Gods damned Daecinus, you bastard, Oskar's mind rattled off as he scrambled up one of the many Column stairwells, not exactly sure where he was going, yet knowing it most certainly could not be back down. Gods, rebels, and the Dead? Is a break too much to ask? He would have been ranting out loud if he weren't so exhausted, gasping and heaving as he led the way up.

More than once, they encountered a hurrying priest who gasped at the sight of them and dashed away. Fortunately, no guardians yet, for they would be drawing steel first if they were anything like Sovina. Anywhere they could, he had his men try and secure the doors behind them to slow the Soulborne down. Not that a locked timber door might do anything, but a man had to hope.

"How much further you wager?" he managed to sneak between wheezing breaths to Stanilo.

"We may be close." The fucker didn't even sound tired. "She said it was higher up above the dormitories, right?"

"Aye." He kicked open a door and nearly collapsed upon exiting into the hall, his legs were so weak and aching. Stanilo took the lead, muttering something under his breath, pausing.

Oskar glanced up and cursed. There were a handful of men up ahead in mail and bearing arms outside a room, stacked right by the entranceway.

Before they fully noticed his party quite obviously bumbling out into the hall, Oskar put on a mask of comfortable authority and strode ahead. "What's the holdup here? We're supposed to have this floor clear already!"

They turned, not moving from their position, eying him with expressions ranging from confused to wary. He kept forward as one of them addressed him, "Who're you? Who do you serve?"

"You don't know? Is this what's given to me to clear this damned place? What's the problem with this room now, boys?"

"Sorcerer inside flinging Spells with an Artifact," another replied.

"I see. So what's waiting going to do?"

"Well—"

At this point, he was close enough to attack. And that he did. There were too many for him to handle, even surprised, but Stanilo was right behind him. They killed the two on their side of the doorway quickly enough, but the third on the other side went to dash off. Oskar was right about to turn back and open his mouth when an arrow shot past, striking the poor bastard in the low of his back. He fell to the ground, shouting and screaming. A real mess.

"Oy, whoever's inside," Oskar shouted into the doorway above the screams, "I'll have you know we're not here to attack you or capture you or whatever these pricks are up to." He shoved the closest dead body so it rolled over in view of the room inside. "See?"

"What are you here for?" a voice came, eventually. It was a woman's. She sounded deathly frightened but made an effort not to show it.

"The archives. We got a friend inside we want to see saved. She's there. Any notion where that may be?"

Another pause, then, "Follow this hall, take the right stairwell up twenty-three stairs, then the left door. The archives are across the hall, past the wide doors."

"Er, right," he muttered, then shouted, "much appreciated! We'll be passing by now, so no Spells blasted our way would be welcomed!"

"Go on."

Oskar waved his band to follow. As he passed, he risked a glance inside and found not just a priestess but about a dozen people—many of them old as shit, lying in beds, still as corpses. He couldn't catch much more by the time he passed. He followed the priestess's instructions, finding the archive rooms easily enough. He started pushing open doors, glancing about wearily, but no one was evidently in any of them. Just countless books.

"Emalia!" one of his men shouted.

He rolled his eyes and went to reprimand the fool for making noise when enemies were obviously about. Then a familiar face appeared from one of the rooms he was supposed to ignore.

"Oh! You're here?" Emalia asked, quickly exiting her hiding spot. Sovina was close behind. "We thought you might be more of the separatists." She showed him the scrolls in hand that looked close to falling apart, they were so ancient. "We've found it."

"Looks about as old as our pale friend. He's here, by the way," he said.

"What?"

"Saw some of his Soulborne below." Their faces paled. "Yeah. You should have seen me. Met them and some rebels about the same time."

"Those rebels are interested in this," she said, waving one of the scrolls. "It talks about—"

"Em," Sovina urged, "we should hurry."

"Oh, of course."

Oskar did an about-face and called out, "Back down! Let's keep it tight and quick!" He glanced back to the two women of the Column. "The way we came is overrun. I'd imagine much of the lower levels are. Know any other routes?"

Emalia shook her head. "The catacombs are the only secret exit. If they are compromised… We will have to use the front."

"Great. Soulborne or rebels."

"I'll take the living," Nifont muttered, nocking an arrow.

True enough, arrows never did much against the Dead, which didn't feel pain. Such creatures required a great deal more damage to disable and kill—arrows simply didn't cut it. Most weapons didn't. "Big doors it is," Oskar said with a sigh.

They took the stairs down, most nearly jogging, taking two steps at a time. If he weren't so damn tired and achy, he might be leading the pack, but each step jarred his bones as if he were being punched over and over again. Not a pleasant experience. And wearing mail and carrying a shield and sword didn't help either. They actually made it a good deal further down than he expected before they ran into trouble.

