Chapter 354: A Theory In Blasphemy

Miriam Estroux’s mini-arc. 4/4.******

Miriam thought this wasn't too bad.

It still wasn't anything quite close to a graceful exit. There were no swinging curtains or sledding down a hillside. But it wasn't too bad. And when the thing being escaped from was a vampire considerably stronger than her, anything which wasn't too bad was actually very good.

All around her, the misty forest welcomed her escape.

A nightly breeze swept her silver hair behind her as she dashed across untamed woodland with her highly distressed charge held in her arms. But luckily for the village girl, she had no need to worry. 

After all, her fate was unlikely to be as bad as the one awaiting Miriam.

She peeked behind her to the sight of a raging inferno.

Somewhere in the hells, a devil was offering a toast to her work. 

What used to be the imposing façade of a haunted manor was now a scene of unbridled devastation. Much of the building was toppling down, walls and all, while any windows to remain were simply furnaces spilling with the fury of a genius with a very short safety checklist. Flames more green than red consumed the very air as the scent of something alchemical mixed with the charring of wood and stone. 

And all of it caused by a single flaming teapot.

Miriam was impressed. 

She'd need to convey the results to Princess Clarise, if for no other reason than to ensure this was counted as research and not a deliberate attempt to set everything on fire. 

And that meant studying the outcome from a healthy distance.

“[Flight].”

As Miriam ran, her tiny wings sprouted from her back. 

Supported by her magic, she instinctively hopped into the air … and then stumbled as she instantly came down again. The village girl in her arms gave the tiniest groan of discomfort.

Sadly, there'd be more to come.

Unable to take to the air, Miriam decided on the next best thing.

Using her wings to propel her forwards like a leaping bunny.

Without hesitation, she bounded through the trees, magic at her heels and a tired pair of wings fluttering from her back. She skipped through the endless foliage, snapping every twig and rustling every shrub until the colour of the flames finally diminished and all she could see was mist.

She slowed but didn’t pause.

Sadly, even the most potent flame was unlikely to do more than wrinkle a master vampire's skin. Yet she couldn't run forever. At least not with the village girl in tow. She needed to hide her somewhere a master vampire was unlikely to follow. 

And Miriam knew just the place.

Even the thought of it was causing her to feel uncomfortable.

After all, despite the strengths of vampires, they had weaknesses. Not many. But they were severe. 

Enough that even the most powerful member of the Nocturne Court wouldn't dare test themselves against nature's most powerful guardian … which was why when Miriam heard the sound of flowing water, she had to shove all her instincts for self-preservation to one side in order to follow it.

Her bravery was rewarded as she stopped before the most modest of streams, barely wide and deep enough to cover one's ankles. It was enough. 

Finally deeming the village girl safe enough to allow her to wildly panic, Miriam set her down upon the grass. A pair of frightened eyes looked up at her. She offered a reassuring smile.

“[Glacial Dagger].”

And then held a weapon of gleaming ice over her.

“Mmnnnghh!! Mnnngh?! Nnhgh!!”

“Please stay still. I shall release you.”

The squirming villager slowly froze, only becoming perfectly still when Miriam kneeled beside her. She carefully guided the dagger over the girl's many bindings, each wrapped so tightly that her skin was almost bleeding from the friction.

The freshly released girl waited a moment for Miriam to do something generally evil.

When nothing happened, she sat up, winced as she felt her limbs moving, then looked at her saviour.

“... Am I free now?” she asked in a quivering voice.

Miriam pointed at the stream.

“Not yet. But you will be. Follow the stream and keep your feet within the waters at all times. Running water is highly dangerous to vampires. He will not follow you.”

… At least not while Miriam was somewhere else, of course. 

Pride demanded that she be hunted first. Which meant they both needed to escape.

“[Flight].”

Wasting no time, she stood up and gracefully lifted herself.

Oddly, the village girl wasn’t fleeing. She was instead staring at Miriam’s wings, her mouth agape.

