Reshid didn’t realize that the attack had started until shouting rang out from up ahead, followed by thumps of impact and the clatter of falling rock. Then, someone started singing as the battle broke out in earnest. They were still on the stairs, but the rearguard pushed at them from behind urging them up more quickly. In seconds, they made the last turn and found themselves at the top in a level stone corridor.

In front of them, a nightmarish scene unfolded. Wights and werecreatures were throwing themselves forward with insane ferocity, but were stopped cold by a row of four armored figures wielding antique-looking spears. All were shaved bald and wore red and green under their armor—priests of Derevan. They sang a melody in unison as they fought and moved as if they could read one anothers’ minds, cutting down the undead with shocking efficiency. They were moving almost too quickly for a normal human, but it was the coordination and precision with which they fought that allowed them to stand up to the inhuman onslaught.

That, and the priests supporting them from behind.

Several ranks of robed men and women were packed tightly into the narrow passage behind them, a few of them chanting together while most simply spoke prayers over each other.

As Reshid watched, a wight who was trying to push through to reach one of the pike-wielding priests stumbled back as if struck before curling into a ball, shaking. A keening wail cut through the general tumult, then the creature shrank in on itself. Seconds later, nothing but a desiccated husk remained.

Several of the priests in the back lifted amulets and staves in unison producing a blinding flash of light. The front rank of wights and werecreatures fell like puppets with their strings cut, but beyond that, the unnatural light was dimmed by what looked like a spectral cloud of smoke. Antonius, apparently the source of the counter, had his hand raised and barked a command.

Several vampires, most of whom were clustered around the lich, broke away into a side chamber, even as the main force continued their attack.

The lich closed fist and jerked it inward toward himself as a resounding *crack* rang out. Dust fell from the ceiling, but nothing else happened. Most of the priests ignored the apparently imminent collapse entirely, but a single short, stocky man in a brown robe looked up. He had what Reshid at first mistook for a staff rammed up into the ceiling, as if to hold it up.

Looking closer, Reshid realized that it wasn’t a staff at all. It was a spade—sort of. It wasn’t a modern iron or steel bladed tool. Instead, it was entirely made of old, worn out wood with a blunt blade that none but the poorest farmers would ever put up with. He didn’t know much about priests of Gyirg, the god of the earth and the harvest, but he knew they didn’t usually join the Guardians. They must have brought in help from the other orders when they heard what was coming.

The priest didn’t seem to say or do anything, but the cracks that Antonius’ attack had caused in the rock above visibly narrowed. Seconds later, they were gone.

Reshid looked back toward the stairwell uncomfortably. Could they make their escape yet?

A hand lightly slapped Reshid across the back of the head.

“Enough sightseeing.” Feane said with a feral, overly-toothy grin. “Come!” She winked at Rory, who looked just as shocked as Reshid felt. “You too, Mr. ‘healer-revenant’ doctor.”

She dragged him through the wights, hauling a few bodily out of the crowd along the wall to make room for them to pass. Startled, Reshid realized that Feane knew about Rory—that he was a human. She had to have known the entire time. They’d practically shown her that he didn’t have any essence abilities when they’d healed her what… yesterday? Why had she not ratted him out? He shook his head, and stepped through the doorway.

The side room was relatively large and much less crowded than the embattled corridor, if you didn’t consider the corpses that were laid out in grottoes in varying stages of decay. A vampire and a massive insectoid werecreature were attacking the far wall. One of the vampires placed his hands over the rock, using an essence ability of some kind. Then the werecreature used his hand and disturbing insect appendage to scrape and scoop what looked liked soft clay out of a growing hole in the wall. They were making astonishing progress as a handful of other vampires looked on.

Feane hadn’t brought them in here to watch, though. Off to the side, two injured werecreatures and several wights lay. Feane pulled them over and pushed them toward their new patients.

“Fix them up.” She said simply, but then continued when she saw Reshid hesitate. “Be quick, too. We are all in the same fight—you as well. They will not let you live if we fail.”

Reshid already knew that, but he didn’t appreciate being reminded of the fact. With a frown, he bent down to his task. Rory was already prodding an unconscious wight.

“What if they try to drain us to heal themselves?” he wondered.

Feane chuckled disturbingly. “Why is it, you think, that I am here?”

Rory didn’t look comforted. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out what, exactly, she meant by that.

He almost got lucky. Together, they managed to patch up nearly all of the wounded, except for the last of the wights. When Reshid began healing him, his eyes popped open revealing wild, bloodshot eyes. The creature sank his clawed hand into the healer’s side and began to drain him. It was a much weaker effect than that of the vampire that he’d fought earlier, but it felt more terrifying. It didn’t draw out his healing, or “cultivation”, essence. Rather, it felt almost as if something was pulling on his very soul. A cold numbness began to spread from the wound almost instantly.

