The sun had begun its descent as Corvus and I headed to the old temple district. My mind and body were still visibly shaken by the recent encounter with the magistrate. I felt as though I’d stepped into a dream, yet everything felt very real.
“I still don’t get it,” I muttered to Corvus, keeping my voice low as we walked. “Evangeline’s description of the chamber was so different from what we experienced.”
“Either she was lying, or…”
“Or what we experienced wasn’t real,” I finished, casting him a hard stare.
He gave a slight nod, and his crow cawed softly in agreement.
“But I don’t understand why I couldn’t harness the shadows to show me the truth.”
“There is dark magic at work, Caelum. And it’s strong enough to suppress even our abilities. The shadows in the mansion were not our allies. We must rely solely on our instincts.”
“Well, the lord magistrate doesn’t know that we intend to crash his little party tomorrow. That’s partly why I mentioned nothing to him about invitations. I think if we have any chance of seeing beyond this illusion, we will have to do so unannounced.”
“A wise choice to catch him in the act,” Corvus said. “However, it seems we have already experienced just a taste of his power. Our abilities will be limited. We will have to go about this strategically.”
“Hopefully, the Angels’ Mark will make good on their promise.”
We turned down a narrow street that led to the old temple district. Here, the city’s careful maintenance gave way to neglect. Crumbling buildings rose on either side, their windows dark and empty. Weeds pushed through cracked cobblestones and the air held the musty scent of decay. The temple ruins loomed before us, its once-grand facade now a skeletal reminder of former glory.
“Natalya said to look for a one-winged gargoyle,” I said, scanning the deteriorating architecture.
Corvus tilted his head up in recognition. “My crows see it. The statue rests atop a gravestone in the cemetery behind those ruins. It is facing east.” He gestured to a partially collapsed temple wall ahead.
We picked our way through the rubble, climbing over fallen columns and weathered stone. The cemetery spread out before us, a sea of tilted headstones and overgrown plots. Corvus’s crows found perch atop the various headstones and dead trees throughout the cemetery, keeping watch while we searched.
A stone gargoyle sat hunched on a weathered headstone, its remaining wing spread as if preparing to take flight while the other side ended in a jagged stump.
We approached the area cautiously. My rogue’s instincts automatically scanned for possible escape routes and defensive positions. The dark energy within me stirred restlessly, sensing old magic in these sacred ruins. Years of training helped me spot the subtle signs of recent passage—scuffed stone, displaced debris, the faintest impression of footprints in the thin layer of dust. Meanwhile, Corvus ran his fingers around every inch of the statue as he searched.
I examined the base of the headstone for any irregularities. On the ground next to it, I found what felt like a metal handle hidden in a thick tuft of grass. The ground around it was flattened, with faint impressions of fresh boot prints visible in the soil. It was a clear sign that someone had been in this area recently. I gripped the handle firmly and pulled, but it refused to budge.
“There’s something here,” I muttered. “But it’s locked somehow.”
Corvus ran his sensitive fingers along the gargoyle statue, paying particular attention to the broken wing. “Wait...” His hands explored the jagged edge where the wing had broken off. “I feel something... A small depression that doesn’t match the natural break pattern.” He pressed the spot. There was a faint click, followed by the sound of ancient mechanisms turning beneath the stone.
I grasped the handle again, and, with a firm pull, the heavy, grass-covered door swung upward. A set of worn stone stairs descended into darkness below. The stale air that rose from the opening carried the musty scent of age and decay.
“Shall we?” I said to Corvus, drawing my kukris. The blades eagerly hummed and pulsed a deep purple glow.
He nodded and called for his favorite crow. The bird flew from one of the headstones and perched onto his shoulder.
Once inside, Corvus pulled the hidden door closed behind us. The passage was tight, forcing us to proceed single file. The glow of my kukris cast eerie shadows that shifted across the ancient stonework.
The air grew colder and damper as we tread deeper. Corvus occasionally tilted his head as he listened for any signs of danger. The magical suppression from the mansion was clearly not here, as his supernatural senses were sharper than ever.
After what felt like several minutes, the stairs ended in a broader tunnel. Ancient stonework lined the walls, covered in strange runes that might have once held protective magic. The ceiling rose high enough that we could walk comfortably, supported by ribbed vaults that reminded me of the bones of an old, underground cathedral.
