[Skell]
Hyland appeared before me, blurred silver in both body and sabre, raring back for a fluid decapitation.
Wind hissed overhead as I dove narrowly under the blade. I fell into a clumsy roll, getting a brief look at Hyland's stunned face before I clambered to my feet and kept moving.
He was faster. But not incomparably so. My Shroud filled me with raw mana. Along with augmented strength and resilience, I moved quicker, observed more details in less time. The Knight surely hunted countless skeletons over his career.
But I wasn't typical prey.
The Knight only paused a moment, pursuing closely as I sprinted clockwise around the jail's bottom floor. Metal glinted in the corner of my eye as I neared one of the stone pillars circling the floor. I lunged past it. Just as a loud thunk sent shivers through the base of my neck.
I kept going, gaining distance, fists tight, glancing back to find Hyland stuck. Or more accurately, his sabre - embedded in the stone.
"Hnk!" he struggled to wrest it free. "Stand and fight, coward!"
My fury rivaled his, but I put on a sneer. "I'd rather live."
"You don't know what life is!" He unearthed his blade with a roar, flinging rocks skyward.
I pushed myself faster toward the next pillar. It wasn't enough. Hyland closed the gap again and this time he struck. Partially.
I wormed back in time to avoid losing my entire arm, but his sabre slid into my shoulder like butter, despite my armor. Blood surged from my skin. And yet, I felt nothing. My real body - my skeleton - was underneath the fleshy illusion. Not that it was safe either.
Rapid, methodical slashes followed, instinct adjusting my body to skirt by them faster than my mind could keep pace. Most that landed were only-skin deep. Harmless. Except for the gash across my throat. That one grinded against my neckbone.
My hand snapped to my throat before I even knew what happened. His sabre barely reached bone, but the pain ignited my body. For just a moment, I blinked. Next moment, a sabre pounced for my arm.
I stumbled out of its path. I hadn't realized the attack was never meant to hit.
It was meant to get me into position.
The Knight forced a kick into my chest, knocking me off my feet. The pillar behind me met my spine quickly. I screamed, agony shooting through my body as I slid to the floor.
"Skell!" Oliver shouted from behind my cell's door.
Hyland's approaching shadow loomed over me. "All that bravado, just to flee?" His scowl dripped with disgust.
Shade, no more waiting… It has to be now!
I slipped a mocking laugh through the intense pain. "Took pretty long to corner a weak skeleton. And here I thought you were a Templar."
A vein bulged at the Knight's forehead and he kicked me in the ribs. Something inside cracked. I sealed a yell behind clasped teeth.
"A second chance at last words," he strangled his blade. "You squander them."
I raised my head, putting on the most hateable face I could muster. "…You haven't heard my last words."
Come on, hero. Smite me with your biggest, baddest strike.
Anger boiled in his eyes, and he raised his sabre high overhead. "Enough! After I deliver you to eternity, never retur-"
Hyland shrieked. His sabre came down, though by the time it dug through the stone where my skull rested, I'd already tumbled away.
Scrambling to my feet behind Hyland, I watched the blinded Knight release barbed gasps between wild, one-handed swipes in every direction. The other gauntlet spasmed over his squeezed-shut eyes, covering them to no effect.
I glanced at my own palms, littered in tiny scratches. Until that moment, they desperately held onto our one chance at survival: the very same manacles he'd locked me in, decayed into metal shards and dust. They now spread across Hyland's eyes. And they wouldn't come out easy.
"Argh! Blasted Abyss!" The Knight stumbled around, swinging fiercer. "Where-urgh!" He inhaled sharply and clenched teeth. "Where are you!?"
"You don't know?" I asked. "Don't Templars 'perceive more than ten men put together'? I'm right here; just open your eyes."
The earlier mockery was purposeful, to enrage Hyland to the point where he'd leave himself wide open.
This mockery was just for my satisfaction.
"Oliver," I called, "you can come out. I got him."
The disguised archer burst through the door before I finished. "S-Skell," he stared me up and down, "you're covered in cuts! A-and your neck…"
I tried to calm him with a grin. "Just flesh wounds. I'm fine… well, mostly." My smile dropped as I held my ribs and throat. They weren't exactly mortal injuries, but my bones still creaked and moaned with every movement. That said, I couldn't figure why, but with each passing second the pain seemed to dull.
