An unbranded pirate captain, body lousy with rot and fungal decay, slunk through the Port Town cisterns. Their numbers were culled, but only a single corpse was required to regrow the collection.

  Muffled voices echoed through the halls. Remnants of the collection were following, observing… and being snuffed out, one by one.

  This ship captain’s mind was long gone, given to the rot. Its repurposed cadaver moved like flowing water, seamlessly adapting to this new threat in the cistern.

  On some unseen signal, the captain’s corpse rushed forward on all fours. This was the most expendable specimen of the collection. Its fetid master would sacrifice it to deliver a message.

  The captain leaped from a high outflow into a dried-up cistern. Broken nails and worn-to-bone fingers were out ahead of it, ready to gouge and tear anything within throttling range.

  Before the remains of this pirate captain could reach its target, however, it found itself surrounded by barriers along every joint and through every chest cavity. A million barriers burst at once, disintegrating the corpse and sending its head flying off at an odd arc to the cistern floor. Another barrier caught it and the pirate’s head was left lopsided, staring at a pair through the dull gold sheen of a barrier.

  “You.” Baldr scowled. “You’ve managed to overwrite Branding.”

  “It was a matter of time,” Walter said, also scowling.

  “Indeed it was,” the severed head spoke, though its vocal cords were disintegrated.

  The trio waited in the cistern at a bit of a stalemate.

  “Purging every individual mushroom in this maze is hardly a viable use of our considerable skillsets.” Baldr sighed, then looked at the head with a gleam in his eyes.

  “You could’ve always sent some more of those dutiful church guards down to cleanse these channels of my corruption,” said the head.

  “Then we would be called in some months later when the infestation is many times more dire.”

  The head managed something approaching a nod in its gilded cage. “Something to that effect. Why, with rot spilling out into the town even at daylight hours, perhaps I would be able to fell even arbiters of your caliber.”

  The pair of church heavies only waited there, unimpressed.

  “Not that there’s much I can do with you lot,” the head continued. “Not enough calcium in those carapaces, yes?”

  “You’re damn lucky we’re out of earshot of any unwanted listeners,” Baldr said.

  “Oh, you’d have to purge them too?” the head chuckled. “I can see you for what you truly are. Child of an old friend, yes?”

  Baldr looked away. “I swear, we should make Perarde fight these battles. He’s the one still upholding the old mission. What’s it to me if the rot takes a town or two? Nothing this parasitic filth says or does will matter once the lord’s will be done.”

  “With the Brands subverted, it could put the whole project at risk,” Walter said.

  “It was only a matter of time,” chuckled the head, its lips subtly shifting into a wicked grin. “Your shackles could not save your cattle from the inevitable indefinitely.”

  Five Branded corpses, all with hit points well into the negative hundreds, leaped down into the cistern. They were instantly bifurcated by a flaming sword, courtesy of Walter. Baldr continued to look at the head, not evening flinching.

  “Hmm. Using Branded corpses now? Its collection is running low.”

  The head roared; a booming voice barely muffled by the barrier. “I am a timeless chorus! Decay is inevitable. All fates bend towards me. Even fire can only keep the rot at bay for so long. Decay shall outlive all things and all stars-”

  “You should invest in fire spells,” Walter told Baldr, ignoring the rant. “It’s the most effective way to cleanse this infestation.”

  “-Entropy made flesh! A ceaseless march to a universe entirely of rot, every breath your cattle-branded soul-slaves take leading them, albeit glacially, into my waiting embrace-”

  Baldr cracked a smile, still gazing down at the head. “Oh, not the only way. Fire burns the rot away, yes. But you see, there will be no rot left…”

  “-Even your Demon Lord’s corpse shall be among my collection. I operate on a scale of eons! Waft deeply from this showcase of the inevitable fate of all thin-”

  The barrier shattered with a snap of Baldr’s fingers, utterly disintegrating the head without a trace.

  “… if the infestation is destroyed down to its basest components. Like a scalpel versus a war axe. Savvy?”

  A gurgling cry sounded from every channel and entrance in the cistern. Corpses rushed through impossibly narrow crevasses.

  “Well, back to work.” Baldr snapped some barriers into existence as he stepped back-to-back with Walter. “Nice of them to come to us all at once!”

  Another repurposed corpse, belonging to a hapless lighthouse watchman, impaled itself upon Walter’s sword, grabbing at the hilt even as its hands burned to try and slow down the swordsman’s mobility.

  Calaf awoke with a start. He couldn’t recall what had startled him as soon as he lifted his head off the pillow. It felt like he was still back in the cisterns, though. He had to look about and remind himself he was safe in an inn two regions away.

