Maleagant and Bauer stood in the marbly room in silence, though their minds were a raging ocean of calamity, where the waves crashed against their cliffside of resolve, eroding and ripping out the base, ready to plunge them into despair.
Stood in the centre of the room was the bishop, wearing an invisible mantle of absolute dominance, holding his head high as his presence turned the air into that of a heavy and suffocating one. His might knew no bounds, better represented by the rank and file that stood behind him, along with the addition of two new nefandites standing at his sides.
Each one a towering symbol of strength, their maroon, triangular helms that covered their faces entirely, just barely failing to carve the ceiling with its pointy tip. A singular arm, as wide as the bishop himself, bore the burden of carrying a shield that one would assume was a thick, maroon, metal door instead. Their robed armour just as deep red as the blood that filled this room, along with equally deep red riveted pauldrons and ecranches covering their under arms, though what horse had the strength to carry these absolute units into jousting was a mystery itself.
"You believe that one or two lives spared from the sacrifice changes anything?" asked the bishop. If his eyes were visible, they would have shattered the guises of courage that Maleagant and Bauer put up. "Or perhaps that we'd be at a loss by having to slay the many others we collected?"
Kane kept himself hidden behind the corner, his heart engaged in a tap dance of its own as it resonated through his entire frame, while beads of sweat trickled down his face and dirtied his palms.
"Even one soul," said Maleagant, with a commanding voice that conveyed disdain, "kept away from a nefandis altar is more than enough whether it be through death or liberation."
The bishop chuckled, his next words a deliberate and measured cadence entwined with malice. "Wrong. For the circle of life continues, and so long as we exist," he pointed his staff forward, the forked tip flickering with quiet, crackling, green sparks, as his voice transitioned into an outcry of grandeur, "the sacrifices shall go on!"
Maleagant, within a split second, pushed Bauer aside, using all within his strength to push back against green lightning that latched to the tip of his walking stick.
Bauer, who laid on the ground, quickly stood up, gripping his longsword with a bone-shattering force as he ran straight for the bishop.
If I can just make it past the guard, so he thought, taking large strides as the flickering lights cast dancing shadows along the walls, then I can strike him while he's distracted.
But just as he thought, one of the towering nefandis guards would take notice of Bauer's intent, quickly moving to intercept him. While Bauer may have swiftly avoided becoming pummelled by the nefandite's thick shield, he was not so lucky with dodging the might of the guard's stone-shattering swing, sending him flying back and crashing into the wall.
On Maleagant's side, however, he struggled against the constant channelling of the green lightning, revealing his clenched jaw, his quiet grunts slowly transitioning into a war cry as more cracks formed along his staff, coursing with that same green light. Each crack shedding off another piece of his staff.
The bishop, seeing Maleagant's struggle, basked in the glory of knowing that imminent victory was just around the corner. Every second of Maleagant's yell was a sweet and mellifluous tune that only let him unleash more power, as though he'd become one with his magic, a mere extension of his crushing grasp.
A minute would pass by, and eventually, Maleagant's waning strength would fail him. The green lightning would shatter his staff, sending him crashing into the wall as the lightning latched on. His brain felt as though it were melting, collapsing on itself, whilst the searing pain consumed every part of his being, swallowing him whole.
Kane's eyes shook in their sockets, struggling to stand as his legs quaked. He wasn't the one in pain, and yet, his ragged breaths grew heavier than the last. Or perhaps he was in pain? Perhaps it was his heart that ached with fear for the sage's life?
The bishop halted his channelling, watching as Maleagant aggressively twitched and writhed in place, smoke rising from his body, tainting the air in the putrid stench of burnt flesh.
"Concede," said the bishop, slamming his staff against the ground, letting its metallic strike echo through the room as he held his free hand up to his shoulder and clenched a fist. "Your pain, borne by the folly of your choices, can end here. Rise with..."
He paused, though it wasn't for any theatrics or cold calculation. Rather, it came about watching Maleagant slowly stand up, with charred fingers wrapped—one could even say melted—around a silver staff of the exact same design and forked tip as his.
"Impossible," uttered the bishop, his voice no longer reserved and thick with confidence, leaning forward to get a better look at the staff, refusing to believe his eyes.
Bauer, who'd been laying in the corner of the room, also watched with confusion written all over his squinted eyes and slackened jaw.
Kane wanted to peer around the corner, though he thought it better to hide while he still could, for he knew that the nefandites would use him as a bargaining chip once again. Though fate would have its own plans, in fact, even repeating a familiar event.
He felt his arms gripped immediately, prompting him to take notice of two nefandis assassins shackling his arms within their crushing grip. As much as he wanted to struggle against his apprehension, he knew from the first time that he stood no chance against their strength, and so he accepted being dragged up the mountain of bodies and shoved into the room, joining the party.
He expected some... welcoming words from the bishop, so to speak, but he noticed that everyone's gaze was affixed onto the corner on his right, where found Maleagant standing with a hunched back. The sage's eyes were bloodshot, a testament to the unbearable pain he endured, patches of skin on his face and bald head were charred, still releasing smoke into the air. Patches of his beard glowed like embers in the wind, as did parts of his blue robes.
But of course, what caught his attention most was the fact that Maleagant was now tightly holding onto the same silver staff the bishop held. One that he held close to his hunched body as though he were a serpent that wrapped around it, holding it for dear life.
Maleagant let out muffled coughs, drawing a series of heavy and strained breaths as he closed his eyes.
"What are you?" the bishop asked, tilting his head as he stared at Maleagant with a finger tapping his staff, letting it play a rapid metronome. "Which bishop had you slain to shamelessly claim his staff?"
"I," uttered Maleagant, his voice croaky and far deeper than before, each word measured and pitifully forlorn, strung into a desolate cry for retribution, "am a lightless creature, like you."
He paused, drawing one more ragged breath as he felt the weight of the world reaching for his throat; a certain darkness wrapping its hands around his neck, doing whatever it could to stop him from adding, "My apprentice."