A day's journey by airship west from Caerleon brings travelers to the unofficial capital of Avalon: The Crown City of Camelot. Though its claim to the title is a subject of debate, the sentiment is widely shared among the continent's denizens. Camelot stands as the largest city in the land, sprawling for hundreds of miles in every direction. Many of the world's foremost organizations, including its administrative bodies, have long established their headquarters there, none more prestigious than the illustrious Clock Tower.
Camelot boasts a proud lineage dating back to the early days of Avalon, founded by none other than the legendary Uther Pendragon, the kingdom's first king, and one of the Five Heroes. What began as a humble settlement now shines as a beacon of power and influence. The skies above are alive with airships and floating platforms welcoming visitors from all corners of the world. The city itself teems with life, its districts interwoven with canals and rivers that touch every facet of society. At its heart looms Castle Camelot, a towering stone fortress that pierces the heavens, where the current monarch presides from his throne.
Winter was drawing to a close, though its chill still lingered in the air. This particular evening, storm clouds rumbled across the sky, the moon veiled behind thick layers of grey that threatened a deluge as the night wore on. The cobblestone streets, glistening with melting snow, were damp with the moisture of the thaw. Wheels of motorized cars creaked across the ground, the coarse scrape of sand beneath rubber tires mingling with the rhythmic hiss of steam escaping charred copper pipes as engines churned.
Judge Stevens sat in the back of his own car, peering out of the fogged window into the shadowed streets beyond. The bitter wind howled through the narrow gaps of the doors, shrieking like the lamentations of the damned. Streetlamps lined the thoroughfares, their iron frames casting dim, murky light through crystals that barely pierced the oppressive darkness.
Stevens wiped a bead of sweat from his temple, though the cabin's chill should have kept him cool. It wasn't the temperature that caused his unease but the gnawing fear that had gripped him since the murders began. His thick fingers ran through the thinning strands of his grey hair, his dark brown eyes darting to every flickering shadow beyond the glass, as though unseen phantoms waited to pounce.
The Clock Tower had been shaken to its core. High-profile assassinations had struck its ranks, spreading fear among its members. The killers had started with the elite—AEGIS guards, Aurors, Adjudicators—and now, the Magistrates. Stevens knew they were targeting specific individuals, while others were merely collateral damage. The evidence was brutal: mutilated bodies, faces contorted in terror, words carved across their torsos—Killer. Deceiver. Liar. Violator.
The Aurors had launched investigations, but the perpetrators remained elusive. News of the murders was tightly controlled to prevent public panic, yet Stevens understood it was only a matter of time before word spread. And only a matter of time before his name was added to the list.
His hand gripped the polished staff of his cane, the wand concealed within a reassuring presence. But even its familiar weight could not quiet his trembling. The images haunted him: his colleagues' lifeless bodies, their final moments etched in agony. Each shadow seemed to twist and writhe, feeding his growing paranoia.
The portly old man swallowed hard; his throat dry despite the dampness of the night. He was no stranger to danger, but this... this was different. He was being hunted, and the whispers of dread in the streets told him that his time was running out.
****
High above, perched on the rooftops, four figures of varying stature and build observed the lonely car as it rolled through the empty street below. Draped in black, their leather jackets clung to their frames, cloaks of shadow flowing around them like wraiths from the underworld. Their faces were hidden beneath deep hoods, veiled in darkness. Each gaze was sharp and unyielding, their lips set in grim determination. Fingers twitched with anticipation as their breaths came slow and steady, matching the stillness of the night.
In the distance, the chimes of the clock tower echoed across the city, its towering glass face illuminated by an amber glow. The bells struck, resonating through the cold air as both hands pointed to midnight. The sound hung in the silence, a harbinger of what was to come.
Without a word, the four figures exchanged a fleeting glance, their silent resolve unspoken but understood. For a brief moment, a flash of lightning tore through the stormy sky, illuminating their piercing amber eyes, glowing like embers in the dark. Thunder cracked overhead, rattling the roof tiles beneath their boots. Then, with a swirl of black smoke, cinders, and ash, they disappeared into the shadows, vanishing without a trace.
****
The driver's eyes darted nervously, his breath shallow as the windshield wipers scraped across the glass, clearing the damp fog that obscured his view. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel, trembling. Then, stepping from the swirling mist, a figure began to take shape, the fog clinging to them like an ethereal curtain.
He gasped, slamming his foot on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, the tires skidding on the slick road. Heart pounding, the driver barely had a moment to react before three more figures materialized in wisps of black smoke and cinders, surrounding the vehicle. Panic overtook him as he fumbled for the glove compartment, his fingers scrambling for his wand. But before he could grab it, the taut creak of a drawn bowstring froze him in place.
