Miles crouched amidst the branches, expanding his senses through the forest. He paused at every shadow, the lightest noise or scent that felt out of place, searching for anything unexpected. There was nothing.

  It was just a forest in an entrenched valley, with the bones of a giant beast and the stench of sickly blood.

  'Why did she want me to be silent? What does she want me to see?'

  Unless the strange girl was intent on making a fool of him, he was missing something.

  The wind, ever his ally, cradled past his skin, tapping upon him the secrets of all that it blew past. And even then, it was more of an estimate than any manner of confidence, for the air was unsure. All it knew was maybe, perhaps, something was amiss. That seemed to be enough.

  Miles blinked, the world shifted (as it seemed to do rather frequently now), and only then did he see them.

  It was as if they had appeared out of thin air.

  Miles threw the full brunt of his sensory prowess at them, but… despite the thin, gaunt bodies caked in grime and dust, they left no stench.

  Though they crunched over branches and rock, his ears refused to pick up the noise.

  Even the winds were confused, only vaguely aware something was present, but unable to know what it truly was.

  Their existence fundamentally contradicted everything he heard, smelled and felt.

  Were it not for the fact that he had expected something, and was looking directly at them, from a position of clear sight, he would have been caught entirely off guard

  At first glance, they seemed to be three adult men, dressed in nothing but tattered leathers, the picture of a wild, uncivilized people. But as if to grant them a sliver of order, etched upon their sleeves were clear numbers.

  217, 101 and 666.

  Miles couldn't help but pause at the troubling insinuation of triple digit numbers. His gaze wavered, for they did not travel light and dragged large packages behind them, wrapped in the same discolored leather they wore. These packs were massive, larger than even the men that carried them. They seemed to hold something alive, for they moved and wriggled about like fattened larvae. Even the contents of the packs made no noise and gave no smell.

  'What are they?'

  The most mysterious aspect of them was their apparent non-existence to his senses. It was no enchantment frame or engraved ward; Miles could see no sources of the sheer scale required for something like this. It was neither a Fae ability, given either by birth or by serum, for there were no traces of the tell-tale sweet stench. His instincts denied the possibility.

  No, this was something else entirely. Something innate, a natural ability.

  Miles refused to believe these numbered savages were Elven, or Dwarven for that matter. The pointed-ear cavalry and the all-forgers of the Chasm were legends, not unsensed ghosts.

  'Could they be revenants? Or maybe related to the wisp-like wintry Fae?'

  Possible, but he doubted it. This was because despite everything, the numbered savages were utterly ordinary. Boorish and uncouth, savage and tribal, but human all the same.

  They had little care for hygiene, scratching at dirty skin, unwashed hair and even other unmentionables. That had made Miles wonder whether they were some off shoot evolved species from some of the more humanoid Fae (goblins, orcs, ogres, trolls, and etc.) but it too was unlikely, for these numbered were not physically blessed, struggling to move even the packs they dragged, forced to paused for rest every so often.

  At least they were capable of speech. Miles attempted to read their lips, but quickly realized it was not a language he was familiar with. That was fine, for he could still understand enough from their body language.

  Number 666 the apparent elder, had his chest puffed out despite his bulging pot belly, and laughed brazenly. Yet for some reason, 101, the youngest and the tallest, had his head lowered, seemingly uncomfortable. The third man, number 217, muscular and heavily bearded, laughed along with 666, reacting appropriately to whatever the elder said or did. Even so, he would occasionally stop to pat the back of the youngest, 101. He seemed to appreciate it.

  Miles narrowed his eyes.

  It was obvious these numbered savages were related to the (maybe Fae) girl he had encountered prior. These numbered men exhibited nearly the same characteristics as her, invisible to most of his senses, and perhaps even the uncanny ability to appear and disappear.

  'They are not Fae, I'm confident now, but they are not Human either. Then... what are they?'

  Well, it was high time he found out. Unlike the strange girl who would vanish as soon as he saw her, these men were slow. He had ample opportunity to have his questions answered by Detect. The air flickered and above the heads of the three men appeared the information he sorely needed.

  [Veilbound Human - Spiritsworn - Lvl 20~]

  The terminology meant nothing to him, meaningless for anything but conjecture, and he had a fair supply of that.

  The levels were a bit troubling, but if push were to come to shove, he should be able to handle them. Miles watched in silence as the trio of Veilbound approached the center of the valley, where the broken cave of spinal and rib bones was.

  The Numbered arrived, and as they halted for breath, Miles's eyes fell upon the leather wrapped packs they carried, still wriggling and bumping about. His eyes traced the outlines of their contents, a sinking feeling rising within his gut...

