Chapter 16: Evolution and Entropy

“The Soul problem continued to be an insurmountable obstacle in Homunculus Research. Spliced and transferred souls were only marginally effective. Most Homunculi were empty husks lacking anything more than basic animal impulses. For a time, it seemed Magic and Alchemy had reached a logical barrier. Creating and manipulating flesh was possible, but the Soul proved to be something impossible to replicate. That is until the infamous Vampire experimentalist, Isabelle Gens Silva made a profound breakthrough - Excerpt from the text, “ Alchemical Abominations ” authored by Aureolus Bombastus, Master Alchemist of the Salted Citadel.

The three days after Cole’s departure from Glockmire had been stressful for the Paladin. Predominantly because every night, something new tried to kill him. He’d set up camp a few kilometers north of the town, trying to get his bearing and figure out what to do next. Cole’s original plan was to stalk the wilds around Glockmire and eliminate any Undead he could find. Going without the comforts of the town but still continuing his duty. Something he had some experience with. This new plan was met with spectacular success, as Cole didn’t need to search for any Undead to put to rest. They saved him the trouble by coming after him instead.

On the first night, Cole had barely managed to set up a camp in a secluded clearing not far from the main road when he was attacked. A pack of undead wolves had thrown themselves at him with no warning. Through a mixture of fire, frost, and steel Cole had been victorious. Cutting and burning his way through twelve near-skeletal wolves with some effort. They’d been crudely animated, with little of the original lupine intelligence left. Lacking any real ability to coordinate their attacks. So destroying them had been a practice of patience and timing rather than any overwhelming skill or strength.

The second night proved more difficult when screams awoke Cole from the little sleep he’d managed to get. This time the Feeder had set a particularly insane Wraith on him. The remnant of some tortured soul that filled the Aether with an aura of psychic agony. Far more unstable than the ones he’d faced in the ruins days ago. Nothing had remained of the original person, and Cole felt little qualms about putting it down. There was no chance of salvaging anything from what had once been a Soul. Whatever had been done to that Shade had reduced it to nothing but malice wrapped in ectoplasm.

By the dawn of the third day, lack of sleep and constantly being on guard were starting to wear on Cole. He’d survived the attempts to kill him but didn’t find much comfort in that fact. These attacks had been woefully insufficient to do more than tire him. Which Cole speculated was their goal. The Vampires knew he was capable enough to kill one of their own, so they might be trying a different tactic. Using brute attrition to wear him down before they killed him. Or, Cole bitterly contemplated, capture him. Lorena had known about the Homunculus Knight, which spoke that someone within the Court knew about that particular legend. But Cole had to wonder how accurate the legend was. Few people, living or undead, had survived those events and Cole doubted more than a handful of people (including himself) knew anything close to the full story.

Ultimately this left Cole in the strange position of waiting for his enemies to come to him instead of seeking them out. A situation that was not altogether untenable, the legends about the Homunculus Knight must have truly been warped if the Vampires thought a war of attrition was in their favor. Something that forced Cole to reconsider the motivation and methodology of the attacks. Cole knew for a fact the Feeder had more powerful Undead he could unleash. He’d not seen any sign of the Varcolac, or several other threats Natalie had mentioned. So could they simply be trying to distract or stall him with this attacking fodder? Or was something else happening? Something Cole lacked the knowledge to understand.

Sitting beneath a large Oak tree, Cole pondered this and the two objects he’d set before him. The Skull of Isabelle and the Cat Statue made by Natalie. Even three days later, Cole swore his lips still tingled from the kiss he’d shared with her. Much of the time he’d spent not preparing to fight, fighting, or recovering from fighting had been spent musing over Natalie. Something that brought forth a storm of conflicting emotions inside Cole. While a good part of him felt guilty for his increasing attraction to her. Another part argued that maybe it was time to move on, maybe just maybe he had earned a modicum of happiness.

He’d tried contacting Isabelle twice already. Bleeding himself badly to try and forge the connection that might let him speak to her. Cole had managed to only get vague notions from the spirit inside the skull. A feeling of loss, guilt, and confusion. Which Cole couldn’t understand for the life of him. He’d idly considered that she was reflecting his own emotions back at him but didn’t know if that was even possible. Leaving Cole alone in the woods with little idea about what to do next. With his divinely ordained mission or his embarrassingly torn heart.

It was nearing the late afternoon of the third day, and Cole was keeping himself busy with the work of surviving out in the wilds. The weather cooperated surprisingly well, and Cole was keeping reasonably warm with his new cloak and a small fire. He had rations for the road but was trying to make them last. An effort that a rabbit foolish enough to enter his snare gave its life for.

Eating some roast rabbit and a few late-season berries he could scavenge, Cole looked around the little clearing he’d been camping in. Dangling from nearby low-hanging branches were fetishes woven of twigs and twine. Simple little things that represented the sum of Cole’s knowledge of Shamanism. The tiny witch-markers attracted the attention of Spirits and reacted to those Spirit's behavior. It was another trick Cole had picked up in his travels and one with usually fairly limited use. If the local Spirits detected something nasty, they would react violently. Breaking the fetishes with a loud snap. Providing a bit of forewarning that something unnatural was sniffing around. Unfortunately, “unnatural” is subjective, and Spirits could easily become acclimated to some rather nasty things. The twig fetishes were completely useless in places where dark magic had utterly polluted the local Aether. In the middle of the forest, away from people and monsters, the fetishes might work as an early warning sign. Giving Cole just enough time to react to an attack.

Even when they worked perfectly, the Fetishes didn’t provide any warning about more mundane dangers. Something Cole was acutely aware of when he heard the sound of hoofbeats in the distance. Even from Cole’s place off the road and shrouded by foliage, he could hear the steady drumbeat of a Horse being ridden half-to-death. The sun was still up, and none of his wards had snapped. Meaning whoever was approaching was not Undead. In the three days Cole had been hiding, he hadn’t seen a single traveler on the road. So the presence of someone rushing with all speed away from Glockmire did not seem like a good sign.

Cole grimly wondered if the Vampires had set human minions upon him. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Cole hoped that was not the case. Killing or harming mortals was something he tried to avoid at all costs. His job was to fight monsters, not become one.

