“I think I’m going to need a drink,” Arturo said as we squeezed our way through the crevice and into a chamber beyond. Unlike the rough limestone walls that comprised the rest of the cave system, the chamber was crafted of expertly cut gray stone blocks. Glowing red sigils and bloody runes covered the floors, ceiling, and walls. The odd jagged script swam in my vision and even with my Tongue of the Cosmos ability, I couldn’t make out what it said.

Chained to the back wall with thick silver manacles was a lifeless, ape-like creature, and dangling down its front was a desiccated human husk. It looked identical to the creature that I’d fought back in Ironmoor, though this thing was withered and long dead.

“By all that is good and holy,” Arturo said, delicately tracing his fingers over the lines of the glowing sigils, mumbling under his breath. He faltered when he got to the section of wall we’d come through. The wards had been broken by the miners. “This is old magic. I haven’t ever seen anything quite like it, but I suspect this is a containment spell.”

Cal snorted. “Yeah, Captain Obvious. I don’t know magic and even I could’ve told you that.”

“The real question is, what was it containing?” I edged closer to the corpses, getting a good look at how they were connected for the first time. The monstrous creature with the gorilla arms and the goat hooves didn’t have a face or even a head; rather, it had a tubular mouth that connected to its human host at the base of the skull. As for the human host, it appeared normal enough, though it looked like someone had sucked out every ounce of fluid in his body as though he were a human Capri Sun.

Cal had joked about being a leech attached to my soul. This thing was the real deal. A giant walking leech that wore a human being like a Halloween costume. And emblazoned on the withered human’s forehead was the same symbol I’d seen etched on the wooden mask.

“This symbol,” I said, tapping on the corpse’s forehead. “Don’t suppose you recognize it, Padre?”

Arturo scooted closer, squinting as he studied the mark. “Unfortunately, I can’t say that I do. I might have something on it back in my chapel, but it doesn’t immediately jump out at me.”

“You seem both fat and stupid, human, so your failure isn’t at all surprising,” Renholm said, guiding his cat into the chamber. Sir Jacob-Francis flopped down at Cal’s ghostly feet, purring softly, unperturbed by the hideous corpse or the magic writing filling the air with ghoulish red light. The pixie took to wing, hovering just in front of the symbol. “I, on the other hand, am trim and smart and fabulously well versed in Fae magics—another reason to keep me around,” he said, offering me a pointed glance. “I know this symbol. It is the Fae mark for a type of creature.”

Arturo’s face visibly paled.

“Of course. This is Sidhe. This here”—the priest pointed toward a hooked mark jutting off from the symbol—“must denote high unseelie, correct?”

Renholm sniffed and nodded. “Still fat, but slightly less stupid than you appear. It means Githrokh in their tongue.”

“Not an Elder Changeling at all,” Arturo said, eyes bright with understanding. “A Hexblight.” He turned on me. “We’re dealing with something much older than all of Ironmoor. This thing has probably been buried here for a hundred thousand years, bound and sealed against release.”

“Is this good news or bad news?” I asked.

“Oh, bad news most definitely,” Arturo replied, nodding a tad too enthusiastically. “This isn’t technically a Mortka at all, which makes it much trickier to kill. Mortka are formed naturally as Essence leaks into the Material Realm, which then takes on the form of whatever Affinities are nearby. This though is more like a spell or a cursed item of sorts.” He lumbered over to the body on the wall, pointing at the vacant hole where his face should’ve been. “Mortka of true spirit are very dangerous and are usually formed when Essence bonds with a powerful nontangible affinity—grief, fear, pain, anger. Or greed.

“Such creatures are notoriously difficult to kill, which is why Sidhe Shaman often capture them in Spirit Masks. The masks act as a vessel, containing the Mortka’s Essence and requiring them to form a bond with a physical host in order to touch the world.” He patted the decrepit old man on the shoulder. “If I had to guess, I’d say this poor soul was the mask’s last host. They couldn’t remove the mask, which is necessary to part the host from the creature, so instead they captured both, trapped them down here, and then inscribed these containment wards to keep the spirit within asleep.”

He turned away from the body and scrambled over to another wall, fervently scanning the runes and sigils.

“What are you looking for?” Cal asked, arms folded across his chest.

The priest just stuck up a hand to silence us and continued his search. After another thirty seconds of awkward silence, he paused, finger tapping on a specific shape.

“Here. This is it. The name of the spirit. Keres.”

The symbol as written didn’t mean anything to me, but the insta translator in my head instantly spat out a word. “Vengeance,” I said without really thinking about it.

“It would seem so,” Arturo replied. “The creature within is the spiritual personification of vengeance.”

“Does that tell us how to stop it?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head, “but it does tell us what motivates the beast. The mask cannot just bind with any host—it will seek someone out that is consumed with vengeance. With hatred and a thirst for violence. Whoever is behind that mask is out for blood, though why I still cannot say. And, worse, this also means dispatching it will be far more difficult. Hexblight have access to dark magics, and so long as the mask remains in place, hiding the identity of the host, it cannot be slain.”

