“I have run into a major complication. While there is no doubt in my mind that the homunculus is a success, further application of this research is proving exceedingly difficult. Creating an immortal body and soul from scratch is proving to be far easier than granting those same properties to an existing entity. Preserving continuity between a traditional soul and my noumenon construct appears next to impossible as the latter’s self-repairing properties quickly overwrite the original soul’s properties. But if I were to modify the construct’s approach to foreign soul-stuff enough to accept a new spiritual core, then its ability to consume hollows would be severely hampered.”- From the notes of Countess Isabelle Gens Silva.

  A bolt of white lightning screamed down from the hellish sky and struck Cole’s mind, body, and soul. Within that crackling, heaven-cast spear was something the Homunculus could feel, but not come close to understanding. Yet, in that instance, when death was replaced by life, Cole tried to grasp the lightning in hopes of gaining a mere spark of comprehension about what he was.

  With a gasp and a groan, the Homunculus Knight resurrected. His left hand shot up into the air and fruitlessly groped at what he’d seen within himself. After letting his arm fall to his side, Cole took a moment to stare at the dusty ceiling overhead while his body finished realizing it was alive. He was close to some form of a revelation; he knew that with a strange certainty he couldn’t explain. But close was one of those words that contained a deceptively large dose of infinity, and Cole didn’t have the time to spare on more than a little resurrective musing.

  Sitting up, he glanced around the relatively clean apartment he and Natalie had commandeered. If Cole had to guess, this suite of well-furnished rooms once belonged to a rural noble and had been used whenever said aristocrat came to the capital on business. The sturdy locks and enchantments on its doors, along with an uncomfortable proximity to Harmas’s heart, had kept looters and ghouls from despoiling the apartment, but this wasn’t why Natalie had gone through the effort of climbing up the building's side and risking its unmaintained arcane protections to get them inside. No, what motivated her was the apartment’s intact plumbing, particularly the shockingly extravagant glowstone array that could provide hot water.

  Cole looked over from the spot on the floor where he’d committed suicide to Yara’s freshly washed form. Lying on a couch, wrapped up in a scavenged blanket, with only her splinted arm and shock of damp red hair visible, she was still unconscious. Gods willing, she’d be in good enough condition for Natalie to fly her out of the city when night came. As for Natalie herself, the sound of splashing water emanating from the suite's bathroom testified to her efforts to wash off the day’s filth and stress. Another time or place, Cole might have considered joining her, but right now he had more pressing matters at hand.

  After grabbing his pack, Cole moved away from the couch Yara slept on, settled in one corner of the apartment’s main room, and got to work. He removed a scavenged map of the city, along with a travel-worn compass and his pouch of warding dust. Carefully, the paladin smeared a small circle of silver and salt onto the scuffed floorboards, then touched his amulet to the crude ward, channelling a little bit of power into it. This would hopefully be enough to make sure nobody noticed the necromantic power he was about to unleash.

  He then pulled the spine of Pankrator Marcus Gildamn from his backpack and, after setting it in the circle, started gingerly unwrapping the prayer beads binding the Dullahan. Green sparks shone in the spaces between vertebrae, growing brighter and brighter until the spine glowed with witchfire. The Dullahan was getting stronger, or perhaps more accurately, its weakness was fading as they drew closer to Wolfgang. That drew a grimace from Cole; doing anything with Marcus right now would be like trying to hold a sword without a hilt. But that didn’t change the fact that he needed the old war priest’s knowledge and wisdom.

  “Pankrator? Can you hear me?”

  A hissing noise like a wet log in a hot fire started to emanate from the spine. Soon, it was joined by a series of snaps and pops that resolved into words. “Paladin Cole?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can feel we are close to the traitor. Is this Harmas?”

  Cole considered this for a moment. He needed to be careful about what he told Marcus. The war priest was still shackled by the bindings that Duke Umbria’s necromancers placed on him. But, right now, necessity triumphed over justified worries.

  “We are in the city, and in pursuit of Wolfgang. Can you help me find him, Pankrator?”

