The group’s mood turned decidedly upbeat as they trudged the last few kilometers of their journey through a final orange rock and dust biome. Basically a desert, but more dust. Their destination was already in sight and thoughts of clean baths and cooked food danced through their minds, cheering them up after the long, exhausting slog.

Rita had even caught the normally serious Samual smiling. Once.

It was hard to believe that she had only been alive for… what was it? Two days? Three days? Four? She wasn’t sure. It was hard to keep track with the sun constantly blazing gently from above. And in that time, she’d already dealt with hordes of things trying to kill her and at least one existential crisis. But she’d also made friends.

They were friends, right? Friends who tried to kill her when she first met them, but still! And now she was going to meet new people who would hopefully not try to kill her at first sight.

But let’s see… If she calculated like the locals, she’d slept once when she’d met Gora and the others, once after they’d left the Tree and then a quick nap before they’d left the city zone… did that count? Did that count as another day or just a catnap? Maybe she’d ask Gora later. After she finished her story.

“… and then, right at the edge of the Wilderness Zone, they ran into a messenger. Apparently the rich merchant who’d bankrolled the whole expedition had gone bankrupt due to all of the additional recruitment and funeral costs and there would be no further payments. The news spread like wildfire and before the new expedition leader could even make a decision what they were going to do next, some of the labourers pulling the cart already started deserting. At that point, the whole thing just sort of fell apart and soon all that was left was a giant wagon with a broken axle and fading reinforcement enchantments holding a massive chunk of Otherstone.”

At Rita’s pressing, she’d spent the last bit regaling them with the story of how Triskellion Outpost had come to be. Apparently, it was a story often told in Delver taverns after a couple of beers, usually with a number of embellishments depending on how drunk the teller was. People had been raiding this particular Nightmare for building materials for centuries, but this had been the single largest piece that anyone had ever tried to take out.

“So after going through all the effort of getting his giant wagon specially designed and enchanted, after surviving not one, but two Rock-Gibber ambushes and getting their initial expedition leader eaten, after fighting off an entire Morakkin swarm, what eventually sinks the venture? The power of money.” Gora snorted. “Nobody knew what to do with the thing after that, so the Guild managed to pick it up for a song. They built Triskellion Outpost right where it had been left, in honour of the fallen leader.”

It had been an interesting tale, even if the arc of it had been a bit familiar. Rich merchant tries to buy the unpurchasable just to show off, gets it half delivered, then runs out of money. Third party picks it up cheap. Honestly, it was a story as old as auctions themselves. Cost overruns were a bitch, no matter which world you were in.

“And the stone around it? Where did that come from?” Rita asked curiously, gesturing towards the large, smooth stone that formed the lower part of the structure. Honestly, to her it looked more impressive than the rather plain looking cement and steel building resting on top of it. As if the stone had liquified and had been molded into shape by a pair of divine hands.

“Oh that? That’s just ordinary mage-stone. You’ll see a ton of that back in Grailmane,” Gora replied.

“The technical term is ‘Spell-Shaped-Flowstone’, “Zaxier interjected sleepily, only a single eye half open. He’d been napping on Bob’s shoulder. “Using spellcraft, stone deep underneath the earth is softened and pulled upwards to form the smooth shapes you see there. Only commoners call it ‘mage-stone’.”

“Yeah? Well I’m as common as they come, Cat,” Gora chuckled.

“Hmph, hardly,” Zaxier snorted. It sounded like a bit like a kitty sneeze. “I did my research before I elected to join this companionship. In certain circles you are considered a form of minor royalty.”

“Royalty?” Rita said, surprised. Images of huge, muscular Gora wearing a princess outfit rose unbidden in her head.

“Only by the very loosest definition. And trust me when I say those are not good circles to be considered royalty in,” Gora rumbled, a note of warning in her voice, “so just forget about it, okay? Besides, Mum would never shut up about it if she heard someone calling her ‘royalty’.” She raised her arm and waved at someone standing on top of the building in front of them.

“Who’s that?” Rita asked, filing away Gora’s royalness for later discussion, suddenly nervous at the idea of meeting new people. Who totally weren’t going to try to kill her.

“Not sure, can’t make out at this distance,” Gora replied, still smiling. “Probably Forak, they usually have him up there on lookout duty. He’s got good eyes.”

Rita tried to focus on the figure at the top, but all that she could make out were what appeared to be two horn-like protrusions on his head.

“Is everyone here a demon, like you?” she asked Gora.

Gora gave a short, deep laugh.

