Answers often came slowly. When you lived in a land marred by mystery, there was only so much you could question before being driven mad. The points of order I had held to level at my traveling companions had all been washed away by dire circumstances, as we now found ourselves bouncing between evil and tragedy. Rest was as much an important part of mentally catching up to everything as it was to physically recover from the trauma of the lifestyle we had now pinned our souls to.

We approached the office door, and with a slight murmur between us, we decided that it was better to hedge some bets rather than dive into the unknown with both tired feet. It looked quiet and unassuming, the daylight still illuminating the area, almost putting to bed any hint of something more untoward existing under the surface.

In the grassy area beside the wall, Jakob put the bear trap down. Another question that would have to wait its turn. It was mostly obscured, and a reasonable bet for an early warning system should someone try to sidle along the building in an attempt to sneak up on us when we were inside.

I turned to them briefly as I stood before the wooden door. In turn, they nodded their readiness. My sword had a glimmer to it but was not raging with crimson ferocity. Neither was I, in fairness. Despite the constant dread of feeling unsettled, without the looming threat of fatality shadowing me, it all felt so… bland.

With a swift kick, I knocked the door open, striding inside immediately. As expected, we weren’t assailed by horrors from the beyond or insidious death given form. The older monk still sat at the table, barely looking up to register us as his muscles didn’t seem capable.

Jakob shut the door behind us as we filtered through and encircled the old man.

“Heathens, cutthroats, and the harlot,” he hissed wildly, the spark of anger now meeting his eyes as he shook his head upwards. Spittle ran from his mouth and dotted the book that lay before him.

“Hey now,” Angelos stepped forward and put his book beneath the monk’s chin, lifting his head up and closing his mouth. “No rude words for the Miss there.”

Florence rolled her eyes. “How very chivalrous of you, Angelos.”

He shrugged and gave her a grin. “I jus’ know you don’t mess with a gal who can immolate your balls.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. As much use as Angelos could be to our group, I wondered if there was a way to pull his tongue out without there being some resentment. Doubtful.

“So,” the Guardian moved his face down to stare into the monk’s eyes. “You gonna avail us of the secrets you arseholes been hiding?”

The monk shook, partly due to his body ravaged by age, partly due to anger and indignation. It seemed like he didn’t want to talk.

Florence stepped forward, and a flame flared up from her extended index finger. “Tell me what is more important to you, Father. Your words, or the books surrounding you.”

His eye twitched. I could read his emotions in that brief instant as if I had seen it played out a dozen times before. He hadn’t always been such a bitter person, possibly involved in a little evil. At one point in his life, he would have been full of energy and passion for his craft - this very room was a testament to his life. The tomes collected and poured over. Life had ravaged him unto this shell, and now such a large swathe of his existence was under threat.

“Just tell us what is going on,” I told him calmly, “we will leave you here, unharmed.”

He worked his jaw as Angelos moved his book away. There was still anger behind the tired eyes, but it had simmered down to just resigned frustration. He hated us but enjoyed his grasp on the mortal plane even more.

“Main hall. Sacrifices,” he blurted out. He twisted away from the words as if disgusted with the truth laid bare. Tears were now welling behind his glare.

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It was hard to say how much sympathy I held for him. I was hardly the best judge of morality and had done much worse in my prior life without so much of a shred of regret that he was now showing. The Guardian was no better in that regard - and the Mage too passionate.

I turned to Jakob. “It’s your call,” I told him flatly. An unfair weight to labor out of the blue - but one to get used to carrying.

His eyes darted between the old monk and me. To his credit, he didn’t look to the Mage to gauge her feelings. My first impression of him being meek and under her thumb had quickly come undone once I saw him in the thick of the action. His teeth clenched, and he shot me a glare, with a slight nod.

There was no correct decision.

I turned back to the Father and gave Angelos a nod. With a quick action, he twisted the man’s head, snapping his neck and killing him instantly. The Guardian spat on the body and sighed, casting his gaze around the room.

“Not that I disapprove,” Florence began, “but I’d like to hear the reasoning.”

Jakob pulled the front of his hood over his eyes. “There was no telling how deep he was in this. If we let him live and left, there could be shards of the corruption left.”

“Splinters can be hard to extract,” I nodded, “and can be fatal in some circumstances.”

Angelos walked across the room to observe the dusty tomes lining the walls, tilting his head to try and pick out some of the titles.

The Mage snuffed out her flame and crossed her arms. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you can take a life so casually, Angelos.”

He turned back to her with a quizzical look on his face before clocking what she had said. “Oh? Don’t get me wrong, lass. I’ve loved and lost, lusted and lain, cared and killed. The only thing that gets me going these days is edging my god.”

Florence deflated as if she expected any other manner of answer from the man.

I had known Angelos from when he was more… normal. Known who he had loved, and who he had lost. Ressurection had all but sucked any joy of living from him. Despite his attitude, he was surprisingly more pious and true to what he purported to be than a lot of the religious types. He was many things, but not a hypocrite.

“We will return here after the problem has been dealt with to see if there’s anything worth keeping.” I gestured towards the door. “Then we burn the place."

Florence nodded. There could be information here that could prove useful - if not then we would send the pages up to heaven - or down to hell - with the old man.

Back into the daylight, we went, and Jakob retrieved his trap. There was the glimmer of the group mood lowering - but the sooner we could find the evil that could fight back, the better we would feel about our choices made.

I hardly registered traveling around to the wide doors of the main hall. My mind was racing, trying to piece together the shards of information we had loosely gathered. Straight off of the back of the battle with the necromancer, it usually wasn’t preferable to jump straight into further danger - but Heroes didn’t often have the luxury of choice.

And now here we stood, us odd four, one thick wooden barrier between us and gods knew what. Any trepidation I once held for the odd feeling of the oppressive monastery was slowly filtering away to be replaced with… excitement? Certainly, the pretense of violence was getting the blood pumping. Eager, maybe. I was becoming the vanquisher of evil, and the banquet was wide and long.

My boots bit into the rough terrain as I lunged forward, shoulder-barging the doors. Whatever bar had been used to brace them was no match for me, and the crack of splintered wood soon followed both doors swinging open wildly. The scent of incense and something more macabre washed over us as the air moved around.

Tall and twisted metal candle holders dotted around the wide chamber, forming a loose circle of light at the far end. The stonework was blue and unnaturally dark in the spaces not under the flickering glow - as if we had approached at night.

Under the peak of the ceiling, dark shapes hung from wrought iron chains, and they shuffled marginally in the breeze we had brought with us. It did not take long for me to assess them to be bodies wrapped in the metal restraints, their blood dripping into the center of the floor - into a cracked groove roughly hewn into previously pristine stonework.

The crimson trail led straight down the room to an altar, where a bound figure, head covered, was tied and splayed out. A huddle of robed figures stood around the potential sacrifice; their faces shadowed beneath the pointed hoods they wore. One of them held a curved dagger, glowing a fel purple.

As they turned to us, and we raised our weapons in preparation - and arrow and fireball already about to be let loose - the sacrificial dagger plunged into the chest of the bound. Blood immediately soaked through the soft grey fabric they wore.

With a shockwave of energy, the candles all flickered, and the trail of fire burst into purple flame. Briefly, I was enraged that we were unable to stop the ritual. But, I knew better to dwell on what-ifs. Live and survive the path we were currently on.

As the arrow was blocked by a shield, the fireball struck an invisible wall and petered out, amongst the gathering energy over the fallen monks.

Then, something began to form above them.