"What Levels are your parents?" Vul'to asked, leaning forward in his chair. "It would be helpful to know what degree of resistance to expect when confronting them."

From across the table, Meyneth narrowed her eyes as a succession of loathsome faces passed through her mind. "Last I saw them, my mother and father were in the high 20s," she began. "Acceptable for a Dragonkin Combat Class user, although not nearly as notable as they wished for themselves. My siblings, however, were in their mid-30s and ascending. I have little quarrel with either of them, but it's likely that they will defend my parents if I attempt revenge, if only out of a basic sense of filial obligation."

Her claws extended by an inch. "I doubt they've reached 41, so I should still have a Level advantage. Hopefully that will be sufficient to overcome the inherent gap in our capabilities. I won't be able to defeat them otherwise – they're better than me in every conceivable way."

Vul'to frowned at her. "You shouldn't be so harsh on-"

"It's the truth," Meyneth stated, with a nonchalant wave. "My brother and sister are natural-born fighters who possess most of the Dragonkin racial traits. There's no comparison between us. I'll admit that I've acquitted myself well-enough as a member of Riardin's Rangers, but it's been in spite of my talents, not because of them. Victory against my family won't be assured until I've risen further in strength than I am now."

"Have you forgotten that you're an Awakened Class user?" Vul'to pointed out. "The bonus stats and Skill upgrades you've gained already put you far above another Combat Class user at your Level."

Meyneth blinked. "Ah," she mumbled. "Yes. Somehow, I forgot. Too caught up in the past. Focusing on how things used to be, instead of how they are." She concentrated, forcing her claws to recede back to normal. "That does stack the odds more in my favor."

Her inflection turned sour, as if she'd bit into a lemon. "Perhaps they'll surrender once they see what I've become. Grovel at my feet. Beg for me to rejoin the family. Their daughter, the Awakened Class user – can you imagine the prestige? It's what I dreamed would someday happen while growing up."

Vul'to looked closely at her. "If they did beg, would that change anything?"

"Not even if they were on their hands and knees, apologizing for every single injustice they've ever committed."

Vul'to nodded. "Right." He hesitated. "To clarify, if you did have a change of heart after witnessing their improved demeanor, I wouldn't judge you, merely caution you against accepting love which is so clearly conditional."

Meyneth's shoulders relaxed – which was surprising, as she hadn't realized she was tensed up in the first place. "Several years prior, and I might have done just that. Now..." She shook her head. "Too many scars. I can't imagine that our reconciliation will be a pleasant one. I'll definitely need to increase my Level in preparation – especially if my parents have hired retainers with the wealth my siblings earned them. Between my parents, my siblings, and any additional help they've acquired, I could very well end up contending with an entire Party of fighters, if not more."

Vul'to hesitated again. He had a tendency to do so when they conversed on these matters, as if he wanted to ensure that he didn't misspeak. "You also have a Party, Meyneth."

"I know." She lowered her gaze. "When the time comes, if I truly need to...I'll beg their aid. But only if I truly need to. Hopefully, you can understand why I don't wish to involve our friends in this. If you hadn't caught me in a moment of weakn-"

She clamped her mouth shut far too late. By the look on his face, Vul'to was able to surmise what the full sentence would have been: 'If you hadn't caught me in a moment of weakness, you wouldn't be involved now, either.' It was too rude of a thing to say to someone who was offering her his full support, yet Vul'to didn't seem to care, merely nodding and pulling out a sheet of paper to write on.

"If that's the case," he said, putting pen to paper. "Then we should prepare battle strategies for every potential scenario. I'm unaccustomed to fighting non-monster opponents, especially while outnumbered, but I'll do the best I can."

'Why?' Meyneth wanted to ask. While she was fairly certain that she knew the answer, the notion of someone else understanding her struggles was still a new and unfamiliar concept. In that sense, she was lucky that Vul'to had been the one to catch her in a moment of weakness. The other members of Riardin's Rangers would have given her sympathy, of course, but they wouldn't have understood like he did. It wasn't possible for them to. Keira, Orn'tol, and Malika missed their parents dearly. Rob spoke highly of his parents and intended to return to them as soon as he could. Zamira's parents were alive, and by all accounts, wonderful and supportive people.

