Chapter 57

  Lord Squirreltastrophe Deacorninious!

  Lord Squirreltastrophe Deacorninious the four-hundred and seventy-sixth (CDLXXVI) was, much like all squirrels, hell-bent on world domination. Circumstances may have been working against the almighty rodent, but he knew, deep down in his nut-infested, warped little soul, that nothing could keep him from his goal.

  Rolling off his tiny, wood-chip bed, landing on the plush, red, squirrel-skin rug with an ignoble squeak, Squirreltastrophe reminisced about the days when he was woken softly by his lessers, his littermates, scratching at his flanks, eager to see if they could eat him before Mother returned. Ahh, those were the days: when backstabbing was an everyday occurrence and betrayal lay around every corner.

  The smile fled Squirreltastrophe’s furry grey face when he remembered where he was. Not long after graduating from adolescence and matriculating into adulthood, Lord Deacorninious CDLXXVI – lone survivor of his clutch, and thus bearer of the title – had ventured into one of the two-legged’s mega-nests, determined to conquer the inferior creatures.

  Unfortunately, like all young squirrels, he soon discovered besting the troublesome creatures that ate his nuts, cut down his trees, and tried to give him head-pats in a physical competition was impossible. No matter how much Xp he gained from the destruction of magical inscriptions, chewing through wooden water pipes, and relieving himself on any that dared to walk beneath his rooftop perch, the young noble-squirrel was unable to advance beyond level 12.

  Squirreltastrophe CDLXXVI had been frustrated. Unable to reach level 25 and Evolve from a regular rodent into something that befit his grandeur (like Public Menace, Keeper Of The Unpeace, or even his namesake, first of his line, Squirreltastrophe), the ambitious youth had started to become disillusioned with the world and his place in it. Was he not destined to rule over the masses, gorge himself as much as he could on nuts, and receive all of the pets?

  Thankfully, before Lord Squirreltastrophe Deacorninious CDLXXVI could further question his position, fate had seen fit to lend him a hand, proving he was always meant for greatness.

  One moonlit night, when the grey-haired lordling was at his lowest, trudging through ashes, having forgotten which chimney he stuffed to bursting with head-sized, spikey nuts, and feeling hungry, Lord Deacorninious stumbled across a wonderful sight. Amongst the charred remains of the building were two figures, both bipedal. One was lying on the ground, covered in burns and nearing death; the other seemed to be drinking from the neck of the first, ignoring their feeble protestations.

  The scene before him didn’t so much as cause the tailed nuisance's whiskers to twitch; he was focused entirely on the lone pointy nut that had survived the blaze. The treasure shone under the full moon, and Squirreltastrophe CDLXXVI didn’t hesitate in darting forward, uncaring of the scuffle between the two-legs.

  The feeder, caught up in their feeding, didn’t notice the burned one snatch something sharp from the rubble. Blood sprayed as the cremated two-legs slashed the bloodsucker across the throat, desperate to get free.

  The attack caused the cannibal to hiss in pain but did not stop their feast. The bloodsucker’s blood splashed across the squirrel lord’s prize, covering it in a dark red fluid. Squirreltastrophe CDLXXVI, annoyed, contemplated taking his meal down to the river for a wash, but the rumbling of his tiny tummy caused him to forgo hygiene and rush to sate his hunger.

  After consuming the blood-soaked delicacy, nothing happened – at least, not at first. It wasn’t until Lord Squirreltastrophe Deacorninious had eaten his fill, settled down in the hollow of a tree, and rested for several hours that he noticed something strange. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wood and burned against the squirrel’s fur. It wasn’t until smoke began to rise from his suddenly very sensitive snout that he realised something fundamental had changed about him.

  Following a very unpleasant day, wherein the young Deacorninious was forced to skirt around moving beams of sunlight while confined to his hollow, and an even more interesting night where the young squirrel was able to feast on a sleeping broom-wielder – gaining strength and Xp in the process – Squirreltastrophe CDLXXVI celebrated, having finally found a way forward. He would take over this world yet!

  Unfortunately, upon reaching level 25, after terrorising one of the two-leg’s mega-nests for nearly two months straight, Lord Squirreltastrophe Deacorninious hadn’t been transported to the promised land. Where he was to be trained by the great Squirreltastrophe I in the art of world domination, as his mother had always told him and his siblings before bed. Instead, the fanged squirrel found himself in a manicured abomination of nature the two-legs called a garden; beyond it, one of the biped’s nests, built of brick and wood.

