Pallad had been given a new receipt from the church. It wasn’t a paystub, he wished. His brutish job required something he had little of; brutality. He walked towards the required job. A person who had committed sacrilege against the church.

  The task was simple, capture this person dead or alive for the church’s own personal needs. The church of specifically Unfortunate Ends too. He hadn’t really ever seen even the vessel before that month, but it was okay.

  He was a brute in all churches eyes, as most paladins were supposedly. The figure he approached stared at Pallad with fear. Slowly pulling themselves away after Pallad destroyed their legs.

  Pallad walked onwards. He was a brute, for that was what the world demanded of him. And he will succeed, as the crushing sound of a flail hitting a hollow rock sounds out, with the vestiges of flesh on the inside.

  ******

  Bariton stayed hidden, just listening in on the group. It was an odd feeling, to hear Clara cry and not his own voice comforting but one more tired. One more aged, one filled to the very brim with experience.

  Each word sounded carefully chosen, as though made by a master manipulator, or made by someone thinking of how to build trust. The minimal difference between the two was odd. Bariton was pulling strings to ensure his performances were liked by his team, casting buffs while launching out attacks.

  To become a glue to hold the group together. That was Bariton’s goal, and he was failing. For the group was its own glue. The group had to fight for survival, and it always got them closer, and Bariton barely had to do a thing.

  And since Bariton barely did anything, the group was able to talk like that, to comfort one another, without him. Without him. Everything seemed to work the same. The same feeling he’d felt around Sornid back before the year apart seemed to lunge into his mind.

  The stone against his back was helpful in that he didn’t have to see the others, see them happy without him. Bariton knew that was one of his deepest fears. His body was shaking as he bit down on a piece of cloth he had in his inventory.

  This was a gift from Clara. He randomly remembers where the cloth came from. His shaking doesn’t seem to lessen. Please don’t forget me. He felt himself screaming to himself, but suddenly footsteps approached his location.

  He scurried away, tears blurring his vision. He trips not too far afterward, but puts on one of his rare pieces of equipment to just vanish from the world for a minute. He continues crawling while invisible to lessen the sound of his movements.

  He continues to crawl. And crawl, using his arms to move alongside the ground as the invisibility wore off of the cloak. He was far enough away that he no longer heard the party’s footsteps, and yet the tears didn’t stop.

  Weren’t they from fear?

  ******

  The footsteps reverberated across the stone floor. Supposedly Painted the World Red had blessed the people of this nation with a splendid ration. Five people to slaughter, but they had to find them somewhere inside their cave.

  The two walked forward, one in their own twisted vestiges of death, the bones of opponents molded into armor, enchanted with all sorts of skills to prevent the user’s own demise. And the other was a simplistic mage, wearing the flashiest robes anyone could ever decide to wear, with brilliant blues and white stars evershifting.

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  “Well, these people brought to us by Painted the World Red, to wage war against,” The red haired mage spoke up, slowly approaching the camp set up by the four. “Do we really need the whole nation to fight them? I mean, we’re level 1000 at least.”

  The man with the vestiges of death had no time to respond before they were noticed, and a sword pierced through their armor, piercing the heart. The way the flesh rotted behind made the mage’s thoughts quicken.

  They formulated a quick spell, interrupted by golden chains binding their arms to the ground. And then, the darkness of death.

  ******

  The party looked on in awed silence as Pallad and Judine took the two out swiftly. And flawlessly even. Shammus simply nodded his head before stating the obvious, “Well ,this’ll be a busy floor, especially if what those guys said is true of there being a full nation.”

  The rest of the party nods in agreement, but then another problem quickly arises. “Where in the hell is Bariton?” Shammus mutters to himself before going off to search. Judine and Clara were right behind him, and Pallad behind them to keep an eye out for other enemies, his sword still drawn.

  “Wherever Bariton went, it shouldn’t have been too far…” Shammus says, before realizing the truth. He had no idea how far Bariton wanted to go, how far Bariton did, nor even his mental state.

  He knew nothing, and it was almost a crushing realization, but neither did the party. They searched, and searched, to no avail. Until someone spotted the familiar green, along with faint mutterings.

  “Look!” Clara yells out to the makeshift search team, collecting everyone’s attention immediately. “It’s him!”

  “Oh, thank god.”

  ******

  Bariton looked onwards confused. The environment was similar, but it certainly wasn’t the same as when he passed out. His constitution should have been plenty high enough to avoid any spells like that being truly effective.

  But here he was, a time after being forcibly blacked out shortly after his invisibility wore off, still in a cavern, but definitely not in the same place of the cavern. Bariton’s head snapped towards where footsteps were approaching, and he saw another opponent with white hair.

  Bariton tries to snap the chains attaching his wrists to the wall, but he failed, miserably even as they tore at his hands he had to stop.

  “Stop your feeble attempts, mortal.” The woman with flowing white hair uttered. Her voice was strong, carried along by the cool wind that blew from whatever chamber she had come from.

  “Well, technically I am no mortal.” Bariton said, his eyes glinting with hatred, his core filled with it. The crown of light on her head would look a lot better on one of his party members. She opens the metal bars that separated Bariton from freedom along with his chains.

  And she enters the room, and kicks Bariton’s face. The stinging spread from his cheek to his teeth that were loosened. The pain grew dull slowly, after minutes of throbbing. “You should quit thinking of thievery when your life isn’t in your hands.”

  “Oh fuck off,” Bariton spat despite the pain, and he got rid of one of his teeth. That’ll suck for Clara to heal. “I’ll think whatever the damn hell I want.”

  Another swift kick to the chin, causing Bariton’s head to collide with the now knowingly stone wall behind him. The pain felt… off. Like it was enhanced for some reason. He felt how he did back in those damned sewers again.

  “Kill me if you want, but I’ll make sure to haunt ya.”

  Another kick. And then another.

  “Quit kidding around kid, and simply tell me. Why do you of all of them not have any vestiges of the void?”

  “Gave mine away.”

  Another kick. The pain flooded Bariton’s head, as his eyes almost swelled shut. The blinking back and forth between the realm of niceties and the realm of unconscious was just as shocking. Bariton spat out another tooth.

  “Tell the truth, bard.” The vitriol in her voice was grating on Bariton, pissing him off even. He tried to break the chains again, but this time he was slightly more successful. The chain actually cracked before he was forced to stop from the pain across his arm and now face as another kick was delivered.

  “Fine then, be difficult. I’ll be back, and I’ll ensure to toss the healer in here too.”