A/N: I lied, there's a 4th chapter. Also, this chapter is horror, so beware for violence and a bit of gore.

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The city was hers, had been for years.

It was one of the few places where Templars were still trained and housed—in a much revamped former Circle, no less. Once called the Gallows—and honestly still sometimes referred to it as such by the locals—the upper levels had been knocked out and rebuilt, providing more accommodating housing for the Chantry's forces.

Once upon a time, knight-templars had supposedly been sent off to hunt people believed to be mages, to keep a vigilant watch to make sure magic didn't consume the world.

Meredith Stannard doubted the so-called mages had been more than transients or the mentally ill, for magic was about as real as…

Well, she had seen some people able to light a candle or make a flower bloom momentarily, but it was hard to say that they weren't gimmicks, and they were hardly skills capable of taking over the world.

Yes, magic was little more than parlor tricks and superstition, and templars were a military force that fought back the Qunari and civil disobedience. Regardless of what history said, they kept order, not mages.

And, generally speaking, they did a damned good job of it. Especially here in Kirkwall. She kept her recruits and more seasoned soldiers alike sharp and ready for anything that might come, and she was proud to boast that they were some of the most level-headed and subordinate soldiers in Thedas.

Which was why it struck her as exceptionally annoying that she would return to the Gallows to find it in such disarray.

Had she not just been bragging to the Clerics about this lot? This lot who now was acting like a bunch of scared children.

As she strode through the recruits who had all congregated in the courtyard in their sleep attire to stare up at the building as though it had grown fangs, she noticed that as they saw her, one of two things happened. Either relief swept over them, or they became even more frightened.

There was no in between.

She stalked up the old steps—while the inside of the Gallows had been redesigned, the outside had not, and she liked to think of it as a homage to history. Now, though, even the twisted, tortured statues seemed to watch her with trepidation.

Ser Thrask stood at the entrance to the main hall, flanked with several seasoned templars. Every last one of them had their guns drawn, ready to shoot into the building should someone come out. When Ser Thrask saw her, he looked immensely relieved, which—considering they were hardly fond of one another—was highly out of character and jarring. "Knight-commander! Thank the Maker—"

"What is going on?" Meredith demanded before another thought struck her. For them to already be evacuated like this… "Why was I not contacted when this began?"

"Communications lines are unreliable at the moment." At that, he paused, wincing as he tried to find the words to explain just what he meant. It was almost as though he expected her not to believe whatever he had to say. "We…we attempted to contact you, but the call was intercepted somehow and false orders were given, directing Ser Kerras' team into her path."

Meredith stood very still, eyes narrowing. Someone was intercepting their communications? "Why would they take orders from someone other than me?"

"They—we all thought it was you." Ser Thrask couldn't help but shift his weight a little uncomfortably. "There's not a soul who heard her voice who wouldn't have sworn you were the one giving the orders."

"I assume, if they were sent into this woman's path, they found her?"

"It."

Someone whispered the word from the line in front of the door, and Meredith felt her suspicion rise. "It?"

Ser Thrask stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "We're…not quite sure who—or what is in the building." Even as Meredith's brow arched and she straightened up a little in disbelief to hear such words from so seasoned a templar, he added, "I saw something fling Ser Otto out a window and into the side courtyard, but I didn't get a clear view of who…or what."

"The glass is bullet proof." There was no way anyone was thrown through three and a half inches of glass.

"Didn't do a lick of good against this thing."

"Is Ser Otto alright?"

"No, ser. He's dead." Ser Thrask grimaced. "Likely before the three story fall or even before he broke the glass."

"Where is everyone else?"

Ser Thrask motioned toward the entrance. "Inside, sweeping for her—it."

"And you have no idea what 'it' is?"

The closest Templar in their line, Ser Agatha, dared a glance at Ser Thrask, as though exasperated that he wasn't saying what everyone had already agreed upon. Even as Ser Thrask gave her a warning look, she turned to Meredith. "We think it's a demon."

She couldn't help the sneer that twisted her features. "A demon."

What was next, witches and abominations?