As the hoofbeats got closer, Cole could tell they belonged to a single horse, which relaxed him. They wouldn’t send a single mortal agent against Cole. Arrogance alone would prevent that. Cole had killed one of the Court. They’d not let some mortal prove themselves superior to Cole and, by extension, one of their own by killing him.

Cole dimmed his fire to dull embers and waited. He’d hoped the rider would pass him by. but the slowing of the hoofbeats told Cole his hopes were in vain. Cole lay back against a tree and listened to the sounds of hoofbeats decreasing in tempo. For a while, there was nothing, but eventually, the rustle of brush being moved and pained grunts came to Cole. Getting up with one smooth motion, Cole unfastened his Axe and slipped over to the source of the noise. Gently Cole stepped between brush and crept up towards his visitor. His visitor was trying unsuccessfully to push through the undergrowth and had not noticed Cole’s approach.

Having circled around to be behind his pursuer. Cole got close and darted through a clump of bushes, coming up behind his foe and prepared to strike if necessary. Axe held up, ready to fight; Cole stopped midstride as he recognized his pursuer. The wiry frame of Barnabas whirled around to see Cole looming over him. Barnabas let out a surprised yelp and leaped back, slamming himself against a nearby tree. The old merchant let out a pained grunt and weakly leaned against the tree.

Lowering his weapon Cole hissed, “Barnabas? What in the Reaping are you doing here?’

Recovering himself, Barnabas grunted, “Trying to find you, you giant rat-eaten bastard!”

Barnabas stumbled forward and grabbed onto the lapels of Cole’s cloak, and pulled the much larger man down to his face level. “Trying to find you. So you can get Natalie out of this Adversary-touched messed!”

Eyes widening in shock, Cole frantically asked, “Natalie? What’s happened to her? Is she in danger?”

Something flickered across Barnabas’s face, grief and fear quickly suppressed by bitter rage. “The Jagging Nobles took her! They walked right into the Silly Goat and grabbed her. They…They killed Wilhelm because he tried to stop them and dragged Natalie off to the castle.”

In his duties, Cole had once fallen into a semi-frozen lake while hunting a Draugr of the far north. That experience chilled him less than Barnabas’s words. Under his breath, Cole murmured, “no, not again.”

Pushing past Barnabas, Cole started gathering up his pack. As he started, a worrying thought went through Cole. How had Barnabas found him? Stopping what he was doing, Cole slowly turned back towards the old man and voiced the question that’d struck him.

“Barnabas, how did you find me?”

Barnabas started rifling through his pockets, and Cole unsheathed his axe again. This might be a trap. How else could Barnabas find him, and what else would get him to act so rashly as the idea of Natalie being in danger? Expecting Barnabas to pull free a weapon or some magic artifact, Cole was surprised to see him holding out a ragged strip of cloth. The cloth waved in the air like it was caught in a strong breeze. The end not held in Barnabas’s fist pulling towards Cole. This was tracking magic, much like the spell he’d used to find the Vryko-Ghouls.

Gesturing with the enchanted rag, Barnabas explained. “Loom-Matron Trude is a seamstress through and through. She never wastes anything and measures twice before every cut.”

Cole looked down at his own cloak and saw how its texture matched the piece of black cloth. Seeing that Cole had made the connection, Barnabas continued. “She wove a tracking spell into that cloak she gave you. Something to keep an eye on you and keep Natalie safe. Trude told me about it when I complained to her and the rest of the Priests about your presence. I never thought I’d use it this way, but I’m not going to complain now.”

Gritting his teeth a little, Cole reminded himself that in the future, always look gift horses in the mouth. While it had worked out for him this time, the fact he’d let himself be magically tracked so easily was a little embarrassing. Finishing packing up his equipment, Cole set out towards the road. Barnabas followed behind him and continued speaking.

“I borrowed some Horses from Callar, they are winded from the ride, but they will get us back to the town quicker than on foot.”

Not for the first time, Cole felt a twinge of annoyance concerning his relationship with Horses. The moment the scarred warrior exited the forest and the two horses tied up nearby saw him, they both started to panic. One reared up on its hind legs and kicked the air viciously. While the other simply screamed and shied away from Cole. Letting out a breath of annoyance, Cole looked back towards Barnabas. “Horses don’t like me. I’ll go on foot. I should be able to make it to town by nightfall.”

With that, Cole set out. Marching back towards Glockmire with a soldier's pace. Barnabas hobbled after him and grabbed Cole’s shoulder. Pulling the larger man to a halt, Barnabas asked, “Nightfall? By then, it will be too late.” he paused for a moment and remarked bitterly, “If it's not too late already. They’ve had her for hours.”

Squeezing his jaw shut so tight it hurt his teeth, Cole moved to keep walking. Barnabas didn’t let him. Worry and anger bled into the old man’s voice, and he half-shouted at Cole, “You got her into this mess. It's because of you Wilhelm is dead! The last people I give a damn about in this world are Dead or worse! Because you came to our town and brought your mad quest with you!”

The accusation rang in the air for a moment as more of the anger Barnabas had been keeping contained broke free. “No one survives being taken by the Nobles! Why does she think you can save her? What jagging lies did you fill her head with?”

For a split second, Cole wanted to run. Just bolt as fast as he could towards Glockmire and leave this grieving fool to his games of blame. The temptation was strong, and it took Cole a few deep breaths not to give in. After a moment of contemplation and focusing himself, Cole told the truth.

“I am a Paladin of Master Time. A Divinely ordained Champion sent by the Pantheon to strike down Evil wherever it may arise. It is my duty and honor to protect those who need my strength. Help those who need my wisdom. And destroy those worthy of my rage.”

Barnabas’s eyes widened in utter surprise, and Cole continued. “Something dark has infested your town. Something dangerous enough to attract a God’s attention. I’ve been tasked with preventing that evil from doing any more harm. But in my efforts, I have failed. I let Natalie become entangled in my duties and left a good man to die.”

