The stairs split.
Upward, the steps were wide enough for two to walk abreast. Torches burned clean and steady along the walls, light pooling warm and confident. Stone worn smooth by traffic. Downward was a narrow dark stairway.
Standing at the stairs, he reached out with his Blood Sense. Nothing above. Everything was below.
One presence flared strong and ugly, coiled tight with corruption. Korven. No doubt about it.
Another thread wavered near him, weak and frayed, stretched thin like it might snap if touched. A person, barely holding on.
Smaller threads flickered at the edges of his awareness. Rats, probably. And the undead. Plenty of them. Their threads sat slack and dim, unmoving.
Harry turned his back on the bright stairs and started down.
The air went cold and stale. The steps narrowed at once, twisting tight. His shoulders brushed stone on both sides, grit scraping on his shield.
The narrow stair spiraled deep, the air growing cooler with every step. He slowed, listening. The descent went on longer than he expected. Four stories. Maybe five. As he neared the bottom the darkness gave way to the flickering light of torches.
He stepped onto a small landing.
Ahead, the stair opened into a natural cavern, broad and circular. The walls were cut with alcoves, a dozen of them spaced evenly around the curve. In all but one stood an Ancient Desiccant, upright and still, leathery skin pulled tight over bone, red sparks smoldering in their eye sockets.
Between each alcove, a tunnel mouth yawned and vanished into darkness.
Down the center of the cavern ran a double row of stone columns. Each held a torch fixed in an iron bracket. Torchlight washed the floor and pillars, leaving long shadows draped over the motionless undead.
At the far end of the cavern stood another altar, cut from the same dark stone as the floor and walls. Korven waited on the far side of it.
Behind him, to the left, a passage opened into blackness.
To his right, two people were manacled to the wall.
One hung by a single arm, iron biting deep into the wrist, feet barely touching the floor. His head sagged forward, breath shallow, the thread of his life thin and frayed under Harry’s Blood Sense.
The other dangled by both arms, chains pulled tight. He was already dead. A ragged hole gaped in the center of his chest, ribs shattered outward, flesh dark and dried around the wound.
An Ancient Desiccant stood beside them, motionless, head angled forward as if listening.
Harry stepped into the open and began to advance.
When he reached thirty feet, Korven lifted one hand and pointed toward the living prisoner.
“Another step,” Korven said, voice calm and precise, “and he dies.”
Harry stopped. He could see the altar clearly. Several braziers burned atop it, metal bowls packed with coals giving off a heavy smoke. A thick black candle stood at the center. He could smell it from where he stood, bitter and foul, the stench clawing at the back of his throat.
Beside it lay a human arm, cut clean below the elbow. The hand curled slightly, fingers stiff.
Black and purple smoke rolled low over the altar, fogging the air around it, heavy and unnatural.
Harry inched forward. “Why are you doing this?”
Korven’s face twisted. “Why? Because of you.” He lifted his ruined arm, the stump bloated, black, and rotten. “You did this!”
Harry dropped his sword and held up both hands, palm out. “You did just order me to kill my friend.” He had his inventory open at the edge of his vision, ready.
“Your friends?” Korven laughed, sharp and ugly. “They’ll pay too. Their bodies will be the start of a new Warden.” His smile widened. “They can follow you, keep you company. Once you’ve been brought to heel.”
Harry lowered his hands and inched another half step closer. “Look, let’s just assume I believe you’re incredibly powerful and no one understands your genius. We skip all this nonsense and talk.”
“Nonsense?” Korven snapped. He grabbed the black candle off the altar and hurled it at Harry.
Harry stepped aside and let it smash against the stone behind him. Hot wax splattered and hissed. He moved a step closer.
“So,” Harry said, steady, “what do you say? We put the toys away, go back upstairs, maybe talk this out over a cup of tea like grown ups.”
Korven’s eyes went wide.
He snatched up the severed arm and slammed it down onto the altar. Again. And again.
“Shut up!” Korven screamed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
The hand flopped with each impact, fingers slapping wetly against the stone.
In the center of the palm, Harry saw a large gem embedded deep in the flesh, purple shot through with black, pulsing faintly under the skin.
As Korven raged, Harry drew a spear from inventory. He spent vitae for strength and speed and stepped forward to throw.
Blinding pain exploded through him.
It hit all at once, white and crushing. Harry dropped to his knees, the spear clattering across stone. It felt like his blood had turned against him, boiling, clawing to tear its way out of his veins.
Korven laughed. “I see you enjoyed playing with the Captain.”
He walked around the altar, unhurried, and planted a boot on Harry’s chest. He shoved.
Harry hit the stone hard and rolled onto his side, body twisting as the pain tore through him.
“Drank his blood, did you?” Korven leaned over him, the amusement was thick in his voice.
Harry clenched his jaw, muscles locking as he fought for control. A rough sound tore out of his throat. “Sick bastard. What did you do to him.”
Korven’s eyes widened. “I gave him meaning. A purpose.” He let out a sharp laugh. “Which wasn’t easy with someone so weak. But an artist works with what he’s given.”
