The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 52: Battlefield Surgery

“Ironically, using magic to step between worlds is easier than using it to step within a world. What I mean by that is forming a bridge to some other sphere also touched by the Beyond is a well-understood practice and requires relatively simple, if magically intense, rituals. But trying to say… teleport between cities or nations is much tricker. It's akin to a fish trying to skip themselves across rough water like a stone instead of just swimming. The force and precision required is more likely to break all the fish’s bones than get them across a pond. In my experience, the easiest way to move within a world quickly is to fly via magic or magical steed. But if you are really insistent about teleporting, then I suggest you stop thinking about stepping between places and more about stepping sideways within places. Yes, I know that makes little sense to you. When it does, then you’re ready for this kind of magic.” - First Preceptor Leonid Lupa dissuading a student from a questionable research topic.

As the vision faded and Mina returned to the physical world, the first thing she noticed was how tired she felt. Her mind and body ached with the grueling efforts of the past few hours and the hard days of travel before then. But grimly, Mina knew her labors weren’t over; in fact, the hardest two tasks still lay ahead. The first was rescuing Natalie from the darkness threatening to consume the young Alukah. Harrowing as that would be, Mina practically looked forward to it over speaking with Alia once she’d awoken.

Blinking away the last hints of bad memories and holy portents, Mina looked up at Deborah who was still leaning over her. The Seraphblood’s face was pale, and she was shivering slightly; the tiniest hint of mist escaping with her every breath. Shutting her eyes and letting out a long icy sigh Deborah stumbled backwards, catching herself with the pale wooden staff she favored. Slender fingers wrapped around the staff and golden motes flowed from it into Deborah. Recovering herself, the Seraphblood nodded slowly and said. “The geas is gone.”

It seemed only a few moments had passed while Mina met her God. Grettir was still desperately trying to keep his knife in Natalie’s heart; while Cole lay dead but healing. Shying away from the terrible revelations Master Time shared about the scarred creature; Mina started removing the severed ropes she’d been bound in. Ignoring how her head throbbed, the renewed priestess slowly stood up. Staring at her hands, pushing away the memories of all the blood they’d been stained with; Mina whispered. “I can help Natalie.”

Yara moved from where Kit lay unconscious to between Mina and Natalie. Gripped in one of the thrall’s hands was the strange dagger Cole ripped from his own guts. Gesturing with the stained blade, the thrall hissed. “You’ve betrayed us at the worst moment at every turn. First with the dwarf magi, then with Cole. I’m not letting you hurt my mistress!”

Nearby, Grettir was visibly struggling to keep the knife inside Natalie. He was putting all his weight upon the onyx-stained vampire like someone trying to resuscitate a drowned swimmer. Grunting at Yara’s words, he said. “The thrall has a point. If there was ever a chance for the geas to jag everything up, it would be now.”

Gently, Deborah approached Yara, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Seeing how the skittish red-head flinched away Deborah stopped. “I saw the magic hidden in Mina be pulled free by Master Time himself.”

An expression half-between a sneer and abject fear worked its way across Yara’s face. “He didn’t notice or remove it before; how can we know he got it all?”

There was a desperation in Yara’s body language. Every muscle was tense and her eyes never stopped moving. Mina was reminded of a cornered animal, specifically one trying to protect its brood or burrow. The deep twisted loyalty of a vampire thrall was on full display. Even when faced with a literal angel-incarnate, Yara wouldn’t back down from protecting Natalie. Seeing how her knuckles paled around the dagger’s hilt, Mina suddenly got the terrible notion it was well within Yara’s capabilities to actually stab a divine emissary out of blind panic and blinder devotion.

Before whatever magical protections Deborah wove around herself could be tested, Mina tried to break through to Yara. “Natalie will be worse than dead if something isn’t done. Staking her is only buying time, and not much of it. I can reinforce the stigma and help fight what’s infesting Natalie. And even if I’m still… subverted, then anything I do will just be… speeding up the inevitable.”

That seemed to partially reach Yara, and her eyes settled on the slowly regenerating form of Cole. “What about him? He’s a Paladin, and her lover; Cole can help in your place.”

