Asylum Demon- Do a plunging attack off of the ledge above it to do a huge amount of damage at the beginning of the fight. After this, try to stay behind the Demon for the entirety of the fight. Be aware of which way he’s swinging his hammer and you shouldn’t be hit once. Two-hand your weapon to do more damage; your shield won’t do much in this fight. Also, it would be wise to keep your camera unlocked during the fight. This makes getting around, and dodging the Demon much easier. Combining all of these tips should result in you besting Dark Souls’ first boss! Taurus Demon- Every time you go into the fight, it is a good idea to take out the two archers on the tower above you. If not, they will shoot at you during the whole fight and cause a lot of trouble. When the Taurus Demon jumps down from it’s tower, immediately run back to the ladder and climb up it. Apply lightning to your weapon (you can find gold pine resin in Undead Burg, in a chest next to where the flaming barrel tumbled down the stairs) and do a plunging attack on it. After this, stay close to the Demon while you attack it. Be wary of the broken section of the bridge; if the Demon attacks you near it, you can go flying off the bridge and die. When the Demon is about to strike, roll towards it and through it’s legs. Keep doing this and it will eventually die. Bell Gargoyles- After your first attempt at this boss, always be wary of the gargoyle’s first appearance. It will be standing just on the other side of the fog gate, ready to strike you as soon as the fight begins. It’s a good idea to mostly roll sideways during the fight (if you are staying locked-on). Rolling backwards will sometimes result you in being struck by an attack. The gargoyles are weak to fire damage, so any fire-based attacks, (charcoal pine resin, pyromancy, etc.) are effective. Once the first gargoyle approaches half-health, start being more aggressive. You want to do as much damage as possible before the second gargoyle enters the fight. In this second phase, try and focus your attacks on the one that is already damaged. Get the gargoyle to do his fire-breath attack, and then attack it. This is because it will be locked into a long attack and you can get in a couple of hits. (Be sure to be aware of the second gargoyle’s location during this. If he hits you, you are in a really bad position, between the two gargoyles.) If you are having a lot of trouble with this fight, you can use the Drake Sword (obtained by damaging the Hellkite Dragon enough times in the tail). This will be able to demolish the gargoyles’ health. Moonlight Butterfly- Stay unlocked. Being locked-on during this fight makes it more awkward to dodge the magic attacks on the narrow bridge. Continue to dodge the magic and then attack the Butterfly when it lands. The Butterfly is weakest to fire damage, so when it’s about to land, use charcoal pine resin and two-hand your weapon. When the Butterfly lands, you want to put out as much damage as possible. If you’re having trouble, it would be wise to wait a while before fighting the Butterfly. This is because if you don’t do enough damage to it, the fight could take very long. (It is quite a boring fight, so you don’t want it to go on any longer than it has to.) The hardest part of the fight is learning to differentiate each of the Butterfly’s magical attacks. It’s not a very tough boss, so you can definitely kill it, after a little practice. Capra Demon- The first three seconds after entering the fight are the hardest moments of the fight. If you can dodge the two dogs and Capra’s initial attack/s, then you could easily beat the boss. Having a shield equipped for the fight is a good idea. After entering the fight, immediately run up the staircase (after dodging a few attacks). Turn around and hold up your shield. After the dogs attack your shield, attack and kill them. At the top of the staircase, you can turn right and walk on a skinny ledge; do this. Stay at the back-end of the ledge with your shield up. Capra will eventually fall down from the stairs, and you can do a plunging attack on it. (Side-note: After Capra falls down is a good time to apply a buff to your weapon. It is weak to fire damage, so charcoal pine resins are a good idea.) You can either continue doing this, or fight him normally. If you fight him normally, dodge to the side, through his attacks. (You can also do this fight without your camera locked-on, but it’s not as effective as it is in some other fights.) Try and get behind Capra for the biggest openings. Also, be sure to watch out for it’s jumping strike, because that can deal huge damage. (Or you could completely skip the fight by throwing a couple dung pies into the arena from outside the fog gate.) Gaping Dragon- Make sure to kill the channeler in the Depths before fighting the Dragon. He can buff the Dragon and shoot projectiles at you during the fight, making it much harder. Since, the Dragon is so huge, you should fight with your camera unlocked. This gives you the most control and it makes getting around the Dragon much easier. Be sure to buy lightning weapon buffs from the vendor outside the doors to Blighttown, as the Dragon is weak to it. The Dragon can smack you, body-slam you, jump up into the air and charge into you (the charge being the most deadly). As long as you apply gold pine resin to your weapon, keep your camera unlocked, keep attacking it’s feet and stay clear of any charging attacks, you should be fine. It’s also a good idea to two-hand your weapon. Your shield will do very little against the Gaping Dragon, and every bit of damage helps against its enormous health bar. Even if you get hit, it’s so slow that you have plenty of time to heal before it attacks you again. Play consistently enough and soon the Gaping Dragon will be dead. Chaos Witch Quelaag- Quelaag is weak to lightning. For this reason, it would be wise to bring a spare gold pine resin with you, for her boss fight. During the whole fight, stay to her side, and attack the spider legs. Always pay attention to Quelaag’s human body, so you know when she is about to do her AOE attack. (This is telegraphed by her leaning forward.) If you get caught in front of her, get ready to dodge her three-attack combo. Always assume that she is doing her three-attack combo because even if she is winding up to do her big stab attack, the animation is so long that you can dodge again, once you’ve already dodged mistakenly (sorry if that was worded poorly). You want her to do her lava-spewing attacks because this is when you can do a lot of damage. (She will be stuck in place for a long time, similar to how the gargoyles are stuck during their fire-breath attack.) Speaking of her lava, make sure to stay aware of where it is. If you get caught in it, it can do massive damage and kill you easily. I suggest keeping your camera unlocked during the fight, because this way it’s easier to more reliably strike her spider legs. Also, it helps keeping the lava on your screen, so that you don’t mistakenly stumble into it during the fight. The fight sounds complicated, but when you memorize the timings for her sword attacks, it gets much easier. Stray Demon- Very similar to the Asylum Demon, but with magic attacks, too. It also has much more health, so you should fight it much later in the game. Just like the Asylum Demon, keep your camera unlocked. This helps you get behind the Demon easier. Also, like the Asylum Demon, it is a good idea to two-hand your weapon during this fight (unless you have a high magic-defense shield). This is because your shield won’t do all that much against the Demon’s attacks. The hardest part of the fight by far are the magic AOE attacks. When you see that an AOE attack is going to go off, get behind the Demon and run. These AOE attacks are telegraphed by the Demon slamming its hammer or by the Demon swinging its hammer through the air. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether an AOE attack will go off, so play it safe during these instances. Try to stay behind the Demon and eventually you will kill it. You might want to use some sort of weapon buff in this fight, because you want to end it as fast as possible. This is because the fight is so RNG dependent, based on what attacks you get (some are easily-dodged and heavily punishable and others are very hard to avoid and allow little time after to damage the Demon). Keep in mind that the Demon is weak to magic and bleed damage. If the fight proves too difficult, you can always come back later in the game to defeat the Stray Demon. Great Grey Wolf Sif- Sif is weak to lightning so bring a gold pine resin to the fight. Whether you lock-on your camera or not is largely up to preference in this fight, because neither lends a significant advantage over the other. Try to stay under Sif during the whole fight. He won’t be able to hit you as long as you’re under him. If he jumps away and lunges back at you, dodge the attacks by rolling towards Sif, and get under him. Most of his attacks are heavily punishable, because you can get under him after almost every attack. Once you are under him, two-hand your weapon for maximum damage. Once he jumps away, you can pull out a shield again, if you use one. Poor Sif. Iron Golem- Be sure to kill the giant that is located directly above the fog gate before you enter the fight. If you don’t, he will constantly throw explosives at you during the fight, making it much harder. Once entering the fog gate, dodge the Golem’s first long-range attack and get to its feet. Try and do a lot of damage very quickly in this fight to each of his feet. Two-handing your weapon during this fight is a good idea because a shield will do very little against the gargantuan Golem. The Golem is weak to lightning damage, so try to either use a lightning-infused weapon or gold pine resin during the fight. Also, try to kill the Golem with your camera unlocked. Locking-on will keep you from seeing some of the Golem’s attacks and it makes hitting its feet harder. While you can kill it normally, there is a much easier way. If you do enough damage, it will start stumbling and be thrown off balance. Once again, do a lot of damage very quickly to each of its feet. Except this time, make sure to aim your attacks in the direction of a huge drop. The Golem will be thrown off the fortress if you deal enough damage to it quickly enough. It is easier for you to get the instant fall damage kill by standing on the long ledge on the far side of the arena. However, it is very easy to be thrown off, yourself, if you get hit. Balance positioning with controlled aggression and you will come out on top. Ornstein and Smough- This is considered to be an incredibly difficult fight, so make sure you use a powerful weapon and a weapon buff. I suggest using the crystal halberd during this fight. You can find it earlier in Anor Londo. It’s to the left, once you leave the room housing the first bonfire in Anor Londo, inside the mimic. Be aware, though, that the halberd can break easily, so use it when you start getting good at the fight, to the point where you can finish it soon. For the weapon buffs, Ornstein is weak to fire and Smough is weak to lightning. For this reason, I would suggest using charcoal pine resin in the first phase and gold pine resin in the second phase. Once you enter the fog gate, be ready to dodge Ornstein’s lunging attack. (Sometimes he does it and sometimes he doesn’t.) During the first phase of the fight, you want to play incredibly carefully and only attack whenever you are absolutely sure that you have an opening. The basic game-plan for the fight is this: Run to the opposite side of the boss room if Ornstein and Smough are close to you. Use the six pillars as cover constantly throughout the fight. At this point, hope that Ornstein does a lunging attack so that he gets close to you. Attack him once (maybe twice) if you have an obvious opening to do so. Try to always keep Ornstein and Smough on-screen so that they can’t surprise you by stabbing you in the back. I suggest two-handing your weapon when you get the opportunity to attack Ornstein. This is because these opportunities are few and far between. You want to make the most of it every time. When Smough starts getting close to you run to the other side of the arena and repeat. Keep your camera unlocked for most of the first phase. Only lock-onto Ornstein when you’re going to attack him. You want as much control on your camera as possible during this fight. Killing Onstein in the first phase is preferable, because doing it this way is easier and more reliably done. During the second phase, always keep a pillar between you and Smough. Whenever he finishes one of his attacks, run to him and hit him once (twice if he finishes his lightning butt-slam attack). The only attack you really need to watch out for is his lightning butt-slam attack. It is very difficult to dodge and does very high damage. When you see him jump in the air, either run back or roll back twice (if you can fast-roll). Take this fight very slowly and it gets easier. Overcome this duo and you will have defeated what some believe is the toughest boss in the game! Crossbreed Priscilla- Before the fight starts, apply charcoal pine resin to your weapon. Priscilla is weak to fire, so the resin, along with pyromancies are very effective against her. Do your strongest attack first; Priscilla doesn’t start fighting you unless you attack her first. After she goes invisible, you must locate her, based on her appearing footprints in the snow. If possible, get behind Priscilla when attacking her. It’s a very simple fight, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy by default. Similarly to Sif, it is up to your preference, whether you lock-on or stay unlocked. I prefer staying unlocked, because it allows me to more easily dodge her attacks. Try not to get greedy, and you will eventually defeat her. If she’s too difficult, you can come back later to fight her. Dark Sun Gwyndolin- Gwyndolin has three attacks, so learning them and reacting to each of them differently shouldn’t be that difficult. There are pillars on either side of the hallway that I recommend using to dodge some of his attacks. Firstly, and his most deadly attack: his big orb blast attack. This will shoot at you very quickly and is able to go through the pillars on either side of the hallway, so it’s a good idea to do a roll even if you’re not sure if this attack is going off. His small homing orbs attack is when you want to hide behind the pillars, though. They move much slower than his big orb blast attack. His final attack is dart attack. This is the one you want him to use, because it is easily the most punishable. Whenever he uses it, just run side to side, whilst approaching him. (Side-note: his big orb blast attack is also punishable, it’s just harder to dodge than the dart attack.) You don’t have many opportunities during the fight to attack him, so using a fire damage is suggested, since he’s weak to it. However, Gwyndolin is also weak to physical, bleed and occult damage, so instead of pyromancies, charcoal pine resin would be better in this fight. Just like Priscilla, whether you lock-on or not, during this fight is entirely up to your preference. For me, personally, I prefer staying unlocked to dodge his projectiles, but locking-on when I run up to attack him. I’m over complicating the fight; just run up to him, attack, repeat. Pinwheel- This is widely considered to be the most difficult fight in the Dark Souls series, and one of the hardest bosses in any game, period. Most of this fight boils down to lightning-fast reflexes and deep knowledge on the gameplay mechanics, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t try to give some tips. Once you enter the fight, immediately run up to Pinwheel. Start attacking him/her until he/she teleports away. (At this point he/she should be around half-health.) Pinwheel will start summoning copies of themself. Find out which one is the real Pinwheel by attacking his/her copies once. After you find out which one is real, attack him/her. Done. Seriously, though, if you come here earlier in the game, Pinwheel can put up a small challenge. Even at that point though, the catacombs to get to Pinwheel is much harder than the boss itself, so you are absolutely fine, even if it takes a few attempts. Gravelord Nito- Using a charcoal pine resin/ pyromancies is a good idea in this fight, as Nito is weak to fire. I prefer fighting Nito with my camera unlocked so that I can more easily manage his skeletons. After you take fall-damage from falling into the fight, find a small opening to use your estus flask. It’s risky to use it immediately after falling because sometimes Nito will use his floor attack (where he summons a weapon from the floor beneath you). During the fight, stay close to Nito unless you need to heal. Focus your attacks on him, until he summons too many skeletons. The skeletons put up more of a fight than Nito, so periodically take out some skeletons, from time to time. When you see Nito charge up for his AOE attack, run away and it will kill all of his summoned skeletons. This is when you want to charge Nito and deal as much damage as quickly as possible. Repeat attacking him, taking out skeletons and dodging his AOEs and you will kill him. Seath the Scaleless- When the fight starts, immediately run around Seath. There will be a glowing crystal behind him that you must strike and destroy (it’s destruction will result in Seath’s vulnerability). Now that he’s vulnerable, start attacking his tail/s while he turns around. Run far away from him to bait one of his long range attacks. Once one has begun, run up the his front and attack him. Keep attacking him until you see him charging up his next attack. Run away to escape his attack. At this point Seath should be close to cornering you in the boss room (if not, run up to him and attack the front of him again). If cornered, run around him and attack his tail/s until he turns around. Repeat these few steps and soon Seath will be dead. If you are having trouble against Seath, remember that he is weak to lightning damage. I definitely suggest staying unlocked during the fight, just like I do for pretty much every large boss in the game. The Four Kings- This fight will be inaccessible until you defeat Sif, and equip the Covenant of Artorias ring. This fight is basically entirely dependent on your DPS. If you are capable of doing a lot of damage quickly, this boss will be easy. If not, then it will be very difficult. For this reason, it is wise to use some sort of weapon buff before the boss appears. Fire damage is most effective against them, so that is what I suggest. During the fight, be sure to stay close to each king so that they don’t do any projectile attacks. When the first king does appear, run up to him and dodge his first combo. Try to get behind him and attack him (try to get behind him so that you are able to get one or two more attacks off before the king goes into another combo). The only two attacks you have to watch out for is the grab attack and the AOE blast. (The AOE blast is telegraphed by the king spinning in circles.) After a while, a second king will spawn into the fight. This is why DPS is so important to this fight. If you can’t do enough damage, then you will eventually have to deal with up to four Kings attacking you at once. It is wise to play very aggressive in this fight so that you only have to fight one king at once. If your DPS in this fight is lacking too much for you to prevail, I suggest for you to fight this boss later in the game. You can acquire the lord souls in any order, so if you want to, you can put off this boss until late in the game. Ceaseless Discharge- Dodge his fist-slam attack and then attack his... tentacle-fist thing. Possibly the simplest boss in the game. Only thing to be aware of is that you shouldn’t run too far from him, or else he will shoot out lava (which can actually be brutal). Demon Firesage- This fight is very similar to the Stray Demon fight, the biggest difference is that now you are probably much better equipped than when you fought Stray. It’s the Asylum Demon with an AOE and fire. Because of their similarities, many of the strategies used against the Asylum Demon or Stray Demon apply here, too. Ironically, the Demon Firesage is actually weak to fire damage. Pyromancies and charcoal pine resin are especially effective against it. Try to stay behind the Demon. Not many of its attacks will be able to hit you. If not behind, then stay right in front of it. Most of his attacks will miss you, you just need to watch out for the AOE attack. However, your best bet is to just stay behind the Demon. Centipede Demon- When you enter the fight, you will be on a tiny platform of land surrounded by lava, and the Demon will be approaching you. If you are able to, take a right and follow the path along the wall, eventually ending up to the right of where you entered the fight. This piece of land is much larger than the one you were on before. Now, wait for the Demon to approach and dodge his initial attack. If you want to maximize your damage output, be sure to utilize some sort of lightning or magic damage, as the Demon is weak to it. I also strongly suggest keeping your camera unlocked during the fight. If not, the camera will be awful, and you will barely be able to see what’s going on. Back to the fight, when the Demon is finally standing on a safe platform, run underneath him and start attacking his legs. He will keep doing jump attacks but just roll a few times in any direction and you should be fine. That’s pretty much the whole fight; get under him, attack, dodge the jump attack, repeat. Bed of Chaos- Oh god. There are many ways/strategies to get around this awful fight. There is a very safe strategy involving firebombs, but it is too complicated to explain here and I’m not too comfortable with the strategy, myself. If you’re interested, you can watch it in most no-hit runs of the game. If not, then you’re in for a rough fight which will likely entail many deaths, with an enormous run-back to the fight every time. Here’s how the fight goes: Slide down the huge slide and run to one of her two sides. For the time-being, the only attack you have to worry about is a close-range attack; stay far away. Destroy the yellow ring inside of the orange orb. This is pretty much where the real fight starts. I suggest quitting out of the game and reloading so that you can respawn in the center of the room. The floor of the boss arena will start to collapse, so you must be careful where you stand. While doing this, you have to watch out for attacks coming from the boss, herself. Eventually, make your way over to the other orange orb and break it. Once again, I suggest quitting out for the same reason. Now, you must run straight at the boss and jump down to a tree root revealed by the crumbling floor. The boss will try everything she can to stop you, so be ready to die a few times while attempting this. Run into the center of the Bed of Chaos and break through the sticks blocking you. Deep inside, you will find a bug- kill it. This is by far the most annoying boss in the game, so one of the biggest challenges of the fight is going to be staying calm. There aren’t very many definitive strategies for this fight (at least not that I know of) so you are going to have to experiment. If you truly can’t beat her, once again, try looking up the firebomb strategy that people use during no-hit runs. If you were able to find the resolve within yourself to defeat the Bed of Chaos, you can pride yourself on knowing that you’re over with one of the worst fights in the series! Gwyn, Lord of Cinder- The difficulty in this fight is greatly dependent on one thing; if you can parry. If you can parry, this fight is pretty easy, but if you can’t, then this will be one of the harder bosses in the game. For this reason, I will describe two different ways of defeating this boss, depending on if you can parry or not. Before that, though, keep in mind that Gwyn is weak to fire. Exploiting his weakness will lead to a swifter victory. Locking-on in this fight is up to your preference, but I prefer locking on. If you can parry: Get the first parry off on Gwyn when he lunges at you, beginning the fight. While he’s getting up, circle behind him. Fast-roll backwards thrice and prepare to parry his lunging attack. Keep circling behind him and rolling and parrying him until he’s dead. If you mess up any of your parries, reposition yourself and then later parry one of his normal attacks. This lets you get back into the parry loop. If you can’t parry: Try to wear fire-defense armor. Try to use a fire-defense shield (some of Gwyn’s attacks come out too fast to reliably dodge). I find it easier to get behind Gwyn if I play with my camera unlocked, however you should not do this if you have any type of thrusting weapon. The basic gist of the fight is this: Dodge Gwyn’s combo of fire sword attacks and hit him when he is finished. He has a wide variety of attacks that range from ridiculously fast, to relatively fast, so you need to learn how to differentiate each of his tells for each attack. He has grab attacks, combos, thrusts, leaping attacks, etc. He can close the distance between you, so don’t think you’re safe to use estus if he jumps backwards. If you do need to use estus (or if you’re in need of downtime during the fight, for whatever reason) be sure to take advantage of the stalagmites around the boss room. Usually, this buys you enough time to buff your weapon, use estus, or apply something to yourself, magically. Gwyn is a tough, straight-forward fight. It’s a classic duel. Learn his attacks and you will prevail, eventually. Congratulations on completing Dark Souls! [I am unable to provide any useful guides for the Artorias of the Abyss DLC, as I have only finished it once. However, if I ever do it again, (which is likely) I will be sure to repost this, with information about the bosses in the Artorias of the Abyss DLC.] [If you think I missed any useful tips, be sure to reply and tell them to me. If they seem genuinely useful to know, I will consider adding them.]
