“Ahhh! Such sweet mortal blood.” Warumasa moans in pleasure.

  “Is the blood actually sweet?” Apherward asked.

  “Can you shut up for a minute? I’m basking in the blood.”

  “So is that a no?”

  “Ju- just shut up for a minute.”

  “I’m genuinely curious. Are you tasting the blood with your blade?”

  “Can’t I get 5 minutes with mortal victims? Just 5 minutes. Please! Devils be damned, you made a demon say ‘please’.”

  Ren emotionlessly runs her sword through a man’s back. He stares at the blade bursting through his chest in abject horror. Ren doesn’t smirk, sneer or seeth at the fact that she has killed a man. She just keeps on annihilating people. Ending the lives of zealots and faithfuls alike.

  “A monster! She’s a monster!”

  “Someone stop her! Someone, please!!!”

  “Advancing Guard!!”

  As Ren moves to bring her sword down on another poor soul, a figure moves impossibly fast in front of the blade. In her way stands a tall man with graying hair, covered head to toe in thick plate armor, brandishing a sword that is very clearly magical in nature and a shield that is less impressive but still magical. The adult man easily casts a shadow down on the teenage girl.

  “Sir Ronkorell!” a zealot exclaims.

  “Away with you. Find someone else to fight.” Ronkorell says.

  “Right away sir!”

  The few remaining zealots who fought Ren here rush out. Ronkorell rolls his shoulders and prepares for a fight.

  “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Ronkorell Hayman. It’s a pleasure to burn you at the stake, thrall of demons.”

  Finding themselves in a hallway, a tall man looks down on a girl with a blade at the ready.

  “Hi, I’m Ren. I’m going to stab you now.”

  Ren thrusts her sword and Ronkorell puts his shield between himself and the sword, blocking it. Ren swings for his neck next and Ronkorell steps back.

  “Shield Charge!”

  Ronkorell darts towards Ren and rams her with his shield. Ren can only manage to put her hands up to block the blunt force from crashing into her torso.

  Status: Injured

  Left Hand Bruised Severity 1

  Ronkorell doesn’t give Ren a chance to orientate herself or take stock of her injury. He rushes ahead and brings his sword across. Unfortunately for him, Ren doesn’t need a chance to breathe.

  “Heavy Slash!”

  “Feathers grace the sky.

  Winged hunter, fly unmatched.

  Swallow guided blade.

  Form 2: Swallow Dive”

  Ren’s sword comes down as Ronkorell’s sword comes across. They both clash, but slide off each other. In a burst of movement, Ren brings her sword back up. Her sword is met with Ronkorell’s shield. Form 2: Swallow Dive consists of a downward and upward swing. Her downward swing is met with Ronkorell’s sword and her upward swing meets his shield. The clash forces the both of them back and away from each other. When Ren’s sword hit his shield, he heard an awful metal scraping sound. He has an awful feeling about it. With the space between them widening Ronkorell takes stock of his own situation.

  He looks down at his shield and sees a massive gash on it that wasn’t there when he first walked down this hallway. A magic shield with his skills shouldn’t be making even a scratch, but a girl a fraction of his level with a weeb stick managed to cut deep into this shield.

  “You are something fierce.” Ronkorell chuckles.

  “Water Arrow.”

  Ronkorell’s eyes shoot up to see an arrow made of water darts out at him. He manages to bring his shield up to block it.

  “A spell?” Ronkorell grits his teeth. “Ah! I get it. You sold your soul for power like all the rest.”

  “Not really, no.” Ren says.

  “By the way, where’s Mona? Did she really decide to leave you here to fend for yourself?”

  “Oh, she’s doing assassin things. I don’t know what that is, but she’s doing assassin things.”

  “What kind of an answer is that?” Ronkorell scoffs.

  “I don’t know. How am I supposed to know what assassin things are? And if I did know, that would make for a bad assassin.”

  “Hah! Well, you have a sense of humor. I’ll give you that. But get out of my way, or I’ll show you why this holy relic is called the Sword of Penitence.”

  “I don’t know what the name Warumasa means, but I’m going to use it to stab you now.

  The two prepare to violently introduce their stabbing implements to each other. As they do, something lurks beneath the floors of the temple.

