Werewolf and Zombie

It is eleven o’clock in the morning when the party splits. Three of them head north, straight out of the city, away from everyone else. Masaki remains at Mage Guard Keep to see if he can learn detect magic, while Wolfgang goes back to the Chubby Angel Inn to work on his alchemical project and to check if a letter has arrived.

The group of three passes through the northern gate, leaving the city behind. Ashira shifts briefly into her true form before returning to her usual city guise.

Daiki nods gently. “You always look perfect, but you seem exhausted. Did you sleep well—besides the fishing?”

“It wasn’t super restful,” Ash admits.

“Ah, the Duke of Hell suddenly appearing in your head can be quite scary, right?”

“Yeah. I wonder what will happen next. Maybe I’ll appear in his head. I want to see how this plays out.”

“You can do that?”

“I don’t know. He can appear in my head, so maybe I can do the same. I’ll try tonight.”

Daiki looks uncertain. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Amber cuts in. “Do whatever you want, but I don’t think you’re going to scare Bel. You’ll probably just agitate him more. I’d recommend you not doing that—even if it’s possible.”

Ash shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s possible.”

Daiki muses, “Maybe it would solve a lot if you could just talk to him.”

Ashira brightens. “Yeah, you guys can meet him.”

Amber responds dryly, “Bien sûr. But let me say one thing—if anyone could talk themselves out of this contract, it would be you, Ashira.”

Ash smiles. “Oh, the others would be so proud. We can tell them all about the meeting we’ll have with Bel. Just imagine—everything solved.”

Amber quickly shakes her head. “Excuse me, meeting that we had? I don’t want any part of that.”

“No, no—we will have,” Ashira insists.

Amber sighs. “My darling, if I say oui, it means yes. Context, girl.”

Daiki shifts the subject. “Does anyone know where Kal Lume is? We’re walking north, but I don’t know how far.”

Ash recalls. “I’ve been there long ago. Near the forest edge, there’s a small road into the woods. It leads to the village.” She points the way.

Daiki inhales deeply. “Strange, even though it’s the same air as Evermere, it feels more relaxing here. I feel better already. Oh look—cute little butterflies! The first of the year.”

“They’re beautiful,” Ashira agrees. She begins to play her drum softly, blending her rhythm with the forest sounds.

Daiki smiles. “Amber, I think this is the first time you’re with us without Wolfgang. Tell us a story.”

Amber hesitates. “I have very good stories. But not happy ones.”

Daiki nods. “We asked for a story, not a happy ending. If you want a happy ending, we could help make one.”

Amber studies the two of them. They’ve both been so open and supportive. Finally she asks, “Do you want a fictional or non-fictional story?”

“About you,” Ash says firmly.

“Yeah, Ambs, for example: why are you on fire?” suggests Daiki.

Amber breathes in deeply. “If you ask me why I’m on fire, you hit the spot. It’s my heritage. My parents were like me. My father led our caravan, traveling mostly through deserts. Fire doesn’t spread in sand, so it was safe. My mother was a merchant—she even made her own moonshine. That’s what I carry with me now. They were both killed in an ambush. I only have my brother left—well, he was abducted.”

Daiki looks stricken. “They were killed? That’s so sad.”

Amber nods quietly.

Ash whispers, “That’s so bad.”

Daiki asks, “Do you know who killed them?”

“Yes. And I made sure they couldn’t ever again. When my brother and I returned from a supply run, we found everything burning. The Shadow Serpent Syndicate left their sigil behind.”

“Serpentfolk,” Amber clarifies.

Daiki frowns. “The slithering people?”

“That’s correct.”

She explains that afterwards she stayed in Evermere, but only Masaki and Wolfgang know the full story. Her brother was taken while they were working for Clovis Major, trained as soldiers. On patrol one day, he was simply taken. She could not follow. Madame Ora claims he’s in a warm place, but she has no proof. Clovis Major gave up after two months, and she left to search on her own.

“It’s been so long,” she admits. “I don’t even know if he’s alive. Talking about him hurts more than my parents’ deaths.”