October MWC Entry for [Old Traditions] Grunli walked down the ancient trail arm in arm with his grandfather. His brothers and sisters had shunned the activity long ago, but he enjoyed the time he got to spend with the old man. As they made the daily trek to the crumbling old ruin, his grandfather would regale him with all the ancient myths and legends of their people. It was a fascinating look into the superstitions and culture of generations long past, plus he enjoyed the sound of his Grandpa’s voice. Almost nobody believed in the Old Ways anymore. Modern science and technology had taken residence in the imaginations of the people and forced out such simple beliefs. The old sagas were fanciful stories of primeval beings born of the night and giving laws, agriculture, and technology. Now, with the recent invention of the Steam Engine by the Engineer’s Guild, his people were entering into a fascinating new modern age. Just five years ago they had discovered how to generate and harness Electricity for lighting using water wheels. If you were lucky, you could even see one of the new lighter-than-air sky ships as it carried passengers from city to city. Progress and abundance were promised with every new discovery. Yet, there was something captivating, and maybe even a little magical, about slowing down and taking the time to walk the beaten old path. The deep antiquity of the daily tradition infused a mysterious kind of meaning into it. For over three thousand years his people, and his family in particular, had performed the rituals of the Ou’ardayeen, the Ancient Ones. His grandfather was the last of an unbroken line of priests reaching all the way back to the construction of the temple. “What are you thinking about in that sharp mind of yours, Grunli? You have been quiet the whole time and we are almost half way there.” His head jerked a little as he glanced over to see his grandfather looking at him. Even though he was old, his eyes were as lively and sharp as when he was a young man. “Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking of how much I enjoy walking the trail with you every day and hearing the old stories.” The old man patted Grunli’s arm and said, “Yes, not many left to tell them these days. Maybe just me.” They walked a few more steps before he continued, “The belief in the Ancient Ones is like this trail we walk. Back in my youth, it was a broad, and easy. Many trod it to honor the Old Ways. Now, the trail is nearly overgrown, and roots tangle my old feet if I go it alone. But, in spite of all that, the trail remains. It will remain, as long as someone is there to walk it. It is important we never lose the path.” As if the old man planned it, and he probably did, they both stepped over a vine-like root crossing the trail. “Grandpa, I have been accepted into the Technological Institute in Brodenia. I will be leaving next month.” The old man stopped walking for a moment and looked at Grunli. For just a moment, he saw a vapor of sadness and regret cross the old man’s face, before it was replaced by a warm smile. The elderly priest shook his arm and beamed, “That’s wonderful my boy, simply wonderful! You have been studying to get in for what, two years now?” “Two and a half, yes. It is a great opportunity.” “Indeed it is. I am very proud of you. And your parents, may they rest peacefully in the Ancient’s Embrace, would have been too. I am sure you will make a very fine engineer.” He appreciated his grandfather’s words, but despite his optimism Grunli knew he had wounded the old man. Ever since his parents died in the accident, the family had grown apart. It was obvious that none of his siblings wanted to take on the mantle of being a Priest of the Old Ways. All it meant was a paltry stipend from the government covering the barest of essentials, and a commitment to a mythology becoming more irrelevant with each passing day. “I’m sorry, Grandfather. I know you were hoping I would take your place as the priest one day. I just don’t think that is the life I want for myself.” He felt the old man squeeze his arm tightly as he said, “There’s nothing you need to apologize for. It’s a new world out there, an exciting world. There is little a daily walk to an old pile of stones and reciting ancient incantations can do to compare with that. If you could humor an old man though, there is something I should show you at the temple today.” “Sure, Grandpa. Of course.” The path opened up and they saw the ancient building. It was a large pyramid made of huge grey cut masonry blocks set in a courtyard of stone. The jungle would have overtaken many of the old buildings but for Grandfather. There were neither intrusive vines crawling up the side of the structure, nor upstart weeds growing in the cracks of the pavers. The man had spent a lifetime carefully tending the area, and it was a testament to the seriousness with which he took his task as priest and caretaker. As they entered the dark foyer, Grunli walked to a shelf and retrieved an oil lamp. Lighting it, they proceeded down the dark hallways to the central chamber. He always liked this part. It felt like he was traveling back in time to descent into the dark interior. When he was younger, he thought if he strained hard enough he could hear the echoes of the ancient chants and rituals that once honored this place. Beautiful murals adorned the walls, still as vibrant as the day they were painted thanks to their never seeing the face of the sun. Vivid images showing the digging of irrigation canals, the construction of buildings, and the formation of government were masterfully portrayed. As the visitor traveled down the hallway it told a story to them. Subtle textures in the walls made the images seem to move as the unsteady light of the lamp passed by. When they reached the end of the hallway, above the door was the image of the Ou’ardayen. It had strange, long limbs and was surrounded by a pantheon of other celestial beings depicted in stylized animal motifs. In all the murals, the Ancient Ones were always represented as smaller than the rest, even than one of his own people. He stood staring at the image and said, “It’s strange. I never thought about it before, but the Ancient Ones are always portrayed as being small. They are almost diminutive compared to the other divine beings, and even smaller than us. That doesn’t make much sense. I would think the artists would have portrayed them stronger, and larger.” “Good!” his grandfather replied, “You see the lesson in it?” Turning his head away from the image he said, “I’m afraid I don’t, Grandpa.” Gesturing broadly at the hallway paintings the priest said, “These things were not done through strength of arm, but of mind. The Ancient Ones were not conquerors; they were teachers, instructing us in how to live better. They were powerful, to be sure, but that is not what made them mighty.” Grunli nodded slightly and said, “You’ve told the story so many times I know it by heart. In the Before Times, famine, disease, and war plagued the land. Then, servants of the darkness came and enslaved the world. After uncounted centuries of captivity, our tears and cries went unanswered and we stopped asking. Hope was lost, until one night a new star was born to die in the constellation of the Huntress, Harlana. From the night sky came the Ou’ardayeen. They fell upon our enslavers and banished them from our lands. They then gave us the gifts of civilization and promised never to abandon us to the darkness again.” His grandfather walked in front of him and faced him with a smile. The angle of the light highlighted his wrinkles and suddenly the old priest looked tired, and worn. “You have learned the old truths well, my grandson. These words weren’t made for the dusty tomes of old libraries, to sit awaiting rediscovery by some future scholar so they might one day see the sun again. They were spoken in the beginning, and spoken they have remained since the beginning. At least I can go to my grave knowing these ancient truths have found a home in a living, breathing mind and heart.” At this, the old man sat heavily on one of the stone benches, “Could you do me a favor?” “Of course, what is it?” Gesturing around the room, he said, “My knee has been acting up with the weather lately. Do you think you could perform the ritual today?” Grunli was stunned. His grandfather had never asked him to do it before, despite years of sitting to the side on that very bench and watching. “Are you sure? Isn’t that against the rules or something?” At this the old man straightened up and said, “Oh, you may be right. Let me see if it is okay with the other priests.” He looked to his left and then to his right asking, “Does anyone have a problem with my grandson performing the ritual today? If so, speak up.” He waited for a moment, putting a hand to his ear and straining toward the darkness. He lowered his hand and said, “Well, it looks like they aren’t answering. I’m pretty sure it’s because they’re all dead.” He broke into a broad smile and started laughing. Grunli joined him and they filled the ancient hall with a rare sound in the dark and hallowed chamber. When they were done, Grandfather waved a hand at the boy and said, “You have seen it so many times I bet you could do it blindfolded.” Grunli, still recovering from the laughter, said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” “Care to make a wager on it?” Grunli quirked his head to the side and asked, “A wager? What do you have to wager with? No offense Grandpa, but your stipend doesn’t even cover new sandals every season.” The old priest leaned forward and said, “If you are able to do the ritual blindfolded, I will show you a part of the temple you have never seen before.” He was skeptical at that offer. He had been to this temple every day with the old man for years. He was positive there was nowhere he hadn’t seen. “Come on, there’s no such place. I know every square inch of this place and you know as much.” Grandfather’s eyes sparkled now as he said, “I stand by my bet. Take it or leave it.” The idea of seeing something new in the temple intrigued him, and he said, “Yeah, you have a bet.” “Good, come over here then and let’s get started.” They two of them moved over to the entry doorway, and the Priest took off the sash from around his waist and tied it around the head of the younger man. “There you go,” Grandfather said, “No peeking now or the bet is off.” Grunli felt a small thrill of excitement as he began. From his position in the entry doorway, he took twelve steps forward and reached out his left hand to touch the Pillar of Self. He solemnly recited the words of the ritual in the Ancient Tongue, “The knowledge of self begins the journey.” He turned to his right and took three steps forward and placed his right hand on the Table of Light. “May the Light of The Ancients guide my way.” He took six steps backward, and spun to face the opposite direction to touch the Pedestal of Sight. “With eyes unclouded, I see all things.” Sidestepping to the left, he placed both hands on the Altar of War. “To battle the darkness that threatens life.” Taking three steps back and turning to the right, he put his right hand on the Podium of the Promise. “With the help of the Ancients, shall I overcome all evil.” He waited for a moment, and after a handful of seconds his grandfather began clapping. “Well done! Well done indeed my boy!” He reached up and took the blindfold off. His grandfather walked over to him without any hint of pain in his knee and said, “Now, I have a debt to pay.” The old priest guided him to one of the antechambers off the main hall. It was a map room he had been in countless times before. On the floor was a miniature representation of the main hall, down to the tiniest detail. “Uh, Grandpa, I have been in here before.” Smiling at him, the priest said, “Do you know the name of this room?” “Yeah, it has the name inscribed above the doorway. This is the Keyless Gate.” The priest smiled at him and said, “It gladdens my heart to know you remember what I taught you about the Old Tongue. What do you think it means?” “Honestly, I always thought it was some kind of metaphor or something.” He paused for a moment then continued, “My main memory of this place was when I was playing as a little boy in here and I broke the miniatures. I always appreciated you for fixing it and not telling mom and dad.” Surprise shone clearly on Grandfather’s face as he asked, “What are you talking about?” “You don’t remember? A whole bunch of them got pushed into the floor.” “Not in the least, what are you talking-“ They were interrupted by a distant booming sound that echoed through the halls. They exchanged a glance and Grandfather said, “I think we need to see what that was. I will show you the rest tomorrow.” Together they made their way out of the ancient structure and were soon back on the path. Grunli asked as he assisted the older man, “Do you think one of the sky ships exploded?” Looking aloft, Grandfather said, “No, what we heard was more like thunder, but the sky is clear today.” They made their way toward the ancient stone house. The huge standing stone in the front of the house greeted them through the trees. It had carved into it the symbol of the Ou’ardayeen. It was nearly as old as the temple, and the house was apparently built not long after. The structure was terribly out of date by modern standards. Even to the casual observer, however, the marks of improvements and renovations done over the ages could be seen. It was in a horrible state of disrepair; its only positive attributes were the high ceilings and exquisite antique stained glass windows. That didn’t really make up for the drawbacks, however. About sixty years ago, the former High Priest, Grunli’s Great-grandfather, began a renovation project but ran out of money due to reductions in government support. The resulting repairs left many poorly patched, and very drafty, holes in the walls. Some of the larger ones you could even see daylight through. Grunli had promised himself he would make sure they were boarded up better before he left for the Institute. There was a series of three more of the deep booming noises and when he went outside to investigate, he saw strange clouds in the sky. They went on for miles, and were as straight as an arrow. He had never seen anything like it before. As he was wondering over them, a blast of wind nearly took him off his feet. He shut his eyes against the blowing dust and vegetation and pushed his hands tight against his ears. Despite his efforts, the sound was painfully loud. He cracked his eyes open and through blurred vision saw a massive shadow descending out of the sky toward him. He struggled to his feet and began taking unsteady steps toward the door. As he reached it, his grandfather ushered him in and closed the door. Even inside, they both had to shout to be heard. Grandfather asked, “What did you see? What is happening?” “Three clouds in the sky, straight, and extending nearly to the horizon.” Grunli was taken aback at his grandpa’s reaction. He went pale, eyes opened wide, and nearly fell backward. If the dining table hadn’t been there to catch him he would have fallen. “What is it Grandpa? What’s going on?” The old man didn’t answer, but turned stiffly and walked over to a cabinet. It was the one that held the most ancient scrolls of their faith. Shaking, he withdrew a key he wore around his neck and attempted to fit it into the lock. Seeing he was unable, Grunli moved close and folded his hands around his grandfather’s and gently helped him open it. With trembling hands, the old man hastily examined and discarded scroll after scroll. The priceless texts started making pile on the floor as he searched. About half of the scrolls were discarded when the rumbling sound outside stopped. Grunli started moving to the door to take a look outside when Grandfather spat, “Wait! It’s not safe!” He retreated back to stand next to his grandfather and asked, “What has you so scared Grandpa?” He got no answer until the priest found the scroll he was so desperately searching for. It looked older than the others, if such a thing were possible. Taking it to the table, the old clergyman began tracing his finger on the page and reading words in a strange tongue barely over a whisper. Suddenly stopping, he exclaimed, “Here! Here it is! ‘The Servants of Darkness descended on the earth. Their voices boomed like thunder and their passing rent the skies like a mighty beast.’” The old man looked at Grunli and immediately the younger man understood: the ancient evil had returned. “You must hide my boy, you are not safe. They will know I am a servant of the Ancient Ones, even now they are at the door.” “What?” “Here, hide here,” the old man said, pulling one of the looser wooden patches away from its place. Behind it was a half finished walkway to a long abandoned extension to the house. “But what about you? There’s room for both of us, you can hide too.” “Obey me now, my child. I am old, and no threat to them. If they find me maybe they will not search the house.” Grunli protested and took his grandfather’s arm, “How can you know?” The old man gently took his grandson’s hand off his arm and said, “Grunli, my wonderful boy, it has to be you. I am too old. Summoning the Ancients takes a knowledge of the Old Ways, and a member of our bloodline. That’s why it has always been passed from parent to child within our family. You and I are all that’s left, don’t you see? You alone of your generation have the tools to do what must be done. The mantle now passes to you.” “But I don’t know how to do that. It has to be you. You are the High Priest. Your whole life you have been training for this.” “No, my boy, my whole life I spent passing on my knowledge to someone worthy. I spent it preparing you. I am old and full of years. If my time has come, it will rest on you to save our people.” With that, he pushed Grunli into the hollow and replaced the patch. There were strange whining noises outside followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on metal. Moving to the opposite side of the room, Grandfather looked at the front door and spoke, “So much to tell you but so little time. In the Keyless Gate, you must push the symbols in the same order as-“ The door exploded inward showering the room with splinters. The shockwave from the burst threw Grandfather against the wal.. What Grunli saw next caused his blood to run cold. There in the doorway was a creature standing head and shoulders above the tallest of his own people, and twice as wide. Muscles rippled under its skin as it stepped cautiously into the room. It had a thin coat of flat fur covering its whole body, rectangular ears high on its head, and a long, toothy snout. Perhaps most unsettling were its eyes. They were intelligent, and predatory. It wore some kind of metal armor, and carried an axe in one hand and what looked like some sort of firearm in the other. Seeing the old priest, it focused its attention on him. Grunli was barely able to make out the speech of the creature. He recognized it as the Ancient Tongue, but its grammar and pronunciation were different than his grandfather taught him. “Abomination of stone, outside you have. Old symbol of enemy. Where is enemy?” Grandfather pushed off the wall and with an air of nobility Grunli had never seen from him answered in the Old Tongue, “I am the High Priest of the Ou’ardayeen. I serve the Old Ways. Go, return to the darkness, if you value your lives. If you remain, you will face destruction at the hands of the Mighty Ones.” At the mention of the Ou’ardayeen, the creatures pointed ears flattened against its head and it darted cautious looks around the room. It replied, “Tell