by Hugo Huesca
“What are you…” he muttered.
“Vengeful,” Nicolai said, and descended upon Ed in a storm of steel.
Then darkness overwhelmed the chapel.
7
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WRAITH
Something had killed the light from the oil lamps, leaving the chapel’s interior illuminated only by colored rays of moonlight coming from the mosaics windows. A presence like powerful static filled the air, making Ed’s hair stand on end. The familiar smell of decay reached his nostrils.
Kharon? No, this was different. Kharon’s scent was that of formaldehyde and other substances used to mask death. This was death.
“Are you,” Nicolai asked Ed without turning to look at him, “perchance, in the possession of an enchanted silver weapon, preferably also blessed by a high-ranking Inquisitor of Alita’s Militant Church?”
“Aren’t you?” Ed managed.
“Katalyn threw mine into a bonfire when she made known her displeasure at her role in our ritual.” An uneven lump of meat was slowly filling the man’s empty ocular cavity as he spoke.
The static in the air made all the hair on Ed’s body stand on end.
Nicolai sheathed his weapons and forgot all about Ed in a single instant. He scanned the room and found Rolim, who had grabbed Katalyn by the neck and was holding her a foot off the floor. Katalyn fought weakly with one hand while her other tried to grab hold of one of her knives.
“Put her down, Rolim,” Nicolai ordered. “Now.”
Rolim turned to him as if Nicolai had gone insane. Apparently, Rolim had put all his points into combat and none into insight-related talents, because only then did he realize the change in ambiance. He dropped Katalyn, who fell, dropped, and rolled away.
“Kat,” Nicolai told her, “pick that damned lock, will you? My own Thief seems to be indisposed.”
Katalyn looked at him like he had gone insane. She was too stunned to figure out what was going on.
“Pick the lock, Katalyn!” Ed urged her.
A wail nearby caught Ed’s attention and he turned to see a pair of hands pulling themselves out of the floor in the center of the chapel, bypassing polished stone and marble as if they were made of air. Silver phalanges were connected to each other by transparent strands of meat, then followed by arms shrouded in a transparent, silky robe knit out of roving shadows.
The arms pushed against the floor, and a head emerged as if it was forcing itself to be birthed. It was a silver skull with a tiny patch of grayish hair still attached, jaws connected by singular strands of muscle, and ocular cavities burning with flaming orbs of eldritch green.
The green orbs passed over every man and woman in the room, burning with raw hatred. When the skull locked gazes with Ed, it was as if a hand closed around Ed’s heart and constricted it. Hard. Raw, liquid fear unlike anything he’d ever felt rushed through his veins.
A black-clad body followed the skull, then a pair of naked tibias and skeletal feet, and then the creature freed itself from the floor’s hold. It floated to the center of the chapel with its arms extended as if trying to hug the empty room.
No, Ed corrected himself. It was looking at someone in particular.
The monster spoke with an inhuman voice, its flaming orbs focused on Katalyn, who stood paralyzed by fear and terrible realization. “Come to me, my daughter. Past the veil of death, we are reunited.”
The fear was like a river flowing straight into Ed’s thoughts, leaving nothing in its wake. Ed fought back, a drowning man alone in a cold sea, his strength abandoning him by the second.
“No,” Katalyn muttered, half a plea and half an attempt at denying the image her eyes delivered. “No.”
“Your blood is my blood,” the undead creature declared. “And now my blood returns to me.”
Its tone made it clear that this wasn’t a heartfelt family reunion. It floated toward Katalyn as inevitable as aging.
As it neared Katalyn, the unnatural fear loosened its grip on Ed. He was left gasping, fighting for air. He and Nicolai exchanged stunned glances.
“That creature isn’t smart,” Nicolai said. “It’s more like a zombie, yet with vague memories of its past life. But if it drains its daughter’s experience points, it’ll become much powerful… and sentient.” The implied danger was clear in his voice.
