That was only Glonek’s first convert. In the weeks that followed, he found more converts. More people who were willing to become Scarthralls. More people entranced by the Woven Way.

Willing was perhaps stretching. But he wasn’t lying. Not really.

All they needed was a little convincing that their lives were indeed shit, and the main reason for that was their inherent weakness as humans. But the pathetic state they were born with didn’t have to mean that they were forever restricted from availing themselves of the true bounties offered by the Weave. For Glonek was here, ready to give them the power of a Thrall.

But converting a bunch of humans who didn’t have any social capital to speak of wasn’t going to be enough. Now that Glonek had taken the first few steps, now that he was well and truly into his plans, he couldn’t stop now. He had no intention of stopping now.

Instead, he was going to see it through. He was going to upend the Pits-cursed order that this city—this whole world, as far as he had seen—was so determined to stick to.

So, Glonek’s next target was House Kalnislaw itself.

He didn’t need to rule it with an iron fist. A shadowed leash would be enough. To that end, he took advantage of the only glimmer of real kindness he had been offered.

“This cannot be.” Lady Kalnislaw was staring at the papers shaking in her hand. Safely ensconced in Glonek’s little office, her exclamation wasn’t going to draw any attention. He had made sure of that. “He couldn’t have…”

She swallowed, her eyes disbelieving.

“It is true, unfortunately.” Glonek pointed out the attestation from the Bank of Zairgon itself. Of course, Glonek had needed to turn one of the employees into a Scarthrall, but the attestation he got afterwards was as real as a, well, a real one. “Lord Kalnislaw has unfortunately been manipulating the valuation of the business. It is… in a far worse condition than it appears.”

“If this becomes known, the Council would take immediate action. They wouldn’t spare him an iota of mercy.” Her eyes were wide and frightened. It was almost exhilarating to see the panic in the face of such an old, unflappable being. “They would ruin House Kalnislaw.”

“Only if they knew.”

She looked at him, her eyes immediately gauging the meaning behind his words. The simple confidence in his expression. A slow realization dawned on her face. “What do you want, Glonek?”

“For now? You, Lady Kalnislaw.” At his words, her expression darkened, but Glonek held up a hand, still smiling. “Nothing as crude as you imagine, my lady. I simply wish to make use of the potential you’ve allowed to go to waste.” It was his face’s turn to adopt an implacable look. “Because I am not allowing myself to go to waste.”

She was, naturally, resistant to the idea. But Glonek had many levers of persuasion in play. He mentioned how so many of the fieldhands of the Kalnislaw business were now Thralls. He mentioned how many Thralls had infiltrated Ring Four, getting closer and closer to the cults, where her wayward bastard son was to be found.

Glonek had a powerful grasp on his targets. He had constructed a cage from which his prey wasn’t going to escape from so easily.

Lady Kalnislaw’s expression turned to stone. “As you will.”

The first time he made proper use of her was in Seethescale Dungeon. There were too many Thralls in Zairgon now. A few clashes had already occurred and the city was slowly but surely growing aware of a certain, vampiric problem in their streets.

Glonek had needed to find alternatives. The abandoned sections of Ring Four were great, but the Plant had turned out to be even more ideal. All because of the links it had that led straight to the dungeon.

“I wish I could turn that thing into a Thrall myself,” Glonek said. “But sadly, it’s a bit too strong.” He smiled at Lady Kalnislaw. “Which is where you come in, my lady. Turn it.”

Her expression didn’t change even a whit. She hadn’t even bothered to wear something appropriate for dungeon delving. Instead, she had on the same kind of dress she adorned at her manor, like it provided some meagre measure of comfort in her circumstances.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then dropped down from the ledge they had been using to observe the Greater Brillwyrm. The fight was magnificent. Mostly because her strength took Glonek by surprise, for the battle lasted only a few minutes at best before she had the creature subdued, lacerated with little wounds where she had crushed its scales and pouring blood from its neck.

Lady Kalnislaw spat and returned back to the ledge.

Glonek bowed. “Thank you for the assistance, my lady.”

It was a small step. He didn’t really care about having a gigantic Thrall he would no doubt have trouble controlling within the dungeon. He just needed it out of the way so the real Thralls could take over.

But he had seen an opportunity to start forcing House Kalnislaw down the path he needed it to go, so he had taken it.

Today, it was merely a Brillwyrm. A monster that no one truly cared about.

Tomorrow—or perhaps in a few weeks, since rushing her would topple his plans—she would be biting into the necks of Councillors.