  The Twelfthnight hot springs were as rejuvenating as ever, and wide-open for use with the pilgrimage season wound down. Calaf bathed amongst the springs for two days, wiping away layers of pilgrimage-route grime and general fatigue. Each morning, he woke up more refreshed than the previous day. It was a strange feeling, after so long on the road.

  By the third day of this, Calaf was ready to depart. He checked out of the inn and traveled on a westerly route. This was the last segment of the road between Riverglen and Autumn’s Redoubt that Calaf had yet to travel. The trail continued to travel steadily upward into scenic alpine highlands hugging a jagged mountain range.

  Soon the pine trees grew so tall their tips could not be seen from their base and were grouped thick enough to serve as a perfect umbrella from the mountain’s frequent rains. So thorough was the forest canopy that Calaf walked through a heavy storm for five hours before he noticed that the strange pitter-pattering sound was caused by droplets hitting the pine needles far above, not the frolicking of dire-squirrels.

  The deep woods here were well-tread, being one of the earliest and most heavily trafficked routes along the path. Frequent beastly encounters included those dire-squirrels (timid, harmless), dire-elk (travel about in herds, plenty of endurance but seldom threatening, a nice meal if you can fell one), and the odd dire-bear (smaller, black varieties, weaker cousins of more imposing Autumn’s Redoubt brown dire-bears further up the path). None were particularly threatening to a pilgrim on their initiation, and positively harmless to at properly equipped Squire.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  All in all, the woods were a moderate difficulty increase from the tamer hills of Riverglen and its adjacent granite throughways. A way for travelers to hone their skills and increase their levels before the less forgiving plains and swamps ahead.

  This is to say, the return trip was uneventful. Even boring.

  After a day’s travel through idyllic, red-barked pine woods, the tree line gave way to a high overlook. Below, in a natural valley between two peaks, was Deepwood. The holy city, where the earliest tenants of the church were carved into the trees themselves. Even buildings were carved into hollows within the mighty trunks.

  The Grand Cathedral at Deepwood and its holy archives were easily identifiable even from this distance. A great door was burnt into the largest tree in the grove, itself perfectly cultivated to grow large enough to fit all church offices and departments running up and down its trunk even while it continued to live and grow.

  The cliffside path was narrow, leading travelers on a half-day winding but steady route down the mountains and into the valley. For most pilgrims this would be the view leaving the city after spending a few days walking through its groves and contemplating the Cleric’s teachings.

  Along the way, Calaf encountered a fork in the road. Well-maintained stone and brickwork split off on the left fork while a more unofficial dire-goat path continued into a glen on the right. This rightmost path would lead into the rough and tumble hinterlands, and from there back to the Battletower. It was rough terrain, but the paths were straight enough that it was arguably easiest to get to the tower from here and over the rocky hills and crags on the Twelfthnight route.

  The cliffside offered great acoustics such that the sounds of a scuffle were easily audible from down the rightmost path. There were shouts and the distinct clang of metal against metal.

  Once more, Calaf detoured to perform a good deed – and assuage his conscience – once more.

  The dire-goat path evened out into a gravel path worn into a depression in the rock and dirt, just wide enough for a wagon to reasonably roll through. A glen in the woods was lined by the great red pines but otherwise represented a break in the trees.

  There, off to the right of the road, was a trio of bears, relatively beefy for the region.

  The trio was soon joined by another set of three, and then another. All converged on a central point. There, a lone swordsman sliced through dire-bear after dire-bear.

  It was Enkidu, identifiable by his wild sword-slinging technique as well as his complete lack of an Interface. Each swing sliced through his ursine opponents, even as the bears flooded into the glen by the dozen.

  Enkidu swung and sliced until it was done.

  Once the last dire-bear fell dead, another two figures crept up from out of some short grass.

  “Good going, ‘Kido!” said Jelena.

  Zilara, meanwhile, pondered a small dead spot bereft of ferns amidst the wooded glen.

  “Keep it up. I think you’re almost there,” said the holy child.

  “You doing a commission?” Calaf asked. “Think there’s someone in Deepwood that trades some church marquees of quest completion for twenty pristine bear hides.”

  Jelena’s head turned on a swivel. Her smile grew wider as soon as she saw her erstwhile pursuer.

  “Hey!” she waved warmly.

  Oh, by the Menu, she’s glad to see me too. Calaf waved back and tried acting casual.

  “Don’t attack the animals!” the relic thief said. “Let Enkidu kill ‘em. If one goes after you just lead him over, do not fight back. We’re testing something!”

  “Oh… okay?”

  Another dozen bears emerged from the far line of trees. Jelena beckoned Calaf over to their position. He snuck over, careful not to draw the ire of the beasts flowing into the glen, and fell in beside the pair.