Oliver frowned. "W-well, if you're sure. I guess your body is a bit different."
He looked to the Knight, still releasing agonized heaves. "But I can't believe it, Skell. You got the better of a Templar!"
"Me and you both," I collected myself. "But we gotta move. I should be in decent enough shape to take the ladder."
"Okay!" Oliver nodded, reassured.
"O-our battle isn't over!" Hyland objected, blood-tinged tears seeping from his eyes. "I still stand tall! You can't flee with your tail between your legs!"
I balled my fists. "…Watch me."
Oliver was already halfway to the alcove. I ignored my aching bones and followed suit.
"No… no, I refuse!" Hyland declared. "I refuse to let you slip through my fingers again! Radiant Arc!"
A brilliant golden glow consumed Hyland's sabre, casting his surroundings in its shine. The Templar set his feet.
He's… readying a slash? I kept running. But he's way over there. Blinded, too. No way it could even come close.
But the Knight found a way. Concentration rippled over his face, and he suddenly carved into the air itself. The blade's glow formed in the exact shape he cut and, like a speeding hawk, the golden arc took flight.
In a flash it reached me, a faint afterimage in its wake. There wasn't time to avoid it. Not completely.
I twisted away at the last second. Mid-air, the arc's edge sliced through my side - and the pillar behind me - effortlessly. I hadn't even hit the ground before the world became very, very small. Keeled over on the cold floor, I clutched the wound tight. It burned with the merciless heat of the sun, smoldering my insides. Every second felt like a day of fresh torture.
"S-Skell!" Oliver shouted from across the main room.
"All that talk made you an easy target, with or without sight," Hyland spoke bitterly, pain constricting his voice. "Though, I've always been eager to know how light scathes the undead. Well? Care to elaborate?"
I responded not with words, but with tormented, guttural noises. My Shroud crumbled.
"About as I expected…" his footsteps drew closer.
"Stay back!" Oliver demanded, dropping his backpack.
Hyland snarled at the copy, still unsettled by his stolen voice. "Tempting as it is to follow my own orders, I'll have to decline."
"T-then I'll stop you," Oliver's hands reached down, quickly collecting his bow and quiver.
The Knight sent a frightening grimace beneath closed eyes and red streams. "Glamour mage - or whatever you may be - you're outmatched. Templars hone all five senses for combat, not just sight. As for you, hiding behind this weakling… I have nothing to fear."
Moving was basically impossible, even twitching my fingers triggered another eruption of suffering. I was too spent to delude myself; the writing was on the wall.
At least for me.
"Oliver," I fought to say, "run! Just run!"
He didn't blink, staring down Hyland. "You want me to leave you here? No!"
"Just do it!" I yelled into the air. "You've already done enough! So… so do me this one last favor and go!"
"No! Nobody should be left to die!" he lifted his bow unsteadily.
How did I forget - Oliver's still recovering from the bolt that struck his shoulder in Sienna Village. All that running, digging… climbing, it must've felt terrible. But he didn't say a word. He just focused on saving me.
My gaze drifted to Hyland. Despite his cockiness, he still found himself hindered by the metal dust. But ever so slightly, bloodshot eyes cracked open.
With time running out, something else came to me: Oliver's words.
"No…" I protested under waves of pain. "I'm not worth your rescue."
"What?" asked Oliver.
"I… Ansel's gone. He's dead. Dead, and I kept it from you. So you'd help me."
For a moment, Oliver's world stopped. He said nothing, but his mouth hung, visible chills crawling over him.
"So go!" I continued. "Leave! Live your life! Don't throw it away in some jail with someone already long-dead! You're no one's tool! So do what you want!"
Oliver threatened to topple over at any second. Shame forced my eyes away from his. They landed somewhere near the Knight's last footsteps. He stood over me.
Hyland was in no mood for finishing words. His tight-eyed gaze was simple repugnance, at us, our words, everything. As his sabre raised again, I'd like to have said I faced death with acceptance. But my convulsions on the ground weren't entirely due to pain. I didn't want to die.
With a shout, the Templar plunged his sabre toward my eye. A second more and it would've passed clean through. Then again, Hyland would've shared the same fate.
The Knight leapt back, narrowly avoiding a whizzing arrow. Glaring through bloody tears, he saw the same thing I did: something unbelievable.
Oliver's face changed from that of the hardened Templar.
Back to his own.
