-oOo-

  Chapter 54

  -oOo-

  Sometimes it was best to start simple.

  “Tell me your name.”

  Sylvia’s words were more than a question. They were a command. The idea reverberated through a psychic thread, magic compelling an answer. The maid showed not a hint of resistance.

  Though, for a matter so minor, Sylvia wouldn’t have expected any regardless.

  “My name is Ludovica, miss,” the maid answered. “But there is no need to call me anything other than maid. It’s an honor to be known to the masters. If you’re a good and studious girl, you might be known to them as well.”

  Sylvia grimaced. She wondered how Lord Naopte planned to sell this husk of a human being. Or maybe he didn’t. The silver-haired witch scrutinized the maid’s red uniform. It wasn’t just a contrast of colors, the clothes Sylvia wore had a subtly different design than those on Ludovica.

  Recalling the Academy, she wondered if this was important.

  “Why is my uniform blue?”

  “Maids with red uniforms belong to Lord Naopte,” Ludovica answered, verdant eyes like dull glass. “Maids with blue uniforms are in training. When they become good girls, they are sold to Lord Naopte’s customers. We have to work hard. That way, Lord Naopte will make lots of money and you’ll have a loving master.”

  In other words, swapping to a red uniform would attract more attention, not less. The villa’s servants might overlook a trainee in unexpected spaces. New girls would be brought to the ground floor all the time. Established maids in the house uniform would be recognized on sight.

  Which brought her to the main question.

  “How do I access the upper floors of the villa?” Sylvia pressed.

  “I’m sorry,” Ludovica denied, her voice carrying all the cheer of a hollow puppet. “Only good girls are allowed on the main floor. If you are diligent and follow the instructions of the masters, I can bring you upstairs in two months.”

  That wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. The silver-haired witch tugged on all three strings, invoking a powerful psychic pressure.

  “I’m a good girl,” Sylvia stated, her words a command. “I’ve already been here for three months. How do I get to the upper floors?”

  This time, there was a moment of resistance. Then, defiance crumbled like paper in front of the compulsion. Ludovica was going to need some serious therapy when she got out of here. Otherwise, she’d be a complete push over in the face of psychic magic.

  “Ah,” the maid sounded. Ludovica blinked. Then her bright and empty smile returned. “When a girl first leaves the dungeon, she must volunteer for a test. Today’s volunteers will be dishes in the buffet. Since you’re a good girl, I’m sure the masters will happily accept.”

  That was…, creepy. Sylvia had a solid guess what this ‘buffet’ would involve, and food wasn’t part of it. Tapping a finger against her chin, the witch pondered her next action. The only thing she needed was an excuse. Still, she wanted to be sure this path wasn’t a railroad to something nasty. If only so she could maximize the damage before fireballs started flying.

  “Will I have a chance to explore?” she asked.

  Sylvia applied no psychic pressure. She wanted an honest answer from the maid’s perspective.

  “You’ll be brought to Mistress Evelina, who’ll prepare you for the buffet,” Ludovica replied. “But I can show you parts of the villa so you’ll know what to look forward to when you pass the test.”

  Excellent then. One last check. “And there’s no other way to reach the ground floor?”

  The maid shook her head. “Master Petru doesn’t allow the maids to leave the dungeon except by proving their subservience. If this task is displeasing, a different opportunity will present itself in a few days.”

  So be it. “I volunteer for the buffet.”

  A foul feeling oozed over her, a corruption, sinking into her flesh. This acceptance, fake as it was, let the hobgoblin’s law slink deeper. A glance revealed that Law of Service: Maid was closing on seven percent.

  Sylvia’s lips pressed. It’d be best not to let this game play out for too long.

  “Please wait here. I will inform one of the masters at once,” Ludovica said.

  The maid turned to leave. Sylvia tugged three threads before the woman could take a single step.

  “Master Vadim already approved my service,” Sylvia commanded. Then she touched another psychic thread while speaking aloud. “I’d like to meet the hobgoblin. Can you make that happen?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ludovica answered, shaking her head. “Only maids owned by House Naopte are permitted to serve Master Taranis.”

  She’d save the hobgoblin for last, then. Sylvia gave a sharp nod. Everything was in order.

  “Thank you, Ludovica,” Sylvia said politely. “Now, please remain where you are and think of nothing until I give another order.”

  The maid went as still as a statue, her verdant eyes like foggy glass.

  After sorting her thoughts, Sylvia projected a camera. Flipping it around, the witch checked her appearance. A stream of glossy hair fell down the asteri’s back. The silken locks picked themselves up, tying themselves into a single braid. It’d been a while since she’d worn it like this. Sylvia had become fond of her cute, curly twin tails. The bouncy fluff was so fun.

  Plus, Emmy liked it.

  But her old style was nice too. And nostalgic. A pity she didn’t have a ribbon to weave into it.

  Amused, Sylvia snapped a few photos. Later she’d put up a post titled: ‘Maid Assassins From Hell’.

