“Blackblood?”

Benadora nodded; “Of course, nothing can ever be simple. This is merely a theory of mine, but if the same power that infected the city’s citizens also resulted in them gaining unusual strength – I can only imagine one answer. Stigma has many abilities that we are as of yet unaware of. We are speaking of a conceptual power that was given to it by the Blackblood people before their golden age began.”

I didn’t know the timeline of their rise and fall. If they hadn’t yet founded their most famous Kingdom before the fall of the original empire, where the eight daughters were supposedly tried and placed into different objects, that meant that those events were even further into the past than I had originally anticipated. I had made the mistake of assuming that they happened concurrently.

“As I said, the records are poor in both quantity and quality. The most I can say is that Stigma was extremely important to their culture, and was considered to be the weapon that their first king used to unite the broken pieces of their Kingdom. Combined with your changing appearance and unusual abilities, I have concluded that you are in fact, turning into one of them.”

“How is that even possible? Am I gonna’ turn into some crazy, hulking monster?”

Benadora laughed, “Oh, nothing of the sort. They weren’t truly demons in the modern sense of the word. They sported large horns, taller skeletal structures, pale skin, and discoloured eyes, they were also extremely powerful. Some of them grew patches of scales. To be called a ‘demon’ was a term of endearment between them. It displayed strength and power to both insiders and external threats.”

I was suddenly reminded of the way that my hands had been changing. I reached down and plucked the leather mitts from my fingers, revealing my palms. Both hands were covered in dry, peeling skin. There was a blackness developing just beneath that top layer. I knew it wasn’t frostbite - but it certainly looked like it. Was she trying to tell me that scales were growing under there?

“Probably should have noticed that earlier,” I said sardonically.

“If you were worried about dying due to this, I suppose it offers some small comfort to know that it is not fatal.”

Could she really say that? For all I knew, Stigma’s process could easily be deadly. Just because I had gotten on just fine until then didn’t mean the future was guaranteed to be smooth as well.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I’ve been spending my time attempting to decipher what local records I can find, but as for you. I would not worry about being seen – a vast number of people are completely ignorant as to the existence of the Blackblood species. And those that are aware would not believe it if you told them directly.”

I really didn’t know how to take this news. I couldn’t argue with her observation that my body was changing rapidly. My skin was pale, even as I spent much of my time out in the sun, the dry areas seemed to suggest that something was happening to my hands and feet. But did that mean that her first guess was the correct one?

“As long as it doesn’t cause any problems,” I muttered.

Benadora’s eyes narrowed, “You seem rather unperturbed by the potential loss of your humanity.”

“What? My humanity? I’m not turning into an animal, Benadora.”

“Don’t you feel any urgency to rid yourself of this curse?” she asked in clear annoyance. The pieces suddenly clicked into place; she was thinking that I was going to cause even more damage somehow. I wasn’t showing her the frantic, wide-eyed panic that she wanted. For my part, growing horns didn’t seem like the end of the world. The child in me thought it was pretty cool.

“Sure, but staying alive is my first priority. Unless you have any bright ideas on how to get Stigma out of my body.”

Benadora stepped back, “No. I do not.”

“Then what the hell are you expecting from me? If you had a method to clear all of this up, I’d gladly help you out with it. The only lead I have is that the Inquisition has something.”

“The Inquisition? I wouldn’t mess with them if I were you.”

“It’s a little late for that – I assassinated their man in the Sull Army a few weeks ago.”

Benadora froze, still as a statue; “That was you?”

“I never said I make good decisions. But they paid me a lot of damn money, so I wasn’t going to turn down the chance. I thought you’d know already. It’s the only thing people talked about for a long time around here.”

Benadora clutched the sides of her head and sat back down at the table. I had thrown her for a loop all over again.

“What am I going to do with you…”

“Nothing. I’m sticking around town for a few weeks at least. If you’ve got anything to offer – I’m all ears, but chastising me for not running around like a headless chicken ain’t gonna’ help matters. If you find a solution to get this shit out of me, I’ll play along with it.”

That was enough to earn her contrition, “Very well.”

I pointed my thumb to the door, “And you don’t mind if I drop by to check on Ryan from time to time?”

“I didn’t expect you to care.”

I didn’t either.

