I woke up to Arturo slapping me across the face. I reluctantly blinked my eyes open and squinted against the glare of orange candlelight from the chapel’s chandelier. I groaned and immediately wished Arturo had just let me die in peace. That monster had pulped my nose, and it honest to god felt like I’d taken another frag grenade to the gut. Even worse than the pain was the absolute lack of feeling in my legs.

“Thank the gods you’re not dead,” Arturo said, staring down into my face. “You look absolutely dreadful and from the way your lower body is twisted, I’d wager you broke your spine. Perhaps in more than one spot.” He raised his hands. “I can’t believe you just charged in there like that. It was noble. Brave. Your zeal for justice is admirable and it is no wonder Raguel chose you to serve his will. It was also incredibly stupid and irresponsible.

“A day ago you didn’t even know how to summon or dismiss your Soul Bound weapons, and now you think you’re ready to fight an Elder Changeling? But it’s fine.” He sounded like he was reassuring himself more than me. “As long as you’re alive, all can be fixed. Touch the altar. Minor injuries you can heal on your own, but something this”—he paused, lips pursing into a thin line as he surveyed the damage—“extensive will take time in the Soul Vault. Go now. While you are still able to do even that much.”

I grunted incoherently, propped myself up, then slapped a hand against the floating orb.

I landed on the floor of the Vault in a huff, my legs still twisted and lifeless beneath me. For better or worse, my legs were the only thing without feeling. Every other scratch, bruise, and break came through with crystal clarity, and great holy shit balls did it feel like I’d gone nine rounds with an angry gorilla. Much as I hated to admit it, Arturo was right—that thing was definitely out of my weight class. I’d brought a butter knife to a heavy artillery fight. That thing was packing serious heat and if it wasn’t for Cal and Renholm, a broken spine would’ve been the least of my worries.

If I had any chance of going toe to toe with that thing and coming out on top, I needed to git gud and I needed to do it fast. Since I couldn’t so much as stand, however, attempting to hunt down Mortka and grind out some easy Essence wasn’t an option, which meant it was time to hit the books instead. My Soul Vault was a wealth of invaluable knowledge and I’d barely scratched the surface on what this place had to offer me. It was time to rectify that. This place was a weapon, and like any weapon, I needed absolute familiarity with it if I was going to use it effectively.

I hadn’t leveled up since my encounter with the Grass Hounds and I didn’t have enough Essence to upgrade any of my Attribute Points, so I ignored my avatar. Instead, I low crawled across the marble floor, pulling myself along with my arms and elbows, and into the sparsely appointed library. I breathed a ragged sigh of relief when I saw that I’d left both the Handbook of the Vigilant and the Grimoire of Virtues on the study desk next to the padded leather chair—getting books down off the shelves would be a nightmare in my current condition.

Through sheer effort of will, I pulled my mangled body into the reading chair, broken ribs grating against my insides with every motion.

By the time I was finally seated, I was drenched in sweat and shaking from the exertion. Breathing hard and feeling on the edge of puking, I grabbed the pouch containing my Affinity tokens and unceremoniously upended the leather sack onto the desk beside me. Maybe being in my Soul Vault would help speed up my recovery but loading up on Affinity Scales probably couldn’t hurt. At the very least, it would help take some of the edge off. My supply was significantly lower than I remembered, but then I hadn’t exactly been paying attention when I shoved a handful of Scales into Cal’s outstretched hand.

Desperation forces people to make stupid, rash choices. Back in Iraq, I’d seen Marines blaze through two or three mags of .554—ninety rounds total—trying to take out one pinned insurgent. When you were in the thick of a firefight it was hard to think straight, and trying to do complicated tasks like keep track of how many rounds were left in a mag was next to impossible, unless you’d drilled that kind of discipline into your head a thousand times before the shit hit the fan. Although I had my fair share of combat experience, I’d never faced anything like the creature in the alleyway and I wasn’t too proud to admit I’d panicked.

I glanced down at my remaining supply of Scales, sifting through them to see what was left.

I had four Hunger Affinity Scales, all Novice Class. I had more of the Glamor Scales—one Disciple Class and seven Novice Class. I froze as I counted out the handful of transformation tokens I’d picked up—all three of the Grass Hound tokens were present and accounted for, but my sole Crave Ghoul token was missing. Which is when it clicked. I must’ve accidentally slipped Cal the token in my haste to not die horrifically. That had some damned interesting implications. I grabbed a Novice Glamor Scale and drained its power, banishing the fogginess in my head.