  Minor issues resolved, Sylvia flipped open her status screen and checked the damage.

  The asteri grimaced. She was fifteen hundred mana short, with two thirds of that number chopped off the max due to resurrection sickness. The rest had been spent on the spells she’d cast since waking.

  “I need to be careful about how much mana I use from now on.”

  It was frustrating. After she Awakened, Sylvia had gotten into the habit of using magic for almost everything. Casual spells had next to no impact on her pool. However, in a situation like this, every point had to count.

  Eyes of fractal pink turned to the puppeted woman. There were things, however, that couldn’t be neglected.

  “Don’t resist,” Sylvia ordered.

  “■■■ ■■■■■ ■■ ■■, ■■■, ■■■, ■■■.”

  The silver-haired girl drew in psychic ether, forming marionette's frame and strings anew. After, the witch recast private booth before collapsing the initial privacy spell. The bubble of law imploded, erasing all evidence in its wake. The regal vampire, Vadim, remained under the table. The demon was out like a light. Unbroken slumber would hold for an hour. Even if she doused the crud muffin in gasoline and lit him on fire, he wouldn’t wake up.

  Sylvia checked the room again, making sure everything was in order. Then she cursed Vadim twice with worms of rot before dismissing and renewing crystalline heart.

  She was as ready as she’d ever be.

  Sylvia turned to Ludovica. “Take me upstairs.”

  “Please follow me,” Ludovica said politely. “I’ll bring you to Master Petru then Mistress Evelina.”

  With an empty smile, the maid opened the door. Sylvia followed out into the hall. The moment the asteri passed through the law boundary of private booth, a page in her soul burned.

  I’m moving to assassinate the major figures. Be ready in case everything goes up in flames. Wish me luck.

  Sylvia didn’t wait for her sister’s answer.

  An omen of danger clung to the air. Not a creeping sense of doom, but a lingering threat. The intensity was slightly weaker than before. Maybe the hobgoblin was distracted.

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  Flat-heeled shoes sounded on the floor, echoing in the stone halls. Ludovica traced a path past the prison. Ghouls in rounded alcoves glared at the girls, their corpse-like bodies utterly still. Sylvia considered the merits of cursing each, but she feared her mana would be wasted on the trash mobs.

  If only she dared gather blood ether, then things would be more efficient. But she didn’t. Ghouls, like their progenitors, were sensitive to the element blood. Raw mana might slip their notice, but shifting the ether in the atmosphere was asking for attention.

  When the hall reached its end, the only path led to the right. Relying on the map accumulating in her head, Sylvia concluded the dungeons were one giant rectangle. At the far end was the resurrection pool. Here, on the other side, were the stairs. In the alcove gazing up at the path was a massive ghoul. The giant creature was two heads taller than its brethren. Instead of clothes, it wore heavy metal armor. In its right hand the massive knight held a halberd, the axe blade as dark as night.

  C-II/High.

  Hmm. Sylvia hadn’t seen any others like this, so she marked this one for death. The witch wiggled her fingers. Worms of rot crawled along the corridor before slinking into the phantasm’s flesh.

  Sylvia’s aim was to gut the villa’s mid-level strength. Quantity was no substitute for quality, especially in the netherworld, but numbers still had effect. The less minions left living when the battle started in earnest, the easier things would become.

  Boss fights always went smoother without the adds.

  Of course, Sylvia wasn’t above cheesing the boss. If Baron Naopte and the hobgoblin gave her the opportunity, she’d send both to an early grave.

  Ludovica ascended the stairs, Sylvia a half step behind.

  After the dungeons came a larger chamber with double doors. To her left was a rich, wooden desk overlooking the only path to and from the dungeons. While the stone halls below were cold and empty, the first floor of the villa was a display of wealth and elegance. Vases and statues were placed on stands, the walls a mix of beige and brown. A few paintings added color, revealing the greatest sights of distant worlds.

  Behind the desk was a vampire. He had a sharp face and a square jaw. His red eyes were like curdled blood, the sockets angled in a way that granted a deadly vibe.

  Petru Naopte, Sylvia presumed. The devil was C-IV/Mid, making him a core piece of Baron Naopte’s support.

  The vampire shot them a glance. Master Petru’s mind was captured by bureaucracy, a great pile of papers in front of him. Petru’s quill swept over a form, his handwriting a squiggle of beautiful curves. Sylvia felt a moment of sympathy. She knew the feeling of paperwork all too well.

  Then she quashed the emotion. Why should she commiserate with a slaving fruit cake?

  Since Petru’s eyes were elsewhere, Sylvia fiddled her fingers to conjure a curse. The vampire’s gaze suddenly shot up. A terrible omen gripped her. Tension rose as though a scene from a horror movie, the murderer lurking outside the victim’s window.

  Blueberry muffins.

  “Master Petru,” Ludovica greeted with a curtsy. “This one has volunteered for the buffet.”

