When Bishop came to, he found himself bound on a heavy wooden chair, hands secured behind him and his feet tied to the legs of the chair, in what looked like epitome of all dark lairs. He'd never seen this room before.

Damn, how many of these does she need? I mean, really?

This one seemed like the real deal though. It was windowless. Black silk covered the walls and even the ceiling, full of red symbols he could not even guess the meaning of, but gave off a seriously sinister vibe.

The floor was wooden and consisted mainly of a rather impressive ritual circle that seemed to be deeply ingrained in the wood - and had a suspiciously rusty brownish color, which left no question of its origin. Black candles were spaced out evenly along the perimeter.

The only furniture besides his chair was a black table set against one wall, covered with tools and trappings he really did not want to ponder further. A single door led out of the room - painted an unsurprising black.

His head was still a bit fuzzy, and Bishop shook himself to clear his thoughts. Fear crept into his soul, what was left of it, as his gaze took in the room in all its sinister glory. This could not be good. No, this looked like serious trouble. The room just screamed heavy duty black magic.

By all layers of the abyss - what is she up to now? Is it not enough what she did to me yesterday?

The door opened and Bishop's fear spiked as Jaluth entered the room, two guards on her heels. One guard stepped to the table to set down a heavy black bowl, also covered in red runes, and what looked like a very thin sharp obsidian blade. The other stayed back a bit. Jalut started to check the candles, moving some of them around the tiniest bit, obviously not satisfied with their placement.

"Check his bonds", she directed the guard by the door. "It would not do if he got loose in the middle of the ritual. This is going to be delicate work."

The guard - a thirty-something man clad in the usual black attire, nodded and stepped behind Bishop's chair. Bishop glared at him, which was answered by a blank stare, as the man passed by him. Then Bishop felt a hand fiddling with the bonds - which seemed go get a bit more loose. His eyes widened a little with surprise. Something was pressed into his hands.

"All secure", he heard the man's voice from behind.

"Good", Jaluth answered, still contemplating the placement of the candles with a frown. "Then leave." She waved her hand with a dismissive gesture, without even a glance at the guards, then stepped forward to move another candle a fraction of an inch as both guards strode to the door immediately without hesitation.

Bishop closed his hand around the item that had been handed to him, his heart racing, carefully schooling his face to show apprehension and nothing else.

He knew what he had in hand, the grip on his old dagger so familiar he could identify it in his sleep.

His old dagger - quite heavily enchanted, albeit not as much as his scimitars - and way easier to hide and handle behind his back.

His heart beating so fast that he was afraid Jaluth would see the pulse jumping in his neck, Bishop tried to take deep slow breaths to help him calm down. This… this was what he had been hoping for. A lucky break - and maybe his only chance. But he needed to keep a level head. If he blew it now…

Could it be some kind of trap…? Would the guard risk the wrath of his mistress, giving Bishop a weapon that might actually be useful? Was Jaluth testing him?

But to what end? The bitch knew he would skewer her with a smile on his face if he could. And she had him exactly where she wanted him - helpless and trussed up to be used in whatever sick endeavor she had cooked up now.

It just made no sense. That meant… she did not know about the dagger in Bishop's hand.

Probably.

But he would have to play that one ace up his sleeve just right.

Bishop's frantic thoughts were interrupted when Jaluth finally seemed satisfied with the candles and looked up, her glittering black eyes meeting Bishop's. A small, satisfied smile appeared on her face.

"Well, little one - this is it. Finally, I have all the preparations I need. Some of the ingredients were truly difficult to procure… the most difficult one being this." She went over to the table and picked up a rather large opaque blue green flagon, holding it up reverently against the light of the chandelier. Bishop realized that this, as well, was covered over and over in runes that were engraved into the crystal.

"In case you are wondering… this is what you would call a phylactery, capable of holding the soul of a mortal. Different from those you'd use to hold the essence of a lich, and rather hard to procure. I will extract the soul of your little kitten into it, and it will finally buy me my place in the ranks of the gods. I truly have to thank you for this, Bishop… without you, this would have been so much harder to achieve."

Bishop's face must have spoken volumes, because her sickly sweet smile grew broader, showing sharp white teeth. "You don't understand, poor dear, do you?"

She sat the phylactery reverently in the center of the circle, then carefully stepped around it.

Must be fragile, Bishop thought.

She took the bowl and the small sharp athame from the table and came closer. Bishop saw a red liquid sloshing in the bowl.

"Blood of the innocent", she said lighty, and not even Bishop wanted to speculate on what that might mean exactly. "Just one ingredient missing…" She slashed his chin. Bishop flinched, but she tutted and held the bowl out to catch a few drops of blood. "Don't be a baby", she said, then giggled as if that was the most funny remark ever. "I just need a few drops."

She stepped back carefully swirled the bowl to mix the contents, mindful not to spill a drop.

Bishop had kept his mouth shut through all of that, gritting his teeth, knowing that if he showed any interest, it would only serve to fill her with even more glee. But now, he just could not hold back anymore.

