You cannot escape the whispers of my god. He is inexorable, inexhaustible, the victor in the end. Life is a winding wheel running out of thread. But the thread will run out in the end, and the end will come. There is no victory for you here in resistance; there can only ever be defeat. Why resist my god?

The voice in her mind was ever present, as if it were her own thoughts corrupting her to insanity. The whispers did not cease, no matter how she paced about in that cold room that seemed a cell. The walls around her were all sloped stone, covered with a pale, white moss. The strange tunnels seemed to have been carved without tools, with chips and pieces where claws had broken off whole chunks. The place was utterly foreign, without a single feature reminiscent of human craftsmanship. From the walls to the illumination to the very creatures that walked these halls, it was all disorienting and alien.

The creature that had struck her served as both her guard and jailor, keeping her alone inside this room. There were no furnishings, nothing inside to distract her from the constant whisperings from Faith in her ear. She could only pace back and forth in irritation, struggling to separate her own thoughts from what that creature was telling her, from the taint that was spreading throughout her mind. Her breathing grew ragged in desperation, her fingernails chipped and torn from clawing helplessly at the walls.

There were no physical doors preventing her from escape, but when she had first tried to step outside of the confines of that cramped room, purple light had sprung out of the ground. It had lingered in the air, collecting and coalescing into a solid barrier that resisted her efforts to push through. When she had touched it with a cautious finger, hot sparks had flown off of her skin. It proved sturdy as well—even when she had thrown her entire body weight at it, it had still stood unscathed afterwards. And all the while, that crow-cursed voice had never ceased to whisper incessantly, to the point that it almost disappeared into a static behind her thoughts. You cannot escape. You are doomed to rot here, alone, afraid. Is this how you would have it end?

Kat grit her teeth, clawing madly at her hair as she forced herself to turn her thoughts elsewhere. What of the others? Norus was elsewhere, most likely trapped in his own room. She was not worried about the soldier—he was tougher than the armor he wore. Her concerns lay with Willem; she knew not what the creatures wanted with him. Yet, as if hearing her thoughts, the whispering answered. Your so-called friend has left you to serve these demons. He has abandoned you to this sealed fate. They have offered him power in return for service, and he will graciously accept. See how quickly your allies flee.

Trying to ignore that incessant voice, she was almost grateful to hear the scraping of clawed footsteps on the stones outside. She saw some dimly lit figure approaching through the tunnels, and she struggled to suppress the fear and nervousness that rose up inside of her. From what she could tell, these things were beasts. They could not be shown weakness, lest they be tempted to strike—that much, she had learned from her father even as a little girl. You think foolish posturing will be enough to sway a demon?

The creature strode closer, its features coming into detail. She recognized it as the one that had struck her, that had knocked her out when she had first tried to resist their king. It was reminiscent of a knight from the east, with the armor that encompassed the entire body and the bulky frame. Yet most defining were the sword and shield that it bore on its limbs, the blade far larger than anything a serving Altarosan would use in combat. The curved sword was perhaps closest in size to a broadsword, with a massive heft and weight that almost threatened to crush just as quickly as it did to slice. Similarly, its shield was of eastern origin as well, smaller than the massive rectangular walls used in the legions. Yet where eastern knights used steel and wood, this creature boasted of bone and flesh.

Like some perverted, corrupted knight, its armaments were fused directly to its body—or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that they sprung out of the flesh itself. The blade was like a continuation of the forearm, the curved bone sprouted into a blade supported by pink muscle and veiny tissue. The shield was a massive ridge of bone based around a central stump where a wrist ought to normally belong. Plates sprouted along the side, so that the shield sat along the length of the demon’s forearm. Similar plates covered its entire body in a living armor, pulsing flesh just visible through the dim cracks. Even its face was obscured by a visor of thick bone, if anything sat behind there. While she could not meet its eyes, she most certainly could feel the heat of the creature’s gaze upon her. A massive warbeast, and as rabid as a wild dog. Can you put it down?

“Who are you?” she demanded, posturing aggressively even if she did not feel it inside. Her legs were placed out wide, her hands balled into fists as she fought the trembling notion that her body had. “What are you?” Perhaps that question was more apt—who implied humanity, and nothing of what she had seen from these things affirmed that notion. This was the first of life that she had seen since being trapped in this cell; it was a shame it had to be a monster.

The demon stopped just outside of her door, its breath pluming gently on the cold air. There was no light down here, and the only warmth came from herself. She could only have been asleep for hours at most—to have been down here for days would have rendered her a corpse, frozen to the ground. “A servant to my king.” the demon finally spoke, the words distorted and altered as if it could not quite get the shape right. Perhaps it was the armor around its head, or perhaps it was from lack of use, but be it physiology or psychology, its speech was warped. “The traders called my kind boneguards. We have no need for such names.”

