The summons came at dawn, delivered by a nervous page who wouldn't meet their eyes. Alex read the royal seal with growing understanding—not invitation, but command. The king wanted to see his "heroes" in the war room, immediately.
"Loyalty test," he said, passing the parchment to Nyt. "They've decided to see what we're actually willing to do."
Vlad cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the morning air. "About time. I was getting bored with all the talking."
The war room was a study in controlled chaos—maps spread across oak tables, wooden markers representing armies and resources, the physical manifestation of a kingdom's desperate calculations. King Aldric stood at the center, flanked by his military advisors. Dark circles under his eyes suggested sleepless nights, and his hands trembled slightly as he gestured toward the largest map.
"Millhaven," he said without preamble. "A border village, two days' ride north. Three weeks ago, they stopped sending tax collectors. Last week, our patrol found... remnants."
Sir Marcus stepped forward, his face grim. "Bodies in the streets. Houses burned. The survivors we found were... changed. They spoke of shadows that moved without light, of voices that whispered in languages that hurt to hear."
Alex studied the map, noting the village's position near the contested border with Valenhall. Too convenient. Too clean. "Changed how?"
"They couldn't remember their own names," Sir Marcus continued. "But they remembered fear. Perfect, crystalline terror, like it had been carved into their minds."
King Aldric's voice cracked slightly. "We need to know what happened there. Whether it was raiders, enemy agents, or..." He gestured helplessly. "Something else. Something that might spread."
"You want us to investigate," Nyt said, her voice carefully neutral.
"I want you to cleanse it," the king replied. "Whatever did this, it cannot be allowed to take root. The kingdom cannot afford another threat."
Alex felt the familiar cold satisfaction of pieces clicking into place. This wasn't about investigation—it was about disposal. Send the supernatural weapons to deal with the supernatural problem, and if they died in the process, well, that would solve a different political complication.
"And if we refuse?" he asked.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. King Aldric's advisors exchanged meaningful glances. Sir Marcus's hand moved unconsciously to his sword hilt.
"Heroes don't refuse," King Aldric said finally. "Do they?"
There it was—the implicit threat wrapped in moral obligation. Refuse, and they'd be branded as traitors. Comply, and they'd be tools in the kingdom's hands.
Alex smiled, the expression cold and calculating. "Of course not, Your Majesty. We live to serve."
The ride to Millhaven took them through dying countryside—abandoned farms, empty villages, fields left to rot while their owners fled south toward the capital's dubious safety. The kingdom's decay was visible in every mile, a slow collapse that no amount of political maneuvering could disguise.
"It's not what they think it is," Alex said as they crested a hill overlooking the village. Below them, Millhaven spread like a wound in the landscape—houses with gaping holes, streets empty except for scattered debris, the whole place radiating wrongness.
"How do you know?" Nyt asked, though she was already reaching out with her senses, probing the magical residue that clung to the ruins.
"Because if it was raiders or enemy agents, they'd have taken resources. Food, weapons, anything valuable. But look—" Alex pointed toward the village center, where a grain storehouse stood intact, doors hanging open to reveal sacks of wheat still stacked inside. "They left everything. This wasn't conquest. It was experimentation."
Vlad was studying the approaches, his expression focused. "Defensible position. Good sight lines. If something's still down there, we'll see it coming."
"And if it doesn't want to be seen?"
"Then we make it want to be seen." Vlad's smile was sharp with anticipation. "Pain has a way of drawing things out of hiding."
They descended toward the village as the sun reached its zenith, casting harsh shadows between the ruined buildings. The wrongness grew stronger with each step—not just the absence of life, but the presence of something that had never been alive at all.
"Magic," Nyt whispered, her fingers trailing silver light. "Old magic. Twisted. It's like someone took healing energy and inverted it, made it hungry."
Alex felt the patterns shifting in his mind, cause and effect chains snapping into focus. "Soulstone corruption. Someone's been experimenting with the same power source we've been exposed to, but they're pushing it past its breaking point."
"The survivors," Vlad said suddenly. "The ones who couldn't remember their names. They're still here."
Alex followed his gaze toward the village center, where figures were emerging from the shadows between buildings. At first glance, they looked human—upright posture, familiar silhouettes. But as they drew closer, the wrongness became obvious. Their movements were too fluid, too coordinated. Their eyes reflected light like polished metal.
"Test subjects," Alex realized. "Someone's been using this village as a laboratory."
"Who?" Nyt asked, but she was already gathering power, silver light coiling around her like living things.
"Does it matter?" Vlad stepped forward, his expression shifting into something predatory. "They're between us and answers. That makes them obstacles."
