Ur-Namma of the tribe of Shara was used to pain. Nonetheless, his current condition was vexing to say the least. Just sitting down atop the altar hurt because all that was left of him was skin and bone.

I never realized the true importance of ass cheeks before I tried to sit down without them, Ur-Namma thought. Or what an agony walking could be, when all the fat has been stripped from the bottom of your feet. No matter. This pain is a gift and I accept it gladly. Every moment of suffering is a step towards retribution.

He gathered all of his pain, every signal from creaking joints and shaking limbs, and put it all inside a little box at the back of his mind. Distractions could not be allowed when so much was hanging in the balance.

The revenant was walking towards Oak, axe ready to rend him in two. Geezer growled and stood up, but Ur-Namma raised his hand and said, “Hold your horses, hound. This is not an enemy you can face. Sometimes a wise warrior chooses not to fight.”

Geezer looked conflicted, but sat back down and stayed put.

“I could be convinced not to fight, if it interests anyone, that is,” Oak said, eyes flipping between the revenant's feet and the executioner’s axe.

“Silence your bleating, thrall of the apostate,” said the revenant. “Die with the scraps of your dignity still intact.”

“Dignity is a luxury of foolish men. I would much rather just live and go about my day, but it seems we have an insurmountable religious conflict to solve before that can happen,” Oak replied. “If you could be so kind and stand still while I hack you to pieces, I would appreciate it.”

The revenant did not seem to be in the mood for a debate. It surged forth, stance low and axe swinging sideways to slice Oak in half, and the fight was on.

Oak dodged back at the last second and took another step back to dodge the backswing, which whistled right past his nose. They circled each other warily, both looking for an opening. Oak took the initiative this time and tried to take the revenant's head with his falchion, but struck only empty air.

Ur-Namma watched with a keen eye as the combatants exchanged blows. “Oak dear, you are almost as graceful as an elven babe,” he said. “We will have to work on your swordsmanship.”

“Ur-Namma, could you crawl behind that altar and shut the fuck up? Out of sight, out of mind, if you know what I mean!” Oak shouted as he blocked an axe swing.

Ur-Namma shook his head and let out a disappointed sigh. “Hush now, infant, I am evaluating your footwork.”

Snarling, Oak pressed forward, forcing the revenant back with the brutal chops of his sword, always moving and changing angles.

And there it is. Such ferocity and a hint of something more.

There was a duality to the man that fascinated Ur-Namma to no end. When Oak had told him of his journey through Ma’aseh Merkavah, something had stood out to him. Every time an adversary presented itself, Oak was reluctant to fight. If at all possible, he ran away at first. But when blood started flowing and there was no turning back, Oak fought like a madman, laughing in the face of death.

Ur-Namma had seen a shadow of joy on his face even when he told of his battles, tasted the ecstasy second hand.

Oak slapped the revenant's axe aside with his blade and cast a burst of flames, setting the undead monster’s robes on fire. The revenant seemed unbothered, even as bone blackened and his clothes burned.

“I am beyond your parlor tricks, Warlock,” the revenant said and charged forward. Oak got his sword up just in time, but the monstrous strength behind the undead’s axe swing still sent him flying against a nearby column.

The man crashed against the stone and scrambled back on his feet, quickly getting the column between himself and the revenant.

“Right,” Oak said, and spat a bloody glob of spit on the floor of the cathedral. There was a shine in his eyes now and a grin was worming onto his face.

It almost looked like something was just beneath the surface of his skin, waiting to break through.

The revenant stared at Oak, robes still aflame, and there was a hint of surprise in its posture. “What is this? What sorcery are you wielding, defiler?” the revenant said and pointed an accusatory finger at Oak.

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Oak gave no answer. He just smiled and panted, lungs working like bellows as he licked his lips, looking at the undead monster like a starving wolf looks at a fresh kill.

Grabbing the reins of the fight once more, Oak strode past the column and started pressuring the revenant. Every swing of his blade sought to slice the undead in two and the revenant was struggling to defend itself against the onslaught of steel headed its way.

After a particularly fast combination of cuts made the revenant stumble back, axe blade blurring back and forth to keep all of its limbs attached to its body, Oak seized the opportunity and pounced after the revenant, giggling like a maniac.

Such potential. The most important thing a warrior can have is an understanding of distance. He knows when he can hurt another and when he is himself safe from harm. And most of all, he knows when to pick his moment, Ur-Namma thought as he watched it all unfold with bated breath. I wonder, does the savage know he is laughing?

