The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 10: Hellspawn

“Demons, Hellkyn, Beyonders, Soulshit, don matter what ya call ‘em. They made of pain and wanna share it. Pity any blighter in der path. But tat not the worst part. Worse part of ‘em is you know someone crazy, stupid, or evil set the thing loose in the world. Demons be born from our sins and brought ‘ere by more sin. Prolly for no gooda reason than some coin or more inches on a cock. Jag em and the stupid jagging cults who call em.” - words of (self-taught) Exorcist Fergus of Fallstone.

Cole and the Guards waited in the alley until a Mortuary coach could arrive and take the body. Alia Cat-Eyes found time to make a few derisive comments on Cole’s inability to magically preserve the victim like Priestess Mina apparently could. The Paladin paid them little mind. Cole had enough on his mind discussing his findings with Iron-Teeth.

“I’m going to investigate the Under-Building and see what's down there. Will you and your subordinates help?” Cole asked.

Iron-Teeth ground his metal replacements together as he contemplated the options. “Aye, let me get word to the Court, and I’ll grab some of my subordinates with any tunnel fighting experience.”

Frowning, Cole asked, “You think this will come to steel that quickly?”

Grunting, Iron-Teeth shrugged. “Normally, no, but you seem to be a magnet for trouble. I’d rather have my boys and girls bored and over-equipped than dead.”

Cole almost smiled at that. “It’s part of being a Paladin. The Gods send us where we are needed, and where we are needed is rarely pleasant.”

They followed behind the Mortuary Coach, returning to the Guard Tower. As its unadorned bulk came into sight, Cole remembered the Noble and his words. “Why haven’t you told people we don’t think the killer is Werefolk?”

A flicker of something that might have been anger crossed the hardy dwarf Captain’s face. “I can’t. The City would rather keep people ignorant than be wrong. The policy is to never share information on something like this till it's resolved. Normally I agree… but every night, I have another incident. I had a leatherworker on Krute street with some Wolfblood whose windows were all smashed in. We’ve had to break up four different bar brawls. Each started because someone took exception to some visiting Werefolk drinking with them. And just this Freeday I had a Werefolk laborer beaten bloody and left for dead not a hundred meters from the Guard Tower.”

Frowning at that worrying news, Cole gained more respect for the overworked Guard-Captain. As the Mortuary Coach pulled away, heading for the Temple. Cole followed Iron-Teeth into the crowded waiting room. While the members of the crowd had mostly changed, its size hadn’t diminished. Apparently, word of the newest murder had somehow reached the gaggle of petitioners and complainers. Their shouts and mutters had reached new unpleasant heights.

Someone recognized Iron-Teeth, and soon the entire crowd was facing Cole and the Guards. A hundred different questions came from as many throats. Some sane and reasonable, but most were not.

“Did you catch the Mutt responsible?”

“Is it my Daughter?! Oh God, please tell me it's not my daughter!”

“Who’d you bribe to get this job, you jagging Dwarf?”

“I know who the killer is! It's Jormy on Vilgar Street! He smells like a wet dog and stole my laundry!”

“The Dark Moon Cult of the Mutts is to blame! They are taking our young folks’ hearts as offerings to the Lord of Gore!”

Despite his small stature, Iron-Teeth had no problem pushing through the crowd. A boulder rolling through a forest, cleaving through taller trees as if they weren’t there. Quiet rage and brutish resolve cowed even the most obsessed citizens. As the City Watch members and Cole passed through the crowd and reached the Guard Desks, a curious sound echoed over even the crowd's murmur.

“Pitoo”

A glob of phlegm splattered onto Cat-Eye’s left foot. No one moved as a hundred sets of eyes went to the City-Warden and to a red-faced man who’d spat at her. Shaking with rage, the man pointed at Alia.

“Dis is why they haven’t caught the monster who killed my son! One of dem is in the Guard! Dey been corrupted by a sneaking catblood!”

Shutting his eyes, Cole let out a slow even breath as an incredibly tense silence fell over the chamber. The mourning father and an expressionless Cat-Eyes stared each other down. Mind-warping grief and righteous outrage sparking off each other. Looking at the angry citizen, Cole saw the blotchy face and twitchy temperament of someone not entirely there. Loss had taken much of this man’s sense. He’d become a burning match ready to ignite the entire city.

Cole looked to Iron-Teeth, whose own expression was set in a stony glare. The Captain’s fingers rested on his weapon’s hilt, every muscle in his body taut with tension. Iron-Teeth had his hands tied in what he could do to resolve this matter. Cole was not so easily trammeled.

Taking another deep breath, Cole called upon the spark of divinity enmeshed with his soul. Calling on the Cold of Entropy was taxing and dangerous. A little mundane cold wouldn’t be too hard. Exhaling a small stream of icy vapor, Cole felt the temperature in the chamber drop drastically. Icy Fog plumed out from Cole, the end of his cloak dripping with frost as the bitter chill billowed out from him. The pressure of all those eyes fell upon Cole as he pulled back his hood and showed his brutalized face to the nascent mob.

Like a single creature, the crowd moved away from him, seeing his shredded face and piercing eyes. Unsheathing his axe, Cole spun it in both hands, the weapon transforming into a mighty halberd as he did. Slamming the butt of the weapon onto the cold stone and sending a wave of mist out from him, Cole swept his gaze across the simmering mob.

“I am Paladin Cole, servant of Master Time. Honor and Steel sworn Rest-Bringer. Tasked with protecting the living and the dead. Hear my words now and know the weight carried by them!”

Spinning slowly so his iron-hard expression was visible to all, Cole held up his halberd. “You all have been poisoned. Sacred grief has curdled into hate and fear. You seek to shed blood and dishonor your fallen loved ones through this foolishness.”

Once he made one full rotation, Cole let his eyes fall upon the red-faced man. A grieving father consumed by his worst instincts. Meeting the man’s eyes, Cole could literally see the man wilt under the intensity of the Paladin’s stare. He deserved compassion; a parent should never bury a child. But he also deserved a rebuke; lashing out like he had was foolish and dangerous.

In a cold clear voice, Cole continued his pronouncement. “I’ve come to Vindabon to help end these Murders. Innocent people have had their lives stolen by a Monster loose in this city. Despite what you have heard, no evidence points to the Werefolk. I know you are afraid; it is natural to be in the face of such cruelty. But I ask you to not let that fear overwhelm you. Just tonight, we have made key discoveries in hunting this Monster. Know the City Watch has not been idle, and neither have the Gods. A debt of stolen time will be settled soon. That is my oath.”

