"It started a week ago," Vevrandi began. "That's when everything went to shit." She sank into her chair, shoulders slumped as she peered down at her feet. In front of her, the Elders, the Grand Overseers, Faelynn, and Riardin's Rangers – minus Vul'to – were all in attendance. They'd gathered for an emergency, all-hands-on-deck meeting; the second one in less than twenty-four hours. I'm already mourning the quiet days, Rob thought, fully aware that his vacation was dead and buried.

"At first we just thought that a new crop of monsters was spawning in the mines," Vevrandi continued. "That sort of thing is a common occurrence. Monsters come, Combat Class users fight them, and the mines are back to normal within the day. Except that this time, our wounded soldiers were inflicted with a Status Effect that couldn't be cured. Something that weakened and tortured them in equal measure."

"Corruption," Faelynn uttered, in a hushed whisper, as if merely speaking the word would invite a curse upon them.

Vevrandi nodded. "While the Blight had yet to encroach onto Dwarf territory until now, we are very much aware of its capabilities. Between transmitting Corruption, enthralling monsters, and absorbing Loci of Power, its spread among other nations has not gone beneath our notice. In fact, the Elven Seneschal begged for aid on more than one occasion – and from what I know, a man like that only swallows his pride when matters have truly spun out of control."

"And you didn't offer any assistance in return?" Elder Alessia asked, a harsh edge to her tone. "Need I remind you that the Blight is a threat that concerns all of us?"

"Wasn't my decision." Vevrandi shrugged. "I'm sure that Stonewarden Grant had an important reason for withholding aid."

Diplomacy muttered,

Activating Message, Rob passed on Diplomacy's appraisal to the rest of his Party members. This excluded the Grand Overseers, but Faelynn – who was currently in the Party – solved that issue by relaying the information to them in Fiendish. Vevrandi frowned, but she usually frowned when looking at Fiends anyway, so there wasn't much of a difference there. "Is there something I should know about?"

"It's nothing that concerns you," Elder Alessia said, lying through her teeth. "By all means; please continue."

Vevrandi hesitated, seeming close to calling bullshit, before remembering that she was in no position to stir up trouble. "Right," she sighed. "As stated, we were aware of the Blight's appetite for Loci of Power. The advent of Corruption served as a signal torch, alerting Dwarven territory that an enemy it was expecting had finally arrived at our doorstep. We fortified our defenses, expecting that the Blight would attempt to invade Dhalerune City just as it assailed Reviton City in Elven territory."

Her voice grew more nervous the longer she spoke. "When nothing happened on the first day, we considered it a reprieve. When nothing happened on the second day, we began to suspect that something was amiss. Then a group of Geologists and Cartographers examined the yield of Dhalerune City's mines over the past several centuries, and came to an awful conclusion."

"A Locus of Power exists within the mines," Elder Duran put forth. "I imagine they deduced as much by noting the unusually high volume of precious minerals that the mine contains; like a well that never seems to run dry."

Vevrandi nodded. "While we aren't positive that a Locus exists within Dhalerune Mines, it would explain why the Blight feels no impetus to invade the city. In truth, I doubt that it intends to interact with us whatsoever until achieving its goal – encountering the miners was just unlucky happenstance on its part. As soon as we realized this, Stonewarden Grant deployed a scouting group of our quickest, stealthiest Combat Class users. They were ordered to observe, then return immediately, fleeing at the earliest sign of danger."

She screwed her eyes shut, voice taut. "We haven't heard word from any of them since."

A silence fell over the room as Vevrandi composed herself. Rob examined her demeanor, searching for any signs of misdirection or guile. While he was pretty sure that she was being genuine, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that, if the Dwarves knew about Purge Corruption, then they might assume that the best way to lead Rob into a trap would be to set a fake Blight invasion as bait.

Sensing his paranoia, Diplomacy shook their head.

Right. Rob let out an audible sigh. Once more unto the breach, then. "Let's fast-forward this conversation. You want me to swing by Dwarfland and Purge the Blight, I'm guessing?"

The Dwarf hung her head. "Do you think of my people as hypocrites, requesting your aid after denying the Seneschal's pleas?"

"Absolutely."

She tensed. "...Will you please help us anyway?"

Rob put on a savage grin. "Luckily for you, I hate the Blight more than I resent hypocrisy." Blue motes of Spatial Storage energy flitted around his fingers. "Fuck it. I'm in – but only if my friends are in as well. I don't make decisions for them, and we go together or not at all."

