Dietrich barely had time to react before Calder hurled him across the chapel. His body crashed into the pews with a thunderous crack, splinters flying in every direction. He groaned, clutching his ribs as he tried to push himself up.

  “Get him!” Dietrich shrieked, his voice a mix of rage and panic. “Kill him!”

  The men hesitated, their earlier bravado replaced by fear as they watched Calder slowly rise to his feet. His one arm hung at his side, the bloodstained bandages dangling like chains across his body. His black, swirling eyes fixed on the group, devoid of emotion, devoid of anything human.

  “Now!” Dietrich screamed, spittle flying from his lips.

  Spurred into action, the men charged at Calder. The first swung a club at his head, but Calder ducked effortlessly, his movements almost inhumanly fluid. He retaliated with a brutal punch to the man’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground, coughing and wheezing. Another man came at him with a dagger, aiming for his throat, but Calder sidestepped and grabbed the attacker’s wrist. With a sickening crunch, he twisted, and the man’s scream echoed through the chapel.

  Two men tried to flank him, one grabbing at his arm while the other swung a heavy object toward his head. Calder’s response was swift and savage—he threw one man into the other, their bodies colliding and crumpling to the floor like discarded rags. His sheer strength was terrifying, each movement precise and devastating.

  From the corner of the room, one of the men—Haldir—spotted a jar sitting on a shelf near the hospice room. Desperate, he dashed for it, his hands trembling as he grabbed it and hefted it toward Calder. The hefty jar shattered against Calder’s chest, dousing him in thick oil. The smell of it filled the air, pungent and sharp.

  “Do it!” Haldir shouted, stepping back.

  Another man, recovering from the earlier scuffle, grabbed a candle from the altar and hurled it at Calder. The flame caught instantly, igniting the oil in a flash of light and heat. Within seconds, Calder was engulfed in a roaring wall of flame.

  The men stumbled back, shielding their faces from the heat. For a moment, all they could see was fire, the sound of it crackling violently as it spread across the chapel floor.

  “We got him!” one of the men shouted triumphantly. “He’s done!”

  Dietrich, still struggling to his feet, let out a shaky laugh. “Burn, you bastard,” he spat, his earlier fear giving way to glee.

  But the celebration was short-lived. From within the flames, Calder moved. The flames roared around him and licked at the floor as they spread but Calder didn’t fall. He didn’t scream. Instead, he stepped forward, his bandages burning away as he emerged from the inferno. His skin had all but healed at this point with white lines running across where wounds would have been. He looked like a cloth that had been stitched back together.

  “What the—” one of the men stammered, stumbling backward. His words cut off as Calder raised his arm—not his right one, but his left.

  Where a stump had been just moments ago, there was now something else: an arm, spectral and translucent, glowing faintly with a cold, blue light. It shimmered as runes and symbols ran across it, its fingers flexing with an unnatural grace. The men froze, their terror paralyzing them as Calder turned his gaze toward Haldir.

  “You,” Calder growled, his voice deeper, resonating with an otherworldly timbre.

  Haldir stumbled back, his hands raised in futile defense. “Stay away! Stay back!”

  Calder’s spectral arm shot out, moving faster than the eye could follow. Its glowing fingers closed around Haldir’s throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The man’s screams choked off as the flames consumed his clothes, then his skin.

  “No! Please!” Haldir managed to rasp, clawing uselessly at the spectral grip.

  Calder dragged him closer, the fire spreading to the wooden beams and pews around them. The flames illuminated Calder’s face, blank and unmoving, his black eyes reflecting the inferno as though he were its source. With a final, terrifying roar, Calder hurled Haldir into the heart of the blaze.

  Haldir’s screams echoed loudly for only a moment before the fire silenced him, engulfing him in its embrace. The others stood frozen, their courage all but shattered.

  “H-He’s not human,” one of them whispered, his voice trembling as he dropped his club. “We can’t fight that. We can’t—”

  “Run!” another shouted, his voice cracking with terror as he bolted for the door. The others followed in an instant, stumbling over one another in their frantic desperation to escape the inferno. Their weapons clattered to the ground, forgotten in their haste to flee the burning chapel and the monstrosity within it.

  Dietrich remained frozen on his knees, his body trembling but unable to move. His wide, unblinking eyes stayed fixed on Calder, now fully illuminated by the flames. Smoke swirled around the towering figure, his tattered clothes and still-burning form making him appear as though he had stepped out of a nightmare.