The chill Cole summoned started to fade, and he shrunk his halberd back to axe size. He’d need to blood it again soon, but his increased practice with the enchantment was paying off. The cowed mob parted for him and the Guards. Cole and the others left the waiting room and quickly ascended the stairs. Entering a meeting room with chalkboards covering the walls and reams of paper crowding the main desk. On one chalkboard, a crude map of Weinstadt was drawn. A number of red Xs marked places Cole guessed were murder sites. This must be the proverbial war room for the 13th District Watch.

Flatly, Iron-Teeth asked. “What the Slag was that?”

Cole shrugged. “You aren’t allowed to tell them what we’ve uncovered. I am under no compulsion.”

Clenching his jaw, the Guard Captain growled. “I don’t know if I should thank you or punch you, Paladin.”

Taking off his cloak and setting his pack down, Cole sighed. “Believe me, I’d rather have kept my identity secret. But I’ve seen enough angry mobs to see a spark point. A grieving father mad enough to attack a City Guard? Nothing good would have come from ignoring it or the Watch interfering.”

Iron-Teeth sneered: “Are you now some expert on mob violence? Your actions could easily make things worse.”

In response, Cole pulled up his tunic slightly to reveal a long scar running from the right side of his stomach to his back. “Pitchfork.” Next, he parted his hair to show a trio of marks on his scalp, “thrown rocks.” Then he rolled up a sleeve and pointed to a burn covering his elbow. “Torch”

“I’m no expert in mob violence. I just have plenty of experience with it.” Cole remarked in an atypically deadpan tone.

Darvy tried to whistle, a hard thing to do with a bandaged mouth. Creating a strange slobbering noise that dissolved into a groan. Alia Cat-Eyes just looked at the Captain and shrugged. “It wasn’t the dumbest thing to do. Better to try and fail to smother that fire than let it blaze out of control.”

Cole exchanged a nod with the City Warden. Perhaps coming to her defense diluted the venom she seemed to reserve for him. Iron-Teeth seemed unconvinced but wasn’t willing to push the matter. Sitting down at the large table, Iron-teeth grabbed a blank scrap of paper and started writing something on it.

It didn’t take him long, and he folded it up and handed it to Darvy. “Take this to the Tenth Temple. I want them to be kept informed of things. Hopefully, with our Paladin here helping, they’ll still be willing to aid us even if the killer isn’t Undead.”

Darvy nodded and took the note. Cole rifled through his pack and found the three books for Natalie. “Lieutenant, if it's not too much hassle, would you mind taking these to the Temple as well.”

Darvy took each volume and gave Cole a curious look. A little embarrassed, Cole looked away. “They are for Natalie, a gift.”

An amused snort escaped the Lieutenant, but he took the books all the same and left. Iron-Teeth pointed to Cat-Eyes then. “Grab Fargo and see if Temir is up for some fun. Then get equipped for our Warren dive.”

The City Warden nodded and went to work. Iron-Teeth then looked at Cole with deadly serious eyes. “I don’t know what's down there. It could be nothing. It could be the Adversary and the Knights of Apollyon, for all I know. So before we go, I need to know you will do everything in your power to keep my boys and girls safe. They’ll die to protect one another. Can I expect the same from you?”

Cole had to suppress a smile. Oh, if the Captain only knew. “Of course.”

Nodding, Iron-Teeth jabbed a stubby finger toward the door. “Washroom third door to the left. Make any preparations you need.”

Cole grabbed his pack and left the Captain. In the small washroom, he got to work. The bandolier, as Emma the Smith had called it, fit some of the powders and potions he’d bought well enough. While the armor slipped on surprisingly easily. The leather jack needed a little adjustment on his shoulders, but it still fit him well enough. While the pants seemed perfect. Flexing in the light armor, Cole was impressed with how well the Smith had guessed his proportions. Feeling the armor, Cole was surprised at how comforting its weight was. The strips of metal mixed with the tough leather was something he could get used to.

The armored boots fit decently enough. Cole just needed to pad the heels a little. While the gauntlets slipped on like… well, a glove. Before he fastened them in place, Cole took the gauntlets off and set up one of his new tricks. Strips of alchemically treated leather covered his hands. Binding his amulet to his left palm and his spark-stone to the right. Leaving enough of each exposed to bloody them if need be, Cole pulled the gauntlets on. Divine ice in one hand, magical fire in the other.

Leaving the washroom, Cole followed the sound of voices into an armory of sorts. Cat-Eyes, Iron-Teeth, a large Orcblood Cole vaguely remembered, and an unusually tall dwarf greeted him. The Orcblood paused, putting on the chainmail he’d been messing with, and went over to Cole.

Grinning, the Orc slapped Cole on the shoulder. “It’ll be good to fight by your side, Paladin! If you hit these hellscum half as hard as you hit me, then we’ll be good as grass!”

Glancing at the still visible knob of swollen flesh on the Orcbloods forehead, Cole realized who he was talking to. “Ah… Sorry about the… low blow.”

The Orcblood just laughed. “Ha! You hit me like a falling boulder. No hard feelings. I saw your woman. I’d have agreed to wrestle a Troll if she asked.” holding out a hand, the gregarious Orcblood introduced himself. “I’m Temir. Fiver Guard and Watch division Crier.”

The tall Dwarf bowed to Cole. “Forgive Temir’s manners. I’m Tenner Guard Fargo. It's my honor to serve with you, Sir Paladin.”

Cat-Eyes holstered a small Crossbow and snorted. “Stop brown-nosing, Fargo. He’s more a priest than a noble.”

Iron-Teeth strapped a buckler to his arm and said. “Cat-Eyes has patrolled the warrens before. As have I and Fargo. Temir was a miner before he signed up. I assume you know how to tunnel fight Paladin?”

Cole nodded. “What type of environment should I expect? Water? Bad Air? Unstable tunnels?”

Cat-Eyes made a chuffing noise, not unlike a feline coughing up a clot of fur. It took Cole a moment to recognize it as laughter. “Yes, yes, yes, and probably more. The city tries to collapse most of the tunnels so any existing ones are probably dangerous and maybe trapped.” at Cole’s raised eyebrow, she shrugged. “The Rats don’t take kindly to people messing up their smuggling routes. The workers hired to break the tunnel get double pay for a reason.”

Temir hefted a war-pick, testing its weight. “Hey, Captain, are we gonna get extra for this?”

Iron-Teeth slapped on a helmet with a chain veil designed to cover his large beard. “If we find anything useful, I can put in a request. If we don't, the quill-pushers will ignore anything I say.”

Soon they were all equipped and ready. Iron-Teeth had his Krazkrak and a buckler. Cat-eyes managed to tuck half a dozen daggers into her leathers while also carrying a small crossbow and quiver of bolts. Temir seemed comfortable with his war-pick and a backup sling. Fargo had the heaviest gear, a large shield, and a short spear. Cole had his magic and his axe.

