Nicholas walked closer to Fisher, who had become so weak he didn’t have the strength to hold his blade. It fell with a thunderous clang, spattering crimson up high enough to dirty the bottom of the bishop’s stark white robes. He placed a hand on Fisher's armored shoulder. “You can still save your family. Tell us the location of the slave, and you won’t have to watch your family suffer and perish.” 

Stressful seconds passed by without any response. Nicholas motioned for the tanned monstrosity known as Klee to pick up the great sword. He did so, lifting it with just one hand. Powerful muscles must’ve resided with his log-like arms. He placed a large hand on his robe and ripped it off, showing off the armored bodysuit he wore underneath. He wore a thin layer of metal over his body, stretching from his neck to his feet. Gloves and boots birthed forth from his Dimensional Storage. The sword he held dropped to the ground.

After dressing himself, he hefted the blade and tested its weight, swinging it around as effortlessly as if it was a short sword.  

“I must say that I am disappointed. You had the potential to be my greatest asset, and your devotion to this slave is outright disgusting. You fool! Does your family not mean anything?!?! Does slaughtering the Innocents to save the life of someone who should be imprisoned for their weakness give you a sick sense of satisfaction?!?! Try as I might, I did EVERYTHING I could to obtain its location without resorting to this! I even sent someone to follow you every damn day, and no one ever returned! This slave must be returned to its rightful owner, and this wrong must be righted!!!!” Nicholas lost his cool, further exploding into a barrage of insults and swears.  

“No… Something isn’t right…” The words murmuring from Fisher's lips halted Nicholas's rant.  

“Oh, I assure you it all very much correct. Klee, kill him, and get ready to make a shell out of him.” 

Klee gladly obliged and lifted the great sword to the sky. His sharp eyes glared at a man he would have loved to fight, for defeating the strong and corrupting their bodies into the perfect shell was quickly becoming his favorite hobby. His muscles followed the command from his mind, sending his hulking arm down while fueling the sword with sweet, sweet Skill Energy. It glowed a blistering yellow. The coalesced energy coagulated along the blade's edge, sharpening it to an unhealthy degree.

“No… Something’s wrong… No!” Fisher dodged to the left after running Nicholas's claims through his mind, but he was a hair too late.  

Thump! 

The severed arm of a man protected by black armor fell to the ground, leaving behind a sputtering wound that ejected blood at an alarming rate.  

He had been cleaved off at the shoulder, causing him to not have even a stump remaining.  

“Where did you kill my family?” demanded a changed Fisher. He took a step forward even as the rain of crimson continued to soak the ground.  

“Klee caught them running for the headquarters. You do know the little apple shop a few blocks away? It was there.” 

Stomp! 

“Did my wife tell you about the crater?” 

“Of course, she didn’t. Even if you did know the truth, would you tell her?” Nicholas took a confident step back while Fisher did the opposite. 

Stomp! 

“You’re lying… I told my wife to run to Warden should anything happen…” 

Stomp! 

“I do know who caused the crater… It was a Goddess named Itarr… If you really had killed my family and instructed her to tell you everything, then… No, I don’t have any more words to share with a dead man…”  

The ground shook when Klee ran in front of Nicholas, who had started to show signs of fear and fright. Fisher hooked his remaining left hand around his back and pulled out the nadrium dagger. Its trademarked pair of two pulsing blue lines of energy flashed with great intensity. The blood that had dripped down its blade when it was sheathed never crossed over the parallel lines. But it was ready to fulfill its master's demands.  

Nicholas shouted something that vaguely sounded like an order, and Klee picked up his dog-headed shield. With two items that usually required both hands, Klee was just even more impressive in wielding them both one-handedly. Though he had fought on the front lines in many battles, his massive size gave him an unfair advantage.  

He cautiously approached the incoming one-armed captain with a sword held high. He brought it down with surprising speed, but Fisher skipped over to the right and used his dagger to deflect the blade away. He stomped forward, jittering and stopping, then dashed to the left. Speed was the name of the game, and once his sword arm was in motion, Klee couldn’t alter directions.  

