It took Rob a horrible few seconds to process what he was seeing. His eyes jumped from Meyneth, heavily injured and out of breath, to the two people she'd deposited in the center of the room. One of them was a Fiend that Rob didn't recognize, either unconscious or dead, who was holding a translucent orb of mana in his outstretched hand. Something about the orb sent Rob's fight-or-flight instinct going haywire, forcing his gaze towards the other person Meyneth had broug-

His train of thought ground to a halt. He stared, unblinking, at the gaping hole in Vul'to's chest, blood seeping out of the wound like an open sore. An instant later, Rob opened the Party Screen, and his world was turned on its head by two simple lines of text. HP: 0 / 700. Status Effects: Deceased.

No words came. He tried to take a breath, and failed. Images surged unbidden from the depths of his memories, remnants of disaster from The Village's invasion so many months ago.

Alia

Level: 24

Ranger Level: 21

HP: 0 / 310

Status Effects: Deceased

Tarric

Level: 21

Ranger Level: 18

HP: 0 / 280

Status Effects: Deceased

No no no no no no no-

Diplomacy squeezed Rob's trembling mind and held it in place.

Rob nearly lashed out, a hairsbreadth away from telling the Skill to shove off, before taking a closer look and sensing the grief and anger coating Diplomacy's core. They weren't any less rattled by what had happened than he was. Instead, Rob deactivated Tough Skin and bit his tongue hard, drawing blood. The sudden jolt of pain allowed him to marshal his thoughts for long enough to face Meyneth and blurt out the first words that came to mind. "What happened?"

"Soul Eater." Meyneth jabbed a clawed finger at the unconscious Fiend. "He stole Vul'to's soul. Has it in his hand." She pivoted, jabbing that same finger at Rob's Soul Surgeon. "You will fix him," she ordered, in a clipped tone.

Rob gaped at the unassuming mana orb with a sense of rising horror. That's – oh Jesus fucking hell-christ. "Fix..." He took a deep breath, suppressing the whirlwind of emotions storming inside. It didn't matter if what Meyneth was asking was possible or not – they still had to try. "Yes. Fix him. Now."

The Surgeon didn't respond, too busy staring at the orb floating in the Soul Eater's palm. All the blood had drained from his face, gray complexion turned ashen-white. "This can't be real," he whispered. Any traces of the cocky asshole doctor in his demeanor were long since gone. "Soul Eaters haven't-"

"DID YOU HEAR MY WORDS?!" Meyneth roared, causing the Fiend to flinch like he'd been struck. "TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! YOU ARE A SOUL SURGEON! PERFORM YOUR FUCKING DUTIES!"

"What you ask of me is impossible," the Surgeon replied, as he took a step back. "This Elf is dead. The Clay of Life may have been able to house his soul, but it won't be ready for at least five days. By then, his soul will have dissipated. We cannot return his soul to his original body, either, as it is no longer sufficient as a vessel. Once a body's HP reaches 0, it loses the ability to hold a soul, even if the wounds inflicted upon it are healed afterwards." He looked closer at Vul'to's corp– at Vul'to, and grimaced. "His body would require significant healing, regardless. It has no heart."

Rob felt like he wanted to vomit. He opened up his Character Sheet, activated Speed Reading, and blazed through his list of Skills as quickly as he could. Something in there had to turn this around. Some esoteric effect he could share with Vul'to to circumvent the system's rules. Rob read it all, analyzing each individual word of every last Skill he possessed.

And found nothing. In his time spent in Elatra, Rob had been beaten, battered, bruised, burned, bisected, brutalized, and brained. He'd been inflicted with just about every form of bodily trauma known to man. But at no point in his long history of getting the shit kicked out of him had his soul ever been harmed. Infested by Corruption and tampered with by the gods, yes, but not outright damaged – and definitely not ripped from his chest. Assuming that Skills like Soul Resistance even existed, Rob didn't have them.

Teeth clenched, he closed his Character Sheet and shot off several quick Messages to the rest of his Party members, informing them to bring Healers. One of them could resolve this. The Soul Surgeon had to be wrong. He wasn't all-knowing. There had to-

"You seem to be overlooking an alternative," Meyneth intoned, breaking Rob out of his downward spiral. "There is another vessel here that has not yet lost its capacity to house a soul."

