“Stand back, boy.” Diarmuid raised his hand.

Diarmuid stepped through the doors with his hands ready. Inside the hall were rows of chairs on each side, and the altar rested at the end. The red moon peered through the windows, lighting the eery center altar, covered by a bloody fabric and surrounded by mosaics of saints. Specs of dust loomed ominously in the stuffy air. The space was vast for a church but cluttered with obstacles. The smell of blood filled the air and made Diarmuid turn on his flashlight. It was a massacre. Hundreds of bodies splattered all over, twisted with fear and anguish, betrayed by the building they thought was a sanctuary. Diarmuid did not look away, however morbid display it was.

“Boy, go to the major and tell him to come here immediately.”

“Okay.” Orel walked out, holding his breath.

Diarmuid closed the doors behind him and looked around, checking all corners. The disturbing silence started to get on his nerves. The doors were locked from the inside, meaning the people were locked in with whoever did this.

“Quit hiding. I know you’re here. I may be on duty, but I won’t spare you from what’s coming.”

Diarmuid walked through the middle between all the chairs with slow and careful steps. There weren't many places to hide, yet he still could not find anyone. He passed many bodies stuffed between the seats until he ascended to the altar. It was barren, except for the cloth that seemed to cover something. A person, or what remained of them. Diarmuid hesitated to touch it.

His ears picked up the tiniest amount of skittering. His reaction was on point, but too late. A long arm poked Diarmuid with its razor-sharp nails to pierce his flesh. The fingers punctured his reinforced suit effortlessly to clear the path to his guts. The gaunt white beast smiled wide as it stared back at Diarmuid.

“Stupid human! Scream for Ama-dan!” It rejoiced.

That was until the grotesque creature felt something block its way. The fingers got crushed like they had hit a brick wall.

“So you’re that boggart.” Diarmuid grabbed and twisted the arm.

Ama-dan hissed and howled as the bone broke into splinters. It immediately cut the broken arm off with its claws and backed off. The wound bled with dark, foul-smelling blood that splattered over Diarmuid’s suit. Diarmuid took out the hand and threw it on the floor.

“What? Did you get scared?” Diarmuid smiled.

“Don’t mock me! Ama-dan will gouge out your eyes!” Ama-dan was visibly pissed like a cornered animal. Its fur rose, and it showed its ugly teeth at him.

“Then give me your best shot.” Diarmuid took out his combat knife.

Ama-dan bounced at Diarmuid. It managed to dodge the knife and scratch his arm and tear off his uniform. Yet no scars, deep or shallow appeared. Instead, rune tattoos covering Diarmuid's skin glowed with a blue hue.

“Body full of runes! Marks of an erilaz.” Ama-dan said with contempt.

“So even a beast like you recognize these marks.”

“Ama-dan is smart. Runes use tricks."

Each set of runes correlated to the body part they were written to, reading out like a poem. Instead of activating them manually, the runes would forcefully extract mana from the body to perform Ward once they encountered hostile mana. Once the runes were carved into one’s body, the user could not remove them. They were the mark of a true warrior who had withstood many trials to obtain them.

Diarmuid swung his knife but Ama-dan jumped out of the way and snatched the chopped-off hand in the progress. The creature’s agility seemed to be its most dangerous perk, but the power of its nails was no laughing matter either. Diarmuid knew that one or two good strikes would be the end of it, but landing them was a different story. He noticed how Ama-dan stuck its arm back in place. The joints snapped back in place, and soon the arm stretched and gripped like before.

“What say you now, erilaz? You can’t kill Ama-dan.” Ama-dan pointed with its hand.

“Is your tongue smooth or rough? I don't want to ruin my shoes when I rip it off to polish them.”

“Stupid human." Ama-dan sucked its tongue inside.

Ama-dan had no trouble evading Diarmuid’s strikes, retreating to the shadows, jumping over the church chairs, or hanging from the ceiling. Diarmuid did not want to waste his stamina, so he switched to defense. The fight was at a stand-still, as either had no clear way of doing mortal damage to another. Diarmuid's best move was to break some of Ama-dans limbs or slash its eyes, but both were hard to accomplish against such an agile creature.

