Looking at the semicircle of opponents brought Axeton back to his sparring days at Grenfield. He did his best to control his breathing and assessed the situation, like his instructors told him to do.

Six enemies, one on the ground. Axeton doubted he’d be any more trouble. Three with short swords, one club, one rapier, one with brass knuckles. He thanked Avara that they weren’t more heavily armed; it’s many days' walk from Grenfield, and they probably didn’t want to be slowed down with heavier, albeit deadlier, weapons. Especially if Dorian told them it was a smash and grab.

Club came next, a greasy, heavily-muscled man with disheveled black hair. He smirked, then rushed towards Axeton with both hands wielding the knotted club over his head, trying to gain momentum. Instead, he gained a lesson in footwork as he stepped on his friend’s spear. It rolled under him, his legs flying out. The club overhead made him top-heavy as he careened backwards, hitting the floor.

The leader, one of the swords, pulled his glare from Axeton to Club, twisted his face in disgust. Club groaned, turning over on the ground while rubbing the back of his head.

“Idiot,” He spat. He then gestured at the group.

“Stevens, Whill, Penns, take him out. Watch the reach on his sword, he’s in Stance Seven”.

Shit, Axeton thought as they approached. These ones may know what they’re doing.

Rapier, one of the Swords, and Brass Knuckles, all in Grenfield blues, stepped cautiously forward.

Rapier shared Axeton’s favorite Stance, Seven. His long red hair tied back, wearing impeccable, custom-made boots. He must be rich, Axeton thought. Those are not standard issue.

Sword, based on his footwork, was using Four: Zhatt. It’s the most popular one taught, as it’s the best one to use when you want to scare or overpower an enemy with vicious overhead strikes. He grinned at the priest with hostility as he approached, his mouth bringing up a vertical scar with his sadistic smile. He reminded Axeton of Torvald, so strong that the blue and white Grenfield uniform had a hard time fitting him.

Knuckles clenched his weapon tighter in Five, the “Wildman’s Stance”: Revell. Just like the apple thief from earlier, but slightly less scrawny. His uniform shirt was open, revealing lean muscle that facilitated the fleet-footed approach to Revell.

Rapier faced Axeton down, standing right in front of him, while Sword and Knuckles took to the priest’s flank. Before they could even finish boxing him in, Seven whipped his rapier towards Axeton’s throat faster than he anticipated. His face, clean with well-trimmed facial hair, gave no emotion and showed no effort with the strike. This confirmed Axeton’s theory about Rapier being rich, as someone that distinguished and under control would have to have been trained for longer than the standard Grenfield recruit.

Axeton jerked his head to the side, barely narrowing the rapier’s tip. As the owner pulled back for another strike, Sword brought his weapon down, grunting with effort. Axeton caught the blade near the hilt of his own, as he blocked it above his head. The dull clank rang in his ears as he struggled to sweep the blade away, when Knuckles caught him in the ribs. The shock of the blow nearly caused him to fold and break his Stance; he swept out a leg towards Knuckles in an attempt to trip but he hopped backwards, his arms pumping, ready to go again. Rapier slashed upward but missed thanks to Axeton’s torso twisting back from the kick. The enemy angrily stepped forward, determined not to miss again. He made a show of pulling his weapon back, then thrusted forward, his stoic face giving way to a sadistic, toothy grin.

Axeton grimaced; had no room to move. In a flash, he slid and twisted his blade that had been pinned under the overhead Sword strike, slicing into his underarm. He howled, as the pressure released from his assault. Axeton used his arms to shove his blade away, then quickly pulled Knuckles into the path of the rapier. As Rapier stood wide-eyed at what he had done, Axeton turned to Sword and brought his own weapon down, leaving a searing gash across his torso. He dropped to his knees, just as Rapier was gathering himself. The final combatant, his nobleman facemask long gone, shrieked and haphazardly charged the priest, his rapier flashing with diagonal strikes.

Axeton always preferred a heavier blade, and this was one of those moments where it came in clutch. As he pulled his sword out in front of him to deflect, the priest caught Rapier’s weapon before it had a chance to hit him and pushed with a sudden jolt. Rapier wasn’t expecting a riposte, and it shoved his weapon off to the side. Axeton took the chance and shot his blade just below Rapier’s rib cage. The man gasped, uselessly pawing at the blade still sticking out of his chest. Shaking his trembling head side to side, as if denying such a thing could happen, he slumped to the ground.

