Chapter 17 – All Hell Breaks Loose

Bel met the eyes of the two young people in front of him, his greeting having just left his lips. The man and woman both woke from their terror and confusion, they screamed and reacted. The woman charged with her sword forward, trying to skewer Bel, and the man raised his right fist, the object in his hand dropped and forgotten, his hand starting to glow with white light.

“Wait...!” Bel started to scream as he dropped his spear, holding up his hands. Unfortunately, everything happened so fast that he didn’t think about stopping his greatest weapons. The woman stabbed her sword forward and before her blow landed, two spears ran her through from the skeleton spearmen next to Bel. The man released a white beam of energy toward Bel’s face. It didn’t land as Solomon stepped up, twirling his mallet so fast it looked like a sideways helicopter. The beam harmlessly splashed against it.

The man's shocked face was replaced with pain as a werewolf pounced on him, its claws ripping into the gut of the man. The creature then flung him back towards the waiting undead.

“No wait, stop!” Bel shouted and the undead obeyed, their weapons stopping a few centimeters from the screaming man’s face. Bel moved like an arrow, first he scooped up the woman placing her next to the man. Then he started preparing a skill.

The other warriors hadn’t stood idly by. Bel threw a glance their way, the man in that ornate armor, next to the horse, had drawn his blade and pointed it toward Bel while shouting something, the wind not carrying his words.

The other warriors shook off their surprise and started throwing that same white light toward Bel. Their aim was terrible due to surprise and fear but soon their hits landed close by. Bel silently ordered his skeletons to form a shield wall between him and the enemy.

“Master, be careful. I recognize their symbol; they are inquisitors of Dawn. They hunt down and kill anyone they believe is guilty of breaking the doctrine of the White Goddess.” Ignatius’s voice held a hint of anger.

“You won't be able to convince them of your good intentions, they are zealots and brainwashed since childhood. You need to kill them all, if anyone survives, they will hunt you to the edge of the world.” Bel looked at the skull as it spoke, he didn’t believe the skull had the best intention at the moment. This was about revenge. Bel knew it was an inquisitor that had murdered Ignatius those many years ago. He couldn’t deny that its words could be true though.

Ignoring the plight before him he focused on the two wounded. Channeling a cast of Life Transference, he did something he hadn’t done before. He took from the life within him and gave to the wounded. They both gasped as the ecstasy of Life coursed through them. They coughed and gagged but immediately their wounds closed and their breathing eased. They looked at Bel in confusion, Bel saw that their eyes had turned brilliant emerald green.

Their faces froze in fear, anger, and confusion. Bel pitted these frightened children, they looked no older than eighteen, and while Bel was not much older than them, he felt ancient after his ordeals in the dungeon.

One of his skeletons staggered as two beams of light hit its shield, it immediately retook its place in the line. The beams weren’t very effective against his minions, his skills and levels making them much more resilient than other summoners of this level.

Bel was unsure of his next move. His two guests were unwilling to give up and the man was trying to hide his right hand as he cast his skill again. Bel grabbed the arm as the man raised it towards him again, and directed the blast up into the sky.

“Stop that please.” Bel released the man who covered, preparing to die.

Bel sent a command and a werewolf appeared grabbing the man and woman by their collars. It dragged them back from the fight and held them down, their faces away from the fight. Without being able to see or move they were forced to lay there, listening to the fight with no way of knowing who was winning. Bel couldn’t spare them any more thought because the white-clad warriors were getting ready to charge him. They had started to organize and the man had saddled his horse again, he seemed to be the leader.

Bel wracked his mind for something to say or do that wouldn’t end in bloodshed. He glanced at the group standing to the side, they were all arguing with each other and the leader. The olive-skinned man was shouting something and pointing at Bel. They hadn’t drawn their weapons or made a threatening move yet.

Indecision warred within Bel. The line of white-clad warriors was forming and their eyes were hungry for revenge. They probably couldn’t see what Bel did with the two captives. In their minds, Bel had probably done something unspeakable with the prisoners.

Bel walked to the front, the line of spearmen shifting like one to let him pass. The motion caused the approaching enemies to flinch and pull back a step. Their eyes were wary, this was a man from their childhood fairy tales. This was a man from the stories their parents told them when they misbehaved or didn’t eat their vegetables.

Holding his hands up, showing that he was unarmed. Bel shouted.

“I wish to parley!” The enemy's approach stopped and they looked at each other in confusion. No one answered for a moment, until the man on the horse rode forward a bit, still staying behind his warriors though.

“Who are you, a vile creature of death, to ask for a parley with the Inquisitors of Dawn?” His voice was snobbish and refined, like that of royalty in movies and tv-shows. Bel cursed internally, this man would not be easily convinced, probably by the sheer fact that he sounded like someone who was used to getting his way.

“My name is Belmont. I am from a place called Earth and I was brought here against my will.”