Cole stepped towards Barnabas and loomed over the weathered merchant. A deep growl colored Cole’s voice as he spoke his next words. “So know this Barnabas of Glockmire. Nothing will stop me from finding Natalie and returning her to you. I will kill every last Vampire infesting that castle, and bring her back to the people who love her.” Cole hesitated for a moment and, in a softer tone, added, “Alive or dead, she will come home.”

Barnabas took a step back and looked up at Cole with an expression of utter shock. Cole saw in the old man the strange mixture of fear, awe, and disbelief common to those he’d told. Paladins were rare beings, with perhaps only a dozen belonging to each God in the Western Continent. Some of the beings Cole could technically call equals had led nations, destroyed armies, and saved the world. Paladins of Father Sky had unleashed Hurricanes against demon hordes. Those in service to Aunt Seeress had prepared entire regions against coming Famine and Illness. Even those belonging to Uncle Trickster had tricked Sidhe Lords out of their power and assassinated tyrannical Emperors. It was a title not given lightly, and one that carried unfathomable power and responsibility. It was also a title Cole felt he had never truly lived up to.

Cole knew for a fact his qualifications for such a role were… abnormal and did not match what one usually expected. That did not change the fact he would fight and die to complete his duty. Something his words had impressed upon Barnabas. As the revelation hit home, Cole saw the faintest flicker of hope in the Old Man’s eyes. Hoping to capitalize on that, Cole touched Barnabas’s shoulder and spoke softly.

“You did the right thing by finding me. If you tried to do anything more, you’d have met the same fate as Wilhelm. There were few options, and I think you took the best one available.”

Some of the tension faded from Barnabas, and Cole was relieved to see it. They didn’t have time for survivors' guilt right now. Cole hoped he might be able to help Barnabas and Natalie process what happened at a later time, but for now, he needed to get to Glockmire as soon as possible. Turning away from Barnabas, Cole started his journey. Running down the road with long strides.

Cole heard Barnabas’s voice ring out after him. “Keep your word! Bring her back!” The words were part plea, part demand, and they echoed in Cole’s mind as he ran.

Unable to use a Horse yet forced to travel long distances, Cole had learned how best to run years ago. While his large body did not lend itself to the art like a leaner build might, he still could make excellent time. Cole knew this was at least partially because of his atypical nature. He didn’t sweat, yet his body remained cool; his muscles recovered from stress more quickly than they had any right to. He’d come into this world with gifts that defied the mundane and defined him in ways he wished they wouldn’t. Cole ran for hours, stopping only to take in water and food. While he was forced to slow to a trot occasionally, it was within his ability to keep pushing towards Glockmire and whatever awaited him there.

Arriving at nightfall would be incredibly dangerous. The Vampires would be in the full bloom of their power as shadows fell across the valley. There wasn’t a better option; if Cole waited till next dawn, he doubted there would be much of Natalie left to save. Pushing that idea from his mind, Cole tried to focus on the problems he could solve. Trying to sneak into town would be an ultimately futile affair. It was one thing to skulk about looking for Wraiths and Ghouls at night. It was another to evade detection while entering a powerful Vampire’s territory. Cole figured any effort to use subterfuge or stealth was doomed to fail and decided to not even bother. He’d enter Glockmire through the front gate and dispatch anything that tried to stop him.

The sun was starting to set, and Cole took more frequent breaks as the shadows lengthened. He didn’t want to arrive in Glockmire and be exhausted, open to ambush. Still, he made good time. Thankful for the sturdy Imperial roads which made travel easy even in the centuries since the Old Empire’s fall.

By the time the Sun was hidden behind one of the taller peaks Cole could see Glockmire. Darkness was starting to stretch over the valley, but enough light leaked into it for a beautiful twilight. Cole barely noticed the golden beams of fading sunlight contrasting with the growing shadows. The beautiful tableau it created only worsened Cole’s mood. Irrationally some part of him found the weather inappropriate. Gloomy skies and billowing storm clouds would be a better match for events unfolding.

Arriving at the town’s gates, Cole slowed his pace to a light jog. The gates were wide open, to Cole’s surprise. Though they were unbarred, the gates were not unguarded. A dozen or so heavily armored warriors stood before the gate. Unmoving and uncaring of his arrival. Cole didn’t even need to dip into his bag of tricks to tell nothing alive was inside those suits of plate. These were the Castle Guards and members of the Eternal Legion. Skeletons animated inside suits of armor and used to fight the Vampire’s wars. Gripping the handle of his axe tight, Cole drew a few drops of his blood in a quick flick and turned his weapon into a full-sized halberd. Slowly moving towards the Rattlers, Cole shouted for anyone to hear.

“I have come to end whatever madness your masters have started! I am invested with the will of Master Time, and I command you surrender to his judgment.”

Nothing happened, and Cole started to move towards the Legionaries. He’d fought them before and had a few ideas on how to deal with even an entire squad of them. Before Cole could make more than two steps towards the gate, something fell from the sky. Whipping his halberd up in a defensive grip, Cole looked to see what had fallen before him. It was a sack of bones, ash-stained bones that tumbled out of the crude sack and onto the cobblestones. Cole didn’t need to examine the remains to know who they belonged to.

Addressing the still surroundings, Cole spoke: “I slew Lorena and many more monsters like her. Do not think my words are idle threats. Show you have something left of your soul, and help me end this quickly. I’m here for Natalie Striga and to eliminate the Feeder. My quarrel is not with any other members of this court.”

Cole knew a diplomatic option was long gone, but he still felt the need to try. If only to assuage his own conscience. No response came for a few moments until another form fell from the sky. A great mass of shadows plummeted to earth, slamming onto the bones of Lorena and reducing them to splinters. The dark figure that had landed before him rose up and unfolded itself. Huge leathery wings spread out, and a gust of baleful wind buffeted Cole. Oversized fangs, an upturned nose, and beady red eyes sneered out from under a mane of stringy black hair. Hair that dissolved into a matting of thing fur that covered a wiry pale frame that mixed Bat and Human. Thin to the point, it looked starved, yet somehow still covered in ropey muscles, the creature’s form defied the mechanics of life.

