<span style="font-family:font1522365474">Isaac blinked for what felt like the millionth time. What he was looking at wasn’t registering in his mind; he didn’t let it. In fact, he didn’t want it to. He told himself that what he was seeing was a lie, that it was eyes that were betraying him, not the man before him. But alas, the truth was a bitter pill to swallow, and once it settled in his gut, it became something that made his insides convulse and fold in over itself. What was unfolding before him roused the inner demons that he had suppressed for years: Envy. Lust. Malevolence. The violent and dark emotions swirled in his gut and left an acrid taste in his mouth. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Darius</span>… <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What are you doing</span>?” His voice came out unsteady and meek. His fingers trembled as he took a step towards the man sitting on an elevated throne, surrounded by men in laminar armor, their ironclad fingers wrapped tightly around bayonet-tipped muskets. Isaac seized up as the guards raised their rifles in reaction to his approach, their faces hidden behind scowling masks. Isaac’s own contorted from confusion to shock as he retracted his foot, keeping his composure steeled and hard, despite his wavering voice. These men were once his allies; friends; brothers in the eyes of the lord. The papal insignia pressed into their chests gleamed in the candle lit chamber, a symbol that he would soon learn to resent. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">’</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">s the meaning of this</span>?” He said louder. Next to the man named Darius was a woman. She was plain-faced of a distressingly common mien, whose thin frame at the moment was adorned by a diaphanous white wrap and a magnificent black pendant. Isaac could guess the bastard’s thoughts from his face. The man was taunting him, arrogant in the confines that he knew that the priest was powerless to say or do <i>anything </i>against an Archbishop. This gutter scum, the shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he ran his fingers up and down the woman’s thigh and torso. Isaac balled his fists as the man leaned in to inhale her scent, keeping his serpentine eyes locked on him the entire time. Isaac transferred his gaze at the woman. Her eyes were bloodshot, strained from helpless tears. Her face was pallid, saturated with layers of makeup and glamour. She did nothing as the man felt her body, as she knew that she could do nothing to stop him. Isaac blamed himself for being in this situation. For putting that woman in this situation. He knew that Darius had no reason to abduct her other than to get to him. She was an innocent life forced into a world of political strife and darkness. And it was his fault. The fact made him feel like an utter fool; the sight of his lover that was so close, yet so far. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">This</span>?” The man’s molesting came to a halt as he leaned back into his chair. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">I was simply enjoying the company of this woman</span>.” His voice sounded like fingernails scraping against chalkboard to Isaac. It was nasal and posh, rich with the arrogance of a tyrant. Perhaps at one time, the sound was welcomed with a smile and a laugh. But now, it was something that made him want to break the man over his knee. Darius narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his seat. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">What</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">s it to you</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Isaac</span>?” He spoke nonchalantly. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Perhaps you have something to say of the matter</span>?”<br/>
<br/>
Isaac worked his jaw and closed his eyes. <i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">But I say unto you</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">That ye resist not evil</span>: <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">turn to him the other also</span>.</i> He rehearsed the verse in his mind in an attempt to soothe the blood boiling in his veins. Darius was provoking him to do something out of line; let his tongue slip and say something condemnable. Isaac knew this; understood it, even. Having an intimate relationship was forbidden in the clergy. Yet, he gave in to his desires and laid with the woman now in the clutches of his former best friend. If the Arch priest was looking for a confession or proclamation of passion, he would receive neither. But based on that snide and condescending look on his face, it was getting harder for Isaac to hold his tongue while the man he once knew as a comrade practically spat on him.<br/>
<br/>
Isaac took a deep breath before responding. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">You</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">re wrong</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">father</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What you do in your personal time is not of my concern</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">If you have summoned me only to boast of your relationship with that woman</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">you</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">'</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">re wasting my time</span>.” He began to turn around.<br/>
<br/>
"<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Oh no</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">,</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)"> I wouldn</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">'</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">t do something as egregious as that</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">." A smile began to form on his face. "</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">I summoned you here today to personally invite you to our marriage</span>.” Darius’s voice interrupted Isaac’s movement. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">My celibacy was annulled</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">if you were wondering</span>.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)"> This woman will be my wife in a week</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">’</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">s time</span>.”<br/>
<br/>
Isaac narrowed his eyes. Hundreds of thoughts blazed through his mind as he processed the words. They burned in his mind and churned in his gut as he scrambled through his own rationale, attempting to find the man who wielded enough power and influence to authorize an annulment, but to no avail. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">On whose authority</span>?” He turned around to face the bishop, keeping his face stoic as he spoke, making sure to not reveal the seething hatred in the cracks of his demeanor.<br/>
<br/>
