The Homunculus Knight

Chapter: 47: A Helping Hand

“I’d like to stick a dagger in whatever sick jagger came up with this idea. Necromancy is already bad enough with desecrating remains and enslaving souls; but of course some cock-biting lunatic had to take it farther. See, an unconsecrated body already holds a soul, right? So if it can fit a soul in there, what about something else attracted to souls? Demons, I’m talking about demons; it's possible to summon one right into a corpse and control the resulting horror. Or at least try to control it, half the bastards who try this end up eaten by the very thing they summoned. Which is just about what they deserve considering what happens to the ‘hosts’ of these demons.” - Paladin Mak Murtrey.

Of all the rooms in the Thoas Citadel, none held such emotional importance to Isabelle as its library. The great chamber of books and scrolls was the heart of her castle and the most well-defended section of it. Generations of House Silva had collected knowledge of all sorts and stored it in these hallowed halls. Texts on every possible subject filled shelves that stretched two stories high and sprawled in a labyrinthian maze. The smell of old leather and parchment suffused the chamber while the creak of book spines and flutter of pages whispered at the edge of awareness. When not engaged in her myriad projects and obligations, it was here where Isabelle Gens Silva often found herself.

Such was the case now, as she sat in the central reading room of the library and stared at the documents covering the table before her. Captured moonlight shone down from an enchanted oculus far above and brought a pale crispness to the scene. In that eerie illumination, Isabelle gently played with a heavy signet ring, while getting lost in her thoughts. She was alone, except for the myriad wraiths bound to the library as custodian and keepers. But judging by the footfalls echoing off the marble floor, that was about to change.

The reading room was surrounded by a circle of shelves with only one gap leading out to the wider library. Through that opening now walked a pretty young woman with curly red hair and an easy smile. Her name was Yuli Gens Silva, and she was one of Isabelle’s scions and vassals. Moonlight shone off the gaudy jewelry she wore and Isabelle could almost taste the magic bound to every piece. If one ignored the red eyes and fangs, Yuli looked like a wealthy merchant’s favorite daughter. The type of young heiress with more vivacity than sense. Which, while not a strictly inaccurate assessment, missed that Yuli was a profoundly talented enchanter and powerful member of a vampire court.

“Can you still not decide, my countess?” she asked, looking at the papers decorating the reading table before Isabelle.

Slipping the signet onto her finger, Isabelle sighed. “It’s a tempting offer and interesting project, but I’m wary of taking commissions.”

Yuli raised an eyebrow and said. “The letter seemed most insistent.”

Isabelle waved her scion’s words away with a scoff. “If he wants this so badly, he can entrust it to his own immediate vassals. I’m sure the pervert or the parasite would eagerly jump at this chance.”

Smiling slightly, Yuli approached the table. “If he thought his voivodes were capable of this, then he’d have given them this ‘commission.”

Standing up from the high-backed chair she’d been lounging in, Isabelle prodded the spread out papers like a venomous insect might be hiding among them. “Perhaps, or maybe he’s made the offer to both them, myself and who knows who else. It would just be like Dracon to turn an interesting project into a squabbling competition. But it matters little, I won’t play his game.”

Delicately, Yuli said. “Mistress… this is the Archduke, I don’t know if refusing him is really an option.”

Isabelle’s eyes locked onto her scion and Yuli winced at the sheer intensity of her sire’s glare. “Options are what the weak and foolish must pick from; I am neither. I have the privilege of choice and if I choose not to take this commission, then Dracon must accept that. He may command his slaves and servants, but I am neither.”

Picking up one of the papers and looking at it, Isabelle added. “That being said, the compensation being offered is unique, and my own research might benefit from what Dracon wants me to do.”

Eyes down cast, Yuli nodded. “Of course, mistress. Will you have Pavlos draft your response or someone else?”

Sitting back down, still staring at the piece of paper, Isabelle replied. “I will do it myself. Dracon is worth such an investment.”

Yuli stood there in silence for a time as Isabelle started gathering paper and stylus. Looking at her scion, Isabelle gestured for Yuli to speak. “What is it?”

Tentatively, Yuli asked. “Is what the Archduke asks for even possible? And if it is, would creating it be… wise?”

