Silas woke to the sound of metal scraping against metal, his bedroom filled with a crimson glow. At first, he thought the estate was on fire, but the light had a different quality—deeper, more malevolent.

Bonereghard loomed by his bedside, but not in his usual butler form. Gone was the formal attire and monocle, replaced by ancient battle armor that seemed to teem with literal darkness.

The metal plates were the color of old blood, etched with runes that pulsed with an otherworldly light. Where his eyes should be, his skull burned with an intense red flame. A massive sword rested casually across his shoulder plates.

"Young master," Bonereghard's voice held an eager edge Silas had never heard before. "It seems some brazen fool, more brazen than yourself, thinks to rob us."

His skeletal fingers flexed within their gauntlets. "I must tell you, I'm terribly excited."

Silas groaned and sat up, instantly alert. "How many?"

"Nine inside, I believe," Bonereghard replied, sounding almost pleased. "Three by the east wing, four attempting to breach the vault, two more watching the grounds."

"Rather discourteous of them to arrive at this hour," Bonereghard continued, "though I must admit, it gives me a chance to work off some... frustrations."

A crash echoed from somewhere below, followed by muffled cursing.

"Amateurs," Bonereghard sighed contentedly. "They didn't even check for wards."

He turned toward the door, armor creaking softly. "The Gemini are already engaging the perimeter watchers."

"I shall handle our... guests inside. Do stay in your quarters, young master. No need to dirty anything other than the walls."

He paused, then added almost cheerfully, "There will be a fair bit of red mist to follow."

Before Silas could respond, Bonereghard was gone, leaving only the fading glow of his eyes in the darkness.

Silas heard movement in the hallway—heavy footsteps trying to be quiet and failing. Then came Bonereghard's voice, dripping with anticipation: "Gentlemen. You appear to be lost."

What followed was nothing short of the sounds of terror.

The first scream cut off abruptly. Something wet hit the wall with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling. More footsteps surged, running now, accompanied by panicked breathing and the metallic scrape of Bonereghard's armor.

As he walked, he began to speak in a sing-song cadence that echoed through the halls:

"Midnight comes with breaking glass,

Through shadows deep they creep and pass,

Poor fools who thought to try their luck,

Now I get to run amuck."

The next intruder never saw what hit him. Bonereghard's blade sliced through the air, and suddenly there was one less head in the estate.

The body hadn't even hit the floor before Bonereghard moved to the next target.

"Blood flows quick and bones crack clean,

What lovely sounds their screams do mean,

Each step they take leads straight to death,

Let's see how long they hold their breath..."

Two more thieves rounded a corner, weapons raised. Bonereghard's sword moved in a crimson arc, and suddenly there were significantly fewer limbs attached to bodies.

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Their screams were cut short as the skeletal warrior's armor pulsed with dark energy, enveloping the two thieves in shadows.

"Through halls they run like startled mice,

Their fear makes everything so nice,

Each heartbeat is a counting down..."

Bonereghard paused mid-swing, his blade inches from another intruder's throat. "Hmm. I can't quite think of a proper way to end that verse, and I must say, it wasn't my best work."

He tilted his head at the terrified man. "Any suggestions?"

The thief made an incoherent sound of terror.

"No? How disappointing." Bonereghard sighed and let him scramble away. "The Gemini will have to do the honors, I suppose. I do hate leaving verses unfinished."

From the direction of the main entrance came a wet crunching sound, followed by silence. Bonereghard chuckled.

Through his window, Silas caught glimpses of the Gemini dealing with the outdoor intruders. Halberds and armor moved with efficiency. One man tried to scale the wall, a mistake. The blue Gemini's weapon took him at the waist. The red one caught what remained before it hit the ground.

Three more thieves burst from a side room, having heard the commotion. One carried a mage's staff and had a spell ready to go.

"Ah, some variety," Bonereghard remarked, his armor gleaming. "Let's see what you've got."

