The somber hush that had long defined Buren's demeanor seemed to have been adopted by the rest of the group as they neared the capital. As they approached, they realized the smoke wasn't emanating from a single source, but rather numerous smaller fires, their plumes merging in the sky above the city. Harrowing silhouettes of bodies swayed gently in the breeze, hung by nooses from the city's entrance and the trees lining the road. They appeared as grotesque wind chimes, their grim dance enjoyed only by the ravens feasting upon them.

  "There's way more of them than when we left," Emeric noted grimly. "I would have thought the city watch would be too busy to maintain their quota, but it seems reality is quite the contrary."

  City guards flagged them down as they approached the entrance, but the sight of Buren's iron arm served as sufficient identification. Evangeline, her Inquisition armor standing out, asked the guards, "What is going on inside the walls?"

  "Madness," one of the guards spat bitterly. "Some rebels have conjured up dark forces, and now the whole city is in pandemonium."

  The second guard shook his head, disagreeing with his companion. "That's just what they'd like you to believe. I don't think there's anything magical going on. It's just a claim they make to cause more disorder and appear more dangerous than they truly are."

  "What rebels?" Evangeline pressed, turning her gaze from one guard to the other.

  "Some nobles who wish to usurp the kingdom," the first guard answered quickly.

  "No, it's the Sons of the Forest," the second one insisted.

  "Everyone knows they were broken."

  "They came back," the first guard retorted, shaking his head. "But don't listen to my comrade here. He gets all his information from rumors he hears in The Watering Hole, the most low-class drinking den in the Southern District."

  "And you get your info from a pub that doesn't even have a name on its front, a real hole in the wall," the second guard shot back.

  "Lenny, one of the regulars there, has connections all around the city, going to the very top," the other one insisted.

  "Thank you for your time, gentlemen," Evangeline interjected, rolling her eyes at their bickering.

  As they crossed the city threshold, leaving the squabbling guards behind, they were greeted by an eerie darkness. The array of lanterns that usually lighted the main avenue now remained without fire, and as the vagrants had done away with most of the glowstones to illuminate their camps, there was not much in the way of lighting.

  "Never would have guessed I would need this on the main road of the capital," Torvald commented, pulling out his glowstone-tipped stick, designed to illuminate the path ahead. He positioned it so that the stone cast its light just before the horses, clearing their way.

  The silence of the night was broken only by the heavy footfalls of the King's Guard, city watch, and the Knights of Penance, patrolling the desolate streets. A fleeting silhouette of a lone Inquisitor became momentarily visible as the moon slipped from behind a cloud, casting a transient glow on the city's dark alleyways.

  Directing his gaze towards the Central Citadel, Buren motioned for Torvald. Understanding his unspoken command, Torvald responded with a nod, "Right. Directly to business."

  The King's stronghold appeared even more fortified than before, its courtyard marred by the newly erected barricades. The defenses weren't merely for show, Buren noted, observing the embedded arrows that scarred their surfaces. As they traversed the bridge over the moat, he could barely discern the tangled limbs protruding from the murky, ice-rimmed waters - discarded bodies of those less fortunate.

  At the castle's entrance, Buren, Evangeline, and Emeric disembarked. "You go save the city, or the forest, or whatever it was we were supposed to save," Faelun said from his nest of beddings. "I'm done for the night. Torvald, take us to the headquarters."

  The novices both agreed that they too would rather avoid the fortress, with its sharp stakes and overly zealous soldiers. "Hopefully history won't remember the driver, especially if he is in his warm bed as the successful heroes bring word of their triumph to the indisposed king," Torvald joked, waving goodbye before steering the scholars towards their refuge.

  With that, Buren led their reduced party into the keep.

  As they entered the main lobby, their progress was halted and a messenger was dispatched to announce their arrival. Before long, Grand Commander Aldric Valcor himself appeared, the once gleaming armor and immaculate cape now looking as though they had served as his bedding for several nights. The dark circles under his eyes gave further credence to this assumption. However, his demeanor remained as firm and resolute as ever.

  "You have returned, and within the time window we initially set," he observed. "I assume you were successful, for you wouldn't have any business returning to the city otherwise."

  Buren simply nodded, and Evangeline, standing tall in respect of the high-ranking warrior, added, "We can perform the ritual immediately if we're given permission, sir." Emeric too, seemed to lose his habitual slouch, assuming a more dignified stance.

  "Good," Valcor responded. "However, there's another setback we need to address: we've lost the King."

  "What?" Evangeline and Emeric exclaimed simultaneously, earning a stern glare from the Grand Commander.

  "Or two setbacks, rather. Damned if anyone's keeping count anymore," Valcor said, turning to address Buren. "The short version of the story is this: not long after your departure, the Sons of the Forest returned in force. It seems they noticed something was amiss in the castle. Rumors began to circulate that the King was dying and that the kingdom would fall any day. This ignited various... grievances that people harbored against our ruler, and the Sons seized the opportunity. They launched an attack on the Citadel. We responded in force and easily drove back the disorganized masses. Too easily, in fact. I soon realized that it was a ruse. They managed to set up a ballista and launched an explosive charge directly at the King's quarters. All they succeeded in doing was freeing the creature, who fell straight out of the tower and crashed to the ground. That only slowed it down momentarily, and when it got back up, it tore through ranks of my men and the King's guards."

  "Duriel survived the fall?" Emeric asked, his usual nonchalance replaced by a look of grave concern.

  "We're unsure," Valcor replied, a hint of frustration entering his voice. "The creature escaped, and we have yet to recapture it."

  "So that explains the intensified patrols in the streets," Evangeline deduced. Valcor nodded.

  "Every available man is tasked with the duty to find the creature. But of course, only a chosen few, like us here, know that it's Duriel. The Inquisition has been working tirelessly, day and night, to keep this information suppressed, disseminating misinformation and handling those who encounter the creature face to face."

  "Handling?" Emeric queried, his brow furrowing.

  Valcor's expression hardened. "Let's just say, officially, the creature has killed far more men than the body count in the courtyard suggests. The unofficial version, however, is that we can't afford witnesses who have seen our esteemed king's face protruding from that monstrosity, spreading what they've seen."

  Emeric paled at the implications and any hint of emotion drained from Evangeline's face, her expression becoming as impassive as her metallic mask.

  "Inquisitors are working undercover in every public gathering spot, dealing with those who might spread damaging information. But let's not dwell on that. Marquis of Coldwood, I need you to join the search. While we still might have a chance."

  Buren nodded in acknowledgement.

  "Good," Valcor said, sounding relieved. "Once this crisis is dealt with, we can direct our resources towards eradicating the Sons. It's about time we rid ourselves of that nuisance."

  Buren cast a glance towards Evangeline, tilting his head subtly in Valcor's direction. She quickly understood his silent request, taking a step forward as she spoke, "I'm going to assist in the search for the King."

  Buren fixed her with a firm gaze, silent yet communicative. She sighed and relented, "Alright, alright. I am, after all, the only one who can perform the ritual," she conceded, explaining the situation to Valcor. "So I suppose it makes sense for me to stick with you and stay out of harm's way."

  "We'll keep you safe, don't you worry. Not even a bug will get through to bite you," Valcor assured her, his tone firm yet comforting.

  Valcor then pivoted his attention towards Emeric, "We need every Knight out on the streets, maintaining order and keeping the citizens safe from both the creature and the Sons of the Forest."

  Emeric nodded, "I'll report to headquarters straight away."

  Turning back to Buren, Valcor instructed, "Get some rest. We'll have a messenger at your keep within minutes should the creature be spotted. Then it will be up to you."

  Buren responded with a curt nod, acknowledging his role. The trio of companions shared a brief nod of farewell, each moving in their separate directions.

  Through the city's shadowed labyrinth, Buren commenced his trek towards his castle nestled in the Eastern District. When the city guards impeded his path for the third time, his patience wore thin. Silently, he launched himself onto the rooftops, navigating the winding alleys from above. The gloom made the journey more treacherous, and his footing slipped on patches of frozen sleet more than once. But his surefootedness prevailed, each careful step instinctively finding solid ground even without the aid of light.

  His pace quickened, and he arrived at Eastend Castle in short order. Vaulting over the imposing walls, he dropped smoothly into the courtyard, bypassing the gate entirely. The startled castle guards rushed to meet the intruder, halting abruptly when they recognized their lord. A flurry of salutes met him, which he dismissed with a casual wave, striding past them and into the keep.

