ALAIN’S FLAME SURGED into the air above me. My fingers turned the arc that traced the god’s sigil, and I felt the radiance in my own blood—less than I would have liked—flow up and into the ball of light. It arced above the source of the black communion we were creeping up on.

“Bare your necks to the Wolf who thirsts!” cried the speaker who led the evil little congregation. “Fear not that land to which you go! In darkness is peace!”

“In darkness is peace!” cried the flock of Faded that listened to the drivel.

The light shot up above them, drawing sudden, stark shapes out of what had been a near-perfect dark, punctuated only by the dimmest, nearly imperceptible lights in their eyes. I saw them all at once, squinting through the light, and gasped.

Dozens of Faded were gathered into a tightly packed crowd around a man who stood on the foot of one a huge pillar upholding the domed ceiling. The man was draped in scarlet robes fringed with square-cut white, and wore silver chains heavy about his neck. His head hung low over his chest at a bad angle, nearly severed from behind. His arms were upraised in glorious veneration, shriveled gray fingers clawing at the sky, crowing for the coming bloodletting. There was no mistaking him for a priest, though of what cult I knew not.

Below him was the crowd. Naked and tattered-draped ghouls stood, their skin lifeless corpse-gray and pocked with wounds, sores, and festering blisters. The only thing that was yet human about them was their form. All else was monstrous, tortured and decayed. They hissed in the light, throwing up thin arms against Alain’s glaring flame.

“Infidels!” screamed the priest on the pillar, driving a finger right at me. “Kill them! Kill them for the Wolf!”

Param was already whirling into action. Two silver blades flashed ahead of her, finding throats and eyes, and then she was swiling under grasping arms, cutting and slashing at the fringe of the pack. I arrived a moment later, bringing Bloodfang around in a murderous hue.

I felt nothing but pity for these wretches. Their gaping mouths, their shirveled, skeletal faces, cried out for an end. Perhaps in the priest’s fiery words, they heard some semblance of hope. Of a death worth giving, even in this forlorn place.

My first stroke clove through the closest of the Faded, but the blade caught up in the creature’s ribs. I jerked it free in time to slide out of the way of a careening fist as they piled toward me, wordless curses streaming from their lipless mouths. They rose rusted iron against me, and broken swords. I turned one of these aside, and felt another slice down my arm before I could bring Bloodfang up to block. I cut the wretch’s head clean off. It disappeared among the legs that shambled toward me.

I had no choice but to fall back. They swung mindlessly, with no pattern or order. Blades rose and fell like an iron tide. Back I danced, baiting them out, thinning the herd, trusting my warrior’s instinct. Not eager to catch another slice. It was bad enough that radiant blood was running down my arm, presenting a bright target for them.

“Give yourself to us,” they moaned. “Give yourself to the Wolf!”

I struck when I saw the opening, bringing the greatsword around in a broad slash. It cut through the unprotected belly of one, spilling vile guts on the stone floor, and lopped off the hand of another. A shattered sword clattered to the ground, spitting sparks. The blade sank into the arm of a third, knocking it off balance and jerking me away.

Over the din of combat, I could hear the priest, dancing on the pillar and invoking the Wolf. My mind strove to find my own black wolf. I felt Bloodfang leaping between Faded that clutched and grabbed at it, trying to bury the wolf in their own flesh. It gnashed its teeth, tearing out throat and knee.

Of Param, I could not see.

The Faded were slow. That is what kept me alive. That, and Aidan’s flame. They seemed sluggish in the light, clumsy. This enraged the priest, who by then was tracing sigils in the air. I did not know what he was doing, but I didn’t like it.

I felled two more of the Faded before they got their hands on me. It was impossible to swing the huge blade once they’d closed in, but I hammered with my hilt, grunting and roaring and driving them back. Still, the crush pressed in, eager hands and gaping mouths eager to drink my blood, and lifeless, dead eyes that bore into my own, each an unspeakable reflection of what I could become myself, should despair win over my fury.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I hated them. The hate made me angry, sharpened my killing instinct. I smote a skull with Bloodfang’s pommel, and laid an elbow into the face of another. Hands seized at my tunic, tearing it down the side, but freeing me to move. I got free and with a snarl, put all my strength into a sideways swipe. And more. Radiance poured into the strike, briefly making the blade glow. Heads rolled and bodies flopped to the floor as six of the Faded went down all at once. Threads of radiance were reaching up to me now, golden fingers seeking to add their strength to my own blood.