  Sylvia echoed the maid’s polite gesture. The worm of rot wiggled down her leg then ran across the carpet. The curse hid under Petru’s desk. There it lurked, awaiting a chance to slide into the vampire’s flesh. A curse placed while the target was unaware was difficult to detect. The same magic was more readily noticed when the victim’s hackles were up. A regal vampire, with their sharp sensitivity toward psychic and blood, was a foe for which Sylvia should be especially cautious.

  “This girl,” Petru began, red eyes studying the silver-haired witch. “I don’t recognize her. When was she brought?”

  “Three months ago, Master Petru,” the raven-haired maid answered.

  Petru placed a quill in its holder. The vampire stood, the impending doom grew sharper, an orchestra approaching crescendo.

  Then, all at once, the gut feeling came to a screeching halt.

  A maid rushed into the room, a siren with light blue hair and feathery wings a shade darker. Compared to magissa like Ludovica and Sylvia, this maid was taller and her shape more curved. Sirens were Xemyalistra, a genera that reflected the mother rather than the maiden.

  “Master Petru,” the siren maid greeted, pinching her skirt as she fell into a deep curtsy. She wore a blue uniform like the asteri. “Marianna vanished.”

  “What?” Petru’s voice rose. “Impossible. How could she vanish?”

  The vampire moved around the desk, prior matters forgotten. Sylvia’s worm of rot burst into motion, climbing Petru’s leg before diving into his flesh. The silver-haired witch wiggled her fingers again. A second curse slipped along the rug and into the devil.

  “When? Who was around when it happened? Has anyone checked the pool?” Petru asked, spitting rapid fire demands. “Gather the maids. We’ll scour the building for her. If she’s truly gone, I will question everyone thoroughly. Someone saw the signs and kept their mouth shut. Whoever it was will be punished severely.”

  Sylvia’s pastel pink eyes were keen. With Petru so distracted, she cast a third curse before slipping it into the vampire’s body.

  Three worms of rot were overkill for a mid-rank, second consolidation devil. Sylvia had gained enough familiarity to know this thanks to Quiet Curses. But she wanted to be sure Petru would die. Vampires had innate regeneration fueled through the consumption of blood essence. If her curse didn’t kill the man outright, he’d be back on his feet in a few minutes.

  Particularly, with all the ghouls around. Ghouls were spies, soldiers, and walking blood sacks.

  “I don’t know, Master Petru,” the siren answered, shrinking under the barrage. “I – I’ll contact the others.”

  “No. You’ll come with me,” Petru said sharply. “Take me to wherever Marianna was seen last.”

  With nary a glance in their direction, the devil took off at a furious walk. Ludovica and Sylvia were left in the chamber, standing awkwardly in his wake.

  …

  Fate magic was so random.

  Obscured approach was a good spell. Sylvia would try to remember it in the future.

  The witch gave the raven-haired maid a psychic nudge.

  “Give me a tour of the villa. Choose a path that looks natural, but will lead me past most of Lord Naopte’s retainers.”

  Ludovica blinked. The maid put on her usual fake smile.

  “Please follow me. I’ll show you the wonderful house you’ll be living in, should you prove worthy during the buffet,” the verdant-eyed maid said with empty cheer.

  With those creepy words, Ludovica led her through the house.

  Hazy, gray light poured in through a line of windows. The Naopte Villa was on the third layer of Tartarus. Here could be found a sky of sun and ash. From time to time, storms would drench the world in crimson rain. On rarer occasions, the haze would break, revealing blue sky and brilliant light.

  Through the glass was the courtyard of the villa, the ground carpeted in scraggy grass. Two abominations rested on either end. Titans. The giant, humanoid creatures were covered in bulbous boils. Their arms were thick and long. Their fingers stretched, the tips ending in inhuman claws that reached all the way to the ground even while the giants were standing.

  The phantasms didn’t so much have a head as a split stump. Their shape reminded Sylvia of bloated zombies from a game she’d played many years past. The System marked them as C-III/Low. Regal vampires never lacked for minions.

  “Can I see the courtyard?” Sylvia asked.

  This time she didn’t tug on the psychic threads. Sylvia wanted a real answer.

  “Of course,” Ludovica said, her voice sweet emptiness.

  They stepped out into the sun. Shrouded by the gray ash, the warmth was diffuse yet welcoming. A growing sense of threat seemed to loom over the area, a warning that Sylvia shouldn’t linger. The asteri shifted a psychic thread, encouraging Ludovica to walk faster.

  Her fingers twitching, Sylvia spawned four worms of rot. The curses slithered into the closest abomination. Pastel pink eyes flickered to the other….

  Warning turned to dread. No time. She had to leave right now.

  “Take us back inside,” she insisted.

  The raven-haired maid strolled with a smile. Right as they entered the building, Sylvia witnessed Petru storm into the courtyard. Several nervous, blue-uniformed maids followed in his wake. The vampire shouted at a distant servant, forcing her to his side.

