It was a prison. This building, which now resonated with cries of terror and feral roars, was a prison. Why did a settlement of four hundred people at most need a prison? And such a large one at that?

A woman darted out from a corridor in front of Vanalath, chased by a small ghoul. He kicked reflexively, hitting her midriff and sending her crashing to the floor. The monster leapt upon her, whereupon it began to savage her viciously. Vanalath recognized the form of the ghoul child who’d been climbing the wall earlier. If the woman had her wits about her, she might have fought it off, but she was senseless with terror.

Leaving the weak prey to the weak predator, he moved on.

The humans were scattered, disorganized. They hadn’t been expecting a breach. Only a small group of them even made it to the rear entrance; the rest were sequestered within the various cells of this building. His undead had split, each going their own way through the deceptively large building, chasing the screams. Thinking ahead, he’d barred and locked the door, leaving behind a small contingent of four ghouls to guard the exit.

This place was larger than it had seemed at first glance. This was because, though the prison was only one story tall, it was several stories deep. Currently, Vanalath was wandering one of the basement levels, following the trail of the largest gathering of humans. It was difficult, since the humans had been living here for at least a day and all the scents were mixed together, but he had some practice with this. The scent he chased was slightly fresher than the others.

The echoes that intermittently bounced off the walls signaled that there was a level even lower than the one he was on, and most of the remaining humans were there. They couldn’t see in the dark, so it surprised him to find most of them cloistered so deeply. Perhaps they had done so in order to escape the noise of the monsters outside their bunker. Irrational creatures, humans.

Vanalath was tempted to open the front door and flood the structure with sixty flesh-starved ghouls, but something held him back when he reached the entrance in question. Namely, it was greed.

Besides, humans who sought to hide away and starve rather than fight posed little threat to him. They were trapped mice, waiting for the fangs of the cat.

Ever since killing that man outside the building, Vanalath had felt his mind sharpening in that way it always did when bloodshed was imminent. He embraced this feeling. It was easier to fight back the chains of his memories with his consciousness as single-minded as this. He went forward, alert yet unafraid of potential danger, hoping that, through slaughter, he could wash away any lingering regrets.

He came across the second set of stairs, and the stench of fear thickened. His steps were silent as he descended, but each footfall was heavy. The room he entered could only be described as a dungeon. A single ghoul had beaten him here, and was currently rattling the bars of an iron prison cell, terrifying the inhabitants within. Vanalath stepped into view, the mask concealing his features.

A mother, father, and child were inside the prison cell, huddled by the wall furthest from the ghoul. A lantern flickered in the corner, illuminating just enough for them to see by. Outside the cell door was a human corpse, freshly made from the look of it, only having been nibbled on slightly by the other ghoul. It had killed the man but was distracted by the still-living family nearby, leaving him to rot.

Perhaps Vanalath appeared almost human in that moment, tall and composed, his sword bared and dimly reflecting the light. Perhaps they thought he’d come to save them.

Vanalath tried the door, finding it locked. The humans inside flinched. The husband called out, but he ignored him. He couldn’t understand their language, anyway.

He couldn’t reach them, unless… the glint of metal on the floor drew his eye. A keyring lay in the dusty cell, just out of reach of someone outside, but still too close to the door for the humans—who’d put as much distance as possible between themselves and the undead—to want to risk retrieving it.

The jailer, likely the dead man on the floor, had done his work in a hurry, throwing the keys into the cell after locking the door, sacrificing himself so they might live.

Keeping an eye on the family of three, he inserted his sword through the bars in the cell. The humans froze. He’d fully captured their attention by this point: this strange, sinister being who, with his silent intelligence—perhaps they were beginning to realize—was fully committed to their death.

Their concern quickly turned to fear when they saw him hook the keyring with the point of his blade and begin dragging it away. The man lurched to his feet in a desperate attempt to grab the keys, but Vanalath, sensing hesitation, slammed the bars. Something between a roar and a growl passed through his lips, and he infused the action with some of his energy. The man jumped back, turning as white as a sheet, and the other two humans began wailing in turn.

This gave him the freedom to finish dragging the keyring to within arm’s reach, at which point he picked it up. There were around ten keys on it. This wouldn’t take long.

Each new key he inserted in the lock caused the sobbing to grow louder, and the man even started throwing things at him in desperation. Dirt, loose pebbles, straw. Vanalath ignored the barrage. Then, on the sixth key, the door swung open with a telling click.