They set off, returning downstairs to find a slightly dispersed crowd. Cole took that as a good sign. Even more so when some of the onlookers whispered faint words of encouragement and prayers for their success. Once outside the Guard Tower, they loaded up into a horse-drawn wagon. Iron-Teeth apparently didn’t like the message a squad of heavily armed guards in the middle of the day sent. So a little subtlety was required.

Leaning back against the canvas covering of the wagon, Cole stretched his muscles. It had been a while since he’d had a proper fight. Which still might not happen today, but Cole somehow doubted it. Too much was pushing for this endeavor. Fate or whatever else you wanted to call it was at work here.

Looking at Cole’s axe, Iron-Teeth asked. “That’s Dwarven steel. What Hold?”

Cole unsheathed the weapon. “I… I don’t actually know. It was a gift from a friend.”

Cole had found the axe in the armory of Thoas Citadel several lives ago. Pavlos, the Castle Manei Wraith, had said it suited him. Iron-Teeth held out a hand then. “May I see it?”

Shrugging, Cole held the haft out to the Dwarf. Iron-Teeth looked it over, a frown deepening with every flick of his dark eyes. “I don’t recognize the make. The enchantment is a strange one as well. It’s like someone took a modified shifter enchantment and tweaked it with something else.”

As the Captain handed it back, Cole was a little impressed. “You are a Rune Smith?”

Iron-Teeth scoffed. “My Grandmother was; she taught me some basics, but I never had a knack for it.”

Looking at his trusty weapon, Cole mused. Maybe when he had time, he could get a proper Rune Smith to look at it. But as the wagon came to a stop, he doubted spare time was a resource he’d have much of. The five-man squad filed out of the wagon, and instantly Iron-Teeth’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. They were at the alley Cole had visited earlier, but no guard stood watch.

“I thought Darvy said Yakobson’s shift wasn’t over yet,” murmured Iron-Teeth. Gripping his strange dwarven weapon, the Captain led them into the alley, looking for signs of the missing guard. They found none.

Sniffing the air, Cat-Eyes remarked. “He only left recently. Maybe Darvy sent him home since we were coming?”

Grunting, Iron-Teeth said, “Maybe, but something has my beard itching.”

Leading the group, Iron-Teeth found the entrance to the Under Building. It was a tan tarp covering part of a brick wall making up one of the alley’s sides. Iron-Teeth pulled the tarp free, exposing a surprisingly large fissure. Running from maybe waist-high on the wall down to the intersection between cobblestone and brick before ending maybe half a meter into the alley. It looked like someone had taken a giant knife and rammed it into the meeting point of the wall and floor. Iron-Teeth grabbed a lantern from his belt and lit its wick. Oil-fed flames magnified and focused by glass shone a light down into the entrance.

Squinting, Cole looked into the crack and saw a dusty basement, not unlike any other you’d find in the city. Iron-Teeth carefully entered the crack, using the small step ladder someone had left at its mouth for that reason. Once he was certain the floor wasn’t about to collapse, Iron-Teeth gestured for the rest to follow.

Once inside the Under-Building, Cole was forced to reassess his initial impression. Strange columns typical of the Old Empire held up the building above them. While a muddy morass of filth and dust covered the floor in a thick carpet. Forced to hunch down slightly, Cole guessed the room was supposed to be taller. Centuries of caked muck washing into the Under-Building had added to the floor and taken from the chamber's head-room.

With his Krazkrak, Iron-Teeth gestured to one wall where a half-buried arch stuck up through the filth floor. The remnants of a doorway. Cole and the rest of the party ducked under the arch and moved to the next room. As he did, Cole reached up to the arch to steady himself. His hand came away wet and warm.

Looking at his hand, Cole expected fresh blood to cover his digits. Nothing more than some dust and grime coated them. Confused, he looked to where he touched. It had been on the other side of the arch, above the lip, not somewhere easy to see. Squinting, Cole saw a small strange glyph carved into the old stone. Cole recognized the glyph.

Cursing, Cole got his axe ready and called to his fellow explorers. “Someone’s down here, and they know we are here.”

Pointing to the glyph, Cole hissed. “Motion tracking spell, anchored to the archway.”

Cat-Eyes came over and squinted at the mark. “ Fire-in-Iron! How did you catch that?”

Looking at his hand, the phantom sensation of warm blood was still at the edges of his perception. Cole remarked. “Paladin trick.” looking at Iron-Teeth, he asked. “Should we get reinforcements? The element of surprise is gone?”

Cole could see the hesitation and worry on the Dwarf’s face. It didn’t take Iron-Teeth long to make his decision. “Whoever or whatever is down there, if we give them time they might get their own reinforcements or clear out. We push forward but keep a clean route back if we need to retreat.”

Nodding, Cole reached into his bandolier and grabbed four vials of paste, and handed them to the Guards. “Ground up Glowcap with some additives. We can use it to mark our way.”

Taking the fifth vial, Cole dabbed some of the paste on his finger and smeared the arch they’d come through. A few seconds later, the mark he’d made started to glow with pale-green phosphorescence. The Guards nodded appreciatively. Iron-Teeth grunted. “Putting the chalk, I brought to shame.”

The group kept going, ducking into different chambers of the Under-Building. Cole tried to decipher the original purpose of the structure but had little luck. Some doorways were caved in, or entire rooms were buried in the acrecia of ages. Leaving them with one clear path, one they tried to make even clearer with glowpaste and lantern light. Hunched over, Cole became increasingly certain that Smith Emma had made a good call in trying to keep him as a repeat customer. The floor was slanting down slightly and turning into an urban bog of cold mud. Every step was accompanied by a wet sucking sound as the floor tried to hold them captive.

Fargo and Cat-Eyes both occasionally had to stop and gag at the smell. More than a thousand years of mildew, mold, and more had filled these chambers. Cole barely noticed. A decade spent in tombs and among rotting corpses had inured him to even the worst smells. What was bothering him was the amount of noise his party was making. The constant splashing and sucking of their steps combined with the clatter of metal completely stripped any subtly from their approach. The sensor glyph almost seemed like overkill.

Finally, they reached what seemed to be the end of the Under-Building. A smashed-apart wall led down a long narrow tunnel. Maybe twenty meters in length, the long stretch was gouged from the rock. A natural fissure widened by flowing water and crude tools. Ankle-deep stagnant water pooled in the tunnel, the runoff of the Under-Building sluicing into the fissure.