His wide eyes snapped to his left, where a figure stood shrouded in black, their presence commanding and ominous. In their hands was a bow, its spine a deep obsidian black, veined with fiery red streaks that pulsed like smoldering embers. The arrowhead, sharp and unyielding, was fixed squarely on his skull, its intent as cold as death itself.
"Stay put. We won't be long," came a sharp, feminine voice, calm yet chilling.
The figures exchanged brief glances before one of them—a short, stout figure with the unmistakable build of a dwarf—stepped forward. His long auburn beard, braided with glints of gold, swung as he moved. A blackened battle axe gleamed in his hand as he marched to the driver's side door. With a grunt, he wrenched it open, only to find the seat empty.
"There's no one in here!" the dwarf bellowed, glancing back toward the hooded figure who seemed to lead the group.
A sharp crack of thunder shook the car's windows, reverberating through the air. The leader's jaw tightened, and with a low, bitter growl, they muttered, "Motherfu—"
The curse was cut short as the night erupted into chaos. A barrage of spells rained down from nowhere, striking the four figures in rapid succession. Their bodies jolted and twisted violently, blood spraying in all directions as hexes and curses tore through them with merciless precision.
One by one, they crumpled to the ground, their lifeless forms pooling in blood under the pale glow of the streetlamps. The street fell silent once more, the fog creeping back in, shrouding the carnage as if it had never happened.
Nearly a dozen figures stepped out from the shadows, dressed in sleek suits and black ties. Their wands were drawn, trained on the four motionless bodies sprawled across the road. Cautiously, they approached, the faint click of polished shoes echoing in the still night.
One of them nudged a body with his foot, watching for any sign of movement. When there was none, he bent down, placing two fingers against the neck of one of the fallen. After a moment, he straightened and shook his head at the others. Only then did the group lower their wands, exhaling a collective sigh of relief.
Their attention shifted to the distant hum of an approaching car. The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Judge Stevens stepped out, his driver hurriedly draping a heavy coat over his shoulders to shield him from the chill.
"Is it done? Did you get them?" Stevens demanded.
The suited men parted, allowing the judge a clear view of one of the cloaked figures lying lifeless on the ground. A dark pool—likely blood—spread beneath the body, glistening faintly in the muted light. Stevens exhaled audibly, though a subtle tremor betrayed the relief he tried to project.
"The decoy worked," one of the men said, stepping forward. A silver badge pinned to his blazer identified him as an Auror. "So did the ambush. You and many others can sleep easy tonight, Your Honour."
Stevens' face twisted with disdain. "Stop patting yourself on the back, you pitiful excuse for an Auror," he spat. "Everything that's happened is on your hands—yours and the rest of this sorry lot! Back in my day, even the filth knew their place."
He turned sharply, pointing a finger at the driver of the decoy car. "And as for you—if there's so much as a single scratch on that thing, I'll tan your hide myself!" he barked. The driver yelped, nodding furiously, his face pale with alarm.
His glare swept over the group. Some met his gaze with thinly veiled disdain, while others averted their eyes, their shame all too evident. Stevens let out a contemptuous grunt, waving a hand in dismissive irritation.
"You're lucky I don't take your badges for this muck-up. Now get someone to clean up this bloody mess," he barked before turning on his heel and retreating to his car.
One of the Aurors stepped closer to his colleague, lowering his voice to a whisper. "He's lucky I don't put a Killing Curse through his smug face."
"Ha, you and me both," the other muttered, glancing toward Judge Stevens. "I heard he climbed the ranks by cozying up to—"
He froze mid-sentence, his words dying in his throat. Both Aurors turned at the sound behind them—a sharp, staggered breath, the kind drawn after someone had been choking. Their blood ran cold as they slowly turned to see the impossible.
The four figures were rising.
Their bodies twisted and contorted unnaturally, the grotesque crack of bones snapping back into place echoing through the street. Grunts and sharp cries escaped their lips as their wounds began to seal themselves, glowing with fiery embers and cinders that swirled in the air. The putrid stench of burning flesh filled the night as the injuries cauterized shut, leaving behind only faint traces of blood. As their forms straightened, unnervingly steady and deliberate, their narrowed eyes glinted with malice, locking onto the Aurors with an almost predatory focus.
