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Mortals

The priest writhed on the linoleum, smearing blood in gory arcs. My companions looked away, but his eyes met mine. “You are mortals,” he gasped. Thin blood trickled out of his mouth. “Yet you hope to fight him?”

The priest had regained his sanity. It was part of his master’s punishment, making the man aware of impending death.

I replied, “We cannot quit now, knowing what we know.”

The priest chuckled. “You were a priest once. You quit that.”

I started with surprise and glanced at my companions. Dr. Kruger’s brows were knitted and dark. Sgt. Jones concentrated on cleaning his service revolver on his grubby trenchcoat. Professor Boros’s face was hidden behind her mask, its wires crackling over the traditional carved wood.

I could hear another voice behind the priest’s voice. “Just quit and walk away.” He dragged himself from the ground with a sudden motion and lurched toward me.

A sharp crack sounded and the man slumped, a hole in his head. Jones holstered his pistol. “Come on. We’ve got more work to do.”

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