He kept the details of Claudia’s intrusion secret. Morgan spoke not a single word of his disavowed love interest come dawn. Breakfast was light and awkward. Their food supply had dwindled, leaving only a few more days for their expedition.

  With each day that passed, they neared the old ruins of Carrhae. At least, the general area they assumed it to be located. As they neared the epicenter of the radiorum, the Geiger relic chimed endlessly. It chimed so frequently that Claudia turned it off periodically to prevent everyone from being driven insane by its ear-numbing noise. It was safe to do so, as most readings stayed well within the green.

  Unlike before, when the town they searched for lay mostly buried, the next location was strangely above ground. The nearest structure stood just a hundred yards off from where they hid. It looked newer, despite having overgrowth clinging to its concrete exterior. It had glass windows and, for the first time, a light source inside it.

  Nature had been regrowing in the area and seemed mostly unaffected by the lower levels of the radiorum. Despite some trees looking wilted, the grass stood stiff and insects had made their presence known. Seeing a mosquito the size of one’s hand was nothing short of panic-inducing whiplash. It died swiftly from a wide swing of Morgan’s maul.

  The door on the house opened up and something strange stepped out. It looked human, but it had long, boney horns protruding from the forehead with the tips stretching back. Using the spyglass, Claudia noticed he had pale skin, normal-looking eyes, non-jagged teeth, and no sharp finger nails. The man was just a man with horns. However, something even weirder emerged from the domicile. A taller humanoid with purple skin, large spiraling ram’s horns, a long hairless tail, and goat legs; a hellion.

  Unlike the man beside her, she wore no clothes, holding something that resembled an infant swaddled in cloth. She was in the middle of breastfeeding and the couple had stepped outside to watch the sunset from the front porch.

  Claudia ducked behind the bush and handed the spyglass back to Mostafa. It seemed so strange to see an otherwise normal human coupled up with a hellion and even stranger to see them produce an offspring. Everything she knew, everything that the church had taught her, said this was impossible.

  Boris reached out and placed a hand on Claudia’s shoulder. With a quick shake, he brought her back from her momentary delve into deep thought. “So, confessor,” he said. He still sounded dismissive toward the title.

  “Ahead of us is a place of residence for a pair of hellions and their unholy offspring. We move quickly and quietly.” Claudia hastily laid the plan and hopped over the bush. For wearing so much metal, she was very adept at staying quiet.

  She crouched below the open window that led to the kitchen. It smelled of a good porridge dinner. For a brief second, she almost felt bad for interrupting a family dinner. She looked at the others and gave a nod. Then she reached up onto the ledge and clambered into the kitchen through the open window. Stealth was completely out of the question as her armor made all the noise in the world from colliding with stacks of food and cookware.

  The man of the house stormed into the kitchen carrying a carving knife, ready to attack. Upon seeing Claudia and her armor, he took a step back. The other three adventurers climbed in shortly after.

  “Jorge?” asked the wife from the other room. “What is all that noise?”

  Claudia had a name now. She pointed the staff toward the man. “Drop the knife, traitor. Torcall comes for you.”

  The man, known as Jorge, hesitated. He wore simple clothes not too dissimilar from any peasant farmer in the empire. His eyes widened and the grip on the knife loosened a little. “No…” he stammered. The shock in him was palpable.

  “Drop it now, and Torcall may still forgive you for your heresy.” Claudia commanded.

  He turned and ran down the hall, dropping the knife. A minute later, he came back holding a gladius and very familiar-looking rounded shield. “You will not harm my family,” He said firmly.

  The decorations on the shield had mostly faded. Yet, Claudia recognized the crest and colorations. The man was a former knight to a noble family, but she didn’t know which family it was, as Huma had thousands. She popped another incense disc into the reliquary alongside a lit match. “You were human once, oh how the mighty have fallen.”

  Then from the other end of the kitchen, the wife turned the corner and froze at the sight of the intruders, baby in arms. She couldn’t get a word out.

  Morgan raised the maul and charged at her with intent. She deftly dodged the clumsy swing as it collided with the kitchen’s cabinetry.

