 
Two Moons Over

Chapters

The First Night

New World

Chrissenia

Ignorance

Away

Under the Mountain

Reunion

Preparation

Restoration

Protest and Lost

Battle

Battle's End

## Foreword

Dreams are amazing, free, and usually uncontrollable. I think we don't give ourselves enough credit as far as imagination goes. At least, when we are conscious we don't. But in the untamed realms of our sleeping minds, imagination is reality. The limits melt away, and we are free from the boundaries we create.

He is young, fifteen to be exact. And he neglected to cut roasting sticks for a bonfire he was hosting, a mistake that would lead him into quite an adventure. Now he must do so in the dark, and at this point he is still rather awkward. In his attempt to gather small limbs, he drops his electric lantern.

#  The First Night

One

"I know I dropped it here." Cecil whispered in search of his lantern. It was a warm night in Appalachia. The forest creatures stirred with vigor as was routine. Yet something was out of place, askew. Cecil could feel a presence in his midst. A sentient one but not malign. He then stumbled over his lamp.

The presence grew closer. It couldn't be a thief. They would have struck by now. He switched on the lamp and shone its light into the blackness. Then a figure stepped from the sylvan shroud, but still it was out of the reach of his light.

Cecil was able to see a silver sheen but was unable to discern what made it. Someone was here, but he dared not come closer. A part of him wanted to see the face, but a greater part held him in place with caution. Cecil had almost broken his nerve and fled. That is when she spoke.

"Life is never easy, is it?" A power emanated from the soft voice. A power so great that Cecil nearly lost his footing, but he remained upright and awake. He did not, however, have the strength to reply. "But there are ways to lessen the load. I'm sure you know of a few yourself," she paused but seemed to know he wouldn't speak "wouldn't you like to have another way?"

Now he was on the spot. Of this he was positive. She wanted a reply, and he better give it. The silver gleam now formed a lengthy dagger in his mind. He thought that later he might feel ashamed for fearing the soft voice of a woman, but later he found that he was justified. He replied, "I would like to lessen life's burdens. Yes."

"Then would you accept our power? Will you leave your humanity to walk a different road?"

At this point he became certain that he would be attacked, but he also knew his best defense would be to stay calm and play along. After all, this was familiar ground to him. There were no disadvantages for him, except of course not having a weapon. That was a rather great disadvantage. "I already walk a separate path. I'm not sure what you're asking for." He looked upward just briefly.

She began to laugh, "I couldn't ask you to give up your faith. No, this isn't a matter that should concern you in such a way." A breeze came through and bent the overhead branches. For a moment he saw her face reflected in the moonlight. Cecil saw a wolf. "Will you accept?"

He was shaken by what he'd seen but dismissed it as his nerves acting up. "I accept." This was the only response he thought would be safe, but he saw her lurch forward. He braced for that glint that surely was a stiletto of some sort. It did not come, but she did.

Pain shot through his whole body as she ran her claws down his shoulder. Then the pain stopped, as his body was shocked. He saw no movement come from her. The speed was just too much for his eyes to comprehend. There was no dagger, no thief, but there was a werewolf. She released him and stepped back.

He turned to look at his torn shoulder, but the brutal wound was but a scratch, only deep enough to draw a trace of blood to well above the surface. But that pain was something that he would not soon dismiss like the scratch. The pain was inflicted upon his soul.

She spoke once she saw that his senses were flooding back, "Three days from now you shall become one of us, an immortal being. Forget the chains that bind you as a mortal such as sleep and food. You will no longer need them. The fear of injury shall pass, for nor fire nor sword can touch you. Or even bullet or bomb. These things harm that which is mortal, a category you will no longer fit."

"Ok, what about the full moon and silver?" --Cecil dropped his lantern. He fumbled a bit in retrieving it once more. He picked it up and wiped it of dirt. He switched the power back on, returning the light to pushing away darkness. "The full moon . . . ." He muttered as he stared into blank nothingness. She disappeared. "Ahh well, I better get back home before they start worrying."

Two

He was home, in fact morning had passed already. Cecil awoke with crust in his eyes and a headache. He'd been having rather vivid and unusual dreams of late. Quite like the one he had last night with the werewolf. As he looked back now, he could see himself scratching his shoulder on a thorn branch. Oh, how the mind can play tricks.

"Cecil, you better get ready to go to Cathrine's house!" His mother broke the quiet arising. She had a way of doing that which no other could match.

Cecil never enjoyed being woken up, especially in summer, or even when he was technically awake already. He managed to clear a congested throat, "Alright, Ma." He threw on a few old clothes that were lying about the floor and made his way downstairs. He was greeted by the dark gray of stone and curtained windows. Deer heads decorated the walls and cast shadows of their twisting antlers along the staircase. He passed up the living room, which reeked of an aerosol spray, and into the kitchen.

He ate a small breakfast consisting of a single bowl of cereal and some soda. He never enjoyed breakfast foods, and he would never make Cathrine wait for him. A shower, then he'd be off. Not as simple as he would have it. He was only fifteen, meaning he needed an adult to drive him.

After an eternity of thirty minutes, she too was ready to go. They boarded his mother's pick-up truck. Her truck seemed to sit on stilts, so Cecil jumped. He sat down and cleared his throat, spitting phlegm outside the door. His mother got in, equipped her seat belt, and started up the engine. They embarked for the valley and town.

They arrived at Cathrine's duplex. She, her siblings, and parents resided on the base floor. A hermit Cecil only knew as Steven, lived in the second story. The building as a whole was elaborate and artistic. Well cared for flower beds in the backyard, mahogany shudders and glass sliding doors were among the most noticeable hints of wealth. It was the little things that made it unique. The engravings and gold trim on all the railing, Cuckoo clocks were nestled upon the walls, and even the dogs had automatic feeders.

None of this mattered to Cecil. He was here for Cathrine. They'd been dating for a year, since an Independence Day party at the town hall where Cecil accidentally spilled punch on her dress. By nature he tended to be shy, and he was overcome with terror of rejection. It took a moment of courage, or perhaps stupidity, to convince him to talk to her (also a fair bit of conviction about the dress he ruined). Now he was glad that the moment came. Maybe he was too young to really feel love, but he knew in his heart that someday he would marry this girl. Just being around Cathrine gave him comfort. They were perfect for each other, and people caught that enough that they even told him so.

He rang the doorbell which played some classical music Cecil did not recognize, very eccentric. Her father met Cecil and extended his hand, "Ahh, there you are. Come in, please." Even her father liked Cecil. He had no reason not to. Cecil had a reputation as being old fashioned. Adults loved that, but teenagers butted heads with him for it. "She's in the living room." He then vanished into the kitchen.

Cecil sat down next to Cathrine on a large, padded couch. "I brought your favorite movie."

"Did you?" She moved her silky brunette hair from her face and met his blue eyes with her green.

"Yeah, I had to dig through half a ton of rubble to find it, you know."

She laughed, "Yeah, so?"

"Well, if it weren't one of my favorites, I'd have more to say." He grinned and leaned back in the couch. A crime show was playing on an enormous television set.

Some time passed, and they began watching the movie. A good evening. Cecil couldn't be happier. The movie finally ended with ten minutes before Cecil's mother would arrive. Some couples would make the most of this time especially since the entirety of her family left for ice cream in the middle of the movie, and the thought passed through his mind more than once. But he resisted, as he always did. And not because he wanted to, but because the dread of offending her kept him from trying such a route.

Her cellphone rang. Picking it off the coffee table, she took it into the kitchen. Cecil couldn't hear but instead readied his DVD and made sure not to leave anything else behind.

Then, as Cecil snatched his jacket, Cathrine placed a hand on his shoulder. "I have to tell you something." her voice felt empty as it crept into Cecil's eardrums.

"Yes?" Cecil gave her a goofy smile.

"I know what you did with Holly, you bastard." She gave him a hard shove, "Get out of my house!"

Cecil was frozen. She didn't say that, "Huh? You're joking, right?"

"I don't know what I saw in you. You're just like all the others. I guess I used to be an idiot."

Does she really think I cheated? I would never! There must be a reason. "Why? Don't you trust me? I would never do anything to hurt you. This doesn't have to end . . ." Panic as helpful as flippers made of lead settled in his mind.

"It's over, Cecil. There's nothing you can do." She kept her back to him, not even glancing back to acknowledge him. She ran down the hall which connected to the living room, opened the door to her room, and disappeared within.

A year had just been destroyed. A year of joy and fun times. Stripped away in a flash. Cecil dropped his coat without notice. He was utterly bewildered. He gave her the greater part of his heart, not even his family as a whole had such a possession to boast of. He'd planned his entire future based upon their relationship. He was in for the long run. He felt that his very existence departed. This was a strange world; it was not his. Where had his future gone? The foundations of reality seemed to quake. When he became older, he would understand just how pointless his worry was. But being fifteen makes some aspects of life seem far more important than they really are.

Then he calmed down a bit. The whole thing would blow over when his innocence was proved. Even so, he was taken aback by how quickly she accused him. She had no trust or faith stored away for Cecil. This thought mulled around in his mind until his mother came to pick him off the sidewalk. What was it worth if she'd never trusted him to begin with?

Perhaps there was more to it, he reasoned. What had just taken place proceeded too quickly to be real. No, now he had lost his trust. He began believing that it was she that had something to hide. And to cover herself, placed the blame fully on him. It could be nothing else. What had just taken place would be nonsense otherwise.

"You'll get me through this." A mere whisper escaped. Then back to the torment of silence. His thoughts combed over the events which transpired, and it tortured his soul. His brain was fulfilling its purpose of kicking Cecil while he was down.

"Well, did ya have fun?" She pushed in the gas.

". . . For a while, yes." Cecil did his best to conceal the pain. His mother couldn't understand how she would only worsen the situation, but with her it was guaranteed. Please no follow-up questions. Why did I have to use the words "for a while?" A simple "yes" would've been far wiser.

"A while?'" She paused, "Then what?"

Cecil wished he wasn't forced to answer. He now hoped that she would simply forget. Was that so much to ask for?

"Well?" Her tone became sharp, "Answer me!"

The words came slowly. Piece by piece he beat it out, "She . . . left . . . me."

His mother sighed. She swept her eyes across Cecil's. "But you were only there a few hours. You must've really done SOMETHING!" She became more enraged, "Ya know what, no, don't tell me what happened. It doesn't matter." Then glared at him, "You should've . . . ."

Cecil stopped paying attention. He knew that he did no wrong, but her advice felt like criticism and he wished for a silence. Besides, he felt bad enough physically without his mind's and mother's ridicule. I wish this was one of those dreams. If it is, they're becoming nightmares. He never built any reputation of being a heartbreaker or a liar. Why then must she assume it was his fault? His mind had a reason, of course. He had low self-esteem, unhealthily low. He could save the world from the apocalypse, and his mind would still call Cecil a waste of life. All a part of being fifteen.

Three

A new day, another chance. Always pushing forward. Nothing could slow him down, but they sure could keep him grounded. He developed a nasty cough, which assaulted his lungs and clawed at his throat. He had bronchitis before and prayed this was not it. Cecil wished to be rid of it swiftly, yet he knew the hold it had on a person. Weeks, maybe even months, spent enduring the respiratory pain and harsh fatigue. To get better or develop pneumonia. Thoughts such as this disheartened Cecil.

Footsteps and a creak from downstairs.

"Cecil," his mother called, "I'm sorry about what happened to you yesterday. I just had a long day at work and was upset. I know it wasn't your fault. You forgive me?"

Cecil hated these kinds of apologies. It was understood that nothing had transpired, but "sorry"s always had to be exchanged. Despite its lack of sincerity, he must let go and be willing to make amends. "Yes, it's ok, Ma."

"Alright. Good. By the way, you're going to the doctor tomorrow about that cough."

Cecil never cared for doctors, since they're job was to give him grief, or so it seemed to him. He'd once sat for a vaccination that was given to him by a fresh medical student. She missed the vein eight times before hitting it. He had three more shots to get after that first one. The pain of waiting, the annoyances of town, they all filled Cecil with a rage that he kept well. But he must keep going. He was too stubborn to be stopped.

He spent that day resting. To his luck, his father took upon the task of feeding their animals for Cecil. However, the old man was not above criticizing Cecil for skipping chores.

Four

The sun rose early for Cecil. He needed to be on time for his physician's appointment. The means of transportation for the morn would be his grandfather. Cecil prepared and boarded the old man's SUV set for civilization. They may have spoken more, but Cecil fell unconscious within minutes. The morning never did treat him well. Along the way, he drifted in and out of coherency. He caught only glimpses of trees and their flashing shadows followed by houses and businesses.

He dragged his body from the car and drudged into the facility. Here he would wait for an answer he already knew. He arrived at a quarter past nine in the morning. His appointment was in fifteen minutes, however, Cecil was not taken back until a few minutes after eleven. His frustration grew, and undoubtedly his blood pressure would show this when they tested it.

Another waiting room. This one was smaller, a little warmer, but still doleful. Cecil occupied himself by reading various health and body facts spread throughout the room. Next to the weight scale and exam table hung a stethoscope. I wonder what my heart sounds like. He readied himself to equip the device. After all, a poster on the door stated "Be sure and let us know if you've been waiting for more than 10 minutes." How was one to stay busy in such confinement for the hours they spent in anticipation?

As Cecil reached for the tool, his doctor opened the door. "Cecil," The old gray hair mumbled "what are you in for today?" He wore a scuffed and weathered lab coat. The left sleeve was torn at the lining and several buttons were lost on the front. Under this he dressed in a T-shirt and slack pants. His black shoes were tarnished to a point of appearing dark brown. What hair he had to boast was thin and lifeless. His face was marred by liver spots and mutton chop sideburns. Perhaps he descended from Jack the Ripper but took up an opposite career.

"Sore throat, cough, fatigue."

"Well, let's take a look at your throat." He retrieved a wooden stick from a drawer and promptly placed it on Cecil's tongue. He checked the infection with the customary small flashlight and disposed of the wooden utensil in a biohazard bin. He made some scratches and swipes on a clipboard, before proceeding to the next test. He inserted the ear pieces of the stethoscope under the scraggly hair which erupted from his ears and placed the monitoring instrument on Cecil's upper back. "Breathe."

The examination was finished to Cecil's relief. He was sure there would be more than this, a joyful surprise to hear the old doc' read his results so soon. However, the answer itself was far less pleasant. Cecil braced himself for a cold. Nothing but a cold.

"It seems you've contracted bronchitis." Now it was over. Cecil had feared this but cared little now. For now he simply wanted to return home, sleep, eat, and maybe cry if he felt up to that. Maybe it would help. But at this point, Cecil believed that there was very little help to be had.

Again, he slept for the ride back. He said his farewells to his grandfather and entered his house through the basement. He fetched a can of soda from the cellar fridge and crept up the steps. Mother may be sleeping; he must be silent. A creek in the floor board.

"So wha'd the doctor say?" His mother seemed to jump from nothingness.

