Looking up, Gardinal grinned. All down the street women, children, and elderly hung from their windows, throwing everything they could at the monsters.

“For Southshore!” One shouted, then another again. Then at least ten more took up the call.

“For the Prophetess!” Another, a child’s voice, shouted out and was echoed by a dozen more, echoed by those fighting on the ground as well. They all cheered and shouted as they tossed everything. Irons and fire pokers, kettles and pots, it all came tumbling out from their hands and striking the beasts below.

“Your Radiance!” A voice shouted from directly above them. Following the voice, Gardinal saw a rather frumpish young Khazimi woman hanging out of her window. “You fixed my mum’s hands!” The woman pulled out cleaver and threw it right into the skull of another Chaos hound. “Southshore don’t forget something like that you hear?”

From behind Gardinal he could hear Celeste gasp, and whisper: “Gerada…” Whatever that meant. Shaking himself out of the shock, Gardinal reached back and grabbed The Prophetess.

“Time to go Your Radiance.” Gardinal commanded, she nodded her agreement, determination replacing the fear on her face. Their small group continued on, rushing past the distracted huge daemon that batted away at the falling objects. As they ran, Gardinal couldn’t help but look at the people above, and more so, at the people on the ground. More came pouring out of the homes, armed with knives and tools tied to poles as weapons and barrel tops as shields. Dozens of people, some Gardinal even knew the faces of.

From above he made out children sitting on roofs, those urchins that Her Radiance had grown the beans for, tossing tiles off of roofs down onto the heads of daemons. Rushing out of an alley and tackling a cultist to the ground was the woodcarver Her Radiance had healed on the side of the street some month ago. Even the leper she had healed all those months ago now, on that day that the cult had first attacked, fought in the crowd, wrestling with a Chaos hound while others beat it with rakes and shovels. Gardinal glanced back at the Prophetess and felt awe at her. She had saved Southshore, in a thousand little ways, and now Southshore had come to save her. The power of mercy, he thought with amazement.

With an army of people fighting for her, Gardinal was able to lead their force quickly through the melee. Every cultist that blocked their way was met with a Silver Skull shouting “For glory and Southshore!” Every daemon, a dozen people raining destruction and home goods cheering “Her Radiance!” Before long, the din of battle faded behind them as they approached the outer courtyard in front of the temple gates. They had made it.

“Stop.” Her Radiance spoke, and they all froze mid step.

“What are you doing?” Valleresa snapped. “We’re almost there we’re…”

Gardinal shushed her and looked around the outer courtyard. He felt it too. It was empty, still, not a single Faith Militiamen was here. Not a soul loitered the always bustling square. Looking up at the gates he could see they were slightly ajar, a deep singing where once a lock had been.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Then he felt it, a deep sickening pit in his stomach. Like an oppressive darkness it wrapped around him, tendrils of evil seeping into his mind. A pressure unlike anything he had ever felt before pressed against his very soul.

No, Gardinal realized, not unlike anything. He knew what this was, this twisted power that emanated from the temple. Gardinal stepped back in fear, his hand shaking.

“We have to run.” Gardinal whispered, stepping back and turning to the group. “Now.” He commanded with force. He had felt this power once before.

“No.” The Prophetess spoke, and Gardinal met her eyes. Her silver and gold eyes sternly looking up at him.

“Your Radiance it’s…”

“I know.” She responded, staring past him at the temple. “He’s in there, I can feel him.” Her hands were shaking, tongue wetting her lips nervously, but she stood her ground.

“Who is?” Vallerian asked. Kriss tightened his grip on his spear and stood closer to the girls. Kriss whispered something to the lord, and Vallerian grew pale.

“We don’t have time for this Your Radiance, we need to…” Gardinal tried to explain, but was cut off.

“No Brother Gardinal.” She stared past him, her furrowed gaze burrowing into the pitch black of the temple grounds. “I made a promise, and one I intend to keep. I must save him, or at least try.” Pushing past him, she began to walk toward the gate, Kriss, Arabella, and Valleresa right by her side. Gardinal cursed, then followed.

“Well, I didn’t count on having a long life anyway.” Vallerian complained, and Charlotte cawed her disagreement from his shoulder. They followed as well.

Stepping through the gates, Gardinal having retaken his position in front of her, they found themselves in the main courtyard of the temple.

Gardinal’s jaw clenched. Everywhere he looked, bodies littered the earth. Girls as young as ten and twelve in novices’ robes, hung limp over one another. Priests he had prayed beside, had spent long hours discussing doctrine, lay ripped open on the cold earth. Faith Militia, had drilled, had forged from foolish youths into brave soldiers, lay dead in heaps. Cobblestone paths, stained in crimson, and matching splatters across every wall and column.

Out the corner of his eye Gardinal noticed a cowering man, in weather worn robes covered in rips and tears. He hid behind a fluted did column, peering out with wide, sunken eyes. Brother Leseral, Gardinal realized in shock. Gardinal had not heard what had become of the man after attacking The Prophetess in her chambers. When their eyes met though, the hollow faced Sherya cringed and slid into the columns shadow.

“They yet live.” Her Radiance whispered under her breath. Gardinal turned from the traitor priest back to the Prophetess. “It’s not too late. We can still save them.”

Gardinal furrowed his brow in confusion. How she had known that? He had no idea, but something in her voice made him believe her.

Looking at her, Gardinal saw her eyes focus past him, staring toward the pool at the center of the courtyard. A large statue of Ethinia stood there, her tears streaming down into the pool. At the edge of the bloodstained marble basin, looking up at the statue, stood a hooded man. Chaos and darkness flowed from the figure, like a raging fire consuming a city it suffocated the air around them. It was him. Gardinal readied his hammer and shield.

“Morkad.” The Prophetess spoke, a surprising strength to her voice. Turning, the figure pulled down his hood revealing a bald, pale, gaunt face. A Korek’s face once, still with the deeply pronounced brow, but nothing of red remained in his skin. His inky black eyes narrowed, and a sickly grin spread across his face.

“Prophetess.” He spoke, calm, cold, clear. The accent of a learned man, not a Korek. “We finally meet.”