Just a note: this story clocks in at about 5,400 words and has some foul language, violence and, of course, sexual scenes. If you just want to skip straight to the seggs, scroll down to nearly the end of the second section.

***

As soon as the mist parted, Tarhos Kovacs found himself standing amidst a circle of standing rocks lit by candles resting in small alcoves carved into their stony surface. He recognized this place — it was the forest surrounding the ancient temple where the diseased priestess offered up prayers and sacrifices to the Entity.  

Tonight, it would be his battlefield.  

Tarhos peered through the visor of his helmet, which had been fashioned to resemble a blue and gold mask in recognition of the yearly "masquerade." He failed to understand the purpose of this event save that was some kind of festival thrown by a mad woman who worshipped the Entity ... or perhaps was in love with it? Tarhos didn’t care one way or the other; however, it was expected that he dressed for the part. 

The Knight drew his sword from where it had been plunged into the dirt and set off in the direction of the nearest generator, which were also decorated with blue and gold balloons. He did not understand this technology, but Tarhos had long ago intuited that the repairs to these metal machines provided the energy for the two gates to open, and that these repairs could be stalled by striking them. 

There were no survivors at the generator, so he moved on to the next. And the next. And the next after that. 

For a solid fifteen minutes, he maintained a steady patrol of the other generators scattered around the lush greenery and log walls, searching for his prey.  

But there was no one to be found. 

Thinking that perhaps the pathetic mortals were hiding amidst the bushes, Tarhos again thrust his sword into the ground to summon one of his allies, the Jailer, to patrol the area and flush the cowards out.  

Nothing happened. There was no flash of green necromantic energy, and his old ally did not appear with a battle cry.

Confused, Tarhos pulled out the sword, took a step backwards, and stabbed the earth a second time. Again, he was met with dead silence. 

Tarhos did not succumb to panic as other weaker men did, but he nevertheless felt unnerved. What was happening? Had he been summoned to this place by accident?  

No longer motivated by the prospect of finding victims, Tarhos continued his patrol, seeking signs of any kind of life. But there was nothing; even the crows that served as the Entity’s eyes and ears were gone.  

He decided to investigate the Temple of Purgation at the centre of the map; normally, he found that Survivors would first attempt to repair generators outside its walls, so he had not yet searched it. Perhaps he would find the gutless swine cowering in the darkened catacombs below.  

As he approached the temple, however, he heard a woman’s loud, anguished cry, followed by a reptilian hiss. Tarhos hastened his loud, clanking steps, walking up one of the stairways to view the interior of the temple.  

 There, at the centre of the grand structure, he saw the diseased priestess known as the Plague, clad in her golden ceremonial robes and wielding a smoking censer. In spite of herincredible  height, the thing she struggled with dwarfed her in size. 

It was a dragon … and it was not.  

Superficially, it resembled the beasts Tarhos had heard of in bard's stories, with scales, claws, and a pair of tattered bat’s wings protruding from its back. 

But its reptilian hide was corpse-grey, and instead of a dragon’s head, the beast had what appeared to be a wizened old crone’s head with whispy grey hair at the end of a long, serpentine neck. Black bile dripped from the mouth of the creature as she muttered a stream of incomprehensible babble.  

The Plague was fighting bravely against the monster, evading its attacks with surprising swiftness and responding to each snap of the witch-dragon's jaws with a swing of her censer. Tarhos found himself mildly impressed with her agility and skill wielding such a clumsy, makeshift weapon. 

However, she was clearly outmatched; her weapon could not penetrate the dragon’s scaly hide and judging from the vomit spattering the floor of the temple, her diseased vomit had no effect on the creature. Without aid, she would eventually be overwhelmed by the beast.  

Tarhos watched the battle for several minutes, pondering what he should do. He had no reason to help the priestess; he knew little about her save the fact she hailed from some ancient historical period. No doubt that weakling Vittorio Toscano would find speaking to her fascinating, but Tarhos had little interest in dead, forgotten civilizations. 

