Chapter 25: Once Sacred

"Broken panes of colored glass." ​

Ray bounds after you all as you're pulled into a run. Constantly nudging Ofelia towards the correct turns, you all tear out from the library, and fly down a series of branching passageways. Books leer out of every narrow corridor.

There's skittering and screeching at your backs, and not even a few minutes pass by before three imps nearly crash into you all. The small demons are shorter than Ray, but their stockier forms are clad in parchment and warped leather ribbons. The passage you're currently occupying can't be more than ten feet across. The spiked imps block the entire corridor, gnash their teeth, and still rapidly back up in shock.

As you whip your head around to look for a way out, two more imps be seen crawling along the ceiling. They're all wielding melee weapons. Before you is a makeshift spear, while the rest carry daggers. There's no telling how many more monsters heard your earlier fighting, either. More are probably on their way.

Ofelia fearlessly steps towards the three demons before you. Keeping your sleeve held in one arm, she brandishes the demon's severed head in the other. Ripping the cloth off of its destroyed features in one motion, she screams at the imps in either direction. "STAY BACK!" The imps actually hesitate to strike. Seizing the opportunity to push forward, you're dragged along with the rogue as she waves the head higher. Blood drips and splatters onto wooden planks. "HE'S TAKEN THE FORM OF THE PRIEST! THE ONE THAT'S BEEN KILLIN' ALL YER FRIENDS!" She gives you a wink. "STAY BACK, OR HE'LL GETCHA' TOO!"

This was not what we agreed to. My clergy may think that I'm no better than a demon— but this?

The imps dead ahead have stopped moving, but they remain no more than five feet away from your reach. Their smashed, grotesque faces twist in confusion. They may not be capable of understanding Ofelia's language, let alone her words— but she's distracted some of them.

The beasts slowly crawling along the ceiling have yet to stop.

Regardless of how Ofelia wants you to interpret her words, it would be sacrilege to impersonate a demon. You're upset, but are still much more level-headed than usual. This is no time to lose your composure. There has to be a way to help your cause.

With a look of reassurance to Ofelia, you tighten the hold on your shield, and charge. Chaos ensues.

Music

Ofelia chucks the severed head at both imps that scurry from above, while all three of the demons below run to meet your assault. They form a point, and while the spear at the back moves to sweep you off you feet, you kick off as hard as you can from the floor. Speed and momentum takes you over their heads, past the reach of the spear-wielder, and over to the other side of the corridor. You land deftly on your feet, and turn to face your foe.

Ofelia and Celegwen draw their blades, and strike from a distance to take the crawling monsters down from the ceiling. While the girls' focus is fixed on staving them off and defending Ray, your boy leaps onto the throat of the closest imp. The second it lands to the ground, he snarls through his attack with enough intensity to drive back the other squat demons that are still standing. They turn to face you.

The severed arm is tossed aside. Bracing yourself, you quickly take your mace from its holster, take a lower stance, and pray for the strength to endure.

All three demons barrel into you. You're practically knocked off your feet, but valiantly lean into the blow. Wasted muscle strains from the effort of fighting against their combined attempts to push past you.

Over the top of your shield, you just make out Ray jumping to your defense. His teeth dig into and tear away one beast. The sudden reduction of strain gives you a renewed purchase, and you shove as hard as you can against the remaining imps. A single spear raises overhead to strike, while you can't run or duck. Flesh's name jumps to your lips— ready and willing to withstand the attack— but a cloak and dagger strikes from the shadows.

Ofelia drives a blade into the spear-wielders back before it could see or hear her coming. The demon beside her backs away in terror, looking to flee for its life.

You rush forward to greet the coward, and crush it with your shield into the nearest wall. "Run! GO!"

All of your company tears past you, running away from the demons that were knocked from the ceiling. Panic is all across Celegwen's features, but discerning the source of her fear has to wait. The monster you're pinning is practically the size of your shield.

One of your target's hands snakes out from behind your shield, and slices open your sleeve. The deep gash is nowhere near enough to distract you. You're far too used to dealing with its kind, know this is a diversion, and jump back.

