Night had fallen when the first screech tore through the village. It flashed over the buildings like a brutal wind, shooting from east to west. It rattled windows, flickered lanterns and roused any at rest from their slumber. The tavern fell silent, the roar snatching the ruckus and merriment away.

It sounded like a big one, bigger than the tavern even. Quintus downed the last of his ale and turned just as the gate guard crashed through the tavern doors.

“Netherborne!” he said between ragged breaths, gesturing wildly towards the east. “Huge. Bigger. Than the tavern.” All eyes trained on Malachi, who sat frozen with mouth agape and tankard halfway to his lips.

“It’s fine right?” one patron said. “Malachi can take care of it.”

“Yeah!” another said. “Malachi’s got this.” Their confidence stirred the tavern into a rallying cry as they sang their fair priest’s praises. Meanwhile, Malachi looked like he was about to shit out a log.

Quintus snorted and spun his cross around. He flipped a latch here, pulled a strap there to open one of its many cases, and pulled out a small silver bell dangling from a black ribbon. One netherborne for a free room was pretty cheap by his standards.

Malachi stood and made a gesture to quiet the tavern. “Alright.” He cleared the gravel from his voice. ”I’ll uh, I’ll take care of it.” And he strode through the eager patrons, his movements stiff and robotic. The moment he breached the door, another primal roar tore through the village, and he flinched.

Quintus had to stifle a laugh. Baby’s first netherborne. How precious. He moved to a vantage point where he could see out the window. And sat back for the show. Up the street, the netherborne’s hulking shadow blocked out the light of the street torches. The buildings blocked any view of the fight, but his ears told him all he needed to know.

Malachi’s stuttered footfalls faded down the street. Another roar rang out, followed by a scream and heavier, loping steps. Well, that was quick. The guard peeked out and went wide-eyed.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” Malachi yelled. He dived through the door a moment later, clutching his shoulder, where a tear marred his coat, exposing red, bloodied skin underneath.

Quintus stood and stretched his arms over his head before tying the bell’s ribbon around his middle finger. “Hey Lailah.” The barkeep stood behind the bar, clutching a cloth rag close to her chest. “Could you look after my cross for a bit? This won’t take long.” He didn’t wait for her answer and took long strides towards the door.

“Malachi, what in damnation are you doing?” the guard yelled.

Malachi pointed towards the door. “Have you seen that damn—”

A crash resounded through the village and a tremor shook the tavern, rattling the windows and causing the hanging lanterns to sway. Quintus didn’t break his stride and stepped over Malachi to head out the door.

The guard stepped in his way. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Quintus gripped the front of the guard’s shirt and hoisted him up over his head with one arm.

“Not now, bud. Daddy’s gotta go to work.” He set the guard aside and continued out the door into the chilly night air.

The netherborne had worked its way to the western gate and left a gaping crater where the market stalls used to be. Its jet black body loomed high over the buildings. The light of the standing torches reflected on its scaly hide. It stood on spindly legs that supported a humanoid body. Long, gangly arms stretched from its shoulders down to its ankles where its claw-tipped hands curled into half fists.

Quintus snorted. This one wasn’t even that big. He kicked up a piece of splintered wood into his hand and launched it at the monster. It spun end-over-end through the air and smacked the netherborne on the back of the head.

It whipped around while yanking a log free from the gate and swung it at Quintus, but he sidestepped the blow and the wood slammed into the space he’s occupied before splintering in two. He didn’t want to prolong this. All the walking had worn him out, and he needed a warm bed after the last few nights of sleeping in a tent and enduring Octavia’s snoring.

The netherborne narrowed its red eyes at him and bared its teeth, strings of saliva stretching from fang to fang. Then it drew its hand back, flexed its claws and swung its arm turning into a blur of movement.

Quintus flicked his bell and its sweet chime rose to meet the netherborne’s blow, sunk into the creature’s skin and flesh and bone, carrying sin and symphony with it. The monster’s claws stopped inches from his face, arrested by his power. A faint grey hue bloomed on its palm and spread up its arm like ash covering a barren field.

The netherborne screeched and yanked its arm back just as it burst into a cloud of fragrant, white petals. A handful slapped Quintus across the face, much nicer than a full on punch. He’d taken too many of those in his long life.

The monster stumbled back and fell through the gate, taking what was left of the structure down with it. Then scrambled towards the west, clutching its stump of an arm. It wouldn’t last much longer. The necromancy would spread through its body and render it into a pile of petals within the hour.

Quintus breathed a sigh as a twinge of exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. He turned his back on the broken-down gate and strode back to the Rusted Crow. He met the guard peering out the door with his eyes bugged out and mouth agape. Quintus brushed past him into the tavern and weaved through the murmuring patrons to the bar.

“You.” Malachi pointed an accusing finger towards him. “You’re a necromancer.” He spat the word as though it put an unpleasant taste in his mouth.