“It’s courtesy. Am I not allowed to show a little of that now and again?”

“No. It’s fine. He’ll be up and out of bed in a few days. If you visit then he can let you into the house.”

That was everything that I wanted to ask. It hadn’t been the most productive visit in the world. Benadora was spitballing and leaning on me to do something about Stigma. That was ultimately my decision, but the suggestion that Pascen’s destruction was partly my fault was not totally lost on me. I had treated Stigma’s claims with too much credence before. Of course she was going to direct me into situations that benefitted her and her alone. Memories or no memories, it was hard to change a rotten personality like that.

“See you later. Don’t die in there Ryan!”

He shouted back through the doorway, “Thanks pal!”

Benadora was offended by the suggestion, “He won’t. I’ve spent hours scrubbing this place clean so he doesn’t get an infection.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

I headed back out through the door without a second look back. It was a surprise to see Ryan in such a bad state. He struck me as the type of person to keep himself out of trouble. I could have gone back to the bar and gotten some more drinks – but the mood has taken a turn for the sour. Stigma was continuing to stay silent even as I marched down the muddy streets. She already knew what I was going to say. Was there any point in us having that discussion?

I had very little leverage over her. She was an immutable spirit trapped inside of something hardier than a mortal body. She could control my body to some extent and hold me hostage at will. The only thing I could hold over her was how much more progress I had made versus her previous wielders. If her statements were accurate, they seldom lasted more than a few months while using her. I was her best shot at becoming whole again.

But making her whole again wasn’t something I necessarily wanted. If I could collect enough powerful souls, I could live a full life without worrying about her. She could kick and scream and paralyse me to try and get me to comply – but I was in a unique position. I had secured my own survival for much longer than the others; and I had a line into the Inquisitions library of confiscated artefacts in the form of Adelbern.

If I died all of that would go to waste. She’d be back at square one. Confined to that same library by the Inquisitors or passed between chancers and mercenaries until she got lucky and found one with some common sense. There was no certainty that they would comply with her any more than I did. I passed through one of the urban parks, attracting more than a little attention along the way. I had become a local celebrity, it was hard to hide something significant like what I had done. The militiamen would have talked amongst themselves, and then to outsiders when getting drunk at the bar.

The old man we met at the hunter’s guild wasn’t the only one who was high on the spice of nationalist fever. Anyone who was alleged to have given the Kingdom a kiss up the ass was treated like a hero everywhere in the Federation. That bad blood ran deep. I tried to keep myself from getting swept away with the tides. The Federation was more tolerable to live in than Sull – they didn’t have Inquisitors poking around for one thing, but I knew that there were still plenty of rotten people running the show.

Some of the kids I knew at the orphanage also had nationalist tendencies. The teenagers tended to speak at length about heading out and joining the military, becoming a knight or killing a lot of people and earning the recognition they had long been denied as parentless children. Why they would pay back a nation and society that had abandoned them was beyond me, but the harsh truth was that they didn’t know any better. Orphans were disposable. A bed and something to eat was luxury by the standards of some.

I could take solace in the fact that none of the onlookers decided to approach me and ask to hear the tale from the start again. The novelty had worn thin very quickly. I needed to do something with myself before I started itching to do a stupid job again. Before I knew it, I was back outside of the boarding house that we had chosen to stay in. Tahar was sitting out front on the step. She was silently watching the people go by.

She had been rather withdrawn since we returned from the dragon hunt. I tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to land back in reality with a gasp of surprise.

“You okay, Tahar?”

Her eyes glanced down at my recovering arm, before flicking back up to my face; “Yes. I am fine.”

“You don’t look fine to me.”

“Your concern is unwarranted.”

“What’s unwarranted about it? You’ve done me a lot of favours recently, we’re a team.”

She leaned back onto the closed door, “The only one injured in hunt was you. I am just thinking. There is no need for alarm.”

“If you say so.”

She shuffled out of the way and allowed me to step inside. As I walked back up the stairs to our room, I ran my fingers through my hair again. Locating the bumps under my skin was much easier the second time around. There was one of each side, and as I traced my hairline I found another pair poking out closer to my forehead. It was going to drive me insane knowing they were there. My restless fingers would be feeling for them without my input.

“Horns… fucking horns?”

Indeed, horns they were.