A supernatural killer. A prophetic gargoyle. A tale of revenge.
Excalem wants vengeance.
His daughter lay cold upon the coroner’s slab. Someone had taken her from this world. Yet there was no trace of harm. There were no answers to the questions he asked. She was simply gone. Pale. Cold. Dead.
Excalem hands in what little morals he had in exchange for the sword.
Walking through the desert, cracked terracotta under his feet and endless blue above he thinks he has gone mad. Or died. He is out of water, out of place and feels out of time. This is a world he didn’t believe in not long ago. Nowhere both its name and description. He cannot stop, he is the cat after the rat but the dog is coming.
Both pursued and pursuing, he knows only one thing.
There will be vengeance.
The Gargoyle said so, and rocks don't lie.