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Vainglory 3.41 - Misconceptions
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 19:53:05 +0000 UTCEnjoy the chapter! I hope everything's making sense...
-Plum
41 – Misconceptions
Ward had learned a lot about sword fighting in his time since leaving Earth. He’d already known a lot about fighting, and his experience in real, life-or-death situations was certainly weighing in his favor. Nevertheless, he was no match for the two supernaturally fast, strong, highly skilled swordsmen with their long, quick dueling blades. He blocked several blows, delivered a few powerful hacks, which were in turn parried, and then things began to devolve.
Those blades slipped past his guard. They slashed his ribs, his arms, even his knuckles. They pierced his shoulder and his thigh, and Ward began to feel the red tunnels of his rage and frustration close in around him. He knew he had to let his wolf out or he was going to die. He only hoped his wolf was bigger and meaner than the two facing him.
As the men drove him back, he saw Reembak scrambling toward the closed door—the one where the prisoners were supposedly being held. “Goddammit,” he grunted between gritted teeth. All he could think was that he was an idiot. He’d been so damn confident, counting on his lycan bloodline to pull him through a physical confrontation… What sort of delusion had he been living under to assume that, in a world of magic and mythical creatures, he was the only one with a beast living in his blood?
“Ung!” he grunted as the swordsman on his left punched his rapier into Ward’s thigh again. He growled, and his voice was deep and rumbling—he could already feel the wolf swelling his muscles, stretching his bones, and extending his nails and teeth.
“Oh,” said the fighter on the right, chuckling, “his beast comes out to play, brother.”
“And poor Lorin’s missing it!” the other replied, his voice raspy and raw as his incisors elongated and his mouth stretched into a snout, sprouting mottled gray and brown fur.
“His loss!” The first fighter laughed as he, too, began to transform. His ears lengthened, and orange-red fur populated his face as his eyes took on a definite canine quality… though not a wolf’s.
As Ward’s body grew and his grunts became deep growls, the crimson tint to his vision faded to the clarity of his wolf’s natural predator’s view—the world calmed, shading in almost monochromatic blues and grays, but his opponents—his prey—glowed vividly, highlighted in bright green and yellow as they breathed and exerted themselves. His mind was changing, his priorities and perceptions becoming those of a hunter, a killer. He moved with more speed and a great deal more strength, shrugging off blows that slid against his dense fur and hard, thick skin—blows that would have split his human flesh.
Even so, part of his mind was still human. That part of him narrowed his wolfen eyes in momentary confusion as his opponents didn’t swell with lycan might but contracted. They were fast and fierce, their blows strong, but these were no wolves. One was rodent-like and the other a fox! His confusion and flicker of amusement were short-lived; the wolf reasserted itself and continued to emerge, pushing well past the half-man, half-wolf state he often assumed. No, the wolf was coming out in full effect. In seconds, Ward’s clothes were shredded, split to tatters, and his sword felt like a twig in his hands as he smashed it left and right in wickedly fast, powerful hacks.
He growled savagely as he felt the earlier amusement of his foes fall apart, and he smelled that lovely, familiar tang of fear. Ward tilted his head back and emitted something half roar and half howl—a sound meant to terrify his foes and call his pack. “If I had one!” His words, clear to him, were a guttural growl to anyone else.
Ward couldn’t see himself, but he wouldn’t recognize what he saw if he could. He stood on his hind legs, but his arms were long and his hands were hard and tipped with enormous claws; they’d be just as comfortable propelling him over rough ground as gripping or clasping things with their thick, powerful digits. His frame had expanded by a third, and he towered over his smaller foes—a black-furred, monstrous wolf with a bare vestigial bipedal nature, facing a giant rodent and a fierce-looking fox.
The smaller lycans—Were they lycans? Was there another name for other were-creatures?—were still clothed, and if their beast shapes hadn’t given them greater size, they’d certainly provided speed, strength, and rapid healing. Ward knew that because he carved a deep, bloody groove across the wererat’s chest, and, as it fell back, screeching pain and fury, the wound healed. Meanwhile, the werefox leaped at the banister, clearing ten feet, rebounded off the railing, and flipped through the air, coming up behind Ward.
Ward found his sword clumsy in his massive, clawed hands, and he dropped it, ignoring the fox as he leaped at the wererat, swiping his claws in a move that would have made a grizzly bear proud. The wererat was fast, jamming its rapier at Ward’s hand, only to have it snag against Ward’s diamond-hard claws. Ward ripped it down and way, pulling it from the rat’s hand, then he leaned forward and savagely bit the smaller creature on the shoulder, close to its neck.
