//Author Note: I would strongly urge you to read Rotten Æther | Scribble Hub alongside this story. Shared world and setting, with crossovers coming!//

 

Sitting upon the soft cushioned chair that was offered to me in good faith, with the kindness of one noble to another, I find myself in a quandary. I know what it is that I must do, my vampiric nature demands it, but my noble principles are stubbornly demanding that I speak with the reeves and with my knights and orchestrate a more formal means of disposing of this family.

 That I ever thought this was a good idea in the first place only speaks of my own twisted and confused state. I cannot think straight just yet, and I haven’t once rested since my… since the incident.

Perhaps my new vampiric nature has led me astray, but even so, even with my nobility demanding another answer, I can find none.

My influence is minuscule at best, and my knights have all abandoned me for one reason or another. There is no contact that I could reach out to who I would trust to see this justice done, and thus I’m forced to rely on myself. Can I even be considered noble, as I am now?

Thus, regardless of the difficulties, I must press on with what I can do as a huntress. I do hope that I can return myself to some measure of influence once all this unpleasantness is dealt with and the pests are eradicated from my home and my lands.

For that, I’ll need to do what I’ve hesitated to do thus far and reach out to the lesser nobles I most trust and press them for their support. I just hope that they do not deny me my right, as all have done so far.

That is an issue for another day. Today, I must clean this house, a task that ought to be done by others, but desperate times and all of that nonsense.

“Who first then?” I ask myself, listening closely to the goings on of the house. The father, Lord Andrick is sitting in the parlour, but he’s taken to drinking, quite heavily at that. I should leave him to it, while alcohol can make a man resistant to fear, I suspect it will be rather different this night with all the preparations I’ve put into place. Perhaps I can even plot to make him the monster with the right use of my illusion magics.

The murderous boy is in his room with his brother, discussing me. It seems that the both of them are after my hand, and more particularly, my lands and title. They understand the situation well enough to know that whoever I wed can essentially take the position of a Count.

The mother is resting in her own room, feasting on small cakes and listening to a servant play the violin. She urges him to play haunting tunes, that echo out through the house and the halls. If I could spread that music wider through the house I’m sure it would enrapture the hearts of those already hiding their stirring fears.

In a surprising twist, it is the daughter of the family down in the cellar with the whimpering man, torturing him I suspect. The sound is a little more difficult to make out, muffled by heavier doors.

“I suppose if there’s anything I can do…” I stand from the chair and make my way down from my room. There’s nothing I can think of that would make the drinking lord panic, but perhaps there’s something I can do with the brothers. Subtly of course.

First of all though, the doors.

I start with the foyer, the servants have left it abandoned, most of them fleeing and the few that remain seem ready to follow when they have a chance.

Approaching the wide doors, I snap the first lock into place, then shift the deadbolts which have a little more heft behind them. The enchantments activate, holding the locks firmly in place and glowing softly to indicate their activation. The wood and steel are bound with æther channels that form a completed magic when the bolt is held in place.

With shadow manipulation and a few bursts of more powerful ice magic, I break the mechanisms that allow it to release. I practised on the locks in my own home and found that while there are various enchantments placed upon the locks, that’s generally to secure them into place, which is only to my advantage this terrible night.

With the door now firmly locked, I weave a blanket of shadow over the vast windows to the outside world.

It looks much like the story that I told but half an hour ago, the doors locked and broken, and the windows shuttered by darkness. Even a solid punch that would shatter the glass would certainly disperse the shadow too, but I’ve seeded the doubt in their minds and I must take a gamble on their hesitation.

I go around to the back entrance and do the same there, before closing the servant entrance too. With that, all ordinary exits are dealt with, and I just have to hope that none of these nobles are insane enough to try leaping out of the windows before I’m done. It helps that the effigies are hidden around the outside of the house, ensuring my victims feel the worst terror when approaching the exits.

Passing by the room where the two boys are staying, the murderer and his brother, I reach out with my power and cast darkness over the windows just outside while jamming the door of their room as well as I can manage. The pair don’t notice a thing, but they will soon enough.

I have a firm grasp over my powers here and can maintain my hold on the shadows from anywhere within the mansion for as long as I need.

Even from the basement.

The entrance isn’t as hidden as I might have expected, considering what’s certainly locked beneath. Whether it is hubris, an invitation, or some sick game, I do not know and do not care. Prying open the door, I can see and smell the details of the cruelty much more closely.

The dungeon is unexpectedly well lit with dozens of enchanted lights all around, each one shining with an expensive illumination that I found absent in much of the upper rooms. The clear unflickering lights reveal the state of the room and its inhabitants.

There are a half dozen people strung up by their wrists, each removed from human dignity, offered not a scrap of clothing, but that’s hardly worth discussing compared to the horrors that go from there. They’ve been cut and bruised from every angle, and the bloodied tools left lying about reveal the cruel depths of this place.

The daughter of the house is here working with a blunt butter knife, the same as from the dinner table. The man she’s tormenting is barely even groaning at the pains anymore, it’s obvious that he’s been through much.

