《Sarcophagus》


 The Prophecy

    The Lord Priest raised his blood-stained hands from the corpse and lowered them into a basin filled with aromatic water. Blood danced around the rose petals floating there, swirling into a branching web of veins. In the centre of it all, lied a black bead, pulsating and beating as if alive. The priest remained motionless until the King, overlooking the ritual, clapped his hands twice. At the sound, a young priest, garbed in white, stepped out from the shadows and, with the acknowledgement of the Lord Priest, unstrapped the woman and dragged her bloodied corpse out of sight.


    The Lord Priest grabbed the bead and approached the foot of the dais, where he knelt and stretched out his arms. The King leaned forward and inspected the bead before returning it gently to the priest. He began to tap the wood of the arm of his throne. "Well, Cain?" said the King.


    Cain stood and lowered his head. "The human was exceptionally gifted. A sorcerer rarely seen¡ª"


    The King frowned and slammed his fist on the throne, interrupting Cain. "Are you taking me for a fool, priest?"


    "Never would I dare¡ª"


    "You know what I am asking for," the King said, vexed. "Look at me!"


    The priest dared not delay any further and lifted his head to return the gaze of his monarch. A chiselled face with two ranks of jagged teeth and deep-set, violet eyes that churned like the sea. They carried contempt and disgust as if the mere sight of Cain irked him. "Well?"


    "The signs are good, lord." Cain paused, contemplating if he should continue. "But there are troubles . . . not great troubles," he hurriedly added.


    "Who are they?"


    Cain licked his dry lips, "Not they, lord. A lone rider."


    The King looked deeply at Cain as an obstinate silence engulfed the room. By the time Cain was sweating, the King finally said, "You are taking me for a fool, priest."


    "Lord, I¡ª"Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Silence!" The King retorted. He stood from his throne and started down the steps, then pivoted and walked towards the balcony entrance behind the dais, the shuttered entryway adorned with velvet curtains on either side. Cain rose with difficulty and trailed behind the King''s silvery mantle. He slammed the shuttered doors wide open, and as the winter breeze caught his raven black hair, two sharp and elongated ears emerged on either side.


    Cain lingered by the threshold, relishing the smell of the salt of the ocean as if it was his first time. On the windswept balcony perched two gargoyles on either flank, twice as tall as any man. They resembled a griffon and a wyvern, two among thousands that guarded the walls of this ancient fortress.


    The King paid these statues no attention and leaned against the battlements. The sea thrashed beneath him, and the castle stones looked rough and chilled beneath his fingers. There they stood in silence for minutes, both silent in contemplation. The gargoyles maintained their silent watch, wings folded tightly and eyes against the northern horizon. After a while, the King turned from the scenery and faced Cain. "Then tell me, priest, who is this rider?"


    The Lord Priest scratched his balding head, somewhat embarrassed. "A man by the name of Reith Lornhart. He does not follow the faith yet wields its powers."


    "You believe this lone rider can threaten my aspirations," the King asked in amusement.


    "Of course not, lord. I am only conveying what the signs showed."


    The King leaned against the balcony and glanced at the ocean beneath him once more. "I see," he paused, then continued, "Leave, I will handle this matter." The priest bowed deeply before scurrying beyond the curtains and out of sight.


    Delrith looked at the departing priest deep in thought before finally saying, "Guardians, leave for the old ancestral home and investigate the matter of Reith Lornhart. Find him, and eliminate him."


    After receiving the order, a grey cloud of pebbles and ancientness submerged the two sculptures. Then, before Delrith could react to the whipping gale, the fifteen-foot tall statues were beating their wings off in the distance, rapidly disappearing into the horizon.


    Delrith looked around. To his right was a range of rugged, snow-capped crags, to his left the vastness of an undulating ocean and oblivion. In front of him was the path to the realm of Asura, the root of his fallen empire, remembered only by ancient tomes. In the cities south of Delrith, to the south of his ancient fortress, there was an army assembling, millions of men and abominations¡ªall amassed under the banner of the Elven King. With insatiable greed and hatred, these soldiers would become monsters among monsters, a force of destruction and misery. It was a power beyond man, and yet the priest had warned about a lone rider.


    A storm was brewing ahead of him, blocking the path to his dreams. He raised his hands and laughed. "Entertain me, Reith Lornhart!"

 1. The Final Operation

    The soft humming of the fast-attack Hermes'' thrusters reverberated through the narrow cargo bay. Two four-man squads were crammed together as close as their heavy armours allowed, each wielding a combat rifle of three feet. The red lights on either side of the corridor winked, signalling the three-minute dropdown.


    For close to half an hour the compact aircraft had advanced through the howling typhoon that ravaged this colony planet, and the violent turbulence¡ªwhich Reith found oddly familiar to what they usually endured during an orbital-to-surface assault¡ª left him and his squadmates hard-pressed for balance, even with their armours'' magnetic boots.


    Like the other space-assault marines bundled around him, Reith was outfitted with one of Earth''s latest combat armours which protected everything from toes to neck. The power armours were black as sin and gleamed in the dim red lighting. Connected from the neck and above were helmets that matched in colour and veiled the marines identities. An annoying aspect was it not for the information presented in their heads-up displays, a limited movement detection ring with green icons for friendly and yellow for superior officers, listed and managed by the microcomputer installed in their suits.


    Neat little things, Reith thought as he glanced at the semi-transparent numbers in the corner of his vision: two minutes and twenty-three seconds before the estimated touchdown.


    As the aircraft finally exited out of the storm and the marines could relax, the signalling lanterns shifted to a dim orange. Two minutes.


    Before the squad''s lieutenant managed to bark her orders, the soldiers had already started to insert their magazines, adjust their reflex sights, and toggle the safety switches¡ªa symphony of snaps and clicks that alleviated the tensed nerves of Reith. Although he was an experienced marine by now, the fear and uncertainty surrounding the coming operations always lingered. And it always disappeared in a blink of an eye when they landed, but was a hell to deal with before that.


    There was a faint crackle in Reith''s helmet as second lieutenant Eileen connected to the squad''s internal comm channel. "You okay back there, rookie?" A slight pause, and then, "You better not be pissing in your suit!"


    Jack''s low-pitched voice followed shortly after another crackle. "Just a little nervous, ma''am."


    Reith smiled at the vivid memories of his first operation. "Don''t despair, recruit. Even I sullied myself during my first mission. Though I must warn you, maintenance staff don''t take kindly to that," Reith said. A couple of the marines snickered.


    "Heck, it wouldn''t baffle me if your ass still did, sergeant," Eileen said as the lanterns dimmed and darkened the cargo bay. One minute left.


    "Ma''am, I think you should take up biology after this operation."


    "Snap it, Reith!"


    He smiled under his helmet; the previous tension was gone. His squad leader had her ways of calming the marines down, and he admitted to envy that careless attitude of hers, even if it was a fa?ade. There was a beauty under that headpiece as well, unlike himself.


    Yes, he would survive, Reith thought, like he always did.


    Then the Hermes crested the final ridge and, in the live camera feed from the cockpit at the corner of their heads-up display, the troopers got their first line-of-sight on the mission area; the capital city of the war-ridden planet Urizen, a colony belonging to The United Federation of Earth. Lines upon lines of elegant buildings in all shapes and hues coloured the landscape. A few of the skyscrapers stretched beyond a thousand metres into the clouds. A couple of those towers revealed as partially ruined, with gaping wounds multiple stories large, tracer bullets discharging like slender fingers reaching for the lower levels of the city.


    The lanterns lit up to a blazing orange, caught in the reflective metal of their combat armour. The turbulence started again as their aircraft was forced to jerk back and forth to avoid the anti-airs'' centipede of bullets. Thirty seconds remaining before the landing, if they survived.


    Reith held his breath as the neighbouring bulky Hermes in the corner of the camera feed exploded into a fireball and plummeted into a skyscraper, followed by another explosion as the fuel cells ignited. That was eight space-assault marines and their costly armours gone, millions of earthly dollars and eight brothers-in-arms gone in the blink of an eye. Despite the blasts and rattling of heavy machinery, the sound of Jack''s gasp was loud and clear in his helmet''s speakers. Not that Reith judged him since his own first operation was a lot gentler than this battle, but fear had a tendency to spread like a plague. "Shut it, recruit. Focus on the mission," he said.


    As Jack apologised, the lanterns shifted colour again to a lush green. Ten seconds.


    Multiple missiles launched from the aircraft''s wings and darted toward its target, and the rattling of the 90 mm gun turret located at the nose increased in intensity. A dust cloud rose at the field of impact of the missiles and served as a screen to the aircraft''s approach. In mere seconds afterwards, the ramp lowered, and the dusty daylight of this foreign planet fingered its way inside the cargo bay.


