The great cathedral loomed silent around them, its high-arched ceilings echoing every step. The smell of incense lingered in the air, masking the stench of rot and corruption beneath the surface. Cloaked in borrowed priest robes, Lokey, Hela, Artemis, and Brother Toby moved through the halls, heads bowed, blending into the steady trickle of clergy drifting from chamber to chamber.

  Toby led with steady purpose, his voice never rising above a whisper when he gave the occasional nod or gesture. No one questioned them. The robes gave them invisibility—at least for now.

  At the far end of the sanctuary, Toby guided them to a winding stairwell that spiraled down beneath the altar. The air grew colder with every step, the polished stone giving way to rougher walls cut deep into the earth.

  At the bottom, a narrow passage stretched ahead, sealed with a heavy iron door. Toby stopped there, turning to face them. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled back his hood, revealing the weight of conflict written across his young features.

  “This is as far as I can take you,” he said, his voice hushed but firm. “Beyond this door is the hidden way to the church’s undercroft. The dungeons lie there… and if Asra has not yet been delivered, that is where you’ll find her.”

  Hela stepped closer, searching his face. “You’re not coming with us?”

  Toby shook his head, swallowing hard. “If I do, I will be marked a traitor outright. The church would destroy me before I could ever help anyone again. But if I stay here—if I play my part—I can still shield you from suspicion, still feed you information.” He managed a faint, sad smile. “I am not a warrior like you three. My part in this fight is here, not beyond that door.”

  Lokey placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “You’ve done more than enough, brother. We’ll take it from here.”

  Artemis gave a sharp nod of respect, while Hela’s expression softened with understanding.

  Toby exhaled, then produced a small iron key from his sleeve and pressed it into Lokey’s palm. “This will open the passage. Go quickly… and gods be with you.”

  For a moment, there was silence between them—a shared recognition of the danger ahead, and of the bond forged in its shadow. Then, with a final nod, the siblings turned toward the iron door, leaving the young priest behind.

  The sound of the lock clicking echoed through the corridor.

  The iron door groaned as it swung open, revealing the narrow, dimly lit passage below the church. Moist stone walls pressed close, and the faint drip of water echoed like a metronome through the darkness.

  Lokey led the way, Hela and Artemis close behind, each step measured, every sense alert. The distant sounds of the sanctuary above were muffled here, replaced by the oppressive silence of the undercroft.

  As they reached a junction in the passage, Hela suddenly held up a hand, stopping her brothers. Her eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight, the chill of her necromantic power radiating from her like heat from a forge.

  “You two,” she said firmly, her voice low but resolute, “go that way. If you find her, get her to safety—but first, Art, give me my babies. They must hate being stuck in your storage space.”

  Lokey’s brow furrowed. “What about you?”

  Hela’s expression hardened. “Don’t worry about me. My skeletal knights will protect me, and if I find her, we will get to safety together.”

  Artemis’s grin was sharp, almost maniacal, like a jester on the verge of chaos as he released the hellhounds. “What about the priest?” he asked.

  Lokey looked at him for a moment, then answered, “Depending on what happens—but saving Asra is the priority.”

  Hela gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then pushed forward into the darkness, shadows twisting around her as if bending to her will, her dogs disappearing into the gloom.

  Lokey glanced at Artemis, then at the corridor ahead. “Let’s move. Fast.”

  Darkness pressed in from every corner of the cell, broken only by the flickering torchlight dancing along the damp stone walls. Chains bit into her wrists and ankles, trying to suspend her in the air, her body screaming in protest. Every movement sent jolts of pain through her battered limbs, leaving bruises blooming across her skin.

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  The sound of the head priest echoed down the hall. His laughter was cruel, rolling like thunder through the narrow corridors.

  “You will learn not to resist me,” he called, his voice carrying easily to where she hung. “You will feel every ounce of your weakness, every mistake, every sin! When I’ve had my fill of you, I’ll let the guards have their way with you as well! Ha-ha-ha!”

  Asra’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding despite the sting of her split lip. Her breathing was ragged, chest heaving, but her eyes burned with defiance.

  “You will not break me!” she shouted, voice raw and hoarse. “I will survive this! I won’t—”

  A sharp kick from one of the guards forced her back into silence, pain tearing through her side. She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out, refusing to give him the satisfaction, fighting with everything she had left to stop his advancement.

  The priest’s laughter echoed again, closer this time, mingling with her muted screams as he moved down the cell. Every step he took was deliberate, calculated, a predator circling his prey.