The wererat screamed; Ward bit down, tasting the hot flow of nature’s coppery wine as he savaged his head left and right like a terrier with a…rat. Flesh tore, bones crunched, and the hot flow intensified. Ward felt a sharp pain in his back, again and again, as the werefox stabbed him with his rapier. He ignored the pain, recognizing it as inconsequential; he was the wolf, and he had a challenger in a death grip—to let go now would be folly.
Instead, he whirled, whipping the smaller creature around, helpless and crying. Ward snarled, red-eyed, at the fox as he continued to grind his teeth deeper. The werefox, despite his snarling, quivering lips and exposed canines, looked panicked in the eyes, and, to Ward’s surprise, lowered his sword and began to kneel. That was when a resonant, powerful feminine voice cried out behind him, “Vrahl survak talshen!”
Something like a lance of pure heat and pain struck Ward in the back, sending him flying. He smashed against the wood paneling, shattering it and the wall behind, and fell into some sort of study or office. Of course, he lost his grip on the wererat, but the werefox flew through the opening, sword ready. Ward was already on his hands and knees. Whatever spell had hit him had been strong, but the wall had interfered, interrupting further damage. Still, his back ached, and he could smell burned hair and flesh.
As the werefox advanced, Ward feigned weakness, waiting for his enemy to commit. When the man lunged, aiming to place the tip of his slender sword into Ward’s huge, wolfen eye, Ward swiped, knocking the blade aside as he snapped at the man’s red-furred wrist, catching it deep between his powerful jaws. With a vicious crunch, he bit through the bone, severing the limb. Ward stood, towering over the horrified, stunned werefox as it stared at the stump, watching as it pumped spurts of hot, crimson blood.
He was about to finish him, about to rip his powerful claws through his throat, but Reembak appeared on the other side of the shattered wall, and she inhaled, ready to shout more words of power. Ward bowled through the werefox, trampling him in his haste, and then he was on the woman, his jaws poised against the soft flesh of her throat as he pinned her against the opposite wall. He stood there, growling and soaking her robes in saliva, as he fought to fight down the urge to bite her head off. His human mind was warring with the wolf, desperate to drive home the point that he still needed information from the woman.
She trembled and cried, and Ward realized he’d gripped her with his long, powerful claws, piercing the flesh of her shoulder on the front and back. More than that, his fangs were pressed so tightly to her soft, pale throat that they were drawing blood. It was enough to drive the beast in him wild. Still, he held himself, quelling the urge to snap those jaws closed.
As she trembled and cried, Ward fought for control, ever so slowly gaining the upper hand on his beast, pushing it down as his body began to contract, resuming its human form. As soon as his mouth grew too small to threaten the woman properly, Ward slammed one of his heavy hands over her mouth, pressing her against the wall as his transformation fully reversed. “Don’t even think about speaking. I’ll snap your neck,” he growled.
Tears flowed freely from the woman’s wide, terrified eyes, but Ward was beyond pity. Reembak had tried to kill him more than once, and those swordsmen—those were-creatures—hadn’t been playing very gently, either. As he remembered them, Ward looked around quickly, worried that he was about to be stabbed again, but the wererat was lying crumpled to his right, human again, and breathing very shallowly. The fox was nowhere to be seen. Had he fled?
Reembak struggled limply against him, mumbling something behind his hand, and Ward growled. “Stop it!” He grabbed the bloody sleeve of her fine, green, and gray robes and ripped the seam, sliding the loose fabric down her arm. “I’m keeping you alive because I want to get some answers out of you, but if you try to cast another spell…” He let the threat hang in the air as he lifted the sleeve to her mouth. As quickly as he could, he shifted his other hand down to her throat, gripping it tightly so that he could stuff the fabric between her bleeding lips.
After he’d tied the fabric tightly behind her head, ensuring she couldn’t enunciate any words of power, he grabbed the back of her neck and directed her back to the central hall where his fight had begun. “Just nod if the answer is yes. Is Coral through that door? Gwen?”
Reembak’s eyes flew wide, and fresh tears flowed as she violently shook her head, struggling to speak around the gag. Her words were unintelligible, but Ward could smell her fear—see it in her emerald eyes. Of course, she was afraid—hadn’t he threatened to kill her? Hadn’t he just ripped her sword-fighting bodyguards to pieces? “I don’t know why you’re crying now. You seemed pretty bold when you hired a duelist to kill me. You didn’t seem to have any qualms about having your men kill my driver and try to kill me—again. You seemed fine when you tried to burn a hole through me a couple of minutes ago…”
Ward trailed off, wincing as he shifted his shoulders. The burn still hurt, despite his lycan healing. He stomped over the blood-spattered carpet to where he’d dropped his sword and picked it up, stuffing it into his scabbard. In a way, he wished his wolf were a separate entity so he could have a heart-to-heart with it about how he always ruined his clothes and left his sword lying around.