Or, well, the closest she could get. In the same way the Greater Brillwyrm was too powerful for Glonek to convert, the Councillors would be too strong for Lady Kalnislaw to do anything to. Well, she could still convert those close to the Council. He would just need to slowly work her up to that level.

The next opportunity to push her further along the path she needed to travel, to make up for being such a worthless Scarseeker, came when the Lord Kalnislaw initiated a little trip to Ring Four. Glonek had initially been against the idea, for he didn’t wish to endanger his base.

Plus, he had recognized that human. The one who had introduced himself as Ross. What an odd name. Nevertheless, that had to be the cultist that some of the Thralls had reported fighting against.

The one who had killed a Thrall. Well, not just one of them. He had killed the Greater Brillwyrm Thrall. That one had stung.

Glonek wasn’t afraid of the fellow. But he also wasn’t one to let his plans go to waste over any sense of arrogance. He had come this far, had taken over so much already, laid down so much groundwork. To let it all go to waste out of a lack of caution would be foolish.

But his lord insisted. So he was bound to follow. For now.

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Or rather, bound to turn it into an opportunity. Why not use Lady Kalnislaw to take out the real threat presented by the cult? The Elder who was the leader of those possessing the Aspects that were so anti-vampire. So anathema to his very existence.

The rest could be taken care of. Hamsik could be manipulated through his family, no matter how much distance he put between them. Everyone else, including Ross, could be dealt with summarily. It was the head of the cult that had to be decapitated. So, Glonek made sure Lady Kalnislaw was well aware of their real intention heading into the little meeting with the Cult of the Sun.

To turn their pesky old Elder into a Scarthrall.

It had worked out surprisingly well. Lady Kalnislaw created and took advantage of an opportunity to take care of the cult Elder with the cultists being none the wiser. Sure, Glonek had been wheedled into a silly Oath by Cultist Ross, but that was fine. With the Elder in his pocket, it wouldn’t really matter.

What was less pleasant was the fact that the guards of Zairgon were finally making their move. Not a huge issue. It was simply moving Glonek’s timeframe up a little higher.

Soon, they would make their real move. Soon, he would turn Zairgon on its head.

The night had started off without a hitch. Stupid guards were stuck in the dungeon, fighting only a bare modicum of the real forces of the Scarthralls. Meanwhile, the majority of them had split up to take over Ring Four for good. He had received word that a few had stayed on Ring Three, but they were only a few. Not worth bothering with. If they died, they died.

With Lady Kalnislaw hopefully keeping her wayward son busy, all Glonek had to do was ensure that he had full control over the Cult of the Sun—the only real danger to an enterprising Scarseeker such as himself and his Thrall minions.

And then he had been forced to fight Cultist Ross.

That stupid human who had killed a bunch of his Thralls, the one who had brought a Thrall to the temple. It hadn’t been naivete. Bastard was too smart for that. It had been the sheer disregard of the danger they could present him, a display of the same kind of will that had led him to kill the others. A will that Glonek would have loved to subdue into Thrall-dom.

But a will of that kind would never acquiesce, would never bend and bow. Pits, Glonek had seen him resist even Lady Kalnislaw’s Ensorcellment, and she was Opal-ranked.

So, Glonek had decided to kill him.

Glonek had fought.

Glonek had struggled.

For the first time in a long while, Glonek had found himself feeling alive unlike ever before.

It wasn’t just the mix of cleverness, experience, and interesting powers that his opponent possessed. It wasn’t just the fact that despite being weaker on paper, the Pits-cursed cultist had enough going on for him to present a suitable challenge.

For the first time since he had arrived at Zairgon, for the first time since he had set his plan in motion weeks ago, Glonek was taking part in battle directly.

Glonek was fighting to bring his future into being with his own bare hands and fangs.

And what a fight it was. He was pushed to limits he hadn’t thought he would ever need to reach for. That too, against someone weaker than him. All the meticulous preparations and planning he had done to ensure no one stronger would strike him down with ease, that none of the established agencies of power within Zairgon would come after him directly.

Yet, he had still been pushed to the brink. Pushed past it.

Lying there at the end, under the miniature sun from a Ritual he had been sure he had stopped, struggling against the inevitability of fate at the end, he had realized one small thing.

He had forgotten to account for new powers rising up within the city.

Glonek wasn’t one to give up, of course. Not after he had come so far. Not after he had gone through so much. Not after he had come this close to changing how this rotten city and rotten world was filled with vile presumptions. Not when he was so close to upending it all.