“The eastern crypts should be this way,” I whispered, remembering Natalya’s directions.
“I hear your footsteps, brother,” Corvus assured.
I stepped lightly, my senses on high alert for any sights or sounds of movement. Occasional alcoves held crumbling sarcophagi, their stone faces worn smooth by centuries.
“What did you make of the magistrate’s explanations?” I asked quietly as we walked.
Corvus was silent for a moment before responding. “Too perfect. Like a story carefully crafted to address every possible question before it could be asked. And yet...”
“And yet it all made a twisted kind of sense,” I finished. “The magical barriers, the screening process, even the bards’ fear—he had an explanation for everything. As much as I appreciate thoroughness, his was a bit... excessive.”
“And that is precisely why it should concern us,” Corvus mused. “Real life is rarely so neat and orderly, as much as we blackguards strive to achieve. There are always loose ends, contradictions, things that don’t quite fit. The magistrate’s story had none of these.” Corvus halted, and his crow let out a soft caw. “Movement ahead.”
I strained my ears, and soon caught what Corvus had detected—a soft scraping sound, like bone against stone. My shadow powers detected the presence of undead.
We pressed ourselves against the wall. I gripped the hilts of my kukris, and next to me I heard the slow, metallic sound of Corvus’s sword being drawn.
Through the darkness, a group of shambling figures emerged—three skeletal warriors, their ancient armor hanging in rusted tatters from yellowed bones. They moved with an unnatural purpose, suggesting some lingering intelligence guided their actions.
In my former life, I had regarded the undead as dangerous abominations to be destroyed without hesitation. However, my training as a blackguard had given me a new perspective. These weren’t just mindless monsters to be cut down, but potential tools that could be bent to serve a greater purpose. The teachings of Valic had shown me that even the undead had their place in maintaining order, provided they were properly controlled and directed. It was a stark shift from my old beliefs, but one that aligned with my growing understanding of power and how to wield it effectively.
“They could be the magistrate’s sentries,” I whispered. “Or maybe Ramon’s.”
Corvus nodded. “Let me handle this, brother. You’re still learning the deeper aspects of our arts.”
I knew what he meant. While my training had taught me much about the nature of undead, I had not yet mastered the ability to bend them to my will. That would come with time and further devotion to our dark patron.
Corvus stepped forward. His crow spread her wings as dark energy gathered around both of them. I could feel the shadows responding to Corvus’s presence, wrapping around him like a cloak. He raised his hand, and when he spoke, his voice carried an otherworldly resonance that sent a rippling sensation through my skin.
“By the dark powers of Lord Valic, I command you to halt!”
The skeletons stopped their advance, their empty eye sockets fixed upon the blind warrior. The dark energy swirled around the creatures, and I watched in fascination as Corvus’s power took hold.
“Now,” he intoned, “who is your master?”
The skeletons remained motionless for a moment, then their jaws clattered in an unsettling rhythm. A hollow, rasping voice emerged from the lead skeleton, speaking in cryptic fragments: “We serve... the scaled one...”
Scaled one? I lifted an eyebrow.
Corvus tilted his head curiously. “Take us to your master.”
The creatures did an about-face and began shambling back the way they had come, now leading us deeper into the catacombs. We followed with caution, weapons still ready.
“The scaled one,” I muttered to Corvus. “Could they have some involvement with Ramon? Or the magistrate?”
“We shall see.”
The tunnels twisted and branched, but our undead guides moved with certainty. As we progressed, the stonework architecture grew older. The walls were decorated with carved figures and strange symbols, barely visible in the purple glow of my kukris.
Corvus suddenly tensed, his head tilting to one side. “Wait,” he whispered, raising a hand. “Something approaches. More undead. Five of them.”
I strained my ears, listening intently. At first, I heard nothing beyond the faint sounds of settling stone and the ambient noises of the passage. Then it reached me too—a wet, heavy shuffling sound echoing through the tunnel ahead, like something being dragged across damp stone. The noise grew louder, accompanied by a sickly squelching that made me grimace.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The skeletal guides halted abruptly, their bones rattling with an almost nervous energy. Their empty eye sockets fixed on the darkness ahead, ancient armor creaking as they shifted into defensive stances.