Walking ever forward, Fisher used his nadrium weapon to swat away any incoming thrusts or vertical slashes and dodged under the horizontal blows coming from the left and right. Blethor was kicking into high gear, granting Fisher the skills of a dagger master one hundred times his age. It wasn’t quite at the level of Soul Essence of Primal Combat, but it did grant him decades and decades of untold training.  

Even an ant could deflect an attack from a lion if it had enough skill.  

“Klee, finish him!” commanded Nicholas. The oncoming force of vengeance had pushed the both of them to the far back wall. Sparks danced and scattered across the mesmerizing battle. Each step and slide sent up another splash of crimson, dirtying the combatants’ bodies with even more blood.  

Klee was certainly enjoying this battle, though that wouldn’t last. He foolishly believed his skill was the thing keeping Fisher’s dagger away, but that was just because he had almost reverted into the Fisher of old.  

The one who played with his prey.  

The one who faked being injured to slaughter from the inside.  

The one who used everything to overpower an opponent who falsely believed they had the upper hand.

The one who had a reputation even surpassing Arnold in how violent he could brutally violate a corpse… 

That was the Fisher that Nicholas wanted to have on his side. With his absolutely stellar skill at combat, Nicholas could have anyone killed and send an Urge to make them into the perfect worshippers.  

A soft grin appeared upon a face of blood and crimson, displaying the white teeth hidden inside his sin-filled mouth. Suddenly, the former reaper of Demi-Humans started to hasten up. He dashed to the right, sending up more blood and doubled back, hopping forward into a mad tackle. He slammed right into a shield, but his dagger was held out. As it was nadrium, it pushed through the pathetic piece of steel, and Fisher's remaining strength brought the stubborn blade down. The shield split mostly in half. Even the handle had been cut through, so it was worthless.  

Klee thought he had the right opportunity to finish the fight, so he foolishly took an opening Fisher had delightfully prepared after throwing the shield at him. The lighting sword came down with an edge that just cackled like the mad thunder of a raging storm. 

“Die!!!” shouted the mountain of a man. His eyes lit up with wonder at the forthcoming chance to use his Necromancy. Perhaps this time, the mind will be brought back as well... 

 Klee had the understanding that since Fisher had to jump to dodge the thrown projectile, he would be vulnerable when in the air.  

He wasn’t. Perhaps if Klee had come in from the right, where there was no arm, he would have won, but that was a dream since the captain had a multitude of experience to draw from. Since his blade was securely gripped by his left hand, he put it between himself and the incoming attack. He did get launched but suffered very little damage other than a numb spot between his abdominal cavity.  

Fisher had expected and wanted this to happen, so he rolled out into a sharp recovery as crimson blood splashed up. With haste, he tossed his blade with startling accuracy and speed. It caught Klee between the eyes, piercing his skull by just a hair. In an agonizing rage, he dropped the blade. Both hands went to his wound.  

The captain scrambled forward into a confident yet mad dash to pick up his former weapon. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t heft it around with one arm, so he used something called momentum. He slid past it, using the plentiful blood to reduce friction, and snagged it with his remaining hand. Then he used everything in his entire body to spin, using his speed to gradually lift the sword up. Simultaneously, he overcharged it with most of his remaining Skill Energy, then sent it flying towards Klee.  

“RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!” 

The necromancer hadn’t figured out what was going on. In his madness, he wasn’t able to hear Nicholas’s panicked warnings. His armor suit did provide some protection, but it was metal.  

And it was uninsulated.  

“WWWAAAHHHHHAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!” His death screams served as a reward for all he had killed in his foolish devotion to Nicholas, but Fisher wasn’t satisfied. He approached the still convulsing body, refusing to shield his eyes from the lightning show happening in front, and stomped down on the dagger sticking out of his forehead. Since Fisher's black armor was enchanted and insulated, he didn’t have to worry about the bolts spreading to him.  

Even if Klee's armor was protected against lightning, Fisher had a dozen different ways to defeat this man.

But he stomped, stomped, and stomped some more until Klee’s head cracked like a thick egg. The waves of lightning traveled up to venture inside this new opening, frying his brain to a crispy mess. By now, his screams had stopped for good, and the slight movements his body performed were just the last of his nerves firing off. His blood had started to boil from the inside, causing his skin to melt into a goopy, sickening mess.  

