ã€ŠThe Agitatorã€‹


 Chapter 1: Through the painted grey.

    What is in a man that makes him a man? Is it the blood red with life? Is Manhood a blessing by god? Is it the strength in his back or the power in his loins? Is a man made in bed with a woman; or out on the field of battle, dying next to his brothers? Is a man the product of suffering or from a noble birth? Or, perhaps, a man is the iron will to hold on while everything else tells you otherwise, your very soul gripping on to the tattered remains of reality, fighting against the pain and torment. When the tears well in your eyes and your hands still wrapped tightly to your blade, nothing to hold on to except your will which tells you to hold on, ready, ready to face the weight on your own.

    The man''s dull emerald eye slowly opened as the grey light of day peeked through the morning clouds. He laid there motionless from the exhaustion of another sleepless night. His body curled up under a worn traveling poncho. His nerves never letting him relax, the anxiety that the fear of death brings is always too much to bear, even for someone as experienced as him. Begrudgingly pulling his ragged brown poncho off his tired body, he sat up, every joint creaking from countless raids and hard weather. His campsite was small and neat and his kit was in an orderly fashion; the same way it had been for many years. The long johns hanging off of his emaciated frame were almost rags, only there to cover up his leathery body. His skin was pale and taut across a stringy, sinew entwined musculature. As starved and deprived as he looked he was better off than most. The cool Autumn morning shook him to the bone. The man didn''t start a fire the night before, weary of the creatures of the woods who would be drawn to it, like moths to the flame, making him easy prey while he slept.

    With effort he stood up and took in his surroundings. There was no color in the sky and the birds didn''t sing anymore, putting a somber almost purgatory-like state on the existence of the everyday people. The treetops were a matte shade of orange and brown, the leaves rushing about due to the morning breeze. Nothing moved among the brush line, nothing dared journey into the wilderness. The stiffness in the air made the surrounding woodlands stifling, it was absolutely oppressive to say the least.The man slowly and methodically began to dress the same way he had the past thousand nights. Padded long sleeve shirt, spoiled worn down leather jerkin over that, and padded trousers over the long johns. Fatigued leather boots were worn in by years of marching, but still holding strong; the church always supplied the best equipment for its executioners. Creaky old gauntlets and bracers were pulled over tired hands and shins. Shaking off the cold from the frosty morning he picked up his Cuirass, worn down from years of bloody service to the church and their war against the supernatural and demonic. The holy sigil on the front, almost removed by fire ever since the Sentinels excommunication from the church damming him to a life on the run, is now nothing but a charred smudge on the front of a blackened piece of armor. He put the plate on his torso, adjusting it so it sat properly on his body, and prepared for the hours of countless marching ahead of him. The man picked up the dirty old poncho off the ground, its woolen construct had kept the man dry and warm for many years. After brushing it off he draped it over his well armored frame, pulling it tight against his shoulders so it fit snuggly, it hung low, coming to his mid-thigh. Bending down to pick up his beaten half-kite shield he groaned before slinging it onto his back. He strapped his sword and scabbard to his waist, around the poncho, unfortunately having to poke a new hole into the belt again just to keep it tight. He reached into his small travelers sack and pulled out a bit of hardtack; a solid almost inedible piece of flour, water, and salt formed together and baked to create an unappetizing biscuit. He ate his breakfast with more effort than it was worth, straining with every motion of his jaw.  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    He took his first steps into the painted grey. Draping his hood over his matted mess of brown hair that had begun to turn charcoal, blocking the pestering presence of the wind. He ventured through the trees, meandering at a pace that was slow yet voluntary, he had no destination, yet he had to keep moving, had to keep his demons off his coat tails. He felt very morose this morning, it had been four months since he had seen civilization and over thirteen years since he had been to a major metropolitan area. He never dared travel east anymore for the presence of the supernatural was crushingly claustrophobic, and the last time he had he almost lost his life trying to get passed a great and terrible dragon known as Agony. The man knew he couldn''t go south because it had been a war zone for half a century. The Four small sovereign kingdoms to the south; House Gwin, Kay, L?nceleon, and B?ranes, had formed a confederacy to stop the theological invasion from the kingdom to the north, the Kingdom of Saad. The fight had been raging for almost eight decades and showed no sign of stopping. It would be foolish to travel south anyway, he would be pulled apart on the rack if he was caught, not only was he a northerner, but he was a deceiver and an enemy to them. So, He aimed his reprehensible scrutiny to the north, against the very clergy that damned him to a life of sorrow. The past thirteen years he had been living like a Hermit, traveling town to town and living in the wilderness, hunting the demonic for the few sheckles the people could spare. it wasn''t much of a life, it barely fed him scraps of hard tack. But he would starve before he took his own life. A coward like him could never commit to the harshness of death, for his soul was already damned. After a few hours of marching, the man grew tired and decided to stop and rest against a tree and naw on another piece of hardtack.

    Suddenly, the ground began to shift under him! Decrepit hands jutted from the dirt and six or so undead began to slither out of the earth. The warrior didn''t hesitate, he drew his sword and attacked before they had a chance to stand. He stomped on the closest skull, crushing the frail decaying bone and spraying the black pudding that was inside. With a barbaric poise he hacked at the base of another''s neck decapitating it with a single blow. The other four were already on their feet and running at him with an unnatural hunger. Slinging his shield off his back and into a readied position he charged them, ramming himself into the small group, toppling them over. He began to hack viciously at them, grunting and cursing with each swing of his sword. The wretched beasts squirmed after him, snapping their crooked mandibles on his armor. He began slamming his shield into their undead bodies, filled with rage and hate toward their kind, his arm burning from the assault. He savagely kept striking them till it was only a pile of chunks and muck. He kneeled in the mess trying to catch his breath nearly choking on the putrid stench. It doesn''t matter how many times you''ve smelt the stink of the demonic, it''s always sickening. It had been a decade since he first smelt the inhuman odor of demonic sulfur and rot. It is something otherworldly that cannot be comprehended, only experienced. All the squalor in the world, the piss, the shit, and trash all smell like cloves and cinnamon in comparison. He remembered the fright, the evil presence, the absolute horror. He knelt there, and was taken back to a time where he was proud of who he was, a time where he ate warm food and slept in warmer beds, a time when the Holy Sentinels killed for the good of mankind, where he served the church, where he thought he once belonged.

 Chapter 2: Upon a White Horse.

    He was no older than fourteen when he was drafted into the army. It was hemorrhaging money and lives at an alarming rate and the constant crusades into the neighboring kingdoms to the south left the holy land of Saad in need of young men. He was a weak and skill-less boy who was bound to die on the battlefield. If a stray arrow, an enemy knight, or the back-breaking work of military life wouldn''t kill him, then the supernatural presence that was within every tree, rock, and beast would. The world had no place for a weak farm boy from a settlement of around fourteen. His first day of active service was a catastrophe. While his platoon was marching toward a neighboring village on a military assignment, he fell out of line, for he was not conditioned to the rigors of intense marching with a full kit. His Squad leader took notice of his frail boyishness and approached him.

    ¡°Hey you, get back in line you fucking cunt!¡± Corporal Grover barked

    ¡°I''m sorry. I just need to rest¡­ I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m so tired¡­¡± The Boy weakly spoke as he fell to his knees, trying to catch his breath.

    ¡°What''s your fucking name Private!¡± The Corporal yelled out as he grabbed the young boy by the back of his poorly sewn long shirt and jerked him to his feet, nearly tearing the collar.

    ¡°Martin, Corporal, Martin Helmwood, I''m sorry I¡¯ve nev¡­¡± Before the boy had the chance to finish his sentence the Corporal punched him in his gut with enough force to drive the young boy back down to his knees.

    ¡°You better un-fuck your self Helmwood or I''ll feed you to the hellspawn! Do you understand me?! You fall out of line again, you threaten the platoon with your weakness or do anything to piss me off and you¡¯ll get what''s coming to you!¡±

    The small boy laid on the ground gasping for air, for help, for a small scrap of sympathy, but there was none to be given. His abdomen quaked and he felt like he was going to vomit. He looked up at his fellow soldiers, plenty of them the same age as him but hardened from conflict. Their faces carved from wood, their eyes sunken deep into their heads with exhaustion, the wrinkles on their face showed a lifetime of struggle but earned in a quarter of the time. A few soldiers snickered as they marched past him, most didn''t care enough to look.

    It was pitiful to watch him writhe on the ground. He groaned and teared up, his eyes were misty from the embarrassment alone. His hazy eyes wandered for sympathy but found the glorious shape of an angel approaching him instead. He began to stare up at the legs of a grey horse trotting beside the army. The rider among the magnificent beast was a man clad in armor. This was the first time he had ever laid eyes on a Holy Sentinel, the enforcers of the church, Vanguards of the war effort against the demonic. If he was here it meant that there was the potential for supernatural activity. Upon the sight of him there was a child-like fear that came upon the boy, a panic, a wish he would have never been born, at least then he wouldn''t have to come face to face with the undying. The man stared at the pitiful boy whose knees were in the mud, whose face longed for purpose and reason. The boy stared at the sigil on his breastplate, it shined with brilliant hope, the symbol of the almighty church of Saad, the symbol of god. The sigil was sacred and was said that it could only be worn by those chosen by God himself, the sight of it meant a holy representative was nearby to either bless or cleanse an area of its impurities.

    ¡°Stand up boy. You''re creating a spectacle of yourself, it''s unfitting for a soldier.¡± The Sentinel said calmly yet firmly, like a father disciplining his child.

    The boy stood with shaky legs, he might as well have been a young colt learning to stand on his own. The Sentinel stared at the boy for what felt like a lifetime before he spoke again. Even as his eyes watered from the punch to the stomach, the boy still saw him through the gloom of dusk as if he was illuminated by the holy light of God himself. The Sentinel stood proudly on his horse who was naturally white but was stained grey from the ash and dirt from constant battle and marching on the road. The Sentinel wore a short-sleeved brown gambeson under his breastplate, it stretched down underneath like a short gowned, reaching his lower hip. Over that, he wore a tanned battle skirt to protect his legs and hindquarters from the elements. His arms and legs were equipped with blackened grieves damaged from combat against the legions of hell. On his hip, he carried a long sword protected by an oiled scabbard. The man''s eyes were as grey, if not greyer than his short cut hair that had started to recede with age. His face was as weathered as any soldier but his eyes showed a type of hope and vigorous life that was missing from a common Knight. The scars running from the center of his cheek down past his chin line were no doubt created from a servant of the inferno, a demon, a Mestophalian creation whose only purpose is to commit the world to flames and darkness.

    The sentinel shifted in his saddle, leaning closer toward the boy ¡°Heed my words young man, it would behoove of you to stay with the platoon. Don''t show your weakness around the other soldiers. You¡¯re stronger than you think, you¡¯re a child of God, and as such, you have unimaginable strength. Don''t squander it by embarrassing yourself, now, dust yourself off and rejoin the Platoon.¡± The Sentinel spoke slowly and with great bits of patience making sure to pronounce each syllable correctly and clearly letting every word penetrate the young boy''s heart.

    The boy slowly regained his bearing, The Holy knight''s words sobering him, like the feeling of a cold drink of water early in the morning. The boy looked ahead at the platoon almost Two-hundred yards down the road. He did exactly as the Sentinel ordered and ran full force to regroup with them. The next week and a half he kept up the entire way, even when his knees quaked and his feet burned from blisters and sores, he persevered, he had gained hope.

    Later that night his Corporal put him on mess duty and nightly guard for the remainder of their campaign. His weakness and ¡°insubordination¡± was not to be tolerated in the army of the church. Martin served every Soldier their rations for the next week and a half. He cooked rice and salted meat mush, cleaned the dishes, and always stood midnight watch. Martin even served the officers, Non commissioned officers and the Three Sentinels that accompanied the platoon. He enjoyed their in-depth discussions about war. They talked loudly and with great fervor about the demonic front from the east clashing against the kingdom to the south, and how that helped the siege effort on the easternmost fort, something about a war of attrition. It was all very interesting to him. He didn¡¯t understand very much of it, but it was fascinating nonetheless. It reminded him of playing Knight with his friends, they would take long poles and ride on the bigger kids¡¯ shoulders trying to joust the others off. They didn''t do it right, but it was a spectacle nonetheless. Or, when he would take sticks and attack his younger brother while he slept, or even Daydreaming about Dragons and Damsels. The simpleness of childhood, where the pain of the world wasn¡¯t as apparent.

    After slogging through back country roads and small towns and outposts the troop eventually made its way to a fairly large village near the southern part of the kingdom, named Oriton, the destination of their constant marching the past week and a half. The village was near the River Ren, the mighty river connected the many kingdoms of the west together with numerous streams, lakes, and tributaries.

    While outside the border, roughly quarter mile, the Captain of the Platoon called for them to fall into ranks. The men filled in shuffling quickly till they made a cohesive formation. From the right, the three Sentinels came wearing long white capes their chests adorned with shiny armor that dazzled in the sun. They stood in front of the Platoon and the grey-haired one stepped forward.

    ¡°The nature of this mission has been kept a secret from you up until this point. You have been accompanying my fellow comrades and me on a mission from the Holy church itself, you are on a mission from God.¡± Said The Grey haired Sentinel, projecting his voice.

    A small chatter began to creep across the platoon as everyone whispered in nervous confusion to the man next to him. Martin shifted in his oversized boots and felt incredibly anxious.

    The Sentinel began to speak over the chatter, silencing everyone. ¡°In this town.¡± The Sentinel pointed toward the village.

    ¡°We believe there is an evil entity being sheltered, we have crucial information directly from a village defector saying so. Your purpose is to apprehend or eliminate all townsfolk who would dare interfere with the church. If that means by bloodshed then so be it. My advice to you is this, if you see any unnatural or wicked creations, run and find one of us sentinels or you will certainly meet a premature end. That is all, and God bless!¡± The sentinels walked back the same way they came and mounted their Horses. The Men still silent from the Sentinels speech shifted around whispering to each other.

    ¡°Attention!¡± The Sergeant Hollard breaking the silence, snapping everyone to a rigid stance.

    ¡°Squad One and two are with Me and corporal Hayden! Squad three and four are with Sergeant Valance and Corporal Grover! We will attack the village at dusk, ready your weapons and armor, I don¡¯t want to see one loose fucking strap on anyone! Is that understood!

    ¡°YES SERGEANT!¡± The platoon said in unison.

    The four hours of waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon was filled with woman-like speculation and gossip. The Soldiers wondered what types of Monstrosities waited for the platoon inside the village. What type of demons will fly around ready to consume their flesh? They wondered why they just didn''t burn it down, Or why the church didn¡¯t just send in a whole Squadron of Sentinels? It didn¡¯t matter, they were going to do what soldiers do best, die without ever knowing why.

    At dusk they gathered in their respected ranks and drew swords and readied spears, they whispered things under their breath, praying to the Lord for protection, praying to see their mothers¡¯ again. Martin tightened his belt around his rusty hauberk and put on his standard issue pot-helm. His pitiable hands shook violently from the foreboding stories the men were sharing around camp. He could barely keep still yet he was able to manage a child like grip on his blade. He knew he had to do this right, he couldn¡¯t embarrass himself, not in front of God.

    Group one began circling around the village a half hour before dusk, preparing to trap the townsfolk between the two charging clusters with an unconventional type encircling maneuver. The town bell rang and echoed through the calm country air. The sky was a harsh shade of Vermillion, a foreboding sign for any commoner. The Captain took out his horn and blew so loudly it would have put thunder to shame. The Soldiers charged the village with barbaric battle cries, screaming and cursing, trying to seem more menacing then they were. They stormed the village, running in between buildings, running into homes, running down the streets, running until they stopped and realized that no one was there.

    The men were uneasy about the lack of opposition but before the paranoia set in the Corporals began barking orders to search every nook and cranny. But there was nothing, no one, not a soul to be seen. They had no choice. They had to go deeper into the town. The city felt like a maze, with twisting corridors and hidden passageways. Not one street led you to where you thought it would. It seemed unnatural.

    Deep into the Village, The soldiers heard a ruckus, there was a horde of people holding pitchforks and shovels all surrounding a massive Church in the center of the town square. The townsfolk were covered in blood, chanting demonic phrases, and speaking in tongues. They were staring at the church not paying any attention to the platoon slowly enclosing them. Corporal Grover approached one of the Citizens confidently, sword at the ready.

    ¡°Hey, cunt! Stand down or we WILL use force against you!¡± Screamed the salty Corporal.

    The town''s people began to turn to face him still speaking in tongues and twitching like they had the plague. As the villagers turned toward the soldiers the men were struck in horror at the sight.

    ¡°Oh god, what the fuck happened to their eyes!?¡± A soldier said in absolute fright.

    ¡°No! No, this isn¡¯t real this is fucking crazy!?¡± Another squealed, dropping his sword and retreating back into the platoon.

    The townsfolk all had gouged out their eyes, leaving dark bleeding sockets in their place. The townsman closest to Corporal Grover thrust his pitchfork into the NCO¡¯s guts, catching him off guard, and causing him to spew blood from his mouth, unceremoniously gurgling on it he fell over and laid motionless on the ground. That was all the Soldiers needed to know about these people, that they were a threat to god and had to be cleansed by bloodshed.

    The men began to attack the townsfolk in a rough phalanx type formation attempting to drive them back, but the swarm was too much. Dozens upon dozens of crazed men, women, and children lunging into the blades of the soldiers. The Townspeople were like rabid animals defending their child. They clawed and attacked with farming tools, not one standard weapon among them. The under-equipped townsfolk were overwhelming them, thinning out the military line and digging deep into they''re moral.

    Then, almost like a gift from the lord, the Sentinels arrived on horseback hacking and slashing the possessed townsfolk, unfazed by their grotesqueness.

    ¡°Gather yourselves, they aren''t that many, and you are all well equipped! Fight back, have courage, don''t let their appearance frighten you! You are children of God after all! Drive the Demons back!¡± The Tall Sentinel bellowed with such conviction that he restored the heart in most of the men that were wavering.

    Martin had not yet killed a man, he didn''t know if he could. The poor boy had only been in one fight his entire life, and that was with his brother when they were children, they were fighting over the last sugar cone and they whopped each other till they were black and blue, then their mother whopped them more. In his heart, he didn''t know if he could commit such a grievous sin anyway. The church said it was wrong to kill and so it had to be, he couldn''t disobey, he couldn''t¡­ right? Up until this point he had stayed in the back of the phalanx, nervous about making a decisive move. But The tall Sentinels battle cry sparked his ire and convinced him that this was truly the work of the lord and there would be a reprieve of some sorts. The boy''s heart was hardened and so he blindly hacked his sword into a villagers clavicle, causing the possessed man to drop dead. It was frightening, it was physical, it was absolutely primal, but most of all it was exhilarating. Martin had felt a sense of power and control he had never had before. He wasn''t as afraid as he was in the beginning and his hand didn''t shake as much. Martin kept hacking at the horde of enemies that lay before him, hoping to hold onto this rare feeling of empowerment. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    With the Sentinel''s aid, they pushed the townsmen back, leaving a wave of bodies in their wake. They advanced on the Church. Outside the building, they could hear a loud beast grunting and spewing demonic words. There were only fifteen out of the original fifty men left including the three sentinels and two officers. They stood outside discussing and arguing over the next course of action. The officers wanted to pull back and collect their strength before they continued; The men were visibly shaken, and the officers did not want to have any more of their men killed for a cause they didn''t understand. But, the Sentinels wanted to storm the church and face the enemy head-on before it had the chance to manifest itself into a more sinister form.

    From inside the building, the blood-curdling scream of a woman caused the Sentinels to spring into action. The tallest sentinel, the one who provided encouraging words during the initial push, Began to wedge at the hinges with a dead villagers ax. The hinges were pried off and the door fell down the consecrated steps of the church. Instantaneously smoke began pouring from the opened doorway. The entrance to the church was a terrifying maw that glowed a caustic fire-orange, the gates to hell have been opened and awaited its victims, but who would answer its call?

    The Grey haired Sentinel spoke up with bravado

    ¡°If you fight for God, take hold of your courage now and follow us into the belly of the beast!¡±

    The Three sentinels rushed into the building in a single file line, swords at the ready. Two soldiers followed the Sentinels in, but Martin stood at the entrance afraid and wounded from the conflict. He thought the Sentinels haven''t steered him wrong yet, why would they now? He was a child of God after all. With all his strength he walked into the building. Upon crossing the threshold and walking into the vestibule he could smell it before he saw anything. The rot of flesh, no, it had to be something fouler. Behind him, the remaining soldiers put the door back up, so as not to let anything evil out. The poor boy had never smelt anything so rancid in his life, it burned his eyes and made his nose run, his skin began to sting, like being bitten by a thousand ants.

    Walking into the main chapel he saw a horrific amalgamation of demonic and religious blasphemy¡¯s. There were people lining the chapel, the same hideous gouged eyes, and covered in more blood than any livestock slaughter he had ever seen. The naked townsfolk were chanting and bowing toward a massive beast on the altar. The room was horrifically decorated with bones, pentagrams, and evil sigils that struck terror into the unknowing. The room was basked in an unholy glow from a fire made by the pile of burning pews in the four corners of the chapel. Smoke clouded the air making absolute visibility limited. On the Altar was a massive beast hunched over a screaming woman. The creature was thrusting into her repeatedly. unexpectedly, it let out a demonic yowl. One of the soldiers who joined the Sentinels dropped his weapon and fled at the sight of the monster, sprinting past Martin, attempting to exit the church. Martin could hear the frightened soldier banging against the closed door and cry for them to open it, but they did not oblige him. The Creature shuttered as it simpered, feeling pleased with itself. The Beast unmounted the woman, its large body twice her size. You could see she laid on an appalling bed of eyeballs, thousands of them piled high, oozing fluid and puss. The woman was bloody with an extended stomach that began to jerk and move as she lay helpless. Her vaginal cavity was torn open and abused, her hands bound to posts. It was an absolute nightmare.

    The Beast turned toward the group. As it stood up it straightened its spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The creature was a terrifying eight feet and covered in short midnight blue pig-esq hairs. Its muscles were bulging and hard. On its chest was a pair of breasts fit for the most lustful woman. The creature was sickly endowed and dripping with blood from its now flaccid penis. Its head was a horrific four-eyed goat with a human tongue licking at the Soldiers. Upon its head was a small lit candle dripping wax down his forehead. It wore a glorious rack of twisted Ram horns that spiraled around his head to a point. The monstrosity let out a gloating chuckle and opened its arms wide revealing an impressive length in them. Each arm was seven feet if not more, and there were ten fingers on each hand each finger brandishing dagger-like claws.

    Without warning the beast spoke loudly and with great hubris.

    ¡°Fools, you are all too late! The ritual is nearly complete and I have already planted my seed in the virgin-whore! The king of kings will be reborn and he will bring about the coming apocalypse! It''s a shame that you will miss the end of days, for it will be glorious to dance in the blood of your kind!¡±

    ¡°I command you, by the first of fifty rules of your demonic kingdoms, to give me your full name foul beast!¡± The bald Sentinel yelled over the chanting of the villagers that had begun to crescendo.

    ¡°My name is Bahomet, the teacher of good and evil, the spewer of misfortune, the rebellious one, the flock slayer, the planter of the seed, and NOW the Harold of the apocalypse! I command twenty legions in hell and reign over the torture in the Fifth district of Abamal. So, don''t act like you understand our complex etiquettes stupid mortal!¡± the beast spewed boastfully.

    The grey-haired Sentinel squared up with the monster and spoke: ¡°Quit stalling and fight, Or are you afraid Bahomet of Abamal?¡±

    Bahomet snorted a furious snort and bared his wolven teeth. His Honor was challenged and he had to engage the enemy or else violate the twelfth inferno rule. The beast charged the party head first gorging the tall sentinel in the chest. The other sentinels rolled out of the way, dodging the attack while simultaneously slashing at the back of the legs of the creature. Both sentinels managed to deliver a gash, one across the calve and the other across the hamstring of the beast, but it didn''t seem to affect him only make him furious. Martin and the other soldier leaped toward the ground avoiding contact but didn''t manage to make a hit or even attack for that matter. The creature tore the tall sentinel from his horns and ripped him in half, the poor man still alive during his separation. The Demon threw the torso and lower half at the two Sentinels, who easily dodged their eviscerated brother.

    ¡°Is this all your puny church has to offer? Pathetic!¡± Bahomet laughed mockingly, foolishly closing his eyes in glee.

    Distracted by his fit of manic laughter The Sentinels charged the beast and took him by surprise. The grey one launched at his feet with a mighty swing, while the bald one lunged and thrust his sword into the creature¡¯s side, both Sentinels inflicting grievous wounds. The grey-haired one chopped the beasts right hoofed foot clean off, rolling into the wall from the momentum. The beast howled in pain and fatally backhanded the bald sentinel into the wall.

    ¡°Soldiers, quickly, kill the woman before it''s too late! Go, now, we will hold the Demon!¡± The grey-haired Sentinel commanded getting up from the ground and charging the beast.

    The demon toppled over and squealed in pain.

    Martin felt immense pressure upon his body, like the weight of existence depended on him performing the simple task of killing. He stared at the other soldier who was curled into a ball and crying and knew it had to be him. Martin felt the universe stare at him, the balance of good and evil rested on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old boy from a village of fourteen. The boy couldn''t hear anything except the pounding of his heart through his chest. He didn''t know what he was doing but did as the Sentinel commanded. He ran with all his might toward the altar of eyes where the girl laid. She was near motionless and crying in pain. The poor thing was pale and sickly looking, with scratches covering her body and demonic symbols carved into her flesh. The girl reeked of sulfur and death. Martin had never seen a nude woman before, and the site of the raped girl made him feel an embarrassed child-like humiliation. He wasn''t used to this type of violence and his stomach began to churn like a river rapid. The farm girls viscously mangled form made him vomit on the floor next to her. He wished it was all a dream. The girl turned her head weakly toward him.

    ¡°Have you come to cleanse me of my baby?¡± She whispered meekly.

    ¡°No...¡±The boy stood there frozen, shaking in his pitiful excuse for armor.

    ¡°Why not...? She stared deeply into his eyes, her desperate hopelessness was intimidating.

    ¡°Kill me¡­¡± She said louder. ¡°My baby can''t be born into this world¡­¡±

    ¡°No, no, we can help you, we can¡­ we can save you. There are Sentinels here, they can bless you with a miracle! Or... we can take you to a priest¡­ or...¡± Martin tried comforting the poor girl but her stomach began to stretch outward with appendages that attempted to tear through the lining of her belly. The girl screamed loudly from the pain. She ripped back and forth in her tight bindings, but all she could do was scream.

    The grey Sentinel was holding the Demon back and had already severed its right arm in the short amount of time that Martin had been upon the altar of eyes. The battle was turning in their favor but Martins'' heart felt heavy. He feared he couldn''t make the kill, that he wouldn''t be able to do what had to be done. Under the poor girl''s stomach, Martin saw what appeared to be a coiled ball of snakes thrashing inside her abdomen, chewing at her thin wall of stomach skin, trying to escape. Blood began to ooze through her gut.

    Martin held his sword high knowing what had to be done, but, still afraid and unsure of himself.

    ¡°KILL ME!¡± the girl screamed repentantly.

    His heart beat faster and faster, faster it beat the higher he lifted his sword.

    ¡°KILL ME, MERCY, MERCY!!!¡± The girl whimpered out with all her strength.

    His sword blade came down with a mighty crunch piercing the girl''s belly, driving it deep into her. His innocence was taken with the girl¡¯s. He felt so small. The monstrosity in the girl''s stomach stopped moving. The girl stared at him, softly babbling what he thought to be nonsense until she died. The grey-haired Sentinel managed to decapitate the Demon Bahomet with a heroic swing of his sword while the creature was attempting to crawl toward the altar of eyes and stop Martin. As the girl on the altered died the townsfolk threw their hands in the air and fell to their knees. They wept blood from their eye sockets and begged for forgiveness. Their mournful cries were saddening even if they were the enemy. After a short moment of wailing each villager took a small knife and drew it across their own throats spilling their blood across the floor in front of them. Martin stared at the lifeless body of the young girl in front of him, not paying any mind to his surroundings, he began to sob. It was a shame that a girl who was so beautiful had to die like this, had to die by a sword, but I guess that''s how they all die these days. He fell to his knees, clasping his hands together and begging God to guide them to a safer place, begging God to guide him, just begging to wake up from this nightmare. Upon his shoulder he felt a heavy hand of comfort, it was surprisingly warm and made him feel safe again.

    ¡°You did what you had to do Soldier... You didn''t embarrass yourself this time. For what it¡¯s worth, I''m proud of you. What''s your name young man?¡±

    The boy looked at the figure who stood there comforting him, it was none other than the grey haired Sentinel.

    ¡°My names Ma-Ma-Martin, sir.¡± the boy said stuttering out his name, still shaken from the experience.

    ¡°A pleasure Martin, I am the Sentinel known as Sovereign of Morn Awolon. Now, get up and help me with the dead and wounded. There is a time and a place to mourn but now is not that time. This Church must be burnt along with the evil things that have desecrated it.¡±

    The boy did as he was commanded and got up from the filth that he was kneeling in, the sentinel lending him a hand. Martin was ordered to help retrieve the other soldier still tucked in a fetal position sobbing uncontrollably on the ground. Martin helped the hysteric man up and escorted him to the shut chapel door where the other soldier was still frantically pounding against. He left them there and turned back into the church to help Sovereign with whatever he needed to be done. Upon crossing into the main chapel he saw Sovereign taking a knee in front of his fellow Sentinels, the bald one motionless slumped against the wall and the two pieces of the tall one joined together. Sovereign knelt there and prayed with his hands clasped, praying deeply.

    ¡°I have escaped the Weight¡­¡± The man said while standing over his dead comrades. A short moment of mourning was all he had before he turned and began to walk toward the boy.

    ¡°Why are you leaving their bodys¡¯, sir? Why not bury them?¡± Martin asked inquisitively.

    The sentinel stared down at the boy with a great sorrow that the boy hadn''t yet seen before in a man. ¡°We are sentinels, and as such we are charged with slaying all the beasts of hell. That includes following them to the afterlife where we engage in brutal combat for all eternity, basking in the fires of the great inferno.¡±

    ¡°But I don''t understand sir, aren''t you servants of God? Why wouldn''t you want to go to heaven?¡± Martin naively said confused and quite upset at the preposterous idea.

    ¡°If you only understood, it''s not so much not wanting to go, its just not our place¡­ we aren''t allowed in such a glorious realm... Enough on this matter, this place needs to be cleansed.¡± The sentinel commanded the chapel door to be opened where he finally pushed the boy through the entrance way into the courtyard were the Soldiers have been collecting there dead and wounded.

    Sovereign commanded the remaining troops to toss as many of the townsfolk into the church before barricading the doors and burning the building to ash. As the soldiers threw the two-hundred or so dead civilians into the chapel, they were shocked in horror by the decapitated demon that lied in the middle of the room. The bodies were placed in a large dog pile and lit on fire. The soldiers closed the church doors and nailed it shut with a few planks of wood and a rusty nails they salvaged from nearby homes. They stood outside in the cool night air and watched the church burn to a cinder before making camp that night. Martin felt the warmth from the blaze heating his face and anterior regions while his back was cold from the nightly chill, his mind was surprisingly blank. The remainder of the platoon made camp in the village that night and boarded up in a relatively higher class home with plenty of food and blankets for the surviving twenty-two.

    Though he was a hero for the day Martin still pulled the short straw for midnight watch. He was sitting next to the fire trying to keep warm. It wasn''t bitterly cold out, but it was still cold enough that he felt uncomfortable. He saw visions of demons and beasts in the fire, menacing monsters tearing Men asunder, pure hopelessness inside the blaze. Out of the dark sovereign came draped in a woolen blanket, no longer donning his armor. He held two steaming bowls of stew in each hand and handed one to Martin.

    ¡°Thank you, sir!¡± Martin said with joyful surprise, his eyes gleaming.

    ¡°All quiet?¡± Sovereign said as he sat down near the boy.

    ¡°Yes sir, I''ve just been thinking¡­¡± Martin said eagerly taking spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. He had missed supper so he could sleep before his watch. His stomach was in a knot, the young man was practically starving. The stew was rich and thick, chunks of carrots, celery, parsnips, potatoes, northern seasonings, and plenty of beef. He enjoyed the stew so much he practically licked the bowl.

    ¡°Slow down or else you''ll choke.¡± Sovereign joked Letting out a faint chuckle.

    ¡°Sorry sir, I''m just so hungry. I haven''t eaten since yesterday morning.¡± Martin muttered as he wiped off his mouth with his blanket.

    ¡°I understand.¡± Said the Sentinel.

    ¡°Martin, I''m going to ask you an intimate question that I want you to think about before answering.¡± Sovereign stared into the boy''s eyes, peering deep into his soul.

    ¡°Ok, sir¡­ what about?¡± Martins skin grew cold as he slowly put down his bowl.

    ¡°You showed great courage in the face of pure evil today, Martin. You kept your sanity intact and moved even when the crushing influence of hell was upon you. But most importantly, you didn''t falter in killing the girl.¡± Sovereigns eyes never broke from the boys. Martins breathing grew heavier and his palms were cold and clammy. There was no sound except the crackling blaze in the hearth next to them. The orange firelight danced across their faces. They stared at each other earnestly.

    ¡°I want you to become a Sentinel...¡±

 Chapter 3: Child of Misfortune

    Chapter 3: Child of Misfortune

    Awakened from his mid-morning daydream Martin thought he heard the sound of screaming in the distance. He was still kneeling in the putrid muck, and the flies were beginning to swarm him and nip at his ears, gathering to feed off of the undead slaughter. He must have been in his head for more than an hour judging by the sun glaring through the grey overcast. He stayed still trying to see if he could hear the sound again or if it was just his imagination. Martin closed his eyes, He stopped breathing, stopped thinking, his heart began to slow down dramatically. He heard the flies buzz around him and the leaves rushing by but he couldn''t hear any screams. Martin began standing up, sore from the battle that had taken place. Just as he began stretching out his back, he heard the screams of a woman and the shouting of men past a knoll that led to the main road. He had stayed off the main roads as much as possible to avoid any unwanted attention. He preferred to deal with Hellspawn every day than with the insanities of the everyday people.

    Martin began moving cautiously in the direction of the cries, sword, and shield still in hand. The Closer he got the louder the mournful moans of suffering became. Laying against the side of the small hill he saw five well-armed men pillaging a largely covered horse-drawn wagon. The guards were wearing dark green tabards with rough stitching of a three-headed pigeon carrying an ax and dead fox. He knew this coat of arms was from the Foxcatcher clan, one of the many outpost mercenary groups in the service of the church. The church needed more help guarding outposts and villages and could not spare any troops from the war. So they hired gangsters, thugs, and radicals cheaper than they could honest men. Each of them was ably equipped with a small dagger, sword, and mini buckler shield. Under there Tabards was well-kept linen gambesons and a leather coif placed tightly on their heads. Martin didn''t want to charge Five well-armed soldiers, it would only get him killed or wounded which would most likely lead to death from infection. Leaning into the hill he sat for a minute and watched them carefully. He heard shuffling from the wagon and a sixth man come out of the covered cart, tightening his belt around his trousers and putting his tabard back on. Another man went into the wagon and the screaming started again. Martin knew what was happening and it needed to end. He was apathetic about fighting that many armed men, but his conscience ate at him, compelling him to act. Luckily they didn''t seem to have any Bowman with them, and he did have the element of surprise. He would have to be quick and kill them before they took the woman in the cart hostage, he certainly didn''t feel like dealing with a hostage situation.

    Martin readied himself and visualized his position. There were six men and an innocent. Three of the men were at the back of the cart digging through the ransacked goods, one on the far side of the cart taking a piss, one inside the cart; and one in the middle of the road keeping a lookout, he was the closest to Martin and the furthest from the group. Martin knew that that man would be the first to die. Martin searched for a solid rock, nothing too big but certainly something with some weight. He found a perfect palm size stone, aimed, and threw it at a tree past the man on the other side of the road. The guard was startled and stared at the direction the thud from the rock came from and walked over to investigate. Martin quickly snuck up on the unsuspecting guard like a phantom and drove his sword through his back. He thrust into him with such force he nearly lifted the guard off of his feet, shredding the cloth armor and severing his spine. The man tried to scream and alert the others but only spat up blood and died, sliding off Martin''s blade to the ground. Martin began sneaking up to the man on the far side of the cart taking a piss. Martin wanted to get rid all of the men outside of the cart before he attempted anything else. He edged up to him planning to repeat the same quiet backstabbing action as before. His feet felt light and he went foot over foot, heel to toe as he snuck up on the unexpecting guard. His nerves were steady. The guard was whistling as he began to shake off his cock from his long release.

