I give our troops outside the sewer updates on our movements, letting them know when we turn left and right, constantly following Roger, who steadily traces the priest's scent. The troops relay this information to my father in the bunker, allowing him to track our progress on his maps.
About half an hour later, Roger glances back, his eyes fierce. I nod, understanding. We're very close.
I raise my hand, signaling the troops to be on alert. Behind me, I feel their bodies tense, preparing for action.
We continue to prowl through the sewers, moving as quietly as possible. Roger rounds a corner, and I'm close behind, when I see light—bright golden light, a stark contrast to the grey, mossy sewer. We pause, listening. What was that?
A clanging rings from an open door to our left, almost identical to the one we just passed. Roger was right; the priest needed to set up shop—again. A clanging comes from inside, rising to a painfully high pitch. Roger winces and moves toward the door, but suddenly—
A figure emerges. Roger and I react instantly.
Roger leaps, a snarl ripping from his throat, aiming for the priest. I shout a command for our troops to surround and contain him.
The priest's face is shocked as he spins toward us, just as Roger collides with him, slamming the priest to the floor in the slushy grey water.
I move toward them, shouting, trying to cut off the priest's escape route. As I pass Roger, I see the priest's expression shift from surprise and fear to fury, menace, and then a gleeful hate.
I block his exit, tense and ready, as Roger lowers his snarling face, warning the priest to stay still. But the priest bares his teeth, points a hand at Roger's chest, and speaks an archaic word.
A blast of light, heat, and fire blinds me. I turn away for a split second before hearing Roger's yelp of pain. As I look back, I see him soaring through the air, his back and shoulders hitting the low sewer ceiling before gravity pulls him down.
But the priest is fast. Before Roger lands, the priest twists away toward me—away from the troops.
He freezes when he sees me, a slow, terrible grin spreading across my face as I focus on him, fighting the urge to look at my injured brother, struggling to his feet behind the priest.
"Let's try this again," I growl, recognizing him instantly as the man we'd captured before—the one who attacked my child.
He feints left, but I'm bigger and stronger. He tries to slip past me on the right, but I grab his left arm, twisting it behind his back while seizing his right shoulder, attempting to incapacitate him.
It works—for a moment. Then he growls another arcane word, and a searing heat pulses from his left hand, his wrist becoming white-hot. It's too hot to hold.
I roar in pain and frustration but hold on long enough to spin him toward the door emitting the yellow light, instead of the long corridor. If we can get him in there, we can trap him.
He yells as he stumbles, grabbing the doorframe for support. He glances frantically over his shoulder and throws himself into the room, reaching for something.
"MOVE!" I roar. My troops, tense and waiting, immediately spread out around the door, ready to trap him. As they move into position, I turn to Roger to assess his condition.
He's already standing beside me, growling at the door. I reach out, smelling something strange. As I touch his fur, I see seared flesh under his chin, chest, and likely belly.
"Christ, Roger," I breathe, starting to bend down, but he snaps his teeth at me—a clear signal to leave him be.
"Okay," I say, deciding to let him determine his own limits. "Just go easy, all ri—"
Before I finish, screams erupt from inside the room. Roger and I charge forward.
Inside, our troops are pressing the priest against the far wall, where he hurls spells at them. Some hit my men; others dissipate in the air. Where they land, though… the magic slices, burns, rips, and tears.
On instinct, I roar and shift into my wolf form, launching myself across the room toward him. My wolf vision focuses on the priest's face as he sees me coming, his eyes widening.
He opens his mouth, winding back his arm to throw something—something big.
But I'm faster. My body slams into him just as the spell begins to form, searing my skin but not killing me.
His head hits the wall hard; he groans and collapses. I transform back, whipping out a knife and pressing it to his throat.
"Submit," I growl. He grins, and I notice, too late, his hand clenching a sack of powder that spilled open beside him.
"Not a chance in hell," he snarls. "The master will have his boy!"
He whips his hand up, scattering the dust and uttering a single word that engulfs the room in fire. I scream, but my voice is barely audible.
I feel my body and mind crushed under the screams of my men and my brother.