I jumped to my feet, and almost threw up from the sudden nausea. That frying pan had probably given me a concussion. Shoving those thoughts aside, I faced the speaker, weapons ready.

My eyes briefly catalogued the two people, before being inexorably drawn to the ten foot wide pool in the center of the room. The surface was glossy, like oil on water. Orange and red stars swam in the black depths, casting light and twisting shadows on the ceiling above the pit.

“Pretty, eh?” the mocking voice asked. I snapped my head up to the man, berating myself for taking my eyes off the enemy. His armor, heavy chain with scarred plate over the vitals, shone with fresh oil. He looked older, the open faced bascinet hid his hair, but his close-cut beard was grey and his face was lined with age. Despite the apparent years, he was still solidly built, and moved with ease as he sauntered forward.

He stopped a dozen feet away and studied me. “I know you,” he drawled. “The church boy, playing detective. Inquisitor Silver wasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” I replied. I wasn’t much for pre-fight banter, but if it gave me a few moments for my head to stop throbbing, I wouldn’t complain.

“Oh, we don’t really go in for names much. This body was called Sir James, before I took up residence.” He slid a kite shield from his back and took the morningstar off the loop on his belt.

“I have to say, you're much more talkative than most milladen I have met,” I said.

“Cubs,” he said dismissively. “They take over too quickly, destroy too much. Those of us that have been around awhile understand the value of patience.” He shot me a grin, perfectly human teeth bright white. A shiver crawled up my back. “Humans are so much more talented than our old hosts. Not as physically imposing, admittedly, but the memories, the skills.” The morningstar swung in a lazy arc. “The increased processing power.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Exquisite.”

So the parasitic monsters thought we made great meat puppets, how flattering. “And what brings you fine gentlemen here tonight?” I asked, flicking a glance at the other milladen. It still knelt, unmoving, by the pool of lights.

“Killing two birds with one stone, I believe you would call it. The veil is thin here, the perfect place to create a second den. And if the ritual consumes every soul in the building, well, that would remove a dog that has been nipping at our heels for too long.”

Oh shit. I looked at the kneeling milladen again and took a step towards him. Had the pool gotten bigger? I hadn’t been stalling the milladen, he had been stalling me.

The armored milladen stepped in the way, his grin widening past human limits. “Now now, our conversation isn't over.” Like hell it isn’t. I attacked.

He caught my overhead blow on his shield and responded in kind. My buckler let out a tortured crunch as it caught the spiked mace. I twisted my shamshir under the kite shield and cut along the inner thigh as I stepped off line. The vorpal enchantment activated, but only left a bright scratch on the chainmail.

The morningstar swung for my head and I fell back. The mace didn’t have much more reach than my shamshir, but it was enough to put me at a disadvantage. We hacked at each other, weapons smashing into shields, and I fared worse for it. The shamshir was remarkable against unarmored foes, but just wasn't heavy enough to do much damage to the thick kite shield. The morningstar, on the other hand, smashed against my poor buckler like a smith’s hammer.

A particularly heavy strike caved in one side of my shield, sending splinters of wood everywhere. I dropped the abused buckler, I should have done it sooner, and summoned my force shield. The disc of magic could block the mace without issue, but now I was on a timer. As soon as the force shield ran out, I would be at a major disadvantage.

No other option, I pressed the attack. My breath pumped like bellows as I struck again and again in rapid succession. With each attack, I got faster, better able to place my blows where I wanted. The Multi-weapon chain skills gave me the force and speed necessary to keep the milladen on the back foot.

He tried to punish me for my aggression, but I stayed in close, where his reach worked against him, keeping him from having the room for those bone-crushing swings. Between the added force from my skills and intercepting his attacks before they could reach full potency, I could block and deflect with little trouble.

He split my lip with a shield bash of his own, but I managed to keep my combo alive with a weak thrust to his gut. I hooked his next attack with the false edge of my blade, sending the blow wide, and smashed my shield into his exposed face.

As my blow landed, I followed the instincts grafted into my brain by the Grappling proficiency. His leg went out from under him as my boot stamped down his calf. One leg in the air and off balance, it was a simple matter to throw him over my hip. I drove him down with the force of my twisting body, but instead of crashing into the ground, he hit the black pool.

No water splashed as he broke the glossy surface. It just rippled once then settled. I watched as he sank rapidly, his face a mask of hatred. A red light darted towards him, less like a star, and more like a fish seeing prey. The light enveloped him, blocking him from view.

