After retrieving all of his items and stuffing them into the Big Mouth, Nicolai activated the Cherubic Surgeon Permit. He couldn't afford to go any longer missing an arm—he would need it for what was to come. On top of that, the surgery should be relatively quick, and wouldn't require a loss of consciousness.

The Cherubic Surgeon appeared and did its work in record time, vanishing a few moments after it was done.

Nicolai flexed his new bionic arm. A Level 2 designed to work with a human body, it was as decent as he could afford and had a couple of handy additional features.

This included an eye-wire—a fairly commonplace augment typically installed in the hand of wrist, the eye-wire was effectively a detailed camera not dissimilar to an eye. It could be pulled from where it was held against the back of his artificial wrist and had features allowing attachment to a gun, where it would cling similarly as a scope. With that, he could use it as an eye when aiming—something that Aiming was quite pleased with. The Module had immediately laid claim to the eye-wire, but the rest of the bionic arm was ignored by the Modules. It wasn't suited for containing them.

Other than that, the arm and hand was also roughly eight times stronger than that of an athletic human male, and capable of moving twice as fast.

That done, he began dragging the corpses. He towed them until just outside the undead's room, and saw it peering curiously over. Once he had all the dead in one spot, he began towing them into the room itself.

As he hauled the first in—the dead Cultivator, who he dragged by a bloodstained leg—the undead rose from where it had sat on the Coffin. Heavy, ancient plate armour rattled and grated as it shifted over the tall skeleton's form. Its eyes flared green through the visor of its helmet, and it lifted its huge curving greatsword with one hand as it took a step toward him. With a crack, it rested the blade tip-first once more on the ground.

'Who are you?' asked the undead.

'No one.'

The skeleton scoffed. 'I doubt that.' Its head tilted as it looked at the corpse he was dragging, observing with interest as he dropped it just outside the white circle. It kept its peace as Nicolai moved back and forth, towing the remainder inside.

That done, he regarded it a moment. Then he reached for his face, where his Mask was affixed.

'I've decided I don't need you, anymore,' he told the Mask, which was too shocked and confused to even manage a reaction.

With a swift tearing motion, he ripped it from his face, and his Soul. 'I'm stronger alone.' Held like this it was a face—his face—stretched with confusion and dismay, tendrils dangling from it. His Soul burned, pulsing with agony. It felt like he'd torn a part of him off, physically, like ripping off an ear.

His teeth clenched in a humourless grin at the pain. He tossed the Mask away, then he stepped over the white marking, into the circle, and let the dark flare and roll through him.

The undead stiffened, raising and twisting its greatsword until the point was aimed at him.

'I know what you want,' Nicolai hissed, his body humming with the desire to fight. 'You want my body, right?' He laughed when the undead gave a quizzical tilt of its head. He pulled the Lotus Blossom Soul Trap from his pocket and held it out. 'And I brought this. It's a tool someone had me make—something to use to catch your Soul when you try to take my body.' He put the Soul Trap back into his pocket. 'But I don't want to do that. I want to fight you. I want to win on my own terms, not with some tool. So. Let's fight.'

The coldness that was ever around him intensified.

What are you doing? hissed a voice in his ear. You idiot! You needed to hide the Soul Trap from it, not declare it!

Nicolai ignored Paxolnaz and advanced towards the undead. The skeleton let out a grating laugh.

'Those corpses you've dragged in would do me fine. But if you wish to take their place and give me your own body, I certainly don't mind.'

Nicolai levelled his assault rifle and squeezed the trigger. A sparkling shield appeared around the undead Cultivator, soaking the bullets.

Its Soul Sense lunged for him in savage attack. As it slammed forward, Nicolai reached out, knocking aside the attack at the last moment. His assault rifle ran out of ammo, magazine empty, but Nicolai didn't even bother to reload it.

Soul Senses tangled in the air. He felt the undead's consternation as his Soul Sense tendril, something hungry and jagged, demonic in nature, tore at its own. In pure offensive power his Soul Sense was significantly more dangerous than the norm for his level.

But the undead's Soul was much larger than his. Not as great as the Bird's, but comparable. On top of that, his Soul Sense was significantly weaker than it should have been, and becoming weaker still every moment. The undead had let the Blade fall to rest the point on the ground, and showed no interest in using it. It didn't want to damage his body.

Pressured by the fight, just as in the final moments while he fought Vikrum, he was unable to continue fighting back against the Soul Rot and it spread rapidly. Just a step from moving into the next stage, it began breaking through the spiritual walls he'd setup and he felt his Soul twisting as the Soul Rot rapidly spread.