The immense satisfaction Axeton felt, defeating three skilled opponents at the same time…felt like eating rich food after a long fast. His self-control began to waiver, as the sport of killing refreshed itself in his mind.

JUST LIKE OLD TIMES, the angry voice said, satisfied.

Axeton reset his posture, pointing his dripping blade at the leader, his own weapon at the ready as his eyes darted between the priest and his three fallen brothers.

“You are an uninvited guest in my home”, Axeton spoke to him flatly. “Return the Bell. Leave this place and I might let you live.”

The leader’s face eased, then raised an eyebrow as if partaking in some secret pleasure.

He hooked his thumb back towards the door behind him . “We’re keeping the Bell, and it looks like your time is up, priest. At least…”, he looked again at my weapon. “You claim to be one. But you’re a monster, no priest can fight like that.”

Axeton took a step closer.

“I’m a priest as far as you’re concerned”, he replied, taking another step forward. “Protecting the flock from the wolves”.

The man laughed. He wore Grenfield blues but must have been older than the others based on his confidence and bearing. He seemed to know better than to go toe to toe with Axeton, but stood his ground. The two other remaining recruits started to spread out to flank the priest, but the leader put his hand out to the side, shaking his head. They complied wordlessly.

He put his hand to his chin, as if in thought.

“I know who you are”, the man mused. “Ooooh, the Knights are going to get a kick out of this, they gave up looking for you long ago…but I didn’t.”

Axeton still heard scrambled footsteps behind him, he needed to keep this man talking so they wouldn’t pursue.

“The only Grenfield recruit brought into the Knights of the Silver Dawn in his first year. The one unbeaten in the sparring ring, a master of Stance Seven, the…’Demon of Rage’ who was forbidden to practice swordsmanship because you killed your opponent one night, then eight more of the ones who tried to stop you. Trained in the forbidden Tenth Stance by Dorian himself, before turning tail and running away…with so many of our secrets.”

Axeton huffed from his nose. “So, you’re what, a secretary for the Knights?”, he asked with a smirk. Internally, the priest was severely unnerved at the information this man possessed.

The leader chuckled, amused. “Not quite,” he quipped, his arms folded in front of his chest.

A mist quickly coalesced and swirled around the man’s face, obstructing it from view. Suddenly, Axeton heard a sound that reached across years of his memory and stabbed him in the heart.

Pop.

The man used his thumb to pop the knuckle of his index finger, then continued with the rest.

Pop

Pop

Pop.

Oh no, Axeton’s face blanched in a cold sweat at the sounds.

I should have known that he wouldn’t just take what he wanted and leave. He had to stick around, making sure that there was no one left behind. No witnesses, no evidence, as a ghost. Axeton lamented his shortsightedness as the dark cloud around his enemy cleared.

The first ruler of the Knights of the Silver Dawn, first established by the man now stood in front of Axeton. The owner of the Gift of Deception, the purveyor of cruelty, and his old mentor.

Bernhard Dorian.

“It’s been a long time, brother Gideon”, the old master chided at him as he started a profuse, cold sweat. He looks just like he had the day of the fire, Axeton thought. Black, slicked back hair that now had a streak of gray. Those dark, judgmental eyes. A burn scar was now plastered on his neck, running from his sternum to the middle of his left cheek. He looked, amused, at his old student.

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“Oh wait, it’s Axeton now. As though that would stop me from finding you,” he mocked.

Axeton’s throat was dry. “What do you want?” was all he could muster. His mind was spinning. He had known that Dorian was here, and his purpose for coming, but even that couldn’t mentally prepare him to face his old master. A banal question is all his mind could process.

The quiet voice wafted through the priest’s head. You can still reason with him, and get him to let everyone go, it suggested.

YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS, the angry voice shot back. YOU’RE NOT WALKING AWAY FROM THIS.

Dorian threw up his hands in an empty gesture.

“I already have what I want. The Bell of Avara has been silenced, the village is secure, and now it’s just time for cleanup”.

Axeton winced. “Silenced?” he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

The master nodded. “Yes. Using techniques shared…well, not so much shared as stolen from those idiots at Crooked Sun. But the Gifts of you and everyone in this backwater are going to be put on hold for a while.”