  “No,” Dietrich muttered, his voice weak and faltering as if trying to deny the reality before him. He shook his head, tears streaking down his soot-stained face. “This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. It’s not—”

  Calder turned slowly toward him, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. The spectral blue glow of his left arm shimmered faintly through the smoke, a stark and terrifying contrast to the roaring red of the fire consuming the chapel. His black, swirling eyes locked onto Dietrich, who shrank back instinctively.

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  The flames behind Calder surged upward, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the walls like reaching hands. Dietrich felt the heat of the fire against his back, but it was the cold void of Calder’s gaze that truly froze him.

  “Dietrich,” Calder said, his voice low, resonant, and filled with something ancient and otherworldly.

  Dietrich whimpered, his lips moving soundlessly as he struggled to form words. His body trembled violently, and he could feel the wet warmth of his urine spreading down his legs. He scrambled back, his palms scraping against the stone floor as he shook his head frantically.

  “P-Please,” he stammered, his voice high-pitched but barely audible over the crackling flames. “Please, I didn’t mean—”

  Calder loomed over him now, the flames framing his figure in a terrifying halo. He crouched slightly, his spectral arm crackling faintly as it flexed. “You meant every word,” he said softly, the weight of his words crushing any hope of escape.

  Dietrich let out a choked sob, his tears falling freely now. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll leave! I’ll—I’ll go!”

  Calder straightened, his gaze never leaving Dietrich. “You’ll go,” he repeated, his tone colder than the winter winds beyond the chapel walls. “And you’ll live with what you’ve done.”

  Calder straightened, his cold, black eyes lingering on Dietrich for a moment longer before turning away. Behind him, Dietrich scrambled to his feet, his terror driving him forward as he bolted for the chapel doors. He pushed through the smoldering wood, the acrid scent of smoke filling his lungs as he stumbled outside.

  The crowd of villagers had gathered in front of the burning chapel, their expressions a mix of horror and confusion as they subdued the other men who had fled. Two of Dietrich’s allies were pinned to the ground, struggling weakly under the grip of furious farmers and guards.

  Dietrich fell to his knees in the snow, his once-polished cloak smeared with soot and blood. He blubbered incoherently, his words a jumbled mess of apologies and denials. “H-He’s… he’s not human! It’s—it’s a demon! He’s still in there!” he cried, pointing a shaking hand toward the inferno behind him.

  The crowd turned to the burning chapel, their collective gazes locked on the collapsing structure. Flames roared higher, licking at the night sky, but their attention was drawn back to the men subdued around them.

  Inside and amidst the flames, Calder stood in front of Otto and Luther. Otto had pulled himself into a sitting position, his face streaked with blood and soot, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He stared up at Calder, his fear unhidden, his wide eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

  Calder was silent as he met Otto’s gaze, his black, swirling eyes softening, though his expression remained grim. “Otto,” Calder finally said, “I’m sorry.”

  Otto blinked, his fear turning into confusion. “W- What are you talking about?”

  “For everything,” Calder continued, his tone filled with regret. “For every mistake I’ve made. For dragging you into this. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  Otto shook his head, his voice rising with desperation. “D-Don’t talk like that, Calder. We can still get out of here. Grab Luther, and l-let’s go!”

  Calder’s gaze shifted to Luther, who lay unconscious nearby, the old priest’s chest rising and falling faintly. The flames grew closer, licking at the wooden beams above them, but Calder didn’t move.

  “I can’t,” Calder said finally, “You can. Take him and go.”

  Otto reached out, his hand trembling. “What are you saying? You’re coming with us. You’re not staying here to die!”

  Calder looked back at Otto, his expression resolute. “Look at me, Otto,” he said, gesturing to his spectral arm. “Look at what I’ve become. This… this isn’t something that should exist. Whatever I am now, it’s not right. It’s unholy, Otto.”

  “Don’t say that!” Otto shouted, his voice breaking. “You’re still you! You’re my friend, Calder. I don’t care what’s happened to you. You’re alive, and you deserve to live!”

  For a moment, Calder’s dark eyes softened further. A faint, wistful smile crossed his face. “You’ve always been a better man than me, Otto. Thank you.”

