 Essence and 5 Ward Points. <<<>>> Twin streams of gold mist leaked up from each of the newly minted corpses and rushed toward me while more of the golden light coalesced from the air itself, soaking into my body. The surge hit again, even more powerful and exhilarating than the last time. Chimes rang out around me, a heavenly orchestra that filled my head while golden light leaked from my body like steam. Stranger still, I stared down at my chest and noticed the skin knitting itself together in the span of seconds. No pain. Not even a slight tickle. One minute I had a jagged gash running across one pec and the next I didn¡¯t. Only faint pink scars remained, and even those were rapidly vanishing, until they were mere ghosts of the wounds they¡¯d been before. I thought my eyebrows might climb right off my face. That¡­ Now that wasn¡¯t normal. I mean, nothing about this was normal. Not the fact that I was alive. Not the space travel or the weird, half-remembered five-faced deity. Not the cave and the golden pop-up boxes. Not me being bare-assed and definitely not the creepy little Tolkien rejects. But the golden mist and the whole regeneration thing? Yeah, that was even more not normal than everything else. This was Hell, it had to be. Sure wasn¡¯t Heaven. I waited for Cal to show up and tell me something I already knew and didn¡¯t need reminding of, but he seemed to prefer the high-octane moments, not these quiet interludes when I was alone with three dead cave monsters, a newly healed wound, and my own somewhat jumbled thoughts. That was just like him. It became quickly apparent that standing around wasn¡¯t going to provide me with any answers, so I figured it was time to try and find some locals. Hopefully locals that didn¡¯t want to eat me and use my bones like macrame art. But first, I needed to equip myself and see if I could turn up any clues as to where I was. The creatures wouldn¡¯t be doing any talking, but maybe their corpses could tell me a thing or two¡ªthough the idea of poking around the reeking bodies wasn¡¯t exactly appetizing. I scrunched up my nose and eyeballed the freshly minted corpses. Instead of blood, they leaked pools of fetid green goo that smelled like an open sewer. They weren¡¯t the first rotting bodies I¡¯d dealt with, though, and they wouldn¡¯t be the last. Time to embrace the suck and do what needed doing. I crouched down beside the first Crave Ghoul and was surprised when another golden prompt appeared in front of me. Harvest Soul Vault? Yes/No I wasn¡¯t sure what a Soul Vault was or how exactly I was supposed to go about harvesting it, but I hit Yes anyway. A wispy golden ball of energy rose from the creature¡¯s chest, attached to the corpse by a thin tether of blue light. I canted my head, watching in fascination as the ball unfurled like a flower in bloom. Nestled inside the golden orb was a cubbyhole¡ªor a pocket dimension maybe¡ªnot much larger than a hotel safe, and inside was a small pile of loot. ¡°Dude,¡± Cal said, startling the absolute crap out of me once again, ¡°it¡¯s like a bag of holding.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Damnit, Cal,¡± I yelped, ¡°you gotta stop sneaking up on me like that. If you¡¯re gonna haunt me, you might as well just stick around. Even if you can¡¯t physically help me, a little emotional support would be nice. Or, at the very least, stop trying to make me piss myself.¡± ¡°But scaring the pants off of you is funny. It¡¯s even funnier since you don¡¯t actually have pants to begin with. And, for your information, I can¡¯t just stick around even if I wanted to. It takes energy to manifest or even to say things, and I don¡¯t have a ton of energy to go around. Every time I talk, it feels like the words are sucking a little bit of my soul out through a straw.¡± That sounded suspiciously similar to what I¡¯d experienced when using my pistol. ¡°Fine, just try not to be a total dick about it,¡± I grunted. ¡°If you jump scare me at the wrong time, there¡¯s a good chance I¡¯m going to accidentally put a trio of rounds through your skull. I don¡¯t know if you can die again or not, but it¡¯s on you if you do¡ªnot me.¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± he said, raising his hands in acknowledgment. ¡°So what do you think this is?¡± I nodded toward the void space in the center of the floating energy ball. ¡°Already told you, bag of holding,¡± Cal replied. ¡°If you really want to know, I could duck out and ask around a little bit.¡± ¡°Ask around a little bit?¡± I repeated. ¡°What the hell is that supposed to mean? You¡¯re a ghost, Cal, and the only other person in this cave is me. Who are you gonna ask?¡± Cal rolled his eyes. ¡°No, dingus. When I¡¯m not here, I don¡¯t just stop existing. I feel like you should¡¯ve already mastered object permanence at this stage of the game. When I¡¯m not actively in this realm, I¡¯m in this sort of weird void space. Glimmering stars. Lots of swirly white mist. Pretty boring, actually. There are other things there, though. Spirits, I think, but they seem grumpy and not super talkative. I¡¯m betting they know some shit.¡± I frowned and shook my head. ¡°Naw, no point wasting time. Especially since you¡¯re probably right¡ªit does look like a bag of holding.¡± Before I could second-guess myself further, I reached into the void space and dragged out the contents, forming a small pile of loot on the floor in front of me. There wasn¡¯t much. Just a few pieces of pitted metal and some triangular stones that almost looked like large fish scales. Brief tags appeared above the bits of metal [2 x Raw Silver Ore, Fabrication Ingredient], [5 x Rawhide Strip, Fabrication Ingredient], [1 x Mortka Horn (Disciple), Fabrication Ingredient], [3 x Raw Iron Ore, Fabrication Ingredient], [2 x Crave Ghoul Leather, Fabrication Ingredient]. Other than the item names, they didn¡¯t offer any useful information. The odd fish scales were a different story entirely. They glimmered with crimson light and radiated a gentle power I didn¡¯t fully understand. When I examined one more closely, a description box appeared just as it had with my pistol. <<<>>> Hunger Affinity Scale Type: Refined Hunger Affinity Class: Novice Ability: Consume Primary Effects: <<<>> The Crave Ghoul had half a dozen of the strange scales. I didn¡¯t have anywhere to put my newfound goodies, so I left them on the floor and went over to examine the next body. This one had three more of the Hunger Affinity Scales, two pieces of Raw Iron Ore, and a leather pouch filled with crudely cast circular coins. Most of them appeared to be copper, though there were a few heavy silver coins as well. I turned one of the coins over in my hands, examining the front and back. A humanoid image was stamped onto one side, though I was reluctant to dub anything ¡°human¡± before I¡¯d had a chance to check it out personally. I¡¯d been wrong once today, and I didn¡¯t want to repeat that mistake. The face on the reverse of the coin was of a dignified-looking man with a serious set of jowls that spoke of plentiful harvests and hearty meals. Good. Very good. Chances were high I was tripping balls, but I needed to treat it as real until I knew for certain, one way or another. And if I was going to be stuck in a strange new land, I wanted it to be one of plenty, not one of want. The fact that the coins had people-like images on the front was also good news because it meant there was civilization to be found. I added the coin pouch to the pile of growing of loot, then moved on to the final body. Jackpot. Ding, ding, ding. The last creature was the one with the pitted machete. The blade wasn¡¯t in the Soul Vault, but lying beside his body, but it was a fantastic find, even if it had no shimmering runes or messages from beyond engraved on its hilt. The weapon didn¡¯t hold a candle to my K-Bar, but it would serve as an excellent survival tool if I couldn¡¯t find a town or village nearby. Even better than the machete, though, was what the creature had in its Soul Vault. No coins this time around, but there was a large variety of other interesting finds. He had five more of the Hunger Affinity Scales¡ªbringing the count up to fourteen total¡ªincluding one that was Disciple Class, whatever that meant. The creature also had a perfectly round gemstone, about the size of a small marble, with a red rune carved into its face. A Transformation Token. <<<>>> Transformation Token Type: Crave Ghoul Class: Disciple Ability: Consume Primary Effects: Restrictions: <<<>> ¡°You seeing this shit?¡± I asked Cal, over one shoulder. He nodded, a grin stretching across his face. ¡°Dude, this is totally just Wild Shape. I¡¯m thinking you might be like some kind of Druid.¡± ¡°With a magic Colt,¡± I said. ¡°With a magic Colt,¡± he agreed. ¡°So Artificer Druid? But also with Wolverine regen abilities and game powers. Fine, I have no clue what you are, but who cares! It¡¯s awesome.¡± ¡°Why aren¡¯t you more concerned about what¡¯s happening?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯m dead, so it¡¯s hard to be too concerned about anything, which also means I need to live vicariously through your experiences. The real question is, why aren¡¯t you more excited?¡± ¡°Because I¡¯m not dead and would like to keep it that way,¡± I replied flatly. I tucked the marble into the leather satchel along with the coins and Affinity Scales, then retrieved the last of the items tucked away in the Soul Vault. This was the best of them all. Leather chest armor¡ªworn, dusty, and beat to hell, but serviceable. I pulled up the item description and quickly peered at its rudimentary stats. <<<>>> Crude Leather Armor Type: Light, Crude Leather Class: Novice Shoddy in both design and craftsmanship, this crude armor offers only the most basic protection against the cutting edge of a blade. What it lacks in elegance it makes up for in smell, but it is perfect for those wishing to specialize in Stealth or other unsavory abilities. <<<>>> It wasn¡¯t the kind of legendary loot I would¡¯ve expected in a real-world RPG, but anything was better than nothing. I slipped the armor into place, surprised that it even fit me. ¡°Really, dude?¡± Call asked as I stood. ¡°What?¡± I asked. ¡°What do you mean, what? You¡¯re porky pigging it. I think this is worse than you just being naked.¡± He folded his arms and looked away in disgust. ¡°Yeah. Definitely worse. It¡¯s more obscene somehow. You need pants. You could always snag one of their loincloths¡­¡± I tried not to vomit in my mouth at the thought. Even though I was still naked from the waist down, I decided that looting the Ghoul¡¯s gross loincloths was going to be a hard pass for me. I didn¡¯t want my junk anywhere near their junk, because that, my friends, is how you get goblin crabs. ¡°Fine,¡± Cal said. ¡°If you don¡¯t want cave troll diapers, you might check over by the firepit.¡± He hooked a thumb toward the far side of the chamber. ¡°Looks like there might be some more stuff in a chest.¡± Following Cal¡¯s suggestion, I hoofed it over to their little campsite, where I found a weather-beaten trunk. There was no lock in sight, and it was filled with what looked like a haul of stolen items. Ah, no. Not stolen. These were dead men¡¯s clothes. I pulled pieces out, one by one. Trousers. Tunics. A dress. Shit, a miniature pair of leather shoes. Barely worn. Holy hell. These animals took no prisoners and made no distinctions. Men, women, children, all were on the menu for these monsters. Suddenly I felt far less bad about busting up their shit. Seemed like they had it coming in spades. Most of the items were junk¡ªmoth-eaten blankets, scraps of fabric, a couple of old leather boots¡ªbut tucked in the side of the trunk was a pair of scratchy linen trousers. I turned them around, looking for lice and ticks. I didn¡¯t want to dodge goblin crabs only to be taken down by bubonic-plague-bearing fleas. They looked clean enough for a ratty old pair of dead men¡¯s pants. They mostly fit, too. Sure, they hung down to my calves and were too loose around the waist, but a length of rope served well enough for a belt, and they were better than nothing. Using some twine¡ªsinew maybe? I didn¡¯t look too closely¡ªand with one of the leather hides on the floor, I fashioned a rough satchel, then filled it with what I could. The rest of the twine went in, along with some clean looking strips of fabric and a glass bottle. Then I headed to the firepit, searching for flint. I didn¡¯t find anything as useful as a fire starter, but the bottom of the pit was filled with the remains of smudged black coals, which weren¡¯t as useless as they seemed. I wrapped some of them in a piece of fabric and added them to my makeshift pack¡ª Something rattled, not far off. I froze like a deer in the headlights, my senses screaming at me. Fuck. There was something else in here with me. Murder Parrot Was it possible I¡¯d missed another one of the reeking creatures? No, couldn¡¯t be. I¡¯d cleared the bounty, which meant the gangly cannibal freaks were all dead and gone. There was something else in here with me, though, I was sure of it. I did a quick scan of the room and saw nothing that immediately set off warning bells. Then the rattle came again. This time I pinpointed its source. In the rear of the cave, near the rotting deer carcass and the odd pheasant, was what looked like a little birdcage perched on a rocky shelf protruding from the wall. There was a leather bag covering the cage, but I was sure that was where the sound was coming from. I shot a look toward Cal. What¡¯s the play? ¡°You gotta check it out,¡± Cal said, folding his arms. ¡°What if it¡¯s a cat? You know I have a soft spot for furballs. What if they captured it and planned on slow roasting it?¡± ¡°You¡¯re dead, I¡¯m probably losing my mind, more of those things could come back at any second, and you want me to go poke around looking for a cat?¡± ¡°Priorities, man,¡± he said. ¡°You know it¡¯s the right thing to do.¡± I sighed. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll take a look. But it¡¯s probably some kind of murder parrot,¡± I grumbled as I slipped over to the cage. Another rattle followed, this one more violent than the last. Whatever was in there was tiny, but it was real feisty and it did not want to be in the cage anymore. I braced myself, fully expecting to get acid thrown in my eyes, and yanked the leather covering off. It was indeed a rusty metal birdcage, but inside was no cat. There was a tiny humanish man, about six inches tall with flittering butterfly wings protruding from his back. I¡¯d played enough DnD to know a pixie when I saw one, though this was the dirtiest, grumpiest, most malnourished pixie I could ever imagine. The pixie wore patchwork leathers in a variety of colorful hues that stood out like a sore thumb even in the gloom. ¡°Yep. That is definitely not a cat,¡± Cal said, ¡°but it¡¯s still kinda cute. Maybe they keep pixies for pets here?¡± ¡°I¡¯m no pet!¡± a tiny, high-pitched voice squawked at me. ¡°And who do you bloody well think you are, entering my cave, killing my enemies, and stealing my loot? An outrage, is what it is!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, this is your cave?¡± I asked, cocking an eyebrow at the little being. ¡°I got the distinct impression that the gangly blister-skin shitheads I killed had first dibs.¡± ¡°Phft. That¡¯s what they want you to think,¡± the pixie retorted, ¡°but it¡¯s all a pack of lies perpetrated by Big Ghoul and the Corporeal Mortka Trade Union! True, they were technically here before me, but I laid claim to the territory in accordance with the laws of the Fae Folk. As far as I¡¯m concerned, those filthy reprobates were essentially illegal squatters. I was about to break out of this laughable prison and enact the Court¡¯s justice for their open defiance.¡± ¡°Really?¡± I replied, deeply suspicious. ¡°Because it definitely looks like you¡¯re trapped in there and I saved your ass.¡± ¡°Maybe that¡¯s the way it looks to you, but I can assure you I was mere moments away from a glorious escape.¡± ¡°Is that right?¡± I pressed, folding my arms in amusement. ¡°Then I guess you don¡¯t need me to open the door for you? I¡¯ll just leave you to it.¡± I turned, as though to go. The pixie buzzed in agitation, wings flickering as it paced the floor of his cage. ¡°Wait! Fine. I concede that I may have still been in my planning phase but rest assured that I would¡¯ve gotten out in due time. Nothing can hold an emissary of the Throne.¡± ¡°Except a birdcage,¡± I noted stoically. ¡°It¡¯s the iron,¡± the pixie said with a sigh. ¡°Fae Folk cannot abide its touch. It¡¯s one of the few things that neutralize our powers. That and a binding ring.¡± He grimaced and pointed toward the ground. There was a white, powdery ring encircling the cage. ¡°A simple salt circle.¡± ¡°Seems like a lot of things can hold an emissary of the Throne,¡± Cal said. ¡°That¡¯ll be quite enough lip out of you, spirit.¡± The pixie glowered at Cal. ¡°Wait, you can see him?¡± I asked, suddenly intrigued by what other secrets the pixie might know. ¡°Obviously,¡± he squeaked. ¡°He¡¯s a creature of the Etheric Realm, as am I. The fact that you can see us is the real oddity. You look human enough, but obviously there is something queer about you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think you can use that word anymore,¡± I said. ¡°What? Queer? Odd, strange, unusual, bizarre, peculiar? Why would you take offense to this? Is it not true?¡± ¡°Eh, you know what,¡± I said, ¡°let¡¯s chalk it up to cultural differences. Probably shouldn¡¯t have said anything in the first place. I really want to keep talking, but this place smells like the inside of an old jockstrap, and I¡¯d really like to not be here in case more of those Ghouls show up. So, if I let you out are you going to try and hurt me or murder me?¡± ¡°Naturally,¡± came his immediate reply. ¡°You have all the loot and I want all the loot. You reek of Hunger Affinity, which is what I came for in the first place. Since this is my territory by right, they belong to me. Obviously, I¡¯ll murder you to get it.¡± ¡°Hey, how about that,¡± Cal said. ¡°Murder parrot was actually pretty close to the truth.¡± ¡°At least he¡¯s honest,¡± I said with a shrug. ¡°We Fae Folk are known for our scrupulous honesty. Honesty is the best policy we say among my kith and kin.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Good to know, little guy¡ª¡± ¡°Not little guy. Renholm of Greenburrow,¡± the pixie corrected. ¡°Sure. Whatever. Renholm of Greenburrow. Point is, I really appreciate you shooting straight with me, but now I¡¯m in a bit of a pickle.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see a pickle at all,¡± the pixie buzzed. ¡°Not what I meant. What I meant is that you put me in a bad spot. See, if you¡¯re going to murder me, then I¡¯m just not going to let you out. I don¡¯t want to leave you here to die¡ªI think we could be useful to each other¡ªbut again, you¡¯re going to try and kill me, so¡­ Not leaving me with a lot of options.¡± ¡°Yes, I suppose it could come off that way in a certain light,¡± Renholm said after a beat. ¡°Not in a certain light,¡± I replied. ¡°You literally told me you were going to kill me.¡± ¡°Very well, you drive a hard bargain, friend,¡± Renholm continued, ignoring me. ¡°In light of the circumstances, I will graciously spare your life should you release me. All I ask for in exchange is the rights to this dominion and all of the loot you acquired from my captors.¡± I squinted, lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you understand how bargaining works.¡± ¡°Nope, he definitely doesn¡¯t,¡± Cal replied, nodding in agreement. ¡°Let me break this down shotgun style for you, bud,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re trapped and can¡¯t get out. I can let you out, but not if you¡¯re going to murder me or try to rob me. I guess you can have the cave if you really want it, but since I killed the monsters in here, all their shit is mine. Period. End of deal.¡± ¡°Hmm. You really have me over a blacksmith¡¯s barrel, no doubt. You¡¯re astute. Sharp as Orken¡¯s tack,¡± Renholm said. ¡°In fact, you remind me of myself as a young sprite. You know your worth, and clearly know when you have the upper hand. I can respect that.¡± He rubbed at his pointed chin thoughtfully. ¡°How about this by way of bargain? I will very generously not kill you, allow you to keep the spoils of war, and will even take you under my wing as a prot¨¦g¨¦. There is potential to be tapped¡ªa partnership to be formed, I think. All you need to do is set me free of this wretched, impenetrable prison of the damned.¡± ¡°That¡¯s an interesting way to spell birdcage,¡± Cal said. ¡°Boyd, mind if we chat for a second?¡± He leaned in close. ¡°Away from the crazy pixie?¡± he whispered into my ear. I nodded. ¡°Look,¡± Cal said as soon as we were out of earshot, ¡°I¡¯m all for rescuing strays, but I think maybe we should leave this guy here. He seems a little too murdery for me. Ten to one he tries to shank you in the kidney or steal your molars. Am I sure he¡¯s a violent tooth fairy? No. Am I not sure he¡¯s a violent tooth fairy? Also no. It¡¯s not worth the risk in my book. I mean, I¡¯ll feel bad about abandoning him here, but some strays just aren¡¯t worth it.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not a stray, Cal. He¡¯s a person. Or person-adjacent, anyway. Also, let me just point out that if a cat could talk this is exactly what it would sound like. Besides, we can¡¯t just leave him. We need a guide.¡± ¡°Yes, you do,¡± the pixie agreed. It seemed we weren¡¯t quite as out of earshot as I¡¯d first thought. ¡°Pixies have incredible hearing,¡± he said by way of explanation, ¡°and also a voracious appetite for gossip and eavesdropping. Don¡¯t listen to the incompetent specter. He¡¯s jealous, and rightfully so. I won¡¯t murder you. You have me at a disadvantage, so I will swear to do no direct or immediate harm to you should you release me.¡± ¡°That is both oddly specific and extremely suspicious,¡± Cal said. ¡°I am a valuable asset,¡± Renholm interjected. ¡°Not only can I help guide you from this place, but I can teach you many things. Hidden things unknown to men.¡± I frowned and absently drummed my fingers along the outside of my thigh. ¡°Prove it,¡± I finally said. I opened the leather pouch at my waist and fished out an Affinity Scale. ¡°You said you were after these, right? Tell me what they are. What they do. It says to consume them. How? Am I supposed to chuck ¡¯em into a campfire or slow cook ¡¯em over a grill?¡± The pixie audibly snorted. ¡°Of course not, you ignorant slut.¡± ¡°Ignorant slut?¡± I muttered. ¡°Affinity Scales are power,¡± Renholm continued. ¡°How in the world did you manage to dispatch three Crave Ghouls and not know that?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s pretend I¡¯m not from around here and explain it like I¡¯m five.¡± The pixie sniffed. ¡°Affinity Scales are currency and power amongst the Mortka.¡± ¡°What are the Mortka?¡± I asked. He rubbed at the bridge of a finely pointed nose. ¡°You¡¯re like a grub larva that hasn¡¯t had its first molt.