5 A Bloody Mess

The Shadowdark Wolves had tried to assault Tycon in a dark alleyway.

Tycon had killed all of them, save Barza and one other.

He had transformed into a massive white snake and was crushing the life out of not-Barza. Even after the screaming stopped, Tycon continued squeezing until several more pops and cracks resounded in the darkness.

He had tested the extent of his abilities admirably. And he felt no guilt, removing scum who would abandon their kin at the first sign of trouble.

With the assistance provided by his System, he was easily able to track his pursuers. Even from a distance, his attackers were clearly tagged in his vision with bright red tags.

Barza was also clearly tagged with the green brand of cowardice.

« System, inquiry: How long does a snake of my size take to digest its prey? »

[System response: The digestion process takes from several days to several weeks depending on the size of the prey and the temperature the habitat, with a colder habitat slowing the Host's metabolism.]

Tycon was relieved he had eaten prior.

He quickly unraveled himself around the corpse, causing Barza to emit a high-pitched shriek.

"As you can see, Mister Barza," Tycon spoke matter-of-factly, his snakey head equal to the man's eyes, "I am a snake."

"Aha, haha ha. Yes." Barza laughed awkwardly.

He sat upon the alleyway floor, dimly lit by lanterns dropped by his fallen companions, their lifeless shadows flickering on the walls. It was cold. The man hadn't even eaten. And he had soiled himself. Tycon could smell it. And the man could probably feel it.

Tycon didn't dare flick his tongue. He was afraid he'd be able to taste the man's cowardice.

Barza opened his mouth to speak. "Ah--"

No words came out.

Perhaps the man was in a state of shock? It was a normal response to witnessing several consecutive murders.

He coiled himself into a curious S-shape, pondering his next course of action. He decided to lighten the mood with a joke.

"I'm going to kill you."

Barza promptly fainted, his cheek wetly slapping against the ground... in a pool of his own filth.

Tycon carefully reanalyzed the situation, concluding that the timing of his joke was in poor taste.

…

It took Tycon several moments and a couple of failed attempts to reassume his human form. Afterward, dragged the corpses and the unconscious Barza to the stable Sorina had earlier directed him to. He needed the bodies out of sight-- the blood would tell a story, but the bodies were damning evidence.

The stable was the farthest one away and only housed one creature.

It was a horse.

Tycon was relieved. He was worried he'd meet another creature with a fantastical bloodline, much like himself and Dragan.

Tycon patted the horse on the side of its head. The horse, somewhat lazily, jerked its head in response and shied away.

"(Ah, it's the snake! Go away, Snake.)"

Tilting his head in curiosity, Tycon replied with narrowed eyes.

"(You're a horse. You are larger than I am and should not be afraid.)"

The horse pondered this for a moment, before deciding the logic was sound. He moved back towards Tycon, who resumed his petting.

Tycon inwardly sighed, lamenting over the fact that thus far, two out of two of his companions were fools. He refilled the horse's feed bag and seated himself on a nearby stool to brood.

He glanced over at the 5 corpses and 1 Barza and couldn't help but sigh again.

« System, display effects of Vexing Gaze »

[Vexing Gaze: Ocular ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If successful, target becomes distracted and may go into anaphylactic shock.]

Tycon breathed in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. The Skill he used had taken the life of an adult human male with relative ease.

He was again, glad that he'd practiced dimming his vision. An accidental activation of Vexing Gaze would be problematic.

« System, inquiry: Why can I speak to horses? »

[System response: The Host understands horses and horses can understand him.]

...Tycon decided not to further that line of questioning.

« System, inquiry: What are the limits of my transformation ability? »

[System response: The Host can transform into a Large form, a Small form, a Human form, and a Hybrid form.]

« Hybrid form… System, am I…? System inquiry: Am I… contagious? »

[Negative.]

« Just checking. Thank you, System. »

Tycon looked back at the pile of bodies, "Now I've got to figure out what to do with these..."

"(Why don't you just eat them?)" The horse calmly suggested, nonchalantly enjoying his meal of oats.

Tycon rolled his eyes as a silent response.

…

Barza had a nightmare.

Black, vertical pupils. Pale yellow, spotted sclera. A predator's eyes stared at its prey. Kevand begged for forgiveness, blood pouring through his bloody teeth, down his chin.

He was next.

