A Bloody Mess

[After the events of the Prologue.]

The Shadowdark Wolves had tried to assault Tycon in a dark alleyway.

The last of them attacked with blind fervor. 

If a man can find a single hint of familiarity, he can rationalize. With rationality, he gleans hope. And with hope, no matter how small... the humans can struggle marvelously against their fates. 

It was admirable. 

Tycon had killed all of them, save Barza and his final surviving companion. 

He had transformed into a massive white snake and was crushing the life out of... not-Barza. Even after the screaming stopped, Tycon continued his hold until several more pops and cracks resounded in the darkness. 

He wanted to ensure the human was dead. 

Tycon had tested the extent of his abilities admirably. He felt no guilt. These humans were honorless bastards who would abandon their kin at the first sign of trouble.

With the assistance provided by his System, he was easily able to track his pursuers. Even from a distance, his attackers were clearly tagged in his vision with bright red tags.

Barza was also clearly tagged with the green brand of cowardice.

« System, inquiry: How long does a snake of my size take to digest its prey? »

[System response: The digestion process takes from several days to several weeks depending on the size of the prey and the temperature of the habitat. Colder habitats slow the Host's metabolism.]

Tycon was relieved he had eaten prior.

He quickly unraveled himself around the corpse. Barza emitted a high-pitched shriek at his sudden movement. 

"As you can see, Mister Barza," Tycon spoke matter-of-factly, his snakey head equal to the man's eyes, "I am a snake."

"Aha, haha ha. Yes." Barza laughed awkwardly.

The human sat upon the alleyway floor, dimly lit by lanterns dropped by his fallen companions, their lifeless shadows flickering on the walls. It was cold. The man hadn't even eaten. And he had soiled himself. Tycon could smell it. Undoubtedly, the fellow could feel it. 

Tycon didn't dare flick his tongue. He was afraid of the taste of the man's fear. 

Barza opened his mouth to speak. "Ah--"

No words came out.

Perhaps the man was in a state of shock? It was a normal response to witnessing several consecutive murders.

Tycon coiled himself into a curious S-shape, pondering his next course of action. He decided to lighten the mood with a joke.

"I was planning on killing you."

Barza promptly fainted, his cheek wetly slapping against the ground... in a pool of his own filth.

Tycon carefully reanalyzed the situation. 

6. I am not good at making jokes. 

…

It took Tycon several moments and a couple of failed attempts to reassume his human form. Afterward, he dragged the corpses and the unconscious Barza to the stable Sorina had directed him to. He needed the bodies out of sight.

Blood would spark rumors. Bodies were more difficult to explain.

His stable was the farthest one away and only housed one creature, a horse. 

Tycon was pleasantly surprised. He was worried he'd meet another creature with a fantastical bloodline, much like himself and Dragan.

Tycon patted the horse on the side of its head. The horse, somewhat lazily, jerked its head in response and shied away.

"(Ah, it's the snake! Go away, Snake.)"

Tilting his head in curiosity, Tycon replied with narrowed eyes.

"(You're a horse. You are larger than I am. What's the issue?)"

The horse pondered this for a moment, before deciding the logic was sound. He moved back towards Tycon, who resumed his petting.

Tycon inwardly sighed, lamenting over the fact that thus far, two out of two of his companions were fools. He refilled the horse's feed bag and seated himself on a nearby stool to brood.

He glanced over at the five corpses and one coward and sighed again.

During his murder spree, Tycon had activated a skill when he'd undimmed his eyes, and he wished to learn more of it. 

« System, display effects of Vexing Gaze »

[Vexing Gaze: Ocular ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If successful, target becomes distracted and may go into anaphylactic shock.]

Tycon breathed in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. The Skill he used had taken the life of an adult human male with relative ease.

He was again, glad that he'd practiced dimming his vision. An accidental activation of Vexing Gaze would be problematic.

« System, inquiry: Why can I speak to horses? »

[System response: The Host understands horses and horses can understand him.]

...Tycon decided not to further that line of questioning.

« System, inquiry: What are the limits of my transformation ability? »

[System response: The Host can transform into a Large form, a Small form, a Human form, and a Hybrid form.]

A Hybrid form? What?

« System, am I…? System inquiry: Am I… contagious? »

[Negative.]

« Just checking. Thank you, System. »

Tycon looked back at the pile of bodies, "Now I've got to figure out what to do with these..."

"(Why don't you just eat them?)" The horse calmly suggested, nonchalantly enjoying his meal of oats.

Tycon rolled his eyes as a silent response.

…

Barza had a nightmare.