me, you will, or death I will give you.” Seeing its reaction to the words, Grandfather’s expression became resolved and he said, “The Ou’ardayeen taught us to use words of peace. Such words are our solution to conquer our strife. To defeat the Servants of Darkness, the sword is the key.” A deep rumbling growl came from the creature and in one swift motion it stepped forward and slashed its axe through the last priest of the Old Ways. Grunli barely held back a cry as he watched the monster take something precious from him. The creature leaned over the broken body of his Grandpa, and said, “Not words or sword can us defeat, old foolish one.” Sorrow, anger, and terror all fought to gain control of him. Ultimately, terror won. There, standing before him in the flesh, was one of the myths from the Before Times. When it began searching around the room, a fear older than antiquity, an echo of the forgotten horror born from centuries of slavery cried out for him to run away as fast as he could and never look back. He waited, barely able to breathe as the monstrous hulk prowled around the room. It examined the holy artifacts collected there with the care of a barbarian. Pottery from ancient times was examined briefly then carelessly tossed aside to shatter on the intricate rugs covering the stone floor. Eventually it was satisfied, or bored, enough to leave. Grunli heard the heavy footsteps on metal again, and soon the terrible rumble began. Dust and vegetation blew into the house through the shattered door. In less than a minute, the roar faded, and the wind subsided. He never remembered how long he sat in that little hole, almost too scared to breathe. He was lost and outside of time. All he remembered later were the sounds of screaming and crying faintly filtered through the jungle, and the occasional deep rumble of an explosion. When his senses returned, it was dark outside and the night chill was seeping into him. Slowly, he pushed the boards away and stepped into the room. There, on the floor, was the body of the man that raised him. Moonlight filtered through the stained glass and gently washed over him with pale motes of color. It was almost as if the sky itself wished to honor this fallen priest. Grandfather’s face, even in death, held a noble and resolved expression. Grunli’s heart broke when he saw his Grandpa’s open eyes held none of the spark of life that burned so brightly in them just hours before. The sense of loss was crushing, and for a few long minutes all he could do was stand there under its weight. When he was able to move again, he reached down and closed the old man’s eyes and whispered the Prayer of the Departed over him. When he was finished, he reverently reached over and pulled one of the rugs over the body. Then, he cried. He cried deeply and bitterly, and when he was done, he stood and walked out of the door and made his way to the Temple Path. Though it was dark, he needed no lamp. The moonlight filtering through the canopy above and his familiarity with the path meant his foot never faltered. When he reached the Temple, it was bathed in moonlight. The dark grey stones had lost the comfortable familiarity they possessed in sunlight. Now, the Temple looked like an alien, dangerous place. He walked across the courtyard and into the entry foyer. Moving to the shelf with the lamp, he retrieved it and felt around for the sparker. He found it, and began trying to light the lamp. In the flashes of the sparks, he saw the wick had burned out. Shaking the lamp gently, he found there was also no oil left. He realized that in their haste to leave, neither of them had extinguished it. They kept a little pair of scissors and a small bottle of lamp oil on the shelf and within moments he had located both. It was awkward in the dark to trim the wick and refill the lamp, but eventually he was walking down the ancient hallway, light in hand. The murals held a new significance for him, as he saw them now not as myth or legend, but history. He recognized in the dark shadows of the depictions of the Before Times the forms of creatures he had now seen with his own eyes. As he hurried to the Main Hall, he wondered how many other truths were told in plain sight for any who had the eyes to see them. The ominous sense of foreboding that struck him outside melted away as the lamp illuminated the familiar interior. Passing through the Main Hall to the antechambers, he soon stood facing the miniatures in the Keyless Gate room. He remembered the last words his Grandfather spoke to him. He had been thinking of this since he left the house and he had an idea of what to do. Reaching down, he pushed the tiny Pillar of Self down, and it slid into the floor. Next he moved his hand to push down on the Table of Light. Following the ritual, he pressed each of the pieces down and when he finished with the Podium of Promise, there was a loud clicking noise, followed by a loud, “Thunk” from the back wall. He picked up the lamp and moved to take a closer look. There, he saw some of the stones were protruding out from the wall. Feeling around the edge, he found a groove carved into the side. Gripping the groove, he pulled and a section of the stone wall swung open to reveal a hidden passage beyond. How many times had he been in this room and had no idea what mysteries lay just steps away? His thoughts were interrupted by an unfortunately familiar sound. The deep rumbling he had heard before was being filtered and echoed through the halls of the Temple. He ran back to the entrance as fast as he could. Concerned about betraying his position, he shielded the lamp light with his hand as he moved toward the entrance to the Temple. About half way through the first tunnel with the mural, he placed the lamp on the ground and used the flicker of light to guide him the rest of the way. When he arrived, he hid his body inside the doorway and leaned his head out to the side to get a good look at the cause of the noise. There, in the courtyard, was one of the great sky ships of the Servants of Darkness. It stood on three great legs, and large pods on its sides glowed with blue fire as the wind it produced scoured the stone. The fire and sound died away, and a ramp opened from the bottom. Heavy footsteps banged against the metal as six of the Evil Ones he had seen before descended. In front of them, they harshly pushed one of his own people down the ramp. “This, this is the place,” he stammered, pointing to the Temple. The creatures spoke in the Ancient Tongue, “Speak sense, or death we will give.” Realizing his mistake, the man again gestured at the Temple and said perhaps the only word from ancient times most people still knew, “Ou’ardayeen.” The creatures looked at the temple, then began slowly and cautiously walking past the man toward the entrance. The man dropped to his knees and his words were barely audible to Grunli, “Oh thank the Old Ones, they are going to let me live.” As they walked, the last of the monsters to pass by casually reached out one of the strange firearms toward the man and a ball of what looked like green electricity leapt from the device. When it hit him, he screamed and writhed as green sparks danced over his body. When they faded, he fell to the side and made no more sound. The creatures began making a strange, rhythmic sound. He soon realized it was laughter. He stood, peering, shocked at the casual way these creatures extinguished life. As he was fighting revulsion, he was blinded by a brilliant beam of light. He closed his eyes and pulled his head back out of sight and blinked. “Saw something, perhaps,” he heard one of the creatures say, “Cautious we walk.” Moving as quickly as he could without making too much noise, he worked his way back through the tunnel and retrieved the lamp as he passed. He made a direct route to the Keyless Gate. As he entered the room, he hurried toward the secret door. In his haste and poor light, one of his feet caught on a miniature and he fell. He hit the mural pieces and the lamp bounced out of his hand. It tumbled through the air, spilling the oil as it went, landing in the hallway on the other side of the door. The lamp rolled to a rest, barely touching the wick’s flame to the flammable liquid now covering a large area of the floor. The pool caught fire with a quiet, “Fwoompf,” and the room lit up with more light than it had possibly ever known. He knew that was going to act like a beacon drawing them straight to him. If anyone were in the Main Hall looking down toward the path to the antechambers, it would be impossible to miss. When they got here, the pool of fire would point them directly into the mysterious hallway. As he quickly stood up, he heard a loud click under him and looked down. The miniature pieces were returning to their positions. He heard the soft grating of stone and saw the door starting to close. Doing his best to avoid the pool of fire, he edged his way past the door just before it closed. He jumped over what remained of the pool of oil and retrieved the lamp. It would still burn for a little while, but he had minutes at most. After that, he would be alone in the dark with no knowledge of how to get out, if that were even still possible. He made his way down the corridor and after a few steps the path began descending down. He followed it, and after one or two minutes it opened up to a huge room. His little circle of light faded to black after a few paces, and was unable to reach the far walls. Turning to look back at the entrance, he saw a large frieze on one of the wall to his left, and rough cut stone on the right. Raising the lamp, he moved toward the carvings and saw it was a retelling of the story from the hallway at the beginning of the temple. As he followed along the wall, he saw it included more details of the story than he was familiar with. Also, the artistic style was more basic, and there were many deep shadows his tiny light could not penetrate. Continuing, he saw the familiar tale of the Before Times, and the Servants of Darkness. He reached the corner of the room, and it turned squarely to the left. The story continued on that wall and he proceeded. He reached the next two corners and guessed he was in a large square room. As he was moving along the wall opposite the doorway, he heard a loud banging sound echo faintly behind him. The Evil Ones had reached the Keyless Gate. A fresh sense of resolve entered him and he moved faster across the wall, looking for a way out. The mural continued, and in this version spent much more time on the battle between the Ancient Ones and the Servants of Darkness. The battle raged across the wall until he got to a scene of armor-clad Ou’ardayeen plunging a sword into the heart of the last enemy. More clangs echoed through the ancient structure as the monsters behind him tried to break down the door. After the construction of the Temple, the wall went to the uncut stone. It didn’t make sense. Why would they stop the story there? Hurrying, he jogged until he reached another corner. That was the fourth corner, could there be only one entrance and exit to this room? He made his way through the dark and was soon standing in front of the entry again. From here, the clanging noise was mixed with the sound of stone chunks falling on hard stone. They had broken through. The banging noise stopped and was replaced with scraping, clawing noises followed by more chunks of stone on floor. Having searched all the walls to no avail, he thought there must be something in the room. Maybe there was a stairway? Positioning himself at the door, he walked directly into the darkness, holding the lamp high. After a score of steps, he saw something glint in the dark ahead of him. Picking up his pace, he moved quickly forward. Out of the darkness, the skeletal face of an Evil One emerged. Startled, he stopped and fell backwards onto the ground. Recovering his wits, he cautiously stepped forward and saw it wasn’t just the head, but an entire skeleton of one of the monsters. Protruding from its breastbone was something metallic. Stepping forward, he saw it was a sword. He had never seen metal like this before. The blade showed no signs of age, and shone like pure Silver. He brought the light closer, and saw the blade penetrated all the way through the body and lodged in the spine of the beast. There was something familiar about the pose it was in. Turning to the left, he nearly ran through the darkness and soon found himself in front of the carvings depicting the last enemy slain by the Ancient Ones. The position of the creature depicted on the wall matched the one on display in the center of the room. It must have been the same one. Looking up at the mural he thought, What am I supposed to do now? If only Grandpa had been able to tell me the rest. The painful memory of his grandfather’s last moments replayed in his mind, and a fresh wave of grief washed through him. He remembered the feeling of helplessness as they spoke in the Ancient Tongue. He thought about the old man’s final words, and how he said that the sword would defeat the Dark Ones. Is that it? Does the sword have some special power? He reached up and took hold of the hilt and slid it out of the skeleton. It came out easily and even cut through some of the bone with little more than its own weight. As soon as it was free, the bones quivered and clattered to the ground. The sound echoed through the room. As it faded, he heard shouting coming from the hallway. Holding up the lamp in one hand and the sword in the other, he turned to face the doorway and waited. He considered putting out the lamp so he could ambush them, but realized their lights were so powerful it wouldn’t make a difference. Plus, he was sure the flame would go out soon. As he stood in tiny circle of light, he kept thinking about his Grandfather. He saw in his mind that final strike, the spray of blood, and then later those eyes devoid of life. Grandfather, if only you had enough time to tell me what to do next. He tried to push everything out of his mind, and focus on his Grandfather’s final words. “To defeat the Servants of Darkness, the sword is the key.” His eyes went wide as he realized his Grandfather did tell him. He ran through the darkness to the battle scene. Holding the dwindling light up close to the carvings, he saw a thin hole in the chest of the last Dark One. Carefully, he placed the tip of the sword in. It fit perfectly. He pushed it into the wall. When it reached the hilt, there was a sound like the chiming of a small ornamental church bell and the carved rock cracked. The wall shook, and what turned out to be a thin layer of rock and fell away from the wall to reveal massive metal doors. They began to swing open toward him and he took a few steps back. Dust filled the air and set him to coughing. When it settled, he uncertainly stepped through the cloud into the doorway. Inside, dark metallic and glass surfaces reflected his tiny flame. Truly, this was something out of the ancient legends. Looking in, he felt something familiar about the place, though he knew that was impossible. Nobody had seen this place since the construction of the Temple. Slowly, the light dwindled. He looked down at the lamp and saw the flame shrink until it vanished, leaving only red motes of smoldering wick in the darkness. Then, he understood. Grandfather had even prepared him for this. From his position in the doorway, he took twelve steps forward and reached out his left hand. He felt the cool smooth surface of glass, as he whispered in the Ancient Tongue, “The knowledge of self begins the journey.” The panel lit up, and above his hand it showed a glowing outline of one of his people. He turned to his right and took three steps forward and placed his right hand on a Table. “May the Light of The Ancients guide my way.” The room lit up with the radiance of the sun at mid day, dispelling the oppressive blackness. He immediately noticed there, in the center of the room, was a metallic statue of one of the Ou’ardayeen. He took six steps backward, and spun to face the opposite direction and reached out a hand to touch another glass surface. “With eyes unclouded, I see all things.” The panel lit up and in the center of the room, hanging in the air like a cloud, appeared a large glowing blue sphere. It had shapes on it, and he recognized part of it as his homeland. Sidestepping to the left, he leaned the sword against the table and placed both hands on it. “To battle the darkness that threatens life.” Around the sphere and on its surface, numerous red lights blinked to life. He retrieved the sword and took three steps back and, turning to the right, he put his right hand on the final glass panel. “With the help of the Ancients, shall I overcome all evil.” The statue shimmered, and a slight ripple passed over it. Starting from the head and moving down, the metal surface turned to fine dust and began falling away to reveal the armored figure. When the outer metallic shell was gone, the being it revealed dropped to a knee and Grunli could tell it was breathing heavily. In his best Old Tongue he said, “I and my people are in danger. The Servants of the Darkness are close outside. Can you help us?” The being slowly lifted its head to look at him. It had a glass visor over its face and even without seeing its eyes he knew it was studying him. Suddenly aware of what kind of presence he was in, the thought of not offending it came to mind. He dropped down to his knees and bowed low with his face to the ground. “Forgive me. I mean no offense Mighty One. Please forgive any lack of formality.” He heard the Ou’ardayeen walk slowly toward him. It reached down and took the sword with one hand, and his arm with the other, drawing both upward. It slid the sword into a sheath across its back. With its now free hand, it opened its visor and Grunli got a good look at it for the first time. Dark brown skin and eyes looked back at him from inside the helmet. “Don’t bow to me,” it said, “I am your friend, not your master.” A noise outside made the Ancient look over Grunli’s shoulder. It looked at him and he said, “The Evil Ones are here.” The Ou’ardayeen’s eyes narrowed and it walked past him and drew its sword. Turning, Grunli saw it walk out into the darkness. Beams of light shone around the room and then focused on one spot. All he could see was multiple shadows of the Ancient being cast across the floor of the room as all the lights were aimed at it. In a moment, the shadow was gone and a primal cry of fear and rage erupted from the Servants of Darkness. One by one, the beams of light shook, then projected at odd angles as the monsters holding them were slain. The sound of their strange weapons fire erupted and he saw some of the bolts speed across the room and impact the far walls and ceiling. The sound of shearing metal mixed with wet, splashing sounds echoed through the hall, soon to be overshadowed by agonized screams of pain. Then, it all stopped. Grunli didn’t know what to do, so he just stood there. The sound of footsteps approached out of the darkness, and the Ancient stepped into the room. Hints of blood sprayed on its armor were all that indicated the carnage recently wrought. It walked to Grunli and said, “You and your people will be safe again soon.” “Truly, the legends of the Ou’ardayeen’s power were all true,” the young man exclaimed. Turning to face him, the Ancient stared for a long moment. Finally, it spoke, “What are the Ou’ardayeen?” Pointing, the young man said, “You. You are the Ou’ardayeen.” It cocked its head to one side and said, “My species is human, I don’t- It paused then continued, “Oh, I understand.” Grunli looked at it, confused, “What?” “You’re saying it wrong. It’s pronounced, ‘The Guardian.’”
