“Is that so? You’re going to give the order, then?”

“It’s been a pleasure talking to you. Necromancers—”

Pleasant’s hand blurred, and suddenly he was holding a gun, pointing it straight at Craven. “If you issue that order to attack, and if these Necromancers do manage to defeat us – which I doubt – then you won’t get to see any of that. I’ll put a bullet in your brain from right here, where I’m standing. You’ll be dead before you hit the ground. Certainly, you’ll be dead before any of your friends even move towards me. So you’ll never know if they beat us or not. And you’ll never know if we come back here with an army, and drag your Death Bringer away in shackles. You’ll never know any of that. So go ahead, Craven. Give the order. Sacrifice yourself for the well-being of your Death Bringer. Be a martyr.”

Craven hadn’t realised it before, but he was thirsty. There was nothing in the world he wanted more right at that moment than a glass of water.

“We’re going to walk out of here,” Pleasant continued. “We’re going to do it slowly. Your friends can back up against the walls. It’ll probably be safer for them if they do so, because if even one Necromancer stands between us and the door, we’re going to kill every last one of you. But you’ll be first, Craven. You keep that in mind. You’ll be first.”

“Let them go,” said Craven, his voice a croak.

Pleasant’s gun didn’t waver as he backed away, and Craven didn’t move. Even if he’d wanted to, his body seemed locked in position.

The Sanctuary agents walked backwards to the stairs and he watched them climb. Pleasant stayed where he was until the doors above him opened. Daylight flooded the staircase, illuminating him as he stood there. His gun glinted. Beneath his hat, his skull was in the deepest, darkest shadow.

“Good boy,” he said. He spoke quietly, but his voice easily carried across to Craven. “We’re going to be keeping an eye on things here, to make sure you don’t take Melancholia off on a nice holiday before we have a chance to speak with her. I’m sure you understand.”

Craven said nothing, and Pleasant climbed the steps. A moment after he was gone, the doors slammed shut, cutting off the sunlight.

Chapter 19 - Gods and Monsters

Chapter 19
Gods and Monsters

he cops hadn’t been any use. Lynch’s death was reported on the news as a mere robbery. No one cared if another homeless person died. Just another piece of rubbish swept into the gutter of the city. Who was there to mourn for someone like that?