Chapter 18 - Ambush

Author's Notes: I apologize for the slow update. Dealing with a lot of stuff atm. Hope you enjoy the chapter! Just as a fair warning, the fighting gets bloodier and more graphic as the story progresses.

Dust bellowed out in a thick cloud as the bricks in a decaying column finally gave in to the ravages of time, tumbling down with a resounding crash, nearly burying Sol and Reaver under their bulk for good measure as the pair barely managed to dive away at the last second.

“Ack! Mister, I don’t feel safe in here..” muttered Sol while getting to his feet on unsteady legs. Reaver snuffled loudly as he violently shook his body free of dust.

“No choice, this is where the hunter who gave me this found it,” I responded absently while peering into the passage ahead and gripping an intricately carved hexagonal ring tighter in my fist. I would have said the hallway ahead was dark, but thanks to Shia’s light augmentation and image projection trick, I could see through the gloom almost as though it were broad daylight.

Shia could project an incredibly detailed if somewhat grainy three dimensional image that replaced the otherwise impenetrable darkness inside the ruins. It even produced its own eerie light, pulsing slightly from time to time as I felt Shia shudder from within my pocket.

“Mommy, this place is creepy,” she complained for what seemed the upteenth time. “And it stinks of mold!”

Shia seemed to hold a particular breed of loathing for mold. I suppose it was only logical, since mold and mildew have probably ruined more precious texts and tomes since time immemorial than can be tallied to all other factors combined. Still, this was not the time to indulge in such prejudices.

“Shh,” I admonished in a fierce whisper. “We should be close, I can feel it. Don’t let your guard down though. Those bastards are still on our trail.”

Reaver let out a low rumbling growl, the fur behind his neck slowly standing upright at the mention of our would-be ambushers. In truth, if it hadn’t been for Reaver’s timely intervention, we would have been caught completely flat-footed. I’d known that Tarik and his men were vicious and vengeful, but I hadn’t given their dogged perseverance enough credit.

After last night’s little episode when I had been jokingly branded as a malevolent necromancer by my companions, I had finally given in to Shia’s endearing protestations and had gracefully deigned to pick her back up and resume my research on the Trance of Transcendence.

Of course, the word research doesn’t begin to describe the experience. It is nothing as cut and dry as that. Instead, it is a wholly organic experience in which I could constantly feel the limits of my intellect being tested by wonderfully complex concepts and ideas. They would convulse and grope about wildly, seeking to take root and flower within the inner recesses of my mind. I quickly found myself gaining more and more familiarity with the research subject until I reached a point where I could not for the life of me imagine why I hadn’t been able to grasp such a simple concept in the first place.

That was not all. Rather, it was a mere beginning. Such moments of sudden clarity and insight were mere plateaus that widened the horizon by that much more. Though momentarily dazed by the intoxicating knowledge flooding my brain to bursting, in the distance I could see the next peaks, looming just beyond reach. They beckoned with a teasing wink, promising ever grander sights and breathtaking new heights. It was like the most potent drug I had ever heard of, and I reveled in it.

It was no wonder then, that the damn mutt had to actually bite me in the hand hard enough to draw blood to get me to finally snap out of my trance-like state of concentration.

***

“What the HELL!” I screamed, instinctively reaching for the knife I kept by my side while scowling fiercely at Reaver. After a moment, however, I was able to detect that something was amiss. Reaver’s usual playful mood was gone, and an air of deadly earnestness had settled over the Kha’zik pup like a wolf that had finally shed its sheepskin and was ready to go on a rampage.

“Reaver, what’s going on?” I asked, sudden alarm entering my tone.

Reaver growled deep in his throat and sniffed the ground to the west of us, towards the trail we had taken to arrive to this secluded location within the ruins. He didn’t make any other sounds, but there could be no doubt as to his meaning.