  “That title isn’t mine anymore, Paladin. Death and dishonor have stripped it from me.” Replied the Dullahan, his voice carrying the low hiss of wax sizzling on a fire. “I am Duke Umbria’s creature now, bound to carry out any of his orders, which includes hunting down the traitor.”

  Accepting this answer and the warning it carried, Cole then arrayed the compass and city map. “Can you tell me what direction, Wolfgang, is?”

  A tendril of green sparks unfurled from the spine and pointed in a precise eastern heading. “I can feel more of him now. He’s two, maybe two and a half kilometers away. Slightly underground as well, probably in a basement or similar.”

  Cole worked quickly, using his compass and this new information to plot a vector. If Marcus was right, then Wolfgang was nesting in one of the wealthier neighborhoods on Jobbzary, the eastern island. According to what Mak had shared, Jobbzary was the most heavily ghoul-infested part of Harmas and the likely base of operation for the vampire infiltrators. Reaching the neighborhood, Marcus pointed out, would be difficult, but not impossible. The main problem would be finding Wolfgang’s lair and dealing with whatever defenses he and whoever he was working for had prepared.

  “What else can you tell me about where Wolfgang is?” Cole asked, hoping for any scrap of information to make this hunt easier.

  The green sparks flowing along Marcus’s spine grew more intense, turning into a line of crackling emerald fire. “I…can also feel where… where he’s invested himself. Somewhere once holy, somewhere he’s now stained with his corruption. The magic is-”

  Marcus’s words were cut off by a loud snap as a shower of sparks exploded off of him. The haunted spine thrashed like a trapped serpent as it made a strange noise that mixed human pain and a fire’s last sputtering gasps. Cole reached for his prayer beads and was about to reseal the Dullahan when a loud splash and clatter from behind pulled his attention. The door to the bathroom burst open, and a wild-eyed Natalie clad in only a ragged towel emerged into the room.

  “What did you just do?” She asked, voice tight with shock.

  Before Cole could answer, she hurried over to the small circle and knelt beside the still twitching spine. She began to stare at the spine with that bizarre mix of intense focus and glazed over vacancy, Cole had long learned to be the sign of a spellweaver hard at work. The Aether around her shifted, reacting to her power and presence in a way Cole could sense even without tapping into his own abilities.

  Knowing better than to interrupt, Cole could only watch as a series of changes overcame the Dullahan’s spine. First, its twitching grew more erratic, yet more contained, as if it were fighting against something heavy holding it down. Then ripples of fire, some larger, some smaller, danced up and down the spine’s vertebrae. Before, finally, the pain-warped voice of Marcus emerged from the crackling flames. “What…are…you…doing?”

  Natalie answered in clipped tones. “I can feel the bindings on you. I can see you struggling against them. Don’t jagging stop!”

  The green flames grew more intense, and a large scorch mark started to spread out from where the spine was trapped. In the shadows of this new blaze, Cole saw slithering spectral shapes. Chains forged from old darkness and bound to an heir’s will, warred with the Dullahan’s witchfire. Glancing between this display of clashing powers, his lover’s tense expression, and the prayer beads in his hand, Cole weighed his options.

  But before the Homunculus could decide if and how to intervene, a noise that wasn’t a noise cut through the apartment, and Natalie fell back with a hiss. As she hit the floorboards with a pained groan, Cole reacted quickly, channelling power into his hands and the prayer beads in them, then wrapping the sacred symbol around the burning spine. The green fires sputtered as the power of Master Time sealed away the Dullahan.

  After dropping the collection of smoking vertebrae back in the circle, Cole went to Natalie’s side as she slowly sat back up with a curse. “Fire and iron…”

  Her right eye was near pitch black, and a single onyx tear leaked from its edge. Reaching up, she dabbed at the rapidly drying trail of obsidian and asked. “What in the world’s name?”

  “You burst some blood vessels in your eye,” Cole responded, while coaxing her into doing some basic diagnostic movements. “They, along with strokes, are a common backlash when psychic magic goes wrong.”

  Once he was reasonably certain the worst was passed, he asked: “Now, tell me what you were trying to do?”

  While rubbing at the offending eye, Natalie explained. “I was experimenting with my powers in the bath, trying to get a better idea of how Annoch’s chains work.”