The heft of your shield swings up, and catches a dagger thrown from down the corridor. Your heart sinks. As the remaining imps rip the spikes off their bodies as makeshift weapons, more can be heard from down both potential exits. There's no time to stay and fight.

You run. Shrapnel and barbs fly past you as you have to constantly have to stop, turn, and deflect another barrage. Though the constant pauses for cover cause you to fall behind your companions, you manage to pull away from the imps on your tail quickly.

It takes a matter of minutes to catch up to the sound of your friends fighting. With renewed effort, you push yourself to run as fast as your legs can carry you. Beyond tilting and scattered books, through several more corridors, and through a colossal set of gilded doors...

You emerge in an old Church of Mercy. Your rapid breath catches in your throat. Light impossibly filters through holes worn in the ceiling from age. Colored glass adorns the farthest end of the hall and amplifies Her light as it dances around the room. Hundreds of books are colored with gold and every other hue, crammed as they are in shelves up to the vaulted ceiling.

​

Though you're smitten by beauty, you're on the second floor, and have to tear your eyes away from the highest levels of the church.

From the worn balcony before you, you get a clear view of your friends fighting for their lives down below. It's at least a twenty foot drop down. You hang back only for an instant, to see five more imps that surround them. A smoking corpse lies dead further outside the circle of death made around your company. A gaping hole is in the fallen demon's chest thanks to Celegwen, who's leaning hard against her staff. Her back is to Ofelia. The rogue is right beside Ray, and she chucks a dagger into the nearest demon to cover your boy. He's snarling viciously at the incoming predators, but knows better than to compromise a defensive position.

You rip your gaze away from the progressive fight for their lives. This building was once sacred, but it has fallen into disrepair over the years. You could draw on it for aid, but there's no telling how many demons you'd be able to fend off here— or for how long.

While you wish to respect Flesh's wishes and exert your own strength, you are in no shape to fight this volume of demons off on your own. Not without His help.

There is no fear in your heart as you take a few steps away from the edge of the railing, and ready yourself to jump. Grasping onto your holy symbol, you place your trust in the Gods, and invoke with fire.

"Light is Your vessel, made ready in weakness. Willing is the Father— here, in the house of the Mother! Hear me, Flesh of my flesh! Deliberate now is my tension: intent on exerting Your will! Aid this humble form! Grant me your strength!"

Heat courses through your skin as if you were set aflame. Smoke curls and pools along your scars. It streaks behind you in plumes of red as you tear across the hardwood floor, and clear over the balcony. Shield and mace at the ready, you cry your praises to the God of the Material as you soar over the fight below.

All five imps watch your deafening impact onto both feet. The surge of recoil through your feet, legs, and all the rest of your body is exceeded by Flesh's burn.

He mends the torn muscle and hairline cracks in bone while you get a good look at the enemy. They're all outfitted with makeshift weapons. Sharpened quills, splinters of bookshelves made into makeshift bats, and bits of their own bodies are torn off for combat. They're as spiked as their predecessors, are somewhat smaller, and are utterly stunned by your landing.

Ray seizes the chance to strike, leaps forward with his jaws open wide, and locks his teeth around an imp outfitted in pale yellow parchment. You rush forward to protect him. "Run to the west! Look for the arched doors! We'll hold them off—" Both women are utterly floored at the progressively strengthened sight of you. You charge forward, and use all of your additional muscle to bash the imp that's tormenting Ray aside. "GO!"

They hesitate. The imps surrounding the group draw in closer. Ray is forced to loosen his grip on the demon he holds, while you let loose a cry, and drive the monster forward with all the strength you possess. Energy sears under your skin like hot coals as you drive a gap between the perimeter around you all, knocking the demon forward, and sending it flying into the nearest pew.

The imps that have been closing in on you all redouble their efforts. A longer, spiked, sword-like appendage is being wielded by one of the taller imps. He goes to swing the monstrous weapon towards Celegwen. She keeps her staff in hand to deflect the first strike poised at her— and all the exhaustion written across her face shifts into gratitude. With only a dagger in hand, Ofelia comes to her aid. What little strength she possesses meets the demon's blow.