However, Tarhos understood now that something had gone wrong with the trial, and if the priestess was killed, he would be left alone with this witch-dragon. And he doubted it would make for very good company.  

Resolved, he leapt into the fray. Tarhos did not utter a challenge to the creature; such notions were for fools who believed in codes of chivalry and honour. Instead, he launched himself silently into the arena, and with a heavy swing, he slashed the creature’s side, causing grey, rotted guts to spill from the wound.  

The witch-dragon screeched, its cry of pain and anguish echoing throughout the temple. As Tarhos readied itself, the thing shifted to face him. The old woman’s eyes were milky white, but Tarhos could feel the thing’s gaze boring into him with all its hatred. Tarhos noted the Plague’s look of confusion and surprise before she darted towards one of the stairs to the catacombs. 

Good. Get out of the way and let the real warriors take over, Tarhos thought. 

Raising its head in the air and taking in a long breath, the witch-dragon's snapped open, and a stream of black bile issued forth. The Knight quickly dodged, ignoring the steaming hiss that arose when the liquid splashed on to the stone behind him He quickly moved in for another slash to one of the beast’s legs. The stream of bile from the thing’s mouth ceased as Tarhos' sword bit into the limb, nearly severing it from the witch-dragon's body. 

Screeching in pain again, the witch-dragon reared, its nearly severed leg flopping wildly on a slim strand of sinew. The witch-dragon began to beat its wings, summoning a powerful wind that threatened to send Tarhos flying through the air. Tarhos countered by stabbing his sword into the stone floor of the temple, anchoring himself to the ground.  

Howling now in frustration, the witch-dragon launched itself at Tarhos, seeking to bear him to the temple floor and crush him under its weight. Swiftly drawing his blade from the stone, he threw himself to the side and out of the monster’s way, landing with a heavy, clanking thud.  

The impact caused Tarhos’ anniversary mask to fall from his shoulders. Sensing an opening, the witch-dragon's head shot towards the Knight in order to sink those yellowed teeth into his flesh.  

Smiling at the success of his feint, Tarhos shielded his neck with his forearm, forcing the witch-dragon to chomp down on his armour. It screamed painfully as several of its teeth fell to the ground.  

Wasting no further time, Tarhos raised his sword with both hands. The witch-dragon tried to scuttle away, its legs frantically scrambling backwards, but it was too late; the knight brought his two-handed sword down on its long neck, severing the crone’s head completely and causing it to roll away.  

Tarhos watched in satisfaction as the creature’s body thrashed on the ground, grey blood spewing from the stump. When he was finally sure it would not rise again, the knight sheathed his sword and turned to the stairs that the Plague had run down. 

“You are safe, priestess. There is no further need to cower in the shadows.”  

Cautiously, the Plague made her way up the stone steps. Her eyes, partially concealed behind a blue and gold masquerade mask, darted back and forth from the witch-dragon's corpse and Tarhos. 

“Why do you hesitate? The thing is dead, and I have no intention of harming you,” Tarhos stated impatiently. “Come over here so we may speak.”  

Still keeping her distance, Adiris finally spoke. Unfortunately, the stream of words flowing from her mouth was unintelligible to Tarhos, who only spoke the languages of his own era. 

Oh lovely. I went to all that effort to save a woman I can't understand.

Tarhos sighed heavily. “All right, let’s just settle for learning each other’s names for now. My name is Tarhos. Tarhos Kovacs. Me Tarhos. Tar. Hos,” Tarhos said, patting his chest and speaking slowly as though he were communicating with a small child. 

The priestess stared blankly at the Knight before saying, “Adiris” in a thick accent. She sounded slightly irritated. 

“All right, Adiris. That’s a start, at least. I don’t suppose you know what’s going on here, do you? No, I suppose you don’t, and even if you did, you couldn’t tell me.” Tarhos looked around the temple, memorizing the layout of the building. “All right, we might as well search the catacombs together. Perhaps we’ll find some answers down there.” 

