He lowered his hood and revealed a man with inky black, straight hair, tied up in a pony-tail that hung over his right shoulder. The man’s nose was square and crooked, and his chin was covered in a thick beard that came down to the middle of his throat. Above his bright blue eyes; that burned as bright as a pair of torches, was a thick brow that darkened his gaze. Upon his belt, he carried a dagger. Its hilt was a feline’s skull, and the sheath was a deep black that seemed to drink in all light around and cast a permanent shade around him. On his other hip, he wore a black and red journal chained to his belt in golden links.

  His clothes were neatly pressed: a violet tunic with golden letters embroidered into each of its seams from a language that Jein had never seen: tucked into a skull and bone embroidered belt, and pants of deep charcoal, tucked in a pair of black slippers.

  “Leave, Carrollin. While we still let you.” The Impatient Guard said, his sword flashing in front of him.

  Jein swallowed.

  “Now, now…” The man’s footsteps echoed down the alleyway much louder than they should. “We just want to talk to the boy.”

  “There is nothing to speak about with those who cavort with Demons,” Gillium said.

  “Cavort?” The man smirked. “That’s a mighty big word for someone this far in the sticks to know. Why not ask the young boy?”

  The man stepped forward again. It sounded as if a horse’s hoof was slamming against the stone. His shadow cast in both directions, each stretching and yawning and dancing along the floor and the walls as if he were walking through a hall of torches.

  “I..”

  Gilium slid his body to shield the boy.

  “Do not say a word, Jein,” Gilium said in a low whisper. “The moment you talk, men like this can steal your very soul.”

  “Funny, you speak about Soul…” The Dark Man said. Had he heard? How? The Dark Man continued. “What does the Church know about the wants of the soul? The Soul longs for freedom from all constraints, and yet the Church offers only chains.”

  “Still your tongue, apostate.” The Impatient Guard said.

  The Dark Man chuckled.

  “What is Destiny, if not a cage? Isn’t it natural to want to rise above one’s station? To fight and claw and bite? Even a trapped wolf would gnaw off its own leg to taste true freedom.”

  “You offer no Freedom. You offer destruction and death.” The Guard on top of the roof said. “If we were all to follow your Freedom, the world would end.”

  “Boy…” The Dark Man’s eyes seemed to pierce the deep shadow that swallowed the alleyway. “Do you wish to serve the Church and the Kingdom for your entire life? That is the path you are being offered by them. A life of servitude. You, however, have the potential to consume even the Sun. What is a Priest to you? What is a King? A God? What is a life of servitude, for one with your potential?”

  Jein’s heart raced. He didn’t know what to say. What to think. There was something wrong with the man. Even the stench of the slums seemed to be overwhelmed by the smell of sulfur. He stepped forward again, and nausea rose to his throat.

  Gillium reached into his pocket and tossed something on the ground. Glass broke, and fog rose from the shattered vial.

  “Go! Push through, we’ll hold them b—ACK.” The Impatient Guard in the front yelped and was flung against the wall of the apothecary to their right. The wattle-and-daub roof depressed at the impact.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Something roared within the fog, and Gillium grabbed hold of Jein. A shadow reached out for him and pushed the air at its movements. He glanced back and saw a horned figure within the shade of the fog: the tip of those curled accouterments brushed against the bottoms of the roofs. Curling, bolts of blue, yellow and violet spat from the roof where the guard is, and the sounds of steel clashing against steel rang out. Something fell against the ground with a heavy thud, and Gillium dragged Jein out of the alleyway: one of The Dark Man’s followers chased after them.

  Gillium whispered a prayer, and the phantasmal candlelight came to life. He glanced back, and the phantom flame of the candle grew and flung into the hooded face of the man. He yelped and fell back, and Gillium used that opportunity to toss another Bottled Fog on the ground and yanked Jein’s arm to a hard right until they were down another alleyway. He knocked a few of the stones on the wall in a certain order, and the ground opened up underneath them. Both fell into a pile of straw and were within darkness as the stone ground slid closed once more.

  “Fuck…” Gillium cursed. “They already know of your existence. That’s a lot quicker than we figured.”

  “Who was that? That man?” Jein’s shoulders huffed.

  Gillium pushed himself up out of the straw.

  “A Warlock: one of those in the employ of the Demon King. He forms mercenary-like contracts with demons in order to use their powers, and summon them to his aid…”

  “So that horned figure was…”

  “A demon more than likely.”

  Jein’s mind raced. Most people went their entire lives without encountering a single demon, and only two days after his ceremony, he encountered one. Was this, also, part of his destiny?

  Gillium pushed himself off the ground, picked up his sword, which had fallen on the stone floor beside him, and slid it into its sheath. He then turned around and offered his hand to Jein. Jein took it, and Gillium pulled him to his feet.

  “We have to hurry to the Cathedral and warn the High Priest.” He said, he incanted again and summoned another candle.

  “What? What about the others?”

  “What about the others?” Gillium glanced back and barked.

  It was only then that Jein noticed the trembling of the Guard’s hand upon his blade.

  “We were trained for this eventuality.” The Man said. “It is not unheard of for cults to attack churches, and we’re here on the very outskirts of the Camareth Kingdom — the only Kingdom Dedicated entirely to the Seven and One.”

  The man’s shoulders rose and fell in heavy intervals as he worked to steady his breath.

  “For right now, we have to warn the High Priest so he can make ready if— when the others get back, to treat their wounds and set up appropriate wards.”

  Gillium was finished discussing it. As soon as the final syllable of the sentence left his mouth, he moved to the far wall and pushed open the wooden door that had been inlaid in the wall. One. Two. Three hard shoves with his shoulder, and it groaned open. Stale air rushed out of the empty tunnels to meet the two of them. The Guard pushed into the inky darkness — the light of the candle parting it like a wedge driven into a rotting log.

  “Come. Quickly.”

  Jein nodded and went in after him.

  “These tunnels are very rarely used,” Gillium said. “Sometimes, things take up residency here that must be gotten rid of…it has been a while since we had a Scouring. So be on your guard.”

  When he said that, Jein’s hand moved to the dagger on his waist.

  “Mainly rats,” Gillium reassured the boy. “Nothing I can’t take care of.”

  With that sentence spoken, Jein stopped for a moment.

  “Do you mind if I take a Guild job while we’re here?”

  “That’s right…you need to complete one a month or you’ll get kicked out, huh?”

  Jein nodded.

  “Go ahead. But be quick about it. Just so you know, we won’t be searching for anything while we’re down here. We’re heading straight for the Cathedral.”

  “Alright. That’s fine.”

  Jein would ask permission to enter the tunnels once everything that happened today had been resolved, anyhow.

  “Jobs.” He spoke out loud.

  The Window of the World opened up to his Jobs page. He looked to the “Kill Rats” section of the jobs posting and spoke outloud, “Accept.”

  Another Window opened up that read:

  [Rats and other vermin are vectors of disease, and ruin food stores. Find them across all of Astaire, and eliminate 5 of them.

  0/5

  +5 XP (Adventurer) +3 Copper ]

  Gillium continued down the tunnel, with Jein following closely behind.