Conversely, Vul'to called the Cataclysm the best thing to ever happen to him, solely because his parents were killed during it.

Meyneth hadn't yet inquired into the specifics of what happened to him. It felt cowardly not to, but she didn't trust herself to handle a conversation of that magnitude. Not without significant preparation. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him with careless words. Rob could help her devise what to say – specifically, Diplomacy could – but that would require informing him of Vul'to's past. As far as Meyneth knew, the Elf had kept quiet about it among his compatriots, and she wouldn't betray his trust by telling a story that wasn't hers to tell.

Which meant relying on her own social proficiencies to assist Vul'to with his struggles. Somehow.

...After the other looming issue is handled first. Meyneth glanced at Vul'to, who was studiously drawing up battle plans, using every iota of his combat acumen to help her achieve her dream. The two of them had been spending more time together as of late, and it was impossible not to notice the...looks he gave her on occasion. Not often, and only surreptitiously, although he was rather poor at hiding them. Meyneth knew that type of look very well.

She'd watched Rob and Keira send it to each other for four fucking months.

Assuming that she wasn't being arrogant, and Vul'to truly did possess feelings for her, it could explain why he was being so supportive. Meyneth had witnessed people do more drastic things than this to ingratiate themselves with the object of their affection. In truth, declaring that you would assist someone with their personal, bloody revenge was considered to be the apex of Dragonkin romance. Vul'to wasn't a Dragonkin, though – he was an Elf, a Party member, a friend, and a good person who'd shared the same kind of struggles as her. He would have helped regardless of his attraction.

That made it no less difficult to bring the subject up. Meyneth wasn't remotely in the proper mindset to enter a relationship with Vul'to – or anyone else, for that matter. Her scant few liaisons in the past had been purely physical, both parties fully aware that it wouldn't go beyond satisfying their base urges. Really, who would stoop so low as to form a relationship with a disgrace of a Dragonkin such as herself? She wasn't ready to allow herself the possibility of romance; it would take time to undo her mental blocks, most of which had been built up over the course of decades. Vul'to deserved to know that.

One week, Meyneth vowed. I'll talk to him after one week. She absolutely refused to prolong this issue into eternity like Rob, Keira, and Zamira had. One week of preparation, and then she and Vul'to would discuss their feelings like logical, mature adults.

She glanced at him, still hard at work writing out battle plans, and imagined what that discussion might entail.

...Oh, Meyneth realized. In that moment, she gained a deeper understanding of Rob, Keira, and Zamira's reticence. I should have decided on two weeks. Or ten.

--

Rob looked around the office, eyes wide. Compared to the room he met his usual doctors in, this one felt more – for lack of a better term – mad-scientist-y. Stacks of paper were scattered about everywhere, some stapled to the wall, some resting on the ground, all of them covered in half-written scrawls and esoteric drawings. The doctor himself was mercifully boring, a smartly-dressed Fiend sporting the same attire as others in his profession. Rob breathed an internal sigh of relief; he wasn't sure what he would've done if the man appeared as unhinged as his working quarters.

After all, this was the Surgeon that he was entrusting with his soul.

Rob felt Diplomacy's core twinge with excitement, a sentiment he wholeheartedly agreed with. After months of research, the Fiends had finally devised a method by which to grant Diplomacy a body. Today was a preparatory consultation for the day, set to happen very soon, which meant having a meet-and-greet with their new Soul Surgeon.

For once – per request from the Grand Overseers – Rob was unaccompanied. They really didn't want the Surgeon's secrets to spread. It was adorable that they thought he wouldn't tell everyone in Riardin's Rangers anyway, but hey, whatever helped them sleep better at night. Plus, it worked out for the both of them, as Keira needed a break. Rob had managed to get her to take a day off from bodyguarding by promising to bring Vul'to and Meyneth as backups; the two of them were waiting down the hall in case of emergency.