    Two corporals were the first to jump out, followed shortly by Reith and another marine. The Hermes hovered roughly twenty feet above ground level, and Reith controlled the descent with his embedded jetpack, while silently thanking the sturdiness of his armour as a projectile ricocheted off his breastplate. Tracer bullets darted above his head, fired blindly through the fog with the hope of finding an unlucky enemy. He lowered his head and¡ªdespite his internal protests to run to cover¡ª glanced back at the aircraft.


    Lieutenant Eileen and the second-in-command staff sergeant Petterson had already leapt from the bulky machine, their gauntleted hands tight around their battle rifles. Then he spotted Jack and another marine right behind, close to the lieutenant yet with a decent safety margin between each other. But at the same time, a Hawk missile tore through the smoke screen and struck the Hermes. It erupted into a sphere of blazing flames, enveloping the two marines, and the two field officers who were descending plunged down as the shock wave reached them.


    Reith was quick to react and managed to lessen the impact of his lieutenant, but the sergeant wasn''t as lucky. He skipped twice against the tarmac asphalt, and his limbs splayed, twisting at unnatural angles.


    As Reith dragged the whimpering Eileen across the pavement to the closest cover he could find¡ªa crashed car next to a large entrance to a hotel, or at least what Reith assumed to be a hotel¡ªthe dust cover dissipated, revealing that they had been dropped into a residential district. The building on either side of the narrow street, which was littered with debris, broken cars and civilian corpses, forced Reith to tilt his helmet to gaze upon the top. In front of him, the source of this mishap and the barrage of bullets was the bunkered manor¡ªthe objective of their mission.


    Reith quickly dipped behind the cover again as a stationed turret located him and hurled a volley of armour-piercing bullets through the car''s doors. One of the shots caught Eileen''s headpiece just above the ear, and blood splattered from the opening.


    "Fuck!" he cursed and threw himself into the threshold of the hotel. Reith counted the number of dots that coloured his movement detector. Three green dots, his own already morphed into a yellow as the microcomputer had calculated the meaning behind the loss of the lieutenant and the staff sergeant.


    He cursed to himself again and spoke into the helmet''s microphone. "Fall back to my position!"


    Damn Naval Intelligence Agency and their incompetence in failing to report something as important as a stationed reinforced 50 mm turret¡ªjudging by the sound. Despite his loyalty to the homeland, Reith was growing more certain on why they had started to lose battles and amused himself with the idea of desertion.


    The three surviving marines came into sight around the corner and quickly took cover as another barrage of 50 mm bullets assaulted their position.


    One of the survivors tilted his helmet as he looked at Reith and spoke through his helmet''s external speakers. "We have no way of destroying that turret. ''Fraid our rockets went with the privates, sir."


    The barrage terminated and silence followed, notwithstanding the occasional muffled explosion in the far distance. Reith¡¯s mind raced, as he considered the various approaches to this predicament. A direct head-on-head clash was impossible, and literally a death wish. On the other hand, so was long-distance engagement since they carried neither sniper rifles nor rocket launchers. As for orbital bombardment, the populace on Earth strictly forbid the use of such "cruelty," on the excuse that it was immoral and unethical. Or so they announced as they sat in cushioned chairs and imbibed on high-quality and expensive wine.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Reith snorted and changed the comms channel. "SAM Shadow to Command, do you read, over?"


    One of the marines quietly peered beyond the corner and quickly snapped her head back. She turned and shook her helmet.


    A crepitation rebound inside his helmet and the voice of a rasped man Reith had never heard followed. "This is Command, SAM Ghost is en route to provide assistance. Estimated time of approach is two minutes and thirty seconds. Stand by and don''t lose any more men, sergeant."


    Command central was located in outer space onboard the naval fleet guarding there, which was the resting station to his platoon, known as SAM¡ªspace-assault marines. What Reith despised with the command centre was their clandestine etiquettes, which dictated anonymity among the commanding officers that perched in the upper echelon of the navy. During operations, these unknown voices oversaw the managing of troop movement and the distribution of available support. And while Reith understood the need for meat shields in a war like this one, where the real enemies were behind and before them, he loathed being personally assigned to such a strategy.


    "Copy that, command. SAM shadow out." Reith cut the connection and glanced at the marines, Geoffrey, Erick and Lillian. One was on the lookout, the others fiddled with their weapons, but weren''t any less alert judging by their tensed shoulders.


    "Ghost is coming to our aid in roughly two and a half minutes. Got to hold our ground until then."


    The troopers nodded his way. "Shouldn''t be tough, sarge. Those cowards are hiding behind the big turret." The female marine on vigil was distinguishable by her lower height, a full head below her companions and one-and-a-half beneath Reith. A small target.


    "Good. Did you chance to notice any concerns during your short engagement?"


    She shook her head. "Outside the big one, it seemed in the main to be small-arms and sub-machine guns. Nothing our suits can''t handle."


    Reith returned to ponder over the approach. He had an idea which could work, but with his mind''s eye, he recalled the scene where Eileen was killed despite the cover and doubted the plan''s success rate. For now, at least, he would wait for Ghost.


    After Reith explained his battle plan to the marines, the calm continued a minute or so until the thick voice of lieutenant Bryan reached the helmet''s internal speakers. "Shadow, this is Ghost. We''re positioned and ready to provide support."


    Reith''s eyes lit up; it was time. "This is sergeant Reith, acting team leader of Shadow, we''re ready to assault as soon as you blast that damn 50 mill back to hell." When he raised his clenched hand, the squatted marines rose and brandished their battle rifles.


    "Copy that, stand by."


    Soon after the connection was cut, they heard the thunder of the turret blasting into pieces. And as if the sound pulled a string, the frontmost marine hastened to Eileen''s corpse and heaved her in front of him, using the body as a shield. Close behind trailed the others and returned the fire from the barricaded complex. Bullets ricocheted and dented the armour of the lieutenant, but nothing penetrated its sturdiness.


    The building loomed as an ashen wall to a fortification, with tiny murder holes scattered across, constantly winking from the muzzle flash of their firearms. In the centre of the building a platform bulged outwards and faced the narrow street in which Shadow team hurried along. Atop the balcony, large fires danced, and metal parts lay strewn about. The surviving members of the Revolutionariston the balcony quickly dropped dead in a pink mist as a barrage of bullets rained from above. Reith stole a look at the top of the buildings and spotted eight black figures leaning from the parapets, weapons raised and bullets discharged with lethal precision. Exactly how they had reached the roof that quick, was beyond Reith.


    They reached the front entrance in mere moments, and the marine hauling Eileen released her and equipped the previously holstered battle rifle, holding its butt tight against the shoulder blade. Reith stepped forward, raised his right leg and booted the metal doors just above the lock with a clank; it didn''t budge.


    Then he reached for his inner thigh pockets and retrieved two metal hemispheres that seemed to have been cut clean, both of which he thumbed the singular buttons on their crests and planted on the metal. The magnets inside the hemispheres activated as a semi-transparent countdown materialised in the corner of his vision. They retreated and sought cover behind the pillars that supported the platform above their heads.


    Reith did not allow their low number to deter him, and as the boom from the thermite charges detonated, he gestured the female marine next to him to press forward. It was shameless, and Reith despised himself for his weakness, but death was too much of a threat with all this uncertainty.


    Lillian dived ahead with Geoffrey and Erick tracing behind, followed by Reith at the rear. The room was grand and similar to the vestibule of a mansion on Earth, but any of the typical ornamental and luxurious furnishing lacking, instead replaced by wooden tables tilted to serve as mantlets for the rebels to fire behind.


    The Naval Intelligence Agency had reported to expected firm resistance, and the marines stormed hunched low with arms raised. But the rebels carried insignificant weapons whose projectiles clattered off their armour or ever so slightly dented the plate. It was not enough to cripple the marines and shortly after, the sources received a volley themselves.


    The marine''s battle rifles were decent at best in long-range engagement, but in close-quarters, the armour-piercing rounds shredded ugly holes in the rebels'' civilian shirts. Some of the targets dropped like stones. Others seemed to dance along with the impacts and swung in gory twirls before falling lifeless on the floor, the pools of blood beneath making a clear contrast to the porcelain floor.


    Start to finish, the carnage lasted less than five seconds, and a dozen rebels lay around them.


    Reith nodded to himself and spoke through their squad comms, "Geoffrey and Erick, secure the ground floor. Lillian, follow me to the first floor."


    The vestibule had three passages leading farther into the manor. Two passages were in the form of corridors opposite each other, blockaded by wooden tables wrapped with rebel corpses. On the other side of the shattered entryway was a carpeted staircase spacious enough for four men wide as kegs to walk shoulder-to-shoulder.


    Reith advanced first this time around and climbed the stairs with Lillian trailing close by his tail. The couple cleared chamber after chamber, finding every room vacant until he reached a double-door of the massive complex, which he assumed to be the final room. Again, he raised his right leg close to his chest and thrust just below the door handle. With a crash, the door flung open, and like hulking crabs, the pair stormed weapons up and scanning.