Incoming Group Message From All Party Members

Suppressing a wince, he skimmed through the deluge of questions pouring down his vision. Each one was basically the same, being 'are you sure?' phrased in varying ways. Thinking quickly so that Vevrandi wouldn't get suspicious or nervous, Rob replied as quickly and succinctly as he could.

Sending Message To Group

Rob: No, I haven't forgotten about Vul'to. No, I haven't forgotten about my soul surgery. No, I'm not actually confident about this – just amping up the bravado to leave a good impression on the Dwarves' diplomat. And yes, I'm sure that we should go despite all that.

The Blight wasn't an issue that could wait. Once it absorbed a Locus of Power and attained a body, it would continue to increase in strength over time, gradually evolving into its fully-realized form. While this metamorphosis transpired, the surrounding area would rapidly decay into Blighted Lands that eroded life, eventually transforming miles of land into a caustic vortex of entropy. And according to Vevrandi, they'd discovered the Blight's presence a week ago – meaning it had already been there for longer than that.

Images rushed to the forefront of Rob's mind. Thousands and thousands of Fiends, their bodies ravaged by pain, trembling hands clinging to him as if he was their last chance for salvation. That was what unchecked Corruption did to people. He'd spent months working tirelessly to eradicate its infestation from Fiend territory, and the moans of those who wished for release – or failing that, death – were forever seared into his memories.

Rob wouldn't be able to sleep at night if he let something like that happen again.

"I recognize that look," Keira remarked, "and I agree with it. Fuck the Blight." The other members of Riardin's Rangers sounded off, their chorus of "fuck the Blight" echoing across the room. Some of the turmoil in Rob's chest faded, and he turned toward Vevrandi, spreading his arms wide.

"There you have it. Looks like me and my friends are on the same page."

Vevrandi beamed, her hope blooming like a flower – that promptly wilted when Elder Alessia cleared her throat. "If I may inject a degree of pragmatism into the proceedings," she began, "we will need reassurances before marching into Dwarven territory on the word of a single Commander. Can you prove that Corruption has well and truly taken root there?"

"I'll have my soldiers bring out one of the victims afflicted with Corruption," Vevrandi offered. "You can examine him prior to entering Dhalerune City. Would that be sufficient?"

The Party exchanged another round of silent glances. They didn't need Message to discuss anything this time; all of them were evidently thinking the same thing. Vevrandi's compromise still required them to journey to Dwarven territory, potentially leading them directly into a trap, but...eh. Diplomacy was vouching for her authenticity, and at the end of the day, Waymark had their back, just like always. As a defensive Skill, it was so effective that it fundamentally altered the risk:reward factor of any given scenario. No one else in Elatra had the equivalent of a portable Teleportation Crystal at their command.

There's only one fatal flaw with it, Rob admitted. We never get to see the looks on people's faces after we 'port away and leave them in the dust.

"Your terms are acceptable," Elder Alessia eventually replied, "assuming that the Stonewarden isn't operating under the delusion that Purge Corruption is a miracle solution to his problems. Its vector for energy transmission is most effective at touch range, which puts Rob in a dangerous position. While we may hold the Blight's greatest weakness in our hands, a Blight is still a Blight, and Rob cannot use Skills if he is dead. Martial backing will be necessary."

Vevrandi bristled. "As if Dwarves would expect an outside party to do all their fighting for them. Who do you think we are, Elves?"

No one said a word.

"...That joke earns more laughs back home," Vevrandi muttered. "Anyway, you needn't worry. Stonewarden Grant intends to deploy as many Combat Class users as physically possible. Up to thirty of our very best. The only reason he isn't sending his entire army is because the depths of Dhalerune Mines contains too many narrow corridors for a large sortie."

Her tone grew confident and proud. "You will even have the honor of witnessing Stonewarden Grant himself take the field."

Rob's eyebrows shot up. If the Stonewarden was going to fight the Blight, that changed things. Elatran Leaders were absolute powerhouses. Rob would know; the Merfolk King had pushed Riardin's Rangers to the brink all on his own.

"Dayum," he said, whistling appreciatively. "Thirty elites plus the Stonewarden versus a young Blight? My Party might not even need to do anything."

"Ideally, that would be the case," she affirmed. "While you are welcome to deal heavy damage to the Blight if an opportunity arises, we would prefer that you concentrate on staying alive long enough to Purge Corruption from our allies."

