Riven and the two demons had found a small cellar, long abandoned, with a pair of dead bolts that still worked well enough after they closed the door behind them. It’d likely been soone else’s lair a long, long ti ago due to the way various odds and ends were strewn about and a worn-out bed was in the far corner—though it was all in a heavy state of disrepair and had a thin layer of dust.
“Trash.” Athela threw one of the spare articles of clothing to the side, smacking Azmoth in the face while he grunted and sniffed at the pair of old underwear. “Also trash. This is trash, too.”
She continued to dig through the bag Jalel had claid to be “treasure,” tossing it onto the growing pile atop Azmoth, and she let out a huff when she got to the end of it. “This is bullshit! All this crap was supposed to be more valuable than ?! How dare that insignificant little shit call you out like that!”
Athela was no doubt talking about when Jalel had been angry about Riven’s choice to save his minion over the other bag of “treasure.” Out of all the items Jalel had brought with him in that oversized sack of shit, not a single thing had been useful for Riven at all.
It was as if Jalel had intentionally been trying to deceive Riven concerning the bag’s contents when he’d been overly hesitant to show the warlock or demon anything inside. Why that was, Riven would likely never know.
Yet Riven had bigger things to worry about, like how he was going to get out of here. He needed to find the exit; he’d been here far too long, and both Allie and Jose were counting on him.
“I need a way out,” Riven stated flatly, staring down the phantom across the room while ignoring Azmoth’s mindless, deep giggling or the enraged chittering of his spider. “I need to get out of the dungeon. If I help you, will you provide this for ?”
Kajit let out a frustrated growl. Her usual semitranslucent appearance of an old, bandaged, half-mummified woman was gone. Now, in its place was her Another shot was fired from a rifle through an adjacent window amid screams and shrieks of the undead and the living alike—and she took aim with one hand to fire off a death ball. A globe of teal and black flas exploded out of her outstretched hands and ripped through the frail, damaged wall to violently eradicate the defender while three of her skeletons rushed over his body to continue their assault on the others.
She calmly walked ahead, entering through the burning hole she’d created, and looked down where a terrified man and a woman were being eaten alive while holding hands and frantically sobbing. Probably a couple, but honestly she didn’t care. Not after what they’d done to Jose.
They all had this coming, and she was far from done with her work. They would pay for their sins in the blood of their family and friends, a sacrifice worthy of the ones who’d taken her own in the na of purging the nonbelievers in this new world where God had made his presence known.
Fucking fanatics.
She would bring them war, as they’d asked. She would bring them a crusade. She would see just who purged whom, and she would not stop until she stood upon a mountain of their corpses. She would find the one who called himself Prophet. She would hang his corpse from their church so all his holy-aligned nutjobs would see his body and despair, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
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