She had always been a bit nervous when it came to vampires. Ever since that one encounter, she still couldn't shake the deep-seated unease whenever the topic was brought up. Having ascended as a deity rather recently, logically she shouldn't be so worried. But the ghosts of the past held strong, and even now she found her eyes wandering over towards literature that described how to exploit the weaknesses of creatures of the night. By all means, this was an unnecessary trip. She didn't have to come here, but something had happened. A client who had become a regular customer of her services suddenly went missing after a recent business trip, and foul play was suspected. The man's acquaintances and family members said they had subsequently lost all contact with him when he left Komiteia and had to make a stop in Koschei. Shiloh was slowly becoming more familiar with Revaliir's second continent, and as soon as she learned Koschei Isle was home to the largest concentration of vampires and lycanthorpes–it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

The sky was dark, making things even more foreboding. She hadn't realized how much she liked daylight until she stepped off the airship into the city. With her features cloaked and mask concealing her face, she began her search. Maybe it was her paranoia, but she had the feeling that she was being watched by several pairs of eyes. Her anxiety was amplifying the smallest interpretations of hostility or ill-intent perceived from body language and facial expressions, so it was a wonder how she wasn't experiencing a full-blown meltdown. She had only a faint reading of the man's aura to go on, and being absolutely terrified like a rat caught in a trap wasn't helping. She spent her first night in Kurayo a nervous wreck within the questionable safety of her room at an inn. Not a single wink of sleep was had that day. The next day was fruitless, and she was fearing that the trail was growing cold. She had heard plenty of rumors about the 'etiquette' of the local populace towards outsiders, and every second longer in this lion's den raised her chances of death. She might be a deity now, but that didn't mean death was completely removed from the equation. 

On the third day she finally found something, and her lead led to the grisly discovery of the man's corpse. Ashen-pale with a face twisted in agony, it was difficult to stomach. The city had devoured him, just like many others before him. But a righteous anger stirred in her, and she became determined to at least find the identity of his killer. Learning the name of the one who drained away the man's life was easier than finding the man's body, and she found herself at the doorstep of a Gothic mansion. By now she was having second thoughts. If the person responsible did openly admit to their crimes, what would she do? Demand payment, or…some form of compensation? Even so, how was that going to even work? As she feared, the door opened following her knock and unwillingly she crossed the threshold. A servant with a face pale as death had the doors open for her, and closed it once she was inside. "The master will be seeing you shortly." The maid said coolly. She didn't like the look that woman had in her eyes.

Now by herself, she surveyed the surroundings. A lavish lordly estate was before her, and this was where the master of the house received his guests. Shiloh wondered if the soul of the dearly departed had seen the same sights she was taking in right now. A large portrait of a nobleman in his prime hung above a grand staircase. There was something disquieting about the way it looked back, as if that composed face was hiding a myriad of dark intentions. Perhaps she was just imagining things. She hoped she was imagining things, but knowing how her life's luck had panned out the pessimist in her knew better. The air was stale and she swore she could smell a hint of something metallic in the air. 

One of his maids knocked three times on the door of his study before entering. Giving a curtsy, she informed him that a guest was awaiting him in the parlor. Dismissing her, the lord rose from his desk. He was already aware of whom his unexpected visitor was, having watched them enter the mansion from a window. He was already familiar with the woman who had stepped onto the grounds of his home. A new arrival fresh off one of the continental airships ferrying passengers to and fro between the continents, he had taken notice of her while on a stroll through the city. Though her features were concealed, her scent gave her away. There was something rich and cloying about it, and it belied a dormant power. A power which he immediately wished to partake in.

He did not know the reason for his guest's visit today, but rather than being on guard he welcomed it. Whether it be a paladin from a holy order or a vampire hunter fresh from the training grounds, he would see through them in an instant. In Kurayo one did not keep their head upon their shoulders for more than a few centuries without possessing a certain level of strength and cunning. Not to keep his visitor waiting, he descended the staircase. Dressed in fine robes of dark grey and royal blue trimmed with furs, he could tell he had made no mistake with his observations. That tell-tale scent of vitality, the intoxicating aura of the power he had sensed earlier was still there. Giving a cordial smile, he greeted the nervous woman. "Welcome, visitor. And for what reason do I have the honor of having you here in my humble home? I do apologize for any impudence my servants might have shown towards you. They are not accustomed to impromptu visits." Taking a seat in one of the velvet chairs, he motioned for her to do the same. "Come, take a seat. It would be unbecoming of me as a host to leave a guest standing."