¡± He sighed and tossed up his hands. ¡°Mortka is a broad term for the monstrous races. There are as many different types of Mortka as there are stars in the night sky, but they are generally grouped into family and kin groups. Amongst the Mortka, Affinity Scales can be consumed for a variety of purposes, but mostly to advance. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are¡ªterribly queer indeed¡ªbut you are not Mortka. For Warlocks, Sorcerers, Magi, and the like, Affinity Scales can temporarily be used to replenish Arcana magic, heal the body, and temporarily grant themselves powers that align with the Affinity type consumed. Merely place it in your hand and focus on drawing its energy down and into your flesh. Doing so will consume the energy stored within.¡± I took one of the lesser scales and set it in my palm. The crimson colors danced across the scale, oddly hypnotic. I felt the gentle thrum of power emanating from it¡ªI reached for that power with my mind. The scale shimmered and strobed for a second longer, then vanished as a wash of energy flooded my system. Not just energy, though, anger and hunger in equal measure. I¡¯d never been hungrier in my life, and all I could think about was ripping into warm flesh to fill my belly. I needed food more than I¡¯d needed anything else before in my life. I would kill to get it and rip anyone apart who tried to stop me. The sensation was empowering and viscerally revolting and I wanted it gone from my system. I could sense my Colt calling to me from the small of my back where I¡¯d tucked it away. It was a conduit and was only too happy to accept the influx of ravenous power. I channeled the Hunger Affinity from my body, feeding it into the pistol. Once there wasn¡¯t any trace of the power lingering in my system, I drew the Colt and pulled back the slide. There were fresh rounds in the chamber, even though I hadn¡¯t reloaded the weapon after battling the Crave Ghouls. Stranger still, the chambered round was no longer the golden hue it had been before, but a seedy crimson, the same shade as the Affinity Scale. As far as I could tell, I¡¯d just reloaded my weapon with energy bullets. I examined the pistol, pulling up its stat screen: <<<>>> Peacemaker Type: Planar Colt 1911; Soul Bound Class: Fatemarked Ability: Soul Summon Primary Effects: Temporary Effects: <<<>>> I whistled through my teeth. Now that was badass. Cal was right, Renholm the pixie was obviously dangerous and probably would try to harvest my organs at some point, but he knew things. Things I needed to know if I wanted to survive. Worst-case scenario, I would let the insane pixie out and he would try to eat or maim me¡ªnot necessarily in that order¡ªand I¡¯d have to kill him, too. But based on my life-and-death encounters over the past two days, I had at least a fifty-fifty chance of coming out on top. I¡¯d worked with worse odds in the Corps. ¡°I really hope I don¡¯t regret this, Renholm.¡± I smudged the line of salt with my toe, breaking the binding ring. A gentle wave of energy dissipated into the air. Then, I flipped open the little iron door to the birdcage and shuffled back as the pixie took off like a bat out of hell. I stowed my pistol, attached the leather coin pouch to my impromptu rope belt, and followed the flitting pixie to the cave¡¯s exit. Wilderness I ducked through the archway of grinning, gap-toothed skulls, careful not to touch anything. It was early morning, the sun barely peeking up over the horizon. The cave was cut into a mountain face, the entrance partially obscured by towering pines and scraggly firs. Tactically excellent. The Crave Ghouls would be able to see anyone headed their way long before they arrived, but no one would be able to spot them lying in wait. Well, they would have been able to see anyone coming. Past tense. Their reign of terror was over. Not a bad night¡¯s work for a man who¡¯d wrapped himself around a grenade and woken up inside the world¡¯s most vivid brain trip. Cal was gone, vanished back to wherever he went when he wasn¡¯t with me, and Renholm fluttered along like a manic hummingbird. I half expected the shifty, murderous pixie to leave me high and dry the second he got clear of the cave, so I was pleasantly surprised when he waited for me. I slung my makeshift satchel over one shoulder, then jogged a few hundred feet down the dirt path before I came to a natural ridge and a clearing in the trees. Machete boy and his crew of Ghouls had hacked off enough branches to create a massive window onto the valley below. I crouched and scanned the terrain. ¡°What are you looking for?¡± Renholm buzzed, touching down on one of my shoulders. ¡°Water,¡± I said. Water was the single most important resource in a wilderness survival situation, and securing some early on could be the difference between life and death. I could go weeks without food if need be, but I wouldn¡¯t make it long without something to drink. There¡¯d been a brook in the cave but the stacks of human remains, the greasy firepit, and the goo-leaking monsters made drinking from that another hard pass. Besides, maybe getting a bellyful of cool water would knock me out of this fever-induced delirium. If that was the key to unlocking and ending this hallucination, I would willingly stick my head under a raging waterfall, open my mouth, and drown in sanity. ¡°An apt decision,¡± Renholm agreed. ¡°You smell atrocious. Not as bad as the Crave Ghouls, but it¡¯s a race to the bottom. Doesn¡¯t help that you¡¯re carrying all those Hunger Affinity Scales. But, because I am a gentle-fae, I¡¯d be happy to take them off your hands.¡± A greedy light burned in his mischievous eyes. ¡°Yeah, fat chance of that happening,¡± I said, shrugging him off my shoulder, ¡°and the water isn¡¯t for bathing, it¡¯s for drinking.¡± Renholm¡¯s face broke into a shocked ¡°O,¡± and he recoiled in obvious distaste. ¡°Why in the heavens above would you want to drink water?¡± the pixie asked, sounding genuinely baffled. ¡°Since I¡¯ve taken you under my wing, I feel compelled to ask¡ªhave you actually tasted water? It¡¯s both terribly pointless and terribly bland. The most boring of all liquids by far.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯re joking or not,¡± I replied. ¡°What else would I drink?¡± ¡°Affinity, naturally. That¡¯s what all true creatures of the Etheric Realm imbibe. Well, that and a good spiced wine. The wine is mostly for getting drunk, the Affinity is for sustenance. Those scales you carry will give you the ravenous hunger of a Mortka, but they will fill me up, not just in body but in spirit. If I consume enough Affinity stones, it will even allow me to advance and evolve.¡± ¡°That true for ghosts too?¡± I asked. ¡°I assume you¡¯re asking about that vexing spirit friend of yours?¡± I nodded. ¡°Yes. The scales will help him maintain his corporeal form. Many Mortka such as the Crave Ghouls require food for survival as well as Affinity, but ghosts, fae, angelics, and other creatures of the Ether only need sustenance of the soul to tide us over.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good to know,¡± I said, pulling a Hunger Scale from the pouch at my side. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can survive off of these things, which means water. I¡¯m thirsty and I bet you are, too. So I¡¯m willing to make a deal with you. Help me find a clean source of water and I¡¯ll give you one of these bad boys for the trouble.¡± Renholm¡¯s buggy, luminous eyes seemed to grow three sizes bigger. ¡°For truth?¡± ¡°Scout¡¯s honor,¡± I said solemnly, raising three fingers. I¡¯d only made it through Cub Scouts, but he didn¡¯t need to know that. ¡°I am unaware of these Sage Scouts, but if they are the gods of your people, I shall gladly abide by their pact if it means a chance at an Affinity Scale.¡± He took to the air in a whirl, flying up above the tree line. I cupped a hand over my eyes and tracked his movements. After a handful of seconds, the pixie started blinking frantically, signaling me to follow. The mountaintop itself was dense with evergreens, but the pine forest ended at the foot of the mountain. The valley had been cleared and planted with crops. That meant there had to be a water source close by. With Renholm¡¯s assistance, it didn¡¯t take me long to find the visual break in the well-ordered fields below. I followed the meandering ribbon of green and blue across the valley until it disappeared into the trees to the north. I could make it that far, even if I was caked in monster goo and wearing a dead man¡¯s trousers. The pixie took off again, leaving a glittering trail of breadcrumbs hanging in the air for me to follow. I broke into a run to keep up, sweat beading on my forehead and trickling down my chest, quickly wicked away by a gentle draft working its way through the trees. After a few minutes, I picked up the pace. Honestly, it felt damned good to stretch my muscles. Some part of me instinctively knew this place was impossible¡ªa dream scenario cooked up by an addled brain and awesome drugs force-fed to me at a Naval hospital¡ªanother part of me didn¡¯t care. I¡¯d never felt this good before. This strong. Not even before deployment, when I was squeaking by under the eighteen-minute mark on my three-mile Physical Fitness Test, or PFT. Thanks to that golden mist I¡¯d absorbed back in the cave, I felt like I could run for a thousand miles. I only needed to go two or so, though, before I found myself kneeling by a hole in the rockface where the water flowed freely, gathering in small sandy pools before burbling over and down the mountainside. ¡°Your disgusting, bland water, just as promised,¡± Renholm said, gesturing grandly to the trickle. ¡°You¡¯re weird as hell,¡± I said, ¡°but so far, but I gotta admit, you¡¯re pretty useful.¡± I fished free one of the lesser Hunger Affinity Scales and flicked it through the air to him with my thumb. He leapt from his rocky perch like a house cat and attacked the scale with gusto. In seconds it was gone, and his fat belly looked so distended I thought he might give birth. He touched down on the rock, swaying rather drunkenly. ¡°Oh¡­ oh my. That was¡­ perhaps too much.¡± He paused to let out a thunderous burp, then pirouetted and promptly toppled from the rocky ledge, landing facedown in a patch of grass. Well shit. I¡¯d finally found a friendly face and I¡¯d already managed to kill the little bastard. I dropped to a knee and poked him a few times with a finger. I let out a sigh of relief. Nope, not dead. Just in a food coma from the looks of it. Carefully, I picked him up by his glittering wings and set him back on the rock so I wouldn¡¯t accidentally trample him, then went to work. Drinking unfiltered water was always a danger, but I was prepared for that. Some of those survival training ops were finally starting to come in handy. I dug a pit next to the smallest pool, lined the bottom with crushed charcoal from my pack, then spread a fine layer of gravel over the top, leaving a shallow divot, lined with rock. It took nearly twenty minutes, but eventually water from the brook seeped through into the hole. The gravel filtered out any of the bigger particles and the charcoal would absorb the majority of the harmful bacteria floating in the water. I drank until my guts were ready to bust then drank some more. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! I needed to let the rock pool fill and filter a second time, so I had a bit of time to kill. Might as well make myself useful. A few minutes in the underbrush and I¡¯d found the game trails and bunny runs. I dug in my satchel and found the twine. I made a simple snare, tested the wind, and built a blind not more than twenty paces away from my trap. I must have dozed off at some point because when I woke there was a rabbit ready and waiting and I had enough clean water to fill my glass bottle. Cal was still missing in action, though, and Renholm the pixie was passed out cold on the rock¡ªa good thing in my estimation, since he definitely would¡¯ve robbed me blind given half a chance. The rabbit that had stumbled into my trap didn¡¯t look anything like the cottontails I¡¯d hunted back in Kentucky. Everything about it was bigger than I was used to. Bigger ears, longer legs, wicked fangs. The thing practically looked like a small wolf, and since when did rabbits have canines? Sharp ones, too, made for ripping and tearing. That wasn¡¯t the weirdest thing. The strangest feature was the gnarled horns tucked behind the ears. I¡¯d heard tell of the Jackalope, but I¡¯d always assumed it was a taxidermy trick. This critter¡¯s rack was real enough. Food was food, though, and I was hungry going on hangry. I wasn¡¯t going to let a couple of bony nubs scare me away from a good meal. I skinned it, gutted it, built a fire, and set the bunny to cook. While it roasted, I pulled out another Hunger Affinity Scale and examined it more closely. I stole a look at Renholm, snoring softly on the rock. His belly still looked distended, but it wasn¡¯t quite so pronounced as before. When I¡¯d consumed the Hunger Affinity Scale, the power had been overwhelming¡ªif I hadn¡¯t had my weapons to channel the energy into, I could¡¯ve easily ended up facedown on the floor. These things were real, tangible power and I needed to understand them better if I was going to survive. I had water, food, and daylight left, so there was no better time to experiment than the present. I placed the scale flat in my hand and pulled the Affinity energy down into my skin once more. Another surge of wild, angry, voracious energy filled me to the brim. My gut instinct was to shed the force into either my Colt or K-Bar, but I resisted that temptation. Instead, I focused on the rabbit, still cooking over the fire. I couldn¡¯t wait. Not for a second longer. I ripped the rabbit from the spit and wolfed down the meat, the hot grease burning my lips and face. I didn¡¯t care. It was so good. The best thing I¡¯d ever tasted. I ate the skin and the meat, but still couldn¡¯t stop myself. I headed over to the entrails I¡¯d cut out and shoved those into my face too, savoring the metallic taste. That took the edge off, but there was still more to eat. To consume. I snapped the rabbit bones and drank the marrow like a man dying of thirst. Finally, the roaring inferno of hunger in my center faded to hot coals. In its place was an anxious, jittery energy. All I wanted to do was run and leap and fight. I could feel the life force of the rabbit I¡¯d consumed pumping through my veins and racing through my muscles. I wasn¡¯t sure how long the feeling would last, but I knew if I didn¡¯t move right now, I¡¯d explode. I couldn¡¯t sit on my ass for another second, not while the sun raced across the sky and darkness drew nearer and nearer. I stood and stretched, then used a branch to get in a couple dozen pull-ups. Shit, but I felt amazing. Not just hydrated and well-fed but nourished and rested. Almost bouncy. I couldn¡¯t leave Renholm snoozing on the rock¡ªsomething would likely wolf him down in the same way I¡¯d wolfed down that rabbit¡ªso I scooped him up, dropped him into my satchel, and hopped back onto the trail, bunny style. I couldn¡¯t help but think of what my mom had said a hundred times growing up: you are what you eat. Turned out she was right, at least in this world. The larger game trail cut down the side of the mountain before emerging onto a dirt lane about as wide as a single-lane Kentucky back road. But a genuine road was a good sign, because a road meant people. The dirt was damp, probably from overnight rainfall, and there were wheel ruts gouged into the fresh mud, confirming that some sort of heavy cart had passed through here within the last day or so. A little searching revealed hoofprints in the mud. I was no animal expert but I grew up in horse country, so I knew a mule print when I saw one. Which way to go was just a coin toss, so I decided to follow the cart, forcing my legs to move faster, to carry me farther. Burning through the rabbit¡¯s restless energy. *** It was half an hour before sunset when I finally saw a plume of smoke rising up in the distance. Another ten minutes brought me to the edge of the forest. The road dipped down, transforming from dirt into cobblestone as it entered a city encircled by a stone wall, twenty feet tall. Cautiously, I scoped out the settlement from the safety of the tree line, ensuring I stayed away from the prying eyes of any potential threats. I was getting damned tired of surprises, and I wanted to know what I was getting myself into before blundering headlong into a potential enemy stronghold. Thanks to my vantage and my newly enhanced eyesight, it was easy to see the winding streets and wood-shingled roofs peeking into the air. More stone chimneys jutted up, spewing out wandering clouds of blue-gray smoke. A wide river snaked along the eastern edge of the settlement, its banks lined by small trading vessels moored along wooden docks. The streets looked busy with the hustle and bustle of steady foot traffic¡ªpeople out shopping or selling, horses plodding along as they pulled loaded wagons. I¡¯d spent enough time running forward reconnaissance missions to guess the city probably housed ten thousand or so residents. I wasn¡¯t sure where in the hell I was, but this wasn¡¯t Fallujah or anywhere else in the Al-Anbar province. There wasn¡¯t a thawb or keffiyeh in sight. As any good Marine would, I spent the next thirty minutes maneuvering around the perimeter, trying to find a way past the wall, but the residents had done an admirable job of protecting their forest getaway. I could¡¯ve headed farther north, then come downriver¡ªhoping to slip in undetected by way of the ports¡ªbut it was almost dark and that would take hours at least, with no guarantee of success. I also could¡¯ve tried to scale the walls, but there were ramparts, walkways, and towers, which meant armed guards and lookouts. Misunderstandings with weapons was never any fun and I didn¡¯t want to get pincushioned with arrows while I was scampering up the wall, so I finally headed back to the road and opted to try the direct approach. Weary traveler seeks rest and all that. A shout immediately went up from the sentries manning the main gate. There was a guard wearing creased leathers positioned in the tower to my right. He had a curved bow with an arrow trained on me. His comrade on the ground fumbled with his halberd. All the medieval weapons and armor gave me pause. First the monsters, now this. This world was screwier than a three-dollar bill, but I put all that aside for the moment. I had survival to consider. These guys were armed, but I had a gun, a machete, and a knife. There were two of them and only one of me, and they had a fortified location. Decision time. One had elevation and cover, the other was on foot with a pole weapon and a dented breastplate and helmet. At a quick glance, the guard on the ground appeared to be in his mid-forties and not in particularly good shape, which meant the archer went first if this came to a fight. I could send a hail of rounds downrange before he could draw tight and loose his arrow. The distance was iffy, but I was confident I could make the shot. As for the ground guard, his shoddy breastplate¡ªrusted in places and pitted from age and wear¡ªwouldn¡¯t stop a .45 ACP, but it would do a damn fine job of keeping the bullet bouncing around the inside of his torso, turning him into Swiss cheese. These weren¡¯t monsters, though, not like the red-skinned Crave Ghouls from the cave. They were probably decent enough folk, so I didn¡¯t want things to get bloody. I also wasn¡¯t going to lie down and die, though. Not for anybody. ¡°Halt, stranger!¡± the guard at the gate hollered, his voice teetering on the edge of panic. He pointed the spear end of his halberd in my general direction, but that did little to lessen his overall aura of pants-shitting terror. His anxiety was justifiable since I looked like a nut job with tattered pants held up by a length of rope, leather armor covering my torso, and a pitted machete in one hand. That I was covered in green gore and red rabbit¡¯s blood probably didn¡¯t help either. ¡°No farther, now.¡± I couldn¡¯t place his accent. The intonation wasn¡¯t Middle Eastern, but it wasn¡¯t American either. Vaguely European maybe? ¡°State your business.¡± As he spoke, it dawned on me that he wasn¡¯t speaking English at all. The cadence of the words was off, the syllables longer and harsher than I was used to. But somehow, I had no problem understanding him. Not a lick. Shit was getting crazier and crazier by the second. ¡°Hey, fellas,¡± I said, waving a hand. Like a sucker punch to the teeth, I realized I wasn¡¯t speaking English either. ¡°Boy do I have a wild-ass story to tell you fellas,¡± I said, the foreign words falling flawlessly from my lips. ¡°Thing is, I don¡¯t know where I am or how I got here, but I had a little mishap about a day¡¯s walk thataway.¡± I hooked a thumb back down the road. ¡°Ended up in a cave with some freaky looking red guys. Potbellies. Gangly arms. Nasty-ass black teeth. Anywho, the bastards ambushed me, might¡¯ve stolen my clothes. I murdered ¡¯em all, but¡ª¡± A wooden door inside the wall flew open and a portly guard with a wisp of hair and a thick handlebar mustache hustled out of a concealed guard shack. ¡°Hindrik, Rory!¡± he bellowed, wobbling forward on bowed legged, his hands raised. ¡°Lower your gods-be-damned weapons, you fools!¡± ¡°But Commander, he¡ª¡± ¡°Look at his hair, you ijits! Look at his bloody face! He¡¯s got the mark clear as the sun at noonday. Praise be, but it¡¯s a Vigil Bound. He¡¯s come to save us all!¡± ¡°Uh, what was that now?¡± I asked. The Vigilant There was a muttered gasp from the two watchmen and a hasty stir as they stowed their weapons. The guy in the breastplate still seemed skeptical¡ªwhat with me looking like a murder hobo¡ªbut he kept his mouth firmly shut at the word of his commanding officer. Smart man. ¡°I¡¯m Commander Arendu, and you have my deepest apologies, Vigil,¡± the commander said, bowing and scraping his way over, dusty brown mustache fluttering as he spoke. He regarded me as though I might be a feral bear that would maul him at any second, but still he kept coming closer, blinking and twitching and rubbing his hands together. He made a good show of not actively inspecting me, but what he was really doing was taking careful stock. I stood my ground and waited. My stance was clear: yes, I have weapons, and yes, I know how to use them. The newcomer had a gut, a double chin, and a balding pate. Two of those traits spoke of a life well lived while the other just spoke of unlucky genes. His overcoat was patched, but expertly. Someone took care of him. A wife or daughter. Someone good with a needle. He had rings on all his fingers, which told me there were people in the town with money to burn. The fact that he was a guard, even a commander, with that kind of money could also mean he was on the take. ¡°We¡¯ve had a problem with some highwaymen these past few months¡ªtravelers going missing and such,¡± he explained. ¡°My men, they¡¯ve been jumpy. Just didn¡¯t recognize you from a distance.