Maksym Pachesiuk
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Warlock's Last Exam - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2025-01-10 15:47:35 +0000 UTCI tried not to look at the coffin, because every time I did, a lump would rise in my throat. That’s why I brought a book with me, but the le
I tried not to look at the coffin, because every time I did, a lump would rise in my throat. That’s why I brought a book with me, but the letters in “Projections of Figures and Signs in Combat Artefactory” by Stenn kept blurring, and it wasn’t the lighting to blame. There were enough candles in the chapel.
The last watch, the final honor... And I was paying it while sitting on a chair. What would Grandpa say to that?
A grumpy voice echoed in my head: "Read, don’t get distracted! I’m not going anywhere, am I?"
Right, that’s exactly what he would’ve said...
God, why did I even insist on being here?
Because no one would take a talentless young man on a hunt for the werewolf that had torn apart the strongest warlock of the clan. Instead, only the most experienced and gifted ones went – warlocks and shifters. Even promising talents like my cousin Logan stayed home.
The mist in my eyes thickened so much I had to blink. Tears spilled out, carving trails down to the tip of my nose, where they gathered into a single, heavy drop that fell onto the yellowed pages of the old book and splattered. There was no point in reading. I closed the book and set it aside. Studying wasn’t helping me cope with my emotions, and if I was going to cry, better now than tomorrow at the funeral. My tears wouldn’t have pleased Grandpa Gregor. The old head of the clan had a reputation as a tough and uncompromising man.
Forgive me, Grandpa. I’m trying, but I’m still far from being like you...
Tears began streaming down my cheeks in full force.
I wouldn’t be alone: there was Logan, Aunt Mary, the other Kinkades. But it would be so hard without you, you old grumbler! Who else would share their wisdom, who would point me to the right book or evaluate a fresh idea? You always supported me... especially after I let down the clan, the family, and you.
“Forgive me, Grandpa,” I whispered hoarsely through my tears. “One day you’ll be proud of me.”
“What?” rasped a wheezing voice.
I jumped to my feet. The chair toppled over, and the book fell to the floor. My right hand darted under my jacket, gripping the handle of my FN 1910, Grandpa’s gift. My left hand clenched into a fist, ready to activate the cheap corundum ring. Although no one lurked in the shadows, I prepared to channel the spell through the ring. Damn seals wouldn’t let me do it instantly, nor could I charge the artifact with my own power. But a few years ago, I wouldn’t have even hoped to feel the spell in the ring at all.
“Sir, this is a very bad joke!” I said, scanning the reflections of candlelight and the play of shadows on the walls.
If the prankster was using a standard veil spell, it might still be possible to pinpoint them.
Grandpa’s body in the coffin stirred sluggishly. His hand rose and scratched at his tightly bandaged neck. The wound across his throat had caused his death, and leaving it on display hadn’t been the best idea. I hadn’t even noticed when I’d aimed the pistol at the coffin.
Possession, vampirism, necromancy... but definitely not lycanthropy. Vampires rise within a day – It had been nearly two. If someone had performed a raising ritual, our gifted would’ve sensed it. But spirits... spirits could be mischievous. Given that the ground was consecrated, the likelihood of encountering a bloodthirsty demonic entity was low. But even a less sinister otherworldly guest could cause plenty of trouble.
That’s exactly why the last watch required you to bring a weapon. Too bad that, considering Grandpa’s death, my pistol was loaded with silver bullets. A shotgun with blessed salt would’ve been much better in this situation. Still, eight grams of sacred metal, nine millimeters in caliber, had miraculous stopping power – especially if you hit the head, the third eye through which spirits enter the body.
Damage to the physical body near an energy node created a strong resonance with the subtle body and distorted the flow of aether. A weak spirit would be expelled instantly, while a powerful one would find control much harder. But the shot had to be precise. Negotiating afterward wouldn’t be an option.
