The Traveller woke to the sound of creaking floorboards.
"He's here," Lucian whispered, though no one but the Traveller could hear him.
The Traveller jumped up from the make shift bed on the floor of the tavern kitchen.
"My little lamb wants to run," a cold voice echoed through the dim room.
"Master Aron?" The Traveller feigned terror, his voice trembling. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Aron stepped into the faint light, half of his face bathed in an eerie crimson glow from the moon, giving him a twisted, unnatural appearance. "I can smell it—your fear. Isn't it intoxicating?"
The Traveller wanted to quip that all he smelled was smoke and burnt fish, but he held his tongue. Now wasn't the time.
"What are you here for? I did everything you asked," the Traveller said, his voice shaking.
"You know what I want deep down," Aron sneered. "You have the Ezekiel bloodline. Have you never felt the urge to devour those closest to you?"
The Traveller paused, considering for a moment. "Not really." No recollection of such an urge came to mind.
"You… want to eat me?" The Traveller blurted out, the realization dawning. "You're behind the Fell attacks?"
"You mean we," Aron corrected, his voice cold. "You are but one among many of our livestock."
"I'll call the guards," the Traveller stammered. "They'll take care of you."
Aron laughed, the sound chilling and hollow. "You think the guards don't know? Of course they do. We are the noble guardians of this territory. We can do whatever we please here. And besides, no one will be able to help you tonight."
"You came alone?" the Traveller asked, taking a cautious step back.
Aron grinned, his sharp canines gleaming in the moonlight. "Do you think you can escape? Hahaha."
"No," the Traveller said, raising a kitchen knife with a grin of his own. "I was planning to give you a fight."
Aron's laugh deepened. "I like it when my food puts up a fight. But you have no idea what true power is." With that, he lunged, moving faster than the Traveller could react, his hand wrapping around the Traveller's throat.
But something was wrong. Aron's eyes flickered with confusion as his fingers gripped what should have been soft flesh, only to find cold, unyielding metal beneath them. His expression shifted from surprise to dread as he realized what had happened.
"You're too late," the Traveller said, his voice resonating from his metal throat, a grin creeping across his face. The eerie sound of metal reverberated with each word, amplifying the chill in the air.
Aron's grip tightened instinctively, his supernatural strength surging as he attempted to crush the Traveller's throat. But the metal wouldn't give. It was as if Aron were gripping a solid pillar of steel, unbreakable and indifferent to his monstrous strength.
Before Aron could react, the Traveller moved with surprising speed, catching Aron's arm. With a deft maneuver, the Traveller wrapped his legs around Aron's torso, locking him in place. "I've got you now," he whispered, his voice filled with grim satisfaction.
Aron thrashed, his body jerking violently in an attempt to shake the Traveller off. The ghoul's enhanced strength was immense, but the Traveller's body, now fully transformed into metal, refused to budge. His limbs felt like iron clamps around Aron's torso, tightening with each passing second.
Panic flashed in Aron's eyes, an emotion he hadn't felt in decades. There was something wrong with his body - he's losing sensation from part of his body as if it is gone replaced by something foreign. His powers had always given him complete control over his body—his strength, his regenerative powers. But now, he was feeling that slipping away.
Aron's breathing became erratic, his face contorting with fear as sensation began to slip away. His arms and legs, which had once obeyed his every command with inhuman precision, now felt heavy and unwilling to move. The transformation had already started—the price of magic turning his flesh to metal. His strong, powerful body was slowly transforming, replaced by the creeping rigidity of cold metal.
Desperate, Aron bit down hard on the Traveller's arm, hoping to sever it, but his teeth clanged against solid metal. It was like biting into a steel bar. No matter how much pressure he applied, his teeth could barely scratch the surface. Pain radiated through his jaw, and still, the Traveller's grip didn't loosen.
The seconds stretched into agonizing minutes. Aron's frantic struggles grew weaker, his once-mighty body becoming sluggish and unresponsive. Sweat dripped from his brow as he realized his fate was sealed. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as the terror in his eyes grew. This was the terror that his victims felt as he ate them alive.
The Traveller remained silent, watching Aron's panic with cold detachment. He felt the shift in his movements—the once-powerful resistance giving way to weakness. Aron's strength was draining away, and with it, the fight left his body.
The Traveller finally stood up, brushing himself off. Aron collapsed to the ground, his limbs stiff and unyielding, his body still but for the flicker of terror frozen on his face. His wide-open eyes stared up at the ceiling, but they saw nothing now. Whatever vital organ had been transformed into metal had sealed his fate, locking him in a final, terrifying expression of helplessness.
The Traveller glanced at Aron's lifeless body, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The ghoul's once-terrifying presence had been reduced to a cold, unmoving husk. Before he had even begun the struggle, he had commanded Lucian to inhabit his body, ensuring that the incorporeal soul would shoulder the convey of the magic's price to Aron.
Lucian's presence had been crucial. The Traveller could feel the strain of the magic, the transformation that had turned his flesh to steel. But because Lucian had inhabited his form, the Traveller was able to channel the price into Lucian. The price—turning parts of his body to living metal—had been shifted onto Lucian's ethereal existence. It was a clever manipulation of the rules.