“Now that you've killed him, everyone he had ever brought back to life will die!!! You had the chance to save these people, and you refused to do it for a damn slave?! Why?! Why did you have to turn out to be the selfish bastard I feared you to be?!” Nicholas screamed. He fell to his backside and fearfully waved his scepter in front of him. He stared past Fisher and exclaimed in horror as the bodies and those still alive crumbled into something less than dust.  

Fisher turned back to the sea of bodies, but he only shook his head. “They were dead… Removing your foolish Urges wouldn’t bring them back… A corpse with a mind still a corpse…” He picked up the nadrium dagger and slotted it in its rightful slot after removing the blood. “Your death won’t be gentle… For the harm you have done in your ridiculous goal of wanting these shitty prayers… You. Will. Die. And to rub it in, you son of a bitch… The Goddesses? I happen to be acquaintances with one of them. Her name is Itarr, and what you’ve done so far  away that it isn’t anywhere near what she desires… She’s a powerful being who wishes to devotedly protect the two that believe in her the most... Heed my words, bishop.” Fisher’s voice had gone cold. So incredibly cold and calculating that all he saw when looking at a foolish bishop was prey. “Had I not stepped in to kill you, your death by her divine hands would not have been swift… I’ve seen the consequences of going against her…and it ended with an army 15,000 strong perishing in a single instant.” 

“No! You stop your blaspheming! A gutless man like you can’t even see that the slavery of the weak is the best way to devote ourselves to the Gods! You claim to know of one that I’ve been worshipping for over half my life?! Bullshit! You might strike me down… You might kill me… But my desire to see the heavens populated with the perfect prayers will continue with someone else!!! This world is at a turning point, Fisher, and I was just the herald to set it amongst its forthcoming path!” 

Fisher ignored the bastard and kicked the scepter out of his hand. It landed with a timid thud, and it soon belonged to a new owner. Fisher waved it around, testing its weight and overall feel. The balance was thrown to the wayside by the jewel of the Mantel slotted on top. “How many people did Klee bring back? Not total, but in Canary... And how many of my men have you slaughtered? You have five seconds..."

Fisher mouthed the countdown. The blood that had dried to his lips remained like a bad reminder of a violent past.  

“We killed 8,625 worldwide and 352 in Canary, and we brought each one back… Our targets were people unrelated to the other…and of different ages, races, and gender… It was all so there wouldn’t be any suspicious links… Take heed. Only 27 from the guard perished since I didn’t want to cripple it… I hope you enjoyed ruining so many families… Not just here, but all around the world… I  All you had to do was return a slave to where it rightfully belonged…” confessed the bishop. He looked awfully weak and timid, with his eyes staring at blood-caked sand. Proof of his plan’s demise stared at him head-on. He spat towards the captain, coating his armored legs in even more disgust.  

“Cripple? No… Why did you lie about killing my wife and children?” 

“Because I wanted to bring them back to use as a leveraging chip… Returning someone from the dead and implanting an Urge renders them 70% effective in terms of combat… I tried hard to tear your wife's sinful head from her body… But every time I sent someone out, they just failed… Klee did go and try, yet he was unable to do it… GODDAMNIT, FISHER! Why couldn’t I kill your family? Why couldn’t I send someone to follow you and find out the location of that slave?!?! What do you have that I don’t?! Surely you don’t have the protection of the Goddesses I so desperately serve and worship!!!!!” Sweat dribbled down his wrinkled forehead. Fear manifested within his being for just but a moment or two. 

Suddenly, the bishop held out a hand and twisted his ugly, frightful expression into a psychotic grin. “I will have the last laugh, Fisher. In your weakest moment… On your frailest day! When you are at your most deplorable... When you’re bordering on the edge of losing it all…and your family is giving you their strength... I URGE YOU TO REVEAL YOUR DEEPEST, DARKEST CONFESSIONS TO YOUR CHILDREN!!! TO EVEN YOUR WIFE!!! ENJOY FEELING THEIR FEAR AND DISGUST UPON YOUR—" 

Without letting him finish, Fisher raised his arm and brought the scepter down upon its former owner’s head. Nicholas was brutally knocked to the floor, his chin bashing into the cold, hard ground. The heavy impact carved a gruesome dent into his head, causing his body to convulse from the blunt force trauma.  