  With a slight tremble, Sylvia let Ludovica guide her through the villa’s halls.

  One last opportunity presented itself.

  A wight hung outside an open door, chatting with the man inside. Nox Mors Corpus was a cousin species to the vampire. Unlike its famous siblings, Sanguis and Luna, all members of the Mors genera were producers as well as consumers. Wights could cultivate using blood ether as well as blood essence.

  Thus, the bloodlines weren’t in direct competition. Wights were often found where vampires wandered. Mostly because they liked the blood stones the vampire clans refined.

  Sylvia strode past. As she did, a pair of prepared curses fell from the inside of her skirt. Plop. Plop. The runes wiggled across the hardwood floor before skittering up the wall. The wight hardly noticed when they jumped onto his back.

  As for the vampire in the room? Sylvia left him alone.

  Finally, they reached their destination.

  “Mistress Evelina, this one volunteered for the buffet,” Ludovica introduced with a curtsy.

  Sylvia matched the maid, greeting the vampiress gracefully.

  Evelina Naopte was a tall woman whose pale skin verged on alabaster. A long dress draped over her body like a curtain of blood, showing every curve. Her hair fell down her back in waves, the color white-gold. The vampiress seemed to sneer when she gazed at Sylvia, her red-violet eyes revealing a deep sense of superiority.

  It was unusual to find women in this business, particularly when the organization had so many men. Sylvia wondered what foolish notion made Evelina believe she was immune to her companions’ perversions. Perhaps she thought her bloodline as a vampire would protect her.

  Stupid.

  Scum never hesitated to turn on its own. Yet, wherever there was rubbish, vermin would gather, hoping for a feast. A con always worked best on a sly insider. Those who wished to play along, thinking themselves the wise manipulator, would discover instead that they were the greater fool.

  “A little thing, isn’t she?” the vampiress said.

  Evelina sauntered forward, viewing the silver-haired witch. Sylvia tilted her head, trying to look shy and submissive. Her blood throbbed, the cursed flesh sending tendrils of psychic subservience through her being. The uncomfortable, alien feeling lent a hint of veracity to her act.

  Evelina’s hand cupped the asteri’s chin, forcing it up.

  “My, what beautiful eyes you have,” the vampiress said. Her smile had a sadistic lilt. “You’ll make the perfect dessert. In time, you’ll become sweetness and submission. But first – ”

  Smack!

  Without warning, Evelina’s right hand reared back. With brutal force, she slapped Sylvia across the cheek. The shock was enough to make the asteri stumble. She could feel a dribble of blood from where the vampiress’s nails had cut into flesh.

  Evelina was C-II/High, far short of Sylvia’s level. But vampires were a mixed species and the witch’s skin had been made softer by resurrection sickness.

  “How dare you look at me with scorn,” Evelina sneered. “You witches think you’re special. You’re nothing. Without your magic, you’re a bug. Crawl, worm.”

  Grabbing Sylvia’s silver tress, the vampiress threw her to the ground. The asteri gritted her teeth, absorbing the abuse with a grimace.

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  Evelina’s red-violet eyes turned to Ludovica.

  “This one needs special training. Lord Naopte will want to keep her,” the vampiress instructed. Then her evil eyes turned back to the witch. “But first, we need to break her. This little treat still clings to the belief that she can be saved. Tonight, we’ll make her writhe with pleasure. One taste, and she’ll be begging for her fix forever.”

  The woman’s smile was the visage of malice.

  Evelina opened a drawer. From it, she drew a vial of crimson blood. Sylvia could feel the thick ethers embedded in the substance. A potion. Not as witches made them. This concoction was a manifestation of a regal vampire’s magic, an interlacing of blood and psychic with the strongest energy leaning toward the mind.

  “Get up,” Evelina ordered. “Then drink this.”

  Expression flat, Sylvia picked herself up off the floor. Starlight eyes fell upon the potion.

  “Don’t think you can refuse, girl,” Evelina hissed, her words a serpent’s whisper.

  A cold, pink universe gazed into a putrid pit of red and violet. Sylvia huffed. One of these days, she needed to use a skill book to learn how to lie.

  “■.”

  The witch spoke. It wasn’t a word. It was a spell. With a single sound she unleashed four runic chains. The first was a link of twelve runes. The rest were a steady pattern of seven, seven, seven. Wind blade, a magic bound to Sylvia’s heart. Ether roared from her palace, giving life to a quartet of invisible swords.

  Evelina’s eyes widened with shock. Vampires were fast. The woman backstepped, her body swaying to the side.

  Sylvia’s mind and mana were faster.

  The blades struck with the swiftness of an assassin’s knife. The first sliced high. The demoness leaned. Instead of splitting her skull, the sword of air carved through her cheek, taking with it a slab of bone and meat. The second followed the first, only milliseconds between them. Before she could react, it cut through Evelina’s hip.

