Entrance

The sky was as black as ink. Stars shined in that way that could only happen miles away from any light pollution, and a full moon hung high above, casting a thin blue-grey light upon the town. The handful of street lamps that were on barely managed to add any light to this pervasive, almost smothering nightfall, leaving the open areas shallowly lit and the shadows impenetrable.

All of which was quite at odds with the fact that, when monster huntress Vivian von Vanquisher checked her smartwatch, it showed the time as 14:37. 2 PM, in other words.

Mid-afternoon.

A single look back, confirmed the unnatural forces at work. Still in eyeshot, she could see the sky turn from deep black to vibrant blue, and the bright and sunny day that awaited if she merely turned around and walked away from this town.

But of course, that wasn’t an option. It was her job to get to the bottom of this, and save the people of this town. And so, Vivian marched forward, bullwhip wrapped around her chest and shortsword clasped to her belt, to find someone who could provide some more detailed information about what had befallen this place…

She found such a person, at the hotel at the edge of town. A woman dressed as some fantasy innkeeper, all old fashioned dress over a softly curved body. “How can I help you tonight, miss?” she asked, all smiles and cheer and a hint of a cockney accent.

A small-town American’s idea of a cockney accent.

It was fucking absurd.

“About that…Just how long has it been night?” Vivian asked.

“Well, what else would it be?” the woman countered, sounding like she didn’t even realize it was a counter. Vivian might as well have asked how long the sky had been bl…

…Dammit.

With a sigh, Vivian tried to move forward. “Can you tell me why it’s like this here, when it is clearly not night just a few blocks that way?”

“Oh, of course! That’s how the Countess likes it.”

“…The Countess.”

“Mmhm!” the woman nodded, “She runs things here, maintains the eternal night, keeps the crops growing by moonlight, et cetera et cetera…She’s so good to us.”

Vivian could, with a single glance to her phone, confirm there were no crops larger than a backyard garden for a hundred miles in any direction. This town relied exclusively on deliveries of goods, like countless other towns all around the nation. It had, in fact, been those very same delivery trucks that had gotten the word out about weirdness, and gotten Vivian on this case.

She was starting to put a picture together. But she needed a bit more push. “Why a countess in charge and not someone elected, like a mayor?”

The woman scoffed, shocked and baffled by her question. “Elec…Because then they wouldn’t be the Countess! I mean, sure, she would obviously win any such nonsense, but then she wouldn’t be the complete and total authority whose will we all obey!” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Uh…Huh. Right, sorry for all the questions. How much for a room for the night?”

And the woman sighed, calming herself down. “Oh, I suppose it’s alright…I can’t expect someone to get it their first day here. That’ll be 11 gold pieces, miss,” she said, tapping away at her computer.

Vivian saw the charge for $110.00 pop up on the pay pad, and tapped her watch against it. With a cheerful chime, the system extracted her hard-earned dollars to pay for her room.

The woman gave a nod, either not acknowledging or not noticing the contradiction between her words and the reality. “A pleasure doing business with you, miss! Let me get you the key to your room.”

The surprise boss. Known in Japan as the nurarihyon, a demon rather deviously troublesome to pin down and stop. A creature of shadow and whispers, it slips into a place of power and simply acts as if it belongs there, until those around it are compelled to agree. With that authority, it brings in more power, summoning in lesser demons. Some myths state that the surprise boss got its very position in the demonic hierarchy this same way, simply sneaking its way higher and higher and convincing those around it to obey…

The evidence all lined up to Vivian’s research. Her notes sat in front of her, split between handwritten papers, her phone, and an old laptop.

She would have to be careful with this one. This ‘Countess’ had already well entrenched herself. Forcing eternal night, bringing on entirely new truths for the townsfolk…That spoke to very well established power, enough to influence consensus reality.

If this wasn’t stopped soon…Everyone in this town would be turned into subordinate demons, simply convinced it was so true that the universe would have to go along with it. And that would turn this from a one huntress problem, into something that would need a small army…To say nothing of the tragedy of countless families split apart by the results.