  Something felt off to the vampiric squirrel, though he couldn’t quite put his claw on what. Nonetheless, the fearless Lord Deacorninious decided that a swift and tactical retreat was his best course of action; he definitely didn’t try to flee.

  The squirrel scampered into the forest surrounding the scene as if his unlife depended upon it. However, no matter how far he ran, or in which direction, the young Squirreltastrophe kept ending up back at the quaint house with its creepy ivy and vile hedgerows, made from perfectly maintained rosebushes.

  Once it became obvious escape was impossible, Squirreltastrophe CDLXXVI calmed down. He had not been immediately eaten, and even though all his senses screamed danger, he hadn’t actually seen anything other than the eerie property.

  When he finally convinced himself he wasn’t about to be attacked, the great Squirreltastrophe settled down. As he made camp in the homeliest of trees, the young squirrel went over the information the strange glowing box had beamed into him.

  He was to ‘prove he was able to control his bloodlust to the progenitor’s satisfaction’, whatever that meant. Lacking a clear direction, Lord Squirreltastrophe Deacorninious CDLXXVI settled in to observe.

  ??

  Several months had passed since the squirrel entered the Trial. In that time, he had seen a number of two-legs appear outside the house, hissing and spitting like rabid beasts.

  Invariably, the strong one, the one who caused the young Squirreltastrophe to shake whenever he saw him, would exit his abode just before the newcomer appeared, as if he knew when they would arrive, even though the ball of fur couldn’t see anything that preceded their sudden appearance – no flash of light, no sounds, not even a change in temperature. One moment the garden was bare; the next someone was there.

  Most of the time, Lord Deacorninious observed these feral vampires quickly brought to heel by the strong one. He would reward them with blood that he kept in wine bottles, giving them a single drop if they were able to follow his command. The one in black trained them as if they were four-legged hounds.

  By the end of two weeks, the vampires would either start acting like their non-vampiric counterparts – in which case they would disappear as suddenly as they had appeared – or, on the rare occasion the presumed progenitor failed to tame a creature, he would look deeply into their eyes, and thereafter they would become his mindless servants, living in the house with him, tending to his garden, and doing his chores.

  A few vampiric animals had appeared during Squirreltastrophe’s tenure, although they didn’t receive the same treatment. The progenitor, arbiter of this Trial, did not come to greet them, choosing instead to let them roam free in the forest that surrounded the grounds.

  However, if an animal was too much of a nuisance, they would be swiftly dispatched. On one occasion, a massive, red-skinned four-legs, about as big as a house and with three door-sized horns, appeared in the centre of the lawn. Before the beast could do more than trample the roses, the one in black raised a hand, disappearing it with a gesture.

  Squirreltastrophe was left wondering: was the massive creature killed, or had it completed the Trial and been sent back to the Torus? The young squirrel didn’t know, and, until he found out, he didn’t feel confident approaching the progenitor.

  For weeks Lord Deacorninious watched and waited to see if he could learn more. Vampires appeared and disappeared with regularity, but not much changed from one to the next. As the squirrel's vampiric powers grew, he began to understand what was being said; however, there was rarely anything of interest to him.

  Occasionally, the progenitor would ask one of his trained vampires about goings-on in the world. Most said they had been hunted at some point by Luminaries (whoever they were).

  Apparently, the Luminaries were expanding across the plates, pushing down from the eighth towards the first. Without context, that meant very little to Squirreltastrophe, but whoever they were, they sounded powerful and because of that, he would no doubt butt against them on his path to Torus domination.

  To date, there had been one notable outlier in the regular routine. A vampire had appeared, as per usual, in the middle of the garden, but instead of immediately attacking whatever was in sight, it had stayed still, calmly surveying its surroundings. The progenitor seemed impressed by this.

  The Trial keeper congratulated the clear-thinking vampire, rewarding them with a vial of black blood. Even with a cork stoppering the small glass ampoule, Squirreltastrophe began to salivate; he was a hundred yards away, in the branches of a tree – that stuff was powerful!

  The strong one told this well-controlled vampire about a hidden tomb. If it were to be found, the finder would be entitled to as much special blood as they desired. The avaricious squirrel took note; he could tell that just one drop of that would drastically increase his strength.

  This took place two weeks ago, and since then nothing surprising occurred. The impatient Squirreltastrophe had just resolved himself to approaching the strong one when something strange happened.