"Bronchitis." Cecil walked past her, opening the carbonated beverage. The taste of citrus and sugar always took away that edge. "I'll be fine."

"Drink some orange juice now, while it's still morning."

"That's what this is for." He looked back, feeling patronized.

"Don't get lippy with me." She shook her fist and walked back to bed.

Cecil took medication, a horse pill with soda and some beef jerky. After this he returned to sleep. It was summer vacation, and his job applications had yet to respond. Therefore, sleep was his favorite activity. He would awake later to face the brutal day. For now, a respite.

His day took its toll. Hacking became continuous, and aches spread throughout his limbs almost as if the diagnosis hastened his symptoms.

Night came and with it, stronger symptoms. He lost his dinner a few times and resorted to crackers and water for sustenance. The fever clammed his hands and caused a terrible sweat. He loathed this illness and fought it with all his will, but his energies were sapped. His body chilled, and Cecil shivered violently.

He laid down to rest for the night. Sleeping in would speed the recovery. He was tired and decided to call it quits early. A few minutes past eleven . . . might as well be next week. He was gone, sent to the land of dreams.

In his dream a man spoke to him, a man he could not see. All around him was darkness and his feet found no ground for purchase. And yet he remained in place and listened to the voice. The words Cecil soon forgot, though they were important. A man somewhere told him of things past and things to come. It was beyond vivid but not the least bit lucid, yet Cecil lost the words. A faint blue aura came from the darkness, but was perfectly rimmed with blackness no matter where he looked. The voice told Cecil what he must do. It spoke of his origin, a lost lineage. And it spoke truth, the lost concept.

Five

Awake. Cecil glared toward his ceiling. Already? I'm exhausted . . . I was exhausted. He felt utterly renewed. He double-checked his alarm, noting that only half an hour passed. He ran over himself in the mirror. His shoulder wound healed. Not only that, Cecil could no longer feel the slightest bit ill. In fact, he never felt better. He waited a moment for his pain to set back in. Perhaps some medicines were masking the torments.

He looked again to the mirror. He sensed a strength, a power, burning inside. Cecil couldn't hold; the feeling was too euphoric, madness would stem from such a state. He closed his eyes. Everything inside him shifted place. An energy coursed through him. He felt his muscles tighten as if cramping, and an immense pain wrapped around every nerve. What he felt was an electricity pulse inside him. Cecil changed.

The mirror told no lie. What he saw he could never forget. He startled himself, as he studied the being within the reflective glass. A werewolf stared back. What an odd dream this is. Rare that a previous one would continue. I guess it doesn't matter. His mirror twin was clad in gleaming ebony fur. White tufts nestled in his elongated ears, while metallic black claws extended from his fingertips. An anomaly presented itself within the transformation. Rich royal blue fur cut swirling paths around his body. From the tip of his muzzle, it split, intersected, and danced down to his feet on separate waves. Even his tail twisted with black and blue.

I think I'll track her, should be easy now. Cecil remained quiet, until his parents retired for the night. He crept downstairs and sped from the back door. He found his movements unwieldy due to his complete physical boost. Cecil ran into the forest, tripping at his unusual speed. Much practice was needed to readjust everything he knew of his athletics.

He'd never seen like this before. Cecil was the most dangerous forest creature now. A sense of security set in with this. No need to worry about his health, should he tumble down a bank. He trampled through thorns, but was unharmed. Even when he fell and struck his head, he felt no pain. Cecil hastened over the terrain, allowing his sense of smell to guide him.

There she was, sitting under an apple tree with a green book in hand. The tree stood solo in a wheat field that radiated with its harvest. The mere aura drew Cecil closer, his curiosity waxing. Her fur shone like polished steel under the half moon. She wore leather boots and faded blue jeans topped with a black shirt. As Cecil approached her from behind, her nose flared and her ears rotated.

"You could get into a lot of trouble, if you're not careful." She picked up a fallen apple and tossed it across the field. "Even if you're a werewolf, you're not gonna get very far if you don't listen."

Cecil moved to scratch his neck. "Uhh," He shook his head "I've only come to find you. Secondly, you didn't go very far . . . almost as if you wanted me to find you."

She tilted her head back against the bark, ruffling her silver fur. She let out a sigh to show her contempt, "Did it ever occur to you that I was here first? As if you would think so far. Maybe you will eventually." She raised her left index finger and began picking her canines. "What do you want to know?"

Cecil was bewildered by her manner of speech. She'd turn hostile and then amiable seconds later. She must be playing some kind of mind game on me. "Well, it's probably nothing serious. In fact, this is likely very common. But my fur isn't a traditional color. I've only seen you, and silver is a natural hair color." Though he said this, there was very little normality in her silver. It was something he couldn't explain. Cecil had seen gray hair on a number of people both old and young, but hers was unique. That hue had always been marked with a touch of death or sorrow, of withering and decay. Her coat, however, possessed a vibrant quality. It was young and still very much alive.

To this point, she had dismissed his presence and only seen him with her sense of smell and hearing. Now she spun to examine him. Her reaction was a puzzled expression. She stood and circled Cecil, studying the blue streaks to confirm what she saw. After a thorough viewing, she returned to Cecil's front and gave him an empty stare. "I'm not completely sure what this means, but it is definitely important."

"Is there any way to discern this?"

"Yes. Our eldest member knows this pattern. I'll contact him." She nodded, still processing what transpired. "For now, you must get home before anyone knows you've left." She pointed at the eastern horizon. An orange glow emitted from those distant clouds.

Cecil obeyed and commenced his return, but before she was out of sight, he looked back. "My name is Cecil Fauden!"

She echoed, "Call me Salina!" At this, they both sprinted in opposite directions.

Noon beat down on the realm with an unforgiving heat. Cecil's parents had both departed for work, leaving him free to reign the house. His mother left him a breakfast of cereal and a sandwich for lunch, but his appetite died. He drank a few cans of soda for the taste and decided to feed the animals to keep him busy.

As he laced his work boots, his cell phone vibrated alerting him of a call. He answered to Cathrine's number.

"Listen Cecil, I was wrong. Someone I trusted very much lied to me about you." Her voice was marred by sobbing. "She's been my best friend since we were in kindergarten. I thought I could trust anything she told me, but . . ."

Cecil staggered. Again his mental train was derailed in a matter of days. His nerves were short circuited. "Oh. . . I, I forgive you Cathrine, but I need some time to think about this."

"I understand. Oh Cecil, how could she do such a terrible thing?" Her voice was replaced by the sound of weeping.

She didn't trust me. How do I know this won't happen again? I don't care. I just want her back. "It's fine. Are you okay?"

Another sob. "Yeah, I'll manage." A pause. "Listen, let me make it up to you. My family got tickets to the ball game. I'd like you to come with, please. You forgive me?"

Cecil's breath fled. His joy and confusion were overbearing, for he hoped she would take him back. He forced in air. "Of course. I wasn't upset with you to begin with." He added trying to sound sincere.

"Wonderful! Meet me at my house Saturday morning, and we'll head off."

"Sounds like a plan!"

"Great!" Her voice lightened. "See you then. Buh-bye."

"Farewell." The called ended. "I love you." His mind scrambled itself. Cecil was unsure if his decision had been wise. There remained a chance that she played with him. No, he knew her better. Did I just agree to a game on Saturday? I should probably give the folks a heads up about that.

As he placed a hand on the front door's brass doorknob, the hinges broke off, and the door was heaved into the yard. Cecil stood in shock. He faced a young couple. To his left was a woman slightly shorter than he. Her eyes were like cold emeralds hidden behind a curtain of blonde hair. To Cecil's right was a man with buzz cut almond hair. His left eye was green, and his right blue. He stood a few inches higher than Cecil.

The man jumped, almost falling off the porch. "Oh good. You're here already, so we don't need to search your home."

Cecil's nose detected familiarity; the female was Salina. He took a step back. "Why are you here?" Cecil had no fear for his life, but explaining the door to his parents would be tricky and irritating.

The man lurched forward, grabbing Cecil by the arm and pulled him from the stone house. "There's no time to explain. It's very possible that we're too late as it is!"

Cecil forced back and applied a balanced stance, "If you want to get wherever on time, at least give me your name."

"I am Hodge, Hodge Olendar. Now move!" He grunted.

Cecil complied for curiosity's sake. Later, as events settled, he would get information. For now, everyone had themselves far too worked up for dealing out answers. Cecil hopped from the porch and followed the two south.

Their travel distance grew, and Cecil became distressed. They were now in central West Virginia from what he could discern, meaning he would be home well after dark were he to turn back; his parents would see a broken door and fear for the worst. Cecil would endure quite a lashing upon return. All things to deal with later.

They stopped at the mouth of a small cave. Hodge led the party in to a back wall. It was clean and nature barren. Cecil felt a droning hum within his ears, a hollowness beneath his feet, and an artificial aroma. Hodge knocked on the wall. Three times, pause, four times, pause, two times and stop.

The rock unhinged like a goliath door. Behind stood a female werewolf with light red fur and chestnut brown eyes. She clasped Hodge's shoulders and drew him in. Her glee in their embrace was illuminating. She whispered a tender utterance into Hodge's ear that even Cecil could not distinguish.

Cecil watched a swath of blue flare on his palm. It crept up his arm and resonated with the black. He examined his fellow lycanthropes, none of which had such a distinguished coat. He was guided deeper into the cavern by Hodge and the red female. Natural became synthetic, as stalagmites were replaced by beams and loose rock by machinery. Cecil felt foreign, his blood heating in nervous tension.

They passed through a sliding steel door, entering a hollow cave chamber with a rounded stone table in the center. Two werewolves stood from the table and took their seat. One was a lanky dark maroon male werewolf who glared at Cecil. The other was a light gray female. She sat next to the male and patted his head, diverting his attention from Cecil.

Hodge transformed into a liquid black werewolf and took his seat beside the red female that welcomed them in. Salina reclined next to Hodge's presumed mate, shifting into her silver form. Cecil took the stone chair to her other side. Three empty spaces were between him and the strong-eyed lycanthrope. Ha, where's King Arthur and his trusty Knights of the Round Table?

The stringy male rose up, bearing his teeth. He opened his muzzle and began shouting with a British accent, "This is premature! We are too few in numbers to deal with this now!" He aimed a claw toward Cecil. "And how did he come to this ruinous state?" His gaze shifted to Salina. "It was you! You bitch, do you know what you've done? Now all Hell will be pouring down on us! If it were up to me—"

"Arthur! That's enough!" Hodge cut the British werewolf's tirade short. As the Englishman sank down, Hodge hammered the table with both fists. "It doesn't matter how or when Cecil became one of us. This day has long been coming, and I say that if it was ordained to happen now, then we must be prepared enough."

His name is Arthur, but he's no king. "Will you at least briefly explain what's going on?" A dead silence followed. "Well? Please, I cannot stand being in the dark about myself."

Hodge sighed and leaned back. His eyes faced forward in a blank coldness. "Because of you, the world will be plunged into fire from the dimension of Destursha. Legions of the evil horde will arrive soon . . . we are the only ones capable of stopping them, but it won't be easy." He bowed his head. "It was foretold that your advent would signify the end of our time here. Apocalypse, you see." Hodge chuckled with jovial, almost sarcastic huffs. "That is why we are told to stop the Desturshan menace. Welcome Cecil, to the Order of the Wolf."

"Who told you this? I've never heard anything even remotely similar to that." Cecil looked down at his padded hands with razor blades at the tips.

"Doesn't matter." Hodge forced his skull upward. "I'll explain that another time."

You don't know, huh? That's because I don't know. This is the most vivid dream I've had yet. But if I start to believe that this is real, I'll wake up in a shattered mindset. The ground shook, knocking debris on the table and collapsing it.

"Everyone out!" Hodge's voice boomed above the quake's thunder. "If we stick around, we'll be trapped." He pushed the fiery female werewolf up the exit steps and motioned for the rest. Hodge followed second to last behind Cecil, leaving his headquarters to crumble. "Looks like we'll be forced to make plans as we go." He stopped as the sunlight struck his ears.

The sky was torn. Red aura wisps spouted from nothingness. The wind was dead and clouds had receded. Lightning flared from above them and covered the sky's expanse. Their shockwaves were deafening. At the sky's epicenter was a streak of black, a void. The rift between worlds had given way, allowing a tremendous power imbalance. If the portal remained open for too long, everything would be destroyed.

Cecil waited for whatever demon that would soon spew from another realm, but that was not necessary. An updraft formed and rapidly turned violent. Dirt and debris soon fell upward as the gale increased. Salina, the lightest werewolf, lost footing. Cecil took her hand to keep her grounded, but he too was pulled skyward. They each did as he until only Hodge stood on land. However, their chain acted as a kite and unearthed Hodge. The winds grew more; there no longer was a chance of coming down.

The vortex swallowed them. Time faded away, perhaps its very concept ceased to exist. The nexus was devoid of light and sound. Utter emptiness. Was this what astronauts felt in space? They had no option of turning back; all signs of earth were lost in darkness. Cecil couldn't even see the hands he held, but he could at least feel them.

Then came a surge of energy. Immense power passed through Cecil and robbed him of consciousness. It would be the last time he ever slept.

# New World

One

Was I knocked out? Cecil picked himself from the ground. His mouth was filled with dirt and shards of glass. Spitting out the filth, he realized that he remained in a state of lycanthropy. His hearing suddenly revived to a pandemonium of drunken debauchery. However, these were no ordinary drunks. In fact, they were not even human.

Ogres and goblins, reptilian humanoids, and what he could describe as a troll all leaned against the outer wall of a tavern. All too incoherent to stand without it. A short pair of humans walked from the bar and saw Cecil dazed in the street, but they did not panic at his sight. A haggard old man walked in the opposite direction to them. This particular man sported a tail and canine head like that of a Doberman. Maybe someone in that bar can tell me where I am. He looked left and right. And also where the others have gone to.

"Pale Saloon" was engraved in its weathered wooden doors. The inside was somewhat American Western. Not an inch of the building was metal or plastic. Instead, hardwood filled every possible space. It smelled of sweat and beer with a bitter cigar fume. The patrons were mostly behaved, as they'd yet to reach a point of banishment for their thinned blood. The dwarven barkeep waved Cecil to the counter.

"If yer gonna be in here, ya oughta buy somethin'."

"Actually, I'm here looking for my friends. Have you seen them? They look similar to me."

"If yer friends were here, then they'd know a good time. That's for sure." He said. "Can't say I've seen any dogmen like you before. That head of yers is too wolf like. I only ever seen dog headed ones, and I seen plenty o' folk in my time. Though I did hear a tale or two of rich folk like that. Can't say they'd ever come this way."

"Can you at least tell me where I am?"

"Ho boy, ya ain't even drunk yet and ya act so dumbfounded. I didn't think ya was from 'round here." The old dwarf stepped down from a ladder and served a reptile female a pitcher of alcohol, before continuing his exchange with Cecil. "Aye where was I? Ya was asking 'bout location. This little town o' drunks is Ectoplas."

Disregarding how foolish he would sound, Cecil asked another question. "What country is this?"

