Chapter 17: Chapter 17: Cold as the Grave

Chapter 17: Cold as the Grave

“Seraphs, or more colloquially called “Angels,” are the servants and agents of the Light. The Light is the metaphysical embodiment of Good and a result of mortal life influencing the Beyond. Seraphs are roughly divided into two broad categories. Elder Seraphs are native to the Beyond and are, in essence, spirits of the Light. Typically these beings take more esoteric forms composed of complicated geometric shapes, burning eyes, wings, and pure musical tones. By contrast, Younger Seraphs are mortal souls who, through their actions in life, have been Anointed. Their very soul infused with the Light and turned into something not quite mortal nor divine. These Younger Seraphs take less alien forms than their Elder kin. Usually manifesting as winged idealized versions of their original body. ”- HaZaken’s commentaries on the Book of Miracles.

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Roaring in fury, Cole swung his halberd high in a great descending arc; the Varcolac avoided the strike and responded with its own sweep. Chipped ragged claws cut through the air and tore at Cole’s cloak as he dodged. Once more, he was thankful for Trude’s gift. Even if it contained a tracking spell, the cloak's billowing volume obscured Cole’s body a little. A margin of error that had already saved him multiple times. Without sight to guide it, the undead Werewolf had to rely on hearing and smell to attack. Something a billowing cloak covered in forest scents hampered.

Cole pushed in close, shortening his halberd and wielding it like a battle-axe. He swung the blade low as the Varcolac completed its swing and drove the axe-head into the monster's thigh. Unnaturally thick muscle cords prevented the blade from reaching bone, but it still wounded the leg. Still within its guard and crouched over, Cole pulled his weapon free and spat a gout of flame at the laceration he’d caused. The flames seared the exposed muscle, and Cole hoped to slow down the Varcolac’s regeneration.

Stepping back, Cole unleashed a gout of fire from his burned palm. Sending a wave of fire to crash over the Varcolac. Crinkling his nose at the stink of burning hair, Cole tried to buy himself some distance. He had an idea to turn this in his favor but needed space. Roaring in fury, the Varcolac pushed through the fire, swiping at it with bone-crushing force. Stopping the deluge of flames, Cole reached down to a pouch at his belt. A mixture of burns and frostbite on his right hand had ruined his dexterity, turning the simple task into fumbling torture. For a split second, Cole glanced down to try and open the pouch. His momentary lapse was punished terribly.

Bounding forward, the Varolac swung out in a hay-maker the size of a tree trunk. The blow struck home and literally knocked Cole off his feet. Sending him flying through the air and skidding along the ground. By sheer luck, the Varolac’s claws missed Cole, only its over-muscled forearm slamming into him. Cole tried to roll with the impact but had little luck; he dropped his weapon and felt two ribs shatter from the blow.

Cole landed on his back, the wind had been knocked from him, and he tried to force down lungfuls of air with little result. Discombobulated, Cole took a split second to admire the stars overhead. That moment of dissociation came to a quick end as something grabbed the hem of his cloak and started dragging him. As reality came crashing back to him, Cole swore oaths Barnabas would be proud of and fumbled with his belt. He got the pouch free and twisted to throw its contents at the thing pulling him. The Varcolac had kneaded one of its paws into Cole’s Cloak and dragged him closer, its ragged snout sniffing the air curiously. For not the first time, Cole was thankful for his lack of scent. It confused the primitive instincts guiding the Varcolac and bought him precious moments.

Those moments ended as the Varolac decided he was its target, and it opened a cavernous maw. A disgusting black tongue lolled out of its mouth as the once-Werewolf set its focus on him. Cole punished the monster's hunger when he flung a handful of garlic powder into its mouth. While not truly dangerous to the Varcolac like it would be to a Vampire, the garlic was certainly debilitating. Letting out some sort of gurgling snarl, the Varcolac reared back, its claws tearing free of Cole’s cloak as it brought both paws up to its contaminated snout. Cole scrabbled away, getting to his feet and retrieving his weapon as the Varcolac thrashed and spasmed.

A quick look around the Castle ramparts showed Cole his vampire observers had all covered their faces and shied away from the garlic smell. Grimacing in bleak amusement Cole pressed his advantage. Swinging his reclaimed halberd at the monster’s thigh, hitting the same spot as earlier. Bits of muscle had already started to regrow and press past the blackened flesh, but it didn’t stop this strike from cracking bone. The axehead sunk halfway through the Varcolac’s femur, and with a twist, Cole cracked the huge bone. Following this, Cole flipped his halberd in his hand and drove its spiked beak up into the Varcolac’s armpit. Rotten blood splattered out of the key artery as the halberds beak jammed into the shoulder joint. Parting cartilage, snapping ligaments, and cracking bone.

The Varcolac’s bubbling roars changed into a higher pitch as it collapsed sideways. With a Shattered femur and ruined shoulder, nothing stopped the monster from toppling over. Dancing away from the avalanche of fur and muscle, Cole readied himself to strike again. Hitting vital regions was useless for the Undead; you needed to cripple them. Necessitating a visceral and ugly fighting style Cole had long mastered.

Something dribbled into Cole’s eye, and he tried to blink away the stinging pain. Flinching slightly, he brushed away the blood. Confused for a moment, Cole realized it was not his blood. The rancidly metallic fluid was the Varcolac’s own ichor. The horrible substance had rained on him when he’d tore open its armpit. Cole hadn’t even noticed earlier and now tried to wipe away the too-dark blood that covered his head and face. A blur of motion stopped him as the Varcolac struck with its intact arm. The blood in his eyes and his own confusion delayed Cole’s response, and the huge limb racked across his body. Tearing open four-finger width cuts in his torso. Gasping in pain, Cole flinched away as his own bright red blood mixed with the Varcolacs maroon.

Dragging in huge breaths of air, the Varcolac pulled itself up onto its haunches. Muscle reknit, and bone sealed tight as the monster's ruined arm healed. The processes took seconds, and now it leaped forward, claws and fangs seeking Cole’s flesh. It pounced at Cole, and the Paladin barely had time to duck under the wall of undead Werewolf heading straight for him. The Varcolac recovered quickly from overshooting Cole and spun around to face him on its three working limbs. In this (semi) quadrupedal stance, it looked like an over-muscled Direwolf the size of a large bear. An already intimidating prospect, not helped by its semi-rotten appearance and regenerative abilities.

There was no hesitation to its attacks now. The Varcolac struck with the type of feral intensity you’d expect from a starving predator. It took all of Cole’s focus to simply avoid the whirlwind of fangs and claws, let alone try and counterattack. The Varcolac continued to suck in deep breaths and not let up its assault. This was a very different beast than the more tentative and halting Varcolac of earlier. As the smell of rotting blood filled his nose, Cole understood why. He was coated in the Varcolac’s ichor. It was having no issue smelling him and identifying him as a threat.

