Chapter Six: A jester, A fool And a vampire.

  He twisted mid-air, body spinning as his muscles flexed and added a diagonal roll to the flip. The axe missed him by millimetres, the blade carving empty air where his spine had been a heartbeat earlier.

  Jacob let out another high-pitched, keening shriek.

  The jester mask in the corner of Andrew's vision smiled a fraction wider as he landed on his hands, rolled cleanly through the motion, and sprang back to his feet; already moving, already putting distance between himself and the hulking, grey-skinned orc.

  “Up the tree,” he snapped, voice sharp as broken glass. “Now.”

  The command was aimed at the cowering man behind him; for what felt like the thousandth time. The porcelain grin painted across the jester’s mask betrayed none of the fatigue burning through him, nor the irritation beginning to edge toward anger.

  The orc swung again.

  Andrew dipped backward in a motion almost graceful, spine arching like a ballroom dancer’s as his hands reached behind him. He let gravity take him, caught himself on his fingertips, and hand springed back to his feet in one fluid motion.

  The axe passed close enough that displaced air slapped against his skin, terror racing up his spine even as his movements refined by imperceptible margins. With every near miss, the jester’s smile sharpened.

  His eyes flicked across his stats, just long enough to register the incremental gains before he shifted tactics.

  Mockery is the ultimate flattery.

  The rhythm of his movement changed.

  Gone were the flowing arcs and elegant evasions. He dropped low instead, kneeling beneath a wild swing, ducked a clumsy punch, and fell deliberately into a flex before retreating with a heavy backstep. Drawing his feet together, he clasped his wrists and tensed, fabric straining across his sweater as he held the pose for a beat too long.

  The orc roared and charged.

  Foam sprayed from its mouth as it landed a heavy punch square into the jester’s chest.

  Andrew went limp with the impact.

  He let the blow carry him backward, body slack as he absorbed and diffused the force midair, tumbling once before landing in a wide power stance. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms as if unimpressed.

  “Pathetic,” he spat. “Weak plaything. Muscles just for show.”

  Something guttural slipped into his voice and layered beneath the words.

  The orc froze.

  Then it screamed.

  It clutched its head, axe slipping from numb fingers as it dropped to its knees, psychic backlash ripping through its mind in a violent lash of pressure and pain.

  Silence followed.

  For a moment, even Andrew stood stunned, grateful for the breath, however brief.

  Then the last voice he wanted to hear shattered it.

  “Holy shit,” Jacob muttered, awe-struck and useless. “So I was just high, huh—”

  Andrew didn’t answer.

  He turned, sprinted back, seized the college student by the arm, and dragged him bodily into motion. Branches tore at them as they crashed through the underbrush, Jacob resisting more out of confusion than reason.

  “Would you quit that?” Andrew barked as Jacob clawed at his grip. “I’m trying to save your goddamn life, you absolute reprobate. We’re lucky that thing is the only predator loose… Else your screaming would’ve drawn everything else in this forest!”

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Heavy footsteps thundered closer as the orc snapped free of its stupor and resumed the hunt.

  The Fool seized his chaperone by the shins and heaved.

  Jacob yelped as he was half-thrown, half-shoved up the nearest tree, scrambling into the branches with all the grace of a panicked animal. Once he was clear, Andrew staggered back, pressed his shoulder into the trunk, and slid down it with a heavy, exhausted sigh.

  Every fractional stat increase he’d earned meant nothing to his still very human lungs.

  “Fuck me…” he muttered. “I should’ve just let him die.”

  “Oh,” Jacob whimpered from above, voice thin and distant. “Fuck me. I’m gonna die.”

  The words came without panic. No inflection at all. Just a flat, eerie certainty; as if death were simply the obvious next step.

  The axe came down.

  Branches snapped apart as the orc forced its way into the clearing, the meager distance between predator and prey evaporating in an instant.

  The Fool’s arms dug into the dirt as he scrambled backward, trying to stand, trying to crawl… Trying anything that might buy him one more second. The orc seemed content to grant it. Its grotesque face twisted into something resembling a smile, yellowed tusks jutting further as it savored the display.

  Then the Jester's head tilted.

  He heard someone.

  Footsteps. A voice.

  Not a language he recognized; but the sound of it was warm. Smooth. Like velvet drawn across his thoughts. For a fleeting, absurd moment, he felt as though he could listen to it forever.

  A strange thought, when forever had just become a matter of seconds.

  The orc stiffened.

  It took a step back.

  A man stood at the edge of the clearing.

  Long white hair. A refined black suit. He barely spared the Fool a glance before striding toward the creature with calm, purposeful steps.

  A notification flared into the Fool’s vision, framed by a grinning jester mask.

