Jackal Among Snakes

Galamon pressed forward a fair bit ahead of Argrave, his metal boots impacting with the cold stone impressively quietly. Their strategy for the advance was quite simple—these vampires would rely on their senses to search out living things. Galamon, being a vampire, would have a better chance at surprising his foes. Argrave would serve as the eye-catching distraction.

To that end, Argrave had three electric eels swirling around his body, illuminating his surroundings through the beige smoke that assailed from direction. The smoke stung at his eyes, the sensation reminding him of swimming eyes-open through a pool with chlorine in it. He remained ready.

This place was a catacomb. It appeared to be a warrior’s tomb specifically, with statues depicting armored knights erected just behind stone sarcophagi. The opening section was a long, long hallway of stone coffins. Primitive traps, detectable even by Argrave’s unskilled eye, lined the floor—snares, caltrops, the like. It was the beginning of the vampire’s preparation. They thought the smoke would be able to stop any from entering for a long while, evidently.

Deep in the tomb, Argrave could hear the faint scrape and stir of scrambling. The long hallway opened up into many a larger chamber divided by a pillar down the center, and Galamon knelt down, gaze intent. He scanned the place. Argrave counted six openings, each leading into different rooms—offering rooms, he recalled, where the living could leave gifts to the departed. After a long silence, Galamon pointed to each opening, displaying on his fingers how many people were in each room.

Heaviest on the right side, was Argrave’s conclusion. With that in mind, he gestured right, and Galamon gave a nod of confirmation. He moved slowly and quietly, while Argrave remained in place. Once Galamon took his position just beside one of the rightward entrances, Argrave advanced.

Once he passed a certain point, a great roar echoed out, and three pale-skinned people wearing clothes too fine for a tomb stepped out of their recess, tossing daggers adeptly. They did not seem like monstrous beings—they appeared like ordinary men and women, and even resembled particularly well-dressed aristocrats.

But their daggers flew through the air as quickly as any arrow. Having been given ample warning, Argrave conjured a B-rank ward with his ring. Metal clashing against magic and battle cries echoed across the tomb, giving signal the battle had begun. Argrave scanned the three foes for any spellcasters but found none. Not all had the magic affinity for such a vocation, fortunately, elsewise vampires would be a much more potent force.

Galamon lunged and grabbed the closest, clutching his wrist. He pulled the vampire forth effortlessly, slamming him into one of his partners. The third reared back, retrieving more throwing daggers. Galamon’s speed had always been astounding, but with royal-forged armor and the crown both empowering him, he seemed naught but a dark gray blur. He jammed his Giantkiller in the vampire’s neck before he could ready another attack, then turned and cut it out, severing his head.

Vampires on the rightward side emerged from the other two prayer rooms—Argrave counted seven besides those Galamon engaged with, and once again found no spellcasters. One barked something about getting help, then fled deeper into the tomb. Argrave was pleased his enemies would be gathering closely together, but quickly dismissed the thought when the six rushed towards him and Galamon.

electric eels swirling above his head forth, using their presence to suppress the six rushing at them. It worked—they stopped in their

his forearm, suspending him in place for a dozen lightning-quick stabs to the stomach. The poison was working—the wounds did not heal, and he left the vampire to bleed.

vampires lost their boldness. They were thieves—even as vampires, they had mostly

up with them, that battlefield fervor was reignited. One of them was a spellcaster—C-rank, by Argrave’s heat-of-the-moment estimation. Given

to the last of the three, Galamon

a shout. At once, Galamon pulled free the Ebonice

to halt, then advanced before his vampire kin. Two C-rank [Skysunder] spells surged out of his hands, yet the Giantkiller in Galamon’s hand attracted the white lightning,

axe. Argrave urged his [Electric Eels] forth and rushed in, forcing the vampire to conjure a ward. With the ward up, the vampire was

glass before the giant knight of wind. The pavise struck the spellcaster directly, slamming him against the right wall. The group of vampires he’d been seeking protection behind scattered before Argrave, tossed by the powerful

fight—they fled. Galamon seized the initiative ruthlessly. He severed the dazed spellcaster’s head with his Ebonice axe and pursued those fleeing with his Giantkiller. He dealt haunting wounds that would not heal, but it was difficult to stop all from fleeing. He killed two more and

Argrave. “They’ll group up,” he informed Argrave with a voice too-calm in the wake of their slaughter. “Whether they retaliate or

out the fires, the smoke stops flowing. If they chase, I’ll deal with them. If they don’t, we’ll do our job, join up with Elenore’s men, and then I’ll deal with them.” Argrave glanced around at the gore, mind scrambled. He shook his head to gather himself. “Come on. We head deeper, then turn right at the

reapplying the vampiric poison on his Giantkiller. Argrave paced around, driven to constant motion by the adrenaline. Once finished, Galamon advanced, and they proceeded deeper into the tomb with him far ahead just as it had been the first

movement at the opposite

place to be caught in, and he couldn’t afford to endure a protracted magic battle: it would cost too much magic. “Rush. Just rush!” Argrave commanded, sending his electric eels darting forth to assault whoever was

slightly ahead. It became immediately obvious there were multiple spellcasters on the opposite end as the attacks came very quickly. Lightning, blades of wind, balls of fire—even despite Galamon’s diligent protection, Argrave took painful blows that cut past the haze of adrenaline. When they finally made it to