The two females scrambled to their feet, backing up into a corner even as the man kept himself in the front. He hefted a large rock, the only remaining weapon in the cell, with the intent to bash the ghoul’s brains out. It was the smartest thing he could have done at this point, other than throwing his wife or daughter at him and trying to flee. The man had a strong frame, but he wasn’t a fighter. His strategy might have been enough to deal with a lesser ghoul, or perhaps even a normal evolved—but not Vanalath.

He dashed forward, striking the man’s arm with his blade and forcing him to drop his makeshift weapon. The human cried out, but then, gritting his teeth against the pain, he leaned forward and charged, trying to tackle Vanalath to the floor. He sidestepped the clumsy motion, tripping the man as he passed. A second strike to his back killed him. Quick, clean, precise.

[Level increased]

Agility + 2

[Level increased]

Strength + 1

Agility + 1

A cooling trickle of energy seeped down Vanalath’s spine as he ended the man’s life, making him feel a little bit lighter. Good. He was concerned when he hadn’t gained anything from the man outside the prison, but it seemed that all it took was one more kill to bring him more of that intoxicating sensation of growth.

Of the two remaining humans, the smaller one fell to her knees and crawled over to the slain man, calling out a word repeatedly in a broken voice. The second, whom he presumed to be the wife, screamed, bolting for the open door.

He’d left the door open for much the same reason as he left a space open during his fight with the juvenile ghoul. When enemies had an obvious escape route, they became markedly more predictable.

Vanalath took no joy in what he did next. Before that memory of his human life resurfaced, he might have relished killing these two humans, as he did during the slaughter in the cave. Now, though?

His sword danced up like a vicious serpent, decapitating the woman as she ran past. Her body took two stumbling steps before collapsing to the ground, her blood mixing with the dust to form a reddish mud. He turned to the girl, who hadn’t even looked up. She was shaking the body of her father. A downward strike to the cranium killed her instantly, and she collapsed atop him.

[Level increased]

Strength + 1

Dexterity + 1

He looked down at the small, lifeless body with a bitter expression. For a while, he stood, trying to pinpoint the source of this drowning sensation that threatened to dull his thoughts.

Regret didn’t quite hit the mark. Nor did sadness.

It took him some moments of introspection to recognize the feeling for what it was: a lingering attachment. A weakness, a longing for his past humanity. Inside the confines of his mind, the fragmented memory of himself as a child had observed what he’d done. That little boy named Vanalath was screaming.

Perhaps it would be easier if he could ignore it. Obliterate the memory. It would be so much easier if he could—but what would be the cost? Could he ever discard that part of him? Abandon his past, even if it meant relinquishing what few memories of his life he’d recovered?

No. That history was as much a part of him as this dead form was now.

There would be no joy left for him in the act of killing. Not after the memory of Thomas. But neither would a lack of pleasure make him stop. He’d continue to kill. Those that breathed and those that didn’t: he’d slay whoever and whatever he needed to, even if it meant he’d climb mountains of bodies. With each existence he brought to an end, his brittle resolve would strengthen like a steel forged in enchanted fire.

For both his mistress’s ambition and for his own hatred, he would never cease.

- - -

Vanalath eyed Kalaki and the young ghoul. They stood before him, Kalaki dragging along the corpse of one of the human warriors. Vanalath had just left the building, leaving some ghouls behind to hunt down the few remaining humans inside. He himself had chased down two more humans in the third level underground. They hadn’t been worth much, and afterwards, only a few stragglers were left. He received two more notifications while underground, but one was unexpected: it had appeared even though he hadn’t done anything. He was wandering the halls and the glowing red runes simply appeared before him. The second notification, the blue runes, came only after personally killing the remaining two men.

[Level increased]

Miasma + 2

[Level increased]

Stamina + 1

Agility + 1

Putting this mystery aside, he was annoyed at something else.

Something had been itching at the back of his mind, bothering him ever since he killed the first man outside the prison. The sensation had redoubled after the events in the dungeon, and again after the final two kills. Though it might have seemed related to his human memories, he knew that this feeling was independent of that. The prickling that now troubled him was more of a physical phenomenon than a mental one. Whatever he did, he couldn’t locate its source.

And now, he found that his two strongest subordinates had only been able to hunt down one of the two human warriors.

The juvenile ghoul had several new injuries to accompany those given him by Vanalath. These recent ones were inflicted by the warrior’s blade, and by the looks of it, it had been a close fight. The ghoul would certainly have been dead if he’d been human.

He might have even lost had it not been for Kalaki, who came in for the assist at the end, judging by the hole in the man’s chest and the fact that his spear was painted red.