    Martin clumsily stepped on a stick breaking it and alerting the man who jerked his head in Martins direction. Martin pounced like an enraged dog and slashed at the man who stumbled down evading the cut from Martin''s sword. He took a few quick half steps forward and stabbed the man threw the genitals causing him to scream in painful agony. He withdrew his sword and jabbed the tip of his blade through the castrated guard''s mouth causing his eyes to roll back and gurgle blood until he faded into oblivion. The scuffle alerted the three guards from the back of the cart. They circled around the back side of the wagon and saw Martin standing over their murdered comrade whose face was bloody and torn, pantsless, and with his manhood gutted.

    Martin charged all three of them like a seething bull, his spirit was hotter than a wildfire and he was in no mood for mercy. Martin threw his shield hand horizontally at the one in the center, having the ridge of his shield crash through the thuggish guard''s teeth, shattering them and sending them flying in all directions like unwanted dice. When he struck the center guard he thrust his sword at the man to his right. The guard whose teeth were in shambles fell to the ground covering his mouth and writhed in an understandable panic. Martin''s sword thrust was deflected easily by the man to the right who countered with a downward blow and slashed martins upper right arm causing him to wince in pain. Martin pushed the man to his left with his shield and deflected another attack from the guard to his right, and retaliated with a violent diagonal cross cut, hacking across the man''s face and cleaving through his skull. Using the momentum from his slash he twisted around and drove the pommel of his sword into the left guard¡¯s face letting out a wicked crack and most likely breaking his orbital bone. Martin back stepped to open up for an attack and drove his sword into the left guard''s throat, killing him. The old warrior stood over the toothless guard who was squirming in pain on the ground and stabbed him through the chest, making sure not to leave anyone alive. He heard shouting and rustling from inside the wagon. Out came a guard hiding behind a tanned naked woman who was bruised and bloody from the guards'' merciless beatings. The woman was the sixth woman he had seen naked and by this point, her bare body had no carnal appeal. She looked southern from her tan, makes sense why these guards raided her cart he thought, people aren''t accepting of southerners around here.

    ¡°Let her go and live,¡± Martin said holding his shield up to protect his face. Martins instinctual desire to save the innocent was strong, he wanted to save a life today and not have to take another, he was unfortunately close to fatigue.

    ¡°Fuck you prick! You move an inch and the smelly bitch dies!¡± The Guard had a knife to the woman''s throat and his hand around her hair, pulling it tightly. Martin could see that this guard was especially ugly with patchy lice covered black beard and few teeth in his mouth, he pitied the woman for what she had to endure. The guard broke eye contact with Martin and saw his scummy companions lying lifeless in the mud. Their tattered bodies behind Martin filled the thug with a stirring dread so strong he began to bite his bottom lip till it bled. He was pulling the woman by her hair back toward the front of the cart, trying to escape Martins demonic gaze. The woman screamed continuously until the man punched her in the back of the head, compelling her to stay quiet, she closed her eyes tightly and whimpered in fear. Martins stance was low and guarded, he slowly approached as they went around the corner.

    ¡°Not a fucking inch!!!¡± The guard screamed in horror. Martin furrowed his brow trying to assess the situation, he felt stuck as he could see no way to get at the Mercenary before he took the woman''s life, the exact situation he wanted to avoid. The thug mounted the brindled gelding at the front of the cart, pulling the woman up with him. The gelding let out a bone-chilling Winnie from the excitement, it''s elaborately pierced ears pinning back on his head. The thug had her in the front of the saddle with the knife to her neck. Her muffled pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as they rode off down the road and out of sight.

    Martin sighed, he was profoundly disappointed with himself and hung his head as low as he could. He was experiencing a painful amount of shame that ate at the withering amount of pride he had left. It was disheartening that he let them get away, that he couldn''t save the day like he used to, if only he was ten years younger. Martin was so used to feeling stuck in a desert of guilt that he didn''t care anymore, the flood of apathy that quickly washed over him quenched his ceaseless self-loathing time and time again. The old man sheathed his weapons and began rummaging through the goods near the back of the cart. The first and only barrel he opened was salted pork stuffed tightly into the wooden cask. Martin greedily licked his lips, the only food he had eaten for weeks was hardtack and some moldy jerky. He, fortunately, had a sugar cone he''d been saving for a special occasion, even though a day you wake up is as good as any to be considered special. He was certainly going to take whatever he could find, it wasn''t stealing if they were already dead. Besides, Martin liked salted pork, it wasn¡¯t like it was going to be missed. Martin heard a thunk inside the cart, so he opened the back flap. He peered inside the cart but there was nothing except a few crates, hanging vegetables, and a disgusting amount of semen and blood upon the floor. He huffed it off and took the cleanest tunic from the dead guards that were strewn across the ground. He noticed an insignia on the uniform and thought he might have been someone important. Didn''t matter now that he was dead. So he tore the piece of cloth to make a makeshift bag out of it. He began pulling slabs of pork from the barrel and placing them inside. His stomach growled and swirled with wretched hunger. As he was filling the tunic with hunks of meat when he heard another thunk from inside the cart. He knew for sure he had heard something and went inside to investigate, this time stepping into the cart. The wagon rocked and creaked with every move he made inside. He prodded at bags and opened boxes until he pried off a lid to discover a young frightened girl clutching a small doll. The man gazed on her with pity. She was wearing thin clothes that resembled rags. The little girl was obviously frightened and was cowering from him.

    ¡°Are you hurt?¡± He asked in a soft voice.

    The girl didn''t answer, she just sat, coiled up like a snake.

    ¡°Let me help you up, it''s safe.¡± He said reaching into the crate to pull her out. The girl grabbed his hand and bit deeply into it. She bit him so hard she cut through his hide glove and drew blood. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°Ugh, Fuck! Fine, stay here you little brat!¡± Martins hand bled and was pulsing with pain. He stormed out of the cart and took his travel sack and the makeshift bag of salted pork and headed northwest down the road. Walking not too far from the cart he stopped, the flood of apathy that came upon him soon dried up, creating a drought of guilt once more. He placed his bitten hand on the burnt sigil on his chest and felt a sense of duty. He may not have been able to save the woman from earlier but he could save a small child from the tortures of the world. If he didn''t help her she could be taken and sold to brothels, mauled by beasts, or just starve and wither away. Martin couldn''t allow himself to be so hard-hearted. The noble warrior began walking back toward the cart and shuffled through his traveling pack and pulled out his only sugar cone. Approaching the cart he opened the entrance flap and saw the little girl out of the box.

    ¡° Hi, are¡­¡± Martin couldn''t finish his sentence, the Girl hissed and threw a tomato at him, pegging the old man directly in the face. The tomato sliding off his rugged mug leaving an acidic streak of red juice.

    ¡°You are a little brat aren''t you! I should have let those men rape you too, at least it would have settled you down! Look, if you''d calm down I''m just trying to help you!¡± He said aggressively, agitated at her hostility. After a few moments of quiet contemplating, Martin stuck his hand through the curtain holding the fairly large sugar cone in his palm. Only his arm was inside the cart hoping to encourage her to come closer by hiding his weathered face.

    ¡°Do you want it? It''s yours if you want it¡­¡± Martin said deceivingly.

    The old warrior waited till he felt a small shift in the cart and the barely audible breathing of the little girl. He sensed her near him and snatched her by her arm as she was reaching for the sweet. He pulled her malnourished body out of the cart surprising her and pinning the girl against the road.  She struggled and tried to bite him but he held her tight by the shoulders, trapping her on the ground.

    ¡°Listen to me!¡± Martin shouted at her.

    The little girls fighting spirit never faded as she began to scream and kick uncontrollably. Without warning Martin slapped her unflinchingly across the face, shutting her up and bringing her eyes and his to finally meet each other. She couldn''t scream from the shock of being struck. She was captivated on his single green eye, even if it was dulled by years of failure.

    ¡°I don''t want to have to do that again.¡± The old man said.

    ¡°My names Stre¡­ Martin, my name''s Martin Helmwood. I came across your cart as I was traveling northwest along the road. I am not with the men that attacked your wagon, nor am I going to hurt you. I mean well, I promise.¡± Martin said with stern sincerity.

    The little girl grimaced at him and spat in his eye.

    ¡°Liar, You''re with them!!!¡± She said after spitting in Martin''s eye Causing him to swear and strike her again, leaving a large hand print on the side of her face and a droplet of blood to roll down her lip.

    ¡°Listen you disgusting little shit! I am slowly losing the little patience I have for you! If you do anything else to piss me off I''ll leave you to the wolves!¡± He said screaming at her.

    ¡°Now, Are you alone, is there anyone else except the woman who was with you, is there anyone I can leave you with?¡± Martin said, becoming irritated very quickly.

    The girls face began to twist into something sympathetic, she became sad and started to whimper.

    ¡°Momma..? Where''s momma? I want my momma.¡± She asked frantically with tears in her eyes.

    ¡°Sorry kid your mother was taken... Now, is there anyone I can leave you with?¡± Martin cold-bloodedly asked wanting to get rid of this moral baggage.

    The little girl cried harder than she had before, but this time she didn''t kick or scream, she just laid there and cried till the dirt around her head was wet with tears.

    ¡°Listen... it''s going to be dark soon and we need to get moving, I don''t have time for your immaturity. Your mother is possibly dead, the faster you get over it the faster the pain will go away. So, if you want to live than shut your mouth and follow me, or else suffer your fate.¡±

    Martins patience completely depleted, stood up, and began to walk down the road. The little girl sat up and stared around at the frightening dead bodies lying everywhere. It was their eyes, they were hollow and void of life, she felt so alone but there was no one to commiserate with except the birds and the dead.

    Martin walked a full mile down the road before looking back. To his surprise she was following him about twenty feet behind, clutching her stuffed doll close to her chest. She stared at him intently with a wary disposition. He eventually stopped to let her catch up, but she stopped as well. Every hundred feet he would stop to check if she was still there, and sure enough, she was. They repeated this process five times before Martin gave up. He didn''t care much for her now anyway. He was too absorbed in finding a safe place to camp for the night.

    They eventually stepped off the road and walked for another mile between the trees and scrub brush. Martin finally decided to stop at the bank of a sizeable brook and took shelter under an overhang made from a large willow trees roots that jutted out from the small sandy hillside. He sat down and checked if the girl was still following. He noticed she was down the bank some thirty feet, hiding behind a tree and staring at him. The little girl watched the strange man take the pork from the bag and rinse the excess salt from the meat in the flowing stream. He then placed the slab of pork on a clean cloth, being careful not to coat it in the sand. Martin stood up and collected dry driftwood up on the bank. Sitting back down he took out a knife from his traveler''s sack and unsheathed it. Using the knife he made a measly pile of wood shavings that he collected and fluffed into a small nest. Out of his satchel, he took a blocky looking piece of stone and struck it with the back of his knife till it spewed sparks across the tinder. The sparks slowly grew into embers and the man put his hands around the pile and lightly blew till it burst into a holdable flame. Martin hesitated but eventually cradled the small bed of flame, picking it up and placing it on the little stack of twigs he set up beforehand. He gingerly began to feed it small pieces of kindling, satisfying the fire''s appetite. The flame swelled to an appropriate size that kept him warm and would be large enough to cook his meal without giving away his position. He Fashioned a makeshift spit out of three sticks and skewered the pork shoulder on the middle rod and placed it over the blaze. The heavenly aroma wafting through the air made the young girls mouth water and her stomach twist, her hunger was so intense she couldn''t help herself but to slowly inch toward the fragrance. She wound up standing on the other end of the fire. She watched the man begin to carve a hunk of meat from the relatively burnt shoulder of pork. She stared at him, begging like a dog. She watched him take bite after bite till there wasn¡¯t much left.

    Martin looked at the young girl.

    ¡°Are you hungry?¡± He asked. The little girl nodded frantically.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give you the rest of the food if you answer three questions for me, AND, if you promise to behave.¡± Martin sternly demanded.

    She nodded.

    ¡°I said promise me.¡± Martin barked.

    ¡°I promise.¡± The little girl said slowly. Martin handed her the knife.

    ¡°Take what you want from the roast, but don¡¯t eat so much that you can¡¯t talk,¡± Martin said while poking the fire with a stick, adding more wood, and sending some ash up into the dark starless night.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s your name and how old are you young lady?¡± Martin asked.

    ¡°Thofia¡­twelf¡± The starved girl said with a face full of pork.

    ¡°Careful or else you might choke! Now, let¡¯s try that again without your mouth full.¡± Martin said with concern, fearing he would have saved the girl for nothing.

    ¡°Zofia. And I¡¯m twelve and a half years old.¡± The little girl said after swallowing the mouthful of roasted pork.

    ¡°That¡¯s a nice name... Well, Zofia, do you have any relatives? Anyone in the local cities by any chance?¡± Martin questioning her.

    ¡°Yes, I have an aunt in Awolon, but she''s mean, meaner than you.¡± The Little girl nodded and took another bite of food.

    A cold chill went down his spine, he hadn¡¯t stepped foot in Morn Awolon since he was excommunicated. Martin didn¡¯t want to travel into that city, he didn¡¯t know what types of guilt and sorrows that would reemerge. Most terrifying of all he didn¡¯t want to rekindle any hopes of his selfish crusade. Martin just began to have regular dreams again, he had stopped having nightmares of fire, of betrayal, of the shadowy figure dressed in black. He didn¡¯t want to undo all the damage that he had tried to run away from by becoming a hermit.

    ¡°Is there any ones else? Anyone in Morn Uther or Morn Gwenavara by any chance?

    She just shook her head.

    The man sighed. It couldn¡¯t be helped, he had no other choice, he had to save this girl. He would just drop her off and make for the cold embrace of the wilderness again. Martin began taking off his armor and placing it neatly on the ground near him like he had the past thousands of nights. He took off the poncho, the cuirass, the leather jerkin. Zofia watched him with curiosity. He took off his long sleeve padded shirt and folded it neatly on the ground and pulled his long underwear down to his waist. Zofia gazed on his tight musculature, he was old but still had a semblance of strength left in his torso. She noticed all the scars across his arms and back. Zofia saw the deformed skin from burns that trailed down his neck and across the tops of both of his shoulders, those scars looked the most painful. She was intrigued, yet, puzzled by this one-eyed man.

    ¡°Are you a Knight?¡± She asked blinking in curious wonderment.

    ¡°No.¡± Martin gruffly said reaching into his satchel, pulling out a spool of thread and a needle.

    ¡°Are you a bandit?¡±

    ¡°No...¡± Martin said again but slightly more agitated. He held the end of the string in his mouth as he Began to stitch up the sword wound from earlier on his right arm.

    ¡°Are you a Demon, I heard that some Demons can take the form of things and trick little girls into the woods and¡­¡± she began talking until Martin shot her a glare of warning.

    Martin finished the stitching with little trouble, having done it countless times. The old man buttoned up his long johns and put the needle and thread away. Exhausted he laid back against the small sandy cliff side and watched the little girl pull a sugar cone from the inside of her doll. She stared at the fire and licked the cone until it was completely gone. The sweetness was more satisfying than she could have imagined.  He had to give it to the kid, she had spirit. He certainly appreciated her moxie, perhaps she would survive this world and not be crushed by the weight. Martin was warm and comfortable with the heat from the fire soothing him in a way he hadn¡¯t felt in a while. It had been months since he had a reason to build a fire, this was a luxury he couldn¡¯t afford to have every night. He stayed awake until the girl slumped into the sand and fell asleep. He watched her twitch and begin to shake from the cold night air. Martin stood up and covered her with his Poncho, it might have stunk like a cow but it would keep her warm. He laid back down and closed his eyes, the fire conjuring up memories of distant nights.

 Chapter 4: Behold! the Monolith.

    ¡°A Sentinel?! Sir, I am barely fit to be a soldier...¡± Martin couldn''t believe the question that he had just been asked.

    ¡°Sentinels aren''t soldiers, Martin. We aren''t knights, we are hunters of the occult and slayers of the Magical. We rarely take orders from anyone and are never treated anything less than what we are¡­ Warriors of God. It''s your choice Martin, It¡¯s your life.¡± Sovereign said with potency.

    ¡°But why me? Why not an officer or Sergeant Vance?¡± Martin just couldn''t believe that he could be considered anything more than fodder. The very notion distorted his frail reality, he was practically trying to hand the offer to another man just to make sense of it.

    ¡°Stop being dense Martin it spoils the character I''ve seen in you today!¡± Sovereign raised his voice and stared at Martin sharply.

    ¡°As I said, you were the only one to follow us in battle today and fight back. It''s not like you weren''t afraid, I sensed it in you, that''s why you hesitated to come into the church at first, wasn''t it?¡± Sovereign continued to stare at the boy but Martin turned his face toward the fireplace in embarrassment.

    ¡°You were, as they say, Heroic. You did what had to be done even if it felt impossible in the moment Martin. That takes Valor, and that''s someone I could consider as a brother under the right circumstances.¡± Sovereigns words were so striking, so unequivocal, that Martin was convinced that Sovereign absolutely believed in them.

    ¡°But my platoon?¡± Martin questioning the last bit of reason holding him back.

    ¡°Martin, I have holy-law granted upon me by the church to ordain anyone I deem worthy an Apostle. Your command would have no choice but to release you, or, suffer the consequences,¡± said the Sentinel.

    ¡°An Apostle?¡± Martin questioned.

    ¡°You wouldn''t be a Sentinel outright, of course. It would take years of meticulous studying and practice under the watchful tutelage of a consecrated Sentinel and our staff. It could be up to ten years before you ever had the opportunity to test for the title.¡± Sovereign admitted to him openly.

    ¡°A test?!¡± Martin was shocked. He had never taken a test before in his life, he was only taught basic arithmetic by his father and was nearly illiterate.

    ¡°Yes, a four-part test to be exact. A written portion, a spoken portion, a combat orientated portion, and you have to take on a commission, a lot like this one. You take a test in each of the three great cities. Of course, the Cardinal of that city would determine the curriculum of that individual portion of the qualifying examination. The Commission comes from the church, where you will undergo anything from an exorcism to hunting and killing a Demonic beast.¡± Sovereign was studying Martins resolve, making sure it stood up to the threat of academia. He knew that the other Sentinels wouldn''t be as kind as he had been to the young boy. Martin stared into the fire, motionless and deep in thought.  He stood up and faced Sovereign.

    ¡°Yes, I want to be a Sentinel,¡± Martin said with unyielding confidence in his voice.

    ¡°I know Martin. Now, go get some sleep, we leave early in the morning. I''ll finish your shift for you, besides, I''ll be riding my horse tomorrow and you''ll be walking.¡±

    The boy nodded and went to the designated sleeping quarters. Sovereign stared into the fiery abyss and breathed deeply, letting out a long exhale knowing the crooked door he had opened for the boy.

    Early in the morning before the rooster crowed Sovereign pulled Martin out of bed, the sun still asleep below the horizon, and the rest of the platoon with it. Martin was waiting next to Sovereign who was writing a letter that the boy could barely read.

    ¡°Sign here Martin,¡± Sovereign said pointing toward the line on the bottom of the paper.

    ¡°What does it say, sir?¡± Martin asked.

    The Sentinel cleared his throat. ¡°Dear Platoon Thirty-two Echo, I have taken Private Martin Helmwood and dubbed him my Apostle for acts of Valor, by decree of the holy law, I hereby relinquish him of all current military duties. His rank will no longer be a Private in the service of the church but now an Apostle of God, and will be under my care from here on out. Dutifully, Sovereign of Morn Awolon.¡± He gave the quill to Martin ¡°Sign so they know I didn''t kidnap you.¡± He lightly chuckled

    Martin quickly signed the letter the best he could. The pair headed out onto the road, the starry sky was bright and the moon was full.

    ¡°Sir, why are we leaving so early?¡± Martin yawned out.

    ¡°Never let the sun catch you sleep, Martin.  It''s disrespectful to the radiant one. We are in service to God, whose image is of a great sun upon our chest, and as such we must be up before it. Now I don''t want to hear a word from you till we stop for supper, I like to travel in silence. And as my Apostle you will do as I command, that won''t be a problem, will it Martin?¡± Sovereign said looking down at the boy who was walking next to his horse.

    ¡°No, sir!¡± Said the boy proudly.

    ¡°Good.¡± Sovereign was overly pleased with his new apprentice. It was always desired to find a pupil as young as possible. The younger the apprentice easier they would be to teach and not hold onto past ideologies.

    The two travelers arrived at an inn right before sundown, hungry and tired from a long day worth of traveling.

    ¡°Martin, Tie up my horse in the stable, brush her, pick her feet, and feed her then come inside to finish the rest of your chores,¡± Sovereign ordered in a calm straightforward tone.

    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± Martin did as he was commanded, he treated the horse like royalty, even if it was just a stubborn old mare. After he handled the horse he came inside the inn, it smelt like fresh bread and elm sap. It was busy, all types of men smoking pipes with vanilla tobacco, eating fire-roasted meat, and who was breaking bread with each other. There was the sound of a string instrument in the background, and the chattering of glasses filled the main dining hall. There was plenty of singing floating through the air, the atmosphere felt very hospitable and homely. Martin asked the Inn host if she had seen where Sovereign was, she thought for a moment and gave him the directions to his room. Inside, Sovereign was unarmed and in his shirt and trousers, scrawling some notes inside a small travel journal.

    ¡°What will you have me do next sir?¡± Martin enthusiastically asked as he walked in. Sovereign looked up as he closed his journal.

    ¡°I need you to brush the dirt off my boots and shine them, polish all my armor, Sharpen my sword, and rub beeswax on all my leather straps. I''m going to take a warm bath after your done with you your chores I want you to take these gold pieces and get enough food for both of us. Oh! No fish, Martin. I hate fish.¡± Sovereign said while undressing till he was nude. He then handed the boy ten gold shekels in a tight leather pouch. Martins'' hand felt heavy, he had never seen so much money in his life. It was customary to have at least one gold piece in your home in case of an emergency, but that was only if you were well off. Most families barely had Ten coppers let alone one gold piece. The splendor of being a Sentinel showed in just a small sack of leather. Martin grinned and thought in time he would have more money than his home village. The boy dry scrubbed all the dirt from the boots and polished them feverishly till his arms ached, while buffing the armor he caught his reflection but paid himself no mind, he couldn''t be distracted and continued his chores. He sharpened Sovereigns sword by stropping it and finished it with a whetstone. The blade was elaborate and contained a ruby embedded in the hilt, Martin barely noticed any of these details while they were in combat with Bahmat. Martin slicked all the leather straps on his armor, belt, and boots with beeswax. Martin was proud of the care he took on such a noble warriors kit. The young boy quickly hurried down-stairs where he ordered, with purpose, a cask of ale, bread, two scotch eggs, soup, and a pitcher of water. The Boy and two garden-variety homunculi brought the food up to sovereigns spacious room. Martin set the table and waited for Sovereign to finish bathing.

    ¡°Martin, come here,¡± Sovereign called from the bathroom. Martin peaked his head in and saw Sovereign shaving his face with a straight razor peering into a small mirror mounted onto the wall. The man had a towel wrapped around his waist, his body was covered in scars and claw marks, he had a light athletic build and was tight like a wildcat. The room was filled with steam and smelt of pine and rosemary.

    ¡°You weren''t thinking about eating like that?¡±Sovereign said not breaking his concentration from the razor on his neck.

    ¡°Like what sir?¡± Martin said cluelessly.

    ¡°Martin, you just got done grooming my horse and cleaning my boots. You haven''t bathed in who knows how long. I can practically smell you from here... You aren''t a peasant, you''re not a soldier, you are an Apostle of the church. Your body must be as clean as your spirit to be recognized as pure. Go order a homunculus to draw you a warm bath and join me when you''re clean.

    ¡°Yes sir, I had no idea of my current state,¡± Martin said apologetically.

    ¡°The food is getting cold Martin...¡± The man said implying his impatience.

    Martin did what he was told. He laid in the warm soapy water and scrubbed till he was pruned and red. Emerging from the light brown froth his body smelt immaculate and felt right as rain, but his stomach squealed like a horse in heat. He dressed in his only other pair of clean clothes. Reentering The Sentinels room he saw Sovereign writing something inside the same journal, he tore the page out, folded it, and put it in an envelope. He handed the letter to a man who had Markings of a courier but Martin couldn''t be sure.

    ¡°Much better Martin! Come, let us pray and then eat.¡± Sovereign said cheerfully.

    The boy sat down across from the man, they both bowed their heads and silently prayed. Martin thanked God for this opportunity to prove himself, and he vowed to fight courageously for the great sun and for his new champion, Sovereign of Morn Awolon. When Martin raised his head The Sentinel was still deep into his prayer, so the boy waited patiently for the man to be done. When Sovereign finished they began to eat. Martin looked for the ale where he left it, but couldn''t find the small cask he had bought.

    ¡°Sir, where''s the beer?¡± Martin asked curiously.

    ¡°I told the Homunculi to take it away. We are warriors of God and can''t abide in anything that could distract us from his light.¡± Sovereign plainly said while cutting into the loaf of bread.

    ¡°Like alcohol?¡± Martin asked sadly.

    ¡°Yes, Martin, like alcohol. There are plenty of other things we abstain from as well. Woman for example. Every Sentinel swears an oath of celibacy, only bound to each other.¡± Sovereign said while spreading butter over the slice of bread.

    ¡°Bound to each other?¡± Martin began ladling soup in his bowl.

    ¡°Yes, bound to each other. You and I would be fated to each other after our binding.¡± The man said as he chewed on the buttered piece of bread.

    ¡°But¡­ but isn''t that a sin sir¡­?¡± The boy said staring in honest confusion.

    ¡°Don''t think of it as intimacy Martin. Yes, sodomy is a sin, but it isn''t a sexual binding that I''m talking about. It''s a loyalty to one another, it''s an innate trust that will never fade. It''s the purest form of companionship a human can have, even more so than marriage.¡± Sovereigns warm grin was slightly unusual for he rarely smiled, but it was pleasant and full of cheer so Martin smiled back.

    ¡°I don''t understand, how so more than marriage?¡± Martins appetite to know about the world around him was insatiable. He constantly craved answers to the things he didn''t understand, so he asked many questions.

    ¡°Well... I would die for you Martin, how many wives would do the same?¡± Sovereigns words sitting in the young boy''s heart, like an ember, enkindling him, making him feel warm and wanted.

    ¡°I think I understand sir, thank you.¡± Martin has never felt this before, so the boy was quiet the rest of the night, holding tightly onto the heat in his chest.

    The next morning the duo set off before the sun, never letting it catch them sleeping. They traveled all day in silence until they stopped at a lake along the way to water the horse and rest.

    ¡°Forgive me Sir, but where are we going?¡± Martin had been so excited the last day he had forgotten to ask such a simple question.

    ¡°The Sentinel district in Morn Awolon... It is the headquarters for all Sentinels... and it will be your home for the next several years.¡± Sovereign said in between sips of water from his flask. Martins'' face lit up, he had never seen the Holiest of holy cities or any city for that matter. His life was taking a turn for the best, had he truly been blessed?

    As dawn approached the next day, Martin and Sovereign crossed a hillside bend where the boy saw a figure on the horizon the likes of which he had never seen. It stood taller than anything that ever was, piercing heaven with its expanse, its silhouette blanketed in a gorgeous vanilla twilight. They were miles from it but it would grace their vision until they entered the City. Behold! the Monolith; it was as ancient as the mountains, beautiful as fire, and more striking than a lightning bolt. The massive construct stood as a beacon of hope for the weary and downtrodden. It towered at a mind-boggling Two-thousand and twenty-three feet tall and was Two Hundred and twenty-five feet by two hundred and twenty-five feet in diameter. The size was as glorious as its surface. The face of the tower was made from obsidian that was darker than the deformed ebony that sat deep in the hearts of men. Martin was in awe of it, as was everyone who has had the unfortunate pleasure to gaze upon its excellence.  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Near noon of the Fourth day of travel, they approached the massive wall that encircled the city of Morn Awolon. The wall was made from solid stone that was at least three men thick. The outside rampart was a fortress, near impregnable except for two entrances, one leading out toward Morn Gwenevere and the other toward Morn Ulrich. Watchtowers and sentries were everywhere, you couldn''t spit without hitting a guard. As the two crossed under the portcullis the boy stared at a bustling metropolis filled with people from every walks of life. But something seemed off, different in the city than in the small satellite villages. People were busy running about, no one smiling, everyone looked sickly and grey. As the two walked down the main road further into the city Martin noticed that not one person stared at the duo, they just kept their heads low and their eyes lower. The beggars avoided them and even guards bowed their heads not to catch the grey eyes of the Sentinel.

    ¡°Forgive me sir, but why are the people acting strangely?¡± Martin said puzzled from the unusual treatment.

    ¡°You''re no longer a commoner Martin, you''re now a member of the church. Weather that brings you fear or respect, well, that is for you to judge and deal with in your own way. Now, we''re almost to our sanctum, when we get there you will handover your current belongings to the Homunculi to be disposed of. Then I want you¡­¡± Sovereign trailed off noticing that Martin was gazing at the base of the Monolith as they began to pass it.  Hundreds of people were kneeling at its foundation, praying, and bowing on its gently sloping stairs. The people touched it, the elderly cried, they were all praying for God to help their illnesses or, possibly, to see their children come back from the war alive. Martin thought it was glorious before, but now he was stupefied. The absolute majesty that it forced upon the common man was something that sent one in a state of catatonic awe. Its colossal width nearly took up the entire center of the city that was built around it. The towers surface was so smooth and reflective that the boy saw himself in the side of the tower, even at fifty yards. Martin stared entranced as his head and eyes began to travel up the wall of the Monolith, it pierced the sky, the sun spewing rays of brilliant light off of its glassy surface. With unblinking eyes he gazed deep into it, it felt like it stretched into an unfathomable eternity, as if it were part of the void, like staring into the all-seeing eye of God. He was transfixed on it, on its Astonishment, upon its radiance, and that feeling filled him with a sense of unexplainable dread.

    While Martins¡¯ eyes were studying the structure, Sovereign rode up behind him and rapped him on the back off his head, snapping him out of his unintentional fixation.

    ¡°I know it''s your first time in the city, and it''s all very interesting, but we do have a lot to get done Martin,¡± Sovereign said with haste.

    ¡°Sorry, sir!¡± Martin said snapping out of his bewilderment.

    The two traveled through a mighty gate into a separate section within the city. The structure ahead of them was massive, housing different sections with four different minarets on each corner. The Sentinels sanctum was a rectangular shape, and the vast square nave was covered with a central stained glass dome that is held on four massive pillars. The arcade around the dome was unbroken with a hundred arched windows to bring more light inside. Excluding the four narthexes and the capacious atrium, the basilica measures two hundred thirty by two forty-five feet. The atrium is large and breathtaking, with hanging plants and vines crawling up its walls. The total length of the establishment measures four hundred and forty-five feet. The long walkway leading to a circular courtyard was flanked on both sides by cloisters, where gray robed homunculi and Apostles wearing dark frocks walked about on their various tasks and lessons. Ornate sculpting was masterfully carved into the various pillars lining the halls. Entering the courtyard Sovereign dismounted his horse and a robed monk took the reins, leading it toward the stable.

    ¡°Follow me, Martin,¡± Sovereign commanded as he began walking toward the door in the center of the courtyard. Martin followed stuck in a pleasant stupor. The building was beautiful, covered in blue and white tiles that had to be constantly polished to sparkling perfection by the Homunculi monks who served the Sentinels. The sanctum was trimmed with gold and embedded with sapphires. Ambling through the large marble doorway Martins'' eyes wandered upon all of the decadence. He was then struck by the site above him, he was standing under a massive stained glass dome that showered him in heavenly light and colors, the boy had never experienced so much beauty not even in his most fanciful dreams.

    From the shadows a young Apostle, that was around fourteen, bounded toward him and tackled Martin, sending him flying across the marble floor.

    ¡°Your stepping on the radiant sun! You do that again and I''ll whoop you senseless!¡± the young boy shouted.

    ¡°Wha? What did I do?¡± Martin cluelessly said as he began to get up in a daze. ¡°Look down¡­!¡± The boy pointed toward the floor that he pushed Martin off of. Upon the ground was a beautifully painted white sun with red waves coming off of it, it was the sigil of the Sentinels, The great radiant sun.

    ¡°I''m sorry I had no idea, I''m new.¡± Martin sputtered out

    ¡°Apparently! Don''t let me catch you doing it again.¡± The boy said as he was walking away. Sovereign approached his pupil.

    ¡°Sorry I didn''t warn you, Martin¡­ I guess I''ve been so used to walking around the Radiant one that I forgot to warn you.¡± Sovereign said empathetically as he rubbed the back of his head.

    ¡°Its ok sir, I suppose I had to learn one way or another!¡± Martin said ardently, trying to hide his embarrassment.

    ¡°Ok Martin, This here is the Sergeant of arms, he is is the Homunculus that will show you to the armory where you will be supplied your uniforms, books, and training weapons. We will meet later tonight for the ceremony.¡± Sovereign said as he gestured to the robbed homunculi.

    ¡°Why can''t I go with you, sir?¡± Martin was feeling out of place and wanted to be by his Master''s side.

    ¡°I''m sorry Martin, where I''m going you cannot follow, Not yet at least. I''ll meet you tonight, now be a good Apostle and do as I say.¡± Sovereigns words echoed through the chamber as he walked up to a broad flight of winding stairs.

    ¡°Come, young Apostle, we have a lot to get done in a short amount of time.¡± The Sergeant said hurriedly as he began to lead Martin toward a stairwell that headed deep into the ground. The stairway was long and winding with torches every ten feet or so. they were far under the earth where it was cool. They happened upon a large wooden door with several different locks on it. The Homunculi unlocked all six of the locks with all the keys on his key ring. The door creaked open and inside the long supply room were many different homunculi folding clothes and sharpening swords. Each one had a specific duty and was hard at work doing whatever task they were deemed was their reason to live. The Boy and the Monk walked toward the end of the room.

    ¡°Strip and get dressed in these.¡± The Monk ordered as he handed Martin a white frock with the colorful radiant sun sewn on the front of it, a red sash, and a pair of minimalistic black slippers. The boy undressed slowly, slightly embarrassed from the strange looking Homunculi standing all around him.

    ¡°Dress faster, we have much more to get through.¡± The monk barked.

    The monk than handed the boy a large canvas bag, and eyed him up and down taking a mental note of his size and measurements, he then began to put clothes inside the bag. Another frock and a pair of black slippers, a dark brown training shirt with a pair of padded brown trousers, worn down Leather training gloves, a few pairs of woolen socks, and a pair of training boots. The Sergeant at arms ordered the boy to follow him, and he did. He then gave him a different bag that was large and well put together, there were many thick slots to hold books.

    ¡°Listen, young Apostle, I''m only going to repeat myself this one time.¡± The Monk began to hand him books. ¡°Arithmetic: Volume one and two; Voltez Poetry and Literary fundamentals: Volume one, two, and three; A translated copy of the image and laws of the dead, Demonic imagery and scripture, Sword mastery and combat tactics, abstraction of the five magics, and of course the holy scripture; the Holy write.¡± The monk named each book as he held them high and then handed them to Martin. The boy was astonished by the size of each tome. They were all very weighty and were thick enough he wouldn''t be able to grip them with one hand. He supported each bag from there straps on his shoulders, it was heavy but he was able to bare the physical pain more than the mental anguish from all of these books that he was worried about.

    The monk and the boy walked back up the staircase and into the main entryway, the monk-led Martin to a dormitory-style chamber with neat bunk beds lining the room. Martin was guided to his bunk where he was ordered to unpack. He folded his clothes and put his books away in a metal footlocker that was placed horizontally at the foot of his bed next to his bunkmates. Martin sat there on the bottom bunk his eyes looking around the vacant room, his heart was fluttering from all of the excitement, he could barely believe just a few days ago he was a nobody, and now he was deep within this elaborate building entwined with gold. If only his mother could see him she would be so proud, and his Father would pat him on his back and tell him that he''s shaping up to be a good man, and his little brother would no doubt idolize and admire him. But nobody was around and he was alone, it didn''t matter because he believed in his journey just as Sovereign believed in him. The Monk escorted him to a private bath where a few other monks began to disrobe him, Martin was slightly panicked. But they hushed him and he was calm, almost as if he was under a spell. They washed him in a large tub, scrubbing every inch of his body till he was clean. They clipped his hair short and scrubbed the lice from his scalp. They gave him a white linen frock to dress in. The Head monk-led Martin to a dark chamber with a door which held a stain glass window of a Sun.

    ¡°Now young Apostle, we are in the preparatory chamber for your ceremony with Master Sovereign, I need you¡­¡± The Monk said before being cut off.

    ¡°Ceremony, I haven''t planned anything and I''m completely unprepared! I don''t even know what the ceremony is for!¡± Martin blurted out in frantic immaturity.

    ¡°Calm down and just follow me and everything will be alright.¡± The Monk expressed as he attempted to reassure the boy leading him through the door and into a large chapel.

