[Skell]
Silver armor barged down the main isle, worn by a scowling man. He glared ahead, leaving me unnoticed in the shop's corner.
In contrast, I was petrified. A member of the organization whose sole purpose was to hunt my kind not only operated in Belza Hill, but stood within spitting distance. Though strangely, I wasn't the only one so tense.
"G-greetings!" Bo'Rah's stature shrunk behind the checkout counter. "Knight Hyland, I did not expect such an early return from you!"
"Neither did I." Hyland stopped at the counter, resting a hand on the scabbard at his side. Dark eyes watched the man ahead past an upthrust chin, passed by two long strands of black hair that framed his shaved features. Two traitors to an otherwise neat mane.
The Wildfolk offered a nervous smile between his tusks. "I can only assume that means your assignment went swimmingly?"
Hyland gave a sour laugh. "Yeah, right. Had tasked to me the same blasted run-around as usual. 'Oh, an undead was sighted south of town, go investigate!' Turns out it was just another over-imaginative fool fearing his own shadow." He grumbled. "Waste of time."
"Uhk-uhk…" grunted Bo'Rah. "I'm sorry to hear that. Truly a shame your talents are going unused."
"A great shame," Hyland crossed plated arms. "Gervais can't seem to get enough of the peace and quiet, but we're heroes. And what do heroes need? Victories. The kind that carries their name far and wide. Not to gather dust acting as the town's ornaments."
"Well, my friend-"
The Templar lifted a gauntlet. "That's enough small talk. I've visited only to sharpen my sabre. Lack of use dulls the edge."
Clutching the weapon's hilt, Hyland skillfully retrieved it from his white scabbard, resting it on the wooden countertop. Instantly my attention drew to the forward-curved blade - catching what little sunlight slipped past the armor stands crowding the windows.
Around this time I was beginning to feel my legs again, and their first instinct was to cut and run. Not only was his job description my worst nightmare, but even in the way he carried himself, something felt different. Compared to him, members of the town militia came off like children toying with theatre props.
But I didn't move. My eyes fell to my armor - or rather, Bo'Rah's armor. Money hadn't exchanged hands yet.
Seriously? You're in danger and your biggest concern is stealing? The shopkeep can handle the stress of a few missing rounds better than you can handle a sabre in your skull! …Though, if he notices my slipping out, and that hot-headed Templar chases after me…
"Yes, no doubt, Knight Hyland!" Bo'Rah nodded. "That will be one gold round and thirty silvers."
Hyland's gaze flicked from the sabre to the shopkeep. "…You've upped the price."
Chills struck the Wildfolk. "W-well, prices have risen across the board! During your absence, I made the hard decision to-"
"You misunderstand," Hyland's voice was measured. "I don't care if you multiply your rates tenfold. What I find puzzling is my lack of exemption from these sudden whims of yours."
"Exemption?" Bo'Rah raised thick brows.
"Quiet as this corner of the country tends to be, my position remains the same: to guard this town from ravenous undead. Think the militia could rout a horde of husks? Vampires?" He scoffed. "Civilians would be cut down like wheat - if not for my vigil. And you want to raise the fees that aid in my service?"
Fear entered the man's beady eyes. "B-but sire, I also added a complimentary polish to the price!"
"You're a terrible liar," Hyland's eyes narrowed. "You own a spacious shop in the Lower Layer. Copper-pinching is simple greed from a man in your shoes."
At that, the Wildfolk stood taller. "Nothing of the sort! Property here rents for a small fortune, and with my daughter attending college in the capital's Ivy Corner, every round matters!"
"Your financial problems sound difficult," said the Knight. "But are ultimately beneath a Templar's concern."
"Beneath your…?" He winced. "E-even so, Hyland, as a Templar you surely lap my profits twice over! A meager markup-"
"…Hyland!?" something snapped in the dark-haired man's voice.
A sudden gauntlet splintered the wooden table. "You raise your voice at a Templar, then forget his title!?"
What in the Abyss? I stared.
The Wildfolk flinched. "Kn-Knight Hyland, I didn't forget-"
"Quit your squealing, boar!" the young man spat. "I've a mind not only to waive this blasted 'markup', but to use your services free of charge. Considering your cheek, knowing entirely too well what I do for you."
Suppressing the shock, my attention darted to the door.
If… if I'm gonna leave, there's no better distraction than this. The two probably won't even notice the chime. Or even better, I could hide in the changing room.
