I awoke to a world of agony.

I choked, retching spasmodically, vomiting great clumps of congealed blood up from my innards.

I moaned, my actions causing hundreds of wounds, internal and external, to flare up angrily. Each of my muscles burned as if on fire. My innards squelched nauseatingly as I shifted. My breath came in aching rasps. I could barely move, yet still flinched at the presence of a hand softly placed upon my back.

"Easy there, lad, easy now." Aldwyn patted me gingerly, soothing voice comforting me through the suffering. "Priest alive, I half thought you to be dead."

Shaking, I examined myself. I was shocked.

He was right. I should be dead. My entire body was one massive, mottled bruise. Roughly treated cuts crisscrossed my flesh, making me appear more bandage than man. The mimics had flensed my skin raw, and the song had pulped what lay beneath. I could feel the torn muscles and pulled tendons. Even my bones were brittle.

But Aldwyn didn't look much better. Though lacking my own patchwork skin, he still sported a massive gash along his left leg, and right cheek, the latter so deep his teeth were almost visible. One of his arms hung limply by his side.

"I'm sorry, lad, but I did what I could. I know a bit of medicine, but most our supplies were destroyed in the melee," Aldwyn said, grimacing.

Somehow, I managed to eke out a reply. "How…long–"

"Were you out for? Oh, a good few hours, I reckon. Hard to tell for sure. No clocks in here, after all," Aldwyn said, japing grimly.

I tried to swallow. My throat felt like it was squeezing sand. Noticing, Aldwyn reached for his waterskin, gently hydrating my parched tongue in small drams. When I had recovered sufficiently, I spoke once more. "How many dead?"

Aldwyn's face was hollow. He said nothing, shaking his head. I looked around and was dumbstruck.

The giant room had become a horror scene. Blood coated it near entirely. Guts, fangs, and gore were spattered every which way, turning the ground from a solid, flat surface into a marsh of body parts. Most of it was purple, but every here and there I caught a glimpse of the rust-red, not quite fresh, ichor that had once belonged to those I'd known for years.

I bit my tongue, eyes shut tight to trap the tears within. It was my fault. I knew something was amiss, and didn't say anything. I could've stopped them. I could've saved them.

"What happened?" I croaked.

"What do you remember?" Aldwyn responded, cautiously.

I didn't know. I remembered bits and pieces from after the ambush. I remembered channeling the song through myself in a way I never had before, a way I hadn't even known was possible. I remembered it singing through me, using me, a manic melody of savagery and slaughter. I remembered breathing it in until it suffocated me, filling my every crack and crevice, until I was no more and only it remained.

I pulled on it once more, but tentatively, ever so slightly, a trickle compared to the prior flood. It responded quickly, almost rabidly, so eager to serve, but I controlled it. It stung my mind to use, steel screws driving mercilessly into the space behind my eyes, but soothed the pain I felt across my body, granting me some semblance of function once again.

I could tell now that it wanted to do more. I could hear it clearly in a way I never could have before. It frothed at the lead, gnashed at the bit, bucked wildly against the connection. It whispered to me intimately, sensually, reminding me of how it felt to be truly alive, to be powerful, to be free and DIDN'T I WANT THAT SO DESPERATELY–

But I clamped down, firmly, tapering the connection, allowing a meagre healing and nothing more. Aldwyn, perhaps taking my mute introspection as reticence, decided to describe the encounter.

"At first, it was nothing but chaos. The damn things swarmed us, teaming up to take us down. Maybe if we'd had time to form a line, but…" He trailed off.

"Our leathers were useless, and none of us wore full plate. Eventually, I was the only one left. Spear's not much good against foes that small, that many," he chuckled, grimly.

"I thought it'd be curtains for me, too. But then they started running. Seemed a miracle, at first. But it wasn't." He looked right at me with an expression I couldn't place, some mixture of fear and awe. It made me uncomfortable.

"It was you."

"They were running to you. All of 'em. Surrounding you. A sea of white and purple." He looked off to the center of the room, where the greatest concentration of monster offal lay.

"And still you cut 'em down. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn't even a challenge."

"Gods and Titans, lad, what in Priest's name was Ewan teaching you?"