The mage launched a bolt of lightning, but it seemed to bend around Bonereghard's form. Instead, it left scorch marks on the walls as a magic shield flared up from the armor.

The skeletal warrior's response was immediate and brutal.

"Magic sparks and magic flows,

But ancient power everybody knows,

Is nothing compared to steel and spite,

When darkness comes to claim the night."

His sword moved faster than the eye could follow. The mage's staff, and the hands holding it, fell to the floor.

The other two thieves turned to run, but Bonereghard was already there, his blade stabbing outwards and skewering both of them.

Then, Bonereghard turned and headed toward the estate vaults.

"You know," Bonereghard's voice drifted up, conversational despite the sounds of combat, "in my day, thieves had standards. Proper planning. Professional courtesy."

A wet crunch followed his words. "This? This is just insulting."

Someone was sobbing, begging for mercy. Bonereghard's laugh followed.

"Mercy? Oh, my dear fellow. I'm being merciful. I'm making this quick. Well, relatively quick. The old punishments for robbing noble houses were far more creative."

A series of meaty thuds followed, then silence.

The last of the intruders had backed themselves into a corner, their weapons shaking in terrified hands.

"Please," one of them begged. "We didn't know this place was protected like this!"

Bonereghard's eye sockets flared brighter. "Ignorance is such a poor excuse for dying. But let me see if I can compose something appropriate for the occasion..."

"Running fast but not fast enough,

Through halls of stone so cold and rough,

Your lives are forfeit, your time is done..."

He paused again, blade hovering. "Another troublesome verse. The rhythm just isn't quite right."

He stepped back, gesturing toward the exit. "Go on then. Let's see if you can make it past the Gemini. Their poetry is far worse than mine, but their execution is usually quite final."

The thieves bolted, their footsteps echoing down the hall. Moments later, the sounds of their attempt to escape were cut brutally short.

Silas waited, listening to the quiet drip of something hitting the floor below. Finally, Bonereghard's heavy footsteps approached his door again.

"All clear, young master," he announced cheerfully, his armor gradually shifting back to its more familiar butler's attire.

"Though I recommend avoiding the east corridor until the staff can clean up. And possibly replaster the walls. And replace some floorboards. And..." He paused thoughtfully. "Well, best to avoid it entirely for now."

Silas nodded, noting how the red glow from Bonereghard's aura seemed more satisfied now, like a well-fed fire. "The Gemini?"

"Equally successful, though far less artistic about it."

Bonereghard sounded almost disappointed as he adjusted his now-restored monocle with practiced precision. "They lack my appreciation for the theatrical aspects of legally forgivable violence."

"Uh, sure." Silas responded, peering down the hall to see if he saw anything.

"I trust you'll be able to return to sleep?" Bonereghard asked politely, as if they were discussing the weather rather than the systematic elimination of would-be robbers.

"I'm fine," Silas assured him, though internally he had no idea how he was going to get any rest.

"Oh?" Bonereghard tilted his head, the flames in his eye sockets flickering with interest.

"Your battle form," Silas gestured at the fading crimson glow. "Why don't you use it more often?"

Bonereghard looked down at himself. "Blood is terribly difficult to get out of formal wear."

"Now then," he continued, "I should oversee the cleanup. The estate has standards to maintain, after all."

He turned to leave but paused at the door. "Oh, and young master?"

"Yes?"

"Do remind me to tell you sometime about the last group that tried to rob us. Back in your grandfather's day." A note of nostalgia crept into his voice.

"Now that was a proper fight. Thirty men, all professional thieves. Had to redecorate the entire west wing afterward. Delightful evening."

With that, he strode out, humming softly to himself.

Silas could hear him directing the estate's magical constructs in cleanup duties, his voice returning to its usual butler's tone.

"Mind the carpets," Bonereghard instructed someone, or something, in the hallway. "And for pity's sake, let's get this brain matter off the drapes."