She placed her lantern on the altar while looking around.

  The light fully revealed the statue behind the altar. The skull face looked down impassively at her. The doors on each side could also be made out.

  She did a slow turn, taking it all in.

  She treated the few wounds she had acquired on the journey here. As they were few and light, this didn’t take long.

  I wondered what she thought about it all. Not just the building, but everything since passing through the gates. I was restricted from interacting, of course, but that did not mean I wasn’t curious.

  It turns out so was she. She picked up the lantern from the altar and began walking around. She knew she was safe here and was in no hurry to complete the ritual of making the offering. There was no rule against this, but most Challengers who made it this far got out of the way quickly.

  She held the lantern up high as she walked around, inspecting everything that caught her interest. She paused at one of the alcoves, catching sight of the wooden board there. She walked over and checked the list of names inscribed upon it. Everyone is a Challenger who has succeeded. I wondered again what she thought of that.

  She paused their reading, even reaching out and touching the wooden board. She wondered if she was going to join them? Or would the dungeon claim her as well as another unknown failure?

  She walked back to the altar more slowly this time. She glanced at the doors but decided not to investigate them further. I passively watched it all.

  The altar was graced once again by her lantern, and this time she was more businesslike. She was digging around her apron pockets. She pulled out bottles and small packets of different powders. She was rearranging them and placing them back into her pockets. The apron was partly hanging off, and now one of the straps had been cut. She put a satchel on the altar and dug through it, producing a set of needles and some thread. She quickly sewed the apron back together. It was not as strong as it originally was, but it would hold for now. She seemed satisfied with her work and put everything away again.

  She lifted the satchel off and went to another pew and left it there before going back to the altar. She placed both hands upon the altar with the lantern off to the side. Her head was slightly bowed, and her eyes were closed. Was she praying? Or just preparing herself?

  The voice surprised me. “Oh, Earth Mother, see the path I walk. Oh, Sister Moon, light the path I must walk and guide me true.”

  Her voice was firm and confident. It was the voice of someone who knew themselves and how to lead others in dark times.

  “I stand here in this place of trials in blood. Half my journey is finished as I wait for dawn’s light. Help me reach the end of this path unbroken to find the healing I need.”

  With that, she stood up straight, opening her eyes and reached in under her apron. They seem to be a pocket on the inside, and she pulled out something wrapped in material from it. It was here that I saw her first signs of hesitancy, as whatever was wrapped up in that material was very precious to her. The rules were obvious: something they truly valued had to be sacrificed. I was interested to see what hers would be.

  Her hand shook slightly as she placed it on the altar and unwrapped the material. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in high-quality white cotton with a floral pattern around the edges.

  With great tenderness and slow, deliberate movements, she revealed its contents, her hands shaking. It was a lock of hair, tied in a pink silk bow. As she showed it, she began to cry gentle tears, and I could tell she was holding back sobs.

  Her first tears drop from her face and hit the altar. I was located between the statue of the altar, facing her directly, watching all. Her eyes were focused on the hair resting on the cotton handkerchief.

  She was taking deep breaths, trying to focus herself as emotions still racked her mind and body.

  [Challenger’s offering has been accepted.]

  Everything shifted around me.

  I could see the Challenger holding a baby. I could feel her love for the child, a girl. I saw the child grow ill, and the Challenger used all of her knowledge and skills to try to heal the child. Then a funeral and a small casket are laid into the ground.

  As suddenly as it began and ended.

  I was once more in my church, on the other side of my altar, facing the Challenger as she wept openly, hands over her face.

  Those distant emotions inside me were still there, and they ached. Unfortunately, the ravages of time and changes to my perception of the world meant that I did not indulge them as I should have. This was the clearest example to me of how I was becoming colder and more distant from humanity.

  Part of me wondered what paths this would lead me down.

  My internal thoughts were disrupted when the Challenger stepped away from the altar and went to the pew where her satchel was located. She had lifted the lantern off as she walked away from the altar and now rested on the pew next to her. She reached into the satchel and began to eat and drink over the next half hour, her eyes fixated on the item resting on the altar.

  Eventually, she put everything away and sat there just looking at the altar. Time passed slowly, and she alternated between periods of silence and grief-racked sobs. I did know that going through this was destroying her mentally, or she was finally healing from the death of her child.

  I watched it all as a silent witness.

  She didn’t sleep. She did drink more often from the canteen. She even switched the lantern off for a while to conserve the oil. Close to dawn, she got up and prepared to leave. The first hints of birdsong can now be heard.