  The savages had no second thoughts and pulled their packs into the dreadful cavern of bone, being instantly cloaked in its dark shadows. This meant nothing to Miles's eyes, and he witnessed firsthand how their demeanor changed the moment they had stepped in. The prior joy and relaxedness seeped out like air from a deflating balloon.

  It was as if the men had been hijacked, their strings of decision-making latched onto by an unpracticed puppeteer. Perhaps that explained why they now moved like inhuman automatons, simply going through the motions. It was only the youngest, 101 who seemed mildly terrified, but he too eventually mimicked his elders.

  A sudden flash caught Miles's eye, reflecting light.

  Metal, forged. The three Numbered were now brandishing military grade knives. Even as Miles wondered how these savages could have gained access to forged weapons despite having no proper clothing to wear, they quickly cut through the ropes that held the leather packages.

  The discolored, off-putting leather fell apart at the sides, revealing the contents.

  Miles wished he could say he was surprised.

  Wrapped in leather were people, men and woman, invisible to all his senses but sight, the same as the numbered.

  Miles double checked with Detect, confirming his suspicions.

  [Veilbound Human - Lvl 10~]

  However, they were distinctly different from the Veilbound. They were naked as the day they were born, entirely hairless, bald and morbidly obese. Were it not for their human skin, they might have been mistaken for some manner of orc, with a particularly bad case of consumption disorder.

  Though their eyes were shut in peaceful sleep, they moved, wriggling here and there as if acting out the dreams they saw. It all reminded Miles of something familiar, especially when one of them began dry humping the air.

  The moment he saw the brick sized block of ominous metal, blinking, attached to the backs of their necks...

  Ah, Otherjunkies.

  The same manner of hapless victim that populated the streets of Yumekuro, only these were using some ancient version of the same popular neural implant.

  ‘...How? How do these 'Veilbound', inside a Doorway, have access to our tech?’

  There were no answers, and the Otherjunkies continued to wriggle about with disgusting motions, unaware of the fact that three savages stood over them, wielding knives.

  Miles felt the grip of his hands, that held onto the branch he was balanced on, tighten. Despite the pain, his nails dug deeper, even piercing through the wood.

  He could not afford to make a move. He had no information on these numbered, Veilbound. He had sworn mere hours ago that he would not allow the repercussions of blind action ever again.

  Miles set his jaw, staring with unblinking eyes.

  Stolen story; please report.

  At the same moment, one of the Otherjunkies, a woman, began to laugh. Had he heard it, Miles believed it would have sounded loud and ecstatic. She must have been experiencing a particularly pleasant facade in the Otherworld, that is until her laugh was cut off, replaced with coughing, gagging and spluttering.

  The moment her throat was slit, all that came out of her was blood.

  The oldest Veilbound, 666, ad slit her throat with a single line, and other savages followed his lead. Whatever discomforts the youngest 101 had had seemed forgotten, for he acted decisively and tore through the jugular of his Otherjunky just as mercilessly as the others.

  Mindless killing made only worse by the fact that this particular series of Otherworld implants had a rather inhumane, poorly thought-out feature. The moment it sensed the critical state of its users, they shut down, dragging the dreaming into the harsh reality of death.

  With their throats long ripped apart, the helpless men and women could only gasp and scream, uselessly struggling to keep in the blood that gushed out of their throats.

  Miles could only grind his teeth.

  It was a dreadful sight; one made even more ominous by the fact that he heard no sound. He could only see their suffering.

  The three Veilbound must have heard it though, but other than 101 who seemed mildly off put, they reacted as if they were even more deaf than him.

  While the Otherjunkies painted the floor of the cavern in blood, the oldest of the Veilbound, walked into the depths of the bone cavern, returning with a collection of metallic bowls. They divided the bowls among themselves, evenly and began to place each of them under the gushing necks of the dying, gathering any and all blood they could.

  The Numbered seemed to be entirely detached from the morbid acts they involved in, as if they were collecting gutter-beer from a keg and not blood from soon-to-be corpses.

  Miles let out a shaky breath, eyes frozen upon the sight of appetizing crimson. He could not have been more grateful that he could not smell, having to restrain his thirst.

  But it was as if reality intended to be cruel, for the moment the bodies of the Otherjunkies went still with death, he smelled it all.

  For a moment, Miles wondered if he was imagining it, filling in the blanks for a smell he should have felt, but this was…

  Fresh, metallic, leaking life. Real death.

  The scent of warm, fresh blood tickled his nostrils, calling him to go, to drink, to satiate himself entirely and dance in gluttony.

  Somehow, he managed to reel in the desire, focusing on his returned senses instead.