My eyes fought back to the shaking, berated shopkeep. But…
"And your work better prove as quality I've come to expect." Hyland lifted his fist off the smashed counter, taking his sabre and pointing to the edge. "Any imperfections and I take my business elsewhere. And we both know what your clients will think if a Templar abandons your services for a competitor…"
"But, Knight Hyland, you…" Bo'Rah released a crushed breath. He shamefully extended a thick hand, eyes shut. "…Your sabre, please."
A smirk lightened Hyland's livid eyes. He leaned the weapon over the fractured counter.
Several gold rounds fell into the shopkeep's palm first. "That should cover my armor and his blade," I said. "Little extra for your counter, too."
Bo'Rah's eyes shot open, regarding me with still-faced shock. Realization surged across his face, gaze leaping to Hyland beside me.
I'd made an absolutely brainless move. One I probably wouldn't have otherwise, if not for one saving grace:
This prick could be the best undead slayer in the world. But with this glamour, he'll never know his prey's looking him right in the eye.
The dark-haired man stared at the glimmering pile of coins, rolling his attention across the counter, up my arm, and finally to my face. He released his blade and let it clank atop the wood. "…You are?"
"Nobody important," teeth grinded behind my closed lips. Standing face-to-face with my predator was beyond unsettling. But barely-restrained outrage filled the bulk of my mind. Anger was a blessing like that.
He gave a humorless laugh. "Then answer me this: where do you hail from?"
"Sienna. Village close to the border."
"Ah, that explains it," he tapped faux-friendly knuckles on my shoulder. "Suppose I can't fault your ignorance as to who I am, then, coming from a backwater. I'm a Templar - a hero," he spoke slowly, as if explaining to a toddler. "I defend this town."
"I know what you are." I looked past the insignia on his chest. "A thug in pretentious armor."
I shouldn't have said that. Nor should I have stuck around for the aftermath. But as much as my heart panged for the shopkeep, it burned at Hyland. I wanted him to know what the money was for, and even more, I wanted to look him in the eye as he found out.
Anger was a curse like that.
"I saw everything," I continued. "Templar or not, you're a mere man. No more special than Bo'Rah."
The shopkeep blinked in further surprise at my words.
Hyland fully turned to me, eerily calm. "Are you the King of Lumerit?"
"…Huh?"
"A Paladin or Vicar of the Templar Order, then? An even higher rank? No?"
"What are you talking abou-"
"Then do not question me!" Hyland stomped forward. I resisted the urge to recoil as he shut the gap between us. "Suffering and bitter work earned me this position. I've felled creatures you can hardly conceive of, sacrificed more blood then flows within you in this instant - all for this realm. What is a mere seller of armors to that?"
Objections formed in my mouth, so many I didn't know what to do with them all. Maybe he struggled, did some good. But his achievements weren't trophies to beat over the heads of others.
"Very little," he answered his own question. Hyland stood an inch away now, gaze clawing into me from above. "And you, you're even less. You are the fighter of no evils. Facer of no hardships. I see it in your weak eyes."
"…Don't be so sure you know me," I growled.
Seeing the writing on the wall, Bo'Rah swiped Hyland's weapon off the counter, cautiously backing to the door behind him. "I-I will begin work on your sabre promptly, sire." He glanced to me, conflicted. "And… thank you for your purchase!"
Hastily, the door slammed. Leaving us.
Hyland smiled, though his tone remained acidic. "No others in the shop, it seems. Good. As for you, you will make your impudence up to me."
"I really doubt that," I cocked my head like I wasn't just a skeleton.
"You'll change your mind quickly, if you've a drop of sense. Here's what shall happen." Hyland pointed down. "You will drop to your knees and kiss my greaves. Respectfully."
You can't be serious…
"Next," his gauntlet motioned to the back door, "take your money back from that undeserving boar. He won't litigate. He's too spineless. Last, leave my blasted sight while I'm still feeling charitable."
"And if I refuse?"
He leaned to my ear. "Then simply imagine who's side the militia will take once they find you bloodying the floor."
My fists tightened as I came to his conclusion. I knew enough about Templars to be aware of their prestige. If Hyland claimed I attacked him, with no witnesses to say otherwise, who were the militia to disbelieve him? Being a member of the Templars supposedly made him some big hero. At least on the surface.