  Air severed tendon and muscle. The vampiress sagged, legs crumbling beneath her. Ki surged, lending supernatural support.

  But it was already too late to dodge.

  Not that Evelina had any hope in the first place.

  The last two blades were like an axe. The pair moved in a single unit, one crescent of wind stacked directly behind the other. A broadsword of air slashed through ribs and flesh, carving toward the demon’s heart. The leading spell failed before it could reach its target. The second finished the deed. Evelina’s core split in twain, blood essence ravaged by an explosion of wind ether.

  Red-violet eyes still frozen in confusion, the vampiress collapsed.

  Sylvia’s left hand flicked.

  A pair of seals took form. Pure mana was natured with the element soul. Ectoplasmic web. The spell sprayed a splatter of pale threads all across the room. Before they could spread, the asteri clenched her fist. The strings curved with her intent, grasping Evelina’s soul.

  Her voice sang, one spell overlapping another. “■~■~■ ■■■■ ■■■.”

  Private booth swept over the room, sealing all information inside. The rising omen of doom was cut short. Swirling her finger, Sylvia spun the ectoplasmic web into a cocoon.

  The witch pinched her nose. “Sugar plums,” she cursed.

  The asteri had no way to hold the vampiress’s soul. Her only lamp had been left at home to make room for more important equipment, like her staff and armor. Ectoplasmic web was good for three minutes. It’d take another handful of minutes for the woman’s soul to reach the villa’s resurrection pool.

  And who knew how long before someone noticed? Maybe hours. Maybe seconds. Sooner was more likely than later, given the hobgoblin. Also, there was a good chance that an alarm spell had been set on the pool. A dead vampire was exactly the kind of thing the whole house wanted to know about.

  She had known this game would end eventually, but she’d hoped for more time.

  The asteri quickly gathered her thoughts before turning to Ludovica.

  “Face the wall and forget what happened,” she ordered. Sylvia’s eyes flashed. “Where can I get a red uniform?”

  “Red uniforms are gifted to girls owned by House Naopte,” the maid supplied.

  Never mind. Hunting for a uniform was a waste of time. She didn’t need the real thing. She didn’t have more than a few minutes anyway. All she required was something good enough to pass casual inspection.

  Her final goal was to get close to the hobgoblin, Taranis, and kill him.

  Decided, Sylvia cast a trio of spells. The first altered the color of her clothes, rendering them red like those of the household maids. The design was different, but if someone didn’t look closely they were unlikely to notice.

  The second chant renewed Sylvia’s crystalline heart.

  The final spell was ectoplasmic web. Sylvia wrapped the soul a second time, renewing the duration. Then she jammed Evelina’s spirit inside a drawer. The pale red glow of the woman’s soul was nigh undetectable in the sunlight.

  Of course, if anyone were to enter the room, the blur cast by private booth’s mosaic would reveal things first.

  “Take me to Master Taranis,” Sylvia demanded. “And don’t give any sign I don’t belong.”

  She tugged all three strings, squashing Ludovica’s feeble resistance.

  A terrible omen hit her when she stepped out the door. Sylvia could feel the looming threat drawing closer. The walls in the villa seemed to glare in her direction. Clack. Clack. Clack. She strode forward, every step heightening the tension.

  Obscured approach started to fray, fortune subtly twisting events to delay the inevitable.

  Sylvia passed through the halls on tenterhooks. Fate only altered chance. No matter how artificial her luck, nothing could deny a bad roll of the dice.

  It didn’t matter, Sylvia reminded herself. Killing the hobgoblin was a bonus, not a necessity. The witch did her best to relax. Fear intertwined with eagerness. The asteri checked her mana pool: 1987 / 2986.

  To reach Taranis’s chamber, Ludovica led Sylvia across the courtyard and into the opposite building. Sylvia used the opportunity to curse the second abomination thrice. Danger spiked, nearing a crescendo when the witch entered the latest wing. This part of the villa was restricted to the Naopte family and official members of the staff.

  Half the doors had ghouls standing beside them.

  A red-uniformed maid hurried down the hall. Hands clammy, Sylvia ducked her head. Her heart nearly burst when Ludovica stopped.

  “Excuse me,” the raven-haired maid said politely. “May I know where to find Master Taranis?”

  “Master Taranis?” the other maid questioned, looking flustered. Her gaze swayed toward the silver-haired witch only to be suddenly drawn back when the woman remembered something. “My apologies. I almost forgot. Master Taranis is with Lord Naopte in the study.”

  “Thank you,” Ludovica said, offering a small curtsy.

  Sylvia copied the gesture. The maid rushed off, the ascending threat dimming slightly before slowly rising anew. Unbothered, Ludovica led the way, a hollow smile on her lips.

  Finally, the raven-haired girl brought her into a room. Intense voices argued, unaware of the intruders. Quietly, Ludovica closed the door behind her.

