Marcie fell backward, panting to catch her breath while Triston’s breathing steadied. Triston’s father writhed on the ground next to them, struggling to inhale, his face flush with rising temperature. The woman gred at him with undisguised hatred and allowed him to continue suffering his heart attack.

  Unexpectedly, the Goblins started to hesitate, each of them sniffing the air with unease. Dink followed suit and inhaled deeply, he could instantly smell the overwhelming stench of decay.

  Undead are on their way. Their supposed curse is very real but their solution is a little bit suspect.

  “I’ve seen enough. These inhuman beasts deserve no mercy from me. Go and wreak havoc! Spare no one except those two lovers. I will personally fy any among you that put one grubby little finger on them,” Dink commanded. He chopped his hand forward, unleashing his Goblin horde upon the town of Belltoll.

  “Smesh for da gobo king!” Goblin voices merged together in their butchered dialect of common, rushing through the trees.

  “Eeek! Goblins are attacking from the thicket!” A townswoman screamed and pointed, the first to take notice of something amiss.

  “Blight, the ancestors are truly angered by Triston deflowering their offering. Everyone, bar yourselves inside!” A townsman hastily shouted in response, pushing aside his wife to the ground to sprint ahead.

  Throughout the screaming panic, the preacher stood immobile like a puppet without its strings. His head lilted to the side at an unnatural angle, abruptly reaching out to clutch Marcie by the colr of her dress. She attempted to resist but failed to break his death grip on the scruff of her neck. The preacher’s head twisted with complete disregard for all pretences of being still alive to face behind him, marching Marcie backwards.

  Triston rose unsteadily to his feet as rain began to abruptly pour from the heavens. Dink gnced up in time to witness a swirling crimson vortex form in the sky. He could see Birdy soaring above the clouds in a circle to investigate through the eye in the middle. The strange clearing in the reddened sky was directly above the preacher’s destination, an old stone monument set with heavy brass gates.

  “Unhand Marcie, you fiend!” Triston excimed, plucking the pitchfork from the ground. He staggered after the pair. Marcie’s feet dragged along the dirt, carving rivulets that quickly filled with green-tainted water. That’s when Dink stepped out from the shelter of the tree canopy, feeling the rain sizzle against his flesh. The tingling sensation of magic being used screamed at the nape of his neck.

  “This rain is obviously not natural. What’s its purpose, to drive people indoors? That seems counter-productive to me,” Dink muttered, watching townsfolk run for shelter. Screeching Goblins chased them through the streets, right up to their doorsteps.

  One Goblin started banging on a normal oak door like it was a reinforced fortress, unable to break it down. This continued until it remembered the crude staff in its hands. Within moments, the staff bathed the wood in fmes. First, bckening the heavy timber until glowing cinders appeared along its length, eventually igniting on fire.

  Other Goblins quickly followed suit when confronted with scattered townsfolk barricading themselves inside, forcing them outside through makeshift exits, like windows. One man even managed to burrow a hole through his thatch roof to climb on top of the building.

  Dink turned away from the chaos in pursuit of Marcie being abducted by the undead preacher. He withdrew his Dragonbone sword while maintaining a steady walking pace, getting closer to the trio deyed by the woman’s desperate struggles. Triston firmed his resolve, tightening his grip on the haft of his pitchfork.

  “Yah!” Triston excimed, skewering the preacher in the throat, causing absolutely no reaction. Triston’s righteous fury changed to shocked disbelief at the undead preacher continuing his march, right off the end of the forks. He stood dumbfounded holding the ineffective weapon.

  “I wouldn’t waste your effort. The man’s already dead and has been for at least a week gauged by the state of bloating and decay. You’re going to have to cut him into pieces or smash his bones to paste. Fortunately for you, I’m uniquely suited for such a task,” Dink stated, casually pushing aside the end of the pitchfork as he sauntered past. The preacher had almost arrived at the brass gates in the centre of town. Dink could now see a staircase leading underground. “Is that the town crypt?”

  “Y-yes, t-the c-catacombs have been sealed and unused for generations,” Triston stammered at the Goblin in reply. Dink’s nose twitched and he gnced around the area. He frowned, watching a group of Goblin’s dogpile atop something on the ground nearby.

  “Triston, save me!” Marcie screamed, breaking the man’s reverie. Understanding suddenly dawned on Dink.

  “Don’t move, boy! Your footsteps will attract…” Dink began reaching out to stop him but his warning was ineffective.

  Triston shot forward with a look of determination. He only made it a couple of steps before he smmed into the mud, spshing acidic muck into the air. His expression shifted into confusion, rolling on his side to peer down at his feet. Skeletal hands gripped his calves, more emerging from the ground to grab along his legs. Fear washed over his face and he began to slide backwards, futilely cwing at the mud and abandoning his pitchfork to scramble in desperation.

  The ground turned to quicksand, dragging Triston under. Before the young man completely disappeared, he locked eyes with Dink. With a curse, Dink kicked the pitchfork next to the boy’s hand. It didn’t look like he would take it as his head sank into the mud. But at the st moment, his hand clutched the weapon, sucking it under with him.

  “The rain was used to soften the ground. I would bet good coin that there’s an entire network of tunnels underneath Belltoll. The boy will have to fight his own way out. Perhaps Fyta or Sensi, the gods of battle and the hunt, will take pity on him. No matter, I have other things to attend to,” Dink remarked, hefting the Dragonbone sword onto his shoulder before crouching into a fighting stance.

  In front of Marcie being dragged by the undead preacher, the corroded brass gates swung open. Silhouetted in the darkness was a hulking figure. It took a step out into the moonlit rain beneath the eye of the storm, revealing a towering armoured death knight.

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