St. Cristabel Esclanore prayed.

Half submerged in the hot spring; she held the struggling monsters beneath the surface. There was no light save for the barest sliver escaping lamps from the rooms above. Only shadows seemed to struggle in her grip. They thrashed beneath the water - regenerating - yet weakening by the heartbeat.

Desperate claws dully scraped one of her arms. No cry arose from her.

St. Cristabel Esclanore prayed.

The sound of running feet echoed from the hall. Her hands gripped tighter, crushing the monsters’ supernatural vigour. The steaming water churned.

“Stop!” a voice cried.

St. Cristabel Esclanore prayed.

Half a dozen masked men rushed into the bath chamber, brandishing torches and menacing blades curved like fangs.

The last verse of her prayer left her lips.

Her baleful eyes slowly levelled at them. “Why have you come?”

“Release the blessed ones or we end you!” one of the torch-bearers threatened.

The saint regarded them grimly. “You cannot offer terms to me. Lay down your arms and I shall see you bound and ready for the justice of those who hold these grounds sacred. Advance further and the death that awaits you will make you beg for the blade.”

“We fear not! Lycundar’s fury and brotherhood drives us, lamb!” the torch-bearer roared. “His children who fall will feed those who survive! Now die!”

Roaring, the men waded into the water - seeking to encircle the knight - their daggers poised.

“So be it.” Amitiyah’s tears sprang forth.

An ether poured over her body, shedding golden witch-light. To the saint, its scent was sweet as summer dew upon apple blossoms. To the masked men, it burned their nostrils as the strongest vitriol. They recoiled from the sudden iridescence, seeking to shield their eyes. Still, they strode forward.

“Sorceress!” one cried. “Forward, brothers! Before her magic can take us!”

It was this tactic that proved their end.

The submerged wolf-devils in her grip — quite nearly whole once more – went still in one final rush of bubbles.

Cristabel’s eyes widened. No sooner had their movements ceased, than did a transformation take them. Their bodies shrank as some fell power fled their flesh. Where once she held two monsters, she now gripped mere corpses of drowned men. Men who ran like hot wax upon the touch of Amitiyah’s tears.

It was clear how her grieving god judged them.

Rising from the pool, she strode toward the baths’ exit without a glance to her attackers. The tears of Amitiyah spread through the water in her wake. A golden pool broadened around her, lighting the chamber.

“Coward!” one cried. “Turn around and-”

Hsssss!

Words disintegrated into agonized screams. The masked men writhed, washing more clinging ether onto their flesh. Vitriol burned the air and lungs. Skin, fat and thew shuddered from the bone.

Their cries withered, dying away to a feeble whine.

As the saint marched from the water, only a low hissing remained in her aftermath.

She did not pause.

The light of Amitiyah heralded her passing.

All about was chaos. Though this hall lay empty, her surroundings echoed as a pitched battlefield. She heard blade strike flesh and bone. Folk screamed their last. Her frown deepened. Such a thing was not to be borne.

She broke into a run toward the wine room.

“Cowards!” came her roar. “Vile interlopers! You come in the night to slay those unarmed and unready!”

Rounding a corner, she rushed one of the entrances to the wine room. From within came the growl of beasts. She thanked Amitiyah that she could not hear the Spirit Killer’s scream among them.

A single robed man stood between her and her goal.

“Move aside!” she commanded.

He responded with a roar of challenge and thrust his dagger toward her. She caught him by the forearm. Her hand constricted.

Crunch! Hssssss!

The limb crumbled and the tears of her god burned the ruined appendage away until she held only a foul liquid against a spurting stump. He shrieked, and would have collapsed had she not caught him by the face. Another squeeze of her hand crumbled his skull like a walnut beneath a mammoth’s foot.

She charged toward the doorway.

The pack of devils surrounded Kyembe.

They rushed and snapped at him as though hounding a stag, yet the tall warrior was no panicked elk. He danced to the rhythm of battle, weaving through their lunges. His feet glided across the stones, and a mere twitch of his long legs cast him up onto a table.

A wolf-man charged after him.

Crack!

He drove his heel into its snout and - in a liquid movement - swept his body low, snatching a meat knife from the table. He drove it into the beast’s eye. A howl of anguish pierced the air and it reeled back, clutching at the blade.

The Sengezian dismounted the table with a backward hand spring.

A jaunty laugh boomed from his lips. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a prizefighter in the arenas of Salik. “Come!” He grinned. “Draw a cut on me! You shame wild dogs all through the world!”

The great black-coated beast growled in frustration and lunged for him. Another pair darted for his flanks. He dropped his body to the ground in a blink, catching himself on his fingertips and rolling beneath a table.

Crash!

The beasts collided mid-leap, collapsing in a tangled mass of limb, claw and rage.