  The strange molek-born evolution her ability had undergone unsettled Cole, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. “Did you learn anything?”

  “Not was I hoping." She replied witha shrug. “My idea was to use the chains in conjunction with the pieces of Isabelle’s soul still inside me, to forge a new psychic link.”

  Sitting up fully with a slight wince, Natalie then started rubbing her temples. “I wasn’t having any luck, but then I…” Her gaze flicked over to where Marcus’s spine lay. “I felt him struggling against his bindings, and my magic reacted. The moment I got close, the chains just reached out and slipped into any cracks his efforts put in the spells.”

  Natalie looked down at her hands like she was remembering something they’d once held. “I think I could have used the chains to break his resistance, to strengthen the fetters on him. But… I didn’t, I tried to do the opposite and use my chains to break his.”

  The couple met eachother’s gaze, and saw similar thoughts going through both their minds. Annoch, the seventh Alukah, had been called the binder, and the more Natalie’s inherited power grew, the more accurate that title became.

  “Then what went wrong?” Cole asked, his mind busy running through the implications of this development.

  “Neither of us was strong enough,” Natalie replied bluntly. “My chains could wrestle with those put on him, buying him more room to struggle, but it just wasn’t enough. Maybe, with more blood or more molek, I could set him free.”

  This was equal parts concerning and intriguing. Dangerous as the power inherited from Annoch was, if it could be used to break another’s bindings, then a whole realm of possibilities would open up. “Once Yara’s safe, we can maybe experiment. Perhaps, even if you can’t free Marcus yet, you can give him more room to answer our questions.”

  Cole then gingerly picked up the prayer-bead-bound spine and, after returning it to his pack, he grabbed the annotated map. He then explained the lead Marcus had given them while Natalie dried herself off. Upon finishing, she got up and checked on Yara before getting dressed. Normally, Cole would have welcomed the distraction of her beauty, but too much weighed too heavily on him to even enjoy the sight of his lover’s body.

  Heading over the apartment’s main window, Natalie said. “I’m going to go onto the roof and see if I can learn more about the eastern island from the local wildlife.”

  “Should I stay and watch Yara?” Cole asked.

  Natalie shook her head. “I don’t smell any infection on her, but speaking of smell, you should go wash the ghoul off yourself.”

  Cole glanced down at himself and grimaced. Yes, that would be a good idea.

  Wolfgang silently observed the negotiations between Gens Silva and the Troupe, with the cool focus of an ambush predator. He would only get one good opportunity for sabotage and needed to strike at the perfect moment. Thankfully, the Black Fly had long developed a knack for slipping in and out of perilous conversation; as to misspeak amid the cutthroat court of Voivode Igori was a good way to invite a fate worse than death. But confident as he was in his own skill, Wolfgang knew not to underestimate Gens Silva, and that playing to his own strengths wouldn’t be enough; he needed to press on her weaknesses.

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  After the Troupe had explained their goals, or at least the ones they were willing to share, the former countess had been concerningly cooperative. She’d offered some genuinely impressive insights on successfully channeling sophronically variable amounts of magical power into complex regeneration arrays. Still, she’d also noticeably skirted away from many of Columbina’s more important questions. Something that Wolfgang doubted he’d been the only one to notice. But, so far, the Troupe, especially Dottore, seemed willing to engage in this dance of deflection.

  “That the skin proved to be an insurmountable issue, despite the breadth and scope of the cellular repair, continues to surprise me.” Mused the black mask’s owner in that uncannily melodic voice of his. “Preventing the creation of scar tissue is one of the most basic facets of higher-order healing magic. So the fact that your subject is completely free of it, except for in the dermal layers, is hard to imagine.”

  “In retrospect, I think further refinements of the multi-stage regeneration, particularly a second wave of low-density sophronic energy, might be the solution to bypassing the complicating interaction with skin’s metaphysical properties. But at the time, I considered the possibility of a carcinogenic reaction to the excess energy an unacceptable risk.” Came Isabelle’s reply, echoing out from her skull in an inhuman monotone.