And it wasn’t exactly honorable. No respect for the deceased. Damn it, and I couldn’t even warn the others – any noise might provoke it. Father Martin would’ve handled this much better than me. Still, I wasn’t useless, and you, Grandpa, taught me well.
Taking advantage of the fact that the possessed wasn’t looking at me, I slid the pistol back into the holster under my jacket. Let’s try to negotiate. Maybe we can settle this with a modest offering.
“Sir, I’m afraid you’ve gotten the wrong body.”
Grandpa turned his gray head, but the edge of the coffin blocked his view of me. So the old man grabbed the side and sat up.
“What in the hell are you babbling about?” Grandpa looked at me, swept his gaze over the many candles, then glanced down and froze.
“I’m afraid so,” I continued, seizing the pause. But Grandpa frowned and raised his index finger, the way he always did when demanding silence.
His strong, wrinkled hand curled into a fist and knocked on the side of the coffin.
“Well, shit!” Grandpa concluded. “No, the coffin’s fine, pine burns well. The situation, though – just a real pile of crap. Forget possession right away. Why didn’t you draw your weapon? Or is that not a thing for the last watch anymore?… And why are you here, anyway?”
“Grandpa?!” I asked. How the hell was this even possible? He’d been lying dead for two days, we’d already washed and dressed him.
“As you can see!” Grandpa snapped back and pressed two fingers to his neck, trying to find a pulse. “Don’t waste your time. How long’s it been?”
“This is the second day.”
“Then I’m not a vampire. Although…” Grandpa flicked his wrist, and a long, double-edged dagger appeared in his hand. Instinctively, I drew my pistol.
“You did bring it,” he said. “So why are we still talking? You should’ve put a bullet in my head immediately!”
“I thought it might be a spirit playing tricks. I wanted to negotiate.”
“You’ve already negotiated with Ferrish,” Grandpa snorted, shoving his fingers into his mouth, followed by the dagger. A moment later, something crunched. The old man pulled a long fang from his mouth, wiped it on his jacket, and tossed it to me. “Here, take a look.”
I leaned back, letting the tooth sail past and clatter onto the marble floor. Grandpa gave an approving grunt and added the dagger to the mix, tossing it toward the wall to put me at ease. I suddenly felt like I was back taking one of his damn tests. Keeping the old man in my line of sight, I stepped back and to the right so the tooth was near my feet. I crouched on one knee, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice, and glanced downward with just my eyes, without lowering my head.
The thin, curved strip of enamel wasn’t a fully developed fang yet, but it was sharp enough to break skin.
“The werewolf tore you apart!”
“That’s just it,” Grandpa said. “Don’t hesitate. Bullet to the head, and I’ll join the ancestors.”
“Wait. This is clearly a setup. Judging by how fast the transformation is happening, they must’ve injected you with vampire blood after you died. It doesn’t turn the dead on its own.”
“They must’ve used a powerful healing potion, or something like it,” Grandpa confirmed. “Duncan, I get that this is an attack on the family – or maybe the entire clan – but that’s for the next head of the clan to sort out. I just hope Bryce doesn’t botch the job. Son, time’s running out.”
“You mean the Call?”
Grandpa nodded.
In the past, I would’ve said no vampire could slip past our shifters, that no one could awaken his thirst, and that we had a solid day before he’d start losing his mind to bloodlust. But given recent events… This was going to take a lot of explaining to the family.
The grip of my pistol felt slick, my hand heavy as lead, but I nodded.
“Good lad,” Grandpa smiled. “You know, maybe we can turn this situation to our advantage. Pick up the dagger. Ferrish won’t pass up a trophy like this.”
“A sacrifice on consecrated ground? Father Martin will lose his mind.”
“After he sings the rites, Martin can kiss my ass. You tell him that. Now, pick up the dagger.”
I approached the wall, picking up the blade consecrated to an ancient spirit of the hunt. The moment I touched it, I felt the powerful otherworldly entity that had granted Grandpa his magic turn its attention to me. We’d met once before, five years ago. That conversation had gone poorly, and I’d been punished for my insolence.