Ed summoned a rain of drones over the wraith’s head, eager to distract the creature away from Katalyn. In the same order they were summoned, the drone’s skins blistered and withered like ripe fruit left under the sun, and they disappeared into puffs of smoke not even a second after appearing. The wraith either didn’t notice or didn’t care. It kept its gaze fixed on its daughter.
“The wraith’s aura,” Nicolai told Ed. “It drains Endurance near its body. Farther away, it causes fear.”
Nicolai’s explanation bypassed the magical defenses that hid part of the wraith’s stats from Ed’s Evil Eye.
Torst, wraith. 800 experience points. Brawn and Endurance: 15, Agility: 5, Spirit: 0, Mind: 13, Charisma: 10. Skills: ? Talents: Shroud of Plague, ?
Shroud of Plague: This aura generates a sphere around the wraith that drains the Endurance of all living beings at a rate of 1 point per second. A creature whose Endurance reaches 0 in this way comes back as a specter controlled by the wraith. Away from this sphere of influence, the aura causes fear and demoralizes creatures that fail a Spirit check opposed by the wraith’s Spirit.
“Stay away from me!” Katalyn told her father’s ghost. As the creature approached, even the surrounding benches began to wither.
It was clear that Katalyn was suffering from the shroud’s effect just the same as Ed and the rebels.
I have to help her.
But how? His drones couldn’t get near the wraith, and neither could he. After nine seconds, the shroud would drain all his Endurance, but Ed would be out of commission in half that time.
Katalyn stumbled away from her father’s wraith, tripped on a bench, propped herself up using Rolim’s paralyzed body, and retreated until her back reached the wall. Rolim had the presence of mind to run away when the wraith’s aura reached his body and began draining his first points of Endurance, which left angry blisters on the man’s face. Rolim headed for the grated entrance, perhaps thinking he could force the metal open by sheer might. Ed wished him the best of luck.
The wraith kept advancing, all its will focused on leaving Katalyn frozen in fear. Ed was prey to the terrible realization that he was about to see the Thief be stripped of her life in front of his eyes.
He imagined her face melting away in terrible detail, transforming that charming grin of hers into the naked, boney smile of the wraith. And there was nothing Ed could do but watch it happen.
But he wasn’t the only one here who could intervene.
“Pact with me,” he told Nicolai. The rebel’s eye widened in surprise.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Pact with me!” Ed repeated. “I have an aura of my own—it cancels fear effects in my minions. See it for yourself.”
Nicolai was as frozen by the revelation as Katalyn was from fear. The wraith was almost upon her.
“Get close to the wraith, claim its attention, and get it away from Katalyn so she can reach the lock! We can break the pact later,” Ed said furiously. “The way you regenerate… you can survive the shroud, can’t you?”
Nicolai’s remaining eye darted. He glanced at Lyndis’ corpse, then at Ed, then at Katalyn.
“Maybe,” Nicolai granted at last. “For a while, hopefully. My only condition is that you won’t inspect my character sheet.”
Katalyn was running out of time. “Whatever! Now move!” Ed exclaimed.
Tendrils of dark smoke erupted out of Ed’s body and slithered to Nicolai, striking the man in the chest and plunging into his exposed internal organs. Then Ed felt the unmistakable sensation of a pact being forged between him and the man who had unleashed Ioan and the mindbrood upon Burrova. It was dis
gusting.
Ed activated his ancient lord aura. The surrounding air rippled in a spherical shape and danced with dark gold phantasms that shone upon Nicolai’s features, making him look almost noble.
The speed of the rebel’s regeneration increased by a fraction. The man caught Ed by the forearm with a grip like iron.
Surprised by the constant effort of maintaining the aura, Ed had lowered his guard. But according to the pact’s magic, neither he nor Nicolai could hurt each other, no matter how much they wanted to.
“I need to stay inside your area of influence to be immune to fear,” Nicolai said as he all but dragged Ed in the wraith’s direction. “But your aura’s description does not make you immune to fear, Edward.”
As if prompted by Nicolai’s words, the current of supernatural fear gained in strength the more the pair neared the wraith.