“What do you mean it can’t be slain?” Cal asked.

“I mean it can’t be slain,” Arturo said, exasperated. “When its mask is in place, the Hexblight is invulnerable—we may be able to cripple or even incapacitate it for a short while, but we won’t be able to kill it. If we can find a way to remove the mask, however, we’ll be able to separate the host victim from the parasitic creature and then can it be properly dispatched. I have the ritual necessary to accomplish the task back at the chapel, but performing it will require us to name the host in the presence of the creature. Which is precisely why they take great pains to hide their identity.”

“So what?” Cal asked. “Do we just assemble everyone in the town square and start doing roll call until one of them barfs out a magical mask?”

“Idiot spirit,” Arturo mumbled, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “What it means is that we can’t simply fight the beast. We need to unravel this mystery and discern the identity of the host. If we can do that, I’ll be able to destroy the mask, and if we can destroy the mask, we can kill the monster.” He paused and grimaced. “Though even maskless, Hexblight are still tougher than a platoon of Vilsholder Royale Mariners.”

>>

Bounty Update

Terror of Ironmoor: You have determined that the creature that haunts Ironmoor is not an Elder Changeling but rather a Githrokh­, also known as a Hexblight. Dispatching such a beast will be no easy task, but if you can determine the identity of the host victim, Arbitrator Arturo seems confident he can banish the Spirit Mask that protects the Hexblight, rendering the creature vulnerable. Separate the host from the Hexblight, slay the beast before at least one witness, and restore justice and order to the city of Ironmoor.

Reward: +15,000 Essence, 1 x Seraphic Affinity Scale (Sage Class), 1 x Chaos Affinity Scale (Sage Class), 1 x True Form Transformation Token, 1 x Scalable Master-Rank Armor Item

>>

“Don’t suppose we have any guesses about who would be willing to bind with something like this?” Cal asked as I quickly scanned the update.

“I’m drawing a blank,” I replied, waving away the golden runes floating before me, “but I’m guessing whoever’s running this little mining operation might have some clue. They knew this chamber was down here—hell, their miners broke the wards—and they kept their traps shut about it. Seems like the kinda thing someone would mention if a Vigil showed up and was poking around about a bunch of monster attacks. Keeping silent makes them look real guilty.”

“And even if they aren’t the Hexblight,” the padre said, “it makes them complicit in the killings. A sin by omission is still a sin.”

“My momma would sure agree with you.” I keenly recalled every switching I’d ever taken on account of something stupid Cal did. “But before we do that,” I said, peering into the murky darkness ahead, “we’ve got some critters to kill.”

***

It took us another three hours to navigate the complex maze that made up the guts of the mines. The hallways themselves were a warren of old, unexplored rooms and twisting corridors, all interspersed with nests of the adolescent Stone Spiders. Honeycomb-like structures dotted several of the cavernous spaces while strings of gooey green webbing ran through many of the corridors. Cocoons filled with everything from deer to jackalopes dangled from the ceiling, the meat rotting and liquifying over time.

Ever walk through a forest and get a strand of spiderwebbing on your face? Fucking disgusting. Now imagine the spiders were the size of rottweilers. Oh, also, the webbing was goddamned acid.

I learned that painful lesson after my first attempt to tear it down. I lost all the skin on my right hand, though thankfully with all the Essence coursing through me, my body went into repair mode ASAP. I was never not going to thank my lucky stars for that ability.

We took a pit stop in a small alcove with a bunch of stalactites hanging overhead like giant icicles, eating a few bites of cold rabbit meat and some stale bread, before pressing on. The Stone Spiders grew fewer the lower we descended, but they became bigger and significantly harder to kill. Arturo was kind enough to inform me about the monstrous hierarchy at play—the longer they survived, the bigger the nasty shitheads got and the more space they needed to carve out their respective lairs.

These mature Stone Spiders were nothing like the easily killed punk kid spiders from the upper levels of the mine, but on the plus side they offered a lot more Essence per kill and they also had a shit ton more items tucked away in their Soul Vaults.

Honestly, the ugly bastards were one bad day away from becoming compulsive hoarders.

They were basically mini versions of Smaug, only uber disgusting and covered in a thousand eyes. Also, instead of piles of gold and priceless jewels, a lot of their hoard consisted of literal garbage—acid-riddled old boots, pieces of torn fabric, a rusted-out iron cauldron—so nothing like Smaug at all, I guess. I did nab some more silver coins to add to my growing surplus, though, and a ton of amazing crafting ingredients. [12 x Raw Silver Ore, Fabrication Ingredient], [3 x Silver Ore, Fabrication Ingredient], [7 x Raw Selitrium Ore, Fabrication Ingredient], [2 x Mortka Horn (Disciple), Fabrication Ingredient], [3 x Mortka Horn (Disciple), Fabrication Ingredient], [12 x Mortka Steel Ore, Fabrication Ingredient] [18 x Stone Spider Chitin, Fabrication Ingredient].