“Go on, son, aim for the base of the skull. It won’t be hard.”
Grandpa lay back down in the coffin and rolled onto his stomach. The blade would indeed easily slide into the spot he’d chosen, if we were just talking physics. But the dagger in my hand felt like it had turned to lead, and its tip trembled like the hands of a drunk in the morning after a binge. Damn tears started flooding my eyes again. It was a good thing Grandpa couldn’t see me, because I couldn’t! I just couldn’t do this to him.
“Duncan!” Grandpa growled, his voice a warning.
“It won’t work,” I said, stowing the dagger. “You’re no prey, not without a hunt. I’d just anger him even more.”
“Oh, son…” Grandpa rolled over in the coffin again and sat up. “Caution is good, but only in moderation. Fine, then. Fire a few shots into the air and let’s see who comes running.”
I met Grandpa’s gaze and then quickly looked away, embarrassed. He realized it wasn’t just caution holding me back.
Wasting silver bullets shooting into the air felt like sacrilege, but I was eager to take up the offer. I threw open the chapel doors, raised the barrel…
“No need…” drawled an unfamiliar voice from the darkest corner of the chapel.
The shadows there ignored the light of nearby candles, clinging unnaturally thick, obscuring the figure within.
I whipped the pistol toward the voice, steadying the grip with my left hand, where the dagger still rested. I wasn’t about to drop the blade for a better hold – It might still come in handy. Grandpa leapt out of the coffin, spreading his hands with clawed fingers aimed upward. Normally, that gesture would ignite warlock sparks in his hands, but this time his magic fizzled out. A newly turned vampire was no longer a powerful warlock, even if he’d managed to summon Ferrish’s blade earlier.
Grandpa cursed and tried a few other spells, but none of them worked.
“Don’t bother,” said the shadow, shifting into the shape of a man in a black cloak with a hood. “You’ve already used up your quota for today.”
The dagger in my hand pulsed with feral hatred. Enemy! Enemy with a capital E. The kind Ferrish would not only forgive an old insult for but even reward me for. The surge of emotion carried a promise. I realized with certainty that the spirit would lift the seals from my energy nodes if I took this man’s life. And that was strange. Ferrish was a spirit of the hunt, stubborn but not bloodthirsty. The chase intrigued him far more than the prize.
“Name yourself!” Grandpa demanded.
“Don’t you recognize me, Kinkades?” The intruder threw back his hood, revealing a sharp-featured face framed by a slicked-back hairstyle with a flawless left part. He looked young, barely older than me – nineteen, maybe twenty – but the clean-shaven chin with a dimple gave him an air of maturity, adding a few years. His thin lips twisted into a mocking grin. “Tsk, tsk. You ruin a man’s life and toss him out of your memories.”
“Simon?” I said, recognizing him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Pfft, I organized this!” Simon said indignantly. “And lower that popgun – It won’t help you.”
The uninvited guest lazily pointed a gloved hand at me, but for some reason didn’t lower it afterward. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and he wiggled his fingers. There was something menacing in that small gesture, as if he were trying to cast magic.
But he was sealed, just like I was! Though that didn’t stop him from using veil spell – there were always artifacts and amulets to consider. Just in case, I stepped to the side, while Grandpa, on the contrary, stepped forward, clearly with aggressive intent.
“Stop!” Simon barked. “By the right of the matriarch and the founder!”
Grandpa stumbled and fell, unable to resist the power imbued in those simple words.
Simon – a bloodsucker? Their elders could subjugate younger ones, but something about this compulsion was off. Damn it, I’d studied vampires! What was wrong here?
Ferrish’s dagger hummed with a restless hunger, clouding my thoughts, while this bastard dared to give orders to Grandpa.
“Hands on your head! Face to the ground!” I barked.
“Shut up, you spineless wretch,” Simon sneered. “You couldn’t even put down this piece of crap, and he didn’t even resist.”