  Jorge bellowed a guttural war cry which had more effects than just an intimidation factor. All of their attention felt forcibly directed toward him. Jorge was a partial caster. “Run, Melodia, run and don’t look back,” he spoke with a tinge of heartbreak in his voice. “You four.” He furrowed his brows and his veins seemed to glow a deep red. “Your fight is with me.”

  Claudia recognized it as the taint of Mephistopheles. The man was using warlock powers to boost his strength. He’d made a pact with the devil himself. He was beyond saving.

  Boris looked at Mostafa, who seemed equally concerned for their situation and wellbeing. Boris thought he was about to fight actual demons, not some civilian family. He lowered his weapon. “Confessor!” He interjected. “They’re not demons!”

  However, the plea fell on deaf ears. Claudia prayed, blurting the words. Then, with a swiping motion, release a beam of blinding light toward Jorge.

  He raised his shield, hiding his face behind its metallic shell. In response, he rushed forward and took a chance, crashing his short sword into the staff. His eyes switched between each of them, judging the actions to best respond to.

  Mostafa never drew his saber. He clutched the map’s canister and fled out the window.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Boris tried to reason once more. “Claudia!” He shouted. “He’s not the enemy!”

  She did not listen.

  Morgan turned, about to rush him. He ran around the confessor’s right flank and brought down the maul, instead hitting the floor as the man stumbled backward. He then swung up and to the right, slamming the shield with unbridled force.

  The man felt his arm buckle and a loud snap echo. The limb fell limp to his side. Yet, he still commanded it to defend him. The shield lifted shakily. “Try again.”

  With the path clear, Melodia made for the exit with the child in her arms. The door slammed behind her.

  “Boris! Go after her!” Claudia commanded.

  Boris shook his head. “She’s a mother. I did not come here to kill a family.”

  “Not the time for a moral high ground!” She yelled back. Then she cast another spell, unfurling a large flaming sphere of holy magic into a thin sheet. She threw it and it wrapped around the defender.

  He found his arms restricted to his side and the most uncomfortable burning sensation on his skin, like hot cooking oil. Jorge grunted, still willing to fight. “Listen to your man, Claudia. Torcall wills it.”

  Claudia laughed at the feeble attempt to influence her mind. “He’s not my man. He’s just another mercenary at my disposal.” She then cast another spell, dropping a semi-transparent hammer made of holy magic upon the man. It broke his neck with a resounding series of crack and he fell to the ground, limp and defeated.

  “The hell was that, Claudia? Are we just going to kill everyone on sight?” Boris threw his hands up in frustration. “Have we stooped so low that killing civilians is just another day?”

  Claudia removed her helmet. She inhaled a deep breath of air. “These are not civilians. This man is a heretic. He mated with a hellion and fled civilized society for a life of idolatry and fornication. Would you not kill a half-orc on sight?”

  “No!” Boris countered. “Half-orcs aren’t violent. Even full orcs can be communicative and easy-going.”

  The confessor let out a disapproving sigh. “You have so much to learn, adventurer. It amazes me that the bishop hired you. However, whether I like you has no relevance on the matter at hand. You will either fight with me, or I will add you to the casualty count after-action report.”

  Boris gritted his teeth. It hurt to grind enamel on enamel. “Fine.”

  Mostafa came in through the house’s front door, blade dripping with blood. “The hellion and her child are no more.”

  Boris felt his heart sink. He sympathized with the dead man in the room. He would’ve done the same without a second thought. “I will at least give him a warrior’s burial.” He said. He then snapped a finger toward the confessor. “And you cannot stop that.”

  Buried in the bush, well hidden from the view of the front door, was a small boar with a sword gash in its side.

  ***

  The rest of the town was abandoned. Only some of the other houses seemed recently lived in. The commotion had chased off the town’s residents, however few there may have been. After several grueling hours of securing the town, the confessor finally gave up the hunt and willingly settled down for the night.

  However, she sat and ate alone. Boris, Morgan, and Mostafa built their own campfire at the opposite end of the town. With three entire street blocks between them, Boris finally felt ready to discuss matters with his companions. “I’m questioning the money on this one,” he said plainly.

