Vasquer watched Felipe the second she spotted him on the distant steep stairway leading to her prison of centuries. Though Elenore had questioned how she had managed to remain sane here, bound and tortured by vampires over centuries to extract value from her blood and scales, she was not truly imprisoned.

So long as her mind was alive, she could wander where she pleased. Such was the ability of her kin, the Gilderwatchers.

And she had. The past centuries, she had wandered the streets of Dirracha, watching as her descendants built the small settlement that had been the home of their Warrior’s Order into a grand city. Though founding this kingdom had never been her intent, she could not deny some measure of pride. To build, create—there could be no greater act. Perhaps it was merely self-comforting bargaining in her grief at betrayal.

Yet the past thirty years… though the city remained beautiful, the people grew miserable. Taxed to destitution, forced to work by those that had protected them in years past… all of it was the domain of this man before her, this man walking down the stairs. Compared to the vampires, she could not say who would be the worse captor.

Argrave’s pets had given Elenore’s people ample time to get to their place. Already, the beige smoke fell down the stairs, much denser than air. Galamon, the elven vampire, had remained in a room near the top of the stairs, setting the herbs aflame so that reinforcements could not enter… and those within could not leave easily.

Vasquer’s role in this was simple. She was to be that which lured Felipe into this chamber. It was simple enough it left room for something else. Vasquer had to know the man who could be lowered to the point that he had—she had to know what sort of man could watch as his daughter was maimed so. She had to know who could debase all of his sons to the point of irreparability.

King Felipe III, who bore the name of her partner, set foot at the bottom of the stairs. She could see his gray eyes behind the cobra helmet he wore. That cobra was a mockery of what Vasquer actually was, she felt. His royal knights scanned the place for threats, yet the king was unceasing in his advance.

Ever closer he walked. Vasquer herself craned her neck forward, having been freed of one of her bindings. Felipe stalled as she stretched… yet ever so slowly, the two inched nearer. The king removed his gauntlet and placed it against Vasquer’s nose.

The Gilderwatchers were never numerous, but they shared a common trait. Their talks, their debates… all was directly transmitted from mind-to-mind. This ability extended only to those sharing the blood of the Gilderwatcher. She had not done this to Argrave or Elenore… but if she wanted to know all within, she could obtain what she pleased.

The simple branch of consciousness she extended to Argrave or Elenore became a gleaming golden jaw as she wished it to be and it latched onto the king’s thoughts. She tore away all his defenses, pulled at his mind as though it was simply meat instead of something precious. It would not hurt him unless it was prolonged, yet it would give her a glimpse of his true nature.

Vasquer witnessed the core of Felipe III. His thoughts towards his people, his family, his children… the quintessence of that had been rotted away. His ambition had been twisted into a grotesque avarice. His love had been wrought into a possessive claw that would sooner shred something to pieces than lose it. His diligence fueled both of those like the sun upon plants. And the sole sustenance for this all?

Life itself had long ago lost all meaning to Felipe. An apathetic nihilism dictated his actions—a demon of self-sabotage that hurt himself, hurt his children, and hurt the very world. He did what he pleased, caring little for death of any kind. Indeed, Felipe wanted to die. His contradicting greed for life barred him from simply withering away… and instead, it made the world wither with him.

Felipe reeled away, holding a hand to his helmet in shock. His breathing was heavy. Vasquer stared down at him, and his royal knights drew in front of him to bar the giant snake from approaching further. None of that mattered anymore, she felt. She had seen what she needed to. There was no salvaging her descendant, no pulling him free of the brink.

So, Vasquer opened her mouth.

#####

Argrave, crouching within the giant’s snake mouth alongside two others, kept a link to her mind going at all times to see what she saw. So, when light crept past her jaw and illuminated all before him… he knew exactly where to aim this [Bloodfeud Bow] he’d been preparing. He directed Vasquer to reposition her head in the perfect spot.

The royal knights shouted in alarm as soon as they saw Argrave within, yet it was too late to act. Argrave released the arrow that he’d been preparing. Jezuit, the knight-commander, cast a warding spell, and a white mana ripple split the air. Mana ripples formed when A-rank or higher spells were cast. The ward coalesced from the ripple and took shape before them, and the knight-commander placed himself just before the king in stalwart defense.

Yet [Bloodfeud Bow] was a spell that could defy ranks, and Argrave had put plenty of his black blood into it.

The dark maroon bolt sped out of Vasquer’s mouth, striking the resplendent silver A-rank ward. It pierced straight through the magic, entirely obliterated Jezuit’s arm and shoulder, and struck the king in the stomach. Felipe shouted in alarm, clutching the bolt with his gauntleted hand as he slid back. His armor was the stuff of legends, and the bolt’s ferocious speed had been weakened from piercing the ward and Jezuit. The bolt finally broke in the king’s hands, splattering into black liquid.

Felipe fell to one knee, then coughed up blood—he’d been struck in the stomach, and though the blow had not broken flesh, the impact was tremendous. Argrave stepped out of Vasquer’s mouth as the royal knights scrambled to protect their king. Having cast [Bloodfeud Bow] twice today, as soon as his feet met the stone, he felt his knees buckle.

Yet there was a reason Argrave was not alone. Two of Elenore’s best men remained with him—Anneliese had vetted them, and they were surely not traitors. They set bundles of herbs aflame and tossed them at the royal knights, who still desperately surrounded their king and waited for further attack. The beige, poisonous smoke started to rise up quickly, and they seized Argrave.

