Utterly exhausted after waves upon waves of excitement, many of the loyalist nobles dragged themselves to their quarters as soon as they could stand. First, it was the news of a bastard child giving hope to the ambitious, then the surprise of her absolute beauty further fanning their flame of desire. Everything felt like a dream, clouded and confusing, more so with wine in their blood.

It was only natural that they chose to sleep this one out and clear their heads before making any kind of decision. Even if the Duke was an exceptional man who knew his way around politics and was capable of mustering a majority following, none of them felt like interfering in the ongoing business, not after that.

Naturally, not everyone felt like this. Duke Viktor Anworth of Jaetia was well advanced in his age, there was no way he could possibly sire a new child. The minority of sobriety thought that this was their chance. Who wouldn’t when one in a thousand, so to say, was no more? The conditions were so perfect, some even believed that the gods have blessed them, that the wish of True Midnight came quicker than they have ever hoped for.

This was why they were now gathered in the chapel and freely plotted with one another. It wasn’t unusual for greed to birth greed and it already had crept into many of their eyes, its maddening glint tempting others to follow suit. With every word their logic twisted, opinions changed, allies switched, ambition rose. Benefit tempted their souls and painted everyone an enemy.

As they fervently debated, candles flickered in the darkness to their burning desire. They didn’t notice the chaplain silently staring at them from the shadows, nor the holy mark casting a shadow upon them and their souls.

Right under the statue of a goddess they had plotted, meticulously wrote the ends of people’s lives and distributed wealth they did not possess. Her tender, motherly gaze, so real it seemed in this moment, only looked down on them, as if saying, ‘what foolish children you are,’ and the faraway sun rose, splitting shadows and turning her away from them.

No one knew that in this very moment their very destiny was set towards ruin.

***

Magus was leaning against the moist rock of the keep. Three hours have passed after leaving the Duke’s office and this time he spent waiting here, in the furthest corner of the castle apart the private garden. Unlike there, in this place the trees and pathways were neglected and not many people came through, and those that did were only guards making their rounds on the battlements. You could say that this was the only place one could truly be alone.

Naturally, seclusion was not something Magus looked for. Much like the sense of time as an undead being he didn’t have a notion for solitude, or any other emotion that was commonplace for the living. Many of his actions that some might confuse for such were fake and came automatically, even he began to notice them from time to time.

In the three hours, he reflected on all of the moves he took since his undeath. The results weren’t pretty. If he was to rate them, it would be nothing but failing grades. From this he noted one thing in particular – he lacked crucial intelligence and detailed planning. Winging stuff should never be relied on, but during the two months of his undeath he did mostly that, hence the current situation where the outcome wasn’t clear anymore. For a being like him to stumble like this was not only shameful and stupid, but also… uncharacteristic.

“By seeking and blundering… I will learn…? Let it… be so.”

He looked at the tar-like clouds and the faraway horizon that was beginning to brighten, and wondered, what’s next? Void of ideas, his empty eye sockets stared pointlessly at the movement of clouds and hills until the person he was waiting for arrived.

“You’re here. Speak.”

“I checked what you asked,” said Iphis. He could tell it was her even though her sculpted-like features were hidden underneath a veil of grey, a disguise simple enough to fool the living. “Everything’s in order, I think.”

“Think?”

“It was for the King, so it’s undoubtedly about that.”

“Good,” he nodded.

He sent her on a mission to intercept the messenger of the Duke and, as his predictions had told, her being a succubus guaranteed a success. Though it took longer than anticipated, Magus already got used to the fact that his plans will never be carried out flawlessly. Not as long as the living are tasked with them.

“How… Are you sure it will work out? I didn’t exactly check the contents, you know.”

That was an adequate assumption. There was an infinite amount of possibilities of what could have been inside that letter after all. But even then he knew there was only one thing that could be inside, even if the chance was a one in a million. It was the inheritance, or rather a letter, legitimizing the next heir. The lockdown and it being addressed to the King only strengthened this belief.

“It is fine,” he turned towards the far-end of the wall and beckoned Iphis to hide with him in the shadows. A guard soon passed them. “By the way, that offer – I’ll accept it.”

“…what… offer?”

“Your vassalage, is that how they call it…? Freedom for servitude.”