He kicked Grandpa, who twitched and tried to grab his assailant’s leg, but the villain snapped, “Stay down!”
For you, bastard, he might be piece of crap, but to me…
I squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gunshot roared through the relatively small space, so loud it left my ears ringing. The heavy silver bullet whizzed past the enemy’s face, slammed into the wall, and chipped out a chunk of brick. Simon flinched, stung by the flying shards, and pressed a hand to his cheek. His eyes narrowed in anger.
He pulled his hand away and stared at the bloodstains on his glove.
The cuts on his face were bleeding freely. Not a vampire.
“Kill him!” he ordered Grandpa. “Tear him apart!”
On the second word, I pulled the trigger again. The bullet struck Simon in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Should’ve shot right away.
“Bastard!” Simon screamed.
Grandpa rose to his feet, baring the one remaining fang. His eyes glistened with madness and a thirst for blood, but the iron will of a man who, until recently, was the powerful warlock and head of the Bremor clan still restrained the body that no longer belonged to him. The struggle was clearly one-sided, though, as instinct slowly overtook him, forcing the vampire to creep forward in tiny, hesitant steps.
“Stop him!” I commanded.
“Kill him!” Simon barked in response, earning another bullet to the leg. He howled in pain.
Grandpa lunged forward, and I shot him in the shoulder. The vampire staggered. I aimed lower, hitting his shin. He collapsed to one knee but refused to stop.
“Grandpa, damn it!” I tried to reason with him. The vampire had only one step left, and I had two bullets and two enemies. Simon, you bastard, this was supposed to be between us! Why the hell did you drag him into it?!
I had no choice. This fight had to end.
Dropping to one knee in front of Grandpa, I took aim and pulled the trigger. The bandages around his neck tore as the bullet pierced through, leaving a hole that trailed faint wisps of smoke. The shot tore through his already slashed throat and shattered the vertebra behind it. Even vampires couldn’t survive that kind of damage. A headshot would’ve been safer, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Grandpa being buried with a hole in his forehead. Just the thought made me sick.
The vampire froze, swayed, his head slumping to one side, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. His body sagged to the floor.
Even in that grotesque pose, Grandpa smiled and parted his lips, but whatever last words he’d meant to say died with him. Life left his body before the words could.
Grandpa!
For the second time in just a few days, my heart clenched in an invisible vice. My chest tightened, refusing to let me draw a breath. I wanted to scream, to shout, but it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Every ounce of my strength went into shaking off the haze, forcing myself to take one breath and finish what needed to be done.
One last bullet. I wasn’t done yet.
“Simon,” I hissed. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for this.”
I was in full agreement with Ferrish now – this bastard needed to die. But the scumbag had used veil again. He wasn’t on the floor, and the shadows in the room lay flat and undisturbed.
The door!
I quickly slammed shut the most obvious escape route and scanned the floor for any signs of blood. With the amount pouring from his cheek, there should’ve been a pool from the bullet wounds too. But there was nothing.
Damn it! Stone skin, or something like it.
I focused my will into the enchanted ring. If the enemy got away with just bruises, this wouldn’t be over.
The last bullet had to count – preferably through his eye – and then I’d drive the dagger into his body to finish the kill while it was still warm. Speaking of the blade, its burning hatred had faded the moment the enemy left my sight. Hopefully, that didn’t mean he’d slipped away.
I scanned the shadows carefully, but found nothing. Either the camouflage was flawless, or I’d rushed my assumptions.
I listened intently. Not a single out-of-place sound. Logan would’ve heard something. Speaking of hearing – no one had come running at the noise. Strange. I’d have to make note of that, but I couldn’t count on reinforcements.
This was a standoff, and I couldn’t tell whose side time was on.
I had one bullet left, and my pistol was the only thing keeping the balance in my favor… My pistol…
Why had Simon come without a weapon? Was he relying on magic? He’d trained in the clan until he was fifteen; he had to know better. He’d know the value of a backup plan. Grandpa had always taught me to assume my enemy’s capabilities extended beyond what they’d shown.