A smirk crept across his face as he imagined the beating that Keira was probably handing out at this very second. Somehow, she'd conned several Fiends into taking part in the inauguration of Elatra's first ever boxing club. Either her sparring buddies just plain liked fighting, or they thought that having over twice her body mass would be enough to make up the difference in Strength, scoring them a brag-worthy victory against one of the heroes of Fiendland.

Hope they have good health insurance, Rob mused. Or whatever the Elatran equivalent is.

The Soul Surgeon took that moment to look up from his papers, turning to face Rob. He tilted his head, eyes traveling up and down with an appraising look.

Diplomacy stated.

What?

Oh, come on. You can't tell whether or not someone is an asshole from a single glance.

The Soul Surgeon finished his appraisal. Rob had expected a look of utter disgust; it was the standard for nearly every Fiend when first viewing his soul. Instead, the Surgeon crossed his arms and raised both eyebrows. "So you're Rob." He smirked. "Always assumed you'd be taller."

...I really set myself up for that one, didn't I? Rob forced a polite smile to his face, reminding himself that it was never a good idea to get on a doctor's bad side. "You're just used to Fiends. I've got a pretty normal height by Human standards."

"Yes, but you're hardly a normal Human," the Surgeon continued. "Level 51, Awakened Class, Purger of Corruption and savior of Fiend territory. Your stature doesn't fit your reputation." He shook his head, disappointed. "It's a shame that my expertise lies solely in Soul Surgery, although I do know one or two Surgeons that specialize in improving one's physical appearance. Remind me to give you a list of recommendations at the end of our consultation."

Rob's polite smile dropped faster than a meteor. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

The Surgeon chuckled. "That I am. Do you know what the best part of being the greatest Surgeon in my field is?" He grinned. "It lets me get away with being an asshole."

That explains so much about society. "I'm going to pretend your personality isn't a dumpster fire and move on," Rob declared. "So. My soul. Diplomacy's soul, attached to it. What are your thoughts? Can you remove Diplomacy and insert them into a new body without complications?"

"I believe so." The Surgeon's demeanor shifted, becoming that of a no-nonsense health practitioner. "If everything goes right, both you and Diplomacy will be unharmed. Unfortunately, that 'if' is a dire qualifier – as skilled as I am, this is the first surgery of its like. People have attempted to transplant souls into new bodies before in the past, and the end result rarely goes well. It isn't the same as attaching a new limb or organ; bodies will almost always reject an unfamiliar soul. This operation is only possible because Diplomacy's soul lacks a body of its own to attune to."

Rob leaned closer, his curiosity piqued.. "What is the new body, anyway? I thought we weren't going to use a Fiend's body in order to avoid accusations of Necromancy."

The Surgeon's eyes darkened. "More than that– we want to avoid accusations of soul eating. Only one type of Fiend can accept souls into their body without significant risk of rejection. There's little point in granting Diplomacy a new form, merely for them to be hunted down in the streets and torn limb from limb."

He spread his arms. "As such, our researchers have worked tirelessly to create a substance which they've tentatively named the Clay of Life. It is a gray-white, unsightly blob that may very well be the most incredible invention of our time. Once I place Diplomacy's soul inside, the Clay will take shape to fit Diplomacy's inner self, creating a unique body for them wholesale. And while the Clay isn't quite ready yet, it should be completed within the week."

Rob's mouth fell open. "How in the world did they pull that off?"

"Trade secret." The Soul Surgeon's voice turned serious. "I'm confident that the Clay of Life will work – the true danger lies with the surgery itself. Separating conjoined souls will be no simple task. I cannot fully guarantee your safety. Do you accept the risk of-"

"I do. 100%."

The Surgeon nodded. "Then I swear to you that I will perform to the best of my considerable ability."

Diplomacy whispered, in a tone of excited disbelief.