"Boy, I'm gonna have ta ask ya to leave after I answer. Folks will think your blood alcohol is severe if ya talk like that." His voice lost its jolly air. "This is Destursha. Be sure of that. There hasn't been other countries in over a thousand years. It covers the world, I think. Old King Trothos is the power behind it too, ya know. Now ya must be off."

Abruptly as Cecil had entered and been sent away, he was still targeted. A reptilian woman with a plumed hat and a few too many scales exposed confronted him at the door. "Well now, where have you gotten yourself off to in such a hurry? Stick around a while. We'll have a lot of fun." She swirled her tail around and caressed Cecil's chest with it.

She's hideous. "Uhh, no thanks. I'm need to be somewhere else."

As Cecil planted his feet on the wooden sidewalk, a fur covered hand rested on his left shoulder. He turned to face a Dalmatian dogman in a flamboyant orange suit. Each finger had a different jeweled ring to bear, and both ears were laced with silver hoops.

"The lady requested that you stay . . . and I suggest you be courteous to her."

Cecil had never confronted a pimp face to face. "Sorry, but I really must go."

"Where do you have to go, purebreed?" The man pushed Cecil. "Going about your business like you're better than us! Well, you're not, you weak snob!" He pushed Cecil again. Now they were in the middle of the street. "I don't know what you're doing in a place like this, but you obviously can't handle it. Staying inside your whole life with parents that are cousins . . . and what do you get? Everything!" This time the pimp struck Cecil across his nose.

Cecil wanted to laugh at the dogman's pathetic attack, but he also hated being touched in a harmful manner. Cecil retaliated by lifting the pimp off the ground by the neck with his left hand and slugging him with his right, a thing he had always wanted to do. The dogman sailed back to the saloon's doorstep. Every bone in his face was broken, but he was fortunate and lived. Bystanders removed themselves in a hurry, so as to not make eye contact with Cecil. Cecil himself made his way for town's end.

He would've asked the townsfolk if they had seen his fellow Order members, but those who hadn't fled were too numbed to give an answer. Along with that, Cecil began taking advantage of his canine olfactory. Not even a similar scent to the werewolves presented itself, only rotten wood and spiced rum. Next, detecting their sober talk over the inundation of street garble would've been no challenge. Alas, no such signs presented themselves, forcing Cecil's search elsewhere.

As he departed, he took note to the dirt road. It was well worn by feet, but unscathed by vehicle. The path broadened with forest gilding its brim. No speed limit signs and no median. Could it be that Destursha has no motor vehicles? Comforting to Cecil, walking was more peaceful than his travel methods on Earth, and it would no longer tire him to do so.

Every quarter of a mile or so, Cecil would howl if no other travelers were nearby. After his third bestial cry, fellow journeyers dwindled. Perhaps they feared feral wolves from the dark woods and sought shelter. Whatever the case, his search went unimpeded though unsuccessful. A first road marker presented itself "Hurlinge 35T." He hadn't even an estimate of how far that was, but he would find out.

Two

Longer than he expected. He left Ectoplas at dusk, but now it was well into the late hours. Leaves blocked the twin moons' light and cast deep shadows on Cecil's path. His night vision had improved since his changing, but darkness such as this retained a degree of inconvenience. From what bit he could see through a gapping in the canopy, two large moons hovered above Destursha. One gave a pale dusty glow like that of Earth's but with a slight orange tint, while the other radiated a dim aqua florescence. This dream lived its day and more. A dream it could not be.

He had been distant to the Order. In the guise of subconsciousness, he disregarded, but now they were his only allies. He should have stood against Arthur for Salina. He should have acknowledged their warnings. He should have prepared. It was late for remorse. One is only strong if he can push through his weakness. Cecil would mend his mistakes and become strong; he would find them.

The night seemed heavier and more stretched than he'd known (a side effect of sleeplessness). A new marker emerged from dim light and weighty shadow. Only two "T"s from Hurlinge. Cecil's pace quickened, but he stopped as he passed the sign. A howl in the sylvan darkness, clear but far. He howled in echo. The distant canine responded, bringing Cecil to an inhuman sprint. This speed . . . this power. Am I still human? He did not believe so.

His mind wandered back to the dogman in Ectoplas. Cecil demonstrated what only a small fit of his rage could perform. He needed to be careful. It's a wonder Cecil didn't snap his neck. I must learn to restrain myself. The howl resonated again, nearer this time. Cecil forced along. He found one of them.

Hodge dropped from a tree and tackled Cecil. "It's about time someone showed up." He stood up, brushing off dirt from his jeans as did Cecil.

"What was the point of attacking me like that?" Cecil pulled a few twigs from his ears.

"Mostly to prepare you to be alert," Hodge snickered, "also I thought it'd be funny."

"Well, it wasn't to me." Finishing cleaning himself, Cecil turned his attention to Hodge. "Have you seen any of the others?" A leaf fell from the canopy onto his nose. Cecil shook his elongated snout.

"No. We were separated by the energy flux, or that's what I'm going to call it. Don't worry, they'll turn up before too long. We should head to Hurlinge. A few of them are likely waiting to regroup there." He motioned to Cecil. The walk to the road was silent. A steady wind rustled the foliage and brought with it the odor of rot, a scent reminiscent of Earth's thick woods.

"Hold up," Cecil halted at the road "at least explain to me what's going on." He stepped in front of Hodge and raised a padded palm. The path remained dark, but animals in nocturnal wake scurried about their business. From the trees they watched the werewolves in fear. Some ran into their dens, a few perched on branches like statues to hide, while a few stalked behind in search of leftover food from these travelers. Theirs was nearly a society, but the humans had more distracting matters.

Hodge scanned the area and flared his nostrils. After rotating his ears, he replied. "I suppose there's time. You really should know, and it won't take long to explain." The wind changed, and the air frosted. He removed himself from the road, taking seat on a stump in a log clearing. Hodge scratched at his cheek. "Where to start . . . the beginning would make the most sense. Well, that starts with my old friend, Siegfried."

"And Roy?" Cecil's sarcasm couldn't be held back.

"No, but that's a good one. He, his wife and children, and Nelrene and I lived outside the Black Forest. We were shepherds. Good ones, I think. There were only one or two hired hands whose names elude me, due to low predator activity. I swear we didn't lose a single sheep until after the Hunt." He took a breath.

"The Hunt? For your sheep?"

"I was still talking, you know. I still need air for speaking. Just hold your horses." Hodge readjusted himself and grunted. "You see, there was a breed of wolf that lived near our pastures. I know what you're thinking; it's the same thing I thought. Wolves are the idealized enemies of shepherds and their sheep. However, that wasn't the case with these ones." He paused a moment. "Don't get me wrong, they were capable. In fact, they may have been the most intimidating wolves I've ever seen. But these canines were . . . how do I put it? Not savage, not even around helpless sheep. We had almost an agreement in which we didn't disturb them in their territory, and they left our sheep. Personally, I think they did more than that. Not once did I have to chase off a bear, that is, not until after the Hunt." Another breath. Deeper than the last. A gust willed a wisp of leaves to pass over head. "As best as we tried to keep them secret, people inevitably caught wind of them. Siegfried and I did what we could to misguide the hunters, but we were mere shepherds and they were riflemen. Beyond the wolves' size, their coats were very valuable. Ever see a black and metallic blue wolf? Of course not. Poor beasts were hunted into extinction for fur trade. Worse yet is no record of them survived, which is partially from my own efforts, and those hides of theirs have lost the battle with time. Thankfully the ones that did were assumed to be dyed. Only evidence of them . . . is you and the rest of us werewolves."

Cecil absorbed as best he could. The clearing displayed his coat in magnification. Same as those wolves. "So how is it that we're here? Furthermore, how are we werewolves?"

"That's the next part of the story," Hodge stood, "but I'll retell that once we get to Hurlinge. It'll be good for your patience that way."

Should've expected something like that. He probably doesn't trust me and is withholding information to keep me from turning on him. Ridiculous. Cecil began to pick up on the fauna. Little varmints of all sorts chattered away, nearly making Cecil plug his ears. What could be so important at night? He strode along, legs moving effortlessly. Cecil wondered if he were even moving. Without stressing his thighs in even the mildest way, he was unsure whether or not he made progress. Left right left right left right. On and on went the road.

Cathrine used to like walks like these at night. She really enjoyed the little critters too. I'd only put up with them for her. Hurlinge came into view. Massive buildings and towers filled the valley ahead. Cecil thought back to the great metropolitan cities of earth, how similar they were. Even now the city hummed between the mountains and wood. Such a place built for industry could never sleep. Ectoplas was a foreign place, but Cecil watched Hurlinge illuminate the cloudy sky in green tones and dirty ambers. Spot lights and disco spectrums played in the green, making clouds turn into liquid color with hypnotic rhythm.

"You know we can walk right in like this, yes?" Hodge said while taking in the landscape.

"Huh? Yeah. They think we're wolf dogmen." Cecil returned from his trance. "Bet it feels weird to be in front of people like this."

Hodge gave Cecil a wolfish grin and nod. "Yah, it's something like one of those nightmares where you're in front of a group and for one reason or another, you forgot to wear clothes."

There was no gate, no castle wall. Nostalgia of childhood visits to skyscrapers quickened in Cecil. If trains and autos were part of the city vibe, one would very well mistake it for Las Vegas. Dance music met their ears and played utter nonsense. Prostitutes openly showcased themselves along the street, and more than one drug dealer gave the lycanthropes a crooked smile. None seemed to rest. Even children were participating in the corrupt delight of vandalism and thuggery. Perhaps Hurlinge was less family oriented than Vegas.

About halfway through the city proper, Cecil noticed a small goblin child crying and sitting against a shop building. The boy was emaciated, sickly, and panicked. His left ear docked and bruised arms showed clear signs of abuse. His cranium was spherical, almost like a caricature. His teeth were stained yellow and numbered few. Dark crescents underlined bloodshot eyes, and so threadbare were his clothes that tape patched most of his body. Attempts at words were made in sobbing, but they were so garbled by tears he might as well have his head underwater.

Cecil shuddered in empathy. This was a sorrow the striped werewolf found shattering. "We can't leave him here like that."

Hodge paid the boy no mind. "Nope. Don't think about it. He'll slow us down, and we shouldn't get involved to begin with."

Cecil would have none of that. He never intended to consider what Hodge would say. Here was a broken soul, one with potential. Cecil couldn't allow this child to stay shattered. He needed a better home.

Cecil approached the boy slowly. "Are you alright? Where are your parents, buddy?"

The boy's green head remained low and still. "Mommy and Daddy went to speak to the Scary Man for their happy grass. They said he wanted money this time."

"Well, I'm sure they'll be back real soon." The poor child doesn't seem to know what his parents are really into yet. I hope they really are fine.

"No! No! No! The Scary Man came home this time." His sobbing increased. "I was outside playing with my frens, and I heard it, and I came in, and the Scary Man was walking out the door." He wept harder, trying to catch breath. "Mommy and Daddy were on the floor and wouldn't wake up. There was red stuff everywhere, and I got scared, and I came here, and I, and I . . ." Back to incoherent muttering under his breath.

The boy was at most seven years old and was experiencing a panic attack. He hyper ventilated, and his appendages shook helplessly. His jaw continued to move as if he were speaking, but only gibberish came of that. There was no way to ask more questions. He needed time to calm down first.

Cecil extended a paw to the boy, who instinctively grabbed hold of it. Hodge shook his head but didn't seem so disapproving that he would turn the child away. The boy strode in Cecil's shadow as they walked, dragging his feet and gasping between sobs. Eventually he settled to a moderate pace and consistent breathing.

Silver fur pulled up from moist brown soil. Disorientation was an unwelcome greeter. The werewolf stood and examined the area to the best of her abilities. It had been too long since Salina dealt with such conditions. Her mind was jumbled and for once, the control she'd always maintained was stripped away. She rose, reading her surroundings. The sun was larger and blood red. Two moons were nestled on the horizon.

She needed to move. There was no more to be garnered here. Her next instinct was to regroup, but this was unfamiliar. She began to walk, westward by her assumptions with this alien sun. Her balance and strength returned, wiping away the concern for survival.

Three

She had always been strong but never given free rein to it. In her youth, true youth, she'd been quite an adventurous child, bringing in mud, frogs, bugs, and even the occasional snake to her parents' ranch home. In all respects she was a tomboy, though she was criticized for unladylike manners and habits. She lived in a time of quiet, refined southern aristocracy but lacked the ties and wealth to such a lifestyle. Her grandfather's plantation had been incinerated during the American Civil War and left them to inherit the only remaining structure, the horse barn.

Sure they managed to live comfortably in the old stable, but Salina was viewed as a peasant by other children. She started more than one quarrel over where she stood in society . . . and often bloodied the nose of an older boy. She lived with it well. She was a fighter who wouldn't be pushed around by the high and mighty and their fear of grime.

She went on like this for the longest time, but fate was cruel to her. The home in which she was born and raised came burning down around Salina. She was the only survivor aside from her father who was away on business. Naturally, they kept horses in their home, as it was originally intended. But hay is flammable, and candles can be hard to remember. Neighbors appeared for aid, but her family was already dead. She managed to escape before the blaze took her, but she was not unscathed. No, she suffered horrible burns all about her body. She did in time recover, but in her weakened state contracted polio, common enough in that time. She could've died from it, and that might have been a mercy. Recovery was out of the cards.

In the end she beat that too, but not without losing her legs. Oh, they were still attached, but if she couldn't see them she wouldn't have been able to say that for sure. Now she could only sit, useless and disfigured. One might call it a dark time in her life.

She'd been Cecil's age, a year older at most, but in her state she was a burden. Her time had no use for an uneducated cripple, something she reminded herself daily. She couldn't do the old farm work, reach the stove to cook, hang clothes to dry, or even travel to town with her father. No, the only thing she was good for was watching birds fly from the porch of her father's rundown shamble of a new house. This broke the wild spirit in her, replacing it with a torn ghost which raged in its entrapment.

Then along came two European travelers, Germans according the church's pastor who also acted as the county sheriff. He was a well-respected man, holding the two most esteemed careers of the era, but as a truly old fashioned, stubborn man, change evoked his fear. Foreigners were naturally mistrusted and shunned because of this and were often ousted from communities for any excuse the authorities could concoct, unless of course they were wealthy. As his flock followed his fear, they alerted themselves of these outlanders, and word spread of these visitors. The people could only hope they would not stay for long.

But foreigners were nothing new, in fact, wealthy lords often journeyed to the New World in search of land and profit. No, what put the residents on edge was that these Germans were common folk, drifters, possibly scam artists or even criminals. They had no official business for their arrival and no purpose.

No matter. Salina couldn't chase them off, go with them, and likely wouldn't even see them. What she forgot was that the road she monitored for sport lead to New Orleans, though not directly. But every now and then, travelers would take this detour. And every traveler, rich or poor, always seemed set upon that salty city. Not that she'd ever see it. No, she'd come down with the scarlet fever or some other death entailing illness. The road and the walking would be all Salina would ever enjoy to see.

