Belmont knew Gracious was dangerous. If he’d passed him on Earth, just walking by him in broad daylight, he’d have felt it—a cold, instinctual warning. But here, in a foreign forest, the warning wasn’t instinctual anymore. It was a suffocating certainty, as strong as the odor of death that emanated from him. Even with that knowledge, there was nothing he could do to change his situation, so he walked beside him through the morning forest.

  “I will not kill you, Michael.”

  Bel knew as much, or assumed it, because he was still standing there and not dead already. Hearing Gracious say it, though, did nothing to ease his mind, especially since the words had only been predicated by silence. He was pretty sure the man could tell a Jim Gaffigan punchline and it would feel threatening. Bel also would not tell him he preferred his middle name to his first.

  “I want to teach you some things about the world, and about my people. We have a little walk ahead of us, and I think that will be a good way to pass the time.”

  Bel didn’t answer. The scent of rot was fading from his nose, finally, but he still hadn’t regained all of his faculties, and the last thing he wanted to do was speak out of turn. This didn’t seem to bother Gracious, and Bel assumed the man was used to silence in those around him.

  “I am a Chimeran,” Gracious started. “At our literal cores, we are a parasitic species. I, myself, am not the creature you see before you, but a much smaller organism that lives within it. What differentiates us from a typical parasite, though, is that we do not seek a living host. In fact, we cannot bond with a living host at all. Instead, we are carrion-feeder. Our portion of the life cycle perpetually rests at the end. We move from host to host, or from body part to body part. When it becomes too decayed, we shed it and graft another.”

  Bel was pretty sure that qualified Gracious as some kind of fucked up zombie thing, but he wasn’t going to bring it up. He also would not say that his knowledge of parasites extended little further than reading Animorphs as a kid and watching a lot of Stargate SG-1.

  “To you, and many others, our species is viewed as disgusting, depraved and perverse. To think that at one point every part of my body belonged to another living creature—one with hopes and desires of its own—and now I walk in it as if it had always been my own.” Gracious stopped walking and turned to Bel. He lowered his head slightly so their eyes were level. “Every one of these people whose flesh I wear is a life I have taken myself. I am not a scavenger, Michael. I am a hunter.” He straightened himself and held his arms out as if presenting his body for inspection. “I am a hunter, and these are my trophies.” He hissed the final syllable through yellowed teeth.

  Bel was disgusted—more so than he thought possible—but also completely incapable of putting it into words. The man’s pronunciations were like eating food that was entirely bitter. There was nothing to pick apart—no singular aspect to assign blame to—it was all bad.

  “I can see that you are among those that would look down on my people. I understand. You are Tier 0, and you have met no one like me before. Your ignorance is to be expected, and I will not punish you for it.”

  Bel almost laughed at the absurdity of the comment, but held it back.

  “Now that you understand a little more about my culture and heritage, there is something else I wish to talk about. Your role in the Sovereignty games.”

  Belmont’s ears perked. He wanted to understand what the hell was going on, but there had been no one to tell him. He hoped Gracious would give him something to go off of.

  “You are the true Sovereign of these lands. All the Leigh Archipelago belongs to you. The man that sits on the throne now is a usurper.”

  Bel’s stomach turned. He couldn’t get used to the idea that he was supposed to be the one in charge of anything more than a small kitchen. "How can you be sure? Because you saw my ID?"

  Gracious continued walking. “Yes, partly. What gave it away is the events that followed your arrival in my camp last night—events that we will discuss in a moment. For now, though, I want to give you a little more information about the Games.”

  Bel nodded, but said nothing. Gracious wasn’t facing him to see the gesture, but continued on anyway.

  “Usurpers can happen often, or so I’m told. Like you, this is my first Sovereignty Games. How I understand it is that when a Laster like yourself does not wish to take part, they may simply leave their assigned lands and start life elsewhere. Sometimes a Laster will sell their crown for a nest egg, sometimes they simply walk away. No matter what they do, though, they must remain outside the border of their lands. When someone else takes over, they can claim the rights to the land by taking the name of the true Sovereign. Most times, this is all legal, and no one bats an eye.

  “Occasionally, a usurper does this without conferring with the Laster. That is what happened in your case. Thirty years ago, someone using your name showed up and claimed your throne. For whatever reason, you weren’t around, and so all the powers of that station were granted to them.”

  There was a pause, and Bel took a moment to interject. “Until last night, when I ran into your camp.”

  Gracious nodded, but kept walking. “Precisely. You are within your borders now, so the kingdom is contested. It is not yours yet, so long as the usurper sits on the throne, but neither is it his.”

  Bel sighed. “So, what does that mean for me?”

