The center of Sentinel was packed to the brim with the residents of the village who had not managed to feel when the Archon came.

  Or, at least, those who had been stopped in their tracks by the Druids of the Fifth Pillar.

  Under the cover of darkness, they had slipped stealthily into the village’s borders and secured all entrances and exits, posting Drytchling guards at the village gate and along the docks, plundering the ‘unnatural vessels’ at the seafront and forcing the townspeople to watch as the ships their village was known for plummeted to the bottom of the Argwylian sea.

  The sounds of stuttered cries rocked the village square where the grisly tree had been born from the Archon’s dark magic. It’s pincer-like branches had grown tenfold since its formation, and the tip of one branch dangled over the head of every terrified villager as they sat before the fountain and the stage that had been hastily erected by their conquerors.

  Finally, as dawn began to break over the night that seemingly wouldn’t end, a man took to the stage.

  He was old, draped in twigs and variegated leaves, and wore a shabby cloak that flowed from his withered arms, showing just how frail his pale body was. Around him, his druid forces crept, followed by the ring of Drycthling servants that had formed themselves around the village square, preventing anyone from running with little more than an unblinking look in their direction.

  To the villagers, who had only ever known submission to the whims of Doctor Haylock, all this seemed far too familiar. Some whispered that the Archon owned them now. This was no liberation – they were simply under new management.

  The old man threw his arms wide and breathed in the cool, crisp night air, taking in the scent of rotting corpses that still littered the streets and polluted the surface of the sea.

  “People of Sentinel!” Malak shouted. “For too long have you suffered under the yolk of your Blood Mage master! For too long have you been enslaved, isolated, and deceived. For too long have you heard nothing but the poisonous words of your Greycloak guardians and their vile servants. Today, witness the dawn of a new day for your village. You shall be the first of many to serve the true master of this world. The new Master of Mankind!”

  Malak paused, savoring the terror in their faces. He liked his dried lips, tasting the blood of Haylock’s corpse warriors, feeling more fulfilled than he ever had in a long, long time. Not even in his restless dreams had he ever imagined it would be this easy to achieve victory over those who had cast him and his mother out, leaving them to the uncaring world beyond these accursed walls. Leaving them to die.

  Not that any of that mattered, now. Soon, there would be no need for walls. Soon, freedom would be all the people would ever know.

  “Witness your liberators!” he screamed into the dew of morning, silhouetted by the rising sun on the horizon. “We are the emissaries of the Last Archon, good Lord Ethan the Demon Hat! We are the Fifth Pillar!”

  The crowd answered this revelation with murmurs of pain and fear. Now, Malak knew, they were totally in his power.

  He let his eyes fall across the ring of Drycthlings – the children of the Albion – and wondered if they too, in their own way, could understand what was happening here. He wondered if they still had the capacity to understand that history was being made. That, finally, their order was going to change this world for the better.

  “And we have come to save you from those who would corrupt your minds and your very souls,” Malak finished. “More than that – we have come to save you from yourselves. Lord Ethan has granted me the power to create a grand army that shall sweep across this realm, burning away the Greycloaks, the False God Kaedmon, and all their hollow, traitorous promises!”

  He pointed his veiny finger at the foggy horizon, in the general direction of Griffon’s Watch’s dark towers.

  “We shall start by taking the head from Haylock, known Blood Mage and associate of the Greycloak menace. And you, people of Sentinel, shall be our vanguard.”

  He gave a curt nod to the druids beside him and then signaled the Drytchling guards to step forwards, penning in the citizens like a pack of battery hens.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Slowly, they each shed a single acorn from their oaken skins.

  “The women and children should go first,” he whispered to one of the Druids beside him. “Just like last time. They will be the most susceptible to the-“

  Before he could finish his command, a rush of air blasted the village center, knocking back the Drytchling ring and sending a gust of dust and rubble into the stage. Malak, staggering and falling back in complete shock, only just managed to regain his composure when he opened his eyes to see the Archon standing before him.

  His Drycthling Prime form was more glorious than ever. And in his eyes shone the sacred bloodlust that it was said would set this entire world aflame.

