The former emperor reacted dully to Ganelon’s high threats. He merely stood there with his arms outstretched, and he taunted his once-meek servant - goading him to truly commit to his words.

  “This is the folly of raising hounds,” he croaked. “Witless, self-destructive creatures, always so keen on biting the hand that feeds them. But Ganelon, my little Ganelon, what a surprise you’ve given me. Do you enjoy that false mask of courage? Good, savor it. Let it fill you with faith. Only when thy longing is at its greatest will the inevitable cry of despair taste so sweet.”

  Ganelon clutched tight his holy sword and surged ahead with the tempest propping his steps. He would allow this putrid corpse to intimidate him no longer; let it blabber on as it wished. The emperor of yesteryear might have been the most powerful in the land, but the times had changed, and the blessing of the Lord which granted him power had been replaced by the demons’ evil parasite.

  He was the son of God no longer. Now, he was just another monster, one on the same level as man.

  “Die, you filthy whoreson!” Ganelon roared and brought his blade swathed in shrieking wind down upon his mortal foe. Even the Joyeuse agreed with him - it glowed an incandescent, golden light as its edge drew near its former master’s flesh.

  “Joyeuse, a relic wielded only by the weak.”

  And yet, for all the sword’s infamy, Pepin needed only flick it with his finger to send both the weapon and the wielder flailing to the side.

  “In all my years of reign, Ganelon, I have never once touched this wretched thing’s handle. Do you know why?” he asked, slowly stomping over as the High Tribunal picked himself up off the ground. “It is because I never needed to. One’s strength is decided from birth. You, who were born a pathetic lout, will always cower beneath my boot regardless of what your thieving hands steal. There can be no changing nature, Ganelon. I am fated to be the master, and you the tool.”

  Ganelon yelled out in frustration and summoned a needle-like squall to raze Pepin’s flesh. The man made no attempt to avoid it. He took one crooked step after the other, facing the storm directly and deflecting it with dull waves of his hand; and Ganelon could only remain there watching as his mightiest gusts flung away without a care.

  When it was clear attacks from afar would yield little way, Ganelon summoned a blade of wind into his other hand and leapt forth, striking the still-languid corpse with slashes that increased in speed over time. He summoned even more blades from beyond the stratum, whirling around them, joining, combining, until not a surface of Pepin’s body was left spared from the razing maelstrom.

  But still the former emperor did not move. The wind crashed into him, only to dissipate harmlessly as if dispersed by even greater force. Nothing could harm him save for the holy blade; yet even the Joyeuse failed in penetrating Pepin’s hide of dripping sludge.

  Was it the demon’s influence that protected him? Did remnants of the Lord’s power still remain, still protecting Their child?

  No, not at all. The source of Pepin’s unnatural might… was solely himself. If anything, he was weaker than the tyrant of the past.

  “Lamentable, truly lamentable,” the former emperor grunted during Ganelon’s assault. “To think these puny winds would now brush against me, when before I needed not feel their breeze.”

  Pepin raised his hand and reached out, breaking through Ganelon’s wailing armor effortlessly, before crushing the man’s jaw and smashing chin with knee. The light in Ganelon’s eyes momentarily dimmed; he fell forward and nearly smashed his skull on the cold stone, only for Pepin to catch him at the last second. He waited for Ganelon to regain his consciousness: slowly, patiently, until the High Tribunal returned to life with a sharp gasp. His rest was cut short, for before he could recover Pepin crumpled his ear with a cruelly delivered blow from his wrist.

  Here Ganelon was, a formidable warrior even the Peers and players in all their numbers could barely resist against… now treated like a helpless, petulant child. Pepin could have slaughtered him at any moment. Even now, whilst slow to act, the former emperor moved not to smother his breaths. He wanted Ganelon to live; he wanted Ganelon to suffer, to know exactly the consequences of disobeying his liege.

  “You have grown accustomed to pain in my absence,” Pepin said, leaning down and roughly pulling on Ganelon’s hair. “Shall we see how long your rebellion lasts?”

  With a guttural, hoarse cackle, Pepin lifted one of Ganelon’s fingers and, ever slowly, began to bend it. Even when the man’s bones cracked and twisted, and his flesh bit by bit split apart by the seams, he continued bending it until Ganelon’s screams drowned out the air.

  But even so, he did not yield. Ganelon bit his lip until it drew blood and then spat at Pepin’s face.

  “Haha… this is… nothing,” he chuckled.

  Pepin stared at him, still confused. He could not understand how this weak-willed man still found cause to resist him. It was utterly fathomless, so strange and bizarre. Where was his fear? Where was his terror?

  Before the former emperor could move onto the next finger, however, he suddenly swerved around and held up his elbow, blocking Lucius’s canesword from piercing his nape.

  “Oh? You are a keen one, your Holiness,” Lucius said, stepping back and bidding the ghostly man a wide smile. “Do forgive my transgressions, but I shall have to ask that you let my dandy friend go.”