    They entered an ovoid chamber packed with vacant chairs and couches against the white walls. At the centre around a circular table stood four men hunched over a bunch of papers and a spherical holographic display which represented Urizen. As the door flung wide, they snapped their heads toward the sound, immediately shutting up whatever discussion they were engrossed in.


    Shadow team''s mission was clear; to recover any vital information that may serve as a watershed in their struggle against the Revolutionarist. Instead of investigating the entire complex and allow more deployed soldiers to perish, Reith figured some guidance would be of great assistance. Therefore he decided to leave a few of the rebels inside alive.


    And as Reith expected, the occupants inside the chamber carried only thin-barreled automatic pistols, and the female that reached for hers received a quick three-round burst to the chest, plunging her back on to the round table, arms outstretched, twitching.


    "On the ground!" Reith bellowed through his external speakers, the rasping turning him all the more menacing and mechanical. Thankfully the three remaining watched in horror and yielded, and Reith brought them to their knees. He immediately went to work and stripped them of arms and bound their wrists behind their backs with synthetic straps. Reith met the gaze of Lillian''s dark visor and slightly tipped his head¡ªshe was to watch the captives from here on out. Then, without a moment''s hesitation, Reith raised his rifle butt and crashed it down on the closest rebel''s calves.


    The rebel waited a full second before crying out, as if he was shocked by the sound of his leg snapping a moment after he surrendered. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs, long and loud. Reith waited patiently for the man to finish and catch his breath. Then Lillian spoke through the helmet''s speakers. "Where''s the data tablet?"


    Reith had assumed a single destroyed leg would be enough for the man to rat out its location. But the man remained silent and continued to glare at Lillian as Reith lifted the rifle butt again and destroyed his other limb.


    Without his legs to carry him, the man collapsed on to the floor, and Reith heard his teeth shatter with a crack like the sound of munching on an apple. Reith palmed the man''s jaw, directed his bloodied and teary gaze toward himself, and spoke. "I have all day, you know."


    "Storage room! In the storage room." The guttural words gurgled from his mouth and were almost incomprehensible, likely because of a couple of swallowed teeth.


    Reith glanced at the lone door in the room, notwithstanding the entry he previously breached, and contacted command centre again. "Team Shadow to Command, how do we manage the prisoners? Please advise, over."


    A moment of silence passed before a newcomer unfamiliar to the sergeant picked up the microphone. "How high-ranking do they appear, sergeant?"


    With a quick glimpse at their everyday grey attires and recalling their shabby small-arms, Reith replied, "Low."


    "Then neutralise them." There was no sympathy in his voice, and Reith reminded himself of what they had done to his wife as he unholstered his sidearm and fired a round against the back of their heads. Blood splattered, and the rebels toppled forward and lay there unmoving.


    <Unique trait obtained: Cruel>


    <Unique trait obtained: Bloodthirst>


    At the sound of the monotone voice, he raised his head and returned the silent stare of Lillian''s impenetrable visor. "Repeat that, Lillian."


    But Lillian tilted her helmet at an angle to indicate confusion, "I said nothing, Sarge."


    Reith dismissed his own confusion as the weariness from this stressful day. Or maybe it was his age starting to show. Either way, he had a mission to finish and no time for such faffing. "Forget what I said."


    He walked toward the wooden door where the objective of his mission was located. There had been no reply from other members of team Shadow, but he didn''t brood. Although the rebels were not genius strategists, they knew adequately to recognise the foolishness in not employing weapons capable of repelling the enemy. Only when he reached the door handle and tugged it open, did he realised that he was mistaken.


    <Trait gained: rebirth>


    <Unique passive obtained: Siphonage>

 2. Cradle of Destiny

    The earthquaking boom had startled him. When he''d tugged open the door, the world he once knew had collapsed into a sphere of heat and flames. A wall of immense pressure had thumped him against the back of the small office room, almost knocking him unconscious. Reith lamented not passing out since the excruciating torture of being burnt to dust inside a metal suit was a nightmare. Although the agony was short-lived, it was an experience he''d rather never suffer again.


    He took a ravenous breath and opened his eyes. He was bewildered but took great pleasure in the frigid air.


    Almost like a nightmare, Reith thought, but he knew it was far too real for any dream. He had perished from his hubris and gullibility, and this wasn''t the medical facilities located aboard the naval''s vessels. No, it was too enclosed and grey for it to be a regeneration pod or a surgical operating table. Reith simmered with resentment; they had abandoned him. The Naval Intelligence Agency, the Fleet Command Centre, Eileen, Lillian, and himself, they had all failed him.


    Reith controlled his breathing, although he did not feel a need to breathe, inhaling through the nose, exhaling through the mouth, just as they chastened into every trainee on boot camp. When he had gathered his shambolic mess of a mind, he took notice of the scarlet cushions beneath him. They were soft as fur but ostensibly resembled something similar to satin. Almost as peculiar as the inexplicably lit grey box, which encased him. Reith craned his head a moment in search of the light source but soon lolled back without an answer.


    Although remnants of his anger lingered, he funnelled all his attention toward the problem above him. It reminded him of a coffin, although the walls were of rock as opposed to the traditional, cheaper wood. Even more perplexing was why someone had done it. In the Space-Assault Marine Battalion, the burial regulations strictly commanded that any casualties of the battalion who perished in combat were to be ejected deep into space. But Reith unquestionably sensed some gravity, an indication that either he was buried deep underground or had encountered a stray planet on his journey to the underworld. Either way, the longer he remained idle in this coffin, the higher the chance of suffering oxygen deprivation and possibly suffocate¡ªand Reith did not fancy another round of dying.


    He raised his arms to get a feel of the slab above him, the rock cutting and cold beneath his fingers. He gawked at his hand, alien and eerie; the complexion was pallid and the skin haggard. The fingers were enlarged and slender, embellished with jagged, raven-black claws¡ªsimilar to a cat''s, only studier, sharper, and longer. Reith found it hard to digest, but its size and length felt intrinsic as if it were his authentic shape.


    "What am I?" he muttered under his breath. He retrieved his arms, his previous worries forgotten, and brushed his face with extreme caution, suddenly afraid to get cut and catch an infection in this dusty coffin. The cheeks were porous with what little skin remained sleek, the lipless mouth packed with jutting teeth and two elongated fangs. When he reached for his eyes, he discovered them vacant.


    "Impossible!" he blurted but swiftly overcame his fright. Now was not the time to brood, Reith knew. He lifted his arms again, palms against the slab. If he truly were buried deep underground, there was no chance for him to escape this confinement. But he refused to believe in that possibility, lest his fragile confidence would vanish like dust in the wind. And with all the strength his alien arms could marshal, the slab launched into the air, then crumpled upon contact with the cave ceiling, its debris clattering about inside the cavern.


    Stupified, Reith climbed out of the coffin with ancient limbs which cracked as if they had been in slumber for hundreds of years and glanced around the room with mild curiosity. Spikes of rock lay strewn about within the oblong cave, its many inhabitants scuttling on their small sharp legs disturbingly loud back toward the fissures peering from the walls. There were spiders, centipedes and other creatures Reith had never encountered before, despite having ventured on many of Earth''s outer and more exotic colonies. Some were large as forearms, others the size of a thumb.


    Reith stretched his stiff limbs, then glanced at the lone coffin in the room. It reminded him more of a sarcophagus, with adroitly chiselled outlines similar to pictures he remembered from his history books, from ancient Egypt. They portrayed a tale of gallantry and death: a story where a knight courted a princess, set out on a journey to later encounter a giant of a man. The two beings clashed swords, but the knight fell to a swift jab in the chest. Before he died, however, he waved a gesture in the air, and the giant shrieked as both the man and him collapsed.


    Reith lifted his fingers from the etchings and looked over at the looming door at the end of the tapering cave. Bands of metal reinforced the dark wood. He crossed the rock floor and palmed the door, creaking on its rusty hinges as a corridor slowly emerged before him. A slight brisk assailed him; his supple cape draped round his collar rippling along with his hair reaching his lower shoulders. Running his fingers along the rough wall, Reith ascended the narrow corridor winding left or right at every corner.


    The thumping of his leather boots against stone accompanied him until the passage hollowed out into a cavern comparable to the one stuffed with insects and the sarcophagus. Only different from that room, this was smaller, warmer, and¡ªto Reith''s delight¡ª devoid of life. Although his current objective was to locate the nearest town, in hopes of answering his questions, he was profoundly troubled over how the residents might react to his new looks. Assuming the populace were the humans he knew, he doubted the encounter would be a pleasant reunion. Consequently, Reith wished some time to craft a mask to veil his appearance.


    The air was dank and carried the freshness of the outside. At the opposite side of the cave mouth was another fissure, spears of sunlight visible through the crack. Spread haphazardly around the cave were jutting rocks. At the base of these, tiny ponds of sheet ice and gloom. The walls were glistening as Reith walked calmly across the chilled floor.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Idly contemplating on who to contact after reaching the closest town, a shadow stirred in the corner of his vision. His head whirled around, eyes darting to and fro, but he detected nothing but empty shadows and blueish rock. Now that Reith ruminated over his irrational strength, he started to realise that he may not be the only being of such preternatural powers. And at that moment he also sensed he was without heart, or else the tiny thing would be wildly drumming its cacophony.