I stared off into the distance, unsure how to reply. How could I tell him the truth? What could I even tell him? That I had a power, with no Blessing? How could I possibly explain the song to someone who couldn't hear it?

"Master Ewan…didn't teach me that," I eventually said, lamely.

Aldwyn just looked back at me, face inscrutable as ever, as if considering something. Then, he turned back to gaze over the bloodied, broken room. I thought he might refuse to talk to me until I gave him a satisfactory reply, but then he started speaking once more.

"You know, when I was younger, I got it in my head that I wanted to be a soldier. Like you, actually," He said, smiling at me.

"I didn't think I was good enough for the Sons of Dainsleif, so I decided to go to fight the Spawn. To join the Frontlines." I gawked at him. He returned my look, chagrined.

"What, you think I'm stupid, right? I know, I know. Sounds stupid, even to me. But back then? Well, I was a kid. I had no idea what the Frontlines were really like. I'd grown up in Uther land, far, far from the Stain. Around my hometown, they said that's how legends were made, fighting the Spawn."

"So anyways," he said, sighing deeply, "I figured the thing to do if I wanted to fight Spawn, was to join Cell Syn. So I went." His face hardened, grin swiftly forgotten.

"A bad lot, Syn. Even for Aristocrats, they're bad news. The kind you can smell from a mile away. Murderers. Mercenaries. Bandits. On my first day there, I watched 'em execute a man for losing his gear. Took his head clean off, right in front of everyone, like it was nothing at all. Lost a bunch of my illusions, then. But still I wanted to fight."

Aldwyn had a faraway look in his eyes. I held my breath as I listened to him. He'd never told me this story before. I never imagined that he'd worked for a Cell. Suddenly, his visage soured.

"I remember it like it was yesterday."

"I was four months into my training program. Fucking joke. Torture program, more like."

Aldwyn smirked at me grimly, blood from barely-set wounds staining his teeth pink.

"Know what they call the non-slaves that fight Spawn for Syn? The enlisted?" He asked. I shook my head.

"Bastards. That's what. That's the official designation. The officers, on the other hand, are called Sons. All Blessed. They were our trainers. 'Crats from the Cell, or houses beneath it."

"They took us apart on a daily basis. Broke bones, mangled flesh. Tried not to leave lasting injuries, though. Bastards didn't get Blessed healing, and they didn't want to ruin the meat. They gave us exercises, pitted us against each other in melee. Said they were prepping us to fight Spawn, but all they really taught me was that mundies can't fight Blessed, no matter how hard we try."

He paused. "Or so I thought."

"As I said, it was four months in, when it happened. One of us talks back. The Son who hears him's in a bad mood that day, I guess. Beats the enlisted guy bloody, blinds him. Both eyes burst. The Son forbids healing. Says 'The Bastard deserved it.' Funny, that." Aldwyn said, shaking his head.

"Didn't think it was so funny at the time. Turned out I wasn't the only one, either. One of us walks forward. Short guy, skinny, greyish hair. Not impressive."

"He calls out the officer. The Son asks if he wants some, too. But our guy, he doesn't even blink. He says–get this–he says, 'Sir, if you can land a single hit on me, I'll put my eyes out, myself.' Can you believe that?"

Aldwyn laughed, nostalgically. It was the kind of sound I'd never have expected to hear coming from him. It wasn't the warm laugh I'd heard in my youth, as we played heroes together. It was the laugh of the doomed, the damned. The laugh of a man who'd seen too much. The sound of drums and soldiers marching lockstep. It was the laugh of war.

"Hoo, boy," he chuckled. "Still gets me, to this day. Not the right thing to say. The officer's livid. But there's a crowd, now. Bunch of Bastards around. Bunch of Sons, too. The officer can't just have the guy killed outright. So they fight."

Aldwyn's eyes became distant once more. He rubbed his forehead, mind lost in memory.

"Man, I'd never seen anything like it."

"The Son, I didn't know what his power was, exactly. I mean, he was stronger, faster, tougher–like most Blessed. But he could make these chains, too. These long chains that came out of his back. He'd use 'em like whips, or spears. Wicked fast, those things. It's how he put the other guy's eyes out. It's why our guy's–the challenger's–insult was so bad."