¡± He offered me an uneasy smile and dry washed his hands. ¡°But that is no concern of yours. You¡¯re here for the monster, I¡¯m sure. The Custodians must¡¯ve sent you from Hollaheim when they heard about our problem.¡± As he spoke, golden words swam across the air just like they¡¯d done back at the cave. <<<>>> Bounty Terror of Ironmoor: A deadly Mortka with powerful abilities at its disposal prowls the streets of Ironmoor, a provincial trading hub in the province of Oakenward. Old hate drives the beast to kill, and only a Vigil Bound has the power to end its bloody reign. This is no ordinary monster; its form and nature are cloaked by dark magics, its identity hidden behind false faces and guarded even from the eyes of Raguel, the Five Faced. Identify the nature of the beast, slay it before at least one witness, and restore justice and order to the city of Ironmoor. Reward: +15,000 Essence, 1 x Seraphic Affinity Scale (Sage Class), 1 x Chaos Affinity Scale (Sage Class), 1 x True Form Transformation Token, 1 x Scalable Master-Rank Armor Item <<<>>> I scanned the prompt, my breath catching in my throat as I read. Well crap. For better or worse, I¡¯d just stumbled into an enormous shitshow. This wasn¡¯t even remotely like the bounty I¡¯d completed before. There was something bad roaming the streets of this little city, and if the reward for killing it was any indication, this mission wasn¡¯t going to be a stroll in the park. Problem was, I didn¡¯t know my asshole from my elbow, had no idea how these fancy new powers of mine worked, and wasn¡¯t even sure where to start with an investigation into a string of brutal monster-related killings. Hell, I still wasn¡¯t even one hundred percent convinced that I wasn¡¯t in a medically induced coma or strung out on morphine. I couldn¡¯t say any of that, though. So instead, I smiled and tried not to look completely lost in the sauce. The commander was still jabbering away and didn¡¯t seem to notice my hesitation. ¡°Praise be, indeed. Arbitrator Arturo has been praying for aid, but we were beginning to fear¡­¡± He trailed off. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. The important thing is that you¡¯re here now. Praise be!¡± He reached his hand out, thought better of it, and stuffed it in a pocket. ¡°You look the worse for the wear, Vigil. Red-skinned miscreants you say? Musta been the Crave Ghouls that live near the point. Nasty creatures, and good riddance to ¡¯em.¡± He turned his head and spit into the dirt. ¡°But listen to me blathering on while you¡¯re standing there looking like a right mess. A terrible way to greet such an esteemed guest. Let¡¯s get you to the inn, eh? We have several, of course, but only the best will do for you. We¡¯d be damned poor hosts to leave you out here in this state. Please. Come. Please.¡± He waved me toward the gate. The portly commander guided me through a warren of cobblestone streets. The city was enormous but looked medieval¡ªalmost like something out of a fairy tale, if not for the dirt and grime adorning every conceivable surface. In this quarter of the city, the buildings were one or two stories tall and built of stone or wood. They had boxy windows protected by wood-slatted shutters, and the roofs were covered with thatch or wooden shingles. Through a window I spied a family sitting down to eat. When the mother caught me peering in, she made a gesture that looked like the sign of the evil eye and slammed the shutters tight. The commotion on the street ebbed and flowed around us, but there was more ebbing than flowing. I couldn¡¯t be sure, but it seemed like people were pulling away when they saw me, retreating into their homes, gathering their children behind their skirts and muttering as I passed. ¡°Not many strangers visit these parts?¡± I asked the commander, cocking an eyebrow. Commander Arendu snorted with laughter. ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t say that. We¡¯re one of the largest trading posts this side of the River Torne. Ten thousand men strong we be, not counting the women and wee folk, of course. People come here from all corners of the kingdom.¡± He stole a sidelong glance at me then pointed to a doorway hung with a boot. ¡°We have the finest Galbanian leather, shipped here from the Azulean shores.¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The words made sense in my head, but the locations meant nothing to me. I wished Cal was here or even Renholm¡ªanyone who could help me decipher what the guy was yammering on about. No such luck. The pixie was still hungover in my satchel and there was no sign of my dead friend. I didn¡¯t want to offend him, so I just offered him a thin smile and a noncommittal grunt. We ducked under a low-hanging roof and hung a left, almost colliding with three young men who were idling by the corner and smoking from bulbous pipes. They quickly scurried out of our way, but did nothing to hide their astonishment. If this was how they greeted strangers it was a wonder they did any trade at all. Arendu ignored their whispers and escorted me to a three-story place bordering the town square. It was by far the largest and most impressive structure I¡¯d seen so far. There was a wooden sign dangling out front declaring it to be The Three Chimneys. The warm glow from the windows and sound of stamping feet promised a good time. The interior was brightly light, candelabras jutting from the walls at even intervals, and the floorboards were clean enough. There was a roaring fire on the far side of the room, complete with a pig on a spit and a carver in a leather apron. My mouth watered. The rabbit had been ages ago, or at least it felt like it, and I couldn¡¯t even remember what my meal before that had been. I was ready to chow down. I also idly wondered what kind of perks I might get from feasting on the pig while strung out on Hunger Affinity Scales. Super strength, maybe? Or the uncontrollable desire to wallow in the mud. That could go either way. Serving women flowed among the tables and patrons, who were laughing and stuffing their faces and banging their tankards on the rough-hewn wooden tabletops. A tall, slender woman with long red hair flowing down her back stood on a raised stage at the other end of the room, singing as she plucked and hammered away on an odd wooden board covered with strings. Her voice was spun honey mixed with strands of pure silver, and her fingers worked their way over the instrument like it was part of her. The song had a knee-slapper of a chorus that the patrons all knew and sang at great volume. Me and the boys would¡¯ve had a blast in a place like this. Good food, beer aplenty, and decent looking women. What more could a platoon of Marines ask for? The merriment slowly faded as we wound through the room and the patrons caught a glimpse of me for the first time. I must¡¯ve looked like absolute shit, since I killed pretty much every conversation in passing. After a few seconds, the common room was dead silent. Even the entertainer had quit playing. ¡°Well, don¡¯t be rude now, eh?¡± the paunchy commander barked. ¡°We all know what he is and why he¡¯s here. Go about your business and let him go about his, eh?¡± No one moved a muscle. ¡°Play.¡± I nodded at the musician and gave her a get-along-with-it gesture. ¡°Let¡¯s get the party rollin¡¯ again.¡± Her lips parted in a smile, but everything else about her posture screamed fear and uncertainty. Despite that, she strummed her instrument and drew at least half the eyes in the room away from me. Unfortunately, the other half stayed glued on my sorry ass. I placed my machete on the bar. Seemed like the polite thing to do. Perhaps if they saw I wasn¡¯t about to take up arms against them they¡¯d chill out a bit. ¡°Maggie!¡± The commander turned toward a busty brunette working the bar. ¡°A room and fresh clothes for the Vigil Bound, and be quick about it now. He¡¯s had a rough trip. Waylaid by Crave Ghouls, if you can believe it.¡± ¡°From the looks of him, I can most certainly believe it,¡± she said before flashing me a smile that would¡¯ve melted my bones if I hadn¡¯t been so damned tired. ¡°Maggie here will take care of you, lad,¡± the commander said. He went to clap me on the shoulder then reconsidered. Smart move. ¡°I¡¯ll be around to assist you however I can, Vigil. When you¡¯ve washed and supped, we can talk about taking you to meet the Arbitrator.¡± ¡°Arbitrator?¡± That didn¡¯t sound good. Very official. Like a lawyer maybe. In my experience, official usually meant complicated and complicated usually meant dangerous. Especially if lawyers were involved. ¡°Arbitrator Arturo, yes. The Custodians didn¡¯t tell you?¡± He cocked his head to one side. Obviously, the Custodians, whoever they were, would have told the Vigil, whoever he was, about meeting the local Arbitrator. Unfortunately, I was from out of town and hadn¡¯t gotten the message, so I kept my trap shut tight. Remaining silent is a powerful conversational gambit. My rule in situations like this was to tell as few lies as possible and avoid making shit up. Lies are too hard to track, and the longer silence stretches, the more other people talk. All I had to do was wait. Not for long, either. The commander was a twitchy type who couldn¡¯t relax into an uncomfortable pause. ¡°The Arbitrator has prayed for your arrival,¡± he prompted. Cool. Praying lawyers. ¡°He will be most anxious to see you, I¡¯m sure. The church doors are always open and he¡¯ll make time for the Vigil, even if he has¡­¡± He paused and smirked at Maggie. ¡°Other obligations.¡± Maggie threw her head back and roared with laughter. Check. Whatever obligations the lawyer engaged in had turned him into a laughingstock. Good to know. ¡°If the priest can stand up this late in the day and string a sentence together, I¡¯m a pig¡¯s uncle,¡± Maggie replied. ¡°Aye, aye,¡± said Arendu. ¡°That¡¯s as may be, but the holy man may see things others cannot comprehend. Dealing with such burdens is no easy task, so we must forgive him his cups.¡± Ah. Not a lawyer. A priest. One who liked a drink. Better than a lawman any day. After another brisk nod, Arendu trotted around the bar and disappeared, leaving me with the brunette bartender. She was in her early thirties maybe, though there were fine crow¡¯s feet at the corner of her eyes and laugh lines etched into her cheeks. Her curly hair framed her face like a halo and she wore a leather corset, cinched so tight her breasts were bobbing over the top of her blouse. I didn¡¯t mind the view and she didn¡¯t seem to mind me looking. ¡°I¡¯m Maggie Yount,¡± she said, ¡°and you¡¯ll be needing a room.¡± She produced a brass key from a pouch at her belt and held it out, but just far enough from me that I would have to reach for it. I waited, matching her smile for smile but not leaning over the bar to take what she offered. She¡¯d come to me if I wanted her to. She was a tease, but unlike the commander she seemed more interested than scared. ¡°So, you¡¯re really one of the Vigilant?¡± she asked. That was what the commander had called me too. A Vigil. I wasn¡¯t sure if that was true or not, but the fact that these people thought I was a Vigil seemed to be the only thing keeping me from the inside of a jail cell or out on my ass, so I played along. ¡°That¡¯s what the commander said, isn¡¯t it?¡± I replied, not really answering her question, but not outright lying either. The less I said, the better off I¡¯d be. ¡°I suppose it is,¡± she replied with another one of her wicked grins, before hiking herself up and leaning forward, resting her very pleasant cleavage on the bar and handing me the key. ¡°I¡¯ll bring over some fresh clothes while you clean up. You¡¯ll find your bedroom upstairs, three doors down and on the right. You can¡¯t miss it. It has a fancifully carved door and the best bed you¡¯ll find in Ironmoor. If you need the jakes, there¡¯s a room at the far end of the hall.¡± God, but this place was mystifying. Arbitrators? Vigils? Now jakes? There was so much that didn¡¯t make any sense, but once again I didn¡¯t want to let on, so I nodded politely and accepted the key. Holy hell, but I needed to sort some of this shit out¡ªI couldn¡¯t bluff forever. Vigils Valor - Coming Soon Hey everyone, just a brief update! I''m busy at work on Vigil Bound 2, Vigil''s Valor. I''m about 35K words into the book atm. I''m going to be releasing chapters over on my Patreon for the next two weeks and then I''ll start releasing them here on Monday, May 30th--either two or three times a week (depending on how much content I have at that point). If you want the read a full, edited version of Vigil''s Justice (Book 1) click here and join my Patreon to snag a copy that you can download to any of your preferred reading devices plus you''ll get to start reading book 2 before anyone else. Thanks for the support everyone! A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The Showdown The wind howled like a dying animal as I trudged through calf-high snow, winding my way through the narrow streets of Grimwerp. The simple stone houses were dark and, if I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d assume the residents of the quiet hamlet were tucked into their beds and sleeping soundly through the raging snowfall. But I did know better. An unnatural, almost oppressive, silence rested heavily on the night, giving voice to the lie. No noise came from any of the houses. The glow of firelight didn¡¯t wink from behind the shuttered windows. No clouds of fragrant fire smoke drifted from the chimneys. The houses were empty. All of them. With a grunt, I shrugged my cloak more tightly around my shoulders and readjusted my grip on the reeking burlap sack in my hand. ¡°That thing was so fucking gross,¡± Cal said while keeping pace beside me. Renholm had stayed behind, refusing to endure the frozen chill since he staunchly disagreed about this particular mission. Just leave them for dead, he insisted. Cal was always in my corner, however, and as a specter he wasn¡¯t bothered by the cold or the snow. His other senses worked just fine, though. Including his nose. The rancid stink wafting off the bag was nausea inducing, even for someone who didn¡¯t have a stomach. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever feel clean again.¡± ¡°You and me both,¡± I replied, pushing myself up a short hill. The old crypt we¡¯d found the Fouling inhabiting would haunt my memories for weeks to come. Maybe months. Perched at the top of the rise was a large, two-story building of gray stone and wooden beams with a thick thatched roof. Unlike the rest of the houses, bright jags of orange firelight seeped through the battened down windows and out from beneath the stout wooden door. The massive chimney spewed a constant plume of gray smoke and, thanks to my enhanced hearing, it was easy enough to hear the uneasy mutters drifting out from behind the Twisted Pig, Grimwerp¡¯s combination Inn and Pub. Every resident of the sleepy hamlet¡ªfrom gray-haired Vilhelm to tow-headed Alexi who was just starting to toddle around on uncertain feet¡ªwas tucked away behind the safety of the doors. This was a dangerous world for human beings and there was a certain safety in numbers. I crested the stone steeps and thumped at the door loud enough to rattle the rough frame. ¡°Who goes there?¡± came a reply after a tense moment. I knew the voice on the other side. Bendt, the owner and proprietor of the Twisted Pig. I could hear the fear in his bass rumble. ¡°Just me,¡± I said, exhausted. Then, ¡°It¡¯s done.¡± There was another long pause followed by the sound of a metal bolt sliding open. The door creaked and I shuffled in, shaking the snow from my cloak. Inside, a sea of anxious, dirty faces peered out at me. The residents of the town were all pressed in tightly together, the children and elderly kept toward the back while the handful of Grimwerp¡¯s fighting-aged men were lined up in the front. These men weren¡¯t soldiers¡ªthey were farmers and bakers and Innkeepers. They wore simple linen garb and carried pitchforks, wheat scythes, or butcher knives. Tools of the trade, not designed for war or battle. Still, they were ready to fight and die to protect their own, no matter the cost. That, I could respect. That kind of courage was worth fighting for. I meet their grim looks and offered them a fierce, if tired, smile. I reached my free hand into the burlap sack at my side, grabbed a handful of greasy black hair, and pulled out the head of an ashen-skinned humanoid creature with a jagged, too-large mouth filled with an assortment of razor-sharp teeth. There was a collective intake of breath as their gazes locked on the grisly trophy. Instead of recoiling in shock or disgust, a cheer erupted from the crowd. Tears fell, husbands turned to hug wives, children let out cries of pure unadulterated relief and joy. ¡°Justice has been served for the people of Grimwerp!¡± I thundered, hoisting the head high and shaking it. Black blood dribbled down, splattering across the floor. No one had a single fuck to give. The thing that had been hunting their village, murdering their neighbors was finally gone. That was all that mattered. Elder Vilhelm, a bent old man with a wispy beard that trailed down to his waist, hobbled forward on his gnarled cane, thrusting a bag of coins into my hands before pulling the gory prize into his. ¡°This is for Brian, for Liva, and for poor, sweet, innocent Sarah most of all.¡± He turned and tossed the head to Bendt, who¡¯d made his way back behind the bar. The Innkeeper slammed it unceremoniously onto a pitted spear that had seen better days and raised it for everyone to see. ¡°Tomorrow,¡± Bendt said, his voice gruff and raw with emotion, ¡°tomorrow we shall grieve. We shall pay respects to the fallen. Cry over those robbed from us. But tonight¡­ Tonight we celebrate!¡± A thunderous shout rose around the room, shaking the rafters. ¡°Tonight, we shall drink, reveal, and dance on the grave of the creature who took so much from us.¡± He brandished the spear in a white-knuckled fist. ¡°And the Vigil, he shall be our guest of honor!¡± Another enthusiastic round of cheers went up at the declaration. Elder Vilhelm shuffled over to me, hooked one scrawny arm through mine, and gently nudged me into motion, drawing me over to a nearby table. Meanwhile, the house band set up on a small, raised stage near the fireplace and jangled to life. A woman with a face as weathered and lumpy as the underside of a rock belted out a tune with the voice of an angel. Her portly husband struck a chord on a hammered dulcimer, which was a bit like an ol¡¯ timey harp, laid flat on its side and played with what looked like a pair of wooden spoons. It was a rousing ballad I¡¯d heard in more than one village, which told the tale of a world-weary Vigil who rolled into town at the hour of need and proceeded to kick the shit out of a terrifying Mortka who¡¯d been hunting the land. Unfortunately, it was such a common ballad, because the story itself was so painfully common. Turned out Ironmoor wasn¡¯t the only place with Mortka problems. Unlike the earth Cal and I had once called home, Alkran was literal death trap. Life on this world was short, brutal, and shitty unless you had bucketloads of money or shitloads of magic. It seemed like Mortka were hiding behind every bush and under every goddamned rock in this world, just waiting to pop out and maul folk at the drop of a hat. Sure, they weren¡¯t all as bad as the Hexblight that had nearly murdered me and worn my skin as a blanket, but they were nasty enough to kill anyone without access to fancy spells or enchanted weapons. And because I wasn¡¯t a total bastard, I couldn¡¯t just pass them by and leave them to their grizzly, ugly, murdery fates. I was a sucker that way. Serving women swept out from behind the rough-hewn bar, bearing platters of warm ale and slabs of slightly warmer bread. A handful of men and women took to the dance floor, twirling and stomping in time to the beat, while others drifted back to their own tables, eager to celebrate by burying their heads in a flagon of free ale. A few others tossed around the knuckled bones¡ªa game that was equal parts chance and skill that involved the use of real bones, all salvaged from Mortka. Thanks to my preternaturally enhanced dexterity and agility, the kindly folks of Grimwerp had banned me from playing the very first night. One of the serving girls, a curly brunette with a pair of killer dimples, dropped two pints off at the table, one for me, one for Vilhelm. As she was departing, she reached down and traced her fingers across my shoulder and up my neck, in clear invitation. Then she giggled and swished away through the crowd, dodging dancers and drunkards with expert footwork. I lifted my own drink and threw my head back, taking a great swing of the brew, which was a hundred times better than the sour swill Maggie had served day and night back in Ironmoor. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°Well, lad, you¡¯ve done it,¡± Vilhelm said in grim resignation as he hefted his drink in salute. ¡°I¡¯m ashamed to say I doubted you, but you¡¯ve proven me wrong, and I¡¯ll eat my own words gladly enough. Me and the others, we can¡¯t thank you enough for helping us get rid of that beast. Would¡¯ve been the death of us all, if not for you.¡± ¡°Hey just doing my job,¡± I said, shrugging off the praise. ¡°No, no you weren¡¯t lad,¡± he said with a grimace and a shake of his head. ¡°I can see the fire burning in you. I may be old, but I¡¯m not blind. You have places to be. There is an urgency about you.¡± I sighed and took another pull of my mug. He wasn¡¯t wrong. I idly glanced out the window and watched the angry flurries of snow pour down from the black sky overhead, blanketing the streets, transforming the normally muddy roadways into hard, frozen dirt. I did have someplace to be, and I was already late. After taking out the Hexblight back in Ironmoor I¡¯d gotten a letter from the Citadel of Custodians¡ªthe ruling body that oversaw the Vigilant¡ªdemanding I ride to the city of Wildespell and turn myself in for judgment. Impersonating a Vigil was a ¡°sacrilege¡± and punishable by death and dismemberment¡ªnot necessarily in that order. I knew I wasn¡¯t faking. I had the magical powers to prove it, plus I¡¯d literally had a face to face with Raguel, the Five-Faced God of the Vigilant after taking a grenade to the gut and dying back in Fallujah. The other Vigil¡¯s didn¡¯t know that, however. They¡¯d given me a deadline¡ªmake it to Wildespell by the first snowfall or they¡¯d come gunning for me. The first snowfall had come and gone more than two weeks ago. I¡¯d been moving more or less in the direction of Wildespell since leaving Ironmoor, but things had come up along the way that had put me significantly behind schedule. And by things, I mean Bounties and Monsters. Just like the Fouling that had waylaid me in this backwater town for the past few days. This particular breed of Mortka was a creepy, hunch over humanoid dick head that usually skulked about in cemeteries and stole sheep and goats. Except this one had gotten real ballsy. And hungry. A week past it had raided an outlying farm, snatching up a wife, husband, and their two-month-old baby, Sarah. The bodies of mom and dad turned up a day or two later, partially eaten, but there was no sign of the baby. The people of Grimwerp were still looking for the kid when I ambled through and even though I should¡¯ve quickly put the town in my rearview mirror, I couldn¡¯t stop myself. Kids were a line in the sand as far as I was concerned. Hurting dogs, cats, and children was the quickest way to wind up on the business end of an enchanted shotgun barrel. No exceptions. ¡°You could¡¯ve just as well offered us a trite blessing and ridden off into the sunset without batting an eye,¡± Vilhelm continued, drawing me from my thoughts. ¡°I¡¯ve known Arbitrators that have done less than that. A Vigil¡¯s purpose is higher than ours, yet you stayed to help us in our hour of need. Stayed to see Justice served, even though I have my suspicions that you may suffer for it yet. For that, as well as slaying the beast, you have my sincerest gratitude¡­ Still, although you owe us nothing and we are forever in your debt, I have one last favor to request.