The weather was perfect for digging up corpses in secret. Gloomy enough to keep the everyday person inside, but not too dark to see what they were doing. It occurred to Lucius that having a preferred weather for what could be considered glorified grave robbery might be strange, but he also tried to remind himself that it was technically an ordinary unburial.
Just a secret one, in the dark.
There was nothing wrong with that, he repeated in his head. The grim would not mind. Not with a priest on their side.
He glanced over at Father Runar, who looked about as intimidating as ever despite his apparent sympathy for Lucius and his dead wife that Frey had so kindly thought of. He was walking in front of his acolytes with a stern expression while Lucius, Tom, and two men Aldrik had sent to aid with the digging walked behind them, keeping a smaller distance out of respect.
An eerie feeling prickled Lucius' neck. He couldn't put reason to it, unable to hear anything out of the ordinary but he'd been in enough threatening situations in his life to know when he was being watched.
He made a hasty turn of his head to spot any lurkers, remembering what Eliza had said about her possibly being followed before, but either there was no one there or they had disappeared before he could find them.
A bump against his legs almost made him fall over, and he turned his gaze forward again only to shift it downwards immediately after.
"Oh, so just you then," he muttered quietly, scowling at the blight cat's wide, staring eyes. It kept up with his pace to keep getting in the way of his feet, resulting in him kicking at it to shoo it away. He had other cats to focus on that night, and not the unholy kind.
"Are you alright?" Tom had finally noticed Lucius' staggering movements and sent him a troubled look.
"Yeah, it's just—" Lucius pointed his hand down at nothing. The blight had disappeared out of sight, and he pursed his lips before retracting his hand. "There was... Something stuck under my boot."
He wasn't sure whether the others could see the cat or if it always avoided being spotted, but regardless no one seemed to know about it and Lucius was not in the mood for that whole story.
What did it want though? Why was it trying to stop him from going to the graveyard? Of course Wrinkleface wouldn't want him to get a hold of the bones, but the blight cat had usually only appeared right before something dangerous. What if there was something there? What if the grim refused the unburial for some reason? Lucius' life aside, the Scourge wanted those parasitic veins intact and if their host body got the grim treatment on holy ground they would not fare well.
As always though, what choice did he have? Possibly unspeakable death by grim or undoubtedly unspeakable death by blightish veins?
The gates to the graveyard sent chills down Lucius' spine. While he hadn't turned to dust on the South Kerilian graveyard when facing Catherine something in him was protesting, squeezing his chest like a nightmare hug. What if things had changed when the veins spread further? Maybe he was more unholy now than back then.
He swallowed, closing his eyes before stepping past the gates and onto hallowed grass.
Nothing.
He released a breath of relief before hurrying after the others, following Father Runar's path to an indeed weather bitten headstone. Moss had begun growing around the edges and water from the ground had caused a large crack in the middle of it. If Lucius had a say it barely counted as a grave anymore, what with the state it was in.
Father Runar then beckoned for him to stand in front of the grave while he himself took the priest's usual spot behind it to begin the unburial without further ado.
Lucius still hesitated as he was handed a shovel. It was customary for the one claiming the bones to be the first to pierce the earth, and he supposed that was him, but it didn't stop his hands from trembling as Father Runar began chanting words in old Traquian.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, sending a silent, hopeless prayer to Dyris before plunging the shovel down, burying the blade in dirt before bending it back up again.
He waited, listening intently to any sign of trouble, but nothing happened. Father Runar nodded and gestured for him to stand aside while he continued his blessing and Aldrik's men stepped forward to begin the real work.
He let out a grateful sigh and exchanged a smile with Tom who only momentarily looked away from the ritual.
Then someone spoke to him in Hrimska. At least Lucius thought it was aimed towards him, but he couldn't find the source. Aldrik's friends were busy digging and talking between each other and the voice did not sound like Father Runar, nor his acolytes. It was a high pitched, feminine voice, and it just came out of nowhere.
No, not nowhere.
Lucius' heart stopped in his chest as the rustling, flapping sound of wings reached his ears and he slowly tilted his head upwards.
Three ravens sat perched on a tree branch near the graveyard's fence, staring down at them with dead eyes while one of them repeated the previously uttered words.
Goosebumps prickled Lucius' skin. Night ravens did not appear on their own. They followed their guardian, but said guardian had no reason to appear. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were in the company of a priest.
"It's alright," Lucius whispered to himself, trying to breathe normally before looking around. He was being ridiculous. He'd encountered grims before, barely acknowledging them at the time just like they barely paid attention to him so what was different now?
It was like his skin began shrinking. Tugging and tightening around his limbs as the dark veins sank deeper into his chest, and an urge to flee drowned his breath.
Why aren't you running?
With that, Lucius finally spun around to scan the graveyard. He didn't want to see it, but his body wouldn't obey him until he did. He looked on top of headstones, on the roofs of crypts, and on the very fence itself. Nothing. It didn't make sense. Grims were hard to miss at the best of times, and if it really was there it should have made its presence known already.
Then he spotted it, and his neck tensed up at the sight.
It was peeking out from behind a crypt not far from there. Unlike the hollow face Lucius was used to associate them with, this one had large, rust coloured eyes bulging to the point of almost popping out of its skull. Its yellow fur was thin with spindly human limbs visible underneath it and its lips appeared to be too small for its mouth, revealing just a hint of its front teeth. What was worse though, was that it was moving. It was moving towards them.
Lucius had never seen a grim move before. Its head occasionally perhaps, when following him with its gaze, but never its limbs. Never moving from its spot. Not while someone was looking.
His body didn't want to move though. A haze fell over his thoughts, making them near impossible to comprehend, but his instincts still told him enough. He had to get out of there.
"Tom!" He groaned as his sight got disoriented, flipping forth and back between what he'd seen recently and the actual view in front of him. "It's here! The grim is—"
Another agonised gasp was torn out of his mouth, but Tom had been quick to catch on and as soon as he spotted the creature he yelled something to the others before grabbing Lucius to run.
Lucius didn't want to think about it. As far as grims were concerned he already had his doubts they could escape, so the men holding the shovels while knee deep in dirt were with all certainty lost. It was an awful thing to think, but Lucius was grateful for it. It gave him and Tom a chance to get out in the meantime.
Blood curdling sounds reached his ears. Indescribable sounds that he could never replicate in his head, nor did he ever want to. They resonated through his body, bringing a devastating weight to his legs as nauseating images that his mind refused to show him tormented his vision and perception of his surroundings.
His shaking, heavy hands finally slammed against the cold fence, and with renewed hope Lucius began following it to find the gates. He'd only staggered forward a few steps however, when a strong hand grabbed his collar to throw him off his balance and down on the ground.
"No—" Lucius began as distorted, jumbled visions of Father Runar holding him down spun through his head, but he couldn't utter more as a hand forced his mouth shut.
Of course, even without the abstract horror clouding every inch of his body Lucius could not understand what the man was saying. At least not in literal words, but he could make an educated guess on what it was about. The gestures at his chest, the mention of Aldrik, the burning hatred in his eyes when he gestured out over the graveyard.
He'd tricked them. He'd made them dig up a young grave by altering the headstone, switching places with an older one perhaps, or making sure the inscription could not be read entirely. Because he wanted the grim to get them. He'd had no intention of helping them at all, he wanted to see the heathens who dared to get involved with unholy practices punished, and he was about to succeed.
Tom's voice called out further away, though Lucius could barely hear it. He was telling the priest to stop, trying to reason with him but the shivering doubt in his tone did not help his case.
You're not going to give up here, are you?
Another attempt to break loose, but the nameless fates of the others that he couldn't quite fathom plagued Lucius' peripheral vision, and his exhausted arms fell limp to the ground.
Your human mind may not be able to comprehend what that mangy creature will do to you, but rest assured you will not want to end up in The Waste in that condition, assuming there's anything left.
Lucius sucked in a breath, making a desperate effort to roll away but he was pressed down onto his stomach immediately.
A familiar, crawling sensation of fury seized his soul as soon as his chest touched the ground, but there was something else as well. It was an overpowering desire to live, to prevail, that surged through him. The veins burst forward again, searing his skin until he finally heaved himself up from the hallowed ground, and from there they stretched like desperate, unkempt vines underneath his skin. Over his shoulders and down on his back, invading and disfiguring the scar from his branding, and up along his throat to reach past his temples, only stopping right above his glowing eyes.
This spurred the wrath in Father Runar's voice further, and his crushing grip made tears well up in Lucius' eyes, but the latter would not go down again. He would not let that treacherous man keep him from his goal. A cold chill broke through his bones, alerting him that the grim had turned its attention to him, but he couldn't find the time to panic. His legs found new strength to move on their own, and with a firm kick he finally freed himself of the priest's grip in order to dash towards the gates.
He followed Tom's voice, thankfully being guided by him through the disturbing ache in his head, and before long he was pulled through the gates and to safety, having never appreciated slippery cobblestones more than then.
Unfortunately it had been a false sense of security, and Tom was caught off guard as Father Runar yanked Lucius out of his grip to force him back towards the graveyard again. Lucius used all his weight and strength to stay put, but was ultimately swayed by his vision failing him every other second. Despite all his efforts his eyes seemingly forced their way in the direction of the grim, and it was as though his senses ceased to exist. They wanted no part in what had happened— Or was happening, in front of him. They didn't want to see the form the grim had taken, they didn't want to hear its voiceless words, nor smell the air of divine punishment.
All he could recall from the events after was fumbling to escape the painful hold around him, landing on his back while still trying to wrestle his way out, and an intense longing to be rid of the threat. To emerge from it all unharmed, no matter what.
He woke up on the cold, beloved cobblestones with an empty stare.
The environment had eased up, no longer cursing his existence, and he could spot Tom sitting further away, eyes squeezed shut and with his hands pressed hard against his forehead. With a small sense of relief to see him safe, the fear of once again facing an infuriated priest struck him and he turned towards the distressed, Hrimskan voices closer to the gates, blood draining from his face at the sight.
Father Runar was dead. Fallen right between the gates to the graveyard with blood seeping through his robes and down to form a pool on the soft, sandy patch he'd been put to rest on. Jan and Mats had gathered around him, having at first tried to shake life into him and stop the bleeding with hands now caked in red, but seemed to have finally given up.
An uncomfortable stickiness on Lucius' own hands caused him to glance down, and he swallowed a scream as he noticed the gore staining not just his hands, but his clothes as well.
He stared back at the body. The grim could not have been responsible. Even if Father Runar had been fully inside the graveyard, and even if he'd done something wrong, a grim would not just leave a body bleeding out.
But oh how Lucius wished that was all they could do.
He didn't want to look down at the knife in his bloody holster. He didn't want to confirm it. With the threat gone the fury had subsided and he could think clearly again, leading him to retch at the situation. He didn't wish death on the priest. Not really. While he in the end had to deem it necessary for his own survival, it was an unfortunate outcome that he would have preferred to end differently.
With a hesitant glance at Tom, who'd finally mustered up the courage to address the acolytes, he decided to move closer.
"... What do we do, Tom?" His voice cracked, though barely audible. "Are— They're obviously gonna tell on us."
Tom shook his head, slowly.
"They don't know what happened." He spared Lucius' clothes a look, but chose not to comment on it. "None of us know, unless you do?"
"I..." Lucius hesitated again, and he scolded himself for it. Why was he so bothered? He'd had to kill out of necessity before, an alarming amount of times, this time was no different. "... No, everything was... A mess."
Tom seemed to strangely enough believe him, nodding once again before saying something to the other two.
"They're not going to tell anyone," he translated, squinting as if that would help him understand their limited Traquian better. "They wouldn't be in a much better position than us if they told people what we were here for. They're obviously shaken though, and they're going to talk to Aldrik about it tomorrow."
Lucius lowered his eyes.
"Speaking of Aldrik, this was all for nothing, wasn't it? We didn't get any bones, and we for sure can't enter that place ever again."
"We don't need to," Tom whispered, grimacing before raising his scarred hand to hold up a twisted, sickening excuse for a skull. The sight awakened a memory in Lucius, but his mind promptly locked it up again with a severe headache, yet he could still hear the screams that had been channelled through its jaws at those last moments and nausea made him double over.
"H... How?"
"It landed near the gates, I think." Tom put it down again, not fond of viewing the nightmare either. "It's... A blur, like you say, but I guess I never did anything to anger the grim, so I must have grabbed it."
Lucius drew air through his teeth. He wasn't sure those kinds of bones counted. He'd been under the impression that the whole idea had been to find holy bones, not just bones from holy grounds. He found it hard to believe sealing rituals would be alright with fine prints and loopholes.
He still accepted it as their only option, and so the group split up. Mats and Jan remained to take care of the body while Tom and Lucius headed back towards the monastery.
They walked in silence at first, with the only interaction between them being Tom who offered his coat to Lucius so the other wouldn't attract attention by looking like a gory mess. Thinking about it though, Lucius noticed the feeling of being watched was gone. Looking around he noticed no trace of the blight cat either, to his utmost gratitude. He'd had enough of cats for a long time to come.
His gaze shifted to Tom, who was staring ahead with a dead expression, and Lucius was once again struck with a bad conscience.
"Hey, Tom?" He reached out a hand. "After this is over, let's agree to forget all about this night."
Tom didn't look him in the eyes, but he held out his hand in turn. It was, aside from slightly uncomfortable, courtesy of its rough, blotchy and uneven skin, a trembling figure of exhaustion.
"I'd rather forget all about it right now," he uttered, and though Lucius doubted something like that was possible he still attempted a weak yet comforting smile, grip tightening around Tom's hand.
"Forget about what?"
***
AUTHOR'S NOTE
What a precious kitten, huh? A true cuddle buddy for sure. What did you think of the grim? What do you think happened to Father Runar? And what are your predictions moving forward? Please let me know!