SOULS

of

DARK MAGIC

Blood Quintet Series—Book 3

ASHER SHAROL

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by Asher Sharol. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, send an email to the address:

Chapters

Prologue

A Fallen Friend

Spellbound

The Silver Scheme

Kray the Demon

Candentis Convalescence

The Directive

Transmogrification

Hellenogyrum

Felix Falls

The Gamble

Hellion

Art & Lumia

The Shadowy Savior

Midnight Blood Bar

The Hierocruxes

The Sanguinarian

The Pairings

Imajinaereum

The Purple Parchment

Mysterious Constellation

Ruel & Rasmus

Tony's Readings

The Roofless Room

Canimorphus

The Missing Or'Oyo

The Dragon & The Phoenix

Philhotep's Speech

Monomakia

Author's Note

Scarlet Incantatrix Excerpt

Prologue

Kane found himself standing inside a dark room, or was it one of the voids between cosms like when he touched the Candentis Oak? His wonder went unanswered as red mist attacked his face. Kane's nose and chest burned, the scene immediately melting into a dingy cabin with burning candles casting eerie shadows on the dirty walls and low ceiling. He gazed down upon himself and found he had no real body to gaze upon. Instead, he was a smoky consciousness, a bodiless presence.

Kane counted five teens inside the cabin: three girls and two boys. They sat cross-legged in a circle, holding hands. It was a peculiar position to assume, Kane thought, made even stranger by the red candles and the pile of black books on a table in the opposite corner from him. The teens were impossibly still. In fact, they were so still that Kane wondered if there was magic involved in their stillness. Curious, Kane urged his consciousness closer until he hovered over the five, now seeing that they all had their eyes closed.

Before them was an uncanny double-rimmed pentagram. Each person sat at one of its five points. It seemed they were performing a ritual. Just what this scene had to do with his situation, Kane had no clue. But he supposed something about it was typical to people who had just died.

A gentle wind wafted through the cabin and extinguished one of the candles, the smoke coiling in rings upward. The wind disturbed Kane's essence as well, such that it took an effort to maintain his position. Then, one of the bodies moved: one of the boys. Kane gasped as he stared at the face. It was a face that he was familiar with, but which confused him in the same breath. Why was he seeing a vision of Parris' father? Even though her father was clearly only a teen here, Kane saw the face too many times at Candentis Academy to mistake it. Kane glanced around the group only to locate his father, Nimrod, young and odd-looking. Kane almost laughed despite the strange circumstances. He was pretty sure his father and Parris' father didn't know each other being from opposite ends of the Hollow. Even if they did know each other, they certainly weren't likely to have any reason to be in a room together let alone participating in something as intimate as whatever ritual they were now performing. But Kane saw a clear trend here.

He moved his spirit to the next person to make sure his theory was correct, then the next, and the next. Though the shadows played across their faces, they eventually receded enough to reveal the truth. Kane set his eyes on the gaunt visage of Tony's young mother, the definition of a budding sorceress with sharp cheeks, thin lips, and deep-set eyes. Moving along, Kane regarded a red-headed girl with a scar on his cheek. He assumed she was Sammiroh's mother, whom he'd never met. Something about her seemed intense, something he couldn't quite identify in the gloom. Beside her was the final person in the quintet: an olive-skinned girl with a bad case of acne. She had a pink lily stuck inside her nappy hair above a heart-shaped face...just like Gem's.

Another breeze ruffled Kane's breezy essence and put out yet another of the red candles, rendering the place even darker. Tony's mother flinched, his eyes fluttering. This time, Kane wondered if what was moving through the cabin was really wind or something else: A presence.

Kane experienced two additional currents, each one putting out a candle while causing another person to lurch. If he had observed well, only the red-head girl (Sam's mother?) had not already been affected by whatever the wind represented. Only one red candle burned, the melted wax sizzling at the base of the holder like boiling blood. Kane's spirit swayed anxiously from left to right in anticipation of the wind to fade the final candle. He longed to leave; the daunting dark and haunting silence unnerved him. Just then, the candle flickered before his eyes despite the absence of anything to disturb it. Moments later, the cabin was cast into total darkness. Something ruffled, then the room was once again suffused with light. Kane saw each child stretching and rubbing their eyes as if they had just woken from a deep sleep.

“Did it work?” The girl with the lily in her hair asked.

“Shhh!” Kane's teen father put a finger over his lips. “I think he's already here.”

Kane knew Nimrod was correct before the next series of events occurred-- the wind that was supposed to have extinguished the final candle now rushed inside the cabin like a vengeful spirit entering a body. If Kane could have screamed, he would have let one rip through the cold air. The five did scream as the wind tested the structure, flipping open the books which laid on the table. Kane heard a mighty crash, but he wasn't sure what had fallen. Tony's mother hoisted herself as if to leave, but she was roughly dragged back down by the boy beside her-- Parris' father.

“Don't be stupid, Tiffy. We spoke about this, remember?”

Kane was surprised at how stern he was with her--like a parent scolding his child. By the looks of it, Parris' father said something else to her that which she nodded to. Kane couldn't hear what it was since the wind had returned, its effect drowning his voice. Again, something hit the floor with a crash, and as before, Kane couldn't see what it was. This time, however, the cabin was cast into Stygian darkness as a voice erupted around them.

Kane didn't have to be told it did not belong to a human, for its timbre was impossibly deep-- bestial.

“What power has summoned me on this plane-- I, the keeper of the realm of Da'aemoqlith? Who seeks to sully his soul for vanity?”

“We come as a quintet,” one of the boys shouted. It was Parris' father again. The remainder of the group hadn't uttered a single word.

“Harken to our entreaty on this night of nights, being of might,” the boy continued. “As we bond together under the aquarian blood moon. We come under the guidance of--”

“Spare me the pleasantries,” the bestial voice cut him off. “I lay in wait for you in the abyss, Oebiel's doomed children. Your torture will be exquisite, your wailing lullabies for the Hellion. Bare your souls, each of you. Tell me your deepest desires, or be brave and offer me your most cherished possession. You may yet be spared in the Veil Rapture. ”

There was silence. Kane sensed this response from the infernal being was not anticipated.

To Kane's surprise, the scene blurred, the children's responses (if they did respond to the being) muted. Kane could see nothing but darkness. Kane's spirit relaxed as the room's tense atmosphere mellowed. But he was disappointed; he wanted to see why his and his friends' parents were evoking a prime demon. However, he seemed to be getting his wish for the room came back into view, smoke billowing from the center of the pentagram where the demon once was. Clearly, the vision had jumped a few minutes forward for reasons he could not even guess. He watched as the five children gazed upon each other, mute and petrified. It was quite clear that they either did not expect the entity to show up at all or that their expectations had been wildly exceeded.

“Shit!” Kane's teen father ejected. He sounded weird as if he'd bitten his tongue in the ordeal. He rose and dashed from the cabin. He was followed by Parris' and Tony's teen parents who held hands and scurried out. Kane found their need to hold hands a bit odd, and coupled with how Parris' father spoke to her before, he wondered if they were dating. A dark thought entered his mind, but he dismissed it before the weirdness of it exploded his spirit. The plump, heart-faced girl Kane surmised was Gem's mother now sauntered out. Only one of the children remained: Sam's mother. Her face was austere, and mature beyond his years. She glanced after his peers, but instead of following them, she mumbled something into the roiling smoke.

“We forgot to banish.”

The room settled into unnerving silence before an image of a hazy horned bull manifested inside the smoke. Kane's spirit recoiled from the suddenness of this development. It was as though the entity was watching them in silence without them knowing.

“Astute of you to realize,” the bull said. “I hasten to say that among your peers, your request was the most curious. What was it? Providence over your soul, that it be spared from judgement in the hereafter.”

Sam's mother nodded. “I've been reading from the Seal Of Obsidian. Any request steeped in vanity is liable to be granted under duplicitous terms.”

The bull seemed to laugh. “Impressive, only sixteen and already quoting from a book of the beast. Morticia, isn't it?”

The teen witch nodded.

“Yesss,” the bull hissed. “Sevres-- that family. You descend from a long line of powerful witches. Elisheba-- she is one of my favorites. Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised about your precocious nature. In one gesture you've displayed bravery and intelligence. Moreover, as I peer at your soul, I see an unprecedented inclination for the darkest crafts. Hence, I shall oblige your request in as genuine a manner as an infernal principality can. As for your friends, their souls are damned. But you already knew that would happen, didn't you? ”

Morticia fidgeted, but her features remained impassive. “So their requests won't be granted?”

The bull sank further into the pentagram, but it did not disappear fully. “They shall be granted while they yet live. But unlike you, they made no provisions for their souls after death. Now, child of night, pronounce the words, and let me retreat to my domain.”

Morticia nodded, closing her eyes. “Ablatum Mephistis Satharchon,” she uttered before the unnatural wind swept the cabin again. The five candles rekindled themselves, suffusing the enclosure once more with light. The bull had vanished. The girl hoisted herself, outstretched her hand with her Obiscule on her palm.

“Quintatum Obliviatur!”

A puff of yellow smoke sparks flew from the stone...two...three. After five distinct ejections, the room cracked before Kane like an onyx mirror, sending him hurtling back through the tunnel in space from which he came.

A Fallen Friend

Kane's lifeless body laid upon the ground like a thick shadow. Sam blinked at the crumpled form of his friend, unsure of what to do or feel. His body shook uncontrollably, sweat rolling down his skin. Kane wasn't dead; yet another of his companions couldn't be dead. It simply wouldn't be fair. But it had been more than ten minutes since Tony cast that strange spell, and Kane's body still laid motionless on the ground, his skin transforming into a deathly blue. Sam knew in his heart of hearts that something wasn't right. Gem, who had been clutching Kane's foot, gazed at Sam with eyes brimming with tears. She tore her eyes off him at once, hoisted herself, and muscled the tears from her eyes. Steadying herself, Gem then stomped toward the open door.

“Gem?” Sam said as she passed him, wondering where she could be headed at a time like this. He was answered by her heavy footfalls echoing inside the darkening house. Sam cast his eyes upon Parris who had buried her face inside Kane's bosom, heaving like a girl crazed. As Sam regained his wits, his frantic mind groping for a course of action to take, a hot draught of air assaulted him from the back. The temperature change was so sudden that Parris rose from Kane's body, snot draining down her nose. Sam twisted his body to see what had caused the change. Sam laid his eyes on something that brought him to his feet instantly. The tongues of purple flames seemed to have already engulfed the entire house except for where he and Parris knelt. It was as if it was waiting until they exited before it continued its journey.

Parris dashed by Sam, who had the urge to take Kane's body before it got engulfed. As if opposed to this idea, a crackling mass of flames lashed out at him so viciously, Sam had to abandon the idea of preserving Kane's corpse. He got up and chased from the house. Outside the Jansky House, Hargreave Hollow was unusually dark, the air as cold as ice. Sam felt it bone-deep, pressing through his face and chest. He glanced behind him only to be dumbstruck for the umpteenth time that night, for Kane's sprawled body rose in the indigo flames, his head and hands hanging limp.

It was then that the feeling sank into Sam... the feeling that if he left this place, he would be leaving a friend behind forever. Sam stopped, noting the unnatural darkness around him. It wasn't a normal night; the blackness seemed not like an absence of light but a presence--an inky density that the incandescent lights struggled to properly pierce. A loud crackling jolted him into full awareness, but it was the renewed heat that made Sam spin to behold the source of it. Gem called out to him, but his eyes seemed glued to something he could only believe having seen the odd things he did in Nox Regia. The larger than life silver serpent reared up before him, its body incandescent with flickering flames. Gem called out again, more frantic this time. Sam watched petrified as the animal's slit amber eyes settled on him from a height that seemed celestial. It was then that Sam's legs decided to put some distance between him and the radiant reptile which now moved in tandem, faster than he could react. By now, the Jansky House was burning in a flame the color of vervain, Kane inside it robbed of a proper burial.

Sam ran toward the gate, ignoring the almost tangible essence of darkness. He glimpsed Parris sprinting dangerously close to the Mersi forest and Gem not much more than thirty feet ahead of him. Sam dared not look back as all evidence pointed to the luminous snake slithering toward him in a manner that transcended all serpents he had ever seen. Moreover, the ground was trembling, and the beast's bright aura preceded it, swelling even further than his current position. Sam pumped his hands madly, muscling himself down the incline. He was catching up to Gem, but the snake was catching up to them both! Parris had vanished--Sam didn't know whether or not that was a good thing. The next second saw him do something he instantly regretted.

The suspense momentarily overshadowing his terror, Sam twisted his head to the side to get an idea of how close the snake had gotten to him. No sooner had he done this than he lost his balance, his speed making for a heavy fall. A broken scream pitched from his throat as he fell. The heat returned immediately, and yet a profound cold cramped his bones and raced up his back. His mind raced until it was blank, his body shaking. The last thing he saw was a blinding light before death eclipsed his consciousness.

Sam awoke in a room of stuccoed walls and crystal light. He was almost smothered in a squishy bed without a headboard. He sat up quickly, a scent of jasmine caressing his nostrils. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was staring into the reptilian eyes of the silver snake before death claimed his consciousness. His back smarted--the work of the silver flames pitching from the creature. Sam glanced around him but was none the wiser as to where he was and how he got here. From his observation of the chandelier, pristine walls of art, stylish carpet, and furniture, he figured he was inside some rich abode. Was he back inside the Jansky House? he wondered, his alarm pulling a gulp from him. The decor did match. Sam levered himself out of the gravity-laden bed, groaning as pain rocketed through his back and left leg. He headed for a window astride one of the night tables. As he peered out the window, Sam furrowed his brow in confusion. At least he wasn't inside the Jansky House, but the scenery of where he was frightened him nevertheless.

The campus looked foreign, especially viewing it from what must have been close to eighty feet high. It was the Great Oak that told him where he was—Candentis Academy. What was he doing here? he thought. Were Gem and Parris here as well? Sam noted the thick darkness veiling the place once more. Grief struck him from nowhere. Kane had taken his last breath in the Jansky House. Sam hobbled back to the bed and sat, hoping that his friend's death was just another crazy illusion in the spirit of the worlds he'd traversed since making that first journey to the land of black sands. But his spirit roiled as the gory details of Kane's final moments alive replayed inside his mind: Kane's aghast expression as he was hit by what Sam knew in his bones was evil itself, Tony's bestial face as he committed the unpardonable act of killing a friend, and the purple flames. Sam was so immersed in his sordid thoughts that he didn't hear when someone opened the door.

“You finally woke.”

Sam jumped in surprise, hurting his foot.

“Didn't mean to startle you,” Bode said. “I actually...”

“What am I doing here?” Sam blurted.

Bode seemed to have expected this outburst, nodding casually. “That's what we want to talk about. Your friends are already downstairs. Luckily, they weren't in as bad a shape as you.”

He turned and went back through the door. Sam followed gingerly, hoping beyond hope that he would see Kane among the group of people Bode referred to as 'friends'.

Spellbound

Smitten with grief and terror, Tony paced after Serafina through the dense Mersi forest. Their combined Obsidian lights were pathetic in dispelling the inky gloom which blanketed the place like a black veil. Tony held his beacon higher, sweat gushing from his body like a geyser. His cranium thundered with every frantic heartbeat. Ever since he'd pronounced the devilish spell, his Obsidian vibrated and teemed with an energy that seemed to have transferred to him. Or was it the other way around? He really couldn't tell; he and the stone were one now, its will was his will.

He had been used by death tonight. His wrath had reared its monstrous head, and the face of death had been lured from the depths to greet it. Hand in hand, they struck at Parris, but it was Kane's life that was ripped to shreds. Once the spell had caressed Kane's chest, there was no question of his fate. Tony had felt the wickedness inside his own spirit as his insides had lurched, as though the spell had also damaged a piece of him. Yes, he mourned his friend, for Kane should not have died, but there was something else that had hatched in those few short moments even before Kane's body fell. Power. Tony recalled requesting that same thing from the Silver Man weeks ago when the wound of betrayal had been fresh and bleeding. He could now safely say it had been granted.

He squinted ahead to see his Barbellite ally, Serafina dodging through the shadows of the trees as if she'd known the place for ages. The decision not to return home was simple. He was loath to show up at his home fresh off what he'd done. Luckily, Serafina's grandmother, Amonette owned a cabin in the forest. Serafina slowed to a brisk walk as the woods became sparser.

“Watch for hogs,” she whispered. “There's the place.” She pointed at a thatched house a few hundred feet ahead which to Tony's eyes looked uninhabitable due to the simple fact that the roof had caved in and the door was open to the ravages of the forest. Tony kept this thought to himself, satisfied with whatever isolated haven presented itself. Serafina halted a few steps from the decrepit house, her head whizzing this way and that. As Tony came abreast of her, she cordoned him off from further progress with a heavily tattooed hand. Then, she extended the same hand before her as if feeling for something in midair. “I should have known,” she stated. “There's magic around the place. Weak though, maybe because that hag is dead.”

Tony said nothing, knowing the witch of whom she spoke was alive and well. That is, as alive a person without a proper soul could ever be. Something told him both he and Serafina would be seeing much more of Amonette in the future. Her hand still aloft, Serafina whispered a few words which sent the slightest jet of blue curling around them. Done, she stepped forward. “Not the best. But somewhere to stay until we recover.”

She was right. They both needed to recover as they'd not gotten a proper rest from the sojourn to the bewitched mountain in the land of sandstorms. To Tony's surprise, the interior of the cabin looked like the inside of any normal house. He was so taken aback by the stark contrast to the house's exterior, that he halted, wondering if this was normal.

“What?” he croaked, befuddled.

Serafina cackled. “Masking magic,” she chimed.“To the common person, it would seem the house is old and abandoned, which would keep them from wanting to give the house a closer look. We'll definitely be safe here.”

They walked upon a tiled floor inside the dwelling which was lit by an assortment of stumpy red candles which caused shadows to dance across the walls. In the semi-lit hall, Tony made out a dirty brown sofa, a dining table covered with red cloth, and a walnut breakfront. Serafina led him to the left of the breakfront through a door which led to a rather cozy looking room. This enclosure was also lit by candles, though this time they were held inside a seven-branched candle-holder atop a dresser. On the opposite side was a high bed with a dark blue satin comforter. With his body under pressure and his neck burning, Tony longed for the oblivion of sleep, inside whose clutches he could flirt with the idea that what had happened in the past weeks was a bad dream.

Serafina made a beeline for the bed, already settling her Obsidian on top of one of a pair of nightstands astride the bed. Then she used one shoe to dislodge the other and knelt to muscle the next from her other foot. Tony thought she too must be dying of exhaustion as he stood watching her scrutinizing the bed.

“Is there another room I can go to?” he asked.

“Nope. Only my gran lived here. Had no need for other rooms.”

Serafina turned at once, modeling past him to the door. Tony saw a glint of mischief in her eyes. As he heard the thud of the door close, she said, in a playful yet sultry voice which Tony found rather unbecoming at a time like this, “Let's see if we can't end this hell with a little heaven.”

She slid her hand under his and across his belly. Tony flinched, doubly surprised at the bold gesture and the feeling he derived from it. Her touch was cold but soothing, and as her hand played across his bare flesh, he felt his barbaric self slipping away into carnality of a different kind. His heart and groin pulsating, Tony turned onto his back, eager to feed his raging passion. Serafina shuffled close in response until her warm skin touched his. Then, in one fluid motion, he turned and kissed her deeply. Lips locked in slippery bliss, a soft moan escaped her mouth as Tony's wandering hand massaged her spongy bosom.

While her hand traced his skin to his navel, Tony registered mild concern that her fingers were mere moments away from discovering just how much his yearning had stretched him taut. Then, she broke the kiss. Tony opened his eyes to see hers just now opening. Their eyes met, and between her clear emerald and his black onyx was an unspoken agreement to embark on a trip of indulgence of a more spiritual kind. Using his chest as support, she heaved her body onto his, folding her feet astride him. In the dimly lit room, her tattoos seemed to glow upon her alabaster skin. Tony dragged her to his face and kissed her again, though this time there was nothing tender about it. She emitted another gasp as he hoisted them both and swiveled her around. Tony surprised himself as he performed the next series of actions in rhythm like a robot executing an algorithm.

All he knew for sure was he was melting into a warm pleasure such that he didn't know where he ended nor where she began. Hot and bare they rocked like a ship en route to some grand rhapsody, writhing with their bodies intertwined in a sweet trinity of sin, sweat, and sensuality. Now and again, the devilish angel beneath him blessed his mind with heady notes, and at other times her lurid breaths caressed his neck. Tony couldn't tell how long they danced in heave, spellbound but now his body tensed at the onset of an overwhelming crest. As the explosion washed over them, their craft fashioned from flesh underwent orgiastic turbulence, stuttering to a stop.

The Silver Scheme

The Silver Man stood before a graven image he was supremely proud of. He had made numerous scientific apparatus and equipment, but none came close to the metaphysical mechanism he now stood before. It was exactly nine feet tall, made of a rare type of translucent Obsidian glass. Unlike his other scientific creations, the glass statue had a soul--or souls. This was true in a literal sense as a total of six thousand and three souls floated around inside its hollow interior. He frowned, caressing the smooth glass. The structure was only several souls away from perfection: the souls of the Blood Quintet. He had played the game masterfully so far, his nemeses none the wiser that he was plotting an epic apotheosis.

He had always known that obtaining the souls of the Blood Quintet would be the most challenging part of his scheme. But it seemed fate was working against him. The latest disappointment came only an hour ago. After sowing all the seeds for Tony to kill his friend, he was crestfallen to discover that Tony did the deed in the worst place possible: inside the Jansky House itself. Silver Man had expected the children to have at least left the house before the fatal curse was fired. If it were a normal house, Silver Man would have been rejoicing the fruition of his plans. But the Jansky House was no normal dwelling— Kane had died inside a gate, a place that facilitated travel from the Triskai to one of the lower cosms. Dying inside a gate was an anomaly: the soul couldn't travel through the proper pathway of the truly dead— a detail that complicated matters. If his theory was correct, Kane's soul would end up in Hellenogyrum or Schizopneum, where it would be given another opportunity to rise back through the cosms preceding it. He had no clue what form Kane would occupy if he made it back to the physical world, or even if he would have a form. Silver Man folded his hands. He knew Kane's chances of returning were slim, as demons and other maleficent beings roamed the dark and desolate terrains seeking souls to devour.

On the other hand, Silver Man was already quite familiar with the god Oebiel's Providence over the Blood Quintet, albeit disguised as happenstance. Kane dying in a gate was one such case of serendipity. No worries, he thought. How influential could a dead god be? In fact, the statue before him was a graven image of Oebiel, the god of infinite light. Silver Man always believed science and metaphysics could be merged into one grand unified theory. His goal was to harness the energy of the souls he ensnared (which represented Oebiel's essence) and combine it with the gross physicality of Satharchon. He wisely chose glass as it represented the dense Satharchon essence. The amalgamation complete, he planned on absorbing the resulting divine spirit.

The children had delayed his apotheosis so many times that he learned their names. Kane was the bearer of the Obsuriam. Tony bore the power of Spiritum. Silver Man was proud to have already sullied the boy's soul by compelling him to commit murder. Tony's deed now rendered his Oebiel-given power ineffectual in the Blood Quintet mechanism. Gemini bore the Feruum, the glue which merged the five into one. He would target her next, given her importance in the Blood Quintet Configuration. Hers was the power he knew the least about, being borne by the mysterious feminine side of Oebiel that had merged with him in the beginning. Parris' power was the Loguum. If she honed this ability to perfection, she could speak things into being. A fit of jealousy roiled inside Silver Man. Patience, he thought as he gazed at the chrome statue. Last was Sammiroh, bearer of the power of Vibruum (vibration). He found it ironic that though Vibruum wasn't the most important power of the five, its bearer's soul had attachments to it that were the most consequential. Sam's soul would have to be the last Silver Man had to acquire if he was to be successful in his quest for godhood. He looked into the glass structure, the moon reflecting through the charged glass. Soon, he would bathe in the swimming light and transmogrify in a blaze of black and red luminance. His next operation was to get Tony to kill again. That would put his soul on the path of no return, rendering the Blood Quintet magic useless against the Veil Rapture.

Kray the Demon

The moment Tony's spell hit his chest, Kane flew backward as if someone had physically pushed him. A sickening crack followed as something shifted inside him--broken. Even before he fell, Kane knew it was death that would catch him and not the floor. Tony's face was impassive, almost aloof, but his dark eyes showed the worrisome state of his soul -- tainted and fragmented like the tattooed girl beside him. Kane's body seemed to float as it fell. A downward glance was all it took to see why: some part of him was suspended in place, his fallen body already taking on a deathly blue tinge.

His floating consciousness watched Parris fall to her knees, screaming. Sam stood petrified with his hands locked at his side, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Gem fumbled with her Obiscule, her eyes wild. Sybel's ring glowed an ominous crimson on her finger. Without warning, Kane was shunted through the door by an unseen force. However, it wasn't Hargreave Hollow that met him, all around him was perfect darkness. As frightening as this should have been, he felt nothing: no fright that he'd just died, no qualms about where his breezy essence was headed to. It seemed death had stripped him of humanity. Yet he could think; he knew he was moving through a dark, still space. Perhaps he was heading to a land of the dead.

As soon as he thought this, he was flung upon sandy ground. Dizzied by the dark journey, he clutched the ground for balance, staying grounded awhile before he opened his eyes. The light, though bleak, bothered his eyes. Kane noted he had retained his body, at least a version of it. His skin seemed to have a golden glow, not quite physical. He realized he was in some kind of gloomy desert with bare sand for as far as his eyes could see. Where was he? What was he supposed to do? A glance upward revealed a huge red moon (easily thrice the size of the moon in the Triskai). Kane shrunk from the frightening sight, though he couldn't quite take his eyes off the blood-red orb and the neighboring ruby-colored clouds. Kane's fright made him appreciate that he did indeed have feelings. This made him question whether he was really dead or just having a dream.

He rose, feeling the urge to walk despite not having a destination. He had only taken a few paces before two bodies fell at his feet. Kane jumped in fright, rising farther than normal gravity should have permitted. The two forms stirred on either side of him, reacting as he had, gripping the ground for balance. The newly dead, Kane thought. The figure to his left was first to acknowledge him. It was a dark-skinned, raven-haired girl about his age.

“Where?” she started before her face fell. She floated a few inches before falling lightly upon the sandy ground.

Kane saw that she wasn't looking at him but past him. She pointed and belted out a scream so loud, Kane found his airy body floating again in his fright. The red moon had frightened her. The other body that fell-- a boy with grainy black hair--alighted, glancing around. His white shirt appeared to be soaked in blood. Kane reasoned he'd died from significant blood loss. He now set his black eyes upon Kane.

“Are we--”

“Dead,” Kane finished.

The girl seemed to have gotten over the strange sky; she stood unsteadily, gazing at him.

“You had to ask, hun?” she asked. “After what those monsters did to us... I'm Spica,” she said, extending an arm.

“Kane.” He shook her hand, wincing at the deep wound in her neck.

“Rasmus,” the boy said, stepping closer.

Kane saw a similar neck wound. “What happened to you guys?” Kane inquired. “I mean, how did you...” he paused, refusing to say 'die' for some reason. Suddenly, his inquiry seemed like a queer and highly personal question.

“You first,” Spica said. “Your death seems way more impressive than either of us.”

“What makes you say that?” Kane looked from Spica to Rasmus.

Rasmus nodded. “I have to agree. It's not everyday I get to see someone with a hole in their chest.”

Kane whipped his head downward and beheld his wound. It was the size of a grapefruit, completely clean except for the edges which sported crusted blood. He could see right through it to the red sand behind him. No wonder he hadn't felt when Tony's spell hit him: he had died instantly.

It took Kane a while to respond. “Murder, I guess. My friend hit me with a curse.”

Rasmus narrowed his eyes. “That's an odd way to treat a friend, don't you think, Spica?”

“Tragic, I think. Though they do say the best of friends make the worst of enemies.”

Kane nodded, the quote summed up exactly what had happened with the Sam-Parris-Tony triangle. “Caught between lovers,” Kane explained. “Tried to be the peacemaker, got myself blown to pieces instead.”

Rasmus and Spica burst out laughing. Kane joined in, seeing the humor in it.

Spica raised her hands defensively. “Forgive us, we're not laughing at your predicament. It's just how you said it was funny.”

“No offense taken. It's your turn. What happened to you people?”

The pair of faces took on a graver aspect. Rasmus nodded to Spica.

The girl shrugged. “I wish I could find humor in our predicament, Kane, but I see no comedy in what happened to us.” She paused, her eyes glossy. “Rasmus and I were doing our first year of college in Nocteraia. We've been going on a bunch of dates in the city, just to get away from our hard lives in the slums of Nocteraia. Tonight while we were at a bar, a couple came inside-- I thought they were also on a date. Well...next thing I knew the woman sped over to us and gouged out Rasmus' neck. She was some kind of vampire, I think. Before I could even get shocked at what I saw, I felt my own neck burning, then all was black.”

Kane stared at them, expecting an admission that it was a joke. He'd only heard about vampires in folklore. To discover they were real was insane.

“Vampires?” he repeated.

“I'd have the same reaction if I wasn't there,” Rasmus said. “They shuffled over to us faster than humanly possible, pale as the moon. And no normal human has fangs as long and as sharp as those.”

“And the eyes...” Spica added. “They weren't human.”

Kane's mind inferred that if vampires were indeed real, then the chances for Lycans, fairies, and other mythical creatures existing were also real. He was about to say this when Rasmus pointed behind Kane.

“Someone's coming,” he said.

Kane turned to see a dark figure approaching in the distance. The swollen moon stunned him again. “Might be another dead person,” he suggested.

“I doubt it,” Spica said. “Too casual. Maybe it's some sort of guide to tell us what happens next.”

Spica's suggestion made sense, Kane realized. The figure was approaching them with too much purpose to be someone freshly dead.

“You feel that?” Rasmus asked, rubbing his arm.

“Feel what?” Spica glanced at him, biting her nails.

Rasmus didn't answer, and Kane knew why: the stranger had covered maybe a hundred feet in just a few seconds. Furthermore, Kane felt what Rasmus felt, and by the looks of it, Spica now did. It was a slight pressure on his body like someone was squeezing him all over. The sensation reminded him of his magical travels through the Candentis Oak. Kane saw the stranger wasn't human but a seven-foot-tall male with black eyes and a twisty horn curving from its wrinkled forehead. Kane knew he should have been shocked by this monstrosity, but his emotions were frozen. Nevertheless, he, Rasmus, and Spica withdrew.

The giant smiled, turned, and started walking in the direction he'd just come from. To Kane's surprise, he felt his feet moving of their own accord. A glance told him Spica and Rasmus were walking alongside him.

“What's going on?” Kane whispered.

Spica shrugged while Rasmus stared at the moon.

“Sir?” Spica voiced. “Hello.”

The entity glanced behind at them which Spica seemed to take as a cue to continue.

“Who are you? Where are we going?”

Spica's inquiry was met with silence; the only sounds were the giant's footfalls. Just when Kane thought he wouldn't answer, he did so in a voice that sounded like many voices speaking at once.

“We're going through the black mist...cross the river.”

Kane saw the black mist ahead. It looked like a thin black veil.

“Are we dead?” Rasmus asked.

The entity groaned. “Death is a process that begins with being born. You're about three-quarters dead. But... if you mean dead in terms of your body no longer functioning in the Triskai then yes, you are dead.”

Spica glanced at Kane and nodded.

 “Interesting,” she said as they went through a particularly dense shroud of mist. “And where exactly are we going after we cross this river? Are we going to be even more dead?”

There was a rattle Kane decided was the giant laughing.

“The newly dead don't usually ask so many questions. I was planning on doing all the talking once we crossed the river. You must be a special lot.” He paused before continuing. “Actually, you are special now that I think of it. You lot are the final three to be accepted into the gyrum.”

“Gyrum?” Rasmus repeated, caressing his neck.

“Hellenogyrum, that's where we're headed...a lower cosm for those who've met death under strange circumstances.”

“Hmm. I'd definitely say Rasmus and I died under strange circumstances. Vampires.”

Kane noted she'd lowered her voice speculatively as she said 'Vampires'. Spica glanced across at him.

“But I don't consider Kane's death strange.”

The rattling laugh sounded again. Kane agreed; apart from dying from a magical curse, he didn't see how his death was special.

“I strongly disagree,” the horned entity said. “I'd even say that Antonio's death is one of the weirdest deaths the cosms has ever seen. His golden bow and eyes reveal this.”

Spica and Rasmus turned their eyes on him. Kane felt naked under their gaze.

“I don't see anything golden on him,” Spica said.

“You can't see it here,” he informed, slowing.

Kane now saw a raging red river ahead. As far as he could tell, its vastness put an abrupt end to the sandy terrain, stretching far into the dark, misty distance.

“We'll wait here awhile. Oh, and you can call me Kray, by the way.”

“Okay, Kray,” Spica said. “Are you some type of mythical creature?”

Kray guffawed. “If I was mythical, would I be here now talking to you?”

Spica smiled nervously. “I mean--”

“I'm a demon,” Kray said quickly. “And no, I'm not evil.”

Kane felt nothing about this revelation

As was the case with the red moon, Kane couldn't take his eyes off the river. The surface was glistening, the moonlight giving it a glassy shimmer.

“Is that blood?” Rasmus asked.

The giant nodded. “Yes, but not human. This is the Amaranthine River. A part of it actually runs into the Triskai...underneath some parts of Nocteraia to be exact.”

Kane's mind went back to what Kray had said earlier about his death being peculiar. He looked down at himself and was startled as he saw the gaping hole in his chest.

“What else was special about my death,” Kane blurted after a minute or so of watching the river's sloshing progress running a languid course into the dark unknown.

Kray glanced at him; his eyes were pitch black and evil-looking. “There are many reasons. You were killed inside a nexus. As you know a nexus is a thing that transports someone in the living world from one place to another. But you died in one, so technically, your soul is trapped in a kind of limbo. You must have realized by now that your emotions are haywire. That is caused by the pieces of your fractured soul trying to reunite. There is another, more important reason why your death is considered peculiar. But-- here comes our transport.” The demon pointed his clawed fingers in the distance.

Kane turned to see a slow-moving boat gliding upon the river toward them. It seemed to glow green in the mist. Kane sensed Spica trembling beside him. Rasmus seemed in a daze ever since they made it to the river.

“Before we get on board, I must warn you...the Amaranthine river causes nightmares. These are not like the nightmares you would have while alive. These...visions can actually kill you. And I mean kill in the truest sense of the word.”

“Sounds fun,” Spica said.

Kane realized humor was her way of dealing with stressful situations; she was still trembling.

Kray continued as the boat neared, “Understand this...true death happens when you've lost all your bodies and your soul.”

“We have more than one body?” Kane asked.

“Clearly,” Kray said. “The body you now have isn't the same as the one you died in...your old body is still in the Triskai. What happens is you were born with four bodies plus your soul. Being here means you've lost one of your bodies. And you're about to lose another while crossing the river. This is unavoidable. The thing is... although it's quite rare, some people lose more than just one body while crossing the Amaranthine...some even lose their soul.”

Suddenly, Kane didn't feel like hopping onto the boat which now stopped alongside them.

“What if we don't cross at all?” Kane asked.

Kray groaned. “I don't think you want to stay and find out. You'd find, rather painfully, that there are things worse than losing all your bodies.”

With that, he stepped onto the boat, Kray yanking him aboard with his ice-cold hands. He wondered how deep the river was and what would happen if someone fell into its bloody depths. Spica mumbled something as she stepped up to the river bank for Kray to pull her inside. Once again, Kane found himself thinking about the state of his soul in light of what Kray had said about a part of his spirit being separated from him. He also thought of the mysterious golden features he supposedly had that made him special. A mighty splash yanked him from his thoughts. His fright lifted him a bit from the boat's deck as he watched in shock as Spica flailed inside the river! Kane hadn't fully processed what had happened before the chaotic river shoved her from them.

“SPICA!” Rasmus screamed.

Kane watched the boy panic, his eyes bulging. The next second, he leaped into the river. Kane stood petrified as the river swept him away. Kray didn't seem bothered by what had just happened, kneeling and tapping the boat's deck twice. The vessel started moving slowly downstream.

“Hey! What are you doing!? They're drowning!”

Kray shrugged. “Won't be the first people I've seen fall inside. Won't be the last either.”

Kane felt sick to his stomach. He knew he'd just met the couple, but he considered them friends. Beyond all rationale and reason, he jumped into the river. He knew he couldn't hope to save either Spica or Rasmus, but he would be loath to sit safely while they faced annihilation. To his utter surprise, he saw he wasn't inside a river but back inside the Jansky House. Tony seemed to have just fired the killing curse through his chest. But the impact hadn't sent him flying backward; he was completely conscious. Tony's eyes had the same dead look to them as he held his hand aloft beside the pale girl. His eyes were completely black, just like Kray's. Another glance around revealed the remainder of his friends, but in a more sinister light: Sam had coils of dark smoke whirling around him like a snake. Gem also had coils around her, but they were blood-red instead of black. Behind him, Parris had a spiked light-based ivory crown on her head, her eyes pure white.

This was a dream, Kane realized or a half flashback, half-dream hybrid. Were these the nightmares Kray claimed the river could produce? His question was answered when Tony fired off another curse, the first having been blocked by Kane's body. The red light jetted from his Obiscule like an arrow. He watched the progress of the spell, but he was powerless to stop it. It was only when he heard a muted scream behind him that he knew what had happened. Parris had a hole in her chest, blood seeping around it, gushing from her nose and eyes. Kane held her as she was collapsing. The light was leaving her eyes even as he stooped, cradling her body. She smiled.

“Kane,” she wheezed. “You really died for me? Let me at least join you.”

It was typical Parris; she couldn't see that the point of him dying for her meant she had to live. Kane wept as her eyes glossed over. Parris died in his arms.

Meanwhile, Gem screamed. “Tony, noooo!”

But the vengeful Tony already had his murderous attention on Sam, who scuttled backward, a pleading hand outstretched. Kane tried to speak, but he was mute. Gem rushed toward Tony, trying to stop him from doing what he was clearly about to do. However, when she was within a few paces, the girl beside Tony hurled a spell of her own. The spell barreled into Gem's stomach. She doubled over, falling hard on the carpet. The pale girl's Obiscule glinted a forbidding red in the dim light, her lips curling into a smile. Sam darted outside.

Memories of their friendship ambushed Kane so forcefully that he had to let Parris' corpse fall as he held his pulsating head. The times they spent under the Candentis Oak discussing playing practical jokes on Mr. Ipstein, to who they were all planning on taking to the Hookery. Tony had always had a bleak outlook on the world and rejected the afterlife and any semblance of a god, but never in a million years did Kane think he would commit murder, not least murdering his friends!

Kray was right, this was a nightmare. It had to be. Kane watched as Tony and the pallid girl exited the Jansky House. Was this what actually happened after he was killed? Kane felt a stabbing pain where his heart was supposed to be. It would mean his sacrifice was in vain, and the friendship they'd been building for five long years was shattered into a million bits. Tony was lost to darkness, he, Parris and Gem were lost to death. He was unsure how Sam would react, on the one hand, he had hooked up with Parris and probably would be the first to admit he was wrong for doing that, but on the other had, Tony had clearly overreacted by killing three of his friends. The more he thought about it, he was almost certain that Sam would make it his life's ambition to ruin Tony. Kane sighed, maybe he should just have been annihilated from the start, knowing the unsavory fate of his friends was killing him.

Parris' white eyes were still upon him, her beauty metamorphosed into the unsightliness of death. Would she and Gem be transported here to the land of the red moon? Gem's blood was ruining the carpet, her ruby Obsicule beside her. Kane then made an observation that couldn't have been a coincidence: the color of her Obiscule matched the red swirling around her. As he gave it thought, he realized that it had been the same for Sam, Tony, and Parris--the color swirling around each of them matched the color of their Obiscule. He was sure there was meaning to this, but now he was too preoccupied with the stressful situation at hand to figure it out. Before he knew it, he was being whisked away backward from the horrifying scene. It didn't take long before he was staring into the faces of Kray, Rasmus, and Spica by the boat side.

“Are you mad?” Spica said, her face contorting.

“What do you mean?” Kane asked. It was an odd way of thanking him for jumping into the river and trying to save her from drowning.

“Dude, you just jumped into the river. Why'd you do that? What if that was one of the ways your soul could get annihilated?”

“Why did I do that?” Kane repeated. He was getting annoyed at the girl's lack of gratitude. He glanced at Rasmus whose expression was just as disdainful.

Kray intervened, “Relax. It was a test.”

Kane understood immediately what had happened. Kray spoke before he could.

“Yes, like the test you just got, Spica. Kane's test was to attempt to save you from drowning in the river. The mists from the river placed Kane under the illusion that you slipped and fell inside. Antonio passed the test beautifully. You all passed.”

Kray eyed Rasmus. “It was close for you, Rasmus. You almost made that vampire kill you again.”

Kane glanced around him. He noticed he was still in the bleak desert, the red moon still terrorizing the landscape.

“Aren't we supposed to be somewhere else?” Kane groaned. “That moon is killing me.”

“Hey!” Rasmus shouted, his eyes on Kane. “I see it!”

Spica sighed. “So you're mad too? See what?”

“Look at his eyes!”

Spica cast her gaze back upon him. Kane shifted uneasily.

“I know the hole in my chest is--”

“It's not that,” Spica said. “Dude, you have golden eyes.”

“And his hand!” Rasmus was jumping around like a toddler.

“That's the aquamarine bow,” Kray explained. “And the Or'oyo eyes.”

Kane suddenly felt an attachment on his left hand. It was faint but easily discernible in the growing darkness-- a blue bow tethered around his wrist, extending about half an arm's length past his fingertips. It wasn't physical, rather, it was light-based, and he couldn't help but think it was his slingshot, Tomahawk, that had followed him to the land of the dead. He couldn't attach any sentiment to his golden eyes, however.

Rasmus regarded Kray. “You know. I don't think I like your horns. You say you aren't evil, but those things are far from encouraging. Are you sure you're a demon?”

Kray guffawed. “My ranking isn't as high as I would liked, but I'm a demon.”

“Doesn't sound encouraging either,” Rasmus said.

Spica said, “So, you probably want to devour our souls?”

Kray guffawed again. “Me? No. But you'll do well to know I don't represent the majority of my kind in the lower cosms.”

The epiphany didn't shake Kane as he thought it should. “So what are your motives?” Kane inquired. “Do you pledge allegiance to Satharchon?”

Kray's dark eyes flickered. “Well, I was created entirely by Satharchon's black energy...” he paused.

Spica narrowed her eyes. “That didn't answer the question.”

For a second, Kane sensed Parris' defiance in Spica. A disturbing thought came to him: what if Parris had really died in the Jansky House and had reincarnated as Spica? He shook his head, dispelling the thought. But Spica was correct, Kray had tried to avoid the question of his allegiance.

“It doesn't matter if I pledge allegiance or not,” Kray began. “Demons only have one fate in the end: to descend to the lowest realm of the cosms and be subsumed within the body of Satharchon. It's that same fate that befalls humans who are annihilated, except it's more painful since there is a semblance of Oebiel energy in them that abhors Satharchon's essence.”

Kane felt a profound sadness seeping from the demon as he spoke.

He continued, “I was ordered to answer all your questions before you lot progress to Hellenogyrum. The atmosphere will be different there. Kane, you in particular will have a hard time.”

“Me? Why is that?”

It was Spica who answered. “I'm thinking because your 'gifts' will be on full display there. Everyone will know you're Oebiel's chosen.”

“Well said.” Kray nodded. “You will be targeted by Satharites. Their reward for taking one or more of your remaining bodies will be great in Satharchon's Kingdom. Perhaps that's why Oebiel has equipped you with the bow. You're already late; wrap up your questions so you may depart.”

A pertinent question rose inside Kane's mind. “But to what end will I defend myself? I'm already dead. I mean--even if I manage to avoid losing any more of my bodies, what then? What is my fate?”

Kray nodded. “That's the best question you've asked, I think. Hellenogyrum is a place of redemption, not judgment. You three, being specially chosen, yet have a chance to rise back up through the cosms and back to the Triskai. It will be difficult, but possible. But if you fail, you will move even closer to destruction-- into the fiery loop of the Infernuum where souls are torn and scorched.”

With that, Kray raised his hand. There was a mighty ripping sound before Rasmus and Spica vanished from sight. Kane sprang backward, startled.

“Fret not. I sent them to Hellenogyrum. I needed to speak to you alone.”

Kray conjured two wooden stumps. Kane wondered what could warrant alone time with a demon. The horned being sat on one of the stumps. Kane followed, regarding the bow on his arm-- it glowed bright blue against Blagoborgobath's dark contrast.

“Antonio,” Kray said. “We're not supposed to be here right now. If the authorities at Hellenogyrum discover we're about to have this discussion , I'll be severely punished.”

Kane raised his brow. “Then why risk it?” He watched the progress of the Amaranthine as it meandered into the distance.

“I feel I have to warn you about Hellenogyrum. The Blood Quintet is a big deal for the demon council there...almost an obsession for some. And even in the Triskai, the enemy has already begun their machinations. But let me ask you, Antonio...why did you die, in your point of view?”

Kane shrugged. “You mean beyond the fact that Tony was trying to kill Parris and struck me instead? I can't say I know much more beyond that.”

Kray nodded. “Indeed. But why did Tony want to kill Parris?”

Kane just realized that the demon seemed to know every detail about his life: the names and motivations of his friends, and intricate details about his death and his family.

“Parris was Tony's girlfriend. But it seems she and Sam were being intimate behind Tony's back. I understand they even kissed at the Hookery. And the Hookery is basically a ball involving Candentis' entire graduating class.” Kane felt odd explaining teen stuff to a demon.

Kray was silent, caressing his twisty horn. Kane got the idea the demon knew much more than what he was letting on.

Kray spoke, “So in your estimation, do you think Tony was capable of murder?”

Kane considered this awhile. “Not really, but I guess anyone is capable of murder when pushed enough.”

“Fair enough,” Kray said, nodding.

But the more Kane thought about it, the more he became uneasy. It was as though he was missing something he hadn't quite figured out. Tony's dead eyes flashed inside his mind, and he couldn't help but think he was not himself when he committed the act of murder.

Kane added, “But, I realize Tony and the girl beside him were decked in uniforms. They seemed to be students of some school. I guess it's not a regular school either because Tony had an Obiscule and used it to do magic.”

“Ahh! Finally we're reaching somewhere!” Kray exclaimed. “Not just any magic either; the killing curse he aimed at you was extremely complex--very dark and soul-mutilating.”

“Yeah,” Kane said. “I did sense he was about to do something evil just before he fired the spell. That's why I acted so quickly. If I had waited another second, the spell would have hit Parris.”

“Very true,” Kray said. “Parris was supposed to have died that night, but we'll get back to that.”

“What?” Kane queried.

Kray folded his long legs. “Imajinaereum,” he replied. “That's the name of the magical school Tony and Serafina attend. It's a bit like Nox Regia, but a bit darker.”

“But how did he end up there?” Kane asked.

Kray didn't answer for a long time. “You will discover...” he finally said. “...that you're not here in this wasteland simply because of Tony's vengeful ways. Someone has been engineering this from the very start. Someone who's trying to divide the Blood Quintet so their power diminishes thus enabling the Veil Rapture to proceed.”

Kane shivered. “And who might that someone be?”

“Any ideas?” Kray asked.

Kane thought about it; only one person came to his mind. “Well, there was this witch who visited Sam after his sister died. She was looking for a book.”

“The Seal of Obsidian,” Kray interjected.

“That's the one,” Kane confirmed. “She tried to harm Sam after the Hookery too.”

“Amonette is her name. She frequents the cosm immediately above this one... the desert of Mephistovagla. She's a known Satharchon worshiper.”

“So she's the one pulling the strings?” Kane asked.

“She's more of a pawn,” Kray said bluntly. “A mere shell that contains the will of Satharchon. In fact, it was her granddaughter who was beside Tony in the house that night.”

“I see,” Kane said. “I met her on my family's farm before too. She was picking some strange plant.” Kane realized the situation was fast becoming much more complex than he'd originally thought.

“You see, Antonio, there is a more dangerous person in all this. It was that person's will for Tony to murder another member of the Blood Quintet... specifically Parris or Sammiroh. Only then would the power of the five be null and void. You see, he stole Tony's Obiscule and began corrupting his spirit.”

“I see,” Kane said. “But it didn't go as planned.”

“No it didn't. You weren't supposed to sacrifice yourself, neither was the death to happen inside his house.”

Kane narrowed his eyes. “His house,” he said to himself. Whose house was the Jansky House? He wondered.

Kray seemed to read his mind. “He goes by many names. When he was human, he went by Theophilus Jansky, or Princewell. Nowadays, the residents call him the 'Silver Man'.”

Kane gasped, his fright propelling him off the stool a few feet. He did remember a time in Nox Regia when they were inside Sam's room along with his roommate, Raul. Sybel had appeared to Gem the night before in a dream saying they shouldn't contact Tony because his Obiscule was stolen by someone malicious. He had no clue that someone was Silver Man. Kane could see now why Kray wanted to have this chat with him. If the Satharchon worshipers in Hellenogyrum discovered that he, Kane (one of the Blood Quintet) had a chance of reuniting with the other four in the Triskai, thus restoring their power, they would do anything to stop his ascension through the cosms. And Kane was very interested in rejoining his friends to fight against whatever evil threatened the livelihood of the place in which they grew up. He would need all the allies he could get. He thought of Sybel, and how she had died helping them; he hadn't met the witch, but from what Sam told him she really tried to help their cause.

“What happened to Sybel?” he asked. “You know her, right?”

“I do. And it's funny you asked. I ushered her across Amaranthine myself. We had a discussion very similar to the one we're now having. She seemed to have prophesied your death.”

“She's in Hellenogyrum?” Kane asked, his spirits lifting at the prospect of having such a powerful figure on his side.