  “It means that you have a choice. You can take the throne, or you leave the lands. You can, of course, stay if you like, but so long as the kingdom is contested, the reigning monarch will be powerless. He will hunt you down, and he will have you killed.”

  Suddenly, Bel’s vision cleared. His nose filled with the smells of the forest, of the trees and the grass… and smoke. There was smoke ahead. The scent was so overpowering he wondered how he couldn’t have smelled it before. Then something else. He looked at Gracious, walking ahead of him on the narrow forest path. He saw the heat of the man’s body through his clothes. There wasn’t much of it, though. Most of his body was ice cold.

  Bel traced the thin lines through him and realized what he was looking at. He was looking at the parasite in the body ahead of him. It was like a schematic of nerve endings in a medical drawing. The parasite stretched across the entire body like red streets on a city map. There was no pumping heart at the center of it all, but on the right side of the man, just below the lungs, still tucked in the rib cage, there was a small pulsing nodule. Bel knew he was seeing the true Gracious Lust, the parasite no larger than a golf ball.

  Lastly, there was a sense of overwhelming danger. Not the danger like he had felt before with Gracious, but something else. Something much worse. It knotted his guts and made the hair on his neck stand on end. It was Mephisto. The snake was nearby, and he was warning Belmont.

  Bel tried to send reassuring thoughts to the snake, but it wasn’t doing anything to help. Instead, he attempted to push the feelings to the back of his mind. It only half worked.

  “You’ve gotten quiet, Michael. Is there something on your mind?”

  Bel panicked and tried to think of something. “No, sorry, I’m just trying to take it all in.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Bel sighed. “I’m going to go see the King. Maybe there is something we can work out.”

  Gracious lowered his head as he walked. “I see. Well, I’d hoped you’d have a different answer, but I expected this outcome. Let me tell you what happened after your fateful battle last night.

  “After you passed out on the beach, the good doctor carried you into his tent to tend to. It was then that I took your wallet and ID.”

  The smell of smoke was growing much stronger. There was something else to it, some smell Bel couldn’t place.

  “What I learned of you, I told to one man, my second in command, the man named Nim Lakakahn. You may remember him as the one dressed in furs and armor with the sword and shield. At first he seemed uninterested in the information, but I was informed later that he left the camp in the middle of the night and returned a short time later.”

  Bel was following what Gracious was saying, but the smoke smell and the panic in his mind were pulling him in other directions. In a weak effort to stay active in the conversation, he responded, “So, he left to pass the information to someone else?”

  Gracious nodded. “Just so. As I have learned, he has passed the information to the King, though it seems to have been incomplete.”

  “How so?”

  Gracious stopped and turned to Bel. “I’m going to show you.”

  He turned back around and walked towards the edge of the path. Bel followed, and the man pushed through the underbrush for a few hundred feet until it thinned. After a little more, Bel stepped out of the forest into the outskirts of a small village.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Stone masonry made up the bulk of the architecture, with thatched roofs hanging low over the walls of small houses and shops. It was like a medieval caricature, straight out of a storybook.

  Gracious led him around the corner of a house. Belmont looked at the old stone, moss covered and weather worn. There was a small garden on the side where some kind of root vegetable was pushing green leaves through the ground. The smell of smoke was becoming overwhelming now, and as they rounded the front of the house, Belmont found the source.

  At the center of the town, in a round park like area, a mound of corpses had been stacked, and subsequently burned. At the bottom, charred black flesh turned to ash, where the humanoid remains were completely indiscernible. However, near the top, the bodies hadn’t been so heavily immolated, and Bel could make out their features. Men, women, and children. All of them had been thrown on the pile without care. Their lifeless eyes stared at their surroundings, frozen in their last moments. Bel bent over with his hands on his knees and tried to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach, so all that came were dry heaves.

  He looked up as a man trotted over to them. It was the archer, the middle-aged man from the night before, that had been running commentary on the side.

  He spoke to Gracious in a respectful tone. “The entire village was wiped out, sir.”

  Gracious nodded. “I see. How many in total?”

  “Just over 60. More if you count the children.”

  Gracious looked around. “Are there any left?”

  “One survivor. A man, elderly. Probably survived by not trying to fight back and staying in bed.”

  Gracious nodded. “Well, bring us to him.”

  Bel turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to look at the burning mountain of corpses anymore.

  Gracious and the archer began walking, and Bel did his best to keep up, but stumbled on muddy cobblestone.

  “Michael, this is Dinnot Porvo.” Gracious pointed to the Archer. “Porvo is the Scout of my group.”

  Porvo turned and gave Belmont an assessing look, but made no gesture.

  The three continued around the outskirts of the courtyard until they reached a small house. The door had been broken inwards, but otherwise there was no damage. In the front window, a small flowing plant was blooming.

