As Imani skirted around the horde of the lost, the lemur dove against them. His war-arm whipped down and cut a dead thing from shoulder to hip. It stumbled, an oddly muted way to take a blow, and black threads of glass began to spread from the depths of the severed pale flesh.

One of the hollow things lunged for him, arms outstretched. As it moved its pale skin stretched against submerged shards of glass and they tore their way through.

The lemur slipped back, letting it stumble and fall. That was enough to save him from its outstretched hands. But not from the explosion, the spray of dark shards as it hit the earth and its body twisted, deformed, knives of glass ripping through its skin and flinging outwards in all direction.

One caught him across the muzzle, the rest across his arms as he shielded himself. Blood oozed from wounds impregnated with tiny beads of dark material. The wound felt strangely numb but-

The horde was already upon him. He slashed, cut, broke with the back of his scythe-finger as he ripped free from each slice. His limbs were long, his body unblemished by their failings.

But there were many of them, and their wounds brimmed up with black blades. Kill one, and it would shatter into a spray that lacerated his hide, tearing thin cuts that bled until his fur was thick and burning with red. They herded him as he backed away, hissing, keeping the distance with the scything rhythm of his war-hand that cleaved away arms and took heads from their shoulders.

Another step, and he was against the wall as their hands came reaching for him.

There were no clean kills anymore. The strokes of his blade snagged on flesh, sparked against glass, chipped bone. The solidity and unfeeling vigor of their bodies slowed him, made him pause to rip free.

A hand grasped for his muzzle and he bit down, tasting the clay-like consistency of long-dead flesh and the grave-dirt taste. Blades blossomed below and stabbed up into the softness of his mouth. They were grasping at him, pulling at him. Their flesh leaked black ichor and split open to reveal blades as they clung to him and rent his flesh.

For a moment the thin light of the cavern-ceiling as drowning, his world disoriented as the mass of hands dragged at him. For a long moment he swung dizzily through his thoughts, the adrenaline, the fury in his veins creating an island of crystal clarity in the fight.

Everything hurt.

It had always hurt. He had given everything and felt his body failing beneath him. He’d given more, and lived, barely. The constant was the the pain. The burning, exhausting sensation, the flares and dull aches, the wild moments when it took away his sight under a raw plane of white fire.

All that had to be for something.

He lifted, their hands tearing at him. The underside of their nails grew thin razor edges. The crude spikes coming from their limbs caught on his skin and dragged it open. Blood splattered over their blind faces as he flungs aside those he could, beheaded those he could not.

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All of it had to mean something.

These hollow things couldn’t be allowed to win. Not with their unfeeling bodies, their cold lack. If that was all it took, then what was the meaning of pain, of letting battle tear him down to shreds again and again, of feeling these awful things?

He screamed as he broke free of the crowd, his body pierced with glass and hanging with broken strands and scraps of his own flesh. They were fusing; molten black was flowing between their limbs and binding them together. It clung to him too, sticky strands he cut away furiously, until it lost its life and fell from his hide to sizzle against the street below, evaporating into nothing.

The pile of limbs would become a demon soon, like the cat or the serpent. This he knew with the certainty of the moon’s light.

Turning, he followed up the steps where Imani had already gone. His body ached.

But that was nothing more than expected.

---

Blood dripped onto marble floors.

“We will not allow this beast to enter.”

Two more women of stone stood at the end of the temple’s long hall, guardian a second, smaller door. They bore helms with fanning crests and arms of stone, spear and shield together. Their faces were rough and angular with cracks cutting across their simple features.

Their weapons crossed to stop Imani from continuing into the temple.

The lemur noticed all this and something more. He lifted his head and sniffed, smelling something soft and sweet. The pollen of flowers. Dried vines hung around the pillars that supported the roof.

“Oh? Won’t allow it? It’s the goddess’ chosen, so I’m not sure what you allow matters, anymore. You can just go home and allow yourself a nap, that’d be nice.” Imani’s voice bristled with hostility.

These were enemies, then.

“Our duty is sacred. We will judge the-”

The lemur flung himself forward, blade sweeping at the first stone guard’s face before she could finish speaking. The impact tore her nose from her face and sent cracks splintering through the gray stone.

She screamed with fury and slammed her shield up, into his ribs. The stone moved like flesh but was hard like a mountain. The air left him, and the spear swept low, hitting his legs from beneath him. Imari was in the second warrior’s way, delaying a spear-thrust that would end him.

The lemur rolled and screeched, war-hand raised, ready to break this foe-

Ready to fight a million foes.

Ready to receive a million scars.

Imani stepped in his way and struck him across the face open-handed. “This is not what the goddess wants! Damn you, this is a temple, not a fighting pit. Aren’t you better than that? I know you understand me.”

He hissed, but did not advance. Did not strike her.

“Just- just calm down. Put your weapon down.”

Confused, he turned his head towards his raised hand and the chipped length of scythe-curved obsidian that extended down from the war-hand. It was impossible to put down. It was his arm.

But he lowered it.

“This animal,” the defaced guard snarled, “Will be in a cage where he belongs, until its time to judge him properly.”

Imani reached out and pet his nose. He almost flinched. “I’m sorry.” She said. “This isn’t going to be fun. But you have to stay calm.”