“Unfortunately, no,” Kray said. “She doesn't meet the criteria for a 'special death circumstance'. She's in the cosm below the gyrum...a cosm called Schizopneum. She has a chance of rising back to the Triskai, but it's much much more difficult from there. And even if her soul manages to rise, the deeds she would have had to perform would change who she is as a person. For that reason, I think she is content with being annihilated.”

A sadness draped Kane. “So, for everyone who dies, the ultimate fate is annihilation? Even Oebielites who choose to do good deeds?”

Kray stood, the sadness seeping from him again. “Remember how the gods were born, Kane. Satharchon is the personified blackness that was present in the beginning. It is written that everything must ultimately return to that void. Oebiel was the consciousness that separated itself from the void...the beacon of light who then used Satharchon's body and his for creation. Oebiel's story is one of hope, sacrifice, and harmony under the broad umbrella of unconditional love. It is a profound and enduring principle that manifested into the Blood Quintet-- the last hope of defeating darkness.”

Kane listened. Kray's speech sounded more like an epic fantasy than actual reality. At this point, he supposed the “real” world wasn't so real since things apparently existed that he'd been clueless about.

Kray stood. “Okay, Antonio Kane,” he said. “I've told you everything I know. It's time to face your fate in the gyrum. May peace and providence be with you.”

With that, the world dissolved. Kane found himself spinning through a dark tunnel. He spun and spun until dizziness assailed him. The tunnel seemed never-ending. Finally, Kane lost consciousness.

Candentis Convalescence

“What do you mean everyone in Hargreave Hollow is gone?” Parris yelled.

Bode avoided her challenging gaze. Sam could hardly believe what Bode had just said. Here he was thinking things couldn't get worse after Kane had died and they'd been attacked by a rabid snake, and now this dark news.

“Our opponents are on the front foot, I'm afraid. The lower cosms are being buoyed up to merge with the Triskai.”

Gem said, her eyes closed, “But what exactly does that mean? Are you saying everyone's dead?”

“No,” Bode said. “Not dead but swept away--though I figure some may have already perished from the washing away itself.”

Parris put her head in her hands, her hair wild. Sam had the overwhelming urge to comfort her. But another rage roiled inside him. Something that was fed up of the struggles he was faced with.

“First Kane, now this shit!” he shouted, feeling the anger rise inside him.

He thought of Max. He didn't give a shit if his stepmother lived or died, but he'd lose it if he lost Max, the only thing he cared about save who was in the room with him right now.

Bode had a sad look to him. “All the non-magical beings in the Hollow is gone. All the non-magical creatures remain. They alone had the repulsive aura necessary to withstand the initial wave of the Veil Rapture so far.”

“So where are the teachers of Nox Regia?” Gem asked.

Bode sighed. “Most are safe in Nox Regia. But I must admit we have no idea where Mr. Ipstein or Kat--I mean Ms. Nash are. The administration got wind of Ms. Nash's bewitchment.”

“Bewitchment?” Gem repeated.

Bode nodded. “Yes. Someone took control of her. She was the one who coaxed you to guys to the Nexus Ash in Nox Regia under the supervision of her controller.”

Sam was confused. He remembered when all of them (including Kane) had requested information from Kat about the ring Sybel ordered him to get in his dream. It was Kat who directed them to the tree where they did indeed find the ring. Sam now glanced at the ruby ring on Gem's index finger. It shone ominously in the dark hall.

“Ms. Nash planted the ring inside the tree,” Mr. Bode informed. “I guess that was her identity trying to do the right thing. But then she transformed the tree into a nexus which led to the Jansky House. Gem, it is thanks to your information that we figured Ms. Nash was possessed. I came back to the Hollow posthaste, and that was when I confronted that terrible snake seconds away from consuming Sam.” Bode paused. “I was too late to save Antonio, unfortunately.”

All of their heads drooped in unison. Parris burst out in a fresh wave of crying. Gem sniffled, twisting the red ring nervously.

“The search is on for Tony. His fate is dark, but I'm in no position to dispense his punishment.”

“So what's next?” Sam asked. “What am I really living for now?”

“We fight for good,” Bode said. “Oebiel has sacrificed too much for us to submit to evil.”

“Oebiel the god of good and light?” Gem said. “Is he even real?”

Bode made a weird sound between a snort and a groan. “That you have to ask that is pretty sad, and a failing of myself and the administration of Nox Regia. Oebiel is very real. He's the creator of the the heavens. He sacrificed himself to create the Sun, moon and stars, and the Triskai at large. His enemy is Satharchon who is alive and well, though bound in the lowest of the atomic infernos.”

“And it is Satharchon who is causing all this mess with the darkness and the vanishing people?” Gem asked.

“Yes, He's getting stronger in Oebiel's absence. His aim is to devour the Triskai and reduce everything to a singular consciousness.”

“Is that so bad?” Sam asked.

Bode was quiet. “You want to be wiped from memory...to be without consciousness? This prospect is terrible for me to envision for myself. Though I'm not surprised you think that way, Sam.”

Sam remained quiet. He would rather be unconscious than to live without those he loved. He guessed he loved Gem, Parris, and Max enough to want to survive.

“That is awful,” Parris said. “Clearly we should fight the darkness. I want my family back. Hell... I want Kane back.”

“Believe it or not you guys have the power to reverse the Veil Rapture.”

“What's that supposed to mean, sir?” Parris retorted. “We have less than a few months' experience using magic. How could we--”

Bode forced a smile. “You have no idea who you are, do you? You three, plus Tony and Kane...you think you met by chance?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. “Of course we did. I remember it clearly.”

Bode smiled. “Remember that sacrifice I just mentioned Oebiel performed in order to diffuse Satharchon's essence?”

They all nodded.

“Well his sacrifice birthed something that could halt the full rebirth of Satharchon for a few thousand years.”

“And what did his sacrifice give birth to?” Gem quizzed.

“The Blood Quintet!” Bode announced. “Five children with unique abilities which when combined creates a power unseen since the creation of the Triskai itself.”

“And you're saying that's us?” Sam asked, intrigued.

Bode nodded.

“But Kane's dead,” Gem said. “There's no Quintet anymore. There are only four of us left, so whatever power the five of us could have created is now incomplete.”

“An accurate assessment,” Bode said. “But there is still hope--I updated Mr. Bruce on the happenings, and he hastened to remind me that the Jansky House is a gate to the other cosms, just like the nexus Oak outside. He contends that a death inside a gate counts as a unique event, which would give Kane a chance of rising back up through the cosms.”

“So Kane's not really dead!” Sam exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

Bode smiled. “I don't want to be the one to get your hopes up only for you to be disappointed later. I wouldn't say he isn't dead. Technically, death is the destruction of the human body and the subsequent transfer of the soul to the land of the dead. I believe Kane has undergone both of those. The mystery though is if his link to the living world is broken or not. And as I mentioned before, the Jansky House gate may keep him from total dissolution.”

“That makes me feel much better,” Parris said.

“Me too!” Gem said. “I'll hold on to hope until the end.”

“There are a few things that are required for Kane to be successful in his attempt to make it back though. Given that we are correct and he's not completely gone.”

“Requirements like what?” Parris asked.

“One of you has to meet him in one of the lower cosms.”

Sam was confused. “You mean Nox Regia?”

“No,” Bode said, his expression grave. “It's our biggest problem. I'm heading to Nocteraia shortly to meet with someone who knows about these sorts of things.”

“What do you mean meet him in the lower cosms?” Gem restated Sam's question. One of you has to follow Kane into the land of the dead.”

The Directive

It was a few minutes past three when Gem slogged into her dark room. Bode had just left for Nocteraia to seek someone versed in matters of prophecy and ancient lore. After dropping the bombshell that someone had to go into the land of the dead if Kane was to be rescued, Mr. Bode had ordered rather sternly that they should not leave the Candentis campus under any circumstances. Apparently, the compound was one of the last magical fortresses left in all of the Triskai, and hence they would be quite safe here. He had explained that the preternatural darkness was concealing a myriad of beings buoyed up by the Veil Rapture from the cosms below, roaming the Hollow unchecked. Gem had been speaking with Sam and Parris for the better part of an hour about Kane. It was an odd chat that featured each of them bursting into bouts of tears at random intervals. Parris had blamed herself, of course, and Sam likewise. Gem couldn't help but shoulder some of the guilt as well. It was she who had seen the signatures of dark magic around the Jansky gate and proceeded to let her friends step directly into danger. Gem changed into looser clothes, trying to preoccupy her mind with less stressful matters. She planned on sleeping off the full extent of the grief she knew she had yet to bear. As she was about to lay down, something dark fell, hitting the floor with a bang. She bent to retrieve the object and realized it was a familiar glassy, jagged stone. She turned her Obiscule over in her hand. She'd forgotten it in the macabre melee of the night. Gem placed it on the dresser, realizing the last time she had used it was moments before Kane died. Gem closed her eyes, trying her best to stave off the emotional tsunami rearing to come crashing over her. An intense burning on her index finger reminded her of Sybel's ring; the scarlet stone shimmered in the dark room like a demonic eye. She would have taken it off, but Sybel had told her not to remove it for all of three days following her first wear. What was she to do if it tried to burn her finger to the bone? The ring was supposed to allow her to communicate with the Seer witch briefly before she moved on to the place dead people went. Gem sighed and closed her eyes once more, praying for sleep to take her to oblivion. It almost did, her eyes drooping as an incredible stupor overwhelmed her. But she was coaxed back to full consciousness when her ring gave an almighty burn. Gem yelped, reaching for her finger to rid herself of the hot metal, but as her eyes met the forbidding crimson, something halted her: A distinctive face inside the stone, somber and skeletal. The ebony witch's mouth curled into a half-smile as their eyes met, her sagacious eyes frightening Gem.

“Gemini. I know what happened to Kane. Know that I grieve with you.”

Hearing Sybel speak about Kane broke the seal of denial in Gem that had numbed the pain. Gem let her silent tears flow, suddenly running out of breath. Sybel watched her as she heaved and hiccuped.

“I--I should have seen...” Gem started.

Sybel's voice rang out through the stone. “Don't even think about blaming yourself, girl”

“But I--”

“Stop! Gem. Grieving is good, but never blame yourself. I should let you grieve in peace, but I'm afraid I can't.” Sybel paused, a milky haze obscuring her face. When it passed, Gem's teary eyes beheld the haggard, pained face of Sybel.

“Who are you lot with now? Is Bode or Bruce where you are? I need to speak with a trustworthy adult.”

“We're alone here. Mr. Bode left for Lucteraia about an hour ago. Sam and Parris are here with me at Candentis.”

“I see.” Sybel paused, thinking. “I trust Vincent knows that leaving you people alone is foolhardy.”

“He said we'll be safe here--magical protection and all. He said something about going to meet someone who will be able to teach us the Blood Quintet Configuration magic...or something like that.”

Sybel nodded. “A passive approach,” she said. “It's simply too slow. Even here in our broken state in Schizopneum, we understand that the Veil Rapture has already begun in the Triskai. Bode is trustworthy, and I have no doubts about his allegiance to Oebiel on the side of good, but I'm afraid I must enforce alternative plans. Let me speak with you and your friends together. Call them with your Obiscule. Tell them to hurry.”

At first, Gem was confused, but she remembered she could communicate via her Obiscule. She really hasn't gotten used to this magic thing, she thought. She did remember the spell, however.

“Caelis summons Parris,” she muttered into the stone.

Gem waited, watching Sybel's form wafting inside the ring like a plant underwater. After a while, her Obiscule emitted a crackle before Parris' face materialized inside it.

“Parris. I need you to come to my room now! Sybel wants to speak with all of us. Knock Sam up on your way, okay?”

“You scared the shit out of us, Gem!” Parris shot. “I'm with Sam now. Give us a minute.”

Parris' face dissipated like smoke. Gem guessed she and Sam had some stuff to talk about alone after the tragedy their relationship had caused. Gem wondered if they would continue their intimacy in good conscience.

The minute Sam and Parris waltzed inside her room, Sybel addressed them. Her amorphous form floated halfway out of Gem's ring--a smoky essence. Parris stopped once she saw Sybel, looking from Gem to Sybel's spirit. Gem supposed it was a natural response since Parris was the only one in the room who hadn't seen Sybel before. Sam wore a contrasting deadpan expression as he limped inside.

“Listen up folks,” Sybel said. “I know you're all grieving, but we have no time to curl up into a ball and do nothing. The Veil Rapture has begun, and you are the only hope to deliver the Triskai from dissolution. Kane's soul can still be saved. Before you ask how, you will remember that a person's Obiscule contains a piece of their soul. As is usual when someone dies, Kane's Obiscule exploded, and so there's no hope of bonding with him through that. But as a consequence of you five being the Blood Quintet, you share a common Obiscule...a master Obiscule as they call it... which connects all of you together--including Kane. Sammiroh, I need you to fetch the master Obiscule from which all five shards were broken.”

Gem realized Sybel was speaking so fast it was as though she could be cut off any second now. Gem had a few questions about the dark ritual Tony had started in her vision of him at that gothic school, and what it meant for his soul. She chose not to interrupt, sensing Sybel's urgency.

She startled when Sybel called her name.

 “Gemini, if Bode doesn't come back in twenty four hours,then the situation is dire. If that happens, I need you to do something for me. Dangerous as it is to venture out, it must be done by you, for a reason that will become clear. There is someone I want you to find in the city of Nocteraia. I did not want to go this route; Sam's sister, Sally would be livid if she knew I was requesting the services of this character. But he owes me, and since I won't be around, it can't be helped. His name is Cole--Cole Bludwell. As I said, Nocteraia, very close to the Deverrell passage on the Hargreave Hollow-Nocteraia border. Find the MBB...ask around; it's a popular joint. Tell the owner of the place that it was I who sent you, and that you're looking for Cole.”

Gem noted that Sybel's speech was becoming more and more rushed.

“Remember... MBB.”

Just like that, Sybel was gone.

“So that's Sybel?” Parris said, sitting on Gem's bed. “Feels like I know her somehow.”

“High time you met her,” Sam replied. “She's been helping us behind the scenes in ways we can't even imagine.”

Gem was feeling the same as Parris. Sybel seemed familiar somehow, apart from the fact that the witch had invaded her dreams. Yes, they shared the same sort of abilities, but there was more to it than that. In fact, it was that very magic she was now using to intuit Sybel's familiarity. And though she might sometimes interpret it incorrectly, her intuition was never completely wrong.

“MBB?” Sam said. “What is that?”

Gem shrugged. “An abbreviation for something, I think.”

“She said it's a place,” Parris recalled. “ 'A popular joint' ”. Seems like it's an establishment in Lucteraia.”

“But isn't the Veil Rapture darkness also in Nocteraia?” Sam queried.

Gem nodded.

“That's what Bode told us,” Parris replied. “Which is why we're to keep ourselves tucked safely inside. I hope you guys aren't even considering setting foot outside.” Parris looked from Gem to Sam.

“Well Sybel did say we're to wait to see if Bode returns first. I don't know about you, Parris, but if it comes to it, I'll risk it for Kane as he would have done...and did...for us.”

Parris' lips twitched, but she seemed to concede. “Me too. But what's the sense of Kane dying just for one of us to die senselessly afterward?”

Gem remained quiet. Inside she was boiling. In short, it seemed Parris wasn't willing to risk anything for Kane considering he had saved her life. And she wasn't told to risk anything! It was she and Sam who were told and were willing to brave whatever the long night held.

 “I'm willing to find this MBB,” she said, amazed at how much anger she was able to keep inside her. She was about to explain to Sam and Parris what Sybel had said about the master Obiscule connecting them all when a fiery piece of parchment flitted through the open door. Sam had to duck as it zoomed at him before falling onto the bed.

“What is this now?” Parris picked up the violet parchment, scanning it for a second before she read it aloud.

“The Nox Regian administration has been made privy of the demise of one of its newest students, Antonio Kane. While the entire Nox Regia Fraternity grieves, we know that our grief pales in comparison to the bereavement his immediate friends and family are undergoing. We deeply regret that this grim fate has befallen such a promising pupil and present ourselves wholly for any kind of support you may need. It is in this light that we offer an escape from mourning if only for a while, to ease your minds somewhat. We refer to Nox Regia's most luxurious escape, Felix Falls. The Oak has already been bewitched to take you directly to the site.

On a dimmer note, the laws of Nox Regia must be upheld, and with the death of one of its own, someone must be held responsible for what has happened. The campus was vacated illegally circumstances which constitutes a serious breach. Hence, you should be informed that Katherina Nash is currently under investigation for her hand in the chain of events culminating in the unfortunate catastrophe.

We wish you providence and peace of mind. Godspeed.

Yours Magically,

B. Bruce, HDM

Transmogrification

With Serafina gone from the cabin, Tony sat alone in Amonette's abandoned house, pensive and worrisome. Things were not well: An entire day had passed since the ordeal at the Jansky house, and yet he was still burdened by unbearable mental distress. It was as though a massive serpent had coiled around him, squeezing the will from his body. It was more than grief or guilt, and Tony didn't know how long he could bear the anguish until he had no choice but to rid himself of it. The agony wasn't only mental either; Tony had just discovered that heartbeat could rattle bones as his heartbeat banged his chest until his bones creaked like old doors. Worse, his neck continued to burn so badly that he imagined he was being tattooed in the same place over and over again until his flesh was red and raw. Therein was the reason Serafina left the abode: to fetch some herbs to soothe the pain.

As he peered at himself in the mirror, he eyed the mark that had formed on his neck overnight…the source of the pain. Red and unsightly, it was a crude pyramid with a bleeding eye: the sinister sigil of the Barbellite house. It was Serafina who had discovered it when they got intertwined last night. The 'Styg' she had said was the name of the mark, an automatic result of the completion of the threefold relinquishing of the soul ritual. She had informed him that only Barbellites could see the mark and that it was fashioned by the founder of the Barbellite house himself, an immortal being from one of the lower cosms. Serafina had also informed him that the essence of this infernal character resided in all Barbellites and the appearance of the Styg symbolized a covenant between him and a human being.

Amid her web of tattoos, Serafina had revealed her freshly forged Styg, informing him she had gotten it when she dealt away a third of her soul in exchange for the power to defeat her grandmother. Tony knew Amonette yet lived, unbeknown-st to Serafina, which made the deal purposeless to date. He would keep the secret of her grandmother's survival to himself a while longer. Tony jumped when a twig snapped outside. Serafina had returned early, he thought, turning away from the mirror, massaging his neck. Tony heard the heavy footfalls, thinking Serafina had simply returned for something in a hurry. But the figure that appeared at the doorway wasn't the Barbellite girl but a man in black.

“Tony ma boy. How you feelin'?”

Tony didn't know what emotion to feel at the sight of the man.

“Not too well,” he said.

“Naturally,” Silver Man said, nodding. “Such deeds are heavy on the soul, especially if it's the first time. Though, if it's any consolation, the remorse will fade quickly.”

The man stepped inside, swiveling his misshapen head about the room.

“It's not the remorse so much as the pain in my neck,” Tony said.

Silver Man gave him an odd look, swiveling over to him. Tony could have sworn he heard a gasp as the Silver Man laid eyes on the symbol on his neck.

“The Styg,” he said. The man took a step back and analyzed Tony with his beady eyes. “You feel it, right?”

“Feel what?” Tony questioned.

“The power coursing through your veins. It's what you requested from me, remember? Power.”

“I feel something. Not sure what. My heart seems it'll burst any second.”

Silver Man guffawed, tilting backward as he did. “Your body doesn't yet know how to handle it. That, much like your remorse, will quickly fade.” He paused. “Where's that girl?”

“Out,” Tony replied. “Went to get something for the pain.”

Silver Man shook his head. “Nothing works against the pain of the Styg. It's an inevitable torture to prepare you for what comes next.”

“And what's that?” Tony probed.

“Glory,” he said. “Earth life sweetened with the milk of the profane and the taboo. The wonders of the flesh prostrate at your feet for your indulgence in them.”

Tony scoffed at the poetry.

“I took care of the matter back at the Jansky House, by the way,” he said. “Your friend's death cannot be traced back to you by the administration at Imajinaereum. Thank me later when you discover the penalty of murder.”

Tony scoffed again. The more the man spoke, the more he got annoyed.

“Oh, and before I forget, you should be back in Imajinaereum by the third of July. You left under questionable circumstances. That I cannot take the blame for. You will be punished along with that girl.”

“Her name is Serafina,” Tony said.

“Serafina?” Silver Man repeated. “Hmmm...name's a tad ironic isn't it? A Seraph is an angel. Word on the street is that your girlfriend is far from angelic.”

“She isn't my girlfriend,” Tony stated, getting more and more miffed. In truth, he didn't know what she was to him these days. They definitely got closer than a mere friend, but he wasn't quite sure they were a couple.

“The third, you said?” Tony questioned. “So what should we do to reenter Imajinaerium? Just enter the Jansky House?”

“Yes,and call Violynn. I trust you know the summoning spell?”

Tony nodded. “That's all?”

“That's all.”

Hellenogyrum

Spica and Rasmus were waiting for Kane when he was pitched onto black-scorched earth. The ground smelled like brimstone, and a pungent mist was rising from deep cracks in the terrain.

“Took your time, didn't you?” Rasmus voiced.

Kane hardly heard him; he was looking around at the unique scene. The place was even darker than the previous world of Blagoborgobath, but Kane appreciated that the sky held no bloody moon, although there was a giant spiral of stars above. The spiral was tinged with red, green, and blue light. It looked like a giant cosmic eye. He noticed he'd been pitched into the cosm through an enormous tree whose every feature was charcoal black. He assumed it was Hellenogyrum's version of the Oak at Candentis Academy. The tree was easily about sixty feet with huge black leaves that resembled elephant ears, twisted black limbs, and a rough, misshapen trunk.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Spica commented, watching him observe.

Kane couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, so he didn't respond. Kane rose, momentarily frightened by the light bow on his arm.

“Your eyes are shimmering dude,” Rasmus chirped.

Kane became self-aware, remembering what Kray had said about standing out among the rest as Oebiel's chosen.

“What are we supposed to do now?” he asked.

“A demon just left us, actually,” Rasmus said. “He told us to wait here until you arrive. I still can't pronounce his name.”

“Quetzalquilhotep!” Spica announced. “I like the name...rolls off the tongue nicely.”

As if summoned by the name, a tall figure spun itself from the black dirt and ash. The demon resembled Kray, but he had two horns instead of one. Kane wondered if the number of horns indicated rank. Apart from the extra horn, he seemed exactly the same as Kray. The unsightly creature glanced at Kane, his black eyes settling on his left arm. Kane felt a wave of emotion washing over him, and he couldn't tell whether it was benevolent or malicious.

“My name is Quetzalquilhotep,” he said. “Follow.”

With that, the demon started walking. Spica glanced from Kane to Rasmus. “I wonder if he's friendly,” she whispered.

Kane felt the air get more oppressive as the progressed. The sensation felt similar to being in a crowded room with people whizzing past him. But there was no one around them-- at least as far as he could tell. The gashes in the ground got deeper, revealing an orange glow. The sutures were so wide that they had to carefully skirt around them.

“Is that lava down there?” Kane inquired.

Spica shrugged.

“Seems so,” Rasmus replied.

A large structure came into sight as they evaded a particularly large fissure that was spitting lava like a geyser. The structure ahead of them was practically a large trapezoidal building with one black door in its center.

“I've never seen a Trapezium building before,” Rasmus observed.

Suddenly the demon turned, and Kane realized it wasn't only the extra horn that distinguished them: the demon Quetzalquilhotep had deep creases around his nose and on his forehead giving him a meaner appearance.

“Not a Trapezium...an uncapped Pyramid. Kray already fashioned your soul weapons?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Once again, he glanced at Kane's bow.

“Soul weapons?” Spica repeated.

The demon pointed at Kane's arm. “He has his.”

“No we didn't get any,” Rasmus informed.

The demon stepped closer. Spica stepped back involuntarily, almost falling into one of the fiery fissures.

“Oops!” she ejected.

A rattling laugh erupted from the demon. “Fall... and die.”

The demon's reaction startled Kane. He realized at that moment that he was not like Kray but somewhat colder...more bestial.

“Give me your hand.” The demon stretched a clawed hand at Rasmus, who hesitated before inching his hand outward. Quetzalquilhotep grabbed it and sank his sharp claws into Rasmus' flesh. The boy howled, jerking his hand away. Kane fidgeted, deciding he didn't like the demon. The entity then brought his claws to his face, Rasmus' blood glistening on his thumb. Afterward, he whispered something, nodding at something that wasn't clear to Kane.

“Impressive,” he said. “I haven't come across one of these in centuries!”

“One of what?” Kane asked testily.

The demon didn't respond. Instead, he brought his hands to his black lips and whistled.

“Don't panic,” he said. “It won't hurt you.”

As soon as he uttered his warning, a huge animal came flying over the Pyramid. Kane caught himself moving and directed his feet safely between the lava-filled cracks.

“Is that what I think it is?” Rasmus asked.

The creature landed halfway between them and the Pyramid. It eyeballed them with steam issuing from its nose, its restless reptilian tail whipping the burnt ground.

“Is that a damn Dragon?” Kane asked. This really must be a dream, he mused. For someone who read about dragons practically every day as creatures of mythology, to actually come face to face with one was surreal. But with his awe came fear since he knew exactly what they were capable of. Kane smiled nevertheless; dragons existing here made sense --they fit the spirit of the place perfectly. The ashy ground, the dark skies, demons, the pyramid, everything gelled together in this dark fantasy.

“I forgot you humans have your own names for things that don't exist on your cosm.” Quetzalquilhotep motioned to the beast, which seemed shy of coming any closer.

“What do you call Dragons here?” Kane quizzed.

“Pyrodactyles. This one's skittish...a youngster.”

The animal finally decided to shuffle toward them, its slit amber eyes never wavering from them.

“No sudden movements,” the demon instructed. “Unless you're desirous of your charred corpses falling into one of those hot-holes.”

Kane would have laughed at the demon's dark humor were it not for the fact that the animal looked as though it could really breathe hell upon them at a moment's notice.

“Amazing what people's blood can create, eh?” the demon said. “Rasmus, it seems the animal that best fits your energy and your soul is a Pyrodactyle.”

Rasmus seemed jaded; Kane couldn't tell if it was because his blood was used to summon the dragon or because of his fear of the slowly-approaching animal. The dragon stopped in front of him, lowered its dinosaurian head, and sniffed his face. Kane was terrified for Rasmus as the beast looked directly into his eyes, breathing steam into his face. Clearly, it knew they were somehow connected. Then, the beast retreated. Quetzalquilhotep whistled again, which sent the creature flying back in the direction it came.

“Good,” he said. “Okay, miss. It's your turn.”

Spica stepped up to the demon, proffered her hand, and closed her eyes. Quetzalquilhotep repeated the procedure, using his claw to pierce her hand. Kane watched him lift his hand to his face and whispered. For a long time, nothing happened until it was clear something was wrong.

“What's the problem?” Spica asked, finally opening her eyes.

He gazed at his blood-smeared finger.

“I might have said something wrong. Give me your hand again, please,” he demanded.

Sighing, Spica extended her hand. Quetzalquilhotep took it and whispered his incantation once more.

Nothing.

Kane looked from Spica to the demon.

“This has never happened before,” he said. “I'll have to report it to the Hierocrux,” he said.

“The what?” Kane hadn't heard such a word before, not even in mythology.

Quetzalquilhotep had a faraway look on his face. “Hierocrux,” he repeated. “The demon council. The absence of a soul weapon is highly irregular. I've heard that a delayed soul-weapon manifestation is possible... still, it's very strange. Let's go though, you lot need to get initiated.”

He paused. “Before you enter the Pyramid, I should tell you that there is little to no moral code here. The regular demons like myself only intervene whenever matters threaten us. It's everyone for themselves. No one is responsible for the safety of your soul except you.”

“So is murder acceptable?” Spica asked.

Quetzalquilhotep smirked.  “'Acceptable' isn't the word. I prefer the word 'allowed' ”.

Rasmus asked, “So what if someone is killed here, what would happen?”

“It depends,” the demon said. “If the modus of death is sufficiently peculiar, then the person would go one cosm down into the realm of Schizopneum. But the majority of those who die here go two realms below...the realm of Ossiphangophi, the terrain of bare bones. From there it's only a matter of time before the soul is ravaged by something vile.”

Kane had of course been told all of this by Kray.

The demon continued, “Take special care, Spica as you don't have a soul weapon. Your weapon is your main defense here and is supposed to be on your person at all times. Having one is your sovereign right. I'll have to speak to the Hierocrux about the absence of yours right now.”

With that, he handed each of them a thick parchment before disappearing in a thick haze of smoke. They all read their parchments. From what Kane read, it was a sort of pamphlet telling them basic information about the place.

“Seems we should find our rooms first,” Spica said.

Rasmus nodded, moving toward the door on the black Pyramid. They followed him inside. Kane gasped at the lavish interior. Practically everything was gold. Two golden dog statues stood astride the entrance. The carpet on which they stood was pitch black with the occasional gold symbol adorning the center. An aisle proceeded from the entrance to a raised platform complete with a lectern and gilded high-backed chairs fit for royalty. They were clearly inside some sort of hall or crypt. Kane cast his eyes upon a statue of a rearing obsidian bull just before the platform, its pupil-less crimson eyes foul and forbidding. Kane knew it was an idol, presumably of a dark god, maybe even of Satharchon himself. Straddling the aisle were tables with chests, coins, swords, and other paraphernalia.

“What's this place?” Rasmus asked, looking around him.

“Some sort of hall, it seems,” Spica replied, glancing at her pamphlet. “Yeah, it is a hall,” she confirmed. “There is a map on the back. I think--”

A voice startled them from above. Their heads shot upwards. Kane saw nothing but a ceiling supporting three crystal chandeliers.

There was a fit of laughter. “You can't see us, but we can see you.”

More muted laughter streamed down. Spica looked from Rasmus to Kane, amused.

“Who endorses the motion of killing them right now?” A singsong female voice asked. “Surefire way of reducing the competition.”

Kane tensed, cursing himself for not at least trying to use his bow on a target just to see how it worked.

“I condone it,” a voice said. “Bullwark, what say you?”

A peal of haughty laughter erupted. “Tempting. Let's watch them squirm a bit.”

“Spoilsport,” a female voice (different from the first) commented.

“Check blondie out! He has a freaking bow! Maybe he's cool.”

“More reason to kill him, I think. He'll probably use that same bow to shaft us all.”

“Guys shut up. Think about when we came--our seniors could have fucked us but they didn't. Let's show the same kindness.”

Silence.

“Hello guys. Forgot you heard all that. We're actually all decent people.”

Someone snickered.

The voice continued, “Just step on the eye thing on the carpet. It will bring you up.”

Kane glanced at Spica and Rasmus. Like him, they didn't feel particularly welcomed.

“Don't trust us?” The voice sounded. “Ruel, you wanna go down and bring them up?” The voice had reduced to a whisper.

“Not really,” a boyish voice replied. “I think you should go, you're prettier.”

“Fuck you,” the voice cursed.

“So, you still can't take a compliment? Okay then.” Ruel said.

“Fine, I'll go.”

With that, there was a loud whooshing sound as a huge eye in the center of the carpet illuminated. There was a final flash of light as a girl materialized before them. Kane gasped. Spica and Rasmus expertly maintained their exposure. The girl was about Kane's height, thin, and olive-skinned. Her left eye was missing: all Kane saw was a black hole where the eye should have been. Kane assumed this was related to her cause of death. Despite her missing eye, however, Kane actually found her good-looking. The smile she now flashed at them was mesmeric.

“I'm Clementine,” she said. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“Nice to meet you.” Spica said.

Kane and Rasmus nodded.

“Why's she suddenly acting like a decent person?” someone shouted from above.

“Just step into the eye,” Clementine instructed, shifting to the side so someone could go up.

Spica stepped forward, fixing her feet onto the eye. She was instantly translated upward, vanishing from sight. Clementine motioned for Rasmus to do the same. He did and was taken up similarly. Kane heard chatter above as they became acquainted. When Clementine turned to him, Kane stepped into the eye. The next thing he knew, he was inside another, smaller hall with eight other people (including Spica and Rasmus). Closest to him was a short, heavyset boy with spaced teeth.

“This is Bullwark,” Clementine said once she materialized. She pointed at the stout boy. “He was the first one to make it here. He, like everyone else here, is an unapologetic Satharite.”

Kane twitched. He had thought such allegiance would have been kept secret. But how could he be surprised when the place was practically brimming with fatalistic tropes? The demon, Kray had hinted at this being the norm. Clementine wheeled to a tall sullen girl with chestnut hair. Like him, she had a large hole in her chest and severe burns on her right side.

“This is Tessa,” Clementine revealed. “Pledged allegiance to the dark god just this past week. She has been granted a mighty power. Not someone you'll want to mess with.”

Kane eyed the girl. She was already looking at him, fumbling with something that resembled a lighter.

Clementine pointed to another girl with short, wavy auburn hair with a black rose embedded within the mass.

“Grace,” she said.

The girl called Grace smiled and waved at the mention of her name, cocking her head to one side.

“Hi guys. Welcome to Hell... I mean... Hellenogyrum.”

Kane found her attractive but sensed a darkness about her. He could bet it was she who had suggested killing them when they were downstairs. So far, he noted that neither Bullwark nor Grace had obvious death marks.

“Watch out for Grace as well. She's a firecracker,” Clementine added. “It's been a month and I haven't figured her out yet.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Tina. Even last night you seemed to know exactly how to make me--”

“Continuing along,” Clementine cut her off mid-sentence.

Spica laughed. Grace looked hurt, hanging her head. Kane smirked, wondering if sexual intimacy was a thing in these realms.

“Next we have Ruel.”

Ruel was a bald, medium-build boy with a comically long nose. He looked sick; perhaps he had died from natural causes, Kane thought. He propped himself up with what Kane assumed was some sort of sword. The blade wasn't the usual silver luster, however, but dark red...blood-like. The boy waved at them and smiled.

Clementine turned back to Kane's group. “There are two other members upstairs-- Art and Lumia.”

“Stuck up idiots is a better description,” Grace fired.

Bullwark nodded.

“Yeah, don't be like Art and Lumia,” Tessa said. Her burns seemed alive under her skin, bubbling grotesquely.

“So,” Clementine began. “That's it for us. How about you? Hint: we usually bond over our cause of death, soul weapon, and allegiance.”

Kane glanced at Rasmus beside him, who fidgeted.

“I'm Rasmus,” he said. “I-um- we died from vampire bites.” He pointed to Spica, who bared her wounds. Rasmus continued, “My soul weapon is a Dragon...or Pyrodactyle.”

“Wow! That's actually cool,” Ruel exclaimed. “Those are extremely rare.”

“What did he say?” Grace asked, poking her head out.

“Pyrodactyle,” Bullwark replied.

“Oh! Nice!”

Spica said, “I'm Spica. Got sucked on by a vampire like Rasmus said. And my soul weapon wasn't revealed as yet.”

Bullwark's face contorted. “Strange.”

“It is strange,” Clementine attested. “Has that ever happened before, Bullwark?”

“No.”

The tall girl shrugged. “Maybe it will be revealed soon. Seems like an urgent matter to me... Next!”

Kane shuffled. “Antonio Kane,” he mouthed. For some reason, he was getting nervous. “My soul weapon is this bow.” He looked down at the glowing apparatus on his hand. “Died saving one of my friends. Spell hit me through the chest.”

“Hmm,” Grace sounded. “Sounds like a lot to unpack there. You're going to have to tell me more about that sometime.”

Kane shrugged.

“And your eyes?” Clementine inquired. “They aren't natural, are they?”

Bullwark shook his head. “No... Oebiel's.”

Clementine's hollow socket seemed to glow as she glanced around, confused. Grace and the silent Tessa seemed to share her confusion, shooting questioning stares at Kane and Bullwark.

It was the bald Ruel who expounded. “It's in one of the books I found in our room. His eyes are called Oy'oro-- the golden eyes of Oebiel.”

Similar to when the demon, Quetzalquilhotep looked at him for the first time, Kane felt an overwhelming wave of emotion filling him. This time, however, he could tell it was full of hate. To top it off, Tessa and Bullwark stalked off, muttering under their breaths.

Spica's dumbfounded face merged into the confusion. “What just happened?”

Clementine opened her mouth to speak, but Ruel forestalled her. “Simple. Kane's presence here is a kind of blasphemy.”

“Not only that,” Grace added. “Anyone who fraternizes with your kind is guilty by association.”

“Guilty of what exactly though?” Spica tried. But Grace had already begun leaving the way Bullwark and Tessa went.

Clementine said, “Don't worry, you'll have good company in Art and Lumia. Your rooms are through the eye on the carpet. Come on Ruel, we have a game to finish.”

Kane noted that the girl's socket did glow. He saw it just before he left: a faint magenta.

Felix Falls

Before he touched the keyhole, Sam whispered a silent prayer he didn't find himself in that sand land again. His hand touched wood, then sunk into the surface of the Oak like hot butter. He hurtled forward, his stomach and feet yanked from underneath him. Blackness followed, utter and complete, along with a whooshing wind which whipped his hair and clothes. Riding the wind's back were the scent of rain and the sharp scent of ozone which now burned his nose. Sam quickly forgot this, however, his mind shifting to more pressing matters, like surviving the blind journey.

This was now his fourth time traveling on the currents of magic, yet he felt as he'd always felt: as though he was hurtling headfirst at breakneck speed to his death. Sam's blindness was lifted intermittently by flashes of lightning, but during these brief moments, he saw nothing but a thick white haze before the darkness returned and remained for some time before the moment of truth came. First came the blinding light which forced his eyes shut, then the bump as his knees hit the floor. A sigh of relief flew from Sam as he beheld the silvered tarmac: the silver grass crackled with light current, the short blades gleaming like a tinsel carpet. Though the static charge zapped him, he welcomed the fact that he had escaped the Vagla, the horrors within its geography, and that he'd made it to a more aesthetically pleasing place in Nox Regia.

The Ash tree he'd just exited shivered, also teeming with crackling charge. Sam located Gem and Parris standing halfway between him and the main Nox Regia Hall. They were speaking animatedly with a short brown boy with a bow tie and spiky black hair. As Sam rose, Gem spotted him and pointed in his direction, which brought their eyes on him as he progressed toward them. Lightning flashed above him like heavenly photography, the skies a grand, colorful experiment of whizzing electrons. He remembered reading the chapter about the cosms beneath the Triskai from the Seal of Obsidian and had developed a healthy appreciation for Nox Regia, not only as a school but also as a biosphere, and how unique it was in comparison with the other cosms.

“Hello Samuel,” the short boy stuck out a stubby hand. “Your friends tell me you're the last one for the trip to Felix Falls?”

Sam shook his hand, nodding.

“I'm Vaign, your guide. Please follow me.”

Parris widened her eyes in excitement as the short boy led them past Nox Regia's front door. In contrast, Gem walked with her head to the ground. No-one but the four of them appeared to be outdoors, which at first Sam attributed to the fact that classes were in session, then it occurred to him that it might more likely be due to it nearing midnight and everyone was asleep. At the opposite side of the Nox Regia castle, they now walked in single file along a narrow walkway of roughly hewed cobblestones Sam found the path difficult to navigate due to its slipperiness. It quickly dawned on him that he'd never made it to the back of the Castle before. The place was literally a huge garden, split through the middle by the sinuous path they now trod. Astride them were plants of such shapes and colors Sam hadn't seen nor envisioned in his life. A couple stood out most to him: a thin plant which looked exactly like an elephant's ear suspended on a stalk so short that at times the breeze caused the plant to touch the ground. Another was a purple shrub on which a succulent fist-sized blue fruit grew. Sam remembered seeing Kat with a similar fruit and wondered if she picked it from this garden.

Just then, Parris pointed to the blue fruit. “What are those called? The blue fruit there.”

Vaign turned. “Oh. That's Skycot. You want one?” he proposed.

Parris nodded.

Vaign stopped and muttered something under his breath. Sam watched as one of the purple shrubs shook before one of the fruits unhinged itself, floating into the guide's outstretched hands. He handed it to Parris, who turned it over in her hands. Vaign watched her. “It's one of my own favorites actually,” he said. “Be careful not to eat the seeds though. Poisonous.” Parris turned to Sam as if to get permission from him to eat.

Sam indulged her. “Go ahead... I'll try it if you don't die.”

Vaign smiled before resuming the walk deeper into the garden.

Parris took a tentative bite, which caused thick blue sap to drain down the shiny fruit.

“Sweet!” She exclaimed with her mouth full.

Moments later they were all munching on Skycot and delving ever deeper into the garden. The fruit tasted like a mix between jackfruit and grapes, but sweeter than both. Sam made sure not to swallow any of the seeds, which were almost half as large as the fruit itself. They were now traversing under a canopy of wispy shrubs teeming with a flutter of Nox Regian Silverwing butterflies which scattered as they approached. 

“Is that the falls?” Gem asked, her mouth brimming with fruit.

She referred to a gentle whooshing coming from deeper into the garden.

Vaign nodded. “Yes, that's Felix Falls. We'll be there in a minute.”

As he said it, Vaign took a sharp turn to his left and off the trodden path. Parris, who was directly behind him halted, wondering if something was amiss.

“Come on guys,” Vaign shouted. Parris ducked under some low hanging wisps, sending silver butterflies fluttering from their roost. No sooner had she disappeared from sight than Sam heard her yelp. Sam shrieked as he followed her, understanding Parris' surprise at once. Gem came up behind him, her reaction more subtle as she slapped a hand onto her chest. Apparently, they had vacated the garden completely and were now at the edge of a deep precipice the bottom of which Sam could not see. What he saw beneath was darkness, frightening darkness cradled by the mass of land they currently set foot upon and another mass on the other side which pitched a liquid which might well be water but whose surface reflected a kaleidoscope of colors. Beside him, Parris made a sound he couldn't tell betrayed worry or wonder, but Sam had never seen death so intimately juxtaposed with paradise before, and even as he gazed into the bottomless ravine, his eyes couldn't help but lift once more to the iridescent cascading waterfall.

Vaign spoke, extending his hands theatrically. “This is it folks. The fabled Felix Falls. Bliss is yours for a few hours. Have fun.”

With that, the squat boy turned to go. Sam watched him, amused. Either the boy was the worst guide in history, or he was missing something.

“Wait!” Sam said, holding the hem of the boy's robe, noting now that he was barely able to tear his eyes from the vista beyond.

“What is this? What should we do?” he asked.

Vaign glowered at Sam's hand on his robes before responding, “Jump.”

Sam got the feeling this was a sick joke. Surely, they would not survive such a jump. But the boy's face remained stoic, impassive. He would have had to be a great actor to maintain his facial expression after suggesting such a gross act of suicide. Only half convinced Vaign was being serious, Sam began to ask him where exactly should they jump, but the boy swished his robe and vanished into thin air.

“Is it me or did that dude just said we should jump into that...that hole?” Parris asked, looking from Sam to Gem, the corners of her mouth soiled with Skycot

Sam nodded. “There must be something else to it though.”

“Something else like what Sam? Jumping into that hellhole at just the right angle, or having some minimum amount of faith? You got to be kidding me. No way I'm jumping into that.”

On another day (or night) Sam would have found Parris' concern humorous, but now as he stared into the black hole, he just couldn't bring himself to laugh. Gem cleared her throat beside him. Parris eyed her.

“Any thoughts, Gem?” she asked.

“Not really. That Skycot seemed to have done something to my throat.”

“You didn't swallow the seeds, did you?” Sam asked.

“No. Of course not. Not that it changes anything, but I know for certain Vaign was being sincere. So I agree with Sam that there must be something else apart from us just jumping.”

Sam nodded. “My logic exactly. But I also agree that it would be a bit mad to jump into that without guarantee that we'll survive it.”

“Precisely!” Parris exclaimed. “So where does that leave us? I mean, I'll be fine with exploring the garden a bit more.”

Gem sighed. “That's impossible, I think.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Parris fired quickly.

Sam too was confused. Gem took a step toward Sam, who was furthest back from the ravine's edge and shoved a hand behind him. “See?”

Parris narrowed her eyes as she mimicked Gem's motion. “It's like a wall. But why would they do that?” she mused.

Sam's hand was repelled by some unrelenting airy force.

“I think it's a test,” Gem reasoned.

“I think it's a death trap,” Parris countered. “Had my suspicions about that Vaign fellow. That short, gremlin looking fool lead us here to die.”

Sam watched the cascading waterfall still unable to tell if the water was bewitched to shimmer, or if it was an illusion brought about by the spark show raging in the sky. The water's progress was not smooth downward: it splashed against jutting rocks which extended from the crag like Dragons' teeth. At these locations of contact, the water foamed and scintillated so much Sam could not keep his eyes on it for long. His eyes followed the path of the waterfall until it disappeared into the blackness. Sam stepped closer to get a better look.

“Careful,” Gem said as a strong gust of wind almost knocked the wind out of his sails.

“Woah!” Sam swayed, feeling something pulling him into the incline. A pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him back into the fold. “You have a death wish?” Parris mouthed.

“I have an idea,” Sam said, his heart still racing.

“Hope it doesn't involve you jumping into that thing,” Parris said.

“Not me,” he said, crouching to see if he could gather some loose pebbles. When none was forthcoming, he voiced his plan.

“I'll throw something in to see what happens. Then, we'll be able to decide what to do next.”

“Not a bad idea,” Gem said. “You can use this.”

She dug into her coat and brought forth a shiny Skycot, the blue surface glinting. She handed it to Sam who took it, turning to the waterfall.

Parris counted him down. “After three. One...two...three!”

Sam threw the fruit into the ravine just about halfway across. Though it appeared to float for a millisecond at the apex of its parabolic trajectory, gravity claimed it and it fell. The three of them watched as it disappeared into whatever awaited at the bottom.

“Well, that's that.” Parris said. “I guess we should be looking to get out of this place now. Or sooner or later we'll end up just like...”

“HEY LOOK!” Gem's voice was shrill with excitement as she pointed to the falls. Parris and Sam wheeled around to see the fruit rising slowly on the other side of the falls with colorful water. It rose against gravity and against the motion of the water. Once at the zenith, it floated across the chasm to them before descending once more.

“It's like a magical roller coaster!” Sam realized. “Brilliant!”

Parris narrowed her eyes. “Sweet. But I'm still not risking that.”

Sam on the other hand had now gotten sufficient proof Mr. Bode (by way of the invitation letter to Felix Falls) and Vaign weren't out to kill them.

“Gem. What say you?”

“Ready when you are,” she said.

Sam took a tentative step toward the edge. Gem followed under the judgemental eyes of Parris who had taken a few steps backward. Side by side, Gem whispered to Sam, “Are you gonna leave her behind?”

Sam nodded. “She'll come in her own time.”

Parris' voice sounded behind them. “You guys are officially mad. Step away from the cliff, idiots!”

“After three?” Gem suggested.

“What if we...” Sam started.

“Wrong time to doubt,” Gem said.

“After three then,” Sam hissed.

“Aye, my brave soldier.” Gem held his hand. “One...”

“Okay, okay. Wait up nitwits,” Parris shouted, pulling abreast Sam. “It's what Kane would do.”

Indeed. Sam thought.

Gem started the count again, and at one they leaped into the dark unknown. Then came the dreadful plunge, a fall that could well be their deaths. Sam joined the screams as they accelerated toward an unknown fate. His clothes were flapping loudly against the updraft, the only light source was the coruscating waterfall before them. They had released each other's hands in favor of crazed thrashing, their screams broken only by the chaotic current of resistive air. Sam felt as though his clothes would be ripped right from his body, and together with his frenetic heart and the increasing cold, he resigned his own fate to death. Once every few minutes, some of the foam from the splashing waterfall flecked onto his face or hands which inexplicably filled him with a blossoming, euphoric warmth. Gem and Parris were somewhere on either side of him, the dark having blinded him to their exact positions. Only their choppy screams carried momentarily to his ears.

Suddenly, Sam beheld a silver light below, a light which burgeoned so brilliantly that he now gazed upon his companions who seemed to have calmed, their screaming ceased. They glanced at him wide-eyed, still thrashing about. At this point, Sam experienced a peculiar sensation as by the looks of it, Gem and Parris did as well, for now, they fell without opposing their descent, no screams nor thrashes. It was a feeling of lightness, as though his weight had equalized with the updraft. Sam realized, however, that his calmness could not have been solely due to his free fall; Perhaps the very air was bewitched--charmed for it to have this effect. It was a feeling of absolute peace. In fact, Sam and his friends were so drunk on the languid high that when they hit the silver river, there was no alarm at the sudden change immersion. In fact, as Sam submerged, the bliss birthed a giddy surrender.

He held his breath as he reached the trough of his plummet before the colloidal river buoyed him to the surface. The water was warm and welcoming...like a Jacuzzi, only they were probably more than a thousand feet deep within the valley. Gem laughed, lifting some of the heavy fluid, admiring its shimmering viscous globs. Parris swam with abandon, suffused with playful energy. She swam to the point at which the colorful falls contacted the river, a stunning magical confluence of foamy color. Sam was awestruck when some force associated with the site where the falls kissed the river threw Parris upward probably a dozen feet. Yelping, her body splashed again into the thick liquid, which offered a solitary ripple throughout its volume. Fun as it looked, Sam found he was content to stay where he was reveling in the warmth of the silver masseuse. In fact, he didn't feel like he could move as enraptured in the hypnosis the river afforded.

The Gamble

Mr. Bruce had never felt so nervous in his life. He sat before the witches' Tribunal “The Hierarchy” waiting while the twelve women deliberated on the fate of the Triskai. The courthouse was otherwise empty, a testament to the direness of the times. The people around him were either dying or compromised in some way. Katherina was found to have been under the influence of some mysterious sorcerer who compelled her to lure the children away from Nox Regia. He glanced at the empty seat beside him, frowning. Mr. Ipstein was supposed to have accompanied him here, but the attack from the dark witch a few weeks ago had finally broken his mind. Mr. Ipstein was totally insane.