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t promise anything,¡± I said, bracing myself for whatever fresh hell they needed. ¡°But I¡¯ll hear you out,¡± I finished. ¡°Please, stay through the night, eh?¡± He fished a silver coin from his pocket and slid it across the table to me with gnarled, arthritic fingers. ¡°It¡¯s cold out there, lad. And dark. I know you can handle yourself well enough, but one night in a warm bed won¡¯t kill you, I reckon. It¡¯ll also lift the spirits of everyone here. You¡¯ve done so much for us, and we can offer so little in return. Please let us give you this.¡± He paused and stole a look at the bar. ¡°¡¯Sides I saw the way Josepa was lookin¡¯ at you. You¡¯re only young once, lad.¡± He reached forward and patted me on the hand. ¡°Don¡¯t squander an opportunity like that¡ªyou¡¯ll regret it for the rest of your life.¡± ¡°Thanks for the advice, old timer,¡± I replied taking the coin and standing, the chair letting out a groan of relief. I shot him and wink, then ambled over toward Bendt. ¡°You should¡¯ve let them all die,¡± Renholm said as he fluttered over to me from the bar. He¡¯d been entirely against this mission from the very beginning, even though I¡¯d received a Bounty directly from Raguel. ¡°This was a truly remarkable waste of time and the hunched, old fool is astute if nothing else¡ªwe do have places to be.¡± The pixie¡¯s cat, Sir Jacob Francis, darted out from beneath the table and jogged along beside me, avoiding clomping feet with a feline¡¯s grace while rubbing his tabby shoulders against my boots. ¡°You jeopardized your own safety¡ªwhich means you are jeopardizing my safety¡ªand for what, hmm?¡± the pixie asked scornfully. ¡°A pouchful of grimy pocket change? The warm bed of a woman who bathes less than once a month? The good will of ignorant, stinking hill-people who have never traveled past their own sheep pastures? If you had enough sense to listen to your mentor and advisory¡±¡ªhe puffed his chest out¡ª¡°then you would¡¯ve left the whole lot of them for dead. That Fouling wasn¡¯t even worth the time it took to hunt it down. You spent more Affinity Scales vanquishing it than you looted off its corpse.¡± ¡°Not everything is about money,¡± I growled. ¡°We did it because it¡¯s the right thing to do. Sometimes that¡¯s enough.¡± Renholm rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in frustration. ¡°I¡¯ve bonded myself to an absolute imbecile.¡± ¡°Naw,¡± Cal said from my other side, ¡°Boyd¡¯s not dumb, just as stubborn as a fucking donkey.¡± As an etheric being he didn¡¯t even try to avoid people. Nope, he just walked through them, leaving a wave of startled expressions in his wake. He¡¯d walked through me a handful of times and I had to admit, it was a deeply unsettling experience. Almost like getting splashed in the face with a bucket of cold ice water. ¡°I¡¯ve known Boyd a long time¡ªwe¡¯ve been best friends since elementary school¡ªand when he gets it into his head that something is right, he¡¯ll just keep going no matter what. ¡°When we were in sixth grade, there was this bully that would come over from the High School. Callen McKinny. This guy was a Junior, but the sumbitch was built like a College Line Back. Great big ol¡¯ bastard, and Boyd hadn¡¯t hit his growth spurt yet, so he was just this scrawny little redneck kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. Anywho, Callen comes over to our school every day to pick on this Special Ed kid named Eddy Ward. Everyone just called him Special Ed, which was super fucked up. Well, Boyd here sees what¡¯s going down and decides then and there to put the kibosh on that shit. ¡°Callen is pushing Eddy around, knocking his books out of his hand, giving him wet-willies and shit. Boyd gets right in front of Callen and tells him to pick on someone his own size. Bear in mind that Boyd barely comes up to this kid¡¯s nipples. Callen laughs, tries to push his way past Boyd. Boyd punches him right in the dick without even batting an eye. As you might expect, Callen beat the shit out of Boyd every day for the next three weeks, but he never fucked around with Eddy again. Boyd will do the right thing, even if the right thing is stupid as sin.¡± ¡°Is that story supposed to impress me?¡± Renholm asked, canting his head to the side in apparent confusion. ¡°If anything, it only proves my point. You see my young, naive prot¨¦g¨¦, there is a pecking order to life¡ªthe strong prey on the weak, just as I continue to take advantage of you, because you are too ignorant to know any better. You, in turn, are far more elevated than they¡±¡ªhe swept a tiny hand outward, gesturing at the bar goers¡ª¡°which gives you every right to abuse, swindle, or ignore them as you please. This is a cruel, unforgiving land and coddling the weak and poor will only prolong their suffering. Once you learn to embrace your place in the world you will be better off.¡± I ignored the pixie as I sidled up to the bar and plunked my empty mug down on the countertop. ¡°Another, please,¡± I said to Bendt. The man was as thick as Vilhelm was thin and looked like he should¡¯ve been swinging a hammer at a foundry instead of slinging pints at a tavern. Despite his gruff appearance, Bendt was a good guy with a helluva sense of humor. Reminded me of more than a few senior enlisted Marines I¡¯d known once upon a time. Sir Jacob-Francis leapt onto the bar top, lazily flicked his tail, then turned in a circle and settled down beside me. I sighed and scratched his head, because holy shit he was cute, even if he was also almost as big of an asshole as Renholm. Those two really were made for each other. Bendt eyeballed the beefy orange tabby with no small amount of disgruntlement. ¡°Normally, I don¡¯t allow animals up on the counter¡ª¡± the barkeep said. ¡°If he touches my faithful stead,¡± Reholm muttered darkly, ¡°I will stab him in the face with a white-hot cattle prod.¡± ¡°¡ªBut given the circumstances,¡± Bendt continued, almost as though he sensed that he was in imminent danger, ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll give you a pass, Vigil.¡± He grabbed a pitcher from behind the bar. ¡°Suppose this means you¡¯re going to be moving on, then?¡± he asked as the ale splashed into my glass. ¡°Yeah,¡± I said with a nod, ¡°but not until the morning.¡± I took out the silver Vilhelm had gifted me and slid it across the wood. With my enhanced vision, I¡¯d be able to navigate the dark without much problem, but the snowstorm blowing around outside was a nasty, mean son of a bitch. Riding out into a potential blizzard was asking for trouble I didn¡¯t need. The Platoon Commander in me loathed the idea of further missing the deadline and insisted I press on despite the danger. In the Corps, you were fifteen minutes prior to fifteen minutes prior. Period. End of Story. But getting myself killed would accomplish nothing. There was also that brunette to consider¡ªshe was still shooting flirtatious glances at me from across the bar. Vilhelm was right, I probably wouldn¡¯t be back this way again, and I wouldn¡¯t have another shot like this. No point in throwing away a good thing for a miserable night, mired down in a snowbank. ¡°The way I figure it,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯m half dead from exhaustion and two weeks behind schedule anyway. One more night probably ain¡¯t gonna kill¡ª¡± The sentence died on my lips as the front door exploded inward with a boom, and snow swept into the tavern along with a red-eyed woman decked out in spiked plate mail. A bloody red cape swirled at her back, and the warhammer clutched in her hand burned with an unearthly golden power. ¡°Or maybe it might just kill me after all,¡± I muttered. In Walked Trouble ¡°We are so boned,¡± Cal whispered, staring wide-eyed as four more red-eyed, armor-clad men strode into the common room, blocking out the chill of the night with their bodies. They all looked very different from one another. Dark-skinned and light-skinned. Tall and short. One guy was as wide as the doorframe while another was lithe and slim¡ªhe had the build of a long-distance runner. Likewise, their armor ranged from dusty leathers to gleaming steel plate mail. But one and all, they had the tell-tale burning red eyes that marked them as Vigils. That and a metallic sigil branded against their foreheads, though I immediately noticed that the sigils were as different as the people who wore them. No two were the same. A dark-skinned man of maybe forty was branded with the same golden, sword-like symbol that I had. The symbol for Justice. The remaining four symbols, I knew from my time in the Soul Vault, represented the other faces of Raguel. Valor, Wrath, Balance, and Truth. Arturo, the Arbitrator of Ironmoor, had mentioned once that Vigils typically traveled in teams of five, called Fists. There was no doubt who these people were and there was no doubt what they¡¯d come here to do. Renholm took one look at the set of assembled Vigils, then quickly bounded into the air. ¡°Good luck, Count! I¡¯ve just realized I forgot about something very important¡­ Back in the Faewylds. I believe I may have left my fireplace on.¡± ¡°What? You can¡¯t just abandon me now,¡± I grunted at him. ¡°I¡¯m not abandoning you,¡± he hissed in reply. ¡°I¡¯m just honoring the pecking order. Sir Jacob-Francis, attend to me!¡± The pixie bounded onto the cat¡¯s back and immediately the feline darted off the counter, disappearing behind the bar. Great, the little traitor had jumped ship. I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised¡ªRenholm was amazingly consistent in his treachery and was very open that he was out for himself and no one else. I knew he¡¯d come crawling back, eventually, assuming I survived this clusterfuck. Sadly, Renholm wasn¡¯t the only one. Cal had disappeared too. Dissipated back to the Etheral Plane where he called home. That stung just a little, though I knew it was the smart move. There was no telling what a group of trigger-happy Vigils might do to an unfamiliar spirit guide. Arturo had accidentally banished him after he and I tried to pay a late-night visit to the Arbitrator¡¯s chapel. Cal still remembered the sting. Running was the right call. Cal wouldn¡¯t be able to help me if these guys nuked him out of existence before I even had a chance to explain myself. ¡°Are you the pretender, Boyd Knight?¡± The woman who appeared to be the de facto leader of the group boomed. She was the shortest of the bunch, only a few inches over five-feet, but she radiated confidence and authority. Her heavy silver and white armor also added to her stage presence. She had a sharp, angular face and metallic golden hair, which was pulled back into a short ponytail, revealing the emerald Valor brand on her forehead. I would¡¯ve called her cute if not for the fact that looked like she wanted to spit roast me alive over an open fire. ¡°Nope,¡± I said on instinct, working to keep my face straight. ¡°Believe it or not but you¡¯re actually looking for my brother. I¡¯m Lloyd Knight. I¡¯ve always heard that there is a very strong family resemblance, so it¡¯s an easy mistake to make. But no harm done¡ªI won¡¯t lodge a complaint with your manager. Hell, I¡¯d even be happy to buy a round of brews for you and your friends, since you¡¯ve come all this way out here for no reason.¡± ¡°Do you think this is a joke?¡± she snarled as her hand tightened around the grip of her warhammer. ¡°Vigil Telent,¡± she said to the man in dark leather armors. ¡°Put him to the question. Now.¡± Vigil Telent stepped forward, lowering his cowl. He had a pale face framed by silvery white hair and the pearlescent sigil of Truth of on his furrowed brow. ¡°You¡¯re in a lot of trouble, friend,¡± he said, voice slick and oddly soothing. He was playing good cop to her bad. ¡°Things will go best for you if you work with us. You will answer all of our questions truthfully and honestly, yes?¡± Even though it was a friendly suggestion, I instantly knew it was more than that. He was using the Honeyed Words ability on me. Every syllable was laced with Arcana, turning the simple question into a subtle command. I could feel his words tugging at something inside my chest, compelling me to talk. To answer truthfully. After all, I was in a lot of trouble and his suggestion just seemed so reasonable. But the compulsion didn¡¯t stick. I¡¯d been busy since taking out the Hexblight and I¡¯d managed to push myself up to Disciple, Gold-Rank. I was just on the cusp of ascending into the Adept ranks. Hell, I could¡¯ve hit Adept Bronze weeks ago, but I¡¯d chosen instead to sacrifice some of my accumulated Essence to increase my stats. Including Insight, which was now at 19. That added bonus allowed me to see through his magic and gave me a minor degree of resistance against the spell. I also happened to be running the Master Mentalist skill while wearing my Grass Hound Armor, augmented with an Arcanum Token of Deceptive Presence. My gear further boosted my Insight Stat by one point and gave me an additional +5% resistance against mental magics. ¡°This doesn¡¯t need to get ugly,¡± Vigil Telent continued, sounding like a parent talking to an unreasonable toddler throwing a temper tantrum. ¡°Tell us true, are you Boyd Knight?¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m Boyd,¡± I replied with a nod. I could see the smugness on his face. But two could play at this game, especially since I also had Honeyed Words currently equipped. ¡°And I have a suggestion of my own. How¡¯s about you go eat a dick.¡± The smug grin withered and disappeared. Overt shock rippled outward from him in a ring, briefly flashing across the faces of each of the other Vigils in turn. They could feel me flexing my metaphysical muscle, just like I could feel theirs. Telent fell back a step and cast a confused look at the woman leading their party. What the hell is going on here, that look said in no uncertain terms. They¡¯d come expecting to find some washed up adventurer hoping to cash in on the Vigil name, not someone who could sling real power. The woman frowned. ¡°Stand and be judged,¡± she declared, voice even and steadfast. My little demonstration had ruffled the others, but not her. With a sigh, I burgeoningly complied, raising my hands to show I was unarmed¡ªthough I could change that in a second. After dying, I¡¯d reincarnated butt ass naked, with nothing but a magical K-Bar in one hand, and an enchanted Colt 1911 in the other. I¡¯d since learned that those weapons were more than just weapons, they were extensions of my soul and were bound to do my bidding no matter the distance or the circumstances. With the slightest effort of will, I could have both in hand inside the blink of an eye. I¡¯d also learned I could upgrade my weapons by using specialty crafted Weapon Skins, which could be swapped out within my Soul Vault. My current weapon set consisted of a Benelli M1014 Shotgun and a flame-enhanced flanged mace, which could punch through steel armor like a hydraulic piston. Things could get real ugly, real fast if I wanted them to. ¡°Boyd Knight, you have claimed the title of Vigilant, one of the Chosen of Raguel.¡± She unrolled a parchment, holding it in both hands as she read. ¡°You have done so in Cammart, Dimbrook, and Bellsummit, as well as the city of Ironmoor where you further passed judgment on a woman named Annelli Dalgaard, or possibly Annelli Iskrati. You executed her, claiming as possessed of a Hexblight¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, because she was possessed by a Hexblight,¡± I replied, lowering my hands, ¡°and you¡¯re welcome by the way.¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She turned a frosty, withering glare on me. ¡°You will not speak during the pronouncement. Do so again and Vigil Jori¡±¡ªshe nodded toward my dark-skinned counterpart bearing the Justice Sigil¡ª¡°will be forced to restrain and silence you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do it gladly,¡± the man said with a wicked glint in his eye. ¡°That¡¯s quite enough,¡± she said, glaring at Jori. ¡°You will comport yourself. Just because this miscreant doesn¡¯t respect our ways, doesn¡¯t mean we need to lower ourselves in the process. Now, where was I?¡± She paused and scanned the page. ¡°In addition,¡± she continued, ¡°you deposed Magister Gustav and State Alchemist Sigge Wikstrum, charging both with murder, conspiracy to obstruct justice, willful endangerment of the public, and tax fraud against the Kelkadian Crown. In punishment, you had them arrested and had their properties seized. Yet, you are not one of the Vigil Bound and in no position to render such a pronouncement. A crime punishable by death.¡± ¡°Yep, that sounds just about right,¡± I replied with a bob of my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know who your sources are, but they¡¯re good. Good but not perfect. They missed Landren. I stopped there for a day and killed a pack of Hollow Maw. And obviously you missed Grimwerp,¡± I added sweeping a hand around at the bar. ¡°Just finished hunting down a Fouling.¡± ¡°Indeed he did,¡± Veilhelm said, shuffling over to my side with his gnarled cane in hand. There were five pissed off Vigils staring me down and the old man stood by my side without even breaking a sweat. ¡°You say he is not a Vigil,¡± the old man creaked, ¡°and though I do not know of your magics, he looks no different to my eyes than you lot. Moreover, he came and saved us when no one else would.¡± He turned and gestured at the creature¡¯s decapitated head, displayed by the bar. A fierce pride burned inside my chest at the old man¡¯s words. I shot him a thankful nod in appreciation. ¡°I think he makes a good point,¡± I said, ¡°how exactly do you know I¡¯m not a Vigil, huh? I look like a Vigil, fight like a Vigil, and kill Mortka like a Vigil. We have this saying where I come from about ducks and I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ it might apply right about now.¡± ¡°A worthy question,¡± she said coolly. ¡°Yet, despite your track record, you cannot be what you claim. I know this, because I am Kerra the Valorous, Justiciar of Training at the Akademy of the Vigilant.¡± She slowly and carefully rolled up the parchment and slipped it back into a pouch at her side. ¡°I know the name and face of every Vigil Bound the Citadel has turned out in the past fifty-years because I administer the test they must pass to receive the brand. You¡¯re name and face I do not know. So, contrary to appearances, you cannot be what you claim. You will return to the Citadel where the Custodians will render their verdict. Disobey and face summary execution, as is my authority as a Vigil of Raguel.¡± She reached into her pouch and pulled out a pair of iron handcuffs riddled with spikes and runes. Just looking at them set my teeth on edge. She hurled them across the room as though they weighed nothing, but they landed with a heavy thunk that dented the wooden floorboards. ¡°Put those on,¡± she said. I glanced at her, then at the handcuff. A pop up immediately appeared in front of me. <<<>>> Arcana Suppression Manacles Type: Heavy, Reinforced Mortka Steel Class: Sage Ability: Suppress Masterfully crafted in the Citadel of Custodians, these Arcana Suppression Manacles are built for a singular purpose: cutting off both the physical and arcana abilities of those with access to the True Gift. The barbed siphon spikes and the host of suppression runes radically reduce the power of Vigils, Warlocks, Sorcerers, Magi, and even Steelborn. Primary Effects: <<<>>> I whistled through my teeth as I read over the description. Yeah, fuck those things. ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s gonna be a hard no from me,¡± I said, folding my arms across my chest. ¡°I get that you might not know who I am, but that¡¯s because I¡¯m not from here, lady. I didn¡¯t go through your ritual test, because I¡¯m an Inkarnate. Raguel personally summoned me.¡± I looked back down at the manacles on the floor. ¡°Not sure he would appreciate you locking me.¡± Telent slipped up beside her and whispered furiously into her ear. He looked nervous. Since he was branded with the rune of truth and was running Honeyed Words, my guess was that he also had access to some of the other skills from the Ward of Truth, like Master Mentalist and Wyld Wisdom. Which meant he knew I wasn¡¯t lying through my teeth and that I was an Inkarnate just like I¡¯d said. ¡°It¡¯s irregular, Telent,¡± she hissed under her breath. Though still loud enough for me to hear, on account of the fact that I was a fucking Vigil with supernatural hearing. ¡°The rules are the rules.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he argued softly, ¡°but is it not our job to exercise discretion in all such matters?¡± ¡°Not in this matter,¡± she replied sternly. ¡°Our personal feelings have no bearing here. We¡¯ve been tasked by the Exarch and the Custodians, and we will follow their orders.¡± She paused, lips pressed into a thin line, and glanced at each of the Vigils in turn. ¡°I know this is difficult. Confusing. But the hierarchy exists for a reason. We must heed those who know better than we.¡± She turned her frosty gaze back on me. ¡°If what you say is true, Boyd Knight, then you have nothing to fear. We will deliver you safely to Wildespell and those with greater insight than ours will discern the veracity of your claims. Now, put on the manacles and come peaceably.¡± ¡°And if I say no?¡± I asked. I wasn¡¯t in the habit of being a dick just to be a dick¡ªI¡¯d served in the military and knew how the chain of command worked. If a full bird colonel gave a lawful order, even if it was dumber than dog shit, you did what you were told. But the idea of being bound with magical handcuffs that sucked the goddamned life out of me while they hauled my ass through a blizzard was deeply unappealing. Especially over a technicality. With a lopsided smile, I reached out through the Etheric Realm, feeling for my Soul Bound weapons. I could sense them, waiting for me just out of sight. They were connected to me by an invisible tether of Essence and when I tugged at the tether like an intangible fishing line, my Mortka Forged Flanged Mace appeared in my outstretched hand. It burned with glowing orange embers, courtesy of the Fire Spark Arcanum Token set into the weapon. I wasn¡¯t the only one getting ready for a brawl. Vilhelm hefted his cane and gave out a sharp whistle. Chairs scraped across the wooden floors and patrons pulled out hammers, scythes, knives. Those who didn¡¯t have ready made weapons, lifted beer mugs or picked up stools. ¡°This man is our guest of honor,¡± Vilhelm said, unphased. ¡°He killed the creature that claimed to life of my son, daughter, and granddaughter.