Entry One
“Praise be unto him!”
The crowd roared as his holiness stepped from the darkened doorway with his arms raised. His pearly white robes hung from his upheld arms in huge loops that draped on the floor while a simple red stole hung around his neck and traced the front of his body until it rested gently on the ground. He had a calm and pleasant smile on his face and soft eyes with brazen blonde, cropped hair. The crowd silenced, recognising that the man, a gift from the Gods, wanted to speak. Several there hushed the rest as it spread away from the main building in a reverent wave.
“Thank you all for coming …”
They called it a momentous occasion. The youngest Palatine to ever hold the office. People everywhere claimed great things would come, claimed the world would change. Sadly, they were all right.
~~
Three years after the crowning of Palatine Seraphinus the rain had yet to stop pouring. Disease ran rampant through the streets, carried on the sewage-rivers and the bodies of the large black rats that swarmed the alleys. Malken looked out from a grime coated window at the drear that clung to all of Anmer now, his hooded purple eyes staring as a flood of rats swarmed across the street in a great tide. “Anmer’s gone to shit ever since that new Palatine was elected,” he muttered into his mug, drinking the swill that passed for water.
“Ho now, we don’t talk about the Palatine like that in here,” the voice was a slurred drawl. A large man lurched to his feet and staggered over to the table, one meaty fist and one crude hand of fleshmetal slapping onto the table. The warped wood groaned beneath the weight of the man, he wore the dirty rags of one who worked in the mills and stank of the cheapest rotgut. A group of cronies stood, crowding in behind the man and sneering at Malken. “Now, either you take back your blasphemies… or we’ll kill ya and throw you to the rats,” the grin on the man’s face after his threat showed which he hoped Malken would choose.
Malken stared at the man quietly, before slowly pushing his chair back with a stuttering scrape across the rough wooden boards of the bar. He rose from his seat and smoothed out his tailored black and silver uniform with his white gloves. He did all of this, ignoring the group of half a dozen men standing next to him with violent intent and carefully reached into a pocket on the long greatcoat which rested across the back of his chair, producing a silver eight-pointed star which he carefully laid on the table. Engraving ran across the middle points which read: Blade of the Anmer Watch.
From the more sober flunkies there was a sharp inhalation of breath. From those a bit too far gone there were confused looks. From the man there was a loud snort and guffaw. “Oh! I’m to believe you’re a Blade? G’on boys, take his head off and give the rats a snack!” the large man grinned as he waited… and waited. A frown of puzzlement slowly formed, the man drunkenly lurching around to stare at the six men behind him. Each had backed away, leaving their leader to face Malken alone. “Oh, is that it, is it? Going to let some piece of gutter trash with a fake badge scare you? Bah! After I finish with him I’ll feed you lot to the rats too!”
The large man swung back around, his face connecting solidly with Malken’s arcing fist. There was a solid, meaty thump followed by the cracking of bone. Teeth and blood flew from the man’s mouth as Malken brought his fist in close, cursing vividly. “Son of a whoring witch!” he waved his bruised hand, reflecting that it might not have been a good idea to punch someone like that. Recovering from the pain, Malken had time enough to dodge a wild haymaker from the man and stumble away, flailing to regain his coat at the same time.
Fear that their boss might win eventually won out over their fear of Malken being a Blade. Malken was forced to fling his cloak aside as the thugs piled in toward him, having to dodge punches and grabbing hands. He danced away from the mob, ducking around tables and flinging chairs in the path of his pursuers. “Weapon, I need a weapon,” he muttered to himself, trying to lead the gang away from his rumpled cloak while simultaneously looking for anything to hand – anything not improvised.
He staggered to a halt as three of the men cut him off, three others behind and the big man barreling through tables right toward him. “Shit,” Malken muttered, pressing his back to the wall on his right. Just as the man was about to close a gunshot rang out and everything froze. Eyes turned toward the direction of the shot and where it ended up. Blood splattered Malken’s face, and the large thug was staring down at the gaping hole in his chest.