We had visitors inbound, and judging by Reaver’s reaction, he recognized their scent. That was damn impressive, considering the fact that I had carefully picked a campsite with a good radius of observation to the area around us. I squinted in the direction of the path we’d taken earlier, and since I couldn’t distinguish any source of light, they were either traveling blind or still a great distance away. I wasn’t sure if this was a heightened sense of smell or an instinctive feel for danger, but maybe that was one of the gifts of the Kha’zik. Regardless, I wouldn’t waste the precious time I had been granted.

Glancing towards the bedroll where I’d last seen Sol, I was gratified to see that he was already shaking the sleep from his eyes and coming to his feet. Something about the air of urgency in Reaver must have tipped him off. Not for the first time, I wondered at the bond these two seemed to share. I could have sworn nothing short of a massive cataclysm would manage to rouse Sol once he was fast asleep, but this time he had awoken in an instant without so much as a sound.

Then again, I had more urgent considerations for the time being.

“Alright, we have an unnamed number of intruders approaching, and judging by Reaver’s reaction, it’s a safe bet we’re up against more of Tarik’s scum,” I called out in a low, steady voice, while running through various scenarios in my mind with practiced efficiency. “Here’s the plan.”

I laid out a brief overview of the plan, then gave Sol and Reaver specific instructions for their own specific tasks as suited to their abilities and judgment. After they hurried away to carry out my orders, I set about making my own preparations.

I decided to put the “Animal Trapping” skill to good use. Though mainly used to loot animals and collect useful goods from their carcasses, it could also be used to set up traps that could disable or even kill unwary prey. Upon learning it yesterday, I had painstakingly reviewed the novice level traps and had thoroughly memorized the procedure for making the most straight-forward versions of snare, deadfall and pit traps, as suited to my current abilities (or lack-thereof) and available tools and supplies. Though crude by the admittedly stringent standards of the Federation Special Forces advanced outdoor survival and stealth operations training, I found that the same basic principles seemed to apply to these familiar concepts within Aeterna, so long as I had the basic knowledge to build upon.

Thus, I was able to master the process of deploying simple yet effective traps with relative ease. Though I had neglected to prepare all the supplies I would need for a protracted defense, I was packing enough heat that I’d give hell to any unwary assailants.

The process of turning our campground into a deathtrap was made even faster than I’d expected, thanks to Shia’s assistance. Without being prompted, she pulled up a detailed map of the surrounding area, complete with Shia’s own annotations, with every possible minutiae starting with from points of entry and retreat - rated by accessibility, no less - to optimal placement for ambushes and traps given the topography of the area and the layout of the crumbling buildings around us. I had to grin grimly at that. While I appreciated the enthusiasm, my daughter was still a little green at the business of killing.

As for her old man, I had turned the process of systematically disabling and sanitizing hostile targets into an artform all its own. Those were the words of my former army colleagues, not mine - and those were some stone cold killers we’re talking about right there.

Thus, I went about my task with quiet efficiency. Shia hummed appreciatively as she began to appreciate the finer points of leading unfriendly people to their ignominious deaths. I noted that as I made my way around the ruins, Shia constantly revised her own strategies to more closely mirror my own. As a matter of fact, towards the end of our little parent-child excursion Shia had placed the very last trap at the exact spot where I had planned to lay mine.

I must admit a swelling sense of pride warred momentarily with an odd feeling of uneasiness at how readily my foster daughter was absorbing the talents for eliminating as many people in as thorough and effective a manner as possible.

For instance, Shia’s notes initially recommended that I place a deadfall trap at a chokepoint near the outer perimeter. True enough, the crumbling pillars would have a satisfyingly high chance of wounding or perhaps even killing any individual who triggered the tripwire and brought down their massive weight upon himself. However, a deadfall trap usually required an inordinate amount of work, which would be reduced to nothing if the triggering mechanism was discovered before it went off. Even if it did go off, alert individuals would stand a fair chance of scrambling out of the way.

Now, where’s the fun in that?

Enter my approach. I watched from a concealed ledge, safely tucked into its shadows, as a group of men finally rounded a corner and entered my field of vision. I found my hand stroking the hilt of the sword I bore by my side as I studied the new arrivals.