I gasped for breath, putting my hands on my knees. Even with my improved constitution, that assault had taken it out of me. After a moment, I forced myself up and staggered towards the second milladen. I needed to stop him before he finished whatever ritual would make this hotel into a second monster den.

Before I could reach the caster a hand clamped on my backpack and, straps straining, dragged me back. A contemptuous toss threw me away and I crashed down by the kitchen door. The armored milladen stood at the edge of the pool, grinning widely. Red light, like vibrant blood, dripped off him and puddled on the ground.

“Think a little trip home will do me in?” he asked, mocking. I struggled to my feet. God I was tired. He took the morningstar in two hands, his kite shield gone, and advanced.

He rained down a flurry of blows, driving me back in a brutal mimicry of my own assault. I got cuts in as he exposed himself, but they failed to penetrate his armor. A baseball bat swing of the mace glanced off my shield and smashed into my hip. The same hip I had fallen on earlier.

I cried out in pain as my legs folded under me. The milladen kicked my chest with a mailed boot, sending me crashing onto me back, weezing. My force shield gave out, its duration spent.

The milladen towered over me, an inhuman grin splitting his face in half. “Good fight, church boy.” I jabbed weakly at his crotch, but he slammed the attack away, ripping the sword from my hand. “Time to go back to your God.”

Desperate, I focused and cast a remote precision push. The monster staggered back as coarse grains hit his face and eyes. I tried to roll away, but he put a foot on my chest, pinning me, even as he wiped his face.

“Down to cheap tricks?” he asked, amused. “I mean, pocket sand? Really?”

I shook my head. “Salt.”

He looked up just in time to get a paring knife to the eye. He howled in pain and grabbed the knife gingerly. So he missed the meat tenderizer that slammed into the side of his knee, twisting it with a sickening pop.

The milladen fell. His screams choked off as ghostly hands wrapped around his throat. “Undercooking the chicken?” The ghost wailed. “Adding too much pepper to the soup?” The hands dragged the milladen into the kitchen. “And leaving me to clean up your workstation every. single. day.” The milladen’s head slammed into the counter with each word, his helmet deforming from the impacts.

The milladen swung wildly, the morningstar passing straight through the ghost’s incorporeal body. The ghost ignored the attacks and lifted a potato peeler to the milladen’s exposed face.

I looked away and crawled over to the doorway. My push had taken the middle out of the line of salt. I swept up the remaining grains and reformed the line with my hands. Barrier back in place, I rolled onto my back and tried to recover my breath.

I ignored the milladen’s screams and took stock of my injuries. My head hurt, my hip hurt, my face hurt, and all my muscles were going to be sore for days. I dug a waterskin out of my pack, drank half, then splashed more onto my sweat and blood soaked face.

Groaning, and hating every second, I pushed myself to my feet. I had to keep moving. If I let my muscles go cold, I would never get moving again. I picked up my weapons and staggered over to the second milladen, still kneeling despite all the commotion.

I pulled his hood back, revealing a pale face, eyes squeezed tightly and mouth working in silent chanting. There was no reaction to my touch, the ritual was taking all of his focus. Taking a decoction from my belt, I poured the mixture down the creatures open mouth.

The silent chanting was replaced with silent screams as the decoction started dissolving flesh. The milladen clawed at its throat as blood and pink slurry started pouring from its mouth. I watched in horrid fascination as the milladen writhed on the ground.

The pool of swirling lights pulsed, and I took a step away from it. Belatedly I realized that interrupting the ritual so violently might not have been the best option. The lights swirled faster, and I was sure it was going to explode.

Instead, the surface of the pool fractured like a broken mirror. It shattered with the musical tinkling of falling glass and dissolved into nothing. The bare stone floor showed no sign of the portal to that other place.

With the pool gone, the only light came from the open kitchen door. I briefly considered trying to use a second decoction on the armored milladen, but quickly dismissed the idea. No way was I going back into that kitchen. Even if the milladen escaped the ghostly chef—the monster howled as a cleaver cut off another finger—which didn’t seem likely, the ritual was ruined.

I turned away from the kitchen. Now I just needed to find a way out of this basement.

My weapons snapped to the ready, to the protest of my aching muscles, as a man appeared by the far wall. He was bright against the dim wall, giving off a light all his own. He had long grey hair in a ponytail, a blue vest and tie over a white button-down shirt, and a monocle over one eye.

He bowed over one arm, his other stretched out to the side. A bright white light appeared over his gloved hand, revealing a staircase going up. The man faded from view, but the light stayed, suspended in the air.

Well, maybe not every ghost here wanted me dead. Or maybe it was a trap. Either way, I rallied my tired body, and headed for the stairs.