Chapter 45: Chapter 45 – Shadowed Lies

//Author Note: Another perspective on events: //

 

The yard is cleared for the task we’ve set out before us. It wasn’t always meant for training, as no noble would have their knights training so close, and no guards either, though at least there would be no danger of toppling any buildings from a brief sparring match. My situation leaves me few choices of location for activities such as this, as privacy is of paramount importance. I have lands further away from the city, by title at the least, though they are taken care of by lesser nobility who would be loath to respect my will.

So, this is what we have.

The mercenaries have returned to being respectful, as well as can be expected of their sort, but Syr has none of the same change in attitude and I’m expecting more trouble from her. The shine in her eyes is not at all violent in nature, but her focus on me is unshifting. My sanity might just be the first casualty if she is allowed to have her way.

I explain again the nature of battle against vampires, though they are not new to this exercise there may be details that they have yet to put into practice. Tactics which must be forced into your mind over and again until you can finally use them in battle, the importance of controlling one’s own emotions being the most paramount in these difficult to realize concepts.

As much as I would instinctively speak from a position of wisdom, I am not yet wise enough to do so without deceit. Much of what I can say is guesswork.

Syr stands apart from the others, she doesn’t join in on the conversation though it’s clear that the others are waiting for her to say something. Instead, she steps further aside, calling down a bird from the rooftop and petting its deep black feathers. Is it one of her undead?

The other mercenaries look away from her now, the distance between them is unbridgeable, but it is growing wider.

“Let’s begin with simple duels,” I say, drawing their attention back to me. “Syr you first. Are you ready?” I ask the strange, tanned elf.

The necromancer.

A girl who should have been killed any number of times before reaching this moment. The odds against her survival is enough to suggest that she is but one of many, and that other necromancers have been born in similar circumstances and are either in hiding or, more likely, were killed. I’m almost certain that a thousand others have died before her, and her own future is still unclear.

We only hear the stories of those who survive.

Syr jerks her head up and down, her smile containing an unusually excited twitch as she grips her club. It is shaped like a sword, but I would never dare call it such. The dull ‘edge’ can only cut in the sense that what is hit might be split in two if struck with sufficient force. The fact that such a small girl can use a monstrous weapon like this is a marvel, but I have no idea how she intends to fight with it. The difference in her weight compared to the weapons should send her toppling if she even attempts to swing it.

“Allow me a moment to cover myself in shadows and we may begin,” I say, retreating into the darkness.

For this first match, I’ve already warned them away from using fire and light magics, but there is some risk that they’ll go against that advice after they become startled, so I must be careful. When pushed to the limits of sanity, everyone behaves in a slightly unusual way, and I’m sure that Syr is no different. Her fear is already spreading out around her, strengthening my grip on the darkness around her, and the shadows born from the light of the stars above.

Her fear hasn’t grown at all since she’s stepped foot onto this estate, but it hasn’t shrunk at all either. I’m sure that if I can strike out at her in just the right ways she’ll crumble. Her hands will shake, and sweat will gather on her brow, her excited breath carrying a desperate ragged edge to it as she loses strength in her limbs.

Blissful lighting bursts through my every nerve just imagining her in such a state.

The warm affections that I have for her, growing deep inside though I try to stifle them, twist about in discomfort as I embrace my vampiric urges.

I want to see her squirming in pain.

I don’t want to see the fear in her eyes as she looks at me.

I want to taste her blood in the moment that she loses herself to absolute terror. I want to break her down until there is nothing left inside but a bitter cold that I put there. I want to see her give up hope.

Tremors consume my arms and legs, as I dry heave at the terrible thought.

I hate myself.

I hate what I’ve become.

Biting my tongue, I resolve the conflict inside. It is the monster that I need now, and as much as it pains me to indulge in these terrible desires, it is what is asked of me.

She must know how to kill me.

I retreat into my mind, acting out the fantasies that have lingered in the corner of my mind ever since I was reborn. The terrible things that excite me.

The deepest shadows rise at my command, dark pits that absorb all light. They rise as a mist, and I call upon my illusionary magics to give them new depth, vague shapes that are barely more than a hint of a lie. It is cheap to create such things considering how weak they are. A small flash of light would dispel them all.

Syr looks around herself, taking in the setting I’ve crafted for our battle. She should be fearful, but nothing has changed about her. She still scans the landscape in the same way she did before I crafted this false world.

I need to craft more for her.

Shapes of distant people walk at the edges of her sight, as I craft soft whispers around her. They watch her every move, judging her. She is a necromancer, a monster like me, and every monster is most frightened of being seen for what they are.

Still, she remains resolute, unaffected by the false attentions of those around her.

A shape brighter than any other forms from the nothingness at my whim, it is a vague figure, someone who could be anyone. It walks towards her, imitating life that it does not have. It does not threaten her, it does not need to.

“Join me,” I whisper through the ghost’s lips. “Let this suffering end. Don’t fight it.”