"What the hells…" - bad choice of words here, he realized, but doggedly kept going, "...are you up to now?"

Her smirk grew even wider. "So glad you asked", she replied, still in that sickly sweet tone. "As I said, I am going to catch the soul of the dear Knight Captain in this." She pointed at the flask in the middle of the circle. "Some of the gods had high hopes in Garius and his plans, and they are not really happy with her for spoiling things. I have received a rather interesting offer… my own portfolio in exchange for her soul. And tonight, I am going to deliver, and I am going to claim my rightful place among the gods. Isn't that wonderful? You can become my very first disciple! And as I said, without you, this would have been so much more difficult. You earned a reward for this, I think, so I am even going to let you live." She giggled.

If Bishop had felt fear before, now that feeling turned to abject terror. Jaluth…? A god…? If she had been a nightmare before…

If he'd thought any of the gods would listen to the likes of him, he might start praying right now. As it was, his whole life had been one big up yours to any kind of divinity, so he guessed he was alone in this.

He just knew he had to stop this somehow, if he ever wanted a snowball's chance in hell of escaping her clutches.

And for some reason, the thought of Jaluth sacrificing the Knight Captain's soul made him sick.

Jaluth sniffed, and her tongue flicked out in a way that seriously creeped Bishop out.

Like a snake…

He shuddered.

"I can smell your fear, little one", Jaluth purred. "Taste it. So delicious. But guess what? Without your blood, this would not be possible. Your love for each other is the link that will trap her. The love you carry for her in your blood is the conduit, and her love for you will lure her soul, make it follow the call."

"What…?" Bishop choked out. "Love…? Are you completely insane? She loathes me, and I…"

The images she had shown him rose in his mind, and he fell silent. Jaluth snickered.

"You might not remember, Bishop, but your heart does. She always drew you in, even back in the day, even if you did not want to admit it. And in those months you do not remember… you fell hard. And so did she, against her better judgment. Oh, this is just so very, very delightful."

Horror spread through Bishop like wildfire. This could not be, this could not…

"Well," Jaluth continued, suddenly all business. "Enough exposure of my evil plans. Let's get this done, hmm?

She sat the bowl down carefully next to the flagon, then threw her hands up in the air. The chandelier went out while at the same time, all the candles ignited. With a last mocking wink to Bishop, Jaluth turned around and started chanting.

Bishop felt sweat trickle down his spine as his abject terror seemed to grip his heart and squeeze until it threatened to simply burst with fear.

No… nonononono…

Damn you! Get a grip on yourself! You are wasting time!

Bishop gasped and tried to control his breathing. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out her chant, which seemed to reverberate in the room with an eerie echo like effect. His inner voice was right, as it so often was. He was wasting time with a useless panic attack, and he needed to get control of himself, otherwise this was going to hell in a handbasket.

Gradually, he forced his cramped muscles to relax as he fought for equilibrium, tried to find that cold, analytical place within himself that had helped him survive so many dangers. And some of those dangers had been a real doozy. Powerful undead, demigods, hordes of beasties, and he survived it all.

I will survive this as well, damn it! At least long enough to take her down!

He kept searching for the familiar grim determination that somehow seemed to be the core of his soul. He might hate his life. But it was his, and if someone wanted to take it from him, he would damn well make them work for it.

He was damn well going to make her work for it.

He was Bishop. And he would not lie down like a lamb to slaughter.

Never.

And just like that, it was as if finally, he found himself again. His eyes snapped open, the panic gone, and eyed Jaluth coldly. She was swaying, sweating, her voice ever gaining in volume, the ritual obviously taking a lot out of her. Having no connection to the arcane, Bishop could not see the energies that had to be swirling all around her, but he could see her hair and robes whip around her in an invisible, undetectable wind. Obviously she was calling down a torrent of magical energy.

His eyes narrowed as his mind seemed to clear for the first time since she got hold of him again. And he realized that he had let his past cloud his judgment.

Yes, she was a fiend, she was dangerous, she was evil.

But so was he.

He had faced down so many terrors without batting an eye that would have lesser men running in fear. He had done things that would keep people with a conscience up at night.

And yet, he let himself quake with horror at the sight of her, because she had been the nightmare of his youth. No more.

He had become a nightmare himself. And he would damn well give her a reason to fear him. If he died fighting her, so be it. But he would never let her turn him into a victim again.

A nasty, vicious grin on his face, feeling more alive than he had in weeks, Bishop deftly flicked the dagger in his hand and started sawing at the ropes keeping his wrists bound. He cut himself in the process, but did not give a fig. He just hoped Jaluth was distracted enough to not smell the fresh blood before he was ready. But then all the other blood probably would mask that.

And indeed, his worries seemed unfounded as her voice rose higher and higher, the ritual seemingly coming to some kind of peak. A white vapor started to rise from the bowl on the floor, condensing into a kind of cloud that hovered under the ceiling, dead center of the circle in the floor.

And Bishop knew he was running out of time.

The ropes fell away just as Jaluth took the flagon from the floor and raised it under the hovering cloud, her voice a screaming crescendo. Bishop unsurprisingly could not recognize any of the words, but that was not necessary. It was now, or all was lost.