Rob nodded. "That and restoring the Locus of Power if it turns out to have been Corrupted."

"YOU CAN DO THAT TOO?!"

--

Integration Complete!

Vul'to gasped as his eyes snapped open, going from asleep to awake in an instant. It felt like taking the first breath of air after being held underwater for...for quite some time. He glanced around his room to find it empty save for a bed and table. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, expecting to teeter as he adjusted to walking with his new body – only to stand upright without any difficulty whatsoever. Vul'to took several careful steps forward, transitioning from a walk into a short run in short order.

It's as if I've been using this body my whole life. Vul'to held his arms up, examining them from finger to shoulder. His skin was ashen-gray now, a far cry from the pale white of most Elves. Pointed claws tipped his fingernails, and with an instinctual thought, they extended into inches-long weapons of death. Continuing downward, Vul'to rolled up his sleeve and curiously poked at his clearly visible biceps. While Krazan hadn't been the type to build his body, even a weak Fiend's natural musculature far outstripped any Elf.

Vul'to checked his torso and legs next, discovering much of the same; gray skin, defined muscles, and clawed toenails. After that, the only things left to examine would have required a mirror – an experience he was more than happy with delaying. Vul'to knew perfectly well what Krazan looked like. He didn't need a mirror to envision pitch black eyes, similarly black hair, and the face that had murdered him.

I'm being remarkably calm about this, Vul'to mused. He reached up towards the ceiling, his fingers brushing its surface. Vul'to had been tall for an Elf, but he wouldn't have come close if he'd tried that before. This body feels...familiar. Imagining a sword in his hand, Vul'to took up a fighting stance and sparred against a nonexistent enemy. He stopped after a few attempts – not because his form was poor, but because his form was identical. An Elf's balance and poise, subconsciously adjusted to fit a Fiend's body.

"I am Vul'to," he proclaimed. It seemed necessary to say aloud. The more he thought about his new skin, the more he became unnerved at how normal it felt. The two feelings mingled without mixing, leaving him with a sense of cognitive dissonance that he was unable to dispel. While Vul'to could remember what it was like to be an Elf, at the same time, the contrast between his former and current bodies seemed no worse than donning a new pair of clothes.

Vul'to sat down on his bed, a bitter chuckle escaping his throat. Perhaps I'm losing my mind. Considering what had happened, it was certainly possible. Rielle will want to hear all about this-

He froze. A piercing sensation of vertigo overtook him as the world re-aligned itself. Rielle was... Krazan's friend. Not his. Yes, that was right. She was Krazan's childhood friend, and just as importantly, she'd been dead for hundreds of years.

Her soul ripped out by these very hands.

"I am Vul'to," he said, with greater emphasis than before.

No one answered.

Searching for a distraction, Vul'to peered around the room, his gaze drawn to the sight that he'd been trying to ignore. Through the walls, Vul'to could see distant orbs of mana floating in mid-air. Each one was brilliant and beautiful unlike anything he'd ever seen. He longed to watch them, spend hours, days, years exulting in their visual splendor.

Is this what all Fiends see when observing souls? Vul'to wondered. Or is it just Soul Eaters who covet that brilliance? As far as Vul'to could tell, he didn't possess a craving for souls. They were beautiful, to be sure, but there was no desire burning in his chest to reach out and feast on their essence.

He could only hope that he stayed that way. Based on Krazan's memories, soul eating was a vice that matched Fast Learner in its unbridled hedonism. Addictions of that severity left an indelible mark on both body and mind. In this instance, the mind was gone, but the body...

Well, time would tell. Hopefully, he would turn out fine – and if he didn't, the choice was clear. Vul'to had seen the path of a Soul Eater, centuries laid out before his eyes, and it was a fate worse than death. If he ever felt the craving begin to rise, he would ask his friends to put him down.

...They are still my friends, I hope. It was an ugly, unfair thought, but one that was impossible to fully dispel. Vul'to was different now. A Fiend and an ANOMALY, as his Status Screen so helpfully declared. Would his Party members consider him to be the same person as before? Were their bonds unchanged? Gods above, Vul'to's face belonged to the madman that had nearly killed Meyneth. She might not even be able to look him in the eyes without feeling instinctive revulsion.