Everyone has someone that they’ve lost, and though I try to evoke their image in the pale shape of a cloaked figure, I can already tell that I’ve failed in that.

I’ll have to try another angle.

Pulling at more magic, I coat myself in lies and put upon the shape of an armoured man larger than myself. A shape that should be familiar to Syr. A monster I create for the sake of torturing her.

The knight that she fought, the one that nearly killed her, that should have killed her.

It is an illusion so dark and vague that it nearly blends into the nothingness around me. It is only barely enough to disguise me but I want to see her reaction. I want to see how she looks at me with tears in her eyes.

The third illusion I cast behind me, it is a vague thing that barely exists at all. A test for her perception, and a trap if she sees it. I string together a few more, hidden in places both near and far, but they are cheap illusions that gain strength only from the shadows under my control.

Her bird lifts off of her shoulder, and I watch it soar high above, though it does nothing more than that.

Syr looks upon me, but for some reason, her heart is still unmoved. Even with the guise of a knight, a person that almost killed her not even two days past, she simply looks away, searching for my true body.

It’s not a mask, and she isn’t pretending. It’s not even as though she’s forced herself to refocus, she simply doesn’t care. Is my illusion unconvincing? Or is it simply the fact that she knows it to be an illusion?

I cannot be sure, but already this hunt is going off the rails.

Syr sets her feet and an instant later she’s sprinting. No, that’s not the word. She’s flying, kicking off of the ground only to increase her speed, as I’m sure she’d be able to glide through the air if she lifted her feet up high. The club in her hands swings wide, carrying a momentum greater than the girl herself.

She’s flying, not at me, but at the shadow behind me. Ignoring me entirely even as I slash at her with a phantom blade. She doesn’t even raise a hand to stop it, letting it pass through her, trusting that it’s an illusion.

She stops a half step before the shape that she thinks is me, her feet sinking into the soil as her sword swings wide for the legs of the shape that retreats too slow. I let it die as Syr recovers, somehow pulling the massive sword back under her control.

She turns to look around once more, trying to find me. She’s unbothered by the shadows that I cast around her, and the whispers that haunt her ears. Things that would at least unnerve any normal person, wash over her like water over stone.

She sets her eyes on the glowing figure that I first sent to her, the one that failed, again ignoring me in the guise of the knight.

This is unacceptable.

Gathering my power, I concentrate my shadows to my side where she’s about to rush by me, her intention too clear to miss. She flies again, but this time I’m ready to pull her back to the ground.

As she flickers on by me, I reach out for her, and while she looks at me I unfold the shadows below her feet. They wind up around her legs, pulling her down to the ground. Some are torn apart by the force carrying her forward, my strength is not nearly at its peak, but I still win in this game of strength.

The moment she glances down in confusion, not yet to hit the ground, I cross the step between us and grab her by the arm. Pulling her around, I force her onto the ground and grip her throat before she can even set her eyes on me. Her weapon slips from her hands, too heavy to grip as it continues to fly onwards, scattering the illusion of the pale white ghost.

Syr is bucking under me, her eyes wide in surprise as she tries to break free. I don’t let her. The shadows that I pull from the grass around us chain her down tight, while I grip her throat tight in my hands, leaning down over her. She’s warm, and the pulse that runs beneath my nails is full of life. More than enough to share.

I’m sure that she’d taste sweet, and I do want to taste her, but a deep frustration wells up inside of me at my failure to scare her. She didn’t care about anything that I did, not one of my traps or tricks stirring her fear.

What did I do wrong?

I want her blood, but this was a failure of a hunt.

This is enough. She’s stopped resisting me and simply lies there staring up at me. Her eyes are clear and bright, but I don’t know what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling right now.

I reign in the hungering vampire before she can see any more of it.

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“If you can maintain that same poise against other vampires, then it will be a powerful tool. You must learn to anticipate an attack from any angle, at any time,” I say, looking away from her. I was the winner of our match, but it hardly feels like it.

Syr retreats with a nod, her eyes still lingering on me as she stands to the side to watch.

The others aren’t nearly so interesting. More powerful than others that I’ve trained with, but still much the same in their technique. A powerful mage, a talented old swordsman, an elf who mixes her weapons as much as her style, and a younger man still finding his own way. They’re not overly special and so I approach them as I have done for my own guards while I reflect on myself.

Riese’s lecture has not yet fully sunken in. What am I lying to myself about? How does it affect everyone else? Why would it scare them?

Nadia is predictable, and while she fights well, she doesn’t understand what makes a vampire different from another threat. She strikes out at me, but never takes that initiative from me, falling easily, though she’s clearly stronger and more experienced.

Do they fear me because of the monstrous traits that I fail to bury?

Glancing at Syr, a mess of thoughts rush through my mind. I want her.

I want her affection.

And I want her to fear me.

Of course, people would be afraid if they see such things in me, but she isn’t.

I want to be loved, and right here before me is a girl troubled enough to have a fondness for me even considering all that I am. She’s not like Vael, who I fear doesn’t understand affection beyond the physical, she is something different. She hasn’t fully abandoned her childishness, though her situation should truly have stripped her down to the bone.