He then took a step towards the Plague, prompting her to move away from him. 

"What is it? Do you fear me? As I said, I mean you no harm.” He planted his sword into the temple floor, then held out his hands to show he had no other weapons. 

But even then, she continued to shrink away from him. She muttered something in her dead language which Tarhos failed to understand. 

“Why are you cowering like a scolded child? I told you, I do not intend to harm you!” He stepped forward again, and she ran down the steps. 

“Stop that! I told you, I pose you no danger! I will chase you down and hack off your legs if I must!”  

Just as he was about to chase after her, the priestess touched her cheek, causing a sore to immediately begin oozing yellow-green pus. She then gestured to Tarhos and began waving her hands back and forth frantically.  

It took Tarhos a minute to realize what she was trying to communicate: I am sick. If you come closer, you will get sick as well.  

"You fear I will contract your disease?” Tarhos asked, stifling a bark of laughter. “You need not worry. I am long past the point of worrying about any ailment.”  

To demonstrate his point Tarhos pushed the strands of black hair that still clung to his scalp away, revealing his ashen-grey skin and pale, lifeless eyes.  

“I am long dead, priestess. Only the will of the one we both serve allows me to continue existing; otherwise, I would have been dust and bones centuries ago.” He then added with a sneer, “I suspect the same could be said about you.”  

Finally Adiris seemed to understand, and she visibly relaxed. She even smiled at Tarhos, and the murderous rage that had been building up inside him began to subside. 

“All right, now that that’s settled, perhaps we can begin searching the ...” 

Suddenly, there was a loud boom like a thunderclap, and Tarhos felt something slam into his back. The impact caused him to stumble forward, but he quickly recovered and whirled around to face whatever had attacked him.  

It was another monster, but not a dragon; this new opponent had the shape of a man but the head of some kind of bird. It was dressed in a black and red uniform that Tarhos did not recognize, and its talons were clutching a bayoneted rifle that was significantly more advanced than the extremely crude firearms of his time.  

Tarhos charged at the bird soldier as it reloaded its weapon. He crossed the distance between them in seconds and thrust his sword through its chest, causing the thing to let out a high-pitched caw before slumping over on his sword. Tarhos lifted his boot and kicked the corpse to the floor.  

“Well, at least it died quickly,” Tarhos said, before another boom rang out and a lead ball flew past his head.  

Tarhos spun in the direction of the shot and saw an entire squad of bird-faced soldiers, each armed with a similar rifle. One had fired prematurely, but the rest had trained their guns on the Knight and were preparing to fire.  

There wasn’t time to attack, so Tarhos protected himself as best he could by raising his arms as the soliders fired. Only one of the shots missed, whizzing past his ears, but the rest slammed into his armour. The concussive force of the attacks was staggering, and Tarhos collapsed to his knees.  

Tarhos' vision blurred, but his ears picked up the distinct clack-clack of multiple firearms reloading. He tried to rise, but his strength had fled; all that was left now was to await death. 

At least I will die in battle, as befits a warrior, he told himself.

As the soldiers raised their guns, however, a stream of red and black vomit shot out over their heads. The bird soliders shrieked and writhed in agony as the liquid splashed on their exposed flesh and soaked their uniforms.  

Adiris then rushed into the creatures' midst, wielding her censer like a morning star. Those who had not already died were struck down with several successive swings, the heavy metal container cracking their skulls and sending sprays of blood into the air. Soon, they were all dead.  

The Plague then strode over to Tarhos, offering him her hand. He gratefully accepted it and was pulled to his feet. 

"My thanks, priestess,” he muttered. She nodded in agreement. 

Just then, another inhuman shriek filled the air from somewhere behind the temple. Adiris and Tarhos immediately took position back-to-back, readying their weapons.  

