“Wonderful, simply breathtaking,” Phylaris gasped as Pirim emerged from the tunnel. Phylaris, now exposed to the air, was taking in the first view it had ever gotten of the village of Loxburg. Granted, the residential areas nearest to the dangerous Catacombs were in rather shabby condition, but Phylaris lacked the knowledge to register them as such. To it, these great constructs were marvels of alien engineering. Pirim had no time to stop and admire the scenery – she scanned the roads surreptitiously. No sign of the two women from before. She supposed that was a good thing – diminished the risk of them backtracking and finding her out – but it also meant she would have to roam the streets looking for them.

However, Pirim knew the nature of mankind. The kinds of artifacts they had collected were both ornate and superficial in utility. No sword truly needed a gold veneer, no. They would pick a public place, likely the village center, to peddle their looted goods. That, or hand them over to Barlon. Pirim remembered the collection he had amassed in his private office. Perhaps the old man might pay them a hefty sum.

“I usually never come out here, simply because leaving my laboratory takes too much time that I could use practicing my arts,” Phylaris explained. “But now I do not have to worry about that anymore, given that this experiment requires me to explore a little. I daresay I should have considered this much sooner. I had no idea the human world was so… curious.”

“We’re not here to sightsee. Your constant prattling is worsening my headache. Yuka is such a better conversationalist.”

“Oh? Can you speak with them?”

“I…” Pirim paused. She knew the truth, but nodded anyway.

“I don’t think you’d be so willing to go to such lengths if you could,” Phylaris purred, its voice dripping with amusement. “I think you’ve let your yearning fester a bit too long. Though, I suppose we can commiserate in that regard.”

Pirim didn’t answer, instead, she drew her cloak further over her face so that Phylaris could not see her. She scurried through the gates and into the cobblestoned paths of Loxburg. She swung past broken windows lit by half-spent candles and unstable wooden awnings over boarded doorways. She felt a certain disgust, as she did with most of the living, but Phylaris demanded for her to stop so that it could examine such magnificent architecture up close.

“I suppose being petty begets a pristine attention to detail,” it remarked.

“Would you be quiet?” Pirim hissed. She must have let a little more anger than she wanted slip out from under her tongue, because the skull that she held suddenly began to grow cold.

“You still exhibit many of the qualities I’ve seen often in humans, but the way you act towards me is rather unorthodox,” it said, dropping its whimsical voice down to a more guttural and eerie tone. “What exactly makes you think you can so freely order me around like some sort of servant? I have single-handedly staved away countless hordes of your kind; are you delusional about the power you hold over me? I am the embodiment of death.”

Pirim only scoffed. “I’ve supped with death for years. You don’t even come close. I am not afraid of death; I welcome it. If you’re so powerful, if you really are death incarnate, kill me right here and now.”

Phylaris sat in stunned silence. All it would take is one little twist, one flick of an ephemeral wrist to snuff out Pirim’s flame once and for all. But Pirim and Phylaris were kindred spirits in some damnable way – willing to bear with the other for their ultimate goal.

“That’s what I thought,” said Pirim, stuffing Phylaris deep underneath her cloak. “Sightseeing was not in the contract. Neither was talking. Reveal me to anyone and I’ll turn the entire village against you and exorcise you in the square.”

“That’s a bluff,” said Phylaris, back to its usual smug demeanor. Pirim caught the beginning of a stutter on the first syllable.

“Try it and see. You’ve been causing a lot of trouble for the humans in this village, but as you said, like a coward, you’ve been hiding from them all this time. You know you don’t stand a chance. You had to bargain with me because you aren’t powerful enough to do things on your own.”

“Have it your way,” Phylaris said with a sigh. Pirim could almost feel it pouting and sulking like a little child. Clearly it had some egotistical issues – a weakness that Pirim could exploit. But, though her words said otherwise, she recognized Phylaris as a powerful being indeed, and one false misstep could lead to it pouncing on her like helpless prey. It was only Phylaris’ selfish desires that kept her alive in the first place.

“Trinkets! Artifacts and antiques for sale!”

The same two women from before were standing in the middle of the square with a rickety wooden wagon lit by candlelight. Pirim walked as naturally as she could into the edge of the square, where a sizable throng of villagers were gathering. She looked around for a group of noticeably tall and bulky men to hide her small figure.

“Too excited to wait until tomorrow, hm?” one of the men said as he approached the wagon. The girl with the blond braids nodded, while the one with the purple hair began caressing a gold sword as if it was an infant.

“Picked up this baby from an undead warlord. This thing got used against me, and I’ve got to say, it’s got bite,” she said.

“I don’t see a scratch on you, Fontaine,” another man said, pointing at the purple-haired girl’s bare arms underneath her violet mantle.

“Ah! That is because of this ancient poultice…” said the other girl, whipping out a glass bottle of a frankly quite disgusting looking green liquid. “I’m not entirely sure what it’s made of, but it works like a charm! Very limited quantity, get it while you can!”

“Shameless, Whitney,” a girl who looked to be the same age as the two laughed from the crowd. Her hair was a dark gray, raggedly and falling in curls that looked less like waves and more like a haggard fur rug. Apparently the two adventurers were familiar with this girl, because they welcomed her to the front of the crowd.

“Trust me, it works! How about we use our friend Lithia here to prove it?”

“Eurgh, no thanks, I’m not here to participate in your schemes,” the girl, Lithia, whispered, wriggling out of Whitney’s amicable grasp.