At the very least, he doubted that he would be accepted among the Deserters anymore. Forcefully included by the will of Riardin's Rangers, maybe, but that wasn't the same as acceptance. The thought stung – while Vul'to didn't take as much intrinsic pride in being an Elf as some others did, he'd still fought and bled to protect his people. Once word began to spread that Vul'to was now a Fiend, they would at best regard him as an amicable monstrosity. At worst, he would be branded an abomination, deserving nothing less than to be purged in its entirety.

Vul'to's hands trembled. All those doubts and fears fed into each other, coalescing into a tempest of panic. What if? He thought. What if? What if? The hysteria threatened to overtake him-

And then he shoved it aside.

None of that mattered right now. Before he fell to pieces, there was something to test first.

Vul'to approached the table in the center of the room. With one motion, he brought his fist down and cracked it into pieces. Examining his options, Vul'to picked up a piece that looked vaguely like a shield, and a piece that looked vaguely like a sword. They would have to do.

One inborn trait of Fiends was that the system restricted them from choosing Classes that specialized in melee weapons. If they wanted to fight up close, they were forced to select 'Thrasher', which bestowed claw-based Skills. Swords, lances, and anything of their like, however? Fiends could wield them, technically, but without access to Class Skills, their combat effectiveness would be significantly reduced.

And before being placed into Krazan's body, Vul'to's Class – Guardian – had utilized swords and shields.

Currently, Vul'to Status Screen said that he was a Soul Guardian. Vul'to also didn't know what a Soul Guardian was. While 'Guardian' was still in its name, for all he knew, the entire scope of the class had been altered. It would make sense; Vul'to was a Fiend, now. Fiends couldn't use melee implements. No swords, no shields.

"I refuse to accept that," Vul'to said, standing tall. "My body may be different, but my soul is the same. I am Vul'to. Vul'to is someone who threw away decades of Ranger training in order to become a Guardian, a Class that spoke to the core of his being. He chose it for one purpose, and one purpose only: to protect the people he'd come to care so deeply for. His friends...no, his family. That is who I am, and that is who I shall always be."

With each hand, Vul'to attempted to activate a Skill. His left hand, holding his makeshift shield, cast Indomitable. His right hand, holding his makeshift sword, cast Power Slash.

For a brief, horrible moment, nothing happened.

Then some indefinable barrier within him shattered, like a window struck by lightning, and his sword and shield began glowing with the telltale aura of Skills.

A broad smile spread across Vul'to face. For the first time since awakening, he felt completely and wholly like himself.

--

"Must we bring Fiends along?" Vevrandi complained, giving a blatant side-eye to the Grand Overseers and Faelynn. "I can guarantee that, even with my assurances, their reception at Dhalerune City will be...poor."

"This point is non-negotiable," a Grand Overseer stated, folding her arms. "Consider it proof of our desire to forge peace between Fiends and Dwarves. We understand the risks, and yet we will go regardless."

Rob coughed loudly into his hand. "You mean you'll be sending someone to go, regardless. Last I checked, politicians never do their own dirty work."

The Grand Overseers glared at him with expressions of 'not in front of the guest'. He put on a cheeky grin in return, regretting absolutely nothing.

"I volunteer to go," Faelynn said, taking a step forward. "No other Fiend has as much experience fighting in tandem with Riardin's Rangers as I do. If we are to cross claws with the Blight, then our Party will need to performing at its best."

Everyone in Riardin's Rangers quickly agreed. Faelynn smiled a little, openly pleased with their trust in her. The Grand Overseers looked a little put out, as their choice of Fiend liaison had been taken from them, but they probably would've picked Faelynn anyway, so whatever.

"It may be wise to include other Fiends in your group," Elder Duran suggested. "That way, Faelynn won't feel as if she's alone in an unknown land, the scrutiny of an entire race aimed solely at her."

Duran sounded mildly sullen as he talked, still sulking from when his suggestion that he accompany them to Dwarfland had been shot down immediately by Rob and Elder Alessia. It was obvious that he super wanted to go – both to help with negotiations and to nerd out at the new sights – but Alessia was already going, and someone needed to stay behind to lead the Deserters in her stead. Duran's poor health only made the decision easier.

"I...wouldn't oppose traveling with another Fiend," Faelynn admitted. "Is Goroth available? He is on friendly terms with Riardin's Rangers."

