Juddken took charge of leading Jere to the crawl space. It felt very familiar to him, their roles having changed little from a few weeks prior: Juddken leading a doomed man to certain damnation.

Only they weren’t the same. Everything was different now. Ash. The slave. Even Juddken himself. Juddken struggled to comprehend that he was once the meek young son of Boah Awil-Ishtar .

“ k i l l m a i m PRAISEBE d o m i n a t e s c a l p PRAISEBE d i s m e m b e r e x e c u t e ”

Juddken struggled to think straight. Thoughts bounced around his mind, certain that most of them were not his own. He stopped keeping track of the voices after five, though at times he would’ve claimed there were hundreds. He often begged for relief from them. Why would Okkan choose to communicate in such a horrifying and archaic way? There were so many commands and few made sense. They were increasing in ferocity, and Juddken often found much of his day disappearing as he struggled to regain a sense of self. He would blank out and reappear mid-conversation, losing track of the days. He was clearly keeping order, but his mind was losing focus.

Earlier today we awoke back in the temple throne room. He had been in the middle of flaying a guard. He thought his name was Musub, but he wasn’t sure. How he had gotten him there or how he killed him was a mystery.

Only two things kept Juddken grounded. One of them was performing the sacrifices underneath the temple. The other was when he encountered the slave outside of Namshi’s residence. He and Thed had chased some of the Ati worshipers and found some of them cornered within. Juddken scouted the area, planning on returning with guards before he saw Adok and Jere escape through the window.

It was then the voices stopped. The world suddenly became clear. More clear than Juddken had ever experienced, even before the Plague began.

Juddken knew Jere was tough. He knew the other guards refused to spar with Jere. Many had claimed they simply refused to stoop so low to fight a slave, but in hushed whispers they revealed their fear. Juddken himself had succumbed to it, despite the multitude of sparring and training sessions his father had paid for him over the years. But when he encountered Jere outside, his spear knew exactly where to go. And he had bested him in a fight.

He could have killed him. Maybe until recently he would have. But after finding the shrine beneath the temple, his purpose in life became clear.

Boah was wrong. The flayings of the weak would not appease Okkan. To earn his blessings, you had to perform a proper sacrifice. Jere, as lowborn as he was, was the strongest man Juddken had ever met. He would be a worthy sacrifice.

Juddken was pushing a man now. Who was he? Why was he pushing him? He was trying to yell but couldn’t. “Ag! Ag!” was all he could manage.

“Fook af, ya fooking git,” it was Thed, Juddken’s loyal translator. “Ya old man wont protect ya out ‘ere!” It was one of Urash’s mercenaries. They mostly stood guard outside of Urash’s bedroom, so it was strange seeing one so far away. He was crouched over by a corner, inspecting a barrel. Probably looking for supplies.

The mercenary sprinted away. The crimson guards were tough, but their numbers were thin. If Boah had simply given the order, the Corps would wipe them out. Juddken was close to convincing his father, it would only be a matter of time.

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Juddken would look for the mercenary later. He wasn’t his priority now. What he needed to do was get Jere underground.

Now Juddken was in Urash’s room. He moved fast, and his forced entry inside was but a blur. He caught himself tossing the mercenary’s sword at the old man, nearly knocking him off balance.

“We had an agreement!” Urash yelled. “My men were untouchable, you smooth-brained moron!”

“He’s fine,” said Thed, again speaking for Juddken. He wasn’t as eloquent as Juddken wished, but he often got the point across. The man was a thug, but he had an unusual ability to speak for Juddken’s desires. He was maybe smarter than his oafish appearance led on. “Just ran off, ‘e’ll comer round.”

Urash shook his head. “Who’s this supposed to be?” he said, gesturing to the captured slave. “Another dog to kick down the well?”

“Pris’na, wanderin’ where ‘e shouldn’t. Gonna ‘elp with tha’ tunnel.”

Urash approached the slave, tilting his head and locking his eyes in place. He got a little too close, as if he needed to be a nose-length’s away to see clearly. “Wait… You were one of Boah’s men, the one they locked away in the cells. Jere, is it?”

Jere did not respond. The guards hadn’t removed his armor, but with his hands locked together in chains, there was little to fear. He was looking more meek with every trudging step.

“You should be dead. Then again, you probably wish you were.”

Jere sneered.

“Your friends are at the bottom. The two guards. Just watch your step and you’ll be fine. Don’t try anything funny.” As Urash reassured him, the other guards in the room did their practiced motion, moving the bed away from the hole. If Jere thought anything of the sudden appearance of the mysterious pit, he didn’t show it, simply moving into place.

“Wait,” Urash said, holding his hand close to Jere’s chest. “When you were outside, did you encounter a large man with a beard? Looks as if he’s seen better days?”

“Kyösti?” Jere asked.

Urash’s eyes lit up, before settling. “Did the screamers get him?”

Jere hesitated before responding. “Yes.”

“Oh. Was it quick?”

“No.”

Urash’s mouth held open. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He suddenly looked quite miserable, his sad eyes making him older than even his usual decrepit body showed.

“Thank you for your honesty.”

Jere gently nodded his head.

Juddken was suddenly shrouded in darkness, lit only by the dim flame of his torch. They were beneath the Manor now, though Juddken did not know how far they had descended. He barely saw the back of Jere, who was a few steps in front.

Images of mangled limbs flooded Juddken’s vision. He saw broken limbs and severed spines. He envisioned Jere at the bottom of the steps, the vertebrae of his neck jutting outward as he struggled to breathe. Blood bubbling against his lips as his eyes became still.

Juddken knew he had to wait. Now wasn’t the time. The voices compelled him to kick the first guard down, nearly killing him. He had been too eager. It was an improper way to offer a sacrifice. Perhaps a decent way to cower them, but if he killed Jere, there would be no chance of appeasing Okkan. The plague would curse Ash forever.

“Ki l l k i l l k i l lki l l k i l l k i l l kil l ”

The voices were echoing now. Were they not Okkan? Had he not decided that he was his conduit? Perhaps now was the way.

Juddken skipped a few steps forward. He kicked his leg out with force.

Jere slid to the side, placing his back against the wall. Juddken nearly slipped off balance, the momentum of his kick timed right as the steps of the stairs became slippery.

Before he tumbled, Jere placed his arm out against Juddken’s breastplate, stopping him mid fall. Juddken gasped as he struggled to find his foot.

“Oy!” Thed yelled from behind them. “Wots the issue?”

Juddken readjusted his torch, holding his hand outward against the wall as he caught his balance. Jere stared directly at him.

“Watch your step,” Jere said.

Suddenly it was Juddken who became struck with fear. The voices were faint now, akin to buzzing mosquitos. A single thought permeated through Juddken’s trance. “How did I beat this person?” he thought.

Jere pushed Juddken back, with him falling against the stairs. Juddken could have killed him before, but Jere very much could have let him tumble into the abyss. He supposed they were even.

Juddken allowed Jere to continue to the bottom without incident. The voices kept quiet.