  Wolfgang couldn’t tell if her lack of affect was an intentional tactic or a side-effect of the heavy bindings he’d placed on her and her ability to manifest. Either way, he found the cold deadpan of her answers unnerving, as it reminded him far too much of the clinical detachment she’d displayed at the end of their clash in the cave, when she’d been preparing to dissect his mind. But now wasn’t the time to be unnerved, as the negotiations had arrived right where he’d hoped they would.

  “Why did you not test this second wave theory with further prototypes?” Asked Wolfgang. “In fact, I must ask, were there further prototypes beyond the Homunculus Knight?”

  It took far more than Wolfgang would ever admit to anyone for him not to recoil at the sudden focus poured onto him. He was well and truly a fly buzzing about amidst giants, a fly whose life now dangled on the merit of his question.

  “My understudy does make a good point,” mused Scapino. “While the veracity of the homunculus’s abilities is no longer in doubt, the lack of other specimens does raise some questions.”

  Now the pendulum had swung, and the weight of scrutiny lay heavy upon Isabelle. For a long moment, the skull seemed to consider this before offering. “I was certain the primary and tertiary processes involved with his creation were optimal, but I felt a thorough examination of his capabilities was necessary before attempting replication.”

  “If that is the case, then why didn’t you create more immortal homunculi after displaying the specimen to the broader Duchies? ” Asked Wolfgang. “To me, it seems if you were confident enough to use the Homunculus Knight as a highly visible champion, then you would be confident enough to reproduce your success.”

  The silence that followed was sweet as spiced blood, and under different circumstances, it would be enough to pull a rare smile onto Wolfgang’s face. He’d finally, finally, found the right length of rope for Gens Silva to hang herself with. As the only believable answers she might offer would either involve revealing key flaws in her work or admitting that she’d been emotionally compromised by her own creation.

  But to the Black Fly’s surprise, Gens Silva simply stated, “By then, I had moved onto the next part of my project.”

  That got a stir from the four masked monsters, and put a knot in Wolfgang’s guts.

  “I was developing a process to turn pre-existing beings into immortals. A process whose incomplete, experimental version is what saved me from true death at Dracon’s hands.” The former countess continued.

  As another mystery’s answer fell into place, Wolfgang felt the noose he’d prepared for Isabelle start to slip over his own head. Instead of being put on the back foot by his ploy, she’d used it to offer tantalizing hints of the secrets the Troupe hungered for.

  Scapino let out a short laugh. “So that’s how you managed it. I’d thought perhaps you’d created a soulshard reliquary, or otherwise made the right kind of pact with a Hell bank, but this is much more interesting. Now, I suppose, you’d be willing to continue your research with our support?”

  “I’d require a body that met my specifications,” Isabelle replied.

  The red mask of Pantalone bobbed up and down in excitement. “That can be easily arranged.”

  An idea ignited inside Wolfgang then, a way to salvage his ploy and demonstrate Gens Silva’s weaknesses. So he asked: “Why doesn’t she have one already?”

  “I imagine vampire tissue is incompatible with the mechanisms at work in the homunculus.” Replied Dottore drolly.

  Wolfgang shook his head, then bowed to the enchanted mirror. “Respectfully, that is not what I meant, sir.”

  Scapino playfully slapped Wolfgang on the back. “Oh, spare that nonsense for the Duchies and Magnifico.”

  A creaking laugh escaped Pantalone. “I see ye hath not yet debrided your understudy of his manners. Now speak plainly, boy, and ignore his buffoonery.”

  Was this a trap? It wouldn’t be the first time such a pretense was used to humiliate and chastise an inexperienced courtier. Wolfgang would, as ever, need to be careful. “When I faced the Homunculus Knight and his entourage beneath the Alidonian Mountains, the former countess possessed the Seventh Alukah with such efficacy that it single-handedly changed the course of the battle. That such a feat was possible, and that it took the Reaper’s interference, along with my thread-cutter knife, to end the possession, raises questions. Chiefly, why hadn’t Gens Silva already taken the Alukah’s body and power for herself?”