They all have.

I’d worried that this would stir at my new violent urges, but looking about and feeling the atmosphere… I feel only disgust.

At best this might be considered a spoiled meal, and even then, it’s about as tasteful as a steak that’s been fermenting in a ripe pile of faeces for a month.

It is instead another part of me that burns itself to the surface at this sight. My own noble heart beats once more, though I may just be imagining it. There is no decency here, only ignoble deeds painted in blood and decay.

Only with the iron will of a trained noble can I subdue myself into intelligent action and take a measured step closer to the madness.

I must act with dignity, even here…

“I expected that it would be your brother down here, but it seems your whole family has a strange affection for this,” I say, loud enough for the pig-blooded noble daughter can hear me. Her expression and her features are fine, but it’s only a mask to hide the terrible monster beneath. I should know that well enough myself.

“Oh, you’re not horrified at all this? So you are just like us, then!” The young woman turns to face me with a smile broad as can be. It never quite reaches her eyes, however. “It’s just so relieving to play with them don’t you think?”

Considering the parts of the man she was ‘playing’ with, I’m not sure I want to agree with her even as a lie.

“We’re similar,” I admit, running a hand down the face of a woman whose time here has passed. Her æther does not reach out to me, I was not the one who killed her, but one of my abilities does draw out some of what remains of her power.

“Don’t go playing with mine,” the faux noble says, though she’s long past the age to be saying such childish things. “Go use those ones, they’re the ones that my brothers keep. They hardly even try to keep them alive for long. They don’t feed them or give them any water. They’re pathetic little boys, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, certainly,” I admit, taking up a small knife. The blade is sharpened to a fine edge, but it isn’t particularly long. I think I’ve seen healers using these before when they have to cut something out before using their magic.

“They’re all just worthless prisoners, anyway,” the daughter goes on. “The sort of people that would be hanged otherwise, and I mean, why let them off that easily?”

I don’t believe her, but I suppose that’s a story that she herself might have been told to justify this monstrous situation.

While offering her my feigned interest, she shows off her knowledge, and her twisted nature. I check around the room, meanwhile, to observe the health of the men and women strung up. Between the cuts and the discoloured infections of the wounds, I’m not convinced that any could survive, but even worse than that is their eyes.

They look dull, nearly dead, which is rather concerning for my plans.

Eventually though, I do come across a man who is different, and then a woman across from him. These two are far from good health but their eyes sparkle with the indignity and rage that their situation ought to demand.

“They’re mother’s,” the daughter says, stopping at my side. “She’s not very good at this. I don’t think she likes it much, but dad makes her come down here. ‘We have to know how to hurt and kill others, we can’t afford to show any weakness when the time comes. A knight should not hesitate in slaying his foe, and a noble shouldn’t pause when sending men to their deaths.’ Or so dad says”

Another pretty way of describing this situation. Pretty words that can in no way justify this.

“There’s something I rather like to do with my own victims,” I say, turning to the daughter, who is still smiling. “I’ve noticed that when a person loses their senses, they can be that much more tormented as they try to see where the next cut is coming from.

“The fear of the unexpected makes it that much more thrilling, wouldn’t you agree?”

“So, you want their eyes?”

“No, I want darkness,” I say, looking about at all the enchanted lights around the room. “Is there a way to turn them all off?”

“Turn off the lights?” She asks. “I suppose so.”

Treating that as permission, I reach out for the first of the orbs, twisting the æther channels out of alignment and shutting it off. I go about the room, shutting off all the others too, carrying the last light with me as I return to the daughter’s side.

“You should try it too, I’m sure your own man is waiting for you,” I say, turning to the man that she’s left hung up on the wall. I’m not certain just how twisted her ‘play’ gets but the sight of her blushing puts me off more than a little.

I shut down the light the moment she’s standing before the poor man.

With that, the light’s effects on my powers disappear and I’m back at full strength.

I approach the man and woman who would serve my plans.

The man with the sharp eyes tries to whisper something to me, but he can’t manage to shape the words through his mangled lips. I step around him and find the manacles holding him in place, the lock is a simple design, but I imagine quite unbreakable for those held by the chains.

With a blast of frost and a sharp impact with a solidified shadow, I break the internal mechanisms, releasing the man.

He stumbles a little but catches himself, trying to pry apart the darkness as he rubs at his own wrists. Carefully, I approach him, touching his upper arm first to warn him before reaching for his twitching hand.

Within it, I place the little knife.

The man almost certainly thinks of this as a trap, but after a while, he does start moving of his own accord. The young noblewoman already back to her own play, is making quite the racket, and the freed man stumbles towards her.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I don’t get what that little Count’s daughter is thinking. I’ve been doing this forever, and while I guess I can understand making the slave blind, we already have blindfolds and eye ballers. Turning all the lights off just makes it so that I’m blind too.