  He considered visiting Flynn, checking up on the lad. But it was late, and Buren knew he needed to conserve his energy for what might come. Besides, there was other pressing business he had to attend to first.

  As he traversed the corridors towards his personal chambers, guards and servants alike greeted him. Their warm welcome brought a question to his mind - had Inanna already been informed of his return? He hoped not. He wasn't in the mood to face her, and hoped the servants wouldn't dare to wake her at this late hour.

  Entering his room, he bolted the door behind him. The clothes he had journeyed in, dirtied and torn despite meticulous care, he peeled off and tossed into a basin of water and soap. From his wardrobe, he retrieved a fresh outfit for the next day - sturdy black leather pants and jacket with metal studs, a hooded cloak that, if he wished, would completely envelop him, and boots with metallic toe caps, yet with soft soles for silent footfalls.

  Shedding his sweat-soaked undergarments, he tossed them into the soapy water as well. Pouring a jug of cold water over himself, he scrubbed the travel grime off his skin. As he dressed in a clean pair of underpants and a tunic, he silently thanked his staff for always ensuring his quarters were ready, regardless of his unpredictable schedule.

  Finally, he collapsed onto his bed, pulling the covers over himself. His eyes fluttered shut, and he braced to being awakened by his nightmares.

  Rousing from his restless slumber, Buren's body tensed, ready for a fight against phantoms that haunted him only in his dreams. He rose from his bed, his mind already shifting from the past to the day ahead. Making his way to the pantry, he devoured leftover meat and stale bread, the simple meal tasting exquisite after days of rationing meager supplies of sand-dusted provisions.

  Just as he was finishing his food, his seneschal appeared, opening his mouth as if to speak. Buren held up a hand, halting him. "I'm heading out," he declared. "If a messenger from Grand Commander Valcor comes, direct him to the arena."

  "The arena?" The seneschal echoed, surprise coloring his tone. "In a situation like this, what could be so urgent?" But Buren, ignoring his question, finished off the last bite of bread and washed it down with a swig of juice before leaving.

  "Good Marquis, there are developments I need to inform yo-," the seneschal attempted when he was already halfway out. Buren gave him a dismissive wave and headed for the stables.

  He had the stable boy saddle a horse for him and began the ride towards the arena. Along the streets, he encountered haggard folks, their eyes marked with desperation. Street vendors aggressively touted their wares at the usually bustling intersections, while others approached him with pleas for work, promising tireless service in exchange for shelter and sustenance.

  The economic downturn was evident even in his brothels and taverns. He noticed the lowered prices hanging on their doors as he rode through the Eastern District. This would make it harder for him to meet his obligations to the Crown and the Faith. He would have to tally their economic situation later, he mused.

  He passed by a Faith missionary, his words of false hope luring the undernourished citizens around him. He stood on a pedestal surrounded by skinny and wan people, who, lacking in food, seemed to eat up his promises of a better future where they would lack nothing, provided they just did the Faith's bidding, destroying its enemies and so on. That, the missionary informed, was the only way to banish the dark forces that had taken hold of the city, causing all the trouble they now faced. Buren's gaze landed on an emaciated woman who caught up to him, clutching a worryingly silent child. "Please, sir hero," she pleaded, desperation seeping into her voice, "there must still be work in one of your brothels. I was foolish to refuse before, but now, they turn me away."

  Buren looked at her, the sight a sharp jab at his conscience. His hand instinctively moved towards his coin pouch, but then hesitated. There were countless stories of desperation in the city; he couldn't possibly aid them all. But as he pulled his hand back and averted his gaze, the woman's pleas echoed in his ears, adding weight to the guilt tightening around his chest, like the cold metal talons of the Gauntlet.

  Suddenly, Buren changed his mind. In his current situation, he reasoned, maintaining some level of public goodwill might be beneficial. He knew his justifications were weak, serving only to soothe his guilty conscience, but he ignored the nagging doubt. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a handful of coins, passing them over to the surprised woman.

  As the onlookers turned their eyes to him, he scattered the remaining coins amongst them. Their gratitude echoed in shouts of "Thank you, hero!" and "Glory to the Gauntlet-bearer!" As he continued on his journey, the weight on his chest lifted slightly, replaced with a feeling that he had done the right thing, if only for the moment.

  From afar, the echo of bloodthirsty cheers reached Buren, indicating that the arena was far from quiet. As he ascended to the upper-level balcony, typically reserved for esteemed spectators, he noted that the seats were even more filled than usual. The atmosphere, however, was markedly different. A sense of jovial competition had once hung over these events, where people sought simple entertainment and camaraderie. Now, the air thrummed with desperation and hatred, channeled through violent spectacles. Gaunt men with hollow eyes brawled bare-knuckled in the ring, their fallen opponents receiving no mercy but only a savage beating. They were kicked, their heads bashed to the ground, in clear contradiction with what were supposed to be established rulers. Yet the judge stayed silent.

  He was taken to the balcony on the uppermost level, reserved for nobles and other more important quests. He ordered a servant to fetch the Wasp. Once the servant had bowed and vanished through the drapes that served as the balcony's entrance, Buren was left alone, gazing upon the scene below. The nobles, he figured, were likely hiding in their homes, fearing retribution from the masses as well as the ruler.

  Soon, the Wasp appeared, his armor a vivid yellow. Buren dismissed the servant with a stern command to keep the balcony clear, then turned to face the armored figure. "What do you know about the return of the Sons of the Forest?" he demanded.

  "Everything," the Wasp replied nonchalantly. "I organized it, after all."

  Fury flashed through Buren as he closed his gauntleted hand around the Wasp's throat, lifting him off his feet before he had a chance to react. He dangled him precariously over the balcony's edge. "You were not to do anything without my word," Buren snarled.

  "You weren't here," the Wasp countered, maintaining his defiant composure despite his dire situation. "The ruler's negligence is destroying this city, and I saw an opportunity to intervene. You've seen the people and the condition of the streets. This city could thrive if it weren't for that swine hoarding all its riches and poisoning everything due to his fear, hatred, and jealousy."

  After a moment, Buren pulled him back over the ledge and set him back on his feet. The Wasp rubbed his throat, then continued. "I'm not certain what your ultimate plan for 'The Sons' was, but at the moment, they're the city's best chance."

  Buren's expression was grave. "The Sons are just a tool, and if you continue to complicate matters, you'll bear the blame for the city's ruin, and possibly the entire realm's. The current state of the city is just a necessary sacrifice until we can deal with a greater threat."

  "How long?" the Wasp asked, stepping forward until his helmet was mere inches from Buren's face.

  "I don't know," Buren replied, "but the rest is in my hands."

  The Wasp, though his voice held a warning, spoke again. "You promised that we would remove the King. You seem to have forgotten that."

  "I haven't," Buren asserted, his voice as rigid as his reflection in the Wasp's steel helmet. "But now is not the right time." He turned to leave but was halted by the Wasp's final words.

  "I must warn you," the Wasp called after him. "If we cross paths when I am 'The Son', I won't hold back."

  Pausing at the exit, Buren responded without turning. "The same goes for me." With that, he swept aside the drapes and left the balcony, his mind already churning with the ramifications of the Wasp's revelation.

  Just as Buren was about to leave the arena, a masked Inquisitor intercepted him. "We have located the creature," she murmured, slipping him a note inscribed with an address. "You know what to do."

  "Why haven't you taken this to the Knights in charge?" Buren queried.

  "Grand Inquisitor anticipated your question, and has allowed me to provide an explanation," the woman responded. "Their previous attempts at capturing it have resulted only in needless death, and every time they flush the beast from its lair, we gain more witnesses to interrogate. It is preferable for you to handle this quietly, alone."

  Buren simply nodded in understanding, then swung himself onto his horse. "Have a transport prepared to bring the creature back to the Citadel," he instructed before spurring his steed into a brisk gallop.

  The address led him to the Northern district, where the city's sewer network disgorged into a malodorous wetland, the final destination of all the city's waste. It was here, amongst the filth and refuse, that the city's poorest scavenged for scraps. Their dwellings were pitiful, little more than precarious structures assembled from discarded planks and plaster, bound together with wire and tarp in lieu of nails. Yet, sheltered by the sewer tunnels from the elements and largely ignored by the city's guards, this settlement maintained a form of stability with its own rules and hierarchy.