Shit was better than cocaine and coffee.

Already feeling moderately improved, I picked up the grimoire and quickly thumbed through the pages until I found the section on Totem Transformation, listed under Bestial Magics in the Ward of Balance.

Totem Transformation

In the simplest sense, Mortka are merely physical manifestations of Essence, shaped by the powerful Affinities of the Material Realm. By consuming the Transformation Tokens they drop, a Vigil with the Totem Transformation power is able to physically manifest into that creature for a short while, gaining access to all of the creature’s natural and supernatural abilities to undo the wrongs of the world. The duration of the transformation is dependent entirely upon the quality of the Transformation Token used.

A Note on True Form Transformation Tokens.

Just as Vigils bond with a weapon, they also bond with the spirit of a fearsome Totem Creature. Each form is unique to the Vigil, and when a True Form Transformation Token is consumed, the Vigil is able to assume the monstrous incarnation of their soul, delivering bloody retribution on behalf of Raguel. But the Vigil Bound must employ this skill with great care, for shifting into their True Totem Form takes a grueling toll on the body and leaves the Vigil weak and often powerless once the transformation wears off.

The ability sounded amazing, and for only two Ward Points, it would be a great ace in the hole for when things inevitably went shitty. But there was no mention or note about spirit familiars being able to consume the Transformation Tokens to physically manifest. Assuming that creature hadn’t killed Cal—and I wasn’t too worried this time around, Cal had a nasty habit of coming back from the grave—we’d have to do a little experimentation to see if he could replicate the process with the Grass Hound Tokens.

But even if he could transform using the Tokens, that wouldn’t be enough to stop the monster we’d tangled with.

Cal had been a nuisance at best and the Grass Hounds weren’t any tougher than the Crave Ghouls. I needed to be stronger. Tougher. I needed to be able to hit harder and bring some serious firepower down on that nasty sumabitch the next time we squared up. Problem was, I was still only level three. I could reclaim my Ward Points and unlock other skills, but even doing that would only net me thirty-five Ward Points. Some of the most powerful spells in my arsenal would eat up every point I had, and even if I could unlock them, I didn’t have the Recommended Attributes to use them without killing myself in the process.

The solution was simple, at least in my backward redneck mind.

If I couldn’t make myself better, then I needed to make my stuff better. My Colt could mow down any human enemy stupid enough to cross my line of fire, but that thing wasn’t human. I glanced at the weapons manuals lining the shelf beneath the other arcane tomes. But what if I could beef up my firepower? Or augment my armor? I had a forge and a lot of time on my hands, so I figured now was the perfect time to learn how to use it. There were a number of abilities and spells pertaining to crafting within the grimoire, so I started there, flipping to a section called College of Reason listed out beneath the Ward of Truth.

There were five skills, each of which cost ten Ward Points to unlock: Sage Smith, Mortka Forger, Affinity Retrofitter, Arcane Transmuter, and Alchemic Mastery.

They didn’t have any immediate combat applications, which is why I’d ignored them before, but damned if they weren’t exactly what I needed in the here and now.

The only problem was how expensive they were. At ten points a shot, I could only afford three of them with my current point allotment. Alchemic Mastery allowed me to use my item identification feature to catalog natural ingredients such as flowers, herbs, and monster parts to determine their basic uses within any alchemic solution. And, although in theory, anyone could create alchemic mixtures, this skill additionally increased the efficacy of potions and poisons I created by 25% and removed any natural impurities from the finished product.

Useful, but not what I was looking for.

In order to create items—be they weapons, armor, or modifications for my Soul Bound weapons—I needed very specific ingredients, some of which were incredibly hard to come by. Arcane Transmuter was a shortcut that would allow me to combine lower-quality fabrication elements and Affinity Scales of the same type into a higher fabrication element of the same variety. For example, I could take four Novice Class Glamor Affinity Scales and mash them together to forge one Disciple Class Glamor Affinity Scale. The same was true for Transformation Tokens, metal ores, Mortka horns, or any other fabrication component.

All of them had amazing utility, but since I only had so many Ward Points to work with, I focused on the other three options: Sage Smith, Mortka Forger, and Affinity Retrofitter. That trio was exactly the combo I needed. Sage Smith was the basic skill employed by those who wanted to master the Soul Forge. When unlocked, the ability would allow me to destroy items, which, in turn, would generate detailed blueprints that could be used to replicate the item or—in the case of weapons—create a “Soul Skin” that could be applied to my Soul Bound weapons.

