《Beastblood Bearer [Shapeshifter, Vampire LitRPG]》


 1 - The Count of Innsworm

    Prospero bounded across the mud. He leapt between sunken puddles and imagined himself falling into a great abyss if he splashed in. Luthor trailed closed behind him, two umbrellas in either hand, making sure the young master didn¡¯t suffer a fall. It was raining on that day, as it did most weeks around Innsworm.


    The three of them: the father, the son, and the butler, were on their way towards the hamlet, descending from the manor onto the rainy hillside plateaus where chimney smoke plumed and chickens roamed. The peasants - though Prospero had been taught graciously and strictly never to refer to them as such - had sniffed the rain out an hour ago and were now huddled indoors. Imprints of their passing in the mud were now filled with water.


    Glimpsing a shadow, Prospero hopped over to the stables and lifted himself up by the peeling fence, where Cuileni speared lumps of hay on his pitchfork for the steeds  A fresh trickling of rainwater rolled down from the roof and felt frozen against Prospero¡¯s neck. One horse raised its head, still chewing, and stared side-eyed at the child when he shouted, ¡°Mister Cuileni!¡±


    ¡°Oh! How do you do, young master?¡± the old man¡¯s face bunched up like an accordion as he straightened his back. ¡°You¡¯ll catch your death if you stand out in the rain like that!¡±


    ¡°I like the rain!¡± Prospero grinned. ¡°Has Missus Cuileni made any scones today?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve no doubt she¡¯ll be baking something or other now that she¡¯s cooped up inside,¡± his eyes went behind Prospero, towards the owner of the silhouette which was now stretching into the stable. Cuileni lowered his head. ¡°Milord.¡±


    ¡°Good afternoon, Cuileni.¡±


    Gaspar was a great behemoth of a man, and his height and build were made all the more impressive by the coat which trailed in his wake, somehow never quite low enough to dirty itself in the mud. A resting scowl emboldened by snowy, aristocratic skin likened him, as was only natural, to a Vampire. This comparison was not made nearly as often as one would assume, and, indeed, the villagers seldom commented on his appearance, especially in regards to what he may or may not have looked like, and had learned themselves the habit of remaining unflinching in his presence.


    His looming shadow didn¡¯t seem to bother Cuileni in the least. ¡°Don¡¯t you ever tire of the rain, milord?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s always a shame seeing you and the young master getting yourselves soaked in all them nice clothes. Oh - and mister Luthor too, of course,¡± he nodded in the butler¡¯s direction, who returned the gesture with perfectly reserved enthusiasm.


    ¡°The sun has never done well for my complexion.¡± Gaspar replied. ¡°This is no weather to be working in, my friend. Why not relax inside for a while?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯d like to. I really would, milord.¡± Cuileni balanced both hands on the end of his pitchfork. ¡°But I must keep an eye on the horses today. Something¡¯s had them spooked since this morning.¡±


    ¡°Wolves?¡± Luthor interjected, poking his gaunt face over Gaspar¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°No, no. Nothing like that, I don¡¯t think.¡± he shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s just how they are sometimes; animals, I mean. You understand, milord.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Gaspar nodded. ¡°But be certain not to overwork yourself today. And give my thanks to your wife. Prospero couldn¡¯t keep his hands off her scones the last time she dropped some off.¡±


    The young lad flashed a rosy smile as Cuileni adjusted his cap. ¡°Heh. I¡¯ll send your kind words along,¡± he replied. ¡°Enjoy your walk, milord.¡±


    Like that, they made their rounds of the homes skirting the old Baptista manor. Every face Prospero met was dusted with dirt and wrinkles. Innsworm was not a prosperous or lively region, and it was only by the grace of his father¡¯s wealth that the peasants were able to survive the poor harvests which had scoured the hamlet those past five years. But it was quiet, and enjoyed a peace not particularly common in those days.


    Prospero took a tumble as his shoe slipped in the mud. He caught himself on his hands and knees, but a loose, out-of-place stone grazed his palm. Luthor marched over and helped the boy to his feet, within the eyes of whom reluctant tears were already beginning to swell.


    ¡°Oh dear.¡± Luthor¡¯s long face remained analytical. ¡°Did you hurt yourself, young master?¡±


    While he whimpered and grasped his wounded hand, afeared of the pain beneath, Gaspar went over and kneeled by Prospero¡¯s side, pallid fingers curling out. ¡°Let me see, son.¡±


    Prospero turned his hand. The cut didn¡¯t look half as bad as it felt, but to a young boy who had yet to experience pain in any worldly capacity, it was rather unbearable. Gaspar placed a hand over the break, and within a matter of seconds, the pain disappeared. Once revealed, Prospero¡¯s hand was as pristine as it was a moment ago.


    ¡°Be careful where you step, son.¡± his father said. ¡°-Or don¡¯t. Tumbling around as you please is a freedom enjoyed only by the young. You¡¯ll be grateful that you did once a bad fall could do you in like it could for me and Luthor.¡±


    The tears were now a distant memory to young Prospero, who was now more concerned with the sorcery he¡¯d just witnessed than anything else. ¡°I want to cast spells like you do, father!¡± he said. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be good, so can we please get Mister Suere to baptise me at the abbey!?¡±


    Gaspar chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s the fifth time you¡¯ve asked this week! I wonder if Luthor should have reserved his lessons on the System until you were a little older¡­¡±


    The butler in question raised a hand to adjust his glasses. ¡°Irregardless of this realm¡¯s stance on baptisms, one cannot afford to skimp on a child¡¯s education. If the young master so desires, I could always unearth my old grimoires on the Runic Path to teach him some spells the old-fashioned way.¡±


    ¡°A child? Concocting spells with runes?¡± Gaspar¡¯s expression fell, only to be replaced with a joyous grin as he threw both arms out. ¡°What a fantastic idea! Yes - a boy¡¯s interest must be nourished! And who better to prevent him from burning the manor down than you, Luthor?¡±


    Suddenly cautious, the butler inhaled air through his teeth. ¡°Perhaps¡­ we should wrap up the young master¡¯s lessons on the history of the Incandescence before we-¡±


    ¡°I want to learn magic!¡± Prospero chimed.


    ¡°Haha! You heard the boy, Luthor!¡± Gaspar folded his arms. ¡°Come - let¡¯s return to the manor! I just know we have some notebooks from the Institution laying around somewhere!¡±


    Pulled along by the weight of his master¡¯s words, Luthor couldn¡¯t help but accompany the father and son on their way back to the looming manor atop Innsworm¡¯s central hill, his sigh equally exasperated as it was content.


    The foggy days of Innsworm were marked by Prospero¡¯s sudden liveliness. Whether hungry for knowledge or entertainment, Gaspar was all too happy to provide for the boy - often to Luthor¡¯s chagrin. But the three of them were fulfilled with their lot, and as the years trickled on, tragedies which once trapped the household in an air of melancholy gave way to fond remembrances and moments of welcome solitude.


    In time, young Prospero was no longer so young, and by his twentieth year, he had already devoured many of the texts archived within the manor¡¯s overstuffed library, only omitting those he could not comprehend or which his father had strictly forbidden him from reading - and sometimes not even that would stop him.


    ¡°I know your memory to be as good as mine, son,¡± on the day of one such overstep, Prospero found himself being chewed out in the foyer with a tome hidden under one arm. His father stood with arms crossed, as he always did, wearing an expression crossed between stern and amused. ¡°-So why is it that I find you sneaking out with a copy of that old tome? One that I¡¯ve forbidden you from touching?¡±


    The text: ¡®Of Vampyres, Terrible Phantoms, and The Seven Deadly Sins¡¯, was a loose collection of yellowed papers half-bound and ready to fall apart at the slightest knock. Prospero mulled several excuses over in his head until he decided that none would suffice. ¡°...Because, you wouldn¡¯t have let me read it otherwise?¡± he said.


    Gaspar paused, then laughed. It was a great howling that bounced off the walls, unreserved and unapologetic. ¡°You little scamp!¡± he grinned. ¡°How can I be expected to rebuke such sound logic!? But the fact remains that those pages are forbidden! Do you really expect me to let you leave now that I¡¯ve heard you thundering through the manor like a scorned ox!?¡±


    Prospero shrugged. ¡°Hide your secrets better if you don¡¯t want them stolen.¡±


    He stepped towards the front doors, but his father had already beaten him there by the time his head could turn. There was no secret held between them about Gaspar¡¯s supernatural agility. Prospero had known from a young age that his father was no common man, but quizzing him about it had only led to riddles and lectures, and so he had learned to never bother. He fancied a quiet day reading, and now there was no path towards that peace but straight through the loud soul of his father. With a flick of Gaspar¡¯s wrist, something delicate and metallic was tossed through the air. Prospero extended his free arm to slide his fingers into the rapier¡¯s elegant handguard, purpose-made for his grip, tightening his other arm around the tome.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°If you will not follow your father¡¯s orders, my boy, then at least have the guts to earn your reward fairly,¡± Gaspar threw aside his cloak with one arm, and with a flash of silver unsheathed another rapier from his waist. ¡°Luthor tells me your skills have been improving. Perhaps if I were to reach the same assessment, you will leave this manor with that book in tow.¡±


    ¡°My feet are still aching from yesterday¡¯s practice!¡± Prospero widened his stance, not at all confident that complaining would do him any good. ¡°This isn¡¯t fair at all!¡±


    ¡°War awaits the readiness of no man!¡± his father took a stance. ¡°Have at you!¡±


    With one arm curled at the hip, he flew towards Prospero with the vigour of a duelist half his age. Their rapiers slid and screeched, echoing the first clash of many in the sleuth-strife of fencing. Prospero was tempted to take a step back, but he¡¯d learned better from Luthor. Fencing was all about graceful defence; holding one¡¯s ground against baleful thrusts and turning an opponent¡¯s blows against them.


    Gaspar stepped in to lunge. Prospero tilted his wrist to catch the line of the thrust and deflected the blade to his side, stepping forward to capitalise on the opening while placing his father on the defensive. His own testing swing was caught by Gaspar¡¯s weapon, rising as if possessed of its own will, stalwart in form and resilience, and the two men entered their courteous exchange of attacks and parries. Torchlight from the chandelier above illuminated their weapons with brilliant glitters of silver. With his free hand, Prospero hugged the tome close to his heart.


    ¡°I see Luthor has lent you some passing expertise, lad,¡± Gaspar smirked, ¡°But has he taught you the mind of the sport, or merely the body?¡±


    Prospero shook his head and frowned. ¡°What does that even mean?¡±


    ¡°Take Carlo Pupesco¡¯s interpretation of the lunge: low and unyielding towards the lower line.¡± Gaspar stepped in with his posture lowered, rapier at the ready. ¡°-Forbidden in the rapier and thought invincible until-¡±


    ¡°-R.L. Roeburn¡¯s counter, sacrificing ground for a chance at the opponent¡¯s arm!¡± Prospero retreated, extending his arm to descend towards the oncoming attack. ¡°Pupesco was a demon on the attack, but a coward on the defence!¡±


    -But Gaspar¡¯s lunge never came. He remained statuesque in that beastly pose. The movement had triggered a false reaction from Prospero, who trusted his mental playbook to account for every possibility. It was only in that moment of defencelessness when Gaspar launched forward, blade circling downward to trap his opponent¡¯s line.


    He stabbed, and the tip stopped just inches from Prospero¡¯s face, who yanked himself back until he had fallen firmly onto his rear. ¡°Ah!¡±


    When he looked up, Gaspar was already sliding his rapier back into its scabbard. ¡°Pupesco was a coward until budding fencers like Roeburn challenged his mastery of the sport,¡± he said. ¡°The two of them would compensate and overcomplicate one-another¡¯s disciplines like a pair of lovers, and in doing so, they scaled heights as-of-then unheard of.¡±


    Prospero sighed and picked himself off the floor. ¡°Is there a lesson to be learned here?¡±


    ¡°There are a great many things you may learn from your adversaries, my boy,¡± he continued. ¡°Hatred, usually, but also love, for what is a nemesis if not a lover? It is remarkable how skin-deep our grudges are, Prospero, and how lonely we find ourselves in the absence of hate. If you learn to traverse this spectrum like water, any one man can seem so incredibly fickle and touched. Learn to move with him, and you¡¯ll find that it¡¯s as if a new world has been opened to you. A world of great peace and romance.¡±


    A passing second lingered heavy in the air. Prospero blinked. ¡°You¡¯ve lost me again, father.¡±


    ¡°Oh, if only your mother was still alive! She would have transformed my words into such wonderful poetry! Oh, Mercedes¡­!¡± Gaspar curled his fists. ¡°How am I meant to raise this boy who doesn¡¯t take a moment to understand the words of his ageing father!?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ I¡¯m not sure mother would have known what to make of that, either,¡± Prospero replied. ¡°And don¡¯t even joke about your age! You don¡¯t look a day older than you did when I was ten years old! I¡¯ll end up looking older than you in a decade or two!¡±


    ¡°Yes, well - when your beauty routine is as robust as mine, it¡¯s only natural that you would find yourself outmatched by these handsome features,¡± he folded his arms. ¡°Perhaps if you moisturised and bathed three times a day, you would still have those rosy cheeks that your mother loved to pull on so much.¡±


    He joked, but Gaspar¡¯s youth truly was remarkable. For lack of want to know or ask, Prospero had never quite been able to pin down his father¡¯s exact age, and it was only becoming more difficult to make an estimate now that the man had somehow remained free of wrinkles in spite of the oncoming decades.


    ¡°How slow I¡¯ve become. It¡¯s rather embarrassing,¡± Gaspar rolled his shoulders and yawned. ¡°I think I may wile away the hours this evening with some light reading.¡±


    He made for the staircase, only turning his head when Prospero shouted after him. ¡°What about the book!?¡±


    ¡°The what?¡± he paused. ¡°Oh, that old thing? Go ahead and read it; it¡¯s a classic! Just make sure not to tear any of the pages. I¡¯ve been meaning to return it for about¡­ uh - quite a long time now, and the owner would be a little cross if it was damaged.¡±


    He raised a hand in farewell and disappeared through the oaken doors on the landing. So much for being forbidden, Prospero thought. He placed his rapier down on an end table flanking the staircase so that Luthor would spot and retrieve it later on. The wild thumping of his heart settled when he pushed on the manor doors and stepped into the daylight. A gust of wind chilled the little beads of sweat on his forehead.


    Now he had no reason at all to read outside, but the rain had only stopped an hour before and the hamlet was rich with the scent of the earth. He enjoyed those moments of dour twilight between the showers, when the clouds lingered still and silence reigned. His boots sank into the mud on the way down the hill, stepping down the crude staircase of planks descending from the manor.


    Nearabouts where the hamlet levelled out, a bakery run by Innsworm¡¯s oldest couple was shaded by a low porch. Prospero was allowed to sit there whenever he pleased, whether to read or to remain out of the sunlight for a minute or two. He wandered up, settled down on the flimsy chair and pushed himself up to the antique table of glass and wrought iron which the owners had bought from a travelling merchant many decades ago.


    ¡°Of Vampyres, Terrible Phantoms, and The Seven Deadly Sins¡­¡±


    Prospero read the title again. He flicked past the dedications and foreword to the meat of the text, where faded words introduced him to the wicked heart of darkness lingering within the realms of men. Terms he had heard before; Vampyre, Dracule, Nosferatu; contained once to the imagination of his terrified, adolescent brain but which now took on a far darker, far more sinister nature. He could not distinguish truth from hearsay as the pages wrote on, which contained accounts equal parts horrific and unreal. Prospero knew of Vampires and their ilk, and especially of the lifetaker Dracula, who once captured the Incandescence in a storm of brutality many centuries ago, but had never known them to be anything more than monsters.


    ¡°Where darkness permits, the Vampyre dwells,¡± he read. ¡°And he dwells not in the woods and wealds where beasts wander, but in the hearths of mortal men, and he spreads plague and rodents among those he courts, and seeks the pure blood of maidens to sustain his terrible immortality.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ young master.¡±


    Prospero turned his head to spot the wizened face of Mrs. Calum poking out from a crack in the door. ¡°I was wondering who that voice belonged to,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hello, miss,¡± he greeted. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I disturbed you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, not at all. You¡¯re welcome to sit where you please, young master,¡± with shaking hands, she pushed on the door and drew her shawl up to ward off the cold. ¡°Only, Anton down the road - you know Mister Anton, don¡¯t you?¡±


    He nodded. Prospero knew everyone in the hamlet, but Mrs. Calum was getting on in her old age, and often forgot that he was a young man and no longer a boy of ten.


    ¡°Well,¡± she began. ¡°Mister Calum told us there were wolves in the pig farm last night. They¡¯ve been getting fierce, you know? Those old wolves¡­¡±


    She made a great, ugly smile with her chapped lips. ¡°So all of us old and wrinkled fools are hiding inside. My husband thought he saw another one close by just a few hours ago. Won¡¯t you be careful, young master? For milord and milady¡¯s sake¡­¡±


    ¡°I will, miss. Don¡¯t worry about me,¡± Prospero replied. ¡°Go inside and warm up. It¡¯s cold today. I¡¯m sure Anton will deal with the wolves.¡±


    She nodded and slid back into the bakery, leaving Prospero to wonder if it was a sound idea to continue reading. I¡¯m only going to worry her if I stay out here, he thought. I¡¯ll head back to the manor and read the rest in my room. I already have permission from father.


    He came down from the porch and stopped just short of ascending the hill. The butcher¡¯s shop was just down the way, along the old fields where the northern road crept up to the woods. He hadn¡¯t eaten lunch that day, and the cold only seemed to be exaggerating his appetite. A few silver coins were still tumbling in his pocket from when he¡¯d helped out at the charcoal kilns a week ago.


    I wonder if Nicolas still has some of those spiced sausages in stock, he wondered.


    A quick detour to the bottom of the hill revealed that the hamlet was near empty. Mrs. Calum hadn¡¯t minced words with him; word of the wolves had scared everyone into their homes. With the contents of his book still digesting, Prospero couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the wind was a bad omen. He turned his head to see the silhouette of Baptista Manor looming over Innsworm, not quite so comforting as it normally was.


    But it was neither the wind nor the manor that unsettled him. It was the streak of crimson awaiting him further down the road, trailing up from the woods and along the path, which quickened his pulse. It was undoubtedly a trail of blood. Prospero inhaled, and the scent of iron stung his nostrils. Something terrible has happened, he thought.


    He bolted down the road, observed by dew-soaked leaves on high. The windchill singed his nose, now reluctant to breathe in the troubling scent. He followed in the silence of the oaks and felt suddenly as if he was alone; that the village would be emptied of life when he returned. He chased the darkness inviting him towards that sight nestled between the hill and the forest, pulse quickening all the while, where leaves detached, blew and were caught by the pooling blood beneath the canopy.


    A wolf was turned over there, on the ground, in the cold. Lifeless.

 2 - The Dream Ends This Day

    The fireplace crackled with tempered might. Luthor jabbed at the disintegrating logs with a poker, drawing embers out from the grate. Fireglow illuminated Prospero¡¯s view of the lounge¡¯s tall windows, across which the darkness of midnight was drawn like a curtain. He was surrounded by warmth on the second of the room¡¯s three armchairs, with only his head poking above a thick woollen blanket. He could still hear the wind blowing.


    Eight long hours had passed since he returned home. Luthor had gone out to examine the wolf¡¯s corpse, but said very little about it once he was back, then requested to speak to Prospero¡¯s father privately. When the three of them convened in the lounge as they did every night, the common back and forth was replaced with silence, and Prospero knew deep in his gut that something terrible was brewing in the dark.


    What sort of animal could be responsible for the state of that wolf? he wondered. Luthor tells me it must have been a bear, but bears have not wandered these parts in years, and no mere beast could have inflicted such terrible wounds¡­


    Pulverised. Lacerated. Disemboweled; there were many words to describe the state of that animal¡¯s corpse, but Prospero had trouble shaking off the detail of the sheer intelligence required to so thoroughly mutilate an animal. It was not the scrap of some predator¡¯s meal, but an exquisite and macabre work of art created to disturb those who happened upon it, and disturb Prospero it had.