  However, today the place was eerily vacant, save for one figure. Approaching the man, Buren regarded him in silence, expecting information.

  "It went down there," the man finally said, gesturing towards one of the dank sewer entrances. "That's all I can tell you. I wouldn't venture down there for all the wealth on the moon."

  Leaving his horse in the man's care, Buren advanced towards the indicated tunnel.

  "How did you see through my disguise?" the supposed beggar, in reality another Inquisitor, called after him.

  Buren paused, turning back to meet the Inquisitor's gaze. Instead of answering verbally, he simply tapped his nose a few times before continuing his determined march into the slum.

  The biting cold had frozen the stagnant cesspools, yet the putrid stench from the underground tunnels still lingered in the air. Buren wrapped a scarf around his nose and mouth as he moved closer. Before him, the yawning entrance of the sewer tunnel beckoned him into the unknown.

  Activating a glowstone embedded in his cloak, Buren ventured into the tunnel. His footfalls echoed back at him, merging with the sounds of trickling water, distant gusts of wind, and the sludgy murmurs of the underground stream. A layer of slick algae covered the stone flooring, broken intermittently by an array of footprints. Most were human, many clearly shoeless. Among these tracks, however, a grotesque trail emerged – the tracks of an entity dragging itself along with an unsettling number of limbs.

  Following the path, Buren came across a grisly sight: the crushed remnants of a person, reduced to a gruesome mixture of pulped flesh and splintered bone. He proceeded with increased caution, his steps falling so softly they no longer generated any echo.

  However, after navigating several twists and turns, the gruesome trail disappeared. It became evident that the creature had slithered into the putrid stream, swimming against the current. Buren tested the tunnel's stone wall with his Gauntlet, seeking purchase. But the hard rock surface, slick with grime and curved in a half-circle, offered little traction even for the Gauntlet's powerful grip.

  Fortunately, a small maintenance boat was available, complete with a lengthy pole for propulsion. Stepping carefully into the vessel, Buren began the slow task of pushing upstream. The water moved lethargically, thick and odorous, impeding his progress. The path before him seemed endless, obscured by the pitch-black darkness that his lone glowstone could only partially penetrate. He was surrounded by the inky void, its absolute obscurity consuming all sense of distance and direction. Nonetheless, he persevered, pushing forward into the unseen depths of the tunnel.

  Without warning, something rocked the boat. Buren struggled to maintain his balance as an odd hump surfaced from the stream before quickly disappearing. "Great," he thought, realizing he could hardly have been cornered in a worse location.

  Suddenly, a hand surfaced from the sludge, its long fingers clutching at the edge of his boat. With a swift motion, Buren slashed through the unnatural digits, averting a disastrous capsize. But the attack continued, monstrous appendages reaching up from the murk. Whirling like a tempest, Buren deflected each emerging limb with his blade.

  Suddenly, a fist punched through the bottom of the boat, two more arms seizing the edges and wrenching the vessel apart. Leaping to his feet, Buren managed to land on the floating remnant of his boat. Despite its precarious tilt, it kept him afloat.

  A bulbous eye on a stalk emerged from the murk, scanning the environment. Buren blinded it with a swift jab of his sword. He realized then he had to escape. If he fell into the viscous stream, the muck would weigh him down, leaving him blind and effectively dead.

  Spotting the floating pole nearby amidst some vegetable detritus, he swiftly retrieved it, holding it with both hands like a soldier preparing to vault over enemy fortifications. As the water around his floating remnant began to churn, he leapt just as the wooden plank was dragged under.

  His grip firm on the pole, he thrust the lower end downwards until it met the tunnel floor. With remarkable agility and stability granted by the Gauntlet, and a lifetime of rigorous training, he managed to balance the pole upright, with himself at the apex, every muscle taut to keep equilibrium. Leveraging the Gauntlet's enhanced strength, he propelled himself back downstream, moving as if on a pogo stick.

  His heart pounded with each airborne moment, each landing an intense test of balance. After a series of these adrenaline-charged leaps, he finally found himself back on solid ground, safe from the subterranean monstrosity lurking in the murk.

  As the creature stirred close to the surface, Buren could see the stream's current shifting in response. With a firm jab of his pole, he taunted the monstrous entity, the motion successfully provoking a reaction. The monstrous form began to rise from the murk, pursuing Buren as he relentlessly poked and prodded it back towards the tunnel entrance. "Come on," he silently urged, hoping to lure the creature to a spot suitable for carriage loading.

  An echoing roar erupted from the creature's multitude of mouths, amplified by the confined space. Reacting to the charging menace, Buren spun around and sprinted back towards the tunnel's exit, the beast tailing him in a frenzy.

  Bursting into the crisp, outside air, Buren momentarily shielded his eyes from the sudden light change. The beast was equally stunned, raising multiple appendages to cover a variety of eyes that adorned its grotesque form. Out of the corner of his eye, Buren caught sight of Duriel, hacking up the filthy sewer water. "At least he's alive," Buren noted, for the first time glad to see the otherwise reviled ruler. "Perhaps this was not all in vain."

  Once the creature had adjusted to the daylight, it charged at Buren again. However, without the advantage of its previous environment, it was less formidable. Buren flung himself sideways, then, dropping low, he used the Gauntlet to launch himself into flight, barely an inch above the ground, gliding parallel to it. He darted between the beast's legs, his sword slashing through the numerous stalks that supported its massive bulk.

  The creature collapsed, releasing a cacophonous screech. Buren swiftly grabbed a wooden plank from a nearby shanty, crushing it with the Gauntlet to create sharp, foot-long splinters. Holding the makeshift projectiles between the Gauntlet's fingers, he launched them with lightning speed at the creature's multitude of eyes on the side facing him. The Gauntlet was a blur as it rapid-fired off one splinter after another.

  Each dart found its mark, blinding the creature to half of its surroundings. It roared, a terrifying mix of pain and surprise.

  With a staggering effort, the beast managed to pull itself back up onto its remaining appendages, swiveling the portion of its body still bristling with eyes towards where it last spotted Buren. Its many eyes widened in surprise as it found him vanished, and they darted frantically, searching for their elusive target. Just as it noted a brief shadow passing over it, it tilted its eyes towards the weak winter sun above, barely registering a silhouette before it was brought crashing back down by a powerful blow.

  Buren, having used the Gauntlet to leap high and descend upon the creature from above, landed a heavy punch to its spinal column. The monstrous body gave way beneath him with a crunching sound, as if a log supporting a snow-laden cabin roof had finally buckled. "Grow that back," Buren thought to himself with a grim satisfaction.

  At that moment, a group of Inquisitors and Knights appeared, pulling a large iron cage mounted on a cart by a team of sturdy horses. Normally used for transporting large groups of prisoners, the cage seemed equally suited to contain this conglomerate beast.

  Perched atop the cage was none other than Grand Inquisitor Seraphine herself. She signaled with her hand, and an Inquisitor inside the cage promptly fired a ballista. The harpoon shot out, skewering the creature with a barbed projectile that firmly lodged itself within the creature's grotesque flesh. A chain trailed after the harpoon, one end attached to a winch within the cage.

  At another gesture from Seraphine, several Inquisitorial servants dropped anchors to secure the carriage in place. With swift precision, they transferred the horses from their position pulling the cart to another set of harnesses connected to the winch. As they spurred the horses on, the winch began to turn, dragging the pinned creature - parts of it screaming in fury, others whining in despair - towards the awaiting cage.

  Buren observed the well-executed capture with admiration. "Nice setup," he mused. "I should've prepared something similar myself... not that I had the time."

  The creature was inexorably pulled into the cage, the structure groaning under the immense weight it had to bear. Each creak of the metal joints was an eerie testament to the colossal load contained within. As soon as the beast was fully in, the hatch was swiftly slammed shut and securely barred.

  Grand Inquisitor Seraphine nimbly descended from her perch atop the cage as novices of the Inquisition scurried forward with a large cloth cover. They flung it over the cage, successfully hiding its grotesque occupant from sight. Yet, the cover did nothing to muffle the bone-chilling roars emanating from the inside.

  "Nice work," Seraphine complimented Buren as she strolled towards him.