  Pepin narrowed his eyes and ignored Lucius, choosing instead to turn back to Ganelon. In response the gentleman did what any gentleman would do and leaned down, slicing at the tendons in Pepin’s heel, before quickly whisking Ganelon away as his foe momentarily dropped.

  “Hrm, an annoyance,” Pepin grunted. “Why must you interfere in what gives me such joy?”

  Lucius dusted Ganelon off and made sure he was in a presentable state, before replying, “Well, when a fellow requests for aid, is it not a gentleman’s duty to help in their time of need? So long as Ganelon still retains his conviction, then I shall ensure he remains whole and hardy.”

  “Will your meddling cease once I break it, then?”

  “I suppose I would if that were to actually happen.” Yes, indeed. Lucius cared only to step in so long as his budding seed wished it so. If Ganelon were to give up, then that would be his choice. If he still desired, against all odds and despite the pain, to push on and bloom at his radiant, then what else was a florist to do but help their dearly beloved blossom?

  Ganelon eventually caught his breath, his haggard expression paltry compared to the rage still permeating his being. His resistance was all well and good but continuing on like this would only result in their defeat. Pepin was too strong, too indomitable. Against a man who once terrorized the entire continent, there was little that two souls could do; so what was the solution?

  Simple, they just needed more people.

  “Sir Ganelon, my friend, will you follow my plan?” Lucius asked him. The High Tribunal briefly glanced back, too tired to speak, but after a slight nod the gentleman grinned and then turned to face Pepin.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “It has ever been a pleasure, your Holiness.” Lucius tidied his suit and then gave the former emperor the deepest, most respectful bow he could muster, before picking Ganelon up and doing what he did best.

  Running away.

  “Well, toodaloo!”

  With that, Lucius sprinted off—the man on his shoulder utterly baffled by the sudden turn of events—and Pepin could only gaze at them for a stunned moment, for he was too shocked. Too utterly baffled by the display of cowardice before his very sight.

  Never, in all his living or undead years, had he been subjected to such blatant insolence.

  The former emperor hung his head back and let out a guttural, enraged wail. It was a wail that shook the stone below them, sending tremors all throughout the tomb and even causing the ceiling to quake in erratic, trembling shifts. They had to escape now. In mere minutes, this once-holy land would be buried forevermore.

  “Are you truly so shameless to use the same provocations as you did against me?” Ganelon said, trying to avoid the embarrassment of being carried away.

  “All is fair in love and war, my friend,” Lucius replied. “And I’d love nothing more than to feel the fresh breeze of the outside.”

  The mad emperor’s wailing could still be heard behind them. It was getting closer.

  Soon the ground beneath opened up in great, bottomless pits. Lucius had to hop from spot to spot just to avoid falling into that darkness where his bones would never be found, but fortunately he didn’t need to do so for long. The steps leading back above ground were right in front of them. He ascended the steps and ran with all the strength his legs could muster; but right when he was about halfway up, Pepin approached the base and raised a steady fist.

  “You will never escape this tomb. Such is what I have decreed. Such is the will of the lord.”

  An explosive bang rang out beneath them, and Lucius looked down only to discover that he walked on solid steps no longer. The entire structure crumbled, obliterated by a single blow from Pepin; and so there was little the gentleman could do but freefall back to the mad tyrant’s clutches.

  Well, this was certainly a conundrum.

  “Agh, hold on… don’t let go of me, Lucius!”

  Ganelon held out his hand and summoned a rough squall that erupted upwards, sending the duo hurtling to the tomb's highest point. The High Tribunal paled in the face; he wheezed and grasped at his heart, unable to handle the strain of using his powers any longer. But his small act here was enough to give Lucius the time to buy a rope and stake from the shop. The gentleman wasted no time and tied the two together before throwing it, digging the stake deep into the nearest wall which allowed them to swing right into the tomb’s exit. What fun! Lucius hadn’t performed a maneuver like this since his adventures in the underground molemen maze hidden beneath New York City about a decade ago.

  Just because they managed to escape didn’t mean the pair was out of danger just yet. Giant stone debris collapsed, along with the buildings and city streets above, and began to fill the tomb. Dust clouds blanketed the air and covered everything in a hazy mess. If Lucius didn’t hurry, it’d reach him as well. Pepin’s mad rampage had yet to end. Everything in the vicinity would all come tumbling down.

  Soon, he saw it—a faint ray of light peeking through the Sanctum’s entrance. Lucius ran forth. He burst through the old doors and emerged back into the church, where a familiar group was waiting for him.

  “Sir Lucius, you are safe!” Roland cried, surrounded by the other Peers as well as the players. “Thank the Stars. We were just about to descend and search for—is that Ganelon in your hold!?”

