Chapter 14: Depths of Treachery

“The city bled until it could bleed no more. Yet that was still not enough to sate the Rabisu’s hunger. Birthed from the first Betrayal, it lusted for life and brought with it death. Spreading its curse to its Alukah Children, who threatened to consume all of mortal-kind. Until the Seraph-Blooded stood tall and brought it a Doom none could foresee ”- The Book of Miracles, Lamentations 13:5

Dietrich awoke to blood and screams. His eyes shooting open, the disoriented Vampire tried to understand his surroundings. Yara, his thrall, was slumped over his crypt, bleeding onto him. Some of the blood had gotten into his mouth and awoken him. Sitting up, Dietrich caught the barely conscious Yara and looked around the chamber. Three more of his thralls were in his crypt. Vichiry and Ogan were pressed against the room’s door, trying to keep it shut. While old Mimny stood nearby, holding up a broadsword. They all had injuries, each sporting a collection of cuts and scrapes. Yura had the worst of them, an ugly gash along her side was steadily leaking blood, and the woman was almost as pale as Dietrich.

“What is going on?” barked Dietrich. Standing up from his crypt, he set the now unconscious Yura next to the stone coffin and went for his sword.

Mimny turned to Dietrich, and the old man let out a deep breath of relief. “My Lord, you’re awake!” Gesturing to the door, Dietrich’s eldest servant continued. “It's terrible; we’ve been betrayed. Lady Lorena and Lady Agate are dead, and Master Saul says you were responsible. He rallied most of the servants and took control of the Guard. They are executing other Nobles and their servants for conspiring with you!”

Stunned, Dietrich reeled from this news. Saul was the leader of the Daymen and the highest-ranking mortal in the town. A prized servant, he was the closest Glockmire had to a traditional mayor. For him to try and stage some sort of coup? That was madness. Was this some sort of insane contingency Agate had in place? That thought sparked another question in Dietrich. Saul couldn’t be controlling the Guard without the proper magical authorization. Not something Agate could do.

“Who gave Saul control of the Guard? They would not follow his orders without someone giving him command?” asked Dietrich. Grabbing his sword from its place, he went to the door in time to watch the wood buckle slightly from a heavy blow. Someone strong was trying to get into his crypt.

This time Ogan answered; the burly man had a bleeding scratch on his cheek and was covered in sweat but otherwise seemed in better condition than his fellows. “They said Steward Petar gave the command. But we didn’t have time to check that. The bastards started killing people almost instantly.”

Looking over his four servants, Dietrich sought confirmation. “The rest of the staff are dead?”

The three who were conscious made sounds of confirmation, and Minmey elaborated. “We lost Jorg and Etria fighting our way here. The rest might be holed up somewhere, but I doubt it, m’lord.”

Moving to the door, Dietrich gripped his sword tightly and prepared to work. “Stay here until I return. Treat Yara if you can,” growled the Scarlet Knight.

His servants stepped away from the door and bowed. They had done well and should be commended. If any of them survived what came next, he would make sure they were rewarded. Flinging open the door to his crypt, Dietrich faced his foes. The hallway outside was filled with a mixture of Castle Guards and crudely armed servants. A quartet of the Guards had been using a makeshift battering ram to break into the crypt. Dietrich took care of them first. His executioner’s blade shot and smashed through all four Guards with ease. Punching through the solid armor, they wore and exposing their true natures. Each Castle Guard was a skeleton encased in plate armor and animated magically. Rising up as Eternal Legionnaires of the Duke.

The undead made perfect soldiers, and the Vampires of the Blood Duchies never let any corpse they created go to waste. Turning them into skeletal puppets like the ones attacking Dietrich right now. Roaring in blood-hungry fury, the Scarlet Knight hacked and smashed his way through more of the Legionaries. While far more hardy than any human soldier, the Guard was still useless in the face of an angry Vampire.

Dietrich reached the first of the servants overseeing the attack. The thrall was a pathetic spindly man with a large hatchet in hand. Dietrich thought the mortal was one of the Daymen but did not care enough to know. Swooping down on the terrified traitor, Dietrich sank his fangs into the man’s throat. Ripping open crucial veins and letting the power of a panicked heart pump the energizing ichor down Dietrich's throat. It was still daytime, and Dietrich had used much of his blood reserve fighting Agate the previous night. He needed more blood than poor Yara could provide. Thankfully the traitors would provide him with a plentiful supply.

Dietrich tore through the Guards in the hallway, stopping only to devour each mortal unfortunate enough to be caught in his way. It was rare for Dietrich to drink anyone to death anymore. The practice was considered wasteful by civilized Vampires and not something done outside of battle. Despite the frivolity of it, the experience was incredibly pleasurable. Dietrich could taste the fear and pain of his victims and feel them die in his jaws. It felt right to him. This was the pure experience of a Vampire. Acting as a supernatural predator, without restraint nor remorse.

By the time he reached the end of the hallway, Dietrich was covered head to toe in blood. Leaving behind him a gory mess of broken bodies, splintered bones, and shattered armor. By now, the noise of the massacre had alerted the rest of his attackers, and they were regrouping. Dietrich found his enemy in a natural choke-point formed by an intersection of hallways. Castle Guards had formed a shield wall and were receiving frantic commands from their mortal handlers. A phalanx of spears protruded out towards Dietrich, and he could smell the stink of Pitch in the air. The traitors intended to delay him with the guards long enough to counter-attack with flames, something that would harm even him. That would not do. So Dietrich selected another tool to use.

The magic binding the Eternal Legions was designed to be relatively simple and easy to manipulate. Each squad of Guards was bound to a Reliquary, an arcane tool that could be used by a sufficiently talented mage. That bonded mage could then transfer control of their bound undead at will and revoke that transfer with minimal effort. This transfer could be repeated a shocking number of times before the magic started to become less effective. Creating magical chains of command, where ultimate ownership and control of the Guards traced back to whoever actually possessed the Reliquary.

