The two Priests burst into the kitchen and saw their companion, dead on the ground. Scratches on his face, and a neck that had been crushed and pierced. The Death priest muttered and incantation and wisps of energy floated gently around his hand. Passing it over the body, he looked at Marcus and silently shook his head. Marcus, now the only War priest, was inwardly seething. It would be just like their quarry to blindside someone more skilled. The Death priest held his hand up, “Wait, Marcus, look!” When he looked at the floor, he saw sooty footprints leading out the other kitchen door. Realizing where the coward had hidden and now where he had gone, Marcus was beginning to feel righteously vindicated.

  Turning to his remaining companion, “Stay close. No traceable method, remember?”

  Remaining a few steps behind the more combat experienced man, the two followed the tracks, which led out into the narrow hallway. Marcus had his gun at the ready, keeping his eyes sweeping for any instant threats. The hallway was not well lit and he almost missed it when, not even near a door, the tracks stopped. They didn’t continue out the door that was a few feet away, nor turn to the side where any of the rooms they already checked were. There was just a trail that literally stopped and vanished into nothing. Marcus wet his lips, ‘But how?! There should be some sort of sign that he went somewhere unless…’, The War priest started stomping on the floor and whispered to the Death priest, “He must have pulled up some of the floor.”

  Taking a step backward, Marcus stomped his foot on the floor, listening for some kind of hollow space. Placing himself where the sooty tracks ended, he stomped his foot down. Marcus cried out in shock as his entire leg smashed through the floor into a hole that was right underneath him. The young man had to grit his teeth as he felt splinters tear apart his leg. The Death priest jumped in surprise when he saw what happened and went to help his comrade.

  He didn’t even have time to register the sudden noise as dust, debris and Edwin all crashed down on him from the ceiling above. The Death priest groaned, trying to remember how to breathe in the first place. Judging by the sharp pain in his chest, at least one rib was broken. The Death priest’s already shallow breathing hitched at feeling cold steel against his neck. Getting dragged backwards to keep his feet from gaining any purchase on the ground, the hapless priest was completely at the Unknown Hero’s mercy, if he had any.

  Marcus with his leg still stuck in the floor glared harshly at Thatch, but Thatch merely looked back at him with an almost completely blank face. If the young Cassidian was getting an impression, it was that the Unknown Hero was mildly annoyed that his morning was interrupted.

  “Why, Marcus”, Edwin said in a robotic voice, “What brings you to my abode so early in the morning? It can’t be time for training yet. You’re nearly an hour early, and not my usual escort. Is Ilphas out sick today?”

  The redhead’s mechanically calm voice only infuriated the War priest further as he drew his pistol from the holster. Thatch didn’t even blink at the sight as he pressed the knife into the other priest’s neck hard enough to draw blood. Marcus tried not to make it obvious, but he shot a look to his captured friend as if saying, “Why aren’t you doing anything?”

  To which the other man shot back a look of. “I’m trying! Nothing’s working!”

  Indeed, the gray robed priest was trying to draw upon his magic, but it wouldn’t respond. It wasn’t that it didn’t seem to be responding, but rather like it wasn’t there to begin with.

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  Trying to salvage the situation, Marcus drew his pistol and aimed it at Edwin. In response, Edwin barely raised an eyebrow and pressed the knife into the Death priest’s neck even harder, to the point where the man had trouble inhaling.

  ‘That’s not good’, he thought, ‘Those pistols couldn’t hit a damn thing when I shot them, but with that spell for improving aim…’

  Before he could complete his thought, Edwin felt a tugging in the back of his head. Time seemed to slow to a standstill. It was faint, but he could hear a whisper, “Merely focus on the man, and no harm shall come to you.”

  He recognized that voice, but he couldn’t remember where it was from. Keeping his face neutral as he looked at his attacker, he clearly heard nothing. Receiving a direct instruction for once, Edwin didn’t have any time to debate the veracity. Quickly obeying the Voice, but he focused intently on Marcus. As he did so, nothing innately changed, but he could feel things. It was similar to when he felt the presence of enemies outside his house. He could feel the mournful and cold presence of the Death priest he had underneath his hands and he could feel the hotter and aggressive presence of Marcus.

  Thatch could sense something building in the War priest. It wasn’t powerful, but its intent was clearly directed towards him. His instincts were telling him to find cover with the gun being trained on him but another part of him was perfectly assured, even at seeing a loaded weapon pointed at him, “Will it to be so, and thus it shall be.”

  The Voice’s instruction could have meant several things, but Edwin felt himself being guided, “Both of these men will have their power reduced.”

  Time seemed to come back into focus. Like a morning mist feeling the rays of the rising sun, Edwin could feel that small amount of lethal energy dissipating and judging by his s widening eyes, Marcus could feel it too. Trying to act while he still had his magic, the War priest squeezed the trigger of his flintlock. In such an enclosed space, the crack of the gunshot was nearly deafening. While the Death priest flinched, Thatch remained still as a statue as the small, metal ball passed his head by several feet.

  He tried not to show it but Edwin’s hands were shaking and he was trying with extreme difficulty not to hyperventilate. Through the small wisp of bluish, gray smoke, Edwin could see the terrified expression of Marcus. Turning his head to the side, clear as day, there was the bullet hole, simply gaping in the side of the wall. The three men stared at each other in stunned silence, each with entirely different reasons.

  Thatch turned his full attention towards Marcus. Without even looking down on his captive, Edwin twisted his hands and Marcus watched as the Death priest had his neck snapped. And he did it all with the exact same gaze as when the two fought each other the first time. For the first time in a long time, the War priest began to feel truly afraid. There was nothing. It felt like he wasn’t even looking at a human.

  In a fit of desperate strength, Marcus wrenched himself from the floor, damning the splinters in his leg all the way. The two men closed the distance between each other in less than a second. Marcus swung his sword from face to shoulder, making Edwin back off, but the young swordsman quickly shifted his grip and made an outward thrust directly towards Edwin’s face. With the grace and ease that a human shouldn’t possess, Thatch evaded the thrust and grabbed his enemy’s hand like a vise. Making a reciprocating motion by wrenching the hand back and swiping his elbow forward, Thatch watched as Marcus’ forearm bent at an angle that most certainly wasn’t natural. Not pausing to admire his handiwork, Edwin lifted his leg, and with a loud snap, stomped down on Marcus’ knee. The crippled War priest was in too much pain to scream and had barely enough fortitude to remain conscious. Twisting his enemy’s arm behind his back, Edwin quietly said, “Now it’s just us.”