Deep within the shallow woods north of Godfall stood a small wooden structure, half-swallowed by centuries of unchecked growth. Vines strangled its beams, moss carpeted its roof, and the whole building carried the decayed grandeur of a prehistoric tavern forgotten by time. The air inside hung heavy and moist, thick with the scent of rot. A glistening, gooey film coated the walls, as though the bar itself wept a slow, viscous tears.
Three cloaked figures sat in silence, arranged opposite one another around a triangular formation of ancient chairs. Then the floor began to churn. The hardened earth softened into mud, bubbling and sighing as something rose from its depths.
Lieutenant Damascus emerged slowly, drenched in black sludge, his chest heaving. The serene woods shattered their quiet with his arrival. A primal scream tore from his throat—a sound so raw and furious it pierced the night, echoing through trees and bone alike.
"How dare you summon me without my consent!" The voice that escaped him was not entirely his own; it carried the thunderous fury of Captain Rosewalt.
"I almost had him," Damascus snarled, staggering to his feet at the center of the triangle. Mud dripped from his uniform in thick ropes. "I would have done this world a great favour."
"Why don't you just shut the hell up?" a fourth cloaked figure snapped from the shadows near the door, voice sharp with youth and fear.
"You knew the plan," the fourth continued, rising now, hood still concealing his face. "And you still went ahead with that brainless stunt. What were you trying to do—kill us all?"
"I might be willing to die for this," he spat, glaring up at the lieutenant, "but I'm too young for that."
Damascus's body trembled with barely contained rage. His hands clenched into fists, and then the fury broke loose. He seized a heavy wooden table and hurled it against the wall; it splintered like dry bone. Chairs followed, crashing and spinning through the dim space. The three seated figures did not flinch. They remained unnaturally calm amid the destruction, cloaks unmoving, as though rooted to the earth itself.
"You should never have summoned me," Damascus roared again, voice cracking . "I almost had him—God damn it!"
The first figure finally spoke, his tone tranquil, almost soothing, cutting through the chaos like cool water. "You do realize the only reason you're still alive is because the people of Godfall stood their ground."
The second figure gave a low, rumbling chuckle. His voice was so thick and deep it seemed to vibrate the very air, making the goo on the walls quiver. "Let him rage. This fool actually believes he can stand on the same ground as Rosewalt and Sango."
Damascus froze mid-rampage, eyes burning beneath the mud. Cowards, he thought, glaring at each hooded silhouette in turn. You bunch of cowards.
"Everybody!" the first figure shouted suddenly, voice losing all calm.
A dim red light seeped through a shattered window, slow and deliberate, painting the room in bloodlike hues. Every soul in the bar went still. The light drifted inward like smoke, coiling toward the center where Damascus stood.
"Damascus," the first figure whispered, dread replacing serenity, "you've killed us all."
The light vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
The first figure rose—only to stagger. Before he could steady himself, his body ignited. Invisible flames licked across his cloak, searing without consuming flesh. In the same heartbeat, the others followed. All four figures erupted in infernal fire that burned hotter and hotter, yet left no mark on skin or cloth. The pain, however, was exquisite.
The cold chairs stood empty now. The damp floor shuddered violently beneath them.
"What are you waiting for, you fool?" the first figure gasped, voice ragged with agony. "Get us out of here—now!"
The second figure dropped to his knees, slamming both palms into the mud. The floor liquefied instantly beneath his touch, swallowing them whole. One by one, they sank into the pitch-black mire—screams muffled as the earth closed over their heads, dragging them down into depths unknown.
The prehistoric bar fell silent once more, flames winking out, red light gone. Only the slow drip of goo from the walls remained, and the faint, lingering echo of tormented cries fading into the dark below.