[Skell]
Undeath was a curse. Plain and simple. But over time, I could admit it carried a number of perks.
Never tiring was great. So was never catching the common cold. But that night, not needing to breathe was unmatched. Mostly because if I could, my poor lungs would've been clogged with dust.
Dropping my glowing-green palm - coated in the destructive might of Hand of Decay - I leaned into the wall of once-solid stone. Said stone had been gouged out, disintegrated into a dusty hole. One just wide enough to fit my upper body.
I pulled myself back out, shaking off the rocky powder in my hair. Decent progress for just five minutes. Let's see how far we go in eight hours.
Then, I delved back inside.
———————————————————————————–——————
A chunk of earth, hanging from above, blocked further passage.
I grasped it, watching the stable rock slowly erode under my tightening grip 'till it was nothing but fine dust falling between my fingers.
Looking back, past my prone glamour, I realized I'd made it at last.
About time! I can finally fit my whole body in this hole!
Yeah, I was nowhere near an escape. On the bright side, six-ish feet of distance wasn't a bad trade for ten minutes of tunneling. But as the excitement of slow progress wore thin, my mind drifted elsewhere.
Namely, to everything that could've went wrong.
Besides the looming time limit, my non-decaying fingers were crossed on if I'd even end up where I wanted. If I kept burrowing straight, I could pop out somewhere around the Middle Layer's streets. Or dozens of feet above its tallest building. I didn't know how deep this prison ran underground, after all.
I decayed more earth, inching forward.
And assuming I did escape without breaking my legs after a tremendous fall, what next? I'd have to flee Belza Hill too, since my empty cell would lead the Templars and militia to comb the whole town for me: the escaped prisoner.
But that'd mean… you might never see Oliver again. Or Cynthine. Your glamour will never be perfected. And Oliver would never learn of Ansel's death the right way: from the man who hid it from him.
My hand stopped.
…Survival is more important, I finally decided. If you die in this cell, you really won't ever see them again.
I bit away the hesitation, reaching for the next low-lying chunk.
For the next few minutes, my thoughts moved to the future. Where'd I go next? How'd I travel with nothing but the armor on my back? But one question took precedence over all others: what would my escape mean? Not just for me. For everyone?
Finding my cell empty, the jail officers could only come to one conclusion: I really was undead - why else would I break out of a harmless, temporary holding? Like Gervais said, they'd be terrified of sentient undead endangering them and their loved ones. They'd warn others. Fear would spread like wildfire.
I turned my palm around, staring at its glow.
But that was if I escaped. If I stayed in the cell, the Templars would have time to contact their Order. With whatever means they had, they'd stop that panic before it ever sparked. At the cost of my life, of course.
In actuality, I was no threat. I had no appetite for brains and didn't see the point in stealing children. I just wanted to live again. But people wouldn't know that. They'd think the worst. And that clawed at me.
All that fear and worry, across an entire nation? I can't even imagine the number of people…
I watched the energy in my palm, my only key to escape.
Would so much hysteria be worth just one life? My life?
I stared, wrestling with the question. A knock on the cell door came before a conclusion.
My head bumped against the roof of the tunnel as I shot back. What!? No one should be bothering me this late!
Another knock. Louder this time.
Options gravely limited, I quickly wormed out of the hole.
Think fast; they haven't opened the door or peephole yet. If I can just shoo them away…
"E-erm, yes?" I shot to the door, hastily aligning with the peephole to block the tunnel behind me.
A laugh came from the other side. "I'm back."
The voice was chillingly familiar, but the tone was off - like an instrument playing a tune it normally couldn't. Though I was more concerned about my life expectancy dropping from days to seconds.
Fear coiled around my bones. H-Hyland's here…? Where's Gervais?
"I'm coming in. This would go better in the privacy of the cell."
A quick jangle of keys, and I stood still as the metal door opened. In the frame, a Templar Knight stood tall, eyes almost as dark as his raven hair. He scanned me with a sharp grin, eyes finally landing on Hand of Decay. His brows leapt, as did his gaze, back to me.
"Y-you're here to finish me off, aren't you?" I backed away.
"What?" the Knight's smile vanished.
"Didn't know I had magic up my sleeve, did you?" I spoke with false confidence. In truth, Hyland was way too quick to be caught in my grip. Death was certain. But if this was the end…
…I'll at least go down swinging.
Pouring panic and rage into my left hand, I triggered my Shroud and charged the Templar.