“I don’t have any words for you… None at all…  Just die like the sad man you are… When you arrive at the afterlife… In hell, just wait…for me...” Now that the fight was over, the adrenaline keeping Fisher in a combat-ready state subsided. He found his entire body puny and frigid, and he struggled to bring down the heavy scepter on Nicholas’s barely alive corpse a second time.  

“I probably won’t be far behind…” 

But Fisher did, eventually deepening the divot he had given the bishop prior. His bulging eyes popped out of his sockets, and a trail of crimson soon followed as the back of his head was flat like a board.  

Stumbling backwards, the tired, weak captain slipped on blood and tumbled hard to the ground. His eyes were weak and heavy, and his very breath became stiller than the dead corpses he had just fought. The weapon he used to carry out the assassination dropped from his open hands as a pair of eyes shakily stared at his dismembered arm. With great pain, he pressed his remaining palm to the ground and tried to ascend to his trembling legs.  

Shit… The pain’s starting to come… He thought to himself. Every breath he took sent surges of agony barreling through every extremity. Fisher finally did ascend to his feet, but only after clutching the scepter and using it as assistance. Adrenaline could only do so much, but it had a limit, even for someone who had been injured more times than he could count.  

He turned around and stumbled out towards the long corridor, passing by the dust that used to be people.

Fisher’s mind went to Nicholas, and even in his hazy state of being, he didn’t know what the dead bishop wanted.  

Was it to turn this city into a cursed existence that only housed dead, mindless puppets who prayed at all hours of the day? 

Was it to eventually take Canary’s force and gradually amass power? Why else would he complain about the thirty percent decrees in fighting prowess if he only wanted people to worship the Heavens Above? 

Was there someone even above him? Did Nicholas answer to a superior who sent him on this path in the first place? 

Did it even matter? Fisher didn’t believe he needed to know the true reason behind it because it would not change anything. He had a vow to defend Canary, its people, and his family, and if anyone stood in conflict, he had a right to act.  

Marissa is safe… Meri is safe… Mari…is…safe… I protected my family… Nicholas…was going to kill them… Eventually…he was… Gods… Everything hurts… 

When Fisher reached the stairs, he fumbled over his legs and tumbled down the entire flight. He landed with a hard bang against the wall, the impact causing more blood to flow out from his grievous wound.  

Marissa… Meri… Mari… Three little names echoed around his darkened mind. As he limped forward, failing to rise to his legs, he reached out with his one good arm and dragged himself across the floor. A glistening blood trail followed behind, leaving proof of his mortal injuries. It was a gigantic task to crawl his way through the rest of the church to reach the outside, and even a man like Fisher couldn’t do that.  

How could he? He could barely see. His grip was so weak a child could escape, he had no more strength in legs, and during the dead of summer, Fisher felt as if he was swamped underneath the icy glaciers that were ever plentiful in the northern coast of Keywater.

The furthest he had gotten was the second-floor staircase, just mere meters away from arriving at the bottom. It was then and there he closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to trample over his sinful existence.  

---

“What the hell is wrong with the both of you?!?!” 

Slap! 

“Why wouldn’t you give him any help?!?!” 

Slap! 

“JUST LOOK AT THE STATE HE IS IN!!!” 

Slap! Slap! 

A feminine voice was nearly shouting at the top of her lungs, causing the man who had touched death’s scythe to groan awake. His brown eyes opened, but just slightly because the forthcoming light sent pain shivering through his head. Even turning his neck slightly to the left caused him an indescribable amount of agony, but the wounded man caught sight of a familiar curtain hanging in front of a window.  

The fingers on his left hand moved slightly, brushing its tips across the soft bedspread. He attempted to do the same with the right… 

But nothing was there… 

Try as he could, Fisher Jin just could not move anything relating to his right arm because it simply wasn’t there.  