Sure enough, the Germans came passing by. Salina studied them carefully as they came from the East, kicking up dust and speaking in a tongue of gibberish. A man, likely the husband, was first to appear. He had curled wheat colored blonde hair, a raw hide jacket and pelted leggings. The lady with him kept a brisk stride in tune with his. Her hair was like rust, red with dark flecks. She was wearing a hoop skirt made by the town's tailor and capped herself with a fine spring bonnet and pink ribbon.

How oddly matched the two were. But their air was kind, each wearing smiles to outshine the wardrobe.

As they were about to pass up Salina's house, the woman stopped, looked up at Salina, seemed to lift her head, and then whispered something to the man. He then turned into the driveway with his eyes on Salina. When he reached her, Salina was astonished to know he spoke English.

Four

All in the past now. Never again would she feel so helpless. The education she once lacked was given to her, and her frail body restored. Her life was now in her hands. To her, leading others was unnecessary so long as she controlled her own fate. She was a control freak in this manner, though her type would not be considered so by most. Self-control. That was her aim.

She came to a rundown town, a classic ghost town before the inhabitants left. Her nostrils flared at the scent of spiced rums and whiskey. There was no five o'clock in this neighborhood, as the sun was still quite high. A pair of trolls floated obscene gestures towards her from a tavern stoop. An old, rather miniature, man staggered down the street in her direction, ranting of maple cider and his old dogs.

Then the epicenter presented itself. A lively bar entitled Pale Saloon radiated more decibels than any other thus far, and it happened to give off all the expected odors except for one which caught Salina's attention. She wasn't sure, but the scent was a werewolf's though faded and weak. A claw scratching marked a support post as she approached.

The marking was flawless, indicating incredibly hard, razor-like nails. The dogmen howled as she entered. Her sterling coat and slim physique had that effect. Luckily, they were too drunk or lazy to confront her. The bar tender was another short elderly man, whose eyes never left Salina.

Since the old fellow was fully conscious, she made her way through smoke and intoxicated leg chasers to the bar counter. Surprisingly, the inside was well kept. The wood had been varnished, the stools reupholstered, and the lights cleaned and shining dimly through shades to soften the atmosphere. Every liquor she'd ever seen on Earth was displayed behind the counter and doubled by a mirror wall, a fashionable peacock method for businesses. The man just stared at her, putting her on guard, but at the same time relieving her of finding someone with an attention span.

"Ya wouldn't be happenin' to be lookin' fer the young wolf dogman that was in here earlier todee?" His throat grated from congestion.

The news was good, assuming this wolf dogman was indeed really a werewolf. "Maybe. What did he look like? And did he say his name or where he was going?"

"Name, no. Headed to . . . not sure." The man coughed and gave the tip jar a quick glance. He coughed again.

"I, uhh, don't have any money. Can't you just tell me?"

"Hmm, maybe if ya show me what's under that top of yers." He grinned and licked his lips.

Salina growled, reached across the counter and took him by the neck. She shoved him against a wall, his feet dangling. "Won't you be polite to a lady?"

He coughed again. Her hand moved to his shirt collar, allowing him to answer. "Ya know, I always thought yer breed were weak, but that boy was like 'is too." He spit up tobacco, which ran down his cheek and stained his skin. "He was black and had a fancy blue dye job. I thought he was some city faggot, but that Dalmatian back there could tell ya otherwise. Heh, he got worked over good by that boy for touchin' 'em."

She lessened her grip and set him to the floor. Cecil hadn't told them where he was going, but at least he was here. Salina doubled back, passing more sobered pigs than before. That didn't stop a few from commenting on her using that grip for them who thought themselves capable. No use bothering with them, as she'd drawn enough attention to herself.

Reaching the swinging doors, the tender attempted to regain his self-respect by brandishing a rifle far too large for him. "If I ever catch ya or that boy in here agin', I'll blow off yer head." Even as he bellowed this, his hands shook from fear of the attack. Were he to take a shot now, he'd only miss.

Salina didn't turn back. He wasn't worth it. Instead she inquired of other pedestrians of Cecil's direction. After receiving a few consistent responses, she headed east for Hurlinge.

Cecil and Hodge arrived at the west end of Hurlinge. The crumbled remains of a hospital lay before them. Still standing was a memorial of the patron. This remnant reminded the world that it once was a peaceful land, but now it represented the decay of good spirits. Magnificent obelisks must have stood here, gazing up at the heavens and inspiring the mortals as they recovered. Desolation was all to behold now. The down trodden would fall hapless at its sight.

By some odd luck, Hodge pointed to its decrepit structure to reveal their lost companions. They'd been waiting, his wife (Nelrene), Arthur and his wife Marianna. Hodge sprinted to his pack, while Cecil helped the abandoned child through what wreckage remained of the facility. By the time Cecil reached the Order, they'd finished their reunion glee. Hodge had apparently warned Arthur of the boy, as he did not rant about his presence. Hodge and Nelrene were separated from the group and exchanged nose-rubs and other little signs of affection.

Cecil inquired if Salina was with them, to which Arthur replied that he was about to ask the same. It would only be a matter of time before she caught up, as five scents would be far easier to track and travel would be faster for her. That was the next topic of discussion: would they wait for her, or should they continue on? Cecil was in favor of waiting, whereas Arthur vied for continuing. Arthur made a point that the little orc would slow them down to a point of great ease on Salina's part. Cecil combatted with a statement of how pungent the city was and could mask their trail. In the end, Hodge broke the tie and decided to move on. Marianna and Nelrene stayed out of the decision.

The West End was no mirror image of the East. The streets were cleaner and paints primed. Buildings towered in gold and glass colossi form, an art in themselves. A bronze clock was embedded into a burlesque stone and mortar courthouse in Baust Square. Stained glass separated the party from the office rooms and gave Cecil the notion of holy paper pushers, behind those windows filing reports in robes and blessed garb. Pedestrians did not coat themselves in dirt and stolen footwear, instead fur coats and leather wrapped their fortunate bodies. Suits marched up and down the streets, chatting on cell phones and announcing their importance with heads held high.

The roadways and sidewalks here were paved, a smooth black and solid tan. Gunfire was heard but distant and unalarming. Streetlights stood upright and unmarred, retaining original color and bulbs. The smell was less fowl as bakeries and sewage plants did not coincide, and the bellies of the passerby validated this truth. No starvation here, maybe a starving artist but a fat one at the least. None attempted to take the orc boy, though the number of werewolves more than doubled, Cecil didn't believe that was a factor. It would seem that this well-to-do neighborhood was one of many wolf societies. These, however, were more finely attired than the werewolves. With silk tunics and gem encrusted pendants (not to mention well groomed and gleaming coats), the difference was palpable.

Law enforcement patrolled the walkways. Unlike the scattered patrolmen of the East, these guards were more lax and less heavily armed. Their faces were softer with less grit and scars, though a few appeared to have worked their way into the East; as gnarling wounds engraved their kind faces.

The city limit dawned. Unlike its devilish twin, a huge pearl gate stood where only air flowed in the East. Two armored guards at the hinges and a watchtower above protected the wealthy from foreign trespassers. The guards were entombed in red crystal plates and links, bordered by jet black crystal in menacing swirls. The hosts of this grand armor were hidden by impenetrable helms of same design, and the Order passed through to the forest trail.

Five

The walkway was pristine. Perfectly set red brick upheld their feet and silver hand rails gilded the edges. Lamp posts on either side craned in the center forming illuminating archways. Branches were neatly trimmed but hung just above the lights, providing cool shade and gentle forest breezes. The path lied straight and seemed endless like some mystic tunnel, as fireflies dotted the darkness beyond like fallen stars suspended by magic.

It was night at this point. An orange moon and a green sibling loomed overhead through breaks in the canopy. The orc had begun to hobble and was now shouldered by Nelrene, but he needed sleep. The Order veered from the brick road and into a pasture overgrown in high grass. Arthur beat down the grass while Cecil gathered firewood. Soon the child nestled himself in Nelrene's denim jacket and anchored down by the soft flames.

The travelers discussed the boy in hushed voices. Cecil's heart had been in the right, but they could continue with the orc only so long before situations complicated. Children needed homes and reliable food supplies; long journeys were not an option. The boy would grow sick, and he was fragile enough. A wild beast or bandits were no threat to werewolves, but he was susceptible.

The decision again came from Hodge: put him up for adoption in a nice area in the next city. And if not the next, then the one after. But as soon as possible. The boy slept peacefully this night and for many to come, as Cecil departed from his companions in search of food for the young orc. Upon finding an apple tree, he harvested an armful and stowed them away in a pack sack Arthur had acquired in Hurlinge. Knotting it shut he set course for the field, but froze at a rustle.

Before he could react, Cecil laid on the ground. Someone had dropped on him from a pine. His mind flew to him being attacked by Hodge, but his thoughts were displaced by calm whispering. "Miss me?" Salina muttered as she rose pulling him up as well.

"I did. A bit anyway." I didn't even feel her presence. Am I that unaware, or is she that talented? He brushed his shirt off and swiped the fur on his arm, cleansing himself of the larger debris. He snatched his pack and checked for tearing. Seeing that there was no mentionable damage he gripped it firmly in his left hand. With his right Cecil waved toward the camp. "Come on. We're bunkered down in a clearing." She doesn't know about the boy. I'm sure the notion of camping confuses her.

"I already knew that. I stopped there first." She walked in pace with him, though her eyes darted to and fro, never settling on Cecil for more than a few seconds. She would stop occasionally as if to listen more intently. He would also halt only to see her start up again. He gave up trying to hear what she heard. Paranoia had to be the real culprit behind the pauses, he concluded.

Even so, Cecil found himself hypnotized by Salina's beauty. He would resist only to catch his eyes resting on her. Cathrine plagued his mind, which now attempted to make the silver werewolf a substitute. He could no more hurt her than he could scratch the inside of his skull. But where was she? Where was he? Things had been rocky when he left. How he wished he could have a few more days back on Earth to soothe the pain, to mend the strain between them. No chance for that. Would there ever be? If not, it was only reasonable to move on, but not yet. She could be a stone throw away for all he knew. Maybe this was a dream. Didn't matter. He would let those eyes and thoughts wander farther once he was positive he could not return.

Morning seeped in from night's dark blanket. The red sun cast ruby droplets on the leaves' dew. The child awoke and ate two of the wild apples, spitting out the skin and twisting the stem until it snapped. Once he had finished, they embarked again on that red brick road. Now slick with dew it produced a mist which hovered lightly about their ankles. The winds twirled this fog in whirlpools and rolls, tapering at the ends to be lost and replaced by new vapors.

The wood grew thicker and clearings vanished completely. The trim, now only high enough to be off a walker's head, became uneven and nonexistent. The creatures stirred more vigorously now, not being acquainted with people. Birds sang their warning calls as did the squirrels chirp in fear. It was midday, but for what they saw it might have been dusk. Cecil had never been in such an overgrown environment.

Then came a most surprising sight: six armed guards appeared ahead in the way. They had very well materialized out of nothing. They wore armor identical to that which was equipped by Hurlinge's gate guardsmen. However, these bore long swords, spears, and axes of equal crystal caliber. Maybe he wasn't as alert as Salina, but Cecil could feel their gaze fixed upon him from behind those gleaming visors; they came for the Order.

Six

The lead guard, whose armor had been painted with a black bird at the chest, raised a palm. "We have reports that a black and blue wolf dogman male and a silver wolf dogman female each committed assault in the Realm of Destursha and were last seen on this road. Beyond that, a freshly purchased orcish boy went missing from Hurlinge about two days ago last seen with six wolf dogmen." He chuckled a moment, his ebony and crimson tail swaying to one side and revealing that he was a new creature the group had yet seen. "How convenient that not only did you all stay together, but you also stayed on this very road. Convenient indeed." His throat produced a rattling noise.

"Sir, they don't seem to be the high profile targets described at Base." One meekishly voiced to his left. "I thought they would be Infused or the Altered." He made a gesture with his arms suggesting that the Order's stature was not impressive.

"Trothos wants them detained. Don't worry, I'm sure they've got some fight in them." That rattling sound again. Then the officer whispered so that The Order would not hear, but they all did. "And if you mention the Altered or Infused out loud again, your head will be mounted on the tallest pike I can find."

Hodge stepped forward, his ears pinned down. "You seem to be making a mistake. We're just travelers."

The guard lifted his lance. The rattling noise sped up its timbre. "O.K., show us your I.D."

Hodge's teeth appeared from his maw. Restraining a growl he turned toward Cecil and made a snap at the forest with his eyes. He faced the guards again, "Let me grab that." His hand slid into an empty pocket. A flash, that's what Cecil saw. Hodge was upon a guard, clutching his neck. He went down. Taking his sword, Hodge struck another across his temple. The crystal didn't scratch, but a crack signaled the breaking cranium.

Cecil forced the others along, placing the orc in front. He tried to look back, but there was no time. Everyone rushed along into the dark where the guards couldn't follow. And why did Hodge signal them to run? What advantage did those petty mortals have? There was something odd about it. It wasn't spontaneous, couldn't be. He knew something about them, a tactic or weapon of sorts. Maybe they had silver.

Seven

The Dark Forest was the common name for these woods, and aptly named. Even with canine night vision, light was limited to near blindness. Complete darkness for the boy who now clasped Nelrene's warm hand. Animals were no longer familiar to them, eyeless crawlers and maw pits. A hollow in a trunk closed up on a squirrel not to reopen until its prey ran its course.

"If we turn back, I doubt they'd recognize us." Arthur extended his arms, letting the fur recede. His head returned to red locks and scruffy beard hair. The rest followed his example, sure of its genius. Cecil was astounded by their sight. Average people. Perhaps he'd been surrounded by werewolves his whole life. Those people that moved from town to town and were never seen again, possibly hiding their immortality. Stay focused. You'll have time to ponder later.

The boy hardly noticed the transformation, only Nelrene's missing pads struck him as unusual. Even so, his fear of the Dark Forest suppressed his wonder. It was a place that incited fear. Though pits and crawlers posed no threat even to mortal adults, fear resided in the darkness. Fright of imagination. That which lurks in the shadows of imagination are dreadful monsters. All different, basing on individual fears. Amplifying naught. A twig snapping was, in the mind, an insidious stalker, smiling at quarry to be taken by surprise.

It was always as such. After all, where does the boogeyman hail from? Ghouls? Vampires? Ghosts? Some would say Hell, but in truth many are creaky floor boards, wind between rocks or bad vision. For this reason, none traveled within the woods even in that age of technology and reason. Fear cannot be reasoned with.

A light in the dark. A pale blue spark wavered in the distance, emanating from contrasting umbra. The azure flicker grew as they approached. The Order passed two rows of stone benches overgrown in moss followed by a marble podium which had cracked in twine at some point. A chapel stood here long ago. Marianna paused and made a cross symbol over her chest.