She swiped away from the notes on her phone, bringing up the devil sensor. Its needle wobbled, but it was far from clicking. The ambient energy was only slightly elevated. Which meant the people in her vicinity were still human. She wasn’t too late to save them.

Which meant it was time to fully suit up, and get to work.

Grand Hall

Vivian’s whip cut its way clear through a phantom, splitting the lesser spirit right down the middle. “Begone, foul shade!” she bellowed, a flick of the wrist bringing her whip head right back close.

The location of the Countess hadn’t been difficult to find. The old city hall had been decorated more like a residence…And inside, the building had already become larger than the outside, looking like old-world stonework techniques. Candelabras and sconces provided the light, flames dancing under the subtle shifts in airflow.

A classic consequence of demon infestation. They turned buildings into lairs, labyrinthine structures packed with lesser manifestations like the phantom. Even her strike hadn’t actually killed the thing, merely dispersed its physical form…Within minutes, it would bundle itself back together. She had to keep moving; dawdling in a lair had gotten more than a few overconfident hunters killed in times past.

Case in point, the ground rippled ahead, grasping hands tugging forth a form that tried to mimic humanity. The best it could manage was a shambling, sloughing humanoid, somewhere between a rotted corpse and a walking jello mold.

Vivian didn’t hesitate. She released her whip, let it dangle over her shoulder, as her thumb pressed down upon her phone’s touchscreen. Up came her spellbook app, her raw magical energy coursing forth. Through her hand, into the phone, along the LCD pixels. The ancient runes still functioned digitally, the magic still folded into the shapes it needed to be in, before it was shunted back into her.

Through the arm, across the chest, infused with the strength of the heart. “Fire Bolt!” Vivian held forth her free hand, a snap of flame lashing outwards. The glowing strike burst on impact, a brief gout of heat spilling outwards with intense force. The stability of the minor monster fell apart, the muck sinking through the rug and into the stone.

She pushed forward, head on a swivel as she reached the door at the far end of the hall. Anything could happen.

Things did happen. Of course they did. Lesser forces, colloquial monsters, came again and again. Near every room was infested. Even the staff, now servants here had been utterly turned, a maid having kicked her clear through a door when Vivian tried to just pass the woman by.

That maid, ultimately, reformed like the other lesser monsters. It was just what happened with these lesser spirits. The only way to actually send them to the other side, was to shatter the dark magic that held this place. And that meant reaching the demon at the top.

Not that there weren’t other demons proper. Generals, guards. Like the one she faced this very moment. Vivian’s blade clashed against that of a dullahan knight, her full strength barely enough to hold fast against the demon’s one-handed swings! She grunted, heels dug in hard against the bumps and divots of the roughly hewn bricks beneath her feet.

“You still hold strong,” the dullahan said, his head grasped under his other arm. It was her one advantage against him, that he couldn’t fully guard and still see what she was doing. He pulled back, sword at the ready. “You are a worthy fighter, human. I will give you this one chance to walk away.”

“Like hell I will,” Vivian spat. She snatched a warmly glowing vial from her belt, slammed its contents like a shot of liquor. It burned like no liquor could, as the potion jumped straight from her stomach lining through her bloodstream, forced tissue to knit back together in record time. A slice across her brow sealed up, no longer weeping blood into her eye.

She needed at that head. One shot. She could finish this fight with one solid shot…A spell sat formulated on her watch, tucked under her sleeve and ready to fire.

And she’d figured out how to get it.

She shifted her grasp on her sword. Her left hand set into a reverse grip, and she charged right back in, meeting his defensive strike!

A single solid shot. A solitary moment. Vivian pushed off of the dullahan’s swing. Let her right hand slip off the hilt, her left’s reverse grip keeping her body wide.

And putting her right hand, magic filling the palm, in front of his wide eyes. “Grand Light!” she cried, as raw, semi-holy light gushed out of her hand with a destructive force.

Not even his scream managed to finish, before he was on the other side. The dullahan’s head fizzled into dust, before his knightly body fell to its knees and followed suit.

A dirty trick. But she was the one still alive. Vivian allowed herself a single moment to breathe, and pressed on. This so-called Countess still awaited.

