Book of The Dead

It almost felt unnatural to be sitting alone in his study as if nothing had happened. An entire Noble estate, every man, woman and child within, dead by his hands, but here he was, sitting in the brick-walled room beneath his shop as if he’d never left.

Yet he had.

He thought he’d feel more than he did. His goal all along had been to take vengeance on the Nobles, the Magisters, everyone who had played a part in the deaths of Magnin and Beory, and a small slice of that had been achieved at the Jorlin estate, yet he wasn’t satisfied. Not even remotely.

Some of the guilty were gone, yes, but so many remained. Until they were all gone, every one of them, until each and every descendant of the Divines was dead, along with their servants, the Magisters, he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop.

No, there was no sense of victory, but neither was there any guilt. Perhaps this was the work of the Vampires in him, but he was unmoved entirely by the desperate pleas of those he had killed, nor did he care about their suffering in death.

In a way, he would have liked to have known if he were capable of this level of detachment without having been manipulated. Perhaps he always was able to do this, but he almost felt robbed of the chance to prove he’d have been able to stomach the process of his vengeance just the way he was.

There was no use being angry about it now. What was done was done, and there was still so, so much to do.

Things were going to accelerate now, and quickly. He didn’t doubt the Divines would interfere to ensure he was killed. After everything they’d done to corner his mother and father, they surely weren’t above getting their hands dirty to finish the job.

Which meant he didn’t have much time. They would find him eventually, there was no doubt about that. He wasn’t so naive as to believe that his countermeasures would be enough to protect him from the full might of the Empire. Before then, he had to extract all the gains he possibly could, make his final preparations, then ascend to gold.

Everything would hinge on what he was able to gain from that advancement. With the right Class, the right benefits and abilities, he could transform his undead army into a formidable force, strong enough to achieve his aims. If his options failed to meet his expectations, then he would find another way. It would take longer, but he would still succeed in the end.

In his hands, Tyron rolled a small, smooth, round stone from hand to hand. It was unnaturally cold, the chill of the grave, as he was starting to think of it.

Who could say why the divines had decided not to protect the soul of this scion? Whatever the reason, Tyron had him now, and he would take great pains to extract every ounce of knowledge he could. Before then… he had to process the remains, and there was a great deal to do. Some of the work he could pass off to those working for him in the city, but some of it he could not.

Not that he minded. Wielding the knife himself was the only way to ensure the work was done to his own exacting standards.

Of course, even before that could begin, there was another issue that needed taking care of. He was here, waiting for them to arrive, since he knew they would distract him, so he didn’t want to become engrossed in his work with a disturbance on the way.

But they were late.

“What is taking those blood suckers so long?” he muttered to himself, idly poking at the pages on the table in front of him. He’d expected Yor and Valk to come running the moment they learned what he’d done. More than that, he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a violent confrontation.

Despite their differences, both Vampires hated being forced to operate in the open, greatly preferring to remain secret and hidden. With his actions, there was no doubt the entire city was about to be overturned. He’d kicked the hornets' nest, and the Nobles would stop at nothing to hunt him down, regardless of the disruption to the rest of the province. The purge was one thing, a Divine Mission to hunt down the heretics, but mass murder of Nobles? Spilling the Divine Blood?

They would move heaven and earth to bring him down.

And in so doing, they would eventually find the Vampires nestled right in the heart of the capital. Just as his discovery was inevitable, so was theirs.

What was taking them so long?

Tyron frowned, irritated. Should he start working after all? No, something was definitely off. They should be here already, so the fact that they weren’t…. Either they’d fled, abandoned the capital and sought refuge in one of the larger rural cities, or…

“You’re already here, aren’t you, Yor?” he sighed.

There was no response, but he stood and turned away from his desk anyway. The study was much as it had always been. Dimly lit by the globes of light he’d created. It was slightly less messy than before, as he’d finally completed and cleared up the components he’d created for his skeletal giants. Even so, bones, pages and other detritus were loosely stacked about the place, much of it disturbed in his rush to get ready for his assault on the Jorlin estate.

In the corners, the shadows seemed to gather, thickening into a deeper darkness. It could have been natural. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he doubted it.

He raised his hands.

“I can force you out, Yor. You know I can. Why don’t you just reveal yourself and we can discuss your betrayal like sensible people.”

“A betrayal?” her voice echoed out from nowhere in particular and bouncing off the walls. “Just who has betrayed whom?”

“You think I betrayed you?” Tyron asked, feeling genuinely surprised. “I told you what I was going to do years ago. This shouldn’t come as a surprise. In fact, it would be baffling if it were. In fact, aren’t you only taken aback by the fact I would actually attempt to do what I told you I would?”

The unnatural darkness streamed together and resolved itself in the outline of a humanoid shape, before finally Yor emerged, statuesque, dressed all in black, a stark contrast against her porcelain white skin. She did not look pleased. In fact, her expression could only be described as ‘thunderous’. Even so, she was stunning.

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Tyron frowned and shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about her appearance; was she manipulating his thoughts somehow?

“Come to tell me about your intentions to flee the city? Where did you establish your little getaway? Havercroft?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched him.

“So you knew about that as well.”

“I’m an observant person.”

Both Yor and Valk had been preparing their escape for months. Beings as cautious as they were, they likely had backups for their backups. It was only a matter of time before their preparations were complete and they vanished. It hadn’t been easy to uncover these plans, but they’d needed mortal help somewhere along the line, and mortals were vulnerable to exploitation, even ones who had been enraptured by a vampire.

The two watched each other for a moment, each trying to read something from the other.