Lord Glockmire had ultimate control over the Castle Guards, but Petar the Steward was second in that chain of control, above even Dietrich. So any command given by someone invested by Petar would supersede Dietrich, or at least, in theory, it should. Paranoia is in part what defines Vampires, and one as ancient and powerful as the Archduke would not create armies of easily controlled servants without some manner of failsafe. A sufficiently powerful Vampire of the Archduke's bloodline could override control of the Eternal Legions. As a Scarlet Knight, this was something well within Dietrich's power.

Focusing himself on the squad of defending Guards, Dietrich tapped into the well of power within him. Letting the blood of his kills feed the magic required to take control. It was like swimming against a current, pushing his mind against the magical strings that connected the Guards to their Reliquary. But Dietrich was a Vampire and a powerful one at that. The resistance he faced was not anywhere near enough. Dietrich cut the stings and claimed them as his own. With a thought, he ordered the squad of Castle Guards to turn on their former masters. They did as commanded and butchered the panicked traitors without hesitation. Now flanked by ten of the armored Skeletons, Dietrich continued on his way.

The Scarlet Knights' honor guard swelled to twenty Legionaries and stayed at that number. Controlling more than that without the aid of the Reliquary’s magic was infeasible for Dietrich. He could still cut the connection of any squad he encountered to replace any damaged Guards or deprive his enemy of their use. Ultimately he was creating a lot of work for some unfortunate Necromancer who’d be tasked with repairing all the damage he’d caused. But Dietrich didn’t particularly care.

Dietrich and his small escort cut their way through a few more pockets of resistance as he made his way to his first destination. Migot the Strigoi was the Court member with a Crypt closest to Dietrichs. If it was unmolested or even guarded by the Castle Guard, that would mark the old Goblin Vampire as one of the traitors. If it had been attacked, then Dietrich might be able to save a possible ally or at least avenge him. Either way, it would help him gather information about what had happened.

Upon reaching Migot’s Crypt, Dietrich found its door open and its contents ruined. The brutal Strigoi had taken to decorating his lair with a mixture of hunting trophies and dark totems from his homeland. Both mounted skulls and wood-carved ornaments now laid smashed around the small chamber, with the coffin at the center pried open and a pile of ash and bones within. Looking down at the sloping forehead of a goblin skull, Dietrich knew the Strigoi was dead. The traitors had caught him in his slumber and destroyed him. A fate that had almost befallen Dietrich.

Baring his fangs at that uncomfortable thought, Dietrich finished his detour and continued to his main destination. As a Scarlet Knight, Dietrich's duty was to protect his Lord. He needed to find Lord Glockmire and ascertain more of the situation. Leaving the crypts, Dietrich redirected his efforts to punch toward the central tower. The main spire where Lord Glockmire made his lair.

To his surprise, Dietrich encountered barely any resistance. Only a handful of servants and Guards blocked his path towards the central tower. Dietrich still took the time to dispatch them. Partially out of principle, partially to keep himself at full power. It was roughly mid-day, and with the Sun so high in the sky, it took an exorbitant amount of blood to keep himself functioning. This additional pressure pushed Dietrich forward, robbing him of the opportunity to further investigate the fate of other Vampires of the court. Dietrich suspected most of the servants and thralls were busy purging loyalists and their masters. Which didn’t fully explain why they weren’t focusing on occupying the central spire. Taking Lord Glockmire's head should be the priority, shouldn’t it be?

Only two answers to that question were obvious. Either Lord Glockmire was the architect of these events. Something that made very little sense considering what Dietrich knew. Or, the other possibility was that Glockmire had been removed before anything else had happened. Entering the central spire, Dietrich was forced to consider the second option more likely.

The smell of drying blood hung thickly in the spire’s air. It didn’t take Dietrich long to find the bodies. Nearly half of Glockmire’s personal servants had been killed and dumped in the center of the main spire's ground floor. Dietrich spared a look at the corpses and did a double take. These hadn’t been killed with blades and bludgeons like other loyal servants he’d found. They had their throats torn out and their bodies shredded. Not markers of battle, but of a bestial attack.

Something strong and vicious had been at work here. Had the Feeder unleashed one of its minions in the Castle? Readying his sword, Dietrich commanded some of his Guards to take a position in front of him. Despite all his power and skill, he was not immune to a surprise attack, especially one coming from a powerful Undead monster. Slowly, Dietrich made his way up the grand staircase of the tower and towards whatever waited for him.

The doors at each landing had been broken, and a quick inspection of the chambers beyond showed pointless destruction. Opulent furniture had been smashed, antique paintings ripped from the wall, and all manner of stains covered the floors. Someone or something had methodically ruined everything within the spire. Dietrich couldn’t tell the purpose of the destruction. Was it a crude attempt to search for something? The rampaging of an unshackled beast? The result of some visceral close-quarter brawl?

As he got closer to the top of the tower, Dietrich found an explanation. The Studio where Lord Glockmire toyed with various artistic projects had a new resident. The stink of tanning leather was overpowered by another even worse smell. One that Dietrich recognized from a clash three years ago. Wet dog mixed with rotting flesh. Entering the Studio, Dietrich found a great mass of mangy fur lying in the room's center. Curled up like a hound waiting for its master was the Varcolac. An Undead Werewolf, and the same one Dietrich had driven off during the Breach.

Upon the arrival of Dietrich and his guards, the creature raised its shaggy head and looked towards them. Milky cataract-filled eyes stared out unblinkingly, and the rotten remnant of a snout sniffed the air. Preparing himself, Dietrich expected the monster to attack him. It did not; instead, it simply noted his presence and returned to its rest. The Varcolac did not seem to consider Dietrich a threat, something that incensed the Scarlet Knight. Stepping forward with his sword outstretched, Dietrich prepared to finish what he’d started three years ago. Before he could make the first attack, something pulled Dietrich's attention. A loud crash and bang from overhead. Higher up in the tower, something was happening.

While he was loath to leave the Varcolac, its unusual passivity made that an option for Dietrich. The issue was forced as another crash echoed down the staircase. Slowly backing out of the Studio, never taking his eyes off the undead Werewolf, Dietrich continued his journey. Mentally commanding two of his Guards to stay on this landing, Dietrich started ascending higher into the Spire. He didn’t expect the two animated skeletons to even slow the Varcolac if it decided to attack. Still, Dietrich would sense if they were destroyed. Giving him a few precious moments to react if the monster attacked.