I'm a commentator for a tournament of nightmares. Before we reach the end, I got the interview of a lifetime.
Where this tournament began. If you're lost or wish to know more; Here's some extra info on our fighters provided by the NFC. Where we left off: For every victory, there's an even greater consequence. - There was only one person among the crowd not applauding, not celebrating and not cheering. Nelle had been trembling since she looked over the distorted form of Wendy and had barely calmed down now that things had settled. Together, we looked at the descending screen showcasing the fight between Malphas and Zunkle, the countdown to their match and the title fight following it. There was a moment of silence before she put her hands on my arm, gripping the bicep tightly. “We need to talk. I think it’s time to be honest about some things. Bring your equipment, even the music player. We'll need it.” I stared back and went to open my mouth, but thought better of it and nodded as we took off for her intended destination, darting & weaving through the crowds as deftly as we could. Nelle refused to let go of my arm the entire time. Though if it was out of necessity or fear, I couldn’t tell you. Passing through the third ring of the venue, something bumped into us and sent me hurtling to the ground, smacking my skull on the concrete and struggling to get up amid swathes of eager audience members looking to make a bet, grab a snack or discuss tactics. Each time I tried to get up, eyes blurry and ears ringing, something would knock me back over. A gruff hand took me by the shirt and hoisted me effortlessly to my feet, dusting me off. “It’s gonna happen soon, Sal. Protect ‘em, like you promised.” A cocky, brash voice called from behind me as a furry head nuzzled against my hand for the briefest of moments. Before I could turn back, the figure pushed me forward, through the crowd and towards Nelle, who’d only just spotted me. “Up here, we’ve got the area to ourselves. Just the three of us.” She muttered, leading me to a wall adjacent to the pit, an embedded ladder leading to a hatch above. “Three? You mean the guy and his dog who just picked me up?” I asked, following her up the steps and the promise of fresh air filling me with vigour. She twitched when I said that, frozen in place as if stabbed with a dagger. Without looking back, she shook her head. “No, not them… You’ll see.” With that, she hoisted the hatch open and climbed up, helping me to my feet as we traversed the concrete and over to a pair of sofas and a coffee table opposite the edge of the building. The stars above rhythmic in their blinking, constellations I couldn’t recognise swirling in the inky blackness, promising secrets untold if I just sat down to decipher them. Across from the building, we could see a pair of lit up billboard’s, one highlighting the: "Natural beauty and mystique of Sturgeon: the nations black pearl!" The latter offering a stay at the eponymous Hotel Inertia, the pair of finely crafted Olive Tree doors sporting an ouroboros serpent across the length of them, a radiant woman standing in front. Middle-aged, a shaven black head and a trim frame adorned by a blue suit with not a single button out of place, smiling wide with the motto of the establishment beneath her. “The Hotel Inertia; A room for Sturgeon’s finest. A floor for every occasion.” I felt something the longer I stared at the billboard. Prying my eyes away felt like the smart thing to do as I followed Nelle over to the couches. She propped her feet up and winced, wounds still tender from her brush with death. “It always finds a way to keep me going, though I’d hoped I’d never have to have this conversation. Least of all with you…” She pinched her nose and let out a bitter chuckle. “Fate is cruel, isn’t it, Sal?” She gestured for me to sit down and mechanically, as if I was awaiting grim news, I did so. Setting up the recording equipment and hitting play, I fell back into my usual role as a broadcaster. I spoke my mind. “Madame Lockwood… Nelle… what is it you need to tell me? So much of my time here has been spent in secrecy, voices calling from the shadows and people who know ME but I don't know them. I... I need some answers. I need them from you." I asked, keeping it blunt was the best course of action to begin with. Open questions allowed for better answers. She sighed and without looking at me, began talking, her lip quivering. “We talked about the monk & the nun before, the idea that there is a constant cycle of birth, pursuit, struggle, death, regret and forget. I’m not going to insult your intelligence by stating that it's JUST a story, we both know it’s not. But since this began, both the story and this…” She gestured around her, signalling the NFC tournament. “You’ve been kept in the dark about the various roles at work. Some of those threads will unravel themselves before the night is done. Some will be obvious and some will… inevitably hurt. But, the one thread I suspect you wouldn’t know of without intervention, is the one I hold onto…” She reached over the table and grabbed the music player, scrolling to her chosen playlist and hitting play. Slowly, she pulled out a locket from around her neck alongside the ear she’d severed from the lycanthrope, placing it on the table with a small thud. “This is the ear of Buck Nasty McGraw… Sir Simon “Buck Nasty” McGraw, to be specific… He got the two tiered moniker from taking out his first abomination… a Lycanthrope that’d been eating the denizens of a local indigenous village. It bucked and kicked around while he frantically held on, laughing heartily like there was nowhere else he’d rather be… from that day on, he was Buck Nasty McGraw. Never a dull moment or cruel bone in his body, he’d only take down what was a threat.” She smiled wistfully, eyes glazed over with years of pain and regret. “He was my confidant, my friend and my everything. Far away from the eyes of Sturgeon in another world entirely, we hunted down a rogue group of individuals seeking a power no-one should ever wish to behold. They’d housed themselves in the lives of unsuspecting townsfolk, whispering in their ear to do unspeakable things and bring them items to cause unmitigated disasters. When the elder reached out, he called them “The Order of 8” but they had a more direct titling…” She looked over as the hatch swung open and a battered, tired Wendy hoisted herself up and walked over, arm still bandaged up and face-mask once again in its rightful place as she finished Nelle’s sentence. “The Unbounded. The same scourge that dogged us in The Hotel. They were called “The Order of the 8th floor” before we came to know them intimately.” There was a chill that ran through my bones, the very phrase standing my hairs on end, and made the surroundings feel like they rattled for a moment. Nelle nodded. “Buck and I went in there to stop them. Buck was special, you see. He had an innate ability to see what nobody else could, to befriend any creature that had the capacity to love and to identify the weaknesses of those who would seek to do us harm. But in this particular instance, it was my specialities that were needed. In the life before I became The Compendium Keeper, I was known as something else. A Sin Eater. The last Sin Eater, to be exact.” She took pause and passed the locket over, the faded image of a younger Nelle in her 20s, dreads tied back in a bun with dimples in her cheeks as she smiled ear to ear. A dashing man in his 30s winking at the camera with his muscular arm draped over her, adorned in tattoos and a thick black beard, sporting a stetson and a gold tooth that shone brightly even from the sepia toned photo, his ears adorned with piercings and a stretched lobe on the right. She directed my attention to the severed Lycanthrope ear on the table. Adorned with piercings and a small hole at the bottom of the skin. “We went in there and began extracting them one by one, before something happened and we were left with a choice; Buck could give up me or something just as precious… he chose the latter, leaving me with a world devoid of him and a new purpose: Seek out the evil that subjected him to a fate worse than death, help end the cycle and guide the next group in their time of need. Such is my role. Buck lost me, but you can still save Nora.” I looked at her dumbfounded, wondering how on earth I fit into any of this. “Nora Zayne does not need saving from anyone, she’s clearly a beast who knows how to fight. I’m just an ordinary guy.” She smiled at me, clearly in a place of far greater understanding than I was, but without that air of superiority. She simply offered warmth when she spoke. “She knows as well as you do how strong she is, but that isn’t the kind of saving I’m referring to. She will need you at a critical moment and how you respond will change everything afterwards.” She sighs and tucks the ear away, keeping the locket out. “And as for you being ordinary? Right now, yes. But much like Buck, Sully, Sigurd & Sema before you, you’ll become something wonderful. When the time is right. She left you a note, didn't she?” I blinked, thinking back to the note I'd seen on top of The Compendium right before Nelle's fight: "Sal, This tournament is coming to a close and you’re going to see things you don’t want to. Things that will hurt. But if you believe in anything while you’re here, make it this: You are only as powerless as you let yourself feel. You are only as in control as you allow yourself to be. You can be the background noise in a busy room or the light that punctures the darkness. But either way, you’ll always be my friend. - N” "You mean... that wasn't..." I breathed, but she shushed me softly. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead, a motherly affection running through me as she cupped my cheek and patted it gently before walking off to the hatch. “In the right light, you even remind me of him…” She grinned and I saw years peel away in the wake of her joy. I just nodded, still dumbfounded. “I’d best get our notes prepared for the exhibition match and have a word with our eponymous Nora. You still have the interview of a lifetime, right?” Turning back, Wendy was already splayed out on the couch, arm draped over her eyes and one leg crossed at the knee bouncing in rhythm. “A promise is a promise, Sal. I’m sure all those at home will get a kick outta this…” She took her good arm away from her face for just a moment, long enough to give the Hotel Inertia billboard the finger. “Fuckin’ hellhole, I wonder how the fuck it’s even still standing?” “So you were a resident in this Hotel? What happened? How did you get from there to… here?” I took out a notepad and began hastily jotting down shorthand, something I’d learned to do from my younger days as a fight analyst on live broadcasts. Certainly not for the bum-fights, regrettable as those were to be a part of. “Resident isn’t the right word. I wouldn’t have even said I was from Sturgeon prior to meeting the gang, because to me: Sturgeon didn’t exist. Every floor in that fuckin’ structure is its own reality. Its own world. One floor, where we met our friend Robin, contained an entire tent community basking in the sickening sounds of a grand gazebo atop the hill that made them all docile, sickly and weak. When we stopped the sound, they began tearing each other apart. The last thing we saw was the elders skull being caved in as the doors closed.” She sat up and leaned forward, putting a finger up as if to stop me from asking something. “To be clear: The elevator stopped inside the tip of a rooftop terrace, not unlike the one that we have here with the hatch. There was NOTHING above but black skies, the expanse beyond this floor was endless. And yet… we ascended when we got back in, not descended. That entire Hotel houses things you could never dream of. Including where I came from, a cul-de-sac of domesticated monsters…” For the first time, I saw a deep pain in Wendy, even more pronounced than the initial anger after seeing Nelle fall. She was shaking, fists balled up so tight that the fingers cut into the palms, eyes alight with passion. “I don’t remember being a child. I just remember waking up in the middle of this prissy, far too perfect cul-de-sac with monsters pretending they weren’t monsters. That bitch over there on the billboard picked me up, my body just filled with the kind of impending doom you feel when you see someone driving dangerously on the road in front of you or walking down a street at night and the only other guy on the footpath has his hood up and is making a beeline for you… just absolute fucking dread. As she knocked on the door of the people that would come to be my “adopted family”, I remember her looking down at me with wide eyes, tiny pupils and a grin that looked like it was on tenterhooks. She said: “you’ll be a fantastic offering for the others” before everything faded to black…" She shivered and I felt the same disgust and dread she felt. The idea of being somewhere you didn't recognise, the last face you see that of utter malice and sinister intent emanating from their being. I'd been there... "Some time later, I found a crazy guy named Sigurd laying in a crumpled heap by the elevator doors. I tended to him and he got to see firsthand what role I played in the hungry family… that of their endless meal. I don’t know what it was about him, but something in the way he behaved, spoke to his friends or maybe his will to survive… but I swear to god that it was the first time I truly woke up.” She ran a hand through her hair, breathing out dramatically and sniffing. “Man, if and when I see him again, I need to thank him properly. He helped me see something in myself that I knew was always there but had been too stuck in my own head to realise…” “Freedom” I asked, tapping my pen against the notepad. She shook her head. “Value." There was a silence and I grew a stronger respect for her, not even realising the importance of self worth in the strong until that very moment. "After that, we acquired some new friends; one in the town of sickly sounds, a guy in a lone radio tower, and so it went. We’d eventually take on The Order Of The 8th Floor and all their horrors, before we ended up reuniting with The Concierge on the top floor, worse for wear and with a couple of losses in our wake. When all was said and done, we had her beat and Sigurd walked over to put an end to things. I’ll never forget how she smiled when the lightning struck or the last thing she ever said…” The wind picked up and I felt a bitter snap behind it, either my empathy was through the roof and I could feel what Wendy felt… or something ominous was in the air. “One down. Seven to go.” She finished, getting up and shaking her head. “I’m only just now understanding what she meant, but that question would lead me to rumours about the NFC and their tournaments. I decided to make myself a target for the upcoming Openweight tournament and seek out more answers, maybe get my wish along the way if I happened to win… of course, that didn’t happen and it leads me to a question for you, Sal.” She leaned down and looked me dead in the eyes, that mask more intimidating up close, power radiating from every pore of her skin. “Who made me feral? Who took out Qwong Xiao? Who is pulling the strings and why? You don’t see it as convenient that Eustace De Kolta, well known Wendigo hater, ends up facing a version of me that couldn’t see sense? That former challenger Nora Zayne is in there too?” “They’re setting up for something more…” I breathed, the tapping of my pen stopping. “But what?” “All I know is I’ll be on hand to help, however I can. Something tells me that we’re all gonna be needed when this is over. Beyond that, I have a feeling this exhibition match is going to be… interesting.” She cracked her back before walking off, holding up a lazy thumbs up with her good arm. “Thanks Sal, takes a skilled guy to do what you do and to let me run my mouth like that, hope it was worth it!” “I hope you see Sigurd again, Wendy. I’m sure he’d be proud of what you’ve done here. I know I am.” I blurted out, almost on command. She stopped in her tracks and didn’t turn back, but I saw her hand shaking as she put it back in her pocket. “Hell, now you know my wish. Good luck, Sal. You’ll need it.” - Sitting there and gathering my notes, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed in the moment, as I had done so many times throughout this tournament. It’s not so much that the world revolves around me, because it doesn’t, but to even consider I have my own part to play in this is a lot to absorb for someone who is used to calling the action from the safety of a booth or behind a computer screen. Why someone as decidedly dull and boring as me has a place here among killers is beyond me, but the more time passes, the more I feel that surge of emotion and desire to do SOMETHING.No matter what happens next, I have to do my part. I just wish I knew what that was. Picking up my things, I realised Nelle had left her locket and, not wanting it to get stolen or lost, I picked it up. A flash of memories hit me like a freight train. Holding onto a great beast as a younger Nelle screamed in fear, a conversation shrouded in darkness with a pair of sunken eyes floating in front of Nelle as I stood there, powerless. A deal with a gold toothed shadow, the handshake that sent shockwaves through my body… “Hurts, doesn’t it, Sal?” Whipping round, the voice seemed to come from all directions and I immediately recognised it as that of Moirah, one of the sisters. A tapping that sounded as if it was pounding on my eardrums reverberating around us, the thick air ripe with the smell of sulphur. “All those places, all those memories jostling for position. Like a mass in your skull… It builds strength, malice and accumulates the experiences you build over time before one day bursting and taking you with it. Life isn’t like a box of chocolates… no, it’s like an aneurysm; You never know which moment will be your last.” Hands gripped my shoulders and thick yellow nails dug into the soft flesh, pulling up at my tendons and moving me without my consent. My arms reaching out for the locket, Moirah giggling in my ear and Clodagh’s incessant banging making my eyes throb. “We are tired of waiting. Tired of constant mis-steps by you and those associated. If you cannot willingly understand the truth, we shall force it out of you. There is too much at stake for failure.” Hands grasp around the locket and the images begin to burn into my skull; Downing a drink that burns my insides. A lightning strike surging through my body. A gunshot to the head. A plane crash. A white snake curled in my arms as I slip away. The tear-stained face of someone I know strangling me as I helplessly struggle and buck my hips for dear life. Everything ebbs out of me and my knees buckle to the floor. All I see is red, my nose dripping blood and the world fading into nothing more than a pink hue. “She… she needs me.” I gurgle, the hands pushing down on me with extreme force, the tapping evolving into a thunderous chorus of aggression at my resistance. “She needs nothing from you. She only needs to play her part and that will be achieved with or without you. You are inconsequential. You are moments from fulfilling your purpose.” More flashes as a deep shade of red fills my peripheral vision. A young woman laying in her apartment, blood everywhere and an empty crib. The sounds of despair as the woman on the other end of a phone is beaten to death. Nelle crouched over a body and sobbing… Nora. Nora’s warm face as she hugs me before her last fight in the NFC. Why is she hugging me? “It’ll be fine. Trust me. I’ll win it for both of us.” Something in me snapped. A protective instinct I didn’t know I had. Pulling at the hands and feeling the pain surge through my chest, I didn’t care in that moment, I just