“Beginning a brawl with a Blade of the Anmer Watch is a crime punishable by immediate execution. Now, I assume he was the only offender, but if any of you wish to volunteer your guilt I will ensure proper justice is mete out,” the voice was smooth as silk and hard as steel, heeled boots clicked loudly on the cobbles as the large mill worker toppled and allowed Malken a view of his saviour – even though the voice had already given it away. The footsteps paused, a runic barrel clicked into place, the gunwomen stared at Malken. “I feel like I shot the wrong man, now. Blade Malken, what are you doing brawling with a bunch of mill boys?”
Malken wiped away some of the blood on his face, giving her a tight smile, “Well, Erreya, you see… I was quietly talking to myself and commenting on how the current Palatine has allowed the entire nation to go to shit in a matter of a couple of years. Then the land whale that is now smeared across the wall and my uniform decided to take it upon himself to correct my words, and was too drunk to realize that my badge was legitimate.”
Erreya pursed her lips and glanced to the frightened workers. “Gather up your friend and toss him into the street, I’d rather not have to fill out work on why there’s a corpse with my runes all over it,” she waited, and when none of them moved she leveled the barrel of her runic revolver at one of the men, “Now!” The men scrambled, taking limp limbs and hauling their friend from within to toss him into the street outside –a splash and a series of loud squeals and squeaks entered the small taproom as the door shut behind them. “Probably should have warned them about the swarm that followed me to the door,” she murmured remorselessly to herself, “Oh well, less paperwork for me. But for you, Malken, I need a full explanation.” Erreya righted a chair, taking a seat and looking at him calmly.
Malken hesitated before taking a seat of his own, “That is the full explanation, Erreya. I was sitting at my seat, drinking some water and staring out of the window when I casually remarked, to myself, how the nation has gone to shit since the new Palatine was elected. The large man whose viscera I’m currently decorated in took offence to my mutterings and threatened me unless I apologized. I casually laid my badge on the table, the others took the message and he did not. I punched him in the jaw, tried to grab my weapons from my cloak, and -.”
“You were acting very foolish,” Erreya finished icily. “Instead of drawing a weapon, you punch the man in the jaw. Instead of actually acting authoritative, you just waved a badge and expected everyone to believe it. Instead of just apologizing, and not needing to be sincere, you started a brawl and now have seven deaths on the street. I think that summarizes your explanation rather nicely.”
Malken sighed, slouching in his chair. “Yes… I suppose that does cover it,” he muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “Tell me, Erreya, did you intervene just to tell me how I was wrong and how stupid I am? Or did you generally want to protect my life?”
Erreya sniffed, leaning back in her chair until the wood creaked. “Neither – I saw the badge of a Blade and saw the ruckus. I came in to restore order and when I saw it was you I instantly regretted…” she paused as the barkeeper skulked over to the two Blades, “… Yes?”
“Ah… I just… I just wanted to give the Blade his bill for… for the water he ordered…” the man stammered, laying a sweat soaked slip of paper on the table between the two before scurrying off.
Erreya watched him go before turning back to Malken, “Now, as I was saying. I instantly regretted saving you, considering you could use a few bruises to learn a lesson.” She paused thoughtfully, the look on her face one of pure distaste, “Though I suppose it is the will of the Gods that I found you now instead of having to look through every taproom and brothel in Anmer for you.”
Malken glanced up, arching an eyebrow as he counted out the ten silvers for the cup of sewer water. “Finally come to declare your undying love for m-.” Malken paused before finishing the sentence, the barrel of Erreya’s revolver leveled at him, “… A mission, then?”
“Of course it’s a mission, even someone as daft as you has had to have heard about the recent missing persons’ reports,” when no reply was forthcoming Erreya let out a groan of frustration. “The missing persons’ reports? Ten in the past week? None of this is ringing any bells in that empty skull of yours?”
“Well… there were a few last I remember, but the Watchmaster was putting it down to unlucky souls being caught by the rats. I hadn’t heard that there was new information on this,” Malken waved the barkeep over casually, tapping a finger to his still bloody chin. “Definitely not rats then?”
