“Samual, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

When she’d bidden her farewell to Gora and set off through the city streets behind Samual, it had been with no small amount of trepidation. If she had had literally any other option, she probably would have told him to get lost.

Back in Triskellion, Ava had told her that Samual was unusually fond of her. Since then, she’d paid closer attention and it hadn’t escaped her notice how he kept taking her side, how protective he was of her, how he kept sticking close to her… god, she hoped he didn’t have romantic interest.

Even if he was her type, which he wasn’t, being all sharp edges, she simply had no idea how the… ‘logistics’ of it all would even work. The very idea of trying to be intimate with someone in this body turned her stomach, just a little. Her body might have been half-spider-monster, but in her head and sexuality she still thought of herself as human.

It was going to be awkward as fuck if she had to tell him she wasn’t interested. Couldn’t be interested. And truth be told, she was a little scared about how he would react. She’d seen how absolutely terrifying he could be in a fight.

Not that she didn’t trust Samual. She’d just trusted Ava and, well, look how that had turned out. Sometimes it was safer to just avoid being put in the position where you had to trust people.

And yet she’d followed him through a flurry of streets, zigging and zagging until she’d lost all sense of direction before suddenly, as if they’d crossed some invisible line separating it from the rest of Grailmane, they had arrived in a space that was clearly different.

Gone were the packed buildings crowding around and over the road like a bunch of bullies demanding its lunch money. Instead, the buildings and the spaces between them were larger, and the architectural style varied from the elaborate to the downright esoteric.

They’d reached the Pious District.

Rita had expected Samual to go towards one of the smaller structures. She’d been puzzling over the revelation that he was some sort of bigwig in the Grailmane religious scene as they’d walked. Considering how young he was, and just how… unsuitable his personality seemed for any form of leadership, she’d reasoned that he was likely involved with some smaller faith. Perhaps some fringe sect of warrior monks or something.

Instead he’d headed straight for the largest temple in the district.

It was a massive structure, with a vaulted ceiling several stories high, reminiscent of one of the Gothic churches she’d seen once while on holiday in Europe during her younger years. Except, instead of gargoyles, this one seemed to be decorated with depictions of armoured helms with ever more elaborate feathered plumes on top.

Inside, the militaristic theme had continued with weapons of various kinds adorning every wall and even the priests and other clergy dressed in robes of chainmail with armoured metal helms that had the same, long nose-guards and plumes as the ones carved into the exterior.

Rita had been stunned by the deference with which they treated Samual, stepping out of his way and letting him pass whenever they crossed paths, only for him to completely ignore their deferential greetings. She couldn’t help but notice the scowl of irritation on their faces whenever they were forced to step aside for him, nor the barely concealed looks of disgust directed towards her.

Deeper and deeper he lead her, until eventually they had reached a door with a symbol of a stylized, bloody, red skull painted with meticulous precision. Without pausing, Samual had pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was there that Rita had finally found her voice.

“I said I would explain, didn’t I?” he replied as he dumped the tied-together remnants of his armour on a nearby bench. “Now, what do you want to know?”

The room looked like a large, indoor, training hall. Wooden weapons were stacked against one side, and a sparring circle drawn in chalk occupied most of the floor. Several wooden training dummies of various makes were piled in one corner.

And then there was the giant, bronze statue of a skeleton wearing some kind of thick animal hides as armour and brandishing a large bone as a club, situated in a giant alcove that occupied almost one entire wall of the room.

“Let’s start with the obvious. Where the hell… umm, where are we?” Rita asked, reconsidering her choice of words as she glanced suspiciously at the statue out of the corner of her eye.

Samual snorted. “HELL! FUCK! THE GODS CAN SUCK MY DICK!” he shouted, his words echoing around the space.

There was a few moments of silence, before Samual shrugged at Rita.

“He doesn’t care. Never has.”

Rita carefully let out a breath she didn’t realize that she’d been holding. “Who doesn’t care?” she asked equally carefully. Despite all her senses telling her there wasn’t anyone else here, the place didn’t feel empty.

“That is a slightly more complicated question to answer,” Samual replied.

“Samual, for goodness sakes, just answer something, or I’m leaving,” Rita exclaimed in frustration.

Samual nodded. “Very well. Make yourself at home while I explain.”

“The large temple that we entered belongs to Creutus, the god of war, the god of conflict, the god of armed might. You might have noticed the armour symbology.”

It had been hard to miss.

“His faith is the largest one in Grailmane,” Samual continued as Rita finally stepped away from the door and found an open bench to sit on at the edge of the sparring circle. “He is the god of soldiers, of guardsmen and of mercenaries, a rather popular profession in a city where near anything can be bought or sold.”

So Samual served the god of war. That… kinda made sense.

“Alright, but then who is that?” Rita asked and pointed towards the giant, bronze skeleton.

“That is Krutus, the god of slaughter and carnage. And this is his part of the temple.”

How had she not seen it before? All the signs had been there.

They were the bad guys!

Gora was a half-demon who had no problems with preemptive cold-blooded murder as a solution to potential future problems. Samual was the high priest or something of the actual god of carnage and slaughter and appeared to value life slightly lower than a warm bath. Ava was a necromancer that had betrayed them in classic evil villain fashion and Zaxier… well, he was a cat. And as much as she loved her little Toffee, she was not going to be swayed from her opinion that cats were all evil little bastards.

The city was run by a collection of powerful, magic-wielding dictators beholden to no-one, and undertook regular acts of genocide against the local, people-eating goblins.