  Another oddity appeared. Dressed like a mad beggar, this stranger flopped down on the ground as soon as they arrived – limp. That was weird enough, but Squirreltastrophe, along with every other denizen of the Trial, knew the newcomer was not a vampire – they could feel fresh blood flowing through their veins.

  Animals tore through the forest, and vampire slaves broke through windows, feverish to feast on their first blood in gods-only-knew how long. The curious squirrel was thankfully able to hold himself back; any who got within a few feet of the living one were vanished before they could come close enough to lay a finger on him.

  Recognising the chaos, the strong one raised his hand and said words that the ravenous squirrel failed to comprehend. A red sphere came into being, centred on the fresh meat. The magic ball expanded until it was just large enough to cover the sick-looking two-legs. The effect was immediate. As soon as the human was surrounded, Squirreltastrophe’s hunger subsided and the horde faltered, soon returning to whatever they had been doing before.

  Curious, and no longer overcome by bloodthirst, Lord Deacorninious watched the scary being who presided over this place gently pick up the spasming youngling and carry them inside with surprising care and tenderness.

  The squirrel watched through the window as the human was bathed and set into one of the beds, left to sleep. After it became clear that nothing new could be learnt until this non-vampire awoke, Squirreltastrophe retired to his tree; he no longer needed to sleep, but it was a better way to pass the time than standing around, waiting for something to happen.

  ??

  The chatter of two-legs woke Lord Deacorninious. Remembering the events of the day before, Squirreltastrophe pushed himself up off his red squirrel-skin rug. He was ready to spy on the newcomer – hopeful to find a way to complete the Trial.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Brushing his fur, the squirrel swiftly chewed a mouthful of acidic wood; it tasted foul but helped to curb his ever-present hunger. Spitting the thoroughly masticated pulp out of a hole in the trunk that served as a window, Lord Deacorninious set off towards the sound of voices.

  Scurrying twenty steps along the branch of his Cypress, twenty-five steps along a neighbouring Hawthorn, jumping over to a nearby Nutmeg, leaping three steps through it, and landing singularly on an Oak, Lord Squirreltastrophe Deacorninious found himself free of the woods, positioned above the garden, having evaded all of his traps.

  Beneath him the progenitor and the blood-filled two-legs sat at a table, talking. The squirrel took out a piece of bark and charcoal from his Inventory, ready to take notes.

  It didn’t take long for the young squirrel to grow bored. The vampire, whose power had scared him on an instinctual level, told a dull story about human things which Squirreltastrophe struggled to follow. He didn’t seem to be saying anything relevant to the rodent, so it became hard not to fall asleep.

  That was until the progenitor finally asked the walking meal if they had any questions. Eager to learn, Lord Deacorninious began taking minutes.

  Elijah: Why did you tell me all this?

  Progenitor: To prepare you for what you are about to go through.

  Elijah: And what am I about to go through?

  Progenitor: Before I answer you, answer me something – how old are you?

  …

  Elijah: I’m sixteen. Why?

  Progenitor: Are you? Is that what the System says?

  …

  Elijah: It says I’m seventeen. I must have been here more than three months and missed my birthday. That’s a shame, but I don’t see why it’s relevant.

  Progenitor: Tell me, are you immortal?

  Elijah: What? I don’t think I can die while I’m in these Trials if that’s what you’re getting at.

  Progenitor: One can die inside a Trial if their soul is destroyed, but no, that’s not what I was alluding to. You’re going to get too old; even now there are signs – your hair is longer than before. Even if the System is able to bring you back, as you are, you'll never be able to escape these Trials. What will you do when you’re too old to fight? Too old to run? Too old to chew?

  Elijah: Shouldn’t my stats help with that? My Strength has made me stronger than anyone from earth; my Endurance or Vitality should make me live much longer?

  Progenitor: Yes, your Attributes will increase your longevity a bit, but it’s not enough. At least three months have passed since you left your world, and you’ve completed eighteen Trials in that time. As far as I’m aware, there are about a million different monster species; that means – assuming you have to face them all – it will take—

  Elijah: Thirteen thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine years for me to escape.

  …

  Progenitor: The amount of stats you gain won’t be enough to keep you alive that long, not at the rate you're gaining them – and you’re still yet to face any truly strong monsters.

  Elijah: You want me to become a vampire, don’t you? Is that why you told me your story, to try and convince me? To warn me about the hunger you vile creatures suffer? It doesn’t matter – there has to be another way. With all that I’ve seen in these Trials, I’m sure I’ll find something.

