Music is Claim Your Weapons by Christian Reindl ft. Atrel. Play it!

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Wervas, fortimus.

Despite the soldiers' efforts, plenty of ghosts come pouring into the cathedral grounds, blocking our way to escape. I grit my teeth, determination lending me strength I never knew I had. If Miraterciel was dangerous before, it is now deadly, a mere medium for my contained rage. A mere tool for me to unleash true Death.

The wraiths fall before me. Yet there can never be enough for me to cut down. I want more—need more, to satisfying my growing bloodlust. I don't know how I manage to keep my hold on the State. Perhaps it's because my feelings are a blizzard—cold, methodical, indifferent, wrapped beneath a flurry of pure rage.

Wervas, fortimus.

More, more, more. More mortal soldiers fall, fighting with useless effort. Heads roll, blood pools, bodies drop. My stomach hardly turns at the sight anymore, as though this isn't the first time I've truly fought in a battle, only one of the lesser sights I've seen throughout eternity. I should turn back to fight, to help Captain Eldric and Sir Kendrick. To die like a true warrior would.

No. make sure that their sacrifices would be worth it, a small voice in my head keeps me in check.

Wervas, fortimus.

Fortunately, although King Terrell can't kill the ghosts, he's skilled enough in combat that he can dodge their attacks. So my burden of keeping both Gilbert and him alive is lessened.

So close! I smash through the cathedral gates, only to be greeted by more spectres. And to think, the last time I was here, it was a day of celebration. A day when the people of Perinus had their hopes planted in me, their Champion.

I will not vanquish that hope.

Wervas, fortimus.

With wicked speed, I cut through their lines. Even with Gilbert on my back, hindering my agility, they are no match for Miraterciel. We slowly approach the altar, to where Captain Eldric claimed that the entrance into the secret passageway would lay.

In one last burst of adrenaline, I pummel through the ghosts. We finally stumble onto the elevated dais. "Your Majesty," I cry out to the king, who is desperately catching his breath, "can you help me to push the altar aside?"

I sense the king heaving against the structure without hesitation. He must have known about all of this beforehand. He must have known that Diomedes' army would have a good chance of overwhelming us.

Yet he'd forced us into this war.

Creak.

I hear the altar moving. King Terrell hears it too; he emits a sigh of relief. I sense him pressing harder against it, shoving with all his might. His breaths are quick puffs and pants of desperation. Meanwhile, the first ghost has already approached the dais; I cut it down with my athame.

It creaks some more. Then, I feel it sliding—heavy, solid, as if it hasn't been moved in centuries. But sliding, no less. I continue to fight the ghosts, not daring to avert my attention to take a look at the altar. "Come!" King Terrell cries.

"Get Gilbert in there first," I say. Gilbert's mail scratches against the floor as the king obeys me. I hear a sickening thump, followed by a more controlled slap of boots against the floor. Pietists Above, what is King Terrell doing?

"He could get injured!" I hiss.

"It's the only way we can get into the passageway." The king's voice sounds odd. It comes from below and is accompanied by echoes.

Of course, how silly of me. There's no direction except down here, isn't there?

"Come!" he bellows. I slowly back away, still slashing with Miraterciel. Eventually, I feel the heel of my boot meeting nothing but air. I suck in a deep breath. Hopefully, King Terrell has the sense to pull Gilbert away.

I leap backwards.

The drop is shorter than I expected; I fall with the grace of a cat. I look upwards, still holding out Miraterciel, in case any ghosts follow. My blood chills. Had Captain Eldric thought about the possibility of the ghosts pursuing us through the catacombs?

Their faces loom over us; my muscles tense. They try to get closer, yet they back away instead, hissing angrily.

Then I notice why—along the borders of the square-shaped entrance, are wards.

They look similar to the ones on the barrier in the scrinaius. The only difference is that these wards are etched into stone. Solid, not translucent. One exceptionally bold ghost tries to leap into the catacombs. The wards flare, forming a shield; the ghost is thrown backwards with a screech.

My ragged breaths even out. Finally, we're safe.

Your men are not.

Tears suddenly burn at the back of my eyes. After all the preparations, despite our best efforts, we are going to lose all of the men in Cordair today. Soldiers, Galenni, blacksmiths—none will be spared. Yes, it's not our entire military force. Still...

Perinus has been crippled.

I want to curl up in a corner and cry, to finally release the anguish I've been holding back for the past twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. Who knew so many things could happen within the span of twenty minutes?

"Rutherland?" The king's voice is tentative. He senses the storm raging beneath my skin.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Shall we wait until Squire Falkner has regained consciousness?" He casts a worrying look at the limp body on the floor, at its peaceful expression, temporarily, wondrously free of the world's burdens.

I think I've struck him where he would remain unconscious for at least two hours. Maybe I should have chosen a less sensitive spot. However, I was in the heat of the moment. Gilbert would never allow us to abandon Captain Eldric, not for anything. I would though.

I had to.

I shake my head. No use worrying about what might have been. I look about, searching for the bag of supplies Captain Eldric told me was here. The open entrance above provides some light to allow me to scour the area. I quickly locate it, tucked behind a jagged formation of rocks.

With still-trembling fingers, I open the satchel. Enough food to last three people for three days. The captain had known the outcome of the battle.

What will we do for water? As soon as the thought enters my mind, my ears catch something in the distance—a faint gurgling noise. There must be a stream of some sort up ahead. Pst. Kamira, had the Ancient Cambirians purposely constructed this passageway to make for quick escapes? Ingenious. I wonder how Captain Eldric had come across it.

Captain Eldric. Just the thought of the name is like a punch to the gut. Why do all the good men have to die? Why do vermin like me live instead? Why?

"Rutherland?" I must have blanked out, because King Terrell is shaking me by the shoulder with wary gentleness.

I blink into focus. The State has left me, and I'm exhausted. I know that even if I want to, I won't be able to calm my mind to use its gifts. "We move forward," I say. I hold the satchel up. "Your Majesty, do you know how to read maps?"

"Do I know how to read maps?" he snorts. "I have been reading maps ever since I was toddling around. I'll carry the satchel, too, if that's what you want."

I nod. I hand the satchel over without a struggle, almost relieved to get rid of one burden. Now for the other. Careful to not twist or contort his body unnecessarily, I grab hold of Gilbert's arms, pulling him into a piggyback. The extra weight upon my tired feet makes me grunt a little.

King Terrell has found a flint and steel in the satchel. Grabbing an unlit torch from its holder on the stone walls, he coaxes it to life. The heat is uncomfortable, but at least there's some light in the never-ending darkness.

He looks to me, raising a brow. I incline my head in return. With the king leading the way, we begin the slow march to Rutherland. To real safety.

Wervas, fortimus.

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A/N: Looks like it's time for Constantine to come up with a new strategy, because apparently taking Diomedes head on isn't working. What will this twist of events bode for the future though? In the meantime, please remember to vote, comment, share and recommend!

And Constantine actually hit 100K reads! My gosh, this is ah-mazing. Thank you so much, my Champions!