“Hardly! Unless they’ve been recruiting while I was away, I’m the only Cambion in the Guild. Why?”

“Oh. Because the guy up there looks like he has horns or something.”

“Horns? Oh! Yeah, that must be Forak. He’s an Awlin. Those are ears. I think,” Gora replied, looking thoughtful. “Either ears or some kind of crest. Don’t think I’ve ever asked him. Anyway, Awlin have feathers on their heads that…”

As Gora talked, movement caught Rita’s eye. Bob had turned around and was walking backwards, waving at someone behind them. Behind and above.

Her eyes widened as she followed Bob’s gaze, up into the sky…

She had just enough to time to shout “Look out!” before a glowing light smashed into the ground ahead of them, throwing up a cloud of dust and obscuring the Outpost from view.

When it settled, another Inquisitor was standing in front of them. It wasn’t the same one as last time. The faceplate of his helm had a different configuration. From up close, Rita could see that his softly glowing armour was intricately detailed with delicate religious iconography etched into the plate and shaped into the lines and flows of the armour itself. It almost looked like a decorative piece, if it wasn’t for the outstretched feathery wings on his back and the blazing frickin’ sword in his hand making him look like some kind of avenging angel.

When he spoke, however, his voice sounded youthful and cocky, like a teenage boy that had been handed the keys to his dad’s sports-angel and was now just looking for something to smite.

“Found you, heathens!”

“Did you truly believe you could escape the gaze of the almighty Mitla?” the Inquisitor said, flourishing his burning weapon, white flames dancing along its length. Rita was pretty sure that if he had been able to see his face she would have seen him sneering. It sounded like he was sneering.

“Are these guys like, some kind of angel or something?” Rita asked, staring at the wings. They were bright and cast a light that made the hair on the back of her legs stand up, which was about as weird a feeling as you would imagine.

“No, thank the gods. Angels have a better sense of where their meddling isn’t welcome,” Gora grumbled under her breath. Then she called out: “Hey, you there! Yeah you with the feather dusters stuck to your back. This is Grailmane territory. State your business.”

“My business is Mitla’s business,” the Inquisitor had a melodic voice, but sounded a bit hollow, coming from his armor. Like a tenor in a barbershop quartet singing through a tin can. It was a sound at odds with the obvious contempt in his voice. “His works are not restrained by arbitrary mortal boundaries. Not that heathens like you would comprehend.”

In fact, if Rita had to hazard a guess, he sounded a bit smug.

“Then let me rephrase,” Gora rumbled, hand resting on the hilt of her blade. “You’re trespassing. What do you want?”

The knight folded his wings behind his back, where they faded and disappeared. Then he pointed his flaming sword directly at Samual who had already drawn his own weapon. He hefted his shield and narrowed his eyes in response.

“Heretic…”

Then he moved to point it at Ava, who flinched.

“Blasphemer…”

At Zaxier, where he was still perched on Bob’s shoulder, back arched and whispering something in his ear.

“Abomination…”

Then at Gora.

“Demon…”

And finally, he pointed it at Rita, who just skittered around uncomfortably as she finally managed to get her spear off of her back.

After an uncomfortable, puzzled pause, he continued: “And I’m not sure what you are, but I am certain Mitla abhors you as much as he does the rest of you.”

What? The weirdo night-light knight didn’t even know who she was? Then why the hell had he followed them all the way out here? Weren’t there other people for him to harass?

“In Mitla’s eyes, you all deserve death. But in His infinite mercy He has decreed that your punishment may be belayed this day so that you may find redemption,” he continued on. “As your first step towards absolution, all that you must do is to decide amongst yourselves who among you has sinned the worst and hand them over to me for punishment. Or, if you are really eager to show your contrition, you may execute them yourselves, I suppose.”

Gora immediately took a step forward. “No. Get lost,” she stated, simply.

“Would you let this demon doom you all?” he said, speaking to the rest of the group. “She seems like she is clearly the most evil of your group, would you not agree? Come, there is no reason for you all to perish if she is clearly willing to die regardless.”

In that moment, Rita understood. If they agreed to his terms, it proved how ‘lesser’ they were in his eyes, willing to turn on each other to save their own skin. If they refused it, well, then they spurned his mercy and surely deserved to be punished. Either way, he justified his cruel brand of ‘justice’ to himself. Redemption be damned, this was nothing but sadistic bullying!

“I’m with the demon… er, Cambion!” she exclaimed, rather to her own surprise. “We’re not handing anyone over so go fuck yourself!” she shouted, leveling her spear at him in what she hoped was a threatening display.