"Well," the Traveller said, looking down at Aron's corpse with a smirk. "That went better than expected."
Lucian, still reeling from the ordeal, couldn't form a response. He had felt every bit of the transformation—the sensation of flesh hardening, the cold, suffocating grip of the price consuming his form. And yet, as an incorporeal soul, he could endure it without the permanent damage that would have befallen the Traveller.
"You did well, Lucian," the Traveller said with a satisfied nod. "That's what I call teamwork."
The Traveller stretched his arms, his body feeling light and flexible again now that the magic had passed. "Let's move on. We've got bigger things ahead of us. And remember," he added with a grin, "this is just the beginning."
"I'm still surprised that he lasted more than three minutes," the Traveller remarked, glancing at Aron's lifeless form. "That means at least 18,000 grams of his flesh turned into metal before he died. They really don't have to obey biological laws, do they?" He looked down at his own arm, now metallic, with a few deep indentations that had almost drawn blood.
"You really would have stood no chance without me," the Traveller said, looking at Lucian. He knelt down, attempting to stab Aron's body with a knife, but the blade barely left a mark, cutting through the toughened flesh like leather.
The Traveller grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Now, for the most important part of every fight—looting the body."
"Shouldn't we run?" Lucian asked, still shaken from the fight.
"Run? To where? And not before we grab the loot," the Traveller retorted. "The outer gates are closed, and who knows if there are more of them out there, hunting anyone who steps outside at night. The rule about no one goes out at night must exist for a reason. Besides, we don't have that much magic left anyway."
"But what if someone finds us? What if he had accomplices?"
"Ahh, well then we'll surrender and tell them about our magic. In a world where every magic has a price, the power to cheat that price is bound to be valuable. Maybe they'll keep us as slaves to make magical items, but at least we'd live. Or, maybe they'll take us in, recognising our limitless potential. Who knows, you might even marry a noble lady and live a life of luxury and fun."
Lucian blinked, actually considering the idea for a moment.
"I'm joking," the Traveller said, shaking his head. "Given the nature of his… 'business,' and how little he thought of us, I doubt anyone else was with him. Besides, he said it himself—he's alone… Oh, look at this!" The Traveller pulled a piece of parchment from Aron's robes, inspecting it closely. "Looks like we've found the catalyst for their magic."
In magic, a catalyst is the critical piece needed to perform a ritual. It acts as the seed of magic that connects the user to the magical source. For the Flesh to Steel ritual, it had been the piece of metal embedded in the family's book—a piece of living metal taken from the original owner.
The Traveller unrolled the parchment and read aloud:
Flesh of my flesh, the flesh that shall complete me. Thee of perfection, The Progenitor of Flesh, he who has assumed all that is good, I beseech your power and your favor. Complete me, your child, just as you completed yourself.
He raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Why do I get the feeling the Ezekiels are just as much livestock as we are, for something even more powerful? Also, why are all the magic we have non-combat? One lets you turn into metal, like a glorified miner, and the other? Well, it's basically making yourself into a delicious meal for some greater evil. Not exactly combat-ready. More like… ingredients."
Lucian groaned, still too rattled to respond.
"Oh, by the way," the Traveller said, smirking as he shoved Lucian into the parchment, "you still owe me a few item descriptions."
After a bit of teaching and coaxing Lucian on how to use his "inspection" skill, the Traveller finally got his system in place.
Ghoul Skin Parchment
Type: Catalyst
Description: A parchment detailing the ritual Banquet of Kin. The ritual involves killing, and then reciting the ritual words, and consuming one's blood kin. Only those with the bloodline of the Ghoul Progenitor can successfully perform this ritual. The magic enhances the user's body and extends their lifespan. To become "perfect," one must consume the strength of others. The subject will gradually lose their humanity, devolving into a mindless beast.
"Are you happy now with your item description?" Lucian said, exhausted. "I already told you ten times what it does."
"This is good practice!" the Traveller replied with a grin. "It's called upskilling. Now keep at it."
Steel Ring of Restraint
Type: Magical item
Description: A ring made of living steel inscribed with runes.
Power: Maintains restraint and control for the user.
Price: Gradually, the user becomes more malevolent. Repressed darkness festers in the heart over time.
"That's the only other magical item he had," the Traveller said, twirling the ring on his finger before pocketing it.
He then turned his attention to Aron's body, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Now, for the main course."
He looked at the remains of Aron. "Living metal from my body? Check. Magical material—the body of a ghoul? Check. And I kept a fish alive just in case we need something to pay the price."
The Traveller glanced over at the pile of fish corpses and the one remaining, writhing fish. "Come to think of it, not being able to regenerate lost parts isn't much of an issue when those parts aren't mine, is it? I'll still need to borrow a bit more from you, Lucian. What if the living metal is recognized as being equivalent to my body?"
Lucian groaned internally.
"You can take it, right?" the Traveller mused. "And who knows, maybe we can even recycle the fish."