Isabelle scoffed at that. “If something is possible it will be done, and better for me to unlock this secret than some other idiot stumbling across it. Besides, success would put me in a very interesting position and change things in our lands for the better.”

Nodding, Yuli said. “As you say, my countess.”

Eyeing her scion, Isabelle sighed in annoyance. She’d hoped Yuli would differ from the others, and not simply fold under a little pressure. Yuli was naturally a vibrant and outgoing person, never afraid to speak her mind. That mix of confidence and intellect was in part why Isabelle sired her. But when confronted by Isabelle’s force of personality, Yuli crumbled so easily. None of Isabelle’s scions would rise to the occasion and spar with her; they simply acquiesced with little more than a meager sentence of disagreement. While Isabelle knew she could win any argument or debate with her students, she wanted those victories to mean something. Besides, they should be glad to lose an argument with Isabelle. Few had the opportunity to sharpen their minds against such an incomparable whetstone such as her.

Deciding not to wallow in her disappointment, Isabelle looked at Archduke Dracon’s proposal. She had to admit it was a unique idea and would revolutionize the Duchies. Vampire alchemists had long been able to create artificial blood for use in transfusions, but the substance was of no use to the nocturnal nobility. It lacked the magical potency of true blood and didn’t even taste good. So the prospect of creating an alternative source of blood capable of feeding large numbers of vampires easily was interesting.

Already the great mechanisms of Isabelle’s mind were at work on possible answers to the conundrum. She could flesh-craft a creature capable of producing large quantities of blood; that wouldn’t be too difficult. But for the ichor to be potent, the being would need a soul and a strong one at that. Which requires complex and varied emotional stimulation, especially if the soul was to repair quickly from repeated feedings or extractions. There were so many moving parts to this but already Isabelle could feel the outline of a plan coming into place.

Yuli suddenly slammed her hands on the desk across from Isabelle with such unexpected intensity it actually startled the countess. Glaring up at her impudent scion, Isabelle started to rebuke Yuli when she realized a stranger stood in the red-heads place. It was another woman, this one with dark hair, a heart-shaped face and panicked expression. Speaking with a Dragontail accent, the stranger shouted. “ISABELLE, WAKE UP!”

The library faded away as Isabelle was pulled from the illusion of memory. Free from the delusion of her past, Isabelle knew who the stranger was and what her presence meant. For Natalie to call her like this was not a good sign, especially considering what memories Isabelle had been mired in. Feeling a flush of guilt and trepidation flow through her, the former countess prepared for what was coming.

Yara and Natalie chased after Wolfgang, trying to find the accursed strix before he could join his allies. Unable to keep up with the literally slimy bastard, they’d lost him in the cracked rock much to Natalie’s frustration. She should have just killed Wolfgang when she had the chance. Whatever secrets her uncle held were better lost than used against Cole and everyone else.

While chasing Wolfgang, Natalie and Yara ran past the various remnants of the battle being waged. Yara had some explanation as to what happened with Mina and Alia, but she did not know what shape the two were in now that Kit was taken. As much as Natalie wanted to help the pair, and possibly extract answers from Mina, there wasn’t time. The grim site of Masga’s last stand hammered that truth home. When the bonekeeper was killed, his barrier failed, and the aardigs panicked. Some broke formation while others stayed still, paralyzed by fear. Now all nine were dead, their bellies ruptured and… empty with no traces of organs or ichor. Natalie did not know what could have possibly caused this, but got the terrible sense she’d find out soon enough.

But among the ruined aardigs was something important enough to make Natalie pause her pursuit. Next to Masga’s cooling corpse was the dwarf ranger Nokin, still unconscious but alive. Gesturing at the dwarf, Natalie made a quick decision. “Yara, can you take her to the tower and check on the others?”

The thrall frowned and looked in the direction Wolfgang fled. Natalie guessed what Yara was thinking and spoke rapidly. “If we survive this, then we can’t arrive at Azyge without a living dwarf to vouch for us. Besides, without Kit’s enchantment, the enemy can see you. Better for you to keep our friends safe than dying pointlessly.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Yara nodded and said. “What about the priestess? What if she attacks me?”