Darius paused for a moment, scratched his chin, looked as if he were entertaining the thought of revealing the identity of the man that allowed him to drive a blade deep into Isaac's back. He then smiled, revealing crooked yellowed teeth, just as gangrenous and rotten as his personality. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">It was the pope himself</span>,” he finally said, eyes boring down into Isaac, searching for a reaction of any kind. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">I do hope that you’re available to attend</span>.”<br/>
<br/>
The priest glared at Darius, clenching his his jaw as he turned his back on the man he once called his friend, as well as the woman he once called his lover. </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)"><span style="font-family:font1522365474"><i>Leave with dignity</i></span></span><span style="font-family:font1522365474">. He reminded himself. “</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)"><span style="font-family:font1522365474">I have no interest in attending</span></span><span style="font-family:font1522365474">. </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)"><span style="font-family:font1522365474">Now if you</span></span><span style="font-family:font1522365474">’</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)"><span style="font-family:font1522365474">ll excuse me</span></span><span style="font-family:font1522365474">.”<br/>
The Archbishop’s lips curled into a twisted smile. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Such a shame</span>... <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Perhaps I</span>'<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">ll request for you to officiate the marriage</span>.”<br/>
<br/>
Isaac froze, his breath catching as the words reached his ears. He felt as if he'd been slapped across the face. His brow furrowed, jaw tightening until a high pitched ringing filled his ears. His face contorted from an indifferent and neutral countenance to that of a disturbed animal: eyes narrowed, teeth bared, the corners of his mouth turning downwards into a deep scowl. He grit his teeth and let out a low growl, clenching his fists until his nails threatened to break skin. The pit in his stomach grew, a feeling of disgust, hatred, and rage filling his being, culminating into a conglomerate of emotion that manifested as an urge to murder the man before of him. Isaac knew that a request coming directly from an archbishop wasn’t something he could refuse. To pronounce the two man and wife; to see Darius kiss the woman he once called his own.<br/>
<br/>
Something inside him snapped.<br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Listen here</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">you <i>treacherous </i>bastard</span>!” He took a step forward, marching towards the man, only to have a wall of guards block his way. Numerous hands grabbed at his shoulders and chest, pushing back against his outbursts. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">How <i>dare </i>you suggest that I officiate your marriage</span>!? <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">The tenacity of that statement</span>! <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">To first squander my compassion on greed</span>; <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">to wield authority in such an immature and ludicrous way</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">;</span> <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">and to betray my trust by abducting the woman I love</span>! <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What motivates you</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">you perverted fool</span>? <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What goes in that corrupt wasteland you call a brain</span>?" He wrenched his shoulders away from the mass of plated steel that blocked his path. "<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What happened to you</span>?! <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">You used to be my friend</span>! <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">My brother</span>! <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">I held you in high regard</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">treated you as an equal</span>! <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What happened to all the sweat we worked</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">the blood we spilled</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">the tears we shared</span>? <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Does everything we</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">ve done in the past mean nothing</span>?!” Isaac's voice was raw with anguish as hot tears streaked his cheeks. He thrashed against the numerous hands that restrained him, to no avail. Their combined strength was overwhelming, forcing him back and onto his knees.  “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">s the meaning of all of this</span>? <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">You know that woman means <i>everything </i>to me</span>! <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Why would you do this</span>? <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">This</span>... <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">This farce</span>!” His voice broke as it echoed off of the chamber walls. Silence filled the air as Darius nodded slowly, as if he were considering Isaac’s words.<br/>
<br/>
Without a sound, he rose from seat and began descending the stairs that led to his throne. Isaac watched in stunned silence as the Arch priest took a musket from one of his guards. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">You know</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Isaac</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">I always knew that something was different about you</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">You have conviction</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">but no obligations</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Strength</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">but no foundation</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">You are a maverick</span>:<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)"> unpredictable and rash</span>.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)"> Your trials and tribulations are a part of God</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">s plan for you</span>.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)"> I</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">m just making sure to play my part</span>.” He smiled and gestured to one of the guards. Suddenly, Isaac felt the air in his lungs disappear. It wasn’t until he was on the ground, unable to breathe did he realize that he had been kicked in the gut. The guards quickly hoisted him back onto knees. Isaac wheezed and coughed, a up a portion of his previous meal dribbling from his lips before he raised his gaze to the man he once called a friend. His eyes burned with hatred and confusion. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What the hell are you saying</span>?” His voice was weak and strained, barely audible between gasps of air. His eyes were half lidded, unfocused and strained as Darius towered over him.<br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">I</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">m just here to preserve what we have going on here</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Keep the status quo</span>.” Darius went on, raising the butt end of the rifle.<br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">And for that to happen</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">you must suffer</span>.”<br/>
