Brand-Bound: Hallowed Be The Menu [Rivals-to-Lovers Slowburn Fantasy Romance]

Calaf took point as the party neared a chiseled set of stairs heading further up the slain Demon King's skull-cathedral. The civilians and other thieves were not keeping pace, which was honestly for the best.

In every wide hall, the Arbitral Auxiliaries and mainline church guards did battle. A regular civil war had broken out, with Breakspear's loyal guards and the ecumenical council's garrison duking it out all over the cathedral. Barricades sat abandoned. With the attack starting within the Grand Cathedral, outward-facing barriers were useless.

"Psst." Zilara spoke into her porcelain snail. "Yonah. Hope you're still awake. Got one more target for ya."

The target designation marking Mikail was far to the east. It was still moving, so either the thief was still flying through the air or he'd stuck the landing.

Zilara whispered a few names into the Porcelain Communication Snail. For the longest time, nothing happened—perhaps Yonah could not find their targets on the list? But she said one last name as the group neared the top of a stairwell.

Calaf jumped up to the top of the stairs, and his shield blocked a stray crossbow bolt. No further attacks came for the group, for their foes were (for now) more interested in killing each other. Guards stabbed at each other between pews and on altars. Hunched-over figures lay dead in confessionary booths.

"Let 'em fight," Jelena said, then tapped Calaf on the shoulder. "Over there."

Another short stairwell led to the statuary hall. This was among the holiest areas in the church, but the actual worship facilities were mostly a façade; with the population of the Fellmarsh sparse, there was no need to tend to the faithful. The party herded their civilian charges and a few terrified fellow thieves into the statuary hall, then ran in and bolted the door shut.

A few dozen worried figures huddled in a four-clover room. Statues of the ancient heroes stood in the wings. Sonds of battle continued even through the thick door.

"Hey. That's not the scout!" said a faithful conclave-goer.

In the wing of the 'Scout' sat a statue of Gustavo depicted as a typical Port Town longshoreman type. Unlike all other statues of the Olde Heroes, however, this was labeled thus:

Gustavo: The Thief.

"Those holy dire-rats!" Jelena said. "They knew all this— argh!"

Zilara whistled. The upper echelon of the church did not bother with any whitewashing of the Thief's sinful nature. In Riverglen and Japella and everywhere else where there was a church mission, it was Gustavo the Scout. Thievery was sinful. Evidently, the church upper echelons did not need the white lie.

"What was that archpope who met with Gustavo's thinking machine?" Zilara asked.

Calaf shrugged. It made sense that the ecumenical council knew of Gustavo's true nature. Hell, maybe the church knew all along. Curious that an at-the-time bishop left the thinking machine alone after prying it for secrets, though.

The other statues were far grander than any equivalent down the path. Roland's statue depicted the Paladin with a mighty lance embedded into the statue's pedestal. Through the hidden gospels, they knew this was the moment of Roland's sacrifice, the slaying of the demon king. Normally, Roland was active and mid-battle, gladius in one hand and kite shield in the other.

Mia was sitting upon a throne, the opposite of her humble priestess persona. Even in this statue, a forlorn countenance persisted even as she sat in triumph, slayer of the demon horde and mother of the church.

Aldia's statue was twice as detailed as any standard Battlemage figure, standing on the Fellmarsh moors in heavy robes. Unlike the other three heroes and figures of Aldia further down the route, this statue's face was obscured by the hood of his robes. The church pecking order was discernible at a glance: Mia and Roland, parents of a long line of Archpopes and the founding couple of the church, while Gustavo was less in focus and Aldia more obscure still.

The party waited until the din of combat receded into the distance. Then they had Calaf peek out and take a look.

"Nobody is left alive," he reported.

High-level combat became an endurance match, with Demon Lord's Fall guards and Bede's auxiliaries shaving off their considerable HP pools. There was a bevy of dead warriors to loot for high-tier armor, if Calaf dared loot a corpse on this holy ground.

He wasn't that corrupted by a life outside the law yet, and his more agile desert armor came with advantages. Calaf remained at the mid-sixties level-wise, not an environment where he wanted to trade blows with a level eighty guard.

The civilians were left behind in the statuary hall, instructed to bunker down until the storm had passed and then make for the caravan wagons and caravans down below the Demonhead. There, they could try and make their escape to the relative anonymity of the capital.

