Rows of jagged teeth stared down at Terry, his annoyance obvious at not being able to parse their English.
The elite ghoul’s powerful voice cut through the air, pulling Terry’s eyes from those killing teeth, back to the leader’s gaze.
“No ghoulish name? You know our shapes well enough but your teachers never named you?”
Terry felt a flush of embarrassment. He’d never referred to Crunch, Burg, or Blood by their ghoulish names and they had always called him ‘My Prince.’
The realization that he’d never asked for a native ghoulish name hit him; he had no one else to blame but himself.
He hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. “No…they called me by my—” He almost said title. “—by my human name.”
Crimson Spear narrowed his eyes, perhaps picking up on the omission, but one of the liches—Deep Root—spoke before Terry could feel the tension of that gaze.
“Worry not, young one. With the Lord of Ice as your master, you’ll surely earn a name in short order.”
Master? He considered correcting the lich, telling them they’d just met. But before he could make a decision, a notification appeared.
Ben has requested a System chat. Accept?
He risked a glance toward the man who returned the look casually, his expression in no way revealing he’d just silently sent a chat request.
Terry accepted, both curious and confused.
[Ben]: Go with it, kid. If they think I’m your master, they’re less likely to eat you.
He stared at those words in shock. Eat me! He hadn’t realized that was a possibility, but it opened his eyes to something.
Crimson Spear was tall, his limbs lithe and undoubtedly powerful. But Terry compared him to his memory of the golden-torc ghoul back in Wichita. After a quick glance, there was no denying it: this ghoul was thinner, his flesh slightly emaciated in comparison.
He replayed their walk through the Bloodsplatter Clan’s home—the ghouls standing in surprise and excitement as he dragged the dire wolf corpse through the main area.
The ghoul clan was starving—and Terry was as appetizing a meal as any young dire wolf.
Thinking quickly, Terry inclined his head toward Ben.
“Yes, the Lord of Ice has been a fine master in the short time I’ve been here.”
An unseen tension released, Crimson Spear relaxing his gaze to look down upon the dire wolf at Terry’s feet.
“Let us go, then. The spawnling is ravenous.”
Without another word, the ghoul and his lich entourage turned and started back up the steps. Terry shared a confused glance with Ben, who flicked his eyes toward the undead.
He sighed, picking up the bloody haunch and starting after them.
Ben walked slightly ahead of him, his aura ranging around them subtly. Terry risked probing glances with his aura in an attempt to glean more information from the man; he’d been slightly disappointed to see his System name had been simply: Ben.
He’d been hoping for a last name or a super name.
Ben glanced over, realizing Terry was studying him.
[Ben]: You were wrong earlier.
The message surprised him so much, it took him another few steps up the stairs before he could process it.
[Terry]: About what?
Crimson Spear reached the large double doors and entered, followed shortly by the two liches.
[Ben]: I’m not the cause of the storm.
The storm? Terry followed Ben to the doors, mulling that statement over. I’m not the cause of the storm? Did the man mean he wasn’t creating the blizzard on the surface?
[Terry]: With a name like Lord of Ice, I just assumed.
Ben nodded, hesitating at the doorway.
[Ben]: They call me that because I’m the one taming the storm. I keep it subdued enough to allow for hunts.
Terry’s eyes went wide.
[Terry]: That’s tamed!?
Ben indicated the door with a nod and Terry started. Stepping forward, he dragged the wolf corpse over the threshold and into the dark tunnel behind it. With his Master of Light Skill, he was able to pierce the dark just enough to see Crimson Spear’s back as he turned a corner.
[Ben]: When the Bloodsplatter Clan were first exiled to the surface, only their leader could survive the storm. But his presence is necessary here. My powers allow the lesser ghouls to hunt, though their success is intermittent.
He frowned at that. The ghouls he knew were more than a match for a single dire wolf. A pack of ghouls should easily tear through that pack of dire wolves they’d found earlier today.
[Terry]: I don’t understand.
They reached the corner where the undead had turned and found themselves in a small cave. There was nothing in the space except a glowing green crystal that cast some scant illumination.
And…a small pool of black tar just big enough for Terry to lay down in.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The weakened state of Crimson Spear and his people, the reliance upon Ben for supplemental food, the Bloodsplatter Clan’s exile to the surface, and the pool of black tar that could only accommodate a single person…or ghoul.
His thoughts flashed back to his memory of the Evolution Chamber in Wichita. A black pebble beach abutting a pool of tar that stretched farther than he could see. Space for a thousand ghouls to lay side-by-side and never feel cramped.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
But for the Bloodsplatter Clan, a pool clearly no bigger than a single ghoul.
The black tar bubbled, reminding him of when he and Crunch had released those seven dead ghouls into the Wichitan version of this pool. The tar had bubbled then, too, only settling once the ghoul corpses had slipped under the surface.
Deep Root’s sibilant voice cut across Terry’s thoughts.
“Bring forth the offering, young one.”
He dragged the corpse forward, hyper aware of Crimson Spear’s presence right beside him. An irrational image played in his head—the ghoul leader rocking forward, his powerful hand shoving Terry into the pit along with the dire wolf.
