Wandering Warrior: Judge - Epilogue 1

Epilogue 1

Everything had been going perfectly.  Gleason had left the village behind, and his scouts had brought him to where they had lost the trail for James Holden just in time for a beacon to light up the evening skies in the far distance.  It was as if the Trinity was lighting the way for him.  He could feel their gaze settle upon him, urging him upon his divine quest.  Gleason and his men had nearly killed their chargers in their rush to catch their prey.

Gleason had used his Long Eye spell to spot his quarry sneaking around the roof of an old building, and had immediately ordered his men to don full armor and go in after them.  That was when things had started to turn for the worse.  When the gaze of the Trinity had fallen from his shoulders.

While he knew that the undead weren’t normally a threat to the Wardens–and most especially the men under his command, who he had personally trained–they had been confronted by a new type he had never seen before.

At first, he had waited outside the old building while his men dutifully followed orders and attempted to clear the building themselves.  After all, if their commander had to do all the work himself, what good were they?  A runner had come to tell him of the fierce fighting inside, and of the mounting casualties they were being dealt.

Gleason ordered all of his men but one to join in the fight, leaving his newest Warden to guard the horses.  He did what any good commander would do, and followed behind, bringing up the rear so he could better organize his men as they fought.

Instead, he watched as his men were ripped to pieces by foes that should have been killed by the wounds his men inflicted.  An undead that could still fight with a spear through its head was unlike any undead he had ever heard of, with the exception of those very few ancient vampires that lived in the far north, or across the seas in the southern deserts.

He was forced to join in the battle, dirtying himself with the ichor of the undead monsters within minutes of entering the building.  Gleason was so incensed by the audacity of the unclean filth that dared touch him, he cut a path almost by himself straight to the strongest source of magic he could feel in the whole building.

That was when he had seen him.  Him.  James Holden, the man who called himself a Judge.  A monster, condemned to die by the gods themselves, claiming to be something more than a pig wallowing in filth.  He was covered in it, stinking of the undead, like he had been down in the basement with them for days.

Gleason had always known himself as one of the best fighters in the Hunters Guild.  Out of the hundreds of Wardens he had sparred with in recent times, only the Green Wardens could defeat him soundly.  He knew his worth, and it was far more than most men could ever aspire to reach.  Then, he fought James Holden.

It was like fighting a Green Warden, but without any of the pride or honor they exuded.  He knew then, that Holden was a monster in truth.  Gleason had given his all, and was found wanting.  In fact, he knew that Holden had beaten him without much effort.  The lazy confidence the man showed was evidence enough of that, not even breathing hard during their fight.

Then, to make matters worse, instead of being given a clean death upon his failure, Gleason had been pulled underground, where a slavering monster had dragged him through what had felt like miles of tight tunnels until he was brought before this creature, a wizened old vampire that felt heavy with mana.  Gleason knew it was a powerful undead, at least at the level of an elder vampire.

“What have we here?”  The raspy voice sounded like the monster hadn’t spoken out loud in a long time.  It reached out, flipped open the visor of Gleason’s helm, and sliced a ragged, dirty fingernail across Gleason’s cheek.  The vampire licked the blood that dribbled free, taking a few moments to taste it as if it were a fine brandy, picking through the subtleties and secrets it carried.  “I think the master would like you.  I think he would like you very much.”

Behind Gleason, the tentacled creature that had brought him here made a burbling sound, and produced a charred skull that had very pronounced canines.  The elder vampire snapped his fingers, and the tentacled creature gently handed it over.  As Gleason watched, the vampire focused on the skull, and a faint green glow seemed to come from the empty eye sockets.  A disembodied voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, fading in and out to Gleason’s ears.

…keep it… different vessel, without holy magic… injured badly.  Tell the Destitute that I… not what we thought… need to hurry, before it’s too late… demons can’t hold him forever…

“Yes, milord.  I’ll do as you say.”  The vampire turned to face Gleason, and smiled wide enough to show yellowed fangs in all their unholy glory.  “Today is your lucky day, young Warden.  You get to become a part of something important.  Something bigger than yourself.  All you need to do is… survive.”

Gleason’s mouth was so dry, he had to try twice before he could speak.  “S-survive?  What do I need to survive?”  He felt a faint flicker of hope in his chest.  Perhaps the Trinity didn’t leave him completely forsaken.  “You aren’t going to kill me?”

The vampire moved faster than Gleason could hope to avoid, grabbing his helm and twisting his head to the side.  He pulled it up enough to expose a gap between his breastplate and gorget, baring a strip of flesh around his neck.  Gleason tried to struggle, but the vampire’s grip was like a vice.

It held up the skull like a dagger before plunging the twin canines into his neck, and Gleason felt like two icicles had been stuck into his flesh.  Coldness flooded his body, numbing his broken limbs as his chest slowed its breathing.  He managed to look down enough to see that thick black veins were writhing beneath his skin.  Gleason could feel them stretching to cover his body, living snakes twisting through his organs, invading his brain.  Then, the skull exploded.

“No!”  The elder vampire jerked back from the flash of green fire, pieces of its own hand blown off in the sudden violence.  The cold invading Gleason was interrupted by the green flames getting sucked into the twin holes in his neck, before it flashed orange and was gone.  “What did he do?  What does this mean?”