Through the purple-tinged gloom cast by my kukris, five grotesque humanoid figures lurched into view. Zombies. Their greyish, putrid flesh hung in rotting strips from yellowed bone. Maggots writhed in the gaping wounds that peppered their bloated corpses, and blackened viscera dragged behind them, leaving trails of congealed gore. Tattered remnants of burial shrouds clung to their decomposing forms. Their milk-white eyes rolled sightlessly in partially exposed sockets as broken jaws hung askew, revealing tongues that had long since turned to leather. The stomach-churning stench of decay filled the tunnel.
Corvus stepped forward, dark energy gathering around him once more. “In the name of Lord Valic, I command you to halt!” he barked in his otherworldly voice.
But the zombies continued their shambling approach, unaffected by his command. Something had stirred these creatures into a frenzy that overrode even a blackguard’s power to control the undead.
Corvus shook his head. “They’re too far gone.”
“You can’t control them?” I said.
“They are beyond control,” Corvus explained quickly, tightening his grip on his sword. “Something has stirred them into a frenzy—their minds are consumed by chaos. We’ll have to destroy them.” He addressed the skeletal warriors as he pointed to the zombies. “Attack. Destroy.”
The skeletons moved with mechanical precision, raising their ancient weapons. I gripped my kukris tighter, feeling the blades pulse eagerly in response to the approaching undead. Even the Twins of Twilight seemed to recognize these creatures as a corruption that needed to be purged.
Strike for the head or sever the spine. These aren’t living opponents—they feel no pain and won’t tire. My mind raced with memories of my many training sessions that involved undead and other unconventional creatures.
The zombies lurched forward, their rotting arms outstretched. The sound of clashing weapons filled the tunnel as the skeletons engaged their targets, rusted blades striking putrid flesh with wet, meaty thuds.
I circled to the right, my kukris humming with anticipation. The zombie facing me was once a large ogre, his bulk made even more imposing by decay. He lunged with surprising speed, rotting fingers grasping.
Drawing on my fighter’s instincts, I planted my feet firmly and met the charge head-on. I deflected the creature’s attack, the move also redirecting its momentum. The zombie stumbled, and in that split second, the perfect opening was revealed. In one fluid motion, I spun inside the creature’s guard, using my agile footwork to allow me to strike from the optimal angle. The Twins of Twilight, sliced through dead flesh and bone with ease. The zombie’s head toppled from its shoulders, but its body continued to stumble forward, arms flailing wildly.
I grimaced, realizing the continuing threat of the headless corpse. Defeating these creatures wasn’t going to be simple. I held my ground as the zombie advanced. The Talons of Twilight sang through the air, purple energy trailing in their wake. My first strike severed one of the zombie’s reaching arm at the elbow. The second blade carved deep into its throat. But even with half its neck missing, the creature still kept coming.
I ducked and rolled to the side from the zombie’s incoming attack, and came up in a perfect position behind the creature. With the practiced efficiency, I drove both blades through the creature’s spine at the base of its neck. My warrior’s strength ensured the strike cut clean through, something I would not have been able to do in my past life. Finally, the zombie’s body collapsed, twitching.
Corvus moved with deadly grace despite his blindness, his sword leaving trails of dark energy as it carved through the air. His crow launched herself at the second zombie’s face, razor-sharp talons raking at its milky eyes. The distraction gave Corvus the opening he needed to drive his blade through the creature’s chest, pinning it to the wall.
Nearby, the skeletal warriors fought with cold efficiency, their ancient weapons striking with mechanical precision. One zombie fell as a rusted blade severed its spine. Another lost its head to a sweeping axe strike.
The remaining zombie attacked me with mindless determination. I met the abomination, force for force, and severed both of its arms simultaneously in one strike. The Twins of Twilight glowed fiercely.
The zombie Corvus had impaled to the wall tore itself free of his blade, leaving a gaping hole in its chest that did nothing to slow its advance. Dark ichor dripped from the wound as it lurched forward again.
Their resilience is impressive, I noted. But ultimately futile.