    ¡°Father,¡± he spoke without turning his head. ¡°Does this have something to do with that book I borrowed from you today?¡±


    Gaspar was lost in thought, but the sound of his son¡¯s voice grabbed his attention right away. His expression morphed from concerned to fatherly in less than a fraction of a second. ¡°...What? No. No, son,¡± he said. ¡°Merely a terrible coincidence, is all.¡±


    ¡°A coincidence?¡± Prospero was worried by his choice of words. ¡°How so?¡±


    Gaspar opened his mouth, but lost his answer. When a reply did come, it was in place of something else. ¡°Everything is going to be alright,¡± he said.


    Prospero sighed. ¡°I wish those words would be enough. But I¡¯ve learned too well that you only say that when something horrible is about to happen.¡±


    His false enthusiasm discovered, Gaspar made no effort to hide the concern in his eyes. It was one thing to see him so affected, but another to glimpse fear in his disposition. Prospero had never known his father to be afraid of anything. Unsettled by the stagnant air, he threw aside his blanket and stood up. ¡°Something is terribly wrong,¡± he said. ¡°Won¡¯t either of you speak to me?¡±


    ¡°Young master¡­¡± Luthor¡¯s demeanour remained unchanged even with the colour drained from his face. ¡°It is not that the master is reluctant to speak. He is merely searching for the right words.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen either of you like this before,¡± he continued. ¡°Have I done something wrong?¡±


    ¡°My son,¡± Gaspar began. ¡°I am the only one at fault here. For believing in the far-fetched dream of peace. Now my heart aches for the soon-to-be future, and I regret every decision that has led to this moment. Even now, I only wish the best for you; that somehow, your peaceful everyday will continue in spite of the disaster that awaits us.¡±


    ¡°Father, please,¡± Prospero placed his hands together. ¡°Speak plainly just this once. What is this ¡®disaster¡¯ you speak of? I haven¡¯t noticed a thing out of place these past few weeks, and now a dead wolf has you acting as if the world will soon end. It¡¯s not like you to be so worried. It frightens me.¡±


    With movements that matched his sluggish heart, Gaspar stood and wandered over. His arms reached out to embrace Prospero, who was now tall enough that he wasn¡¯t quite so easy to shield. Prospero moved his arms to return the gesture, somehow convinced that his father would simply disappear if he ever let go.


    ¡°Oh, Prospero¡­¡± Gaspar sighed. ¡°My son. Could you ever forgive this poor fool?¡±


    ¡°Forgive you for what?¡± he asked. ¡°I would never blame you for anything, father. Please, just tell me what¡¯s wrong!¡±


    ¡°I fear that this fell omen you discovered today will lead Innsworm to ruin,¡± Gaspar placed his hands on Prospero¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Where do I even begin¡­? Any explanation would seem to you like the ramblings of a man who had lost his mind. Perhaps it is best to start by admitting that your mother and I - and Luthor also - have kept many secrets from you these past two decades.¡±


    Prospero shook his head. ¡°What kinds of secrets? Is it to do with your fortune? The estate? I never did learn how you came to live in Innsworm.¡±


    ¡°All of that and more, son,¡± he nodded. ¡°Our circumstances are not so simple, though I¡¯ve never quite had the courage to reveal them to you. Now it is too late, and I have realised the cruelty of my cowardice. I do wish your mother was still with us. She would have put me on the right path, like she always did.¡±


    His next words were stolen, captured by some presence unknown to Prospero. He and Luthor raised their heads like wild bucks hearing a branch snap underfoot. Not quite so perceptive, Prospero nonetheless felt his blood quickening as he followed his father¡¯s gaze towards the door.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°...Gaspar,¡± Luthor said.


    It was the first time Prospero had heard the butler refer to his master with anything short of faultless decorum. The night which seethed at the windows now seemed malevolent, as if threatening to engulf the manor whole. Then came the thundering underfoot; one hundred rabid steps storming the halls. The fireplace protested with dying flickers.


    Prospero felt a chill down to his hands. ¡°Father?¡±


    ¡°We cannot go back,¡± Gaspar muttered. ¡°What a terrible coward I¡¯ve been.¡±


    The door burst open, hinges screeching as it slammed against the wall and bounced back, only to be caught in place by a palid, beastly hand sprouting elongated fingers. There was nothing beyond the perimeter; a void; a cloud of ink from which the twisted things of dreams and nightmares could emerge. Gaspar took Prospero by the wrist and led him clear of the doorway. Luthor ran to retrieve the poker from beside the fireplace.


    Their visitor stepped across his threshold of night, every wicked feature accentuated by the great buttoned coat wreathing his silhouette. From a distance - perhaps - he appeared to be a man, but one glance too eager revealed that he was anything but. His face, more suited to a wild animal, was ghost-pale and studded with two predatory dots seared into the whites of his eyes scanning the room with reserved eagerness, stark and alert as if freshly awakened from a nightmare.


    He moved with the rhythm of a corpse, stopping just shy of the doorway. His clawed fingers intertwined and seemed as if they would remain that way forever. His mouth, too small to accommodate the rows of mismatched fangs within, remained parted and half-gleeful all the while. When he spoke, it was with the voice of a dying man - or perhaps one who had passed long ago. ¡°Gaspar,¡± he began. ¡°You know why I am here.¡±


    ¡°-And you will not have it,¡± Gaspar replied without missing a beat. ¡°I know only that you have come here to kill me, and kill me you may, but that which you seek will remain hidden! How many hundreds of years has your anger endured? Have you not yet realised the evil of your ways?¡±


    ¡°Speak not of the past,¡± uncurling like the legs of a spider, the intruder¡¯s hand hovered as if expecting a gift. ¡°The Founder¡¯s Blood, Gaspar. Entrust it to me.¡±


    ¡°I will entrust you with nothing!¡± he shouted, ¡°This is not the pledge we made! What has happened to you, Cyprian!? You have been seduced by darkness! The power you seek is an illusion that will destroy you! You know this! You know better!¡±


    He spoke of things beyond Prospero¡¯s understanding, of dark histories and pledges and names never before uttered. But there was a reluctant familiarity in his outburst. The man-thing named Cyprian was unflinching, though there was an air of impatience surrounding his every twitch. ¡°Tragedy needn¡¯t befall your family this day,¡± he said. ¡°I seek only the Blood. I may have desired your life long ago, but no amount of hatred can weather the passage of centuries. I ask this of you because it is my wish to spare your life. Is that not gracious enough?¡±


    Gaspar shook his head. ¡°I cannot. Because you are my friend no longer, and I can sense none of the warmth we once shared. For the sake of all that is good, the Blood will remain with me, as was promised. Do not claim to be free of hatred when you stalk the night and threaten the lives of innocent people! Hatred cannot last, but it is those who cling to the dregs who are truly cursed, for they have forgotten all the grace of love!¡±


    ¡°You remain principled in your old, sullen age,¡± Cyprian took a step forward. ¡°-But it is for love¡¯s sake that I do this. If you have made your decision, then we will speak no further. Be at peace and know that I will mourn you in a distant age, Baptista.¡±


    They spoke formally and waited for one-another to finish, suspending a horrid and misplaced respect over the chaos that was now unfolding in the lounge. Prospero thought sadly, and hoped for the slightest of moments, that the two of them would continue on endlessly. But now they were silent, and the foulness between them ran thick like curdling blood. Gaspar tightened his grip on Prospero¡¯s wrist. ¡°This is not the way,¡± he said. ¡°Are there no words to convince you of that?¡±


    The nightmarish visitor shuffled towards them, both arms rigid at the waist like an unstrung puppet. ¡°Would that there were,¡± he answered simply. ¡°-But there are none.¡±


    ¡°...I see.¡± Gaspar sighed and straightened out his posture as if suddenly unburdened. He turned his head. ¡°Luthor-¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± the manor¡¯s faithful butler lowered his head without the slightest inkling of hesitation. ¡°Leave everything to me, my old friend. I will not betray your expectations.¡±


    ¡°You had better not¡­¡± he stepped back, and Prospero followed in his paces. ¡°You had better not, Luthor - you old fool! Not once has death troubled me, but if something happens to Prospero-¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Luthor interrupted. ¡°Have I ever disappointed you?¡±


    In the moment before the curtain was pulled, Gaspar glimpsed an old ray of light in Luthor¡¯s sunken face. He was reminded, if only for a spell, of better and simpler times in places unknown, and of the bond which ran thicker than blood between them. He smiled, and the fog in his mind cleared. ¡°It¡¯s been quite a journey, my friend,¡± he picked up speed on the retreat, his son in stumbling tow. ¡°Live long and prosper!¡±


    They crashed, embracing, through a wall of glass. Prospero watched the window shards reflecting motes of moonlight in the quiet serenity that followed and saw the starlit outline of Baptista manor vanishing as they flew down the steep western hill which overlooked a slice of Innsworm. He reserved his scream for the last moment, when it seemed certain that they were about to die, only for his father to land upon the mudslide as if from a gentle hop.


    They skidded down to a plateau not far above the first chimneys of the hamlet. Prospero stumbled, dizzied, when his father released him, and raised his head just in time to see the rest of the manor¡¯s windows shattering. Gaspar lurched forward and took him by the shoulder, reaching with his other hand to retrieve something from the pocket on his vest. ¡°Prospero,¡± he began.


    -But the young man was inconsolable with fear and adrenaline. ¡°Father, what¡¯s happening!? Who-¡±


    ¡°No, no; you really must listen to me. It is crucial that you do,¡± Gaspar spoke above his sobbing. ¡°You must drink this,¡± he said, flashing a vial of dirty iron emblazoned with fleurs and sigils which would have seemed beautiful were it not for the circumstances. ¡°Please.¡±


    The sight of something so strange steered Prospero towards lucidity. ¡°W-What is it?¡±


    ¡°It is¡­¡± Gaspar paused, reluctant to answer. ¡°It is a responsibility too great for any one man to bear. But it must be kept safe from those who would use it to achieve their twisted dreams. In your blood, it will be safe for the time being. But¡­¡±


    The damned howls of creatures in the night descended from on high, mingled with the freezing midnight air, drawing close to that tiny perch above the hamlet. Prospero clenched his eyes to distract from the tears which were now forming. He had never felt so much terror in his life.


    Gaspar¡¯s eyes glanced between his son and the vial as if weighing some terrible decision. ¡°I never wanted this to happen,¡± he said. ¡°I hoped that it would not, tempting as hope is. How wicked of a father I am for believing that lie all these years.¡±

 3 - Awake

    With a flick of his thumb, Gaspar displaced the cork on the vial and held his nose. Scarlet fumes escaped from the neck, and something immaterial stirred within Prospero¡¯s gut. The scent of iron was so powerful that it forced him to retch, to say nothing of his father, whose hands began to tremble. ¡°D-Drink it¡­¡± he spoke through clenched teeth. ¡°Drink it now, Prospero!¡±


    There were few things Prospero had ever been less eager to do, but the animosity in his father¡¯s tone enlightened him, however adolescent his understanding may have been, to the gravity of the situation. He took the vial and found it pleasantly warm to the touch, but refrained from peering down the neck to examine the hideous liquid bubbling up from within. Instead, he inhaled, closed his eyes, and brought the vial to his mouth. Acid sting flooded his gums and, near instantly, he wanted to spit the fluid out. He downed it like medicine, blocking his nose to eliminate the taste, and tried to recall better times. The viscous solution slid down his throat. He could feel it seething in the bowels of his stomach where it felt likely to tear a hole through him; but more than anything else, it was warm, and grew to a boiling head as if reacting to his flesh. Prospero felt nauseous, intoxicated, envenomed - worse than he had the words to describe, and yet he was also emboldened - strengthened - somehow, by the pain. When Gaspar took him by the hand, he could barely feel his father¡¯s touch over the numbness spreading across his skin.


    ¡°Are you well, Prospero?¡± he wondered, the fear now evident in his tired eyes. ¡°Speak to me, my son. Tell me you are alive.¡±


    ¡°I- urgh¡­¡± Prospero resisted the urge to vomit. ¡°...I am alive, father. Do not worry.¡±


    Gaspar tightened his lips, too proud to shed tears in front of his own child. ¡°The Triumph has blessed me,¡± he tightened his grip on Prospero¡¯s hand. ¡°I have been snapped in cold sweats from nightmares of this day, but none of the tragedies seen in my dreams have come to pass. You are still here - still my son. That is worth more to me than all the treasures of the realms.¡±


    With hurried movements, he unclasped his cloak and lowered it over Prospero¡¯s shoulders. The fur-lined mantle tickled his cheeks. ¡°I had plans for the day I would entrust you with this garment,¡± he said. ¡°A festival in the hamlet, a grand feast in the manor¡­ but plans so rarely turn out the way we want them to, my boy.¡±


    He took the vial back from Prospero.  ¡°What are you going to do, father?¡±


    ¡°I must face my past,¡± Gaspar led him by the hand down the slope, where the lights of Innsworm¡¯s homes were already beginning to flicker on. Prospero heard panicked voices from beyond the half-open windows. ¡°The past I sought to escape, but which I knew would always haunt me. It shall be the end of me, however ashamed I am to admit it. And you, Prospero - you must escape from this place.¡±


    He knew those words were coming, but refused to accept them. ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he protested.


    Gaspar smiled. ¡°I so dearly wish you could stay,¡± he said. ¡°These years have been the very best of my life. Every second I have spent with you is one I would trade the realm to live again. I only wish it could have lasted forever¡­¡±


    A farewell? Prospero refused to accept it. He knew nothing of his father¡¯s past, nor of the wicked creature who had barged into their home and so quickly sundered the peace of their family. As they spoke, the shadows lingered still around Baptista manor. He wondered if it was the last he would ever see of the old building.


    ¡°Come here¡­¡± Gaspar threw his arms open, and Prospero rushed forward to embrace him. ¡°It is my fault this has happened,¡± he said, cradling the young man¡¯s head. ¡°I know not what the future holds in store, but we cannot go back to how things were. I have faith in you, my son. Know that I have always loved you, though not even a quarter as fiercely as your mother did.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ I love you too.¡± Prospero¡¯s voice wavered. ¡°I¡¯ve never said anything of the sort before, but-¡±


    Something plummeted into the soil, and they fell. A few screams rattled the air, some of which Prospero recognised. His father rose as if possessed, his back now turned, as a trail of shadows followed from the windows of the manor right down to where he stood. Four figures were formed from the darkness, one of whom had revealed himself that night already. ¡°Gaspar,¡± he began. ¡°Run no further. Accept your fate.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ my legs aren¡¯t quite what they used to be,¡± Gaspar managed a smirk, though it was more for show than anything else. ¡°You, on the other hand, Cyprian¡­ you haven¡¯t aged a day. Not that it¡¯s done anything for your complexion.¡±


    The monster¡¯s arm waved in his direction. ¡°End him. And be quick about it.¡±


    Three hooded individuals, one of whom with hair longer than the others, stepped forward to exact their supposed master¡¯s will. Prospero pulled himself up from the ground and convinced himself, reluctant to accept the reality unfolding before his eyes, that the speed with which his father moved was merely a trick of the moonlight. Gaspar stepped longer and farther than any man had the right to, closing the distance between himself and one of the assailants in a fraction of a second. Arm primed, he struck without grace or fancy, leveraging supreme momentum to send the hooded figure plummeting through the wall of a nearby home.


    The second foe, with similar speed, manoeuvred behind him, only to be caught by a reversed elbow and exacting roundhouse before there was time to react. Gaspar placed one foot upon the felled opponent¡¯s spine and turned his attention to the third, already halfway through a vicious haymaker aimed at the jaw. The scrapping mulch of bones breaking accompanied the clean hit, knocking the third onto their back. Gaspar lifted his foot and brought it down to shatter the vertebrae of the second, who was only just now recovering from the previous blow.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°Magnificent¡­¡± the one named Cyprian observed with bulging eyes. ¡°Tens of decades without blood, and yet your strength remains inhuman. The bloodline of the Apex is formidable indeed.¡±


    ¡°Fencing is more my speed these days,¡± Gaspar replied. ¡°There are so many exquisite things to experience in this world, Cyprian. It is never too late for a man to change his ways.¡±


    The distant screams dwindled in number. Those three followers were not the only ones who had descended upon the hamlet, Prospero realised. He was transfixed by the sight of his father¡¯s expertise, never once expecting that the man who had treated him with such love and care could be capable of such violence.


    ¡°Exquisite, perhaps. But where do the arts fit in this wasting world?¡± Cyprian took a step forward. ¡°Your solution to the vacuum left in the Founder¡¯s wake was to retreat into the wild realms like a coward. But our duty is not yet done, Gaspar. Chaotic dreams fester in this new dawn beyond the rule of darkness. A responsibility to unite the Incandescence has been thrust upon us, and only I have answered its call - not you, and not the others, so content with your well-earned lives to consider that more work is yet to be done.¡±


    ¡°We cannot oppose the darkness in men¡¯s hearts,¡± Gaspar shook his head. ¡°We can only create peace where we may, and even that may be fleeting. Coming here, attacking my home, threatening my life¡­ is this how you would enforce the way of peace? Through violence?¡±


    ¡°If you had only handed the Blood to me, this could have been avoided!¡± Cyprian¡¯s temper crumbled, and he snapped like a viper. ¡°But now¡­ now you would damn me with the duty of bloodying my own hands!? Have you no heart!?¡±


    ¡°I should ask you the same! You cannot see it, but the bloodthirst has consumed you!¡±


    ¡°I am only as powerful as my needs demand! You have abandoned the Incandescence to centuries of conflict!¡± Cyprian crossed his wrists and pounced. ¡°Die, and find your peace in the Great Dream, Gaspar Baptista!¡±


    They clashed - a moment imperceptible to Prospero, who could only glimpse the battle in mirages conjured after the fact. The air protested their rabid swings, every missed blow likely to topple a mountain. The acrid scent of smoke danced in the whistling winds, and Prospero could spot, rising between the studs of light against the night sky, plumes of smoke which were now rising above and around the manor.


    He needed to run. To escape from the cruel and fantastic world in front of him. But there was nowhere to turn; not while his father and the abomination named Cyprian were waltzing through the mud, tugging for control between wicked chains of sways and parries. The buffeting gales threatened to push him down.


    Then it happened; a flourish of claws caught Gaspar clean in the eyes, and in that short, exploitable instant, Cyprian lunged jaw-first to latch onto his neck, retreating only a second later with a ribbon of blood connecting his serpentine teeth to the man¡¯s neck. The claws upon Cyprian¡¯s hands lengthened and grew as he lapped the stains free from his lips. What little humanity could be glimpsed through his eyes seemed to vanish altogether. ¡°Die, Gaspar!¡±


    Striking with both hands, he gouged a lattice of wounds across Gaspar¡¯s chest. His claws parted skin and bone like water, sharp beyond the realm of imagination. Prospero saw very little of the fight beforehand, but that decisive blow he witnessed in all of its terrible glory. ¡°Father!¡± he screamed.


