Kester sat in the relatively cozy living room- across from his wife and his daughter, while the trio of dead women and Kerras stood around them and cocked their heads at the curious family reunion. Behind Kester, the crackling fireplace warmed the slowly chewing, digestively distressed camel. The low ceiling of the log louse meant that all- including the Banshees had to crouch down to fit beneath the oaken planks, which only made the undead seem more frightening in their frozen, still positions.

Maribelle stroked the golden head of hair pressed against her chest as she watched Kester drum his fingers on the table opposite to her with a nervous grin.

“So... this is what you’ve been doing all these months?” Maribelle questioned in a whisper- careful not to awaken her daughter. Kester forced his lips into a shallow smile and bobbed his bagged eyes.

“Y-yeah... As I said, I’ve been helping Asrael build an army to take down the Garrison and the Inquisition.” Maribelle seemed disgusted as she heard him speak, but kept her bile to herself, and her eyes trained forward, as to not look at the dead surrounding her.

“Listen... Belle, I-” Before Kester could finish, the door blew open to reveal the Ogre’s form. Maribelle somehow contained her yelp but tightened her grip on her babe as to not awaken her, as the monstrous mass of fat and pale skin stepped into the cabin on its fours.

Neda quickly reeled as she smelled the horrifying fragrance of the camel and shook her head into Asrael’s lower back as the necromancer rose over the Ogre’s shoulder to command: “Come. We must leave- Barrel has already readied the horses and Ellie is waiting on the cart.” To Asrael’s surprise, Kester seemed more confused than any of the others in the room. The Banshees heeded the order- closely followed by Kerras and lastly, Yurgen, but Kester and his family remained still.

The tavernkeeper eventually scoffed and looked at the necromancer over a pair of folded arms to inform: “We’re not going anywhere with you. This place is ours, right? We can start a new life- we can build a new inn and grow our own crops.” This time, it was Asrael’s turn to scoff. Maribelle watched his pale, green bulbs roll as he ran his free hand through his hair and spoke in turn:

“And what if the Inquisition decides to reclaim this land? I will have you know they made minimal efforts in killing most of our men- the three of you could do little to stop them. Now, come. We’ve sealed the tunnels, but they will not be far off.” Kester rose from his chair and pointed an accusing finger at the necromancer. He glared at him as he spoke:

“They need the grain from Pilta- we'll be safe here. I’ve done enough for you- gathering innocent people up for you to turn into those-… those things.” The necromancer glanced over the table to see Maribelle stroke Bess’ hair and glare at her husband. After a moment’s deliberation, the mother spoke through her frown: “You’re not staying here with us.”

The usually cozy atmosphere of the cabin grew heavy with discomfort as Maribelle’s words dawned on Kester. The tavernkeeper raised an eyebrow and questioned: “Wait, what?” The mother rose from her seat to tighten her embrace around the girl and glared at her bagged-eyed husband. She spoke:

“You heard me. You’re as much of a monster as those things.” She jerked her head in Asrael’s direction- a jerk that might’ve offended the necromancer, had he not been so bemused by the tavernkeeper’s distraught expression.

“Belle, stop-” He began, only to fall silent as soon as he saw the fury and outrage in his wife’s wide eyes.

“I thought you’d found someone else. I thought you were fucking around, but this... I couldn’t ever have suspected you were out there doing this...” She looked at the Ogre’s green, glowing bulbs- his pale, naked skin and the gleeful necromancer peeking over his shoulder.

“I did this all for you and Bess, Maribelle- just listen-” Belle tightened her grip around her babe and shook her head into the golden head of hair.

“That only makes it worse, Kester...” Asrael tired of this family drama and ordered the Ogre to take them back out the door, where they would join the others in preparing for their departure. Neda was about to let go of Asrael and indulge in her voyeurism, only to have the necromancer’s strong arm grip her by the collar of her dress and force her with him- back out the door.

Finally, on their lonesome, the disbelief dawned on Kester. All these months spent trying to assist the necromancer in toppling the rule of insanity- only to face this kind of treatment from what should have been his loving, supporting wife. He rose from his chair and leaned on the table- his bagged, dark eyes glaring at the woman he loved above all.

