With a great heave Harken opened the door, leapt inside and slammed it shut. Silence and stone stood to greet him. It was time to wake up now. He had been in the dream for far too long. His body would suffer for it.

He quickly crossed the hall, terror welling up inside of him as he waved his hand, another door forming instantly in the stone wall. It appeared similar to the others in the dungeon, except for a metal plate hammered in the center of the wood. The name Judge Kallim was inscribed on the plate, written in the ancient Therean language of Gothic Chromantra. The same language that was branded into Harken's flesh.

He hesitated before the door. Despite nearly a decade since his branding, the memory still haunted him. The heavy sound of truncheons striking his body as they beat him. The smell of his flesh cooking after they strapped him to a table and branded him with their accursed magic. Judge Kallim's sickening glee as he stabbed Harken over and over with that burning needle until he finally blacked out from the pain. Now the memory was an invisible scar in his mind, and the exit to his dreams. He just needed the courage to open the door.

A great rumbling drew his attention away. Dust spilled down the hall as a large form pushed its way forward. The Krole. Harken felt his mind seize with panic. The damned thing had barreled its way into his dream now. A new fear overtook him, and he seized the door with both hands and flung it open. He leapt forward and ran deeper into the bowels of the dungeon. The wailing that was missing before was now alive all around him.

Voices begged and screamed amidst the sounds of pummeled flesh and broken bones. Emaciated men reached from cell bars, babbling either in terror or in madness. Harken kept running. He ran until the Krole's heavy footsteps faded away, until the sounds of screaming men faded away, until only the darkness remained.

Harken awoke drenched in sweat. His head was pounding and his mouth was thick with the familiar taste of blood. His stomach fared even worse. It took every last ounce of Harken's willpower not to vomit up his dinner. Coming back from an awakened dream was never a pleasant experience, but he had pushed himself too hard this time.

Off in the distance, the sounds of thunder rumbled outside the barn. Strange, given that Harken had not seen any dark clouds forming on the horizon, but heat storms were known to appear suddenly and without warning. He settled back into the hay, waiting for the flash of lightning to herald the coming boom, but the lightning never came and the thunder only grew louder. Suddenly, a howl split the night, sending a chill up Harken's spine. A very familiar chill.

The barn door burst open. "Harken!" Elder Benson croaked as he hobbled inside. "Get down here, Slayer! Something is attacking the village!"

Harken pulled his clothes on quickly as he searched for his weapons under the hay, cursing at his foolishness. Entering the Krole's dream had been a mistake. Now it was angry and on the warpath straight towards him.

"Get out of sight and don't come out until I tell you." Harken ordered the Elder. The old man looked about in a panic before settling on nearby stack of hay bales to hide behind. Harken went to a knee, taking in deep, quiet breathes to calm his nerves. If he was going to get the upper hand on the Krole, he would at least need to keep his sword hand steady.

Harken's breath hitched in his throat as heavy footsteps approached the barn. A large shadow loomed in front of the open door, growing larger still as the spirit trundled inside. Within the gaps of the hay loft's floor, Harken was able to catch a glimpse of the Krole.

Bigger than anything he had ever seen, the spirit lumbered on the two mighty oaks it called legs. Its body was draped in moss held together by wriggling vines, extending down the log sized arms that had almost taken his head off in the dream. Most notable of all was the auroch skull fashioned as its head, the bone white horns still spattered with old gore.

Despite his best efforts, Harken couldn't keep his hands from trembling at the sight of the Krole. In his youth he would have been excited to face such a creature, but now with the prime of his life well behind him, all that excitement was nothing more than a bitter memory.

Harken worried his trembling would alert the creature. Luckily, the Krole had not noticed him. Not yet at least. It jerked its head from side to side, sniffing the air with a hungry eagerness as it lumbered into clear view. Harken tightened his grip on his sword. Just one more step and it would be in the perfect spot for him to strike.

The Krole twitched suddenly and smashed a nearby stack of crates, bellowing in agitation. A gasp erupted from the hay bales and the spirit perked its head towards the direction of the noise. Harken cursed under his breath. That stars-damned Elder had given himself away.

There was no time for hesitation now, Harken realized. If the Elder was killed, then the Pact could never be fulfilled. With his sword raised high, Harken roared and leapt from the loft. The Krole turned to him, its surprised bellow cut short as Harken brought the sword down with a sickening crack, slicing through the left horn and wedging deep into the skull. The two plummeted together in a thunderous crash.

The Krole thrashed on its back as Harken scrambled to stay upright, holding onto the sword for dear life. He reached for his mace, working the stubborn clasp blindly as he fended off the spirit's attempts to throw him off. In a desperate moment he took his eyes off the Krole to look down at the clasp, and paid the price when an arm the size of a log smashed into his head.

He lost his grip on the sword and tumbled down onto the ground. His head was ringing, stars danced in his vision and he had bitten his tongue in the fall. He stumbled to pick himself back up, gripping the mace in his hands to keep them from shaking. The Krole clawed its way back onto its feet and let out an agitated roar that made his thoughts burn like wildfire. With one mighty yank the Krole ripped his sword from its skull and tossed the blade aside.

This was going about as well as expected, Harken thought to himself. He'd hurt the damned thing and it had hurt him in return. They were even, but he had survived this long and had no intention of dying just yet.

He stared down the Krole, fearfully awaiting its next move. The Krole in turn watched him intently, keeping a safe distance. It didn't attack blindly. It was clever, as if its very essence was that of a predator made manifest by the forest. And he was going to kill it. Stars willing he would kill this damn thing, just to spite the gods a little longer.

Harken raised his mace and charged at the Krole. Before he had a chance to strike, the spirit turned on its heels and ran, smashing past the barn doors as it barreled out into the night. Harken watched on in shock. The damned thing had run away just as he had done in its dream. He tried to put away his mace but found his hands shaking too hard for him to undo the clasp.

"It's okay, you can come out now. The Krole is gone." Harken called out, realizing that his voice was quavering.

"The what?" Elder Benson said, poking his head out from behind the hay bale. Harken realized he would have a lot of explaining to do.