Hyland raised gauntlets over his panicked face. "S-Skell, wait!"
My heels dug into the ground - just a few feet from him. "W-what was that?" I kept a cautious, if unsteady, hand raised.
He'd never call me…
"Skell, you really can't tell?" his gauntlets pointed inward. "It's me! Oliver!"
"…Oliver," I repeated hazily, noticing then that he wore the backpack I'd lost track of in Bo'Rah's shop.
He nodded, smiling nervously.
Then my left hand only fed off rage. "How do you know his name!?" I demanded. "What'd you do to him!? Abyss, if you've hurt him- "
I looked closer. Hyland's characteristics were a little… off. Like an artist's rendition of the Templar. Accurate. But not perfect.
His features remained intimidating, yet marginally rounder, more boyish. His voice, still caustic and solid, held an air of a familiar boonies twang. If I hadn't been up close and personal with the man a half-day earlier - and been told otherwise - I never would've noticed.
But this? This wasn't Hyland.
The man slowly relaxed. "Did… did you finally realize?"
Hand of Decay deactivated without a thought, my palm falling slack at my side. "Oliver? That can't really be you… is it?"
"Gosh, of course it's me! You couldn't tell by my voi-" he put a gauntlet on his cheek. "Ohhh. I forgot my voice changed too. Sorry if I gave you a scare, there."
"It's… it's fine," I said as my mind did the equivalent of a gymnastics routine. "But if you're really Oliver, how come you wear that armor? Have that hair - even down to the color? I mean, you look just like-" my eyes narrowed, "Cynthine…"
He checked himself head-to-toe. "Miss Cynthine? How?"
…That confirms it.
"No, no, I'm talking about her power. Glamour magic. She did… all this," I motioned at him.
Oliver smiled with Hyland's solid features - a sight that would've made me vomit were I alive. "I told Miss Cynthine you'd catch on! Your glamour, though…"
He regarded me more seriously. "I reckoned you'd look different, but actually seeing you? With skin over your bones? Eyes in your… eyeholes? Gosh, emotions? It's all there where it wasn't before! You'd never know a skeleton was under there!"
"I… think you would."
All his earlier staring, I recognized then, wasn't the analytic studying of a predator, but the shock of seeing a friend in an entirely new form. A relatable feeling.
Oliver scratched at Hyland's hair. "Either way, it's hard to believe you're the same spooky skeleton as before, real hard. But I know it's you."
"Yeah," I found the energy for a small grin, "I'm no different. Only a lot less likely to get caught now, is all." I glanced at the walls around me and sighed. "Just take my word for it."
He laughed, and despite it coming from "Hyland's" mouth, I did too. But a thought instantly turned my laughter hollow.
Oliver's here, right in front of you. All this time you've wanted to find him, tell him the truth about Ansel. Here's your chance.
"H-hey, Oliver," I fumbled for the right words. "There's something I gotta tell you. I, er-"
"Skell…" he faced the door, "I don't mean to be rude, but there ain't much time. I think we should save it for later."
As naive as Oliver could be, there was a knowing in his words. "A-are you sure?" I asked. "It's… important."
He shook his head. "We have to go. Me and Miss Cynthine hatched a plan to get you out of here, and she made me promise not to waste time talking - well, more than I already did."
I see. Jails aren't the best place to stand around and gab, after all. Guess I'll… I'll tell him once we leave this grey nightmare. Yeah.
"Wait. A plan - the two of you?" I held my poor forehead. "Urgh, I have a million questions."
He shifted in his greaves, noticing the coffin-sized hole behind me. "Um… me too. But I can explain everything on our way out."
Oliver then ran through the open door, beckoning me to follow.
I took heavy steps at first. Amid so many complex thoughts, my mind still hung onto the simple idea of that cell being my tomb. Yet I was handed the chance to just… walk out.
Strangely, it was intimidating. Like the door would snap shut the second I got too close, crushing me. But when my boots crossed the metal frame - I was weightless. As if an unimaginable burden lifted from my shoulders all at once.
My head was spinning: with curiosity, heavy words that needed to be spoken, and more than a little foreboding.
But they wouldn't slow me down one bit.
———————————————————————————–——————
"You're positive the jail officers are gone?" I spoke in hushed tones as I left the cell. "Becau- what the…"
Cylindrical walls of spacious stone brick rose seven floors high. Around us on the bottom floor were about thirty cell doors identical to my own. Thirty more lined the next level, and thirty above that, on and on, circled and bridged across by a metal walkway for each tier.
