I stood at the woodlot, staring at the bramble and branches that created the beginner’s zone. I’d been inside before to hunt rabbits, forage, and gather minor materials, but this morning my purpose was different.

  In 6 hours, I’d have to meet Madeleine, who wanted to go over my look for our soirée with Count Elias. In about 24 hours after that, I’d be expected to pay 100 gold to keep my debt managed—and then find a way to exceed that amount. I could currently exceed it, but I had no way of laundering my money, and it would be divined easily.

  And none of that mattered currently.

  I had two quests before me—one to become a [Necromancer] and one to become a [Vampyre]. Regardless of the path I chose, I would need to learn how to extract a [Soul]. That thought made me queasy, but to accomplish it, I had to hunt.

  I could feel my arms tremble and legs shake. My teeth chattered, but my head and eyes stayed focused and straight.

  I had already attempted to [Life Drain] a rabbit from the woodlot. The spell immediately failed, not even letting me cast. I then attempted it with a deer that I found sick and dying thanks to [Mortis Visio]. That didn’t work either.

  That left one possible source.

  I swallowed again, my eyes flashing visions of that night. Gray, rustled fur and sharp fangs snapped into the air; the white-and-black pelt of a rabbit being stained in crimson blood. It wasn’t even the sight, but the sounds—the snapping of teeth, the breaking of bones, the howling, barking, yipping—all of that.

  I didn’t even like dogs anymore, but actual wolves? My main hand instinctively reached to my side, feeling the pouch of bone daggers I had crafted. Their sharp tips scratched my skin, and that gentle shearing sensation brought me back to the real world. I could still feel my ragged breathing and uneven pacing as I took a step in.

  My knees and legs instinctively buckled, dropping to a low crouch to hide in the foliage, to be below a predator’s notice. I stopped myself, gripping the sheathed blade of a bone dagger and feeling it penetrate my skin.

  Dark red blood dripped onto the floor. It had stopped being bright red a while ago, and I highly suspected it was far colder than normal. I didn’t wince at the pain; it brought me back to the situation at hand. I forced myself to stand properly and whistled.

  I heard rustling in the treeline, coming from medium-sized bushes. I could sense dead or dying things, but not predators. I flicked one of my bone daggers up and let [Skeletal Grasp] take hold of it. The bushes continued to rustle; I held my place, watching. My legs kept shaking, and my breathing was far too quiet.

  It was odd not hearing sound at all. Forests were noisy affairs—birds that chirped and insects that clicked. The only time it was actually silent was...

  My eyes snapped open. The branches tore aside as a sleek, gray wolf popped its head from the foliage, and the rest of its body followed.

  Wolves were massive creatures compared to dogs. Fully standing, it came up to my waist, and the snarling maw snapped hungrily at me. I gulped while the dagger behind me hovered in its green hue. Frothy saliva spilled from its rabid mouth. My body shook, and I could feel myself warm up. We stared at each other, daring the other to move.

  Or for our brains to catch up. The wolf was far, far quicker.

  Its paws shoved the dirt and branches from underfoot up toward a dusty flurry. I heard the snapping of its teeth and the sharp growls expelling from its throat. The beast launched itself toward me!

  My eyes couldn’t track its movement, but my chest felt the heavy blow of its skull slamming into my stomach. My body rivaled most bean sprouts and twigs, and like a twig, I heard a painful, pitiful crack as my back slammed into the dirt floor.

  Breath that smelled of rotten meat and ripe eggs burned into my nostrils, alongside slimy drool splattering across my face. My eyes opened to see the jaws an inch away.

  Get a hold of yourself, Ashley. Pain is physical. Fear is in the mind.

  I gasped in air that made me want to puke, and while the wolf prepared to snap my twiggy throat, the dagger hovering in the air slammed into the wolf’s throat. Bright red blood spilled as it yelped in pain, looking around desperately. I could feel its weight shift, going from its balanced pin to forcing more into its hind legs.

  That didn’t mean I could push it off.

  “JUST GO DOWN!” I shouted, words trembling and breaking.

  My hand gripped the air, and I felt the hilt of the bone dagger. The green aura around the dagger’s hilt glowed in response. I could feel the tension of strong muscle and knotted flesh. It was putting a knife into a system that didn’t want it—carving against the grain.

  I felt Adrian’s hand atop mine as a memory of carving pumpkins and pheasants flashed through my brain. My eyes were wet, but there was no time for tears.

  My muscles burned and I forced my body to pull down. Even if I wasn’t physically holding the blade, the tension with [Skeletal Grasp] felt like I was working a stuck knife. My left hand clasped atop my right, and with whatever force my muscles and brain could muster, I slid it down.

  Crimson blood spilled over me as the wolf howled in pain and slid off with a massive thud. I tried to stand, but I couldn’t. Blood pooled from my own waist, which I couldn’t feel. I wasn’t sure if I couldn’t feel the pain or my waist, but the open gash where the wolf’s claws tore into my stomach suggested a bit of both.

  It burned and felt cold at the same time, and my mouth watered and drooled. My arms seized as my fingers slowly tried to tap the wolf’s mane. Dark red blood coated its gray fur, mixing with the crimson of its own veins.