  "You too," Buren acknowledged with a nod.

  "Now, there's just the matter of transporting it to the top of the tower while the conditions are still favorable for the ritual," Seraphine pointed out.

  "I took the liberty of arranging a route as soon as I heard you were on the creature's trail, trusting that you would manage to capture it," she revealed, her tone business-like. "The Inquisition, Knights of Penance, District guard, and even the King's guard have all been mobilized to secure the route. Of course, nearly none of them are aware of what we're actually transporting."

  "The men you see here have been deemed trustworthy, but from here on out we need to make sure the shroud stays on the cage," Seraphine instructed. Buren simply nodded in response. The implications were clear - secrecy was of utmost importance.

  "I trust you're as keen to get this over with as soon as possible, just as I am," Seraphine said, her eyes meeting Buren's steady gaze.

  "Good. Let's get moving before something else goes wrong," she concluded decisively, signaling to her men.

  With a click of the driver's tongue, the team of horses began to pull the carriage forward. They strained against the weight of their unusual burden, their hooves crunching into the frosty ground before finally managing to nudge the heavy carriage into a slow movement. Deep grooves in the ground marked the passage of the hefty wagon as it slowly rumbled forward.

  Buren collected his horse, mounted it, and took his place at the right flank of the carriage. Suddenly, an odd assemblage of limbs fumbled from within the cage, prodding at the tarp. Swiftly, Buren slashed at the invading appendage which swiftly withdrew with a yelp.

  Buren surveyed the procession, noticing the extensive preparation that had been undertaken. Knights and city guards formed an orderly cordon along the streets, their faces stern and focused. Meanwhile, Inquisitors were perched on the rooftops, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. Curious bystanders were briskly shooed away or removed from their vantage points, while residents peeking from windows were swiftly warned off, the threat of Inquisition interference ensuring compliance. No one wanted to sate their curiosity so much they were willing to take the risk of that being the last thing they saw before being dragged away by the Inquisitors.

  In the eyes of the assembled forces, Buren could see curiosity mingling with disciplined silence. The grotesque noises emanating from the carriage might have been a cause for alarm, but they knew better than to voice their questions. "At least most of them would," Buren pondered, curious if Emeric and Evangeline might be guard lining the route as well.

  For several blocks, the procession passed uneventfully and Buren felt himself relax in his saddle. However, the sudden rise of indignant shouts from up ahead quickly shattered this brief respite. Getting ready for action, Buren drove his heels into the sides of his saddle and used the power of the Gauntlet to propel himself onto the roof of a nearby building. The Inquisitor perched on the roof, startled by the sudden intrusion, fell back but quickly regained composure, avoiding Buren's gaze and pretending as if nothing had happened.

  Buren darted forward along the rooftops, swiftly closing the distance to get a better understanding of the problem before it reached the convoy. He found himself looking down upon an angry mob that had gathered from intersecting streets. The crowd's shouts were a cacophony of complaints about the King, the poor state of the city, and demands for change. City guards had hastily formed a line to hold back the seething mass of people, but as stones began to hail down upon them, they unsheathed their swords and moved to disperse the crowd.

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  As Buren watched the scene unfold, a nagging suspicion formed in his mind. "This can't be a coincidence. There's more to this than meets the eye," he thought.

  Just then, doors from the surrounding buildings burst open and men, their faces masked, flooded into the streets. They carried an assortment of weapons - daggers, swords, cudgels, and even pitchforks. But a common thread tied them together - a touch of green in their attire. "The Sons of the Forest," Buren thought grimly. The rebels exploited the guards' distraction and struck their unprotected backs, causing their lines to shatter. Among the ensuing chaos, Buren spotted some of the protesters donning similar masks and scarves, merging with the rebels and escalating the pandemonium. The crowd surged forward, its collective force making it difficult to discern between genuine protesters and the more sinister rebels.

  Among the throng of rebels, Buren's eyes narrowed on a particular group moving in a tight, organized formation, cutting through the ranks of the city's knights with brutal efficiency. Their leader, wielding a rapier with deadly grace, stood out unmistakably. "Wasp," Buren growled under his breath, recognizing the warrior. Without a moment's hesitation, Buren launched himself from the rooftop, landing in front of the advancing rebels with his sword held high and the metallic talons of his Gauntlet spread menacingly.

  "Alright, just like we practiced," the Wasp, donning his outfit of the Son of the Forest, commanded his men as they instinctively formed a circle around Buren. Their movements were coordinated and careful, creating a complex web of threat that Buren had to navigate. Each muscle twitch and blade flash was an anticipated move, and Buren's eyes darted from one adversary to the next, trying to keep his opponents in his field of view.

  Seizing the opportunity, the Wasp signaled his men. They advanced in unison, prompting Buren to rely on his Gauntlet for an acrobatic leap that saw him soaring over their heads. "Now!" shouted the Wasp. Suddenly, from the depths of their cloaks, the men pulled out handheld, loaded crossbows and unleashed a rain of bolts at Buren, still suspended in mid-air.

  Despite the dizzying speed at which the Gauntlet moved as he tried to parry the volley, two of the bolts found their mark, one embedding itself in Buren's left thigh and the other piercing his back, close to his left shoulder. With a grunt of pain, Buren crashed to the ground, his wounded leg collapsing under him.

  The rebels, seizing their chance, charged at him, their blades raised with lethal intent. But Buren wasn't done yet. Using the Gauntlet, he pushed off the dirt and performed a swift backflip, landing somewhat shakily on his feet, favoring his unharmed leg. Pain lanced through his punctured flesh and he could feel the warm spread of blood soaking his clothing.

  Casting a quick glance aside, he noticed a rebel had slipped past the guards and was dangerously close to the covered cage. Without missing a beat, Buren hurled a stone with unerring accuracy, knocking the rebel out before he could reveal the secret under the cloth cover.

  "I'd keep my eyes over here if I were you," the Son taunted, swiftly launching another bolt in Buren's direction. With almost casual grace, Buren snatched the bolt out of the air with the talons of his Gauntlet, effortlessly snapping the projectile in two. As he let the fragments clatter to the ground, the intimidating gesture was not lost on the rebels. Their confident demeanor wavered, exchanged glances revealing an undercurrent of unease.

  Yet, at the Son's rallying call, they were stirred back into action. "He's hurt, and we have the advantage. Remember, we only need to keep him occupied until someone else reaches the wagon." Buren, though, was far from passive, refusing to be cornered.

  Buren lunged at one of the rebels, his sudden movement disrupting their attempt to encircle him. With a swift strike, he left the man unconscious, his body crumpling to the ground. Seizing the moment, Buren snatched up the fallen man's sword. With the strength of the Gauntlet, he flung the blade like a missile at another rebel, the weapon impaling his shoulder and sending him flying across the air, a scream of pain tearing from his throat.

  As the remaining rebels instinctively tracked the flight of their comrade, Buren exploited their momentary distraction. He lunged at the nearest man, his fist landing a solid blow on his head. The rebel crumpled to the ground, his body limp. The rest of the group remained rooted in place, their previously aggressive posture replaced by a defensive stance as they cautiously began to back away.

  A blast from a horn echoed through the streets, drawing the attention of the rebels. The sound signaled the approach of reinforcements - guards and Knights flooding down the street, Inquisitors swiftly navigating the rooftops. Word of the trouble had reached the rest of the men watching their route, and they now rushed to their aid. "Retreat!" The Son's command rippled through the ranks of rebels, picked up and echoed by others. They disengaged from their fights, melting away into narrow alleyways and doorways, and Buren knew all too well how swiftly they would blend into the crowd and vanish.

  "This isn't over, 'boss'," The Son hissed at Buren, defiance gleaming in his eyes. "I will free this city and its people."

  "I'll deal with you later," Buren quietly retorted. The Son whirled around, his cape dancing behind him as he vanished into the chaos. Wincing, Buren removed the remaining bolts lodged in his flesh and limped his way back to the cage.

  Once there, he found Seraphine standing over a captured rebel, his hands and feet bound, face bloody and bruised. "Make this easy on yourself and tell us what brought you here so we can take you directly to the jail, without the need to question you further," she murmured to the man.

  "They told us there was a prison transport going on, and we could free some of our men," the man replied hastily. "I've lost many friends to the guards, and thought they might be here."