The forces involved now made blocking or parrying the Varcolac’s blows impossible. Cole had to do his best to dodge the constant attacks. The only reason Cole hadn’t been torn to bits was that he was slightly more agile than the Werewolf. Its ruined leg dragged behind it uselessly, and its sheer bulk prevented it from turning and repositioning as quickly as Cole. Even that advantage was wearing away quickly. The Varcolac was healing from even its devastating injury, and Cole was tiring.

Running to Glockmire, Killing Horst, destroying the Guards, and now fighting the Varcolac. Even Cole’s incredible stamina was starting to flag. Something that was not helped by the myriad of injuries he’d collected. As the Varcolac’s claws came closer and closer with each swing, Cole decided he had few options left. He needed to use the Cold of Entropy again. Calling up that power three times in a single day was more than pushing Cole’s limit. But the Varcolac needed to be destroyed; this was Cole’s only reasonable option.

Pulling in a deep breath, Cole gripped onto the chill power in his soul and started to dredge it up. It was harder now, his worn soul resisting the effort. Some instinct told Cole he would not be able to do anything focused like aiming the Cold or lashing it to his weapon. Summoning the power would be hard enough. He’d have to be more primitive in his use. Something that might prove as dangerous to him as it would the Varcolac.

The freezing fog started seeping off Cole, pouring from him in a great cloud of ice crystals. The effect on the Paladin was instantaneous. His body became numb, all his pains washed away by the dull throb of arctic chill. The blood covering him turned to dark ice, and frost collected on his cloak. The Varcolac didn’t notice or care about what was happening and swiped a huge paw at Cole. Numb limbs responded too slowly, and Cole took the strike full on. For a second time, the Varcolac sent him flying. This time it didn’t hesitate after its strike and pounced on Cole. Huge jaws came snapping down on the Paladin, enclosing his right side in a stinking moist bear trap.

Strangely, there was no pain, neither for the first blow nor now, with the fangs sinking into him. Confused and more than a little alarmed, Cole reached up with a sluggish arm and jammed his Halberds spike into the Varcolac’s neck. The strike was pitiful and didn’t even annoy the creature trying to bite him in half. A resounding crack filled the air and reverberated in Cole’s body. The Varcolac pulled away suddenly, much to Cole’s surprise. Cole looked down at himself and saw the dozen or so dagger-like wounds the Varcolac had inflicted. Each was covered in an obsidian-like coating. A broken fang even stuck from one of the injuries. Looking up at the Varcolac, Cole saw cold mist poor from its mouth. Patches of frost-bite were spreading over its lips and jowls.

Cole got to his feet and brandished his halberd at the Varcolac. He couldn’t understand why he was alive. By all rights, the Varcolac should have savaged him, ignoring something like extreme cold in the pursuit of prey. Touching his wounds, Cole felt something smooth, hard, and bitterly cold. The obsidian-like scabs were his blood, frozen into something harder than steel. A terrible suit of armor he didn’t even want to think about. The Varcolac had stopped because it couldn’t bite into him; the Cold of Entropy had frozen Cole’s body into something more akin to stone than flesh.

On uncertain, numb feet, Cole moved towards the Varcolac, trying not to think about what consequences there might be for his current state. The monster snapped at Cole, and he barely leaned away from the bite. Swinging his halberd, Cole struck into the side of the Varcolac’s neck. The blade was stuck hard in muscle and bone. Giving Cole an insane idea. Instead of pulling his weapon free, Cole used it to anchor himself as he leaped onto the Varcolac’s back. To both their surprise, Cole managed to latch onto the Varcolac. Looping an arm around the Varcolac’s throat, Cole held on for his life.

Rearing up on its healed legs, the Varcolac tried to reach back and grab Cole. With hands literally frozen to his steed, Cole held on. The pall of brutal cold leaking from Cole did not let up; it clung to the Varcolac, freezing it slowly but steadily. A process the monster was doing all it could to resist. It thrashed and roared before eventually running headlong towards a nearby wall. Cole braced as the Varcolac spun and slammed its back against the castle wall. Caught between solid stone and hundreds of kilos worth of monster, Cole felt things break. The enhanced durability granted by the Cold could only resist so much, and Cole felt most of his remaining ribs shatter.

No pain came, leaving Cole only with theoretical idea of how much damage he was taking. Pulling away from the wall, the Varcoalc rolled over, catching one of Cole’s legs beneath its bulk and bending his knee in the wrong direction. Cole felt this as an analytical fact, not as searing agony. He knew what was happening; of course, the Cold of Entropy was not simply the lack of heat but a magical force. Something that could effect more than mundane matters. The Cold had frozen the pain, locking it away until it could thaw out and be unleashed. This property of the Cold of Entropy was what truly made it dangerous. Foes would not even notice its creeping touch until it was too late. A subtle arcane contamination that Cole was fully experiencing.

In the times before when Cole had used this power, he’d directed it out of him in a focused manner. Freezing a foe with a breath, coating his weapon in frost, or even letting the cold leach into the ground were all methods he’d used. This more primitive effort, where the Cold just bled from him in waves, was the ultimate double-edged sword. Granting Cole durability and pain resistance more akin to a Golem than anything living. A fact that bothered Cole enough to distract him while he clung on for his life to an undead Werewolf.

The Varcolac tried, again and again, to throw Cole off, but it could free itself. The monster's movements slowed with every passing moment as the burning chill clinging to its back spread. It kept struggling, fighting against the inevitable. Vicious animal fury raging against the bleak power enwrapping it. For his part, Cole started to mutter prayers. While the monster he fought had devoured Natalie’s mother and Gods’ know how many other innocents. It was another victim of the Feeder and the world's cruelties.

Most Werecreatures found ways to manage their curse. Turning a blight set upon the world by the Dark Gods into something useful. Entire nations of Werefolk had sprung from great Werecreatures who’d mastered their curse. From the mighty Wolf-Warriors of the far North to the legendary Lion Chieftains of South Sutu. For a Werewolf to utterly fall to its Curse was a tragedy. Even more so when the circumstances surrounding its death were ugly enough to create a Varcolac. Truly feral Werewolves had souls so eroded they could not become Ghouls. This creature had a spark of something sane left in it when the end came. Leaving an abandoned corpse unmourned and unburied, ready to rise up and bring great harm to the world.

As its thrashings slowed and the Varcolac slumped to the ground, Cole whispered a prayer. “Master Time, grant your final mercy to this tortured soul. May they find rest and rebirth as your judgment sees fit.”