"Battles continue up above," he said.

Suddenly, Zilara let out a strange hooting sound. "Got it! Look at that!"

Another Target marker pointed straight up through the ceiling. To the top of the Demon Lord's Fall.

"Couldn't find the Arbiters, apparently," Zilara explained. "But we've got the next best thing."

"Bede?" Calaf guessed.

The young girl nodded. "Who else?"

The high perch on which their target sat was up in the carved-out inner sanctums of the Demonhead. Near where that weak point would have lay in the past. The upper wards of the cathedral loomed like a crown chiseled directly into the skull.

A twisted smile stretched across Jelena's face.

"Get out there, head for the throne."

Holding the Archpope ransom for safe passage out of the church's innermost stronghold was an insane plan. A Jelena plan. But until they could confirm that the big four Arbiters weren't standing beneath the Demon King's gaping maw, waiting to slay anyone who came out, it was the only plan they had.

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A major problem: there was no telling if Bede was still archpope or would remain so by the time they reached the top floors.

The ecumenical council controlled three floors above the proper cathedral ward. They'd forced Bede's cutthroats further up.

"Seal them off. Break through to the council chambers!" Bellowed a level 90 Paladin.

All defenses were now pointed upward, besieging the upper levels. They could attack from behind, but the ecumenical guards would be a tough hurdle to clear alone.

"I was hoping they'd be distracted," Calaf said.

They skirted around the active site of siege and snuck in through a side annex. It was on this next floor that the battle lines were more fluid.

"Push them back!" yelled a commander of one faction or the other.

"Hey, at least for now, they seem more interested in killing each other!" Zilara said.

"Halt!" yelled a church guard, immediately. "Die, servants of the anti-archpope!"

A pair of level eighty-five knights approached. Calaf prepped his shield and prepared for battle… Only, by the time he lumbered forward to block a blow, Enkidu had already struck the pair down.

"Let us get a hit in, at least," Zilara grumbled.

A fierce, three-way melee ensued. Calaf blocked what hits managed to get past the rabid swings of Enkidu's chipped gladius. Zilara threw out the odd lightning bolt, mostly to tag a guard to leech experience.

"Heheh, Movin' up," she said, having dinged level 54.

A group of arbitral auxiliaries busted down a door, having opened a new front on the floor. Jelena and the company let the cathedral guards weather the initial blow before moving in and cutting down anyone who was left.

"Link up with the councilors' personal garrisons!" bellowed a commander. "Then, secure the top levels and drive them from the skull."

Battle lines were, of course, by rank and title under the Menu. Armor past level-80 was all stone-sheet hauberks and flowing mage robes—it would be hard for a layperson not Of the Menu to tell who was on whose side. Calaf had no such problem, and expertly led the party to join battles where they could pick off a weakened 'victor', or exploit the chaos to just run on through either way.

"Honey, dear, you're not going to like this," Jelena said, her back to Calaf.

Calaf paused to block and strike a Battlemage arbiter type with his spear. "Yes?"

"Today's the anniversary of when we met!" Jelena said.

"What?" Calaf stabbed at another foe, a fellow Paladin. "No, it's not!"

Surely Calaf had not forgotten. Was this some feint? To remind Calaf that he was bunking with the murderer of Prior Yordan? It worked; his next shield bash left his higher-level foe reeling from sheer force of adrenaline.

"Think longer-term!" Jelena did an acrobatic flip using Calaf's shoulders as a base (without warning) and jabbed a dagger through the shoulder plates of his rival Paladin.

"Watch out!" Calaf blocked a sword from another knight, who Jelena then shot with a riposte.

The thief held up some fingers on her good hand, with a few from her offhand. Then, she used said off-hand to fling a knife into an approaching Fighter class.

"Oh," Calaf said, mentally kicking himself.

Pilgrimage season did not start on a set date every year. It was delayed at present due to the archpope elections and the late unpleasantness. Last year, it was on schedule, and the anniversary passed a few weeks ago as they were trudging through the hinterlands. Many years ago, when Calaf was a fresh-faced sewer gate guard, it had been delayed exactly two weeks.

There, one of the earliest parties at the Riverglen sewers belonged to some fresh-faced converts from the desert. A newly-Branded Jelena did (accidentally) charm him temporarily.