“Why … Why did you save me?” she asked, swallowing a dry gulp.

Miriam gave a shrug.

“It's what she would have done.”

Not waiting for the bewildered response, Miriam made good on her escape.

The mists receded along with the rest of the forest. With a shaking of leaves and branches, she flew up and broke free of the canopy to a welcoming haze of moonlight sifting between the dark clouds. 

As the cool air tickled her skin, she peeked down to see the faint silhouette of a girl stumbling down a stream—if not towards safety, then at least somewhere safer than where Miriam was heading.

Master Harkus knew where she worked. And that meant the Royal Villa was in danger.

Empowering her wings, she shot towards the cover of the clouds. Her plan was simple. Crash into the courtyard while shouting incoherently about everybody needing stakes.

There was just one problem.

“Ahh?!”

A whip formed entirely of blood.

Miriam gave a squeak of surprise as all sense of equilibrium left her. A lashing weapon snapped around her waist like a coiling rock python.

The next moment, she felt herself pulled back down … and then swung in several directions, up, down, left and right, the clouds switching places with the forest canopy several times, until finally—

“I am deeply unhappy.”

She appeared upside down in front of a very cross looking vampire.

Master Harkus hovered before her, boasting a much greater set of wings than her. 

They were shadows as black as the smoke being emitted from his head and torso, for despite the prominence of those wings, all Miriam could notice was the fact that the man was now half-naked. Much of his garments were now scattered patches of charred fabric. 

Something he noticed as well, given his irate expression.

“This was custom tailored,” said Master Harkus, gesturing at himself. “All of it. That you ruined a perfectly good dinner outfit is already an issue. But the fact that the tailor is long dead is another. I’m now going to have to raise him as a ghoul and hope his claws have the dexterity to sew me a new doublet. I am very doubtful.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. You set me on fire. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

The master vampire rotated Miriam several times. She brushed her silver hair from her face and nodded.

“Yes, if you could, is it possible to describe how it felt to be doused by it? It’s for research purposes.”

Master Harkus leaned in and scowled.

“Perhaps you should see for yourself.”

And just like that … Miriam was tossed.

The blood whip suddenly snapped to the side, hurling the delicately framed countess like a pebble tossed by a hill giant. She flew faster than a diving albatross. And now she was heading straight into a crumbling manor merrily burning with bright alchemical flames.

Miriam admired the sight–just before curling into a ball.

Fwipfwipfwipfwipfwipfwip.

A moment later, she emerged as a flock of bats.

A sense of weightlessness took hold of her, allowing her to avoid the worst of the burning manor. She burst through the smoke and returned to the depths of the misty forest. 

The shifting in forms hurt greater than the lashing flames. Although it was more an illusion than true transfiguration, that didn’t stop the feeling of nausea which occurred from suddenly having a hundred pairs of eyes.

It was still better than the alternative.

She sensed the figure following behind. A shadow blotting out the moonlight, unconcerned with anything other than slowly making his ire known. And that meant the end of her tale.

The end.

Miriam was officially stuffed.

After all, against a superior vampire, little could be done other than to calmly accept one’s grisly demise. And while she could attempt to flee or hide, it was clear this would only delay the inevitable.

Thus, only one option remained.

Violent self-defence.

Miriam needed to destroy a full strength higher vampire.

Here, now, and with everything she possessed. 

That wasn’t a lot. Her magic was dwindling, and while she could conjure a passable weapon, she had neither the skill nor training to use it. 

The greatest hope was that the presence of two vampires was such anathema that the Holy Church would dispatch a band of murderous holy sisters to eradicate them both.

… Or failing that, the next pious option.

“You told me this place was hidden. But I can still see your ugly mug, Sourface.”

“Shaddup. If you can see mine, I can see yours. And it’s my eyes which are bleeding.”

“You’re both uglier than each other. Only thing not obvious is who’s dumber.”

