A worm on a hook.

This was Mu's job that night, as Sir Cristoff, Sir Philip, and Shlomo all prepared to deal with the aschengeist so it would no longer haunt Elekvaz. They'd assured him that the instant he was in trouble, they'd rush out of hiding to help him.

Can anyone trust a crusader?

Mu stood in the streets of Elekvaz when night had covered the city in darkness. He held his scimitar in one hand. The weapon would never kill the aschengeist, but if what Fulk said about his encounter with the creature was true he could at least slow it down and get away.

Dressed in all black in the middle of the night, Mu wondered how the aschengeist was even going to find him. The moon was waning, and Mu was certain he blended in with the shadows.

This plan is silly. He'll never find me. The Templars should have me wear white instead.

Oh come, now, Mujahid, you know you're just being a coward. The aschengeist will only come if you're wearing all black. If you have no trust in the Templars, have a little faith in Allah for once!

Mujahid believed in Allah and the words of the Koran. "There is but one God, Allah, and Muhammed is his prophet." He'd said the words over and over again, but he could never honestly call himself a man of faith. In truth, he didn't pray five times a day. He didn't even pray five times a month. Much as he wanted to be just as faithful as his parents were before him, he was a man who believed in what he'd seen, nothing more. And for all the monsters, ghosts, and demons he'd seen, he'd never seen any sign of a God watching over all of this.

A shriek pierced the night.

Mu jumped at the sound and shined his lantern at the source, his shaking hands causing dark shadows to dance all around the city.

The beating of great wings and a gray shape moving in the dark told Mu it was just a bird of prey, probably an owl, snatching up its nightly meal. Some poor rabbit, no doubt, had failed to hear its hunter's arrival.

Mu breathed a sigh of relief and turned away, to face a mass of gray cinders and orange flames which had been standing behind him.

Scorching hot fingers wrapped around his throat before he could call out for help. He kicked and thrashed as the monster lifted him off the ground, the scimitar and lantern slipping from his fingers.

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The flames in the aschengeist's eye sockets spoke to Mu of the pure hatred within this beast's core. This soul had been consumed in rage, just as his body had been consumed in the blazes.

The aschengeist's fingers grasped the beak of Fulk's mask and held it fast. Mu felt heat travel up the steel, and where it met his forehead and jaw his flesh started to burn. The tip of the beak in the ghost's fingers glowed red, and the herbs inside scorched. Smoke filled Mu's mask and stung his eyes.

Shink!

Mu couldn't see a thing, but the ghost's grip on his throat loosened, and his knees hit the cobblestone streets.

Shink!

Another sound of a blade passing through cinders. An inhuman shriek followed, which Mu could only assume was the ashengeist.

"Stay down!" came Sir Cristoff's voice. "We have this!"

The sound of a bag bursting, followed by a splash. Mu felt fluid wash over him, which sizzled when it touched his red-hot beak.

That inhuman shriek again, this time louder.

Mu turned and crawled, deciding the best course of action at this moment was to get away from the fight.

Crack!

Pain shot through Mu's hand when a boot stomped down on his fingers. He cried out under the mask and pulled his injured hand away.

"Shlomo, get him out of here!" Sir Cristoff called. "I don't think he can see... die, you fiend!"

The repeated sounds of stabbing and slashing.

Then a hand on Mu's shoulder. Shlomo's voice called out, "Come on! Let's get you out of here!"

Mu followed as Shlomo pulled him up to his feet and away from the sounds of the fight.

"It's not working!" Sir Cristoff called out. "Hold him back! I'll exorcise him!"

More sounds of a struggle, and a groan of pain from a voice Mu did not recognize. Sir Philip's in trouble?

Sir Cristoff began his chant, "Ímperat tíbi Déus Pater; ímperat tíbi Deus Fílius; ímperat tíbi Déus Spíritus Sánctus."

Mu undid the straps holding his mask in place, letting the smoke flee from his eyes into the night air. After a few blinks, he could make out the glowing shape of the aschengeist and the two men in white fighting against it.

"Ímperat tíbi majéstas Chrísti, aetérnum Dei Vérbum cáro factum, qui pro salúte géneris nóstri tua invídia pérditi..."

Mu's eyes adjusted a little more, and he spotted the glint of his scimitar on the ground. More importantly, he saw that the aschengeist held Sir Philip's wrist in its hand and was slowly crushing it in its grip. Sir Philip stabbed into the ghost wildly with his dagger.

"..humiliávit semetípsum fáctus obédiens úsque ad mórtem qui Ecclésiam súam aedificávit súpra fírmam pétram..."

Mu rushed in, snatched his scimitar off the ground, and chopped through the arm which held Sir Philip's wrist.

"...et pórtas ínferi advérsus eam númquam esse praevalitúras edíxit, cum ea ipse permansúrus ómnibus diébus úsque ad consummatiónem saéculi!"

On the last word, the aschengeist let out another cry of anguish and the flames within it fizzled. In seconds, the ghost turned dark, and its ashes crumbled into the street in a pile.

Mu stood over the pile of ashes with Sir Cristoff, Sir Philip, and Shlomo, all of them completely silent for several moments.

Until finally Sir Cristoff patted Mu on the shoulder. "You came back to help us! Thank you! Now this wicked spirit is gone forever. May God have mercy on his soul."