Hyland pressed a heavy gauntlet onto my shoulder. "To the ground. Now!"
But in my mind, respect had nothing to do with pretty titles and grand positions. And without those, this man didn't deserve a single ounce.
"Bowing to you is bad enough, but I'd rather jump into the Abyss than take back the money you owe Bo'Rah!" I bared furious teeth. "Kiss your own shading greaves!"
What I'd do next, I had no idea. Even with the new strength Cynthine helped me unlock, I knew at a glance I held no chance in a fight. Running wouldn't work either; he clearly eclipsed me in athleticism. I'd never reach the doors outside.
No chance of victory, or escape…
And yet, in spite of my unease, defiant rage kept my stature unbending.
This man's no hero. And I'll never play along with his game of pretend!
Hyland's brows flared like prepared blades. Any second I'd be sent soaring into the air. But an attack never came.
No. It was something much worse.
Subtly, I felt a change in the air. But not around my body. It seemed to come from my furious face.
There was no time to wonder, only to realize. And it wasn't a hard conclusion to come to, when the Templar's expression contorted into a mixture of shock, fury, and… fear.
"Y-you… your face…" Hyland leapt back, feeling for a weapon that wasn't there. "…Undead," the word crawled from his lips with revulsion.
The fire inside me quenched like a blown candle, replaced with a primal terror. He knows? Oh no… he knows!
The Templar realized his weapon was gone. "Bo'Rah! Bring me my saber! Now!" his eyes were fixed on me.
I was frozen. Shade, what do I do, what do I do!?
"Y-your sabre!? But why?" Bo'Rah's deep voice echoed from the back room.
Sweat rolled down Hyland's temple. "This man - this thing! It's an undead! In the town! Blast it, give me my weapon!"
"He, uhk, he's what!?"
I can't fight him, I have to… I have to…
Bolting to the wall behind me, I ran alongside the store's left rows of armor stands.
A panicked Hyland stood fretful between the myriad helmets I passed. "Bo'Rah! Now!"
"U-uhk, yes sire! But… I seemed to have misplaced it. Yes, misplaced it! Give me but a few minutes and I'll have found it."
"Traitorous boar… Fine, I'll slay it unarmed!"
I reached the store's corner. The exit was just ahead. I started for it. The sound of stone on wood stopped me cold.
In the far corner, Hyland seized an iron shield off a nearby table. He set his sights. Then swung his arm in a half-circle and let go.
By then I'd already started diving. The second I hit the ground a loud crash rang above. I looked up.
Where I stood a second ago, the shield lied half-embedded in the brick wall.
What in the…?
Suppressing my terror, I pulled my eyes to the floor. Between the armor's greaves and under the crevice of the wood-backed aisles, Hyland's unique pair circled the store's perimeter at inhuman speed.
I scrambled to my feet. As I did, Hyland veered around the store's front aisles. He wasn't slowing.
With a split-second to react I abandoned running for the exit and hoped to lose him in the aisles. A terrible plan equal to the time I had to think it.
Ducking into the closest, I thought he'd appear at my right. But in that direction, the space between aisles narrowed. I realized his intent far too late: he was pushing the aisles together. In seconds he pressed that side shut. Trapping me with only one way out.
A way he crept into, latching a gauntlet onto the wooden backing before appearing entirely. "What are these… tactics?" he cornered me, panting. "Skeletons are mindless. They don't flee."
I backed away, digging myself into the crevice. The aisle was too heavy to push back. At least for my skeletal strength.
"But that human mask won't fool me," he said.
Fingers to my face, I felt 'flesh' again. I had no time to wonder why.
Hyland pushed past more suits of armor. "I know what you are underneath it. As a Templar, I'll wipe you off the face of Lumerit!"
He lunged forward. Just as an idea came to mind.
I reached for the closest set - a suit of steel armor - and held it over my body. Right as his fist drove toward me.
Everything blurred. I only realized I wasn't dead when I crashed into a crimson set of armor. My wrists and spine screamed at me too loud to think otherwise.
Struggling on the floor, I checked my sides. My landing knocked over several other suits, surrounding me in a mess of helmets and gauntlets and chestplates and more. The armor that saved me sat by my face. It carried a fist-shaped dent.
Get up, get up!
But one suit lied on top of me, preventing me from rising: the scarlet plate Bo'Rah tried selling me earlier. I pressed against it, but the thing must've been twice as heavy as steel armor, maybe more.