“A pity. Even when granted unfathomable mercy you insist…” he started, his sword glowing brighter, before he suddenly yanked it upwards, just barely managing to intercept Samual’s mace as a blow came flying in from the side. It struck with a loud ‘clang’ sound that reverberated against the stone walls of the Outpost, blew Rita’s hair back and knocked Bob off balance so that he fell on his ass, sending Zaxier tumbling out of his basket.

While they had been talking, Samual had edged along the side and rushed him when he believed he had an opportunity. The knight, however, looked like he had not budged an inch. Quick as a flash, he retaliated with his own strike, pushing Samual back before his flaming blade roared as it smashed into his shield, sending him staggering back several steps.

Gora also charged forward as well, raising her own freakish blade in a two-handed overhead blow what could probably cleave a boulder in half. In a supernatural burst of blurred movement, the knight dashed towards her, shoulder first, before she could bring down her weapon. With a pulse of light as he shoulder-checked her, Gora was sent sprawling backwards, skidding across the ground until she slid to a stop next to Rita, smoking gently from several burns across her front.

Ava fired a barrage of black magic darts from behind Rita in retaliation that splashed harmlessly against his armour, but forced him to raise his free arm to cover the slits in his visor. He turned to face them.

All of that in less than five seconds. It was at this point that Rita’s brain finally caught up to the fact that the fighting had started.

She thrust out with her spear as he stepped closer, trying to keep him at bay. He ignored it, letting the bladed tip scrape harmlessly across his armour. His return blow forced Rita to skitter backwards to avoid it. The wash of heat nevertheless felt like standing in front of an oven. What the hell was this guy?

Before he could take another step, Samual body-slammed him in the side with a loud clang, sending them both sprawling and rolling across the dust. They kept trying to hit each other even as they tumbled, their blows kicking up plumes of dust and sand until they were both barely visible.

Rita jerked as she felt a large hand close around her shoulder. Gora. She looked like she’d seen better days, with several nasty looking burns on her face and arms. Her clothes were untouched, however. Something about the Inquisitor’s power specifically affected her exceptionally hard.

“Don’t just attack alone. Wait for me to make a move, then come at him from the side,” she growled.

“My spear is garbage! I can barely get through skin, how am I supposed to get through steel armour, nevermind whatever crazy magical stuff that guy has?” Rita complained.

“Aim for the joints, idiot, even I know that,” Ava snapped from behind her. She looked tired, but determined, her black orb in her hand and her flying croc-headed snake taking form next to her.

“Yes, that,” Gora added, “but it doesn’t matter if you manage to get through. We’re just keeping him busy for Zaxier.”

As Rita glanced back, she saw Zaxier climb his way up Bob’s pant leg, much to the poor boy’s distress. Those claws were sharp. Ouch. Her cat had done that before.

Rita nodded and tried desperately to remember the correct grip for her spear like Samual had taught her as she and Gora faced the cloud of dust.

The whole thing seemed to be lit up from within by an eerie glow. They could still hear the sound of fighting coming from inside, the reverberation of metal striking metal and feet scuffling across the loose ground, but with the sand in the way they had no way to know who was winning. Loud crashes coincided with flares of light gave them brief glimpses of two figures inside the dust, locked in battle.

They approached slowly, weapons at the ready, when suddenly, with the sound of screeching metal, a shape burst from the dust cloud, hurtling towards them. Rita had just enough to give a frightened yelp and lift her spear out of the way to avoid failing to skewer Samual before he struck the ground right in front of them in a heap.

She lowered herself down next to him. He was alive, but barely. The front of his chest plate was marred by a jagged, scorched tear. There was no blood, but thin wisps of smoke curled from the hole. The air smelled like burnt flesh.

He wasn’t moving.

Oh shit, did she know any first aid? Turn him so that doesn’t choke on his saliva? Apply pressure to the wound? Don’t move him in case he injured his neck? Various half-remembered medical instructions flitted through her head as she crouched there, paralyzed by indecision. What was she supposed to do!?

Then Ava also fell to her knees next to Samual. “I got him, you help Gora!”

“Can you heal him?” Rita asked.

“I told you, I’m a Necromancer, not a healer. But I can stop him from dying! Now go!”

Rita nodded. Ava was right. A little unorthodox, but she was the closest thing they had to medical expertise. Rita had seen how she’d fixed up Zaxier. If anyone could save him, it was her.