  Velaura was far in the backline of the fighting. The 10-year-old girl came to battle with gusto and a fire for battle. Unfortunately, she has no small army at her neck and call like her brothers. In the choice between mucking in with the troops and serving as the rear guard, she is forced to choose to stand far from the battle. Velaura is visibly upset. Her brother Halerd and sister Unwo seem to be happy to be this far from battle. They were caring for the wounded that their brother mismanaged.

  “This sucks.” Velaura pouts.

  “It's okay. You can leave the fighting to your brothers.” Perschale pays her sister’s head as she speaks.

  “Don't touch my head!!!” Velaura shouts.

  “But you're so grumpy. A little girl who's a big grumpy.”

  “Stop treating me like a kid!”

  “You're only 10-years-old. If I don't treat you like a kid it would just look silly.”

  “Stop!!!”

  As the family bickers for a moment, a force of zealots begin to encroach upon the rear guard of the Albrinter offensive.

  “Look at them all! Healing the wounded. Doing the work of devils. Working themselves unlike true nobles.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “They are but children, brother. Children must be taught lessons.”

  “Right you are. It’s time to show them how right and righteous we are!”

  The men in pots and pans strung together with threads begin to approach so that they can violently attack wounded men. As they do, another group of men look the area over.

  “There they are boys. Easy pickings.”

  “Yeah!”

  “We grab them, hold ‘em for ransom and make payday or sell ‘em off up north as slaves.”

  “So much money!”

  “Ransoms in one hand and Mackamer’s payday in the other.”

  “Loads o’ money!”

  The group of mercenaries in their shabby armor, but not quite home made, also begin to approach the Albrinter’s rear guard. As they do, the zealots who do have home made armor approach from another street. As the streets join together, so do the two groups. They walk, joined in their united purpose for a moment before somebody finally realizes that something isn’t quite right.

  “Wait, who are these guys?”

  “Shut up! They might hear our approach!”

  “No, but who are you guys? You’re not with us. In fact, you guys are wearing armor. Like, purpose built armor.”

  It takes an embarrassing amount of time for the realization to settle in their heads.

  “Shit!”

  “Get ‘em!”

  Swords and meat cleavers clash and warcries ring out. Loud enough for the Albrinter rear guard to take notice.

  “Behind us?” Velaura shouts.

  “They’re trying to flank us!” Perschale shouts back. “Rear guard, with me! Form a battle line. Prepare to meet the enemy!”

  Bolstered by Perschale’s words and her coaching skill, anyone left to defend the wounded form up and prepare for an assault. They wait for their enemies to make their approach. And wait. They wait for a long time, but despite their patience, the enemies do not advance towards them but maintain their battlecries.

  “Huh… Are they- are they infighting?” Velaura asked.

  The two crowds of armed and armored forces battle. To add to the chaos two figures begin to stand out.

  “It’s time! Martyr’s Sash take me so that I may stand against the tide!”

  At those words, the man bursts into flames and rushes at the mercenaries.

  “Holy shit! That guy’s on fire! I better perform a blood ritual and summon a demon!”

  “Wait what?”

  “Hey man, you look like a great sacrifice.”

  “Oh no, I’d make a horrible- waahhh!!!”

  In response to a man on fire rushing at them, another man judo flips one of his allies, stabs him with a ritual dagger and immediately performs a blood ritual to summon a literal demon.

  “I summon you to my side, oh great and mighty Trashan! Come to my aid and fulfil your pact with our mutual employer!”

  The man stabbed with a ritual dagger burns in black unholy fire. The mortal man on fire performs a high jump kick and squarely hits the man performing the ritual in the stomach until the man’s foot emerges from his back and the leg used to kick was knee deep in his torso. In that moment, a back hand lurches out at the man on fire. It collides with the man on fire’s jaw and he is sent skidding across the stone paved town streets.

  “Such droll intellect.” a low demonic voice speaks.

  From the black fire, a figure steps out. A tall masculine demon with skin the color of blood and horns larger than his arms and curl unlike any animal appears.

  “Ugh, their spirits are pathetic as are their minds. At best they are healthy and ablebodied. Still, they fell to the honeyed words of a charlatan.” the demon says.

  In response, the man on fire rushes at him.

  “Aaaahhhhhhh!!!”