His kind? She wondered for a moment before remembering the others creatures that had stood beside the king. They had been plated in bone much as this one was, although there had been differences difficult to make out at the distance. So there were more of these travesties, she thought, not daring to speak it aloud. “Do you have a name?” she asked.

The demon paused for a moment before shaking its head, the plates of bone scraping against each other from the motion. “The king names those most useful. We are but servants. He has not named us.” Yet as she listened, she could hear no bitterness in the demon’s voice. It held no ill will towards its king, only a rapturous devotion. See how they honor an abomination, an atrocity to lead atrocities. See their fanaticism. Would you rather see them burning your lands, devouring your children?

“Well then, nameless demon, what am I doing here?” she challenged, her tone adamant even as her legs were beginning to tremble. The thing was abhorrent even to look at; she struggled not to turn away in fear as her instincts screamed to do.

“You were waiting. Our king spoke, and now you no longer wait. Now you meet your fate.” the demon replied calmly, as if it was perhaps speaking of the weather. Those words held just as much import to it as the fact that a bear pissed in the woods. Rejoice, that you are corralled like cattle. Rejoice, that you are to be butchered at the block. The whispering in her head seemed to never pause, and she felt tempted to break her skull open on the stones, if only to see whether anything would come slithering out.

“Shut up!” she cried out, clutching at her ears even as the voice began to laugh. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Something warm trickled along her lips, and when she finally opened her clenched eyes, she realized that it was blood, dripping warm from her nose. She fell to the ground with a scream, tears falling from her eyes even as that voice continued to laugh.

A rough kick struck her in the side, and she realized that the demon had kicked her. But the barrier—she started to think before seeing what looked almost to be a ruby, buried in the flesh of its throat. The gem glowed, soft smoke billowing off its surface, and she realized the king had no need to keep his own guards in cells. “Enough.” the creature grunted as it lowered the blade arm, that length of bone sitting dangerously across her throat. “You will go to see the king.” Inside her head, that voice continued to laugh in a thousand tongues. What a choice—die here in the dark, or outside in the light? Everyone is an enemy. Everyone wants you dead. Who are you to resist? When death is the final option, why resist my god?

With blood dripping out a soft rhythm on the stones, she slowly staggered to her feet. Throw yourself across his blade, the voice suggested. Slowly, the demon led her outside of her cell, that gem in its throat glowing as they crossed the barrier. Fight, that you might go with pride, the voice laughed. The tunnels were almost like a maze as they wandered through, her footsteps irregular as she half stumbled through. Are these creatures any worse than my god? I offer senseless, painless release, where there would see you raped and butchered.

When they finally reached the surface, she saw other figures standing there waiting. Willem was standing beside the king, his face pale but his eyes set with determination. See already how he stands beside whom he has chosen. See already how he has betrayed you. Norus was there as well, escorted by another boneguard. Yet she was surprised to see that the soldier was haggard and limp, his figure slouched over and his face pallid. His expression was blank and his eyes lifeless, the guard behind him having to prod him forward like some mindless cattle. Useless—vestigial. Wandering eyes and a broken spirit. This one is doomed to fall.

“Willem.” she called out, seeing the not quite met her eyes, and a sudden sense of doubt and gnawing fear set into her. That ceaseless voice in her head continued to laugh, as if it were speaking truth. “What’s going on.”

“They offered me a new body if I serve them.” he finally managed after a pause, fidgeting and not quite looking up at her. “I said only if they would let you go, and they agreed.” He finally turned his gaze up, his expression nervous but determined. “I can learn magic here—they can teach me. I can get a new body, a—and start over this crow-cursed life. I have that chance.”

See how he leaves you. He uses your aid, and he leaves you at the first chance. “Please, Kat. I—I wanted to thank you for all that, that you’ve done for me. I’m sorry, but I—this might be the only chance I have.” He has brought you here for farewell. What will you be leaving behind? What is there left? What can you do now?

Go back to your lover? He is dead on the field. Flee to the west? My god has spread there as well. There is nothing left for you now, except my god. Embrace him. Her vision seemed to blur, her gaze distorting. Something glimmered in Norus’s hand—a blade. She could not make it out, but she knew it to be true. It was flashing out at her—when had he gotten so close? But she had a sword as well, did she not? Of course she did, what soldier did not carry with them a blade.

His knife was falling across her arm, even as she moved to dodge. There were question running through her beleaguered mind, but there was no time for them now. She needed to act, and so she slashed out with that blade. It dug deep into Norus’s throat, running along that curious scar on his neck. Blood spurted out like a fountain, wriggling strands of purple magic dancing in the air like so many worms.

He had wanted to kill her, had he not? She had killed him, had she not?

In her head, the voice would not stop laughing.