He’s right, Ed realized. He balled his hands into fists and shook Nicolai away. “I won’t go running away.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Nicolai said, but he turned his full attention to the wraith. He searched his pockets and produced a couple runes.
The rebel took aim and shot a bullet-shaped projectile made out of gray energy. The bullet crossed the air and smashed harmlessly against the wraith’s robes.
Resistant to magic, too? Ed thought. And, according to the rebels, this creature wasn’t even fully powered yet. The urge to turn tail and run to the catacombs was almost overwhelming. Resisting took all of Ed’s will. The lock, he thought desperately, we need to pick the lock.
The wraith turned to Nicolai. “You dare? I am Torst, come again from the underworld!”
Nicolai rolled his eyes—his newly discovered immunity to fear already going to his head—and glanced at Ed. “Make Katalyn snap out of it.”
The trick was reaching the terrified Thief without becoming too terrified himself to do anything.
Nicolai shot another projectile at the wraith. The spell roused memories in Ed. He had seen it before in Ivalis Online, a very basic spell that any mage could easily learn. Force projectile, or something like that.
Torst ignored the attack and floated to Nicolai, thus closing the distance to Ed—
Cold, invisible hands grasped at his heart, squeezing his mind, shutting out all but absolute terror, triggering an instant and unwavering fight-or-flight response, heavily slanted toward flight.
Ed ran.
But he did so in an arc—tracing the perimeter of a circle that had the wraith at its center, and Katalyn at the other end.
Nicolai shot the wraith one last time, unsheathed his weapons, and rushed the monster. Ed caught a glimpse of the rebel’s blistering skin as steel smashed uselessly against the wraith’s black robes over and over again.
“Katalyn!” Ed reached the Thief so fast that he barely could stop himself from smashing against the wall. “Are you all right?”
It was a stupid question. Obviously she was all right, since her skin wasn’t cracked like a wet newspaper under a strong wind. But she wasn’t fine. The wraith had probably leeched away a couple Endurance points before they’d distracted it.
“Get me out of here,” Katalyn whispered through dry lips. Her eyes were unfocused, like those of a wild animal. Ed saw his reflection on her irises and realized he looked very similar to her.
“Sorry, but I need your help for that.”
With every second that passed, the strain of keeping up his aura eroded Ed’s stamina. He passed a hand around Katalyn’s shoulders and half-carried her away from the wraith.
At first, the Thief barely responded, which made Ed fear that he would be forced to offer her a pact. Pacting with a Dungeon Lord would ruin Katalyn’s life, making her unable to return to civilized society, where she would be ostracized if—when—found out, and subsequently executed.
Then, slowly, she came to, as, step by step, they added distance between them and the wraith.
“Ed?” Katalyn asked weakly. “There’s a chance I went insane after that explosion. Is the ghost of my father somewhere behind me and trying to eat me?”
“Of course not,” Ed said. “He isn’t trying to eat you right now—no, don’t look back. Hurry, I don’t think Nicolai can’t hold him much longer.”
Normally, Ed would’ve agonized over the decision whether to leave Nicolai behind. On one hand, the man was responsible for the situation in the first place, and had planned to use Torst to terrorize Starevos. If there was anyone who deserved to be eaten by an undead monster, it was him. On the other hand, he was actively saving Ed and Katalyn’s life… in his own self-interest, of course, but still.
Ed stole a glance behind them. Half of Nicolai’s skin had turned brown-and-black, and pus oozed out of his nose and mouth. He was trying to keep the wraith away while at the same time retreating carefully in the direction of Ed’s aura. Ed made sure to move in such a way that Nicolai was always inside the radius of his ancient lord ability.
“You have a fever,” Katalyn told him as they reached the raised steps of the exit.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ed said.
“If you keep a talent active too long without pausing, the fever will cook your brain,” Katalyn said. Judging from her hazy, distant frown, she was still recovering from the influence of the wraith’s touch. “I’ve seen it happen faster than you’d think. One second people are looking fine, if a bit sweaty, the next they’re convulsing and dying.”