The woman stiffly walked over to the chair opposite of him and sat down reluctantly. "…Thank you for your hospitality sir. I apologize for my intrusion." Aiming to put her at ease, he replied. "Now now, there is no need for such formalities here. I am curious as to why a stranger would come to see one such as myself. Surely you aren't here for a courtesy call." With this, she then revealed her purpose. "You are correct, sir. In truth, I am here on account of a mister Jacob Morley. He was an acquaintance of mine, and a good one." Leaning back against the silk-brocade cushions he stated, "I see, surely he must have been a good man if you speak of him so fondly. However, I fail to understand how this would relate to honoring me with a visit." She continued, this time dropping the tone of formality. "Mister Morley was reported missing five days ago, after arriving on the island. His family and closest friends mentioned they had lost all contact with him, and attested such behavior was out of the ordinary. …His body was discovered abandoned in an alley a couple days ago and his corpse showed signs pointing to death by severe blood loss."

Though he maintained his affable demeanor, his posture was no longer as relaxed as it was before. The masked woman summarized her previous points into one succinct statement. "I believe you murdered him." 

Now she'd done it. So much for tact and subtlety. She had just accused him of murder and confessed her suspicions in a single statement. The back of her neck was breaking out in a cold sweat now, and she was expecting him to rip her apart the next second. She knew he wasn't happy by the minute changes in his expression, as fleeting as they might be. His smile remained the same, but his eyes were telling her something else. He had been provoked. Instead of a snarl, or insults–the man began to laugh. It was like she had told a bad joke and the audience was feigning out of sympathy. Well this whole situation was a farce, and they both knew it. There was a sickening feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

Regaining his composure, he continued. "Surely this is some kind of jest made popular among your generation? Your acting is rather stiff and your lines too rehearsed. I am not so narrow-minded as to dismiss the changes of fleeting trends practiced by the youths of this age. Now, in seriousness I would like to know your reason for requesting an audience with me." Oh dear lord. He thought she was joking. This was just dragging out how distressing and agonizing the situation was becoming. Clearly he was giving her another chance to redact her statements, which meant he'd be all the angrier if she didn't. Shiloh's stomach was churning and forming knots as she sat, her hands and feet cold from anxiety. At this point she would've preferred if he had just separated her head from her body to save her from the overwhelming fear and mortification. 

But obviously things already weren't going her way, so the torture continued. "I dare not jest, sir. Death is a serious matter." And with that she had just sealed her fate. As if to emphasize the point, all the windows and doors in the mansion suddenly slammed shut. The air of levity vanished in an instant and the noble's face was deathly serious. "You are treading a rather dangerous line, miss. Do you truly intend to accuse me of murder?" Of course she was. That was blatantly clear from her completely undiplomatic answers. Her throat tensing up, Shiloh found herself unable to reply. Rising from his seat, he began to walk around the room slowly. It was like a predator circling its prey, biding its time before going in for the kill. She had seen wolves and wild cats do the same thing several times before. And each time she saw didn't make it any less terrifying. She blamed her lack of sleep from the past few days for removing what verbal filter she would've had. Finding her voice again, she tried reasoning. "I have no intentions of accusing anyone sir, but I wish to ask of you for a favor; for the sake of Mister Morley's family. …I'm sorry if I have offended you. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. It was wrong of me to–" 

"No, it's quite alright." He said, cutting her explanations short. "I'll graciously grant you a pardon for your foolishness, with a price of course." His voice was calm but she could hear a twinge of venom in his words. 'Sure you will, I bet the price for your pardon'll be over my dead body–in the most literal sense.' She grimly thought to herself. At this point groveling for mercy was a completely viable option, and one she was not afraid to use given how deep of a mess she was in. "S-sir, if I may be so bold–could we settle this with a deal–or some kind of written agreement? Please give me one more chance! I-if you win, then I'll give you what you want; and if I win, then you'll let me go?" She was really grasping at straws now. Her proposal reeked with desperation. There was no way in the Nine Circles of Infernos that he'd accept that offer.

Everything was playing right into his hands. Her rashness had put her at his mercy, and upon learning the err of her ways she was now desperately begging for her life. Her accusations and surprisingly accurate deduction did complicate things further, however. He hadn't expected a human to trace something back to him, and although he did not fear her he couldn't let her leave. Should she escape, she would undoubtedly return with reinforcements. In her panic, she offered to strike a bargain with him. The rules were simple. He would attack her, and if she managed to avoid his blows she would be declared the winner and given the right to leave. Should she fail, then he would be declared the victor and she would submit to her fate. The odds were so laughably skewed to her disadvantage that he was accepting her wager out of pity. Either way, there was no way he couldn't win.