They lock for only an instant in a battle that the small woman surely can't win. She lets out a cry. The demon's weapon comes scraping down along her arm and clean through her cloak— as you jump into the fray.

The sharpened, blood-caked iron of your mace makes perfect contact with the imp's shoulder. With a cry that drowns out its shrieks, you dig deep, and cleave through toughened tissue. A spray of blood spurts from the site of the wound as you force your limbs to work all the way through the creature's arm. Black viscera mists onto your face with a twist of your weapon. The entire limb is cleaved off— and takes the monster's weapon with it.

Righteous fury drips from you and your limbs as you unstick your mace from its severed limb, and glare at the creature.

The two of you face down while Ofelia backs up to protect Celegwen.

Your attention is pulled away from Ray snarling by their side.

The monster you've maimed screams at you— showing no indication of pain.

One of the intact demons tries to catch you unaware.

You bring your shield overhead to stop a blow from an imp right at your side— and have to drop to one knee.

Inhuman reflexes catch a dagger from yet another imp approaching from the rear of the church. Every broadening sinew in your arms, healed shoulder, back, and chest heave as you meet blow after blow from the demons that are rapidly circling. Despite the heat coursing through your body, your holy symbol is hotter still. Mercy is no doubt watching over you. But as badly as you wish to praise the Goddess of protection, your friends' safety is more pressing. Both women are worse for the wear.

You're trying to take as much fire away from them as you're able, but it's not going to be enough at this rate. Your shouts barely carry over the screams of your attackers. "RAY!" The fastest gesture you can manage is made with your mace towards both women. You have to drop it to counter another barb that goes for your chest. "Guard them! Ofelia, Celegwen— please! GO! Run!"

Backing away from his own attacker, Ray snarls and drools at the imps eyeing your friends. The smallest of the bunch are trying to pick off your weaker allies, and take a step back from the sheer degree of viciousness that your boy displays.

Celegwen's voice carries over your shouts in another incantation.

Starlight intertwines with a spray of blood.

Your mace comes down on the only imp standing between you and both women.

Billowing smoke from your invocation, and the light of Mercy filters through the shadow of her spell.

A silent, devastating blast tears through an imp that came up from behind the sorceress.

A gaping hole persists where its face once was.

Your friends turn and run. A spear made of cartography tools soars through the air towards Ray as he leads the escape. You sprint towards the nearest pew, jump clear across it, and glance the blow away with the edge of your shield. Chunks of wood from its edge splinter and fall to the floor— alongside the weapon.

Landing in a roll, you breathlessly whip your head around as you skip back to your feet. There's four more imps approaching from down the center aisle.

In the opposite direction, Celegwen and Ofelia have pulled ahead. They're sprinting towards the stained glass at the far end of the church while Ray leaps faithfully after them.

Ducking behind a nearby pillar, you narrowly dodge another dagger. Sweat and smoke pools from you frame as Flesh begs for more strain.

You oblige the demand for work, tear off towards your friends, and create a massive distance between yourself and the imps. It buys you a few precious seconds of time.

At the front of the building lies a series of fallen paintings and shelves. It looks as if a wall has collapsed near the front of the church. Either the structure here is weaker than you suspected— or something larger has come through here recently.

Another series of daggers soars overhead. Two clip your robes. Your skin stings and tears. Blood seeps into the now-burgundy fabric, but you're barely phased. Flesh works over in moments, leaving nothing but fresh scars, and concern for your pursuers.

Ray lingers at the arched doors leading out of the building, whining and snarling for permission to leave. The front doors are not barred— but may be too old to easily open. Celegwen and Ofelia are struggling with decaying wood and sealed glass.

You scarcely have time to react as the imps put all of their focus towards your vulnerable allies.

Yet another wave of demons encroaches on the periphery of the church. Another half a dozen are visible nearest the altar— while the imps closest to the entrance throw everything they have at your allies. Even with Flesh's blessing, there's no way you could hope to reach them in time.

But you don't need to speak to invoke your Goddess. You don't need to run forward, shield at the ready. You don't need to throw yourself in the line of fire to protect your friends.

You look to pews overflowing with blasphemy, and cast aside all hope of self-preservation.

"MERCY!"