Poking his head into the tunnel, Iron-Teeth glanced around. A crack echoed down the tunnel from its shadowed end, and something ricocheted off Iron-Teeth’s helm. The Captain pulled back and roared, “AMBUSH!”

From down the tunnel, voices answered him with screamed curses and half a dozen more projectiles. The party crowded away from the entrance as the barrage missed them. Glancing down to the muddy floor where he’d heard an impact, Cole saw a crude crossbow quarrel sticking into the muck.

More curses and shouts echoed down the hallway, and Cole guessed one of the ambushers had fired early out of nerves or bad equipment. Saving Iron Teeth’s life. Rolling his shoulders, Cole rasped to his companions. “I’ll go first. The less time we give them to reload, the better. Give me fifteen seconds once I pass into the fog; if I don’t give the all-clear, get reinforcements.”

A confused Temir asked. “What fog?”

In response, Cole nicked his thumb, blooded his spark-stone, and stepped into the tunnel. Casually as if he was skipping a stone, he tossed a ball of fire down the hallway. It struck the water covering the tunnel floor. Steam boiled up, and Cole channeled cold into his axe and swung it in a great downward arc. Sending a wave of frigid air out from him. The mix of heat and cold in the tight tunnel conjured up a wall of fog. Confused shouts and screams echoed down the hallway. Even with the echoing confines and muffling fog, it was enough to tell Cole where his enemy was.

Axe in hand, Cole surged down the hallway, repeating his trick to thicken and extend the fog bank. Faster than even he thought possible, he exploded out from the other end of the fog and into a small room filled with seven terrified-looking Arbalists. Two dropped their weapons and ran. Two more charged him with crude cudgels. The rest just stared at him in surprise. Cole didn’t bother to dodge the first cudgel-wielders, instead blocking the club with his axe. Dwarven steel met chipped wood. The steel won, cleaving through the cudgel with ease.

Gently or as gently as he could, Cole kicked the first attacker. The (former) cudgel-wielder went skidding along the ground, creating a wake in the ankle-deep water as he went. The second attacker hesitated but still tried to hit Cole. The Paladin caught this strike on his new gauntlet. Hakon-steel rang like a bell, but the strike did little other than tickle his wrist. Cole was about to counter-attack and break the clash when a spear slammed through his second attacker's back and right into Cole’s chest.

It clanked uselessly against the metal plate sewn into his leather jack. The betrayed cudgelman looked at Cole with confused eyes as he died. He toppled forward, Cole backing away as the spear retreated through the dying man. The spear-wielder, a rat-faced man with bleary-red eyes, hissed in annoyance at his failed ambush.

Backpedaling from Cole, Rat-face hissed. “Who the jag are you? You aren’t one of the Watch?”

Stoney-faced, Cole asked. “You killed your comrade… Just to get a cheap blow at me?”

Rat-Face didn’t answer, just repeating his question. “I SAID! Who the jag are you?!”

Sighing, Cole whispered more to himself than Rat-face. “I hope you don’t know anything important.”

Rat-Face barely got out the word “What?” before Cole’s axe found the side of his skull. The opportunistic bastard died fast, his brains spilling out into the filthy water. Four of the attackers had fled, two had died. Leaving one of their own behind. The one Cole had kicked. Lying back up in the cold water, the ambusher tried to suck in breaths. Desperately hoping to reclaim some of the wind Cole knocked out of him. Taking the time to inspect the first attacker, Cole saw he was a boy. No older than sixteen, by the look of it.

Greasy hair, a lovely collection of boils and pox scars combined with dirty rags to show a rough life. The boy looked up at Cole; his eyes were bloodshot and bulging. Pink-flecked spittle foamed at the edge of his mouth as he tried to speak. “M-m-monster!”

A muscle twitched in Cole’s jaw; it had been a while since someone called him that to his face. Looking over at the teenager, Cole asked. “What are you doing down here, boy?”

Eyes darting wildly, the boy said nothing. Before he could get any ideas, Cole put an armored boot on the boy’s chest. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I need to,” he said. Turning back to the dissipating fog, Cole called. “All clear, I have a prisoner.”

Splashing, sucking footsteps echoed down the tunnel, and the Guards appeared. They looked over the scene, and Temir let out a low whistle. Looking at the pinned ambusher, Temir chuckled. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

The boy went rigid, staring at the Guards, new fear in his eyes. Cat-Eyes joined Cole and frowned at his prisoner. “Just a kid? Couldn’t grab anyone important?”

Cole gestured to the corpses and the far wall of the chamber, where a half-collapsed doorway sat. “They barely hesitated to run, and one even stabbed his own comrade to get me. I don’t think any of them were real leadership material.”

Iron-Teeth had gone over to the remains of Rat-Face and swore. “Slag me, is that Ivo?”

Temir joined him and rolled the corpse onto its back. “Bit hard to tell, but yeah, I think it is? Thought he died months ago?”

For Cole’s benefit, Iron-Teeth elaborated. “Ivo here was a Gutter Runner for the Three-Knives, a local gang. Had a falling out with his boss maybe four months ago, and no one had seen him since. Thought he was dead, hoped to use his corpse to nail the boss.”

Looking at the prisoner, Cole asked. “Would you be willing to shed light on this?” the prisoner spat at him. A fat glob of mucus arced up and fell into the water nearby, failing to reach Cole. “Guess not. Could you at least tell me your name?”

More silence and a second failed attempt to spit on Cole. Sighing, the Paladin put a little pressure on the boy’s ribs. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make a message. “If you don’t, I’ll be forced to call you Spitlicker in lieu of a name.”

Spitlicker grimaced and rasped, “Dill, my name is Dill.”

Cole eased off the pressure. “Dill, my friends and I are here looking for a shrine. Would you guide us to it?”

Dill spat another glob, this one almost hitting Cole’s knee but instead splattering onto his own rags. Cole had expected as much; he’d asked the question to get a reaction. Having called up the cold, he could see flickers of strong emotion dance through the air. On the word shrine, squirts of fear and surprise escaped Dill and told Cole all he needed to know.

Gesturing at the prisoner with his frosted axe, Cole said. “There is a shrine down here; Dill knows about it, probably where it is.”

Eyes wide, Dill squeaked “The fuck! I dinna say anyting!”

Reaching down, Cole gripped Dill by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him up. Ignoring his shrill protests, Cole asked. “Head deeper?”

Iron-Teeth rubbed the new dent on his helm. “Yeah, but Fargo, you go first. Keep that shield up for future attacks. Paladin, you watch the prisoner and support Fargo. I’ll stay in the middle with the light. Temir and Alia watch our rear.”