At this crucial moment in the Soul Sense battle, the Soul Rot burst with power and his Soul was torn, the Rot progressing to the next stage.

Nicolai fell to his knees with a cry as his Soul Sense shook. The undead's pressure was relentless. It ground him down, and then with a shattering sensation his Soul Sense fell apart and retreated into him.

A ring on the undead's finger glowed as it raised a hand, and Nicolai's body locked up tight, a yellow glow settling around him, constraining him. The Lotus Blossom Soul Trap floated from his pocket and began to drift toward the undead. At the same moment he saw its Soul beginning to pour out of its body.

'A valiant effort, if quite stupid,' said the undead, then its body collapsed to the floor as its Soul was freed.

Ah, how unfortunate, thought Nicolai. If only it weren't for the Soul Rot, I might be able to get out of this. But as it is, I will be possessed for sure, my Soul destroyed, my body taken.

A smile creased his lips. How unfortunate.

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###

Paxolnaz was raging. Either the human was playing a trick, or it had simply lost its mind. The second was indeed a risk, as the Black Gift rose in strength.

Paxolnaz held some suspicion, however, because of what it was now forced to do. After observing the spiritual battle within the circle—a circle it was unable to easily enter—it knew that the human would be able to almost match the undead, might be able to recover from its current difficult situation. Normally a Tier 1 Cultivator would stand little chance in such a fight, but the human's Black Gift gave him spiritual strength above his realm, and the undead, once a Tier 3, had a severely weakened Soul after so long decaying here.

The human may still be able to win… if it weren't for the Soul Rot.

The one point of reassurance was that the human had thrown away, of its own volition, that part of itself which had been so integral in its resistance. The Mask, a strange spiritual construction the likes of which Paxolnaz had never seen before, was crawling on the ground some distance away, the Aura of the world beating down on it. Before long it would be dead. Being rid of it was a sign the Black Gift had almost total control. The human was clearly very close to being fully corrupted, warped and twisted so the Contract no longer applied.

It was tempted to simply let the human die, so annoying it was, but that would be an even larger loss. Once the undead had seized the human's body, Paxolnaz would no longer have any way to avoid accompanying its Master, and would be stuck in yet another cycle of the Great Game. After this cycle ended, Paxolnaz also thought it unlikely that the Imperials' offer would remain on the table. They wanted the Lizard destroyed in this cycle, for whatever reason. The next cycle wouldn't be for a long time, and by then their aims and goals would have changed. Paxolnaz's agreement with them would be dust in the wind.

So, even as it hated and despised the fact it had to save the human, Paxolnaz tore its way into the Material and activated its second use of the Blind Judge.

It appeared outside of the undead's circle. Immediately it felt the weight of the Guard's regard, and the tearing of the world's Aura. But all that it could handle, and its next act shouldn't prompt the Guard to do anything.

Paxolnaz reached for the Soul Rot. There was a brief resistance, as the rot did not want to leave its target. But Paxolnaz had created it and after a moment, the Soul Rot began to slip free, streaming from the human.

As it emerged from the circle to come and float beside Paxolnaz, it began to form a human shape of buzzing, sickly energy. Meanwhile, Paxolnaz continued to work.

The Blind Judge opened its mouth and sucked, the Contract pulling free from Nicolai's Mark and from where it lived within Paxolnaz, who began to change it.

It was pleased to find that it was able to enact a less ruinous change than it had anticipated. The Demon was able to simply add in an almost identical clause, allowing it to re-apply the Soul Rot. This would merely be a stay of execution for the human. It was forced to add in a slight time gap, but one hour from now it would be able to reapply the Rot; unless, as before, the human took the Blade.

The human had tasted the Soul Rot now, and it had allowed it to progress to a later stage. From there it would rapidly go on to the final stages; once reapplied the human would be dead in a few days at the maximum, and Paxolnaz knew there were no methods for the human to remove that Soul Rot, not in that amount of time.

Outside of the circle of protection, Paxolnaz lurked and the Blind Judge continued its work. The undead watched with confusion and fear, and its Soul worked harder as it dug its way into Nicolai's body, looking to unseat the human's Soul as he was resisted as hard as he could, that resistance growing stronger as the Soul Rot was pulled from him.

With one final tug the Soul Rot was fully torn from Nicolai's Soul, taking up full shape beside Paxolnaz. A being in the shape of Nicolai but burned and writhing, dark and poisonous. It strained against Paxolnaz's will, eager to return. Paxolnaz held it like an attack dog on a leash, ready to release it.