“Come on.” He propelled Reembak toward the door, and when he pushed it open, he saw pretty much exactly what he’d expected. Half a dozen men and women were bound, wrists, ankles, and hoods, on the floor. Nearby, sat Coral, bound to a chair and gagged far more thoroughly than Ward had gagged Reembak. The same went for Gwen, who was hogtied, hooded, and gagged, with a large rope securing her to a lovely, floral-print couch.
Still gripping the sorceress’s neck, Ward started toward Coral, intent on taking out his gag, but then Reembak threw a fit, collapsing in Ward’s grasp and falling to the floor. When he let go of her neck, she spun, facing him, pressing her hands together in a pleading gesture. Ward stared at her for a long second, frowning. “You want to tell me something?”
She nodded vehemently.
“As I said, you’ve already tried to kill me several times—”
Suddenly, Grace appeared, standing beside Reembak. “I didn’t want to do it, Ward! I didn’t want to use your anima, but I have to tell you this!”
Ward was momentarily dumbstruck, so he stared at her, mouth slowly working open and closed as his brain tried to make the right words.
Grace didn’t have the patience for it. “Look at him! At Coral!”
Ward turned to look at the older man, bound hand and foot, his face swollen and bruised as he stared at Ward and grunted around the thick gag. “What?”
“He’s different. He’s… he’s got one of them in him. Like those back in Westview.”
Ward whirled toward Grace and saw that Reembak was nodding again, looking from Ward to Grace, blinking her eyes as her tears continued to fall. “What the fuck is going on?” Ward growled, pulling his belt knife. He knelt before Reembak, but paused for a moment to look at Grace. “I’m glad you’re okay, and don’t worry about the anima. I’m happy to share with you.”
As Grace’s mouth snapped shut and she took on an expression that was hard to read—gratitude mixed with happiness and guilt, maybe?—Ward pressed the razor-sharp knife against Reembak’s already bloody neck and said, “Don’t make me hurt you any further. Don’t even think about any words of power. Understood?”
Reembak nodded carefully, blinking slowly, and Ward used his free hand to tug the gag out of her mouth. She coughed, licking bloody lips as she swallowed, then said, “I thought… I thought you were working with them. I still do! You killed my men! Good men!”
Ward growled, leaning close to her face. “I’m trying to stop a goddamn calamity! Are you with the Umbrage or not?”
“The—” She scowled, gritting bloody teeth. “You are! You’ve been working with that bitch since Cinder! You brought them their gods damned artifact!” When she said “bitch” she glanced at Gwen’s very well-bound form on the couch.
“I brought the artifact to the assembly!” Ward ground the words out through his own clenched teeth. “I was ordered to come!”
“By her minions! And you’ve been meeting with her in secret, masking your conversations with her spell!”
“Wait a second. Are you saying Gwen is somehow in charge…” Ward trailed off, trying to picture how that would work. Coral was working for her? Or was he? Grace said he was different… He looked at Grace. “He didn’t have a, uh, demon before?”
Grace shook her head. “Definitely not.”
“She only recently subverted him!” Reembak spat. “I thought you helped.” She looked at Grace. “I thought you were one of them…”
“I’m nothing like them!” Grace growled, the fires in her eyes flaring.
“I’m beginning to understand.” Reembak pointed toward the bound figures. “Mr. Dyer, we shouldn’t speak in front of them.”
Ward frowned, slowly pulling his knife away from her throat. “I’m still not sure I believe you, but…” He sighed, shaking his head as he held out a hand. When she hesitated, looking from his hand to the rest of him, Ward realized how he must look. His shirt was gone. His torso and probably his face were covered in blood; his pants were hanging together by threads. Still, after that brief hesitation, she took his hand and he tugged her to her feet. “Let’s talk out there.” He nodded to the door.
After he’d shut the door, a commotion brought his attention to the corridor that led back to the kitchens, and suddenly three men, one of whom was missing his right hand, burst into the room. The damn werefox had gone to fetch the gate guards! The red-haired man shouted, “There!” and they all lifted various weapons, only to stop short when Reembak stepped in front of Ward.
