Author's note

This chapter is a bit darker, showing a side of the cult I haven't shown you before.

Word count

This chapter: 1840

Total: 33520

NaNoWriMo target for the 18th: 31667

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Aitken darted forward, into the darkness in an attempt to outmaneuver whatever was lurking in the darkness.

He illuminated the narrow halls with a small fireball, as he darted past traps, narrowly avoiding everything from auto-fired arrows to floor-tiles disappearing under his very feet.

The path seemed to lead in a circle downwards, as if it was leading down to something. Aitken noticed a tapping sound, approximately at the same pace as Aitken’s feet hammered onto the floor - something was following him, fast.

Aitken grit his teeth and mentally prepared for combat, after all there was no way in which Aitken could outrun whatever was in the shadows - especially considering he was carrying Rosedriah and had a pre-existing disadvantage of shorter-than-usual legs.

He lowered his hand with the fireball, hovering it just above the paladin’s blade, crudely stuffed into his black-furry leather belt together with another blade looted from a dead guardsman - the latter was a crude thing, appearing more like an over-sized machete than an actual sword. In the confusion of the battlefield and the haste from treating the wounded, he had missed the opportunity to grab a shield and check for other loot… As usual.

I’ve got my pursuer running, at least I will know his location...Wait, is he coming closer?

Indeed, the volume of the footsteps increased, at least from Aitken’s perspective.

I’ll get the jump on it.

Aitken threw his fireball towards the sound of feet, rapidly forcing a new fireball to appear in his hand shortly after.

As Aitken peeked backwards, he saw his pursuer. It looked like a humanoid, covered in dirty white wraps from head to toe, only having holes cut for the eyes and mouth. The humanoid wore leather armour above the wraps, wielding two sharp sickles. This looked tough, when accounting for defending the fallen ally meanwhile.

Aitken heard an otherworldly moan from straight ahead - the sound of a tortured soul, shackled to its mortal coil.

Immediately in front of him stood yet another mummified creature. Aitken grinded to a halt, and put Rosedriah on the ground - he was out of options.

He took the paladin’s blade into his right hand, and kept the place illuminated in a soft glow with the fire from his left.

I really hope those bandages burn.

A twisted and dark moan echoed in the hall, as did another… and another.

Aitken looked around him, spinning in circles next to the unconscious Rosedriah.

He was surrounded by half a dozen moaning creatures with sickles.

Those creatures couldn’t possibly have abducted my allies, right?

The creatures approached, seeming more coordinated than Aitken would have liked. They took steps towards him in complete sync, narrowing the circle.

“Let’s see if you like fire” Aitken threw the fireball at the mummy in front of him. The fireball flew at it, and the flames ignited the bandages, resulting in what appeared to be a humanoid torch.

“Yep, flaming undeads. Just my luck.”

While the prospect of flaming undeads seems terrifying, I’m not actually vulnerable to fire… But Rosedriah is… I just messed up.

The mummies got so close that one ignited the next.

“Awh come on!”

Aitken swung the paladin’s blade at the nearest.

Clang!

Sickle-on-sword, metal-to-metal rung through the air.

Aitken grabbed his other sword with the other hand - seeing how the wall of flaming undeads made for a great source of light.

Swosh

The machete swept through the head cleanly, and the undead fell to the ground.

Aitken hesitated for half a second, sheathing his machete-like sword, before grabbing Rosedriah by the leg and forcing his way through the opening he had made, blocking two simultaneous sickles sweeping down for Rosedriah.

Splosh.

Aitken felt the stabbing pain of two rusty sickles digging their way into his side, as the undead on the other side of him had an open flank to attack.

Aitken kept running, leaving the flaming undeads behind - yet running off with two rusty sickles.

He thought he heard two voices behind the flaming wall of undeads.

“Serafine, we’ve secured the others. They’re with Molly.”

A twisted parody of a little girl's voice resounded in answer. “I don’t care, this imp is entertaining. I’m killing him… Or skinning him alive.”

The voices slowly faded, as Aitken headed towards the bottom of the crypt with all his might.

Aitken arrived at the end of the path, in a flat room. Darkness surrounded him as the reach of his small flame wasn’t enough to illuminate the entire place.

He hurried to the side of the room, searching for any kind of door or pathway.

It has to be here, it’s supposed to be an area controlled by the cultists.

A voice softly spoke into in Aitkens left ear, so close he could feel the breath. “Fooouund youu”

In that moment, Aitken’s blood froze to ice. Chills ran down his spines, and his every instinct yelled for him to flee with all his might.

He tossed himself wildly away from the source of sound, and let Rosedriah land on the ground with him, letting go of her. He grabbed the paladin-sword from his belt, still illuminating the place with a fireball in the other hand.

A small girl, only a little taller than himself stepped into the dim light from his fire. She had long black hair, and wore a black dress not unlike the one Rosedriah wore… yet there was something different about it - like it had been torn apart and stitched together a thousand times over.

