The mansion’s highest point offered a clear view of the nearby castle, and a vantage point into the windows of the central hall. Gaspard found a comfortable position to sit while he kept an eye on the palace. He could only barely make out the interior of the castle through the blood-stained windows, but Gaspard took what he could get. He needed more information on what might await him in the palace.

With the merchant currently being devoured by a many-headed abomination, that left only two targets on Gaspard’s list. The king and the philosopher yet remained, somewhere in the city -perhaps long dead, or perhaps twisted into a beast. In either event, Gaspard needed to know. The matter needed to be settled.

For now, his efforts focused on the king. He had ventured near the palace once and nearly been killed for the attempt. He had managed to escape the guard and its hungering hound, but only barely. If he hoped to penetrate deeper into the guarded walls of the palace, he would need to make a more careful approach.

Gaspard had already seen the guard make several patrols around the grounds of the palace. Its polished armor was beginning to tarnish, but the bulbous red flesh beneath showed no signs of weakness. Even the flies and beetles that gnawed at the flesh of other abominations gave the guard a wide berth. The scavengers possessed a healthy fear of the hulking guard and the jagged blade he wielded. Gaspard shared in their fear, and kept to the shadows of the mansion he hid within.

A resounding noise boomed out from within the palace. Gaspard pressed his back to the wall, but craned his neck to where he could still see the stained window. Other than the clanking armor of the guard, the area around the palace had been deathly quiet so far. The sudden noise warranted caution and curiosity in equal measure. Gaspard kept quiet and waited patiently.

His patience bore fruit in a burst of motion. The window that Gaspard stood watch over exploded in a burst of glass shards. A blur of red flesh and exposed bone crashed to the ground, surrounded by shards of glass that rained down around it. Gaspard watched as the defenestrated beast righted itself, yowled in agony, and then dashed off, trailing blood behind it as it went. Gaspard paid no attention to it as it fled, keeping his eyes on the window it had come through.

A single, massive hand curled into a fist, before retracting into the palace. Gaspard heard something massive shift on the other side of the glass, and what sounded like a voice. Gaspard leaned out of his hiding place as the hidden bulk continued to shift.

Two lumbering footsteps thudded against the stones of the palace floor, and the hidden beast shifted into view. It was a towering, monstrous creature, taller even than the guard. Though it seemed at first to be a massive, bulky creature, closer examination revealed that this monster was thin and narrow, almost emaciated, its bones seemingly mere centimeters from tearing through its pallid white skin. The illusion of bulk came from what seemed to be a cloak of flesh trailing from its back: the corpses of dozens of individuals fused into a macabre cape that trailed behind the titanic creature as it moved.

Gaspard took quick note of all of this, but the details swiftly faded into the back of his mind. His eyes, and the full measure of his attention, focused on a single glint of gold atop the bone-white head of the creature. A crown, dented, bent out of shape, and bloodstained, but a crown nonetheless. A crown once fit for a king.

Gaspard clung to the shadows, and now the shadows clung to him. Another monster to kill in his pursuit of vengeance. Gaspard’s fist clenched tight around the handle of his sword, but only for a moment. His tense grip relaxed, and Gaspard slipped into the shadows once again. He took one final look at the pallid face of the king before he retreated out of sight.

Finding a hiding place far from any prying eyes, Gaspard took a moment to catch his breath and clear his head. No sooner had he done so than he heard the metallic footsteps of the guard approaching, responding to the earlier commotion. Gaspard held his breath and listened carefully. His silence proved an unnecessary precaution. The booming voice that rang out shortly after could not be missed.

“Find it,” the king demanded. His voice was carried out on ragged, gasping breaths, his speech slow, slurred, and uneven, but still it carried out.

Gaspard was almost glad to hear that there was semblance of the old king’s mind intact. It meant the king might remember what he had done. Why Gaspard had to kill him. Gaspard found some satisfaction in the thought of it, but he did not get ahead of himself. The king was not dead yet. Yet.