Following the scraps and bangs emanating from above him, Dietrich made his way to the highest level of the spire. The personal suite of Lord Glockmire, a place not even his Bodyguard and Executioner had been allowed access to. The door was open but not broken like many others in the spire. Within Dietrich could see movement, wriggling shapes in the dark of the suite. While a mix of glow stones and candles had illuminated the rest of the tower, no source of light was visible in the suite. A heavy perminating darkness hung beyond the door, and not even Dietrich's enhanced sight could easily pierce it. All he could discern was the vague sense of movement deeper in the Suite.

Raising his blade in a high grip, Dietrich stepped off the staircase and into the top floor of the tower. The clanking of his armor caught the attention of whatever was in the room, and the movement stopped. A dozen sets of glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness, swiveling to look at Dietrich. For a second, Dietrich just looked at the eerie sight of baleful crimson globes hanging in the dark before tapping into his own abilities and enhancing his night vision.

Dietrich almost dropped his sword in utter shock at what he saw. Thirteen Vampires huddled over a body they were feeding on. Such an act of communal feeding, while rare, was not what stunned Dietrich. It was the state of the Vampires. Each was emaciated and twisted. Looking like starved corpses stretched out into inhuman proportions. Black blood dribbled from their mouths and filled their veins in a snaking pattern stretching from their head and down into their body. Each Vampire looked like it had a network of onyx tendrils running under its nearly translucent skin.

The alien appearance of the Vampires was a clear sign of what they had been doing. When a Vampire feeds on a mortal, they become more life-like during and after feeding. Blood pumps, eyes blink, and skin gains color.

So just as feeding on a living person makes a Vampire appear temporarily alive, feeding on a fellow Vampire reveals their true unliving foulness. The terrible forms before Dietrich spoke of such an act of cannibalism. These thirteen Traitors were in the middle of devouring a fellow Vampire. An act considered equally sacred and profane by all of the Night’s Children. To devour another Vampire was to consume their power and soul. Augmenting the perpetrator with the strength of the victim.

Dietrich looked at their victim and recognized him. Even drained of blood and withered into a husk, Dietrich could still recognize Lord Johan Glockmire. The Lord of the town was barely stirring as multiple Vampires greedily gulped down his power. Confused and horrified, Dietrich stepped forward and barked.

“Step away from Lord Glockmire, traitors!” He did not know if the Lord could be saved or how any of this was possible. Cannibalizing such an old and powerful Vampire as Glockmire was incredibly difficult. Requiring the attacker to subdue the elder Vampire and win a battle of wills against them. Vampire blood does not flow freely like mortal ichor and must be pulled from its source with effort. Yet these thirteen had managed to attack and partially consume Glockmire. An act that should be impossible even with the overwhelming numbers.

The few of the Thirteen who hadn’t bothered to stop feeding finally pulled themselves from their meal. Dietrich could now get a good look at the lot of them and wasn’t too terribly surprised by who he saw. The majority of them were the younger and weaker members of the court. Ones with ambition and ego yet to be tempered by experience. The type a clever manipulator could coax into joining them. The identity of that manipulator became clear as one of the Vampires approached Dietrich. Hunched over and twisted by his act of cannibalism, Petar the Steward looked even more foul than normal. The second oldest Vampire of Glockmire and the Majordomo to the Court’s Lord had shown his true colors.

Looking at Dietrich, his balding head cocked slightly to the left like some overgrown vulture, Petar spoke. “I see efforts to eliminate you were unsuccessful? That is a pity, Dietrich. I’d hoped to deny you anything as noble as dying in battle or anything as satisfying as answers.”

Another figure crept up next to Petar and spoke in a feminine rasp. “Oh, but you must admit watching his primitive mind try and understand everything that has happened is entertaining, my Lord.”

The speaker was Agate Doruscion, the Strix Vampire Dietrich had chased into the dawn’s light. No disfiguring burns covered her or any other sign of the Sun’s touch. Something that shocked Dietrich and, at another time, might have even stunned him. But today, it was just another thing Dietrich added to his growing list of former impossibilities.

Gripping his weapon tight, Dietrich answered the Vampresses taunts with a monotone declaration. “You have all betrayed your Lord and, by extension, his liege, Duke Ferenc Drakovich of Dux Bucuros. For this crime, I sentence the lot of you to death. I need no explanation for your crimes. I only need to claim your heads.”

That got many of the Vampires to laugh, creating a terrible raspy noise as corpse-dry throats wheezed out exclamations of mirth. Agate stepped forward and boldly proclaimed: “You still don’t understand, do you, Dietrich? The power Glockmire hoarded away is now ours! We’ve taken his prize and will now-”

Dietrich cut her off with a swing of his executioner’s sword. The great blade Lex lopped one of her arms off with ease. He would not let her finish whatever grandiose speech she’d obviously been saving for him. Even if there was truth to Agate’s words, raw power did not account for everything. These Vampires, each of them spoiled whelps with little more than decades of unlife, had long learned to fear Dietrich. They’d known for fifty years that his blade hung above them, ready to cleave heads from shoulders if given the slightest excuse. Agate claimed she had new power to rely on. Dietrich, by contrast, had experience and old fears to work with.

Agate shrieked and swung out with her still-attached hand. Blood-Talons raked against Dietrich’s chest and ripped clean through the thick plate. Shredded steel spun away from the blow, and Agate followed it with a brutal pounce. Despite her small frame, Agate hit Dietrich hard. Slamming him to his back and ripping off more of his armor. Agate, it seems, had been speaking the truth. Her physical power had dramatically increased to the point she could rival Dietrich. Something even an ancient Strix would find difficult.