With great effort, Cole pulled himself free of the Varcolac, his stiff broken body fighting against the matted hair freezing him to the Werewolf. Cole stumbled away from the monster. His wounded leg nearly buckled under the stress, the Cold of Entropy forcing it to stay relatively intact. Limping over to his Halberd, Cole picked up the weapon with shakey fingers. It had been thrown free during the struggle, and now its metal fogged as condensation covered its blade. Cole felt the Cold of Entropy start to fade, the precursors to pain starting to push past the numbness. He’d held onto the power for as long as possible, but it had almost completely leaked out of him.

Dragging himself over to the Varcolac, Cole raised his weapon high and croaked out his sacred words. “Magni Morti Mundus.”

The halberd’s axe-head came down hard, right into the Varcolac’s neck. Severing its spine but not decapitating it. Dropping the halberd, Cole felt agony erupt in his leg. His destroyed knee had enough, and he collapsed to the ground. A cacophony of pain erupted across Cole’s body. Every injury he’d sustained now reminded him they existed in excruciating detail. Trying not to scream, Cole reached out with a twitchy, shaky arm and put his hand on the Varcolac. Desperately, Cole channeled what little bit of his divinely ordained power he had left into the monster. A quick prayer of consecration babbling past his lips in Saint Speech as Cole tried to finish his task.

Grabbing onto his necklace, Cole removed his medallion and pressed the small metal Hourglass into the Varcolac’s skin. The combined effects of Cold, the medallion, and Cole’s prayers were enough. Whisps of silver started to flow from the Varcolac, floating up into the air in a vaguely humanoid cloud. Cole looked at the figure and completed his prayer. Tapping into his powers always had strange side effects. Seeing the soul of the Varcolac fade into the Beyond was probably one of the more pleasant ones Cole had experienced. The shimmering silver cloud hung there, regarding Cole for a moment before dissipating like so much steam.

With his task done, Cole crawled over to his halberd and put his necklace back on. Grabbing onto the still cold weapon, Cole used it to pull himself to his feet. Cole looked around the castle courtyard, leaning on his Polearm like a crutch. The Vampires looked down at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. While the Castle Guards stood their eternal silent vigil. Looking up at the Feeder, Cole called out to him.

“Well, who’s next?”

 

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Natalie Striga awoke to darkness and hunger. She’d not expected to awake, and now confusion and pain dominated her world. Natalie couldn’t see anything; she was lying in a pitch-black space, back to sturdy wooden boards. She tried to get her bearings and reached into the darkness, where her fingers met a wooden surface inches from her face. Panic started to rise in Natalie as she tried to move. She was trapped, trapped in a small box. Not a box, she realized, as mounting horror reached its crescendo. She was in a coffin, trapped inside a sealed coffin.

Natalie tried to scream, but only a weak groan escaped her lips. It was then that the other problem facing her became clear. She was starved and thirsty beyond belief. Like she’d worked an entire day without food or water. It was a deep furious hunger that clawed at her, something that pushed at her mind with unrepentant intensity. Natalie pounded her fists against the coffin lid and tried to scream again. She was trapped here, left to starve or asphyxiate in a personal layer of Hell.

Thrashing and trying desperately to scream, Natalie felt true panic overwhelm her. A type of fear she’d never known. The stout wood of the casket would not budge as she tried to break free, and no one noticed her pitiful groans. She beat her hands raw against the coffin lid, trying to free herself for what felt like an eternity. An eternity that only ended as other sources of pain joined the fear. Memories came flooding back of her father’s death and Petar assaulting her. Natalie’s face crinkled up in pain as she felt herself start to cry. Except nothing came, no tears filled her eyes, and the racking sobs filling her were dry and shallow. It was a strange experience, one as unpleasant as it was alien. Natalie tried to cry, but even that had been robbed from her.

She spent another eternity in dry sobs as hunger, grief, and fear gnawed at her. Her mind oblivious to why exactly she couldn’t cry. A truth too terrible to contemplate in her fragile state. A jerk of motion, as something moved her coffin, pulled Natalie from her misery. She was trying to tell if she imagined the impact when gravity changed. Someone propped her coffin upright, so she was standing. Bracing herself against the casket’s sides, Natalie felt herself move. The coffin slid along the ground with a slow grinding sound. She’d feared that only dirt had surrounded her, so the movement brought a moment of relief. One that was quickly replaced by trepidation as she wondered why exactly she was being moved.

The coffin was jostled, shifted, and moved for a time. Ending in a series of clanks and rattles as someone removed chains from the coffin’s outside. Another series of sounds reached her, a metal door opening and shutting. A grunt of pain as something large hit a stone floor. Followed by another wet thud and moan. Lastly, she heard a click and clatter from very nearby. The coffin had been unlocked.

Tentatively, Natalie pushed against the lid and felt it shift. It swung open with a creak, and Natalie pulled herself from it with a whimper. Crawling away from the casket, Natalie took in her surroundings. She was in a cell of some kind, a stone room maybe twice as big as her bedroom. A single weak glowstone shed some light in the room, showing Natalie it was empty except for the coffin and a pile of rags at the far end of the room. Relieved to be free, Natalie breathed in a shuddering gasp. It was then she smelled the blood. A thick aroma filled the air in a heady cloud. Instincts not her own pulled Natalie towards the smell. The hunger from before had blossomed into something far greater.

Natalie felt starved, thirsty and amorous all at once. Every desire her body could have was magnified and focused on the smell of blood. Something told her it would fulfill the deep ravenous desire that clouded her mind. Breathing in more of the sweet scent, Natalie felt herself drawn to it. Getting up into a crouch, she approached the rags and prepared to sate herself. All thought and understanding buried under mind-altering desire.

The chamber seemed brighter now as she approached, and Natalie realized the rags were a person. A battered, broken body covered in the blood-soaked ruins of a large cloak. Natalie actually licked her lips as she heard the prey’s heartbeat. It was low and uncertain but still there. Taking a moment to look down at herself, Natalie realized she was wearing nothing but a sheer black nightgown. A silky thing that normally would have had her blushing up a storm. Now that didn’t matter; all that mattered was filling herself with blood. To drink and quench the terrible thirst that screamed inside of her.

Natalie straddled her prey, enjoying the feeling of warmth and blood on her newly sensitive skin. She slithered up towards her prey’s face. It was buried beneath a worn cowl. Natalie pealed the hood away, ready to sink her fangs into an exposed neck. The face below the cowl stopped her right in her tracks. Bruised and bloodied, Cole’s handsome features were still clear. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were unfocused.

The shock sent Natalie sprawling back, scooting away from Cole in utter horror as she regained control of her body. Confusion and panic warred with the insistent tug of her thirst. Looking down at her hands, Natalie realized how utterly pale she looked. While always fare, now her skin was alabaster. In a whimper, she muttered to herself.