Sparkling tears rolled down freckled cheeks. But they didn't impact his aim. "You're… you're wrong," he nocked another arrow. "I am doing what I want!"
He fired three more arrows in quick succession. The Templar evaded them all, relying more on sound than sight. But the space between us grew with every shot.
"I'm not here because I'm being used," he readied another. "I told Cynthine to glamour me!"
Hyland raised his blade as it came, slashing the arrow in two.
Oliver grimaced, his injured shoulder quickly tiring. "I'm not clueless. Grandpa… he always saw right through me. But parents don't get that it goes both ways. Something told me I wouldn't see him again…"
Wh-what!?
"All this chatter!" the Templar interrupted. Most of the metal seemed to have washed out as his eyes fully opened. " A criminal and a corpse, speaking this meaningless nonsense!
"I'll be a criminal…" Oliver focused through his tears, his shoulder shuddering. This arrow would be his last. "If it means doing the right thing - I'll wear any face!"
The teen grinded teeth, ignoring his shoulder's cries to stop. A sudden breeze drifted through the air, toward his bow. Just like in Sienna Village, verdant green energy sheathed the arrow nocked in Oliver's bow. Fingers drew back the bowstring, each inch a wince.
Hyland began to sweat, taking a defensive stance. "What is this!?"
Oliver answered his question with conviction. "Windseeker!"
The gale-cloaked arrow fired at the Templar. He swayed to the side, barely avoiding the shot as it's razor-sharp wind glided along his cheek, scoring blood.
Surprise jolted the hunter. Moments before his art crashed into the wall, it took a hard turn.
"A guided arrow…?" Hyland deduced, spinning to find Windseeker flying around the circular room's pillars. Even with damaged eyes, he tracked its movements closely.
I noticed Oliver making subtle movements with two fingers - like how a puppeteer controls a marionette. But he grew desperate. Despite attempts to break Hyland's line of sight - reversing the art's direction and obscuring it behind pillars - he couldn't lose him.
The Knight prepared his sabre. By his stance, he clearly intended to cleave the arrow out of the air in one well-timed strike, whenever Oliver chose to send it his way again. Now that Hyland knew what to expect, it'd certainly work - he was definitely quick enough. Though at the same time, if the arrow left his sight for even a moment, he'd become a pincushion.
A stalemate. All while I floundered uselessly on my back.
My gaze sank to the bare floor. Bare, other than the debris Hyland pulled from the pillar earlier.
Inspiration struck me like a thunderbolt. Summoning the few grains of strength I had left, I rolled over - muffling my own cries so I wouldn't distract Oliver. I clawed myself toward the only scattered piece within my grasp: an unremarkable pebble. It'd have to do. Wrapping around it, my hand squeezing involuntarily. My body screamed itself raw.
But I plugged my ears.
Just… one… shot… Please work…
My hand slowly rose.
"You defend an undead, then proclaim yourself noble?" Hyland followed the arrow, regaining confidence. "You don't know what it means to wear that armor, brat. Pray that when I run you through, you'll get a glimpse into what it truly means to be a hero-"
The Templar's head jolted ever so slightly. Confusion flashed over his face and he impulsively spun around. Our eyes met, and I gave a weak grin. He realized his mistake a second later - one second too late.
Hyland shot back to the arrow's last location. It was nowhere to be seen. He searched frantically; east, north, south, west, even craning to check behind pillars - he found nothing.
"Blasted replica! Where did you-"
He wised up. Very literally.
As his chin raised, the verdant arrow passed it by.
Plunging into his shoulder.
Wind howled as Hyland did, drawing ribbons of blood that spiraled into an upward gale of wind. The Knight's eyes bulged wide, then lost focus.
The sabre fell from his gauntlets. His knees buckled. And once the wind diminished to one final gasp - Hyland followed suit.
He dropped to the ground: eyes red, armor spattered in blood, and teeth locked in a spiteful scowl:
The image of a hero.
———————————————————————————–——————
In some ways, relief was stronger than magic.
Sure, emotion alone couldn't wither away steel, command the course of a wind-cloaked arrow, or launch waves razor-sharp light. But no art could conjure the primal euphoria experienced when death wrapped icy fingers around your neck, pulled you under into inky nothingness, and despite it all, you tear and claw and hurl everything at the danger until suddenly, there you are: still standing.