Basking in her newfound superiority, Agate bit into Dietrich. Her jaw closed over his right shoulder like a bear trap. Muscle tore, and Dietrich heard his collar bone crack. Dietrich tried to pull the attacking Vampress off of him to little avail. He’d hurt her earlier and, more importantly, wounded her pride. Something that could make any Vampire act irrationally, especially if they had newfound reason to be confident. Agate was taking full advantage of her new strength to avenge that grievance as she bit down. Thankfully the rest of the Vampires were more than willing to let Agate indulge herself. Continuing with their feast instead of aiding their comrade.

So none of them were there to help when Dietrich rolled over and pinned Agate under his mass. New to her strength and unused to grappling, Agate found herself stuck below the armored bulk of Dietrich. Despite still biting into him, Agate was in a position where she lacked the proper leverage to use her stolen might. She’d been arrogant and assumed Dietrich posed no threat. He punished that assumption quickly as he wrapped his arms around her.

During their first fight, Dietrich had been trying to capture Agate, demonstrating more finesse than he usually did. Now he had no such motive. Dietrich squeezed his arms tight in a grotesque parody of a hug. Agate screamed into her bite as Dietrich crushed her ribs. She thrashed and tried to escape from his grip but found no escape. So instead, she bit harder into Dietrich, trying to rip a great chunk of the Scarlet Knights' shoulder off. Dietrich had been fighting for more than a hundred and fifty years. Pain was something he’d long learned to ignore. So the grapple turned into a twisted endurance contest, where Agate bit and Dietrich crushed.

It did not take long for a clear victor to be decided; Agate was young and new to her enhanced abilities. The pain and terror of being trapped became too much, and she tried to escape, pulling her fangs from Dietrich and trying to escape his grip. In that moment of weakness, Dietrich acted. He rolled again, letting Agate out of his grip and getting much-needed space. Getting to his feet, Dietrich grabbed his dropped weapon and charged the still prone Agate. He’d broken her ribs and cracked her spine. Standing up was proving difficult for Agate.

She had barely gotten up when Dietrich’s sword crashed into her. The blow caught Agate right in the torso and cleaved straight through her body. Agate collapsed into pieces as Dietrich got closer and drove the flat tip of his executioner’s sword right into her skull. With a foul crunch, Agate was dead, her flesh dissolving to ash.

Turning away from the first of the traitors felled, Dietrich realized he had the rest's attention. Petar had watched the ugly fight with Agate and did not interfere. His unblinking eyes set on the healing Dietrich. Gesturing at Dietrich with a contemptuous flick of his hand, Petar ordered, “Kill him.”

Four Vampires leaped forward. These ones were smarter and did not just rely on raw physical abilities. The first to attack was Vigo, the younger Strigoi had altered his flesh for combat. Making his upper body swell with enhanced muscles and denser bones. Long claws attached to limbs that looked ready to burst with the sheer amount of muscle fiber packed into them stretched out towards Dietrich. The Scarlet Knight dodged the blow and managed to return the favor with a slash from his sword. It connected and cut a gash along one of Vigo’s bulky arms. The wound closed almost immediately, the natural endurance of a Strigoi enhanced to a shocking degree.

The rest of the quartet who’d followed Petar's command made themselves known. Camelia was a Moroi like the apparently deceased Lorena, but unlike her elder blood-clanmate, Camelia channeled her abilities towards preternatural speed instead of controlling minds. Turning into a shadowy blur, she struck at Dietrich. He caught the blow on a pauldron, but the Vampress tore through the metal. As Dietrich dealt with the Strigoi and Moroi attacking, two Strixs, Bogdan and Corneliu, prepared their own attacks. Inky darkness stretched from Bogdan's feet out towards Dietrich. While darts made of crystalized blood punched holes in the Scarlet Knight's armor.

Dietrich kept Vigo and Camelia at a distance but knew they’d eventually get through his guard. Fighting more than one Vampire, no matter how inexperienced, would not be easy for him. Even if Dietrich could kill all four of his attackers, it wouldn’t improve his situation. Currently, victory was impossible; no matter how well Dietrich fought, he would not be able to kill all the traitors. Weight of numbers and attrition would make defeat inevitable. So like any good soldier, Dietrich did not give up but simply changed the victory conditions.

With a thought, he commanded his squad of Guards to act. He’d left them out on the staircase and now had the twenty animated skeletons move into the floor below them. As he parried attacks and dodged spells, Dietrich puppeteered his minions with some effort. He got them into position, directly below Lord Glockmire's body. While Dietrich didn’t know if the old monster could be saved, he needed to try. By now, the full attention of the traitors was on Dietrich, so he gave the command. As subtle as a group of Rattlers could, the Guards started breaking through the floor, attempting to pull Glockmire away from the fight. Armed with polearms and axes, it wouldn’t take the Guards long to cut through the wooden flooring, but they would make noise doing so. Dietrich needed to keep his enemies distracted as long as he could.

Swinging his sword Lex with inhuman strength, Dietrich caught Vigo with a solid blow to the side. Magically thickened hide, muscle and bone stopped the strike from bisecting the Strigoi like it would another, but it still cut deep. Dietrich pushed forward with the weapon stuck in Vigo. Knocking his enemy off balance and sending Vigo to one knee. Taking the opportunity, Dietrich put a single armored boot on Vigo's torso and pulled his weapon free. Taking the momentum of his action, Dietrich started to spin into another strike when Camelia hit him from behind.

The lithe Vampress leaped onto his back and slashed at him with her claws. Dietrich channeled his power to strengthen his body, protecting his spine from the flurry of blows. The power to their unliving flesh is something all breeds of Vampire take use of. Most use it to regenerate wounds and take different shapes. Experienced users of this skill instead use it to bolster what already existed. Turning skin into a thick hide and muscles into taught cords hard as stone. While Dietrich's appearance did not change like Vigos did, his body was reinforced into something capable of cracking stone and ignoring sword blows. Unfortunately, this protection did little to stop the attacks of Bogdan and Corneliu.