She took a moment to gather herself and resist the urge to beat every last one of them. What were they going to tell the recruits about this nonsense? Considering their current fears, what had they already been told?

Motioning to Ser Agatha, she drew her own gun from her holster. "Hold the line." It was easily the most ridiculous order she'd ever given. "Ser Thrask, come with me."

Of all the things to happen, this had to easily be the worst. If word got out of a demon scare in this day and age, she'd be laughed out of the Order. Worse, her credibility would be shot, and she'd lose most of the sway she had over the city.

Her musings slowly began to shift, however, when they found the first floor of the Gallows to be completely empty.

Then, as they made their way cautiously up a stairway, they found the first sweep team.

Or rather, they found their bodies.

She had seen what qunari blasting powder could do, had seen what the brutes themselves were capable of, if they got their hands on someone. She'd seen terrorist attacks and civil unrest, and yet nothing had prepared her for this.

The bodies were mangled as though a wild beast had gotten ahold of them, and there were bullet holes in the walls. Some of the team members looked like they'd even shot each other.

And the blood.

Maker help her, but she'd never seen so much blood.

If she didn't know better, she'd have thought someone somehow pulled it out of them, draining the bodies completely to make the most hellish scene possible.

It pooled across the floor, dying the tiles read, splashed up across the walls, dripping from the ceiling, still seeping out of deep gouge marks in the bodies.

And then there was the smell of burnt flesh. It was hard to see through all that damned blood, but some of the templars had been singed. Some looked like they'd been burned from the inside out.

Magefire…?

She dismissed the idea instantly. That was foolish. Magic wasn't…real.

Maker preserve her, but this was madness.

The same scene played out twice more as they found the second and third sweep teams.

At the third scene, there were claw marks in the walls, deep and long. Not that she would admit it, but she could see why some people were calling their attacker a demon.

Someone was certainly going a long way to make it look like one; they'd hit just about every stereotypical detail of one.

Even as she turned to ask Ser Thrask how many others were possibly in the building—to think they might need backup when they typically were the backup was something that would have to embarrass her later—the lights began to flicker.

Ser Thrask paled, weapon cocked as oddly heavy footsteps sounded from the hall behind them.

As Meredith cocked her own gun and began to creep down the hall toward the noise, a figure stepped out from the end of the hall, and she was taken aback.

When her subordinates hadn't called whatever this was an 'it', they'd said 'she', and yet what walked out into her line-of-sight was so clearly masculine. The man was well-toned yet still slender and scantily clad, with blood dripping down from his long fingers, though she almost instantly forgot all that as she noted the large, curling horns sticking up from his head.

Even as she decided this must be a qunari—even if he wasn't as muscular as they typically looked—something flicked behind him.

A tail?

Abruptly, the hall lights brightened, and the creature was gone.

Keeping her weapon high, Meredith looked back over her shoulder and stopped.

Ser Thrask was gone, as were the bodies, the blood, the claw marks.

Everything looked…normal.

A boot clacked against the tile floor and she snapped her attention back down the hall to where the creature had been.

Instead, Ser Thrask was walking toward her, smile in place.

"Is something wrong, knight-commander?"

"The creature—"

Ser Thrask frowned and stopped in his tracks for a moment. "I was hoping word hadn't reached you of that. It was nothing more than a hoax by a few recruits. Embarrassing, really."

Meredith's brow pinched together.

What he was saying made so much sense—it was what she had figured was going on before the bodies had started piling up—and yet…

She remembered the looks the recruits had given her, now foggy, like it had all been a horrid dream.

"Knight-commander—"

The voice came from behind her, and cut off abruptly. She could have sworn she heard a gunshot.

Yet the halls were clear, save for her and Ser Thrask, and he didn't have his weapon drawn.

Ser Thrask frowned, still sauntering closer and closer. "Some of the recruits won't let it go. I'll handle it. A few threats home should take care of things."

Even as he spoke, Meredith raised her gun again. Whatever this was, this wasn't right.

Seeing the resolve harden in her eyes, Ser Thrask let out a sharp hiss, face contorting into something hideously inhuman as he lunged toward her.

She fired, and the lights went out.