- Gregory -

She led me down a set of stairs into a dark basement illuminated by candle light. It was a rather unassuming basement, just a simple carpeted hallway with a set of doors on each side. Each door had on it a little window with a sliding wooden cover. The demon Mordred led me to one of them and slid open the window cover, allowing me to peer inside.

My stomach twisted. “Is he a prisoner,” I asked. The room was bare, with stone floors and walls, adorned only with a simple bed upon which sat a half-naked young man who looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“A prisoner,” Mordred scoffed, “No, he’s a slave. A drifter, actually, very valuable merchandise.” She smiled at me, a twisted, sick smile. “One coin per night, if you’re interested. Or, if you want to buy him from me…”

I felt sick. “How many people are down here?” I asked the demonic woman.

“Hmm…” she thought for a second, holding a claw to her lips, “I have a decent collection,” she answered.

I heard the sound of crying from one of the other doors. I approached it, and this time, without asking the demon’s permission, slid open the cover myself. Another bare room. A girl sat on the bed, curled in a ball, letting out stifled cries.

My blood boiled the more I saw.

Looking carefully, I noticed a small set of horns growing out the top of her head, and the tips of her fingers were tipped in small black claws.

“Ah this one,” the demon explained as she stepped to my side, “Isn’t she beautiful? She has been praying to our god, just like I taught her to. Such a good girl.” Mordred wore a warm smile on her face, almost like a proud mother. But the girl’s cries told a different story.

“You can sleep with her if you want,” the demon continued, “but this one’s not for sale. She’s not your type anyway though, right?”

Up to this point my main thought had been survival. I should escape from this filthy den alive, and come back with help. That was the smart thing to do.

“Can you show me some more of your merchandise?” I asked as calmly as I could, the the rage building inside me made that difficult.

“Of course,” Mordred answered happily, turning to one of the other doors, exposing her back to me.

But I wasn’t going to be smart. I was a Paladin of Chercella, I was righteous, and it was my duty to smite the wicked and protect those in need.

I thought back to the girl named Bridget, and of the ground owl who didn’t need to be saved.

This was different.

The demon named Mordred, she was truly pure evil.

And the cries from the girl in the room, they were cries for help. She was asking, begging for anyone to save her.

I would not leave those cries unanswered.

The world around me slowed to a crawl, and every move I made emitted a bright light.

My gift, Divine Rush, allowed me to move faster than the eye could see, but only for one second, and only to engage the enemy. It could not be used for running away.

In one swift motion, I unsheathed my sword and moved it across the demon’s neck.

Her head flew into the air, landing by my feet as her body crumpled to the ground.

I finally let out the breath I had been holding onto, relieved that it was over without much trouble. But the sickness I felt in my gut did not subside. I was not a fan of removing heads from shoulders, but sometimes it needed to be done.

I knelt by the body to search for a key to open the doors, and I found it hidden within a fold of her robes. But as I retrieved it, I noticed her body was beginning to… melt. Into some sort of strange black ooze.

I heard some sort of horrid screech, as some sort of invisible hand grabbed me by the neck and lifted me off the ground, pinning me to the ceiling. I reached out my hand, looking for anything to cast judgment onto, but there was nothing there. My discerning eye, too, found nothing, as it was blinded by the overwhelming evil aura covering the entire building.

A ghost, perhaps? I thought. “Turn… Undead…” I managed to choke out the words. There was another scream, and I fell face-first onto the floor.

I scrambled back to my feet, key in hand, and opened each of the doors as fast as I could. Each prisoner wore a shocked expression on their faces, but most were quick to get on their feet. I urged them to vacate the building quickly, before that undead creature decided to come back.

When I opened the door to the crying girl’s room, the one with small demon horns sprouting on the top of her head, she looked up at me, tears still pouring out of her black eyes. Out of all the prisoners, I probably felt the most sorry for her, having had her body twisted in this way.

I held out a hand. “Hurry,” I told her. “We have to get out of here.”