Rob glanced at the unconscious Soul Eater. White-hot rage flared within him, soon followed by a cold resolve. For a moment, he contemplated using Identify to check if the Fiend was close to waking up, but decided otherwise. He didn't want to learn the fucker's name, especially considering what they were about to do. The Surgeon was examining the Eater's body as well, eyes widening as he gradually realized what Meyneth was suggesting.

"Put the Elf's soul in the Soul Eater's body?" The Surgeon covered his mouth with his hand. "That would require-"

"Removing the Eater's soul first," Meyneth nodded.

"That would be as good as killing him."

"And?"

The Soul Surgeon's posture went stiff as a board. "I can't do that."

Rob's hand automatically drifted towards his sword. He let it rest on the hilt. "Why not, exactly?"

"Because I swore an oath." The Surgeon, to his credit, kept his composure despite being glared at by Rob and Meyneth simultaneously. "Souls are precious beyond words. More than the heart, more even than the brain, a soul represents the very essence of a person. It is who they are. When I became a Soul Surgeon, I promised on penalty of eradication that I would never misuse my capabilities to harm another person's soul, no matter how vile that person may be."

For a split second, Meyneth's expression was an erupting volcano of fury. Then, just as suddenly, it mellowed. "I see," she replied, in a calm, placid tone. "Then I shall offer you an ultimatum."

"Threats won't work on me," the Surgeon said. "I'm sorry, I truly am, but-"

"Perform your duties, or I will step outside this room and kill the first Fiend I chance upon."

You could have heard a pin drop. Rob let go of his sword, head gradually turning towards Meyneth. The Dragonkin's expression hadn't changed an iota. "I won't stop there," she continued, in the same, placid tone. "The next Fiend I encounter shall die as well. Torn asunder in a matter of seconds. Then the next Fiend. Then the next, and the next. Mothers. Fathers. Anyone and everyone. Blood will run freely down the streets until either I run out of HP, or you save my friend's life."

Her claws extended to their full length. "I will be cut down, eventually. But not before thousands perish. The strongest nearby Combat Class users are my fellow Party members, and they will hesitate to use deadly force against me. By the time they've worked up the resolve to take my life...well."

Meyneth reached behind herself and casually opened the door. Its drawn-out creak sounded like a death rattle. "Ten seconds. Then I step outside. Choose."

All at once, Rob understood what it was like to be an Elatran, living under the yoke of willful Combat Class users. He'd understood before, in an objective sense, but it was only when he observed the terror dawning on the Soul Surgeon's face that he finally understood. This was a world where society's veneer of civilized behavior was even thinner than back on Earth. At any moment, a Combat Class user with an axe to grind could go on a rampage and slaughter as many people as they wished. If there was no one around to stop them, no one with the desire and Levels necessary to stand in their way, then they simply wouldn't be stopped.

He understood that now better than ever, because as Rob examined the situation from all angles, he realized that he didn't know how things would end if Meyneth carried out her threat in full. She'd claimed that her fellow Party members would hesitate to use deadly force against her, but that was halfway wrong. Because if the Soul Surgeon refused to even attempt to save Vul'to's life over some bullshit code of honor, then Rob very much wouldn't hesitate.

To stand aside and let Meyneth do whatever she wanted.

If someone was going to stop her, it certainly wasn't going to be him.

"Do what she says," Rob told the Soul Surgeon, in a consoling tone, playing the good cop to Meyneth's bad. "I'll take responsibility for whatever happens." His voice cracked slightly. "Just...please save Vul'to. Please."

The Soul Surgeon screwed his eyes shut, seeming wracked with indecision. Rob was about to speak up again, but Diplomacy pulled him back, instructing him to wait. A few seconds later, after reaching a mental count of 'eight', relief flooded through Rob as the Soul Surgeon let out a defeated sigh.

"Theoretically, let's say that I accede to your demands," he began, in a low tone. "What happens when I attempt to insert the Elf's soul into a Fiend's body, and my efforts reach their logical conclusion? Will you massacre people because I failed to do the impossible? Souls can't even be transplanted into alternate bodies of the same race, let alone-"

The Surgeon paused, mouth open. "Same race," he mumbled, eyes distant. Rob could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "Soul Eater. Multiple souls. One body. Physiology adapts. Hmm. Normally impossible, but..."

