“I do not understand. How can he simply disappear from this facility!?” Ian roared with fury and threw his tea cup against the far wall. It impacted with such force that it cratered the tier 5 stone wall and left the tea cup as fine particles floating through the air as dust.

  His handsomely narrow brows were contorted with fury, his glossed lips were speckled with spittle, and his normally immaculately combed-back blonde hair was in disarray.

  The Doctor paced in front of him, his leather gloved right hand massaging the base of his hauntingly black blood speckled plague mask in thought.

  A thickly built man was grovelling on the floor to the right, tears and snot running down his scarred face. The scars looked new, and parallel marks over his entire face indicated that he was the victim of a beast's claws.

  “P-p-p-please my lord!” begged the man. “We looked everywhere! We used the tracking hounds like you told us, but we couldn't find the way he escaped!”

  Ian sharply pierced him with an aura attack, “Do not raise your voice to me, slave!” Of course he knew the man was screaming out of desperation, but it would not do to allow anyone to raise their voices at him.

  “AAAAAAAAAaaaaa!” the man screamed and writhed as Ian raked his soul with mental talons.

  Hopefully it will remind him of the beast that mauled his face. Ian thought sadistically.

  After five minutes of world-ending torture, Ian stopped and immediately screamed, “How did he escape?!”

  When the man did not respond immediately, Ian started the aura attack anew.

  “My lord, it is unlikely that he had anything to do with the escape.” The nearly robotic voice of the Doctor interjected one minute later, not out of pity, but because his time was precious and he could be spending it more productively.

  “I know.” Ian said, a coy smirk thrown the Doctor’s way and chuckled, as if he had been caught in the act of stealing a cookie.

  For two more minutes he attacked the other man’s soul, and just to be sure the worm wasn’t somehow getting used to the same act, he started alternating attacks. Pierce, bludgeon, slash, and pierce again.

  He only stopped when the man started seizing, and then spoke only when he was dead sure that the man could hear him.

  “He cannot be trusted! Take him to the dungeons!” He called to the guards standing by the door, their faces pale and sweating, “Extract from him the knowledge of what he did to the prisoner!”

  They dashed forward and dragged the man, kicking and screaming unintelligibly, into the facility beyond the door. In the brief moment that the portal stood open, sounds like that of the bottom layer of Hel crashed through the office: Wails-cries-begging-pleading, for it all to stop. Too many voices to count, in too much pain to be coherent. The poor, unfortunate souls trapped in his playpen gave Ian a demented sense of sick erotic pleasure.

  The door swung shut, and all sounds of horror ceased abruptly.

  A malevolent chuckle emanated from behind the mask of the Doctor, “We do so enjoy your blasphemous acts, my lord, but could we perhaps return to the topic of conversation we were discussing before we were so rudely interrupted?”

  Hidden by the mask as its face may be, Ian had little doubt that The Doctor was human, or any other sensible race like Krippinfay or Dwarf or even... *shudder* Orc. He was an aberrant horror. A creature not native to this realm. Behind those plague mask lenses lurked a mad yellow light, swirling with sickly emerald green.His voice ground low, deep, vibrating its leather clad, gloved shell.

  “Of course!” Ian replied sunnily, his kind and friendly veneer once again in place, “How much longer can you continue with the supply being cut-off?”

  “Three months. After which we will have to resume alternative operations to procure supplies.”

  “FUCK!” Ian was silent for a long time as he thought, his gaze roaming across the artfully manicured gardens of Shar’etic Manor. “Have you gone to the shamans yet? Seen if they could track him down with his old blood?” He asked finally as he threw his hands in the air, desperately grasping for answers.

  “Not…as of yet. They dislike Our kind and would not appreciate it if We approached them directly.”

  “In other words I have to be the to do it?!” Ian screamed in frustration.

  Everything had been going so well! If I ever find out who allowed my toy to escape, I would find them and Oh hOhoho… the dying would be slo~w and agonising.