Soon the light source stood before them, an obsidian pillar. Twelve feet high and two in diameter capped with a metal bowl. From its peak spewed a half-hearted flame that would surely die in wind, but the air was dead and stagnant. Cecil encircled this column, feeling it for runes or purpose. An inscription would do. Then he froze in sudden belief of its meaning. It must be a grave marker.

"Shapeshifters!" A shout boomed from the pillar, sending Cecil reeling back. "You guys are on the run from Trothos too?"

A brief pause. Salina answered, "Yes, but what concern is it of yours?"

"You help us. We help you." The voice cracked slightly. "We've seen what you're capable of, but you can't just run from the Guardians." A moment passed. "Tell you what, we'll speak more in person." The flame intensified and a great structure came into view. A fortress.

Cecil thought of Hodge. How he'd promised to finish their origin tale once they'd regrouped but didn't have the chance.

"Idiots. That's not how you handle a special assignment." Said the commander, pulling a long grey pistol from a holster on his hip. "Can't even give a general a decent squad. I knew I should've picked them myself." There were only two of them now and Hodge. The others lay lifeless on the hot bricks. Hodge leapt to attack but was countered by the general. A buzz radiated from the sidearm and enclosed Hodge in a glowing net. He writhed to set himself free to no avail.

"See? It doesn't matter how strong or how sharp their claws are." He raised the pistol mockingly at the dead. "You use energy nets on high profiles." He turned to Hodge, throat rattling. "You can stop that. You'll just wear yourself out." To his subordinate, "You, pull the esteemed wolfman. I'll radio this in."

Trapped. Never before had he encountered such a simple bane. Hodge was humiliated. He was now being slid across the steaming brick. Surely that was expected to be a torture, but he felt nothing. He would fail to return to The Order and lead them on. If only the net would give him an inch, but it was impervious to his struggles. How could it be? He'd never found a material harder than werewolf claws, not even diamond.

Suddenly the red bricks were replaced by a cold red floor. He was in a hallway. Another impossibility, he did not fall unconscious, couldn't. There was a dull hum like that of a motor. He was dragged into a room without windows and the only door shut with a slam. He was in isolation still bound by the electric webbing. He felt the room shake minutely. Turbulence? He must be in a plane of sorts. A very large, military enforced one he assumed.

He shuddered. What better than an army of werewolves? They would use him to turn others into super soldiers. That couldn't happen. No, the havoc would be cataclysmic. Hodge shifted back. He would not be Destursha's toy.

Eight

The Hunt. Oh, those poor wolves. It came flooding in, those days when life was simple. One life, not beast and man combined. The packs died at the hands of wealth. The root of all evil laid a heavy blow to them. He recalled they became extinct. Shame for it too. Their symbiosis was quite profitable. Keep the flocks safe from other predators in exchange for misguiding hunters away from their territory. It was so easy, until it wasn't.

They'd taken a new hunting route, those drunks. Ignoring the pasture paths he and Siegfried monitored. What were they to do? They couldn't watch all the fields full time. Hunters slipped by just once. Just once. It was enough. Soon the land swelled with their like. The value of such fur without dye! The two of them saw their profit in the matter as well, but guilt was a slow poison.

One. There had been only one remnant left of the werewolves as they'd call them. "Were" because they were no more in the Anglo-Saxon dialogue. It came up from the rear field, limping at full speed, its fur mangled, and blood dripping from the shoulders Siegfried had been there to greet it by his shear shed. It just walked up to him with a low head. Sitting in front of him, struggling for air the survivor extended the paw attached to the bleeding wound. From Hodge's perspective the beast resembled a dog trying to "shake" for a treat or a pat.

Siegfried clasped the paw, mustering a sympathetic smile. As he relinquished, the wolf dropped and drew Siegfried's blood. He winced and shook his hand. His own blood now dripping on the werewolf's forehead. He wrapped it in cloth torn from his sleeve and retreated to his cottage for the day. The hunters appeared after and retrieved their trophy, giving Hodge a gold coin for his trouble.

A week passed. Hodge had seen little of his neighbor in that time. When next they watched the flocks, Hodge noticed no scarring on his companion. Nothing too amiss, though the sheep did not eat. Instead they stared at the shepherds, looking back perhaps it was just Siegfried that drew their attention. Either way, they had been spooked.

Then came the Star in the day. It shone in coexistence with the sun, but flickered often creating red nebulae around it. Maybe it was lower, producing cloud. Didn't matter. It didn't belong and set the flocks in panic when it twinkled.

It came to be enough. Siegfried explained to Hodge what he'd become and spread lycanthropy to him at Hodge's request. The night came, but the star stayed in place, stronger now. Tree branches swayed upward, but wind was not to blame. Siegfried climbed a tree, reaching the top he leapt. He fell, but not down. Instead he spun uncontrollably for the red light. Then he vanished and so did the star. Hodge knew it was not gravity that pulled Siegfried up, but his will. What the Star had to do with them and why the wolves were able to pass such a power on to people, were things not even Siegfried would ever learn the truth of.

Hodge did not reveal what happened to Nelrene until Siegfried's wife bore children. The two helped to raise her twins until they came of age. After the flocks were in their hands, Hodge and Nelrene moved to London as the flocks would not stand either of them. Siegfried's wife and children went on to believe he'd been taken by a feral beast while watching the sheep, which was close enough.

Siegfried regularly appeared to Hodge in visions, providing insight and explaining what had happened. It was a power imbalance that required a soul to hold. How the wolf ever had that power to give was left a mystery to him. And life went on. Hodge gradually received information on Destursha and of Siegfried's belief in what would cause a second rupture, his lycanthrope, by blood, heir.

Good for them that Siegfried's influence seeped into Destursha as well. He explained to Hodge how it had been far more evil before he became a mass conscience. Spreading earth languages also helped, English being the primary since Hodge and Nelrene spent most of their lives after the farm in English speaking countries, or perhaps he knew Cecil would come from an English speaking America. It was all very possible, for reality in the void between was stretched thin and time twisted.

Nine

The cell walls had been polished to a reflective quality, giving Hodge only himself to observe. The room had been soundproofed, as even he no longer heard the jet whine. Still occasional turbulence, though subtle. Confinement was its own torture, making him victim to his own thoughts. In fact, it was very possible that he was being recorded now to see if he was breaking. Better to appear concrete, smug even.

Just when Hodge began to grin the general entered his room. "Hmm, so you're not a wolf dogman?" The rattling rose and ceased abruptly. "A shape shifting novian then. Not that it makes a difference. See since you killed some of my incompetent dumbasses with great ease, you get to be a very special test subject in my latest project!" He sounded hysterical with joy. Hodge jested in his mind that the general must have won the lottery, but this experiment could be bad. Even for him. An elf in a red lab coat wheeled in a steel tray with one object on it: a black crystal resonating with a violet aura. "Give us some privacy." The general said with a grin almost sickening.

The assistant closed the heavy door behind him while the general laughed. "Even for my kind, I am old. Quite old. My magicks have kept me longer than most, but soon that will fade." Hodge already didn't like where he was going. "But magic is a science and is always expanding. Who can say immortality cannot be attained? Not I. Oh no, not I. Especially with charged crystal. Why, I could go on for days about how charged crystal can be used to make impossible possible." That rattling again. "Guess I won't be doing that for a while." He placed both hands on the crystal orb. The aura grew stronger until the light could not be gazed at.

The aging officer's body fell backward, his armor causing a horrendous clang. The life in it was no more.

# Chrissenia

One

They'd found the fortress city of Chrissenia, a hidden place in the Dark Forest. An elf named Partheus was the city's mayor and explained his plight to the werewolves. Their city was protected by fear. Not even air forces would attack the woods, since it was said to harbor great magic. His problem was their limited territory. He needed a vanguard to assault the capitol, Fraushein.

"We're good people unlike the others out there," Partheus explained, "but that's precisely the reason we hide here. I know we're small, extremely small, but Fraushein holds ALL the power. If we can topple it, we might be able to leave this forest and see true light again."

Arthur broke in, "And you not only think we'd be able, but you also think we'd be willing to do this for you?" He sighed. "I think you've eaten a few too many mushrooms."

"It's our only chance as of now." A mild wind tussled his long golden hair. Pale orange light pierced through from the first moon, lighting Partheus's face and exposing his gaunt features more prominently. "We saw what the black shape shifter did to those Guardians before he was captured. You all have—"

"What?" Nelrene's eyes swelled, "How could he be captured?"

"That explains why he hasn't caught up. He'll be fine though. Not like anything could really happen to him." From Arthur.

"Well, execution trials take no less than two weeks," Partheus, interjected, "and I'm positive his will be in Fraushein." That was it, their incentive. "While you're there for him, you can help us also."

It was a solid deal. As a bonus, Partheus even offered to take the orc, whose name turned out to be Folas, and put him in a good home. Chrissenia had schools and no narcotics in the reach of children, so they accepted. As for Hodge, they didn't raise concern. Taking Folas on the other hand was a real bargain, nonetheless, they couldn't let Hodge rot in a cell. Given a map of the region with Fraushein highlighted in purple ink, they set for the north exit. To add assurance of a fair trade (or to fortify their chances), Partheus had new raiments brought to the werewolves at the gate. Cecil and Salina were both given crystal armor, Cecil's blue and patterned with clear crystal and shoulder spikes. Salina's likewise patterned but green. Arthur received a black and white hooded leather jacket, chainmail greaves, and thick rawhide boots. Marianna was given a steel plate cuirass and studded leather leggings. To Nelrene a leather chestplate and green hunting pants was given. Partheus apologized that more crystal could not be spared, but reminded them (though they didn't know to begin with) that it was a rare commodity that would be unlikely for them to encounter again.

The city was a humble glow on the horizon now. The twin moons now hidden from view by the dense branches, gave no light.

And again they set off, with hardly enough time to breathe. Soon the blackness swallowed up Chrissenia and all that remained was a faint orange corona. The moons provided all the light their unnatural eyes required. But only that and no more. The new armor was uncomfortable at first and designed for more slender wearers. Before long, however, it would all give in and become their clothes. Time would do that for them.

Two

The forest was even darker than before, but it was also less dangerous. It felt almost unreal to Cecil that he should feel so calm here, so laid back . . . so bored. But adventure called to them, lured them deeper in. Where it would take them next, they did not know. Their only clue was the first map marker, a grand and magnificent oak labeled Frander.

But based on the legend the map bore, this tree was quite a few miles away. In fact, Frander lie on the edge between the Dark Forest and the Scarab Desert. A fine walk. Not that distance mattered very much to them, but time did. They needed to find Hodge and make a plan.

The shape shifters came to a rivulet marked Ruby Run. It was about twenty yards abreast and stretched as far as they could see to either side. The current was turbulent and made harsh rushing swishes against the stones which protruded from it. From what Arthur could judge, it was too deep to tread without being swept away and too wide to be leapt over.

The only solution was to find a bridge, but none were shown on the map within the woods. "He could've warned us about this, scrawny bastard," Arthur kicked a rock toward the flowing water. It sailed all the way to the other side and planted itself firmly into a tree trunk, "if only we were that light."

They weren't so light as that stone, but they weren't altogether obese either. "Maybe we can make a bridge." Cecil mumbled without realizing.

"How so?" Echoed Salina.

Now he was on the spot again. It was only an escaping thought, but they heard well, and now he needed to back his statement up. Cecil stood for some time (longer for him than for the rest) pondering how to defend himself. At some length he grasped what he believed to be a valid enough idea. "Perhaps we could make a bridge out of one of these trees." He paused and waited for objections, but after hearing none he continued "Well, surely it wouldn't be hard to topple one. I would also think any one of these could support us. We are no heavier than the rest of this world."

After his explanation came a nice calm. A serene and tranquil silence. Then Arthur broke in. "Whoop-dee-doo, you came up with the most obvious solution imaginable. Let's all applaud you for your fathomless brilliance!" He topped this with dramatic hand motions and an obnoxious round of clapping. But as soon as he started, he finished.

At this queue he and Cecil found a suitable tree and tried to uproot it. That would have been a simple task to them, but nothing is ever simple. And the ground around a stream tends to be moist and soft. They were quite successful in digging their feet into the ground and peeling off bark, but the girth of the tree remained upright. After this each took turns running into the tree, which made more headway than lifting.

The tree came down and landed half in Ruby Run. Marianna and Arthur locked onto its branches and pulled it fully ashore. Nelrene and Salina took the opposite end and together the four of them tossed the twisted wood into place, bridging the stream.

Three

Days of walking passed. The group was quiet for the most part but occasionally tossed a nugget of information at Cecil. Nelrene took over for Hodge and told him the remaining details of their lycanthropy. There remained many questions unanswered, as she explained that Siegfried himself did not know everything. But in all this Cecil neglected to ask about silver, and the others neglected to tell him. But at least he understood the whys.

"So do any of you guys think it's more than strange that they would just help us along like that?" A question from Salina, the first real conversation starter since they'd left Chrissenia.

Marianna cocked her head to place Salina in her peripheral vision and then faced forward again. "You probably already know why. Besides, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Or maybe they're just stupid." Arthur's interpretation reared its head now. "Then again that elf could have been our very own fairy godmother. He had the voice for it."

Cecil and Nelrene didn't bother to interject at any point. It was a collective thought that was answering itself. No need to tamper. Nelrene was always the first and best informed with matters of other realms, and Cecil simply caught on much faster in matters that did not involve his heart. They came to settle on their theories and once again trod along in silence.

Four

The great oak came into view. Towering above all the rest with acorns the size of apples, it cut up the sun's rays into leafy shadows. The tree itself was at least three hundred feet high. Now that the map marker stood in view, the werewolves decided to examine it in case there was more to it than size.

From a closer distance, scent was its second feature. The rancid stench of vinegar mixed with tea leaves and mold was overpowering. The air was thick around this tree and full of life, though it was ironically unhealthy to be around. The source of the vinegar and tea came from a hollow in the tree. As they approached, it became evident that the hollow was quite spacious and was also someone's home.

How the tree lived without its heartwood never struck the werewolves as odd, because the sight of the dwarf was odder still. Out from the tree's core sprang a lively old dwarf. From head to toes he was covered in moss except for the tip of his beard. He appeared to be wearing some form of rags under his mossy mantle, but the shape shifters didn't have any desire to ask. His eyes were a wild yellow, and he stared blankly in their direction. After a few moments he returned to his wooded cove.

When they were closer he again sprang from his hole like a gopher scouting his surroundings. A blue jay perched on his shoulder and tilted its beak into his left ear. Following that the dwarf bellowed, "Hehe, don't get visitors often. I hope the language I'm speaking is still understandable." He paused a moment then, in a smaller voice, said, "Well, come on in for tea if you can. I'm Frander."

Arthur balked at first but Marianna wheeled him along. Nelrene, Salina, and Cecil followed behind. Nelrene and Cecil nodded in respect, but Salina knew he was blind and instead gave a thank-you. The inside was larger than they had anticipated. There was not much extra room for them, but there was enough. Each took a seat around a floor table in the center. It appeared to be made of the very oak they were now within. The walls were carved in swirling patterns, but none of them made a significant shape. Above them hung a candle on a silver plate. And hidden from outside view in the ground was a bed and a few more valuable looking items.