“Definitely not,” Erreya agreed with a nod. “The rats would have left something behind, ever since they started getting a taste of human flesh they’ve been leaving anything not made of meat alone. We haven’t found any ID cards belonging to the victims, and none of the Scavvies we brought in have mentioned seeing one of the folks we’re looking for – dead or alive.” She settled back in her chair, “The Watchmaster is thinking dark magic is afoot – Void-stuff, you know?”
Malken sighed, “Void magic, wonderful. I take it we’re to start now, then?”
Erreya smiled sweetly, “Get your stuff together and prepare for the rats – there’s bound to be some still hungry for flesh, even after the feeding they just got.” She pushed her chair out, standing and reigniting her spent rune with a whispered word before drawing her second revolver and activating them with another word – lighting her face in an actinic blue.
Malken let out another sigh as he rose, throwing his cloak on, his hood up, and drawing his blades – three knives nestled between his fingers in his left hand and a falchion in his right. Whispering his own words of power, the runic symbols etched along each blade hissed into life, lighting his own features within blacklight. “They couldn’t have sent along a golem or two to keep the streets clear for us?” he asked in a deflated tone from within the depths of his cowl.
“Of course not – we’re Blades, we can handle a pack of mangy rats,” Erreya gestured to the bartender who scurried over and opened the door for the two Blades. Feral growls and squeaks and the sound of thundering rain filled the bar, “Try not to get bit – they’re carrying a new disease now.” Erreya was out the door after the cheerful thought, the sounds of her runes discharging above the sound of storm and vermin.
“Off we go,” he muttered to himself, leaving the warmth of the bar behind for belches of blue fire and lightning and the storms of cold water and fangs.
~~
“The… subject failed, sir,” the voice was a thin hiss. A hunched figure wrung its grey hands together. “It failed and metastasized… the cure has infected it just like the others.”
“Very well,” a deep voice answered from the darkness – hunched over a partially seen workbench filled with beakers and flasks. “Then we need to acquire another subject – try a child, this time, they’re immune system is weaker but their recovery rate is far superior, maybe that will be the key.” There was a rummaging followed by a curse, “We’re out of bloodpetal as well – have the servants pick some up before you go about your business.”
“Ah, sir… the rats, sir?” the hunched figure asked tentatively. “They do not bother me but the other servants… well…”
“Yes, yes. Give them a pouch of mana – that should more than suffice for keeping the monstrous creatures at bay,” the deep voice sighed, resting heavily on his workbench. “I shouldn’t have summoned the rains… if I knew about the rats I would have found a different way of stopping the plagues.”
“You did what you thought was best, sir, that is all that can be asked of a man,” the hunched form swayed uneasily, looking as if it would go closer to the shadowy master it served but at the same time fearful to do so.
“… You’re right, Dyren. You’re very right. That is all that can be asked of a man, but now I must do more. I will find the cure for the current plagues and the ones that are kept at bay. I will become more than a man!” He rest his hands heavily on the worktable in front of him, “I will become a God…”
~~
Malken grunted, hurling the body of a rat from his blade, the vile creature continued to writhe even though it was dead. “I think… that’s the last of them…” he panted, kicking one of the rats sharply, causing the body to jerk fitfully before lying still. He shook black blood from his blades even as thick drops of rain water washed them clean. “Why’d we stop?” he asked after a moment, they had just been clearing the rats with bursts of magic from Erreya’s guns and sweeps of his blade before.
Erreya reignited her runes by sending the barrels spinning, gathering enough mana to set them to glowing once more before she holstered each revolver. “We’ve arrived,” she said simply, though upon seeing Malken’s dumbfounded look she rolled her eyes. “The cases? We’ve arrived where we’re going?”
“I… I got that, Erreya, but between the brawl and the rats you never explained to me where the hell we were going.” Malken kept his sword draw, his knives still tucked away between his fingers, he glanced around nervously in the rain, wondering and waiting for more rats to appear.
“Oh, right… well, too late for that. We’re here now, in we go – make sure to make yourself look presentable, our host is very critical of appearances,” Erreya checked the handle, seeing it turn and walking into the house – into warmth, wood smoke, delicious cooking, and soft music. Malken hurried in after her, both Blades shaking their cloaks off and hung them to dry before stamping their boots clean of muck as much they could.
