"I sent the boy before I found you Dan," Moursh huffs as he bent for a rock.

Dan stiffened, "You sent the mute to call her!" He grasped for his last arrow before he decides to take out his dagger instead.

"I'm sure he can get the point across," Boss says as his last torrent of flames dispersed before it even reached its target. Dan poised himself on the balls of his feet, dagger in hand, while Moursh picked himself up from the ground he had tired himself in. They all wore ragged expressions, the Boss especially as he fell onto his back, the last flame on his hand extinguishing. They looked at each other and then at the inferno Boss had created.

A scorched trail ran straight from where Boss lay to the scorched black base of the cliff he had relentlessly burned with his fire. A clouding fine vapor arose from where the pools lay, red orange fire ringed, and in some burned, the pools. Most ominously, the roots burned a dark black fire, crumbling into dust, lost in the wind. And the ghoul stood in the middle of all this, scorched, not a single piece of pale flesh remained on his body.

Moursh gave a hearty laugh, relief flooding his face as he fell onto his knees.

"Look at that! Looks like there's plenty body left to make us heroes. Moursh, the ghoul slayer. Much better than hagar survivor, I'll tell you that."

"Looks like nurturing my flames for decades was not a waste," said Boss as he turned his head to Moursh. "I tell you, as the actual Ghoul Slayer, my prestige can only grow. I'll make sure to outline my heroism against the last ghoul in existence."

"I doubt that. I've never seen a whole body be left by those flames of yours Boss, standing even," Dan muttered, suspicious of the ghoul that to him was only covered in soot.

The black matter on the ghoul began to dissipate, smoke adrift left in the wind. The ghoul fell to his knees, metal bits cutting his leg, but no different than when the flame bombardment had begun.

Dan took a deep breath, "I'll finish it here." He sheathed his dagger, slowly grasped his last arrow. The final opportunity they had for in his mind only death awaited in failure.

"What! I can't see from here," Boss wore an exasperated look on his face as he propped himself onto his elbows. "Damn it Moursh. Why wear such a joyful look on your face if the thing isn't a pile of ash and bone."

"The thing looked dead to me," replied Moursh as panic drenched his face.

Dan took a final breath. He could risk getting closer, for all he knew, he could even take the arrow and jam it into the ghoul’s defenseless face. But he could feel it. The wind coursing through his hair, the heat on his back, his partners panicked blabbering, the roots’ ashes, the sunlight reflecting off the ghoul’s cheek, the strange markings on that hand; it all went numb. The arrow was already lodged in the ghoul's head, his arrow was already flying, he had already let loose, he had already drawn. His arrow would hit true, his hands were guided by a presence greater than him. He only needed to take action. A blessing had willed upon him.

"Is this why I have no more beggars outside my shop?"

Moursh turned, and Boss looked up, to the figure that suddenly spoke behind them, delight spreading their grins. The slim figure was robed in a sturdy white, a startling color completely covering the figure from hooded head to hidden ankles. The boots were of the same color and would be just as vibrant if not for the dirt that dotted them. A golden wide sash ran from the knee to the waist it encircled, the hem of the wide sleeves and hood a golden sheen, and on the ample bosom a golden necklace. A pale chin and pointy nose, almost as white, peeked out from the shadow of the hood. Cherry lips were vibrant, and sparkling blue eyes shone brightly. Blue curls escaped and shifted in the wind.

"Light Priestess, you've saved us—" Moursh began before a stone spear jutted out from the ground, piercing his neck, gargled noise to finish his sentence. Red rain splattered all over Boss' face as Moursh was hoisted up, his toes skimming the ground.

"What is the meaning of th—" Boss managed to yell out before a rectangular hole his length and width opened beneath him. His body fell through and his earth tomb slammed shut. Muffled screams quickly ended as a beautiful pale hand clenched into a fist.

"I had given up all hope, " the white robed figure said before taking a look at the ghoul, focusing on the marked hand. "But it's finally time." She looked up skyward, a silent prayer leaving her lips.

Dan had noticed none of this. He began to serenely draw his bow, his face relaxed as if he had all the time in the world. He paid no mind to the stone spear that suddenly appeared in his left shoulder. He continued his shallow breaths, completely focused on his target, ignoring the pain as the spear crumbled with his adjusting movements. His right leg was punctured, forcing him to take a knee, breaking the spear in the process, but it was with grace that he did so. A third spear took his right elbow and let loose the arrow into the ground. But he craned his head forward as if to draw the bow with his teeth. A final spear erupted beneath his head, ending all futile attempts he had tried to make.

"Really, blessings are such a pain to deal with."

The white robed figure took quick jubilant steps towards the ghoul. Passing Moursh and Dan, who both leaned against a rocky pillar with their heads craned upward, was a sparse cloud of white dust trailing the happy skips. Arriving, the figure drew back her hood and gave a final pat to the white remnants on the black robe. She extended her hand downward, an offering the ghoul shied away from.

He ignored the hand and instead stared at the black stark boots. A crimson sash flickered before his gaze and his eyes followed it up to the waist. Only a little higher, a blood red necklace holding three floating lines, as on his hand, hung. Purple curls caught his attention and he drew his head further upward, greeted by a startling calm face, a warm smile, and soft blue eyes. He had not felt safe since the time he awoke to that lonely twilight grove.

"Who are you?" the ghoul timidly asked.

The woman took her hand back and suddenly took an extravagant bow. Hoisting herself up, she raised her left hand upward, twisted her wrist, supercilious fingers pointing upwards, and squished her right fist against her chest. She gave him a dazzling bright smile.

"I am Alison, the witch of the Dead Lands, the last daughter of Death," Alison exclaimed proudly before regaining her posture to point outward. "And the boy quivering behind that tree is Arcadius."

The ghoul took a deep breath and let out a sigh. He was definitely not safe.