As Galler’s roar died in his throat, he leaped backwards where he assumed the podium – or what was left of it, was placed as his old instincts bred from years of street fights took charge. The podium, which every church would usually have near the alter, would provide some measure of cover against the unknown abilities and strength of Heinser Gelbrich, while allowing for the stocky gnome to prepare a counterattack once his opponent made known his position. He stumbled backwards up some unexpected stairs, but at the same time he flicked his hands forwards, causing the wooden club-wielding men to jog silently into position in front of him.

However, a crunch of wood revealed to Galler that the dandy-man was not idle during the retreat, causing Galler to bite out a shocked curse as cold metal bit into his cheek. His ears strained for something, anything, that would provide a concrete answer to the most important question of all: the location of his enemy. It was not the first time that Galler cursed his lack of sight, a crippling disadvantage. The choking darkness that had replaced his vision not even a week ago yielded little in the form of information, forcing him to rely on only his hearing, smell, and what miniscule aid It would bother to send him. Still, Galler stood straight, flaring his nostrils and keeping his ears wide open, his followers directed to stand quietly. A scuff of leather shoes, this time to his left, caused Galler to whip around with a wordless shout; he directed a pair of orcs with a tap of his fingers to lunge towards it. Bare feet pounded across the stones as the two emotionless figures rushed to fulfil the order, but it was all in vain as their makeshift clubs rushed through empty air. Useless!

Definitely shoes. Galler reasoned, his palms held at the ready. None of my guys wear shoes. It ain’t me either. He went to the left then?

Galler shook his head, clearing his thoughts while his fingers danced on his palms to tell the men to spread out a bit while he sent a stocky dwarf edging towards the left to form a pincer movement with the orcs. Take it as it comes. Just like boss Tim or ol’ Bert would.

Another searing line of pain drew itself across Galler’s flesh, this time cutting straight through his outstretched palm.

Two small hits, both of them only flesh wounds. Is he playing with me, or just cautious? I don’t hear him breathing, so he’s far away. Small wounds mean small weapons or terrible aim. Daggers? Throwing knives? He must have shit accuracy if it’s that.

…

Fukin’ hell I want my eyes back.

Galler let out another foul curse as his mind raced to find the key to it all. There were just too many possibilities as to where the dandy man was; he couldn’t properly plan with this. He just had to pray he got lucky.

Then, Galler heard exactly what he had been waiting for. A small motion from the wall. The cool touch of stone brushing into his right ear. One by one syllables formed, muttered by the stony lips of the wall as it whispered to him. Bit by bit the stone revealed its secrets in a silky-smooth voice, mixed with such… terrible things. Things that made the gnome shudder in ecstasy-filled horror and bow down, feeling the wind rustle his hair from a small object flying by.

As the cold stone moved away from his ear, Galler understood. He saw. It was a cold room, lit by an unforgiving moon light warped into blasphemous patterns by the stained glass. He saw it through the very darkness that had become his reality.

It was a feeling of boiling lava rapidly approaching from the South.

It was the soft fabric suit of the shoeless dandy man as he approached Bert from the right.

It…

It…

Galler shrieked uncontrollably as he saw more.

It was the hungry wailing of the infant, a malnourished husk that could only be pitied.

It was the soothing embrace of the stinking mud, one that beckoned for Galler to sink into it like a mother’s embrace.

It was a swirling mass of teeming rats, consisting of so many yet lacking much.

The scorching hot sensation of a knife plunging into his ribcage instantly snapped Galler out of his waking nightmare, and he immediately lunged forwards to grapple with the suited man who had appeared as his vision had shown from the right. Galler’s fingers twitched, and a man without a bit of life in his eyes slammed an arms-length of wood into the back of the dandy man, who merely grunted and began to twist the small blade back and forth. The wailing of the infant increased in volume, becoming so loud that Galler felt a liquid begin to pour from his ears.

Yet, the stocky gnome continued to cling to the dandy-man’s waist like a starfish as he directed the strange collection of orcs, dwarves, and men around the pair to mercilessly assault the dandy-man without any noticeable effect. Splinters filled the air as the makeshift clubs battered themselves to pieces, causing Galler to wince as several wood shards embedded themselves quite deeply into his body. The dandy-man shifted his weight, gradually slipping his hands upwards as Galler put forth all the strength he could muster to stop the movement.

To the dandy-man’s horror, a gust of nearly unbearable heat filled the air behind them, and Galler smiled as he abandoned any semblance of planning, surging forwards to renew his grip with a rush of strength.

For Mavier had arrived, and the air shuddered under the weight of his mere presence.