I struggle to hold my "Impersonation" spell together as the ritual's Summoning Call takes hold of me. Not because it's difficult, gods know Andy's summoning was harder to fool, but because of the power. The energy of the ritual wraps around my being, pulling me along towards my destination as intended, but the...taste of the energy, the mana...it's...wrong. It's blood and bile and fear. The metallic stench and taste of death. The sound of screaming children and sobbing mothers.

Being summoned with this energy is like being caught in a net made from sewn-together corpses, all leaking warm sticky blood and body fluids. I feel like I'm being caressed like a lover by a creature made of carrion.

It disgusts me. It enrages me.

I feel memories stirring within my being, some fearful, most are outraged, but a few...a few are hungry wicked things that frighten me. Those lives, they seem eager to throw themselves into the forefront of my mind. I push them away. I don't know if I can bear what they'd reveal of themselves, of what and who I was in those lives.

Instead I turn to Simon's life, though it's filled with anger and vengeance his enemies, the Viscardi, used the same methods as these cultists. He should have methods to do something with this. A way to make them pay for using human sacrifice.

I know I don't have time to truly experience the entirety of his life and instead try to pull only what I need from it. It doesn't work quite as intended.

I find myself standing in a tomb. It's an ancient place of crumbling stones and broken statues. In the center of the chamber is a massive sarcopagus. A small, whispered voice in the memory tells me this place was built less to honor the interred, and more to contain him should he choose to rise again.

"This was the moment." I hear from behind me.

I turn to find Simon staring at me. He's not what I expected. A short boy, painfully thin with slightly curly shoulder-length black hair and dark circles below bright green eyes. Aside from seeming tired and half starved he looks...startlingly average if well dressed. He could easily vanish in any city with the right clothes and maybe a change of hair color.

He speaks again, "This is what you needed isn't it? A way to use their methods against them? To avenge those they sacrificed?"

An awkward silence hangs in the air a moment before I find my voice, "Yes that's what I need...sorry...it's a little..."

"Strange to be talking to yourself? Don't worry, you're not." His gaze sharpens to nearly a glare, "When you remember everything I am...we were...then yes. But only then, not before. This is...well...cheating I suppose. Talking like this requires more mana than we're supposed to have. You're also going to gain more than you're supposed to here." He smirks and for a moment, a bare moment, and reveals the mischevious boy he could have been, but was not, not anymore.

Simon starts walking towards the sarcophagus, waving for me to follow before continuing. "Now watch closely. Feel what I feel, taste what I taste, and above all, learn what I learn. Take what I Take."

I feel the world shift as my perspective merges with Simon's. We embrace the memory together.

Fear churns my stomach as I walk towards the massive sarcophagus. Fear of failure, fear of success. Only my rage keeps my feet moving. Only my hate keeps my mind calm as my emotions run rampant. For a moment I even feel the stirrings of new hope in my withered heart before I crush it mercilessly. Better for me to crush it now, rather than let it grow only to be shattered by the Patriarch later. He enjoys such things, better to deny him the pleasure.

I first learned of the tomb almost two years after being taken by the Patriarch. The tomb of our ancestor, the tomb of the Dhamphir who devoured the most powerful Vampiric Coven in history. It was out of revenge for his murdered family, a wife and two children. The irony of it makes my teeth ache.

The Patriarch never misses a chance to remind us all of the Code of House Viscardi. Two simple words, the code. "Blood First." They forget that only half our blood is Viscardi. They forget our house was founded in vengeance.

It took little more than a year to find the entrance of the tomb within the catacombs beneath the manor, three more to steal the key from the Patriarch.

As I reach the sarcophagus, I hear a deafening roar from within it and watch as the entire tomb lights up with thousands of runes. Runes designed to contain. The ground shakes with the thrashing of the entombed half-man. The Dhamphir lives still.

I walk on shaking legs to the head of the enchanted prison, to a bowl carved into the stone. A bowl ringed with dragons, a drain at the bottom. As well as a second, smaller hole just large enough for a long needle. A bowl for the Patriarch to feed our ancestor the blood of slaves to deep him living, and a hole for a needle that his power may be stolen drop by drop.

Walking to the bowl, I pull my belt knife from it's sheath and slice my palm. The ground stops trembling as the scent of blood touches the air. I hold the blood in my cupped hand and pour all of my memories and emotions into it, alongside a promise, an Oath.

"Give me the power to kill our enemy and I will free you. Give me the power to tear his throat out and I will shatter your bindings! Give me the power to tear the Patriarch apart and by all the Gods and the Void itself I will break this prison!"

