The journey north to the human city proved rather uneventful. The road had apparently been cleared of all obstacles by the Hylden armies heading down the path some time before him; these had moved on, however, leaving only two rudimentary sentry posts on the way between their quarters in the former Razielim castle and the siege camp near the Citadel. The guards, obviously bored by the tedium of their assignment, were caught unprepared; a fortunate circumstance, for they did not find the time to escape him and alert their compatriots.
He left the road as it entered the final tunnel which would take him straight to the entrance to the city, and instead flew onto the rock in which the tunnel had been drilled. Now, standing on a ledge almost exactly over the cave’s mouth, he surveyed the scene underneath.
Night was coming, though day had never truly graced Nosgoth with its presence. With night came mist; its tendrils, still thin, rose from the ground below, softening the harsh green glow of the protective Ward Shield spread out over the enemy camp. The camp was actually far smaller than he had expected – he could discern no more than ten or twenty Hylden warriors; even if he had doubled this figure by adding those who could have possibly been inside the crude buildings and tents, his enemies were still surprisingly few. The majority of soldiers must have been on the streets of the city, fighting.
To his left was the moat which had once protected the Citadel from the children of his children; now the deep chasm was crossed by several improvised bridges, which led to giant holes blasted in the high walls beyond – apparently, the mundane brick and stone of which the humans had constructed the walls had not lasted long against the Hylden’s perverse technologies. Behind the walls rose the tall buildings of the Citadel, now merely silhouettes, barely visible through the white shroud. The mist must have been thicker in the city; that the Hylden continued their attack on a hostile town in such unaccommodating weather was testament to their foolishness, born of arrogance – or desperation: there was something within the Citadel which his enemies direly wanted.

The Citadel, first founded by humans fleeing the extermination of Raziel’s Clan, at my behest and by my leave. During the dark centuries that were to come in the wake of the fall of the Clans, it alone had preserved the last vestiges of civilisation in Nosgoth.
Over time, humanity had fought on both sides of the war between the Hylden and my kind. Now, the Hylden were invaders, and the humans, defenders of their only home.
Territorial instinct is a singularly powerful force. For the time being, there was no danger that the two species would reunite behind a common purpose, even when they discovered that the third player had returned to the board.