Grimacing at that uncomfortable possibility, Natalie said. “I know Cole always carries some rope and-”

Before Yara could explain Mina was already bound and gagged, Natalie’s attention was elsewhere. Frantically, she searched among the fallen aardigs and cracks in the rock. Natalie let out a breath of relief upon finding a certain backpack leaning against a small boulder. In the chaos of all that happened Natalie had completely forgotten about Cole’s request. But in what could very much be a literal miracle, Cole’s pack remained where Grist left it. Pulling the bag open, Natalie rifled through it, hoping the insane idea she’d just had would work.

Cold ivory touched Natalie’s fingers, and she pulled Isabelle’s cracked skull free from the bag. Staring down at the hollow sockets of her new partner, Natalie started pulling on the link to Isabelle. If the former Countess could use her magic and Natalie’s power to cure the plague, then what else could Isabelle do? Considering what Natalie witnessed at the Redcap’s hillock, she guessed her mentor could do a lot even without physically touching the attacking vampires. Now the only question was Isabelle recovered enough from stopping the plague and how much of her might could she use while possessing Natalie.

Quickly handing Cole’s pack to Yara, Natalie looked up from the skull and said. “Keep them safe the best you can. I’m trusting you.”

Without a word, Yara hoisted Cole’s bag onto one shoulder and the unconscious dwarf onto the other. Blinking in surprise, Natalie decided she really needed to learn more about what an Ancilla could do. But before that, rousing Isabelle was the absolute priority. Holding up the skull, Natalie spoke with her mind and mouth. “Isabelle, wake up!”

Slowly, like some great sea creature surfacing, the countess awoke. Natalie could feel the familiar and surprisingly comforting presence of Isabelle touch her mind. + Natalie? What’s wrong? What’s happened? +

Sorting through her thoughts, Natalie fed the information to Isabelle, hoping she’d provided a clear image. It wasn’t easy moving memories and their context through the link in a coherent fashion, but Natalie thought she was getting pretty good at the practice. As the final fragment settled in Isabelle’s mind, Natalie’s body did something she’d not thought possible. A nervous shiver flowed up her spine as dead flesh reacted to the emotions pouring off Isabelle.

Natalie knew rage, she even knew Isabelle’s anger well. But what came through the psychic link wasn’t mere wrath, it was something purer and more horrible. Hate was perhaps the closest word Natalie had for it, but that wasn’t sufficient. Hate, even the most potent forms, lacked the clarity and focus of what Isabelle felt. If rage and hatred were blinding, then Isabelle’s emotion transcended those cruder, uncultivated feelings. This malice could not just see, it could imagine. Oh, and what it imagined was terrible. Natalie caught only glimpses of what the great mechanisms of Isabelle’s mind were working on, and they terrified her on an instinctual level.

In a voice colder and clearer than mountain air, Isabelle spoke in Natalie’s mind. + Igori has taken too much from me. He will not hurt those I love, not again, never again. Let me use your body, Natalie, let me end this! +

Uncertainty wormed itself into Natalie’s mind, and she hesitated. Isabelle was teetering on the edge; some of the old madness Natalie once faced in her mentor was back. Then a scream echoed through the cave. Natalie couldn’t remember Cole ever making such a wretched sound before and that was enough to banish all doubts. + Alright, let’s see how bad things are, then you’ll take control. +

Things were bad. Isabelle didn’t even need to borrow Natalie’s flesh to tell that. Even relying on the purely magical senses available in her bone prison, Isabelle could feel the power of their foes. Two mature strigoi from potent bloodlines, a newly made but paragon-born Dullahan, and of course one of Igori’s spawn. Each was a dangerous opponent representing a unique threat. Of course, that wouldn’t stop Isabelle from killing them all.

But before the slaughter could start, Isabelle needed a body. The owner of said body was currently standing atop a boulder, finishing a little speech. “You’re bluffing. I’ll pull the stargent out of him and he’ll be fine. Now, I’ve got someone who's very interested in meeting you, uncle.”

Normally Isabelle might roll her eyes at the melodrama of Natalie’s words but right now she found it fitting. After so many years of hiding and sleeping, Isabelle was ready to start her revenge. Igori would pay for what he did; Isabelle would strip him of everything he had, starting with the cadre arrayed before her. The hate inside Isabelle grew colder and more focused as memories of Igori’s crimes came unbidden. Forcing away the phantom sensations of piercing wood and licking flames, Isabelle prepared to strike.