    The room was dimly lit, cool and dark, and the smell of the incense was foreign to him and kept him on edge. The great chapel hall was almost filled elbow to elbow with Apostles, Monks, and Sentinels lining the pews and walls, each person was standing at attention waiting for the ceremony to begin. Martin was brought to a wooden altar that was made from a lighter color wood yet the top was unnaturally stained dark. Out from the other sacristy, on the far end of the sanctuary, Sovereign came out wearing the same white frock that Martin was robbed in. The Sentinel was standing on the opposite end of the altar as the boy and had a calm smile on his face as he stared at Martin with his stalwart grey eyes. Shortly following Sovereign a man adorned with a royal red cassock and a tall, gaudy, red satin crown embellished with an abundance of jewels came out of the same door. The man was chanting in an unrecognizable tongue and shaking his hands above his head with holy eccentricity. He was followed by a small procession of monks wearing red hooded robes each carrying a smoking thurible in their left hand and a golden sword in their right hand that was stretched across their chests. The adorned man stood between Sovereign and Martin and began to chant.

    ¡°Ouuuur holy all-fatheeeer, notice here todaaaay we recognize this booooy as a member of ouuur clergyyy. Let hiiim and this Sentineeel be bound by blooood and their flesh twisted like the sons. Let him see the light, let his soul be yours to use as you wish, let your word elevate his body and mind, amen.¡± The old man''s voice echoed in a sing-song manner across the chapel hall. The Homunculi took Martins hand and Sovereigns, binding them together with their palms facing each others, and enclosed them in a stained box with a hole on each side. The air was still inside the chapel hall, everything felt so calm and quiet from the anticipation of what was to come. But Martin wasn''t calm, he felt a tight ball in his throat and sensed he was in danger. The boy''s eyes flicked across the room and gazed at the many men who filled the hall, everyone was staring, waiting. He looked over toward the robbed man who unsheathed a long iron spike from a purple satin cloth. Martin jerked slightly to try and escape but Sovereign was clutching his hand within the box.

    ¡°Calm down Martin, it will all be over soon, I promise.¡± Sovereign smiled at the boy. The ceremony was ready, one of the Homunculi jabbed the long spike through the hole in the box piercing the hands of Martin and Sovereign, and coming out the other side. The boy screamed from the pain, the white-hot burning from the metal was excruciating. He was panicked, self-pity fell over him and was sure he would be sacrificed like a lamb. Martin jerked his hand violently but it only caused him and Sovereign more pain as his hand pulled against the rod stuck inside of it. Blood began to run out of the bottom of the box and pool inside a silver Kylix. Martin noticed the blood and was wild with fear. His terrified eyes met Sovereigns, the Sentinel was as stone-faced as the first day he saw him. This gave no comfort to the boy. In his panic, he felt as if he was tricked into a place of suffering. Martin continued to buck like a mule, letting out profanities for an agonizing Three minutes before Sovereign spoke to him.

    ¡°Gather yourself Martin!¡± He said with an aggressive but hushed tone.  ¡°The sooner you endure and accept our pain the sooner it will end. Do not embarrass us.¡±

    Martin trusted the man and attempted to settle down but his body shook from spasms that crept up his spine, his arm burned and pulsed from the inflammation, he stood there silently praying for the anguish to end. Upon seeing that the boy was still The Crowned man began to speak again.

    ¡°Notiiice beeefore uuuus, the joining of these two, bound by God and country, bound by flesh and blood. Sovereign do you swear to take this boy as your Apostle to teach him the way of the Sentinel and guide him toward heavens light?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Sovereign said while remaining composed.

    ¡°Do you, Martin, accept Sovereign as your guide and will you accept our culture and ways on the path to Sentinel-hood?¡±

    Martin mustered all the strength in his body fighting past the painful lump in his throat ¡°I... do...¡±

    ¡°Than it is decided, The boy is one of us, release them and we will drink from the offerings.¡±

    The two were released from there binding. On each of their hands, a small but visible hole was left bleeding, The swelling had begun as soon as the spike was removed. Each of their hands was immediately treated with a mysterious paste that began to sting the wound but quickly numbed the pain after the rapid application of antibiotic their hands were wrapped tightly in white linen. One of the Monks took the Kylix that was filled with blood and carefully handed it to the orator on the pedestal.

    ¡°Through our brother''s blood, we shall escape the weight!¡± He hollered out into the heavens and took a sip. Each man in the Hall would vociferate the same line before drinking from the vase of blood. The Kylix made its way back to Martin and Sovereign standing on the altar there was only a few pitiful spoonfuls left. Sovereign took the vase in his hands.

    ¡°Through our brother''s blood we shall escape the weight!¡± he hollered wildly and without self-consciousness. He drank deeply from the bowl letting a droplet of blood stream down his freshly shaved chin. The man handed the vessel to the boy and nodded urging him to take it. Martin took it apprehensively, unsure of what he should do. His eyes scanned the room and saw the crowd with his blood on their lips, hellish longing in their eyes, the absolute barbarism of it gave him cold sweats. Martin perked up his courage once more and lifted the bowl to his face. His hands were cool and clammy, he smelt the metallic odor of the blood. The poor boy didn''t want to drink, but he had to if he wanted to continue his quest. So he hardened his resolve and readied himself once more.

    ¡°Through our brother''s blood, we shall escape the weight!¡± With much hesitation, he yelled and drank the remainder of the crimson fluid. The blood had begun to coagulate and the chunky consistency slipping over his tongue made him gag, but he finished the soup. The room erupted into cheers and hoots, everyone was pleased to accept a new member to the guild. Licking his lips the copper taste tainted his mouth and made him feel sick. Martin stood up straight and true and was finally pleased with the entire situation. The fledgling Apostle stood proudly among his new Brothers and hoped he could indeed, with their help, escape the weight.

 Chapter 5: A pound of flesh.

    The sound of a twig snapping was enough to send Martin leaping to his feet and ready for a fight. His heart burned from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his neck was pulsing from the intensity. But to his dismay there was no danger, no demons skulking in the morning fog, no monstrosity looming over his sleeping body, but what he saw was much worse, a small girl collecting river flowers. He had thought the long day before was just a bad dream, but he was mistaken.

    ¡°What are you doing up? How come you''re not asleep?!¡± He wasn''t used to the company let alone a little girl. The girl grimaced at him and went about her playing. He was grumpy from being disturbed by her. Martin quickly became very annoyed at her naive romping and grabbed her by the arms to sit her down.

    ¡°Listen, you can''t be making such a ruckus. You''re going to draw unwanted attention.¡± Martin grumbled as he attempted to drag her down.

    She fought and kicked at him till he rose his hand to strike her and she flinched. She sat down not wanting to be hit.

    ¡°Well, at least you can learn.¡± He said with a smirk.

    Martin sat with his legs crossed in the sand under the rooted overgrowth and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he began to calm down from his drowsy defense he noticed that the camp had been tampered with, things weren''t as he left them. His sword was two yards from the camp and so was his traveling sack. Most terrifyingly his armor was missing. Martin scrambled looking for it, he was desperate and hadn''t felt a panic like this in years.

    ¡°My armor, my things! What did you do with my things brat?!¡± Martin snapped at her rapidly, correctly assuming her to be the culprit.

    Zofia could see that he was visibly distressed so she spoke up softly afraid of the consequences if she didn''t.

    ¡°I''m sorry... I ¡­ I just wanted to try it on.¡± She said in a shameful sorry way that children do when they realize they made a mistake.

    ¡°What did you do with it? Where are my things!¡± Martins patience began to bend to its breaking point.

    She pointed toward the brook. The breastplate was partly submerged in the creek blending in with the dark, water stained river stones.

    ¡°I just wanted to be you¡­ and it got heavy and I fell over. Then I got it off but it slipped out of my hands and rolled into the water. I couldn''t un-stuck it, I''m sorry.¡± She said meekly. Her head was hung low and she was indeed sorry for what she did, But it didn''t matter, Martins patience had broken clean in two. The grown man pounced on the child with arms outstretched. He pinned her against the sandy bank and wrapped his hands around her tiny neck.

    ¡°You ever touch my things again I''ll kill ya!¡± He screamed at her and slammed her into the sand violently.

    ¡°If you want to make it to your bitch aunt than mind your business or you won''t live long enough to make it out of these woods! No one will care about some brat southerner dead in the forest anyway! Got it!?¡± Martin screamed in the poor girl¡¯s face, he was absolutely monstrous.

    She didn''t fight or kick, she didn''t scream or struggle, Zofia was absolutely terrified by the creature that was thrashing her into the sand. His eyes were bloodshot with rage, his face tense and twisted with malice. Martin was so close she could smell his rotten breath and feel the heat off his body on her. Zofia began to cry and tremble under the man''s callused hands. Martin was lost in his temperament but became uncomfortable at seeing the helpless girl cry because of him, his fury wavered and promptly showed her mercy. He released her neck, stood up, and walked over to the cuirass without saying a word. He picked up the waterlogged breastplate and noticed it was rusted in a few areas it hadn''t been before¡­ he felt his anger begin to flare up again and turned toward the girl who was now cowering behind a large oak tree. He shook off his resentment that was quickly poisoning his mind. Martin sulked back to the spot where he slept. He sat down to polish and clean what he could of the old piece of worn armor. He placed the scarred metal on his lap and stared at it with grief in his gut. Tears began to well in his eyes as he saw the deformed faces of the past etched in every crevice. he began to frantically brush off the sand and dirt that caked it, the leather straps barely wicked the water off anymore and were cracking from old age, the rust ate at the bottom of the plate, the whole thing was a mess.

    ¡°Do you see this?!¡± he yelled at the girl holding it out to her.

    ¡°It means more to me than you do!!!¡± The man was raving.

    He clutched the piece of armor like a child and sobbed into it. Zofia couldn''t understand the significance of it, it was only a piece of ratty old armor that wouldn''t sell for a copper. It was charred, cracking in spots, and it rattled like a snake. It''s only redeeming quality was the pretty sun on the front that drew her attention in the first place. She waited behind the tree at a safe distance watching the man cry uglily. She waited and watched Martin carefully until she unintentionally fell asleep from all the dramatics.

    When she woke up the man was gone. The camp was packed up and the remnants of the fire were buried. Zofia was in a state of distressed confusion. She jumped around in circles flapping her arms in dismay. She pitifully resembled a worried hen. She didn''t know the way out of the northern wilderness or what awaited her here. The girl heard the man''s voice inside her head, she heard him taunting her, his threats feeling more palpable every second. Her hands began to tremble and her spirit began to wane as doubt started to emerge its awful face. The wind ripped past her, tearing the dead leaves off of their jagged branches, there was no sun in the sky, it was claustrophobically isolating. The woods came alive with haunting sounds, and critters began to rustle about. She knew this place threatened her very existence. In her terror, she fled in the direction the brook was flowing. She stung all over as if a billion ants were chewing at her skin as her face, legs, and arms were being slashed by small branches and thorny scrub brush. Her tiny body carried her quickly until she stumbled onto the dirt road, tripping face first into the sandy surface. The rush of fear she experienced made her sit up on all fours and vomit. Her veins were pumping acid, she was trembling but felt some relief from the road. Upon the thruway was nothing but crushed sand and tumbling leaves wisping around in twisted vortexes. She felt lost but fortunately, she knew which way she came, so, the abandoned child-headed the other way hoping to find the man who abandoned her.

    Security was her only motivation, it wasn''t safe on the road, especially not alone. She was frustrated at her situation and cursed violently and kicked a sizable rock, hurting her toe and causing her to have a painful limp. The day almost instantly became cooler as she headed toward, what she perceived, to be the right way. She had nothing but the clothes on her back, and that wasn¡¯t saying much. She began to shiver from the sharp breeze cutting into her skin. As she turned around a tight bend in the road she saw Martin walking her way. She felt exposed knowing he saw her but instinctually ran to him. She hobbled as fast as she could, limping every other step till she practically fell into him. They looked at each other for an instant, they both seemed distressed and stubbornly resisted the urge to apologize but ultimately failed.

    ¡°I''m sorry!¡± They both blurted at each other in unintentional unison.

    ¡°Huh?!¡± The girl gushed in surprise. She never thought that the man would ever utter those words after the cruelty he had shown her earlier.

    ¡°I''m sorry. I should have never left you, it was wrong of me¡­¡± He spoke in the same soft fatherly tone that Zofia heard the day he gallantly saved her. Emotions began to well deep inside the girl and she leaped onto him crying and tightly hugged around his waist burying her face into his poncho. Martin was taken aback by this sudden attack of affection.

    He was in a rage when he left the girl in the morning. He was overtaken by a whirlwind of sanguine and couldn''t care about her well being. He stormed out of the forest wishing all manner of beast or bandits would find the girl and violate her. Martin stomped along for miles till he began to feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and neglect of responsibility. He knew she would be afraid and felt an absolute horror of what he had done, his throat began closing from paternal anxiety. Martin turned on his heel and headed back the way he came, he trotted with haste until his armor fatigued him too much and he had to walk. When he saw her coming around the bend he thought he could cry, her limbs were dripping blood and she was limping but her eyes had a fire in them, he had to give it to her again, she had moxie. He would have run to her but she was already in a strange hobbling sprint toward him. He knew he was her ward until he shifted the responsibility of her to her rightful guardian, her aunt in Morn Awolon, that was his oath. When she apologized he was shamefully dishonored, he truly felt ashamed of his actions and felt compelled to speak and explain himself in some way. He knew that his words sounded hollow and a tad cliche but the girl hugged him, this was the first touch of compassion he had felt since he was a young man. It was so outrageous to him to experience anything other than the cold bite of the wind or the sulfuric burn of the demonic. But he couldn''t be any more content than how he felt with this small girl clutching onto his waist.

    ¡°I forgive you.¡± She muffled from the poncho.

    ¡°I forgive you too¡­¡± Martin muttered barely vocalizing. He ran his fingers into her greasy black hair and embraced her head with his arms as they shared a moment of absolvement. When the girl pulled away he noticed that she was bloody and needed attention. He dropped down to one knee and pulled a semi-clean rag and a bit of salt from the pork out of his pack. He spat on the rag to clean the dried blood and gingerly rubbed a bit of the salt in the larger abrasions. The girl flinched from the sudden stinging but knew that the man meant well so she didn''t yelp. After the wound was treated properly and wrapped with small strips of linen the two carried out and began walking down the road. He was bumping into her playfully and she would shove him, it would seem the storm clouds have passed for now. Martins goal was to reach a small outpost village before nightfall but he couldn''t tell the time from the overcast sky. He increased the pace of their marching so he could be sure he wouldn''t be caught by the impending darkness. The girl began to hobble more and more, her pace was slowing them down so he got down on his knees and told her to get onto his shoulders. The girl meandered up on top of Martin causing him a slight bit of discomfort from the straps digging into his scarred shoulders. He hoisted her up and adjusted.

    ¡°Hey, how about I buy you a hot chocolate when we get to town?¡± Martin said in a chipper tone. He was still feeling guilty for his actions this morning and was looking for forgiveness.

    ¡°What''s that?¡± Zofia asked speculatively.

    ¡°You''ve never had Hot Chocolate?!¡± Martin burst out, craning his neck to look up at her. He was floored by her response, even as a poor farmer boy, his family was able to afford hot chocolate during Yul.

    ¡°Well, it''s Rich, dark, and thick¡­¡±

    ¡°Like a stew?¡± Interrupted Zofia.

    ¡°No, it''s more like a drinkable custard.¡± Martin trying his hardest to explain the delicacy.

    ¡°Whats a custard?¡± Zofia was starting to feel left out.

    ¡°It''s sweet and milky...umm¡± He was quickly running out of words.

    Martin piqued Zofia''s interest.

    ¡°Sweet?!¡± Zofia said in excitement

    ¡°Yes! It''s very good. I promise to get you a large mug when we arrive in town.¡± Martin was pleased that she was finally buzzing over the treat.

    They walked for an hour in relative silence, every now and then she would tap his head or he would pinch her leg but it was just muffled giggles and scoffs. Not before long they came upon a medium sized wooden fortification. It was a blockade that led into the town. There were only a small handful of guards patrolling the area, nonchalantly strolling their routes. The palisade that surrounded the town was lashed sloppily together with trees, no doubt harvested from the local area. The blockade needed maintenance to have any effect in defending an enemy attack, the ropes that held the tree wall together was fraying and the wall was dried and infested with wood beetles. A creaky bridge connected the multiple watchtowers to each other. The towers were enclosed with wood planks and topped with a slanted roof. The roof was shingled with dried wedges of bark and held together with cob; a concrete hard mixture of sand, water, hay, and clay. The roofing had begun to crack and give way, dripping water onto the watchman whenever it would rain. There were forest green flags flying high from the watchtower steeples, the emblem was of a hideous three-headed pigeon carrying an ax and dead fox. This coat of arms concerned Martin dearly, remembering that one of the rabble the previous day had escaped on horseback. He figured he could sneak through next to the traveling wagons that passed by occasionally, or perhaps he could just slink into the woods and avoid the outpost altogether. Martin felt ridiculous that he didn''t remember that the Foxchasers resided in these parts.

    Martin sighed, realizing he couldn¡¯t avoid the town. They needed supplies and this was the closest town for days. Plus, he promised the girl a hot Chocolate and he intended to keep his promise. Butterflies began to eat at Martins'' stomach the closer he got to the gate. When he was in a four stone shot of the barricade he set the girl down and donned his hood. The guards seemed complacent, fat, and were lazily sitting around the gate oblivious to any passers-by. The mercenaries were too involved in their dice game to inspect the traffic through the gate. Despite their blatant laziness, Martin felt it was better to hide his face. They slipped into the town unnoticed but Martin didn''t remove his hood despite this. His breathing was heavy and he felt his feet sinking deep into the muddy road with every step. His eyes dashed about observing every wooden building till they eventually fell upon the inn in the middle of a row of shops circling the town square. The pair trudged through the thick viscous slop, the village smelt like month old milk that''s been ruminating in the heat for too long. The hostile stench turned the hardened veterans stomach rancid, he couldn''t imagine how the little one felt, or how they kept business in this pig sty in general. They reached the double swinging doors of the inn, they stood kiddy corner to the building before entering. The outside of the establishment was a lot more put together and refined than the rest of the town, it was well maintained and freshly painted, you could tell the owner cared about his business. Zofia''s head cocked to the side and bobbed up and down before she exploded with excitement. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°Tomas!¡± The little girl yelled out. She skipped joyfully to one of the horses strapped to the hitching post outside of the inn. The horse whinnied cheerfully at the site of the girl and nuzzled his nose into her affectionately. Zofia grabbed ahold of his face and began to pet his muzzle with loving familiarity. Martin looked at the horse and the girl strangely, he didn''t understand the connection, he felt like he was missing something.

    ¡°Oh, I never thought I''d see you or mommy again!¡± Zofia uttered. She was practically glowing.

    Then it hit Martin like a club to the face. He noticed the strange earrings on the gelding and the elaborate brindle pattern decorating its body. This this was her mother''s horse. The girl gaily loved the horse and giggled with glee. Martin couldn''t enjoy the joyous festivity all he could do was snarl at the entrance to the inn with righteous indignation. There was a steady tension rising in his chest, he felt tight pings of shivers in his shoulders and back, the anticipation was irradiating throughout his body, he knew through hell or high water there was going to be a fight.

    ¡°Zofia, come here please.¡± He softly called The girl with a gentle wave of his hand. Before she even took a step he smoothly squatted down to meet her eyes. The girl came with little protest, something was ominous in the way he was speaking to her, his unknown polite mannerisms made her hyper-aware of the situation. She got really close to him and he leaned in even closer. They were face to face and she could see Martin was tense, his eyes were dilated and bloodshot, his jaw was tightly shut. His peculiarity finally showed through as a type of wrath that she hadn''t seen earlier, even as he was throttling her.

    ¡°Where''s my Mommy Martin¡­¡± Slight tears began to pool in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered a little. She, unfortunately, had just begun to realize the gravity of what was to come but couldn''t grasp, at least not yet, what it all meant.

    ¡°The man who took her is, I believe, in there.¡± He whispered to her lifting his hand in between them and pointed toward the entrance of the inn. The little girl gasped as she stared down the finger. She began to wipe away her tears.

    ¡°What are we going to do¡­¡± With a slight sniffle, she breathed into her stomach and tried to calm herself. He had to give it to her, he was starting to really appreciate her moxie, it was rare to find such good fighting spirit from someone so young. He sat squatting and soaked in the unfair circumstances of his life and how he had cowered from it. But this girl had her life broken, her near unwavering disposition filled his heart with wretched self-loathing. For the past day and a half her life had been falling into shambles, he couldn''t save her mother, he; Her only ward had been cruel to her on multiple occasions, and he had almost abandoned her over trivial matters he knew she didn''t understand. He felt so sorry for the terribleness that fell on her life and vowed he would avenge her. He could never let her life reach the forsaken quality that he was in, never.

    ¡°You are going to wait out here with Thomas, and I''m going in there to find your mother, and then I''m going to buy you that hot chocolate.¡± Martin smiled and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Her body was pressed against the familiar poncho that smelt like a mangy dog, his beard was scratchy against her face and he stunk like a sewer rat, but she hugged him anyway. Zofie was at a loss for words but she knew that he was genuine and his words felt honest and full of virtue. He stood up and walked her to the hitching post. He could hear glasses clanging and some hooting about inside the establishment. There was no way he could audibly detect how many men were inside, but it didn''t matter this time, he had a second chance and was going to take it by blood. There was no way to see past the large double swinging doors, He would be going into the fight blind. Normally this would make him nervous, but there was a debt to be paid. He took a knee in front of the girl.

    ¡°Listen, if I don''t come back out, take these...¡±  He handed her his traveling sack and a small pouch of coins. ¡°...It''s important you survive Zofia. If I don''t come out by the time the noises end then get on Thomas and run. Just run as far as his legs will take you, ok?¡± There was an immediate paternal seriousness in his eyes.

    She nodded her head.

    ¡°Promise me!?!¡± He scolded.

    ¡°I promise,¡± she said nervously.

    Martin stood up and took off his shield and laid it on the ground, he presumed it was tight inside the Inn and couldn''t have it weigh him down or even take up the unneeded space. He squared up to the doors and slowly walked forward. He began to hear a twangy lute playing inside, he smelt the beer and Vodka, he felt an incendiary orb deep in his chest begin to burn his humanity to a cinder. Martins rage was palpable to Zofia, his fists were tightly clenched as he drew his sword, his breathing was heavy and rhythmically moved his shoulders up and down.

    ¡°Martin¡­¡± Zofia muttered. The combatant threw his head around like a bull.

    She stared into his twisted face, his teeth were baring like a wild hound, the light in his eye had faded and only a hollow pit of acidic green remand. The man had warped into something truly demonic and capable of hellish debauchery.

    ¡°...Don''t die¡­¡± was all she was able to muster. He managed an ugly smile and whipped his head toward the tavern. Her lips began to quiver again and she stood there frozen next to the horse. With a huff, Martin girded his loins and plowed through the double doors sending them flapping violently. It was quiet inside the tavern, all the girl could hear was her heartbeat and loud discussion from inside, than a shout, until a tremendous smash startled the girl. She jumped and grabbed ahold of the horse''s leg, her palms began to sweat and she wanted to cry, she feared for Martin the same way she feared for her mother. There was Shouting that came from inside the Inn making Zofia feel powerless and small.

    The violent sounds from inside reminded her that not more than a day ago when Her mother and herself were stopped by the Foxchasers. She was playing with her doll in the back of the cart when they were pulled over. She overheard talking, then shouting, then a crash and her mother began to scream, Thomas let out a terrifying screech that made her skin go cold. Zofia scrambled to hide in one of the barrels of barley. She heard a scuffle and struggling, her mother cried out loud and then she was forced into the cart. She heard her mother''s cries near the barrel. Zofia began to tremble and covered her mouth and closed her eyes. The cart was rocking violently and all she could hear was labored breathing and foreign curses she didn''t understand. There were sounds of slapping and profane groans that sounded unearthly in this situation. She could only imagine her mother being beaten or stabbed, yet, she still yelped and pleaded for mercy.

    Inside the inn, there was a terrifying scream and gurgle. The nauseating sensation of fingertips crawling on her back made Zofia jolt in a panic so she forcefully closed her eyes and clasped her hands over her ears to escape the invasive tingling. The screams were muffled but were as potent as ever and continued to get closer, and closer, and closer still. Her eyes were shut tightly until there was a burst through the doors and they shot wide open. Martin came out dragging a man by his Green tabard. Martin looked tattered yet victorious, his face was tight with rage but fatigue had certainly started setting in. His right eye was swollen shut and was a glorious shade of black and blue that oozed a stream of blood. His poncho was disheveled. Martin had a small dagger sticking out of his left arm, it didn¡¯t seem to faze him, seeing as he was dragging the man with the same arm. The man he was dragging looked worse for wear, his eyes were sunken from strikes to the face and he also had a few teeth missing, but she didn''t know if that''s just how he looked. Martin threw the battered man down in front of Zofia and grabbed the thugs hair with his left hand, gripping and pulling it around like a rag doll. The old warrior reached over with his free hand and with a small brace and a grunt he removed six inches of blade from his left arm. He held the man''s head up.

    ¡°Where''s her Mother!?¡± Martin forcefully commanded.

    ¡°Fuck You prick!!! You can bet we¡¯ll hang you, the Fox...¡± The Thug was frantically trumpeting with blood dripping from his mouth. Martin swung his knee around toward the  man¡¯s face and connected with a thundering crack. After a moment Martin repeated the question and shifted his body weight giving a subtle hint of him priming his knee for a second blow.

    ¡°Wha¡­ who¡¯mum ya pr...ck¡­¡± The man had a hard time speaking, something seemed wrong with the way his jaw was moving now.

    ¡°Her¡¯s!!!¡± Martin screamed at him positioning his head so he could see Zofia. But as soon as he said it he realized they never saw her and felt a bit foolish but feigned ignorance anyway.

    ¡°Her muddher¡­.? Oh, ye mus been in the car..d wid us? ¡± The man let out a sickly chuckle as his mouth was pouring out a generous amount of blood. ¡°Well... afur¡­. We sduff ye¡¯mum like a pig. I gon an ran wid¡¯er, den I cud¡¯er and lef¡¯er for da Wolf''s.¡± The man''s answer Struck Zofia and Martin like a typhoon of desolation destroying her morale and raising his ire. The small girl stood there staring at her mother''s murderer, he laughed with choking gurgles in her face, the sounds were ghoulish and terrifying to the young girl''s ears. It slowly faded until all sound became mute to her.

    ¡°Here, take it ¡± Martin said to Zofia breaking the rapists gagging laughter. He held out the knife to her. She was stunned, standing there catatonic and unable to move. The tension around her throat was choking her and the pressure behind her eyes blinded her from reality. She just wanted to stand still and disappear.

    ¡°TAKE IT! Take back your life, even by a pound of flesh at a time!¡± Martin screamed. She did nothing but stand and blankly stare at the abuser. The Foxcatcher laughed at both of them manically. The drawl, the laughter, the very presence of this man-made Martin enraged and begin to shake with furious anger.

    ¡°Se is sdare¡¯in like¡¯er mum when we fucked¡¯er¡­¡± The foxchaser spewed laughing uncontrollably, his jaw lose and out of control, he was hanging from Martins'' hand like a nightmarish scarecrow.

    Martin had enough, he knew it was too much of him to ask a little girl to kill, let alone at a time like this. He ripped and dragged the man by the hair until they were at the steps of the inn.

    ¡°Bite the step!¡± Martin howled. His righteousness seeped from his skin like a ghastly aurora. For the first time in a long time, Martin felt like he was the hand of God, delivering vengeance upon the wicked.

    ¡°Oh¡­ no no no¡­ ples...no¡± The Thug begged. But unfortunately for him, his gagging pleas fell on deaf ears.

    Martin shoved the Foxcatchers face against the step chipping both the wooden steps and the few teeth the man had left. In the same movement, Martin wound his leg back and kicked it forward with absolution. His foot soared through the air as the man gurgled and spoutted un-audible words from the steps. Martins¡¯ heel bashed the back of the thug''s skull into the step kicking it in two, splitting it like a soggy melon. The man''s jaw dislocated from his face in an awful snap that sounded like a twig exploding from a bolt of lightning. His eyes rolled into his skull and he slumped into the refuse of the village streets.

    Martin stared at the mayhem and breathed a sigh of contentment for the vermin he slaughtered today. A great tension left his shoulders and he felt uncharacteristically lighter. There was no way around it, he was morally in the right. Slaying evil was his sole purpose, it didn''t matter if it was demonic or not. In his holy madness, he had almost forgotten about the girl. He looked back toward her, she was staring at the corpse on the ground and then grimaced with satisfaction at it and spat.

    ¡°Are you ok?¡± Martin said after taking a slight breath.

    She began to nod her head but stopped and looked at him.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Her tone was sad, he couldn''t blame her. After a brief moment of reflection, martin stood up straight, arched his back and stretched.

    ¡°So, how about that Hot Chocolate?¡± He said with a single clap of expression. Martin bent down with a groan and began to tear at the thug''s tunic till he had a long two-inch wide piece of fabric. He walked behind the girl and began to tie it around her eyes.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Zofia spoke up in confusion.

    ¡°I''m blindfolding you,¡± Martin said with a joking smirk, trying to make light of the situation.

    ¡°I KNOW that¡­ but why?¡± She said with snark in her voice.

    ¡°I¡­ I don''t think it''s fitting for you to see what''s inside of there right now, that''s all. You need to wear this until we leave, alright?¡± He was feeling protective over the girl, he couldn''t have her fragile sense of order fractured by the chaos that was inflicted on the men inside of the inn. What she had seen out on the steps did not compare to the disorder he caused on the souls inside of the inn.

    ¡°...Ok...¡± She said deceiving him, being too curious for her own good, she wanted to know more about what Martin had done. She silently held martin in an exalting light after the death of the Man on the steps. Her heart was leaping from her chest rapturously through the entire scene, yet, she still felt powerless and unable to act. The killing felt justified since the scum didn''t resemble a man to her, only a Sickly monster who raped her mother and obliterated her way of life. Martin tightened the blindfold and walked behind her with his hands firmly on her shoulders.

    ¡°Step.¡± Martin softly instructed. And she stepped.

    Martin held out his arms and pushed the double doors open as they crossed the threshold. Zofia could feel them entering the Inn. The temperature inside was stifling and humid, the moistness from inside was unlike the cold autumn outside, the contrast staggering the unprepared girl. The smell didn''t hit her in the face like most scents do, instead, it slithered up and violated her senses forcing her to quiver and shake in disgust. It tasted like burnt copper, it stung her nose, and she knew there was something curiously haunting about the room. She, unfortunately, found it novel and peculiar, driving her interest even further. The floor was slick and made a slurping sound with every step they took. Her foot rubbed through something congealed and chunky, the texture and sound of the mushy mass made her feel squeamish but she stopped and poked it with her foot, her wonderment becoming out of hand. Before she had a chance to investigate further Martin urged her on with a gentle push. She kicked something hard and broken, the object made a hollowed twang, like a broken instrument, but she paid it no mind. They Walked a couple more feet past questionable sensations and smells that drove the girl wild with curiosity. Martin abruptly picked her up and placed her on a stool. Zofia heard a slight shuffling over the counter than the chattering of glasses and Martin humming a lovely hymn. It was quiet inside the establishment, the only noise was the sound of Martin clambering with the glasses and her constant fidgeting with her clothes. She tapped and prodded the counter in front of her and couldn''t contain it any longer, she knew it was wrong, that something in this room was evil¡­ but she needed to see, to know. So, when she heard Martin at the other end of the counter she acted on her spell of rebelliousness. She ever-so-slightly turned her head and lifted her blindfold. What seized her gaze made her skin creep off of her body and the demons of hell howl with horrid rhapsodies. Her stomach wretched and slammed into her throat. She shook from unmanageable fright and stomach-churning repugnance. The light in her life became hazy, then it went out, and she was plunged into the macabre.

 Chapter 6: Homunculi. The wickedness of small little men.

    There was no hope, his muscles burned, his pain had become chronic. He had fallen into a world of smoke and fire. It felt like his body was an inflated bag, with air constantly leaking out from it. His sight was fuzzy and he couldn''t think clearly. His throat tightened and his limbs were heavy and clumsy. There was no end in sight.

    His abdominals shook from exertion,  but he pushed on.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and three¡­¡± Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

    His arms were gelatin, but he pushed on.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and four...¡± Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

    It was Martin and his rival, Joruc, they were all that was left in a twenty-five man push-up contest. They both shook with each grunt, each push, their jaws strained from tension. The crowd of boys and Homunculi silently surrounding them.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and five¡­!¡± Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

    Sharp pangs in his shoulders commanded him to stop, but he didn''t, he pushed on.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and six...!!¡± Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

    A stabbing pain had infiltrated his wrists several thousand ago, and he didn''t know if he could continue, but he pushed on.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and seven¡­!!!¡± Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

    The boy next to him cried out in pain with each thrust, giving Martin enough strength to push on.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and eight¡­!!!!¡± Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

    Martins'' arms were failing, it felt like the weight of the world was sitting on his back and he couldn''t go up. But he had become used to this pain, this fatigue sapping his strength, it had become his only friend in the sanctum of the Sentinels. So he pushed, and so did the other boy for they knew the same pain.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and nine¡­!!!!!¡± Yelled the cadre of Homunculi.

    His thoughts were foggy from the self-inflicted torment. In his mind, all he could remember was the embarrassment of his first months at the sanctum. The humiliation over four years ago was filled with shame and discontent for his pitiful existence. He had to learn the hard way, the Homunculi way.

    It had been a week after his bloodletting ceremony. A small handful of boys were sworn in with their sentinels after him and afterward he hadn¡¯t seen a single Sentinel for the entire week. Martin had been pushed harder than he had ever been in the standard army, and the real training hadn''t even begun. Though the cadre of Homunculi had been cruel to him and the other apostles, they were fair with their punishments. They drove the boys like slaves, whipping, taunting, and beating the weak and strong alike. Martin had already been beaten many times for his timidness. He felt abandoned after Sovereign left on a mission from the church and didn''t know when he would return. He struggled frantically to stay above the constant flood of abuse the cadre inflicted on the class, but to no avail. Lying comfortably in his bed in the early morning he heard the bugle trumpet into the cold air. Dread seeped into his place of safety and spurred him into action. The bugle was a call to arms for the boys to wake up and gather on the training field. They dressed hurriedly and shoved at each other trying to get down the winding stairs and through the many halls to the gymnasium, a sizable outdoor coliseum. The field was a massive oval covered in coarse sand and surrounded by tall marble walls. Inside the gymnasium was all manner of gymnastics equipment and obstacle courses to test the boy''s grit and physicality. They shuffled into files, dressed in there worn-in leather training gear. There were fifty Apostles ranging from twelve to nineteen. All boys, all chosen by their respected sentinel for valiant deeds or powers of cognition. Every one of them was the cream of the crop in some way shape or form, but here they were nothing to the cadre.

    The Homunculi were freakish looking creatures. They were bizarre humanoids with enlarged hands and ape-like proportions. Homunculi were all identical with bald heads and stone matte grey eyes, their skin was smooth and hairless and looked like it was covered in powdered ash. They didn''t require food, sleep, or attention, and could be treated worse than a dog. To own one was to show how well off you were. Everyone from housewives, the church, businesses, and farms all desired one. Like gold, the thing about Homunculi is that they are finite. You could only obtain one by trade or sale, you couldn''t make one of your own. The magic that once made the ancient creatures has been forgotten in the aniles of time along with the other four primordial magic¡¯s. Many centuries ago the church snuffed out all casters of these magics, and only stories and some nonspecific knowledge remained. Martin knew two things about them, one, they were created with an ancient magic bringing them to life from the earth. The second thing Martin knew about Homunculi was that they could be the wickedest creatures on earth.

    Out in the gymnasium, the boys stood there towering over the four-foot Homunculi but cowered like dogs. The cadre was made up of ten of the strongest, each as fearsome as the last. They wore tight leather briefs in the gymnasium, otherwise, they wore burlap robes. Their bodies were chiseled from stone and their faces were like iron. At the nucleus of the group was none other than the Sgt-at-arms. His skin was marked with many bulbous scars and deep crevices from previous wounds. On the leaders head, he wore a Dirty red bandanna implying his leadership and superiority among the Homunculi.  He stepped forward and spoke.

    ¡°One day you might become a Sentinel, until that day you are all trash. If you have the courage, skill, or aptitude to have been handpicked by our Masters than you might just survive our training.¡± The creature spoke with terrifying honesty.                                    ¡°There is no leaving our sanctum, it is your home as well as your prison. The only way out is by taking your own life.The few of you who have been here for weeks have already seen plenty of cowards who have committed suicide. If you will let this physical world go and accept the torment you will go far, and as I said, will one day become a Sentinel.¡± The Apostles stood there petrified from the only piece of encouragement they would ever receive from the Cadre.

    ¡°You will respond to the members of my Cadre as sir! You will do as they command! You will push your Body, mind, and soul until you bleed from your eyes. This is the First day of the rest of your lives worms. Cadre, take charge of these Apostles and make them Sentinels.¡± At the sound of his order the cadre leapt onto the boys, issuing orders, and barking commands. Thick clouds of coarse dust burst in the air as they ran and screamed at the Apostles. The sound of chaos began choking the Apostles as it closed in, and the smell of fright began to seep from there pores.