He flew from the ledge and over the fortifications, and began to make his way through the tall brick buildings of the outer city. He tried to direct himself towards the inner town, but, to his irritation, found that he could not. The thick fog obscured even his heightened senses; and it seemed to him that many streets ran a course different from when he had last visited the Citadel. Buildings he did not recognise showed up from the fog in unexpected places, forcing him to dodge them, oft at the last moment; the old waterways were nowhere to be seen – perhaps in his absence they had been closed and built upon?
All was shadow in the cold mist – only at times did the soft glow of a still-working lamp permeate the thick milky whiteness; he flew down the deep canyons between the buildings, not too high above the ground, following the course of the streets below, over the debris, the makeshift barricades, and the relatively fresh bodies, human and Hylden alike. From left, right and front came to him the sounds of distant battle, muffled by the mist and yet scattered by it, reverberating in a thousand echoes – war cries of the unseen militants, the sizzle of magic, explosions, the clang of clashing steel; gunfire. He flew past yet another mammoth building –
To his left, the line of edifices continued unbroken; but on the right, there was a gap between the building he had just passed and the next one, leaving place enough for a wide street leading to a gate to the inner city. The plaza, dimly lit by the diffused light of several streetlamps, was eerily silent – the sounds of battle, dampened by the fog, did not reach this place. The quaint silence of the moment was incongruously dear to him, all the more so for its expected brevity; for he knew that soon, all too soon, it would be broken – because even at that moment, Hylden warriors were spilling out into the square from an egress on its far side; and even now, human soldiers lay in ambush, awaiting their moment.
The Hylden soldiers were clustered around a large cannon – which must have been one of those that had blasted the holes in the outer wall. Here, too, the mist softened the green glow of the Glyph energy which enveloped the tips of the pikes that some of the creatures bore, rendering them almost innocuous, almost like children’s toys; an utterly misleading impression, belying the weapons’ true lethality.
The better part of the squad – some thirty to forty soldiers, together with the heavy cannon – was already in the square when the silence was broken; the humans’ attack began. A massive double explosion rippled through the buildings on the far side of the street, tearing out of its foundations the stone skywalk which joined the two houses, crashing it down on the heads of the last Hylden in the squad. The square was now effectively closed off from that side; the way he had come in was the only way out of the square; but to get to it, the Hylden would have to fight their way through their human foes.
The latter were now shooting bullets at their enemies from inside the buildings on the three sides of the square. But hits were few, and misses were many; the fog aided no side in this fight, and though initially the humans’ ambush was a success, this might well change the next moment. He decided to tip the balance of the scales in the humans’ favour; for the time being, their goals and his were the same – the Hylden must not be allowed to breach the inner wall of the city.
He dropped down in the middle of the Hylden squad like a giant predatory bird, and started hacking left and right with the Reaver, paying only the barest attention to his defence. He cut down several of the creatures before they even understood what was happening – that here was incarnate their worst nightmare: one of their ancient enemies, returned.
Once the Hylden recovered enough from their initial surprise to actually start defending themselves against his blows, he shot back into the air, challenging the creatures to reach him. Meanwhile, in the precious seconds in which he had held the Hylden occupied, some humans had managed to leave the houses in which they had been hiding, and were now shooting at their enemies, providing cover for the arrival of more human warriors.
Warriors and sorcerers – which in itself was demonstration of how many years had passed since his departure. Throughout all the years of his Empire, sorcery had been forbidden to humans; virtually any of their kind exhibiting even the slightest traces of magical talent had been executed on spot. But now, it seemed that magical talent proliferated amongst humans again – one of the humans who had just arrived from inside the buildings unleashed a powerful wave of energy which knocked over several of the closest Hylden, dazing them, leaving them open to be finished by her armed companions –
But he would have to postpone investigating the matter for some other time – missiles, this time toxic-green, and most probably fashioned from some form of concentrated Glyph energy, were coming straight at him, shot out of some Hylden’s weapon. He concentrated –
- dispersed into the mist –
- the missiles passed through him, doing him no harm. He returned to his usual form, and immediately made good use of his spells and the Reaver. Thanks to his Dimension spell, he would emerge from the fog behind an enemy, cut him down, and disappear again to teleport himself to another spot on the battlefield in the matter of seconds. And his Mind effigies complicated the matter for his enemies even further – from the corner of his eye he saw a Hylden shoot one of them with the Glyph-projectiles, only to hit one of his fellow soldiers who had had the misfortune to be standing behind the projection.
Strangely enough, happenstances such as this did not oft occur to the humans. Despite the fog and the confusion of a fight in progress, very few fell to their own side’s fire; on the contrary, more than once did he see a mêlée fighter dodge in just the exact moment when his partner would shoot at the opponent. The soldiers must have been excellently trained. Either that, or –
But, efficient as they were, little by little his temporary allies found themselves also decreasing in number. He was fighting a Hylden wielding a pike – the long range of the weapon made it harder for him to reach the warrior, and the fact that the creature seemed to be exceptionally skilled with it did not improve the matter – when something landed at the feet of a human next to him, bursting upon touching the ground, spraying around some liquid –
He was in the air at that point, and was hit only by several droplets of the solution – which still hurt, as though it had been water – but the human had less luck. He was hit by the majority of the liquid, and, screaming wildly in pain, literally dissolved on spot: a curious effect, reminding him of a Font of Putrescence. Had those been a Hylden invention in the first place?
The next moment, a fiery projectile hit the toxic puddle – he did not have the time to determine whether it had originally been spelt-fire, a fiery mixture which the humans used as a throwing weapon, or a discharge from a flamethrower – and the liquid erupted into an inferno of oddly incarnadine flames; one of many now illuminating the battlefield. Utilising the opportunity, he telekinetically pushed his opponent into the fire; the creature’s screams were soon even more intense than the human’s.
He laughed, and looked around in search for another opponent –

The fight was over. The large cannon lay destroyed. It had managed to fire once, at the beginning of the fight, bringing down a large part of the inner wall; but it had reacted quite badly to being hit by a series of telekinetic bolts, several rounds of bullets fired straight at it, and at least two nearby explosions; jamming the Reaver in the centre of its control panel had been just the finishing stroke.