  He could smell the familiar filth of the dead. He could hear the monotone, flatlining beep of the Otherworld implants. Even the wind seemed aware now, tapping upon his skin about the dead that had manifested out of nowhere.

  ‘Did… did their deaths cancel whatever effect had kept them hidden from my senses?’

  Possible. Unfortunately for Miles, the acts he had just witnessed was not the end of it.

  ‘What in the Sidhe--?’

  He watched, disgusted but drooling, as the trio of still intangible Veilbound brandished their knives and got to work.

  They first carved out the stomachs, removing bulging piles of fat, digestive systems and other inessentials. Then they skinned and carved out the flesh, packing away the blocks of meat into the same leather the presently dead had first been brought in.

  The Veilbound acted as if they were seasoned butchers working on cattle. Each cut was thorough and perfectly placed. It was only the youngest, number 101, that seemed inexperienced, causing blood to squirt into the air. But then there was a flicker of gold around his blade and within minutes, he improved to match the other two, as if he were a blessed genius of the blade.

  The numbered savages were anything but wasteful. They did not leave a speck of flesh on bone, going so far as to scratch out even the ligaments and cartilage. Every portion of flesh was somehow thoroughly squeezed out, gathering the blood into those same metallic bowls.

  Miles’s eyes were glued to the process.

  He told himself this was to keep a better eye on the three barbarians, but with his mouth salivating at each splatter of fresh blood, he was not so sure.

  The bowls were filled, and the numbered savages brought out more, continuing their macabre butchery and blood collection. They also packed away the blocks of neatly cut human flesh into the leather, like leftovers being kept aside for dinner.

  What remained of the corpses, the bloodied, fleshless skeletons, got the expected fate. The veilborn worked with clinical efficiency, lifting the remains and mercilessly piercing them upon the spikes, so that the newly dead could join the dozens of similar corpses that existed within the bone cavern.

  That particular mystery was resolved rather quickly, but Miles could not bring himself to care.

  His throat was scratching with an itch that did not end, his skin burning as if dipped in fire, and he was swallowing gulps of empty air. The sight of the rippling, scarlet liquid, now placed in laden bowls (about three from each numbered savage). It was as if they had prepared the blood for him.

  Miles might have just pounced, but fortunately he was not entirely starved and somehow managed to control himself with focused breathing.

  By the time he regained his focus, the Veilbound were moving out. They carried their portions of blood-filled bowls and split up into the forest.

  The older, rotund 666, remained closer to the center, while the other two moved further. The younger number 101 ventured to the very edge of the forest valley, and the third, 217 remained somewhere in the middle, closest to where Miles was.

  The three Numbered savages stood still for a moment, as if waiting for the others to get in place. And then, they began to walk, and… shout.

  It was not just the additional force in their vocal movements that led Miles to believe they were shouting. For the first time somehow, Miles could hear them.

  Or at least, he thought he did.

  Resounding roars, perfectly timed such that each voice overlapped, resonating in a single unearthly voice. Though they were loud, they seemed to be echoed from some far off, distant place.

  Miles felt his skin crawl.

  From the intonation, from the purposeful movements and actions that adorned each phrase, he could tell. This was a chant, a ritual, all based on an offering of sacrifice.

  The very forest seemed to change then. The invisible current he had felt the moment he had stepped into this valley, surged to a new intensity. Even the wind seemed to pick up, roaring through the valley, screaming of destruction.

  It did not take Miles long to realize that the path the numbered savages walked on was not entirely random, but a purposeful circling around the valley, centered upon the sacrificial bone cavern. The very same blood scent trial that had led him around in circles.

  After every few steps, the Veilbound would dip their hands into the bowl of blood and flick it out into the forest. The ground hissed, puffing out smoke, as if the blood were corruptive acid. Plants or leaves that touched it would shrivel, scattered bones would yellow and thin, any and all colors would fade and discolor.

  The blood was reminiscent of the black ichor Miles had accidentally brought out from the mind world, but perhaps not as dangerous, for soon enough the blood disappeared. It did not evaporate, but seeped deep into the forest, taking all of its strange effects with it. It was as if the blood had done nothing in the first place, but it left the very air burdened with an intangible heaviness.

  This strange energy, supercharged by this ritual, it entered him as well. Perhaps it was due to the close proximity, but Miles could feel it, sneaking in through his breath, his eyes, ears, nostrils, and even the pores of his skin.

  He didn’t think much of it, for it was not particularly painful. It felt like a mild heat, which he expected would at worst be cured by conditional undeath soon enough.

  Miles observed the Veilbound, struggling to make sense of this sickly ritual.