On each side of these walkways stood thick pillars that ascended to support the distant roof. Lit sconces dotted the layout. But they did little to brighten the oppressive atmosphere of so much metal and stone.
No. This might be one bizarre jail, but there's no time to gawk. Find an exit.
My darting eyes came to a stop at an arched entrance between the western cells, leading to a staircase.
Oliver pointed to another entrance ahead. "This way's faster," he jogged toward it. "But yup, Miss Cynthine was as sure as eggs is eggs. While she glamoured me, she said all I had to do was go inside the jail and tell every guard they were dismissed for the night. Oh, and that I was personally freeing you."
I chased close behind, brows wrinkled. "And that worked?"
He passed a stone pillar. "She says Templars are like little kings in Belza Hill. Everyone does as they say. Once I told them to leave, the two guards didn't even argue, or complain. They just rushed out. I… I hope I didn't scare them."
…Sorry, Oliver.
Though as I passed that same pillar, I came upon a realization. With "Hyland" personally freeing me, the jail officers wouldn't have reason to suspect I was a skeleton. Fear of sentient undead wouldn't spread. The best of both worlds. Except for Hyland, I figured. But who cared about him?
We entered the small alcove, finding a tall ladder inside.
"This leads straight to the top," Oliver placed a gauntlet on the metal bars, hauling himself up.
"Wait, so that's why you look like Hyland?" I climbed behind him. "Can't imagine there's many other glamours that buy you free tickets to an entire jail and its prisoners."
He grunted, the backpack swaying back and forth. "Exactly! Well, exact to Cynthine's plan. She really thought this all out!"
I agreed wholeheartedly. But came across several questions: Why Hyland? Gervais is even more respected, right? And would Cynthine really do all this? Just for my sake?
More pressing questions came first, however. "My arrest, how'd you guys even hear about it?"
"Hearing about it was the easy part." Oliver pulled himself up another bar. "When I left Miss Cynthine's house - um, to get some air - I decided to see the parts of Belza Hill I missed."
Right, his exit. So that's where he went…
"The town had so much everything," he went on. "It kept me wide-awake, and before I knew it, the sun came up. I found out then."
Oh no.
"You didn't… see me get carried through the streets, did you?"
"No, but I reckon half the town did. I couldn't believe it when folks swore a Templar attacked and jailed someone. All because he thought they were undead."
I winced. "Y-yeah. Guess that could've only been me."
Oliver and I passed another pair of sconces - somewhere around the ladder's halfway point. Looking up at Oliver, I noticed something. "Where'd you find your backpack? Last I remember, it was in the shop where I met your likeness."
"Those guards - erm, officers had it, poking outside a big chest with a buncha random things inside."
Prisoner's belongings, sounds like. Guess my body wasn't all they confiscated.
"It doesn't count as stealing if its yours, does it?" he asked cheekily. "Oh! And sitting on top of it was your cloak. It's in the backpack too, now."
Whew. Was hoping I didn't lose that tattered old thi-
"What in the Abyss!?" A shout from above rendered us silent. "Why is their blasted post unattended?"
Our hands froze on the ladder's bars. The voice was close - a couple floors higher at most.
"Wh-who is that?" Oliver whispered, looking down. "It can't be the offi-"
His words were cut short by my expression, as rigid as the steel I gripped onto. "H-Hyland…" I whispered back, more to myself than Oliver. "That's his voice - his real voice. He's here."
Confusion hit Oliver's face. "The Templar? But that wasn't part of the plan." He looked up again. "I hear footsteps. He's coming this way."
"We gotta head back, now!" I warned, near-sliding down the ladder.
Why's he here!? And why do I just hear him? Where's Gervais!?
The glamoured version of my hunter followed, if hesitantly. "We're going back? Won't we be cornering ourselves?"
"Yes, I mean no!" I nearly stumbled in my haste. "This ladder isn't the only way to the top, right? If Hyland climbs down it while we head up the stairs, we can give him the run-around."
"The stairs aren't built that way. You go up a floor, cross the walkway, go up again, then cross back to the other side for the next stairway. It's why I wanted to take the ladder; someone could climb it twice before getting to the top one time by the stairs."
Are you kidding!? A massive ladder that leaves you a sitting duck and stairs that take forever to lead to the exit? Is this all some security measure against escape?
"But that's our only choice," I said. "If he finds me outside my cell, he'll kill me. And if he sees you…" I shook my head. "Come on!"