Presumably too frightened of their unexpected ally to ask questions or show gratitude, the humans scattered into the mist as soon as the last of the Hylden had fallen. I was again left alone – but for the Reaver and the corpses, the only constants in my travels.
Now that I regained my bearings in the fog, it was time to seek out the heiress of the Founder. If I had had any doubt before as to whether her line continued until this time, this fight had erased any last trace of them. For sorcery abounded amongst these humans; and there had been but one source from which they could have learnt it.

Through the breach in the wall, he entered the inner city. The fighting had not yet reached here, and so it was superficially calm; but, as before in the plaza, the quietness was pregnant with tension and expectation. The streets were utterly devoid of life: all the civilians must have hidden somewhere inside.
This part of the city was less changed than the outer one; consequently, he found it easier to orient himself amongst the tall brick buildings. Eventually, he arrived at a small patio within one of the houses. A stream cut the plaza in half; a painted stone relief adorned the wall from underneath which the water flew. It showed a woman, pale-faced, dark-haired, grey-eyed, with a curiously distorted face, as though one of her cheeks had been torn into shreds and then healed again: his faithful servant, the Citadel’s Founder.

Unbeknownst to most of its denizens, deep within the bowels of the Citadel a cult had once thrived, dedicated to the worship of the vampire kindred. Traitors to their race, always willing to spill another human’s blood to save that flowing in their own veins, those useful fools had been led by none other than the city’s own Founder and her progeny.
All in the Priestesses’ line had been possessed of a measure of sorcery, which allowed them to charm and manipulate humans as puppets, and had employed these powers to procure sanguinary offerings for my torpid offspring. All proud hostages to the words accorded between their progenitor and me at the Citadel’s inception, all had paid their tithe in blood for the continuation of the blissfully oblivious lives of the majority of their compatriots.
I could no longer claim the allegiance of the witches. The return of Raziel and his murder of his brethren had brought them release from their dubious office. But the Citadel was in war – and in warfare, intelligence is the key to victory. I had little doubt that when word of my return reached the descendant of the clan, she would hasten to the old temple in the Undercity.

He pushed the stone in which the scar had been cut – the three claws of his hand fit the grooves of the sculpture perfectly; his effort was rewarded as a part of the wall behind him opened to reveal a secret door.
He entered the dark passage, illuminated only by the light of the Reaver; the mechanism reset itself behind his back. There were some steps down; some utterly insipid and unmemorable corridors; at last, he found himself in a dark, low-ceilinged chamber. He spoke into the darkness:
“The scent of fear betrays you, human.”
A small, flickering mage light showed on the far side of the room, and then drifted, finally to hover in the centre of the chamber, midway between the two of them. In the weak light, he could see the shadow of a figure; it spoke, in a strange, dreamlike, though unmistakably feminine, voice:
“Should I not be in fear? When the soldiers whispered to me of an otherworldly creature, the bearer of a flaming sword, that came to their aid and from the sky brought death upon their enemies, I could not believe them. I did not want to believe them. And yet – it is true: the Lord of all Nosgoth is returned to the Citadel, and walks in the footsteps of creatures that do not touch our blood, but take possession of our minds. Well – what is it that the servants have that the Emperor requires?”
Faster than the blink of an eye, he moved through the small space, pinning the human to the wall with his claws. His suspicions proved correct: over the stinking, rotting wound that was the woman’s right cheek, a pair of grey eyes studied him, not in fright as they should – but with a curiously absent-minded expression.
Disgusted, he released the creature. “Whatever my reasons, I did not come here to waste my time speaking with puppets.”
To her credit, the human knew better than to argue. “Let it be so, then. My daughter will lead you to me, my Lord.”