Judge Stevens whirled around, his breath catching in his throat as the color drained from his face. Overhead, the sky roared with thunder, a flash of lightning illuminating the figures in stark relief. The shadows of their hoods were momentarily banished, revealing their faces—and their piercing amber gazes, glowing with an unnatural, otherworldly light.
"H-How…" one of the Aurors stammered. "They were dead—I swear it!"
The leader of the group rolled his neck with a slow, deliberate crack.
"A'richt, now I'm pissed," the dwarf snarled.
"Oh, shit—take them down!" the Auror shouted.
The group raised their wands, but before a single spell could strike, the four figures surged forward, their forms dissolving into swirling wisps of black smoke and glowing embers. The air ignited with flashes of spells, neon streaks cutting through the fog with every blast, but the four moved like shadows, weaving and twisting through the chaos in impossible patterns.
One of them, armed with a bow, loosed arrows with lethal precision. Each shot found its mark, arrows striking Aurors in the head, chest, and torso, their cries echoing into the night.
Another figure—a hulking brute—materialized beside a cluster of Aurors, his massive, blackened war hammer gripped tightly in his hands. With a bone-shattering force, the hammer came crashing down, the impact splitting skulls and shattering cobblestones in a grisly explosion of blood and gore. Crimson sprayed through the air as the Aurors' bodies crumpled lifelessly to the ground, leaving only silence and carnage in his wake.
The dwarf moved with terrifying ferocity, his axe a blur as he dodged incoming spells. With a savage swing, he cleaved through an Auror's arm, then his leg, leaving the man screaming in agony before bringing the axe down to split his head clean in two. Roaring with unbridled rage, he hurled the axe across the battlefield, the blade embedding itself deep in another Auror's chest.
The Aurors were being massacred, their formation collapsing as the black-cloaked figures tore through them like reapers.
Amidst the carnage, the leader advanced, his steps deliberate as his gaze locked onto Judge Stevens. The judge trembled, rooted to the spot as if paralyzed by the figure's sheer presence.
The leader reached over his shoulder as a massive claymore materialized, its blade as black as the void, wreathed in swirling smoke and glowing embers. His fingers curled around the hilt, and with a deliberate, menacing motion, he drew the weapon free. The blade glinted faintly in the dim light; its surface darker than night yet alive with a sinister sheen. With a flick of his wrist, he twirled the claymore in a fluid arc before letting its edge drag along the stoned road. The grating sound echoed through the street like the toll of a death knell, each step bringing him closer to his prey.
Stevens stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing. "Get—get in the damned car!" he barked at his driver, who scrambled into the driver's seat. They both clambered inside, Stevens slamming the door shut. "Drive! Drive, damn you! Get me out of here!"
The driver threw the car into gear and floored the accelerator. The vehicle screeched as it turned sharply, speeding away in the opposite direction. For a fleeting moment, relief flickered in Stevens' chest—until the leader materialized in front of the car, his dark form cutting through the fog like a specter.
The driver let out a terrified shriek, but it was too late.
The leader raised his massive blade, and as the car hurtled toward him at breakneck speed, he swung downward. The blade cleaved cleanly through the vehicle, slicing it in half with a metallic shriek. Sparks flew as the two halves skidded apart, scraping to a halt on either side of the street.
Before Stevens could fully comprehend what had happened, the leader materialized beside him in a blur of motion. The judge scrambled for his cane, his trembling hands fumbling to draw his wand concealed within, but the leader was faster. With a single, precise swing of his blade, the cane was severed in half, the broken wand clattering uselessly to the ground.
Stevens let out a shriek, his wide eyes fixed on the splintered remains. Before he could react further, the leader grabbed him by the collar, lifting him with inhuman strength. With a savage motion, he hurled the judge across the road like a rag doll.
Stevens' body slammed into the cobblestones with a sickening thud, the force knocking the breath from his lungs. He groaned in pain, his limbs weak and uncooperative as he rolled limply onto the sidewalk. His breaths shallow and erratic, his body trembling as fear coursed through him. His eyes darted toward the Aurors—their bodies scattered across the street, lifeless and soaked in pools of crimson.
Stevens' gaze darted back to the leader, his blood running cold. The cloaked figure strode toward him with slow, measured steps, his massive sword catching the faint, eerie glow of the streetlamps. Each step seemed heavier than the last, echoing with foreboding. As Stevens tried to steady his breathing, the other three figures materialized beside the leader, their silhouettes imposing.