  Baron Naopte’s study was larger than Vallenfelt’s office in the Academy. A domed skylight was overhead, letting in the hazy sun of Tartarus. Red tapestries hung from the walls, split by paintings, shelves, and cabinets. The hobgoblin faced Lord Naopte, both so captured by their conversation they hadn’t spared a glance toward the help.

  Taranis was a small man, a handful of centimeters shorter than Gavin. The goblin had big, floppy ears which tapered into points. His nose was overly large, thick and rounded. On his head, Taranis wore a white and yellow elf cap, the lumpy cone leaning toward the back.

  Elf caps were similar to witch’s hats, but the two were not to be mistaken. Outwardly, witches’ hats had a brim. Spiritually, they were awesome. Trust a slaver to wear a lesser hat. Truly, this foul creature could never be redeemed.

  That said, an elf cap did suit a hobgoblin. Hmm. Perhaps she needed to consider this more deeply.

  “One more year,” Baron Naopte argued, his rough voice filling the chamber. “I need but one more year. I beg of you, Taranis. Stand with me.”

  Lord Naopte had strawberry-blond hair cut short and stylish. His masculine face would’ve been handsome, if the right half hadn't been seared into a blackened mess. The System, surprisingly, marked him C-IV/High. Barons would normally be Class V devils. Odd. But not as odd as the rhythm of Lord Naopte’s soul.

  Thh-thh-thh-thud. Thh-thh-thh-thud.

  Four cores throbbed in tandem. The vampire was in the third consolidation, not the second. But this wasn’t a natural, healthy beat. There was a deep wrongness in the throb of Baron Naopte’s existence. An almost wheezing softness, as though something in his soul had been torn.

  “One more year?” the hobgoblin scoffed. While Taranis was little, his voice held deep maturity. “Is one year enough to settle our debt?”

  Sylvia’s attention was pulled to the mirror pad in her soul. Words appeared upon the paper, written in her sister’s hand.

  Little Sis, we’re ready at your signal.

  Everything was in place. Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. The battle could start at any moment. But first, she’d see if she could bring these two men to their end.

  Wiggling her fingers, the asteri summoned several worms of rot. The runes slithered up the tapestries before skittering along the roof. The omen of doom was sharp in the air. Sylvia felt as though she were hanging on the edge of a cliff, stone crumbling beneath her fingers.

  Sooner or later, she’d fall.

  Yet, she waited. Patiently. Curses were a powerful form of magic, but they could be defeated by many arts and techniques. They were most vicious when the target was unaware. Then the magic would claim them suddenly. Unexpectedly. Granting mere seconds to muster a defense.

  And both Baron Naopte and Taranis had sharp senses. The hobgoblin was marked C-IV/Mid. Magical creatures had magical senses. Much like Sylvia, the goblin’s attributes would lean toward wit, spirit, and magic.

  “You know it’s not,” the blond vampire replied. His teeth ground in rage. “Those relentless vultures – ”

  The vampire’s words turned into a wracking fit of coughs. Speckled blood splattered on the stone. Now! Sylvia risked the moment. Five curses fell from the roof. Two landed on the baron’s back, while three plopped onto the floor behind the goblin. Taranis stepped back, avoiding Lord Naopte’s spray.

  The worms crawled into the goblin’s flesh.

  Sylvia relaxed. A counter appeared in her mind, set to five minutes. Tick. Tick. Tick. When the moment came, the villa would sink into death.

  A page burned in her soul. Hands folded in front of her skirt, Sylvia waited with a painted smile like the empty doll beside her.

  “Dimtry, this is madness.” Taranis mangled his lord’s name, as hobgoblins often did. His lumpy face showed his disgust. “You’ve already been smitten by the Heavenly Will’s lightning. Where the lord leads, the servants follow. How long before the rest of us are hit? I’ve been your loyal servant for four centuries. So listen to me when I say, we are rushing to meet the Curse of Ruin. What will you have us do when heavenly punishment falls? Flee to the far planes?”

  So that was what happened. Sylvia understood Dmitry’s weakness.

  Lightning punishment was the Heavenly Will’s first and only warning for those who’d sunk into the cesspool of evil. The holy bolt would fall from the sky, shearing through the soul. The outer and inner membranes would be split, letting essence spill forth.

  This damage was reflected outwardly. The scars on the baron and his cough were lasting symbols of the Will’s wrath.

  The Heavenly Will’s castigation was feared even by the Lords of Hell. Karma was a precious resource. In war, it would be consumed quickly, for terrible things were necessary to achieve victory. From time to time, a noble would be faced with the strategic question: ‘should I destroy my enemy forever, or leave him with the opportunity to fight back?’

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Baron Naopte spat. “Those mangy dogs bought my debt so they can taunt me with it. If I’m late on my payments, they’ll take everything. Then this will have been for nothing.”

  Dmitry’s gloved hand clawed hatefully at the seared remnants of his face.