  A common theme in this forest had been strange visions. From mysterious little girls, visions of trees and monsters, to even arrays of colored orbs. Maybe this ritual was related?

  Miles was unsure.

  At least until he… blinked, again.

  This time was wholly different from all the visions he had seen while inside this Valley.

  It was that strange sixth sense, relying on a new muscle, which caused his connection with the Lupine Spirit Within to expand outward into reality. This was the first time Miles had managed to do so, without the assistance from the Seat of the Wurkan, and it showed.

  His bird's eye view of the forest from the canopy flickered, suddenly filled with a horde of glitch-ridden stutters, flashing and sparking with discolored light. These sparks of color were darkened, faded, and… beset by a grim rot. They seemed to resemble the same globes of vibrant color he had seen before but it was as if he was seeing with rotten, squinted eyes, vision blurred and darkened.

  That was when from amidst them rose the quadrupedal form of that same monstrous being he had seen over the behemoth skeleton. It remained chained down, suffering from festering wounds. It struggled against its entrapment, roaring, exhausted but desperate.

  The surges and sparks of energy everywhere flickered out, completely vanishing as they left behind pinpricks of darkened corruptive light. These dots of light moved as one, melding and gathering together, finally forming into streaks that struck the body of the monstrous being.

  If this strange behemoth of light were something alive, Miles could swear what he saw was screaming, as the lashes of darkness seared into the body like burning scars.

  Contrary to its pain though, its faded luminosity grew more tangible with each lashing. Though the creature faded, it was also... greater.

  The heaviness that weighed upon the air increased. The ominous energy surged, crackling, burning and seething. The Veilbound savages continued their ritual, scattering blood, seeping into the forest, and causing the chained creature of light was lashed more and more.

  Eventually the ritual reached its climax, the weight upon the air reached a crescendo. And that was the same moment that Miles’s role as a silent observer ended.

  By then enough of the mysterious energy was within him, enough that it could state its purpose. A message spoken by its very essence.

  It started as a whisper, grew louder, finally forming a clear voice.

  Blood. Rage. Murder.

  Whatever that was, it was quickly overshadowed by the severity of the notifications that appeared within his vision.

  Ding!

  [You have discovered (Tier III) Source Fulcrum #2: Tomb of the Fallen(?) General]

  [The casting of the Vinasha Rite of Bloodied Land (Lesser) has been catalyzed by Veilbound sacrifices at the intersection of four Doorway Loci.

  You, as an agent of Vinasha, a newborn Kindred will be granted a blessing of +10 to all attributes for as long as you remain within this land.]

  There was a tangible, haunting sense of loss, as if Miles had taken back several steps from whatever progress he had made. But Miles couldn’t care much when it was overshadowed by the apparent rewards. All he wanted to do was relish the sudden onset of power from the attributes.

  Fortunately, he had self-control, well aware that the effect this ritual was temporary. As for the adverse effects, he could tell that the words the ritual had spoken had to be answered first. As long as he remained silent, whatever problems that occurred would only inconvenience him for a few moments.

  Unfortunately, Miles may have forgotten that there was something within him that was extremely willing to respond.

  Newborn, concordat.

  A growl almost rumbled out of his throat. Something within him had echoed the sentiment, more than overjoyed to reciprocate. It was like the fading voice received a second wind.

  What was once a voice, became a shout, and then a roar.

  Blood. Death. Murder. Kill. Kill. KILL.

  Miles almost cried out in pain, his eardrums feeling as if they would explode at the sound of metaphysical screams.

  His eyes shut of their own volition. He could tell now. It was a familiar entity within him that had responded. Not just one, but two.

  One was in it for the chaos, while the other was desperate, betrayed and seeking to survive. Somehow, just barely, at the very fringes of the edges, their intentions had overlapped. And through their unintended agreement, they had shattered an already fragile balance.

  Ding!

  [Warning: Title (Un)Balanced has been influenced by the effects of the Vinasha rite.

  Vessel of the Beast ?L?u?p?i?n?e? ?S?o?u?l? Within (Sealed) -> Vessel of the Beast ?L?u?p?i?n?e? ?S?o?u?l? Within (Partially U?n???s?????e?a???l??e?d)]

  Miles’s eyes snapped open, pitch-black and blinding white each, from the sclera to the pupil.

  These were the eyes of not one, not even two, but three beasts, another responding to the call, and they would let loose their anger wherever they could.

  Update (22/10/2024): Sorry about the delay. The next chapters are a combat scene and (as a matter of principle) I try to not leave fights unifnished for long. It would eat too much of my backlog to post both at once, so I'll publish them once I've got some further chapters backlogged. It will either be this week, or the next (at worst). :)