It seemed this night was far from over.  

***  

 Tarhos watched in grim amusement as the fishman dragged its way across the ground, some kind of foul-smelling fluid periodically spewing from the gills on the sides of its body. The thing had been incredibly strong, battering Tarhos with swipes of its finned paws, but a pair of slashes to its legs had left it crippled, and now it was as much a danger to him as a beached whale. 

Eventually, the pitiful thing pulled up to his ankles, still releasing streams of foul liquid across the ground. As the stench filled his nostrils, Tarhos raised his sword and finished it off with a single stab through its skull. The fishman let out a long, deflated hiss before expelling the last of the fluid in its lungs. 

Tarhos looked back at Adiris, who was gripping her censer in both hands and bringing it down repeatedly on the skull of something lying in the grass. He had been too preoccupied with the fishman to remember her opponent, but whatever it was, her censer had turned the creature into a leaking pile of bloodied flesh. 

Eventually, she ceased attacking the thing and stood there panting. In order to overcome the language barrier, they had worked out a system of hand signals to communicate; Tarhos now made one of those gestures, asking if she was all right. 

*I am well,* she motioned. *Are you all right?*

I am also well. We should return to the cabin now. Adiris nodded, and the two began walking. 

As they headed to the Killer’s Cabin, Tarhos once again reflected on their predicament and all that they had faced together over the past several weeks. (The exact amount of time in this unchanging place made it impossible to measure exactly.) 

Their opponents had been as strange as they were innumerable. Squid-like creatures that floated through the air like jellyfish. A group of headless monks in black robes armed with sacrificial daggers. A small army of undead warriors clad in armour reminiscent of the Oni. Things made of mist that coalesced into the shape of fiends, but with claws as hard as steel. Pumpkin-headed warriors that fought with tremendous skill but could be felled with a single scratch to their heads. Metal constructs that resembled woodland creatures, singing unfamiliar but whimsical tunes.  

They would appear every few hours or so, allowing Plague and Knight just enough time to ready for the next battle. Adiris and Tarhos then struck them all down with steel, plague and ancient ritual. Some went down quickly, while others left the pair exhausted and bloodied after battles that seemed to go on forever. 

In between these skirmishes, the two of them mended their wounds as best they could, then rested until the next attack came. They “talked” little, but there was not much to discuss. 

Tarhos admitted that his respect for Adiris had grown from that initial sliver upon watching her fight the witch-dragon. While she was not a trained warrior, she had held her own against the waves of abominations assailing them.   

He had to admit, too, that he found her rather beautiful. Another man might have looked upon her body, covered in sores that oozed yellow-green pus, and felt disgust. But from the day his village was razed and he crawled out of a pit filled with corpses, Tarhos had been witness to a multitude of horrors both on and off the battlefield, and he did not mind her disease-ravaged appearance. 

But still, there was a question hanging over both of them: why? Why were they trapped together in this realm? Why were they being assaulted by these creatures? 

Adiris had no idea why they were trapped in this ordeal together, or at least she had not communicated any such notions to him. Tarhos theorized that these things had been expelled from the Void, the nether realm where all of the empty souls and discarded Killers were eventually banished to once the Entity was finished with. 

But what was causing them to spill out of the Void and attack the pair of them? He had no answers. 

Upon reaching the cabin, the pair descended into the basement. They had set up a home base there by blocking off the entrance with a barricade of chests, pallets and pieces of wood salvaged from downed hooks. While they were generally safe in between waves of enemies, neither the Knight nor the Plague were comfortable letting their guard down without something to keep the Void creatures from creeping up on them. 

As Adiris knelt before a makeshift altar of artifacts and candles she had taken from the temple, Tarhos began stripping off his armour to make repairs. He had only the crudest tools to work with, but it was important to do what he could; Adiris was not as protected as he was, and at times it had become necessary for him to jump in front of blows to prevent her from being torn apart. 