Many feelings would hit you then. Most of all, you'd feel-
"-alive? We're alive?" I repeated, breaking the room's weighty silence.
I laughed on the ground, first nervously, then cheerily. "W-we did it!" I sat up. "We're really ali- augh!"
Though relief, it turned out, was no cure-all.
"H-hey!" Olive ran to my side. The tears had dried, but his state wasn't much better than mine. "Will you be okay?"
"I… I think so," my teeth grinded. I forced them into a smile. "Not like I can bleed out, anyway."
"Wha- this ain't the time to crack jokes!"
"Sorry…" my smile wouldn't fade.
I'm just glad I didn't lie…
"But what about you?" I asked. "Your shoulder?"
"It stings like a hornet's nest," Oliver moved it as little as possible.
He noticed the concern in my eyes. "I grew up in Sienna Woods. You think I never got bruised and nicked, climbing trees and hunting beasts? A quick clean and a few herbs, and it should be right as rain."
"Point taken," I held my own light-scourged wound. The pain finally began to subside. Though unlike my other wounds, which I barely felt by then, it was in no hurry to leave.
Light magic's effect on undead, must be.
Though this triggered curiosity. Inside, it almost felt like my bones were mending, pulling themselves back together. But why? I asked. Why, and how?
I dropped the questions. Although Hyland sat in a crumpled, unmoving pile, I didn't want to burn any more time. We had a jailbreak to finish, after all.
Shifting weight to my healthy side, I climbed to my feet. Halfway up though, however, a spark shivered inside my wound. "Urk! Ouch!"
Oliver bent down, lending me a hand. For a moment I wondered if I was worthy of it. I banished the thought and accepted his offer. It was a demanding climb, putting boots back on the ground. But it wasn't one I needed to make alone.
"I don't think either of us should take the ladder," Oliver wrapped my arm around his neck, keeping me upright.
I responded with a dry chuckle. "Thanks, Oliver."
With him supporting my steps, we shambled toward the stair's alcove. Inside rose a spiral staircase enclosed by confined stone - just wide enough to fit two people. The going was slow, but eventually we huddled to the second floor. Of several. The air was quiet, only carrying the occasional grunt or pained groan. It was a comfortable silence, in a way. Safe. But it needed to be broken.
"So you knew?" The joy of survival faded from my voice. "Ever since we left the woods?"
Oliver's eyes ran along the walkway's railing. "Grandpa is… was so active. So strong. So… there. At first I didn't think anything could bring him down. Not years, injuries, Velora, nothing. But even before you came, he was slower. Didn't talk as much. Didn't have his same energy."
"I think I felt something was off, even then," he continued. "I… I had an old journal. Ain't touched it, even seen it in years. I thought I'd lost it. Then about a week ago I came home from the woods to find everything upside down. Beds sideways, cabinets empty. I thought we'd been robbed. But it was just Grandpa. He stuffed a dusty book in my hands," he smiled faintly, "happy as a lark."
"Your journal?"
"…I should've thanked him. But I said it didn't matter anymore. Every page was meant to log a day of my life. The good and the bad ones, written down forever. Except I missed so many. The blank pages felt like lost years."
He continued. "I reckon I wanted to sound mature. Grandpa didn't let me. He snatched me up, sat me down, and promised he'd help fill every page. So we spent all night scribblin'."
We reached the third floor. "Like when we hunted an allosaurus that roamed here way from the east, or when the whole village threw a surprise party on my thirteenth birthday." His smile widened. "Or when Amara made mouthwatering pasta sauce, but somehow burned the noodles! Or the time I broke my arm engraving my name on the village's tallest tree, and when…"
Oliver glanced at me. "Um, sorry. I don't mean to jabber on. It was just… a good time. One of our last."
"Don't apologize," I assured. "Keep going."
If anything, you're keeping my mind off the pain.
"Well, you get the idea," the hunter sprung to the fourth floor. "It was morning when we finally closed the journal, not one page left unscribbled! I didn't say anything, but I couldn't believe he spent so long with me. He hated sitting inside, you know?"
I looked away. "Ansel did say that… his time was coming. Even before Velora returned. Maybe that was him cherishing what he had left. Reliving old times."
My gaze crept back.
Oliver still smiled, but tears welled at his eyes. "On the road, I started thinking the same thing. So many moments like that stood out to me. They all felt like signs for the end of something. I hoped I was overreacting. But I couldn't ignore it. Especially at Miss Cynthine's house."