knew I had to get up. “No. I have to… I’m all she has. We bring each other strength… you can’t stop that!” My body moved before I gave the command. My left leg flew out from under me and drove itself upwards, front of the foot colliding with the face of Moirah behind me. Bone fragments and blood accompanying a loud groan as I felt my body freed and the thunderous booming returning to a tap. Not waiting for a retaliation, I swiped the locket into my bag with my sleeve and dashed for the hatch, nearly tumbling down the stairs as I hit the bottom, breathing heavily. What the fuck did I just do? I took my time walking back to the venue, nobody giving me any trouble or even a dirty look for once. If anything, people seemed to go out of their way to avoid even looking at me. Which, after what had transpired previously, was welcomed. I sat down just as the 2 minute bell called out and the exhibition match was announced. This was going to be bloody. - As the lights dimmed, Alduin walked over to me, cape billowing behind her and a manic grin on her face as a cinderblock hand slapped my back and damn near winded me. “Sal! Glad I caught ya, loving the musical vibes you’ve been putting out there. SO much so, that I have a few… additions for ya. I mentioned to Madame Lockwood there n’ she said they were already on the device. Damned if I know how… technology ain’t one of my friends. But, if ya could play these during those ever so pivotal moments in the upcoming fight and during mine & Nora’s entrance, I’d be pretty damn grateful… Oh, speaking of: since I’m the one fighting, I’m gonna need ya to do the announcing. That won’t be a problem, will it?” Her eye flashed, and the eyepatch rumbled, the exhaustion of what transpired out there suddenly setting in, making me feel decidedly ordinary as I nodded. “You got it, Commissioner. Whatever you need.” I croaked, fumbling with my bag as everything spilled onto the table, Alduin laughing as she walked off. “That’s why I like ya, Sal. You just do it. You’re certainly a changed man! Ha!” She stretched as she sauntered off to get the microphone. I guess even warming up wouldn’t stop her from showmanship. I reached out for the locket when Nelle grabbed it first, as if she knew I shouldn’t touch it. Whisking up my notes with far quicker hands and placing it on the table, she thanked me before silently pointing to the recording material as the lights dimmed. “Fight fans, before we reach the conclusion of this night under the NFC banner, we have two very special matches for you. Our first is one forged in blood and spilled just as much. It’ll be a battle between Father and Son as the former attempts to help the latter see the error of his ways and perhaps seek a little justice for the lost lives here tonight. Without further ado, we throw it over to Commissioner Alduin Von Trier for the official introductions.” I pointed to Alduin, who grabbed the mic with gusto and began her spiel. “Without further do, let’s get this blood feud on the road! In the corner to my left: He is the Jersey Devil, our resident chef and the Father of violence… Put your hands together for Zunk!” I looked down at him. He was in a tank top with fighter shorts, his gargantuan frame only accentuated without the chef’s outfit and apron. His usually pleasant expression replace with a cold indifference as he stared a hole in the opposite direction. Towards his opponent. “And in the corner to my right: He was a standout fighter in this year’s tournament and one that brought us violence at the very start of the proceedings, so it’s only right we end with him. He was formally paired with his entourage, Mr. Stares, but he’s now back in his usual form; The Black Dog Of Jersey: Malphas!” She gave both an eager look before leaping out of dodge and to the safety of her perch as she walked off, understandably to train, but throwing her hand in the air and bellowing “BEGIN!” For the match to start. NFC EXHIBITION MATCH: “JERSEY DEVIL” ZUNKLE VS “PUPPET MASTER” MALPHAS Malphas, unchanged from the last time we saw him, took furtive steps forward, cocking his head to the side as he grinned, the nails in his lips now nothing more than bloodied holes which stained his teeth. “Well pops, we knew this was gonna happen at some point. To be the baddest, you have to take out the best and the weakest. You taught me that.” Zunk stood his ground, unflinching in his resolve and unwilling to move. “I didn’t teach you a damn thing. I tried to channel your anger and hatred into something productive. I thought you’d grow out of it.” He clenched his fist. “But you only got worse.” -THUMP- Without warning, Zunk struck himself square in the stomach with all his might, his eyes widening in pain and a wheeze leaving his lungs as Malphas continued to walk him down. “Well, you didn’t teach me directly… But I sought out info, determined to find out what was so WRONG with me. Until I was found, reborn, and told the most important piece of wisdom I’d ever get. Do you know what that was, Dad?” He twitched his fingers and Zunk pulled his head back, fingers pulling on the hair so tight it threatened to pull out thick black tufts. Malphas leaned forward, inches away from his father’s bloodied face. “The sins of the father will always impact on the son. But you can so easily reverse that, if you’re willing and open to doing what needs to be done.” He curled his hand; the fingers twisting and Zunk’s body doing as he obeyed. His arm volleying back for another unprotected shot at his face, but his head also being forced forward by the other hand in a macabre torture technique. “He’s using him as a goddamn punching bag… literally a human puppet. Is there anything he can do, Nelle?” I look over to her, the book is closed, and she’s resting her elbows on it, hands clasped and over her mouth. “Not if he wants to keep what little of his soul he has left, Sal.” She replied, as if speaking from experience. I felt a lump in my throat as I looked back, Malphas laughing giddily at the prolonged beating his Father was sustaining. “Marvellous, now let’s try taking out that tongue, no more bullshit spewed from your mouth!” He clapped his hands, observing the battered father figure and framing him like he’d done with Rex. “Hmm… or maybe we should just take the head entirely? Hard to say when you’re having so much fun!”“There’s really no hope for you, is there, boy? If I brought you back to your Mother… what would she think of you now?” Zunk called through gritted teeth and smatterings of blood. Malphas just laughed. “She’d probably wonder how she came back to life and why she’s nothing more than a bag of bones! Still, better than being a sack of meat, right? I’d have probably had to cut her up too. So safety the or-“ A punch flew from Zunk that instead of hitting his own face would connect with the stomach of his son. The force of which sent him flying back, feet dragging through the pit floor and dropping him to his knees. “Hey, Sal. There’s a song of mine on there, think you could do me a solid and uhh… y’know? Oh and don’t put it on an odd number.” He didn’t even look at me, instead muttering the prime numbers in quick succession under his breath. Sure enough, I scrolled down and saw a single song under his name. It simply said; “Blizzard.” The deep bass rang out and Zunk cracked his neck as he walked towards Malphas. Who, to his credit, was up to one knee and one hand on his stomach, the other twisting in front of him. Again, Zunk saw resistance, his right arm striking at him repeatedly and smashing his ears, jaw and nose. But each shot just made him more determined to walk forward, spitting out blood on the fourth punch. Malphas backs off and places his hands and legs against the wall, a cornered and frightened animal as Zunk walks him down, determined. “You always thought The Jersey Devil was some goat-like creature of the night, didn’t you? I never told you that it was always just me… a part of me that I kept firmly locked away and promised to never touch again when I met your mother. After we had you, bad people came after me. Very, very bad people. They got to her while I was away, made you watch what they did to her. Christ, you were four…” Zunk stopped in front of his son, pity across his face. “I went after them, did what any husband and father would do, but worse… Still, you changed so much after that. But I believe there’s still hope for you. Some glimmer of what your mother was in there. You just need to take my hand and we can put this behind us, a few broken teeth, and some fractured ribs are nothing to a family like ours.” He outstretched his hand and Nelle shook her head in dismay. Malphas stretched his own out and for a moment, I thought we’d see our first good ending to a bout. To my horror and disgust, I was wrong. Malphas leaned forward and sank his teeth into Zunk’s hand, biting at the fingers until he tore off one of the digits at the mid-point, the blood spraying across his face and the canvas. He spat the finger out and coated his hand in it, giggling as he crawled along the wall and away from Zunk. “There is only ONE family and it sure as hell isn’t yours. With your blood on MY hands, I can show you just how good I am at control. As I did with Zanaya, Rex and the rest. I am DAMN good at carrying out my master’s will, and as long as I get to carve people up, I’ll keep on doing it!” He held his hand up and Zunk’s face grew vacant, his mouth hung open and he bore the same expression the others had done before him. This was the prelude to the end. “I can’t believe this. Of all the sick things I’ve seen in this tournament, biting the literal hand that feeds has got to be one of the worst! Malphas should be ashamed, but given his prior antics, I don’t think that’s possible! Get up, Zunk! Move for god’s sake!” I pleaded, my hands shaking, and the fear of losing someone else with no means to save them filled me with such dread, but there was nothing I could do. Nelle didn’t move from her analytical stance and the crowd bayed for blood as the techno music swelled. Malphas walked over with confidence, pulling a weapon from his back and brandishing it playfully as he got closer. He showed no hesitation as he drove the blade deep into Zunk’s chest, dark blood running down his torso to the delight of his son. “Guess blood ties do run deep, huh?” He looked at the trail and laughed. “Best of luck, dad. I’ll keep your legacy going and improve on it!” He patted the shoulder of his still standing but vacant father as he began to walk back, never seeing the surging knee coming for his temple as he turned. Malphas flew through the air and crumpled into a heap on the ground as Zunk lowered his leg, sadness and disappointment riddled across his face. Malphas tried to scramble, but Zunk was quick. He picked him up by the head, his gargantuan hands cupping the younger man in them as if holding a coconut. He slammed him down once to pacify him before hurling him towards the centre of the pit, no longer able to crawl away. Every step Zunk took bore the weight of what he was about to do, echoing the gravity of the words when he spoke: “As of late, you’ve been doing terrible things. Things I cannot forgive, forget or ignore.” “Please… dad, I’m sorry! I’ll… I’ll leave the services of my masters... of the order and I’ll stop what I’m doing… I’ll change. I swear! Oh god… please, help! I deserve better, I did what was asked of me! Are ANY of you gonna help me?!” He snivelled and darted frantic eyes around the venue, but none would intervene as his father honed in like a lion ready to make the kill. “There is no other avenue left for you, Malphas. But, let me offer you one final piece of fatherly advice…” Zunk raises his fist, his entire body twisting back with the force he’s generating and his eyes glowing like that of the Jersey Devil he is synonymous for. Malphas’ whimpering a mere backdrop to the swelling beat and his father’s chilling final words. “Leaving this world is not as scary as it seems.” With that, he drove the fist down onto Malphas’ face with such force that the venue shook. When the dust cleared, there was a divot left where Malphas’ head resided, the decapitation marks on his neck clear as day, something resembling scorch marks across the neck lining as Zunk raised his bloodied fist from the hole and walked back without a single word. It was over. I looked at the broken body of a man who had spent this entire tournament dismantling the enemy, pulling their strings and making sure at least three families were torn apart by his insatiable lust for destruction. But my mind wasn’t on that, nor was it on what was going through the mind of a man who had just rekindled the flame of his old violent moniker to take out his son. Hell, for a moment, it wasn’t even on the upcoming title fight that would determine everything. It was on what he said in those final moments of bravado that stuck with me. The claims of pulling the strings, making sure everything went to plan for his “masters”. But before I could ask Nelle what she thought, I was handed a slip of paper that contained the details for the bout. Standard things like the fighters names, monikers and the match stipulations. There were two things on that slip of paper that caused me to break out in a sweat and my heart to jump into my throat and stay there. Just two simple sentences changed my world and raised the stakes of the title fight exponentially so. The match type? 3 Stages of Hell. First to 2 victories wins the belt. The names? NFC Champion Von Trier and Sabotta. Nora Sabotta.
“My wager’s on Shorn’s crew.” Frigid wind whipped through Korin’s hair and tried to find its way through his coat, cold fingers searching for any purchase to leech what little body heat he had left. At the very least today was clear. Cloudless skies might not have been the ideal conditions for today’s operation, but it meant Korin was only cold, not cold and wet. “Not his style,” Drell’s voice. Even inside his head it sounded as though was from a distance. Korin reached up to tug on his earpiece. You’ll go – “I’ll go deaf, blind, and a thousand other things I’m not even sure humans can get” he snapped, “I know I know.” “You still messing with the worm?” it was Bool this time, “If you’d just leave it alone you’d forget it was even there.” “Right,” Korin muttered, too quiet for anyone to hear. He was sure it was transmitted – the worm picked up any little sound you made, even your breathing. Supposedly it could even hear your heartbeat, but he had never managed to confirm it for himself. “It’s burrowed into my ear canal and I’m supposed to ignore it?” Yes. “Ah thanks, I was worried my question wasn’t rhetorical enough.” You know how to remove it. If it bothers you so much just rip it out. “Sound idea, the second lieutenant would love it.” Then please quit the whining? I can already feel your discomfort, I don’t need the added commentary. “It’s completely Shorn’s style,” Hetal was back on his theory, “Big haul, small crew, and this route crosses right through his territory.” Korin looked to his left where he could just see the speck of black that was the large airman. Bare chested and wearing what could only charitably be called pants, it was easier to see the trailing haze of heat he left in his wake. One of the two Scorches in the squadron, no amount of cold could bother him. He could have flown into a block of ice and melted a path straight through. “Must be nice.” You hate the worm? Imagine if you needed the bag too. Yeah, you’re welcome. “Might keep my face warmer.” “Only looks like his style if you’re a moron,” Cena far on the right wing joined the idle conversation. She was much too far for Korin to see, yet if she was looking he was sure she could make him out against the perfect sky. A Snap, she was one of the squadron’s lookouts. Korin never bothered listening to the specifics, but he knew her improved eyesight had something to do with the ability to turn her eyes into ice, or something? Micro–lenses in the viscous fluid of her eyes that allow for the fine adjustments and focusing of light far beyond what the iris can manage. “Yeah, that. Perfect team. You listen to the useless jabbering of the floraficers and I do all the flying, fighting, risking my life . . . wait, what do you do again?” Listen to your grumbling. And give you the ability to fly. “Eh, sounds useless,” Korin grinned. I should have let you fall. “He doesn’t just go for any big haul,” Cena continued, “Only the ones that he knows he can carry back without a ship. The Deliberate was porting masts. Try flying on your own with one of those tucked under your arm. No Titan’s managing that.” “I’d still be willing to give it a try,” Raesh cut in, drawing several dry chuckles that echoed inside Korin’s head. “I’d wave as you plummeted straight into the Mists.” “Korin’d catch me.” Korin laughed, “No I’d wave too, just from right next to you.” “But the Puckle’s carrying small arms down there. Even Korin’d be able to carry an armful.” He opened his mouth to retort but Hetal did not give him the time, “Just saying I’ll be bagging some of Shorn’s crew by the end of this operation, maybe even the pirate lord himself.” “Mouths shut, kids,” Second Lieutenant Ayla cut through the chatter, her voice louder than all the others, “Puckle’s coming up on the turn. Cena, Ghaal, Stick, Gretch, climb to ceiling and keep those eyes of yours on the scan. Hetal you’re on Cena, Kip stick to Stick, keep ‘em safe. Titans on me, we’re kissing mist. Korin, go as low as you can before your worm dies. Something comes at us from below I wanna know about it. A chorus of “Heard” stuttered through Korin’s ear as he added his own. Following her lead, he and the rest of the Titans tilted towards the Mists below, splitting as the Snaps and Scorches started climbing. The formation closed around him, and Korin’s unaided eyes saw his squadmates clearly for the first time since jumping from the Puckle’s deck. Titans every one of them, the air behind them crackled with electricity, small arcs of blue light sparking through the sky. Raesh pulled up to his right, a monster of a man at two-hundred centimeters and one-hundred thirty kilograms. That anything could lift his frame from the ground was a testament to his wyrm’s fortitude. Or it had a thing for punishment. Curled snuggly on it’s bondmate’s broad back, the translucent figure yawned like a cat, stretching as the furious wind of their descent howled around them. More an outline than flesh and blood, its shape was defined by thin streaks of lightning. Looking closer the lines pulsed with a steady rhythm that was mirrored in Raesh. Faint light scored his arms and legs like veins just beneath the skin, the beat mirrored in the wyrm on his back and originating from his own heart. Finished with its wake-up routine, the serpentine figure strolled up to Raesh’s shoulder before curling under his other arm like a sash. Its head swiveled to glance at Korin before turning its gaze to the same direction as its bondmate. Looking forward himself Korin met Ayla’s eyes as she fell into a position on his left. Covered by a sheer veil her mouth mirrored the words that barked in his ear. “That as fast as you can fall? Get down there before we fly straight into an ambush.” Heard that? She wants us to go faster. Throwing the sign for “Heard” he felt a grin cross his lips that was not his own. “Fine,” he relented, “Have it your way.” The world blurred. Korin pointed his nose to the Mists as his vision ceased to hold any meaning. The gusting howl became an explosion that tore at his eardrums. His stomach turned as gravity add its own strength to his fall. An endless sea of dark grey below rushed up to meet him. Nerves and animalistic fear threated to tear his heart form his chest. Breathe. The Mists consumed his vision, filling it until he could see nothing else. Scraping against his peripherals he tried to grab one last