“Mrs. Jin, please—” 

“No! You bastards sent my husband to do your dirty work and didn’t offer to help!” 

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

Mrs. Jin? What… 

“MERI!!!!! MARI!!!!” Fisher cried. He sat up and tried to swing his legs, but they felt as heavy as led and iron. He tried to use his right hand to forcibly push them out from under the cover, but there just wasn’t anything there.  

“Darling!!!” Marissa cried, tears spewing from her eyes and snot from her nose.  

Fisher looked up and realized he was in his house, lying right in the middle of his large bed, which seemed frigidly cold and empty. But he wasn’t alone. Marissa was right there, standing close enough she was within arm’s reach. Her pretty appearance had been thrown to the wayside to make way for her disheveled worries, and the sultry robe she wore earlier was tightly clasped around her mature body. It wasn't open at all.

The two blond-haired, business formal-wearing individuals must’ve been the governor and his secretary… The cheeks of their faces had a bright red handprint, proof of a wife’s righteous anger.  

Fisher opened his mouth but wailed out in pain when Marissa gave her husband a tight hug and what looked like a hundred kisses. Though it was hard, he somehow raised his arm and placed it around her waist even as she apologized a hundred dozen times.  

“Fisher, we need to know what happened? What happened to everyone inside the church? Why was there so much dust? And the blood in the large room near the top… Where did it come from?” Blasé said. “Answer—” 

“Shut up! Just be quiet!” Marissa snapped. She raised a hand and smacked Blasé’s pretty cheeks once more. His sister flinched at the hit. Not because of the sound, but because she was seething in anger watching her brother take the abuse.  

A couple of minutes passed in complete silence before Fisher found the strength to talk. He could only fish out a few words here and there, and he only managed to convey the link between Nicholas and Klee.  

“Are you… Necromancy could be used in conjunction with a Hypnosis-like skill?” Eina whispered. “No! Fisher, you have to let me heal you.” She held up her arms and spoke aloud Deus Lux. The holy light shimmered in the air before cascading inside his wounded body.  

Nothing happened. Not a single thing changed about Fisher's condition.  

“Damnit, why aren’t you healing my husband?!?!” Marissa raised another hand, yet it was gently caught by Eina. Fisher’s wife snatched her arm back and glared like the devil. 

“Fisher, you have to accept the healing. Unless you accept it, you won’t feel better…”Blasé said, clutching his stinging cheeks.  

If an individual did not want to receive a healer’s assistance, they could focus their willpower and outright deny it. Take, for example, someone who could stack a healing skill 12,000 times. Should they bring someone to the edge of death, and this someone wants to die, what could they do? A man on death's door couldn't hardly gather the willpower to fend off a single Remedium. What could he do against 12,000 stacks of Deus Lux?

But Fisher? His mind was a turbulent mess of emotions. Perhaps outright refusal was standard for him—even while sinking away to the depths of unconsciousness.  

“Fishy? Listen to me, dear…” Marissa’s panicked voice whispered out. She kneeled down beside the bed and held her hand over his. Feeling her touch this time was when Fisher realized he had been stripped of his armor and underclothes. His cold flesh caused a great deal of discomfort, and it was warm, almost slimy. That was probably from the soapy water Marissa used to clean the blood off of her husband. Her eyes grew teary and sorrowful. She searched for the right words, but she didn’t know what to say.  

“Marissa… I destroyed thousands of families tonight… The people I was sworn to protect… Mothers… Fathers… I had to fight through…children… Just as old as Meri… I had to kill them… They… They…” His voice was less than a hoarse whisper. He wanted to smack himself with the arm that was no longer there, but a ghastly phantom pain remained.  

Marissa kissed her husband. Then she gave the twins a horrific stare of death… She had never hated anyone more in the world than these despicable siblings. She didn’t know they were related, of course, but she hated them all the same.  

Despair radiated from the wounded captain. “I did it for Myil… Right? He…doesn’t have to worry… But… What happened… Am I dead?” The man was delirious. He was honestly unable to discern truth from fiction at that very moment, though he desperately wished the world was true since he had his wife nearby.