Rough and scruffy around the edges, some of these men were most definitely of Tarik’s bunch. I could tell that right away from the obvious reluctance with which they stepped forward. They obviously hadn’t planned for such a long trip, and though whatever reward or threat Tarik had offered could compel their presence here, they didn’t have to be happy about it.

Ten men. I raised an eyebrow as I quickly took stock of the current situation. I hadn’t planned for quite so many hired thugs to be stuck on my trail. Though one or two seemed to be wearing the same disheveled uniform I’d seen some of Tarik’s cronies wearing, most seemed to be simple street scum, likely hired for this one job. Even so, he must either have offered a much more substantial reward than I could possibly merit in my current situation, or there was a deeper game afoot here.

As I continued my examination, I squinted, then nodded as my hand moved of its own volition to wrap my fingers tightly around the symbol carved into the hilt of the sword I held. It was the sword I had looted from the bravo leader who had almost split my head in two back at the alley, Jaskel. Like his blade, he had been a far deadlier threat than the other scum I had disposed of that day. It had been a desperate, losing battle for survival, and it had only been through a fortunate set of circumstances that had allowed me to survive that fight.

A feral grin lit up my face as I saw another sword, nearly identical to the one I was holding, hanging from the belt of one of the men approaching. Was there another group or entity entering the picture now? Perhaps some mercenary band or similar guild, loosely affiliated with the shadier side of Tarik’s business? That would explain the little note that I’d found on Jaskel. If that were true, things would become far more complicated than they already were, but there was also an opportunity to be had here. Not to mention a better fight, as well.

This man was certainly cut from a different cloth from the low rent thugs in the group. Striding confidently, he drove the rest of the men forward as though he were repelling them by sheer presence alone. His eyes were sharp and alert, his hand expertly gripping the hilt of his sword as he steadily drew closer. They were still moving cautiously, trying to make as little noise as possible as they closed the distance to their prey.

Only this time, the hunter would become the hunted instead.

For that, of course, I would have to alter the parameters of the fight. Let it never be said that I fight fairly if I can help it. I’m too damn practical to give a crap about useless notions such as honor or chivalry. I raised my free hand slightly, then made a fist while I judged the distance. Immediately, the sharp sound of nails striking stone came from within my hiding place..

“What was that?” hissed one of the men, drawing his weapon.

“Just a rat,” came the response from one of his companions, putting a restraining hand on his arm. “Relax, you’re only going to alert the bastards we’re after.”

“That wouldn’t do at all. Gonna take my sweet time with them for making us chase them all the way here,” another added, venom dripping from his voice.

“Remember, we kill the beast first. Take no chances, they managed to take down Jaskel,” their leader, the man at the back called out in a harsh tone.

“Gotta be a fluke, but beast’s the only one who coulda dunnit,” agreed another voice.

“Dunno, I heard Jaskel’s chest was slit in two real nice, just like a slab of meat. Haven’t heard of no dog that can do that,” muttered the first one, reluctantly returning his blade to its sheath.

“You believe that? Hah! Probably the town watch trying to mess with you. They wouldn’t even let us inspect the corps..” The other man’s voice trailed off as he wordlessly pointed behind my location. “Hey, there! It’s the beast!”

I didn’t need to turn to know that Reaver would be leisurely walking out of a crack in a nearby wall, his nose to the ground as he followed a scent. The men watched in bewilderment while Reaver drew a few steps closer before raising his head and glaring at the men. He lowered his stance and displayed his prodigious fangs to good effect, barking loudly.

As if that was all it took to break the spell, all the men drew their weapons as one and rushed toward Reaver - and by the same token, towards me and my hiding spot.

“Catch it before it can run and warn the others!” snarled one of the men, echoing out loud their collective thoughts.

