Lincoln Cole

Six months later...

Abigail watched in horror when Haatim disappeared into the crevice. It seemed like watching through a blurry window, as she remained only vaguely aware of her surroundings. Still locked in mortal combat with the demon, it tried to finish crushing her.

Nigel's eyes lit up as an idea struck him. "Wait a second," he said, pulling out his datapad. "Now that the power's back on, maybe we can access the station's systems and find some useful information."

He couldn’t help but blink and take a deep breath. Mahkinson turned, eyes still on Gregory, and waved a hand at the executioner. The sword was raised once more. Gregory knew that what he was likely getting himself killed but didn’t give himself time to make a rational decision.

He didn’t cut the rope off Gregory’s hands, though, keeping him bound, and there was still about six feet of slack dragging from his wrists to the ground, but he wasn’t about to complain.  The man patted himself on the chest.

He started moving that direction, crouched, and reached for the arrow.  He almost had it, only inches away, and then his hands stopped moving.  He was at the end of his rope.

When he first heard the sound, he passed it off as wind rustling through the trees. It was like a soft whooshing in the air above him, and he only asserted importance to it when he heard cries from off the right side of camp.

Something big was planned, he knew.  Was it true that the Duke was a heretic?  The city held two churches, large structures dedicated to the God Annis. The true God, the one that the priests spoke of.

The captain spoke again: “If it is any consolation, the wound to your stomach missed all of your vital organs and did minor damage. You should recover fully within a few days,” the captain said. “You should be fully healed by the time of your execution.”