I craned my neck. Hyland exited the aisle across from me, eyebrows furrowed. "Snatching up armor at the last second to protect itself…" he muttered. "What manner of undead is this?"
"I'm not undead!" I strained against the armor. "I'm running because I want to stay alive!"
"You lie!" he accused. "I saw your skeletal face and hollow eyes clear as day! Same as any other skeleton! Your deceptions are worthless!"
I measured the space between us. All Hyland had to do was trudge over the scattered armor pieces and I was a goner.
Quietly, a door creaked open. The back room's door, revealing a meekly worried, then quickly aghast Bo'Rah. "M-my shop! My armor! What have you two done!?"
"Boar, you've brought my sabre haven't you?" Hyland ignored him. "Hand it over!"
"Your sword!?" His arms shot up. "What happened to my wall! There's a shield in it!" He stuffed his face in two thick hands. "Oh, repairs will cost a fortune!"
My mind raced as the two talked. Then in a lucid moment, it hit me.
How could I have forgotten?
"Listen!" Hyland shouted, "bring my weapon this instant! This undead must taste a second death."
"U-undead!? So I did not mishear you before?" Bo'Rah's gaze shot to me. "D-did you throw him into my suits - he looks hurt! Sire, this is clearly an innocent man!"
As loud words traded over my head, I reached for whatever calm I could latch onto. I envisioned the power sealed in my mind. The locks that chained it, I shattered.
Then the power flowed.
"This is only the beginning of the damage if you don't do as I command!" said Hyland. "I can't take my eyes off it to get the sabre myself, not even for a-"
He returned his attention from Bo'Rah to me, finding his opponent lifting heavy, scarlet plate armor overhead.
Running won't work. Fighting won't work. But if I do both - lay him flat long enough to make it outside…
"Sun above…" Hyland's eyes shot open.
With all my might, aided by the power of my Shroud, I launched the armor at the Templar. It soared through the air like an arrow.
Hyland entered a defensive stance. The second before the heavy armor struck, my jaw sunk.
Spinning off his back foot, the warrior delivered a kick toward the chestplate. Any force guiding it his way was easily overpowered as the set was sent flying to his right.
Past the armor sets displayed at the window.
And through the glass.
Shards burst loudly onto the street, shimmering in the sunlight alongside the scarlet plate. A gasp from outside multiplied in moments. Loud conversation followed. Questions and concerns.
My plan failed. But Hyland stared outside, frozen. From his angle he could definitely be seen. Even in the thick of combat, he must've known how this would look.
I let him grapple with those thoughts as I jumped over the fallen armor and rushed for the door. He caught onto me halfway and pursued.
With no time to feel sorry for the distraught shopkeep, I lurched for the exit with Shroud-enhanced speed.
A few more feet, I extended my hand. Just a little-
The crunch of metal crushing bone came before anything else. A mighty blow at my side blew me off my feet.
And I went flying through the doors.
———————————————————————————–——————
The harsh sun beat down on me. It felt a whole lot hotter when you faced up at it from the brick road. Or maybe that was just the searing pain.
I released a constricted groan, then whimpered. My spine and wrists still stung, but something more sent waves of raw, piercing agony through my bones.
S-something must be broken… A rib? Or-
"Aagh!" I gritted my teeth. Moving was out of the question.
But I needed an answer. Immediately.
Because a door chime rang not far away.
"This ends. Now." Hyland's face remained dark even in daylight. His shadow loomed over me as his metallic steps drew closer.
My eyes darted around. Fearful townsfolk and street vendors filled the open street, watching the scene unfold. They gave us both a wide berth.
But they didn't look at me like I was a monster. No, they didn't know what was going on. But after seeing Hyland, the crowd seemed to accept that I'd done something worthy of a beating. Potentially, even death.
All except one man.
Crashing through the shop's front doors, the shopkeep stopped abruptly at the entrance. Fear prevented him from coming any closer.
"Go back inside, Bo'Rah," Hyland kept his eyes on me, tone quiet yet forceful. "Or else."
Hyland's words stiffened the Wildfolk. Bo'Rah knew the obvious: that he didn't have even a quarter of the smaller man's strength. The Templar was deathly serious - a potential threat to anyone who dared intervene.
But the shopkeep kept his trembling legs in place. "N-no! I cannot stand by as you kill an innocent man!"
Conversation spread instantly among the crowd.