“No! Stop! We’re in talks.”
The werefox snarled, shaking his head. “He killed Lorin, and look at Romy!” He pointed to the pale, limp form of the wererat.
“Mistakes have been made,” Reembak said, heaving a ragged sigh. “On both sides. You must watch our prisoners and send these two back to the gates. We must be watchful!”
“Did he get to you, Marie?” the man asked, stepping forward, holding his rapier ready as he narrowed his eyes.
“Tavin,” Reembak—Marie, apparently—said with a soft groan, “don’t make me ensorcel you. I promise; I’m still myself.” As she spoke, she reached into the folds of her layered robes and pulled out a wooden chip with some sort of symbol burned into it. Ward couldn’t quite see the details of it from where he stood. In any case, it had the desired effect. Tavin, the werefox, nodded and gestured to the direly wounded man on the floor.
“I’ll take him and see to his wounds.”
“Excellent. Let’s not lose another good man today.” Reembak slid the token back into her robes and then turned to Ward. “Well? How should we proceed?”
Ward gestured to the wall he’d smashed and the study beyond. “Let’s sit in there.” As they walked past the other men, Tavin stared at Ward and growled.
Ward narrowed his eyes at him, then gestured to his shortened arm. “Sorry about your hand.”
Tavin’s snarling growl stopped short, and Ward wondered if he’d even realized he was doing it. Maybe he was struggling to control his beast. He looked down at his bloody stump and shook his head. “I hope it’ll come back if I can advance my bloodline.”
Ward nodded, wondering how that would work. If he could increase his lycan bloodline and then transform, would it make the limb regenerate? The thought made him wonder if he had enough lycan in him to grow back a hand. He didn’t want to find out.
In the study, Marie fell into a chair with a sigh, wincing as she gingerly probed her wounded shoulder. Ward’s claws had dug deep furrows into her soft, pale flesh.
Grace sat on the desk, and Ward stood by the shuttered window, frowning as he contemplated things. “This is a big mess, but, in a way, the tables are turning in our favor.”
“Our?” Reembak asked.
“People against the cult—the Umbrage. You see, I needed to find the leader, and I thought I’d have to get his or her name out of you and then go track them down. I figured I’d have to plan an elaborate trap. Here she is, though, if I can believe you, already tied up in the other room.”
“You thought I was part of them? Really?”
“Marie—can I call you that?”
“You’ve already tasted my blood, and I’ve hit you with a Solar Spike. I’d say we’re on a first-name basis, Ward.”
Ward nodded, adjusting his belt, glad the leather hadn’t burst when he transformed. As he loosened the drawstring on his magic bag, Grace said, “Ward, watch her!”
Ward looked up, frowning, but Reembak was sitting still, gently massaging her shoulder. The woman smirked. “Relax, little spirit. If I wanted to, I could have hit him with a burst of flames that would have blown that wall off the back of this house.”
“Don’t you threaten—” Grace started to say, but Ward cut her off.
“She’s not. Relax, Grace. I can tell she’s not going to do anything stupid.” Ward tapped his nose, and Grace frowned, but slowly nodded. He couldn’t say whether she understood, but she at least pretended. The truth was that Ward could smell Reembak’s calm. She’d been truly frightened earlier, but now she was beginning to relax, and he didn’t think she was the type to get calm before a fight. No, she’d positively reeked of adrenaline and fear earlier.
“Here,” he pulled a healing tonic from his magic bag and tossed it to her. Then, he proceeded to draw out some fresh clothes.
“Is that a…” The sorceress leaned forward, peering at the leather bag on Ward’s belt. “Is that a dimensional container?”
Ward sighed, irritated with himself. “I guess I’m a little out of it. I’m usually more cautious than that.”
She clicked her tongue, clearly envious as she watched him use the magic bag. “I’ve completed half a dozen challenges—never seen one of those.”
“Can you two focus?” Grace asked. “What are you going to do about the cult leader tied up in the other room?”
“Well,” Ward said, working on his shirt buttons, “I guess I need to start with a little story. You see, Marie, about that artifact I brought over from Cinder…”
Comments
Plum Parrot
Thanks! Yes, I'll be ensuring there are some very minor clues in Gwen/Coral meetings when I go through it again
Adam Davies
Not entirely sure the double reverse whos-the-evil-guy/gal reveal works smoothly. But probably a second edit pass through the story for adjusted foreshadowing/continuity will fix it. Still enjoying the read a lot.
David H
Reembak is still responsible for innocent deaths. She is not a good person.