Standing a head taller than Cole while still slightly hunched over, the Bat-thing stretched its arms out to its side. The paper-thing membrane pulled between its impossibly long fingers shrunk away, and the meters-long wings shrunk into oversized talons. Now looking marginally more humanoid, the monster spoke to Cole.

Its voice was high-pitched, with an almost chirping rhythm. Something that did not match its wiry bulk. “Rest-Bringer. You have proven yourself worthy prey. Lorena was a conniving snake of a Vampire, but she was a Vampire. Few mortals can boast they killed one of us. An achievement that caught the attention of myself and my kin. We have grown bored hunting the same simpering blood bags and hope you will prove good sport. Take pride that we drew lots to decide who would hunt you, and take joy that your blood will feed me well!”

Unconsciously, Cole flicked his eyes to the sky, where the sun's final rays still shone. He didn’t know what creature he was facing, but it was no Vampire. Despite what it boasted, this thing was no true Nocturnal Noble. It might be kin to a Vampire; over the Centuries, a number of foul hybrids and mutated breeds had been created in experiments. But no Vampire, no matter how arrogant, would risk being outside even at this late hour. So whatever this thing was, it probably had a sore spot about being a “lesser monster” if it insisted on calling itself a Vampire. This was a weakness Cole hoped to exploit.

“Enough lies, you puffed-up mutant. I don’t care what parts you were sewed out of, or what acts of zoophilia were required to make you. Stand aside, or meet the same fate as the Vampires you try so desperately to mimic.”

The vitriol in Cole’s words surprised him. While goading a Vampire and similar prideful monsters was a valid strategy, it was not one he used. It seemed to Cole that the stress and worry over Natalie were coming out in some unusual ways. Instead of attacking Cole or retorting with insults of its own, the creature surprised him by laughing in response. A high-pitched cackle that edged past the limits of human hearing. After a few moments of the shrill wheezing laughter, the monster stopped and gestured to Cole with an oversized claw.

“You have a clever tongue Rest-Bringer. Shame you are too stupid to realize what's happening. The worlds changing, you corpse-fondler! The old rules are going out, and it's time for something new to arise. I am Horst Von Gellard, Vampire of the Strigoi linage, and I am free from the old curses.”

Surprised and confused by the monster's words, Cole looked at the creature with a perplexed look. Seeing that, Horst smiled; an ugly expression on a face with more teeth than its skull could strictly fit.

“You doubt me, Rest-Bringer? Let me prove it to you,” said Horst. Eager arrogance dripped from every word.

Leaping towards Cole, Horst shifted his hands back into massive wings and turned his feet into owl-like talons. The sheer speed involved was incredible, and if Cole had been any closer, he doubted he could have dodged. Horst flew past him, razor claws cutting through the air with audible sharpness. Using the gripping claws at the ends of his bat wings, Horst spun around to attack Cole again. This time his mouth elongated into a lupine snout, and his limbs shifted into over-muscled humanoid arms and legs. Snapping at Cole with hungry jaws, Horst closed the distance and tried to get past Cole’s guard. The Rest-Bringer swung his halberd in short tight arcs that bought him time to back away. As he backed away, Cole heard the audible pop and crack of flesh reforming as the creature changed forms. Now a long rat tail stretched out behind Horst, and he’d taken on a more quadrupedal form. Pouncing forward like some Big Cat, the creature changed its fighting style as easily as it shifted forms.

For Cole’s part, he focused on avoiding every incoming strike and managing his own shock. The rapid and potent shapeshifting displayed by his enemy was the type only an ancient Strigoi could use. It was an ostentatious display of power that demonstrated a mixture of arrogance and vicious confidence. Something that no Vampire creation or mutant sub-breed could boast. Cole was facing a truly powerful Strigoi, or something so close to that, it didn’t even matter.

Leaping and bounding around him, Cole got the distinct impression the Strigoi was playing with him. Showing off its power with a frivolity that most Vampires would sneer at. Still, despite its arrogance, the sheer strength, and speed available to Horst was enough to keep Cole on the defensive. The Strigoi had yet to draw blood, but Cole knew it was only a matter of time before his enemy grew bored and fought seriously.

Facing an overwhelmingly powerful foe hampered by arrogance was exactly the type of enemy Cole had experience with. Vampires could end a physical confrontation with a human painfully fast. Snapping necks or slitting throats before their victims had time to even notice. But only the truly dangerous among the Night’s Brood had discipline enough to push past the sadistic arrogance that contaminates their minds. When dealing with a fickle, less focused Vampire, Cole had a little bit of time where he could survive by simply being an entertaining foe. Normally he’d use this opportunity to lure an opposing Vampire into a trap or stall for another option. That evening, Cole had no desire to play at such subtleties. Natalie was in danger, and that took precedence over anything else. Cole eschewed many gifts his God had bestowed upon him for various reasons. Today those scruples were set aside, and Cole used every asset he could draw upon.

As he batted away probing strikes and made quick thrusts of his own, Cole sucked in a deep breath. Filling his lungs to the maximum and holding the inhale till it became painful. Focusing on that breath, Cole reached inside of him for that chilly essence coating his soul. The power of Master Time that had been granted to him. Whisps of that power, pieces of Cole’s soul, filled his lungs and infused the breath he held.

The effort made Cole’s movements sluggish and uncertain, letting Horst strike his first blow. A gash along Cole’s upper right arm. Nothing terrible but blood had been drawn. Something certain to goad Horst to move in for the kill. Cole ignored the stinging pain and instead let his held breath free. A cloud of chilly fog poured from Cole, spreading out in front of him in a slow billowing wave. The grass and stones it touched were covered in hoarfrost and crunched underfoot. Horst didn’t even bother to dodge the fog and pushed through it, holding up one arm to shield his torso. The Vampire slammed into Cole, pushing him to the ground with a blow equal to a charging bull.

Falling backward, Cole managed to use his momentum to roll over and come to his feet. Horst strutted towards him and spoke, “A little chill? Is that all you have? I’m a Vampire! The cold of the grave is our home!”

Coughing a little and trying to find his balance again, Cole actually smiled and gestured at Horst with his weapon. “Try moving your arm then.”

