An unknown woman walked with a sterile pace down the frigid streets of Viemen’s market district, passing all others without so much as a second glance. There were many who gave her polite nods and neighborly smiles, though she did not return their favor. And so, thinking that this uncharacteristic display of indifference was a simple oversight, they let it go and continued about their day. However, their assumptions were not entirely correct. In fact, there was very little — if anything— that this woman did not see.

  She continued down the western road for a while longer until she reached the bottom of a small incline, atop which sat a walled in mansion. Like so many mornings before, a long queue extended from the threshold of the gate: dozens of persons all clamoring for attention and service. And, like so many mornings before, she saw the same man stationed at his post, along with the rest of the guards. This young man’s name was Erik. He was twenty-seven years old, unmarried, with two older brothers and one younger sister, all of whom lived in western Viemen. His favorite drink was Ma Mileena’s spiced honey mead and he very much enjoyed it with a side of potatoes. Erik was also very fond of women. Particularly, those women who approach him at the tavern, lean in affectionately as he speaks, and smile sweetly when he complements them.

  After spotting Erik’s face, the woman continued passed the many groups of people and made her way just beyond the head of the queue. She stood there in front of the guard’s post, with her hands innocently behind her back, looking fondly to Erik.

  “Emily!”

  Erik pushed passed the other guards, despite their protest, and rushed out to meet her.

  “Hello Erik,” she said with a smile.

  “I am glad you made it,” he said with an obvious affection. “I put the papers through like you asked, and the officers are working as fast as they can. I promise!”

  Emily placed a tender hand on Erik’s arm and shook her head.

  “You are so kind, Erik. But that is not why I came to see you.”

  Erik stared dumbly down at her face and she met him with a tempting gaze of her own.

  “Oh…” he muttered as his face grew red. “Well…perhaps we can discuss your paperwork in the back?”

  “Show me the way,” she answered in a low voice.

  Erik grabbed her hand and guided her around back of the guard house, despite angry groaning from the others in line. Watching this unfold, the rest of the guards simply shook their heads, half frustrated and half entertained by the hotheadedness of youth.

  Erik nearly tripped over himself as he lead her to the back of the house. He tugged the wooden door to the back room open and gestured Emily inside. The place was small, with enough space for only a table, one chair, and a few stacked wooden crates. However, this was more than enough space for Erik.

  “It’s a little cold in here,” he said as he shut the door behind her.

  “That’s alright,” she answered. “We won’t be cold for much longer.”

  Erik felt his heart skip a beat. Then, he heard the muffled sound of moving cloth. He turned around to see Emily slowly drawing the shawl from around her body and letting it fall to the floor. Erik then frantically began to undo the buckles of his armor and the belts around his waist. There was a small commotion as he ripped everything off himself and threw it into a pile on the floor. Naked and excited, he stared across the room at the enticing figure of Emily. She leaned into her hip and drew the hair from her face.

  “Do you want to help me get the rest off?” she asked.

  The table screeched across the floor as Erik pushed off of it and nearly fell into her. He leaned in and kissed her neck, then gripped the back of her shirt and began to pull downward. Erik pulled his face away from her neck and stared down at her chest. But as he undressed her, a silver chain appeared beneath the locks of her hair; and attached to it was an expensive looking red gemstone.

  “I didn’t know you came from money?” Erik asked, with a twinge of excitement.

  Emily did not respond.

  As Erik continued to stare at the gemstone, he felt a magnetic pull towards it. The blood began to drain from his face and he grew weaker and weaker. The last thing he saw before he collapsed was the curling of Emily’s supple lips into a devilish smile.

  Erik’s body hit the floor with a thud. She stared down at his body dispassionately and waited. Then, within a few moments, Erik’s chest began to rise and fall. Emily then undressed herself the rest of the way and tossed the clothes behind one of the wooden crates. And as she took small steps to the opposite side of the room, her footfalls grew heavier and heavier.

  He then reached down and picked up Erik’s clothes and began to put them on, one layer at a time. The man looked down at Erik’s sword and thought a moment, before deciding in the end to leave it. He quickly crossed the room, opened the door and stepped back outside. The bolt to the door clinked as the man locked it and made his way toward the front of the guard house.