The figure clutching the bow held up the severed head of the decoy car's driver, the lifeless face frozen in a mask of terror. Blood dripped steadily from the gory remains. With a cold, casual motion, the figure released it, letting the head drop to the ground with a sickening thud. The sound sent a jolt of pure terror through the judge, who let out a panicked cry, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"Wait! Wait, stop!" Stevens stammered as he began crawling backward, his palms scraping against the sidewalk. "Are you—are you out of your damned mind?! I'm a Magistrate of the Clock Tower!"
"It's been a while, Lieutenant Stevens," the leader said as he stepped forward, his blade dragging behind him with a metallic scrape, sparks igniting against the ground. "I must admit, you've done quite well for yourself. The position, the cars, the expensive suits—living a life of power and indulgence. Wielding authority while basking in luxury." His voice was low and rugged. "I suppose betrayal truly is a profitable business, isn't it?"
He cast a glance at the lifeless bodies of the Aurors strewn across the street, then turned back to Stevens with a cold smile. "Given what happened to your friends, I thought you'd have the sense to bring more men. But clearly, I overestimated you."
Stepping closer, he added with a sinister calm, "No need to worry, though—I'm certain we won't have any further interruptions, Lieutenant."
"Stop that!" Stevens snapped as he continued to crawl backward. "W-why do you keep calling me that?!"
The leader tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "That was your rank, wasn't it? Back when we first met. You wore a uniform in those days. Don't you remember?"
With that, he reached up and pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing a sharp, chiseled face framed by short, spiked black hair. His dark amber eyes glinted with a cold, unsettling intensity, framed by black, tar-like smudges that formed a grotesque mask around them, trailing down his cheeks like twisted, demented tears. The same glossy black substance coated his lips, adding to his eerie visage. Two jagged scars marred his face—one slicing across the bridge of his nose, the other running down his left cheek. His skin was ashen pale, almost powdery in tone.
Stevens' eyes widened, his breath hitching as recognition struck him like a thunderclap.
"You…" Stevens gasped as he shook his head, as though trying to will the figure before him out of existence. "I didn't want to believe it. I told myself the sequence of deaths was just a coincidence." His breath hitched. "But it's not possible. Y-you were dead! They made sure of it!"
"Well… yes, and no. Not exactly," His eyes narrowing with icy precision. "You know, for twelve long years, I've replayed this moment in my mind. Over and over." His tone was measured, deliberate, every word dripping with suppressed rage. "I've thought about what I'd say to you, the questions I'd ask when I finally got to look you in the eye." He leaned in closer. "To ask you… why."
He straightened. "But now that I'm here, I realize I don't need your reasons. Nor do I want your pitiful excuses. Because I didn't come here to hear you speak, Stevens. I came here to watch you die."
The judge let out a choked cry of terror, his body trembling as he stumbled to his feet. Without a second thought, he bolted down the sidewalk, the streetlamps casting fractured shadows as he ran. His panicked breaths echoed in the empty street, his gaze darting behind him toward the leader.
The leader raised a hand, and from the shadows, tendrils of barbed wire materialized, spiraling outward like demonic claws. They shot forward with a hiss, wrapping around the judge's arms and legs. The razor-sharp barbs bit deep into his flesh, tearing through skin and muscle as Stevens let out a guttural cry of pain. The jagged spikes burrowed into his body, weaving cruelly through the spaces between his bones. Blood seeped from the wounds in crimson streams, staining the ground beneath him.
With a flick of his wrist, the leader commanded the wires to obey, and they dragged Stevens forward like a broken puppet, his limbs jerking unnaturally as he dangled helplessly.
The judge's shirt, vest, and suit were soaked in blood, the dark stains spreading like a grotesque bloom. The barbed wires crept further, twisting through his body, tearing into his innards with every agonizing movement. Stevens coughed violently, blood pouring from his mouth as his strength faltered.
Through his haze of pain, his eyes caught sight of the sword. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, fear overtaking him.
"T-that sword… this… p-power," Stevens choked. "It—it can't be…"
"Oh, but it is," the leader replied, laced with bitter satisfaction. "I never believed your stories—the tall tales you used to spin over drinks. They were amusing, entertaining at best." He paused, a cruel smile curling at the corners of his lips.
"But for once, I'm grateful for your lies. They've given me…" His eyes flicked briefly to the other three figures before locking back onto the man. "Given us another chance. A chance to make the wrong things right. To show people like you that Hell isn't some far-off place." He leaned forward. "It's right here. On earth."
"It's no gift… it's a curse," Stevens rasped, blood dripping from his lips. "You've been cursed. You… all of you, are now tarnished."
The leader let out a low scoff, his expression cold and unreadable. "Curse?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Funny… it never felt like one. Not then. Not now." His grip on the hilt tightened. "Feels like a promise."