A flicker of concern passed through the psychic link as Natalie reacted to Isabelle’s emotions. The former countess bit down on the surge of annoyance she felt. Despite Isabelle’s attempts to untangle the magical bond between them, Natalie still gleaned more through it than the older vampire wished. But Natalie didn’t make an issue of whatever she sensed, merely letting Isabelle taste her worry and nothing more. Isabelle didn’t know if this was a sign of trust from her student or a sign of how desperate matters were.

Bracing herself, Natalie opened her mind and body to Isabelle. + I’ll let you take control now. Be careful +

Flowing into the borrowed flesh, Isabelle let out a long held sigh. Staring through Natalie’s eyes, she looked down at her foes and smiled. Or at least her expression started as a smile; but upon seeing Cole and smelling his unique blood, Isabelle’s loaned face contorted into a cruel rictus. “I’m coming, darling.”

Her words were quiet, but Cole still heard them, his eyes widening in shock. Winking at him, she leapt down from the boulder, still holding her own skull. Gently rubbing the crack Natalie’s parasite was responsible for, Isabelle called upon her power. Tallclaw reacted quickly, rushing towards Isabelle, his cleaver at the ready. The strigoi clearly sensed the danger she represented and reacted accordingly, but insufficiently.

Two wolves the size of draft horses materialized and lunged at Tallclaw. Born of twisting vapor and red light, the lupines barreled into Tallclaw, knocking him from Isabelle’s path. Growling in fury the strigoi lashed out at his attackers but it was like fighting the fog. The wolves shifted and split, becoming a mass of snarling maws that ripped and bit.

+ How are you doing that? + Asked Natalie, stunned as her familiars took on larger and more ferocious shapes.

+ The Lupus Pack is bound together, sharing the same locus. I’m exploiting that and fusing some of them together, turning four wolves into a single greater beast that can subdivide again as needed. Now please let me focus +

Tallclaw continued to wrestle with the vicious lupines, growing extra limbs and scaled skin. As he struggled, Isabelle held out one hand and cut its palm with her taloned thumb. A few drops of black vampire blood splattered onto the ground and Isabelle started her next spell. Words of power hissed from her lips and the droplets started to fizz and bubble. What was once a mere stain on the stone grew into a roiling mass of smoking ink. Acrid spouts of caustic oil erupted from the bloodstain, spreading out along the cave floor in a rapidly growing pool of hungry corrosion. In the span of heartbeats, Isabelle was surrounded by a bubbling moat of naphtha.

At a twitch of Isabelle’s finger, a geyser of the summoned substance spouted out and into a mass of rats. The vermin scattered but not fast enough, many becoming caught in the seething pitch. Questing amoebic tendrils of the oil stretched out from Isabelle and other geyser points, dissolving any rodent unlucky enough to touch it. Prowling forward, Isabelle was flanked by six more wolves of normal size, their spectral forms moving over the tar without issue. Where Isabelle walked the oil parted, leaving stretches of pitted stone for her stride over.

Rats flung themselves at her, trying to leap over the moat. Any who might have managed the jump were swallowed up by fonts of acidic darkness, catching them like a cat might a bird in flight. One of Shorttooth’s constructs tried as well, but Isabelle knocked it away with a telekinetic slap, sending it screeching into a hungry puddle.

Sneering at the two strigoi, Isabelle said. “Pitiful, so incredibly pitiful. The pair of you have been hunting together for what? Two centuries? And yet you don’t change, you don’t innovate, you merely use your inherited powers to be another’s tool. To think Igori would dare send such limited hunting hounds after me and mine. A price must be paid for such arrogance and idiocy”

Isabelle’s gaze then fell upon the third vampire, a frightened little stripling now paralyzed by shock. “Natalie shared much with me about your crimes, Wolfgang and I’m… displeased. Tell me, what is it like to be a gnawing little carrion feeder? Is it difficult to gorge yourself on scraps of my genius just to excrete inferior acts of plagiarism? Was worming your way through the ashes of my library insufficient? Did you need to come scuttling after my lovers to see what true power is?”

Wolfgang’s eyes were impossibly wide, his jaw hanging open, all noble poise or stoic focus ripped from him. “This… this can’t be. You’re dead?”

