Morgan was starting to think the sedative wasn’t going to work. Perhaps the dosage for such a large pot had been insufficient. Perhaps alchemical concoctions couldn’t be mixed with other substances. He didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to let this chance slip away—it had been quite a while since he’d backstabbed anyone, but he still remembered how. Very carefully, he pulled his sword free of the ring it hung through, slowly so as not to let the steel sing out. Holding the sword firmly in his fist, he ran through it in his head: kick the door open, Hollow Charge to Blake’s back, backstab as many times as he could. He debated priming a Vortex Lance and starting with that, but he didn’t know what kind of defense Blake had, and he just felt like a backstab would be more devastating.

He was just steeling himself to act when one of the Ardeni women fell forward, her head clunking as it thumped into the table. Blake took another bite of stew, not even looking up until he’d swallowed it. He set his spoon down and looked at the woman. “Gods, woman. Did old Gunther keep you up all night?” He chuckled to himself, but then more of the “guests” started to slump over, one even sliding down and slipping under the table. “What’s the….” He shook his head as though to clear it, and then he braced himself against the table, his head wobbling in different directions.

Morgan didn’t wait any longer. He kicked the door, charged at Blake, and felt his Backstab skill guiding his blade. He drove it home, slipping it into the flesh at the nape of Blake’s neck and jamming six inches of solar steel into his brain. Morgan relaxed as Blake’s body flopped onto the table. Everyone else in the room, save Keiry, was sound asleep. He breathed deeply, stilling his racing mind and planning his next move. It was a pity Gunther hadn’t been to dinner, but Keiry could show him where he was. “Will Gunther have any idea I killed him? Do you know where he is?” he asked Keiry, but he stopped talking as he saw the horror on her face and felt a slight tug on his sword.

Morgan looked down and was suddenly aware that he hadn’t received any Energy for slaying Blake. Additionally, there wasn’t much blood seeping out around his sword blade. More worrisome than any of that, though, was that Blake’s body was twitching. “Oh, fuck no,” Morgan said, yanking his sword free. He stepped to the side of Blake’s chair and brought Bloodfang down on Blake’s exposed neck. He cut halfway through, which was remarkable because he felt like the fine blade, combined with his strength, could have cut through a small tree. Still, he lifted it and hacked down again and again until he severed the head from the twitching body.

The body still shuddered, like it didn’t know it was dead, and Morgan bent to pick up Blake’s head by the hair. “This motherfucker is not human.” Keiry was kneeling behind the table, peeking over the top to see what had happened. “Keiry, go throw some more coals in the oven!”

He set Blake’s head, purple tongue lolling out of its mouth, on the table and then threw his chair over backward, sending his twitching body sprawling. Then, as Keiry rushed from the room, Morgan went to work, hacking the limbs off the shuddering, thrashing body. It was messy, sweaty work, and it took him a lot longer than he thought it should. Once again, he lamented his missing arm. Still, after a long, laborious process, he had Blake’s body, his limbs, and his head all separated. Even then, the various parts shuddered and twitched.

Morgan yanked the table cloth off the table, piled the bloody parts of Blake on the fabric, gathered up the corners, and dragged it back toward the kitchen. At one point, he contemplated throwing Blake’s body into his storage pouch, and he stopped himself for purely selfish reasons: he still hadn’t gotten any Energy for killing him, and he was afraid he’d lose out if the creature officially “died” in his dimensional container. So he dragged the twitching mess along the hallway, leaving a bloody smear in his wake, to the kitchen. When he arrived, he saw that Keiry had stoked the flames in the big cast-iron double oven, and he smiled at her, his face splattered with blood.

“We’ll take care of this guy, one way or another!” He couldn’t help the ghoulish grin on his face, and then he opened the table cloth, picked up Blake’s head, and tossed it into the fire. The coal chamber on the big stove was in the center of the two ovens, and it was pretty large, so Morgan shoved Blake’s two severed arms into the burning coals and slammed the door shut, opening the vents and flues wide. “Let’s let those burn down a bit, and then I’ll toss some more in there.” He looked to the twitching legs and torso and shivered. Keiry had backed away from the stove into a corner and watched the scene in wide-eyed horror.

A couple of minutes passed, and Morgan was going to pop the coal chamber open to check on the process when he saw deep golden motes start to coalesce on the remaining body parts. They stopped twitching, and a stream of Energy coursed into his chest.

***Congratulations! You’ve achieved level 28 Vortex Duelist. You have gained 8 Intelligence, 8 Agility, 6 Will, 6 Dexterity.***

“Alright, one down. Show me where to find Gunther, Keiry.” She nodded and scooted out of the corner, moving toward the door. “Hang on a second.” Morgan rummaged in his pouch for an old shirt and gave it to her. “Wear this for now; we’ll find you something better soon.” She smiled, the first genuinely happy expression Morgan had seen on her, and slipped the shirt over her head. She had to pull the sleeves up a dozen inches, and the shirt hung down to her knees, but at least she wasn’t running around naked.