Bogdan had created a pool of shadow that coated the ground around Dietrich. Hands made of oily darkness reached up from the shadow and tried to grab Dietrich. While Dietrich could easily pull free of this hazard, it slowed his movements and distracted him. Stuck in a morass of grasping limbs and trying to pull Camelia from his back, Dietrich didn’t see the jet of black fire until it was too late. Corneliu had changed tactics and created gout of flames that flickered black and white. These were not normal flames, something already dangerous to Vampire-kind. This fire was pulled from the Beyond, from somewhere where the laws of reality were less certain.

The arcane fire hit, and much of Dietrich's left side melted away. Skin and muscle instantly putrefying into black slime. Armor and bone clattered to the ground as Dietrich's left arm and part of his torso were destroyed. Screaming in pain, Dietrich leaped towards Corneliu. The young Vampire had proven his magical talent, and Dietrich would not allow him to further demonstrate.

Camelia had leaped from him when the flames hit, avoiding the unnatural fire, but now she continued her attack. Going low, she brought her claws along Dietrich's hamstrings, buckling his legs. At the same time, Vigo came in with a brutal downward strike. On his knees and screaming in pain, Dietrich had no chance to dodge and took the hulking Strigoi’s hit right in the skull.

The wood floor splintered as Dietrich's skull impacted the ground with a sickening crack. Unlike a living being, Dietrich didn’t have the mercy of being able to fall unconscious. He felt his skull crack and his jaw shatter. Sending his teeth and bits of flesh flying in a spray of gore across the floor. Inky fingers started to grip onto the splayed form of Dietrich, trying to pull him into the shadowy pool they emerged from. Those same dark hands had grabbed his sword where it had fallen and moved it away from his remaining hand. Moaning in pain, Dietrich reached out mentally for his guards. Information on their position and progress entered Dietrich's mind. They were almost finished. A little bit more, and they would be able to get Glockmire out.

Looking up from where he lay on the ground, Dietrich saw that Glockmire was curled up not far from him, the Traitors having left their feast to observe the fight. The remaining twelve hovered around Dietrich. The fact they hadn’t killed him honestly surprised the Scarlet Knight. The reason became clear as his skull started to heal slightly, and he could hear something other than shifting bones.

“Can we consume him as well, Lord Petar?” asked one of the surrounding Vampires. The voice was painfully raspy, but Dietrich was fairly certain it was Molke, another of the court's young Strigoi.

If they killed him outright, they would be denied the option to devour his power. So none of his attackers seemed willing to possibly waste the opportunity Dietrich presented by finishing him off.

The shrill voice of Bogdan confirmed this as the youthful Vampire loomed over Dietrich. “The four of us who brought him down. Only we have the right to his strength; the rest of you simply watched and didn’t follow the new Lord's orders.”

Like scavengers surrounding a surprise feast, the Traitors started to squabble over Dietrich’s blood. Normally he’d been furious at the insult, but currently, Dietrich had larger problems than wounded pride. His reserve of power was rapidly running out as his body tried to repair the damage. At this rate, falling into day-torpor was a serious risk, something that would certainly spell death for Dietrich. Feeling his hamstrings reknit, Dietrich decided he couldn’t risk waiting any longer.

Marshaling his remaining strength and surviving limbs, Dietrich propelled himself forward, escaping the grasping hands and reaching out to where Glockmire lay. Armor ruined, flesh in tatters, Dietrich didn’t move like a trained soldier. He fell into the instincts gifted him with undeath and moved like a feral desperate animal. The traitors quickly moved to grab him, but they’d underestimated how much strength he had left and were too late. Dietrich came to his feet just in time to leap forward to where Glockmire lay. The weight of Dietrich coming down on the damaged floor was enough to punch straight through it. Dietrich and the withered husk of Glockmire fell through the hole and on top of the Guards who’d been busily cutting away at the floor.

The dozen or so armored skeletons “cushioned” Dietrich's fall and let him quickly get to his feet, his remaining arm holding Glockmire. Mustering all the speed he could, Dietrich bolted for the doorway and hopefully safety. He commanded his Guards to stall as long as they could. Dietrich knew it would do little good, but if the Rattlers could buy him even a second, it would be worth it. The animated bones did as he commanded and marched to their destruction as Dietrich ran.

Leaping down the stairs, three at a time, with Glockmire slung over his shoulder, Dietrich tried to formulate a plan. He needed to escape but to where? The Castle was infested with traitors, and the Sun prevented fleeing it. Dietrich needed someplace he could hide until nightfall. Somewhere that he could sleep safely. The tunnels under the Castle seemed like a good possibility, and Dietrich hurried to escape into their depths. An explosion of shattering wood, accompanied by the sound of claws on stone, pulled Dietrich's attention for anything other than immediate survival.

The Varcolac had burst from the Studio and was headed towards Dietrich. It was coming up the great circling stairs while its masters pursued from the opposite direction. Dietrich was stuck between two serious dangers while badly wounded. After a moment of hesitation, Dietrich picked his poison and rushed headlong towards the attacking Varcolac. Letting out a screeching howl that combined the worst aspects of a Wolf's call and a Man’s agony, the Undead Werewolf charged Dietrich. Instead of dodging it, Dietrich met the beast head-on. Outrunning the monster would be virtually impossible. Fighting it with only one arm and without his sword would be tantamount to suicide.

At least fighting it physically would be. Dietrich was a scion of the Archduke, naturally talented in the arts of dominating lesser souls. Rushing the beast, Dietrich got as close as he could and looked into the milky eyes of the Varcolac. The saying “Eyes are the Window to the Soul” is not mere poetry, eye-contact provides a moment where souls briefly touch and when powerful mental magics are most potent. Dietrich thrust his willpower and focus against the Varcolac and smashed through its mental defenses.

The mind of the Varcolac, if it could be called that. It was a raging ball of half-remembered instincts and blurry concepts. Raw animal hunger augmented with human suffering and left to fester in an undying shell. Fighting those desires would be next to impossible for Dietrich currently. The fact Petar or one of his sycophants had managed to leash this thing was remarkable. Dietrich couldn’t stop the monster's momentum, but he could change its direction. Reaching deep into the monster's mind, Dietrich found the bindings that controlled it. Metaphorical chains that kept the Varcolac aimed where Petar wanted. These bindings were pulled taught by the snarling intensity of the monster, so it was easy for Dietrich to reach out and snap one.