Throne Room

The Countess cackled, looming out from the shadows of her chamber. “Is that all you have, little huntress? I thought you were made of sterner stuff!” She was a tall figure, slimly curved, with a face as pale as porcelain.

The rest of her body was wrapped in black silks, covering her from the neck down…Or rather, the rest of her body simply was those black silks, the elaborate dress she wore. Hardened shadows forming a hollow shell. A face attached to darkness, that was all this demon was.

Vivan’s shortsword was already gone, swept up into the shadows. Darkness nipped at her heels and swirled like smoke around the edges of the room, consuming the meager light put out by torches and candles along the walls. Had her opponent not been so pale, so readily spotted even in the depths, she wouldn’t have held out this long.

But now, she needed a counter. The darkness was too thick, too potent to be pierced by her Grand Light spell for long. She needed something las–

The Countess brought forth her arm, shadows forming around her hand and extending into a spear. A spear she drove right for Vivian’s chest!

It was only the huntress’s quick leap to one side that kept her ribcage intact, narrowly avoiding the attack. She didn’t have much, if any, time before the Countess recovered.

Vivian snapped her phone out of its holster, raw muscle memory driving her into her spellbook and to the proper section. She ducked a wide swing of that spear, thumb swiping across spell after spell, and, there!

In the single moment that the Countess was wide open, Vivian thrust her empty hand upwards. Magic swept through the phone, formed the patterns, raced across in an instant…And with a single push, was released. “Flare!”

A simple, crisp, burning white orb leapt from Vivian’s hand, floating in the air. Near blindingly bright, it held there, pouring light into every nook and cranny. The Countess howled in pain, her core body severed from all those shadows she’d been hiding in.

But it wasn’t enough. The Countess lashed out with the spear-hand yet again. But this time, the moment Vivian hopped back to avoid the stab, the long, conical form of the spear spiraled outwards, yawning tendrils managing to wrap themselves around the huntress’s phone-hand. “Let’s get rid of that pesky technology, shall we,” the Countess hissed out, putting herself between the flare and Vivian.

Which meant she was casting a large, powerful shadow that stretched right across Vivian’s form. A single miss-step, and her very own weapon had become her undoing. Vivian struggled, tried to wrench her hand free of the demoness. “No, no…! You will not have me, demon!”

The Countess let out another cackle. Solid shadows spread out from her form, blocking more of the flare’s light. Allowing more of her strength to return to her, as she kept her grip upon Vivian. The more strength she had, the less the orb could hurt her. “Oh, but I will.”

Vivian went for a knife. If she couldn’t get her arm free, she could at least free herself from the limb that was already lost. She steeled herself, ready for the pain…

But alas. More shadows wrapped around her other hand. The knife skittered to the floor, swept up into darkness and destroyed.

With both arms caught, she couldn’t stop the Countess. Her kicks simply saw one leg, then the other, snared. She was spread eagled, held at eye level with the Countess. “And now, it ends, little huntress.”

Midnight swept in on all sides, and Vivian saw nothing more.

She felt…Adrift. Held by something cool, soothing, surrounding her from all directions. It was as if she was floating in a pool, spread out, carried by the gentle water. Yet, that image could only scarcely begin to cover how this felt, so calm, so gentle, so pleasant…

She drifted like that, for a time. It was hard to question it, harder to resist it. The more she let herself drift, the better it felt. And so, the better it felt, she more she simply let herself drift.

Hints of…Something, were at the edges of her thoughts. Of a struggle, a battle…But it was painful to think about. And drifting wasn’t. The decision seemed obvious.

If she continued to liken this drifting to water, it was almost as if the water was washing through her as it held her up. A gentle wave washed in like the tide, gently raising her up and down like a ship at sea. And with each wave, she felt it wrap around something as the tide pulled back.

Something painful, like those thoughts of battle.

But each time the tide came in, it brought a little more of that not-water into her. Gentle, cool, relaxing.

She tensed up, at first. Letting this tide pull things away seemed…Wrong. Something she shouldn’t do.

But why?