I barely managed to suppress a smirk. Fools.I carefully stayed as still as possible while Shia continued to project a truly lifelike image of Reaver onto the ground level below the ledge I was hiding in. Though it was slightly grainy in quality, every move and gesture was recorded just as it had looked when I had asked Reaver to play out this scene earlier. From this distance and under these lighting conditions, they would not realize the difference until they drew within melee distance. Not that they would get the opportunity.

As I continued watching, Reaver kept snarling menacingly while slowly backing towards the crack in the dilapidated wall he had first appeared from. Then he lifted his head for one last howl to the sky, turned around and slowly shuffled into the small gap.

“Damn it, get it before it can escape!” The men chasing Reaver cursed loudly and renewed their efforts.

Perfect.

See, for any good trap, first you need bait. The more succulent the bait, the bigger the prey. I meant to take quite the bloody chunk off this juicy morsel of meat.

The first hint that something was terribly wrong came when one of the men finally reached the crack Reaver had apparently dashed into. The snare trap I’d laid under it went off right on cue, and the barbed noose instantly tightened on the unfortunate man’s leg, then snatched him off his feet and yanked him forward before he even had time to scream as the weight of the boulder I’d tied the other end of the rope to jammed his body against the tiny opening, and quite literally ripped his leg off just below the knee..

The man finally let out a terrified shriek as he rolled on the ground clamping both hands around the stump where his foot had once been, writing in agony and spurting blood everywhere. The rest of the men immediately drew a semicircle around the prone man, staring down with equal measures of shock and horror written all over their ashen expressions. Which was all well and good, since that meant none of them saw the second trap that had been triggered simultaneously with the first one.

The screams of the fallen man drowned out the sounds in the beginning, for which I was tempted to give my thanks for, then settled for a mental shrug as I realized he wasn’t in any shape to be appreciating the gesture. As the rumbling sound overhead steadily grew louder, however, the leader abruptly pulled up short, frowning at the passageway stretching out beyond the fallen man. His eyes traveled to the sides of the crumbling pillars around him, and up towards the collapsing archway above, which just meant a shitload of rocks were about to hit their fan.

“Watch out!” He roared, and even managed to pull a couple men back by force.

The rest were buried under a couple tons of falling debris as the pillars gave out and the ceiling of the arch they were under collapsed on their heads. Shia had identified this archway as a major hazard due to how deteriorated it was. It had only been a matter of helping the process along. The results were rather spectacular. The gruesome sounds of crushed bones and torn flesh brought to mind scenes of helpless men being pounded into a bloody pulp by the mindless fists of a gigantic rock demon.

*TTIRING*

You have gained 600 xp!

*TTIRING*

Congratulations, you have reached level 4!

*TTIRING*

Congratulations! You have earned a new trait: “Artificer of Death”!

*TTIRING*

Congratulations! You have earned a new achievement: “Master Baiter”!

I had to suppress a sigh. The experience points and level up were quite the treat, as was the new trait and achievement. However, the rest had gone roughly as I had expected. Though it was certainly quite the spectacle for the eyes and ears, relatively speaking casualties were on the light side. I counted as many as four men shakily coming to their feet, apparently with some light bleeding but otherwise unharmed by the falling rocks. That meant likely less than half a dozen men had gone under. This was the disadvantage of using deadfall traps of such small scale. The results were much too random to rely too heavily on them. In the end, the titanic rock demon had turned out to be a doddering fool, unable to swat down a few flies.

Well, that was alright. My own conscience was as dark and hard as flint, and just in my manic grin alone there was demon enough to go around. Hell, more than enough to drown these poor fools in the inky depths of black despair.

Matching words to actions, I didn’t even wait for the terrible sounds of half a dozen men being crushed to death by an avalanche of rocks to fade away completely before yanking on yet another rope, which I’d laid close at hand for just this moment.

Just as the men who had escaped relatively unscathed were attempting to sift through the rocks to dig out the groaning survivors, a small barrel detached itself from a nearby ledge and seemed to hang ponderously in the air for a split second before falling in their midst. It shattered on the pile of rocks and spilled its contents all over the place.

