It ends as it began. With blood.

  -The Journal of the Bannerman

  Through bleary eyes, the Bannerman stared out at the cruel sun rising over a dissipating storm. Below, the sounds of the channel roared, and the distant peppering of artillery dragged him back to Litch’s castle.

  “Damn her!” He cursed, damn her cursed path. His hand shot towards the small of his back, where he had fallen, and he rubbed a gash that tore with his coat and shirt. As he rolled over, bolts of pain and fear shot up his spine as he beheld the roaring sea below. Get up, get up! He tried to yell at his rebelling flesh. There remains still, he gasped and clawed, but one narrow path to victory.

  From the castle doorway, lumbering steps approached. The Bannerman’s eyes shot upward, and he gazed with fear as the La’Anatula loomed. He was tall and thin. He glowered with his sullen face, which was as pale as a ghost. The La’Anatula’s cruel flesh was drenched in a blood-stained, ill-fitted black Ahnenerbe uniform.

  The Bannerman’s body ached, his mind reeled, but he reached for his service pistol. Damn her, he thought. Damn her fate, he spat as his fingers fumbled across the clip of his holster. Empty, the Bannerman’s hands trembled as his eyes danced around the walkway until he spied his pistol lying just out of reach, next to the heavy boots of his brother.

  “Surrender to him…” growled the La’Anatula, "he is your only salvation, now. Join him as I have, brother!” The La’Anatula gathered over the Bannerman, blood dripping from his skeletal hands. Gnawing fear consumed the Bannerman’s mind.

  “You still have a chance… Reijl…” Breathed the Bannerman to his brother, “One last chance to make this right…” The Bannerman’s voice cracked as he gazed beyond the La’Anatula to another man stepping out onto the narrow catwalk.

  There marched a gaunt creature. His body twisted unnaturally under a neatly curated uniform. He readjusted an iron cross strapped to his breast pocket before loosening the silken strings around a golden mask. Behind it, the Bannerman could see two wretched eyes marked thrice by Death. His face was disfigured and dried, like a mummified scream.

  “No!” Gasped the Bannerman before steeling his resolve. There is but one narrow path, he remined himself as his bones trembled before the vicious visage of the Litch. Shadows gathered around them, and unholy darkness enveloped the trio.

  With a wicked smile and cold, cruel eyes, the Litch drew ever closer, and the Bannerman reached desperately for his service pistol. Just another inch, the Bannerman reeled, the last path to victory.

  “I can reason with him, Heydrich,” pleaded the La’Anatula as the Bannerman spat and glared at the Litch through boiling eyes and gritted teeth. Far below, a fire burst from the windows of Mont-Saint-Michel, and boiling heat roiled the Bannerman’s weary flesh. The distant sounds of artillery drew closer.

  They are too late, thought the Litch as he laid a hand on his pistol, too late to save Hurona’s precious Bannerman. The words in his mind felt like a sweet poison that tickled the tip of his tongue. His warped mind wrapped around the thought of his reward and promises made in a vile tomb, far away.

  “You were supposed to join her, Reijl,” cried the Bannerman to his brother, “instead... You set her plans alight... You were supposed to help me end their darkness before it began.” His breath was quick, and the fire’s smoke burned the Bannerman’s throat. “Now they shall march like a shadow across the universe!” The La’Anatula’s gaunt eyes flitted between the Litch and his brother, his flesh unmoved by word or thought.

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  With strained effort, the Bannerman tried to force his hand an inch further, reaching ever further when the heavy boot of the La’Anatula crashed down and snapped the Bannerman’s wrist. With a cruel grin, the Litch drew closer.

  “Your Goddess should have planned better,” Growled the Litch, “Once I destroy you… I need only wait for your inevitable return… for Hurona’s last… holy Bannerman,” the Litch spat the words and laughed as he tossed a tattered copy of a antique book before the Bannerman’s face, “By then, I will be more powerful than you could ever imagine. I’ll sit atop the immortal throne of an endless Empire… across the stars!”