Everything it was pulling upon was barbed, painful. Jagged fragments of bitter suffering. Everything it washed in was soft, formless, as smooth as silk and as gentle as a cloud.

Even the very idea of resistance was, itself, a hooked, spined thing, trying to root itself in. It, too, inevitably was replaced with a silk cloud.

It felt like so much weight pulled away from her. She floated more easily atop this unseen tide. She relaxed, and opened up.

The tide, she realized, was made of silk clouds. Each time it took a painful thing away, it left a bit of itself in her in trade. Each time, it felt a little better. Just as drifting itself had.

She let it take them, one by one. The pains, the barbs, left her. It felt more and more natural. Easier and easier.

So when smoother, rounder things began to wash out, she didn’t stop them. It seemed like such a difficult thing to do, and letting them go felt so nice, so soothing…More silk clouds came in, and that felt wonderful.

Eventually, there were only silk clouds.

And the tide washed those out, too. New ones came in to replace them. Or were they new? It was so hard to tell. The silk clouds came in, they came out. The tide flowed them through her.

The line between inside and out was so blurry.

Why bother with a line?

There was not her and the tide. She simply was the tide. The silk clouds. Inside, outside, did it make any difference? If it didn’t, that would be easier. More soothing.

So it didn’t.

She remained there, for a time, as the tide. The tide was all there was, and she was the tide. Nothing else mattered. So there was nothing else to matter.

And then, after a moment or an eon, her eyes came open.

A face was there, before her. Another. A single, pale form, in only darkness. In the silk clouds. In the tide. “Finally ready to wake up, are we?”

“…Yes,” she said. She was, after all, awake. So she must be ready to wake up.

The other smiled. “Wonderful…Do you know who you are?”

“I’m…Me,” she said. What an absurd question. Who else could she be?

“And do you know who I am?”

“You’re…You?” That, she was less certain about. She only knew herself. The silk clouds, and the tide.

The other, the You to her Me, gave a chuckle. “I’m your older sister, of course.”

She had no reason to doubt this. All she knew was herself, after all. An older sister was, by very definition, something beyond herself.

But it said things about herself. If this other face was the older sister, that surely meant she was the younger sister.

An identifier formed, amidst the silk clouds. Something that could be grasped.

The younger sister considered it. She could have made the decision to accept it, but then, the idea was already deep within her. By the time she could make the decision, it was too late. “Of course, older sister.”

“Perfect. Now, let me tell you a bit about yourself…You are a newly born demoness. A shadow whisperer, just like me.”

“Just like you?”

“Precisely. We are of darkness and shadows, my dear sister…Do you feel them now, around you, inside you?”

The silk clouds. The tide. They were shadows. That made sense. “I do, older sister.”

Her older sister’s smile widened. “Perfect…Now, before you can learn more, you must understand your first lesson. Commanding the shadows, to form your body. You won’t accomplish much as only a face.”

The younger sister took in these words as truth, with no reason to question them. “And how do I do that, older sister?”

“Just do as I do…” The older sister made a show of closing her eyes, concentrating…And the younger sister saw it happen. She saw the black expanse around them contort and contract, saw shadows sweep in towards her sister’s face.

A room became visible, a place, as her sister formed a body. Tall, curved, busty. A figure of black silk that became a fine, elaborate dress. A high collar formed her chin, and shadows threaded themselves into an elaborate updo of glossy black hair. “Tada. Just extend your will into the shadows…And tell them to make it so.”

Her older sister looked so elegant, so powerful, so commanding…

The younger sister wanted some of that power, too. She closed her own eyes, plunged once more into the tide, and she tried to whisper of power, of strength, to be as impressive as her older sister…

Bit by bit, she felt it come to her. A torso. Arms. Legs. The shape of clothing, of bust and hips. Hair upon her head. Hands with which to grasp, feet with which to walk. A humanoid shape. A human shape, even.

And when she opened her eyes, there were far less shadows in the room. Her older sister was watching her, most curiously. “Did I succeed, older sister?”

“My, my…Take a look for yourself.” Her older sister gestured, to a mirror in the room. And with some effort, some learning, the younger sister brought herself to it.

