----Chapter 1 ----
Azre blinked too late.
The dagger plunged into Garin's chest. His body arched violently, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat as blood gushed across the cold stone of the altar.
The blade twisted, grinding against bone with a metallic screech that echoed through the chamber.
"NO!"
Her scream split the air. She lunged forward, boots slipping on spilled blood and loose rubble, but the cultists held him fast. Each step felt like dragging iron chains.
Garin's eyes locked with hers, blood pooling around him. His lips trembled, shaping words without strength, every breath ragged.
"Please… look after them. Azre…"
The chanting rose, spiraling with shadows that slithered along the stone floor and walls. The black tome on the altar pulsed with lightless fire, pages flickering as if alive.
The hooded cult leader tore off his mask, revealing stitched skin, gray hair, and sunken eyes that gleamed with malice.
"Did you truly think the villagers simply vanished? Every soul fed this dagger, bound to the Tome of Death. Men, women, and children your lambs for slaughter. With this man's death, the final piece falls into place. One of Daath's seals is broken. The Lord of Death stirs."
His grin widened, lips stretched over raw stitching.
"They welcomed me into Arcaun. A harmless old man, far from the city, seeking peace. They shared bread, shared secrets small joys, fears, regrets.
Yet only two ever doubted Garin and Noran, the soldier who drank to mask his courage. They came for the captives when the rest of the village lacked the spine to act. And they were mine."
Eldhar's jaw tightened. His hands clenched the greatsword, leather straps creaking. Anger roiled like a storm, barely contained, ready to erupt with every swing.
The hooded cult leader gestured at the altar. Remnants of the villagers were scattered: a shawl, a ragged doll, a broken wooden toy sword, a shattered bottle. Each knight's heart clenched at the sight.
Rowan's gaze fixed on the shawl tossed aside like garbage. He heard her voice again, sharp but warm: Rowan! Stop being slow! He touched the fabric, hands trembling.
Memories of the old woman's wisdom, her laughter, her small acts of kindness, and her comforting presence all flooded him.
Thalia's eyes fell on the rugged doll, stitches coming loose. Her breath caught.
Keela the mute orphan who clung to her, who slept against her at the orphanage, who smiled shyly when Thalia fumbled with a needle to mend this very doll.
Her bow slipped from her hands, clattering against the stone. She covered her mouth.
"No! This isn't real! No, no please, not Keela!" She lurched forward, ready to run.
Nilda grabbed her arm.
"We're… we're too late to save them."
Thalia turned, fury bursting through grief. "How can you say it like that like it's nothing"
But then she saw Nilda's face. Tears poured down behind her glasses, a waterfall that shattered her calm.
The woman who never broke was broken now. Thalia's anger crumbled. She sobbed, shaking in Nilda's grip.
Aven's boot struck the broken toy sword lying near the altar. His throat tightened. He saw the village boys again, laughing in the square as he taught them swordplay with sticks.
One boy had looked up at him, eyes bright: "Someday I'll fight like you." Now the toy lay shattered, its promise unfulfilled.
Eldhar's boot nudged a bottle of rum. The sharp scent dragged him back. Years ago, Noran had staggered through Arcaun's streets, clutching such a bottle.
He had smashed it against Eldhar's head in drunken rage. Eldhar hadn't moved.
"Why… why didn't you dodge?" Noran had stammered.
"Because you need help," Eldhar had answered.
"Fear isn't cowardice. What matters is what you choose after."
Noran had wept like a child that night. Eldhar had not judged him. He had seen a soldier still inside the drunkard.
Now, staring at the bottle by the altar, Eldhar's heart sank. Noran, too, was gone.
The hooded cult leader spread his arms wide, savoring every detail.
"And when I revealed myself, when I tore away the mask before their eyes their faces, their horror, their despair it was stunningly fascinating."
He threw back his head, now revealed as Vero.
"My name is Vero! My role is fulfilled! Daath's first seal… broken!"
The tome upon the altar ignited. Black flames rose, licking the ceiling, pulsing shadows that writhed like serpents. One by one, Daath's seals burned away.
A wall of skeletons erupted from the floor, rattling and groaning. Azre lunged, Executioner raised, only to be blocked by the bones that clattered against steel.
Vero stepped back, chanting, black ichor curling from his fingertips. Fallen cultists jerked upright like puppets, eyes hollow, blades raised. He toyed with their souls, twisting them.
Azre glanced at her comrades.
Eldhar's gaze locked onto hers, steel coiling beneath calm. One nod: Go. Finish him.
She roared, swinging Executioner in a single, brilliant arc. Skeletons shattered, half falling away.
But Vero's grotesque magic circle pulsed on the floor. Writhing phantoms burst into the air, shrieking with the voices of the damned.
Azre's grip tightened. Executioner blazed, a veil of divine light enveloping her. Ghostly claws and screams lashed against the aura, shattering on contact.
Vero faltered. "Impossible… So you are not called the Divine Maiden for nothing."
"This is for the villagers! For the victims you killed! For the souls you toyed with!" Azre shouted, leaping, Executioner poised to strike.
Vero spread his stitched arms wide.
"So be it… holy maiden. For I have long yearned for this."
As Executioner descended, its divine edge cut not only flesh but memory. The blade's judgment tore through corruption, forcing fragments of Vero's life into Azre's mind:
A humble man, kind, crafting pots and trinkets. Framed for murder, tortured, stitched, his life stolen. Anger and despair twisted into revenge.
Executioner sought to cleanse the taint, purging the corruption while leaving his body undone.
Azre's blade struck true. Vero split from chest downward, collapsing in a pool of his own blood. Skeletons crumbled. Cultists fell.
But his corpse trembled, dark energy swelling violently.
"Back!" Eldhar roared. Shield raised, Aven braced. Azre cast a barrier over Garin's body. Nilda flung her own shield, dragging Rowan and Thalia behind her.
The dungeon erupted. Stone shattered. Fire and shadow collided. The Tome of Death consumed itself in black flame. Dust and smoke engulfed the chamber.
Silence followed.
Nilda's barrier flickered but held. Kneeling, gasping, the knights slowly rose.
Azre clutched Garin's corpse, weeping.
Thalia hugged Keela's dirt-stained doll. Rowan retrieved the old woman's shawl. Aven picked up the broken wooden sword. Eldhar held the cracked bottle of rum, staring silently.
The ruin smelled of ash, blood, and sorrow.
At the center, Azre knelt, the Divine Maiden, sobbing over Garin. Her cries carried louder than falling stone, louder than Vero's laughter, louder than Daath's whispers still lingering in the shadows.
The first altar had fallen.