Amukelo stood there, his hand resting gently on the tip of his sword as the guards surrounded him. He felt the eyes of the people in the streets following him, peering through shuttered windows and around the corners of buildings. The guards were led by a tall, stern-looking commander, his dark eyes locked on Amukelo with an unsettling intensity. As they stood before the stable, Amukelo tried to keep his expression calm as he asked, "What is going on? I paid for the spot, didn't I?"
The commander, a middle-aged man with a heavy build and a polished breastplate, took a step forward. "That's correct," he began, a practiced smile spreading across his face, "but yesterday you left your horse unattended, and... well, that could have caused harm if it had spooked or done anything... unpredictable." The commander paused, leaning in slightly closer to Amukelo, lowering his voice to an insincere whisper, "But don't worry, our priest is very forgiving. Come with us, and you won't get into any trouble."
Amukelo eyed the commander, his gaze shifting to the nervous soldiers around him. It was clear that not all of them shared the commander's confidence—some of them were fidgeting, trying not to make eye contact with him, and clearly avoiding the scrutiny of the few villagers brave enough to peek out. The commander, however, stood proudly, looking satisfied and secure, as if he'd already won whatever game they were playing.
With a sigh, Amukelo gave a resigned nod. He knew they were going to make him come along no matter what he said. "Okay," he said, his voice calm but his tone sharp with underlying tension. "Let's get it over with."
The commander glanced at Amukelo's blade with a flicker of satisfaction and smiled even wider. "Good," he said, clearly pleased with his compliance. "Follow me. I'll give you back your horse once everything is settled." The guards closed in around Amukelo, forming a loose escort as they made their way down the main road.
Amukelo kept his hand on the hilt, ready to draw at any moment, but he walked along willingly, allowing himself to be led by the commander and his entourage. As they walked, Holag trailed closely beside him, his eyes darting around nervously. The villagers they passed quickly ducked into their homes or turned away, their faces filled with fear and confusion.
The main road led straight to the enormous church that loomed over the settlement like a watchful giant. The closer they got, the more magnificent it appeared—the structure was built entirely out of dark stone, with intricate carvings that covered every inch of its exterior. Tall, thin spires jutted up toward the sky, each one topped with a golden ornament that glimmered faintly in the dim morning light. The church seemed far too grand for a settlement of this size, with massive wooden doors and stained glass windows that depicted elaborate scenes of religious significance.
Amukelo was so focused on the church that he almost didn't notice one of the younger guards breaking formation to come close to him. The young man whispered quickly, his voice trembling with unease, "I'm... sorry for this, we have no choice. Just... just cooperate, please."
Before Amukelo could respond, the commander, walking a few paces ahead, snapped his head around, glaring at the young guard. The guard immediately straightened up and fell back into line, his face pale and stricken. Amukelo caught his eye briefly—he saw the fear and guilt there—but the guard looked away, focusing on the ground as they continued their march.
They finally reached the church steps, where the commander stopped and turned to Amukelo and Holag. "Go in," he said simply, gesturing toward the massive wooden doors. "We'll wait outside. Our priest will be with you shortly." The smile never left his face, but it seemed to widen, like a snake baring its fangs.
"Let's go," Amukelo said to Holag, and they pushed the heavy doors open, stepping inside the church.
The moment they entered, the air seemed to grow even colder. Standing before them was a hunched, elderly man, wearing long white robes embroidered with golden patterns. His face was thin, with sharp, suspicious eyes that darted from Amukelo to Holag as they entered.
He rubbed his bony hands together nervously, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "Ah, yes... welcome, welcome," he said, the words tumbling out quickly and awkwardly. "Our priest... is not here at the moment. He is... attending to matters of... great importance." He coughed and gave a feeble smile. "But do not worry, I will go fetch him for you. It... it will take some time, but for now, please... take a seat, rest... and wait patiently."
Before either Amukelo or Holag could say a word, the old man turned and hobbled quickly away, disappearing through a side door and leaving them standing in the middle of the vast, foreboding space. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the sound seemed to echo endlessly through the church, the silence that followed almost suffocating in its intensity.