Ash clasps her hands. “I will find him. We can help you.”

Daiki adds softly, “Trust the right people. Nature will provide a way to find him.”

Amber thanks them, but her doubts linger. “Please, don’t go asking around. We were undercover when it happened. I don’t know who might be looking.”

Ash counters, “If Bel doesn’t know he’s in Hell, then he’s probably not in Hell. Easy exclusion.”

Amber’s sarcasm cuts through. “If you want to ask Bel, fine. But keep this within the party.”

Ash beams. “Perfect. We’ll take care of this, Ambs. No worries.”

Amber mutters, “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Just then, noises stir from the woods to their left—wild animal sounds. Daiki stiffens. “Oh boy.”

Amber grips her javelin. “If it’s hostile, I’ll charge.”

From the trees bursts a wolf-like creature on its hind legs, bloodied clothes hanging from its frame.

---

Masaki remains behind at Mage Guard Keep, searching for someone to teach him detect magic. He finds Madras giving instructions to a Mage Guard. When she turns, she greets him. “Please don’t tell me she already did something bad again.”

“No, nothing like that,” Masaki explains. “But we’re heading out, and I realized I don’t know detect magic. Considering how important it is for keeping Ashira in check, I’d like to learn.”

Madras nods. “You skipped a few classes, so you missed that. You get one chance—in the Illusion Gauntlet. Every Mage Guard trains there. I’ll prepare it for you.”

Grateful, Masaki offers to do paperwork while she arranges things.

---

Elsewhere, Wolfgang sticks to the plan. He heads toward the Chubby Angel Inn, deciding to fly over Evermere for the first time, enjoying the view from above. Mid-flight, a scream pierces the city.

He redirects toward the sound, forty-five feet above the streets. From the air, he sees people frozen in shock. A man stumbles with a knife in his back, collapses to his knees, and gasps, “They got the box. It’s dangerous. Don’t let them—” His words fade as life leaves his eyes.

Wolfgang descends beside him. The man’s skin darkens, his eyes snap open with an undead gleam, and his body jerks upright. Right in front of Wolfgang, the victim rises again—no longer a man, but a zombie.

Wolfgang begins to shout for the city guard and the mage guard, his voice echoing through the Evermere. The air fills with screaming, people scattering in all directions.

Before Wolfgang can act further, the zombie-form is staggering toward him with arms outstretched. He mutters in disbelief, “Oh my God, this looks terrible.” Unarmed without his rapier, he curses, realizing he must improvise. He takes flight, wings beating as he rises thirty feet into the air, calling again for the mage guard and city guard. The zombie swipes at him but misses.

From above, Wolfgang stretches out his talons, light gathering at their tips. “I will try to hit it with a guiding bolt,” he declares, loosing the spell—but the magic fizzles wide, missing its target. “That is a pity,” he sighs, hovering as the chaos grows below.

The zombie lumbers forward, ignoring him now that it cannot reach. Its rotting gaze falls on a woman nearby. With startling speed, it dashes and closes in on her, forcing Wolfgang to act quickly.

He descends just enough to draw his hand crossbow and fires, the bolt striking true and sinking deep into the creature. Encouraged, he flips the weapon and draws a dagger from his ankle, hurling it with deadly accuracy. It lands beside the first strike, piercing deep. The zombie staggers but remains standing. Wolfgang urges the woman, “Run, run!” She does, fleeing as far as she can.

The creature, mindless and relentless, chases after her again, knocking her to the ground. Wolfgang reloads, this time drawing his light crossbow. He steadies his aim and fires, the bolt striking clean through with a piercing blow. The zombie collapses, but as it hits the ground its body erupts in a wave of necrotic energy. The pale woman is caught in the blast, her skin draining of color as she falls lifeless to the street.

“Oh my God,” Wolfgang whispers. He rushes to her side, trying to stabilize her, but when he touches her, her skin is ice-cold and her eyes glossed. She is beyond saving. With a quiet motion, he closes her eyes.