Gasping, I danced back again, desperate to catch sight of Param. In the dark, she was just one more shadow. The Faded had pushed her back and up onto one of the pillars. The broad foot gave her enough room to dance back, but they were swarming all around it now, clawing up at her. In moments, she’d be pulled down.

A ball of fire arced across the darkness, searing light greater even than Alain’s flame. It struck the pillar just above Param, to the furious outrage of the priest. The impact knocked her clear of the pillar. She disappeared into the sea of hands.

“No!” I snarled, barreling through the few remaining Faded that pursued me. They floundered aside and I sprinted toward where she’d vanished.

I felt Bloodfang loping around the edge of Alain’s flame. Stalking. Hunting. I caught a sense of its excitement, of the high bloodlust that brought it back to life. It was a thing wrought purely for killing, for hunting. All else was ash to such a creature.

But I could spare the shadow wolf no more thought. I drove my blade into the backs of the Faded that crowded around Param. They did not seem to mark that their fellows were dying.

“Bare your neck!” they cried. “Give your blood to the Wolf! Live forever!” they cried, clawing for her.

Behind me, I heard the sharp bark of a raging wolf, and the yelp of a man knocked suddenly from his prideful perch. Bloodfang had pounced on the priest.

Whatever spell lay over the Faded was suddenly broken. They stood as one, turning to face me. Their eyes glowed dimly, as if they were newly awakened. I caught sight of Param amidst them. She was trying to crawl free.

“Come on!” I roared, settling Bloodfang in a high guard, ready to slash and kill. “I’m the one with the blood. Come taste Beor’s fury!”

But their courage, their madness, was broken. One by one the naked, depraved ghouls turned and fled off into the dark. Their rasping screams were the last I knew of them, until even that vanished.

I wasted no time, dropping to my knee beside Param. Blood leaked from a dozen gashes that I could see. Her black robes were as torn and battered as my own ruined tunic. Feebly, she was dragging herself away from me, one knife still clasped in her hand. She swept it at me with a shriek, but I caught her wrist gently.

“It’s me,” I said. “It’s me. They’re gone.”

For a long moment, she cowered back from me. Then her eyes cleared, and she let out a shuddering breath. “Help me up,” she said.

I got an arm under her, and levered her to her feet. Param slung an arm about my shoulders. I had absorbed much more radiance than I’d bled or used, and for once, I felt strong. She was surprisingly light, for such a dangerous thing.

Supporting her, we made our way to Bloodfang. The wolf stood on the priest’s chest, fangs bared. Its eyes were a gleaming scarlet promising death. The shriveled man cringed back, but could not get far. I could feel the wolf working its restraint, eager to sink its teeth into the soft exposed flesh of the priest’s throat.

“Speak, priest,” Param said weakly. “Who is the Wolf you spoke of?”

The priest glanced at us fearfully, but dared not turn his gaze long from the slavering wolf. “Release me! I am a humble servant of the word!”

“You are a black-togued liar,” answered Param. “Who is the Wolf?” Bloodfang snarled deep in its throat, a thunderous, savage sound.

“He is named Harald!” the priest yelped. His courage was entirely gone now. The zealous triumph of the sermon curdled to cowardly babbling. “A Cinderborn warrior! He gathers the Flock to him at the heart of the children’s forest, for a great day approaches! Many souls will be freed!”

“No,” gasped Param. “It cannot be.” And with that, she fainted, collapsing in my arms. I barely caught her, so suddenly did it happen.

“The day approaches!” the priest cried. “He who gives freely to the Wolf will live within him, and he within them, for your blood shall mingle—”

“I’ve heard that before,” I interrupted. I hauled Param up and onto my shoulder. “And I didn’t like it the first time.

Bloodfang’s eager maw snapped forward, and with a jerk of its head, the black wolf ripped the priest’s throat out, ending the sermon once and for all.