After Cole freed the souls of the two dead ambushers, they got in formation and trudged down the next tunnel. Cole half-dragging Dill behind him as they did. Using Dill’s protests and painfully clear body language to navigate the tunnels, they headed deeper. The Warrens seemed to be a strange mix of buried buildings, man-made tunnels, and caves produced by geological upheaval. As they passed through an unnaturally smooth cave of wet basalt, Cole had a newfound respect for the old Vindabonians. The destructive power thrown at their city all those centuries ago had created features you’d expect near a dormant volcano, not below a large metropolis.

The path they took seemed to be heading gradually downwards while arcing in on itself. Creating a large uneven spiral into the earth. As they went deeper, the darkness of the caves seemed to grow thicker. The lantern’s light not reaching as far or as clearly. While strange sounds echoed in the deeps. The clatter of falling stone or scratch of claws against stone. Faint, barely detectable things at the edge of awareness.

It had the guards twitchy; occasionally, one of them would whirl at a sound or stop to listen at something no one else could hear. Something was clearly wrong in these tunnels. Gripping onto Dill’s collar, Cole whispered. “How did you get involved in this mess?”

Dill narrowed his blood-shot eyes but didn’t respond. Sighing, Cole said. “How old are you? Fifteen, sixteen? I’ve seen older people turn away from dark paths. I’d be happy to help you do the same.”

Sneering at Cole, showing surprisingly bad teeth for someone his age, Dill hissed. “I don’t want your help Monster. You and the rest of this whole fucking city can drown in shit.”

Just then, in the flickering light of Iron-Teeth’s lantern, Cole saw two things in Dill. First was the maddened gleam of fanaticism in his eyes. A sick yellow gleam Cole had seen before in the broke and the foolish. But that was secondary to the wriggling *something* moving under the left side of Dill’s face.

Fast as he could, Cole slammed Dill against the nearby tunnel wall, sending a shower of dust and stagnant water onto them both. Cole channeled his power into his amulet and smashed it and his palm into Dill’s left cheek. Dill screamed as a worm-like shape big around as Cole’s thumb pressed against the skin as the silver light of Divinity cooked it.

The startled Guards turned to Cole just in time to see Dill’s face bulge and flex as the worm-thing tried to break free. With a sound like ripping leather Dill’s skin split as the worm pushed into the open air. Waxy and pale, the worm’s head was bulbous and dripping with blood. To Cole’s utter horror, the worm’s face was that of a human infant, bloated and sickly, weeping some horrid fluid from compound eyes.

Cole gripped the worm and pulled; unnatural flesh burned and broiled under his silver-flame grip. Thrashing and spitting, the worm screamed. A noise like a baby's wail crossbred with a rat’s squeal. Its cry was met with a horrified shout from Temir and sputtering curses from Iron-Teeth. Cole paid none of the sounds any attention as he yanked. Centimeter by torturous centimeter, the worm came free from Dill. The boy’s eyes had rolled back into his head, and he shook in a seizure.

Easily a meter long, the thrashing, screaming worm-thing died in Cole’s grip. Silver fire licked along its body, and Cole met its dying scream with a furious roar of his own. The blue-white light of Master Time grew into an inferno as the worm became greasy ash. Dropping the shriveled, burned corpse into the watery muck at his feet, Cole spun around, casting the silver light across the tunnel.

Slithering tendrils of shadow retreated from the light exposing the unnatural dark for what it was. Clouds of inky spores hung in the air. Swallowing up the light and mimicking natural darkness. The spores recoiled from the light, slithering through the air in half-formed cloud-limbs. Holding his light high, Cole looked at Dill, the boy was still twitching, and brown fluid dripped from his mouth and nose. Other shapes wriggled within him. An ugly death had Dill in its clutches. Gripping his axe, Cole whispered a prayer and begged forgiveness. With one clean stroke, he drove his weapon into the boy’s brain. Ending his suffering. Holding up his spark-stone, Cole shot a spray of flame onto the fresh corpse.

Sheathing his axe, Cole held out both hands. Red fire and silver light bathing Dill’s body. Soon nothing but a smoldering mess of bones and ash remained. Smoke wafted through the tunnel, and a chorus of wet coughs escaped the Guards.

A wide-eyed Temir stared at Dill’s body and then at the retreating tendrils of shadow-spores. Fear, deep and primal, filled the Orcbloods eyes. “Moons of the Homeland! What was that?!!”

Holding the silver light up, Cole answered. “Hellspawn, life contaminated by a Demon’s presence.”

Looking down the tunnel, Cole felt a shiver make its way up his spine. The yawning dark of the carved rock looked like the gullet of some ancient horror. If Hellspawn were loose in the Warrens, then the situation was much worse than he’d thought. As the slithering black of the shadow-spores danced at the edge of his light, Cole felt his stomach drop. They’d been breathing those spores for maybe an hour or more.

Calmly, coldly, Cole asked. “Do you love your home?”

The confused and scared Guards seemed nonplussed by the question. Unsheathing his axe, Cole continued speaking. “Normally, I’d ask you all to return to the surface and gather reinforcements. But I can’t risk that. We’ve all been exposed to the spores. As long as the Demon lives, our very breath will be poisonous.”

Iron-Teeth gripped his weapon tight. “What are you saying, Paladin?”

Glancing over the guards, Cole elaborated. “Without magical support and with your current equipment. Facing a Demon and its Cult is incredibly dangerous. Retreating would be the wisest course. But we cannot. The shadow-spores in these tunnels are a form of Hellspawn. Mundane mold turned into something dreadful by the Demon. As long as the Demon lives, we cannot risk spreading the spores to the surface. Once it is destroyed, the spores will start to wither and die. Basic alchemy and even mundane healing will be enough to cure us then. Till then, none of us can retreat.”

Dull horror spread through the Guards as they started to understand. A horrified Iron-Teeth said. “This is a suicide mission.”

Fixing him with that cold iron stare of his, Cole corrected the Dwarf. “It might be. Much will depend on the Demon's strength and the size of its cult. I will do all in my power to ensure you survive. But I cannot offer any guarantees. So let me ask you again. Do you love your Home? Are you willing to fight and die so others might live?”

The Guards exchanged looks with each other. A sort of morbid solidarity formed between them. Cole could almost see the resolution forming in each of them. Retreat meant certain death by Cole’s axe or the spore’s contagion. Pushing forward offered a slim possibility of life. The exact circumstances needed for the most insane acts of bravery.

Without another word, they set off. Cole and Iron-Teeth lighting their way with natural and divine flame. The tense silence born of reaffirmed duty cracked when they reached another junction. The tunnel split in two. Both clotted veins beneath the earth. Both going in different directions. Without Dill’s leaking emotions to guide them, they had to rely on different tactics.