Dozens of white-scaled tendrils wrapped around Barza's wrists and ankles and began to mercilessly crush his bones. He screamed desperately for help. He cried for his friends-- dead. He cried for his mercenary companions-- dead and dying. He cried for Baron Tavor-- his sinister laugh echoing in his psyche, laughing breathlessly in his face at this futile struggle against pain and death. He cried for his gods-- but they remained silent.

He cried for Sorina, the tavern girl he'd fallen for at first sight-- but was too shy to talk to, outside of his orders.

He wished he had.

And so, Barza cried. He cried for himself. He cried for his future-- if he had any left. He cried for his lack of strength, his helplessness.

And as such, he cried himself awake.

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"Mister Barza."

Hearing Tycon's voice, Barza's eyes shot open and he began to scream. He had awoken staring at Denman's corpse, into his wide, bloodshot eyes, slightly rolled back, in death. He laid amongst the dead, in a haphazardly made heap.

"Mister Barza, do shut up. You're embarrassing yourself." Tycon chided, a perfect example of calm amidst chaos.

Half-buried in the heap, panicked and clumsy, Barza struggled. He pushed the corpses away and took two steps before keeling over and vomiting.

Barza slowly lifted his head, supporting himself with his elbows and forearms, vomit on his beard and some in his hair. The noble sat on a stable stool but looked no less intimidating for it. It was this noble whose eyes turned to a snake's-- no, who was a snake.

The sheer ridiculousness of the concept did nothing to diminish his feeling of horror. It was the man in front of him that would determine if he would live or die. Barza felt his gut rumble once more, but there was naught left in his stomach to leave it.

The noble, Sir Tycondrius, looked up towards the ceiling before pursing his lips, "Mister Barza, I advise you to look alive."

Tears pooled at the corners of Barza's eyes as he cursed the sickness of the man. Did he want him to stand and struggle against death for his enjoyment? Did he want to extinguish the last bit of hope he had? What had he done to deserve this?

...Will he ever get to talk to Sorina again?

The hot tears streamed down Barza's face. But in his blurred vision, he saw Tycon's expression.

It wasn't a look of disappointment. It wasn't a look of curiosity... or anger... or fear. The noble wore a look of uncertainty. And the youth's gaze was directed… up.

Barza had recognized that he was in a building-- inside a stable with Tycon (and a single horse.) But as he looked up, he saw the cold, infinite blackness of sky and the alien-colored glow of unfamiliar stars. Half-caught in the ceiling were a dozen spectral arms, thin and wasted, grasping and spasming erratically.

All the blood had drained from Barza's face as he scrambled towards Tycon's bloody boots and tightly grasped his leg.

"Wh-wh-what's going on, Sir Tycondrius?!"

Looking up to see Tycon's face, Barza found himself mere ilms away from a different one.

An angelic-looking boy, pale-faced, with sky blue hair and a sullen look, stared deeply into his eyes with a lazy smile.

"Who's this boss?" The angel said in a soft whisper of a voice, "Is he an enemy?"

Tycon responded annoyedly with a command that brooked no argument, "Stand down, Mister Wroe."

"Aye, Boss." The young man stood up straight and comfortably saluted an open hand to his chest.

"This is Mister Barza," Tycon introduced, "And he will be helping with..."

Tycon spun a finger, pointing at the pile of corpses and Barza's former companions, "...this."

Wroe tilted his head. Barza could have sworn that it rotated a slight too far, like an owl's...

"But Boss, I… Can Handle… That." Wroe whispered-- the sound crescendoing in a high-pitched screech. Spectral hands fell from the ceiling. Dozens and hundreds of pale, ghostly, infinitely-long arms fell like tied rope falling from a bridge.

They grasped at the fallen.

And the fallen had awoken.

Silently, they screamed. Silently, they begged, staring at Barza, cursing his existence. Barza had seen more magic on this night than in his entire life. He felt the dark curses from his former companions upon his soul.

His former companions were pulled into the darkness, out of sight...

Louder than a catapult's crash, the sound of bones crunched. Blood streamed down the walls of the stables, like splashed buckets of paint. Bone scraps and viscera fell to the stable floor.

Thousands of voices screamed in pain. And then... All was silent.

Because Barza had fainted.

Again.

Tycon raised a palm upward, incredulous, "Mister Wroe, you've made a bloody mess.

Wroe shrugged as if the resultant mess was a natural result, "I'll get the mop, then?"

"Yes, please do."