Bruce shook his head, trying not to think about his friend's sorry state. And things could yet worsen, for they had yet to find Ipstein's Obiscule which meant his soul wasn't safe. Earlier, they had lost Mrs. Vee, an invaluable member of the Nox Regian staff and a loyal Oebielite. The only real ally he had was Bode, who was out on an excursion quite like the one he was now on, trying to find someone to assist with the Blood Quintet Configuration. He had contacted him just before he entered the court to say that he had been attacked on his way to Lucteraia. He had managed to subdue the attacker but conceded that he would need to change into his alternate form to recover from his injuries more quickly, and hence would be delayed by a few days. Unfortunately, a few days was what they lacked; by then the entire Triskai could be overrun by whatever nightmares the lower cosms held.

After hearing of Kane's death, Bruce had hastened here to Nocteraia through the billowing darkness out of desperation. One of the five prongs of hope had died, which meant the power of the Blood Quintet could not combat the dark apocalypse. It was a huge gamble to come here for the sake of the Blood Quintet, for most of the members of the witches' Hierarchy might have pledged allegiance to Satharchon. Being as close-knit and secretive as the Hierarchy was, seeking court was the only way of approaching them. Bruce knew it was a stretch, but he aimed to acquire the services of a certain member among the Hierarchy whom he knew.

Though freakishly provocative and dark, if there was anyone who could find a magical loophole to make the Blood Quintet Configuration spell work with only four members, it was her. Her name was Zendra, a past student of Nox Regia with spellweaving abilities that eclipsed his even while she was his student. Being the child prodigy that she was, it was no wonder she was recruited as a member of the Hierarchy. She looked at him now, her eyes hard as steel. Bruce's pocket lurched uncomfortably close to his groin. He dug into his pocket and withdrew a folded note. He looked at it, chills creeping through him. The calligraphy emitted an iridescent glow:

“What manner of death fetish is this, or is it desperation? Walking into a den of lionesses by your lonesome. Don't you know the blood of men is an aphrodisiac here? I strongly suggest leaving immediately. I'll come find you.”

That was all Bruce needed to hear. And as the note smoldered in his hands, he heard a sudden commotion among the witches. Bruce didn't even look up; he acted with the reflexes of a cat.

“Obfuscura!” he bellowed, and as the shield of light solidified, he metamorphosed into his alternate form: a snow-white mink, weaving under the chairs, through the door, and into the inky black.

Hellion

“So you're not at all bothered you haven't seen the Sun in a week?” Tony asked as he and Serafina trudged through the Mersi forest.

Tony increased the luminosity of his glowing Obiscule as they cut through the thicker- than- normal darkness.

“It is odd, but I don't get bothered by what I don't see. It's the moon that creeps me out.”

Tony angled his head to the sky and singled out the lone luminary of the night. He quickly averted his eyes from the ruddy orb, red as spilled blood. He skipped from a twig, almost losing his balance.

“What exactly is happening though?” he inquired. “Silver Man seems unwilling to say.”

Serafina was silent a while, her footfalls light on the forest floor. Her jade-colored light struggled to dispel the gloom.

“I'm pretty sure the lower cosms are merging with the Hollow--or at best preparing to merge with the Hollow.”

“How would that explain the invisible Sun?” Tony asked. He wasn't aware of another time in history where the Sun vanished from the sky for more than a week. Nine days of night had to mean something rather special was taking place.

“I don't know how it works exactly, but I know the Sun represents Oebiel, the god of light. My gran always used to sing a song when I was little about the Obsidian sun. Sounds like what is happening now.”

Tony didn't bother asking what the words to the song were. He surmised the lyrics would annoy him. Despite being introduced to magic, using it even now to navigate the dark woods, he still had a mind heavily steeped in classical science. He just couldn't accept the myth alone as a cause for something as real as the Sun dimming.

“Ocmalo Sento!” Serafina bellowed.

Tony saw a jet of green light pulse from her stone. A shriek sounded before a loud thud shook the ground. Serafina stopped.

“What the devil was that?” Tony shouted.

“Proof of my gran's song,” she muttered nonchalantly. Serafina had just struck down what looked to Tony like a small child. It was no child, however, for its pale skin glowed a faint yellow, its bald head wrinkled and mottled. The thing's most striking features, however, were its rows of serrated teeth now bared in an anguished grimace.

“Hellion,” Serafina added. “Bewitched children. These are living proof the cosms are merging. Hellion are native to the cosm of Blagoborgobath.”

Tony considered this, proceeding past the twitching thing. “That's the cosm below the one with the black sands and the sandstorms right?”

Serafina huffed. “I thought you'd have at least remembered that one cosm's name by now...given what we went through there.”

Tomy shrugged. “The names of the cosms are long and odd,” he said. “I remember it starts with an 'M'.” Tony thought the only ones worth knowing were the ones humans could safely inhabit.

“Mephistovagla.” Serafina skipped around a hole illuminated by her Obiscule's straining light.

Tony did the same, noting they were quite close to the clearing now--south Hargreave Hollow. Tony felt a pang of sorrow as he spotted the Jansky House through the leaves. The mansion had transformed itself into a bad memory-- the memory of the nightmare of killing his own friend. . His Styg tattoo burned on his neck as if incited by the memory.

“Do you think they know we snuck off campus?” Serafina asked. “I mean...if they find out we'll be banned from entering, especially after what happened in the Jansky House.”

Tony remained quiet; time would tell very soon. But Silver Man did say that he had taken care of that aspect of things and that he would trick Imajinaereum's administration into believing it was he who committed the punishable act of murder. What that meant for Silver Man, he did not know, but he was grateful for the opportunity to go back to the grim world. He had yet to put a finger on what he liked about the whole experience: the environment, the magic, or maybe it was the girl beside him. A combination of them all, he decided, along with an independence that wasn't afforded to him in the Hollow. The moment Tony thought about home, he realized something that had escaped his consciousness until now. He didn't particularly miss his family...not yet at least. But he didn't recall seeing anyone in the Hollow since he'd returned--apart from Serafina, of course, and Silver Man. Was everyone holed up inside their homes to keep away from the heavy darkness and the monstrosities roaming around? It sure seemed logical, and yet it was still strange that he saw no one else.

“Hey,” Tony said as they finally broke from the forest and began the ascent to the Jansky House. “You realize we haven't seen anyone since we arrived from Mephistovagla? I know it has been night for god knows how long and we've been in the woods, but still...”

Serafina looked at him incredulously. “Are you serious dude?”

“What?”

Serafina stopped, gazing at him with her green eyes. “You really were in another mental state after you killed Kane, weren't you? We had this entire discussion before. You don't remember?”

Tony flinched when she said ‘killed Kane’. “No, I don't remember,” he said bluntly.

Serafina looked some more. “Well, among other erotic things, you said you didn't sense anyone here. Silver man did confirm that everyone vanished without a trace.”

“Everyone?” Tony repeated.

Serafina nodded. “Basically, he said everything that was magical remained: magicians and magical animals and objects.”

“So where are they?” he inquired, already tensing himself for the response.

“He didn't think they're dead,” she clarified. “The darkness swooping in from the lower cosms washed them away like a great tide of magical darkness. They might be scattered across the wastelands or being held somewhere until the unthinkable happens.”

Dread crept into Tony as he reflected on his family. Annoying as she was, he was fantastically unprepared to lose his sister, Lucy, whom he loved dearly. His Mom and Dad would be sore losses. For the first time, Tony wondered why he was making the trip to Imajinaereum. Who was the real enemy he should now be fighting in order to bring back his family...and Kane if possible? Tony took a deep breath, his sense of strong reason seeping back into him. It was clear what was happened with the darkness wasn't normal, and hence he would be insane to try to combat it normally.

He would find out as much as possible about this aberrant apocalypse and do as much as humanly possible to reverse it and bring his family back. He was Tony after all, and in his sixteen years of life so far, everything he put his mind to had wilted under his willpower. And now, his intent could be bolstered by magic in its boundless potential. Whatever spell or ritual that existed that could fix his predicament, he would find it. And where else to find it if not at a magical school designed for learning magic for practical application? He would ravage Imajinaereum in his ravenous thirst for knowledge, and bring back life, and the Triskian Sun, and heal the wounded moon.

Art & Lumia

When Kane, Spica, and Rasmus ported through the eye on the carpet, they found themselves inside a spacious room. The two occupants jumped as they materialized.

“Scared the shit out of us!” the boy said. He had long white hair plotted together into a ponytail. Kane noted that his entire right hand was covered in a sky blue armor. He was in bed reading a book before they entered.

“Sorry,” Spica apologized.

“And yet our hearts remain aflutter.”

The voice was singsong. It reminded Kane of his sister, Esther. He glanced in that direction and was surprised to discover that she resembled his sister as well with her long copper-colored hair.

“Well, don't just stand there. Make yourselves comfortable. We were expecting you. I take it you've already met our hospitable house mates?” The boy lay the book beside him.

They all nodded.

“I'm Art by the way. This is the lovely Lumia.”

Lumia offered a smile and a single, accentuated nod. “These are your beds.” She pointed to three beds on the opposite side of the room. Each was separated by a gilded chest of drawers.

After they introduced themselves, they chose their quarters, which consisted of a bed, chest of drawers, and black curtains to separate their spaces. Kane found the idea of a bed in a land of dead people comical: the two just didn't go well together.

“You guys are all Oebielites right? I just realized it's five of us and five of them.” Art caressed his armored hand.

Kane assumed the term Oebielites meant followers of the god, Oebiel. Kane had accepted his label of being Oebiel's chosen. He wasn't exactly sure who Spica and Rasmus had chosen to align with. He assumed it was Oebiel since they seemed like good people.

“What does it profit to follow Satharchon?” Spica asked.

Art and Lumia looked around nervously. “Careful,” Art said. “At least keep your voice down.”

“I've always seen myself as a good person,” Spica continued.

“Likewise,” Rasmus said.

Lumia nodded. “The idea is that Hellenogyrum and all the cosms below are Satharchon's property. So, it might be in one's best interest to be in his good faith, him being the landlord and all.”

Art interjected, “And one wouldn't want the landlord to evict them...of course, eviction meaning annihilation.”

Kane nodded. Not being annihilated seemed like a compelling reason to follow Satharchon.

Rasmus asked, “So having said that, what is your reason for siding with Oebiel?”

Art smirked, “I know it's unpopular, but I believe in good. I always found it classier. And I guess I prefer to see conscious life flourish rather than be cast into oblivion. They say Oebiel is a dead god, but if he is, I think he left a system that rewards good and punishes evil.”

Lumia nodded. “Yep. It is a brave decision to make; some might even say it's folly. But my mother grew me a certain way. Even in the face of destruction, I have no qualms clinging to hope. I think that's a strength.”

“Poetic,” Spica said. “But I like it. My heart is likewise inclined toward good. I profess Oebiel from here on out.”

Rasmus smiled. “Like she said, Oebiel it is.”

They all looked at Kane.

“Why look at me?” he said quickly. “I have Oebiel's eyes, and I'm a member of the Blood Quintet.”

“You're kidding right?” Art asked, propping himself further up onto the bed.

Kane shook his head, so did Rasmus.

“That does explain the eyes,” Lumia added. “Your bow is your soul weapon. But--” she paused, narrowing her eyes. “If you're a member of the Blood Quintet, then why are you dead? Aren't you and the other four supposed to be alive doing Oebiel's work?”

“Yes,” Kane replied. “But from what I understand, Satharchon's worshipers want the Blood Quintet dead. Hence, here I am.”

“It's worse than I thought,” Art bemoaned.

“What's that?” Spica caressed her neck.

“Satharchon and his troops have been hunting Oebielites for millennia, no surprises there. But the Blood Quintet is supposed to be the one secret weapon against the rise of the dark god and the Veil Rapture.”

The room was reduced to complete silence after Art's words. It was Lumia who broke the silence.

“This only means one thing,” she said.

“And what's that?” Kane observed Lumia. Her hazel eyes seemed to sparkle.

“You have to be successful in the Monomakia, or else all hope is lost.”

“Monomakia?” Kane repeated.

Art nodded. “When the Hierocrux comes to speak with us shortly, you'll hear all about it.”

Kane was about to ask them what 'Hierocrux' was, but he remembered the demon, Quetzalquilhotep mentioning them as a set of high-ranking demons.

“By the way,” Art added. “The Hierocruxes...scary beings. Just don't look into their eyes.”

“And don't lie to them. They hate lies.” Lumia flicked a mass of hair from her face. “But the Monomakia is the whole reason we're all holed up here in this Pyramid. At the end of a predetermined period, each of us will be paired with an opponent to duel to the death. Only five persons will leave Hellenogyrum alive. They'll then go up into Blagoborgobath and fight through the wilderness to go even further upward.”

The room reduced to silence once again. Kane felt his peers' emotions roiling. He felt it as a flutter inside his chest. It wasn't painful, but not entirely pleasant either.

...

Few minutes after Art and Lumia had shown them around, Kane, Spica, and Rasmus settled into their quarters. Their roommates pulled up their respective black drapes for privacy. Rasmus kissed Spica on the jaw before they did the same, retreating behind their shawls. But after Kane pulled his cloth across his cubicle, he felt rather uncomfortable being blind to the remainder of the room. If anyone entered the room, they wouldn't have a clue. Kane pulled the veil back and nodded, feeling much better as he reclined on the bed. He thought about what Art and Lumia had said about him being the embodiment of the hope of Oebiel to eliminate death and oblivion. Kane was used to shouldering immense responsibility: his role in his family when he was alive had somewhat hardened him and made him more mentally tough to deal with harrowing ordeals. But now it was much different; at least on his farm, he knew to expect thieves and wild animals. He didn't know who or what would attack him here. Dying here was the easy choice. It probably would be swift, and even if it was painful, the pain would subside as the abyss took him.

He thought about his family. They were probably mourning him right now. He only hoped they wouldn't suffer any more at the hands of the looters. Someone started snoring. He looked around to see who it was. After listening for the source of the noise, he determined it was Art. Kane thought about his friends in the Triskai and the effect his death would have on each of them.

Despite the dead look in Tony's eyes before he fired the curse at his chest, he knew Tony would eventually regret his actions. Worse, he had intended on harming Parris and not him. Kane thought that Parris should be the one mourning the most, but he wasn't sure about that. Parris was a strange person; it was difficult to tell what she was feeling at any given time. Howsoever she felt, Kane knew she would hold onto it strongly and unapologetically. It was the same bullheadedness that had gotten her in problems with Tony in the first place--holding steadfast to her feelings with no empathy, no matter if it crushed someone else's heart. Gemini would mourn him like a sibling, retreating into a deep melancholy that would probably be detrimental to her health. Kane found Sam hard to read also, but in a different sense from Parris. Regardless, Sam would be devastated over his death. He was the first person to befriend Sam when he started attending Candentis Academy.

A sound stirred Kane from his thoughts. At first, he thought it was Art snoring, but he quickly realized it was coming from his side of the room. It was a slight, but distinct shuffling, Kane was about to rise and investigate when a bloodcurdling scream made his hairs stand on end. Curtains flew posthaste. Lumia and Art spilled out of their cubicles holding what Kane assumed were their soul-weapons. Art's index finger glowed bright blue. Kane saw that the air around his finger was distorted like the air surrounding a hot metal on a bright day. Lumia's hair blew mysteriously, taking on a life of its own. Kane wondered what exactly her power was. She looked like a proper witch with a feral expression. Rasmus' curtain shook, then it was pulled away, the boy squinting.

“What's?” he drawled, looking from Kane to the pair of Lumia and Art.

“Check on Spica,” Art suggested.

Rasmus obeyed wordlessly, turning to Spica's curtain that had yet to have been pulled.

“Spica?” he said tentatively.

There was no response. Kane tensed, sensing something in the offing.

“Spica!” Rasmus repeated more urgently. He pulled her curtain.

To their surprise, the girl was sitting at her bedside sobbing.

“Spica what's wrong?” Rasmus knelt before her.

She didn't answer, her teary eyes finding Art and Lumia, who now relaxed their weapons, sighing.

“Are you okay?” Lumia inquired, stepping closer.

Spica nodded. “Yeah...had a horrible dream.”

Art and Lumia laughed. “A vision you mean,” Art suggested. “There are no dreams in the gyrum.”

Spica stared at him awhile. “Then maybe I should still be screaming. If what I saw is real then I don't want to be here anymore.”

“What did you see?” Rasmus asked, holding her hand.

“Where's...” her voice trailed off, looking around Rasmus, her gaze finding Kane.

“Me? I'm right here,” Kane said. “Can't wait to hear what motivated such a powerful scream.”

Spica smiled. “I--I'll tell you guys about it later. But--” she paused. “I think I just got my soul weapon.”

With that, Spica held her hand out for them to see what it contained.

Lumia gasped. “It's beautiful!”

Kane stared at the object, a feeling of deja vu settling over him. Lumia was right; it was beautiful. But Kane had seen a similar orb before, and he didn't associate it with anything beautiful. It was a stone exactly like the kind he and his friends had encountered in Sam's stepmother's room alongside the unsightly Seal of Obsidian. He knew the object Spica held was a sort of master Obiscule. Art seemed shocked by the revelation, his mouth agape. Had they never seen an Obiscule before?

Art finally found his voice. “Do you know what you're holding, Spica?”

She shrugged. “Some sort of rare gemstone?” she tried.

“Isn't that an Obiscule?” Kane interjected.

Art turned to him. “You're correct, Kane. These are normally seen in the Triskai, but in Hellenogyrum... when someone has it as their soul weapon it becomes much more impressive.”

“Doesn't feel powerful,” Spica said. “In fact, it just feels and looks like a decorated rock.”

“Aren't those what the Hierocruxes use?” Lumia asked, turning to Art.

“Yep. Not as their soul weapons though. Not even regular demons get to use them. That alone should reveal how powerful they are.”

“So what can it do?” Rasmus asked.

Art looked at Lumia. “Lumia,” he said. “I think we've officially gotten ourselves some interesting friends. I mean--Jaimie was our friend but not that interesting. May Oebiel preserve his memory.”

“Indeed,” Lumia beamed. “Kane has the Oy'oro and is a member of the Blood Quintet, Rasmus' soul weapon is a Pyrodactyle, and now Spica has an Obiscule. Incredible!”

“Who is Jaimie?” Kane inquired. He'd caught the name while Art was speaking.

“He was our roommate before you guys.”

“What happened to him?” Spica followed up, throwing her Obiscule up and catching it midair.

There was a pregnant pause. Kane felt a thick sadness oozing into the room's space, diffusing from both Art and Lumia.

“Annihilated,” Art said. “His soul was ripped to shreds because he lied to one of the Hierocruxes. Unfortunately, he was shown no mercy...violated on the spot.”

Lumia hung her head. “Worst thing I've ever seen happen to someone. Just evil. Jaimie was so sweet. Another Oebielite lost to the dark abyss.”

Lumia walked over to Spica. “That's why we stress avoiding the Hierocrux. They're impetuous and petty, especially toward Oebielites.”

Lumia took the Obiscule from Spica. “Amazing. You really didn't feel its power? It's electric!”

“What can it do?” Spica asked.

Lumia handed the stone back. “See for yourself. Ask it a question.”

“A question?” Spica repeated. “Am I to understand the stone has lips to answer me?”

“Just do it,” Lumia insisted.

“It won't work,” Art said. “It takes practice, I think.”

Spica spoke nonetheless. “Was my dream real?” she asked.

Silence draped the room for a while.

“Told you,” Art said.

But Kane sensed something strange happening. He felt the same dense energy he'd felt before when Lumia was talking about their late friend and roommate, Jaimie. The doleful energy bled from Spica in torrents. She smiled despite this...an obvious deception. Suddenly, Kane was curious about Spica's dream.

“Yeah. Maybe it takes more practice,” Spica said.

Kane watched her intently, looking for any telltale signs of distress. She glanced sharply in his direction; Kane looked away quickly, wary of being caught staring. He wondered why Spica was hiding what she was feeling.

“The vision,” Art began. “What exactly did you see?”

Spica kissed Rasmus and crawled back into bed. “I feel sleepy. I'll tell you about it tomorrow, I promise.”

The Shadowy Savior

Sam ventured out of the castle and into the dark of Hargreave Hollow. He had no clue if it was supposed to be night or day what with the Sun snuffed out and choking in darkness. And with the moon's light dimmed and stained by its scarlet surface, the night was darker than Obsidian glass. He shivered in the cold as he made it through the gate. Mr. Bode hadn't returned in more than twenty-four hours since he left for Lucteraia--the deadline after which he should head out to get the master Obiscule.

Parris wanted to accompany him, but he had refused to let her do so. If something terrible was to happen, Sam wanted it to happen to him alone. He also had to know if Max had suffered the same fate as the non-magical remainder of the Triskai. Bode hadn't mentioned animals; Sam hoped they were spared the wrath of the apocalyptic magic sweeping through the neighborhood. Sam traversed the dark and lonely road from Candentis Academy, the porch lights doing precious little to dispel the stubborn gloom.

He noted the lonely yards of North Hargreave Hollow. Parris' house was similarly deserted; the lights he knew to be blinding were swallowed before it got to him. As Sam walked, he noted the volume of his footfalls, his heart racing, and his breathing--the silence was fast becoming almost as unnerving as the darkness. The air was thick and still...and cold. Dead. The Mersi forest was nothing but shadows. An inexplicable dread stirred inside him as he stepped through the darkness of the Hollow. He recalled the encounter with the great silver serpent. What if it was roaming the Hollow looking to resume what it started? Bode had mentioned the snake was someone's alternate form, but he didn't say whose. Sam reached the final bend when he remembered something he'd forgotten in the chaos that transpired from the moment he and his friends left Nox Regia. His Obiscule was still inside his pocket. He pulled it out, but he dared not look at it lest something attacked him from the darkness.

“Lux!” he muttered. Light burgeoned from it impressively, actually chasing away some of the gathering darkness. Sam guessed he should start defaulting to using the stone whenever he was in a pickle. Surprisingly, he remembered quite a few spells from his short time in Nox Regia, especially from Mr. Bruce's Conjuration 101 class, and from Mr. Bode's class in Defense against dark magic. If the spells would actually work was another argument altogether. With the light pitching from the stone, Sam was fearful he would draw attention to himself if indeed villainous entities were wandering the Hollow. Sam neared his house, wary again of the dense Mersi forest looming to his right.

He silently prayed Max was still tethered to his kennel, though something told him not to get his hopes up. Sam pulled into his yard, noting the first anomaly: unlike the neighboring houses on the opposite side, the porch lights were off, the grounds almost pitch black. His Obiscule was barely enough for sight. He shone the light at Max's kennel, a breath of dejection oozing from him. There was no activity; Max too was gone. He stood there for a while, wondering what to do now that another love of his life had been taken. His feet took him up the steps and to the porch. He opened the door and convinced himself the scariest thing he had to face was the unusual darkness. He flicked on the light, the brilliance of which hurt his eyes. It took him a while for his eyes to adjust before he made a beeline for his room. Sam proceeded to dig through his books on the floor and found the newspaper clippings of the reports of his mother's and sister's deaths. He thought of carrying the chessboard but decided against it. Suddenly, he remembered something that hadn't crossed his mind since he came back to Hargreave Hollow. The Seal of Obsidian didn't follow him back from Nox Regia. Maybe the magic (whatever it was) that tethered it to him had finally worn off.

One less thing to worry about, he thought. To date, he still didn't have a satisfactory answer as to why the book had been following him around. Stuffing the papers into his pocket, Sam had one more task to complete before he headed back to Candentis Academy and out of the insidious atmosphere. He now had to get the master Obiscule Sybel had ordered them to get. Sam stepped through the living room, his footfalls loud in the ambient silence. His pulse rate increased as he approached Mercedes' room. The last time he entered her room, a lot of strangeness transpired with the shattering Obiscule and the otherworldly Seal of Obsidian. Sam took a deep breath--all he had to do was grab the stone and leave.

He entered. The room was dark. The curtains fluttered before the open window despite the deathly stiffness of the air outside. Bad sign, he thought. Sam tried the light switch--nothing. Bad sign. He hesitated for a while before darting into the shadows toward the weird nightstand. Sam heaved the cloth from the nightstand, balancing his Obiscule in the next. The light from his Obiscule flickered from his broken concentration. And it revealed no master Obiscule, only the hollow space where it once was. The missing stone shocked him more than it was supposed to. It was a problem he did not foresee them having, but the missing Obiscule dealt a massive blow on Kane's return into the Triskai. Sam teetered on the spot, half of him wanting to head back to Candentis, the other half keen on finding the Obiscule. He decided he wouldn't give up just yet. He decided to search the room to see if it was somewhere other than on the nightstand. But the second he turned to look on the other nightstand on the other side of the bed, a pale fire flared around him. Sam shrieked, staggering backward from the heat.

He almost dropped his Obiscule as something sprang at him from the darkness--something white and rope-like. It struck Sam's shoulder before he could react. This time his Obiscule fell cleanly from his hands as the flesh just under his breastbone stung. His eyes doubled and watered as he collapsed to his knees. He beheld what had attacked him, and though it wasn't as huge as the night it had chased him from the Jansky House, it was more terrifying to behold face to face in a cloistered room with no escape. The reptile slithered on the carpet toward him, its thick body winding frantically. Sam scrambled backward. He was losing feeling in his left hand, and sweat began soaking his shirt. His fallen Obiscule still glowed faintly to his left, still out of reach in light of his useless left arm. The snake reared up as if to strike again, and Sam got a clear view of its slit, reptilian eyes before it brought its hooded head down upon him. Sam managed to block his face with his good hand while trying to rise from his disadvantageous position. His feint proved useful as the fangs struck his right hand instead of his face or neck. Clearly, the snake, whoever had the creature as his alternate form, wanted to kill him. Sam literally felt the venom spreading through him like lava.

His wounded right hand now matched his left--limp and useless. There was nowhere to scramble to as his back was to the wall. His predicament was further exacerbated by the sweat draining into his eyes, almost blinding him to whatever the snake planned next. Sam's body convulsed. Black clouds were beginning to intrude on the edges of his consciousness. The snake reared up again, and this time its hooded silver head seemed to split as his vision worsened. His upper body now undefended, he knew it would be the final blow.

Though he has experienced much grief from the death of those close to him, Sam had given very little thought to his own mortality. But never in a million years could he guess he would die like this...mauled by a glowing snake. The next few seconds held so many paranormal happenings that the possibility of all this being an illusion flashed through his mind. The snake stopped mere inches from his face before receding through the fire and into the blackness of the room. His Obiscule pitched black flames, a dramatic transformation from the white luminescence it expelled seconds ago. Sam only saw it because of its contrast with the pearlescent flames which enclosed him.

There was chaotic commotion beyond the flames that his fuzzy sight didn't allow him to see couldn't see. Sam's body quaked, his shirt soaked with perspiration. He let himself fall onto his side, his entire body now numb. He smelled blood intermingled with sulfur. He was dying. He paid little attention to the tussle ensuing beyond him. He was so entranced by the death slipping over him that everything else was in another world. But through the black flames of his Obiscule and the silver fire, he saw someone with a hat, his cloak black with silver lining--silver like the snake that struck him twice. His back was turned, and he seemed to be dueling someone further ahead. Presently, a spell zipped past his head and cracked the window above him. Splinters rained down on Sam, but his numb frame couldn't feel them. Whoever had come to his aid was putting up a hell of a fight. Mr. Bode, he thought. But Sam had no time to discover who it was as his body made a final, powerful lurch before he hit the carpeted ground. He was down to his last strand of consciousness when the man with the hat was flung cleanly through the window. The white flames went with him, casting the room into total darkness. Sam could not raise his head from the floor. Heavy footfalls approached him, and Sam felt the presence above him. The last thing he registered before his consciousness faded was a guttural rumble, like that of a wild beast.

Midnight Blood Bar

Gem walked alone along the lonely street of Hargreave Hollow. She was shivering even though the place was hot and humid. She was more nervous than she thought she would be. She couldn't quite place why she was nervous. Perhaps it was because it was night and she had no clue what she was walking into. Fear of the unknown. She had read up on a light-masking spell which made her able to use her Obiscule illumination without anyone seeing its light. Otherwise, the journey would have been too risky to attempt given the beings that were supposed to be roaming around. Passing the Jansky House sagged her spirit and made her think about Kane, how sudden he had died. She wondered if she could contact him like she'd contacted Sybel with the ring.

She made a mental note to try it once she returned. Now beyond the ill-fated mansion, she was officially inside Nocteraia territory, specifically, a straight, one hundred meter narrow strip called the Deverrell Passage. The temperature change was instant; it was as if the governmental boundary coincided with the geographical delineation. The Mersi-Nocteraia forest also became thicker to the west, the road wider as she spilled into the city. Sybel had said MBB was close to the Nocteraia forest, hence she should be close to the mysterious locale. As Gem ambled along, the first hint that she was in the city of Nocteraia were the lights.

It was almost as though every surface that could support a light did. Their brilliance was even enough to pierce the eldritch blackness, or was it because the Veil Rapture hadn't yet reached here? Gem decided the latter was true since people were going about their business in the usual fashion. She passed pubs, drug stores, restaurants, and other unmarked buildings which sported people before them. Night joints were advertised by huge neon lights with music blaring from a couple of them. Fast food establishments blossomed, littered with people dropping by for a bite. None of them bore the name, MBB. Sybel did say she should ask around; inquiring was probably wiser than trying to find the place by herself.

She decided she would ask the next solitary person she saw-- she hated crowds. As if someone was trying to annoy her, there was no one in sight, and the road forked into three, heightening the possibility of not finding the place. Gem took the path she was currently on, due west. It only took a few paces for it to dawn on her that it led to a dead-end, the road ending where the forest began a couple of hundred yards from where she was. She was about to turn back onto the street which progressed southward when she laid eyes on a heavyset man coming her way. Up close, his intimidating stare made sure she didn't indulge him. He passed her silently, turning onto the street she was coming from. Gem started onto the southbound thoroughfare, cold biting into her skin. After about a minute's worth of walking, she saw another man on the side of the street. His outstretched hand told her he was a beggar. Blind, she thought as she approached; he was stretching his hand out to the empty road. Gem stopped, wondering if a blind man could give her directions.

“Hello, sir. Good night.”

“Night night, dear. Got any spare coins?” The old man's voice was soft. Gem didn't have any coins to give to the man. Suddenly, she felt guilty she was about to ask the man to help her when she couldn't help him in return.

“No, sir. No coins. Have a nice night.” With that, she continued walking, looking ahead for someone to help her. She had gone almost a block away when she heard someone shriek. Gem turned to see the blind beggar still speaking as if he was unaware she had left. Gem retreated to hear what he was saying.

“You there?” she heard him saying.

“Yes, sir. What did you say?”

“I only asked if you wanted something. You stopped, so I wondered if I was so handsome to stop to look at.”

Gem was confused. It wasn't a typical beggar's line. “Oh. I thought you were...”

“Thought I was what?”

“Never mind.” For some reason, she was uncomfortable saying the word 'blind'.

Gem continued, “I was just looking for some place that's all.”

“All alone? At night? Don't you know Nocteraia's not a place for lonesome girls...abominations roam looking for girls like you.”

The way he angled his head gave the impression he wasn't seeing her. And yet his sightless eyes seemed to peer deeper than flesh.

“Abominations?” Gem repeated.

“Beasts, cursed men... and women. The end is near. Parties are not worth your life young girl, nor your soul.”

Gem shook her head despite knowing the man probably couldn't appreciate the gesture. “Not a party,” she said. “This place called MBB.”

The man was silent for a few long seconds before responding. “Is this a joke? Get hence from me, devil!” The man shooed her with his hands. To Gem's bafflement, the wiry man stood suddenly, knocking his tins of coins to the ground. Gem hopped backward as the old man groped around for his wooden cane. Wood in hand, he hobbled off into the distance. It took Gem a full minute to recover from what just happened. His entire demeanor had changed when she mentioned MBB, calling her the devil--Gem took that to mean the place had a pretty bad reputation.

The other person she saw was a redhead girl probably in her early twenties. She looked pleasant enough, Gem thought. Gem crossed the street, noting her legs were becoming weary from all the walking. The redhead looked up and saw her approaching and delayed her entry into a rather dingy convenience store.

“Good night,” Gem said. the woman had a freckled face with a nose pierced nose.

“Sup?” she replied, raising her head slightly as she spoke. Her drawl was so deep it was almost obscene.

“Do you know where the MBB is? I'm looking for someone there.”

The woman raised her brow, looked her up and down, and scoffed before reaching into her bag and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“How old are you, girl?” she asked.

“Seventeen,” Gem responded, wondering why her age mattered.

“MBB is hardly a place for teens. Don't you think? Fuck, even I avoid the place.”

Gem shrugged. “What do you mean? I've never been there.”

The redhead lit a cigarette and took a puff, sending smoke curling into the air. “Let's just say it's a place of strange people with strange tastes.”

“Can you tell me where to find it?”

The woman guffawed. “Didn't you hear what I just said? It's not a place for teens.”

Disappointed, Gem sighed inwardly. This exercise was turning out to be more difficult than she'd anticipated.

“Okay, thanks,” she said before continuing down the lonely street. The cold pressing into her flesh, Gem huddled deeper inside her woolen coat. She had now reached another intersection where an incandescent street light illuminated a street sign. South Nocteraia. Before she chose a road to head down, however, a piercing call cut through the night air.

“Wait!”

Gem swiveled around to find that the redhead woman was watching her. The woman summoned her with a flick of the finger.

When Gem made it back, the woman tossed the cigarette to the floor and smothered it under her shoe. “Okay, I can't just not help a lonesome girl prowling the street. You remind me of myself when I was your age.”

Gem breathed a sigh of relief. “So you'll tell me where the MBB is then?”

She didn't answer. She seemed to be contemplating if she should tell her or not. “Follow me.”

Gem followed, but the woman was heading in the direction she was coming from. She wanted to ask if she was sure she was leading her to the correct place, but she held her tongue.

Gem retraced her steps, the woman a few paces before her.

“You had already passed the place you're looking for,” she said. “That's the only reason why I called you back.”

“I appreciate it,” Gem said, sure she hadn't passed any signs saying MBB.

“You have a name?” the woman asked.

“Gem.”

“Just Gem, or...”

“Gemini.”

“Well, quite nice to meet you, Gemini. I'm Beth by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Gem saw that they had just reached the turn with the blind beggar--the dead end. To her absolute shock, Beth turned onto that very street. Gem realized the woman was probably pulling her leg and didn't intend to show her where the place is. She was about to voice her disapproval when Beth spoke.

“Just follow the road to the end. It's the last building on your right.” She pointed into the semi-darkness. “And please, miss...don't get yourself killed. You seem like a nice, modest girl.” With that, Beth turned and sauntered away.

Gem would have thanked her, but she still wasn't sure the directions were genuine. She began walking nevertheless, passing the tin of coins the beggar had left behind. Halfway to the dead end, Gem's trusty intuition assailed her. She felt naked, as though she were wearing her soul on her sleeve. Under normal circumstances, she would have stopped and headed straight back to Candentis, but she was urged on by the prospect of saving Kane, and her faith that Sybel wouldn't have sent her into harm's way. The street became so dark that she was tempted to light her way using her Obiscule. She dismissed the thought, knowing it was foolhardy to use magic in the space of normal people.

The building at the end of the street was quite odd: it appeared it could only be accessed via a steep downward corridor. Gem stopped, looking into the darkness, tempted again to consult her Obiscule. Taking a deep breath, she braved the dark, ignoring her prickling sixth sense screaming at her to retrace her steps. Once she entered, she realized the lighting wasn't that bad: she saw a hint of light in the distance...a faint, flickering yellow light. Not long afterward, there was an unmistakable sound of music. If the air in the environs of Nocteraia was cold, then this alleyway was freezing. She wanted nothing more than to find this person called Cole and head back to the warmth of her Candentis bed.

The music jerked the ground now. Gem could see a metal door--presumably the entrance to the place-- with a man in a white suit sitting on a stool before it. Strangely, the man had his collar upturned, which gave him a peculiar look. Gem's eyes were drawn to an incessant flashing above him. What it read sent chills down her spine, and at once, she knew why the old beggar had reacted the way he did, and why Beth had nothing but admonitions for her desire to visit.

It was written in a foreboding font. MIDNIGHT BLOOD BAR. Gem stopped, wondering if she really wanted to enter a bar with such a name. But she trusted Sybel wouldn't be sending her into a place that would harm her. Moreover, the man at the entrance looked her way, and she found she could not shift her eyes from his discomfiting gaze. He was blond, his skin deathly pale. Bloodless. He possessed the most profound blue eyes she had ever seen. He smiled at her now, and to her chagrin, caught her feet moving toward him.

“Welcome to the MBB,” he said in a voice that didn't seem to belong to him. “Regular or VIP?” Again he flashed the mesmeric smile at her.

“Huh?”

“Regular or VIP?” he repeated, standing.

“Regular, I guess.”

He studied her, and Gem learned to avoid staring directly into his eyes.

“Password?” he requested.

“I dunno,” Gem said. “I'm just here to see Cole.”

The pale guard was silent awhile. “Bludwell?” he asked.

When Gem nodded, he said, “I see. Well, not to disrespect, but one does not simply... request to see Mr. Bludwell unannounced. Especially not without a password.”

Gem shrugged, realizing she was becoming more and more disoriented. She couldn't tell if it was the music, something in the air, or the blond man's blue eyes and smile.

“He's expecting me, I think,” she said.

The man shook his head. “I highly doubt that, miss. He should be downing his sixty sixth 'C Rum' by now. Buzzed beyond belief” He smiled the broadest smile yet then continued. “But...no harm checking.” He turned to enter the bar. “Your name?” he inquired.

“I'm Gemini. Tell him Sybel sent me.”

The blond man guffawed. “Sybel? Oh sweet Satharchon! Girl, that's the first thing you should have said! Follow me.”

The moment Gem entered the dimly lit bar, a raw smell assaulted her nostrils. She doubled backward from it as if she had collided with a physical thing. It was an odor of rust and rot but multiplied several hundred times over. The mild dizziness Gem felt earlier was now fast progressing into outright nausea. Bodies whizzed by her in a haze while the music attacked her seemingly from the inside. The man she trailed was zipping through the gyrating crowd with catlike reflexes. The women wore latex corsets and knee-high heels like they were back in another era. Gem didn't remember seeing so many well-dressed men in one place. They wore dapper suits, some donning suspenders with bow ties. It was like an underground society of aristocrats partying in private. But Beth was right, something seemed strange about them. All of them had the same sick pallor, and they all seemed to flash her the same plastic smile which went on for way too long. A man was on stage with a mic, vocalizing a tight rhyme.

Spit lyrics fo' six minutes

Emit gimmicks

Evict civics

Odd science limit physics

The slick cynic mimic the ticks

That vampiric necrophilic

Visit the crypt me intimate

With death...plus it implicit

The darkness blossom infinite

Aided by the dim relic

I intonate the intricate

Black arts...me sin with it

The barrier am in cyclic

Blood plasma insipid dripping betwixt the djinn midget

Six digit the sick limerick to conjure it from in the pit.

The blond man approached a corner where there didn't seem to be much activity in comparison with the remainder of the room. Gem saw three men playing cards around a small table. They were all drinking something from large flagons. One had his back turned to her. He wore a black coat with a rather stylish hairstyle. The one she could see was similarly dressed. Gem's heart skipped a beat as she saw that his eyes seemed to glow as he watched them approach, one green, the other blue. The one with the side of his body turned to her was a beast of a man with thick locks spanning the length of his back.

“Mr. Bludwell, apologies for interrupting, sir. There's someone here to see you.”

Cole flicked his wrist without shifting his eyes from the game. “Blasphemous timing, Gus. In the middle of a Black suites game here. These two are at my mercy.”

The man with the locks sneered. “How quickly you forget my feints, Cole.”

Cole threw a card on the table and took a swig of whatever was inside the flagon.

“She says Sybel sent her,” the blond man insisted.

This time Cole indulged him, looking in his direction. “Sybel?” he repeated. He swiveled all the way around to look into Gem's face. The man's black eyes seemed to dig into her.

“So the witch finally gave up the ghost then?” he said, turning back to his companions.

“Satin, you remember that old witch. The one who helped me with Jo last summer?”

The man with the different color eyes nodded. “Vividly.”

Cole turned back to Gem, and somehow she felt like a piece of meat dangling before a pack of lions.

“I owe her one for that.” He looked her up and down, and Gem was starting to feel he wasn't only looking at her physical body.

“The resemblance is stunning. Look at her, Satin.”

The man called Satin raised his head from the cards splayed in his hands. When he steadied his anomalous eyes upon her once more, Gem felt a slight pressure in her chest as though his gaze had mass.

“Her grand daughter, I presume?”    

Cole nodded. “Correct.”

Gem froze, the pressure in her chest giving way to utter disbelief.

“Grand daughter?” she repeated.

“Yeah, Sybel was...” Cole started then paused, an expression of revelation washing over his features. “Don't tell me she didn't tell you.”

A melange of emotions flooded Gem to the point where she couldn't say a word. She didn't know if she should be happy, sad, or indifferent that Sybel was her relative. The revelation surely begged some questions, and yet it made sense as to why she was in such turmoil when Sybel died. Exactly what questions they were, Gem had no clue. She just knew now wasn't the right place for it. Now she would have to work on getting out of this place in one piece.

“That witch. Owe her a big favor. Told me her end was near and that I should expect her grand daughter to visit me here. What's your name again?”

“Gemini.”

“Right right.”

Gus, the blond guard pointed behind him before taking his leave.

“Have a seat, Gemini. Let me finish this game.” He patted a wooden stool between him and the dread-locked man who eyed her lustily as she sat.

“Something to drink?” Cole asked, already whistling to a corseted bartender.

“No thanks,” she managed.

The dread-locked man laughed.

“What were you gonna give the young lady to drink, Cole? C Rum? Oxychrome?”

The serious-faced man called Satin gave Cole a disparaging stare. “Surely you see she's not like us.”

Gem was listening, a feeling of misgiving blossoming. She knew she wasn't like the people here, but she didn't quite know why. Something told her to run away from the bar before it was too late.

The bartender whom he alerted appeared with a tray with three beer bottles. They were labeled Oxychrome with a capital O and a plus sign beside it. Gem had never heard of such a drink. Cole scooped the bottles up and smiled at the bartender before placing them on the round table.

“Tell you what, Gemini. Why don't you wait for me outside? I'll be out shortly.”

…

Less than a minute later, Cole, Satin, and Lucien were alone around the game table. Cole took a drink of his cold Oxychrome.

“Be careful,” Satin said. “We and humans don't have the same luck.”

“And we...” Lucien added. “I find it best not to befriend humans. It's like a curse...never seems to end well.”

“You think I don't know that?” Cole fumed. “As I said, that witch, Sybel saved my daughter. I already pledged to repay her somehow. The time has come.”

“What exactly are you to do?” Satin asked.

Cole sighed. “Guard some ill-fated children.”

“Ill-fated?”

“Yes. Sybel wouldn't use that word, but I will. We all know the Veil Rapture has begun. Supposedly, the children have some sort of redemptive magic in them against it and as such they're being shadowed by some entity who wants to slaughter them. I just have to keep them alive for it to mature inside them, and I guess to teach them a thing or two.”

Lucien laughed. “And she entrusted you with the task of babysitting?”

Cole sighed. “I suppose so.”

“The Veil Rapture is a serious matter, hence I would think the entity shadowing them is the darkest of them all,” Satin theorized, rubbing his bottle of Oxychrome.

“Exactly. The situation would have been less dire... even reversible... if it were a lesser spirit. Of course,my luck is dead. I'm left to deal with one of the primordial forces. Nasty stuff. Sybel warned that I might even have to return to that god forsaken place for reasons she claims 'will soon become clear'.”

Lucien guffawed. “You mean one of the lower cosms?”

“Blagoborgobath specifically. You guys wanna come? I sure could use some support.”

“I respectfully decline,” Satin said, twisting an emerald ring around his finger.

“That trip would be fatal for Lycans,” Lucien said.

“Precisely my point,” Cole said, smiling.

Cole shrugged. “Fine.”

The Hierocruxes

Three hours after Spica's vision, the demon, Quetzalquilhotep appeared inside their room. Kane jumped; it was the exact thing he feared why he didn't partition his cubicle from the remainder of the room.

“Meeting in the hall now,” he shouted before disappearing once more. Kane had gotten no sleep; he was up thinking about everything from the Hookery to Nox Regia to Spica's vision. Lumia was the first to pull back her curtain. She seemed befuddled to see him staring at her.

“You didn't sleep, did you?” she said rather than asked.

Kane shook his head. “My mind was all over the place.”

Lumia nodded. “It was the same for me when I first came here--didn't sleep at all for the first week.”

Art's curtain ruffled, then was pulled away. The white-haired boy looked like an old man as he yawned.

“Damn Hierocruxes,” he said. “Always choose the wrong time to have their meetings.”

Spica's and Rasmus' curtains were pulled away simultaneously. Kane saw immediately that Rasmus' wound was bleeding, blood draining down his neck. He now caressed it, sliding the wetness between his fingers.

“Why's this thing still bleeding?” he asked, grimacing.

“Happens sometimes. No big deal,” Art said. “I've been dead what--like six months now, and I still feel the pain in my chest. Phantom pain I think it's called.”

“Come on guys, we need to get going,” Lumia said. “You don't want to be late for this meeting. The Hierocruxes have annihilated people for lesser offenses.”

Kane alighted. He was curious to hear what the demon council had to say.

“Let's go,” Art said. He led the way through the room's exit, halting just outside where the giant eye was stitched into the carpet. The white-haired boy stepped onto the eye and disappeared instantly. Lumia coaxed Rasmus forward. The boy hesitated, eyeing Spica, who gave him a reassuring nod. Rasmus vanished. Lumia then shunted Spica forward, but the girl stood her ground.

“You go,” she said. “Kane and I'll come after you.”

Lumia stared at her, then at Kane. “Okay.”

She stepped onto the eye and vanished. Kane smelled a hint of brimstone in her wake. As soon as she was whisked away, Spica turned to him.

“I know we're late, but there's a problem,” she said. Spica's face bore the same distress as it had borne from her vision a few hours ago.

“What kind of problem?”

She looked around her. “I guess we can't speak here for long. We need to find time to speak somewhere private.”

“If there's such a thing as private here,” he added.

Spica shrugged. “I guess some spell can be used since this is a place of magic.”

Kane smirked. “If you had mastered your Obiscule, you probably could have asked it what spell to use.”

Spica's eyes lit up. “I have mastered the Obiscule,” she confirmed much to Kane's bafflement. “Mastered it enough,” she added.

“What do you mean? You just got it. What about last night when you tried asking it a --”

Spica cut him off. “It did answer me, Kane. That's exactly why I wanted to speak with you! That dream I had...it wouldn't even be that urgent if it were just a dream, but since Lumia and Art said it's more of a premonition than a dream, then it's urgent. It concerns Rasmus.”

Kane appreciated the urgency of the situation. But right now he didn't feel like being late for the meeting downstairs. “Fine,” he said. “But we really need to get to that meeting before we get in trouble. Remember, punishment here doesn't affect transcripts, but souls.”

Spica nodded. “Okay, we'll speak immediately afterwards.”

Spica stepped onto the eye and disappeared. Kane followed, the blue bow on his hand flashing as he materialized inside the gilded hall.

“How brave you lot are!” Lumia chastised. “One more second and you'd have faced judgment from the Hierocruxes!”

Kane watched an extremely tall figure rise from a high-backed chair. Kane assumed they were demons since they sported horns, all of five of them--a crude array that resembled a crown. And unlike Kray and Quetzalquilhotep, they wore long red capes with gold trimmings. He saw that it was these demons that were known as Hierocruxes. The one that had just alighted was flanked by two other of his kind who settled at either side of the lectern while the prime Hierocrux readied himself to address them. Kane now saw that each Hierocrux sported finger-length earrings made from what looked to be polished bone. Kane felt a powerful but discordant emission of energy from them. However, the features that most struck Kane were their eyes. He now understood why Lumia had cautioned them against looking into their eyes. Unlike the pitch black eyes of the demons they met so far, the eyes of the Hierocruxes were a forbidding red. By their sinister appearance alone, Kane could tell the eyes observed not only the physicality of matter but deeper. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that they saw the atomic gyrations of solid structures, and could glean the spiritual essence of things at a glance.

“Denizens of the gyrum!” the demon began.

Kane's skin crawled; the voice reeked of mockery and derision.

“The lot has now been complemented. There are now ten of you who fate has chosen to vie for another chance at glory in the higher cosms.” The demon smirked.

Kane had been so invested in the speech and appearance of the Hierocruxes, that he had been oblivious of the other half of the complement--the five who had aligned themselves with Satharchon.

The demon continued, “The astute among you know the event of which I speak. But let me enlighten the ignorant of what shall come to pass mere days from now.”

Spica fidgeted beside him, perhaps uneasy about whatever her vision showed her.

“Monomakia,” the demon said. “Nine letters of either salvation or damnation. The duel that shall liberate some while enslaving others. You have all been randomly paired--your opponent randomly assigned. The duel begins as early as fourteen days from now.”

The demon scrutinized the crowd with his scarlet eyes.

“Don't look into the eyes!” Art warned.

Kane obeyed, turning instead toward the five rowdy Satharites. They seemed to be already eyeing them. Grace winked at him, waving.

The Hierocrux persisted, “I trust you will all use this period to sharpen up on your dueling skills. Get intimate with your soul weapons--use them like an extension of your bodies--which they are in a more spiritual sense. And remember...there is only one rule: fight until one of you dies.”

