-Prologue
"We were unprepared. We were overconfident."
The crossbow bolt's steel head glistened in the retreating torchlight as it arced through the frozen air.
"We were riding a high: a surge of illusionary strength that masked the dark's groping swipes."
Another fiend fell; its bones broken in twain from a crushing blade.
"We went down there expecting a quick and decisive win."
A familiar scream from the darkness. The Stygian shadows themselves seemed to shriek.
"Instead, we met only Hell."
Ringing ears. Shallow breath. Twitching gaze. Helmet tossed aside by external force, the party's once-unshakeable leader desperately clutched at his downed comrade, dragging him back under tenuous firelight. The unlikely ally, a rogue of no law nor order nor honour, let loose one final shot from his clamouring grasp. The pistol cascaded with light and fury, exposing the world for that one heartbeat. The sight awarded made him almost rather it had stayed hidden. Somewhere beyond that black shroud lay an army of unholy horror. Nightmare made twisted reality. An idol for every evil corner of the mind.
"Just go!" The rogue yelled, stuffing another shot into the old gun and coaxing out a mechanical readiness from its worn hammer.
"I refuse!" The knight retorted, digging two broken gauntlets into the faded leather coat. Scattered, dazed, confused. When had they been split up? They were four not five minutes ago. Were two all that remained?
"Hiyah!" A wicked screech precipitated a wicked hack, bringing wrought iron, sturdy wood, and blazing fury down against a rabble of bone driven by malicious intent. In that same motion, the woman roared into the flanking abyss, then thrust her glaive out at the red eyes that followed their every move. Would it buy them enough time?
"Where's Adriel?" Matthias demanded with frenzied inclination, his own eyes darting about at those that stared back. This place could break even the most stalwart manner.
Animalistic fury mixed with the adrenaline in her veins, forcing a concoction of strength through her body. Valeria scooped their ally onto her shoulder, much to his pained dismay, and spun about. "Follow me."
As the holy knight failed to spot another alternative, he quickly took off after her through the winding halls of the old dungeons. Up and down. Left and right. With broken body and broken mind, one would swear the cold stone itself was bent on preventing easy passage. He held the spluttering flame aloft, drawing out every vestige of light left in the gnarled oak branch. Sword long abandoned, hope may be the only weapon left afforded.
That hope came in the form of a woman: a sister of the church, struggling a modest mace against a reanimated skeleton held together not with flesh, but with the desecration of all things good and just. The one named Adriel had only just dispatched her assailant as a fading body was unceremoniously dumped before her. Zach struggled and groaned, body torn from the duress.
"Thank the Lord above!" Adriel exclaimed, quickly kneeling over Zach's crumpled form and opening her holy book. "I thought I'd lost you all."
"We remain in the woods, yet, sister," Matthias replied, reclaiming a poorly-crafted blade from the rubble of bone.
"I saw an offshoot on the way back. We can hide there. Regain our strength," Valeria called.
"We're not going anywhere. Not until Zach is on his feet." Matthias drew alongside, shoulder to shoulder between the dark and the light.
"What are you talking about?" she barked.
"He'll die if we move," came a voice from behind. "The Lord's power is weak here. It will take time to heal."
"Then we hold fast," commanded Matthias, raising a banner of some long-forgotten war up high. It's very tapestry seemed to brighten the space between the crumbling walls.
"Or expire," Valeria spat, wrapping a crude bandage around a slice on her forearm. She let the last of it tumble away. She knew they would die here, regardless.
"Steel yourself! They come fast!"
All at once, the shadows leapt at them, springing forth with fantastical horrors. Matthias drove the standard's pole toward some corrupted, engorged worm as it lunged toward him, protruding a toothy maw. In one strike, he skewered the thing, and as it fell, its contorted body spewed a putrid liquid, dashing the tempered plates of his armour in a sickly green. With another exertion, Matthias wrenched the banner out and swung it at an approaching skeleton, shattering the forces holding it together and scattering its bones about the room with a series of echoing clacks.
"Argh!" He cried as something struck the small of his back, knocking the wind from his lungs and forcing him to the floor. Wheeling around and swiping erratically with the rudimentary sword, he sent a pile of bone collapsing over himself, but accidentally flung the blade away with faltering grip. Defenceless, Matthias could only stare as his doom materialised in the form of a sharpened axe.
"Ahh-kloraa!" For the second time in as many minutes, although those minutes felt like hours, Valeria screamed into action, puncturing the creature's armour with the heavy glaive.
No, this thing was different. It didn't wear armour, it was armour. A hulking, moulded mass of flesh and metal; skin and steel; born equal parts from some devilish furnace and defiled womb.