A few minutes later, as he was hammering a dent out of his breastplate, Tarhos felt Adiris’ hand on his shoulder. He turned to face her, and she pointed down at his waist; there, surrounded by a patch of blackened flesh was a striped quill of some kind, embedded deeply into his side. 

Tarhos remembered the fight with the fishman, recalling how thhe creature had struck him in that very spot. But there was no pain, so he assumed that his armour had held up. Clearly, he had been mistaken. 

Adiris made a pulling motion with her near the object before looking down at Tarhos for approval. He nodded, prompting the tall priestess to grab the quill firmly and yank it out with one swift motion. 

Tarhos winced, but the pain was only momentary. As Adiris held up the quill and studied it, he gingerly touched the patch of blackened flesh. 

“Well, at least that’s ou-” 

Suddenly, Tarhos’ mind blanked and his knees buckled. He pitched forward, only vaguely aware of Adiris crying out as he slammed into the floor facefirst. 

For several minutes, Tarhos floated in a sea of grey nothingness, unable to even form a coherent thought. Perhaps this was death; if so, it would not have been so bad. 

But something pulled him back to reality: the sound of his name being uttered repeatedly by a woman’s voice, softly but urgently. 

Tarhos opened his eyes to see Adiris’ face hovering over his own. She was sitting on the floor, and he became aware of the fact his head was resting comfortably in her lap. Gently, she stroked his cheek as she murmured “Tarhos” over and over again in her thick accent. 

It took a moment to gather the strength in order to speak. “I’m ... all right, priestess,” Tarhos said, prompting Adiris to breath a sigh of relief. 

Sensation began to return to his body, and he became aware of a slight pain in his forehead from where it had struck the floor of the basement. He was also aware of a throbbing in his side from where the needle had pierced his skin, though it felt as though the swelling was subsiding. 

Eventually, Tarhos felt able to sit up. Rubbing his forehead with one hand, he quickly surmised that the quill had released some kind of toxin into his body that caused him to pass out. If that was the case, he was glad that Adiris spotted it when she did; if it had been left in his body for hours, the effects could have been much worse. 

“My ... thanks to you, priestess,” Tarhos said. “You have saved my life, such as it is, once again.” 

Suddenly, Tarhos felt Adiris’ arms wrap around him from behind. She babbled something anxiously in her dead language that he could not understand, but he nevertheless understood its intent: you scared me, I thought I had lost you. 

“Fear not, priestess,” Tarhos replied, touching her arm in a way he hoped was reassuring. “I’ll not leave you to face these Void creatures alone just ye-” 

Tarhos was interrupted by Adiris forcing him to the ground once again. Before he could react, she was on top of him, pressing her diseased lips to his own, fiercely and without hesitation. 

Their lips parted, just long enough for Adiris to take a breath. “Adir-” Tarhos began to say before she kissed him again, placing both hands on his cheeks. 

For several seconds, Tarhos could only lay there, stunned by this unexpected display of passion. Certainly, he had caught her peering at him with his armour off, but he had no idea she lusted after him. 

Eventually, however, he gave in, and slid his arms around her waist, running his cold grey hands along the length of her back. 

Adiris pulled away from Tarhos a second time, but this time she scrambled into a sitting position and began to remove her holy garments. When her boil-covered breasts were exposed, Tarhos cupped them with both hands, gently rubbing his fingertips over her nipples as she gasped. 

Adiris then pulled away and tugged at the wool underclothes covering Tarhos’ groin, freeing his grey-coloured member. It had not yet stirred to life, so to speak, so Adiris bent down and slid it inside her mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” Tarhos groaned as she began to suck vigorously, occasionally stopping to roll her tongue along the shaft of his penis. Though Tarhos’ body was dead, his limbs still responded according to his thoughts, and right now his mind was filled with burning lust. 

In time, he was fully erect. Adiris moved over him and guided his cock inside her, then began to rock back and forth while digging her metal-sheathed fingers into his chest. 