    ¡°Get on the ground and push!¡± screamed a Homunculi, with haste the followed his command. Some of the boys were fit, most were not, including Martin. The poor boy struggled to get five poorly performed pushups and then gave up. A few members of the cadre noticed this and took it as a life-and-death insult. The few who saw ran over to Martin who was pouting in the sand. They began to crowd him, insult him, and kick sand in his face. With every grunt Martin made from there bullying the cadre burst out with laughter at his pathetic floundering. Martin stood up and attempted to strike at them but they just pushed him around like a rag-doll. Tears welled in his eyes like so many times before, all he wanted was to try and show them he wasn''t to be laughed at, but his efforts were in vain. They shoved him to the ground and began to spit on him, covering him in thick wads of off-white mucus, humiliating the boy even further. The group of Homunculi quickly scattered when the Sgt-at-arms came to inspect what his Cadre was cackling at. When he arrived he saw a weak, pale boy, with misty green eyes flopped in the sand.

    ¡°Why aren''t you doing pushups like all the others?¡± The Homunculi starred at Martin with displeasure but waited for Martin to speak. The boy sat there silently wallowing in his self-pity, but the Sergeants question wasn''t to be taken as rhetorical.  After a brief pause, the Homunculus Slapped Martin with his large hand, flattening him on the ground.

    ¡°Now, why aren''t you doing pushups like all the other Worms?¡± He asked again with a passive tone. Martin stood up to retaliate but was only as tall as the far superior  Homunculus. With a swift slap, Martin was back on the ground, Martins posing proving to be in vain. He looked around for sympathy but no one was there, all the boys were doing pushups, they were struggling, they were in pain. But not him, and that made him dribble shame from every orifice. Martin struggled desperately to sit up but felt a terrible throbbing in his head and couldn¡¯t balance himself. The Sgt-at-arms walked closer to the boy and squatted so they were face to face. The Homunculus slowly reached out and grabbed Martins head in-between his massive hands and squeezed tightly. He stared at the starry eyed Martin.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°There are only three types of people in this world worm, Strong ones, Smart ones, and dead ones. You get to pick which one you are. Got it?¡± His words slipped out of his mouth like a knife and sliced into Martin who never felt strong nor smart, He supposed that narrowed it down.

    ¡°Got it?!¡± The Homunculus screamed in the boy¡¯s face. Martin just frantically nodded his head, but that only infuriated the Sgt-at-arms.

    ¡°RESPOND!¡± Hollard the Sergeant as he squeezed tighter.

    ¡°I got it, sir!¡± Martin hollard back in pain. The Homunculus threw the boy down, grinned, and stood up.

    ¡°Then decide which person you want to be.¡± He said staring into the boys broken soul. In a fit of desperation, Martin made his mind up right then and there in the sands of the gymnasium. He got on his belly and pushed, it was pitiful, but he pushed.

    The next few months the boys ran, did pulls ups, leg lifts, and of course pushups until they shook from exhaustion. There was no sign of stopping, for weeks it was an absolute onslaught of madness and physical torment. Indeed, there were suicides, but they seemed trivial and disconnected, everyone else was too focused on staying alive to care. The Cadre talked in strange rasping voices that sounded permanently scratchy and high pitch, it was straight from the throat, all that would come out is a hoarse croak lending them the insult frogmen from the Apostles, of course they would never say it in there presence in fear of punishment. They heard rumors of the Frogmen dragging disobedient Apostles who called them by there unofficial moniker down into the dungeon, where they would beat them within an inch of their life, but again, these were just rumors.

    One very specific morning after almost six months of abuse they all gathered in the gymnasium after the bugles call. The Cadre seemed more relaxed, calm, perhaps even docile. The air was cool and the sun had not begun to rise over the city walls. In the distance, the birds chirped a busied tune. The atmosphere of the morning gave the illusion of peace, so the Apostles lowered their guard. The Sgt-at-arms came forward to give a short but potent monologue that normally had to do with the day''s task or instruction, this had become routine before Physical training.

    ¡°Today is a special day. A different day. You will be given over to a Sentinel to start your classroom courses. That doesn''t mean your free from our physical instruction, only that you have grown from worms to boys, and we will treat you as such. So, boys, prepare to do pushups.¡± All the Apostles got on their bellies and readied themselves to perform the exercise.

    ¡°This will be a competition, The Ten boys who come in last will have to see us in the gymnasium every day for a year after classes and on Sundays after prayer lets out. And I can promise it won''t be a pleasure jog, so try your damndest.¡± He was speaking softly; the gentle speech and his gravelly voice was intimidating. The boys felt uneasy hearing such easygoingness from the Sgt-at-arms. He raised his arm and the boys primed their muscles. His arm lowered with a clap against his thigh and a Frogman next to him began counting, the boys pushed with the hoarse cadence of the instructor. Right from the beginning Martin felt the ache from yesterday''s training, his triceps were pumping full of blood and now each push took effort. He made it to fifty before the first man dropped out, and it filled him with a sense of accomplishment, just beating one person made him feel like he¡¯d grown. Two more dropped out after Sixty, so he kept going with the cadence, but soon after seven had dropped out, around ninety his arms failed and he no longer had it in him. Martin collapsed and couldn''t get up, so he layed in the dirt, feeling proud of his accomplishment. The count went to three hundred before all the boys had failed. They all slowly stood up, sore from the competition.

    ¡°Good job lads, your dismissed, except the Ten who failed, you ten stay behind for further instruction.¡± The Sergeant spoke sweetly to them. Martin watched the class shuffle past the marble columns and out of sight, his throat got tight and his palms were sweaty. He didn''t know what further instruction could mean, and it terrified him.

    ¡°You ten are the weakest in your class. Luckily for you, I have ways to alleviate such a condition. You will run, jump, climb, and push until I deem you ready to be realised from this extra activity. Perhaps this will incentivize you to seek strength on your own and escape our torment¡­¡± The Leader Homunculus stared at them, few looked unimpressive and it made him feel underwhelmed.

    ¡°...Or not. Your lessons start tomorrow after your last class lets out. Dismissed.¡± Irony of it all was he would look forward to those ¡°lessons¡± more than the classes. He would be caught falling asleep, unintentionally trying to read his books upside down, or talking with classmates. The classroom work was tedious and uninteresting, books upon books, none of the basic school work he found worth his time, but there was one book that captured his imagination like a timeless work of fiction, Demonic imagery and scripture. It was essentially a grotesque picture book full of a horrid collection of creatures from the demonic realm. It wasn''t his favorite just because of its level of ease to read, or that there were pictures; in fact, there were words that had no literal meaning and could only be written in highly descriptive paragraphs. No, he enjoyed the book for its realism and applicability to his profession. For what he lacked in brains and brawn he made up for in an natural ability to know what mattered, his ability to prioritize and to plan ahead were exceptional for a youth of his caliber.

    Martin took what the Sgt-at-arms said to heart, he pushed himself on his own time. Every second he had to himself he was doing pushups, air squats, burpees, Sword drills, etc. He embraced the strenuous life, the pain gave him a euphoria of superiority and it showed. He slayed himself day in and day out, the cadre noticed, his classmates noticed, but all he wanted was for the sentinels to notice, for Sovereign to notice.

    It was almost a year and a half before he saw his master again, he felt the scar on his arm, he lived in the sanctum of the sentinels, he trained his body and mind, but yet, being a sentinel meant nothing without his master''s presence.  When Sovereign returned he came back with swagger, but his apprentice was also sporting a swagger of his own. Sovereign rode in on his white mare who gleamed in the sunlight of the average noon morning. There was no trumpets or grand warning, yet, Martin knew his Master had returned. The boy felt in his sinew that Sovereign had entered the sanctum and jutted from his meditations. He stood there trying to understand his premonition, and as sudden as it came he raced to the stables. Martins'' feet were as quick as thought while he raced through the halls and into the paddock. He saw his Master standing there, his breastplate shimmered, and his face was weathered from the road, but he looked healthy.

    ¡°Master!¡± Martin blurted out in delight.

    ¡°Martin, how are you boy?¡± Sovereign said as he gladly laid eyes on his Apostle. Martin ran to him, his jubilation was impossible to hide. As soon as the boy reached him they clasped arms the same way they did during the ceremony, there scars matching up perfectly.

    ¡°Wow, Martin, Your arms are much larger then when I last saw you. The homunculi taking good care of you I see.¡± Sovereign was amazed at the size the once puny boy had become.

    ¡°Are you proud of me, Master?¡± Martin said in great elation to Sovereigns astonishment.

    ¡°Martin, I''ve always been proud of you¡­ I picked you because you have the potential to be heroic, not because of your brute strength. Though, not to take away your accomplishment, I¡¯m sincerely impressed.¡± Sovereigns eyes showed only truth and the boy was once again whole.

    ¡°Where have you been? What have you been doing? Can you train me? When can we go on Adventures? Who have you met? ¡­¡± Martin fired off a dozen questions before Sovereign patiently interrupted, not wanting to ruin the boy¡¯s excitement. Sovereign began walking toward the Sanctum.

    ¡°I was away hunting a   of the old world. It was a great serpent as long as the city walls, with needle like teeth as long as my sword, we believe it also spat a corrosive mucus from its mouth. I¡¯ll tell you all about it after I settle in.¡±  Sovereign nonchalantly rambled on as he headed toward the hall leading to the barracks.

    ¡°Incredible! What was its name? What did it look like? Can I come next time?¡± Martin followed like a dog begging for scraps.

    ¡°I believe it called itself Yormengunter¡­¡± Sovereign thought deeply on it for a moment as he continued walking. The Sentinel¡¯s thoughts broke as he noticed the boy still following him.

    ¡°Martin, aren''t you supposed to be in class?¡± He spoke up with the intention on getting rid of the boy so he could debrief the Cardinals.

    ¡°Yes sir! I forgot, I was just excited. Where can I find¡­¡± Martin was oozing vim, but Sovereign interrupted again.

    ¡°I¡¯ll find you Martin, I promise.¡±  Sovereigns voice trailed off and echoed as he walked up the spiral staircase. Martin couldn''t wait. But The Sentinel couldn''t keep his promise, service to the church was thankless and constant.

    It had been so long that the boy couldn''t remember the last time he saw the man, every now and then he thought he would hear his voice echo from the halls, or see his gleaming horse in the stables. But nonetheless he would grow up in the sanctum without his Master by his side. He never felt bitter, or spiteful, only lonely and without purpose. He saw the special training the other Apostles got from their Master, and he wished only to hear a single story from his. The years would go by and he would follow the Homunculus orders, keep his head low, and carrie on with the weight, alone.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and ten!!!!!¡± The homunculi yelled.

    Everyone stared at the boys suffering in the dirt, not one person there wished to be them. The boys rattled from absolute fatigue. Martin began to strain so hard he saw droplets of blood drip on the sweat-drenched sand below. He had ruptured a blood vessel in his eye, but still struggled to push on.

    ¡°Seven thousand six hundred and eleven!!!!!!!¡± The homunculi yelled.

    Martin couldn''t do it. His mind, body, and soul were pushed to their final limits. Before The Homunculi could call out the next number Martins arms buckled and he plummeted face first into the course sand of the gymnasium. Everyone cheered, they were jumping about congratulating the finalists, there was so much enthusiasm and good cheer from everyone, including the Homunculi. Martin didn''t pay attention to the celebration, he just laid on his belly breathing in his loss. His sight was murky, and his breath was labored, but under the cloister, he could make out the shape of a grey-haired Sentinel who was leaning against a column, and Martin could swear he was smiling.

 Chapter 7: A Transformation.

    Zophia felt a cold, wet sensation on her forehead. She swatted at it, but it came back, so she swatted at it again, and again it came back. She slowly opened her eyes to see what was pestering her. When her vision began to come to there was the shadowy face of a weary Martin looming over her, his single emerald eye stared at her with distress. She looked him over. In his hand, he was holding what appeared to be a wet cloth that he was dabbing on her head. She was laying on the bank of a mighty river, the forest lined the bank towering over them. There was a shout up the river bank and Martin laid over them with his poncho, he was silent, so she did the same. She felt protected by him, he was a shield from the violent world. The calls downstream faded and Martin sat back up, and so the girl did the same.

    ¡°Easy¡­¡± The man braced her back with his hand and helped her sit up.

    ¡°What happened?¡± She said in confusion clutching her head.

    ¡°Why did you look? I asked you not to look¡­¡± He wasn''t as mad, as he was worried, and it showed. In her eyes, all she could see was the gore from the inn, the twisted limbs, the torn sinew, what he had done with the lute¡­ to their poor faces, the madness. She turned over and heaved as hard as she could, her back swelled upward as she was forced to vomit, but all she could produce was painful retching.

    ¡°Easy¡­ easy¡­¡± He gently whispered as he held her hair. She sat there on all fours breathing heavily into her spine, but every time she would calm down, horrid images flashed into her mind and she would again retch. When she finally had composed herself she sat down and shook from the strain of dry heaving. Martin draped her with his poncho and pulled out some fresh jerky from his travel sack and handed it to her.

    ¡°Eat, you need to eat. It should settle your stomach.¡± He offered her the piece of meat and she took it with hesitation.

    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± She took a large bite, it was much too salty for her but she chewed it out of hunger.

    ¡°When you fell I cleaned you and had to resupply as quickly as possible. I wasn''t able to grab much¡­ but I got enough to last us till the City. How are you feeling, any better?¡± He was concerned and rubbed her back to comfort her.

    ¡°Yes. Excuse me, Martin, where is Thomas¡­ I don''t see him.¡± She said as she looked around, gaining her baring.

    ¡°I couldn''t bring him with, I¡¯m sorry.¡± His heart grew heavy as he mustered up the courage to tell the little girl he had left her only family behind. ¡° It''s too hard to take care of a horse, and we don''t have the supplies. Besides, I make camp in the woods and it''s difficult to drag a horse deep into the brush¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± His words were slow and sincere.

    ¡°Oh... I understand.¡± Was all she could say and she hung her head low.

    They both sat in silence chewing on salty jerky.

    "Ugh, my stomach hurts, I think I need to go¡­¡± She groaned in discomfort. She stood up and headed behind a large oak tree.

    ¡°Don''t go too far...Please!¡± He shouted after her. He sat in the sandy bank and rubbed his face and eyes, he hadn¡¯t slept since the other day.

    When he heard the wet splash Zofia made as she hit the ground he leaped over the counter to pick her up off of the carnage. He wiped viciously at their face with the poncho, unsure what was her blood or the others. Alas, she was fine, only unconscious. He had carried her for a mile before he was worn tired again by the weight of the armor and the girl, so he stopped at the river and dabbed her head with a wet cloth, hoping to wake her from her stopper.

    He rubbed his face, emphasizing his feelings of neglected responsibility for the girl''s current state. He felt stupid, he could have easily gone inside by himself and brought the treat to her. But he was being overly cautious and didn''t want anyone to take the girl, or for her to stare too long at the corpse on the steps and frighten her. He could have fastened the blindfold tighter, but he secured it lightly, not wanting to hurt her. Too bad he didn''t have the perception nor the experience to know when a child was lying, or it could have been avoided.

    ¡°Martin come here, look what I found!¡± Zofia called in excitement from beyond the tree line. Martin jerked his head from his hands and got up to his feet, he walked over briskly, curious as to what she had apparently found. He turned around the massive trunk of the tree.

    ¡°Look its a fairy! Where dancing!¡± The girl was laughing chipperly. The beautiful pixie was two feet tall, nude, and covered in magnificent sparkles. Zofia thought it was comical how the fairy would methodically mimic every move she made. Martins Heart sank into a pool of despair at the sight. He quickly reached for his sword but it wasn''t there, and he scolded himself under his breath.

    ¡°Zofia, quickly come here.¡± He said in a hurried tone, waving his hand toward him.

    ¡°But we''re playing, isn''t she pretty, look at her sparkly wings.¡± The girl ignored him, she was transfixed on the hovering sprite.

    ¡°Please, Zofia, please come here!¡± He inched closer as he pleaded desperately with her, his hand outstretched hoping to grab her the moment she was in reach.

    She scoffed like a bratty child and turned toward him but the beast began to shake violently, the girl looked back at the trembling creature. To her horror, the Beautiful milky white skin of the pixie began to split and shed off its body, and underneath was a terrible creature only known to the deep woods of the north, a Poly-hob. The monstrosity resembled a massive bullfrog with eyes that were; black, hollow, and unfeeling, teeth like a viper, and spindly arms. Before the girl had a chance to scream it lunged, grabbing ahold of her arm and sank its long hypodermic needle-like teeth into her. The pain came in waves, first burning, then cramping, then spasms. She stared into the eyes of it and screamed, but it didn''t blink, it didn''t feel, for it was a creature of the forest, and creatures of the forest knew no remorse. She tried to shake and tear her arm away but the beast was surprisingly strong for being half her size. It dragged her down and tried to pull her away to its burrow, her legs were kicking, all she could do was scream.

    Martin quickly rushed toward her, the monster spooked and released the girl, attempting to scurry away, but Martin couldn¡¯t allow it to escape. He grabbed its fatty leg and pulled it in close, the creature lashed out at him and tried to bite at its attacker as he pinned it with his knee. With a gloved hand, Martin shoved his fist down the slimy creatures gullet and with a forceful grunt pulled out its long barbed tongue, killing it. The beast shuttered and let out a pitiful death rattle. Martin quickly slid to his knees next to Zophia¡¯s side thoroughly examining the girl¡¯s arm. She thrashed and squirmed in pain. The veins in her arm began to bulge up and swell. From the location of the bite a darkness was spreading through her blood and it showed itself through the skin as a dark fluid moving through her veins. It moved slow, but where it moved her skin began to shudder and blister. She screamed until she began to cough up blood. Martin forced a thick stick in her mouth. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Bite it!¡±He screamed and her jaws forcefully bit down, obeying his order. Martin held the girl''s arm, feeling it and observing it for abnormalities. It was burning hot and moist with sweat, shortly the Girl began to shake violently from the approaching fever. Martin had hoped that the creature had not had the chance to inject its venom, but it had, and the transformation wouldn''t be long, so much for hoping. She grunted and bit on the stick till her body relaxed and passed out from the strain. Martin couldn''t treat this wound, he couldn''t aid her, neither could any average Sawbones or hack Snake oil salesman. This was caused by a monstrosity of the old gods, and in turn, could only be cured by them.

    The man ran back to camp and gathered what was essential, picked up the limp girl, and ran deep into the woods. He had to search for a Witch, the ancient Volwa. In his past, the only way to find this being was to journey deep in the woods until you were lost and in need, but he didn''t know if it would work a second time, but he had no other choice. The girl began to cough and shake uncontrollably in his arms, so he held her tighter. He ran for almost an hour, crashing through branches, and cutting a path through the woods that hadn''t been there before. He was tired from the weight of the girl and his armor, stopping to check on the girl¡¯s condition and take a quick rest. He set her down and took a knee next to her. He laid his hands on her and felt the warmth through his gloves, startled and worried he pulled his hand away. With resolve, he removed his glove and he reached for her face and gently opened her eyelid to check her eyes. He groaned with desperate concern, raised his head and hopelessly stared into the woods.

    The Dark venom had seeped into her eyes causing her scalars to turn black as ink. Her shaking began rustling the leaves so much that it sent cold chills of powerlessness into Martins'' spine. Fighting against his impotence he took off his poncho and wrapped her tightly in it, and with hurried arms, he scooped the girl back up and ran headlong into the dense wilderness. Not before long, his breathing became labored and he slowed to a feeble trot, his strength was waning as was his hope. He stopped at a clearing, a meadow with sizable drainage of rainwater. He put the girl down, falling to his knees he slipped his hands in and drank greedily from the pool. The wind began to pick up and whip around them, stormily blowing the meadow grass about. In the tree line there was a rustle, then a growl, and then Martin saw blue flickers of light and drew his sword in response. He could see the astral blue eyes of a beast he had read about but never faced in combat, A kludde. A beast born from the ashy remains of burned Witches. The mere outlines of the shadowy body that hid in the tree line filled him with inpatient alarm, he stared back down at the girl who was convulsing inside of the poncho. He couldn''t be caught in a skirmish while the girl needed immediate attention. Though the Omen of the Kludde was a good one, he couldn''t get stuck fighting it, for he would never truly win. When a Kludde was struck dead Seven more would chew their way out of its stomach. Martin knew he couldn''t fight nor outrun the beast, for he would surely die. He looked at the girl and thought about leaving her, what was another soul on his conscience, he could run and live another day. But as he stared at the shaking child wrapped tightly in his poncho, he was overcome with responsibility, an intense love he had not experienced since he was a boy. He quickly looked into the tree line and saw the luminescent blue fiery eyes stalk every move he made. So, while staring into the abyss Martin began to unfasten his armor, dropping it on the ground. Without a second thought, he picked the girl up from the grass and ran, leaving his beloved armor behind.

    He moved quickly for he knew he didn''t have much time before the beast would most likely give chase. He rushed through the field toward the woods, hoping to lose it in the brush, perhaps hide. There was no sound, there was no warning, but as Martin looked back he saw a terrible animal that wasn''t demonic nor natural, it was older than the light and fed on the corpses of children. It was a large wolf-like beast covered in the darkness of old, it ran swiftly on its hind legs with its front legs propped out in front of it. It had large bear paws and two wretched green scaled wings jutted from its back. The Kludde Moved unnaturally fast, faster than Martin had anticipated. Its face was neutral and expressionless as were most things of the old world. He broke into the tree line and the beast followed. Mockingly the sky cracked open and a torrential storm of freezing rain poured upon them, he didn''t pay attention to the cold or his fatigue, he just ran. He sprinted over fallen boughs and swerved in out of the tree line, he certainly felt quicker without his armor. The Kludde was fast and Martin could hear the breaking of limbs behind him but no matter what, he didn''t look back, not once. The chase lasted until nightfall, the Kludde a step behind the entire way.

    Martin was overcome with exhaustion and was raw from the cold. After hours of running, he took a miss step and slipped on a mossy branch, tripping and spilling the fevered girl onto the ground. He rolled over and drew his sword ready for a fight. But, he didn''t see the spectral blue eyes of the beast, nor did he hear any movement besides the persistent pitter-patter of rain. With needed relief, he sunk low and sucked in deep breaths of air, as hard as he tried it almost felt impossible to catch his breath. He wheezed and it felt like his throat was coated in blood, the taste was metallic but it could have just been a trick of the mind. The girl was pale and her lips blue, her body shook, her sclerae were black, and her head began to twitch uncontrollably an hour or so ago. With care, Martin pulled the poncho wrapping back and what fell out made him weep uncontrollably and scream into the night.

    ¡°The god of man is a failure!¡± His wrath commanded a reverence among the old things around him and the rain ceased its vexation.

    ¡°Where are you Circe?!¡± He said as he stood up, opening himself to the night. ¡°Where are you, Witch?! You said if I needed you again all I would have to do is lose myself in your world. Well, I¡¯ve been lost my whole life, yet the gods of the woods abandon me too!¡± His voice cracked and he began to sob harder.

    ¡°I need you! This girl needs you!¡± He fell to his knees and embraced Zofia ¡°I¡¯d trade my life for her, damn me to hell but spare the child!¡± Unashamed he cried into the forsaken autumn night. He held her bitten arm that had transformed into a hideous spindly thing, with bumpy toad-like skin and lesions. Before the morning she would no doubt be transformed into a Poly-hob, cursed by the old gods of the woods to a life of monstrosity. No pardon or rest was given to him because from within the forsaken night Martin saw the flaming blue eyes of the Kludde, but there was more than one pair, there had to be a dozen or so. Martin laid the girl down and covered her with the Poncho. He stood and drew his sword, he stared and stood-fast at the beasts of the night, unyielding to their horror. A thick fog began to climb up from the mossy ground. The beasts all at once rushed him and pummeled Martin with their momentum alone. Martin slashed outward and struck a few of the Kludde, but they didn''t yelp, they didn''t howl, they kept on with the assault. He danced around them; masterfully he would pirouette, pounce and strike, evade, and repeat. Countless years of training and survival showed his expertise in killing strange and foreboding creatures, but, the Kludde began to prove too much. They rushed him and swatted the man down, gashing his side with massive claws.  He pierced one¡¯s belly, but another monster began to gnaw at his leg, causing him to holler and strike at its head. There seemed to be no end to the creatures, like ants they piled on one another slowly crushing Martin. The fog grew thick on the ground, so thick it was impossible to see anything below the knee. This began to frighten the Kludde and they wearily backed away from where the fog was spreading. Martin propped himself up and crawled, backward away from the beasts, till his back was resting against a strange surface. It wasn''t a tree, or a rock, or hillside, instead, it was the mud covered walls of a cottage. It was a familiar cottage he had once seen but not seen as he was running through the woods a moment ago. The door slowly opened and out stepped a viscously beautiful woman with black wavy hair that shined a brilliant purple in the dark of midnight. Her eyes glowed a cruel orange, and her lips were sharp like daggers.

    ¡°Begon beasts, or suffer your fate.¡± With a forceful wave of her hand, she commanded them, Yet they did not heed her warning. They snapped their jaws and snarled at the Witch, but she was unfazed. She grimaced and outstretched her hand, and then began to turn it, with an effort she closed her hand as if she were crushing an apple. From the Forest floor, razor vines and tree branches came twisting out and ensnared the beasts. She opened her hand and the limbs dragged the creatures under the earth until you could no longer hear their pitiful cries. A strong breeze blew by as Martin gasped in pain. Playfully The Volwas orange chthonic eyes flashed down at Martin who laid there bleeding. The dense fog covered the ground around her cottage.

    ¡°Now, If I remember correctly, you swore you would never ask for my aid again?¡±

 Chapter 8: A Test Of Perseverance Pt1.

    There were Twenty Apostles in a large auditorium, few of them could be considered the brightest, strongest, or even just at the correct age to take the exam; and Martin was among them. They were all in the prime of their life, fit, cunning, and ready to chew leather. They were on the path to Sentinel-hood, now, a three part examination that would try and break their wits, strength, and spirit awaited them.

    There were no horns, no celebration or cheering, it was cut and dry. They sat in simple chairs, dressed in the same leather training uniforms they have been in for years. It almost felt like another day, almost. An elaborately decorated robbed man stepped out on stage, it was silent except for his footsteps that echoed throughout the expansive hall. When he reached the center of the stage he cusped his hood with both hands and quickly took it off. It was none other than the holy leader, the slayer of Dragons, the mightiest next to god, the founder of the Kingdom of Saad, the exalted Pontiff  himself, ?rthorian. Each Apostle stood at attention at the site of him, but the older man waved his hand gesturing them to sit. He barely looked a day over fifty, a strong jaw, broad chest, and black hair streaked with white on both sides. It was said that in elder days, in a time of Dragons and giants, the Pontiff slew so many Dragons he impressed God who in return granted him an unnatural long life. with this gift he built a mighty kingdom in High honor to God.

    ¡°These are dark times¡­ the heathen armies to the south are encroaching our borders. Beasts in the wilderness are reclaiming the forests, and abominations from hell haunt our people. We are worn thin, for there has not been a sworn sentinel in over six years, and I think it''s time for a change. But do not misunderstand me my children, I did not say it would be easy. Your chances are next to impossible. But, If you have the gull, guile, and wit to persevere than you may one day find yourself among brothers and call yourself a Sentinel of God. So, Let your brothers blood lift the weight, and the sun warm your hearts, Amen.¡± He raised his hand and blessed them. For an instant he gazed on the young men who were sitting in a row, then he hooded himself and without a second word he left the same way he had come. The Apostles stood up out of respect till the man had exited the room. Like clockwork, once the Pontiff  stepped off stage the proctor, a Sentinel, of the examination stepped on.

    ¡°Under your seats there will be a number that will be your number for the remainder of the test. Understood?¡± He was quick to the point.

    ¡°Yes sir!¡± The young men responded in unison.

    ¡°Very well. Number 5, come with me.¡± He said waiting for the men to reach under there seats and pull out the scrap of paper with their Numbers on it. Martin reached under his seat, His number was Thirteen, a customarily unlucky number by the common folk. But he wasn¡¯t bothered by it, instead he embraced it, encouraged it. From next to him a rival of his, J?ruc, the boy who tackled him from when he first stepped foot into the Sanctum and the one who beat him in the most recent push-up competition. He had been a thorn in Martin¡¯s side since his first day, but either way he wished him all the best. One by one the boys got up, none came back. In his head Martin wondered what the first test was, could it be hand to hand combat against a Draugr, or maybe a test of spiritual will power against a soul sucking banshee, perhaps something more nuanced and frightening, like writing the  history of demonic artifacts and their meanings?! He felt the vein in his neck pulse from the anticipation.

    ¡°Thirteen.¡± The Proctor spoken. Martin practically jumped into the air from the broken suspense. He walked on stage and the Proctor led him down a dark corridor to a door.

    ¡°When you enter the room and the door shuts  you will have Three Minutes, and only Three minutes to answer the question on the wall. If you fail you will be disqualified and shuffled back into the courses. Do you consent to these conditions?¡± The Proctors voice was hollow and without tone.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Martin was ready to risk it all.

    ¡°You may enter when ready¡­¡± The Hollow Sentinel stood by the door with a small sand timer in his hand. Martin entered and behind him the door was shut with a loud thud. In front of him was a chair, a small desk, and on that small desk was; a quill pen, a piece of parchment paper, and a candle that illuminated the tight space. Martin looked on the wall in front of him, it read, ¡®What will carry the weight?¡¯ Martin laughed, it was so easy. It had been said more times than he could have count, they really did want more sentinels if they were making such easy tests. He pulled the chair out and sat down, picked up the quill  from the well and began to write. But to his surprise there was no ink, no ink anywhere, none in the well, none in the cramped room, none. Doubt seeped into his head, he saw more grueling days in the gymnasium, savage beatings by the Cadre and their ape-like bodies. He wouldn''t be able to take another Five years let alone another month.Oh, But how clever he felt when it came to him, when the answer he was seeking seeped into his mind like any good idea should. It almost seemed criminal how easy it was.

    He took the head of the pen and viciously jabbed the palm of his hand twice, sending sharp spikes of pain through his forearm.The red ink dripped down the heel of his left hand. He gingerly dabbed the tip in the fresh hole and with it he wrote, My Brothers Blood¡­ he sat there staring proudly at his masterpiece. He knew he had beaten the first challenge and called for the Proctor. The man walked in and asked Martin to step out, for there was only enough room for one person inside. Martin stepped out of the room and the proctor stepped in. He waited a moment, but nothing happened. After another moment, He heard a light chuckle, then a sudden unhinged laughter from the once dry and solemn Sentinel.

    ¡°Oh, Number Thirteen, you pass! Continue down the hall!¡± The Man couldn''t contain himself, he was hysterical. Martin couldn''t care less about the sentinel¡¯s manic episode, all that was on his mind was the next two tests. If this was the test of Wit, then there was the test of Strength, and then of spirit. He knew he had it in him, he easily passed the test he dreaded the most, and with time to spare. Just one step at a time he thought.

    At the end of the hall He entered a room where only a few other finalists were. He felt disappointed, he couldn''t imagine how the others didn''t figure it out.

    ¡°I was starting to think you weren''t going to make it Martin. But once¡­ Martin, Your bleeding.¡± Spoke J?ruc.

    ¡°Well, aren''t you?¡± Martin was fantastically confused by the simple fact that they were not bleeding, so he held out his hand to show them.

    ¡°Martin, did you stab yourself and use your ink as blood?!¡± The boys started to snicker.

    ¡°Well yeah, didn''t you? How else were you supposed to write the answer, I mean... there was a hint in the answer itself, Your Brothers Blood. Right?¡± He was beginning to feel embarrassed and slightly confrontational.

    ¡°Look at your writing hand Martin, you Oaf! What do you see?¡± J?ruc Laughed. Martin looked down on his right hand and saw slight black smudges on his thumb and pointer finger, but he still didn''t understand.

    ¡°Stop laughing! What''s going on? What aren''t I getting?¡± He was becoming more agitated, not necessarily because of the teasing, but because he didn''t understand. And he couldn''t stand when J?ruc rubbed his superiority in  Martins¡¯ face.

    ¡°The damn stem of the pen was a waxy substance, you''re supposed to melt it with the candle and use that as the ink, by the great sun, your so dense Martin!¡± J?ruc began to laugh even harder, his cackling sent pings of fire up Martins'' spine. The young Martin Leaped onto J?ruc who was clutching his stomach from the laughter. With a thunderous slap, he shoved his bloody hand into the young Apostles face and smeared the crimson fluid till there was no skin visible. But J?ruc was no whipping boy, he lashed out with a heavy punch to the temple, the force alone sent Martin flying backward. Martin retaliated with a straight kick as J?ruc began to get up. Like two battling lions they pounced into the other''s arms and grappled each other, they fell to the ground with a flurry of punches, head-butts, and bites. They scuffled on the ground until the other Apostles pulled them apart. Their faces were black and blue and their eyes were beginning to swell. The door flew open and a bald Sentinel with many scars on his face stepped through.

    ¡°What is going on in here!? What is happening?! You, what happened?¡± The Sentinel pointed at Martin.

    ¡°Nothing Sir, Nothing happened.¡± He blatantly lied. His breathing was heavy and his head wobbly, blood dripped down his eye from where J?ruc struck him.

    ¡°You, what happened?!¡± The scarred man pointed to J?ruc, clearly becoming frustrated.

    ¡°Nothing sir. I swear it.¡± He also lied. They may have felt a certain dislike for each other, but they were no doubt brothers, and they respected none of the other Apostles half as much as the other. The Scarred sentinel stared at the two bloody and bruised boys knowing they were deceiving him, but he respected that two enemies could come to an understanding and so he let it be.

    ¡°Very well. If I have to come back in here again, whether something did or didn''t happen, I¡¯m going to fail all of you. Understood?¡± The Sentinel huffed and left the room before the Apostles had time to respond. The boys sat down and were silent for a moment. J?ruc Began to wipe the blood from his face and cursed under his breath. There was an electric tension between the two rivals that could be felt between the other boys in the room. Martin stared at J?ruc with discontent and wanted nothing more than to brutalize him, and J?ruc stared back wishing the same. Twenty more Minutes passed and only Nine Apostles were left in the waiting room. They sat in silence yet the Glares among some of the boys were defining. In an attempt to break the silence one older Apostle spoke up.

    ¡°I can''t believe I finally passed the first exam. If I didn''t make it this time I was sure they were going to send me to the temple to become a monk¡­ Who knew that I would figure it out by accident, I was merely fiddling with the pen over the candle. I had already given up hope, So I just sat there in my pity, but then I saw it began to melt¡­ I didn''t even fight.¡± He sat there his head in his hands, lamenting his woes. Martin didn''t know the Older Apostle well, only by name, K?r?l The longshot. He had taken the First exam three times, and it is said after the fourth they send you to the monasteries to become a Monk. Martin had seen him come and go until he was finally filtered into his group. He wasn''t impressive or unimpressive, he just was. Karol never came in first nor last in Push Ups, but, he failed most if not all of his exams, he was worse off than Martin, for he was born with no drive.

    ¡°Perhaps¡­ Maybe now my Master, Dem?s of M?rn Uther, will recognize me again, Maybe¡­¡± he sunk his head low, it felt tragic to Martin, so tragic he forgot about his disdain for J?ruc. His Master Sovereign of M?rn ?wolan may have been away for long stretches of time but he never disowned Martin, even when Martin was weak and could be considered a pathetic slime he still kept faith in the boy. What a tragic thing it would be to live without your Master¡¯s love.

    ¡°Well, my Master Ar??n of Gwenavara, Is better than yours and would be able to defeat him in combat. He wields an agile whip and saber, not the sluggish sword and shield most Sentinels use.¡± The Apostle Cob boasted.

    ¡°No, my Master C?ifes of M?rn ?wolan is truly the best!¡± Proclaimed J?ruc. ¡°He is the strongest and most ruthless Sentinel in the face of evil! I''ve seen him in action. He wields a mighty morning star that he swings around his head smiting all who stand in his way. I¡¯ve tried to give it a swing before, but the mighty thing weighs too much for me to wield!¡± He acted out the scene of him trying to swing it, a few of the Apostles chuckled. Every boy bragged about there respected Sentinel, though slightly embellished, of course. Eventually, all eyes were on Martin. He didn''t rush himself and thought carefully before speaking.

    ¡°My master may not be the strongest, the fastest, the wisest, or the most handsome, but, he is the truest under the eyes of God. His piety borders Sainthood, His word speaks only truth, his shield protects the helpless, his vow upholds the weak, and his wrath smites the wicked. He is a Sentinel of god, and I, one day, will follow his example.¡±  Martins¡¯ eyes were filled with a blaze comparable to the sun. Every boy in that room, including J?ruc, felt lesser in comparison.

    The door creaked opened and a new Proctor stepped through.