Ama-dan realized that Diarmuid’s head had no runes. Without further thought, Ama-dan jumped and slashed with its claws. Diarmuid had to block them with his arm and went in for a stab. The blade sunk deep into Ama-dans chest, yet the beast endured to gouge Diarmuid’s eyes out. Its fingers stretched to poke them like balloons. Instead, its nails broke off, and the joints bent over. Something beneath Diarmuid’s vermillion hair and sideburns lit up with blue light. The runes were there, only obscured by the red hair.

Diarmuid took hold of his knife and twisted it around. Ama-dan had to jump away. While Diarmuid was feeling good having outplayed the creature, his efforts were cut short. The wound on Ama-dan’s chest closed like a self-stitching cloth, and the deadly fingernails grew back like shark’s teeth. The situation was back where it started, only that Ama-dan had almost backed itself against the doors.

The squeaks of door hinges echoed throughout the church, interrupting the two. Diarmuid was hopeful that help had come, but instead, it was Orel who had no idea what waited for him inside.

“Huh?!” Orel noticed the creature sloughing before him.

Ama-dan saw the opportunity and took it. Before Diarmuid could move, the creature had taken Orel as a hostage, tapping his jugular with its fingertips with a crude smile.

“You scum!” Diarmuid stepped closer.

“Don’t move, or the boy dies.” Ama-dan shook its head.

“Humph, fine.” Diarmuid lifted his hands.

Orel held his breath as the creature smelled foul with a pungent odor of rotten eggs. Every breath it puffed between its dark yellow teeth smelled of rot and decay like an old corpse. Orel’s heart pounded rapidly, and a cold sweat flowed down his face. He looked at Diarmuid, who seemed to be going along with Ama-dan’s orders. Orel felt hopeless in the creature's tight grip. The sharp ends of the nails made shallow wounds to his neck, and the cold hands that pressed against him made him shiver. Any wrong move would slit his throat.

Ama-dan shuffled closer to the door, ready to escape the predicament. Diarmuid could only watch and wait. Ama-dan's head turned and twisted from the slightest sound. With each step, it got closer to the woods it desperately wanted to escape to.

“Stop right there!” A voice shouted from the outside.

Ama-dan turned with Orel still in its hands. Orel saw James pointing at them as if doing an ordinary arrest.

“Stay there!” Ama-dan yelled, taking another step.

“You just broke my warning. Next time you will be fined.” James announced.

“Ama-dan follows no rules.” Ama-dan sneered.

“You are not allowed to harm that boy,” James announced.

“Not even just a little bit?” A smile crept on Ama-dan’s face as one of its nails scratched Orel’s neck.

“You ignored my second warning.” James took out his cigarette pack.

“Stupid human." Ama-dan shook its head.

James took a good while to light himself a cigarette. Ama-dan grew fearful yet angry about his calmness.

“You are already fined.” James puffed a cloud of smoke. “I now have the full right to apprehend you."

Ama-dan noticed red stamps on its hands and legs. They held the symbol of the ADF, a wide stone tower. A supple sense of dread fell on Ama-dan. The spell used its victim's mana to power itself, leaving them defenseless. While still having a hostage, Ama-dan was no longer in control but at the utter mercy of James. The white beast anxiously waited as James used up the cigarette and squished it under his shoe.

“Who is your master?” James looked Ama-dan in the eyes.

Ama-dan was ready for anything but that question.

“No, Ama-dan won’t say it.” It said though it was more a matter it couldn't.

“Then I will apprehend you." James pointed.

The marks on Ama-dan lit up and pulled on each other. Its arms twisted around the back and its legs locked together. Orel escaped as the hands set him free. Ama-dan fell to the ground, defeated and humiliated.

“Do not bother resisting. Those binds will not come off unless I want to.” James walked closer.

Ama-dan stayed quiet with a defeated frown.

“It’s been a while since I saw your Penalty Court work.” Diarmuid stepped out of the church.

“I do not appreciate how well that name stuck with everyone.” James shook his head. “Anyways, what exactly happened here?”

“This thing murdered everyone inside the church," Diarmuid explained.