Malken and Erreya then moved in front of a mirror, Erreya combing her fingers through her wet and tangled locks of blonde hair, straightening it as best she could, using the strands to frame her face better and bring out the contrast between the darkness of her skin and the lightness of her hair. She glanced over in the mirror, watching as Malken arranged his lank black hair into something approaching neatness and wiped the worst of the muck of rain and rat blood from his pale features. “So,” he began when he was sure he was looking good enough, “Who is it we’re visiting?”
“Alista Cross,” Erreya said simply as she went about straightening her rumpled black uniform, ignoring the look of disbelief on Malken’s face. “The Watchmaster made a deal – we forgave her for her crimes and she informs us about the goings on of the underworld whenever we come to ask,” Erreya shrugged, “Small price to pay for information like that.”
“A small price? The woman butchered twenty-three people, four of them her own family, and ran the largest criminal empire since the Sixth Palatine! That doesn’t even begin to cover the people she had her thugs kill – and the Watchmaster just let her go?” Malken shook his head, he couldn’t believe it.
“Oh, Malken, even after all these years you still find your ways to wound me,” a sickly sweet voice tutted from above. Light footsteps carried the speaker down the steps, Alista was smiling brightly down at the two Blades – ignoring the two large men flanking her. As she breezed down the last few steps she moved to sweep Malken into a hug, instead finding a knife at her stomach and his eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Oh… still miffed about that debacle in Eastern Anmer?”
“Miffed? Debacle? You punctured one of my lungs and one of my kidneys with your heels and proceeded to have your goons break four of my ribs and my leg!” Malken jabbed the knife at her, though Alista only smiled through it – her two bodyguards letting out warning growls toward Malken.
“Yes well, that’s what happens after you steal a girl’s heart – she gets very angry and has to break her plaything,” Alista cooed psychotically, reaching a finger out to tickle beneath his chin. “Now put that silly little knife away, we have business to discuss and I have some food to make for my dear, loving Malken,” she turned away and snapped to her guards, “Lobo – go and prepare blackened whale, garlic buttered potatoes, a thick stew, and a bottle of Temen Springs water. Marigold, I want you to start a fire and find our guests some towels… and I insist on you bringing down something for Malken,” She grinned toward Malken at this, “Something you think I’d like to see my sharp little Blade in… now! Both of you shoo, go about your tasks!” The two lumbered off with backward glances while Alista waved her hand, “Come along, Blades – we’ll adjourn to the parlour while my oafs work.”
It wasn’t a far way to the parlour, both Malken and Erreya getting a chance to see very little before they were taking their seats – Malken was not seated for long before Marigold entered and foisted a bundle of clothing to him. “This… really isn’t necessary, Alista,” he murmured, holding the clothing out just far enough, trying not to think about who might have worn this before him… or if it fit him perfectly how Alista knew.
“Nonsense, snookums! Now run off and get dressed into something nice and warm while Erreya and I talk about… whatever it is you two came here to talk about,” she smiled at Malken who looked between her and the clothing before he finally rose with a repressed sigh and wandered off, led by Marigold, to a place he could change. Alista turned back, offering Erreya the same smile that pushed her chubby pale cheeks even further outward, “Now, your business here? Or were you just delivering Malken to me?”
Erreya shook her head, maintaining a polite smile, “No, Alista, we’re here on business. There have been quite a few disappearances within Anmer -.”
“Disappearances? Oh, you don’t suspect poor little old me, do you?” Alista leant forward, “I swear I’ve left the business of murdering and abductions behind! Just smuggling now, getting goods into the city ever since the gates closed and the rains began – hand to the Gods.”
Erreya waved her hand, “We don’t suspect you at all, Alista.” She assured her, not realizing that a portrait on the wall had momentarily come to life – and had been pointing a long rifle at her back which slowly shifted back into a painting of a huntsman standing proudly atop his kill. “But considering your… connections and business partners, we thought you might have heard of something,” Erreya continued, retrieving a slightly damp notepad from an inside pocket, “If I may read the names?”