A strong smell instantly invaded my nostrils, and I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose as I watched the puzzled expressions of the men, who lifted their drenched garments to their own noses.

“What the hell?” came the puzzled question as the doomed men stared into each others’ faces.

Then, dawning horror as they finally understood. Lamp oil stinks like a bastard, but that’s not the reason why every face went ashen as they realized what the liquid had been. The sudden stillness was so pregnant with expectant dread that even the tiny click when the preset catch up on the same ledge released its next payload was clearly distinguishable and drew everyone’s rapt attention. Every set of eyes, including my own, followed the motion as a tiny clay jar from the same ledge followed the path of the barrel that had gone before it.

They all stared, the poor bastards, when the jar hit the ground and shattered to pieces, along with the small hand lamp that had been inside. Of course, it was lit. Needless to say, it fell apart and the oil caught on fire with a great whoosh that roared like a ravenous beast as it spread its maw to swallow the men within its blaze whole.

There wasn’t even time for the two surviving men and their leader to try to save any the poor bastards, as the fire burned hungrily and clung viciously to the few survivors who had turned into human torches. They barely managed a few steps out of the inferno, screaming madly as they clawed at their own melting flesh, then they simply crumpled to the floor and writhed in agony.

*TTIRING*

Congratulations! Your trait: “Artificer of Death” has gained a level!

Ah, to enjoy the fruits of your own hard work was so very rewarding. Of course, I did not watch any of this with my own eyes. Instead, Shia had been projecting the whole scene in front of my eyes for me, up in the concealed ledge where I lay prone and safely out of sight. It wasn’t out of any sense of squeamishness that I did this. Rather, I attributed it to me being far too practical and experienced to risk revealing myself to do my own surveillance work when I had my own holographic monitor close at hand, besides which there was no good reason I should lose my dark-accustomed sight and blind myself with the sudden explosion of light.

Never one to waste a precious opportunity, I calmly arose from my hiding spot and took stock of the situation, being careful to avert my eyes from the center of the blaze. The bright glow from the fire had flooded every nook and cranny in the area with sudden light, and I could see another set of eyes gazing calmly from one of them.

Good doggie.

Evidently, they were the only set of eyes on me since the leader and his two followers were still staring dumbly into the scene of the carnage, almost as though they believed by staring just a little more intently they could put out the flames with their earnest wishes alone.

Amateurs.

Quietly drawing my new sword from its sheath, I firmly took hold of the hilt in a two-handed grip, then jumped off the ledge and swung my blade down with all the power and speed I could muster. That was all. No earthshaking warcry, no mighty shout of victory, nothing. Simply a craftsman quietly doing what he does best, is all. In my case, that meant killing people as quickly and efficiently as possible.

*TTIRING*

Special Attack: Overkill Success!By harnessing all your power and explosively focusing it in a single blow, you are able to deal tremendous damage at the sacrifice of greatly increased stamina expenditure and leaving yourself vulnerable to a counter-attack.

Your surprise attack succeeds and deals critical damage!Critical Damage Dealt:260

*TTIRING*

You have gained 320 xp!

Holy crap! I nearly lost grip on my sword as I saw the flashing red numbers that meant a critical hit had been struck flashing over the leader’s head. My sword literally exploded through his neck, smashing through his spine and exiting via his ribcage, to strike the hard stone floor below with a resounding crash that left my hands numb.

The two men flanking my victim shrank back reflexively, hands scrambling for their own weapons. That gave me enough time to recover my balance and casually examine the edge of my sword.

“Damn, this is a pretty good blade,” I muttered, half to myself. “Not even a dent.”

The surviving pair’s eyes focused on the blade I held. They obviously recognized it, since their eyes widened considerably at the sight. Just as I had intended, of course. The two men stole a furtive glance towards one another, and their swords wavered slightly as they came up in a defensive posture. I had carefully positioned my landing point so that the fire blazed merrily behind me. I could feel the heat at my back but I also knew the fire directly behind me would make it very difficult to track my silhouette once the fight got going.