Reaching out Isabelle gripped Wolfgang with her mind and yanked him into the air. She could feel him struggling against her telekinetic potency, his own mind trying vainly to pry himself free. Smiling with the sweetness of spoiled berries, Isabelle said. “Here you are, smart enough to realize the truth, but still so pitifully stupid you deny what's right before your eyes.”

Isabelle noticed then one of Wolfgang’s arms was pinned to his chest by her grip, and the hand of said arm was frantically trying to grip something hidden in his clothes. With a thought Isabelle squeezed her prisoner tighter. Then, to her surprise, Wolfgang dissolved, squirting through her telekinetic grip like puddy. As the red-brown sludge that was her ‘rival’ splattered onto the ground, Isabelle swatted it with another invisible strike. A piercing pain stabbed into Isabelle’s mind and she dropped the telekinetic pressure. Sticking out from the puddle of Wolfgang was a blade, its bronze length pulsing with a sickly green glow.

It was Isabelle’s turn to be shocked; she recognized the dagger and understood its implications. Aisan thread-cutter knives were rare and dangerous; that Wolfgang possessed one at such a young age spoke to his high place in Igori’s court. It was a good thing she caught this little parasite so early. If he’d been given more time to mature, then he might become a genuine threat.

Wolfgang reformed from the sludge puddle and held the knife out to ward Isabelle off. The situation was changing, and not just with her usurper, the other two strigoi were adapting to Isabelle’s magic. Tallclaw had turned into his warform and was quickly overwhelming the wolves harrying him. Shorttooths swarm was spreading out and constantly looking for openings in the acidic oil Isabelle summoned. But the Dullahan at least remained inactive, guarding Cole and keeping Isabelle from simply rescuing him. But judging by the holes in the rattler’s armor dealing with it wouldn’t be difficult once the others were dead. Perhaps Isabelle could even take control of the Headless Hunter once matters were settled. Having a Dullahan to protect her skull would be useful and deliciously ironic.

+ Why can’t you take control of him right now? +

Isabelle appreciated that Natalie kept quiet till now, and kept her annoyance contained. + I need time and an appropriate skull +

Pushing Natalie’s curiosity and questions to the side, Isabelle refocused on the fight and its next phase. Her summoned acid and enhanced wolves would not hold for much longer, even with additional help from her. She needed both strigoi dead quickly and limited as she was; that wouldn’t be easy. Isabelle’s borrowed fingers twitched absently, missing the feeling of her staff and other tools. But lacking the arsenal of arcane implements she once enjoyed, Isabelle would make do. Unfortunately, some of the resources available weren’t ones her lovers would approve of. “Cole, Natalie, I need to apologize in advance for this”

Before either could ask questions or object, Isabelle let two of the smaller wolves bite her hands, sinking spectral teeth into borrowed skin and absorbing the blood. Using the metaphysical connection between every member of the Grist Pack, Isabelle let the blood flow into another pair of the wolves, the last two which she’d kept hidden elsewhere in the cave for this very reason. Both phantom wolves stood above corpses, their mouths open, dripping borrowed blood onto the cooling bodies. The bodies were once dwarves, a ranger and bonekeeper, perfect for what Isabelle planned.

Natalie’s mind quailed. + What are you doing! You can’t turn them into vampires?! +

Focusing on the black droplets and the dead bodies they lay upon, Isabelle responded. + They are already dead, of course I’m not turning them into vampires. +

Then in a not so private admission, she added. + I’m doing something arguably worse. +

As she guided the caustic oil and ghost wolves to defend herself, Isabelle worked other magic. Remembering the mystery that first brought Cole and Natalie together, Isabelle scoffed at the simple-mindedness of Petar of Glockmire. Vampire blood was a potent magical medium, capable of anchoring and aiding all types of spells. Using it to bind the restless dead was a droll and unimaginative use; or at least the way Petar did was.

Calling upon old pacts and dark magic, Isabelle whispered words of dread purpose. “Telar Horko! Hernev-hut-Orn! Wodwo-ge-Nomos!”

As the call rolled from Isabelle’s borrowed tongue it echoed through the cavern and far, far Beyond. In that distant realm of metaphor and myth, two entities heard their names. This alone wasn’t enough to dredge them from their deep abodes but the offering attached was. A vague sense of oily malevolence pressed at the back of Isabelle’s mind and, by extension, Natalie’s. Whispers of hunger and cruelty dripped through the Aether signs of the emerging predators.