At first, it was a few scattered warriors chasing down people, rampaging like blood-hungry berserkers. He caught a glimpse of the scene with a few warriors cutting their way through a pack of cowering priests, not a guardian or Sorcerer amongst them. Sovina nearly left their stairwell to intervene, and he had to grab her arm and force her to follow.

"Can't help 'em," he muttered, moving on. "Even if we could—"

"Daecinus, I know." She glared back, teeth bared. A true she-wolf, if he'd ever seen one. Given enough time, maybe she'd… No, she'd never settle for an old bastard like me, he thought, snorting. I'm not even that old, dammit. Most fighting men stopped at his age, sure, but they still had a few decades of good living after. Difference was most fighting men weren't mercenaries banished from civilization. But not anymore. No, he still had the pardon from Laczlo.

Maybe he really could give up this life when it was all done?

"Shit!" someone up ahead screamed.

"Run!"

He strained to look and see. Too many heads were in the way, including the towering Stanilo, taking up most the bloody stairwell on his own, shouting something. The warrior looked back and caught Oskar's eye. "Soulborne!"

"Fuck," he whispered, letting the fear eat at him for a moment of frozen panic before he turned, found the nearest exit from the stairwell, and kicked the door open. "We find another way!"

"This leads to another staircase down. Two, I believe," Emalia said, falling behind Sovina, who led the way with her saber out.

He didn't bother looking back when he heard the shouts, screams, and clash of iron. Stanilo's deep voice boomed down the stone walls. Oskar made himself stop, waving for the priestess to continue forward, and looked back. His men were following, but not all were out of the stairwell yet. Stanilo stood blocking the doorway, sword in one hand, shield in another, shoulders squared. What was he doing? What about the others?

It was hard to see in the dark, with only two torches amongst them, little ambient light from windows filtering in, but he caught the shape of one of them in darkness of the stairwell. Something slashed through the air, nearly catching Stanilo's head, but he had his shield up and body lowered just in time. An axe smashed through the top half of his shield and missed his helmet by finger's width. The pale, muscled, gigantic form of a Soulborne reared back for another swing. Stanilo attacked, clashing off iron protecting the monster's arm, then piercing a gap in its lamellar, scoring a small wound. But this was no fight he could win.

"Stanilo!" Oskar screamed, rushing to him. "Move!"

He stayed rooted in place, barely dodging the next strike, attacking after, doing little.

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Oskar shoved a man out of the way, still too far. Someone was beside him. He caught a glimpse.

Nifont loosed an arrow that dinged off armor, then had his sword and dagger out with a muttered curse, bent low, and began weaving through the fleeing mercenaries as he dashed on ahead, easily passing Oskar. Gods, he felt afraid. His legs wobbled as he ran, jaw tremored, and gut did a dance that made him want to piss a bloody hole in the ground. Somehow, he knew that one of them was going to die today. And that this might just well be the moment.

The Soulborne battered Stanilo aside, charging into the hall. It grabbed at his shield and yanked it away, but Stanilo took the opening and dropped it, ducked, then took his sword in two hands and shoved it up the creature's armpit. It made no noise of pain, showing no emotion on its gaunt, skull-like face. Before it could swing its axe again, Nifont was behind it, slashing at its hands with his blades. He scored a few good hits, taking off a finger or two, cutting partway through the toughened flesh before it whipped around, cracking him with the handle of the axe. The massive weapon swung in a wide arc after the blow, catching Stanilo's arm as he tried to leap back. Oskar croaked out a gasp as he saw a spray of blood splatter across the wall. Stanilo fell back from the force of the hit, knocked to the ground, his injured arm limp. Gods, was it still attached?

Oskar was close now, and though the fear gripped him, so did the anger. Nifont was struggling to his feet, dazed and bleeding from a big cut on his forehead, vulnerable to another hit. And the Soulborne was getting ready. Oskar shouted a war cry of the olden days, of deliverance to the afterlife for men of valor and courage, and attacked.

He went for the head, cracking the helmet with all the force he could muster, nearly losing his grip on his sword. The Soulborne reared back, and the tip of his blade caught its face, slicing a chunk from its chin, then clattering uselessly off its chest piece. It recovered far too quickly, sprawling down, then launching forward like a boar. Oskar roared, braced, and slammed his shield into its head. It still knocked him to the ground, but he rolled, avoiding claws, and scrambled up. Just then, a spear flew past his head and smashed harmlessly off its torso, making it stumble. An arrow came, too, and lodged in its thigh. He could hear footsteps behind.

No! He couldn't lose any more men. They'd die facing this beast.

