The cathedral's spire pierced the sky as the alarm bells rang in frantic bursts. Hoofbeats thundered across the cobblestones—a squad of knights riding hard toward Sacred Grace Cathedral, which stood not within the city but north of it.
Darkness had fallen over the cathedral. A mass of gray-black fog swallowed the building whole, and from within came a sharp, cackling laugh threaded through with the wails of the dead: "I'll drag every last one of you to hell!"
Through the murk, shapes moved. Skeletons careened in wild arcs, wraiths shrieked, and flashes of sacred light strobed against the fog. Human screaming. The ring of steel on steel. The world might have been ending.
Twelve heavily armored knights came charging up the road from the south. The lead rider caught sight of it all and hauled his reins. His horse reared, front hooves leaving the ground with a sharp whinny, and the eleven behind him pulled up sharply as well, their mounts rising and screaming in unison. They wore full plate, their horses barded in iron—war machines, every one of them—though the weapons at their hips were great swords rather than anything heavier. Gemstones studded their armor, not for decoration but as part of a runic array etched in mithril, nodes set with jewels: once activated, holy light would envelop them like a second skin.
"Johann, take five men through the rear entrance. The rest of you, follow me through the front!"
"Yes, sir!" Johann answered, snapping his visor down. Six riders peeled away with a shout, their armor blazing with sacred light as they swung left around the cathedral. The remaining six drew their great swords. Holy light of varying brightness kindled along the blades and across the plate, and they plunged into the fog like a gale. Wherever their horses trod, skeletons lurched forward to meet them—and fell apart just as quickly, cut to splinters beneath six blades that had no interest in slowing down.
Inside the cathedral, the clergy had nearly been wiped out. Bodies lay strewn across the floor. Three priests still held on, struggling to stay upright, but one of them could no longer maintain the holy light across his body; the skin left exposed had already begun to change color. Facing them stood a figure in a black robe and cowl, chanting, gesturing—and with each motion, pale green spirit arrows screamed toward the three survivors.
The knights burst in through both doors at once. Skeletons collapsed on all sides. The figure in black surveyed the breach with a cold smile. "You've arrived just in time. You can all go to hell together."
His voice carried that flat, creeping chill, and the corpses of the slaughtered clergy lurched upright from the floor and threw themselves at the knights. The great swords swung without hesitation, sacred light blazing, cutting the dead bodies in two. But the bodies had fallen only moments ago—the blood hadn't yet congealed—and as the blades came down, a rain of it splattered outward. Wherever blood touched armor, white smoke began to rise.
Corpse-poison. The knights had never encountered it before: men dead for only moments, yet their blood already turned venomous. Two of them were struck by a volley of spirit arrows and cried out. A third shouted across the chaos, "Watson! Polly! Hold on!"
Countless bones rose and locked together into a cage, isolating the knights from one another. They hacked at it—holy light against bone—but their opponent was too strong. The cage didn't break.
At that moment of crisis, a column of sacred light descended from above. The Bone Cage dissolved to nothing. Reinforcements had arrived: Cardinal Mainz, accompanied by two Holy Church Deacons. The moment they entered, Mainz activated a purification rite. The gray fog began to retreat.
"Andrew." Mainz's voice rang out, thick with fury. "Nicklas Andrew—you heretic. You seduced the novice Philomena and led her to ruin. You have slaughtered the servants of the Maker. In the name of the Maker himself, this is the day of your cleansing."
Nicklas Andrew's voice rose in answer, anguished and bleak: "Philomena and I loved each other freely. You sent her to the pyre for it. I swear by the name of Death God Hadir—I will not rest until the Creationist Church is destroyed."
"She had already fallen. The flames were to save her soul." Mainz's voice rose further, trembling with conviction. "You are steeped in evil, Andrew. In the name of the Maker, eternal light, beginning and end—I call upon the Holy Angel Gabriel to descend!"
He raised his cross-star reliquary, voice rising in sacred hymn. The sky split open. Holy song rang out across the world, and an angel descended—six wings spread wide, sacred light pouring from each feather like a torrent. The angel's cross-star sword rose high overhead and came down in a single stroke. A column of holy radiance dozens of yards long crashed into the cathedral. The walls buckled and gave way.
Skeletons and wraiths threw themselves into a bone-wall to intercept the blow, but the sacred light hit it like paper and shredded it apart. A single, desperate shriek tore through the chaos: "Mark my words—I will come back!"
With those words, the gray-black fog surged outward again. Wherever it passed, vegetation withered; trees lost their color in an instant. Two more men crumpled as their holy light snuffed out. Cardinal Mainz staggered, his face suddenly older by decades. The angel in the sky dissolved into motes of light and was gone. The two Deacons moved to give chase, but Mainz's voice stopped them, thin and exhausted:
"Don't bother pursuing him. Report this to the Holy Eton Curia. Request that the Holy Inquisition be dispatched."