Rob sent them a confident grin. Hell yeah it will. Looking forward to your first hi-five. "You've clearly put a lot of thought into this," he said, addressing the Surgeon, "and I sincerely appreciate that. Thanks, Soul Surgeon."

"My professionalism demands no less." He paused. "Also, I have a name. Has no one taught you how to use Identify?"

"You'll get a name when you're not an asshole anymore."

"Understandable."

--

Knock-knock.

Vul'to looked up from his battle planning and stared at the door for a few moments, brows furrowed. He wasn't expecting visitors. In fact, people weren't supposed to know that Rob, Vul'to, or Meyneth were here at all. He exchanged glances with Meyneth, and after a shrug, called out to whoever was waiting outside. "The door is unlocked. Come in."

A youthful Fiend man around Vul'to's age stepped inside, hesitantly closing the door behind him. Vul'to suppressed a wince; he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a person so evidently unsure of themselves. Everything about the man's countenance, from his hunched posture to his lowered gaze, screamed uncertainty. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Vul'to asked, hoping that there was. Belatedly, he cast Identify – addressing someone by their proper name often served to raise their spirits.

Name: Krazan

Level: 19

Race: Fiend

Status Effects: Apprehensive, Unconfident, Resigned

Description: Currently trapped in a mental cage of his own making.

"Many thanks for the offer," Krazan replied, in a low mutter. "But I'm just here to deliver a missive." He held up a tightly-bound scroll of parchment. "Comes straight from the Grand Overseers themselves."

"I can't imagine what they would have to say to us," Meyneth pondered. "We aren't the leaders of our faction."

Krazan scratched the back of his neck, shivering slightly. "Don't know either. Just a messenger." He shuffled in place, glancing up at them with hesitant eyes. "You're...them, right? Roy's Party members. The ones who entered Nevermore City and restored its Locus of Power."

Vul'to nodded. "The very same." He put on a disarming smile. "Don't think too much of it, though. Anyone else in our situation would have done the same."

"...Don't think too much of it?" Krazan's mouth fell open in shock. "That's not possible. You helped save hundreds of thousands of people. You..."

He trailed off, taking a second to collect himself before holding out the missive. "Just wanted to say thank you. For everyone you've done. It's the bare minimum of what I can do."

Vul'to's chest warmed. "You're very welcome." He wanted to say more, but embarrassment sealed his mouth. Praise was never an easy thing to accept. Smiling shyly, Vul'to grabbed the missive from Krazan's hands, unfurling it with no small amount of curiosity.

Several seconds passed. A note of bewilderment escaped Vul'to's throat as his curiosity gave way to confusion. On the paper was a single phrase, written in uneven penmanship, and surrounded by teardrop stains.

"I'm sorry."

There was no time to react. One instant, he was reading, and the next, he was flying back, slamming into the wall at the opposite end of the room. Shouts and crashes resounded throughout the air, but he barely noticed them, his senses feeling oddly disconnected. Body trembling, Vul'to moved to push himself to his feet – and fell back down to the ground as his left arm failed to hold his weight.

Oh. Wait. It was bent in the wrong direction.

Ah.

He couldn't even feel the pain. Vul'to's thoughts were muddied, slippery, as if he hadn't slept for a week. Staggering upwards, he forced himself to focus on the battle taking place in front of him. Meyneth was pushing back Krazan, her teeth bared in savage fury as she swung her claws at him with reckless abandon. Krazan somehow dodged, his motion simultaneously swift and stilted, like a marionette pulled sideways on its strings. It was an impossible display – a Level 19 Utility Class user going toe-to-toe with a Level 41 Combat Class user – but it was happening nonetheless.

Armor, Vul'to thought, managing to pierce through the unusual fog coating his brain. Need my...

He froze, remembering that he didn't have his equipment. No armor, no shield. His sword, yes, but offense wasn't where a Guardian's strengths resided. The rest of his defensive equipment was stored back at his personal quarters. Vul'to hadn't brought any of it.

Today was just supposed to be a simple medical consultation.

Help, he thought next, taking a wobbling step forward. The enervation spell affecting his body was gradually receding. Call for help. Rob's nearby.

