The knight stood motionless, its form rigid and unnaturally still.

  Its eerie silver armor gleamed faintly in the dim light. Every plate was polished to a haunting shine and reflected the dim moonlight in cold glimmers.

  Chael moved swiftly with near soundless steps as he approached. He raised his spear without hesitation, and in one clean motion, he thrust it into the knight’s nape.

  The blade sank deep and pierced the narrow gap between the armor plates. A faint, strangled hiss escaped the metal shell, and the knight stiffened violently, its fingers twitching against its sword’s hilt.

  Then, it fell.

  Chael pulled his spear free as the knight’s body slumped forward and collapsed silently onto the stone floor, and the red glow in its eye slits dimmed instantly.

  A whistle broke the silence behind him.

  "Now that was impressive," Patches whispered, stepping up beside Chael and staring at the fallen knight with wide eyes. "Didn’t even give the poor bastard a chance, huh?"

  Chael didn’t respond and simply wiped the blood from his spear.

  Patches kept talking. “I like it! But if you could just give me a little warning next time before you skewer a bloke, that’d be grand! Almost had a heart attack back there."

  Chael shot him a flat look before continuing forward.

  Patches followed.

  They left the room in silence, and stepped through the archway and into a vast opening.

  Suddenly, the space before them swallowed everything.

  Chael stilled.

  The true scale of the cathedral’s interior stretched before them. It was akin to a towering abyss of ancient stone and endless darkness. The ceiling loomed so high above that it nearly disappeared into shadows, yet faint rays of pale moonlight spilled through the shattered glass windows, giving the entire space a dim and spectral glow.

  Beyond the massive railings at the edge of their walkway, the cathedral dropped down into a seemingly bottomless chasm.

  At the very bottom, Chael saw hundreds of glowing blue dots.

  His breath hitched slightly as he realised that he recognised the glow.

  The Hollowed Choir.

  Chael could hardly see, but from what little he could make out, there were countless Hollowed Choir cultists standing in eerie formation. Their robes pooled around them like blackened shadows, and their hollow sockets leaked streams of pale, icy substance.

  ‘Three hundred, at least.’ Chael thought to himself with furrowed brows.

  The fight back at the Saintess of Carnage’s statue had nearly killed him. He had struggled against just a handful of these things, their necrotic whispers and illusions nearly breaking him apart. Had it not been for the rolling white fog, he wouldn’t have made it out of there.

  Now, there were hundreds.

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  Patches let out a long, low exhale.

  "…So," he muttered as he peered over the railing. "That’s a lot."

  Chael didn’t respond.

  Patches rubbed his chin. "I don’t suppose you’ve got some grand, masterful plan to deal with all that, do you?"

  Chael’s expression remained blank. "I’m not stupid enough to fight them."

  Patches grinned.

  "See? That’s what I like about you! Common sense. Refreshing, really. So many people out there just throw themselves at death, but you-" he clapped a hand on Chael’s shoulder. "You know better."

  Chael shot him a brief look, “You really just talk for the sake of talking, huh?”

  His gaze drifted back down to the eerie mass of the Hollowed Choir, and beyond them, he made out something obscured.

  In the dim glow of the moonlight, he could just barely make out a massive structure. Another statue, maybe? But its features were blurred and hidden behind layers of shadows and mist.

  Something about it unsettled him. What was with the Hollowed Choir and their obsession with these statues?

  Several had come out of the Crucible to pray to the Saintess’ statue, Chael had caught one loitering around the library which held the statue of the Whore Saint, and now there was another one where most of the Hollowed Choir seemed to flock to.

  Patches followed his gaze, squinting. "What are you looking at?"

  Chael didn’t answer immediately. After observing a while, he turned away. "Doesn’t matter."

  Whatever was down there, it wasn’t their problem. For now, they had to find the tunnel.

  The Hollowed Choir seemed to be at the centre of the ground floor of the Crucible, but the room they were looking for was far towards the north. If all things went well, they should be able to avoid them. No issue.

  Patches led the way with all the confidence of a man who had no idea where he was going.

  "Right then, let’s see… If memory serves me right - which, mind you, it always does - we’ve gotta take a right up ahead."

  Chael walked silently beside him.

  The Crucible’s interior stretched endlessly.

  It was a world of towering stone pillars and arched ceilings that were carved with designs so intricate they seemed to shift in the dim glow of the moonlight that was filtering through the stained-glass windows.

  The air was thick and heavy. It almost felt ancient despite how pristine everything looked. It felt so wrong and unnatural.

  The farther they walked, the more Chael felt it.

  Patches, of course, was completely unfazed.

  "And after that, my friend, you should find a lovely little Fortress! Granted, there’s a few minor complications - y’know, things like monsters, death, curses, possibly eternal damnation - but all in all, not the worst odds!"

  Chael exhaled sharply through his nose.

  "Right, right, I can see you’re a man of few words, but you know, conversation is important! Builds morale!"

  They reached another corridor.

  It stretched long and empty, the flickering torchlight casting elongated shadows against the walls. The silence had deepened even further here, the Crucible’s vastness swallowing all sound.

  Chael’s steps slowed to a stop, and he focused.

  He heard it a second later. The faintest clank of metal approached from the opposite end of the hall.

  Another knight.

  Without a second thought, Chael grabbed Patches by the collar and yanked him back, pulling him behind a long velvet curtain.

  Patches let out a strangled sound of protest, but Chael immediately clamped a hand over his mouth.

  The footsteps grew louder.

  The knight entered the corridor, its heavy boots striking against the stone floor in slow, methodical steps. Its armor gleamed under the dim torches and reflected distorted images of the Crucible’s walls.

  Chael remained perfectly still.

  From the slight shift in the knight’s reflection, he could tell it hadn’t noticed them.

  Good.

  His hand eased off of Patches’ mouth.

  The merchant let out a silent huff of irritation, mouthing something undoubtedly sarcastic before adjusting his coat.

  Chael’s blindfolded gaze never left the knight. And as the armored figure passed them, Chael moved. It was the flicker of motion that Patches barely noticed.

  Just the slightest shift of Chael’s fingers, a near-imperceptible flick against Patches’s belt - a sleight of hand so subtle it was almost nonexistent.