Twenty footsteps followed behind the winded Gillium.

  “This way!”

  Twenty bouncing magical candles cast light within the dark. The magic that suppressed noises could do little to contain the slapping of weapons against thighs, and the clinking of ringed mail bouncing with every hurried step taken by that platoon.

  He shoved through the door with a single push this time around and took the stairs up to the hatch that had let him and Jein fall down just ten minutes before. A quick knock on the hatch, and it pushed open, and Gillium was the first one out in the open. As soon as he stepped into the alleyway, he saw someone standing at the entrance. He was dressed in clothes that concealed his identity, and carried with him a silvery whistle hung around his neck. The remnants of the Bottled Fog still clung to the air. Gillium crawled out of the hatch and held his hand down within it to stop the others from coming up as he crept along the walls towards the man at the end of the alley. He drew a throwing knife and quickly closed the distance between him and the man. It wasn't until Gillium had entered the fog that he was noticed. The man’s hand raced towards the whistle hanging on his neck, and Gillium pounced, plunging the point of the short knife into the man’s throat.

  “Come on.” He whispered loudly.

  And the Twenty poured out.

  A few took to the roofs: those armed with bows, wands, and staves, and the rest stayed on the ground level. Gillium led them through the town. The city guard was already rushing to the scene. The owners of the apothecary and smithy both had evacuated, and the fight continued. One of the guards approached Gillium as both groups neared the scene where the demon was summoned.

  “Halt! Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  “We’re from the Church! We confronted some Carollins earlier in this alley. One of them summoned a Demon, and I left to get reinforcements.”

  “Is that so?”

  The soldier turned to face his others and nodded.

  “Hail Carro!” The Soldier spoke.

  Gillium’s hand reached for his sword, and his arm for his cloak. Whenever that phrase was uttered, it was to trigger a set of explosive runes engraved on the bodies of every cultist recruited: the Demon Lord of Subterfuge did not enjoy having his name spoken so openly by his followers; so as a fail safe, in case they were captured, Carrolians would often utter it.

  “Hail Carro!” Another responded in the crowd of soldiers.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Gillium’s feet left the ground as a fiery blast exploded out of both of those guards that spake. A shrill scream hissed through his ears, and the world spun. The squadron of the city guard that had come were decimated: more than ten of the thirty or so were killed in the initial blast that left the stones and walls scorched. Bits of men and armor were torn asunder and tossed every which way in meaty chunks. If it weren’t for the enchantments inlaid within his robes and armor, Gillium, too, would have met the same fate. The

  Twenty, however, was reduced to nineteen: as one, an Acolyte, who hadn’t yet been granted the enchanted robes and armor of the more advanced clergy. A piece of bone from the man who had approached Gillium was stuck within his throat, and blood fell upon the ground in heavy floes.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The explosion must have been a signal. Arrows, javelins, darts, and magical bolts fell out of nearby windows, and from the roofs as spells of concealment were undone. About six of the remaining guards turned on the others: slaying those who struggled to stand, and attacking the Twenty. The sound of continued combat spilled out of the alley, and the shadow of the Warlock’s summon could be seen as a black stain on the ground. Laithe’s life was at stake, and Gillium had to hurry.

  One of the guards approached Gillium with a downward stroke of his sword. Gillium caught the blow with the flat side of his sword, grabbed the man’s blade in his armpit, and disarmed him with a hard yank. The man spun and fell to the ground, and Gillium finished him off with a quick stab through the throat. He choked and sputtered as his red blood stained the gray stone.

  The Window of the World opened up for Gillium in that moment:

  Apostate Slain +10 XP (Paladin Adept)

  “We need a few people to get into the buildings!” Barret, one of the Twenty, approached and raised his shield to block the blow of a mace that was aimed at the back of Gillium’s head. “Flush the ranged out!”