  I couldn’t stand up.

  My hands opened while I could still think, and green, vibrant light came from the dying wolf’s corpse. The dirge became a full-fledged eulogy—I heard the symphony of death. Cicadas created the harmony, locusts the melody. Maggots squirming acted as the deep snare of the bass, alongside the crunching and snapping of bones.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  But I could smell in this form of magic too: corpses, rot, and... earth. I didn’t find the scent foul; it smelled of compost and soil, freshly tilled and fertilized. I could feel the chill of the grave, a cold much worse than my own bleeding blood.

  The green [Soul] spread across my body, and first came down to me. The cold I felt all around slowly shifted away as the rip and tear in my stomach stitched itself back together.

  It felt wrong.

  I’d felt Adrian’s [Lay on Hands] before, and that was a warm, radiant light that fixed a wound. This felt like skin being stitched and stretched, taken from something else. It hurt differently—like being rearranged rather than recreated.

  The wound on my stomach faded to nothing, and the shimmering green glow dwindled. The earthy scent dispersed, and all that was left was a green orb resting in my palm. Its light illuminated the dark foliage in emerald hues, overshadowing and overpowering the leaves that rustled at the sight of this sacrilege.

  My fingers pushed into the orb, yet it didn’t yield. It felt like pressing into a cow’s teat—with the worrying sense that if I pushed too hard something would spill out. It was a weird sensation that made my hair frizz up and my heart pump erratically.

  I pulled out a glass vial that Madeleine had given me and guided the floating orb inside. Then came the cork stopper, tied with black ribbon.

  I barely paid attention to that as my hands brought the stopped vial to my eyes. I focused on the soul.

  I pulled out the Mortis Agrariae and looked at my current tabulation. I had On Soil, Husbandry, Commands, and Blight.

  I crossed out Commands and replaced it with On Souls. That was far more accurate to what I was doing.

  The line underneath had been “How to command, properly,” but that wasn’t what I was doing.

  I rewrote what I wanted it to be:

  The Value of a Soul.

  I glanced at the facts I’d recorded. I had no hypothesis, and my only inference was that a simple command had to be simple.

  FACTS

  Simple commands mean simple—there is no room for conditionals.

  A command must be executed exactly; there is no room for nuance.

  I crossed out the first line and replaced it:

  An object with no soul can only follow simple commands. This means the command is executed exactly—no room for nuance.

  I removed my second fact and my inference. I continued to write.

  Only hostile creatures can have their soul extracted.

  All sapient beings can have their soul extracted.

  I looked at the wolf soul again. Underneath my value, I began to write:

  Simple (No Soul) → Common → —

  Of course, I had no way to prove that Common came after Simple, but until I had something that could measure these, it’d have to do.

  This process created new inferences.

  INFERENCES

  The higher the quality of a soul, the more complex commands it can perform.

  This led to a new hypothesis.

  HYPOTHESIS

  Sapient beings have a higher-quality soul. What does the average human start at? What about the Fae?

  I sat cross-legged, and as my quill finished writing, I looked at the last thing I’d written. Something about it seemed wrong, off, and disturbing.

  Yet my thoughts were on something far more basic:

  Do Fae even exist? Adrian mentioned orcs. Do they exist? Do they have souls? I still didn’t even know if gnomes do.

  I closed the grimoire and looked at the wolf’s body. It’d be a shame to waste this when it had parts I could use. There were bones, meat, and honestly...

  ...I felt proud of myself that I felled it. My hand opened as the green light connected my palm to the hilt of the bone dagger.

  [Skeletal Grasp].

  The bone dagger flew to my hand. I put it back into my pouch and stared at the wolf. If I used [Compost], meat and bone would disperse into the ground.

  Wait—would it? It did for rabbits, but rabbits don’t have a usable soul. I didn’t care much for wolf meat, but wolf bones?

  My hand opened and waved over the corpse. Normally I’d hear the music of cicadas, but that was slowly starting to change.

  It was the sound of maggots squirming and feasting—chewing, gnawing, devouring. My eyes glowed green...

  ...and the meat and blood and vital fluid spewed out. It wanted to go to the ground, but I flicked my hand upward and drew the glowing red liquid into a vial.

  [Anima].

  A small grin carved across my face. One kill—[Soul] and blood. Anima and Animus. Though anima meant soul and animus meant spirit, I quite enjoyed juxtaposing their names. It felt like mastery and control over a system—labeling a blue block red and daring someone to question it.

  I looked at the Mortis Agrariae again, crossed out Soul, and replaced it with Animus, and followed through.

  It was a stupid and unnecessary change, but frankly?

  It was my change.

  It was my mark, in my book, in the way I wanted to write it.

  I glanced down at the wolf bones and brought them into my [Inventory]. I could animate this for sure, but I had no need of an undead wolf.

  I hated wolves.

  And if I had my way?

  I’d make sure they hated me back.

  It was time to go to Madeleine’s. I had a vampire to meet, and then I could experiment with this beast’s [Animus].