Blood, blood, blood. Death, death, death. Hacking, slashing, smashing, cracking, and gashing. Blood, blood, guts, and gore. Death for the Death God, more, more, more. Lives long lasting, hacked down, breath escapes their lungs, they had their time, now, death has begun.

  Rigor Mortis stampeded through the bone streets, wasting no time on completing his duties to his God. Slaves, dour citizens, and black cloaked soldiers alike all met their fate at his axe. They were unprepared for the onslaught of death, and they paid the price of their egotistical existence with their lives. Long overdue, they paid the ultimate price.

  The narrow streets were made of bones lashed together, glued, and cemented into place. Bone buildings lined the streets that veered off into the Basilica grounds. Lampposts gleamed with faint light, insects zipped around the light, staying away from the flames. Anyone in the streets now, slave and citizen alike, were terrified by the assault.

  They fled from him, screaming into the night, running to the chapel at the end of the road for safety; Rigor’s final destination. He inhaled through his nose; the stench of death and blood brought him a rush of strength and resolve. His muscles ached for more death. His body yearned for more combat. It is what he was made for.

  Alaz ran from woman to woman, slave and dark citizen alike, checking their faces, “Calypso? Calypso? Mother!” She shouted out amongst the chaos. Her cries fell upon deaf ears. Her mother had to be here somewhere, even though her gut told her that the chapel is what held her mother prisoner.

  Rigor and Alazandrae faced the chapel illuminated in the night sky, looming over them like the Tower of Babel, and as the Tower of Babel, it too would fall. They would make sure of it.

  A group of Black Guard came rushing to the scene, marching two by two, six deep. Unlike the guards at the gate, these were organized and ready. They peeled off breaking left and right until they made a blockade across the bone laden street. They held swords, poleaxes, and large war hammers, ready to inflict damage on the invaders.

  Alaz dipped behind Rigor, “Ya got this, right? I’ll just get in the way.” She peeked around his large frame at the soldier standing in their way. There was no way to get around them now, she would wait until Rigor engaged them, then she could sneak around and find out where her mother was and take her away from this godforsaken place. She stepped back, putting distance between the combatants. She didn’t want to get roped into this fight.

  The Black Guard’s ebony robes fluttered in the wind as they began to circle round Rigor, trying to surround him. The Death Knight bent down and grabbed a leg of a slave corpse. He hacked the leg off and held it in his left hand. Before the group could get halfway around him, he whipped the leg out at the guard to his left, rushing the right side with his axe.

  Boots slammed down against the bones as Rigor rammed into the first guard, slamming his haft into the guard’s chest with both hands. The guard let out a groan as the air was forced from his lungs. Rigor swung upwards and smashed into the guard’s chin, bits of teeth spewed forth from under his black hood. The Death Knight grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him towards him, turning as another Black Guard charged from behind. Rigor smashed their heads together in a violent nature. Blood erupted from their noses, spraying down the front of their black robes. Rigor turned and threw his axe at the oncoming Black Guard. It twirled in midair before smashing into his chest, cutting clean through his ribcage. He flew to the ground with a hard thump. The other Black Guards came rushing over his body to avenge their fallen brethren.

  Rigor grabbed the two staggered guards by their heads, pulling them back before ramming them together again, crushing their skulls together in a pulp of bone and brains. They crumpled to the ground.

  Thick swishing cut through the air, and a hammer crashed down on Rigor’s back, sending him rolling across the bone street. The guards descended upon him, crashing their weapons down on his armor. Thick dings rang out with each hit. He covered his head with one hand as a boot came crashing down on him. He reached out to the nearest leg, gripping it with all his might, his fingers sinking deep into the flesh.

  The Black Guard grunted in pain, ready to smash his poleaxe haft down into Rigor, but he lost balance as his ankle was pulled crushed into a pulp. Rigor ripped the poleaxe from his hands and swung it out, pushing back the guards. They regrouped in front of him as he stood, his chest heaving, blood pumping like a raging river through his veins. He stamped down on the wounded guard’s head, crushing it into the street. He hadn’t had a fight like this in centuries. He was invigorated now, ready to prove his prowess in battle against these warriors.

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  There were eight guards left now. Eight more times to prove his worth to Necroth. Eight more lives to snuff out. Rigor puffed his chest out, slamming his breastplate with his fist. He let out a deep, rumbling roar that rattled the ears of the guards, extending all the way to the chapel.

  The Bone Doctor’s head shot up from the altar, slowly turning to the doors of his chapel. A shiver shot down his spine. This was no ordinary Death Knight. For the first time since he started his path to godhood, he felt a shred of doubt in his mind.

