Chapter 17: Ever seen a mountain vomiting monsters?
Previously~
"You've come to reclaim what's mine, Lord Marshal," Thomas's voice was low and chilling, his words dripping with an eerie calmness. "But this... this is where your journey ends."
Christian's sword arm trembled, but his resolve remained. "We will not be so easily defeated, Count. Your shadows can't save you."
Thomas chuckled, the sound echoing off the cold walls. "We shall see, Marshal. We shall see."
And with that, the darkness closed in, the figure of Thomas Duskrane towering over them, his presence a harbinger of doom.
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The stone chamber stood still, ancient and breathless.
Wind howled through the shattered stained glass above, casting broken rainbows across the floor—fragments of forgotten saints. The air between them hummed, not with heat or light, but with conviction honed into violence.
Christian stepped forward, greatsword drawn, the weight of the Church in his grip. Runes carved into his armor shimmered, flickering like candles in a storm. His eyes never left the man ahead.
Thomas Duskrane waited, calm as snowfall, cloak drawn tight around him like a funeral shroud. His saber hung in one hand—casual, loose, as though it hadn't already tasted blood that night. The curve of the blade caught the waning light, hungry.
"You are far from your altar, Marshal," Thomas said, voice low and velvet-smooth. "Here, your gods cannot hear you."