“He led us to a fucking trap,” Ry whispered. “Of course he did. Why did we even slightly believe his story?”

Emillia Selayna, known as “Em” by most, wished her arms were free so she could punch her companion in the face. How was it that, despite all her efforts, she always teamed up with the adventurers whose heads were built of clay? “Ry,” she said. “Are you seriously suggesting that this was all a setup?”

“Could very well be,” Ry said. “The letter could have been forged. The examination of Cill’s chords could have been staged. I bet that fucker is laughing with the cult right about now.”

“Do you have to sound so ridiculous?” Em asked.

The cultists and their mad old priest had been so ecstatic with Cillian that they forgot the three other captives still tied in the cells. Em’s satchel and Ry’s sword still lay on the floor outside. The cult placed a lot of trust in their cells.

Still, Em was surprised. Cillian was not only blessed with mana chords, but he’d received the rarest of gifts. Hallowed mana chords. Power with enough potential to rule a country.

And the poor man was already at risk of losing it all.

“Okay, maybe it isn’t a setup,” Ry said. “Doesn’t mean that he’s excused for leading us possibly to our deaths.”

“Cillian’s knowledge came directly from Darko,” Em said. “We read the letter. The Wyvern Slayer is just as responsible for our capture as Cillian is. But of course, you could never blame your omnipotent hero for getting us here.”

Ry stayed silent, then let out a sigh. “Em, I’m sorry. I… I don’t know. I could have never guessed the church of all places could be in the cult’s control.”

“None of us could have,” Em said. “The church has stayed in operation as it always has. My grandmother was at the sermon today, and she hasn’t once complained about a change of priests. Moons, I still don’t believe the church is hijacked. The cult has kept perfect order.”

“Still,” Ry said. “I’m sorry. I guess I should say that.”

“Keep it,” Em said. “Let’s talk plans. As far as I know, the cult isn’t known for letting their captives walk free.”

“We have to risk an escape, then. Do you have ideas?”

“I might,” Em said. “Rakash? How close is the nearest pair of keys to our cell?”

The Gorthorn barely lifted her head. “In the pockets of the sentry, I presume.”

“Does the sentry work alone? Will he hear if I call?”

“The poachers trust their cells,” Rakash said. “If the lock wasn’t magically inscribed, I would have escaped long ago. The sentry responds to calls, but not without punishing interruptions. That’s all I can promise.”

“Well,” Em said. “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

“Can you reach it?” Ry asked.

“I’ve been trying,” Em said, gritting her teeth. “It’s stuck and good.”

Her wrists were tied with a proper knot. Even a man wielding vigor would struggle to untie a knot as tight as this. As careless as the cult was, they had a reason for trusting their cells.

Em, however, wasn’t a simpleton of brute force. She picked at the right sleeve of her robe with her left index finger. Within the fabric was a small hole, inconceivable without the correct angle. Em stuck her finger inside the self-crafted pocket.

She felt it inside. The piece of parchment, wrapped seven times into a small but thick square, hidden inside her sleeve. She just had to hook her finger around it and squeeze it out of the hole…

“There,” she said with a grin. “I got it.”

“Get us out of here,” Ry said.

Em unwrapped the parchment. Carefully by habit. Her unreliable cheap scrolls had trained her to treat scrolls carefully; the worst seals were sometimes broken by the slightest of touch. This particular scroll, however, had survived through storms inside Em’s sleeve.

To everyone Em met, Cillian included, she said her scrolls were trash. Which wasn’t a total lie. She traded most of her expensive scrolls for multiple copies of worse versions. Better to enjoy five bad spells than to miss an extravagant one. As a result, her satchel was mostly filled with the worst of the worst, darts so flimsy that any real mage would laugh.

However, it never hurt to keep a few proper spells tucked away to surprise tougher opponents.

Em ripped the parchment in half, freeing the spell inside. The trapped spell of a master lockpick mage cast itself in Em’s stead. The spell searched for its target, and Em begged it wouldn’t cast on a random object it thought looked menacing. This was the only scroll of its kind she owned, and her life could very well have been in its hands.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

To her relief, the spell caught on the rope tying her wrists. Em grinned. “Now,” she said. “You two. Listen carefully.”

***

Ramus was on the last bite of his honey-coated flatbread when the screams of the prisoners cut his break in half.

He sighed, placed the last piece of bread in his mouth, and put on his mask. Job called. The break would continue shortly enough. There was no reason to get angry. He trotted towards the cells to check up on whatever bullshit the prisoners were up to this time.

Ramus, like most others unfortunate enough to end up in the dreaded future mothers warned about, had expected the cult’s dirty work to be arduous and traumatizing. To his pleasant surprise, the job was ridiculously easy. Boring even. He simply had to feed the prisoners once a day and let them relieve themselves in the mornings and afternoons. With the small number of prisoners, the job was barely an inconvenience.