Turning back to the fallen zombie, Wolfgang sees a dagger still lodged in its body. Wrapped in cloth, he carefully removes it. The blade radiates an unsettling aura. Inspecting it closely, he recalls ancient stories. It is a Hungerfang, a cursed relic from the Valkar Wars, forged by necromancers to ensure no soldier ever stayed dead. A chill passes through him as he realizes what he holds.

Curiosity drives him to search the zombie’s remains. His investigation reveals the man had been well dressed, not some vagrant, and he seemed to have come from a nearby building. Wolfgang approaches it, the sign above marking it as Elver’s Antiques.

Inside, the shop is in shambles—ransacked from top to bottom. Amidst the wreckage, Wolfgang finds a dagger case that perfectly matches the cursed blade he now carries. Candle wax smears mark the floor, though there are no candles present, and among the debris lies a letter from someone marked “C.V.” It requests an urgent meeting to trade for “the box you possess for a possibly cursed knife from the Valkar Wars.”

As Wolfgang deduces the shopkeeper—Mr. Derev Albar—is likely the man now lying dead outside, he spots a back door slightly ajar. Slipping through, he finds a boy hiding in the alley.

The boy peers up at him. “Oh, is that thing gone?”

“What thing?” Wolfgang asks.

“The man—Mr. Derev. I saw him stand up, turn green, then you fought him, didn’t you?”

Wolfgang studies him. “You were here recently?”

“No, I was just watching from the corner. I saw him change. It was… weird.” The boy fidgets nervously. “I’m Marlon. What’s your name?”

“Count Wolfgang Rüppelshammer. Pleasure meeting you.”

Marlon shrugs, wide-eyed at the long name. Wolfgang warns him, “There might be city guard or mage guard who’ll want to hear what you saw. Tell them the truth.” He shows three copper pieces to the boy, but Marlon scoffs. “For three copper? I like gold.”

Wolfgang shakes his head, unwilling to bargain further, and pockets the copper. “Then I wish you a pleasant day. Be mindful of the streets—they are dangerous.” With that, he turns back toward the bodies.

The streets remain eerily empty, abandoned after the attack. The cursed dagger, wrapped tightly in cloth, weighs heavy in Wolfgang’s hands as he waits. It doesn’t take long before two mage guards round the corner, the echoes of their boots breaking the silence.

Wolfgang steps forward, showing the tattoos on his hand. “The name is Count Wolfgang Rüppleshammer. There’s a Section 2 major infraction. I’d like one of you to fetch a red cloak as soon as possible for introducing a necromantic magical item into the city, leading to a conversion into a zombie and the death of another citizen by this zombie.”

The guards nod, noting the necrotic energy. “It seems there are two deaths. Have you seen anything, sir?” one asks. Wolfgang recounts the events. “Absolutely. There was a conversion after this man, supposedly Mr. Derev Alba from that ransacked shop over there, Alba’s Antiques. He died stating that a box was stolen from him. He had a dagger in his back, died in my arms, and transformed into a zombie. The zombie subsequently hit this young lady.”

One of the guards checks her pulse. “She’s very much gone. Very cold. I’ll bring this one back, I’m afraid.”

Wolfgang gestures to the weapon. “The weapon responsible for this behavior is this ancient dagger, most likely presented in this case that I found in Alba’s Antiques alongside this letter.”

The conversation turns to his role. Wolfgang explains, “I’m a visiting member of the Rüppleshammer family, known for protecting this kingdom on the most western border. I accidentally heard this man scream and therefore decided to see what was happening. I did not accidentally enter the house; I intended to pay a visit to the shop.”

He clarifies the city’s perspective. “It would be most appreciated, especially if it takes minutes for the regular city law enforcement and mage keep enforcements to reach the place of crime. I alerted the poor citizens of this area to call for a Mageguard and Cityguard.”

The bodies are moved into the building to clear the street. “Absolutely. I would not expect otherwise of you,” Wolfgang remarks. 

---

Daiki reacts instantly. He steps between the creature and his companions, channeling magic through his staff. He braces as the creature lunges, but it misses him.

Ashira joins in, mocking the wolf with her vicious magic. “You’ve got no chance, dear wolf. Ambs will take care of you.” 