Calaf felt blood rise in his cheeks for reasons other than the heat of combat.

"Eh, that's one anniversary that's not bittersweet," he managed, feeling a little cockier than usual.

They just had to hope they survived for the proper anniversary a few months from now…

Onward the group climbed. All battles converged towards a chamber just above the Demon King's twin empty eye sockets. Outward-facing balconies and windows sent an armor-piercing breeze cutting through Calaf's armor. Still, the rhythm of combat kept him from getting cold.

"Getting close," Enkidu said. "They would have used the Old Lord's empty skull cavity for their council chambers."

"Just how would you know that?!" Jelena said.

Before an answer could be had, the group saw a half-dozen injured cathedral guards fleeing out into the hall.

"Not the arbiter. Repeat, he's not with the arbiters! It's someone else!"

They noticed the party inbound and quickly fled the other way. In a state of rout, they did not care whether they were fleeing right into hostile auxiliary lines. A back door to the ecumenical council's chambers was unguarded.

"Huh, thought the council would have more control of their own chambers," Jelena said as they approached the door.

Within, the front doors remained heavily barricaded, but were being pounded on by siege weaponry, at the opposite end of the room. The council was circular, with an acoustic speaking platform on the lowest level, at the bottom of the 'bowl.' A whisper was audible across the entire room.

A figure waved a stat-intensive obsidian slab-sword threateningly at the lone remaining guard captain.

"What do you mean, 'he turned off their breathing abilities?'"

Even at the low tenor of an interrogation, the party easily heard Oromund's voice.

It was then that Zilara tugged at Calaf's spear-arm. He looked over to notice the Ecumenical Council, slumped over in their chairs. He examined one…

"They're dead…" Calaf said softly.

Oromund turned around, still holding the cathedral guard captain in his chokehold.

"Found 'em like this. Guards were as confused as I was." Oromund gestured to some bisected knights on the floor. "Some still stood and fought. Some."

"Did the new archpope turn off their ability to breathe!?" Zilara said, incredulous.

"That appears to be the case," Oromund said. "At any rate, my vengeance was spoken for before I ever entered the room."

It was impossible to tell whether the warrior was disappointed or impressed by this fact. Calaf didn't press the issue.

"How's that guy still alive?" Zilara asked, motioning to the guard captain.

Oromund shrugged, then tossed the guard haphazardly across the aisle.

The ability to turn off Menu abilities like that… Can it only target specific classes? Or maybe specific classes at once? Calaf mulled it over. Whatever Bede was doing, it couldn't just instantly kill every armed opponent in the cathedral. At least not without also killing his own men, Calaf hoped.

The front doors buckled again. Barricades would not hold.

"You have to help us take this Bede guy down," Jelena implored Oromund. "This power is insane. Who knows what he's planning?"

"My job here is done." Oromund frowned.

The guard captain rose to his feet, pulled out a combat knife, and swung at Oromund. Oromund countered without even turning around, swatting the captain with his slab-sword. The foe's torso was sent flying away, while his bottom half did not.

Oromund strode out towards the back door.

"Wait." Calaf grabbed his sword arm on the way out. "If you're leaving, there's a group of civilians down in the statuary hall. Escort them to safety, please."

"As you wish," Oromund said, voice neutral. "I'll be in the area, might as well."

"It's what your mother would have done." Calaf cracked a grin.

This left Calaf's party to weather whatever was breaking down the door all alone. They were prepared with smoke bombs and flash bangs for a hasty retreat should the full force of the arbitral auxillary rush in.

One last mighty bang sent the door not so much crashing inward as it was disintegrated. A battering ram of pure translucent gold filled the room—a barrier!

"Alright, how many have we got?" Zilara asked from behind the cover of a councilor's desk. "Prepping fireballs for all of you!"

No army of auxiliaries walked through the door. Just four figures.

"What, not the army? I was hoping to take you all on!" Zilara said, though it was questionable whether she believed her own hype.

"Worse," Enkidu said.

"Ah, well, it's as those auxiliaries said," came the lazy accent of an Autumn's Redoubt layabout.

The room shook as a Paladin's heavy boots stomped into the central aisle. A comically long blade barely fit through the door. And taking up the rear was a barely visible silhouette of a figure strumming a stat-boosting song on a mithril ruan.