  Seraphine's frown deepened. "Who was it that knew of this transport?"

  "They told me the information came directly from the Son himself."

  "We have the Son under lock and key," Seraphine declared, her gaze locking onto Buren's as if daring him to dispute her claim. "We can take you to join him, if you wish."

  The rebel paled further. "No, no, that is not necessary. I believe everything you say. It is just what I was told."

  With a swift, sharp command to her men, Seraphine had the man hauled away. The distaste on her face echoed Buren's own feelings - the realization that a mole must be lurking in their ranks, someone who had leaked details of their mission. But was it someone lower down who had innocently believed this to be a high-security prison transport, or someone more informed who knew the true nature of their cargo?

  "Impossible to know," Buren mused to himself.

  The guards that arrived in their aid were tasked with detaining the remaining protestors, their arms manacled and faces set in stubborn defiance. Meanwhile, the convoy resumed its journey, moving slowly but steadily and on high alert through the city, with the intimidating form of the Central Citadel looming ever closer.

  Once inside the Citadel's thick walls, the cage was attached to a large crane, its hulking metal form hoisted skyward by the descending counterweight of a massive stone block. Men wielding hooked poles guided it onto the upper levels of the tower, their practiced movements precise and efficient.

  "I have Inquisitor Evangeline on the premises, as well as everything else required for the ritual," Seraphine informed Buren. "Elder Faelun informs me the effect upon this place weakens by the moment. We will begin the rite shortly. I want you there in case something goes wrong."

  Buren nodded, his thoughts already turning to the upcoming ritual. He wanted to see this through, wanted to finally put this dangerous debacle to rest. He turned to ascend the spiraling stairs of the tower, only to pause when he realized Seraphine was no longer with him. It seemed she had vanished as quickly as she had appeared.

  "I suppose when you're at her level, when you have eyes and ears everywhere, you don't have to be present at the happenings and still know everything that takes place," he mused, resuming his ascent.

  Buren navigated the many levels of winding stairs, passing numerous men on their way down, their faces a mixture of confusion and curiosity as they were hastily ushered away from the spectacle to come. Eventually, he reached the King's bedchamber, the vast space now dominated by the towering cage.

  The door was shut securely behind him and an Inquisitor briskly pulled away the cover shrouding the cage. An immediate reaction came from the creature within; it hurled itself against the bars, numerous limbs flailing and reaching for the nearest man. A dank, sewer-like odor permeated the air, causing several men to recoil in disgust.

  Buren took a moment to inspect the creature. Its eyes had regrown, limbs reformed, even its spine had regenerated. The thought of how they would dispose of it after they had extracted Duriel flickered across his mind.

  "Would Seraphine have it incinerated? Bathed in acid? Or perhaps fed to something even bigger and uglier?" he wondered.

  Buren's eyes roved over the room, the symbols adorning the walls and ceiling catching his attention. Cadoc and Elwin, he thought, had outdone themselves replicating the glyphs from the lost village. To his untrained eye, they seemed identical, though he knew the smallest misalignment or aberration could spell disaster in such rites.

  The door behind him swung open again, and in strode Inquisitor Evangeline, flanked by two subordinates. They bore a wooden table between them, setting it close to the imposing cage. A series of vials and plates were arranged atop the table, creating a makeshift altar for the ritual to come.

  Evangeline moved with meticulous precision, adjusting the reagents and ensuring everything was in its correct place. "Last doses we have," she muttered to Buren, her gaze never leaving the table. "There won't be a second run if something goes wrong."

  With a final nod, she deemed the setup complete, and sent the other Inquisitors away. Buren watched them depart with a sense of foreboding; he suspected what they were going to fetch.

  His guess was confirmed when they returned, a hooded and shackled man stumbling between them. His muffled grunts indicated he was gagged, and the sack over his head rendered him blindly compliant.

  Evangeline seemed to sense Buren's question and distaste, answering it preemptively. "I'm told he's some irredeemable criminal," she said dismissively. "Raped a noblewoman, apparently. He's in good health and, from what we understand, an outsider with no local connections. On such short notice, he's the most suitable vessel we could find for the King."

  Buren's eyes returned to the captive man. Something about the situation felt too neat, too convenient. Yet he could not deny the necessity of the sacrifice, unpalatable as it may be. "Not that our king would deserve saving in other circumstances," he thought bitterly.

  Soon, candles were lit and scattered around the chamber, casting flickering shadows on the arcane symbols. The room's only window was covered with a heavy cloth, plunging them into a sort of eerie half-light. Once Evangeline was satisfied, she ordered everyone else to the edges of the room.

  As Evangeline's incantations echoed through the chamber, Buren held his breath. Nothing happened for a long moment, then the candles started to flicker, casting jittery shadows around the room. The symbols etched on the walls and ceiling began to emit a soft glow, a sign that the ritual was working. Buren let out a sigh of relief.

  The room filled with an intense, almost palpable energy that made his skin prickle. The small makeshift altar started to shake, the vials clinking and rattling against one another. Buren could tell something wasn't quite right. He swept the Gauntlet around the room, sensing a faint magical energy that was significantly weaker than that of the lost city.

  Meanwhile, Evangeline continued her chanting, her voice growing raw and strained. Sweat glistened on her forehead as she labored over the incantation. It appeared that whatever energy that the surroundings were supposed to provide the ritual was instead replaced by having her work harder.

  Suddenly, amidst the chaos of the ritual, the hooded man stood up and made a dash for the door, one leg dragging the open shackle behind him. "This isn't an ordinary criminal," Buren thought, his mind whirring. He'd managed to pick his locks while they were distracted, even with the bag over his head.

  He wasn't fast enough to escape, though. The bag hindered his vision and slowed him down enough for Buren to catch up. He grabbed the man before he reached the door, his Gauntlet tightening around his shoulder as he dragged him back to the circle. The man struggled against his captor, but with his hands still restrained, there was not much he could do. Still, he raised his leg and delivered an impressive kick at him, but he wasn't faster than the Gauntlet that blocked the attack. Buren still had to admire his form and spirit; he could hardly have done better himself.

  The man squirmed, attempting to speak through the gag, but his words came out as a muffled jumble. Buren could discern his young age from his voice, causing a pang of guilt to well up in him. He pushed it away, focusing on the task at hand. The ritual needed to be completed, regardless of who was to be sacrificed.

  Evangeline's chant transformed into a low dirge as her voice gave out, the words slurring together into an unintelligible murmur. Yet, the potency of the incantation did not seem to wane. The painted symbols around the room glowed fiercely, like the midday sun shining into the room via many windows, while the reagents placed carefully on the wooden altar erupted into a fierce blaze.

  Suddenly, a pulse of mystical energy surged from the altar, a wave rippling through the chamber. The man Buren held went suddenly limp in his grasp, his body a lifeless husk as his consciousness was tugged from his physical form and drawn across the room.

  From the cage came a shrill shriek, the captive creature flailing its limbs desperately towards an unseen entity. It was then that Buren realized what was happening - Duriel's spirit had been forced out of its monstrous host, and the creature was attempting to claw it back into its possession.

  But then, the room dimmed abruptly. The man in Buren's grasp jerked to life, his body humming with renewed vigor. He straightened and pulled his shoulder away, his movements sharp and familiar, the sort of domineering hauteur that could only belong to their king. Buren let go as Inquisitors rushed to his side, hastily unlocking the shackles and beginning to undo the knots to remove the bag from his head.

  Turning his attention back to Evangeline, Buren found her collapsed on the floor. Her body trembled with the strain of the ritual, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  "I thought it would never end," she said hoarsely between breaths. "It was like when air is lighter in high mountains so you have to breath harder: the magical energy had all but dissipated. We got here at the last minute."

  Buren extended his water flask towards her and she took it gratefully, drinking deeply.

  "You certainly took your sweet time," a familiar male voice said, the tone laced with mockery. Buren whirled around at the sound of the voice, the sight that greeted him made his knees buckle and the room seemed to tilt dangerously.

  "No!" he cried out, his voice a hoarse whisper of disbelief.

  "What, aren't you glad to see me?" Flynn asked, a twisted grin that was too eerily similar to Duriel's stretched across his face.

  Buren surged to his feet, rushing over to his squire. His mind spun with disbelief, fervently hoping that this was a nightmare. "It can't be you," he pleaded, gripping Flynn's shoulders, shaking him. Flynn forcefully shoved him away. "Hands off your King!" he snarled.

