More Dark Deeds Await

The lingering scent of sulfur and burnt flesh clung to Bishop Dark’s worn leather duster like a second skin. He’d left the demon lord’s smoldering carcass to the carrion birds and the Church’s cleanup crew, a detail he paid little mind to. His mind, however, was a different kind of battlefield. Talia. The name echoed in the hollow chambers of his skull, a phantom limb that throbbed with a constant ache. She was alive. That was the miracle, the impossible truth that had shattered the carefully constructed bleakness of his existence. Alive, and tangled in the very darkness he was paid to purge.

He found himself back in his usual haunts, the smoky haze of ‘The Gilded Cage’ doing little to clear the fog in his head. A half-empty tankard of ale sloshed precariously on the table before him, the cheap stuff that burned a familiar path down his throat. Abbott Kale’s words, delivered with the usual blend of exasperation and weary resignation, still grated. “Bishop. We appreciate your… efficiency. But the Church cannot condone further… unsanctioned excursions. This ‘Talia’ situation is a personal matter. Your work for us must remain strictly professional.”

Professional. The word tasted like ash. Bishop Dark had never been professional. He was a blunt instrument, a consecrated wrecking ball swung by a regretful deity. He drank too much, fought too hard, cursed with the fervor of a preacher gone astray, and fucked with the desperate intensity of a man trying to outrun his own demons. And now, he had a sister to find, a sister who was apparently a magnet for infernal attention. The Church’s ultimatum hung heavy in the air, a silken noose. Continue hunting their designated evils, and they’d look the other way on his personal vendetta. Deviate, and they’d likely find a more… manageable hunter for their dirty work.