¡± Now his voice cracked. ¡°He helped us when he didn¡¯t have to. If he chooses to go with you, so be it, but if you want to lock him up like a prisoner, you will have to do so after striking me down. We remember our friends and we fight for them accordingly.¡± ¡°Please,¡± another of the Vigils said, stepping forward. The guy was enormous¡ªhad me by three inches, easy, and had muscles on top of his muscles. His wore medium leather armor, augmented with bulky furs and chunks of bone and antler. He could¡¯ve walked off the set of a period piece about Viking hoards. Despite his fearsome appearance, his eyes were pleading. He had the cobalt sigil of balance on his forehead. ¡°Friends, I implore you all not to do this. Brother¡±¡ªthis time he spoke to me¡ª¡°we truly mean you no harm. As Justiciar Kerra said, we are only executing a grave task entrusted to us by the Custodians of the Citadel. To fight us would be foley. You can¡¯t defeat us in combat. It¡­ It would be a bloodbath.¡± He was damn near pleading with us. ¡°Vigil Kol is right,¡± Kerra said, though there was no malice in the statement. Just cold, hard facts. ¡°Even assuming you are what you claim to be¡±¡ªshe eyeballed the glowing, rune-covered weapon in my fist¡ª¡°which I will concede may be true, you are most assuredly new to your powers and we are not. One half-trained Inkarnate will not survive long against a Red Right Fist of Raguel.¡± Her expression softened just a hair. ¡°The rules are the rules. Please don¡¯t do something everyone will regret¡ªyou most of all.¡± ¡°Perhaps, if we made an exception about the cuffs?¡± Telent asked softly. I could see the conflict play across her face. Do her job and put me in magical suppression cuffs, or fight an entire room full of villagers in an attempt to get me to compile? ¡°Considering the circumstances,¡± she growled, ¡°if you accompany us freely and of your own volition, I will not force you to wear the manacles. For now. That, however, is the only leniency you will see from me.¡± I scanned the dirty faces surrounding me. The people of Grimwerp really would fight for me if I asked them to. Even though they¡¯d just lost loved ones, they would die for a relative stranger because that was what their honor dictated. I couldn¡¯t ask them to do that. I couldn¡¯t risk their safety to save my own skin. Besides, as much as this sucked sweaty nutsack, I also didn¡¯t want to start my relationship with the Citadel by picking a fist fight with the people they¡¯d dispatched to bring me in. I sighed reluctantly and let the mace vanish. ¡°Yeah, okay, I¡¯ll come with you but I¡¯m not wearing those fucking things.¡± I kicked the manacles and sent them rattling across the floor. I turned, catching Vilhelm¡¯s eye. ¡°Thank you, old timer.¡± ¡°A hundred times over, lad,¡± he replied, clapping me on the shoulder. ¡°Be safe.¡± Into the Night Flanked by the behemoth Viking in furs on my left and Kerra ¡°the rules are the rules¡± on my right, I was escorted like a common criminal out into the night. Kerra kept her hand clutched firmly around my elbow the whole time as though I might try to bolt the second I got a chance. Telent was the last to leave the Inn and paused in the entryway, cloaking snapping in the blustery wind, the snow silhouetting him against the dark. He fished out a fat leather sack and casually tossed it to Bendt with a flick of his wrist. The pouch landed on the bar top and silver and gold coins spilled across the wood, glittering in the firelight. ¡°Our deepest apologies,¡± he said, voice thrumming with potent power. Even though his words weren¡¯t turned on me, I could feel the force of his will like a heavy pressure settling around my shoulders. ¡°There was a misunderstanding here, but all is well now. You will go about your night and remember this only in passing.¡± I stole one last look at the patrons of the Twisted Pig, all standing around in stunned silence. They had a hazy look plastered across their faces, almost as though they were collectively waking up from a long and especially bizarre dream. Even Vilhelm, who was ready to wage war on my behalf moments ago, now looked like he was ready for a long nap by the fire. I¡¯d become accustomed to using Honeyed Words over the past couple of weeks. It was one of the skills from the Ward of Truth and allowed the wielder to imbue suggestions with Arcana, making the caster seem more agreeable and persuasive than they normally would. What I was witnessing was more than that. This had to be Greater Suggestion, which was basically Honeyed Words on bath salts. It could also be wielded against multiple targets. ¡°The coin is for both the door and the disturbance,¡± he continued, nodding toward the bag. ¡°Please, continue your celebration, knowing that all is right and well in the world.¡± ¡°I hope you plan to reimburse me for the disturbance,¡± I said as Telent joined us and my ¡°escorts¡± frog marched me toward a line of enormous warhorses, secured to a nearby hitching post. ¡°Not that anyone asked, but I had a room booked for the night. I just spent all night hunting down and killing a Fouling, but instead of celebrating by a fire, you¡¯re gonna make me ride through a goddamned blizzard. That¡¯s the real crime being committed here, but sure, I¡¯m the bad guy.¡± ¡°Keep talking and I¡¯m going to reconsider the manacles,¡± Kerra said as we came to a stop in front of one of the horses. ¡°Now mount,¡± she barked, nodding toward an inky black stallion. ¡°We have a ways to travel yet before the night is through.¡± Being from Kentucky, I knew a thing or two about horses, and this animal in front of me was a prize. He had a broad, powerful chest, muscular and symmetrical shoulders, sleek legs, and bright, intelligent eyes. The big bastard also stood at least nineteen hands at the shoulder. The sumbitch was the size of a Draft Horse but had the build of a racer. The other horses, all with heavy-duty saddles and boiled leather armor, were no less impressive. ¡°You and I will ride double,¡± Kerra said, ¡°so that I can keep my eye on you. And ensure your safety, of course.¡± ¡°Hey, if you wanted to snuggle, you just had to ask,¡± I replied, hoisting myself into the saddle. I¡¯d spent years riding so this was second nature. ¡°Though, and maybe I¡¯m reading into things a little too much, but I feel like we might be moving a little too fast, Vigil Kerra. First you want to use handcuffs on me, now you want to ¡®ride double.¡¯ You could buy me a meal and a drink first.¡± ¡°Insufferable,¡± she whispered under her breath. Then, louder, ¡°Utter another word and I¡¯ll gag you.¡± ¡°And now we¡¯re adding gags. Yeah. Definitely moving too fast.¡± She glowered at me, a snarl on her lips, hands balling into fists. ¡°Let it pass,¡± Telent said to her, placing a reassuring hand on her forearm. ¡°He is just goading you.¡± ¡°Nope,¡± I replied, ¡°this is just my natural disposition. And for the record. I¡¯m just call ¡¯em like I see ¡¯em.¡± She ground her teeth and, for a second, I thought she might actually deck me, but she was a professional if nothing else. She unclenched her fists, took a deep breath, then effortlessly swung up into the saddle behind me. It was especially impressive considering she was a foot shorter than the horse at its shoulder. The others had already mounted. Peels of laughing and gals of song drifted out from the Twisted Pig. Telent¡¯s magic worked fast, it seemed. The fact that Vilhelm and the others would remember me only as a stranger passing through in the night honestly bothered me more than I wanted to admit. We set out into the night, the Viking taking point, while snow drifted down in a soft sheet. The wind screamed and howled, cutting through my cloak and armor as though they were made from wet toilet paper. Goddamned, but I hated the cold. Our command had once forced me and Cal to attend arctic warfare training in Bridgeport and I¡¯d never been more miserable. Being in Bridgeport was like ice-skating on Satan¡¯s frozen taint in the ninth circle of hell. Taking a grenade to the guts was more painful overall, but at least it didn¡¯t last for a whole month. But if arctic warfare training had taught me anything, it was how to endure the cold, which was the true secret to surviving in a frozen, inescapable hellscape. The goal was never to be warm. Get too warm, and you would sweat. Sweat would freeze. Frozen sweat eventually resulted in death. Instead, you learned to embrace the suck. To only ever be warm enough to prevent hypothermia. Even with my training, it was a miserable ride, made worse since I was both tired and a little drunk. The fact that everyone was as silent as a funeral procession didn¡¯t help either. Not that talking would¡¯ve been possible anyway. I tried for the first fifteen or twenty minutes, but the wind stole away every word as it left my mouth. There was no sign of Cal or Renholm, which was probably for the best. Kerra struck me as the shoot-first-ask-questions-later sort of gal and I had no doubts that these guys could probably nuke either of my buddies into oblivion if they had half a mind too. After three hours of steady riding, Kerra finally called our party to a halt. We dismounted in a small clearing ringed by towering snow-brushed pines and a smattering of large boulders. Kerra and I dismounted¡ªwhich was great because my legs and ass had fallen asleep an hour ago and the rest of my body was numb from the cold. Turned out, even with supernatural strength and stamina, riding double through a goddamned blizzard in the middle of the night sucked balls. The rest of the team immediately set to work, making camp. They moved with the purposeful and methodical motions of people who had done this a thousand times before. Telent took care of the horses. He loosened the girth on the saddles and rubbed them down with a stiff bristled brush, removing sweat, snow, and accumulated dirt. In my experience, most horses hated getting a post-ride rub down, but even exhausted, frozen, and half-drunk, I could tell that he was using a spell to help the process along. Probably the Calm Emotions ability from the College of Rhetoric. The horses let him work in peace, nickering softly as he moved onto their legs and hooves, searching for signs of rubbing, chaffing, or other obvious injuries. Kerra mostly stood around, watching me as though I might transform into Godzilla and sack a city, but at one point she did head over to a dark chestnut colored gelding. After a few quick muttered words with Telent, she placed a hand against the horse¡¯s side, fingers splayed wide. A trickle of gentle golden power seeped out from her palm and into the animal beneath. It shook its head, then gently tested its left foreleg. It let out a snort of approval then nuzzled Kerra, earning a small smile from the otherwise stern Vigil. Meanwhile, the Vigil of Justice quickly disappeared into the tree line, a silver, single-edged sword gripped in his hand. Dollars to donuts he was going to secure the perimeter and make sure there was nothing nasty camped out nearby. Without a doubt, the headliner act had to be Kol, my giant, fur-clad, Viking pal. The guy stood in the center of the clearing, his arms stretched out the sides, his head tossed back, eyes closed tight in concentration. He chanted softly under his breath and the ground began to tremble and shake, the boulders around us shifting with a life of their own as rocky outcroppings jutted up from the freshly fallen powder. The boulders pressed and squeezed together, forming a rough, earthen dome, with an entry just wide enough to accommodate a stooped man. From my vantage, I could also see there was also an opening in the top of the earthen structure, which connected to a stone chimney that would funnel out smoke from a fire. Kol continued to chant, pulling his arms in towards his sides, hands running over the air as though he were smoothing out a ball of clay. The conjured structure responded in turn, the rocks melting together as though they were made of playdoh instead of granite. Finally, the Viking dropped to his knees, panting as he wiped away a fine sheen of perspiration that dotted his brow. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. That had to be the Earth Sculptor Ability, from the Ward of Balance. I¡¯d read the description countless times but had never tried it out myself for a couple of reasons. First, being able to shape and mold earth didn¡¯t seem like a super practical ability when it came to monster hunting. According to the spell description, it had a long cast time was meant for creation, not destruction. Second, the Arcana and Verve requirements were insanely high. I could see why now¡ªit looked like the poor guy had just pushed a dump truck up the side of Mount Everest. Even if it wasn¡¯t as flashy as launching a javelin of fire from your palm, I had to admit it was a pretty useful skill. The last of the Vigils, this one a willowy guy wearing light armor and a heavy cowl pulled up over his face, helped Kol to his feet before pulling out a glimmering Affinity Scale the size of a half-dollar. Affinity Scales were powerful tokens that often remained behind after a Mortka was slain in battle. Arturo had explained to me that Mortka weren¡¯t born like natural animals. Rather, they were the physical manifestations of Wild Essence that had leaked into the Material Realm from the Etheric Plane. That Essence was what Vigil¡¯s absorbed after making a kill, allowing us to advance and ascend from rank to rank and class to class. But when that Wild Essence leaked through, it bonded with the hundreds of different Affinity Types present within the Material Realm. Everything from earth, wind, fire, and air, to more esoteric types of energy, such as grief or faith or fear. The physical location usually determined what type of affinity would be present. A graveyard might be riff with death affinity, while animal dens were often brimming with hunger affinity. Whatever type of Affinity the Essence bonded with dictated what type of monster eventually formed. When a Mortka was killed, the Essence that powered the creature returned to the Etheric Plane¡ªeither that or was siphoned up by whoever killed it¡ªwhile the various affinities that shaped the Essence remained behind in the form of Scales. Those scales could be consumed by those with the True Gift to temporarily replenish Arcana, heal the body, or could even grant powerful abilities that aligned with the Affinity type consumed. I had a pouch full of Affinity Scales¡ªthough Telent had confiscated it from me for obvious reasons. They were all basic. My most powerful Scales were squirreled away back in my Soul Vault where no one but me could get to ¡¯em. Without being closer, I couldn¡¯t tell what type of Affinity Scale Kol had consumed, but he was back on his feet in no time flat and looked like he was ready to run a triathlon then go ten rounds with a Maui Thai fighter. Such was the power of the Scales. The Vigil of Justice returned a short while later with a bundle of firewood and kindling stretched across his arms. He gave a brief report to Kerra that I couldn¡¯t hear, then deposited his load of sticks and twigs inside the stone hut. The willowy guy who¡¯d given Kol the Affinity Scale, stretched out a hand a conjured a small orb of flame, setting the wood alight. The flair of orange and yellow allowed me to get a good look at his face for the first time. He was clean-shaven with gaunt cheeks and deep seat eyes. The crimson sigil of Wrath blazed brightly on his forehead like an ominous warning sign. With the horses tended, the camp secured, and shelter provided against frostbite and misery, Kerra pushed me inside the squat structure while the other Vigils shuffled in behind me. ¡°I¡¯m going to make another pass,¡± Kerra said. ¡°Best not to take any chances.¡± She paused and canted her head to one side. ¡°There¡¯s something off about this night. Jori¡±¡ªshe stared at the Vigil of Justice¡ª¡°keep the watch until I return.¡± She turned without another word and disappeared into the treeline, quickly swallowed by gloom and shadow. The rest of us settled in around the blaze, except for good ol¡¯ Jori. He stood ramrod straight by the entryway, eyes fixed on the shadowy landscape. The cloaked Vigil of Wrath sat directly across from me, his legs crossed, hands resting in his lap in some sort of meditative pose while he stared unblinking death at me. ¡°Ah, don¡¯t mind Amherst,¡± Telent said, waving at the man who looked like he was wishing ruin and damnation on me and my whole household. ¡°He¡¯s the quiet sort. And by that, I mean he¡¯s taken a vow of silence as a way to control and channel the fiery Wrath of Raguel burning inside him.¡± ¡°So he doesn¡¯t want to disembowel me and set me on fire?¡± I asked, meeting the man¡¯s unflinching gaze. ¡°Oh no,¡± Kol replied with a chuckle, ¡°he definitely wants to disembowel you and set you on fire, but you shouldn¡¯t take it personally. He wants to do that to everyone.¡± Kol opened a rough leather satchel and pulled out bits of dried jerky and hard bread which he passed around the circle. ¡°He and I were teammates for years before he stopped actively desiring my death, isn¡¯t that right Amherst?¡± Amherst didn¡¯t blink, but he might¡¯ve bobbed his head a fraction of an inch in agreement. ¡°Vigils of Wrath are always the oddest ducks, I¡¯ve found,¡± Telent said, tearing off a big chunk of bread and forcing it into his mouth. ¡°They¡¯re not bad, mind you, just very intense. Wrath is the darkest aspect of Raguel and wrestling with it takes a toll over time.¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s their affinity with death,¡± Kol said thoughtfully. He pulled out a teapot and set it on the ground. ¡°Communing with those who have passed beyond the veil, it eats at the mind and spirit.¡± He twisted his hand and a clump of snow drifted in through the opening on magic currents of air, dropping into the pot which he placed on the fire. ¡°Ah, there we are. I do so love a good cup of tea.¡± He offered me a smile that split his heavily bearded face. ¡°Nothing better to warm you up after tromping around all night in the snow.¡± ¡°Yes, well I disagree,¡± Telent replied. ¡°I¡¯ll take a strong flask of Brandy over a cup of tea any day of the week, thank you. Tea will warm your spirits for a few minutes¡ªwhile Brandy will warm them for a night. It also has the added benefit of thawing even the most frosty of dispositions.¡± We fell into an easy quiet as the tea burbled. The crunch of snow announced Kerra¡¯s return. She ducked into the hut with the spiked manacles in hand. She tossed them over and I eyed them like it was a viper, waiting to strike. ¡°Time to put them on,¡± she said simply. ¡°Nope,¡± I said, pushing them away with the two of my boot. ¡°We already did this song and dance. I¡¯m not wearing those fucking things.¡± ¡°We¡¯re bedding down for the night,¡± she said, pushing them back over toward me with her boot. ¡°Whether you are what you claim to be or not, it is clear that you are both powerful and dangerous. I won''t risk you killing me and my men in the dark hours of the night while we try and rest. So, you can either wear the cuffs or I can have Telent drug your tea.¡± She folded her arms and glanced toward the pot. ¡°Pick your poison.¡± I grunted and weighed my options. This was asinine, but I also understood her reasoning. I¡¯d spent more than my fair share of time guarding prisoners and night would be a perfect time to strike, especially if there was only a single guard or two keeping watch. She was hedging her bets and protecting her men. The idea of slipping on the manacles made me want to vomit, but after giving it a little thought, it still sounded better than getting a cupful of actual poison. ¡°Fine,¡± I growled, picking up the manacles. They were as frigid as blocks of ice and it wasn¡¯t just because of the snow falling outside. These things radiated an unnatural cold. A cold that felt hungry. Reluctantly, I clicked them into place and grimaced as the spikes lining the interior of the manacles bite down into my flesh, piercing through my skin with ease. I inspected my wrists expecting to see blood running down in rivulets, but there was nothing. That¡¯s because the shackles were sucking up the blood like a pair of hungry little vampires. Both my blue Arcana Gauge and my Green Stamina Bar appeared in the corner of my vision, draining slowly but steadily as the manacles feasted. ¡°Thank you for your cooperation,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll stand first watch, the rest of you get some shuteye.¡± She turned and stalked out of the hut, not bothering to duck through the door because¡­ well, she didn¡¯t need to. Tiny but fierce. ¡°Don¡¯t mind her either,¡± Kol said tracking her as she vanished into the dark. ¡°She may not be as angry as Amherst, but only by this much.¡± He held his index finger and his thumb half an inch apart. ¡°She can be ridged, this is true, but understand that she would slap those same manacles on any one of us if that was what the mission dictated. Vigils of Valor are just as curious in their own way as Vigils of Wrath. There are none fiercer in the face of danger, but their courage is rooted in a single steadfast principle. ¡°For some of the Valorous, it is beauty or the sanctity of life or the need to protect the weak. For Kerra, it is the law of the Citadel. She has absolute belief and confidence in the leadership of the Custodians. That is the singular guidepost that drives her¡ªthe thing that allows her to face any danger undeterred. For her, the rules of the Citadel is the lens through which she sees the world¡ªa lens that turns everything to black and white. There is no room for shades of gray with her, but such a world view also gives a tremendous clarity of purpose.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why you frustrate her,¡± Telent said, nodding along as Kol talked. ¡°We came expecting a criminal, instead we found what might well be a legitimate Inkarnate.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Either that or a powerful warlock who we¡¯ll have to execute with extreme prejudice.¡± The kettle let out an ominous whistle. ¡°Tea?¡± Telent asked, as though he hadn¡¯t just expressly said he might murder me. Kol had several small cups, which he filled and passed around. I accepted the offer, because he wasn¡¯t wrong¡ªa good hot cup of tea did wonders to warm up your core body temperature. It wasn¡¯t coffee, but it would do in a pinch. ¡°So you really are a Vigil then?¡± Telent asked me between sips of tea. I shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s what everyone tells me,¡± I replied, taking a slurp. The taste was sharp and slightly bitter. I wrinkled my nose but took another slug anyway. ¡°Why is that so hard to believe?