Kane watched Quetzalquilhotep walk down the aisle and up the rostrum. He made a beeline for the two seated Hierocruxes. He halted, bowed before them, and whispered something. One of them nodded and looked to the other, who then whispered something back to Quetzalquilhotep. The Hierocrux behind the lectern watched this exchange, caressing one of his horns. When the discussion finally ended, Quetzalquilhotep ambled from the platform, positioning himself in a corner beside the bulky Bullwark. One of the Hierocruxes now stood and engaged the other who was giving the speech.

“SPICA!” the demon shouted. They all jumped at the sudden address, especially Spica who almost lost her footing.

“Please stay behind. We have an important matter to discuss.”

All eyes were now on Spica, whose eyes were attracted to the carpet like a magnet.

“Spica, did you tell Quetzalquilhotep your soul weapon did appear? That's probably what this is about.” Lumia looked concerned.

“No, forgot,” she said.

Art scratched his head. “That just might be your first blunder here in the gyrum, Spica. You should have told that demon the second you saw him... to avoid getting the Hierocruxes involved.”

“Now you're gonna have to face them,” Art said, sighing.

Spica froze.

“Don't scare her, Art. Spica dear, all you have to do is avoid eye contact and don't lie.”

The Hierocrux addressed them again. “And one more matter before we're dismissed. Yesterday, someone breached the demonic Oath. That someone gave some of our newest members here forbidden information while blaspheming against Satharchon, the one true god. We decided to show publicly just how we deal with this kind of heresy.”

“Oh damn!” Art exclaimed. “Who's the unlucky soul?” Art sighed.

The Hierocrux nodded to Quetzalquilhotep, who spun around to face what Kane thought was a bare wall. The two-horned demon used his fingers to trace something on the surface. To Kane's surprise, a door opened in the wall. Bullwark and the others showed no signs this surprised them. Tessa even smiled, whispering something to Bullwark. Chains rattled, and the next thing Kane knew, someone was being pulled out of the hollow space in the wall. His limbs were cuffed in thick chains. Kane, Spica, and Rasmus all gasped.

“Isn't that?” Rasmus started.

Kane knew exactly what he meant to say. He was a hundred percent sure that was the demon Kray from Blagoborgobath with his sole horn and characteristically smooth skin.

“Kray?” Kane said. “Why's he bound?” His uneasiness increased in light of the plot now unraveling before him.

“You met Kray?” Art inquired.

“Why wouldn't we?” Kane answered. “Isn't he the demon who transports the dead from the land of the red moon to Hellenogyrum?”

Art glanced at Lumia. “Not for a long time,” he said. “Kray was exiled for his misdeeds here in the gyrum. They tried to kill him but rumor has it he was too powerful, so they exiled him instead.”

“I found him to be quite friendly actually,” Spica said. “Sad.”

Kane nodded. “Me too. I don't think he's an enemy to Oebielites.”

“And that right there, is probably why they want to kill him,” Lumia explained. “And clearly you lot are the newcomers he revealed 'forbidden' information to.”

Kane watched as the one-horned demon was led up the platform.

“They're going to kill his soul?” Rasmus asked.

Lumia nodded. “I think so. Though I don't think annihilation for a demon works in the same way it would work for a human.”

The two other Hierocruxes rose, and together with the first Hierocrux, arranged themselves in a triangle around Kray. At once, there was a bright green light connecting the horns of each Hierocrux. The triangle seemed to act like a sort of triangular prison. It reminded Kane of his tetrahedron shield that he had perfected back at Nox Regia. He wondered if he was still competent at it, or even if he could still perform the spell without his Obiscule. He glanced at his glowing bow, wondering if it was a worthy replacement for the Obiscule. He noted that Spica was watching him.

“Sad, isn't it?” she said. “He seemed nice to me. It's a shame this is his fate.”

Kane nodded.

“Do you have any final words before you're wiped from memory, traitor?” one of the horned demons snarled.

Kray raised his head, and to Kane's surprise, the bound demon looked directly at him and smiled.

“Why's he smiling?” Spica mused. “Is he insane?”

Lumia answered, “He's a demon after all. Demons don't process things like humans do. But yes, smiling is odd even for their kind in this situation.”

“Let us begin,” the lead Hierocrux said brusquely.

The demons then spoke in unison. “In the name of Satharchon, blessed incarnation of the holy chaos, whose will is ours to execute with impunity. Let the raging fires of the Infernuum whittle away to oblivion this fallen one whose sin is blasphemy...heresy.”

Kane watched as a raging wind began lashing Kray. His horn broke and was lost in the swirling wind. Fire rose from beneath him, rising up his shackled feet. Spica covered her eyes as Kray's teeth gnashed. The prospect of soul-death seemed to have finally dawned on the demon, for he looked about him as if shaken from a bad dream. He raised his hands above his head as the chaotic fire ravaged his midriff. Kane took his raised hands as a gesture of capitulation, but something happened that proved his assumption false: one of the Hierocruxes staggered backward as if pushed by an invisible force. This broke the fiery triangle that linked them along with the incantation that was calling forth the all-consuming fire from beneath. The Hierocrux who had lost his footing seemed to be trying to renew the connection, but a force flung him crashing into the lectern.

“Oops!” Art exclaimed. “He's fighting back!”

By now the hall was reducing to bedlam; Bullwark's crew retreated from the flames, some screaming. Quetzalquilhotep shouted at them to port themselves back to the upper level. They obeyed, scampering for the eye on the carpet.

“Damn! How quickly things can turn to shit here,” Lumia commented. “I think we should leave too before Kray kills everybody.”

But Kane didn't feel at all like leaving. He wanted to see if Kray would escape. Rasmus and Spica didn't move either; they were caught up with watching the scene unfold. The fallen Hierocrux didn't rise. The other two hurled spells at Kray, one of which sliced off his right arm. Blood gushed freely, which seemed to enliven the dying flames.

“Oh my!” Spica exclaimed.

Kane grimaced. Even though the triangular prison was broken, it seemed Kray was still somehow trapped inside a barrier.

“He's gonna die!” Spica moaned.

When the last of the Satharite children had ported through the eye, Quetzalquilhotep marched toward their group. Suddenly, Kane wanted to do something to help Kray before the demon shunted them to their rooms. But what could he do now? Then it happened, a moment he knew he would regret as long as he lived. Kray the demon was torn apart limb by limb. Lumia screamed, and Spica covered her mouth, dumbstruck. Rasmus and Art silently watched the ghastly scene. The Hierocruxes erupted into what Kane assumed was a triumphant grin. The turned tides halted Quetzalquilhotep, who turned to gaze upon the fate of his wayward kin. By now, Kray had only half of his body, the other half already reduced to ash. Then without warning, his head was engulfed in the mysterious flames. Lumia screamed again having hazarded another glance at the grisly lynching. Then it was over, Kray was annihilated, burnt into nothingness. The fire popped and vanished. Kane saw no residue of Kray left, not even ashes to prove he had even existed. Not a moment spared, one of the Hierocruxes directed his scarlet eyes at them.

“Quetzalquilhotep! Bring the girl who lacks a soul weapon.”

They all glanced at Spica. Lumia nudged her as the demon approached them once more.

“Tell him you already have your soul weapon,” she said, her tone urgent. “So you don't have to face them.”

The demon motioned for Spica to approach. She did, stepping from the group toward him. But when Kane had thought she would tell the demon she already had her weapon, she followed him down the aisle and up the rostrum.

“What the hell is your friend doing?” Art asked, turning to Rasmus.

Kane was wondering the same thing as Quetzalquilhotep spoke to the group of three five-horned demons. They all towered over Spica. Kane feared for Spica's life as he watched her speak. The demons' scarlet eyes seemed to bore into her skull.

“I'm usually an optimist, but I don't see this going right at all,” Lumia said. “You lot are full of surprises.”

“Don't fret,” Rasmus said. “If there's anything Spica can do is speak her way out of anything.”

Right on cue, Kane watched all three Hierocruxes nodding. What could she possibly have told a trio of cold-blooded demons for them to nod? He wondered.

“Lumia and Art to your rooms now!” Quetzalquilhotep's voice rang through the hall like a bell.

“Kane and Rasmus, step here. The council wants to meet you.”

Art grimaced. “Careful guys.”

Lumia laid her hands on Kane's arm, her eyes flashing a bright amber. “Felici,” she intoned. It sounded like a chant. Kane felt heat coursing through his left hand as she left.

When Kane made it up the platform, he felt an oppressive force squeezing against him. He wondered if it was the Hierocruxes' auras or the sorcery they had just used to banish Kray.

“Antonio Kane,” one of the demons roared. “Bearer of the disgraceful eye of Oebiel.”

Kane glanced at the demon and immediately felt a sharp pain in his side.

“I would end Oebiel's dreams right now if it wasn't for the fact that I believe in Satharchon's supremacy in all things. You shall perish in the Monomakia.”

They turned to Rasmus. “Rasmus, child of the dark. Quetzalquilhotep tells me your soul weapon is a Pyrodactyle. That is very revealing. We of course expect great things from you.”

Kane's ears perked up, wondering if he'd heard correctly. Did they just refer to Rasmus as a child of the dark? If that wasn't a clear reference to Satharchon, he didn't know what was. Rasmus was probably as clueless as he was. Kane realized that it was possible that just as how he was chosen by Oebiel (revealed by his Oy'oro), it was also possible for someone to be chosen by Satharchon. He then wondered if someone could make a conscious decision not to follow the God who had chosen them. Kane sensed Rasmus shivering at his side. Spica in contrast seemed more composed, which was rather suspicious given the tenseness of the air around them.

“Alas!” Another of the Hierocruxes exclaimed. “Quetzalquilhotep...is it possible you didn't recite the soul weapon incantation correctly? After all, having no soul weapon is so rare that I can't imagine that's the case now.”

The demon Quetzalquilhotep bowed. “I performed it twice, your majesty. I doubt I erred in the execution.”

The Hierocrux placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. “I don't doubt your competence. But I have to make sure.”

Quetzalquilhotep nodded. “Wisdom spills from your lips, your majesty.”

Kane was petrified. Had Spica really not told the Hierocruxes her soul weapon materialized last night? What could possibly justify hiding that information from the demon council, especially after what Art and Lumia had told them about being shifty with the Hierocruxes? After what they did to Kray, Kane thought it was a no-brainer to tell the truth.

“Give me your hand, Spica,” one of the Hierocruxes instructed.

Spica offered a shaking hand, which was taken. There were six-inch claws on the demon's fingers, one of which he used to slice Spica's palm. A moan left her as blood flowed. The demon then whispered something Kane assumed was the soul weapon incantation, then waited, his head raised.

Nothing.

“Peculiar,” the Hierocrux mouthed. “Very peculiar.”

He glanced directly at Spica. “Girl...you don't happen to be lying to us...are you?” The voice was a low, snake-like hiss.

Spica was silent for a while. Rasmus took a deep breath. Kane shot her a sharp glance.

“You can ask Quetzalquilhotep. My soul weapon didn't manifest when he did the incantation.”

She had skillfully avoided eye contact without it being too obvious, Kane noted.

“That is true,” the two-horned demon confirmed.

Yet another bout of silence tested their hearts before the Hierocrux spoke again. “Nyxilhotep. What do you think?” He turned to the demon on his right.

The demon Nyxilhotep spoke, “Well..the law of the gyrum states that everyone has to be granted the sovereign right of protecting themselves, whether Oebielite or Satharite. And here, the soul weapon is the primary way of doing just that. Hence, we have to oblige Spica. And since she has already pledged herself as a Satharite, it prompts me even more.”

The demon's words petrified Kane. It was as if he had died all over again. The nightmare of the night Tony bellowed the killing spell played in his mind like a horror flick. Rasmus turned to her fully, his face betraying his confusion.

“What date were you born, Spica?” Nyxilhotep asked.

Spica smiled. “September nineteenth.”

Nyxilhotep raised his horned head, deep in thought. After a brief moment, he leveled his head at her.

“So, you're a Virgo.”

Spica nodded. “Yes sir.”

He turned to the remaining Hierocrux who had yet to speak.“Philhotep, what's the gyrum's parallel of the Virgo zodiac?” he asked.

The Hierocrux named Philhotep groaned. “That's the Ivory Queen, I think.”

“Right,” Nyxilhotep scoffed. “One of the three Oebiel inspired zodiacs.”

Nyxilhotep glared at Spica. Kane felt a wave of abhorrence coursing from the demon. Spica had resorted to taking deep, silent breaths. Kane imagined she was trying her best to not crack under the pressure of the Hierocruxes' auras and unwavering gaze.

“Very well. We have in our possession two artefacts that channels the Ivory Queen: The Obiscule and the Starshiner. Obviously, you can't have the Obiscule since they are reserved for the demon council. That leaves...”

The demon paused, raising his hand into which something fell.

“Behold! The opalescent Starshiner!”

The demon lowered his hand and revealed an object not much larger than a pea. At first, Kane thought it was a joke, but the demon qualified what it was. It resembled a tiny pearl.

“The Starshiner is an extremely powerful artefact. One sufficiently energized expulsion can crumble cosms. Even gods fear it! Use wisely.”

Spica took it. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome child. Now go up to your room. I suggest you start figuring out how to use it. The Starshiner doesn't reveal its secrets easily.”

With that, Nyxilhotep clapped his hands, and the three Hierocruxes vanished without a trace.

“To your rooms,” Quetzalquilhotep reiterated.

Kane led the way to the eye on the carpet. He felt betrayed by Spica upon learning she had pledged allegiance to Satharchon. The eye took him to the entrance of the room, which he entered. Art leaped from the bed as soon as he saw him, bounding toward him. Just then, he heard a pop as someone materialized behind him; he didn't look to see who it was.

“Dude, what happened down there?” Art quizzed. “We were worried Spica would get annihilated.”

Lumia glanced at him eagerly with her amber eyes.

“She pledged allegiance to Satharchon,” Kane said bluntly, heading straight for his cubicle.

“What?” Art followed him.

“What was that, Kane?” Lumia asked.

Kane didn't respond. At this point, he didn't know who to trust after what had happened. Not only did Spica pledge allegiance to Satharchon, but she was also acting as though doing so was normal--like betraying him was child's play. Spica and Rasmus strolled past his cubicle hand in hand. Kane tried to avoid eye-contact just as he'd been told to do when faced with a Hierocrux.

Rasmus grinned. “Spica told me you were in on it too, Kane. Told you she can talk her way out of anything.”

Spica smiled, punching Rasmus playfully. “I didn't say Kane was in on it.”

“In on what?” Art inquired. “Kane came in all mopey, so I thought the worst had happened.”

Rasmus glanced at Kane. “Spica convinced the demons to give her another soul weapon.”

“Impossible,” Art said, looking from Rasmus to Spica.

“Show it to them, babe,” Rasmus said, beaming.

Spica hesitated. Kane saw that she was looking at him. “You okay, Kane. You don't look too--”

“I'm fine,” he interjected. “Just didn't think you would pledge allegiance to Satharchon after what we spoke about yesterday in this very room.”

Spica narrowed her eyes. “Aww. That's what you're sad about? Well, I lied to the Hierocruxes.”

“SHHH! Keep your voice down,” Lumia warned. “You lied to the Hierocruxes?”

“Yes. Remember that dream...or vision I had last night? Among other things, the Obiscule pretty much predicted everything to me. It said I shouldn't tell them I had the Obiscule. It also said the reason it didn't appear when Quetzalquilhotep had summoned it was because it didn't want the demons to discover I had it. And now you guys have to keep that secret.”

“Wow!” Art exclaimed. “This just keeps getting better.”

Lumia said. “I think the decision to lie to the Hierocruxes is either very brave or very foolish. I'm not sure which. Time will tell, I guess. But I'll keep the secret.”

“I wouldn't have done it if I were in your position, to be honest,” Art admitted. “Too risky. I mean...you saw what they did to Kray. And Kray is much much more powerful than you.”

“I was scared there for a second though,” Rasmus said. “That time when they asked Spica point blank if she was lying to them.”

Spica sniggered.

Art glanced at Lumia. “Talk about flirting with danger. So where's this new soul weapon?” he asked.

Spica rummaged through her pocket and withdrew the tiny object. She held it up, the pea-sized nacre shimmering celestially.

“Isn't that the Starshiner?” Lumia asked.

“Yep. They said it's an Oebiel inspired soul weapon,” Rasmus informed.

“The Ivory Queen,” Spica added.

“Hmmm.” Lumia looked skeptical. “Something doesn't seem right.”

“Why do you say that?” Kane asked. He was feeling much less betrayed after Spica's explanation. In fact, he believed he probably owed her an apology; what she did was actually selfless...exactly what he would have done. Of course, she had yet to reveal the part of the dream she claimed involved Rasmus.

“I dunno,” Lumia began. “You got away with too much. The Hierocruxes aren't known to be this sloppy. I mean...first they fell for your lie, which they NEVER do. And now you're telling me they literally gifted you the Starshiner. Something's off here.”

“Yeah, but you're missing something,” Spica said. “Remember I told them I pledged allegiance to Satharchon. That might have softened them up a bit. And they did say they were mandated to give me a soul weapon...that it was a law that everyone have one.”

Lumia shook her head. “It has to be more than that. I can feel it. There's some trick involved in this.”

“Lumia is right,” Art began. “But it's strange. If they really believed Spica pledged allegiance to Satharchon then it would make no sense giving you the Starshiner, yet if they thought you were lying and that you really are an Oebielite, it still wouldn't make sense because they would be helping you.”

Kane was confused. The Hierocrux giving such a powerful weapon to someone they thought was a Satharite made sense to him. Kane failed to see the deception in that. Lumia's eyes brightened in contrast as if some truth had dawned on her.

“Oh right! Satharites cannot use artifacts of Oebiel. So if the Hierocruxes really believed you're a Satharite, they'll know you won't be able to use it no matter how much you try!”

“Could it be...” Art began. “Could it be that they did things the ethical way for once, giving Spica what matches her nature?”

“I actually think they did the right thing,” Spica admitted. “They did ask me for my zodiac sign before associating it with an artifact. Granted, they did realize that my zodiac is associated with an Oebiel inspired artifact, but I don't think it automatically means I'm an Oebielite.”

A sound at the door startled them. Kane, who was closest to the door, saw a figure dart away just before he could see who it was. He dashed to the door to see who was eavesdropping, but when he reached the crude porting eye, he saw no one. The person had already ported away, he presumed. Brimstone lingered, mixed with a scent he was all too familiar with from his time on his farm in South Hargreave Hollow: Dogwood trees. These sturdy trees lined the section of his farm closest to the Mersi forest. It was from them that he fashioned Tomahawk, his slingshot. At this moment, he was inhaling the scent produced by the flowers of a Dogwood. Art and Lumia bustled out beside him, their faces grave with worry.

“New rule: No discussion about matters of Oebiel and Satharchon here. Too unsafe,” Art said.

“Neither the Hierocruxes,” Lumia added.

Kane nodded. They went back inside where Spica and Rasmus were sitting on Rasmus' bed.

“Who was that?” Spica asked.

Lumia shrugged. “Someone who probably heard everything we said and is now heading straight for the Hierocruxes' Pyramid to inform them of our treachery. There will be no chatting about such things from now on.”

“So where can we talk?” Kane asked. It seemed to him that a secret location to discuss such things was very necessary in a place like this where they were pretty much prey.

Art sat on his bed. “There aren't many places. But I do think we should head outside now. Lumia and I delayed opening this parcel until you guys arrived.”

Art stood, holding up a large parcel.

“What is it?” Rasmus asked.

“It's our Monomakia pairings,” he replied. “Or more precisely, the person who we will have to kill for us to leave the gyrum alive.”

Lumia added, stretching. “Or who we're gonna be killed by.”

The Sanguinarian

“So you're a vampire?” Parris questioned.

“I prefer the term Sanguinarian, but yes.”

Parris' eyes flew to Sam, who somehow didn't feel as terrified as he should have been feeling after such a pronouncement. Gem seemed just a tad more alert than usual, her eyes upon Cole.

“Sooo, who's to say you won't...you know...drink our blood?” Parris continued.

Cole guffawed, putting his hands up defensively. “I'll try my best not to. But I'm not making any promises.”

They fell silent. That wasn't an encouraging response, Sam thought. Parris smiled sheepishly.

“That was an attempt at humor,” Cole said. “But allow me to educate you. The belief all vampires drink blood is an annoying misconception. Some do, while others prefer to absorb the energy of a host.”

“Then what type are you?” Sam asked quickly.

“I mostly drink blood,” Cole said. “But no need to worry, I have superb control over my urges. I also absorb on occasion when I'm lazy.”

Still, Sam didn't find his response assuring in any sense.

“Anyway, enough about my vampiric ways. We actually have a lot to do.”

Gem raised her hand as if she were in school. “May I ask one more question, sir?”

Cole sighed. “Sure.”

“If vampires exist, what about werewolves and all the other creatures of 'mythology'. Do they exist too?”

Cole raised his head. “In some form they do. If not here on our plane, then elsewhere. Remember that myth is not contrived in a vacuum; it is based on something that was true or close to being true. As for werewolves specifically, they absolutely exist here in the Triskai. In fact, I am very good friends with one, though as a rule I find it better to avoid them. I find them rather unpredictable. Witches, Vampires, and Werewolves are at the dominant beings of power on this plane. ”

Cole was silent for a while, gazing off into space as if he were regarding something in the darkness they couldn't see.

“Okay, so let's get back to the matter at hand. This is what I learned from Sybel. Sam's sister died leaving behind the Seal of Obsidian, which was being sought by at least one witch.”

That same character, realizing the book won't part with Sam, resorted to causing turmoil among you lot, which ultimately resulted in your friend's death. Is there anything I'm leaving out?”

“No that just about sums it up,” Sam replied. “You only left out the fact that it was our friend, Tony who killed him.”

“Right. And that's the main reason why I'm here. From what I understand, he did not do so of his own free will, and I am tasked with trying to free him from the clutches of darkness.”

“Don't be so downcast, children. There is yet hope for your friend, Kane.”

“Hope?” Parris repeated. “Whatever does that mean?”

Sam wondered the same thing. Before Cole could elaborate, Gem spoke.

“Sybel said Kane isn't technically dead since his soul left his body inside the Jansky House, which acts as a door, just like the Candentis Oak.”

Parris narrowed her eyes.

Cole nodded. “Correct, doors transport souls from cosm to cosm, so Kane losing his soul inside the door would trick it into thinking it's still anchored to the Triskai, and is simply being transported to another cosm.”

Parris opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but she remained silent.

“What we're about to do to retrieve Kane isn't easy though. It is forbidden and dangerous wouldn’t be possible without Sam.”

“Without me?” he repeated. “Why is that?”

Cole glanced at him. “You are the only one among your friends who can accompany me into the lower cosms. I sure you were told about this.”

Sam was stunned into silence. Bode did tell them this needed to be done, but he didn’t mention he was the one to do it. 

“I mean. Why not Parris? She’s more skilled at magic than I am.”

Parris gave him a nasty look. “Go flib your nib, you quib!” she said, pointing to the Mersi forest. Gem laughed out loud.

“Only you can make the trip for obvious reasons, Sam,” Cole informed.

“Obvious reasons?” Gem repeated. “Am I missing something?” Gem looked from Sam to Cole, who now shook his head.

“So Sybel didn't tell you that either,” he said, more to himself.

“Tell us what?” Parris pressed.

Cole flashed a devilish smile, baring his elongated canines. The Obiscule's rays fell upon Cole's bleach-white face.

 “Can't say I'm entirely sure why Sybel withheld such a detail,” he said. “But she must have known...must have seen...” he paused, steadying his eyes upon Sam again. Sam barely withstood the force his eyes seemed to expel, waiting with bated breath for the news Sybel did not tell.

“Perhaps we should make sure I'm correct. Have you guys ever done a flame test?”

Sam shook his head.

“I'm pretty sure I've heard that term before,” Parris mused.

Gem nodded. “Something similar. Remember when we were figuring out how to travel through the Oak to Nox Regia? The parchment told us to activate out spirit keys, or spirit flame. Is that the same thing?” Gem asked.

“Yes, one and the same. This time, however, we'll be analyzing the flame itself. It's surprising how revealing a person's spirit flame can reveal about his nature. Now take out your Obiscules.”

Each of them withdrew the glassy rock.

“Okay, I'll do a demonstration, so you'll see what you need to do for the flame test.”

He brought his pale hand up to his chest in a gesture resembling a military drill. All five of them stepped back as an iridescent flame burst forth from Cole's stone. Someone shrieked as the thin vaporous wisps resembling angry snakes coiled and uncoiled, cracking like whips. Sam counted ten distinct flames, and a faint blue light framing the outer aspects of each flame.

“Don't be fooled by the colorful nature of my flame. It means I lack an individual soul: part of the souls of the people whose blood I've drunk are sealed inside me. It is usual for a person's flame to be either monochromatic or dichromatic”

Parris asked, “That means 'one or two-colored' right?”

Cole nodded. The vampire persisted, “Notice the faint blue tinge at the edge of each flame?” he said. “It represents what the caster is currently going through in life. This outer light can change from time to time. Blue normally indicates youthful exuberance and general happiness, but it can also mean mortal peril.”

Cole lowered his hand, his last words hanging in the air like a guillotine. “Gemini, please step forward,” he ordered.

Gem did so tentatively, looking about her.

“Obiscule to your chest.” Cole mimicked his previous gesture.

As Gem pressed her hands to her chest, a flame ignited. It was amorphous, crackling even fiercer than Cole's. The brick-red hue was a blob of roiling smoke-jello. Gem had her eyes closed. Sam noticed that white light was forming around the constantly shifting flame, bright and effulgent. Cole analyzed the flame, shadows playing across his pallid visage.

“Red soul flames indicate someone predisposed to the finer arts of magic: like dream travel and divination. Sybel mastered this aspect of magic.”

Gem fidgeted uneasily. Knowing her secretive nature, Sam reckoned she was afraid Cole might reveal too much about her to them.

Cole continued, “People with red soul flames are temperamental and possessive.”

Parris nodded, “That's my Gem.”

“As for the white rim...it is rare. As you may well know, the color white is basically what you get when you combine all colors. With all the colors coming together, it can suggest chaos in a person's life...turmoil and trying times. But on the flip side, it can also symbolize harmony. Another thing about the red flames I forgot to mention is that these people are adept in blood magic--an ability called Feruum that I suspect will be an important factor later. In light of the Blood Quintet, Gem represents the glue that binds the group together, preventing the amalgamated power from dissipating.”

Sam saw that Gem's face had a tear trickling down. Cole saw it as well. “Okay Gemini. Well done. Put away your stone,” he ordered.

He scrutinized Gem as she stepped back into the group before pointing at Parris. “Your turn.”

Parris' flame erupted on the first try. The pulsating ivory-white burst from around her stone like fireworks.

“Wow!” Parris exclaimed as the energetic pulses jerked her entire body. This was the most animated flame yet. Sam watched the light- storm assume a tornado-like funnel shape.

He glanced at Cole and gleaned from his muted expression that there was nothing weird about the flame.

Cole laughed haughtily, his canines bared. “Ever the ebullient one. I should have known your Obiscule was going to emit this kind of flame.”

Just now, the secondary color appeared around the edge-- a faint blue tinge. The

“White flames represent a soul competent in conjuration and summoning. It betrays a pure spirit, and is one of the surest ways to know that a person is an Oebielite by blood. We've seen the blue tinge before. It betrays a soul going through some sort of internal turmoil. These people, much like those with white rimmed flames, are more able than most to cope with obstacles thrown their way. In terms of your place in the Blood Quintet, think of yourself as the divine will or the word. Your power is known as the Loguum.”

Parris beamed, stepping back into line.

Cole said, “Sam your turn. This is just to make sure I'm not mistaken.”

Sam gulped. His palms had gotten clammy, and his heart was slamming into his chest. Why was he so nervous? he thought as he broke from the group. He brought his Obiscule up to his chest and pressed. Nothing.

“Other hand,” Cole yelled.

Switching the stone to his right hand, Sam slung it across his chest and squeezed. Sure enough, the flame bustled out of his hand. It felt warm against his flesh. There seemed to be some magnetic force between the stone and his heart-- that if he released the stone it would stick to his chest. A couple more seconds saw the flame crackling, releasing sounds recalling fireworks before settling into a constant hum. Sam noticed all of them were a few feet back from where they had been initially. He didn't understand their reaction. Cole's voice combated the crackling flame.

“Okay, that's it. Lower your Obiscule, Sam.”

“It's just like the rabbit you conjured in Mr. Bruce's Conjuration class! Your soul flame is pitch black!” Parris said excitedly.

Sam levered his hand off his chest, vanishing the flames. Cole shook his head ruefully before speaking again. “I knew I was right. But it was still intense to witness it in person.”

“What does it mean?” Sam interjected, preparing for the worst.

“Before I get into that,” Cole said. “A few questions arise about why your flame is the way it is. First question...where is your mother? Sybel told me your father died a few years ago. But what about your mother?”

Sam was confused about what his mother had to do with his black flame. “She died,” he replied. “Under weird circumstances.”

Cole grimaced. “Doesn't that sound odd to you?”

Sam had gone through this line of thinking for years. “Of course it sounds odd. Someone doesn't just die without something killing them.”

Cole nodded. “I see.”

Cole subjected him to his piercing eye. “Did you attend her funeral?”

Sam stared straight back into the cloudy eye, knowing exactly where he was going with this line of questioning. It still made him feel uncomfortable.

“My mother is dead, okay? If she were alive, she wouldn't have abandoned me.”

Cole shrugged, “Perhaps, but that's not the point. Did you...attend her funeral? Looked at her corpse?” Cole pressed.

“No I didn't, but...”

“No need to explain, Sam. My aim here is not to find out if she died or not, but to find out a bit more about her and her lineage.”

“But what does that have to do with the flame?” Parris asked.

“Okay, let me try to elaborate,” Cole said. “Much like a person's DNA, a person's soul has attributes of both parents. Sybel and I had a long talk about this very topic before she died. It's crucial we figure this out to know what happens next. She revealed to me that your sister, Sally, whom she knew well, had a violet soul flame...a monochromatic soul flame that is.”

“Oh I see where this is going now!” Parris said. “It's kind of like the genetics topic in Mr. Ipstein's Bio class. You're doing some sort of soul flame paternity test.”

“Hehe. I guess that's one way to put it. But don't interrupt, Parris. It's easy to break the chain of logic here. So where were we? Right... Sally's soul flame is violet. Now you and Sally share a father, correct?”

Sam nodded.

“Tell me if you see the problem. According to how this works, since you and Sally share a father, you two are supposed to have at least one matching soul flame color to represent your shared father. But we all saw just now that no part of Sam's soul flame was violet. Now...there are two possible conclusions we can draw from this logic. Let me see if you guys can figure it out. Another thing to note is that a person's main soul flame always comes from their father, never their mother...unless under extremely rare circumstances.”

Sam shook from the suspense. His brain was too nervous to think.

Gem spoke. “It isn't too difficult to figure out. From all that you've said, we can conclude that Sam's father's soul flame is black.”

Parris nodded. “Wait a sec...oh my god! Are you saying Sam's father isn't his father?”

“BINGO!” Cole rang. “But that's only half of the story. Remember that the soul is a thing of light. I don't have the full knowledge, but what I know is that black flames don't come from a human soul.”

Sam's heart flipped inside his chest. “You mean it's from animals?” he tried.

“No, not quite. I have seen a soul with a black lining before. That means the individual is possessed. But I've never seen the main part of person's flame being black like yours.”

Sam was silent, his mind numbed by Cole's revelation.

  “I guess it's pointless not to reveal such information. It will be revealed anyway,” Cole whispered. “You're a....”

“Demon,” Sam finished the sentence. Gem and Parris gasped in unison.

Cole nodded. “Good. You figured it out.”

“Sam's a demon?” Gem's face had gotten as pale as a ghost.

“Half demon. His mother is a human which gives him his human aspect.” He paused, seeing Sam's dejection. “You have a unique place in the Blood Quintet, Sam. Your power is the Vibruum, or the Leveling Resonance to magnify powers to cosm-shattering degrees. Note how everything has worked itself out perfectly--one of you needed to be able to travel to the cosms of the dead without being ripped apart by the discordant forces rampant in the place. Sam fits the bill since he's part demon. Otherwise, your other friend would have been lost forever...the Triskai as we know it obliterated by the Veil Rapture.”

Sam felt his heartbeat quicken, but he really couldn't say he was surprised. After all, many things have pointed to the fact that at the very least, he was a weird human being: the fact that people kept dying around him-- his mother, the man he thought was his father, Sally, and now Kane, his black soul flame, the black rabbit he'd evoked in Mr. Bruce's Conjuration class, the black flame he'd evoked to escape the land that almost swallowed him in its terrible mire, to most recently when his Obiscule pitched black flames, only for him to be saved by a mysterious being. Everything pointed to weirdness. He noticed Parris had her hands cupped over her mouth, her eyes on him. Gem also stole furtive glances at him through the side of her eye.

“Yeah, I've been known to be tactless,” Cole said. “Especially among humans. It's impossibly difficult to maneuver between your species' frail emotions. Actually, I probably should have told you in secrecy, Sam. I can erase their....”

“It's fine,” Gem quipped. “We've dealt with stranger things.”

“Phew!” Parris huffed. “I'm pretty sure you're going to have to speak for yourself on that one, Gem. This is by far the strangest thing I've ever heard.”

Parris never took her eyes off him as she spoke. “What about Tony? How does he come into the picture after what he's done?”

“A great question,” Cole said. “We have to address his situation first, I think. By the way, did you guys manage to get the master Obiscule? That's where we start.”

“No,” Sam said. “I went to get it, but I someone got there before. Attacked me while he was at it...a giant snake.”

Cole shook his head, frowning. “Such a mess Sybel has placed me in. I need to find who took it and--”

“I already know who took it,” Sam interjected.

“Silver Man.”

The Pairings

After porting through two eyes stitched into the carpet on ever-higher levels of the Pyramid, the five found themselves on the square roof of the Pyramid frustum. A constant draft whipped them as they steadied themselves from the dizzying transit, and Kane wondered about the safety of their location. The apex of the Pyramid frustum was a great unit length square kilometer, much larger than Kane had imagined. The idea was that supposedly, at such a height (one kilometer from the ground), it was not as easy for anyone to surveil them using magic. Art, however, had hastened to say that the theory wasn't absolute, and that depending on the strength of the sorcery cast, someone's magic could bypass the distance and spy on them. With that said, they were at the safest place where that was concerned.

But as Kane looked around him, he saw nothing but a bleak, volcanic land with deep infernal gorges with red hot lava moving through them like thick blood. In some places, the smoldering ground issued a languid white vapor that veiled a cross-section of the ground like a creeping spirit. Something about the dark landscape broken by the glowing fissures was beautiful and horrifying at the same time. The sky above them shared the same duality equally off-putting as it was mesmeric, dominated by a giant spiral of stars and color. Spica now pointed at it.

“What's that?” she asked.

“That's the gyrum,” Lumia stated. “The cosmic eye of spinning color.”

Kane observed it, an uneasiness creeping through him. “So that's where the 'gyrum' in Hellenogyrum comes from?”

Art nodded. “Yes. Though I'm not sure what the 'helleno' means.”

“Time to reveal our opponents. Ready?”

No one answered him. The white-haired boy opened the parcel nevertheless.

“Here they are. Come close so the wind doesn't steal my announcement.”

They did. Spica appeared suddenly depressed, a slight grimace on her face.

“And these are randomly chosen, correct?” Rasmus confirmed.

Lumia nodded. “So they say.”

“First pairing: Tessa versus Ruel.”

Lumia cocked her head. “So it really is random,” she said. “I thought it would be strictly Oebielites against Satharites. Hmmm. This makes matters infinitely more complex.”

Kane agreed. He could already see that some of his friends were going to be paired against each other.

Art continued, “Second pairing: Lumia versus Clementine.”

The copper-haired girl smiled. “I love it. No objections here.”

Art continued, “Third pairing: Spica versus Grace.”

Kane remembered Grace as the short-haired, goth girl with a black rose in her hair.

“Hmm,” Spica hummed. “That's the one-eyed girl right? She won't see the death I'll be sending her way then.”

Art and Lumia roared with laughter. “No, the one eyed girl is Clementine. She's my opponent.”

“Such confidence though! But be careful, in your current state, I don't think you stand a chance against Grace.”

Spica frowned. “Really? Even with my two soul weapons?”

Lumia nodded. “Just being honest. Confidence is good, but that alone isn't much.”

Art nodded. “Lumia is right. But we'll discuss the strategy we'll use against each of our opponents when we get through these pairings.”

“Go ahead,” Rasmus said.

“You're next actually,” Art said. “Rasmus versus Bullwark.” Kane watched Art's face crumple as soon as he announced the pairing.

“That's tough,” he said. “But you do have a Dragon. You taming it is key, I think.”

“Easier said than done,” Lumia inputted. “You'll struggle with Bullwark, Rasmus. No doubt about it. But we'll help you.”

“Appreciate it,” Rasmus said. Spica ruffled his hair.

Kane sighed as he realized that only one pair was left. He had a feeling something like this would happen.

Art looked down at the paper. “Damn, Kane,” he said. “You're my opponent.”

There was silence for about a minute, the wind lashing their bodies.

Lumia spoke, “I guess we have to find some loophole to--”

“Come on, Lumia,” Art interjected. “You're the one who stressed not fooling ourselves. We all know there are no loopholes. It's simple: one of us has to die.”

“But--” Lumia began. “I know I said that, but the rules change when the soul of one of our own is in the balance.”

Spica nodded. “I agree with Lumia. There must be some trick. And even if there's none, I'll invent it.”

Spica's words hung heavy in the air. Kane sensed the power behind them, though he knew she didn't exactly know how she would 'invent' such a thing.

“So now that that's done, we have to discuss each pairing and the best way to counter our opponent's soul weapon.”

“Right,” Kane said. “That will direct how we should train.”

“Precisely.” Lumia's eyes flashed in the bleak light.

Art glanced at the paper. “The first pairing is inconsequential: Tessa and Ruel.” He paused. “But let's discuss it anyway.”

Lumia said, “You know, despite Art's pairing with Kane, things could have gone a lot worse. Case in point, Tessa. Her soul weapon is the Kh'Virah the soul scatterer. It's slow, but if it catches you, you lose one of your bodies instantly.”

“Lose one of your bodies? What does that mean?” Rasmus asked.

Kane remembered how Kray described it to him. A sharp sadness descended upon him as he remembered how helpful the demon was to him.

“We were all born with three bodies and a soul,” he explained. “When we die for the first time, we lose one, and when we cross the Amaranthine river, we lose another. So I guess we all now have one body and our soul.”

“Wonderful explanation!” Lumia said.

“So wait a second,” Spica said. “So if we lose the body we have now, then that's it? I thought we had another chance at making it back up even if we are killed here.”

“Partially correct,” Art said. “If you die an unspectacular death here in Hellenogyrum, you lose the body you have now, and your soul goes downward, skipping Schizopneum directly below and gets ensnared within Ossiphangophi...the terrain of bare bones...the mouth of the Infernuum.”

“Woah! It's worse than I thought!” Spica said. “And what if the death is spectacular? What happens then?”

“Then the body is lost, but the soul and consciousness remain, which go one cosm below into Schizopneum. The state of souls is pitiable there, but it still offers a chance to ascend again.”

“Damn!” Rasmus said. “So in a nutshell, dying here isn't really an option.” He paused, thinking. “And that means... Tessa's body stealing soul weapon can basically annihilate you by taking all your bodies.”

“Ahh!” Art exclaimed. “Now you see the vileness of her weapon. Plus she gets to keep the bodies she steals.”

“Damn,” Kane said. “I wish I had her soul-weapon. What about Ruel's soul weapon, what can it do?”

“Ruel's soul weapon is powerful in its own right,” Art said. “You might have already seen it. It's called the Ferrum Blade. It's a sort of a shape-shifting, semi sentient blade forged from his own blood. It can physically change according to his will. It can stretch, vaporize, liquefy, you name it.”

 “He's getting better at manipulating it too,” Lumia added. “Saw him turn it into a Phoenix once. I don't think he has mastered it as yet though.”

“Seems cool,” Kane said.

“Yep,” Rasmus agreed. “Should be an interesting battle.”

“Next is Lumia and Clementine. Clementine's soul weapon is basically being a powerful witch,” Art continued. “Her incantations are magnified and deadly.”

“Well, I already discovered a weakness with her weapon,” Lumia informed smugly. “There's a time limit on her to cast her most powerful spells. I'm not sure about the exact duration, but I guess she will be able to increase the window of time within which she can maximize her spellwork the more she improves.”

Kane was listening to Art speak about Clementine's soul weapon. A strategy was already forming in his mind even though Lumia seemed to have her winning strategy figured out.

He gave voice to his thoughts anyway.“So, if you can force her to cast a flurry of spells and survive them, she'll then be defenseless against a final, well-aimed blow by Lumia.”

“Nice,” Lumia said. “That is exactly the strategy. Although I must stress that it's easier said than done. She can first perform a shield incantation that will protect her even when her quota of spells runs out.”

“What is your soul weapon, Lumia?” Spica asked. “I don't think you told us.”

“Guess,” Lumia said. “What would the great Lumia's soul weapon be?”

Art rolled his eyes.

“You look like you can fly,” Rasmus guessed.

Art and Lumia laughed.

“That wouldn't be much of a soul weapon now, would it?” Art reasoned.

Lumia said, “He's kinda right though, I can float.”

Lumia dropped her hands, baring her palms. To Kane's surprise, the girl's feet left the ground. He noticed that her eyes glowed brightly as she rose higher and higher, her copper hair dancing in the wind. She resembled some mythic goddess as she finally halted her ascent, glaring down at them.

“Figured it out yet?” she asked as she floated back down.

Spica shook her head. “Nope. All I saw is you floating.”

She turned to Rasmus. “What do you think, Rasmus?”

The boy shrugged.

“Kane?”

“No clue,” he said.

Lumia frowned. “I'm disappointed. Art, you think I should tell them?”

He smiled. “It's up to you. Your clue was vague though.”

“Okay, let me give another clue.” With that, the girl raised her hand slowly. At first, Kane saw nothing spectacular happen until Rasmus yelled.

“Hey! Put me down. Lumia...put me down.”

They all chortled at Rasmus kicking his legs wildly, feeling for solid ground.

“Telekinesis?” Kane muttered.

“Finally,” Lumia said.

“Quite powerful,” Art added. “Out of everyone here, I'd say Lumia improved the most in manipulating their soul weapon. Rasmus, in case you decide to piss off Lumia, just know that she could have broken all your bones just now.”

“How romantic,” Rasmus said, still shaken.

Lumia nodded. “Thanks for the compliment, Art, but I would say Clementine improved the most though, not me.”

Art seemed to consider this awhile. “Okay, fair point. It's close though. But I think Lumia will win that one,” Art said.

“Why thank you!” Lumia replied, curtsying.

 “That leads to the next pairing: Spica and Grace. Grace's soul weapon is a sort of vampirism, I think. I actually don't know for sure,” Art said.

Lumia snorted. “I still blame her for Jaimie's death. Clementine was interested in him, and Grace liked Clementine, so she used her weapon on him. Jaimie suddenly began acting strangely until he lied to the Hierocruxes. That was the end for him.”

Art wore an amused expression as he watched Lumia speak. “But Lumia, you don't know for sure that Grace used her soul weapon on Jaimie. I think that's a bit of a stretch.”

“I know,” Lumia said morosely. “I feel it in my bones.”

“So how am I supposed to overcome her?” Spica asked.

Art said, “Remember you have two soul weapons, Spica. I'm thinking you can ask the Obiscule what to do in the battle before the actual battle starts. Of course, you will carry the Starshiner along and use its power to defeat Grace.”

“Why not bring the Obiscule into the battle so she can ask it for suggestions while she fights?” Rasmus inquired.

Spica turned to him. “No babe. It's too risky. Remember, I shouldn't have the Obiscule in the first place. If the Hierocruxes find it, I'd be in trouble.”

Art nodded. “Indeed. Next we have... Rasmus and Bullwark.”

Lumia's face took on a grave aspect. “This one is tough. Bullwark is the strongest here.”

Art nodded.

“What's his soul weapon?” Rasmus asked.

A suspicious silence followed his question.

“We don't know,” Art confessed.

There was another half a minute of silence.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Spica said, her tone confrontational.

Kane added, “And how do you know he's the strongest if you don't know what his soul weapon is?”

Art glanced at Lumia, who nodded. “Fair question. Let me answer it by telling you what happened here in Hellenogyrum a few days before you came. Bullwark requested to duel one of the demons.”

“Why in god's name would he do that?” Spica asked.

“I'm not him, I wouldn't know.” Lumia said. “All I can say is that the Hierocruxes agreed...along with the demon he wished to duel. Draculhotep was his name. But the request had one condition: it would be a fight to the death. The loser's soul would be practically annihilated. Well, to cut a long story short, Bullwark won the duel, and Draculhotep was never seen again.”

“Wow! That's wild,” Kane exclaimed. “And you guys didn't get to witness the fight?”

Art shook his head. “No. It was held on top of another Pyramid, about five miles from here.”

Rasmus asked, “So how do you know the duel actually happened and that it wasn't some tall tale from Bullwark?”

“Actually Bullwark didn't say anything at all,” Lumia said. “The Hierocruxes themselves announced it the same day. Though they seemed somewhat embarrassed that a human bested one of their kind. But the deal was already explicitly made...with dark bonding magic and all; they couldn't break their own deal.”

Rasmus took a deep breath. “So what do I do against a person with an unknown soul weapon who kills demons for fun?”

Art looked defeated. “Usually I'm an optimist, but this...”

“I think you can do it,” Kane interjected, surprising even himself. “From what I gather so far, having a Dragon...or Pyrodactyle...whatever you guys call it. Having one is unheard of. And if my knowledge of what I thought was mythology is correct, then Dragons are deadly when tamed...and loyal. The key thing is for Rasmus to tame it. After that, things should become easier.”

Silence ensued after Kane's speech.

“Damn Kane! That was brilliant! Now I see why you're Oebiel's chosen. You give hope when there is none. I'm inspired. I change my mind, I think Rasmus has a chance.” Art offered a pained smile.

“Of course he does,” Spica said. “We're here to support him and actively participate in the taming of that Dragon. And...my Obiscule has wisdom to offer.” She patted Rasmus on the back. “Don't worry, Ras. We got you.”

Rasmus frowned. “Don't call me that.”

“I've been dreading this moment,” Lumia said. “Art vs Kane.”

Kane took a deep breath. “Art, before you say anything, just know that I wouldn't and won't lift a finger against you.”

Art laughed. “I knew you'd say something like that. Believe me, my heart is in the same place as yours.” He paused, clearly wondering how to approach the delicate situation.

“However,” he said. “There is something we cannot overlook.”

Spica nodded. “The Blood Quintet factor?”

“Precisely,” Art said. “As a pledged Oebielite, it is my duty to allow the symbol of hope to persevere.”

All four looked at Kane, who responded at once. “I don't know what you're implying, Art, but I hope it doesn't involve me killing you.”

Art smiled. “Okay, Kane. I hear you. For the record, my soul weapon is based on the element Earth, though I also have a strong affinity for air as well.”

“What does that mean?” Rasmus asked.

“Geographical natural disasters, rocks, the ground, you name it. All of those things are under my command-- for the most part.”

“Wow! That sounds powerful,” Spica said.

“Pity your opponent isn't Bullwark or Tessa,” Lumia added.

Kane realized he had some thinking to do regarding the duel with Art.

“Are we gonna begin training with our soul weapons or what?” Rasmus inquired.

Lumia nodded. “That was the plan. But Rasmus, I think it's best if we set aside a day for all of us to focus on you and taming that beast. Are you okay with that?”

“Sure,” Rasmus replied. “I'll probably read up on Dragons before diving into trying to tame mine.”

“Good idea,” Art said. “You've all seen Lumia's soul weapon. Kane, have you already tried using that bow?”

“No.”

It was unlike him to be so casual about weapons since he loved them, and this one was attached to him. He guessed death had changed him. The old Kane would have already tried to operate it, even if it meant hurting himself. He raised the bow and simply willed it to shoot something.

Nothing.

“How do I use this thing?” he asked.

Art stepped closer. “It's more a feeling than anything else. My hand is similar to yours, I think.”

He gazed at his armored blue hand which indeed had the same color as Kane's bow.

“I know it sounds vague, but there are no spells for a soul weapon--at least not for soul weapons like ours. Look,” Art said.

Kane watched him raise his colored hand to an arbitrary location far below the Pyramid.

“Careful Art,” Lumia cautioned.

Kane felt a surge of emotion zip through him like electricity as the sky blue bolt hit the ground, creating a cavity. To their amazement, a stream of lava spurted from the fissure.

“Pretty cool,” Rasmus sounded.

Art directed his hand somewhere else, and Kane saw a set of mounds stab through the earth, black as charcoal.

“Nice!” Spica mused, impressed.

Kane could see Art's abilities being very useful in a duel, especially against someone who couldn't fly or float. He peered at the points of the mounds which were extremely sharp--spear-like.

“Can you now use those as projectiles?” Kane wondered.

Art made a swooping motion with his hands in response. His action broke a pair of the stalagmite spears near their bases. The rod-shaped objects levitated then soared through the air. It took Kane a while to notice they were heading for them atop the Pyramid, whistling as they progressed. Then, they stopped suddenly, dissipating into the loose dirt from which they were formed.

“Wha--?” Art began.

From the boy's befuddled expression, Kane saw that this wasn't supposed to happen.

“Seems we have the same idea.” The voice behind them was brusque and forbidding.

Kane turned to see Tessa and Bullwark walking up to them.

 “We were just about to get some training in,” Tessa said. “This is our turf by the way, in case you forgot.”

“Sure,” Lumia said. “We were just leaving.”

“Nonsense,” Bullwark barked. “You can stay and watch... and learn.”

“Nah, voyeurism isn't our thing,” Lumia snapped.

Kane whispered to Art, “I think we should stay. We might figure out what his soul weapon is.”