“No no no no no no, this… this can’t be happening.”

In dawning horror, she reached up to her mouth and felt what she knew would be inside. Long serpent-like fangs had replaced her incisors. Cruel instruments of predation designed to inject supernatural venom and open up veins for feeding. She’d seen the same fangs in Isabelle’s skull and in Petar’s mouth when he killed her father. The fangs of a Vampire.

A choking sob escaped Natalie. Even that was difficult; crying was not something a Corpse could do easily. Looking down at her body, Natalie felt how cold her skin was. While a curious hand reached to her throat and felt for a pulse; even though she knew she wouldn’t find it. As the truth hit home, Natalie started to understand what had happened. She’d stabbed Petar with her hair clip and been infected by his blood. In her attempt to avenge her own death, she’d inadvertently damned herself.

To make matters worse, her final hope had fallen through. Barnabas had found Cole, getting the Paladin to come to her aid. Which had led to nothing good. Natalie moved over to the Paladin and tried to examine his condition. As she got closer, the smell of fresh blood overwhelmed Natalie. She felt her fangs pressing against her lips, the unnatural teeth extending slightly, a sign of Vampiric hunger. Natalie sucked in a deep unneeded breath of surprise as the smell hit her. With it came a wave of mind-numbing desire. She wanted, no, NEEDED to drink Cole’s blood. To sink her fangs into him and feel his life drain away into her. Doing so would fill that yawning pit of desire that had opened up in her soul.

Some dark little voice in Natalie spoke of how ecstatic it would feel, how good it would be to not fight the hunger. To give in and enjoy. After all, hadn’t she suffered enough? More than any person should have to. Why not end her pain and Cole’s as well? After all, he’d been bound to a Vampire for years and now was certainly dying. Wouldn’t it be a mercy to let him die in her embrace? His mind filled with pleasurable venom as she took his life.

Pushing herself away from Cole, Natalie let out a small moan of pain. She gripped the sides of her head, muttering to the tantalizing whispers, “shut up shut up shut up shutupshutup shutup SHUT UP!”

The last words came out as screams, and Cole twitched at the noise. Natalie saw the motion and became very still. She’d seen Cole survive some truly brutal things, and she hadn’t gotten a close enough look at him to see how badly he was injured. Holding a useless breath and trying not to suck in any more of the smell, Natalie slowly moved closer to the Paladin.

Gently, in a pleading voice, she asked. “Cole? Are you awake?”

Cole twitched again, and a low gurgling groan escaped him. Reaching out, Natalie shook him. That got a sharp gasp of pain from the semi-conscious Rest-Bringer. Pulling her hand away like she’d been burned, Natalie instinctually sucked in a breath. That same overpowering hunger she’d barely fought off arrived in full force. Natalie felt her body tremble in need. She focused on the smell of fresh blood oozing from Coles's wounds. It was beyond tantalizing, a siren call that drew her closer and closer. Not fully in control of her body, Natalie crept back toward her injured prey.

She kneeled over his body, her mouth centimeters from his neck, long dark hair pooling over his face. A shroud for her first kill. Unnaturally red lips parted, and needle-like fangs came to the bare. Cole moved then, rolling to face her, a shaky hand gripping Natalie’s wrist with a surprising grip. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he tried to speak. A faint croaking sound that barely made its way past the blood welling up in his lungs.

“Natalie. I kept my first oath to you. The Varcolac, I destroyed it.” Cole took a deep rattling breath and continued, a mournful tone to his words. “I don’t know if I can keep my other oaths; I’m sorry.”

Those words, simple and barely understandable as they were, made Natalie pause. Part of her understood them, the part of her not yet fully subsided into the thirst. She wanted to weep, thank the strange man who’d come into her life, hug him, and feel his warmth pressed against her. Instead, the monster ruled, overpowering her conscious mind with inhuman instincts. Lowering her mouth to Cole’s neck in a perversion of a kiss, she added her own link to his collar of scars.

A deep lustful moan of contentment escaped Natalie as she drank. Blood flowed into her mouth and down her throat like an elixir of life. The hunger started to ebb slightly, and Natalie tried to pull away. Hoping to weaken the thirst but not slake it fully with Cole. After each sip, she told herself the next would be her last. The fiendish hunger whispering away in her mind goaded her on. Telling her to just drink a little more, to just let go and let the thirst be quenched. As the flow of blood slowed, Natalie wanted to scream. She wanted to pull away and shriek in horror at what she was doing. What she wanted to do and what she did do were very different things. Natalie did not stop drinking, the thirst overriding her self-control.

The blood tasted like life, like power, like what she needed. Nothing had ever tasted so go to Natalie, and she doubted anything would ever match it again. It hit her body and mind like the most potent drug, sending pleasure through her with fiendish potency. The Vampire reveled in the flavor while the dwindling human felt disgusted and horror. Both sides of Natalie noticed when the flavor changed. Becoming flat and stale. Like poorly kept wine ready to sour. Instinctual disgust finally did what willpower could not, pulling Natalie away from Cole.

The overriding hunger faded; content with its meal, it retreated deeper into Natalie’s soul. Leaving a stunned Natalie in full control of herself. Stale blood dribbling down her lips, Natalie looked at Cole’s still form. She put her hand on his chest and tried to shake him. He didn’t respond. She shook him harder, a pleading question on her lips.

“Cole?” he still didn’t respond, and Natalie shook the limp body with all her might. “COLE!” she screamed as realization hit her. Desperate for an answer one way or another, Natalie put her hands on Cole’s throat and chest. There was no pulse, no breath, nothing. The Rest-Bringer was dead.

Natalie brought her hands up to her face in shock. Smearing his still warm blood on her face. It took a huge effort to not lick the blood, and that just added to her suffering. An avalanche of guilt and self-loathing hit Natalie. Knocking her to the ground as a slow, plaintive wail escaped her lips. Her scream reached a crescendo that seemed to go on forever. It was too much; it was all just too much. She’d lost her father, her humanity, and now the man she… she had started to love. No, she hadn’t lost Cole; she’d killed him. She was a monster who gave in to her thirst so easily. She had devoured someone she loved and enjoyed every second of it.

On her hands and knees, head pressed against the cold stone, Natalie wept and screamed. Hating the Petar, hating the Vampires, hating the world but most importantly, hating herself. Curling up into a ball, Natalie sobbed. To her surprise, tears flooded her eyes. Another terrible reminder of her crime. A well-fed Vampire’s body became almost life-like. Flush with stolen blood, Natalie could finally cry.