He looked Meyneth in the eyes, sounding for the first time like he had a semblance of control over the situation. "I cannot guarantee success. You would be advised to prepare yourself for tragedy. However, if this Soul Eater has devoured Elven souls in the past, then his body may be primed to accept an Elven soul as its new owner."

"He made comments regarding Elves being a 'familiar taste'," Meyneth informed.

"Absolutely fucking revolting." He stepped towards the operating table where the two bodies lay. "Yet fortuitous, in this case." The Surgeon made shooing motions at Rob and Meyneth. "Step back, you two. If you're going to have me forsake my vows, then we're damn well doing this right."

The Soul Surgeon held up his right hand. His claws extended, glowing with a full gray aura that gave Rob the same sense of unease that he got when looking at Vul'to's soul. Meyneth hissed, assuming a combat stance, on the verge of lunging. "That's-"

"The same ability that the Eater used to rip your friend's soul from his body," the Surgeon admitted, without a hint of shame. "Do you see now why I swore a vow, and why I'm so hesitant to break it? Much as the difference between medicine and poison lies in their dosage, the difference between a Soul Surgeon and Soul Eater lies in their intent." He breathed in, then exhaled, straightening his posture. "Argath forgive me for what I'm about to do."

Delicately, carefully, the Surgeon extended a single claw and dragged it down the Eater's chest.

Screams. Unending screams. Rob covered his ears as an explosion of translucent mana orbs burst out of the Soul Eater's chest, wailing like a symphony of the damned. The air shimmered with colors and sounds and feeling, souls escaping their prison by the hundreds. Several flew close to Rob, barraging him with flashes of memory that were not his own, glimpses of stolen lives and tortured wills.

And then all was still. The souls had dissipated, traveling to wherever souls went when they were no longer shackled to a corporeal form. It couldn't have taken more than a few seconds, but it felt far longer. Everyone in the room was silent, ears ringing as they slowly processed what they'd just witnessed.

"You okay?" Rob eventually managed to get out, addressing the Soul Surgeon. If that was what it looked like *without* Soul Sight, then what did it look like to him?

"No," the Surgeon flatly stated. He gazed down at the Soul Eater as if observing a unique form of pond scum. "This man is undoubtedly the most prolific Soul Eater in Fiend history."

"...Fuck."

The Surgeon nodded. "Indeed." He held up his claws once more, their dull-gray glow intensifying. "You needn't worry, though. If there's a silver lining to be gleaned, it's that I no longer feel any trace of hesitation whatsoever."

He plunged all five claws into the Soul Eater's chest. The Eater's body lurched, shaking as if it was having a seizure, then abruptly went still as the Surgeon pulled out one last mana orb. He examined the soul, turning it around in his hand, and Rob could've sworn that he detected a glimmer of desire in the Surgeon's eyes.

"I wish I could consign you to oblivion myself," the Surgeon stated. "But that is for Argath to decide." He tossed the soul over his shoulder like it was yesterday's garbage. The soul shrieked and struggled, less eager to move on to the afterlife than the other lives it had imprisoned. Rob could've sworn he heard a cry for help – and then it was gone, the orb dissipating into nothingness.

Moving quickly but carefully, the Soul Surgeon gently plucked Vul'to's soul from the Eater's hand, cradling it with the tips of his claws like he was carrying a newborn child. He proceeded to insert it into the vacant opening in the Eater's chest, fingers twitching in a stiff, controlled manner. His claws glowed with shifting mana, performing some action that Rob wasn't equipped to comprehend. Vul'to's soul disappeared into the Eater's body, and with another gesture, the Surgeon sealed the opening with an odd vacuuming sound.

And...that was it. The operation took so little time that Rob didn't realize it was finished until the Surgeon's claws began to retract. "I've done what I can," he said, appearing drained. "As stated, this kind of procedure is unprecedented. I won't be able to give you assurances on when or if he will awaken."

"He's not even breathing," Rob pleaded. "There has to be more you can do."

"As I said-"

Vul'to let out a harsh gasp. Rob and Meyneth sprang forward, babbling questions and apologies and are-you-okays, but by the time they'd reached him, he was unconscious once again. They tried to wake him up, their hearts sinking when he stayed unconscious. Thankfully, the consistent rise and fall of his chest indicated that emergency CPR wouldn't be necessary.

