Indenuel strode through the gravel around Cristoval’s home. He had been here once before. The four stars glimmered in the sky above as the front door opened. The demons assured him that no one else in the city knew Indenuel was in the dungeon.

“Warrior Indenuel, it is indeed such an honor to have you here,” the head servant said with a bow. It worked out for the best. He didn’t want to kill the servant unless he had to. “Are you alright, Warrior Indenuel? It looks like you got into a fight.”

“Don’t ask questions,” Indenuel said.

“Very well. May I offer my services of healing?”

“Will the servant sense the corruption?” Indenuel asked.

We will move into the staff.

He won’t sense a thing.

“That is very kind, thank you. I’d like to be healed.” Indenuel leaned forward, the staff strapped to his back. He didn’t bother covering it. Garen was right. No one except the High Elders knew what it was. The man healed his injuries.

“Good as new,” the man said.

“Thank you. I need the fastest tree talker on your staff to send a message,” Indenuel said.

“Of course. What message can they send?”

“Alert the other High Elders. Give them a message, from Tolomon the Graduate.” He kept his voice as steady as possible, but there was still a tremor of pain as he mentioned his friend’s name. “Tell them he would like to meet them outside the north city gates. And it is vital they know it is from him. Do not mention me at all.”

The servant nodded. “I shall send the message along.”

“Thank you. I will give his message to Dalius and Cristoval personally.”

“Of course, sir. And when would your bodyguard like to meet the other High Elders?”

“Now.”

“Very well, sir. I shall make sure the message is sent at once.”

“Thank you. And where are Cristoval and Dalius?”

“They are meditating in their study, sir. Down the hall, that first door on the right,” the servant said.

“I am in your debt,” Indenuel said, heading for the room as the servant moved deeper into the house. It was better this than draw them away from their families to kill them.

It was past dinner. There was a flicker of lamplight at the bottom of the door. Indenuel didn’t bother knocking as he walked inside, closing the door behind him.

Dalius cracked an eye open, then opened both, looking concerned. “How did you-”

Indenuel threw pain into Dalius’ gut before he could say another word. The man looked as though he had swallowed an entire apple without chewing it before Indenuel flicked his wrist, and the pain entered his brain. He collapsed, blood pooling from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

Cristoval was mumbling something, completely oblivious. Indenuel strode forward, standing right in front of him. The anger and pain burned inside. The old man stopped mumbling.

“You raped my mother. And gave her next to nothing to survive on. You left me to grow up, not knowing who I was. You left me to stumble in the dark.”

Cristoval raised his head until he met Indenuel’s gaze. “Until darkness was all you are familiar with.” Indenuel narrowed his eyes. Cristoval wasn’t threatening in his wheelchair, but he still couldn’t let his guard down. He still had the other High Elders to kill. A flicker of recognition passed Cristoval’s face. “It’s you.”

Indenuel glared at him. “Yes. It’s me. Your son.”

Cristoval’s eyes brightened for some reason. “I don’t remember. There were too many women. But I suppose you are, aren’t you.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Indenuel almost felt his eyes flicker with darkness. “You know exactly what I’ve come to do, don’t you?”

Cristoval stood, his legs quivering under his weight. The demons in his staff began to cackle. Indenuel touched the staff on his back, ready to pull it out if needed.

“You’ve come to finally kill me,” Cristoval said. Indenuel’s nod was slow and careful. Cristoval smiled, and he could have sworn the man looked ten years younger. “Do what you must, then.” Indenuel frowned, feeling something that could only be described as wrong. Cristoval had to be stalling for time. He waited for the old man to charge him, but he didn’t. He simply waited, smiling.

“Is this a trick?” Indenuel asked.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve lost track of how old I am. All things, eventually, must come to an end. Santollia has lasted for centuries, and it is time she, too, rest. I’ve been wanting to be dead for many years now, ever since I saw the end of the world.” Cristoval said.

Indenuel felt a chill. “You saw the end of the world. That’s what made you go mad.”

“Yes.”

“What was it like?” He was almost afraid to ask the question.