“Hey, you,” I called out to one of the men, who involuntarily flinched and took a shuffling step back. “Wanna live or die? You get a ten count to decide. One. Two. Three.”

“Huh? Wha.. what?” the man blurted out, backing away further and raising his sword higher.

“Wrong answer. Bah, screw it. Ten,” I drawled out as I feinted towards his partner, who quickly scrambled back and away from me, which is exactly what I had intended. That gave me enough room to engage the first man without having to worry about getting a knife in my back for my troubles.

“Reaver, hamstring!” I called out, as I swiftly spun around, using the motion to swing my blade in a much wider circle than I would usually attempt. Such a telegraphed move would never hit home unless..

The first thug let out a throat-scraping scream as Reaver lunged out from his hiding place behind him and tore a bloody chunk off the man’s leg with one vicious bite before retreating safely out of range of any potential counterattack. Such thoughts couldn’t be farther from his victim’s mind, however. Dropping his head reflexively to claw at his ruined flesh, the poor devil was still trying to comprehend what had just happened when his descending face met the edge of my sword as it drew a silvery arc in the air that splattered a fresh torrent of blood against a nearby wall. The impact was enough to reverse his momentum and twist his neck to one side while his body kept falling the other way.

I completed my spin by flicking my blade up in front of me and reversing my grip on its hilt before unceremoniously plunging the tip deeply into the fallen man’s neck as soon as his convulsing body hit the ground. No sense in taking chances. I could still remember the nightmare of the cheap zombie flick when my enemies had gotten up time and time again after receiving my attacks. That first fight upon arriving to Aeterna had been an unmitigated disaster.

Now this here - this was more like it.

Coldly looking up to meet the eyes of the last remaining survivor, I showed him my best hungry wolf grin. Damn if it didn’t put Reaver’s own to shame.

“Hey, lucky you, it’s your turn,” I called out in a light, conversational tone, then deftly wrenched my blade sideways to snap his friend’s spine with an audible crunching sound. The body at my feet twitched spastically a couple times, then finally went still. My eyes never even wavered as my grin grew even larger, if at all possible.

“Wanna live or die?”

***

The man had made his decision, and with great enthusiasm, might I add. So much so, that I had to slap around him a couple times to remind him not to stumble all over his words as he rushed to spill the beans in answer to each of my questions.

So, I found out there had originally been thirty five men in the group, but they set up a perimeter around the area, and the rest had split up as they drew closer to the ruins in order to cover more ground. That meant there were a whole lot of unfriendlies rapidly approaching my position, guided by the big ass beacon I’d lit as a funeral pyre for their friends.

“This just doesn’t make sense,” I muttered. “Tell me, who are you working for?”

My victim’s face blanched and he opened and closed his mouth several times without a sound. His eyes gazed at me pleadingly while he whimpered helplessly.

Interesting. I thoughtfully tapped the thug’s forehead with one end of my sword. Of course, the pointy end. Tiny drops of blood started to bead from the pinpricks as I steadily increased the pressure.

“So, already reconsidering your earlier choice?” I murmured detachedly.

“N.. no.. I just.. I can’t.. can’t..” stammered the man, his eyes bugging out as tears and mucus started to roll down his face in equally appalling amounts.

“Can’t. Can’t. Can’t,” I repeated in a calm, observational tone while lightly jabbing the tip of my sword into his head in rhythm with each of my words. “That’s a whole lot of can’ts. I don’t think your skull is thick enough to afford you many more of those.”

“B.. but.. I.. Can’t..” The man actually started to foam from the mouth, and in short order he slumped to the ground, his eyes rolling up in his head as his whole body convulsed jerkily.

I stared with a mixture of bewilderment and fascination as his movements gradually subsided, then stopped altogether. Wary of a trick, I carefully checked for a pulse, but there was none.

“What the hell have I gotten myself involved into now?” I muttered under my breath, wiping my sword clean on his clothes and sheathing it.

“Mommy, that was really freaky stuff,” mumbled Shia.