"Oh, I've been expecting you. Yes, I have. Yes, I have." The dwarf's tone became almost giddy, but was restrained by an underlying seriousness. "You're his friends. Siegfried's that is. Well, mostly. I'm told that Hodge was captured by the Leviathan Guards. It happens. You'll have him back."

"You know about Siegfried?" Cecil asked. The rest were drinking a tea of unbearable quality. He, however, had yet to touch his.

"He sends me messages through my little friends. Says they hear better since their kin are from your world too. I didn't expect you to get here from Chrissenia so quickly, so forgive if I'm a bit off my rocker." He stood up and walked to a corner where he sat upon a chair that rocked back and forth. At this Arthur snickered but didn't comment. "So I'll explain to you what I can. What you need to know perhaps even."

Now it was Salina's turn, "We're in the dark about everything in this world. I think you should give us a pretty detailed briefing."

Five

He let out a sigh and tugged his beard twice, "Let's see where to begin. A bit of folklore might help make you familiar." They all leaned in to listen as he drew in a deep breath and twirled one of his bushy eyebrows. "The two moons that you have seen have a tale behind them. Artemis the orange and Orion the green. Long ago when magic was young and the mortal races prided themselves in combat prowess, there were two that stood above. From the East was a warrior of inhuman capabilities named Artemis. He had slain at least one of every kind of fearsome beast and had defeated the great giant king Rhoen. There were none that could stand against him, and he defended his title with great vigor and tenacity.

But to the West was the first and greatest of all magic wielders, Orion. He was the first to discover the art of magic and has yet to be surpassed. Legends spoke highly of him that he had transcended mortality and became a deity. In his supreme desire to flaunt his power, he conjured a castle of enormous stature and levitated it high above the ground. All those who lived spoke of him as their new king, soon to rule all."

He paused for a moment and stretched his arms. After this he drank some tea and yanked his beard. "But Artemis caught word of the great wizard and took up arms. He led his army of stout fighters to combat the wizard's battalions in the West." Here he paused for emphasis and made sure each was still listening. "Neither of those leaders' men survived, but those two remained. Now the fight did not end there even with countless thousands dead on both sides. These two fought one on one. And fought and fought and fought. All across the globe their thunderous blows and crashes could be heard. Neither could gain the advantage. When Orion cast spears of ice, Artemis dodged or blocked. When Artemis swung or shot his bow or even threw spears, Orion deflected with magic or phased out of the physical world. Eventually the entire world lay in ruin. They had destroyed everything only to prove their equality."

Arthur leaned back and spewed out the tea he was drinking, "I don't see how this story is important. Also this tea tastes like bark . . . I'm sure it is."

The dwarf turned around, grasped his kettle, and dumped the boiling liquid on Arthur. There was a silence as the smell of Arthur's singed hair floated about. Arthur sat in place as his eyebrows regenerated just as fast as they had burnt. "Now to continue—"

"Wait!" Arthur screeched, "Aren't you going to make sure I don't sue?"

"You're fine, and I knew you would be. But I needed to make a statement. A gesture, you see." Frander held out his blind but deft hand in Arthur's direction and opened a toothy smile. "Now then, these men were wrought with guilt for what they did. All their subjects deposed them, and though they still possessed great power, they could no longer relish it. So they decided to make amends with the world. The first step was forming a truce and building a friendship. Quite ironic that two titans as these who tore the world apart fighting each other should become friends, but it was so. They tried to replant the trees, but they would not grow. They attempted to rebuild cities, but the foundations continued to crumble. You see they hurt the world itself, damaged the life essence of all things."

Cecil cringed while finishing his tea. It was bitter and thick. If he didn't know it couldn't harm him, he'd have poured it out. There were a few mortal necessities he wouldn't mind running through again, but Frander's bark tea was not one. And he hoped that there would be no refills. "So I suppose you're going to tell us how they fixed things, right? I mean there are trees and animals and cities out there that aren't falling apart. Physically at least." Cecil set his cup on the wooden table, relinquishing it with great joy.

"Clever." Said Frander while running his short fat fingers through his coarse red beard. "You see it was at this point that Orion and Artemis stumbled upon a unique coloration of crystal. An opaque vein of black crystal. Now you may not know, but crystal is indestructible once it's heated to cleanse out impurities. And so is only moldable for a short time before it cools and becomes utterly solid. Crystal has been known of and used for a very long time. Long before Orion and Artemis, but never was there a black crystal. At least there was nothing noticeably different about it if it had been discovered. It is most commonly blue, green, or red but also has various other spectrums. Naturally it is clear, but minerals often shade it. Just never black.

The two, being of great and honest intent, wanted to use this unique crystal to reform the world. Because crystal did not crumble with other materials and since this vein seemed very abundant, they mined until they obtained a grand stock. Orion had an ingot refined and began studying it. He observed that when he came in direct contact with it, his magical auras were siphoned. At the same time Artemis refined his own ingot and derived from his observation that direct contact sapped all of one's strength. And both, being terribly remorseful for what they had done, thought of nothing but a panacea for their broken world. Moreover, the two desired to punish themselves for their ill deeds and spent increasingly longer sessions in the presence of the crystal. Until finally one day they went too far. Both had let the crystal fully take their souls from their bodies. The bodies, having no operator, were torn asunder by the cleaving of spirit and were consumed by blue ghost fires. In a sense they died without really dying. However, the crystals did not remain at rest. No, in fact they rumbled violently and resonated unsightly lights. You see their souls were using these ingots as conduits, but now their powers were honed and amplified into a single point of shear power and will: to restore the world."

"Are you going to get—" Arthur started but stopped when Marianna flicked his ear. Cecil thought that odd but admitted to himself that he knew very little about their relationship. Arthur drew an almost remorseful expression on his face.

Frander furrowed his brow and continued, "The point? My fine fellow do-gooder, I have not even started in on current events." He sighed and poured more tea into his cup from a second pot he had stowed under the table. Actually none of the werewolves were sure that it was tea. It must have been cold at the very least, but it gave off the same rank odor. "The few remaining followers of these men gathered around the crystals which were once their masters and attempted to break the hold on Orion's and Artemis's souls. When that failed, the stoutest and most arcane of them stepped out and tried to communicate with the lost spirits. This proved more successful and rendered to them a concept, of course being that of restoration. So the followers proceeded to cast the most potent of white magicks they knew upon the crystal ingots. It was at this point that the crystals further drew upon the surrounding energies and began to grow, rapidly. The slower remnants were thereby crushed, but the greater of haste picked up enough distance to escape and watch the black ingots levitate into the air.

Still they enlarged ever faster but ascended likewise with due speed, leaving those on the ground safe and amazed. Before long the two were suspended in the night sky. Now the crystals changed color and shape, Orion's a green moon and Artemis's one of orange. What happened after was incredible. Trees grew up once more, the animals regained their health, and the world held tight and ceased to crumble. Men and woman ran with overflowing joy into the night or I suppose day on the other side of the world, thanking the two men for making amends, as the first thing to be restored was the hope in people's hearts. Life returned.

And it was by these two moons' radiant beams that the world returned to itself once again. I cannot say for sure if this is a true story or not, as this is a tale older than Siegfried or even Trothos for that matter. Scientists these days will say that Orion is a chunk of debris that came from the planet Wyst and that Artemis is a comet that was caught in orbit. Personally I believe the legend, since it matches up better with the first records of black crystal and its uses. But no one can say for sure."

"How exactly does this help us?" Salina had been clawing at the table and left a sizable rut. Seeing this she began to tap her fingers and save some of the wood. She had more tolerance than Arthur but not when she lost sight of the point, if there was one to begin with.

"I would hope in all the rambling that you noticed things that were not typical from your world." Frander's eyebrow rose all the way to his hairline, and his empty eyes widened.

"The magic?" Nelrene mumbled. She was thinking, but her mouth decided to run alongside her thoughts. "It sounded like some kid story, so I assumed that the magic was fictional." Her voice rose with her first intentional utterance, "Are you saying that magic here is a real thing?"

"That is one point, yes." Frander began, "I wanted you to see that this is more than a legend. Though it is disputed today, it's a history. Your world wouldn't even consider magic as part of history."

"Will we be able to use magic?" Cecil asked with bright eyes.

Frander shrugged. "I can't say for sure. You aren't from this world, but maybe you can. One way or the other, you're sure to encounter it on your travels at some point."

Nelrene flipped her empty mug on its lid and slid it toward Frander. "We would very much like to hear more, especially of the current." She looked over at the dwarf with a warm smile that Cecil would later describe as the way one might look at a grandparent when they are too sleepy to stay awake in their rocker. It was a compassionate look which reminded Cecil of his mother and of Cathrine, and he better understood what pain must be shared between Hodge and her from their separation. It seemed that she continued once Cecil had enough time to register this, "But you must be tired now. Surely you have nothing to gain from exhaustion. Take a nap, and we'll finish this talk tonight."

At this Frander fell asleep in his seat as if he had an off-switch that had just been flipped. He began snoring with a dry air similar to wind passing through trees. His head drifted down to the table as drool started to coalesce around his lips. Frander the Great and Wise was taking a beauty nap.

Six

Cecil stood outside the great oak as the rest found time killers. Arthur and Marianna walked into the woods together. Cecil did not bother asking why. He had strong suspicions and, if they were right, were none of his business to begin with. Salina was about a hundred feet in the opposite direction of where Arthur and Marianna went, catching and releasing squirrels either with her hands or with simple snares she made of twigs and soft bark. It was Nelrene that was closest to Cecil now. While he stood leaning on the oak on one side of the gap, she did likewise on the other side. At length he became restless and desired to talk to her.

"How did you know he was tired?" He asked.

"Oh that?" Nelrene responded as if caught off guard that he was still there. "There were muscle relaxers in the tea, strong ones. The kind that make most people go completely limp. He must have some kind of dystrophy or other pain related ailment."

"And you detected it? I could hardly get past the bitter taste of the tea."

She smiled and came close to laughing but didn't, "That bitter taste was the drug itself. One doesn't live nine hundred years without knowing what spiked drinks taste like. Even in all their many forms and flavors."

Cecil raised his brows and was silent for a moment. He knew they were old, not THAT old. At further thought, he supposed it made sense. "I had no idea you and Hodge—"

"That's alright," She began, "time means very little these days. And I know you can't understand what it's like to be separated from someone you see every day for nearly a millennia. But that's not your fault. Even for the mortals you are young, not that that's a bad thing. It's just a fact."

"It hurts being apart. Like you've lost a piece of yourself."

She turned to him with another smile and shook her head. "You can know what it feels like. I didn't mean you were ignorant. You just don't understand, is all."

The subject reached its end, but Cecil desired more answers. He wanted to know who it was that surrounded him that called themselves his allies. He knew very little of any of them. The bulk of his knowledge lie in Hodge's and Nelrene's two halves of one story. Which was fine for him. He just wanted to know who they were. Before they transcended humanity. So he moved on to the next pair. "What's the story behind Arthur and Marianna? I don't mean to pry, but I really would like to know my companions."

"Those two." She stated the words as if that were her answer. Then she sighed and continued, "You'll find out one way or another. Or maybe you wouldn't." Nelrene stopped a moment and checked to make sure Frander still lay unconscious. "About oh, two hundred or so years after Hodge and I became werewolves and while we were about traveling the world, the Black Death started to circulate. Well, I'm sure it had been a problem before that, but people were really dying at that point. Certainly changes your perspective of a quaint little village in some gorgeous and sunny valley when bodies are piled up in the street.

You know as well as we all do that Arthur is British. And I assume you know what happened to England during the plague. We were passing through one of the nice little body bag villages. It was a beautiful day as I recall, nothing like how the Dark Ages are now depicted. I believe it was spring. Yes, the flowers were in full bloom and their scent was utterly delightful in that shire. In fact, I remember there being a few healthy children running through the market and rubbing tomato juice on their faces. I'm not sure if they were being mournful or disrespectful toward the diseased.

I can't remember the name of that place, but I remember the fiery headed boy sitting against the wall of a bakery. The bakery was closed and so he was not asked to stop loitering. At first we meant to just pass by him. He seemed well. Though the village was obviously growing more and more vacant every day, he appeared to be happy enough. He sat watching puffy clouds roll through the sky and let the sun rest on his freckled face. His clothes were dirty but not torn, so he, by all first impressions, looked to be getting by just fine." She stopped a moment as Frander gasped for air and stirred dozily. When he began to snore again, Nelrene picked up as if she had never stopped, "Actually he appeared better than most. He was perhaps twelve or thirteen, so he was older than the tomato children but not by much. A few years at most. But for then, he was just about middle aged.

But before Hodge and I were out of ear shot, the boy began yelling defensively. Oh, I suppose that's something that hasn't changed." She shook her head, "We are who we are, I guess. You see the tomato-faced rascals were berating him and his family. His family was dead, of course, and they meant to replicate his dead kin. They jeered and danced and told him that he was next. He meanwhile stood up and continued to scream at them. It was one of those ugly moments young boys have with one another. Where they aren't so old that they can really inflict damage, but they do disturb the peace.

But before anyone was on top of anyone else, punching and clawing and kicking, one of the taunters began chasing a goose. His companions followed swiftly as the red headed boy sat down again, now with his head tucked in his arms." She paused a moment to readjust her shirt which had been riding up. "It was Hodge with the soft heart. He went to the boy and told him there was a way to avoid the plague and any other lethal bane. And now you know that boy. He's just as he was all those years ago . . . Arthur."

"It fits him." Cecil said, "But what was his family like to him? And what of Marianna?"

"He never went into much detail about his family, and I can only tell you the story through my eyes, not his." She sighed, "I really don't know much about her. I'll tell you what I think you want to know.

She was a willful one. She was in charge of a shipping dock. After her father passed she inherited his fishery, however, men (especially at that time) resented having to submit to a woman. And yes, from what I know it was hard on her. But she kept them in line and did well for herself. With her position she was able to afford an education, which further advanced her title. She had everything she needed and wanted only one other thing. She desired to be a mother. Looking back now that seems ironic for her independent nature, but it was.

Then Arthur came along."

"Sounds like he was trouble in a hurry."

"Not quite. But they, of course, fell for each other. Believe it or not, but below Arthur's temper and ego is an intelligent man. But that is a small thing compared to his hotheadedness. Once they were wed, he wanted to make her immortal as well. That isn't so bad really, but she didn't want it. She just desired to grow old and successful with children and grandchildren to carry on the business.

Well, Arthur wouldn't go for that. Despite her wishes, one night when he was in a rage, he overtook her and forced lycanthropy on her. He apologized, and she forgave. It wasn't so much that she thought it was going to change her. It was that she didn't want to outlive her descendants." Nelrene sighed in longing, "What really upset her most was when she discovered that she could not bear children. A woman's body changes greatly during pregnancy, but werewolf body chemistry remains constant and refuses to change. Healthy and physically perfect in every way, she was barren.