“That’d be you, Lemmy. And maybe Patches as well.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely Patches. Man, who tries to steal a horse from behind? Good thing nothing important was lost.”

Specifically, the next, next, next pious option.

A small band of common brigands.

She heard it. The laughter. The cackling. The snorting.

A campfire and a group of rogues. 

It wasn’t her first choice. It wasn’t even her last choice. But Miriam was nothing if not open to assistance. Especially since there was a limit to how long she could maintain her form as a flock of bats without flying into a tree.

Without warning, she swept over the campfire and gathered herself together. 

Appearing in the midst of just four wide-eyed ruffians, she tugged at the hem of her pink pyjamas and offered a swift curtsey.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I apologise for the sudden interruption. I am in need. Have you by any chance stolen any artifacts, weapons or armour related to the Holy Church or with divine properties?”

The flames dimmed in the campfire, turning into embers as Miriam remembered to smile. 

The bandits gawped at her. 

And then–

“Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”

They ran.

Scrambling, tripping, screaming, the men darted like mice caught in the open. All except one. 

As he slipped on a perfectly dry patch of dirt, he instinctively threw the closest thing he had on hand as he desperately rushed to escape the mysterious bat girl in pyjamas.

A spoon.

Miriam idly flicked it away … yet to her surprise, it was just the tiniest bit cold. 

Ignoring the bandits, she looked down at the offering.

Not even a large spoon. But a spoon for desserts.

A thing so tiny it was used exclusively for eating pudding as slowly as possible. A standard tool used by nobility to extend conversation which all knew had to end the moment the last bite was consumed.

And it was … not silver.

Maybe there was a little bit in there. A thin coating, perhaps. A common trick used by blacksmiths or merchants whose customers were keen to purchase silver cutlery at an astonishing discount. 

Miriam blinked at it.

She tilted her head. She thought. She hummed. 

And then … she nodded confidently.

Yes.

This would do.

Miriam kneeled down at once. She picked up the slightly cold spoon and began to scribble right there on the ground. Not words, but symbols.

Hunching over the dirt the brigands had made, she recalled a scene permanently etched in  her memory. She knew she remembered correctly. As she drew, a feeling of immense nausea began to overtake her as though she were balancing on the deck of a swaying ship. 

Soon, that feeling of nausea became so intense she wanted to throw up. All the more so as she imbued every morsel of magic she possessed into the counterfeit silver spoon. 

She continued regardless, ignoring the aching of her tummy … and even the flapping of a pair of wings.

Master Harkus barely looked down as he landed right beside Miriam. 

“... Really?” he said, the disappointment clear in his voice. “Come now, Miriam. This is pitiful. Runes?”

Miriam paused.

Then, she leaned over and began drawing right between the man’s scuffed shoes.

“Runes,” she replied simply.

The master vampire rolled his eyes.

“Ugh. This is beneath you. Do you think any magic you perform is enough to harm me? I’m virtually immune to all the common elements. What do you hope to do? Destroy the rest of my attire?”

“Yes, but only because it comes naturally with destroying you as well.”

“Then you’ll need to try when you’ve learned how to perform blood magic. And perhaps once you’ve regained your senses as well. Your ascension into being a vampire has clearly addled something in your head. This is not why I chose to give you this gift.”

“I thought you turned me into a vampire because you had nothing else to do.”

“No, I turned you into a vampire because I chose you. I do not make thralls, Miriam. I made an exception. An exception I must continually remind myself of. I saw something in you. You did not seek power. But power is already inside you. I saw it. A spark of something unique. Something I couldn’t allow to wither away before your time had come. I saw in you the potential to become my protégé.”

“I see.”

Master Harkus looked aggrieved.

“That is not the correct response. I’m due to be raised to the table of the Nocturne Court. And any vampire who stands behind my fashionable new cloak is guaranteed to also be raised to the table of the Nocturne Court. That is how influence works.”

“I’m already a countess. And a librarian. That will do.”