Deborah moved towards Cole, a look of deep concern upon her inhuman features. “Yes, what about him…?”

Mina swallowed down a lump, uncertain of what to say. “Master Time vouches for Cole. And… and I don’t know how long until he… resurrects.”

Poking Cole gently with the bottom of her staff, Deborah muttered. “Of all the times for Jude to be completely literal… I never would have imagined such a creature could exist. Death’s disciple, apostle, and heretic, indeed.”

Speaking hurriedly, seeing how Grettir was struggling more, Mina gestured frantically. “We don’t have time for whatever heals him to finish working. My god said something is attacking Natalie’s mind, every moment we delay it might damage her more!”

Yara looked between Natalie and Cole; her jaw tightening with barely contained panic. After a long second of uncertainty, the thrall nodded and stepped aside. Letting out a breath, Mina rushed forward and kneeled down before Natale, ignoring how Yara was hovering nearby, knife still held at the ready. Muttering ritual mantras beneath her breath, Mina called upon the power gifted to her. The magic came slowly, stutteringly at first, like an old spigot having the rust knocked free. Then, as images of a glowing feather danced in Mina’s mind the trickling flow became a flood. Instantly the temperature in the tower dropped a few degrees and Mina let out an ice-kissed gasp.

Before the surging magic could overwhelm Mina, training took over, and she put both hands on Natalie’s stigma. Shutting her eyes, and opening her sixth sense, Mina drew on her god, while trying to ignore the faint wriggling sensation she felt beneath Natalie’s icy skin. Before the priestess could even focus on Natalie, her attention was pulled to the burning pinon orbiting her own soul. The large black feather was cloaked in silver flames that slowly consumed it. Staring at this occult sight, Mina understood its meaning. Members of the priesthood had to be careful how much magic they channeled from their god. Death or stranger consequences awaited those who over-taxed their soul acting as a conduit for the divine. Master Time was helping Mina call up and use more magic than she should have been able to. But fittingly, her time with this power was limited; when the feather was gone, so would be the Tenth God’s help.

Staring at the gaping wound that was Natalie’s soul, Mina wondered if even a god’s help would be enough. Multiple grievous metaphysical injuries decorated Natalie’s essence, each speaking to a vicious magical attack. The idea of healing such damage was harrowing. Mina knew of much older and more experienced priests who balked at attempting even minor spiritual surgeries. But the wounds weren’t the main problem; what Mina could see inside them was. Only by shielding herself with a buffer of raw power did Mina avoid a panic attack upon sensing what dwelled within Natalie. A core of hungry darkness filled the deepest reaches of her friend’s soul; and that mass of predatory evil was waking up.

Racking her mind for every scrap of useful information, Mina started to understand what was happening. All vampires struggle with the monstrous instincts and desires their curse inflicts upon them. The constant presence of those cruel hungers often warped vampires into the twisted creatures rest-bringer’s hunted. Of course, some vampires did not struggle against the curse, but surrendered to it; becoming feral monsters stripped of all personhood. Normally, Natalie was exceptionally good at denying or channeling her nature; but wounded as she was, nothing stood in the way of the Alukah’s hunger. Grettir wasn’t fighting to keep a knife in Natalie’s heart, but stopping a feral Alukah from waking up.

Swallowing down a lump of fear, Mina decided preventing that was her chief priority. Focusing on the stigma upon Natalie’s neck, Mina let holy magic flow from the Beyond, through her and into the mark. The spells woven into the sigil were frayed to the point of near-dissolution; but enough remained of their basic structure for Mina to work with. Overuse and direct assault from Gods knew where had eroded the mark and its power. Feeding magic into the stigma, Mina worked to rebuild the damaged rune piece by piece. It was like re-engraving a worn inscription upon stone; restoring an eroded remnant to its former glory by tracing and emphasizing what survived. The process wasn’t easy but Mina rose to the challenge, slowly rebuilding the Maze of Moments and the protections it offered.