I refrain from grumbling too much, she’s a Count’s daughter, and nobles are always so stuck up about their ranks. It doesn’t make much sense here though. Here there is blood, knives, and power. Your rank, your gender, none of it matters.

My pet, hung up on the wall, was guilty of murder. He’s only been with us a few days so far, but he’s struggling much less than is usual, and I’ve had to go easy on him so as to avoid breaking him early. He has quite the nice body too… I’ve thought about messing with him in other ways, but no, I’m a noble girl and apparently that means I can’t have any fun.

I’m almost certain my brothers don’t have to hold themselves back with this sort of thing.

A shuffling sound comes from my right, and I turn to address the idiot Count’s daughter. I’m sure she’s going to ask to have the lights turned back on again because she has no idea what she was doing.

In truth, that’s probably the very reason she turned the lights off in the first place, she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of me.

“Would you like me to turn the lights back on again, Christina?” I ask, looking about where she should be standing. Instead of a reply, she just stumbles closer.

“Are you not going to answer me?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even.

A bruising punch lands on my shoulder from out of the darkness, there’s enough force to it that I stumble backwards from her. What sort of madness…?

“What are you doing?!” I shout, but she doesn’t answer. She stumbles up to me and trips over my legs.

“Enough!” I shout, summoning a flame to hand as I stare down at her while she’s clawing at my legs.

It’s not her.

The tortured man looks up at me with rage burning in his eyes, a bloody knife in his hand. He smiles through ragged lips as he stabs at me again.

I throw him away with all my strength and get up to run for the door. He’s still weak from everything, and he’s too slow to chase me.

I check my arm only to find it bleeding badly. It wasn’t a punch, the man stabbed me!

Damnit! What did that idiot do?!

“Christina? Where are you? Are you dead?!” I shout.

Something stabs at me from behind, I turn but there’s nothing there but retreating shadows.

“That’s it, I’m done. I’m leaving.”

I run for the door, holding the flames out before me as I watch for any more tricks, but nothing stops me. The man is still stumbling after me, too weak to do anything, and he seems to be the only real threat down here.

It’s fine. I’m already at the door.

I put my hand on the unusually cold latch, but as I try to pull it open, it refuses to budge. After a second, a strange glow emanates from the wood.

The colours twist about, taking on new, unreal shapes. Faces form in the wood, screaming out in rage, sliding over one another, their mouths and eyes wide open as they silently cry out. They’re all familiar; the faces of the dead.

I scream at them, fumbling back and falling hard to the ground. Hands reach out from behind me, metal tools catching my wrists, as the woman reaches for a knife.

I scream.

No one comes to help.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I watch as the girl finally succumbs to the slaves that I released, but as her terrified blood spills, I step in to take what I’m due. I drink the blood that pours from the terrified girl’s neck. Even if my hand wasn’t the one to land the decisive blow, I recognise her as my prey.

The slaves, the two with enough spirit to fight don’t know what to do with me, the woman struggles to pull my prey from me but stops when she realizes that she cannot win the struggle.

The blood rushes through me, sweeter than the last time, her fears ripened in the moments before her death. The illusions I cast on the door were the faces of the dead that have stained this place with their screams, while the killing blow came from the victims of her family.

Settling the warmth of her boiling blood inside my own body, I sigh in relief and turn on the light. There has been something stirring in the rooms above me that I must investigate, but first I must properly thank my assistants.

The two blink a few times, already looking a little brighter than before. Their wounds are remarkably closer to healed. Perhaps one or both have some access to healing magic that they’ve been hiding.

“What happens now?” The man asks, his eyes drifting between me and the dead daughter.

“That depends,” I say, “If you are after revenge against the rest of their family, then you may assist me, otherwise I can open the servant’s door to let you escape immediately.”

“I want to go,” The woman says, pushing herself up against the man. “I just… let’s go somewhere far, far away from here. I don’t want any trouble or anything… please just forget about us.”

“That is fine,” I agree. “So long as you do not give me cause to hunt you as this family has done.”

“No. No, we’re not… we’re not monsters like these people,” the man spits.

I lead them up and out of the basement, it seems that while my senses allow me to hear through the thick basement door, humans aren’t quite so sensitive. While we have the freedom to act, the pair steal some aprons from the kitchen, and so dressed, they take to the streets.

I wish them the best, but I haven’t the strength to do anything more than hope and pray for them.

With that done and the door locked, I have to address the rest of the issues in this house. It would seem that the drunken lord has gotten into a fit of rage and beaten his wife, who is blubbering on the bed as the same ill-tempered drunkard tries to console her.

Meanwhile, the two boys have seemingly been playing with some sort of mind-altering drug and are having panic fits in their room while screaming at one thing or another, lashing out with some sort of blunt weapon in fits of terror-fuelled violence.

“It seems I do have some time,” I say, returning to the basement where the rest of the slaves remain even after being freed. More importantly, this is where the daughter’s body still lies. It’s never proper to waste opportunities that can afford you a greater chance of success.

Yet, my stomach is uneasy at the thought of what comes next.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

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