Graham Vandergast was not having a good time. His team scurried through the cursed catacombs at a light jog, trying to follow the smooth gait of a blood-hunter demon. The sinewy dog-insect creature’s black carapace was almost invisible in the gloom of the tunnels, and its six clawed feet only made the faintest scratch on the stone surface. Keeping sight of the horrible hound was a constant effort that took a toll on everyone’s nerves.

Four more groups like his searched for the location of his cousin Lovina Strain, who was almost certainly dead. The high priest, Lovina’s father, was in denial about her death. He’d wasted half a dozen sacrifices verifying that her soul hadn’t gone to their lord Alrinath’s side, then nearly two dozen more summoning the hounds.

No other member of the cult would have warranted the expenditure of such resources. Snatching and killing so many people under the city was an arduous task, even for House Vandergast. Specialized investigators were always on the lookout for monster incursions within the city, making disappearances costly to hide. Most of the killings ended up being budding members of the cult itself, which was the easiest way to get a willing participant. Unfortunately, their demon masters didn’t enjoy the flavor of such souls nearly as much as the unwilling variety, and demanded ever more slaughter on the high priest's behalf.

The worst part was everyone knew what a waste it was. Morale was at an all-time low, senior members were all too afraid to say it. First, the deacon had disappeared searching for his cousin, along with three mid-ranking members he’d planned on using to summon a Hellknight. Had that succeeded, the Ossuary would probably already be theirs. Then Algeron, the chief cult enforcer, disappeared while also searching for her.

Graham had tried to tell his uncle that the necromancer had done something with her soul. And for his good deed, the high priest publicly humiliated him and then sent him on this fool's errand to die with the others.

Did the man care about the mana stone at all?

Graham’s anger over the insult to his honor had eventually outweighed the affection he held for Lovina, turning his thoughts more toward treachery with every passing minute.

Not that he needed much of a push in that direction.

House Vandergast had an infamous streak of cruelty that both Graham and Lovina had possessed in spades. Their shared love of ruining others had turned them into lovers from the very moment they’d reached adolescence. Together, the two had plotted and schemed dismay amongst their peers, like the demons they so easily came to worship. Which is how Graham knew that she’d be every bit as unconcerned over his disappearance as he was with hers.

I’m not dying for this, Graham decided.

“Halt,” Graham ordered.

The cultists looked at him sharply, as his impetuous voice disturbed the silence of the catacombs. Magical enforced obedience made the demon listen, and that seemed to really piss it off. Eight glowing red eyes glared at Graham, but he remained unconcerned.

“This is taking too long,” Graham explained to the others. “I have a tracking spell that might work now that we are deeper. You four go on ahead and follow the Shadowblood. Stuart and I will use my spell so that we can cover more ground.”

Stuart smirked at the scowling faces of the other cultists. Graham valued the zit-faced ginger as a lackey, but he had a tendency to make situations more difficult. Like now.

A brutish woman, whose name Graham couldn’t even remember, narrowed her eyes and said, “The high priest ordered us to stay together.”

“My uncle also put me in charge,” Graham countered. Then added, “I will be sure to tell him how diligent you were to listen, upon our return.”

Her face warred at the implied threat, but ultimately, her fear of upsetting the high priest won out.

“As you say, m’lord.”

That’s the price you pay when you rule by fear. Graham thought, trying to hide a smug grin.

As soon as the four disappeared around a bend, Stuart spoke up.

“So?” the ginger asked, leaning against a wall and picking at his nails with a dagger.

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“I have a bad feeling, and dying in these ancient tunnels is not a part of my ambition.” Graham confessed.

Stuart nodded, apparently having come to a similar conclusion himself.

The Ossuary of Thalzaxor was every bit as cursed as stories purported it to be. Centuries ago, an expedition team had found the place, and nearly every one of them had died. The two survivors were too far gone to reveal anything useful about its location. And no one had found it until now.

Pollina Mavis discovering an entrance out of sheer luck, didn’t sit well with Graham. There were powers that intervened with the world with frightening regularity, and as a cultist, Graham knew they liked to keep their machinations hidden. The sudden appearance of the Ossuary reeked of divine interference to his nose.