Corvus’s crow dove at the zombie again, this time raking her claws across the creature’s throat. The attack opened up a perfect opportunity for Corvus to land his finishing blow. His sword, wreathed in shadow energy, swept through the air in a deadly arc. The blade caught the zombie at the base of its skull, severing its head with expert precision. At last, the body collapsed and lay still.
The skeletal warriors had reduced their opponents to twitching piles of rotting flesh. Their ancient weapons, though rusted, had proven remarkably effective against the zombies’ decaying bodies. The skeletons now stood motionless, awaiting further commands.
The last zombie, missing both arms thanks to my earlier strike, still snapped its teeth in my direction. I almost pitied the creature as I moved in for the killing blow. The Talons of Twilight flashed once more, and the zombie’s head joined its arms on the gore-slicked floor.
“Well,” I said, flicking rotted innards and putrid flesh from my blades, “that was invigorating.”
Corvus grunted. “I’m concerned about what could have driven these creatures into such a frenzy. Normally, zombies are slow and predictable. These moved with unusual aggression.”
“Could it be related to whatever the magistrate is planning?”
“Possibly. The barrier between life and death seems to be growing thinner in this city.” He turned to our skeletal guides and spoke in his commanding tone once more, “Continue. Take us to your master.”
The skeletons resumed their march through the tunnels, leaving the carnage of mangled zombie corpses behind. As we walked, I noticed the architecture changing subtly. The rough-hewn stone walls gave way to more finished masonry, suggesting we were entering a different section of the catacombs.
After several minutes of walking, we heard voices echoing from somewhere ahead. The skeletons halted, their task apparently complete. With a slight hand gesture, Corvus dismissed his command over them, and the dark energy binding them dissipated. The skeletons’ empty shells collapsed into piles of dusty bone.
We crept forward until we reached a junction where the tunnel opened into what appeared to be an ancient temple chamber. We pressed ourselves against the wall, and peered around the corner.
The chamber was vast, its high ceiling lost in shadows. Rows of stone columns stretched into the darkness, and faded religious frescoes adorned the walls. Broken pews and debris littered the floor, but a cleared space in the center held several figures gathered around what looked like a makeshift camp.
I counted at least eight people—some in dirty, tattered clerical robes, others in civilian clothes or guard uniforms. They spoke in hushed tones around a small fire.
I studied the gathering carefully, noting their diverse composition. Several humans huddled near the fire, their faces haunted and drawn. A pair of dwarves sat slightly apart, their thick beards braided with copper rings that caught the firelight. Their sturdy frames were wrapped in what looked like city guard uniforms, though the insignias had been deliberately removed.
Two half-orcs stood watch near the chamber’s far entrance, their muscular forms casting long shadows in the dim light. Their tusks glinted as they spoke in low rumbles, hands never far from their weapons. Despite their intimidating presence, their posture spoke more of protective watchfulness than aggression.
A fernalkin with deep crimson skin and elegant horns bent over what appeared to be a map spread across a makeshift table. The sight stirred memories from my past life—I hadn’t seen one of their kind since my days working in the city watch, when a fernalkin merchant had been falsely accused of performing dark rituals. Despite the years that had passed, I still remembered the distinctive features that marked their infernal heritage—features that had once inspired both fear and fascination in my former life.
The creature’s tail twitched occasionally as he traced lines with a clawed finger, speaking in hushed tones to a female elf beside him. The elf’s silver hair caught the firelight, creating an almost ethereal glow around her angular features.
But what caught my attention the most was a pair of figures standing slightly apart from the others. One was clearly a male half-dragon, his scales gleaming with a bluish sheen in the firelight. But the other...
I blinked in confusion. The creature appeared almost canine in form, but stood upright like a person. Covered in russet-colored fur with a distinctly fox-like face, it wore elaborate robes and carried itself with an air of dignity I’d never seen in any beast.
“What manner of creature is that?” I whispered to Corvus.
He sniffed the air. “I smell several types of creatures present. Which one are you referring to?”
“The one that looks like a two-legged fox.”
“Ah. That’s a vulpine. Rarely seen in these parts. They’re known for their wisdom and magical abilities. Their presence here suggests this group has connections far beyond Ebonheart.”