Message Started Between Party Members: Vul'to, R-

Message canceled. All sounds and various forms of long-distance communication are being blocked by the Armband of Stifling Whispers.

Vul'to's eyes widened. An Enchanted Item?

In that moment, Meyneth roared, bringing her Skill-empowered claws down on Krazan's right arm. The Fiend took the hit without a care, hardly budging as he retaliated with a crunching punch to the chest that sent Meyneth soaring back. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, seeming on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Vul'to let out a gasp as he stared at Krazan's wound. The Fiend's arm was hanging by a thread – which was somehow the least shocking aspect of what Vul'to now saw. Krazan's shirt sleeve had been torn to ribbons, revealing what lay hidden underneath. Five Enchanted Items were clasped to his arm, each one shimmering with power. Additionally, a thin red cloth was wrapped around his body, one that Vul'to recognized all too well.

It was a Sinner's Shroud. Designed to block out all Fiends' Soul Sight. Aside from Rob using it to spare them from witnessing his patchwork disaster of a soul, the Sinner's Shroud was a garment that was strictly banned within Fiend society, and for good reason.

Soul Eaters had been using it to hide their true nature.

"I'm sorry," Krazan repeated. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Suddenly, his arm snapped back into place with a shrill, piercing sound, the wound closing in a quarter of a second. There'd been no glow of mana, nor an indication of a Skill being activated. His injury had just...reverted. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't stop."

A paralyzing chill lanced down Vul'to's spine as belated realization struck him. The sound that rang out when Krazan's wound closed, that shrill, piercing noise...

It had been a distant scream.

Vul'to and Meyneth gaped in horror as Krazan lurched forward. His flesh began to bulge, indentations rising and falling in his skin, as if worms were squirming underneath. The Fiend's eyes popped out of their sockets, then reverted back inwards, struggling against the pressure building inside. "Can't..." He clutched his head, tearing out hair in clumps, as his breathing turned ragged. "Can't..."

Krazan froze, his body going as rigid as a statue. Slowly, he lowered his arms and stood up straight, face morphing from panicked to impassive. "Better." The Fiend sighed, staring at Vul'to and Meyneth with the deadened eyes of Melancholy Resistance. "Should have done this from the beginning. Makes it so much easier."

Vul'to swept his eyes across the room, desperately searching for something that he could use as a shield and endow with his durability-enhancing Guardian Skills. The table, maybe, but it was too bulky to use effectively. Meanwhile, Meyneth took a shaking step forward, disoriented by whatever Enchanted Item was draining their energy. "Get back, you vile monstrosity."

"I'm afraid that's not possible." Krazan's hand twitched as his claws extended. "My apologies, but you can't possibly understand how this feels. Taking a soul unto your body is unlike any experience in this world. It's...intoxicating. Transcendental. Most of all, fulfilling, as if I'm executing the role I was always meant to perform." The squirming underneath his skin intensified, vague sounds rising to a muted chorus of wailing. "I've tried to stop. It never lasts."

He stared at Vul'to, then Meyneth. "Elf is an old, familiar taste. Dragonkin, however? And an Awakened one at that?" His claws began to glow with a dull gray that gave Vul'to an overpowering sense of dread. "Who knows when I'll have this chance again."

Vul'to reached forward and brought his fist down on the table, snapping it into several smaller pieces. He grabbed the portion that most resembled a shield and charged forth on still-trembling legs. Fighting one-armed put him at a severe disadvantage, but his left arm was in no condition to hold anything, and between wielding a sword or a shield, the choice was obvious. He let out a reverberating Taunt that drew Krazan's attention, the Fiend's head whipping towards Vul'to with a hungry gaze. Krazan charged forward, his gait uneven, resembling a Combat Class user who was unused to a recent increase in their Dexterity. Uncoordinated as his run was, it was still fast, and he met Vul'to's shield with a vicious slash that nearly cracked the table-shield in two.

