Therizo 13, Imperial Year 1644
The Cult Hideout – Underground Tunnels, Velathri
The Circle of Ashes worshipped in darkness.
Their main hideout was a network of tunnels beneath an abandoned warehouse in the poorest district of Velathri. The walls were carved with blasphemous symbols, the floors stained with old blood. Braziers burned with sickly green flame, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own.
The Black Knights descended in silence.
Twenty figures in masks and armor, moving through the tunnels like ghosts. Vlad led them, the Zero mask gleaming, his sword drawn. Behind him, Hound, Sparrow, Rook, Lynx, Titan, Phantom, Eagle, Striker, and the twelve new knights – Hammer, Wall, Anvil, Brick, Whip, Javelin, Fang, Bolt, Quiver, Rain, Patch, Echo.
"No prisoners," Vlad said, his voice low. "Kill the cultists. Spare only those we need for interrogation."
"And the victims?" Hound asked.
"We free them. Patch will tend to the wounded."
The first chamber held a ritual in progress.
A dozen cultists in black robes knelt before an altar, chanting in a language that made the ears ache. On the altar, a bound woman – a half‑elf, her chest cut open, still breathing.
Wall recognized her.
"Mira," she whispered.
Her cousin. The half‑elf who had disappeared five years ago.
Wall's face went blank. Then she charged.
Her tower shield slammed into the nearest cultist, crushing him against the wall. Her sword swung, taking off an arm. She did not scream. She did not speak. She killed.
The other knights followed.
Titan's hammer caved in a skull. Hammer's maul shattered spines. Brick and Anvil swept the flanks, cutting down anyone who tried to flee. Sparrow's arrows found throats. Striker's longbow punched through robes and flesh.
The cultists never had a chance.
Within two minutes, the chamber was silent. Twelve bodies lay in pools of blood.
Wall dropped her shield and ran to the altar. "Mira. Mira, can you hear me?"
The half‑elf's eyes fluttered. "Wall… you came."
"I'm here. I'm not leaving."
Patch pushed through. "Let me see." He examined the wound – a crude incision, the ribs spread, one lung exposed but intact. "She needs surgery. Now."
"Do it," Vlad said.
The Dungeons
Deeper in the tunnels, they found the cells.
Cages lined the walls, each holding a victim – orcs, beastfolk, half‑elves, humans. Some were missing limbs. Some were missing eyes. Some lay still, their chests barely moving.
Sparrow searched each cage. Her heart pounded. She had not told the others why she was so desperate.
Then she found him.
Corin.
He lay in a pool of his own waste, his face grey, his eyes sunken. His chest was wrapped in bloody bandages. One side was collapsed – the left lung, gone.
"Corin," Sparrow whispered.
His eyes focused on her. "Sparrow? Is that… is that you?"
"I'm here. I'm getting you out."
She broke the lock with a single arrow – punched through the metal. She knelt beside him, cradling his head.
"They took my lung," Corin said. Each breath was a struggle, a wet rattle. "They wanted to see how long I'd live."
"You're going to live. I swear it."
Patch arrived, his hands bloody from Mira's surgery. He looked at Corin's wound. His face fell.
"His lung is gone. I can close the wound, but I can't grow back an organ."
"Keep him alive," Sparrow said. "That's an order."
Patch nodded. He began to work.
The Inner Sanctum
Vlad led the remaining knights to the deepest chamber.
Here, the cult's leader – a man called Malachar – stood before a summoning circle. The air crackled with dark energy. A lesser demon clawed its way through a rift, its body half‑formed, its eyes burning red.
"You are too late," Malachar said. "The master comes."
Vlad raised the 50mm cannon on the Colossus suit.
"No. He doesn't."
He fired.
The round struck the summoning circle. The explosion was blinding – stone, blood, and demonic flesh spraying across the chamber. The rift collapsed. The demon screamed and vanished.
Malachar stumbled back, his robes burning.
Titan was on him in an instant. His hammer crushed the cult leader's legs. The man fell, screaming.
"Where are the other hideouts?" Vlad asked.
"I'll never tell you."
Hound drew his sword. "We have ways of making you talk."
"We don't have time," Vlad said. He turned to Phantom. "Make him talk. Quickly."
Phantom stepped out of the shadows. He did not speak. He simply knelt beside Malachar and began to work.
The screams echoed through the tunnels.
Aftermath
The raid lasted four hours.
When it was done, the cult was destroyed. Forty‑seven cultists dead. Three captured for interrogation. Twenty‑three victims freed – including Mira and Corin.
Wall carried her cousin out of the tunnels. Mira was weak, but alive. Patch had stabilized her.
"She needs rest," Patch said. "And a clean environment."
"She'll stay at the workshop," Vlad said. "We have room."
Sparrow walked beside Corin, who was on a stretcher carried by Hammer and Brick. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes were open.
"You saved me," Corin said.
"I should have found you sooner."
"You found me. That's what matters."
Therizo 14, Imperial Year 1644
The Secondary Workshop – Recovery
The workshop had become a hospital.
Patch worked through the night, stitching wounds, applying salves, forcing fluids into the survivors. Mira slept in a cot near the forge. Corin lay on a makeshift bed in the corner, his chest wrapped in clean bandages.
Wall sat beside Mira, holding her hand. She did not sleep.
Sparrow sat beside Corin. She had not spoken since the raid.
Vlad approached her. "He will live."
"His lung is gone. He'll never fight again."
"He will not need to fight. He can still serve."
Sparrow looked up. "How? He can barely breathe."
"He can think. He can plan. He can cook." Vlad glanced at Wall. "Mira, I am told, is an excellent cook. Perhaps Corin can learn."
Corin laughed – a weak, rattling sound. "Cook? I was a mercenary. I killed people."
"You were. Now you are something else." Vlad knelt beside him. "You are not a liability. You will not become one. We will find a healer – someone with enough faith and a strong enough spark to restore what was taken."
"Healing magic can grow back organs?" Patch asked, surprised.
"It is rare. Most healers can close wounds and cure disease. To restore a lung requires enormous faith – a direct connection to the gods. Such healers exist, but they are not common." Vlad stood. "We will find one."
"And if we don't?" Corin asked.
"Then you live with one lung. It will not kill you. It will only make you slower." Vlad's voice was flat. "Slowness is not weakness. It is a reminder to be careful."
Corin was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"I'll stay. If you'll have me."
"You are already one of us." Vlad turned to the others. "Rest. Tomorrow, we hunt the remaining cult cells."
Therizo 15, Imperial Year 1644
The Workshop – Morning
Mira woke to the smell of bread.
Wall had found flour, yeast, and a small oven. Her cousin, despite her wounds, insisted on cooking.
"I need to do something," Mira said. "Otherwise I'll go mad."
Wall smiled. "You always were a good cook."
"I'll make breakfast. For everyone."
The Black Knights gathered around the table. Mira served fresh bread, honey, and tea. Corin sat in a chair, his breathing still labored, but he managed to eat.
"This is good," Hound said.
"She's the best cook in the family," Wall said.
Vlad ate in silence. Then he stood.
"We have three more cult hideouts. We hit them tonight."
"And the victims?" Sparrow asked.
"We free them. Patch will tend to them. Mira and Corin will help with recovery."
Corin looked at his hands. "I'm not sure I can help."
"You can hold a bandage. You can speak words of comfort." Vlad's mask turned toward him. "That is enough."
Corin nodded slowly.
The Black Knights finished their meal and prepared for the next raid.
End of Chapter Forty‑Seven