I pointedly decided not to ask what part of watching nearly a dozen men get crushed to a pulp, then burned to a crisp wasn’t any freakier than this, and instead jerked my neck sideways with an audible pop.

“Shia, time to rendezvous point?”

“Nine minutes thirty four seconds. Though I can calculate the distance and factor in Sol’s rate of travel, currently there are too many outside elements that could..” came the instant reply.

“I know,” I cut her off. “That’s good enough. Give me a second and we’ll get going.”

I studied the glowing sigils on the back of my hand. Though there were still five circles, one of them was almost completely faded out. I turned back toward the corpse of the leader of the thugs, whose body I had cleaved in half. The cut had been a messy one, and upon closer examination, I could see that I had done well to aim for the area where the neck joined the torso. It was the precise area that was left unprotected by the equipment he was wearing, which looked to be made of good quality leather. Such material could partly absorb or even completely deflect many blows. If my first pre-emptive strike had failed to put the most dangerous enemy down or at least to seriously wound him, my chances of survival would have plunged precipitously.

This was another incredible benefit of having Shia by my side. Thanks to the book of crafting secrets from the Umeji Clan, she could instantly identify most types of weapons or armor and helpfully highlight vulnerable areas and weaknesses particular to that specific item. That wasn’t all, either. Due in part to Zephyr’s ledger book, she could also appraise the value of most items I came across, and pointed out particularly valuable equipment or loot.

One such was the hidden object Shia spotted within a hidden pocket in the vest of the now deceased thug leader. Something she noticed while talking about awkward mass distribution and incorrect proportions in the garment. In any case, I simply made a slit where Shia pointed and an almost identical hexagonal ring to the one that had led me to these ruins in the first place had fallen out.

For a moment, the wild possibility that Tarik had planted the object in my person crossed my mind, but I immediately dismissed the idea. That would require too much subtlety, where Tarik’s approach seemed to involve mostly brute force. However, what did it mean then? Could Tarik’s men be here on a mission completely unrelated to myself or my party? That wasn’t it either. I had overheard them specifically mentioning us just a little earlier. Then what? I looked over the corpse of the man I had interrogated and felt the first stabbing twinge of regret. Just a little, mind you. Like getting someone a coke when they had asked for a pepsi. Yeah, I should have asked better questions.

I shook my head as I decided to revisit this topic later. I needed to get moving, but first I wanted to test a theory.

Tentatively, I extended my tattooed hand forward. Instantly, the now-familiar black flames sprang to life from the corpse before me. However, when they came into contact with my hand, they merely swirled around the glyphs for a moment before being repulsed away.

“Undo Flame of the Soundbound,” I called out and held my breath expectantly, but nothing happened.

“Release soul. Absorb new soul. Eat soul. Drink soul..” I tried every combination I could think of, but nothing happened and vital seconds ticked on by. I let out a frustrated breath as I tried everything from dipping my hand in the still-warm blood pooling at my feet, to snatching at the dark flames slowly swirling around me. I was even considering reaching into that bloody mess to take out its heart or something equally distasteful when it hit me.

I had become one of the Soulbound using Shia as a focus. Perhaps the way to control my ability would be through that same focus. I hastily took out Shia from the pocket where I kept her and laid my right hand on her cover.

“EWWW! Mommy, no! You’re gonna get that yucky blood all over me!” came Shia’s instant protest, which I judiciously ignored.

“I am the Soulbound,” I whispered, and watched in fascination as translucent swirls of incandescent light sprang to life from Shia and swirled in a myriad vortices around my hand. Just as the array of lights began to further expand, a warning window popped up in front of my eyes.

*BLEEP*

Alert! You are currently unable to control the forces of the Soulbinding ritualYou have failed in your attempt to wield the power of the Soulbound. The soulbound or the focus is currently not at a sufficient level to control the forces of the soulbinding ritual, and further attempts may have catastrophic results. Do you still wish to continue with the ritual? YES NO

I cursed bitterly as I tapped on the NO button. The error message went away and the flurry of lights instantly died out.