Gritting his teeth, Vul'to activated Indomitable, rooting himself in place so that he wouldn't be sent flying back again. In the brief instant where his and Krazan's deadlock remained unbroken, he was treated to a disturbing sight that immediately etched itself into his memory. Krazan's muscles were rippling like the surface of a disturbed lake, tearing and healing repeatedly as they struggled to overcome Vul'to's shield. Underneath the Soul Eater's flesh, Vul'to could hear dozens of whispers, hundreds of tiny little screams, countless pleas for release that were forever being denied.

Then Meyneth sprang forward with Leap and tackled Krazan to the opposite end of the room. The wall shuddered, forming a Fiend-sized indentation, as Meyneth disemboweled him with a cutting slice to the stomach. She was about to press her advantage when a thunderous shockwave knocked her back and rattled the bones in Vul'to's ears. One of Krazan's Enchanted Items ceased its shimmering, leaving three that still contained reserves of power. The Soul Eater's intestines spilled out onto the floor – before reverting back inside with another piercing scream.

Vul'to tossed his makeshift shield aside and grabbed a second piece of the table. What is that healing? he thought, edging closer to Meyneth. It's quicker than anything I've seen. His strength and speed are abnormal as well. Doesn't seem like Skills, and I don't think he's using mana. Is it...

A chill ran down his spine once again. Soul Burn. Using others' souls.

The full scope of what was happening finally sunk in. This was an assassination attempt, and it wasn't the half-formed spontaneity of a crazed zealot. Krazan had planned and executed his attempt with startling efficiency, employing an Enchanted Item to isolate his targets from receiving backup, ambushing them while their guards were down, and separating them at the start of the fight. He'd clearly done this many times before – as evidenced by the deep well of souls he was drawing on to boost his combat capabilities to unnatural heights.

Hundreds, consigned to an eternity of suffering.

"We need to retreat," Vul'to told Meyneth, as he helped her up. "Rob is down the hall. This-"

Krazan tore off one of his Enchanted Items and tossed it at their feet. Vul'to scarcely had time to raise his shield before the bracelet detonated like a miniature crate of Firebombs. He was knocked back, slightly, his Skill-reinforced shield taking the brunt of the damage.

Meyneth wasn't so lucky. She was down, scales blackened and flesh smoldering. The Dragonkin began to stand up once more – but far too late to dodge Krazan's charge. The Fiend's eyes were wide as saucers, vibrant with anticipation, as his claws and Enchanted Items glowed with a sickly red aura.

Auto-Guard. Vul'to's body was pulled leftwards through the air like a magnet, his shield raising to intercept Krazan's assault. Against all odds, the battered, wooden, piece of table stayed strong for a few seconds before cracking in half and

And

The

Pressure

Why

Why were his thoughts

What felt

Oh. Vul'to glanced down at his chest, and the clawed hand within it. Everything seemed numb. He barely registered what he was seeing.

Meaning that he barely cared when Krazan ripped out his heart and crushed the pulsating organ in one motion.

Time held still. Vul'to attempted to move his body, but it refused to cooperate, blood gushing out like a fountain. Nothing worked the way it should. He glanced at Meyneth, searching for something to center himself with, and a small smile inched up his cheeks. She was unharmed. Frozen in horror, but unharmed.

That was good.

Then Krazan plunged his other claw – glowing grey – back into Vul'to's chest, and pulled.

His senses vanished. Sight, sound, smell, touch – all gone in an instant. He tried to call out, but he had no voice. He tried to look around, but he had no eyes. Vul'to was little more than a consciousness floating in an endless void. He felt nothing.

Except the pain.

In that void, without a mouth, Vul'to screamed.

--

Vul'to

Level: 40

Guardian Level: 35

HP: 0 / 700

Status Effects: Deceased

Meyneth closed her Party List and shoved aside the roaring tempest of emotions welling up inside her. Vul'to's body slumped to the floor as Krazan held his prize aloft, a rapturous expression dancing on his face. Contained within his hand was a pocket of translucent, multicolored mana, wriggling as if it was a rabbit caught in a trap.