Sage Smith by itself had potential; it let me build all the basics I’d need to get by, but it really shined when combined with Mortka Forger. Who wanted a dagger made of iron when they could have one crafted from Grass Hound Talons? That’s what Mortka Forger did—instead of fabricating basic-bitch items with only run-of-the-mill ores and ingredients, I could incorporate Mortka elements into my designs to craft items that were far stronger and more durable, with innate properties that could be further augmented by Arcanum Tokens.

And speaking of Arcanum Tokens, that’s where Affinity Retrofitter came into play. Getting my hands on powerful tokens of faith was pure luck, and according to Arturo they were exceedingly rare. Affinity Retrofitter allowed me to create Pure Affinity Scales, which were necessary to manufacture the lenses that were used in magical foci, like my Colt. But I could also use all of that stripped Affinity to create Arcanum Tokens of my own design. Tokens which could add additional effects to my various set items.

With those three spells under my belt, I’d be able to turn myself into a goddamned tank—assuming I could figure out how to work the Soul Forge.

I set the grimoire back on the desktop and braced myself as I flopped out of the chair like a fish out of water. I craned my neck upward, searching for the next book I needed, Pellervo’s Guide to the Soul Forge. Bingo. It took some finagling and some serious upper body strength to climb the shelves and pull down the manual, but I managed the damned thing. I also accidentally knocked some of the weapons manuals from the shelf below, dropping them onto the floor. I thumped back down, annoyed by the brokenness of my body, and busily set about picking up the fumbled books.

The first was a U.S. MARINE CORPS TECHNICAL MANUAL, SNIPER RIFLE, 7.62 MM, M40A3, SNIPER RIFLE, 7.62 MM, M40A5. The M40A3 was the standard issue sniper rifle for all the jarheads that made it through the Scout Sniper program. Recon and Snipers were different groups under the Marine Command Umbrella, and though I’d never completed the SOI-E training that Snipers endured, I was more than familiar with the weapons they employed.

The manual had fallen open and I paused while idly scanning the pages.

Screw me sideways.

These weren’t the same manuals I’d studied during my stint as an Armorer. There were similarities, of course, specs that detailed all the basics about the weapon—weight, ammunition type and caliber, barrel length, effective and max firing ranges, muzzle velocity, and a dozen other details besides. But there were also differences. Significant differences. There were dozens of detailed schematics for every single piece of the weapon, ranging from the bolt assembly and stock to the receiver, recoil pad, and barrel. But these were modified schematics, detailing the fabrication components necessary to build them.

This was an honest-to-god instruction manual that laid out everything I would need to augment my Colt—transforming the pistol into just about any weapon I could dream of. Assuming I had the parts and the skills to pull it off, of course. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning—one who’d just pulled a sawed-off shotgun out of their stocking. I scooped more weapons manuals onto the floor with me, cackling uncontrollably. That dickhead monster was going to pay for killing those people and mangling my spine.

Let’s see how it handled a .50 cal round to the face.

I fashioned a hobo sack with my shirt and loaded it down with all the books and weapons manuals I might need—not being able to walk was a colossal pain in the ass, and I didn’t want to be making frequent trips back and forth through the Vault. Sack clutched in one hand, I dragged my useless legs over to the fountain and propped myself up on the edge of the basin, staring down at the brilliant blue pool of water with its circling koi.

I grunted in dismay. The pool wasn’t so pristine at the moment. It looked like someone had dumped a jerry can full of diesel into the little pond. A greasy black film stained the surface, obscuring the koi within. The golden fish seemed to be handling it okay, but the silver koi wasn’t looking so hot. Its front flippers struggled feebly and its tail hung lifeless, refusing to so much as wiggle. I still wasn’t completely sure what the fish were—there was probably a chapter dedicated to it in the handbook—but, because I wasn’t a complete moron, it was obvious they represented me in some crucial way.

I reached down and trailed my fingers over the surface of the water—bright jags of power shot through my hand as though I’d just stuck my finger into a light socket. I quickly withdrew my digits and decided taking a swim with my fish pals probably wasn’t such a good idea.

“Hang in there, fishy-boys,” I said. “We’ll get this shit ironed out and make the asshole responsible pay.”

I turned my attention away from the pool, glanced up at my avatar, and called up my character sheet.