  You have Resisted: Command (x4)

  Command to Alter Vision — Resisted

  Command to Alter Scent — Resisted

  Command to Alter Touch — Resisted

  Command to Alter Hearing — Resisted

  Hope surged.

  And died.

  The man began to come apart.

  Not vanishing but unravelling.

  The Fool’s heart sank as realization hit. An illusion. A bluff meant to scare the thing off. And his trait; his stupid resistance trait, had torn it apart.

  Oh my god, he thought wildly. Did my resistance just kill us?

  Then he saw it.

  The man wasn’t dissolving.

  He was changing.

  White bled into violent crimson along his hair. His ears stretched and sharpened to points. His skin paled to something unnatural. And his clothes; his expensive black suit it unwound completely, vanishing as if they had never existed.

  A naked, albino figure streaked across the clearing, dry blood crusted along his skin, charging an orc that outweighed him by hundreds of pounds.

  “They always said my death would be funny,” the Fool muttered faintly.

  The albino blurred.

  Folded in on himself.

  And then…

  He was there.

  The creature was lifted off the ground, one pale hand holding it aloft. The other arm flashed, claws tearing through thick hide like scalpels through meat.

  For a heartbeat, hope ignited.

  Then the orc roared.

  It went berserk.

  The axe came around in a savage arc, biting deep, hacking through the young man’s arm and burying itself into his ribs. Blood sprayed as the albino staggered, took a single step back. And then wound his remaining arm and smashed a haymaker into the orc’s skull.

  The impact sent the beast flying, slamming into a tree hard enough to nearly knock it unconscious.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The Fool stared, numb.

  “Am I dying, or—”

  The question died unfinished.

  The albino spoke.

  But the voice wasn’t human.

  It echoed faintly, layered with a hiss that set the Fool’s teeth on edge.

  “Nier nos animos Vitara?”

  You have Resisted: Command (x4).

  The notification flashed across Andrew’s vision again. For a brief moment, the ghost of clothing crawled over the albino’s form; the echo of the refined black suit Andrew knew he’d seen; before it dissipated like smoke.

  “I—I, uh… I don’t understand?” Andrew said.

  The creature’s eyes drifted past him, up into the branches, lingering where Jacob hid. Not looking. Sensing.

  “Tera estarde minos korimsa,” it replied calmly.

  Then it reached down and pulled the axe free from its own body.

  Andrew watched, frozen, as the wound began to close. Bone knitted together first, ribs fusing in real time, followed by muscle threading across the gap like thousands of pale spiders spinning a living tapestry. Blood dried almost as quickly as it appeared.

  The thing picked up its severed arm.

  Held it against the stump.

  Seconds passed. Long ones.

  When it let go, the arm hung limp; but attached. Whole again.

  Andrew recoiled, pressing himself harder against the tree. He pointed shakily over the creature’s shoulder as the orc suddenly regained its bearings and charged with a guttural roar.

  The albino barely reacted.

  Instead of turning toward the threat, it stepped closer to Andrew.

  The moment before the orc’s hammer-like fist came down, the creature blurred; its body dissolving into motion so fast Andrew’s eyes couldn’t follow. When the world snapped back into focus, the albino was holding the axe.

  The orc’s arm was gone.

  It thudded into a tree behind them as the creature stared at the stump, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. That expression never changed as the axe came around and tore through its sternum, burying itself so deep the blade scraped along its spine.

  The orc died exactly as it stood.

  That was when Andrew knew.

  Not suspected. Knew.

  This thing wasn’t human.

  The albino hissed; a sound utterly wrong that tore through the four long, sharp fangs protruding from its mouth. The noise set Andrew’s nerves on fire.

  Now it was looking at him.

  Fully.

  It spoke again, words slithering together—several dead languages mashed into something that almost resembled speech. It stared at him afterward, waiting.

  Expectant.

  When Andrew didn’t answer fast enough, its expression twisted into irritation. Or hunger. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

  Every instinct screamed at him to run.

  He didn’t move.

  The creature gestured repeatedly, hands contorting through the same motions again and again. On the twentieth repetition, Andrew felt it; mana pulsing outward.

  The energy was vile.

  Dark. Wrong. Engorged.

  And when it spoke again, the words were finally familiar; even if they sounded like they were dragged through hell on the way out.

  “Where ze little girl I heard screaming?” it asked. “I do not smell any children in ze vicinity.”

  Andrew’s stomach dropped.

  Did he just say he doesn’t smell any children?

  What in the R-Kelly kind of class…

  “Uh—there’s no children here,” Andrew said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, I guess technically me and my classmates are kids, but the girls went a different direction than us.”

  The words spilled out of him.

  Unbidden.

  Why did I just tell him that? Andrew screamed internally. He hadn’t meant to. It felt like answering was the natural thing to do. Like not answering would be rude.

