Chapter 178: The Purge (3).

Captain Orpheus raised his gauntleted hand, and the Templars behind him parted.

What emerged from between their ranks made Nero’s stomach turn.

The creature was humanoid in the loosest sense of the word. Its skin was bone white, stretched taut over jutting bones that pressed against the surface like they were trying to break free. It moved on all fours, its limbs bent at odd angles, with each joint popping and cracking with every lurching step.

The thing had no eyes. Where they should have been, there was only smooth skin stitched together with thick black thread that had been pulled so tight the flesh puckered around it. Its nose was nothing but two gaping holes in the center of its face, flaring and contracting with labored breaths.

Its mouth stretched from one side of its face to the other, a lipless gash filled with yellowed teeth that jutted out at random angles. Drool pooled at the corners and dripped in thick strands to the ground, sizzling slightly where it landed.

The creature’s breath came in wet, rattling gasps that echoed across the silent camp.

“This is a Dog,” Captain Orpheus announced, his voice carrying across the gathered refugees, “A gift from the Verdant Ash Sea Order, bred specifically to detect corruption.”

“The Dog can smell corruption in your blood, in your flesh, and in the very marrow of your bones. There is no hiding from it.”

The creature’s head swiveled toward the crowd, the nose holes expanding and contracting rapidly as it tested the air. A low, wet growl bubbled up from its throat.

“I should also warn you,” Orpheus continued, “The Dog can smell fear. And ill intentions. So I would suggest none of you attempt to run. The thought will form in your mind, and you will be dead before you complete it.”

As if to punctuate his words, more Templars emerged from the shadows, each one leading a Dog on thick iron chains. The links clinked and rattled as the creatures strained against them, their heads sweeping back and forth across the mass of humans before them.

Nero counted them quickly. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.

The crowd pressed together instinctively, parents pulling children close, the elderly shuffling backward despite having nowhere to go. The wall of Templars at their backs was absolute.

One of the Dogs took a step forward, pulling its handler with it. Then another step. The Templar holding its chain dug his heels into the ground, but the creature’s strength was undeniable.

It stopped suddenly, its head snapping toward a section of the crowd about twenty feet from where Nero stood.

The nose holes flared wide.

Then it lunged.

The chain went taut with a sharp metallic shriek. The creature’s jaws opened impossibly wide as it unleashed a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a human scream. The noise cut through the air like a blade, raw and filled with primal hunger.

People scattered away from where it was pointing, revealing a middle-aged man with a pale, gaunt face. He stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide and glassy.

Then he ran.

He made it perhaps five steps before a Templar appeared in his path. The warrior didn’t even break stride. His blade came up in a casual arc and caught the man across the chest, splitting cloth and skin and ribs in a single motion.

The man’s momentum carried him forward. He stumbled, clutching at the wound, blood pouring between his fingers in thick rivulets. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form words, but only wet gurgles came out.

The Templar stepped forward and drove his blade down through the man’s shoulder, angling it toward the heart. The steel punched through and emerged from the man’s back in a spray of crimson.

The man dropped.

The Templar planted a boot on his chest and yanked the blade free. Then, with practiced efficiency, he brought it down again, this time across the neck.

The head came off cleanly and rolled a few feet before coming to rest in the dirt, eyes still wide with terror.

The Templar sheathed his sword and produced a flask from his belt. He uncorked it and poured thick black oil over the corpse. The liquid spread across the body, seeping into the wounds, staining the ground beneath it.

The moment the oil made contact with exposed flesh, it ignited.

Flames erupted across the body in a rush of heat and light. The fire was wrong, burning with colors that flickered between orange and sickly green. The smell was immediate and overwhelming—burning meat mixed with something chemical and toxic.

The head didn’t catch fire immediately. It lay there in the dirt, untouched by the flames consuming the rest of the body, its dead eyes reflecting the light.

Then a glob of oil splashed onto it, and it too burst into flame.

The Templar who had performed the execution turned toward Captain Orpheus and raised his fist to his chest in salute. Orpheus nodded once in acknowledgment.

Then he gestured forward with his hand.

The Dogs were released.

Hundreds of the Abominations surged into the crowd.

People screamed. The mass of humanity tried to move as one, l but there was nowhere to go. The Templar lines held firm at the edges, forcing everyone back toward the center where the Dogs waited.

The creatures moved with terrifying speed despite their broken, wrong-angled limbs. They crashed through the crowd like a wave, knocking people aside, trampling those who fell. An old woman went down beneath the weight of one and didn’t get back up. Her skull cracked against a rock with a sound like breaking pottery.

A Dog’s chain wrapped around a man’s leg as it surged past. The links tightened and he was yanked off his feet, dragged several yards before the Templar holding the chain managed to pull it free. The man lay there gasping, his leg bent at an angle that made it clear the bone had snapped.

Another creature stopped suddenly and planted its face into a young woman’s stomach, its nose holes flaring and contracting rapidly. It let out that terrible growling-screaming sound again, and a Templar was there in seconds, blade already drawn.

The woman didn’t even try to run. She just stood there, tears streaming down her face, shaking her head over and over.

The blade took her in the throat. She dropped without a sound, and the oil and flames followed moments after.

More Dogs found their targets. More bodies hit the ground. More fires burned with that sick green-orange light.

The Templars holding the chains were struggling now. The creatures had tasted blood—not directly, but close enough. The smell of it was in the air, thick and copper-sweet, and the Dogs were going mad with hunger.

One of them managed to get its jaws around a screaming child’s arm before its handler yanked it back. The teeth had already sunk deep, tearing through muscle. The child’s screams reached a pitch that didn’t sound human anymore.

A Templar ended it quickly. The child’s body was doused and burned like all the others.

The crowd had stopped trying to run. They just pressed together now, a mass of terrified flesh waiting to see where the Dogs would strike next. Parents held their children so tight the kids were crying from the pressure alone. People prayed, their voices mixing together into a cacophony of desperate pleas to gods who weren’t listening.

The fires burned. The smoke rose. The screaming continued.

And through it all, Captain Orpheus stood at the center like a crimson statue, watching his Dogs work.

Nero felt Aisha’s hand find his in the chaos. Her fingers were ice cold and trembling. He squeezed back, though his own hand was shaking just as badly.

The purge had begun.

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