Chapter 10
A Hunter's Reckoning
The pieces finally click into place. Bishop uncovers irrefutable proof: the werewolves were framed. The attacks were staged, the narrative carefully crafted. The true threat is human, a conspiracy woven into the very fabric of the Church, designed to destabilize the region and seize control of its resources. The orchestrator is revealed, a figure of authority twisted by ambition and a perverted sense of faith. Bishop’s cynical worldview is shaken; the evil he hunts isn't always monstrous, but often wears a holy robe.
The stench of pine and something far more acrid, like burnt faith, clung to Bishop’s cloak. He ran a hand over the rough wool, the familiar grit of his trade a comforting, if unsettling, sensation. Whisper. What a goddamn joke of a name for a place that had been screaming bloody murder for weeks. And he, Bishop Dark, hunter of everything that crawled out from under a rock with too many teeth, was here to… well, to silence the screaming. Or at least figure out who was doing the screaming, and why.
Abbot Kale’s missive had been as terse and joyless as ever. “Werewolf incursions. Hamlet of Whisper. Standard protocol. Eliminate threat. Report.” Standard protocol for Bishop usually involved a lot of shouting, a lot of fire, and a significant amount of collateral damage that the Church of Radiant Light would then have to sweep under some very dusty, very expensive rugs. They regretted hiring him, he knew. Every damn day. But when you needed a problem solved with the subtlety of a falling anvil, Bishop was your man.
He’d arrived with the usual fanfare: a hangover that threatened to peel his eyeballs from their sockets, a sword that hummed with the righteous fury of a thousand suns – the Soul Sun, a bit dramatic, but effective – and a general disposition that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else, preferably with a bottle of something potent and a willing companion. Sister Petra, bless her naive little heart, was usually that companion. Though he suspected her vows were getting closer, and with them, the inevitable, soul-crushing chasm that would open between them. He wasn't sure he could handle that particular brand of evil.
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