One of the robed figures shifted restlessly, drawing my attention. “The sssentries should have reported back by now,” they muttered, their voice carrying a distinct, snake-like hiss. As they stood, their robe parted slightly, and in the flickering firelight, I caught a glimpse of what looked like scales beneath the fabric. Something about the stranger’s presence tugged at my memory. I was certain I’d seen them before, perhaps recently, but I couldn’t place where or when.
The scaled figure’s comment about missing sentries drew murmured concern from the others. A half-elf in tattered clerical robes rose from his seat near the fire. The clerical robes, though shabby, still bore the faded symbols of his former position at the aurorium. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights spent in study and preparation, matching the obsessive nature I'd witnessed in his chamber. His lean build and distinctive scar running from his left eyebrow to the bridge of his nose marked him unmistakably as the fugitive cleric. Despite his haggard appearance, he carried himself with the proud bearing of one driven by absolute conviction. A gold ring adorned with occult symbols glinted on his right middle finger as he gestured, catching the firelight. The manic gleam in his dark brown eyes revealed both his brilliant mind and the dangerous obsession that had led him down this path.
“Patience, Khalahad,” the cleric said to the scaled figure. “Your sentries are reliable. Perhaps they’ve simply found something that required further investigation.”
The vulpine addressed the cleric directly. “We cannot afford to take chances. If the sentries have been compromised...”
“Then we will deal with that situation as it comes,” the cleric replied firmly. “We’re close now. Too close to let fear cloud our judgment.”
The scaled figure—Khalahad—let out a frustrated hiss. “Your optimism borders on foolishness sssometimesss, Ramon. The magistrate’sss influence grows stronger each day. If we’re dissscovered before the ritual...”
My breath caught in my throat. So this was Ramon—the cleric who had stolen the Serpent’s Fang. The dark power within me stirred with recognition. This was no common thief or madman, but a warrior of faith who had chosen a difficult path. In another life, I might have respected such dedication. Now, however, I saw only an obstacle to be removed.
“That’s our target,” I whispered to Corvus. “Though this situation is more complex than Vesper led us to believe.”
Corvus tilted his head slightly. “Indeed. The presence of so many different races and backgrounds suggests this goes beyond a simple theft. These people are organized with a purpose.”
I watched as Ramon moved around the fire, speaking quietly to each group. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he carried himself with the air of someone who bore great responsibility. The others regarded him with respect, as well as concern.
“The Angels’ Mark have confirmed the magistrate’s gathering will proceed as planned,” Ramon said, his voice barely carrying to our position. “All of Ebonheart’s elite will be there, including the merchant council.”
The vulpine’s ears twitched. “And the bards?”
“All of them,” Ramon confirmed grimly. “He’s going to round them all up like cattle and bring them to the mansion.”
Khalahad moved closer to the fire, scales glinting in the light. “The binding circles are nearly complete. But without the final component...”
“The Fang will serve its purpose,” Ramon cut in. “Though not in the way the magistrate expects.” He pulled something from his robes—a cloth-wrapped bundle that I presumed was the stolen dagger.
The half-Dragon glared at Kalahad. “And you are certain the ritual will secure him long enough to send him back?”
I narrowed my eyes. Send him back? To where?
Khalahad nodded. “I have followed the instructions exactly. It has to work.”
The fernalkin looked up from his map, a worried look on his face. “There are rumors of blackguards snooping around the city. What if they have been sent to—”
“Don’t worry, Erwyn. They will not find us,” Ramon assured.
The elf shook her head. “Don’t underestimate them. They serve darker powers than most realize.”
“Speaking of dark powers,” the vulpine interjected, “the celestial alignments for tomorrow night are... troubling. The new moon’s influence will be particularly strong.”
Ramon nodded gravely. “Which is precisely why the magistrate chose that night. The barriers between realms will be at their weakest.” He stared at his cloth bundle. “But that works to our advantage as well.”
One of the half-orcs growled. “Too many have suffered already. One way or another, the truth will be revealed.”
I leaned forward slightly, straining to hear more, but my movement caused a small piece of debris to shift under my foot. The sound, though tiny, echoed in the chamber like a thunderclap. I swore under my breath.
The half-dragon’s head snapped toward our hiding spot, nostrils flaring. “We have company!”