Iphis remembered the time in the forest, when she tried to get on the good side of the undead and offered her allegiance. Back then she wasn’t seriously thinking about being an ally of a cursed creature like him, and her feelings haven’t changed since.

As a demon she knew to not trust anyone, not even her own kind, but this was on a whole different league of distrust. It was an undead, a fiend and enemy to all life. There was no way she’d get scot-free, no freedom awaited her from this deal. Though, even if she knew that, she couldn’t exactly refuse. Who knows what would happen to her then?

Magus stared at her, waiting for an answer, but her silence alone spoke more than words could.

“Great. Now that that’s out of the hand,” he snapped his fingers, though as one could guess no significant sound came of it. “Your first order.”

The wall behind her suddenly rumbled as a grey fiend crept down it. Its burning eyes and demonic smile made her heart skip an eye-popping beat, for a moment confusing her as she thought it had actually stopped. Her inhuman senses failed to notice the abomination watching her all this time.

“Go find your sister – Lucy I mean – and bother her for a while,” Magus continued as if nothing happened.

“I-It’s…”

“Hm? Ah, yes. The ghoul. You’re on time,” he waved at it like a puppet, but the monster did not budge and continued to stare down the demoness’ soul.

The first to break this staring competition was Iphis, unsurprisingly. Magus noted in his mind of her bravery to stand her ground as long as she did, such information might prove useful down the road.

Iphis shook her hands free of the numbness, needle-like nails slowly retracting back into her hand, and took a deep breath.

“What will you do?”

“You’ll hear soon enough.”

“…and what about the girl?”

“She’s fine,” he started poking the ghoul at its rib, like a butcher sizing up the meat. “Go and pray with her, or whatever humans do. Also, get on her good side. I’m still kind of interested in her. Although a powerless bastard, do keep in mind of her ability.”

“Alright.”

She followed the wall as she left and soon got out of the sight of Magus, who started gazing at the sky with nothing else to do. When he thought an adequate amount of time has passed, though he wasn’t sure how long exactly, he turned to face the ghoul again. Even with speed by far surpassing that of wolves, it barely made it in time. Nevertheless, it had successfully navigated the land and followed the invisible connection of its master. A simple order “come to me” worked and a yet another experiment was concluded. His armies would always find him.

Inspecting the undead, he noticed a new scar on its right shoulder. Ghouls were able to regenerate to some degree, but they weren’t invincible. In fact, it healed slower than the living, thus a mere scar like this meant that the opponent was extremely weak. Still, even if this was within his predictions, the inability to converse and share intel once more showed the urgency for intelligent minions.

Incapable of communication, there was no way of knowing if someone survived the encounter, or if they were humans to begin with. If they did, then it was bound to cause a disturbance down the road. After all, these things, no matter how miniscule, could sway the scale of the larger picture.

As an example, had he sacrificed Iphis just like those demi-humans he would likely not be here or have learned about the living as much as he did. Such an impact was close to impossible to calculate, but, as nothing could be done right now, if something does happen he’ll just have to deal with it later on.

Pushing everything to the back of his skull, he grabbed on to the shoulder of the ghoul.

“You should’ve came with me right off the start... Up we go.”

Effortlessly, it began to lift him up the wall.

Initially, Magus had planned to use the ghoul to end the life of Levi, but a better alternative came which put an end to this idea. Funnily enough, the venom was too unearthly than death by the blade. It paralyzed limbs and forced flesh to rapidly rot, which further infected the blood. While infection could be treated in a variety of ways, none of them were likely to save a life, not to mention that stopping the rot itself was impossible. Magus had tried. Had he used this method, it would have undoubtedly caused suspicion.

Allegedly - this Iphis couldn’t shut up about for some reason - those fallen to this ‘ghoul’s curse’ would rise up as ghouls themselves, but none of those he experimented on actually did. Magus wrote it off as the succubus being an ignorant fool that trusted fables too much, however fortunate it would’ve been if it was true. Even if the logistics of feeding them proved difficult, the sheer potential they exuded was more than enough the price to pay.

Magus focused on the now and here. Birds were already freely soaring the sky – it almost felt like spring had come – thus he had to move quick. The ghoul ascended the wall with the same dexterity as always, the undead never tired after all, and Magus himself didn’t weigh a lot.