He grinned, rolling to the other side of the table and kipping up to his feet. “And here I thought you wolves! Instead, I fight drunken monkeys!”

His blood sang from the thrill of combat. The beasts were quick and far stronger than he: a single claw or bite would rip his limbs asunder. Yet, the Spirit Killer had out-duelled demons with a dozen arms bearing swords that danced like daylight. He’d slipped out of the bone breaking grip of hulks like Eppon the Bear Breaker, and the severing claws of a Lord of Nightmares.

With room to move, he doubted they could catch him even if the battle lasted a day or a thousand days. To his frustration, though, he could not hurt them in turn. Their hide was as living iron and he had no true weapons to bring to bear. Any wound he inflicted would heal with a celerity that made him shudder.

A hellfire beam would finish them off, but whenever he concentrated on gathering his eldritch energies, they would be upon him with a desperate vengeance. They might act as beasts, but within their rage dwelled the intellect of humanity; they knew well what dangers his magic posed.

His ear cocked toward the stairs. From the sound of it, the Vestulai were making grim work of the masked men. They could join the fight soon but, armed as they were, they would be of little help against these beasts.

Something else would be needed to end this.

As if in response to his thoughts, a golden light began to emanate from one of the entrances. He heard a familiar cry that brought a tight grin to his lips. “Too bad for you,” he said to the wolves.

He ducked back behind a column and turned his eyes from growing light.

The saint came roaring into the chamber. She wielded the melting body of an interloper in one hand. The black-coated beast, having just risen from the pile, recoiled from the light.

While it flinched, St. Cristabel drew back her arm.

Whoosh!

She cast the hapless body into its chest.

Bang!

The impact sent the devil crashing through the tables to slam against one of the walls. Without pause, the knight roared and charged across the room, snatching up a chair by its leg. The wolf-man closest tried to swipe her with its claws, but she struck the limb aside and smashed the chair over its head.

Crash!

While it reeled, she seized its thick, hairy limb.

Hssss!

Vitriol burned its flesh. The creature howled, attempting to pull away, but it was caught as though it had wedged its arm into a mountain crevice. The knight’s thews, filled with inhuman power, gave a mighty twist and pull.

Riiip!

Its limb tore from the socket. The brute’s shrieks were ceaseless. Kyembe gaped.

“Filthy creature!” she cursed it. “Back into the cesspit with you!” Tossing the limb aside, she swept the mewling beast up in a bear hug. Her arms constricted.

Crunch! Hsssss!

Its ribcage caved inward and the tears of Amitiyah burned through its ruined body. Its anguish grew so loud that hysterical wails pierced half-dark elf ears. Vitriol filled the air, and the knight’s arms continued to close.

Crunch!

With a shudder, the devil fell in two liquefying halves. Yet, it clung onto life - the pieces writhing in a feeble struggle.

“Vile demons!” the knight growled. “How much does it take to end you? Is drowning the only way!?”

“Drowning and this! Cristabel! Move aside!” Kyembe leaped out, squinting against the light bleeding off of her. His ring flared.

“No! I have them!” she called, looking his way. “Protect yourse-”

She spotted the hungry light burning in his ring.

“-Oh.”

The knight leapt aside.

Vrooooosh!

A beam of hellfire surged forth - crackling through the air - and struck one half of the beast as it crawled toward reunion. Ravenous, it consumed the flesh and leapt to the other half, turning it to a cloud of white ash.

Kyembe directed his eldritch energies to slough away the burns on his arm.

“Brilliant!” Cristabel grinned, dropping into a low stance. Her arms spread wide. “I shall bring them down! You finish them!”

He smiled viciously. “I shall not be so ungracious to refuse a gift!”

Crumble.

The wreckage of a table shifted. The pack leader rose against the wall, regarding the cloud of ash and the two who stood against its pack. Its bestial eyes burned with an evil sentience and calculating thought.

Sniff. Sniff.

It gave a short bay. The rest of the pack froze, listening to its call. Kyembe and Cristabel prepared for their attack.

As one, they bounded. For the stairs.

“We cannot let them escape!” Kyembe raised his ring, filling it with power.

Vrooosh!

Hellfire leapt forth.

With a yelp, two were blasted to ash. Three remained. They made it halfway up the steps.

“Halt, cowards!” Cristabel roared, lifting a massive table above her head and hurling it across the wide chamber.

Whoosh!

It ploughed into one of the wolf-men, bringing it down. The devil tried to regain its feet, but Kyembe levelled his ring.

Vrooosh!

It burst into ash. He tried to gather his energy once more but the two remaining wolfmen - one being the black-coated beast - scrambled onto the balcony and disappeared down the hall.

“By the stars!” Kyembe shouted. “They could kill half of Paradise! We must stop them!”