"Very well, I accept. Whoever is declared the victor will take the other's neck. Once we begin, I will attack you five times. Should you manage to come out without a scratch, only then I will concede defeat. However should you fail…I believe you already know the consequences?" Left with no other choice, she nodded. "…Yes, I understand." With both parties ready, they rose and walked to a more open area of the parlor. They stood opposite of each other, several meters apart. Drawing a sword, he held it up as the blade glistened in the candlelight. "Now, shall we begin?" In the blink of an eye he rushed towards her, making a quick slash at her body. Though he had offered five chances, Sylvain had no intention of waiting any longer. One cut was all he needed. The woman didn't even have time to react once he made his move, and he stopped behind her expecting to smell the scent of fresh blood in the air and the sound of a corpse falling to the floor.

But instead…silence. Craning his neck he looked to see her still standing whole. Confusion and anger began rising within him as stared back at this incredulous sight. This was impossible! He was sure his hand had not slipped, he saw the light off the blade's surface flash as it went from her navel to her nose. Determined to cement his victory, he lunged again, thrusting straight at her abdomen. By some foul sorcery, the point of the sword twisted away–as if some sort of repelling force was pushing it back. Enraged, he sent a wild flurry of slashes at her which should have reduced her body into pieces. Again, and again, and again his attempts proved futile. And the most infuriating thing of it all was how the woman didn't even lift a finger! To the Infernos with her petty wager–he had enough playing her little game. Throwing the ruined blade aside, he charged at her with bared fangs ready to sink into the base of her neck. 

This time she retaliated, and the momentum from his lunge sent them both flying against the wall. Her hands were forcing back his head with all the strength she had in her arms while her knee was propped against his chest. Locked in a struggle, each time he tried to close the distance she would stand her ground. Suddenly a spike of pain coursed through his entire body as she kicked him away, sparks of electricity coming from her fingertips. As they fought, the mask she had been wearing had fallen off revealing the face of a young woman with a hard glare in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed from holding him back and she was already winded. However contrary to her appearance, the power he had sensed from her was steadily rising.

Even though he had agreed to her wager, Shiloh knew he wouldn't keep it in the end. Really the whole thing was just a way to stall for time, to buy her a few precious seconds to figure out any possible avenues of escape. When he drew his sword, she braced herself for the worst. And judging by the speed with which he was attacking, he was aiming to kill. In her mind she desperately hoped he would miss, that by some miracle the sword in his hand would fail. The bust of air from his first slash had her holding her breath, anticipating pain and the stench of her own blood. As his footsteps slowed to a halt behind her, she glanced down to see…nothing. Was that a feint? Did he pull back at the very last second? No, this couldn't be right–the motions of his body clearly said he planned to slice her open. As she stood dumbfounded he began to move again–and she closed her eyes and winced.

Again, there was the movement of air but no pain that followed. Believing that she was hallucinating out of disbelief, Shiloh watched as every single one of his attacks didn't even come close to grazing her clothing. He was already well past five attempts now and what little hope of winning she had quickly evaporated as soon as he discarded his sword. With eyes ablaze with anger, he rushed at her exposing his fangs with murderous intent. Shrieking, she grabbed at his head and clamped her hands down while forcing him away as hard as she could. As they made contact he sent them hurtling into the back wall where she jammed her knee between him and her, trying to keep him from getting any closer to her neck. She could see the bloodthirsty light in his eyes now, and subconsciously sent out a massive discharge of electricity. The electricity caused him to freeze up briefly and she took advantage of that chance to kick him off of her as hard as possible. With her back against the wall, she was able to send him flying. She wasn't even aware that there was lightning coming from her hands. Bracing herself against the wall she panted heavily as she caught her breath. 

Gritting her teeth, she glared back as he recovered. It was just as she thought, he wasn't trying to give her a fighting chance after all. So much for his noble airs and gentility–he was just another beast too eager to devour his next meal. She had a weapon for creatures like him, a nice elven axe made from enchanted metal that cut into beasts easier than most. She had won fair and square and she wasn't going to let him keep her here any longer. As the victor, she had the right to claim her spoils. They had both wagered their necks, and she would be taking his. Summoning the axe into her hand, she sent her body's systems into high gear as adrenaline was surging through her veins. Using the wall as a springboard it was her turn to go on the offensive. Rocketing forward with a boost from collected air currents, she smashed the axe head right into the mahogany velvet lined chair the vampire lord was leaning against. She wasn't aiming for him just yet, and considered her first blow as a warning shot. 