    ¡°Alright lads, here is the point of no return. If you choose to continue your life is forfeit, there will be no turning back. Ahead of you are two life or death trials that should both be considered as, well, difficult. So, whos out?¡± Every boy sat there for a moment and thought about it. But not one of them moved, even K?r?l The longshot held his resolve.

    ¡°Good, let''s go, follow me!¡± His words were rushed. The Apostles hoped to there their feet and followed. He led them outside into the courtyard of the sanctum where two horse-drawn carts, large and covered, waited for them.

    ¡°Alright, get in.¡± The Proctor commanded.

    They stepped into their wagons, Four in one cart and five in the other. The doors were slammed shut and latched. It was dark and stuffy inside the cart, there was no light, not a sliver. K?r?l began to panic and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He just slumped down and was silent. The Wagons pulled the boys over rocky terrain that shook and bounced them, tossed them, and josseled them about. They rode for what felt like hours, unsure what challenges lie ahead. They silently stayed in their heads, creating nightmarish scenarios. When the carts stopped it was the morning of the next day, and the sun just began to peek over the plump green treeline. There was a ruckus at the back doors and then they swung open.

    ¡°Alright, get out.¡± The Proctor commanded.

    The Apostles groggily shuffled out of the carts, the light of the early morning stung their eyes. Some of them stumbled slightly and were disorientated from the jarring all night wagon ride. They stepped foot into the middle of a foreign woodland area that wasn''t familiar to any of them. In a clearing of trees was a large stone structure. The building was tall and wide with sharp corners. The proctor waved them on and they followed. The Apostles walked under a grand arch into the building, upon the stone entryway, in deep bold carvings read, With my Brothers Blood¡­  Martin must have read it and heard it muttered over a thousand times, but yet, never fully grasped the true meaning of the Sentinels slogan, its gravity perplexed him. Perhaps, because, he had never had someone trade their blood for his?Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    The proctor led them into a spacious rectangular room where each of their Masters awaited. All of them dressed in full Armor and as stern as ever. Their expressions advised the young men to keep silent. Martin was filled with excitement when he saw Sovereign standing among them. The  grey-haired Sentinel simply nodded at him in silence, impling it was a momentous occasion. The Apostles lined up in a row across from their Masters. The Pontiff stepped forward from the line of Sentinels. He was dressed in his armor, crafted from dragon scale, he looked as if he were ready for combat.

    ¡°You nine have come far, you have trained for years under the stern hand of our Homunculi and chosen Proctors. Your minds have been bent and twisted with all forms of education and meticulous studies. You have passed your first test, and now, you have chosen to proceed even further, even with the promise of death. I believe you are ready for your next test, a test of combat.  What say you?¡± The Pontiff turned and said to the sentinels.

    ¡°Aye.¡± Is all that came out of the nine Sentinels mouths, in low hushed tones, their eyes were dour and there faces resembled tight sneers of discontent.

    ¡°Very well.¡± The Pontiff , ?rthorian, began placing pairs of two¡¯s together. He grabbed them by the shoulder and led each of them to who he felt was a good fit. He walked toward Martin.

    ¡°Your holiest, with all, due respect, I want Sovereigns boy placed with that smart ass J?ruc.¡± Spoke up the bald Proctor with the many scars on his face. The Pontiff  couldn''t be bothered with details so he simply shrugged his shoulders and placed them together. Both, Sovereign and C?ifes Shot a questioning glance at the Scarred Sentinel, unsure of his motives, but figured it couldn''t have been without reason. The last Apostle, the remainder, the odd man out, was none other than K?r?l The longshot.

    ¡°Hm, where should I place you? Ah, here. With Sovereigns boy and the smart ass. Perfect, now we have a Puppy, a Smartass, and an idiot in one group. ¡± The Pontiff  spoke venomously as he placed K?r?l between Martin and J?ruc.

    ¡°Wait a minute sir, The rules state, that there can only be pairs and the odd man gets a separate challenge!¡± Dem?s contested.

    ¡°I make the rules, Dem?s, Or have you forgotten! Do not let your relationship with the boy cloud your position. So, does anyone else want to challenge my position, my rule, my rightful place as one under god? I thought not.¡± ?rthorian snapped brusquely. Like a dog whos been beaten Dem?s just lowered his head in silence.

    ¡°Proctors, prepare the teams.¡± The Pontiff  spoke and so it was, and so it would be. Each pair of Apostles were secured by the waist with cold iron shackles that were connected by a three-foot chain. Every first Apostle hands were bound behind there back, and every second Apostles eye¡¯s were blindfolded and a sword placed in their hand.

    ¡°Your Holiest, What about the odd man out?¡± A proctor spoke.

    ¡°Bind... Both, his eyes and hands...¡± a slight gasp could be heard from a few of the Sentinels. ?rthorian stared at Dem?s with absolute dominance over him. The Sentinel, Dem?s, was not even able to make eye contact with the far superior Slayer of Dragons.

    ¡°Your Holiest, That puts our Apostles at a fatal disadvantage!¡± Sovereign exclaimed.

    ¡°They will survive... if the only god wills it¡­¡± And with absolution the Pontiff  walked up a flight of stairs, his bodyguards close behind. The air was sticky in the underground room. The severity of this disadvantage showed through the Sentinels and it made Martin¡¯s nerves burn hot like ether. The Proctor came behind Martin and bound his hands tightly behind him with thick rope, then he went behind J?ruc who he blindfolded with a thick Red cloth, lastly; and unfortunately, to the party, K?r?l was both blindfolded and his hands were subdued. The proctors used the same thick rope around K?r?ls waist and tied it onto the chain that connected the group together. Before Martin knew it, all of the Sentinels had filled up the opposite stairwell from the Pontiff .

    The Apostle teams were led to individual small gates by a Proctor who then gave them a short briefing of the events to come.

    ¡°Ahead of you, you will have to face another team of Apostles. There is a total of four teams, you¡¯ll have to slay the other in combat to progress in the trial, there is no other way. Thus it has been since our inception.¡± The proctor softly spoke to Martin, K?r?l, and J?ruc.

    ¡°Sir, this seems unfair.¡± J?ruc blindly spoke.

    ¡°It''s not supposed to be, Godspeed, and let your brothers'' blood carry the weight...¡± The sentinel gently spoke and walked out of the room, locking the gate behind him.

    ¡°Fuck¡­¡± swore J?ruc. Martin could see J?ruc was flustered, but still ready for a fight. like usual, but poor K?r?l was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

    ¡°K?r?l I can feel you rattling the chain, if you don''t calm the fuck down, I¡¯m going to stab you. And that isn''t a threat, it¡¯s a promise.¡± J?ruc threatened.

    ¡°Leave him alone J?ruc, he¡¯s afraid, ¡± Martin whispered defending K?r?l. Martin was trying to see through the wooden plank door, into what appeared to be a Colosseum.

    ¡°Shit, I¡¯m afraid, you''re afraid, you don''t see us quaking in our boots. Wait, Listen, I think something''s happening.¡± J?ruc was right on two accounts, Martin was afraid, and something was happening. A shrill horn trumpeted and two of the gates opened.

    ¡°What is it? What''s happening?¡± J?ruc blurted.

    ¡°The two groups are approaching each other¡­¡± Martin said as he struggled to get a glance through the gap in the planks.

    ¡°And?¡± J?ruc asked itching for more. Commands were screamed and tings of steel clashing against each other. The labored sounds of battle rang out through the Colosseum.

    ¡°There fighting¡­ it looks like T?rst?n and Cob fighting Bl?n and¡­¡±A scream came from the arena interrupting Martin who looked away as an Apostle was stabbed in the upper shoulder. The crimson blood was sprayed across the training field coating the fighter across from him.

    ¡°Who was it? Was it Bl?n?¡± J?ruc asked clutching onto Martins'' shoulder, the suspense eating at his wits.

    ¡°No, it was T?rst?n, He was stabbed in the left shoulder by Thr?wen. T?rst?n was blindfolded, and Cob didn''t give the order to block in time... I don''t think he¡¯ll make it.¡± Martin was still looking away. Another scream came from the field.

    ¡°Martin, communicate!¡±  J?ruc jostled Martin in the need to know more.

    ¡° T?rst?n¡­ They stabbed him in the guts.¡± Martin lamented.

    ¡°Oh, poor T?rst?n¡­¡±  J?rucs lips curled down as he shook his head, feeling sorrow for a fallen Brother. Then he began to sniff around, Lifting his nose in the air like a dog.

    ¡°Hey¡­ do you guys... smell that?¡± J?ruc said in between sniffs.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah I do.¡± Martin began sniffing. He sniffed until he realized what it was. Martins face twisted with utter perturbation and just looked away in embarrassment, not saying a word to J?ruc. K?r?l, in his fright, had defecated himself.

    K?r?l stood there, hands bound, eyes blindfolded, sure he was to meet his maker. The Screams of demise that irradiated from the arena were a sure sign to him of deaths approach. Deep within his despondency, he had released himself from this world, figuratively and literally.

    A gurgled plea for mercy came from the stadium, but none was to be given. The dying cry of Cob the Apostle was felt with every human in the vicinity. The triumphant group hobbled, unskillfully, toward Cob and with a swift strike they cut him down.

    ¡°Cobs dead¡­ were up.¡± Martin said beginning to bounce slightly on the balls of his feet. J?ruc gripped his sword and lightly ran his hand over it. He was feeling the dimensions and gaining a clearer mental picture, learning the blade better than, perhaps, his opponents knew there''s.

    ¡°Here''s the plan, J?ruc, You''re behind me, and K?r?ls behind you. J?ruc with your free hand I want you to hold onto my right shoulder. I won''t tell you directly to attack or defend, only to make wide arching swipe in that direction. K?r?l, your only job is to stay alive and follow where J?ruc is moving. Ok?¡± Martin said, taking control of the team.

    ¡°Come on guys respond...¡± Martin pleaded.

    ¡°Ok. I¡¯m ready.¡± J?ruc said getting behind him and placing his left hand on Martins right shoulder. For all the grief and trouble J?ruc has caused Martin, he never once would insult his battle skill, nor, his innate combat sense. Though he would never admit it out loud, J?ruc was glad to have Martin as an ally in a life or death fight.

    Another shrill horn blew and their gate swung open. The teams began to hobble out slowly.

    ¡°K?rgoth is the blindfolded one.¡± Exclaimed Martin.

    ¡°Good, that means Tem is the watcher,¡±  J?ruc said with a sigh of relief. If K?r?l wasn''t the most pathetic out of the Apostles next in line would be Tem. He was decent academically but not sharp enough when it came to matters of combat and on the fly strategy, timidity and hesitancy were his biggest weakness. On the other hand, there was no one as big or as ferocious as K?rgoth. The twenty-year-old was a brute, a pure savage, an animal who lived to punish those less superior than him. Though he was a powerful man, he was sensitive to insults and would start fights over the most innocent of teases. K?rgoth would no doubt swing hard, harder then perhaps J?ruc would be able to block without his sight.

    ¡°Were close¡­¡± Martin whispered. He felt J?ruc tightly squeeze his shoulder.

    ¡°NOW!¡± Screamed Tem. With a great step and a mighty horizontal swing, K?rgoth cocked back and whipped both hands that were gripping onto his sword through the air, cutting it and making a terrifying whistle. Martin saw it, almost as if it were frozen in time. It was so slow, so peaceful, that he could have counted the times a bee fluttered its wings within the second. If he didn''t do something all three of them would surely be a head shorter. And so, he did the only thing he could think of, he jumped in the way.

    J?ruc heard Tems command, he was panicked and he didn''t know which side to block, then felt the jerk of the chain, and then the thundering clang of steel on steel. Martin had jumped and caught the blade against the thick iron binding that was wrapped around his waist that was connecting J?ruc and himself. With a painful thud, Martin fell to the ground, his midsection throbbing. Martin might have taken the brunt of the blow but K?rgoths blade still was able to slash his torso as it rolled off the iron binding.

    ¡°Martin?!¡± Hollard J?ruc, concerned for his teammate.

    ¡°Stab, two o¡¯clock!¡± Commanded the wounded Martin from the ground.

    J?ruc dashed and thrust his sword, he felt it sink into something, something soft and stringy.

    ¡°Ugh!¡± Tem screamed as J?ruc¡¯s blade punctured through his skin.

    ¡°Got him!¡± Exclaimed J?ruc.

    ¡°Help me K?rgoth, I¡¯m wounded!¡± Whined Tem. K?rgoth wildly Swung toward the group. Martin once again saw the strike inbound toward his team and launched himself toward J?ruc. With his shoulder, he toppled J?ruc over barely missing the blade. The two plummeted to the ground, but poor K?r?l was as unlucky as ever, his supple throat met the tip of K?rgoths sword. The blood fountained out from him and within seconds he bled out and died. Only a few short gasps were heard for his last words. From the Stands, Dem?s of M?rn Uther screamed out in wretched despair, he gripped the rail, fell to his knees, and pleaded to the heavens for the safety of K?r?ls soul. At the moment Martin was saddened, not by the death of K?r?l, but by the fact he never truly understood his master''s love for him. But, there was no time to mourn, no time to rest or cry. K?rgoth slung his blade about like an untrained savage nearly cutting into Tem multiple times.

    ¡°J?ruc, cut the rope from K?r?l!¡± Martin commanded. With haste J?ruc fished it out and slashed the rope, freeing them from there fallen comrade.

    ¡°Let''s go. Follow my lead!¡± He got to his feet and helped J?ruc stand up. The duo ran toward Tem.

    ¡°K?rgoth, your mom was a five copper whore and your father a smelly boar!¡± Martin antagonized.

    ¡°You''re a gutless ogre with a small penis K?rgoth!¡± J?ruc said following Martins example.  K?rgoth screeched and ripped his body around. With inhuman force, he violently began swinging toward them, indeed like an ogre. He felt his sword slice cleanly through meat and heard the all too familiar gurgle then splash of blood on the sand. K?rgoth felt the sharp tug of the chain around his waist pulling him down.

    ¡°Tem. Tem? TEM?! FUCK!¡± K?rgoth became black with wrath as he felt the severed neck stump of his fallen partner. Without a moment of hesitation, he tore his blindfold off his face and began hacking away at Tems lifeless body. In seconds he was free from his fallen comrade. He murderously began swinging the chain around him, turning himself into an overwhelming maelstrom.

    ¡°Martin, what''s happening?!¡± yelled J?ruc.

    ¡°K?rgoths lost it! He tore his blindfold off!¡± Shouted Martin in fright.

    ¡°Can he do that?¡± J?ruc called out in disbelief.

    ¡°Who cares, take off your damn blindfold and cut me free!¡± Martin pleaded.

    ¡°It''s against the rules Martin¡­¡± J?ruc Foolishly stated. K?rgoth whipped the chain out toward them, the iron binding cracked martin across the face leaving a bleeding gash above his left eye. The blow sent Martin to the ground, knocking him unconscious. K?rgoth, deep within his berserker rage charged J?ruc. The giant batted J?rucs sword out of his hand and punched him in the face with his massive fist. J?ruc collapsed to the ground. Like a rock slide, K?rgoth fell on top of J?ruc. He forcefully clasped both hands around J?rucs throat, entwining his fingers and squeezing till his knuckles were white. J?ruc tried to claw at K?rgoths face and hands but the Monster was as grainy as wood and harder than stone.

    ¡°No, you have a small penis J?ruc!¡± K?rgoth childishly bellowed as he violently choked the life out of J?ruc.

    J?ruc was seeing a wide range of spots and colors, he kicked his feet around frantically, his head felt like it was going to burst. He tried to resist the almost uncontrollable urge to fall unconscious but quickly felt his vision begin to slip. Just then, Martin cut himself away from his wrist bindings with the disarmed sword of J?ruc. He hopped onto the ogres back and wrapped his chain around the impressively thick neck of K?rgoth. Martin began to jerk viciously at K?rgoths throat with the intent on breaking it. Martin tugged, and tugged, straining dauntlessly. Every vein in Martins'' neck was bulging, his eyes were clamped shut as he pulled the chain, he screamed in absolute desperation. With another jerk, Martin heard an audible crunch. It seemed as if he had broken K?rgoths trachea. The ogre let go of J?rucs throat and began to crazily yank the chain away from himself. J?ruc gasped for air and seized on the ground for a moment. As he came to he looked up, his vision blurry, he saw K?rgoth whose eyes were bleeding and was pulling at Martins chain noose. With as much effort as he could muster, he picked up his blade and slowly gutted K?rgoth across the stomach, spilling his steaming entrails on the arena floor.

    ¡°Huh¡­ I Guess¡­ I was wrong...¡± J?ruc painfully said with a broken, hoarse, voice as he stared into K?rgoths dying eyes. The giant grunted, shook from the pain then his eyes slipped behind his head and collapsed.

    J?ruc dropped his sword and hobbled over to Martin who was still angrily pulling on the chain, his eyes tightly welded shut, screaming wildly.

    ¡°Martin... you oaf¡­ let go.¡± J?ruc hoarsely said with a chuckle as he nudged Martin with his foot. Martin opened his eyes. He began to settle down seeing that K?rgoth was slain. He let go of the chains, his hands were bruised badly from the vigorous pulling. The gash over his eye had stained the left side of his face in blood. The young men looked into each other''s eyes and let out a faint laugh that could only be explained by the feeling of shared suffering. J?ruc coughed as he reached down to help Martin to his feet, the two began walking toward there gate. As they passed K?r?l¡¯s corpse J?ruc stopped.

    ¡°Aw, Martin¡­ poor lad shit himself.¡± J?ruc stated with pity.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah he did.¡± Was all Martin could say.

 Chapter 9: V?lva

    ¡°Now, If I remember correctly, you swore you would never ask for my aid again?¡± She spoke, her voice was as smooth as the blue cascades of ice that lined the frozen waterfalls of the Zorkain Mountains. She stared at him with piercing eyes, she was expecting the young revenge seeker who used to spit witty banter, but instead, all she saw was a broken old man bleeding on her front steps.

    ¡°This is no time for games Circi, the girl, the girl needs your help.¡± Martin winced in pain as he stood up and quickly hobbled toward Zofia. The Witch almost frowned, disappointed in the circumstances in which she got to see him again. Martin Scooped her up being careful not to be too rough.

    ¡°Well...  What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± She said with a bit of reluctance and only a dash of annoyance. She walked towards them slowly.

    ¡°She was bitten... by a Poly-hob¡­¡± Martin choked out the words in between each painful step. The Volvas face became concerned, perhaps even motherly.

    ¡°Inside, Now! How long has it been? How far along is she? ¡± She was meticulous in her questioning and care of the situation. She saw Zofia''s transformed arm and swore, her black hair bouncing from the string of profanities. They rushed her inside the cottage. The stairs led underground, at least six feet deep. The inside of the Witches residents was large and well lit, a thousand dripping candles lined the walls of the cottage interior. Glass jars and vials, with strange liquids, preserved organisms, strange beakers of all shapes and sizes cluttered her cabinet space. Moss was tightly packed in all corners of the residence keeping it unnaturally warm for this time of year. The cottage was made up of the main living space and a loft where the witch slept. On the far side of the living space, there was A dark cast iron cauldron over a crackling fire. In the center of the living space was a large wooden table with all sorts of odd rituals and papers, strange diagrams and words scribbled on them with blood, ink, or some other unknown compounds. Circi rolled them up and moved them as fast as she could, clearing the table. She ran to a large elaborate bookshelf, made from twisted branches and planks of oak wood. On the shelf were thick volumes of ancient manuscripts and instruction manuals. She rapidly tapped her fingers against each tome until she found the one she wanted.

    ¡°Ah, found it!¡±  Removing it with two hands, heaving it up and dropping it on the table with a loud thump. She opened the book on the table and quickly flipped to a page with unreadable text scratched on it.

    ¡°lay her down. Help me unwrap her.¡± She commanded Martin, and he obeyed. They unwrapped the girl, her poor body looked frail and her clothes were visibly wet. Her arm was monstrous and smelt rotten, not even the sweet honey aroma of the Witches hut could mask the sour tang.

    ¡°Oh, by the night! Shes so far along. When was she bitten, last week?!¡± She scolded.

    ¡°Only this morning, If it were easier to find you we wouldn''t be in this mess! Then the damn Klude chased me for hours! You took your sweet ass time Circi, I swear you did it to vex me!¡± He raised his voice.

    ¡°Well, there''s no sense in fighting about the past. Martin, please tell me you at least had enough sense to keep the Tongue?¡± She looked at him sharply.

    ¡°Of course I do, what do I look like, some third-rate page?¡± Martin quipped and reached inside his traveling pack pulling out the rubbery barbed tongue of the Poly-hob. The witch took it and began to butterfly the tongue with a small paring knife and scrapped out the small black bulbs that were inside directly into the cauldron already Filled with purified water. She then began to dice the different herbs and ingredients for the mixture, Martin noticed that some of these were deadly, even in small doses.

    ¡°Is this belladonna... and this, foxglove? I think you misunderstood me, I¡¯m trying to cure her, not kill her.¡± He said poking at the small black berries and the pink tube flower.

    ¡°You may not be a third-rate page Martin, but you''re certainly a third-rate Sentinel.¡± She mocked him, pushing just a little too much perhaps.

    ¡°The only third-rate Sentinel¡­¡± Martin became serious and characteristically glum.

    ¡°Yes, yes. It was over twelve years ago Martin, get over it. Anyway, it says the effects of the poison are nulled by the glands from the tongue. So, in theory, it should allow the healing properties of each of the herbs and fruits to take effect.¡± She said reading from the book as she waved her hands through the air.

    ¡°In theory?¡± Martin questioned.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never actually cured anyone whos been this infected with the Poly-hob toxin. This is a very rare case. I didn¡¯t know how to treat it, so I had to use my sister''s manuals as reference.¡± She said gesturing at the massive book. He looked at Zofia lovingly, his eyes showed worry and unmistakable compassion.

    ¡°Martin, I might be able to save the girl, but we need to remove the arm. It¡¯ll spread if we don''t do something about it soon.¡± She softly spoke. The Volva rested her hand on his and brushed her thumb against it, not grasping it or patting it out of wellbeing or pity, not a light touch, but a well-placed gesture of intimacy. Martin quickly removed it, not because he didn''t enjoy the warmth or compassion, but, because of the feeling of uneasiness about the past emotions that he had hoarded of her, deep within himself like a dragon coveting its gold.

    ¡°This isn''t the time Circi, the girl needs attention.¡± He spoke trying to deflect his true intentions. She pulled back and collected herself, she was feeling rejected and that hurt.

    ¡°Your right, I''m sorry. I was carried away. So, I can brew the potion in an hour to aid in the reversal of the Mutation, but in the meantime, I¡¯ll fix a potent numbing agent for the girl. I would clean and sharpen the saw that rests in the corner of the room, over there.¡± Circi spoke solemnly and nodded to a saw hanging on the far wall.

    ¡°I haven''t forgotten.¡± He said peering for a moment into her eyes that were as large and orange as a pair of hunter moons. She smiled and then seemed cool and unphased by the events that were at hand, her hands worked swiftly, and were precise. She began breaking down and grinding opioids, ginger root, peppermint and splashed a clear liquid that made a terrible hiss when it touched the ground herbs. She mixed it with a small wooden spoon until the ingredients formed a brown paste.  Martin watched her, his eyes yearningly devoured her as he sharpened the blade of the Saw. With a linen cloth he buffed the saw blade with a strong-smelling spirit trying to cleanse what he could, it reeked of juniper and orange, he couldn''t imagine anyone possibly drinking it.

    ¡°The numbing agent is ready, how''s the blade coming?¡± She said.

    ¡°It''s ready.¡± He spoke with a small shake in his voice.  Martin walked over to the table and the Volva took out a box of long needles. She began to dip the needles in the Numbing concoction and inserted them on key spots across the girls mutated arm and shoulder. With every pin prick, the girl jolted and flinched.

    ¡°Is she ok?¡± Martin asked concerned for her safety.

    ¡°Don''t you trust me?¡± She teased with a smirk, but Martin wasn''t smiling, he was dead serious.

    ¡°She will be fine, it¡¯s just an initial shock of the chemicals. In a moment they will seep into her bloodstream and she won''t be able to feel much for hours.¡± Circi comforted.

    ¡°Ok. Thank you.¡± Martin was gracious, he knew she was the right person to take the girl to, even if it brought up past melodramas, intensities,  and warmth. They waited a moment in silence for the concoction to take effect, Zofia began to toss and become restless.

    ¡°We should get to work before she becomes conscience.¡± Circi pushed. Martin let out a breath and positioned himself over her. Circi held the arm out next to him. Martin rested his left hand on Zofias chest and pressed down to hold her in place. He took the saw and lined it up a little past her shoulder joint, just outside of the mutated area. He readied himself, and pushed, the blade cut into her soft deformed arm. Cream-colored puss ran down to the table and dripped on the floor, it smelt foul.

    Zofia felt tugging and jerking at her side, her body was being pulled, she didn''t know by what. She could have sworn she was in the lair of the frog beast, slowly being eaten, or worse, saved for the winter. But when she opened her eyes she saw Martin sawing at her arm, puss and dark blood leaking from the wound. She didn''t panic, it had to be a dream, she didn''t feel any pain because it was simply a dream. She stared around the room and it frightened her for it seemed so foreign. Her sight fell upon a terrifyingly beautiful woman with smoldering eyes of honey.

    ¡°Martin¡­¡± Circi quickly nodded at Zofia who was now awake. The Man looked over at the young girl blankly staring at him as he sawed through her bone.

    ¡°Can you make her look away? This is hard to do with her looking at me.¡± Martin said uncomfortably as pus and blood squirted on his jerkin. Circi let go of Zofias arm and let it rest as Martin made small cuts into the bone, not wanting to tear away healthy tissue. The Witch gently turned the girls head and whispered a soft word that sent the girl into a trance-like state.

    Martin knew first hand of the hypnotic powers of the Witches of the woods, born from chaos, with unimaginable strength over a person''s soul. Once upon a time, It was said the dividing of Kingdoms were caused by the interference of such Witches. They slept with great men of power. They talked and persuaded their way into the realm of men, always playing the hearts and never the sword. Until a binding of warriors joined forces and drove them far from this world, far, far, away. But then again, those are just tales to scare children.

    Martin was nearly through the arm, just one more clean-cut and it would be severed.

    ¡°Done¡­ We need to seal it somehow. Can you light an iron?¡± He said putting the saw down and picking up a bandage.

    ¡°That¡¯s Barbaric Martin. Hold her still, this will hurt. Even with the Numbing agent.¡± The witch said as she began to rub her hands together. Martin did as she said and pressed down harder on the girl''s chest not looking at her, not wanting to see the girl in pain. Circi closed her eyes and began to mutter words incoherently, none of it made sense, none of it was the human tongue. But then again, she wasn''t human. She rubbed her hands until they became as red as coals. When she opened her eyes they glowed with vibrant color, her hair began to float off her shoulders, and the sound of a raging tornado came from her sharp lips. The girl began to struggle on the table, afraid of this awful nightmare. The Volva held out her hands toward the girl''s amputated stump, chanting inaudible words that shook the cottage. From the wound; skin, sinew, and tendons slowly formed and twisted from her, covering the exposed pieces of bone and muscle. They wrapped tightly to her stump like a hundred twine bandages, sewing themselves through her flesh till they were tuat. The girl bucked and kicked, screaming as hard as she could, but her cries were drowned out by the deafening incantation of the Witch. When Circi was through her hands dropped to her side and she fell to the floor. Zofia laid motionless panting and moaning in discomfort. Martin stood there breathing heavily from the intensity of Circi¡¯s spell. His vision had come back to him and he rushed to the Volvas side to help her up. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Here,¡± he said, offering his arm for support. Circi grabbed ahold and he was shocked at how cold she felt. Her touch was the frosty touch of death.

    ¡°Circi, your freezing, let me get you a blanket!¡± He petitioned with care.

    ¡°Oh, no. I¡¯ll be fine. A side effect of Black magic. Just a tad chilly, I¡¯ll warm up momentarily.¡± Her comforting didn''t convince him this time and he rushed to get her a blanket anyway. He draped the purple and white woven blanket over her shoulders, and all she could do was accept it with a blush as pastel as a sunrise.

    ¡°Always a gentleman.¡± She said humbly. They stared at each other with ardent eyes. They were close to each other and he could feel the heat come back to her body. Her eyes were a wildfire and his a dense woodland she wished to get lost in.

    ¡°Don''t stare at me like that Martin¡­ You¡¯re making me uncomfortable.¡± She glanced away, a strange, vulnerable feeling rising in her chest¡­ almost like she was mortal. The cauldron began to bubble and almost boil over, causing them to jump.

    ¡°Oh, damn it! The remedy!¡± Circi exploded as she bounded over to the cauldron, dropping the blanket. She swung the pivoted arm that the cauldron was hanging on, moving it off the flame.

    ¡°Will it be all right? ¡° Martin sheepishly asked, embarrassed by the circumstances in which he got to see her again.

    ¡°The potion will be fine, just needs to cool. We need her to be awake so she can drink the Medicine. Could you wake her? You could use some water and a cloth, It should comfort her,  I¡¯m sure I don''t need to remind you where the water pal is?¡± She quipped smirkingly. She was right, he knew almost every square inch of the Cottage. His stay wasn''t long, but it was no doubt memorable. He dipped the rag into the lukewarm water and rung it out until it was damp. He walked over to the little girl who was lying, now, unconscious on the wooden table. Her skin was warm and clammy, she didn''t look well, and Martin wasn''t sure if she would last the night. He gently patted her head and face, trying to wipe up the mucous membrane that had begun to coat her skin. As Circi prepared the tonic for Zofia, she watched Martin from the corner of her eye, it was strange to see him so gentle and kind with her. The person she knew in the past was a charred man searching for the Devil, longing for vindication, for bloody revenge. But he seemed to care deeply for this little girl and she wondered why.

    ¡°So, I thought you said you would never actually settle down? Whos the lucky lady?¡± Circi asked, trying to put up an air of nonchalance. She mixed in a few dry ingredients into the medicine, for taste.

    ¡°She''s not mine Circi. I found her on the road north of Trent. Her mother was being rapped, I couldn''t save her, but luckily the girl was hiding. So I promised i¡¯d escort her to safety, I''m taking her to her aunt in Morn Awolon. I¡¯m just a warden, for now, that¡¯s all.¡± He said as he gently patted her. Circi breathed out a small sigh of relief but felt disappointed, the idea of him being a father somehow made him more handsome, even in his old age.

    ¡°Can you prop her up Martin?¡± She said walking over with the small vile as large as a pointer finger. The vile was filled to the top with something so dark and thick it might as well have been oil. Martin sat Zophia up and began to rub her back as he nudged her awake. The girl wearily opened her black eyes and shook from chills.

    ¡°Hey¡­¡± She weakly spoke. She blinked slowly and looked around. She looked at her amputated arm and gasped.

    ¡°That wasn''t a dream?¡± She was shocked but overcame her anxiety.

    ¡°Hello, My names Circi. I¡¯m here to help you, you were bitten by a bad creature called a Poly-Hob. I need you to drink this. It¡¯s very important so you can get better.¡± She said to the young girl.

    ¡°Is it Medicine?¡± The young girl asked nervously.

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what it is. Now, drink up.¡± Circi confirmed as she lifted the small vile to the girl''s lips. As soon as the rim of the vile touched Zofia''s icy blue mouth the Witch tilted it back, making sure to get every last drop in the girl.

    It was a repugnant taste Zofia instantly wanted to spit out, but Martin had covered her mouth as soon as the concoction was in. She shook her head refusing to accept it. It burned her tongue, the taste was bitter and thick, coating her cheeks and the roof of her mouth.

    ¡°Swallow,¡± Martin commanded. She gagged on it before most of it slid down her throat. With some effort, she ingested whatever was left. It only took a moment for the Chemicals to take effect. The girl trembled and jerked in Martins''s arms for a moment before he let her down where she laid motionless on the table.

    ¡°Is she all right?!¡± Martin asked Circi, concerned about Zophias condition.

    ¡°Yes, perfectly.¡± The Volva said with confidence as she began to check the girl''s vitals.

    ¡°The deadlier ingredients and poisons have taken effect. She has a good shot to survive the night. I¡¯ve got to give it to her, she''s got spirit...¡± Circi was saying.

    ¡°Moxy,¡± Martin interjected.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°She has Moxy,¡± Martin said with tears welling in his eyes. He rested his hand on her greasy head and was able to bare a weak smile. The room was silent until Martin began to shake and stumbled, startling the Witch. She rushed to his side. With closer observation, she could see he was wounded in multiple places.

    ¡°Martin your hurt! Why didn¡¯t you say something?¡± She said, helping him up and leading him to a stool.

    ¡°I didn''t notice...¡± he tried to lie as he clutched his side. She peered at him, laying hands on his shoulders.

    ¡°Martin, your clothes are soaked! Let''s remove them and get you bandaged, ok?¡± He silently nodded. She helped him up and sat him on a wooden stool that was no more than a half-cut log with four sticks for legs. Circi began to unbuckle the leather jerkin taking it off him, the leather was worn in and wrinkled, practically useless with the slash across the ribs, leaving a gaping hole. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, rain, and blood. She pulled it up and off his torso. She unbuttoned the long johns and peeled them off his body. Martin sat nude and exposed inside the Woman''s den. As the Witch Looked him over, she noticed how his body had not atrophied as much as she had thought. He was skinny and his scars had all but healed from the last time they met but he still looked formidable. On his side were three long gashes, each beginning to fester, red with inflammation.

    ¡°Lift your arm up and hold still.¡± She ordered. She took out a small sewing kit and began to cleanse the wound with stinging alcohol, startling Martin, making him flinch. She began to sew the wound with surgical precision.

    ¡°Just like old times, huh?¡± He muttered as she dragged the string through his skin.

    ¡°I said hold still.¡± She said smiling. She playfully jabbed at his side with the needle. Her sewing was far superior to Martins, he could barely feel the piercing of the needle or hear the slurp of the thread. Before he had time to speak again she had closed all three wounds, near painlessly.

    ¡°Do you, um¡­  have anything dry for me to wear?¡± He asked. She threw him a plain linen shirt from a bin of clothes.

    ¡°Thank you, but can I trouble you for some stockings, or a pair of trousers perhaps?¡± he asked sheepishly.

    ¡°I''m a Witch of chaos and discontent, Martin, I can mend a wound not craft you trousers on request.¡± She sharply said as she began to pack away the sewing kit. He huffed and tied a long loose blanket around his naked waist. Martin sat back down, groaning as he clutched his side. The wound still burned and that was fine for now, at least he felt safe. Circi draped an oddly patterned woolen blanket over the little girl.

    ¡°All we can do is wait it out, it may only take a day or it may take a few weeks. I¡¯ll allow you two to stay in my home, Martin. I may even allow you to stay in my bed, but we shall see.¡± She said with a powerful gaze.

    ¡°For your payment...¡± Martin uttered apprehensively. He picked up a knife near the stool and brought it close to his green eye. She watched with enthusiasm. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt cold chills of pain scrape down his spine. He dug the tip of the blade into the corner of his eye, letting a drop of blood splat to the ground.

    ¡°Martin, stop!¡± She shouted. He stared at her with a dumbfounded glare. The woman couldn''t help herself as she laughed cruelly at him, her orange eyes mocking life itself. ¡°That payment is far to grave for the favor you have asked me. This time I have something else in mind. But, if you want to blind yourself for my amusement, then go right ahead.¡± The witch said as she grabbed two wooden cups between her fingers and took the bottle of spirits that Martin used to disinfect the saw. She drank a sizable swig of it. Martin stared at her not believing she could drink such poison. She walked past him grabbing ahold of his hand, leading him up to her loft.

    ¡°If we''re going to talk we best do it upstairs, not to disturb the girl... of course.¡±She said invitingly. They sat down on wicker chairs that were close by her bedside. The dim candlelight up in the Witches loft made her incandescent eyes glow like cat eyes deep within the night. She poured two full glasses from the large bottle and handed one to Martin. He looked inside, the alcohol was so clear he could see to the bottom of his cup.

    ¡°Here¡¯s to love, the sickness,¡± Circi smirked with wry sarcasm and a sense of real misanthropy as she raised her glass in the air.

    ¡°Ha, Yes, The great martyr of the soul.¡± Martin sardonically chuckled raising his glass and clanking it against her¡¯s.

    They both took large gulps from there mugs. He didn''t mind the burn so much as he hated the taste, It was bittersweet and oily and tasted like pine with a twist of fruit, it was truly an offensive drink. But nonetheless he took another sip, and another, not before long he asked for another glass. The liquors bitter flame warmed his languid body and the witches wicked eyes began to scorch his wretched soul. She stared at him ravenously all night as the alcohol had begun to take effect on both of them, there tongues loose from the spirit. Perhaps an hour had gone by when they both stopped talking and looked at each other amorously, deeply, ignoring every wrinkle and blemish on there faces.