Though that wasn’t always the case. After bribing the location of the place, out of the scout, Roger, he had come here with a group of his own. Together with his fellow cultist Stuart, and the pliable summoner Wentworth Willoughby, he’d enacted a plan to cast a soul enslavement spell on his good friend, Oran Farrow. Had the ploy worked, he could have forced the idiot into accepting a demon core. With a core, Oran could have masqueraded as a classer, like Graham himself did, and returned to high society. Then he’d have had a powerful noble under his control in the top ranks of House Farrow.

The Ossuary, steeped in death mana as it was, was an ideal catalyst for an experimental soul manipulation ritual. A ritual that he'd gained at great personal cost. And it should have worked. According to Wentworth, the spell did work. The roly-poly still swore on his lost arm that he’d felt Oran’s soul return. Only, for that to be true, Graham would have held the leash.

They might have figured the problem out if a tomb guardian hadn’t shown. An incredibly rare and powerful undead death cultist, popping up to amputate Wentworth, couldn’t have been a coincidence.

A greater game was afoot, and the rub was that Graham’s uncle was uninterested in listening to him. As was usually the case with zealots, the high priest had an unwavering faith in their demon lord to protect them from the manipulations of deities. The man had the audacity to tell him that the death mana was too weak in the Ossuary for a ritual like that to work properly. His uncle explained that many unwanted outcomes might occur in such an environment.

Utter nonsense. Graham thought.

You could feel the mana resonance as soon as you stepped foot into the complex. It set the hairs on his neck rising every time he entered or left the place. A sensation that he was very much looking forward to.

“Can you get us out?” Graham asked Stuart.

Stuart nodded.

Soul stain had turned the ginger’s feet into goat hooves, and created an entire host of issues for him. However, with the mutation, Stuart Renard also gained an unerring sense of direction. If it hadn’t been for his companion's skill with navigation, Graham would never have found the place.

A distant scream froze the men in place. The sound echoed from the direction that he’d last seen his other team members travel.

“Did you just fart?” Graham asked.

“No, but I heard what you heard…” Stuart said, more curious than scared.

Hardly a moment had passed, when the pressure from the nearby mana vents abruptly cut off. The two cultists looked at each other, then began running in the opposite direction from the slurping sounds.

⬲

Pollina Mavis stared down at the Pit of Denunciation, wondering if what she was doing was the right thing. She didn’t regret for a second leaving the catacombs behind; her uncle had understood too well the toll that remaining might have done to her. No, for Pollina, the question was whether releasing her arch nemesis was the smart thing to do.

Sunlight bathed down on her face, and a gentle breeze ruffled the unruly bangs that had escaped her ponytail. The smell of putrid flatulence from the pit accompanied the wind, but that didn’t ruin the moment for Pollina. She’d already spent way too much time with bigger stinkers than a gassy hole in the ground.

It felt so good to be back in the light.

Pollina knew in her heart that it was time to start over. If she continued on the way she had, her mind would never recover.

I almost rode a corpse. She thought, shuddering.

She’d released all of her undead minions, including the body of Lovina, and planned to travel north to Merriland. House Mavis pulled a few strings and got her a job in an apothecary, making potions like she used to. Her carriage was already waiting with the caravan that would leave within the hour.

The only question was if she should let Lovina’s soul go free from the crystal she’d bound it to. Setting her tormentor free was more than a symbolic act, she knew. With Lovina truly gone into the great beyond, she wouldn't ever have cause to think about the girl again.

But letting go was so hard.

Under her breath, she mumbled a Soul Wrack spell for old time’s sake. She felt the agony of the other girl vibrating between her fingers with a pleasant thrum.

Pollina sighed.

“Alright you fat bitch, time’s up.” Pollina announced. Adding a moment later, “I hope when your soul reaches your demon masters, you remember I’m the one that sent you there.”

Her piece finally said, she released Lovina’s soul into the ether, and tossed the crystal into the pit.

Pollina wiped her hands on her robe, then moved forward with her life.