‘Dear Gwyth Thien, thank you for accepting our most recent donation. The Church sees great wisdom in your actions, and would like to offer you a proposal. If you accept you will be donated a hefty reward which is negotiable. It will be larger than the previous offering. We have a suggestion for who might next be best qualified to join the intelligence agency. We believe that those who are best suited for a job should earn it, and Fadyn Lafant is an excellent candidate. We hope that your gaze rests pleasantly upon her and takes pity on this daughter of God.’ - Excerpt from a letter received by Gwyth Thien, the Chief of Staff of the Intelligence Service, January 1263.

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Inside the monastery, the beating of horseshoes battered the cracked marble floor. Grounded dust left a wake that trailed behind the behemoth warhorse. It agilely leaped between sections of stable flooring.

The beast finally drew near the centre of the monastery, skidding to a stop at its rider’s commands. Weak sunlight flickered through the destroyed ceiling, landing onto a colossal pile of debris. Intermittently, the desolate sound of rocks clinking from being moved emanated from behind the ruins.

The horseman pulled at his reins and trotted over. The sounds continued, as if unaware of the beast that stood before them. At the horse’s side were two men dressed in tattered and burnt black cassocks and gowns, bent over on all fours.

They monotonously lifted rocks from the mound, moving them into separate, smaller piles. From his view, their faces were as pale as chalk. Though when they moved, the left half of their face was exposed, painted black with soot.

Their expressions were vacant. It was as if their being had died in the previous attack, though their body continued to move. The horseman withdrew two daggers, rather than the warhammer on his back, and took aim at the two monks.

“Lightning! Stop!” A voice yelled out from behind. A crackle of blue light shot out at the back of the horseman, making direct contact. It shocked him as sparks licked his body, then disappeared into him.

The sound of a startled gasp emanated, then a thud as flesh fell against the marble floor. The spluttering and wheezing of a final breath marked the deaths of the two monks, with the two daggers in their necks.

The spell did not affect the horseman’s attacks. He still killed the same as if it never happened. A muffled prayer was mumbled from behind, wishing to mark safe passage to the souls of the dead. Then a new chant began. They were to take revenge against these barbarians.

“Repentance!” The woman shouted. She held a book of Scripture in her hand, and at her command, a golden sword light was summoned from within. It floated out from the pages, reaching above her head, in between her and the horseman. A finger flicked downwards and the sword followed its invisible path, cleaving down upon the rider.

With a vicious blow, the Berserker struck back at the illusory sword with his warhammer. He aimed the strike at the fuller. Its absolute power smashing straight through the spell, dispersing it into the air. However, with the twirl of a finger, the priest reassembled it instantaneously.

She lashed out, forcing the sword to spin tremendous revolutions at speed, keeping it out of range for a counterattack. She tried to play with him, faking attacks to lure him into an undesirable position by aiming at his blind spots.

He repeatedly blocked the blows with his warhammer, moving it precisely to where each strike aimed. The priest, realising this, forced the sword low, riding just above the ground at a terrible angle for the Berserker. She brought it up to attack the horse’s legs, wanting to slash the tendons so it be immobilised.

Reading her intentions from the sword’s position, the horseman whipped his reins, forcing the beast to charge at her. The warhorse glowed a dark cadmium red as it channelled a spell from its own traits.

Its muscles bulked up, filled with an unconstrained power. The beast kicked off the marble floor, fracturing it further, and traversed a great distance. It maintained this incredible speed.

His patience worn down by what he considered were games, the Berserker barked out a sudden command in Tereum.

“Havoc!” His Malevolent energy moved at his chant, flowing through his body. A golden aura surrounded the warhammer, its presence of power and might was devastating. The priest took a step back in fear but waved a finger with newfound determination.

The sword accelerated to a blistering speed, chasing the Berserker from behind. Still riding just above the ground, it was catching up to the man on horse. A meter separated it from the beast’s legs when the Berserker acted.

Using the horse’s momentum, he vaulted from its back, launching himself mid-air. The priest flicked her finger upwards, curling the sword towards him. Knowing his situation well, the Berserker called out one final chant.

“Fall.” His direction changed and his body was pulled downwards. Though his direction was altered, his momentum did not change. He smashed down his warhammer that was coated with the gold aura. He was before the priest.

She kept up with his movements. The sword trailed behind him. Just before his neck. It was ready to decapitate him.

The hammer touched earth first. The might contained within the aura of the hammer was unleashed, pulverising the ground. The marble floor disintegrated instantly, turning into fine powder. The force rippled forwards, and it spat upwards shards of marble, rock, and the dirt below.

Like a tidal wave, the unstoppable force ripped towards the priest. Despite having enhanced herself with defensive spells since the beginning of the attack, it did nothing to protect her from the Berserker’s hammer.