Covered in tears and blood, Natalie drowned in her grief. She felt worse than ever before. Her wails echoed in the stone cell, an ugly song accompanying her isolation. A song interrupted by the creak of metal. Natalie looked towards the ceiling, tracing the sound's origin. Blinking tears, she saw a hatch had opened in the chamber's roof. Two figures stood above her, their faces shadowed by the light glaring down into the chamber. Natalie winced at the light. It hurt her eyes badly. She idly wondered if the hours of darkness or her new existence were responsible for the pain.

One of the figures above spoke, his voice calm and measured. “I see she had her first blood meal.”

The other snorted in amusement and answered in a nasal but feminine tone. “Of course she has! I could hear her wailing halfway across the castle. We haven’t had a screamer like her in a while.”

The first speaker tutted reprovingly at the second. “Have a little tact Zana. She might be joining the Court soon, and she is of the new Lord's blood.”

Zana replied with a bitter laugh: “Oh, I doubt there will be much left of her mind. The Lord wants her locked up with her kill for three nights. Let the Rest-Bringer start to stink some. This fledgling managed to seriously annoy Petar. He wants her initiation to be especially bad.”

The original speaker was quiet for a moment before shouting down to Natalie. “You have taken a life fledgling; you devoured a living person to sate your own hunger. Anyone who might have once cared for you will see you as a monster. I don’t, and neither will the rest of the Court. Black blood flows in your veins; you are Nobility now. The livestock won’t have you, but we will. Remember that while you are in the dark.”

Before Natalie could respond, the trap door above her shut with a resounding clank. Leaving her alone in the near-darkness of the cell. Alone except for the corpse of the man she’d eaten. She sat there, looking up at the closed door. Trying her damndest to not cry anymore. It was hard, and she felt herself falter more than once, but Natalie kept back the tears. The visitor's words had given Natalie something to latch onto. Alone in the dark, she’d had nothing to do but stew in her pain. Now there was something else to think about. Natalie seized the opportunity to avoid thinking about what she had done.

The visitor had been weirdly polite, not quite considerate but not speaking with the scorn and derision Natalie now expected from Vampires. Zana, the other Vampire, had talked about Natalie’s imprisonment like it was routine. Something to observe and mock. While the male Vampire had offered her hope of some kind. Offering twisted acceptance into the Court.

A thought then struck Natalie; Was… was what happened with Cole some sort of twisted initiation? Locking her up with a wounded person seemed to have no other purpose than that. Just letting the thirst and her own weakness ruin her remaining humanity.

Natalie felt like she was going to be sick. A wave of nausea surged over her. While her stomach didn’t heave, her mind went through the motions of being ill. Being a Vampire had even robbed her of being able to vomit in disgust. Looking over at the still corpse of Cole, Natalie felt another ugly stab of self-loathing. She had no right to think about being robbed or owed. Not more than an hour ago, she’d stolen a life. A very precious life at that.

Scooting back from Cole, she leaned against the wall, Natalie tried to fight off the urge to cry, but she failed. Alone in the oubliette, there was nothing left to do but weep. Every half an hour or so, the storm of grief would ebb a little, and Natalie would have enough focus to think on other topics. The one that kept her attention was revenge. She’d lost everything to Petar, the new lord of this court. He’d taken her mother, father, home, and humanity and now tried to take her sanity or compassion. She was beginning to understand what had been done and its purpose. Leaving her in this pit with nothing but the guilt was supposed to destroy her humanity.

It made sense in a terrible sort of way. This was a quick and easy way to discern if she had what it took to be a Vampire. A truly good person would starve themselves or go insane from the grief. Someone with the features the Vampires desired in a newly turned Fledgling would survivet. It was a simple choice, drown in the grief and die as a human. Or find a way to live with the pain and live as a Vampire. Staring up at the shut, trapped door, Natalie wondered how many others had been in the same situation she had been. She wondered how many consoled themselves with the idea of revenge. Believing that if they lived on to kill the other Vampires, their sins would be forgiven. She wondered how many of those self-righteous souls now dwelled in the Castle above her, oaths long forgotten as they became what they once hated.

Natalie knew she could promise to take revenge and live centuries trying to achieve it, and it wouldn’t do a damn thing. Everyone was dead, except maybe for Barnabas; she wasn’t confident he hadn’t been killed when they captured Cole. If she swore some grand oath of vengeance, she knew that would just become an excuse. She also had no confidence she could keep such an oath. Just a day ago, Natalie would have gladly sworn she could never harm someone she loved. The truth lay in the other corner of the room, covered in his drying blood. She had no faith in her promises, infinite hells; Natalie had no faith in herself anymore.

That thought brought a new deluge of tears with it. For all the hate and blame she laid at Petar’s feet, Natalie couldn’t put Cole’s death on him. Gods knows she wanted to, and the old monster had certainly played his part, but it hadn’t been his fangs that drained Cole’s life away. That sin lay firmly on Natalie. It was one thing to lose her only remaining parent. The grief from that would have been enough to send Natalie hurtling into depression for months. The guilt of murdering Cole added to that was breaking her. She could feel herself start to sag under the weight of it all. Natalie’s mind was strong for someone her age, but strength has its limits.

Natalie continued this cycle of breaking down and crying for hours at a time before recovering enough to try and distract herself. She mused on the information Petar had given her about her mother. About Cole’s last words, that he’d killed the Varcolac. Those, in particular, brought a smidgeon of comfort to Natalie. A flicker of positive emotion that was quickly drowned under another wave of guilt. Was that how Cole had gotten so injured, fighting the Varcolac? It made sense; Natalie guessed Cole had tried to rescue her and fought some of Petars minions. There was a story there, one she wanted to hear, but the only person she trusted to tell it was dead by her hand.

Drifting in and out of a grief-filled fugue, Natalie learned something important about being a Vampire. She knew instinctually when the Sun rose. It hit her like a hammer of exhaustion. She’d tried to sleep earlier to no effect, and now she couldn’t do anything to resist the onset of unconsciousness. Even hidden in this dungeon, far away from the light, the dawn had a visceral impact. Natalie slumped down and fell into the daytime torpor of Vampirekind.

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The day passed quickly from Natalie’s perspective. Her body jolted awake in a panicked start. Upon awakening she had vague memories of dreams. Something she was surprised to have experienced. To her, dreams seemed just the sort of thing a Vampire wouldn’t experience anymore. So the unfocused flickers of a streambank and an Angler seemed all that more unusual. As consciousness solidified its hold on her, the snippets of Natalie’s dreams flowed away. Leaving her alone in a very, very unpleasant reality. Standing up, Natalie willed herself to look at the far corner. She knew what she’d find there, but some deluded part of herself hoped the previous night had been a nightmare. It had not been. Cole’s body lay there, unchanged from the night before.