But instead of picking up his sword to fight, he turned tail and fled up the stairs. It took a few seconds to fully register in her brain. Did he just cut and run? Did that haughty little vampire prick just bail as soon as it was his time to pay up? Any fear Shiloh might have had was now completely supplanted by a terrible and all-consuming fury at the sight of the man reneging on his deal. Nobody backed out of their deals with her without paying the consequences. NOBODY. Yanking out her axe from the chopped chair's torn upholstery, she chased the bloodsucking welcher up the stairs to the second floor. 

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, YOU LEECHER?! A PROMISE IS A PROMISE–AND PROMISES WILL. BE. KEPT!!!" She shouted, ripping her axe through the satin wallpaper.

By some unfathomable power, the woman had thrown him back with a force that rivaled his own. Now it was the woman's turn to attack, and she came at him swinging with an ornately crafted hand axe. Moving aside in the nick of time, the axe came down on the backrest of his velvet armchair instead of his hand. In the span of a few minutes the tables had been turned and he was on the defensive. It was a frightening and unnatural development, which made him suspect that what he had originally thought as an easy meal could be capable of killing him. To vampires and undead, death was just a new beginning. But when a creature who defied death began to fear it, then that meant they truly felt their life was in grave danger. At this point all his instincts were screaming at him to turn and run, and the woman's power was reaching a frightening level. He had lost what should have been the easiest offer he had ever taken, and was now the creditor.

Turning on his heel, the vampire lord did the unthinkable–he fled for his life. Before she could free her axe from the cleaved mahogany wood, he was already at the landing of the second floor. And as soon as he passed the last posts of the staircase's banister he heard her voice shout after him in a seething rage. "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, YOU LEECHER?!" Snapping and splintering of wood told him that her axe was now free, and her footsteps pounded up the stairs. Making a sharp turn around a fork in the corridor, he could hear her not too far behind. "A PROMISE IS A PROMISE–" He heard her screech, and a terrible scraping sound followed. Continuing she punctuated her words for emphasis: "–AND PROMISES WILL. BE. KEPT!!!" She continued coming after him, like some kind of implacable revenant. By now her power's presence was akin to a wildfire let loose in a storehouse full of dry kindling. In an act to protect her master, one of his maidservants enchanted the suits of armor lining the hallways, bringing them to life. However even that proved futile as the sound of creaking and bending steel being smashed underfoot told him otherwise.

The traps and servants only slowed her down, but she still kept advancing. For the first time in several centuries, Sylvain Albaret experienced complete and absolute terror. That fear was so strong that it drove itself straight into his heart and began spreading its tendrils throughout every fiber of his being. In a fleeting moment of hysteria, he remembered the faces of the kindly fathers at that long-forgotten monastery and considered asking for absolution. But it was too late now, and divine retribution was raining down upon him like hellfire from the Circles of Infernos. The end of the halls to his mansion were drawing to a close, and with it would come the end of his life. In a last-ditch effort of self-preservation, he sealed himself up in his study and barred the doors. They were made from a rare and dense wood only found in select jungles of the world, and were at least four inches in thickness. When he had built his estate they were selected for aesthetic and defensive purposes. Enchanted to withstand the hottest fires and repel the strongest of spells, they were in essence decorative shields to keep intruders out of his private quarters.

No sooner had he bolted them did he hear a heavy pounding of his relentless pursuer from the other side. Backing away from the doors, he was sure that they would hold. The surrounding walls to this chamber were composed of quarried granite, and even the most powerful warriors wouldn't be able to smash through several feet of stone.  

"DON'T YOU TRY TO RUN AWAY FROM ME!" That bloody leecher was fast enough to keep a good several meters ahead of her, even after she crushed anything that got in her way. A quick turn led to a long hallway lined with various sets of antique suits of armor. Seeing the man disappear behind a door at the end, Shiloh proceeded to charge down the corridor, failing to notice one of the doors on the side open slightly. The head of that maidservant who had let her in earlier appeared for a brief moment before retreating back into the room she came from. What was she trying to do? 

The glow of magic enveloped the armors, and they began to rattle. "Oh no you don't, you little–" Her rant was cut short as she barely stopped in time to avoid being skewered by a halberd attached to a metal arm. That sneaking wench had enchanted the suits of armor, bringing them to life. Of course she would; she'd do anything in her power for her master's sake regardless of much of a pain in the neck it was for the receiving party. The armors were assembling and were quickly surrounding her, but that only added more fuel to her ire. Leaping high she used a gust of wind to force herself down, gaining considerable speed. Smashing her axe into an enchanted armor's helmet, she brought down her foot and bent it out of shape. Disconnecting another's arm, she pried the double-headed axe from its hand and swung the hefty weapon's head around. There was a clattering of metal as she knocked them to pieces, and the weighty weapon sank into the floor with a whomp. Dragging it behind her with both arms, she steadily approached the door at the end of the hall. The axe was grinding a deep gash into the carpeted floor as she was grinding her teeth. 

