Crimson Striker knelt on the pilgrimage road and swore to burn every evil out of Palatropolis. The gauntlet on his right arm answered. Red light ran across its spiked knuckles. He had made this vow a year ago, when the gauntlet first chose him. Now he walked to the temple to repay it. The temple demanded the oath spoken again, at its gate, or the gauntlet's power would fade. Without that power, the city stayed rotten. So he walked, though his legs shook and he had not eaten since dawn. By dusk he reached a dojo beside the road. Its curved rooflines rose dark against the sky. Polished wood gleamed under lantern light. He climbed the stone steps and sat on the porch. Pilgrims were allowed to rest here. He unwrapped dried meat and ate slowly. For one hour, the city's rot felt far away. Then the lanterns died. Crimson Striker stood. The air turned cold and thick. Shapes peeled off the shadows between the dojo's pillars. They had no faces, only black bodies and white claws. Demons. Dozens of them. They poured up the steps toward him. He raised the gauntlet and spoke the oath. "I vanquish all evil in Palatropolis." Red light flared down his arm. The first demon lunged. He drove his fist through its chest. Light burst inside the creature and it tore apart like smoke. But three more took its place. He struck left, then right. Each blow killed, yet the horde pressed closer. They raked his cape. Claws scraped his leather armor. He backed against the dojo doors. His arm burned. The oath had woken the gauntlet, but it had also called the shadows here. He understood now. The oath was bait. Every demon in the city had heard him swear. They swarmed. He could not win by trading blows. He pulled his fist back and held it against the wooden doors. The red light gathered until it hurt to look at. The demons climbed over each other to reach him. He waited one breath longer, until they filled the whole porch. Then he slammed his gauntlet to the floor. Light exploded outward in a ring. It washed across the demons and turned them to ash. The blast threw Crimson Striker back through the dojo doors. Wood splintered. He hit the floor inside and lay still, ears ringing. When he could move, he crawled to the broken doorway. The porch was empty. Gray ash covered the steps. Every demon was gone. The gauntlet's light had faded to a dull glow. It had spent nearly all its charge. He flexed his fingers and felt the weakness there. He had survived, but he had learned the cost. From now on, speaking his oath would summon the darkness to him. The temple still waited ahead. To reclaim the gauntlet's full power, he would have to swear again at its gate, and every shadow in Palatropolis would come to answer.