“Not for me. Your aloofness was supposed to morph into cold unfeelingness as you threw away all your mortal desires. Not to disregard the world of shadows in order to indulge in terrible literature.”

Miriam briefly paused.

“The literature I read is marvellous,” she said, frowning. “They also contain villains far better than you.”

“I’m not here to serve as your entertainment. I’m here to do a job.” 

“You spend your days sleeping and drinking. You don’t have a job.”

Master Harkus’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I should be celebrating my triumphs. But because of your apathy, I now need to pick up the slack, wasting valuable time on a kingdom so insignificant I had to use a map to remember where it was. A map.”

He stomped his heel on a rune, smudging the soil beneath. Miriam immediately began fixing it. 

“In Rozinthe, I had to stop myself from flying into a mage tower constantly. In Granholtz, I went within 15 kilometres of the White Citadel and had to evade so much holy magic I thought they were catapulting sisters at me. But here? There isn’t a single landmark in this tiny speck of dirt. I cannot even boast about subjugating this worthless kingdom. What am I supposed to say when the next meeting of elders gather? 'Oh yes, I conquered the Kingdom of Tirea. The cows stood no chance against my machinations'. That is humiliating. See what I endure to fix your errors?”

Miriam looked up and smiled, her final work complete.

“I do not. But I’m afraid you’re due to be even more disappointed.”

“And why is that?”

“The runes I’ve drawn do not represent any of the common elements. They are holy runes.”

Master Harkus fell silent.

He then looked down, assessing the runes for the first time. His face promptly filled with outrage.

“Miriam! You drew holy runes?!”

“Yes.”

“That is … blasphemy! Do you not feel disgusted with yourself?!”

Miriam nodded.

“I do, actually. I feel rather ill.”

“That is nothing less than you deserve! And to what purpose? This isn’t just pitiable, it is ridiculous! What did you hope to do by etching out holy runes? You are not a sister!”

“No. But I became deeply acquainted with one during a spell of captivity … including her runes written beneath my very pillow. I’m confident these are accurate.”

“It doesn't matter if they are! These vile things do nothing but desecrate my reputation!”

“These runes were drawn by a silver instrument.”

Miriam raised her spoon. The master vampire looked like he was considering returning to his coffin to recover from the mental damage.

“That is worth less than a quill! You cannot imbue these runes!”

“Oh? … And what is your point?”

“My point? My point is exactly that! These runes are nothing more than disgraceful drawings! They are functionally worthless! I cannot believe I need to explain this. You are a vampire–by the laws of this world unable to perform holy magic. The very discomfort you experience now is proof of that!”

Miriam nodded.

“More.”

“What?”

“I am not very bright. Please use sound and logical arguments for why the runes will never under any circumstances activate and explode under us.”

The look she received was nothing short of overwhelming incredulity.

“Miriam,” he began, his voice almost softening from the sheer disbelief he was clearly feeling. “Holy magic is the antithesis of all we stand for. It’s the bane of our existence. Moreover, such a slapdash effort is terrible even if this was regular magic. You cannot just sketch on the ground and pray.”

Deciding that enough was enough, Master Harkus reached out as if to scoop up an errant house cat.

He stopped to wear a shocked expression instead.

Because at that very moment, white veins began to light all around him, ushering away the night.

“My hypothesis is correct!” Miriam clapped her hands excitedly in joy. “Oh, this explains so much! The patterns on these runes fall under the auspices of Lady Iessa, Goddess of Mirth! That means they’re also imbued by her hand and explode at her whims! Isn’t that wonderful?!”

The master vampire looked at her in horror.

“Well, I hope you're happy. You’ve successfully committed heresy.”

“I am, yes.”

“And how do you intend to escape from this? You are, at least on parchment, a vampire.”

Miriam shrugged.

“I’m blasphemous. I’ll pray.”

A moment later, the holy runes glowed more merrily than they did at the bottom of a mine.

And then everything exploded.