<br/>
~<br/>
<br/>
Isaac rested his elbow on the carriage sill, staring out to an open field of gold. Rows of grain went on without end, stretching along rolling hills that traveled towards a dawning horizon. The road, however, was the complete opposite this scenic view. It was a horrendous experience, his thoughts interrupted every time the carriage shook violently at every sudden bump or sharp drop. He’d been sitting in the same position for the better half of the morning, unable to escape the perpetual monotony of subsisting on his own thoughts. A dozen other men sat across from him, yet they barely spoke, seldom to one another, but never to him. They kept their gazes to themselves as they fiddled with their armor straps and polished their swords incessantly. They were fresh-skins: boys who could barely call themselves men; graduates from the Capital sworn to slay man and demon alike, so long as they were enemies of the church. Clad in steel and mail, they possessed argentum weaponry, fidgeting with their swords and daggers like toys. Most of all, they were inexperienced: naive and soft. If they were ever to come into contact with one of the Devil’s offspring, their only salvation would be their silver. He, on the other hand, bore the mark of disgrace on his chest piece: an upside down cross. It followed him wherever he went; cursed him to a life of solitude and shame. He, unlike the rest, was older - at least ten years their senior in both experience and appearance - and was there for an entirely different reason. Isaac worked his jaw in contemplation, running a hand through his tangled hair. He should be warning them, telling them the do’s and don'ts of the Silver Cross; what to look out for, how to deal with injustice and corruption. But they would not heed his words. In their minds, he was a cancer. A disease. And as much as they wanted to rebuke him, they couldn’t, for their terror of who he was or what he was capable of overruled their disgust. Isaac narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw as he felt a pair of eyes on him. The isolation daunted him; left him in a state of desolation; kept his brow creased in a permanent scowl as the landscape shifted from rural plains to city. He shot a glare at the boy whose eyes lingered on him. He was just a child, from what Isaac could tell. His cheeks were taut with baby fat, upper lip clear of any hair, shoulders too slim to fit his armor. He was clearly lacking experience in all respects. The way he carried himself, the way he shot his gaze to his toes when their eyes connected, told him everything. Isaac sighed and cast his eyes elsewhere. There was no point in intimidating the boys. Where they were going… It was not for the faint of heart. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Grieshaffen</span>,” he murmured as they passed through a narrow gate. It was a dreary city with dreary citizens, riddled paranoia and ruled by fear. From what terrified whispers he heard, suspicion dictated the people more than any government, leading to unjust trials and indiscriminate burnings. It wasn’t anything new to him, but for the new-bloods… Isaac suppressed a chuckle. They were squirming like terrified children, gripping their weapons like it was their ticket to salvation. And in a way, it was. This city was something of a trial by fire for them, and a punishment for him.<br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b35900">We</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b35900">re here</span>.” A voice broke Isaac’s train of thought. The sound of church bells tolling reached his ears. They were loud and penetrating, piercing the air in a series of cacophonous pitches, reverberating off of drab, cobblestone buildings and into his inner ear. Isaac peered out of the carriage's window and into the building’s. The interior of every house was dark, not a sign of life marking numerous empty floors. In fact, almost every house was like this. It was eerily quiet, the streets devoid of any sign of life, save for the rats that scampered across sewers and alleys. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Driver</span>,” Issac called from his seat. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Where is everyone</span>?” The sounds of hoof impacting stone filled the air as his question was answered. Not by the driver, no, but by the sounds of jeering. Then Isaac saw it:<br/>
<br/>
The face of fear, anguish, hatred.<br/>
<br/>
He saw it clearly, plastered on a young woman’s face, her cheeks stained with tears as she writhed underneath her binds, crying words of loathing to the soldiers standing before her. The crowd, in turn, sneered at her, cried for her death, raising their fists to the air in solidarity for the ubiquitous goal to burn her to a crisp. The crowd’s attention turned to the carriage upon their arrival, however, their screams replaced by a piqued curiosity. Their eyes were glued to the carriage as one by one, the soldiers of the Silver Cross revealed themselves, brandishing their argentine swords, with Isaac stepping out last. He watched as their awe turned to disgust, their joyous faces turning sour in sight of his cross. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">What</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">s going on here</span>?” He projected his voice to the crowd, ignoring their acrid glares as he made his way towards the center of the mass. He glanced at the woman bound to the pyre. She wasn’t much to look at, her platinum blonde hair plastered to her face, bruises scoring her arms and legs, blood smearing her cheeks. But it wasn’t her appearance that made him act this way. It was that wild defiance, that look in her eye that oozed raw emotion. From all the burnings he’d seen in his life, most would resign themselves to death in silence, let the flames crawl up to their ankles before they uttered a word. But this girl… Something was different. Perhaps he saw himself in her; saw himself those years ago, when he was desperate, confused, and enraged. Perhaps he wanted to give her what he didn’t get a chance of receiving:<br/>
<br/>