Sharply looking away from him, Natalie resisted the urge to cry. Her heart still hurt like nothing else but no tears welled up. Bleakly she realized this had more to do with the false-life of feeding wearing off, more than any self-control. Seeing nothing else to do and not wanting to fall back into the morass of misery from last night, Natalie started pacing. The cell was just large enough for her to get a few good paces in either direction. She made sure to turn by facing the wall each time she changed direction, anything to avoid looking at Cole.

Natalie didn’t know how long she paced, only that it was working. The constant movement kept her mind off events and kept her distracted. After roughly an hour and a half, a noise distracted Natalie from her pacing. The trap door of the oubliette was opening. Freezing mid-stride, Natalie moved over to look up at what was happening. To her surprise, someone jumped down into the oubliette.

He was a Vampire; that much was obvious by the newcomer's pale skin and red eyes. Aside from that, he was tall, with a wiry frame. Medium length, shaggy black hair framed a highly angular face. An unconcerned smirk accompanied by eyes holding a glimmer of mischief completed the image of a dashing scoundrel. Clad in a light cooper’s cloak and garbed in a dark green tunic, the stranger looked Natalie up and down with an arrogant inquisitiveness. Wrapping her arms around herself, Natalie was suddenly very aware of her near-nakedness.

The stranger gave her a theatrical bow and spoke. “I am Adrian Von Riechtor; it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. Natalie Striga.”

Natalie recognized the voice; he was the male Vampire from earlier. Stiffening in anger, Natalie spat out, “Come to see how your jagging indoctrination is going? Come to gloat over my sins?”

Adrian beamed with mirth, something so anathema to Natalie’s current mood it made her feel ill. He turned away from her and looked at the ruined form of Cole. “Actually, I came to check on our dearly departed Rest-Bringer here. I had such high hopes for him, but they turned out to be naught.”

Casually, Adrian kicked Cole’s body, sending the corpse rolling till it hit the nearest wall. Natalie shouted in outrage and gripped onto the new Vampires shoulder, trying to pull him away from Cole. With a casual backhand, he sent Natalie flying. She slammed into a cell wall and slid to the ground. More stunned than hurt, Natalie watched as Adrian sauntered over to the body and peered down at it.

“It's funny; he matched the description perfectly. I mean, how many brooding walls of scar tissue can there be in the Blood Duchies? It's not like I think the information was wrong, but this rotting blood bag can’t be the Homunculus Knight.” remarked the Vampire, with as much concern as if he were talking about the weather.

Turning back towards Natalie, Adrian peered at her. “Well, no matter. I still have other useful prospects. Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Striga?”

Natalie didn’t respond; her focus wasn’t even on the Vampire examining her. She was busy looking at the impossible sight behind Adrian. The corpse was moving. A series of pops and wet noises started to fill the cell as Cole’s body twitched and thrashed. To Natalie’s surprise and horror, the mangled body started to get up. Blood dribbled from innumerable wounds, and the face was hidden under a sheet of dried gore. Seeing she wasn’t looking at him, Adrian turned around to see what had Natalie’s attention.

The corpse exploded in movement, launching forward towards Adrian with shocking speed. A deep, ugly roar escaped the risen dead as it tackled Adrian to the ground. Huge hands covered in blood gripped the Vampire’s head and slammed it repeatedly against the cell floor. Natalie had to cover her ears as the sound of bone breaking on stone echoed around the small space. The noise was replaced with a wet squelch as Adrian drove his forearm clean through the body's guts. Natalie wanted to look away in disgust, but morbid fascination kept her eyes on what was happening. The undead creature that once had been Cole didn’t even react to the injury and kept slamming Adrian's head against the ground. All while screaming in both pain and rage.

Adrian tore his arm sideways, ripping clean through Cole’s corpse. That seemed to be enough, making the undead thing slump over. A shaken Adrian pushed the body off him and tried to get up. A red-stained hand shot out and grabbed onto the Vampire’s ankle. A visceral slurping noise came from the body as disemboweled innards worked their way back inside the healing body. The Cole-thing pulled itself up and gripped the stunned Adrian in a chokehold. Icy vapor started to leak from the corpse's slack maw, coating Adrian’s face in a layer of Hoarfrost.

The Vampire tried to pull away, slamming back against the new Undead, driving them both into the wall. The Cole-thing didn’t let go, and more cold streams poured from it and into the Vampire. Adrian kept fighting, but his every strike seemed less effective. He flailed uselessly as ice covered his body and his opponent ignored every grievous strike. Eventually, the Vampire slowed and stopped as undead muscles froze solid. The Cole-Thing had been waiting for this, and it twisted the Vampire’s head violently. Cold-weakened tissue tore and frozen bone splintered. The headless vampire fell to the ground, body and severed head quickly turning into icy ash. The undead slumped to its knees and brought a shaking hand up its neck. Fresh blood dribbled from a bite wound there. The wound Natalie had given Cole.

A low moan came from the monster as it fell forwards, touching the bite mark. Racking sobs escaped from it as the Cole-thing sucked in breaths. Watching this, Natalie dared hope something. Maybe this was not some terrible revenant created from Cole; maybe it was truly him. Could his status as a Paladin have saved him? After all, surviving the impossible had been Cole’s trademark so far and a suitable ability for one of Master Time’s servants.

Softly, Natalie asked: “Cole?” her words almost pleading.

Cole sat up and looked at her. His eyes were wild, filled with pain and rage. They looked more like a feral animal than anything remotely human. The unfocused sight settled on her, and Cole’s expression softened slightly. Still, his gaze was inhumanly intense, and Natalie flinched. Returning his hand to his neck, Cole spoke.

“It was you.” his words had a confused and hurt air. Like someone finding out they’d been betrayed.

They hit Natalie like a slap, and she forcibly looked away from Cole. A dry lump grew in her throat, and she didn’t respond. Cole or the thing she thought was Cole filled the heavy silence. “They turned you and locked me in with you. I…I was your first.”

The words seemed to take something from Cole; he sagged under their weight and sighed. Continuing to massage his neck, Cole continued. “I suppose I should be grateful. Better for us that you weren’t set upon some innocent.”

A pang of guilt hit Natalie, and it was accompanied by a terrible thought. Cole was a Paladin, sworn to hunt Undead wherever they might be. A duty that required him to kill her just as he would any other Vampire. Something he’d proven willing and able to do repeatedly. Swallowing nervously, Natalie started to cough as her unliving flesh warred with old living habits. Cole got up and moved over to her; Natalie shied away even as she tried to stop the coughing fit.

She ended it with a few choked-out words “Are…you going to… kill me.”

Natalie looked up at Cole, the blood-covered giant looming over her. His face was emotionless as he responded. “Nat, you are already dead. You died when they turned you. Now you’re just a cursed soul trapped inside an animated body.”