The metallic groan of the blackened barbed wire strained against the thunder roaring overhead, creating a chilling cadence that echoed through the night. The wires tightened as they lowered the judge onto his knees, forcing him into the pool of blood spreading beneath him. Stevens gasped for breath, each ragged inhalation trembling with pain and terror, his body quivering under the relentless grip of the wire.
"And this," the leader said coldly, his eyes dark with resolve, "is mine. Every last one of you in the Clock Tower… will die."
He twirled the blade, its edge hissing as it sliced through the air, before delivering a clean, decisive slash across Stevens' neck. The judge's head toppled from his shoulders, rolling across the cobblestones until it came to a halt beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp, his face frozen in eternal terror.
The leader raised his hand, and the blackened barbed wire coiled tighter, lifting the lifeless, headless body into the air like a grotesque marionette. With a sharp, deliberate gesture, the wires pulled taut, tearing the body apart in a gruesome spray of blood. Crimson rained down upon the four figures, painting them in the judge's final moments, their expressions unflinching as the storm above roared in approval.
The leader exhaled deeply, the wires along with the blade in his hand dissolving into swirling smoke, embers, and ash. As the remnants of the weapon vanished, the other three approached him.
"Ye ken fine that's no' gonnae be enough tae flush that bastard oot o' hidin'," rumbled the dwarf. "No' so long as they keep a bloody lid on the news."
"Gunnar's right, Asriel" came the sharp, feminine voice. "We've been working our way down the list, and every time, the next day, it's the same—silence."
The hulking figure folded his massive arms, nodding in grim approval.
A sharp screech of twisted metal snapped their attention to the wreckage of the car. The crumpled door was kicked open, and the driver staggered out, collapsing onto the road. Blood trickled down his forehead, his breaths ragged and uneven. The leader turned, his dark gaze fixed on the man, and began to stride toward him.
The driver looked up, his eyes wide with terror. A panicked shriek tore from his throat as the leader loomed over him.
"I want you to send a message," the leader said. "You saw what happened here today. So, tell them. Tell everyone you can find—every soul, every working man, every twisted cur that draws breath. Tell every last bastard in the Clock Tower…" He gestured toward the severed head of Judge Stevens, lying lifeless on the blood-soaked ground. "…that they're finished."
"Take a good, hard look, because that's how they'll all end up. Every Guardian. Every Auror. Every Adjudicator. Every damned bastard who reeks of the Law!" He paused, drawing a sharp breath, his presence radiating an unshakable menace. "We are the legacy of your sins, the consequence of your trespasses. We are the arbiters of your retribution. We are vengeance. We are Nemesis!"
Asriel leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "And you… are next. Now run."
The driver trembled violently, tears mixing with the blood streaking his face. With a desperate cry, he scrambled to his feet and bolted down the street, stumbling as he ran.
"Run!" Asriel shouted after him, his voice echoing through the desolate street. "Run to your masters! Tell them all we're coming. Tell them I'm coming!" His growl deepened, the menace in his tone undeniable. "And Hell's coming with me!"
He stood there for a moment, watching the driver's retreating form disappear into the night, the storm above raging like a reflection of his wrath.
Gunnar chuckled. "Loud enough fer ye, Isha?" he rumbled, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"I suppose," Isha said, folding her arms and glancing toward the leader. "So, what's the plan now?" Her tone was measured but edged with concern. "By this time tomorrow, every able body from the Clock Tower will be on guard. The city will be on high alert, and that's going to make our work a lot harder."
"That was the intention," Asriel replied as he turned to face them. "The Clock Tower has protocols—a contingency plan. If the top brass ever come under threat, they'll move them out of the capital to a more secure, strategic location. Somewhere they can control, and, if necessary, make a quick escape."
Thunder cracked overhead, splitting the sky as rain began to pour. The downpour cascaded over their blackened leather cloaks, coats, and light armor, soaking them to the bone. Streams of water mixed with diluted blood, streaking across the cobblestones and flowing into the drains, washing away the remnants of the carnage.
Asriel's gaze remained steady, unaffected by the rain. "And that," he added quietly, "is exactly where we'll strike next."
Gunnar's eyes widened. "Ye don't mean tae say…?"
Asriel's dark eyes fixed on the distant clock tower, the proud symbol of the very institution he vowed to destroy. Its faintly glowing face shimmered through the curtain of rain, a beacon in the gloom. A small, grim smile tugged at his lips.
"Aye," he murmured. "Back to where it all began… Caerleon."