Willem was taken aback as Kat lunged forward, hands swiping in some ragged motion. His gaze was fixed on Norus, feverish and full of madness even as his legs stumbled forward. Yet that single motion was all the soldier would take; be it from weakness or disease, his legs suddenly gave out from under him.

As he watched Kat collapse to the ground, Willem could not help but let out a scream of concern. Bolting forward, he hurriedly fell to the side of the convulsing soldier, even as crimson blood flew out into the air and speckled his face. “What happened?” he cried out, knowing who he was talking to. Yet there came no response to the question, the demon standing as guard not giving a response even as its prisoner crumpled to the ground.

Kat was twitching helplessly, spittle and blood trickling out of his mouth. His eyes were wild and unfocused, unblinking as they gazed at empty air. Veins bulged on the back of his fingers, bulging horrifically as he clutched at nothing. Even Willem dared not to come too close; in this strange state, Kat seemed just as likely to lash out at him with those jerking movements. Even Norus dared not approach, slouching over by the side without response.

His heartbeat thumped out a frantic rhythm, his hand with sweat and his fingers jittery from indecision. Those stunted fingers proved all the more useless now, and he cursed himself all the more for it. A clutching sensation of fear strangled his stomach, instinct warning of danger. Everything’s going wrong, he thought frantically, even as Kat stopped convulsing and became horribly rigid. This was not how it was supposed to go!

He was supposed to have gotten a new body. He was supposed to have learned how to use magic. He was supposed to have found a true purpose in this crow-cursed world, a new life after discarding his old one behind him. This was his chance, his opportunity to leave if all. Cripple. Vais’throk. Monster. Useless. He could have left it all behind. So why—why now—was it all falling apart?

Frustration clawed at him, that sensation of helplessness even after all that he had been through after all that he had suffered. Was it truly selfish to want to be of use? To want to be strong? Was it truly selfish to seek recompense after a lifetime of abuse? Was this world truly so unfair? He hardly even noticed the hot tears streaming down his face until they fell on Kat’s rigid face.

The soldier’s lips were moving, although there was no sound coming out. He watched them, trying to read their movement with difficulty. At the very least, he thought, she’s no longer having the fits. He did not know what was wrong with her—he hoped that it was perhaps just some simple fever. Yet he had seen the disturbed look that Kat had worn, the haggard expression of distrust. Does he mistrust me? The thought was entirely possible—he was asking to be left behind, and with demons nevertheless. Yet this was a chance for him, they had to see that. Perhaps it would be his only chance, to learn and lose that title of cripple.

Norus, he thought suddenly, turning to face the old soldier. Kat had lunged at him—what had happened? He struggled to recall something, anything, that might prove useful. Hurriedly, he remembered that he had seen the king draw magic out of man’s body, had seen those purple tendrils being pulled out of his body. Just what was Norus? And what was he doing—the thought struck him as he realized that Norus was unresponsive as well, being half held up by his guard. His skin was pallid white, his eyes dark and bloodshot. Those shoulders barely moved with every tired breath, his muscles slack. There was no life in that figure; it was as if his soul had fled him.

“Norus? What’s going on?” Willem demanded, confused. Was the soldier ill? Was he weak? Had the king done something to him, perhaps? A sneaking worry even managed to whisper at him—that whatever damage had been done, it had been permanent. Yet there came no response to his words from that limp figure; Willem may as well have been yelling at a wall.

A shadow fell over Kat’s face, rousing Willem out of his thoughts. The king was looming over them both, those mismatched eyes bearing something at the very least resembling concern. Yet before the king could say anything, Willem stood up in frustration.

“Blood and bones, what’s going on?” he demanded, tired and nervous and at the end of his wits. These were his friends, if he was fortunate to call them that. Now one of them was frozen on the ground, and the other a mindless thing. “What have you done to them?” he yelled, not caring even as the bone-thing nearby stalked over.

There was a sharp sensation of almost tickling pain underneath his chin, rivulets of blood beginning to run down his neck to his collarbone. The bone-thing had its blade against his throat, a rasping voice sneaking out of his shadowed helm. “No one demands anything of our king.” it growled with a voice like bent steel.yet Willem would not have anything of this pathetic display of aggression. He was tired of it. He was tired of posturing, of waiting, of respect and these crow-cursed demons. He was tired of it all, and his patience was utterly snapped.

Thrusting his chin up, he felt that blade dig even deeper into his flesh as he continued to speak without heed. “A curse on that, I want answers.” He met the king’s gaze, and he saw nothing but bestial nature there. This was no man, to be reasoned with. This was an animal. “Kill me, if you damn well dare. Go ahead, but tell me. What. Did you do. To my friends. “ he hissed, challenging the king.