Horst looked to his right arm, the one he’d blocked the freezing mist with. The limb was bunched up at his side; its grey skin turned a bluish-white. Horst looked at his own limb in shock. His efforts to move it did nothing. With chattering teeth, Cole explained. “Everything freezes, even magically preserved flesh. Something your kind never seems to understand.”

Holding out his Halberd, Cole let out a second deep breath. This one enveloped his weapon in an icy corona. Hoarfrost covered the freezing steel, and Cole grit his teeth in pain; even with gloves, touching the icy weapon was painful. Brandishing his weapon at Horst, Cole charged the Vampire.

Horst pushed forward and caught the haft of Cole’s weapon with his working arm. A stupid move that froze the vampire's fingers solid. Unable to move his rapidly freezing hand, Horst was pulled off balance when Cole yanked the Halberd back towards himself and slammed a boot into the vampire's gut. The force was enough to shatter Horst’s fragile fingers and send him sprawling away.

Recovering quickly, Horst put some distance between him and Cole. When he was firmly out of halberd reach, the Vampire snarled and slammed his mutilated hand against his ruined arm. The arm broke free with a loud crack and shattered when it hit the ground, sending a plume of icy vapor into the air. Black blood started to force its way through the frozen scabs covering Horst's wounds and began reforming digits and an arm. Seeing that annoyed and worried Cole. Regenerating that quickly was more confirmation that he was dealing with an elder Strigoi. He needed to press his advantage before it completely disappeared. Cole could only draw upon the Cold of Entropy so many times before it crippled him. He’d imbued his Halberd with the power, but that would only last for so long.

Charging forward, Cole jabbed his Halberd towards Horst. The Vampire dodged without much effort. But despite attempting to show the same bravado from earlier, Horst's movements were tighter and more accurate than before. Losing a limb had rattled Horst, and he was no longer trying to show off. Returning to his man-bat form, Horst gestured at Cole’s frozen weapon and asked.

“That’s not ice magic. I didn’t even feel it! That’s not jagging fair! Who the Jag are you?!”

That actually made Cole laugh, a contemptuous little bark in response to the arrogance of the Vampire. “Fair? You talk about fairness when you steal blood from others to prolong your sad imitation of life? Your existence revolves around abusing and robbing those weaker than yourself. Life is never fair, but you have the gall to attempt to make death unfair as well?”

The bitterness of Cole’s words matched the icy chill of his weapon. “I am a Paladin of Master Time, and I wield the Cold of Entropy in his name. You’ve cheated death long enough, monster, so now face it with some dignity.”

Cole charged Horst, taking advantage of the surprised horror his words had caused. Horst was slower than earlier and was forced to bat away Cole’s strike with a taloned hand. Another stupid mistake, the cold bit into Horsts regrowing fingers with ravenous hunger. Still, the force of the Vampire’s light strike was enough to send Cole reeling. He managed to recover in time to see Horst’s talons come swooping down to disembowel him. Cole leaned forward and took the blow on his chest. This time Horst’s fingers didn’t shatter but were crushed by the force of the blow. The crunch of frozen flesh against Cole’s chest was enough to force the air from his lungs and drive him back a few steps. Cole winced at the gruesome sight of a single jagged talon sticking from his skin like a black icicle. Regaining his balance, Cole ripped the talon free with one hand and swung the halberd in a slow arc with his other. This time it was Horst’s turn to stumble; the supernatural balance he’d displayed earlier was nowhere to be found.

Cursing violently in a spitting shrieking voice, Horst looked down at himself and tried to understand what was happening. Patches of hoarfrost clung to his body, places where the earlier icy fog had touched him. While his arm had been fully immersed in the Cold, much of his right side had been licked by the bitter chill. That marginal contamination had gone unnoticed and was busily seeping into Horst's body. Slowly but surely, the Vampire’s flesh was freezing solid.

Cole pushed forward towards the back-stepping Vampire. “Every self-satisfied blood-sucker knows to fear fire, but most are too arrogant to think of ice as a threat. Your heart does not beat, your blood does not flow, and you have no mechanism to warm yourselves. Normally the black fluid in your veins combined with your ability to heal keeps the cold at bay. But what is sinking into you is not normal Cold. It's the manifestation of Entropy itself, the power of my God, and it is unraveling your very being.”

By now, actual fear was visible on Horst’s distorted face. The Vampire turned to run, his arms elongating into wings while his body tightened into a more aerodynamic form. It was a pointless effort. Patches of icy clung to the membrane between his digits, and much of his right thigh was bluish-black from frost-bite. Horst flapped his still-growing wings but failed to gain any lift. Bits of frozen membrane peeled away and one leg hung limply. The wounded Vampire crashed to the ground, and Cole was on top of him in moments. Thrusting a boot into the small of Horst’s back, Cole brought his halberd down and lopped off one of the Vampire’s thrashing wings.

Feral terror gave Horst enough strength to push Cole off of him and scrabble away. The Vampire moved towards the silent group of Castle Guards and screamed orders at them. Commanding, they aid him in killing Cole. The Eternal Soldiers did not respond, even when Horst slammed his remaining arm on one’s breastplate with enough force to dent the metal.

“They won’t be any help Vampire.” murmured Cole. Horst spun around to see the slowly approaching Restbringer. “Whoever is pulling their strings had decided to write you off as expendable. You failed to kill me, and now one of your ‘comrades’ has decided to eliminate a potential rival. Using me as a catspaw to score points in your games of bloody intrigue.”

Cole shook his head in disgust. “Even with an enemy at the gates, you are still scheming against each other. I’d almost pity you, Vampire if I couldn’t smell the sheer number of deaths you’d caused.”

He wasn’t being poetic in saying that. When tapping into the power of a God, there were certain side effects. They varied and could become debilitating if too much power was used. For now, Cole could smell the amount of Death a person had caused. Each of the Castle Guards had a faint cloying odor of rotting meat, but Horst stunk like a dead pig left out in the sun for three days. Cole resisted the urge to hold his breath as he grabbed the stunned Horst and threw him to the ground. Badly wounded and near-insensible with fear, the Vampire didn’t even resist.

