A pair of figures hung in the air, floating about a snow-covered landscape, faint outlines of a ruin poking out from under the frosty drifts.

The woman was beautiful, her alabaster skin and ivory robes both a compliment to the snowy terrain and a contrast to the long blood-colored hair that cascaded down her back. Her figure was lithe, carefree, a demonic fairy floating above the heavens.

The man was handsome in a way that was both heroic and devilish, his black robes and close-cropped black hair a match for one another. His exposed arms were lean and muscular, the bronzed skin crisscrossed with light scars.

"Are you sure this is the place, Eb?" the woman called out to the devilish man.

The man snorted in response. "Of course, Thren. When have I ever led you astray?"

"Well there was that one time back at that underwater temple in the Immortal World--"

"I thought we'd agreed never to mention that again," the man interrupted.

The woman only laughed as her response to that.

"So, am I opening this thing up, or are you?" He queried his bemused companion.

The woman frowned and shrugged. "Unless you want me to cut you, it's probably best that you do it."

"Maybe later," the man winked, and then balled his hands into fists and slammed them together. "Aspect of the Devil: Wrath!" he shouted, and his form enlarged. He plummeted into the ruin, slamming into a gate that burst into icy fragments at the impact.

The woman clapped her hands in glee and giggled. "Oh, you definitely know what I like, dear!"

The man stepped out from under a shower of displacing snow that somehow avoided besmirching his black hair and robes and shook his head in mock severity. "If you're done goofing around up there, let's go check this thing out. It's not every day you can pick up a God Emperor Crown, after all."

The woman pouted, "Oh, fine then. You're no fun at all." She shot down into the ruins, and together they entered the newly unsealed entrance...

--------

Ebon Dirge smiled to himself as he monitored the boy's sleep. Success! He had at last found the source of his leaking influence on the lad.

As he had suspected before, forcibly shattering his soul to escape the Abyssal Crevice had led to some lingering side effects. The good news was that the "leak" was not a matter of him losing anything, it was only a matter of some of his knowledge and habits seeping through his connection to the boy. The ancient murderer had been naturally concerned about losing memories and other knowledge through this conduit, but he did, in fact, retain it all still.

With the influx of souls from the boy's victims, Dirge had been able to shore up his soul's integrity. While it was still far from its previous strength, he was at least nearing what could be considered a complete and stable soul rather than a very large fragment. Besides any incidental windfalls the boy might come across, only three specific souls were remaining that the old devil had his eye on.

The Ghost of Flowing Water, the former clan chief who had no doubt undergone considerable anguish at the fall of his lineage.

Brave Dragon, a foundation stage expert whose soul, compared to the quality of most around, ought to be superior.

And the boy himself, a River by whatever name he wanted to use.

The ancient devil had already laid the groundwork to make that last an exquisite repast, a worthy final addition for consolidating his soul. The pollution of the boy's perspective and instincts brought on by his reckless use of blood arts without the necessary foundations in self-control had created a supremely paranoid individual. Even as he seemed to dump his extraneous emotions through Passion Sublimation, he was magnifying his troubles.

The boy's suspicion now -- rightly! -- also turned on him. That he said nothing about his new information about the caravan indicated that he was bottling up his frustrations with their arrangement. While some would consider this a dangerous game for him to play, Dirge knew for a fact that the boy had no means of expelling or otherwise harming him this side of outright suicide.

Mental anguish was the whetstone of the soul. Uncertainty, doubt, and suspicion would shave away at the boy's psyche and provide tempering. The old ghost knew that the boy suspected he was eyeing his physical body, but the kid couldn't know that what he was actually eyeing was his soul.

Dirge had zero interest in possessing River's body; it was trash, garbage, and ill-suited for his use. He had to engage in Meridian Excavation just to get the child up to an acceptable standard for the initial stage of Meridian Circulation. The wanton absorption of blood essence had resulted in the artificial creation of bottlenecks in his future physique tempering prospects.