    Cyprian slipped a hand under his coat and tore the buttons free, exposing the pale and emaciated physique hidden beneath. From a pocket within, he retrieved a stake of carved wood. ¡°To think I would ever put this terrible weapon to use once again!¡± he yelled. ¡°You were my brother once! But I will not abide your cowardice in the face of the world¡¯s annihilation!¡±


    Just as Gaspar collapsed onto his back, Cyprian brought the stake down to pierce his heart. There was a sound, a kind of ear-popping explosion, as something burst in the cavity of Gaspar¡¯s chest, and in the next moment, he was still. Like fleeting dust, there was suddenly nothing of Prospero¡¯s father to remember; his body turned to ash in the next moment and vanished on the forceful winds, leaving behind only the garments he wore in life


    ¡°Father¡­,¡± Prospero fell to his knees. ¡°No¡­ No!¡±


    Cyprian paid the lad no mind. His attention was focused solely on the vial hidden beneath the pile of clothing, which he plucked from the remains and lifted towards the moon. ¡°Finally¡­¡± he muttered. ¡°The Founder¡¯s Blood¡­ with this, the tragedy of men will be-¡±


    He tilted the vial and noticed that the cork was missing. ¡°...What?¡±


    Lowering himself to a pitiable hunch, Cyprian stared down the length of the iron tube. ¡°No! Where is it!?¡± his eyes became fevered and desperate. ¡°What have you done!?¡±


    The pieces fell together in his head like snowdrops, and soon his gaze was directed towards Prospero. ¡°You!¡± he screamed. ¡°He couldn¡¯t have¡­ he wouldn¡¯t dare!¡±


    ¡°Stay away from me!¡± Prospero scrambled to his feet and retreated as quickly as his legs could carry him. ¡°You killed my father! How could you!? You¡¯re a monster in the guise of a man!¡±


    ¡°The- the Beastblood¡­¡± his words were now careful, almost pathetic. ¡°You know not of the curse you carry, lad! Your father has betrayed you - transformed you into a scapegoat to spite my long journey! You mustn¡¯t run¡­ you mustn¡¯t run from me! Only offer yourself willingly, and I will spare you the agony of death!¡±


    Blood regurgitated from his mouth - a reflex that predated some unwanted event, judging by his desperate pleas. ¡°D-Damn this Apex purity¡­ my body cannot¡­¡±


    And then he fell, face-first and comatose - or perhaps worse, into the mud. Prospero didn¡¯t waste a second of the opportunity before he was off and running, tears streaming from his face, down the layers of burning Innsworm and towards the old road leading towards the fores, past the wailing faces and silhouettes of his kinsmen being slaughtered in the dark. He sprinted with such surprising speed that the world appeared to be moving twice as fast, though he dared not stop and peer over his shoulder for fear of glimpsing another nightborne menace.


    His father dead, his home destroyed, his blood seething like acid, he vanished into the darkness of the woods where the slightest ray of hope promised him another moment of life.

 4 - Beastly Awakening

    Prospero¡¯s blood trembled.


    He wandered, fainted, and was woken by the pain minutes later. There was no word to describe it - ¡®agonising¡¯ was too tender and rational for his needs. His point of view was reduced to the spirit concealed within his body, trapped within a rapturous prison of flesh. He refused to recognise the pain as part of himself.


    Make it stop! Damn it - just make the pain stop! I¡¯ll do anything!


    He pleaded with no God in particular between sessions of writhing in the dirt, but there came no answer, and neither did he expect one to arrive, much as he was in need of a miracle.


    In his delirium, minutes passed in the blink of an eye. Soon, he was further into the downs and the treelines than his father had ever permitted him to wander as a child; the blight-tangle of the countryside, where beasts and monsters roamed in the many shadows. He suffered so exquisitely that death seemed like an escape. He imagined ramming his head into the side of an oak until he splintered his skull and breathed no longer, or drowning himself in the shallow burns. Anything to be free of the pain.


    Those destructive thoughts were answered, he noticed, by the merging, half-dark silhouette of a hunter come to examine the orchestra of screams and wails. The wolf was curious when it stepped out from the shadows, looking upon Prospero as if unsure of his status as a meal. But once a breath of life escaped from his hoarse throat, the creature was alive and its eyes glinted with delight, teeth bared in anticipation of a kill.


    Prospero¡¯s eyes were open, but he didn¡¯t recognise the creature as a wolf. No - he didn¡¯t recognise much of anything past that point. His vision was conquered by the succulent web unfolding before him; a labyrinth of tubes and wires through which quickening blood ran like fountainhead waters. He was so incredibly famished.


    The wolf leapt. It was no man, and demanded neither Prospero¡¯s purse nor garments - only his life. The mass of beating blood filled his vision, the rows of yawning teeth imperceptible beneath its crimson lifeblood. A second later, his throat would be torn, and his flesh supped upon by a mere beast of the woods. Prospero snapped shut his eyes and awaited death.


    When he came to, the night was warmer than ever. His core was boiling, as if he¡¯d stepped out of a near-scalding bath only seconds ago. Something was strewn beneath him in tattered strips. It might have been alive at one point or another, but no longer. Now it was dead, sprawled, executed, torn through; left to bleach in the moonlight.


    Prospero¡¯s arms moved of their own accord. His fingers squeezed handfuls of pulp, drawing out the ambrosial crimson which trickled down his welcoming throat like nectar. He glutted himself until his nose could sense nothing but iron and his chin was dribbling with blood. Snapshots of clarity struck him fiercely, and from one daze to the next, he fell into a fit of wretched vomiting.


    Bonespittle flew out in chunks from his gullet. Blood and ichor mixed with the dark grasses. His mouth was filled with the dark freedom of iron - a feverish and forbidden taste which touched his gums like bolts of electricity. Salt creeped into his upper lip; tears were now streaming freely from his eyes. Beneath the primeval satisfaction, a surge of disgust passed through him.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening to me¡­?¡± his palms pressed against the soil - the carpet of ragged flesh splayed below him, ¡°Father¡­ Luthor¡­ where are you? I need your help¡­¡±


    As if to answer his pleas, something appeared before him. A glossy slab of glass hovering in the air, filtering purest moonlight through its length. Upon its surface were words inscribed by an invisible hand, sterile in their delivery.


    Class Change:


    [N/A] ¡ú [Vampire]


    Type Change:


    [Half-Fiend] ¡ú [Fiend]


    Abilities Acquired:


    [Vampiric Bloodline - Beastblood]


    [Vampiric Weaknesses]


    [Vampiric Strengths]


    [Beasthood]


    [Lowland Wolf] Defeated


    [Canine Proficiency] + 1


    [Canine] Form Unlocked! (Aptitude - Athleticism)


    Prospero recognised the process from his studies. Though he had never received a Baptism per his father¡¯s wishes, he had been given a [Class] nonetheless. On late nights, he predicted his own aptitudes and took a few guesses as to how he might have turned out; a [Carpenter], a [Baker], a [Smith]... but never a [Vampire].


    He wiped his mouth clean of blood and stood, suddenly invigorated beyond explanation, into the pleasant draught whistling across the air. The boiling in his veins had ceased, though the memory of his beastly consumption was almost enough to make him vomit a second time. The wolf, he recalled - that was the identity of the flayed corpse beneath his feet. He had feasted on the raw flesh of an animal.


    ¡°Ahh¡­ This can¡¯t be! I don¡¯t believe it!¡± His hands became smeared with blood when he attempted to wipe them off on his trousers, ¡°What does all of this mean!? How could I be a Vampire, of all things!? I¡¯m no monster!¡±


    He closed his eyes, and the world stopped spinning.


    Just¡­ how could this¡­ his thoughts ran like fevered dreams. That vial¡­ father had me drink from it. What was that? Vampire blood!? No - it couldn¡¯t have been! He wouldn¡¯t¡­This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    His father was dead.


    The truth only struck him just then, as the adrenaline roaring in his blood began to fizzle. He was dead, and Innsworm had been made the sacrifice of some madman hellbent on destroying Prospero¡¯s family. The questions buzzing in his scalp came to a screaming halt as sorrow welled within him. He sobbed now not for himself, but for the parent whom he had never repaid for his unconditional love.


    ¡°Father¡­¡± Overcome, he resisted the urge to drop to his knees, ¡°No¡­ There were so many things I never told you¡­!¡±


    The moon was now high, and revealed his story state through shafts of crystalline light. His fingers were caked with mud and viscera, his garments torn beyond mending. Only his mind remained unsullied by the night¡¯s chaos, combing feverishly through distant memories to arrive at the next logical step of his escape.


    ¡°...Queensbridge,¡± he muttered.


    The dark assailants of Innsworm had no business in a sleepy fishing hamlet. His father had allies there. Allies he had only met as a boy and never again, but whom Gaspar had bade him seek in case of a sudden calamity. Should anything happen to me, or to Luthor, he recalled, then go to Queensbridge, and find the old couple who own the watermill. They will set you on the right path.


    What was ¡®right¡¯ in this chaotic world, he wondered? The blood smearing his mouth was like fire as he lapped it up, sweeter than any wine. This ¡®hunger¡¯ of his was unnatural, an instinct bridging the gap between man and beast. Prospero knew very little of Vampires and their ilk besides what he had learned from the old stories tucked away in the manor¡¯s library.


    He needed answers. To what questions, he had yet to consider, though one thing was for certain: the trajectory of his life had been forever altered. Casting fevered glances between the oaks, he stole deeper into the woods and tried to recall the way towards Queensbridge.


    Soon enough, he was well and truly lost. As the canopy thickened, the plumes of smoke rising from Innsworm vanished, and the forest seemed to swallow him up in its labyrinthine trap.


    Now was about the time Prospero would have found himself short of breath, but an uneventful hour of hopping over roots and dashing between bushes hadn¡¯t exhausted him in the slightest. He could hazard a guess as to why.


    ¡°...I should have a look at my Class,¡± he decided, having worked out the last of his tears for the time being.  ¡°If I¡¯m remembering the basics correctly, there should be a status screen I can access.¡±


    A single thought in passing was all it took to summon the glossy plaque, which hovered gently within his field of view and followed the movements of his eyes.


    Prospero Baptista


    Grade 1 Vampire


    Physical Resistance - 5%   Magical Resistance - 0%


    ¡°Vampire¡­¡± he grimaced. ¡°Have I really become a monster?¡±


    An arrow near the bottom of the menu slid off the plaque when his eyes rested upon it, revealing a second ¡®page¡¯ of information.


    BODY


    Athleticism - 4   Endurance - 4   Fortitude - 4


    FINESSE


    Acrobatics - 4   Stealth - 4   Perception - 4


    MIND


    Willpower - 2   Arcane - 2   Memory - 2


    VAMPIRE


    Beasthood - 2%


    Regeneration - 2   Unarmed - 2   Summoning - 2


    ¡°The three Attributes, a Class Feature, and a Class Set¡­.¡± he reminded himself of his studies to distract from the swelling panic in his chest. ¡°Attributes always begin at 2, but some of mine have already increased. Does that have something to do with being a¡­ a Vampire?¡±


    The term slithered out of his mouth reluctantly. He was half-disgusted with the idea of accepting his fate, but if there was one thing that would never lie to him, it was the governing mystery of the System. Vampire or not, his chest swelled with a certain curiosity now that he had a Class of his own, however horrifying it was to comprehend.


    The box of text morphed to answer his query.


    Passive - Heightened Physique (Vampiric Strength)


    Description - You gain a 100% bonus to all stat increases within the [Body] and [Finesse] categories.


    Most combat-oriented Classes received at least one bonus to a certain Attribute. Prospero recalled an example in the Swordmaster, who received a 50% bonus to [Body] attributes. It was rare to see a bonus any higher than that, much less spread across two Attributes instead of one. His first thought was that such a boon had to be saddled with some sort of weakness.


    Again, the System responded to his thoughts.


    Passive - Vampiric Weaknesses


    Description - As a full-blooded Vampire, you are subject to the following effects:


    Weakness to Sunlight - When your body is exposed to direct sunlight, you will suffer constant and progressively worsening levels of damage. If a region of your body is exposed to direct sunlight for more than 10 seconds, it is turned to ash. You are capable of withstanding sunlight provided there is enough cloud cover, though you will experience significant discomfort in these cases.


    Weakness to Sacred Objects - Artefacts, icons, or other objects which have been magically consecrated and are actively worshipped appear to you as beacons of unnatural light. Prolonged eye contact with such objects will result in temporary blindness.


    Weakness to Running Water - Natural sources of running water, such as rivers and streams, burn you as a strong acid would. This weakness only applies if the affected area is submerged within the source in question, and has no effect if you are sprayed with water droplets, including rainfall. This weakness has no effect if the water is contained within an artificial structure, such as a bathtub or glass, with the sole exception of water which has been blessed.


    Weakness to Silver - Sources of silver, whether natural or artificial, inflict you with nausea and sickness, halting your regenerative abilities. This weakness takes some time to wear off depending on the length and severity of your exposure, and can last from minutes to days.


    Vulnerable Heart - If your heart is pierced with a wooden stake, you are killed instantly. The stake must be impaled by hand, be longer than 5 inches, and have a diameter wider than 2 inches.


    Uninvited - You are incapable of entering an occupied dwelling without explicit spoken or written permission from at least one active resident. Any attempt to enter a dwelling without permission is met with forceful repulsion. It is not possible for a resident to revoke their permission once it has been granted.


    His heart sank with each listing. Would he no longer feel the light¡¯s embrace upon his flesh? Was the rising sun now a curse upon his very existence? Vampires were forsaken beasts of the night who supped on the flesh of innocent people, and whose devious ambitions once rattled the chains of dominion across the breadth of the Incandescence.


    Now Prospero was one of them. A nightkin. A hexblood. And all by his father¡¯s own hand. But the sorrow of Gaspar¡¯s final words revealed the necessity of his actions - there was a rhyme and reason to his supposed madness. Prospero could not imagine a world in which his father would have thrust upon him the burden of vampirism for anything bar the direst of circumstances. There were answers to be found. Answers he had been tasked to find.


    ¡°...I must reach Queensbridge.¡± Prospero resolved, ¡°Dawn will crack shortly.¡±

 5 - Vampyr

    As his worry dwelled, dire thoughts surfaced within Prospero¡¯s mind. He hadn¡¯t missed it - that small but horrifying reveal which had crossed his eyes not a few hours ago.


    Type Change:


    [Half-Fiend] ¡ú [Fiend]


    Half-Fiend. Was he not human to begin with? Or were his origins, like so many things, suddenly muddied and hazy? Recollections of simpler times furthered his conundrum.


    My father hated the sun, he recalled. Never once did I see him eager to face a warm summer¡¯s day. He was always in the shade, wrapped in his cloak no matter how unbearably hot it was. He enjoyed the overcast winters and his strolls by moonlight, or days spent beneath the showers of the early spring. I never thought it was strange - merely a preference. But now¡­


    It could not be denied that his courtly behaviour, with all in mind, resembled that of a Vampire. Even his early life, which Prospero had never known with any degree of familiarity, lended the man an air of mystique. But he was no beast. He was a father. A saint. A beacon of kindness and generosity who loved the world and all who dwelled within it endlessly.


    But the System did not lie. Prospero had been a Half-Fiend his whole life. And what other Half-Fiend resembled a human besides the bastard spawn of a Vampire? He could not believe it; he did not want to believe it. There would be a rational answer that explained everything somewhere in Queensbridge. He merely had to find it.


    Despite the bumps and snags of his trek, Prospero was not fatigued by the journey. The wolf¡¯s blood had enfired his own with a fidgety energy. Troubled with temptation, he found himself lapping the thickened veneer from the tips of his fingers, equal parts intrigued and disgusted by his own behaviour.


    ¡°Speaking of¡­¡± he came to a stop, ¡°Didn¡¯t the System mention something else?¡±


    [Canine] Form Unlocked!


    The notification had only flashed for a moment, but it seemed important. Assuming it was some kind of ability, he summoned a descriptor.


    Ability - True Shapechanger (Beastblood)


    Description - By slaying enemies of a specific [Type], you may adopt the forms of defeated creatures. Proficiency with a given [Type], as well as the attribute assigned to that particular [Type], is improved as you slay enemies.


    Ability - Canine Form (Beastblood)


    Description - Adopt a canine form, choosing from any [Canine] creature you have previously slain provided its original level was lower than or equal to your own at the time of death. Changing to this form increases your Beasthood by [15%] and bestows a [50%] bonus to all skills within the [Finesse] category for its duration.


    ¡°Shapechanger¡­¡±


    How very fitting, he thought, for a Vampire to prosper from slaughter. By destroying life indiscriminately, the System promised him power. It was no wonder Vampires were known as monstrous stalkers of the night when murder was buried within their nature. But he was no monster, and had no intention of plummeting into sanguine madness.


    Or, so he believed.


    All at once, as he stepped between two tree trunks, his senses were dominated by fear and reflex. Something sticky was clinging to his face; webs of cerulean thread phasing out of the night¡¯s darkness. He yanked his head back, only to find himself springing towards the enormous web which spanned the length of those two gnarled trees. He thrashed with his ensnared arms, opened his mouth to scream and felt the threads warping under his lips, snaking into his nostrils and dragging on his eyelashes.


    Then there came the thousands of little beasts in the night, their tiny legs flitting between the rows of thread on their way to feed. Freshspawn spiderlings of budding size were suddenly animated upon the web, scurrying towards Prospero with delighted glee. He felt the creep of their hairless bodies rushing his flesh, nibbling wherever they could sense exposed skin. Prospero offered terror in reply, and succeeded only in entangling himself further as he flailed and tumbled about.


    The spiderlings leapt between his parted lips and feasted on his gums. They snuck to the bottom of his eyelids and probed the delectable orbs beneath with their sharp forelegs. Prospero screamed to resist his failing consciousness, already half-dead from fright, and in the dire palace of his mind, he had already surrendered himself to the hope of swift oblivion.


    He sought salvation from the divine, but his saviour would not be the hidden eyes located far beyond the Incandescence. Desperation forced his mind to conjure awful things, and from that fear, the System decided a path for him.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    [Canine] Form Activated


    Finesse (+50%)  /  Beasthood (+15%)


    His body contorted in a manner that should have killed him instantly. And yet, there was no pain. Even as his bones shattered and reformed, and as the puzzle of his veins rewired; even as great pools of blood glutted the moonlit soil, he felt nothing. The web was torn from him, unable to follow his transformation, and within seconds he was freed - though not quite in the way he envisioned. He was shorter, suddenly; on all fours, and surrounded by a pleasant warmth that reminded him of his thick, fluffy duvet in the manor. His teeth were sharp. His nose was now a proud snout tipped with wet, leathery nostrils. The spiderlings remaining upon him now contended with matted fur separating them from his flesh.


    Prospero screamed once again, though it came out from him then as a shocked bark. His field of view was wider, but somewhat less focused than before, not to mention lower. What was once a dire, foggy wood now threatened to overwhelm him with choking scents. He widened out his four-legged stance and shook the spiderlings from his alpine fur.


    Now he was a beast proper; a wolf. He horrified himself with the thought that, when the adrenaline passed him by, he would be stuck in that form forever. But when the urge to escape his lupine shackles arrived, Prospero underwent another transformation, and he was soon back to how he was before, standing on two feet.


    [Canine Form] Deactivated


    But he was parched. And not parched in the way that a sip of water would satisfy, but parched for blood. The deepening hunger which had boiled his veins just a while ago was reappearing. He swallowed the urge right down to his stomach and brushed himself free of the spiderlings which continued to nibble at his neck and hands.


    I don¡¯t feel numb, he thought. They¡¯re not venomous, but they made up for it in ferocity. If I hadn¡¯t taken that form¡­


    He cast the thought aside before it could frighten him further. All he cared about was placing some distance between himself and the web before the spiderlings¡¯ mother returned to investigate the disturbance. Prospero realised then why Luthor had always forbidden him from exploring the forests beyond Innsworm.


    ¡°I need to find a path¡­¡± he muttered, ¡°I¡¯ll end up running in circles otherwise.¡±


    He sprinted off before he was caught in the gaze of something far more troublesome than mere spiderlings, though he didn¡¯t make it far before a gargantuan silhouette plummeted from the canopy to block his path. The chittering mass of spindly hairs and creaking legs struck him with the kind of fear that would have left any other man paralysed.


    Lunar Weaver


    Grade 7 Beast (Arachnid)


    Physical Resistance - 10%   Magical Resistance - 5%


    An azure band running over the length of the creature¡¯s thorax and over its bulging abdomen reflected the moonlight. Its many eyes tracked Prospero¡¯s movements with predatory anticipation. Prospero prayed that its proportions were a trick of the darkness if only to stow his fear for a moment, reluctant to accept the reality of a bear-sized spider.


    Run, his mind demanded, before you become this monster¡¯s next meal!


    [Wolf] Form Activated


    Finesse (+50%)  /  Beasthood (+15%)


    The spider lunged, but Prospero¡¯s profile was already lowered. He had no time to question the morals of vampiric powers when his life was on the line. A fresh burst of agility imparted by his new form sent him dashing under the beast¡¯s suspended body. He moved as if he had never known a life with less than four legs, stealing between the oaks and bushes on a mad sprint to escape the spider¡¯s territory.


    It was a fine decision to have made in the heat of fear. In his human form, he wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance. The forest blurred around him as his paws found purchase in the muck, launching from one perch to another along the roots and bumps. The spider pursued, but its talents were more suited to ambushes than hot-blooded hunts, and soon, Prospero¡¯s ears could no longer hear the chittering of its eight legs between the grasses.