Aldwyn looked back at me, gesturing as he spoke, "I mean, we all wanted him to win, of course, but we knew. There was just, just no way. Anyway."

"So they both take to the ring, the Bastard and the Son. The Son says something. I couldn't hear it, but the Bastard doesn't reply. Then the fight starts."

"The Son whips his chains out right away, no playin' around, but the Bastard–he's movin' in all these weird ways, moving like I never saw anyone move before. The chains always seem to miss 'im, just–just by a hair. And every second, he's getting closer."

Aldwyn was excited, a dreamy grin spread across his face. He was losing himself in the story, and I was drawn along right alongside him.

"I swear to you, lad, that when our Bastard knocked theirs down, half the yard erupted in cheers. He lays the Son out with one punch. With one punch, lad." He whistles. "It was a sight to behold."

He smiles again, but it's sad this time. "If'n only the story could end like that, lad. I wish, I do wish it stopped right then and there. But this is Bet, so it didn't. You see, the Sons, they aren't cheering. They're staring. Then they begin to chant."

"I can't hear what they're saying at first. But as they continue, it becomes clear."

"War."

"They chant it over and over again."

"And from the middle of them, He emerges. The Chief Officer. The Head of the Sons."

"Elias Syn, himself."

Aldwyn's eyes were hollow as he spoke. Wide, like back when I'd held him by the front, about to cut him down.

"War doesn't look like much. Tall guy, brown hair cut short, almost naked. All he's wearing is a pair of short breeches the color of rusted iron. But he walks like he owns the world. Walks right up to the defeated Son, who's just moaning on the ground."

"War plants his foot on the officer's head, right–right between his eyes, and–POP."

Aldwyn shivered. "Like an overripe tomato. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still see the blood and brain and bits of bone between his toes. None of us are cheering, not anymore. The training ground's silent as a grave."

"Then War turns to the Bastard. He beckons."

"Our guy doesn't showboat this time. He's cautious. He circles War carefully, but the 'Crat doesn't move, just stares at him. Eventually, the Bastard attacks."

"But something's wrong. War just lets the guy whale on him. He still doesn't move. He doesn't even flinch. He's just smiling. Then, he catches the Bastard's arm."

"War starts squeezing, and I swear I can hear the bones break. The Bastard screams. It's a terrible sound. War's grinning, in a sickly way. Like a mad dog."

"He leans in, whispers to the poor Bastard. I'm just close enough to make it out." Aldwyn stared straight forward, lost in reminiscence, eyes like saucers.

"One punch."

"That's what he says. Then, he moves."

"I don't even see what happens. Next thing I know, the Bastard's lying near-dead on the other end of the yard. War dusts 'imself off, all casual, and the moment's over."

"The rest are too scared to go and try to help the guy, but not me. Figure, I can't just leave him lying there. Not after what he did. So I go over and pick him up. It's like carrying a wet noodle. A bag full'a sticks. I bring him back to the infirmary."

"Turns out War broke every bone in his body. I mean, literally. Every. One. Shattered. Not a single other part of him damaged." Aldwyn looked at me, eyes still wide.

"Can you imagine, the kind of power it takes to do that? The kind of control?" He shook his head. "War didn't want to kill the Bastard. No, War wanted him to suffer."

"I stayed with him. Watched over him, every chance I got. Took the man six months to recover enough to speak. When he did, he told me his name. Ewan."

My head snapped up in an instant.

"That's right, lad. Your Master used to work for Syn. Well, not for much longer. The moment he could walk, we left. Never looked back."

Aldwyn stood, stretching.

"I'm sure you're wondering, lad, why I bother telling you this story. Needless to say, it's not exactly one I like to share. It's not something–not something I enjoy remembering." He cracked his neck, left, right.

"I'm telling you, because watching you fight those things, back then, it reminded me of the fight between the Bastard and War."

Aldwyn looked straight at me, pinning me with his gaze.

"But you didn't look like Ewan, lad. That bold young man standing tall against impossible odds, that's not what you reminded me of."

I couldn't meet his eyes. I already knew what he was going to say.