  Another notification flickered across his vision, reminding him that he was currently resisting at least four mental effects—and that there were likely more his trait didn’t even cover.

  “I had heard the screams of a young girl,” the creature said mildly. “Not one your age. Are you quite certain it is just you two here?”

  So he knows Jacob’s up there.

  Andrew swallowed.

  Holy shit. This thing has all the negotiating power. Why is it even looking for a kid?

  The urge to answer warred with the tiny shred of survival instinct he had left.

  “It’s just us for maybe a mile,” Andrew said. “All my classmates nearby are male. Why are you looking for a little girl?”

  The question burst out of him; no tact, no restraint, venom threading his tone.

  The albino didn’t take offense.

  It smiled.

  A hungry, terrifying smile that made Andrew suddenly take stock of how thin the creature was. Skin clung tightly to ribs and wiry muscle. There wasn’t a trace of body hair anywhere on it; and to Andrew’s immediate, mortifying realization, the pattern was… consistent.

  Curiosity won out for half a second.

  He hated himself for it, even as his eyes wandered back up to the insidious red orbs.

  “Vell that should be quite obvious, no?” the creature said mildly. “I came to ascertain whether or not the imp was in danger.”

  The answer triggered a cascade of sensation in Andrew. His hands trembled as the adrenaline finally burned itself out of his system, crashing down all at once and leaving him hollow; emptier than he’d been moments ago. Every word the thing had spoken should have set off alarms.

  And they had.

  It felt like a lie.

  This thing felt like a predator, and every second Andrew spent in its presence sent some ancient reflex screaming through the part of his brain that still remembered wolves and firelight.

  Freeze. Don’t move. Pray it doesn’t notice.

  But he was helpless. Exhausted. His guide was high out of his mind, pissing himself in a tree. And God help him, Andrew wanted this terrifying, impossible thing to be on his side; to be real, to be concerned about people’s safety.

  Even as he begged himself not to push his luck, not to ask, not to tempt fate…

  “So…” he said, forcing a weak chuckle, trying desperately to inject humor into his voice. “You’re not gonna savage us or anything?”

  The expression he got in response made his stomach sink.

  Confusion. Genuine, faintly offended confusion.

  The creature; Kain raised an eyebrow. Then he smiled.

  It was dazzling.

  And terrible.

  Fang tips gleamed between parted lips.

  “Now why in the gods’ name would I savage you?” Kain asked. “We’re all kin, are we not? I heard there was trouble and came to help you.”

  Andrew’s heart kicked back into motion, hammering violently against his ribs. He stared at the thing before him; the blood-red irises, the black sclera, the inhuman symmetry, and the resemblance struck him all over again.

  A vampire.

  Why was it pretending to be human?

  Did it look human before the illusion unraveled?

  Another much more logical part of his mind chimed in even as his train of thought continued spiralling off the rails. Don’t be stupid vampires aren’t real.

  His mind raced. Fragmented images flickered through his thoughts as he tried to remember what he’d seen before the notification; dark clothing, pale skin, refinement; but the details refused to settle. Everything prior to the unraveling felt smeared, like a half-remembered dream.

  The creature watched him patiently.

  Too patiently.

  Andrew became acutely aware of how little presence he seemed to have. The thing’s gaze passed over him like he was barely there, as though it had to work to track him. Its eyes lingered, unfocused at times, like it was listening to something Andrew couldn’t hear.

  When the wind swept through the clearing again, Andrew shuddered. The creature flinched; just slightly, its posture tightening as if irritated by the wind lashing his balls.

  Andrew however; winced, hard almost cringing as he watched them clap into each other and his thigh, the sight triggering the most dominant and overwhelming form of empathy any man could experience.

  The creature’s eyes snapped back to him.

  “You can see me, can’t you?” Kain asked.

  The realization hit Andrew like falling into cold water.

  He nearly stepped back. Nearly blurted out a denial. But Fool’s Mark clenched around his mind, repressing the panic before it could surface. Something else slid into place; an overlay, an ego already practiced in performance.

  The tension drained from his body.

  The fear didn’t vanish.

  It got managed.

  Andrew lifted his chin slightly, meeting the creature’s gaze. His posture shifted without conscious thought; arms lowering, shoulders loosening, his stance opening. He even tilted his head just enough to expose his neck beneath the mask, making himself look smaller.

  Vulnerable.

  As if he finally understood that he was safe.

  As if he’d stopped resisting.

  Andrew took a cautious half-step forward, deliberately signaling comfort as he spoke.

  “See you? Uh, of course I can see you. I’m just… scattered. Sorry. I know you saved me, and that wasn’t fair to ask. It’s just been hard.”

  The words came out perfectly, his voice carrying the same nervous cadence as before, but softened with familiarity. The Fool performed effortlessly, hoping that if the thing didn’t notice, it might chalk this whole encounter up as a once-in-a-lifetime good deed before returning to whatever sapient monsters did for fun. Shitting in chimneys. Eating souls. Whatever.