  Morgan ripped a bite out of a piece of stale jerky. His tongue dried up and shriveled from the excessive salt content. The piece of jerky fell out, covered in saliva, and plopped onto the leafy ground. “How have we not found a single wild animal to eat?” He asked, trying to switch the conversation topic. He didn’t feel like arguing this one, not after Boris’ display in the house.

  Even Mostafa kept his mouth closed. The stress he felt from the confessor’s thorough search of the town finally washed away. The thorough search drained him of any energy. Despite the salt content, the unleavened cracker tasted great.

  Boris groaned. “Don’t either of you two have something to say about the confessor’s actions?”

  “Look, man.” Morgan said with a breathy exhale. “We’re not here to judge her actions. We’re hired sellswords. Our worth is in our swordplay, not in our honor or morality.”

  “What reputation will we have when word gets out that we willingly murdered families?”

  “Knowing the confessor, her report will claim it nothing more than killing demons and hellions. They’re already publicly viewed as nothing more than maggots.”

  “What if I told a different story?”

  Mostafa choked on a piece of food.

  “Like anyone would believe us. Mercenaries barely sit equal to commoners. Those who associate with the guild sit on the rung between commoner and merchant. Our word means nothing, especially if you’re trying to challenge the church.”

  Boris slouched and leaned closer to the campfire. “Do you think we’ll still get paid if we came back without her?”

  Morgan froze and slowly turned to him. “The whole paycheck relies on her coming back alive. I’m sure they’d hang us if one of their confessors was killed.”

  As much as he hated to acknowledge it, Morgan was right. The only option would be to flee the country, possibly to flee the continent. It would be too expensive for him to pick up everything and move. “Surely we can do something about her, right?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I doubt it. She’s a bloody confessor. She’s got her head so far up the ass of Torcall’s teachings, she won’t be seeing daylight anytime soon. I don’t like it anymore than you do, brother, but a job is a job. Try to keep a level head, a’ight?”

  Boris let out a defeated sigh. “Mostafa, have you been keeping the map updated?”

  The cartographer unveiled the map and his thoroughly used and abused notebook. “Yeah, with extra notes and everything. Left out the detail about this place being inhabited, though. Should make the trip home a lot faster.”

  “Good. At least we’ll have that to look forward to. We’re already a week in and still haven’t found the actual damn city yet. How far in is it?” Boris asked.

  “Should be there either tomorrow or the day after. If the radiorum could stop jerking my compass around, we’d’ve been there faster.” He smacked the directional device on the ground.

  “If that’s the case, why aren’t we seeing it on the horizon?”

  “Trees. Planet curvature. Probably some bullshit stealth magic.” Mostafa listed off a few more random theories, all with no basis in reality. “It might not even exist anymore.”

  “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow then, eh?” Morgan added, trying to sound cheerful.

  Boris pulled the sleeping bag over himself and rolled over.

  ***

  Claudia lowered her head, holding a dented thurible in her gauntlet. She slowly waved it around, spewing incense all over the surrounding ground. “Torcall, bless this house so that it may be sacred in thy name. Cast out the bilge of sin and purify the land of its condition,” she prayed aloud. She raised her head, held up her arms with palms open to the sky. “Oh great Torcall, master of humanity, hear the prayers of your most humble servant, so that this land may be reclaimed in your glory. Cleanse it of the radiorum and give unto it new life.”

  Boris cleared his throat loudly.

  Claudia’s concentration broke, and she spun on her heels, seeing the three men, all geared up and ready to depart. “I would appreciate if you didn’t interrupt my prayers, thank you very much.”

  “Humble my ass,” Boris muttered beneath his breath.

  She cocked her head. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  Boris felt a stiff hand on his shoulder. “Nothing, confessor. Apologies for interrupting you, but I believe it is time for us to hit the road.”

  The apology sounded as fake as the strength of spring ice. She brushed it off. She had better things to spend her energy on. “Very well,” she said sternly. “I was just finishing up.”