Alista nodded, “Go right ahead my dear, thought we’ll need to pause by the time dinner is ready – doesn’t do to talk of business at such a time, you understand?”
Erreya furrowed her brow but nodded nonetheless, “I, ah… understand, Alista.” Erreya flipped through the pages of her notebook until coming to the first name, “We just put it down to the rats… but the disappearances have been happening so frequently that we’re unsure now.” Erreya began listing off the names, thirty names read off before she came to the last two, “… Armaeran Valsten, Tsarena Katterin.” Closing the notepad, Erreya looked up hopefully, “Any of these names ring a bell?”
Alista tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully, staining her finger pad red, “The first name rings some sort of bells… Marigold will remember better than I.” Turning in her chair, Alista cupped a hand around her mouth and called out, “Marigold! Do you remember a Dyren Mallenbroch?”
The large man appeared in the entryway, standing aside to shove Malken stumbling into the room. The Blade had been dressed in a crimson and gold velvet suit with numerous black ruffles around the neck and wrists. Malken slowly took the seat next to Erreya, shifting awkwardly in the suit.
“Ooooh, doesn’t he look so precious and wonderful? One would hardly know he was a Blade in a lovely suit like that!” Alista giggled happily, her heeled boots stamping on the ground as she stomped her feet and clapped her hands excitedly, save for excited squealing she was acting much like a schoolgirl who just caught the eye of a handsome chevalier. Erreya cleared her throat, returning Alista’s attention to her once more. “Oh, oh yes. Marigold? Dyren Mallenbroch, ringing any bells?” she asked, regaining her composure once more..
Marigold screwed his face up thoughtfully, his jaw jutting outward as his brows furrowed and his nostrils flared. Veins stood out along his temples and neck and his face began to redden. Heavy breaths left his nostrils, and he resembled nothing so much as a very large ape about to charge. Finally, after nearly five minutes, his mouth opened, “Yus.”
“Excellent! Where from?” Alista questioned, treating them to another viewing of Marigold’s thinking face. A gong sounded from the kitchen, causing everyone but Marigold to jump in surprise, “Oh! Dinner! Come along you two, Marigold will take a bit of time on this.” Alista stood, toddling off to the dining hall, followed by Malken and Erreya, both of whom gave Marigold a nervous look before they hurried along to catch up with their hostess. “I do hope you both enjoy whale – if you’ve never had it before then you’re in for a treat! But, it’s only the finest for my sharp little Blade and his partner.”
Dinner was uneventful – Malken and Erreya both hesitant in trying anything new, not out of fear of disliking it but fear of poison – to which Alista tittered at their wariness. It was after the meal that the two Blades, Alista, and Lobo entered the parlour, Marigold still locked in the same position of thought, each took their old seat with Lobo standing guard behind and just to the left of Alista’s chair.
“’E wus askin’ ‘bout us getting’ ‘im some gits ta… ta… wha’s da word?” Marigold scrunched his face up even more.
“Oh! I remember now! Yes, Dyren Mallenbroch was asking us about kidnapping, usual business, we figured he wanted some workers for a mill or factory or maybe a nice young girl to pleasure him. When he said it was to conduct tests we figured him some sort of doctor, I told him I could get him all the cadavers he wanted – not too difficult in our current climate – but h was adamant on it being a living subject. I was forced to tell him no and he left,” Alista thought for a moment, as if weighing her options before glancing to Malken and nodding. “I had Lobo follow him – wanted to see where this man might work in case we could find a way of changing his mind on the cadavers.” Alista turned in her seat, looking up at the silent thug, “Lobo? You and Marigold are both going to be dears and escort the good Blades to where you followed Mr. Mallenbroch to, do you understand?”
Lobo let out a strangled, wet grunt and nodded his head before marching away – smacking Marigold’s shoulder to bring him along.
“That really isn’t necessary, Alista,” Erreya began before being cut off by a series of tuts.
“Nonsense – you’ll both be much safer with Lobo and Marigold on your side, for one thing the rats tend to give them and anyone they’re with a wide berth, and for another – I don’t know what I’d do to this city if my darling little Malken came to any harm,” this last part was cooed as Alista made googly eyes at Malken who just swallowed hard.