  The Inquisitors quickly apprehended Buren, holding him back. Meanwhile, the monstrous creature, still caged, released a low, gurgling sound. Buren's gaze turned to it and his blood ran cold at the sight of Duriel's face, deathly pale and filled with terror, attached to the side of the creature. "Sir, don't believe what they say of me. I didn't do it. They've punished the wrong man," the face pleaded. Even thought the voice and face was different, Buren could hear the Flynn's usual cadence in the spoken sentences, see the facial muscles move in a way typical of him. He had cursed his own squire into the most terrible fate imaginable.

  The echoing plea from the monstrous creature rang incessantly in Buren's ears, the hated face of his ruler etched with raw fear and helplessness of his closest ally burned into his mind. Disbelief racked his mind, the cold grasp of reality setting in, and his world collapsed into a spiral of despair. "How could this be?" The question reverberated in his mind, a nauseating drum beat that incessantly throbbed.

  In a frenzy, he tore himself free from the grip of the Inquisitors and dashed towards Evangeline. He seized her by the shoulders, desperation making his grip vice-like. Unlike Duriel, she didn't resist his touch, her mind too embroiled in shock. "Do it again," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Use me, I'll take his place."

  Evangeline's eyes filled with tears, her usually impassive countenance melting away to reveal the crushing weight of her sorrow. "That's impossible," she whispered, her voice carrying the hollow tone of one who had lost all hope. "We used up the last of those blue flowers in this ritual. Even if we could find more, the energy here would be long depleted."

  As she spoke, her eyes widened with a flicker of desperation. "Could we take him to the lost village and perform the ritual there?" she asked, a spark of hope igniting in her voice. "There must still be energy there. I know it would be a monumental task to transport the creature, but if we could muster enough men and resources--"

  Buren shook his head, cutting off her frantic words. "There are no more of those flowers," he said quietly, his mind's eye painting the picture of the charred remains of the forest. His heart twisted painfully at the memory of the savage flames that had decimated the forest, the work of the last living denizen of the lost civilization. The bitter thought slipped into his mind - the old man had managed to extract his vengeance, after all.

  A hand flew to Evangeline's mouth, her eyes widening with horror at the realization. Her tearful apology hung in the air, unspoken, as she instead moved towards the monstrous creature. She crawled on her hands and knees, until she was at eye level with the human face embedded in the flesh prison.

  "I'm sorry," she said, her voice filled with anguish. "If I knew it was you, I would never have agreed to perform the ritual. I was assigned to follow your master, and while I was doing so, I saw your true self. I saw your courage, your tenacity, your sincerity, your heart. I don't know what circumstances led you to this, but you did not deserve... this."

  Her words hung in the air of the room, the sadness, regret, and disgust reflected on her face as she stared at the abomination before her.

  Cold hands squeezed at Buren's throat, heart and stomach, like his whole body was in a vice. He could still feel his squire struggling against his grip, and Buren had held him down, condemning him to his fate. He felt like hacking the limb of, as the haunting sensation filled him with revulsion and anguish.

  The shrill groaning of the winch system shattered the somber silence of the room, sending a sharp jolt through Buren's shaken mind. He swung around, his gaze falling upon the cage that was inching towards the aperture in the wall, inching towards the oblivion beyond. His heart hammered in his chest as he reached out instinctively with the Gauntlet and seized a steel bar of the cage. The abrupt halting of the winch reverberated through the room, echoing Buren's guttural growl. "Where do you think you are taking him?"

  "We are under orders to move the material to a more secure location as soon as the ritual is done," the Inquisitor in charge responded, his voice carrying a mechanical detachment that stemmed from the duty-bound repetition of orders he had been handed down.

  "And where is that?" Buren bit back, his voice laced with a thinly veiled threat.

  "I don't know, Sir," the Inquisitor responded. "My part ends when the carriage is back in the wagon. Honestly, I'm rather looking forward to putting this past me. I hope you understand, I've got no quarrel with you."

  Buren's mind raced as he processed the words. He could almost see the chains of command, the threads of obedience and duty that the man now skillfully hid behind. The very structure that had kept him rooted in place throughout his life was now threatening to shackle him. He was a prisoner to his own oath, tethered by the very sense of duty that had driven him to reach the doorstep of the rank of Knight-Commander.

  He felt his dreams crumbling around him, the tumultuous waves of despair, like a maelstrom on a moonless night, threatening to sweep him away. But beneath the layers of desperation, a glimmer of familiar resolve began to kindle. He couldn't afford to be swept away by the storm of emotions. He had a mission, a purpose. The allure of the power that lay beyond the rank of Knight-Commander tantalized him. If he could reach power that would rival—no, defeat the being of his dreams, with that power he might be able to achieve the impossible a second time, to undo the horrific ritual that had claimed his squire.

  He stared at Flynn, the boy who had become more than a mere squire to him, the boy who had woven himself into the very fabric of Buren's life. He had been so close, so damn close to keeping him safe. His gaze bore into Flynn's unfamiliar eyes, and he packed his sorrow, regret, anger, rationalizations, excuses, promises, and resolution, all into his stormy, lingering look. The creases of worry on Flynn's face seemed to ease a little, and, after a moment, a slight smile of understanding and relief relaxed his new face, and for a moment, Buren felt a profound connection, a silent understanding passing between them.

  His heart pounded in his chest as he realized, amidst the harrowing reality, that they were indeed one. In spirit, if not in body. United in their struggle, their pain, and their indomitable will to persevere. Flynn understood him. Like few before him had.

  Duriel, the man who had now usurped more than just the throne, reclined in his newly inhabited body, stretching the limbs and flexing the muscles as though trying them on for size. A sneer twisted on his lips, a grotesque misfit on the face of Flynn. "What, you're not going to put that thing out of its misery?" he goaded, his gaze darting to the hideous creature that held Flynn's spirit captive.

  His words sparked a fury in Buren, who pointed his talon at him, anger igniting in his eyes. "Don't get too comfortable. I'll get you evicted as soon as possible."

  Duriel shot back, indignance written across Flynn's face, "Do not presume to order me around, rube." His tone was laced with condescension. "Besides, I've intended to stick around ever since I heard the boy was put behind bars. I figured you would think twice about plotting against me when it would be this body that would take the hit."

  "So, you arranged this?" Buren spat, the accusation clear in his tone.

  "I merely seized an opportunity when it presented itself," Duriel replied, a smug grin pulling at the corners of Flynn's mouth. "As I always have," he added, giving a casual glance at his hands as if inspecting the state of his nails.

  Buren's rage boiled over. "Did you have anything to do with his imprisonment?"

  Duriel met his glare with a chillingly cold stare. "No, how could I have, in that state?" he said, gesturing towards the monstrous form that was his former prison. "Your boy did that all on his own." His eyes glinted with a malicious satisfaction, "If you want to find the truth, I suggest you investigate your own house. After all, that's where he assaulted your bride-to-be."

  "Assaulted Inanna?" Buren's mind reeled at the accusation.

  Flynn's spirit, trapped within the grotesque prison of flesh, hacked out a protest. "I didn't assault anybody."

  "That's not how she tells it, as I understand," Duriel interjected, his voice laden with a taunting tone. "Don't worry, boy, I'd have probably done the same. A temptation like that is enough to drive a man wild. I hope it brings you some comfort to know this body of yours will now get more tail than you could ever imagine."

  Suppressing the urge to maim the vile man before him, Buren launched himself out of the tower, his mind clouded with rage and confusion. The castle beckoned him, an ominous figure in the distance, a shelter that had finally revealed itself as the trap he had suspected it to be.

  His journey to the castle flashed by, in his mind just disjointed images of rushing through the air and across rooftops, his breath labored like that of a bloodhound in pursuit. It didn't enter into his mind to use the main entrance, or to enter directly via Inanna's window. Instead, he took the way in that first appeared in his path, an upper floor window. He launched himself over the castle walls and crashed through the window in a shower of glass, scaring some service maids so they stumbled to the floor, the linen they had been carrying fluttering to the ground around them. They stammered apologies as they recognized him and hurriedly gathered the fabrics, but he had already marched past them.

