Angar shook his head violently, as if he could dislodge the insidious words clawing at his mind. Demon trickery, proven by the dark whispers slithering through his thoughts.

  The words faded, leaving in time to witness the carnage unfold. His father, his brothers, and every high-ranking warrior of Mecia fell beneath a tide of demons, their axes and hammers useless against the onslaught.

  Angar’s eyes darted across the battlefield. Not a single demon lay dead.

  He had no time to hesitate. The plan was all that remained.

  Mount Shirdis loomed in his mind. Only its eruption could end this. The finest warriors of Mecia and Kondune couldn’t fell these creatures, but a volcano would do the trick.

  Decision made, he broke into a sprint, pushing his body to its limits. His lungs burned as he raced onward, the fog-laden air stinging with every ragged breath.

  At last, the cave entrance emerged through the haze, a dark maw leading to the volcano’s flat lip.

  Resolve hardened his features – until he stepped inside. The sight within the yawning gallery stopped him cold, more horrific than the slaughter outside.

  Most tunnels had rock traps set to block access. A rockslide had sealed this gallery’s only tunnel, the trap triggered, burying the two guards assigned to his mother beneath jagged stone.

  Seven other bodies lay strewn about – pregnant women, their swollen bellies slashed open, their unborn children torn away.

  And there, at the center of a blood-soaked pentagram, sat his mother, the Weirding Witch, her vacant gaze fixed on nothing.

  “You Mecians are always so eager to die,” she said, her voice hollow, her body motionless. “I told them I needed seven girls to sacrifice in the name of your Great Lord. Oh, how they all rushed to me. I picked only those heaviest with child.”

  Angar’s throat tightened, words failing him. This couldn’t be his mother. His mind recoiled, refusing to accept the scene.

  “I spoke to a being called Moloch,” she went on. “It promised to kill the invaders for seven babes sacrificed in its name. I gave these. First, it thanked me, then showed me the demons butchering everyone, invaders and Mecians alike. It laughed at me.”

  Silence swallowed Angar’s response. His breath steadied, but his voice wouldn’t come. She turned her head then, finally meeting his eyes. “He’s dead, isn’t he? Your father?”

  “He is,” Angar managed, the words scraping out. "What were you...this...why? This...this is a grave sin against the Great Lord."

  She laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “If He’s so great, why would He finally unite me with my lover, legitimize you in court, fill me with such joy, only to rip it away so soon after?”

  Rage surged through Angar, drowning his shock. His fists clenched around his hammer’s haft, the urge to kill her flaring hot and sudden. “He did none of that! This is our realm!”

  More words flickered into his vision, unbidden.

  You stand before a Heretic so vile, she has torn asunder the veil between your world and the Underworld, birthing an incursion of Hellspawn. By the Seven Edicts and the sacred tenets of Holy Trinitarianism, you are commanded to strike down Heretics with relentless zeal without mercy, their blood a sacrament to cleanse the stain of their foulness.

  Yet here lies a paradox wrapped in the flesh of your own lineage, for this Heretic is your mother. The scriptures of the blessed Three, and those of the forgotten faiths and lost litanies of the old world, speak of a sin so dark it supplants our Divine edicts – the sin of parricide.

  Thus is your crucible decreed, your test ordained: slay her, and risk the chains of your soul’s damnation; spare her, and wretchedly endure the profane stain borne by the unrighteous. Theosis, the Holy System, watches, its judgment withheld until your choice is wrought. Act, for indecision is itself a sin.

  Angar shook his head until the vision dissolved. He was sure the words were Moloch’s, twisting his thoughts, meant to manipulate him.

  He glared at the Weirding Witch, tempted to demand if Moloch was the source of these words and dark whispers, but he was sure they were, and a tear traced down her cheek, silencing him.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Some shred of decency lingered in her.

  “I raised you to be tough and strong,” she said softly. “A worthy son, a pride to your father. It was hard, painful, but look at you now, my son. We were called to our king’s side, he legitimized you, and I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. You must understand. I want those I love to live. I love you and Baraga so much. Does that make me so evil?”

  Angar’s grip on his hammer slackened as he scoffed. "Murdering these women and children was sick and depraved. It can't be justified. Not for any reason."

  Stepping forward, he snatched her pouch, setting his hammer aside to check its contents. The holy relics gleamed within. His fingers closed around a glowing blue orb, heavier than it looked. “This the one? The holy relic to erupt Mount Shirdis?”

  Her laugh grated this time, edged with hysteria. “You’d still do it? Erupting that volcano will kill far more innocents than I did here. Far more.”

  “Mecia’s three leagues off,” he countered, voice steady. “The women and children fled east at dawn. They’re away from danger.”

  She cackled. “The old petroglyphs that teach us witches so much say otherwise. Shirdis will erupt far bigger and deadly than you can imagine. We were meant to be gone, leaving this task to another. Throw that relic in Shirdis, we all die.”