“In the name of Master Time, I settle this debt of stolen life. May you bear your judgment well and become something more than you were in this life,” murmured Cole, the prayer of execution coming out monotone and grim.

The halberd came down like a headsman’s axe and hacked into Horst’s chest. Ribs were sundered, and an unbeaten heart was torn apart. The bitter cold spread out from the Halberd and consumed the Vampire. Leaving a ruined sculpture of black ice sprawled out on the grass. Turning away from his fallen enemy with disgust, Cole looked towards the town gate. The Castle Guards had all drawn their weapons and were moving towards him.

With an annoyed sigh, Cole willed his halberd to shrink into a pole axe. He threw the weapon into the ground so its blade stuck into the soil and its handle was easy to reach. The Guards were slow, slower than even mortals in full plate. So Cole had a few seconds to flex his fingers and try and get the blood flowing in them again. He was protected from the worst of the Cold. But what bled through to him was more than enough to cause frostbite. With his fingers showing signs of recovering, Cole fumbled with a pouch he’d fastened to his belt. It was tricky with numb fingers, but he managed to grab the powder-filled sack. He’d given Natalie his stash of silver and salt. But he still had his pure salt. Not as effective against more powerful Undead, but still useful for situations like these.

With shaky fingers, Cole grabbed handfuls of the powder and tossed it in front of him in loose arcs. The Castle Guards hesitated when they approached the salted ground. Despite being difuse and poorly laid, the salt could still disrupt weaker Necromantic bindings. The primitive magic that directed the Guards knew of this and tried to move around the salt. Cole hampered their efforts by spreading more of the salt in all different directions. This confounded the Guards, and they stopped their advance. Normally an officer; mortal, vampire, or higher undead, would command the Guards to simply pass through the salt, trusting the bindings to hold. Without a commander, the Guards could not take the initiative. For now the Guards were stymied, but eventually, someone inside the Castle would notice and direct them.

Putting away his salt, Cole picked up his pole-axe. The haft was too small to strictly be a pole-axe, with the weapon roughly a hundred and twenty centimeters long. But its sharp beak on the reverse of its head would work well for piercing plate mail. Still incredibly cold but no longer imbued with the supernatural Cold of Entropy. Cole grimiced with pain touching the metal as he moved into the fight.

The first Castle Guard was easy enough to destroy. Cole brought the beak of his weapon down onto the top of its breastplate. Punching a hole in the metal and hooking his weapon into the armor. Cole yanked it forward, pulling on the piece of armor and knocking the Guard to the ground. All while unhooking his weapon in one smooth motion. Before it could try and stand, Cole brought his pole axe down on the nape of its neck. The blow tore through metal and cracked bone. The skeleton's spine was ruined, and the magical “threads” animating it were severed. The skull itself could still snap and bite, but without a body, it was of little danger.

Normally in the time it took Cole to dispatch one of the Legionaries, the others would have set upon him. After all, a complete disregard for their own casualties was one of Dead Armies strengths. The messily strewn lines of salt made them stop and start over and over. Uncertain of their orders, they would take a step towards Cole and ponder their next movements for a few moments. With the first one dispatched, Cole moved to the next closest and dealt with it in a similar fashion. He kept his senses peeled for any abrupt changes from the Legionaries, but so far, his plan was working.

Unless he wanted to tap into more of his divinely ordained power, Cole lacked any method of facing an entire squad of soldiers by himself. Without magical intervention, numbers would always triumph. A simple truth of the battlefield that the Bards never seemed to include in their stories. The only way to cheat this rule of war was if you could get your enemies to wait their turn. This could be done, in a way, by the use of chokepoints. A sufficiently talented warrior could hold a small bridge or cave entrance against huge numbers for a shocking length of time. Cole didn’t have a bridge or crevasse to aid him, but he did know how Undead behaved. The random pattern of salt stalled the Legionaries and acted as an unusual if effective chokepoint.

Still, this left Cole facing a single unfeeling, untiring undead soldier in full plate armor instead of a whole group. He took some light wounds in the exchange, and Cole was forced to admit his fight with Horst had been more draining than he’d hoped. Using his abilities as a Paladin was exhausting. He was essentially ripping a piece of his soul off and using it to freeze himself and his enemy to death. Cole loathed to use them but had seen no other option. He’d never fought a Vampire in clean single combat and won without using the Cold of Entropy or another gift. Doing something like that was only possible for true masters of the blade, which despite his acceptable skill, Cole was not.

When the last of the Guards lay destroyed, Cole pushed past them, ignoring the stinging of his wounds and the cold weight in his chest. The town of Glockmire seemed utterly abandoned. Doors and windows were shut and covered. No one was on the roads, and there was an eerie stillness to the place. It sent a shiver up Cole’s spine. Some part of him worried the entire town had been killed in his absence. A few flickers of movement from behind drawn shades soothed those worries. The people of Glockmire were still here, even more afraid and confused than normal, but still here. Well, almost all of them.

Moving deeper into the town, Cole moved towards the Castle, but his route took him by the Silly Goat. Cole had considered avoiding the building but decided now was not the time for weakness. He needed to confront his failures. The inn’s door was wide open, and Cole knew what he’d find inside. The warmth and homey feeling of the inn was gone. In its place was the stink of blood and offal. The body of Wilhelm lay on the floor, surrounded by dried blood and the sight made Cole flinch. He’d seen an incalculable amount of death but still seeing someone he’d known could always punch through his defenses. Someone had taken the time to shut Wilhelms's eyes and place his hands on his chest. Probably, Barnabas trying to give his friend a last bit of dignity.

Softly, so softly it was barely audible, Cole addressed the ruined corpse before him. “I’m sorry I failed you. I don’t ask for your forgiveness, just that you might understand why I failed you.”

After another moment of hesitation, Cole shook his head, trying to shoo away guilt like a Horse might flies. Turning from the dead body, Cole murmured, “I won’t fail her or anyone else. I promise.”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Cole left the once-cozy Inn, now a place of death and bloodshed. Desecrated by a monster who could never understand the simple joy of a warm hearth, good food, and better company. Gripping his weapon tight enough to hurt, Cole prepared to give the Innkeeper’s memory what little justice available.