  Their own ranged units were fighting for control of the high ground. Arrows skittered off with white sparks from the hastily set wards that cracked with every loosed arrow and thrown dart. A magic bolt had struck one of the clergymen who had yet to set up his wards: the thatch on the roof bound together, wrapped around his throat, and yanked him off the roof, leaving him kicking and struggling off the side of the roof. One of the others up there tried to cut him free, but caught an arrow in his back. He rolled off the roof and slammed against the ground. And just like that, the number was reduced to 17. Due to their positioning, set within a narrow road between two of the buildings where the

  “Take five for each of the buildings here,” Gillium motioned to those on either side of him, “And take control of them.”

  “Yes, Advent.” Barret saluted and fell back after shoving the mace-wielding traitor of a guard back a step.

  Gillium followed up by driving the point of his blade into the Carrolin’s face.

  Apostate Slain….

  Barrett selected five and rushed into the building. Another five rushed into the other. They would not find a single living resident within those walls. Men, women, and children were all slain by the cultists within. Gillium, meanwhile, picked up a shield dropped by one of the dead guards, and held it out in front of him as he dug through his satchel and pulled out a pair of rounded bottles filled with an alchemical mixture that gleamed with a carnelian glimmer, and he stepped out into the intersection where the fighting between the guards and the undercover Carrolins were fighting for deer life.

  Arrows slammed against their armor. Magical bolts skittered off and slammed into the ground, cracking stone as they did so. One. Two. Three. He stepped up the stairs and led those behind him up the steps. Arrows and magical bolts fell upon the ranged Cultists on the roofs, but they had wards set up already for that; did they have one for a Bottled Inferno? As he crested the last step, he tossed the first of the alchemical mixture.

  It caught the setting sun and amplified its orange glow as it slammed against the corner of the building. A flaming pillar rose up, and it quickly spread to the thatch underneath those on the roof. Quickly, they scampered like roaches revealed by the sun: as they left the small radius protected by their wards, the church’s archers took aim and drove the wind from their lungs with a well-placed volley. They fell from the roofs, dead or dying. Gillium tossed the other. The fire burned so hot and fast that the rafters of the apothecary were already in the process of being consumed as the second left his hand and slammed into the second building. The apostates tried to scramble from the windows of the burning buildings, but they were waylaid by the church's arrows and magic. The roof collapsed and crushed anything within.

  “Push into the street! Kill all the Carrolins!”

  The remaining clergymen pushed out onto the street. Steel clashed against steel. Red, hot blood stained the gray stone. Fire spat to life in the buildings across from them, as choking billows of black smoke fled into the setting day like a flock of dark and ravenous birds.

  Five of the twenty followed Gillium into the alley. Around their necks each wore a Holy Sigil of the Seven — a pyramid with a single line coming in through its apex, and seven lines coming from its bottom. Gillium stopped as he saw the demon.

  It was large and thin. Cloven hoofs cracked and scorched the ground underneath it. Midnight colored fur covered its body; aside from a white tuft upon its chest, which exuded a never-ending stream of smoke. A pair of violet horns, with orange, smoldering tips, extended out from its forehead. Its arms were so long, and even as it stood to its full height — where the tips of its horns competed with the top of the thatched, multistory roofs on either side, its knuckles still dragged against the ground. The warlock, its summoner, was gone completely.

  Leith was the only one standing among the three who stayed behind to allow Gillium and Jein to escape. A golden aura surrounded him in a protective orb, as the Demon swung its massive arms downwards. Leith raised his shield, and the orb spat white light as it repelled the demonic brute.

  Blood rolled down his forehead from a cut, and one of his arms hung slack to his side. Benoit’s body was half buried in the ground: as if driven into it, as if he were a stake, and Gimel, the Guard who took the squad’s leader, was still laid out within the wattle-and-daub house against which he was thrown. It was only then that he saw that the monster’s horns had torn the man’s stomach open.

  “Brother..” Leith managed to smile, just as the creature’s fist crashed down on the dome of energy again.

  The monster cast one of its black, glowing eyes back at the approaching men. Its charcoal gaze gleamed with hatred as the Ritual of Sealing began.