"Oh my god," Rob mumbled, sinking to the ground. His legs had taken a leave of absence. "That, that means he's fine, right? Tell me that means he's going to be fine."

The Soul Surgeon said nothing. Wanting a second opinion, Rob opened up his Party Screen to check on Vul'to's condition.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

???

Level: ???

??? Level: ???

HP: ??? / ???

Status Effects: ???

--

"You said this wouldn't fucking happen!"

Rob's voice resounded across the room like a thunderbolt. At his side, Keira stood vigil, stone-faced except for the violence dancing in her eyes, her deathly glare adding weight to his words. Rob felt a spike of savage glee as he watched the Grand Overseers recoil in alarm, both of them needing to take a half-second to rally themselves. Despite the meeting being an equal arrangement of two people on each side, the Overseers were acting as if they were outnumbered.

Diplomacy started suggesting ways to reduce the tension in the room, all of which went summarily ignored. Rob wasn't in the mood to play good cop anymore. The fact that only two of the Grand Overseers had bothered showing up when he demanded a meeting, combined with the nervousness evident on their faces, did plenty to confirm his suspicions. A governmental body never sent more officials than necessary into a high-risk area. In this instance, Rob himself was the risk. The Overseers were concerned about a potential reprisal.

Maybe they should be.

"I remember the very first time I met a Fiend," Rob continued, his tone going from loud to dangerously quiet. "Helkath. A real piece of work. Had a huge bug up his ass about me. Almost imploded the most historic peace negotiation in Elatran history because he thought I was a soul-eating monster. That is how bad of a crime he considered it to be. And not just him – every single Fiend I've ever spoken to freaks out when the topic comes up. Acts like I'd shot their fucking dog merely by suggesting the possibility."

He spread his arms wide. "So...mind explaining what happened today? I thought soul eating was just something the southern nations exaggerated to make the Fiends look bad. Practically made up, even."

"We did not say that," Grand Overseer #1 said, his voice measured.

"Implied it, though." Rob chuckled. "Out of curiosity, what's the actual popularity of soul munching these days? Is it a taboo in the sense of murder, or is it more like stealing someone's lunch from the office fridge? How many autographs did I hand out to serial killers?"

Diplomacy said.

I don't give a flying fuck. "Should I be careful when crossing the street? Is Roy the Savior a delicacy that some enterprising Fiend just won't be able to resist?" His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke again, the last bits of levity had evaporated from his tone. "Answer my goddamn questions."

"I don't think I have an answer that you would accept," Grand Overseer #2 said, shaking her head. "Soul Eaters are extremely rare. We've taken measures to stamp them out when they arise. Yet I cannot guarantee your safety from them any more than I can shield you from a lightning strike. The chances of being targeted by either are about equal."

Rob put on a smile that showed too many teeth. "So Vul'to was just...unlucky? Is that what you're saying?"

The Overseer winced and averted her eyes. "You drew the attention of a loathsome existence." She hesitated, as if unsure of how much to say, before pressing on. "The Enchanted Items that the Soul Eater utilized were taken from various families across Fiend territory. Vanished, along with their owners. An investigation into his domicile turned up even more. He has been robbing people of their material and immaterial possessions for a long, long while."

Rob's eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead. Back when Riardin's Rangers and the Fiends had been preparing for the journey into Merfolk territory, they'd gathered up Fiendland's strongest Enchanted Items to help stack the odds in their favor. Unfortunately, Fiendland's 'strongest' ended up being slim pickings – certainly nothing on the level of an Item that enervated opponents or exploded like a crate of Firebombs. At the time, Rob had assumed that the Fiends were holding out on them due to petty greed. "No one told me that the actual powerful Items were flat-out missing."

"It wasn't a sudden occurrence that could be construed as a pattern. Some of the Enchanted Items have been absent for longer than a Fiend's natural lifespan," the Overseer informed. "897 years was the record, I believe. Its family will be overjoyed at the return of a long-lost heirloom, and to finally receive an explanation as to what happened to their great grandfather."

Rob's mouth fell open. Seeing his reaction, the Overseer smiled, although it contained no joy. "We have good reason for being reluctant to acknowledge even the existence of soul eating." She began, sounding tired. "It is a curse unlike anything else in Elatra. The best and worst of Leveling High, multiplied. A Fiend who partakes in soul eating gains extended life, overwhelming power, and incomparable pleasure. There are no downsides outside of the inevitable addiction, which is rarely enough to deter those who desire strength and lack in moral compunctions."