Our feet hit the ground. Oliver passed me as I stopped a moment, my gaze flying up the ladder.
If he's coming down, and there's no way he isn't, he didn't see us. Even still-
Far atop the ladder - connected to a small metal platform inside a similarly cramped alcove - loomed an armored shadow along the walls. His shadow. And it approached the ladder.
I lurched away, seconds away from drawing the Templar's notice. Just outside the alcove, Oliver waited with illusory sweat building at his forehead - same as me. "Reckon he spotted us?" he asked.
"He will," my face darkened.
Behind the false Templar were the stairs. But we couldn't take them. Hyland was fast. He'd intercept us long before we got to the end.
"T-then, what's the plan? If he's anything like Amara, then he's scary-strong!"
"The plan? You mean 'don't die?'"
"No!" Oliver whispered, "a real plan. You're the planner - what should we do?"
I scoffed. "The planner? How am I 'the planner' when I was dumb enough to land us in this mess?"
Sounds of greaves on metal came from above.
"You got us inside Belza Hill, tricked all those patrols. Just do that again!"
Easier said than do-
A thought crossed my mind. I snatched up Oliver's arm and broke for the cell.
Oliver struggled to keep up. "What are- you're going back?"
"Just hold on," I spoke quickly.
I would've explained further, but my mind was hard at work connecting puzzle pieces. Something was there, lying at the fringes - I just needed to grasp it.
What can we do? What do we have? A mock human and a counterfeit Templar? A decaying hand and a bow and arrow? Shade, we need some way to get him off our backs for good - but nothing we have will-
I took a mental step back, right as we reached the cell door. My hand moved the sliding peephole narrowly - almost imperceptibly - and we ducked inside the cell, closing it quietly.
Oliver moved to the center, eyeing me tensely, waiting for something, anything.
I leaned against the door. "Quick - open the backpack."
Through the sliding peephole's open slit, Hyland left the alcove, appearing at the circular floor's east side.
"Is there something in it you need?" he quietly rummaged.
"Yeah," I fidgeted uneasily, watching the Templar outside look around in confusion. "If we're lucky - extremely - it might just get us out of here."
———————————————————————————–——————
Hyland's search brought him nothing. There were no jail officers around, above or below.
One might think there an emergency. Or they went on strike. Both were a lot more likely than the real origin of the mystery. But Hyland was different. Some part of his mind - so fixated on an enemy - sniffed out the source of the disappearance.
And the trail led right to my cell.
Lips pursed, the Templar stomped closer. He'd find me - he was sure of it - and get his answers. Then end me and my only friend.
Unless, of course, we got to him first.
The door creaked open by a confident hand.
And Oliver stepped out, closing it behind him.
"W-what in the-!?" Hyland recoiled in shock. "You!" he pointed. "Who are you? Who are you and why were you in that cell!?"
Oliver stood tall, just as I'd coached. "Me?" he asked, voice deep enough to sound unfamiliar. "I'm a Templar - just like you."
Gauntlets reached outside my old cloak, pulling it aside just enough to reveal the insignia on Oliver's chest, while keeping his face within the hood's shadows.
Good job, Oliver! I pumped a fist from behind the cracked peephole. Couldn't have followed the instructions any better!
"I knew I sensed noises earlier, but… a Templar?" Hyland stared blankly between fallen strands of raven hair. "That can't be. What business do you have in Belza Hill? In that cell?"
A response came slowly. Beneath the hood, Oliver stood still.
Is he… trying to remember his lines?
Hyland frowned expectantly. "And as a matter of fact, why hide within that cloak?"
"In the cell behind us," Oliver replied abruptly, "there is an undead."
I stiffened. So did Hyland.
In fact, Hyland did more than stiffen. He skimmed over an entire list of emotions; the kind so long it hits the floor just to keep unfurling. Eventually, he landed on catharsis. "I-I told Gervais, I told him!" his laugh echoed with relief. "I knew the truth, all this time!"
Oliver quietly nodded in response.
Eagerness lit in Hyland's eyes, replacing the uncertainty. "And there will be no more waiting. We both know what lurks behind you. I'll even save you the trouble," he stepped forward, "and end the foul creature myself!"
The counterfeit Templar shook his head. "We can't do that."
Hyland stopped short.
"The undead inside, I've been sent on an assignment to track it down. The capital doesn't want it slain. They want it captured. That's why they sent me."
"…What?" Hyland's tone shifted.