  The Bannerman sneered as the Litch peeled back his mottled flesh, showing the carving of the Gods across his furrowed brow, “I shall be an Emperor! And should you fail to grovel before me… You will be crushed,” his voice roiled and burned, “once… And for all.”

  “Lord Heydrich…” Gasped the La’Anatula, “Is there not another way. Can he not join us on our quest? Overthrow her will, as I have…” Reijl’s voice devolved into a blubbering plea, “I… I can persuade him, Lord!”

  “I would rather die,” Spat the Bannerman. The La’Anatula’s face stiffened.

  The Bannerman’s eyes remained transfixed on the Litch’s rotten, fetid flesh, molting from the flames below, “face it… Bannerman…” Said the Litch, “I know her plans. I see her Golden path… Her gospel of death… You shall not pass through the narrow strip of victory. And her last Bannerman shall lie dead at my feet soon enough or serve me eternally in my endless empire.”

  “Hurona will be ready when my soul returns to this plane.” Replied the Bannerman, “And you shall see her holy works marked as holy fire on the fields of eternal battle!” His defiant voice infuriated the Litch. The La’Anatula shuddered, and his hands shook violently.

  “No,” gasped Reijl as his merciful eyes looked upon his brother. Hope faded from his cursed heart.

  “That may be,” Growled Heydrich as he knelt beside the Bannerman with his luger drawn, “but I will be waiting... I will kill you again. Her first and last, I will end your cursed cycle!” He bashed the Bannerman’s head with the butt of the pistol. Blood spilled down the Bannerman’s brow and pooled beneath his eyes before streaming down his cheeks.

  The Litch then placed a gloved finger on the Bannerman’s temple, “I will destroy your holy ring… Your holy soul… For all time,” he bore his yellowed teeth and tore a loose piece of flesh away before re-affixing the mask to his face. The fires below billowed, choking black smoke around them.

  “Servant!” snapped the Litch, “Do it,” he growled as the La’Anatula looked at his master, then back at his brother. The Bannerman glared with hopeful eyes, “kill him… Now!”

  The narrow path is here at last, thought the Bannnerman, all you must do is take it, betray your master. His hopeful eyes faded, brother. The stars of fate drew ever closer to a point of decision.

  “You know what you must do," the Bannerman pleaded, “you can make things right… She loves you… You know this."

  The La’Anatula stared down at his pistol, then at the Litch. His worried eyes were filled with regret as he aimed the pistol at the Bannerman. There cannot be forgiveness for the sins I have committed, the La’Anatula thought as his hands began to shake, again.

  “I’m sorry, brother,” he said as he squeezed the trigger. The shock of the recoil forced the pistol from his hand, and he fell to his knees in tears, “Hurona… What have I done?” He pleaded. Before them both lay the hollow flesh of the Bannerman, struck between the eyes. From flesh to holy metal, the Bannerman’s body quickly faded, leaving a single golden ring behind.

  “You did what was right,” Grimaced the Litch as he pointed his luger at the weeping La’Anatula and fired. The two fell as golden rings onto the thin metal catwalk as the Litch knelt beside them with a sneer of unfulfilled victory.

  “To hell, Bannerman…” Rumbled the Litch, “that your power may never be used against me,” he growled as he tossed the Bannerman’s golden ring into the fires below and watched as the Bannerman’s soul withered and melted. Slowly, he turned to the fallen La’Anatula’s ring and picked it up.

  “I have another purpose in mind for you,” laughed the Litch as he held a silver mirror aloft and dropped the golden ring of the La’Anatula on it like a drop of water on a placid lake. The golden ring disappeared into the mirror’s depths. He tucked the mirror away into his overcoat and smiled wickedly.

  Then, in his ears, strange voices whispered. The Litch’s hair stood on end as they spoke softly, “you must away, young Litch,” they said, “prepare the vessel of her brother… Bring forth our servant, Ozymandias.”