A second chance.<br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Get her down from there</span>,” he ordered. The soldiers glanced at each other, some moving to carry out his order before a voice stopped them. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">Stop</span>,” it said. A man came forth, putting a face to the voice. Isaac almost felt his jaw drop. The man was tall. Almost inhumanly so, sporting broad shoulders clad in gold, with a gravelly voice just as intimidating as his broadsword. He was a behemoth, a mountain of a man; something the boys behind Isaac would never be. Isaac saw the man stare at the cross on his chest, and then back to his eyes. Immediately, he knew right away what the man would say. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">You</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">re interrupting the execution</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">traitor</span>,” he growled through closed teeth. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">Leave now</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">or you</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">ll be the next one standing on that post</span>.” Isaac kept his face stoic as the man’s breath washed over his face, warm spit splattering against his cheek. He took a moment to wipe his cheek before responding. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Keep in mind</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">commander</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">that although I am disgraced</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0059b3">I still stand higher than you in rank</span>.” His voice came out level and clear. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Or would you rather I send a raven back to the Capital</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">tell them that you disobeyed a direct order from the Silver Cross</span>?”<br/>
<br/>
Isaac felt the vexing glares from the crowd, but not a single one of them said a word, for their lust for blood was quenched by an even more powerful emotion: fear. The same emotion that drove them to condemn each other suppressed their hateful cries, faltering in the face of a greater authority. The Silver Cross was one of three heads of the Order, responsible for the extermination of heretics and helspawn that plagued the Lord’s domain. That, of course, also meant that the process in which these demons were processed was left solely up to them. Usually.<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">Listen here</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">mutt</span>. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">This women stands accused of being one of the devil</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">s daughters</span>.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)"> She</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">s a Chimera</span>: <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">A beast we must put down for the sake of humanity</span>.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)"> I don</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">t care if you stand higher than me</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">she will burn for her crimes</span>.” He snatched the torch from the executioners hands. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">Even if I have to do it myself</span>.”<br/>
Isaac’s eyes widened as the fire licked against the wood, threatening to set the pyre ablaze. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Three days</span>.” His voice emerged from his throat before he could even think. <br/>
The man paused, raising the torch slightly, looking over his shoulder to glare at him. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">What</span>?” He asked.<br/>
Isaac swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before continuing. “</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)"><span style="font-family:font1522365474">Three days</span></span><span style="font-family:font1522365474">.</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)"><span style="font-family:font1522365474"> Give me three days to prove her innocence</span></span><span style="font-family:font1522365474">,” he said, scrambling for words.<br/>
The man's lips curled into an ugly grin, a deep chuckle coming from his throat. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">And why would I do that</span>?”<br/>
<br/>
“<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Because should I fail</span>,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0059b3"> you can tie me up and set me ablaze right next to her</span>.”<br/>
<br/>
Murmurs and hushed whispered emerged from the crowd, eyes flicking between the two men before them. They were offered a choice: either burn the girl now and sate their lust for blood, or burn a disgraced soldier from the Silver Cross <i>and </i>the girl later. The choice was clear. The people wanted blood just as much as the commandant, and Isaac played that to his advantage. The man pursed his lips, twirling his mustache before setting the torch down. A sinister smile slowly stretched across his face as he nodded, drawing his sword to cut the girl’s binds. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">Three days</span>,” he repeated, sheathing the blade as the last of the ropes fell to the ground. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">Three days before I get to see you burn in hell</span>.” He shoved the woman down the pyre, and into Isaac’s arms. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the girl, pressing her face to his chest as he fixed his gaze onto the commandant. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">Until then</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">don</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 89)">t do anything rash</span>." The man walked into the crowd, his posse of soldiers following closely behind. He chuckled to himself. "<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#660033">I</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30059">ve always wondered what the screams of a traitor sounds like</span>." The mob itself lingered a while longer, all eyes glued to Isaac and the girl. A few jeers made their way out from the spectators, hateful words thrown along with rocks and vegetables, bouncing harmlessly off his armor before hitting the ground. Isaac shot a glare at the crowd, eyeing them down, daring them to throw another insult his way. Naturally, not another word was uttered as they dispersed, shambling back to their mundane lives, their lust for blood left unfulfilled. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Oderint</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">dum metuant</span>,” He murmured as he released the girl, staring at her wrists and ankles, eyeing the reddened flesh where rope had once dug in. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">Can you walk</span>?” He draped his white cloak around her shoulders. “<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">We</span>’<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">ll talk later</span>.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)"> For now</span>, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 89, 179)">we need to find somewhere safe</span>.”</span>