Tarhos closed his eyes and began to match the movements of her hips with his own, pushing upward deeper and deeper inside her. This continued for a time, but Tarhos realized a better position would work with their difference in height. 

Tarhos sat up, gesturing for Adiris to stop; he then pulled her off him and made a circular motion, indicating his desire for Adiris to get on her hands and knees. She obeyed quickly, and Tarhos moved behind her, gripping his member with one hand and slid inside her from behind. 

Adiris’ gasps of pleasure grew louder as he fucked her, but he guessed that more was needed to bring her to climax. Tarhos remembered a trick taught to him by a “camp follower” and reached around to the front of her spread legs, gently massaging the folds of her labia with his fingers. 

Eventually, she could hold back no further, and she collapsed on the floor, her entire lower body quivering. 

Tarhos allowed Adiris to recuperate before he moved on top of her, sliding his still erect member in between her legs. 

“Sorry, priestess,” Tarhos growled softly into her ear. “But this battle is not yet done.” 

*** 

 An hour later, after they were both completely spent, Tarhos heard a woman’s soft chuckle. 

For a moment, he thought it was Adiris murmuring in her sleep; she was nestled beside him on the basement floor, using his shoulder as a pillow. But then he heard the woman’s voice again, this time muttering the words “Oh my, my, my, MY” somewhere in the room. 

He gently shook Adiris’ shoulder, causing her to stir awake. She whispered something sleepily in her dead language and smiled, ignorant of the imminent danger. 

“You must wake, priestess,” Tarhos said urgently. “We may be in danger.” 

Adiris understood, and was standing in seconds. The pair retrieved their weapons, then came back together to face whatever was in the basement with them. 

But no fanged monstrosity came hurtling out of the shadows; instead, there came the sound of a metallic snapping of fingers, and the basement was flooded with golden light. 

Still naked, Tarhos and Adiris turned towards the source of the light to see a smiling figure hovering in the air before them. 

“Well, that took you long enough,” the grey-haired woman snickered with amusement as golden particles and tendrils of darkness swirled around her waist.

Tarhos and Adiris stared at the woman, dumbfounded. Even though she was speaking an entirely different language than either of them understood, they could nevertheless understand her perfectly, as they heard the words with their minds, not their ears. 

Finally, it dawned on Tarhos who the woman was: Tryks, the Mad Designer. The lunatic behind the Twisted Masquerade.

“Tell me, lovebirds,” Tryks said coyly, “you ever wonder why? And who? And how? And what’s it all for?” 

“Tryks!” Tarhos bellowed angrily, raising his sword. “What are you doing here? Do you have something to do with us being here? 

“Oh, look at you, all demanding and forceful, swinging around your ... sword,” Tryks said with a wink. She then leaned back as though she were sitting on an invisible chair suspended in mid-air. “Trying to impress your ladyfriend, Tarhos?” 

“TRYKS!” Adiris hissed, raising her censer as though preparing to swing it at the Mad Designer. She then let loose with a long string of words, the exact meaning of which were lost on Tarhos but which nevertheless sounded very much like insults. 

In response, Tryks affected a fake pout. “Well, there’s no need for that kind of language, sweetie. I was just trying to do something nice for you ... and well, for myself.” 

“What do you mean?” Tarhos’ hands tightened around the pommel of his sword. “What were you trying to ‘do’ for us? Answer me, NOW!” 

Tryks rolled her one visible eye. “Oh please, you’re about as much a danger to me as newborn kittens. Which taste fantastic, by the way. But since there’s no point in keeping you in the dark, I might as well admit: I am the one responsible for what happened to you over the last ... two months? Has it been that long? Boy, it took you two long enough to knock boots.” 

“Knock ... boots?” Adiris repeated in her thick accent confused. 