Vanalath wished that they could communicate. He needed to know more, and hated having to go through their game of charades to discover simple information. Had one of the warriors distracted for the other one? Was the second man wounded? How strong were they? How fast? They could track the man, but was it worth it to divert from his task to chase a single individual? There was no telling how long that would take.

Wait. A new question came to mind. Could these be the hunters his mistress had mentioned? She wouldn’t be afraid of just two men, but if these were scouts for a larger force—

That realization decided his course of action. They would return.

With a sense of urgency in his step, Vanalath blocked out the incessant itching and began the process of gathering his horde once more.

- - -

By using the same method as before, Vanalath was able to accumulate a following of eighty-seven ghouls. He was maxed out, personally controlling twenty-eight ghouls. The other fifty-nine were swept up in the crowd. He made sure to place his ghouls in key positions, keeping them visible so that they could “herd” the others.

He’d left behind thirty to forty ghouls. This wasn’t by choice, but rather because these remaining undead were simply too resistant to persuasion. Instead of trying to wrangle them, he’d had the ghouls he did control carry some of the more intact bodies back with them, with the idea that the necromancer could add them to their forces. The dead stopped rising ever since the grand ritual she’d been performing came to an end.

So, an hour later, they marched into what would be their future camp. Vanalath’s pace slowed and eventually came to a halt. Something was amiss. He’d sent two group of ghouls from the other village ahead, but they weren’t anywhere to be seen. Had they disobeyed him?

No, he could smell the undead. They’d been here recently, or—

He took another step and nearly planted his foot onto a ghoul lying prone in the grass. Looking around told Vanalath that there were many more nearby, likewise situated.

So his ghouls did make it. But why were they…?

The door to the hut opened, and the necromancer stepped out. She looked as if she’d just finished with some messy task, and was wiping her hands on a stained cloth.

“What a gift you’ve brought me!” she exclaimed, and a smile bloomed on her face as she observed the assembled undead.

Before she came any closer, a wave of unrest swept through the ghouls behind Vanalath. He tensed, sensing their hostility, and let out a warning growl. Though he had no direct control over most of these undead, he was still able to transmit his will through his voice. Many calmed down, though the majority didn’t.

The necromancer didn’t let it disturb her, however, and after lifting a silver talisman out from some hidden pocket of her robes, she spoke a word, and a pulse of invisible energy flew forth, quickly passing through the ranks of ghouls. Vanalath felt something like a feather brushing against his mind. It vanished as quickly as he noticed it, but not without managing to exacerbate the itching in his brain that he’d finally become able to ignore.

Though the pulse of energy barely affected him, all the ghouls he’d brought with him fell silent as suddenly as if they’d fallen asleep, prompting Vanalath to turn around and make sure they hadn’t all died. It was rather the opposite, however—the undead stood alert and upright, as if waiting for orders. Well, all except one.

The juvenile ghoul to his left was growling, his eyes narrowed in hostility at the woman. Vanalath lifted his hand, intending to knock some sense into his subordinate, but he was too slow for what came next.

His mistress shifted her footing slightly and then sprung forward like a predator, almost too quickly for his eyes to track. When the dust had settled, she had one foot placed on the ghoul’s chest and in her hand she held a wickedly sharp knife which she pressed under his jaw. Vanalath had no doubt that a single motion would be all she needed to pierce his brain.

He was impressed, having had no idea that she was such a capable warrior. The movements she had just displayed outshone even his own performance. He’d been thinking she was a pure spellcaster, but somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find that she had other talents.

Serving her had been a good decision, after all. He couldn’t help but think back to the time spent in her cottage. What if he hadn’t decided to obey her? She appeared weakened after her ritual, but if that had been a ploy…

Were he alive, Vanalath might have broken out in a cold sweat.

For a moment, the necromancer simply inspected the young ghoul. Then, while holding the same talisman as before, which Vanalath now saw was a round, silver amulet with three spikes around the perimeter, she placed her palm on his forehead.

The ghoul’s pale yellow eyes widened in fright. He truly was unique among all the undead Vanalath had met. Even among the evolved, few were capable of fear.

Nothing changed, even after she held the amulet to him for several seconds. Without a word, she put the device away and took out another. This time it didn’t seem to be an arcane implement, but a simple magnifying glass.

Wait, what was a magnifying glass? Once again, Vanalath found himself suffering the inconvenience of having only a cursory knowledge of things. Didn’t they… make objects larger?