    He continued onward, slightly faster than before, vigilant. While Reith would happily admit the former shadow might have been a sign of his paranoia, his gut was bellowing otherwise. There was so much he didn''t know about this world, and he dared not gamble on surviving an attack from one of those insects, small as they were. But then he sidestepped around a tall rock and its frozen pond, and a smudge manifested at the back of his mind, inching closer.


    Before he could react, his tensed nerves acted on their own, and he pirouetted and punched his fist forth where he presumed the root of the throbbing at the back of his mind to be. Reith felt a sturdy body collide with his knuckles before launched back whence it came with a loud crunch, which reminded him of chalk against a blackboard.


    It was a giant serpent with black protruding scales, a small depression located at its underbelly where Reith had struck, the scales there cutting inward and purple blood seeping. At the sight of the gleaming purple liquid, foreign energy surged through the veins of Reith''s body, watering his mouth and parched throat, kindling his nerves and muscles and loins. For a second, his undivided attention remained funnelled upon that delicacy, and the need to gorge it.


    He wrenched himself out of the tumult, then focused on the elongated fangs of his assailant. In the beginning, he had feared the damage the moving shadow could inflict with whatever poison it wielded. But observing now the deep purple droplets leak and sizzle against the stone, leaving behind small cavities as it dissipated into the air, made him realise how much he again had underestimated this world.


    The snake started to slither in circles, its dark beads of eyes following Reith, displaying menace and strength. The occasional hiss and wheeze of the snake or the patter of the drops plunging off the ceiling filled his ears. Then the wind from the large fissure leading outside increased in ferocity. And although it was unremarkable, the temperature plummeted, and the crackle of freezing renovated throughout the room. Phantom sweat dripped from Reith''s forehead, but he felt oddly peaceful without his drumming heartbeats. He knew his fists could damage the creature, evident by the oozing depression, but then there was the unanswerable question on how to approach it while avoiding the purple acid.


    As Reith pondered, the serpent suddenly vanished, its shadow lingering a mere moment before it materialised as a smudge again at the back of his mind. It propelled at a speed which would rival a Hermes aircraft. But Reith was swifter and ducked as he sent an uppercut. The snake couldn''t react in time, and his fist struck at the wound, penetrated through the gelatinous inside and emerged on the other side with a splatter of purple blood. It flopped limply over his shoulder.


    His fangs were in the serpent before he could appreciate the victory, the blazing energy from earlier turned overwhelming. He gorged on the creature''s lifeblood with ardour, the mouthfuls drowning his sense of fatigue, filling his body with renewed vigour. Although Reith was a man far from qualified to claim what would be considered humans'' best dish, he would stake his soul this blood transcended even that. It was sweet, but not too sugary, and it contained tastes he never knew existed.


    <Skill acquired: Teleportation>


    Reith halted his feast and scanned the surroundings, exasperated. Someone had dared to interrupt his meal! And to add salt to injury, it was the woman who spoke before the bomb triggered, her evocative voice murdering his great mood.


    "Show yourself!" he bellowed, dropping the near exsanguinated carcass. He continued to look around, but when the woman neither emerged nor talked again, Reith concluded it to be his madness.


    At first, he tried to call her out inside his head, make her talk once more. A whisper to start, but yelling at the end. However, it did not work, and the woman maintained silence. Then Reith tried to inquire about the meaning behind her gibberish; cruel, bloodthirst, siphonage, teleportation, rebirth, the words made no sense. But it did not take long for Reith to start to understand as he continued to meditate on the words, even if they were mere speculations.


    After taking the final dregs from what remained of the serpent, Reith resolved to attempt to substantiate one of his most feasible assumptions. He reached inside himself in search of that foreign energy from earlier. Reith was confident it could be linked up to the vexatious woman. And if it were, he also figured it would become a prerequisite to his survivability in this enigmatic world, where reasonable judgement and sound logic had ceased to exist.


    By the time his patience had run thin, and he was about to yield, his probing finally met with success. He happened upon a raging current within his body, reaching from toes to head, swelling a couple of metres past his skin before dwindling. It fluctuated with invisible powers, enough to make him tremble. But then the woman in his head returned.


    Suddenly, the world blazed with colours. There were translucent motes of glow dancing all around the cavern, but even so, it did not in the slightest hinder his line-of-sight of the background. In fact, it was as if a third, detached eye was observing the spectacle.


    Reith smiled. While he gladly accepted another ability to his arsenal, he felt more gratified by the validation of his speculation, which postulated that his preternatural powers were related to the peevish voice and the enigmatic energy, presumably named magyk.


    This time Reith willed <Teleportation>, and in his mind''s eye pictured himself by the inclined cave mouth opposite the one from where he''d entered. He estimated it was a ten-metre walk from his current position, but in a heartbeat, he materialised at the threshold and towered over the hollow, populated now with nothing but the carcass of the snake and rocks. An insubstantial portion of the blazing inferno of magyk enveloping him dispersed¡ªthe cost of utilising the serpent''s ability.


    "So any abilities I acquire become intuitive to use," Reith said, nodding to himself, satisfied. The more he could apprehend of this alternative reality, the better he would manage alone.


    With a final glance at the previous battlefield, Reith ascended the narrow corridor. Rays of light of the day fingered its way into the nightly dungeon, and as he continued, the chilled air diminished into a soft summer warmth.


    A landscape of dense forest spread out as he exited, trees so tall they almost veiled the mountain range behind and were coated with snow, a clear contrast to the summer warmth he sensed. To the south of the cave mouth, almost wholly hidden, a towering shaft of stone rose. Based on what he could see, Reith reckoned a few weeks travel by foot would suffice. Other than the shaft of stone, he spotted little more than trees and more mountains.


    Just when Reith considered on where to travel, the wind shifted, and a faint odour of roasted chicken drifted from the east. Then he entered the forest.

 3. The Confrontation

    Reith prowled the wild woods in search of the waft. The pale skin of the trees mingled with the snow. Fingers of moonlight prodded through the dark canopy hanging above him, casting spotlights on the treacherous undergrowth. At first, he had struggled to find purchase in the slick footing, where roots and stones and hidden sinks hid to trip up the careless traveller. He had stumbled and tripped more than he could recall. Now he sped through the forest with ease and swift as a panther.


    He advanced through a thicket, then started up the slant to a low, dense hillock. The leaves rustled as he broke through, and Reith grew exasperated as the reaching branches continued to tug on his magnificent sable cloak of linen and fur; he moved fluid like a panther, but not as silent. Atop the crest guarded a giant ghost tree, its low-hanging branches a foot off the ground. Under the thin crust of snow, the earth was damp and muddy. Reith slipped in with a thud underneath, flat on his belly in snow and mud, and glanced over the clearing below.


    Skewered over a sizzling fire was a strange creature similar to a hare, the heart of the waft, with two men seated next to it, their gloved hands stretched out in a hunt for warmth. They were donned in thick fur and clattered of chainmail when they shifted on the wooden stubs. A tent of cotton had been erected slightly behind, close to a frozen brook that gleamed in the moonshine. Their horses nested by the treeline, tethered by rope and occasionally nickering.


    His eyes darted back and forth between the horses and the men; four horses yet two men, likely two more who rested inside the tent. The stallions were too close to the campfire for one to approach unnoticed. Then he spotted a rack, loaded with swords angled against the tent wall, right next to a convoluted wooden stick crowned with a crimson crystal ball.


    This world may be primitive, but Reith knew it would be a mortal blunder to underestimate it. He reckoned a weapon was required to survive, and a sword would surely be a prerequisite in that regard.


    He stood and hulked downhill in the shadows, swerving from the light like the plague. Careful on his way to not snap any grounded branches, he arrived on the other side of the frozen waters and paused to eavesdrop the conversation of the two occupied men.


    "Heard Lord Kenward''s been recruiting adventurers a while now. You know they say he pays aplenty." A loud voice and a robust man should Reith have judged by the sound alone.


    "I wouldn''t gamble on it. Gods know what the Lord is plotting if he''s hiring folk like us. But whatever it is, I don''t want a part of it, and neither should you." An older fellow, though wise and untouched by his years. A dangerous opponent.


    Reith activated <teleportation> and materialised on the opposite side, a precaution in case the ice didn''t run deep as he thought. The shelter turned out smaller than he first anticipated and had to hunch to remain hidden. Faint snoring sounded from the inside. Then he started inching closer to the corner where he last witnessed the rack.


    "I reckon it''s safer than sauntering these haunted woods prowled by wargs and Frosted. You know damn well as me your daughter''s the only who might survive an encounter with one of them."