Art seemed to consider it. He turned to Lumia and whispered to her. She shrugged, then nodded.

“Okay, we'll watch,” Art said. “Entertain us.”

Bullwark smiled. “That's the spirit.”

“Come on guys. Let's get as far away from them as possible. We don't--”

BANG!

Kane's heart jolted. His head snapped around to see Bullwark and Tessa already dueling. They scampered from the vicinity even as a hail of ash and dirt pelted their heads.

“Serious kids, aren't they?” Rasmus said once they had put a respectable distance between themselves and the Satharite pair. A flash of green zipped through the air as Tessa bellowed a spell at her counterpart. Bullwark deflected it nonchalantly as if it didn't require near perfect reflexes. Tessa fired another spell, and this time Bullwark's reflexes were lacking. The half-blocked spell charged into his shoulder, twisting the boy's frame. Tessa didn't relent, her rising hand summoning a pale green fire from beneath Bullwark, who hadn't fully recovered from the initial blow.

“This is what I like about Satharites,” Art said. “No compassion even for their own kind. Their quest for individual glory always overshadows triumph in unity. But...it's equally why they're great duelers.”

Tessa laughed as Bullwark grimaced. “Oh come on idiot! I know you're not hurt.”

Bullwark's grimace transformed into fiendish laughter. This sudden change shocked Kane as he watched the green fire jet back toward Tessa who was prepared, leaping high into the air. The fire blazed past where she'd stood only seconds before. Kane looked for Bullwark's response and was startled to discover he was not where he had stood. A shriek issued from above. Tessa was hurtling toward the ground at breakneck speed.

“Damn!” Spica said.

Tessa hit the ground hard. When the dust cleared, they saw that tragedy was forestalled: it was not Tessa who contacted the ground but her last-second conjuration--a viridian shield spread over a rather wide lava-filled chasm. Tessa let rip an anguished scream after her body slammed into her shield.

“Got you,” came a voice from above. It was Bullwark.

“What was that? How did he move so quickly?” Spica asked wide-eyed.

“Either teleportation or super fast-as-light travel,” Kane theorized.

Tessa alighted. “So I should use Kh'virah then? Snatch your body.”

Bullwark guffawed. “You can try, but it's way too slow.”

“Is that so?” Tessa said, her tone daring.

Kane recalled Tessa's soul weapon being the one that could effectively annihilate someone. For Bullwark to dare her to use it on him was insane. It was at that moment that Kane understood just what kind of person Rasmus would have to duel in the Monomakia. Clearly, the chunky boy didn't fear death. In fact, he had first shown that when he challenged a demon to a duel, now he was risking annihilation again.

“Think you're tough, don't you?” Tessa said. “I won't use it on you. But just so you know, I actually improved it a bit. I want to unveil its true power on the night of the Monomakia. Poor Ruel, his soul will be ripped to shreds.”

Lumia made a clicking sound beside Kane.

“I hope you're not being too complacent,” Bullwark said. “I'm pretty sure Ruel has made improvements to his FerrumBlade as well.”

Tessa looked at their group, the scorched side of her face revealed. “Bullwark, isn't your opponent one of those weaklings? Lucky you.”

Bullwark was expressionless, floating back down to the ground. “Yes,” he said bluntly. “Rasmus.”

Rasmus fidgeted. “Don't look away,” Art said as Bullwark fired a gaze at them. “Don't show any signs of weakness.”

Tessa laughed. “Wait, which one is Rasmus?” She didn't wait for a response. “Woe be onto Rasmus. It doesn't even matter what his soul weapon is at this point.”

Bullwark turned to their group. “I hope you manage to tame your soul weapon, Rasmus. I like surprises.”

Lumia shouted, “I thought you guys came out here to practice and not chat.”

No sooner had Lumia gotten her last word out than Kane saw a wall of rippling color hurtling toward them. Art flashed a burnished hand at it, erecting a cylindrical column just before the wall of light barreled into it. Art's structure exploded immediately, the force blasting them backward. Kane was thrown to the ground, spinning and skidding along the rough pyramid surface. When he finally came to a halt, he saw that everyone was grounded except Lumia, who seemed to have gathered her wits fast enough to avoid being hit.

“You piece of shit!” she spat.

Tessa smirked. “Proudly.”

“What the hell was that?” Rasmus asked, alighting. The boy helped Spica to her feet.

“Some light based witchery, it seems,” Kane said. “If it weren't for Art we'd probably be--” he paused.

“Where's Art?” Kane glanced around him only to spot Art in the distance. He was just getting up.

“You okay?” Spica shouted.

Art didn't respond.

Tessa said, “You guys might wanna...you know, check to see if your friend has all his bodies intact.”

With that, the lanky girl stalked off laughing alongside Bullwark. Kane officially hated Tessa; she struck him as haughty. She reminded him of a younger female version of Mr. Ipstein.

Lumia reached Art first. “I'm okay,” Kane heard him say. He swayed a bit but seemed to regain his balance momentarily, though his face was faint.

“Your reflexes were godlike just now,” Spica said.

Art laughed. “Thanks but no...not godlike. We wouldn't have been blown away if it was godlike. I was a fraction too slow. And yes, that fraction of a second could have meant death.”

“What was all that color though?” Spica asked.

Kane wanted to know as well. He'd never seen a spell quite like that before. It was as though white light had liquefied into its spectrum and was weaponized.

“Irideo,” Lumia said. “Sharpened light. Very sophisticated spell--Art did well to block it since it's infamous for penetrating barriers.”

“I think we should go,” Art said. “Suddenly this location didn't seem wise for us to train at after all. I know another location though.”

Imajinaereum

Tony and Serafina entered Imajinaereum without fanfare. The pale rock through which they entered glowed a ghostly white, giving their faces a spectral appearance. Tony looked around him, and after seeing no one watching them, proceeded toward the gothic Imajinaereum castle. Serafina stepped silently alongside him.

“How long will have passed since we've been away?” Tony inquired. He was worried about the repercussions of having left the campus illegally. Fresh in his mind was the mysterious figure who had seen them both depart for Mephistovagla. His consternation flew smack in the face of Silver Man's assurance that he'd taken care of everything.

“No time passed,” Serafina muttered hoarsely. “We'll only be missing the amount of time it took us to walk from the castle to the stone nexus and back, which is ten--maybe fifteen minutes max.” She paused. “What worries me is what happened in the Jansky--”

“Silver Man said he took care of it,” Tony interjected, refusing to dwell on the grave subject of his heinous sin.

As they approached the castle, Tony's mind went to yet another grave memory: their encounter with the witch (Serafina's grandmother) Amonette in the terrifying cosm of Mephistovagla. He wondered how the witch managed to survive Serafina's killing spell. Tony was tempted to tell Serafina that she had survived, but he thought it better for her mental state if she didn't know the truth. Moreover, how much more of her soul would she have granted in order to gain the power to kill her grandmother once and for all? Tony thought of his family and their disappearance in the Veil Rapture that was beginning to sweep over the Hollow. He thought of his friends--he had tried to push his emotions to the side when he thought of Parris and Sam's betrayal, but the simple truth was that he missed them. He wondered how Gemini would look at him now that he had killed Kane. Everything was in ruins. Tony suddenly sensed the significance of this re-entry into Imajinaereum. It was his chance to recover from everything that had happened, compose a coherent plan, and proceed with the plan to regain his family.

“You know,” Serafina started as they passed the pair of gargoyles astride the steps leading to the castle. “Killing my gran didn't help. I dunno. The distress is still there. It's like she's still alive in some strange way--her ghost or something trying to haunt me.”

Tony tensed, gulping. He rejoiced the melancholic girl wasn't in a position to fully witness his reaction. He kept quiet until he composed himself.

“That's quite normal, I think. Remember, killing her doesn't actually erase all the terrible things she did.”

They entered the castle, realizing to their amazement that the hall was filled with students. Tony and Serafina had to stop abruptly to keep from bumping into the backs of a pair of Vesperlighter girls. They both turned, looking ready to assault them had they been touched. Crick saw them now and gave them a nasty look. Tony gazed to the front to see Mage Ontong delivering one of his speeches. Serafina shot him a queer look. Tony saw Magnus at the eastern end of the hall by his lonesome. He didn't see them, having a faraway look about him. Tony listened to Mage Ontong's droning voice.

“This must be a record to be making a public address in such quick succession. But the Veil Rapture has begun. It seemed recent events have precipitated the merging of the cosms. It is my duty as Headmaster to inform you what this means.”

Ontong paused as Madame Ostrovsky approached him, whispering something to him. He froze, then turned back to the assembly.

“For those of you who don't know, the Veil Rapture is a part of a prophecy recited by a well-known Seer in ancient times. It has been repeated many times, most famously by the witch Agonessa, he prophecy outlines the hallmarks of the Apocalypse. The Infernuum--which is the three lowest cosms-- and all its vile characteristics will work its way up until it reaches the Triskai. For us in Imajinaereum, the beginning of the Veil Rapture is the immediate cosms below us--Nox Regia-- merging with our own. This has already begun, as Olga just informed me. Nox Regia is forming at the fringe of Imajinaereum. Soon, our cosm won't be the only school here. But more pertinent is the beasts that come with Nox Regia. Crick and the other guards haven't singled out any yet, but the beasts in the enchanted wilderness of Nox Regia pose an existential threat to life here in Imajinaereum.”

There was a noise of disapproval among the student body, which Tony supposed was a normal reaction given the stark news. Serafina held his hand.

“Don't fret students. The Institute of Imajinaereum has already prepared for eventualities like this long ago after the insurrection of the demons from the lower cosms. All four houses have forged their own unique brand of defensive magic to ward off dangerous elements--though I admit, some are more sophisticated than others. The Houses of Kingmasters and Vesperlighters are the most fortified, the least maybe Soulwhirlers. Hence, you don't have to do a thing except enact the pledging ritual of your particular house to activate the defensive incantations.”

Tony made note of Mage Ontong's obvious omission of the Barbellite house when referring to magical defenses and vulnerability. He wondered if he simply forgot, or if it was because the members of the Barbellite house was so small that he considered it insignificant. Whatever the reason, it rubbed Tony the wrong way.

“I urge you to read,” Ontong continued. “It's every man for himself. Read and learn attacking magic. And due to the dire times, the administration will hereby decriminalize the study of dark magic so long as it's ultimately for defense against any principality that might try to take your souls.”

...

When Tony reached his room, he wasted no time in consulting his trunk full of books he'd never looked at. He dug through the texts he used in his usual classes until he came upon one with an interesting title: Dark Magic Through The Ages. The book reminded him of the Seal Of Obsidian he and his friends from the Hollow had encountered in Sam's stepmother's room.

Tony realized he hadn't gotten to find out if the book had materialized back inside Sam's house after they had burned it at his house. He still recalled the green flames it burned with and the strong smell of sulfur it emitted. Perhaps that book would have the dark magic he was looking for. Tony flipped the spiky cover and a few thick blank pages until he came upon the Table of Contents. Skimming through the chapters all written in a medieval font, a title caught his eye: Top Ten Tenebrous Thaumaturgy. Apart from the alliteration, he recognized that the simple translation was 'Top Ten Dark Witchcraft'. Tony flipped to page one hundred and nine and dove right into the chapter.

The basis of magic is energy. Words and thought have power. Amplifying these produce physical effects. Note that the magics outlined below are dependent upon the proficiency of the magician performing them. Hence an adept thaumaturgist wielding the number ten witchcraft on the list will obtain better results than a mediocre magician attempting to wield the number one magic.

TEN: SYMPATHETIC MAGIC

This is the act of representing a living being or host as an inanimate object called the tether. The tether is best made from some aspect of the host for maximal effects. After an emotional link is made by the magician with the tether, the tether then becomes the focus of the magician's working. If done correctly, any bewitchment done to the tether will affect the host.

Tethering spell: Amagalam [AH-MAH-GAH-LAM]

A wave of exhilaration coursed through Tony as he set eyes on the spell. He didn't think the book would actually divulge the actual spell as they were bound to be forbidden.

“Amagalam,” he whispered, rising to fetch his parchment and quill. He wrote the spell and labeled it appropriately. Tony moved down to the ninth darkest spell, the Styg scorching his neck uncomfortably. Tony rubbed it gently; it did nothing to soothe the pain.

NINE: BEWITCHMENT

Bewitchment describes the act of using a spell to control something or someone against their will.

Tony thought the definition was quite broad. Though he did see how controlling someone against their will would be considered powerful and forbidden. He wondered how someone bewitched would actually know he was under the influence of someone else, and how he would proceed with breaking the bewitchment. Tony cringed. He definitely would want to be controlled by someone else. He cherished the sovereignty over his free will too much. The bewitchment spell wasn't listed, so he shifted his focus to the eighth most powerful dark witchcraft.

EIGHT: CONJURATIONS

This describes the act of producing or manifesting a preconceived image in the physical realm. Conjuration represents one of the most fluid disciplines: depending on the conjurer, the act outstrips its current position on the list.

Tony was already familiar with Conjuration. He noted mentally the difference between conjurations and summonings--the latter perhaps being the weaker of the two. He didn't bother reading the corresponding spell. Suddenly, Tony's mind went to something he was loath to think about since it happened. It was as though the nightmare was the dark, murky waters that had finally breached the dam he'd erected. Kane's falling body loomed larger than life in his mind. Tony tensed as the pain in his neck reached excruciating levels. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yet Kane's lifeless eyes looked at him from his most personal space. Tony flashed his head madly, groping his neck. The image receded momentarily as if controlled by a sadistic puppeteer. Tony wiped the sweat from his brow. He knew he couldn't take much more of this guilt until he became insane.

“So sorry, Kane,” he gasped. “You weren't supposed to die. Now you're gone. And I did it. Me... Tony, your friend. What the fuck is wrong with me?” Tony shook his head and forced himself to read the seventh most powerful dark spell.

SEVEN: ELEMENTAL MAGIC

Elemental magic is the manipulation of one or more of the four elements, namely: fire, earth, air, and water. It should not be difficult to glean that the elements hold a wealth of power: the natural disasters that plague the land are proof of this--volcanoes, earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods. Typically, a magician is born with an affinity to at least one element, usually corresponding in turn to the affinity of their zodiac. Tony was disappointed to see that there was no directive on how to unleash the power of the elements, or even how to determine what element was ascribed to each zodiac.

Tony was a Taurus, hence he had to decipher what element was associated with the Taurus zodiac. He moved on to the next on the list.

SIX: SOUL WEAPONRY

A soul weapon is a magician's most powerful resource unique to himself that he can call upon to perform magic. It is an astral version of himself that represents what he is at his core. A soul weapon is usually an extension of some part of him or an object or animal with impressive abilities.

Tony glanced at the spell associated with manifesting a soul weapon. “Evoko Telum”. He jotted it on his parchment. It would probably be useful, he thought. As he flipped the page to read the fifth most powerful dark spell, there was a knock on his door. Tony jumped, having been immersed in his reading. He got up as the rap sounded again. He slid the book and parchment under his pillow. Serafina barged in as he opened the door.

“What you up to?” she said, sitting on the bed. “HA-SHUM!”

The sneeze startled him. He gazed at Serafina who threatened another sneeze. She was quite close to the book he'd just been reading.

“You room is so musty,” she said.

Tony supposed he could use some company. It was only a matter of time before he descended into one of his crippling guilt trips. Someone here would take his mind off things.

“So what are you up to?” she repeated.

Tony wondered if he should mention his reading and his new ambition of necromancy--his desire of resurrecting Kane and bringing back his family.

“I was reading up on some spells,” he said.

It went against every fiber of his being to open up. But after all, she was also intimately linked to what was happening.

“Let me see,” Serafina said.

Tony pulled the book, parchment, and quill from under the pillow. Serafina didn't seem at all perturbed he'd hidden the items.

“Ahhh. You're one of the lucky ones who got this book.”

“Yeah, I'm researching how to get back the residents of Hargreave Hollow.” He decided not to tell her about his ambition of bringing back Kane specifically.

She nodded, glancing at the open page. “Top Ten Tenebrous Thaumaturgy,” she read. She looked at the page. “Well to be blunt, the spell to use to bring them back depends on if they're dead or alive.”

Tony's heart skipped a beat. He didn't like to even think about the possibility of his family dead.

“Based on what Silver Man said, they're not dead.”

“Which means the most useful spell would be...” she paused.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

Serafina looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

“Serafina you alright?” Tony glanced at her. Suddenly, she seemed not like a teen, but an old, nostalgic woman reminiscing on her glory days. In fact, she resembled her grandmother, Amonette. Then the moment passed.

“Yeah, the spell that would be useful is summoning”

Tony glanced over at the book and saw that she was referring to a spell called Shaidim Summonings.

“What is Shaidim?” he inquired.

Serafina shrugged. “I don't know. I just thought summoning would summon them from where ever they are to where you are. It would take a great expenditure of power to bring back your entire family though.”

Tony supposed it made sense. But he just knew the incantation would be more complex than he could handle. He looked at the incantation spell and noted it was the same as that of conjurations. He was about to mention this when something caught his eye. It was the killing spell he'd used to kill Kane--listed as the third most powerful dark spell. But it was the number one most powerful dark spell that grabbed him.

'Blood Quintet Configuration'

Tony was fairly certain he'd heard at least the first two words somewhere before, “Blood Quintet”: he couldn't quite remember where. He scanned the page up and down, but he failed to find the spell associated with it nor any details about the Blood Quintet. His English language knowledge told him 'Quintet' meant a group of five.

“What's Blood Quintet?” he asked.

Serafina furrowed her brow. “I was just looking at that. It seems familiar somehow. I think its probably in one of my gran's songs. I'm not really sure.”

Tony fell silent. “I heard it before too the translation is 'Blood group of five'.”

Serafina shrugged. “It will come back to me in time,” she said. “I have some books I can check too. But if it's the number one dark spell, maybe it will help in bringing back your family.,” she said.

Tony watched as a sadness invaded her eyes. He scooted over, clasping her hands.

“Isn't it ironic?” she asked. “You're trying to recover your family while I just killed the last of mine.”

A pained smile creased her face. Again, Tony saw not a teen but an old woman.

“Don't worry, Fina. I'm your family now. I'm sure my mom, dad and sister will welcome you as part of the fam.”

She smiled. “That's sweet of you to say, Tony.”

She squeezed his hand.

Tony continued. “And you were correct to kill your gran. She did way too much damage and would have continued to making your life miserable. The world is most likely better without her.”

Serafina smiled, kissing him on the jaw. “You wanna...come to my room?”

Tony stood, heading with Serafina to her room.

“Let's show this book what the number one magic is,” she said.

The Purple Parchment

A few minutes after their confrontation with the two Satharite children, Kane, Art, Rasmus, Lumia, and Spica ported back down to their room. There was a parcel on each person's bed when they got there. It looked very much like the one with the Monomakia pairings. But instead of the bleached brown color, this one was dark purple.

“What's this now?” Lumia wondered out loud. “Bad news usually comes in these parcels.”

Kane tore his parcel and pinched out the piece of parchment packed inside. He read:

Greetings patrons of Hellenogyrum. We are aware of the preparations you should be making for the all-important Monomakia. However, the Hierocruxes have decided to add some spice to your experience here in the gyrum, especially since you will all leave soon, whether in grace or disgrace. We refer to the Hedogothika Ball. An unprecedented event of wild abandon, drinks, and music, the Hedogothika Ball will take place the night after tomorrow in the gilded hall, the aesthetics of which will be appropriately enchanted for the occasion. The rules are few: Each patron must attend with a date from the 'other side'. Also, your date cannot be your opponent in the Monomakia. We hope you appreciate this gesture. See you there!

H.

Lumia was the first to speak. “Well, I'll be damned. Yet more torture to suffer before the grand torture. What's it with these people?”

Kane couldn't quite decide how to feel about the Ball. It did remind him of the Hookery, but he supposed that the concept of a 'Ball' didn't mean the same here as it did in the Triskai.

“Is it that bad though?” Spica asked. “Sounds like it could be fun. I mean they did say there will be drinks and music.”

Art shrugged. “That's true, but its the 'other side' that's the problem. Satharites on a whole seem to have the word 'asshole' encoded into their DNA.”

Lumia and Rasmus sniggered.

 “I mean, we can always ignore them--let them have their space and we ours.” Rasmus suggested.

“That's what I was thinking,” Kane said.

“I don't think I'll be attending,” Rasmus informed. “I much prefer learning how to tame that Dragon.”

Lumia shook her head. “Hate to break it to you, Rasmus, but you don't have a choice. Besides, equally important is finding out what your opponent's soul weapon is. The Ball is a perfect opportunity to do it the civilized way.”

Rasmus shook his head. “I'm not into Bullwark so tough chance getting me to have him as my date.”

Lumia rolled her eyes. “It cannot be you, Rasmus. The letter said you can't attend with your opponent. My point is whoever in our group goes on the date with Bullwark has to at least try to pry that information out of him.”

“They'll be trying to do the same to us, I think,” Art said.

Kane said, “Who here is most likely to get Bullwark to reveal his soul weapon during casual conversation?” He glanced around the room.

“Isn't it obvious?” Art said, glancing at a certain someone in the room.

“Don't look at me,” Spica blurted. “No... just no.”

“You're the one who flat out lied to not one, not two, but three Hierocruxes. It's clear you have the eloquence and charm to pull it off. Besides...” Art paused.

“Besides what?” Spica pressed.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, lowering his gaze.

Rasmus offered a pained smile.

Lumia looked from Spica to Rasmus. “I agree, by the way. You two just have to get over your inevitable lovers' squabble and do what must be done.”

Spica narrowed her eyes at Lumia.

“Squabble?” Rasmus repeated. “I have no issues with Spica going with Bullwark if that's what you're implying.”

Lumia put both hands up defensively. “Fine.”

“I don't have a problem who Rasmus goes with either,” Spica said. “Besides, I don't think any of them is his type. Right Rasmus?”

Kane smiled. It was a trick question.

Rasmus replied, “I mean, Grace does look quite--”

“Finish that sentence, and I'll smack you right down into another cosm...idiot!”

Kane laughed.

“I'm joking, girl. Damn,” Rasmus retorted, his chest heaving madly from laughter.

Art looked at Kane. “Who do you think you'd want to go with, Kane? I'm guessing most of the Satharites are going to want to go with you.”

“Why's that?” he asked.

“Because you're an Oebielite,” he replied, rubbing his burnished blue hand.

 “A chosen Oebielite, that is,” Lumia qualified.

Art nodded. “Oy'oro eyes and all. You won't face any of them in Monomakia, so I guess the date will be less about ulterior motives and strategy, and more of a genuine date.”

“I doubt it will be genuine,” Lumia countered. “You might not be fighting them, but they'll want to find out about everyone else's soul weapons.”

“That's true,” Kane said. “I guess all of us will have to keep an eye out for that.”

“But back to the question,” Spica said. “Have anyone in mind?” Her expression was playful.

Kane shrugged. “Not really, actually. I especially don't want to go with Tessa. I don't like her.”

“Well, that just leaves Grace and Clementine,” Lumia said. She put a hand on her chin. “You know what, Kane? I think you should go with Grace. Spica is facing her in the duel, but we don't quite know what her soul weapon is. I think she'll be fascinated with your eyes and bow, and the fact that you're one of the Blood Quintet.”

Kane nodded. “Fine by me.”

Art said, “So who did we pair thus far? Spica with Bullwark, Kane with Grace, and... Okay, I think I'll take Tessa since no one else wants her.”

“I'll take Ruel,” Lumia announced. “Strange lad, but okay.”

“Good,” Art scribbled the information on the parchment. “That leaves Rasmus and Clementine.”

Spica turned to Rasmus. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” he said.

Kane asked, “How is this going to go? I mean-- suppose one or more of the Satharites disagree with the pairings?”

“I was just going to say Art has made a databomb which we'll send to them now,” Lumia said.

There was a pause before Lumia continued, “And before you ask what a databomb is, it's a piece of parchment with a message written on it.”

Art held up the parchment with the dream pairings. Kane saw that the words were glowing bright gold. Art let the parchment go, and instead of falling to the ground, it remained afloat, crumpling into a sparkling paper ball. The next second, it zoomed out the door like a small, violet comet.

“I'll never get used to seeing that kinda thing,” Rasmus said.

Mysterious Constellation

Late that night while everyone else was sleeping, Kane was startled by someone's curtain. He had left his open as usual, keeping the room and the entrance in his view at all times. It was Spica. She pulled her curtain slowly back over her quarters. Kane wondered what she was up to. She motioned for him to follow her as she went through the door. He followed, guessing this late-night meeting had something to do with the vision she had a few nights ago.

“We're going up,” she said.

She stepped onto the porting spot; Kane followed, hurtling through variegated shades of gloom. When he made it to the summit, he realized instantly that they'd made a mistake coming here: the place was deathly cold.

“Shit!” Spica said, coming to the same realization. “We have to make this quick before our souls freeze.”

Kane nodded. “I'm listening.”

“Okay,” Spica said. “How should I put this?” She paused.

“Put it in as few words as possible,” Kane suggested.

Spica looked somewhat dour; she even seemed to have momentarily forgotten the cold as she contemplated what to say.

“Rasmus is a Satharite,” she said bluntly.

The statement shook him a bit. He paused, considering what she said.

“He pledged allegiance to Satharchon?” he asked.

“Not quite,” Spica replied, pointing at him. “You know how you didn't have to pledge allegiance to Oebiel? It sort of just chose you. I'm pretty sure it's the same for Rasmus... but to Satharchon instead.”

Kane was silent a while. He didn't have the slightest clue how to react to what Spica had just said. He wondered why she told him and not Art or Lumia.

“What makes you so sure of this?” he quizzed, starting to tremble from bone-numbing cold.

“For one, his soul weapon,” she said. “I understand that Dragons are exclusively attached to Satharites. But it was the Obiscule that instructed me on what to do when I was being interrogated by the Hierocruxes. And it revealed to me that it was because the Hierocruxes knew Rasmus' soul weapon was a Dragon that they believed me when I pledged allegiance to Satharchon.”

“Hold on,” Kane said, amazed at how much the Obiscule had revealed in one vision. “Rasmus is his own person, why would his soul weapon help to convince the demon council that you are one as well? Surely it's not just because they saw you two together.”

Spica turned her head away, taking a deep breath. “The reason why it was so believable to them is kinda personal,” she said. “Those eyes of theirs see deeper than flesh, I think. They see bonds where normal eyes don't.”

Kane nodded, failing to connect the dots. “Why were you crying though?”

Spica was silent. “Because I saw an image of Rasmus in the future--he's not the same person...twisted and gaunt. I think he will undergo some sort of change for the worse because he's a Satharite.”

Spica seemed to be summoning the strength to keep from breaking down again.

“He was basically insane, yelling at me about something. I think the Satharchon essence will take over his body.”

Kane watched her tremble. He wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be fine, but according to what her trusty Obiscule revealed, that would have been a huge lie. He hugged her nevertheless. She hugged back, sobbing. He was beginning to feel a foreboding that was all too familiar. What Spica described concerning Rasmus was similar to what had happened to Tony, but instead of Satharchon being the agent of destruction in Rasmus' case, it was pure vengeance for Tony.

“Well, Spica,” he said. “Let's face the darkness together. Plus you have the Obiscule. You can ask it to”

Spica cut him off. “No, Kane, that's not how the Obiscule works. It chooses when to tell me things. In fact, it told me it would reveal only one more vision before it destroys itself.”

She withdrew the iridescent sphere from her pocket. “It also told me to tell you what I'm telling you now... specifically you, Kane.”

“Is that so?” Kane asked. “I wonder why?”

Spica shrugged. “It didn't say.”

A thought came to Kane. “I wonder if it will answer me given that I'm a member of the Blood Quintet?”

Spica handed the orb to him with shivering hands. “You can try.”

The Obiscule felt heavier than he remembered. He brought it close to his mouth, feeling ridiculous as he spoke to it. “How can we stop Rasmus' transformation?”

The orb brightened, but Kane heard no response nor did he see any signs. He shrugged. “Maybe it will reveal something soon. But let's head back down.”

Spica nodded as he returned the Obiscule. She stepped onto the eye, disappearing in wind and brimstone. Kane stepped onto the eye, but before he went fully inside the reptilian iris, something caught his attention, something red. Kane darted from the eye in fright, a curious gesture since the porting eye would have most likely seen him to safety. Something was following him, he realized. Kane ran, and kept running until he was confident the thing above him wasn't trying to kill him. Casting his eyes to the skies, he saw that there was something to the right of the static, multicolored eye-shaped spiral. It was some kind of constellation, one he hadn't seen before either here or in the Triskai. After all, which cluster of stars was red? Kane scanned the remainder of the sky only to discover that this particular constellation was the only one in eyeshot. It consisted of about three bright stars, surrounded by other, quainter luminaries. He was certain the constellation represented something, not unlike how star clusters were anthropomorphized and spun into myths in the Triskai. Kane glanced at the vermilion cluster again, a feeling of misgiving settling inside his bones. The coldness had mysteriously vanished; he was now shrouded in a humid draught, and as he stepped into the porting eye, he knew something was brewing inside his mind--something he had yet to decipher. When the eye flung Kane to the entrance of his room, he almost walked into Spica. She was on her knees tending to something on the floor.

“What?” he began, stopping in his tracks.

Spica didn't look up. Kane saw the reason on the ground. It was the Obiscule, or what was left of it. It was shattered into a million iridescent splinters.

He knelt. “What happened?” he asked, picking up a piece of the Obiscule.

“Wrestled itself right out of my hand,” she said. “I knew it said it would destroy itself, but it did say it would first reveal one more secret.”

Kane descended into a deep think. “Spica, I think it already revealed something. Just before I came down from the roof, I saw some--”

A deep voice halted him. “Get inside your room!”

Kane spun to see Quetzalquilhotep marching up to them. He looked ghastly in the gloom.

“The Hierocruxes are setting the place up for the Hedogothika. They don't want anyone lurking on the corridors.”

Kane stood quickly. Spica had the awareness to lay his coat over the shattered Obiscule.

“Okay,” he said.

The demon ambled off, mumbling something to himself.

“We need to go back up there,” Kane said as the demon stalked off. “I'm pretty sure the Obiscule revealed how to stop Rasmus' transformation.”

“Then let's go back--”

“Ahem!” The demon returned. “Was I not clear? TO YOUR ROOM!”

Kane and Spica were forced into their room by Quetzalquilhotep's enduring gaze. The shattered Obiscule was still there under the coat waiting to be discovered. They would surely face the judgment of the Hierocrux if they knew one of them had the orb.

Spica stopped by his bedside as he sat. “We should wait a while before we go back,” Spica whispered.

Kane knew she meant back to the roof where he saw the constellation, and not back to remove the Obiscule splinters. Kane considered it.

“It wouldn't matter if we go back anyway,” he said. “We still wouldn't understand what the omen meant.”

“What was the omen?” she quizzed, her voice rising.

Kane put a finger over his lips. “It's a constellation. I saw a star cluster in the sky. But it's none like in the Triskai. And the stars were red.”

Spica studied him. “Vague. Maybe Lumia or Art will know--”

“Spica,” Kane said. “We'll figure it out. I remember the pattern, so if it's in any book then I'll recognize it. But we need to get some sleep. You heard what the demon said--the Hierocruxes are here. We don't want any trouble with them.”

The girl looked back at him perplexed. Kane got the feeling she still wasn't telling him something.

“Okay,” she finally said. Then she waltzed like a machine to her quarters, parted her shawl, and disappeared beyond her world beyond the cloth.

Kane lay his head down, immediately descending into a deep sleep.

Ruel & Rasmus

Rasmus was in the phase between sleep and wakefulness when something ruffled his curtain. It was probably Spica, he thought. Perhaps she wanted to cuddle...or more. They hadn't been intimate since they'd died. He wondered how much different intercourse was seeing that he was somewhat dead. He shuffled out of bed and parted the curtain. To his surprise, it wasn't Spica (her curtain was carefully drawn over her space) nor was it even a person. It was a note not unlike the one they had sent to the Satharite group with their dream pairings for the Hedogothika. Rasmus picked the note up, glancing around to see if anyone else was watching this development. He noted Kane's area was uncovered (as usual), but the golden-eyed boy wasn't there. Rasmus wondered where he'd gone. He considered telling Spica about the note but decided against it, knowing how much she hated being roused from sleep. Rasmus retreated into his cubicle and began reading the yellow parchment.

“Rasmus. I see that you've been drafted to battle Bullwark in the Monomakia. I'm sure your ‘friends’ already told you how impossible it is to defeat him. I agree with them as well, but I know a way to put up a serious challenge. I will be more than happy to answer all your questions as to why I'd want to help you. If you're interested in living, meet me at the summit of Pyramid Delta. Come alone, and tell no one.

Your fellow Satharite,

Ruel”

Note: Place your left hand on the porting eye!

Rasmus eyed the letter, amused. It was clearly a trick to get him away from his friends. He smiled and folded the parchment. “Fellow Satharite,” he mumbled. What was he suggesting? While Rasmus was placing the parchment on his chest of drawers, however, he saw it. It was a scribble on the back of the parchment--two words foreign to him:

Evoko Animatelum!

Beneath those was an image of a Pyrodactyle, his soul weapon.

...

A few minutes after following all the instructions for porting to Pyramid Delta, Rasmus found himself atop a Pyramid. It was dark--much darker than the environs of Pyramid Alpha. And the cold had been replaced by an infernal heat which was already summoning beads of sweat from his forehead. The surroundings were more harrowing also; Rasmus set his eyes, not on fissures in the ground but lakes of bubbling lava. He counted three such lakes around the Pyramid, realizing it might have been a bad idea to come here. By all inspection, he was alone. Perhaps he should have told Spica where he was going, he thought. Rasmus looked around him, and seeing another Pyramid in the distance, he assumed it was Pyramid Alpha. Suddenly, he realized that if he was atop a different Pyramid, perhaps there was a set of young people like the set he was apart of, lounging below in their rooms. A glance afoot lent credence to that idea as there was a crude porting eye engraved in the rough stone. What if he ported downward? What or who would he find inside? A loud squawk coaxed him from his thoughts. Something was flying toward him from the distance, barely a speck. Another raucous squawk told him it was some type of bird. The speck became more discernible as the creature neared. It was a great bird, but that wasn't all--someone was riding on its back! Yet another squeal disturbed the air. Rasmus covered his ears involuntarily, shuffling backward as the bird and the boy landed, kicking up plumes of dust. Ruel disembarked from the mammoth garnet Phoenix which was now staring at him with intense brown eyes.

“Wasn't sure you'd come,” Ruel said. “Luring the opposition into a trap is a common tactic here.”

He clapped his hands, and Rasmus was impressed to see the flaming Phoenix had transformed into a huge red-bladed sword. He remembered Lumia referring to it as a Ferrum Blade. The thing now fell with an almighty clang.

“You said some interesting things in your letter,” Rasmus said, his eyes finally leaving Ruel's soul weapon.

Ruel nodded, rubbing his bald head. “First thing I want to clarify is the fact that you're a Satharite and not an Oebielite.”

Rasmus grimaced. It was one of the implications Ruel had made that got him curious. Now he needed Ruel to elaborate on that very point.

“How do you know that?” he asked. “Isn't that for a person to choose on their own?”

Ruel picked up his Ferrum Blade. “I've read a lot of literature on Oebiel and Satharchon. This is not common knowledge, but a Pyrodactyle being one's soul weapon is is absolute proof he's a Satharite.” He paused, glancing above. “Not by choice but by blood.”

Rasmus studied the boy awhile, not knowing how to process what he'd just said. All he knew was his friends all associated themselves with the opposing god, Oebiel, and he would rather associate with him as well.

“So, who I pledge my allegiance to doesn't matter? I'll stick with Oebiel, I think.”

Ruel laughed. “I guess that was to be expected. Naturally, you'd want to stick to the god professed by your friends. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. Blood beats pledge--runs deeper. A leopard cannot change its spots. It may trick itself into thinking it's a lion, but the traits will always remain.”

“I see,” Rasmus said. “It doesn't matter much either way. It's not like I'll stop being friends with the Oebielites.”

Ruel glanced at him darkly, his jaws twitching. “Naturally. I won't ask you to do that either.”

“Then what is your aim for telling me this?” Rasmus inquired.

“Because our desires converge,” he said. “You want to defeat Bullwark, don't you? It so happens that I also want him to be defeated.”

Rasmus narrowed his eyes in bafflement. He was about to ask him why he wanted his fellow Satharite defeated, but he held his tongue. The boy was correct about his desire to defeat Bullwark. He did have a strong desire to make it out of this forsaken place alive.

“Deal,” he said. “Do you know how to tame a Dragon?”

Ruel smiled wryly. “Most definitely. It's not much different from my Ferrum Blade. You first need to establish trust between yourself and the Pyrodactyle.”

Rasmus said, “Easier said than done, I'm guessing.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Go ahead, summon it now. I'll show you how to begin.”

“How do I do that?” Rasmus fidgeted at the idea of facing the Dragon now.

Ruel rolled his eyes. “You're telling me your so-called friends haven't yet shown you how to summon your soul weapon? Classic.”

Ruel stepped closer. “Where's your death mark?” he asked.

Rasmus placed a hand on the punctures on his neck. He felt the wetness as blood oozed from the wound. Ruel analyzed it.

“Hmmm. Peculiar. You should know that your soul weapon is exactly that--a weapon or agent forged from your very soul. You should also know that your blood contains your soul, at least a part of it. Hence it should come as no surprise when I say the soul weapon summoning requires the use of your blood.”

Rasmus nodded. “The demon Quetzalquilhotep summoned my Dragon using my blood.”

Ruel narrowed his eyes. “That's a bit strange; only the owner of the soul weapon should summon it. But I guess you guys were late so he expedited matters.”

Rasmus had forgotten that they were late, thanks to the slain demon, Kray from Blagoborgobath.

“Since you have an already bleeding death mark, summoning your soul weapon is relatively easy. Just smear some on your middle and index fingers and mutter 'Evoko Animatelum'. Do it now,” he said.

Rasmus hesitated. “Did you say Animatelum?”

Ruel nodded. “Remember to say 'Evoko' before that though.”

“EVOKO ANIMATELUM!” he shouted. Immediately, a sinking feeling overtook him, and he was shivering despite the heat. Not a minute later, Rasmus decided it hadn't worked.

“It didn't work,” Rasmus said. He was watching the sky for the beast's approach.

“It worked perfectly!” Ruel said.

“Where is it?” Rasmus asked.

Ruel smirked, pointing not to the sky as he expected, but to one of the lava lakes below. “There it is. Seems it wants to hunt instead of coming to you.”

Rasmus suddenly felt faint and nauseous.

“That's extremely impressive,” Ruel grinned.

The Pyrodactyle flashed lava from its body and angled its spiked reptilian head at them. Without warning, it flapped a pair of expansive webbed wings, lifting toward them like a massive feather. Rasmus' reaction was altered by his drunken faintness. His only coherent thought was that the creature appeared much larger than it had a few days ago when he'd seen it. The Dragon landed lightly a few dozen feet from them. It took Rasmus a while to notice that Ruel was watching him.

“Looks like you could use some Snakeweed,” he said.

“Some what?” Rasmus knelt, his head spinning.

“Helps with stamina,” Ruel said. “Soul weapon summonings are extremely taxing on the body. I'd have brought some if it had crossed my mind.”

Rasmus watched as the Dragon pulled closer.

“As I said, you'll have to make the beast trust you. Damn, it's handsome!”

“And how do I make it trust me?” Rasmus asked. “I don't think I can stay here much longer. I'm gonna be sick.”

Ruel watched the Pyrodactyle puff smoke from its mouth and nostrils.

“There's no rushing the process,” he said. “But if you're desperate, there's a method that works.”

“Which is?” Rasmus said, closing his eyes. The feeling he was experiencing was almost like getting stone drunk.

“Throw yourself off the Pyramid. It'll save you.”

Rasmus' eyes shot open. “What? Are you mad?”

Ruel smiled. “It builds trust.”

“And what if it doesn't feel like saving me?”

“It won't let you fall. Remember that it's your soul weapon, and your soul weapon's survival depends on you surviving. If you die, it dies. And it has all the reason in the world to try to survive.”

Rasmus supposed it made sense. But he didn't think he could pitch himself headfirst from a mile-high structure. One thing was certain: if the Dragon decided to watch amused as he fell, he would undergo an epic death.

“I can give you a demonstration if you like.”

Rasmus shrugged. “Sure.”

Ruel hoisted his Ferrum Blade. “Anima Aquila!” he bellowed. The blade shivered, and Rasmus watched the hilt elongate into a pair of crimson wings. Then, the blade itself swelled and exploded into a corporeal form--the scarlet Phoenix he'd rode in on.

“Wow!” Rasmus mouthed as the creature shivered. The bird was massive, just about as tall as he was with mean brown eyes. The Pyrodactyle fidgeted, clearly wary of the bird. When they walked to the edge of the Pyramid frustum, Ruel turned to him.

“Here goes.”

To Rasmus' horror, the boy let himself fall backward over the edge. The scene stunned him more than he thought it would as the Satharite boy hurtled to the lava lakes below. He didn't know exactly what lava did to flesh, but he was sure it involved excruciating pain, stripping skin, and perhaps the sizzling of the bone marrow. Halfway down, the Phoenix fluttered its wings and reared up on its massive clawed feet. Then, as it started flapping with more urgency, it was aerial in a heartbeat. Rasmus watched as the Phoenix dive in pursuit of the falling boy, its acceleration impressive for such a huge animal. The Pyrodactyle stirred again, ruffled by the Phoenix's feint. The bird made an expansive arc, at the bottom of which Ruel was scooped up on the bird's back. The acrobatics of both the bird and the boy were so flawless, that Rasmus wondered if magic was involved in it to ensure precision. Ruel also had to quickly orient himself upon the bird's back to keep from falling again. He teetered to the side for a scary second, but he steadied himself by holding onto the feather tassels on the bird's nape. Rasmus gave the Pyrodactyle an admonishing glare. I hope you can do that, he thought. The beast eyed him back with its savage yellow eyes. Rasmus got the feeling it said something unkind back to him in its mind. Just now, a smiling Ruel was buoyed up by the bird, which landed nimbly, kicking up dust.

“Whew!” Ruel exclaimed. “The supreme adrenaline rush. I can never get used to that!”

“That was nice,” Rasmus admitted. “But like I said, I doubt I'll ever get the courage to--”

Ruel silenced him with his hand. “Save it. Few of us needed courage to pull this off on the first three tries.”

Rasmus contorted his face, puzzled. “Then how did you--”

Ruel silenced him again. “It's simple. All you need...is a push.”

A wry smile creased the boy's jaw. Rasmus' eyes widened as Ruel's meaning dawned on him. The next series of events happened in a flash. A mighty push sent him off the edge. His feet floundering for solid ground, Rasmus screamed as he fell, his eyes watering as the wind assaulted them. Unlike Ruel, he was falling face first, which gave him the privilege of seeing how he would die--a sputtering lava lake emitting a thin, wreath-like vapor. Rasmus had died before, but at least he hadn't known he would have died that night let alone how it would happen. Now, he was plummeting to death at what he bet was closing in on a hundred miles an hour! He hoped he died quickly. How quickly could a boiling pool of lava kill? Suppose he didn't die immediately and was made to suffer a slow and agonizing death as his flesh fried and his blood vaporized? He thought of Spica. He loved the girl. To think he had hopes of escaping this godforsaken world to have another chance at a normal life in the Triskai was depressing. Rasmus' voice left him...all screamed out. About sixty feet from the lake, Rasmus closed his eyes. Ruel's Phoenix had rescued him much higher than Rasmus' current location. After about a minute, Rasmus realized he was still falling--way beyond the time it should have taken for him to be buried in the fiery grave of the lava pool. He forced his eyes open, and to his surprise, noted he wasn't moving vertically, but horizontally. Also, he wasn't being transported by gravity. Instead, he was on the scaly back of a beast he'd thought despised him.

The Dragon flew with as much grace as a swan. He surmised the beast had intercepted his fall so smoothly, he hadn't registered a break in his fall. Rasmus held onto one of three horn-like spikes on its back as it soared upward, belting out a mighty groan intermingled with searing flames. Rasmus shielded his face from the heat as the Dragon reached the Pyramid's zenith. It landed smoothly beside Ruel, who had banished his Phoenix, the Ferrum Blade draped over his back.

“Damn dude!” Ruel exclaimed as Rasmus disembarked. “I have to apologize.”

“Yeah that was seriously messed up. I guess it worked out in the end,” Rasmus said.

Ruel shook his head. “It almost didn't. I forgot Pyrodactyles love lava. Yours was headed directly for the lake after it broke your fall. Didn't you realize?”

“No, I had my eyes closed.”

“I had to divert it. If I didn't, you probably would be dead.”

Rasmus didn't know how to respond to this. He wanted to thank Ruel for saving him, yet it was he who had pushed him off the Pyramid in the first place.

“Well, I guess the end justifies the means,” he finally said.

“How do you feel?” Ruel asked.

“Numb.”

“At least your soul weapon trusts you now.”

“How can you tell?” Rasmus asked. But Ruel didn't have to respond. The creature was by his side sniffing his body. Rasmus jumped away in surprise.

Ruel laughed. “Pat its head,” he suggested.

Rasmus hesitated before stretching his hand toward the reptilian head. As his hand contacted the rough scales, he half expected the animal to react aggressively. But it continued with its fascination with his side.

“You have no idea how much you've accomplished today,” Ruel stated. “I'm tempted to teach you even more to improve your chances at defeating Bullwark, but I think that's enough for today, unless you wish to continue, of course.”

Rasmus shook his head. “I want to, but I don't feel too great.” It was true; he felt nauseous, but also he didn't want Spica and the rest to know he was missing. “When is our next session?” he asked.

Ruel smiled. “I'll send you a databomb.” He extended his hand. “This went much better than I could have dreamed of.”

Rasmus shook his hand. “I'm glad you reached out,” he said.

Ruel nodded. “And remember... you're a Satharite. That means something.”

Tony's Readings

The second day of his return to Imajinaereum, he found things were not business as usual. There were no classes as everyone was preparing for some sort of attack by unsavory forces from the worlds below. As hardened as he was, Tony would be lying if he said a little fear wasn’t creeping inside him. Even Mage Ontong had seemed spooked as the environs of Imajinaereum got colder and darker—the horizon tinged with a hint of red. Groundsman Crick had told him the red heralded the merging of Imajinaereum with the pair of Nox Regia and Blagoborgobath. On the bright side, Tony was learning a lot from the books that had been forbidden up to a few days ago. He had one in front of him now: The Nine Cosms by Delphian Thousse. Tony hadn’t yet found a method to bring back his family or Kane, but he sensed he was getting closer. He opened the book and read.

NINE WORLDS OF THE OAK

1.IMAJINAEREUM

2.NOX REGIA

3.MEPHISTOVAGLA

4.BLAGOBORGOBATH

5.HELLENOGYRUM

6.SCHIZOPNEUM

(INFERNUUM)

7.OSSIPHANGOPHI

8.THANATOCROPOLIS

9.DA’EMOQLITH

THE NEXUS OAK

The Nexus Oak is a curious tree which acts as a portal or "door" to the nine lower worlds. Although it was created by natural processes, the Nexus Oak was later bewitched by an Incantatrix to foster transit from our world to others. Located on Candentis Academy, the tree behaves normally by day, as night falls, however, it strips its leaves when the bewitchment activates, transforming into a bare Ash. Despite the power of the witch's incantation, the tree would have rotted away after its first use due to the infernal bands of energy streaming in from the destination realm. Hence, the engineer and mage, Theophilus Jansky, was tasked with fortifying it against the aforementioned energy, so the tree could operate indefinitely. He installed a lightning rod within its trunk and injected it with a rare viscous material which enabled the limbs to pull energy (lightning) from the dark skies at night without being incinerated. In order for a magician to travel by the Nexus Oak, he first has to activate his spirit key. The Oak connects with nine realms (excluding The Triworld Annulus).

IMAJINAEREUM

Imajinaereum is the highest world to which the Oak connects. It is located one layer below our own world and possesses similar physical laws. However, being closer to the chaos than the Triworld Annulus, Imajinaereum has a few glaring differences. Like the remainder of the worlds below Imajinaereum, the sun is forbidden to shine, a direct result of being in the domain of the Lord Of Chaos, Satharchon and the fact that The Creator god Oebiel refuses to let his rays of light shine upon the inhabitants who ceaselessly blaspheme against him by practicing the dark art of Satharchon. This doesn’t stop the natives from committing the sin of black magic, however, casting spells to pitch heat from the unlikeliest of sources. Another difference the magician might notice is the medieval feel of the place, dominated with Gothic architecture, fashion and an overall grimmer (Fatalistic) ethos.

NOX REGIA

The layer of Nox Regia is one layer further removed from The Triskai than Imajinaereum. The dark in this locale would have been more profound than in Imajinaereum had the vicious war between white and dark magicians not enchanted the skies into a never ending display of color and electric activity. As a result, the atmosphere of Nox Regia is more fanciful and rife with strange flora and fauna. The Nox Regian Silverwing is a species of poisonous butterflies found exclusively within the realm, sporting two pairs of antennae and a pair of lustrous silver wings. The Argent River is a viscous slow-moving river composed of colloidal Mercury-Silver mix which divides the terrain into two equal halves. Nox Regia is home to a phalanx of frightening beasts roaming the land. Despite this, magicians theorize there are yet many more which remain undiscovered. Because of its picturesque scenery, Nox Regia is the preferred destination for children seeking magical education.    

MEPHISTOVAGLA

Directly below Nox Regia is Mephistovagla, a sort of half world, the closest to the Triworld Annulus demons can exist in full form. However, only one demon is known to frequent the realm: Choronzon, the personification of madness and chaos. Mephistovagla is a volcanic wasteland illuminated by three iridescent moons. The entire landscape is covered with black sand and deep mires whose pull is seven times stronger than that of black holes. Only wizards with exceptional magical powers can escape them. Also, a horrible wind sweeps through the land at intervals, thus creating a flesh-tearing sandstorm of sand and brimstone. The most recent addition to the terrain of Mephistovagla is a mountainous forest bewitched with Arbals (Living trees with huge bloodshot eyes and roots which double for bloodsucking tentacles).

