He braced to run but got not that first step in as he cried out, the men also emitting shouts and grunts of surprise, the sacrifice screaming (again), and they all started falling.

Not sinking.

Falling.

But through the dirt.

As he dropped, the soil was all around his body and face, thus, he could not pull in breath for fear of getting a lung full of loam.

He tried to fight it, scratching and clawing at the dirt above him to cease falling and start climbing, but it only proved to take energy he needed to keep holding his breath.

The priest did not know if it was fortunate, or other, when he stopped dropping through the earth and seemed to be tumbling through air.

He gulped in a huge breath right before he landed in a heap on a hard floor.

“Not that one, he can go,” he heard a woman say.

Lifting a hand to his face, the priest brushed away dirt.

And then froze.

For they were in an underground chamber that seemed to be made of stone lit well by an abundance of torches on the walls.

And there was a fair-haired, ludicrously attractive and ridiculously well-built man approaching his nemesis who had landed about six feet from the priest.

His brother in the cause, but also his foe began to try to take his feet.

He did not make it before his body dropped to the ground.

Without its head.

That fell to the ground where the fair one tossed it unceremoniously.

The priest gulped down bile.

By the gods.

That man had torn a head from a body with his bare hands.

What was happening?

“Not that one either,” the female voice came again.

The priest started scooting away as the fair one approached their new recruit, who was scampering clumsily, making mewing noises of terror.

The fair man seemed unhurried, but he moved eerily swiftly.

The new recruit had his back to the priest when that…not a man, it had to be a creature, caught hold of him, again at the head.

Lifting him up by said head.

But he did not tear it from his body.

He twisted it so that his brother’s back was still to the priest, but a ghastly crunch sounded, and the recruit’s head was facing the priest at his back, eyes still filled with fear.

But now lifeless.

“Not him, or him,” the female voice said.

She was indicating the last two, and the priest sought to escape, when suddenly he froze again for the woman’s face was an inch from his.

“I don’t think so,” she whispered.

He daren’t move.

Vaguely, he saw she was attractive (he supposed). Voluptuous, but petite. Very thick chestnut hair. Brown eyes.

He heard a scream, a grunt and his eyes jerked in that direction.