Getting Natalie back was the priority, but Cole couldn’t forget his other duties. Something strange was happening here, and his encounter with the creature Horst had only confirmed it. Horst had demonstrated all the raw power of an elder Strigoi but none of the wisdom or skill expected from a monster like that. On top of that, Horst seemed unusually cavalier about the threat of sunlight. Cole was starting to better understand why he had been sent to Glockmire, and that understanding brought only trepidation.

The streets were utterly deserted, and Cole had no problem making his way to the switchback leading to the Castle. No guards, minions, living or dead, stopped him. There was nothing but the growing shadows of night to accompany Cole. The last glimmers of sunlight were gone, and darkness covered the town like a pall. The only light came from the bright moon rising in the distance and the Castle itself. Its windows were aglow with flickering light. Towers sticking up like spear tips coated in embers. Previously a few lights had shone in the Castle at night, but nothing like this. The shifting of the light as figures moved in front of windows gave Cole an idea of what was happening. He was being watched; the denizens of the Castle were all observing his arrival. For a moment, Cole considered flashing a rude gesture at his audience but decided against it. He wouldn’t patronize them with even that reaction.

A faint green glow caught Cole's eye as he reached the top of the switchback. A lantern nearby had come alight with witch-light. Another lantern a little farther away also lit up, then another and another. Forming a trail for Cole to follow. Looking at the flickering flames and up at the Castle, Cole grimaced and followed the witch-light. He didn’t know what the Vampires were playing at but decided playing along might provide opportunities.

The trail of lanterns led him along a clifftop path. Taking Cole around the Castle and towards another gate. This gate was a larger, a more robust thing of steel and chains. It faced a mountain road leading away from the Castle. The smaller entrance Cole had used on his previous visit, led directly into the Castle but was also protected by the town itself. This larger gate instead presented itself against invaders and visiting Nobles.. A true Castle Gate, compared to the Stronghold door of the other.

The stone here was weathered and resembled the rougher parts of the town’s walls. In contrast cleaner, sharper rock of the Castle presented to the town. If Cole had to guess, this side of the Castle was older and had been constructed as a true Fastness. Its other half, the opulent morass of towers that faced Glockmire, was more like a palace and constructed later. A very physical representation of the Vampire’s occupation and how they’d become comfortable in ruling this part of the world.

As soon as he was close to the Road Gate, it started to open. Great chains clanked, and a mechanism ratched the portcullis up while some invisible force swung the doors open. Beyond was a courtyard, the type common for more traditional Fortresses, where defenders could muster and line the walls. The courtyard was dark, no lanterns illuminated it, and the Castles’ bulk blocked out the moon’s pale light. Taking a deep breath, Cole did a few last-minute checks of his equipment and entered the belly of the beast.

Calmly, Cole strode into the center of the courtyard, his halberd in one hand, his spark-stone fastened to the other. With a groaning series of clanks, the gates shut behind him, trapping Cole in the dark Courtyard, his only company the shifting shadows and wretched smell that permeated the air around him. It was the smell of wet dog and rotting flesh.

Running a bleeding finger along the spark-stone, Cole called out to the shadows around him. “I’ve come for Natalie Striga; return her to me, and no more blood need be shed this night.”

There was no response, so Cole swung his right arm in a great arc in front of him, conjuring up a wave of flames out in front. The fire illuminated the courtyard for a split second, and Cole saw what he’d expected. Not a dozen paces away sat the Varcolac, the colossal were-beast sitting on its haunches like a trained guard hound. It was not alone; nearly a hundred Castle Guards stood at attention at the courtyard's edges. Other forms also became visible at that moment. Nearly a dozen humanoid figures skulked above him on the Castle walls, radiating the casual arrogance of Vampirekind. And perhaps five or so varying Undead horrors accompanied the Castle Guards at their positions. Cole recognized a Headless Knight, a Corpse Priest, and a Bear Ghoul. Members of the Feeders army who’d been summoned to the Castle.

“So Horst wasn’t up to the task I take it?” said a painfully dry voice from atop the Castle walls. A dozen or so witch-light lanterns ignited then, illuminating the courtyard on the speaker's cue.

Cole was torn between the different threats around him, he didn’t want to turn his back on any of the monsters, but he was utterly surrounded. Ultimately he decided the Vampires were the greatest threat, so he kept his eyes on them. A cadre of beautiful youths in expensive clothing, all looking down at him from their perches atop the walls. There was one exception, the speaker. An old and ragged-looking Vampire standing on the Gate’s battlements. While his clothes were more than a match for his fellows, the speaker lacked the near-supernatural beauty of his cohort. His eyes were waxy and unblinking, with thin skin mottled like old parchment. Long stringy white hair coming down from a balding head completed the grotesque image. The image of a body that had suffered an unpleasant life and unpleasant occupant, now animated into Undeath.

None of the other Vampires stood close to the speaker, as if shying away from him. There was an element of deference and subservience in the Vampire’s body language, all directed at the haughty speaker. The statement was subtle and conveyed only through the curious nonverbal cues of Vampires. A strange form of body language Cole had learned from Isabelle years ago.

Gesturing up at the lead Vampire with his weapon, Cole reiterated his demand. “I drove my blade into Horst’s body and left his ashes for the Sun. Return Natalie to me, or you will meet the same fate.”

That actually got a laugh from the Vampire, one that was echoed by his fellows. To Cole’s surprise, the lead Vampire leaped down from the battlements. Landing on the ground without any sound or care of the two-story drop.

“The girl is no longer your concern Rest-Bringer.” said the Monster before Cole. “She is subject to my hospitality, and I will not have a suspected criminal and known Zealot endanger her.”

It took a considerable amount of effort to not charge the Vampire right then. Only a slight twitch of Cole’s face revealed his controlled rage. The Vampire did not notice or ignored Cole’s agitation and continued speaking. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for a while now Rest-Bringer. Killing my pets, alerting dour old Dietrich to my plans, and generally being a nuisance. Then managing to run off the night I made my move, only after killing poor Lorena.”