Its power punched into her body, sending her flying backwards. Despite not hitting her directly, the pressure was too great inside her. It ruptured her organs, causing internal bleeding. Cadmium energy surged out of her body. Thick streams poured out towards the Berserker’s self-inflicted wounds, replenishing his lost Malevolent energy.

She was badly injured, though it was not fatal. But it was enough to disrupt her control over her sword as it was mere moments from tearing the Berserker’s head off. It dispersed into energy, awaiting her next summons.

The Berserker leaped over the destruction he caused, striking down once more with his warhammer. The priest was in no condition to dodge, instead stunned in place. The hammer wrecked down on her head, crushing her skull into the earth.

Withdrawing his warhammer from the deceased priest’s head, the Berserker turned to face the mound. He watched an imperceptible trail of cadmium orbs float towards his chest, coming from within the ruins. He had felt their presence during the fight and was alerted of another sorcerer who still lived.

Climbing onto the back of his warhorse, he repeated the chant, “Havoc,” coating his hammer once more in a terrifying power. The rider charged towards the mound, vaulting off, and began scaling to the top of the pile of debris. Once he reached the pinnacle, he hammered down.

A furious strength wrecked through the already broken stone, shattering it once more into powder. The force of its power continued to push down, not stopping until it reached the marble flooring that lay covered beneath the rubble.

This time, the explosion was great. It shook the very foundations of the monastery, destroying what was left supporting it in place. The Berserker heard the ensuing destruction, but ignored it, preoccupied within his bloodlust.

He felt resistance pushing back against the force of the warhammer. This was not from the floor. It came from within the mound. The Berserker injected more Malevolent energy into the spell to counter it.

The power became tempestuous. It whipped the air into a frenzy that battered and buffeted everything within the monastery. The wind first whistled a dissonant pitch, then its transformation into a black gale was marked but its guttural scream. But the power was not enough.

The Berserker’s hammer buckled under the pressure of being locked in contest with the sorcerer. It recoiled backwards, flying out of his hands. It fell back down to the cracked marble flooring below. He was unarmed and could not continue his assault on the mound, for now.

The mound quaked furiously. The Berserker’s balance was lost. He hastily jumped when he felt the ground shift beneath his feet, dropping down to where his hammer had previously fallen. He rolled as he hit the ground, turned, and faced towards the pile of stone.

He bent his knees. Fingers curling towards the hilt of the warhammer. He tightly grasped it within his palm, gently raising it from the ground.

The mouth of the ruins exploded open like volcano. From it, a thick black mist emerged. It hissed and whistled as it filled the air and streamed out up through the broken ceiling of the monastery. It abruptly stopped. A vicious cloud lingering inside the ruined building.

“Cyclone.” The Berserker channelled his Malevolency, panic glinting in his eyes. A storm brewed at the tip of the warhammer. It surged, surrounding it with wild abandon. He struck out against the space between himself and the mound, aiming towards the black cloud.

A blast of pale wind shot out. It caused visible disruptions as it flew, slowly spiralling into an orb that festered and writhed. The black cloud met the cyclone head on, engulfing it within.

The cloud chattered and hissed. A black vapour emanated from it as the cloud began to die from the attack of the cyclone. However, it outlived the wind, though took heavy damage. Its thinned population made evident what the cloud was. Magically fabricated insects collected together to form a thick black mist.

From behind the cloud emerged a figure. He raised a hand, which grasped a sabre, and barked a command. The insects answered faithfully, surging towards the Berserker. In response, the barbarian channelled spell after spell attacking the cloud with wind.

The wind knifed the insects, tearing them apart one after another, their tiny frames shattering into clouds of black vapour. The man on the mound didn’t let up. He continued to fabricate new magical insects. This time, of different varieties.

They were the size of a man’s palm, with wings to match, and the venom to kill. These new creations formed a green cloud that separated, some digging into the earth, while the others attacked from all sides. They broke through the Berserker’s barrage of wind.

The Berserker tried to recall it, to form a protective barricade around him. But the insects were too many too great. They broke through the Berserker’s defence, landing on his body and biting down into his flesh. Those that were venomous injected it into his bloodstream, while the rest shredded him.

The Berserker screamed a vile cry. He tried to swat the fabricated insects with his hands and warhammer, but there were too many of them. His movement became lethargic as the venom acted. It first paralysed him, and he collapsed to the floor. Before the venom could reach its next stage, the insects were dispelled.

A flash of cold metal stabbed the Berserker through the neck. Blood poured into his mouth and lungs, causing him to splutter. He was shortly put out of his misery as his heart was stopped by the venom, which reached its final stage of affliction.

The murderer, or revenger as they would see it in this scenario, put their hand above the corpse of the Berserker and attempted to drain his Malevolency. A weak trail of cadmium energy drifted out of the corpse and entered his hand.

“Bastard! He used up most of his Malevolency!” Cythraul cursed in annoyance. Still, he got enough to replenish most of what he lost using the spell, ‘plague’. He would have to kill more Praetertium barbarians to restore his Wick.