From what Ed had put together in his stay in Ivalis, the “energy” that the talents used as a power source referred to the natural energy of the human body, and not a supernatural variant. Unless his high school biology teacher had lied to the entire class, the same energy that allowed him to move his muscles and his heart to beat was the one that fed his talent usage. Energy expenditure generated excess heat, and prolonged, intense expenditure generated more heat—like when exercising.
In normal conditions, the body had ways to rid itself of excess heat, such as sweating. But sometimes, for one reason or another, the body couldn’t deal with the heat fast enough. Overheating—Ed had no idea if that was the real term—was a different condition than a fever, and with different symptoms, but Ivalians probably lacked the medical knowledge to separate one from the other. If left unchecked, it could develop into heatstroke, which was lethal.
Ed and Katalyn passed Rolim, who had tripped over the steps and was currently trying his best to hide from the wraith, by way of borrowing his head under his arms. They reached the gate, with Brondan still whimpering next to it.
“Gimme those,” Katalyn told Brondan as she took possession of his lockpicking tools. Ed’s rapidly overheating brain offered a quip about thieves stealing from thieves, but he was too busy cooking himself to death to truly find the humor in the situation.
Behind them, the wraith had caught Nicolai by the leg and broken the limb in several places. Nicolai dangled like a ragdoll who had been left to rot in the sun. The wraith threw him hard against the benches, creating a small explosion of splinters and causing blood to splash everywhere.
“What’s so difficult about this lock?” Ed wondered aloud while the wraith went after Nicolai, who was in the process of crawling toward the exit.
“Locked on the outside,” Katalyn muttered through gritted teeth while she worked. She was using her tools blind, her hands reaching through the iron bars of the gate.
Maybe I can have my drones eat the chain, Ed thought. But the drones would take a lot longer with human-made materials than they did when working with soil, and Ed and Katalyn didn’t have that kind of time. It all hinged on her skills.
Ed raced down the steps and caught Nicolai’s extended arms, then helped drag the man away from the wraith—who was too close now. As he did so, the wave of fear intensified again, and Ed’s knees trembled and buckled despite his furious efforts to keep them moving.
Everything suddenly went blank, and cold.
“MOVE, ED!” Katalyn’s voice came from far away. The words reached his mind
without meaning anything. There was only room for the fear.
“You can’t run from me, Katalyn,” the voice was beautiful and pristine, the only true thing in a world of shadows. A vague awareness in the back of Ed’s head told him that he was losing Endurance points. He was already too weak to stand. “Sooner or later, I will be whole.”
A pair of hands caught him by the waist and propped him up. He was being carried like a sack of potatoes, and was vaguely aware that whoever was doing the carrying had a body only barely resembling that of a human.
Am I being saved by the fucking wraith?
The gate closed behind him, and a cold night breeze hit his cheeks. The fear receded. They were running. For how long, he had no idea. His ancient lord aura had turned off, and every second he passed in the cold was pure bliss. Slowly, his strength returned to him, albeit unwittingly. He could feel blood ooze out of his dry lips.
Then he hit the ground, and all the air rushed out of his lungs. The impact had the side-effect of waking him up from his semi-unconscious state.
Nicolai stood a few feet in front of him. The rebel’s face was still covered in its own effusions, but there was little to no damage visible. He had two eyes again, and they were focused on Ed with burning hatred.
While Ed fought to stand up, Nicolai took a steel flask out of one of his pockets and took a long swing from it. He put the flask away, grimacing at the taste. Then he clasped his stomach. A ripple went through his body, like his skeleton had suddenly decided to burst free out of its meat prison. A wet, disgusting sound came from the man’s throat. His eyes bulged as if they were going to explode… And then he was back to normal.
“There’s no talent that lets you do that,” Katalyn pointed out, as Ed managed to stand up after a couple attempts.
“None of your concern, Kat,” Nicolai told her. At least he had the decency to sound tired.