  Progenitor: You will become a vampire; I will not let the best chance I have at being freed from imprisonment slip through my grasp without some kind of security.

  Elijah: Like hell you’re turning me into one of your mindless creatures!

  Progenitor: Sit down.

  Progenitor: That’s better. There was no need for such an outburst; I wouldn’t waste your potential by letting you turn into a lesser vampire.

  Elijah: It doesn't matter; I don’t want to be anything other than human!

  Progenitor: Really? What if I told you it could also help you with your second problem – soul damage? It’s the reason you passed out in the last Trial.

  …

  Elijah: Fine, I’ll listen to what you have to say, only because Rubeus made me promise to talk to someone about my little incident. But mark my words, whatever you say, I will not be turned!

  Progenitor: Whatever you say. Tell me, have you noticed a pattern regarding your fits?

  Elijah: … Each time it seems to have happened right after I received a notification.

  Progenitor: Exactly, it happens every time you get more Skills or Traits?

  Elijah: Then why’s it only happening now?

  Progenitor: Your soul has been filled to the brim, and each time the System tries to cram a new ability in there, it causes tears.

  Elijah: Wait, are you saying this System can mess with my soul?

  Progenitor: Yes… and no. As far as I’m aware, it can’t access the core of your soul, the part that makes you ‘you’, but it can interact with the bubble that surrounds that centre. That's why Skills and Traits are normally given only every few levels, so one has time for their soul to recover and expand.

  Elijah: If time is all I need for things to fix themselves, then all I have to do is take longer in each Trial, easy, problem solved.

  Progenitor: Not exactly. I am no expert on the soul, but I do know more than most. Having done enough damage to put you in a mini coma when you entered my Trial, I would say you need about a year to recover before it’s safe to continue.

  Elijah: A year! Time is already working against me; I can’t afford that sort of delay. There has to be something I can do to reduce that time.

  Progenitor: Meditation, I believe, is supposed to help heal the soul.

  Elijah: So what, I have to sit around with an empty mind all day?

  Progenitor: Again, I am no expert, but I am given to understand that there is more than one way to enter a meditative state. From what I saw when scrying you, you were able to achieve such a state when you were working to attain your Blacksmithing Skill.

  Progenitor: That is not the only problem, however; the older you are, the more rigid your soul becomes. It will take longer for you to recover from soul damage, and your soul will be more reluctant to expand. Becoming a vampire and attaining eternal youth will help your soul to remain malleable.

  Progenitor: That said, when your familiar is fully grown, they can help with both issues.

  Elijah: My familiar? My familiar!? You sent your monster to kill my familiar before I even got to meet them.

  Progenitor: Sit down.

  Progenitor: I will not ask a third time.

  Progenitor: Thank you. There is a lot you are wrong about. This is not the body of your familiar.

  Elijah: How did you get that? It was in my Inventory.

  Progenitor: Ha. You shouldn’t trust the System’s gifts so blindly; they are far from perfect. Now, tell me, that feeling of connection you felt with this crow-shaped parasite – now that it’s dead, you don’t feel it anymore, do you?

  Elijah: So what? It’s dead. You killed it. Of course I don’t feel anything.

  Progenitor: Poor, stupid child. The familiar summoning token you received was messed with by a Soul-Eater Raven. Whenever they get their claws on anything, they warp it. Setting traps and ensuring their meals are fresh and easy.

  Elijah: I don’t believe you.

  Progenitor: The connection you felt was never real; you were the fly standing on a venus flytrap thinking it smelt something sweet, not knowing you were about to be eaten. If not for my intervention, you would have ceased to exist.

  Elijah: Lies! That blood creature you forced to take control of me failed, and now you’re making stuff up.

  Progenitor: I do not lie. And that ‘blood creature’, as you call it, is your true familiar.

  Elijah: Rubbish! That thing is not the other half of my soul; it’s a monster. Why would any part of me speak with a hundred disparate wailing voices?

  Progenitor: I’m afraid that’s my fault. I spent centuries trying to find my familiar. I failed. Desperate, I tried to force a connection. Being a vampire, I thought choosing a being from the plane of blood would be perfect. I was wrong. Forcing a link had some terrible side effects for both of us.

  Progenitor: He was never what he was supposed to be. When he felt his true familiar using a summoning token, tainted though it may have been, I did everything I could to help break our false bond. It cost him a lot.

  Progenitor: I shan’t tell you the name of the creature I lost; the personality I knew died when they left me. All that’s left is a single droplet from the elemental plane of blood, living on in your heart.