  “You will serve your purpose,” he said softly, almost tenderly, “and when I hand you to the King of the East, he will do as I told you. He will strip your father of everything, and you… you will learn what it means to be powerless. All because you dared defy me and sided with that demon Riftborn bitch.”

  Asra’s eyes swept the cell, searching for any weakness, any tool, anything she could use. Her spirit refused to yield, even as pain burned her muscles and her blood mixed with the grime of the dungeon floor.

  In the distance, she heard other footsteps—lighter, careful, deliberate. Someone moving through the hall, keeping low, keeping quiet—not like the guards. Her heart caught in her chest. Help was coming.

  Elsewhere, Hela’s eyes glowed faintly, her necromantic power humming in the air like a storm waiting to break. She lifted her hands, and the shadows along the walls seemed to shiver and writhe as if alive.

  From the darkness, figures began to take shape. Two skeletal knights appeared first—tall, imposing, their armor etched with runes that pulsed with a dull blue light. They stood silently, motionless but radiating authority. Hela’s first summons had always been the strongest; it was their presence that would anchor her army.

  Then came the rest. Forty-eight more skeletal warriors, each a perfect replica of the other, their bones gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Five skeletal mages hovered behind the ranks, staffs in hand, ready to channel their magic at a moment’s notice.

  Her hellhounds padded quietly at her side, tails low but eyes bright, their bodies radiating dangerous energy. Unlike before, they no longer charged recklessly into combat—they had learned to fight in tandem with their master, anticipating her commands with precision.

  Hela surveyed her army, taking a slow breath. Every tool she had was at her disposal. Every advantage, every ounce of her power would be used to bring the head priest to justice.

  “Stay close,” she murmured to the hellhounds, who pressed against her legs, sensing the storm to come.

  With a final glance at the flickering torchlight that illuminated the stone corridor, Hela advanced, her skeletal knights and mages forming a silent, unwavering phalanx behind her. She would not fail.

  The iron passage twisted deeper into the undercroft, damp and cold, the smell of mildew thick in the air. Lokey led the way, Artemis close beside him, hearts pounding in unison.

  Ahead, the faint glow of a torch flickered against cold stone walls. Chains rattled as they approached the corridors of cells.

  Then they saw her.

  Asra, chained with arms in the air, bruised and battered, swung slightly as she tried to pull away. Her face was streaked with blood and sweat, but her eyes burned with anger and defiance. The priest and his guards were attempting to violate her in horrific ways. Horror and fury ripped through Lokey’s heart.

  Before they could move closer, a harsh metallic clatter echoed through the hall. Guards emerged from hidden recesses, weapons drawn, surrounding them with lethal precision.

  Artemis growled, stepping forward instinctively, but Lokey placed a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  “Not yet,” Lokey whispered, eyes narrowing with lethal intent. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”

  The trap was sprung.

  The clang of steel and the roar of men filled the undercroft. Lokey and Artemis stood back-to-back, fighting in a tight circle as armored zealots pressed in around them. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and blood. In the center, chained and broken but still defiant, hung Asra, her eyes wide with terror as she watched the battle rage.

  Lokey swung his hammer in wide arcs, bones crunching and shields buckling under the weight of his strikes. Artemis darted like a shadow beside him, twin blades flashing, cutting down anyone who slipped through the gaps in his brother’s defense. Every step closer to Asra cost them blood, but Lokey forced the path open, inch by inch.

  Meanwhile, Hela scoured the far tunnels of the undercroft. The air hummed with the whispers of the dead, and her skeletal army fanned out in perfect formation, hunting for signs of the head priest. She paused as one of her generals—the tall knight whose mannerisms had always reminded her of her brother—strode up and bowed low. His empty sockets glowed brighter, and his voice carried a strange weight.

  “My lady,” he rasped, “the young lord calls for me.”

  Before she could speak, he was engulfed in blue flame and vanished.

  Hela’s eyes widened. Her bond with her summons shivered like a harp string cut short. She knew instantly something was wrong—seeing through its eyes as it blended with her brother, witnessing the sick priest attempting to violate Asra while his guards hit her for resisting. Then the ambush happened, and all hell broke loose.

  “Half of you, with him,” she barked, her voice sharp as a blade. “The rest, on me! We search with haste!”

  Her skeletal knights split ranks, half disappearing in pursuit of their vanished general while the others marched tighter around her. Hela’s urgency spurred her forward, shadows clinging to her cloak as she pressed deeper into the undercroft.