    ¡°Oh, don''t stare at me like that Circi¡­¡± Martin felt uneasy with this old god of the woods looking into his soul. He feared the piercing gaze of her churning amber eyes, they were never satiated and wanton. He could feel them probing him, searching him, absorbing his essence. Her pupils constricted to pins and she gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. Martin knew it was too late to explain himself and that she had seen the cold chill of the black mark within him.

    ¡°Was it worth it...?¡± She said with disheartened alarm as she lurched back from the revolting shame she had witnessed.

    ¡°Damnit, Circi¡­ I asked you not to look at me like that...¡± He said ashamed as he dropped his eyes from her¡¯s.

    ¡°I knew you meant revenge, I knew the being you sought, but I didn''t know you would go to such lengths when you found him, Martin. So, was it worth it?¡± She muttered dispirited and mortified.

    ¡°No.¡± He choked as he began to cry with drunken abandon. ¡°It¡¯s so empty and alone, yet the weight is so heavy, Circi. I should have stayed. I''m sorry.¡±

    She stared at him with pity for she couldn''t imagine the torment that was inside of him, and knew that his existence through all of time could only be pain and suffering. Martin was hunched over himself crying, drowning in his misery. Sinking deeper into his sorrow.

    He was smitten with the way the waves forced his body down, there was no hope, there never was. Her voice, the ebb and tide, the push and pull, was enough to break and drown his soul inside this ancient underwater tomb. His unreserved waters of woe held him like a child, silent, caressed and safe, deep within this familiar mercurial womb. He was smitten with the way the waves, washed his weary soul away and buried him in his grave, his pit of sorrow, his underwater tomb.

    Martin was pulled from the depths of his stopper of dread with Circi¡¯s velvet hand lifting his head up and a familiar kiss from her enchanting lips. She began to wipe his eyes with her thumbs, clearing away the rogue tears.

    ¡°Forgive me Circi¡­ the alcohol is too strong for me perhaps. What do I owe you for the girls'' life? Name it, anything...¡± He said wiping away snot and trying to contain a sniffle. She leaned in grabbing ahold of his shoulders. Her lips touched his ear as she whispered her grim request. Martins''s eyes grew large with surprise. He looked at her.

    ¡°...Then it shall be¡­¡± He said with some hesitation. She smiled and rubbed his chin that had not been shaved in a few days.

    ¡®Come.¡¯ Her eyes seductively called. Circi brought him to her bed and laid him down. She removed the straps of her black dress and it fell to the floor. And with a flick of her hand, the candles were snuffed and together they dove into the salty brine of the ocean.

 Chapter 10: A Test Of Perseverance pt.2

    Outside of the arena, just before the boundary line of the looming lurid woodland blanketed in shadow and gloom, were five wooden pyres with five tightly bound bodies. Darkness was among them and the sky was filled with a vanilla twilight. Just outside the pyres were four Apostles, nine Sentinels, four proctors, and one Pontiff. The Pontiff, ?rthorian The Dragoon, took a torch from one of the proctors and approached the pyres.

    ¡°Here, the bodies of K?rgoth, Cob, T?rston, Tem, and K?r?l will be burned to ash, as God has willed it since our inception. Let their deaths weigh heavy upon your souls.¡± ?rthorian dryly spoke as he began to burn the dead grass that the bodies laid upon. The mourners looked stoically upon the growing flames in silence.

    Martin starred with muddled eyes and a potent, sour, acrimony in his heart toward the cruel events of the day. It was known that the tests would be life or death, but he never knew it would have to be at the cost of his brothers. He truly never spoke more than a few sentences to them during his years at the sanctum, but he loved them nonetheless. His head was tightly bandaged and he was certainly in pain, but at least he had his life. Martin looked over toward J?ruc who wore the same disdain clearly on his face that he did, he almost looked sad. When their eyes met all could do was a nod and give a weak insipid smile, Martin knew he wasn''t alone.

    A petrifying smell caught Martins¡¯ nose. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and he was frightened by the nostalgia the vile smell brought. He saw visions of the burning chapel in Oraton and the smell of a hundred roasting corpses within it. He felt hopeless and weak again, like when he was a child. The bodies on the pyres sizzled and popped, it was sickening to Martin. His stomach churned and tossed in all directions. He felt his mouth become full with saliva and he knew he would be sick. As tactfully as he could he backed out of the gathering and slipped to a clearing where he was away from the eyes of the others. He rested his hand on his knees and with a violent heave, he vomited and shook horribly.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Martin heard the familiar voice of Sovereign behind him. He turned his head back and saw his Master approaching.

    ¡°No,¡± Martin said spitting trying to get rid of the taste. ¡°Why didn''t you warn me about this? Why was all this kept a secret?... Why!?¡± He looked upon his Master with abandonment, becoming angrier by the second.

    ¡°The choice to come was your own Martin, no one forced you. You know this.¡± Sovereign tried to reason.

    ¡°Because. From the birth of our order that is how it has been, and will always be.¡± Another voice loudly said. Martin quickly turned and behind him stood ?rthorian who glared with authority into Martins Green eyes. He could sense the palpable clout from the Pontiff.

    ¡°In the oldest days when my uncle KaleoMagnus created the order of the Sentinel we had to fight much more than simple Demons. Fire breathing Dragons flew high in the sky, mindless giants as tall as trees roamed the mountains, and creatures of nightmare infested the forests. So, we had to breed hardened killers; warriors with god-like attributes of will, strength, and skill. Count yourself lucky you weren''t born in those days. You would have never made it, few did.¡± The massive man walked toward Martin. rested his large muscular hands on the shoulders of the young man. Martin felt the startling weight from them, they were as hefty as ten-pound bricks. ?rthorian applied pressure and squeezed Martin, but he endured and refused to flinch in pain. ?rthorian enjoyed the resistance from the young man, he couldn''t stand someone with a weak heart and eased his torment.

    ¡°humph, go and join the other three Apostles inside. There will be a large meal tonight before your next trial.¡± The Pontiff said with a simper.

    ¡°Yes, your Holiest,¡± Martin said with vinegar in his voice. The two stared at each other with heated pique and Martin bowed out to rejoin the others.

    ¡°He¡¯s a lot more belligerent than I thought.¡± ?rthorian quietly announced as he watched Martin round the corner.

    ¡°He¡¯s just strong-willed sir...¡± Sovereign said.

    ¡°There''s more than strong will within him, he''s curious, and that''s dangerous.¡± He snapped his tense face toward Sovereign. ¡°Keep him on a tighter leash, or I will. But either way, we¡¯ll be keeping a close eye on him.¡± The Dragons slayers face was rigid and unmoving.

    ¡° Yes, sir¡­¡± Sovereigns voice softly dropped, worried for his Apostle.

    Inside the dimly lit hall were two long tables with a truly healthy-looking spread; Cold meats, cheese and bread, and an assortment of large pots with different warm soups. Martin looked around and saw Joruc, he sat across from him and took what he could from the platters, he was famished. J?ruc had a bandage wrapped securely around his throat and was only sipping on soup broth.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Martin asked.

    ¡°Been worse.¡± J?ruc hoarsely muttered.

    ¡°What do you think is next?¡± Martin leaned in and whispered to the Apostles around the table.

    ¡°Well¡­ It has something¡­ to do with our soul. So, if it''s¡­ reciting scripture¡­ You''re fucked.¡± J?ruc voice ground against itself with comedic effect, the other boys laughed, including Martin. The levity was needed after the events of the day and the Sentinels let them enjoy the moment while they had it.

    The moon was full and the night air crisp. The four Apostles stood in front of a waist-high altar outside in the clear night. ?rthorian stood behind the marble slab with a large wooden bowl in front of him. Behind the Arch, the cardinal was a roaring blaze, a massive bonfire that was as wide as it is tall. Each Apostle was armed with a sheathed sword and torch, nothing more than that and the leather training gear they left the sanctum with.

    ¡°J?ruc, Apostle of Damos of Morn Awolon, step forth and draw from the bowl.¡± ?rthorian directed.

    ¡°Yes, your Holiest!¡± J?ruc stepped forth, reached his hand in and drew a strange wooden carving. It was near nonsensical, it was a strange twisting figure that was contorted in all the worst ways. ?rthorian snatched it from the boy and threw it in the fire. The small wooden totem burned a dazzling green before it was gone into ash.

    ¡°The boy will take path three.¡± The arch cardinal told the bald proctor with scars on his head. J?ruc looked at the others, they all gave the same nod, a type of nod that''s more of an understanding than a blessing of luck, it was of a solemn, stoic goodbye. The proctor took him by his arm and led him around the building, out of sight of the others.

    ¡°Blan, Apostle of Cid-El of Morn Uther, Step forth and draw from the bowl.¡± ?rthorian directed.

    ¡°Yes, your Holiest!¡± Blan came forth and pulled a boring carving of an apple from the vessel. ?rthorian snatched it and threw it into the flames. The carving sparkled a beautiful red and white before it was gone into ash.

    ¡°He will take path two¡­¡± ?rthorian whispered to a hooded proctor. Nods were given among the Apostles and the proctor took Blan away.

    ¡°Martin, Apostle of Sovereign of Morn Awolon, Step forth and draw from the bowl.¡± ?rthorian directed. It was subtle, Martin felt like there was a tight curl in the dragon slayers lip, and from that, he knew he had earned the Pontiff s scorn. Martin was no stranger to the wickedness and contempt of his superiors for he has never been the ideal subordinate. But he would carry on the way he has his entire life, one push at a time.

    Martin drove his hand into the bowl and felt around. He perceived a chill, a strange presence creep upon his arm and grasp it, it guided his hand and actions, it was no doubt supernatural in nature. The feeling moved his hand about until he grasped firmly on a coin size totem and tore his hand from the bowl of carvings. When he withdrew it there was a strange totem of a dog of some sort, a hound, a wolf perhaps. This totem was covered in a strangely sticky black tar, completely unlike the other pieces in the bowl. Without a moment''s hesitation, ?rthorian snatched it the same way he had to J?ruc and Blan, and casually he tossed it into the fire. The totum erupted into lightless black flames that forced the Pontiff to bound away, the fire searing the coattails of his crimson doublet. There were muffled gasps among the proctors.

    ¡°Silence!¡± Commanded The Dragonslayer as he pointed a harsh finger toward the small crowd.

    ¡°Well, seems you¡¯ve chosen something unfortunate Martin¡­ But, as God wills it. He will take path five¡­¡± ?rthorian words were biting and Martin felt malice within them. He nodded to the other Apostle and left with the Proctor. The proctor that guided him was the hollow, formal, proctor from his first trial.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Are you afraid?¡± The Proctor asked Martin as they walked across the grassy lawn surrounding the immense arena.

    ¡°Not really, should I be?¡± Martin asked with a lump in his throat.

    ¡°Your going to need more than dumb luck this time Martin, I¡¯ve never seen something like that in the test of souls. That blaze was more than demonic, it was unnatural. To be honest, I''m surprised the Pontiff had allowed you to proceed, this is beyond the level of a single Sentinel, let alone an Apostle. Just stay focused¡­¡± The Stoic Proctor said leaning in close to Martin. There was sincerity in his voice and he seemed concerned for the Apostles safety. Worry began to creep into Martins mind but felt it could have been a scare tactic to get him on edge. Using his better judgment he took it with a grain of salt. They walked for a minute before coming across an opening to a trail. The beginning of the trail was marked with a crummy wooden sign with a white five painted on it.

    ¡°Listen close Martin. You will go down this path, and you will get lost, keep calm. Let your heart guide you to where your sacrifice will be. Godspeed...¡± And with that the proctor turned on his heel and headed back to the marble table, leaving Martin alone.

    The Apostle looked down the path, the trees twisted over it creating a winding canopy of branches. It stretched as far as he could see with the already limited light. But no matter how hopeless it seemed he had come too far to turn back now, so with a shaky heart, he took his first step into the forlorn passage. Upon crossing the threshold the wind whipped into a frenzy, rattling the tree branches and showring leaves from the warped awning. In fright, Martin withdrew his sword from its scabbard ready to fight. The wind blew like a tornado for only a moment before subsiding. Martins¡¯ heart was racing, his hands firmly gripped his sword and the still-lit torch. He traveled nonstop for an hour before he knew he was good and lost. With a sigh, he pulled out a piece of salted pork, that he had stolen from the meal earlier, from the breast area of his leather training jacket. He took nibbles of it any time he heard a noise or felt his skin start to jump at the slightest shadow. But the act of eating was a simple diversion, soon the night closed in on him and he began to feel its choking presence. Doubt and fatigue began to consume him until he could barely stand it. He pushed on as hard as he could until he saw a sizable opening to a cave. He figured he could camp within in it, sleep the night away perhaps, start on the trail in the morning. Martin inched his way through the opening. The walls were moist and the ground was covered in loose pebbles. It had the overpowering smell of must, like old dish rags. He crept inside and explored the damp halls. He continued till he was shaken to the bone when he sensed a presence amongst him. The cold that gripped his arm earlier enclosed on him. Martin felt the fiendish intent it imbued as the darkness of the cave choked out the light and snuffed his torch. He stood deep in the darkness of the cave in absolute silence, almost too frightened to move. His lip quivered as he blindly reached out for a wall to brace against. His hand found the curved rocky wall and he stood there for many minutes as his eyes adjusted to the dark. With some focus he saw a pale light at the end of the tunnel, so with hope, he clumsily ambled toward it. He could feel the stones crunch and crumble under every footstep, causing him to stumble on a few occasions. As Martin crossed the divide of the tunnel into the lighted area. He entered a large dome with a sizable hole at the top that was pouring in moonlight. Martin breathed a sigh of relief and nervously laughed. He stepped forward and a loud crunch echoed through the chamber. The Apostle looked down and to his horror, he saw the once pebble filled earth was actually littered with bones of all shapes and sizes; Skulls, Femors, rib cages, hands, and carcasses of many beasts. Martin felt he was in grave danger and began to inch his way out of the cave. With futile effort he tried to soften his breathing but his racing heart made it near impossible. From the shadow of the dome, in a crack in the wall leading outward, he heard a voice speak as smooth as warm butter.

    ¡°Who has invited themselves into my domicile at such an hour?¡±

    Martin jerked his sword toward the voice and swallowed a wadded ball of fright. He heard footsteps and the shuffling of bones come from the crack in the cave.

    ¡°Whos there...?¡± Martin said in a hushed brittle tone that nearly broke over the cave walls. The Apostles¡¯ eyes were tense and unblinking toward the gap in the wall.

    ¡°Now, now. What terrible manners, I would have expected more from an Apostle of God. You trespass in my home and demand me to introduce myself first, I''m utterly disappointed.¡± The voice was as warm and welcoming as a boiling river.

    ¡°I demand that you¡­ By the first rule of¡­¡± Martin croaked as he stumbled over his words.

    ¡°Silence boy! I¡¯m no demon, I¡¯m not bound by their whimsical code.¡± Spoke the thing in between the wall.

    ¡°Then...What¡­ what are you?¡± The boy''s voice cracked.

    From the once vacant shadow, Martin saw a pair of burning orange eyes slowly come forth. What emerged was a black dog the size of two men with sharply pointed ears, a damp greasy coat with terribly black fur, and furiously orange bloodshot eyes. Its eyes were hideous and so powerfully radiant in the darkness of the cave that they shined off the dog''s moist nose.

    ¡°Look on me in terror, for I am the primal fear of old. I am the devourer of light and the choker of life. The trepidation of the morning and consternation of the fading twilight. I am Barghest, the Black dog.¡± The beast didn''t speak but Martin could hear the words that Barghest wished for him to hear. Martin in a fit of panic attacked the hound head-on.

    ¡°By my brother''s blood!¡± He bellowed trying to ignite his courage. Martin swung his sword violently at the large beast, throwing out all thought or reason. Barghest caught the sword in its jaws and yanked at the blade with its powerful neck muscles. Martin fought for his sword and tried to resist the black dog''s strength. The monster peered its bloody eyes on Martin and shined a menacing light upon the boy. He felt the beasts intimidating blood lust as it began to seep deep into his conscience. The wailing cries of the dead spoke within his mind and pleaded for him to submit and accept a quick death. The feeling of sorrow and despair were forcefully compelling but Martin fought them as hard as he fought the Black dogs near overwhelming strength. The monster seemed addled by Martins resistance. In its rattled state it grew irritated. Barghest opened its jaws and snapped them shut shattering the sword into small shards like a grown man would snap a twig. The great beast pounced on Martin, flinging spit in all directions as the creature opened its ragged maw filled with razor-sharp teeth. Martin fell on the ground trying to avoid the bone-crushing mouth of the ebony wolf. The creature violently mounted Martin and peered into the Apostles eyes. With a slight turn of the head in bewilderment, the black dog let out a peal of low throaty laughter.

    ¡°Well, it seems I''m at an impasse.¡± The beast said as it stepped off Martins¡¯ chest, with little regard for its own weight, fracturing Martins''s rib. The boy wheezed in pain. The Dog sat and stared at Martin with stressed eyes.

    ¡°You must be confused, among other things. I can only describe what I know as a sight, a perception us beings of the old world posses, I can... see things. Things that you can''t perceive. I have looked inside of you and I know you aren''t meant to die here, The eldritch chaos won''t allow it. You see, you are a pawn like I am a pawn, and we must obey the rules of our character.¡±

    ¡°Eldritch Chaos? See things? Pawns? What are you babbling about you vile beast!?¡± Martin yelled as he sat up, clutching his ribs. Barghest sighed in disappointment.

    ¡°All the intellectual boasting man has done since its birth and yet you keep yourselves blinded behind your stone walls, impressed by your own intrepid masturbating. I was there when this realm was as dark as pitch and I''ll be there to guzzle the oceans and feed on the light when chaos comes back for its creation. Trust that I know more than you. There are things you should know, and there are things you aren''t meant to know...¡± The dog walked around Martin to the entrance of the crevasse it came from.

    ¡°Well... can you at least tell me what I¡¯m meant to know?!¡± Martin desperately pleaded, lost in the situation, unable to make a six or nine from it.

    ¡°Heed my words Martin, and know them to be true. By the end of your life, you will have become familiar with drinking from the night itself, and in time you¡¯ll grow to resent yourself for it. No, not resentful because of the act of drinking from the darkness, but, because of the enjoyment of the taste.¡± And with its sinister omen, the black dog flashed its hellish eyes, howled a bloodcurdling shrill, and walked into the shadow of the crack in the wall.

    ¡°Hey, wait!¡± Martin bellowed as he hobbled over the bones and rocks to the gaping hole.

    He walked down a straight path into the absence of light, into the cold darkness as hollow as space. He walked for a hundred feet in trembling terror but he needed to know more from Barghest. Suddenly, his foot slipped and he fell straight down a cliffside barely saving himself by grabbing ahold of the ledge. His rib bumped against the rock face and caused a sharp pain to jolt up his side. Martin winced from the throbbing fracture. With some effort, he pulled himself back up onto the path. He looked down the track and saw only darkness. There was no light, no time, nothing, just eons of fathomless emptiness. The unknown terror of the pitch grew so intensely unsettling that it elicited a physical force upon Martin. The Apostle felt minuscule and insignificant and desperately wanted to escape this place as quickly as possible. He got to his feet and hobbled his way through the caverns and tunnels until he had heard a shout and saw torches.

    ¡°Martin!¡± Shouts of familiar voices called from down the tunnel.

    ¡°I''m here!¡± Martin spoke up. He got close enough to see the figures in front of him were three sentinels, Sovereign, Dem?s, and C?ifes.

    ¡°Masters, what are you doing here?¡± Martin asked clutching his side.

    ¡°We heard about the odd totem from Torg the Proctor. That wasn''t natural, so we spoke with ?rthorian who said ¡®it seemed odd, but if God willed it¡­¡¯ We disagreed entirely. And we haven''t heard from you in some time, so we came to search for you.¡± Sovereign spoke with care.

    ¡°Well Thank you master¡¯s, but I''m fine. It''s only been a night anyway.¡± Martin said

    ¡°Martin, it''s been three days¡­ we thought you were dead.¡± C?ifes gravely spoke.

    ¡°Wait, what do you mean three days?¡± Martin was shocked and felt a wave of unease washed over him about this new revelation. It had barely felt like night had passed since he left into the woods. He could understand a day, but three? There was something nefarious at work and Martin didn''t know what it wanted with him. On his solemn ride back to the Sanctum the only thought in his mind was the foreboding prophecy of Barghest, the black dog.

 Chapter 11: The Werewolf

    Donovan VanFleet led the horses into the stable, he herded the cows into the barn, and chased the goats into their pin. He wouldn''t even let the guard dogs roam the vast ranch of the VanFleet estate. Before the sun set he secured them all and sent the help to their quarters. The sky was blood red, a simple yet daunting omen that had Donovan on edge that evening. With haste he went inside where his family was anxiously waiting. Donovan knew there was something more that was prowling the countryside than mere Wolves. As the VanFleet¡¯s sat praying during a late evening supper they could hear the relentless pitter-patter of rain beating against the walls of their sizable home. The white noise echoed through the halls and into the dining chamber where they cheerlessly ate from a banquet of delicacies.

    ¡°Margaret, Darling, could you not slurp your food?¡± Donovan asked his youngest daughter politely. She grimaced and continued to slurp.

    ¡°Darling¡­ Please.¡± He asked once again, and once again she continued to slurp.

    ¡°I said stop it!¡± Donovan hollard as he slammed his fist on the table, spilling a glass of red wine on his dining doublet. Everyone was startled, jumping out of their seats from fright.

    ¡°Honey...¡± His wife stammered.

    ¡°Dammit, this coat cost me a half day''s work!¡± Donovan exclaimed. He nearly forgot all about the slurping as he began to dab a cloth against the doublet trying to pat most of the wine off of it. He looked up and his family was visibly upset. He sighed in shame.

    ¡°Im sorry, I lost my temper again.¡± He mumbled humbly to his family.

    ¡°It''s ok papa, I love you.¡± Margaret gleefully rejoiced as she got up and hugged her father.

    ¡°Yes, me too Papa.¡± Added the middle daughter, Heather, as she got up and lovingly embraced him as well.

    His eyes teared up as he wrapped his arms around his children.

    ¡°Oh, I''ll never raise my voice to you girls again. I¡¯ve just been so angry.¡± He lightly sobbed into their beautiful golden hair, bathing them with affectionate kisses. Donovan''s wife looked upon them and couldn''t help but shed a tear of joy.

    Among the hollow pitter patter of rain echoing throughout the house a terrible pounding came banging from the front door. Donovan jerked his head from his daughter''s yellow silky locks and quickly stood up. The young girl grabbed a hold of his waist in panic, squeezing tightly.

    ¡°Girls, go to your Mum. And be quiet.¡± Donovan muttered. They left his side and frantically rounded the table to their Mother. He quickly went along the table to the burning fireplace and grabbed the black fire iron, the end of which brandished two curving spikes. Donovan creeped through his house till he was close to the front door. The pounding on the door continued until an unfamiliar voice bleakly rang out, nearly drowned by the menotine of the falling rain.

    ¡°Hello? I¡¯m looking for shelter. Please help!¡± The voice behind the door called out in between knocks. Donovan reached for the handle and lifted the Fire iron to strike. He opened the door only a crack.

    ¡°Who''s there?¡± Donovan spoke up.

    ¡°Just a passerby. I was heading east when the rain caught me. I heard this was a safe place for me to stay?¡± The man loudly spoke trying to not be drowned out by the rain.

    ¡°Sorry but you can''t stay here tonight.¡± Donovan quickly grunted.

    ¡°But sir, there''s nothing down the road for miles either way¡­ I¡¯ll surely catch a cold and die with this rain. I¡¯ll only stay the night, please!?¡± The Man pleaded desperately. Donovan knew the area well and his estate was the only shelter for many miles. He was no stranger to passersby and normally would offer them refuge with open arms, he had plenty to spare and his generosity was well known. As alert and on edge as he was, Donovan couldn''t be responsible for this stranger''s death, he would never be able to sleep at night.

    ¡°Hold your hands in the air¡­¡± Donovan ordered, the stranger raised his gangly arms up. Donovan slowly opened the door, light from inside the house poured out and revealed a hooded weathered old man who was wearing sopping wet rags, on his waist he was outfitted with a fancy steel longsword. Even though it wasn''t uncommon for travelers to be armed Donovan wasn''t taking any chances tonight.

    ¡°Your sword, take it off... and leave it against the house.¡± Donovan insisted.

    ¡°My sword sir? It¡¯s my most valuable possession, It¡¯ll surely rust out here in the rain¡­¡± The man sadly pleaded.

    ¡°Leave it or you won''t be staying here tonight. That''s my only offer, I''m sorry.¡± Donovan barked.

    With a slight grumble the wanderer unbuckled his sword and rested it against the porch of the house, he then undid his woolen cloak flinging it off his shoulders and draped it over the sword. Donovan could clearly see the man now, he was in his late fifties and was wearing commoner clothes, and on his head was a shaggy mess of salt and pepper hair. He didn''t recognise him, which was good. He knew many of the outlaws of the area and was relieved to know this man wasn''t one of them.

    ¡°Please, come in. I¡¯m Donovan VanFleet, this is my home.¡± Donovan spoke with some relief.

    The stranger stepped inside, dripping wet from the downpour. Donovan out stretched his hand with hospitable fervor.

    ¡°...Kain, my name is Kain. Thank you for letting me in.¡± The Stranger beamed with delight as he shook Donovan''s hand with healthy vigor, pleased to get out of the rain.

    ¡°Where are you from Kain?¡± Donovan asked, returning the handshake.

    ¡°A little North of the small Village Prem, nothing special like this Sir.¡± The stranger said.

    ¡°I¡¯m from Prem! To tell you the truth I had the house built early in my youth and with a little work I turned it into a profitable Farm. I do pretty well for myself out here if I do say so. Here, Let me introduce you to my family.¡± Donovan said with an air of pride as he led the stranger through his spacious house.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    They walked into the dinning hall where his family was still nervously sitting.

    ¡°Family, tonight we''re going to have a guest. This is Kain, he was traveling east and got caught in the storm. He will be sleeping in the guest quarters tonight. Kain, these are my daughters, Margaret and Heather. And this is my lovely wife, Nesta.¡± Donovan proudly spoke as he pointed them out respectfully, each of them standing up as they were introduced.

    ¡°Good Evening Ladies¡± Kain greeted the woman on the other end of the room

    "I have a daughter who''s just about your age I imagine.¡± Kain said with a smile to Heather.

    ¡°This is truly a lovely home you have ma¡¯am.¡± Kain complimented Nesta with a tip of his head.

    ¡°Thank you sir, would you care for something to eat? You arrived during super.¡± Nesta softly spoke.

    ¡°Thank you, I¡¯m starved.¡± The stranger sat down at the opposite end of the table to the family and helped himself to the food that was laid out.

    ¡°This is superb cooking. Truth be told I have never had white bread before.¡± Kain joyfully stated as he sopped up the remainder of his first bowl of cold, overly seasoned, tomato puree with the palm size bread roll. After a few awkward moments Kain looked up and the whole family was silently eating, caught in a miasma of sadness.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I¡¯m disturbing you, I can go to my room if you¡¯d like?¡± The man softly spoke.

    ¡°No, it''s not you. We have been overly cautious this week, and it''s worn us thin. You see, the past four months our farm has been attacked by something from the woods; it butchers our livestock, it has mauled our dogs, and terrorizes the sanctity of my property.¡± Donovan lamented.

    ¡°Is it wolves, or a bear perhaps?¡± Kain asked curiously.

    ¡°No, that''s just it¡­ it''s none of those things, because just last month it came¡­ and took my eldest daughter from me. It came into my home and took her away... It opened the locked door¡­ went to her room¡­ and didn''t leave anything left.¡± Donovan choked on his words as he said them. Nesta began to cry and fled to another room, the two little girls sobed and followed their mother.

    ¡°By the sun, how tragic! But I don''t understand sir, why now? Why wouldn''t you be afraid since the attacks began four months ago?¡± The stranger dryly asked.

    ¡°Because, it only happens during a full moon¡­¡± Donovan said with feeble  understanding.

    ¡°And I Promise, when I catch whatever it is, I''m going to throttle it and drag it through all of the kingdoms!¡± The profitable farmer sneered behind gritted teeth as he clenched his fist till his knuckles were white.

    ¡°Humph, what do you know of keeping promises¡­?¡± The stranger challenged, an unsettling tone shift in his voice and posture.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Donovan said, confused why he was being attacked.

    ¡°Your daughter would never have died if you only knew how to keep Promises.¡± Kain hissed, spitting venom into Donovan''s soul.

    ¡°The nerve!¡± Exclaimed Donovan who stood up with clenched fists.

    ¡°Sit down!¡± Kain shouted as he stabbed the table with a hidden knife from his boot. Donovan wasn''t a slouch in a fight, but this man was more than a threat then he cared to risk. The stranger took the knife out of the table and laid it flat. He looked into Donovan''s eyes and then around the room, admiring the spacious eating quarters.

    ¡°It really is a beautiful house you have¡­¡± Kain said, staring at the twisted metal chandelier above him. He began to rub the knife mark gently with his fingers, admiring the large stained oak table.

    ¡°What do you want with me and my family? What do you want¡­?¡± Donovan glowered, tense, hanging off the edge of his seat.

    ¡°A promise to pay your debts¡­¡± Kain began speaking before being cut off.

    ¡°I¡¯ve paid my taxes to the county, the church, and the military! Check your books, hell, you can check mine!¡± Donovan bursted.

    ¡°How does one get such a lavish house in such a miserable time anyway? Didn''t you say you were from Prem? I was lucky to see gold before I was fifteen¡­ So, how does a simple farmer come across such wealth¡­¡± The stranger eccentrically wondered.

    ¡°If it''s gold you want, I have plenty, so much gold that you won''t be able to carry it out with an ox! It would take no time at all, just dont hurt me or my family!¡± Donovan babbled.

    ¡°That''s your problem Donovan, you think so highly of your gold that you already doomed your family. The moment you had visions of wealth and riches, was the moment you traded the family you would have. And it would be the reason your daughter is dead...¡± The stranger''s words scraped against Donovan''s brain, racking it with a blurry insight of what was happening.

    ¡°What has that orange eyed cunt done with my daughter¡­¡± Donovan''s face twisted and sneered at the stranger.

    ¡°Nothing. Donovan, do you recall the wording of your contract?¡± The stranger asked. Icy chills of fright were beginning to climb up his spine, freezing him in place.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m supposed to sacrifice ten percent of what I grow and raise on my land, on a new moon, to the old ones of the woods. And I have since that dark day!¡± Donovan raised his voice, unable to understand why these terrible things were happening to him, he had complied to every request that was made of him these past twenty years.

    ¡°Ah, I see. So, the New moon of August this year, you sacrificed everything?¡± The stranger peered at Donovan.

    ¡°...No¡­¡± Donovan confessed, unblinking.

    ¡°I see¡­¡± The stranger whispered.

    ¡°But, I have been since. I was short on money and I had to sell more cattle than I''d liked¡­ it was that or I''d run into trouble with the church. There must be some sort of reprieve or a pardon?¡± Donovan weakly tried to explain his situation.

    ¡°let me help you recount your Contract¡­ ¡®I grant Thee mastery over thine land and all in it. Thy earth will bend to thine will with prosperous fertility, and thine animals born in it will grow stronger than any before it. Ten percent of all thou created will be given as sacrifice to the gods of the forests on a dark sky, and in return, thine beasts of the forests will pine of hunger. If thou breaks thine binding, thou shall become a beast of the forest and spoil all...¡±

    ¡°With unnatural consumption¡­¡± Donovan quietly rasped in horror. ¡°What does this mean Kain¡­¡± The man was visibly shaken. The strangers glare bored down on Donovan telling him all he needed to know.

    ¡°No, oh god no¡­ id never¡­¡± Refused Donovan as he slowly brought his trembling hand to his mouth. Disgust wretched Donovan''s heart into a million throbbing pieces.

    ¡°What can I... What is there to do¡­?¡± Bewailed Donovan, tears trickling down his cheeks.

    ¡°Nothing. But, you''re going to come with me tonight, right away in fact. I''ll let you say your farewells, I would want the same kindness.¡± The stranger empathetically stated.

    ¡°What if I refuse?¡± Donovan challenged, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

    ¡°It''s either you come with me, or your daughters can witness your body on the table. Your choice.¡± And with that, the stranger gripped his knife. Donovan saw the blade flash in the candle light and didn''t dare make a move, he couldn''t bare the thought of his little girls clutching his corpse.

    ¡°Well, I never told my wife about any of this¡­ and I don''t think she would understand... Could we leave now, before they come back?¡± Donovan shamefully suggested.

    The stranger nodded.

    Donovan was a soggy mess of self loathing as he dragged himself quietly through his home toward the front door, he reached for his cloak.

    ¡°You won''t need it¡± The stranger dreadfully assured, his single putrid green eye burning into Donovan''s sanity.

    Donovan walked through the large wooden door of his estate, dressed in his stained dining doublet. The stranger followed close behind, and before he shut the door he seized his sword.

 Chapter 12: The Nuns Of Lowdun

    In the early hours, before the sun stretched over the earth, before the cobbler toiled and the miller milled, four sentinels approached the town of Lowdun. Martin held his hand to his armored torso, his fingers intimately dabbled over the engravings carved into his breastplate. It had not been more than a week since Jorucs and his inauguration into Sentinel-hood; the pageantry, the pomp and ritual, and when he was awarded the coveted sword and cuirass of the sentinel it left him feeling whole. Through unspeakable odds he was among the elite, yet, his heart felt hollow and wanting. Perhaps he was just tired, he closed his eyes as the cool morning dew sprayed up from his horse''s trot and covered boots.

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    He smelt the incense that burned within the sanctum as Joruc and himself waited in the preparatory chamber, they were draped in dark crimson gowns and the sides of their heads were shaved. The chapel was filled with mumbling amongst the members of the congregation. Arthorian sat atop a grand thrown and below him sat three Cardinals dressed in gowns of red, white, and gold. The air was heavy, not one person was still. It had been many years since a Sentinel was ordained, let alone two.

    ¡°Martin.¡± Arthorian called. A lump bashed Martin''s throat as he walked into the crowded chapel and stood at attention in front of the altar.

    ¡°Present, your holiest!¡± Martin sounded off.

    ¡°Joruc.¡± Arthorian called, his voice echoing through the chamber. Joruc walked out and stood at attention next to Martin.

    ¡°Present, your holiest!¡± He called out.

    ¡°Sentinels present!¡± Artorian ordered. From the other preparatory chamber came Sovereign and Damos in full armor brandishing to long swords in right shoulder arms. They marched in front of the two apostles and turned about face toward the ordaining council.

    ¡°Most Revered Father, Holy Mother Church asks you to ordain these, our brothers, to the responsibility of Sentinel-hood.¡± The two said in unison.

    ¡°Do you know them to be worthy?¡± Arthorian challenged.

    ¡°After inquiry among the people of Saad and upon the recommendation of those responsible, we testify that they have been found worthy.¡± They responded.

    ¡°Relying on the help of the Lord God and our Savior the Sun, we choose these men, our brothers, for the Order of the Sentinel! By our Brothers blood, for the glory of god!¡± Arthorian boomed reaching toward the heavens in eccentric ecstasy. The Priests and monks began to chant a hymn that sent small vibrations throughout the chamber, filling every man with a sense of righteous being.

    ¡°By our brothers blood, for the glory of god!¡± The congregation of sentinels trumpeted.

    ¡°My dear sons, before you enter the Order of the Sentinel, you must declare before your brothers your intention to undertake this office. Do you resolve, with the help of the Sun and the blood, to discharge without fail the office of Sentinel-hood in the holy rank, as worthy fellow workers with the Order of Cardinals in caring for the flock of the people of Saad?¡± Arthorian questioned the two apostles.

    ¡°I do.¡± They responded without fail.

    ¡°Do you resolve to exercise the ministry of the word worthily and wisely, protecting the light of god?¡± again he questioned.

    ¡°I do.¡± And again they answered.

    ¡°Do you resolve to celebrate faithfully and reverently, in accord with the Church''s tradition, the mysteries of the sun, especially the Sacrifice of thy brother and the Sacrament of blood, for the glory of God and the sanctification of the people of Saad?¡± Arthrorian spoke up making sure his voice was heard throughout the chapel.

    ¡°I do.¡± They responded.

    ¡°Do you resolve to implore with us God''s watchful gaze upon the people entrusted to your care by observing the command to pray without ceasing, to show vengeance upon those who oppose his will, to be his sword!?¡± His voice shook with righteous fury that sparked the spirit that lies dormant in all Sentinels.

    ¡°I do!¡± The two felt Holy and enlightened, close to tears within the moment.

    ¡°Do you resolve to be united more closely every day to the Sun, our holy patron, who thrusts the darkness away and grants us life, and with him to consecrate yourselves to God for the salvation of all!?¡± Arthorians voice had crescendoed and could be heard through the city.

    ¡°I do, with the help of God and my brothers blood!¡± The two shouted, their voices trembling from the strain.