So he had struggled, he had called on all his followers, he had even thought and decided against simply escaping in his transformed state—it was too small and would still be locked in place by the field of purple, gravity-like power already holding him down—and he had screamed and shouted. To no avail, of course.

Finally, after all that time, Glonek had met his match.

Glonek had screamed when the fist of burning, blistering light crushed his heart into a burst of ash. Were those the last words he was ever going to hear? He had never thought he would ever come to this stage, had never believed that he would be in mortal peril.

But he felt it then. The slow grasp of the death. The inexorable slide of his consciousness slipping away.

The exit of life.

“I tried,” he said. His words were broken, warbled, but he was determined to have the last of them. “I nearly did it. I changed the world. Almost. Almost.” His eyes bored into the implacable ones staring down at him. “Until you came along. Until you destroyed everything!” Glonek coughed out blood that flaked into ash in front of his eyes. “So now, you get to do it. You get to change this rotten, putrid world of ours.”

There was a strange change in the cultist’s eyes. Something had happened at the end of their battle. White threads Glonek had seen before had flashed to the cultist’s hand, and for a just a hopeful instant, he had gone still. Glonek had almost dared to believe now was his chance.

But then he was back. He was present and powerful and…

And a little… morose?

“I’m not here to change the world,” the cultist said. His eyes were hard. “Not if it turns me into a monster like you. I’ll be myself, and the world will change on its own because of me.” Then, through rapidly blurring vision, Glonek was a little shocked to see the cultist’s expression soften. “But… I see why you are the way you are. I… understand.”

Ah. Those white threads. That momentary stillness. It seemed Glonek’s earlier words held more meaning than he himself had thought.

A being that changed the world, slowly but surely, with nothing but the sheer magnitude of his presence. Glonek had tried to force that. But this cultist… he would do so just by being himself. Just as he had shattered Glonek’s carefully crafted world.

He could accept that. He would have to.

After all, as the cultist’s glowing hand descended almost gently, even as his body and mind turned to ash, Glonek could take one little solace. There was a small part of his life, his experiences, his existence that would remain behind.

I raised my hand off Glonek’s body as the vampire slowly burned away to ash. It was over. Finally. All done.

Too many emotions were trying to claim a piece of me. Too many things were happening after I had finally killed Glonek. Too many thoughts were trying to tug at my tired, sluggish mind, while all I wanted was just a moment of peace to come to terms with everything.

It was one thing to find against a vicious monster who wanted to end everything I held dear. Wholly another to see what kind of life had shaped him to be the way he was.

I didn’t want to think just then. I didn’t want to feel. But the relief of victory and the triumph of evolutions warred against pain and sorrow. Escinca was gone. For good. His last acts had helped save us all, and killing Glonek had taken the edge off the raw grief. Yet the hollowness in my chest, so different from what I felt from the Weave, wouldn’t abate easily.

And after that little vision from Soul Sight, it was compounded with a sense of… not guilt or regret but rather, with foreboding. Almost fear.

It would be so easy for me to start walking down the same path that Glonek had done, so easy for me to become someone like him. I wasn’t so conceited as to recognize there had probably been moments where I had let what I faced get to me.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

Perspectives. That was something I needed to remember. I hadn’t harmed Aurier on my first day on Ephemeroth. I hadn’t lashed out at Aninta despite the way our first meeting had gone. All because they were people just like me, driven by their own priorities and motivations.

I needed to keep that in mind, no matter who or what I faced. Against city guards constantly dismissive of me, against Scarseekers who refused to accord me minimum respect, even against someone like Glonek, someone bent on death and destruction to the detriment of everyone, not just me.

Because that was how I’d stop myself from becoming someone like Glonek.

“Go back inside,” Hamsik said, walking up to me. For once, his voice didn’t have any bite to it. “Go to the others. I’ll take care of everything here.”

I could believe him. Despite the mini sun burning brightly above us, Hamsik wasn’t too severely affected. His skin had turned red and splotchy like he was suffering a bad case of sunburn, which probably still made him smart wherever his skin was exposed.

But he wasn’t burning to ash like Glonek and the Scarthralls.

The others had arrived not long after the Ritual sun had gone up. That included Aurier bringing in the rest of the cultists, as well as a gaggle of guards, and even several people from the surrounding neighbourhood, the latter of whom had been drawn out by the shining sun up high.

“I would like to go inside for a moment,” Revayne said. “If I may.”

Hamsik only grunted. I sighed and led the way back inside, the crying and snivelling growing louder as we went in. As we walked, the blue screens flooded in one after another. The Weave, it seemed, didn’t care at all what the emotional state of its subject was.