Cole reached out slowly, his free hand approaching her. Natalie shut her eyes, waiting for his grip to wrap around her throat. It didn’t come; instead, he gently cupped her chin. Opening her eyes, Natalie looked up at him, her lips trembling as she expected true death. Cole’s mask of composure had been cracked, and he looked at her with such sadness. Gently he murmured to her.

“I should end your unlife. Free your soul and prevent you from hurting anyone else. But… I am too weak. I don’t think I could hurt you even if I wanted to.”

Relief and guilt pushed Natalie forward. She wrapped her arms around the larger man and just held him. After a moment, Cole’s arms returned the gesture, and they just held each other. Grateful for the simple comfort such touch provided. It was only then that Natalie was certain Cole was truly alive. His heart beat away in his chest, loud enough for her to hear when pressed against him. Bitterly she knew he would not hear anything from her if he listened.

Softly Cole remarked, “You are cold.” Natalie let out a weak chuckle. “I hadn’t noticed. You are warm, though. It feels nice.” Cole didn’t respond for a while, then asked, “What happened?”

Stiffening slightly, Natalie answered in a flat voice. “The Dayman, Simon. He is really Petar the Feeder. The bastard came to the inn and took me. Dad tried to stop him… and….”

It was Cole’s turn to stiffen in surprise. Something she’d said had shocked him. But he didn’t say anything, so Natalie continued. “He took me back to the Castle and attacked me. Petar wanted my blood for some reason. He said it’s powerful, something I inherited from my mother. He wanted the power to do something; Petar didn’t say what. But the arrogant Jagger didn’t have me searched for weapons. I stabbed him with a silver stiletto while he…fed upon me. The blood must have gotten in my wound, I guess. The next thing I remember is waking up in here with you.”

Cole gently stroked the back of Natalie’s head; she didn’t care about getting blood into her hair. Such a trifle didn’t compare to the simple joy of his affection. “I’m so sorry, Natalie,” he murmured. “I should have never let you get involved in this.”

Letting go of Cole, Natalie stepped back and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Stop it! Don’t start that. I made my choices, and it's not your fault what happened to my Dad. That monster Petar is responsible for all of this. Taking guilt onto your shoulders does nothing but relieve the bastard of it.”

Actually smiling at her response, Cole reached up and grasped her accusing hand with his and held it to his chest. “Thank you.” after a moment of hesitation, he tried to return the favor. “No Vampire can resist the hunger when newly turned. They either give in or go insane and give in. I don’t fault you for what happened.” Cole then tried to smile again, this time, it was forced, and Natalie could tell. “Besides, that's not the first time that’s happened to me. I at least prefer it was you over any of the other Vampires.”

Natalie started to wilt under his words, she understood what he was trying to do, but it did little to assuage the guilt she felt. While nothing compared to her earlier horror at thinking she killed him. The knowledge she’d attacked him while weakened and hurt him like all the other monsters who’d created that collar of scars was enough to trigger a bout of self-loathing. Uncertainly she asked the question that had been on her mind since he’d awoken.

“How did you survive? You had no pulse and weren’t breathing. I drained you till I couldn’t taste any more life, Cole. How are you alive?”

Cole shut his eyes and grimaced. Natalie could physically see the war going on inside him. Paranoia about his secrets fought against his trust for her, something Natalie knew had to have been shaken by what happened. Eventually, Cole let out a slow sigh and answered.

“I will tell you, but first, I need to ask about something you mentioned.” Natalie bit the inside of her cheek in annoyed understanding. Learning that having Vampire fangs made such a habit rather painful. Wincing in pain, Natalie shook her head in assent.

“You said the Dayman who visited you earlier was actually Petar? But how? It shouldn’t be possible for him to be out during the day.”

Natalie’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m certain it was him, and I was hoping you would have an answer. It made no sense to me, but I assumed you’d know.”

Cole looked away and remarked, “Nothing I know of can allow a Vampire to walk in sunlight. Although this does answer some questions and raise new ones. Petar has overthrown Glockmire and gotten the backing of the court. If he had some method of resisting the Sun, that would explain his successful coup and why Master Time sent me here. Such a threat is more than enough to require a Paladin.”

Tentatively, Natalie asked, “Then would it be possible for me to see the Sun again?” there was a note of desperate hope in her voice, and it broke Cole’s heart.

Grimacing, he answered truthfully. “I doubt so. It seems unlikely Petar gained this protection in a benign way. Whatever method he uses is probably not something a good person would even consider. I’m sorry, Natalie.”

Withering from the painful truth, Natalie asked sadly, “Nothing is ever going to be the same again, is it?” Cole just nodded in grim confirmation. With her words hanging in the air like a miasma, Natalie and Cole embraced again, taking what little comfort they could in the contact.

Out of fear and worry, Natalie squeezed Cole tight, eliciting a pained gasp from him. Releasing her grip, she looked up at him and realized he was still bleeding. The myriad lacerations and cuts that peppered his skin were still open. Many had scabbed over, but others still oozed a steady stream of blood. Touching one gently, Natalie tried to ignore the smell of fresh blood. The thirst was still sated from her earlier “meal,” but it hadn’t fully gone away.

Looking at the wound, Natalie asked, “You are still bleeding? How can that be? You should be dead, Cole. I couldn’t stop feeding until I felt you die. How did you survive?”

Gently pulling her hand away from his cut face, Cole shut his eyes hard, focusing on gathering up the courage to answer her question. “I didn’t survive, Natalie. You killed me.”

Confused horror filled Natalie’s mind as Cole elaborated, “I can die like any other person. I just don’t stay dead. My soul doesn’t leave my body, and I regenerate from whatever injury killed me.”

Touching his bloody and scarred face, Cole smiled weakly at some joke only he knew. “I was already mortally wounded when the Vampires dropped me here with you. I destroyed the Varcolac and a few other of the Feeders thralls when I tried to rescue you. But in the process I managed to break or damage half my bones and organs. So then the added blood loss of….”

Cole paused and shook his head, trying to push away a memory before continuing, “The blood loss finally killed me, and every time my body tried to heal from that, something else would give out. Then whatever killed me that time would heal, and my body could start over, going to the next lethal injury. It was unpleasant, drifting in between death and dying. Catching glimpses of your pain before the darkness took me. I’m so sorry, Natalie; I’m sorry you were alone all that time.”

Staring up at him wide-eyed, Natalie choked back a dry sob and embraced Cole again, careful not to squeeze him too tight. “You giant fool. I literally killed you, and you are apologizing to me?”

Cole was stunned; he’d expected her to be shocked or upset at his secret. Not to embrace him and chide him in her own razor-tongued way. Then she asked, “So, Master Time made you immortal? I’ve never heard of something close to that, but I guess it makes sense.”