The northerner moved without hesitation. Oak fainted a strike at the revenant from above and instead of following through with it when the undead raised its weapon to block, he closed the distance and took hold of the revenant's axe handle, pulling it out of the way of his falchion. Surprised and out of balance, the revenant’s skeletal hand snapped forth to stop the blade.

Ur-Namma laughed. He could not help it, even though it hurt. I missed this. The moment before the end, when the enemy does not yet know that the contest of arms has already been decided.

The revenant’s hand stopped the descending falchion with a snap, fingers curled around the steel as it sank deep into the bone. It was all for naught, because Oak had already let go of the blade. With a continuous, smooth movement, he pulled his cleaver from its sheath and buried it in the revenant's skull.

“Oh,” the revenant said, and collapsed. The light in its eyes went out and what had been undead was now just a corpse.

Face twisted in a grimace, Oak stood over his fallen foe and snarled. A moment passed, and he shook himself like a wet dog. Darkness receded from his expression, and he reached down and snatched the cleaver free from the revenant’s skull. Then he proceeded to hack the pile of bones into pieces.

Ur-Namma could not hold his tongue. “What are you doing, human?” he asked as he watched the cleaver rise and fall.

Oak glanced at Ur-Namma. “When you set out to do something, do it properly,” he said, and continued chopping.

Ur-Namma chuckled. “I think our partnership was born under a lucky star,” he said. “Because I actually understand where you are coming from, and I bet that is not a common occurrence.”

“No, I have to admit it ain’t. But considering who we have to thank for running into each other, I would say the star was damned, not lucky,” Oak said. He took a step back and lit the pile of bone fragments and smoldering robes on fire with a concentrated stream of flame.

“Hmm, you have a point there, friend,” Ur-Namma conceded.

If given time, will hone this northern savage into a warrior worthy of the tribe of Shara, and we will paint such scenes together that they will whisper of our deeds for generations. It is decided. Blood and offal shall be our sacrament.

Ur-Namma stared into the flames rising from the burning revenant and lifted his gaze, following the smoke as it disappeared into the darkness of the cathedral. Before this is over, I will sink my teeth into dragon flesh and eat my fill. He closed his eyes and imagined the warm, rich blood coating his tongue.

He shuddered and sighed with longing.

“Are you done moaning?” Oak asked. “I don’t want to linger here.”

“I WAS NOT MOANING!” Ur-Namma howled.

***

They left through the back of the cathedral, where a small door opened into the street.

Oak checked the coast was clear and no creepy crawlies were waiting for them in the shadows. When he found nothing skulking in the darkness, he went back inside and gave Ur-Namma a shoulder to lean on so the elf could walk for a bit and train his shriveled legs.

It is pretty impressive to see this geriatric elf force himself forward. I am getting properly inspired here, he thought, without a hint of derision. There was something unyielding about Ur-Namma. The elf was like an iron rod that would break before it would bend even a single inch.

Neither Oak nor Ur-Namma were willing to chat, while danger lurked behind every window and doorway. Only the sounds of Oak’s steady steps, Ur-Namma’s shuffling gait and the almost silent tip tap of Geezer’s paws broke the quiet of the City of God, as their company of three left the cathedral behind and vanished into the mists haunting the gloom of Ma’aseh Merkavah.

After a bit of walking Oak, Ur-Namma and Geezer reached an intersection. Oak was about to cross the road and continue towards the sewer entrance, which was just down the road if Ur-Namma’s memory could be trusted, when he saw a maple tree from the corner of his right eye and turned towards it.

The street on their right transitioned seamlessly into a maple grove filled with sunlight and dripping water.

“What in the Hells is that?” Ur-Namma asked, gasping for breath. No matter how unyielding the elf was, walking was still a major undertaking for his skeletal frame.

“That, my friend, is an opportunity of the infernal kind,” Oak said and led Ur-Namma and Geezer towards the grove. “Do you mind if we make a minor detour before we head into the sewers?”

“I guess not. I will eat while you attempt to commune with Ashmedai,” Ur-Namma said, wincing with every step. “Might be a good time to take a small rest, anyway. If you reach the demon, give him my regards, would you?”

“I will be sure to do just that,” Oak said, and the three of them walked into the gentle glow of the summer sun.