NOVEL NEXT Volume 3 Prologue: Once More, With Feeling
Searing pain coursed through Calaf of Riverglen's left arm. The Brand, the inheritable marking that granted access to magic and the all-encompassing Menu, was run through by a knife. Blood seeped freely from the wound on the Paladin's wrist.
"C'mon. C'mon," his savior muttered, dragging Calaf along a calcified plaza.
The great demon-bone halls of the Church of the Menu's greatest, grand cathedral spun. Calaf was being carried, shoulder around his partner, with unclear memories of how he'd gotten here.
Healing magic. Most forms of on-Menu combat. Regular access to his Inventory. Even the most basic descriptions of items and elements of the outside world. All were cut off to Calaf so long as his Brand remained damaged.
A woman wearing an eyepatch hauled Calaf, bereft of much of his armor, down the mighty bleached steps of Demon Lord's Fall. Jelena. He'd recognize the name and face anywhere. Jelena Turandot, infamous outlaw. He'd been tasked with apprehending her once in the name of the church and justice. That had not gone as planned. Now an outlaw couple, the pair had attempted the greatest heist in written history: a raid on the centerpiece of church power.
The heist had gone unfathomably wrong, hence their current predicament. Maniacal laughter hounded the pair in their wake. A haughty voice yelled something, but Calaf could hardly focus upon the words.
Bede. A name flashed through Calaf's shock-riddled mind. The new archpope, leader of the church. Archpope Breakspear, he'd coined himself. He'd been able to control what elements of the Menu could be selected. Could select options for other Branded. Actively forced Calaf to select and attack--via slow strangulation--his own lover. Jelena would be dead now had Calaf not taken a knife to his own Brand.
The relic thief Jelena Turandot continued to flee, leaping down the last set of stairs and hauling Calaf along an exterior balcony.
The skull of the old Demon King, now a grand cathedral, loomed out over endless plains of volcanic fumaroles and uninhabitable marsh. Centuries of Menucraft by skilled artisans had carved walkways, balconies, and platforms into the mighty and towering demon skull. Immaculate carvings now lie ruined as a result of their battles in the wake of this botched heist.
"Zilara? Zilara!" Jelena cried.
Calaf groaned. Zilara was the last member in their posse with a functional Brand. Her healing would not work on the injured Paladin so long as his Brand was still damaged. They needed a specialist in flesh-mending and Brand repair, but every member of the clergy in a hundred leagues would be hostile!
I have to warn Jelena. He had to tell her to flee for her own sake.
"J-jelena," Calaf managed. Searing pain filled his body. "By the…"
Pain stopped him from continuing his sententce.
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"Keep moving," Jelena rasped. She urged the pair onward.
At least they had nowhere to head but down. Calaf lacked the strength to head up even a single flight of stairs. Calaf's spear and shield were gone, abandoned on the ground. Only Jelena carried some knives and firearms that could defend them from any church guards. If those failed to defeat a high-level member of the church militant, or even a fearsome Arbiter, then their escape attempt would be over as soon as it began.
"They're back to fighting in the council chambers!" Zilara said.
Zilara, the outlaw band's 'mage' equivalent and secret holy heiress, waited near their exit.
"Can you help carry him?" Jelena pleased.
But the holy child was too short to carry even a partially-armored Paladin. Jelena gazed at the ruined Brand.
"Times like this I wish…" Jelena's voice was hoarse.
What she meant by this was unknown to Calaf.
The one-eyed relic thief looked back upon the cathedral's ruined roof. "Enkidu! Fall back. We. Are. Leaving!"
Onward, the trio retreated. Calaf limped along, moving forward only due to Jelena's aid. His good arm was wrapped around her shoulders while his left arm lay lax at his side, trailing blood. Zilara took up the rear.
The ground shook, sending Calaf off balance and bringing their retreat to a stop. A wall high above them collapsed outwards over the Fellmarsh. Something—a figure or body run through by numerous blades—fell from the heights of the Demon Lord's Fall, though Calaf could not make out who or what.
The pair of women just managed to drag Calaf over a threshold back into the cathedral proper. Jelena fired a flintlock out the doorway at an encroaching Arbiter, then threw a mighty door made of Deepwood oak shut and swiftly barricaded it. Another endless flight of stairs awaited descent. Outside, the church's Arbiters pounded on the door. They'd never escape the cathedral, not so long as Jelena had to carry Calaf.
Jelena struggled to reload her flintlock. Blood from Calaf's wound caused the ammo and powder satchel to slip from her hands, and she swore.
Despite our outlaw status, I've never seen her curse quite like that, Calaf realized. Only in this most dire of circumstances…
The Paladin knew what he had to do.
Her hair was still done up in a pristine ballroom knot, though she'd ditched her party gown for more functional thieving gear. Her knot began to fray as she tried prying another layer of armor off Calaf's torso. Without the Menu, they couldn't unequip items en masse; she had to tear pauldrons and chainmail off piece by piece.
There was a thud as the Arbiters rammed the door. Wood splintered. They didn't have much time.
Calaf reached up and gently grazed below Jelena's cheek just before her eyepatch.
"Leave me," he begged.
Another crack in the door. Jelena looked back at the faltering barricade, then turned to Calaf with her eyes wide. She inhaled sharply, then stoically prepped and reloaded her flintlock.
"Never was going to be a happy ending to this life," Jelena said.
Sounds of the shattering door fell away as Calaf's head drooped. He'd lost too much blood. He lay, barely conscious, on the floor as Jelena aimed a gun at the shattering door.
"Doesn't have to be the end."
Calaf barely registered this speech, lapsing in and out of consciousness such as he was. It came from a youthful, younger figure. Zilara. The chamber seemed to warp and change. Already dizzy, Calaf felt as if he were being whisked away to a far-off place. If his Brand were working, he'd have the name of Zilara's Teleport spell logged for later examination. As it was, the dry demonbone stairwell transformed into a span of frigid rock caked in a flurry of snow.
"… glacier isn't the best place to ensure your survival..." the holy child added. "… but it's the only teleport point I've got, see?"
Winds howled, obscuring what remained of Calaf's senses.
The last thing Calaf heard before he lost consciousness was the door shattering. It felt far away now, as if at the end of a long hall. By the time the portal shut, Calaf was out of it, with only the vague sense that Jelena was dragging him through the snow in a desperate bid for shelter…