That made Cole freeze up; she assumed his ability was a divine boon. He was well and truly tempted to let her continue thinking that way, but Cole owed Natalie the truth at this point. Gently breaking their embrace, Cole took a step back. Forcing himself to look at Natalie, seeing the confusion and worry on her face.

“No, Master Time had nothing to do with Death being… impermanent for me,” he admitted, earning raised eyebrows from her. “I’m not human, Natalie, or even anything remotely close. I’m not even sure if I count as a living being.”

That got a note of concern to cross Natalie’s face. Cole didn’t let it grow into anything larger and finished explaining. “I am a Homunculus, an artifical person. Created by a Vampire searching for a way to be truly immortal. My existence defies the natural laws. I’m the product of truly dark Magic and Science.”

It was just like when Cole had told Natalie he was a Paladin. It answered a legion of questions she’d had and brought up a million more. The inquisitive part of her that landed Natalie in the middle of this mess wanted to ask every last one of them. Other more balanced bits of Natalie saw the look of fear and stress on Cole’s face. While she didn’t fully understand the significance of his confession, it obviously had deep meaning for Cole.

So trusting her gut, Natalie reached out, took one of Cole’s hands, and kissed it. A simple gesture of affection that turned out to be a bad idea. The drying blood on his palm was enough to send a surge of need through Natalie. She pushed through it and forced herself to hold still, Cole’s warm skin pressed against her cold lips. After taking a moment to recover, Natalie spoke gently.

“Human, Goblin, Elf, Dwarf, Homunculi. None of that matters. You are still the man who I’ve watched fight and literally die to do the right thing. The man chosen by an actual God to help those in need. A shockingly kind and gentle person who I’m truly glad to have met.”

Internally, Natalie added one last statement, one she wasn’t sure either of them were ready to hear out loud. “The man who I want to give my heart to”

Her words had the desired effect, and Cole visibly relaxed. Some deep fear of rejection and persecution was soothed by Natalie’s kindness. Letting go of his hand, Natalie tried to distract both of them from their respective pains and answer one of the questions she’d thought of.

“So all your scars? Is that because you were… um, sewn together?” Natalie had no idea if there was a tactful way to ask Cole if he was like the Patchwork-Man of legend, but she tried her best.

That actually got a bleak smile from Cole as he wiped away some drying blood from his forearms and looked at the pattern of scars that crisscrossed him. “No, I was grown, not pieced together. The scars, they uh, are the one major defect in my regeneration. My skin does not heal quite like everything else does. My muscles, bones, and organs will be fixed perfectly, but not the skin. I still heal faster than most people, but it's left me covered in scars.”

Natalie winced at that. She’d been actually hoping Cole had been stitched together from salvaged Corpses. Not having suffered every one of the gruesome injuries that still decorated his body. Glancing away in awkward sympathy, Natalie noticed the pile of ash and torn clothes nearby. All that was left of the Vampire Adrian. There were no bones, like with Lorena, but still enough ash to have made up the smarmy monster. Struck by an idea, Natalie went over to the remains and started salvaging his clothes. Tearing them into strips, Natalie went back to Cole and asked, “Could we use these to bandage you up?”

Cole looked at the ash-stained rags and grimaced. “Getting the ash in my wounds won’t be great, but I’ve dealt with worse. If I can get the worst of these to clot, it will go a long way for both of us, I think.”

Natalie flinched slightly; he’d noticed how many times her eyes had lingered on his blood and how hard it had been not to lick the blood from his hand. The revelation of Cole being alive and his apparently inhuman nature had momentarily distracted Natalie, but the surprise was starting to wear off. Grief for her father and her own humanity threatened to surge up and drown her. Pushing it down, Natalie got to work tearing up Adrian's cloak and pants. She got more than a little morbid joy disposing of his belongings in such a way. First Lorena, now Adrian, Natalie was used to cleaning up after drunken tavern goers, not dead Vampires.

Tearing the cloth was far easier than it should have been, a small but poignant reminder that Natalie had changed in some very drastic ways. As she quickly turned Adrians' cooper cloak into a series of bandages, a memory was sparked. Something Adrian had said when he entered the cell. Sitting down next to Cole, she started to bind the fabric around a large cut on Cole’s leg. After a moment of consideration, Natalie asked him about what Adrian had mentioned.

“The Vampire who was in the cell with me, the one you killed. He mentioned someone called the Homunculus Knight. He seemed to be looking for them. Is that you, Cole?”

Wincing as Natalie’s fingers brushed a large scratch, Cole answered. “Yes, it was my title when I was with Isabelle. I served as her champion and bodyguard back then.”

Musing on that, as she tied the bandage, Natalie sought clarification. “Isabelle, the skull, she was the Vampire who created you?”

Cole nodded in confirmation, and Natalie hid a grimace of displeasure from him. The idea this Vampire had created him, then used him as a food source, servant, and lover made Natalie feel sick. She’d heard scandalous tales of young women being groomed from a young age by lecherous Nobles. But nothing quite as warped as this. Natalie’s opinion of this Isabelle fell even lower. She had been a perverse old monster who refused to even die properly. That thought sent a chill of self-loathing through Natalie. She was now not much better than Isabelle. The moral high ground was rapidly shrinking.

Preparing to ask more painful questions, Natalie looked up at Cole and braced herself. She didn’t get to ask any more when a low grinding noise pulled her attention. Both Cole and Natalie sprung up and turned to face one of the cell walls. The stone of the wall was sliding apart. Bricks compressing and moving out of the way in a strange rippling motion. A hidden passageway had opened up.

Standing in it, barely illuminated by the cell’s glowstone, was a huge Vampire in ruined plate armor. Red eyes glowed out from the darkness as the figure stepped toward Cole and Natalie. Torn metal scraped as he moved, and an oversized sword hung from his back. Cole was the first to recognize the intruder.

“Dietrich? What in the infinite hells are you doing here?” spat Cole. Pulling out the hunting knife he kept in his boot, Cole faced the Undead Knight without fear. Natalie took a moment to also recognize the newcomer. Which was understandable considering the circumstances of their last encounter.

“That’s Dietrich?” asked a startled Natalie. “He’s the Vampire who saved my father and me from the Varcolac!”

If he recognized her, Dietrich didn’t show it. He just looked at the two prisoners, his red eyes not showing any emotion. After a moment, he spoke. “Rest-Bringer, we need to talk.”

With that, he turned and started walking down the passageway he’d opened. After a few steps, he stopped, paused as if considering something, and elaborated. “Bring the Fledgeling as well. She might be useful.”

Confused, uncertain, and not seeing any other options. Cole and Natalie looked at each other. Agreement flashed between them, and they took the choice presented, following Dietrich down the passageway and out of the Cell.

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