  “So, what’s an upstanding gentleman such as yourself doing in a place like this?” Jelena asked, hand on her hip.

  Over on her other shoulder, Zilara let out a stifled but annoyed groaning sound.

  “I see you made it out of Port Town okay,” he said. “What are you doing with all these bears?”

  Enkidu sliced through another two dire-bears over in the center of the field.

  Jelena nodded. “Zilara has access to all sorts of background System tools. We’re using them to test out something I saw a long time ago.”

  An item waited, empty, on the ground in front of the pair:

  “Why?” Calaf asked.

  This tool could be useful as a leveling aide. But Enkidu possessed no levels. And they weren’t in this for bear hides.

  “Just watch!” Jelena grabbed his head and tilted it towards the battle.

  A particularly fearsome Silver-Maned Dire-Ursine, the highest-rank a bear was like to get to in these woods, fell, head rolling away, at Enkidu’s feet. Still there was no experience to be gained or even items to collect.

  “See anything?” asked Jelena.

  Calaf peered at the massacre site before him.

  “What am I looking for?” he asked.

  “It takes a while to form. Oh, there!” Zilara pointed behind Enkidu’s shoulder.

  A reddish whisp not unlike smoke condensed into a solid, manifested out of the ground. It was translucent, curled back in on itself at the top like a question mark, and possessed an Interface designation:

  Zilara snickered. “Yes. That’s it exactly.”

  “What… is that?” Calaf approached cautiously.

  “You two can see it?” Jelena squinted. “I can’t see anything at all. Must be specific to the Interface.”

  “I also do not see anything,” said Enkidu.

  “A Pandemonium Wisp,” Zilara said. “So normally when a Branded defeats a non-branded foe, they get no gold for the kill, and experience points are dodgy. But when a non-branded entity kills something Branded, it’s the exact opposite problem. All that experience has to flow somewhere, right?”

  Calaf had experience slaying the unbranded. The long route bypassing the forest through unchurched territory had seen Gorman and Calaf fight off numerous beasts sans a Brand.

  “These Pandemonium Wisps are sort of a failsafe. Experience points, gold, and any items flow in here. It only becomes strong enough to show up if there’s a mass slaying.”

  The whisp awaited, strangely static amidst the forest.

  Jelena rubbed her neck. “So, this is what I found back in the day…”

  “I first noticed these back in the cistern,” Zilara said. “Too small to make themselves apparent as more than a small mote, though. I described it, and it meshed with something Hoss saw when she discovered angrier Hoss, here.”

  The group of four approached the wisp. Jelena and Enkidu continued to be unable to see the thing and so relied on Calaf and Zilara to guide them.

  “Should we… use it?” Calaf asked.

  “Let’s go for it,” Zilara said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  Zilara reached out with her Interface and selected the Pandemonium Wisp.

  Experience, gold, and items flowed into their inventories. Calaf was perhaps three-fourths of the way to the next level. Zilara, however…

  Level up!

  “Alright.” The holy child whistled. “Check it out.”

  “Good job,” Calaf said with a smile.

  That was an exceptionally good level-up for the twenties. It was rare for anyone to rank up in every stat.

  The wisp dissipated. Just another strange mystery of the System Interface.

  “Good with kids?” Jelena twirled a lock of her curly hair, looking at Calaf.

  “Oh, get a room,” Zilara said with a scowl.

  “Or not,” Enkidu added. “Just go do your business away from our eyes.”

  The group returned to pondering the area where the Pandemonium Wisp had once been. Grass had disintegrated where the wisp once stood, creating a minor dead zone in an otherwise fertile glen.

  “Well.” Jelena rubbed her hands together. “Not something I need to concern myself with anymore, I suppose. Maybe we’ll find something about it in the church library?”

  “Oh, you’re going there too?” Calaf said and realized too late they were probably there for a heist.

  “Are you headed there?” Jelena asked, leaning towards the Squire. “Wanna go together?”

  Calaf nodded. “Yes. I, ah, I mean, if you’re there for lawful purposes, I mean.”

  “Tourism,” Enkidu said simply.

  “Just passing through,” Zilara added.

  “That’s not a lie, we are just going down there to take a look in the archives.” Jelena had one hand on her hip. “For the record, the alibi is that I’m an impoverished desert nomad, who lost my Brand and my faith in a freak oasis-side haberdashery accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” Calaf asked.

  “Doesn’t matter! Anyway, I’ve come to the grand archives at Deepwood to try and rekindle my faith.” Jelena held out her hand. “What do you say? Wanna stop by there together?”

  Calaf rolled his eyes, blushing.

  They were going to the same place, after all. It only made sense.

  “Very well.” He took her hand. “Until the archives, at least.”

  “Glad to have you,” Jelena winked.