BLAGOBORGOBATH

As the layers of the Nexus Oak are stripped away, we begin to enter the lower realms that are more treacherous for living humans to visit. Blagoborgobath is divided into two sections: Upper and Lower Blagoborgobath. The furthest a human may travel from Earthrealm is to Upper Blagoborgobath, and even so, faces almost sure disintegration by the infernal laws which govern the place. Upper Blagoborgobath is characterized by a seething black mist which is said to be the rotten breath of the Most Low. A magician may have three logical reasons to enter this realm: necromancy, enlightenment through the conquering the weaknesses of the sojourning magician, or suicide (which has its own purposes in black magic). Upper and Lower Blagoborgobath are separated by the Amaranthine river: a river of blood across which souls of the deceased are ushered by the magics of unknown beings. A frightening red vapor masks the goings on beyond Upper Blagoborgobath: a gas which if inhaled by humans will afflict them with the excruciating and frequently incurable Hemphalitic Fever. The Ancients contend that beyond the Amaranthine river, a legion of demons roam unchecked whose forms are indescribable in their disfigurements.

HELLENOGYRUM

As we descend the roots of the Nexus Oak, we encounter a strange cosm known as Hellenogyrum. Although this fifth world is technically below Blagoborgobath on the tree, it is not quite on the linear continuum downward. Rather, it lies on the South West of the prior world and not tethered to it in any physical way. Hellenogyrum, also known as the Swirling World, is home to a magical school of the same name but with a grim twist: the students are already dead and have crossed the red river of Amaranthine. However, their souls were spared from dissolution in the lower realms by some redeeming detail of the life they lived in The Triworld Annulus.

The students learn a brand of magic called soul magic (soul weaponry) which has its basis in thought and vibration. The Pomps (benevolent shapeshifters which uphold the Law of Mercy) who determine whether a person is worthy of attending Hellenogyrum, must fit the disembodied soul with a gross body in order for it to function. The catch, however, is that the body quickly whittles away and hence the magician must quickly find a way to reascend through the worlds to avoid annihilation. In its physicality, Hellenogyrum most closely resembles Imajinaereum, with the notable difference being infested with more demonic entities, such as Pomps and Vormals (malevolent shapeshifters) roaming the land. Also of note are the Skelegs: carnivorous, double-headed, skeletal horses upon which the Vormals ride, seeking souls.

SCHIZOPNEUM

Descending further down the Nexus Oak, we encounter another lopsided cosm straying from the continuum to the South East of Blagoborgobath. In some sense the twin world of Hellenogyrum, Schizopneum has a similar purpose in allowing souls a final chance at reentering glory in the higher cosms. However, unlike in Hellenogyrum, the souls here are afforded no bodies for themselves and so have to fend for themselves in a pitiable swarm of disembodied souls. In the world of Schizopneum (whose name means severed souls), the souls compete to ascend by annihilating as much of their counterparts as possible, owing to the fact that only a certain number of them may be let through in any one soul-cycle. It is not uncommon for a soul to subsume a weaker one, making it stronger and more hardened to endure the ravages of Blagoborgobath and Mephistovagla.

THE INFERNUUM

OSSIPHANGOPHI

Continuing along the vertical path of The Nexus Oak is the realm of Ossiphangophi (Terrain of bare bones). Herein lies the beginning of the three spheres of Infernuum (Hell), the description of which has to be purely metaphorical due to the lack of words to justly depict the abstraction. The name Ossiphangophi refers to bones in the sense of structure: the frame over which an organized, meaningful establishment may have its foundation. Imagine a building, Ossiphangophi would be the earth upon which that building is erected plus the array of steel which keeps the structure upright. Of course, instead of a steel we are referencing magics or forces, and instead of houses we refer to either bodies or any system of organized thought. Once a soul descends into Ossiphangophi, there is no hope of returning to a previous world. Trapped, the hapless spirit faces an inexorable path to damnation. The best a soul can hope for is to become stuck in the fiery loop of the Infernuum (rotating through Ossiphangophi, Thanatocropolis and the upper regions of Da’eamoqlith). Such a soul could elude perdition by employing one of the darkest arts possible: etheric vampirism or by an unforgivable devilry known as Phagopneumopoeisis in which the practitioner subsumes a soul (distinguished from the process that may happen in Schizopneum), thus inheriting the karma of the ingested spirit---an act which interferes with the host soul’s judgment.

THANATOCROPOLIS

Extending even deeper, the roots of the Nexus Oak takes us to the abyssal Thanatocropolis where the most infamous demons have their habitation. Their unholy purposes are vast and includes mocking any established system of morality either through blasphemy, torture, or copulation with human souls. They worship continually at the feet of the Most Low. These demons are well versed in all brands of thaumaturgy and may be either evoked or invoked by a magician for the sake of their authority in witchcraft. However, these demons are by no means willing nor grandiloquent and may deceive the magician into a false sense of security before luring him into a grave error, after which the demon will take the soul directly to Thanatocropolis without the luxury of descending steadily through the cosms. This is the true meaning of the phrase: a fate worse than death. That unfortunate magician has zero chances of redemption and his fate is the yawning blackness of Lower Da’eamoqlith.

DA’EAMOQLITH

The furthest removed from the Triskai is the chthonic world of Da’eamoqlith. It is the final chamber of the Infernuum, and the destination of souls barred from absolution. The accursed souls are pitched into a seething valley of Kh’Virah which repeatedly rips them into unidentifiable bits of soul fabric, their writhing recalling the sound of swarms of locusts.Trapped in the abyss, they cry out helpless from the dismemberment, descending into madness, or sinking into eternal oblivion. Not much more is known of Da’eamoqlith, except that it is the habitation of a host of Antigods, the chief of whom has the title of the Most Low (Satharchon). These Antigods are notoriously abhorrent in their outlook toward humankind and spare no wickedness in plotting their demise.

The Roofless Room

A couple of hours before the Hedogothika Ball, Kane handed a piece of parchment to Art. He took it, questioning him and his company with his brown eyes.

“Do you recognize it?” Spica asked.

Art finally prized his eyes from them and peered at the drawing. “You pulled me into a corner to show me a line drawing?” he bemoaned.

“Do you recognize it or not?” Kane asked. He and Spica had decided to keep the matter of Rasmus' dark birthright a secret, confronting Art only through necessity. They needed to know which constellation the Obiscule had shown him as a clue to Rasmus' salvation.

“No, can't say I recognize it,” he said, studying the image.

Spica sighed.

Art looked from Spica to Kane. “What is this supposed to represent?”

Spica hissed, “That's what we're asking you, Art.”

Art narrowed his eyes. “I feel like I'm being attacked. What's going on here?”

Kane shuffled. “You're not being attacked. We need to know what cluster that is.”

Art studied him. “Did you say 'cluster'?”

Kane nodded. Art laughed out loud.

“What's so funny?” Spica spat.

Art ignored her. “Star cluster?”

Kane was getting annoyed at Art's antics. “Yes, Art, star cluster.”

Art peered at the paper again. “Well, it makes sense now that I know what it's representing.”

He paused for a second. “It's rare though. I think the lure is that no one has seen it in a thousand years-- the hidden zodiac.”

“I see,” Kane said. “What does it represent?”

Art furrowed his brow. “The astrological name of it is Canidus Alphamorphus or Canimorphus for short. The black dog. There is a myth associated with it, but I forgot it. I know it's tragic though. Something about a demon dog in search of his human mother.”

Kane nodded. The boy had finally told them something useful. “How do we find out more about it?” he asked.

“Don't worry,” Art said. “Just give me some time, and I'll remember everything about it. It's just that my mind is on that Ball. Tessa is my date, remember? I'm getting myself in the frame of mind to deal with that wretch of a girl.”

Kane felt a surge of caustic emotion spilling from Spica.

“Look, Art,” she began, about to unload her frustration onto the boy, but Kane stalled her.

“Thanks, Art. We'll be back to hear the myth of the black dog.”

With that, he led Spica back into the room. Her back felt hot to the touch.

“I just think he isn't taking it seriously,” she huffed, sitting on her bed.

Kane nodded. “I sense the same,” he admitted. “Though to be fair, we didn't tell him we're trying to save Rasmus from dying in the Monomakia.” He paused before continuing again. “Are you sure we shouldn't just tell them Rasmus is in danger?”

It was Spica's idea to keep Rasmus' predicament between them.

Spica shook her head. “No. The point is... I don't want Rasmus to find out. He doesn't handle pressure well. For all we know, telling him might just be the thing to push him down the path of no return.”

Kane understood her reasoning, but he disagreed with the decision to keep Rasmus in the dark about his own possible doom. However, he felt the decision wasn't his to make.

   “Okay, we'll ask Lumia when she returns. Where's Rasmus by the way?” Kane noticed he hadn't seen the boy for a few hours.

“Oh right,” Spica said. “He told me he found a way to tame his Dragon.”

“Really?” Kane mused. “That's good news. But how did he get to do that, and when?”

Spica shrugged. “Hell if I know. He's being secretive about it for some reason. I don't like how he's behaving, Kane. It's like...” She stopped, sighing. “Anyway, we really need to get ready for this stupid Ball.”

Kane had a good idea what Spica meant to say. She thought his behavior was a foreshadowing of what the Obiscule had prophesied.

“Yeah. Treat the Ball as part of the process of saving Rasmus,” he said. “Actually, a big part of Rasmus being saved depends on you prying valuable information from Bullwark.”

“Yeah, no pressure,” she said.

...

Almost two hours after Kane and Spica's confrontation of Art about the dog constellation, the ten contestants of Pyramid Alpha found themselves seated inside a gloomy hall. Kane wasn't aware such a hall existed until he was lead there by Quetzalquilhotep. It was through a dark passage close to the pulpit in the gilded hall. Kane was doubly impressed with the atmosphere the demons managed to create, along with the girl sitting across from him whose beauty was now confirmed in his mind. Each pair of dates was seated around a small table with bottles of wine, glasses, and bowls of fruit and nuts. He saw that each pair was cordoned off from the next by a thick, translucent cloud of colored smoke that moved languidly when disturbed by a breeze. The colors reflected spectacularly, casting shifting shadows that accentuated the ambiance. Kane knew intuitively that the occasion was meant to be much more than a Ball, though he didn't know the exact purpose. Somehow, the air seemed somewhat sexual.

“So you aren't gonna say anything to me for the whole date?” Grace said. “Am I not even a little interesting?”

Kane huffed. “I was waiting on some cue, I guess. And I don't know if you're interesting. Are you?”

Grace's lips were tight. “No, not really. But you are.”

“Is that so?” Kane asked. It seemed to him that the people overseeing the Ball were waiting on them to speak before starting the music --drab and dreary.

“Your eyes are--hypnotic,” she said, raising a glass of red wine.

Her admission took Kane aback. Her muted expression hadn't changed. He expected such a statement to be accompanied by some expression akin to mischief or flirtation. She was interesting indeed, he realized. Her compliment seemed genuine nevertheless.

“Thanks,” he said.

Grace eyed him over her wine glass. “You like the atmosphere?”

“I do,” he replied. “It's different.”

Grace nodded. “Seems it was designed for people to fall in love-- a tragedy... seeing that the death duel is just around the corner.”

Again, Kane was surprised by the girl's statement. He wasn't sure why, but such a statement seemed more appropriate to be shared between someone he knew and who knew him. However, she was correct. She was watching him again.

“Yeah, love in the underworld is bound for tragedy indeed. Though I guess there's a chance of success if both persons win their duels.”

He recalled that Spica would be battling Grace in the Monomakia, hence he should be trying to figure out what the girl's soul weapon was. Clearly, he couldn't ask her directly. He would have to find some subtle method of getting to it.

“So,” he began. “How long have you been here in Hellenogyrum?”

“Long enough,” she said. “Can't wait to leave.”

“I see. This Satharchon against Oebiel thing is a big deal here, isn't it? Seems everything comes down to that.”

Grace raised her brow, sipping her wine. “It is a big deal. And you and your friends are at a disadvantage from the start.”

Kane poured himself a glass of wine. He was trying his best to not seem too invested in the conversation. “What do you mean me and my friends?” he asked.

Grace shrugged, tossing some of the berries into her mouth.

“Isn't it obvious? The cosm of Hellenogyrum is literally one of the houses of Satharchon. The place repels Oebielites by default. I'm glad I wasn't born into any of them.”

Kane was confused. Clearly, the girl was a Satharite.

“What do you mean?” he quizzed. “You're a Satharite. That's literally why you're sitting across from me now.”

“Not totally correct,” Grace informed, laughing. “You don't know how this works, do you? When a person is born, he or she has to fall under one of three categories: either you were born with Oebiel essence in which case you're a Quintet, or you were born with Satharchon essence in which case you're a Veil. Those not born under any of those are just Norms. Norms get the opportunity to choose which god to side with. At least where I'm from that's how it was explained to us.”

“Hmm.”

Except 'Quintet', Kane had never heard those terminologies before. From what Art and Lumia had told him about his Or'oyo, he knew he was born with Oebiel essence, which would make him a 'Quintet'. He guessed he was a part of the special five (along with Sam, Gem, Parris, and Tony) of Oebiel's chosen to be called the 'Blood Quintet'.

“If I understand you correctly,” Kane began. “You're a Norm who pledged allegiance to Satharchon because this is his world and you would have a better chance of escaping it alive if you're on his side?”

“Exactly!” Grace chimed. “I know it seems a bit shallow, but...forgive me. I just want to live.”

Kane nodded. “I understand.”

Suddenly, Grace didn't seem like an evil Satharite anymore. And who was he to blame her for doing what she saw fit to survive? But he decided to pry a bit further.

“But let me ask you this, Grace. How strong is your allegiance to Satharchon? I mean, if it is Satharchon's will for you to hurt someone else, would you do it?”

Grace fidgeted under his gaze as she thought about his question. “That's a deep question. I haven't thought about it. If I'm being honest I just pledged to say that I'm siding with the god that rules the place. I'm not an evil person nor do I wish bad for anyone. ”

“Fair enough,” Kane said.

Grace continued, “But people like you who're Quintets, and also Veils, get benefits Norms don't receive. You have your pretty eyes that does god knows what, and that bow. And your god's Providence is always with you.”

“Hmmm.”

Kane looked across the room. He couldn't see much past the iridescent smoke fluttering around them.

“So, how did you die?” he asked.

Grace made a sudden movement, almost spilling wine on herself. Kane stared at her. She held her head down, avoiding eye contact. Did she hear him? He wondered.

“Grace?” he prodded.

“Yeah?”

“I asked--”

“I head you,” she replied. “I-- um--don't wish to talk about that right now. I don't mean to be rude.”

“Oh,no.” Kane suddenly felt bad for asking such a question on a date. And here he was thinking he'd left his tactlessness back in Hargreave Hollow. But he could readily understand why someone wouldn't want to converse about their death.

Grace had fallen quiet. She poured herself another glass of wine before gulping it down. She smiled at him.

“I took a look at the Monomakia pairings before coming here. I was curious to see who you're up against. How exactly are you guys working out who gets to live out of you and Art?”

Kane saw mischief in her eyes. But she was correct; either he or Art had to die for the other to live. This time it was Kane who remained quiet. Grace watched him, waiting for a response.

“And you're fighting Spica,” he countered--”a worthy opponent, I think.”

Grace shifted in her chair. “Can I tell you the blunt truth?”

Kane nodded. “All ears.”

“The hardest part about fighting Spica will be getting over the remorse once I kill her. She's a decent being, too bad she's up against a scumbag like me.”

Kane's blood ran cold. The girl's confidence was shocking. He decided to bait her a bit. “I've seen Spica's soul weapon. I wouldn't take it lightly if I were you.”

Grace smiled, the gyrating light revealing her deep dimples. “Okay, Kane. Thanks for the heads up.”

Kane finished his wine and poured himself another. She didn't take the bait.

“You know, Kane, the stakes are high here; it's either you lose your soul or you don't. I find I sink into depression when I'm not doing something that either numbs my feelings or drowns them in bliss.” She paused as Kane finished his wine. His head was spinning a bit from the alcohol.

“That's understandable, especially if you've gone through some deep trauma that you don't wish to remember.”

Grace looked at him, and Kane watched a solitary tear trickle down the girl's cheek. He'd clearly touched on a sensitive matter. Something raised him from his seat, and he staggered around the table toward her. Was she drunk? He wondered. He held her hand as tears slipped unbidden onto her lap.

“Hey.” Kane said. “I'm here if you wanna talk about it. Speaking helps.”

She looked at him, her lips twitching. “Suicide,” she said.

“What?” Kane didn't think he heard her correctly.

“That's how I died.” With that, she wrapped her hands around him. “I do want to talk about it,” she said. “Can we...privately?”

“Sure.”

Grace alighted. “This place is weird anyway.”

Kane had expected them to stay here and talk about Grace's suicide, but he guessed she had other ideas. He followed her through the coruscating light where a similar light was veiling the other dating pairs. Kane tried to make out his friends through the hazy light to no avail. All he saw were distorted silhouettes. Grace grabbed his hand and yanked him through the gloomy enclosure and past the exit.

“We're not supposed to leave so early,” she whispered.

Kane was surprised they weren't already accosted by Quetzalquilhotep.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they finally spilled into the gilded hall. Grace smiled in response, stopping at the porting eye. She released him and withdrew the black rose from her hair. The gesture seemed queer and ill-timed. To Kane's horror, it all made sense when the Satharite girl used one of the thorns to prick her thumb. A bead of blood oozed from the self-inflicted wound.

“What are you doing?!” Kane sounded, retreating from her.

She smiled yet again. “Relax, Kane. It's just how we get to where we're going.”

Suddenly, Kane had a bad feeling about going with the girl. He knew he should probably turn and go to his room, but the girl's eye now held him in place. As he peered into them, only one word described them. Sadness. He had seen the same look on Gem's face in another life back in Hargreave Hollow. It was a sadness he wanted to transform into well-being and happiness. Kane drew close to her again and onto the porting eye, which she beckoned him toward. Grace knelt and pressed her bleeding thumb into the large red pupil. Kane was immediately pulled into its odd transit. The journey to where ever he was going was hardly any different from the usual, except now he felt he'd been traveling for an extra few minutes. Also, the sensation that he was hurtling toward some unknown destination was gone; instead, he felt as though he were standing still, surrounded by inky, impenetrable blackness. He couldn't sense Grace beside him either. His luminous bow was beginning to dominate his consciousness, and he wondered just how long he should tolerate this ominous blackness before he should panic. Just as he finished the thought, the blackness faded like the onset of a new dawn. Grace was indeed beside him, staggering a bit as the scene unfolded. They were inside a medium-sized red room with a bed in the center. As far as Kane could see, there was no sensible entry or exit, no windows or doors. Where there should be a roof, was pure blackness. The energy was off.

“Where are we?” Kane asked.

“Somewhere no one will intrude on us.” She sat on the bed and folded her legs, caressing the thick burgundy velvet sheet.

“Yeah, but--” he looked upward again at the roofless structure. His eyes met blackness he wasn't even sure represented outer space.

Grace giggled. “Come closer, I'll tell you everything.”

Kane hesitated. Suddenly, he felt warmth on the back of his neck, hands caressing from behind. How Grace had moved so quickly from the bed was beyond him. He was probably drunker than he thought. He didn't resist her as she led him to the bed. He'd hardly sunken into its folds before Grace kissed him flush on the lips. The softness seemed to ignite his lust as his loins stirred and burgeoned. Grace seemed to sense this, pressing herself into him, her breathing heavy as she broke the kiss. As if on autopilot, their manic impulses shoved them up the bed, and before Kane knew it, he was slipping into a bliss his body seemed to have long thirsted for. She bucked her waist as his thrusts touched the core of her being. After a time unknown, they were writhing into and around each other like two sweaty snakes tangling, each striving to lose itself in the other. Lost in time, they rocked in rhythm until their bodies tensed in tandem. Kane felt his consciousness being pulled like a bow before he was released, an orgiastic arrow floating through the breezy air. The archer piled him into the cradle a few more times before zipping him into the air to revel in his weightlessness. Grace fluttered like a butterfly around him, the euphony of her moans resonating with his sated essence. Then it was done; they unraveled slowly, catching their breaths. Grace released breathy sounds as she recovered, lying on her back. Kane knew he had just experienced the most profound connection with someone he had ever had. He also intuited that his actions would have significant consequences--he suspected nothing good could come of this coupling.

“You know you're a really good person, Kane.”

Kane hissed. “I'd be surprised you said anything else after what just happened.”

Grace laughed. “I mean it though. I felt it-- the love.”

“Oh? Love is a strong word, Grace. We hardly know each other.”

“I know, but-- I dunno, it might not be coming from you exactly. Maybe it's Oebiel's love.”

Kane shrugged. “Well, I felt your 'love' too.”

There was silence as they stared into the void above them.

“I'm not a good person,” Grace finally said.

“What makes you say that?” Kane quizzed, turning to her. He saw that she was crying again.

“I just--” With that, she rose from the bed. “We need to go. This place will shatter soon.”

Kane rose. “Shatter? What is this place anyway?”

Grace stepped into an eye embroidered into the carpet. “It's my soul weapon.”

Kane froze. He didn't know whether to rejoice for having found out Grace's soul weapon or to be terrified he was inside it. There was a loud crash behind him, and he saw that a portion of the room had broken, spinning into the blackness around them. Were they in some other dimension? he wondered as he dashed toward Grace and the porting eye. The bedlam behind Kane suggested the room was further disintegrating. He took Grace's outstretched hand as blackness fell around him. Unlike the first journey, Kane was comfortable in the dark unknown. Again, he couldn't sense Grace beside him as they traveled, which was only slightly off-putting. He considered what she had said about the room being her soul weapon. What was the weapon exactly? he mused. Was it the fact that the room could break apart at any moment, killing the unfortunate occupant? But wouldn't Grace also be inside the room? Wouldn't she also be killed? Maybe she didn't have to go with them, he thought. Was her soul weapon some detail about the intimacy they just shared? If so, he'd been comprehensively fooled. But he sensed the sincerity of their lovemaking, and Kane trusted that if she'd fooled him, it wasn't their intimacy that she used to do it. He also knew she was being candid when she said she thought he was a ‘good person’. Where did he stand in the aftermath? Should he reveal Grace's soul weapon to Spica as was originally planned, or should he lie, playing the game of neutral spectator? Kane sighed; nothing was ever easy.

When they manifested inside the gilded hall, Grace was still holding his hand. His blue bow cast an eerie light into the space. Grace spoke without looking at him.

 “I really had fun tonight. And despite what you hear, all my intentions tonight were genuinely good.”

With that, she released him and stepped back into the porting eye. Before she vanished, Kane saw a hint of light in her eyes. He stood there for a while, processing what she just said. Why would anyone think her intentions were bad? Yes, he understood that she was a Satharite, but she had explained that it was out of necessity rather than by any dark inclination. Moreover, their activities would remain a secret. A sound startled him. Kane spun to see the one-eyed girl, Clementine staggering toward him. She stopped when their eyes met, staring blankly through her beady black eye.

“It's bedtime, boy,” she said. “Why don't you head up? Where is Grace by the way? You two didn't have too much fun, did you?”

Kane stared at the drunken girl; her words came in a garbled slur. He decided he would head up as she suggested to bypass answering so many questions.

Canimorphus

Spica's date with Bullwark was uneventful so far. She'd been sitting across from him for almost fifteen minutes without him uttering much more than a few words. She was planning on chatting him up before slipping in something that would make him reveal his soul weapon. Spica had made up her mind not to end the date without knowing exactly how Rasmus was to defeat Bullwark the demon slayer.

“You don't drink?” she asked as he gazed lazily at the ceiling.

“If I feel like it,” he replied. “You haven't touched yours either,” he added, directing his gaze at her. Spica's heart skipped a beat as his stare was so intense it was as if his eyes pierced through to her soul.

She quickly composed herself. “I was waiting on you! Where I'm from, it's rude to drink prematurely.” Spica all but rolled her eyes at the dumbness of what she just said.

Bullwark analyzed her disdainfully. “You must be from the Nocteraia forest. Nocteraian ethics are ape-like.”

Spica's mouth fell at the blatant disrespect. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Bullwark said. “Drink whenever you want to. Don't let me prevent you.”

Spica fell silent. It was becoming clear to her she wouldn't get a thing out of this stoic, borderline disrespectful guy. She took a swig of wine to loosen up a bit. Bullwark watched her with his laser-like eyes again. Then he rose.

“Where are you going? The date isn't over,” she said.

Bullwark shrugged. “Dates aren't my thing. Tonight made that even worse.”

Spica felt the heat rising in her face. With that, he left, his dense body piercing the dense light, disappearing from the hall. Spica downed the remainder of the wine and followed him. Bullwark didn't seem to notice her behind him. He lumbered to the porting eye, and to Spica's surprise, knelt and touched the eye with his palm. The roof? she wondered as he vanished. It was an odd moment to go to the roof. Spica felt the effects of the wine as she ambled to the eye, touching it with her palm as Bullwark had. The journey to the roof was quicker than she remembered, and when she arrived, it was less cold. She glanced around and saw nothing but dark desolation, and no Bullwark. Above was the ominous spiral of ocular clouds, but she didn't see the constellation Kane claimed to have seen when he asked her Obiscule about Rasmus' salvation. Spica sighed, looking about her once more for Rasmus' opponent. She didn't see him, but she did see some curious dark regions on the fringe of the Pyramid frustum. She assumed Bullwark could be concealed in one of the dark spaces. She was about to approach an arbitrary corner when a voice startled her.

“You followed me here?”

Spica wheeled around, but she didn't see the person behind the voice. “Where are you,” she asked. The delay was so long that she thought he wouldn't respond. “Bullwark?” she yelled.

Silence

Spica was about to yell again when a spark caught her attention to the west where she was about to go.

She jogged in that direction, realizing it was much further than she had thought. She stopped where the shadows began, and by the sparks, she could discern the silhouette of a figure. The sparks sputtered and died just as she saw Bullwark fully. He was sitting on the edge of the Pyramid!

“Approach at your own risk,” he said.

“I'm fine,” she said, though she was terrified. She crept closer, intending to sit beside him, but she didn't know how to properly orient herself without first falling the whole sixteen hundred meters down.

“How do I--” she began. It was then that she saw the entirety of the fall. She gazed downward, so mesmerized by the stark fall that she forgot her footing. A scream left her as she slipped from the edge. In what were impossible reflexes, Bullwark caught hold of her hand. Spica screamed as she dangled from his hand.

“Let me up!” she yelled hysterically. “Bullwark! Let me up!”

A hint of a smile twisted his lips before he hoisted her effortlessly. Spica scrambled away from the edge like a spider, afraid to even stand again. Bullwark laughed.

“How will you fair in the Monomakia if you're this scared of heights?”

“I'm not afraid!” Spica lied, amazed she kept her voice in an even tone. “Just slipped, that's all.”

Bullwark turned from her and retook his seat on the edge of the frustum.

“Do you still think you need to be here, or wasn't your near death experience not enough?”

Spica crawled on her hands and knees to the edge. The Satharite boy stared wordlessly at her before refocusing his gaze on the sky. Spica's eyes followed his.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

Bullwark hesitated before answering. “The cosmos,” he said — “one of the few joys of this damned place.”

“Hmmm. I guess I agree. The sky here is definitely different from the Triskai. You know, my mom said when I was a child I used to sit and stare at the sky for hours, refusing to eat or sleep. I guess I outgrew the fascination.”

“Pity,” Bullwark quipped. “It reminds me how insignificant we humans are in the grand scheme of things--so small.”

Spica found it humorous that of all persons, it was the burly Bullwark who was stating how small he was.

“I get your point. Personally, stargazing becomes much more magical with someone to view it with. Staring by your lonesome is a bit sad, don't you think?”

Bullwark didn't respond to this. “There!” he said suddenly.

Spica looked to the sky just in time to see incandescence not too far from the colorful spiral. It was a golden light that proceeded to light up the entire sky.

“Wow!” Spica breathed. “That's really pretty!”

Not only had the golden light illuminated the sky, but it had also revealed what was concealed beneath the shroud of darkness dominating the heavens. There were about ten constellations visible, leaving nothing to the imagination of what they represented. She saw clear star-studded outlines of certain animals: a bull, an eagle, a dragon, a wolf, a goat, a mermaid, a woman among others.

“What was that light?” she asked.

“It's the aerial Or'oyo,” he said. “Only Oebielites can see it.”

Spica recognized the word, 'Or'oyo' as what Kane's golden eyes were called. But it was Bullwark's other sentence that shook her.

“Did you just say only Oebielites can see it?”

Bullwark smiled. But he didn't respond.

“So you're an Oebielite?” she pressed.

Bullwark spoke without looking at her. “Why do you think I just saved you from dying just now? Surely you know that a true Satharite would have rejoiced in your death.”

Spica narrowed her eyes in confusion. “So, wait a second, why aren't you in our Oebielite room with me, Rasmus, Kane and the rest?”

Bullwark turned to her. “It is better for the authorities to think I'm on the side of the Satharites before I destroy every last one of them.”

To Spica's amazement, his eyes flashed from beady black to a golden hue: The Or'oyo! Spica retreated into deep thought, absorbing the new information. Bullwark being an Oebielite drastically changed some things. She wanted to tell him some stuff, but despite his Or'oyo eyes, she wasn't totally sure he was trustworthy.

“Your duel is with Rasmus,” she began, unsure of how to continue.

Bullwark smiled. “Finally she musters the courage to talk about what she wanted to speak about in the first place.”

Spica cowered. He'd read her like a book.

He continued. “But I'm afraid there are no happy endings, Spica. Rasmus is a Satharite by blood. He will be destroyed.”

“But I--” Spica started, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Shhh-- there are no buts, Spica. He's an agent of darkness parading as a human. Even he doesn't know what it means to be a Satharite. And make no mistake, Satharites will kill even who they love in the name of their god. That is the evil Satharchon has programmed into their essence. Besides...” he said, pausing. “You saw what he's destined for--a slow descent into madness.”

Spica stared agape at Bullwark. “How did you know that? That's impossible!”

“No. It was easy actually. I was here when you told Kane about the vision. I was right here in the shadows. But... I'm curious, did he tell you what the Obiscule revealed to him as Rasmus' salvation?”

Spica couldn't believe they were having this conversation. She was right to follow Bullwark here after all.

“Yes, he saw some kind of constellation,” she said.

Suddenly, she realized now was the perfect opportunity to get to the bottom of Kane's vision. She looked to the skies once more, and after moving her eyes from one constellation to the next, she spotted the cluster in question. She pointed to the canid looking constellation. She couldn't tell if it was a dog or a wolf.

“The Obiscule had revealed it to Kane as a symbol of Rasmus' salvation. I'd been clinging to the hope that somehow all this could be reversed.”

Bullwark shook his head. “No. Remember the Obiscule is an object of light, and hence the ‘salvation’ it would offer to an opposing Satharite is paradoxical at best.”

“But what does that dog constellation mean?” she asked.

Bullwark smirked. “Me.”

Spica glared at him. “This isn't a joke, you know.”

“I'm not joking,” he said. “The Obiscule showed Kane the zodiac under which Rasmus' opponent was born. Because on some level, I am his salvation to deliver him from his own nature.”

She remained quiet.

“I see you're hurting,” Bullwark said. “But the faster you get over him, the better it will be for you in your bid to win your duel. Who're you up against?” he asked.

“Grace,” she said.

“Strange girl. I can't quite figure her out, and that's saying something. It's a pity she's the only Satharite whose soul weapon I have no clue about. And I won't ask you what yours is.”

Spica laughed. “Don't. I'm not telling. Besides, you haven't told me what yours is.”

“Actually, it was just revealed...indirectly.” Bullwark stood. “I guess we should be heading back down before Quetzalquilhotep realizes we're missing.”

Spica felt her heart drop in disappointment. It was like she was expecting something more from him that he'd yet to give her. She started to rise but halted, remembering what happened the last time she stood too close to the edge. Bullwark seemed to have figured out the reason behind her indecision and held her just above the waist. Spica felt herself floating backward as his powerful hands deposited her to the ground. Her face flushed for some reason as she stared at him.

“Thanks.”

“Well,” Bullwark said. “It didn't start well, but that's the best date I've ever been on. I owe it to your annoying persistence.”

Spica giggled. “I had fun except for when I almost died.”

Bullwark moved closer. “There is dirt in your hair. How did you get so much dirt in your hair?”

He was so close now that Spica appreciated that his form eclipsed her five foot three frame. She could feel his body heat all over her skin. Why was she tingling so much? He held her head and flicked the dust from it. Then he shoved her head to his. Spica's knees buckled as his lips pressed into hers. Her body swooped into action, grinding into his body which was as hard as a slab of granite. Their tongues danced a slippery dance. She felt supremely safe inside his massive arms--safer than she'd ever felt. She submitted to her feelings and relinquished her will to the force that was having her. She moaned as his passion jerked her this way and that, completely lost in the sensations alight inside her. He kissed her throat so strongly that it was as if he bit her. She moaned again, melting from the searing crest of euphoria bubbling inside her loins. Then whatever had begun was over. Spica opened her eyes, almost falling from the abrupt removal of her support. Bullwark was gone, and she was cold. She let herself fall, her wobbly legs useless. She was still some distance from the porting eye. Why did he leave her like this? she wondered, staring up at the sky. The golden light and the constellations had vanished, leaving behind the bare eye-like spiral. Her body still buzzed from what just happened, intermittent quivers firing through her like a comet.

“Shit!” she whispered. She had already begun to mentally block the implications of the experience she just had in the grand scheme of things. Rasmus. Then the guilt of what she'd done hit her like the blow she would have received had she fallen from the Pyramid. “Shit!” she yelled. Not only had she just cheated, but she'd also done so in the most heartless of ways. How could she even face Rasmus now? Her guilt would practically be marked all over her face. And what would she do with the information Bullwark had just given her about the dark nature of the Satharites? Was Rasmus even worthy of being saved? Spica sighed, finally rising. She needed to decide quickly; the Monomakia was only a few days away. Reaching the porting eye, Spica took a deep breath and stepped onto the ocular engraving.

The Missing Or'Oyo

When Kane stumbled into the room, Lumia and Art were waiting for him. They rushed from their respective beds, almost toppling him.

“Hey. I'm right here. You don't have to--”

“Tell us everything!” Lumia shrieked. He could smell alcohol on her breath.

“What happened with Grace?” Art quizzed.

Kane shrugged. “Nothing much really. I--”

Art stopped him. “Wait a second.” He glanced at Lumia. “Lumia, am I seeing things, or is Kane's Or'oyo gone?”

Lumia's eyes widened. “Oh my! Kane your eyes are weird. Where's the Or'oyo?”

Kane's heart quickened. He shrugged again, trying to look as calm as possible.

 “Kane?” Art said patronizingly.

“Guys, it's no big deal, okay? I switched it off. That's all.”

Lumia narrowed her eyes. “You're lying dude. You're a horrible liar.”

Kane bustled past them to his bed. He felt incredibly drained and just wanted to sleep. The pair followed him, however. He noticed neither Spica nor Rasmus had returned from their dates.

“Okay. Forget the Or'oyo,” Art said. “Just tell us what happened with Grace.”

Kane dropped himself onto the bed. “I'll tell you all about it tomorrow guys. I'm really weary. I think I had too much to drink.”

Art put both his hands up defensively. “Okay. Fine. Tomorrow it is. Hopefully Spica or Rasmus will have something juicy for us tonight.”

When Lumia and Art retreated to their quarters, Kane got up and pulled the curtains. He felt like having some privacy tonight. He settled back into bed, muddling over the events of the night and how to proceed with the information Grace had shared about herself. She was practically a normal person who had pledged allegiance to Satharchon to stand a better chance at survival here in the Satharite-dominated Hellenogyrum. Who could blame her for trying to survive? Was it moral to share her soul weapon with her opponent, Spica? Should he aid and abet someone's death by giving the other information that could end them? But she wasn't just 'someone', was she? Wasn't Spica his friend? Kane recalled the intimacy with Grace. What exactly was she to him in light of their entanglement? Their coupling wasn't merely physical either; he felt her soul, her drives, her intentions. He spotted no difference in energy nor any hint that she was a Satharite at all. Hence, the decision made itself. Moreover, his intervention might just do more harm than good. The correct approach was to let things play out how fate decided.

Kane thought about his Or'oyo. He had to assume he'd lost it sometime during the tryst with Grace. It was also slightly worrying since Art and Lumia had told him prior that the golden eyes represented Oebiel's protection over him. Maybe he would get it back shortly. He wondered how Rasmus' and Spica's dates were going. Rasmus' date was with Clementine, he realized. It didn't take him long to recall that he had encountered an intoxicated Clementine in the gilded hall just before heading up to the room through the porting eye. This meant her date with Rasmus was already over. So why wasn't Rasmus here? Kane wondered. Just then he was assailed by a thought.--what if all the dates ended like his had? Intriguing though such an eventuality would have been, it was a stretch that every pair had ended the date as he and Grace had. With the mental turmoil his rendezvous with Grace had caused, this eventuality was bound to make the Monomakia more interesting. As for the date between Spica and Bullwark, he knew Spica would stop at nothing to figure out Bullwark's soul weapon. On the other hand, Bullwark didn't seem like the type to fall for any of Spica's games. It would be interesting to find out what had happened. This was Kane's last thought before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

The Dragon & The Phoenix

“Dude, I can't believe you're almost at my level in soul weapon manipulation,” Ruel said.

Rasmus smiled, holding onto his Dragon's back. Rasmus and Ruel had ended their dates early and were now above Pyramid Delta training with their soul weapons. Rasmus had just learned how the Pyroprompting technique worked. He found it cool that his Dragon could be coaxed to breathe down a stream of red-hot flames. Ruel's Phoenix had flames similar to Rasmus' Dragon, except that it was more magical--able to shape-shift into other things like steel or wood.

“Only a few more techniques to master,” Ruel said.

His Phoenix was soaring alongside Rasmus' Pyrodactyle far over the Pyramids. During the first dozen times of attempting to Pyroprompt the Dragon, Rasmus had finally developed an impressive trust between himself and the creature. The key was knowing that the animal wasn't an entity separate from himself but the same being in another form--and of course, he trusted himself. He'd learned that Hellenogyrum was much vaster than he'd originally thought. The land consisted of twelve Pyramids each equidistant from each other.

Ruel continued, “You have to learn how to multitask; while you pyroprompt your Dragon, you should be able to do magic for yourself.”

Rasmus frowned. “Isn't that like close to impossible? The pyroprompting is already magic, right? How can I do two spells at once.”

“It's all about concentration. You can recite the pyroprompting spell in your mind while you vocalize the other spell.”

“Interesting.”

Rasmus had developed a new appreciation for the system of magic. He realized there were things that could be done with it that he hadn't even dreamed of. For example, Ruel had told him that there was a whole class of conditional spells that activated only if a certain condition was met, linking infinitely if done correctly.

“I'll show you,” Ruel offered. “Let's head back. We've gone to far from the base.”

Rasmus willed the Dragon around, Ruel doing the same with his Phoenix.

“Look!” he said.

Rasmus watched as the Phoenix fired a searing stream of orange flames downward.

“Furcate!” Ruel bellowed.

To Rasmus' surprise, the Phoenix's flames contorted into miniature copies of the Phoenix, zooming madly in an ever-growing orange swarm below.

“Amalga!”

The orange mass exploded, sending a ball of heat toward them, along with a swelling heat wave that unbalanced them.

“Great,” Rasmus yelled as they soared over a Pyramid. “What spell should I use?”

Ruel seemed to think about the question. “I'm not too sure, actually. I don't know what's your dominant element. I'm guessing it's fire just like mine since your soul weapon is a fire-breathing creature, but it could be something else.”

Rasmus nodded. “I see. So how do I find out what my dominant nature is?”

“What's your zodiac sign? That would be a start.”

Rasmus wondered if he meant his zodiac sign within Hellenogyrum's astrological system or that of the Triskai.

“Sagittarius,” he said.

“That confirms it,” Ruel said. “Fire is your dominant element. This actually simplifies matters since mine is also fire. I can show you some badass techniques.”

“So your zodiac is Sagittarius as well?” Rasmus quizzed. “That would be quite the coincidence.”

“It would,” Ruel agreed. “I'm a Leo though--also a fire zodiac. Though Leo and Sagittarius are both fire based zodiacs, there are some minor differences with them.”

“Like what?” Rasmus asked.

“I'll show you,” Ruel said. “Let us land.”

They descended onto Pyramid Delta a few moments later. After disembarking from their respective beasts, Ruel's Phoenix morphed back into the Ferrum Blade while the Dragon crouched on its haunches, expelling steam from its nostrils. Clearly, it was exhausted from all the flying. Rasmus felt a curious empathy toward the animal as it panted away its exhaustion.

“Okay, Rasmus. Allow me to demonstrate my awesome fire-weaving techniques. As we established before, your zodiac helps in determining your dominant element. A total of three zodiacs represents each element. Hence there are three different signs whose dominant element is fire: Aries, Leo and Sagittarius. The thing is...each of those three expresses fire differently. Look.”

Ruel extended his blade. “Pyrocube.”

Rasmus saw the blade erupt in brick-red flames which then contorted into a metal cube which slammed onto the ground.

“Woah!” Rasmus darted backward from the impact, dust roiling everywhere.

“Look at the cube,” Ruel said. “Note its form and texture. Now you do the same spell--PY-ROH-CUBE.”

Rasmus watched as Ruel's freshly conjured cube scorched the earth. “So don't I need something like your blade to pull it off?”

Ruel shook his head. “Not at all. I just used my Blade as an extension of my hand.”

“Pyrocube!” Rasmus bellowed. The manifestation was immediate. He felt the air vibrate and heat up before a ball of flames ignited. The ball then contorted into a fiery cube. His cube, however, wasn't as solid as Rasmus'. Instead, it was more flexible and airy, its sides feathery and shifty with flames.

“See? Yours is more shape-shifty, not as definite as mine. The clear advantage your cube has is you can now change the cubic flame into a different shape altogether while I can't--my cube, once it has congealed has to remain a physical cube.”

“I understand,” Rasmus said. “You have to chose more carefully what you want your fire to change into.”

“Precisely. Because I'll be stuck with it! Though to be fair, I can do multiple summonings to correct any mistakes or if I want to double down on achieving something. With Tessa as my opponent though, I'm thinking there will be no room for errors.”

“I see,” Rasmus said. “What is the element for Virgos?” he asked, curious about Spica's nature.

“Earth,” Ruel said. “The shape-shifty version of the earth element to be exact. Don't be fooled though, some people have multiple dominant elements.”

Ruel and Rasmus practiced fire-weaving until they were slow and sweaty. They dropped themselves down to the hard ground, their breaths lengthy grunts.

“Rasmus...it would be a pity if you don't beat Bullwark. You've almost mastered medium-tier fire-weaving. Plus, you're almost at advanced level at soul weapon manipulation. One more session and you'll know everything I know.”

Rasmus breathed away some of his exhaustion before responding. “I can't thank you enough, Ruel. If it weren't for you, I'd have zero chances of surviving the duel.”

“No problem man.” Ruel extended his hand, and they bumped fists. “I have to say...” Ruel began. “When I sent you that databomb, I didn't envision it being like this. At best I thought you'd be standoffish and dismissive as Oebielites usually are. But of course you aren't one of them; you're a Satharite, and Satharites mesh well together.”

Rasmus nodded. “Yeah. I don't feel the same with them as I do in these sessions. Hard to explain, but it's almost like I'm freer here--less restricted.”

“Brilliant observation!” Ruel exclaimed, standing. “It's an energy thing: similar energy interact harmoniously while unlike energy is parasitic. Come on, Rasmus, we need to get back to the base before someone notices our absence and alert Quetzalquilhotep or the Hierocruxes.”

Rasmus alighted quickly...too quickly. His head spun, dizzied from the sudden shift. Ruel summoned his Phoenix, hopping onto its back. Rasmus called his Dragon. Together, they flew from Pyramid Delta through the silent dark.

Philhotep's Speech

Kane had no clue how long he'd been asleep when a noise roused him. He had a weird dream about Sybel. The old witch had been trying to tell him something, but her voice was drowned out by a terrible wailing around her. He had tried to get closer to her, but an infernal heat blocked his path before she was swallowed up by darkness. In normal times, he would have shrugged off the dream as random and meaningless, but he knew that couldn't be further from the truth. Sybel was even more dead than he was, languishing in the lower cosm of Schizopneum, which was possibly where he would be headed (if he was lucky) if he lost his Monomakia duel. His mind wandered to Spica and Rasmus--the latter was more likely to lose his duel than him. Kane stared at his curtain before alighting, shifting the drapes. To his surprise, everyone was looking at him.

“Took you long enough,” Lumia quipped. “We have a meeting in the hall,” she said.

Art nodded. “You okay? You look weird. The Ball must have had a toll on you.”

Kane cast his eyes on Rasmus and Spica, who proceeded without them.

Lumia watched her disappear outside the entrance. “Hasn't said a word since the Ball.”

Rasmus was sporting the same dark spots on his face and hands. Save a full-fledged fight, Kane failed to conclude what he had done in the Ball that could possibly have caused them.

“Alright. Let's go!” Art said, leading the way. “Quetzalquilhotep seems to be in a mood today like everyone else.”

They walked in silence to the porting eye. Beside Kane, Rasmus smelled like coal smoke and blood.

“Is everything okay?” Kane asked.

Rasmus nodded without saying anything. Lumia, who heard Kane's inquiry, regarded Rasmus. Art stepped into the porting eye and vanished, followed by Lumia.

When Kane was about to follow, Rasmus put a hand on his shoulder.

“Kane, just curious, did Spica tell you anything about what happened on her date with Bullwark? She hasn't said a thing to me.”

Kane took his foot from the eye. “No. I actually didn't see her at all last night. I came from my date and went to bed.”

Rasmus seemed aloof, avoiding eye contact. “And she wasn't in her bed when you arrived?”

“No she wasn't,” Kane said. Now he felt as though he was being interrogated.

“I see. By the way...what happened to your golden eyes?”

Kane sighed. He'd forgotten about the mysterious disappearance of his Or'oyo. And with his remembrance came the memory of what happened in Grace's gothic room.

 “I don't know,” he said. It was the closest thing to the truth he could muster. “And you--” he started. “What's up with those burns?”

Rasmus' face was expressionless. Kane inspected the boy, waiting for an answer that never came. He seemed somewhat different--more hardened.

...

The gilded hall was thick with dense energy. Kane couldn't tell if it was the aftereffect of the Ball or the fact that the meeting concerned the Monomakia duels scheduled for less than twenty-four hours from now. He suspected the latter, realizing with some nervousness that he'd yet to get in a proper training session to learn how to use his bow. He should probably be thankful that at least his bow hadn't disappeared like his eyes, he thought, glancing at the glowing aquamarine apparatus. The idea to first glean the opponent's soul weapon before training in order to devise a strategy to combat it, now seemed extraordinarily stupid, especially now that he'd decided he wouldn't reveal Grace's soul weapon to Spica. He hazarded a glance toward the Satharites and spotted Grace engrossed in a hushed discussion with Clementine. Notably, the remaining Satharites stood apart from each other.

“Infighting,” Art said, spotting Kane's observation.

“Huh?”

“Tessa and Ruel are opponents, so naturally they wouldn't be best buddies with each other. Bullwark is a loner, as usual. I think he--”

A voice from the podium stalled him. Kane saw it was one of the Hierocruxes (Philhotep if he was not mistaken) with his five unsightly horns curling above him. He looked like a humanoid form of a mountain goat.

“Harken, children!” The demon raised his hands for emphasis. “The council is compelled to address you lot before your fates are sealed. We wish you goodwill and good fortune.” He paused, adjusting the midriff on his purple cloak. “Also, I hope you have been studying and practicing your soul magic not only for the sake of the duel, but also as prophylaxis for the possibility you die here and descend into Schizopneum. You will have already known that there are principalities there who thirst for soul subjugation and spiritual oppression. It is not a pretty place, and yet it is certain some of you will end up there...or worse...wrestling against hybrid spirits and monsters the likes of which even we as Hierocruxes tremble to think about. So let my words spur you into action even at this late hour to secure your future.”

As if activated by something the Hierocrux said, Kane suddenly remembered the dream he had about Sybel--wasn't it Kray who told him she was in Schizopneum? He was sure she was trying to reach him from there. But why? If Spica still had her Obiscule, perhaps he could have asked it what she was trying to communicate. He would have asked Kray if he hadn't been executed. Kane sighed, glancing at Spica. She stood behind Lumia--away from Rasmus. Was she having second thoughts about saving him? Did she discover what Bullwark's soul weapon was? Maybe she was pissed with herself for failing to get the required information from Bullwark. But her behavior still didn't make sense; she would have told him she'd failed and get right to crafting another plan--at least that was what he'd expect her to do. Nevertheless, it was still early to read too much into her behavior. After all, they didn't really get a chance to speak alone after the Ball. The Hierocrux, Philhotep, dismissed them, sending the Satharites scurrying to the west wing porting eye. Apparently, they were inspired by Philhotep's speech. Kane noticed, however, that Grace was lagging behind. When their eyes met, she started sauntering to their group. Art and Lumia watched her approach, and after figuring out she was heading for Kane, backed away quietly, disappearing inside the eye. Rasmus followed, glancing at Spica, who avoided his gaze. By the time Grace reached him, only Spica remained. She made no move to leave through the eye, retreating instead into the shadows close to the hall's oak doors, pretending to tinker with her Starshiner.

“Hey handsome!” Grace exclaimed, hugging him.

Spica watched as they embraced, a smile curling on her sullen lips.