    Reith peered around the corner and spotted the men. Smart as they were, a scabbard dangled on the flank of the younger one, while the older had unsheathed his blade, laid it across his lap, and brushed it with oilcloth until it shone in the moonlight.


    "Remind me again, old man," the younger said. "Why did you accept the child''s ludicrous request?"


    The man sighed and placed down the oilcloth. "My heart is exhausted, Rick. I can''t handle losing another girl. The lordling once saved Ilsa''s life, so she and I owed him a great deal. When he called upon her, honour bound us to obey."


    Rick gave a cynical laugh. "Honour! What good does honour dead men?" Then he scowled and said, "I''ve decided to leave on the morrow¡ªyou and Ilsa are welcome to join me. I''ve had enough of this cold."


    Reith edged around the corner and reached for the closest longsword, eyes glued on the pair, vigilant against any sudden movement.


    "Ilsa will be saddened to hear¡ª"


    The wooden staff with the crystal crown dropped on to the snow with a soft thud, yet the sound was discernable to anyone with a decent ear. As the men spun around, Reith darted back behind the shelter with the sword in hand, cursing at his carelessness.


    "Who goes there!" Rick bellowed, his voice a little too loud in the sudden silence. There was the sound of metal against metal as he drew his blade. Reith clenched his grip on the leather handle of his sword when rustling resounded from within the tent interior.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Swords were something of an anachronism in his era, found only in insignias or on ancient statues. His military education had never touched upon the topic of swords, let alone instruct him on how to wield one properly. Given time, he was confident to learn it, but right now he lacked time and was about to face masters at the craft. Everything Reith knew about medieval combat, derived in the main from the ancient general Sun Tzu, told him violence would only bode ill for him.


    Reith gritted his teeth and fastened the stolen sword under his leather belt, then he stepped forth with his hands slightly raised above his head. "I wish no harm," he said as the men halted their slow advance. Rick''s eyes widened, while the old man squinted in confusion. Reith noticed how tiny the two were, nearly two feet lower than himself.


    Out of the tent scrambled a smaller, middle-aged woman, her short hair brown and grimy and dishevelled. Neither side moved a second as the scarred and disfigured female positioned herself at the rear of the party, silent but alert of the invader. A network of thin threads ran within her, coloured in every hue imaginable; likely the female''s magyk pool, Reith surmised.


    "An undead, out here?" Rick said, baffled but without a whiff of cowardice in him. Arguably a splendid trait in a warrior, but often the single reason behind their demise, or so believed Reith.


    "I am Reith Lornhart," he said, but the opposition paid his word no heed.


    "I''ve never seen one like it," the old man said, clinking as he started to encircle him, sword raised and ready. Rick paced around to his other flank, slow and steady. Reith sucked in a mouthful of frigid air through gritted teeth and spoke again, "I am unarmed!"


    The old man halted as his blade flashed blue and a mist poured out of the shimmer like their bone-white breath. Despite the bizarre magic the man operated, Reith sensed him devoid of magyk. He snuck a peek at Rick and discovered an identical result.


    "If you are a creature of peace, turn around and leave, undead," the old man said. His shoulders were tensed, and Reith spotted the droplets rolling down his face.


    "I''m afraid I can''t leave just yet," Reith said.


    Before he''d managed to elaborate, Rick lunged at his exposed rear, sword pointed for a swift jab. The speed of his dash paled in comparison to the serpent he''d encountered in the cave, yet astonished Reith even so. More fearsome than the blade itself was the sizzling azure mist, which stole Reith''s undivided attention.


    By the time Rick assailed Reith''s position, he''d activated <Teleportation> and emerged at the stern of the old man, who''d stirred the moment his companion charged. The teamwork of the pair was remarkable as they gained his initial position at the very same instant.


    Then Reith drew his sheathed blade and thrust it at the man''s backbone, punched through fur, leather, mail, skin, and bone with unexpected ease. Blood welled around the tear, saturating and darkening the brownish coat. The man produced a noise that sounded like a mix between a gasp and a sigh, almost as if confused on which was appropriate. He fell on to his knees with the now split sword jutting out of his back.


    In a kindled fury, Rick slid forward and jabbed at his legs in an attempt to maim. Reith sidestepped the thrust by a slim margin, but the mist stoked his skin and burnt where it touched. Despite the ache, he caught the man''s wrist and drove the broken sword handle against his elbow joints. With his arms held out straight, Reith pivoted him and sunk his two fangs into his neck and stilled the man.


    When he retracted his teeth in utter repugnance at the vile taste, it occurred to him he''d neglected the female magician, the target he''d designated as the most hazardous at the moment she''d emerged. He found her some feet out of his reach, fingers splayed and moistened eyes shining in the moonlight. She muttered low under her breath and finished preparing whatever magic she worked. "Flaming whip."


    Motes of light danced around her fingertips, then an instant later a stream of fire gushed out, scourged at a ludicrous velocity. Without an opportunity to dodge, he took on the impact with his left arm and prayed to the world''s deities for its persistence to stand. The whip twirled around his forearm and fizzled against his skin. In the tightness, the string stung like hundreds of bees. Reith made a low grunt as he grabbed the manifested rope of fire and yanked with all the strength he could marshal. The woman plunged face-first on the hard soil, and the fire whip evaporated along with a gust of wind.


    Reith caressed his forearm, his sleeved overcoat tattered where the fire had contacted, the skin blackened and hurting at the slightest touch. While it hadn''t burnt like the time he was incinerated, it evoked memories he''d rather forget.


    He poked the flank of Rick with his foot and, since there were no reactions, crossed over to the magician and crouched. She puffed heavy.


    Her skin was soft beneath his fingers as he flipped her round. The bloody mess of her face came into view; shattered teeth, skewed nose, pebbles, mud, and snow created a scene in her left eye. Cuts and bruises covered the rest of her scarred features.


    "Your name is Ilsa if I understood rightly. Can you speak?"


    Ilsa slightly curled her torn lips, then leaned her head as much as she managed to spit a ball of blood and teeth on his boot. Reith wrinkled his nose but remained composed. He couldn''t afford an emotional outbreak over petty games, lest his swelling urges to devour seized control and undermined his purpose here. The dwindled magyk pool of hers made such a restraint far easier.


    "I truly wished no harm, you know," he said. "Yet you dishonoured my act of submission. Hurt me, even." He brandished his scorched arm.


    Ilsa glowered into his vacant eyes and spoke, her voice hardly more than a rasp. "You''re no more than a beast," she said.


    Reith ignored her remark and continued, "But I can look past the transgression in exchange for simple information."


    The smile disappeared as she weighed his proposal. Reith stood by her side silent until she finally agreed. "I''ll answer."


    The undead grinned like a fool. "We have much to talk about, Ilsa."

 4. Awakened Soldier

    As the overcast sun dawned, the lone wanderer chose to set camp for the morn. These past seven days, a snowstorm had wreaked havoc on the land, and snow reached the shin, and felled trees of eerie size obstructed the path around every corner.


    The cold had plunged to unheard depths that made even the undead''s rotten skin prickle. Reith settled for the depression screened by a canopy of logs that reached him in height.


    He gathered the twigs and branches that looked suitable and cast <Flaming Whip> to kindle the campfire. With the gale howling from beyond the wooden wall, Reith huddled and burrowed further inside the woollen cloak.


    It was beyond his wisdom how the chill could affect a corpse-like body such as his. If he barely endured, how could the humans he had encountered expect to survive? In hindsight, he should''ve demanded the pyromancer to leave these secrets. Just his confidence in withstanding this freezing muck worsened by every sunrise.


    Comfortable as best one could get, he brought out the pouch fastened to his hips, loosened the rope, and fished out a leather book courtesy of his recent acquaintance. He unwrapped the oilcloth and unclasped the latch that held it close, and continued the story of warrior Rick and his entourage. It was almost magic how such a tiny work of ink and pen would prove to be Reith''s salvation. In the sharp winter, all by his lonesome in the dark, little motivation existed but the dread of freezing to death. The book was his only friend, one who judged not, told stories, and would hear to his troubles without raising his voice or sword. The diary was honest, and Reith learnt more of the world than he ever would from a dying tongue.


    "The battle of the Iron March. Not only are they antiquated, but they are terrible at names," Reith mumbled and shook his head comically. Talking to himself was one of the bad habits he''d struck upon as of late, though it had served to alleviate the stress of recent events and the attempting to justify everything. But even Reith who bore pride as flexible and combat-hardened failed to produce any results and concluded that he should surrender to what the end of the path would present him. That would surely be better than freezing here, he mused.


    Somewhere off in the woods a wolf howled. Reith paused and lifted his head to the dark, roaring sky. Life. All the creatures he had skirted so far were skeletons or recent ice sculptures. He carefully returned the journal before dashing across the white ocean in a mad passion, curious to no end. Any obstruction that emerged was quickly circumvented by activating <Teleportation>.