Not a drop remains as my blood flows into the dark opening. I try not to shake as I notice the few errant drops from my hand crawl across the stone into the sarcophagus and the hungry being inside. After a few moments I hear a chuckle. It's a deep and powerful thing that rumbles into the very stones of the prison. A moment later a dark and hungry voice answers, "Offer...accepted."

Hearing the response, I reach into my robes with shaking hands for the enchanted syringe, only to drop it as I look again to the bowl. It's filled with dark, powerful blood. Ancient blood. Vampiric blood. The scent of it touches something deep within my own power, resonating. I stand there frozen until I hear the voice speak again.

"Drink."

I lose control of my "Impersonation" spell as the entirety of Simon's life up to drinking the blood of the old half-vampire unfolds within my mind. More than that, the Dhamphir reciprocated the sharing of memories. His own loss and the resulting centuries of blood, pain, death, and war against his own sire burned through me. All of this, in an instant. Twice.

I struggle to come to terms with the psychological onslaught as I feel myself thrown into creation off target, the power enveloping me bursting into flame as the ritual begins to reject me. I glimpse the city rushing towards me as I fall from the sky.

Barely regaining mastery of myself, I use the power gained from Simon, that he himself gained from the Dhamphir, to seize control over the ritual and the blood fueling it. I detect two other beings tied to the ritual, one dying and the other gaining power from the ebbing life. I cut the connection between them, and ignite the power guiding the second being into creation, hoping to either burn it to death or send it back to wherever it came from.

I use the remaining power of the ritual to shield myself as I crash into the center of the ritual circle, landing in several inches of fresh blood. I feel ill and afraid as the scent and taste fill me not with disgust, but hunger.

As Maevin stumbles through the inner gate of the city he's awestruck by the battle raging in the plaza. A trio of massive undead creatures formed of writhing flesh and shattered bones strove to bring down the Avatar, while the remaining Imperial Infantry and Battlemages struggle to maintain their shield wall against armed civilians, the Avatar's army, and the few remaining city guardsmen. Maevin firms his grip on his hammer and rushes towards the lines, only a single thought in his mind.

"Please...Vera...still be alive..."

One of the officers in the Avatar's army, a Beast-man, shouts for the civilians to withdraw and allow the soldiers to face the Imperials. It's as ineffective as the first dozen times the order was given. None of the city's men retreat, they can't bring themselves to, not after seeing the bodies and blood just beyond the Imperial lines. Not with the screams of their wives and daughters sounding just beyond the enemy.

Maevin himself ignores the order, slamming his hammer into the enemy shield before him again and again, oblivious to his own injuries. Triumph thundering in his veins as he hears the shield crack with each blow, breaking apart. The soldier before him tries to retreat, tries to allow another of his kind to move foreward. Unfortunately for him, Maevin's furous assault continues and the tight press of bodies force him to remain in place.

With a roar of pain, rage, and fear, Maevin brings his hammer down again, finally shattering the shield and the arm strapped to it. The man behind him, an Elven soldier, takes the opportunity to stab the now unprotected enemy with a short spear. The lines press into the small opening, the weight of the bodies force Maevin to stand at the front of a small wedge.

"The tide's turning! We'll break this stalemate yet!" the Elf soldier shouts in Maevin's ear, "Keep it up with that hammer, break their defences and I'll strike them down! Don't worry, I've got your back!"

Encouraged, Maevin continues to strike out at every Imperial within reach, striving to create an opening, any opening, for the Elf. Ever so slowly, the enemy soldiers around them fall, one by one. Terrified yet hopeful, Maevin screams defiance at the Imperials, a call echoed by the other men of the city.

A call cut short by the flash of fire in the sky.

The battle pauses as everyone looks up, fearing a powerful city-burning spell or worse, a dragon.

A writhing ball of blood-red flame falls from the heavens, landing in the pooled blood at the center of the ritual.

"Fight you fools! We must end this NOW!" The Avatar shouts at us as she finally crushes the first of the flesh-golems beneath her hammer.

Maevin is among the first to regain his senses and surprises an enemy by crushing their skull as they turn back to the fight.

"...end this NOW!" I punctuate my command by destroying one of the abominations hounding me.

Finally. This should end soon.

This battle's dragged on long enough. Only two of these monstrosities will be quick work, I just can't afford to waste any more time or energy on them. At least the civilians should be safe from the creatures now that they can't rotate out to recover by devouring the flesh of the living.

I block a swipe of undead claws with the shaft of my war-hammer. Redirecting the first creature's momentum, I use it's body to block the charge of the second.

I hope the little champion survived, it's rare for a being to emerge unscathed from a failed summoning. Almost as rare as hitting the target location...then again, he was taught by The Lady herself for however short a time, we shall see...