  He took another step closer and reached up to brush a pine branch out of his way.

  And then it struck.

  He barely registered the movement. The creature’s entire form vibrated, muscles swelling before reality itself seemed to blur. Pain detonated in Andrew’s chest as the air was torn from his lungs, his body yanked backward.

  He tumbled.

  Limbs wrapped around him; too fast, too strong, constricting, shielding, repositioning him even as gravity dragged them both down a steep incline.

  Protecting him?

  Black spots swam through Andrew’s vision as he forced air back into his lungs. They rolled together down the slope, the creature constantly shifting around him, repositioning its body to take impacts first; branches, rocks, roots; warm blood slicking across Andrew’s skin.

  None of it was his.

  Their momentum finally broke when the incline eased, a thick branch holding beneath their combined weight. The creature caught them both, arresting the fall with brutal efficiency.

  Andrew looked up.

  The eyes staring back at him were furious.

  And worried.

  The creature’s head tilted slightly, eyes scanning him rapidly, before it leaned in and started shouting; massive fangs flashing close enough to make Andrew flinch before the Fool smothered his reaction.

  “What were you thinking?” it snapped. “Are you a simpleton? Do you have a death wish? Why would you put your body anywhere near a death-kiss branch?”

  Andrew stared into the red-and-black eyes, noticing for the first time the faint violet veins threading through them, pulsing subtly as if energy flowed beneath the surface. The anger there wasn’t feral like the orc’s, nor cruel like a thug’s.

  It was… familiar.

  It was the anger his father had worn once, slapping his hand away from a stove.

  Then, just as abruptly as it had seized him, Fool’s Mark released its grip.

  “What?” Andrew blurted. “What are you talking about? Why the hell did you do that? How the fuck did you do that?”

  The predatory pressure dropped sharply, like a switch being flipped.

  The creature curled its lip in irritation. “Did your parents wish death upon you?” it hissed. “That tree you reached for so casually is a death kissss.” The sibilance lingered. “You would have been dead within mere heartbeats.”

  Andrew blinked.

  “So… this is a gamble, but; are you, like, a nice monster? Is that a real thing?”

  The creature exhaled sharply through its nose. “Yesss,” it replied slowly. “So you can see me. How is this so? Only the blessed should be immune. Yet you do not carry the stench of god’s piss.”

  Now that Andrew had time to breathe, to talk, the weirdness stacked up fast. The archaic phrasing. The accent; almost familiar, but wrong in a way that scraped at his nerves. The way it spoke like someone who’d learned language from a dead textbook.

  “I have a resistance to your command effects,” Andrew said. Then, because apparently he hated himself, added, “But seriously, are you a nice monster?”

  The creature blinked, visibly startled.

  “A resistance to command effects?” it echoed. “What an obtuse way to phrase that. And quite impossible for one so young.” It studied him anew. “As for your question. I am no more a monster than you are a base animal. I am civil. Eloquent. And I possess a… soft spot for your kind.”

  That did not help.

  “Speaking of which,” it continued, “is this resistance, as you call it, common among your people here?”

  Andrew chewed on that. Was he being a dick? Was that racist? Was this like being called a monkey? And more importantly; where the hell was this thing from if it didn’t know whether rare traits were common?

  “No,” Andrew said slowly. “It’s extremely rare. Traits that completely block command effects almost never happen.” He paused. “Also circling back, I have no goddamn idea what a death kiss is. That was a pine tree.”

  He pointed off to the side. “Just like that one. They’re everywhere. Not poisonous. We use them for lumber, sap, oil, varnishes, scents. Nothing dangerous about them at all.”

  He realized he was rambling, but didn’t stop. If it kept this thing from hyper-speed tackling him again, it was worth it.

  The creature reached out, gripped the tree, held it briefly; then released it.

  “Hm,” it said. “So it is. That would have been helpful to know previously.”

  “Four of my ribs concur,” Andrew muttered, finding a spark of humor. The longer this went on, the more the creature’s youthful face felt… less like a lie. More like they might actually be close in age.

  “Could you maybe let me go,” Andrew added, “or are you trying to preserve the homoerotic tension for something?”

  “The homo what?” the creature asked flatly. “Actually. Never mind. Prepare to slide.”

  It released him.

  Andrew scrambled, and slid rolling down the dirt hill although at a much slower, more frustrating, and for Kain comedic pace. Until he finally came to a stop.

  Kain had a slight smirk on his lips as he watched the little mortal tumble around and he pulled himself to his feet, this damaged mix of comprehend languages and Aura insight, didn’t give him as much as he’d like but it was sufficient enough to know when he was being teased. Which is preferable to blanket terror.