The basement shook with the sound of screams. The smell of blood and smoke seeped up the stairwell.
Father Bernard stirred, his eyelids fluttering open as the roar tore through the air again. His face drained of color. "No… impossible."
The crucifix in his hand pulsed weakly, as though mocking his failure. With trembling strength, he thrust it into the captain's chest.
"Take it," Bernard rasped. "Give this to Sister Miriam. She must wield it now."
The captain stared at him in disbelief. "Father, you're in no state to"
"Do as I say!" Bernard's voice cracked with exhaustion. He shoved the crucifix harder. "If I fall, the light must live on in her hands. I chose her as my successor."
"Put me down." Father Bernard asked the guard who was carrying him.
"Father..."
"Drop me, boy! My task is not finished!" His eyes blazed with a stubborn.
The guard froze, torn between obedience and fear, but slowly bent to lower him to the ground. Bernard's legs quivered, barely able to hold him upright.
The captain grabbed his arm, desperate. "Father, you go back down there and it's suicide! That thing—it isn't bound anymore. It slaughtered seasoned men. No blessing will hold against it!"
Another roar bellowed from the basement.The screams below cut off into silence, one after another.
Father Bernard's lips tightened into a grim line. "Then I will go where God commands me, even unto death."
He reached out, gripping the captain's arm. "Protect the sisters. Deliver the crucifix to sister Miriam. Let the main church know that I chose her personally and make sure that the Richard boy leaves here as fast as you can. Evacuate the orphanage now. That is an order."
The captain's jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, but the weight of Bernard's gaze, the conviction of a man ready to die, left no room for defiance.
Below, something heavily slammed against the basement door.
The surviving guards drew their swords again, their faces pale in the dim light.
"Saints preserve us…" one whispered.
And in the dark stairwell, Father Bernard straightened his back, his voice breaking into low prayer.
The captain burst through the chapel doors.Behind him, Sister Agnes and Sister Miriam still lay unconscious in the arms of two men.
"Evacuate the orphanage!" the captain barked, his voice echoing through the vaulted chamber. "Now! Ready about the carriage for the boy! Make haste!"
The stationed guards jolted into action, pulling children from pews and herding them toward the exits.
Confusion swelled, cries of panic rising as little hands clutched for guidance.
Then it came, a roar, rolling like thunder from the woods behind the building. The stones themselves seemed to shudder.
The captain's face hardened. "Not enough time", he murmured.
He strode across the floor, seized Richard by the arm, and all but dragged him to the waiting carriage. "You ride. Now." With swift precision, he heaved Richard inside, then ordered the unconscious sisters lifted beside him.
The horses stamped nervously, sensing the terror building behind them.
"Go!" he roared at the driver, slapping the carriage frame.
But the children, so many still huddled, wide-eyed, clutching each other, remained. Captain stopped the carriage, headed towards the youngest guard among them, little more than a boy, tears streaking down his cheeks. His sword hand trembles.
The captain strode toward him, ripping the bronze badge from his shoulder. He pressed it into the youth's palm, closing his fist over it.
"Listen to me," the captain growled, kneeling to meet his eyes. "You will ride on that carriage. Do not look back. You will go to the Church in the city and place this badge into the hands of the High Council. Tell them Father Bernard fell fighting the devil, that the orphanage is lost, and beg them for reinforcements."
The boy shook his head, sobbing. "C-captain, the children—what about them?!"
The roar came again, closer—too close. Glass in the chapel windows trembled, dust falling from the rafters.
The captain's hand tightened on the boy's shoulder, his own eyes shadowed with grief. "Do not waste our sacrifice. You have the potential to be a greatest soldier. Eat and grow, become strongest. Go"
The boy nodded through tears, clutching the badge to his chest, then bolted into the carriage. The wheels lurched into motion, rattling across the cobbled yard as the terrified steeds broke into a gallop.
Behind him, the captain turned to face the trembling children, sword ringing as he drew it once more. His men, what few remained, fell into line beside him.
His voice was steady, carrying over the frightened breaths of his soldiers. "Brothers, hear me. We will not leave. That thing outside, it's the devil itself, and it comes for the children. Our lives are already forfeit, but our blades can still buy them time to flee. So stand tall. Stand as shields of the Church. If we are to die tonight, then let us die as men who held the line as I am Roderic Ashford, Guard Captain for Father Bernard whom I left behind to die But I will not abandon these children. I will not abandon this fight. Stand with me now, brothers... and let our deaths buy them life."
Roderic's voice rang through the orphanage yard, his words heavy as steel, "…and let our deaths buy them life."
For a heartbeat, silence hung, the kind that pressed on the chest. Then one guard slammed his fist to his breastplate, another lifted his sword high. A ragged chorus swelled into a thunderous roar—defiance, fear, and courage tangled into one.
The roar shook the walls, not unlike Elias's earlier howl, but this was no monster's cry. This was the cry of men who had already embraced death, choosing to stand their ground.
Roderic whispered under his breath, more prayer than command:
"Saints guard us. If nothing else, let them reach the city."
The ground trembled before the orphanage gates, From the shadows of the trees emerged Elias—no longer a boy, but the beast.
His fur, matted with gore, Muscles rippled beneath his hulking frame as he loomed nearly twice the height of any man. In his right hand, clutched like a trophy, dangled the severed head of Father Bernard.
Blood dripped in slow, steady streams, pattering against the dirt. Elias lifted the grisly prize high before slamming it to the ground with a sickening crunch.
A guttural growl tore from his throat, reverberating like thunder through the night. His eyes, burning coals of hatred, fixed on the row of soldiers standing defiantly in front of the orphanage gates.
Captain Roderic stood at the center. His men, shaken but unyielding, tightened their formation beside him. Spears leveled. Shields raised. Not one of them moved back, though every instinct screamed to run.
"Men!" Roderic's voice boomed over the growls and snarls, steady despite the terror clawing at his heart. "Behind us are children who must live. Before us is death. If this is where we fall, then let it be said—we stood our ground against the devil himself."
The beast's claws scraped against the stone as it stepped closer, its shadow swallowing their whole. The soldiers roared back, a defiant cry against despair.
And then Elias charged.