“Feeder” growled Cole, now having a face to go with the name. The Feeder raised his eyebrows at that and smiled, showing yellowed, but wickedly sharp fangs. “Oh, I like that, yes, that is an interesting pseudonym. But I prefer my title, it took much effort to get after all. I am Lord Petar Johanscion, Ruler of this Town, Keeper of the Ancient Blood, and rightful usurper of Johan Glockmire.”

Cole’s mind raced as he tried to sort through the facts. It seemed a Coup had happened, with the Feeder taking control of Glockmire. And in a stroke of terrible luck, this Coup and the chaos surrounding it had happened the night Cole left town. Lorena had probably been dispatched to eliminate him on Petar’s orders, ensuring he didn’t interfere. When that hadn’t worked they’d taken Natalie to lure him back, trying to tie up all loose ends in a neat bow. There were other details he needed to sort out, like what was the Ancient Blood and if Dietrich was still active. They could wait for later; for now, Cole needed to rescue Natalie and preferably survive the effort.

Negotiations had proved fruitless, so now was the time for violence. Cole swung his halberd at Petar; the Vampire easily dodged the blow and leaped back onto the battlements with a single graceful motion. Tutting his tongue like a disappointed School Master, Petar chided Cole.

“Temper, Temper, Rest-Bringer. In killing Lorena and Horst, you caught my attention, not my patience. So now let us get on with what’s been delayed since you first destroyed my Vryko-Ghouls.”

A wet, bubbling growl rose up from behind Cole. He barely had time to turn and raise his halberd when hundreds of kilos of undead Werewolf slammed into him. Cole caught most of the impact on the haft of his weapon, but the sheer force buckled his arms and sent him sprawling. In a moment, Cole found himself pinned under a hulking mass of rotting muscle. Hungry jaws snapped at him, and Cole just managed to put his weapon between himself and the Varcolac’s teeth. Lying on his back, the monster above him, Cole held his halberd across his chest, the shaft catching the monster's maw. It snapped and pushed, desperate to get at Cole’s flesh. Even the magically enhanced metal of the Halberd started to bend under the pressure, and Cole could feel his arm and chest muscles tear with the strain.

Recovering some sense to focus on more than simple survival, Cole shot a small gout of flame from his right palm. The affixed spark-stone spat fire and seared matted fur and necrotic hide. The Varcolac ignored the flames, uncaring of the fire cooking the left side of its head. It kept pushing forward; it didn’t feel pain, just ravenous, inhuman hunger. Cole poured more of his focus into the spark-stone. Creating a steady jet of fire that burned his enemy. The flames were unfortunately a double-edged sword for Cole. He needed both hands to hold the Varcolac off, so the spark-stone did more than shoot flame; it heated up the halberd pressed against it. Sheer pressure shoved the metal bar into Cole’s left hand hard enough to draw blood. While searing heat burned the skin of his right. Grinding his teeth in agony, Cole tried to hold on for as long as he could. Every second Cole bought increased the odds of success.

A slight shift in the bone-crushing pressure baring down on Cole told him it was time. Ending the stream of fire, Cole pushed up with his right arm with all the strength he had. Bone popped and charred flesh cracked. The left part of the Varcolac’s jaw had been seared to the bone, and Cole dislodged it mandible with his push. Pulled half free, the crushing bite of the Varcolac’s jaw failed. The monster’s jaw slid along Cole’s halberd, its force redirected away from Cole’s body.

Pulling himself free, Cole rolled away from the Varcolac as it slammed into the ground. Getting to his feet, Cole held out his Halberd and pointed at the monster. A jolt of pain, forced Cole to look down at his right hand. Part of his palm had melted to the metal and changing his grip had torn the ruined skin. Trying to ignore the pain, Cole charged forward, jabbing the spear-tip of his halberd into the Varcolac’s flank. In response, the monster swiped out with a mammoth paw, dislodging the weapon and forcing Cole to step back.

The Varcolac turned towards Cole, its rotted nose twitching and sniffling as it looked around the Courtyard. It was then Cole noticed the creature was blind. Its eyes were milky spheres that starred out unblinking. The Varcolac was relying on smell and sound. Filing that information for later use, Cole watched the Varcolac stand up. It had been on all fours before, but now it had reared onto its hind legs. The werewolf towered over Cole, three meters tall. It was a wall of muscle and fur. Its jaw hung loosely, connected only on the right side, and that same ugly growl echoed out of its cavernous chest. The Varcolac stretched its hands beside it, revealing dagger-long claws capping each digit.

A voice atop the wall, Petars’s, interrupted the standoff between Cole and the monster. “Good show so far, Rest-Bringer. But my wolf is the prize of my collection. It’s going to eat you alive, and we are all going to watch,”

The Varcolac reached up to its jaw with a fumbling paw-hand. It shoved the jaw back into place, and Cole could physically see muscle regenerate and reattach the jaw. Neither skin nor fur returned, just cords of fresh pink muscle restoring the jaw to working order.

The sight was not unexpected for Cole but not a welcome one. Part of what made Varcolac’s so dangerous was the fact they kept some of the regenerative ability they had in life. Wear and Tear spelled the end for most Ghouls, but Varcolacs could go years or even decades at peak functionality. Still, this monster’s healing rate was astonishing, and Cole grimly noted Petar had probably found a way to enhance its regeneration.

Calling up to Petar, Cole tried to give himself more options. “Feeder, you say this is your favored thrall? I’ve already cut my way through your other thralls and vassals. When I destroy this thing, it will prove the threat I represent. Then will you parly? Let me see Natalie and take her from here?”

To Cole’s surprise, Petar actually seemed to consider his words. In truth, he’d only spoken them to buy a little time for the pain in his hands to fade. A truly wicked smile spread across Petar’s face as he came to a conclusion.

“Yes, you are providing entertainment for myself and my court. If you succeed, I will let you see the girl.”

The sly sadism dripping from the Feeder’s words unnerved Cole. It made him consider a dreadful possibility. Did Petar mean to reunite him with Natalie by… killing him? That idea sent a flood of despair through Cole, which quickly ignited into pure hatred. Refocusing on the Varcolac that was slowly circling him. Cole decided he would not leave a single one of these monsters in existence. Even if doing so cost him his life a thousand times over.