Chapter Text
The old Templar, with his blade raised above his head, dripping with blood and black grime, roared wildly as he charged the mage. The mage, amused by the Templar’s fury, smiled a sadistic grin. He took the dagger in his left hand and sliced his right palm. Blood soaked the floor and a swirl of energy burst outward from where the mage stood. The force threw the old Templar on his back and knocked his blade from his hand and the air from his lungs. The old Templar gasped for air and rolled to his belly. He quickly pushed himself up on his knees and looked around desperately for his blade. Then he heard it, a bone chilling shriek that curdled his blood. He looked back over his shoulder at the mage who no longer stood alone. The mage pointed at him with a bloody finger and the grotesque black shape by his side streaked toward the old Templar. Out of the corner of his eye, the old Templar saw the glint of his sword. He crawled hastily towards it. As he grabbed the hilt of the blade and swung around to counter the demon’s attack, long fingers like obsidian daggers pierced through his ribs and tore open his flesh. He hadn’t been quick enough.
The old Templar choked on his blood. His sword slipped from his fingers. He barely heard the clang as it fell against the stone floor. As the world faded to black, he saw a lean figure fill the door way in front of him. All he could recognize was the gold curls. He knew the young Templar. Talented and noble, but the lad didn’t stand a chance.
“Run.” The old Templar breathed.
“Farris!” the young Templar cried out as his mentor fell forward. The mage’s cruel laugh echoed in the chamber.
“I’ve waited so long for this!” He shouted. The demon shrieked happily, echoing the mage’s excitement. It charged the young Templar, but he was already running. He was no fool. He was unarmed but even if he weren’t, if Farris was no match for the demon, then neither was he.
He heard the creature pursuing him. It cried out, thrilled by the hunt. But the young Templar didn’t look back. He kept running. He heard the fighting all around him. He recognized the voice of one of his comrades, Annlise, as she wailed in agony. She was a brilliant swordsman and a righteous Templar. But it didn’t’ matter. Her scream was cut short as the demons and the blood mages that commanded them overcame her. The young Templar couldn’t help her. He kept running. Then he turned a corner and instantly recognized one of his closest friends laying in a pool of blood on the ground.
“Beval.” The young Templar choked.
The eyes of the dead Templar, white and wide from terror, bored into him as he stood frozen from shock. The sound of the demon pursuing him grew louder. Soon it would be upon him. But he couldn’t move. Farris. Annlise. Beval. They were all dead. And he had been helpless and unable to save them. Hadn’t that been the point? All those years of training, leaving his family, taking the- lyrium. It was supposed to have prepared him for this! And yet, he had been utterly useless!
The voices of his fallen comrades filled his head. No, the young Templar couldn’t help them, but he could still survive. He could live to fight another day. He could live to avenge them! Finally, he did as they pleaded. He ran.
The young Templar was nearing the Harrowing chamber when he dared a glance over his shoulder. He didn’t see the demon chasing him. He burst through the first door he came upon and slammed it shut behind him. He pushed both hands against it and leaned in with all his weight, preparing for something to try and force it open. But nothing did. He panted for breath. His heart raced in his chest. He listened. But there were no sounds coming from outside. He pressed his ear to the door. Still, nothing. He relaxed a little. But then, in the corner of his vision he saw sudden movement.
He wasn’t alone.
He whirled around and there, inches from his face, was an eerily beautiful demon. It stared through his eyes and into his soul. With a voice rich as honey she mewled his name.
“Cullen.”