look at the sun without turning his head lest the wind snap his neck. Nothing. Daggering into the Mists light and sound faded away to muffled afterthoughts. Falling further he could feel the pressure building quickly on his back as though he had submerged himself in water, yet aside from a slight discomfort in his ears it never came close to crushing him. You’re welcome. “Yeah,” he muttered, “Thanks for not letting me die.” It’s not so much an active choice. More like a contract I haven’t yet broken. “Well then thanks for not breaking it at the worst possible time?” Harder than it sounds. But again, you’re welcome. “–rin . . . ear me?” Ayla’s voice warbled and stuttered, random fluctuations in the Mists interfering with the worm’s Pulse. I think we went a little too far. “Barely,” he spoke loud enough so that hopefully Ayla could hear him, “Climbing half a klick, see if that helps.” Now his stomach lurched the other way, twisting itself into a knot as the forces from below tried to yank it through his bellybutton. “Better?” “Much,” Her words still sounded as though they were being churned into butter, but at least she was no longer cutting out. “Hold altitude and slow up a bit. At that decent rate you overshot the Puckle by at least a couple klicks.” Shadows swam through the Mists around him, shifting shapes that flitted about just out of sight. “Yeah, got a few down here myself.” “Bloody storms you’re that low? Surprised the worm’s this clear. Must have gotten a good batch this time. How’s the visibility?” “Awful, but the Pulse should light up a Titan’s trail or a set of pulsesails well enough. Probably want to stay a bit ahead of our little ward. Anyone coming from this low’ll be looking to stay out in front of them as well.” “Fair point. Still pull back a few hundred meters then hold heading and speed. Keep talking to me about what you see.” Korin smiled, “Well right now the puckles are kinda dancing around me, trying to figure if I’m –” “I don’t care about the mist mites, kid. Anything you see that’s worth my time.” “Heard.” “Alright people, net’s spread. Let’s see what we catch.” ––––– “Carver?” Lorren looked up from the mug, squinting her vision into focus. A pair of black eyes stared down at her from behind a massive beard, concern wrinkling the already overgrown brows above them. A gut covered in Glorm hide overalls poked out in front of the man, and as her head once more began to fall forward she caught a glimpse of cedar braces around thigh-high boots. “Rock and drop you’re wrecked. Gunther! I need a pitcher of water up here!” The rumblings faded away as the man took a step from the table, Lorren no longer caring to summon up the energy to keep track of him. For her lack of effort she did not see the paddle of a hand as it struck her across the face. Now she had her focus. Staggering to her feet she could feel the roots like claws start to grow from her hands, only to suddenly be on the floor, vines sprouting form her back to cushion her fall. “’Anks,” she muttered. There was no response but she could feel the disgruntlement inside her head. “Don’t mention it,” said the man. “Not you,” she snapped, “Wha . . . what’re you playing? Think jush – just because I’m sloshed doesn’t mean I can’t – I can’t – I can’t . . .” “Maybe?” he guessed, “Drink this, then threaten me.” Grabbing the proffered cup she drained it before letting it fall to the table. Her tongue felt numb but her sluggish wits quickly realized what she’d been given. “Water?!” rage boiled in her gut, hotter than when she had been slapped, “Don’t gimme water when I’m –” “Being offered a job?” “You interrupt a lot, don’t you? Don’t need a job. Got plenty of money. And if not, got more’n that in goodwill.” She raised her voice, “Right Gunther?” The words swam to her from across the room, “Get out, Lorren.” She raised her mug in a cheer as she took a sip, only to spit it out in disgust. Somehow the man had replaced her stout with even more water. “Disgusting,” she carefully placed the cup to the side. Water was water, and she was not so drunk as to waste a whole mug. She knew exactly what it was worth. “Perhaps not as much of the latter as you think, but I’m sure you’ve got plenty of the former. Funny thing, I get the feeling you don’t really care for either at the moment.” “You’re right, where’s my beer?” “You spilled it in your lap.” “. . . ah.” “Draken left earlier this morning. Without you.” She scoffed, “Figure that one out all by yourself?” “Pretty hefty contract to just walk out on. Got a reason?” “I’m too famous,” a small bit of spittle leaked out the side of her mouth, “Needed a bigger name to fit my grandeur.” “Bigger than the Draken?” “Yup,” her head bobbed in an exaggerated nod, “So unless your Ludover himself I’m not interested in whatever you’re offering.” The man gave a rolling chuckle that made his gut bounce and the chair beneath him creak, “No I’m not Riker, and I doubt you’ve ever heard of the Glispin.” “Tiny, rockhopper. Study little thing though, built in Borsjur.” Her company raised a bushy eyebrow. “Heard the skipper’s an ass.” Another laugh, this time long and loud, “Like I said I’m not the Ludover.” “Then leave.” “But tomorrow I’m taking his gambit.” “. . . call me Lore.” ––––– I wouldn’t try to touch them if I were you. “Why not?” Korin muttered, his hand slowly reaching for the puckles flitting around him. Never liked the look of them. Something behind the eyes. Always seemed like they were up to something. “Seemed? You never bothered to find out?” This may come as a surprise to you, but when instinct tells you not to mess with something, those that listen to those instincts have a tendency to live longer. “Honey.” What? “Honey,” his hand inched forward, “I’ll bet the first guy to stick his hand up a beehive was considered the village idiot. But because he ignored his animal instincts and figured those striped rotters were hiding something good, he probably died one of the richest men of all time.” Or, the wyrm snarked, he died that day. And the one who found his body surrounded by dead bees and an empty hive got the payout of a lifetime. “Only one way to find out.” You dumb idio– Korin lunged through the air, hand outstretched. The closest mist mite tried to dodge but it seemed to swim through which the airman flew. Fingers closed and Korin gave a hoot of triumph. The eel’s body twisted and turned, body slick with moisture as it struggled to free itself, mouth snapping wildly as it tried to twist itself into a knot tight enough to catch Korin’s wrist in its jaws. Refusing to give it the chance he swung it around himself like a whip, keeping it far from any part of him he cared to keep. “And – whoa, close there – after all that worry.” Congrats, you’ve accomplished . . . what exactly? “I alone have conquered nature.” Who knew this was all it took. “If you think about it all of human history has led to this moment. So from a certain point of view I’m the pinnacle of storms!” Spines rippled down the puckle’s body, starting at the head and running down its length until Korin’s hand felt the bite of a dozen pinions punch through is leather gauntlet and dig into his palm. Instantly released the creature hissed as it darted deeper into the mists, disappearing from sight before Korin cared to look for it. Cradling his wounds, a raucous laughter echoed in his head as the worm in his ear barked to life. “Korin, talk,” Ayla’s voice was tight with concern. “It’s nothing,” he raised his voice, “Just startled is all. Bleeding mist mites.” “Storms Korin, gave me a heart attack. Try not to die to a puckle before our pirates get a crack at you.” No promises, the wyrm ghosted through the mists into view, pulling beside its bondmate, You better hope those spines weren’t poisonous. “Wait, are they?” A dark chuckle was the only response. “This is serious is my hand going to fall off?” Wouldn’t know, never had the hand to lose. Is that something they do? “Not normally.” Probably fine then, but . . . “But what?” Korin glanced to his side where the wyrm still flew. Thought it matched his direction and speed its head pointed behind them, the faint whisps of translucent air that made the outline of its eyes squinting as it looked back into the mists. The airman followed his gaze, “What are you –" Trails of light glowed through the mist, glaring despite their distance. “I’ve got pulse trails!” Korin yelled into the worm, “Four coming from behind, lateral distance seven-fifty to a thousand meters! Current ascent rate they’ll breach mist in just under three minutes.” “Got something here too,” Cena’s voice, so quiet Korin could barely hear as Ayla’s worm transmitted her words to the rest of the squadron, “Can see another four kissing mist. Can’t make out their classes yet.” “Korin,” Ayla now, “You’ve got a line on their trails, what’re they running?” “Ti –” he paused, thoughts racing, Those are way too bright and steady to be Titan trails. It’s like they’re burning straight Pulse. But that’s – “You cut out,” the second lieutenants voice fluttered with a note of concern, “Confirm Titans?” “They’re too bright,” he whispered. “They’re too bright,” for the second time that day his heart threatened to push its way out of his chest. “Airman Ashor!” Ayla snapped, “What are –” “Rotters!” he knew he was yelling but he didn’t care, “Every bleeding one of them’s a rotter trail!” Voices split Korin’s skull as everyone spoke at once. Several shouts of “Impossible,” and “It’s far too early” clashed with demands for greater details or information before Ayla brought everyone to heel with a sharp command. “Korin you’re sure? Not the time for a misread.” “I’m positive,” his hands were shaking as he reached for the straps securing one of his four short spear to his back, “They’re flying on pure Pulse. Breach in two!” “Rise to match but don’t engage. Where’ll they be in relation to the Puckle?” “Right below. They keep this ascent rate they’ll smash into her hull.” “Heard,” Ayla took a deep breath, “Prepare to defend. Snaps, drop in formation but keep the Puckle in your range, I want you providing fire support. Check your shots, I don’t want to lose anyone in the crossfire. Kip stay with them, you’re still on guard duty. Anything gets too close turn it to ash. Raesh take Bolin and Set, head off the group that’s coming from the front. Hetal kiss mist and join them.” “Breach in one!” Heavy breathing rife with nervous energy clouded Ayla’s words, but her voice remained steady, “Remaining Titans on me, get under her hull and keep it free of holes. Korin I need a disrupt. Just before they breach I need a flyby. Nothing fancy, just something to break their formation so we can finish them off. A hit and run, if they’re truly rotters and you close they’ll rip you apart. Breach?” “Thirty!” “Hard burns people, make it to position before they do. Captain Renalt,” she spoke into her other worm with the skipper of the Puckle on the other side, “Prep for boarders. We’ve got company.” ––––– The moment she opened her eyes Lore regretted it. Even laying down her head felt like an open wound, and her stomach felt like the Churn far below. “You could have stopped this. Still can, actually.” There was no reply. “Sulking, really?” She tried to get her feet beneath her but quickly realized the futility. “It’s almost noon. I get it, you’re mad I skipped out on the Draken. I –” she faltered, the finality of her words striking harder than last night. Now she needed a drink. “I am too. She’s a good ship. I’m sure they found another Navigator who’ll take care of her.” The words were hollow. Draken was hers. “But she doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I have to do this. If there’s even a chance, this is it. A gambit run will cut fifty years off the cycle. I – please,” water blurred the corner of her eyes, “Please. Help me make it to the Glispin. Help me look. Help me find her. I won’t be able to do any of this without you.” You will die, the growl rumbled in her skull, flat and emotionless. “Please.” Silence. Then her blood started to pound in her ears, her heart racing as something pushed her body to move. The storm in her stomach quieted and the throbbing from her head faded to nothing more than a bad memory. Parched she reached for the waterskin beside the bed, slinging it over her shoulder as she moved. Her pack by the door was already prepared, a remnant from the day before and assembled for her journey on the Draken. “Trip’s be a bit longer than an ice scoop. I missing anything?” Bring the box. “Right,” dashing back to the bed she reached under until her fingers brushed cold steel. Pulling back a small, intricate blacksmith’s puzzle in the shape of a cube hung by her fingertips, no larger than her hand. Stuffing it in a side pocket of her pack she took a final look about her room. Bare walls and bare floors looked back at her. What was the point of furnishing a room when you barely lived in it? A glint of silver from the bed once more drew her close. Folded within the rumpled sheets lay a small chain with a silver and glass pendant. Sealed within a vial a small sprig of a vine glowed with a tiny light, faint yet steady. A quick swipe and it was once more safely around her neck. “Would’ve been a piss poor way to start a gambit.” As if there’s a good way to go about it. Ignoring him Lore shouldered the pack and pushed through the door, squinting as sunlight filtered into the small alley. Clean and sturdy apartments rose on either side, their weight supported and lifted by the vinewood slats composing their walls. Delvers never wasted space, and that carried through on the houses they built. Passing onto the street beyond the alley Lore sidled through the crowd with ease. So many bodies and yet there was little jostling. Unlike islanders, delvers knew how to pass each other in tight spaces. Shops and apartments towered into the sky above and slowly leaned over the street, built out and high with liberal use of vinewood to support such precarious architecture. Some had so much that their hardwood supports acted more like anchors, keeping them from floating away with the wind. Even though much of the sky was obscured Lore could just see the child islands flying high above. Far smaller than the island they were tethered to, they held the overflow of Port Aarvald. A growing city needed space, and the islanders had refused to give them more of the island, stating what land remained on Imnar was needed for farmland. So the inhabitants of the port did what any respectable delvers would – they made their own land. Regalia was the newest addition. Pulled from the mists by none other than the Draken herself, the chunk of rock five-hundred meters across soared above the city, towers of scaffolding already covering her craggy face as the builders set to work. Four tethers of greatvine – each thicker than a rockhopper – lashed her to the port and kept her from being blown away. The greatvines were grown from the underbelly of Imnar herself, and resonated with waves of Pulse gathered from the Mists below. It had taken a dozen teams of Navigators to manage such a feat, but the result was well worth the effort. There were three other such floating rocks above the port, but Lore thought Regalia by far the grandest. Not only because it was the largest by a couple meters, but because she had found and flown it herself. Piloting Draken it had taken three days of painful navigation through the mists. Olard had thought it too heavy, which is why she was the Navigator and he was only the skipper. “What’ll he do without me keeping him in check?” Feel happiness for the first time in years? “Eh, he’ll miss me.” A single step and the buildings peeled away, opening the sky and revealing the docks ahead. A legion of ships floated tethered to stories of moors stacked high on top of each other and slightly offset. Fliers and tugs darted between them, loading and offloading cargo from delver and islander ships alike. Distantly she caught a glimpse of Slithin, Draken’s sister ship. Sixty meters bow to stern she was far from the largest ship in port, but she was by far the sturdiest. If you wanted to take something that large deep into the Mists you needed something stronger than steel and a lack of self-preservation. Sails stowed she looked like nothing more than a long and rounded log dotted by bolting-hutches, fasteners, tow hooks, and a line of thick viewports for the bridge crew. Booms and masts like skeletal fingers bristled down her length and along her underside, currently empty of wind and pulsesails alike. She had been caught in a storm and her canvas had been so damaged it was a miracle she’d managed to climb back to port. Turning her back on the achingly familiar profile of the Slithin felt like tearing out her heart. Pointing her feet towards the tallest towers of moors where a small navy of rockhoppers bobbed in the wind. Glispin, she mused, a ship. My ship. ––––– Calm down, came the voice inside his head, you’re going to pop an artery before they get a chance too. “Hold.” Ayla’s called to him over the worm, conducting his charge. Through the Mists the four lines of pure pulse ascended, gaining speed. “Twenty.” If you die on me I’m making sure they never find your corpse. Korin wanted to respond but was too busy counting down. “Fifteen.” “Hold.” Sweat and mist slicked his hair to his head, a tie holding the long strands form his eyes. White knuckles gripped his spear, the numbness making him question whether they were his own. “Ten.” “Nine.” “Eight.” “Seven?” “Six?!” “FIVE!” “Now!” Ayla screamed and Korin launched. The wyrm gave a whoop within his head as its bondmate pushed them forward, adrenaline coursing through his blood and hurling them to even greater speeds. Korin’s nervous mind marveled at how they flew. Was this why Alya had waited so long? How had she known? Sound and wind blurred together as his eyes refused to understand what they were seeing. A thousand meters fell away and sunlight glinted above as Korin and the four trails raced to the edge of the Mists. A moment. A hearbeat. A body. Korin released the spear and turned ever so slightly. Fletching at the end of the projectile carried it true, and as the airman sailed past a stunned creature it could not have reacted as the weapon punched a hole through it’s chest the size of Korin’s head. The world exploded with sound. “Engaging from the front!” “They’re Rotters! They’re bloody Rotters!" “Watch the roots!” “Bleeding assholes!” Korin looped around, his worm twitching with the number of voices screaming through its tendrils. He had already recovered his spear, caught moments before. The hit was true, and the shaft hadn’t split. If it had entered anything less than a perfect angle it would have been nothing more than splinters. Pulling into a climb he breached the mist to glimpse the battle for first time. Ayla and her Titans were in trouble. The fight was three to four and yet his squadmates dashed and dived like frightened birds. Bolts of lightning flew widely behind them, the human’s unable to accurately aim their wyrms without sight. “Korin get your ass to the bow!” Ayla’s voice thundered in his ear. As he watched she collided with a Rotter. Her limbs flashed as Pulse coursed through them, screaming as she tore the unfortunate creature in half with her bare hands. Even as its legs dropped the upper torso refused to die, roots and vines growing out of it as the its mouth opened to let loose an alien wail. Red blood flecked with electricity coursed down her arm as she ripped it off of her, spitting after the body as it fell. She looked up, eyes burning with rage, and turned directly to Korin. “Move!” Terror raced him further. Curving around the Puckle the sight that met him made his blood curdle. Bolin was dead, his body held aloft by his wyrm. Wooden roots encased and pierced his body, puncturing his neck and growing through his eyes and nose. A waterfall of