The cut brought forth a rush of red fluid, but the beast was far from dead, this fact accentuated as it charged forward, lumber axe prepared to cleave Valeria in two. She ducked to the side, her fur robes offering little protection, but unparalleled mobility. Still, the attack missed her by only a hair's breadth, and the creature's crunching backhand, delivered by an elongated length of sinew and vein, caught her hard, sending the woman flying into the blood-soaked dust. It quickly turned to follow, no doubt able to finish the job, before Matthias caught its attention once more. He held his banner high, its sigil matching that of the torn cloth draped down his front – a resplendently lit torch – and yelled, "Light, give me the strength to overcome those challenges you have put in my path! Give me the strength to deliver your divine judgement!"
With those zealous words, he charged the beast down, gripping the standard in the crook of his arm like a lance. The creature's head, if it even had one, whipped around at the knight's assault, bursting with a crackle-pop of imperfect bone arrangement. Primal recognition flashing in hollow, rabid eyes, it clumsily rushed forward with five legs of differing lengths. It swung its axe wide, sweeping across a vicious arc beyond its mangled body.
Matthias ducked low. The axe sailed past. He roared and the beast squealed. Matthias lunged the spiked tip into a bulbous contortion of what he guessed was its neck. Against such abominations, the holy lance, driven by fortitude of courage and desperation, found little resistance as it punched up and through out the other side. Drenched in sanguine and soiling the woven crest, the banner hung over the slain beast, lodged in place by cruel weight.
Panting, Matthias looked up in awe at the creature's size, and words from long ago echoed in his mind: "The bigger the beast, the greater the glory..."
With the cursed champion felled, the attack around them faltered and stalled, relinquishing the party a moment's respite to collect themselves. Matthias peered through what remained of the feeble torchlight and saw a hundred shifting figures hunched in the dark, peering back at him. He sighed and dusted himself off, before offering a hand out for the collapsed Valeria. She took it gratefully and hoisted herself up. "How are you?"
Valeria snarled, "I'm fine," before moving to retrieve her glaive. However, after snatching the weapon up, Matthias saw how much of a lie that was.
"Your left arm is broken."
Valeria shot him a look. Despite the wear on her face, her eyes still shone with an unabated fire. "I'm fine."
Matthias frowned and offered his shoulder. To his surprise, and to her own reluctance, she draped her good arm over him. Together, they hobbled away, back to the source of the light.
Adriel's relief turned to shock as the two limped into focus. Valeria was as pale as the skeletons they were killing. "What happened?" she cried.
"Something not of God, sister. Something cruel and massive." He drooped low, resting Valeria against a pillar of dubious structural quality. Her breathing was worryingly shallow. "How is our comrade?"
Adriel shook her head. "Going nowhere fast, I'm afraid. He has lost a lot of blood."
Matthias let out a long breath, sunken in pitch, and scooped down low. Adriel made to hold her palm out toward him, but he just shook his head. "Pray not for me, good sister. Pray for her."
The nun's gaze turned to the broken woman and nodded, letting down her tan hood. "Alright."
Matthias watched as Adriel knelt and was overcame by a soft light. Her mouth fluttered with ancient rituals and well-versed prayers. Valeria's consciousness returned, and all Matthias could do was hope her strength was soon to follow.
Battered and broken, their only option was clearly to run. Finding the way out was relatively easy – a breadcrumb trail of looting and fighting and discarded treasure painted the way back to sun-bleached plains. From there, the old road would wind its way back to the hamlet, cracked and broken by the corrupted landscape, but ultimately traversable. It would take them past the blighted sewers, beyond the eldritch extrusion, and through the overgrown grove, back to some small modicum of safety and sanity within the hamlet's rotting walls. From there, they could rest, regain their spirit, and ultimately set out once more to cleanse these lands.
Matthias only became aware of his own slide into unconsciousness by a firm jolt at his shoulder. His eyes pried open to see Adriel knelt before him, glowing with a pale inclination. She seemed to snap out of the trance as Matthias awoke. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Like death," he grumbled as his senses sluggishly came to. "How long was I out?"
The shrug from Adriel gave him his answer.
"Stupid question. How are the others?"
It was Valeria who answered first while shambling into view. Her arm still hung limply by her side. "I'm alive, barely. Zach is-"
"In a position to move."
Matthias could recognise that cold voice from anywhere. He turned around to see a man significantly worse for wear than himself, yet still standing with some awesome defiance. "The Lord has truly blessed us on this day that none of us are fallen."
"That god of yours has a funny way of blessing us," said Zach, prompting a searing look from the sister beside him. "But, you are right. None of us are dead."
"Yet," Valeria whispered.
Matthias made to rebuke the pessimistic observation, but the implications of what had been said rang true in his mind before his mouth could move. "That is true. How aren't we dead?"
