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Each crack of a whip wrecked more damage than the previous, this cycle hardly stopping until the knight's head slumped into oblivion. The knight looked more like a beast from his upper torso, especially his head, which resembled a porcupine. The ice-blue, spiky mane shrouded the wolf-like facial features, except for the large red nose. Two brown antlers that added to his height protruded out of the mane.

Commonly known to the world as Stormy Knight or Knight of Windstorm in the demonic world, he was thoroughly chained up in a filthy lair which was hard to detect the surroundings. Utter darkness was what's mirrored in the lair, but due to the superior sight of Stormy Knight, he knew he was under surveillance from a group of Baphomet Juniors, a few ghouls and a wraith. These guardians were to ensure that he would not attempt anything improper.

Storm's eyes shot open as he awoke. It was not of nature, but rather by a sharp pain in his back. A Baphomet Junior had stabbed its mini-scythe into him, punishing him beyond measure. A few others followed suit after the first. Though the mini-scythes sounded like toys to most, in actual it was no different from a freshly sharpened dagger. It was too late to realize the grave danger he was in, the mistake of crossing the Baphomet, inarguably the most skilful of superiors.

The blue knight howled again as another two mini-scythes pierced into his punctured back. He hoped that somehow Abyss would come to his aid; but with Baphomet's tight security, it was unlikely that his illusions would become true. He just had to await his doom…

The strength, the magic within him waned greatly with the torture he received. He had tried to contact Abyss through telepathy, but his wrecked state forbade the only hope he had. Moreover, being the majestic goat superior, Baphomet had already deduced that Storm would resort to this, therefore issuing an order to his guardians that they must interrupt his attempts with a brief attack. And so it went on, the injuries inflicted on Storm were mostly the work of the Baphomet Juniors, a demon that was literally a replica of the great Baphomet. That was where the similarity ended in terms of sizes.

Heavy hooves thudded against the floor brought Storm expecting the worse of punishments. Sure enough, the great Baphomet himself entered, lighting the dark lair with a small fire in a far corner. The massive scythe he carried with him at all times was gripped in his hands, the blade stained with blood from countless victims dating from a long way back. Standing at least ten feet in height, he towered even the superiors, the imposing figure striking fear into everyone. His eyes glared intently at Storm for a while, then ushered for the guardians to leave this prisoner to himself. As if daring the blue knight to try anything of defiance, Baphomet sent flames circling him, heating up the metal chains.

The chain grew red hot after a few moments, searing the hide of Storm. His howl could have resounded over the large mountainous regions of Mjolnir, the goat superior enjoying every moment of this torture.

"The once proud Knight of Windstorm… what have you become? A mere prisoner of me, the great Baphomet?" the humanoid goat spoke with surprisingly articulate tone rather than a devilish rasp.

The sadistic torment left Storm silent; the only noise he could make was the howls of pain. A brief laugh escaped Baphomet, then all trace of amusement vanished.

"You truly deserve this sorry state, knight. Perhaps this was only heard of in the kingdom of Glast Heim, but let me repeat this saying. 'Anything in the world of Rune-Midgard could be done, for the exception of treading Baphomet's grounds'."

Storm snorted and spat out a glob of blood. The seething Baphomet raised his scythe, and brought down the shaft onto Storm's skull, rendering him out cold. That blow could have split a human head into two, Storm probably suffering from a serious head injury from such a vicious attack. The guardians shrank away from the fuming goat superior, each fearing that they might become a snack of his frustration.

Baphomet could easily wipe Storm out in a single smash of his scythe, but many factors held him back from the temptation. He needed to squeeze out every single piece of information out from the knight, to determine if there were any other accomplices as he suspected all these while. Most importantly, he needed to know the reason for the breaking of the pact, and what ulterior motive was hiding up Storm's sleeve. Dousing the flame with a wave of his hands, his hooves thudded loudly against the floor as he left the lair, not before passing down a sharp command to his guardians not to let their guard down. The lair was left in complete darkness again, the guardians eagerly awaiting for Storm to awake. They were beginning to enjoy torturing this knight…

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Thinking that Storm might be desperate to commune with him, Abyss left his thoughts available for telepathic messages. He expected the chewing and munching sound of his counterpart snacking again; to his relieve, all was silent. He had drawn his black sword out in advance, for he sensed the oncoming demons.

The St Abbey was left empty after the ebony knight slew every single demon to capture their corpse in a strange black flask. He was not far from the entrance, when a chilling wind had him pressing himself flat against a wall. That indicated the coming of undead, or some other spirits.

Abyss risked a peek at the entrance. He almost choked in shock as a familiar apparition floated past the opened way and into the church. There was no mistake about it; the skeletal features, the dark aura underneath the floating figure, the purple fluttering cape. It was the right-hand man of the Dark Lord, the equally capable Dark Illusion.

The Dark Illusion had his hands occasionally extended to feel the presence of an intruder, his hands misting with a purplish glow. A hiss from the Dark Illusion made Abyss ready himself for the difficult fight. He adjusted his helm at a comfortable angle, then placed the empty hand to the sword, holding it in a two-handed fashion. The Dark Illusion stopped at a bench near the wall, and put his hands down as if already discovered what he sought.

"Whoever you are, come out of the wall and let me sssslay you, and presssent your head to the Dark Lord!"

Abyss waited for the Dark Illusion to draw closer, before he leaped out from behind the wall, the long black blade aiming for the head. The Dark Illusion had long teleported behind the ebony knight. Abyss roared as a stream of fire burned his back, the Dark Illusion then floating above him to inflict damage on his head. Fortunately for the knight, his helm protected him well from harm to his head. The knight sidestepped just in time to evade another stream of fire.

The magic of the Dark Illusion worked faster than the blade, for the powers of the skeletal mage was linked to that of the Dark Lord. A blast of wind blew Abyss off his feet, crashing him onto a bench. The Dark Illusion conjured a fiery boulder next, and hurled it at him. Abyss rolled off to the side, but the impact of the comet still hurt him nonetheless. His foe's magic was making it difficult to tackle. He had more or less expected demons to be hot on his heels, yet he did not expect his first foe to be the Dark Illusion. He only had his luck to blame…

Gathering himself up to his feet, Abyss smoothly jumped over a bench and began on a charge. As he had foreseen that magic would be what was going to assail him again, he planted his black sword deep into the ground when a blast of wind struck him. The Dark Illusion flew forward and threw a skeletal fist at him seeing that the weapon was temporarily not in use. Abyss nimbly bent backwards, grabbing the hand and flinging the skeletal figure onto another bench.

"You were stupid enough not to use magic! Make good use of it since you're dying!" Abyss yelled.

The Dark Illusion crashed through it, then floated up again as soon as the bench collapsed. However, by the time he was on proper stance, the black sword was already flying his way. A loud hiss accompanied by a screech indicated the elimination of the Dark Illusion as the sword planted deep above the chest. Heavy purple mist clouded the church, permeating throughout the area. Abyss found it hard to see in such thick mist, so he had to resort to feeling his way out.

Something made him stop dead in his tracks. His mind raced as the black flask he possessed could prove to be a trump card…

The ebony knight pulled the black flask off his belt, and pulled off the cork to capture the dissipated Dark Illusion. The purple mist vanished swiftly as the destroyed Dark Illusion's spirit was sucked into it. Within the flask a prolonged whistle sounded, then died down slowly. A puff of purple smoke was ejected off the flask before Abyss stopped the opening with the cork.

Sheathing the black sword, Abyss knew better than to confront the next group of demons he sensed that was advancing into the church. It was best to keep a distance from the Dark Lord and his minions for now…