The whole interaction took less than a second, and Dietrich barely managed to dodge the lunging jaws of the Varcolac. Ironically, missing an arm and much of his armor made dodging the Varcolac easier. Spinning past the monster, Dietrich continued down the stairs, hoping his efforts were not in vain. The roar and scream that came a few moments later vindicated his actions. The Varcolac had spotted other prey in the form of the traitors and attacked one of them. Buying valuable time for Dietrich to run as fast as he could.

Moving with the speed of a condemned man, Dietrich escaped the central spire and made his way for the Catacombs. He pushed past any obstacle, relying on sheer momentum to plow through Guards who stood in his way. Dietrich looked for thralls and other servants as he ran, hoping to find a convenient source of blood. By now, he’d exhausted his well of power and needed to feed desperately. Glockmire would as well, Dietrich did not know what the traitors had done to the old Vampire, but he hoped a fresh blood meal would pull him from torpor.

Entering into the Catacombs proper, Dietrich made a grim decision. He knew of only one source of blood he could access with ease. While he wanted to head deeper into the tunnels, Dietrich would stop by his crypt first. The door to the chamber he nested in was still shut, but Dietrich could smell his thralls inside. Throwing the door open with ease, Dietrich looked around the room. The four thralls looked exhausted and scared. Their fear momentarily turned to terror at his arrival but quickly settled to relief as they recognized him. A tiny thing that made what Dietrich was about to do all that more difficult.

All four of these humans had served him well for years, decades in Mimny’s case. They were all bound to him and were his property, to be protected and utilized as he saw fit. Reaching out through the arcane chains that stretched from his mind to theirs, Dietrich knocked all four of them into unconsciousness. Even poor Yara, who’d managed to wake in the time he’d been gone. Ensuring this was painless was the little mercy Dietrich could provide. Setting Lord Glockmire down, Dietrich grabbed the slumped body of Mimney and sunk his fangs into the man's throat.

It was a quick death; Dietrich made sure it was. Instantly Dietrich felt more alive; the draining exhaustion that had pulled on him faded, and he felt new flesh start to grow over the exposed bones of his torso. When the last drop left Mimney’s corpse, Dietrich moved to Ogan. The stocky man provided enough blood to seal Dietrich's injuries but not regrow his arm. Such an expensive process could wait; for now, having reserves of blood to draw on would be vital.

Laying both corpses down with as much care as Dietrich could spare. He turned and grabbed Vichiry, this time dragging the unconscious man over to Lord Glockmire and slitting the thrall's throat above the ancient Vampires mouth. Lifeblood poured into the Lord’s maw and whatever remained of the old monster was cognizant enough to gulp it down. With that done, Dietrich went to his final thrall, Yara looked pale and for a moment, Dietrich hesitated. He’d fed on her dozens of times and she’d served him faithfully. Even now her sacrifice was why he was awake. Spending her life, especially now that her injuries and blood loss made it wasteful, felt wrong to Dietrich. Shutting his eyes in a rare moment of guilt, Dietrich went to do what was necessary.

A croaking voice from behind him grabbed Dietrich's attention. “Knight? Is that you? What happened?”

Johan Glockmire looked terrible. Propping himself up on skeletal arms, the ancient Vampire looked like a desiccated corpse. His skin taught and grey, his eyes sunken and withered, while his body jerked and twitched with every movement. Dietrich had never seen a Vampire starved into hibernation, but he guessed this is what they must look like.

Setting Yara down, Dietrich returned to his Lord and spoke. “Yes it's me, I got you away from the Traitors but we don’t have much time. They will deal with my distractions and be here quickly.”

Glockmire let out a low choking noise that Dietrich realized was laughter. “You’ve just delayed the inevitable Scarlet Knight. I’m too far gone, soon my last bit of strength will give out, and I’ll be ash. But still, such a delay is appreciated. Stymying that bastard Petar for a few moments longer is worth it.”

Dietrich looked back towards Yara and Glockmire seemed to read his intentions. “Oh leave the girl Dietrich. A few more drops of the red will not do me any good. Now let us see if we can deny the enemy victory.”

Shakily, on jittery, spastic legs, Glockmire stood and moved towards the door. The old Vampire collapsed against the wood and gripped the nearby stone wall for support. The solid masonry cracked under Glockmire’s grip, even as he struggled to stay upright. A poignant reminder of how a near-death ancient Vampire was still an ancient Vampire.

Moving to assist his Lord, Dietrich asked. “You believe we cannot win? So we deny them victory? How?”

Resting his arm on the solid surviving shoulder of Dietrich, Glockmire gestured out into the hallway. “Follow my directions, and we will see what is possible.”

Nodding, Dietrich grabbed the still unstable Vampire and ran down the hallway. Glockmire didn’t complain about the treatment, which spoke to how badly the Lord was doing. It takes much for a Vampire to swallow their pride in any meaningful way.

Heading deeper into the tunnel system below the Castle, Dietrich followed Glockmire's directions. The tunnels were set up on a large grid that constantly expanded in all three directions as the skeletal laborers dug through the stone. It was a true maze of abandoned rooms, dusty corridors, and active digging sites where the click of pickaxe and shovel was still heard. Glockmire ordered Dietrich to descend down staircases and make turns in what seemed a random order. As the trip continued the directions became increasingly nonsensical, more than once Dietrich found himself running in a complicated circle before descending to the next floor.

At first, Dietrich was unsure if Glockmire was truly cognisant and if his directions were actually of any use. But as they continued, Dietrich started to realize something was happening. Every few twists or turns he’d get a sudden pang of vertigo or deja vu. A sense that he’d walked the same hall a dozen times or a moment where the room around him spun slightly. While he’d never personally experienced this phenomenon before, he’d heard of it. Complicated spells had been etched into these tunnels. A bizarre network of teleportation and folded-space that Dietrich was traversing.