Cat-Eyes peered down one of the tunnels and hissed, “It smells… wrong.”

Cole stepped behind her and asked. “Like an empty smell? Something there you can sense but is somehow missing?”

A little surprised, she looked at Cole and nodded. “How did you-”

The sound of scraping stone echoed down the tunnel in question. A long low shriek of metal on rock reverberated through the cavern. Grabbing Cat-Eyes and pushing her back, Cole stepped into the tunnel. Holding up his amulet, he stoked it's light and sent silver beams down the tunnel. Milky diseased eyes reflected the light. Each belonged to an emaciated humanoid figure. Clad in loose rags and carrying scavenged weapons, a dozen cultists filled the tunnel.

Calling out to them, Cole bellowed. “A darkness has taken this place; each of you is infected. Lay down your weapons, and let us help you.”

A reedy, scratching voice answered. “See! The Gods abandoned us. Treating us like vermin. Now they send an exterminator!”

Frowning, Cole replied. “The Gods have not abandoned you. They send one of their agents to help those who need it. Clearly, you are all in ill health. Please let me help you.”

A rattling laugh filled the tunnel, and one of the Cultists stepped forward. Covered in old bandages and armed with a shovel, the speaker identified himself. “I know the help your kind provides. You bring fire-and-iron to the innocent. Robbing us of what little succor we can find in this cursed world!”

Muffled, warped voices murmured in agreement. The speaker gestured his shovel at his followers. “Each and every one of us was born in this city and abandoned by it. We were outcasts, dredges, the people you call scum! Driven into Warrens because no one else would take us! Well, we found a new home and a new faith down here! We won’t let you take that away from us!”

A chorus of weak cheers answered that last pronouncement, and Cole decided to prod for more information. “This new faith, who do you follow? Who has earned your devotion? How have they done this?”

The speaker waddled forward, his bare feet dragging through the filthy water coating the tunnel floor. “The Buried Knight, our protector, and savior! He’s given us a home, a place safe from those who cast us out! Fed us and kept us when no one else would. Made us a family! Made us his children!”

A gob of spit sailed from the speaker's mouth as he ranted, hitting the water near Cole. In the pale light of his amulet, he swore he saw the gobbet slither away. Living in these tunnels would do all manner of terrible things to a body. Couple the usual diseases and parasites with the mutative effect of Demons, and the result would be all manner of horrors. Cole seriously doubted if any of these people could be saved. Still, he had to try.

“What does this ‘Buried Knight’ wish of you in return?” the Paladin asked, hoping to extract any more information about the Demon.

The Speaker sneered, his face splitting into a wide rictus showing blackened teeth and pale gums. “All he wants is for others to join us. We collect the outcast and downtrodden in his name. Bringing them into the fold, joining our family!”

Family is a potent offer to those with nothing or close to it. Cole could feel the Guards growing tense behind him, matching the twitchy energy of the cultists. Things would escalate any second, but till then, Cole needed to keep gathering information. Knowledge is power, and that power might provide a crucial edge in preventing disaster.

Gesturing at the cultists, Cole asked, “All of you feel betrayed by the city? Why? Why do you see no other option than living in these dark caves and breathing in its poison?”

Jaundiced eyes bulging with sudden anger, the speaker shook his shovel and yelled. “My flock were once criminals, beggars, runaways, and worse! Until I found them and brought them to the Buried Knight. Down here, we aren’t poisoned. We are immersed in his blessing. We drink from his essence and are never hungry. Our flesh strengthens, and our faith only grows! My flock needs no other option, for they have all they could ever need in the Buried Knight’s embrace!”

Smashing his shovel against the tunnel wall, the Speaker, or Sheperd as he seemed to think of himself, continued his rant. “We are happy down here! Happy away from the treachery and deceit of the surface! And we will not let you take that happiness from us!”

Splashing footsteps came from behind the Guards, and Cole gritted his teeth in annoyance. The clang of the shovel on stone, it had been a signal. Screaming madly, the cultists charged down the tunnel while a second group burst from the intersection behind the Guards. A pincer maneuver aided by the tight confines.

Growling, Iron-Teeth snapped out commands. “Temir, Fargo guard the rear. Cat-Eyes, pick off who you can. Paladin, with me.”

Unsheathing his Axe, Cole let out a sad sigh. He didn’t want to kill these people. But he saw no other option. He couldn’t fight sloppily and try to spare the Cultists. Doing that would put Iron-Teeth and his subordinates at risk. Even if he could somehow disarm or dismantle the attackers, they were probably already dead. It would take the best magical healers to help someone as infested as they seemed to be, and even then, success would be uncertain. These cultists were the walking dead, just not the type Cole was used to.

The first cultist, a mad-eyed woman with greasy, patchy hair and a series of lesions, came at Cole. She was coming low, a crude spear made from a broom and kitchen knife aimed at Cole’s gut. With a prayer on his lips, Cole brought his axe down and split her skull. Poor food and hard living had thinned her bones, and the killing blow was near instantaneous. Or at least that’s what Cole told himself.

Besides Cole, Iron-Teeth forced a Cultist back with his buckler while his Krazkrak found the Cultist's knee. As the Cultist tumbled to the ground, a crossbow bolt went through his neck. Cat-Eye’s freeing Iron-teeth to shove forward and bash his buckler into the gut of another Cultist. Cole helped finish this one off. The pair of Guard-Captain and Paladin worked in a surprising concert. Cole’s height and reach let him sweep over Iron-Teeth’s head while the stout dwarf broke anything trying to get past Cole’s guard.

Cultist after cultist fell to the group's blades. Weak and armed with little more than scrap, they proved no real threat. By the seventh or eighth kill, Cole found himself pleading with his enemies to surrender or at least run.

“Please don’t make me do this! You can’t stop me, so why try? Run and live another day. Please, I don't want to kill you.”

They didn’t answer with anything other than howls and shrieks. The shapes of worms and worse crawled and danced beneath the Cultist’s skin. Raised into some unnatural fury by Cole’s light. Wherever his silver beacon shone, it drove the Cultists mad. The things inside of them reacting to a God’s power and trying desperately to escape. Heart heavy with guilt, Cole dared not snuff the light. Fearing what the shadow-spores, or worse, might do without the blue-white light to hold them at bay.

The Cultists saw Cole as a source of pain. Whatever warped shape their minds had taken seemed set on removing that source of pain. But try as they might, the Cultists were little more than summer rain hoping to melt a mountain. They might succeed in an eon, but Cole wouldn’t give them that chance. With axe, flame, and holy light, he butchered the Cultists. They died quickly, the few strikes making past his guard unable to penetrate his armor. By the time the last ruined body tumbled to the cavern floor, Cole felt nauseous. This hadn’t been a fight. It had been a massacre, one he’d perpetrated.

