You rammed the bulky, spruce panel with all your might. Shockingly, some unknown entity lifted the burden from you. Two elite officers, Fanalis defectors, drew the doors inwards effortlessly. 

You emerged into a grandiose hall, one stained into your memory. The elegant chamber was rectangular in shape, with the lengthiest sides extending forward. Tiles of a fascinating, smoke-colored marble locked together to construct the flooring. The walls were composed of an inky, speckled granite and trimmed with a striped belt of malachite. Columns of a sharp, triangular build were erected along the perimeter. They reached upwards and, upon meeting the vaulted ceiling, fanned out in similar fashion to a river delta. 

The carpet, a runner of shaggy, gray fur, covered three fourths of the floor, the missing fourth being the farthest end where a stage was joined to the wall. The stage, made of the same smoky marble, occupied a great portion of the hall. Spaced a decent ten paces from the foot of the wall, its first layer rose eight inches from the floor, serving as steps. The final platform came in eight inches from the first and there perched a throne. The throne was a lavish hybrid of spruce and silver. There, lounging in the seat of power, was the Bloody Betrayer himself. 

As plush as his surroundings were, Melichor dampened the charm. Instead, his presence emphasized the sinister secrets contained in this hall, the lurking truth. His face and most of his body were shadowed, but you could sense it in his eyes; brimming with a psychotic vivacity. Something had been snapped on the inside and no amount of reasoning could fix it.  

Melichor scoffed, his disturbing features coming into the light.   

In opposition to the gold-clad Fanalis, renegades sported silver armor as the symbol of defection. Melichor was no exception. Even without an undershirt, a silver chest plate was strapped to his torso, sculpted to resemble a robust chest and abdomen. The plates only protected his front and back. This left his pale sides exposed. Draped around his hips was a skirt of silver-studded leather. It was of a scaly, wrinkled texture and stained with splatters of scarlet... 

Even more disturbing than his scars or his marrs was his right leg. Below the knee, his gray flesh ended completely, being succeeded by a steel replacement. It was identical to the other foot, minus the metallic finish. The synthetic foot was scratched, dented and chipped; yet, one blow from the limb, coupled with Melichor's brute strength, could mean instant death. 

"Melichor!" You stepped forward and were immediately swarmed by the officers.

Melichor waved his hand, ordering the men to yield. "Let the slave continue. This is the most entertained I've been all day."

You shot nasty looks at the men and went on. "For your crimes against these people, I have come to take your head. Your sins will be-"

"I've heard enough." He rose from his throne wearily, like a lumbering giant. "Unless you're here to juggle or do a stupid, little dance, get... back... to... WORK!"

"I don't think so." Rex approached the pedestal, unperturbed by the spear tips aimed at his spine.

Melichor pinched his chin in mock-reflection. "And why would that be?"

Rex's mesmerizing, powerful stare met Melichor's manic one. "Because, you're not that lucky." Rex unsheathed his cutlass with a flourish. 

"A fight, eh? You and your friends will make excellent trophies, my king." A demonic grin split Melichor's face from ear to ear. 

Before you could process what he meant by 'my king', two tall, glass cases behind Melichor called to you. The display cases were chocked full of Fanalis trophies: talismans, emblems, armor, weapons... skulls... Their hollow sockets seemed to share the same thirst for vengeance you held in your own heart.   

Clenching your dagger in a white-knuckle grip, you leaped upon the stage and bounded towards your enemy. You slashed at him fiercely, only managing to cut the air with empty fwips. He dodged seamlessly. You realized he was far more agile than his unusual leg would have suggested. 

You pressed Melichor harder, jabbing at any open spot, desperately trying to find the chink  in his armour, and all the time evading that ungodly, alien leg of his. Beads of sweat formed at your temples. Your will was slipping away, dampened with each flick of the dirk, and Melichor knew it. He craved your death just as much as you desired his.

You whipped the blade towards Melichor's neck, only to be intercepted. In one metallic blur, the leg caught your blade and deflected it, sending it clattering to the floor. Before you could react, his normal limb impacted your unprotected side. The world melted into a haze of crimson.

Somewhere behind you, Rex was wrestling against the defectors. No one was going to save you, there was only one option. 

In an attempt to save your life, you shuffled up against  one of the load-bearing columns. Melichor advanced toward you gradually, like a predator winding up for the final strike. 

"You'll make a wonderful trophy with those delicate bones..." His words scuttled up your spine in a wave of unsettling tingles. 

Like a panther, he pounced. You ducked away as quickly as you could. Leading with his metal-foot, as you had assumed, he embedded his most devastating weapon deep within the wall.  

Melichor writhed and spat. You inched closer to the horrid creature, preparing to dispatch him. 

"No!" A violet blurr toppled you. An instant anger towards Rex roared to life.  As you were about to unleash a flood of the crudest swears you knew, a gut-wrenching crack ripped through the room. The beam was shattered into bits, battering you with a powdery hail. 

Not a second had passed before the two were engaged in battle. The two men attacked each other viciously; metal clashed against metal, will against will, each waiting for the other to falter.

 Among the fray, sparks of white and orange whizzed and fizzled. Most of the tiny flares died midair, except for the occasional wayward flicker; and yet, within moments the fur runner was sizzling. The fire crept along the edges of the runner, eventually engulfing the entire thing in flames. Smoke escaped the chamber, clotting the halls and passageways and alerting near by slavers.   

Despite the blaze, the battle continued on. Melichor took another flying leap. His blow glanced off the sword, he used the momentum to launch himself against the wall, flip and come rocketing down towards his opponent. 

This was the moment of weakness they each had waited for. Rex's cutlass had been marred with craters and dents. Still, Rex lifted the weapon and braced for impact. 

You were frozen, an out-of-body observer to the scene that unfolded before you. As if time had slowed, you traced Melichor's leg as it cleaved a path toward Rex. The steel heel of Melichor's foot grinded upon the Rex's sword, bending it and snapping the blade in two. The leg drove into Rex's shoulder. The flesh rippled; the bone jarred from its socket; when it was over Rex's arm hung limply against his side. Rex bit his lip so as not to scream, drawing a rivulet of blood from it. 

Melichor leaned over your friend's crumpled form. "How disappointing... I heard you were going to be a challenge. An anomaly they said!" 

Rex looked to you and chuckled. "Heh, Melichor, you have no idea how much weight is on my shoulders. Compared to my job, that was nothing." He began to shamble backwards, retreating to the center of the room. "Maybe one day all those trophies of yours will weigh on you too." His eyes darted from you to the tall glass cases and back. You nodded and slipped behind one of them and squinted through the panes at a distorted world. 

Rex lured him in further and further, until Melichor was lined up perfectly with the display. 

"Well, now you can join them." Melichor cackled. 

Rex grinned. "You're not that lucky." With a hidden reserve of strength, Rex kicked Melichor, causing him to stumble backwards. 

You heaved against the case. It wobbled, swayed, then fell with a deafening crash. Then, silence. The pops and hisses of a dying fire. Silence. The murmurs of slavers outside. Silence. The silence devoured all. 

The clacking and clanking of boots filled the room as guards came marching in. Wielding maces, cudgels and clubs, they circled you. Rex bounded over the splintered glass, placing himself between you and the horde. 

"Stay behind me." He whispered. 

You moved out from behind him and shifted into a fighting stance. "We're doing this together." 

He searched your eyes for a moment and nodded. "Together."