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Jack leaned over the sickbed, his eyes scanning the frail form of the child before him. The boy’s skin was a sickly pallor, so pale it seemed almost translucent in the dim light of the infirmary. Jack’s brow furrowed as he made careful notes on a piece of parchment.

“Subject appears severely emaciated,” he muttered, quill scratching across the paper. “His flesh clings to his bones like a tattered shroud, most notably in his arms and legs. In some places, the stark architecture of his skeleton pushes through the veil of his skin.”

He gently lifted the child’s arm, noting how light it felt. It was as if something had hollowed the boy out from within, leaving only a fragile shell behind. Jack’s lips pressed into a thin line as he continued his examination. Without intervention, the child’s fate was clear—death would claim him soon.

Setting aside his initial observations, Jack turned to the stack of reports gathered from across the affected region. His eyes darted back and forth as he absorbed the information, searching for patterns and anomalies.

Curious, he thought. Those who succumbed within the first hour of infection account for all recorded fatalities. The remaining cases show varying degrees of illness, but no further deaths.

Jack tapped his quill against his chin, thoughtful. This wasn’t behaving like the Blight they’d recently conquered. That pestilence had been relentless, consuming all in its path. This new affliction seemed more... selective.

It’s as if the disease lies dormant, Jack mused. Then activates simultaneously across all infected with some kind of a trigger. But why? And how?

He stood, pacing the length of his makeshift laboratory. The questions multiplied with each step. What was the source of this sickness? What did its creator hope to achieve? Was it a corruption wrought upon some common ailment, or something crafted by malevolent hands?

The latter, likely. Just like the Blight.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jack approached the table laden with samples. Vials of blood, urine, and saliva stood in neat rows. Chunks of diseased flesh floated in preservative fluids. He activated a complex spell construct, feeling the familiar tingle of mana as arcane energies coalesced around him.

Suddenly, Jack found himself peering into a world beyond normal sight. The spell allowed him to perceive matter at an impossibly small scale, revealing secrets invisible to the naked eye.

He started with a drop of blood, watching in fascination as it expanded before him. The familiar sight of red orbs came into focus, but something was amiss. Interspersed among the healthy vitae were... something else.

“By the gods,” Jack breathed, leaning closer.

Tiny, crystalline structures floated in the blood. They reminded him of snowflakes, each one a perfect, symmetrical shape. But these were no mere ice crystals. As he watched, one of the structures latched onto a sphere. It seemed to pulse, and before Jack’s eyes, the it began to wither and shrink.

“It’s feeding,” he realized.

Jack quickly examined the other samples, finding similar structures in varying concentrations. In the flesh samples, he observed clusters of the crystals nestled between muscle fibers, slowly consuming the surrounding tissue.

As he studied the creatures—for he was certain now that these were living things, not mere chemical aberrations—Jack noticed something peculiar. The crystals in the blood samples seemed to be orienting themselves, as if drawn by some unseen force.

“They’re migrating,” he muttered, tracing their path. “But where...”

He moved from the samples and onto the boy. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The heart. They were making their way to the heart from various parts of the body.

Jack’s mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. These crystalline beings absorbed from their host, growing and multiplying. Once they reached a certain threshold—perhaps a critical mass—they began their journey to the heart. There, he theorized, they would congregate and... mate? Reproduce? The specifics eluded him, but the implications were clear. After this process, a new wave of infection would spread throughout the body.

“It’s a cycle,” Jack said, slumping back in his chair. “A perfect, terrible cycle of consumption and reproduction.”

The magnitude of the problem before him was staggering. How could he possibly combat an organism that integrated itself so thoroughly into its host? Traditional remedies would be useless—any cure potent enough to eradicate the invaders would likely kill the patient as well. And this time, it wasn’t even a problem of mana. This disease infected everyone alike. Aside from Lord Theodore and everyone in the manor, including Jack.

What’s the difference? The answer may lie in said difference.

And there were so many unknowns. How did the initial infection occur? What triggered the dormant crystals to activate? Was there a way to prevent their reproduction cycle, or to safely remove them from the body?

Jack rubbed his temples, feeling the onset of a headache. “How the fuck am I going to fix this shit?” he groaned.

He would need to develop a way to detect the presence of the crystals before they became active. Then, he’d need to find a method to either destroy them without harming the host or to safely extract them from the body. And all of this assumed he could determine the source of the infection and prevent its spread. It’ll be best to simply remove it from the root. I need to find said root, first, though.

With a heavy sigh, Jack reached for a fresh piece of parchment. There was another matter to attend to. Jack dipped his quill in ink and began to write:

“To Lord Theodore Lockheart,

I hope this message finds you well. I write to you with a matter of utmost urgency regarding the rogue [Necromancer] we discussed previously. I have managed to ascertain his location and believe swift action is necessary.

The individual in question goes by the name Malakai. He was last seen in the abandoned village of Thornhaven, approximately three days’ ride northeast of our current location. Local reports suggest he has taken up residence in the ruins of the old temple there.

Malakai is described as a tall, gaunt man with long, silver hair and eyes of an unnatural violet hue. He is known to wear dark robes adorned with bone fetishes and carries a staff topped with a crystalline skull. Witnesses report seeing him in the company of several animated corpses, suggesting his necromantic powers are considerable.

However, he has yet to harm anyone from the village. Which is proving to be rather strange.