The necromancer tilted her head, as if seeing something through the lens that surprised her.

She said, “You aren’t merely an evolved, are—urghk!”

Convulsing, she dropped the knife. Vanalath stepped forward, blade already in hand, but whatever had happened to her, it hadn’t been a physical attack. The necromancer seemed to fold in on herself. She lowered to the ground, where she clutched at the fabric of her robes with whitened knuckles while her chest heaved with exertion.

The juvenile moved as if to get up, but Vanalath was on him within a second, slamming him back to the ground with his hand around his throat. Then, he growled, making it very clear to the monster what would happen to him if he had caused this. Or if he tried anything. Or if he annoyed either of them. After seeing the compliance in his eyes, Vanalath released him, but kept an eye out for any strange actions on his part. He didn’t trust this ghoul like he trusted Kalaki, despite them sharing the same connection with him.

His mistress began coughing, and he turned her direction.

“Don’t—don’t mind me. It’s my—my fault. I drew on Mel when I should have been preserving my strength. The conversion to Ichor isn’t an easy—easy one.”

She hacked, spitting up something foul into the grass. Afterwards, she seemed to relax some.

Though he had no idea what she was talking about, it seemed that she would recover. As he waited, he tried to get his forces to lay down like the others. He realized why all the other ghouls were prone. The tall grass, though dead and beginning to droop, was the perfect cover for their forces to hide in. Ghouls could sit and wait for days without complaint if need be, unbothered by the cold and damp.

But when Vanalath began ordering them around, he learned that they no longer listened to him. Not even the ones under his direct control heeded his commands any more, save for Kalaki and the idiot. Calling back his twenty-eight portions of energy, he considered this change. It obviously had something to do with what the necromancer had done.

He heard a noise, and turned to see her gesturing to him. She had been watching him for the past minute, and though she might not have known exactly what he was trying to do, some things were obvious.

He approached, and she held out the talisman she’d used earlier.

“Place your hand on its surface,” she whispered, her voice still hoarse.

He did, and she muttered a word. Then, he felt a strange, freezing sensation. When she signaled, he pulled his hand away and it felt like he had left a layer of skin behind, though he was truthfully untouched.

“They will obey you now.”

He growled, and the ninety ghouls, as one mass, fell prone. Whatever this amulet was, it was clearly far more effective than his simple attempts to command the undead so far.

It took another few minutes of rearranging, but he eventually got them to understand that they were hiding, and a cursory glance over the plains revealed a bare and empty field. An observer would have no idea that over one hundred ghouls lay in wait here.

Vanalath stooped, lifting a body that Kalaki had carried back here with him, and dumped it in front of the necromancer.

She’d mostly recovered by this point, and was sitting cross-legged, her eyes closed, regulating her breathing. When she looked up, the first thing she saw was the corpse of the warrior that Kalaki had killed.

Her eyes immediately narrowed. Clearly, she recognized the body.

“Did you kill this man?”

Vanalath gestured at Kalaki, who stood by like a wraith. She observed the silent ghoul for a moment, before turning back to Vanalath.

“Where was he when you found him? This man, I mean,” she said, indicating the body.

He pointed back in the direction of the lakeside village.

“Were there any others?”

He held up a finger to show that there was one other.

“Did you kill him?”

He shook his head.

“He escaped?”

He nodded.

“So one got away… this man here has an orange feather. He was a scout. They are still in the information gathering stage, then. When the escapee returns to the main force, he will likely inform them that we’re organized, rather than a simple mob of mindless creatures. That’s certainly not ideal, but not disastrous, either. Were you followed back here?”

Vanalath paused. He’d considered that another human staying downwind might be able to track them undetected, but the wind had shifted multiple times on the return journey. He felt it unlikely that a human could evade the noses of an entire company of ghouls, so he shook his head.

“I see.”

She looked up to the sky, and through the veil of clouds, dim stars twinkled. “They likely took the southern paths around the valley, which means we’re in the clear here for the time being. We have at least all night to prepare. They wouldn’t dare begin their assault until daybreak at the earliest… or perhaps they won’t attack at all, and flee to the Enclave? No. Orimo isn’t the type. He will attack, and when he does, it will be decisive. Unless we attack first.”

Was this the moment she was finally going to reveal her plans?

Contrary to his expectations, his mistress gestured towards Kalaki and the juvenile, who lay amongst the rest of the ghouls, clearly hoping to be ignored.

“…But first, I must know. Why have these ghouls been gifted,” she said, articulating the word, “with Peon Brands?”