Black, vertical pupils. The eye-whites pale yellow and spotted. A predator's eyes stared at its prey. Kevand begged for forgiveness, blood gushing through clenched teeth and down his chin.

He was next.

Dozens of white-scaled tendrils wrapped around Barza's wrists and ankles and began to mercilessly crush his bones. He screamed desperately for help. He cried for his friends-- dead. He cried for his mercenary companions-- dead and dying. He cried for Baron Tavor-- his sinister laugh echoing in his psyche, laughing breathlessly in his face at this futile struggle against pain and death.

He cried for his gods. They remained silent. 

He cried for Sorina, the tavern girl he'd fallen for at first sight... He was too shy to talk to her, outside of the rare times he could afford a proper meal. 

He... wished he had the courage, back then-- even once. 

And so, Barza cried. He cried for himself. He cried for his future-- not that he had any left. He cried because he was weak... he was helpless. 

And he cried himself awake.

"Mister Barza."

Hearing Tycon's voice, Barza's eyes shot open and he began to scream. He had awoken staring at Denman's corpse, into wide, bloodshot eyes, slightly rolled back in death. Barza was lying amongst a heap made from the corpses of his dead coworkers. 

"Mister Barza, do shut up. You're embarrassing yourself." Tycon chided, a perfect example of calm amidst chaos.

Half-buried, panicked and clumsy, Barza struggled. He pushed the corpses away, stood, took two steps, then keeled over and vomited all over the stable ground. 

Barza slowly lifted his head, supporting himself with his elbows and forearms, vomit on his beard and some in his hair. The noble sat on a stable stool but looked no less intimidating for it. It was this noble whose eyes turned to a snake's-- no, who was a snake.

The sheer ridiculousness of the concept did nothing to diminish his feeling of horror. It was the man in front of him that would determine if he would live or die. Barza felt his gut rumble once more, but there was nothing left in his stomach to release. 

The noble, Sir Tycondrius, looked up towards the ceiling before pursing his lips, "Mister Barza, I advise you to look alive."

Tears pooled at the corners of Barza's eyes as he cursed the sickness of the man. Did he want him to stand and struggle against death for his enjoyment? Did he want to extinguish the last bit of hope he had? What had he done to deserve this?

...Will he ever get to talk to Sorina again?

The hot tears streamed down Barza's face. But in his blurred vision, he saw Tycon's expression.

It wasn't a look of disappointment. It wasn't a look of curiosity... or anger... or fear. The noble wore a look of uncertainty. And the youth's gaze was directed… up.

Barza had recognized that he was in a building-- inside a stable with Tycon... and a single horse. But as he looked up, he saw the cold, infinite blackness of sky and the alien-colored glow of unfamiliar stars. Half-caught in the ceiling were a dozen spectral arms, thin and wasted, grasping and spasming erratically.

All the blood had drained from Barza's face as he scrambled towards Tycon's bloody boots and tightly grasped his leg.

"Wh-wh-what's going on, Sir Tycondrius?!"

Looking up to see Tycon's face, Barza found himself mere ilms 1away from a different one.

An angelic-looking boy, pale-faced, with sky blue hair and a sullen look, stared deeply into his eyes with a lazy smile. 

When... the hells... had this person arrived? 

"Who's this boss?" The angel said in a soft whisper of a voice, "Is he an enemy?"

Tycon responded annoyedly with a command that brooked no argument, "Stand down, Mister Wroe."

"Aye, Boss." The young man stood up straight and comfortably saluted an open hand to his chest.

"This is Mister Barza," Tycon introduced, "And he will be helping with..."

Tycon spun a finger, pointing at the pile of Barza's former companions, "...this."

Wroe tilted his head. Barza could have sworn that it rotated further than a human's was supposed to, like... like an owl's...

"But Boss, I… can handle… that." Wroe whispered-- his voice crescendoing to a high-pitched screech. The spectral hands... they fell. Dozens... hundreds of ghostly, infinitely-long arms fell like tied rope falling from a bridge.

They grasped at the fallen.

And the fallen jerked awake.

Silently, they screamed. Silently, they begged, blank eyes staring at Barza, cursing him for remaining alive. Barza had seen magic before... but not of this level... and not this... evil. He felt the dark curses from his former companions creepy coldly, scratching deep into the surface of his soul.

His former companions were pulled up into the darkness, out of sight...

Louder than a catapult's crash, the sound of bones crunched. Blood streamed down the walls of the stables, like spilled buckets of rotted paint. Bone scraps and viscera fell to the stable floor.

Thousands of voices screamed in pain. And then...

All was silent.