  She was torn. That was obvious. Go back and collect the hair locket, or go for the doors. She was turning and stepping in both directions, but then backing up. She knew the way she had to go, but her grief still held onto her. The ghost of a child still haunts her even now.

  She stopped and took a deep breath, closing your eyes. She took a determined step away from the altar, back towards the doors. Then she took another, and then another. Soon she was walking away from the altar, and her shoulders tightened rigidly, not turning back.

  She reached the doors and gripped one of the handles tightly. She did open it, but instead pressed ahead on the cold wooden door. I could tell she was crying again, and sobs racked her body.

  She stood there for a few more minutes and then suddenly flung open the door and walked out.

  The game was back on.

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  McGregor was the first up now.

  The Challenger walked quickly around the church, retracing the route she had taken to reach here. She was walking at a good pace, seeking to get out quickly. Ahead of her, I spotted Rigger still standing stupefied, looking at whatever was in his hand. I was a bit concerned about him.

  The Challenger sidestepped him and continued, avoiding any physical contact. The look of sheer disgust on her face as she beheld him was clear to see. She was still gripping her scythe in her hand, but I produced another item from her apron, which was secured in her other hand.

  She continued walking, leaving the second ring, and when she entered the third, McGregor made his move. I hadn’t seen him as he was well hidden. The challenge had walked right past him before he had revealed himself. And I only saw him because I was looking around, trying to figure out where he was.

  He was moving surprisingly quietly for the pace. He was closing in, aiming for a blitz attack to take down his target quickly. I knew you were named killer outright and would be seeking to extend her suffering as much as he could.

  The necklace she wore alerted her to the danger just as he made to strike at her. She turned, stepping to the side, but not quickly enough, and his blade sliced along her arm. This time, the route was deep and bled profusely. She cried out in pain, dropping whatever she had in her hand.

  He went to cut her again, savouring her pain and fear. This time, she was able to get her scythe up enough to block the strike. She was backtracking quickly, trying to get space between them, but he was staying close to her to dominate the fight.

  He was playing with her now.

  His strikes were not as fast or as strong as they could be, making sure she was able to parry them. Her other arm hung limply, dripping blood; it seems that she was badly hurt. She was trying to move her arm to get it to the pocket on her apron, but it wasn’t responding as it should. His attacks were also keeping her off-balance.

  This was a dangerous strategy, but he loved to make people suffer, especially women. He was the most sadistic of my Hunters without question. The others indulged in it when it suited them, but he, on the other hand, revelled in it.

  This made him overconfident too often, and he has suffered for it many times. Had he learned from this? We are about to see.

  The Challenger was now being pinned up against the wall of a mausoleum.

  He had gone through her guard again, but a heavy leather apron protected him from any serious injury. She had managed to get her arm into one of the pockets as she fought him off with the other one holding the scythe.

  “You’re making another mistake.”

  I said as I watched the fight, a sadistic grin dominating his face. He should have finished her off or at least prevented her from moving. I waited to see if he would suffer for it.

  He cut the Challenger again, this time just above the collarbone. She had cried out in pain, and he was loving every second of it, drinking it all in like a fine wine. He wasn’t paying attention to what the other hand was doing.

  He pressed forward for another attack, but with another cry of pain, the Challenger flung some powder into his face.

  His sadistic grin ended as the skin bubbled and turned red. He grabbed his face, screaming in pain, and collapsed to his knees. The Challenger didn’t hesitate and turned and ran as fast as she could with her injuries.

  The footfalls were not as confident as they could have been, as she was swaying quite a bit. Blood loss was starting to take its toll. My Hunter was left curled up in the faecal position, still screaming in pain.

  Mentally, I shook my head as we departed the area. He still hadn’t learned.

  The Challenger travelled as far as she could before her injuries forced her to stop and have them treated. She has bandages and various salves from her satchel to treat injuries. She was even forced to stitch the injury on her arm. Her face was twisted into a grimace of pain throughout the whole procedure, and she was biting down on a piece of leather cord.

  When she had finished, she collapsed back against the base of the statue. She was breathing hard, her face pale. Her clothes were covered in blood now. I wondered if she could make it to the end.

  In the distance, the sky was changing colour; dawn was here. This meant she only had to reach more hunters to reach the gates. The spirit was to the north of the graveyard and out of play here.

