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.

Argrave remained behind his ward and sent the electric eels swirling above his head

for a dozen lightning-quick stabs to the stomach. The poison was working—the

magic before them, the six vampires lost their boldness. They were thieves—even as vampires, they had mostly subsisted on captors rather than actively hunting. They did not seem accustomed to struggles

the left side’s rooms joined 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 their regenerative qualities, vampires were a prime candidate to use blood magic.

putting an end to the last of the three, Galamon turned,

him with a shout. At once, Galamon pulled free the Ebonice axe, holding it at the

to halt, then advanced before his vampire

The spellcaster, panicked, conjured a wave of fire and retreated. The elven vampire batted the flames aside with the Ebonice axe. Argrave urged his [Electric Eels] forth and rushed in, forcing the vampire to conjure a ward. With the ward up, the vampire was sealed in place. Galamon lunged and swung his axe

reflexes fast enough to conjure a C-rank ward, but it shattered like sugar glass before the giant knight of wind. The pavise struck the spellcaster directly, slamming him against the right wall. The

did not dare rejoin the 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

“They’ll group up,” he informed Argrave with a voice too-calm in the wake of their slaughter. “Whether they retaliate or fortify themselves, I cannot say. Their leader

with them. If they don’t, we’ll do our job, join up with Elenore’s men, and then I’ll deal with them.”

clean his weapons of blood, Galamon nodded, 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

Argrave saw movement at the opposite end. Through the smoke, it was difficult to distinguish how many there were. Yet lightning surged across the gap

corridor was the worst place to be caught in, and he couldn’t afford to endure a protracted magic battle:

painful blows that cut past the haze of adrenaline. When they finally made it to the other side, their foes rushed at them with blades of blood