The first wave of corrupted villagers attacked without warning, moving with inhuman speed and coordination. Alex saw the battle unfold in his mind before it began—trajectories and probabilities, the mathematics of violence laid bare.
"Nyt, drain their power source," he called out, already moving toward higher ground. "Vlad, test their pain responses. I need to see the pattern."
What followed wasn't a battle—it was a dissection. Nyt's power reached out like hungry shadows, siphoning the twisted energy that animated the corrupted villagers. Each one she drained collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, their borrowed vitality flowing into her with visible satisfaction.
Vlad found the first group and began his grim work. Each strike he took made him stronger, each wound he inflicted taught him something new about their construction. By the time he'd fought through half a dozen opponents, he was moving with inhuman grace, his body a weapon honed by pain into something beyond human limitations.
Alex watched from his vantage point, cataloging everything. The corrupted villagers weren't random victims—they'd been selected, prepared, transformed according to some specific criteria. The magic that animated them had structure, purpose, design.
"Thirty seconds," he called down to his companions. "Someone's watching. We have thirty seconds before they decide whether to reveal themselves or retreat."
He was right. Twenty-eight seconds later, a figure stepped out of the largest building in the village center—a woman in traveling clothes, her face marked with the telltale signs of extended Soulstone exposure. Gray streaks in her hair, premature lines around her eyes, the slightly translucent quality of someone burning their life force for power.
"Impressive," she called out, her voice carrying clearly across the village. "I wasn't sure the summoned heroes would be quite so... pragmatic."
Alex climbed down from his perch, Vlad and Nyt moving to flank him. The woman watched their approach with professional interest, as if she were evaluating the results of an experiment.
"You're Valenhall," Alex said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm a researcher," she corrected. "Nationality is irrelevant when you're pursuing genuine innovation."
"Innovation?" Nyt's voice carried a dangerous edge. "You've been torturing people."
"I've been advancing our understanding of Soulstone integration beyond the crude applications your kingdom employs." The woman gestured toward the collapsed villagers. "These subjects achieved a 73% integration rate. In another generation, we'll have perfect synthesis—humans who can channel Soulstone power without the fatal degradation."
"By using innocent people as test subjects," Vlad said, and there was something in his voice that made the woman take a step back.
"Innocence is a luxury we can't afford," she replied, but her confidence was wavering. "The applications are too valuable. Imagine soldiers who can't feel pain, workers who don't need rest, citizens who live for centuries—"
"Citizens who aren't human anymore," Alex interrupted. "You're not advancing anything. You're just refining the process of creating monsters."
The woman's expression hardened. "Spoken like someone who's never had to make difficult choices. But then, you've been remarkably lucky, haven't you? Gifted with power, protected by royal favor, insulated from the real costs of survival."
"The real costs?" Vlad laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Lady, you have no idea what we've paid."
"Show me, then."
The challenge hung in the air between them. Alex could see the calculation in her eyes—she was buying time, preparing some final gambit. But she'd also genuinely curious about their capabilities, the kind of scientific interest that could override survival instincts.
"Vlad," Alex said quietly.
His brother's smile was terrible to see. "Finally."
What happened next was less a fight than a demonstration. The woman had power—significant Soulstone enhancement, years of careful cultivation. But she'd made the mistake of treating Vlad like a conventional opponent.
She struck first, channeling corrupted energy through her hands in a focused beam meant to disrupt his nervous system. Vlad walked through it like it was rain, his body converting the pain into strength, his mind processing the damage as fuel for greater violence.
Her second attack was more desperate—a wide-area pulse meant to incapacitate through overwhelming sensory input. Vlad absorbed that too, his movements becoming faster, more precise, more devastating.
By the time she tried to flee, it was far too late.
Alex watched the confrontation with clinical detachment, noting how efficiently Vlad adapted to each new form of attack. His brother was becoming something truly dangerous—not just powerful, but intelligent in his application of violence. The mindless berserker had evolved into something far more sophisticated and far more terrifying.
When it was over, they searched the village methodically. The researcher had been thorough—detailed notes on Soulstone corruption, advancement in human experimentation, correspondence with handlers in Valenhall. All of it useful intelligence, and all of it damning evidence of what they were capable of when necessity demanded pragmatic solutions.
"We should burn it," Nyt said, standing amid the scattered research materials. "All of it. Make sure no one else can continue her work."
"No," Alex said, already organizing the most valuable documents. "We take what's useful and burn the rest. Knowledge is power, and power is survival."
"That's exactly what she said," Vlad pointed out, wiping blood from his hands with mechanical precision.
"The difference is that we're not experimenting on innocent people."
