CHAPTER 29: THE FUGITIVE’S CHOICE

The Inquisitor’s words were a wall of finality. Each one a stone in the tomb they were building around him.

Judgment. Damnation. Purification.

Edward knew what those words meant. "Judgment" was a show trial. "Damnation" was the pre-written verdict. And "purification"... was a slow, agonizing execution. A public burning where his soul would be scoured from existence.

Surrender was not an option. It was just a choice between a quick death here and a slow one later.

He looked at Jack. At the cold, zealous light in the Inquisitor’s eyes. He saw no room for reason. No possibility of appeal. Then he looked at the circle of twelve silver-clad Templars. Their power-swords hummed with a righteous, lethal energy.

This was not a negotiation. It was a hunt. And the hunters had him cornered.

"I am not a killer," Edward said. His voice was quiet. Cold. Unwavering. Not a plea. A simple statement of fact. A final, defiant declaration of his own truth.

Jack’s serene smile returned. A look of pitying condescension. "The evidence disagrees with you, boy. As does the stain on your very soul. But do not worry. We will cleanse you of your lies along with your corruption."

He gave a subtle, imperceptible nod. "Take him."

The twelve Templars moved as one.

They advanced. A slow, inexorable, closing wall of consecrated silver plate. Their movements were perfectly synchronized. Their footfalls were a heavy, rhythmic death knell. A machine designed to capture and contain heretics.

Edward’s mind exploded into a whirlwind of pure, predatory instinct.

The choice had been made for him. If surrender was death, his only option was to fight. Not to win. Winning was impossible. But to escape.

He drew the Shadowfang Dagger. The black blade was a familiar, cold extension of his will.

He didn’t wait. He moved.

He exploded into motion. A blur of black against the white stone. He didn’t charge the line. He ran sideways. A feint designed to break their perfect formation. The Templars were forced to turn. Their formation was momentarily disrupted.

That was the only opening he needed.

He pivoted and shot through a gap between two of the knights. One swung his massive power-sword. The humming blade was meant to cut him in half.

Edward dropped into a slide. The greatsword passed harmlessly over his head. So close he could feel the thrum of its holy energy. He came up from the slide and was out. A fox that had just slipped through the jaws of a trap.

He didn’t stop. He sprinted across the courtyard. His destination was a high, ivy-covered wall. Freedom was on the other side.

"Contain the heretic!" Jack’s voice boomed. His serene composure finally cracked. Replaced by a sharp, angry command. "Do not let him escape!"

The Templars were fast. They pursued him. A relentless, clanking tide. One raised his arm. A length of silver chain shot from his wrist. A blessed chain for ensnaring corrupted beings.

It wrapped around Edward’s ankle. The holy energy bit into his flesh like a brand. He stumbled. Crashed to the ground. The Templar began to reel him in. A hooked fish on a line.

He twisted. His dagger flashed. He struck the chain. The black blade screeched against the consecrated metal. It failed to cut.

He was being dragged back. His escape was a fleeting, failed dream.

And then, a new, unexpected sound. A single, clear, feminine voice.

"Edward!"

He looked up. Sarah. Standing at the edge of the courtyard. Her face was a mask of terror and a fierce, defiant resolve. She had ignored the lockdown. Ignored the danger.

In her hand, she held a small, ornate music box. Her most prized possession.

With a cry of desperate courage, she hurled the music box. Not at the Templars. At a large, ornate stained-glass window.

The music box struck the massive window. A loud, discordant crack. The entire, twenty-foot-tall window exploded inwards. A spectacular, deafening cascade of colored glass and twisted lead.

The sound was a thunderclap. A shocking diversion. Every head, even Jack’s, snapped towards the sound. The Templar holding Edward’s chain was momentarily distracted. His grip slackened.

It was all the time Edward needed.

He couldn’t cut the chain. So he drove the tip of his dagger into the locking mechanism of the wrist launcher. The unholy metal shattered the consecrated gears. The chain went limp.

He was free.

He scrambled to his feet. His eyes met Sarah’s across the courtyard. He gave her a single, grateful nod. Her action had solidified her loyalty. But it had also branded her an accomplice. She was in grave danger now. Because of him.

No time to think. He turned and sprinted for the wall. The Templars, now roaring with fury, were hot on his heels. He reached the ivy-covered stone and began to climb.

He reached the top. He looked back. He saw Sarah being grabbed by two furious Royal Guards. He saw Jack, his face a mask of cold fury, pointing up at him.

He had a choice. Flee into the city. A marked man. The Inquisition would hunt him through every street.

His gaze fell upon the only other option. To his left, a dark, gaping maw. A high-level dungeon. A place students were forbidden from even approaching. A place of known danger. A place where even the Inquisition might hesitate to follow.

He made his choice. A desperate, insane choice. Flee from the world of men and into the world of monsters.

He leaped from the wall. He sprinted towards the dark maw of the dungeon. The shouts of the Templars were a fading echo.

He plunged into the suffocating, unnatural darkness. The transition from bright sun to cold gloom was a jarring shock.

The moment he crossed the threshold, his HUD flared to life. A new, terrifying notification. The system was not content to let the Inquisition have all the fun. It wanted its own pound of flesh.

`[Punishment Protocol: Activated for entering a dungeon significantly above recommended user level.]`

The air behind him, at the very entrance, shimmered and tore open. A new, temporary rift. Summoned by the system itself. From its depths, a horde of shadowy beasts began to pour out. Their glowing red eyes fixed on him with a singular, murderous intent.

They materialized behind him. Cutting off his only retreat.

He was trapped.

In front of him lay the unknown, lethal dangers of a high-level dungeon. Behind him lay a horde of punishment beasts. The system’s own personal assassins. And outside, the holy warriors of the Inquisition were waiting. He had escaped one cage only to find himself in another, more deadly one. Trapped between the monsters of the world and the monsters sent by his own personal god.