  The man on fire hurls a punch at the demon, only for his hand to be caught in the demon’s palm.

  “A holy artifact that sets the user on fire? For what? Above average speed and power? It certainly doesn’t seem like it helps your intellect and decision making. But to think you holy little bread man would dope up on magical steroids. Lovely. Simply lovely. I think I’ll have fun breaking you.”

  At those words, the demon thrusts his open hand into the man.

  “Magic Missile!”

  Arcane power shaped like darts or crossbow bolts impact the back of the demon’s head. With the man on fire still impaled on his open hand, he turns to face his attacker. There stands a little girl with pink hair, draped in fine mage robes and a spell book hangs from her shoulder on a chain. It is Velaura Albrinter.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you are to submit by my order!” Velaura shouts.

  There is an awkward silence as the demonic entity processes the girl’s words.

  “Ba ha! Bahahahahahahahahaha! Hahahahahahahahahaha!!! I admire your pride child. I really do. Hahahahahahaha! Oh devils, it’s starting to hurt. Hahahahahaha! Oh! Is this a new strange magic? To laugh myself to death? Oh my sides! I can’t stop.” the demon finds himself unable to help himself but laugh.

  “Velaura!” Perschale rushes out to grab her sister. “What are you doing?”

  What few able bodied fighters move to shield Perschale and Velaura.

  “I’m fighting an enemy, damn it!” Velaura shouts.

  She points to the clearly demonic figure in a huff. The figure in question scoffs.

  “Oh? You think you have what it takes to face me? Trashan, demon of pride! Lord of conquest and ravager of virtue! You think you-”

  The demon who introduced himself as Trashan is interrupted when the man on fire punches him in the mouth despite the fact that he is on fire and now has a hand impaled in his chest.

  “Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!”

  “I’m tired of you.” Trashan says.

  Trashan pulls his hand out and kicks the man in the open wound. The man on fire is sent flying into the side of a nearby building, but he emerges from the wreckage still on fire and still screaming. Despite the rapidly accumulating wounds, the man on fire still moves as fast as an arrow loosed from it’s bow and charges towards the fray.

  Near one of the side entrances to the temple, Lutz Albrinter adorned in all his armor rushes past men in his employ with a battering ram slung on his shoulder.

  “Move! Move!” he commands.

  Everyone steps aside and makes way for the battering ram. He sets it down on the floor where he and 3 other men pick it up and bring it to the door. The 4 men hoist the battering ram and slam it into the side door together. In a single thrust, the door crumbles before their might. Men in armor quickly step through the doorframe.

  “We’re in!” shouts a knight under Lutz Albrinter’s command.

  “They’re in!” a defender shouts.

  Lutz steps in after some of his knights file in. They find themselves in a wide hallway. Although, the walls were lined with bundles of dried leaves and straw of some kind. Opposite the doorway Lutz and his men came through, a tall but skinny man steps forward. The only armor he wears is only a breast plate but carries an ornate censer crafted in silver and inlaid with gems. Smoke is already pouring out from it.

  “Lutz Albrinter. I wish we spoke more properly when you invited me to your home a few days ago.” the man says. “If you don’t recall I’m-”

  “Forter Plomk. I remember.” Lutz says.

  “Oh! You honor me, good sir.” Forter says nodding. “Shall we try and dissuade the other or shall we skip right to it?”

  “By all means, if you want to surrender, you are free to do so.” Lutz says.

  “I’ll have to decline. But please, enjoy what hospitality I can provide.” Forter snaps his fingers. “Light ‘em up.”

  At those words, the defenders to either side of Forter begin to light the dried plants tied in bundles to the wall. Like a fuse, they catch fire and sparks run the length of the walls all the way down to Lutz. The smoke is something strange. The plants along the walls aren’t ordinary tinder. Lutz hesitates to think so, but he is genuinely concerned that someone thought that this was a sound idea.

  “Really? Your plan is to get us high?” Lutz furrows a brow.

  “By all means, if you think that all my preparations are pointless, you can come for me right now.” Forter says.

  “Fine then.” Lutz says.

  Lutz prepares to advance and Forter begins to spin the censure in his hands, or rather begin swinging his flail that happens to be smoking.

  “Augh! Kaugh! What is this stuff?” a demonic voice screeches.