  Roberson was next with Blackstone to the north. In theory, she could get around Roberson and get to the gates before Blackstone caught up to her. But no Blackstone, he would be close to the gates, naturally knowing that most challengers would make a run for them.

  It will be exhibiting what she does now.

  She drinks and eats more before picking herself up. She is moving extremely slowly and wincing regularly. She takes a step, then another, slowly working through the pain and getting used to moving with her injuries. Soon, she is moving at a respectable pace.

  She is looking to the east as she walks. It wouldn’t be long now before the sun crests the horizon. It will take a little longer to get above the trees, and the light touches the gates, but it will be coming soon.

  As she walked, she reached into her pocket again, pulling out another bottle. This takes a great deal of time and pain. She pauses, putting her scythe on a nearby gravestone. She uncorked the bottle and downed the contents in a single gulp. This causes her to double over slightly and breathe hard, but then she straightens up.

  She retrieves a weapon and resumes walking. The change quickly comes over her as she walks with greater certainty; she seems less affected by the pain of her injuries.

  What was in that bottle?

  Whatever it was, he was giving her a second wind, allowing her to push through her pain. But at what cost, I wondered? She was still pale but was now sweating. Whenever she kept moving, it came at a price. Throw in the fact that he was coming down from an adrenaline high, and I suspected that it was only one helluva cost.

  I shifted back to my normal position following her. I was now on the lookout for Roberson.

  She was moving through the graveyard, and the sun was now over the horizon, lighting up the world once more. The dawn chorus was in full effect as wildlife came back to life, with birds in the air or singing in the trees.

  She had passed through the third and fourth rings without incident. She was deep into the fifth now and approaching the sixth. I’d expected Roberson to appear by now, but he had shown up. Where was he?

  If he did not show up soon, she would have a straight run at the gates.

  She passed back into the sixth ring. In the distance, you can make out the courtyard that leads to the gates. She was moving at a steady pace but was doing her best to remain aware of her surroundings. She couldn’t survive another ambush.

  She passed through the open area that marked the south-eastern section of the ring. The benches ring the space, and she walked straight past them, her focus mainly on the courtyard nearby. It was then that Robson stepped out in front of her, his almost cleaver-like blade drawn, ready to be used.

  This caused her instantly to stop. I could see her face as I was behind her, but I think she was unhappy to see another Hunter at the very least.

  She started grasping desperately for the pocket in front of her apron as he began to advance on her. Roberson was also a bit overconfident, but not as bad as McGregor. Unfortunately, here he was viewing her as a wounded and tired Challenger and her weakest. He didn’t realise the danger she still possessed with her tricks hidden in her apron.

  He took a step forward, then, with his second step, charged at her. He wanted to end as quickly. This unfortunately worked against him. As he charged straight into a cloud of dust, she threw from a hand.

  He stopped, sneezed, rubbed his face, and backed up slightly. He shook his head and refocused on the Challenger. Whenever she had affected him, he went on the attack again.

  It seems she had finally made the wrong decision with her tricks.

  As Roberson ran at her, she made a decision and took action, which surprised me. She charged him. Roberson didn’t break away, closing the distance between them, but as he came to swing her, she fell to her knees and swung with her own scythe. She went under his guard as he overbalanced, missing her. The hook of the blade ripped into his guts, carving deep. He snarled in pain, staggering back with their blade still in his guts—the dark red blood pumped from the wound, staining the front of his clothes.

  He reached down and began pulling it free, but the hook was in deep. He was in more pain and snarling more as he did so, but the Challenger wasn’t idle during this time. She quickly scrambled back to her feet and was running again.

  She was making a headlong charge to the courtyard and the gates. The sun had reached over the trees now, and the light had arrived.

  Robson pulled the blade from his intestine, but wasn’t following her right away as he was trying to put them back in as if some of them had come out. His dark red blood stains the stone pathway you are standing on.

  I passed him, catching up with the Challenger as she fled.

  Roberson was still active as a hunter so that Blackstone couldn’t cross into his grounds just yet. She might make it.

  Blackstone appeared in the distance on the other side, unable to cross but ready in case he could. This caused the Challenger to run even faster, and Roberson was now tracking. He was moving more slowly because he was still holding in his intestines.

  She skidded into the courtyard and ran with all of her remaining strength to the gates.

  She passed through them and tripped, falling to the ground.

  She had made it.

  In the distance, from deep within the graveyard, the church bells began tolling, announcing to the world that a new Challenger had emerged victorious.

  I closed the gates.

  Time to review what had happened.