Itkovian barely heard the exchange. Eyes holding on the priest pinned to the ground before him, he said, ‘Our Lord is ... gone. Indeed. So ... best pray, Rath’Fener, that a creature of mercy now looks kindly upon you.’

Rath’Trake whirled back to the Shield Anvil at those words, ‘By the Abyss, Itkovian – there is no crime so foul to match what you’re about to do! His soul will be torn apart! Where they will go, there are no creatures of mercy! Itkovian—’

‘Silence, sir. This judgement is mine, and the Reve’s.’

The victim shrieked.

And Itkovian swung down the sword. Blade’s edge cracked onto the flagstones. Twin gouts of blood shot out from the stumps of Rath’Fener’s wrists. The hands ... were nowhere to be seen.

Itkovian jammed the flat of his blade against the stumps. Flesh sizzled. Rath’Fener’s screams ceased abruptly as unconsciousness took him. Captain Norul moved away from the man, left him lying on the flagstones.

Paran began speaking. ‘Shield Anvil, hear me. Please. Fener is gone – he strides the mortal realm. Thus, he cannot bless you. With what you take upon yourself ... there is nowhere for it to go, no way to ease the burden.’

‘I am equally aware of what you say, sir.’ Itkovian still stared down at Rath’Fener, who was stirring to consciousness once more. ‘Such knowledge is worthless.’

‘There’s another way, Shield Anvil.’

He turned at that, eyes narrowing.

Paran went on, ‘A choice has been ... fashioned. In this I am but a messenger—’

Rath’Trake stepped up to Itkovian. ‘We shall welcome you, sir. You and your followers. The Tiger of Summer has need for you, a Shield Anvil, and so offers his embrace—’

‘No.’

The eyes within the mask narrowed.

‘Itkovian,’ Paran said, ‘this was foreseen . . . the path prepared for ... by Elder powers, once more awake and active in this world. I am here to tell you what they would have you do—’

‘No. I am sworn to Fener. If need be, I shall share his fate.’

‘This is an offer of salvation – not a betrayal!’ Rath’Trake cried.

‘Isn’t it? No more words, sirs.’ On the ground below, Rath’Fener had regained awareness. Itkovian studied the man. ‘I am not yet done,’ he whispered.

Rath’Fener’s body jerked, a throat-tearing scream erupting from him, his arms snapping as if yanked by invisible, unhuman hands. Dark tattoos appeared on the man’s skin, but not those belonging to Fener – for the god had not been the one to claim Rath’Fener’s severed hands. Writhing, alien script swarmed his flesh as the unknown claimant made its mark, claimed possession of the man’s mortal soul. Words that darkened like burns.

Blisters rose, then broke, spurting thick, yellow liquid.

Screams of unbearable, unimaginable pain filled the plaza, the body on the flagstones spasming as muscle and fat dissolved beneath the skin, then boiled, breaking through.

Yet the man did not die.