>>

Boyd Knight

Race: Vigil Bound

Level: Novice, Gold Rank

Current Essence: 376

Next Ascended Rank: 3,200

Attribute Points: 0

Ward Points: 0

Characteristics

Brawn: 18

Verve: 18

Finesse: 15

Arcana: 14

Insight: 15

Vigil Wards

Ward of Justice: Soul Bound Weapons (Boon), Maximum Penetration, Armor Evocation

Ward of Valor: Diamond Body (Boon), Combat Sense

Ward of Wrath: Arcane Insight (Boon), Kinetic Blast

Ward of Balance: Language of the Heavens (Boon), Sidhe Pact, Fae Tether

Ward of Truth: Threads of Fate (Boon)

Expand Ward List

>>

I focused on Threads of Fate and a new notification appeared.

Action: Activate the Boon Threads of Fate to Reclaim some or all of your spent Ward Points. This action can be performed once every twelve hours. Proceed? Yes/No

“Yes,” I said, voice scratchy.

Warning: You currently have an Official Pact with Renholm of the Greenbriar Court! If you reclaim the Ward Points invested in Sidhe Pact, this contract will be nullified. Would you like to proceed, or make this skill an exemption? Proceed/Exemption?

Shit, I forgot about my bargain with the insane pixie, but after he’d just pulled my bacon out of the fire, I couldn’t just go and cancel my Pact with him. For one, loyalty was ingrained in my bones, and for another, that little maniac would probably go out of his way to make my life a living hell. I didn’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder for the murderous fae. Besides, even if I made an exemption and kept my Pact in place, I would still be able to afford the three abilities I needed to work the forge.

I selected Exemption. Threads of Fate went to work a second later.

I would love to say it was a pleasant experience, but like pretty much everything that happened in the Soul Vault, it was misery. Like backstroking through an Olympic swimming pool full of shattered glass. Except it was my soul, not my body that took the thrashing. And I was even lucky enough to get a glimpse of what was happening in real time. My spinning avatar flashed, my physical body disappearing, replaced by a human-shaped circulatory system comprised of threads of gold, silver, red, green, and yellow.

There were eleven blazing symbols, tattooed at various points of the tangle of circulatory threads—several in my head and torso, several more dotting my arms and legs. Three gold, two green, two red, three blue, one silver, all corresponding to the five wards, Justice, Valor, Wrath, Balance, and Truth. The tattoos themselves represented the skills, abilities, and spells I’d already unlocked. I knew, for example, that the crimson sigil overlaying my right wrist corresponded to Kinetic Blast—the hand being the primary focal point for that type of offensive magic—while the blue, circular ward positioned over my lips represented my Language of the Heavens Boon.

Those tattoos weren’t placed randomly but served to unlock specific internal Essence channels. Without those sigils in place, the channels snapped closed, cutting off my ability to access that specific source of magical energy. Without having the green Valor sigil carved into the channel at the base of my skull, my vision and hearing dulled considerably, cutting off the Combat Sense ability. Having those channels snap abruptly closed felt like having a limb amputated in a single cruel blow. And I wasn’t just losing one limb, I was losing five in one fell swoop.

I lay on the ground, groaning in pain, body convulsing from the sheer trauma of the experience. Threads of Fate was an awesome ability, but apparently a skill like that didn’t come without a cost of its own.

Once the pain finally subsided, I pushed myself up into a sitting position and leaned back on my palms. I wasn’t looking forward to going through that every couple of days, especially not as I leveled up and unlocked more and more Ward Points to spend. Closing five channels all at once was misery, but I couldn’t even fathom what closing ten or fifteen would be like. Probably skinny-dipping in a vat of acid. Whatever. If two minutes of agony was all I had to endure for the chance to unlock any skill in my arsenal on demand, then fuck it, that was a price worth paying.

Besides, that was Future Boyd’s problem. Present Boyd’s problem was figuring out how to get the Soul Forge fired up and running.

I accessed my avatar once more and doled out my thirty reclaimed Ward Points to Sage Smith, Mortka Forger, and Affinity Retrofitter. Now that I’d undergone the branding process, and its reverse, I was more attuned and could feel a divine presence opening up new channels, one in my sternum and one more on each shoulder. I was half expecting the Wards to upload divine knowledge straight into my brain like some fantasy version of the Matrix, but that didn’t happen. Looked like I’d have to figure out how to use the forge all by my lonesome.

Thankfully, I had a guidebook to help show me the way.