    His first instinct was to return to his human form, but he found himself hesitant at the notion.


    Appalling as it is, this wolf¡¯s body does have its advantages, he thought. More to the point, I seem to be paying some dark cost whenever I adopt it¡­ This terrible, beastly hunger is festering within me once more.


    He pulled the term ¡®Beasthood¡¯ from his recollection of the System and summoned a description of the phenomenon, hoping to discover some answers about his nature.


    Class Feature (Beastblood Vampire) - Beasthood


    Description - As a Beastblood Vampire, your Beasthood is increased by shapeshifting. It begins to decrease when you have abstained from shapeshifting for 12 hours. Your natural strength and reflexes receive dramatic bonuses proportional to your current Beasthood, whereas your mental faculties and humanity suffer an inverse effect. If your Beasthood reaches 100%, you undergo a class change, becoming a [Ghoul]. This class change cannot be reversed.


    Current Beasthood - 32%


    The source of Prospero¡¯s hunger, then, was something he could measure. If he indulged his vampirism, there was power to be gained - but something crucial to his humanity would be lost. There was no overcoming the urge in his heart; whether he indulged his bloodthirst or not, the hunger would remain. It was merely a question of whether he fancied the life of a starving wretch or a morbid gourmand.


    It¡¯s no wonder Vampires are known as fiends when this is the choice they have to make, he thought. Is that also my fate? Am I now nothing more than a vessel for these wretched desires?


    At a low 32%, the thirst was just about bearable. An inch or two closer to his beastly nature, and Prospero wouldn¡¯t have been able to keep his mind off the topic of blood. But there was a careful game to be played, he noticed, as there often was with the System. A balancing act of impulse and power with his own life on the line. He had no idea what a Ghoul was, but it didn¡¯t sound the least bit pleasant.


    The night¡¯s chill bothered him less with a hide of fur to stave off the cold. He was still himself - still Prospero beneath that lupine shell. He would be faster as a wolf, and maintaining the form would allow him to manage his Beasthood with a little more elegance.


    The light drew closer, and the stars of the distant Incandescence paled as the sky grew brighter by the minute. He would have less than an hour to reach Queensbridge before dawn broke over the horizon. With renewed vigor and a skull bursting with questions, he took off into the night, towards the distant scent of smoke and pig shit.

 6 - Hidden Benefactors

    The hamlet of Queensbridge wasn¡¯t unlike Innsworm, only that it was smaller and stood on the path of a river rather than on a hill. Prospero observed the settlement from a distance, keeping to the shadow of the canopy where sunlight was scarce. Every time a paw of his slipped out from the darkness, it singed as if pressed by hot iron, but the pain faded just as swiftly when he retreated.


    He could not approach the village in his current form, both for fear of the sun and causing a panic by strutting across the roads in the hood of a beast.


    [Canine Form] Deactivated


    Coaxed by will alone, his posture straightened out, his bones readjusted, and the soft fur upon his flesh shrunk until he was a man once more. His father¡¯s cloak was large enough to serve as a shroud, though he looked rather suspicious all covered up.


    ¡°There¡¯s not much else I can do¡­¡± he muttered, ¡°Now, to find the watermill.¡±


    It was a towering structure, alive with movement and loud enough to be heard from some distance away. Prospero marked the wooden wheel carving through the river and descended the slight hill into the hamlet¡¯s perimeter, ignoring the fearful stares and gasps of the villagers going about their morning business. Before he could reach the watermill, a militiaman donning an ill-fitting helmet stepped forward to block his path. ¡°Halt! State your name, ser!¡±


    ¡°Prospero Baptista,¡± He answered, ¡°I am Gaspar¡¯s son, and I am here on urgent business.¡±


    ¡°Prospero¡­?¡± the fellow¡¯s moustache twitched as he leaned forward to get a closer look, ¡°...Gods above - it is you, young master! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? It¡¯s been many a year since-¡±


    ¡°Forgive me for interrupting, but this is no time for pleasantries.¡± Prospero shook his head, ¡°Innsworm is¡­ something evil has descended upon us. My father is dead, and I fear it¡¯s only a matter of time before Queensbridge suffers a similar fate.¡±


    He paused to observe the guard¡¯s expression shifting from pleased to horrified, then continued, ¡°...I must see the couple who tend the watermill immediately. I was instructed by my father to do so in an emergency.¡±


    The guard spun his gaze from side to side, unbelieving of Prospero¡¯s words and terrified of his sudden responsibility to relay the news to the villagers, who continued about their days unbeknownst to the weight of Prospero¡¯s words. ¡°Young master, this is¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for burdening you all of a sudden, but I must move quickly.¡±


    He did not wait for a reply, marching straight past the frozen militiaman towards the few steps leading up to the entrance of the building. He did not bother to knock, but as soon as his foot crossed the threshold of the door, he was repulsed by some phantasmal force which prevented him from entering. The more he pushed against it, the fiercer it became, until a plainclothes gentleman occupying himself with filling sacks of flour from the nearby hopper, which extended like a wooden beam up to the structure¡¯s second floor, noticed Prospero at the entrance while lugging a sack of flour over one shoulder. ¡°Oh¡­ we¡¯ve got a visitor,¡± he said.


    ¡°My apologies for intruding,¡± Prospero lowered his cowled head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know who you heard it from, son, but if you want flour, you¡¯ll need to buy it at the market just like everyone else,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a man quite as conspicuous as yourself, forgive me for saying. Who are you, if you don¡¯t mind the question?¡±


    For the second time, Prospero began, ¡°I am Prospero Baptista. Son of-¡±


    Then, all of a sudden, the man was upon him, the sack of fresh white flour spilling as it dropped. Both hands fell on Prospero¡¯s shoulders, dragging him inside. There was no longer a force forbidding Prospero from entering. The fellow¡¯s eyes grew fevered and desperate. ¡°Prospero!? Is it really you!?¡±


    Safe from the sun, his cloak came down, and the youthful face once known to that old miller had now taken on all the qualities of a grown man. The familiarity evident in his gaze lasted for a second, replaced just as quickly with stern purpose. ¡°Where is Gaspar!? Where is your father!?¡±


    Prospero found himself hesitant to speak. ¡°...He is gone.¡±


    ¡°By the Triumph! It¡¯s happened!? It¡¯s really-¡± craning his neck, the miller shouted above, ¡°Eliza! It¡¯s happened! Prospero is here!¡±


    There came a tapping from above, and soon, there was another in the room; a woman - the miller¡¯s wife, who appeared just as unassuming as he but whose expression was rife with a kind of experience that belied her humble status. ¡°Prospero¡­¡± she began. ¡°Is it true? Is your father-¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°It is! I won¡¯t say it again! Don¡¯t be so cruel!¡± With a gentle shove, he and the miller were separated, ¡°Please, tell me what¡¯s happening! I travelled through the forest to come here in the night, cursed with a lust for blood! The System calls me a Vampire!¡±


    ¡°Young master¡­ try to calm down,¡± the woman replied. ¡°We will explain. Your father entrusted us with that burden, so please - let Albus take you to the house where you can sit down and rest for a moment.¡±


    ¡°...I¡¯m sorry,¡± Prospero sighed. ¡°I fear the worst for this village, and I haven¡¯t slept a wink since escaping. Can you promise me that my questions will be answered?¡±


    ¡°Without a doubt,¡± the one named Albus took Prospero by the shoulder and led him to the door. ¡°Let¡¯s first cool your head off while Eliza finishes up in the mill here. You can ask as many questions as you¡¯d like once she¡¯s come around.¡±


    Prospero lifted the cape over his head to protect from the sun as they left the mill and travelled across the road, where a quaint little house sat with its door rattling in the wind. Albus locked it behind him and drew the thin curtains of the windows to stave off the worst of the sunlight. ¡°Have a seat, young master.¡± he said, ¡°You must be exhausted.¡±


    Truthfully, he didn¡¯t feel fatigued in the slightest - no doubt an extension of his newfound vampirism. Even so, he sighed as if freed from a great burden while seating himself at a tiny table in the corner of the room. Albus pulled up a chair from beside the entrance and joined him, flour dust dancing from his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll say this much-¡± he began. ¡°You did well to come all this way with how little you understand, young master.¡±


    ¡°Master Albus¡­¡± Prospero paused. ¡°Was my father a Vampire? Please be truthful.¡±


    ¡°Aye. He was,¡± he nodded, ¡°and a powerful one, too - in his prime, at least. Unheard of for a Vampire to settle down, but that¡¯s exactly what he and your mother did all those decades ago.¡±


    ¡°My mother, too? Was she-¡±


    ¡°Human,¡± Albus said. ¡°Again - unheard of. Vampires don¡¯t have much use for love, but she and Gaspar were joined at the hip. He was mad for her. But you¡¯d know that better than me.¡±


    A lump formed in Prospero¡¯s throat. ¡°Then¡­ what am I?¡±


    ¡°A Dhampir,¡± he allowed the name to linger in the air. ¡°Half-Fiends. Not much different from humans bar their dislike for the sun. But you¡¯re a Dhampir no longer, young master. That much is certain.¡±


    ¡°Father had me drink something before he was killed,¡± Prospero continued, ¡°It was¡­ blood. It must have been. Dark, terrible blood. It awakened something within me that seems to have been slumbering all this time, but which now takes hold of me like a curse.¡±


    ¡°The Beastblood¡­ I can¡¯t believe it,¡± Albus paused. ¡°Did you see him, young master?¡±


    Prospero leaned back. ¡°Who?¡±


    Albus followed the movement, leaning forward with his voice hushed as if afraid of invoking terror with his words. ¡°Orlok¡­¡±


    The man with the face of a wild animal, disfigured beyond recognition, pale as a sheet, and with two eyes which seemed to pierce bone-deep. Prospero had never heard the name spoken once before, and yet it took shape in his mind as the creature who had stolen his father¡¯s life. He nodded quietly, and Albus¡¯ expression turned grim. ¡°He is here, then¡­ just as your father predicted.¡±


    ¡°What is he?¡± Prospero dared to ask.


    ¡°Another Vampire, though of a different sort than your father - of most Vampires, really,¡± he explained, ¡°Cyprian Orlok is his name, and much like your father¡¯s, it was once known throughout the Incandescence. He is very dangerous, Prospero, and the concoction your father had you imbibe is the treasure he seeks. A treasure which now flows through your veins.¡±


    Two hands grasped Prospero¡¯s shoulders. Albus¡¯ voice was dire now, as if relaying the most important message he would ever know. ¡°No matter what happens, Prospero, Orlok cannot acquire the Beastblood. That is why you are here. Why your father led you to us. You may flee across the Celestial Ocean until the stars fade, but Orlok will hound you to the end of time if fate permits. When he reaches you - and it is a matter of when, not if - you must be prepared to oppose him.¡±


    It was the dire truth Prospero never wanted to hear, but which he knew to expect. His family was dead, his hometown destroyed, and now he had been tasked by a man less than ten minutes his acquaintance to oppose the indomitable force which stoked the fire to begin with.


    Albus could see the growing fear in his eyes. ¡°What we ask of you is not easy, Prospero.¡±


    Before a reply could form, brimming with hesitation and refusal, the door opened, and the woman named Eliza marched in. ¡°The townsfolk are in a panic,¡± she said. ¡°Did you tell them of what transpired in Innsworm, Prospero?¡±


    ¡°...I told a guardsman, yes,¡± he nodded. ¡°Was that a poor idea?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m grateful, actually. It saved me the effort,¡± she walked up. ¡°Orlok cannot- has my husband told you of Orlok? In any case, he and his legion cannot travel by day. This gives us some time to evacuate the villagers before he marches at sundown.¡±


    ¡°-And you, young master - you will be gone by then.¡± Albus returned his gaze to Prospero. ¡°There is a man called Alto in the Port town of Glassoph to the north. He has been awaiting your arrival for many years, and has a Voidbeast prepared to take you into the Incandescence. It will not save you from Orlok, but it will buy you some time.  Time you will desperately need to become stronger.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t understand,¡± Prospero¡¯s throat ached. ¡°I do not want to leave. I do not want this burden. Why is this gift you call the ¡®Beastblood¡¯ coveted so dearly by the man named Orlok?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only morning.¡± Eliza folded her arms. ¡°Darling - take the young master out to train for a few hours. The wolves have been digging at the graves in the cemetery again, and the foresters won¡¯t cull them no matter how many times we ask.¡±


    ¡°That may be for the best. And I can recount the rest of Orlok¡¯s history to Prospero while we do it,¡± Albus stood. ¡°Follow me, young master. I¡¯ll reveal all of the answers you seek on our way to the graveyard.¡±

 7 - Elite

    A cool breeze took the edge off Prospero¡¯s anxiety. Among those worthy of trust, he¡¯d found the answers to his tragedy, but just as he feared, the nightmare had yet to end. He could not refuse the fate hauled upon him, knowing all too well that he no longer had a home to return to. He would be on back foot for the rest of his days, hounded by forces beyond his comprehension, saddled with a curse he had no desire to master.


    ¡°It is cruel that you must inherit this mission, Prospero,¡± Albus spoke freely as they hiked through the forest. ¡°The Beastblood will reignite a conflict once thought extinguished, and you will remain squarely at its centre until Orlok is dealt with.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Prospero asked. ¡°This Beastblood.¡±


    ¡°It is an ancient lineage dating to the infancy of vampirism, when the Incandescence was ravaged by a creature born from humanity¡¯s cruelty and darkness,¡± he continued. ¡°Since then, there have been many lineages, and many vampiric houses, but none so rare and desirable as the Beastblood, for it represents a crystallisation of the First¡¯s power, and the potential of his dominating strength.¡±


    There was only so much of what he was being told that Prospero could understand, but the afternoons spent tolerating Luthor¡¯s lectures in the study had left him with enough historical knowledge to piece a few of Albus¡¯ words together. ¡°The First¡­¡± He repeated. ¡°Are you referring to Dracula?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s reassuring that you¡¯re already familiar with the name.¡± Albus replied. ¡°Yes¡­ the Beastblood lineage was Dracula¡¯s own, and only his direct descendants - or those who have partaken of his sacred blood - are its carriers.¡±


    The cover of trunks and bushes parted to reveal a clearing in the woods, where something that may very well have once resembled a cemetery stood. The unpolished, moss-covered headstones and toppled cairns were relics of an age long forgotten. Like the one not far from Innsworm, Prospero recalled from his youth, it was an ancestral burial ground.


    ¡°Many of those entombed here were once Vampires themselves.¡± Albus wandered ahead, into the mist hovering just above the grass. ¡°Followers of your father - those who accompanied him into his isolation and took the secret of the Beastblood to their unnatural graves. Gaspar was the one to end them once they were ready.¡±


    ¡°Albus-¡± Prospero could not help but ask, ¡°are you a Vampire?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he answered, ¡°I was settled here before Gaspar arrived, and like so many others, became tangled in his quest for peace. But Eliza is a Dhampir, as are many of the villagers. Regrettably, you are the only true Vampire left now that Gaspar is gone. I have a feeling Orlok may have factored this into his plans¡­ waiting for the most opportune moment to strike, no matter how many decades it took. Let that be a reminder of just how deeply he covets the Beastblood.¡±


    Their conversation caught the attention of something hidden in the mist. Prospero watched the silhouette raise its head before scurrying off. Frenzied gashes were left in the soil when they approached. Aged, rotting bones had been unearthed from below.


    ¡°An Elite has emerged from one of the local wolf packs.¡± Albus kneeled by the grave. ¡°It has happened before, but the forester we relied on to deal with such matters passed away years ago, and his son has no interest in culling the threat.¡±


    He stood and turned. ¡°-It is of no consequence whether the animal dies now that Queensbridge is doomed, but you may extract something useful from it, young master. It will be a fine test of your abilities before we send you on your way to Glassoph.¡±


    Prospero pulled the term from his studies. An [Elite] was something akin to a leader among beasts, emerging through a combination of chance and hardship. They were often more intelligent than their kin, and had a tendency to cause trouble for nearby settlements. But before he tested anything, there was a worry in his mind. ¡°Are you going to abandon Queensbridge?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Albus answered. ¡°Eliza and I, and all those distant servants of the village, will fight to preserve your odds of escaping. We will meet Orlok¡¯s thralls in the village, and when that plan falls through, we will lead them into the woods and slow their advance.¡±


    Prospero took a step forward. ¡°I will not abandon you - or any of these people - to die for my sake.¡±


    ¡°You do not want to,¡± Albus corrected, ¡°-but you must. Not all of the villagers will join us. We cannot expect them to, for generations have passed since your father¡¯s arrival, and the few of us who have chosen to prepare for this day outnumber those who desire quiet lives. Some will flee, and some will fight. But all of us will die in time. There is no escape. Not from Orlok.¡±


    Prospero felt the need to press, no matter how desperate it sounded. ¡°...Is there no other way?¡±


    ¡°Long ago, perhaps. When your father was still at the height of his strength. But he gave that up for your mother¡¯s sake, and for yours as well,¡± Albus continued. ¡°Please, Prospero. I swore to your father that I would guide you if Orlok attacked. He entrusted you with the Beastblood because he was confident that you had the heart to resist its temptations.¡±


    Now a destiny was being thrown upon him, and Prospero had no choice but to accept. To seek vengeance for his father¡¯s death, and to preserve his own life, there was no other way.


    He sighed. ¡°...Why did this have to happen?¡±


    ¡°The phantoms of our past stalk us always, and your father left behind many phantoms indeed,¡± Albus replied. ¡°In death, he will never forgive himself for thrusting this responsibility onto you, the child for whom he discarded everything in the name of love.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The hole in Prospero¡¯s heart would not fill out for decades, if it filled out at all. So many things left unsaid would tear at him in the realm of dreams until he took his final breath. His father was indeed dead, and like his mother, would never return no matter how dearly he prayed and begged.


    He breathed in and resisted the urge to sob. ¡°...You want me to cull this Elite?¡±


    Sensing that he desired to move away from the topic of his father as quickly as possible, Albus nodded and took the conversation elsewhere. ¡°Have you discovered the secret of your lineage already? The hidden power of the Beastblood?¡±


    ¡°Shapeshifting, yes,¡± Prospero answered. ¡°But it comes at the cost of my humanity.¡±


    ¡°As it does for all Vampires, or so I have learned,¡± Albus kneeled to inspect the tracks left by the Wolf. ¡°Vampiric powers differ greatly from lineage to lineage, but the governing chaos of ¡®Beasthood¡¯ keeps them in moderation. Some Vampires accrue Beasthood when they feed - others when they make use of the runic path. Your lineage is to do with shapeshifting.¡±


    He stood. ¡°You mentioned the System earlier. I take it you¡¯ve learned the basics of how it operates?¡±


    ¡°-And only the basics,¡± Prospero folded his arms. ¡°Never anything specific.¡±


    ¡°This realm is disconnected from the Coalition. Hidden, as your father wished. Abbots from the Emerald City were never invited here, and as a result, we¡¯ve lived without the System for generations.¡± Albus replied. ¡°Good for peace. Terrible for war. Beyond terrible.¡±


    He cocked his head. ¡°We¡¯ve attracted some attention.¡±


    From the distant range of oaks and grass emerged shapes in the fog. Prospero would not have noticed their arrival until it was far too late - a different story from the lone wolf who attacked him on a whim of impulse the night prior. They were six in number, led by a fearsome specimen nearly twice the size of its brethren, stalking Prospero and Albus under the mist with uncanny intelligence.


    ¡°Focus first.¡± Albus said. ¡°An enemy who does not want to be revealed can always hide their strength. But under scrutiny, the System reveals all.¡±


    Prospero narrowed his eyes and homed in on the wolves¡¯ leader.


    Lowland Wolf (Elite)


    Grade 2 Beast (Wolf)


    Physical Resistance - 0%   Magical Resistance - 0%


    The beast snarled as if offended by the gesture, strings of saliva dangling from its enormous maw. While it approached, the rest of the pack moved to surround Prospero and Albus before they could react. The latter scanned his surroundings before snapping his head to the side. ¡°Watch out!¡±


    Prospero sidestepped just in time to avoid a lunge. He had no weapon, but the footwork from Luthor¡¯s fencing lessons had been seared into his mind. Coupled with his newfound agility as a Vampire, it appeared to him as if the beast was moving in slow-motion. Albus was not so lucky, his diverted attention exploited as a second wolf bore down on him.