He didn’t know what to do. Desperately, he grabbed at the wight’s hand, trying to pull it out of himself.

Then, Feane was there, slamming the other wight back down onto the ground. Gore sprayed as she bent over him, tearing out his throat with her pointy teeth.

Reshid could feel her doing something with the wight’s essence, likely draining it for herself. He recoiled in horror, wiping at a spot of blood that landed on his face. In a small, rational part of his mind, he wondered why he could sense the wight’s essence moving around when he could never tell when other revenants, or anyone really, was manipulating other essences.

Before he could pursue the thought further, though, bright sunlight shone into the room. The two diggers had made it. One of the vampires ducked out of the door, back toward the lich as the others surged toward the hole. The werecreature went out first, wriggling to get his giant body through the relatively small hole. Even over the din of battle, he could hear the shocked shouts that came from the other side. Moments later, the vampires were through as well, likely tearing whoever was waiting on the other side to pieces.

Finally, a few scattered gunshots went off, followed by what sounded like a more coordinated volley.

A roar came from the corridor along with a flash of orange light, then the lich burst into the room.

Before they could do anything but gawk, he was across the room and made his way out of the hole. Seconds later a roaring explosion went up outside with such force that the walls shook inside the crypt. Hot air blew in through the improvised passageway.

Dazed, Reshid looked around. Rory was sitting on the ground with a horrified look on his face. Feane, on the other hand, was still feeding on the dead wight as if she hadn’t noticed anything.

Shuddering, Reshid averted his eyes and reached down for Rory. This was their chance.

“Rory!” he hissed. “We need to go!” Not wanting to risk alerting Feane with too many words, he grabbed the man’s shoulder and nodded toward her. “Look!”

Rory did look, then, and went pale. Still, he understood. The room was otherwise empty, and sounds of fighting in the corridor were quieting. They stepped out into the corridor to find it deserted. The priests must have retreated when they realized that they were outflanked. As far as Reshid could see, not a single one of them had died in their defense of the crypt. By the sounds coming from outside, he doubted that things would continue to go so well for them in the future.

They moved quickly toward the stairwell. If they could get down some way, no one would know what happened to them. If Feane was as out of it as she seemed, she might assume that they went outside to join the fight.

Just as he thought it, though, a hand closed on his shoulder and he flinched.

“It is good that you are staying back where it’s safe.” She said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. “But we will stay close to provide support to our wounded. You understand.”

Her eyes were a little too wide, but otherwise it seemed that Feane had come back to her senses just a few moments too early.

She turned them around and steered them toward the normal crypt entrance. Carnage awaited them on the other side.

Burned and dismembered corpses lay scattered across the ground, both those of soldiers and of the lich’s troops. While the wights and werecreatures were faster, stronger, and generally more powerful than regular soldiers, they didn’t have firearms. Many lay dead, mowed down before they had the chance to reach the guards.

Some distance away, a small crowd of them were still fighting, tearing into a similarly small group of guards. Both the priests and the lich, together with his vampires, were nowhere to be seen.

Feane hissed and looked around at the bodies.

“Quickly, find the injured. Get as many back on their feet as you can. Hurry!”

Reshied complied, looking around mostly to see if Em, Charlie or anyone else he knew was lying among the dead. He could already see that the city guard would win in moments. The lich’s forces just weren’t a match for an organized enemy with modern weapons. Especially one that outnumbered them so significantly and without the support of the lich himself. Rory audibly scoffed, but ducked his head and began searching when Feane glared at him furiously.

The fight only took a few seconds. More guards arrived, coming out of the nearby buildings to support the depleted main body of their force.

As they advanced on them, Feane screamed in frustration and backed up into the crypt entrance.

“Where did they go? Where did they go?” She muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Reshid wondered, too. Where had Antonius run off to with his vampire lieutenants?

He backed up along with Feane, though Rory just stood still, raising an arm to wave.

“Don’t shoot. We’re friendlies!”

The soldiers didn’t lower their weapons, but they didn’t shoot him either. Not yet, anyway.

Reshid eyed them warily. Where were Em, Charlie and the others?

“Who the hell are you?” said an eerily familiar voice.

Reshid froze. It was scratchier, older than he remembered it, but it wasn’t the sort of thing a man could mistake. As the speaker stepped forward, Reshid’s breath caught in his throat. His face looked older, too—a bit older than Reshid himself looked now, thanks to the effects of his essence. It was creased with deep lines, his chin covered in a short, patchy gray beard that had never suited the brat. He looked quite different, really, after nearly thirty years. Still, what father wouldn’t recognize his own son?

He took a shuddering breath.

“Orem?”