Already the effects of Mina’s efforts were noticeable; the air around Natalie was becoming frigid and patches of frost grew upon damp stone. With the cold came a slowing of the Alukah. Like some monstrous snake tasting deep winter, the ancient curse became sluggish and soporific. Grettir’s efforts to keep Natalie impaled became less frantic and patches of gray fur grew upon the werewolf’s exposed skin; protecting him from the ever deepening cold. As the magic’s heart, Mina wasn’t bothered by the chill; she barely noticed it aside from the invigorating kiss its arrival provided. This was how Master Time’s cold worked; it dulled and froze his enemies while shielding and shocking his servants. Riding that wave of icy intensity, mind flushed of all exhaustion as if she’d taken an ice bath, Mina restored the stigma to its full power.

As a layer of metaphysical ice congealed over Natalie’s soul; Mina let out a frost-kissed noise of concern. The stigma was working; it froze Natalie’s being; stopping the darkness inside of her from breaking free. But the holy mark was limited; and Mina could sense the weakened but still active Alukah inside her friend. In repairing the stigma, Mina had gotten a better understanding of its functioning and how it alone wouldn’t solve this mess. The mark reacted if Natalie lost control; freezing her power and stifling the curse long enough to protect both vampire and potential victim. It was basically a bucket of cold water to be dumped over Natalie in times of crisis.

For now the stigma would do its job and keep the darkness contained, but it relied on Natalie ‘snapping out’ of whatever made her lose control. Mina wagered that Master Time intended the mark to just stifle the Alukah long enough for Cole to intervene. But Cole was dead, and while that might be subject to change, it didn’t alter the fact Natalie would not be coming to her senses and regaining control. The damage to the vampire’s soul was too extensive; all the stigma could do was put a lid on the roiling cauldron of bloody hunger that was the Alukah. Soon enough the pressure would build and that lid would be knocked away; especially once Mina wasn’t able to keep it bolted in place with the flood of magic Master Time provided. If Mina wanted to stop delaying the inevitable and actually save her friend and the entire continent, she needed to fix Natalie’s soul.

Looking past the layer of ice encrusting Natalie’s essence, and examining the spiritual wounds; Mina bit down on a nervous curse. Part of Natalie’s soul had been… cut off; or at least that was the best Mina could interpret it. Metaphors and memories danced behind Mina’s eyes as her mind struggled to find context for what she was seeing. The damage reminded Mina of a brutal battlefield amputation; where a body part was hacked away, leaving a gory stump. Uncertain of what to do; Mina touched the wound with her power; wondering if she could cauterize it with a healing cold. As the priestess’s essence brushed the injury; strange flashes of alien sensations greeted her.

* A bolt of lightning strikes a rune-touched vat; a surge of mad glee accompanies it *

* Flesh pierced by sharp wood, unable to properly scream as tongues of flame kissed pale skin *

* A handsome stranger, with familiar eyes, stood upon a balcony naked, staring out at the storm-tossed sea *

* Sitting in a chair surrounded by books; feeling red blood being drained away and replaced with black. *

Pulling back from the wound, Mina made a startling realization, the injury wasn’t just Natalie’s. Two souls had been entangled like chimeric twins; and then cut apart by a frantic butcher. Something Master Time said during their meeting crashed into Mina then, and with it greater understanding. The Tenth God wanted her to rescue Cole’s creator… Isabelle. Well, rescue her from what? Looking at where Natalie had been mutilated, Mina could guess he meant whoever cut the link between the young Alukah and Isabelle.

Bracing herself this time; Mina touched the injury again. Shielded from disparate memories by her magic, she started trying to at least shut the wound, which was easier said than done. Feeling the injury and the skeins of flayed soul that trailed from it; Mina had an idea. Carefully collecting the barely attached soul-stuff; Mina pressed it against the wound, letting icy power join it. Holy cold froze the damaged pieces to the spiritual amputation, using them as bandages and building blocks both. As she worked, Mina tried to separate Natalie from the fragments of Isabelle mixed in with the wound but that quickly became impossible. There was too much… blending; perhaps a better priestess or someone who knew the two vampires as well as Cole did might have managed it but not Mina.

Unwilling to potentially damage Natalie even more, Mina did her best and simply collected all she could to patch the injury. If Natalie and Isabelle were so closely linked to have such a spiritual bond, then hopefully mixing the bits of disparate essence into Natalie’s soul wouldn’t have too severe side-effects. Bitterly noting she was basically trying to sew a person's organs back in without knowing if they belonged to them; Mina hoped her educated guess was correct.