But he pushed through that fear, bringing the corpse to the edge of the black tar.
Crimson Spear did reach forward and Terry had to suppress a flinch, but the ghoul simply grabbed the wolf limb, lifting it up and tearing away a single leg before dropping the corpse.
A hiss rose up from the two liches, their auras stirring the air around them. A moment later, Crimson Spear joined them, his deep voice harmonizing as he held up the dire wolf leg.
The aura began to shift, eliciting a familiar feeling deep in his chest. He remembered that song in the Evolution Chamber—the Song of Well-Earned Rest, Hoping Tree had called it.
As he listened to this song build, intermingle with their aura, he felt the subtle differences that separated it from that song.
An image flashed in his mind—a young boy going out on his first hunt, tracking the signs of his prey. An exultant feeling settled deep in his chest as the boy brought down his first kill, carried it back to his people.
The aura ramped up a degree and Terry was startled to feel Ben joining in at his side. It was similar to the aura shifting around the undead, but with his own touch. Though the impressions were slightly different, they seemed to synergize in a way Terry couldn’t quantify.
He turned his attention to the images evoked by Ben’s aura. A boy worked side-by-side with an older man, his attention rapt as the man taught him some unknown craft. The emotions were palpable, the pride in the man, the adoration in the boy.
It continued to build, swirling through the small cave with enough force he could practically feel it on his skin, taste it on his tongue. A sudden urge took him and he began to stir his own aura.
The first few moments were awkward, his aura stilted in comparison to the experts around him. But he felt Ben’s aura connect with his, giving slight pushes as if to adjust the flow. He followed that guidance, feeling a sort of harmony begin to form.
He didn’t know when it happened, but he realized that their auras were now indistinguishable, and he could feel Ben’s emotions as if they were his own. He was surprised to feel a bone-deep sadness there, but also a hope. The subjects were inscrutable, but the emotions were undeniable.
Before he could peel back those layers, Ben guided their aura and Terry felt theirs brush against that of the undead. At first, the two aura storms battered each other, neither finding harmony. But he felt them shift their frequency, each making accommodations for the other, a subtle dance of give and take that eventually found synchronicity.
Terry was a leaf in this storm now, pulled along by something bigger than himself, unable to pull free even if he wanted to.
But he didn’t want to.
The sensations, the emotions, the images, infected him with a heady dizziness that seemed to separate his ego from his body. He was one with Crimson Spear, Deep Root, Snow Glare…
He was one with Ben.
A lifetime of disappointment, of failure, of loneliness, crowded that connection and Terry couldn’t tell if those were his feelings or Ben’s.
Before he could make that distinction, he felt Deep Root’s emotions take center stage. Longing, powerful enough to make his chest ache. A yearning for a return, a return to power, glory, responsibility—not for him, but for the clan.
Snow Glare’s aura felt similar. There was a gaping chasm in his ego, a need to provide and shepherd his people that he felt he was failing at. The two of them were like opposite sides of the same coin, their needs and wants complementing each other to create a greater whole.
Then, he shifted his focus to Crimson Spear’s and was whipped away from conscious thought by the power of the ghoul’s emotions. There was a burning need, an unbelievably powerful desire to return his people to their rightful home. Terry felt the fading sense of glory Crimson Spear had once embodied. One of the leaders of the most important ghoul clan, the pride of his people, now scrounging for scraps, reliant upon outsiders simply to survive.
The heartache, the loss of pride, stabbed at Terry like a knife.
He was still processing those emotions, waiting for the aura storm to drift apart and for each of them to separate back into their individual wholes, when his own aura was whipped into the forefront.
It felt like his ego had been snatched up from his grip and bared whole before the world.
He saw himself from the outside looking in, a distance stretching before him as he regarded his own motivations and emotions.
The first thing he noticed was his desperate need to live up to his family’s legacy. He wanted more than anything to make his father proud, his mother proud—even his grandfather, Necroton, despite his flaws, pulled on Terry’s ego.
He wanted to make them proud—but more than that, he wanted to surpass them. He wanted to be stronger than them, more famous than them, considered more good than them.
The naked ambition shocked him.
There was no time to reconcile that undeniable need with his own thoughts—he was pulled into the next emotion without mercy.
Need, again. But this need had a different flavor. It was just as desperate, just as powerful, but it wasn’t centered on him. Rather, he felt a bone-deep need to help others, give hope to the hopeless, protect the weak…bring light to a bleak world.
Images flashed in his mind—Wichita flaring to life as his portals returned the sun. Handing out food to the street kids whose bones poked through their skin. Slicing portals through space as he ushered the defenseless Market natives through, the S-rankers fighting a desperate fight above them.
The aura dimmed without him realizing, the air going silent even though no sound had been made. He felt its passage dip down, into the pool of black tar, infusing it with those raw emotions, those private desires.
When the aura was nearly still, Crimson Spear leaned forward and slipped the dire wolf leg into the black. The bubbling on the surface calmed, the leg dipping out of sight as something seemed to snag it.
