Trial By Combat

“Grand Inquisitor... Tristan Grandark.”

Velgrand stood tall, smug in his smirk, coat fluttering in the sulfur-laced breeze.

So did Saul, eyes dark, his posture tight.

Johann and James stepped back a little, astounded.

And Tristan, stone cold and sharp, stared straight into Velgrand's eyes.

Velgrand clapped slowly.

“Oh, sorry,” he scoffed at himself. “I slipped, my apologies. But, might as well say it in case you forgot to tell them, right? Saul, what do you think?”

Saul remained silent.

“Oof, looks like I ticked a sore spot.” Velgrand continued, then turned towards the brothers, making a face.

“Go away, Velgrand. This is none of your business.” Saul said.

Velgrand paused, then shrugged. “Don't make this difficult, Saul... Okay, here's the deal, I wi—”

“Velgrand, right? What do you want?”

Velgrand went silent. The look in his eyes turned to a veiled disdain for Tristan's interruption.

“Saul...” Tristan said.

Saul looked at him.

“Go back in and close the gates,” Tristan requested, looking straight ahead.

He watched Tristan for a beat. With a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes.

“Johann. James. Let's go,” he told the brothers as he turned around.

Johann followed Saul without looking at Tristan, brows furrowed.

When all three were inside, the gates shut.

Tristan and Velgrand exchanged glances.

“One more time, what do you want?”

Velgrand, mock offended by Tristan's bluntness, replied, “So, you beat up my men. I didn't really care if they died, but I just can't let this opportunity pass.”

Tristan glared at the demon taunting him.

“I just wanted to fight a Grand Inquisitor.”

A strong gust blew between them. Thick clouds formed in the sky, with red flashes of lightning jumping from one thundercloud to another.

“There’s nothing for you here, so go away," Tristan said, turning toward the gate.

Velgrand raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Alright, but where are you going? Did you think those gates would still open for you?”

Tristan stopped.

"They must have figured it out already. You are the reason they're trapped here.”

Velgrand leaned forward, taunting Tristan further.

“Was that true, Inquisitor? How long have you been lying to these poor souls who expected a chance at paradise?”

Tristan understood everything he said. His fists clenched, his jaw tightened.

“I don't remember everything. I will answer for our sins, but not to you.”

Velgrand's brows raised, and he shook his head.

“So are Inquisitors these stoic, self-righteous pricks who can get away with anything because they're the 'good' guys?"

"Oh. Oh... wait, here's a little something for you," Velgrand followed up, wagging a finger. "I heard that you were looking for someone... named Lira?"

Tristan's nerves flared at the mention of her name. He turned his head over his shoulder, eyes bathed in newfound rage.

Velgrand stifled a big laugh as he saw Tristan's expression change.

"Do I have your attention now?" he laughed. "Let's make this simple. Beat me, I'll tell you what I know. If I win, I get nothing. Just bragging rights."

Velgrand barely finished his sentence when Tristan's fist arched toward him, tagging his jaw. Velgrand slid back to minimize the damage, wiping the blood off his lips.

"Wow, didn't know holy people can sucker punch," Velgrand quipped.

In a fluid motion, he tossed his coat towards one of his minions, cracking his knuckles. A maniacal grin broke out on his face as he clenched his fists.

They took a breath. And they leapt into the storm.

— • —

Back at the camp, gloom settled as Saul, Johann, and James entered their tent. 

"Boss..." Johann quietly asked. "You think he'll be alright?"

Saul's fingers clenched tightly around his cane. Velgrand's revelations were still inside his head, grating at him.

"I don't know," Saul replied grimly. "This is his trial. Guilt or innocence, he is on his own, for now."

The tent closed on the heavy torrent that followed, leaving Tristan's fate to himself.

— • —

At the battlefield, the noise of rain concealed every sound.

In the mist, there were two people. One standing, and the other, on his knees.

Tristan weakly propped himself up as the downpour weighed on him, turning the pool beneath him red. He clawed through the mud as his mind began to slip.

Just like his victim on the night of his descent.

He’d never believed much in karma. But tonight, whatever it was, it had found him.

Velgrand stared down, half-lidded. A dark, but luminous blade's streaks of red were washed clean by the rain.

"I thought I was the underdog. That was..." Velgrand scoffed as he dispelled his blade. "I've overdone it."

He turned and took his coat from a bodyguard.

"I admit, you tagged me with good ones. The sucker punch included." He mocked. "I should honor your efforts by showing you how much I looked forward to this fight."

Again, Velgrand marched towards him.

Tristan's almost dead eyes suddenly moved, glaring with defiance. He rose up with his remaining strength, despite the cold hastening the loss of his consciousness.

Velgrand didn't flinch. He extended an arm, conjuring a massive array of blades and weapons from a halo summoned by demon magic.

"Disappointing."

Those were the last words Tristan heard before everything went black.

— • —

Tristan wallowed in the darkness. In the pain and the bruises, and in the smell of his blood.

He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were too heavy.

He tried. Slowly. Patiently. Like untangling chains off his chest, he finally broke through.

The dream was over. Or so he thought.

His eyes opened, finding an empty, cold room. He moved his fingers, but he could not feel them.

He glanced at the window on his side. Same crimson sky. Same bright moon.

The door clicked, followed by groans of rusty hinges. He sensed feet shuffling in, heels clacking. Then a shadow stood beside his bed.

"How are you feeling, Grandark?"

A woman's voice. Cool, deep, but urgent. Almost transactional. Her words barely registered in his ears 

He tried to speak, but something muffled his words.

The woman sighed. "Right. Wait a moment."

She left, then returned with a few attendants. They took off his bandages, and he felt like a dead man miraculously brought back to life.

Tristan tried to feel himself. There was pain everywhere. He winced at small movements, but better than feeling nothing.

"You should have been dead. But by whatever gods you believed in, you weren't." The lady in boots told him.

Tristan weakly nodded. Then, like a thunderbolt, he remembered something.

"Wait, Saul, the..."

"The Lazarus camp?" the lady interrupted. She paused for a moment, then exhaled. "Velgrand destroyed the commune days ago."

Tristan froze, eyes wide.

"They burned everything down. There were... casualties. One of the brothers, James, I believe... He's fighting for his life right now."

A tear fell without meaning it. He gripped the sheets, suddenly numbed by the howls in his head. He gritted hard, arms shaking as he finally broke.

In that trial, he was judged guilty, and the price had been paid.

The lady's gaze on him softened. She felt the urge to pat his shoulder, but she pulled herself back.

"I know how you feel, but there are more pressing concerns. I'm Morrigan and I will be your guide."

Tristan took a deep, shaky breath as Morrigan offered him a hand.

"Can you walk? Come with me. The Godfather wants to meet you."