“… Right, well, Malken is going to get changed into his uniform and as soon as your men are ready we’ll, ah… be off,” Erreya murmured, realizing how pointless it’d be to argue with a psychopath like Alista.
“Excellent!” Alista clapped her hands, smiling wide, “Oh, and Malken?” her voice stopped the man in his tracks, “It should go without saying that you need to visit me more, or else I might need to have Marigold and Lobo go and collect you for me.”
Malken practically ran to leave the parlour.
~~
“Dyren, how is the subject faring?” the deep voice was leaning heavily on his workbench, his posture all that could be determined in the shadows was one of utter exhaustion.
“The subject is doing much better than the rest, sir,” Dyren said slowly, consulting a piece of paper he had written observations on. “It looks as if the disease will -.” An alarm sounded, interrupting the flow of speech, both Dyren and his master jolted to stare at the flaring runes that signaled intruders.
“Dyren… open the animal pens, prepare the other subjects for release. We are too close to the cure, I don’t care who they are – I need them stalled or destroyed,” the voice was firm, a glint of light reflecting off of steely green eyes.
“Of course, sir,” Dyren bowed, before turning to shuffle off into the darkness.
~~
“Shit, that’s an alarm rune – we’re dealing with someone with a bit of mana,” Erreya muttered this, looking around warily. The journey to their destination had been uneventful, the large rats staying far away from Marigold and Lobo – just as Alista had promised. The two thugs had led them to a blank, rain-streaked wall. The two had looked at one another, nodded, then proceeded to shift bricks until a passage had revealed itself. Lobo had immediately walked in, which caused the alarm rune to trip. “Looks like the stealth approach is out of the question,” Erreya grumbled, drawing her two guns as Malken drew his blades.
Lobo and Marigold glanced to one another, before each nodded again. Runes blossomed into life across the forms of the two bodyguards, shimmering and giving off electric green and gold glows. Malken and Erreya stumbled back, gaping at the two men as they turned to face the darkness and began walking forward. “They’re… they’re mana-touched,” Malken stammered.
“… Just… just follow them, if they’re willing to stick with us we can use their aid,” Erreya hefted her guns and followed them into the dank passage, Malken taking up the rear as the bricks slowly slid back into place.
The actinic glow of the runic tattoos lit the hallways and threw crazed shadows against the walls, neither of the men walked with fear – staring around with a nonchalance that even the most hardened of Blades would have envied. It was not a long walk before the three exited onto a large courtyard surrounded by glass doors.
A stooped figure stood perched on a balcony overlooking the court below, the light of hundreds of mana-globes enough to reveal the horror that looked upon them. Grey skin, rotting and necrotised hunched there, fingers grasping the balustrade as milky eyes looked down on the four below. “The two brutes of Ms. Cross and two Blades of the Watch? I’m unsure how you managed to find this place, but I can only confer my deepest apologies for what is about to transpire,” Dyren said the words slowly, thick tendrils of drool dripping from his swollen bottom lip.
He shuffled away from the edge, walking through two large double doors of oak which slammed shut behind him. As soon as the doors closed, the glass ones opened – a squeaking, verminous horde issuing from the darkness of the six doorways. Rats, larger than the ones from the streets came swarming from the blackness. Erreya readied her guns, Malken his blades – but before the swarm closed, the large hands of Marigold gripped their shoulders. There was a sudden blur of motion and they were deposited on the balcony the undead creature had just occupied. “Lobo an’ me can handle a buncha squeakas,” Marigold grunted, giving them both a push toward the double doors before he returned below.
Lobo and Marigold stood back-to-back as the chittering horde closed in, flashes of mana-lightning and mana-fire issuing from the two men as hundreds of giant rats ran toward them, drawn by hunger of manflesh and bolstered with the courage of the size of their numbers against the magic being unleashed.