“It’s the same boggart from the cave,” Orel added.

“I see. So there were no survivors?”

“None." Diarmuid sighed. "They were all torn by pieces by this thing. Couldn't tell if the priest was with them."

“This leaves us with a lot of paperwork.”

“What do we do with this?” Diarmuid kicked the creature.

“Perhaps we could bring it to HQ for interrogation. My spell cannot force a confession.”

“I can try,” Diarmuid said.

“I did not know you had that sort of spell.”

Diarmuid bent his knee and looked down at the ugly white beast. He took one of the fingers and broke it off. Ama-dan shivered and screamed like a butchered animal.

“What are you doing?” James stepped back.

“What? It has no rights.”

“That is straight-up animal abuse.”

“Major, this isn’t a natural creature. it serves no purpose.” Diarmuid snapped another joint.

Another scream gurgled from the creature.

“It’s suffering,” Orel said.

“So were those people. It didn’t care, and neither should I.” Diarmuid finished the right hand.

“Diarmuid,” James crouched. "You know the protocol. If they do not speak after the first finger, they will not speak at all."

“That’s not the point.” Diarmuid crushed its whole arm.

He gripped his fist and was ready to punch the creature’s head. His face was full of anger, yet his eyes sank to emptiness. He might have felt sadness, yet there was no room for tears. He understood the meaningless of his actions, but he could not forgive the creature. Nothing could ever make up for the suffering of its victims, nor was there anything he could do to stop from it happening again.

Diarmuid activated another ring of runes in his hand, but these were not meant for defense.

“Please, kill Ama-dan,” It pleaded.

“Diarmuid, stop!” James pointed.

“Don’t try your spell on me!” Diarmuid glared at James.

Before James could issue another warning, Diarmuid struck Ama-dan’s face. He hit it again and again, with a flash of red light following every punch delivered. Each strike quaked the earth with a horrifying beat. The red glow intensified for a moment as the beast’s skull gave in. Diarmuid beat the head to a pulp until nothing remained but a loose lump of flesh and bone. Ama-dan's body twitched eerily for a while until falling limb.

Diarmuid stood up and looked at his bloodied hand, feeling as empty as when it was still clean.

“It’s dead.” James saw his cuffs disappear.

“You killed it.” Orel gasped.

Diarmuid said nothing to them. The anger on James’ face grew more and more with each moment passing.

“Is this supposed to be the model people should look up to?” James stood up.

“We are not saints, Major. Our work is to keep others safe.” Diarmuid cleaned his hands.

“We do not spill blood to stop it from spilling. We need to stand above those who kill, not join them. If we do not follow the rules, we are nothing more than a rampaging militia!”

“Then what are you going to say to the families of the victims? That you successfully incarcerated the perpetrator? You think they are going to be happy when the guy goes to prison or is executed?"

“They will be given appropriate aid to pay for their funeral and grief counseling.”

“Is that what we’re for? To give money to those who we couldn’t save because we couldn’t stop the rotten bastard?"

“Law is justice, fair and equal. It treats all the same.” James imitated a scale with his hands.

“Is that what you believe in or what you’re told?” Diarmuid glanced at James' hands.

“Do not question my morals, captain.” James gripped his fists.

“That's what you want, don't you? If no one questions why it was alright to move a group of people from their homelands and turn it into an industrial zone, then it must be justice, right?"

"Again with the druids and colonialism? You were given proper compensation for the land and even new land to settle in. Gaunnes has forest to spare even if your tribe was ten times the size."

“Do you have any idea what that forest meant for us? We buried our ancestors in that ground, and their souls inhabited the trees that grew from it. Now my great grandfather’s spirit is somewhere there as a dinner table!" Diarmuid could barely hold his anger.

“What has been done is done. I do not think it was right, but you have to let go of it at some point. You weren't even born there." James pointed out.

“Of course, I wasn't. I was born in the ghettos of Morbail, where the air is full of industrial fumes.”

“You can always move elsewhere. Living in the forest is not the best way of life." James shrugged.

“It is our way of life, which you took from us." Diarmuid crossed his hands.

"We have apologized for that for the millionth time already. We have laws against it. What more can you want?"