Korven walked back to the altar and picked up the arm, turning it slowly as he inspected it.
“I really should thank you,” he said. “I’d never attempt this without what you did.”
Harry dragged himself back onto his knees, breath locked tight in his chest, pain still tearing through him but easing slowly.
“Now watch,” Korven said.
He pressed the severed arm against the ruined stump.
Purple light flared where flesh met flesh.
The arm blackened almost at once. Skin puckered and split, color draining as it rotted in fast, ugly waves. Green and gray crept across it, veins standing out dark and swollen.
Korven’s face twisted, caught between agony and delight. He turned his head, checking that Harry was watching. He smiled through clenched teeth.
The purple light brightened, flooding the altar.
Tendrils of ruined flesh pushed free from the arm, wet and glistening. They reached, wrapped around Korven’s stump, and drove inward, burrowing deep.
Harry could not look away.
Korven threw his head back and screamed.
The light burst outward, washing the chamber in violet glare, and died.
The arm was attached.
The air filled with the stink of rot and burned meat.
Korven raised the arm and flexed the fingers. They curled and straightened smoothly, obedient despite the decay.
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He laughed, high and wild, the sound echoing off the stone.
Harry pushed himself upright, slow and unsteady. He swayed where he stood, boots scraping as he fought to stay vertical.
Korven opened his new hand and turned it palm up. The gem embedded in the flesh glowed deep purple, light pulsing under the rotted skin.
He turned sharply and crossed to the man chained to the wall. Korven grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked the man’s head back, forcing his face toward Harry.
Harry could see that the man was alive. Barely.
Korven smiled. “All of you little heroes. Always rushing in to save the village. Take my treasures.” His grip tightened, making the man cry out. “If you’d just stay away, none of this would ever happen.”
“Whatever you’re about to do,” Harry said, voice rough, “please don’t.”
Korven flexed his new fingers, admiring the movement. “I’m feeling generous.” He looked back at Harry. “I’ll let you choose. Do I kill him quickly, or let him live to a nice old age?”
“Let him go,” Harry said. “I’m right here. You don’t need him.”
Korven’s mouth twisted, almost disappointed. He shrugged. “If you won’t decide, I’ll do it for you.” He tilted his head. “Old age it is.”
He pressed the new hand to the man’s head, the gem set hard against his scalp.
Purple light brightened, pulsing faster, flashing sharp and violent.
The man convulsed. His body went rigid against the chains as a strangled sound tore from his throat. His hair spilled down his shoulders, dark strands bleaching to gray, growing long and thin. Skin slackened, folding in on itself, pulling loose from bone as years tore through him in seconds.
Harry ripped another spear from inventory and stepped into the throw. Without using vitae he boosted strength and speed.
The spear left his hand hard and fast.
It struck Korven in the side, just below the arm. The impact drove him off his feet. Korven slammed into the wall and crashed to the floor behind the altar.
The man on the wall sagged in his chains, head dropping forward.
Harry lurched to the altar and leaned over the edge.
Korven lay on the stone, the spear a few feet away. There was hardly any blood.
For half a breath, nothing happened.
Korven’s eyes snapped open and he grinned. “Silly vampire.”
He started to sit up.
Harry yanked a sword from inventory and charged around the altar.
Korven raised his palm.
A black light erupted from the gem in his hand in a solid beam. It slammed into Harry’s chest and threw him back. He stumbled, boots skidding, and dropped to his knees hard.
:: System: [Willpower Check] successful.
The Ancient Desiccant beside the chained man stirred and stepped forward.
Harry heard stone scrape behind him. To the sides. Everywhere.
He twisted where he knelt.
All around the chamber, the remaining Desiccants were moving.
All of them.
Closing in.
Harry turned and bolted down the nearest passage.
He used Blood Sense to track the undead and moved through the maze. Cutting hard turns, slipping through side tunnels as his map ability tracked the layout.
System, why can’t I use vitae?
:: System: Korven has corrupted the blood of the Flayed Demon. Recommend you do not attempt to use any active vitae skills.
How long will this last?
:: System: Unknown.
Great.
As he ran, he came upon torches that flared to life when he drew close. At each one Harry skidded to a stop, tore it free from its bracket, waited for the flame to die and shoved it into inventory.
Korven’s voice echoed through the tunnels, warped and distant. “What kind of hero runs away?”
Harry ignored him and kept moving.
At the next intersection, he slowed and pulled the axe from inventory. He planted himself just off to the side, body pressed to stone, a deeper shadow in the darkness.
Footsteps scraped closer. Dry. Dragging.
A Desiccant rounded the corner.
Harry stepped out and brought the axe down hard into its neck. Bone cracked. The head twisted loose, hanging by strips of leathery skin before dropping away. The body collapsed at his feet.
He didn’t wait to look.
Harry ran again, yanked another torch from the wall as it flared and added it to inventory.
At the next junction, he waited.
Two Desiccants came shuffling in, one behind the other.
Harry moved first.