"Yeah. Then I left to find you," I said grimly. Shame was beginning to resurface.
"Gosh, was that why you got caught?"
I nodded. "And why we both got into this mess. All because I didn't break the news to you." I sighed. "Oliver, tell me straight: you're furious with me, aren't you?"
"…I don't know," Oliver wiped away tears. "I know you want to live again. And my bow? You'll always have it; you defended my home. But I'm here because I want to be. Not because of what you haven't told me. We're friends, right?"
Comparatively, my wound felt like a papercut. "O-Oliver, of course we are. I… I should've known that."
"But," he reached the next staircase, "this wasn't your idea, was it?
My surprised expression confirmed that, loud and clear.
"I told you, I know… knew grandpa as well as he knew me."
"Well, you're onto his scheme. Once we sent that shipment of weapons to Sienna, he wanted you to strike out on your own, see the world. Unchained by the village. And him."
"Grandpa…" Oliver seemed to be depleted of both joy and sorrow. Now, the hunter just looked exhausted. "He must've thought I would want to stay."
He shook his head. "I wish he'd been frank about it. But these last few days have been the most exciting in my life. Watching performances, meeting my kind-of-aunt, wearing a Templar costume - I never would've known this if I stayed. Who knew so much good and bad could fit into a few days?"
"There's something else," I forced myself to say. "Back in Sienna, I promised I'd keep Ansel alive. Now you know I didn't."
"I remember. I remember you standing in front of that crossbow to save me, too. Still… that won't bring him back. Nothing will."
I closed my eyes.
"But I reckon I could forgive you. If you made a new promise. One you'll keep for sure."
"Yeah, definitely!" I said quickly. "Lay it on me."
"I want you to live."
"What!?" I moved a bit too much. "Ouch!"
"Yup. If you promise to come back to life, I'll forgive you. One-hundred percent."
"B-but why that? I mean, I said that was my endgame, but even if I succeed, you won't get anything out of it."
"Yeah I will. I don't know how I'll go on without grandpa. I still can't believe he's gone. That if I were to head back to Sienna Village, I wouldn't see him, laughing about something or another. But if I knew his… his death amounted to something? Like another person's life?"
"Would that mean something to you?"
He offered an exhausted grin. "I reckon it would mean the world."
I did the same. "Then it's a deal. At the end of all this, we'll both live. Live free."
"Shucks," some color returned to his face. "I don't think I've made a better promise than that."
———————————————————————————–——————
"-and that's where we'll meet Miss Cynthine," Oliver explained.
"Really? There? Sure the old witch isn't just off her rocker?"
"She's been hiding for years, Skell. I bet we'll be in and out like moles."
"Fair point. And if she'll change my glamour like you said, I'll be home free. Just… that's a really odd place, is all."
Then again, if that part of town is really so quiet, especially this late, then-
My thoughts stopped still. Engrossed in conversation, we hardly noticed our progress. We stood - two battered young men - at the jail's summit.
There, on the uppermost floor, I saw no cells. Just one final walkway between us and the exit. A wave of serenity washed over me. Behind that wooden, half-opened door, freedom called.
Supported by Oliver, I giddily started for it. But the hunter wasn't budging.
"Darn it!" Oliver stomped.
"What's wrong?"
"Grandpa's backpack! I forgot it downstairs with the Templar!"
His expression was driven despite his fatigue. I took that as a bad sign. "Oliver, you can't be thinking of heading back. It took forever to get up here, and Hyland, we don't know if he's completely… down or not."
"I don't care if a dragon's under us," he shambled to the railing, "that backpack has everything in it. All of grandpa's stuff, my bow, the journal… I won't lose it!"
He quickly helped me onto the railing, swapping his support for the cold metal's.
"I'll move faster on my own," he said. "Just wait here."
I opened my mouth, but immediately felt it wrong to stop him. By the time I'd caught myself, he disappeared down the staircase. A familiar isolation crept into my mind, in spite of my liberation. But I quickly dispelled it.
He'll be back before you know it, I told myself. Just relax. Hyland won't come back from a wound like tha-
A figure entered the corner of my eye, and as if on cue, my wound sent another knee-trembling ripple of pain.
I slumped against the railing, my angle giving sight to a small arch in the wall by the exit.