By this time, the dust had settled, revealing that the Inquisitor hadn’t gotten away quite unscathed. The flames of his sword were guttering low and his armor looked battered and bent in several places. He also seemed to be moving a tad slower, with no sign of his previous insane bursts of speed. Samual had gotten a few good licks in.

He and Gora were already fighting, though she appeared to have foregone her usual style of massive, fight-ending blows to rather hit him with smaller strikes, keeping him at a distance. At the same time, Ava’s Croc-a-snake was harrying him from the side whenever he left an opening, darting in and drawing his attention.

However, he still wasn’t losing. The burns on Gora’s face and arms looked even worse than they had before, as if she was sticking her arms into a an open flame in slow motion. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. Even as Rita warily moved to join the fight, he spun around, surprising the flying snake and cleaving through it in a sudden, lightning fast strike. The creature crumbled into dust.

Shit.

As he began pressing Gora back, Rita stabbed at him from the side. It went pretty much as expected, with her crappy spear sliding harmlessly off of his armor. Unlike the Croc-a-snake, however, she had some good reach to her attacks, so when the Inquisitor spun around and took a swipe at her with his blazing sword, the worst she got were some mildly singed eyebrows. Before he could follow it up, Gora once again struck from her side, forcing him to defend and drawing his attention back to her.

He couldn’t afford to ignore Gora for more than a few moments at a time. She had the power to snap him in half with one clean, powerful hit. If he gave her the space and the opportunity, she was going to take it and he clearly knew it. So each time Rita attacked him, he just swung to force her back before turning his attention back to Gora, who was steadily looking worse and worse just from the effect of the damn Inquisitor’s aura..

One thing Rita had never truly appreciated in her previous life was how damn hard it was to coordinate with an ally in a fight. Maybe all those movies where the bad guys rushed in one by one to be slaughtered weren’t that far out? If she and Gora were more in sync, if they’d actually spent time practicing fighting together, perhaps she could have given her the opening she needed. As it was, when Rita went left, Gora expected her to go right. When she went right, Gora expected her to go left. Each time Rita darted forward to stab at him, Gora couldn’t react in time to take advantage of the momentary distraction.

Something was wrong, however. The Inquisitor’s sword was starting to glow brighter again, and he looked less exhausted with every passing moment. His sudden bursts of speed were also becoming more and more frequent. That wasn’t fair! He was supposed to be getting tired, not recovering as the fight wore on! Religion was bullshit!

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one that could cheat. Just as he began pushing Gora back again despite Rita’s attempts to distract him with a few badly botched attempts at stabbing for his joints, scoring a few searing cuts in the process, Zaxier finally finished preparing whatever it was he had been casting this whole time.

“Clear!” Zaxier shouted. “Bob! Seventh position!”.

Rita glanced at him and Bob even as she scrambled out of the way. She had seen those fireballs they could throw out and wanted to be nowhere near if he was going to set one of those off.

It was not a fireball. Bob was standing in a stance that she had not seen before, turned sideways with one arm reaching upwards towards the sky as if beseeching the gods for aid, while the other was stretched forward towards the Inquisitor as if to smite him. In the middle of his curled fingers floated small dots of blueish-white light, hovering above his palms. Zaxier had flattened himself on Bob’s outstretched arm, paws wrapped around it, bracing himself, and his eyes locked firmly on the Inquisitor. Bob himself had his eyes screwed shut and his head turned away as if he expected something to explode at any moment.

Rita watched what happened next as if in slow motion. Zaxier mouthed some final phrase of his spell, but the actual words were lost in the incredible crackling sound of a hundred arcs of electricity reaching down from the sky. From every puff of cloud in a vast area above them, a snaking, arcing finger of blue-white electricity converged to the glowing spot above Bob’s upstretched hand. From there, a single combined bolt of electricity, roughly the width of a finger, leapt over the cat to the second glowing spot above his other hand in a big arc. Then it rushed forth towards its target: the man in glowing metal armour.

The Inquisitor, also having heard the warning, had put on another of his incredible bursts of speed as he tried to dive out of the way of the incoming spell. However, there was fast, and then there was lightning. The finger-width spark coming from Bob had effortlessly sought out of his breastplate and firmly connected to the middle of it.

And… that was it. For the longest split second of Rita’s admittedly short life, the Inquisitor hung in the air, mid dive, linked to the clouds via a thin line of jagged white-blue lightning passing through Bob’s hands like a leash from the gods themselves, with no apparent ill effect.

Rita just barely had time to wonder whether this was it when his dive came to its natural conclusion and gravity reasserted itself.

The moment his gauntlet touched the ground, the world surged.