    ¡°Albus!¡± Prospero ran over, but before he could reach the wolf, it leaped away and retreated to a safe distance, ¡°are you okay!?¡±


    ¡°Keep your eyes on the pack!¡± he shouted.


    They were being circled now, creating a threat in every direction. Prospero had never known wolves to move with so much coordination, but Albus had mentioned that the Elite would improve their intelligence. Whenever he made a move, the wolves¡¯ formation moved with him, forming a strict perimeter. Albus touched the wound on his shoulder and drew warm blood on his fingers while Prospero spun on his heels. ¡°How do we attack them!?¡± he asked.


    Albus exhaled and stood. ¡°You must be patient¡­ they will attack as one, to rob any chance of a counterattack. Strike then - right at the leader¡¯s heart! We will be worn down otherwise¡­¡±


    Peace of mind was strikingly difficult with one¡¯s life on the line, but Prospero had done so before. The rapiers of Baptista manor were sharp unlike anything, and he¡¯d nicked himself plenty during his sparring sessions with Luthor. His greatest victories in training arrived when his mind was at ease.


    Just think of it like another duel¡­


    He took a breath and felt the cool morning air on his skin. His nose tickled with pain as the odd shaft of sunlight slipped under his waning cloak-hood. He remained aware of the [Elite] in his vision, but did not ignore the wolves on his flank. He listened to their paws scraping across the fallen leaves and waited for the right moment.


    With unearthly synchronicity, the beasts pounced at one, and Prospero stepped towards the Elite¡¯s gaping maw with a curled fist at the ready. He was not at all confident that a punch would fare well against a wolf, but he had no other option than to trust in the power of the Beastblood.


    ¡­Now!


    An instant passed. The surprised yelp of a scorned animal captured the cemetery in stasis, followed shortly by desperate whimpers and the turgid folding of flesh and bone. Prospero¡¯s hand punctured deep, through the matted fur and rib cage towards something boiling and alive within the wolf¡¯s core. With unknown familiarity, he retracted his arm, the beast¡¯s heart wheezing between his fingers. The [Elite] was already dead. Its expression remained firm and vicious even as its body went limp in the grass.


    [Lowland Wolf] Defeated


    [Canine Proficiency] + 2


    [Elite Bonus] + 5


    Total Proficiency Gained - 7


    The remaining wolves stiffened as if deprived of their new intelligence, scurrying in the next moment to lose themselves in the thickness of the forest. Prospero¡¯s mind was racing at the sight of blood, but he swallowed the sensation down before it could control him. The [Elite]¡¯s heart continued to beat, undying, in his hand.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Albus wandered over, ¡°from how you¡¯ve been acting, I thought you¡¯d be green. But it takes skill to move the way you did, young master - skill that one cannot inherit from simple Vampirism.¡±


    Prospero shook his head to dispel the bloodthirst. ¡°...I mentioned once to my father that I had an interest in fencing. Naturally, he took it too seriously, as he always did, and arranged for Luthor to tutor me three times a week.¡±


    ¡°That does sound like Gaspar.¡± Albus smirked. ¡°Never did anything halfway, that man.¡±


    Prospero smiled as well. It was calming to be reminded of better times, if only for a moment. ¡°...So, what is this?¡± he asked, nodding towards the heart, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything so gruesome.¡±


    ¡°The organ is still alive with that beast¡¯s Essence,¡± Albus explained, ¡°meaning you can use it for your own needs. The System accrues proficiency in class-specific acts, but that proficiency is only redeemed once Essence is absorbed - and only improves your abilities if the essence in question is powerful enough. Stops folks from just whaling on the weak, you see.¡±


    ¡°And this ¡®Essence¡¯ - how do I absorb it?¡± Prospero wondered.


    ¡°How else, young master?¡± Albus stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. ¡°-You eat it, obviously!¡±


    Prospero paused. ¡°...Excuse me?¡±

 8 - Lifes Great Pleasure

    When the plate was set down, Prospero resisted the urge to grimace. Butterflied and pan-fried, the heart resembled something that was carved from a half-rotted corpse. Pink juices pooled from the bottom as if to warn off any ill-advised gourmands.


    ¡°Forgive me, young master.¡± Eliza shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s just about as good as it will ever look.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Who can put up with consuming hearts on the daily?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the heart you normally have to eat.¡± Albus, who sat at the other end of the table, tried to suppress a smile. ¡°Essence spreads from the heart through the rest of the body after death. The problem is that you tore the poor thing¡¯s heart straight out, so there was no time for that to happen.¡±


    In short, there was nothing for it. With a sigh, Prospero used his knife and fork to separate the heart into more manageable strips before popping a rubbery piece into his mouth. He didn¡¯t find the taste too offensive, though the texture left much to be desired. While he ate, Eliza left the house to aid in the town¡¯s evacuation efforts.


    When the plate was polished off, a notification appeared.


    [Essence Consumed] - Grade 2


    Tallying Experience¡­


    [Wolf Proficiency] (Grade 1) - 5/5 (+7)


    [Wolf Proficiency] has reached [Grade 2]!


    Aptitude Bonus - Athleticism +1


    Passive Added - Greater Lunge


    Description - The range of your horizontal leaps in [Wolf Form] is significantly increased.


    ¡°Ugh¡­¡± He wiped his mouth with a napkin. ¡°Seems to have done the trick.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find it more enjoyable when you fell beasts with a little more grace.¡± Albus replied. ¡°If you had any proficiencies, chances are one or two of them went up a grade. But bear in mind that a grade will only increase if the Essence you¡¯re consuming is at least the same level.¡±


    Wolf Proficiency - Grade 2 (2 / 15)


    Prospero¡¯s [Wolf Proficiency] was Grade 2. He could slay more wolves to reach the experience threshold for the next level, but the Grade wouldn¡¯t improve until he consumed Essence of Grade 3 or higher. [Elites], therefore, formed the basis of all improvement, and he would need to constantly seek greater opponents if he wanted to build his strength - as well as more creature types to improve his versatility.


    Improving the Grade also granted me a permanent boost to my athleticism, he thought. Every ¡®type¡¯ is attached to a certain attribute, so gathering experience from a plethora of beasts is the most efficient way to improve my strength¡­


    ¡°Raise your Grades, and you get Abilities.¡± Albus tapped his finger against the table. ¡°More Abilities means more options means more opportunities to fight stronger creatures means more experience means more Abilities¡­ you get the idea.¡±


    Prospero nodded. ¡°It¡¯s simpler than I thought it would be.¡±


    ¡°-But you mustn¡¯t get carried away! Not as a Vampire. You see,¡± he frowned, ¡°you are not restricted by mana as most classes are, but relying too much on your shapeshifting will build the bloodthirst in your core, until it consumes you entirely. It has happened to more powerful Vampires than you, and believe me when I say that a Ghoul¡¯s life is for nobody.¡±


    Prospero hesitated to ask, ¡°What is a Ghoul?¡±


    ¡°Wretched, is what they are,¡± he answered, ¡°and if your journey leads you to others of your kin, you will no doubt see a handful for yourself. They reap every curse with none of the benefits, and live squalid, festering lives of bloodshed. They are no more than beasts, young master¡­¡±


    Vampire or not, it did not sit right with Prospero to label a human being as a beast. But his worldly experiences paled in comparison to Albus¡¯, who had clearly witnessed things beyond the safety of their tiny realm that would horrify the most determined of warriors.


    ¡°-Speaking of your journey,¡± he began after a pause, ¡°it is about time you got going, Prospero.. It¡¯s nearly noon, and it will not be long now before Orlok makes his next move.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°...I understand,¡± reluctant to agree, Prospero nodded, ¡°but you should not stay. None of you should. There is nothing to gain by placing your lives on the line if Orlok is even a quarter as ferocious as you claim him to be. Come with me to Glassoph, and I¡¯m sure we can arrange something with the Voidseekers.¡±


    Albus stood from his chair and beckoned for Prospero to follow. They wandered outside, where the hanging sun seemed more powerful than ever, and around the back of the house where a pair of cellar doors had been opened to reveal a staircase leading into darkness. The two men descended into a short space below the house choked with dust. Albus dragged a chest out from one of the corners and cast a glance over his shoulder as he prepared to open it. ¡°Close your eyes a little, but not completely.¡±


    Prospero did as he was told, and when the lid was thrown open, he lifted a hand to block the blinding rays of light pouring out from the interior. When Albus clamped the lid shut a second later, searing glyphs were imprinted upon Prospero¡¯s vision, which faded as he blinked rapidly.


    ¡°Some ¡®tools¡¯ your father entrusted to us long ago,¡± Albus said, ¡°the weapons of Vampire Hunters - holy relics, mostly. Orlok is powerful, but he is thrall to the same weaknesses as any other Nightwalker. We will not fall as easily as you think, young master. System or no System.¡±


    ¡°Gods above¡­¡± Prospero was still reeling from the trove of relics, ¡°I could barely see a thing.¡±


    ¡°We will fight his legions with silver, with faith, near the rivers, in the sunlight¡­ whatever we can use to our advantage. And if all else fails, we will retreat to our homes, wait for them to pass, then give chase to buy you the time you need.¡± Albus opened the chest just long enough to grab a silver dagger.


    Prospero sighed. ¡°We have never met, and yet you are willing to die so that I may live. That is not a simple decision to make, and nor - I imagine - are you, or any others, keen to offer your lives. If I swore it, would you trust in my ability to keep the Beastblood safe, and spare yourselves the tragedy of meeting Orlok in battle?¡±


    ¡°You are too kind to weigh our lives against your own, young master.¡± Albus replied.


    ¡°That is not true¡­¡± Prospero frowned, ¡°I am not ¡®too kind¡¯. Lives are not coins to be spent, or to be wasted on gambles. To be ¡®kind¡¯ is to value life. That is what my father believed. You cannot sacrifice yourself, or these people, for my sake. I must be willing to inherit the burden of this responsibility without dragging others into tragedy.¡±


    Albus remained quiet in the seconds that followed, but his eyes were not dismissive of Prospero¡¯s anger. When he spoke at last, it was with a voice on the verge of sorrow, equal parts relieved and accepting. ¡°...You truly are his son, young master.¡±


    Trepidatiously, he placed the silver dagger back into the chest. ¡°Would you choose to expose yourself to danger for the sake of a few measly lives?¡±


    ¡°The path¡­¡± Prospero paused to consider his words. ¡°...The path of peace is not easily travelled. But it is the correct path. If the rest of my life is doomed to conflict, then aid me, comfort me, house me - but do not die for me. Instead, lend me your trust and keep your peace. The burden is mine, so allow me to shoulder it. That is what I believe¡­ and what my father would have wanted, also.¡±


    For one who had never known the greater world, and who desired nothing else but to flee from his responsibility, Prospero¡¯s words struck himself as those of a hypocrite. Though he did not believe in his own strength to the extent that he claimed, any pledge was worth the sparing of lives.


    Albus saw the conflict in Prospero¡¯s gaze. ¡°...If that is what you desire, young master, then I cannot oppose you,¡± he said, ¡°but promise me that you will not weather the Beastblood alone. I am certain that a man as tender as yourself will discover comrades eager to protect the sanctity of our strange and beautiful world. No matter how fiercely the darkness stalks you across the stars, remember that a life spent beside family - no matter the sort - is the best life of all.¡±


    ¡°If it was not for you and Eliza, I would have been aimless.¡± Prospero bowed his head. ¡°You have done more for me than you will ever know. If we meet again, I would like to hear what you know of my father, and how you came to serve him as you do.¡±


    Albus smiled. ¡°When you return, I am certain you will know even more than I. Your father imprinted upon many realms in his prime. Know that we will reclaim Innsworm once Orlok departs, and that you will always have a home here on this lonely star, Prospero. That is the least we could offer you for demanding that we save ourselves.¡±


    Prospero nodded. ¡°I will not waste another second, then. Be well, Albus.¡±


    ¡°And you, young master.¡±


    Orlok and his legions - presumably Vampires themselves - would not be able to enter the homes of Queensbridge provided everyone took shelter for the night, and they would have no reason to intrude once it became apparent that Prospero had already moved on. Pulling the cape over his head, he left the cellar and followed the main throughway of Queensbridge until he was on his way through the overgrown path leading north from the village.


    I always knew father kept some things from me, but I could never have imagined he was once as powerful as Albus claimed, he thought. I can only wonder what sort of history he and this ¡®Orlok¡¯ shared that allowed such hatred to persist after decades of peace.


    The sorrow in his heart was beginning to dissolve. Had he mourned enough? Shed enough tears to grant his father peace? Or was there no such thing? Only a day had passed, and yet he was pushed by forces beyond his control to swallow the death of his father without complaint. Every joyous face of his youth had been disfigured beyond recognition, never to return, and now the home he had known all his life had been destroyed.


    The hate festered in his core - hatred which he knew to be the beginning of something drastic and impulsive. A desire to spill the blood of the man named Orlok, who had taken everything from him in the blink of an eye. Against what he knew to be the wishes of his father, he desired revenge against a man he had never met, who sought Prospero¡¯s own death with beastly fervour.


    His footfalls carried him further from the peace of Queensbridge towards the unknown future. Prospero did not know what would await him in the enveloping canopy, or indeed where the curse of the Beastblood would take him. He knew only that his destination was far from everything he understood, and that the path to his strange future would be paved with conflict. He feared losing sight of himself more than any Vampire, terrified of the urges which boiled under his skin, of the strength he¡¯d been granted, and of the possibility that he was not cunning enough to evade those who desired the secret hidden in his blood.


    Willing or not, he had become the Beastblood¡¯s vessel.

 9 - Beastblood Bearer

    On the night of the second day, Prospero could hike no further. He had not slept since the day of his father¡¯s murder, and no amount of Vampiric strength could restore the concentration whittled away by fatigue. The same legion responsible for the tragedy in Innsworm would be out in force that night, hot on the heels of their quarry. Prospero could not stop, but his feet refused to carry him another inch.


    If I sleep now, Orlok will catch me, he thought, but I¡¯ll only slow myself down at this rate. Unless¡­ unless there was some way of restoring my energy without laying down for a nap¡­


    He was a Vampire, and what sounded more logical than a Vampire revitalising himself with blood? If he could locate something small and edible, the theory could be put into practise. But he was no hunter - or, at least, not in his current form.


    [Wolf] Form Activated


    Finesse (+50%)  /  Beasthood (+15%)


    A second later, Prospero was on all fours. The freezing night struggled to break through his newfound coat of fur, and scents once imperceptible to him became overwhelming in their intensity. The boost to his Beasthood was intoxicating, but he shook the urge off.


    I can smell blood, he thought, something is injured nearby.


    He veered off from the sunken pathway, hopping up a dirt bank into the tangle of roots and nettles. He was not only calmer, but faster than before. His nose tracked down the flecks of blood drying in the grass until the wounded critter, still limping stubbornly through the woods, came into view. It was a rabbit - the survivor of some other beast¡¯s hunt, with only a single ear and eye with which to sense Prospero¡¯s approach.


    Before it could squeal, flail, or tremble, he lunged towards it and snapped the rabbit¡¯s neck between his jaws. A twist brought the critter¡¯s life to an end. A pull yanked its head free with a spray of fresh blood. There was no unpleasant, metallic tang to its blood as Prospero expected. Like the wolf he had devoured on his first night, the taste was complex and exquisite, as if the rabbit had been drained and pumped full of wine.


    [Lowland Rabbit] Defeated


    [Rabbit Proficiency] + 1


    [Rabbit] Form Unlocked! (Aptitude - Perception)


    Slaking his bloodthirst offered more stimulation than any fable or meal. Prospero¡¯s fatigue melted away as the rabbit¡¯s entrails crushed in his maw and great helpings of blood rushed down his throat. It would have been simple for him to consider the tiny beast as nothing more than a convenience, but the fact remained that he had taken a life, however doomed it may have already been.


    Was my father savaged by these desires as well, he wondered, or did he find a way to suppress his vampirism? I¡¯m not too surprised that he was a Vampire, everything considered, but there was nothing in the manor that suggested he fed on blood¡­


    He returned to the path, but did not retake his human form. As a wolf, he was faster and less burdened by the cold. He would need time after reaching Glassoph to locate the man named Alto. He had never visited a port town before; no matter how many times he begged his father to take him out of the realm as a child. The Incandescence, and the Voidbeasts which travelled it, were known to Prospero only through study and crude illustrations.


    I hope this Alto is as dependable as Albus claimed, he thought, or I¡¯ll be stuck in this realm with no way to escape from Orlok


    Reminded of his pursuer, Prospero wasted no time dashing off.


    <hr>


    In the morning twilight, when great orange cloudblooms obscured the distant stars of the Incandescence, towers of brick rose above the canopy which Prospero had begun to imagine would never end. Humming spheres encaged within bands of spinning metal hovered over their peaks, directing cones of azure light towards rifts howling in the sky.


    Prospero froze on the road when a grand shadow swept across the dirt. He watched the great sunkissed silhouettes bobbing across the airways, rising higher than any beast had the right, defying the heavens themselves on their way towards the Celestial Ocean. Their insectoid legs scurried as if swimming through the air.


    The Voidbeasts took familiar forms - crabs, clams, and shrimps - though they were enormous on a scale that was difficult to appreciate from the ground. Prospero felt all of a sudden the need to rush towards Glassoph and observe one of those great beasts in their pens, or listen to the starfaring tales of the Starseekers in a crowded tavern.


    ¡°Oi! Git!¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    There came a rumbling, then a rattling. He spun and spotted a coach tearing down the crest just behind him, twin steeds whinnying in protest as the driver brought low his whip across their chestnut spines. His warnings were directed towards Prospero. ¡°Get out of the damn way, you mangy mutt!¡±


    He stepped off the path and felt the ground trembling beneath his paws as the coach bounced past. Whoever was bundled in the back was enjoying a bumpy ride, though they couldn¡¯t be seen through the moth-eaten curtains drawn along the windows.


    Orlok¡¯s followers can¡¯t be too close if a coach was able to make its way here, he thought, but I shouldn¡¯t use that as an excuse to waste time.


    Reluctant to approach while shapeshifted, he returned to his human form once the carriage was out of sight. Keeping to the shadows, he continued on his way towards Glassoph with eyes glued to the skies and their celestial occupants. In the half-hour that passed, he prepared himself for the panic that would follow in the wake of his revelation that a Vampiric legion was marching on the port.


    How is everyone going to escape, and where will they go? His heart sank on the approach. No¡­ I¡¯m sure that¡­ if everyone stays inside, then Orlok will not be able to reach them¡­ and once I¡¯m gone, he will have no reason to linger.


    He could leave the realm behind without endangering anyone. It was all that mattered to him - preserving the simple lives of those who didn¡¯t deserve to be roped into his business.


    But where would he go?


    Perhaps I can seek refuge in the Emerald City, he thought, or in the sprawl of Greater Hartlokus, where the old sorcerers dwell¡­


    The idea of skirting the Incandescence emboldened him with a certain glee. The realms he glimpsed through yellowed pages as a child suddenly didn¡¯t seem so far away. But the first order of business was evading Orlok - he could dream of the world beyond his sleepy bubble when his life wasn¡¯t endangered.


    The forest dissolved and the daylight grew. Logging camps stripped the land bare close to Glassoph, where wagons trailed the old roads on their way to sawmills tucked into the port. It was a shred of industry in Prospero¡¯s backwater realm; a pothole through which the waters of progress leaked. The drumming cries of the Voidbeasts trickled down from the skies.


    Prospero drew his cloak up and felt the daylight singing his flesh. He couldn¡¯t have looked more suspicious, but as with Queensbridge, he was certain that someone in town would recognise his name. No guardsmen attempted to stop him on his way in. There was no need for a wall in Glassoph - much as he would have liked to see one with Orlok on the way. The buzzing of the sawmills and the hubbub of the Voidbeasts kept any troublesome creatures at bay.