Adelaya, the mage, is the most concerning of the group. I strike her quickly, moving to a blind spot before seizing the staff from her and knocking her down into gnawing teeth that soften her fall.

I want her to love me, but something else irks me.

Something in me burns as she looks at me, reminding me of things that I would rather not remember. The affection is different, of that I’ve no doubt, but it was not so long ago, that I could say that I am loved. That I am precious to someone.

My stepmother.

My father.

My brothers and sisters.

To speak their names now might just shatter the ice holding back the curse that I’ve struggled to bury deep inside my frozen heart. I should not be allowed to feel such things, but is this repression something that harms those around me?

I whisper to the old man, sending illusions after him in waves. He strikes them all down with quick slashes and thrusts, but he is not wasteful in his attacks. I know swordplay only well enough that I can recognise that he is beyond the measure of an ordinary soldier but weaker than a knight.

“You will betray them all,” I say, circling him at a distance. “You will lose their trust and they will turn on you.”

His eyes turn fast toward me. His blade rushes through the air at my side cutting through nothing but mists.

“It’s for her sake,” Theo whispers so low that I’m not even sure if he wants me to hear. “She isn’t strong enough to take on the world. She shouldn’t have to. It’s better to hide.”

Is he talking about Syr?

He says nothing more until I pull him down.

I have a duty to uphold. I cannot be a Countess, though the title and responsibility have fallen upon my shoulders. I cannot protect all those who live in my lands, but I can try to help a few. Those who have chosen to follow me and to give me power over their fates.

The servants and guards that rely on me to feed them and to protect their families. Those who were slaves under my father but who are now free. I’ve been afraid to act in any way that might put myself above them considering the wrongs that have been done, and the fact that my own leadership is valuable only in the form of a paper dragon. They do not need me to lord over them, they only need me to be their shield against others who would.

These are the people that I must protect.

I whisper lies into the young man’s ears, letting him fear the darkness that crawls at his ankles.

“You deserve this,” I whisper. “You know what you did. You’ve turned your back on everyone. You are a coward.”

The young man, Lothar, shudders, and shadows rise as a realization of his own terrors.

He is beaten soundly.

Would I be any better a leader, should I act and pretend to be human? If I would cry and weep for those who are lost?

It would be too cruel of a way to remember my family, as they are not truly mine. They were the family of the girl whose body I stole, whose life was lost with theirs. If I cry, is it not some form of twisted and awful imitation?

The undead weeping for the sake of the dead?

I clench my teeth and finish the exercise. The young man was the easiest, as his fears were the most pronounced, but the others weren’t nearly as troubling as Syr. Even their attempts to take control of the battle were nothing even close to what the little elf could do.

She should be able to find better teammates than this.

“My turn,” Syr jumps forwards, overeager and bursting with energy. She has a plan, and it’s something well enough put together that she’s excited to act it out, which only fuels my concerns. I still need to find something that can scare her.

I stop her short, gathering the mercenaries so that we might discuss their experiences thus far. I am not simply here to scare them, but to show them what it means to be scared. They must consider it and let the feeling become something familiar, something that they can recognise and fight off.

While it seems as though they’ve been paying attention, I cannot be sure until they’ve tried battle once again. Through the discussion, they openly give me advice on general fears, focusing on insects and the like. It doesn’t seem to be a misdirection, but the very fact that they’ve brought it up in the open makes it a more difficult weapon to use.

Surprise is one of the few elements that I must hold tightly to.

I permit Syr the use of fire and light this time, after squeezing a promise from her that she’ll be careful not to kill me with the former. She is too eager.

“Then allow me to ready myself,” I say, stepping away.

My power is waning, my veins burning from the stress that I put myself through, but I can still continue a while longer as long as I end this fast.

Using their advice, I summon the weak shadows of the grass, moving them about in a vague and messy imitation of insects while making an approximation of what I imagine they’d sound like. Syr responds immediately, her hands trembling as she stomps at the fake bugs.

I don’t waste any time, moving through space using my vampiric magics, I grab her from behind and throw her back into the writhing mass of insects. Her terror feeds them, strengthening them to the point where they can hold her down. I leap at her but even given the situation, the moment she lays eyes on me her fear ebbs away again.

My magic wanes as she tears herself free, catching me and throwing me down to the ground. I’ve lost the moment she freed herself, but I still try to fight.

The scent of her in the air, I almost found something to make her afraid. Why did it fail?

I gnash my jaws closed, grating my fangs as I glare up at her, the girl who refuses me.

“I… I want you to drink my blood!” she shouts in excitement, forcing me down. It feels entirely backwards as if she’s going to force me to feed on her now.

I lose my strength as she presses me down, I’m not quite sure if I’m submitting to her, or her to me. Both? Neither?

Breathing in her scent, I let her continue.

“I want to spend some time with you and talk about things. Important things,” she says, the words clumsy but the intent clear.

 

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