  “If we don’t seek karma, we’ll lose everything regardless,” the hobgoblin retorted. “Dmirty, I’ll stand with you. You know that. But the rest of your servants will quail when they realize you’ve been struck by lightning punishment.”

  “I. Just. Need. One. More. Year,” Baron Naopte roared.

  “One more year to do what?” Taranis sneered. “Dig the hole deeper?”

  “Marquis Geherasim,” Dmitry squeezed out. “If I can convince him to act as a sponsor, we can take our time.”

  “And, before him, it was Count Tipsa,” the hobgoblin scoffed. “You have six months, if the Heavenly Will doesn’t smite me first. If you don’t have the money, we must take action. As a hobgoblin, I do not say this lightly, but it’d be better to pick up roots and hide from our debts in a colonial backwater than continue with this madness.”

  Shaking his head, the goblin turned. Obscured approach shattered like glass. Taranis paused in surprise, only now noticing the maids standing near the door.

  The energies in Sylvia’s body stirred, ready to explode.

  The baron held up a hand, indicating he would handle the matter.

  “Whatever business brought you here, it better be important,” Lord Naopte said, expression grim.

  Sylvia gave a subtle tug to the threads tied to Ludovica’s mind. Offer a reasonable excuse, then play for time. She commanded, the notions psychic instead of spoken.

  Every second wasted was a ticking of the clock. Worms of rot were incubating in the baron’s blood. Two curses wouldn’t be enough to kill Dmitry Naopte, but if she triggered both she’d gain an opportunity to murder the lord conventionally.

  “Mi’lord,” Ludovica said gently, pinching the hem of her skirt as she sank into a deep curtsy. “Master Petru has encountered an incident. He requests your support immediately.”

  “I see,” the vampire said. Crimson eyes gazed into fractal pink. “And when did we add this little doll to our collection?”

  A pleasant warmth spread through Sylvia’s body. Baron Naopte had gorgeous eyes, she realized. They weren’t as beautiful as Emmy’s celestial nebula, but they had a certain hardness. A dominant strength that made her feel small and weak. Sylvia sensed the vampiric bloodseed in her veins purring with pleasure.

  What would happen if she let this man conquer her? Control her? Put her in her place? She trembled. Sylvia’s knees grew weak.

  “I only became yours today, Lord Naopte.”

  A sweet, dreamy voice spoke through her lips. An angel in obeisant offering.

  Huh? Sylvia blinked in confusion. Why would she say that?

  Why not? What did it matter if Sylvia told the baron the truth? Time was passing. Chatting with this handsome fellow would make it pass faster. The witch felt the trill of attraction. Dmitry’s scarred face only added to his character. It gave him a kind of rugged strength.

  How odd. Sylvia had Awakened years ago. She’d become a proper girl. Why was it only now that Sylvia recognized how handsome men could be?

  Lord Naopte sneered.

  “Pretentious little bitch. No doubt, you were plotting against me and now you’re in the palm of my hand,” Lord Naopte derided. The vampire stroked her cheek, conjuring shivers of pleasure. “Tell me, silly girl, who knows you’re here?”

  “Belkis von Vallenfelt, Isabella, and a few others,” she answered sweetly.

  The witch nearly mentioned Yvonne before a cold, rational part of herself intervened.

  She was being mind controlled, she noted. Sylvia could feel the psychic tendrils slipping through her mind. Tiny fingers passing through the gaps and crevices of crystalline heart. How naive. She’d thought her magic in combination with her high spirit attribute would protect her from Dmitry’s influence.

  Or, at least, give her plenty of warning.

  Clearly, Sylvia was just a silly, ditsy, little bimbo girl. Since she was so terrible at planning and thinking, she should let this nice man do it for her.

  Yes, that sounded wonderful, actually. Sylvia smiled, happiness bubbling in her heart. This was how it should be. Women were supposed to be controlled by men. How many videos had she wanked off to as Eric that had similar themes? Now, she was the lucky girl.

  Yet, something within her disagreed.

  Deep inside Sylvia’s soul, beyond the reach of her phantasmal husk, lurked a machine. A digital self. This mind drank ether from her cognition jar, its thoughts expanding. Not a rival. A peer. A digital witch standing beside her organic mind, observing the tentacles of Dmitry’s psyche.

  It watched. It waited. It lurked unseen in the depths of her cognition.

  “Taranis, do you recognize those names?” Dmitry questioned, looking over his shoulder.

  “No mi’lord,” the hobgoblin answered.

  “Put the villa on alert,” Baron Naopte ordered. “And see if any other rats have infiltrated. I will interrogate this girl.”

  Taranis looked worried. “If the covens….”

  “The covens wouldn’t send a petty, first consolidation witch,” Dmitry Naopte snapped. “Deal with the situation. We will decide what to do after.”