Phew. Scared me for a second there, skipping straight to the core of what we discussed. Though, guess he can't be blamed for forgetting some details - I did rattle on lightning-fast after all.
But despite that, Oliver was a surprisingly good actor when handed a solid script. And by sitting through Hyland and Gervais' conversation, I picked up enough Templar terminology to make that script sound authentic.
Now we just need Hyland to get the hint and take a hike.
"Yup," Oliver said. "Now I have to take the undead back to the capital. In secret. So if you'll excuse us."
"…Yup?" Hyland repeated under his breath.
And in one word, I took back all my praise.
The Knight seemed to think a moment, then continued. "This is some… confidential assignment, I take it? Pertaining to the sentient undead behind you?"
"Yeah?" Oliver nodded slowly.
Oliver, stop sounding so casual - you're a Templar!
"Right," Hyland returned to a neutral expression. "I understand you can't divulge details, but could I at least know your name? We are of the same Order after all."
Don't answer, don't answer, don't-
"…Um, it's Oliver." He remained stiff. Unnaturally so. "Knight Oliver, I mean!"
Hyland's dark eyebrows cocked. "You're a Knight? Given a critical, secretive task like this? I mean no offense; needless to say, we carry the same rank. But tracking an undead that can think and scheme - if barely? I'd imagine our superiors would issue a team, or someone higher-ranked. Not a lone Knight."
Another Knight, handed the task he was denied? I thought he'd burn with jealousy. But his face was friendly. Eerily friendly.
Shade! If this just stayed within the limits of our plan, he'd be gone! Why is this stupid Templar so stubborn!
"We-well, um…"
"Ah." Hyland calmly neared Oliver, putting fingers to his forehead like he'd come to a realization. "I believe there's a flaw in my thinking. Paladin Gervais: you know of him, yes?"
"Yeah - I know him!" Oliver inched back, burrowing deep within the dark hood.
Hyland walked faster, his affable mask slowly slipping. "To no surprise. You are within his local chapter's territory, after all. But a while back, he did mention a team of Templars - led by Paladin Camille - that might soon travel across the province - though for what reason, he didn't know."
The Knight stopped mere inches from his obscured copy. "Suppose you'd be a splinter of that team, then?"
My fingers pressed against the door. I wanted to burst out and punch Hyland as hard as I could, but I knew that'd be suicide. Last time, I couldn't defend myself from him, let alone someone else. But I had to. Somehow, someway. I couldn't let him hurt Oliver.
Within that still second, my eyes darted to the cell behind me. Namely, to the backpack Oliver left in the center, where my cloak was just a minute ago. I recalled the assortment of items inside: torches, bottles, rusty axes, and others. Each had potential. However…
Something else caught my eye.
Outside, Oliver tried and failed to fight his trembling. He didn't speak; he likely couldn't without giving everything away.
So he nodded at the question.
Hyland's face flipped like a switch. "Paladin Camille doesn't exist."
The Knight clutched Oliver's cloak like lightning, yanking him close.
"Agh!" Oliver yelped.
"Who. Are. You?" Hyland interrogated between pressed teeth.
Oliver's hands fought against and pushed away from Hyland's grip, but to no effect. Force wouldn't get him free.
So he used his head.
"Gust!" Oliver thrust a hand into the Knight's face just as a rush of wind flew from his palm. Taking it head-on, Hyland staggered away from the sudden blast like he'd been slapped by ice-cold water. A harmless move, but effective. Too effective.
Because as the two separated, something dark flowed in Hyland's grip: my cloak.
Hyland steadied himself, eyes rising to his copy before flashing wide. "Y-you… you're me?" He snapped backwards, almost tripping into the stone pillar behind him. "B-but…"
I crashed through the cell door. "Oliver!" I stood between them, fists balled. "You all right!?"
"Y-yeah," he gulped. "I'm sorry."
"Th-the door! And the undead!?" Hyland's eyes blinked repeatedly at the growing pile of tricks and illusions.
Although they were near-identical, the two Knight's differing expressions and intensities made them feel completely unrelated. A fact that made standing in Oliver's defense even easier.
"Don't apologize - you did great," I wiped sweat off my forehead. "But I need you to stay back."
"What? Why?" asked Oliver.
I glanced back at his shoulder. "I can't let you get hurt again. I'll… stop Hyland myself."
"But he's a Templar!"
"How? How!?" Hyland struggled to gather himself, his staggered legs threatening to give out from under him. "How did you break free from your chains? How did you escape your cell!?"