“Your laws can’t stop injustice, and your spell couldn’t stop me. What are you supposed to prevent with that?”

“Nothing is perfect. We must strive for better, but change takes time. patience is key if you can afford it."

“Even you should see the faults in that," Diarmuid smiled.

“Good point, for once. But that does not take away my point. Changes are small and few, so we have to prioritize what matters most."

“If that’s what you think, then there’s nothing more to say.” Diarmuid turned his back on James.

“For once, I agree.” James did the same thing.

“Major,” Diarmuid took a pause. “After all of this is over; I’m quitting the ADF.”

“Suit yourself.” James tried lighting a cigarette. “Make sure not to regret it.” He could not light it.

Somber silence fell between the two. James would not take long to walk back to the telepath. Orel was unsure who to follow, but he instinctively chose to walk behind James. The quietness was deafening, drying up their throats and tensing their tongues. James tried over and over to light his cigarette until finally giving up and snapping it in two. No amount of nicotine could relieve the weight on his shoulders.

Down in the cave, Slacume guided Angus and his platoon to the entrance of the mysterious cavern. They informed James about it with their telepath. Unlike Orel and Slacume, Angus had no problem opening the door by himself. The first thing they saw was a familiar face.

“Isao!” Slacume stepped in.

“I see you have returned with some company.” Isao stood up.

“Are you alright, sir?” Angus asked.

“I am well, thank you. It is good that you have come. The ritual seems to have begun, and I did not have enough power to stop it.”

“Lieutenant! BMR is going off the charts here!” An officer said.

“Stay focused on the task at hand. You two get out of here, and we will handle the rest.” Angus ordered,

“Okay.” Slacume walked out.

“I see my assistance is not needed,” Isao nodded and did the same.

Slacume and Isao walked next to the soldiers, seeing their anxious and fearful faces. They seemed to know as much of the situation as they did. Slacume could recognize the similar feeling he had, though it coming from professionals made him feel a bit uneasy. It was like seeing your doctor come in with your test results looking worried.

The platoon reached the ritual site. It had changed from when Orel and others left it. The troops circled it carefully, observing everything they could without direct contact. The blackened blood in the grooves shone with dark red light, creating ominous shadows all around. Noxious black fumes emerged from the hole, like darkness itself was escaping.

“Is this a seal?” A soldier asked.

“The pattern is different. It seems more like a summoning circle.” Angus shook his head. “It’s a little rough, but whoever made this knew what they were doing.”

“How many boggarts could they have sacrificed for this? What are they trying to summon?” Another soldier looked around the bodies.

“We don’t have time to try and answer that. Did we bring explosives?” Angus asked over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir!”

“Bring them here. We don’t have much time.”

“Yes, sir!” A soldier ran out of the room.

“Um, sir. Is it just me, or does this look like a piece of a ritual circle?” A soldier inspected the symbols. “Not only that but doesn’t this part indicate this circle is the receiving end?”

“Wait, could it be that there are more of these?" Another soldier asked.

“What the hell are they trying to summon here?” Angus stood up.

A robed man shuffled to the edge of a cliff among the fog. He looked at the town below, quiet as a mouse while the storm winds blew on the foggy streets. He took out a dagger and sliced his withered hand. He scraped some blood with his finger from the wound. The man took his other hand and drew a circle on the back of his palm. He made four dots over the line, forming the cardinal points. Lastly, he drew a line from the circle through his index finger. The four points on his hands lit up and drew a hypnotic figure to the center, forming the pact. His final act was to point at the southern forest with the finger. The bloody lines in his hand spun wildly until all of them concentrated on a small dot in the center. The man looked up to the sky in relief and sent a far-out message.

“Has everyone completed the ritual?" He asked.

"Yes, brother." Three voices answered.

"Then let us commence. Our lord awaits us."

The night hit its peak. The blood moon stood above all, surrounded by mist and blown by the ravaging storm. The most terrible night beckoned nearer, and those whose fate was not already sealed faced the horrors that would emerge from their flesh. Orel and those who didn’t immediately get caught in it were about to witness what would later be titled in the history books as “The dark ritual disaster.”