  A door swings open and a bunch of men in armor step out coughing. Following close behind them was a tall manly figure with horns who joined them in the coughing.

  “What is this stuff?” one of the mercenaries cries out.

  “Oh, well that’s unexpected.” Forter says. “Little known fact, you can literally smoke out demons. There are some medical uses of course, but if you think that stops people from trying the darndest of things. Sometimes it works on demons. Just look at that guy.”

  Forter points to the demon in question. A demon is coughing. His eyes are blood shot and he was doubled over.

  “Damn it!” the demon screeches.

  From the demon’s hip, he pulls out a whip. He swings it at a nearby wall and tears a massive gash in the stone. It creates a hole to the outside and smoke begins to leave through the hole.

  “Ugh! Finally, I can breathe.” the demon says.

  “I can breathe again! Flogalot, you saved us!” one of the men besides the demon says.

  “Not now! Destroy them!” the demon called Flogalot commands.

  “And who might you be?” Gilligan Albrinter stares down what appears to be a muscular man with a snake’s head.

  “A pleasure, I’m sure. They call me Pengrime. A simple demon of greed.” the figure with the snake’s head stares down at the 14-year-old boy.

  “And what do you want with me?” Gilligan says.

  A group of mercenaries not in the Albrinter’s employ and Gilligan’s band stare each other down. The mercenaries had rough looking armor while Gilligan’s band wore matching armor and equipment to the point you might think that the lot of them came from a cookie cutter. They both stood outside the temple. One on their way to search for a new way inside the temple and the other emerging to parlay.

  “You see, I’m a bit dissatisfied about the hand fate has dealt me. And I’m hoping to strike a deal. What say you to the finest weapons and armors in my collection? They’re the best of the best. You’ll find no better in your lifetime. I can also guarantee that you inherit the title of Lord Albrinter.” the devil offers.

  “And the price for them?” Gilligan asked the demon.

  “It’s a simple matter. Give me your soul.” the demon offers his hand.

  “Pfft! I was expecting something a bit more for the first time a demon tried to convince me to give up my soul.” Gilligan instead takes up his sword and points it at the demon. “That’s a no. Now if you’re done trying to make deals, let’s get to the party.”

  “As you wish.” Pengrime rolls his eyes and takes up a boxing stance.

  Sardon Albrinter and his musketeers were still outside the temple’s main entrance. He and his men fired volley after volley of bullets until it had gone quiet.

  “Advance!” Sardon commands.

  What few men he has left begin to march toward the temple’s main door. They stop when a figure begins to emerge from the dark doorframe. Bearing a beautiful shield with inlaid gems. As the light catches his arms and armor, he begins to shine like a beacon in the morning street.

  “I was beginning to think you were running out of ammo.” Parnidot says.

  “Well, if it isn’t the big man himself.” Sardon says. “Fire!”

  The musketeers fire a volley at Parnidot. All Parnidot did was raise his shield. The bullets bounce off the shield.

  “What? Bullshit! That should’ve filled you with holes!” Sardon shouts.

  “You’re too used to weaker magic shields. Elofraye Shield of Divine Dominance is different.” Parnidot says.

  “Forget this. BAYONETS!”

  Sardon’s musketeers begin to affix bayonets to their muskets. As they do, defenders file out to try and join Parnidot.

  “High priest Parnidot! Let us join you!”

  “No!” Parnidot commands. “This battle is mine alone!”

  “Is he serious?”

  “Parnidot is so cool and strong!”

  “He’s going to use his divine might to beat a firing squad!”

  Sardon grimaces at Parnidot’s lackeys talking about him like he’s some grand hero. Parnidot gives the crowd a smile and wave.

  “Fear not! I am the peak of divine wisdom! Observe!”

  Parnidot raises his shield above his head and a divine light shines down. A pillar of light washes over and a whole street turns into a crater. When the light dissipates, a force of mercenaries can be seen on the opposite side. The mercenaries blink in confusion.

  “Uhh… what?” a mercenary says.

  “Demons were hiding behind that street! So says I, Parnidot! For I am right and righteous!”

  The zealots behind him cheer and celebrate at the display.

  “What just happened?” Sardon asked one of his musketeers.

  The musketeer just shrugged his shoulders.

  “He either knows what he’s talking about or he’s just really lucky.”