A damn impressive haul, and that was only the tip of the loot iceberg. I scored enough Stoneform Affinity Scales to keep Renholm snorting Essence like lines of coke for the next three months and an even dozen Stone Spider Transformation Tokens, which would ensure Cal could polymorph to his heart’s content.

>>

Stoneform Affinity Scale

Type: Refined Stoneform Affinity

Class: Novice

Ability: Consume

Primary Effects:

When consumed directly, Refined Stoneform Affinity temporarily enhances the user’s resistance to damage by causing a thin layer of stony calcification to form along the surface of the skin. When in Stoneform, the user gains additional resistance to piercing and slashing damage, but movement speed is significantly reduced. Channel Refined Stoneform Affinity into a metaphysical focal point, imbuing the item with unique benefits for a limited duration. Note: The strength and duration of the effect is directly proportional to the quality of the Scale consumed.

>

I had no idea what would happen if I fed the Stoneform Scales to my Colt, but consuming them directly had some nifty advantages. Yeah, I’d probably be slow as balls, but I was guessing that I’d also be able to hit like a sledgehammer and go ten rounds with Mike Tyson without batting an eye.

On top of everything else, I also pulled a single silver pauldron covered in gold foil and a badass double crescent battle-axe. Nothing enchanted or magical about either item, but they would make great fodder for future armor and weapon designs. And, because I still had Fae Tether active, I didn’t even have to haul any of my loot around—I sent it all off to the Soul Vault for later examination.

Keeping that particular ability equipped was one of the best choices I’d made all week. Though, admittedly, my past week had been filled with a lot of very shitty life choices. One of those life choices was so shitty it had actually killed me, so the bar was pretty low.

Eventually, the steadily downward sloping passageways leveled out and we found ourselves in a section of the cave system that appeared devoid of life. The air was musty, heavy, and reeked with the fetid scent of rancid blood, old meat, and loamy soil. The only light this deep into the system was the odd glow that emanated from the moss clinging to the walls and ceiling, but that was more than enough to illuminate the veritable graveyard of bones littering the floor. Mostly animal, though there were a few human remains as well, all yellowed from age.

We were close. I could feel it in my bones as we slowly navigated the twists, turns, and switchbacks. Renholm zipped back from a quick scouting run as we headed into an odd circular tunnel that looked like it had been worn smooth by the constant passage of some gargantuan body.

“It’s been a pleasure serving with all of you,” the pixie whispered, casting nervous glances back over one shoulder, “but I’ve decided to take my trusty steed and depart for the day. Very busy. Quite tired. Doesn’t look like there’s anything else for me to do here.”

“You found the Matriarch, didn’t you?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The little butthole wanted to lie to me—I could see it carved into every line of his face, but our pact prevented him from knowingly deceiving me.

I watched in amusement as he wrestled internally, desperately trying to avoid the truth, compelled to tell me anyway.

“Gah. Yes. She’s just up ahead. A truly revolting creature, and that’s coming from someone who had to watch Jeff trim his toenails in our shared living space.”

“Wait, so was Jeff your boss or your live-in roommate?” Cal asked.

“I’m not sure that’s the question we should be asking right now,” I said, giving the ghost a dirty look. “Let’s stay focused on the giant spider monster thing that might kill us.”

“My relationship with Jeff was complicated,” Renholm replied with a sniff, ignoring me, “and I’m not obligated to tell you anything, odious spirit. All you need to know is that the creature is up ahead. The passageway veers left, then shortly opens into a large chamber.” He folded his arms across his narrow chest, deeply unamused. “The disgusting she-beast slumbers within,” he finished. “But I am not going any further.”

“What if I pay you extra?” I asked, pulling out one of my few remaining Hunger Affinity Scales. “Half a scale?”

He glowered, narrowed his eyes, then licked his lips. “How dare you sully my honor with such a lowball offer? I wouldn’t even consider it for less than a full scale. For a full scale, I’ll run naked into battle against a monster composed entirely of flaccid phalluses.”

“Respect,” Cal said, extending a fist to the pixie for a fist bump. “I’m all about that hustle, too.”

“What? No, no respect at all. That is disgusting, and literally no one is asking you to do that. You know what,” I said, “doesn’t matter. Just don’t mention fighting a dick monster while naked again, ever, and we have a deal—with a caveat. Half a scale now, half after we kill this nasty sumbitch. Can’t have you going into a food coma on me.”

“A true bargain it is,” Renholm cackled, greedily eyeing the scale in my hand.

I snapped it in half with my thumbs—a small sizzle of power accompanied by a trickle of smoke—and tossed one half to the wily pixie.

“Alright, everyone, game faces on,” I said, sliding the rest of the scale back into my coin pouch for later. “We’re about to meet the queen.”