Inside, the Cathedral was beautiful by any standard. Rows of pews filled the main hall, and a long, red carpet ran down the centre, leading to a large canopied altar. Two prayer rooms were located on either side of the hall, filled with the exquisite stained glass windows he'd seen from outside. The high ceiling was filled with hanging ornaments, intricate chandeliers, and tapestries that depicted feral looking women: the original Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

Mortis saw his prey, kneeled at the altar, deep in chant. Brother Brent's soft words drifted to him, sounding strange, alien. Whatever they meant, he was certain it didn't bode well for the Rogues. Mortis strode up behind the old man and waited.

"Who do you chant for?" he asked.

The priest stopped mumbling but neither stood nor turned around.
"Another man in the Citadel?" he asked calmly. "You are honoured indeed."

"Answer the question."

"Patience lad," Brent replied, standing up now, "I pray to the Heavens, seeking protection and guidance for these women. I keep evil at bay via a holy shield that must be strengthened every night." He gestured upwards; "Do you feel it, brother, feel its divine power? The power of the Gods, it is. Perhaps you wish to join me in worship?"

"The Hell I would," Mortis hissed.

Brent paused, and then turned around slowly. He gasped and stepped back in shock, seeing the being he'd been conversing with over the past few minutes. He pointed accusingly, a strangled look in his eyes.

"You're a... a..."

"A demon," Mortis finished. He lunged forward and grabbed Brent by the throat; "and I've come to make you pay for the lives you've been stealing to feed your own corrupted soul."

Brent struggled and kicked, but soon found himself dangling in the air. He grabbed Mortis's huge hand and tried to pry it from his windpipe.
"What... do you mean?" he choked, fear welling in his eyes.

"You can't lie to me, Priest. I can smell evil; I was it once." He brought his face in close to Brent and breathed deep... then paused. He smelt nothing. None of that particular taint that was so common with the other men he'd been assigned to kill.

He shook his head.
"Tricks! I heard you chanting just now; those were no normal prayers."

"Ward spell... protects... the Rogues," came the strangled reply.

"Stop it! Stop lying, old man. I know all about your evil scheme. You've just become adept at hiding your taint. Even mortals can sense it, and the women eventually would if you didn't hide it well."

"Not lying... you... are the tainted one... ENOUGH!"

A sudden blast of raw energy sent Mortis catapulting backwards. He sailed through the air and smashed into the right hand row of pews, breaking through three of them before coming to a rest. Groaning, he sat up and pulled a large splinter from his shoulder. He glared vengefully at Brent, who was leaning against the altar, gasping heavily and glaring back.

"I've had enough! I don't know who you are, or why you've barged in here accusing me of such evils. You were even willing to take my life! But I can deduce one thing: your intentions are not in service of the mighty Heaven, and therefore you are a threat to these women." He raised his hands; "You must be destroyed!"

Two bolts of pure light flew from Brent's palms and struck Mortis in the chest, sending him back through another two pews. The demon reeled; the light neither cut nor scorched the flesh, but inside he was burning up. He struggled to breathe.

Brent continued to yell in his fury, "I was a Paladin of the High Order; I swore to protect the Rogues. I will lay down my life to do so!"

More orbs of light flew across the hall, but Mortis was up and staggering aside. He summoned the energy to leap onto the wall, despite his pain, and began to scurry towards the dark peak of the ceiling.

"Flee, demon! My holy fire will slay you!"

The light orbs followed Mortis's ascent, blowing holes through tiles and rocking the building. He climbed, dodging and clawing for his life, circling around the peak until the canopy of the altar finally shielded him from Brent's view.

The barrage of orbs halted, and Mortis waited, crouched on the ceiling, for the second the priest came out to find him. After a minute, Brent cautiously did so, and Mortis pounced. Hurtling down, hands outstretched and claws flashing, he looked like a vision from a nightmare.

Brent paused but a second before unleashing another volley of light. An orb struck Mortis at the last moment, doubling him over, and the falling demon barrelled into the priest. They tussled on the floor, clawing and punching for all it was worth. Brent's thick robe protected him from the slashing talons, but he was too slow to avoid the massive head-butt that sent him flying.

The two were back on their feet in an instant, the priest proving surprisingly nimble for his age. They circled each other, watching their opponent's movements keenly. Brent suddenly drew a large silver crucifix out from his robe and thrust it in Mortis's direction.