  “Oi!” a friendly voice called out. “Finished already?”

  The other guards snickered playfully to each other as they watched him.

  “Erik?” another guard asked. “You alright, mate?”

  Erik nodded.

  “I have to speak with Thomas. I will be right back.”

  The other guards looked at each other, then shrugged their shoulders.

  “Just hurry back. We’re sick of covering for you!”

  Erik turned from them at once and made his way beyond the stone walls and up towards the mansion.

  He knew every nook and cranny of grounds, though he had never seen it through human eyes before. He followed the familiar path to the side of the house, walking passed servants who eyed him curiously but said nothing. When there was no one in sight, he grabbed a pair of clothes which had been hung out to dry and slipped into a nearby closet. After a few moments, the closet door opened and a middle aged woman stepped out. She kicked the exposed bit of a worn leather buckle beneath a pile of linens and shut the door behind her.

  “Good morning Mildred,” one of the maids said with a polite smile. “I am glad to see you are feeling better.”

  “Good morning, dear,” Mildred said in return.

  The two passed each other in the hallway, while Mildred maintained a soft and sweet smile. Then, once the younger maid had left her, the woman’s face returned to a stone cold ambivalence. She continued from the servant’s area into the main house and made straight for the central staircase. As she came upon the landing, she could see a man seated outside of a room, which was closed behind two dark-wooden doors.

  The man’s name was Thomas.

  Thomas lived a relatively comfortable life. He had a wife and three children, with one more on the way. And, between red wine and good company, Thomas also enjoyed spending time with his mistress.

  “Mildred?” Thomas said suddenly, and with surprise as he caught sight of her climbing the stairs.

  “Thomas,” she answered with a fearful tone, “There is trouble at the front gate. A woman is asking for you.”

  Thomas’ face grew pale. He stood up from the chair and walked over to her, placing himself between her and the door.

  “W-what woman?”

  “A woman with blonde hair and brown eyes. She says her name is Donna—”

  Thomas held up his finger to his lips. Mildred nodded and lowered her voice.

  “She demands to speak with you immediately. She says it is urgent. She threatened to involve her husband if—”

  “Enough” Thomas hissed. “I will see her immediately.”

  With that, he stormed passed Mildred and headed swiftly down the stairs.

  Once alone, Mildred drew herself up to full height and listened carefully. The hall was quiet, and the only other sounds were those of a metal pen tip brushing over parchment, which came from beyond the double doors. She approached the door and knocked on it several times. But as her knuckles grew bigger and her bones thickened, the sound grew deeper and louder.

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  “What is it, Thomas?” the voice called from inside.

  “There is an urgent correspondence, Lord Mayor.”

  An audible sigh emanated from inside the study.

  “You may enter.”

  Thomas opened the door slowly and stepped inside. He turned his body to face the Mayor and bowed slightly. Behind his back, his fingers curled silently around the handle and locked the door.

  “Speak quickly, Thomas. What correspondence do you have?”

  Thomas stood up but he did not respond. Instead, he looked around with curiosity as he had never seen the study from inside before. He walked one step at a time into the room, scanning every inch of it. The man behind the desk seemed infuriated at being ignored so openly.

  “Answer me, Thomas. Why have you disturbed me?” The sour man then looked him up and down. “And what are you wearing, Thomas?”

  The man who wore Thomas’ face flicked his eyes to the Mayor and smiled ever so slightly.

  “You are rather busy this morning, Lord Mayor.”

  “I am busy every morning,” he answered defensively. “State your business, Thomas. Otherwise you may leave my study immediately.”

  The man eyed the mayor’s desk. There were several letters on top of it, most of which had been recently opened, but a few of which had not. A metal letter opener lay across the most recently opened parchment.

  “The correspondence is from Zorren Zalphineas XI.”

  Rothwell stood up suddenly from his chair and stomped around the desk.

  “What!? Why didn’t you say so!?” The man could feel Rothwell’s hot breath against his skin as he leaned in close. “Where is the letter!?”

  “Letter?” The man shook his head. “There is no letter, Lord Mayor. Only a message.”

  Rothwell backed away, confused.

  “Message? What message?”

  The man shrugged as he spoke.

  “Well, its more of a request, actually.”