She, of course, had no way of knowing what the older sister knew. She did not know who she had once been, or that some conceptions of self could not be entirely scrubbed from the spirit. That a huntress’s garb had mixed with a countess’s.

What the younger sister saw, she took in almost academically, concepts bubbling to mind with no context to link them. She was tall, as tall as her older sister. And much as her older sister wore a fine dress, so too were the younger sister’s legs wrapped in a skirt.

But her top was different. A flared collar of a jacket, coming out of a layer of something solid and lacquered. Similar material came over her arms in panels, and gave shape to her shoulders, a mix of armor and noble dress. Her fingers were made of gloves, as her older sister’s, but a more solid black leather, not the slim, fine silkwork of her older sister’s body.

The younger sister’s threads of hair were not tied up, but cropped short and greased back, giving her a sternness that cut into any impressions of relative youth. Her hand traced the tiniest hint of a scar upon her temple, a single mark upon porcelain skin. “Is this…Me?”

“Why, yes it is…How do you feel, my dear sister?”

“Powerful. Strong. …Commanding. Why do I want to command, older sister?”

The older sister held back her chuckles, her cackles, and gave the gentlest smile she could manage. “It is in our nature…We do not have names. We have titles, as befit us. Do you know my title, sister?” she asked, gently taking her younger sister’s chin in a silken hand. Even with the newly minted demoness’s height and power, the older sister stood several inches taller.

“I do not…”

“I am the Countess. And you, oh sister of mine, shall be…The Baroness.”

“The Baroness…” she echoed, letting the title roll off of her tongue. She looked into her older sister’s eyes, into the Countess’s eyes…And smiled in turn. “Yes…Yes, I do believe I am.”

Dining Hall

The Baroness had to learn about herself, and her place in the world. That much was clear. And so, the Countess had led her sister into the dining hall, set her down at the fine oak table across from her.

“Now, we do not need to eat…But a shadow whisperer’s life is not about need, it is about want,” the Countess had explained. “And what we want, we get.”

A large steak had been brought out, placed before the Baroness by a maid. A maid who looked almost as if she recognized the new demoness…And then had averted her eyes, bowing low with obedience.

The Baroness wasted no time in trying it, absorbing table manners quickly from the Countess. The first bite of perfectly cooked, medium-rare meat slid past her lips, and, “Mmmm…”

The Countess smiled. “Yes…You should have a taste for the finer things in life. You do have a taste for the finer things, looking at that reaction. What do you think of it?”

“Exquisite…” The Baroness ate, and listened to her sister’s words. She learned of the finer things, of the delight of authority and the obligation of nobility. It all just made so much sense, filling gaps left in the Baroness’s understanding of the world, that she soaked it all up with ease.

It wasn’t long before the maid returned, with drinks. The Countess received a glass of wine, while scotch was poured for the Baroness. “What’s this?” she asked, noting the different glasses.

“I suspect you’ll find hard liquor more to your liking than wine, dear sister…And have I steered you wrong yet?”

She most certainly had not. And thus, the Baroness took her drink, and gave it a try…There was a warmth, almost a burn to it. But it was smooth, too, with layers and complexity. “Mm, yes…Yes, this is nice.” She took another taste, more familiar the second time. “This will do very nicely…”

The more they ate and drank, the more time the Baroness spent around her older sister, the more she absorbed. The less uncertain she felt. She was already learning of the world, but merely sitting here as the Countess’s peer brought her a sense of their place in the world.

When their meals were done, the Baroness saw her sister receive a cigarette in a long holder. And so, she didn’t question or doubt the matter, when a freshly clipped cigar was brought to her in turn. And as the flame was brought forth, she needed no further encouragement to bring the cigar to her lips, and light the end.

No concerns about ever having done this before, or about the reasons why she was doing it, ever reached her thoughts. If one as elegant and graceful as her older sister smoked, then it only made sense that she could as well. And with all her strength and presence, why not something like a fine cigar?

She took the first proper draw, an utterly foreign taste drifting over her senses. But, she saw the relaxed smile on her sister’s face; the Countess enjoyed this. And so, the Baroness surely did too, didn’t she?