After an agonizingly long few minutes, Mina admired her handiwork. This most grievous injury was shut; perhaps not perfectly, but enough that with Master Time’s healing cold wrapping around Natalie’s soul, it shouldn’t get any worse. Turning her attention from the largest wound; Mina now had to work on the smaller but more… disturbing injuries. If where Isabelle and Natalie had been severed was akin to a bad amputation, then these other wounds reminded Mina of a parasitic infection. Little maggot hole wormed through Natalie, puncturing her essence and burrowing down deep into her core where the Alukah waited. Mina was morbidly reminded of a worm-eaten apple and wondered what could have caused this. Thinking of the damage to the stigma, she had few guesses. Master Time spoke of an ‘unclean spirit’ inside Natalie that needed to be driven out. Mina couldn’t guess how the monster infected Natalie, but knew flushing it out was her best option.

The feather and the boon it represented was nearly half-way gone; so Mina needed to work quickly. But as she spread the cold power of her God over Natalie seeking to excise the burrowing parasite, a strange sense of déjà vu struck her. This felt oddly similar to cleansing a plague victim; it was, of course, more complex and required greater magic, but the basic mechanics were similar. Frowning at those implications, Mina let the holy cold wash over Natalie and into the worm-like wounds in the vampire’s soul. Gritting her teeth, Mina tried to strike a balance between caution and speed. The darkness inside of Natalie was not reacting well to a God’s power and stopping the two forces from clashing disastrously took all the finesse Mina had. Driving out the infestation was just part of Mina’s goal, by filling the injuries with benevolent magic, she could help coax Natalie’s soul into forming scabs while keeping the now torporific Alukah from disrupting the healing process.

Steadily spreading out through all the burrows, Mina became confused. She’d seen no sign of the parasite, and that was worrying. But even more so were the sections of injured soul resistant to the treatment. Elsewhere, the magic flowed freely, coating the soul’s wounds in a protective balm; but in these few sections, the power was repulsed. Unwilling to put pressure on the abnormalities for fear of causing damage; Mina left them alone, isolating the oddities until the rest of the wounds were treated. As the magic progressed and the isolated pockets became more and more obvious; Mina realized a pattern of their location.

Mina had caught hints of Natalie’s memories and emotions while working. Tiny almost-imperceptible flickers that were muffled by the shroud of power Mina wore. But what did filter through was enough to provide a crude map of Natalie’s soul. Of how certain clusters of soul-stuff related to connected concepts or overarching themes. It wasn’t anywhere as logical or stable as physical anatomy; but Mina’s training and talent offered some insight. The resistant sections were places of fear, loss, and the fear of loss. Something about that sent a shiver up Mina’s spine. Instinct, perhaps her own or flowing from the magic she was channeling, spoke of danger.

Mustering her courage and capabilities, Mina focused on one of the larger resistant sections, preparing to examine it. Eyes shut, delving deep into Natalie’s slowly healing soul, Mina felt profoundly uncomfortable. It wasn’t the slumbering horror of the Alukah awaiting below, or even the drips of painful memories that bothered the priestess. Something else was here and watching her, the parasite.

Marshaling her power; Mina slowly but firmly pressed on the blockage, trying to dislodge whatever was stopping her from healing the section of soul. As she increased the pressure, Mina got a better idea of what she fought. It was a mass of darkness, not the red-tinged shadows of the Alukah or other vampires, but another, more bitter shade. Bizarrely, memories of the disastrous solstice ball and the attack on the Vindabon Temples itched at Mina. Whatever infested Natalie was of the Dark, kin to Hellkyn, Fell Gods and the manifest sins of mortal kind.

Cautiously, Mina ‘spoke’ to the darkness, striking it with a spear of intent. “You are not welcome here. Leave this soul and return to whatever Hell you hail from.”

A tendril of malice coiled out from the parasite and with it came a dreadful invitation. “The Hell I hail from? Come and see, ignorant child. Come and see the piece of it I’ve crafted for your friend. Come and see the truth at the end.”