  “Request? What does he want from me?”

  Rothwell stared concernedly into the man’s eyes. For a moment, they seemed to flash with an unholy light.

  “Only your life.”

  Vrastus tore the letter opener off the table and sank it into Rothwell’s neck, down to the hilt. Rothwell gagged and tried to scream, but no sound would come out. Several powerful spurts of blood shot out from the wound and stained the papers red. A gurgling sound emanated from Rothwell’s mouth as red foam gathered on his lips— he was choking on his own blood. Vrastus twisted the knife a bit, then pulled it out. Rothwell fell on top of Vrastus as his legs grew weak, all the while gripping desperately at his neck to stop the bleeding.

  Vrastus held him with one arm, watching the light leave his eyes. Then, he felt a surge of power move through him. Beneath his plain linen clothing, a red glow began to shine. With every slowing beat of Rothwell’s straining heart, the red gem pulsed and grew ever brighter. Vrastus threw back his head in ecstasy, consuming every bit of that inscrutable thing which animates flesh and sparks the mind. And as he drank in more greedily, Vrastus could feel his senses expand. The wind against the window. The chatter of servants below. The pounding of heavy boots against the floor—

  Suddenly, the door to the study burst open and a body rushed at Vrastus. He barely managed to peel away in time as a brutish ax swung passed his body and crashed into the desk, nearly splitting it in two. Rothwell staggered back and fell into one of the arm chairs. He reached out at the massive figure in front of him and tried desperately to form words.

  Vrastus looked the the man over as they faced off against one another. He had seen him many times, from many different perspectives, and knew him well.

  “You’re smaller up close,” Vrastus said with a cheeky tone.

  The man did not take the bait.

  He charged suddenly at Vrastus and swung at him with tremendous power—

  Julius was not supposed to be here on this day; but, the fact that he was, almost seemed the most appropriate outcome. In all his weeks of observation, the one conclusion that Vrastus could make regarding Julius was that he was, above all else, unpredictable. He could think of no logic that seemed to fit Julius’ actions. He simply went as he pleased and did as he pleased. Even the tiniest instance could sway Julius’ actions completely off course, leading him down a completely different path. And, in a rare moment, Vrastus found himself sympathizing with Zorren.

  After all, he also hated uncertainty.

  Julius unleashed several attacks in quick succession, each one with enough force to cleave through Vrastus, bone and all. But none landed. Vrastus moved like liquid, quick and slimy, avoiding each strike at the last possible second, then reaching out and slicing with attacks of his own. Each of Vrastus’ cuts with the letter opener managed to draw blood, but Julius acted as if the wounds did not exist.

  Vrastus stepped back with extra distance as he dodged another attack from Julius. Then, the gemstone around his neck flashed brightly, its crimson glare reflecting back to him in Julius’ eyes. Vrastus let lose a devilish grin, then charged forward. Julius drew back his ax and moved to intercept him.

  But it was all an illusion.

  Vrastus, from the moment after his gem flashed red, had moved silently around the perimeter of the room until he was behind Julius. However, inside Julius’ mind was projected an intentional vision from Vrastus himself. Swimming sinister, reflecting indefinitely inside Julius’ eyes, was the visage of Vrastus’ attack— a stabbing thrust aimed at his neck. And, while Julius stepped to the side to avoid the illusory strike, Vrastus moved himself into position. He pressed his foot into the ground, surged his magic into the tip of the letter opener and thrust it at Julius’ from behind.

  There was a high pitched ring as the letter opener shattered into pieces. Vrastus felt a shock and pulled his hand away. He stared blankly at Julius’ skin— untouched and intact— as it rippled and contracted. Then, emerging from beneath, pulsed a webbing of dark veins which bubbled and pressed against the surface.

  Vrastus’ senses had been awakened and enhanced by his murderous ritual. And because of this, he could sense the retaliatory attack before it came. But he was so stunned and so unprepared, that even with his inhuman reflexes, he was unable to avoid it completely. In an instant, the jagged tip of Julius’ ax cut through his clothing and tore against his skin. Vrastus staggered backwards and tried to flee, but he was blocked from behind by Rothwell’s desk.