¡± ¡°Well, no one in living memory has ever met an Inkarnate before,¡± he replied with a shrug, ¡°and Vigils tend to live a very, very long time. The last verified Inkarnate died over two hundred years ago. But I¡¯ve yet to meet a magi alive who could convincingly summon a Soul Bound weapon before. Perhaps a Warlock could manage it, but then I highly doubt a Warlock would tromp around the countryside, vanquishing Mortka, only to let himself be apprehended by a Fist of Raguel without putting up a fight.¡± I took another sip and pleasant warmth flooded through me. It did more than just warm me up, it also eased some of the soreness in my muscles and took the edge off the throbbing pain in my wrists, which came courtesy of the suppression manacles. I blinked and golden words swam across my field of vision. [Temporary Enchantment! You have been affected by Stamina Affinity Brew. Stamina Affinity Brew is a potent natural enhancer created from the petals of Whiteleaf Rose Petals and pure, refined Affinity Scales. Consuming the brew temporarily boosts Stamina Regeneration and heals minor injuries and eases the weary soul.] I glanced down at the empty cup then back up at Telent. He offered me a knowing smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we can¡¯t do more, but hopefully that will ease a little of the discomfort from the manacles. Now, get some sleep.¡± His words settled over me like a heavy, warm blanket. ¡°Kerra will want to move out early and without your enhanced abilities, you¡¯ll need all the shuteye you can get. You¡¯ll wake up in the morning feeling better than ever and without so much as a hangover. Sleep well, Boyd Knight.¡± This time, I was too tired to resist his Arcana amplified suggestion. My body moved on autopilot, and I found myself curling onto my side and my eyes sliding shut with a will of their own. Untimely Ambush Turned out, Telent¡ªVigil of ¡°Truth¡±¡ªwas full of horseshit. I did not wake up feeling ¡°better than ever.¡± Nope, I woke up feeling like an angry gorilla had pummeled my skull and Jacob-Francis had taken a dump in my mouth. It was the goddamned manacles at my wrists, sucking the life from my body like I was a juice box. It also didn¡¯t help that the brand on my forehead burned worse than a case of super gonorrhea. I glanced around the manufactured stone hut and saw that everyone was gone. Blankets, furs, and bedrolls were all laid out, but there wasn¡¯t any sign of Kerra and her friends. The fire had died down to cheery embers and crackling coals, which helped to banish some of the chill. The snowfall had stopped while I was down for the count and the gray light of predawn lingered above the pines. I reached up and ground the palm of my hand into my forehead trying to quench the pain to a dull roar. After a few seconds, the blinding headache tapered off and I could think straight again, which was good. Because I¡¯d learned the hard way that when my brand started acting up, it invariably meant something nasty was poking around in my immediate vicinity. I silently gained my feet, crept toward the narrow opening, and pushed my way out into the frosty morning. Kerra was waiting for me, leaning her forearms against a rectangular tower shield, its bottom edge dug into the snow. ¡°Hope you¡¯re not thinking about making a run for it,¡± she said, though she didn¡¯t bother to look at me. ¡°It would be such a shame if I had to slice your Achilles tendon and sling you over the back of my mount.¡± ¡°Good morning to you, too,¡± I said, ¡°and no, I wasn¡¯t thinking of running.¡± I reached up and tapped a finger against my forehead. ¡°Could be I¡¯m wrong, but my gut says something bad is about to happen.¡± Finally, she looked at me, her eyes hard, her lips just a thin line. ¡°Curious,¡± she said. ¡°I was wondering whether you would feel it. Aside from a visible display of our connection to Raguel, our brands serve as a natural warning mechanism. I¡¯ve found the pain is always the worst when a creature comes upon me while I sleep.¡± ¡°Phrasing,¡± I muttered. She cocked her head to one side and glared at me. ¡°Raguel watches over us even when we slumber. When a creature with ill intent approaches, the sigil lets us know. The fact that you felt Raguel¡¯s presence is a good sign. Not even the most powerful glamor could replicate that.¡± ¡°Wait, so you know there¡¯s a monster sniffing around?¡± I asked. She just stared at me. ¡°I¡¯ve been tracking its approach for an hour or more,¡± she replied. ¡°All of us have. I suspect our senses are more finely tuned to the presence of Morkta than yours are. Assuming you are what you claim to be, your awareness will grow in power over time.¡± She sounded like she was coming around to the idea that I was indeed a Vigil, but that didn¡¯t completely ease the tension that had settled into my body. There was a monster out there and it was getting closer by the second. ¡°Hey, just spit balling here,¡± I said after a beat, ¡°but since there¡¯s a monster literally hunting us right now, maybe you could consider cutting me free so I can help out.¡± I lifted my hands and jangled the manacles at her. ¡°That and not die horribly in case this thing guts you and your whole team.¡± ¡°Not a chance,¡± she replied, shaking her head. ¡°We¡¯re about to be quite preoccupied, without the manacles the chances of you trying to escape are extremely high. Consider it a small insurance policy.¡± She paused. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, you are in no danger. I¡¯ll protect you.¡± She patted a hand against her shield and shot me what almost could¡¯ve been a playful wink. Her words trailed off as a crunch and a crack echoed through the air and the trees across from me shook and swayed as though something monstrous was forcing its way through the foliage. The stomp of enormous feet reverberated through the ground and up into the soles of my boots. Whatever this thing was, it was fucking big with a capital B. Another crack followed¡ªthe sound of a snapping trunk¡ªand then the pine trees parted revealing the head and shoulders of the biggest grizzly bear I¡¯ve ever seen. The thing was as wide as a M1A1 Abrams tank and had to stand eight feet, even trundling forward on all fours. It was so big that it made the warhorses look like a bunch of petite show ponies. Shaggy white fur covered its muscular body and swirling blue runes ran across its broad shoulders, down its limbs, and up onto its back. Great curling horns protruded from the side of its head and four, burning cobalt eyes sat above a muzzle filled with blue fangs that burned with arctic power We¡¯d somehow managed to attract a prehistoric demon bear, because of course we did. ¡°Now!¡± Kerra thundered as the beast edged into the clearing. Four Vigils burst from the treeline and, with a wild roar, Kerra surged to the front of the battlelines, immediately planting herself in the path of the incoming beast. A crimson cloak burning with Arcana erupted from her back, billowing out behind her and snapping in a half-felt breeze. A watery halo of crimson light settled over each of the other Vigils. In the same instant, the ground trembled and thick spike-covered vines and roots erupted from the earth, snaking around the bear¡¯s shaggy limbs, then climbing upward, miring the creature in place. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. They didn¡¯t hold for long, though. The son of a bitch was just too powerful to be stopped by some overgrown foliage. The creature surged forward, dropped his head, and rammed his horns into Kerra¡¯s upraised shield. Kerra was tiny even compared to me. Compared to Rabid Smoky the Bear? She was a fucking gnat. The hit should¡¯ve sent her flying across the clearing like a golf ball. Instead, the bear slammed into her with a thunderous clang. She didn¡¯t budge an inch while the bear stumbled back, staggering from the blow. Spikes of gold also radiated off her, slashing across the bear¡¯s snout and leaving wide gashes in their wake. I had to admit, it was a pretty impressive display. Despite her ridiculous size, she clearly played the role of tank. She was probably running Matchless Endurance and Spiked Shell¡ªboth from the Bastion of the Protector¡ªas well as some other assortment of skills I couldn¡¯t identify. Maybe Unmoving Bulwark and Mantle of Sanctuary? Hard to say. The bear shook off the recoil and lunged again, but this time Kerra pivoted and stepped right, avoiding the assault. Conjured replicas of Kerra sprang up around the monster in a ring. I spotted Telent hanging back, muttering under his breath. That was probably his handiwork. The bear lumbered in a slow circle, sniffing at the air, trying to decide which Kerra to attack. While it made up its mind, the three remaining Vigils went on the offense. Jori, the Vigil of Justice, darted in with surprising speed and summoned his soul bound weapon to hand¡ªa short spear with golden runes running over the shaft of the weapon. The spear was a blur in his hands, spinning and twirling with impossible speed as the blade opened up ferocious wounds across the bear¡¯s legs, chest, and sides. Whenever the bear would twirl toward him, Jori would dance away, avoiding the creature¡¯s lumbering swipes with ease. It was clear what fighting style he ascribed to¡ªhit hard, don¡¯t get hit in return. Kol, the enormous Viking of Balance, took a slightly different approach to the fight. He threw back his head with a bellow and his body appeared to rip apart at the seams as a monster emerged from the human shell. In a blink Kol was gone, replaced by a creature seven feet tall, covered in black scales with a flicking reptilian tail and the powerful crushing jaws of a crocodile. A shaggy lion-like mane of what appeared to be green moss enveloped the monster¡¯s head while bits of rocky stone protruded from his shoulders, chest, and forearms like earthen armor. His back was covered with even more moss, along with sticks, vines, and bits of boulder. Obviously, Kol was using Totem Transformation, though I¡¯d never seen a monster quite like that one before. It looked more suited to a swampy marsh land than the frozen tundra, but Kol didn¡¯t seem to mind the cold. He launched himself at the bear¡¯s rear flank, claws carving deep festering wounds in the monster¡¯s hide while his jaws took great out great chunks of meat, which the crocodilian murder machine gladly choked down its gullet. Having a few battle-field snacks seemed like an odd choice, but I definitely didn¡¯t want to see the bipedal swamp gator hangry. The final, remaining party member, Amherst, Vigil of Wrath, stood well away from the main battle. He held both hands up, no weapon visibly present. But then, he was the weapon. He dealt out a dizzying array of spells. Most of his spells were offensive in nature¡ªjavelins of red-hot flame, sledgehammers of raw force, spikes of ice that punched through fur and muscle. But he also played a fair bit of defense, casting Warded Shield, saving his fellow Vigils from devastating physical attacks, or using Life Siphon to eat away at the monster¡¯s Essence and funnel it into his teammates. Seeing them fight together was like watching a finely tuned engine fire on all cylinders. Everyone had a role, a purpose, a mission, and they executed them flawlessly. Maybe Kerra was right. Maybe I really had nothing to worry about. Honestly, all I wanted was a bucket of popcorn to go with my ringside seats. At least, that¡¯s what I thought until the creature reared up on its hind legs; its head cleared even the tallest pines surrounding us, and its belly split open from sternum to groin revealing a giant tooth-studded maw. What the unholy fuck was I even looking at? ¡°Fall back!¡± Kerra yelled, still holding her ground. The bear¡¯s belly mouth let out a deafening roar and then it vomited out a trio of smaller, horned bears. Though small is subjective. They were smaller than Grizzly Prime, but still as large as a run-of-the-mill Alaskan Grizzly. It didn¡¯t even make sense. What about conservation of mass? The nasty son of a bitch was big, no doubt, but not so big that it could puke out three full-size grizzlies without deflating like a carnival balloon. But nope. Grizzly Prime dropped back down onto all four and as he hit, a shock wave rippled out in a circle, felling trees and knocking over Vigils like bowling pins, myself included. Golden words swam into view. <<<>>> Bounty Untimely Ambush: Your party has been waylaid by an Elder Fell Bear. Act now and dispatch the vile beast before it kills any of your fellow Vigils. Reward: +500 Essence <<<>>> Just like that, I wanted to trade in my metaphorical bucket of popcorn for a Legendary Can of Elder Bear Mace. My mind raced. What in the hell was I supposed to do here? Kerra and her band of well-intentioned assholes had shackled me with manacles that literally sapped away all my divinely-granted magical powers. I couldn¡¯t do shit. But I wasn¡¯t alone, I reminded myself. ¡°Renholm! Cal! You shit heads hiding around here, because if so, I need you now!¡± There was a flash of movement on my right as a Barbie-sized glimmer of light darted in from the forest. Cal materialized beside me a second later. ¡°I knew you guys hadn¡¯t abandoned me,¡± I said. ¡°Never, dude,¡± Cal said solemnly. ¡°I was just biding my time until I could elbow drop these douche bags from the top rope. I¡¯m always in your corner, dead or not.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Renholm said, ¡°and I couldn¡¯t leave you behind¡ªnot because I like you,¡± he clarified before I could get the wrong impression, ¡°but because you still owe me Affinity Scales.¡± ¡°Well if you want to get paid,¡± I growled, ¡°then you need to help me not die. Which means helping these dick heads not die. That guy over there¡±¡ªI nodded toward Telent, who was busy desperately fighting off one of the smaller, though still enormous, grizzlies¡ª¡°took my Scale Pouch. Inside are my Transformation Tokens. Get one to Cal, then you two help wherever you can.¡± I turned to look at Kerra, who was going toe to toe with Grizzly Prime. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go get these goddamned cuffs off.¡± The Right to Bear Arms Knowing that it was a terrible idea, I ran straight toward Kerra who was crouched down behind her shield, weathering a relentless onslaught of furious blows from Grizzly Prime. The creature saw me coming and aimed one of its enormous paws right at my face. I dove below the swipe and rolled to a stop, momentarily protected behind Kerra¡¯s tower shield. ¡°Cuffs, now!¡± I yelled, brandishing the manacles at her as though they were a weapon. ¡°That¡¯s not how this works,¡± she grunted, sweat rolling down her face, her skin ashen. She was holding it together, but I could tell she was shaken. Clearly, this was not how she¡¯d envisioned this fight going down. ¡°You could escape.¡± ¡°Yeah, but I won¡¯t,¡± I said. ¡°I willing came with you, and I¡¯ll willingly let you cuff me once we turn this fucker into bear jerky. But we¡¯re losing out there. Let me help save all of our collective asses!¡± Still, she hesitated. ¡°Besides,¡± I said, ¡°if I do escape, you¡¯ll track me down in like five minutes and beat the shit out of me anyway. But if you let me die here, I¡¯m betting the grand poohbah of the Vigils is gonna be pissed that I don¡¯t get my day in court.¡± I could see something visibly click inside her head. Letting me out was against the rules but letting me die while in their custody was worse. ¡°Fine,¡± she said, fishing out an odd signet ring, tethered around her neck on a leather cord. ¡°But be assured if you escape, I will indeed hunt you down in five minutes and beat the shit out of you.¡± She pressed the ring to the cuffs. The spikes digging mercilessly into my skin retracted and the manacles popped open, dropping to the snow. Instantly, I felt power flood into my limbs. My Stamina gauge and Arcana Bar were still down, but now they were now steadily rising. ¡°You won¡¯t regret this,¡± I yelled, darting into the open as I reached through the veil between worlds and summoned my enchanted combat shottie. The gun appeared in my hand and the sudden boom rocked the clearing as I unloaded a trio of Stoneform Affinity Rounds into Grizzly Prime¡¯s stupid bear face. The Affinity slugs punched a couple of fist sized holes in the monster¡¯s muzzle while another blinded one of its hateful eyes. It reared back, shaking its head in pain. The attack wouldn¡¯t put this ugly SOB down, but it bought Kerra a little breathing room. Unfortunately, she wasn¡¯t the only one who needed a helping hand. Kol, still in crocodilian form, was wrestling with one of the lesser demon bears. He was holding his own, but his attention was entirely occupied. Jori and Amherst were tag-teaming another one of the killer Grizzlies, but Telent was currently on his own against the third demon bear and things were not going well. Telent wore light leather armor, carried a slim rapier, and seemed to be predominately specialized in the Ward of Truth. The Ward of Truth had approximately zero combat skills. Telent would¡¯ve been great in a court, fighting against a snooty nobleman. That or backstabbing someone in a dark alley. Against a demon bear with a chip on its shoulder? Not so much. Cal was standing nearby with a crimson marble clutched in his hand while Renholm hovered above his head, holding a leather coin purse twice as big as he was. That was dangerous. The pixie was ravenous for Affinity Scales and would eat every Scale in the bag if he thought he could get away with it. Our formal Sidhe Pact was the only thing preventing him from going to town like a platoon of hungry Marines at a Golden Corral. I closed the distance and snatched the bag from his tiny fists before temptation could get the better of him. I pulled free a pair of Scales¡ªone Glamor Scale, another Stoneform Scale. I flipped the Glamor Scale to the pixie. ¡°Eat up, then go make a nuisance of yourself.¡± His eyes burned bright with greed as he slammed the scale into his mouth. I put Renholm from my mind and clenched the second Scale in my palm, drawing its power into my body in a sweet rush. Both my Arcana and Stamina gauges rocketed upward, refilled by the sudden influx of Essence, but that wasn¡¯t the only thing that happened. A thin layer of granite crept across my skin. That was one of the side effects of Stoneform working on my body; it transformed my flesh into natural armor at the expense of agility and speed. Beside me, there was a squeal as Cal consumed the Transformation Token and manifested as a gangly, potbellied creature with burnt red skin. A Crave Ghoul¡ªthe very first monster I¡¯d ever squared off against. Crave Ghouls were fast, agile, and strong, though not nearly as strong as the bears we were dealing with. ¡°Get Telent to safety and guard his back,¡± I yelled. Cal couldn¡¯t talk while transformed, but he chittered excitedly and bobbed his head in understanding, then scampered off on all fours. I lumbered into motion, just a few paces behind him. ¡°Telent, the Crave Ghoul¡¯s with me,¡± I thundered half a heartbeat before Cal tackled the Vigil of Truth around the waist and took him to the ground¡ª Saving him from losing his head to a bear paw. I dropped my shoulder low and barreled into the grizzly. It felt like running into a solid brick wall. Still, I was a helluva lot stronger than I had been back on Earth, and I was also coated in stone. My hit knocked the murder grizzly back a few paces. The creature staggered and turned its rage on me, Telent completely forgotten. It took a wild swing at me, but I called my mace to hand, smashing the flanged head into the beast¡¯s forearm, shattering the bone on impact. The creature retreated another step, which was a mistake. I raised my shotgun and peppered its torso, neck, and face with my five remaining Stoneform Rounds. Stoneform turned my skin into natural armor, but when used to enhance my shotgun, it gave every round a chance to inflict internal petrification, causing the target¡¯s joints to temporarily calcify until they were essentially paralyzed. Joint calcification was an extremely painful process, though probably not as painful as getting blasted five times at point-blank range from a magical Marine Corps-issued combat shotgun. Huge bloody wounds bloomed along the Grizzly¡¯s body and its lower jaw just¡­ vanished. Both gross and strangely cathartic. The bear was some kind of tough, though. Even with half its face missing it was still ready to go another three rounds. The Mortka dropped onto all fours and charged, snarling with its shattered jaws. Cal, in Ghoul form, leaped in from the right, landing on top of the bear like it was a braying donkey. He chattered manically as he grabbed hold of the bear¡¯s mangled ears and yanked them back. While the bear was distracted by the rodeo ghoul, I dismissed my shottie, wound back with my mace, and brought the blunt head down with every ounce of force I could muster. I triggered Rend and Crippling Strike just as the mace connected with the bear¡¯s temple. Both were melee skills that came from the Ward of Justice. When activated, Rend allowed any melee weapon to partially plane-shift, causing the strike to ignore non-planar armor, dealing up to 25 percent more damage on contact. Crippling Strike unleashed a burst of raw power, which obstructed the target¡¯s Arcana meridians, slowing them by 20% and simultaneously preventing them from casting spells for a short while. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Combined, the pair were a wicked cocktail of ass-kickery. The mace connected with a satisfying crunch and the bear¡¯s head crumpled like a soda can. The glowing blue runes swirling across its fur faded and the light in its eyes promptly flickered and died as its body collapsed under its own weight. The son of a bitch was dead before it hit the ground. Exhaustion hit me like a hammer blow. Unlike my magical spells, Rend and Cripple burned Stamina, not Arcana. The power for the attacks came directly from my muscles, and dropped my Stamina Gauge close to empty, leaving me feeling as weak as a day-old kitten. But now was no time for a breather. Jori and Amherst had sliced, diced, and charbroiled their bear, and Kol had damned near decapitated his opponent with his crocodilian jaws, but we still had Grizzly Prime to deal with. ¡°Renholm,¡± I yelled, ¡°Scale me!¡± I thrust one hand into the air and the pixie appeared a second later, this time shoving an oily black Plague Affinity Scale into my palm. I clamped my hand closed and drew the power down, feeling a renewed wave of energy roar through me. When directly consumed, Plague Affinity cured all instances of disease or poison afflicting the user. In this case, Stoneform counted as a disease, and the stone layer covering my skin flaked away. The Scale also replenished my wanning Stamina Gauge, leaving me feeling refreshed. Kerra was back on her feet, somehow managing to keep the great, big grizzly focused entirely on her. She was holding her ground, but it was clear that she wasn¡¯t in a position to hurt this thing, much less kill it. From what I¡¯d gathered, dealing out a shitload of physical damage was the job of a Justice, and I saw an opening. ¡°Amherst!