    A bowl was passed among the congregation of Sentinels, priests, and the fellow cardinals who bled themselves into the vase. The vase, filled to the brim with thick crimson  blood, made its way to the altar. The Holy Pontiff, Arthorian, walked down the carpeted steps that led from his throne down in front of the Apostles. The two young men kneeled as the Dragon slayer was among them.

    ¡°Do you promise respect and obedience to Me and the Kingdom of Saad?¡± Arthroian asked quietly.

    ¡°I do, your holiest.¡± Each Apostle responded.

    ¡°May God, who has begun this good work in you bring it to fulfillment.¡± Said Arthorian as he dipped his fingers into the bowl of blood. He stepped toward Martin and wiped the blood across each side of his freshly shaved head and down the bridge of his nose.

    ¡°I bless you.¡± He whispered. Arthroian repeated the same to Joruc who beamed with pride. The vase was passed to them, and each of them drank deeply from it. The taste of blood was a common taste to Martin now, whether it was his or his foes.

    ¡°Sentinels, consecrate these Apostles and make them whole in the eyes of God.¡± Arthorian commanded.

    Sovereign stood in front of Martin, who brandished the shimmering long sword of the Sentinel. Martins¡¯ gaze was cast down as he heard the rustling of his Master''s Armor. The young man''s heart pounded as he saw the shadow of the sword being lifted into the air, with ease Sovereign rested the steel blade on Martin''s crimson ritual gown.

    ¡°I christen thee, Stretitarius.¡± And he moved the blade to the other shoulder. With his Masters blood rite Martin was dead and through him Stretitarius was born.

    ¡°I christen thee, Oberon.¡± Said Damos dubbing Joruc with his new title.

    ¡°Rise, Sentinels of god!¡± Hollard Arthorian.

    Martin stood up and Sovereign embraced him compassionately. The room erupted into hearty applause and cheers as each Sentinel grasped each other with brotherly love.

    ¡°I''m proud of you.¡± was all Sovereign could choke out as tears of joy welled in his eyes. The mood was high within the sanctum, two new Sentinels were sworn into the order, yet there was no time for celebration amongst themselves, they had to pass their last trial, a contract by god. A mere hour later The four Sentinels kneeled before the holy council;  Sovereign of Morn Awolon, Damos of Morn Awolon, and the newly christened; Oberon of Morn Awolon, and Stretitarius Of Morn Awolon. They waited patiently for their orders. Before the sentinels were three rows of stands, in the first row were five bishops who wore purple with small little purple caps among the crowns of their heads, above them were the Cardinals adorned in red gowns with tall crowns placed high on there heads, and above them was none other then the holy pontiff, Arthorian. He was dressed elaborately in a dark red doublet with golden buttons, a tight white sash was fastened around his waist, the jacket was adorned with high padded shoulders and a medallion of the sun crest on his breast.

    ¡°First off I''d like to congratulate our newest sentinels, Oberon and Stretitarius. You are both welcomed additions to our order. Now, to the matter at hand.¡± He said, somewhat nonchalantly.

    A fat Bishop began to shuffle through a list of documents sitting in front of him.

    ¡°We have received a disturbing letter from The Cathedral Artruvos by a Abbot Grandor. He is convinced that the Cathedral is under siege by demons. His letter goes as follows.

    ¡®Holy sun, holy church, holy Pontiff, send help to Artruvos. We have been under siege by hellish entities for a fortnight. The people of Lowdun have sent soldiers and missionaries to aid, yet, they have been influenced by the silver tongues of the Devils. It would be a sin to write of the sodomy and vile deeds that I have witnessed. What a tragedy it is to see the virgins of Lowdun desiccated with such profane blasphemy in the house of the lord. Send help, send god, but whatever you do, send Sentinels.

    Abbot Urdane Grandor.¡¯

    You four will ride out before nightfall to the City of Lowdun. I want a complete report on the actions that took place from all of you.¡± The Fat cardinal spoke, his jowls flapping freely.

    ¡° I want Damos to take command of this mission, and Sovereign, keep it tight. Dismissed.¡± Arthorian directed them and they moved without question.

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    The morning dew was blanketed across the sentinels as they grew closer to the city.

    The lead horse, reared up as the silhouette of the city came into view through the tree line.

    ¡°What is it Damos?¡± Sovereign questioned. Damos held up a finger too sovereign and turned his horse toward the newly appointed Sentinels.

    ¡°Listen you two, you''re here to learn, not interfere. Do exactly as Sovereign and I say or there will be repercussions when we return to the Sanctum. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Yes Damos.¡± Responded Oberon.

    ¡°But Damos, I thought we were equals now?¡± Martin questioned innocently.

    ¡°Stupid boy, this horse is more of my equal then you are.¡± Damos spouted drly, followed by a fit of grunting hoots as he turned his horse back toward the front. Martin may have been temperamental but his wrath couldn''t hold a candle to Damos of Morn Awolon. His anger and his talents of destruction were legendary among the Sentinels and the demons of hell alike, Martin would think three times before challenging him.

    The village of Lowdun resembled a safe kept pearl in the Kingdom of Saad. The town was defended by a large stone wall and at the center of the city was a mile wide round lake with a lonely island in the center, its treasure, the Cathedral Artruvos. The Monolith of Morn Awolon was a place of pilgrimage for the common sinner, but Arturuvos was a pilgrimage to those of higher faith.

    As the Sentinels broke through the tree line and approached the wall a guard called out from the turret.

    ¡°Halt, who goes there?¡± His voice carried through the still morning air.

    ¡°Sentinels.¡± Damos called back.

    For a moment there was no answer, no sign of movement, only a buzz within the wall, like a freshly shakin¡¯ hive. In ten minutes time the gate cracked open and an elaborately dressed woman rode out on a mighty horse. She was flanked by four men clad in elaborate knightly armor with tall ornaments on their helms. As they rode closer to them Martin noticed her age behind the powdered makeup she must have applied moments before riding out to them.

    ¡°Good morning gentlemen, I am Baroness Matilda of Lowdun. It is a pleasure to have been graced with your presence, but it is a shame we weren''t expecting you. Or else I would have prepared for your arrival.¡± The Baroness was in her late forties, lean, well spoken, and in the power of the fourth largest city in Saad.

    ¡°Good Morning My lady, I am Damos Of Morn Awolon, and these are my Brothers, Sovereign, Oberon, and Stretitarius, all of Morn Awolon. We have received orders to investigate the Cathedral Artruvos from the holy pontiff.¡± Damos spoke with authority, his large cleft chin waving through the air. Martin looked toward Sovereign who glanced back, also feeling an air of suspicion about the Baronesses¡¯ ignorance to their coming.

    ¡°There are no issues with Artruvos Master Sentinel¡­ But it must have been a tiring ride and you all must be sore. So please, won''t you come to my Manor? Where, perhaps, we can speak more plainly. I would appreciate the audience with such dashing men.¡± The request was rhetorical, more of a courteousness, it was in bad taste to order around the sword¡¯s of god in plain daylight. The sentinels knew it was mandatory to brief the ruling body of a village, and so, they nodded stoically to her civilized request. One by one they filled through the gate first the lady of the land, her guard, then the Sentinels.

    As they crossed under the portcullis Martin saw the city was much smaller than Morn Awolon, the buildings were not as tall, and the people weren''t as bustling, but what it lacked in industry and commerce it made up for in charm. The buildings were splat with bold pastel colors, that have since faded from the summer sun, different quirky shop signs hung from twisted beams above the door ways; some read, Ugly horse barber-surgeon, Imagine-knit, The talking dress, Marching cart saddler, the fair sword, and Martin''s favorite, Black feather patisserie. The fresh, sweet, smells from the bakery attacked Martins hankering for sweets, and the freshly glazed rolls in the window had him salivating. Approaching the relatively modest estate for royalty, the party crossed a stone bridge over a moat surrounding the small castle that led into the lake that the entire city bordered. They entered a stable area where they dismounted. A group of Homunculi slaves came to take the reins from the riders.

    ¡°OH, Sir, I can handle my horse.¡± Martin naively said to the homunculi. The Slave stared at the sentinel and surrounding party dumbfounded by what he had heard.

    ¡°Stretitarius, these Homunculi aren''t like the ones back at the sanctum, they are slaves¡­ Give him your reins.¡± Sovereign corrected him. Martin felt saddened by the meek looking Homunculi who looked identical in every way to the ones back in Morn Awolon, yet they were lacking.

    ¡°Im sorry, it must have slipped my mind.¡± His apology was faint from the dis heartedness he felt for the Homunculi, and weakly handed over the reins to the Ape-like man who stared at the warrior with gaping eyes.

    ¡°Gentleman, won''t you follow me?¡± The Baroness quickly asked. And so they did, they walked up a flight of carpeted stairs and into the main hall.

    ¡°This home was built by my Seventh great-grandfather after he was given charge of Lowdun by our holy Pontiff for defending it from the House of Kay-Nel. It is, almost, over Six-hundred and fifty years old.¡± She boastfully noted, as she rubbed the walnut railing on the grand stairwell. Her rambling was starting to sound like stalling to a few men in the group.

    ¡°That''s impressive my lady, seeing the town is only Five hundred years old!¡± Sovereign enthusiastically added, politely adding conversation to the awkwardness of their unexpected arrival.

    ¡°Oh, do you know the history of Lowdun, Master Sentinel?¡± She asked curiously.

    ¡°We have to know history my lady¡­¡± He began.

    ¡°Matilda Gentleman, if you will. I wish to escape formality for a while.¡± She politely groaned.

    ¡°Very well Matilda. I was saying, We need to know our history, especially of the kingdom of Saad. But unfortunately most of the text dating back more than five hundred years was destroyed by the heathen Kingdoms. So we don''t know as much, regrettably.¡±  Sovereign breathed a gloomy sigh.

    ¡°If you two wouldn''t mind saving the conversation till later, we have a mission at hand that is time sensitive. Please, Matilda, lead us to your office so we can get to business.¡± Damos said with firm persistence. Sovereign looked over toward his comrade who he knew was undoubtedly in a rotten mood from the long line, let alone The baroness''s pompousness.

    ¡°Of course, Sir.¡± She softly spoke, trying to keep up her cheerfulness.

    The baroness led the group into a large office with a large wooden table near a stained glass window. The baroness circled the table and sat down behind it and waved for the Sentin els to take a seat at any of the chairs around the room.

    ¡°So, as I didnt invite you, I would like to know who did.¡± The Baroness asked with tense eyes, folding her arms across her chest, the corner of her mouth slightly twitching as she faked a smile.

    ¡°We received a letter from Abbott Grandor, roughly a week ago.¡± Sovereign said with a small wave of his hand.

    ¡°Damn him!¡± She spat as she turned her head from the Sentinels.

    ¡°You never wanted us to come...why?¡± Damos staried through her. She hesitated, thinking hard on what she should say.

    ¡°I didn''t want to alarm the public. See, Artruvos is said to be as pure as a lily¡­ if the public knew there were possessions¡­ or worse an invasion¡­ our pilgrimage and tourist rates would drop exponentially. Our resources are already stressed from your wars, we would never recover. So we sent soldiers over to the island¡­ to take care of the issue.¡± She rambled with an air of superiority.

    ¡°You''re a damn fool Baroness! If there were demons they certainly have bested your men!¡± Damos exploded, standing up and knocking his chair back.

    ¡°Have you received any word from the Cathedral since then!?¡± Sovereign questioned quickly resting his hand on the desk.

    ¡° No, but the screaming had stopped a few days back. We told the citizens it was just a torrential wind storm off of the mountains¡­I think they¡¯re starting to catch on, it''s bad enough that the bells haven''t been heard since the soldiers left.¡± She confessed nervously.

    ¡°How many men were there?¡± Sovereign questioned.

    ¡°We sent two long boats, a total of twenty men, in the middle of the night. It''s been two weeks, we''re still waiting on word.¡± The Baroness answered back, as she slumped slightly into her chair..

    ¡°And so you shall wait¡­ for everyone there is dead because of you.¡± Damos accused  behind gritted teeth.

    ¡°Now wait a minute! I am the ruler of this city and I would like to be treated as such!¡± She hollard as she stood up.

    ¡°No, God is the ruler of this city Baroness. I swear by the Sun, If you interfere with our work again we will hang you from the rafters of this house and raze this city to ash. Now sit down, shut up, and we may be able to save what you have failed to.¡± Damos threatened calmly.

    The Baroness was unnerved, her hands shook, she wanted to call out for her guards but feared for her life. The sentinels muttered silently among themselves for a few minutes. She was terrified by them, no man, not even her father would dare speak to her in such a manner. The group broke up and Sovereign stepped forward toward the desk, she leaned back from the fright but his relaxed grey eyes soothed her.

    ¡°The sun will rise in less than an hour. That means there is still time for us to leave under the cover of darkness, by way of the moat to Artruvos. The only ones who know of our presence are the gate guards, your knights, and very few citizens. There is still a way to save yours and Lowdun¡¯s reputation. But we ask for full cooperation¡­¡± Sovereign said with confidence.

    ¡°Whatever you need gentlemen¡­¡± The baroness gulped behind a shaky voice. And so they set off as fast as possible. The four boarded a small boat that was manned by four other men who began to row down the moat.

    ¡°Sovereign, what do you know of Artruvos?¡± Martin asked quietly.

    ¡°I heard it was built on the shores of an island that was covered in coarse black sand that happened to be the remains of a falling star. But, I have never actually been there, so i¡¯m excited to see it for myself.¡± Sovereign answered.

    As they rowed into the lake They saw the Cathedral towering in the center of it. It appeared to float above the almost wakeless water that reflected the cathedral in all directions, like a mirror into heaven. From behind them the sun began to rise above the horizon, fantastic rays of light shone across the stained glass windows of Artruvos and sent the Cathedral ablaze. The majesty of it beamed heavenly light across the water and almost blinded the party who were gawking at the sight. Martin was astounded at the sight of the Cathedral on fire, and even though he was on a mission, he was still enthusiastic to touch foot on the Black sands of Artruvos.

    ¡°Do you see it¡­?¡± Damos whispered to Sovereign.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Sovereign quietly whispered back, staring at the black shore line half mile off. The rowers looked toward the shore and saw the mutilated bodies of several soldiers. The bodies were pierced through the anus and out their mouths with long wooden spikes. The four boat men cried in horror and jumped ship, frantically swimming back to the estate from which they came.

    ¡°Looks like we''re rowing boys.¡± Quipped Sovereign as Damos laughed at the fleeing guards floundering in the lake.

    ¡°My god¡­¡± shuddered Oberon.

    ¡°I count five¡­ where are the rest?¡± Gulped Martin.

    ¡°We will know shortly¡­¡± Sovereign whispered.

    ¡°What a terrible way to die.¡± Martin mourned with a pull of the oar.

    ¡°That''s nothing, there are worse ways to die.¡± Damos snorted.

    The boat crashed onto the black sandy beach and the party exited the vessel. As they gazed upon the bleakness of the shore, bells rang high in the cathedral. The vibrations rang deep in their chests, startling them. Their eyes shot toward the upper tower but nothing was there, just the ringing of the bells.

    ¡°Swords! I want everyone on high alert.¡± Damos ordered. The men drew their swords that gleamed with shiny brilliance in the dawn light, all except Damos¡¯s Morningstar that was as black as the sandy beach. They looked around, nothing moved, the air was still and smelt of the all too familiar tang of sulfur and rot. The party could see that there was a path that led from the beach to a paved road into the convent.

    ¡°Diamond formation, Oberon I want you on my right, Sovereign to my flank. Lets go.¡±.

    ¡°Don''t get to hasty Damos, We need to check the dead first. They deserve last rites.¡± Sovereign said, nodding toward the impaled corpses.

    ¡°Very well, Stretitarius, Oberon, get the bodies down.¡± Damos ordered.

    The two cautiously walked over toward them swords drawn and at the ready. Martin began to prod at the body as Oberon watched his back. Unexpectedly, the body''s came to life. Their limbs began flailing, their eyes wildly dashing about, painful shrieks bleated out of their impaled mouths.

    ¡°There alive!¡± Martin belted as he leaped back from the impaled. The senior sentinels dashed toward them. The bodies screeched and oozed as they struggled, tears of suffering rolling down their blistered faces.  The Sentinels stared at the tortured men in surprise, their gurgled cries were horrifying, they began to lift the first man off of his spike, but anytime they lifted him blood would fountain from his mouth, and he would squeal in pain. Without hesitation Damos drew his knife and walked down the line, splitting each man''s throat.

    ¡°What are you doing?! They are alive!¡± Hollard Martin.

    ¡°There was no other way boy, they were suffering! Do you think they would have survived even if we freed them?¡± Damos yelled. Martin felt the weight of what he had said and just nodded it off, staring at the freshly killed corpses.

    ¡°If he gets soft on me, Sovereign I swear I''ll drown him. Lets go...¡± Damos threatened storming off to the trail head.

    ¡°Come on, or else he¡¯ll be in a crabby mood all day.¡± Sovereign said, laying his hand on Martin''s shoulder. It was a terrible feeling Martin felt. He was deeply discouraged and hung his eyes low.

    ¡°Diamond formation, now! We''re heading off.¡± Damos barked.

    They creeped into the village. It was still, no birds, no bugs, just the echoing footsteps of the four Sentinels as they walked down the brick road through the convent. Stone buildings lined the path, their red tiled roofs shined in the morning sun, the air was rotten.

    ¡°Help! They''re trying to kill me!!!¡± Cried a man from a two story window. The Sentinels burst into action and ran into the building and up the polished stone stair-well. At the top they could hear the cries for help down the hall where two armed men were attempting to break in the last door. They were just silhouettes in front of a large stained glass window.

    ¡°Wait here.¡± Damos ordered the others.

    The two men were ripping at the door hysterically trying to get inside, when they caught sight of Damos they turned toward him. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Stay back, dont come any closer or we¡¯ll kill you!¡± One man called out.

    ¡°You won''t survive this mate, fuck off!¡± The other cried out, his blade out stretched and trembling.

    ¡°Stand down, or else i''ll have to neutralize you¡­¡± Damos warned.

    ¡°NO, he''s in there, and i''m going to rip out his guts!¡± The first man gurgled on spit and gnashed his teeth.

    ¡°Fuck this, He might be one of them!¡± The second cried as he rushed Damos.

    The crazed man charged the Sentinel with his sword point, but Damos calmly countered with the haft of his Morningstar and with a flick of his wrist and mighty shoulders he brought the weight of the spiked head crashing through the man''s skull, liquefying it. The carnage was quick, the blood splattered down the hallway, across the walls, and into his partners face.

    ¡°We are Sentinels, stand down, or share the same fate¡­¡± Damos warned again. The man dropped his axe and cowered in a crouched position, his hands outstretched in front of his blood spattered face. Damos gestured for the rest to follow as they approached the cowering man. The party barely winced as they stepped on and over the liquefied head of the other man. Sovereign approached the shuddering bloke, who shrinkd away as the Sentinel crouched in front of him.

    ¡°Eman ruoy si tahw. Ngierevos si eman ym¡­¡± Sovereign mumbled to the cowering man.

    ¡°Please don''t hurt me¡­ oh god im sorry.¡± He cried in a hushed tone.

    ¡°Eman ruoy si tahw. Ngierevos si eman ym¡­¡± The sentinel uddered again. Yet the man sat there shaking.

    ¡°He seems clean¡­¡± Sovereign reported confusedly as he looked up at Demos.

    Damos looked at the battered door, and knocked.

    ¡°Help!!¡± a scream came from the room.

    ¡°We¡¯re Sentinels, open up or we will break it down.¡± Commanded Damos in a stern voice.

    ¡°Sentinels? Oh, Sentinels! Praise the sun.¡± A scuttling inside of the room could be heard and then the heavy lock on the door clicking and turning. It quickly opened to reveal a gaunt middle aged man with a pointy nose, high eyebrows, and dark curly hair that came to a steep widows-peak.

    ¡°Oh bless the day! I''m saved!¡± The man launched himself onto the Sentinel attempting to embrasse him, but Damos held out an arm blocking the man''s advances. The man brushed himself off, and took a step back.

    ¡°I''m sorry, where are my manners, I''m Abbot Grandor.¡± The man said with a lofty huff. The abbot looked down at the man on the ground and jumped back in fright.

    ¡°Kill him! He''s a murderer! He¡­ he has killed so many!¡± Abbot Grandor squiled.

    ¡°He lies! I''ve done no such thing!¡± The man cried out as he backed away from the group.

    ¡°No, you''re the liar, you¡­ you Devil worshipper!¡± The abbot accused. The Sentinels stared at the two bickering men.

    ¡°No, we came from Lowdun to help, but¡­ but¡­¡± He stammered as he backed closer toward the window down the hall. Just then the abbot lashed out and pushed the Man through the window. Sovereign leaped toward him attempting to grab the man but he missed his hand by a hair. The man hit the ground with a sickening crunch, his limbs twisted and a pool of blood collecting where he laid.

    ¡°Why did you do that?!¡± Hollard Sovereign.

    ¡°He was clearly evil, I merely did you a service!¡±said the abbot.

    ¡°That wasn''t your decision to make. Don''t step on our toes sir, it hinders our ability to conduct our investigation.¡± Sovereign scolded.

    ¡°Investigation, What for? I know exactly where the Monsters are! You four can kill them and we can be on our way before nightfall¡­ I don''t want to stay on this island any longer than I have to.¡± The Abbot whined.

    ¡°You see, Demons rarely just appear. They are normally summoned with packs, or worse, invited by wickedness. We need to conduct an investigation to find the source.¡± Sovereign explained.

    ¡°Gentlemen, look.¡± Whispered Oberon.

    The pushed man from Lowdun began to move slowly on the ground.

    ¡°Ugh, help¡­ help me¡­¡± Groaned the man loudly.

    From the building diagonal too there, they heard a ruckus of meowing and hissing. The screeching grew louder as the Sentinels approached the window. From the doorway crawled five naked women who were walking on all four. Their bodies were thin, pale, and scarred, their ribs protruding from their skin. They crept across the ground and sniffed the man who was pushed out of the window. Three of them began to meow at each other and paw at the man''s face and limbs with ragged nails.

    ¡°Oh god sentinels, help me, oh glorious sun have mercy!¡± He screamed.

    The Woman launched at him and began to bite at his wrists, bleeding him. They began to lap up the blood that was oozing, like warm milk. One of the women rolled around in the blood, bathing in it, when she was upright her back was covered in broken pieces of stained glass, like a hellish urchin. The man was screaming weakly on the ground, in dire pain and terrified. Martin took the man''s axe from the place where he dropped it. He cocked back, and threw it at the writhing man, killing him. When the axe cleaved the man''s skull the five beastly women wailed an unnatural throaty horror, they gazed up toward the window and groaned at the men. The beastly woman began to moan and stick their rears in the air, peeing over themselves in a foul disgusting scene. One by one the creatures crawled into the doorway and there Throaty horror could be heard coming up the stairwell. From out of the other building more women could be seen scuttering out, their bodies jerking and twitching, they followed the other woman with hungry eyes and emaciated frames.

    ¡°Oh god, here they come! We''re all doomed!¡± cried the Abbot as he ran back into the room, grabbing a large book on the desk and then hiding under it. Sovereign looked at Damos who nodded into the room, they both silently agreed and the party retreated with the Abbot, barricading the door with chairs and the heavy desk that the Abbot was cowering under. The five waited silently for the imminent attack. They heard the creaking floorboards and the monotone meowing softly flooding the hall. The noise began to crescendo into a cacophony that was deafening, the woman meowed and screecd in the hall, but not one of them attacked or touched the door. They just screamed in the hallway. The sound was so loud that the sentinels clutched their ears in pain. Oberon fell to his knees and screamed. But as soon as the riot had started it slowly passed and all was silent again.

    ¡°Are you alright Oberon?¡± Asked Martin.

    ¡°I¡¯ll live. It was just pain, that''s all.¡± He said as he brushed it off.

    ¡°God, please kill them all Sentinels¡­ I''ll bless you with high praises if you do¡­¡± The abbot muttered, tucked securely into a ball.

    ¡°No, we need at least three of them alive¡­¡± Damos spoke as he shook off the fatigue that the screams caused.

    ¡°Now you''re speaking suicide!¡± The Abbot blurted.

    ¡°Sit down, Sir, we have questions for you first.¡± Commanded Damos.

    The abbot sat down on a padded chair with his book, he tried to control his shaky hands by rubbing them, but it didn''t help, so he clutched the holy rite for comfort.

    ¡°Eman ruoy si tahw. Ngierevos si eman ym¡­¡± Sovereign babbled. But the Abbot stared at him blankly  and he was visibly shaken by the Sentinels'' strange words. Sovereign looked back and Damos nodded to continue.

    ¡°How many residents reside here in Artruvos?¡± Asked Sovereign.

    ¡°Umm. twenty nuns, ten priests, Mother lilin, and Myself. So, thirty-two in whole.¡± Said Abbot Grandor.

    ¡°You keep Nuns and priests together?¡± Sovereign questioned.

    ¡°No, the priests are simple caretakers of the cathedral. The nuns are the ones who mainly run Artruvos. And I''m just there over overseer, I merely correspond with Lowden and the church, run mass, and make sure the island is in good order. Mother Lilin conducts the islands day to day activities.¡± The Abbot explained.

    ¡°I see. Now, Abbot, i''m going to need an exact retelling of everything that happened up until this point. It''s very important.¡± Said Sovereign slowly.

    ¡°Ok. Two weeks ago, it started. It was so strange, they began to meow, like stray cats¡­¡± Said The Abbot.

    ¡°They?¡± asked Damos.

    ¡°The nuns, first it was two of them, then three, and eventually we had to punish them, so we administered lashings with a rod for anyone who¡­ well, meowed. It was already a challenging endeavor but it grew more grim when I had disrobed one of the women and to my horror she was covered in fresh bite marks. They were all over her body, so Mother lilin and I inspected the rest of the Sisters and the majority of them were covered in the same marks.¡± The Abbot shuddered.

    ¡°You punished the nuns?¡± Asked Martin.

    ¡°Well, yes. Mother Lilin always gave me permission. But the thing is, even after the first few days of lashings and when everything was quiet, we began to hear it at night, and in greater numbers.¡¯ The Abbot quietly uttered.

    ¡®We spoke to the woman, but none of them had any recollection of these events, meowing, the lashes, the bite marks. It confused us, but I sensed I was being deceived. A voice, perhaps of god, whispered in my ear that they were lying. So, Mother Lilin and I formed a plot to stay outside their dormitory and we would sneak in to see who the nightly antagonizer to this nonsensical meowing hysteria was¡­ at midnight the mewoeing had started just like every night before that. As we opened the door to catch the culprits, to my dismay, The nuns were being sodomized by an anthropomorphic goat... that meowed to them with each vile pummeling of its pelvis¡­.¡± The Abbot trembled, and was clearly traumatized.

    ¡°I know this is hard sir, but you need to finish your account of the events. What happened next Abbot.¡± Said Sovereign.

    ¡°We ran of course, Mother Lilan tripped over her gowned. I couldn''t help her, the nuns were crawling after us so quickly¡­ All I could hear was her screams as I ran for the cathedral. Inside, I hollard until the priests helped me barricade the doors and entry ways. We had enough food for weeks in hopes to starve them out, and perhaps the village would become suspicious why we weren''t ringing the bell¡­ the soldiers arrived a week later. They came into the town and were easily seduced by the woman¡­ they had sex in the streets, it was never ending,  there sinful moaning echoed through the chambers of god and drove us mad. But they soon began to butcher each other for different females among them, until there were few of them left. After four days of lecherous sex and primal warfare amongst themselves they turned on the church. The men stormed the Cathedral and began killing the brothers one by one¡­ I managed to run and hide. It took them this long to find me.¡± The Abbot hung his head low.

    ¡°In all of this...When were you able to send the letter?¡± Asked Martin.

    ¡°What letter?¡± Said the Abbot.

    The Sentinels looked at eachother and drew swords on the Abbot. But in their revelation the doors shattered abruptly. Four men weilding a battering ram made from a broken post barged in and charged the sentinels. The swords flashed and shields bashed against each other. Martin stabbed outward and maimed one, and Oberon finished him off with a two handed cleaving strike to the neck. Damos caved an invader''s chest in but was blindsided by another, his leg was wounded and he fell on top of his assailant. Damos wrapped his large hands around the man''s head and repediantly bashed his skull into the ground. Sovereign performed a tight spin with his shield and cut at the shoulder of the man, connecting he retaliated for a second cut, this time to the throat, killing him. There were slight groans and heavy breathing among the sentinels. Oberon lent a hand to Damos, whose leg was bleeding badly, helping him up. In the fog of combat they had lost track of the Abbot who had slipped out without them noticing.

    ¡°Damos your bleeding¡­¡± Muttered oberon.

    ¡°I don''t have time to bleed. We need to catch up to the Abbot.¡± Damos gruffly growled. He took his first step and collapsed.

    ¡°Damnit!¡± Damos thundered, the pain seizing up his back.

    ¡°Sit.¡± commanded Sovereign who helped his friend up onto a chair and beggan evaluating his wound. Martin picked up the Holy write that had been left behind by the Abbot, and wrongly left on the ground. Martin began to flip through the all to familiar text of the book and to his surprise he saw that it was hollowed out and inside was a small book. He took the book out from the holy word of god and placed the scripture on a chair next to him.

    ¡°What''s that?¡± asked Oberon.

    ¡°The Abbot had it inside of the holy writ, in a secret compartment.¡± Martin muttered as he opened the first page.

    ¡° ¡®June fifteenth

    We have been excavating deeper into the catacombs to make a new space for Brother Gilbert. The structure is causing us some trouble. We may need to seek engineering help from lowdun.¡¯

    It''s his diary.¡±  Martin said as he looked up at the group.

    ¡°Well dammit, keep reading. The fifteenth was only three weeks ago.¡± Damos rudely grumbled.

    ¡° ¡®June Twentieth

    Tragedy has struck! A rock slide within the cavern has killed two of our priests and possibly a dozen workers. God aid them. We have decided, for the moment, to bury Brother gilbert elsewhere and close off the entrance to the catacombs for now.¡¯

    ¡®June twenty-first

    I was woken in the night by a gastly omen. I had heard the sound of howling on Arturvos. I have never seen any creature but chickens and goats on this island. With caution I crept outside to investigate. To my surprise I saw a Black dog of some kind¡­¡± Martin choked on his words, cold sweat began to trickle down his back and his hands fumbled with the book.

    ¡°What''s wrong Stretitarius?¡± Sovereign asked.

    ¡°Nothing, it''s just odd. That''s all.¡± He lied, never telling anyone about the beast he had met in the cave.

    ¡°Well, keep reading, please.¡± Sovereign coxed.

    ¡° ¡® I saw a Black dog of some kind¡­ it was as black as sin. I could barely make it out except for its Hellish orange eyes. It begged me to follow. I didn''t listen to the beasts please knowing it to be an apparition of evil.¡¯

    ¡®June twenty-third

    The past two nights I have heard the black dog. I am racked with insomnia and haven''t slept since its arrival. I have asked the brothers and sisters if they had heard it, but they insist it must be an unfortunate symptom of stress and unholy nightmares caused by the rockslide. Despite what my colleagues say, I know it is real and tonight I shall follow it.¡¯

    ¡®June twenty-fourth

    The black dog begged me again last night, and I obliged it. The beast led me into the chapel and down into the cript. Its magnifying aura pulled me toward the wreckage of the other day, but to my surprise the rockslide had been cleared. The black dog guided me to the end of the tunnel, took my hand in its mouth, and buried it deep in the loose gravel wall. I felt something strange inside. pulling my hand from the loose stone I pulled out a leather bound book that was dripping with hot tar. The sight of such a thing frightened me so I dropped it. I stared at the tar covered book, pulsing with life.  There are still many Magical books in this world and I thought perhaps it was a Wizard book. It wouldn''t be too far-fetched to believe that Artruvos was built by any of the Zard People. Hesitantly, I opened it to see what I could see. By the light it was no Wizard book. The evil stench that permeated the cave when I opened its blackened cover made me sick. Terror forced me to retreat from the catacombs.

    I am convinced I''m being made a fool by the rest of the inhabitants of Artruvose. They must have cleared the rubble, and are tricking me somehow. This morning there were no wolf prints on the ground, and the rock slide had been put back to normal. I had overheard the nuns gossip about me,  saying how I was unwell. There stupid and know nothing.¡¯

    ¡®June twenty-fifth

    I strayed from the light of god last night. In the crypt I began to read the book. Its words and scriptures were hideous but I was transfixed on the feeling of warm enlightenment at the back of my skull, like a small candle showing me the way down a bleak tunnel. I began to cry as a voice manifested in my head, it was so dark and beautiful, it told me of my magnificence... it promised glorification and respect, all I would have to do is let him into my world. I refused his beauty¡­ I have made a mistake, I feel so alone.¡¯

    ¡®June thirtieth

    I have convened with my master, he is a Wisdom of darkness, he is the brightest star in the night sky, I beg for him to speak to me... to teach me his secrets. I feel so pathetic and safe when I chant his name, when he looks upon me. I must obey his words for strength, I will follow his left hand, burning bright as a mystical black torch.¡± Martin¡¯s eyes lifted off of the pages of the Abbots diary.

    ¡°The rest is all illegible.¡± He said with a breath.

    ¡°Well that''s that¡­¡± Muttered Oberon

    ¡°Oberon, Stretitarius. You Two will go hunt for the Abbot, we will search for survivors¡­ If we have to chase we wouldn''t be able to keep up. We will meet here by nightfall.¡± Sovereign commanded cooly.

    ¡°Damn you Sovereign¡­¡± Damos pouted as he folded his arms.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Oberon asked.

    ¡°Sure of what? You two going alone? You''re both sentinels aren''t you?¡± Sovereign said with confidence.

    ¡°Yes sir!¡± Both Martin and Oberon responded.

    The two young Sentinels bounded out of the building being wary of the nuns and soldiers that might be stalking the island. They crept along the edge of buildings, searching them, systematically clearing them. From the shadows of a room they had entered, a horrible scream came from the shadow of the room as a woman sprang on them with a knife. She stabbed Martin through a slit in his pauldron, twisting it, causing searing pain in his upper back. Oberon grabbed her and threw her to the ground. He pressed his sword on her and held her down with the point.

    ¡°Wait!¡± She hollard. ¡°I thought you were one of them¡­¡±  She pleaded.

    ¡°Ugh, Who are you dammit?¡± Martin growled holding onto his wounded shoulder.

    ¡°Im Mother Lilien. Who are you?¡±  She said. The pair looked at each other with skepticism. This woman looked beautiful and not a day over thirty, It was hard to believe she could possibly be the head of a nunnery, she was simply too beautiful.

    ¡°Sentinels!¡± Martin said harshly, as he began to gingerly inspect his wound.

    ¡°Oh, I''m sorry sir! If I would have known I wouldn''t have attacked you.¡± bewailed Mother Lilien.

    ¡°It''s alright for now Mother. We heard that you were killed? How did you escape?¡± Oberon reassured.

    ¡°Who told you these things?¡± She said with a sideways glance.

    ¡°The Abbot¡­¡± Martin growled.

    ¡°Curse him!¡± She exploded. ¡°When did that serpent say I was killed?¡±

    ¡°After you both encountered the demon inside the Nuns quarters. He said, you tripped and were taken by the Nuns.¡± Oberon recalled.

    ¡°Help me up and I''ll tell you what actually happened?¡± Both young men rushed for the chance to help her, out stretching their gloved hands in unison. She giggled at there enthusiasm and took both of them. The Woman sat down on a chair and adjusted her dark dress, ruffling her bosoms inside, The Young men were entranced.

    ¡°First off, I was never taken¡­ or however he phrased it. Urdane had been acting strangely for weeks. Whispers of him sexually abusing the Nuns were running rampant through the island. After the Meowing episodes began I took action. I began to question and examine the girls myself, in secret of course. To my horror they had bite marks on them, but they couldn''t recall any sort of foul play by their own recollections. I was befuddled, The nuns on Artruvos have always been open and respectful to each other, myself, and god. I couldn''t possibly imagine what was actually happening, and sometimes, ignorance is better than reality. Two weeks ago, Oreliann, the youngest and brightest of the Nuns came to me early in the morning with a night terror she had suffered. She seemed distraught and reluctant, but she lingered and I could tell she needed to confess. With some coxing she began to open up. She told me she had been having visions of The abbot mounting her and having intercourse with her unconscious body, But yet, she reassured me it was all a dream. When I asked her what was keeping her from telling me sooner, she told me that the Abbot said if she did he would eat her. So, I asked if I could examine her, she agreed. She still had fresh bite wounds but on closer inspection of her body I could tell she had been deflowered and was no longer a virgin, I found this more disturbing than the bite wounds. The next night the Meowing continued and when I went to investigate the noise, peaking my head through the door I saw an abomination, The abbot was certainly having grotesque explicit relations with Orileann, and the rest of the nunnery was strewn around them. Their faces were painted with horrible signs, their naked bodys were gyrating and pulsing on top of eachother, biting each other viciously. The Serpent, Urdane, was nude and disturbingly hairy, his eyes were as dark and hollow as wet coal. I ran and hid, I know nothing more from the past two weeks.¡± She gazed at the floor deep in thought.

