Chapter 33

[Inquisitor Ultsa]

The results were worse than expected.

Over a four dozen dead. Fifteen barriers smashed to pieces, an entire congregation had been lost to the backlash.

The battle had been pitched, and almost lost, all with such a sudden, such a brutal, change of tide.

Yet, victory was finally in their grasp.

The statues were nothing but stone. A substance which was easily broken to pieces. Something the church of the Empire was very practiced in, considering the ever-present and ongoing battles in the East.

The tactics used were much the same.

Threats were lured into traps of holy power and destroyed.

Simple, yet effective.

Yet, there was one being among the stone guardians which was truly a threat.

On the battlefield, it had loomed: a giant that represented a ruthless and terrifying example of heresy, the likes of which Inquisitor Ultsa had never seen before.

Before it, [Barrier] were shattered and [Smite] faltered. As faithful warriors pressed in, men died by the droves. Their bodies were thrown hundreds of paces, to tumble through the sand like bundles of cloth and rags. Decades of experience, snuffed out with every swing.

Trained soldiers, reduced to nothing but corpses.

That giant’s club moved like the wind. Massive weight, whistling through the air with enough force to send shock-waves. Any warrior who attempted to block its strike, perished. The powers that were failed to hold it back, while spells slogged off of its armor. That horrible shield, a piece of stone thick as a man’s torso, swatted them back like hail.

Even as its brethren in heresy crumbled under the continued assault, the Guardian plowed through the faithful numbers, sending their people running for life itself.

Defeat.

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The Inquisitors did not accept defeat.

Such was not their way. Setbacks could be had, battles might be lost: but true defeat was never an option.

And yet, if this was far too horrible to be called a setback. The early stages of the battle- that disorganized scene was tragic as it was brutal. Men screaming, praying to the light for refuge: And then, the giant turned its sights to a boulder.

A heavy stone, set beside the entrance.

And Inquisitor Ultsa felt dread.

For, they had come by ship. By a vessel taken in repair from the Bloodridge Mountains, acquired by the Royal seal. Though the ship was hardly befitting to the noble purpose of their mission, it had been drafted beneath the seal of Faith for a higher purpose. It had been fitted with the required seals, the flags of duty, and the prayers of light. While escaping by such a vessel would be still shameful, it was accepted.

Yet it was as if the horrid monstrosity had already known.

Like a meteor from the heavens, the rock it lifted flew through the air. Then, it came crashing down.

God of Light preserve them.

What had they wrought?

What had they done?

The Blue Death, the God of these wasted lands, come from across the ocean leaving only destruction. Ravager of the sacred Sanctuary, worker of heresy, bringer of ruin.

What did it want?

Why did it linger, where there was nothing but sand, and sun, and death?

Perhaps, these were its elements.

Perhaps, it had come as the final messenger. The true messiah of the end.

Then, the cannon fired.

Even as the ship descended, the Guardian fell.

Its limbs broken, its weapons gone.

The priests approached, and finally their hammers finished the horrible work. Heavy blows chipping away at what remained until nothing but a faceless stone remained.

Static and utterly unmoving.

It could not answer his questions.

No, they would find no answers on this night, he knew. What a horror he felt now, could only be rivaled by the shame, as the ship had descended to the soil, broken bow crashing roughly in the plains beside the entrance.

They had underestimated the danger.

He had underestimated the danger.

The costs had been great.

Inquisitor Ultsa only hoped he could be provided forgiveness, as he stared at the rock wedged in the ship's hull, and a stone shield planted firmly atop the bloody pulp that had once been the seat of his pilot.

One more soul, sent to the light.

One more necessary sacrifice.

Stepping out onto the sand, he eyed the strange placement of green among the crumbled leak of bloodied stone.

There, a sapling of a Great tree, native only to the Northern Continents, waited. Contained within the barriers of those faithful who were first to arrive and secure the entrance...

Why here, of all places?

Beside the tree, he scowled as he stared down into the darkness of the dungeon, light of chants illuminating the steps that lead within. The worked stone filled with images, serpents slithering and reaching towards some unholy sky.

The Blue Death.

Destroyer of Sanctuaries.

Bringer of Ruin.

He no longer had any doubt.

When the work was done, he would deliver his findings, and pray for forgiveness.

But that was then.

This was now.

Men formed up beside him, blades dipped in wicked poison and armors filled with holy power. The very air rippled in their presense, as the voices of the faithful sang around them.

The light reached him, touching deep within his chest- within his very soul.

He was an instrument of the Empire.

He was the blade of the Emperor.

At last.

It was time to kill a beast.