“Well, Belmont no last name. How can I believe anything you say? You who serve the dead one, his minions standing at your back, ready to kill us all.”

“I have a class yes, a summoning one, and these minions are under my complete control, they will not hurt you. They acted in my defense earlier before I managed to stop them.” Bel was sweating, he was not used to talking to people and this situation was dire.

“So, you say! But two of ours are dead thanks to you. Also, everyone knows that the servants of Death lie, they seek only one thing. To kill and maim!” A murmur of ascent could be heard from the white-clad warriors. Bel could see though, the fear and worry in their eyes. They knew that fighting would mean that some of them wouldn’t make it home. Choosing his next words carefully.

“They are not dead. I saved them from getting hit by your attacks and healed them myself.” He signaled the wolf and it brought the two prisoners over. Before he could say or do anything else the male prisoner suddenly shouted.

“Don’t listen to him Lieutenant Ventrell. He has cursed us! Look at our eyes, the vile creature seeks to use us as infiltrators most likely!” Bel smacked himself in the face with a gauntleted hand before he could stop himself. It hurt but he didn’t care.

“I healed you, using my own life as fuel I might add.” Bel said through clenched teeth.

“Use whatever means you have at your disposal and check them over; you’ll see that they are perfectly fine.” He continued and ordered their release.

They both stumbled when the large wolfman released them and they started to walk over to their friends, hesitantly, as if they expected to be stabbed in the back at any time. Bel knew giving away his biggest safety card was a huge gamble, but if something violent happened, at least he knew his hand was clean.

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The leader was quiet for a while, he leaned over talking to a subordinate who ran off toward the two released prisoners. The subordinate held his halberd at the ready and ordered them to their knees. The prisoners had surprised expressions but obeyed. The man started to cast some form of skill over the pair, moving his hand over their head, a white light shining on them. He looked back at the leader and shook his head, the leader's eyes growing dark.

“You’ve hidden your invasive traps and malicious intent deep within these poor souls. They will have to be taken to the capital and be cleansed in the holy fire to be free of your taint.” The man's nose was so high Bel could count his nostril hairs.

The man and woman paled at their leaders' words. Whatever cleansed in the holy fire meant, they didn’t seem to be much enthused by it.

“I haven’t done anything to them except save their lives.” Bel clenched his teeth. These people meant nothing to him, but it made him deeply uncomfortable to think that they would endure something painful or harsh because of him.

“You say that yes, but how can we be sure? If your claims of being from this Dirt place then you may not know our ways, but here, we do not suffer evil to live.” The man prepared to give the order to attack when another voice was raised.

“Stop Christian. Enough of your boasting and prattling.” It was the man from Bel’s dreams. The leader of the group of adventurers.

“You have no authority here, Chadwick. Don’t interfere in inquisition business.” The leader, this Christian Ventrell, looked angrily at the man. Bel noticed he didn’t give the order to attack, the interfering man seemed to have some influence.

“I do actually. As a Knight of the Dawnstriders, I have the right to squire anyone I want under the light. I offer this opportunity to this lost soul. Lost upon the winds of magic, brought here for a purpose not his own.” As the man spoke the faces of everyone around, changed from anger and fear to shock, confusion, and fury in some cases.

Ventrell’s face was purple from anger. A vein straining at his temple. Bel was sure something violent would come and he steeled himself for a fight. Nothing happened as the two men looked at each other.

“Are you sure you want to do this Devon?” Christian whispered so softly probably only Bel with his increased stats and Devon could hear him.

“Yes, I am Christian. You know me and what I believe in and highest on that list is to let people prove themselves before condemning them.” Devon was speaking gently, a warmth in his voice as he spoke about his beliefs. Bel knew then, that this was a good man.

“Then what happens next is on your head. I hope your father never hears about this, you know what will happen then.” Devon flinched but stood tall. He nodded toward the well-armored man in front of him.

“Very well!” Christian said louder and he turned towards Bel, opening his mouth to speak. Before he could continue, something happened.

It turned out Bel was right about the fight part, but not for the reason he thought. A circle of white light appeared around Bel’s minions and started to burn them; it didn’t outright kill them though. Both Solomon and Ignatius screamed in agony, the others burned but stood as silently stoic as usual. Bel quickly ordered them back as he drew his sword and shield.

The massive sword and shield were almost weightless in his strong hands. He looked around for the threat but the others looked as surprised as him. His eyes soon locked on a man walking through the crowd before him. The man walked with silent confidence. Ventrell and Chadwick followed his eyes and as they saw the man, their eyes widened in recognition and fear.

“Apostle Merikh. What an honor. Your presence is a delight as well as a surprise.” Ventrell's tone was dripping with honey, but the tremble in his voice gave his fear away.

“Yes, I’m the light in your dark heart, the sugar in your cavina, and every other praise you can throw at me. You truly are a prattler, Ventrell.” The man’s voice was a deep rumble. He was wearing the same chainmail and leather as the other troops until a haze went over him, showing his fine-plated armor underneath and the full helm on his head. It had been a shawl covering his features before the illusion was lifted.