  “We’re dead anyway!” Angar roared. “All of us, by demon or eruption. Only this way kills the creatures you unleashed upon us too."

  This blocked tunnel left one option he knew for certain led up to Shirdis. He’d never been in it, but the other cave was treacherous with acidic pools and grawloks, beasts needing three warriors to fell safely.

  Then I’ll just fight as three men then, he thought, turning to leave.

  “You’re abandoning me?” she called.

  “I must go.”

  “Wait! Don’t leave me!” Her plea cracked with desperation.

  "I have demons to kill and family to avenge. Today, our king, all the warriors of Mecia, and I ascend to Qitakai in glory."

  Sobs erupted behind him. He glanced back. Her body shook, tears streaming. “Just kill me, then,” she begged.

  He ignored her plea, and once outside, sprinted for the other cave. It wasn't all that far away, but it was far enough his chest heaved upon reaching it.

  He slowed, gripping his hammer with both hands before entering deep into the caverns.

  Even at noon, the outside was always gloomy. The yellow-orange, hazy sky of the day, with all the thick, darkly swirling clouds, only brightened when lightning flashed. But there was a lot of lightning, so it flashed often.

  A lot of the flora and fauna on Vefol glowed, and this cave, with all the moisture from the water and acidic pools, had plenty of life within it. The ground-hugging myca and thick strands of pasia drooping from the ceiling and walls illuminated the cave enough to see almost as well as outside.

  Angar moved quickly and carefully through the tunnels. The first intersection forked three ways, but it was clear which path was more traveled, so he took that.

  The next fork was near a massive pool. The correct path was easy to spot again, and all the grawloks in the pool were easy to spot too, as much of their shells glowed.

  These creatures were enormous, with hard, chitinous, and scaled exoskeletons. The places their bodies didn't glow had a metallic sheen. They were flat and wide, with multiple legs jointed in ways that allowed climbing vertically. Two giant claws and a fang-filled, frighteningly large maw were their main weapons.

  One grawlok, half-emerged from the pool, was staring at him, its weird eyelids blinking.

  This was the moment of destiny. Glory or ignominy awaited. He wished he had spears to throw, but he didn't, and his hammer would serve plenty well enough. He hefted it high above his head as he charged forward.

  As a claw lunged at him, he brought his hammer down upon it with thunderous force. He heard the shell crack as he spun away, evading the other claw, and his hammer smashed into the joint where the appendage joined the body with another satisfying crunch.

  He had no time to recover from his swing before the other claw struck again. Unable to dodge, he blocked with the haft of his hammer.

  He cursed himself for the mistake as the grawlok gripped the haft, nearly wrenching it from his grasp. As he fought to reclaim his weapon, the second claw darted toward him again.

  Had the joint connecting that claw to the body not been injured, he might have met his end then and there. But its injury caused that appendage to move sluggishly, awkwardly, allowing him to twist away while maintaining his desperate grip on his weapon.

  Then the grawlok propelled its many legs forward, its maw gaping wide open, its fangs glittering with a metallic sheen.

  Angar barely managed to jump onto the creature's head, using it as a platform to vault over the claw grasping his hammer.

  There was a great chance this stunt would cost him his weapon, but as gravity and his weight brought him down, the claw twisted horrifically, and with a sickening crack, it released the hammer.

  The creature's many legs clicked on the stone ground as it turned to face him. Angar couldn't hesitate. He charged, evading the other damaged claw, and smashed his hammer onto the grawlok's bizarre head.

  The claw struck again, catching an arm, sending blood spraying over the wet ground. He retaliated with a swift strike to the appendage, rewarded by another satisfying crack.

  The creature lunged once more, its maw wide open. Angar could only move one way, and that way got him caught in the pit of the injured joint of the second claw and nearly bowled over.

  But he avoided the deadly bite. And, luckily, he managed to keep his feet under him.

  From this awkward position, his leverage was poor, but he still managed to smash his hammer into the joint once more, cracking the shell enough to expose the flesh beneath.

  He rolled backward twice, avoiding the mouth, and with all the strength he could muster, he stepped forward and brought his hammer down onto the grawlok's head, and all his strength proved to be enough. The creature's head slammed into the floor, and it stayed there, motionless.

  Not taking any chances, he brought the hammer down again and again, until the head was no longer recognizable.

  You have felled a monstrous crustacean, a creature of some doughty might. Such valor and victory should be celebrated with the gift of experience points, marking you as a true warrior of our faithful Laity. But this day, you have chosen the path of the craven, fleeing from the infernal horde of Hellspawn rather than charging into their ranks, righteous wrath filling your heart, and fervorous zeal filling your thoughts. For such cowardice, you earn nothing, you spineless wretch

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