He smiled. ‘Soon,’ he murmured. He felt the air twitch at his words, and knew that the dead had heard him, if only subconsciously. Body and soul, the dead of Caddow would rise at his command.

And then– And then you ride forth once more, to the aid of an egomaniacal god.

‘Quiet, Tarsem,’ Mannfred muttered. ‘You are dead.’ He continued down the steps until he reached the passageway at the bottom. The passage was lined with alcoves, each containing a mummified form, or the remains of such.
So are you.

‘Not my kind of dead.’ At the end of the passage was a larger alcove, this one containing another slab-like door. To Mannfred’s gaze, it radiated power. Faintly glowing sigils covered its surface. They squirmed beneath his gaze, as if somehow aware of him.
Only I’m not dead at all, am I? Not really.

Mannfred closed his eyes. It was an old argument, and one he’d had before. More than once. Memories were tenacious, and no matter how fast one ran, they were impossible to escape. When he was certain Tarsem was gone, he opened his eyes, and studied the flickering wards once more. Like the main entrances, this one had been mystically sealed.

I’m not dead, Mannfred.

Mannfred cursed and thumped the wall with his fist. ‘I know that. Don’t you think I know that? I warned you, if you’ll recall. Twice, I tried to save you from your own vainglorious idiocy, and twice you refused me.’ His voice echoed through the catacombs. He fell silent, suddenly all too aware of the battle raging overhead. He was running short of time. He turned his attentions back to the wards. They were cleverly designed. Unravel the wrong one, and the entirety of the catacombs might collapse, or worse. It required the utmost concentration to–

You could still save me, you know.

Mannfred growled. ‘Be silent. You are nothing more than a figment of memory, lodged in my consciousness. You are not here. Vitalian is not here. Megara is not here. None of you are here. So, please – stop talking.’ Silence. Blessed silence. Mannfred grunted, annoyed with himself. He was increasingly haunted by the angels of his better nature. They gathered in the dark of him, and sprang when his defences were at their lowest.