She took another step closer, and the light struck her eyes. Pitch black eyes, not even a speck of white was to be seen. She laughed cheerfully. “I’d like to see your insides. Would you let me turn you inside out?”

“Wait, wait! You’re a witch. I’m on your side.” Aitken yelled, nearly forgetting he didn’t speak the human tongue.

She stepped towards Aitken with a hunched over posture, upper body seeming limp.

Aitken noticed her fingernails - they were cut into triangular shapes, sharpened. As if she would be ripping her prey to pieces. He lifted his sword.

“We’re on the same side.” He repeated.

She dashed at him, hand raised, pointing out to her side.

Aitken pointed his sword directly at the witch, as she charged forward.

Splosh.

She impaled her own shoulder on Aitken’s sword. Her fingernails turned pitch black, and she swept her arm towards Aitken’s throat.

Like acid was dripped onto the nails, Aitken’s throat burnt where he had been scratched. Had he not moved, he might have lost his head entirely. His sword was now stuck in the witch, who didn’t seem to pay it any attention.

She simply walked over to Rosedriah, as Aitken backed off. “I wonder if she tastes nice.”

Aitken flinched, and snatched a sickle out of himself, leaving behind an open wound in the process. He threw the sickle with all his might at the witch, and it struck her right in the eye.

She simply looked over at Aitken. “Thanks, I needed that.”

With those words, she simply pulled the sickle out of her eye.

Aitken froze. She’s simply pulling a sickle out of her bleeding eyeball? What sort of a monster is she?

The witch lowered the sickle towards Rosedriah. “I wonder if her skin is soft.”

Aikten threw his fireball at the witch, and immediately snatched the other sickle out of his side, attacking the witch with two blades at once.

Splosh splosh.

Her chest was skewered by both blades. She looked at Aitken and smiled, revealing a mouthful of jagged teeth.

Aitken’s eyes grew wide, as she grabbed his arm, immediately slamming the sickle into his upper arm, sliding the rusty metal through his skin, and pulling it towards his hand, severing muscles in the process.

Aitken howled and slammed his fist into her mouth, trying to shake her off wildly.

She bit together around his hand, the jagged teeth sinking deeply into his hand.

The girl lifted the sickle again, aiming sideways after she cut from his upper arm to his hand.

Aitken slammed his foot into her stomach, pushing her backwards just enough to shake himself free.

Aitken staggered backwards, conjuring another fireball. The arm was already soaked in blood - this deep kind of wound would easily prove fatal.

He immediately tried to burn his wound shut - to his surprise it worked despite his fire resistance. His blood dried up upon contact with the flame, sealing the wound. He looked up again, noticing the witch was located two steps from him, already running and with the rusty sickle held high.

Aitken’s heart rate grew a tad, and he suddenly became short of breath. He threw his fireball at her, and turned around, running.

He heard the footsteps of the witch getting closer. Aitken lit a fireball once more, circling around, arriving at Rosedriah’s side, quickly grabbing her silvery sword - this was his last shot.

Relentlessly, the witch darted after him.

The witch swung her claw towards Aitken, who responded by swinging the sword at her arm, attempting to sever it cleanly.

Splosh.

The witch's arm fell off cleanly and she flashed a jagged, childish grin.

Her other arm turned dark all the way to the elbow. “Die!”

“Stop!” A voice called out from behind her. “He’s with me.”

“Ah, Molly… Do you want to see him skinned as well?”

“No, Serafine. I need those two.”

“You can have them after I played with them.”

“No, I need them alive and with their skin intact.” Molly said.

“Then take them if you can.” Serafine grinned.

“I’m not up for your games. Let them go, or I’ll bury you in a hole under a mountain of rocks. See if you can cheat death there.”

Serafine responded with a sadistic laugh.

Molly’s eyes narrowed and she sent a flask flying in a straight line into Serafine’s face.

Boom!

“Next time, it’ll be one that freezes you over.” She continued to wave Aitken over, and in response Aitken picked up Rosedriah and circled around Serafine over to Molly.

Serafine simply ducked down and picked up her severed arm.

Molly went towards where Aitken had come from, and opened a door next to the path up.

“I would have told you welcome to the cult… But I’m afraid I missed that opportunity. Not all of the six great witches are on good terms, as you can see...”

“And my allies?” Aitken asked in his impish language.

“... Treatment of my wounds, you ask? I’ve made a mixture for that. I’ll give the second component of the cure to your master soon.”

Aitken frowned. Master, huh? So that’s what you think.

They continued into a hallway that was actually lit up by torches. Aitken noticed the ladder extending upwards above him. This might be how they arrived so fast.

He followed Molly through the hallway, and they entered a large room with all sorts of mixtures, vials, and different glass items to mix and match liquids with as well as mortar, pestle and an overwhelming supply of different ingredients - from the simple garlic all the way to the exotic fairy wings.

She grabbed a black vial and poured the contents into Rosedriah’s mouth. In response, Rosedriah's pupils normalized almost instantly.

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And as always, Thanks for reading!