Let’s assume he has a gun. If I remember correctly, veil spells often have flaws – like reacting to movement. He can’t move!
And I can’t lower my pistol to provoke him without risking taking a bullet myself.
I carefully examined the nearest candelabra. Thinking logically, Simon would’ve kept his distance from the source of light. What was I risking? Just my life… No, that wasn’t quite right – only if the bastard still had vampire blood. Wrong again. Grandpa’s death had been meticulously staged, and my corpse – especially once someone noticed Grandpa’s fangs – would be examined far more thoroughly. Other risks? The attacker’s identity might remain unknown. But that risk would linger no matter what.
I shoved the dagger into the pocket of my jacket, grabbed a handful of thin candles from the candelabra, and flung them in a wide arc toward the walls. The shadow beneath the window arch twitched, and I activated the ring, bracing for a retaliatory shot. I couldn’t afford to shoot blindly – there wouldn’t be a second chance.
A blurred figure raised a hand holding a gun. Just not the head! If it hits my mouth, I might survive, but an eye…
Simon’s final movement was too abrupt, and his concealment failed completely. I saw the whites of his eyes. The muzzle of my gun was already pointed in the right direction – just needed to adjust a millimeter…
Simon’s revolver spat out a bullet first. A chunk of lead tore through my jacket and, judging by the unforgettable sensation, a rib. But I stayed on my feet. The second bullet followed the first – It slammed me against the door. Then a third…
Simon fired quickly, cocking the hammer with one hand and pulling the trigger with the other. All six bullets left the barrel in less than three seconds – the exact time it took for my stone-skin ring to fully drain. If he’d been even a fraction slower, I’d already be chatting with the ancestors.
My chest burned. The spell only reinforced the skin, not the ribs. A hazy film clouded my vision. My arm, the one holding the pistol, went limp and dropped. I think I growled in pain, struggling to raise it again. It moved, but sluggishly.
Simon wasn’t polite enough to wait for me to take aim. He spun sharply and smashed the butt of his gun against the windowpane. The bastard scrambled onto the windowsill, and I fired.
Since he’d turned his rear to me, aiming for the eyes was out of the question, but there was another very natural weak spot in that region, and that’s where I aimed. Too bad I didn’t see if I hit – my shot shoved him out the window.
I had to finish him!
An empty pistol was useless. I dropped it to the floor and pulled out the dagger, miraculously still in my pocket. I wasn’t in any condition to climb through the window, so I opened the door and set off the long way around.
My pace was slow – each step sent stabbing pain through my ribs, painting my vision with bursts of color. Every breath jabbed my lungs like needles, forcing me to gulp air in shallow sips. The dagger’s hilt was slick with sweat and threatened to slip free, but Ferrish’s anger gripped my hand, fueled by the spirit’s renewed awareness of the enemy.
Simon was limping away, clutching his injured backside and dragging his left leg.
“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” I hissed.
He didn’t look back, but his limp turned into a more determined hobble toward the garden. On the move, he pulled a small vial from his pocket. He bit off the cork, spat it out, and downed the contents in one gulp.
I quickened my pace. The colorful circles in my vision turned into an unbroken haze. Simon’s figure blurred, but I was closing the gap.
Not for long.
After a few seconds of what felt like a race between cripples, Simon released his grip on his injured buttock and began walking straighter – the potion was kicking in. Only a few meters separated him from the trees.
I gritted my teeth and made one final, desperate lunge to reach him with the blade. My vision went completely dark.
The stars traded places with the grass, and the ground kicked me harder than a wild stallion’s hind legs. For a moment, the sky lit up, the stars tumbled down to earth, and sparks flickered among the grass. Up and down lost all meaning, and even the pain vanished.
But as soon as I took a breath, everything snapped back into place. The pain returned, as did the crushing weight of reality.
I managed to lift my head.
There was no sign of Simon around.