A horizontal swing throws both creatures crashing against the battered city wall. I use the moment to cast a mass rejuvination spell on my troops. It's the best I can manage as the flesh-golems attack again.

I lift my head from the pool of still-warm blood. It takes a true effort of will, but I manage to spit out the blood in my mouth. I end up swallowing a small ammount anyway. I can barely move, let alone rinse.

The taste of it was sheer pleasure, unlike anything else. The most incredible food couldn't compare in flavor, the most intense, passionate sex pales in comparison, the buzz more intoxicating than even the best booze or drugs. I forcefully push the memory of it from my mind, shivering slightly in horror.

It's difficult to master myself, to stop shaking. The sensory overload doesn't help.

Before the memory I could see flow of mana and even had a good idea of it's properties. Now, now the world is laid bare before me. It's blinding.

I see the truth of the world around me. Everything, flesh, blood, stone, even the air itself, is simply...energy. Mana flows through the world in uncountable colors and to me each one is a scent, a taste, an emotion. I experience them in their totality. Constantly. Desperate for sanity, I suppress my senses to a bare whisper rather than a thundering roar.

Something...there was something...It was important! I had to do something...

Able to think beyond raw energy contained in a single mote of dust again, I look around to try and remember.

I move forward, at first crawling then stumbling, as I spot the altar. There's a small girl laying atop it, no more than six or seven. She's looking at me, teary red eyes shining like rubies, small body struggling to breathe, blood slowly dripping into the pool from a roughly-carved groove in the stone. Her eyes are so bright, her spirit kind, innocent, and so filled with sorrow.

A man in dark robes is kneeling next to the altar, gasping, sacrificial knife in hand. He's obviously suffering from the backlash of the broken ritual. The darkness of his soul stirrs something within me, something dark. I end him without even thinking about it, ripping the blood from his flesh and adding it to the pool. Another shiver runds down my spine as I realize how easily I killed him, and with so little thought.

I reach the girl just as her heart stops. Before the light can fully fade from her eyes, I flood her body with my mana. I try to help her, try to heal her, but it's not enough. She'd been stabbed several times and I don't understand enough about why her body works to fix it, let alone how to coax a soul that's already leaving back into the mortal form. Something strange happens with her soul though. It tries to shape what little mana it has, but energy is too weak.

Unable to do anything else for her, I take all the mana I was using to try and heal her body and give it to her slowly fading soul directly. Hoping that it would help her in the next life at least. What happens next shocks me.

Her soul doesn't fade from the world. Instead it uses the energy I gave it to hold itself in place, and shapes a new body from it.

She's Incarnating! Wait...no...it's slightly different...she's not concious, this is instinct! What...

My thoughts are interrupted as I feel mana rushing towards me.

I shred the spell with raw mana before it reaches me, and retaliate with the same power I used to kill the other cultist. After that, I check to see if there's any still living victims that I can help.

The runes for the ritual were themselves written in blood, making my task easier.

Using the knowledge and blood-controlling powers of the Dhampir, I erased the runes of the ritual entirely.

Once done with that, I turned my attention to the city itself, trying to sense only the spilled blood and death, and infusing the energy of it into the blood-pool. Before long the blood itself glows with a dark potent light.

Ok...so...now that I have it, what do I do with it? There's a shit ton of power left over...in the blood...

The sight of it, the scent of it, burns my in veins. The thought of taking that power for myself, drinking it in, is all but overwhelming. My mission forgotten, I step towards the pool.

I can't be certain what brings me back to my senses, whether it's the mewl of the kitten or the roar of the creature.

Either way, the sound is enough to break the trance and I turn just in time to try and escape. I throw myself to the side, away from the altar and the girl's corpse. Instead of dying, I lose an arm. Losing it didn't hurt, it felt like a strong tug, afterwards the pain was dulled by adrenaline.

The monstrous thing stands above me, chewing.

Fuck me...ok, stop the bleeding...can I even grow my godsdamn arm back? SHIT! Here it comes again! Think stupid! Spells!

I roll away from the next attack, throwing an orb of blinding light in the general direction of the things...what I think is the thing's face.

Shit...what the flying fuck am I going to do now? This thing's got enough power to keep going all night! I can't keep up with that!

My eyes are drawn back to the pool.

Fuck me but this is a bad idea...if I lose myself in it...

I run out of time to think as the flesh-golem charges me again. I run to the pool of blood, calling it to me. I bend the blood and the power within it to my will. I dive deeply into the mana fuelling it, touching the nature of it. The pain, fear, and unwillingness of the victims lingers within it, the echo of their deaths. I take those echoes, gather them together, and focus them into a single thought.

Vengeance.