He stepped out and brought the axe down into the first Desiccant. Before the body finished collapsing, he kicked it hard into the second and ran, boots already turning into the next passage as they tumbled together.
He moved off again, widening the circle.
Another Desiccant moved into a nearby intersection. Harry stepped out, one clean strike, and was gone before the body hit the stone.
He tore another torch from the wall as it flared. Darkness swallowed the passage. The torch vanished into inventory.
Korven’s voice slid through the tunnels again, carrying mock concern. “Surrender, vampire. I’ll let your friends go.”
Harry answered with motion, not words.
Another Desiccant rounded a corner.
A quick kill. No pause.
He reached for the next torch as it ignited and yanked it free.
It stayed lit.
Harry stopped.
He stared at the flame burning steady in his hand, heat real against his skin, light holding instead of dying.
“Well…”
System, I have a very bad idea.
:: System: I will alert any interested observers.
Harry slid the torch and the axe into inventory and moved off, putting distance between himself and the remaining Desiccants. He angled back toward the main chamber.
“Lord Korven,” he called out, voice carrying down the stone passages, “you swear you’ll let my companions go?”
No answer.
He moved closer until he reached a side passage with a clear view into the chamber.
Korven stood at the altar.
No wound showed at his side. His head turned slowly, back and forth, searching. His corrupted arm was raised, palm sweeping across the mouths of the passages as if tasting the air. The Ancient Desiccant remained at his side, motionless.
Harry leaned just far enough out to be seen, muscles coiled to pull back.
Korven’s arm snapped around and locked on him.
“If I give up,” Harry said, “you’ll let my friends go?”
Korven’s mouth stretched into a grin. “Of course. You’re the prize. They mean nothing to me.”
Harry stepped out into the open, slow and deliberate, hands raised. “Alright, I’m here.”
“On your knees,” Korven said, sneering.
Harry took another step into the room and lowered himself to the stone.
Korven circled the altar, but stayed back, never closing the distance. He raised his arm again, palm leveled at Harry.
The gem flashed.
A beam of purple-black light slammed into Harry’s chest. It was different than the black beam earlier.
This time it didn’t knock him back. Instead it bit into him.
Harry felt it trying to drain him, not blood, not strength, something deeper and wrong. His skin pulsed in uneven waves. Muscles rippled under it, locking and releasing.
Vitae tore out of him, flying away up the beam.
But as years peeled away, point after point of vitae poured back in as his body counted day after day of inactive rest. The sensation made his teeth grind together.
Korven laughed.
Through the pain, Harry’s Blood Sense flared. The thread coming off Korven had grown thick and long, whipping through the chamber like something alive, snapping and coiling around the altar, around the pillars, tasting the air.
Korven stepped forward, careful, measured, never letting the beam slip.
“Did you think you could oppose me?” he said. “I am beyond death now.”
Another step.
“I will steal the years from your body,” Korven went on, voice rich with certainty, “and raise you back up as my pet.”
Another step.
Harry stayed on his knees. He lowered his head.
Korven was only a step away.
“Nothing to say now, vampire?”
Harry lifted his head. He forced a grin, brought his shield up to block the beam, and pushed himself back to his feet.
“What years?” he forced out. “Vampires are immortal.”
Korven’s smile slipped.
Harry moved.
One arm snapped up and knocked Korven’s hand aside. The beam cut off.
Harry pulled the torch from inventory. It sparked back to life in his grip and he thrust it forward, straight into the corrupted arm.
Fire took it with a loud whoosh.
Korven staggered back, flailing the burning limb as if that might help. His scream tore loose, raw and panicked. “No… what have you done… noooo!”
Harry backed away. Through Blood Sense he felt the remaining Desiccants moving toward him.
Korven dropped to his knees, clawing at the burning arm with his good hand. The arm was fully engulfed, flames bright and hungry. They crawled up to his shoulder, eating into him. Blisters bubbled up and burst. Fat melted and ran in streams down his face. His screaming turned wet, gargling. His hair ignited all at once, a corona of fire around his head. The smell of burning meat and hair filled the chamber, thick and choking.
Korven pitched forward and hit the stone face first.
He did not move.
The Desiccants stopped.
Harry watched through Blood Sense as Korven’s thread shriveled, thinned, and finally snapped. It vanished.
He turned and crossed to the man chained to the wall.
Dead. Just a shriveled husk.
The body hung slack. One arm was gone, cut clean away.
Harry put away the torch and pulled the axe back out of inventory and moved to Korven’s body, intent on finishing it properly and taking the arm with him. Another to add to his collection.
Nothing was left of Korven but charred and burned flesh. All that remained of the arm was ash smeared black and gray across the floor.
It was over.
The village!
Harry spun and ran.
He rushed back up the stairs and stumbled out of the tower into cold night air. Stars scattered overhead. A thin crescent moon. He scrambled again over the wall and skidded to a stop looking down the hill.
A crowd was climbing toward him.
Soldiers. Villagers. Mixed together. Torches bobbing. Spears and pitchforks raised, light scattering across the slope in broken lines.
Harry took a step back.
Dammit. I knew this would happen eventually.
***
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