  Instead of throwing himself into the welcoming arms of his fellows, Lucius instead rushed past them and hurried his way out. “I recommend that you follow me, my friends! Lest you wish to greet a nasty surprise.”

  The others gaped at him, confused, but it didn’t take long before panic flooded their expressions, for right behind them the church began to fall, sinking piece by piece into the void. The group all turned around and fled as quickly as they could. A deafening rumble echoed all throughout the city; and by the time everyone made it out, an entire district had disappeared, replaced by a giant hole.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t wide enough to reach the castle, and the capital had already been evacuated so there was no concern over casualties. When the group was convinced they were out of danger, they all took a collective breath, before rushing to Lucius and demanding for answers. None had forgotten the turmoil Ganelon had caused just a few hours before, yet here the man was being protected by the gentleman of all souls.

  “Damn this all. Will you noisy lot be silent for one second?” Ganelon shouted, exasperated by their judging stares. “Long story short: Lucius and I are in a truce. Happy? Good! Then for all that is holy, ready your weapons and prepare yourselves. We need to… need to stop that monster from escaping.”

  In the end, it was Archbishop Turpin who reigned in the group’s anger. The holy man pleaded for Roland and the other Peers to lower their blades, and he approached Ganelon with a quiet, but wary, demeanor. It was no wonder they didn’t trust him; but amongst them all, the most likely to hear him out was the priest who held the tenets of Chivalry dear to his heart.

  “You have much explaining to do, my old friend,” the Archbishop said. “I trust you understand the punishment for your crimes are grave, but let us set that aside for a later day. What has caused the city’s collapse? Why are you and Sir Lucius in such disgruntled states?”

  Ganelon opened his mouth, but decided to hold his tongue in, uncertain how to reply. The news of Pepin’s revival would no doubt send the nation spiraling into chaos; and yet, how else could he prepare them for the tyrant soon on their doorstep? Perhaps if he were to mask the truth, call it a demon using Pepin’s form as a disguise…

  Oh, but alas. He wouldn’t need to ponder over such matters for long.

  “Huh? Do you guys feel that?” Mili said, suddenly grabbing her shoulders and shuddering as if overcome with a chill. “I don’t like this. It feels really gross, and creepy, and disgusting…”

  The other players reacted similarly, a dark shadow slithering into their eyes. They didn’t understand what made them feel this way. And not only that, but it was getting stronger, more eerie. It was not the pressure of the Evils they had grown accustomed to fighting, and yet it was similar in how it caused their breaths to quicken, their hearts to shake, terrified, and the inevitable creeping sense of dread.

  “H-hey, Lucius?” Harper said, her voice raising in fright. “I, uh, think we need to get out of here. We need to get out of here. Now.”

  All at once, their primal instincts screamed in unison. It begged them to flee and to never look back. It wasn’t the first time they experienced something of this nature, and so they turned toward the Peers, to the native paladins of Francia who always seemed to hold strong no matter the foe they faced.

  And yet, when they looked at them now, it was not composure they saw. No, it was fear.

  A familiar, haunting fear they once believed themselves to have escaped.

  For they knew, didn’t they? They knew more than anyone else who now approached them from beyond the grave. They had trembled before it in the long years preceding the demons’ invasion. They had recoiled and cowered, hoping never to be caught in the thing’s wretched gaze. They spent their lives under constant fear of their ruler.

  The tyrant of countless names: He who was the Greatest Evil of All.

  That very man now plunged his arm through the rubble, and he emerged into the world for all to gaze upon.

  Bradamante and Angelica covered their mouths, horrified by the sickly wraith before them; Astolfo let go of his ivory horn and watched it thud onto the ground; Archbishop Turpin clasped his hands together and desperately recited a prayer; but perhaps the most terrified of them all was Roland.

  Roland, who was forced to witness the rebirth of his nightmare.

  “Oooh…

  “Hrm…

  “I see a myriad of faces, gorged and fattened by years of peace. My paladins, my knights, my loyal Peers. You are late. Kneel before your liege; obey the command of your emperor.”

  The players jumped in shock and stared at an unseeable screen. No doubt the quest’s mission had finally been revealed to them, confirming their worst fears—the enemy they now had to slay. And yet not a single soul deigned to move. Not one, except for Ganelon.

  The man grunted and broke away from Lucius’s hold. He gripped the holy sword and steadily made his way forth, moving past the frozen players, the petrified Peers, until he stood at the front of them all.

  Ganelon asked the group only one question. “Will you flee?” All their hostilities, their previous grudges and hatred… it didn’t matter anymore.

  Together, they had a common foe. That was the only reason needed for enemies to turn allies.

  “You have my blade, Uncle Ganelon,” Roland said, composing himself alongside the others. “Come, let this evil haunt us no longer.”

  For once in five long years, the Peers of Francia were all truly united.

  The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful.

  [The Distinguishedly Dandy Gentlemen Hall of Fame]