Standing on the balcony from which in long-gone times the Priestesses would oversee the dark rituals conducted in his name, he watched the swarms of humanity below.
His guide had brought him here, to the former private chambers of the leaders of the cult, via a roundabout way, through a labyrinth of passages. Now that he was arrived here, he understood his host’s reasoning – had he approached through the main entrance, he would surely have caused a riot, rather than just a commotion. Of the old chapterhouse of the temple of the vampire cultists, only shape remained – that of an immense oblong chamber under a barrel vault, supported only in pivotal places by several mammoth columns, with numerous side corridors leading out of the main chamber. Gone was the dim torchlight, replaced by electricity; gone were the gory remains of unholy rituals that had been taking place here for centuries – though the metallic smell of blood lingered strongly in the air –
The chamber’s present purpose was probably removed as far as possible from its initial function: from a place of death, it had become a place of escape, a hideout for the citizens of the city; an arsenal, hospital and command post, rolled into one. The blood he smelled was coming from a multitude of yet undressed wounds.
The puppet had left him here with a simple “Mother awaits you, my Lord,” and, indeed, there was some resemblance between her and the woman in whose presence he now found himself. As all of the Priestesses’ line, they both were dark-haired, pale-faced, grey-eyed. The mother was middle-aged for a human – but her skin must have been prematurely worn out; several deep wrinkles crossed her forehead.
She bowed slightly at seeing him enter, “Lord Kain. I am Zroya, the great-granddaughter of the last of your Priestesses. Welcome back to the Citadel – whatever still remains of it.”
“Spare me your pleasantries,” he snarled; apparently, a hundred years had sufficed for humanity’s collective memory to forget his wrath; none of the Priestesses would have had the gall – or the cowardice – to send a puppet to him instead of presenting herself in person. “You have asked what I require – let me oblige your curiosity: answers. What do you know of the Hylden?”
The matriarch moved, clearly interested by the previously unheard word. “The Hylden? Our attackers? Too little, I’m afraid. Until several days ago, when we stumbled across their encampment in the ruins to the south, we were unaware of their very existence.”
Given how well the human troops he had seen on the surface had fought, the information was a bit unexpected; and more than slightly jarring. The Hylden must be more powerful than he had given them credit for. “Days? Your defence has fallen within days of their attack? Did you even try to repel it?”
The woman was now clearly on the defensive. “We were not lax in our efforts. Outnumbered, perhaps, and almost ignorant of our enemies’ true strength, abilities and purpose – though the latter, we believe, we have now divined. When the enemy sorcerers possessed the minds of our warriors one by one, there was little we could do, save to kill the afflicted as they turned on us. The village to the east was taken first, obliterated in this fashion even before they attacked us here; now it serves as the headquarters for their army.”
“I have seen the encampment,” he admitted: that much of the woman’s tale was true, at least; however – “But none of the humans I encountered appeared to be possessed.”
Bemused, Zroya answered the accusation, “No – and that is an even more puzzling matter. We had been losing, but several hours ago the tide of battle altered. The possessions stopped suddenly, as abruptly as they had started. We don’t have any clue as to what may have caused it.”
He suddenly understood. “It is unnecessary – I do. You spoke of the Hylden’s purpose here?”
Zroya sighed. “Not here, my Lord. Not in the strict sense of the matter.”
Slightly annoyed, Kain pressed on, asking forcefully, “Where, then?”
“High in the mountains to the northwest. We saw lights there, where nothing had ever been seen before, mere days before meeting these creatures in the ruined city. It cannot be a coincidence. They want nothing in the city; they want to pass through it, to get there. The Citadel simply stands in their way.”
“Are you sure that the Citadel blocks the only path?” There was, after all, quite an obvious gap in the witch’s reasoning.
But he could hear no hesitation in Zroya’s voice as she answered. “For earthbound creatures – yes. It had been built this way on purpose, so that we would be defended from an attack from that direction.”
He laughed, “How fortunate, then, that I am not an earthbound creature.”
For a moment, the woman hesitated, as though she wanted to say something – perhaps even to beseech his aid in saving her city. At last, however, common sense prevailed over desperation, and she said only, clearly resigned, “Zosha will show you the shortest way to the northwest gate, my Lord.”

I knew of only one being who could have possibly returned from the demonic dimension still bestowed of flight – and it was precisely the one whose presence anywhere in Nosgoth would justify the inordinate haste with which the Hylden now tried to reach the mountains. Janos Audron. Had he managed to elude the Hylden during all the time he had been imprisoned together with them in that shadowy realm, and had returned to Nosgoth in the wake of their armies? Or had he been the creatures’ captive, but had somehow managed to escape them after they had returned?
And if Janos were still alive, and somewhere in the northwest mountains – what was his purpose there? Was he simply in hiding – or was there some ulterior motive for his presence there?
It seemed that my foray into the Citadel begat as many questions as it had answered.

It was time for him to re-enter the fog.