A few days had passed since their arrival at Carnifex. While both the site and the megabear corpse were secured with relative ease, the situation was still far from ideal.
“What a mess,” Tyson groaned, straightening his back. His eyes drifted to the desk, where three documents lay sprawled before him—each one a fresh source of headaches, served with a side of stress.
With great reluctance, he grabbed the first document.
To: Vicar Tyson
Subject: Incident Report – Vicar Carmichael
Report Summary:
It is with the deepest regret that I report the death of Vicar Carmichael, of the 5th Circle, in the line of duty. While following the prescribed patrol route, Vicar Carmichael’s group was ambushed by multiple Dungeon-kin. Initial reports identify the attackers as Spring Lynxes; however, given the unusual location, further verification is underway.
All operational protocols were adhered to, and there were no indications of the creatures succumbing to their programmed madness. Initial evidence suggests that the Dungeon-kin have adapted to our patrol routes, enabling a strategically coordinated attack.
The body is currently undergoing preparations for the Rite of Ascension, per standard procedure. Further investigations into this incident are ongoing.
Recommendations:
- Immediate reassessment of current patrol routes, with daily reviews to reduce predictability.
- Deploy additional resources to investigate the creatures’ evolving behavior
- Clearing all forested areas within a minimum of 200 feet of Carnifex to improve visibility and reduce the risk of sneak attacks.
Faithfully,
Vicar Grayson, 7th Circle
“Killed by some damn Lynxes that shouldn’t even be here,” Tyson noted, his words etched in disappointment. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost someone under his command. In their line of work, death was always a possibility, some would even say an evitability, but it still stung just as hard.
“You deserved better, Carmichael. May The First grant you a place of honor within the Heavens.” As the head of the expeditionary force, he was ultimately responsible for all the lives under his care. For now, the best he could do was to prepare his body for ascension and make the changes necessary to avoid this from happening again. Putting the report aside, he picked up the second document.
To: Vicar Tyson
Subject: Elven Activity in Diton
Report Summary:
Recent reports from locals suggest sightings of Imperial Elves in the vicinity. While the reliability of these accounts remains uncertain, it is plausible that the escalating events in Carnifex has drawn their attention. Due to the increasing risk of intervention, vigilance is advised.
Additionally, Concerns about the quarantine continue to grow, particularly among those with missing loved ones inside the village. While the rise in Dungeon-kin activity helps dissuade further inquiries, unrest is noticeably increasing and may soon require mitigation.
Faithfully,
Vicar Tranter, 6th Circle
“Damn spikes…” Tyson muttered under his breath. The last thing he needed right now were elves sniffing around causing trouble, or worse. He was having enough problems keeping the Dungeon-kin at bay and the locals pacified, especially with his limited resources. That was where his third document came in.
To: Vicar Tyson
Subject: Response to Reinforcement Requests
My Esteemed Brother Tyson,
Your tireless dedication and resolve during these turbulent times do not go unnoticed. It brings me no pleasure to deny a request for additional Vicars, nor to inform you of the Clergy and Knighthood’s rejections, but I trust you understand the dire circumstances across our Divine Kingdom.
Even as I pen this letter, the challenges we face seem unrelenting. Goblin raids from the Marooned Mountains plague the Dasian countryside, while demi-human tribes press our northern borders in Ishaa. Our western coastlines suffer under pirate and slaver plundering, spreading misery that defies the will of The First. And in the south, unrest festers in Barlytha, even as the specter of war with the elves of Elynore looms in the Calvaria Mountains. These crises leave us little respite, with every able servant of The First stretched beyond reason.
Though I must formally deny your requests for higher-circle reinforcements, I have allocated twenty militants to strengthen your position. Additionally, a modest fund has been arranged to aid your efforts; I leave its use to your discretion
I recognise the weight of your burden, Tyson, and I do not make these decisions lightly. The unique circumstances in Carnifex demand our attention, but the needs of the kingdom as a whole must guide our hand. Trust in The First’s light to guide you as you contend with these trials.
Know that you have my support in spirit, even as I cannot send you the reinforcements you hoped for. Be steadfast, brother; your faith and wisdom will carry you through.
May His light forever illuminate your path.
Faithfully,
Inquisitor Stansfield, 13th Circle
“Goblins, demi-humans, pirates, slavers, dissidents and elves! What is he talking about?! We’re the Heretica, not the damn knights!” Tyson slammed his fists on the desk, outraged. “Does he not understand what we’re dealing with here? I came to deal with a regenerating, possibly resurrecting megabear capable of killing a knight, and instead I find myself locking down miles of countryside surrounding a clearly magical dome with a handful of Vicars!” He was one piece of bad news away from flipping his desk in sheer frustration.