  Buren found his path blocked by a phalanx of guards, their tattooed bodies covered with black, glossy armor, adorned with gilded etchings. Inanna's perverse taste, he mused, had transformed these slaves into gaudy statues, their humanity effaced by their mistress's whims.

  One of the guards stepped forward, a decorative mace clutched in his grip. "You are not to pass," he warned, his voice echoing along the stony corridor. "We won't hesitate to-"

  His words were cut off as Buren's fist slammed into his face. The man crumpled, knocked backward by the force of the blow. The other guards lunged into action, converging on Buren in a futile attempt to overpower him.

  Their attacks were as hollow as their expressions. Buren parried and countered, his movements fluid and deadly, every punch and kick a ballet of brutal efficiency. Guards dropped around him like felled trees, some groaning in pain, others unconscious or too stunned to move. Their armor and weapons shattered against the force of the Gauntlet. Within minutes, Buren stood victorious among a field of fallen foes, the pathway to Inanna's chamber now open.

  Buren kicked open the twin doors to her chamber and was met with rows of guards, their armor even more ornate than their fallen brethren. The upper echelons of Inanna's personal guard. And there she was, reclining lazily on her grand bed, observing the scene with a smirk.

  "You're so unpredictable, fiancé dearest," she drawled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "One moment you avoid me like the plague, the next, no one can keep you away."

  "Call off your guards, or cleaning servants will be scraping what remains of them off your precious furniture," Buren growled, his eyes hard and unyielding.

  "But after the horrific assault I had to suffer, I'm afraid to be alone," Inanna replied, her voice filled with exaggerated melodrama. Meeting Buren's intense stare, she shrugged, "Fine," and clapped her hands twice, signaling her guards to withdraw.

  As the door slammed shut behind them, Buren stormed towards Inanna, Gauntlet extended. But she rolled away with surprising agility, landing on her feet on the other side of the bed.

  "Don't touch me with that thing, remember?" she hissed, her eyes flashing.

  "Take back whatever lies you've spun about Flynn," Buren snarled, his gaze filled with a dangerous fire.

  "Lies?" Inanna echoed, feigning innocence as she rose from her position. "What lies? It was evident to everyone that Flynn was infatuated with me. He used his trusted position to get closer, to spend more time with me. Overwhelmed by his passion, he saw his chance when you were away. To think, he'd betray the man who treated him like a son!" She sashayed across the room to a cabinet, pouring herself a glass of Antediluvian wine, its purple hue shimmering in the light.

  "It's fortunate that the seneschal and one of my guards arrived with a message when they did, else we might have remained undiscovered in the turret." Buren narrowed his eyes at her, a suspicion forming in his mind. It seemed all too convenient, her being found in such a situation. "More likely that she orchestrated the jaunt into the turret herself, as well as having the message delivered at just that moment," he thought.

  She continued, unaffected by his silence. "If you don't believe me, ask the good seneschal yourself. The sight of the torn clothes, Flynn atop me, was enough to paint a clear picture." Buren clenched his jaw, rage simmering within him. It was likely she'd manipulated Flynn's feelings for her, only to betray him.

  Her gaze fell on him, filled with apparent disgust. "I never imagined anyone would go to such lengths to defend a man who cuckolded him. Just goes to show how little you castoffs understand about honor, about propriety. Aren't you the slightest bit jealous?"

  Buren's gaze turned frosty, and his voice dropped to a whisper, laden with an icy threat. "Did you do this to make me jealous?"

  She met his gaze with a defiant smile, shrugging nonchalantly. "Do what? If there's anyone to blame, it's you. You should've ordered him to other posts more firmly, and spent more time with me." She opened her arms invitingly. "You can still rectify your mistake."

  Buren's voice hardened. "Retract your lies. I won't tell you again."

  She laughed, a high, chilling giggle. "And tell people what? That we were having an affair behind your back?" She finished her wine and set the glass aside. "Believe me, I've considered how amusing it would be to have everyone in town laughing at you. But infidelity? That would be reason enough to cancel our betrothal, and the court on Apex Mountain wouldn't take kindly to that."

  There was a pause before she added, "Besides, Flynn's punishment has already been executed. What good would clearing his name do now?" Buren grudgingly admitted that her reasoning held some truth. Clearing Flynn's name might comfort the young man's honor, but it would do nothing to solve the issue that mattered.

  Suddenly, a thought struck him. "How would you know about the punishment?" he asked, fixing her with a suspicious gaze. "It's currently one of the city's best-kept secrets." For a moment, a flicker of surprise flashed across Inanna's face before she regained her composure. Buren took an intimidating step towards her, walking around the bed. "Did you know what would happen to him?" he asked, his voice ominous.

  "How could I have?" Inanna retorted, her innocent facade cracking under the intensity of Buren's gaze. "It's not as though I'm best pals with the King, whose guards were the ones who took him away."

  "Why would the King's guards be involved when it's the District Guard's jurisdiction?" Buren's voice was calm, the quiet before a storm. He continued his slow, predatory pacing around the bed, his focus laser-like on Inanna.

  She faltered, her composure teetering on the edge. "It was... it was deemed too high-profile for them and therefore—"

  "Deemed by whom?" Buren's roar echoed through the chamber. "You plotted this with Duriel, didn't you? I suspected it was too coincidental." He thrust his talon towards her. "Stop lying, or I swear I—"

  His threat was cut off as the Gauntlet suddenly seized his attention. The metallic limb vibrated softly but perceptibly as he pointed it at Inanna, an indication of contact with magic. A pattern of vibration that felt uncannily familiar.

  Determined, Buren closed the distance between them in long, measured strides. "Keep that thing away from me!" she protested, but this time, he paid her no mind. He reached out and grabbed her upper arm.

  The Gauntlet pulsed rapidly, and a shimmer, akin to a distortion in light, enveloped Inanna. Buren's claw raked across the distortion, catching on something unseen, a string-like entity keeping the mysterious layer around her intact.

  "Stop!" she commanded, but Buren was beyond caring. He slashed at the invisible string with his claw, and the shimmering layer around her deformed and dissipated. Her transformation was swift and shocking.

  Her skin turned a vivid red, horns sprouted from her forehead, and spines extended from all over her body. Dark, bruise-like tattoos emerged against her scarlet skin, adding to her frightening appearance. She expanded, her body stretching and growing taller, her muscles bulking. Her lips plumped, her breasts enlarged, and her body became a grotesque version of what it once was.

  When the transformation ended, she stood towering over Buren, her teeth sharp and predatory as she snarled down at him. It was the same daemoness he'd fought before, beneath the District Guard headquarters.

  "I thought I killed you," he said, the Gauntlet spreading its claws menacingly. "I guess I'll have to do a better job this time."

  "And risk violating the Treaty by killing your betrothed?" she challenged him, surprisingly choosing to sit on a large armchair instead of attacking. Her oversized form filled the seat entirely as she crossed one leg over the other, looking eerily comfortable.

  Buren lowered his stance, warily watching her. "The last girl you possessed made it out alive," he reminded her.

  "True," she agreed, "but she never accepted me. We needed rituals to prevent her body from rejecting me. Your beautiful fiancée, on the other hand, is a much more welcoming host."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "After you exorcised me from my previous host," daemon-Inanna explained, grabbing the wine bottle and drinking straight from it instead of bothering with a glass anymore, "I fluttered around the Flow, like we do when out of a body."

  Buren didn't let her casual tone and appearance lull him into a sense of security and stood poised to strike.

  She didn't seem to mind, and continued: "I came here, to your castle, looking for revenge, as I could see the place was filled with people who all had their plans for you. Alas, most of them were under orders to just keep their eyes on you. I followed the strongest emotions of hatred and resentment, and, to my surprise, found them emanating from your fiancée."

  "I observed her for days," the daemoness began, reclining in the oversized chair, her monstrous form hulking against the delicate upholstery. "Sensing her emotions, keeping my presence faint to elude the Inquisitors." A malicious gleam flickered in her eyes, and she continued in a casual, almost conversational tone. "By the way, do you want to know how many spies there were here at the peak of our scrutiny? Who they were?" She offered the information like a tantalizing morsel, baiting him with the potential for secrets revealed.

  "I wouldn't trust anything you say, so there's no point," Buren shot back. His gaze was steely, a strong bulwark against her attempted manipulations.