Recognition hit his dark eyes. "T-that… that forgery! That shameless reproduction of all that I am, all that I've worked toward! It must be a glamour - it's the only way this all makes sense." Hyland squeezed his eyes tight, then reopened them. "I don't need your explanations. The secret to your escape - to all of this - stands at your heels."
Flinging the cloak and pointing an accusing finger past me, the Knight regained his prideful posture. "Using my stolen prestige, you must have rid of the jail officers. With no signs of battle or blood, you clearly threatened their lives and thieved their keys with my face. Then you descended here to free the undead!"
Hyland reached for his sabre. "So what are you? A necromancer? Another disguised skeleton? The glamour mage behind the undead's facade?"
"No," Oliver pushed past me before I could react, "I'm Skell's friend!"
The Knight's hand fell limp at the sabre's hilt. "Friend?" he questioned. "With a monster?"
"Oliver, listen," I said. "I'm guilty enough…"
He returned a bewildered look.
I went on. "I can't have your blood on my hands. Just trust me, all right? I'll get us out of here."
Oliver looked at me, like he did in Ansel's home. This time, he saw a face and eyes, two features more honest than any string of words. He examined me more than I'd ever seen him do anything else.
Then he let go of a heavy breath. "…Please don't be lying."
The once-freckled teen ran into the cell, sliding aside the peephole and peering through with unmoving eyes.
"Friendship? With one beyond death?" Hyland eyed me with disgust. "I can hardly believe what I hear - what I see - anymore. What a day this has been. Every hour, more inconceivable." He shook his head, tone turning venomous. "But midnight approaches. I'd prefer to conclude with this insanity and bask in my achievement before sunrise."
"What achievement?" I asked. Not that I cared, but I needed to buy time. First, to trigger my Shroud.
He clutched his sabre's hilt. "Exterminating you. In spite of the townsfolk. In spite of my own superior."
Power flowed through me; I was no longer a feeble skeleton. The Shroud's speed, strength, and resilience - I'd need it.
"No longer will I be just another Templar - I'll stand above for rooting you out. My name will be praised across the nation. Cited in lessons. Penned onto tomes," his prideful grin sharpened to a crooked edge. "Etched into history."
I noted my surroundings. Several massive pillars, equally spaced apart. Otherwise, an empty field of stone. Could that work to my benefit?
"And what about Gervais?" I kept him running at the mouth. "I get the impression he wouldn't approve of you coming here alone."
"Gervais?" A flicker of conflict visited Hyland's face. It left as soon he unsheathed his sabre. "Gervais is a fool undeserving of his title, nothing more. If he believed the story I spun about a force of sentient undead spearheaded by you, with Belza Hill as the testing grounds, I could make him eat dung from the palm of my hands."
"You… made all that up?"
"I'd tell him the sky was falling if it made him stand aside as I slew you. Maybe there's truth to it. Maybe not. I couldn't care less about your origin, only your end."
My anger suddenly spiked.
"As for Gervais, I'll simply say I was checking up on you. Only to find you attempting escape. He doesn't even need to believe me; once the capital learns of my accomplishments, they'll station me somewhere grander than this meaningless town."
The Knight held his sabre outward, its steel lit ablaze by the nearby sconces. "And the capital will have a field day with your skeletal remains. Right beside that blasted imitation, little as I look forward to cutting down a replica of myself."
My caution left me. "You're not gonna touch him!"
Flashes of Ansel's battered body filled my mind. I failed to save him. I wouldn't fail his grandson.
The Knight wasn't phased. "Before I slay you, however, I have a question - if you possess the faculties to answer it."
I stared daggers at him.
"Why the facade?" he asked. "Underneath that mask, you're nothing. You don't know goodness, or evil. You know nothing of guilt or trust or love or hate. You simply are. So why pretend as if you care for others? As if you can walk around in the daylight, shopping and speaking. As if you're huma-"
"Shut up! All this shading rambling… if you're gonna slay me, then get on with it!"
Hyland was taken aback. "An undead, talking down to me? I should've known words would be wasted on a corpse."
"They are," I admitted. "Believe what you want - that I'm undead, human, doesn't matter. I know what I am. And after I smear you on the ground, you'll know what I am too."
"That so, undead?" Hyland entered a combat stance, weight shifting to his legs. "A human, or a lifeless stepping stone? My sabre will decide!"
The Templar's blade leapt at my throat.
But I was ready.