Deciding to take a break, he stood up from his chair and exited his tent. He was greeted by the sun’s warm embrace, a soft breeze rolling through the camp. If he wasn’t in such a bad mood, he might have even enjoyed the break from the clouds and rain.
Their initial twenty-one had grown in size since their arrival. Bishop Renard had heeded his call for aid and dispatched forty militants to his location, a welcome addition, even if most had barely formed their first circle and were using this mission as baby’s first deployment.
Some locals had also joined his camp, though not by choice. It seemed many of the people inside the dome have relatives in the surrounding farmland, some of the more adventurous of which tried to sneak through the forest to find out what was really going on. After they were caught too close to the site, Tyson had little choice but to keep them in the camp while the quarantine was in place. They weren’t bad people, certainly. In fact, he had hired them to work inside the camp, many of which were helping to construct the fence around the site or help the hunters bring in food, something they sorely needed with their growing numbers. Supplies were being carted in from Treda-Lake, supplemented by the excess produce bought from the local farms, more than happy to sell to the Vicars with Carnifex sealed off, but it remained a concern.
His eye snapped to his second in command, Vicar Grayson, who appeared to be heading his way. Doing his best to hide his poor mood, Tyson greeted him.
“Ah, Grayson. I assume this is about the mega-pain-in-the-ass. Do you have an update for me?”
“Well, it was really broken up about your orders, but I think it’s made piece with the idea.” Grayson’s puns were horrible, as usual, but not unwelcome. This one was terrible though, so Tyson just gave him the appropriate stare. “Right, sorry. To answer your question, we’ve gone over every square inch of the Dungeon-kin, both inside and out. Unfortunately, the answer is still the same. There is nothing to indicate any foul play, by magic or divine, at least directly on the body. If there were any truth to the report, the answer could have been within the missing head or paw, or it was reanimated remotely using necromancy. Given the goblin tunnels we found leading up to the dome, it’s possible that a shaman could have been wielding a staff containing that spell, not that that would explain much of anything in this situation.”
“Is there anything else we can do?” Tyson asked. He may have had larger concerns, with the literal, village sized dome dominating the landscape, but this was his original mission. It was curious that the bear was left outside, almost like the two were unrelated, but that seemed highly implausible.
“Unless you want the cooks to try and serve up the parts that aren’t rotten, I think our business with our house sized neighbour has concluded. I can only assume our answer will lay in the dome.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Very well, take anything useful from its corpse and stow it for now. Burn the rest.”
“Yes Sir. Oh, and erm… We found this. We believe it belonged to August Simms, the 6th circle knight assigned to this area. We haven’t found a trace of his partner, however,” Grayson presented the knight’s pendant to Tyson, his name engraved on it. Every person that took their pilgrimage knew it well. It was the one item that travelled the country along with them, taking in each of their blessings before being moulded into the symbol of their chosen order.
“I see. Is there a body?”
“Part of one, Sir.”
“Damn… And his divine essence?”
“All gone, Sir.”
“See to it that his body his burned separately then. We’ll send his ashes back to Treda-Lake with Carmichael so they can both have proper send offs.”
“Yes Sir,” Grayson saluted, taking his leave.
With his subordinate gone, Tyson’s eyes drifted back over to the dome, it’s imposing size towering over him no matter where he went. During the day, it was mostly transparent, with only a blue haze filtering his view of the area.
“I wonder how they’re progressing,” he mused, deciding to make his way towards the village. His tent was in the center of the camp, so it wasn’t long before he arrived at the assigned border with the dome. Though their numbers were low, several of his vicars were patrolling around the area. Their job was to keep the militants and locals out while searching for any sign of the inhabitants. Though he had received some reports of flickering across the dome, there was still no sign of the people of Carnifex.
Arriving just before the “DMZ”, separating his camp from the dome, he was greeted by Sasha and Burns, who stood to attention with a sharp salute.
“What do you have for me?” Tyson cut the formalities short.
“Nothing of note, I’m sorry to say. There’s been no movement on the inside, and everyone here has learned to stay on the outside,” Burns reported.
“I’ll decide what’s of note. If even the smallest thing happened, I want to know.”
“Of course, Sir. A bird hit the dome about three hours ago, not sure if it was Dungeon-kin or not though,” Sasha added.
“Let me guess.”
“““It was shattered to pieces,””” All three of them said in unison, followed by a short sigh by the commanding officer.
“Fair enough. How’s progress on cracking this thing open?”
“Slow, Sir. We’ve done some limited testing using miracles, such as the Lance from the Strike from the Heavens series, but the most we get are a few cracks along the surface that heal up as quickly as we can make them. Without being able to touch it, our options are severely restricted,” Burns explained. Tyson had attended a few of the tests. As expected, the power of the divine was more than capable of disrupting the magic on display. The problem was the strength of the spell.