She’d blundered right into fucking Mordor!

The whole Mitlan holier-than-thou attitude made slightly more sense, now. They probably saw the Grailmanians as a bunch of evil bastards because they were.

Only slightly, mind you. The Mitlans were still racist assholes.

“The god of… c-carnage and slaughter?” she stammered softly, slowly rising to her feet.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Samual tried to assure her, but Rita didn’t buy it. Nutters never thought there was anything wrong with their own religions, the Mitlans being a perfect case in point.

“Erm, sure, Samual… I’m sure Krutus is a swell guy, once you get to know him…” Rita began, before turning and running for the door.

Unfortunately, she was a bit bigger than than she was used to. A few of her many legs got in the way as she tried to yank the door open, and before she could get through, Samual had sprinted halfway across the room and slammed it shut in her face.

Judging by the grimace of pain on his face, he’d tapped into a bit of divine power.

Fuck, this was just like Ava all over again!

“For goodness sakes, Rita!” he exclaimed as she recoiled several steps and pointed her spear at him. “Will you just let me finish before you jump to conclusions?”

“You were awfully eager to get me here, Samual! To the temple of the god of carnage and slaughter! What conclusion could I possibly be jumping to, High Priest Samual? Or would that be Chief Cultist? Perhaps Head of Sacrifice Samual?”

“I’m not…” Samual sighed, slowly raising his hands to show he was unarmed. “Nobody here is going to hurt you, least of all me,” he said as he slowly approached her, his hands held up in front of him.

“Stay back, Samual! I’m warning you…” Rita spoke as she brandished the spear threateningly in his direction.

Quick as a flash, Samual’s hand shot out the moment her spear came within reach, neatly catching it right behind its bladed tip and yanking it to the side, out of line with his body.

“Gods, you’re still terrible with that weapon,” he groaned, but made no move to further push his advantage. Instead, he just kept a firm grip of Rita’s spear, not letting her pull it back. “We’re going to have to fix that.”

Rita was starting to panic. Samual was still between her and the door, blocking her way out, with her weapon firmly in his grip.

“Rita, do you know how many worshipers Krutus has?” he asked when she kept trying and miserably failing to yank her spear out of his hand.

She shook her head, trying to keep him talking, even as she glanced around for another weapon. There were plenty of wooden training ones piled against the opposite wall, but the only real weapon she could see was Samual’s little mace, lying on the bench next to his armour. Could she reach that? Was that even smart?

“Including myself… zero,” Samual said. “Nobody is stupid enough to worship the god of slaughter and carnage, Rita. And that’s how he prefers it. Krutus has no priests, no clergy, he doesn’t even have his own religion!”

“Then what are you doing here?” Rita demanded. “Who are you exactly?”

“What Krutus does have,” Samual said slowly, “is a champion. A holy warrior to spread carnage and death for Krutus’s own amusement. That is me.”

Rita stared at Samual silently for a few moments. “How exactly is that different? I thought you said you didn’t worship him?”

“I don’t,” Samual stated firmly. “I don’t worship any god. But Krutus and I have a… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement? Does that mean you murder innocent spider-girls for him?” Rita said, watching him warily.

“I murder a lot of things for him, Rita. Specifically, a lot of things that I would have murdered anyway, even had he not been in the picture, because they were in the way of my plans,” Samual explained. “And in exchange for this incredible contribution to his entertainment, he lets me borrow the tiniest fractions of a power so great that it damn near kills me every time, just so that I can murder more effectively. I get to further my plans, and he gets carnage, slaughter and mayhem, until I inevitably bite off more than I can chew and die in a suitably spectacular fashion. Win-win.”

“And your plans are…?” Rita asked suspiciously.

“Not to die.”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

Rita nearly stumbled as Samual suddenly released her spear and stepped back, out of reach.

“If I step away from the door, will you insist on running right into a temple full of armed clergy or can I show you something?” he asked, gesturing with one hand towards a table at the far side of the room.

Rita narrowed her eyes suspiciously. On the one hand, this was how serial killers got their victims. ‘Hey can I show you something?’ and the next thing she knows, she’s stuffed into the back of a van.

On the other, Samual had never given her any reason to doubt him. Sure, he was the Champion of the god of slaughter, but he’d been nothing but protective of her so far. Unless that was just because a ‘live sacrifice’ needed the ‘live’ part…

“Tell me why you wanted me to stay,” she insisted.

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Samual exclaimed in frustration. “But if I don’t show you, you won’t understand… you know what? Fine. You’re here, because, according to the Tree, the key to my survival is your survival.”

Rita blinked. “What…?”

“I told you that you wouldn’t understand,” he cut her off and began walking towards the back of the room. “Now, come, let me show you…”

The door slammed shut behind Rita. She leaned against it and waiting for her racing heartbeat to steady.

She was out! Now she just had to escape the winding corridors of the outer temple and then… and then…

Well, then she’d be outside in hell-city without the foggiest idea where to go and a Magelord gunning for her. And that was if she even made it out past all of the assorted members of the clergy of the god of freaking war.

Just as she had that thought, one of the other doors down the hall opened and someone stepped out. He was dressed in flowing chainmail armour, with a large, elaborately engraved axe strapped to his side.

The moment he spotted her, he froze, a look of dumbfounded surprise on his face, as his hand slowly moved towards his weapon. He was blocking her only line of escape.

On second thought, Samual had taken great care not to hurt her. Maybe it was worth giving him a chance?