    A wolf wrapped in the colours of night lay fluffed and silent in the crimson snow, with a tint of frost already slithered around the gaping wound on its neck. Though it was difficult to make out, the wolf easily topped a metre. Nearby a similar but oversized wolf latched around the throat of a thing. Tall, it was, and slim with the complexion of the deep winter forest. The branched body oozed with sap from wounds of teeth and claws. It sleekly sailed to the still animal on limbs silent as a thief with a complete disregard for the wrath of the flailing wolf. Slender wooden fingers reached for the carcass.


    Reith appeared behind the wood-man, seized any nicks and the neck of the wolf, and marshalled all his strength into launching the monster against the closest tree. Splinters scattered and the collision deafened the wailing gusts a mere moment, followed by the once colossal tree dropping. To his chagrin, the wood-man rose impervious to any hurt, his attack seemingly less powerful than the much smaller wolf fighting under his grasp.


    "A shame, really... That would be quite the story to tell my colleagues," Reith said. The wolf fled his grasp as he poised himself to combat this behemoth. Tougher than snakes or humans, he surmised. <Teleportation> activated, and Reith emerged in front of its faceless head, promptly to retreat as soon as the wooden finger closed in. Fast, faster than anything he''d ever encountered! He touched his hollow chest. His sudden breathing became shallow, even though he needed it not.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    He retreated a step but shortly stopped at the sound of growling. Behind him the wolf guarded its kin, head lowered and teeth snarled, with glaring red eyes that promised menace. Not a speck of fear perceived. Yes, he couldn''t, wouldn''t, cringe when a much weaker opponent could stand defiantly against the faceless grim reaper. How low had his warrior spirit plummeted?


    A deep breath, and <Teleportation> activated. If melee was out of the question, then ranged would be the response. As he reappeared on a branch of a tree in the proximity, the wood-man thrust himself swiftly toward that very point. With a quick lash of <Flaming Whip>, he departed to another tree within the vicinity and watched the monster crash the branch to smithereens. Three additional fire-whips and relocations and it turned into a bonfire.


    Reith checked his magyk reserves; this time around it had decreased noticeably, yet oceans apart from a worrisome level. Abashed, was he too, that he had even considered bolting with his tail between his legs against this foe that proved easy to defeat.


    Then, moments before the wood-man collapsed, it produced a high, thin cry comparable to that of an animal in anguish. Reith covered his ears in agony as the intensity scaled, the wolf behind howling in misery. Then the world reverted to utter tranquillity, arms of light clawing its way through the overcast sky. The enraged winds picked up, and Reith shifted his attention from the burning wreck to the slumped wolf.


    "No! Don''t you die on me now!"


    Reith crouched next to the bitch and monitored after a pulse. Without an idea of her biology, it proved difficult. That was another thing to contemplate about in the future. There, albeit weakening by the second.


    Reith scouted the vicinity for anything practical, but there was nothing of interest beyond firewood. He cursed. That was when he discerned the faint remains of magyk in the dead hound. Yes, perhaps the acquisition of another ability could save her. "Sorry, little fellow, you tried your hardest to protect him for nought."


    He repositioned her on a bed of snow as gentle as he managed, then locked his fangs into the dead wolf. For once, this was without any sense of desire but with a single purpose. The foreign energy remained dormant as the evocative female''s voice emerged.


    <Skill improved: Bloodthirst II>


    <Skill acquired: Shadow Walk>


    The snow shuffled in a scurry as Reith flung his fist into the ground. Based on the inherent feelings that accompanied a new skill, he determined it the most useless out of them all. Stealth wouldn''t save the wolf.


    Defeated, he hunkered down next to the beast and caressed its neck. Fluffy and warm, it reminded him of his Shepherd back in the real world.


    "Warm," Reith reiterated. Then the most ludicrous idea developed in his mind, one so abstract that Reith questioned to whom it truly belonged. From his pouch he retrieved a serrated dagger designed for flaying game, but likely just as useful for undead dissecting. It wasn''t without hesitation, but he steeled his resolve and delivered a broad cut on his wrist.


    Dark-blue blood trickled down the arm and into the mouth of the wolf, seemingly without an end in sight. Teeth decorated in a cloudy blue, an odd combination of sap and blood, soon equalled the blue eyes that slowly morphed from red. By the time Reith began to feel light-headed, the wolf trembled like an earthquake, then hack as though she was dying.


    <Familiar acquired: Undead Matriarch Shadow Direwolf>


    Although surprised, Reith discharged any extraneous thoughts and funnelled his attention on the revived wolf.


    "Girl, can you understand me? Are you well?"


    She glanced at him, snarled then shuffled herself to the exsanguinated carcass. The wind abated, and soon Reith caught the rustle of leaves a distance apart but advancing fast. By the time he realised they were in danger, the wolf had drowsed off next to her mate, or pup. Reith flung both around each shoulder and followed the direction he presumed was where he''d last seen the stone tower.


    When Reith stole a glance behind him, multiple silhouettes emerged behind the wall of darkness, from all sides, around the burning remains. Then he pledged never to confront a wood-man ever again.

 5. The Fool, the World

    They had left the storm behind and resumed until nightfall. After a brief burial ceremony that Yarrow, the direwolf''s name that Reith settled on, barely authorised, and following a couple of bite wounds that quickly regenerated, the party continued until daybreak, where across open ground an ostensibly impervious fortification dug in between the mountains emerged.


    Ancient stone walls risen to protect against the atrocious ahead and guard towers that lined the run of it. Weathered, neglected banners that displayed a roaring lion were located here and there above grated windows that looked too tiny for archery. In the centre of all loomed a gate, reinforced by eerie metal. Black as sin it glimmered in the shadow, almost as if alive. Beyond the walls rose a single column that dwarfed all else, shouldering the sky.


    Seconds after setting foot upon the snowfield, the sound of winding horns reverberated throughout the valley, scattering birds and curious animals alike. Seemingly caught off-guard, men dressed in heavy clothing of black and white, one after another, emerged at the battlement, shabby-looking bows in hand. Each man enjoyed the same symbol found on the banner embroidered to their chest along with a hood and scarf which veiled their features.


    Yarrow growled threateningly as tens of nicked arrows pointed towards them. Unless the bows were supplied with enigmatic magic, a feat that he doubted since no one exhibited symptoms of magyk, Reith was confident in surviving any barrage they loosed at him. In his time travelling, he had experimented a little and reasoned that he couldn''t die from simplistic physical attacks. Though if practical, he would like to avoid testing that theory.


    A man whose clothing was of better quality and cut than the rest made an appearance above the gate. Doubtless, he carried authority among the guardsmen and was the first to talk.


    "Stand your ground or endure the Empire''s wrath!" A single arrow was loosed and lodged into the snow a few metres from the pair. Truly a better presentation than his last encounter with mankind. At least they granted him the opportunity to reason with them. So Reith halted and stroked Yarrow to follow suit.


    "You''re intelligent, though I suspected as much from your strange pet. Good. Now, do you understand me? Who are you, and state your business with the Empire?"


    Reith remained silent as he weighed how to respond. He wished to introduce himself as humble, but the image of subjecting himself to humans provoked him. It should be the humans who kneel and petition for survival, not him. Since when had he started to view humankind with such distaste? Was that the aftermath of recent events or the repercussion of occupying an inhuman vessel?


    By the time the officer had become annoyed, Reith replied. "I am Reith, a wanderer," he said. As for his business, even he had yet to ascertain that. What was his purpose by arriving here? True, information was imperative for survival, especially now that he had experienced first-hand what abomination existed in the world, but what about beyond that? For the first time in the past week, Reith reflected on how to return to his universe, presuming that they were separate ones.


    "Good, you speak our language. Then I must request you to forget Mont Bastion and return, for monsters have no affairs in the Empire of Man," the officer said and sketched an apologetic bow.


    Reith furrowed. "I don''t believe you realise, captain. If I turn, the wood-men should swarm me. You must allow me passage as I have nowhere else to go."


    That invoked some laughs among the officer and his men. "The gods have your wood-men. No, I have got my orders. Not that I would permit freaks like you to roam behind the Walls."


    Reith rested his hand on the dagger deftly concealed underneath the cloak and put the other hand on the direwolf''s head, who snarled at the guards. She hated the men more than himself, it seemed.


    "I guess luck never was my strong suit. Very well, as you wish." Reith sighed and stepped forward into the range of the guards, crusted snow crunching beneath his boots, the wind far too calm for what was about to occur. He really wanted no bloodshed, but everyone he''d bumped into despised him for mindless reasons.


    The commander raised an arm, "Archers, dra¡ª"


    "¡ªCease, halt, don''t loose, you wretched fools!" From one of the towers a tall, brawny man stormed, with arms flailing like a madman. He snuck a glance at Reith, nodded to his puzzlement, and struck the commander at the back of his head. "Stand down!"


    The commander failed to comprehend what had just transpired, but when he realised he shuddered and glared with loathing at the newcomer. "Have you gone mad, Lord Gawain!"