    ¡°That''s terrible¡­¡±  Said Martin.

    ¡°Can you tell us anything else? Where the Abbot is perhaps? Anything would help.¡±  Bargained Oberon.

    ¡°Perhaps his office? It''s , umm just over there.¡± She said as she pointed toward the room with the Abbots journal.

    ¡°Unfortunately, we already came from there¡­ Anywhere else?¡± Martin groaned as his shoulder began to painfully throb.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± She muttered sadly.

    ¡°It''s fine, we¡¯ll be fine.¡± Oberon reassured Mother Lilien as he put a hand on her shoulder. She rubbed it and took a breath. From the upstairs a screeching of the nuns could be heard.

    ¡°Oh lord¡­ we must go!¡± The Woman cried in terror.

    ¡°Into the Cathedral!¡± Martin hollard as he pointed across the street.

    The group ran across the vacant road toward the cathedral of Artruvos. They hugged tightly to the side of the buildings, keeping a watchful eye for movement. As they entered they could hear the hideous scuttling of the nuns behind them and the screeching blasphemies outside. The two young men barricade the doors with pews, stands, poles, books, whatever they could wedge against it. Mother Lilien gasped,  the interior of the church was ruined, torn to shreds and desecrated with horrible markings.

    Martin Looked behind him and saw the same Markings drawn upon the walls in blood that he had seen many years ago in the church at Oraton. He stood there as Oberon embraced the woman, his hands were still and he didn''t flinch at the chaos that birthed  him into life so many years ago. It reminded him of Sovereign and the goat Demon, it all seemed eerily familiar.

    ¡°We can''t stay here, we need to find better shelter.¡± Martin quietly suggested his voice echoing throughout the stained glass hall.

    ¡°I agree fully. Mother Lilien and I will head to the basement to search for an exit. Umm, You should head up top to send a signal to Damos and Sovereign.¡± Oberon proposed staring at Lilien. The woman and himself making eye contact.

    ¡°No, we should stay together.¡± Martin contested seeing past Oberon''s carnal blindness.

    ¡°If we split up we have a better chance of escape, what, are you scared?¡± Oberon childishly teased.

    ¡°Fine, but I want to search the basement¡­¡± Martin slyly Countered. Oberon felt a jolt of excitement, trying to keep his motives a secret from Martin. The young man vowed to never touch a woman, but he couldn''t help but think about being alone with Lilien, her brown hair and eyes filled him with thumos, her hips could possibly bare many children. He would bound away from this island with her hand in tow if he had the chance. But, Oberon was blinded by his desires to see past Martin''s ploy, he didn''t expect that secretly Martin knew exactly where the Abbot would be hiding¡­ deep in the cellar under the church. Martin wanted nothing more than to question Urdane about this mysterious black dog that he had seen¡­ perhaps it would be the same black dog, Barghast. perhaps he would be able to find some answers.

    The two parted ways, Oberon practically giggling as the Nun and himself rushed up the long stairwell hand in hand. Martin watched as they ran up and out of sight, he wasn''t one to judge in breaking the rules, but now isn''t the time. Focusing on his own desires He crept carefully down into the cellar, the cold air creeping up from the catacombs briskly wisping across his face, calming his nerves. The dull metallic smell of copper wafted through the descending stair well as he approached the last step. The hall was eerily lined with torches. Martin reached for the torch and heard a faint groan deep in the darkness of the hall. He tightly grasped the wooden handle and removed it from the sconce. With every step into the catacombs the air became colder and colder, eventually he began to see his breath and knew he was entering the realm of the unholy. With the faintest of torch light he could see a figure lazily resting at the end of the tunnel. Martin drew his sword point outward, ready to thrust or counter at the slightest hint of danger. As he inched closer the form of the Abbot began to appear from the dark.

    The man was naked and bound to the wall, wounds and gashes of all kinds covering his body, his eyes removed from his head.

    ¡°Whos there!?¡± The man hopelessly bleated out.

    ¡°Stretitarious¡­¡± Martin said with some pity.

    ¡°Sentinel¡­?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Yes, what has happened to you demon worshipper.¡± Martin gleaned, ruthlessly putting the cold steel tip of his sword close to the man''s throat.

    ¡°The nuns¡­ they caught me. Help me, sir.¡± He weakly said, his neck slowly craning away from the tip.

    ¡°Why should I help a parasite like you? You cast this island to damnation with your curiosity! You and your damn red book!¡± Martin scolded harshly.

    ¡°What Red book¡­¡± The man weezed.

    ¡°Red leather journal, black page divider. I know your schemes, so don''t play dumb, it ruins the character i''ve seen in you today!¡± Full of hatred Martin lightly pushed the tip in the man''s throat spilling a droplet of blood.

    ¡°Red leather... Mother Lilian carried a journal just like that.¡± The man choked. Martin pulled the sword back from the man''s throat and brought it to his side, feeling a sudden jolt of fright shoot up his spine.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± he said wide eyed.

    ¡°Mother lilien. She was always clutching it...¡±  The Wounded abbot weeped, cowering the best he could from the Sentinel.

    How could they let her slip through their fingers so easily¡­ Oberon! How could he be so foolish as to let Oberon go alone. Martin didn''t hesitate, he turned on his heel and ran back to the stairwell. With great physical bounds he launched himself through the darkness and in a matter of minutes he athletically launched himself up the stairs. Crossing the threshold of the catacombs and into the cathedrals choir. Martin saw Lilin tying Oberon to a wooden stake in the middle of the hall. His face was mangled and his armor was missing.

    ¡°Untie him now!¡± Martin threatened, his sword point facing the woman.

    The woman ignored him as she continued to tie down Oberon.

    ¡°Did you Hear Me Bitch!¡± He hollard, the echo carrying through the entire hall.

    As the Woman looked back, her face was twisted into something hideous, her mouth was wide with rows of  bloody uneven fangs and her brow was broad and wrinkled . Martin shivered by the stark contrast between this and the Beautiful woman Oberon and himself were fawning over not more than ten minutes ago.

    Martin took a step forward and then his world went dark.

    He woke up, his head in shambles and confused. He was tied to a pole next to Oberon and the Abbot. His head felt heavy like it was half full of sloshing water. The room was full of Men in the armor of lowdun and women in nun robes, they were chanting in a strange tongue that Martin briefly understood as an infernal language of the damned. The sun had begun to set and the light poured into the windows spreading a warm glow among the unholy congregation. Mother Lilien stood in front of the men, a large gastly looking toam cracked open in her hands. As she read from it the mob echoed. From the corner of the room a large beast appeared, and Martin knew it''s hideous form intimately, for it haunted his dreams. The creature seemed unreal, he witnessed Sovereign cut its head off so many years ago, how could Bahomet still possibly be alive. The Monster walked past the group, each of them falling to their knees in worship as he passed them.

    ¡°These Bastards shall die in the name of the one true Devil and his promise to set us, the woman of Lowdun, free! And give us what these men could never give us, our liberation!¡±  She cried out. Lilien turned around and dragged a dirty kitchen knife across the Abbots neck. She licked the blood from the knife and sexually walked over to Oberon. The Abbot gurgled and sputtered up blood, like a newborn with its milk.

    ¡°I''m sorry Martin, you''ve been a good friend¡­¡± Oberon weakley muttered.

    ¡°Shut up! All of you!¡± Martin screamed. The cult, Lilien, and the Demon looked at him with surprise.

    Why any of this? Why settle with this horror¡­ why the letter, why?!¡± Martin blurted, pleading in absolute confusion. The Demon and the Woman stared at each other with perplexity.

    ¡°letter?¡± She asked with a sideways glance, her twisted teeth jutting in all directions.

    ¡°The one you sent to get us here¡­ sent to The Sentinel sanctum.¡±

    ¡°I know nothing of any letter¡­¡± She sounded almost serious, but Martin couldn''t tell the truth from lies anymore.

    ¡°Damnit, Let us go, or face the wrath of god!¡± Martin brazenly threatened, bucking against the pole. The faces around him twisted and mocked him. Lilien slid the knife across Oberon¡¯s neck, blood began to pour out, drenching the young man''s arming doublet. Martin screamed and cursed, violently tearing at his bindings.

    ¡°Bye bye lover.¡± She cruelly mocked kissing Oberon, running her forked tongue in his mouth and through the open gash in his throat. With the Strength of a Sentinel, Oberon definitely bit down, severing the tongue from Mother Lilien. The Woman writhed and twisted as she fell to the ground clutching her mouth. The congregation and the Demon tended to the Woman as black blood squirted from her wagging stump. Martin bucked and jerked against the pole as hard as he could, slamming his back into it feverishly. He could feel a slight buckling of wood, and then the pole snapped, dropping him to the ground. Martin gracefully, as he could, fell onto the executioner''s knife and cut his bindings free. He made a break toward the exit but a guard caught him by the ankle. A blast from the entrance revealed Sovereign, with rays of light pouring in behind him, his sword and shield glisteing.

    Sovereign Bursted into the room cutting down guard after guard. He spun around like a top, cutting into them and around them.  The possessed guardsman fell with each precise swing of Sovereign''s sword. Martin kicked at the man whose nails were digging into his leg. Smashing in the man''s bulbous nose like an overripe melon. He scrambled on hand and knee toward his master who had been thinning out the small cult . Martin gathered himself and stabbed a guard in the back, driving the blade through him.

    ¡°Where''s Oberon!¡± Hollard Sovereign in between swings.

    ¡°He¡¯s dead¡­ Oberons dead¡­¡± Martin gasped as he scrambled up to his Master''s side and found a sword from a fallen guardsman.

    ¡°Damn!¡± Sovereign yelled, swinging his sword into another cursed man.

    The melee was coming to a climax when Sovereign noticed the once fought beast tending to the womans bleeding maw. He didn''t hesitate, he threw himself into the fray the beast recoiled in fear from the site of the grey haired Sentinel. Sovereign hurled himself onto the monster, his sword sung through the air and cleaved into the demon''s skull cutting deep into it, whatever life there was faded quickly.

    Martin was cutting down the guardsman but they began to overwhelm him.

    ¡°Sovereign, we have to go!¡± Martin hollard.

    A young girl bleeding from her mouth called out to Sovereign for aid, she reached her hand out to him.

    ¡° Eman ruoy si tahw. Ngierevos si eman ym¡­¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Neilil si eman ym!¡± it screeched at him, almost uncontrollably.

    Sovereign''s blade danced across her twisted face sending blood and teeth spattering in all directions. A man from the shadows savagely smashed the old sentinel on the head, collapsing him.

    ¡°Sovereign!¡± Martin hollard in distress. The young warrior, enraged, began to slice, cut, and bash through the possessed congregation like he never had before. Sovereign was unconscious, Martin hoisted him onto his shoulder, the heavy weight barley fazing him.  Martin ran as fast as he could grabbing a torch and lighting the church drapery ablaze. Within Minutes the structure of the building was crackling and smoking. Martin rushed outside, feral people close behind. He tossed down Sovereign who hit the dirt with a heavy thud. Martin rolled a cart of large stones from the excavation in front of the cathedral door, picked up Sovereign and ran toward the boat. Martin could hear the screams of the people begging inside, screaming to be let free. He could feel the heat of the fire but didn''t look back until he touched the cold water of the lake. Damos was sitting in the Boat ready to push out.

    ¡°Row!¡± Martin hollard. Damos didn''t ask, he knew that Oberon hadn''t made it.

    Martin Pushed the boat as far as he could and jumped inside, the boat rocking back and forth as damos¡¯s strong arms sent them gliding through the evening water. The cathedral Artruvous burned brightly and all Martin knew was he never wanted to set foot on the black sands of Artruvous again.

 Chapter 13: Apprehension! The Monolith.

    He hadn''t been gone for more than five days, yet it felt like ten. The torrential rain had carved deep ravines into the muddy countryside. Thin rain drops ripped through battered oaks and Elms, their twirling limbs creaking from the deluge. Since Martin had left the hut upon his quest to repay what he owed, the storm, like a bratty child, had refused to yield, submitting all to its tantrum.

    Each laborious step through the slick and sullen towns, almost void of anything he would consider life, drove him closer to his witch and, perhaps, her warm bed. The forests he slipped in and out of were unnaturally dense in the Western parts of the country, they weren''t stripped clean from the war and the villagers worshiped them as conduits to the old gods. But, no matter how hard he tried he couldn''t hide from the rain, no bough or bush covered him, it started to seem as if the raindrops were jetting up from the ground; because everything from his worn in military boots to his ratty jerkin drooped heavily. The small towns, merely shacks, and taverns, surrounded by rotten palisades. There were no decent town militia, just drunk gangs, paid protection that often overtaxed the locals, but you were either a thief or starving in these times, there was no place for true knights in the Kingdom of Saad.

    As darkness fell upon him, Martin approached one of the last ramshackle villages before he ventured into the westernmost part of the wilderness. There was a loud commotion inside, horses snorting and men shouting, he saw steaming thorces waving about frantically. The discord wailed through the dusk gale, a cacophony of thirty dogs rang out in the frenzied night alongside pained screams of death.

    He stuck to the shadows, tracing the tree line, looking for a hole that he could peer into. A shriek sent a quick chill down his legs, he slipped low and crawled close to the wall, glaring through he saw men scrambling about screaming like slaughtered pigs. Martin pressed his eye close to the small gap between the palisade wall. Droplets of rainwater ran off his face and into his eye, he wiped it away and gazed back into the hole, he pressed himself so close its as if he were trying to slip through. Armed Mercenaries with red tabards were swinging their swords frantically at a swift-moving mass in the middle of the village.  Through the thin slit, dim torches, and heavy rain the beast looked like a Basilisk. The sky broke and lightning illuminated the battle. Martin saw no Basilisk in the lightning flash, instead, he saw a far more terrifying thing, a thing that should not be, The Glatisant beast

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    ¡°Sir Glatisant was a womanizer, a sinner, and an adulterer¡­¡± Spoke Rehael of Morn Gwenevara, his pointy nose in the air, almost as high as his pointer finger that was enthusiastically wagging with each breath. The class of adepts was chuckling behind their gravestone-sized textbooks. Rehael scowled at the class and continued.

    ¡°What Sir Glatisant lacked in scruples, he made up for in grand gestures, bravado¡­ and charm. After whoring with every princess and queen from the North to the southern tip of the continent, including his own sister, he was hunted and sentenced to death. But Sir Glatisants¡¯ father, King Ivreants of house Gwin, wouldn''t allow his only son to be butchered. On a cold summer night, the council of twelve kings gathered to charge Sir Glatisant. Though King Iverants fought for his son''s life all he could offer him was a fighting chance, a quest, they charged him to slay the once elusive Western Beast that hid deep in the Western forests. The honor guards of each southern house escorted Sir Glatisant to the edge of the world and sent him¡­¡± Reheal looked at the class who were holding back tears in their eyes, trying desperately not to laugh out loud.

    ¡°¡­ The tale goes that Sir Glatisant slew the beast in mortal combat. The most accurate account we have of the battle, unfortunately, was a poem written by Sir Glatisant himself.

    ¡®Into the blackness, my heart and sword noble,

    My wits and eyes peeled, toward the monsters hole,

    Opal eye''s with madness, a slender neck mobile,

    It lashed, my blood congealed, the woes of the battle''s toll,

    The victor seemed revealed, but not yet was written the scroll,

    I did not run, id fight, with my father''s sword id, show my family''s might,

    With a slash in the weald id cut its head clean, yet its death I condole,

    I''d return home a man, no, a king, all my enemies will taste my swords bite!

    The woman in the land will worship my cock¡­¡± The class broke out into light laughter as Reheal flushed with anger.

    ¡°The rest is unimportant, disregard it¡­ curiously though, he did not bring home its head, however, he did bring back a sacred talisman from Sir Tristanous who fell to the monster almost a century earlier. When Sir Glatisant rode back haughty and triumphant, strangely the entire male line of his family was stricken with plague and died a week later, Sir Glatisant was crowned that very afternoon. For his bravery they coined the monster the Glatisant beast, the monster was dubbed the Glatisant beast after his triumph over it¡­ turn to page seven-hun... ¡± A chorus of laughter erupted as the young men were reading the other two, rather raunchy, stanzas written by Sir Glatisant. All the boys were clutching their sides. He looked into the crowd of twenty and saw Joruc and Martin taking turns reading each line.

    ¡°That''s it! If you two don''t want to pay attention and act like bleating goats, I''ll have the Homunculi break you down until your ready to sit and listen! Out!¡± Reheal Hollard.

    The two boys left the room in terror, fearing the push-ups that were to come.

    ¡°Now, turn to page Seven-hundred and five, we are going to learn about the beasts perceived weakness¡­¡±

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    The long snake neck of the beast coiled back and sprung out at a man''s face, ripping it from his head. Martin had to help these poor villagers, The Glatisant beast was a force of nature that rarely, if ever, journeyed from the woodlands. If it wasn''t killed here it would surely spread terror through the countryside.

    Martin looked at his surroundings. The palisade was covered in slippery moss that would be impossible to climb, behind him were dense woods, and in front of him, there were no perceivable entrances inside the town except the ones in and out. He gazed back at the woods. Martin slinked toward the forest and quickly hacked down three tall saplings and fashioned them into primitive spears, each longer than the other, each with slender foot-long tips. He gathered them up and scrambled into the village unseen by the Glatisant beast who was too busy torturing the towns-folk. He dropped the longest spear in an uncomfortably tight alleyway. He stepped lightly, foot over foot, cautiously avoiding splashing through the soggy fecal stained street. At the edge of the ally, he could see the beast winding and bounding toward the people, snapping its jaws like a rabid dog. He could see it as clear as it would have been possible in the stormy twilight. Its snake neck lashed about as its jagged hoofed feet trampled the men who were caught in its rampage, its spotted leopard body quickly darting in and out of spear, ax, and sword shot.

    The beast made a shrieking chatter that echoed like a dozen tortured dogs. It was lightning fast and skillfully aggressive, backing the townsman into a corner, corralling them. Martin hurled a spear at the beast and it struck deep into its muscular rear thigh. The beast shrilled and tore the spear from its leg with its mouth. Like a whirlwind, it quickly wiped its body around and beamed a haunting glare with its cold reptilian eyes. With a bastard jumble of slithering and walking the creature sped toward its attacker, mouth agape, ready to strike. Martin held his spear up valiantly as he backed quickly into the ally. The shaft was wet yet the knots in the sapling gave him something to grasp onto. He saw the hellish maw rushing at him, covered in dozens of syringe-like teeth each one capable of injecting a deadly toxin.

    It lunged and he thrust the spear out to meet the beast head-on, but the serpent neck was more mobile and longer than he had anticipated. The thick trunk of his neck wrapped around the haft and crushed it into splinters. Martin dived back into the tight ally reaching desperately for the spear he had planted, the creatures snapping mouth close behind. He ripped the spear from the ground and hoisted it outward, the massive serpent tried to juke the spear that was propelled towards its chest, but it was far longer than it could have anticipated and bulldozed into it, the massive torso of the Glatisant beast slid gracefully down the spear, it writhed and screamed more terrifying than before. Martin rolled from under the snapping jaws and violently waving hooves, drew his sword ready to decapitate the horrid beast.

    ¡°Mercy!¡± A harsh raspy voice said behind a cough. Martin looked quickly around, no one was near. The rain began to pick up. The monsters harsh stench crept up and bit Martin''s nose, he shook his head in disgust. A cough came from the monster, blood dripping from its sucking chest wound.

    ¡°I said, Mercy¡­¡± The Beast struggled to speak.

    Martin looked down at the thing whose neck curled up to look at him.

    ¡°You speak¡­?¡± Martin exclaimed, not surprised.

    ¡°Yes, Mercy, Please¡­¡± It wheezed.

    ¡°Why should I show you mercy, beast of chaos¡­?¡± He began to pity it, it was losing strength and sinking in a puddle of its blood.

    ¡°I''ll give you a wish¡­ let me live and I''ll grant you a wish¡­ Like I did for that Glatisant boy...¡± It groaned as it held one of its deformed hoofs toward Martin.

    He stared at the horse size monster as it stared at him with cruel eyes.

    ¡°You dealt with Sir Glatisant?¡± Martin questioned. The man lowered his blade.

    ¡°He dealt with me indeed. I slew his family, and in return, he divided the kingdom¡­ the chaos is freedom. Spare me and I can give you unimaginable wishes.¡± It said.

    The sword flashed and hacked into the monster''s thick neck, drew back, and soard like a lightning bolt and slipped through with a squelching sputter. The Monster''s head dropped into a shallow puddle of Mudd,  jerked around, coiled in on itself, and died. Martin sighed and looked up to the dark sky, the cold rain running off his steaming face. He heard a splash toward the entrance of the ally and tilted his sword point to meet the challenge. A youngster, not old enough to be a man, but older than a boy stood in the corridor.

    ¡°Are you ok?¡± Martin asked. He took a few steps toward the lad whose mouth was hanging open, stunned by the near-heroic battle that had taken place in his small village. The grizzled man put his hand on the boy''s shoulder.

    ¡°Are you ok Boy?¡± He asked again.

    ¡°Yes¡­¡± he stammered.

    Martin nodded, patted the youth''s shoulder and wiped the blood from his blade off on the youth''s tattered cloak.

    ¡°Sir¡­ why¡­ Why didn''t you make the deal? Why didn''t you take the wish?¡± The young man stammered with hesitation.

    ¡°Because boy, nothing good comes from making deals with Devils.¡± With regret in his words, the old man solemnly sheathed his sword, nodded his head, and disappeared into the shadows.

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    ¡°One-half measure of  finely diced Henbane petal...¡± The Volva instructed. Zofia took the freshly gathered flowers and began slicing them, impressively thin for a young girl with one arm.

    ¡°Now it''s time for the Mandrake root or by its true name ¡®Mandragora¡¯. We need a thumb size.¡± Circi looked up from the large tome of potions and at The small girl who was measuring the human-shaped root with her small thumb.

    ¡°Well... let''s use mine, it¡¯s closer to the size we need anyway.¡± The Witch said.

    She walked over to the girl and helped her measure the correct size chunk for the potion. She moved back, the cottage floor creaking as she swung around to the other side of the table. Circi looked at the young girl. She slid to the other side of the table and offered her thumb for the measurement, Zofia took a mental note and cut it. Circi went around the table to read from the leather-bound spellbook that was resting on the pedestal.

    The floor rasped and moaned as she walked around, the thatched roof leaking from spots of broken moss. The whole house breathed and swelled from the torrential weather. Circi looked outside and wondered if he would return for the girl, or if he had run away again. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Is this chopped well enough Circi?¡± Zofia asked, staring up at the Witch who was gazing out the small cottage window.

    ¡°Yes, that will do. Toss it into the pot child, before it browns.¡± She commanded, and so she did. Circi fingered the page of the book, searching where she had left off.

    ¡°Ah, one whole rose peddle.¡± She pointed to a large bouquet of flowers along the back of the room near other strange jars and contraptions. The girl ran over and gingerly tore a peddle from one of the flowers and tossed it into the pot.

    ¡°Now what Circi?¡± The girl said eagerly.

    ¡°Well¡­ Now we wait for it to boil. Then when the time is ready for you to use it, you Drip a drop of your menstrual blood into it.¡± The witch said with a wave of her delicate hand.

    ¡°Ew, and it works?¡± She asked, grimacing.

    ¡°Any man you use this on will instantly fall in love with you, Promise.¡±

    ¡°Wow¡­¡± Zofia muttered.

    From outside they heard a noise, the door swung open, and Martin stepped through. He was bearded and haggard. His eyes sunk deep in his head with small cuts on his cheeks from pushing through the thick western brush.

    ¡°Martin!¡± Zofia shouted as she jumped up and on him, embracing his soggy body. He smiled, let out a sigh of relief resting his arms around the girl''s head. Circi¡¯s heart swelled, but she turned her back to them and pretended to read from the tome. She heard Zofia giggle and peaked over her shoulder.

    ¡°Are you going to be a spoiled egg and act like I''m not even here?¡± Martin asked across the room. Circi nonchalantly turned around, Martin had Zofia turned upside down and was tickling her.

    ¡°OH, Martin, your back. I didn''t even realize you were gone.¡± She said with a wave. She peered at him wondering if he had done what she had asked. He shot her a glance and a nod, and she received it knowing full well what it meant.

    ¡°What are you two Witches brewing up, hopefully, something to eat? I''m famished.¡± Martin asked with a laugh, setting the girl down.

    ¡°Well, Me and Aunt Circi made soup from mushrooms and leeks from the garden! Try it, Martin!¡± She gleamed.

    ¡°I would love some.¡± He said with a smile. Zofia took a hold of his hand and led him to the large wooden table in the middle of the cottage.

    ¡°It''s great here Martin, she''s teaching me how to make love potions!¡±

    Martin laughed and looked at Circi with a warm gaze as they all sat at the table.

    The girl was enthusiastically fervent that evening. She rambled late into the night, recalling in great detail every second she and the Volva had spent together. She talked about the herbs in the garden, the snails they collected and roasted to eat, she giggled about how she scared Circi in the middle of the night by waking her up for a cup of water, Circi laughed at how surprised she was that Zofia had a tremendous ability to read and write. Needless to say Martin felt contently warm, not just from the spirit, but because this could feel like home.

    Zofia fell asleep on the table, talking herself unconscious. Martin carefully lifted her up and placed her on the mat she had been sleeping on for the past week and a half. He tucked the wool blanket around her and gazed at her peacefulness. With a small sigh, he turned back toward the table hoping to get out of his still-damp clothes. Circi was silently putting away cups and dishes.

    ¡°So, you ever use one of these on me?¡± He said in a hushed tone, pinching the small cork of the Love potion.

    ¡°If I did, You would have never left me¡­¡± She turned and stared at him with her misty Amber eyes.

    ¡°I''m sorry Crici.¡± He said with a lump in his throat.

    ¡°You are leaving me tomorrow aren''t you?¡± they were practically whispering to each other.

    ¡°Yes¡­¡± He tried to mutter more but she drew closer, they were so close he could see galaxies in her eyes.

    ¡°Never mind any of it for now. let''s get you out of these wet clothes.¡± And she kissed him.

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    In the early morning before the sun, while the birds were asleep in their nests, Zofia heard a scraping and faint muttering from the corner of the room. The scraping was soft, like a sharp knife whittling a block of wood. She cracked her eyes, she was facing the wall where dancing shadows conversed in the flickering candlelight. She listened to them talk and giggle, the shadows dancing became erratic. Zofia, in all her curiousness, rolled over to see what they were doing.

    Martin and Circi were near the large bookshelf, its old wrinkled shelves adorned with over a dozen candles. A large water basin rested on his lap and a towel wrapped loosely around his neck.

    ¡°Not so hard or you¡¯ll cut me¡­¡± He said, looking up at the ceiling.

    ¡°If you don''t quit belly-aching I''ll cut you anyway.¡± She threatened with a smile, dragging a sharp razor up his neck.

    Zofia starred in careful content at the half-clothed adults. The Witch gracefully shaved his face, and the man continued to belly-ache. She took the towel from his neck and submerged it in the basin. Circi rinsed his face with the damp cloth, ran her hands across his face, and kissed him lovingly, deeply.

    They stood up and started toward the loft stairs. The girl quickly and as slyly as she could, shut her eyes. As they walked past her they stopped and gazed at what they thought was a sleeping child.

    ¡°Will she be ok?¡± Circi asked.

    ¡°I don''t know¡­ She said she had an Aunt in Awolon, but, then again I don''t know for sure.¡± Martin droned, his tone riddled with uncertainty.

    ¡°That abomination is no place for a girl, It''s no place for anyone but shambling ghouls. Let her stay with me, let her stay in the forests.¡± Circi quietly pleaded.

    Martin''s silence was drawn out and disheartening to both The Witch and Zofia.

    ¡°No, I''m sorry¡­ The forests are too dangerous.¡± He said slowly.

    ¡°That¡¯s nonsense, Martin.¡± She snapped harshly.

    ¡°She isn''t like you or your sister¡¯s, Circi. She isn''t Volva, she is of flesh and blood and needs just that, flesh and blood.¡± Martin huffed.

    Circi¡¯s Stomach tightened in anger.

    She turned to him

    ¡°And what will she do when the Armies of House Kay-Nel storm Morn Awolon and raze it to cinders? Will you sit passively by while she is raped and sold as a slave?!¡± She retorted, her voice shaking.

    ¡°And what will you do when the wars of Man turn your forest to timber and they burn the roots from the ground? Would you stay and wait for the death of your world for her?!¡± He yelped

    ¡°I would have done it for you if you asked and I would do it for her...¡± Her eyes burned brightly and they stared at each other in the flickering candlelight.

    Zofia couldn''t hear anything else but heavy footsteps creaking up the wooden staircase and the light sobs of someone near the table.

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    ¡°Wake up Zofia or your porridge will be cold,¡± Martin said from the table in the room.

    The girl cracked open her eyes, sunlight was flooding in the glass windows of the cottage.

    She stretched her arms and popped her back, got up, and made her way to the table. Martin was eating the same porridge that she was eating from a similar wooden bowl as well. He was dressed in the same clothes as the other night, a linen shirt, bark red woolen vest, and the same smelly poncho he¡¯s worn since he saved her over three weeks ago.

    ¡°We¡¯re leaving today aren''t we?¡± The girl pouted, splashing her spoon in the slop.

    ¡°Yes, we are. I promised to take you to your relative in Awolon, I intend to keep that promise.¡± Martin said calmly, scraping the sides of the porridge bowl. She was silent and looked around for Circi, but she couldn''t hear or see her.

    ¡°Where''s Circi?¡± She asked, puzzled.

    ¡°She went into the woods.¡±

    ¡°Will she be back to say goodbye?¡± the girl wondered.

    ¡°No.,¡± Martin said flatly.

    ¡°But, why not¡­¡± Zofia''s heart was breaking.

    ¡°It''s the way they are.¡± Martin sighed, getting up and adjusting his pack at the table.

    ¡°They?¡± she searched.

    ¡°The Woman of the old forest. Now, I made a pack for you to carry, it''ll be a week''s walk, do you think you can handle it with your arm?¡± He said, tightening his sword belt.

    ¡°I think so¡­¡± she struggled but was able to wrestle the pack onto her back.

    ¡°Good¡­ Let''s go.¡± He and the girl stepped out into the crisp morning air.

    ¡°Martin, I forgot something!¡± The girl burst and ran back inside. A few long moments later she came out.

    ¡°I''m ready.¡± She smiled.

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    When Circi arrived at her lodge she found it depressingly uninhabited, only two empty bowls sat at the table. To the Witch''s surprise, a small love potion rested on top of a piece of parchment.

    ¡°Circi

    Use on Martin.

    Zofia¡±

    The witch read the note out loud, she crumpled it and began to cry.

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    They walked down the trail for days, uneventful hours of marching, toiling through thick mud and over fallen trees. As the week grew on they started passing more and more people. Ass drawn wagons with emaciated children barely hanging off the side and hobbling settlers all traveling the same long lonely road toward Morn Awolon.

    Over the horizon, it showed itself, thick and phallic, black and seamless in its monstrosity. The Monolith of Morn Awolon began to tower above the trees, dwarfing the imagination of man and splitting the sky.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Zofia muttered, her jaw agape.

    ¡°Don''t be seduced by it, the Monolith is a lie,¡± Martin said, through gritted teeth. His mouth was grinding and his eyes began to water with rage at its sight, his apprehension had no bounds, knowing fair well what horror that the Monolith was.

    ¡°I don''t understand¡­¡± She asked.

    ¡°Perhaps that''s for the best.¡±  He answered.

    Zofia stared at Martin, his face seemed harsher than he had ever appeared to her. Despite his tense jaw and clenched fists, she saw tears flowing from his single green eye.

    They approached the gate, people were shambling to and fro, everyone seemed withdrawn and downtrodden.

    ¡°Halt, do you have a permit for that arms?¡± asked the gate guard.

    Martin looked at the guard, down at Zofia,  and then back at the guard and simply shook his head no.

    ¡°I can''t have you entering with the weapon.¡± The gate guardsman stated dryly as if he had said it a dozen times today. Martin looked at him blankly for a moment.

    ¡°But sir, it''s my only possession¡­ it belonged to my son, he was slain last summer in the war.¡± Martin lied.

    ¡°I''m Sorry, You''ll have to leave it here¡­¡± The guard falsely empathized.

    ¡°Is a one-eyed man and his crippled grand-daughter such a threat to the church that you would steal his only son''s sword from him?!¡± Martin made a fuss, he seamlessly added an older more febal tone to his voice and posture. With an eccentric spasm, Martin fell to the ground and sobbed.

    ¡°Grandpa! Please, sir, let him keep my papa¡¯s sword! Please...¡± Zofia shouted as she clutched onto the old man. The guard looked around him, people were sneering and shaking their heads in disgust. An older more dignified man with a chainmail coif and a handsome military uniform strode up, halberd in hand.

    ¡°Is there a problem?¡± The gate master asked.

    ¡°The man won''t relinquish his sword, Sir. He says it''s his dead son¡¯s¡­ died in the war. ¡± answered the gate guard. The older guardsman stared long and hard at Martin and the sword.

    ¡°Damn it, let him through, I lost my son to Kay-Nel two winters ago¡­Wrap it in your cloak and If you draw your weapon at any time I''ll quarter you myself.¡± The Gate master warned mercifully.

    Both martin and Zofia groveled at the man''s feet till he was uncomfortable with the attention and quickly walked back to his guard post.

    As they slinked in under the massive portcullis, Zofia was in awe at the size of Awolon. The buildings were multiple stories, creaking, and swelling with moisture. The streets were twice as wide as any they have traveled before, yet despite its grandiose size it was run down and filthy, Women dumping refuse into the streets from the upper stories, the human waste littered in each and every crevasse. Rats scurried across the ground, large flea-infested cats close behind. The hideous black tower jutted above it all casting a shadow over the entrance of the city.

    ¡°That was quick thinking out there¡­¡± Martin said with a small heartfelt smile as he patted her head. Zofia just smiled back.

    ¡°Now, where does your aunt live?¡± Martin asked softly.

    With a stammer, Zofia just kept walking.

    ¡°Zofia, where does your aunt live?¡± He asked looking down at her, an air of agitation in his voice.

    Yet, Zofia kept walking. Martin grabbed her by the shoulder.

    ¡°I don''t have an Aunt!¡± The girl shouted as she burst into tears.

    Martin¡¯s eyes were tense as he stared at her. He quickly raised a trembling hand and gently laid it upon her small shoulder and pulled the girl in close, embracing her. She cried into his waist stammering and apologized for as long as each breath would allow her.

    ¡°I understand but understand me. I will be taking you to a boarding house¡­ I can''t stay here and you can''t stay with me¡­ Understood?¡± Martin choked out with some resistance. The weeping child quickly shook her head.

    It was most of the early morning until they found The church funded boarding institution for small children either given away or orphaned from the war.

    A large cracked sign over the door said ¡®Orphan Girls Refuge¡¯ it was hideous and unwelcoming. Martin gently pushed Zofia into the doorway, the young girl seemed uncharacteristically pale. A small bell chimed as they entered the refuge, It smelt of sweat and was uncomfortably humid inside. A fat woman whose hair was tightly wound into a large brown bun in the back of her head, stretching her forehead skin and pulling her eyes wide open, came waddling into the lobby cursing at some children as she entered past the double doors.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± She asked rudely, her voice was raspy and gurgled on the final syllable of each word.

    ¡°I''m here to drop this girl off¡­ I found her on the road¡­¡± Martin said, guilt tightening his stomach.

    The fat woman looked at Zofia and grimaced.

    ¡°Gangly little mange¡­ can''t sew since you''re crippled¡­ looks like it''s to the latrine duty with you with you¡­¡± She grimaced and with large grub-like fingers, she grabbed Zofia by the stump arm and pulled her toward the back.

    ¡°Martin¡­ Please don''t let her take me¡­ I want to stay with you!¡± Zofia stammered, breaking out into tears, and pulling hard against the massive woman''s hand.

    ¡°He doesn''t want you, stop resisting me or I''ll have you lashed!¡± The Fat woman squealed.

    ¡°Please martin, You owe me a hot chocolate!¡± She cried. Martin''s heart sank into his chest and he couldn''t stand to hear the girl cry so loudly.

    ¡°I''ve changed my mind!¡± he Hollard.

    ¡°Well, that''s too bad! She belongs to the church now!¡± The woman slobbered.

    ¡°Let her go or die¡­¡± Martin drew his sword the shimmering blade gleamed brightly.

    ¡°You dare attack a servant of the holy sun?!¡± The Fat woman blabbered with hideous laughter.

    Martin drew his sword back and lunged forward. The Woman, in defense, threw her hands up blocking her face. And as quickly as they came, Martin and Zofia had disappeared from the establishment, only a small bell chime to give away their escape.