  Progenitor: Given enough time and energy, he, or she, will be able to grow into the person they were always meant to be. As their familiar, it is your duty to raise them right. Succeed where I failed.

  Progenitor: Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

  …

  Elijah: Can I have that dead raven back?

  Progenitor: You still don’t believe me?

  Elijah: I don’t know what to think. It’s a lot. But I do know that that corpse is stuffed full of mana; it might end up being useful.

  Progenitor: Oh, I see. You’re welcome to it.

  Progenitor: Just so you know, becoming a vampire lord will empower your blood and the familiar therein.

  Elijah: Enough already. I’ve told you I’m not going to become a vampire.

  Progenitor: Are you sure about that?

  Elijah: Of course.

  Progenitor: Are you sure you’re sure?

  Elijah: What are you still aski— why do I feel so strange all of a sudden?

  Progenitor: Finally, it’s about time.

  Elijah: What? What’s happening to me?

  Progenitor: For future reference, it’s a poor idea to eat something when you don’t know for sure what’s in it.

  Elijah: Those honey buns!

  Progenitor: The very same.

  Elijah: You bastard! I’ll kill you!

  Progenitor: You would hardly be the first to try. Ahh, but I’m talking to myself; you’re out cold aren’t you?

  Elijah: …

  ??

  Squirreltastrophe, who was confused about why the two-legs had stopped speaking, looked up from his birch bark scroll, the charcoal stick in his claw whittled down to a nub. It didn’t take his little brain long to catch up to the conversation he had been transcribing.

  The weaker two-legs, who the squirrel gathered was called Elijah, had been poisoned at some point, and it appeared the stronger two-legs, whose name Squirreltastrophe hadn’t managed to catch, was biding their time until whatever they had dosed the former with took effect.

  The only question the rodent lord had was: why? The progenitor of vampires was clearly the stronger of the two; why would he need to resort to such underhanded methods? Squirreltastrophe soon had his answer.

  Elijah’s incapacitated form turned into a hundred square particles before fading away. The next second, he reappeared on the other side of the garden, in the exact spot where all the feral vampires usually appeared.

  It was clear that he was somewhat like those untrained creatures now. His lip curled in a snarl, and he half growled, half spat the word “why?”. Though to his credit, the even more pale than usual teen didn’t immediately start charging like the other young vampires had.

  The progenitor answered him calmly, “There was a chance that you might have been able to resist my heart-blood if you had time to concentrate on what was going on inside you. Slim though that chance may have been, I only have a single vial in my Inventory. Without access to my body, I don’t have the option to waste it.

  “You turned me into a monster!” Elijah nearly yelled, his hands clenched so tight they were shaking, and blood dripped from where his sharpened nails dug into his palms. It was pitch black.

  “A Monster among monsters!” the progenitor corrected with a grin that twisted his features and sent shivers down the squirrel's spine. “Thanks to me, once you have completed the process, none shall be able to kill you except me. When you wish to die, you’ll have no choice but to free me.

  “So you're saying that whatever you’ve done is not complete; there is a way to undo it?” Elijah asked, hope blooming in his eyes.

  The black-clothed vampire laughed in response, his eyes glowing an ominous red. “You tell me, can you resist the call of blood – can you hold onto yourself when none other has?” the progenitor asked, producing a bottle of red substance from his Inventory.

  The reaction was instantaneous. The ball of restrained energy Elijah had been a second before burst forth, snatching at the blood. Caught off guard by the intoxicating scent, Squirreltastrophe found he was sailing through the air, having jumped off his branch before he realised what he was doing.

  The last thing the rodent saw was a hand raised in his direction. With the fluttering remnants of consciousness Squirreltastrophe spun in the air, catching in his mouth a couple of drops of black blood that was sent flying when Elijah charged forward, then only blackness. Until it was broken by a notification.

  Congratulations!

  You have completed the Trial of Evolution 1: Vampire

  Grade: B

  Objectives:

  

  
• Prove you were able to control your blood-lust to the progenitor’s satisfaction: ?


  
• Increase your level of control to a point where you are able to hide amongst the living: ?


  
• Do not die whilst in the Trial: ?


  

  Rewards:

  You have earned the right to Evolve from a Vampiric Squirrel into 1 of 4 Vampiric Evolutions:

  

  
• Bloody Nuisance


  
• Bringer of the Crimson Nut


  
• Blood Squirrel


  
• Vampiric Squirreltastrophe


  

  Choose Now!