    Further in, the mills and workshops ceded to the brilliant chaos of trade. There were no quaint little homes and stately manors in a port town. It was a place constructed between the golden lines of commerce, studded with entrepreneurship and grifting in equal measure, where the local spirit of culture was scrubbed by an intoxicating clash of ideals.


    Prospero could hear insults through one ear and compliments through the other as he wandered the streets, which widened to accommodate the great chittering bodies of Voidbeasts being corralled from their pens to the Gate Magus and vice-versa. He watched a shrimp the size of a house skittering down the cobbled high street, its antennae hovering over the storied rooftops. Every ten steps, he peered through another window pane to spot a new assortment of luxuries; runic artefacts, exotic teas, sets of pristine armour, things he never knew could be bought or sold for reasons spanning a spectrum of difficulty and legality.


    I know why father never brought me here now, he thought, it¡¯s because he wouldn¡¯t have been able to drag me away! There are so many treasures from other realms in this place!


    Prospero¡¯s nose led him to a tavern on the corner of a busy street near the town centre. He slipped past a pair of towering warriors toting swords at their hips on the way in and relaxed the tight grip he had on his cloak.


    I suppose the ¡®open¡¯ sign on the door counts as an invitation, he thought. It¡¯s nice to be out of the sun for a moment. It seems to sap my energy even when my skin is protected¡­


    ¡°Oi! Lad!¡± he heard a voice call, ¡°Come over here!¡±


    A heavyset fellow seated at a nearby table beckoned him with one hand. In the other was a mug of frothing ale, the foam of which had already stained the greying beard around his lips. Two others were by him, and when Prospero wandered over, the closest of the two leaned back to pull another stool up to the table. ¡°Forgive me for saying, young man, but you look like shit!¡± the first continued, ¡°All pale and fevered¡­ when was the last time you ate, boy?¡±


    Prospero hesitated to tell the truth. ¡°...A few days ago,¡± he lied.


    ¡°A few-¡± the man shook his head. ¡°You homeless, boy?¡±


    ¡°Naw, he¡¯s not homeless, En,¡± a second fellow, skinny and bald, answered for him. ¡°Look at his clothes. He¡¯s some merchant¡¯s son or another.¡±


    ¡°If he¡¯s the son of a merchant, then he¡¯s the son of a rat bastard chancer who doesn¡¯t feed their son!¡± The first thumped his fist against the table. ¡°What¡¯s your name, boy?¡±


    ¡°Prospero. Prospero Baptista,¡± he answered. ¡°I¡¯m the son of Innsworm¡¯s count.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the tiny little place up those downs in the south, En. Innsworm,¡± the second man interjected. ¡°He¡¯s a local.¡±


    The one named En cocked his head. ¡°Well, what¡¯s he doing here, then?¡±


    ¡°Please, listen to me for a moment!¡± Prospero placed his hands on the table. ¡°I came here because my home was destroyed by a Vampire!¡±


    The ruckus around them simmered down. Heads turned at Prospero¡¯s claim, most of them unbelieving but wary. He was the object of every warrior and traveller in the tavern now - his next words would need to be spoken carefully.


    ¡°...Vampire?¡± En looked towards the frosted windows. ¡°It¡¯s broad daylight outside, boy. A Vampire can¡¯t reach you here. Oi - Gene! Go and grab one of the guards!¡±


    The third patron nodded, removed himself from the table, and made for the door.


    Well, I made it just fine despite being a Vampire myself, but let¡¯s not mention that unless we have to, Prospero thought. ¡°The Vampire¡¯s name is Orlok. Cyprian Orlok,¡± he continued. ¡°He killed my father, and now he pursues me across the realm! I came here to find a man named Alto!¡±


    ¡°Just- just¡­ slow down, boy,¡± En held up his hand. ¡°You¡¯ll find no enemies here, ¡®specially not if you¡¯re telling the truth. You¡¯re as haggard as a widow. Take a few deep breaths.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± he paused. ¡°It¡¯s been a chaotic few days.¡±

 10 - Glassophs Defenders

    Expecting to sow nothing short of sheer panic with his words, Prospero was surprised to find the tavern¡¯s patrons more accommodating than he first expected. He recounted his troubles plainly to En, who listened with fatherly patience to every ragged word Prospero had to offer. His tragedy soon garnered even the most disinterested, cherry-faced boozers to the table, and by the time he had wrapped up his story, even trailing passersby had popped in to check on the commotion.


    ¡°...I don¡¯t know what happened in Queensbridge after I left,¡± he concluded. ¡°But Orlok will reach this port. Perhaps not tonight, but certainly sometime after.¡±


    ¡°Right - I¡¯m off to warn the Portmaster!¡± A patron near the back of the crowd raised his hand. ¡°If anyone touches my drink, they¡¯ll get a slap!¡±


    ¡°Hang on, hang on¡­¡± shouldering through the crowd, a fiery-haired woman slammed her gauntlets down on the table and pointed a finger at Prospero. ¡°You skimmed over it like nobody would notice, but you¡¯re a Vampire too, aren¡¯t you? Who¡¯s to say you aren¡¯t a runaway from this ¡®Orlok¡¯, huh? Trying to pull us into your problems?¡±


    ¡°It is because I am a Vampire that I¡¯m being pursued!¡± Prospero answered. ¡°And I was not like this before Orlok attacked! Like I said, my father-¡±


    ¡°Bullshit! You can¡¯t create a Vampire! You¡¯re born one!¡± the woman rebuked. ¡°This stinks to the high heavens! We don¡¯t want a damn thing to do with your kind, so what¡¯s stopping us from handing you over?¡±


    A few agreeable cries broke out from the crowd. With a single spark, a kind of fervent phobia had broken out from the pitiable gazes Prospero had gathered. He struggled to conjure a response. There was no way for him to prove that he didn¡¯t have some history with Orlok.


    ¡°Erda,¡± the elderly En tapped his finger against the table. ¡°He¡¯s only a young man.¡±


    ¡°Oh, give it up, En! Get real for a minute!¡± Erda placed both hands on her hips. ¡°That Vampire will tear this place to pieces looking for him! Maybe the Guild in some backwater Port could take on a Vampire legion in your day, but it¡¯s not the Age of Silver anymore! We don¡¯t have the manpower!¡±


    En exhaled through his nose. ¡°Do you suppose we should turn him over, then?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take that tone with me! I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s the right thing to do!¡± Erda replied. ¡°...We don¡¯t have a choice, even if he is telling the truth! It¡¯s either that, or have every man, woman, and child in this Port slaughtered! What could we even do to help him!?¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡± En ran a hand over his beard. ¡°Hide him? No - a Vampire could sniff out one of his kin easily enough. Perhaps-¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± Erda shook her head. ¡°We¡¯ve no choice. Get him out of here, En. Or you can take your chances with the Vampire alongside him. I¡¯m not going to argue with you about this. All of you - bugger off! And keep your loved ones indoors, for the love of the Gods! This is all we needed¡­¡±


    She stormed off towards the entrance, and on her recommendation, the patrons dispersed. Prospero sighed and tried to compose himself, but couldn¡¯t resist the urge to clench his fist. ¡°I¡¯m not asking for protection!¡± he said. ¡°The man named Alto can help me leave. That¡¯s all I want to do -  leave! Who was that woman!? Does she even have the authority to say those things!?¡±


    ¡°Prospero,¡± for the first time, En spoke his name. ¡°Be at peace.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he replied. ¡°It¡¯s just frustrating.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the second time you¡¯ve apologised,¡± En leaned forward in his chair. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you say it¡¯s better to speak soundly, so you don¡¯t have to apologise in the first place?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bad habit of mine.¡± Prospero cocked his head and resisted a smirk. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s no excuse, is it?¡± En asked. ¡°I know you mean well, but the best thing a man can do is carry himself with some grace. It¡¯s not the habit that bothers people, boy - it¡¯s the fact that you could replace it with something so much better.¡±


    He turned his head towards one of the windows, through which the busy raff of Glassoph¡¯s streets continued to surge. ¡°A few weeks ago, Erda led some Guild disciples on a hunt to cull a pack of Toximanders. Nasty critters - worse than we usually get out here in the wild realms. Two of those mercs died. I¡¯m not suggesting it isn¡¯t dangerous work, but¡­¡±


    Prospero followed the old man¡¯s gaze. ¡°That¡¯s terrible. Did you know them?¡±


    ¡°Only one. A young man. Married. His wife owns one of the bakeries just down the road,¡± En said. ¡°She¡¯s expecting a child. But that bairn will never know their father¡¯s face.¡±


    The woman named Erda seemed unapologetically rude in the short moment Prospero knew her. Her words cut him deep, no matter how sound her intentions were. But from a different perspective, having learned what he now knew, her frustration seemed justified in a way. He could recall poor days where he had spoken to his father in much the same, heartless way.


    ¡°I entrusted Erda with the title of Custodian because I knew she had Glassoph¡¯s best interests at heart,¡± En continued, ¡°-Even if she isn¡¯t always tender about it. But that hunt, and your situation - weathering the responsibility can build a great wall in the heart that¡¯s difficult to tear down.¡±


    Prospero asked, ¡°Were you responsible for protecting this town at one point?¡±


    ¡°Once upon a time,¡± he smiled, but the expression faded quickly. ¡°Prospero. It pains me to say this, but your presence here is endangering many lives. We¡¯re in no position to repel an attack from any Vampire, especially not one as powerful as this Orlok. Considering what happened to Innsworm¡­ it¡¯s likely he¡¯ll lay waste to this Port when he arrives whether you¡¯re present or not.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°But¡­¡± Prospero paused. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for this to happen. Where else was I supposed to go?¡±


    En moved his lower lip from side to side. ¡°...That is the question.¡±


    With some effort, he stood, and Prospero rounded the table to help him up by the arm. En was hunched and wrinkled despite his reputation. A warrior at one point, from the surprising endurance of his physique, but youthful no longer. ¡°Erda will no doubt reach the same conclusion,¡± he said. ¡°I imagine¡­ yes - we¡¯ll have to evacuate. No better place for it, I suppose. At least until this Vampire of yours passes through.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything I can do to help?¡± Prospero asked.


    ¡°As a matter of fact, there is.¡± En nodded over his shoulder, towards the far end of the bar where a single man remained tonic on a stool. The only patron left after Erda¡¯s departure. ¡°You said you were looking for Alto, didn¡¯t you?¡± he continued. ¡°That¡¯s him. Owner of the largest Voidbeast in this humble Port - if you can convince him to fly it.¡±


    Prospero paused. ¡°...Is there going to be a problem with that?¡±


    ¡°Best to hear it from the horse¡¯s mouth.¡± En patted Prospero on the shoulder and separated from him. ¡°I¡¯ve got bells to ring and families to warn. It¡¯d be nice to have Alto¡¯s beast helping out, so I¡¯ll leave recruiting him to you. Be well, Prospero.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ thank you for being so patient with me,¡± he stepped aside to let En through and watched as the old man hobbled out of the tavern. Without a second to spare, Prospero marched to the bar and peered over the matted, greasy head of hair obscuring the lonely fellow¡¯s face. ¡°Excuse me? Alto?¡±


    A pause. Then came his reply. ¡°...Fuck off.¡±


    Fantastic, Prospero resisted the urge to sigh. ¡°You are Alto, aren¡¯t you? My name is Prospero Baptista. I was told by Albus that you would be expecting me¡­ that you could arrange passage on a Voidbeast to aid me in escaping from Orlok.¡±


    No answer. The one whose name was presumably Alto raised a limp wrist to sip from the half-empty bottle in his grasp, only to find it wrenched from his grip by a steadily-infuriating Prospero. ¡°Answer me,¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Fucking brat.¡± With a groaning wail, the man¡¯s stool retreated. ¡°You fancy a broken jaw?¡±


    Prospero took another step forward. ¡°Just try it.¡±


    Alto punched furiously, and with a degree of familiarity that took Prospero by surprise. But the speed of his movement was too confident, and in his stupor, the man tripped over his own feet, crushing his nose against the wooden floor. ¡°Oh, shit!¡± he cursed. ¡°Fucking¡­ urgh¡­¡±


    He pulled both hands from his bleeding nose to spot a hand lowered towards him.


    ¡°Stand up.¡± Prospero said. ¡°Speak to me, man. Let¡¯s not waste our time like this.¡±


    They lingered like that, as if trapped in a strange limbo between pleasant and adversarial. When Alto reached up and allowed Prospero to yank him off the floor, he did so with a sigh that sounded more defeated than frustrated. ¡°Baptista¡­¡± he muttered. ¡°I never thought you would really come here. I hoped you wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Albus made you out to be a man of your word.¡± Prospero said.


    ¡°That was a while ago. A very long while ago,¡± he answered. ¡°I overheard you. Is Gaspar¡­?¡±


    Another lump formed in Prospero¡¯s throat. ¡°Uh,¡±


    ¡°No. Don¡¯t answer,¡± Alto sighed. ¡°Not right of me to force you to remember.¡±


    There was a man hidden under the folds of sunken, jaundiced flesh on Alto¡¯s face. Prospero could tell it was not his first bender. Probably not even the first of that day. His eyes darted to the bottle still in Prospero¡¯s grip. They were the desperate glances of a man who wished only to escape from the world. It felt wrong to ask anything of him.


    ¡°I won¡¯t mince words with you,¡± Prospero began. ¡°I need to escape from this realm.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ damn it all,¡± Alto shuttered his eyes. ¡°Then you¡¯re shit out of luck. V¨ªctima is no longer mine. She¡¯s holed up in the Sunflowers¡¯ pen, and I¡¯m 60,000 silver pieces too poor to buy her back.¡±


    Prospero tilted his head. ¡°V¨ªctima?¡±


    ¡°My Voidbeast,¡± he clarified. ¡°She¡¯s a class five, Baptista. Bought her egg damn near 40 years ago and raised her from a whelp into a star-streaking behemoth. Me and her ferried enough provisions to feed a fucking army¡­ and enough Lokian tree bark to send the Emerald City back to the Silver Age.¡±


    Prospero folded his arms. ¡°-And you don¡¯t have her anymore.¡±


    Alto chuckled. A sad and loathsome noise. ¡°Sold her to settle a debt,¡± he replied. ¡°More than those bloodsuckers deserved. Uh - no offense.¡±


    ¡°You sold your Voidbeast to Vampires!?¡±


    ¡°No! No,¡± he lifted a lazy palm. ¡°Figurative bloodsuckers. The Sunflowers. A gang¡­ or, well - they don¡¯t call themselves a gang, but their racket¡¯s all about loaning and terrible interest rates.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to retrieve it,¡± Prospero said. ¡°Let¡¯s pay them a visit.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting her back. Not legally. No matter how nicely you ask,¡± Alto sniffed. ¡°Their leader¡¯s a tough one. Too tough for you.¡±


    He reached forward, took his bottle back, and settled back down on the stool. ¡°I can¡¯t keep my promise to Gaspar,¡± he said. ¡°Sorry, Baptista.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going down to the Voidbeast pens whether you¡¯d like me to or not,¡± Prospero replied. ¡°This is about more than a promise. The Port needs to be evacuated before Orlok arrives.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Go, then. You¡¯re not a kid, so do what you want. Just leave me out of it.¡±


    It would have been so easy for Prospero to grab Alto by the collar and drag him kicking and screaming through the Port. A part of him wanted to - he thought for a moment that this drunken fool deserved nothing but shame for his words. But the short lecture he¡¯d heard from En just a few minutes ago was still fresh in his mind.


    Things are rarely as simple as they appear, he thought. ¡°...Alto.¡±


    ¡°Huh? You¡¯re still here?¡± he replied without turning his head. ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing more to say.¡±


    ¡°I just wanted you to know that I don¡¯t blame you for refusing me.¡± Prospero continued. ¡°You¡¯re down on your luck. I should have noticed that before I started demanding your aid.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your pity, Baptista,¡± Alto paused to sip from his bottle. ¡°...Leave an old man well enough alone. Some folk are beyond help.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to recover your Voidbeast,¡± he vowed. ¡°What you decide to do with that information is your own business. I wouldn¡¯t know myself, but I would guess that there are better fates to find in the stars than at the bottom of a bottle.¡±


    ¡°Preach all you like,¡± Alto cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯ve made up my mind. I¡¯m too far gone, so do this hopeless drunk a favour and forget you ever spoke to him, alright?¡±


    ¡°That would be the easy thing to do.¡± Prospero turned his back. ¡°But, Alto¡­ if my father trusted you with this much, then you¡¯re not the sort of man who would stay down for good. And I trust his judgement more than anything else.¡±


    He marched off, leaving the purple-nosed Alto with his head hanging low and with less of a need for the bottle than he¡¯d felt in years.


    ¡°...Old bastard,¡± he muttered. ¡°He¡¯s the spitting fuckin¡¯ image of you¡­¡±

 11 - The Sunflowers

    The Voidbeast pens were difficult to miss - they took up a grand slice of the Port¡¯s perimeter and stood higher than everything bar the Magus towers. Prospero wandered the widening streets and felt as if he was shrinking on his way towards the solid runway scaffolded high upon the vanishing hills, he recoiled at the sight of colossal beasts poking their heads out from the warehouse-sized barns, corralled from feeding and resting by labourers yanking the ropes of their harnesses. Many displaced families had already arrived - dishevelled - to the site of the ongoing evacuation as bells tolled in the distance. The Magus towers sought rifts in the skies above, where the first of the Voidbeasts were already crossing into the Great Incandescence.


    Prospero called to a worker hammering lids onto barrels, but found his greeting interrupted by some heaving reflex. A stink the likes of which could trouble Gods was rising from the unsealed barrels. The worker, unfazed, chuckled to himself and wiped the sweat from his brow. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t get so close, young man,¡± he warned. ¡°Most folks can¡¯t handle being around the feed.¡±


    ¡°Gods above¡­¡± Prospero coughed into his fist. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you, but the Voidbeasts love it like nothing else. We use it to feed ¡®em, lure ¡®em - some owners even bathe ¡®em in this stuff,¡± he slapped his hand on one of the lids. ¡°Portmaster wants us stocked up in case we need to spend a few days out there.¡±


    ¡°Are there enough Voidbeasts to evacuate everyone in the Port?¡± Prospero wondered.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be cozy, but there should be,¡± he replied. ¡°Especially if we could get that old monster holed up in 9-E out here. But those Sunflower killjoys won¡¯t let anyone near it.¡±


    9-E? Must be the pen I¡¯m looking for, Prospero thought. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how you could ever get used to that smell, but keep up the good work, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Hah! The smell I can cope with. It¡¯s the damn rats that give me the willies,¡± the worker smiled. ¡°Could swear they get bigger every year. Wouldn¡¯t be surprised if that was the case, considering how nutrient-dense this stuff must be to feed Voidbeasts.¡±


    The two of them exchanged waves and parted ways. A quick glance at the nearby pens revealed the slathering of white paint denoting their IDs. Prospero was walking beside the A-row, and the pen he was searching for was all the way at the back, where colossal shadows kept the area cool and - most importantly - deprived of sunlight.


    ¡°Rats, eh?¡± he muttered. ¡°I wonder¡­¡±


    He picked up the pace on his way to the rear row and found 9-E without a sliver of trouble. Most of the nearby pens were in states of disrepair or decommission. The barn in question was guarded by two stocky men wearing yellow sashes over their fading leather vests. Scabbards rested at their hips.


    Prospero wandered into the emptiness of a pen further down the row. His olfactories cringed at the presence of a familiar scent. The barrels stacked against the barn¡¯s wall had long been emptied, but their sourness remained, inviting all manner of critters and insects to feast upon the microscopic remnants. A pack of rats scurried from his presence, though a bloated and greedy specimen remained with its nose planted firmly against the wood. It squealed with sudden fright when Prospero leaned down to pick it up.


    He sighed. ¡°...Let the ends justify the means.¡±


    A twist of the head was all it took. His own strength surprised him as the critter¡¯s tiny neck tore between his fingers. No doubt filthy and diseased, the sight of its blood stirred him nonetheless. No amount of it could satisfy the growing hunger in his core - a stiff reminder of the pitiable creature he had become.