¡± I bellowed to be heard over the din of battle. ¡°Cast Warded Shield near the bear! Chest height!¡± The Vigil of Wrath looked confused and conflicted, but then nodded his head and thrust one hand out. A glimmering dome of golden light, covered in a flurry of crimson runes, exploded into existence a handful of feet away from the bear. What I was about to do was dumb as shit, but I didn¡¯t wind up as a Vigil by making smart, life-affirming choices. I took off at a dead sprint and leapt straight up, landing on the top edge of Amherst¡¯s shield. The shield was a construct of metaphysical power, but it felt solid enough beneath my foot. With a grunt, I pushed off, using the magical shield as a springboard, and propelled myself onto the mega bear, just as Cal had done with the smaller bear a moment before. The creature hardly noticed as I landed¡ªat least until I called forth my shotgun, pressed it into the base of its skull and pulled the trigger again and again and again. I was out of Affinity Rounds, so the shotgun siphoned power directly from my core, slow draining my blue Arcana Bar in the process. But I¡¯d jacked up my Arcana Stat to 23 over the past few weeks, so it was uncomfortable instead of crippling. The rounds blew apart fur and chunks of bear meat. That got its attention. It roared, the sound rattling my bones, and reared back, trying to throw me off like an enraged bull. I acted on instinct, dismissing my weapons, and unleashing one of my newer magical abilities, Arctic Spike. A three-foot length of pale blue ice blasted from my palm and slammed deep into the bear¡¯s meaty shoulder. As my feet went out, I grabbed onto the spit of ice and hung on for dear life while the monster shook, twirled, and generally rampaged, trying to dislodge me. ¡°Just hang in a second longer!¡± I heard Kerra yell. ¡°Its belly is its most vulnerable spot. We¡¯re almost there!¡± There was a whomp and a flash of blinding light. Suddenly the bear teetered drunkenly. A moment later it let out a deep mewling sound and keeled over onto one side, landing with enough force to send a tremor racing through the ground, shaking the snow from all the nearby pine trees. I collapsed, panting from the exertion, but I didn¡¯t stay that way for long. A swirling cloud of golden light wafted up from immense Mortka¡¯s corpse and washed across the battlefield. A roaring column of the golden mist bored into my mouth, lifting my body into the air in a fist of brilliance as melodic chiming rang out, filling the clearing with the sound of a heavenly orchestra. [You have assisted in killing an Elder Fell Bear! The world has been cleansed! You have been blessed with 2,321 Essence!] How about that? I¡¯d just ascended, finally leaving the Disciple Ranks behind. <<<>>> Bounty Fulfilled Untimely Ambush: You have helped slay the Elder Fell Bear that ambushed your party and saved your fellow Vigils from death. As a reward for a job well done, you have been granted an additional 500 Essence. <<<>>> The torrent of golden light faded, gently setting me back on my feet. In front of me, Kerra, Telent, and Kol were all staring in slack jawed amazement. ¡°Well now, I suppose that answers the question of whether he is truly a Vigil or not,¡± Kol said with a shrug, finally back in human form. He stroked his beard and eyed me with renewed interest and respect. ¡°Warlocks consume Essence, there is no doubt, but never have I heard of a magic that can replicate the ascension of the Vigilant.¡± ¡°That is not for us to¡ª¡± Kerra started to say, only to be cut off by a yell from Jori. ¡°We¡¯ve got one more!¡± I turned to find the spear-wielding Vigil closing in on Cal, who was currently in Crave Ghoul form. Transformation Tokens didn¡¯t last all that long¡ªanywhere from five to thirty minutes, depending on the quality of the Token¡ªbut that would be more than enough time for a fist full of Vigils to banish him from our realm. Worse, Renholm was on his shoulder, brandishing the little sword I¡¯d crafted for him from a Grass Hound Quill. This could go real bad, real fast, if I didn¡¯t act. Telent beat me to it. ¡°Stay your hand!¡± He said, imbuing the words with enough Arcanum to get everyone¡¯s attention. It worked. Jori hesitated, right on the verge of trying to harpoon Cal like the White Whale of yesteryear, and stole an uncertain look at Kerra. She was the leader, the shot caller. What she said was law. ¡°They¡¯re with me,¡± I hastily explained, darting around the enormous bear corpse, and positioning myself in front of Cal and Renhom. ¡°And you would have us believe you¡¯re a Vigil,¡± Kerra hissed, her face suddenly a thunderhead of fury. ¡°Partnering with a monster?¡± ¡°That¡¯s super rude,¡± I said. ¡°I mean, sure, Cal is a butterface with a head shaped like a potato, but I wouldn¡¯t go so far as to call him a monster.¡± The Crave Ghoul shimmered beside me and the Mortka form dissipated, leaving my best friend standing awkwardly beside me. ¡°Butterface? Are you fucking kidding me, dude?¡± Cal asked as he glowered at me. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what a Butterface is,¡± Renholm said, ¡°but I assume it means you have a hideous visage which is reminiscent of melted butter, too which I am in complete agreement. Looking at you physically makes me nauseous, and as a being of the Fae Wylds I don¡¯t even have a stomach to be nauseous with.¡± ¡°Wow, wow. Okay, you guys are dicks,¡± Cal said throwing up his hands. ¡°Besides, even if my face hypothetically were a five, my body is at least an eight. Probably a nine if I didn¡¯t skip leg day so much. And, for the record, I had chicks complimenting me on the reg.¡± ¡°Your grandma doesn¡¯t count,¡± I replied. ¡°Low blow, Boyd. There¡¯s no need to bring Memaw into this and we both know I¡¯m not talking about Memaw. I mean, I guess from an objective standpoint, my head is sort of potato-shaped¡ªI¡¯ll give you that¡ªbut I still pulled way more ass than you when I was alive.¡± ¡°Enough,¡± Kerra barked, driving her shield into the frozen ground with a reverberating clang. ¡°What is the meaning of all this?¡± ¡°Cal¡¯s my spirit guide,¡± I replied, genuinely confused. ¡°Maybe I didn¡¯t get the memo, but I was under the assumption all Vigil¡¯s had Spirit Guides. And the pixie is¡­ well, it¡¯s complicated. I wouldn¡¯t say we¡¯re friends exactly. He would definitely kill me and eat my corpse if he could get away with it¡ªI know because he¡¯s told me so like fifteen times¡ªbut we have an arrangement.¡± ¡°Impossible,¡± Kerra spat. ¡°No,¡± I said, ¡°me and the pixie made a deal. There¡¯s even a spell for it, called Sidhe Pact.¡± ¡°Not the pixie,¡± she said, sounding exasperated. ¡°Many Vigils have such arrangements, though why you would pick a pixie is beyond my comprehension. What I meant is your Spirit Guide. It¡¯s in the name. They guide. They are beings mired firmly in the Etheric Realm. They cannot participate in battle. It¡¯s simply beyond the scope of their involvement in the affairs of our realm. It¡¯s not possible. Kol¡±¡ªshe rounded on the bearded Viking¡ª¡°have you ever heard of such a thing? Or of a Spirit Guide capable of consuming a Transformation Token?¡± Kol regarded Cal thoughtfully, still stroking his beard. ¡°No, I will admit I have not, but there can be no doubt that Boyd is a Vigil. If he truly is an Inkarnate, as he says¡±¡ªhe shrugged again¡ª¡°then who knows what is possible?¡± ¡°Perhaps the Custodians will be able to tell us more,¡± Kerra said, picking up the manacles and tucking them back into a pouch at her side. She surveyed the steely gray skyline. ¡°Best we break camp now. Wildespell is just half a day to the north, so let¡¯s mount up and ride. The Exarch awaits¡­¡± Wonderful Wildespell Kerra and the others looted the bear and processed its enormous corpse¡ªslicing off white pelt, collecting claws, teeth, and even an odd assortment of organs¡ªwhile I sat by the sidelines and watched. I hated the fact that Kerra was still treating me like a criminal, but not having to get elbow deep in demonic bear entrails almost made it worth the price of admission. I didn¡¯t get any of the loot, of course¡ªon account of the fact that I was a potential blasphemer and general scoundrel¡ªbut Kerra assured me that if the Custodians cleared me of the charges, she would personally see that I received my fair share of the bounty. I believed her. She was uptight and more anal retentive than a tomcat in a room full of rocking chairs, but she was also a straight shooter. She followed the rules. If the top brass cleared me of wrongdoing, which they would, then she¡¯d pony up what I was owed. By first light, we were in the saddle and riding along a wide dirt road, lightly dusted with snow, which cut northward. Despite the fact that Kerra still harbored suspicions that I was secretly a powerful warlock, trying to trick my way into the heart of the Citadel, the mood in the party was much lighter. Saving the party¡¯s collective asses had engendered me a lot of good will. Instead of clopping along in brooding silence with the howl of the wind at our backs, everyone laughed, joked, and generally bullshited around. Turned out, soldiers were soldiers no matter where they were. Eventually all the grab-ass devolved into everyone telling their most hilarious war stories. Like the time Kol got ambushed by a pack of feral Ashcats while he was taking a dump behind a rock. Poor guy had to square off against a pack of what essentially amounted to fire-breathing lions while Donald Ducking it with his bare ass hanging in the breeze. Or the time Telent attended a royal banquet while investigating a string of grisly murders, only to get drunk and be seduced by a countess who ended up being an Undead Spectral Lich. He had to fight her off while simultaneously having both hands tied to the bedposts. There was a truly surprising, borderline gratuitous, amount of nudity in most of their stories. I swapped tales right along with them, though many of mine were from back on earth. I hadn¡¯t been doing this Vigil thing long enough to have anything to joke about. I mean, I guess there was that one ¡°hilarious¡± time where I tried to fight a Hexblight, thinking it was an Elder Changeling, and it broke my spine by throwing me into a side of a building. So funny. Although the other Vigils did find it genuinely hysterical when I told them about the punishment I¡¯d served Gustav Hultgren, the High Magistrate who was largely culpable for all the heinous shit that had happened in Ironmoor. After seizing Gustav¡¯s estate, I¡¯d thrown a three-day bender but only invited the poor, and then I gave away his mansion and had it turned into an orphanage. By the time I was done talking, Jori was doubled over, clutching his sides as tears rolled down his face. As a Vigil of Justice, he really appreciated the poetic justice of the whole situation. The next four hours passed in a blur as we chatted about the world I¡¯d left behind while I asked questions about Wildespell and the Citadel¡ªalthough Kerra put the kibosh on that real quick. Sharing intel with a potential warlock was a big no-no in her endless book of rules. Not that I could blame for being cautious. Before dying, I¡¯d been part of Force Recon¡ªthe closest thing the Marine Corps had to Special Forces¡ªand Operational Security was a matter of life and death. I couldn¡¯t count the number of times that Drill Instructor Screw Y¡¯All had screamed ¡°Loose Lips, Sink Ships¡± at me. We ate lunch in the saddle. The meal consisted of stale bread and jerky that was tougher than old boot leather. Not exactly a gourmet dining experience, but I¡¯d eaten worse. The Veggie Omelet MRE literally tasted like refrigerated dog-vomit covered with fake cheese. This was top-notch by comparison. What everyone really wanted to know about, though, was Cal. Apparently, Spirit Guides served most Vigils in a more ceremonial capacity. They made their own hours, showed up whenever the fuck they wanted, and occasionally imparted the odd tidbit of heavenly wisdom before disappearing back into the Etheric Realm. Basically, they were OFP¡ªOwn Fucking Program¡ªand if you really needed to talk to them, it required days¡¯ worth of prayer and fasting. Even then, it was a coin toss, and they might still leave you hanging high and dry. Spirit Guides certainly didn¡¯t just hang around and bullshit and they never, ever, under any circumstances, helped in battle. The rest of the Vigils seemed genuinely shocked that Cal even could help in battle. That¡¯s how bizarre it was. They also had a shitload of questions about Renholm, who was nowhere to be seen. The pixie had taken off on Sir Jacob Francis the second our scuffle against the Demonic Grizzly ended. He didn¡¯t want to try his luck with a bunch of religious zealots with magical powers and a hardon for killing monsters, which was probably a wise choice. Considering Kerra¡¯s general attitude toward doing things by the book, I was willing to bet she would incinerate him if given half a chance. It seemed a Vigil partnering with a pixie was about as odd as a Spirit Guide who could turn into a monster. According to Telent, pixies were capricious, manipulative, impulsive, bloodthirsty little buttholes who would steal anything not nailed down to the floor and that was only because they couldn¡¯t pry out the nails, since they were cold iron. Pixies also hated authority and avoided Vigils like the plague. I found myself nodding along in agreement as he spoke. I mean, none of that was news to me, nor would it be news to anyone who had spent even five minutes with Renholm. There wasn¡¯t any specific rule against creating a Sidhe Pact with a pixie, but it just wasn¡¯t done because why would anyone subject themselves to such a nightmarish, toxic relationship for almost no tangible benefit? Pixies weren¡¯t particularly strong and though they had access to a wide variety of Fae magics, they were more unreliable than a boot Marine, fresh to the Fleet. I couldn¡¯t believe it, but I found myself vigorously defending the pixie, trying to explain how usefully he was. And he was. He¡¯d saved my life on more than a few occasions, he knew a lot more about magic and the world of Mortka than Cal did, and his ability to go places unseen and sniff out clues like a bloodhound was invaluable. What was a little murder compared to all that? But no matter what I said, they just wouldn¡¯t believe it. That I was from another world where people didn¡¯t have magic, but could fly around in giant steel dragons? Yeah, sure. Whatever. That a pixie could be useful? Not in a million years. Kol even suggested in all earnestness that I was bewitched¡ªthough Telent assured everyone that he couldn¡¯t find any indication of mental magicks being employed against me. At around noon, Cal said his goodbyes and disappeared, heading back to the Etheric Realm for a little R and R. Like Renholm, Cal was getting stronger the more and more I fed him Affinity Scales, but sunlight was still hell on wheels against his spectral form. It took a lot of Essence for him to pierce the veil between worlds¡ªmaybe that was the reason the other Spirit Guides did it so rarely?¡ªand even more to hang out in the Material Realm for prolonged periods of time. Even talking burned through valuable Essence that he needed in order to hold himself together. Just like when I burned through all of my Arcana, Cal needed time to recoup Essence, and the only way to do that was either to consume Affinity Scales or loiter around in the Etheric Realm. Manifesting during the night was far easier for him and so was breaching the veil in areas that were especially dense with Essence. Like Mortka dens. Which honestly made perfect sense in my mind. Mortka dens always appeared in areas where the boundary between the material and the etheric was already as thin as cheap Porta John toilet paper. *** It was late afternoon when our party finally crested a hill, and our destination came into view for the first time. So far, I¡¯d spent most my time in this world puttering around rural villages and dusty backwater towns. The only proper city I¡¯d seen so far was Ironmoor and even that had a population of ten or fifteen thousand people at the most. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Wildespell was on a whole different level. Rolling green farmlands stretched out in the valley below, dotted by farms, storehouses, and cattle pens. The road we were on carved through those fields, eventually crossing over a broad, meandering river that was fed by a large waterfall that rained down from the jagged cliff face of a mountain range to the west. The river, in turn, spilled into a placid bay to the east with a series of large stone docks poking out into the surface like arthritic fingers. Schooners, sloops, and flatbottom trading boats were moored for the winter. Wildespell butted up against the snow dusted mountains on one side and was hemmed in by the bay on the other. It occupied a naturally fortified position that would make sieging the city nearly impossible. An enormous gray stone wall, thirty feet high, ringed in the southern border, separating the city proper from the sprawling farmlands. Outside the walls and running along the edge of the bay was a second city¡ªsmaller and grimier. The streets were dirt instead of cobblestone, the houses were constructed from wood more often than stone, and the roofs were covered with thick sheets of thatch. A palisade wall of sharpened logs surrounded the overflow encampment, offering it some protection from wolves or wandering Mortka. I recognized a slum when I saw one. We skirted well away from the run-down overflow camp and headed into the city through a set of enormous gates, large enough to accommodate an army of war elephants. Inside, the buildings were built from gray stone, likely mined from the nearby mountains, and were covered with wooden slat roofs and red ceramic tiles. Many of the houses and shops were painted in a variety of eye-searing color-combos that made me wince. The other thing that made me wince was the reek of unwashed bodies, which mercilessly assailed my heightened senses. Based on the gutters which ran with sludgy fluids, I was gathering that Wildespell still hadn¡¯t figured out indoor plumbing yet. The streets bustled with activity. The clop of hooves on cobblestone roads. The echoing clang of hammers on steel and the distant cry of street vendors announcing their wares. It was chaos waltzing with civilization. What stood out above all else was the dirty-faced people who parted for us as we passed, staring up in worshipful adoration. In every town and city I¡¯d visited so far, Vigils were regarded with a wide degree of both veneration and fear, which occasionally bordered on hostility. Vigils were monster hunters, but they could just as easily strike down men and women as a rogue mortka. Vigils sniffed out the truth and punished evil assholes no matter who they were or where they lived. What I¡¯d done to Gustav Hultgren was a prime example. Thing was, everyone had secrets to hide and skeletons lurking in their closets. Even though Raguel was mostly concerned with monsters, murderers, and systematic greed, everybody and their brother seemed to think he cared about that one time they banged the maid or that other time when they sold their neighbor a lame goat. Most people believed their petty misdeeds were worthy of a goddamned axe to the neck, which explained why everyone was so cagey whenever a Vigil rolled into town. But not here. Not in Wildespell. Nope. The fine folk of this city loved them some Vigil Bound. They treated us like rockstars or maybe priests. Or maybe the legendary rock band, Judas Priest. It was fucking nuts. Some outright cried as we passed. Others dropped to their knees and prayed openly in the street. A few begged for blessings on them or their household or their businesses or their children. The list of supplications was endless and the sheer number of random ass babies that were thrust toward us was astounding. Sometimes two or three babies at once. Who the hell even had that many babies? Life before birth control was wild. Kerra and the others were only too happy to oblige. They blasted off holy invocations like they were .50 Cal rounds and, at a nod from Kerra, Telent showered the masses with handfuls of copper and silver coins. That elicited even more cheers from the onlookers. And if these people loved Vigils in general, they lost their goddamned minds over Kerra. Everyone knew her name and more than a few rounds of ¡°Kerra the Valorous¡± and ¡°All Hail the Justiciar¡± followed in our wake as we wound our way through the warren of streets and toward the fortified Citadel that looked down from its lofty perch among the mountains. My main takeaway was that Kerra was a big fucking deal ¡¯round these parts. The crowds thinned out and eventually died away completely as we approached the pearly white walls and the shining gates that separated the Citadel from the rest of Wildespell. Guards decked out in scale mail with bleached bone tabards proudly bearing the five sigils of Raguel patrolled the ramparts above. I¡¯d seen a spattering of caravan guards and city soldiers since winding up in this world and nine times out of ten they were old, out of shape, and using gear that had seen its best years a decade or more ago. These guys were different. They were professionals. Their armor gleamed, their tabards were spotless, and they looked like they knew their way around the halberds in their hands. More than a few also carried crossbows, many of which were fixed on me as we rode past. Knowing there were so many people ready to shoot me down if I so much as looked at someone wrong made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. The outer gates were made from gleaming bronze and they were thrown wide open in reception. A pair of steely eyed guards snapped to attention and thumped gauntleted fists to chests as we passed. The gates fed into a mustering yard big enough to hold a battalion of troops. The yard was enclosed by more walls and a second, interior gate that led deeper into the complex. I glanced up. The walls were crawling with more armored soldiers. A pair of enclosed towers were also perfectly positioned to rain down arrow fire on any enemy unlucky enough to make it past the first set of gates. Unlike the polished bronze gate that separated the Citadel from Wildespell, the second gate was heavy steel, covered with thick spikes and glimmering runes that burned with Arcana. This entryway was presided over by a pair Vigils, though neither had a brand, which I thought was weird as hell. I¡¯d gotten the distinct impression that all Vigils had a brand of one kind or another. There was no mistaking those red eyes, though. One of the guards caught sight of the mark on my forehead and instantly I could feel malice radiating off him in palpable waves. If looks could kill, I was convinced he would¡¯ve set me on fire in the saddle. He nudged his partner then nodded toward me. The second Vigil openly glowered then leaned over and spit onto the