It must have something to do with the cloth Joise was talking about, Axeton reasoned.

Axeton coughed, then smirked at Dorian, in a small attempt to give himself some confidence despite being scared out of his mind.

“You’re all about cleaning up messes, but you’re too late. The people you left alive are already on their way to a secret location. You’ll never find them”.

Dorian delicately put his fingers to his chest, feigning shock and surprise.

“They’re on their way? Well that certainly ruins my plans…”

The man snapped his fingers, and the doors of the church of Avara opened behind him. Axeton looked, and saw a large ring of bandits and Greenfield recruits standing in a wide circle. Dorian made a gesture with his hands, and as though a curtain had been lifted, the townsfolk of Avandale appeared in the circle. They had all been tied up, gagged, and squeezed into the perimeter of guards. Axeton was horrified, and noticed many people in the crowd had also been under the stairs: Joise, the elders, and the children.

“I’ve been playing with my new Gift,” Dorian snickered. “Well, I had it since before you turned traitor and tried to burn my home down. Deception has such a wide range of what you can do with it. It can do anything from make my lies easier to believe, or even create an illusion that your precious townsfolk are prisoners you helped escape…when they’ve been tied up under guard the entire time...”

“Generating cruelty is so damned easy when I know what you’re going to do, Gideon,” he continued. “Letting you work your way back here, gutting that stupid boy but making sure you’d find him, placing throwaway guards at the entrance to your precious ‘secret tunnel’, making you think that you had hope…”

He sucked air in through his teeth with a wicked grin. “It’s delicious.”

Axeton stood in shock as all the pieces came together. It was all too easy, he punished himself internally. I knew Dorian was involved; I should have stood back and looked at the bigger picture. And now it’s too late.

Dorian’s smirk turned into a sick laughter, a demonic schadenfreude.

“You knew I was here,” Dorian gloated. “I assume the grunt you killed in the cobbler’s shop spilled the beans before you cut his throat open, as I predicted he would. Then you should have thought about how I do things, old friend…when do I EVER do ANYTHING before fully investigating and scouting every square inch of the area? Making sure all ins and outs are accounted for? Tying up all loose ends?”

He’s right, Axeton admitted to himself. That’s what he does. I was too focused on saving everyone to think objectively.

“I knew about the tunnel”, he reminded. “I knew about this village’s scant defenses, I knew that everyone here, the ones with Gifts anyway, was tied to the Bell. All I had to do was silence it, and your stupid Baron Estes helped to facilitate everyone being herded into chains in front of their beloved church house.”

KILL HIM NOW, the voice ordered.

“But the most important thing my scouts gave me…” Dorian quipped. “Was you.”

A chill went down Axeton’s spine.

“Yes,” Dorian said with glee. “They watched you for a few days, and verified their findings with me.”

“But you know,” he began as he waved a finger at the priest.

“If you weren’t here, I would have just stolen the Bell in the middle of the night, and no one would have been hurt. Maybe a few guards would have to be taken out, but with you being here, I couldn’t take the risk that you did or didn’t share any of the Silver Moon’s secrets. So, I thought ‘a priceless relic, guarded by someone I need to take out? Two birds with one stone!’”

Axeton gasped, trying not to spiral. This was all my fault, he mourned. These people took me in, and I put them all at risk. How could I be so stupid?

“You remember what I said in my office that day, Gideon?” Dorian asked. “About ancient Destined Objects with a tie to you-know-what? Well, this Bell is one of them.”

He sneered at the thought. “The damned thing still reeks of the influence of your pitiful goddess, but it should still serve me and my god quite nicely.”

Dorian pulled out a pocket watch, reading it nonchalantly before tucking it back into his coat.

“Well, I have an appointment in another town. Should we conclude our business?” he asked innocently.

The man gave a nod, turning with a grin towards one of his guards. That one blew a horn, then bellowed towards the circle surrounding the bound townsfolk.

“Company! ADVANCE!”

The guards lowered their weapons and descended upon the unarmed and defenseless crowd. Their guttural screams and cries rattled in Axeton’s brain as he fought for control, and lost.