Meanwhile, Pirim had been much more interested in the backside of their makeshift stand. As the commotion remained solely focused on the three girls, Pirim made her way behind their wagon. As she came from a merchant family, she had experience with where the strongbox was kept.

“What a farce!” a cry arose from the crowd. All heads turned in the direction of the voice, which, thankfully, was away from Pirim. How fortuitous! Now all she had to do was pick the lock and open the back entrance…

A sudden shadow loomed over her. Pirim felt the hot breath of the man behind her before she saw him. She whirled around, and standing at almost twice her height was Sim. His hidden black gaze peered down at her from underneath his dark helm. Pirim gasped, but Sim made no reaction to her appearance. He did not move a muscle, instead he simply stared down at her. What was he doing behind the wagon? How had he snuck up on her, with such a lumbering frame?

Sim’s helmet gave Pirim a cursory nod. Unreadable as ever, he slunk away. Gone were the thundering footsteps that had echoed throughout every space he walked in. Now he was as silent as a cat. He ignored the commotion entirely, strolling down one of the lanes leading to the square, directly opposite the crowd. Pirim stood transfixed by his perplexing movements as she watched his silhouette duck into an alleyway. She snapped out of it – she couldn’t be caught in such a suspicious position. She drew a lockpick from her satchel and bent over to do her work. From the wooden frame of the wagon, she could hear the muffled voices behind it.

“Do you even know if that thing is safe to drink?” the voice from before ridiculed. A brief murmur in response – the speaker was pausing for dramatic effect. “Organic matter tends to be perishable, you know. And if it is comprised of inorganic materials… I shudder to think of what could possibly be in there.”

“This is a business, not a pharmacy, Azazael,” Fontaine’s voice sounded from just behind the door.

“Selling ancient medicine? Let me make this clear. Unlike you, I’ve studied in Florington University for many years. I have a degree in medicine; it is my profession. I am at the forefront of medical innovation, and here you are, travelling backwards in time to sell an old potion you found lying on the floor in the middle of an underground ossuary. You’re not going to heal anyone with your ill-gotten, so-called panacea. In fact, I’d wager that tonic is more likely to be a toxin!”

“Alright, if you’re such an upstanding doctor, show your degree. Where are your credentials? Where is your license?” said Whitney. Pirim noticed a shuffling of feet from underneath the wagon’s wheels.

“I am not so superficial to hide behind a shiny plate and a fancy piece of paper. I did not come to this place to brandish my accomplishments; I came here to work. The overwhelming success of my procedures should be proof enough of my skill.”

“In other words, you’re no better than us. You’re a quack, and this is the only village around with desperate enough fools to buy into your nonsense. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You don’t have a license. No other place would have ever let you practice-”

There was a quiet, almost inaudible, pop. Then, Pirim felt the air around her tighten, accompanied by an odd hissing noise. Azazael laughed. It was muffled due to her mask. Pirim held back a cough, but the crowd did not possess as much self-control.

“Those of you who are infected, which I am certain is all of you, take a deep breath. I have perfected this new aromatherapy technique – it is meant to draw out the Influence that your harbor. It may feel a little painful at first, even suffocating, but I assure you, that is simply the sensation of the Influence leaving your body. It shall be carried along the scent, where I will bottle it and preserve it in jars specifically designed to contain it.”

“Though, there is a bit of a caveat. It will relieve you of the Influence, that is, the energy that demonic creatures use to leech off your own, but it will not remove demonic parasites themselves, simply weaken them. However, I can assure you that you will all feel much less irritable and pained in due time.”

“We never asked you to – cough – do this!” one man shouted from the crowd.

“How can we trust this isn’t going to kill us?” said another woman.

“You’ve gone mad!” Whitney’s voice rose above the others. “You’re trying to kill us with these fumes. Everyone inside! Now!”

“That is simply untrue, I have the most benign of intentions! See how the Influence is starting to coalesce in this jar?” Azazael’s voice betrayed a hint of fear.

Pirim ducked. Her cloak gave her some semblance of camouflage. The heavy sound of footsteps flooded her senses. The wagon shook as both Whitney and Fontaine vaulted over the counter, knocking their own artifacts off and sending them clattering to the ground. She heard doors closing, and some of the footsteps passed by her, though none of them approached her.

The smell assaulted her senses. It was thick, heavy with some mixture between the stench of rotten meat and the woodsy smell of old bark. She could almost taste it, a miasma that wedged itself inside her throat and nose.

“Ahh… get me out of here!” Phylaris’ voice boomed insider her head. “This smell is absolutely repulsive!”

“So it does work on demons,” Pirim noted. If that was the case… this Azazael character might prove useful in diminishing Phylaris’ influence over her. With enough exposure, perhaps she could even silence it. Though, weakening it might be inimical to its ability to reanimate Yuka… she put that thought on hold as she finally undid the lock and broke into the now empty wagon. She bent down underneath the counter, where the strongbox should have been located…

There was nothing. Pirim peeked over the counter – in the middle of the square, only Azazael stood, crouched in a position that would be uncomfortable for any human, peering intently at her jar. Pirim dropped back down to examine the empty space behind the counter. Most of its surface was covered in a thin but visible layer of dust, except for one conspicuous, rectangular spot. Someone had already beaten her to the punch. She would not believe it – she was certain she had been the first and only person to sneak behind them. She had encountered not a single person, nobody… except for good old Silent Sim.