Page 50 of Orc’s Gallows

“Yes.” I make my tone certain, even if my heart isn’t. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

She relaxes against me. I hold her until her breathing slows, until she drifts into sleep, until I’m alone with my thoughts.

Dawn comes too soon.

The execution square is empty when I walk into it.

No crowds. No guards. No vendors hawking their morbid wares. The citizens of Blackhook City have learned to avoid this place after dark, and the riots have taught them to avoid it during the day as well. The Grand Gallows stand alone, patient and hungry, waiting for their Warden to come home.

I stop at the base of the platform stairs. Look up at the structure where I’ve delivered hundreds of deaths. The ropes sway toward me, reaching, eager.

“Judge.” My words carry across the silent square. “I know you’re here. I know you’ve been waiting.”

A sound like wind through graves. The gallows shudder, old wood groaning as the entity stirs in its foundations.

“I’m not here to fight.” I spread my arms wide, showing empty hands. “I’m here to surrender. To accept the judgment I deserve.”

Cold laughter echoes from everywhere and nowhere.

The Judge rises.

The trapdoor splits open, and the composite entity climbs onto the platform like a spider emerging from a drain. Its stolen visages settle into expressions of anticipatory cruelty as it looks down at me—the Gallows Warden, come at last to face justice.

“You kneel before my throne.” Its harmonized words drip with satisfaction. “The executioner finally understands his place.”

“I understand that I created you.” I mount the first stair. Then the second. “Every innocent I hanged. Every wrongful death I oversaw. They fed your becoming, built your power, gave you the strength to manifest.” Third stair. Fourth. “If anyone deserves your judgment, it’s me.”

“Yes.” The Judge spreads its arms wide, its rope-woven robes billowing in wind that doesn’t exist. “Yes, you do. Climb higher, Gallows Warden. Accept the sentence you’ve earned.”

I climb.

The platform transforms around me as I ascend. The floor reshapes into a judge’s bench, the ropes coiling into witness stands, the old wood warping into spectator galleries filled with the spirits of the executed. The Judge’s court, manifested in full for the trial it has waited centuries to conduct.

“Brannok Redrope.” The entity settles onto its throne—the trapdoor become seat of power—and regards me with terrible anticipation. “You stand accused of hundreds of murders. Of selective justice. Of maintaining terror as a tool of order. How do you plead?”

“Guilty.” The word comes out unwavering. “Of all of it.”

The Judge’s shifting faces twist with pleasure.

Across the square, hidden in the shadows of the Gallows Quarter, the claiming sigil pulses. Ismerie, moving into position. Ismerie, circling toward the foundations. Ismerie, preparing to destroy the anchor that gives this monster its power.

Hold on. I’m buying you time.

The thought can’t reach her—the bond doesn’t work that way—but I send it anyway.

“Sentence is death.” The Judge rises from its throne, ropes descending from above. “By hanging. On the platform you used to kill so many. Poetic, don’t you think?”

“Very.”

The noose settles around my neck.

I don’t fight. Don’t resist. Let the Judge savor its victory, let it take its time, let it believe it has finally won.

Because while it’s focused on me—while it’s savoring the execution of its greatest enemy—the woman I love is tearing its power out by the roots.

The gallows begin to shudder.

The Judge’s cycling faces freeze in confusion.