“Hey Grace,” he said.

“All is set for your duel tomorrow?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I actually haven't started training yet.” Somehow, the fact that he was supposed to try to kill his friend didn't lend itself well to training to do it.

“Hmmm.” Grace rubbed her chin. “Who's your opponent?”

“Art,” he said.

“Oh right. How could I forget. That's the most messed up pairing.”

Grace's eyes wandered to the door (where Spica was).

   “What's up with brooding girl over there? She probably just figured out she'll perish in the duel tomorrow. You didn't reveal my soul weapon to her, did you?”

“No, I didn't. We haven't spoken since the Ball.” Kane hazarded a look at Spica. She looked almost in pain, leaning against one of the golden dog statues by the door. What was she even doing there? Kane wondered.             

“She's been weird since last night,” Kane added.

“Hmm.” Grace shrugged. “Conflicted maybe,” she said.

“Conflicted?” Kane repeated. “What do you mean?”

Grace laughed. “I'll leave you to figure that out.”

Kane narrowed his eyes, thinking about how the word 'conflicted' related to Spica's current behavior. Grace put a hand on his.

“Don't try to figure it out now, hun.” A mischievous smile creased her features. “I was thinking,” she began, stepping closer. “I had so much fun last night. And I know you did too...” she trailed off.

“I did,” Kane admitted.

“Maybe we can repeat the magic again?”

Kane looked around him. Though the Hierocruxes and Quetzalquilhotep were nowhere to be seen, he felt weird speaking like this in the open especially with Spica so close.

“Sure,” he said. “But we have to get through the Monomakia first. It's not trivial you know. You heard what the Hierocrux said.”

Grace frowned. “You sure?” Her tone had a nasty ring to it--threatening.

“You can't wait until then?” Kane asked.

“I can help with your soul weapon training if that's what you're worried about. Clementine says I'm a great teacher.”

“Speaking of soul weapon,” Kane began. “Ever since our 'moment', my Or'oyo has been missing. Any clue why?”

Grace dressed back. “You mean your golden eyes? I didn't even notice.” She looked into his eyes. “But to be fair, I thought you could switch it on and off at will. No?”

Kane shrugged. “I don't know. All I know is that I had it, then I didn't...after we made out.”

Grace shrugged, putting her hands up defensively. “Like I said, I think you might have deactivated the eyes by mistake. But I can help you figure it out...along with your soul weapon.”

Kane supposed it didn't hurt to receive some help. “Meet you back here in five?”

Grace winked. “I have something for you when you get back.” With that, she modeled off, her hips swaying majestically. Kane watched her go. He was definitely attracted to her, but he sensed something off about her energy. Spica approached him.

“Don't trust her,” she said bluntly. “Her aura's mad wild.”

Kane nodded, scrutinizing her. “Should I be worried about you?” he asked. “You haven't said a word to anyone until now. Rasmus is going crazy. You really should speak to him.”

Spica was silent for a long time. “Did you figure out Grace's soul weapon?”

Kane was shocked that she had completely changed the subject. “Not really. I'm still working on it though,” he lied.

Spica looked into his eyes. “Your eyes are gone.”

Kane nodded. “I seem to have repressed them somehow.” Kane only half-believed this theory.

“And let me guess--Grace told you that?” she fired. “You realize she's a Satharite right?”

Kane was pretty sure Spica heard everything he and Grace just said. “She's not really a Satharite, actually,” he argued. “She only pledged allegiance because--”

“Okay, Kane,” Spica interjected. “Spare me the garbage. Tell me something sensible.”

“We need to speak about Rasmus and his duel. Did you figure out Bullwark's soul weapon?”

Spica flinched at the mention of Bullwark's name. “Not really,” she said. “But that dog constellation Canidela is related to Bullwark in some way. I'm not sure how.”

“Canimorphus? That's actually big news, Spica.” But somehow the information Spica just relayed didn't match her face, which was grave.

“But why would Rasmus' salvation lie with Bullwark?” he asked.

“I think the Obiscule was being one dimensional--partial towards Oebielites,” Spica explained.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the Obiscule is an Oebiel-based token, and since Rasmus is a Satharite, the stone described how to destroy him, which is his salvation in some weird way.”

“Damn,” Kane roared. “Seemed we asked it the wrong question.”

“Maybe. But there is something else.”

“And what's that?” he asked.

Spica glanced behind him before whispering in his ear. “Bullwark's an Oebielite.”

With that, Spica stalked off before disappearing into the porting eye. Kane stood there, frozen. He could even begin to contemplate the ways in which this development changed things.

“Ready?” Came a familiar voice behind him.

Kane turned but didn't respond. Grace handed him a black rose not unlike the one lodged in her curly hair. Kane recalled she had used the thorn on a similar black rose to prick her finger before using her blood to transport them to the roofless room.

“I come across as a rose lover?” he asked, amused.

“Oh but it's not just a rose,” she informed, a gleam in her eye.

“Is that so?”

Grace nodded, pricking her finger. Kane watched the blood drip onto the porting eye, sizzling as it contacted the carpet. Grace pulled him inside before a familiar warm blackness fell around them.

Monomakia

As Kane, Spica, and Lumia marched through their room to the porting eye, Kane finally felt the seriousness of the occasion pressurizing his spirit. The night of the Monomakia had finally arrived, and he'd had a grand total of zero training sessions completed in preparation for the event. He had fully intended for Grace to show him how to use his bow as she claimed she could, but their lovemaking spanned the duration of the room's life. They had barely even gotten time to escape being swept away into the void. As they returned to the gilded hall, Grace had hastily given him a few pointers about using his bow and told him his dominant element was air. Looking at it from the brighter side, it was likely that his schooling at Nox Regia would contribute to the ease with which he was able to wield some of the magic he eventually learned.

“You okay?” Spica asked as they waited on Lumia's essence to be taken up by the porting eye.

“Not really,” he said. “Nervous. I don't know how I can even fight Art.”

Spica groaned. “I'm still worried about Rasmus.”

Kane nodded. “Me too.”

They hadn't seen Rasmus or Art in a few days. In the case of Rasmus, Kane assumed he had gone to get in some of the mysterious training sessions Spica told him he attended. Lumia was uncharacteristically distant, hardly uttering a word. Kane guessed the prospect of soul death was bound to make people glum. On the other hand, his friendship with Spica had strengthened; he considered her his best friend in Hellenogyrum.

“Ready?” Kane asked, about to enter the porting eye.

Spica held his hand. “Kane,” she started. “If--I don't.” She paused. “If I don't survive, just know I'm glad to have met you. And--if Rasmus lives, tell him I'm sorry, and that I love him.”

Kane froze as a sense of deja vu gripped him. He was sure he'd been in this situation before, but try as he did, he couldn't quite tell when, or where, or what would happen next. Then the moment passed.

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

Spica closed her eyes. “He'll know.”

Kane watched her awhile. “I'm glad I met you too. If there is a positive about this whole experience, you're it.”

Spica smiled. “Let's face our fate,” she said. “I'm ready to fight to the death!”

Kane felt the power behind her words, and for the umpteenth time, she reminded him of Parris in her iron-clad resolve. Kane materialized on the frustum of Pyramid Alpha amid a noisy crowd. He was immediately ushered through the bodies by a demon he noted wasn't Quetzalquilhotep.

“Come,” he said gruffly, compelling him forward by some telekinetic power. Kane assumed the crowd was the spectators to the spectacle that was the Monomakia. He saw that they were mostly demons, but most of them lacked horns. He assumed they were common, lower-ranked demons who probably lived on this plane. Kane finally saw where he was headed--a raised stone platform where the duelers were seated. The platform was divided into two sections, one for each allegiance. There was a rostrum in the middle, aiding the partition. The Oebielite section was closer to them. Kane spotted everyone except Ruel, Rasmus, and Tessa. Grace and Clementine chatted, their demeanor so carefree, it was as though they were waiting to have lunch. Spica was somewhere behind him, he thought. A few paces from the Oebielite section, the demon pointed at an empty chair beside Lumia, who didn't acknowledge his presence as he sat. Art, however, nodded, his blue hand shone brighter than usual in the dark. Art sat on the other side of Lumia, his face graver than he'd ever seen it. Philhotep, the purple-clad Hierocrux stood at the pulpit, perhaps waiting for the remaining duelers to arrive. Kane spotted a space between the crowd and the stone platform that he thought must be the battleground. Just then, Quetzalquilhotep broke out of the rowdy crowd with Spica in tow. Her face was contorted into rapt concentration. She passed him and sat beside Art, who nodded at her. Ruel and Rasmus arrived next, both of them ushered by a single demon. As usual, Ruel had his Ferrum Blade draped over his shoulder. Behind him, Rasmus looked haggard, and gaunt--a hint of the madness Spica's Obiscule had foreseen. When Tessa finally arrived, Philhotep spoke.

“Harken, ladies and gentlemen of the gyrum! What an epic night we have in store tonight. The Monomakia is upon us once more, and it promises to be one of the best since its inception nine hundred years ago.”

The crowd applauded.

“We have somewhat deviated from tradition: instead of pitting Satharites against Oebielites explicitly, we have thrown in a couple ‘same allegiance’ fights in order to make things a bit more exciting.”

He paused, scanning the crowd with his unusual red eyes. Kane's mind went to Kray, who was executed by the demon council, partially because of the information he gave to Kane. He also thought about Sybel. Kane realized, quite dramatically, that there were people who actually sacrificed themselves for the side of good in the battle between good and evil--between eternal life and eternal death. This realization renewed a sense of purpose within him.

“First pairing,” Philhotep announced. “Ruel versus Tessa!”

Quetzalquilhotep and the three-horned demon who had ushered him through the crowd motioned to Ruel and Tessa respectively. Both contestants stood at once, and with an eagerness that suggested they were chosen to play a game instead of battling for their very souls. Ruel hoisted his blade over his shoulder before trailing confidently behind Quetzalquilhotep. Tessa wasn't to be outdone, modeling behind the unfamiliar demon and flashing a mysterious hand sign at Bullwark, who barely saw her, engrossed in his thoughts. Tessa's badly burned right side unnerved Kane. When the two fighters reached the vacant spot before the crowd, Kane realized that they were inside some sort of bewitched cube as the outline glowed faintly once both contestants entered. The two demons remained outside, resealing the entrance.

“And they have entered the arena,” Philhotep announced. “Remember folks that they are now inside an impenetrable chamber, hence, you're safe from their attacks. Duelers, there is only one rule: kill or be killed! Get ready: One, Two, Three... Go!”

Ruel immediately floated, reciting something he couldn't hear. Fire flickering close to each fingertip, he sent all ten jetting toward the Satharite girl, who conjured what looked like a limestone slab, which took the blows before disintegrating. Kane was taken aback by the suddenness of the action. He was again reminded of the gravity of the event, and what was at stake. Not a moment spared, Tessa sent a colored curse Ruel's way. IRIDEO. Kane remembered it was the spell she'd cast at Kane and the rest of the Oebielites atop this very Pyramid when they had decided to do a mini training session. The passage of the spell sent a deep, gong-like reverberation that rung upon Kane's essence. Ruel flashed out his Ferrum Blade, trying to save himself a hefty blow. He succeeded, holding the blade before him. It glinted a macabre blood-red crimson in the starlight before the spell contacted it, knocking him backward. It was a hard blow, Kane realized; he was sure Tessa meant to kill him with it. When she saw he'd blocked the light spell, she pulled something from her hair. The act was so subtle that Kane almost missed it. He couldn't see what it was, but it gleamed in her hands. Maybe her soul weapon, he thought. Shivering, Kane recalled Lumia and Art telling him what Tessa's soul weapon was. Kh'virah the soul shatterer, he thought. Lumia sighed beside him.

“The horror show begins,” she said before retreating into her melancholic silence.

Ruel sensed Tessa's intent, bellowing a spell Kane actually recognized.

“Evoko Animatelum!”

As the blade began elongating, Tessa struck. In her hand was an object resembling a small lighter. She used a thumb as a trigger finger, pressing down. Ruel's Ferrum Blade transformation halted as it fell from its owner's hands. Tessa's attack forged a yawning black void to Ruel's immediate right that began sucking him inside. Ruel flailed, trying to resist the pull of the black hole. A bloodcurdling scream pitched from him as his feet disappeared inside the hole in space. The crowd cheered as the hole slowly swallowed the boy. Kane didn't know Ruel well, but it bothered him to see someone dying before his very eyes. Tessa watched with a gleam in her eyes as her nemesis struggled. But in a moment of either pure genius or pure luck, Ruel directed a spell into the void itself. The conflagration burst from his hand and was eagerly swallowed up by the now luminous hole. More importantly, Ruel's feint had propelled him away from the hole.

“Animatelum!” he yelled.

Kane saw that he seemed to have burned his legs badly in his slim escape. The fallen Ferrum Blade levitated and pitched itself into Ruel's waiting hands. Tessa swooped her hand downward, a motion which Ruel's body mimicked. The boy plummeted through the air, his Ferrum Blade in his hand as he hit the ground hard, or so Kane thought. Dust blinded him temporarily. When the dust cleared, Kane saw an unlikely sight. Ruel was upon a red Phoenix, flying gracefully through the air. It seemed the Phoenix had intercepted his fall at the last second. Kane had no choice but to be impressed with Ruel's fighting spirit. But it seemed as though Tessa's soul weapon was simply more powerful--Ruel had to sweat to escape one of its attacks. The crowd got animated as the bird spat streams of fire at Tessa, whose sluggishness was now exposed. She seemed to struggle to move an inch. Ruel saw this and began a charge at breakneck speed, following behind the fire he had shot at Tessa seconds before. When Tessa managed to float at the last second to avoid being burnt to a crisp, Kane saw that her languidness was on purpose. Ruel realized this too, but it was quite late as he and his Phoenix had already committed to an uncompromising velocity. The girl clicked her thumb onto the frightful Kh'virah, reciting a spell the silence of which belied its potency. The black hole returned, but this time it seemed alive like a faceless beast, lunging at Ruel like a great black bull. Lumia covered her face, but Kane couldn't take his eyes from the horrific scene. Ruel's scream was severed, his essence drawn into a tangled web of bright, cord-like bits Kane knew were soul fragments. The scattered Phoenix feathers blocked the visuals which accompanied the sick squelching sounds coming from the living abyss. When they too were swallowed by the gaping maw, the black hole vanished with Ruel with a crack of finality. There was a minute of silence following this development, the crowd unsure of what just happened.

“It's over,” Lumia said, uncovering her face. “Just like that, Ruel is dead. No...worse than dead.”

Kane looked from her to the arena incredulously, wondering if Ruel just died in the split of a second, his soul murdered by Tessa's infernal device.

Philhotep's voice sounded, confirming Ruel's grim fate. “And there you have it--our first result. Anticlimactic, I know, but entertaining nevertheless. The winner is Tessa Mailyn Fodder. Her fearsome soul weapon, Kh'virah has given no hope to Ruel. He shall not be found in any of the lower cosms battling to return for another chance at life. No, his soul was eaten before our very eyes--vanished from time and memory.”

Tessa was led from the arena by Quetzalquilhotep, her expression frighteningly blank.

“And let us move swiftly into our second duel...”

Kane shook in his seat as he anticipated the pair to be called upon. He didn't wait long as the deep voice of the Hierocrux boomed again.

“Lumia versus Clementine!”

Kane bent toward a surprisingly calm Lumia. “I believe in you,” he said. “Continue being calm, and meditate upon Oebiel's Providence.”

The words spilled from him unbidden as though from somewhere foreign. Lumia glanced at him.

“Thank you, Kane.”

She hesitated awkwardly as though she wanted to say something else, but the three-horned demon whisked her away. Art, who had risen as her name was announced, hugged her as she passed, tears in his eyes. Kane took a deep breath and prayed to Oebiel for the first time in his life. Clementine was already inside the arena when Lumia got there. Kane didn't know much about Lumia's one-eyed opponent except that she was a Satharite by birth (a 'Veil' according to Grace) and that she was Grace's best friend. He hazarded a look toward Grace in the Satharite section and caught her looking at him. She waved and smiled when their eyes met. But Kane couldn't smile at a time like this when death meant either the death of the very soul and consciousness or his friend's banishment to a lower, more hopeless cosm.

“We move into a true Monomakia duel,” Phihotep said. “This one is between an Oebielite and a Satharite--Lumia and Clementine respectively. Duelers may begin after my count: One, Two, Three. Fight!”

To Kane's surprise, a torrential downpour began the likes of which he had never seen before. Rain lashed the ground like its slave. Clementine rose, extending her hand. Kane quickly figured that it was Clementine who had commandeered the rain. He hadn't seen a waterweaver before. The raindrops seemed to amass around her limb, which she directed toward Lumia, who saw this and floated also. But in her ascent, she was caught within a bubble of water that Clementine had cleverly concealed in the darkness. Kane swallowed a mass of air as Lumia flailed around in the watery prison. She was drowning! Lumia finally breached the bubble with a burst of white light. Kane released pent up breath. The single beam was intense and well-directed as it pierced Clementine's thigh. The girl howled in pain, blood pitching from the wound. Clementine didn't expect Lumia to escape the bubble so easily, so the fact that she had breached the bubble and attacked her at the same time was probably the last thing she thought would happen. Lumia pounced upon the injured girl like a leopard, seizing her opportunity as the girl fell through the air with the rain. Kane counted at least ten additional white-beam stabbings, her head bobbing sickly with each blow before the poor girl fell with an almighty splash. Lumia bore down on the fallen girl's body, firing off curse after potent curse, not one of them missing the target. After a while, Kane couldn't see Clementine's body, but he was sure she housed at least a dozen stab wounds. The rain stopped as quickly as it had begun, perhaps an indication that its wielder was dead. Kane felt bad for feeling glad she died instead of Lumia. So far so good for the Oebielites.

“A quick one!” Philhotep chimed. “Brutally done by Lumia, just the way we like it. Of course we'd have preferred if her opponent had put up more of a fight, but we'll take it.”

The Hierocrux cast his red eyes toward the arena. “Now Clementine's corpse...what's left of it...will be fed to the Skelegs of Hellenogyrum. Her soul will have already begun its travel to Ossiphangophi... or perhaps Schizopneum if she's lucky.”

Lumia returned to her seat beside Kane, her hair matted with water. Art rose as she approached, smiling. They hugged before she sat, nodding to Kane.

“Child's play,” she said boastfully.

Kane was amused the girl was already cracking jokes about killing someone, her mood much improved now that she was victorious. However, Kane saw that her pensive mood returned when she glanced at Art. Kane flashed his head away, focusing on Philhotep's next announcement. His nervousness was growing inside him like a twisting vine. He still had no clue how he would approach his duel with Art. Philhotep's voice erupted.

“The next fight, ladies and gentlemen, will feature Spica and Grace.”

Kane tensed. This fight was the most personal to him, save his own with Art. He had made a decision not to inform Spica about Grace's soul weapon. He'd also concealed Spica's soul weapon from Grace, a decision that was more straightforward since he had no prior agreement to do so. Spica hugged Rasmus as Quetzalquilhotep lumbered up to her. She looked in his direction and waved. He, Lumia, and Art waved back. Grace blew him a kiss as the other demon shunted her toward the magically shielded enclosure. Lumia gave him a questioning stare after Grace's gesture toward him. Kane turned his head away; he didn't feel like answering any questions regarding his relationship with the Satharite girl.

Philhotep spoke. “This one should be interesting folks. Duelists...on one--THREE, TWO, ONE... FIGHT!”

Grace walked casually up to Spica. Kane stiffened. She simply extended her hand in what seemed like a civil gesture. Spica shook it, bowing.

“Ahh! We have some good sportswomanship being shown here--quite unbecoming in such a grave setting. But okay, we'll take it as dark humor.”

Grace smiled, floating backward from Spica. To Kane's knowledge, Spica, like him, hadn't had much practice using her soul weapon, so she would need a fair amount of luck to survive this bout. Just like that, Kane sank into a sudden state of depression for not revealing Grace's soul weapon to her. Grace would have been more experienced using her soul weapon since she has been here in Hellenogyrum longer than both Spica and himself. Wasn't that a good enough reason to let Spica in on her secret? Kane took a deep breath, his soul sagging in his frame. If Spica died now, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. In his defense, however, he didn't know the details of Grace's soul weapon, only that it was blood-based and involved inter-dimensional portal travel to other temporary worlds. Spica stood there, her head angled skyward at the floating Grace. It seemed they were both waiting on each other to throw the first blow. Grace took the black rose from her hair and did something that perhaps only he was privy of. She pricked her thumb, activating her blood magic. Her expression had changed to one of dutiful concentration. Spica just watched her, fumbling with her necklace. Kane saw Grace's lips twitch before Spica screamed. Kane almost toppled from his seat. Lumia and Art covered their mouths. Blood dripped from Spica's palm. Kane was confused.

“What's happening!?” he yelled at Lumia, unable to keep the panic from his voice.

Lumia's widened eyes seemed glued to the arena.

“Lumia! What's going on?”

It took her a few more seconds before she acknowledged him.

“Grace's soul weapon,” she said. “Blood magic. She marked Spica when she shook her hand, I think. It's not looking good, Kane. If we'd known beforehand, perhaps we could have done something, but it might be too late now.”

Kane retreated, guilt wrapping him like a predatory snake. Spica looked at her hand like a foreign object as blood gushed from it. A few moments afterward, Spica's right hand fell to her side, stiff. Kane feared the worst. Grace floated down toward her, but Spica seemed to have figured out the girl's strategy as she shuffled away, ripping her necklace from her neck. Grace shook her head, halting. Her palm still bleeding, Spica recited an incantation that sounded more like a chant than a spell. It was then that Kane realized that her tiny soul weapon had been inside her necklace. So far, Kane didn't see anything happen, though he noted that he could now see the formerly invisible shield surrounding the arena--a light cube framed with white light. He wondered if Spica's spell caused it and hoped it did much more than illuminate the cube's faces. Grace wasn't convinced, resuming her slow progress toward Spica. Spica’s hand had now stopped bleeding, but it hung deathly limp at her side. Spica also didn't try to scurry from Grace like last time. Kane swallowed nervously. Move, Spica! He urged mentally. He knew she must have figured out that she couldn't allow Grace to touch any part of her again. He saw her move weakly.

“She lost too much blood,” Lumia stated sadly. “She's trying, but she can't move. Poor Spica.”

Lumia looked away as Grace extended her bloody hand toward Spica's heaving chest.

“Move, Spica!” Kane shouted.

Lumia jumped, startled by his outburst. Grace stopped, turned, and looked him dead in the eyes. What Kane saw shocked him to the core. It wasn't he alone who saw it. Grace's eyes had changed; it wasn't the black Kane had looked into while making love to her on the night of Hedogothika, but a pair of golden eyes. The entire demon council, the remaining Satharite and Oebielite children shrieked. Even Rasmus, who was in a stupor until now, seemed shaken. The remaining duelists from both allegiances then turned their eyes upon Kane. He sank in his chair, the weight of the judgment of more than a dozen eyes suffocating him. Foremost among the melange of emotions flooding through him were humiliation and guilt. It was well established that Grace wasn't a Satharite, and coupled with the fact that only one person among the children had the Or'oyo eyes, it was easy to connect him with Grace. Kane wondered how obvious it was that they had slept together. Was intimacy the only method of transferring the Or'oyo eyes?

He got his answer posthaste as Lumia barked at him. “Damn, Kane. That's really fucked up. You slept with Grace?”

Before he could answer, an explosion pitched everyone from their seats. The ground rippled under them like water waves. Kane fell awkwardly on his side. When he finally raised his head to see what had happened, he saw that the light cube had shattered, the light shards floating in the air like incandescent feathers. Spica's spell? He wondered. Another glance showed him a grounded Grace, flung to the foot of the Hierocrux's rostrum. Kane crawled to his seat, watching a bloody-faced Spica struggling to stay conscious. Philhotep stood, making his way to Grace's motionless body.

“An explosive ending it appears,” he said, kneeling to inspect Grace's body.

“Oh! No, not yet. I sense her life force. What a battle this is!”

As soon as he uttered the words, Grace stirred, muscling herself up. Philhotep retreated to the rostrum.

“The shield has been destroyed, ladies and gentlemen! That shield is made from some of the strongest magic I know. Spica has struck! How Grace survived that, maybe her newly found Or'oyo? I don't know. We'll erect another shield presently.”

The unfamiliar demon led an ungainly Grace back to the arena. Kane realized that she was bleeding badly from her right side. The girl had clearly stolen his Or'oyo, perhaps transferred from him to her during their intimacy. It was a gross betrayal. He wondered how much of their lovemaking was actually genuine--probably none, he thought. However, something she said came back to him. It was something she said as he was leaving the unstable red room. She had said that no matter what happened, that he should know that the moment they shared was real. Somehow, it didn't seem like something a duplicitous person would say, though he might have been just being naive.

Grace raised her hand nimbly to the dark heavens, her black rose between her thumb and index fingers.

“What's she up to now?” Lumia mused.

She was answered presently as a sea of black roses came raining down. It was an odd summoning, Kane thought. Just how many times did she want to prick her fingers? By now, the black petals were so dense and plentiful that Grace was obscured by them. Then as soon as it began, it stopped. As the flowery conjuration ceased, the next surprise of the night rocked him. Grace was gone. The petals were a smokescreen for her feint. Spica finally let herself fall to the ground.

“Did she win?” Kane asked.

Lumia didn't respond.

“One anomaly after the other,” Philhotep said. “I don't sense Grace's life force anywhere in the gyrum.” He paused, looking back at his Hierocrux counterparts. “I suppose this means that Spica wins.”

Some people cheered. Kane was filled with emotions, tears falling down his cheeks. Lumia watched him.

“You're lucky Spica won. If she didn't, I'd kill you myself...idiot!”

Kane thought he'd deserved death based on how things played out. Not only did he sleep with the enemy, but he'd also flat out denied his true friend valuable information that could have saved her from death. Quetzalquilhotep scooped up Spica and carried her to the porting eye. He disappeared with her the next second.

“Where's he taking her?” Kane asked.

Lumia was still sulking, but she responded brusquely. “Somewhere safe...probably the infirmary.”

“As expected, that was quite interesting. Grace was on the front foot, and just like that Spica's celestial soul weapon cast her into oblivion!”

Philhotep was halted by a demon who whispered into his ear. “Okay ladies and gentlemen, let's move into our next battle.”

Kane stiffened, knowing there was a fifty percent chance he was next. Lumia folded her hands as Art said something to her. Rasmus sat expressionless on the other side of Art, rubbing his neck. He seemed unperturbed by Spica's near death experience and the possibility of his fight being the next one to be announced.

“And the next battle is between... Bullwark and Rasmus!”

Rasmus raised himself stiffly, not even waiting for the demon to usher him to the stage. Kane was unsure if his forwardness was confidence, morbid indifference, or a brave acceptance of his dark fate--that he couldn't dream of defeating Bullwark, allegedly the strongest among the duelists. Bullwark was also heading to the arena unaided.

“This too should be entertaining!” Philhotep chimed. “I hear Rasmus' soul weapon is quite interesting.”

Kane saw that the cubic shield was restored; it remained visible ever since Spica's soul weapon had it illuminated.

“On three--one, two, three!”

Like Spica's and Grace's fight, the two duelists began tamely, eyeing each other. Somehow, Rasmus seemed to have regained his wits now that he was face to face with his opponent. He rubbed his neck in a gesture Kane thought was innocent at first, but he pronounced something the effect of which shook the cube.

“Woah!” Lumia shouted. “Seems Rasmus has something up his sleeve.”

Bullwark floated off the ground. To Kane's surprise, he saw that Bullwark had eyes of a golden hue. Bullwark had the Or'oyo! Yes, Spica had told him that Bullwark was an Oebielite, but she didn't mention he was a Quintet (based on Grace's parlance).

“Why do so many persons suddenly have the Or'oyo?” Lumia inquired.

“Bullwark is an Oebielite,” Art said.

“Excuse me?” Lumia said,

Art smiled. “Yes, he told me to keep it a secret.”

Kane was surprised, but only because Art had known all along. Kane didn't know how it changed anything, however. Just then Rasmus' summoning manifested--a medium-sized Dragon descending through the light shield. The beast wasted no time in ejecting a stream of fire from its mouth toward Bullwark, who skipped away. The fire scorched the spot he occupied mere seconds before. Rasmus leaped onto the Dragon's back. So far, Kane was highly impressed as he seemed to have somehow found a way to tame the beast.

“Seems we underestimated our friend,” Lumia said. “If he tamed his Pyrodactyle, I don't know how Bullwark will defeat him. He will essentially have to defeat both Rasmus and his Pyrodactyle. Those things are highly protective of their masters.”

Rasmus and his creature soared upward. Bullwark was still aerial, twisting his body as he followed Rasmus' movement atop his Dragon. Another stream of fire left the creature's maw. Bullwark barely escaped it. But to Kane's shock, the flame that had missed him stopped in midair before turning and pitching itself back toward the target. Bullwark, who thought he had evaded the Dragon's flame, had his focus on Rasmus. The vengeful ball of the fire barreled into Bullwark's back like a fiery truck, pitching him headfirst to the ground. The impact of the massive boy was meteoric, kicking up pounds of dust. As if the deadly impact wasn't enough, a seething fire was now consuming Bullwark.

“Oh my god!” Lumia screamed.

Kane's eyes were plastered upon Bullwark's flaming body. The severity of the flames was such that he couldn't see Bullwark's features at all, only a writhing, crackling orange frame. Kane's common sense told him no one should be able to survive being burnt to a crisp for so long, but he quickly remembered he was in a land of infinite magical possibilities. As if on cue, Bullwark shrugged off the flames. The crowd emitted a collective shriek of surprise at this before retreating into rapt silence. Kane realized that though Bullwark had cast the flame from his body, it refused to dwindle, burning the floor beside him. They now burned the ground. But something more spectacular was now unfolding before their very eyes.

“Oh my days!” Art exclaimed.

Lumia clapped a hand over her mouth. As Kane appreciated everyone's shock, he wondered if this was some sort of trick, for it wasn't Bullwark who stood before them but a creature he'd thought only existed in mythology.

“Isn't that...” he began, lost for words. “Isn't that a werewolf?”

“Indeed it is!” Lumia confirmed, her eyes glued to the thing.

Rasmus' Dragon breathed down yet another stream of flames, but the werewolf flashed it away as if it were nothing but a fly. Then it leaped at the flying reptile, farther than Kane had ever seen something jump. It missed the Dragon for the most part, but its sharp claws scratched the creature's hindquarters. Rasmus teetered perilously on the creature's back as it veered, losing height dangerously fast. The werewolf was quite a bit larger than he'd anticipated it to be from his reading of mythology-- with fur and muscle attached to an almost eight-foot frame. The beast still had the Or'oyo, Kane saw. He found something about it odd: the Or'oyo indicated Bullwark was an Oebielite, and yet a werewolf seemed to him to be a Satharite symbol. It was a curious marriage of good and evil.

Art leaned across Lumia, addressing him. “This is what you and Spica had ambushed me about, right?”

Kane nodded. Lumia still had her eyes on the arena, oblivious of the discussion happening across her.

Art continued, “I know I'm offering this information late, but I didn't want to break my promise to Bullwark of keeping his true nature a secret. But if it's any consolation, Canimorphus was the werewolf in mythology who was born of a human mother and an otherworldly entity who wasn't specified. Later texts identified that entity as a wolf. To cut a long story short, Bullwark is basically Canimorphus himself in another paradigm reliving Canimorphus' tragic life and trying to do what the original Canimorphus couldn't. Bullwark's quest here is all about finding his human mother.”

“Intriguing,” Kane said. “How closely does this situation follow myth?”

Art was quiet for a while. “Well, in light of recent events, I think it's pretty clear Bullwark's circumstances are following the myth extremely closely.”

“Bullwark is trying to find his mother?” Lumia asked, finally exiting her stupor.

Kane glanced at the battlefield where both fighters were in some sort of standstill, each waiting on the other to make a move.

“Yes,” Art replied.

“So he wants to go back to the Triskai and search for his Mom? What happened in the Triskai that separated them before Bullwark died and came here?”

“I'm not sure of the specifics,” Art said. “And no, he doesn't want to go back to the Triskai.”

Kane was confused. “What's that supposed to mean?” As far as he was concerned, Kane and everyone else was all here because they wanted a chance not only to live again in the Triskai but to avoid being annihilated in the lower cosms.

Lumia narrowed her eyes, anticipating Art's response.

“Well, his mother isn't in the Triskai, nor is she here in the gyrum. She's in Da'emoqlith!”

Lumia jumped. “What!? That's the final cosm in the Infernuum! Why would Bullwark's Mom be there?”

Kane stared at them, confused. “What's Da'emoqlith?” he asked. He felt as though he heard the word before.

Art and Lumia stared at him for a few seconds.

Art said, “This might sound cliche, but I really don't have the words to describe the place. And the literature about it is sparse. But from what I gather, it is the ninth and final cosm, four levels below the gyrum. It's a terrifying place brimming with demons and infernal hybrids. A human soul cannot enter it in one piece; his consciousness would have long been fragmented from two cosms before even reaching it. Yet if the soul fragments do make it there, the pieces still can feel pain... and they do...as they're used for sadistic pleasures...and for food.”

Lumia shook her head as she spoke, visibly shaken by Art's revelation.

“I won't even ask why Bullwark wants to go through that if he can't come back to fight another day.”

Kane had an obvious question, but he decided to reserve it for later since action seemed to have resumed on the battlefield. As Kane brought his focus to the arena, he saw that the Dragon had relinquished the sky, its wound from the werewolf's scratch preventing flight. Bullwark howled at the sky--an eerie call that made Kane's hairs stand on end. Rasmus hopped from his injured soul weapon, his movement cutting Bullwark's mad rave at the heavens. The beast whipped its head around, baring massive yellow teeth. The furry, drooling beast pointed a large claw at his nemesis, muttering something. No sooner had he done this than the night changed for the worse. Kane questioned his sight; Art and Lumia both gasped, and so did the crowd and the remaining Satharites. Even the Hierocruxes stood at once, assuming defensive postures. This made Kane recall that Bullwark had killed a demon before, and though it had been a legal, agreed-upon battle, Kane suspected the Hierocruxes were wary of someone with the strength to kill one of their own.

Bullwark's bestial hand elongated in a flash, impaling Rasmus. The boy had no time to react as Bullwark held his heart in his palm. Not a moment spared, the beast began stuffing the dripping organ into its mouth, swallowing it whole. The beast howled again, a triumphant ululation that reverberated the cubic dome shield and Kane's entire makeup. Bullwark's Or'oyo shone like small marble suns in the night. So quick was the turn of events that Rasmus had only just fallen to his knees, then to the wet ground--dead. Instead of transforming back into his human form, Bullwark leaped out of the barrier, and when gravity finally held sway over his body, it was not until he had already progressed past the Pyramid's edge.

Art and Lumia hadn't moved a muscle as this unfolded. As for Kane, he now stared at Rasmus' maimed corpse bleeding on the ground. Though the death seemed visually gruesome, he knew Rasmus had died instantly--just as he had when he was hit with Tony's killing curse. Somehow, Kane wasn't as emotional about Rasmus' death as he thought he would be. Maybe it was because he'd found out Rasmus was a Satharite or because he was becoming more callous, or something else entirely. He found it strange that it had been a vampire who had killed Rasmus and Spica to send them here, only for another so-called mythological beast to kill Rasmus again. The bright side was that his death probably qualified him for placement in Schizopneum.

“Damn!” Lumia exclaimed, finally regaining her wits. “Just like that, and Rasmus is dead.”

Art hung his head. “It's good Spica didn't have to see that. She'd probably be traumatized.”

Kane saw that Rasmus' Dragon was still alive though its master was dead. Lumia seemed to have made the same observation

“Hey! How is that Dragon still living?” she asked.

Art raised his head and watched the animal lower its snout to Rasmus' motionless body. From its strained movements and sad yellow eyes, Kane could tell the beast was already mourning its master.

“That's odd,” Art said. “The soul weapon should have died by now. Though to be fair, I haven't known anyone with a Dragon as a soul weapon; there might be some exception to the rule.”

The beast now lay beside Rasmus, licking its bleeding leg.

“Quite a peculiar ending! Philhotep announced. Bullwark has earned his freedom, but of course we have to follow protocol for his release out of the gyrum. Hence, the council has just dispatched a team to find him. That brings us to the final duel. You know yourselves. Make your way to the arena now, Art and Antonio. Hopefully this one will leave us something to remember in the months to come.”

Art hugged Lumia, who burst into tears. He whispered something to her before heading to the arena. Kane was bubbling with nervous emotion. Kane nodded to Lumia, rising.

“It was nice to meet you, Lumia,” he said. “Whatever the outcome, let us still consider each other friends, okay?”

Lumia didn't answer, turning away from him. He found her behavior rather odd, but he didn't have time to critique it. Kane started toward the arena before the traipsing Quetzalquilhotep could reach him. Tessa sneered as he passed.

“I hope you both die and go to Schizopneum to get your souls reamed.”

Kane was too numb for Tessa's insults to affect him. He stepped into the cubic dome. He had meant what he'd said the moment he discovered he had to battle Art: he would refuse to lift a finger to harm him. Art eyed him, smiling.

“Antonio Kane--so here we are, one Oebielite pitted against the other. Quite the paradox, isn't it? Stewards of life... we Oebielites are now expected to kill in order to survive.”

Kane observed Art, marveling at how similar they were. He saw himself in him: his ideals, his staunch drive to protect his friends at all costs.

“I won't fight you,” Kane said.

Art smiled again. “I know, me neither.”

“So where does that leave us? Knowing the Hierocruxes, they might impose harsher measures on us if we refuse to comply to the rules.”

Art nodded. “Indeed. That's exactly what they would have done. But I had known it would come to this from the outset. I already told Lumia the plan. She's completely gutted, but I think she knows it's the right decision.”

Kane felt his countenance sink. He didn't know what the plan entailed, but he knew he wouldn't like it.

“What plan? Why didn't you tell me this plan of yours beforehand so we could plan together?”

Philhotep announced something, but he couldn't hear what it was. The cubic dome was somehow sealed to limit the entry of even sound waves.

“I knew how you'd react,” Art said. “It was best to keep it from you.”

Presently, blue flames appeared around Art's left hand. Kane's eyes were drawn to the attractive glow. It glowed the same color as his bow he'd all but forgotten.

“So you do plan to fight,” Kane stated.

Art said, his eyes glinting. “I trust you to take care of Gem and Parris on your upward journey through the cosms. It will be rife with trials, but I trust Oebiel's Providence over you and also your own judgement and power. Farewell Kane.”

In the millisecond Kane took to consider if he'd ever before mentioned Gem and Parris to Art, and why he spoke as though they were here to be protected by him, the boy jammed his flaming hand into his chest. At first, Kane thought he was going through the routine to cast a spell from his soul weapon, but Art fell to his knees, his eyes already glossing over. His hands fell limp, revealing the massive hole in his chest. Kane dashed forward as Art fell. He could tell the crowd was going wild outside the dome. Wilder than the usual response to something interesting. Kane glimpsed bodies running this way and that. What was happening? Whatever it was, it wasn't as important as this moment. Art was already dead when Kane got to him. He shook the boy anyway as a wail burst from his throat. His eyes stung with tears; he ignored the presence behind him, holding onto Art's body. Before he knew it, a demon was wresting him from Art's corpse. He cursed Art's feint; how dare he kill himself for his sake. It wasn't supposed to end like this. It was he who was supposed to die for them to live. It just didn't make sense. There had to have been another way to get around the drastic measure of suicide! Kane descended into maddening grief, beyond reason, beyond compare. As the horned demon dragged him through the frenzied crowd, he felt his consciousness slipping away. Why was he so weak? he thought. It didn't take him long to find the answer: the hole in his chest was crackling as if Tony's death curse had just sizzled through it. A bluish tinge framed the outer rim, the color of Art's suicidal fire. Why was he affected by Art's curse? As he struggled against the demon, another peculiarity revealed itself as they neared the porting eye.

“Take it easy, Kane. Don't struggle,” the demon said.

It was a voice even his fading consciousness recognized.

“Kray?”

“From now on, call me Bellum.”

END OF BOOK 3

Author's Note

Hello my lovelies. Glad to meet you on the other side of this journey! I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing this one. The story flowed through me so well, that I wonder if it had always existed, using me as its ghostwriter. You are as much a part of this as I am, and I would love to know what you think about Souls of Dark Magic. Even if it’s just a sentence on Amazon—that would really go a long way. Blood Quintet book four is planned for the second half of 2021. As the Veil Rapture grips the Triskai, it’s a no-brainer that it will be fantastically darker. But in the meantime, you might want to consider getting Book 1 of my Scarlet Incantatrix Series:Vampires of Twilight Castle. I have included an excerpt below. Thanks a lot for your support.

Love, Asher Sharol

Works

Blood Quintet Series

●         Bonds of Chrome Magic (1)

●         Binds of Silver Magic(2)

●         Souls of Dark Magic (3)

Scarlet Incantatrix Series

●         Vampires of Twilight Castle (1)

●         Wolves of Blood and Rule (2)

Kingdom of Indigo Series

●         Queen of the Moon Triad

Ecliptic Embers: A Zodiacal Poetry Collection

Scarlet Incantatrix Excerpt

This cold December night in the enchanted city of Nocteraia was as calm as the fields of heaven. No wind stirred the trees— upright and as stiff as death lining the countryside. The full moon shrugged off blankets of wispy clouds and peered down at the city beneath. Its reflected light cast a spell of silvery hue upon the city, but it was swallowed up by the dark of Nocteraia's environs. The place was unnaturally dark. Perhaps the blackened hearts of the odd breeds that roamed the streets were so insidious that they had somehow changed the quality of the nightfall. But all was calm.

In the very heart of the city, a silent threat to that calm walked. He blended into the night as if it were his second skin. The camouflage was perfect; his intentions were shrouded in nothing but mystique: a thirst for destruction that he longed to unleash upon the world. Blood-thirst. As Satin walked briskly through one of the many alleyways of Nocteraia, his black shoes clicking like a time bomb on the concrete, he lifted his head skyward as the peculiar feeling of euphoria engulfed him. He relished his gift, however accursed it might be. For him, the pleasures to be derived from its usage far outstripped its disadvantages. He would continue to drain the city of life, his motivation being the society's aggressive stance against his breed. Unlike the vast majority of his kind, however, he was almost unstoppable;very few people knew the secret to an evolved vampire's permanent demise.

Although his sense of perception was topnotch, Satin stole frequent glances behind him where a ridiculous young woman was stalking him, huddling close to the shadows so as not to be seen. He laughed silently, for the woman had a syringe (no doubt filled with some poison) in her twitching hand. But in her heart was a parody of the weapon's lethality. Fear. She hoped to kill him with blows fueled by adrenaline, coupled perhaps with some spells hurled with strained conviction. Satin scowled. Such a pity she didn't know she was here by his design, and that she and the shallow coven of witches that sent her would get their wish.

…

Kaia trudged nervously through the rank air of one of Nocteraia's circuitous passageways. She wondered how long she could maintain her ruse before she could pounce. She was closing in now; she could feel the unnatural cold hugging the back of her neck. She gripped the syringe with greater resolve. With determination framing her soft features, her heart raced at the prospect of saving the city from one of the motley of beasts that plagued it for centuries.

She did not dare come here unaided, that would have been suicidal. A glance behind revealed her ally flanking her in the shadows. When she refocused her eyes ahead, she stopped in her tracks. The beast was gone. For a fraction of a second, she thought her vision had failed her, but when she squinted to get a better look, she dismissed it. He was gone. The mission was failed. Kimryn, the leader of her coven 'The Fraternity', would kill her.

Kaia raised her fist as she pronounced the summoning spell, indicating to her ally that he could relinquish his cover. However, as she uttered the first syllable, a shadow passed above her, stalling her incantation. The preternatural darkness that fell around her was so profound that it was like a thing of substance physically affecting her. Her eyes mysteriously stung, and her every breath was shallow and painful.

As if compelled, her head rose, only to meet the cold, steady gaze of her nemesis. His face recalled a white snake, pale beyond comparison with eyes of different color: one green as polished emerald, the other as blue as sapphire. The terror had not yet fully diffused through her bones when he pounced, faster than she had envisioned in the many times she had played this very scenario over and over in her head. She instinctively raised the syringe containing potent potion, but it was too late. The sleek figure knocked her off her feet with its body, in a gesture that scoffed at gravity.

As the newest recruit within the witches' coven at The Fraternity, she quickly learned that not many predators matched the deadly prowess of a fully mature vampire, and as such, she ( a mere fledgling) had zero chances of surviving a head to head battle. Of course, tonight wasn't meant to be face to face.

Kaia hit the ground awkwardly, landing flat on the space between her rump and the base of her spine. Pain beyond pain shot from her landing spot up her back and to her sides. She yelped in anguish as her hand whipped round to soothe her throbbing lower back. Scared, tense, and confused, she looked around to locate her adversary who had apparently deciphered her intentions. She saw nothing but the syringe a few feet from her that she had dropped in the fall. She attempted to rise from her disadvantageous position in fear that her quarry would pounce from the darkness again but was quickly reminded of her injury by a piercing pain. She only managed to make it to her hands and knees. After a few attempts, she stood, readying herself on some insane level to defend herself against the monster. It was hopeless; her trump card was the syringe full of venom, not her undeveloped magic. Then she saw the black robe on the ground a few feet behind her.

It took her a few seconds to register that the robe was not only a robe but her adversary sprawled on the ground, motionless. Kaia knew she had raised her syringe too late and could not have incapacitated him. So why was he on the ground?

For the second time tonight she attempted to summon her ally. But again she was stalled, for a figure flew down from the black sky, landing quietly beside the vampire. Her ally was here. Clearly, he saw what had transpired.

“You alright, Kaia?” Came the measured voice of Vittorio, a second-year recruit and the closest thing to a friend Kaia had managed during the month and a half she had been in the Fraternity. Vittorio's face was as pale as a ghost, his penetrative green eyes observing her.

“I’ll be fine once I get outta here.”

He nodded.“Let’s go.”

Minutes later, they arrived with the body floating in midair by their combined magic. Before them now was the Fraternity’s headquarters: a trio of imposing buildings known as ‘The Edifice’. The Edifice was located smack in the middle of a dense forest on the outskirts of Lucteraia: a small town south of Nocteraia. Here the vampire would be ritually banished; another bloodsucker would be off the streets.

…

Half an hour later, five members of The Fraternity sat yoga-style before the incapacitated beast. The crude banishing circle always gave Kaia the creeps. The red sigil inscribed within the double-rimmed circumference always emitted energy that made her skin crawl. One would have thought a month of practicing this kind of ritual banishing would make her impervious to its effects. Wrong. In fact, the more she participated in conjuring its insidious energy, the more she realized why it was considered forbidden or ‘taboo magic’ as Kimryn, the leader of the Fraternity, put it. It pulled something from her, something she felt she couldn't replace. Not to mention the fact that that it made her severely depressed once a banishing session was completed. As a mere first year recruit, Kaia failed to understand why she was made to participate in this kind of advanced magic. She held no special skill, commanded no prodigious abilities. So it came as a surprise when Vittorio told her that she had been the first person to be allowed to participate in taboo magic so soon after entering the Fraternity's ranks.

It had been a chaotic last few months. Kaia would have scoffed at the possibility of the existence of a world where power wasn't measured by monetary wealth and physical weapons but by the honing of different aspects of magic. Yet here she was deep within that very world, performing witchery. The start of this journey began when her mother had disappeared without a trace from their Earthly home. Her presence here in the Fraternity was a means of reclaiming her beloved mother from the clutches of evil, whatever that was. Despite the mélange of melancholia and rage threatening at frequent intervals to reduce her efforts of seeing her mother again to absolute failure, she remained resolute. Perhaps it was this resolve that the elders here saw in her that enticed them to entrust her with certain responsibilities. It was a bittersweet scenario: on the one hand, Taboo magic was soul-altering and lethal, while on the other hand, it was that same brand of dark magic that could most aid her in rescuing her mother. She lusted for power and fretted when it refused to come quickly enough.

“Ready my dears,” the leader of the coven announced.“Hands of purgation aloft.” Kimryn raised her hands. The others followed. Kaia noted a huge black book beside Kimryn that she’d never seen before.

“What’s that book?”Kaia whispered to Vittorio, whose ashen face was directed at the entity inside the circle.

“Huh?”

“That book. I’ve never seen it used here before.”

“Oh that,” Vittorio acknowledged without turning his head.

“It’s one of the three forbidden books.”

Kaia gazed at the mammoth black codex, its red-embroidered letters glowing in the semi-darkness.

“Why would a book be forbidden though?”she followed up, curious.

Vittorio shrugged.“Well, I am not sure really. Kimryn keeps them under lock and key inside her room, so I’m guessing it has some pretty powerful stuff in there.”

“Oh. I see,”Kaia stated, eyeing the book lustily. She didn’t recall a time her curiosity was ever tamed. And tonight was not a night to start.

Flanking Kimryn were Marco and Szandora to her left and right respectively. Marco, the burly unrefined wizard with bald head sat silently with his eyes fixed on the body before them. So did Szandora, the goth-looking witch who embodied the image of a true sorceress. She invariably wore black mascara which made her look malefic. She wore black lipstick too, her overall snake-like face never failed to frighten Kaia. Together, the trio of Kimryn, Szandora, and Marco was known around the Fraternity as ‘The Trinity.'

“Have any of you seen this mark?” Vittorio inquired as he started to settle into his position, pointing to the forearm of the vampire where a crude tattoo greeted their eyes. Kaia gasped at the ghastly image of a gigantic snake that seemed to be popping from his hand. The grossness of the imagery was completed by the fact that the snake had its tail in its mouth. Kimryn instinctively rose from her position at the head of the circle to get a better look. She said nothing. Finally, she raised her head from the image. Her hazel eyes conveyed the gravity of the situation.