If Meyneth concentrated, she could just barely make out the screaming.

She gathered herself, rising up. Meyneth wanted to fling herself at the wretched Soul Eater, tear his throat out with her teeth, scatter his ashes to the wind – but that desire wasn't going to help anyone right here and now. She couldn't afford to fly into a mindless rage.

A mindful rage was much better.

Meyneth reached to the side and pulled over a traveling pack they'd left in the corner of the room. She dumped out the contents, then grabbed the three HP Potions that fell to the floor, shoving the first into her mouth and biting down. Meyneth swallowed its contents, shards of glass and all, before doing the same for the second and third, devouring three Potions in a matter of seconds. 150 HP wasn't much by her current standards, but it was enough to ease the agony in her joints, which meant the Potions had served their purpose. If she could move, she could fight.

Krazan hadn't been idle during all this. While Meyneth imbibed her Portions, the Fiend dragged a claw down the length of his chest, shuddering as if he'd been stroked by a lover. His self-inflicted wound split open, revealing a yawning chasm underneath, and the sounds of distant screams loudened as if there was a crowd in the same room as them. He brought Vul'to's soul closer to the chasm, lips widening into a jubilant smile.

Without hesitation, Meyneth cast Shadow Walk. Her vision went black as she disappeared into the space between light and darkness, before emerging a moment later from underneath Krazan's shadow, springing up like a fish cresting the water's surface. She wrapped her legs around his legs, her right arm around his free arm, and her left arm around his throat, sending them tumbling to the ground.

Meyneth desired nothing more than to bite his skull open and rend his brain– see if he could revert from that – but she stayed her fury. She didn't know what would happen to Vul'to's soul if Krazan died. For all she knew, without the Fiend to hold it in place, it would dissipate into the ether. Instead, she squeezed, constricting Krazan's movement and choking the breath out of him with every fiber of her being.

"You can't," the Soul Eater whispered, thrashing against Meyneth's choking hold. "I'm so close. Please. I need this. Just one...more..."

Krazan gasped, his lungs begging for air. One of his Enchanted Items glowed brightly, and Meyneth activated Defiance, nullifying whatever status effect he was about to inflict on her. He pushed Vul'to's soul towards the hole in his chest, but Meyneth leaned forward and tore out his arm's ligaments with sharpened teeth, rendering it flopping and limp. The wounds reverted, he tried again, and she bit down again. All the while, he struggled to break free, muscles and flesh bulging with the power of stolen souls.

Meyneth shouldn't have been able to hold him. Soul Burn was an incredible strength multiplier, and Krazan was flush with souls to spare. In a contest of raw power, she was outmatched, and that was without factoring in whatever stat bonuses the Fiend's Enchanted Items were granting him.

She didn't care. Meyneth held strong, because she fucking had to. Her limbs strained, her muscles tore, a few somethings inside her cracked – and she didn't for an instant consider the possibility of giving in.

Krazan's struggles slowed as his consciousness began to fade. He gazed at Vul'to's soul, and Meyneth saw a decision take place in his eyes. If he released the soul, and stopped wasting time trying to eat it, he'd be able to move his arm with a greater degree of motion. There was still a chance that he could free himself.

All he had to do was let go.

He stared at the soul with longing up until the moment the awareness faded from his eyes.

Meyneth pulled away as soon as she was certain that the Fiend was unconscious. Her body creaked as she grabbed Krazan's body and Vul'to's corpse in each hand, shambling towards the door like a woman possessed. She kicked it into a cloud of splinters and leaped outside, ignoring the panicked shouts from a local passerby. In a flash, Meyneth ran down the hall and broke down her second door in so many seconds, bursting inside the room like a gorebeast through a village barricade.

Rob and his Soul Surgeon gaped at her with shocked expressions. Before they had a chance to say anything, Meyneth plopped Vul'to and Krazan on a table in the center of the room. She pointed at Vul'to's corpse, then at Vul'to's soul, still nestled inside Krazan's hand.

"Fix him."