He jumped up from the chair and hit Jaluth in the back with a vicious roundhouse kick, giving it every ounce of strength he had in his body. She stumbled, the flagon flowing from her hands as she fell forward to her hands and knees, crashing into the wall, splintering to a dozen pieces.

"Nooooooo!" Jaluth screamed, her hand stretched out, reaching for the ruined vessel, and for once, terror was clearly visible on her own face. And Bishop knew he could die now if not happy, then at least a very satisfied man for causing it.

Jaluth's scream of horror turned to one of pain as her body jerked. Bishop vaguely sensed something rushing back into her. Some kind of magical backlash probably, the energy she released not finding the intended goal and turning on its creator. The cloud of mist fell from the ceiling, and for a moment, Bishop found himself standing in the middle of it, then it was gone.

Jaluth jerked one more time, then fell still on the floor, obviously knocked out by whatever backlash had hit her. Bishop kicked her hard until she flopped over on her back, then rammed the dagger into her throat with a vengeance, all his pent up hate and rage releasing in that one blow. The dagger went deep and lodged itself firmly into the wooden floor under her neck.

"Heal this!" Bishop hissed viciously and grinned as blood ran from her throat like a flood. He watched the tissue try to close the cut, but it got blocked by the metal that pierced her flesh. The flow of blood did not stop, as the wound could not close. Bishop could have stood there forever just enjoying the sight, but he knew he had to leave. She might be out of commission for now, but she was by no means dead and sooner or later, someone would come.

By the time someone pulled that dagger out, Bishop needed to be far away. With a last glance down on her limp body, broken and bleeding, committing this beautiful image to memory so he could enjoy it for the rest of his life, Bishop turned to the door.

He opened it and listened carefully. Stairs led up to a lit corridor, and Bishop could hear someone breathing up there, a slight rustle of clothes as the person fidgeted slightly. Already forming a plan to sneak up and overwhelm the person on top of the stairs, Bishop tensed as suddenly, someone peeked around the corner, and he recognized the guard that had given him his dagger, making his escape possible in the first place.

The guard's eyes widened. "Is she dead?", he whispered, and Bishop could not help but recognize the trace of hope in his voice.

"No,", Bishop answered, shrugging. "Needs more than that dagger to achieve that. She's out of commission though, her ritual ruined. That counts for something, no?"

The guard seemed to slump a little, his eyes closing, seemingly resigned. "That was my nephew's blood in that bowl", he said, his voice cracking. "He was five months old."

Bishop wanted to shake his head in disbelief. Really? How had Jaluth not seen this coming?

The answer was very simple though, he guessed. First, she probably was not interested in her people enough to even realize she had the victim's uncle as her ritual guard. Second, the thought that someone might dare to retaliate against her would never have crossed her mind.

Arrogance had been her downfall, as it had been for Garius. Bishop was sure there was a lesson for him somewhere in that, but right now he had no time to contemplate it.

The guard started down the steps and pulled out his sword. Bishop tensed for a moment but relaxed when the sword was held out to him handle first.

"I need you to kill me", the guard said, voice shaking, but determined. "If I am still alive when she comes round, there will be hell to pay."

Bishop recoiled a little at that speech, even as his hand closed around the grip of the sword.

And he realized he really did not want to kill that man.

Huh. That was a first.

"What…?", he found himself arguing. "Just run. No need for dramatics."

The guard just snorted. "She will find me wherever I go. I am not you, with your disappearing skills. And when she finds me…" The man shuddered and fell silent.

Bishop knew he was probably right. Jaluth would find him, and there would be hell to pay. She was going to be livid when she came round and found her grand plans had gone up in flames.

Bishop had better get his ass in gear before that happened.

Without hesitating for another second, Bishop thrust the sword forward in a precise, calculated motion, piercing the man's heart, twisting once, and pulling back out. The guard's eyes went wide as he sank to the floor.

"Thank…" he whispered, then his eyes rolled back and he died.

For a split second Bishop stared down at the dead man, a weird feeling in his chest.

Was that… regret?

Bloody hells.

Half an hour later, Bishop moved through the woods like a shadow, pulling every trick in his considerable register to make sure he could not be tracked. He'd found his gear in a storage room right up the stairs, dressed up and was out of the window before anyone the wiser. Since then he moved as fast as he could without leaving tracks. Already he started to feel the effect of the geas, trying to force him to turn around.

Hell if he would. If he died out here because the spell killed him, or something ate him because he was too weak to fight back, so be it. He had no regrets anymore. He had prevented one of the worst beings that ever breathed on this plane from ascending to godhood. If nothing else, that gave his pointless, miserable existence some meaning at last.

Plus, it filled him with so much gleeful satisfaction that in the end, he was able to pay her back in spades, for all those years of torment. Who ever said that revenge tasted like ashes should try a helping of this. Nothing had ever tasted as sweet.

Well worth his life.

So he would keep going until his time ran out, because he was just too damn stubborn to simply end it himself. And then it would finally all be over.