blood leaked from him, swallowed by the Mists below. Set was struggling, his limbs flashing with terrible power as he fended vines. He tried to fly free but a thick root had curled around his leg and was pulling him closer to the rotter from which it had grown. Hetal dodged and weaved, his flight path contorted into knots as he threw billowing tongues of fire around him. Two hung on his tail, but refused to get close, obviously wary of what the intense heat would do to the vines that comprised their bodies. Chasing their heels a hail of ice spears fell from on high, thrown by the snaps above. It was clear they were too far away, their projectiles having too far to travel. Aside from a slight annoyance the hostiles paid them no mind. Only Raesh looked like he was winning his fight. From the looks of it the rotter was doing its best to stay away from him. The massive airman sailed through the sky, lighting cutting swaths of air before him as his prey desperately tried to shake him. Again and again Raesh tried to close into a grapple, but from the looks of it the creature wanted anything but. “He’ll be fine,” Korin turned back to Hetal, then climbed. Higher and higher, cold air burned his skin. Another thousand meters above the Puckle and he stalled, flipping his body and letting the soles of his feet see the sun. Falling. Faster. Faster. Release. The spear fell away from him, seeking blood. It missed. His target dropped and the weapon hissed by, carving a trench down its back. Korin cursed as he heard the sound of splintering wood, a single bad throw destroying the spear. Pulling up to prepare for another pass he reached behind him to grab another, only for the wind to be knocked from him as something heavy collided with him from behind. Hetal’s other tail! He had not even realized it had peeled away from the other and fallen with him. Putting on speed Korin tired to distance himself from his attacker, but something wrapped around his leg like a ball and chain, weighing him down. Korin move! A burst of power shot through Korin’s body and he pulled, hard. The vine wrapped around his leg went taught as it dragged its host behind it, the two bodies corkscrewing through the air in a wild flurry of wind and fear. Depite his maneuvers the plant continued to grow up his body, tightening its grasp as it tied first his legs, then reached for his fingertips, trying to trap them to his torso. Korin faltered and he fell, for the first time looking down he saw his enemy. Taller than him by at least thirty centimeters, it reached for him with a long, thin limb tipped with three fingers. Its face was long and pointed, two sets of eyes – one above and set slightly wider than those below – glared at him. It’s snarling mouth revealed a row of blunted, round teeth, and a wide, white tongue within. It did not have external ears, instead two small holes were hidden within the folds of the vines that encased its head. He would have tried to guess the proportions of its torso, but it was impossible to guess what it had looked like before the transformation. Rotters were born flesh and blood, but as they aged they slowly replaced themselves with vines, eating away at their muscles and sinew until they were more plant than a being made of living tissue. What remained of their old bodies slowly decayed off of them, food for their floral replacements, earning them their name. This one looked younger. One leg still remained completely untouched by vines, the familiar curvature of muscles beneath flesh all the more gruesome because of the fringes of rotting meat that circled its hip joint. The appendage almost looked human, except the foot was long and thin, an it’s foot more a paw by sight, and longer bones lengthened the distance between the ankle and toes. A flitting though left Korin wondering how such a thing could walk. Pain. His arms struggled to free themselves but already he could feel sharp thorns digging into his body, tearing groves in his skin as they curled around the root still holding him still. High it climbed, searching for his neck. He was going to meet the same fate as Bolin. A breathless howl filled his mind like a storm, a scream of animalistic rage. Wind rose around him and buffeted his assailant, but the thorns dug deeper, holding them together. Korin looked down once more into the eyes of his killer. A five-fingered hand – larger than Korin’s head – curled around the rotter’s face. Electricity flashed beneath skin and knuckles creaked as the hand squeezed, until a sickening pop heralded come moments before the creatures head exploded in a geyser of clear, watery blood. The root loosened and Korin wriggled free, Raesh’s smiling visage floating up to greet him. Another rotter struggled in his grap – the one he had been chasing – caught by the throat. A crunch and it went limp. Dropping the corpse the big airman gave a solemn nod, then tore through the air, charging for the rotter from which Set’s limp body now hung. Glancing back to Hetal Korin caught a glimpse of what had once been his opponent, the fireball already fading into the Mists. “We’re going to win,” he breathed, “We’re –” Cena’s voice cut through his words, “Twenty more on the horizon, closing as fast as they can.” “Ten more behind as well!” Stick, another Snap called through the worm, “They must have circled around!” Fingers of dread gripped his spine as he dived, slipping down into the mists. Far below he could see them, their pulsetrails bright in the fog. “Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five!” he added his own report, “Twenty-five coming from below! Breach in a minute thirty!” Ayla swore, “Fifty-five. Raesh, how you looking?” “It’s just me and Hetal. Set and Bolin are gone.” “I lost Erit,” the worm went silent, tense seconds passing as everyone came to the same conclusion. Rotters were slow. Even a Titan could outrun one, albeit with difficulty. The Puckle and her flightless crew, however . . . “We stay,” Ayla spoke into dead silence, “Snaps, join up with Raesh. Kip, you’re with me at the stern. Korin, run.” Blood drained from his face and his tongue went dry, “What?” “Someone needs to let command know the rotters are back. I don’t care what they have out there or where it is, you can outfly it. Get back and tell them everything. Tell them –” she choked off, her voice growing thick on her last words. Raesh’s roar filled the void, “Tell them there were hundreds!” nervous chuckles echoed all around, “And as you ran you saw us slay entire legions before we fell! If they aren’t singing songs about us by the end of the month, I’ll come back and finish what the rotter started.” “Why aren’t you moving!” Ayla cut back in as cheers shook his head, “Go!” Turning his back to his comrades Korin flew, wind wicking away tears. ––––– (Continued in comments)
Her name was Martha Llyod, she killed vegetables and made me call her mum. She wasn’t my mother. She was something else. Something I can’t even begin to put a finger on. But she certainly wasn’t my mother. It was in the winter of 2014 when myself and a few friends went off camping. I was sixteen and trusted by my real parents to be allowed to stay away from home for the weekend. I wasn’t a bad kid. Completely the opposite. I imagine that’s why my parents let me go. The camping site was in Wales, 230 some miles away from my home in the South-east of London. A concrete jungle compared to the lush rolling countryside of Wales. There were four of us on the trip all loaded into my friend's small Vauxhall Corsa. It was on the last night it happened. A dusting of frost coated the tent's fabric and our shoulders as we drank around a campfire. The warmth of spirits and beers kept the chill dampened by our drunk coats. I would tell you about my three other friends but they play little part in this tale other than they were the reason for my presence in the Welsh countryside. After that fact, they had little choice but to leave me. It’s not their fault and I don’t blame them. They thought I got lost drunk somewhere and did the right thing by calling the police. Apparently, and I didn’t know this until after, a search party ranged for three days. Bless them, they looked, just not hard enough. I did get lost. I was inebriated, in a dark forest, surrounded by trees, going to get more firewood. I suppose I wasn’t paying attention. I collected some, moved on, got a few more sticks, repeat, repeat. When I looked up, I couldn’t see the glow of the fire anymore. I was disorientated. Off-balance. So I decided to just pick a direction and see if I could remember anything about the path. I stumbled around for about an hour. It was super cold. Fridged. My fingers were turning blue, like my lips. I couldn’t stop the chattering of my teeth as I stumbled down a steep decline. I remember falling. I remember the flash of moonlight. I remember a face. But after that, well, that’s when the nightmare began. “There ye go, nice and warm. How ye feeling my love?” I cracked open an eye. My head hurt. I knew vaguely that drinking played a part. But something else more painful was trying to beat its way into my mind. Had I fallen? I couldn’t remember. A lady hovered over me. The lady I would later know as Martha. Her bright green eyes and lock of curly brown hair waved in my face. “Ah, there ye are. I thought we lost ye.” I tried to rise, but a firm hand pressed me back down. “Oh no, deary. Ye’ve had a bad fall. Ye must stay put. We’ll have ye better in no time.” “My friends?” I croaked. “They will be looking for me,” I swallowed the bile in my mouth. It tasted of blood. I wondered if I had broken or dislodged a tooth. Martha bustled around me clicking her tongue. “Friends? On a night like this? If ye friend will be leaving ye in a pile of snow, I think ye need to get better friends.” Hail pelted the roof. Martha glanced at the window worriedly and then busied herself around a tray. “The storm is fast upon us. Mark my words, this will be a long one too. Here, drink this.” I felt a gentle hand lift my head, then my lips touched warm broth and I drank greedily. I forgot how hungry I was. I closed my eyes letting the warmth defuse through my body. Martha clicked her tongue some more. I heard the clatter of china and pots, and her fretting around the room speaking to someone. Gratefully, I let the sounds drown out the pain in my head and slipped back into unconsciousness. From the darkness, a faint sound of classical music lured me awake. Like a cat toying with string, it pulled me forward, spun me around. Slowly a room swam into focus. I was on an old couch. The sides draped with patchwork blankets. The room was small but jammed packed with oddity. Each wall held a magnitude of Bric-a-Brac on shelves. Porcelain ducks, dogs, ballerinas, old iron horseshoes, crystal figurines, pots, plants, pictures. You name it, the room had it. A clinking sound filtered through the door. The paint cracked and peeling. I thought maybe it led to the kitchen, so I rose off the couch. I fell back, instantly. My head hurt terribly, but my body hurt more. My ankle was swollen, the bruising black and blue around the lower calf. Gingerly I touched it and was rewarded with pain. “Ouch,” I pulled my jumper up exposing my ribs. Thick ribbons of bruises ran up the left side of my torso. I lifted the other side to inspect it and was grateful that only a light bruising coloured the top part of my hips. I glanced around the room some more and noticed for the first time something that had me perplexed. The couch I sat on was one of four such spaces curated for the derriere. And each one was taken by an enlarged vegetable. I first thought maybe it was a contest sort of thing. You know, the first prize at the village fete sort of deal. But, each of them was wearing clothing. The carrot looked more like a mandrake root, its arms, spindly runoffs, poked out of the knitted jumper it wore, likewise did the malformed legs through tiny shorts. It wasn’t just a carrot. A parsnip took place next to the carrot. A beetroot the size of a basketball stained a chair off to the right and a blossom of broccoli wearing a ruffle dress sat poised on a lap chair. Across from them was a marrow wearing a nightcap. Only one seat didn’t hold any vegetables, but it once had. The indent and staining suggested so. It was strange. I knew that. But at that time, I didn’t know the full picture. The door banged open. A small, curvy lady holding a tray backed into the room. Her clothes looked old but neatly mended. The patches sewn in using other materials. Her hair was a ferocious bob of brown curly hair that swung around as she placed the tray on a coffee table before me. The aroma of fresh tea and rosemary baked potatoes made my mouth water. “Ah, good. Ye awake,” Martha said, opening the lid of the potatoes. I leaned forward sniffing the air. “I’ll bet ye hungry,” she said matter of factly, piling a plate full of the potatoes. She added a scoop of butter on the top and then served them to me. Like a rabid animal, I tore into the dish expressing my gratitude around the mouthfuls of masticated potato. Suddenly embarrassed, I stopped remembering my manners. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just I’m so hungry.” Martha waved away the comment and poured the dark tea. “It is what it is. Tell me, what is ye name?” “Jordan,” I said, watching her expression change to mild surprise. “Is that so,” she said, placing her fist on her hips. Silent stretched for a moment as she thought about something. Then she huffed. “I like it. Jordan it is.” She turned on an old TV that crackled to life. She laughed mirthlessly and then came to sit beside me. I thought it a bit strange at the time, but the tea took the thought away. The china cups floral design appeared faded with age. The other, equally as old, had a slight crack at the lip. She selected the better one and placed it before me, and poured the tea. The steam wafted in the cold air. “This will be good for ye, warm the heart and soul.” She took a folded square of paper and poured the powder into the tea and stirred it. She noticed my gaze and explained. “Something for the pain. Easier than swallowing the tablets.” I took the tea and drank deeply. Again a blissful warmth spread through my body. I drained the last of the tea and leaned back. “That’s it, Jordan. Ye go to sleep. Mammy will watch over ye.” Drowsiness crept around the corners of my eyes and my head began to feel heavy. I let the warmth pull me under as she stroked my hair. “That’s it, lovely, go to sleep.” I woke to a commotion. Martha stood in the centre of the room screaming at the top of her lungs. “Who did it!” She screamed at the other couch, the one with the carrot and parsnip on it. “Who broke Mammy’s china” Groggily, I glanced at the floor. A cup laid shattered, it’s content spilling across the floor and onto a dirty green rug. It was the same cup I had used to drink the tea. I pulled my leg back into the couch, away from the coffee table. The tv crackled static in the corner. I wasn’t aware of the time. Not knowing how long I had slept, but it couldn’t have been long. “Jacob? Veronica? Which one of you did it?” Martha’s ruffled dress shook with anger. I didn’t know who she was addressing. The pull of the drugs lured me under again and I suddenly didn’t care. Instead, I fell back into the blissful darkness I woke again sometime later. The curtains were pulled and the black of night reigned outside them. I sat up and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. A single candle burned on a shelf by the door. The shadows danced around the room like mischievous spirits. My head still hurt, as did my ribs and ankle. Gingerly, I swung my legs off the couch and prepared to stand. It took me a few attempts but I finally got up. There was a faint smell in the air. It reminded me of sitting in the living room with my family while mum made a Sunday roast. Hungry gnawed at me. With my belly in my mind, I crept to the door and pulled it open. The glow of a candle in my face surprised me. I stumbled back as Martha clicked her tongue. “Going somewhere?” She asked, wrapping a hand around her shabby dressing gown. I felt like I was being scolded by my mum such was her venom. “N-no,” I stammered. “I, uh - was looking for the bathroom.” “No bathroom here laddie. Ye’ll use the pan.” She pushed past me. I watched helplessly as the door closed slowly behind her. “Here,” she said, producing a metal bedpan. “Use this,” she handed it to me and placed her hands on her hips. “Uh, here? Now?” I asked, shocked. “Ain’t nothing Mammy hasn’t seen before.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I stood dumbfounded as she gestured for me to urinate in front of her. “I, uh, I can’t,” I said. The thought of relieving myself the furthest thing from my mind. “My god,” she said, turning away with a tut. I looked around in sheer panic. She wasn’t going to leave. I had to live up to my lie. I adjusted my footing to better accommodate my ankle, unbuttoned my trousers, and glanced at her back. A small divot appeared at her cheek as the sound of my piss hit the pan. A few seconds later and it slowed to a stop. “There,” she said, turning and taking the pan from my hand. “That wasn’t so hard was it,” she said, smiling. I swallowed the slowly creeping dread climbing my throat. I winced at my ankle. Martha saw and tutted again. “Here,” She said, taking a small pink pill from her dressing gown pocket. “For the pain.” I held out my hand, but she bypassed it. I froze as she pressed the pill between my lips. It went in with a pop, closely followed by her finger. I didn’t know what to do. Awkwardness, confusion, and the sense of violation rooted me to the spot. She pulled her finger out slowly. The divot in her cheeks pronounced further with the shadows. I felt sick. Both physically and emotionally. “Now, it’s back to bed with ye, ye ankle won’t heal if ye keep standing on it.” “Uh, in the morning,” I asked, while she guided me back to the couch. “Can I use your phone to call my parents, I think I lost mine in the accident.” Martha chuckled and pulled the thick cover up to my chin. “Wouldn’t do ye any good even if I had a phone, laddie. The storm has cut off the power. Ye rest up, and let Mammy take care of ye.” “Mammy?” “Aye, my poor child. You must have banged ye head more than we thought,” she chuckled again and patted my shoulder. I was lost. I tried to remember the fall, I was out in the woods. I knew that. I vaguely remembered a fire and, and… the thought trailed off. I couldn’t remember, it was fuzzy and congested. My eyes flicked up as Martha bustled around the other couch. Darkness was creeping at the corners of my eyes again. They whispered promises of escape from the pain. Martha leaned down and kissed the parsnips on its perceived head and tucked it in. “Good night, Veronica.” She did the same to the other vegetables as I drifted into sleep. But even in my drowsiness, I noticed the carrot had vanished. Over the next week, the bruising yellowed. My ankle, although wrapped tightly, sent prangs every now and then that left my leg a spasming mess. I sat on a chair in the kitchen while Martha hobbled around the stove cooking up a stew. I hadn’t slept a wink the night before, although I didn’t tell her that. If she knew she would up the dose of my medication as she did when I told her I remembered camping. Martha placed a cup of tea in front of me and I inspected morosely. Two pink pills sat off to the side like pieces of candy. She nudged me to take them and I faked a smile. I slipped the pills into my mouth as she watched. Clenched then between my cheek and my teeth and raised the tea to my lips. As I swallowed she beamed and turned back to the stew pot. I felt disgusting. The smell of spice filled the room. The slow bubble of the stew held my attention. Last night “Mammy” had a fit of rage. The relic of the tv had blown up and she