After that she became quiet and edgy. Now she mostly just talks to have Arthur do something for her or to scold him. Sometimes I can hear her bring up that passed transgression. It isn't healthy to still be dwelling on it after all this time, but that's how she controls him. I have to feel sorry for Arthur. He didn't mean to take away her only desire, and now he forfeits any of his desires at her behest. If you ever do a wrong, make it right as soon as you can. Guilt is an ugly beast, Cecil. Never let yourself be caught up in its claws for too long, because it will rip you apart."

Cecil didn't bother to ask anything else. He heard enough for one day. Now he knew of all his companions to a certain degree, save for one. It made him reflect back on his life. How uncomfortable it had always been to just follow what everyone wanted for him just to make them happy. He wasn't happy. Rarely was. Only when someone else's agenda lined up with his. And now where was he? A part of him believed he was just trying to appease The Order. A part of him believed he was more of a burden to them to begin with. How uncomfortable it still was.

Seven

Frander came back to life after the sun had set. He sat slouched over in a wooden chair and moaned. After some coughs, stretches, and wishes for more rest, he appeared ready to speak again. His bushy beard was now splayed out from resting his chin on his chest, and his eyes were sealed mostly shut. He rubbed his eyes and tugged his beard. After this he opened his sightless eyes. It was apparent that even though they could not see, his eyes felt better when exposed to the night air. And so he cleared his throat.

The Order took up seats about him, studying his face which now twisted and contorted in preparation to be used. Arthur and Marianna were holding hands and smiling, while Nelrene and Cecil sat with their hands folded in their laps and leaned forward. Salina chose to stand and stay half turned toward the forest. Once in position they seemed more like philosophers meeting a mountain guru than makeshift warriors on a quest.

"Current events," Frander began, "let's see. Well, Trothos is the emperor of all Destursha, one time country now a global empire. Trothos is . . . at least two thousand in years now. There have been older, but he's catching up. He, as mages do, has prolonged his life with potent magicks. So long as no one kills him, which I'm surprised hasn't happened yet, he could go on ruling indefinitely.

His kingdom started some time ago. I believe it was twelve hundred years or so ago. Through political regimes, manipulation, and his magic he eventually succeeded in establishing his Leviathan Guard. They are the most elite soldiers ever known and bear the finest crystal weapons. With their aid, he was able to overthrow this world's nations in what is remembered as the War of the Devils. It is so named because his most powerful adversaries, Anchuk and Salko Manin, also were aemon. It is a race that resembles what your world depicts demons to look like. However, 'devil' and 'demon' are now considered prejudice terms. Try to avoid using them."

Cecil had wandered a bit in his attention. While he was outside the tree, he had out of boredom worn a deep groove into a rock. He allowed his right hand to morph and used the claw on his index. The rut was as deep as the claw and took little effort to wear in. He now tried to do the same to his armor, but it was no use. Realizing that he almost lost track of Frander, he stopped clawing and turned his eyes back to the dwarf.

"Now don't think the old aemon has grown complacent. He is just as tenacious now as he ever was. In fact, to augment his Leviathans he has begun experiments with black crystal. Soul Rendering." The old codger paused and shook, not his head but his entire being, "He has taken souls from prisoners and tried to infuse theirs with others' souls. The vile things that are left afterwards, if they don't just die, are always psychotic lunatics with no control over their personality. Now he keeps this under wraps, but many know of it. The monsters here you will come to know as Infused. There are also the Altered, which is really the same thing but with only one soul residing in the vessel that can no longer be considered a body. Sometimes these second ones are equipped with cybernetic features, not always though.

And every now and then they get loose. There are a pair of 'em north of here in the Red Bowl just before entering the Scarab Desert. One Infused and one Altered, both ugly freaks, and both ought to be avoided."

Salina didn't bother to turn around but said, "So what, Trothos has a perpetual empire that will never end? Seems a bit dour if you ask me."

"What about going home?" Marianna asked.

Frander sighed and twisted his mustache. It made a sound almost like steel wool and appeared just as coarse. "I don't know," He said, "about your home. You may never truly see it again. I can't say. As for Trothos, no. His empire shall end eventually. They always do, and everyone on Destursha knows it. But yes, he is certainly prolonging it. I will say however that his nephew Dahzir has been rumored to be planning on a mutiny. He is Trothos's head general and right hand man, but he is greedy for power and desires to outlive his uncle.

Dahzir too experiments with Soul Rendering in attempts to gain leverage in usurping Trothos."

"If these are well spread rumors," Arthur now, "then why don't the Leviathans take care of Dahzir?"

"Fealty. They've sworn it to both of these men and both hold nigh equal support. It comes down to them. As for Dahzir, he is aging. He seeks a way to longevity through Soul Rendering as he assumes his uncle is blocking his magic from lengthening his life further. In which case, Dahzir will have to act quickly before age takes him."

On the ceiling of the burrow was a carved mural of what Cecil assumed was Artemis and Orion just before being absorbed by their own creations. He wondered if he should have noticed this sooner, but as he thought this he saw the mural change to one of a demon with a wide grin standing over a sleeping man. The wood was changing to show Frander's story. And it changed, now to a slideshow of grotesque monstrosities that almost resembled humanoids but were unnatural and terrifying. He was amazed that wood could be so animated without color changes, but it was as if looking through a window and seeing the dwarf's words. This was the first of many magicks they would see (and far from the most impressive).

A glint appeared in the bearded hermit's eyes as if only momentarily he could see. Then it was gone and his eyes hollowed again. He cleared his throat and tugged his nose, missing his facial hair. "Go," He said, "and follow your map to Fraushein." After this he spoke no more. He became like a stone, still and cold. Then he fell asleep.

Some grumbling from Arthur and a sigh or two from Nelrene filled the space between rising and leaving. The rest remained quiet, though Cecil raged on the inside about how little he'd really explained. Now they pointed their feet north to the desert, which was some untold distance ahead. There were clouds now. That much was obvious from the opening canopy, but they were dark and foreboding.

Eight

When they arrived at the edge of the woods where the ground began to crust over and harden, the skies had cleared and a dryness plagued the air. A strong breeze rushed at them from the ahead desert. It was warm and stale like death. A vulture or some type of large bird made wide looping arcs in the distance. There was a patch of trees once evergreen, now forever dead baking in the sanding dirt. At the center of these was a rotting fox that the buzzards and other scavengers hadn't noticed. The poor rotten corpse was practically begging to be eaten, since the trees would not benefit from its fertilization. It would go wasted.

"When a man dies," Salina began, "his family mourns for a time and people remember him for a longer time still." She cocked her head toward the dead fox though she could no longer they'd passed it. "But the earth remembers him longer still. The worms toast him before long, and then the plants join the chorus and owe him for nourishment. Then one day people find him again long after his name had been lost and no mortal kin is left to appreciate him. They take him from the ground and pull him apart. When they finish he goes to help many if only for a short time. He is then used up again. Sometimes he roams the air afterwards, but always he has a purpose. Even after his tether to this plane is dissolved, he served a purpose."

The five did not speak amongst themselves again until they came upon sand dunes. Even then they spoke briefly and in low voices. The forest had been safe, but now they were in open territory. The heaped up sand provided a great obstacle. Zero footing and unhindered grains acted like lubricant to keep them sliding. When descending they'd made a game of sledding down on their stomachs or backs. It seemed and sounded foolish to them later but when surrounded by endless copper colored dirt, monotony rears its ugly head and grinds sand in your mind. Better they look crazy than become crazy was a slogan they just might have adopted had they the time to make such decisions.

Nine

An hour or two passed, or maybe it was twenty minutes. The dunes began to recede and the group found a level area. At the horizon edge farthest from them was a gleam. It looked like it might have been an old piece of machinery that was abandoned here long before the ground dried up. But then it began to shimmer. No, it didn't shimmer; it moved, toward them. They all stopped and watched it grow bigger and more distinct. It was red, it was human.

It was Hodge.

He drew closer to his wife but then directed his walk at Cecil as if Nelrene hadn't even existed. When he came within a reasonable talking range, he spoke to Cecil. The tone in his voice was off, as if he had a frog in his throat, "You have a map?" Hodge asked in a manner that made it sound as if he wasn't asking Cecil for the map but asking if he owned a map period.

Naturally Cecil pulled it from behind his chestplate. Cecil was in the air and Hodge standing almost with nose on nose contact. Cecil's armor shattered and time slowed. The map was in the air just long enough for Hodge to snatch it up and put it in his own armor. Cecil hit the ground with a thunder that cratered the sand and dirt beneath it five feet under. Hodge Olendar laughed as if he were trying to gurgle water at the same time. The Leviathan Guard emblem on his chest was clear and outstanding. And just as soon as he came, he turned, ran a few yards, and vanished in a warped segment of air like a mirage.

Cecil stood and dusted himself off after standing stunned for a few moments. Arthur's mouth remained shut, but he held out his overcoat to Cecil. All their eyes focused on the air which took Hodge's form away. Cecil turned before the rest and gazed down at his crystal armor. It lie in ruin and dazzled brilliantly in the burning light of the red sun. Arthur picked a piece up and tried to break it further. It gave no ground for more decay.

Cecil placed Arthur's coat on himself. It was a bit too long for him, but otherwise fit perfectly. Nelrene walked to the area that Hodge vanished within and stood gazing at the horizon. A wind picked up and grew fierce for about a minute then settled back into dead air once more. Sand plastered the five and put a grit in their hair and clothes, but this was just a nuisance and nothing more.

Ten

Dusk came for them and with it a landmark. Without a map, it was unknown to them what they were seeing. At a distance of maybe a mile or so was a dark cavity in the sand. From where they stood, it could either have been a cave or a shadow from a dune. But as they came closer, its shape did not change with the setting sun. So transfixed by it, they veered off their northward trek and approached the cave.

At its mouth were signs of heavy travel. The sand was packed and several tire tracks were visible. From somewhere inside was a whining noise like a drill and a steady clanking beat. It was far from rhythmic, but it was frequent and deliberate in manner. Despite all this, the outside of the cave was vacant and without attendant. It had no lights to guide the way in, which struck the adventurers as unusual but not so unusual that it would stop them from entering. Somewhere inside were people, and they would be found.

A veil of darkness enveloped them. At first sending each into blindness, but their sharp eyes soon adjusted to the lack of light. The path was not clear, in truth. Instead it was there when they wanted it to be. Every wall jutting and bend was only there when they focused with great effort. Even then there was stumbling and bumping of heads. Again nothing serious, but it still slowed them to a crawl. At a point, Arthur tripped and in turn brought Marianna tumbling with him. Cecil snickered at this and found it quite hard to not outright chuckle. Salina either did not notice or did not care and moved on without reaction.

However, the sound of the fall carried down the corridor, which at this point was becoming eerie. The sounds of the drill and tapping were no louder than before and so attributed to this cave's acoustics. This made the noises seem not like those of good work such as in a mine, but of those sinister horrors one might hear in a torture chamber, or dental office.

The floor began to smooth out into concrete. Ahead of them the darkness gave way to faint signs of light. As they moved on, a short wooden set of steps presented themselves in the dusky light between where they were and where they were going. It was no more than fifteen steps down but was wide and worn. In its middle and off to either side was a railing made of what appeared to be a tarnished copper. The wood at their feet, once treated and stained, was now a sandy, worn color that had been beaten down by feet. The boards did not creek and so showed they possessed some strength, but it also revealed that a hollow spot lie underneath the flight.

Once at the bottom, they were able to see the source of the light. Not far off were a set of lamps hung on the wall, the first of what were many to come after. Now the drill and tapping were accompanied by voices. They spoke quickly and with a high pitch that was not feminine but almost mechanical. Beyond the light was a large double door that led to the voices, drilling, and tapping. Just a few feet on their side and about three feet up was a panel. From their locale, it could have been just about anything that was undistinguishable and alien. However, Cecil had a good feeling that panel controlled the door, and he hoped it wouldn't require any tricks to boot.

And the wonders never ceased. The panel was as simple as touching the top or bottom to open or close, however it was quite a bit below the groups eye level and did require a little bit of crouching on Salina's part. And, without a single congratulatory noise, the door opened up on powerful hydraulics.

Behind this behemoth door was a great scape of equipment and workers. Glowing drills and sparks could be seen digging into the ground and walls. This was a mine, and clearly it was a very pivotal one. Above the workers, walking on narrow steel bridges were large upright beetles. In each one of their talon like hands was a weapon, and continuously they shouted at the workers to speed up. A second look revealed to Cecil that each worker was wearing a brace around the left ankle, and each brace had a pulsing yellow light at the heel.

"Let's go before anyone sees us." Arthur said and spun around.

Cecil didn't hear him at first and studied the room further. At the center of the chamber was a ditch, and in it lie dozens of dead bodies. Some were dogmen, some orcs, and many others. But no beetles slept in that ditch. It was for the worn slaves. "We need to help them." He said as a wheelbarrow full of tattered and mangled bodies was dumped in.

"Forget it. We'll worry about this some other time." Arthur had begun walking now, and as he talked his voiced trailed. One by one the other three followed. Marianna was first and Salina last. Salina turned around just long enough to shake her head and then moved on and out of sight. It was more important for them to find Hodge, and they made this clear to Cecil.

Eleven

He stood watching as his companions all turned their backs on him and vanished into the corridor behind the great door. Then, in a moment of anger and betrayal he turned his frustrations on this room. Just like that, they would leave me behind. So be it. And no sooner had the thought ended that he found himself reeling.

Cecil fell to his knees clutching his chest. The world around him was warbling and spinning. His heart seized up and stopped pumping his undying blood. He was in a pain that you only get to experience once in a lifetime. It was the pain of death. And as he knelt there before the great room, all the horrors he'd seen in his life began to play out in front of him. He knew it was over and waited for the lights to fade, but they would not. He was immortal, but heart attacks can help you forget that. The pain subsided almost as quickly as it had roared up, and Cecil regained his balance.

He stood dazed for a moment and felt his chest. His heart was still stopped, and he thought there was a good chance that it wasn't going to start back up any time soon. His mind felt a little lighter as if something had been pulled out. He denoted the feeling to surviving death. Once his mind cleared up, he dusted off his knees and walked toward a sentinel tower.

There were steps leading up it in a spiral. However, they were built for someone half his height and he found himself tiptoeing on the narrow steps while ducking under the overhang. Once he reached the elevated walkway that connected all the towers, he entered the nearest one. Inside was a beetle stationed at a chair. In front of him (or her) was an array of monitors. The displays only showed two colors, green and red. Cecil supposed they must see those colors most clearly and distinctly. Whatever the case he intended to deactivate the anklets.

The beetle got up from its chair and made for the door. It didn't seem to notice Cecil at first, but then it whiffed the air and turned to him. As it began to make a distress call, Cecil put his force into downward strike atop the creature's mandibled head. There was a crunching noise to confirm the impact. Though Cecil only intended to stun it, the beetle died from the blow. A bit too hard . . . probably just a bit.