Amukelo and Holag stood there in silence as the old man disappeared, leaving them alone in the vast, dimly lit church.
The church was strangely empty. There were no statues, no figures of saints or heroes, nothing that would normally fill a temple or place of reverence. The altar stood isolated at the far end of the hall, an imposing piece of dark stone with engravings that seemed ancient and foreign to Amukelo. The engravings themselves twisted and turned in harsh, jagged lines, forming what almost looked like claw marks etched deep into the stone.
The most unsettling feature was a massive throne that loomed near the center of the hall, raised on a small platform as if to command the attention of all who entered. It was made of dark wood and metal, its back tall and straight, with high armrests that resembled sharp talons gripping downward.
But what truly disturbed Amukelo was the fact that the throne seemed to be stained—long streaks of what looked like dried blood cascaded down its sides, like rivers of dark red that had long since dried up, leaving only faint traces of their presence.
As Amukelo stood near the front of the hall, he studied everything with a sense of intrigue rather than fear. He felt no reverence here, just an overwhelming sense of tension. Holag, however, had an entirely different demeanor. The man was visibly frightened, his eyes darting nervously around the room as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He kept glancing toward the exit, then back to Amukelo, clearly wishing to leave.
The room itself was heavy with silence, and the only sounds were the distant creaking of wood and the soft murmuring of wind brushing against the building. But then they heard a woman's yell, faint and muffled, almost as if the sound had traveled from somewhere deep within the walls. It was hard to pinpoint the direction it came from, but both Amukelo and Holag stiffened when they heard it. The cry was quickly followed by a short burst of laughter—laughter that was chilling and coarse, like someone mocking another's pain.
"What is that?" Amukelo muttered, narrowing his eyes and turning his head to try and locate the source of the noise. The laughter died down, and for a moment the silence returned, even thicker and more foreboding than before. And then, as if to confirm their suspicions, there was another yell—this time louder, sharper, and more desperate. It was still muffled as if the person screaming was gagged or far away, but the urgency in their voice was unmistakable.
Amukelo's eyes shot toward the back of the church, and his attention fixed on a door partially hidden in the shadows near the altar. He immediately walked toward it, his body tensed and ready for anything. Holag, on the other hand, tried to pull him back. "I don't think it's a good idea..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with fear.
Amukelo glanced back at him but didn't break his stride. "Whatever's going on here, waiting won't do us any good," he said, his voice firm and resolute. He reached out and grabbed the handle of the door. To his surprise, it wasn't locked. It swung open with a groan of wood, revealing a darkened corridor beyond.
The corridor was like a cave, the walls made of rough-hewn stone and barely illuminated by sparse, flickering torches mounted along its length. The flames cast eerie, long shadows, turning the twisting pathway into a surreal, otherworldly tunnel.
The corridor led downward in a spiraling fashion, steep steps carved into the floor, going deeper and deeper into the earth. The air was thick and musty, and Amukelo's breath formed visible puffs of mist as he moved further inside. He could feel the temperature dropping the further he went.
Holag followed behind, whispering in a desperate, pleading tone, "Amukelo, let's just leave. This isn't our business. Please... we don't even know what's down there!" But Amukelo pressed on, determined. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his senses alert to every creak and shift of the old wooden boards and stone walls around him. He was sure that something was wrong—very wrong—and he wasn't about to wait idly to find out what it was.
As they descended the spiral staircase, the muffled screams grew louder and clearer. Now they could hear more than just a scream—it was pleading, desperate, as though someone was being tortured or threatened. The sound of metal clanking, like chains being dragged across stone, accompanied the cries. Amukelo's grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, and he motioned for Holag to keep quiet, raising his finger to his lips. Holag nodded nervously, his eyes wide with fear, but he followed closely behind.
The corridor seemed to go on forever, spiraling deeper and deeper. The stairs were uneven, carved haphazardly, making it difficult to walk steadily without tripping. Occasionally, they would pass by small alcoves set into the wall—each one empty but strangely adorned with runes and symbols, similar to the ones on the altar but more intricate and twisted.