"You reminded me of War. The way you snarled when you fought those things. The way you smiled as you tore them apart. Ewan's cold when he fights. Unfeeling. But you, you…enjoyed that."

I still looked down, saying nothing.

He was right, and he was not. The song had taken over me, controlled me, overridden my will. But, in a way, it had only given me what it thought I wanted. I wanted to be free. I wanted to be strong. I was willing to sacrifice near anything to achieve it. And, in a way, I had enjoyed it. For a moment, I'd felt Blessed.

Aldwyn waited once more for my response. Once more, I refused him. Finally, he sighed.

"I don't know what's going on with you, lad. And I can't force you to spill your guts to me. But I will tell you this."

"People, they all act like Blessings are the ultimate gift. I know, I know well that you're one of 'em. I know that's all you've ever wanted. Since you were a little boy, barely came up to my waist, that's all you've wanted."

"But you want to know what I think?"

"I think the word's a damn joke. I think Blessings are a curse." He shook his head at me, sadly.

"That much power, it's, it's…too much. Too much for one man. Too much for humankind to bear, and not lose themselves. You give a person that kind of power, you take away their limits like that…," he hesitated, gesticulating, searching for the right words.

"Well, they start pushing. Trying to find new limits. Trying to see what they can get away with, with no one there to stop 'em."

Aldwyn looked at me, pleadingly.

"It's not something you should chase, lad. You're a good kid. Don't push yourself into becoming something you're not. Don't sacrifice your self for power." He closes his eyes, exhaling deeply, before one last entreaty.

"Please, Taiven. Whatever path you choose to follow, just don't lose yourself walking it."

For a while, we sat in silence like that, Aldwyn's plea hanging in the air. Finally, not trusting myself to speak, I nodded.

"Good," he said, returning my nod firmly in kind. "Now, lad, if you have a moment, would you mind helping me with this damned arm?"

I leapt up immediately, jumping to my feet and gritting my teeth at the wave of pain that flared in response.

Examining the wound wasn't encouraging. Aldwyn's arm had broken entirely in multiple places, and mundane healing would take months, if such a thing was even possible. Still, gathering what scraps of clothing remained from the massacre, I bound it in a shoddy sling.

"Great," he lied, grimacing, clearly still in pain. He hefted his spear in his other arm, chuckling. "Never practiced with only one before. Better hope there aren't too many of the creatures left, hmm?"

He looked at me, suddenly serious.

"Before they attacked, you tried to warn me. How'd you know?"

I scratched my head, casting my mind back to before the chaotic events of the prior hours.

"The…painting," I murmured. He quirked his head in confusion.

"Downstairs, on the hidden door, there was a painting. A knight who found a treasure chest. But just before he opened it, it turned into a monster and tried to eat him. A mimic."

Aldwyn nodded slowly, considering. "So, you think the rest of the house…?"

"Is full of hidden monsters?" I asked. "Hard to say. I mean, the pillows were, but the bed itself clearly isn't. There's no other furniture in the room, so there's not really much to go off of. It could be completely random, or there could be a theme to it. I really don't know."

"And the only way to find out is to leave the room," Aldwyn continued, running his hand through his hair. "To forge ahead towards the main door."

"Do we still have the key?" I asked, suddenly. He stuck his hand into his bag and held it out in response.

"It's a good thing I kept it on me," He said, expression half grin and half grimace. "If it'd been on one of the others it might've gotten eaten, and then who knows how long it'd take to find it in all this mess. You don't think it's involved, somehow?"

I frowned. "Other than being the trigger for the trap? No. I mean, it's possible there was a way out without taking the key, one that wouldn't have activated the house, but we'll never know now."

"Right," Aldwyn said, nodding. "Only way is onwards, then. Can you fight?"

I shook myself, grimacing as I did so. The pain was not quite as intense as before, but I still felt like death. We had no choice, though. We had to move. We'd been away from the village for far too long now, and we didn't have any supplies left besides. We were only going to get weaker from here on. I bent over, grabbing my sword and wiping off the worst of the gore.

"I'll manage," I said.

"Outstanding. As will I," he replied, rolling his one good arm wryly. "Off we go, then."

We opened the bedroom door, and walked through it.