  “He makes a good point, and one that connects back to some other questions we’ve had.” Scapino mused. “Particularly, how and why you, Countess Isabelle Gens Silva, positioned your immortal champion to become a servant of the Tenth God. A servant who was at the right place and the right time to snatch the Seventh Alukah from the Duchies. Creating an incredible opportunity, which, as young Wolfgang pointed out, you failed to properly capitalize upon.”

  This time, the Black Fly didn’t allow himself to savor the delicious silence, as he fully expected Isabelle to once again wiggle free of her noose. But, to his genuine shock, she instead uttered words that let the gallows’ trapdoor swing open below her.

  “I made a deal with Master Time for both protection and an opportunity for revenge.”

  As this damning truth finished echoing through the desecrated temple, Colombina asked. “What were the terms?”

  Isabelle did not answer.

  “What. Were. The. Terms?” Colombina repeated, a cutting edge slipping into her voice.

  After a long, tense moment, Isabelle spoke. “I cannot say.”

  Wolfgang’s self-control finally slipped, and his lips tightened into a thin smile. It seemed for all her posturing and mockery, Isabelle Gens Silva was in fact his equal, for she was also shackled to a god and bound by a geas.

  The three masks in the mirror silently conferred with eachother for a moment, before Colombina said. “These negotiations are adjourned until a method to bypass your restrictions can be found.”

  The dove mask then added. “End the seance, and reseal her.”

  With great pleasure, he complied, as Isabelle was finally unable to do anything but sit silent and helpless. Once the last lock had been turned on the safe containing Gens Silva’s skull, he joined Scapino before the enchanted mirror, awaiting the Troupe’s verdict.

  “She’s clearly compromised, but to what extent and to what degree is hard to augur.” Said Dottore, bluntly.

  Scapino scoffed. “Badly, considering she’s sold her greatest creation, champion, and bed warmer to the Tenth God.”

  “Mayhaps, but the question remains, is freeing her from such bondage a worthwhile investment?” Was Pantalone’s response.

  “If I may, be so bold,” interjected Wolfgang. “But why go through with the expenditure, when she’s already a valuable resource in her current state?”

  “Bold indeed!” Mocked Scapino. “Considering your efforts to extract her memories have so far gone remarkably poorly.”

  Wolfgang shook his head. “When I say resource, I mean that in a more banal way. If she’s rendered herself immortal, or at least close enough to survive execution by fire, then surely her soul is as much a valuable specimen as the Homunculus Knight is?”

  Genuine surprise seemed to color Dottore’s voice. “You think she should be experimented upon?”

  “I merely wished to bring up the possibility. As reverse engineering the process she’s undergone, along with uncovering the secrets of the homunculus’s body seem logical steps in achieving the Troupe’s goal.”

  Colombina’s porcelain mask dipped slightly in acknowledgment of this point. “That is an option to consider, as either a last resort or as a threat to force cooperation. But her knowledge and expertise are simply too valuable to risk.”

  “Speaking of cooperation. Our approach would vary greatly depending on the details of her relationship with the Tenth God. While I doubt she’s a strident ally of his, Gens Silva’s connection to him could be anything from equally utilitarian to begrudging servitude.” Remarked Scapino.

  Thinking back to all he’d heard and seen regarding the creature known as Cole, Wolfgang added. “The homunculus, at the very least, is a fanatic. Which, in my opinion, might be more compromising to Gens Silva than any godly deal.”

  “Explain.” Ordered Colombina.

  “She’s developed a perverse attachment to her creation, an obsession that is the root cause of her failures. Any matter involving the creature leaves Gens Silva unable to be objective; her downfall is evidence enough of that. While I cannot begin to guess how or why she managed to get the Tenth God to grant the homunculus a paladin’s mantle, it seems near certain the god of death has gained the upper hand over her and is using his servant as Isabelle’s leash.”

  Dottore let out a resonating hum. “A god using someone’s love for one of their servants to manipulate them is not unheard of. It is a very cold move for one of the so-called pantheon, but that seems fitting for death himself.”