Morgan followed her through the corridors to an archway that opened onto the courtyard. Keiry turned to him and held a finger to her lips, miming a bird flapping its wings. Morgan nodded, and she tip-toed out into the courtyard and then back into the keep through a large, central doorway. Morgan followed quickly, glancing to the far corner where the giant bird’s nest was. His heart almost stopped when he saw the big, saucer-like yellow eye following his movements, but then he was back inside the keep, and Keiry shut the door behind him.

They were in a wide central hallway with double doors about fifteen paces further on. One of the doors was propped open with a large piece of broken stonework. “Through there and down some steps, you’ll find the main holding cells, and Gunther’s room is just beyond, near the maternity cells.”

“Where did Blake keep his quarters? His laboratory?”

“There’s a spiral stair in the room beyond; his rooms are up there.”

“Alright, do me a favor—go check on those that ate the stew, make sure they’re still breathing, and burn the rest of Blake’s body. Just to be sure.” Keiry nodded and slipped back out the door, and Morgan, sword held ready, approached the open doorway. He was just a couple of paces from the door when he heard a man’s voice screaming commands.

“Yes! Like that! Line up, fools! Hold your weapons ready!”

“Fuck.” Morgan strode through the doorway, walking onto a flagstone landing atop a short set of stairs leading down into a high-ceilinged grand hall. The marble floor, which once must have been host to dancing and merry-making, was now lined with six iron cages, three to a side. The cage doors were open, and their former occupants, twenty or so naked men and women, stood at the base of the steps, pointing weapons toward Morgan. Behind them was a tall, gray-skinned man with no hair and a single eye in the center of his forehead. He wore a red enameled breastplate and wielded a heavy, spiked mace in one hand and a bronze, gem-studded rod in the other.

“Who are you? Where’s Lord Blake?” he shrieked, revealing teeth that looked like he’d filed them to points.

“He’s dead, asshole.” Morgan scanned the throng of collared people and found what he was looking for. Rage colored his vision red when he saw Issa, naked, collared, face bruised, and blood freshly running from her nose. She held a wooden club, and Morgan could see her straining to lower it. Morgan looked back at Gunther and growled, “You fucked up.”

“Stop him! Kill him!” Gunther shrieked, waving the bronze rod up in the air. Morgan didn’t wait to see if the assembled mob followed the command; he took a hopping leap off the top of the steps, focusing on Gunther, and used Hollow Charge to streak through the air, over the crowd. When he was close to Gunther, he activated Circle of Combat. A black maelstrom of Energy surged up around him and Gunther, ripping through racks of equipment, wooden benches, and various other small objects that were strewn about the center of the hall.

“No, no, Gunther. This will just be you and me.”

“If Blake is dead, I’m master here! I can reward you greatly to leave.” Gunther licked his lips, his tongue flicking over his sharp teeth as the two circled each other.

“No, there won’t be any mercy for you, Gunther. I suppose that’s not true; I could make you fight Issa, and I think she’d take her time with you. I’m just going to kill you. Count your blessings.”

“No, wait, you see...” Gunther feinted left, then tried to swing his heavy mace down on Morgan from the right. Morgan saw it coming a mile away and stepped outside the swing, using his sword to push the mace along. Gunther stumbled, losing himself in the momentum, and Morgan stepped in and thrust his sword into his side. He pulled back, noting the spurt of arterial blood that pumped out as he withdrew his blade.

“I think I hit your renal artery, Gunther. You’re a dead man walking.” Morgan took another step back and held his sword out, ready for another wild attack. Gunther gasped, though, and dropped the rod, reaching back and trying to push his hand against the burbling hole in his side. He groaned, spat some word Morgan didn’t recognize, and then charged, swinging his mace in a furious overhand smash. Morgan instinctively slipped into The Crane Defends the Nest, but he didn’t back up; he moved forward and to the side.

He easily parried Gunther’s mace, then brought his sword around and sliced at the side of Gunther’s neck. Just the top inch of his sword hit, but it was enough. Blood fountained out from the slash, and suddenly Morgan felt incredible strength flow out of his sword and into his limbs. Wait? Limbs? He looked to his left arm, and there, stretching out from his stump, was an ethereal red, glowing arm. He flexed the phantom fist, noting the long gleaming talons. Fury filled his mind, and he tore into Gunther with alternating hacks from his sword and swipes from the taloned ghost-arm.

When he came back to himself, he was on his knees, Gunther’s mangled corpse an unrecognizable mess of flesh and bone before him. He looked up and around and saw the wide-eyed stares of the formerly enslaved people. Even Issa was hesitant at first to approach him, but when he made eye contact with her, she charged forward and flung her arms around his neck, kissing his face. “I knew you were coming! I felt you the whole time.”

“Ugh, sorry. I lost myself—I think the Blood Rager’s spirit came out of my sword and affected me.” Morgan kissed her back but saw that he was getting blood all over her. He stood up, moving between her and the crowd of former prisoners, then he pulled a cloak from his ring and wrapped it around her. “Do you see a brass-colored rod?” He looked around, pushing aside debris with his boot. Then he saw the rod under what might have once been Gunther’s arm. He bent down to pick it up. “I think this controls the collars. Any idea how to work it?”

“Bond with it,” a man’s voice called from the crowd. Morgan nodded and ran a trickle of Energy into the rod. It became clear to him how to use it, then, and he pointed the rod at Issa.

“Release.”