“You know, doing the nasty. Dancing the horizontal tango. Buttering the biscuits. Polishing the temple stones. Tapping the midnight still, if you will.” She then raised her hands and made a circle with two of her fingers before inserting a third finger into the hole. 

Tarhos was flabbergasted. “I don’t understand. You kept us in this place and unleashed waves of monsters on us ... just so we would have sex?!” 

"Ummm, yeah, that’s why I’m saying, stupid! Took you long enough to figure it out.” 

“WHY?! 

“Why? For a painting, sweetie.” 

“A ... painting?” Adiris said, incredulously. 

“Yes, a painting. What are you, a broken record? Don’t answer that, you savages don’t even know what that is.” A smile spread across Tryks’ face. “I had an idea for a new painting of two lovers embracing amidst a field of horrors, but I just couldn’t get the details right! So I thought, ‘Why not create a suitable tableau to serve as inspiration?’” 

Tarhos and Adiris exchanged another look. “You ... you did all this for ... a painting?!” Tarhos growled, as his heart filled with murderous rage. 

“Sweet Darkness, stop parroting me! How many times do I need to say it? Yes, I’m doing a painting, and I needed someone to model for me!” Tryks held up her fingers in the shape of a rectangle in front of her gold and blue eyepiece, as though she were holding up an invisible camera and taking a photo. “And now that I got what I needed!” 

Adiris took in a deep breath and expelled a stream of vomit at Tryks, but it was to no effect; the green foulness simply passed through, splattering on the wall behind her. 

“How rude! I was going to give you a copy of the painting, but now you two can just go FUCK YOURSELVES!” Her voice turned into a deep growl on the last two words, and the entire basement seemed to shake uncontrollably with her anger. 

Adiris prepared to vomit at her again, but Tarhos grabbed her arm and shook his head, signalling her to stop. They had no way to hurt Tryks, and it was best not to incur her wrath. 

Suddenly, there was a loud, metallic clang, and a hatch that had not been there seconds before swung open behind Tarhos and Adiris, tendrils of black smoke began to creep out of the opening. 

“That’s your way back to your own pitiful little corner of the Realm, Mister Knight,” Tryks said, her arms crossed. “The lady can stay here, but it’s time for you both to get back to killing those Survivors, just as it’s time for me to get back to my work. So get packing up your shit, and do it fast; I wouldn’t hang around here too long if I were you.” 

Adiris began to say something else, but it was already too late; Tryks disappeared in a puff of black smoke, leaving behind only an echo of shrill, mad laughter. 

For a long stretch, Tarhos and Adiris stood in silence. Tarhos was overcome with a mix of fury and humiliation; he silently swore an oath of vengeance upon the Mad Designer, swearing that he would pay her back for tricking him into taking part in this farce. 

But then he turned to Adiris, and a new feeling overcome him: sadness. Despite having spent the last few weeks fighting for their lives, he found he did not want to part from her so soon, not after what they had shared. Adiris stared back at him, mirroring his expression of disappointment.

He wanted to say something to ease her sadness, but he couldn’t find the words; he was a slayer and a warrior, not a wordsmith. So he turned away and began picking up his armour, mindful of a growing unease in his gut that signalled the end of the “trial.”

Eventually, Tarhos was suited back up, though he would have to adjust pieces of his armour once he returned to the Battered Borgo. He turned back to Adiris, who was wiping away tears from her cheeks with one hand. 

“I am sorry we must part, priestess,” Tarhos said. “For what it was worth, it was an honour to fight beside you.” He then moved towards the hatch. 

“Roa!” she cried out, and Tarhos paused before stepping into the dark depths. As he turned to her, he saw Adiris holding something out towards him: a strip of cloth torn from her priestly garments. 

Instantly, he understood the meaning behind this ‘gift.’ He gently took the cloth from her and tied it around his arm. It was not much of a memento, but it was something. 

Taking one last look at the Plague, Tarhos smiled under his helmet. “Farewell, Adiris,” he said, before plunging into a sea of darkness once again.