  Otto lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Calder in a tight embrace despite the flames and the heat. Calder hesitated, then placed a hand on Otto’s back, returning the gesture.

  When Otto pulled away, his eyes glistened with tears. Calder nodded toward Luther. “Go. Now.”

  Reluctantly, Otto obeyed. He grabbed Luther under the arms, dragging him toward the exit. As he reached the door, he turned back one last time.

  Calder stood amidst the flames, his towering figure framed by the burning chaos. Their eyes met, and Calder gave him a final nod, his expression calm.

  Otto burst through the chapel doors, stumbling into the frigid night. The crowd parted as he fell to his knees, Luther still clutched in his grasp. Villagers rushed forward, helping him lift the old priest to safety.

  Roland was the first to reach Otto. “Otto! Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice laced with urgency.

  Otto shook his head weakly, looking back toward the chapel. “Calder…”

  Before Roland could ask further, the groaning of wood snapping filled the air, louder than the roar of the flames. The gathered villagers turned toward the chapel as the structure shuddered violently.

  With a deafening crash, the roof collapsed inward, sending sparks and debris flying. Flames roared higher, consuming what little remained of the chapel. The villagers cried out in shock, some shielding their faces from the intense heat.

  Otto stared at the wreckage, his chest heaving as fresh tears streaked his soot-stained face. “Calder…” he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the crackle of the inferno.

  ***

  The sun hung high in the winter sky, its pale light shining over the blackened wreckage of the chapel. Snow dusted the scorched remains, mingling with soot and ash as the villagers worked tirelessly to clear the site. Wheelbarrows groaned under the weight of burnt wood and shattered stone, their wheels crunching through the frosted ground.

  Among the workers stood the village chief, his once-proud shoulders slumped with exhaustion. His hands, calloused from years of labor, now carried the shame of his son’s betrayal. He loaded another charred beam onto a wheelbarrow, his face lined with grief and regret.

  Two days had passed since the fire, and the village was still reeling. The council’s swift decision had stripped Dietrich of his inheritance and exiled him and the men who had aided him. Their departure had been marked by silence, broken only by Dietrich’s bitter protests as he was forced to leave the place he had long believed would one day be his.

  When the truth of Dietrich’s actions came to light, the chief had been ready to step down from his role, prepared to exile himself alongside his son. He had stood before the villagers, his voice heavy with guilt as he offered his resignation.

  But the villagers had stopped him. They had pleaded with him to stay, to guide them through the uncertain days ahead. And so, reluctantly, he remained, now shouldering the weight of his son’s shame as he worked alongside his people to rebuild what had been lost.

  Nearby, Otto moved through the wreckage with a hollow expression. His hands worked mechanically, lifting splintered wood and tossing it into a growing pile. His once-bright eyes were dull, weighed down by exhaustion and an ache that wouldn’t fade.

  Luther had survived, though barely. The old priest was recovering under Otto’s care, confined to his small home near the edge of the village. Otto visited him between shifts at the wreckage, ensuring he was fed and warm, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  Every corner of the village reminded him of Calder. The hunts they had gone on together, the quiet nights spent sharing stories by the fire—all of it now felt like echoes of a life that no longer existed. Calder’s sacrifice haunted him, the memory of his friend standing amidst the flames etched into his mind.

  “Otto,” Roland called, breaking him from his thoughts. “Take a break. You’ve done enough for now.”

  Otto shook his head. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice betrayed his weariness.

  Roland frowned but didn’t press further. He knew his son well enough to recognize when his stubbornness wouldn’t be swayed.

  As the villagers worked, none noticed the faint trail of footprints leading away from the wreckage. The tracks, barely visible in the snow, wove through the outskirts of the village and into the forest beyond.

  There, hidden in the shade of the trees, stood Calder. His form was obscured by the shadows, his spectral arm faintly glowing underneath the cloak he wore. As he watched Otto leave to take care of Luther, a faint smile touched his lips. He had taken his friend’s words to heart—if Otto believed he was still worth saving, then perhaps he could find a purpose beyond the inferno that had claimed the chapel.

  “May the blessings of Dialos forever be in your favor, friend,” Calder murmured.

  He lingered for a moment longer, watching as Otto disappeared from view. Then, with a final glance toward the village, he turned and slipped deeper into the woods. The shadows swallowed him whole, leaving no trace of his presence as he vanished into the unknown.