“Amphisbaena.”

The words barely left her lips before the figure—that was supposed to have been bounded by the infernal energies of the magical circle—did the impossible. The being rose mystically as if the name Kimryn had just uttered had stirred it to life. It took a while for everyone to register what was happening before them. The vampiric form rose with all the authority and effortlessness of a god resurrecting from a self-imposed slumber. When they did gather their wits and started to hurl hexes at the monster, the chanting was in vain. The vampire—or whatever was in their presence—swished his cloak, sending all of them hurtling towards the stone walls. Kaia was saved from the brunt of the force as the being was facing Kimryn when he attacked. The only thing Kaia felt were bands of energy pushing her backward, her heart seeming to be stuck in the back of her throat. The Trinity, however, was literally blasted away though Szandora had the keenness to conjure a cerulean tetrahedron shield to combat the devastating wind pressure.

The interloper bared his teeth in what might have been a twisted laugh,then vanished. Kimryn was the first on her feet, but it was Vittorio who spoke first.

“What the hell was that?” he inquired, his head darting from one Trinity member to the next.

Szandora scoffed. “Emphasis on the ‘hell’. ”

The eyes in the room seemed to ask the same question.

“Something that could have killed us but didn't.” Kimryn walked to the spot where the strange being had stood and nodded. “Yes, definitely Amphisbaena.”

“Amphisbaena?” Kaia repeated.”What's that?”

Kimryn sat back down. She glanced at Szandora, who gave a slight bow.

“Vampires come in various forms, Kaia. First, there are the Loyals—who become vampires after being bitten by one. Then, there are vampires who’ve lived for centuries— those who have drunk so much blood and having promiscuously absorbed so many forms of energy, that they evolve over time into powerful entities called Amphisbaena. These vampires are the epitome of power. It’s almost as though they are a different breed altogether.”

The group remained silent. Of course, it was only Kaia— and possibly Vittorio— who didn't know this information. The other two at the circle: Marco and Szandora, being among The Fraternity's highest ranked members were definitely privy to such knowledge.

“Amphisbaena,” Kimryn continued, “is the final form of a vampire. Such a state is only attained through the consumption of blood for millennia, coupled with an ancient and most diabolical ritual to seal the final transformation.”

Vittorio began, “So how do...”

But he was cut off. Kimryn's cautionary hand halted any further inquiries.

“That's enough! That is all I am prepared to say on the subject.” She alighted and started to leave. “I think we’re done here. The beast has gone. We’ll scheme another interception shortly. Back to your quarters now.” Szandora and Marco followed her through the door.

“What was that just now?”Kaia asked Vittorio.

Vittorio shrugged.“Weren’t you listening?”He stood as he spoke.

“She said it was an Amphisbaena vamp. Get up, Kaia. We better go now before a member of the Trinity returns and think we are loitering.”

Kaia nodded, eyeing the black book.

Vittorio gazed down at her.“Aren’t you coming?”

Tearing her eyes from the book, she stood.”Yeah, right after you. Just let me make sure my back is in order.” In truth, she still felt a throb in her back, but it was nothing to rave over.

Vittorio narrowed his eyes as he analyzed her, then nodded and walked off through the massive oak doors, switching off the lights on his way. Kaia watched him as he disappeared from view down the steps. This was her cue. Kaia dashed to the other side of the circle. She was tempted to switch on the lights but found prudence in acting in darkness. The last remnants of the banishing circle glowed a faint red, but this backdrop against the darkness made the pentagram even more insidious. A hideous outline of a goat’s head lay inscribed within the circumference, its eyes embers of amber. At its base was the book— her target. Grimacing, she slowed somewhat, then pivoted herself slowly, scooping the book up into her hands. She almost dropped it at once; the rough leather was as cold and as greasy as a corpse, and she could see the distinct red lettering embossed on its surface.

“LIBER LACRIMAE I”

She stuffed it under her frill bodice and scuttled through the door.

…

Desperate for more answers concerning the strange being that entered their midst, Kaia sat alone in her small room with the Liber Lacrimae grimoire she had stolen from the banishing room. So far in her illicit reading, she had encountered many beings unknown to her until then. Though aware of a typical lycanthrope (or werewolf, the most widely used term) she had not known about the many mutations of the breed. It turned out that as was the case with vampires, lycanthropes also had varying levels of strength. The final form of a lycanthrope caught her eye. No wonder no one spoke of these things aloud; they were too frightening. Yet to a curious mind such as hers, such things, despite their hideousness, were a blasphemy to remain ignorant about. The evolved Lycans were known as “LS”, short for Lupii Sanguinaria— powerful beasts who roamed the earth like demigods, ravishing nations and usurping the strongholds of even vampires.

Apparently, Lupii Sanguinaria had an advantage over bloodsuckers in the balance of power since along with their own terrible powers, they possessed a majority of the abilities normal vampires have. Kaia read that the LS were said to be extinct in modern times due to the Purple Plague that obliterated their kind in times bygone. A note about the Purple Plague at the bottom of the vellum paper caught her eyes.

Purple Plague—deadly curse composed by a powerful witch, Lilith…

Kaia read on, captivated and somewhat frightened by the scope of evil the beings featured in the book were capable of. She wanted to know as much about magic and as quickly as possible in order to try to reclaim her mother from the clutches of whoever had her. Why would anyone in the magical world want her mother of all persons? She was a normal woman with absolutely no ties to magic. Kimryn had explained to her that she knew exactly who took her and had promised to aid in her recapture. Kaia flipped the page and saw another curse:The Hemphalitic Fever-- A horrific affliction transforming the afflicted into a pain-riddled, leprosy-bearing lunatic. Those afflicted will inevitably descend into full-blown insanity within two months of being affected and will continue to degenerate until death.

Cure: Variable—up to the discretion of the caster.

Kaia cringed. She definitely did not want to get hit with this one. She was about to turn the page when she saw a barely recognizable scribble just to the left of the margin.

Finely ground Malemorphous Rock.

She didn’t know the significance of the rock, but something told her it had something to do with the curse.

As she turned the page, her heart skipped a beat. In red was what they had faced tonight. Amphisbaena: The Serpents. Just as she was about to begin reading, the door burst open. Kimryn appeared at the door with a murderous look on her face. Kaia had heard rumors about Kimryn's wrath, but she didn't take them seriously until now. She tried to get up, but an unseen force kept her in place. A fraction of a second, that seemed like a whole hour, elapsed before Kimryn thrust out her hand. The quiet spell hit her squarely in the chest before she could even enunciate the barrier incantation. Kaia flew backward through the air, her hands outstretched. She slammed into her back hard against the concrete-reinforced walls. For the second time that night, maddening pain shot from her lower back and seared upward. Kaia screamed. Kimryn bounded forward now, her scarred face the picture of pure rage.

“So sorry— please don’t— am sorry, Kimryn.” There was a second when it seemed Kimryn would extend mercy and stop her assault, but she raised her hands once more. Kaia put up her hand to cover her face, but it made no sense trying to defend oneself against the likes of Kimryn Dawes, seasoned witch and occultist extraordinaire.

Then it happened —an almighty crash. With her hands over her face, Kaia hadn't seen what had caused the noise. Tentatively, she removed her hands to see Vittorio at the door. Apparently, he had come to her defense by shooting a curse into the wall. The large gaping hole beside Kaia was proof of its sheer power.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Kimryn inquired furiously. Kaia gazed at Vittorio, knowing his answer must be great to avoid punishment. He had not only intruded upon Kimryn’s routine scolding of a witch’s illegal snooping, but he had done so with violence. Rubble from the demolished wall continued to fall beside Kaia, and she wondered if she should move before something fell on her. Vittorio’s pale, handsome face studied her then drifted to the book splayed on the ground.

“It is I who gave her the grimoire, your grace. We were curious about the being that entered our enclosure earlier. Please accept our profuse apologies.” He bowed.

An unnerving silence ensued during which Kimryn simply gazed at him. And when she raised her hands for the third time that night, Kaia thought she would punish him then and there. Instead, she pointed a long, skeletal finger at him.

“Son, don't do that again. There are things in that book that are not meant to be known— dark things, abominations. The fact that I am describing them as such should hammer the point home into your skulls.”She twisted her head to the side like a curious dog. “I would have suspected treachery on your part had your heart made one wrong beat. LEAVE MY PRESENCE!”

Vittorio turned and went at once, and Kaia didn't intend to stick around either; she stood up to go, but the pain ravaged her back, paralyzing her. Falling back to her knees, she cursed her weakness—including the stark terror Kimryn inculcated into her. She would rather be anywhere but here right now, and for a fraction of a second, she contemplated crawling out under the intense gaze of the elder witch. She decided against it. Before she could make a decision, however, she heard something that might have been a laugh, and the quiet footsteps as the witch stalked out of the room.

…

The morning came with no reprieve for Kaia’s depression. She dressed hastily for breakfast. The faded jeans fit tight onto her petite body, hugging her curves. As she looked into the mirror, she noticed with some misgiving that the sleepless night had left her eyelids heavy and puffy. She grabbed the mascara set which she had received as a gift from her best friend, Mara who enviably was now enjoying her life as a normal human being, not holed up in a building in the middle of nowhere learning strange spells and charms. She dabbed some skin colored powder onto her eyes.

Although Kaia practically lusted after the typical life of a young adult in Nocteraia— working in a normal job, having normal friends, a boyfriend, attending parties and the like— she had no regrets about her decision to join The Fraternity. In fact, the decision was practically made for her after her mother’s mysterious disappearance.

It was almost a month ago that her mother, Gaia went (as she always did) on the St Thalia Hospital's night-shift and never returned. The fellow nurses had confirmed that she did, in fact, arrive for work, but no one knew what happened afterward. Her pearl white car was still parked in its usual slot, no sign of foul play. Everyone was stumped since there wasn't a single clue as to Gaia's whereabouts. Kaia had managed to hold it together for the first couple of days, perhaps it was even naivete that made her hold out for so long. The breaking point came two weeks into the disappearance when she finally realized it was a real possibility she wouldn’t see her mother alive again. Kaia didn’t know she owned so much tears, crying nonstop for hours, fearing the worst.

The first month after Gaia disappeared, Kaia received a rather curious visit from Kimryn Dawes herself who explained to her exactly what had happened and how, through the organization called 'The Fraternity', they could attempt the business of rescuing her mother before it was too late.

Kimryn had enlightened her of the fact that Gaia was the descendant of a rather famous —or more appropriate— infamous witch known by the name, Lilith. Kaia had encountered that very name when she had sneaked into Kimryn’s room and read the forbidden book. She was the person who had been responsible for casting a terrible hex upon the Lycanthropes, killing thousands of their kind. Holding that long grudge, the Lycanthropes had declared war upon the witches, their mandate being the extermination of every single remaining descendant of the witch.

They had failed to kill Lilith, given her almost Godlike powers, but the same was not true for the majority of her bloodline who were brutally cut down by the ravenous wolves. The Lycanthropes' bloodlust didn't end with the bloodline of Lilith; their massacre extended to witches in general, innocent people, and even animals. They effectively obliterated those too weak to defend themselves. Even the most powerful breed of the Lycans, LS (Lupii Sanguinaria) participated. Though few, the wolves were practically unstoppable, their wrath transforming Nocteraia into a slaughterhouse of blood, guts, and decapitated corpses.

Of course, Kaia hadn't believed a single word Kimryn had spoken. She had adopted her mother’s stance on almost everything and so she rejected all things even remotely supernatural. Despite this, however, she had observed some theretofore inexplicable phenomena with her own eyes, and the bone-chilling fact was that almost all of the occurrences had been in some way connected to her mother. Once, she had entered her mother’s room late at night to check on her after she had heard an awful hissing coming from her quarters. Kaia remembered screaming her throat out in fright when she saw the horrifying scene of her mother’s small frame floating in midair inches over the bed. It was as if it were an illusion conjured up by some masterful magician in a circus. She had heard her mother chanting weird things in a language she did not understand.

There had been a period following that incident when she had denied what she had seen, passing it off as the phantasms of a sleepwalker or perhaps the typical weirdness of a spooky nightmare. However, she subsequently saw other things that subsequently convinced her of her mother’s paranormal nature. And the abnormalities were not attributable to her mother alone; Kaia herself observed some things about herself that shocked her on a most fundamental level. Whenever she was extremely angry, things would topple over as if someone touched them. Though the telekinesis was weak, it was present nevertheless. Still, she had not been totally convinced of the existence of magic until Kimryn, prompted by her continued stubbornness, unmistakably caused the pigtails on her head to flop up and down without anyone touching them. Kaia had joined The Fraternity without as much as a second thought after that, eager to find her beloved mother…alive.

It was uncertain if her mother remained of this world, and that alone was an unbearable torture. There was a tenseness in her that threatened to break the thin thread between rationality and insanity. She knew she couldn’t hold out for much longer until something broke inside her. The melancholia was wringing the vitality from her, plunging her into a dark place she had never been before in her life.

Drying a solitary tear from her eye, Kaia headed out of her quarters and down the long, spiral staircase. As she descended the last stretch of stairs, she noticed for the first time a dark passage under the flight of steps that led to a rather crude door. She had been here in the Fraternity more than a month, and she hadn’t thought to inquire about what the door led to. The door had no handle, and odd symbols were upon its wooden structure just beneath the large skull with a snake going through its eye.

Kaia shivered, both spooked and baffled about the existence of the door. But the reason she had not seen it before came to her now as she stared upon the ominous door. It was glowing red! She was sure this detail was different the many times she had gone by it. She turned from it quickly,fearful of being spotted since the door was clearly out of bounds. After all, she had caused enough trouble already, any more would spell nothing good. But even as she thought this, she made a mental note to ask Vittorio about it.

…

Back in her quarters on the southern end of The Fraternity's headquarters, The Edifice, Kaia prepared to go to bed. Her back still hurt from the blow she received a couple hours ago. But although she was hurt, she was grateful Vittorio had intervened the time that he did. Had he not assumed the role of savior, things would have been a lot worse. She had committed a serious breach, one that could easily have sent her to The Dungeons. Kaia shivered as the possibility crossed her mind: the Dungeons were spoken of in whispers among the first year recruits, “Literal Hell” was the most common reference to the place of unspeakable darkness. Kaia had precious little details about the nature of the place, but the many whispers that terrified the halls told her the dark, subterranean lair housed the hordes of odd breeds captured by the Fraternity.

Two weeks ago, Vittorio had told her that Mirabelle, the girl she had replaced to be here, did some unspeakable thing that vexed Kimryn’s spirit so much that she suffered the fate of The Dungeons. She was never seen or heard from since. Though Cotton, the Edifice’s grounds-keeper, claimed that in going about his duties around the upper levels of the Dungeon, he heard awful wailing issuing from down below. His story was never corroborated, especially given the fact that the bowels of the Dungeons were strictly forbidden to everyone except The Trinity, a company that included Kimryn herself and her second and third in command Szandora and Marco respectively.

The Dungeons always gave her the creeps. However, The Dungeons were the least of her concerns now: her thoughts shifted to the task she had been assigned, scheduled for tomorrow night. Every night was a different undertaking but with the same general context: capturing and vanquishing the odd breeds that roamed Nocteraia, wreaking havoc by maiming and killing its hapless denizens. But this time, due to the perilous task she had been assigned, she got a weird feeling Kimryn gave her the assignment to punish her for stealing away the Liber Lacrimae. Vittorio, who told her of the task on Kimryn’s behalf, informed her that he had tried pleading with the coven leader to allow him to accompany her, but she vehemently refused, saying she wanted him for some other mission.

That night, Kaia tried to sleep, but thoughts of the deed entrusted to her kept haunting her mind. Why her, the newest member of The Fraternity? Why not Kimryn’s third in command, Marco: a seasoned hunter who was particularly efficient in slaughtering odd breeds? Or better yet, why not Szandora, the second in command? Szandora was the thin goth-looking witch who possessed the strange power of magnetism.

Kaia shook her head trying to avoid recalling the first time she had gone hunting with Szandora. It had been four of them, she, Vittorio, Szandora, and Marco all out in the dead of night for her recruiting session. It was to be a simple mission, but things took a nasty turn when a particularly malevolent Lycanthrope attacked.

In hindsight, given her new information about wolves from the Liber Lacrimae, it might even have been an LS (Lupii Sanguinaria). Kaia had stood rooted to the spot in the battle with the wolf, shell-shocked. She didn’t even see when the beast lunged at her from behind. It had been Marco who put his bulky body in the way, blocking the wolf that was about to charge into her. The wild beast dug through Marco’s hand, leaving a terrible gash. Then, what was to be the spectacle of the night, Szandora, who had been on the outskirts observing the battle, appeared in the midst of the chaos, her skeletal, tattooed hands aloft. Kaia remembered feeling a powerful tingling sensation all over her body, her hairs standing on end. Then she saw the gruesome effect— the lycanthrope froze on the spot before blood spilled from all its orifices in crimson torrents.

Kaia recalled that at one point during all this, she hadn’t been able to see a thing because of the fountain of blood spraying into the air, but she did hear the unearthly scream of the beast as it died, followed by the almighty ‘pop’ when the creature burst open, exposing the stuff of nightmares. Even Vittorio had looked away from the grotesque image. She hadn’t seen anything so violent in her life. She hadn’t known it at the time, but Szandora actually manipulated the beast’s blood through the power of magnetism. Before then, she didn’t even know that blood was magnetic in nature because of the iron it contained.

Kaia ceased her macabre reminiscences in total dread. If back then was anything to go by, then her mission was hopeless. She was a weak and powerless witch— if she could even be called that. And tomorrow there would be no Marco nor Szandora to save her. Even Vittorio, her support system as of late, was barred from aiding her. It would be a dance of death with her and the depraved adversaries she had just read about in Kimryn's Liber Lacrimae grimoire. All alone.

…

In the midst of the sloping Nocteraia forest, a castle stood conspicuous amid the greenery. It was called Twilight Castle due to the magic woven to prevent the wanderlust from happening upon the sprawling abode. The surrounding luminosity was bewitched to never exceed twilight, completing a cycle from half-light to total darkness. Reclined in his lavish Jacuzzi within Twilight Castle, Satin pondered the message he had just received. He drained a bottle of Merlot and alighted from the warm water. Two concubines approached with a robe and towels. Satin took the robe and covered himself before making his way through the massive gothic house to his room.

He had some work to do tonight: the message from his source was quite clear. Tonight was the night his old adversaries would make a move. Being the powerful entity that he was, it would be ludicrous not to have a source on the inside informing him of their every move. Satin smiled. If only they knew the destruction they would soon face, they probably would be better off killing themselves now. All at once, a mixture of excitement and anxiety gripped him. It was due to the fact that it had been quite some time since he battled worthy opponents, and tonight would be the night all that would change. Although he knew the extent of his strength, he refused to succumb to the sin of complacency having learned the hard way years ago. It was always prudent to acknowledge every opponent as worthy, regardless of the level he perceived their strength to be. Once in his room, Satin let his robe fall, he then ran his pale hands over the scar that spanned the length of his torso. Never again will he ever traverse so close to death.

He walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up a crude-looking ring. The ornate annular object was his insurance, the final fit to the puzzle of his immortality. He ran his finger over the smooth surface, stopping at the bright green emerald gem embedded within it. He slipped it onto his left index finger, relishing the infusion of power overtaking him. As if in sync, an unnatural wind swept across the room. It continued as Satin dressed in an inconspicuous plain white T-shirt and jeans. Though he tried to comb his hair back, it rebelled against him, resuming their spiky turgidity atop his head. Resignedly, he opened the window and flew out into the cold night.

…

The main hall of The Edifice was divided into four sections, each serving a different purpose. The section Kaia now entered was called Atrium A, a vast, open cylindrical structure with the top mushrooming into a geodesic dome. This dome was embellished or in Kaia’s mind, defaced with a rather sinister fresco called ‘The Witches Sabbath’ that portrayed four women sitting in a circle while an entity resembling a goat ministered to them. The walls were otherwise smooth and somehow managed to maintain its pristine look despite the fact that the building was more than six hundred years old. Atrium A was where the first and second years all ate and conversed. It was also the area in which general meetings were held. Meetings consisted mainly of the goals and targets of The Fraternity and disciplinary matters.

“Hey there you!” A familiar voice floated to her, disrupting her thoughts. It was Kelly, a sprightly, pretty girl not much younger than her. Kelly had joined The Fraternity just over two weeks ago. She had ambushed Kaia from the side as if she had been lurking there for some time, waiting for her to get off the stairs.

“Hey Kel, had breakfast already?” Kaia asked, surprising herself in how even her voice was.

“Yep! Eggs and pancakes again!” She made up her face as if she smelled some putrid scent. “You’d think if it were totally up to them eggs and pancakes would be the only food in the entire universe,” she continued.

“Yeah, not sure why they always serve that,”Kaia stated.”Anyway, how many of the basic spells have you learned so far? Remember tonight's the practical for newcomers.”Kaia resumed her walk between the massive, circular tables around which first and second years sat eating and chatting. The room wasn't full, but it still contained a sizable number of budding magicians fueling up for the day. Kelly followed.

“It’s not tonight,” Kelly informed. When she refused to elaborate, Kaia fixed her with a questioning stare.

“Postponed, Szandora left a while ago actually. She said there will be some hunting missions tonight.”She stopped, her face wearing a grave expression. Kaia too halted. Kelly continued, her voice dour. “Sounds pretty serious too. That woman never comes to speak to us like that. Scares the bejesus out of me.”

It was clear Kelly was unnerved by Szandora, but whatever her reason was for being daunted by the woman, Kaia was sure it wasn't even remotely close to what she had witnessed that dreadful night when she slew the Lycan beast so barbarously without the bat of an eye. But she agreed; it was quite anomalous for Szandora to make such an announcement. In fact, it was downright weird seeing her talk at all. She would saunter around the grounds as silent as death, donning a smile that might as well have been that of a Jack O Lantern. Kaia reflected a bit, realizing that the majority of the members of The Fraternity was so shady, that she had to ask herself if she was in league with the good guys or the bad guys. At this point she didn’t really care. For now, all she wanted was to get her mother back.

“Interesting,” Kaia responded, feigning surprise since she basically knew in advance that there would indeed be a mass hunting mission, given the undertaking which she had been entrusted. She decided not to tell Kelly that this was probably her last night alive.

“It’s the first time I’m ever hearing of the missions interfering with normal school schedule,” Kaia said truthfully, sitting at her typical table at the very back of the hall. She uncovered her eggs and pancakes and started eating. Kelly sat.

“Exactly what I'm saying. Must be some powerful people they're hunting,” she intoned, helping herself to a cup of butter tea from a large wooden keg. The noise in the room heightened as a wave of Fraternity members entered. A quick glance in the direction of the noise told her Vittorio was among them, his abnormally pale face standing out of the bunch of four second-year recruits. They stuck together like magnets. Kaia wondered where their second year, female counterparts were.

At the front was Hale, a tall handsome young man with short, black hair combed back neatly. He was laughing, showing off some of the whitest teeth Kaia had ever seen. They seemed to gleam every time he opened his mouth. As far as she could tell, he was a good guy. Once, during her first week at The Fraternity, he had assisted her with a couple of incantations she had been having problems with. It had been a troublesome levitating spell that required immense concentration. Kaia remembered Hale suggesting that she think about a colored vertical line going through the object she wanted to levitate, then imagining it rising up on it. Kaia didn’t know why, but it had worked excellently after the very first try. Her feather had risen a good four feet into the air, then fell since she wasn’t able to maintain her concentration for long. Beside Hale was the short, stocky frame of Michael. He grinned as Hale mouthed something to him. Kaia knew nothing about Michael. Beside him was Vittorio, looking like a vampire with his pale face. He walked upright and stately. His overall demeanor and physique were a stark difference to his peers. Vittorio almost always wore a suit and tie as if he were attending a high profile meeting. He now looked directly at her as he sat a couple tables from them.

The other member of the Quartet was a dark-skinned, medium build young man known to her as Gamma, Kaia didn't know if that was his real name or not, but if she could guess, it was not since Vittorio once told her that he had an uncanny ability of burning through things with his penetrative stare like Gamma radiation. Of course, Kaia hadn't known about Gamma radiation at the time since Physics wasn't her strong suit back in High School. She had to be enlightened by Vittorio.

“He’s so cute.” Kelly chirped in wonderment with her hand on her jaw.

“Ahhm, I think Vittorio has enough women on the list attracted to him,” Kaia replied.

“Hey slow down there, Kaia! I wasn’t referring to Vittorio, he’s kinda cute too but a bit too… what’s the word I’m looking for?” She paused awkwardly.

“Sophisticated?” Kaia tried.

“Exactly,” Kelly said, wagging her finger frenetically. “Hale's the one am referring to. Can't you see he's a god?”

“Yeah I guess he's alright,” Kaia said.

Kelly observed her with her black eyes.“It seems you head that list of women crazy about Vittorio though,” she exclaimed.

Kaia blushed.“He’s a great guy.”

“Well, it seems the feeling's mutual. He hasn't taken his eyes off you one bit since he entered,” Kelly observed, looking behind her.

Kaia peered out of the corner of her eye, and sure enough there he was with a glass of butter tea in his hand staring straight at her.

“Anyway, I have some stuff I need to do before tonight,” Kaia stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

Kelly nodded. “Likewise. I have to learn those spells before tomorrow night, and I haven't learned half of them yet!” She alighted from the wooden chair. Kaia tried to do the same, but incredibly intense pain shot up from her lower back. “Owww!”she howled, clutching the spot. Incapacitated, she plopped heavily back into her seat. A cursory glance around informed her she had an audience.

“Woah! Everything alright there, Kaia?” Kelly inquired.

“Yeah all's well, just…didn't sleep well last night. I tell you about these beds, they're so tough, they hurt my back.” It was a lousy lie, but it seemed to work nevertheless. Kelly nodded in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The pale, serious face of Vittorio floated up to them. He stared down at her with his deeply penetrative eyes which asked her the question before he spoke it.“You alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine…I think.”

Kelly interjected.”No, I don't think she's fine at all, she practically just broke her back.” She paused, pressing a finger on her lips then continued. “Is there is a spell for that by the way? The pain, I mean.”

Vittorio smiled.“There are spells for everything, Kelly. The problem sometimes is finding them and what they cost in return for their use.”

He turned back to Kaia.“I need to talk to you, Kaia. It’s of great importance.”

“Well am gonna…you know…go now. See you around Kaia.” With that, Kelly waltzed off into the ever-swelling crowd and up the stairs. Kaia waved at her. Though she wanted to get up and go somewhere for them to talk, she decided to forgo risking the embarrassment of the pain downing her again. Kaia stayed put.

“About what?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea it involved the gravity of the task she had been assigned.

“Come,” Vitorio said, proffering a hand for her to take, which she did. No pain crippled her as she rose and followed him.

…

Vittorio decided they would go to Kaia's room since it afforded them the most privacy. If they were spotted anywhere in the halls by any member of The Trinity, it would spell bad news, especially Kimryn since she had noted their closeness with eye-narrowing curiosity. Being spotted by Cotton the groundsman would be almost as bad; not only would he hasten to inform Kimryn of the unbecoming behavior of a second year being seeing at night with a first year of the opposite sex, but he would most certainly embellish his tale with a few entertaining fabrications.

Once in the room, Vittorio gave words to the worry on his face. “I'm not going to lie, Kaia, you're in some deep mess. Believe me, if I could go in your stead, I would. But Kimryn practically forced me to make myself available for another operation. I cannot…”

Suddenly, something about Vittorio’s unwavering support for her raised a red flag in her mind. Holding up her hand, she stopped him mid-sentence.

“Stop. I appreciate your concern. Believe me, I really do. But what is your goal? Why are you so concerned? I mean, you don't know me or anything and yet you want to put your life on the line for me. Why?”

Kaia listened to herself speak as if she were out of her body. She was getting emotional, and the predicament was getting to her. Despite this, as soon as she uttered the words, she knew she shouldn't have. Kaia looked at him as he gazed off into space as if deep in thought. He didn't appear hurt by her pronouncements. In fact, he didn't appear anything, his expression was unreadable as always like a blank sheet of paper. He then smiled. She spoke again, sorry that she met his benevolence with a hint of doubting his motives

“You know what, don't answer that. I— I'm just in a bad place right now.”

With that, he reached into his bag, withdrew a black book, and placed it on the bed in front of her.

“What’s this?” She asked, regarding the book.

“It contains a list of forbidden spells I have acquired. They're extremely powerful but nevertheless still straightforward to use. For them to work you just have to say them out loud with faith and conviction. Beside each, I have made a note as to the visualizations that could aid you upon saying them.”

He paused, and Kaia suddenly felt ashamed of her prior outburst, one that Vittorio completely ignored.

He continued, “It's the best I can do for you right now. Well, along with that other thing I already did.” He looked at her with an expression somewhere between pity and genuine concern then rose and walked out of the room.

He didn’t elaborate on that “other thing he did”. Kaia wanted to call out to him to stop and just stay with her until it was time for her to head out, but she stopped herself, thinking it would be selfish to asking him to risk being seen with her after everything he had already done. What was that “other thing” he referred to? Kaia racked her brain and could come up with nothing further he could have done to protect her. Yet she recalled the hint of a smile that crossed his face as he said it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something huge. She opened the book that laid on the bed before her and saw a host of incantations from pain relievers to complex spells that severely harmed those on which they were set. The spells were not listed alphabetically but by their degree of difficulty:‘One’ being the easiest to perform and ‘six’ the most difficult. The book was segmented into four sections: Elemental Magic, Sympathetic Magic, Invocation/Evocation and General Craft. Kaia couldn't possibly learn anywhere near a satisfactory amount of the vast book before tomorrow.

There were blocking spells, ripping spells, vanishing spells, there was even a rather funny one that involved tickling the opposition to death. Despite her gloom, Kaia had a hard time not laughing out loud when she pictured a mature Lycanthrope laughing its head off in the middle of a battle. How did that even become a forbidden spell? However, a graver question arose in her mind as her eyes flitted over the myriad of diabolical hexes. How did Vittorio get his hands on this? Did he steal it from Kimryn's quarters? He did say there were three forbidden books housed there. Kaia turned to the cover of the book, but there was no title.

She flipped through the book and saw interesting spells here and there, but most of them were of maximum difficulty, so it came as no surprise that her attempts at performing them failed. Deciding to take her chances with some of the spells in the ‘General Craft' section (the majority of those had a difficulty of three or less) she took a deep breath. She had to learn at least a few and perfect them before tonight else she would be practically walking into death. A few minutes into intoning the less complex spells, however, she realized with dread that she could not get a single one to work. Each utterance of the word pairs was met with silence. Her frustration was getting the better of her now. Cold sweat was starting to trickle down her face as the night pressed on ever closer to the moment of truth.

The first spell that caught her eye on the opposite page was a spell to manifest dark bodies known as termed ‘nyctoids’. It was an evocation that could serve both as offense and defense. Kaia gazed, slightly disgusted by the product of the spell that was sketched beside the spell itself. Nyctoids were oily black midgets with eyes and teeth an effulgent white. The spell was easy enough to pronounce: Tenebrae Aeterna. A fine scrawl beside it listed the etymology, literal meaning of the word, pronunciation, visualization aids, and difficulty. It was Latin for Eternal Darkness. TEN-EE-BRAY AAE-TER-NAY. Difficulty:3.5

The book stated: “If one wishes to unlock the power of this ancient spell, the caster must enunciate the spell with power and conviction. Concurrently, the caster should fuel the magic with the emotion of anger and a lust for destruction.”

“Tenebrae Aeterna!”Kaia shouted. Nothing happened save the obstinate silence.

She recited the strange words under her breath until deep into the night as the moment of truth inched ever closer. And after her despair had all but zapped her of energy, the unthinkable happened: a sinking feeling inside her stomach that made her double over, though not from pain but from the odd sensation of losing some aspect of her that she might not regain. In this sense, the feeling was similar to the banishing of monster with the Trinity she had come to hate. Furious that not one of her spells had worked, Kaia slammed the book shut with an almighty thud. But something caught her eye immediately: Two rarefied forms stirring at the other side of the room. It was clear from their lack of substance that they were undeveloped. A wave of nausea swept over her as the forms ran amok inside the room, ripping everything that they could get their stubby hands on.

…

Kaia shivered against her coat as she progressed on foot in the frigid night. Armed with only a shaky memory of basic spells taught to her by The Fraternity's training regime and more recently the slew of spells contained within Vittorio's book, she clung to a delusional hope that she would make it through the night. Though it seemed like Kimryn had simply sent her off on this mission to her death, she at least offered a purpose for her outing, a rather odd one at that. Tonight was apparently a special day in the calendar of the Lycanthropes, a feast day called Lupercalia, where the savages would eat the flesh and drink the blood of humans and animals slain days before. From what Kaia could understand from Marco The Jackal, (Third member of The Trinity) the festival Lupercalia was a sick cornucopia of blood and flesh that sank to the lowest levels of depravity. Based on the intelligence that was gathered by the Fraternity, this particular Lupercalia festival was significant since the Lycanthropes would use it to usher in their new ruler. Therein was her task: to spy upon this abominable ritualistic festival and identify the distinguishing features of the new Lycan King. But more importantly, she was to steal the ancient heirloom that would be passed down from old king to new king. And how nasty was the old king of the Lycans who the witches abhorred so much? Evander was his name, a known Lupii Sanguinaria who commanded a ridiculous amount of power. So great was this man-beast's might that the strength of the vibratory effects of his howls was rumored to cause earthquakes.

Kaia had listened with fear and trembling as Marco spoke about the history of the Lycans—of which he himself had been a part some time ago, obliterating anyone who threatened to usurp their reign as the supreme hunters of Nocteraia. Kaia had never understood why the Lycans were considered the rulers of the city, but she figured that it was in some way related to the object she was tasked with stealing tonight. The reason for Marco's desertion of the wolves was a mystery, but Kimryn was convinced enough of his betrayal of his kind to accept him within The Fraternity.

As Kaia trudged ever closer to the locale, cold nipped her so much, she had to huddle deeper into her black furry coat. She looked up and saw the full moon, thinking about the misconceptions people had about werewolves: that they transform into beasts only under the waxing full moon and that they were incapacitated (if not killed) by silver-hewn projectiles. Of course, all of those things were fallacies. None of those things was true for the Lycanthropes she would have to get up close and personal with mere moments from now. Perhaps the misconceptions had been true at some point in the past, but if they were indeed accurate, then the horrid beasts had since evolved to a level of sophistication that allowed them to shed their façade of humanity at will. No longer could one identify a Lycan by staring; one could only know for sure if it transformed before his eyes. And those, mind you, were the normal wolves. The Lupii Sanguinaria species or Blood Wolves had different characteristics altogether. Kaia shivered again but this time it was not from the cold.

Kaia finally reached the city. Though she could have traversed the network of dark alleys to reach her destination on the other side of the city, she decided that if she were to die tonight, she should experience some happiness prior. The dazzling neon lights and the idyllic nightspots interspersed on Nocteraia’s nocturnal roads were nothing short of magical. She now passed the Dulcetium, a structure that hosted live performances by the instrumentalists from the Triskai. Her mother had routinely carried her there to see the performances, being the avid fan of the great Triskian composers. Reminiscing on these things brought a dense pang of sadness upon her, and as if the despair were a bag of weights, her shoulders drooped and her lungs strained under unrelenting sorrow. Kaia tried to take a deep breath but failed, her attempts coming out as short, painful rasps. She halted, gazing up into the darkening skies. If this were any other context she would have given at this very moment. Now she had no such luxury, for her mother's safety was the flickering light at the end of the tortuous tunnel. Laboring onward, the weird architecture of the Philosophers' Library rose so high that it seemed to kiss the ebony sky.

The city never slept. Eyes of light were opened everywhere despite the name of the place in the ancient tongue of Noctaire: City of Darkness.

Cab drivers flew by her aplenty, honking their horns, soliciting passengers. Further into the suburbs, she passed some liquor-drinking teenagers loitering beside a building from which loud, raunchy music blasted. Apparently, a party was in full swing. Dingy coffee shops lined the streets, mostly occupied by couples. Bars too were open as one would expect— the denizens of Nocteraia, and perhaps the Triskai at large, needed a place to drown their melancholia. Kaia eyed the bars lustily;she too needed to dilute her troubles with a few strong shots. But of course, that wouldn’t be necessary since the place to which she plodded to would most likely drown her problems for her. Permanently. Finally, she ducked into a dark alley— an act that marked the last leg of her odyssey. After crisscrossing through the maze of bricks and cobblestones, she deserted the city altogether and found herself close to Golgotha Hill, the wolves’ lair.

Walking another fifteen minutes way off the beaten track, Kaia heard the faint chanting of the beasts. Or was her mind playing tricks? She trembled nevertheless, slowing. She was a skittish mess as a new wave of panic swept over her like a blanket, though not to keep her warm but to entrap her with cold and fear.

“Am I really going to do this?” she asked herself as the reality came crashing down. Kaia stopped and knelt on the grass, half out of exhaustion and half out of her terror. Did she really understand what it meant to walk into a haven of bloodthirsty wolves? Worse, it was supposed to be their special feast day, hence she assumed they would be particularly decadent. Before she left The Edifice, she hadn’t fully appreciated the gravity of the situation she would be faced with. Now she did, and her body was telling her that with authority. It was also a determination as to which was worse: the unimaginable pain Kimryn Dawes' dark magic could inflict on her or the brutality the Lycans could mete out to her. Given that she had no support here, she thought the latter was graver. She could turn her back and walk away, but that would also mean turning her back on her mother. Kaia would have no hope of rescuing her without the help The Fraternity.

Kaia rose and edged up Golgotha Hill. About a half of a mile down the hill and into the flat, dense forestry, was smoke rising from where Kaia assumed the festivities were on in earnest. Kaia strain her eyes to get a sense of what was happening, but trees blocked her vision.

Given the overall forbidding look of the place and its isolation from society, no one dared tread here. Hence, there was a high chance the wolves would not expect someone to come skipping down Golgotha Hill into their lair. Perhaps their belief that no one would intrude was the reason they made little to no effort in trying to conceal their debauchery. But there was another possibility: they simply did not care. And according to Kaia’s reading, they could afford not to.

…

Halfway down Golgotha Hill,Kaia saw that the cover of the forest began immediately where the hill ended. She decided it was unwise to enter blindly; anyone stationed at the fringe of the forest was most likely kept watch at the foot of Golgotha Hill itself. She veered off the track and took a rocky route parallel to the forest. She planned to enter the woods some distance from the beaten track of Golgotha Hill.

Despite the purpose of her mission being to steal a mysterious heirloom, Kaia had precious little information about the object. All she knew was its name: Malemorphous— a rare, enchanted stone. It was made of a mixture of graphite and a rare metal called Iridium. Together with the magical powers it supposedly granted, a Lycan in possession of a Malemorphous indicated high rank. Satisfied she had ventured far enough, Kaia took a deep breath and entered the forest. Immediately, the darkness seemed to collapse around her. Twisting her head this way and that, she exhaled a sigh of relief she still breathed, which probably meant no one was watching her progress. Kaia trekked slowly toward the site.

About three minutes into the dark verdure, a tall, unsightly statue of some kind caught Kaia's eye. It almost entirely blocked her vision of the moon as it loomed overhead above the shrubs and trees. It possessed a chiseled and well-contoured head atop a long, wooden cylindrical support. Its eyes glowed a deep, dirty green, deeply embedded within a wolfish face. Smoke billowed around it, causing the eyes to appear to flicker. Kaia was pretty sure it was an idol being used by the Lycans in their festival. When Kaia refocused on her route, she was somewhat shaken to discover that she could discern forms moving around a bonfire. She was closer than she thought. She decided not to go too much farther from where she was. All she was prepared to do now was watch until the new Lycan King was revealed. She would note his features and report to Kimryn. She decided not to even bother trying to fetch the heirloom; she would be content if she could describe it to Kimryn.

After some time standing in the forest, Kaia realized the guttural chanting of the beasts (apparently in worship to the strange, gargantuan canine-headed idol) was slowly but surely making her disoriented, or was it the smoke? She couldn’t tell. Unsteady on her feet, Kaia knelt on the cold ground for support. As she did, another frightening observation startled her. There beneath the wooden idol strewn about like garbage, were the bone-chilling images of dead and decaying corpses. As though her realization of this had alerted her senses, Kaia retched as their overwhelming effluvium slammed against the insides of her nostrils. The scent had been there all along, but it seemed as if in her concentration upon the task at hand, she had been oblivious to it. Overpowered by the foul smell, she backed deeper into the woods.

The Lycans continued their frenzied jamboree, chanting and dancing in unison around the sinister wolfish statue. It was the severed heads that gripped her, never had Kaia seen a person's head without its body. Now there were dozens of them on display, the eyes of each of them open in a dead stare with dried blood smeared across their foreheads. The vomit rose from her stomach again; she yanked her head away from the morbid scene and retched. Gazing around, Kaia's eyes were now drawn to an ostentatious couple waltzing around the great canine-headed graven image. The man was tall and dressed relatively dapper in a black three-piece suit and matching shoes and tie. He danced with a pretty woman with long red hair. In fact, her hair was so long that it was just shy of caressing her buttocks, the outline of which was easily discernible through the flimsy, medieval white dress which she donned.

Something about the strained sophistication of these known savages unnerved her. Kaia now saw that everyone was dressed similarly— the men in black and the women in white. However, what caught her eye about the couple in particular was the fact that they, unlike the rest of them, wore ornate crowns on their heads. Kaia gasped in recognition; along with Kimryn's description of the man and her own observations now, she instantly knew the man's identity. To make sure she was correct, she sought out the couple again who had made their way to the other side of the statue. She strained her eyes against the night to get a good look at the man as they made their way from around the idol. When they emerged once more, she could clearly see beneath his crown that half of his hair was as red as blood and the other half as white as snow. Indeed, she had been correct; he was without a sliver of doubt the known Lupii Sanguinaria, Evander,dancing with his red-headed wife, Heiress Proserpina.

All Kaia had to do now was wait until the mysterious heirloom was handed down to Evander’s successor—whoever he was— and hope that he then puts it somewhere in plain sight. The dancing and chanting stopped suddenly. Evander had risen his hand, and everyone else pulled wooden stumps to sit on. He waited for a few seconds until there was complete silence. Kaia hoped they had finally gotten to the inauguration ceremony. As the silence stretched, Kaia got uncomfortable. She had the sense that if she shifted too suddenly, the beasts would be onto her in a second. Only the Lord knows what would have happened next. Worse, her heart was banging inside her chest.

“My people,” Evander began.“We have gathered here on this special night—the night of the wolves of Golgotha Hill, the night of Lupercalia. We congregate here not to simply have fun for our own vain sake but for the sake of our hero and our God, the great Gog, who has preserved us from the curses of the witches and from the malevolence of those principalities who try wholeheartedly to stop us.”

Before Evander could continue, an almighty roar erupted from the horde of beasts. He continued in his deep, grating voice.”Also,we have gathered here on Golgotha Hill, on the very ground where our hero, Gog sacrificed himself to protect our kind, to pay homage to the legendary man-god.”He gazed up reverentially at the humongous wooden statue, and rested his long hands upon its cylindrical base.

He resumed,”Gog, my fellow wolves,was the prototypical Lycanthrope of antiquity whose diligent experimentation as a normal man led to him transcending the human condition.”Another rambunctious applause ensued, louder than the last.

Walking from the base of the statue, Evander led his red-headed bride directly in front of the assembly of wolves, then continued once more.

“And last but not least, we have come here in the name of war. The witches and the vampires are slowly making gains on us. They are getting stronger. They have devised ways of getting close to our level of power. I daresay I have become old, my powers are nowhere near what they once were. Believe me, I am not proud to say it, but I am a mere shell of my former self. With that said…”

Evander raised his voice for climactic effect.“She-wolves and gentle beasts, I hereby announce my resignation as Lycan king!”

Kaia sensed this was an indication he was about to announce his successor. She had to admit, everything was going better than expected so far. In just a few more minutes and she could be out of this godawful place and maybe even celebrate surviving the mission at one of the bars she passed before.

There was a collective sigh of disapproval from most of the wolves after Evander’s announcement. The Lycans turned to each other in surprise, expressing their discontent. Evander held up a hand and all went quiet once more.

“My resignation, my dear people, has come at a most opportune time. You see, there is now someone more capable than myself in our midst to carry on our operations.” He paused, running a hand through his dichromatic hair. “This man embodies all the qualities of a King, and if I might be so presumptuous to inform,he has been perfecting a most impressive power for a very long time, a power that even I, the great Evander, could not. You see, my body just cannot withstand that much energy flowing through it. All rise as I pronounce the name of your new Lycan King.

SATYRION!”

…

No sooner had he announced the name of his successor than an extraordinarily tall man (easily over six foot five), whom Kaia had not seen participating in the festivities, emerge from the darkness of the other side of the woods. His face was thin, snakelike, and as white as a ghost. He wore no shirt. His entire muscular torso and thick arms were covered with tattoos of strange symbols. As he made his way forward, his long silver hair fluttered in a fleeting breeze. If there ever was an image to depict a Lycan in his human form, this was it. He wore huge galoshes that reached up to his knees.

To Kaia’s surprise, she saw that he was not alone; something else followed him out of the darkness, something big. Kaia literally gasped as she saw the largest wolf she had ever seen bounding behind him on a thick chain that rattled on the ground. Kaia wondered how the shirtless savage could possibly control such a mammoth animal if it ever wanted to be liberated from his grasp. The furry, black creature was quite literally as tall as a horse. Satyrion waved at the raucous crowd. His face had a sternness to it that she found uncommon, even among wolves. When Satyrion got close enough, Evander greeted him with a long embrace. Evander spoke once more.

“Oh, and how rude am I? Alongside Satyrion is his wolf, Styx. There is a most enthralling tale of how Satyrion acquired this impressive beast, but that is for another time. The six-foot lupus will serve not only as protector of our walls, but it will be the subject of a future experiment that I shall discuss later.” He pointed to the mass of carrion strewn across the ground. “Happy eating.”

Kaia's beating heart reached a deafening crescendo as the revelations came streaming in. Evader did not reveal the heirloom. Maybe it was a good thing, she thought; she could truthfully report that she had no opportunity to confiscate the object since it wasn’t handed down. Kaia was about to leave, but something told her to wait just a minute longer to see if she could glean some more information. In any case, she was already privy to the identity of the new Lycan King and so would not be going back to The Edifice a total failure. However, knowing Kimryn’s haughty disposition, Kaia knew she would punish her in some way, even if it wasn’t directly. Evander was speaking again, she realized.

“Wait up folks, one final matter before the festivities begin.”He smiled a dirty, twisted smile that chilled Kaia to her stomach. “The unveiling of the power handed down to us by our ancestors that I referenced earlier—”

With his statement hanging in the air, he bowed his head and pushed his hands on either side of his body so that the gesture resembled an accentuated bow. In an observation Kaia must have all but imagined, the whole place seemed to get a shade darker, then something moved above her, frightening her into a standing position. Whipping her head upward, she saw one of the large emerald eyes of the forbidding idol pop itself loose from the socket before floating magically downward, halting just in front of Evander, who seemed to have summoned it by telekinesis. Kaia kept forgetting that Lycans had some ability to perform magic. When the emerald eye was close enough, Evander grasped it with his left hand. A bright light-green effused from between his fingers as he held the gem.

“Though I, along with your new Lycan King, Satyrion have progressed farther than any of you have within the realm of darkness, acquiring the ultimate state and being more than able to hold our own against any opposition, this is the stone that will become the crux of our power. With it, neither bloodsucker—whether Loyal or Amphisbaena— nor any witch can defeat the least among us. We shall no longer fear the possibility of the majority of our kind being wiped out by an onslaught of witches or vampires.”

The night experienced the rowdiest cacophony yet.

Kaia listened to Evander's pronouncement. She recalled the names of those classes of vampires called Loyals and Amphisbaena from the night the vampire escaped the magical banishing circle. She remembered how Kimryn herself had declared in a shaky voice that he might have been an Amphisbaena. If what Evander said was true, then the wolves really were almost like dark demigods incapable of being defeated or conquered. Finally, she understood why Kimryn wanted the relic so much.

Evander handed the stone to Satyrion whose thin lips twisted into a feral smile. The large black wolf lifted its monstrous head into the air, and for a second Kaia thought it would howl, but it didn't. The frightful creature simply resumed glaring at the proceedings with its intense crimson eyes. Satyrion whispered something to Evander, who now came forward again to address the crowd.

“My wolves, while you eat, allow me to inform you that a most fortunate thing has happened. You see, your new King Satyrion has already proven his worth. This new development will reveal the power of our breed in a most telling way. Satyrion’s wolf, Styx just got a whiff of a most unfortunate witch intruding on our most secret meeting, crouching right outside our lair!”

There was a pregnant pause as the Lycanthropes registered their shock of someone so brazenly encroaching upon their stronghold. Then, there was a collective swine-like bellow. Kaia's blood ran cold,her heart twirling like a tornado encased in flesh. She tried to stand but fear paralyzed her. She didn't even have time to fear what happened next. Satyrion raced off in blinding speed straight at her. She managed to unlatch her feet from the mire of panic and started a mad dash back to the drunken city. Hands, feet, and heart pumping, her hysteric flight transformed the forest into a daze of whizzing forms and lights. Sprinting a haphazard path through the death-trap that was Golgotha forest, she knew she couldn't maintain her speed.

“Please please please!” Kaia pleaded with any gods able to deliver her from the jaws of the savages pursuing her. Were those footsteps behind her? Were those branches being torn from the trees in pursuit?

“Shit shit shit.”

Kaia didn't look back; she continued weaving in and out of the trees. Her breathing was becoming short and raspy. Something clipped her right instep, and she fell face first upon the cold ground. She prevented the brunt of the fall by sprawling her hands in front of her. Still, her head had caught the ground with a thud, momentarily knocking the wits from her. I'm dead, she thought as pain seared through her injured forehead.

…

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