Pulling his attention from the morass of bodies at his feet, Cole checked on the rest of the squad. Temir and Fargo had made short work of the flankers. Using a similar strategy as Cole and Iron-Teeth to cleave through the dozen or so attackers. Fargo was busy cleaning gore off his short-spear while Temir was trying to bandage up the few cuts he’d gotten in the fight.

Trying to distract himself, Cole went over to Temir and laid a hand on a bad gash. With a whispered word, Cole channeled silver light into the wound. The bleeding stopped as fresh pink skin stretched over the cut. A wave of light-headedness hit Cole then. At his insistence, Morri had taught Cole some of the most basic bits of magical healing. Decrying the idea of a Paladin unable to use this most basic use of holy power. So Cole had taken the opportunity to learn a simple skin-mend and to better summon Holy Light.

Stumbling back, Cole nearly tripped over a corpse. Temir stretched his forearm and looked at the new skin, and gave Cole a thumbs-up. The pull of the motion tore the new skin slightly. A few drops of fresh blood dripped from the barely healed wound. It seemed Cole had much to learn about healing magic if he wanted to do it properly.

Recovering slightly, Cole got to work freeing the souls of each killed cultist. This use of his power came much easier. Flowing from his soul, clear and free. Where the healing magic had been stunted and uneven. Grimly, Cole knew he’d have plenty of time to practice on himself later.

Nearby, Cat-Eyes helped Temir finish bandaging himself up before asking. “This is serious stuff, isn’t it? A real demonic cult right here in Vindabon.”

Finishing a prayer, Cole nodded. “Yes, yes, it is.'' Going back to his morbid work, Cole noticed something about the bodies. The Shepherd, the speaker for the cultists, was not among them. The leader of this sad lot had left them to die. A spike of rage flared in Cole’s heart. The hypocritical bastard had condemned his followers. Fleeing for his life while those who trusted him died. The guilt and self-loathing coating Cole’s mind boiled away as wrath burned bright.

“Their leader left them, probably fleeing deeper into the tunnels. This isn’t over by far.” snarled Cole. Moving over to one of the fallen Cultists, Cole shut his eyes. They needed information, he couldn’t risk leading the Guards to their death or letting this Demon run rampant. So to add to an already terrible situation, Cole decided on a distasteful option.

Grabbing the corpse, Cole pulled up his power. What he was about to attempt was borderline heretical in the eyes of the Temple. Whispering an incantation in Saint’s Speech, Cole started to free the trapped soul before him. But halfway through the ritual, Cole stopped, catching the soul right on the precipice of freedom. Bits of soul-stuff leaked into the Aether, streams of memory and emotion visible to Cole. Reaching out with his amulet, Cole touched a vaporous mass of thoughts and feelings. Snippets of memories played in Cole’s mind like scenes from a disjointed opera. Proving the ugly truth known by the Priest of Master Time and Necromancers alike. The dead could talk if you knew how to ask.

*The rumble of hunger. The quiver of frightened hands. The roar of a mother’s rage*

*Fear and Triumph mixed together as a stolen prize was secreted under baggy clothes*

*Shadows and damp darkness. Safe from the world and among fellow rejects*

*Promises of food and family. Found deeper in the Warrens. Deeper we must go*

*Sickness? What Sickness? Why are people hurting? What did they find down there?*

*Something is down here with us. Itching at the corners of our mind. Does it love us?*

*Taken into the heart, brought before the Ancient. They say it loves us? Why does its love hurt?*

*Family is everything. Happiness comes from the Family. Never leave the Family*

*Family is everything. Happiness comes from the Family. Never leave the Family*

*Family is everything. Happiness comes from… Where am I? Who am I?*

Gasping in pain, Cole quickly completed the ritual. Freeing the discordant soul and trying to shake its memories from him. Touching a raw soul was an ugly experience. Rattling Cole’s mind with alien memories and possibly damaging the soul in question. Cole wouldn’t have even attempted this if the circumstances were mildly different. A lesser threat or a less contaminated soul would have had Cole balk at the idea. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

A strange murmuring sound came to Cole through his fog, and it took him a moment to realize it was Cat-Eyes calling his name. Blinking away his nausea, Cole looked up at her.

“What did you just do?” she asked, a hint of worry mixed in with her choler. “You’ve just been staring at that body for like five minutes?”

Sorting through the memories and his own shredded thoughts, Cole found his words. “I was talking with the dead.” swallowing back some bile, Cole pointed at the bodies. “These cultists… they are poor, homeless, those who fell through the city's cracks. They found something below the city, or maybe it found them. Either way, it’s twisted their minds.”

Just then, one of the corpses near Cole started to twitch. A stunned Fargo pointed at it with his spear and asked:. “Is he alive?”

Cole shone his silver light on the body and revealed the truth. Things slithered and crawled beneath the surface. Trying to break free from their now-deceased host. Setting his jaw, Cole spat a gout of flame at the corpse. Whistling shrieks like a baby's cry came up from the body. Muffled by the dead meat and soon cut short by searing heat. Looking at the other bodies, some of them also starting to twitch, Cole bared his teeth in frustration. They didn’t have time to properly cremate all the corpses. The Shepard knew they were coming, and so would the Demon.

Gesturing down the tunnel, Cole said: “We need to keep moving. Try not to touch the bodies. They need to be cleansed but destroying the Demon has precedence.”

The group headed down the tunnel. All of them were shaken by what had happened. Despite the extenuating circumstances, they’d just butchered nearly thirty people. Not soldiers or monsters. But homeless and unwanted dregs caught in a Demons grip. Victims of society's failings and then a Hellkyn’s hunger. Sad lives cut short by people who were supposed to protect them.

Iron-Teeth was holding up best. He’d been a soldier before joining the guard, seeing more bloodshed and senseless death than most people could imagine. Seeing his disturbed and disjointed colleagues, Iron-Teeth tried to provide some support to the others. “I don’t want to die. Neither do any of you. We gave those people every chance we could to back down, but they didn’t. We could either let them kill us and keep doing whatever slagged-up shit they are up to. Or we could do the right thing and survive to fix this whole situation.”

Looking at the Paladin, Iron-Teeth asked. “You say their minds were twisted? These Cultists have been tainted, right? Could we have done anything to help them?”

Cole thought back to the strange memories he’d felt. The nervous mind of a beggar drowned beneath an obsessive overpowering will. Everything that person had been was crushed under the weight of an alien compulsion forced onto them. Shaking his head to rid himself of the dreadful cloying adoration the soul had felt. Cole answered honestly.

