A Bored Lich

'Fresh flesh,' Thomas thought as he took a step closer to Kilot. If only the damned weapons weren't blocking his field of view. He almost let his grip go slack, but then they'd hit him again. As a line of warm drool dripped down his cold chin, the world shifted. The shadows became light, and the light became harsh. Multicolored, misty trails stretched around him - a cacophony of smells. He shut his eyes and shook his head, willing himself to stop.

"Can I…take a break?" Thomas didn't wait for a response, nor did he look at Alexander or the Dwarf. He couldn't even hear their responses over the pounding heartbeat echoing in his mind. So many colors; blue, yellow green, red, red, and red again. He picked up his pace, keeping quiet on the thin ice. Something could fix this, something that smelled red.

Neither the dark canopy nor the cloudy sky overhead could block his vision now. He weaved through the more healthy-looking plants, as those tended not to snap and subsequently give his position away. A few minutes of following the trail and the front of his shirt was drenched in his own drool. The red gathered at a place far from his vision, but he knew food was close.

Past a few more trees, he found it: red. A large rabbit corpse lay in a pool of its own frigid blood in a rare flat opening in the swamp. Thomas's grip tightened around the branches. 'What am I doing?' he thought. 'Am I really going to…eat that?' He lowered himself to the ground, close to the clearing's edge. 'It's not even cooked. Owen could make it into something delicious…or.' He glanced around with his enhanced senses, finding that no one was present. He swallowed his saliva and stepped forward, eyes locked onto the corpse.

Thin legs: lackluster but there were bones to chew on. Juicy thighs, but then he'd have to go through the fur. Maybe the eyes? He walked right up to it, knelt down, and scanned the surroundings. No witnesses.

He sunk nails and teeth into that small, cold corpse. Red smattered everywhere, but he decided to save that blood for later. Now it was just fles-

Thomas's world spun as a weight tackled him to the ground. His own red splattered everywhere, but he barely felt it over the raging fire that sparked in his chest. "Mine!" He drew his dagger and lashed out, cutting through cloth as the attacker lept back.

"What a fool," the attacker said. Thomas could hardly see the man because his vision blurred. His legs wobbled and he fell to a knee. "You just consumed enough poison to kill a Giant."

Thomas closed his eyes and let the strong smells replace his distorted vision. A very rough outline was standing a dozen feet away, one made of a red mist so thick that it set Thomas's hairs on end. But there was also a dark blue smell trapped within the red. Like a tornado, the two smells swirled around each other, locked in a battle, flaring each time the figure stepped closer.

Thomas ripped a blade out of his thigh, blinked, and his vision was back. A black-haired youth stood before him, one dressed in all black. "Dag. Where did you come from?"

Dag frowned and picked up his dagger. "Listen to me if you want to live. You have to listen."

"Don't fucking talk to me like you're a friend," Thomas snapped as he slowly rose to his feet. Scanning the surroundings, Dag seemed to be alone, but so was Thomas. 'Where did you come from?' he thought. 'I didn't smell anything. I didn't see anything. No one can just appear out of thin air.'

Dag held his hands up. "I am not Jackal." Thomas pulled a pistol out of his spatial ring and took aim. Dag, however, seemed unfazed as he kept walking forward. Thomas took one step back and fell to a knee as the wounded thigh didn't seem to listen to him. "Assassins must keep their blades clean, and I won't stain my blades with your innocent blood."

"Too little too late for that," Thomas argued as he limped on his bloody legs. "What, am I supposed to trust you? You're with Jackal. Why are you even following that monster?"

Dag paused and took a deep, shaky breath. His two daggers, which he twirled around his freshly cut fingers, halted. "…redemption." His blades, he slowly sunk them into his blistered palms as he spoke: "Your parents raised you in a nice, comfy mansion. My childhood consisted of being shoved through narrow windows, chimneys, and under the foundations of homes like those, all because I was small enough to fit. If only Jackal had helped me escape sooner, maybe I wouldn't have such a heavy conscious."

"Some redemption this is," Thomas hissed.

"A greater cause needs sacrifices," Jackal said as he walked out of the vegetation.

Dag pulled his two daggers out of his hands and stiffened, like one of the Virility guards standing in front of Jameson. Jackal sauntered right up to Dag and reached for his shoulder, but the assassin flinched away. "What's wrong?" Jackal's face twisted into a wide grin. His arm blurred for a moment and Dag let out a pained groan. Dag's damaged hands swelled in size as a mist rose from the cuts. In the blink of an eye, the swelling went down, the cuts were healed, and Dag's frown deepened.

Thomas's grip was fading. He only had one shot. He switched his aim from Jackal to Dag. Jackal turned, crouched down, and leaned close to Thomas. "I told you that I go for the throat, right? I warned you. You could have been a part of something bigger than yourself. Dag," he said, still staring into Thomas's eyes. "Kill him."

Dag's head sunk as he got a proper grip on his daggers: "…yes sir."

That was it. Thomas had to make his choice. He aimed at the leader, who was smiling with such an annoying arrogance, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet shot out of the barrel with a loud bang only to collide with Jackal's fingertips as he caught it. "Guns." He chuckled as he flicked the bullet away. "I thought they'd be more useful than that, especially since I encouraged Cerlius to work on them. If only Lance hadn't been satisfied with mediocre results, you maybe could have managed to scratch me."

"Maybe it's not great as an offensive weapon," Thomas said, "but great as a signal." General Alexander appeared between the two in a puff of golden life essence, and Jackal's smile faded. Alexander's arms were crossed as he glared, not at Jackal, but at Thomas "What the fuck?" He kicked his disciple to the ground and vanished, reappearing a second later with a dizzy-looking Oliver. "Patch this idiot up before he bleeds out." He rubbed his forehead and turned to Jackal.

"What?" Thomas asked. "I was just stabbed. Why am I the one who is getting yelled at?"

"Of course you were stabbed. I would do the same thing!" Alexander raised his foot to kick him, but Oliver waved him off.

"Please wait until I'm done," A magic circle appeared at the tips of Oliver's scarred fingers, and the wound remained as it was, still gushing out blood. The smells however, faded. No more color, and no more hunger. Oliver furrowed his brows and tried again, this time with greater success as the wound stitched itself up. "I must be getting rusty," he muttered as Alexander reeled back and punted Thomas into a tree. With two more puffs of golden life essence, Oliver was gone.