    Reith had paused to observe the discord that left him as confused as the guards along the battlement who''d lowered their bow at the command. It was clear that incidents like these weren''t frequent atop the fortification.


    "As should I ask you, Lord Lycheres. Has the cold robbed you of standard procedure? Look again but with true vision."


    Though vexed, Lycheres mumbled and spun around, his black eyes flicking into a winter-blue, then widened while his legs buckled from underneath. Far from a lordly demeanour. Gawain seemed satisfied as he signalled to some men out of view.


    Slowly the gate rolled up into the wall to reveal a lengthy corridor with murder holes scattered about. Two plumply-dressed swordsmen leapt out yet halted at the sight of the guests'' striking appearance, particularly the wild direwolf at his side.


    "Escort the undead and his pet to my quarters with haste. And my lord, please arise. You are embarrassing our honour.


    The ushers, tensed and vigilant, hurried with quick steps and brought Reith and Yarrow through the declined fortress. Fallen stone lay dispersed across the open training range, with worn buildings of ancient wood that encircled the courtyard to house their quarters, armoury, cookery, and stables. They continued past and onto one of the taller towers.


    The swordsmen stopped just outside the entrance. "Just past this door, my..." His thoughts trailed off as he sought for the appropriate word.


    "Lord," Reith blurted, almost subconsciously. Surprised at himself, he inspected the guardsman.


    "Then just past this door, my lord." Muffled in a scarf with the hood pulled down over his head, he proved difficult to scrutinise and exhibited no emotions. And yet the man reeked of anxiety.


    "Come on, Yarrow. This Gawain seems like a good man, don''t you think."


    The hide of an exotic animal welcomed the pair as they entered. The eyes were scooped and antlers severed, but the long beak of a cream white revealed it as a bird-creature. Wings that caught Reith in length stretched across the floor all the way up to the crackling hearth.


    "A magnificent work, wouldn''t you agree?"


    Lord Gawain entered from behind. "Caught back in my time with the Drekars." Reith stayed silent as the man continued his ramble. "Told me I was a lunatic, they did. Maybe I was. They hunt in packs and feast usually on dragonlings, but will not shy away from a lump of meat like old me." He guffawed and settled down cosily on the chair by the fire. Two mugs and a wineskin had tactfully been placed on opposite ends of the table, and Gawain gladly helped himself to what resembled red wine.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Reith examined the interior. It was remarkably barren for a high-ranked officer. A trestle table, a dozen simple chairs, a working desk, and a bookshelf adjacent to it. There was another door, likely to the lord''s living quarters. It should be challenging to ambush under Yarrow''s watch, yet it never hurt to pay some attention to the small possibilities.


    "Care for a drink?"


    "I am willing to try," Reith said. After the encounter with Ilsa and her companions, curiosity had gripped him, and he tried the roasted hare-looking animal, only to have discovered that it was without taste. The lack of taste buds rendered the wine unsavoury, so Reith put down the mug dissatisfied. Some alcohol would''ve been appreciated.


    "Not to your taste? My apologies, I didn''t expect a being like yourself at my table any more than the next man."


    Reith sat down, the chair croaking and groaning under his weight. "About that," he said, having reached a quick decision. "Do you know what I am?"


    Gawain''s spirited smile froze under his grizzled beard. His blue eyes walked over Reith, like a lion stalking its prey, then he sighed and scuffed his bridge. "Would that I could. You carry the body of the undead, the fangs of beast-men, and claws that I have never seen. An all-powerful beast-man that went wild in the Cursed Land and frosted, that''s my best guess."


    "Frosted? Someone I met before mentioned the very same."


    Gawain glanced briefly at Yarrow, lounging by the fire. "No man has ever ventured beyond the Milky Mountains. It is small wonder that they call the endless north the Cursed Land as anyone who perishes beyond these walls, are affected by the evil that the northern winds command. They arise as undead, usually devoid of intelligence, though never have I seen one so strong with magyk like yourself. Only these are the frosted."


    Reith analysed what that implied; he was a frosted, or at least in their eyes. The question that remained on his mind was what about the sarcophagus? Unquestionably, it had been built centuries ago with the decay and negligence the area presented. It prompted that his past self, or rather the original master, was prominent or infamous enough to receive burial in something so luxurious. But why inside the Cursed Land? Another enigma which greatly disturbed him was whether the other undead were people like him or actual mindless monsters.


    "Or so the legends have it," Gawain continued. "I am more concerned about an arrangement between the two of us." Under the watchful stare of Yarrow, he walked to the edge of the desk and fetched a quill, ink, and parchment.


    "An arrangement? And exactly what would this involve?"


    Gawain returned to his seat. "This would not perchance be your first time encountering men? I suspected as much. Your eyes convey the disdain for us, typical among they who believe humans feeble and foolish."


    Reith revealed his astonishment. The man in front of him must have a talent in reading people since his feelings appeared to him like an open book. A dangerous opponent in negotiations.


    "But I blame you not, especially with men like Derik Lycheres in power. However, not all of us are boneheaded like him. The rest are sly and more deceptive than the vilest species. And greedy beyond all else. You see, a creature like you, unknown to mankind, would be valued like gold dust. They would hunt you until you fled past the walls, or died trying."


    Gawain managed a weak smile as Reith narrowed his eyes, exasperated by how he underestimated him, a person devoid of magyk. With the flick of his finger, he could with ease pulverise the man''s head and massacre anyone in the garrison. However, Reith recognised the logic that this wasn''t necessarily an accurate representation of what the Empire they belonged to could offer. The leadership would have to be laughable to deploy their elite forces at the edge of the world.


    "What makes you confident that any humans could best me in combat? You seem awfully convinced for an impotent man without magyk. Perhaps the consequences of imperial propaganda?"


    Reith smirked as the man chuckled. With his acquired strength, he promised that no one would be able to mock him and slither away without disciplinary action. On Earth, the commanding officers may have dishonoured and humiliated his battalion with no retaliation despite his brethren''s bravery and sacrifices, but the situation had changed since then. Now he controlled the whip and would decide who to lash out on.


    "I am not doubting your capacity to decimate my men, Lord Reith. Oh, the guards informed me," he added at Reith''s reaction. "For no other reason did I halt the execution. Though it''s my oath and honour to shield the families behind the walls, I value my men''s lives more. There''s no need for inconsiderate slaughter. And forgive my bluntness, but it irks me that you''re still discrediting the soldiers of the Empire."


    At the same time as Reith opened his mouth to counter, a translucent blast erupted from within the man. A voiceless yet turbulent teardrop of magyk which wrapped around him. While the tender flame couldn''t match the taller Reith''s wildness, it was significant enough to indicate that a confrontation wouldn''t be as smooth as he originally envisioned. Lost for words, Reith refixed the chair as it had tumbled as he arose in hysteria, and relaxed. After a few minor victories in battles and he had already ended up overestimating his strength. Almost replicating what had cremated him in the first place.


    "Humans may lack in strength where beasts excel, but our ingenuity to circumvent our disabilities is second to none. Consider this information the beginning of a mutually beneficial alliance." Gawain beamed at Reith''s bewildered mind. That despicable man must''ve relished the play. It was intolerable, and Reith almost succumbed to his bloodlust.


    Yarrow leapt onto the table and snarled at Gawain, who toppled over his chair in sudden fright as he reeled against the wall, the agility unfit for a man of his years. The direwolf pursued close on his tail, she growled low and snapped as he reached for his desk, then swiftly retrieved his hand.


    "Insignificant banter, my lord. Just ill japes, my lord!"


    "Worry not, Lord Gawain," Reith said, his emotions suddenly in check at the sight of the miserable man. "She won''t act without my command," he reassured, but what he left unsaid was, Most of the time.


    Truth be told, the direwolf had not yet recognised Reith as her master but accompanied merely because of the faint string that bound them together. Not that he complained since he''d rescued her for no other reason than to pay the price of the sin he''d committed with his former hound.


    "Yarrow, I believe he''s suffered enough." The direwolf cocked her head at the command, then jovially sauntered back to the fireplace as if nothing happened. Reith queried if she would ever become starved or if she could endure without sustenance as an undead like himself. Another thing to look into in the future.


    Brushing off invisible specks of dust, Gawain sighed and seated himself at the table, a little further from the hearth this time. He dropped the quill in ink, then formed elegant characters on the parchment, written in a language unknown to Reith. Strangely he noticed himself more at peace knowing that not everything was in English. Almost like proof that this wasn''t just a mad fantasy, but a wholly new world. After all, it was uncanny enough that these people communicated in English, but the whole world?


    "It''s past time you informed me about this arrangement of yours," Reith said, curious about how beneficial an alliance would be. The man had yet to introduce himself and his connections properly.