Terry’s eyes were locked on that pool, but his thoughts felt disconnected from his body, the emotions distant even as his aura decoupled from the others.
He realized Ben was gently pulling him away from the pool and he shook himself awake.
“Let’s leave the spawnling to his meal.”
Terry nodded, though he found his mind still in a fugue, his thoughts processing the emotions he’d felt rather than the words Ben had said.
They came to a stop around the bend, standing in the dark as the undead joined them.
“You did well, young one,” Deep Root said in ghoulish.
“Yes,” hissed Snow Glare. “The Song of Offering can be overwhelming, but your aura is powerful.”
Terry turned to them, so many questions on his lips, but Crimson Spear stepped forward and he bit his tongue.
“You’ve sung with our people before?” the ghoul asked.
“Not exactly.” He hesitated, but realized there was no use trying to lie or hide the fact. “I was present during the Song of Well-Earned Rest once…”
He trailed off as the liches shared a look and a quick flash of aura that he didn’t catch.
“You interest me,” Crimson Spear growled. “I should like to—”
The ghoul cut off at a sudden burst of aura from the two liches. There was a message there, one punctuated by panic, though Terry couldn’t grasp the full meaning.
Crimson Spear whirled on Ben.
“A raid. Will you assist?”
Terry looked up to see Ben’s eyes widen for the briefest moment before his expression turned resolute.
“You need not ask.”
Without another word, Crimson Spear darted through the tunnel, Ben on his heels. Terry hesitated a moment, but the liches began to move—slower, but still with urgency—so he followed them out into the main cavern of the clan.
Crimson Spear’s powerful voice echoed out in ghoulish, a warning that stilled the cave. Then, the ghouls burst into motion, grabbing weapons and darting off. The two liches followed after Crimson Spear, but Ben stopped at the large double doors leading to the small Evolution Chamber.
“What’s going on?” Terry asked.
Ben’s eyes scanned the cave as he answered.
“Sanguine raid.”
Terry’s heart flipped, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.
“Sanguine? But why would the vampires attack the ghouls?”
Something in Terry’s tone must have clued Ben in, because he glanced toward Terry in question.
“You know the sanguine?”
Terry nodded. “I’ve fought them. Killed one of their leaders back on Earth with silver and sunlight.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed, studying Terry as if looking for some hint of a lie. Terry returned a steady gaze.
After a moment of scrutiny, Ben snorted.
“Now that’s a story I’ll need to hear when this is all said and done.”
Terry shrugged. “Yeah, soon as you tell me your story.”
Ben took on a wry smile, quickly hidden. “We’ll see,” he replied with guarded tone.
Before Terry could give a witty reply, movement flashed high up on the cave ceiling.
“Up there!” he shouted.
But then he saw more movement to the left and right as familiar creatures began crawling from tunnel entrances on either side.
There are too many, he realized. A hundred, two hundred, more, began streaming through the open tunnels, up the walls, outnumbering the ghouls five-to-one.
Crimson Spear suddenly moved, an ivory spear that he hadn’t possessed earlier now in his hands. He moved as fast as any A-ranked Duelist, carving through a handful of sanguine in a blink.
But they swarmed around him, heading for the regular ghouls—who suddenly seemed so frail and weak in comparison to the ghouls of Wichita.
Despite appearances, the ghouls were much faster and stronger than the sanguine, their weapons and bone-claws tearing through the fragile vampires wherever they clashed.
Then, Terry noticed dozens of the creatures crawling over the ceiling in their direction.
“They’re going for the pool.” Ben’s aura began to stir and the temperature dropped noticeably in the blink of an eye.
Why would they go for the pool? he wanted to ask. But there were only seconds before the sanguine were upon them.
“Can I bring my friends? They can help!”
Ben’s eyes flicked toward Terry for the briefest moment, indecision clear on his face. The first sanguine launched itself toward Ben and an icicle materialized in thin air, spearing the creature in the face.
“Do it!” Ben shouted.
Terry immediately began reaching through space, searching for that waypoint he’d marked in his mind. As he stretched his aura, he sent a Team message.
[Terry]: Guys, we’re under attack. I need back up! I’m sending you a portal.
[Juan Carlos]: We got your back, Terry! Is it the monster?
[Al’Ruzan, third of his name]: We are ready.
Rather than answer, Terry sliced space open, connecting the ghoul home to his team’s tiny cave.
Al’Ruzan was the first through, his eyes instinctively tracking to Ben, his knife held tightly in his hand. Ben looked over, then was forced to pull his attention away as a handful of sanguine flew through the air toward them.
Icicles pierced three of them and Ben leapt to intercept the last two—one with a fist, the other with a boot.
Juan Carlos came through next, a ball of fire cupped gingerly in his hand. His eyes found Terry, a smile forming before he caught sight of the movement all around them.
“Uh…Terry.”
“Talk later,” Terry grunted. His aura was shifting, Affixing Liquefy Metal as he dropped Draw Water. “Vampires bad. Ghouls and human good.” He pointed up toward the swarming sanguine. “Burn the bastards.”
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