  …

  Alaz took the intense battle as her opportunity to sneak past the guards, heading deeper into the Basilica. She passed housing and slave pens, all alike, all made of bone. The streets were empty now, not a person was roaming about. It was a ghost town.

  A voice called out to her from a nearby home, “You bes’ be getting’ along now, don’t want to be out when the children come.” A black man was rocking in a grotesque chair on his porch, a banjo in his hands. He peered at her through his dark-tinted glasses, “They don’t care where they meat comes from, they only care that it’s fresh.”

  “Where is Calypso, my mother? Where does the Bone Doctor keep the women? Tell me!” Alaz pleaded with the man, “Answer me, please!”

  He stood, grabbing his cane, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He entered his house, slamming the door shut before she could get an answer from him.

  “Dammit!” Alazandrae looked around, but nothing stirred. What did he mean by ‘the children?’

  …

  Rigor Mortis lifted the poleaxe like a harpoon, launching it straight through the oncoming Black Guard’s chest, punching a ragged hole through his abdomen. A trail of intestines came racing out behind him as the poleaxe soared down the street, clattering down against the bone roadway. Mortis rushed forward, taking a sword swing from a guard. It slammed against his arms, rupturing the black metal plate there. He grabbed the loose intestines and whipped them back around the swordsman’s neck, and pulled tight.

  The Black Guard gurgled and gasped for air as he was strangled down, more hits glancing off Rigor’s armor until he dropped the strangled soldier. Another hammer crashed against his chest, launching him backwards into a pile of brain and blood. He rolled to his feet, his hand grasping his axe in the dead guard beside him. He ripped it out, ready to dish out the rest of his penance.

  His armor was beaten and scratched now. Dents filled his breastplate and broken chain links clattered about the street as he moved. It was of no matter. Armor could be repaired, but his mission could only be completed by victory over the guards.

  A guard rushed him, swinging his hammer at Rigor’s head, hoping to put down the Death Knight once and for all. Rigor side stepped, twisting around, and bringing the full force of his axe through the Black Guard’s back, severing his spine at his hips. The man screamed out, toppling forwards, his body landing atop his legs, his guts spilling to the road.

  Two more guards rushed him from behind, one stabbing through the exposed chainmail, cutting into Rigor’s flesh, the other attack smashed down on his head, his helmet ringing like a bell. He grabbed the sword and ripped it out, punching the man in the nose with the sword’s hilt. The guards reeled back and Rigor slammed the blade down his throat, kicking him in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

  Blood gushed from under Rigor’s armor, his own blood. The last four men circled him.

  “The beast bleeds. We can kill it.” A Black Guard chuckled out to his comrades, “For the Bone Doctor!”

  They came in for another pass, all four pushing in at once. Rigor took a deep breath, tasting the iron from his blood as it rushed up into his mouth. He spat the wad of crimson ichor from underneath his helm, gazing sternly at the men rushing in. He twisted his hands on his axe, gripping it tight as he swung with all his might, arcing the axe around in a large circle. Blades pierced his busted chainmail, stabbing into his flesh. A hammer cracked down on his shoulder as a poleaxe glanced across his pauldron.

  He took a deep breath, spitting more blood out. The men dropped to the floor, their heads flew through the air, and landed about the street. One landed near a stable of emaciated horses, they cried into the night, reeling back at the object rolled into their stall.

  Rigor dropped to one knee, holding himself up on his axe, his chest heaving up and down. His hand touched the blood pool around him. The red liquid drifted up his arm, twirling around his muscles before disappearing under his breastplate. Wounds began to heal, albeit slowly now. The blood of the Black Guard was defiled by strange magics. He would need some fresh blood to heal fully. There was not time to seek it out.

  He stood tall, his chest puffed out. Victory was his. Now it was the Bone Doctor’s turn.

  …

  Alazandrae jerked in fright as she heard some rustling nearby. Something small, like a child was huddled in the shadows of an abandoned bone building’s doorway. The door swung back and forth on the breeze, creaking with each swing. It thudded against the child, swinging back open again.

  Alaz felt sorry for the child stuck here in this Basilica of hell. “Are ya lost? Are ya okay? I won’t hurt ya. Come one out.” She took a step towards the child, her hand held out for it to take.

  Its small eyes gleamed in the faint light as it watched her get closer.

  This was the last place a child should ever be, “Come with me. Ya free now.” She gave a reassuring smile to coax the kid out. She remembered the words of the man from before. The children.

  She froze as the child stepped out of the shadows and she gasped. The thing wasn’t a child, but a grotesque creature. It licked its lips. Its eyes hungry. It ready to feast.