Gleason, now forgotten on the floor, was dealing with problems of his own.  The black veins and green fire that had invaded his badly injured body caused a catastrophic grand mal seizure.  His body contorted so hard that he fractured more bones, knocking free his helm and exposing his sweaty head and face as he foamed at the mouth.  The black veins had sunken out of sight, leaving him looking as normal as a man in his position could be expected to appear.

Staring down at the broken man, the elder vampire scoffed.  “So many grand plans, gone to waste.  The outworlder must have managed to destroy the lich after all.”  He looked at his damaged hand, and the barely breathing Warden.  “No sense letting good blood go to waste.  Especially since I need to heal myself before I can report to the Destitute all the failures of the lich.”

Grabbing Gleason by the back of the neck like he was a stray kitten, the vampire lifted him up to his mouth and bit him, drinking deeply from the Warden.  He intended to drain him completely, not wanting to chance a newly risen vampire in a few days time that he would need to babysit.  They were little more than beasts, thinking only of their thirst, and with the knowledge of magic already in his mind, the former Warden would have been a nightmare for the elder vampire to deal with.

As it took a second drink, Gleason’s eyes snapped open.  His body moved by instinct, trying to grapple the elder vampire to break free of its grasp.  The many broken bones he suffered from made him weak, and the elder vampire fought him off easily.  Not wanting to draw things out, it took a third drink from Gleason, enough that the man should have passed out from blood loss by now.  Instead, black veins erupted to the surface of his skin, giving him enough strength to pull free of the vampire’s grasp.

“Curious.  The lich’s gift should have died when it did.”  The vampire stood, intending to finish the job the old fashioned way as he pulled a dagger from his belt.  “No matter.  I’ll make this quick.”

Even with the boost provided by the black veins, Gleason could do nothing to save himself.  He watched silently as the vampire approached, holding up its weapon as it prepared to kill him.  For Gleason, it wasn’t even the first time he had faced a similar scene that day.  In his final moments, he cursed James Holden for beating him, he cursed the Wardens for sending him on a fool’s errand, and most of all he cursed the Trinity for forsaking him in his hour of need.

Before the knife could strike home, the elder vampire stopped, grabbing at its abdomen.  “What?”  He looked at Gleason, clear confusion on his face.  “What did you do to me?”

A realization struck Gleason as his lips cracked and bled in a crimson smile.  It made sense now.  All this–he wasn’t forsaken by the Trinity.  He was being tested.  Tested for greatness.  Laughing maniacally, he croaked out a familiar sentence.  “All you need to do, vampire… is survive.”

As Gleason watched, a familiar black vein crawled up the vampire’s neck.  The already wrinkled appearance of the vampire seemed to worsen, and more black veins spread across his visible skin.  The powerful undead monster was brought low, doubling over in pain as it whined like an animal caught in a trap.  That only lasted a few more seconds, before the vampire dropped to the floor, completely still.  Its body rapidly shrank, turning into little more than a shrunken skeleton.

From its back erupted a mass of black ropey tentacles that flung itself at Gleason.  He could do nothing except close his eyes and await a similar fate as the tar-like mess slammed against his breastplate.  Gleason held his breath, waiting to die.

When nothing happened, he looked down to see nothing was there.  The black veins were gone, leaving nothing beyond a clean spot on his armor.  A few heartbeats later, Gleason knew it had somehow gotten inside him anyway.  He was suddenly flushed with a cold so intense it burned, turning his breath into a mist as he exhaled.

Gleason expected the end to finally come, but once again, it didn’t.  The burning cold seemed to rejuvenate him.  Heal him.  Restore him.  Gleason finally sat up, fully whole and hale, more energized than he had felt in years.

“I… I’m alive.”  Gleason patted himself down, confirming he was truly okay.  Staring down at his body, he could only come to one logical conclusion.  “I truly am destined for more.  The Trinity have not forsaken me.  They have blessed me.”  He felt his neck where he had been bitten by the vampire.  Gleason knew from all the literature and from past hunts he should be feeling feverish already, and that the change into an undead monster was inevitable.  Somehow, that didn’t bother him right now.  He didn’t feel feverish, and even if he did change–which he might not–he knew deep down that he wouldn’t be like a regular blood sucker.  Gleason had been chosen for more.

He reviewed his memories over what the vampire had said.  Apparently, the skull it had used to poison him was supposed to impart some kind of gift from a lich.  When it had exploded, the vampire had assumed that the lich had been killed, but Gleason knew different.  The Trinity had changed the unclean gift from an undead monster into a blessing from his deity.  That meant his mission from the Oracle was so important, it warranted direct interference from the gods themselves.  Gleason dropped to his knees in supplication, raising his hands above his head.

“You have chosen me to be your agent on this mortal plane.  I will not fail you.  Corruption will be cleansed, torn out by the root.  I will raise your praises with my voice, and fulfill your orders with my hands.”  Gleason stood, not noticing the black veins tinted with green and orange flames as they flickered across his body.  “This I swear.”

In his heart, Gleason was most happy that the only real order he had ever received was to kill James Holden.  After what he had learned from that dirty shifter mayor, it made what he was going to do to Greendown all the sweeter.