At the top – or rather the half-point there – the ghoul gently lowered Magus down onto a balcony. It overlooked the vast plains of the west so the sight was nothing to scoff at. Magus could even make out the slight smidge along the horizon where a faraway ocean hid.

Apart from a few chairs and a table there wasn’t much here, so he ordered the ghoul to hide somewhere and moved on to the glass door that lead into the castle. He gently pushed the handle and found that it was in fact unlocked. An imaginary sneer appeared under the mask.

Beyond the clear material awaited the final pin of his plan and he couldn’t help but remember the first couple he had killed. The thrill was barely there. Unfortunately, this time was different and he has to act swiftly and no evidence must be left.

He entered into what looked like a bedroom, though vastly different from that of a normal human. It wasn’t as large as one would expect from a Duke, though perhaps such an illusion was only produced by the high quantity of luxurious furniture within. Chests, chairs, tables and closets filled the room to the point it felt cramped. Tapestries hid the cold stone of the walls and similarly carpets of various patterns filled the whole floor. Enormous paintings hung in places that weren’t fully covered and a giant deer head stared from above the wardrobe. From within the largest piece of art the Duke and his family – eight humans in total - stared at Magus. They all looked quite similar to one another, but one of them must’ve been Levi except younger. The only odd one among them was Lucy who stuck out with her distinctive mud-brown eyes. It was weird how all of them were of the similar age, but the undead paid it no heed.

Further ahead of him stood a massive wooden door with a chair to the side and a cupboard on top of which lied an open bottle of wine. A few living presences waited beyond the tough frame, but the undead turned away from them, and approached the bed.

There lied Viktor, a man whose word was law and for whom men would die with but just an order. He snored loudly as the mountainous gut rose up and down in ignorance to the oncoming fate.

Magus stood right next to the man, looking down on him. His thin frame blocked the meagre light of the outside from intruding upon the room and reaching the monarch.

“Let’s get on with it then,” he whispered to himself and reached for the throat of the man.

As soon as the bare hand touched the wide neck Viktor threw his eyes open and tried to scream. A skeletal hand already covered his mouth with a rag and brought realization to his desperate, increasingly reddening, face. He was going to die.

The bony fingers sunk into the fat until Magus could feel the pulse beneath, albeit barely as his body did not possess any receptors, a matter he debated within his mind on a day-to-day basis. Frenzied, the pulse throbbed full with life. Wonder, panic and confusion was written all over Viktor’s face, but he did not give in. Perhaps spurred by primal instinct to survive, his arms and legs darted back and forth throughout the bed as he, with all his human strength, tried to lift himself up.

Magus barely felt any resistance from the effort though and would’ve pitied the man if he could. Unfortunately, it’d seem that the Duke was still able to breathe in miniscule amounts. At this rate the struggle might last dangerously long and leave unwanted marks upon his body.

Without much though, Magus let go of the neck and increased his grip on the mouth. As he gently took the pillow from below Viktor’s head, an intense dread appeared in the man’s eyes. They were bleak and squirmy, running round in circles as if he was surrounded from all sides.

“Have you figured it out?”

Viktor responded with a muffled scream and then threw a punch towards the devilish mask, denting it.

“I see,” Magus shrugged it off. “Farewell.”

He placed the pillow and quickly switched his hand over. There was a quiet gasp in that moment, and when Magus was about to put the rest of his weight on it, a blue gem hanging around Viktor’s neck lit up.

There was a whirl, then a snap, and finally the crumbling feeling around the undead’s arms. Ice crept up to his neck and then stopped, solidly encasing his arms in a freezing prison. Thoughts flashed through the undead mind, fading out as soon as they came. There wasn’t much to think about as it was just a desperate attempt to survive.

Putting his back into the task at hand, he pushed downwards, still half frozen. The Duke stirred and stirred, sometimes in a burst of desperation lifting the undead a few centimetres up from himself or flailing punches around in hope of hitting something, but eventually even this struggle died down. Life extinguished in the next few silent moments and the leader of humans reduced into a floppy sack of flesh.

Magus stood up, melted the ice on his arms, dusted himself off and returned the pillow to its original place. Turning towards the glass door and the beautiful visage of the outside sky, he admired the world.

The time to cleanse has come and he couldn't help but think of the glorious, brighter future.