Mina’s consciousness was pulled by an ineffable current, dragged into the waiting horror within Natalie.

Wolfgang stared out at the tunnel before him, taunted by the safety and escape it offered him. He was trapped, the collapsed tunnel mouth burying his legs and lower torso under kilos of solid rock. Half a meter or more and he’d have escaped the collapse, half a meter less, and he’d be ash. Instead of finding a conclusion in either fate, he was stuck. Eventually his injuries or dawn would force Wolfgang into a torpor he would almost certainly never awake from. Baring his fangs, Wolfgang tried to let out a low hiss of despair, but his crushed diaphragm stopped even that little act of pathos.

Bitterness bubbled within Wolfgang as he thought about the deal he’d made. The Reaper promised to protect him; and she’d failed almost instantly. Even though he’d gone above and beyond what could be expected in creating his plague and capturing Isabelle; Wolfgang was still abandoned. These thoughts sent a lance of pain through Wolfgang, arcing up from the new mark upon his chest to the crown of his head. Spasming at his mistress's lash; Wolfgang felt a complete fool. He’d been used and abused time and time again; never learning the lesson that he himself espoused.

Here he was trapped and broken, his suffering only worsened for daring to think against his new owner. Laying against the cold stone, Wolfgang’s half-broken mind tried to understand his latest humiliation. Where had the false-dawn come from? Who or what could summon that sort of power? A Hierophant of Sister Sun was the obvious answer but why in the Hells would one be…. Shutting his eyes, Wolfgang remembered something a corpse told him. The Soot Hawk soldier he’d reanimated claimed others were sent to hunt him. An angel’s bastard was trying to stop Wolfgang and, by extension, help the stone carriers. By taking the Deeps; Wolfgang had thought they’d avoided their pursuers, but once again, his assumptions were flawed.

Opening his eyes, Wolfgang found the laughing skull of Isabelle Gens Silva staring at him. Baring his teeth, Wolfgang wanted to scream at the trapped ghost; to drive away her mockery. How could all of this happen? How could fate have conspired to damn him thrice over? He’s faced triumph and tragedy over and over in a nearly comical series of rises and falls. Just to now be trapped in the dark, waiting for the killing light to shine through the broken rock behind him.

A noise from deeper down the tunnel suddenly caught Wolfgang’s attention and with it came new fear. Being trapped and forced into torpor was already harrowing enough; being trapped while scavengers picked over his unliving flesh was worse. Staring into the dark, Wolfgang waited; expecting a troll or other dimwitted beast to come sniffing at his body; uncaring that he was undead. Instead, a rat came into view; a large, fat, black rat. Scampering forward, the rodent sniffed at Wolfgang, its whiskers twitching.

Recognition and hope flared through Wolfgang. Unable to speak, he mouthed the rat’s name. “Shortooth.”

It didn’t respond, merely coming closer; sniffing at Wolfgang with animal caution. Confusion and concern replaced recognition and hope. Had the strigoi been permanently damaged by the demons? Was this just a rat that escaped its master’s death and reverted to its basic instincts? Small grubby paws latched onto the skull lying next to Wolfgang and started pulling it away. Eyes widening; Wolfgang tried to reach with his remaining hand to stop the rat but it was too fast. The clatter of bone upon stone filled the tunnel as the rat dragged the prize Wolfgang sacrificed so much for into the dark.

Fighting against his entrapment; Wolfgang gurgled in fury as he tried to pull free. Once the rat seemed to judge it was at a safe distance, its mouth fell upon and words escaped. “Y-y-you got my br-brother killed, f-fly. I-I’ll return to the V-Voivode with this prize and tell him how-how much you failed.”

Clawing against the cold stone, Wolfgang wanted to scream; this final betrayal and indignity was just another twist of the knife. In the near-pitch black of the tunnel, all Wolfgang could do was watch as Shorttooth scurried away, dragging the skull with him. Then a noise like tearing flesh echoed through the tunnel and yet another impossibility happened. A gaping wound in reality opened up right above Shorttooth and from its festering depths came a stomping boot. With a wet crunch, the strigoi was turned into gore; a contemptuous heel grind smearing blood along the cave floor.