“NOOOOO!” he roared, running forward, sweeping his blade towards Dorian as the old master blocked it with his own. He pulled back and attacked again and again, each blow harmlessly glancing off his perfect defense.

“I DIDN’T TELL THEM ANYTHING!”

CLANG

“THEY JUST WANTED TO LIVE HERE IN PEACE!”

CLANG

“IF YOU WANTED ME, I WOULD HAVE LET YOU TAKE ME AWAY!”

CLANG

As Dorian deflected Axeton’s last strike, he swiftly pulled a dagger from his belt and plunged it straight up into his right forearm.

The priest grunted and pulled it out before switching his sword to his other arm and continued the assault. The screams continued in the background as Dorian stood there and let him attack; he knew that Axeton was no threat to him.

He stood amused, blocking the sloppy strikes with minimal effort as more bandits and Grenfield recruits came streaming in. They didn’t try to attack, they just let their master toy with his prey as they watched on. Axeton’s breathing became labored as he continued to attempt to break through with his non-dominant hand. On his last strike Dorian riposted, opening up Axeton’s Stance, and deftly severed his arm at the shoulder.

Axeton dropped to his knees with a cry, almost toppling over from the lack of balance with an arm gone. Dorian stood over him, like someone who’s just seen a roach on the ground and is about to snuff out its miserable, short life with a quick step. The priest looked up at him, tears in his eyes, rage burning within. He tried to lunge towards his old master but stumbled over and fell on his face.

Dorian knelt down, his face inches from Axeton’s.

“Sssh. It’s okay. It’s over now,” he placated. “You and the rest of this godsforsaken village will die, even that old farmer on the outskirts, and that will be that. No more suffering”.

Axeton lowered his head; there was nothing he could do. As he did so, Dorian turned and picked up Axeton’s sword, his fingers still clinging to the green and gold hilt. Dorian shook off the dismembered hand and cast it aside, examining the blade.

“This has quite a bit of heft for a weapon so thin”, he mused, balancing it on his finger then slashing it through the air. “Just like the one you left behind that day. It’s a shame, you could have used it for me and lived, but now that you’ve used it against me, you die.”

“It’s ironic” one of the bandits next to the door spouted, stoically.

Dorian sneered at the man. “It’s not ironic you shit heel, it’s poetic! Talk out of turn again and I’ll do the same to you what I just did to him .”

The bandit tensed up, not moving or speaking again.

In an ultimate condescension, Dorian patted his old student on his head. “My boy, do you see what I put up with?” he asked.

“I…hate you” Axeton managed to sputter out, rage choking his throat.

Dorian laughed. “You and everyone else I’ve stolen a Destined Object from; get in line. If you have a complaint, tell it to your impotent goddess.”

He looked over Axeton’s blade one more time, before whipping it against the nearby wall. It shattered against the stone, each piece raining onto the floor; the smallest ones dancing in the light from the window before settling down one final time.

“Speaking of which…” Dorian mumbled, looking up towards the stained-glass window at the back of the church.

That window, aside from the Bell of Avara, was a prized part of the village. It was cleaned regularly, so the visage of the Goddess of Rebirth could be seen smiling down upon her people during prayers. Dorian could never appreciate beauty if he couldn’t take it with him.

He turned to his underlings. “Well boys”, he said, raising his arms and pointing towards the window. “It’s time for our little avenging angel to fly!”

Grunts and snickers of approval echoed through the once-sacred hall of the church of Avara. Axeton closed his eyes, trying to brace for what was going to come next; he didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. They brought him to just below the window then grabbed his arm and legs, and started swinging. He opened his eyes again one last time, seeing the smiling goddess getting closer, then further. With a collective heave, they hurled him up and through the window, his beaten and broken body slamming through the thick glass of the window. The shards of blue, green, pink, white, and so many other colors followed him out, then rained down on him as he crashed to the ground below.

He was in a daze, his body half searing from a thousand cuts, the other half numb and spreading. From where he was, he could hear the cries from the courtyard as the slaughter continued. The priest reached out to them… or tried to. His arm wouldn’t move. His vision was beginning to fade as Dorian walked up to him.

“Tell your goddess”, Dorian spat. “That anyone who tries to stop him will end up just like you”.

Axeton’s sight faded to black, he was so tired. If I could just rest, he thought. Maybe I could still fight.