"Innocent?" a voice questioned.
"Why kill a man who committed no crime?" asked another.
Hyland grimaced at the concern in the air. Another difficult variable.
Bo'Rah pointed a shaky finger. "E-e-everyone! This Templar attacked one of my courteous customers! F-for being undead, no less! But the sun shines bright on us! Do you see the face of a monster before you?"
Heads turned to one another. The same thought was clear in their eyes: this man looks just like us.
"Beneath" him or not, Hyland seemed concerned at the crowd's reaction. A hero beating an innocent to death? Even he wanted nothing to do with that narrative.
And that hesitation held him at bay just long enough.
"Here, sirs, this is where the commotion came from," pointed a distant man who jogged to the crowd, leading three militia members. "Oh dear," he peered over a building crowd of heads, "it seems a Templar already made it to the scene."
The centermost militia member, an even-faced, middle-aged woman, stopped just past where the people designated the invisible line between onlooker and meddler. "No. It appears our Templar is the scene."
Through the pain, I smiled weakly.
Hyland's frown grew sharper. "Abyss take me…"
She took a steadying breath, more composed than the two men that followed her, and came closer to me and my assailant - her chainmail clinking with each step.
Her gaze ran from my body to Hyland. "May I ask what the trouble is here, Knight Hyland?" she stood rigidly, masking her own apprehension well.
"Sergeant Yvette…" A lie formed in Hyland's eyes - one he dropped, probably knowing Bo'Rah or I would tell her the truth. Instead, he looked to the sergeant with complete confidence. "I have reason, good reason, to believe this is an undead in disguise."
Yvette took a step back, the two behind her shivering at the word. "U-undead?" asked the younger man. "Looking like an everyday citizen? But that's unheard of!"
"J-just 'cause you ain't heard it don't mean it ain't true!" argued his greying colleague. "Remember who's the specialist here."
"That's enough, officers," the sergeant said. "I don't mean to cast doubt on your judgement, Knight Hyland, but is there any proof of this?"
Slowly my side's pain seemed to fade. Ignoring my bones' sharp objections, I sat up on my elbow.
Hyland noticed this, shifting his greaves like a coiled spring. I worried he'd rush past the militia members, finish me off. But he gave a frustrated snarl instead. "…Not yet," a vein bulged at his forehead. "But I'll get irrefutable evidence. Evidence proving this 'man' is a weapon hiding in plain sight."
His eyes dropped to the sergeant's waist, where a pair of manacles hung. "Give them to me. I'll need those to extract my proof.
Yvette swallowed. "You… you're jailing him?"
Hyland nodded solidly as whispers again blew through the crowd.
"H-hold on!" I fought to sit up, my body letting me rise no further. "This guy's lost it," I grimaced, "if he drags me to some jail, who knows what'll he do there!"
A pensive shadow drew over her face. "If… if there's the slimmest chance of an undead in Belza Hill, endangering the people… I must hand you over to the proper authorities," she unlatched the manacles, handing them to the expectant Templar. "I pray the worst doesn't come of this."
"Seriously!?" I extended outraged hands. "I'm not a monster!"
The manacles slid on in a flash. Hyland was quick.
"W-what!?" I tore away from him, fighting against unforgiving metal on the street. A vain hope, it was, to expect my Shroud to give enough strength to snap metal chains.
Hyland regarded my squirming coldly. "And to prevent it from attempting escape-"
The last thing I saw was an armored elbow before it all went dark.
———————————————————————————–
"How about on my birthday?" asked a boy. "I'll be old enough then, for sure!"
"…Each time you ask that, I grow another gray hair," replied a woman.
The two's appearances were obscured by a vacuous fog. Same as their surroundings. But strangely, emotion panged within me when I focused on their misty faces. Especially the woman.
"Besides," she continued, "most of my dark magic is… dangerous. The last thing I want is to teach you something you're not ready to control."
"But Mom, Dad says I'm mature for my age all the time!"
"That's sweet of him," she laughed pleasantly, "but let's be honest: you can barely be trusted to finish your soup. You should practice with your father first anyhow. His arts are more your speed."
"Yours are way cooler, though!" the boy lowered his voice. "Um, don't tell Dad that. His are nice, but you can become a shadow! Or turn things to dust! I wanna do that too."
"No way, kiddo! Hand of Decay is no toy. Even I leave it alone, these days."
"Why?"