Rarely Dietrich heard distant shouts and sounds of his pursuers but they never got too close. Whatever path Glockmire was guiding him on was not something others could follow. The journey reached its climax as Dietrich reached the lowest layer of the Castle, a section of tunnel unfinished. Where living rock still made up the walls, not yet altered by chisel or magic. They passed by crews of skeletons that chipped away at the stone and broke rock, reaching the farthest reaches of the tunnels. Here, Glockmire raised a single withered finger to point at the far wall, a rough face of stone strata.

“That wall set me down before it.”

Dietrich complied and let the Lord get to his feet. Glockmire hobbled over to the stone and pressed his hands upon it. Murmuring a few words Dietrich did not understand, Glockmire started to melt into the stone. Passing through solid rock like it was some thick sludge. As Glockmire disappeared totally into the stone, Dietrich saw no other option but to follow him. The stone complied for Dietrich, letting him pass through it. It felt like moving through a pool of cold mud, an upright bog that Dietrich had to push himself through slightly. No air or light reached him and Dietrich was forced to simply walk straight ahead and trust Glockmire.

After perhaps twenty steps, Dietrich left the enchanted stone and stepped into a Tomb. Lit faintly by a handful of Glowstones, the room was circular in shape, maybe ten meters in diameter. The walls were covered in rich murals, each depicting strange scenes. Most depicting a man in primitive armor fighting and killing people and monsters. The images told a story of violence and bloodshed, though Dietrich couldn’t discern much more. At the center of the chamber was a dais holding a massive sarcophagus. Easily three meters in length and carved from a polished black stone, the huge casket was inlaid with gold and gems. The lid and head of the sarcophagus were also cracked. A long jagged mark that Glockmire had slumped next to. Glockmire had placed his hand on the crack and looked at the sarcophagus with a mixture of grief and longing.

Turning his head to see Dietrich, Glockmire raised his free hand and made a gesture. The stone behind Dietrich groaned, and a curious touch from the Knight confirmed that it had solidified.

“We should be safe for now. Petar will not be able to reach us without considerable time and effort.” remarked Glockmire.

Looking around the chamber, Dietrich asked “What exactly is this place? Is this your lair?”

Wearily, Glockmire shook his head in the negative. “Infinite Hells no, I’m surprised you haven’t realized it yet. This is my treasure and my burden. The reason I’ve been able to enjoy an unlife of luxury, and why that idiot Petar is trying to kill me.”

Glockmire placed a shaky hand on the sarcophagus and spoke solemnly. “We are in the tomb of Annoch the Alukah, Seventh Bloodscion of the First Vampire. Which I was unfortunate enough to discover all those centuries ago.”

Dietrich took an unconscious step back from the sarcophagus and asked, “An Alukah? But they were all destroyed!”

Letting out the hacking cough he called a laugh, Glockmire castigated his bodyguard. “Clearly, the ancients missed one. Annoch was clever, or lucky enough to bury itself somewhere its pursuers never found. Hiding away under a mountain in a land untouched by Gods or mortals. Sleeping away the ages until everyone forgot about it. Eventually, the accursed thing started to wake up and cause problems. That was back when the Blood Duchies were still young. The Archduke sent me to investigate, and I found it sleeping here, ready to rise up and drown this whole land in blood.”

Glockmire gestured to the crack in the sarcophagus, and Dietrich realized a small stream of black fluid dripped out of the container and into a basin set on the floor. “I didn’t have many options, I couldn’t let it wake up, and I doubt anything of this Age could kill it. So I found a way to weaken it,” explained Glockmire.

“I have been siphoning its blood over two and a half centuries, drop by drop. Keeping it weak and unable to wake up. While also making myself fabulously wealthy in the process.” Glockmire dipped a finger into the nearly filled basin of black blood and let the thick tar-like fluid drip from his digit. “A few drops of Alukah blood can enhance a vampire's strength and protect them from our weaknesses. For a short time at least.”

Then, pieces fell into place for Dietrich, asking, “That is how Agate survived the Sun? I drove her into the dawn and assumed she’d found some way to hide. But she didn’t; this ichor protected her.”

The Lord nodded absently. “Yes, with enough of this Blood, any Vampire could walk about in the day like any mortal. I supplied a tremendous asset to the Archduke in exchange for an unlife of creature comforts and constant paranoia. Drakovich keeps this boon to himself and uses it to ensure his supremacy over his fellow Dukes. If someone were to uncover the blood's source, civil war would be inevitable. So I played my part, keeping the ancient monster asleep while ensuring the greatest of us modern monsters rules unchallenged.”

Absorbing these secrets, things even a Scarlet Knight was not privy to, Dietrich tried to understand what all had occurred. “What changed? If you have been doing this successfully for so long, why did Petar decide to betray you now?”

Shutting his glassy unblinking eyes, Glockmire became still as he pondered on his answer. “Petar has been with me since the very beginning; he was the first of my brood and always the most loyal. He… was a manservant on my family estate when I was turned. I only got the strength to sire him by the time he was an old man. Yet despite those abnormalities, he had served me well, and I… trusted him”

Those were words any Vampire found hard to speak. Admitting you trusted another was all but anathema to any Nocturnal Noble. Admitting you trusted someone and that trust has been misplaced was a profound statement of weakness. Something that would usually result in the true death of whoever was foolish enough to admit it. Dietrich ignored the weakness Glockmire displayed; the elder Vampire had earned at least that much respect from his guardian.

“He helped me throughout all this. It was his idea to constantly expand the tunnels to hide the extraction and transportation of the Blood. He had stood by my side unflinchingly until a little more than a decade ago. I gave him leave to visit other parts of the Blood Duchies. Ostensibly for bureaucratic reasons, in truth, because he sought a method to restore his youth.”

Dietrich remembered this. It had been close to twelve years ago when Petar had left Glockmire, both the town and the man it was named for. The Steward had spent three years elsewhere, supposedly negotiating trade treaties and tax policies for his lord.

“What happened when he left?” asked Dietrich.

In an uncharacteristically casual gesture, Glockmire shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. All I know is he failed to do what he set out to, but still, he made many new connections and gained a different perspective on matters. When Petar returned, he tried to breach the idea of taking the power of the Alukah for ourselves. Supplanting the Archduke and taking rulership over the realm.”