  “I will try to make contact, but you know how they are; they would ask something that I would hate to part with, I fucking know it.” Ian scowled, his fingers drumming on his armchair in thought. “Do we have any contacts nearby?”

  “As you well know, the nearest town was just overrun with demons. He would either have to venture there… or he went over the cliffs…”

  Ian once again threw his hands into the air dramatically, “Then he's as good as lost! Fine!” He snarled like a coiled cat, “I will hence to the shamans. You must continue your work for as long as possible. Now, get out! I need to think.”

  Ian’s mood swings were as chaotic, violent, and as utterly intense as his business acumen. Either he would get what he wanted, or someone would die a horrific death; with civil society being none the wiser of the criminally insane noble.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The Kinkel woods is a misnomer. When its name is said it brings to mind lush and bright green forests spotted with airy clearings in which small animals frolic with joy.

  “Mother,” said a small girl in a little red hood, “I shall be back by midafternoon. I am going to take granny some pastries.” The bright smile and jovial atmosphere of the cabin made the young girl appear all the cuter for her innocence.

  “Be safe!” the mother's voice called as the young girl dashed off into the relatively new-growth woods.

  We can all infer what happened next. The grandmother, a witch who had ensorcelled the village into thinking she is all their frail elderly figure, sacrificed poor little red riding hood to her dark wolf god.

  Hundreds of years have passed since then, and the Kinkel woods have only grown more powerful. New-growth becomes old-growth. Witches become covens. And wolf gods are overthrown by fleshens. Ancient towering trees creaking in the wind hide many secrets that attract foolhardy adventurers who think themselves immortal or untouchable. They very quickly discover that the Kinkel woods is a place where nature reigns supreme. Young druids often think they would be the exception to this danger, only to find they make as good a snack as any other Sethnari.

  This is not to say the woods are uninhabitable. Many small villages dot the forest’s edge, sustaining themselves on the rich resources that can be found within its dark depths. The adventurers guild has even gone so far as to build a guildhouse within the forest itself, trading the beast parts their members forage with the world outside. Then, there are others who have made the woods their home: ancient demigod heroes who tired of ‘civilised’ company, sequestered themselves away until their age finally caught up with them.

  It is in one such household, within the Dark Kinkel woods, that our story begins.

  Aeneas put his massive, scarred hand on Alexander’s shoulder, his gravelly voice sounding muffled within the confines of the towering conifers.

  “My son…My son.” He repeated with conviction, tears flowing into his thick salt-and-pepper beard. “You have made me prouder than any father has any right to be. I have seen you grow from the small boy that could barely lift a shortsword, into a mighty warrior about to become a true man.”

  Alexander looked up at his father, stubbornness and foolish pride the only thing keeping his own tears at bay.

  Aeneas, an eight foot tall behemoth of muscle and manliness, sniffled and continued, “We have prepared you as best as we can, now you just have to put our lessons into practice. Do not be afraid of making mistakes, make as many as you can, but learn from every single one of them. For it is only through adversity that we learn.” He pulled his son into a crushing hug, Alexander seeming to vanish into that large man’s enormous apron-like beard.

  Finally Aeneas put him down and stepped away so his mother could have a chance to say her goodbyes.

  He turned to face the six and a half foot tall warrior queen. She was clothed in comfortable fur and leather, small metallic adornments and clasps making the barbaric garb seem refined and royal in its savagery. She did not have a soft face but a motherly one all the same, a face that hid the wit and intelligence that had toppled kingdoms across all the world in her adventures. If someone were brave enough to ask who was more intimidating, between his mother and father, they would no doubt say his father. However, if one actually spent the time necessary to cultivate friendship and come to know them, they would unflinchingly proclaim his mother to be the more terrifying force.