"That art's only good for one purpose. A bad purpose."
"Well, I can just use it differently! Duh!"
"It dusts everything it touches. There's only one way to use it."
"Then… hmm," the boy sat still, before springing back to life. "Then I'll make a new use for it! You're always doing smart stuff with magic - I'll just do what you do."
"I-" the woman hesitated. Her posture shifted, becoming softer. "…You're gonna turn me into your father at this rate. We'll, er… we'll see how I'm feeling on your birthday, I guess. How about that-"
"Shade, you're the best, Mom!"
"H-hey, I didn't promise I'd teach you! And didn't we just have a talk about cursing?"
"Shade's a bad word too? But you say it all the time."
"Q-quit saying it!" she paused at her tone. "Er… please?"
"Okay, mom!" the boy responded happily. "I promise!"
———————————————————————————–
Shade… W-what's going on?
Vision blurry. Ugh. Feels like a horse kicked me in the skull. What happened?
A few vague seconds - or minutes - passed as I pieced things together. Everything began at the shop. My temper got the better of me and I waltzed up to that arrogant Templar. I expected a beating. Got something so much worse. He found me out. I ran. He caught me. Then…
Darkness. And after… a dream. Or was that a memory? Memories usually just come as words, or ideas, if at all. Nothing so lengthy or visible, relatively speaking. Then again, I usually don't get smacked so hard in the skull.
But that kid, and his mother… Was that-
The question vanished. My sight, blurry all this time, finally cleared enough to remind me of the the one event I'd forgotten: Hyland's promise to imprison me.
My body instinctively jerked forward, escape the only thing on my mind. I fell flat on my face.
Releasing a pained groan, I looked back, my cheek sliding against the cold gray floor. Attached to my ankles, two shackles tied me to the stone brick wall. As tight as the manacles binding my wrists.
Dread washed through me. I was completely helpless, bound and at the mercy of my captors. Except… I saw no captors. I was alone.
Quickly sitting up, I examined my surroundings. Two sconces lit both sides of the small cell, lighting up all the nothing inside it. Nothing, besides an unfriendly-looking bed and a neglected toilet to my left and right respectively, just barely within the length of the short chains tying me to the wall.
Opposite their position, an imposing steel door shut me in. Even unshackled, there'd be no busting through out.
I slumped against the wall. I'm so stupid. If I just held myself back, stayed quiet, I wouldn't be here. And now who knows what that Templar will do to me, wherever he is.
No, this could've been prevented even earlier. When Hyland saw my real face, it must've been an imperfection in the glamour. Wait… it might have to do with those finishing touches Cynthine mentioned. Shade! I didn't think they'd be such a big deal!
I pulled vainly at the chains holding me. And Oliver… Trapped here, I can never tell him the truth. That pretentious scumbag, Hyland! There's no way he'd let me leave, not with that look in his eyes. Urgh… I'm sorry, Oliver.
Quietly, I sat there. Soaking in my mistakes. It must've been a half hour later when I jolted from my position.
"By the sun," a gruff, serious voice sighed from far beyond the door, "You may describe events a thousandfold, but nothing will justify your actions."
"I'll recount them a million times until you understand," said a voice I was quickly beginning to hate. "That thing is undead - a skeleton. I'd stake my life on it."
"You have staked much more already. The people are talking, Hyland. They fear what may happen if we convince ourselves that another 'undead' hides within Belza Hill. Their children. Siblings. Partners."
The voices stopped at the cell door. "Civilians fret over every little thing, you know this. If they're human, they have nothing to worry about. If they're undead… I'll weed them out too."
The gruffer voice groaned. "Why are you so determined to turn the people against us? Your… offenses against them before were one thing, but these are not whispers of rudeness, they are cries of assaults on the streets. If word travels to the capital-"
"They'll realize the Templars in Belza Hill are much too big for their small stations. Undead are here, and I intend to destroy them. Before they destroy us."
"I… I do not even know what to say to you, Hyland. It's difficult to decide if your suspicions are better off correct or not. But I suppose we will see in short order."
"Indeed. The proof is behind this door. Just wait."
With a metallic heave, the door slid forward.
Hyland entered first, disgust lining his face.
But behind, an even more formidable man followed. He stood larger. Older. And wore what I suspected, but fiercely hoped he wouldn't: the insignia of the Order.
An undead, helplessly chained in a cell with two armed Templars…
Death couldn't be more certain.