Rob nodded in assent. Goroth was the Fiend primarily responsible for establishing peaceful communications with the Deserters, and he was strong as hell, to boot. Just as he was about to voice his agreement, a Grand Overseer spoke up. "Unfortunately, it would be unwise to send both you and Goroth to Dwarf territory," the Overseer said. "He is perhaps our greatest fighter, and you are an Awakened Class user with exceptional potential for growth. Losing both of you to the Blight would be a catastrophic blow to Fiend territory."

Or losing them to a Dwarven betrayal, Rob thought. The Overseer's subtext wasn't lost on Vevrandi, who scowled at the implication. Considering she'd just finished advising against bringing Fiends at all, though, she couldn't defend her people's honor without coming across as foolhardy.

"That is sensible," Faelynn said, her enthusiasm deflating by a hair. "Who, then? There aren't many combat-ready Fiends on personal terms with Riardin's Rangers."

"I believe I may fill that niche."

Everyone in the room whirled towards the entrance, eyes widening. Vul'to smiled at them as he walked forward on two perfectly balanced legs, holding pieces of wood in his hands for...some reason. Rob kept expecting him to collapse and pass out again, but as the seconds ticked by, it became evident that wasn't going to happen.

"My Guardian abilities still work," Vul'to stated, proudly. He hefted the wooden pieces and imbued them with Skills, drawing flabbergasted reactions from the Fiends in the crowd. "I am no less powerful than I was before. And as a Fiend, I would divert scrutiny from Faelynn so that the Dwarves' attention aren't solely on her."

"Hold that thought," Rob interjected, his head spinning. "Vul'to, you're – you're up and about! And...wait, how do you even know what we were talking about? We haven't had time to fill you in."

Vul'to lowered his gaze. "I was waiting outside the door and listening to your conversation," he muttered, with a hint of embarrassment. "Wasn't sure if I should...it doesn't matter. The point I'm trying to impress upon you is that, if Faelynn requires a Fiend to accompany her into Dwarven territory, then there's no better choice than I."

He hesitated, his voice hitching slightly. "That is, if you would have me."

"I mean, fuck yes we will, but why are you asking?" Rob said, confused. "Since when have we ever excluded you?"

Vul'to let out a relieved laugh that did nothing to lessen Rob's confusion. It was a bit weird hearing a new voice come out of his friend's mouth, but he'd get used to it, just like he'd get used to Vul'to's appearance and...height. Damnit, now I'm the *fourth* tallest member of our Party, Rob grumbled to himself.

"How are you feeling?" Meyneth asked, in a quiet voice. "You were unconscious not long ago."

"Your concern is appreciated, but I can assure you that I'm fine now." Vul'to shot her an awkward smile. "The system notified me that my 'integration' was complete. So far, its assessment seems to be accurate."

"This is absurd," one of the Grand Overseers blurted out. "With all due respect, he should be kept under quarantine and studied until we can be sure he isn't a threat to himself and everyone around him."

"Do not insult our friend in our presence," Zamira said, dangerously. "Hmm. Allow me to amend that statement. Do not insult our friend in any capacity, ever."

The Grand Overseer glared, refusing to back down. "You can't even be sure that he's your friend, name on the Status Screen be damned. An existence such as his is unprecedented, and we should take nothing for granted. If Vul'to proves to be himself, then I would have no qualms with letting him roam free – but not a second before then."

Keira jabbed a finger at Vul'to. "Answer quickly! Excluding the little ones, who was the first to pass out on our night of drunken festivities?"

As Malika and Orn'tol protested being called the little ones, Vul'to frowned, descending into deep thought. "I...honestly, I can't remember."

"Correct," Keira said, nodding sagely. "Because it was you. Curled up under the table like a sleeping babe."

Vul'to placed his head in his hands and sighed deeply. "Must you remind me?"

"Yup, it's him," Rob told the Grand Overseers. "I can vouch."

Suddenly, Vevrandi threw her hands up in the air. "Would someone kindly tell me what the fuck is going on?!"

Message Started Between Party Members: Rob, Vul'to

Rob: Your call. We'll tell her only what you want to.

Vul'to paused. After a few moments, he nodded, turning to face Vevrandi. "From what I've gleaned, you are a Dwarven ambassador, correct?" He smiled. "Fair tidings to you. My name is Vul'to. I am an Elf whose soul resides in the body of a Fiend."

Vevrandi's jaw dropped to the floor. Ten seconds passed, and she said nothing, staring forward in vacant disbelief. Rob walked over, stopping to give her a pat on the shoulder and an understanding look.

"Welcome to the rabbit hole. Enjoy your stay."