“I’m sorry your eminence.” Ventrell whispered.

“Why are you here, Apostle Merikh?” The man called Devon asked. He was not as cowed as Ventrell, Bel thought. He was standing tall and looking the other man in the eyes.

“Devon.” The man looked at Devon, his features hidden but his tone was not pleased.

“I never understood what the Highest One saw in you. The leeway he gives to your brethren baffles me. Our initiates understand the true meaning of sacrifice in the name of the Mistress.” As he spoke, he drew two daggers and with a casual flick threw them at the two prisoners, the strength behind that flick must have been immense. The daggers flew like arrows over fifty meters straight for the necks of the two.

Instead of hitting soft flesh, moving faster than anyone expected, Bel intercepted the projectiles and slapped them away with his shield. The impact was so hard the two daggers flattened. The silence returned, everyone was staring at the two daggers. The prisoners hadn’t had time to even react as their death approached and were thwarted all within a fraction of a second.

They looked at the instruments of their deaths and up toward the back of their savior. The others stared as well. All but the Apostle, he was staring at the Necro-Lord, his posture one of surprise and anger. Bel also thought he saw a hint of fear in the shoulders, but he was no expert on reading human body language, at least he assumed the man was human. Bel realized there were a lot of races in this world that could look human at a glance.

Devon and Christian were both stunned, for different reasons. Christian for the fact that the Death wielder was fast enough to stop an Apostle's attack, and Devon for the fact that the Apostle tried to kill two of his men just like that. Without proof of any wrongdoing.

“So here we have him, the latest acolyte of the Dead One.” Merikh growled.

“I’m no one's acolyte. I am my own man, as I explained to the pompous ass. I’m guessing you aren’t as easygoing as him?” Bel couldn’t stop himself. This person was a bad man, someone Bel felt was as bad as Crow.

“I won’t let you leave like this one was about to do no.” He nodded towards a kneeling Ventrell who paled and bowed deeper.

“I guessed as much. But let us set a few terms. If you win, I die and my minions turn back to ectoplasm. You leave everyone alive and you examine these two closely.” He nodded toward the two kneeling prisoners behind him. The man who examined them before had stepped away, holding his Halberd in shaking hands.

“If I win, you die. Everyone else leaves except for Devon and his group, I take him up on his offer and he teaches me the rules of this world. Do we have a deal?” Bel regretted not putting on his helmet before this fight, he didn’t want to show how worried he was. His words were met with silence for a while, no one spoke or even dared move.

Then the Apostle started to laugh, a deep belly laugh filled with mockery, not happiness. This was not a laugh of joy.

“If you win?! You truly are an odd man. The last Death Class I killed didn’t have an ounce of your humor. But I shall agree to your terms, only because I quite like Sarah and John, their deaths would have weakened the order.” He spoke so casually about the people he had almost just murdered.

“Fine. Perhaps you are as good as you and they seem to believe. There is only one thing you don’t know. What I went through down there, and let me tell you. I have nothing to lose.” With those words, Bel put the helmet on and his armor glowed with a deep green glow and a wave of energy coursed through him.

Set complete - Strength +5 Dexterity +5.

Bel smiled behind his helm and as soon as Devon and Christian had backed away from the Apostle. Bel looked behind him at the two kneeling people whose lives were in his hands. He knew Merikh wouldn’t keep his word, he could feel it.

“Get behind my minions, for now, you aren’t safe with your people yet.” He didn’t wait to see what they would do, instead, he looked toward his enemy. The man had drawn a magnificent arming sword and he held a shield with the same rising sun symbol as the others. His had another feature as well, a hand holding a burning cross on which a man was fastened.

Without waiting for another distraction or speech, Bel charged forward. His feet left the ground so fast a small crater was left behind. Merikh was equally as fast and strong and the two fighters met in the middle, a huge shockwave spreading from the impact, stumbling the others watching, as their swords met.

The two opponents strained against each other; their eyes locked upon one another. Bel could see the man's eyes now, they were a cold blue, lacking warmth. They were cold, the eyes of a killer. Bel grew in his resolve in killing this man just as his confidence waned as the man matched his strength. Bel had survived by being stronger and faster than his enemies up until now. Because this man had something Bel lacked, experience and skill in his chosen weapon.

What he didn’t know was that the same thing happened within Merikh. This noone was as strong as him, matching his strength fully, a strength bought from countless deaths. Just how many levels and attributes had the Vile One given this man? A seed of doubt and fear grew within Merikh as he looked into the dark eyes of this man, the eyes of someone who had seen more death than anyone of that age should have. Merikh felt his forty-five years then.

This was perhaps it, the last battle, but if he died then who would help the Watching One? Steeling himself, he tried to bury his doubts. He would not fail his Goddess.