In the middle of setting up camp for the night after another fruitless day, Corridan cocked an ear to the wind. Maybe it was his imagination but he'd have sworn he'd heard a strain of a tainted Mage Song echoing through the dying forest.
     "No," Corridan muttered to himself, picking up a sword and one of his precious books. "I couldn't possibly get lucky enough to just imagine it." As he buckled the sword around his waist he stepped over to Lyahr, wishing once again that he could change out of his filthy clothes.
     He tapped the warrior on the shoulder, jutting his chin to the south once he knew he had Lyahr's attention. Lyahr didn't question Corridan. If the Mage said - well, gestured - that there was something out there, then he would move without complaint.
     Lyahr retrieved his blades - two beautifully curved longswords - from where he had lain them alongside his horse. "Let's not allow Acharya's blindness to cause the deaths of more innocents." With those words he followed Corridan at a dead run into the dark of the dead woods.

     An oily smile slid over Sylvae's face as he darted towards the little boy.
     "Paenth daran," Shorin laughed. Dirty blood. He pointed a small finger at the patchwork vampire, chuckling as Sylvae fell backwards. The childish laughter faded as a wave of nausea rushed  over Shorin, followed by a cold scratching at the base of his spine.
     "Kaer," Shorin swore as he fell to one knee. The nausea meant he couldn't take care of the vampire by himself, yet. He didn't have the benefit of a Jihann filter so all the pain and hate that had wormed its way into Cair'leih pricked at his bones, making his marrow ache and his stomach turn. The coldness pressing against the small of his back was a slight comfort, assuring Shorin that he wouldn't have to do this on his own.
     "Yi en'vaelken sha'et salahn calaen!" Shorin shouted at the top of his lungs. His little back arched with the force of his cry and another wave of sickness crested and crashed upon him as he used his will to project the call. I cannot do this alone.
     Jenya snapped out of the stupor his wife's death had drawn him into, hearing his son's shout from what seemed to be far away. He finally noticed his son kneeling before the monster that had killed his wife, the monster that was getting back to his feet.
     The Sun-Chylde drew a Greyblade from his side, rushing at the vampire. He let loose a terrible wail as he ran, a bellow that turned to a yelp of surprise as he tripped and fell face first on the bloody soil. The deer-blood soaked dirt filled Jenya's mouth, causing him to cough and sputter as he drew himself up.
     Jenya's son stared at him, stunned. "I didn't mean you," he blinked. "I meant them," he turned to point behind the vampire, at the two Magi thundering into the clearing. The feelings of pain and betrayal filled Jenya's soul once more. He scrambled back to his dead wife's body, looking for some hint of an explanation.
     Lyahr made it into the clearing first, his swords held high above his head. Standing behind Sylvae, Lyahr brought the blades down, ready to fufill the promise that Sylvae would not hurt another soul.
     Sylvae brought his arm up over his head to block the blades. He howled, more out of rage than pain, as the blades tore through his robes and his flesh. Corridan followed close behind Lyahr, tucking his book under his arm and using the other to collect Shorin from where he knelt.
     "Are you alright?" Corridan whispered in the boy's ear. Shorin nodded, fighting the urge to add one more sort of fluid to the ground.
     "Find the words," Shorin muttered, pointing to Corridan's book. "Before your friend kills this world's last chance." He watched Lyahr in awe of the skill and speed the Warrior possessed, even though he sensed deep pains - old and new - radiating from the sapphire-haired man.
     "He's that important, huh?" Corridan didn't even bother to watch for the child's nod. He already knew the answer. Nodding grimly to himself, answering his own question, he flipped through the pages as quickly as he could.
     Sylvae called a large sword - claymore, Lyahr's memories told him - from the nothing as he rolled backward, towards Jenya and Kelnai, to avoid any further damage. The already black night darkened further around the patchwork vampire, his tainted blood spilling into the world from the bone-deep lacerations on his arms. If Lyahr could admire nothing else about the vampire, he had to admire Sylvae's ability to ignore pain. It wasn't a talent that came easily.
     For all of Sylvae's newfound powers he was only slightly more than human. The blood he had been given was beyond corruption but Sylvae did not yet know how to draw upon that. He couldn't yet begin to guess how to exploit the great dark that had touched his maker, exacerbating the darkness that had already rested in Vincent's veins from more than 300 years before the Rift was torn open. For all of the atrocities Sylvae had committed, the crimes that made him the Worst, he was only an amateur in this war and Lyahr took advantage of that. The vampire's speed was unbelievable, but Lyahr's skill with blades and stance evened the balance.
     "The woman's already dead, hero." The corners of Sylvae's thin lips pulled back, caught between a glib smile and a sneer. He brought his black blade upward in a strike that none but the most skilled could block.
     "It makes no difference to me, monster," Lyahr muttered without inflection. Crossing his blades over the vampire's, he tightened the muscles in his back and arms to apply pressure and turn his swords into scissors. "I only want to protect innocent lives." He allowed himself a small grin at the dismay in Sylvae's face as his own obsidian blade became a foot shorter.