Amber steps forward, initially restraining her rage. She flanks the wolf, then releases her fury. Her fiery hair mirrors the heat in her hands. She shouts, flames erupting in a cone, scorching the beast. It deflects to avoid the worst, taking half damage.

Daiki channels his force magic again, throwing flames. He strengthens himself with bark-like skin, increasing his defenses. The werewolf’s blood-red eyes fix on Amber, drooling as it lunges for her throat. She braces, resisting the bite. Amber calms herself down – losing her fiery rage, realizing her weapons cannot harm the creature. She shifts her fire into her hands and projects it in a controlled burning hands spell. Flames sear toward the werewolf, scorching it despite its partial dodge.

Daiki seizes the opportunity, flinging fire again. Ashira pours lantern oil on the ground and drops a torch, igniting a small fire that persists for two rounds, forcing the creature to take damage if it moves through the flames.

Amber attacks with her flail, connecting but causing no bludgeoning damage. She does succeed in taking the creature aback – stumbling for a second. Daiki, observing Amber and Ashira in action, decides to use Misty Step to reposition, then throws more fire at the wolf, striking its face.

The werewolf, frustrated, targets Ashira. Amber attempts to intercept with a cantrip but shifts to a French tackle, knocking it prone in front of Ashira. The wolf struggles to rise and fails to escape the immediate area.

Ashira, torch in hand, ignites the oil, setting the ground ablaze. The creature catches fire and howls, taking damage while forced to maneuver carefully around the flames. Amber adds another flare, producing a magical flame at will, attacking the wolf and healing some of her own wounds from the previous bite.

Daiki tries an icy knife attack, piercing the werewolf’s chest, but the magical ice has no effect. The creature’s resilience becomes clear. Despite scratches and minor burns, the wolf stands fast, growling and huffing in defiance.

Amber prepares another spell, hurling fire at the beast. She strikes again, managing to force half-damage. Ashira maintains her support, keeping the fire burning and positioning to stay safe.

The werewolf eventually retreats, disappearing into the forest with unnatural speed. 

---

“I’ve heard you’re quite talented, so you should be able to do this,” Madras tells Masaki as they enter a big training hall. At first the room is dark; she snaps her fingers and light blooms. Walls rise everywhere, and the place is full of items—glamours, curios, strange objects. “Some of these things are illusions, some of those items are magical,” she explains. “You have to push your awareness outwards and feel the weave rather than looking with just your eyes. Of course you still have to use your eyes; anyone can see what their eyes show them. A mageguard—or in your case a red cloak—must see the unseen: the residue of spells, the hum of enchantments, the scars magic leaves behind. Are you prepared to do that?”

Masaki inhales and says, “I am.”

“Focus well and try to find what is fake, what is magical. Use your calming senses and push your awareness outwards. I will stay here and watch.”

Masaki closes his eyes for a second and lets memory guide him. He thinks back to the time they found Ember’s blood eggs, to studying them in the goblin camp—how that magic felt different from a regular axe, how the weave in the enchanted objects differed. He remembers the shield they found in the goblin horde and how that was unlike the spear. He tries to pin down what felt magical, then pushes that memory outward, searching the room for that same sensation among the scattered items.

As he reaches toward the weave he feels something in a wall—solid stone at first, then dissolving into glittering threads. An alcove opens where nothing had been. He allows himself a small grin at the discovery. “Yes,” he breathes.

“Very well done,” Madras says. “Remember that sometimes it’s not just about feeling the arcane. Sometimes it’s about seeing the inconsistencies. Really look closer than you usually do.”

Masaki thinks about how he weaves literal shadows into a shadow blade when he casts, the pattern of his own magic, and uses that as a template. He pushes his perception outward, looking for incongruities in the room’s patterning. He notes two torches on a wall and, at first glance, can’t explain why one of them seems off. When he leans closer he realizes one torch gives no shadow on the walls. He reaches forward and pushes his hand through it—there is no heat, no flame—and the torch shimmers out of existence.

