Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"I am a monster," I whisper to myself, the words like ash in my mouth. A voice cuts through my self-loathing, sharp and unyielding.

"Never call yourself that. Do you hear me, fledgling? You are not a monster."

I whirl on the spirit, sudden anger filling me like an unleashed storm. My vision blurs crimson at the edges, matching the fury in my voice.

"Why is that, huh?! I drained her dry, like she was a bottle of juice! She begged me not to do it, to stop, and I didn't! I drank her, and I loved it! How am I not a monster?"

With each word, the force of my anger grows. If Lazarus were physical, I would be jabbing a finger into his chest. The ancient spirit simply shakes his head, his expression serene, his voice calm and low.

"You are angry and afraid, and the guilt over what you have done is eating at you. I understand, Jackson. I remember my first time."

Lazarus's eyes grow distant, focusing on something I cannot see, perhaps a memory centuries old.

"Unlike you, I was eighteen—a lot younger than you are, that's for sure. Killing with consume earns a lot more experience, so the coven had brought me a prisoner, a known criminal. They demanded I drain him." His voice turns just as distant as his eyes, echoing with a tinge of sadness that surprises me.

"You have to understand, Jackson. You didn't grow up in our culture; I did. This was a test for my passage into adulthood. My blood had been recently awakened, and I was expected to consume the prisoner. If I didn't, I would be cast out. Cast out of everything I knew, away from everyone I had loved."

I snort, bitter and dismissive. "So that's what we are. All of us, monsters."

Lazarus's voice cracks like a whip, making me flinch. "Shut your fool mouth, fledgling child! You know nothing about us!"

The spirit sighs, raising a hand as if to touch his face before stopping, lowering it with a flicker of frustration at his incorporeal state. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost paternal.

"Only the worst criminals, judged by our council, were put to death that way. The rest of the time, we consumed the blood of beasts or creatures we defeated. The first time was meant to show us the power of hunger and how it felt, so we could understand it and control what it does. It was a teaching moment, and it served our people."

I shake my head, not ready to be absolved. "At least your kill was sanctioned."

Lazarus laughs, though there is no joy in the sound. It's hollow and ancient, like wind through a forgotten tomb.

"And that makes it better? I felt everything you just felt. Do you think that prisoner just let me drain him dry with no fuss? No, he most certainly did not. He begged and cried for his life." The spirit pauses, his eyes hardening. "Of course, I learned later that the women he had done things to had also begged, and it did not do them much good."

He gestures at Riselle's corpse, still gray and lifeless on the stone floor.

"You're forgetting that she tried to kill you. I heard you plead with her to talk, and she wasn't having it; she didn't care. In fact, when you blasted her off of you, she was about to chomp down on your head. She did not seem to care in the least about your life."

I look at Riselle's dead face, remembering her rage, her determination to end me. "I killed a companion of hers. I told you about him." Flashes of Adaran's body and Melanie screaming at me flood my mind.

Lazarus's voice grows hard, cutting through my guilt. "You did not kill that warrior. I listened to your story. You were facing down a nightmare creature; it was about to kill you. In addition, Adaran had knowingly gone to the battle, knowingly fighting when that nightmare showed up. He made his choice. Just as Riselle made hers."

I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white, feeling my nails bite into my palms. "You act like it's so black and white," I growl through gritted teeth.

Lazarus folds his arms, his red eyes flashing with centuries of wisdom and burden.

"Did I say that, fledgling? Of course it isn't. Sure, you could have made better choices; you could have fought the hunger. This is a complicated situation, and guess what? That's life. Especially here in Eden." His voice softens slightly. "Black and white is simple; it's a child's logic. You may be a fledgling, but are you a child as well, Jackson?"

The question hits me harder than I expect. I look down and consider his words. There's no explaining away my guilt, but it does make it a little easier to bear. I didn't kill Adaran—not directly, not intentionally. I was simply trying to survive, and arguably what I had done had saved far more lives than it ended.

As for Riselle, I was a monster in that moment, whatever Lazarus says. I may have been defending myself, and Riselle bore some responsibility for her own actions, but I need to acknowledge that what I did was still wrong, regardless of the justifications that exist. Maybe that acknowledgment is the first step to ensuring I never lose control like that again.

I nod and stand up, meeting Lazarus's gaze. "This was a lesson. Thank you for showing me that. Come on, I still have goblins to deal with."

Before moving out, I have some things to take care of. First, I spend my attribute points, putting both into mind. That brings the attribute to fifteen. Next, I face the grim task of looting. I don't want to touch Riselle; after what I've done to her, she deserves some final dignity. Yet, I need to survive, which means I need resources. That practical necessity outweighs the wave of guilt that washes over me.

With reluctance, I pick up Riselle's staff and analyze it.

This is a basic druid staff. This staff increases the speed and efficiency of weaving spells with nature and beast aspects.

Interesting. I wonder if other aspects would form the druid class or if it's only these aspects. I make a mental note to ask Lazarus about it later. She has no money, which doesn't surprise me. I've taken everything from her already.

I feel my face fall as I shake my head at the dark thought. Am I really making jokes about this? Perhaps I truly am becoming a monster. I consider taking her robes but decide against it. I know it's not entirely rational, but I cannot bring myself to strip her, to remove her last shred of dignity. It's a small line, maybe, but it's a line I won't cross.