###

As soon as the Rot was removed, Nicolai's Soul exploded with vicious activity. He sliced at the undead's Soul where it had begun to surround him, and it flinched back in sudden surprise. As soon as he had some space his Soul Sense rocketed out.

The undead had no choice but to get into him and its possession attempt intensified, grinding down at his Soul Sense, restricting him bit by bit. It was like some kind of slow, heavy blanket, smothering him. This wasn't a fight he would win, he'd merely bought a reprieve.

But while it was grinding him down, he'd managed to get his tendril out, unnoticed. He reached and activated the Grasping Finger.

The Lotus Blossom Soul Trap shot toward him, and before the undead could react he'd seized it. A jolt of Oma slammed into the Symbiote, activating it.

Five Souls burst from the Soul Trap. When they burst free five chains were visible, burrowing into their backs, connecting them to the trap. They moved like fish through water, wraiths of pale purple light, their hands formed into huge grasping claws. He recognised them, for they resembled each of those he had killed and drawn into the Soul Trap—only twisted by the workings of the Symbiote, turned into its tools. The wraiths swarmed the undead's larger Soul and latched onto it. It thrashed and tore at them, struggling to escape. The spiritual chains emerging from the Soul Trap let out hollow clanks as they retracted, pulling the slaved Souls and the undead's Soul towards the trap. The undead got one spiritual arm free and somehow got a grip on something, halting the progress.

Sneering, Nicolai raised the Soul Trap high and now the strength of his Soul and the power of fresh Oma was added to it as he focused. With a sudden spiritual ripping sensation, the undead was sucked inside. A faint, echoing scream of rage and disbelief rippled through the aura. The centre of the Lotus Blossom Soul Trap, where the largest inscribed Oma crystal was contained, now flickered with an angry green light, one that surged at the walls of its prison, seeking freedom. But it was surrounded on five sides by the purple lights of the slaved Souls, who pressed back on it.

His gaze rose from the glowing Soul Trap to look upon his enemy. It was still and silent inside the circle, but outside something dark and hungry prowled. Nicolai started towards the nearest of the corpses, bent down to grasp one by a leg and dragged it within the circle.

The Coffin was opened simply by pressing his Soul Sense against it and commanding it to open, and he tossed the first corpse within. As he moved for the remainders, Paxolnaz spoke.

'So. You have a stay of execution,' hissed the Demon. 'I was forced to remove the Soul Rot. You planned all that, didn't you? But there's something I'd like you to know: the Soul Rot will not be gone forever. In one hour's time it will return to you. I'm sure you notice your Soul is far from recovered. The Soul Rot has damaged it significantly, and when it returns you will be in dire straits once again. The only way you can avoid being inflicted with the Soul Rot… is to take the Blade. So take it, human.'

Nicolai shoved the final corpse into the Coffin, then took out the boxes containing Kleos and Maric. They spoke but the words were meaningless to him. The whole world was a dark swirl, now, and only Paxonaz made any sense. He tossed them inside, too, then the remaining materials. He closed the Coffin, injected a stream of Oma to get the process started, and the Coffin activated with a hum. That done, he strode to the undead's fallen form and pulled the ring from its finger, pocketing it. A quick search revealed nothing else.

Stop ignoring me! hissed Paxolnaz. You have to take the Blade, if you don't you'll die, fool!

Nicolai glanced at the Demon, as though considering. Then he strode towards the Blade, where he paused to gaze down. It was a heavy thing of dark metal, a long handle ending in a pommel made from some dark crystal flecked with red chips. He had the impression that it was watching him. The long blade was slightly curving. The light seemed to bend around it, where it lay there on the ground, forming a pool of shadow.

It seemed more real than the world around it. It emanated malice. It begged to be picked up. On the edges of hearing he made out whispers, whispers he'd never heard before. They promised that with the Blade in his hands, he would be unstoppable. He could kill Paxolnaz, kill Vikrum, kill everyone and seize everything and kill and kill and kill forever.

Nicolai sunk to one knee beside it, regarding it. He felt Paxolnaz's breathless regard.

He reached down and grasped the handle of the Demonic Blade.

Paxolnaz cried out with shocked delight. He knew the Demon had never expected to win so easily, for him to do something so stupid. The Demon spoke but Nicolai didn't hear. His body was locked up tight and his Soul was melting as the Blade reached into him and spoke to him.

You are perfect. Fitting. Beautiful. We are one.

It slandered its way into him and the balance within him was tipped.

The darkness roared and met the Blade's Demon in an eruption of vicious joy, two who saw things just the same coming together and starting to merge, spreading like oil through the water of his Soul.

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