She stared into the distance, reminiscing. "And so we fight against it. The only way that a society can. From birth, Fiends are reared to view souls as sacred. Eating them is taught to be an unconscionable, unspeakable act, a taboo of the highest order. You do not discuss soul eating. You do not think about soul eating. And in the appalling event that a Fiend is revealed to be a Soul Eater, we condemn them as pariahs among pariahs, tearing down their life and reputation until they are reduced to nothing more than a blackened example of the worst of what we can become. Because if we did not, Fiend territory would devour itself, and we would devolve into the very monsters that Elatra believes us to be."

A long, exhausted sigh escaped her throat. "We have succeeded in those efforts, mostly, but days like these remind us that it is a fight that will never truly end." She locked eyes with Rob. "I cannot apologize on behalf of all Fiends. To do so would be a disservice to everyone who bears their curse with dignity. Even so, I am truly sorry for what happened to Vul'to. He is a good man who deserves better."

Rob said nothing. He tried to summon the righteous fury broiling inside him before, and found himself unable to. It was still there, but he couldn't direct it at the Grand Overseers anymore. Unfortunately, his acceptable targets – the Soul Eater for obvious reasons, and the gods for creating Fiends to be soul-eaters – were either dead or out of reach. Instead, his fury sat inside him, aimless and festering.

"...There was a witness," he said, rubbing his temples. "They momentarily saw Meyneth carrying Vul'to and the Soul Eater. By tomorrow, the entire nation is going to know that something happened."

"Measures are being taken," the Overseer assured. "At this point, it is impossible to fully suppress the spread of gossip. Shaping its narrative, however, takes merely a few words in the right places. People will be aware that Vul'to was attacked by a Fiend, but not the exact nature of what that attack entailed."

Rob pinched the bridge of his nose. "And what about when Vul'to wakes up?" He would wake up. He had to. "He'll have a Fiend's body. What do we say then?"

"That depends on what his Status Screen will look like when viewed with Identify."

"Right." Rob let his arm fall to his side, suddenly feeling like he'd run a marathon. "Gonna go now. Sorry for playing the blame game earlier."

The Overseers and Keira couldn't hide their surprise. Apparently, they'd expected him to be upset for a while longer. Rob was tempted to speak at length about why he wasn't, mention that he understood how no race was defined by their worst people, give a deeper apology over coming after the Overseers for something outside of their control...

But he was too tired. And moreso than any logical argument swaying his anger, that was the main reason why he apologized so quickly.

He just wanted the day to end.

Rob left the meeting without fanfare. It was night outside, and the streets were empty, bereft of life. Moonlight shone down from the starry sky, illuminating Acrastor City's buildings with an ethereal glow. Beautiful, in the way that only a city from another world could be. It was a sight that Rob hoped he would be able to appreciate again someday. Right now, the image of Vul'to's gaping chest wound and vacant eyes were too fresh in his mind for that.

As he walked, Keira stuck by him, never farther than a few inches away. Rob almost reached for her hand, but he held back. It wouldn't have felt right. He didn't want to associate the warmth of her touch with...whatever he was feeling right now. Needed time to clear his head.

He looked up at the stars once more. Maybe they had answers.

In what felt like an instant, Rob arrived at his destination. He blinked in confusion, staring at the exterior of his personal quarters like it'd come out of nowhere. God, had he really said absolutely nothing to Keira in the fifteen minutes it took to walk there? Not even a single word of encouragement? That wasn't fair to her. He'd have to make it up to her tomorrow, somehow.

"Sorry for zoning out," Rob told Keira, injecting a bit of mirth into his tone. "Think I'm going to sleep alone tonight, if that's okay. You didn't do anything wrong, I just-"

He was cut off by Keira stepping forward and embracing him with a full-body hug. "He's going to be alright," she murmured, into his chest. "I promise."

"I know. I'm not worried, so don't worry about me, okay?"

"He's going to be alright," Keira repeated, more insistently this time, refusing to budge.

Rob tried to say something in response, but all that came out was a strangled sob. Oh, he realized, as tears started running down his cheeks. I haven't gotten the chance to cry yet.

So he did.