     "Then your own would be forfeit!" The vampire fluorished his hands, letting the weapon fade back into the nothing from whence it came, drawing a leg up to kick Lyahr in the chest. The warrior stumbled back, his legs failing him so that he had to kneel against his blades.
     On the ground with his swords in the earth Lyahr grunted, taking an instant to catch his breath and throw a glance at the rest of the clearing. Corridan was still leafing through his tome of words Lyahr couldn't understand, the little blonde boy at his side shaking his head and urging the Mage to hurry. The Sun-Chylde basically hid behind his wife's body, cradling her head in his lap. It was a shame this world knew nothing of the resuscitation techniques from the old world, the Sun-Chylde might have been of some use to hid wife then.
     Not that it mattered. Not much mattered to Lyahr now, or the drowsy Warrior in the back of his mind, bit by bit taking control of this old body. He had found his prey, and was almost ready for the kill.
     Regaining his feet, swishing his blades through the air to throw the soil away from them, he rushed the vampire to catch him offguard. "And so is yours," he declared quietly as the metal slid into flesh with a sick tearing sound. He placed a booted foot against the vampire's gut, pushing the monster backwards and pulling the swords free.
     As Sylvae fell to the bloodied ground Lyahr knelt over him, readying his blades to take the vampire's head. Something struck him hard in the back, warming his flesh as it crept over the whole of his body and stunning him into immobility. Lyahr fell onto the earth, luckily landing in one of the cleaner patches of soil, looking through bleary eyes at the face of the blonde little boy.
     "We need all of him, not just his head." The boy chided just before turning away and vomiting into some dying brush.
     Corridan stepped forward, ignoring the boy's sickness and his companion's disbelief as he began to read fluidly from the volume in his hands. "A'daran tael'mahrekh silthaftal. Fa'ildaye a'kenara naram sha'et ko'orasp. Yi daifarkeshen elth a'nilyahr. Sha'et akar ahan vaeldekh thai'ya."
     The blood has been spilt, the translation rang in Lyahr's mind as the clearing filled with the light of orange flames. Pull the spirit from this body. I call to the warrior. This world needs you yet.
     Corridan finished speaking the words, closing the book as he blinked against the brightness of the fire engulfing the body of the fallen vampire. Just as Corridan began to draw up a long list of the consequences of failure - had he spoken the wrong words, placed inflection upon the wrong syllables? - the vampire began to scream wordlessly.
     The flames that had begun to cover the clearing were slowly drawn into the vampire's gaping mouth, muffling his cry. Once all of the flames had gone he sat up panting, his eyes wide from shock or fear. Lyahr found his way to his feet, immobilized now by awe alone.
     "Holy..."
     "Shh," Shorin hushed Corridan, straightening and striding over to the man on the ground. He spoke a few words in Kaer'melthek to which the patchwork vampire would either nod or shake his head. Shorin spoke too fast for Corridan to catch anything other than the end. "Ahan tael'alankaye. Elereth ashar faerth araf ahan thai'ya mahrekh, eth ahan vaeldaental mahraye." You knew. There is no rest for you yet, and you are needed.
     A cough brought a small laugh from the boy as his eye's darted to Kelnai. The ruby-haired woman lay in her husband's arms, her fists pressed over her eyes. "I thought we'd need the phoenix for you," Shorin smiled at her. He knelt by her side, doing his best to give his father a reassuring look. "It's alright Th'ar, I didn't kill her before, I promise I won't kill her now."
     Kelnai forced her eyes to focus on the child in front of her, to see through the glow that now surrounded him and watch his eyes move. "Dead again?" She forced the words out of her hoarse throat, fighting a wince as she remembered the flames.
     Shorin nodded, throwing a brief glance at Corridan.
     "I should really stop letting that happen to me," Kelnai gave her head a slight shake, trying to jolt away the grogginess that came with being pulled back into her body.
     The black-haired Mage across the clearing dusted off his book, giving a small wave before a perplexed look flitted over his eyes. "That shouldn't have worked for you," he muttered. "The description said it needed blood. I heard the song, and I know this isn't your blood," he gestured to the animal blood seeping into the ground.
     Kelnai struggled to sit up for a second, before realizing it was her husband's arms that kept her down. Shaking him off she held her palms out for Shorin and Corridan to see. On each palm four red crescents stood out against the pale skin. When Sylvae had leeched the warmth and life from her, her nails had bitten into her flesh.
     Jenya stared at his wife, at the smile she flashed at those who had taken his best friend, the Magi who were the pets of the worst being in this world. Snarling as he sprang to his feet, he lunged at Corridan.
     The Sun-Chylde made it halfway across the clearing before something hard and heavy struck the back of his head. Shorin sighed regretfully as he set Lyahr's sword aside, leaning down to make sure there was no blood now seeping from the back of his father's head and no open wounds for tainted blood to work its way through.
     "I hope he learns to control himself soon," the little boy muttered. "Before we end up giving him a concussion..."