Arthur’s lungs burned as he staggered forward, sweat cascading down his face and neck, soaking the collar of his already damp shirt. His eyes—wild with desperation—continued to scan the dimly lit room he had burst into moments ago.
’Come on, come on...’
He took several more unsteady steps, squinting through the gloom. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across ancient stone walls. He needed to find him. Needed to find Aziel.
A large, calloused hand clasped his shoulder firmly from behind.
"Arthur, stop," Jonas’s deep voice resonated with urgency. "We need to hurry back. We can’t separate from the group. Let’s go."
But Arthur didn’t respond, barely registering his words. He continued his frantic search, revisiting the same corners, the same alcoves, the same shadowed recesses—examining them over and over, hoping against hope that something would materialize before his eyes.
"Arthur, let—" Jonas began again, but his warning was cut short by the thunderous slam of the wooden door behind them, the sound echoing ominously throughout the chamber.
"Damn it," Jonas spat, spinning around toward the sealed entrance.
It was only then, in that momentary stillness, that Arthur truly allowed himself to see the room. As if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, the familiar details crystallized in his consciousness: the high ceiling, the scribings on the wall, the altar...
The altar room.
He could never forget this place, no matter how desperately he’d tried to purge it from his memory. Arthur’s eyes widened in terror as his gaze fell upon the massive stone altar dominating the center of the chamber—but the expected guardian was nowhere to be seen.
"ARTHUR!"
Jonas’s panicked scream jolted Arthur from his paralyzing realization. He whirled around to see the massive man already in a defensive stance, his shield firmly planted on the ground before them. A heartbeat later, something struck the shield with such force that Jonas—a mountain of a man—stumbled backward several feet.
Given Jonas’s renowned strength and the power of his soul shield, that kind of impact didn’t just spell danger—it promised death.
Arthur summoned his odachi in a fluid motion, the blade materializing in his grip as he instinctively focused on his dark sense. A cold tingle crawled up his spine just in time to alert him to an attack from the left. He raised his blade in a desperate parry.
The Sheepman seemed to materialize from thin air, its helm reflecting no light.
’So fast.’
Their blades met with a deafening clang that reverberated through Arthur’s bones. The impact sent him rolling backward across the stone floor, his sword nearly slipping from his sweat-slicked grip. He tumbled once, twice, before finding his footing again, but his recovery was too slow. The Sheepman was already advancing, its long blade arcing toward his exposed neck.
Arthur flinched instinctively, muscles tensing for the killing blow—but it never came.
A battle cry split the air, and Arthur’s eyes snapped open to see Jonas’s shield hurtling through the air like a massive projectile, spinning toward the sentinel. The Sheepman reacted with inhuman reflexes, positioning its sword as a brace between itself and the oncoming shield. Even so, the shield’s momentum was too great, sending the creature sliding across the floor.
Arthur scrambled to his feet as Jonas rushed to his side, his usually gentle face tight with urgency. "Come on," he hissed, "let’s get out of here!"
They turned and sprinted toward the door, boots pounding against stone, but it was already too late. The Sheepman moved with unnatural speed, its form blurring as it cut across their path. It came to an abrupt halt before them, blocking their escape. The eyeless helm tilted slightly, as if studying them, before the creature raised its long sword and began advancing menacingly.
"Shit..." Jonas muttered, the single word laden with nervous energy. "We’re gonna have to go through it."
Arthur fought to control his erratic breathing, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. He gave a tight nod, fingers clenching around the hilt of his odachi until his knuckles shone white.
"Let’s go," he whispered.
They charged forward in tandem, closing the distance to the waiting sentinel. Arthur, lighter and quicker than his companion, reached the Sheepman first. He raised his blade high above his head, drawing on the darkness permeating the room to enhance his strength.
The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to pulse in response to Arthur’s call, darkness snaking their way toward him, seeping into the steel of his blade.
Jonas was only steps behind, his massive frame building momentum like an avalanche. Despite having thrown his shield the big man showed no hesitation.
The Sheepman stood motionless, its sword held in a perfect guard position, the gleaming edge catching what little light filtered through the ancient chamber from the torches. Its helm betrayed no emotion, no hint of concern at the two warriors bearing down upon it.
Arthur’s blade whistled through the air as he brought it down in a devastating arc, his strength enhanced by the darkness of the room. The chamber itself seemed to hold its breath as living steel met ancient armor.
Time slowed to a crawl. Arthur could see every detail with preternatural clarity: dust motes dancing in the air, disturbed by their violent movement; the minute scratches on the Sheepman’s helm; the infinitesimal gap between his blade and its target closing with agonizing slowness.
Then time snapped back to its normal flow. Arthur’s odachi struck with enough force to shatter stone, the impact sending a shockwave through the chamber that extinguished half the torches. The darkness-infused blade bit into the guardian’s armor with a sound like tearing silk.
But the Sheepman wasn’t defeated—far from it. Even as Arthur’s blade connected, the sentinel was already pivoting, turning what should have been a killing blow into a glancing strike. The creature’s sword flashed up in a counter-attack aimed at Arthur’s midsection.
Jonas arrived at that critical moment, his massive fist connecting with the Sheepman’s sword arm, deflecting what would have been a fatal blow to his companion. The impact resonated like a war drum, the sound bouncing off the ancient walls.
The three combatants separated, each taking a step back to reassess. Arthur and Jonas stood shoulder to shoulder, both breathing heavily. Across from them, the Sheepman showed no signs of exertion, the only evidence of Arthur’s strike a shallow gouge in its otherwise immaculate armor.