Ethan breathed in the musky air of Sanctum’s inner tunnels.

  Down in the darkest recesses of the city, the Geomancers and their Dixit leaders had been hard at work carving out old collapsed tunnel entrances and mining shafts that were now decimated by the Greycloak attack. Here and there amidst the rubble, survivors were still being pulled, and Ethan had been spending most of his afternoon helping the Hybrids recover more of them, using Eyes of Raziel to see even the faintest signs of life in the dark depths.

  He cleared the poison that had breached the lower tunnels with a simple series of Wing Buffets, and his Incorruptible angel passive meant that such toxins didn’t even conjure up a sneeze from him. The Hybrids looked on impressed, following in his lead.

  But in truth, he wasn’t just down here to help them out.

  In the deepest dark pits of Sanctum, he had instructed a few Dixit in secret to sequester some prisoners of war – the Greycloaks who still remained alive in the wake of Arty’s fall.

  And now, he had come to deliver judgement upon them.

  He floated down to the inner caverns and halted before the Dyrtchling stockades. The soldiers had been interred here, in nothing but pitch darkness, for the past week. Now, Ethan had come for them.

  Five of them – lined up like cattle ready to be slaughtered for their crimes.

  He surveyed them with absent eyes, seeing them lift their faces as they heard something drop in front of their line. The Drytchling army keeping them bound didn’t move much – but as Ethan stepped towards them, still shrouded in the darkness, their thorny vines shot out in warning to their prisoners: anybody tried to hurt the Archon, and their lives would end right here.

  Ethan nodded to Cormyr the Geomancer – the MInxit having stood watch over the Greys ever since Ethan had given him secret authority over the prisoners.

  “Have you been keeping our friends comfortable?” Ethan asked.

  The Grey’s expressions grew grim. They knew who’s voice that was. They knew the Archon had come among them.

  “I have provided them all due courtesy, as you commanded,” Cormyr replied. Ethan could detect some irritation in the Minxit’s voice. “But they have been refusing their meals.”

  Ethan nodded at this and was about to speak when one of them – a rather scruffy looking man who looked no older than 25 – spat on the moist earth before him.

  “Whatever you are, we aren’t afraid,” he said, defiant as all his kind.

  “I should hope not,” Ethan replied coolly, waving away Cormyr before he made a cheeky retort. “You would do your order a disservice if you were. How do you think your Lightborn would feel?”

  “Don’t dare speak of Sir Artorious!” another one of them screeched. “You aren’t half the man he is!”

  Ethan closed his eyes and sighed. He’d been putting this moment off. But now he knew that he had a decision to make.

  “If I gave you the choice,” he asked them – his voice echoing in the dark – “would you renounce the name of your order?”

  The two men who had answered back to Ethan immediately spat at their feet again. But two of the others didn’t say anything. They were older than the other two, and had enough sense, it seemed, to keep their mouths shut.

  “No,” Ethan said calmly. “No, I didn’t suppose you would. After all, that would be against Kaedmon, wouldn’t it? That would go against the Path he laid out for you – the only one you’ve ever been able to follow, right?”

  “Don’t talk about the Lord Kaedmon as if you know him, fiend!” the young man shouted again. “You know nothing of h-“

  “Shhh,” Ethan said – and using Albionic Authority he compelled the Drytchling holding the young man to constrict its hold around his neck, cutting off his airflow for just enough time to get the message through.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I’m talking now,” Ethan continued. “You’re not talking.”

  With another flick of his finger, the Drytchling let go.

  “Now, what was I – ah, right, choices,” Ethan mused. “Yes. I’m sure that if I asked you as question as mundane as ‘why did you come down here and massacre all these innocent creatures, their families, and their children?’ you would probably just respond with some variation of ‘I was doing exactly what I was made to do.

  But lets be honest: you did have a choice. Kaedmon’s Law defines you as ‘Greycloak’ but your Lord does not compel you to massacre the innocent, nor participate in the genocide of those you consider your inferiors. You could have chosen to guard your precious monastery, or ride out to the defense of some of Lucent’s outriding villages. But instead, you followed your Lightborn down here. Because you are the true believers, aren’t you? There’s no convincing you that you’re in the wrong.”