  Bel stepped into the house after Porvo and Gracious and looked around. It was a simple home. A smooth stone floor, wooden furniture and large padded couch made up the living room. The men moved through into a side room—a bedroom. It, too, was sparsely decorated, with only a dark wood dresser, linen curtains, and a single bed.

  On the bed, bound by the hands and feet, was an older man, Bel guessed to be in his late sixties. He struggled weakly against his bonds as the three walked in, but the knots proved too tight. His mouth, too, was bound, and muffled yells pushed against the cloth between his teeth.

  Gracious bent over, and with a furry, clawed hand, pulled the gag from the man’s mouth.

  “Please don’t kill me! Please. I’ve done nothing. I’m old. Please don’t kill me!” The man stammered and repeated himself until Gracious pressed a hand to his mouth.

  “Do you know who the people were that did this?”

  The man’s eyes watered and he clenched them shut before continuing. “It was the King’s men, sir. It was them.”

  Gracious nodded. “And what were they after?”

  “I don’t know. They didn’t find me in here,” the man pleaded.

  “Didn’t find you? Is that because you were hiding?” Gracious was sneering through his skull-like face.

  The man wept.

  Porvo interjected. “He was under the bed when I found him.”

  “You are a coward. You hid while those around you were slaughtered.”

  The man cried louder. “Please, no. I’m old. I can’t fight.”

  Gracious scoffed. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  The man pleaded again, but in a flash, Gracious drew a small knife from his belt and slit the man’s throat. Bel watched as blood poured from the gash, more blood than he thought the body could hold. It just flowed endlessly, while the man gasped and gurgled. Then, after a moment, he, too, was dead. Bel just looked at him while Gracious wiped the blood from the blade on the tattered sheets of the bed.

  The Chimeran turned to Belmont. “They were looking for you, Michael.”

  Bel met his eyes. They were so dark—so dead.

  Gracious turned to Porvo. “Have you found the traitor?”

  “Yes, sir. I have him tied up near the burn pile. Thought he might enjoy the smell of his handiwork.”

  Gracious nodded. “Good, let’s pay him a visit.”

  Porvo bowed and led them back through the house. Bel thought about the dead man on the bed. Thought about how a day ago things had been different for him. How it had changed, just because he’d arrived. He shook it from his head and walked through the front door and back out into the street.

  As they moved, Bel took a moment to study Porvo. The man was in his middle years, with graying hair at his temples, and a black goatee. He carried himself with confidence, and his stride was sure and smooth. It wasn’t until Bel looked at his hands that he noticed something out of the ordinary. He only had four fingers, three and a thumb, on each hand. There were no scars or other marks to show he’d lost them in some accident. Instead, that just seemed to be how his hands were. It reminded Bel that even the humans were aliens to him.

  They passed several more houses similar to the last until they came to the opposite end of the courtyard from where they entered. Here, strapped to a wooden strut that may have once been used to hold a lantern, was Nim Lakakahn.

  Like the old man in the house, Nim had been gagged as well, though he did not scream or struggle against his bonds. Bel couldn’t tell if it was pride or resignation, but in either case, the man knew exactly where he stood in the grand scheme.

  He looked between all three of them, but lingered on Belmont. His eyes were bloodshot and red from being so close to the smoke, and his pupils were wide, circled by brown irises.

  “Nim.” Gracious broke the silence. “Nim, Nim, Nim.” He shook his head in mock disgust. “What did you think you would accomplish with all of this? Good favor with the King? Maybe your lands returned to you? An increase in rank?”

  The man stayed silent.

  Gracious turned to Porvo. “Do you have a knife for Michael?”

  Without a word, Porvo produced a small knife from his belt, twirled it in his fingers, and presented it to Belmont, pommel first. Bel looked at it for a moment, and then slowly reached up to take it.

  He held it in his hand and it reminded him of a chef’s knife, though balanced more at the grip than at the center. He knew the name of the type of weapon from years of D&D; it was a dirk. A single-bladed, short dagger. There was something to it, though. Something more than a simple weapon. It felt strange in his hands, like it was pulling on him.

  Gracious looked at the blade and then at Belmont. “That is my gift to you. Your first proper weapon. The steel has been forged with aether.”

  Bel didn’t reply, but just stared at the knife.

  “I want you to kill Nim. With every strike, the weapon releases aether from itself, from you, and from your victim. Some of it lingers in the wound, some of it is lost—but some of it seeps into you. And that, Michael, is how power is taken. Over time, as you accrue more aether, you will raise your Tier. However, a single knife will not be enough. You will need at least six pieces of aether forged equipment, one for each of the aspects of combat. Only then can you reliably increase your power.”