The ladder's exit!? How did he get the strength to…
Panting heavily, the haggard Templar lumbered past the door and onto the walkway's far end. His entire face burst at the seams with crimson fury. The blood trickling down his armor dried and darkened - almost slick black against his white plate. With two unsteady hands, his sabre rose.
Hyland had no words. Only wrath.
There wasn't time to curse my luck or wonder where Oliver was. With great effort, I pushed off the railing. In the time we ascended the floors, my wound went from "overwhelming" to just "severe". It'd have to do.
I have to survive. I promised…
I focused, something I was quickly improving at, to trigger my Shroud.
And next up: "Hand of Decay!"
Tapping into my last chunk of mana, the art burst from my hand - a devious green glow - sparking dull surprise from the Templar. But that was all. At this point, even a magic-wielding undead was just another hurdle.
Hyland walked forward, first slow, then picking up speed. As he did, I quickly grabbed the nearby railing, decaying two sections until a sharp metal rod fell into my hand. I struggled to ignore my wound. The Knight did the same. But like him, I wouldn't let it - or anything - stop me.
Nothing except him.
The exit door slammed open. Hyland and I froze solid.
In its frame stood a broad-shouldered man, his armor pristine. Clear eyes and a quiet, bronze face studied me closely, and Hyland closer. Upon seeing him, concern flashed in the man's eyes. They quickly hardened.
"Our aide woke me with news of your empty bed and missing sabre," Gervais words were shrouded in gloom. "I'd hoped you departed with the noblest intentions. Aiding the militia with night patrol, perhaps? I was too trusting. In every respect."
Hyland's face was pinched. "Gervais, you don't understand, this undead escaped, and with the help of another glamoured accomplice, he…"
The Knight stopped, realizing his words fell on deaf ears.
"That will be enough of your persuasions," said the Paladin. "Enough of your stories. The whole truth is in my eye: a rabid dog, preying upon an innocent man time and again."
Gervais reached for his side. Strapped to it was a weapon I'd long noticed, but wished would never see use. A long, silver handle connected to a weighty head of the same color, sharp protrusions facing every angle. A tool of direct destruction wielded by a careful hand. The savage mace.
"Step away from him, Hyland," ordered the Paladin. "Or I will put. You. Down."
I expected the Knight to curse his luck, explode into fury, or attempt to convince his boss one last time.
Instead, he spoke quietly. "Beset on every side by monsters and false Templars alike. Even fate seems to rally against him. But how many tales, Gervais, have we heard? Where the hero stands victorious in spite of all opposition?"
Gervais watched him silently, ready to move at a moment's notice. I did the same.
"Speaking of stories," Hyland gave a delirious smile, "that glamoured vampire's, the one we previously discussed, I recalled a detail while in bed. One that spurred me to act."
"Hyland," Gervais gripped his mace, "you're hurt. In body and mind. Listen to bloody reason."
"After it was caught," the Knight continued indifferently, "the town banded together to slay it. Once the vampire expired, its glamour vanished - revealing it's true form."
"Hyland." The Paladin tensed. "This is your final chance…"
The Knight found focus amid his pain. "All that talk of acquiring evidence? Worthless. The proof is simply in the undead's demise. And I will no longer allow you to halt my sabre."
Hyland shot his weapon skyward. "Radiant Arc!"
Oppressive light filled my eyes as cold chills prickled my wound. The level grew bright, and Hyland's eyes targeted my core.
Facts were bitter. Injured and trapped between two railings, over a several story drop? The odds were what they were. I faced the light regardless.
Hyland swung downward with frenzy. And it struck true.
Only, he hit the wrong target.
The sabre hung mid-air, clenched by a timely gauntlet. Golden magic dissipated off the sabre - its art interrupted - as blood ran down the edge.
Gervais grimaced at his split palm, standing just behind the Knight. "This pain… My lot, for allowing you to run amok for so long."
Hyland pulled, his face white as a sheet, struggling to release the sabre. More blood cascaded down, pooling at the Knight's greaves. Yet the Paladin's grip was unbreakable.
With Gervais' other hand, the mace flew back. "But my passivity ends now!"
The mace moved faster than anything I'd ever seen, meeting Hyland's side in the blink of an eye. Greaves left the floor as the overwhelming force launched him through the railing and into the distant wall. Stone and bone audibly cracked with fractured plate as the intermediary.