  "Bah," she responded, her face momentarily twisting in annoyance. But Buren's stern, unwavering stare urged her onward, and she resumed her tale.

  "I approached Inanna with caution, initially within her dreams, tempting her with the usual promises - revenge, unimaginable pleasure, power... Really, I had her at revenge, and the rest of the list was unnecessary." The daemoness cackled, an eerie, grating sound that echoed around the room.

  "Inanna despised being sent here and bound to you in matrimony. Yes, she would've complied with the arranged marriage as dissenting with the rule back at Nammu-Thum is unheard of. But she was determined to exact her vengeance on you at every given chance." There was a savage delight in the daemoness's eyes as she relayed this, but Buren noticed the bitter undercurrent of hatred and loathing, a trace, he supposed, of Inanna's own feelings.

  "Then I proposed a deal she couldn't refuse," the daemoness continued, leaning back in her chair, her voice laced with glee. "I offered her the ability to subjugate you to her will, to overpower you. She needed no more convincing; she welcomed me into her body readily. It was a match made in the stars: two females you've wronged, united in the pursuit of vengeance!"

  She guffawed loudly, the harsh sound reverberating through the chamber. "The only wrongs I've committed," Buren countered inwardly, "was not trying harder to execute the daemoness when I had the chance, and not confining Inanna to a tower, behind locked doors until she would have come to her senses."

  "But if your plan was vengeance, why not just kill me in my sleep?" he asked, his voice level and steady.

  "She considered that," the daemoness admitted, her smirk widening, revealing sharp, monstrous teeth. "But killing you would've caused unnecessary complications for the court back at Nammu-Thum. Instead, she fantasized about snapping your neck and tearing out your tongue while you slept, leaving you incapacitated but alive enough to fulfill the marriage obligation. I, however, had different ideas."

  Buren's mind reeled at the revelation. "Flood me," he thought, a shiver of revulsion running through him. "Being possessed by a daemon actually made her into a better person. Not by much, but still."

  "What truly intrigued me," the daemoness confessed, leaning forward, "was you. As long as you rejected Inanna, the Gauntlet seems to create some sort of field that turns you into a void in the Flow, a blind spot I can't penetrate. Hence, I couldn't tell whether you were in deep sleep or merely dozing, especially given your nightly tossing and turning. Attacking you in your sleep seemed too risky, so I had to devise a more cunning strategy." She leaned back in her chair, an ominous grin spreading across her face.

  "Watching you, your fitful sleep, it gave me an idea," she began, her voice a melodic murmur in the tense silence. "People often seek out my kind for respite from pain and fear, and I realized I could offer you solace from your nightmares. However, it would be a difficult feat, given you'd have to welcome my influence, but without probing too deep with that accursed Gauntlet." She paused, a mirthless giggle escaping her. "Luckily, Inanna had already forbidden you from touching her, especially with the Gauntlet, so all I had to do was steer clear of it while opening our bosom to you."

  Her laughter rang out again, more intense this time. "And I must say, you didn't seem to object to that arrangement."

  Buren's response was immediate. In the blink of an eye, he was on her, his talons prickling against the vulnerable flesh of her neck. Her laughter died in her throat, her smug smile replaced by a look of alarm. "You're going to open up a lot more than just your bosom to me, if I so decide," he growled, locking eyes with the daemoness.

  Despite the danger, she forced a smile back onto her face, her bravado wavering. "But you must admit, it worked," she said. His claws traced the contours of her neck, his touch gentle but menacing. "And in the end, you would have me under your control, yes?"

  "That was the original plan, the one Inanna agreed to. However, things needed to be adjusted when new information came to light," she admitted. At his inquisitive look, she elaborated, "When you unknowingly let me in, it gave me a better view of your dreams. Initially, I could barely glimpse your surface thoughts when we were close, but that changed when you unwittingly allowed m further admittance. With enhanced access, I could see your nightmares, and I agree with you; the future doesn't bode well. To take you out when you're our best chance would be an act of great folly."

  She raised a massive hand, more akin to a bear's paw than a human's, and gently nudged his claws aside. He allowed her. "I do enjoy being on the winning side," she purred, resting her palm against his chest. "That means remaining in your good graces and assisting you in releasing your nightly tensions. It keeps you sharper, ready for battle." She licked her lips seductively, making them shine under the dim light.

  "Inanna despises this arrangement, which created another issue. As long as the host consents, no sacrifices are necessary to prevent their bodies from rejecting me. But, if she reneges on our agreement, I would be in trouble. To placate her, I had to agree to a scheme of hers, a plan to torment you."

  "Flynn?" Buren's voice was weary, any trace of anger having dissipated.

  "Yes," she admitted, her tone more subdued now, as if she had exhausted her desire to provoke him. "He was beneath my notice, but I had to grant her a victory to maintain her consent." She sighed, her monstrous form somehow looking a little less threatening in that moment. "I needed her compliant, Buren. It was a necessary evil."

  Exhaustion crept over Buren, the day's revelations weighing heavily on his shoulders. He sank into an armchair opposite her, the worn cushions a small comfort in the midst of the whirlwind. She extended the bottle of wine towards him, a silent offer. Gratefully, he accepted it, taking a hearty gulp straight from the mouth of the bottle.

  "You knew what would happen to Flynn?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He peered into the bottle, his gaze focused on the mesmerizing swirls of the dark, violet liquid.

  "Yes," she responded without hesitation, her tone almost nonchalant. "I observed the events at the Citadel, initially drawn by the unique power that dwelled there, then by the lockdown itself. I absorbed the thoughts of those who had access to the information, as they crossed the protective barriers erected by the Clergy, passing through the detectors set up by the Inquisition."

  He passed the bottle back to her, his hand unsteady. She accepted it gracefully. "When the only alternative for Flynn was public execution, after enduring torture, I thought this would be a kinder fate. After all, his body is now the most guarded one in this realm, and his mind, it still remains within this world."

  Buren raised an eyebrow, his expression one of thinly veiled skepticism. "I confess," she added, a hint of humility creeping into her tone, "I may not fully understand the intricacies of the human mind, apart from its darker desires. Perhaps I misjudged the situation."

  "Can you retrieve his mind?" Buren asked.

  "No, I can only inhabit bodies, not transfer minds into different hosts," she admitted. Buren sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Just as I thought."

  A moment of silence passed between them, punctuated by the occasional gulp of wine. He drank with an air of desperation, but his intake paled in comparison to her. The daemoness began to glow, a fiery red hue, shrinking back to Inanna's usual size, yet retaining the red eyes, tattoo-like markings on her skin, and horns crowning her head. Her clothes hung in tatters around her, doing nothing to cover her nudity, but she made no move to shield herself.

  "So, where do we go from here?" she asked, breaking the silence. Buren sighed. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Killing her would accomplish justice for Flynn, and all those the daemoness had wronged, but it would ruin him, causing the Antediluvians most likely to seek revenge, and give Duriel a reason to sentence him to death. Exorcising the daemoness from Inanna would only bring out her even darker and more unreasonable side. But he could not trust this pair, either.

  "Lie low for now, and avoid stirring trouble," he advised, weighing his limited options. "I will decide our next move later."

  "She won't be pleased about being sidelined like this," the daemoness replied, her tone cautionary. "Neither will I." She rose, her walk graceful and sensuous as she crossed the short distance between them, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. "Imagine the strength we would have together. You could use every resource in your arsenal in your fight against these things, and if there is one thing that gets me going, it's power."

  His gaze met hers, and he could see the thirst for power, and maybe for him, reflected in her eyes, the crimson flush adorning her cheeks. A brief sneer, an incongruous expression, flickered across her face, a fleeting signal from the real Inanna, he surmised.

  "I believe you'll have to sort it out with your other half first," he remarked, rising to his feet, breaking contact with her. "I wouldn't want to intrude on such an intimate conversation."

  "We'll be here when you realize your need for us," she purred, her voice low and enticing.

  "Good," he said, his tone stern, "because if I discovered that you have taken a leisurely stroll with someone, perhaps to the turret, I would be compelled to hunt you down."

  With that, he walked out, leaving the room and its occupant behind. The guards he had encountered earlier were slowly rising, their expressions filled with trepidation as they looked at him. "Take the rest of the night off," he instructed them, his voice firm but not unkind. Leaving the guards behind, he traversed the hallway, each step echoing with the weight of his decisions.