Diomede was struck by Panagiot—one blow after another—each hit like a lightning bolt, both in speed and brutal force. The echoes of Diomede's groans and ragged breaths were thunderous, reverberating through the stone walls. The knights holding him pinned felt the tremors of each devastating strike vibrate painfully up their arms.
Behind Panagiot stood Clayton, rigid in attention, clutching the heavy book retrieved from storage. Each punch sent a chill down Clayton's spine, stirring a distant echo of dread—not unlike the terror the Gultonk's footsteps had carved into his mind the night before.
Francisco sat against the cold cell wall, silent prayers whispered to his god of poetry, begging for this torment to end.
Finally, Panagiot halted, stepping back with a grunt, peeling off his massive scarred helmet. His face was a map of battles long survived—deep gashes etched across his cheek, one nearly slicing ear to ear, a circular gouge like a cruel token on his right side. Bald, beardless, and utterly hairless, his eyes bore a cold, unyielding weight.
Clayton's gaze caught a faint scar peeking from beneath Panagiot's breastplate, trailing toward his neck. The warrior's presence was overwhelming—an unspoken warning etched into every line of his body.
Panagiot's voice cut the silence: "I have shattered your ribs, ruptured organs, caused internal bleeding."
A slow breath escaped him. "And yet… you still draw breath."
One of the knights gripped Diomede's braided hair, yanking his face up. The flickering torchlight revealed the cruel truth—barely any visible damage, only the illusion Francisco had woven to mask his rapid healing.
Panagiot's massive arm coiled, preparing to strike again—until the sharp toll of a bell shattered the air.
Footsteps thundered overhead.
A knight burst into the cell, breathless, shouting, "Sir! The village is under attack!"
Clayton surged forward, nearly knocking the man over. "What's happened? Who's attacking?"
Panagiot's voice was calm but steely as he fastened his helmet. "A Boarkar raid?"
"No, sir," came the urgent reply. "The dead—the dead are attacking the villagers."
Clayton's eyes widened in horror as he bolted up the stairs. Panagiot exhaled deeply but turned toward the prisoners, cold resolve settling like iron. "Kill them both. Follow undead protocols."
Francisco rose, dread sinking into his bones.
The knights grinned cruelly, cracking their knuckles. "Let's beat him some more before we burn the bodies. Get the blood flowing."
Diomede was yanked up by his collar, shoved against the wall. His eyes, sharp and burning, met the knight's beneath the helmet. "You can drop it now."
His voice was low but carried an unmistakable weight.
Francisco's shadow shimmered as he silently snuffed the torches—darkness swallowing the cell in an oppressive wave.
In the void, fear bloomed.
The knights' swords clattered as they fumbled blindly, their armored forms huddling together. The air grew heavy, thick with something unseen but deeply felt.
"What's happening?!" one knight hissed, panic cracking his voice. "Where is he?"
From the darkness came a voice—calm, cold, impossibly close.
"That… is fear. The kind you cannot outrun."
Their armor clattered, trembling under invisible pressure. The darkness shifted; two eerie orange eyes floated ahead, twin coals burning in the black.
"Monster…" one whispered.
Diomede's voice was deadly calm. "Yes. Plain and simple."
A savage, guttural gurgle echoed suddenly.
One knight screamed as something unseen yanked him into the abyss. The sound of his body hitting stone echoed, then silence.
The other knight's sword swung blindly, desperate.
Another thud. Then another.
Francisco squeezed his eyes shut, but the images burned behind his lids—shattered jaws, broken bodies, blood pooling cold and dark.
Diomede crouched over the fallen knight, wiping crimson hands on the man's cloak.
"What are you missing?" he asked Francisco.
Francisco's voice trembled. "My bag… they took it."
Diomede nodded. "We'll get it back. First, I need you."
Francisco's mind reeled. "Help? Why me?"
"A Boarkar princess is here," Diomede said. "I swore to find her. Your skills will keep her hidden. After tonight, I'll need your help even more."
Francisco swallowed hard. "And what do I get?"
Diomede's eyes flickered with something almost human. "Stories. Truths. And payment."
Francisco's lips curled into a shaky smile. "Deal."
The stairway ahead creaked with distant footsteps.
"Now or never."