Oskar tried to shout out, but no air was in his lungs. Still, he tried to kick the Soulborne's injured leg as it righted itself. Nifont attacked its hamstrings, slicing, dodging a powerful backhand, thrusting his dagger straight through its upper thigh. He almost escaped unscathed, but the Soulborne collapsed on him, jaws opened wide to plunge fangs into his throat. At the last second, he raised his sword, abandoning the knife, and put it between them. The monster bit the steel and, gods be his witness, Oskar heard metal bend, then snap. The sword shattered in Nifont's hand. He jumped back just before the Dead could finish its job. That's when Oskar attacked, swinging for its exposed neck. His sword met flesh, thicker and tougher than any human's, but nonetheless entering in deep, though not quite through. The Soulborne stood straight, knocking Oskar's sword out of his hands and across the hall, black blood dribbling down, its black eyes focusing on him.

Fuck. Maybe it'll be me, he thought, standing there weaponless. He raised his shield, knowing it wouldn't do a thing, and prepared to defend another axe blow. But it never came.

The Soulborne collapsed. Its leg flew out, separated at the knee as Stanilo cut through the whole limb with one stroke, one-armed. He screamed a war cry for the ages, swinging back around, thrusting the blade through its side, just past the iron plates, smashing ribs and bisecting flesh. Oskar saw now his other arm was a wreck, bloody, limp, with a white flash of exposed bone. The Soulborne collapsed, and Nifont snatched out his dagger, plunging it into the creature's face as Oskar drew his own and went after its exposed, gored neck. Together, they ended the creature before it could do anymore damage, cutting, slashing, stomping on anything that still moved.

Oskar fell to his knees, gasping in a huge, wheezing breath. He was dizzy, dazed, but he couldn't rest. No. He stood on wobbly legs and about fell, getting over to Stanilo, who stood there wobbling. The big man was pale, eyes lazily taking in the sight of his own ruined arm. It was still attached, but not by much.

Oskar undid Stanilo's sword belt, removed the scabbard, and wrapped the leather strip around Stanilo's arm near the shoulder, securing it tight to slow the bleeding. Still, the open wound dribbled blood.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, trying to hurriedly cut off a piece of his pants to cover the nasty wound. It didn't help much, soaking through immediately. Nifont joined him, helping to tie off a makeshift bandage, tying his arm across his chest.

"We need to move," Stanilo said, nearly a whisper.

"Eh?" Oskar replied.

The man just nodded back to the stairwell. That's when he heard the rumbling.

"Gods."

"Go!" Nifont pushed them ahead. "Gain some ground! I'm faster than you, I'll catch up!"

Miras ran in and helped take Stanilo's weight, though Oskar never left his side, keeping pressure on the wound as he hauled the man ahead.

"You're too damn big," he muttered.

Stanilo chuckled.

Oskar glanced back. Nifont handed him his fallen sword, then stole a short axe from one of the other mercenaries, stuck it in his belt, picked up his bow and scattered arrows, and knocked one. He stopped and faced the stairwell.

"Nifont!" Oskar bellowed. "You better fucking follow!"

"I will."

"You damn better! I'll need you, you dumb bastard!"

"Stop wasting time! Go!"

He tore his eyes away from his friend, jaw tight and teeth gritted. The fucker better listen.

…

They left Oskar and the fight behind, Sovina nearly pulling her along. She wanted to go back, to help them, even if she knew she couldn't. They ran from the hall, through an antechamber, down another flight of stairs which led to another hall. I used to sleep here, Emalia thought, spotting her chamber near the end of the hall. It was a small cell, though many times in the chaos and uncertainty in the months following her escape, she often thought of it. Its safety, its simplicity, reliability… Now it was over. Now, the Column might as well be a Ruin like Drazivaska.

Emalia nearly fell to the ground as she knocked into Sovina, who'd stopped suddenly ahead of her. "What is it?" she gasped out, then looked ahead.

A priestess stood at the window of thick glass at the end of the hall and held a bronze rod out toward the city below. They stood too far back to see what was outside, but Emalia figured it had to be more of the Soulborne. With a flash of light from behind Sovina's protective stance, she saw an arc of sickly green blast from her Artifact through the glass, bursting it, and launch down to the city below. The light shone off her ink-black hair, long neck, and tall stature.

"Priestess Nadezhda," Emalia murmured, staring in wonder.

She was as close to the High Priest as one got without becoming them, powerful and prestigious as one of the few competent Sorcerers left in the Column. If she was alive, and wielding a Artifact, perhaps they could last. Perhaps the Column could survive. Perhaps the High Priest was still alive, gathering more potent Artifact for war against the Dead.

The priestess turned as if she heard Emalia's whisper. Her eyes widened.

"We mean no harm," Sovina said, standing in front of Emalia. "We've fought Dead and rebels alike. Let us pass."