He entered the cell chamber, frowning as the new girl’s pained wails picked at his ears. “What is it!” he called.

“Please, my stomach,” the girl said between hasty breaths. “Oh, Lord. It’s going to explode!”

Ramus took a breath. “Toilet time is in two hours.”

“Please, you must make an exception!” the girl cried. “I can’t make it that long. Please, I ate lunch at Lucca’s. These are my only clothes!”

Ramus stared as the girl bobbed up and down, her stomach convulsing. He’d never seen a stomachache so vile. The girl was right. She wouldn’t survive two hours. Five minutes would be a stretch. She was already crying.

The Moons bless him. Ramus would not survive cleanup duty. Lucca’s food was already shit, and Ramus was not in the mood to find out what it looked like recycled. If the girl was a Gorth, perhaps he’d leave her and her companions with the mess. But Ramus wasn’t so heartless as to leave a cute girl soiled.

He picked up his keys from his pockets and opened the door. He stepped inside. “I hope this is the last time you eat at Lucca’s before getting captured, girl. I can assure you this is the last time I will ever—”

His eyes opened wide as a figure from the corner lunged at his throat. The orange blotched Gorth. Its hands were untied! Ramus reached into his cloak for his weapon, only for the dagger to fly off his arms as the Gorth made impact.

His back thumped against the ground. He struggled, attempting to scream. His untrained arms were no match for the Gorth’s strength. The beast pushed against his neck, blocking his breath. He flailed his arms in an attempt to hit back, failing thoroughly.

Within fifteen seconds of wavering will, he lost consciousness.

***

“Are you sure we should take her along?” Ry whispered, glancing at Rakash. The fallen guard lay on the floor.

“Of course we will take her along,” Em said. Despite Ry’s protest, the Gorthorn had not gone feral after being let out of the cage. “And I will not argue about it.”

She stepped over the metal door sweep, heading straight for her satchel. She glanced inside and counted nothing missing. “I have four fireballs, three poison darts, a two-layered mana barrier, and a few party tricks. And I’m willing to spend that.”

Ry picked up his sword. “Should be enough for an escape. Let’s go.”

“You will abandon him?” Rakash asked.

Ry frowned at her. “It’s the cult of Azetoth we’re dealing with. They’ve got a mage. They’ve got this Warden, and who knows how many men against our three. You can’t seriously suggest we go after Cill. We’ve got a free escape right here through the catacombs.”

“The no-breed man might get killed,” Rakash said, matching the frown. She glanced at Em.

Em bit her lip. As much as she wanted to agree with Rakash and save Cillian, Ry was right. The cult had more men than she had spells. They had no chance, even if Em finally used the one great spell she’d refused to sell for years.

“Escape is not the same as abandonment,” Em said. “His chances for survival are far greater if we sneak out to ask for help. We’ve found a cultist hideout. The issue is serious enough for a dispatch to be sent.”

Rakash looked doubtful. “Wise words for a no-breed. Yet will your kind send help, or will they abandon him too?”

“The guild will send Darko himself,” Ry said. “Escape is our first priority. You will have to trust us on this.”

“Very well,” Rakash said. “I will assist however I can.”

“We escape where we came,” Ry said. “And we hope the exit isn’t too guarded. The mage is preoccupied with Cill. We should be able to fight our way out.”

Em nodded. “Let’s go.” Before leaving, however, she picked up Cillian’s satchel. He would probably want that.

They walked with haste, but not loudly enough to alert the guards. The first corner of the escape turned nicely. No ambushes, no crazy screaming from behind. For a moment, Em thought the escape would proceed smoothly.

Their trot was cut short by the sound of footsteps from directly ahead. Heavy footsteps, the clank of plate armor. Something big was approaching from the catacombs.

Rakash froze. “That’s him!” she whispered.

“Who?” Ry asked.

“The Warden,” Rakash said. She was already nudging them in the opposite direction. “We must go. You cannot beat him.”

Ry hesitated, but as the clank of armor grew closer, he gritted his teeth. “Where do we go?”

“We exit through the church,” Rakash said. “Sneak as far as you can. On my call, run for the exit.”

If Ry had something to argue, he didn’t make them. Rakash took the position of leader as she guided the group deeper into the catacombs. They turned two corners before reaching a wooden door.

Rakash tested the handle. Locked. Grimacing, she took a step back, then tackled the door into splinters with the weight of her body. They squeezed through the opening, into the church’s dimly lit basement. They didn’t wait around, however, immediately dashing for the stairs, towards the stone slab of a door leading to the church. Rakash pushed it open.

That was when the screams of men burning alive started.

Muscle Enhancement - The simplest of offensive support spells. Applicable on all live beings, even on the whimsical creatures that earthlings call ‘gamers.’ The spell enhances strength to levels that steroid users could only dream of. Use on animals or other low-intelligence beings is not recommended.

* Goddess Shiela’s description of the spell “Muscle Enhancement”