But nothing tied the Templar to the wall. Within a few breathless moments, rock and dust came loose, falling into the gaping pit below.
Hyland followed.
More seconds passed. Almost too long. Like time had stopped.
But a bone-chilling crunch dismissed that thought. And the danger with it.
The sound of the rod, falling from my hands and hitting the floor, was as silent as Hand of Decay's deactivation. Nothing was audible, really. I'd been as still as a statue, eyes stuck on the destroyed railing. The metal reached outward like gnarled fingers, as if a boulder had rolled through.
He took out Hyland? Just like that? How much strength does he…
It was only when the Templar insignia blocked my view that I finally regained focus. I snapped back, clutching for a weapon I no longer held.
"Be at peace, young man," Gervais said, eyes heavy. "You are safe. However… I suspect you are capable enough a warrior to give even me pause."
Huh? What's he on about?
"Your wounds," he clarified. "Or lack thereof. My first concern was for your health. But it appears that despite the tears in your armor, the underlying flesh is untouched. Narrow misses, it appears."
I looked down. Numerous thin slashes split my leather armor. But Gervais was right. The revealed skin was completely untouched, despite being cut not long ago. Even the blood that gushed from them was nowhere to be seen.
My eyes moved to the most severe wound, where Radiant Arc bit into my side. Inside, I still felt moderate pain. From the outside though, you'd never know it was injured. I'd begun to get used to this strange bone-mending effect, but I never expected it could extend to my glamour.
Then again, glamours are supposed to be connected to your real body, right? So if your real body is generally fine, maybe "generally fine" is how you appear to the outside world. Actually, maybe that's why Oliver gave me that odd look earlier. My wounds might've been closing as we talk- Oliver!
Glamours, for all their use, were still clear mirrors into one's emotions.
"Ah," Gervais shook his worn face, "I apologize. Skilled or not, dueling with a Knight would be a harrowing experience for many."
"Y-yeah," I reached for my neck. "My heart's still racing."
Thankfully, he mistook my concern for Oliver as fear - not that I lacked in that either.
"However," the Paladin left me, looking off in the direction opposite Hyland, "that is irrelevant now. What is truly important is what occurred during my absence. I can infer several things. Yet an account would prove better."
"An account?" I asked, if only to buy precious time.
If Hyland took the ladder, and Oliver the stairs, they couldn't have met.
My shoulders relaxed. So Oliver's safe. But he's still down there. And if Gervais sees a second Hyland just walking around…
Gervais' response was tuned out, but what little I heard sounded like obvious clarification. I couldn't give it to him. "Paladin Gervais, thank you for coming," I said sincerely, stepping back. "Really."
"But…" an idea entered my head, "Hyland took my backpack - all my things - downstairs."
The Paladin's eyebrows jumped, then creased. "He did? I specifically ordered him not to rummage through your things in a mad dash for evidence and yet…"
"So, really quick," I said, "I gotta go get it - my favorite journal was inside and I need to make sure it's still there."
Without waiting for a response, I bolted to the staircase, leaving Gervais' heavy jaw slack. "I'll explain everything after!" I shouted up the alcove.
With my worst wound mostly healed, I raced down spiraling stairs and along metal walkways, just to repeat the act for the next level.
I didn't quite know what I'd do once I found him, for all my vigor. Maybe I'll tell him to hide? Come to the meeting place a half hour later, once he was sure we left? But… shade! The garrison might show up soon if Gervais tells them what happened. They could come to investigate, clean up, collect Hyland's body, whatever they'll do - but if they find Oliver…
My overworked mind begged for a break. But I needed to think up a way to get us out of that jail once and for all. However, nothing came to me.
And unfortunately, neither did Oliver.
I reached the last dozen steps, completely puzzled.
Oliver should've been on his way back by now! Is he down here?
Stopping at the last step, my eyes glazed over the bottom floor. Besides a bloody pile I forced myself to look away from, it was empty. Except for the backpack. I ran out to the floor, checking every angle. Nothing. Not even a single freckle. In a moment of worry I realized there was only one place he could be.
He might've heard us, or saw Hyland fall. He… he must be in there!
I came to a stop in front of my cell door. It was still half-open. Drawing in courage, I pushed against the door. It swept open.
On the bed. At the corners. Against the walls. Inside the tunnel.
There was no one.
Dread consumed me.
Where? Where is Oliver!?