“You let him live after uttering such words!” barked Dietrich, the fervent loyalty beat into him as a Scarlet Knight baring its fangs.

Glockmire scoffed, “If you executed every Vampire who debated overthrowing his master, we’d go extinct in a month. I thought it was just the foolishness of an angry scion, something to chide, not punish. Even so, I took measures to limit Petar’s contact with the sarcophagus. The spell I wove in these tunnels will make reaching this place virtually impossible. The bindings on this tomb will only loosen if the maze I created is followed exactly. Petar will have to spend years guessing the pattern before he can even get close to my treasure.”

Musing on this, Dietrich tried to map out matters. “So Petar was looking to take the crown, like every other Vampire of growing power. Except unlike every other possible-tyrant he actually has an opportunity to claim a throne. The blood of the Alukah would grant him strength and resources. More than enough to present a legitimate threat to any of the Dukes. And the only thing blocking him from this path is you, Lord Glockmire.”

“Petar knows he cannot challenge you normally, my Lord, so he works to gather an army to his side. Something capable of wearing you down to a point he could beat you. But the Restbringer’s actions and my own disrupted this. While also giving you a warning that something is stirring. Forcing Petar to attack early when not every variable is accounted for. Leaving us in this situation.”

Glockmire nodded in agreement to Dietrich's summation. “Yes, my thoughts are similar. I’d been hoping to dissuade Petar and prevent this from getting out of hand. Call it the weakness of a Sire or the indulgences of an Elder, but I did not take quick enough action to stop all of this.”

Another admission of weakness, something that at this point didn’t surprise Dietrich. He saw how badly the older Vampire was doing. Such honesty was common in those with little time left to lie. “You are dying, truly?” asked the Scarlet Knight. “What did Petar do to you?”

Glockmire looked down at his withered form and nodded in confirmation. “I can feel my soul slipping away. They ripped enough of my essence away that what is left is not enough to sustain me. I’m bleeding away oceans of strength; I doubt I will last much longer than a few days.”

Returning his hand to the black pool of Alukah blood, Glockmire let the dark fluid cover his fingers as he spoke. “Normally, any Vampire stupid enough to try and consume their better would be in turn consumed. Devoured by their would-be prey. It's why I never tried to out-right consume the Alukah. Even asleep and weakened, it would easily drink me to ash. So I found an alternative option by siphoning its blood. I have consumed much of that blood, more than perhaps any other Vampire. It granted me great power but also a great weakness, one I had no idea existed until this morning.”

“The Blood of the Alukah wants to be whole; it seeks to return to its rightful owner. As the greatest usurper of that power, other holders of the Blood could turn that desire against me. The traitors each carry some of the Blood within them, and that gave them an opening to damage my soul. What they did was not like any true act of Consumption. They did not drink me after breaking me. Instead, they ripped open my soul and lapped at the spilling innards. Waiting till I was weak enough to be truly devoured. Petar got the lion-share of my power, but the traitors enjoyed the meal as well. Each of them will be far stronger than they should be.”

At that, Glockmire looked over Dietrich with his missing arm and ruined armor. “But I see you already know that.”

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Dietrich asked, “What is to be done then? Am I supposed to simply join the Alukah in its tomb?”

At that, Glockmire smiled surprisingly. “I cannot win, but I can deny Petar his prize. The power he’s stolen from me will be temporary unless I’m truly devoured. If I were to die without him or one of his minions claiming my life, then all their efforts would be for naught. Their stolen strength will drain away like bile in a rainstorm. Presenting an opportunity, I trust you will take advantage of Sir Dietrich?”

Understanding filled the Scarlet Knight, and he answered his Lord's smile with a feral grin of his own. Glockmire knew he was already dead, and he was positioning the pieces to deny the traitors their prize while putting Dietrich in a position to avenge him. A duty that Dietrich would gladly take on.

Still, one thing bothered him, a comment Glockmire had made back when Dietrich had first brought this matter to the elder Vampire's attention.

“My Lord, you said your treasure was active. You implied it was attempting to escape by itself. Was that deception to keep me away from the truth.”

In response, Glockmire slammed a hand against the sarcophagus with surprising strength. The huge stone construct actually scraped an inch along the ground. A few seconds after the blow, Dietrich started to hear something. A faint scratching noise that grew louder and louder. After a handful of tense moments, the scratching died down. The tiny stream of black blood dribbling from the sarcophagus’s crack flowed faster. More of the dark fluid flowed into the basin.

Looking at the huge stone coffin, Glockmire replied. “No, I was being truthful. My treasure is attempting to escape. Annoch the Alukah was asleep when I first came to this place. I kept it that way over these centuries. Draining its blood and power away over decades. And all that effort has finally started to pay off. No Well is infinite; no Spring can flow eternal. Annoch is dying just as I am. Soon there will be no more of this blood, and only a withered husk of the Alukah will remain. The threat of that fate is enough to rouse even Annoch. Unfortunately for it, it's too late. I’ve won, it lacks the strength to escape, and soon it will be destroyed.”

Glockmire’s smile widened to an inhumane rictus grin as he explained his secrets to the last person he could tell. “I’m dying, but I will do so victorious. My task set here by my liege, the Archduke, was to contain and kill the Alukah. I will have succeeded in that and go to my fate gladly. I have beaten a demigod of our kind and will deny the prize from my unworthy heirs. Is there a better way for a Vampire to end his eternal life?”

At those words, Dietrich felt an uncertain terror he could not describe. Some primal instinct, human or vampire, Dietrich could not tell, screamed at him to flee. These events had gone far past what he knew and understood. Armies, Battles, Coups, and Betrayals, these were all things Dietrich could handle. Until now, that had been the framing for all these events. Now, something seemed profoundly different. He’d entered into another part of the world, one he could not fully contemplate.

As that realization washed over him, the subtle madness that drove Glockmire became apparent. Dietrich looked at the crack in the Sarcophagus into the pitch black innards of that accidental prison for an ancient monster. And for a split second, Dietrich swore something looked back at him from out of the shadow.