  “My Lord…” Malak whispered, laying himself before the feet of the living God. “I – of course. Forgive me. It should be you who is here to address your new subjects. Please allow me a modicum of your mercy, I wished only to –“

  Unexpectedly, the Archon narrowed his new hollow eyes and looked away.

  “Stand. Down.”

  His command rang out like a church chorus, instantly bringing all the Drytchling guards to their knees.

  His [Albionic Authority] had only grown stronger…

  “My Lord,” Malak whispered. “You are even more glorious than I could have –“

  “Remain here until I return,” Ethan told the Drytchlings and Druids around him, who all glanced at Malak in surprise. A single flick of Ethan’s fingers brought them immediately back into line, and they obeyed without question.

  Then the Archon turned back to his servant.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  It was not a request.

  Ethan led the way through the throne of terrified villagers, past the great tree which now seemed to have shrunk all at once at the behest of its new master.

  And all the while, Malak kept his triumphant grin on his face.

  “Your victory was more spectacular than what was foretold,” the old druid said as he followed behind his Lord. “The roots told us that this village was heavily guarded by the Blood Mage’s minions, but not even we could have predicted the appearance of the Titan lieutenant himself. With the death of that abomination, we will be free to serve you to our fullest capacity now, my Lord. Do not think that we of the Pillar shall not uphold our end of the bargain.”

  Ethan stopped abruptly in the middle of the town’s deserted streets.

  “’Bargain’?”

  Malak nodded like an excited child. “We promised you a vessel that would take you to your destination. But you exceeded your end of the deal. As ministers of nature, we are bound by the sacred rule of equivalent exchange. Therefore, I was in the process of giving you all that I can give, my Lord –the lives of-“

  Malak halted as they finally approached their destination – an old, seemingly abandoned warehouse in a shadowed section of the docks.

  “Go,” Ethan said simply. Again, not a request.

  Malak stiffened. “My Lord? There is much work to be done. Perhaps whatever business you have within this simple dwelling can wai-“

  “Go.”

  The word came again – this time tinged with authority and power – such that Malak dared not refused. He entered the old warehouse in front of Ethan, strained his eyes against the darkness within, and then heard the door slam shut behind him.

  And then: pain.

  The arm of the Archon shot out and grabbed him by his throat, smashing him against the wall of the building’s interior with such force that the whole thing seemed ready to collapse in on itself.

  Malak sputtered, struggling in vain against the grip.

  “M-My Lord!”

  The pair of eyes he was looking into now seemed to belong to a very different creature.

  “Liar,” Ethan said.

  From the shadows, his hybrid team emerged, each one practically radiating fury.

  “Y’know,” the Minxit said, “I’d suspected…I thought there was something strange about those Drytchlings. None of us had ever heard of ‘em. Not even Lamphrey – and that bitch knows everything.”

  The Tialax nodded. She’d taken no offence.

  “And the little talk we’d had just before the attack,” Klax added. “It was then that I thought there must have been more to you than meets the eye. You dropped the old man act as soon as you saw a kindred spirit in me. But you were wrong, human. We are nothing alike.”

  Only the Hopla said nothing. She simply stared at Malak with an intensity that made the old man somehow more scared than if she’d thrown curses at him.

  “L-lord Ethan,” he stuttered, struggling to push out any words he could to save his skin. “Whatever these…hybrids have told you, they are wrong! They are traitors. Traitors to your cause!”

  “My cause?” Ethan snarled. “I’m wondering if you even understand what I’m trying to do here. Or if you even care.”

  Before he could interject, Malak was thrown across the room and pinned against the floor by a flurry of [Thorn Hail]. His screams echoed through the building, but none of them carried to the druids waiting outside.

  “And you dare to call them traitors,” Ethan continued as he marched over to him. “You, of all people…”

  Malak say the fiery death his Lord’s eyes now heralded.

  “My Lord Archon!” he wailed. “Please! This – this is all a mistake. This is –“

  “I know,” Ethan said, cutting through the old man’s pleas with the precision of a ritual knife through a skull. “I know what the Drytchlings really are. And I know what this Host – who this Host - really was.”

  There was no pleading now. There was no theatre. Now, unhidden from Ethan’s eyes, Malak shook with real fear.

  “They’re human,” Ethan finished. “And this one was your wife.”