+ What are you doing! + Natalie psychically shouted, her mind trembling on the edge of terrible realization.

Deciding evasion or deflection was pointless and honestly insulting to everyone involved, Isabelle spoke plainly. + Summoning Demons. +

Before Natalie’s shock could turn to outrage Isabelle snapped. + If I had another option, I’d take it. Now please let me work! +

Lured into the Aether by the smell of blood rich with darkness and sin, the demons sniffed the corpses prepared for them. Isabelle could feel the two Hellkyn sizing up the dwarves, licking at their trapped souls, preparing to strike. This was going to be the tricky part. Normally Isabelle would simply let her conjured horrors feed but that would cause… complications with Cole and Natalie. So in deference to her partners’ squeamishness, Isabelle used the one arcane advantage available to her. Robbed of her tools and subjects, Isabelle instead relied on Natalie’s obscenely potent blood. Young and untempered as Natalie was, her ichor contained traces of the ancient evil she hosted. Vampire blood was already a tempting prospect to any demon, but the Alukah’s essence would inspire greed and idiocy in these Hellkyn.

The temptation proved too much and the demonic pair pounced at nearly the same time, eager to devour the trapped souls and shed blood. Isabelle sprung her trap then, using the ichor and her connection to it as loci of power. Diving into the corpses, the demons found themselves trapped and chained, bound by Isabelle’s magic and the power of Natalie’s blood. Hernev reacted with snarling fury, while Wodwo stewed in simmering malice, both recognizing their captor and captivity.

Before either demon could truly test the binds upon them, Isabelle made a peace offering in the form of memories. Flickers of Tallclaw and Shorttooth greeted the Demons, accompanied by the pure hatred Isabelle felt for the vampire pair’s master. + Serve me and spare the dwarves. In exchange, I offer you each a vampire’s soul soaked in evil. Disobey me and I will rip the tasted blood from your essence and cast you both back into the Hells. +

Both demons submitted without hesitation; they knew how the game was played and how to benefit from it. Smiling cruelly, Isabelle let some of Natalie’s power flow through the new links with the Hellkyn, offering them more strength and stronger bindings. As this happened, the part of Isabelle’s mind occupied with the battle changed tactics, becoming more aggressive, lashing out with gouts of entropic flames, psychic force and telekinetic projectiles. Isabelle needed to keep her foes' attention solidly upon her while the summoning finished.

Tallclaw’s warform had become even larger, his muscle mass and hide so dense the spectral wolves could barely harass him. The behemoth strigoi was now lumbering towards Isabelle, casual swipes from his six chimeric limbs reducing the familiars into puffs of vapor. Even with Natalie’s obscene blood efficiency and Isabelle’s skill, reforming the wolves over and over was becoming untenable. Similarly, the pool of hungering oil she’d created was struggling to keep the ever shifting rat swarm away. A dozen attacks and twice that many feints came from every direction, as vermin of many sizes sought a path over the caustic fluid. More than once Isabelle’s wolf escort was needed to stop a clever rodent that leapt her moat. But most of Isabelle’s skill was focused not on the two strigoi, but the plagiarist.

While she’d never admit it to anyone not sharing a skull with her, Isabelle was mildly impressed with Wolfgang's magical acumen. Even limited as she was by Natalie’s body, Isabelle was much more potent than her rival, but his ability to counter spells was uncanny. Despite being inferior to her in both arcane strength and dexterity, Wolfgang survived a brutal magical onslaught that should have rendered him soot and sorrow. Every strike from Isabelle was negated with an impeccable economy of force. Wolfgang would use just the right amount of telekinesis to deflect a projectile, or he’d conjure the perfect element or metaphor to negate an attack. It reminded Isabelle of fighting a talented precognitive peeking into the future or a powerful Seer capable of stealing her thoughts. Only the fact Isabelle’s more complicated and nuanced spells found more success told her the truth was something else.