    The rodent blood danced across his tongue. He tasted spiced honey, so delectably sweet; refreshing like ice water on a summer¡¯s day; rich with the tartness of freshly-plucked fruit, and flooded with the fiery delirium of distilled spirits. Prospero was doing himself a disservice by refusing to admit that it was the greatest delicacy he had ever enjoyed in his life, and all he had ever tasted were mangy beasts frolicking in the dirt. How would the blood of a human compare, he wondered?


    [Common Rat] Defeated


    [Rat Proficiency] + 1


    [Rodent] Form Unlocked! (Aptitude - Stealth)


    I need to be careful, he thought. My Beasthood is sitting at [47%], and the mere sight of blood is enough to tempt me at this point. But I don¡¯t have the time to let it wear off¡­


    He took a look at his misbegotten form.


    Ability - Rodent Form (Beastblood)


    Description - Adopt the form of a rodent, choosing from any [Rodent] creature you have previously slain provided its original level was lower than or equal to your own at the time of death. Changing to this form increases your Beasthood by [5%] and bestows a [100%] bonus to all skills within the [Finesse] category for its duration.


    Weaker forms don¡¯t seem to increase my Beasthood as much, he noticed. I can get away with using this or the Rabbit form a few times without the risk of losing myself.


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    [Rodent] Form Activated


    Finesse (+100%)  /  Beasthood (+5%)


    Prospero pushed away the thought of his appearance while shapeshifting and quietly thanked the Gods for choosing to make the process painless. His point of view dropped to just an inch or two off the floor, a familiar snugness coating his skin as twilight-grey hairs formed a coat over his body. His vision, as if damaged, grew blurry and unfocused.


    I can barely see a thing, he thought. And my face itches¡­


    He lifted a paw to push aside his newfound whiskers and found them remarkably sensitive to his touch. They brushed against the ground, and he perceived what his eyes could not; miniscule crumbs of dirt and tiny ridges in the soil. This was how a rodent lived, he realised, and for the first time, he felt grateful for the efficacy of human eyes.


    So that¡¯s why they stand on their hind legs sometimes, he realised, and he did so to get a better view of things. The pen which had once seemed oversized was now a world he could have comfortably dwelled in for the rest of his life. The rats which had scurried away earlier returned with curiosity in their eyes, wondering where the human had gone to.


    Prospero, meanwhile, crawled to the entrance and stopped just short of the daylight.


    I can¡¯t protect myself from the sun without my cape, he realised. I¡¯ll have to wait for an opportunity to pass over to the next pen¡­


    His prayers were shortly answered. The silhouette of a rising Voidbeast granted him peace from the light. The wooden deck constructed atop its carapace was stuffed to bursting with panicked families. Prospero crossed over to the pen marked 9-E before the opportunity was wasted, passing by the guards at the entrance without attracting so much as a sideways glance.


    Victima lingered there in all of her glory; a great pink giant in the dark. She was a prawn, like many of her celestial kin, but larger than Prospero could have ever dreamed of. Her legs rested uncomfortably, fidgeting every so often to redistribute her weight across the length of the pen. The twin antennae curling above her beady eyes rose over the enormous gate restricting her to three-quarters of the building¡¯s area. An elevated catwalk provided access to the platform running along her spine, just large enough to support a deck and the cabin beneath but not much else - apart from the cannons poking over her broadsides.


    The Sunflowers were much less the sort of gang Prospero had anticipated. Only the two men out front and a handful of others were wearing uniforms. The rest were plainclothes commoners lugging crates and barrels, or lingering near the rotted walls with bottles in hand.


    ¡°Oh, Gods above,¡± a member spat something grainy and dark onto the ground. ¡°We¡¯ve got another rat. Someone else kill that fucking thing - I nearly lost a finger last time.¡±


    -But his words fell on deaf ears. Those lucid enough to wander had their hands full tending to Victima. It seemed to Prospero as if his presence would be tolerated as long as he didn¡¯t make a habit of getting in anyone¡¯s way.


    Most of these fools aren¡¯t any better than Alto, he thought. I¡¯ll track down the leader and begin from there.


    He didn¡¯t have to search far. A wander near the centre of the pen revealed a fellow larger than the rest barking what sounded like orders through the chaos, though Prospero could only make out his blurry silhouette from a distance. Something heavy and wicked was lugged over his shoulder. A blunt weapon of crude iron. Standing on his hind legs, Prospero focused on the individual until a familiar box materialised out of thin air.


    Aldruag Colin


    Grade 5 Warrior (Human)


    Physical Resistance - 5%   Magical Resistance - 0%


    Grade 5¡­ higher than mine, but not by much, he thought. Considering his size, I doubt the others are half as dangerous. But I¡¯d rather do this without fighting¡­


    He shifted back to his human form, ushered in a chorus of screams as his body contorted to accommodate the sudden change. ¡°W-What the fuck!?¡± a labourer wearing an amber headband pointed a finger and scuttled backwards. ¡°Oi, Aldruag! There¡¯s a fuckin¡¯ monster in here!¡±


    The man in question peered over his shoulder and turned. Below his head of golden hair, a great fissure ran crooked from his misshapen right eye down to the cleft of his chin - less like scar and more like a slice of his face which no longer existed. The disfigurement made it difficult to gauge his expression. ¡°Be at peace. It¡¯s no monster,¡± he began calmly. ¡®Tis a man who stands before us, though perhaps not the sort we¡¯re familiar with.¡±


    He took the weapon over his shoulder - a great hammer, Prospero now knew - and held it out as if pointing a sword, not at all bothered by the feat of touting it at such an angle with only a single hand. ¡°What are you?¡± he asked. ¡°A Vampire? Heard a group of them was approaching, but I didn¡¯t expect to see one so soon.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Prospero answered. ¡°-But not the sort you¡¯ve heard of. I was the one who brought word of them, actually. Aren¡¯t you planning to evacuate with the rest of the Port?¡±


    ¡°...Baptista,¡± for a moment, Aldruag¡¯s singular gaze snaked high, parsing a name from the unseen System. ¡°I don¡¯t believe it¡¯s any business of yours whether we plan on evacuating or not. But it certainly is our business when a Vampire comes strolling onto our turf.¡±


    ¡°Time is a luxury neither of us have, so I won¡¯t mince words,¡± he began. ¡°I¡¯ve come to have you return this Voidbeast to the man named Alto.¡±


    ¡°Hoh. You say that as if we stole it.¡± Aldruag lugged the weapon back over his shoulder. ¡°Alto owed us a sum of silver he couldn¡¯t afford, so we took the Voidbeast to make up for the difference. Unless you¡¯ve got enough to pay for it, the prawn is staying with us.¡±


    Prospero relaxed his shoulders and asked, ¡°What was this debt of his for, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Ran up a tab letting us pay for his drinks. Never intended to pay it back, of course - selfish prick.¡± Aldruag shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t stop us from spotting him, though. Always knew he had the Voidbeast, so it was just a matter of taking what we were owed when his time was up.¡±


    Prospero shook his head, ¡°Feeding a man¡¯s addiction to take his possessions is just plain wicked, even if he should have known better to begin with.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate the lesson in morals, Baptista. But nothing in this world¡¯s free,¡± he replied. ¡°We¡¯ve all got our debts to repay, and the goodness of a man¡¯s heart doesn¡¯t put food on the table like it used to.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s no excuse,¡± Prospero widened his stance. ¡°I¡¯ll happily take the Voidbeast if that¡¯s what this is going to come to.¡±


    ¡°Gods alive, this kid¡­¡± Aldruag¡¯s head sulked. ¡°I was kind enough not to give you the boot the second you appeared, and this is how you¡¯re going to act? And to think I was going to let you go. You¡¯re making a foul mistake, boy.¡±

 12 - Overpowering

    It was always going to turn out like this, Prospero thought.


    Aldruag made no effort to hide the difference in speed between them. He was glacial, but the range of his warhammer and the strength with which he wielded it offered Prospero a quick road to the afterlife if he wasn¡¯t careful. Unlike before, he wasn¡¯t staring down a beast. The opponent in front of him was a man who thought and moved with all the wiles men were known to possess.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen more blood than you could ever know, lad,¡± Aldruag¡¯s voice reserved no excitement for the fight. ¡°Warring is a waste of life. Live yours elsewhere.¡±


    Prospero advanced. ¡°That Voidbeast is my only way to escape this realm.¡±


    ¡°If a dip in the Incandescence is what you fancy, then I¡¯d tell you to bugger off and evacuate like everyone else,¡± he paused. ¡°...But I can tell from that look in your eyes that it wouldn¡¯t be enough.¡±


    ¡°The Vampire approaching this Port is searching for me,¡± Prospero replied. ¡°Anyone accompanying me on my way out would be endangering themselves. I¡¯ve already dragged too many into this affair of mine.¡±


    They drew close. Prospero kept his eyes on the warhammer, preparing to dodge at the first sign of movement, but found himself recalling the day before his father¡¯s death, when the two of them had crossed rapiers for the final time. His eagerness to react had lost him the match to a feint that day. Aldruag was likely to attempt something similar, especially with a heavier weapon.


    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve got a lot on your plate.¡± Aldruag settled both hands on the handle and gripped until the sensation in his fingers became dulled. ¡°-But this isn¡¯t a charity. Me and the boys have laboured too long to have this Voidbeast stolen from us.¡±


    The rest of the pen¡¯s occupants had now gathered to witness the commotion, most of them armed with clubs or short blades. ¡°We¡¯ll handle this one, boss,¡± one of them shouted. ¡°You don¡¯t need to put yourself on the line!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare try,¡± Aldruag shot a glare in his direction. ¡°He¡¯s only a youngling, this one. No need to kill him, and I don¡¯t trust any of you to hold back. I¡¯ll give him a knock around the ears and that¡¯ll be the end of it. He¡¯s not here to kill us, for goodness¡¯ sake.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ but he¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°Be quiet and watch,¡± Aldruag broke eye contact. ¡°This¡¯ll be over in a spell.¡±


    Prospero hadn¡¯t expected the leader of a gang to be so merciful, but he had not learned anything of the Sunflowers beyond scathing word of mouth. He wondered for a moment if they were indeed criminals at all, or just a peeling conglomerate of folk down on their luck and out of options. In that way, they wouldn¡¯t be so different from Alto.


    ¡°Oi, Baptista,¡± Aldruag called. ¡°The least you can do in a brawl is pay attention.¡±


    He made his move, having closed the few steps between them. His warhammer swung up from a low angle, but Prospero knew better than to trust his opponent¡¯s commitment. He made no effort to dodge, pleased to see the weapon¡¯s momentum coming to a halt just before it entered an unstoppable surge. Aldruag expected him to react, but was now left with seconds until he could hoist the hammer again - the perfect chance for a counterattack.


    Prospero trusted in the strength bestowed by the Beastblood and lunged forward to strike with a closed fist, surprised to find the blow avoided with a duck. Aldruag spun his heels and revealed his back. The warhammer trailed in a perfect circle along the ground as he dodged, spinning up for a reverse swing aimed right at Prospero¡¯s head. The wicked lump of steel was inches from his temple by the time he could react.


    [Canine] Form Activated


    Finesse (+50%)  /  Beasthood (+15%)


    His posture shrunk, and the hammer whiffed. A thirst pulsed through his body, reminding him of the sorry state he had found himself in after escaping Innsworm. I can¡¯t shapeshift anymore, he thought. If my Beasthood increases any further, I won¡¯t be able to control myself.


    ¡°Wha-¡± Aldruag struggled to follow-through on his strike, having expected to feel the rumble of bone shattering under the weight of his hammer. ¡°Oof¡­ think I pulled a muscle¡­¡±


    Prospero wouldn¡¯t have thought to pounce right away, but a foul cunning imparted by his Beasthood drove him to commit acts that weren¡¯t entirely his own. The [Ability] he¡¯d acquired from increasing his grade augmented the bestial leap with incredible speed - more than enough to pin the much larger Aldruag to the ground in his moment of weakness.


    The man¡¯s neck was exposed. If Prospero so desired, he could have ended the warrior¡¯s life in a flash. The sumptuous tang of fresh blood lingered on his tongue from the rat and drove him to imagine how exquisite it would feel to feed from a living human. Only a sliver of humanity piercing through the darkness convinced him otherwise.


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    ¡°Oi! Get the fuck off him, you damnable monster!¡±


    A shoe ripped into his flank, and he fell limp with a whine. The others were now upon him, scrambling to defend their opulent leader. Prospero could only curl up and twitch as steel-toed boots rained upon him, crushing any hope of retaliation. He was winded, overwhelmed, paralyzed by pain and the sudden fear of death.


    Then there was a break in the assault; the wild shattering of glass; a scream of pain. The Sunflowers turned their attention to one of their own, who gripped the back of his head and fell to his knees in agony. The source of the bottle now shattered and spilled on the soil was a silhouette near the entrance, where streaks of light danced through cloud-blotting Voidbeasts in the skies. ¡°Don¡¯t harm a hair on that lad¡¯s head, you dirty mongrels!¡± the man yelled.


    ¡°Huh¡­¡± Aldruag, still reeling from the pounce, stumbled to his feet. ¡°That you, Alto?¡±


    The drunkard stumbling into the pen didn¡¯t appear heroic in the least. ¡°You¡¯re damn right it¡¯s me!¡± he continued. ¡°That stupid brat¡­ what the fuck did he think was going to happen, barging right in like he owns the place¡­?¡±


    ¡°Fuck off, Alto!¡± a Sunflower bellowed. ¡°You¡¯ve got no business in here!¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he drew his sleeve over his nose and sniffed. ¡°Where do you get off ganging up on a young man!? You¡¯ll kill the poor bastard if you¡¯re not careful!¡±


    ¡°Hoh, hoh - alright. Let¡¯s calm down.¡± Aldraug took a deep breath. ¡°Lads - get off him!¡±


    The Sunflowers hesitated, but soon dispersed. Prospero¡¯s lupine form remained curled up on the floor, trapped on the verge of unconsciousness.


    ¡°Take your bloodthirsty pet and get out of here, Alto,¡± Aldruag ordered. ¡°-And if I ever catch you here again, I won¡¯t be letting you off with a warning. You understand? We had a deal.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s what you¡¯d like to tell yourself, isn¡¯t it?¡± Alto replied. ¡°But you all knew what you were doing back then, spotting my tab just to steal Victima away from me¡­ you had no right to take her! That Voidbeast is my livelihood!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been drying up the taps of this Port since long before any of us arrived! I don¡¯t believe for a second that you ever planned to return to this supposed ¡®livelihood¡¯ of yours, or that it even existed to begin with!¡± Aldraug waved his hand dismissively. ¡°If you won¡¯t put it to use, then we will. Better than letting the beast rot in its pen!¡±


    Alto stumbled and closed the distance between them. He was red-faced and blind with rage, but there was genuine conviction beneath his eyes which had long been sedated by the drink. He pointed towards Prospero. ¡°This brat came in demanding this and that of me¡­ I turned him away, but he wouldn¡¯t give up¡­ didn¡¯t throw so much as a curse my way no matter how poorly I treated him. Couldn¡¯t help but realise just how sour I¡¯d become in my woes¡­ just how far I¡¯d dived into the bottle¡­ reminded me of a certain someone. Now I¡¯m here and pepped up on five-and-a-half glasses of Dakriol Fireglow, and I¡¯ve decided that I¡¯ll die before I let a band of homeless brigands take Victima!¡±


    ¡°If you knew the first thing about us, you wouldn¡¯t be so quick to lash out!¡± Aldraug yelled. ¡°Now get out of my face! Your breath stinks to the Long Wilds!¡±


    A quick shove displaced them and sent Alto crumpling to the ground. He landed with a tired groan, the fire not quite gone from his eyes even as the hopelessness of the dream began to settle in. ¡°Shit¡­¡± he cursed.


    Something about his fall triggered a reaction from the Voidbeast looming above their confrontation. A droning, like a cat¡¯s purr, loud enough to damage the eardrums, rattled the pen and forced most of the Sunflowers to cover their ears. Victima''s skinny legs brought her close to the enormous wooden gate confining her and splintered straight through the barrier without meeting a shred of resistance. From the scaffolding above, a man¡¯s voice could be heard screaming, ¡°She¡¯s free! Gods above - she¡¯s free! Get out of the fucking way!¡±


    The Sunflowers parted to make way for the beast, pressing themselves up against the furthest walls of the pen to avoid being crushed. Aldruag toyed with the idea of brandishing his greathammer at the beast, but leapt just the same when it came roaring by. Victima screeched to a halt just short of Alto¡¯s position, lowering her head to examine him while he rose unsteadily to his feet and marvelled, free of terror, at the Voidbeast¡¯s presence. ¡°Victima,¡± he muttered. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it¡­ you still recall this sullen bastard¡¯s face? Even after I abandoned you of my own will¡­ you would still come to my aid?¡±


    Prospero regained enough lucidity to return to his human form. Impossible though it seemed, the fresh bruises stamped on his face were already beginning to heal. He licked the blood from his lips and didn¡¯t find it nearly as appetising as that belonging to beasts. He was captured in Victima¡¯s silhouette, only a few feet away from being impaled by one of her many legs. It was impossible to appreciate the scope of such a creature from any angle.


    He limped to the pen¡¯s entrance, where Alto was standing on his toes and caressing the Voidbeast¡¯s carapace. ¡°I¡¯ve been such a terrible fool, Victima¡­¡± he said. ¡°I abandoned everything for a fleeting pleasure in the bottle¡­ even now, I feel the temptation to wander off and lose myself in another glass¡­¡±


    ¡°Alto?¡± Prospero blinked in no small part thanks to the sunlight filtering in through the entrance.


    ¡°Hah¡­ look at you,¡± the man cast a pitying glance his way. ¡°All battered and bloody. What did you think was going to happen, you blowhard?¡±


    ¡°...I said I was going to get your Voidbeast back, didn¡¯t I?¡± he replied.


    ¡°-And look where that got you! It¡¯s a good thing I came around, else these brigands would have left you out in the sun to turn to ash!¡± Alto sniffed. ¡°You just had to go and force my hand, didn¡¯t you? Honestly¡­ Gaspar would have killed me if I¡¯d left his own son for dead.¡±


    A bellowing chirp from Victima punctuated his words. ¡°See?¡± he patted her forelegs. ¡°She thinks so, too.¡±


    ¡°You can understand it?¡± Prospero asked.


    ¡°About as well as I can understand a Realmstone, or the Celestial Winds - which is to say, a whole awful lot,¡± he nodded and furrowed his brow. ¡°...But that was ever so long ago, Baptista.¡±


    ¡°-And so it will be again,¡± Prospero finished. ¡°If you haven¡¯t forgotten, I¡¯m still in need of a Starseeker to get me off this realm.¡±

 13 - Captain

    Alto tipped his head to the side. ¡°You would trust an old drunk like me to take you across the Incandescence? After I plainly told you to fuck off right to your face?¡±


    ¡°You came through for me, didn¡¯t you?¡± Prospero replied. ¡°I won¡¯t fault a man for growing bitter when his vision is clouded by addiction¡­ but I will trust in his conviction to overcome it. We are all suffering in one form or another. Better to face a problem with allies to cushion you if things go awry.¡±


    ¡°Things will go awry, Baptista,¡± he said. ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve peeled myself off the floor and tried to make things right. Nor the second time - or the third, for that matter. You¡¯re speaking to a real piece of work who¡¯s likely to crash and burn once the hope runs out of him.¡±


    With a gaze more tender than Prospero knew the old man to be capable of, Alto turned to Victima and breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Still¡­ this is the furthest I¡¯ve ever gotten.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not waste the momentum, then,¡± Prospero said. ¡°I take that to mean you¡¯re willing to fulfil your promise to my father?¡±


    ¡°Wish I¡¯d never made any to begin with¡­¡± he grumbled. ¡°-And if it were for any other reason, I¡¯d have left you for dead. But if your father¡¯s gone, then¡­ it¡¯s too damning of a responsibility to abandon, much as I hate to admit it. Now - pardon my language, but I¡¯d like to get the fuck out of here before any of these lowlives get any ideas.¡±


    Prospero nodded, and they proceeded towards the exit with Victima trailing behind like an obedient pup, only to find their path blocked by a familiar foe standing with his arms crossed. The light against Aldruag¡¯s back made his disfiguring scar all the more pronounced. ¡°...You can¡¯t leave,¡± he said simply.