“I’ve got nothing new on my side either. My last report from Treda-Ton told me there were no known magical artifacts that could produce something like this.”
“Is that the one where they practically called us liars, Sir?” Sasha inquired.
“The very same. For some reason, they haven’t responded to my invitation to come see it for themselves yet. I’m sure they are just taking their time to pack their panties before they rush over here to show us the error of our ways,” Tyson remarked.
“Of course, Sir.”
“Only the finest silks,” Burns and Sasha agreed.
“Well, let me know if anything changes. And, I’m sorry about Carmichael.”
“Thank you, Sir… He’s in a better place now, at least,” Burn’s replied.
“I’ll make a Lynx coat in his honor, Sir,” Sasha added.
“If we’re stuck here past winter, that might not be such a bad idea. Can’t say I’m much of a seamstress myself, though,” Tyson joked.
Just as he was about to leave, a horn blew from the other side of camp.
“One horn, looks like the dungeon-kin are here again,” Tyson mused aloud. Before they knew it, something in the distance skidded around the corner, rapidly approaching the three. To their surprise, and mild disappointment, it was some sort of rabbit variant with four long ears.
“Oh,” Sasha spoke, seeming the most let down. “Should we still stop it, Sir? It’s probably just after the dome like the others.”
“We should still stop it. We still don’t know the nature of the dome. For all we know, it’s feeding off of the lives of the fallen dungeon-kin to keep itself active,” Burns interjected.
“You make a good point. Better safe than sorry. I’ll handle this,” Tyson stepped forward, raising his hand. “Oath to Humanity, Gilded Cage.”
Before the little bunny could dash past them, a small cage of fine, golden white bars formed around it, preventing its escape as it smashed its head into the divine box, almost tipping it over, before settling in its confused, dazed state. That only lasted for a few seconds, however, before it began panicking, smashing its head into the cage repeatedly in a futile effort to escape.
“Is that some sort of scout or spy rabbit?” Burns mused.
“Shall I grab the A&A guide, Sir?” Sasha asked.
“Read that smut on your own time, Sasha. No, this pest isn’t worth the extra effort,” Tyson replied, as he casually walked over to the caged beast. It had tired itself out trying to break free, making it all the easier for the Vicar to thrust his sword between the bars, slaying the creature. “Something else for the pot, at least. I’ll bring it over myself. Let it never be said I don’t do my part to keep you all fed.”
“Very good, Sir,” Burns replied.
“Nothing like unidentified Dungeon-kin to fill a vicar’s stomach,” Sasha responded.
“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy your bedtime reading then, Sasha, and keep the moaning to a minimum. I’ll expect a full report about this meat by morning.”
“Yes, Sir!” Sasha saluted. Though she sounded enthusiastic, it was clear she loathed the idea.
It was as Tyson was about to release his divine cage that his vision was drawn to the great magical dome encasing Carnifex, its once clear reflection of the village now distorting.
“What the...” Tyson muttered, the phenomenon garnering the attention of the entire camp. Within the dome, day was replaced by night, illuminated by roaring fires of orange and black, overlooked by a great sphere of shining blue that hung over head. Nooses, like those from the gallows, poured from its surface, hanging men and monster alike, yet the bodies were still moving, unwilling to die.
Then, it revealed the villagers pounding on its walls, all of them smeared in too much blood to remain healthy, with obvious gashes and cuts to their clothing, yet with no visible wounds. Even more unnerving, some villagers had undergone changes, many of them showing ill-fitting leathery skin, with cancerous growths bloating their bodies.
Their mouths moved, but no voices reached them on their side of the dome. They wanted out of their prison, trapped inside what looked like a living nightmare, but not through any sense of panic, terror or agony. In fact, they were ecstatic, their mouths twisted into creepy, unnatural grins that no sane person could wield in such a situation. One locked eyes with Tyson, a man of fighting age, blood staining his head as though someone had bashed him over the head with a club, his mouth moving in an effort to speak with him.
Then, it was over.
The walls frosted over once more with the illusion of a vacant village, untouched by fire, blood or death, as though nothing had ever happened at all. There were no words in that moment, only silence as everyone tried to understand what they had just witnessed. Within the quiet, Tyson pondered. Then, he spoke, repeating the word he just read from the man’s lips.
“Beau—"
“Beautiful,” Tyson was cut off, as the rabbit beat him to the punch, it’s voice deep and unnatural, echoing with the word as if spoken by an otherworldly being.
“?!” Sasha and Burns turned in horror at the voice, discovering the rabbit slowly rising to its feet.
“What in nith?!” Burns yelled.
“Strike from the Heavens!” Sasha started.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” A high-pitched scream pierced the ears of everyone in camp, and it was not alone.