Erreya and Malken hesitated, before duty to their job overcame duty to the two thugs. Erreya blasted the doors open, the two Blades rushing in and leaving the rain and battle behind them. The inside was a ruin, nearly all the doors and halls blocked by rubble excepting the path most frequently used. The two Blades started down the hallway, glancing around nervously in case Dyren – for that had to have been the creature – showed himself once more.
They waded through darkness, dust and disrepair for what felt like forever when another sound joined their footsteps. Slowing to a stop and stilling their breathing as best they could, Malken and Erreya listened – there was a shuffling, a low moaning as if in pain. Brows furrowed, the two Blades followed the sounds to a room filled with milling creatures – they were rotting husks of humans, corpses that were instilled with a simulacrum of life. The two Blades drew away, looking at one another and thinking.
“We’ll have to cut our way through thirty of them… which will slow us down even more,” Malken chewed on his bottom lip, “Please tell me you have a better idea than that?”
Erreya frowned, glancing into the room before looking back, “No… but it might still work if you’re willing to trust me?” After a moment of hesitation Malken nodded, Erreya drew in a deep breath before walking into the room and heading straight for the next doorway. She silently prayed to the Gods as she walked, careful not to make too much noise or touch one of the creatures.
They ignored her. Their eyes, so suffused in cataracts and disease couldn’t see, their noses so clogged by mucus and swollen from pressure they could not smell. Even their hearing and touch were numbed – ears clogged with gummy blood and skin deadened from necrotic flesh. Malken was similarly ignored, the living corpses just absent-mindedly shuffling around, stumbling and falling occasionally.
This last ‘obstacle’ cleared, the Blades pushed on into the next – and last – room. It was sparsely illuminated, crouched in one corner was the cringing form of Dyren – the horrendous creature shrinking away from the two Blades. Guns pointed at the malefactor, neither Erreya nor Malken noticed the other figure which peeled from the darkness until he spoke, “Two Blades of the Watch, just as you said, Dyren.” Malken jumped, turning to face this new potential threat as Erreya switched a gun to cover both the shadowy speaker and the undead creature.
The figure continued forward from the darkness until the dim light showed his features. Pale from no sun, eyes cold and hard from necessary evils, wrinkles from time spent in sin and sleeplessness, hair greasy and black with grime from going unwashed. “Now, now… this is no way to treat your Palatine – I suggest putting your weapons away and listening to reason,” he spoke softly, sincerely.
“The Palatine doesn’t look like some necromancer nor raise the dead,” Erreya’s words had a finality. The figure claiming to be the Palatine raised his hands. The runic revolvers fired. A gaping hole appeared in the center of the dirty man’s chest, the body stumbling back from the concussion of the pure force before dropping dead in a pool of gore. Dyren suffered a similar fate, everything from the chest up – and the wall he cringed against – blasting to pieces.
Erreya holstered the two revolvers before turning to Malken, “Leave two of your knives – we’re going to turn this place to ash and burn it clean.” Malken nodded his head, searching for the best place to jam his knives – eventually managing to find two studs to bury them in. Leaving the room, the two Blades walked through the room filled with the milling undead – twenty-nine of thirty, Dyren being the thirtieth, a mystery solved. They moved through the abandoned hallways and rooms until exiting into the courtyard once more.
The charred remains of rats lay everywhere, Lobo and Marigold stood in the center, panting and slick with rain. Malken and Erreya slowly descended, blinking upward as the rain stopped and the clouds began to disperse. Lobo and Marigold also glanced up, confused at first, before looking back at the two they were sent to guard. Erreya motioned for them to move, following behind them with Malken picking up the rear.
The hidden passage was gone, the stonework crumbled away to reveal the street itself. As soon as Malken passed through the arch, he turned and spoke a single word of power. A detonation sounded from behind the stone wall, gouts of flames shot into the air as flammable substances ignited – explosions sounded and the night was lit in a hellish glow.
“The rains have stopped, a necromancer is dead and a mystery is solved,” Malken put his hand on Erreya’s shoulder, “Job well done, eh?”
“Yes, job well done,” Erreya smiled at Malken, before turning away and coughing, ignoring the black and red specks in her hand from coughing – putting it down to the soot and ash that filled the air.