Zach jerked his head toward where the great beast lay, now shrouded in shadow. "Turns out those old symbols are still good for something. That banner's got them hesitant."
"You act as though those damnable things can feel," said Adriel.
"They can feel. They feel fear. Much like us," Valeria stated.
"Ain't that the truth."
"That does not matter, friends!" Matthias roared, drawing the three's attention and gazes to himself. "The light has bestowed us strength and courage, but He does not wish us to throw our lives away in some vain cause, so remember, the sin is not in being outmatched, but in failing to recognise it. We shall take this moment and live to fight another day." He was met with murmurs of agreement. Defeat would forever feel bitter, but the bite of a sword wouldn't exactly feel sweet. "Despair not! For we have defeated a great deal of these inhuman creations. The next expedition will meet half the resistance we have met today, all thanks to our efforts!"
It was hard to feel good when running away, even if a most zealous speech could dampen that listlessness.
"This campaign may be long and costly, but forget not that our errand is holy and just. Light will prevail!" Adriel added, once more replacing the stiff cloth hood over her head.
"Hell, it'd be a lot worse without the loot we're making off with," Zach sighed, holding a dagger close in his offhand.
"Those gods of yours had best fix me up if we get back," Valeria groaned, still unable to move her left arm.
"You have done well in His work. I have every faith He will restore your fighting ability," Matthias assured.
"Then, here." Valeria offered up her weapon, pushing it into Matthias' grasp. "It has served me well. I am sure it will serve you well, too."
The knight took it in two gloved hands, feeling its weight and adjusting to its balance. "I will be sure to return it safe and sound," Matthias grinned.
Valeria returned the favour, smiling despite the surging, continual pain. "A wise choice."
"Come on, let's move."
"Right. Everyone, stay behind me." Matthias took the lead, followed closely by Valeria, then Zach, and finally with Adriel bringing up the rear. As they set off, however, they were all made aware of a gnawing fact. "The further we get from that banner, the more likely these things are to go for us," said Zach, voicing their weary thoughts.
"Best stay on our guard, then. That's all there is to it." The party skulked through the dark; their last torch had long since burnt out and now relied solely on their feeble attempts at piercing through the sullen haze. They shuffled forth, past room and corridor, until entering a vast gallery. The ceiling here was stretched high above and the walls were decorated with ornate sculptures and precious oil paintings. Portraits of men and women who watched over them with uncaring eyes and unblinking stares. Bookshelves stacked high with volumes long forgotten. Discarded paper littering the stone tiles. Chandeliers gone unused for years. Braziers lined the passage forward, filled with ash and soot and broken bones. Then, the glint of gold. Precious coin left aside from necessity. "We've been here," Zach muttered.
Matthias turned to face the rogue, a sceptical look on his face. "These ruins have a thousand rooms similar. How do you know for certain we have passed through here?"
"A good bandit never loses his way," Zach smirked. "Observe." With that, he quickly strode ahead from the pack, probing the darkness as his nose met the unmistakable stench of smoke and spoiled meat. He shuffled forward, squinting, staring, peeri-
CLACK-CLOCK-CLACK!
The sudden sound of clattering wood made the party jump in the darkness as Zach stumbled into the old campfire. His foot sent the charcoaled logs scattering about the grand hall. While it had not quite been in the suave demeanour he had intended to discover the old camp, the discovery retained its importance all the same. He stooped low and retrieved one of the smaller lumps of blackened wood. Its surface was still warm, albeit barely. "The last quest down here was over two weeks ago," Zach clarified as he turned the stake over in his hands. "This has to be our camp."
By this time, the rest of the group had calmed their nerves and drawn near around the contemplative rogue. "We should scrounge for any leftover food," said Valeria, dropping her small knapsack onto the marbled floor and loosening its leather mouth, exposing a great treasure of glittering gold, trinkets, and baubles.
As Valeria scoured the camp for food, Matthias scoured it for anything capable of sustaining a fistful of fire. Of all the discarded branches and logs, only one seemed reasonable to carry. He knelt over it and retrieved some torn, dirty rag from his own sack and wrapped it tightly around the head of the branch. Satisfied, he picked the torch up by the opposite end and stalked over to Zach, each footfall sending out such echoes as to make him wince. He crouched down beside the rogue, and in another handful of moments, the torch awoke with the last of Zach's black powder. Matthias stood up once more, being careful to cultivate the spluttering light into taking hold over the flammable rag and softly blowing stagnant air over the growing flame.
A man, beaten but not broken, standing in that firelight, its feeble life dancing on the bent steel of a hundred campaigns, was enough to give the others pause. They all watched him, now absorbed in their own quiet thoughts and prayers. Matthias held the torch as close as he dared, then himself bent his head in prayer. All was still and silent, save for the torch's blaze.
"Friends, let us leave this wretched place at once."