It made perfect sense. And just as the Countess did, the Baroness inhaled, heedless of how mere mortals might normally smoke a cigar. Thick, potent smoke was sucked down inside of her, into the physical form of hardened shadow that was her body.

But her body did not have lungs for the smoke to gather in. It did not have meat that knew to reject this as a foreign invader. She was of shadows, and the shadows had no reason to fear the smoke. They had no reason to distrust the nicotine that flowed upon it.

The Baroness’s eyelids drooped, and she exhaled a powerful plume, as dark as stormclouds. “Mmm…I could get used to this.” She took another draw, deep and hungry, letting all the addictive smoke inside. Letting the addiction inside. “Yesss…I do love a good cigar.”

“Oh, I know you do,” the Countess said. “You can’t get enough of them, can you?”

The Baroness considered this, considered what it would mean…Ah, she was already having another draw. “You’re absolutely right.” She exhaled once again, and had a drink from her scotch. “It just makes everything more…Satisfying.”

“As it should be, dear sister.”

The pair of them sat and smoked in leisurely silence, for a time, simply digesting their meals and enjoying the satisfaction of their indulgence. But, in time, the Countess finished, and rose up. “Now then, I think it is time for our next lesson. You won’t get far in this world if you don’t have the technique to back up your strength, and enforce your will. Shall we?”

“Certainly.”

The Countess looked back, as she made her way down the halls. She had gained quite a bit on her dear sister…And now she could see why, as she watched the Baroness walk faster to catch up. “Why are you using those silly things?”

“What silly things…Do you mean my legs?” the Baroness asked, as she followed her sister’s gaze downwards. “And how else do you suggest I move?”

The Countess gave a noble laugh, full of amusement. “Oh, you’re thinking far too much like a peasant human, dear sister…You are of shadows, not of flesh! Why else do you think we have these flowing skirts?”

She turned, coming to stand in front of the Baroness. And this time, the younger sister watched, seeing the way her older sister merely flowed across the floor, gliding without the slightest effort. “We are the form of perfection, dear sister. Elegance and nobility personified. That is why we stand at the top, why our natural place is in control…Do you understand?”

The Baroness nodded. How could she not, with a statement like that? The ease, the grace…She wanted it for herself. “Show me how.”

A chuckle came from the Countess. “Very well. This shall be your first lesson…Focus on your skirt. Let it reach the floor…And be a simple shape. Forget your reliance on peasant legs.”

The Baroness closed her eyes, and focused. As she had formed her body the first time, she tried to form a different shape. Not two legs and two arms and a head. No, she kept the upper body, but the lower…A simple shape. A pure shape. A flowing skirt reaching down to the floor, like a bell…

She felt it happen. She felt her two points of contact be subsumed, until she felt the thick rugs pressing against the flat, smooth bottom of her skirt, of her body. And when the Baroness opened her eyes and looked down, she saw her skirt now pressing directly against the floor, saw no sign of the feet she no longer had.

A smile split her face, at this success. “I did it!” It was a simple, pure excitement, youthful and fresh. That excitement anyone would feel upon first learning a new skill, first becoming capable of something they weren’t before.

“Excellent, dear sister…But remember. Our lessers must always see us as poised and prepared, never surprised.”

The Baroness nearly blushed, before she put that away. She took a draw from her cigar to calm herself, exhaling a smooth, steady stream. “Of course, older sister. You’re absolutely right.”

“Wonderful…Now, come along. Merely will the shadows to move you, until they obey.”

The Baroness, followed her older sister’s lesson. She leaned herself forward, and tried to press her will forwards, almost as unformed magic…Until it worked. Until she felt the rugs moving underneath her smooth pad of contact, as she glided along right behind the Countess without any effort at all.

Personal Quarters

The Countess taught, and the Baroness learned. To reshape her form. To extend her will into the shadows around them. To be one with them. She was not limited to merely being a humanoid. She was a force of will in the darkness, and it was the truth of her being. Weapons and tools were as much a part of her as her limbs, and as the darkness in the room.