  Ethan’s voice began to emanate from behind the men – a summon illusion that was as impressive as it was horrifying to them in the moment.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ve always hated about people like you,” his double-voice said. “No matter what, you’re always in the right. Even now, when you kneel at the feet of those who you swore to eradicate, still you persist in the belief that you’re in the right. That you’ll die for a good cause. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, boys, but there will be no martyrs today. History will not remember you, and your names – whatever they were – will fade from time.”

  At this, Ethan noticed that the older men twitched slightly. Now their eyes rose to try and meet his out there in the darkest darkness of the prison pit. Their lips trembled slightly, but still, no words came out.

  The same could not be said of the young man:

  “The Lightborn’s legacy will live on,” he growled through gritted teeth, resisting the thorny embrace of his Drytchling chains. “Even if you slay us here, our souls will fly to be with our Lord. And one day, when you believe you and your people to be safe – then shall Kaedmon and his angel return. Then shall humanity dominate this world once mo-!”

  This valiant little speech was interrupted by Ethan holding both his blades aloft and lighting them, bathing the entire room in crimson-violet light. Now the Greys could see the form of the Archon who looked down upon them, four diamond-shaped eyes staring at them within the face of the man whom they’d followed down here with promises of victory in their hearts.

  “I’m sorry,” Ethan said. “Did I break your concentration? You were saying something about your Lightborn rising again.”

  The men quivered, each one of them retreating into that little place of their minds that allowed them to deny the reality in front of them.

  And yet even then, they couldn’t quite do it.

  “B-by Kaedmon…” the young man whispered.

  “You want to talk to your God?” Ethan asked them all, nodding to Cormyr to take his hat form off the angel’s head. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you to meet him.”

  When he’d possessed each of them in turn and taken their Spirit Cores and their memories, forcing each prisoner to watch, he was returned to his angel form even stronger.

  Spirit Core Total: 42255

  It wasn’t quite enough – yet – but he was getting there.

  He’d taken the spirits of four Greycloaks from the only pool of survivors they’d managed to capture alive.

  And now, kneeling before him, there was only one left.

  Before he’d had the others rounded up and sent down here, Ethan had demanded that the Greycloak responsible for Lamphrey’s death be brought down here first. He would personally see to the bastard that took the life of his most treasured advisor and seer.

  But when he saw who it was, his conviction had turned to ash in his throat.

  “The child from the plantation…”

  That child was sitting before him now – the youngest Greycloak in centuries – with a busted body and a deep gash cut into his neck by Tara’s daggers. Ethan knelt down, looked him in his silver eyes, and saw no fear in there. He saw nothing but the exact same determination to hunt and kill that he had seen that day on the plantation when he’d let the kid go.

  And in Arty’s memories he now saw the whole picture – it was this boy, Jory, who had warned Carliah and the Lightborn about his presence. It was due to him that they’d guessed he’d be heading to the City of Illusions. It was due to this boy’s tenacity that the old Greycloak sea captain Ranok had taken up the fight against him on the ocean above. And it was his prayer for deliverance that Kaedmon had heard to bring the Lightborn right back to Lucent.

  He knelt and watched the child stare back at him – nothing but hate within those tiny eyes.

  And all he wanted to do was treat him the same way he’d treated the others. He wanted to list off his crimes. He wanted him to know that there was no future for him – that he was part of a dying breed.

  And yet, he couldn’t. Instead, he only had one question worth asking:

  “If I gave you the choice, what would you choose?”

  Without even a single moment’s hesitation, the boy looked the Dark Angel right in his eyes and proudly showed him his neck scar.

  “I choose this.”

  And with that, Ethan had no more to say.

  He turned away from the salivating bodies of the depleted Greycloaks, sheathing his swords to leave them all in the dark.

  “My Lord?” Cormyr called after him. “What is to be done with this Greycloak child?”

  Could be a decent load of Spirit Cores in there, Sys prompted. Just saying – even a kid Grey’s bound to have at least 2K.

  Ethan stopped at the perimeter of the pit. He knew, without looking back, that Jory’s eyes were still trained on him.

  “My Lord?”

  “He’s a true believer in the cause he fights for,” Ethan said. “Let him die for it.”