Wolfgang could see into the Aether and was a master of using the miniscule forewarning that offered him. Whenever Isabelle prepared a working Wolfgang sensed the magic and its rough purpose. It was like a warrior being able to see a rival’s nervous system lighting up the micro-moment before a strike. Natalie’s gifted memories implied her uncle’s glasses were the source of this advantage, that combined with a natural arcane sensitivity, cultivated by Igori’s training. Isabelle decided she’d take those lenses for herself when this was done, she needed to regrow her own collection of arcane trinkets and they’d be an excellent start. Despite his excellent magical defense, which was clearly designed to withstand older and more puissant Magi; Wolfgang merely delayed the inevitable.

Isabelle’s magical wrath was focused and vicious, Wolfgang might parry her blows or catch them on his metaphorical shield but that could only continue for so long. Already streaks of ash decorated the Voivode’s scion and his clothes bore marks of magical battle. The wards he’d woven into his very garments were cracked and more than once the only thing that saved Wolfgang was that accursed knife of his. It could cut magic, and had torn through some of Isabelle’s more subtle spells. But as the summoning finished, Isabelle smiled, she’d be able to turn her full attention to breaking Wolfgang any moment now.

Hernev-hut-Orn struck first; his great boar-spear sailed through the air sinking into Tallclaw’s side. Formed from carved bone, the spear was easily three meters long with the top half meter a twisted mass of sharpened antlers. Tallclaw reared up on his back four legs and tried to pull the shaft free. Twisting horns of a dozen different species burrowed into the strigoi’s flank, growing like some obscene ivory bramble. With a high-pitched cackle Hernev: Horn Spear of the Red Hunt, galloped into view. The dwarf ranger’s body had been grotesquely distended, the bones stretched into a new configuration by the demon. Tattered flesh hung from spindly limbs, a whipcord tail and the reshaped remnants of Ranger Olkar’s skull. In place of a dwarf’s thick-browed head, Hernev’s skull was that of a hunting hound with antlers and tusks.

Chattering and laughing like a deranged monkey Hernev, jumped onto Tallclaw’s flank, ripping his spear free with a vicious crack. The demon had broken most of the antlers off inside the strigoi and his spear’s head was already reforming as the Hellkyn danced about. Roaring like some child’s nightmare, the strigoi swatted at the capering demon, missing its spindly form and earning a few more cruel jabs from the Beyonder’s spear. Isabelle was certain she’d be able to feel the demon’s mad joy through the Aether even without her link to it. Hernev was delirious with glee at the prospect of hunting such a formidable foe.

Wodwo-ge-Nomos joined the battle as well, attacking with a predictably more subtle method than the Horn Spear. Musty damp soil bubbled up from a small crack in the rock near the rat swarm’s heart. The vermin only reacted to the subtle intrusion once three of their own had been consumed by the hungry dirt. Churning and growing the rich soil swallowed any rodent who touched it, the squealing creature sinking into unnatural quicksand. Soon the pile of dirt took a shape, growing into a stooped old man made from mud, clay and rotting vegetation. Wodwo’s face was wrinkled and ill-shaded as spoiled fruit while a constant stream of dirt poured from the corners of his mouth like black vomit.

Moving his head back and forth with a sound like creaking wood, the demon gurgled a low litany of deprivation while shuffling forward, leaving a trail of dark soil in his wake. The empty holes where eyes should be in Wodwo’s face suddenly locked onto the largest rodent construct. The demon’s mouth opened impossibly wide, distending down to its lower torso before a mass of pale worm-like roots shot out towards the rat construct. The giant rat leapt backwards, but the roots followed, catching it mid-air and sinking beneath the rodent’s fur. In less than a second the rat was reduced to a desiccated husk that crumbled apart into more dark earth.

The roots stretched out piercing individual rodents and drinking their nutrients, leaving more splatters of soil in their wake. With each consumed victim Wodwo-ge-Nomos: Loam Miser of the Starving Garden grew larger and larger, its mouth disgorging more of the roots as the scattered clumps of soil wriggled towards the demon’s body.

A long sigh escaped Isabelle as her summoned horrors did their grisly work. She preferred other forms of magic, but keeping a few hooks in some of the more amenable Hellkyn was always worthwhile. Allowing her focus to drift from the two embattled strigoi, Isabelle turned her full attention to Wolfgang. Utter terror covered the strix’s face and he held out the Aisan knife like a scared child trying to ward off a direwolf. Drinking in the lovely sight before her, Isabelle licked her lips.

“Now, where were we?”