Azlam, though, I have no such reservations about. I pause and consider why. Then I understand; I hadn't really known him. With Azlam, he was trying to kill me, and I defended myself in a straightforward way. I hadn't killed him in the same intimate, consuming manner, and I hadn't formed the connection with him that I had with Riselle. That makes the difference, though it's a small one. Another line drawn.

From Azlam, I take his axe.

You have picked up an unawakened axe. Axes are a versatile tool and an even more terrifying weapon. Note that you do not have the strength or skill required to wield this weapon; in addition, your class restricts the use of all physical weapons, including those formed from weaves. Trying to use this axe will result in being paralyzed until use of the axe is ceased.

My eyes widen; that's a steep penalty. I store it in my bag along with Riselle's staff. Azlam has nothing else on him. As I begin walking toward the goblin camp, I wonder what "unawakened" means. Something else to ask the spirit.

A little way from the goblin camp, I stop. Lazarus eyes me with curiosity.

"Ah, I see something has occurred to you. Care to share with the class?"

I produce the mass charm spell book from my bag, turning it over in my hands. The leather cover seems to pulse faintly against my fingertips, as if recognizing my changed nature.

"I'm simply wondering if I can use this now. I wasn't able to before; I was a swordsman then. Now though..." I trail off, analyzing the book again.

This is a weave book, otherwise known as a spell book. It contains the weave for the mass charm spell. You meet the requirements to learn this weave.

I grin and open the book. The pages glow with a subtle crimson light as I absorb its knowledge.

You have learned the weave for Mass Charm (Apprentice Level 1)!

The knowledge forms in my mind, the weave appearing within my memory as if it were always there. It's fascinating, and I chew my lip in thought. The weave calls for a subtle application of blood and destruction. It destroys the target's mental resistance, and the blood aspect twists the target's life force to align with the mage's will—in this case, mine.

That leads to more questions about how aspects work in relation to weaves, but again, I simply make a mental note to ask Lazarus. The questions are adding up; if I asked them every time they occurred to me, I'd never leave this corridor. I need to get out of this dungeon.

The goblin camp isn't far. Frankly, I'm shocked that the goblins haven't heard my fight with Riselle and Azlam. Perhaps they just don't care; who knows? From a distance, I can see them. Not much has changed about the camp; it looks the same as before, though this time a strange sound fills the air. A kind of music? It's offbeat and horrible-sounding, but it's undeniably music. Or an attempt at it, at least.

I crouch, trying to avoid being easily spotted. I have no skill at stealth, however, so I'm not about to rely on it. If any goblin decides to take a walk down the corridor, they'll surely spot me.

I'm not particularly worried; I fully intend to kill every goblin in that camp. It's a brutal thought, I know, but the goblins would do the same to me if given the chance. For a moment, I wonder if this is another step toward becoming the monster I fear—this casual acceptance of violence—but I push the thought away. This is survival, nothing more.

Inching closer, I stop when I have a clearer view of the goblins. Steeling my nerves, I act before they spot me.

I weave mass charm and overlay the structure on the camp, then complete the spell with a touch of blood aspect. The air ripples subtly, like heat over stone, as my influence spreads.

You have failed to charm a level 8 goblin. You have failed to charm a level 8 goblin. You have failed to charm a level 8 goblin... You have succeeded in charming 5 level 8 goblins. This spell will last for ten seconds at this level.

The spell fails more than thirty times before succeeding on these five. I waste no time wondering about the mechanics; I simply will my charmed goblins to attack their comrades.

Pandemonium erupts in the camp as the charmed goblins heft their cudgels, blades, and axes and begin hacking at their allies. Cries of pain and shock fill the air; the other goblins leap up in confusion. I hear a few yell in astonishment.

"Wha? What's you doin', Garg?! Garg and Frak have betrayed us!"

"Ah! Betrayers! Kill 'em!"

The goblins fall on their turned allies, and my five charmed goblins don't last very long, hacked to little green pieces.

Your five charmed goblins have been killed. Your mass charm weave has increased in level.

I don't stay idle, though; in the mayhem, I move into the camp and begin launching blood lightning bolts. The crimson arcs of energy leap from my fingertips, striking with deadly precision.

You have killed a level 8 goblin. You have killed a level 8 goblin. Your blood lightning has increased to level 5. You have killed a level 8 goblin.

I kill ten of the green creatures and make it closer to the center of their camp before they realize there's an enemy amongst them.

"Argh! There's a foe amongst us! Get 'im!"

Which is how I find myself facing down a horde of enraged green monsters, their yellow eyes gleaming with malice, crude weapons raised.

"You sure have a way with people, my dear young fledgling," Lazarus says dryly as he floats beside me. "I hope you have an answer for this."

I'm hoping I do too, or else I'm going to die here. As the goblins close in, I feel the hunger stir again, quiet but present. I wonder if it would be enough—if their strange, green blood would satisfy this new craving within me. I shake the thought away, focusing instead on the weaves at my disposal.

Something tells me this won't be the last time I face overwhelming odds. If I survive this dungeon, a much larger world awaits, filled with its own dangers and difficult choices. Whatever power I gain here will need to serve me there—in a place where the lines between monster and hero might blur even further.

The first goblin lunges, and I prepare to show them exactly what a newborn vampyre can do.