“Very well seen,” Madras says. “Mismatch in the torch lights which wasn’t causing a shadow at all.”

Then another voice—another Madras—says from the other side of him, “Very well seen, Masaki.” Masaki turns and finds himself surrounded: two Madras stand on either side of him.

“Oh god,” he thinks, and then steadies himself. He takes the two figures in at once, testing them for the obvious: shadows, scent, minute differences. He walks around them, searching with senses sharpened by training and memory, trying to feel rather than merely look. The two Madrasses return his gaze with the same small smirk. When he speaks, he allows a compliment to slip out: “I may have a talent for this, but you sure are a talented spellcaster.”

“I have my ways,” they say in unison.

Masaki shuts his eyes for a moment and reaches for his inner sight—his “third eye,” the sense for magic—to distinguish the real from the illusion. The two Madrasses stand about fifteen feet from him, each in different directions. He extends his awareness, trying to read the weave and find that one thread that marks the true form.

Masaki studies the scene, discerning that one of the figures before him isn’t real—it’s an illusion. He grabs one of his new daggers, flips it toward where the armor would be, and strikes. The dagger passes through harmlessly. Suddenly, a glow erupts around him. Arcane glyphs and magical auras flare into view, revealing hidden walls. For ten minutes, he senses magic everywhere and realizes he has learned the spell detect magic.

Masaki exhales, a mixture of relief and pride washing over him. He trusts the group he left behind. As Madras asks where his party is, he responds: “I have reasonable faith in them,” he says. “I haven’t been with them long, but I know at least one of them is capable. The rest of the party won’t be separate for long. My plan is to rejoin them as soon as possible.”

Masaki makes his way for the Chubby Angel Inn, to catch up with Wolfgang later.

---

Wolfgang prepares meticulously, arranging evidence of a recent case. A young girl appears at the door, small horns marking her as a tiefling of mixed blood. Wolfgang inquires about her knowledge of the murdered man, but insight tells him she is puzzled. Her grandfather has died, the Mage Guard confirms.

“I’m sorry, but he’s beyond help,” they say. Wolfgang offers condolences, collects her story, and hears whispers of the Crimson Veil, a criminal organization responsible for destruction. He listens carefully, understanding the stakes. 

Back in the Chubby Angel Inn, Masaki and Wolfgang make sure temporary accommodations are arranged, travel plans confirmed, and a horse procured. Wolfgang continues his alchemical work, later receiving a letter from Lord Weiss inviting him to Queen Alera Thorn’s birthday celebration. Excitement fills him as he contemplates attire and plans to visit a tailor.

---

Meanwhile, in the forest, Amber, Ashira, and Daiki regroup after the wolf-like attack. Daiki examines their wounds. “We have to check for rabies or anything like it,” he explains. According to Daiki, when you get bitten by a creature infected with rabies, you’ll be afraid of water. They test, no one is afraid, and the water just evaporates on Ambers’ skin.

Amber interrupts, frustrated. “You both ran away. I didn’t see you anymore. What the fuck was up with that?”

Daiki explains. “We were just moving tactically. The wolf was biting, and my magical piercing didn’t work, so I put distance between us.”

Amber frowns. “I totally understand, but my attacks weren’t doing anything either—except for fire.”

Ashira reassures her. “We believed in you, and that was the most important part.”

Discussion drifts to speculation. Could the wolf have been a changeling? Could it somehow be related to Wolfgang? Amber stops them with a fiery glare. “This is enough speculation. Wolfgang is not a wolf. It’s a coincidence. Just stop.”

“Maybe we should try wolfbane on him,” Daiki jokes.

Amber laughs, exasperated. “No. He’s an bird of noble birth. They’re not going to mate with wolves.”

They continue on, the conversation turning to wolves and secret identities, but Amber leads the way, determined to reach Kal Lume. Behind her, Daiki and Ashira follow, still joking about counting wolf-gangs and undercover agents, but she ignores them.

Hours pass as they walk. Finally, a village emerges ahead. Grain fields stretch to the right, two cats scatter as they approach, and a calm square opens before them.