So at the end of it all, he was just going to lock himself up–thinking that would keep him safe? It didn't matter if the doors were made out of wood, stone, or even metal. If she wanted to break in, she was breaking in. Channeling her boiling rage, she swung the axe right into the reinforced double doors. The weapon embedded itself into the dense wood, and was stuck. Unable to pull it out, she backed up and grabbed one of the fallen armors' shields before ramming at the doors with full speed. The supercharged metal shield crackled with electricity and pummeled the wood's surface. The door was still intact however, despite the shock waves that came from it. So she repeated the action again, and again. Each time the wood's internal structure was being fractured and compromised, and the hinges were beginning to groan as they wrenched loose.

Finally, she had managed to pound the doors so much that a loud crack was heard before the wood panels splintered. A fracture measuring two feet long appeared as the wood fibers separated, creating an opening large enough for her to see the nobleman inside. Forcing her hand through the broken door, chunks of lacquered and stained wood fell off as Shiloh clawed to get the locking mechanism open. She could see the vampire lord's face now–pale as before but with a new look in his eyes. They were wide and rigid, and if he wasn't already undead he would've blanched further still. When she failed to get the doors unlocked, she kicked them in. 

The force of her kick ripped out the lock's handles and deadbolt entirely, leaving another irreparable hole in a rather expensive door. The way opened as the furious deity stormed into what the man had considered his last refuge against her.

The barrier he had placed his faith in cracked. At first he was doubtful if it would hold, but after the first few times he dared to think he was safe. He would let her try to get at him for as long as she could last. That confidence shattered the moment he heard that splintering sound. His blood froze in his veins as the crack widened, and her eye stared back at him from the other side. Then more pieces were falling off, and he jumped when the woman's hand burst through. Her hand clawed at the door, searching for the handle that kept the doors together. Yanking and pulling, when they failed to unlatch the hand withdrew. In the next moment, the doors were blasted open sending the entire locking mechanism smashing into the floor. 

The slow, steady clack of heels on stone began to pick up in their pace, and the woman loomed before him. As if she could read his thoughts, his entire body locked up. He was paralyzed, unable run or even look away as vengeance came striding down. The pounding of his own heart filled his ears. Putting her axe away, she stared him down before reaching out and placing a hand around his throat. As her grip tightened, a sudden searing pain took hold and he felt himself being lifted off the ground. Her flashing eyes, her floating hair–filled the lord's soul with an unholy dread. As she pulled his face close to hers, she whispered. "Lord Albaret, it is time to pay your debts."

When she let go of him, Sylvain fell to his knees as the agony increased twofold. It was as if an invisible iron had been thrust onto his skin, and an all-consuming fire was spreading within his body. Reeling on the floor, his eyes were wide as his throat began to constrict and he struggled to breathe. A circular mark burnt itself into the side of his neck, taking the shape of the symbol of Antikythera. Screams and shouts of torment filled the chamber as a voice echoed in his ears.


"I am the Ruler of Onslaught and the God of Misfortune. You should have cut your losses while you had the chance, but instead you chose to bet it all… All for the sake of your foolish pride. And for that, you will pay dearly. Did you think you could just back out of a wager? Bail when things weren't turning your way? You wagered your neck and I wagered mine–and since I won, I'll be taking yours. Isn't that what you said yourself? Or are you the kind of man who goes back on his word?"

The pain momentarily abated, and Sylvain struggled to his knees. Looking up, he saw not the woman–but a terrible, shadowy creature bearing down on him. It was tall and unseemly, with a humanoid shape. Its entire body appeared to be made of shadow, with tattered dark cloth and chains hanging off it. The chains were ancient and rusted, some were even broken and bore shackles or padlocks dangling from them. Upon its back were various weapons and arrows embedded; all rusted, broken, or in severe disrepair. The chains from its body wrapped around them too, and its face was a weathered, stained version of the mask the deity had worn before entering his manor. A deep fracture ran down across that shuddering visage, and it stared into him. It stretched a hand out towards him, then everything went black.

Days later, he regained consciousness. An unnatural hush had settled over the estate, and the damage done looked as if a maelstrom had torn through the place. His servants upon seeing he was awake came to attend to him immediately. Sylvain found he was in his bedchambers, likely moved after what had happened then. Rising, he went to see. Surely it all had been a nightmare; a terrible dream. As he passed by the mirror on his dresser, he saw a seal emblazoned on his neck. With shaking hands, he pulled back his hair to reveal the mark. It was the mark of a curse–the mark of ownership by a fierce and terrible deity.