    Gawain continued to write for a couple seconds, then paused and set down the quill. He folded his fingers and said, "You''re quite right, my lord. The arrangement in mind is related to your occupancy within the territory of the Empire. You see, it would be a transgression to allow other species but humankind to roam freely in our borders, and that is why I cannot let you past. Nevertheless, this can be bypassed, should you join our house." Gawain did not withdraw as Reith''s empty sockets stared long and hard into his cold, blue eyes. Reith was startled... over and over again. Grown exhausted by then too.


    Finally, Reith said, "You expect me to accept without knowing you or what entering a house involves? I deemed you smarter than this, lord Gawain."


    Gawain chugged the remains in the mug before resuming. "Hear me first, lord. I am Eoren Gawain and a member of house Maryen. Our house deals with matters that others find sensitive, and that is expeditions beyond the safety of the walls."


    Even if Reith couldn''t understand what that meant, it sounded intriguing, and so he listened intently.


    "You''re a rational individual, Lord Reith, and I entrust you with the secret that this task was relegated by the Emperor himself. But to speak bluntly, the house is crumbling. It is far from an easy a feat as the Red March and farther beyond are teeming with abominations that transcend your average adventurer. Our forces number less than a thousand now; five hundred in the vanguard company, three hundred scattered throughout the walls, and the rest buried in the turmoil of the Empire. We are left no choice but to contract powerful creatures like yourself, my lord."


    An obstinate silence followed as Reith contemplated the options in front of him. Although it was likely that lies had been mingled with the truths, it was a gamble to traverse in unknown territory while the enemies'' strength remained a mystery. On the other hand, if he were to join the military, a vast reservoir of new skills to acquire would be imparted to him, along with the knowledge of experienced units! It was a proposal too perfect to be true.


    Reith studied the man for any hints of concern. A stern face, eyes locked onto his, and shoulders relaxed. Unlike the swordsmen by the doorway, Gawain emitted a sour smell, one unfamiliar to Reith. Not that he knew many more than courage and fear.


    In the end, Reith threw the dice. "I accept your proposition."

 6. Connection - Part 1

    They left the commander''s tower after some hours of handling the contract, which Reith ultimately signed, content. In his ignorant eyes, the insurance of a steady wage and provision of accommodation, weaponry, access to library, and many more privileges, all profited Reith more than Gawain. It served to demonstrate how serious the man handled the mission assigned by his emperor. Apparently, he had additionally taken a liking to Reith.


    On his way out, Gawain had interrupted him and said, "One last thing, lord. You''d do well to hide that bag of yours. I won''t question what they did to earn your ire, but the Lycheres don''t take kindly to men, and especially monsters, who slaughters their own."


    One of the guards from earlier, now frozen wretches nestled in their cloaks for warmth, nodded toward him as Reith passed them too buried in thought to notice. A rough outline of a plan had begun to manifest, constructed around what he''d learnt and his speculations. The goal was to acquire enough power to force the people to tremble before him. And to do so, he would need to absorb the abilities from a wide range of specimen, common and rare, which would be possible through the vanguard division of House Maryen. Once he had enough power and influence in this world, he could start worrying over how to return to the Milky Way galaxy.


    Reith inspected the surroundings. Guardsmen in the black and white clothing of Rangers had gathered in the courtyard, the clang of iron against iron and the mockery of crows filled the valley. Some of them had paused to stare at Reith and his direwolf in wonder or worry. Distinguished from the lot was Derik Lycheres, overlooking the training rangers from the raised dais against the wall. He sneered at the sight of the undead, and his sharp stench struck Reith despite the fifty or so metres. He responded in kind and bared his fangs. One day Derik would come to regret his aggression, Reith promised.


    Reith continued onward until he arrived before a slightly desolated building, yet broader than any he''d previously encountered. This fortification was a rickety mess, but the building in front resembled at least what Reith imagined as a medieval mansion.


    According to Gawain, it belonged to the local Mavenist, servants of the Grand Archives at the heart of the empire, an eccentric group that specialised in magyk research and oftentimes healing and alchemy. To Reith, they sounded like modern-day engineers and doctors, though it seemed a little too peculiar for them to be the only people affiliated with these subjects.


    However, before Reith could access, the wizened, loosely dressed Mavenist leapt out, a sweet odour emitted with his appearance. Eagerly his magyk-radiating eyes scanned Reith and his wolf before he commented, "Remarkable! Never in my days¡ª"


    The direwolf vaulted to shield the master, but Reith calmed her down by stroking her back. The unkempt, dishevelled look prompted lunacy or poverty, but his energetic expression put him on guard. Reith could understand why he didn''t dwell amongst the masses and what Gawain meant by unconventional.


    "The High Commander sent me to ''get ready''," Reith interjected, still curious about the meaning.


    The Mavenist coughed and bobbed his head. "Of course, of course. Please, enter."


    They entered the mansion packed to its brim with scorched, frosted, and shredded papers; books of ancient origin; rocks, metal, blossoms that defied common sense; and finally utensils for research littered around every corner in bundles. It was a labyrinth of corridors and rooms that went on down another staircase underground. The unexpected size of the estate and its quantities of material made him inquire about how old the construct was.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Three Grand Mavens and five Mavenists before me, with I being the ninth. Maybe the last if the Council of the Archive continues to heed the advice of the Thirteen Rulers." Reith memorised the names of these organisations, as he knew they would come to be useful one day. But he had other pressing concerns, notably the radiant magyk within him. "Who exactly are you?"


    He laughed and said, "A senile old man, the unfortunate to be garrisoned to the abandoned northern walls, they say. They call me Cohen."


    They entered a spacious room, vacant of furniture bar a single chair at the edge of the room close by another two doors on either side. From the ceiling suspended a lantern that illuminated the place, unquestionably the work of some arcane magic.


    Cohen drifted to the centre without any explanation and relaxed crisscrossed on the white marble. Reith unwound as the man closed his eyes, seemingly to rest. His body had been prepared to teleport and fight the second he saw the sparring arena. The secrecy of Gawain had only made him more suspicious of the entire setup of getting ''ready''.


    Just when Reith was about to ask, the man flicked his fingers, and Cohen''s magyk faded away until not a speck remained in the air, then he opened his eyes.


    "I may not be a sorcerer like the rangers, but I am Gawain''s most trusted aide, and <evanesce> is one of humanity''s fundamental spells that is as natural as is walking. I will teach you this spell, lest your remarkable magyk would terrorise the local residents. You need to evade the eyes of the Inquisitors, after all."


    This news stunned Reith. Not only would they provide him with such an ingenious spell, but they would teach him. One of the main flaws with his siphonage ability, Reith had realised, was that he acquired one among many. The pyromancer called Ilsa had multiple spells but transferred only one. It wouldn''t be reliable if he wanted a specific spell. Instead, he would have to learn it through different methods, which he previously had no idea how to accomplish.


    Suddenly excited, Reith stepped across the floor and followed Cohen''s example. Seated on the marble floor, he asked, "How would I do that?"


    Cohen widened his eyes in surprise and stood. "You don''t know? Cast me a spell, any spell, quick!"


    Reith viewed him with suspicion but complied nonetheless. It would be foolish to throw away any chance to learn the art of acquiring spellcraft. At first he considered casting <teleportation> but at second thought settled for his newest addition, <shadow walk>.


    His body evaporated into atoms, then integrated into a single point of the shadow that used to be his own. The speck was tiny and required a person to be remarkably vigilant and in a moderately vacant room like the current one to be discovered. Reith observed the world from the floor, immense and endless, yet traversed with a speed that exceeded running. He concealed himself in the shadow of a trembling Mavenist and deactivated the spell. It was far from inexpensive to operate.


    Reith backed away from the man in distaste. Cohen looked as though he''d witnessed a ghost. "Remarkable, remarkable, truly remarkable!" He continued to scratch his throat cruelly until blood trickled across his drab cloak, then he took a deep breath.


    "Tier 7 . . . maybe higher, with no incantation or suggestions of bodily movement. My lord, forgive my inquiring, but are you one of the Chosen?"


    "You''re speaking riddles, old man," Reith said, perplexed. "Explain."


    "Apologies," Cohen said and bowed, "The Chosen are mighty beings without a soul - that is soulless - and unlike others, they need not bind the magyk of the world with words or voiceless incantations. They are connected to the world, and their command is absolute. It''s an honour to meet a legendary being like you before my fall, my lord."


    Silence followed as Reith contemplated, not really comprehending how impressive this feat was made out to be. True, in a duel, Reith would have a massive advantage as his armaments could unleash some moments faster, but from what he''d observed up to this point, the beings with souls were just as competent with quick incantations. Add multiple combatants into the picture, and suddenly the advantage is drastically mitigated.


    "Then are you incapable of imparting me your spellcraft as promised?" Reith conjectured. That would be problematic.


    "I might, my lord. My only knowledge of the subject is that the Emperor and his Thirteen Rulers are beings such as yourself, albeit human. But I am willing to try if that''s your desire."


    "Then please do, Cohen."


    The Mavenist lowered his head, "As you wish, my lord."