Cristoval looked focused. “It is a place that made me anxious to be in the actual hell, so I wouldn’t live long enough to see that one.” A chill rose up Indenuel’s spine. “Keep your promise, my son. Kill me quicker than you did your villagers.”

Indenuel frowned. There was something deeply unsettling about it all. He didn’t dare ask more questions. Instead, he raised his hand, pushing pain into Cristoval. The old man gasped, his thin frame almost crumpled over before Indenuel pushed the pain into his brain. The body fell, blood pouring from his nose, mouth, and ears. He glared at the empty wheelchair. He wanted to feel vindicated, but instead he was left feeling hallow. He wanted the old man to beg for forgiveness, to cower in fear, but instead he welcomed death more than he welcomed Indenuel.

It didn’t matter. Cristoval would suffer in Hell long enough, no matter what he said. He turned and left the study, careful not to step in the pools of blood forming so he wouldn’t track it out of the study.

He closed the door behind him, the servant waiting for him. “The message has been sent, sir.”

“Thank you. Leave Dalius and Cristoval to their meditation. They do not wish to speak to anyone until they call for you,” Indenuel said.

“Of course, sir.”

Indenuel walked out the door, his steps steady and sure. He had killed two of them. Three more to go.

Garen appeared next to him. “Destroy the High Elders library.”

Indenuel frowned. “Destroy it?”

“Yes. Burn down the words of the Prophets. If the High Elders aren’t going to share it with the people, then no one should have it. This religion does nothing but harm people. Bury it for good.”

Indenuel nodded. “It will be done.”

He was far enough away from the house that he reached out and broke the will of a tree. He grabbed the branch as it wrapped around his wrist, pulling him up into the air to the next branch waiting for him.

***

Martin finished writing his apology to Sara, reading over it again. It was groveling. Nothing but verbal self-loathing. He might as well kneel before her and whip himself for his sins. It was disgusting, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to tone it down. This is truly how he felt. He had caused his wife an immeasurable amount of pain, let alone the rest of Santollia. Even still, if it had just been her in pain, he deserved every bit of suffering hell waited to give him.

He should write down that too.

Martin placed the quill back in the ink pot before covering his face, not caring about the splotches of ink that formed there. The main problem was he could not ask Sara to forgive him when he couldn’t forgive himself.

There was a knock on the study door. “Martin, sir?”

“Come in,” Martin said, still covering his face with his hands.

The servant walked in with a paper. “From Tolomon the Graduate.”

Martin dropped his hands. “Tolomon?” If it was a message from him, it had to be something about Indenuel. Martin took the paper.

Meet me outside the north city gates now.

He frowned but stood. Whatever it was, the information couldn’t be trusted with a tree talker, and therefore couldn’t be good news. He wasn’t sure how much more bad news he could take right now, but he put on a brave face for his servants.

“Would you like me to send this letter?” the servant asked, picking up the page from the desk.

“No, no,” Martin said, placing his hands in the sleeves of his robes. “I’m not ready to send that to Sara yet.”

He walked out of his study and headed toward the small stable to get a horse.

***

The urge to hide the corruption was there, but it was pointless. Indenuel threw the corrupted pain into the bodies of the guards outside the Cathedral, enough to knock them all out for a long while. He threw the doors open and turned, walking down the spiral staircase to the basement. The guards there as well sensed the corruption, but they didn’t have the power to stop him. He knocked them all out, even the one with healing, before throwing the doors open to the library.

He took an assessment of what he had, then grabbed all the lanterns into the reading room. He blew a few out before splattering their oil in every direction he could. He then grabbed the ones with flames and threw them against the bookshelf. The glass of the lantern shattered, and the flames ignited the oil and the books beneath. The yellow flames danced and spread, igniting books and shelves. He picked up more lanterns, throwing them at bookshelves, the dusty books excellent kindling as the flames ate through them.

Indenuel turned and walked out of the library before any of the oil on his skin would catch fire.

“You missed one,” Garen said, an image of a book on the table of the reading room entering his mind.

“The fire will spread quickly enough,” Indenuel said. The entire library would burn well before anyone noticed. Dalius and Cristoval were dead, and now, so was the library. He had three more men to kill tonight to destroy the rest of this religion that had caused so much pain.