  Wolfgang nodded. “Yes, and I think this is part of a broader pattern of weakness and instability. From what I managed to observe, Isabelle’s relationship with the Alukah was surprisingly cordial and cooperative. Which casts doubt on her claim that a deal with Master Time is the sole reason she hasn’t taken the new host's body. In fact, the unknown partnership Gens Silva and the girl from Glockmire have struck is another complication that must be considered.”

  “Judging by my little misadventure in Vindabon, the homunculus is smitten with this Natalie-girl.” Added Scapino. “So much so, I’d not even considered the idea that Gens Silva still lived in some form until the Reaper told us. She must be truly wrapped around his scarred… fingers, to let him be off cavorting with such a pretty young thing. Or perhaps we have it the wrong way round, and the Binder’s heir actually does have both homunculus and countess dancing to her tune. Wouldn’t that be ironic?”

  “No matter the tawdry details, 'tis clear Isabelle Gens Silva is not as an ideal member as we’d hoped.” Muttered Pantalone with a huff. “What a disappointment.”

  “But that does not change the value of her research and expertise, only our approach.” Replied Colombina. “Awarding her the role of Capitano, to be used and then disposed of, seems appropriate at this time.”

  Dottore nodded. “Agreed.”

  With an exaggerated stroke of his mask’s goatee, Scapino made a noise of uncertainty. “Such a pronouncement is easy for you all to make, but less so for my understudy and me to enact. Extracting her secrets was not going well before she knew about us. Unstable and compromised or not, Gens Silva is still far too formidable for my liking.”

  “Capturing the Homunculus Knight and perhaps even the Seventh Alukah might give us leverage over her.” Wolfgang offered, earning a look from Scapino in the process.

  “Perhaps, but forced cooperation can be more problematic than outright defiance. Finding a way to use Gens Silva without overly antagonizing her is our best course.” Replied Colombina, before, after a moment’s consideration, adding. “Capturing the homunculus does, however, have its own value. If the creature is truly inside Harmas, then pursue that objective as well.”

  Pantalone made a wheezing sound of agreement. “Hear, hear. As for a method for acquiring the former countess’s knowledge, I may have some insight. Being trapped without a body, forced to be a mere observer, does strange things to a mind. The mere opportunity to escape such a fate will drive even a canny mind to foolish choices. Let us dangle that as bait before Gens Silva, and I have no doubt she’ll bite.”

  “An excellent point, my colleague,” Dottore responded. “But we cannot forget the Tenth God’s influence.”

  Colombina nodded. “Yes, the need for caution cannot be overstated. We will need a buffer between her and us, preferably one with its own godly protections to counter any efforts our enemy makes.”

  The dove mask turned its focus to Wolfgang, and every muscle in his back tensed. “Aloysius Wolfgang, you’ve been marked by our patron's stigma and have the most experience with Gens Silva. You shall be our intermediary, while also continuing your task of acquiring the secrets of her immortal homunculi. Succeed in this audition, and the mask we thought to offer the former countess will be yours.”

  Trepidation and avarice warred within the Black Fly. “What exactly do you wish of me?”

  Scapino threw an arm around his shoulders. “Sell her that greatest of drugs: hope. Say we are interested in freeing her from the Tenth God’s fetters and supplying a new body as part of our burgeoning cooperation. But in exchange, she must teach you how to craft this new body, an immortal body. Become more than her plagiarist, become her student, and then use what she teaches you to surpass her!”

  Wolfgang wanted to be cautious; he wanted to say how dangerous Gens Silva was, but more than that, he needed to beat her once and for all. Clearly seeing the hesitation in his eyes, Scapino added. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you with this scheme. That is, when I’m not busy corralling the court and Duchy agents into capturing the Homunculus Knight for us.”

  “Just the Homunculus Knight?” The Black Fly asked, as temptation one him over.

  “The Alukah would be nice, but she’s not a priority. Honestly, the more I think about it, just killing her might be easier in the long run, as it would keep the League, Duchies, and even Pantheon busy for a while.”

  Driven by curiosity and some final vestige of familial loyalty, Wolfgang couldn’t help but inquire. “Why not acquire her as well? Surely an Alukah’s power would serve the Troupe well.”

  “It’s unnecessary,” spoke Colombina. “We already have an Alukah.”

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