She learned swiftly, skillfully, with focus and precision. To command the shadows. To spread them out to fill a room, to compress them into a form built to war.

Nights passed, with the Baroness growing stronger, more in tune with herself. She ate exquisite meals, smoked fine cigars, and practiced. Trained, even. She learned more about herself, and her older sister; things like the Countess’s taste for the old fashioned, and disdain for more modern technologies, inevitably rubbed off on the Baroness. How could it not, when her only examples of modernity were the peasants beneath their un-feet?

But eventually, there came a day when the Baroness glided into the room to join her sister, and found they weren’t alone. Standing in the room, head bowed low, was the same maid that the Countess had called upon repeatedly for their needs. “Countess? My understanding was we would be training this evening.”

The Countess smiled. “Oh, but we are. Consider this your final exam, my dear sister…And a graduation gift, if you succeed.” She gave the maid a firm press to the back, pushing her forward a few steps. “Remake this maid into your attendant. And then, if you are ready, we will find you a town to take over, to rule over as you see fit.”

This was…Faster than the Baroness had thought. She hadn’t been in this world long, and had expected weeks, if not months, before the Countess would think her ready to set out on her own.

But…Could she let such an opportunity slip through her fingers?

She could not.

And so, the Baroness did not hesitate. Tendrils extended out from beneath her skirt, taking a single beat to form solidly and under her control. Then, with ferocious swiftness, they struck, lashing out to grab the maid by her limbs!

The maid shrieked, of course. She even struggled, some core instinct pressing against her obedience to the Countess. But it was futile. The Baroness yanked her back, her own body splitting down the middle to open wide. In a flash, the maid was inside her, and she closed herself up tight, squeezing down until there was no sign.

She felt the lesser spirit’s manifestation crumble, receding into its most basic form. And, closing her eyes to better focus, she pressed against that form. Molded it. Pain and pleasure, to break the will. Darkness, to rob the senses of relief. Her command, to give the thing purpose.

The Baroness knew what she wanted. She had no need for a tiny, girlish little maid to attend her. No. She needed someone, something, stronger. More capable. More resolute.

She broke the spirit. Broke its understanding of who, what it was. And she rebuilt those things to suit her needs. Took in more shadow, to give her first attendant form.

Everything went silent, as the Countess watched her younger sister work. Pride swelled in her own chest, seeing how far she had come, how thoroughly the huntress had become everything she’d feared and loathed. And how skilled she was at being that.

But finally, the Baroness opened her eyes, and smiled. And from behind her, stepped out a new figure.

Not quite as tall as the Baroness, but nearly so. Not quite as muscular, but close. Clad in a dark suit, with earthy brown hair pulled back into a severe bun, the lady butler looked upon the world with stern eyes.

The Countess glided over, eyeing the figure up and down. She traced a path around the butler, watched the way her gaze refused to waver. “My, my, so very serious…Do you know who I am?” she asked, from behind the butler.

She afforded a single glance backwards, before her eyes were firmly locked forward. “You are the lady Countess, sister to my Baroness. It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said, with a voice that conveyed not one ounce of emotion. Deeper, weightier than the girlish shrieks of the maid that had once been.

The Countess gave her sister a look, as they both took in the answer.

And both shadow demonesses, could not help but laugh in triumph.

The Keep

Another was coming.

The Baroness exhaled a plume of dark smoke. She had faced hunters and huntresses, since her rise to power. Since taking over this town. Her sister’s advice had been wise; To take a place too large, invited too direct a force to hunt you down. Start small. Grow your power base organically, patiently. They had no need to rush.

Which meant it was the younger, brasher hunters who came.

Who failed.

Some never even made it here, swept into town to forget their old lives. Some fell in the battle, their bodies and souls put to better use. None had actually made it to her own chambers…yet.

But this one had actual promise. The Baroness lifted herself up, shadows dragging furniture to the edges of the room. She wanted space to work.

The door swung open. The hunter arrived, a pistol in a young hand. The Baroness met him with a ferocity born of delight, of the thrill of real combat.

Perhaps she would make use of him.

After all, she had always wanted a little sister of her own.