His soul, though! The child had a knack for overexaggerating his own adverse circumstances, and while that was a bad personal trait, it was excellent for tempering a soul for other uses. And so the old devil would subtly encourage his doubts, his fears, his pain, forcing the child to indulge himself in Passion Sublimation and creating an even more volatile mix for the future.

And when it was all finished... it may not be a masterpiece, but Dirge would again have a complete soul and maybe even that flickering flame of the boy's destiny. Only then would he have the ability to move on from this backwater and seek better hunting elsewhere.

All-in-all, things were still progressing quite well here. Having kept an eye on that young lady's meeting, he also saw a possible new line of experimentation. At the very least, the old devil mused, the kid wouldn't have to die a virgin.

--------

When Blood River awoke the next morning, he could scarcely remember the details of his dream the night before. Even if he had wanted to recall what he saw with any accuracy for Mister Black -- and right now, he definitely did not feel like doing so -- he couldn't. Besides the usual morning greetings, the two didn't have much of a conversation beyond that.

The inn's room service had left a cart of food for breakfast outside his chamber and slid a note under the door for him. He retrieved the cart and took a look at the selection of pastries, sausages, and juices and stifled a small laugh when he noticed they'd included a rose in a vase as part of the service. Five had been correct about them paying attention when delivering the night before, although they had missed out on her departure.

With nobody else around he didn't play at having anything resembling table manners and wolfed down the supplied trays of food with gusto and reckless abandon. Finishing the meal with greasy fingers and a full stomach, he then went to the adjacent chamber and washed up. As this was his first time in a good while to clean himself off, he stripped down and took the time to wipe himself down with a washcloth.

Returning to the bedroom, he rummaged through his storage pouch for a change of clothes. He would at least need to remain covered on leaving the town, so he picked out a pair of dark pants from the extensive selection he had obtained while ransacking the caravan. The pants he chose were black and made of starched wool, finer fabric than any he had possessed back in the clan.

He pulled the pants on and laced them up, still amazed at how comfortable woven cloth could be without being abrasive or scratchy. However, this particular pair felt just a tad bit narrow for his liking. He was about to remove them to exchange for another when a knock came at the door.

Activating his Mind's Eye, he saw that the new arrival wasn't the room service coming to retrieve the trays, but was instead the rebel woman, Five. Sighing, he marched over to the door, unbolted it, and opened it.

"Oh!" Five jumped as the door opened. "Am I interrupting?"

River was similarly startled on seeing the woman, as his Mind's Eye didn't convey subtleties like clothing very well. Instead of her man-like garb of yesterday, Five was now dressed in utilitarian wear that was very extremely feminine in design and aspect, accentuating her natural assets rather than obscuring them.

Her hair was done up in a bun like before, but her spectacles were gone, fully exposing her clear blue eyes. Her shirt was a tight-fitting black cloth that crossed over her chest, tucking into knee-high short pants. Above the long leather gauntlets that extended to above her elbows, her tanned shoulders were exposed and free to move.

River, of course, was still bare except for that pair of slightly small black pants.

For a moment the two blinked at each other in the hallway, staring.

"Ah, sorry," River spoke, breaking the silence first. "I was just getting dressed here. I take it you have your answer already then, Five?"

The woman glanced back and forth down the hallway, "Yes. Let's go in and talk about it, shall we?"

"Uhhhh, sure," River agreed, trying not to stumble as he stepped back to allow Five into the room. She closed and bolted the door behind her and then turned to again regard him.

"So," Five took in a deep breath and began, "the Dragonslayers have agreed to cooperate along the lines you suggested. We've even obtained the general whereabouts of the Ghost of Flowing Water and are willing to share it, although with a condition."

River frowned. "I'm not going to spare him, and I thought I made that clear enough last night."

Five smiled and stepped forward, looking up into River's eyes. "That's not at all what I'm talking about. The condition here should be simple enough to fulfill and shouldn't hamper your work too much."

"Oh?" River felt uncomfortable and a bit warm at the new proximity. "And what would that be?"

Five laughed and edged a little bit closer, almost touching. "Me. I'm coming with you."

As she closed in and said that, River was seriously regretting that he was wearing only an all-too-tight pair of pants that were now tightening further by the second.