couldn’t watch her favourite show. In all her explosions I was never accused of the wrong deed. Instead, her other children held her wrath. Mammy brought the cleave down on the rabbit. The muscles glistening with fresh blood. I watched the wicked blade chop up the meat imagining it being used against me if I tried to leave. She scraped the chunks into the pot and pulled over the parsnip which had been made to watch the spectacle. “Now, this is your last chance, Veronica,” she warned. I swung my gaze up from the pot expecting her temper toward me, but instead, she held the knife threatening over the vegetable. “Ye tell me now young lady or god help ye?” Her eyebrow rose. The impending doom was already sealed. I winched as she cleaved off the head of the vegetable. The grassy sprig rolled off and fell to the floor. I swallowed. “Well, I did warn ya, didn’t I? And now look what ye made me do.” She wipes away a stray tear as she venomously chopped away. Frozen to my seat I watched her slide the pieces of parsnips into the stew and slam the chopping board and knife down on the countertop. “Forgive me,” she said as she swept out of the house. My thoughts returned. I quickly pulled the pills out from my teeth, wrapped them in the paper containing the other pills, and slipped them back into my jean pocket. I rose, darting forward to open the cupboards and drawers looking for anything useful to aid my escape. I hefted a long knife considering it. I let it fall back into the drawer. I wasn’t a killer. Hope was fleeing as I pulled open the last drawer. But that hope came back in full force. Inside was my phone. I couldn’t believe it. She had my phone? I heard the scrunch of footfall and quickly closed the drawer and shot into my chair. Mammy returned. She sniffed and wiped her nose on a tissue, then dabbed at her eyes “Onions,” She said. “They always get me.” I nodded and smiled. “Listen, Jordan. I need to go out to town today. I would take ye, but ye ankle is still bad.” My Christmases and birthdays had come at once. “I can come,” I ventured. “My foot isn’t that bad,” I said, wiggling my foot. The pain was excruciating, but I didn’t let it show. Town equalled people. People equalled help. “No no. Ye’ll stay here and mind ye brothers.” It took me a moment to realise she was speaking about the vegetables. “But I -“ “But nothing! Ye will stay home!” The echo of her rage dispelled into silence and my plan for escape did the same. My head fell. “Ye will stay home,” she began again, quieter this time. “And I’ll bring ye something nice back from the market.” I nodded slowly as she grabbed her coat off the back of the door and gathered up her keys. “Now, what will ye do?” I kept my eyes to the tiled floor. “I’ll stay home and watch my brothers,” I mumbled. “And ye’ll keep an eye on the stew too. Don’t let it burn now, ye hear?” I nodded. “Yes.” “Yes, what?” She asked, hand on hips, eyebrow raised. “Yes, Mammy,” I forced out. Martha huffed and left. I strained in my seat waiting for the start of a car engine. I rose in expectation as the revs increased and it slowly disappeared. I pulled out my phone and turned it on. I can’t begin to explain the joy at seeing it light up. But it soon drained away as quickly as it came. Wherever I was, it didn’t have any reception. I cursed my bad luck flicking through my apps. Whatsapp, Instagram, Messenger, Snapchat, none of them worked. The bubble of stew drew my attention, I raced over, turned the dial right down and gave it a quick stir. I needed time. I hobbled to the door and opened it to the bitter cold air, and stepped out. My feet slipped out from underneath me and /I banged my head hard, I surrender to the darkness. I came to with a sheet of snow on my face. I didn’t know how long I had been out but I still grasped my phone. The forest was covered in snow. The trees sagged with the weight of it on their branches. Robins and other small tits bobbed about in the white tundra as I got up and held my phone to the sky to get better reception. The shingled ground scraped under my feet as I limped around the house. My head hurt but thankfully no blood came away when I touched it. The phone danced in the air while I looked for better coverage. As I rounded a corner I stopped. The forest ringed the garden from north to south, but at the western edge of the clearing stood a greenhouse partially covered with snow. Curiously I stumbled over leaving a small trail behind me. I peered inside the greenhouse with morbid curiosity. Whoever Martha was, she could definitely grow vegetables. A marrow as long and fat as a large dog sat on one counter. Beside it on a similar table was another carrot. It was bigger than the one I had seen in the house but equally as deformed. The more I looked the more I saw giant veg. Suddenly I remembered my phone and held it up. A single solitary bar lit up and the carriers logo flashed in the corner. “Yes!” I raced back outside, opened Snapchat, snapped a picture of the house and wrote a quick note. Not dead, please find me. And hit send, it didn’t go through. The distant sound of a car made my heart race. Anxiety nearly strangled me. Somehow I managed to pull myself together and raced back over to the greenhouse. I didn’t have a choice. I had to do it even if the price was getting caught. I placed the phone under a large leak in the furthest corner and stumbled back outside. The car was getting closer. I didn’t know if Martha had neighbours but I highly doubted it. I raced forwards again as fast as my legs could carry me but halfway to the door I tripped and fell. Pain flared in my ankle again. I was sure it was broken. Through gritted teeth, I rose and pushed on. I couldn’t afford to be caught outside. Especially if Martha found out I had found my phone and called for help. Breathlessly I managed to get to the door and stumbled inside. The bubbling stew on the shove greeted me. The aroma was amazing. Again I found myself hungry beyond measure. Relief flooded me as I regained my chair. The crunch of wheels on gravelled snow sent my nerves up my back. The cold wash of anticipation, dread and guilt all playing their part in making me uncomfortable. I rose quickly and began to stir the stew before Martha’s keen eyes spied through the window of the backdoor. I swallowed the fear and smiled. “Good trip?” I asked. Martha eyed me suspiciously, a bag of shopping in either hand. She pushed into the room, slamming closed the door with her foot and placed the bags on the table. My heart was in my throat. Without a word, she darted out into the other room. My hands grew slick with sweat as I waited. My heart pounded in my ears. I heard the shuffle of feet and turned back to the stew as if nothing was a miss. Martha came beside me and turned my chin. “How do ye feel?” She asked, her eyes searched my face for a reaction. “Tired,” I said, the ladle in my hands almost forgotten. “But I have to stay awake to watch my brothers and not to let the stew burn. Martha’s face twisted from a scroll to a smile. The dimples in her cheeks returning. I smiled weakly and fainted a yawn. Martha clicked her tongue and bustled around the shopping. “I don’t know if ye liked the dark chocolate I got ye last time, but I got some again…” Chocolate? I thought. “I also got some harelip tarts! They’re old Murphy’s recipes,” she said rubbing her belly. “I know how much you like them.” I let her ramble as I thought about the possibility of escaping this place. My thoughts were interrupted by silence. My daydream popped. Martha stood, hands-on-hips, glaring at me with a savagery I had only witnessed on my first night here. Martha’s eyes flicked from my face to my legs and back again. I shifted my weight slightly so more was on my good foot, and looked down. I cussed under my breath. How could I have been so stupid? “So, where were ye going?” Martha came to stand beside me. Her small build seemed to encompass me. I was like a tadpole in the Atlantic sea. “I, uh - I was curious,” I said, hoping that my semi truth would register with her. “Ye know what curiously managed to get herself into, don’t ye? Ye’ve been outside,” her eyes narrowed. “Have ye been trying to escape.” I swallowed. “N-no!” I stammered. “I’ve saw -s-saw a rabbit. I, uh, thought I could capture it for dinner.” I knew I was fucked. The lie was stupid. It may have worked on a ten-year-old but even I didn’t believe it. Martha eyed me intently again. From the wet patches of snow on my legs to the dirty marks on my wrist and hands. I swallowed again. Time stretched under her quizzical gaze. Then she burst out laughing. “Ye catch a rabbit? On that leg?” Martha howled with laughter and I slowly joined in. “Ah, that’s a good one my boy.” Her laughter died to a panting gaggle. “Ohhh, I needed that. Ye was always a joker.” Martha bustled around the kitchen pulling open drawers and cupboards to put stuff away. I continued to stir the stew. “Where the hell?” For the second time dread clamped down on my throat. I swallowed and glanced over my shoulder envisioning her standing by the last drawer. Instead, Martha’s leaned over a bag on the counter, her hand fishing inside for something. “I could’ve sworn I bought a leak? Can’t have rabbit stew without one. Oh well, I’ll just use the one I’ve got.” I nodded dumbly and continued to stir and fake yawn. Martha brushed passed me, her musky scent cloying my nose. I followed her gaze as she reached for the outside door handle. I froze. “Stop!” Martha turned, her eyebrows thick and angled in indignation. “What’s a matter with ye? Ye stupid boy,” she said, the door slightly ajar. The cold air wafted in chilling the cold sweat on my forehead. I was sure I had a fever, but I didn’t want it to show. I had to think fast and the pain from my ankle wasn’t helping. “I’m allergic to leeks,” I managed, hoping that my lie would seem genuine. “Allergic? Since when?” “Uh - that time last year, remember?” I crossed my fingers hoping that her delusions would aid in my lie. “You made leek and potato soup, and I was sick for a week.” I clenched my teeth and winched. Had I gone too far? Martha’s eyes roamed around her head in thought. Those green orbs flickered to me and held me pinned to the spot. I was had. She knew I was lying. I could tell. “Ok, then,” she said. I let go of my pent up breath. “No leek, but it will be a tad bland if ye ask me.” Martha came over and took the ladle from my hands and shooed me away. “Ye go and lay down, Ye don’t look too good,” she said, placing the back of her hand against my forehead. “Ye adventure has got ye a fever now,” she clicked her tongue. From her pocket, she produced three pink pills and popped them one by one into my mouth. Each time letting her finger slid in and out over my tongue. “Swallow.” “Can I have some water?” “Swallow,” she said again. I dry heaved and opened my mouth. The pills tucked securely in my cheeks like a squirrel. Martha slapped me hard around the head. The concussion sent my eyes into spasm along with my mind. She grabbed my hair and forced my head to one side ramming a finger inside my mouth. “Do ye think I’m stupid?” She asked, prizing a pill from its confines. “If that is? Ye think Mammy is a stupid woman that don’t know what’s best for her babies? Right? Isn’t it!” She yelled, lapping my face again. Tears swam in my eyes as drool dripped from my open mouth to the floor. I sucked in a breath, trying to control my heartbeat. She knew. She knew everything. I was never getting out of here. Martha’s heaves of anger slowed. I watched her go to the sink and fill a glass with water. “Now, let’s try this again,” she said, holding out her palm I reached down and picked a pill up and placed it in my mouth. Then I took the proffered water and swigged the pill down. “Good,” she said watching me. I took another and repeated the process, pop, swig, gulp. As the last went down, I could already fill the pull of the drugs. I knew why she was doing it, yes they helped with the pain, but they also made me compliant. My eyes began to close as the warmth of the pills and the darkness crept in. Martha’s face grew long, and rose as I fell to the floor. Groggily, I cracked an eyelid. I was back on the couch. Martha was searching frantically around the room, upending cushions and pillow muttering under her breath. I closed my eyes again, diving back into the darkness. Movement aroused me but I was too deep in my head to climb out. Somehow I knew it was the pills and at the same time, I knew I was being moved. I fought the darkness, trying to zone out everything but the scraping of loose gravel. I became aware of the cold biting at my face. It took all my efforts to crack one eye, my lashes filled with snow inhibited my vision. Martha’s cruel twisted face was focused on something up ahead. Her snorts of breath clouded the air. I twisted as best I could to see where we were bound. I blinked away the snowflakes and saw the corner of the greenhouse. Panic forced the drugs to retreat. More of my senses kicked in. The scraping amplified. The birds chirping in the trees screeched like banshees. The drone of engines shook my head. “No,” I muttered, digging the fingers of my free hand into the gravelled path. Martha grunted at the sudden resistance and turn to see what had happened. Her surprised gaze left my gorging fingers and trailed to my face. I didn’t recognise the women who had held me captive for over a week. Martha’s eyes were cruel and empty, those soft dimples in her cheeks were gone, instead, they were hitched up as she bared her yellow teeth in a snare. My eyes caught the flash of steel as it rose and fell with each stride. The blade swished at her side as she struggled to pull me along. “No,” I said more forcefully “Don’t ye no me, ye bloody git! It’s all ye fault! It always has been! If it weren’t for ye, ye father would still be around, ye - ye - damned demon! Ye was too much for even him to handle. Bloody deformity.” She let me go. The back of my head smashed into the gravel path and I momentarily saw stars. Martha looked around wildly, a worried expression on her face. The sounds of cars were almost upon us. I shuffled backwards on my arms, the pain in my ankle flared again so much that it took my breath away. Martha looked back down at me as if she had forgotten about me. She snarled and brought the cleaver up and over her head. “It’s ye fault!” She screamed, swinging the blade toward my head. I kicked out with my good foot and caught her knee. It wasn’t much but it was enough to knock her off balance. I felt the passing air from the cleaver as it missed by millimetres. The momentum of her swing made Martha overextend and tumbled by my side. I didn’t have the strength to wrestle her but I did have enough to snatch the cleaver as it fell from her hands. “Get the hell away from me!” I shouted, the roar of wind, adrenaline, and my own voice sounded in my ears. Anger welled inside me. All the pain she had put me through. The days missing my real family. They were all her fault. Martha rose slightly, blood leaking over her lip. She saw the cleaver, gazed back at my angry eyes and rolled away. “Ye won’t hurt ye Mammy, will ye?” She asked, pushing herself up onto her knees. I shuffled back some more as she kicked one leg under her to rise. “You’re not my Mammy,” I spat “Don’t move! I swear I’ll use this.” I felt braver than I probably looked hefting the cleaver back over my shoulder, but it did the trick. Martha stopped, palms up facing me. I didn’t know if she knew I wouldn’t use it? I sure as hell hoped she didn’t because the anger wasn’t enough to hold my fear at bay. The drugs were slowly kicking back in and my hand was growing heavy. I heard the sound of snow being crunch by tires and began to scream for help. Martha looked quickly in the direction of a silver Ford, jumped to her feet and shot back into the house. Men piled from the car in thick winter clothes. Relief flooded my body, and I started to weep. I was saved that day. The men were police officers. The snap I sent was enough for them to trace and rescue me. Martha was detained and taken for a psychological evaluation after my testimony. She was sent to a psychiatric hospital where she died three months later by suicide. The house was sold to a young couple who started to renovate due to their first child fast approaching. When knocking down the greenhouse they found a single homemade headstone underneath. The police exhumed the unknown body. The skeleton, identified to be a child of around thirteen to fourteen years old, was riddled with broken bones. The legs had been repeatedly broken and allowed to fuse back together causing them to be crooked. Likewise, the arms share similar defects. Only the deformity was a birth defect. Across the shoulders, legs, arms and head were numerous chips and notches suggesting trauma infected by a heavy pole or stick. The child had been repeatedly beaten. Heaven knows what other injuries the child suffered at the hands of his mother. Martha’s child was never registered. With a home birth and being far out in the Welsh countryside the birth of her child easily went unnoticed. Perhaps that was why the death was never caught. I went to the psychiatric hospital to see Martha a few days before she died. I didn’t really know why I had to go? Maybe it was the morbid curiosity of seeing the women getting help? Or, in reality, it was more to do with seeing her suffering in a place she deserved? However, I did thank her for saving me, and she did save me. It may have been the tiniest of a coincidence that did the saving, but I could have died out in the snow. The doctors said she often bundled clothing together and spoke to them as if alive. There were always five. Jacob, the carrot, Veronica the parsnip, Trevor the marrow and Claire the broccoli. I’ve been thinking about the fifth a lot. The name on the headstone was Jordan, my name. That was the coincidence that saved my life. I know Martha would have transgressed back to the event that would have triggered her to kill me. That I have no doubt. But, she did save me, and for that, I’m always thankful. Despite a thorough search of the Llyod estate, no other bodies have ever been found. .
Futures betting markets on all major darts tournament are usually the places to check out when you want some idea as to just which player or players are being backed, and with the Premier League of Darts just around the corner there is a great deal of interest on that event from punters all over the world. Set Betting. In tennis or darts, a wager that involves correctly predicting the sets won by each of the participants in a match. Single. A straight bet on one selection to win one event. Six Shooter. Six golfers are grouped together for betting purposes only. They are each priced to return the lowest score over one round. Darts Betting Rules. Darts is pretty straight forwarded I terms of betting and there aren’t many grey areas when it comes to betting. We have included a couple of points to keep in mind when betting on darts. Rule 4 will be applied if a player pulls out the competition after bets have already been taken on markets that they affect. Each Way Horse Racing Betting Strategy. Each-way betting is a great strategy to get a return on your money. This works best if you like the look of a horse, but you aren’t entirely confident that it will win. You make a bet on it to either win or place. Now, ‘placing’ all depends on the size of the race involved. Thankfully, 3-Way Handicap is very easy to understand, especially if you are familiar with other types of handicap betting systems, like Asian Handicaps or European Handicaps. Three-way handicap bets are available in a wide variety of sports, but we’ll only focus on football today. Lots of betting sites from all over the world offer bettors 3-Way Handicap bets, alongside European and Asian ...
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