“Mommy, that’s not very nice language.” came Shia’s amused voice.

I muttered a few more imprecations and chose to stomp off towards the rendezvous point.

***

The rendezvous had gone off without a hitch, with a grumpy looking Sol being herded along by a decidedly happier looking Reaver. It seemed Sol was still angry about being left out of the fight.

Right from the start, I had sent Sol away under the excuse of secreting away our auroch with enough water and feed to last for a couple days. In truth, I did not want him anywhere near the kind of brutal combat that had taken place. Not only was I apprehensive about his lack of experience and combat ability, but I felt oddly reluctant to plunge this naive child into the neck-deep torrents of blood I’d waded into.

I offered a brief update on our situation while leading our party deeper into the ruins and in search of further clues as to the specific location of the Arakian Monastery. Sol was sulking, but Reaver too was becoming increasingly restless. That first taste of blood had only whetted his appetite and he was spoiling for a good fight now. Realizing I was likely wearing a similar grin of manic delight, I tried to tone it down somewhat.

In order to help in this process, I decided to go over the information I had available thus far. The ruins we were currently exploring were generally known as the Three Peaks Outpost. A long time ago, it must have been an impressive complex of fortifications. Now it was simply a bunch of rocks barely hanging on in the edge of nowhere. Quite literally so. There was no sign of life anywhere in the vicinity, and that was definitely out of place.

However, if the ring I held in my hands was the key I hoped it was, then what the natives knew of Three Peaks had actually once been part of an Arakian Monastery, and that would explain a lot of things.

According to Zephyr, Arakians had been fanatics who followed some obscure deity of war, and drove their minds and bodies to the very limits of martial prowess as an act of abject worship. In the process they had also been dabbling into demonic pacts, ritual human sacrifices and other unsavory acts that eventually drove them all mad. In the end, their constant raids to acquire more victims for their human sacrificial rites had pissed off pretty much all the kingdoms around them, and vast coalition forces had spent ten long years tracking down every single one of their monasteries and burying it under a mountain of corpses. Unfortunately, the vast majority of the body count belonged to said coalition forces.

See, although their minds had all turned to mush, Arakians were widely recognized as having reached the very pinnacle of martial excellence. According to Zephyr, one well documented historical record describes the extended siege of an Arakian monastery by an army of over two thousand coalition troops. At the end of six bloody months, they had finally broken through with barely four hundred troops left to their ranks. As an act of petty retribution, they had cut off the heads of every Arakian monk they could lay their hands on during the whole campaign, dead or alive, in order to drive a spear through it and stake it up on the fallen monastery’s ramparts.

At the end of the day, a ragged cheer had floated through the ranks of the coalition army’s survivors as a grand total of eighty two heads stood in silent witness to the massacre that had been wrought upon them. Eighty two against a well-equipped, capably led army of over two thousand troops, and they had still lost nearly three fourths of their numbers. Suffice to say, that army’s morale was shattered and they quietly disbanded to become just another footnote in the terrifying legend of the Arakians.

In any case, according to ancient lore, the depravity of the rites carried out by the Arakians in the worship of their forsaken god would cause a miasma of death to spread out into the immediate vicinity of any of their monasteries. That seemed to bear out with the complete lack of wildlife in the area. Moreover, I could almost feel it in my skin, a suffocating pressure that told me we were close to something.

As we entered yet another dimly lit hallway, I took stock of the current situation. We were wandering the seemingly endless ruins, seeking the hidden entrance to an Arakian monastery we were not even sure existed. We barely had enough food and water for two days, and over twenty five grim killers for hire were hot on our tail.

“So much for the boot camp. Death camp, more like,” I muttered under my breath. And yet..

“Uh.. mommy? You’re doing it again” Shia hesitantly called out.

“I know, Shia. I know,” I acknowledged.

And yet, that same manic grin kept sneaking back onto my lips.

I was really going to enjoy this.