    ¡°Bugger off, you scrap of Dakriol dung,¡± Alto waved his arm. ¡°Victima¡¯s coming with us, and that¡¯s the end of it. Swing that hammer of yours around all you like - won¡¯t help a bit.¡±


    Aldruag sighed, and Prospero imagined that they were in for another fight. That was, until the towering man lowered himself onto his hands and knees and touched his forehead to the ground like a common beggar. ¡°You can¡¯t leave,¡± he repeated. ¡°I¡¯m begging you.¡±


    ¡°B-Boss!¡± a Sunflower yelled from the sidelines. ¡°Don¡¯t lower your head to those two! They should be the ones beggin¡¯ us to-¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Aldruag¡¯s voice was no less commanding even when aimed at the floor. ¡°Just be quiet¡­¡±


    Alto leaned to the side to get a look at Aldruag¡¯s face and nearly toppled over. ¡°...What, have you lost the plot or something? Doesn¡¯t matter how nicely you ask, we¡¯re still taking the old girl away.¡±


    ¡°Just listen!¡± he paused. ¡°...I- we need that Voidbeast. It¡¯s the only good stroke of luck we¡¯ve ever happened upon in this godsforsaken Port! Just a few more days, and we were finally going to leave¡­  I¡¯ll give you every last coin we¡¯ve scrounged together - just leave that creature with us! Please!¡±


    Prospero crossed his arms. The distant skysong of faraway Voidbeasts prevented the silence from becoming too cumbersome. ¡°Why do you want to leave?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Why?¡± Aldruag chuckled sadly. ¡°Look around you. We¡¯re nothing but vagrants, drunks, and criminals. Not one man here could land a day of honest work to save his life. Banding together¡¯s the only reason any of us are still alive and out of jail.¡±


    ¡°-Banding together and swindling innocent people,¡± Prospero corrected.


    ¡°Tell me what we¡¯re supposed to do, then!¡± he raised his head. ¡°Nobody will have us! We¡¯re too troubled or hated or - Gods - just plain too stupid to find any luck in this place! Some of these people used to be heroes, Baptista! Veterans of the Lotus War! The Dakriol Rebellion! Now look at them! Addled by war and poisoned by drink; abandoned by Hartlokus, abandoned by the Emerald City; a story older than the stars! And all they get at the end of their rope is¡­ is me, for Gods¡¯ sakes! What¡¯s a man supposed to do?¡±


    There was real sorrow in his voice now. Prospero supposed that his words had been a long time coming - an amalgamation of founded hatred. A glance towards the sides of the pen revealed most of the Sunflowers as men beyond their years in appearance, some of them too intoxicated or sickened to notice much of anything. Prospero recalled his first thoughts upon entering - that the Sunflowers didn¡¯t seem like much of a gang at all.


    ¡°That Voidbeast was the one good chance we had to finally put all this business behind us,¡± Aldraug continued. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t matter where we went, or where we ended up. As long as it was anywhere but here, it would have been a damn good chance to turn some of these men¡¯s lives around. Now it¡¯s being taken from us, just like everything else¡­¡±


    It was formidable for a man of such stature and pride to rest his forehead on the ground. Prospero barged into the pen under the impression that the Sunflowers were nothing more than honourless criminals.


    But what is a criminal? He couldn¡¯t help but wonder. All his life, Prospero had been taught never to steal, never to swindle, never to deride or obstruct - but what reason would he have to ever consider those paths? Innsworm was never a prosperous hamlet, but the Baptista estate was wealthy beyond comparison. He wanted for nothing as a child. But very few were so lucky.


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    One look at Aldruag was all it took to prove that his life had taken a different path. The stories hidden behind his calloused hands and countless scars spoke of a man who had struggled through more tragedies than Prospero had fingers to count.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t act surprised when something stolen is taken back,¡± Alto spoke after a pause. ¡°Folk like you are the shit-eating rats who stole the Silver Age from us. If it were up to me, I¡¯d lock every last one of you up and toss the key into the Celestial Ocean.¡±


    He began to walk off. ¡°Come on, Baptista. We¡¯ve no time to waste.¡±


    Prospero sighed. ¡°We can¡¯t.¡±


    Alto trailed to a stop and mulled those words over before turning his head. ¡°No, lad. We¡¯re not about to waste our time hearing the woes of a bastard like Aldruag.¡±


    ¡°...But they¡¯re just like you,¡± he said.


    Alto frowned. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°These aren¡¯t¡­ terrible people,¡± Prospero began. ¡±No man takes pride in committing a crime. He only does so when he feels that there is no other option. Or, perhaps it¡¯s been his way for so long that he knows of no other life. It has become a part of his identity - just as drinking became a part of yours. And, changing one¡¯s identity¡­ it is not a simple thing to do, Alto.¡±


    Those who have fallen from grace can rarely convince others of the goodness in their hearts, he thought. Is it asking too much of a stranger to look past superficial traits? It¡¯s a great commitment to ask of anybody¡­ but a necessary one, if we plan to better our souls.


    Prospero couldn¡¯t recall the text from which he¡¯d lifted that thought. So many of the ideas explored in the manor¡¯s study had conjoined into a fractured shell of half-finished vows. But what use was philosophy if he had no desire to apply it? The topic of the ¡®good life¡¯ had always intrigued him from the perspective of a sheltered teenager. What, exactly, did it mean to live ¡®a good life¡¯ in his circumstances?


    ¡°Gods above¡­ you sound exactly like Gaspar,¡± Alto scratched the back of his head. ¡°The world isn¡¯t such a kind place, Baptista. Folk like you, who try to see the good in everyone, are always the first to find a knife in their backs. I¡¯m not insulting you, mind - you¡¯re just a young man who hasn¡¯t seen much yet.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about finding the ¡®good¡¯ in someone,¡± Prospero replied. ¡°I would hardly call us ¡®comrades¡¯, but we¡¯re working together now, aren¡¯t we? I don¡¯t dream of a world where men are just and righteous to a fault. Only one where those who have fallen are given a second chance to stand. That is¡­ to me, at least, the sort of world my father desired, also.¡±


    He turned to Aldruag, who remained there still with his face planted in the dirt. ¡°You took Victima with the idea of using her to leave the realm, correct?¡± he asked. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to me like the type of man who leaves a plan half-baked, so I take it a few of the Sunflowers have experience with Voidbeasts? Am I right?¡±


    Aldraug lifted his head. ¡°Aye¡­¡± he nodded. ¡°Like I mentioned, a few of us are veterans. Old Realmstone engineers and fleecers. Things would have been bumpy for a while, but I reckoned they could have taught the others a thing or two in due time.¡±


    ¡°Victima is quite a large beast,¡± Prospero said. ¡°I won¡¯t pretend to be an expert on the subject, but I suppose that means she¡¯ll need quite a crew to keep things steady?¡±


    Alto grumbled. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± he began. ¡°I¡¯ve been at it for so long that a handful of men was all I ever needed after a while, but a strong crew never goes amiss. Realmstone engineers aren¡¯t cheap, Baptista - and nobody likes being a fleecer.¡±


    ¡°It sounds to me like there¡¯s a way we could all benefit from this situation,¡± Prospero crossed his arms. ¡°Aldruag and his Sunflowers are looking to move on from this Port, and we¡¯re looking to leave as soon as possible. Provided there¡¯s food and water to last the journey, I don¡¯t think any of these men would object to manning Victima for as long as it takes us to reach another realm.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh. Mhm,¡± Alto nodded along to his words. ¡°-And what makes you think I want these rat bastards anywhere near the deck of my Voidbeast? After all they¡¯ve done to me?¡±


    Prospero couldn¡¯t deny that it was a good question, and that asking Alto to forget the Sunflowers¡¯ transgressions was inconceivable, if not borderline offensive. He was tempted to navigate the argument with nonchalance, but he knew that anything short of speaking from the heart would be futile. ¡°...It¡¯s not a fair thing to demand forgiveness from a victim,¡± he began. ¡°Neither is it just, nor expected. It¡¯s the privilege of those who have been wronged to assume the position of judge and jury, and their decision - no matter how cruel or unfeeling, is rightly theirs to make. But, it is a decision, and a decision that weighs heavy not on their shoulders, but on those of the men they judge. Can you look at any of these souls and say for certain that their hearts are wicked and their intentions impure?¡±


    Alto cast a wide glance over the pen, and within the shadow of his beloved companion, he met eyes with men who, troubled by inaction and wayward loneliness, did not seem at all distinguished from himself. He wanted for nothing more than to see Aldruag and his followers jailed for their actions, but there was no certainty in his heart that the man¡¯s confession and desperate pleas were anything short of completely authentic. Prospero had told him precisely that there was a choice to be made. Those scattered lives were his to judge, but lives regardless. Any one of them was not lesser than him, not any less cursed with dreams and ambitions as him, and not any less poisoned or wanting as him.


    -And they did, indeed, require a crew.


    Alto sighed and walked up to Aldruag. A second earlier, he would have placed his boot on the man¡¯s head and condemned him to a life of squalid chancing in the darkness of Glassoph. But he found himself, blessed with a sudden and immaculate purity, with his hand outstretched, and with the unwelcome strain of forcing oneself to make the right but unsatisfying choice, he said, ¡°You¡¯ll work for nothing but scraps of tack and water, and I¡¯ll drill every last one of you until your ears bleed and until your dreams are nothing but maddening tapestries of stars in the deep - and you¡¯ll grin and bear it and call me ¡®captain¡¯ all the while, or you¡¯re getting left behind in the freezeboil, and then once we¡¯re clear of Glassoph, you¡¯re getting shoved onto the first desolate, wasting Port we end up at - no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Am I making myself quite clear?¡±


    Aldraug raised himself to a kneel, then with shallow trepidation took Alto¡¯s hand in his own and rose to his feet. ¡°...I fear that calling you ¡®captain¡¯ is something my heart won¡¯t endure,¡± he said.


    ¡°Worry not,¡± Aldruag¡¯s scowl deepened. ¡°You¡¯ll be saying it plenty.¡±

 14 - Departure

    Within the hour, all but the most stubborn and foolish of Glassoph¡¯s residents had been evacuated, and Victima was among the small handful of Voidbeasts who still remained on the ground. She was in need of an inspection before flight, Alto had said, and also that Aldruag and the Sunflowers needed to be assessed on their worthiness to accompany the beast on its resurrective voyage.


    Prospero was given an hour to wander, and he figured that the only worthwhile use of that time was to locate the woman named Erda, if only to apologise for causing such a panic, and hopefully to seek some form of benediction. A sleuth around the colossal highways of the Port proper earned him the view of endless pens stretching downwards along that platform scaffolded upon the hills, and eventually the warrior woman did crop into view. She and what Prospero assumed to be the Port¡¯s local militia were readying themselves to depart in a pen detached from the others by a flimsy gate. When he approached, the bulbous fists of some mantid behemoth poked out from the darkness inside - a Voidbeast unlike the others he had witnessed.


    Erda noticed his approach and stood with her arms crossed. ¡°I thought you came here to leave?¡± her tone was annoyed. ¡°This beast is owned by the guild, and there¡¯s no room for passengers.¡±


    ¡°I will be shortly - leaving, I mean,¡± he replied. ¡°I came here because I wanted to apologise.¡±


    ¡°An apology will not save these people from the grief of being uprooted,¡± Erda said. ¡°I¡¯ve made my point to you already. If you fancy something more meaningful than an apology, then the best thing you can do is leave us as quickly as possible. Take your business elsewhere.¡±


    She turned away, and that was that. There was no grand closure to Prospero¡¯s short saga in Glassoph, no glory to seek or debts to repay; his arrival had displaced everyone who called that tiny Port home, and there was nothing he could do to make amends for it. He could not help but continue, as certain as he was that Erda didn¡¯t want to hear anything else. ¡°En told me that you¡¯re the one in charge of this Port¡¯s militia; the Custodian,¡± he said. ¡°I heard of the tragedy that occurred a matter of weeks ago. It is too late now, but it made me realise just how foolish I¡¯ve been by coming here, and how my journey has disparaged the lives of others.¡±


    Erda lowered her head. ¡°...That fossil of a man never knows when to stop speaking,¡± she replied. ¡°It was my foolishness and overconfidence that caused the deaths of those men. Now their wives will not speak to me, and I feel gazes on my back whenever I patrol these streets which I love so dearly. I spoke harshly when we met in the tavern because your arrival hammered what is likely to be the final nail into my coffin.¡±


    Prospero paused. This was his responsibility to mend, he knew well, but as to how - he could never tell. ¡°...That is no fault of your own,¡± he said.


    Erda frowned. ¡°I know that,¡± she replied. ¡°But what good does your apology do? You must be wary of the effects a Vampire¡¯s presence can have on those who do not deserve to be caught up in their madness. Craftsmen, quartermasters, postmen, cooks; their families - all of these people and more you have cast away, and the Gods only know what this pursuer of yours will do to Glassoph in our absence. Will we return to a mound of dust and cobble? How many livelihoods, so graciously built over the course of decades, will be torn down by this Vampiric legion?¡±


    Erda turned to him, and Prospero suddenly felt more vulnerable than he had at the mercy of the Sunflowers. ¡°-And what will you do to remedy this?¡± she shook her head. ¡°I know the answer already. You¡¯re looking for a way out and nothing else. Do you understand now? This is why I couldn¡¯t help but air my frustrations when we met. These people do not deserve this fate, nightwalker, and you know that well.¡±


    In desperation to seek exodus from Orlok, Prospero had only accomplished what his father and Albus bade him; to seek the Port of Glassoph and secure a Voidbeast to escape the realm. But in doing so, he had condemned so many others to the same homeless fate which had been thrust upon himself.


    But what other choice did I have? He wished so desperately to say those words, but knew they would be of no use. There was no gracious conclusion to be found between them. He had acted too soon and too brazenly, with too many of his own interests in mind to consider the lives of others. Albus, Prospero realised, wished to fight for a reason he did not fully understand at the time. If Orlok¡¯s legion desired the lives of Queensbridge¡¯s residents, they would simply tear the walls of their homes down and slaughter the innocent in their beds. That is why he wished to fight, but Prospero had insisted that they remain inside as if it would help in the slightest.


    Queensbridge, he realised, was already doomed, just as Albus had said. His agreement to Prospero¡¯s terms was, in all likelihood, a way to grant the young man some hope that they would survive. But Prospero was too blinded by his unfounded righteousness to see it.


    With his heart weighing down, he lowered his head. ¡°I do,¡± he said. ¡°I do know, yes¡­ that I¡¯ve wounded the souls of many this day, and yet the most I can offer in recompense is an apology. I am not strong enough to repel those who pursue me, but one day¡­ I¡¯m certain of it - one day I will be. And, when that day arrives, if there is anything I can do to atone for the trouble I¡¯ve caused today-¡±


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    Erda¡¯s palm came up to silence him. ¡°-I don¡¯t place faith in promises,¡± she began. ¡°A good heart is sculpted through action, not words. If it¡¯s your desire to ¡®atone¡¯, as you so dramatically put it, then meet me again with the strength to back your vow.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°My home is here. I will return one day. Of that, you can be certain.¡±


    ¡°Then go, as you came here to do.¡± She waved her arm. ¡°And if there¡¯s even the slightest truth to what you claim, then luck be with you. I know little of Vampires, other than that they make for troublesome adversaries.¡±


    This, Prospero thought, was enough. No amount of pledging and vowing would undo his mistakes, but the distant future offered him at least a small amount of forgiveness. He could no longer afford to flee and die pointlessly in the darkness of the Incandescence - now he had a purpose besides protecting the Beastblood, and a reason to exist past the tragedy of his father¡¯s death.


    He and Erda did not part on equal terms. Her resentment was true, and Prospero knew that he deserved all of it, but she was kind enough to offer him a thorough explanation for her outburst in the tavern, and he had learned so quickly from the world beyond Innsworm that things were not often cast in shades of black and white.


    By the time he returned to Victima¡¯s pen, the Sunflowers had already congregated to corral the Voidbeast by its enormous harness, yanking on lengths of hair-bristled rope with all their might to steer Victima in the right direction. Her legs scuttled across the platform, each one a thrusting greatspear splintering the wooden foundation of the Port, but the beast herself was serene and unbothered.


    ¡°Baptista!¡± Alto waved him over, where the sight of his tiny body in front seemed to be calming Victima even as she was led and tugged across the highway. ¡°We¡¯ll never be more ready to leave than this,¡± he continued. ¡°Even if we fancied a better crew, all the handymen are gone. Aldruag had plenty of feed stored in that pen - enough for our needs, anyway.¡±


    He pointed towards the sky, where the shaft of azure light cast by the distant Magus tower was burning a hole into the realm¡¯s atmosphere, as if a rift was being torn open between the clouds. ¡°Magus has already fucked off, as I¡¯m sure you might have guessed,¡± Alto said. ¡°Need to get Victima up in the air and through that gate before it loses stability. Go on and get yourself onto the deck.¡±


    He turned around and cupped one hand around his mouth. ¡°Oi! Drop the ladder, you lot!¡±


    A beat passed, then a flimsy ladder came rolling down Victima¡¯s carapace. Prospero nodded and hauled himself onto the beast¡¯s back, where the wooden deck was smoother than he first anticipated. Keeping his balance atop Victima as she moved along proved to be quite troublesome, both for himself and for the Sunflowers lingering on top. Below the hatch leading towards the hold, he could hear barrels rolling unsteadily.


    ¡°Oh¡­ I¡¯m gonna be sick,¡± he overheard a Sunflower¡¯s complaints.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be swabbing the deck with a toothbrush if you chuck up on my Voidbeast!¡± Alto¡¯s voice, impossibly, never seemed to lose aggression or volume no matter how far away he was. ¡°Keep it in your gullet until we¡¯re clear of the realm, then you can vomit overboard all you like!¡±


    In time, Victima was escorted to the wide-open space right at the edge of the platform. Prospero could just about peek over the distant hilltops from where he stood, growing fatigued enough from deflecting the sunlight with his cloak to seek shelter in the captain¡¯s cabin. The tips of his fingers were beginning to singe, and a painful bristling could be felt across his skin.


    The hole-ridden curtains drawn over the doors leading towards a balcony at the stern ensured that he was always seeking darkness in one form or another. Scraps of Alto¡¯s effects were littered about the cabin and along the desk nailed haphazardly to the floor. Prospero spotted manifestos, officiated debts, light reading material, and even a jacket sporting emerald epaulettes gathering dust in a shuttering wardrobe. He thought it strange that Aldruag, despite having owned Victima for so long, saw no reason to sell Alto¡¯s possessions or even clean his cabin out. Prospero leaned down to retrieve a fading newsprint from the floor and leaned himself against the wall for balance.


    ¡°Keelham to bestow tax break on victory,¡± he recited a headline. ¡°Runic criminalisation continues amidst growing concerns over magick institutions.¡±


    He flipped through the pages, understanding barely a word of what he read but mesmerised by the presence of an entire world hidden beyond the borders of his sleepy realm. When Victima came to a halt, he was shunted forward, and not a moment later, he could hear the rest of the Sunflowers barrelling up the ladder and onto the deck. He waited, reluctant to face the sunlight, for Alto to enter the cabin, who barged in with the gusto of a thief in the night. ¡°...By the brightest queens of Kep¡¯son¡¯et - they actually kept the place in good nick! At least they did something right¡­¡±


    Quite pleased to see his possessions intact, he rounded his desk, pulled out the chair, and seated himself with a contented sigh - only to end up plummeting to the floor when the wood creaked and splintered under his weight. ¡°Oh!¡± he inhaled through his teeth. ¡°...Shit.¡±


    Prospero crossed his arms. ¡°That¡¯s twice I¡¯ve seen you on the ground today.¡±


    ¡°Quiet, Baptista,¡± Alto pulled himself up and staggered over to a chest of drawers. ¡°Now, how do you do this again¡­?¡±


    He opened a drawer and fiddled with the wooden underpanel until his finger crossed a tiny seam in the woodwork. With a clunk, a hidden segment slid back to reveal a compartment housing a blue crystal no taller than a few millimetres. He pinched it out as if it was likely to explode, placing it onto the desk with exquisite care.


    Prospero watched the scene unfold and asked, ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Come here,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡±