The square was packed.

  Clergy chanted. Guards stood at attention. Townsfolk jeered with open mouths and closed minds.

  Rell stood in the center, bound inside the wooden execution stock — head and arms locked. His breathing was steady. Too steady.

  One thought kept cycling through his mind:

  Rell’s thought: “At least the elf girl safe.”

  A voice cut through the noise —

  “WAIT!”

  Gasps echoed. The crowd parted.

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  Lirah sprinted toward the stage, cloak flying. Her voice cracked as she screamed:

  “He didn’t do anything! They kidnapped me! The Church—your Church—is selling kids from the Elf Kingdom to fund their greed!”

  Rell’s eyes widened. “Bruh… what the fuck.”

  The Deacon stepped forward, face dark. “Seize her!”

  Guards moved—but froze mid-step.

  A roar split the heavens.

  From the rooftops leapt a silhouette — black and gold. Umbwe crashed into the square like judgment itself.

  Ko Mala flew in behind him, wind-gliding over a rooftop before slamming a staff into the cobblestone.

  Two other blessed beasts followed — an armored boar and a spectral panther.

  Pandemonium. Screams. The crowd scattered.

  Ko Mala landed by Rell. Quick glance. Nod.

  “How’s you?”

  Rell, deadpan: “Owl.”

  Ko Mala: “Ah.”

  The Deacon roared and unleashed a blast of radiant magic. Ko Mala blocked it mid-air with a summoned ward — shaped like a lotus blossom of light.

  Ko Mala’s words were clear, even as they rang with sigil-echo: “You talk big for a man who hides behind children.”

  “You parade beasts like gods.”

  Their magic collided. Boom.

  The resulting shockwave shattered Rell’s wooden stock and launched him airborne.

  He tumbled mid-air, eyes scanning. Heard the owl’s voice in his mind:

  Owl: “Priest. Dungeon. Move now.”

  Rell gritted his teeth, twisted his body, and kicked into a spin. A burst of fire from his palm ignited beneath his feet —

  **BOOM.**

  He rocketed through the church spire. Then the chapel ceiling. Then through three lower floors —

  —and finally—

  **CRASH.**

  He exploded through the dungeon ceiling. Again.

  Landing hard. Dust and light. Magic flaring off his skin.

  Same landing. Same crouch. This time with purpose.

  Rell to Ducalin: “You. Next.”