“Personally, I always knew you would go through with it,” she said, “but my opinion wasn’t shared by others. They believed you would… put your vengeance aside, eventually. The lure of power would become too strong, and you would inevitably come to us of your own accord.”

“You do know more about the undead than anyone else,” Tyron said, “even more than the Abyss. I would have come to you for knowledge eventually, that much is true.”

“But you would never have abandoned your vengeance.”

“Of course not.”

Such a thing was unthinkable. It simply wasn’t possible.

“I’m starting to believe my Mistress may have erred in her intervention,” Yor said softly, “though I would appreciate it if that thought never made its way back to her.”

“Are you willing to tell me what she did? Did she really do nothing other than deaden my emotions?”

Yor eyed him, her eyes as dark as midnight.

“Would you believe me if I told you, no?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why ask the question?”

“Good point.”

Despite the congenial tone of the conversation, Tyron was ready for violence to erupt at any moment. The Vampires might be fleeing the city, but that didn’t mean they would ever forgive what he’d done to them. If Yor felt she was in a position to kill him and get away with it, then she probably would.

“When it’s over, there won’t be much left of this province, Yor. It doesn’t matter how far you go, or how well you hide. Eventually the Emperor will come, and nothing will remain of this place. You should prepare to flee.”

“Advice? From you? How delightful,” she purred. “I’m shocked that you of all people would care to ensure my survival.”

Tyron shook his head.

“You misunderstand me. I have no intention of dying along with this province, so I will flee. If you are forced to remain on this plane, then your only hope is to come with me.”

He smiled slightly.

“I’m telling you to make sure you are prepared to make it worth my while.”

Her eyes glittered darkly as she watched him, fingers flexing ever so slightly, as if she were thinking of tearing his throat open.

“That is only the case if you succeed, which can only happen if you survive,” she pointed out, baring her fangs in a toothy grin. “Nothing is guaranteed, and if I get the chance, I may just tip the scales one way or the other.”

“I’m sure you already have,” Tyron said, his brows raised. Then he turned and glanced over his shoulder at the notes, books and projects waiting for his attention. “This has been pleasant, Yor, but if you aren’t going to try and kill me, then I would appreciate it if you saw yourself out. There’s a lot for me to do, and not much time left to accomplish it.”

“I presume you mean your ascension to gold?”

He hesitated for a second, then offered her a tight nod.

“A gold ranked Necromancer, finally a taste of real power,” she said. “Of course, not nearly as much as you would enjoy as one of us, but you seem too attached to your living flesh to entertain that offer.”

“Who knows,” Tyron shrugged, “I may end up a lich in the end.”

Yor curled her lip, somehow managing to look flawless even with such open disgust on her face.

“Inferior creatures,” she said. “Lacking in elegance.”

“They can stay awake during the day,” Tyron drawled, “which is a plus.”

“A Lich is a mage who was terrified of death. A Vampire is a being who has embraced immortal life. We are not the same. However, I believe the night is fading. As you suggested, I will take my leave. Should you succeed, you will see me again, before the end.”

“How ominous,” Tyron murmured, but she was already gone, fading into darkness and sliding away, down into the tunnels and then beyond his reach.

When morning came, her entire coven would be out of the city, he had little doubt. Doubtless they’d taken the time to prepare safe havens along the route to sleep away the day on their way, well concealed along the roads. The loss of his undead helpers would hinder him significantly, but it was possible to proceed without them now. The groundwork had been laid, now he just needed to follow through.

Stepping away from his desk, Tyron moved around the study, checking his wards, activating some arrays, shutting down others. Some weren’t needed, now that the confrontation with Yor had ended without conflict, but he ensured they were still functioning, ready to be switched on at a moment's notice.

Just because Yor and Valk said they were gone didn’t mean they wouldn’t hang around and try to ambush him in the tunnels, or assault his study once they thought he was tired. Every precaution had to be taken; failure couldn’t be permitted.

Satisfied everything was functioning as intended, he nodded, satisfied, then reached out to his undead, concealed in the nearby tunnels. With a mental command, he spread his net wider, trying to ensure he couldn’t be caught unawares by an attack through the sewers. In truth, he was far more vulnerable to an attack from above ground than below, but the Vampires struggled to work that way. Their thralls, though…

Nothing he could do about it now.

He returned to his desk and sat, fingers drumming on the stone surface as he considered his next steps. His next Class Advancement was the fulcrum around which everything would turn, and he needed to be prepared. The death he’d dealt at the Jorlin estate was possibly enough to propel him all the way to level sixty, which meant he could no longer perform the status ritual until he was ready.

Until then, there was a lot he needed to achieve. Ensuring all the core abilities were as fully levelled as he could get them and all the relevant techniques as well developed as he was capable of. That meant research, testing, developing his theories and putting them into practice, which took time he didn’t have.

Somehow, he would have to find a way. Alongside that came processing the materials he’d gathered, another massive undertaking. More undead to prepare, which meant more enchanting, more refining, more bone weapons and armour to be crafted, more revenants and wights to be created.

“Going to be difficult to find the time to sleep,” he muttered to himself, still tapping idly with his fingers.

Well, that was never really a concern, was it?

He was close… so, so close… all he’d had was a tiny little taste of his vengeance, and now he hungered for more. A few months, maybe only a few weeks, and it would all be over.

Or, in another way, it would only have begun.

After the Red Tower, the Nobles and the Duke, waited the Emperor, and three other provinces. Above all of that, the Divines themselves, four usurpers who had personally demanded Magnin and Beory be put in their place.

All of it would crumble to dust before Tyron would be satisfied. The provinces, the Empire, the Gods themselves.

He couldn’t wait.

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