A great cloud of the poisonous smoke surged out of the catacombs, directed by Elenore’s mages. Though much of it spread out across the vast chamber instead of falling upon the royal knights… it had been meant for two purposes. One—to force the knights on the defense. Two—to screen their escape.

The initial element of surprise gave them a great advantage immediately. With their knight-commander missing an arm, and their king ostensibly in grave danger, the royal knights initiated the same tactic that Argrave had seen with Induen—shielding all of them beneath wards. It was as though a great, golden shell emerged to protect the king.

Elenore’s people threw more flaming bundles of herbs at the wards, and though they bounced off ineffectually, they succeeded in one thing—polluting this chamber with yet more of the poisonous smoke.

Argrave, verging on blacking out, did his best to walk along with Elenore’s men as they carried him. Ahead, Anneliese headed the remainder’s charge out of the catacombs and to the stairs. The surprise had given them significant advantage. Durran was just behind her, carrying Elenore. The surprise of that sight was enough to push past the dim haze pressing against Argrave’s mind.

Anneliese held her hand out and cast a B-rank wind spell, [Roaring Wind]. The great curtain of beige smoke that had descended over the steep stairs bounded upwards once hit with the winds. It was like the Red Sea had been parted, and all charged upwards as fast as they could, carrying valuables looted from the vault in the catacombs.

When Argrave finally arrived at the foot of the stairs, he dared a glance back. The king had risen to his feet, one hand held to his stomach. Argrave had a strange sensation that they locked eyes. He dismissed the thought a moment later, feeling it was the effect of his delusions from blood loss.

As Argrave and Elenore’s escort stepped up the first flight of stairs, the curtain of poison smoke lifted by Anneliese fell over them. The men took a deep breath, yet the climbing remained slow-going. One inhalation of the smoke made one wince with pain and cough.

“Go ahead,” Argrave informed them. “Send Galamon back for me.”

“Sir?” the man asked in surprise.

“Don’t waste your breath. Valuable in the smoke,” Argrave laughed. “Go. Get him.”

Though the men expressed hesitance, they hurriedly sat Argrave upon a stone step once they’d made up their minds. Exhausted, Argrave half-crawled forward, listening carefully to what was happening behind him. Even still, the royal knights grappled with the poison screen set around their formation. The stairs were steep enough even climbing one step took all of his energy.

Argrave’s Brumesingers ran down the stairs, finally able to rejoin with him. The poison didn’t affect them, either, but the smoke was dense enough they could breathe no air. He had not cast a spell… and yet their mist emanated from their fur, surrounding him. At once, southron elven warriors conjured of mist helped him along in a clumsy, bestial way. The foxes did not know how best to help him walk.

Feeling tumultuous winds stir behind, Argrave turned saw some royal knights attempt to cast aside the smoke on the stairs with magic. It was dense, though, and grew denser every second. Time was once again on their side, yet the royal knights pursued quickly.

Ahead, heavy clanging sounded—someone ran down the stairs in plate armor. The second Argrave processed who it might be, Galamon already knelt by Argrave.

"Fool," he cursed him, placing his arm beneath Argrave and lifting him up easily. “Let’s go.”

The ascent, though not smooth, was very rapid. Much of Galamon’s armor was slick with blood, yet the vampire kept a firm grip on him. Argrave barely glimpsed bodies… royal knights, Elenore’s men. Some struggled with the poison smoke, coughing and hacking, yet Galamon passed them by.

They arrived at the destroyed gentleman’s club, passing through the hidden door behind the liquor vault. Elenore, Anneliese, and Durran awaited, while Elenore’s men had mostly collapsed, coughing up smoke on the floor and taking long drinks of water.

“Anneliese scouts a good route to an escape I know, and my men facilitate our escape,” Elenore informed Argrave. “You… by the gods, you’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” Argrave said, feeling the phrase had less impact when he was held in someone’s arms.

“Most of the royal knights… are returning to the palace. Some commotion,” Anneliese said, her Starsparrow returning to her shoulder. “There’s a route completely clear of knights. I’ll lead us.”

Elenore took a deep breath and exhaled. “A lucky break. We move.”

Durran stepped in front of her and prepared to carry her once more, but Elenore held her arms out.

“Stop. I can run,” Elenore refused.

“You’re slow. Your legs are bleeding from those prosthetics,” he disagreed, then picked her up despite her protests.

After a while, Elenore let out a resigned huff. “A merchant caravan is waiting for us. More of my men wait there. We must hurry.”

#####

“…so the king was injured, Prince Levin, but not killed,” a man reported to Levin, out of breath. “Elenore and her entourage escaped, short a few dozen. More than enough to escape the city. They should be en route presently, my prince.”

“A shame. I set everything up for things to be easy for them,” Levin cupped his chin. “These days, it seems if you throw Argrave against something, he defies logic and kills it… but very well. Looks like a protracted war is the only way.” Levin reached forward and patted the man’s shoulder. “Good work. Not many trifle with the Bat and get away.”

The man collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily. “Thank you, my prince.”

Levin nodded and stepped away, only for a golden-armored knight to enter the room. “The royal vault has been breached, my prince.”

Levin smiled. “Wonderful. If Felipe had died, we’d be staying… but he hasn’t. So, give my men their directive. We’ll empty the vault, and then depart.” Levin walked over to a balcony, watching the barely restrained chaos still raging in Dirracha. “It seems my father is to be the only Vasquer remaining here.”