“No, probably not. Once a mind has been that warped, very little can be salvaged. Maybe with a decade of aid and magical healing, they could resemble normalcy. But that's not accounting for the parasites. Their body and mind were falling apart. We…we just accelerated matters by a few months at the most.”

Temir looked at his poorly patching skin, and his face paled. “Uh… is the same thing going to happen to us? Are we going to become like those poor bastards?”

After a moment of thought, Cole answered. “Not unless we fail. Mind-warping magic that intense needs time to work properly. While a decent healer should be able to remove anything that's gotten into us this early.”

With that small comfort in mind, they reached the end of the tunnel. It narrowed into a tight crack in the rock, barely large enough for a man to squeeze through. Iron-Teeth went first, his wide if short frame squeezing through with some effort. Cat-Eyes slithered through next, unbothered by the tight space. Fargo passed his shield through the crack before preparing to pass through. Before he could, a loud wet noise echoed down the tunnel they’d passed through. It was met by another noise, then another. Strange popping noises like a water skin bursting.

Shining his light down the tunnel, Cole’s eyes widened as he saw the source. The parasites had broken free. Escaping their old hosts and now looking for warm meat. A wriggling carpet of cursed worms and other malformed creatures surged along the tunnel floor. Sliding through the water and muck, covered in rotten blood, they came in a wave of hissing, popping shrieks.

Holding up his amulet, Cole roared, “MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!” and dredged up more of his power. Flooding the tunnel with a tide of silver light, Cole felt icy vapor stream off his body as the light became blinding. The Hellspawns' cries became pained warbling things. Their unnatural flesh burning in the holy radiance. Panting, Cole let the light settle back into its original brightness. Blinking away spots of brightness, Cole smiled upon seeing the Hellspawn were gone. Crumpled bodies dissolving into ash and offal covered the tunnel floor.

Turning away from the mess Cole hissed at Fargo and Temir to get moving. Fargo took no more prodding and slipped through the crack, scraping his armor on the tight stone. Temir tried to follow after, his large bulk proving difficult to maneuver. A series of rattling calls pulled Cole’s attention back to the tunnel. Shapes were moving in the mass of Hellspawn bodies. Not all of them had burned.

Cursing, Cole tried to help push Temir through the gap with one hand while warding off the remaining Hellspawn. Covered in muck and gore, five or so things started pushing closer to Cole. They ignored the light, prowling closer like cautious wolves inspecting a potential kill. Each the size of a small dog, the Hellspawn reminded Cole of a centipede. Long tubular shapes covered in filth, supported by dozens, maybe hundreds of tiny rat legs. Their heads were vaguely insectoid, with eight beady eyes like that of a dead fish decorating a chitinous maw.

Slithering through the shallow water, they cautiously moved closer as Cole summoned up another blast of light. The Hellspawn hissed and shied away from the light but did not die. Realization hit Cole then; the muck that covered the Hellspawn protected them. Just as Temir finally made it through the crack, one of the Hellspawn charged at Cole. Snaking along the tunnel floor on its rodent limbs, maw snapping in eager hunger; It went for Cole’s leg.

Cursing, the Paladin tried to kick the approaching Hellspawn. It easily dodged his blow and slithered around his leg, jaws snapping as it raced up his limb. Slightly panicked, Cole grabbed the Hellspawn with his amulet holding hand. On instinct, Cole pushed his power into the amulet and his hand. Instantly he lost all feeling in the hand as unnatural cold swallowed the Hellspawn. Twisted and mutated as it was, the Hellspawn had no defense against the Cold of Entropy. In a time measured in heartbeats, the Hellspawn froze to death. Its blackened icy-encrusted body shattered and flopped off Cole like so much icy rope.

Wincing in pain, glanced at his hand. The reddish marks of frostbite covered his exposed skin. Using the Cold without any planning had been stupid. Arms suddenly gripped Cole’s back, and he almost spun to attack them. But Cat-Eye’s hissed voice stopped him. “Keep them back; we will get you through the crack.”

Cole obliged, sending gouts of fire and light at the Hellspawn as Cat-Eyes, Temir, Fargo, and Iron-Teeth dragged him through the crack. Not for the first time, Cole was thankful for his new armor. Having its leather and metal dragged across rough stone instead of his skin was a small blessing. Larger than even Temir, getting through the cleft in the rock was proving difficult for Cole. Cat-Eyes kept up a never-ending stream of yowling curses as she tried to get him unstuck.

While he wanted to help, Cole knew he had bigger dragons to slay. The remaining Hellspawn had recovered from the death of one of their own and become bolder. Diving into the muck and stagnant water to avoid Cole’s flame and refresh their coating. Neither light nor fire was doing much to keep them back. Slowly, tortuously, Cole moved through the crevice as the Hellspawn crept closer. Their hissing jaws snapped in unnatural hunger. Cole had died in many, many ways. Infested by Hellborn parasites was not one he wanted to add to the list.

Finally, after a tortuous eternity, Cole slid free from the crevice, and the Hellspawn pounced. Their primitive minds realized prey was fleeing. Screeching, they tried to slither through the crack, but Cole met them with a stream of fire. Caught between cold stone, the Hellspawn shrieked and popped as they died. Panting, Cole looked to his spark-stone and the gash he’d opened up on that hand to power his flame. One hand was numb and useless, the other bloody and scabbed. Things could be worse, but it could also be a lot better.

Turning to the nervous-looking Guards, Cole asked Cat-Eyes. “That smell, can you still smell it?”

Cat-eyes wrinkled her nose in disgust. “The absent one? Yeah, I can still smell it; why?”

Summoning up his silver light and trying to force feeling back into his left hand, Cole gestured toward the unexplored cave awaiting them. “It's the Demon you are smelling. Your body can smell it, but your mind can’t interpret the information. That empty smell is the mind trying to fill in the blanks.”

A shudder went down Cat-Eyes, and she looked mildly nauseous at the idea. Cole knew how she felt; while the Demon was too far away for him to smell, he knew the unnatural odor of Hellkyn. Unsettling was a poor description of the experience, especially if you knew the source.

“If we follow the smell, it should take us to the Demon. Are you up to that, Cat-Eyes?” Cole asked.

The City Warden looked into the pitch black awaiting them and swallowed. “If you can kill it, I can lead us to it.”

Amulet held high, Cole stepped away from the ash-covered crevice. With ice-touched fingers, he gripped his sheathed axe and let out a sigh. “I can kill it, and if we’re lucky, I can ensure it stays dead.”

The Guards looked at each other, confusion writ upon all four faces. Still, they followed Cole and his silver light. The band of five headed into the belly of the beast. Steel at the ready, forlorn hope in their hearts.