cobblestones. They didn¡¯t try to stop me, though, not with Kerra by my side. She was my golden ticket. We plodded on through into another courtyard, even bigger than the first. More guards in white tabards milled about here, some practicing with swords, spears, and halberds, while others tended horses or trickled in and out of an enormous circular building, topped by a golden dome. Based on the layout, I was guessing that was the enlisted barracks and likely housed all of the non-Vigil soldiers I¡¯d seen patrolling the premise. I¡¯d half-expected the Vigils themselves to do that, but it made way more sense that they would have their own private army to handle the day-to-day security bullshit. They had mortka to hunt down and evildoers to beat the shit out of. This courtyard also had a set of gates, though these were reinforced wood, not steel or bronze. There was line of plain-dressed townsfolk and merchants with carts, all waiting to be searched or questioned. The Citadel took security very seriously, which I could respect the hell out of. There wasn¡¯t a single point of failure, and there were a ton of fallbacks and fighting positions on the off chance that the fortress city was ever overrun. The guards at the inner wooden gate were of the regular variety and waved us through without a word, even going so far as to bow deeply as we trotted past. On the other side of the doors was¡­ well, a sizeable village in its own. There were stables, shops¡ªeverything from seamstresses and apothecaries to blacksmiths and restaurants. Not to mention a three-story Inn, with a wooden sign that read the Blessed Nugget. This little town was nowhere near as big as Ironmoor but still, there still had to be close to a thousand people. We threaded our way through an open-air market and across a literal moat with its own drawbridge that ushered us through a final section of wall, fifty feet tall and twenty feet thick. A handful of Citadel soldiers patrolled the ramparts, but most of those looking down on me in judgment were more of the red-eyed Vigils, none of whom had a brand to call their own. That was an interesting tidbit, which I stored away for later. After passing through a long tunnel, riddled with murder holes, we found ourselves in a third courtyard, hemmed in on the left by the rocky cliff face and the right by the outer curtain wall. Beyond the wall was the bay. No one would be trying to take the walls here. Not unless they could fly. The Citadel Fortress, carved from slabs of gray granite and white marble, dominated the northwestern section of the skyline. Jutting up from the fortress like a hitch hikers¡¯ thumb was a looming tower that depicted the five faces of Raguel, all looking out over the city with stony eyes that saw every wrong, every injustice. The monolith cast a slender shadow down onto the courtyard¡ªa constant reminder of its presence. Brandless Vigils sparred in the yard. Drilling various weapons forms. Practicing hand-to-hand fighting techniques. Trying their skill at the archery range or scrambling and flipping along the agility course with preternatural grace and dexterity. The age range ran from as young as eight or nine all the way up to the late teens and early twenties. There were a couple of older Vigils, branded and decked out in badass armor, overseeing what I assumed were Citadel trainees. As we clopped across the pavers and past a hulking fountain with a statue of Raguel at its center, the would-be Vigils stopped cold. They turned as one, barked out a formal greeting to Kerra, then slammed fists against their chests in perfect unison. She saluted them in return, before guiding our party away from the training yard and into the stables. ¡°Good luck with your trial, Boyd!¡± Telent said as he dismounted. ¡°Indeed, you seem like a fine fellow!¡± Kol boomed. He gave me a broad smile and handed off the reins of his horse to a young boy of maybe ten with red eyes and a dirt-smudged face. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I hope the Custodians don¡¯t execute you.¡± ¡°You and me both,¡± I said as Kerra clamped her hand over my elbow and dragged me unceremoniously toward a servant¡¯s entrance. Scales of Judgment Instead of taking me on a guided tour of the Citadel, Kerra pulled out the suppression manacles, clamped them back onto my wrists, then put a musty, burlap sack over my head. The spikes bit down like hungry piranha teeth, draining the Arcana and supernatural Stamina from my body once more. ¡°Really?¡± I asked, my voice muffled. ¡°I thought we were past this?¡± I asked, wincing as the spikes chomped into my skin. ¡°My personal feelings are irrelevant in the matter,¡± she said. ¡°The Citadel¡¯s rules and laws exist for the safety of our order and the Exarch most of all. Although your assistance on the journey is appreciated, I will not break protocol. What¡¯s to say that this wasn¡¯t all a ruse, specifically intend to lure us into a false sense of security, thereby allowing you to get into the presence of the Custodians, unshackled?¡± ¡°Is that really what you think is going on?¡± I asked, voice dry and flat as the Serengeti. ¡°No,¡± she admitted, ¡°but the risk is too great. For what it¡¯s worth, I do believe the veracity of your claims, and I will give an honest report of what happened to the Custodians, but I cannot and will not betray the mission that has been entrusted to me. Now stop delaying the inevitable and walk, we are expected shortly.¡± After climbing twenty flights of stairs and trudging up half again as many sloping hallways¡ªbumping face first into more than a few walls along the way¡ªwe reached our destination. I knew because I could hear the gentle scuff of boots on tile and the whispered murmurs of other people. ¡°They¡¯re ready for you, Justiciar,¡± said a voice I didn¡¯t recognize, deep and gruff. ¡°Thank you, Morgan,¡± Kerra replied formally, prodding me into motion once more as a door ever so softly squeaked open in front of me. The groan and scrape of chairs followed in short order. ¡°Honored Custodians of the Citadel,¡± Kerra intoned as she pulled on my arm gently, motioning for me to stop. ¡°I bring before you Boyd Knight, the false Vigil we have been receiving widespread reports about. Before you proceed with your judgment, honored Custodians, there are extenuating circumstances that warrant your immediate attention. Most notably, the accused claims that he is not a false Vigil at all, but rather is an Inkarnate, hand chosen by Rageul, and called from a different world.¡± She paused and took a deep breath as though bracing herself for a punch to the solar plexus. ¡°As unlikely as that may seem,¡± she continued, ¡°I believe he is being forthright in his claims. Vigil Telent interrogated the man extensively and found no guile to his words. Furthermore, the accused has demonstrated a host of notable powers and abilities, which, to the best of my knowledge, would be impossible for even an accomplished Warlock to replicate.¡± ¡°You forgot about the part where I saved you from that giant fucking bear,¡± I said, my voice muffled by the hood. ¡°I didn¡¯t forget,¡± she growled quietly in my ear, ¡°I was getting to it.¡± She cleared her throat. ¡°As the alleged Inkarnate mentioned, he also assisted the retrieval team after we were waylaid by a Fell Bear just south of the Rifthorn pass, which had an¡­¡± she faltered. ¡°An uncommon ability I haven¡¯t seen before¡ª¡± ¡°Did it conjured a series of smaller bears, then?¡± a wizened old voice asked, a note of mischief in his words. ¡°Yes,¡± she replied, surprised. ¡°Aye,¡± the voice replied with a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it before¡ªmust¡¯ve been an Elder. They get craftier as they get on in years, much like we Vigils. More unpredictable, too. Some eventually develop a rare ability called Lesser Replicant, which allows them instantaneously spawn several junior Fell Bears. It¡¯s a truly nasty surprise if you¡¯re not prepared for it. In truth, you¡¯re lucky to be alive.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she replied matter of factly, ¡°in part thanks to the accused. I am still convinced we would¡¯ve defeated the creature on our own, but we may have suffered casualties without his assistance. It should also be noted that he had an opportunity to escape after the battle but chose instead to come with us once more and face his judgment. He has shown himself to be honorable, if annoying.¡± ¡°Aw, you say the nicest things, Kerra,¡± I said through the hood. ¡°I think you¡¯re pretty awesome too.¡± ¡°If there is no indication that he is being dishonest,¡± another voice said, this one female and hard as an iron battle-ax, ¡°then why is he being detained and treated in such a fashion? We all know how thoroughly unpleasant the suppression manacles are, yet you have forced a potential Inkarnate to wear them, even after he proved himself in combat and defended our brothers and sisters from harm? If what he says is true, then he should be treated as an honored guest, yet we have shown him the hospitality of a wanton criminal.¡± ¡°That is protocol, Custodian Thrane,¡± Kerra replied evenly, shrugging off the scorn in her voice. ¡°It was not my job to determine whether he is or is not what he claims to be. The Citadel dispatched me with the task of finding Boyd Knight, a man claiming to be a Vigil, and bringing him in so that he could be judged by the collective wisdom of the Custodians. That is what I did. Nothing more, nothing less. Given his potential power and the possibility that he is a Warlock, shackling him for the safety of the Custodians was the only reasonable course of action.¡± ¡°Enough of this,¡± a third voice boomed. ¡°Let us not bicker amongst ourselves, Custodian Thrane. What is done is done and cannot be undone and, in the meanwhile, we¡¯re talking about the man as though he is not standing before us, bound and hooded. Justiciar Kerra has given us her testimony, now let us see the truth for ourselves.¡± A second later, Kerra pulled the hood off my head. I squinted and blinked against the harsh glare of torchlight, letting my eyes adjust after being in utter darkness for so long. I was in a circular chamber with a golden dome high above me. The floors were marble and inlaid with a gold and silver relief that depicted the fivefold sigil of Raguel. Stained glass windows, showcasing each of Raguel¡¯s faces, were set into the walls interspersed by golden scones that burned with unnatural flames. Blue. Green. Red. Gold. Silver. There was an enormous, crescent-shaped table directly in front of me with five stern-faced individuals seated directly behind it. There was a collective round of surprised gasps when they saw my blood red eyes. ¡°Incredible,¡± the man at the center of the table said, standing slowly. The guy had a full head of silver hair and fine crow¡¯s feet at the corners of his eyes. He was older. If I had to guess, I¡¯d say he was in his late forties or early fifties, though it was impossible to tell for sure. He planted his hands on the table and leaned forward, brow furrowed as he studied the symbol on my forehead. I studied the symbol on his right back. It was an exact mirror of my own. The golden sigil of Justice. ¡°It¡¯s not a fake,¡± he declared after a beat, ¡°I¡¯m sure of it. Kerra, release him from the manacles in you please.¡± ¡°But Exarch,¡± she said, ¡°are you sure that is¡ª¡± He held a hand and silenced her with a look. ¡°Although I am getting up there in years, Justiciar, I am not as frail as I might appear.¡± Frail? The dude was fucking jacked. He looked like he could bench press a pickup truck, then go for a ten-mile fun run with a full rucksack. Plus, he was decked out in glossy red scale mail that looked like it had come from an actual dragon. Frail was not the word I would¡¯ve used, older or not. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Besides, even if he has ill-intentions toward our venerated Custodians, I feel reasonably certain we could stop him. Yarran,¡± he said, gesturing toward a lanky Vigil at the end of the table with the sigil of Truth on his forehead. ¡°Question the young man, if you will.¡± Kerra grimaced but did as she was told, using the signet ring around her neck to free me from the shackles. They dropped to the floor with a thunk and palpable relief rushed through me. Sweet Lord Almighty, but that felt good. The bloody gouges in my skin, courtesy of the sharpened iron spikes, immediately started to heal over while my Stamina and Arana pool rose. Yarran skirted around the far edge of the table and approached me with his hands folded behind his back. I felt like a prized poodle getting looked over by one of those fancy dog show judges. ¡°Remarkable,¡± he said after a moment. ¡°If this is Warlock magick, it¡¯s of a type I¡¯ve never seen before. He has access to the Ascendant System yet¡­¡± he paused, lips pressed into a tight line. ¡°Yet it is different from anything I¡¯ve seen before. He is both like us and utterly unique from us. Unless I am mistaken, he has recently ascended to the Adept Class, which is a remarkable achievement considering the circumstances.¡± He prodded my forehead with a spidery finger, then circled around me, poking at my ribs, chest, and shoulders. ¡°Yes,¡± he continued thoughtfully. ¡°There is no doubt in my mind that he has been touched directly by Raguel. I can see his life thread, plain as the nose on my face. Clearly, he is a grown man, but based purely on his life thread he is but an infant to our world. It is as if he was recently born anew.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Truly, I¡¯ve never seen the like.¡± He stepped directly in front of me and locked eyes with me. ¡°It is considered bad form to use any form of mental compulsion against our fellow Vigils,¡± he said apologetically, his voice warm and fatherly, ¡°but we must discern the truth of this matter. Best if you don¡¯t resist. Besides, it is in your own best interest that you speak the truth, do you understand?¡± It was the same line Telent had used on me back in the Twisted Pig, but the power radiating off this guy¡ªpermeating every word¡ªwas a hundred times more powerful. I¡¯d been able to resist Telent¡¯s suggestions, but this hit me like a bomb blast. Like the weight of a mountain pressing down against my chest. My knees trembled and my vision swam. In a flash of sudden insight, I knew he was right. Telling him the truth was in my own best interest and I wanted to help this man in any way I could. ¡°Yes,¡± I said, my mouth numb. ¡°Very good. Now, is it true that you are from another world?¡± he asked. ¡°That you are an Inkarnate as you claim to be?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I grunted again. There was some part of me that didn¡¯t want to speak on general principle, but the request just sounded so goddamned reasonable. Besides, I didn¡¯t have anything to hide. This is for your own good, Boyd, a quiet voice whispered over and over again in the back of my head like a song playing on repeat. ¡°Tell us everything,¡± he commanded. Before I could even think about resisting, the words poured from my lips. I told them about Earth, about growing up in the backwoods of Kentucky, and my time in the Marine Corps. I told them about Fallujah, about Cal, about the IED that took his life and the grenade that ripped apart my guts. I told them about the shadow demon that had come to ferry my soul through the cosmos and my half-remembered face-to-face with the Raguel. Yarran asked me questions as my story unfolded. He grilled me about Cal and Renholm¡ªwanted to know if I was a pawn for the Fae Courts¡ªthen moved on to a series of questions about Arturo and Ironmoor. I answered every single question without hesitation. I would¡¯ve told him anything. Hell, I would¡¯ve confessed to breaking my Gran¡¯s fine China back when I was eight¡ªa secret I¡¯d never told another living soul. Even from a galaxy away, I was pretty sure my Gran would¡¯ve found a way to whoop my ass if she knew I broke those plates. ¡°I sense no guile,¡± Yarran declared as I finally fell silent. I was hunched over, hands on my knees, sweat pouring down my face. My stomach was knotted into a fist, and I felt like a dishrag that had just been wrung dry. ¡°He is telling the truth. This man is indeed an Inkarnate, snatched from the claws of death and called from across the stars by Raguel.¡± There was a moment of stunned silence as the Custodians of the Citadel all shifted uncomfortably in their high-back seats. Everyone looked mortified. Everyone except for Kerra. She looked exactly as composed and unruffled as she had when we marched in here. ¡°I suspect we owe you a great apology,¡± the man in the center said, breaking the stillness, ¡°so let me formally offer you one. I am Exarch Gerhard, and on behalf of all the Custodians of the Citadel, we are truly sorry for the discourtesy you have suffered under our care. I¡¯m sure adjusting to our world has been no easy task and instead of being welcomed to our order with the honor and respect you deserve, we have debased you terribly. Both by questioning you in the manner we have, and in the way Justiciar Kerra has treated you.¡± I stole a sidelong look at Kerra. This was my chance to be a dick and rub her face in the fact that she¡¯d been wrong. But¡­ I didn¡¯t want to. She¡¯d just been doing her job and, as far as I was concerned, she¡¯d done it well. She¡¯d executed her mission objective, hadn¡¯t let her personal feelings get in the way, and she¡¯d done it all to protect others. Sure, I might¡¯ve done things differently had I been in her shoes, but I could understand why she¡¯d made the choices she had. If that wasn¡¯t enough, it was clear the people of this city loved her, and I suspected she¡¯d come by the adoration the honest way¡ªby helping people when they needed it. ¡°Naw, no hard feelings,¡± I said, shrugging one shoulder. ¡°From the sounds of it, you guys don¡¯t get a lot of Inkarnates turning up on your doorstep. You were just trying to do the smart thing and for what it¡¯s worth, Justiciar Kerra did a bang-up job of getting me here. I mean, I did almost get eaten by a demon murder bear, but that could¡¯ve happened to anyone.¡± ¡°Thank you for your graciousness,¡± the Exarch replied with a nod. ¡°It is a high mark on your character and speaks well of your temperament. Now, I am sure you are tired. Though you may be from a different world, you are one of us in spirit and are welcome here. You will be given quarters appropriate to your station within the Citadel and will have access to any of the services and shops on the premises. Obviously, you will not be forced to undergo the Ascension of the Vigilant since you have been personally marked by Raguel, and by all accounts, you have done an admirable job since arriving here. ¡°Slaying a Hexblight is no small feat, even for a Fist of Vigils. To do so with only the aid of an Arbitrator is quite astounding.¡± He paused, tapping thoughtfully at his chin. ¡°Still, I suspect there is much you need to learn about this world and about the inner workings of our esteemed order.¡± He turned his gaze on Kerra. ¡°I want him paired with a senior trainer¡ªsomeone to help guide him as he adjusts. Run him through the basics. Weapons, our unarmed martial disciplines, Fist tactics and composition. Let¡¯s also make sure he gets a few formal contracts under his belt as well. Kerra, as Justiciar of Training, I will defer to your recommendation, but I think Niels might be a good fit.¡± I felt a spirit dickishness well up inside me as a plan formed in my mind. ¡°Actually,¡± I said with a completely straight face, ¡°if you¡¯re going to pair me with a trainer, I¡¯d like to be partnered with her.¡± I hooked a thumb toward Kerra. I fought against the overwhelming desire to openly laugh at the indignant, disbelieving look that flashed across her face. True, I didn¡¯t want her to get in trouble for doing her job, but she had handcuffed me with magical vampiric shackles, forced me to ride through a blizzard, and stuffed my head into a burlap sack. She had a little payback coming her way and I knew babysitting me would chap her ass, which was the exact level of dick I wanted to be. ¡°But, that¡¯s¡­ I have duties,¡± she stammered. ¡°Responsibilities¡­¡± ¡°Look,¡± I said, raising my hands in concession, ¡°I¡¯m sure this other guy, Niels, is awesome, but I want the best of the best. I mean, Kerra oversees your entire training program so who could be better than her? You even trusted her to hunt me down, which says a lot about the kind of faith you have in her. Also¡±¡ªI leaned in and dropped my voice¡ª¡°I think she might have a crush on me.¡± ¡°What? No¡­ That¡¯s¡­ I most certainly do not,¡± she said bristling like an angry porcupine. ¡°Methinks the lady doth protest too much,¡± I replied, shooting her a wink. ¡°Exarch, noble Custodians, you can¡¯t seriously be entertaining this,¡± Kerra said, her face like an angry thunderhead. ¡°I¡¯ve already spent too much time away from the initiates. I am far too busy¡ª¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s a wonderful idea,¡± the Exarch said firmly, his tone ringing with a sense of finality. ¡°It¡¯s not every day we receive an Inkarnate and after the disservice we¡¯ve done him, this seems like a small consolation, all things considered. Having him work directly beneath you¡ª¡± ¡°¡ªPhrasing,¡± I muttered. ¡°Is an excellent idea,¡± he continued, though I thought I saw a slight smile at my remark. ¡°There is no one better suited to instruct him, Justiciar, and perhaps he has something to teach us in turn. There is surely a reason Raguel, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that our paths should cross. Vigil Niels is more than capable of overseeing your administrative duties until this special assignment is concluded. Be welcome to the Citadel of Custodians, Boyd Knight. You both are dismissed.¡± Vigils Valor Release and Book 3 Update! Hey everyone, James Hunter here. It''s been several weeks since the last update on Vigil Bound so I wanted to take a few minutes to make a quick announcement. First off, I''m super excited to say that book two, Vigil''s Valor, is now officially live on Amazon! The book is fully edited, updated, and the audio version--narrated by Luke Daniels--is out today as well. I want to thank everyone who has continued to read and support my work. Your comments and feedback have been immensely useful and have made this book better than it otherwise would have been. Because the book is enrolled in the Kindle Unlimited Program, Amazon requires it to be exclusive, so I am pulling chapters down on Royal Road. But you can still read it on Amazon or (if you don''t want to support Amazon) you can visit my Patreon page. If you like the series please consider leaving a short honest review on Amazon, Goodreads, or both--reviews and ratings are extremely helpful for indie authors like me. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. As for book three, Vigil''s Balance... I''m happy to say that the outline is done and I''m about 40K words into the book. I''m already posting new chapters to my Patreon and will start posting here next week. So stay tuned because more awesome stuff is on the way.