  Bel heard everything Gracious said, but mentally he hadn’t moved past the part where Gracious had told him to kill Nim. He couldn’t think of anything else to say but, “Why?” It wasn’t directed at anyone in particular. Bel learned that a lot of his life now boiled down to that single word.

  “Because you are the king, Michael. And a king must be decisive. A king must be ready to dispense with justice when the need arises.” Gracious was looking at him now with sunken eyes and a broken snarl of a smile.

  Bel shook his head. “What? Do you think this means I’ll owe you something? Like, if I kill him and save myself, you’ll have a king in your debt?” Bel laughed. “You are just as terrible as him.” He pointed at Nim with the knife. The man tensed as the blade came within inches of his chest.

  Gracious didn’t react. Instead, he nodded to Porvo. The archer knocked an arrow and aimed at Bel’s chest. Behind him and Gracious, Bel could see a familiar shape move through the small village. Mephisto slithered silently across the pavement. He was out of the line of sight of Gracious and Porvo, but Nim must have seen him as his eyes went wide. Gracious saw the man’s reaction and twisted. Porvo instinctively followed, swinging the nocked arrow around towards Meph.

  There was a single thought in Bel’s mind. Something from outside himself. Less command and more concert. An idea that sprang from the thundering plains of his subconscious. Quick as a lightning bolt and as sharp as a fang. The world slowed. The thought wasn't his own—it was something deep, primal—and his arm moved before he could process the decision. It stretched out straight, thrusting the dirk forward. The small blade connected and punctured deep into the neck, not of Nim, but of Porvo. In, and then quickly back out.

  Bel hissed.

  Porvo fired the arrow, but the shock of the strike caught him off guard, and sent the missile high above the village and into the forest beyond. His bow fell to the ground with a clatter, and grasping fingers stretched to the wound on his neck. Each pump of his heart sent another spurt of blood from the wound, and Bel watched as the red heat of his body dissipated slowly from his extremities. His heart slowed, and he fell to his knees. He clung to the wound, but it was too deep, too precise. It severed the jugular perfectly—irreparably.

  Gracious turned back to Belmont as the scene unfolded. His snarling smile widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, your Highness. That was a masterful stroke.” His eyes darted between Belmont and Meph as the snake slowly closed the distance between them. Bel wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline of the moment, or what, but he swore Meph looked a lot larger than he used to.

  Gracious slowly straightened himself, removing any slouch in his frame and towering every inch of his six and a half feet. “You should know, Michael. A Chimeran cannot be killed. You could strike at me with that dagger, but it would only damage the flesh I inhabit.”

  Bel’s left hand was shaking, but his right, the one that held the knife, was rock solid. He was conscious of the scene, but his mind played out everything as though he were watching a movie.

  Mephisto sprang from the ground, and Gracious turned to fend off the snake. Everything moved at half speed as Belmont watched the heat in the Chimeran’s stolen form shift from limb to limb as Gracious balanced his energy needs between extremities. Bel watched as the man’s right arm reached out to swat at the snake. He left himself wide open.

  Bel swept up with the blade, aimed at the upper right section of Gracious’ torso. He slid the point upwards, behind the ribcage from below, and instantly the point of the blade met with the small throbbing nodule of heat buried in the chest cavity. It popped, like a small balloon, sending a flood of red heat throughout the veined map of the Chimeran’s body. Then, without a word or expression, Gracious fell to the ground. His body broke apart in soft squelching pops that reminded Bel of pulling a suction cup off glass. He watched as the heat withdrew from the man’s body and the veins went as cold as the rest of his form.

  He turned to Nim, still gagged, but with eyes wide in horror. Bel quickly ripped the cloth from his mouth.

  He leaned in. “You sick son of a bitch.”

  The man, even without the gag, was speechless.

  “You did this. You are the reason every person in this village is dead. You brought this all down. Every man, woman, and child. Dead. Because of you. You are a fucking disease.”

  Nim coughed and sputtered, “I…I…”

  “No! You don’t get to make excuses.” Bel growled as he pressed the knife to the man’s throat, drawing a prick of blood from the soft flesh. “The men that did this. Where did they go? Towards the camp?”

  Nim’s Adam’s apple slid against the point of the blade as he swallowed. “Yes.”

  Bel didn’t wait for more. He pressed the knife slowly into the neck of the man and drew it back out. Nim choked and gurgled on the blood from the wound that flooded his throat. It reminded Bel of the old man.

  “This is better than you deserve.” He didn’t wait to watch Nim die. He turned and looked at Meph, still on the ground behind him. Instantly, he was overwhelmed with emotions. He bent down and lowered his left hand for the snake. Meph quickly slithered up and onto his shoulder. Bel was right, the snake had gotten much larger during the night. He was nearly double his previous size.

  He ran a knuckle under the snake’s chin.

  Meph flitted his tongue.

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