  She gently smiled at Alex and likewise pulled him into a hug, hers significantly less forceful and more controlled than his brutish father. Her heart-shaped face was free of tears. Instead, a gentle acceptance and confidence in her son’s ability graced the small smile on her face.

  Still holding him she started, “I too am proud of how far you have come, Alexander. Of all my children you have taken my lessons to heart the most, so I know you will let wisdom guide your actions. Tread the path you choose carefully, and if anyone stands in your way,” cold steel filled her tone, causing Alex to slightly shiver, “do not hesitate to crush them utterly.”

  She pulled away and held him at arm's length, her alto voice softening along with her expression, “You have a great capacity for love, so love often and frequently but do not let it blind your judgement.” She gently traced his naturally flushed red cheek with her calloused palm, her eyes roaming his youthful face and memorising his features. His expressive dark dark brows; his deep blue eyes that constantly reminded her of her sire; his small round nose that had been broken too many times to count, with the thick bridge to prove it; his soft yet defined jawline, that had yet to see a single hair. His cheeks were flushed red, even more so than normal, and she could see the dampness of tears resting on his lashes, tears that he would never shed in front of them.

  “Now go,” she gently pushed him in the direction of the small trail leading from their cabin, “Go and make something of yourself. Go and show the world that Alexander Godsbrand is a man.”

  Alexander walked backwards a few steps, taking in his childhood home for the last time in what could be a very long time. His parents were holding each other, his bear of a father openly weeping while his mother stoically supported him. The large cabin, more of a longhouse than anything, was three stories tall and many times wider, sporting large windows that let in a lot of natural light. It was surrounded by towering trees that made the large structure seem small in comparison, fern gardens and rich dark earth surrounded the cabin, and made it truly blend in with the forest.

  Home.

  He turned and faced the towering trees that he had grown up with, knowing that this might be the last time he crossed beyond their boughs...and took a step.

  Guanji watched in complete shock as Water and Fire elemental mana came pouring out of young Gareth Elson's mouth in a billowing plume of steam that swirled through the rain above. He heard the rasp in his voice as he choked, and the gargle as he drowned, his thin face turning blue with asphyxiation. He saw that Gareth had luckily passed out because his lips were blistering, and Guanji could only imagine the damage being dealt to his throat. His body started rapidly losing weight as the natural elemental mana was sucked out of his body to fuel the essence conversion, and Guanji realised what he needed to do.

  Using his spiritual sense, he reached into his spatial device and retrieved a Water and Fire tier 2 Leaf, then hurried over to the convulsing Gareth. The cloud of steam was not hot enough to even inconvenience him, so he reached through it to turn his disciple onto his back. He then, not really fearing that Gareth might die, forced the thin pine needle leaves down his throat and into his lungs by using his mastery of mana manipulation.

  He immediately felt as the left lung started drawing on the Water leaf, while the right drew on the Fire. Tier 2 leaves had more than a thousand units of mana in them, so Gareth’s tier 0 body could do nothing to truly drain the leaves. Yet the end result was that Gareth's body no longer drew on his internal reserves for energy, and instead drew from the pressured mana within the leaves.

  It was extremely rare, but not unheard of, for a person to awaken an elemental breath weapon. It was always an indication of a strong bloodline. Dragon bloodlines, to be precise. There are many types of dragon, however, and Guanji looked forward to seeing which kind it could be. Most people weren't insane enough to awaken a bloodline in a god's temple - other than the emperor’s Custodes - so the breath weapons they awoke were often short lasting and relatively weak until later tiers. Guanji was excited to see what this breath weapon that Gareth was evolving could do.

  For nearly three hours, and at the expense of 50 units of mana from the leaves, Gareth spewed fire, then steam, and then a fountain of water, only to go back to steam again. Gaunji felt his body fail multiple times, but each time he died a small spark in his spirit would slightly change and adapt, then spark life back into the body. It happened hundreds of times.

  Finally, the fire, water, and steam started to peter out, and Guanji knew the end was close.