“I’ve been helping them lay the foundation for a new world, Belle. A world where Bess doesn’t have to hide her magic- where we don’t have to be scared of the Inquisition!” He whispered hoarsely as to not wake the child. Maribelle remained stubborn as she stepped back up against the wall and shook her head.

“No- that’s not what you’ve been doing. You’ve been indulging that darkness inside of you and you’ve been using us as an excuse to do it. Look at yourself- look at those things. Do you really mean to blame me and Bess for that?” Finally, the child began whining as she awoke. Kester bit the inside of his cheek as he shook his head and tapped his fingers against the table.

“For the first time in my life, I’ve felt what it feels like to be one of them, Belle. Over the last few months, I’ve been free of that boot pressing down on my neck- I've been stomping my own boots. Haven’t you noticed how we’ve had food and safety for once? Haven’t you felt good knowing that we’re not gonna be starving to death or be dragged from our beds in the middle of the night?” Bess reached her arms up around Belle’s neck and turned over her shoulder to look at the dark creature on the opposite side of the table.

Whether she, herself, had noticed the wrongness budding inside her father or whether she was simply sensing her mother’s fright, her lips began to tremor with fright as she locked her wide, blue eyes on Kester. Maribelle shook her head:

“We didn’t need this... we had food- we were safe for as long as we didn’t make too much noise... more importantly, we had each other. Now we don’t have anything. You threw it all away to feel like a big man and you’re blaming us for it.” Kester could feel the hate in her eyes as she continued to glare at him. Where those blue bulbs had once exuded a pure, benign love, they now conveyed naught but terror and spite. Despite how much it pained him to receive such scrutiny, he could not help but feel that same measure of power that he had felt as he looked into the eyes of his many victims.

Maribelle had been there- always supportive of her feeble husband, watching him disintegrate between her fingers. Now, that he had finally found the strength to take control of his life, she made it sound as if she sought to discard him for it.

“I always thought you were supportive of me, Belle... I thought the two of us were- and always would be- together... But as soon as I grew stronger- as soon as I took charge, you started looking at me like that.” He raised an accusing finger at her and frowned. With a shake of his head, he continued: “But you were as much a part of the problem as the rest of them. You didn’t love me- you loved the Kester that would lick people’s boots as they trampled over him. That’s not me anymore- it'll never be me again.”

She spat on the floor and grimaced. “You’re wrong. I loved the caring man who’d never speak to me like this in front of our child. I loved the man who’d sacrifice every second of his life to be with his wife and child... I loved a man who could still love. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not that man.” Kester reached for Barrel’s cutlery and armed himself with a dull butter knife. Maribelle took a step back and looked at him with a panic that soon infected their daughter. Bessie soon shrieked a loud cry and grabbed hold of her mother.

In a rare moment of clarity, Kester looked down at the knife in his hand and dropped it to the table as quickly as he had taken it. Had she been anyone else, he imagined she would have been dead already.

“Leave... please, just go, Kester.” He looked down at his hands in a sudden terror. The same hands that had ended countless lives- that would’ve ended his wife’s life had his reason not intervened.

“I’m-… I’m sorry, Belle-” He began, but as soon as he reached his hand over the table, Maribelle shrieked: “Just go! Leave us! Get the hell out of here!” He took another step back.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to-" In that moment, he realized that Belle hadn't been wrong. Nor had he, for that matter. The power he had felt had been real- as real as the weakness that had prevented him from fighting back against the oppressors. Belle and Bess had motivated him, at least at first. But if he could draw a knife on them, how could he claim that it had all been for his family?

"You're dangerous, Kester... you can't be around us anymore. You've had your chances, but you've squandered them all. So please... just go." His hands were irreversibly stained in blood that had sunk in deep enough to taint his very soul.

Did he even want to go back to being the pathetic tavernkeeper he had been, when he could be out there- with Asrael and his army- and fight back against the oppressors?