  Before him was no longer a man, if indeed there ever had been. Julius’ entire body was pulsing with that same dark-blue lattice work of vascularity, within which surged a kind of innate magic. The whites of his eyes had turned black, and his overall complexion had become a mottled dark-gray. There was a sleeping power within him. Fortitude like a mountain and an unending endurance.

  Vrastus’ worst possible enemy.

  Julius swung his ax high into the air, tearing through the ceiling, and brought it down toward Vrastus with impossible force. In response, Vrastus rolled quickly onto the desk and flipped over it as the ax came crashing down. Vrastus then brandished a dagger and threw it like a bolt toward the window, shattering it to pieces. Julius rushed forward and reached for Vrastus, but succeeded only in grabbing his sleeve. He heard the cloth tear as Vrastus pulled away from him. Then, in a flash, Vrastus braced himself and jumped through the window.

  Julius threw the piece of cloth against the floor, ran to the windowpane and stared down below. It was a two story drop onto a stone patio, around which was a clearing about ten feet wide. Julius looked left and right towards either far corner of the mansion, but he saw no sign of Vrastus. On the ground below, he could see the shattered glass and a few drops of blood, but nothing more. Julius felt the blood rush begin to leave him, and with a few long breaths, his pulse returned to normal. Then, from behind, he heard pounding feet as they raced up the stairs.

  “Lord Mayor! What is going on—!”

  Thomas tore around the door frame and was stopped dead in his tracks. The study was destroyed: furniture was overturned, papers were strewn about the floor, and the mayor’s desk lay there in pieces. Thomas next laid eyes on Julius’ imposing figure stooped in front of the window; in his hand was held a bloodied ax.

  “Julius!? What happened here!?”

  Julius turned to Thomas and raised an eyebrow, then looked toward the opposite corner of the room. Thomas followed his stare and nearly collapsed when he saw it. Lying in a horrid state of shock and pain was Mayor Rothwell. His body was cold and his eyes were still.

  “Oh…oh gods…”

  Thomas staggered forward and fell into the bookshelf. He gripped his mouth as he felt the urge to gag. And, try as he might, he could not take his eyes off Rothwell’s body.

  Julius took a look around the room in frustrated silence. Rothwell was collapsed and crooked in the corner. Thomas stood gripping the bookshelf for support while he wretched involuntarily. Julius then looked down at the window and out into the yard, giving himself a few moments to think.

  “Stay calm, Thomas,” Julius commanded as he crossed the room.

  Thomas nodded his head and mumbled absentmindedly with panting breaths.

  “Calm…calm…r-right.”

  Julius made his way to the door and closed it as best he could, trying to approximate the two edges that he had fractured a few minutes ago.

  “Julius…” Thomas asked as he managed to steady himself. “What happened—?”

  Julius’ ax swung crisply through the air, cutting through Thomas’ neck like butter. His head tumbled a few times then landed on the floor with a thud.

  “You became erratic and attacked the Mayor,” Julius answered.

  Thomas’ body twitched in response then fell to the floor. Julius dropped his ax onto a nearby armchair and reached for his weapon’s belt. He took off a few daggers and held them up one at a time to Rothwell’s throat. After selecting the best fit, he unsheathed it and brought the edge to his arm. Julius held his breath as he dragged the knife across his skin, being sure to draw blood. He then sank the knife into his thigh and pulled it out. With the tip of his boot, Julius maneuvered Thomas’ body into position beside Rothwell. Then, he bent down and wrapped the dagger in his hands and attached the sheath to Thomas’ waist.

  From below, there was a commotion building as servants saw the broken glass and realized to which window it belonged.

  Continuing his work, Julius reached over Thomas and stuck his hand down Rothwell’s shirt, gripping the chain around his neck and pulling hard until it snapped. He then crossed the room, reached into the broken desk drawer and withdrew Rothwell’s lock-box. Once opened, Julius grabbed the letters and stuffed them into his tunic.

  He then heard a gasp from the hallway.

  Julius slid the box back toward the desk and rose from the ground. Behind him stood three maids; their hands covered their mouths as they looked with fear and shock between the two bodies. Then, one of them fell back against the wall and let out a cry.

  “W-What happened here?”

  “There is no need to panic, Mildred,” Julius said in a soothing voice. “I will explain everything.”