Regardless, I cannot stress enough the danger this man poses. His experiments with death magic have already caused significant harm to the surrounding area, and I fear what he may accomplish if left unchecked. The longer he remains at large, the greater the risk to innocent lives.

I humbly request that you use whatever means are at your disposal to neutralize this threat. Malakai must be stopped.

I remain at your service and eagerly await news of your success in this matter.

Your faithful employee,

Jack”

Jack rolled up the parchment, sealed it with wax, and summoned a raven to deliver it to Lord Theodore. With that task complete, he turned back to his notes and samples, steeling himself for the long night of research ahead.

The crystalline invaders swam before his eyes as he peered once more through the spell. Jack observed their movements, noting how they seemed to pulse with an inner light, having “eaten” their fill—they were migrating to the heart. It was almost beautiful, in a terrifying way.

He watched as one of the crystals approached a healthy vitae. It extended what looked like tiny, glassy tendrils, latching onto its prey. The vitae seemed to shudder, and Jack could almost imagine he heard a microscopic scream as the crystal began to drain it.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, making rapid notes. “They don’t simply consume. They... transform.”

Indeed, as the crystal fed, it began to change shape. What started as a simple geometric form grew more complex, developing facets and planes.

It’s a parasite.

Jack’s quill flew across the parchment as he documented his observations. The crystals seemed to go through distinct stages of development. In their earliest form, they were nearly undetectable, lying dormant within the host. Once activated—by some trigger he had yet to identify—they began to feed and grow.

As they matured, their structure became more intricate. Jack hypothesized that this increased complexity allowed them to absorb energy more efficiently from their surroundings. But it was the final stage that truly alarmed him.

The fully mature crystals were things of terrible beauty. And they moved with purpose, inexorably drawn towards the heart.

“But why the heart?” Jack mused aloud. “What makes it so crucial to their lifecycle?”

He had theories, of course. The heart was the center of the body’s circulation, the perfect place from which to spread a new generation of invaders. But he suspected there was more to it than simple practicality.

As the moonlight began to creep through the windows, Jack rubbed his tired eyes. He had a long road ahead of him. But as he looked at the sleeping form of the sick child nearby, he grew thoughtful for a moment.

“I will solve this,” he promised quietly. “Whatever it takes, I will find a way.”

***

Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, brow furrowed in deep thoughts. The encounter with Lyra in his dream left him feeling unsettled and on edge.

So, Lyra is a Night Whisper, he thought to himself, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

The Night Whispers. Perhaps they sought to overthrow the current power structures, using their supernatural abilities to manipulate key figures—who knew how many more succubuses there were with the Night Whispers? It couldn’t only be Lyra. Knowing men, it would be easy to play them like a fiddle especially given that the succubus were good with this stuff.

Ethan’s frown deepened as he contemplated the implications. If Lyra’s story of enslavement was true, it suggested a long-standing conflict between humans and her, or, more specifically, the members of the Night Whispers in the past. The Night Whispers could be a resistance movement, fighting against perceived oppression.

But their methods, if Lyra was any indication, were far from good.

How many people in positions of power were already under their influence? Were there Night Whispers in the royal court, whispering in the ears of nobles and shaping policy? The thought sent a chill down his spine.

They could be behind the recent unrest with the barbarians, Ethan mused. Stirring up dissent, exploiting existing tensions... it would explain a lot of the chaos we’ve been seeing.

He also considered the possibility that the Night Whispers might be connected to the [Necromancer] Jack was talking about.

If his suspicions were correct, they were playing a long game, slowly building influence and power while remaining largely undetected.

“Makes sense,” he muttered, shaking his head. The pieces were starting to fit together, forming a troubling picture of the forces at work behind the scenes.

Ethan shuffled out of bed, grimacing at the feeling of sweat-dampened clothes clinging to his skin. The intensity of the dream-encounter had left him feeling physically drained, as if he’d actually been fighting for his life.

A familiar sensation on his arm drew his attention. Opie coiled around his forearm. Fully awake. Tongue flicking out to taste the air. Ethan couldn’t help but smile at the creature’s presence.

“At least I know I can trust you, little one,” he said softly, gently stroking the snake’s scales.

With a heavy sigh, Ethan made his way to the bath chamber. He desperately needed to wash away the lingering unease from his encounter with Lyra, hoping the cool water might help clear his mind. As he prepared for his bath, Ethan’s thoughts continued to churn. He knew he’d have to be extremely careful moving forward. The Night Whispers were clearly a force to be reckoned with, and he had no doubt they’d be keeping a close eye on him now.

He considered his options. Should he try to gather more information about the Night Whispers? Warn others about their existence? Or would that only paint a target on his back? Perhaps it would be wiser to keep this knowledge to himself for now, at least until he had a better understanding of the players involved and their true motives.

One thing was certain—he needed to strengthen his defenses against mental manipulation. The [Psionic Resistance] skill had saved him this time, but Ethan knew he couldn’t rely solely on that. He’d need to find ways to train and improve his mental fortitude if he hoped to stand against beings like Lyra in the future.

I’ll talk to Derrick about this in our next lecture.

As he sank into the cool water of the bath, Ethan allowed himself a moment of respite.

Tomorrow, he’d need to deal with Baron Montague.

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AN: Man, I really love working on this disease stuff. As in, it's fun to create the inner workings, lay them bare, then try to find solutions through Jack.