"Aren't we?" Nyt's voice was quiet, but it carried clearly in the silence. "What do you think we've been doing to ourselves? To each other?"
Alex looked at his companions—Vlad, who'd just torn apart a human being with his bare hands and showed no sign of remorse; Nyt, whose power was literally parasitic, feeding on the magical energy of others; himself, who'd orchestrated the entire confrontation for maximum learning value.
"We're surviving," he said finally. "Whatever that requires."
The ride back to the capital was conducted in silence, each of them processing what they'd learned and what they'd done. The kingdom's corruption was deeper than they'd thought, the threats more sophisticated. But they'd proven themselves capable of handling those threats, even if the methods required were increasingly inhumane.
King Aldric was waiting for them in the throne room, surrounded by his advisors and several nobles Alex didn't recognize. The formal setting suggested this wasn't a debriefing—it was a performance.
"The heroes return," the king announced as they entered. "Victorious, I trust?"
"The threat has been neutralized," Alex reported, offering the researcher's documents. "Valenhall agents have been conducting magical experiments on your citizens. These are their research notes."
King Aldric accepted the papers, his face paling as he read. "Soulstone corruption. Human experimentation. Dear gods, what have they been doing?"
"Exactly what we've been doing," Vlad said quietly. "Just with different test subjects."
The comment sent a ripple of unease through the assembled nobles. Alex shot his brother a warning look, but the damage was done. The parallel had been drawn, and now everyone in the room was wondering exactly what kind of monsters they'd summoned to deal with their problems.
"The village?" King Aldric asked.
"Cleansed," Nyt replied. "The corrupted subjects have been put to rest. The facility has been destroyed."
"And the researcher?"
"She won't be continuing her work," Alex said simply.
King Aldric nodded slowly, though his expression remained troubled. "You've done well. The kingdom owes you a debt of gratitude."
"The kingdom owes us nothing," Alex replied. "We did what was necessary to survive in the world you summoned us into."
Another ripple of unease. Alex could see the nobles exchanging glances, the subtle shift in their postures. They'd wanted heroes—noble warriors who would solve their problems without disturbing their sensibilities. Instead, they'd gotten something else entirely.
"Nevertheless," King Aldric continued, "your service deserves recognition. We have prepared rewards—"
"We don't want rewards," Alex interrupted. "We want resources. Training. Access to the kingdom's magical archives. And we want honest information about what other threats we'll be expected to face."
"That's... not how these things are traditionally done," Sir Marcus said carefully.
"We're not traditional heroes," Vlad pointed out. "Traditional heroes would have died in that village."
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Alex could feel the weight of every gaze in the room, the calculations happening behind noble eyes. They'd proven their effectiveness, but they'd also proven their independence. They were powerful allies, but potentially dangerous enemies.
"We'll consider your requests," King Aldric said finally. "In the meantime, please accept the kingdom's gratitude. You've prevented a significant threat from spreading."
As they were escorted from the throne room, Alex caught sight of Ser Roderick near one of the side entrances. The spymaster's expression was thoughtful, almost pleased. The political implications of their performance hadn't been lost on him.
That evening, as they gathered in their common room to discuss the day's events, Alex found himself thinking about the researcher's words. The accusation that they were just as monstrous as their enemies, just better at justifying their actions.
"She wasn't wrong," Nyt said, as if reading his thoughts. "We are becoming monsters. The question is whether we can control what kind of monsters we become."
Vlad looked up from cleaning his weapons. "Does it matter? Monster, hero, weapon—they're just words. What matters is whether we're strong enough to survive what's coming."
"And what is coming?" Alex asked, though he thought he already knew.
"War," Vlad said simply. "Real war. Not political games or border skirmishes, but the kind of conflict that burns kingdoms to ash."
Alex nodded slowly. The researcher's work had been too advanced, too sophisticated for a simple border raid. Valenhall wasn't just testing defenses—they were preparing for something much larger.
"Then we need to be ready," he said. "Whatever it takes."
Outside their window, the capital continued its nightly dance of politics and intrigue, oblivious to the storm gathering on the horizon. In the distance, church bells marked the hours, their sound carrying across the darkness like a countdown to something inevitable.
The game was accelerating, and the stakes were rising with each passing day. But they'd proven they could adapt, could evolve, could become whatever the situation required.
The only question was whether they'd still recognize themselves when the transformation was complete.
But in the cold logic of survival, recognition was just another luxury they couldn't afford.
The kingdom had summoned heroes, but heroes were what they needed least. What they needed were monsters intelligent enough to choose their battles, powerful enough to win them, and ruthless enough to accept the costs.
And that, Alex reflected as he planned their next moves, was exactly what they were becoming.