More of the organic ripping sound filled the cave as the cut in existence widened. Droplets of shimmering iridescent blood splattered onto the ground as some force peeled reality open like a hunter might skin game. Another leg joined the first, as the unknown interloper shimmed through the hole and into sight. Dressed in white and green, the stranger wore a gore-slicked cooper’s cloak and a bizarre mask. It was green and depicted an exaggerated smiling face with a mustache and goatee. Something about the strange sight itched at Wolfgang’s mind; but he just didn’t know what.

Picking up Isabelle’s skull gingerly, the masked man… no, vampire judging by his silent heart, approached Wolfgang. As he did the portal-wound behind him stretched even wider and took on a more door-like shape. Reality twisted and bled impossible colors as another figure stepped through the gash. This one Wolfgang recognized instantly, even though it wore a white plaster death mask. The tall, gaunt and terrible form of Pater Epulo was difficult to misidentify.

Handing Isabelle’s skull to Epulo who took it with undisguised reverence; the green masked vampire strutted forward with acrid braggadocio. Squatting down before Wolfgang, he spoke, his voice almost familiar. “My my! It seems our little Capitano played his role spectacularly. I’m impressed, Pierrot; you caught a very useful fly in your web.”

Staring up at the two vampires, unable to do anything; Wolfgang simply mouthed. “Help me.”

He knew it was a pointless request. Epulo and… probably Scapino were here to retrieve the prize, nothing else. So it came as an utter shock when the green masked vampire bobbed his head and said. “Of course! You did such a good job and caught our patron’s attention; how could we refuse you aid?”

With a pantomime’s exaggeration, Green Mask started shifting rubble; whistling a laborer’s tune as he did. “We really need to meet in better circumstances, Wolfgang. If you hadn’t guessed, it's me, Scapino. It's good to properly greet you while wearing my real face.”

Pater Epulo, or Pierrot, came forward. “That won’t work; the debris will keep him trapped.”

Scapino paused and nodded. “I suppose you are right.”

With a flourish of his hand, Scapino conjured a long sharp billhook and winced dramatically. “This will probably force you into torpor; and hurt so very much, but it's better than being trapped with only a ton of rock separating us from a jagging Seraphilim.”

Seraphilim… the children of Seraphs. The dawn… it hadn’t been a Hierophant at all, the light came from a far far more terrible source. This shocking news was enough to distract Wolfgang from the other and more pressing part of Scapino’s words. The billhooks bite as it cut into Wolfgang’s flesh was enough to refocus him. Unable to scream, Wolfgang could only stare at Scapino as he worked, slowly cutting the Black Fly free. With quick hands, the masked vampire sawed; speaking as he did. “Honestly, you should take it as a compliment. Not every little behind-the-lines scheme the Duchies engage in elicits that sort of response. I mean really, the Gods sent one of their metaphorical grandkids after you. That’s a jagged, but impressive edge to get caught on.”

Wolfgang’s pained gurgles changed as Scapino finished sawing through his trunk muscles and into his lungs. Grunting as he tried to keep the blade steady; Scapino said. “Things didn’t exactly go to plan, Wolfgang; but the Troupe has taken notice of you. Our patron, the Reaper, seems to think you're valuable enough to keep alive, and after seeing how that little plague of yours is working, I have to agree.”

The billhook reached Wolfgang’s spine and he spasmed against its cruel edge. Forcing Wolfgang to be still with his free hand, Scapino kept sawing. “Besides, I don’t have much room to judge when it comes to the Homunculus and Alukah. That pair is far more tricky than people think. Surviving them and claiming the prize is impressive; even if the process wasn’t as… clean as we’d all like.”

White hot terrible pain filled Wolfgang’s being as his body started to shut down. The darkness of torpor licked at his vision; promising escape from this torture. Scapino started to saw faster and with every stroke of his blade Wolfgang fell farther and farther into the darkness. Just as the shadows prepared to swallow him, Wolfgang heard his bizarre savior say.

“You are wasted as a piece, but not ready to be a player. So… how about you take the step in between? The Troupe likes to keep its numbers small, only so many roles after all, but… we can always use talented understudies."

Then with those words, Wolfgang fell into darkness, wondering who or what was now holding his leash.