"Priestess Emalia and her guardian, Sovina," she said with guarded recognition, looking between them and the city below. "What is your purpose here?"

"We've come to stop the one behind the Soulborne—the Dead you fight."

Nadezhda frowned at them, then gave a firm nod and faced the city below, sending another ray of sinister green down. Emalia felt her skin prickle and a touch of the divine. Raizak, are you here now? Blessing her? Blessing us? she thought, looking up toward the stone ceiling, past to the heavens. Do you break free from the damning serpents to stand with us, here and now? Another Sorcerous ray cast ripples of cold and heat and a strange warping of life across the hall. Sovina pressed forward, and Emalia followed, eyes peeled wide, senses attentive for her divine patron's presence.

But it was not to be.

Before Nadezhda could send another ray down into whatever enemy was below, a massive shadow appeared in the broken window, covering it entirely. The priestess gasped and jerked back, but not before an arm plunged in, snatched her by the throat, and threw her from the Column. Nadezhda screamed as she fell, though her plunge was cut short as the same arm caught her wrist. For a moment, Emalia thought the Soulborne might save her, but it simply twisted and dug in with its claws, ripping her hand from limb, snatching the bronze Artifact-wielding fist. The priestess disappeared from view, her voice fading with distance until it melted into the outside world's madness.

The Soulborne leaped inside a few paces before Sovina, who stumbled back, interposing herself between it and everyone else. "Stay behind me," she grunted.

But something was different. The Soulborne did not press forward in a mindless assault of death but paused and observed. Behind it, more clambered inside, and Emalia felt her heart stop.

"Protis?" she asked, a hand to Sovina's shoulder as she stepped past.

"Em—"

"Trust me."

The Soulborne stared at her, unblinking. It was tall, wide, and bore thick iron armor across its chest and arms; its head was protected by a helmet that revealed most of its face. Though Protis looked scarcely different from the others except for its slightly larger build, there was a certain patience about it that set the creature apart.

"You will want to take me to Daecinus," she said, taking another step forward. Sovina didn't stop her, thankfully, but was tense and ready, radiating wariness. "I have something that will change everything. He will want to hear it from me." She gestured to the scrolls. "Please."

"Emalia," it replied, voice as worn and deep as grinding stones, as the rumbling earth beneath one's feet. "You make lair where we hunt."

"I know. You are following Daecinus's orders to purge the Column, are you not?" she asked, and when Protis did not respond, she took it as an affirmative. "Then trust me and do as I ask. The Column is lost—you've gained that much. But he will want to stop this once we speak to him!"

"Death comes to the creatures. Words twisted to human ears cannot stop it." Protis stepped forward.

Sovina went to meet the Soulborne, but Emalia blocked her way and begged, "Trust me as you've done before! I stood by his side all this time. You know what promise I made in Drazivaska! How I swore to save him! Please, trust me!"

The other Soulbornes stood motionless, holding their axes and javelins in each hand, watching with nearly empty eyes. Yes, now that she looked at Protis, she saw what made the creature so unique. Its eyes, dark and unblinking, were not empty nor emotionless. Rather, they were full of emotion. She saw conflict within them, a warring between something. What? Rage, certainly. Anger was there, unyielding and fiery, but so were intelligence and reflection, which were so eerily familiar. Suddenly, it became clear. Protis was not merely a Soulborne made more intelligent. No. In some way, it had a piece of Daecinus inside it. The same expression she saw upon his face when he bid her to leave, when he threatened Oskar, when he offered mercy while facing the horror of his own actions and the evils of Vasia's. Protis bore the same conflict.

"I can make him understand. I can show him. I can bring him some measure of peace, I swear to you," she said, stepping even closer. "His people—their descendants—still live, Protis. Perhaps his sister too. Does he not deserve to know this? To find them? This fight here will only end in death—and not just for Vasians, but Soulborne, perhaps even him."

"Daecinus will not die here," Protis growled back, teeth bared.

For a moment, she feared she was wrong, or that the fury in this creature would win, but then the animalistic fire faded, and she saw its eyes narrow and its mind work. Finally, it said, "To Daecinus." It growled something to the three other Soulborne, which fell in line, and then all followed Protis as Sovina gestured to the stairs.

"We head down," she said.

Protis slid the bronze Artifact in its chestpiece, securing it, then took to the stairwell. Emalia glanced back and found Oskar holding a pale and bloody Stanilo, eyes wide in shock.

"The others?" she asked, looking for Nifont and the four missing others.

Oskar looked away.

Emalia swallowed, then faced ahead, momentarily frozen. Sovina's hand gripped hers, squeezing comfortingly. She looked to her guardian, to her partner, then took a deep breath and followed Protis down.

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