Kane's eyes widened, his chest burned in a deathly fear, and his limbs grew weak as he watched imminent failure steamroll its way over. Instinctively, he pulled out the small, crooked twig, and pointed it at the two swordsmen who made their promenade down a blood and organ bathed staircase, reeking with the stench of horrors that had Bauer fighting against the urge to vomit.
With sharp flicks of his wrist, Kane expected bursts of magic to fire forth, though what was fired out was nothing more than a frustrated sigh. Come on you piece of shit! Just fire some—
In his frantic mental outcry to the wand, a sharp sound—one that was a mixture of cracks and pops, followed immediately by hisses and sizzles—echoed through the room just as sparks flashed around the tip of the wand, like a miniature firework.
An incandescent light, surging forth with flickering hues of gold and crimson blending into one, crashed straight into the chest of one of the nefandites, leaving behind a charred mark and scent and an ephemeral blinding light upon impact. Following immediately afterward was a howl of pain and the militiaman falling off the stairs, plunging into the pandemonium of a cacophony of terrified voices below.
A wellspring of elation burst for a moment within his chest, wondering just how he did it, but Kane immediately realized that understanding how to use a wand was going to be the least of his concerns if he could not kill the other militiaman right now.
Again he flicked his wrist. Once, twice, thrice, another, and one last. Alas, save for the cracking sound of his wrist that followed each flick, nothing happened. Although he wanted nothing more than to yell, whether it be out of anger, fear, or frustration, Kane stood with a blank expression and stared at the militiaman in silence. He realized that even though just moments ago he felt indifferent to surviving, his decision—what he truly wanted deep down—was made the minute he showed Bauer how to open the door: He would not stay the path of a sacrificial lamb, whether it be death by pure chance or by vicious intentions.
"Bauer, stop the prisoners!" yelled Kane, raising his hand again, determined to get the wand working again. "I'll deal with the militiaman!"
Without wasting a second, Bauer picked up as many severed limbs as he could, hurling them at the stampede that was merely a few steps behind them, though he could only send a few of them tumbling down the stairs. More quickly filled their places, crushing those who laid on the stairs with a popping and crunching sound.
"Kane! Hurry the fuck up!" said Bauer, now hurling bodies at the prisoners, sending them tumbling down like dominos.
"I'm trying!" he yelled back, flicking his wrist aggressively, looking back and forth from the wand and the militiaman with wide eyes as he revealed his gritted teeth, wondering just what he was doing wrong. Why can't you just fucking work!?
He flicked his wrist one more time, and though he didn't see any spark or evocation for that matter, the militiaman froze where he stood, quickly trampled by the few prisoners in front of Kane.
"Let's get the fuck outta here!" yelled Kane, tugging at Bauer's tunic, before running up.
Bauer quickly followed, nearly tripping on the corpses, pools of blood, and organs that decorated the marbled stairs, watching as Kane dashed into the room above them, who he followed shortly afterward, just barely saving himself from being trampled.
They both laid against the wall of the room above, taking deep breaths and a few moments to calm down. Kane's eyes were burning at this point, his heartbeat drowning out the incomprehensible sounds that filled the nefandite hideout, his arms and legs quaking in fear.
Though they both knew very well that this was no time to rest, it was a much needed, and most certainly, a well-earned one, nevertheless.
"Alright, we've gotta go now," said Bauer, with eyes tightly sealed shut, weaving his words in between heavy breaths.
"Yes, it is time," said a familiar, hoarse, and calm voice, though where it came from was a mystery.
They both frantically looked around, readying themselves for a confrontation, despite Bauer lacking his sword and Kane still not understanding how the wand worked. But there was one problem: Where was the person in question?
A figure wearing blue robes dropped down from the ceiling across the room, pulling back his blue hood to reveal the old and wise face of Maleagant. With his walking stick in hand, he walked over, saying, "There is no time to rest. You've done a great job escaping your cell. Let us go now."
"No, no, no," said Bauer, his voice cutting through the other, countless voices, loud and penetrating. He pointed at Maleagant, wearing a frown out of both confusion and anger as he glared the old man down. "You're gonna tell us just what the fuck going on here. Why are you here after selling us out?"
Kane stared with raised brows, feeling a warming sense of relief wash over and the lifting of a question that burdened him, finally realizing that Maleagant never truly betrayed them all along.
"Young man," said Maleagant, his calm voice now an orotund one carrying a sense of urgency, as did his wide eyes and wrinkled face, "now is not the time for questions! I will answer once we have escaped!"
Bauer sighed, rolling his eyes, nearly failing to catch a black longsword that the sage tossed over.
"You're going to need it," continued Maleagant, watching as the number of prisoners running up the stairs dwindled. He looked at both of them as he added, "Bauer, get ready. Kane, get behind me. We need to get rid of the pursuers. It wouldn't be good to have them tailing us."
They both nodded, quickly getting into position, ready to get the jump on the nefandites who they could hear yelling amongst each other as their greaves and boots shuffled just around the corner.
Bauer hopped out first, quickly slashing down the militiamen and laymen, though he was quickly met with countless bursts of red and green magic, ranging from mere pulses, to crackling bursts, and flashes that left a lingering trace of their trajectory.
Maleagant quickly stepped in, pointing his walking stick forth as a visual distortion formed around the tip of the stick, reflecting the magic that collided with it back to the deacons and occultists, killing them in an instant.
Many more voices followed from further below, a clear sign to them that it was time to get out while no one would be right on their tail. Quickly, they ran up the stairs, reaching the armoury room just above.
Kane, playing the role of a sneaky thief—or as he would call it in the moment, survivalist—quickly opened the chest of wands and grabbed a handful, storing them in his breast pocket and his trousers' pockets.
He resumed getting on the run, finding that Bauer and Maleagant had kept going without noticing that he stopped for a moment, but as he neared the stairs, he took notice of... well, the lack of stairs.
Instead, he stared in horror, as corpse upon corpse, no sign of the marbled stairs existed, at least, that's what the mountain of lifeless bodies suggested. But further up ahead, yet another familiar voice spoke, and it wasn't one that he was pleased to hear. Slowly, he creeped up the stairs, staying close to the wall as he listened to the bishop's voice echo around the corner, making sure he stayed out of sight.
"... Tell me," said the bishop, his voice calm and collected, cold and calculating. "What did you hope to gain out of such folly?"