“M-MONSTER!”
“UNDEAD!”
“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”
Locals, militants and vicars alike raised the alarm across the camp.
For a moment, even Vicar Tyson was paralyzed. Who was their enemy? What was their enemy? Was this another effect of the dome? Were they not dealing with a sealed village but rather a necromancer’s fortress of the undead?
It was in the brief period all these questions flowed through his mind that Grayson’s voice cut through all others.
“M-MEGABEAR! THE MEGABEAR’S ALIVE!!! ALL VICARS, TO ARMS, TO ARMS!!!”
Tyson, Sasha and Burn’s blood all ran cold.
---
“No, no, no, no, no!” A Vicar cried, crawling away from the massive, rotten, oil-soak bear limb as sinew and spoiled blood poured from the open wounds, probing the ground around it barely out of reach from him.
“Beau-beau-b-b-beau.” The bear’s broken, headless corpse uttered, unable to finish the word. Every dissection was being mended, the rot rejuvenating before everyone’s eyes, even as the fur turned black and fell from the skin, which transformed into the mutated leather like the villagers within the dome.
“Purge this abomination!” Grayson commanded, as the vicars in the area raised their hands.
“““Strike from the Heavens, Lance!””” The five Vicars called out, as bolts of holy light blasted towards the undead creature. The first lance to strike the body sparked the oil intended to cremate it, setting the Dungeon-kin alight.
Charred meat flew, skewered by wave after wave of golden white lances, yet the creature continued to rise. It’s three remaining limbs, burning, blackened and grotesk, rejoined the body. For whatever reason, the head and missing limb were struggling to reform, but even still, the megabear managed to stand.
“Beautiful,” the deep, echoey voice spoke from the burning corpse.
“Strike from the Heaven’s, Piercing Lance!” Tyson called out, as he arrived on the scene with Vicar Sasha and Burns, unleashing his own barrage of lances, sharp and solid, striking at the bear’s limbs. Unable to hold itself up, it collapsed once more to the ground as wave after wave of divine might turned the corpse into pulp and ash.
Soon, there was nothing left of the beast, and no more words left its corpse. Grayson turned to face his commander.
“Thank you, Sir. I don’t know what happened, but the thing just started returning to life. Looks like the report wasn’t just insane ramblings after all.”
“We’ll figure that out later. Have two of your men watch what’s left of this thing while the rest scour the camp for any other corpses. If you find them, burn them. What happened to August’s body?”
“He… regrew his lower half, Sir. In the confusion, he ran into the forest screaming about its beauty just as the megabear awoke,” Grayson admitted, reluctantly.
“Fool! Go find him, now! Nothing escapes from here. I’ll deal with the camp, just make sure that thing doesn’t escape.”
“Yes Sir!” Grayson Saluted, already organising his men to head into the forest. Tyson, meanwhile, turned back to the camp, with Sasha and Burns intending to follow.
“You two, head into the camp as well. Secure the rabbit that was left in the cage and assist the others in burning the bodies, even the ones that aren’t moving.”
“Yes Sir. Might I ask what you will be doing?” Sasha asked.
“Grayson just reminded me of something. Once I’ve dealt with that, I’ll come back to assist.”
“Very good, Sir,” Burns replied, as they both snapped a salute, and went about their duties.
With his entourage gone, Vicar Tyson headed over to a tent he hoped he wouldn’t have to visit, hoping against hope what he was thinking wouldn’t be true.
Just because August turned doesn’t mean one of my own would have, he thought, his pace quickening. Sounds of combat easily reached him. Blades swinging, maces crushing, miracles burning, and the calls of beautiful from the deceased intermixed with it all. Some tents had set alight, but they were few and far between. They could manage this, whatever it was.
He was close now. Turning a corner, he was only a few strides away from his destination.
That’s when his worst fears were confirmed.
Standing before him, in little but his underwear, his fatal wounds now removed from his body, stood Carmichael. For a moment, Tyson paused as the once dead man turned to see him.
“Beautiful,” he spoke, words Tyson never expected he’d say to him in a million years.
He’s not nearly as bad as the villagers, just a little pale, the vicar pondered, as his resurrected subordinate began stumbling towards him. In response, Tyson raised his hand.
“Strike from the Heavens, Cleansing Fire,” he called forth his miracle, as a stream of golden white fires spat out from his palm, enveloping the man before he knew what was happening. Under the holy fire, Carmichaels body turned into little more than a black silhouette within its center, rapidly burning away.
“Beau… tiful,” were the man’s last words, as his body disintegrated into ash, carried away by the breeze.
“May you always walk in the shining light of the Heavens, Carmichael,” Tyson offered his fallen comrade a few final words, before turning to deal with the situation across the camp.