  How amusing. The baron mistook her for a first consolidation witch. Sylvia giggled. Oh. She was a little loopy. The vampire was inserting thoughts on one side of her brain while her digitized soul rewrote them on the other. What a strange feeling.

  Ding.

  A bell went off in her head. The five minutes were up. She should be a good girl and tell Baron Naopte about the exciting surprise she’d prepared for him.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not a first consolidation witch,” Sylvia informed. “And it’s already too late. The attack has started.”

  The silver-haired witch smiled up at the vampire, adoring.

  “What!?” Dmitry sounded in horror.

  B-boom!

  The villa rattled. The thunderous roar came as a pair of meteors smashed into the roof. Sylvia’s digitized soul surged during the baron’s distraction. A mental wave slammed into the asteri’s mind, a tyrannical force seizing control of all thought.

  Briefly, clarity descended. Sylvia’s eyes sparked. Eighteen runes left her lips, words and spell interleaving into a single existence.

  “Rot.”

  -oOo-

  Slavery

  Slavery is a common institution throughout much of the netherworld. Hell practices slavery, as do most of the kingdoms in the Fey Federation. Many minor powers also have a similar legal structure. Heaven is the only major nation to outright ban the practice. Even there, indentured servitude exists.

  Some use this to claim that Heaven’s principles are pure hypocrisy.

  These slave systems come in many shapes and forms. Some nations allow souls to be enslaved permanently. Others permit the weak to be seized off the streets. In locations where slavery is banned, the status of fugitives can be quite complex. Heaven grants freedom to any who enter its domain, but many minor powers are hesitant to claim the same.

  Hell’s structure of slavery is actually considered quite progressive in the netherworld, in that it restricts both the duration of slavery and the rules by which individuals can be bound.

  The Fey Federation, by comparison, is a legal mess. Every kingdom has its own laws, making it near impossible for travelers to know what is legal and what is not. Fights between pro-slave and anti-slave kingdoms are common. There are many scholars who question whether the Fey Federation could stand if not for Hell and Heaven’s persistent threat.

  Economics of Slavery (Hell)

  Slaves form the foundation of Hell’s economic system. Most labor in the netherworld is completed by hand, making cheap workers desirable. And slaves are the cheapest labor that can be found. But they’re not free. As a general rule of thumb, a slave sells for 20x their annual earnings. This places the value of a newborn beast-kin or hogmin at 100,000 soli.

  Beautiful women, who are lacking in the underclass due to the influence of bloodlines, are worth more, commanding a price of around 200,000 soli.

  As for highly skilled laborers, their prices can reach into the millions. But such persons are rare on the market.

  Most of Hell’s slaves are debt slaves, with the majority of them being obtained by way of the Law of Acquisition. One would be remiss, however, in thinking that souls can be directly sold for such a large amount of money. Instead, pure souls have a market value of 20,000 to 30,000 soli while chimeric souls tend to sell for 5,000 to 15,000 depending on the depth and complexity of their chimerism.

  However, pure souls are difficult to purchase in bulk. Most clans, groups, and organizations have already laid claim to a segment of the production. Thus, slave houses tend to specialize in chimeric souls.

  Once a slave has been bought, the soul must be encoded. Then the resulting demon must also be educated and trained. By the time all expenses are accounted for, a slave house might earn as little as 15,000 to 25,000 soli per person sold.

  Illegal Slave Trade (Hell)

  Legal slavery casts a long shadow over a society. Wherever this shadow falls, an illegal trade of slaves thrives. There are many ways to falsify a slave’s status. Demons might be sold to a party in another fief, then the magistrate bribed so that the remaining period of enslavement is extended. In other cases, freemen and freewomen can be illegally seized then sold to complicit parties.

  As with legal slaves, those illegally obtained must be trained and ‘broken’. This process takes time and incurs an expense. However, there are major advantages to the illegal trade. First, the slaver need not spend any money on basic education or encoding. Second, they can directly pick talents and bloodlines to their preference.

  Because the profit margin on illegal laborers is too thin, the sex slave market is Hell’s largest illegal market.

  Slavery and Karma

  The Heavenly Will’s judgment of karma has had a powerful impact on the slave trade everywhere in the netherworld. Slavery is a form of abuse. Training slaves, selling slaves, and owning slaves incurs a loss of karma depending on how well or how poorly the slave is treated. For this reason, any enduring slave house must develop a set of policies to keep their karma in the black.

  There are many methods to achieving this end. Charity. Public service. Freedom lotteries. All high-class, professional slave houses, however, have developed a system of legal services. These slave houses have workers that perform check-ins on the slaves who have been sold and even file legal briefs on the slave’s behalf should the new owner engage in abuse.

  Regardless, few slaves look upon their trainers fondly. For the slave houses, maintaining karma is just a way of making money. One that must be balanced against training costs to ensure a steady profit.

  Illegal traders rarely bother with karma. For this reason, illegal rings are often short-lived. However, this also means profit margins in this criminal trade are much larger.