There was a pause before the king suddenly lifted those pitch black claws, a deep growl tearing its way out of its throat. A plummeting sensation seized Willem’s stomach as he realized he had taken a gamble—and lost. Half closing his eyes, he tightened involuntarily in anticipation for the blow. And yet, it never came.

A dim scratching sound filled his ears as those claws scraped against bone, the king pushing the bone-thing’s blade back. “Enough.” the king grunted, turning to throw a glance at Norus. “That man is a construct. His soul is trapped in a body fashioned from magic. He needs magic to function, else he grows fatigued.” The king flexed those claws casually, and Willem noticed that Norus made the barest of movements upwards at the mention of him. The guard holding him up made a hiss before the king waved at it, as if to send them away. “Send him back, he needs to recover. Even if his mind his whole, his body cannot support it.” The bone-thing merely nodded before half-hauling Norus away, carrying the soldier in appearance like one might a sack of grain.

“I drained his magic, of course he is tired. Give him a week or so, he’ll be back.” the demon muttered noncommittally, as if he were discussing some cat that had ran away from home. Its gaze instead turned to Kat.

“This one…” it muttered more softly, and its gaze suddenly fell serious. “There is something strange…” Willem felt that sensation of danger spring up inside of him once again, even as Kat continued to mouth things in that restless state. “Mother...father…” he whispered, just barely audible on the wind. And something: “...skal’va…”

Willem had thought nothing of it, but the word suddenly made the king snap out of its thoughts. “What did she say?” it asked hurriedly, those mismatched eyes wild in a gaze that Willem had never seen before on the demon. Even the bone-thing seemed taken aback, its stance tense and nervous at the sight of its king so keyed-up.

She? Willem wondered briefly but did not comment on it. “Skal’va” he repeated, about to elaborate on it, yet before he could the king interrupted him.

“Shadows? Living shadows?” the demon asked, and Willem felt that sense of danger only grow inside of him.

“Aye, but how—” he was about to ask, only for the king to turn to the bone-thing.

“Fetch me Kha. Tell him I have need of him.” the demon commanded, and the bone-thing gave a brief bow before departing. The king then turned back to Willem, its expression urgent and hurried. “I need you to tell me. Everything.”

Willem could only swallow hard, his thoughts scattered and his heart pounding out an erratic rhythm. What is going on? Everything seemed to be going by too fast, he was on a river that had suddenly morphed into churning rapids. Dammit. Blood and bones, and dammit, he thought to himself, forcing himself to focus despite all the madness that was happening around him.

“We first met the skal’va in Malifor.” he began, recounting the adventures that he had hoped he could put behind him. “They were like a cloud of—of locusts, only they were impossibly small. Whenever they moved, there was this buzzing sound, and they were always hungry. They would eat anything with meat, leaving behind only bones. And they could talk too—of sorts. They could mimic dying words.” Willem shuddered as he remembered, as he was forced to recall those nightmarish things.

“They came out of shadows, wherever there was a shadow. The walls, the stones, as long as there was a shadow they would swarm out of them.” As he spoke, the king listened intently, those mismatched eyes unblinking as they watched him. “The only way that we know to kill them is with fire. It burns them into ash, and they are afraid of it. Without fire, they’ll eat you alive in seconds.”

He paused for breath, and the king pressed him urgently. “Is there more? A leader?” Willem could only nod in surprise, his heart thumping madly in his chest. How did it know?

“Aye, they have a leader.” he replied. “A—a corpse, although its alive. It was sitting in a—a coffin when I saw it in my dreams. It called itself Faith. It spoke to me, about commanding the skal’va, and about a god.” he explained.

“Atal.” the king interrupted, and Willem nodded, almost expecting it at this point. “Aye, he was talking about some god named Atal. he said that he controlled the land with his shadows, and that he was going to do the same here in Altaros. But the last that we saw of the skal’va was at the Gates. They can’t seem to break through whatever magic is there, even if they can hide in the stones of that thing.”

The king shook that lupine head, and once more Willem felt his stomach fall. “No, they can break through. Faith is waiting for some reason, but it can send the skal’va here. I know. The skal has already been in this land before.”

Questions sprouted in Willem’s head like seeds, but before he could ask them the king gave one of its own. “You said that it was a corpse, no? Are you certain that you are the only one that has seen it?”

Willem paused for a moment, stunned, before shaking his head. “I think I’m the only one that’s had the dream, but the others know about it. Why? Does it matter?”

The king peeled its lips back in a snarl, its gaze once more shifting to Kat. “Because the corpses can mark those they touch in dreams. At least, the one in Altaros could. It’s a brand; it lets him follow you and trace you. And it matters, because if you are not the only one with the dream, then it could have branded another.” the king gestured at Kat, his lips still twitching in half-roused movement.

“And that is what I think happened here, because she carries Atal’s smell on her—on her spirit.”