Lawrence walked back into the light cast by the torches.

“We found a barracks,” the blue lady said.

“We found one too. Hey kid. Stop leading us into dead ends,” he ordered.

Lawrence tried not to let his feelings show on his face. The demons looked at each other.

“We need a new plan.” Wormwood said. His first contribution. “This place is a labyrinth. It is a common feature of Blood Well fortresses. Disorient the enemy, then attack when they don’t expect it. Blend into the secret tunnels and hideaways to escape.”

“What’s your point, Worm?” the captain asked.

“We have with us a native of this place. Someone who knows its ins and outs. It is impossible to navigate the maze without losing one’s way. There must be a secret path one may take to skip the nonsense.” The huge, overweight demon gestured. “I surmise he knows where it is.”

All eyes turned to Lawrence. He considered running. He tried not to let his fear show on his face. If he did or if he ran, the cat lady would run him down. Lawrence made a mental note to change her designation. She wasn’t a cat. Cats were cute. Cats were fuzzballs one wanted to pick up and cuddle and listen to them purring. This lady had dried blood all over her fur. She looked mean. Lawrence doubted she purred. He changed her designation to something like ‘tiger lady’ or ‘devil cat.’

“Hey kid,” William drew his sword.

“Shut up,” Lawrence snapped.

“Or what?” William taunted. Shnhct. He looked down. His jaw fell in disbelief. He stared at the straight sword sticking out of his chest. The sword twisted, making William cry out. Someone braced their boot on his backside and hauled. The sword scraped his insides on the way out. He dropped his own weapon to clutch his belly. He slumped sideways. He looked up at the figure standing behind him. His brain stalled.

“You dishonor everything we stand for,” Sir Rickard told him. The older knight bent. He fumbled for something in William’s belt.

“Hey, that’s mine,” William protested. He fought. Rickard kicked him in the wound, making William weep. He curled into a ball. He grabbed his satchel. Rickard pried a glass bottle from his fingers.

“This will be used by someone more honorable.” Rickard held up the potion. Glowing liquid swirled within. It wasn’t blood-red, sapphire-blue, or emerald-green. It reminded Lawrence of something he’d shat a few days ago when he tried spawn-meat for the first time.

“Is that a health potion?” Lawrence asked.

“Yes, my b—young man.” Rickard pocketed the bottle. “I apologize for his actions. He dishonors our order.”

Lawrence jerked his chin. He looked at the dying guy’s chainmail armor, shield, and longsword. Real medieval swords were one-handed weapons called arming swords. William’s was a hand-and-a-half, often called a bastard sword. True two-handed weapons were more like spears. Bastard swords were a middle-ground. Because they were long, usually 48 inches, movies used them as props instead of the smaller one-handed arming swords, which were 36 inches.

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“Initiate William used a bastard sword forged by a Level 28 [Blacksmith].” Rickard picked up the weapon. He unbuckled the scabbard and put the weapon inside. “Would you like to keep it?”

Lawrence’s fingers ached.

“I won’t deny I’ve always wanted one. I’ve even had professional saber training. Saber… fencing….” He did not move. “It’s a fine weapon. Any warrior would want one. But I’m a mage. I plan to be one, anyway. If I take his weapon, it’ll end up getting sold at the first town I come to and the money used to buy food. Keep it. Take it back where it came from and give it to someone more worthy. Someone more honorable.”

Rickard stowed the weapon on his back.

Sounds of bone breaking made everyone look down. Shapes moved under William’s chest. Handprints pressed against the chainmail. Lawrence took a step back. Like in Alien, something inside the dead guy tried to escape. A pale, misty hand protruded from the gut wound. It pushed aside flesh and armor. Another hand appeared.

Rickard did not assist. Slowly, a head rose from the wound with the exact likeness of William. The soul squeezed out through the wound like a bug leaving a chrysalis. It had the appearance of William in life, minus the armor and weapon. He wore a plain shirt and pants. His skin was chalk-white. His hair was dark gray. He looked like a black-and-white figure from an old movie.

“Sir Rickard.” William stood and stretched. He glared at his superior with accusation. “Why did you kill me?”

“Because you deserved it. You are not an honorable person. This b—this man,” he gestured to Lawrence. “He is our guest. Guests must be treated with respect.”

“I thought he was a prisoner?”

“It matters not.”

“Fine. My sword?” William held out a hand. After a pause he added, “Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean the situation’s changed. I’ll still serve the order. We have ghosts serving alongside knights.”

“Those ghosts are honorable people.” Sir Rickard picked up Wiliam’s body and put it in a bag of holding. “Your family will be told you were ambushed by demons and fought valiantly to buy time for slaves to escape.”

“Why?” William frowned. “I’m coming back with you. I’ll tell everyone it was a betrayal. Unless… you don’t want me to?”

“What I want matters little. I am a knight in service of our Lord. We are charged to love the Lord our God with all our hearts, and with all our minds, and with all our souls. And the second is like the first: do unto others as we do to each other.”

“Yeah. So?”

“You are damned, boy. True Christians do not stay in Hell. When they die, they go to Heaven.”

William let out a mocking laugh.

“Look, whatever helps you sleep at night, old man. I don’t know what you’re implying, but nothing has changed. The kid is still our prisoner. You’re still an old man. And we’re still in a Blood Well fort surrounded by monsters. You need me.”

“I am sorry, Initiate. I was wrong.”

“Damn right you were wrong. Now give me my weapon back,” William’s voice rose.

“I was wrong to believe you were ready,” Sir Rickard said. He backed away. “I was wrong to believe you could be saved. Perhaps, given time, it would have happened. But time is not a luxury we possess. You endangered the mission’s success. Goodbye, child. I will pray our Lord does not hold your sins in greater esteem than the folly of youth.

William stared, not understanding. The formal tone and farewell seemed to make him more alert. He got angrier, but something changed. Lawrence swore he saw the moment the long-rusted gears began turning in William’s head.

William saw Rickard had backed up almost to the wall. William realized he was defenseless in a fort full of demons. In the next instant, he remembered he was in a party with several demons. All of whom were eternally hungry for the ectoplasm generated by torturing damned. And all of whom watched. Realization dawned.

William straightened up. He turned around. Wormwood stood behind him. The supervisor held a nine-tailed bladed whip. Real fear crawled across William’s face.

“Look away, Lawrence,” the blue lady ordered.

Lawrence did not look away. Sir Rickard did, as the torturer ripped William’s body to pieces time after time. The damned soul’s wailing echoed throughout the fort.