"Burn!" he cried, and made two slashing motions.

The beams of light that came this time did cut, and the smell of his own burning flesh filled Mortis's nostrils. He looked at his chest and saw a still-sizzling sign of the cross scarred deep.

Mortis bared his teeth as he saw the crucifix rise again and instinctively hit the floor. Brent snarled in triumph as beams of light streaked over Mortis's head. The agile demon dodged left and right, bearing down on his prey, and with one swift motion he rolled and lashed his wing outwards, knocking the cross from the priest's hands. He came up and took a blind swipe with his claws, hoping to at least injure Brent. The warm, pulsing chunk of flesh that suddenly appeared in his hand surprised him.

Brent looked equally surprised at the blood flowing from his slashed throat. He put his hands up to stifle the flow, but the damage had already been down. Paling, he fell to his knees, then slowly slouched onto his back.

Mortis dropped the piece of meat and sighed. Tiredly, he stumbled over and knelt beside Brent's face, expecting to see hatred in the old man's eyes as his final moments slipped away. Instead, he saw only a resigned sadness.

"Repent, old man" he said softly, "Admit the corruption you succumbed to, and go freely to the Heavens."

Brent's eyes widened and a deep gurgling rose from his mangled throat. His chest rose with the effort to speak.
"My place in Heaven… is assured. But the women..." he made a sound that was either a laugh or a cry of anguish; "You have… doomed... ... them all."

His head lolled, and the severed artery in his neck ceased to pump blood. Mortis rose, his kill complete, and turned to leave the Cathedral.

From somewhere deep underground, the earth gave a mighty tremble. It shifted and growled, shaking the foundations of the building. Mortis took to the air in surprise; unnerved by the sudden disturbance.

At that moment the Cathedral doors burst open, and a large contingent of Rogues poured in. There was fury on their faces, and vengeance in their eyes. But that quickly faded to shock, as there eyes met a horror from their dreams.

A great, winged being hovered over the body of their beloved priest, the gore still dripped fresh from its claws. They saw by its face and the golden eyes that it was no man. It was demon, and it had defiled their Cathedral.

Mortis wanted to explain, to tell them he had actually saved their lives and Brent wasn't the man they thought he'd been. But he could see the hurt, the horror, and the anger bubbling inside them, and knew they wouldn't listen to anything he said.

With a unified cry the women nocked arrows to their bows and began shooting wildly. Mortis flapped his great wings and rushed towards the ceiling, arrows nicking his chest and thighs. The roof was his only means of escape, he knew, and as he powered upwards he clenched his outstretched hands into fists and closed his eyes.

At the last second he folded his wings down close, and let the momentum carry him into the brittle tiles. With a crash he exploded out on the other side, sailing out into open air and soft moonlight, and then began to fall. He quickly unfurled his wings and brought himself to a hovering halt.

A stream of arrows followed him out of the hole, arcing far into the night, and he swooped down low over the rest of the Citadel to avoid them. The nicks in his flesh and holes in his wings would heal quickly, he knew, so he ignored the stabs of pain for the moment. As he crossed low over the rest building, he half expected to be assaulted again. But something wasn't right.

The women were in hysterics. Some rolled on the ground; other held their heads in their hands. Most just stood swaying and staring blankly like zombies. In the barracks courtyard, the ones holding weapons had actually turned on each other.

Mortis glided past, somewhat worried about the strange events unfolding below him. No force he knew could make this many humans act in such a way. The ominous rumble beneath the Cathedral also made him uneasy.

Some of the Rogues spotted him at last, and started shooting arrows. Their aim was nothing of what it used to be; they barely paused to judge the distance. Mortis quickly veered away and left the chaos behind, heading east to the lands of Aranoch. He had a feeling there was nothing more he could do.

His mission was complete, although the aftermath had been strange. He couldn't stop seeing the blank stares of the Rogues in his mind. Brent's words still rang in his ears, niggling into his mind and conscience.

"My place in Heaven… is assured. But the women... you have… doomed... ... them all."

Braca was going to meet him at the foot of the Gholeinian Desert at midnight tomorrow, and Mortis promised himself he'd get some answers from the mysterious little man.

But for now he was determined to take his time and try to unwind. He had a long flight ahead of him, and two days worth of events to think about. And he knew sleep wouldn't come for him tonight anyway.