He sat down at the station chair. Its legs were short and on rollers. The seat swiveled effortlessly on smooth stainless steel joints and was well cushioned. As the werewolf sat there he began searching the panels for a shutdown switch. Though he was certain it would not be as simple as movies presented it, he was still confident that emergency measures were in order. Some sort of deactivation must be possible, especially if there was a cave in. Then he had two sobering revelations: the deactivation switch or lever or whatever may not be in this tower or even in the mine at all. The second that the beetles in charge may not care if the workers get trapped inside during an accident.

Having no written words on the controls didn't help either. Five minutes had passed since he killed the guard, but Cecil thought it might be fifteen or twenty and knew the rest would become suspicious. He needed to figure out how to operate the system, and he needed to do it fast. Hitting all the buttons and levers was not an option. There was a good chance that one of them would kill all the slaves.

There was a small panel maybe the size of a pocket book. It had a key lock and was nearly concealed at the end of a control board. This was either hiding the switch he desired, something useless, or the one he absolutely did not want to use. Taking his right index finger and extending one wolfen claw, he cut through the thin sheet of metal like a burglar might cut glass. The cut wasn't as clean as glass would've been and left noticeable ripples along the tear lines, but he didn't feel the resistance and that was fine for him. He heard mumbling high pitched voices and light footsteps on the stairs. Whether or not they were coming to this tower was irrelevant. Cecil had to hurry, so he pulled up the panel.

As he suspected there was a singular red button underneath. It was glowing and next to it were the only written words Cecil had seen yet in the tower. Though they were mostly illegible, he made out "emergency" and "escape" and another that was either "rechain" or "unchain." They all were faded and most of the words that had been there once were gone now. In truth, Cecil wasn't sure he even read the more clear words correctly and knew wishful thinking can play eye tricks.

With steps in the distance and companions on the road, he smashed the switch. The plastic casing first dipped, then broke, and with it also the small bulb inside. On the outside there was a silence, then some loud chatter followed by yelling and the sounds of swift heavy steps. High pitched screeches proceeded and a gunshot that sounded more like an engine back firing. Then came the siren. Without going out and without looking up at the monitors, he was positive that his mission was a success. Almost at least. The monitors confirmed it.

In the large chamber there was a mass of dead bodies. Two of every three was a slave's. Cecil didn't like the sight of it, but he knew that it wasn't so bad since they weren't equipped with weapons. No one else was alive in the chamber. There was some faint screaming at the end opposite the side he'd come in. Leaping off the tower walkway and to the other side, he was able to see that a door had opened and appeared to lead outside. He stepped on a pickaxe and nearly tripped on a few dead bodies on his way to that side. Once there he noticed that there was sky at the top of the doorway and knew for sure that the slaves made it out.

He walked out, going up a grade as he did so. All the while his field of vision increased to again reveal a desert. Just as the ceiling turned into air, Cecil passed under an arch. At the crest the ground plateaued and he was able to see the workers again. Every single one of them (and there were well over a hundred that made it out) was dead and torn apart. Some made it almost a hundred yards but no further. Some were off to his left and right scattered like rats running from a predator. There were no scarabs, and nothing attacked Cecil. He didn't know how it happened, but somehow they all died. Some were no older than Folas, while others were far too old to do this kind of work and many in between. A feeling of guilt and confusion washed over Cecil, and he desired that he would've stayed with his group.

Twelve

That's when the laughter began. A mad cackling that was both cruel and giddy emanated from above the arch behind Cecil. Then the grinding of crystal against steel. Cecil turned to see Hodge sliding down the left side of it. Sparks flew wildly about and floated down and out behind Hodge. As his feet planted on the ground, he straightened his body and faced Cecil with a grin. Hodge was covered in red and black painted crystal armor. In his left hand was an enormous ebony crystal blade dripping with blood. His armor was covered with royal symbols, and he stopped laughing.

"You know," He said, "the penalty for escaped slaves is on the spot execution by whatever means available. I'd hate to break the rules. I made a good deal of them myself."

Cecil just gaped at his former leader. That smile didn't suit him. "What are you doing in that armor? And why are carrying a sword like that, Hodge? Tell me!" Cecil did what he could not to growl, and he did even more not to change.

"Is that his name?" Hodge mused while holstering the buster in a sling behind his back. "Well, you clearly aren't from this world. Just like him, or you would know. I'm a very important person, even more so since about six hours ago. And thanks to your friend Hodge, I'll soon be the ruler of these lands." He pulled a small box out of a satchel strapped to his greaves and pulled out a cigarette. And with the flick his fingers and a blue flash, it lit. He took a large breath and spoke as soon as he exhaled. "Huh," Smoke fell over his words, "I haven't fully tested this vessel, but these probably won't hurt my lungs anymore." He twisted his lips into a sneer, "Then again, magic kept it from hurting before. Less to think about, I suppose."

The stranger's insistence that Hodge was helping was unsettling for Cecil. He scanned the dead bodies, now seeing the clean cuts that fell them. Over the dunes, Cecil heard the cries of jackals. They would be happy this night. And after seeing the death before him again, Cecil cried out "Who are you then?"

Hodge put his cigarette out on his left eye. He laughed at the ease of it and lack of pain then chewed up the roll of remaining tobacco and swallowed it. "I would tell you," He said with one hand pulling the colossal buster into a ready position between Cecil and him, "but I'm just going to kill you in a minute. Why should I waste my words?" He let the tip crane down and stuck it in the soft sand. The broad side of the blade was parallel to Cecil. From this view Cecil could see large serrates at the base near the hand guard. Each was large enough to fit halfway around someone's neck. The blood on it was no longer flowing freely and had started to cake around the edges.

Cecil saw that the symbols on Hodge's armor and blade were demon skulls. Crimson red ones with three vertical horns and unsettling hollow eye sockets. This was a family symbol. He didn't care. He wondered if this interloper knew about their stance on mortal functions. But before Cecil could think any more, Hodge rushed forward, blade ready.

There was a thud as the heft of the crystal came down on Cecil's blocking forearm. The coat Arthur had given him split at the sleeve. Hodge drew back disappointed then ecstatic. He continued to attack Cecil. Cecil dodged when he could and blocked when he couldn't. The coat was tattering more with each blow only to show an unscathed teenager below.

Cecil became annoyed by the barrage. After losing both sleeves and the hood, he transformed for only a moment of rage and pushed Hodge away as he drew another swing. Cecil was shorter than Hodge, making a large part of the force upward. Hodge was lifted from the ground and lofted back to the arch. A deathly car crash rattling sounded from Hodge's armor shifting around. He stretched his arms as if preparing for another bout. Then he shook his head and sheathed his blade.

"Ahh," He groaned, "I feel great." Hodge started biting at the air and growling. Cecil expected him to change, but he couldn't. "Well, I'll just have to force that out of him." He turned to the mine, "Go on your way. You served your purpose." He flipped a hand over his shoulder and walked down into the mine out of sight.

Thirteen

Cecil stood scratching his head. He wished there was an itch to justify this gesture. He supposed such formalities were only for the purpose of being eccentric now. He sighed and turned around. There was dried blood in his hair and on the remains of his jacket. He walked on with it. It would remind him of those who died, and maybe that was closure. He doubted it. The bodies around him, disfigured as they now were, somehow presented a peacefulness. Though their mortal vessels couldn't withstand the onslaught Hodge dealt to them, they could at least now rest from their heavy labors. But with this thought, Cecil also knew that many of them must be damned to an eternity of flames.

He wanted to turn around and chase after Hodge, but for the life of him couldn't make himself do it. He wanted get as far away as he could as quickly as he could. After passing up the last and luckiest of the dead ones, a gust blew sand into his face. He felt the grit on his eyes. He had a great and odd feeling at that moment. Up to that point he couldn't understand what sand on his cornea without sting would feel like. It was unpleasant, and he was glad. He bit down on his tongue and waited for the pain, but there was none. Just a pressure.

Cecil could tolerate himself in that place no longer. He began to walk. After finding that too slow, he jogged and then sprinted. The remnants of his coat fluttered against the breezy desert air. And at the same time his blue greaves clanged together furiously. He noticed neither of these. His eyes were sealed shut, and he hoped that if he could just run long enough he'd open his eyes to see a better place . . . or home. But in the back of his mind, creeping its way forward, he knew what he was into. He knew there was no return, and there would be no peace for him any time soon.

The others waited at the mouth of the cave for almost an hour for Cecil. When they felt he must have been captured or went on his own way, they began walking south. Arthur was antsy the entire wait and was not in favor of letting him catch up. Salina proposed the wait, hoping that he would indeed come back. It was she that cared about him most, had ever since she caught him in the forest near his home. Though, consciously she didn't know that herself and believed waiting was just more tactical.

It had come down to the ladies' votes to stay outweighing Arthur's vote to leave. Nelrene suspected Salina's true motives, but kept it to herself. Marianna, eons as it had been since they met, was still trying to develop patience in Arthur. And so they waited without any fruition. Marianna had no opinion on Cecil and had wiped the reason out of her mind, simply looking to Arthur and seeing if he would change. Salina showed no outward disappointment and shrugged his abandonment off. Perhaps Nelrene was the most affected by the turnout, as she thought of her missing husband and also extended secret sympathy to Salina.

Leaving the mine behind, they headed south. Arthur remembered seeing a town on the map somewhere near the woods. He supposed they could find better transit there. As for Fraushein, it no longer seemed to be a concern. Hodge was out and about, and out of his mind to boot. Beyond that, there was a chance that Cecil had the same idea and would bump into them along the way. Then again the chance was equal that he too was bonkers and would come to pilfer something else of no value to them.

Fourteen

About three miles from the mine, the four came upon a shoddy little wooden building with a windmill protruding up through its core. The blades were no longer turning and half were either broken off completely or badly damaged. There were three windows on the front side of the mill, two of which were intact but covered in sand and dust. The third was open with the pane sitting outside mostly buried. The door was made of crude wooden boards nailed together. The top hinge had fallen off and was lying by the foot of the door, which too was ajar. The roofing was discolored and beige from sand. However, it was free of holes and aside from the missing window pane, the building didn't appear to be compromised.

Salina guessed that the windmill hadn't been used for about a decade and that the rest of the structure had been left no more than a year before. She grabbed the front door's knob and, as she began to turn, the door fully gave way and was upheld by nothing except for her grip. She let it fall back into the mill where it collapsed into its final resting place and sent a cloud of dust into the air. When the particles settled, she walked in and was trailed by the rest save for Marianna who stayed by the threshold.

Inside was a humble display of nearly nothing. There was one room, and it circled around the beam supporting the mill. There were no signs of inhabitance, though there were a great number of spider webs. At the end opposite the door leaning against a dirty wall, was a green metal desk. It reeked of copper, and was likely a bronze color long ago. At its front was a singular stool made of steel. These were the only things in the place that appeared usable. Salina found a handle on the central beam which opened to a stairwell leading up. As she climbed, Nelrene began opening the desk drawers. Each of its six were empty but the first she opened, the top right.

Inside was a candy wrapper and a folded yellowed paper. She unfolded the musty note to see a message haphazardly scrawled all over it. It was messy and written in what had to be a blazing hurry, but it was legible. As she read it aloud, her three companions came to her and listened.

Kela, I need you to greb Ashuir and leave. Met me at the Harkem train staton. If you run into Harris bring him long. Those scarbs are turning on us. Thought we gave them bad slaves. It was good while it lated I guess. They want their money back or well be fill ins for em. I left some troths in the desk. Git it and go right after. I'm serios don't poke around. –the one who loves you, Reth.

Nelrene now had a name for the town they were headed to. Marianna walked back out as soon as it had been read, and Salina followed behind. Arthur kicked some dust up from the floor where he stood and spun around. Nelrene left the note on top of the desk and looked blankly at the wall for a moment before joining her friends.

Outside the wind blew callous grains of sand against the wearing mill. On the horizon to the north was a rising sand storm. The werewolves looked to it and turned their backs to it. It would catch up if it was strong enough, but it was also powerless. With a name in their minds and a storm at their backs, they walked toward Harkem. The only thing slowing them now was their resolve.

"A little convenient to find that note, don't you think?" Arthur added, "Although we don't actually know that the town we're headed for is Harkem."

"Nothing is convenient." Salina replied, and they spoke no further.

Cecil had run for an hour with all the might he could. The desert was giving way to a prairie, and beyond it laid mountains. He slowed down to take in his surroundings. Golden wheat stretched endlessly along the plain. Clouds reappeared over the mountains that were blocking their passage. A large mound of boulders was to the left some distance off of where he was standing. He thought he could make out the shape of small animals poking their head through the ground ahead of him. They were gophers he assumed, or maybe this world's variant of them. To this point he hadn't seen any life unique to Destursha, but that ended no sooner than the thought had come.

Fifteen

There was a screech above and behind him. It wasn't a hawk, for the sound was far too low. However, Cecil didn't need to think for long as he found himself airborne in the clutches of an enormous winged creature. Talons were holding onto his shoulders with an immovable grip. He looked up at the belly of his attacker. It was scaled and connected to an elongated neck. The creature was gray in color and white on its underside. It was the size of a large horse or a small elephant. He couldn't tell from where he was. However, he did expect dragons to be larger than this. Perhaps it was young, or he was wrong. Either way, the dragon did not have Cecil's best interests in mind.

It dropped Cecil on top of one of the boulders he'd seen just moments ago that were so far away. He was on a broad ledge with a downward sloping overhang, a perfect place for the creature to call home. He was facing the open plains outstretched before the rocks and sighed out of habit. From behind him he heard a small chorus of infantile growling. Cecil looked back and was not surprised to see three little hungry mouths poking out of a nest made of branches and bones. The heads of these hatchlings had closed eyes and only nubs for teeth.

As Cecil attempted to jump off the cliff, the mother caught him by the neck and threw him to the cold stone ground in front of her nest. She then proceeded to roar angrily and lunge for him. She first clawed away what was left of his coat with her talons and then went for the kill with her dagger like fangs and massive jaw. Of course, she only wanted to feed her young, but all she succeeded in doing was holding Cecil down for the moment. She bit and tore at his cringing face and then his neck. It seemed that she either was an exceptional hunter or had experience killing humans, though in her time they were likely shorter and were called novians. The same principle applied, but then again it did not. Her prey refused to yield his lifeblood for her or her children, so she tried harder.

Cecil became agitated that she first stripped his torso and wouldn't let him go when her work was fruitless. He rationalized that if he could get her off of him for a moment, he would be fast enough to outrun her. She would give up the chase and find new quarry for the hatchlings. Thinking of no better way than a push, Cecil planted his palms on her chest as she continued to try and crush his skull. He released what he assumed would be an ample force to get the beast off of him. He was correct in that regard, but once again he misjudged his new strength. As the force was applied, Cecil heard and crunching of bone as his hands sunk deeper into her chest than he intended. The mother screeched in pain and wheezed for air. She staggered back and slipped off the cliff. Cecil rushed over to watch her spread her wings. But her wings never opened. Instead she landed with all her weight on the stony floor some hundred or so feet down. No more noise came from her, as Cecil watched blood begin to pool around her.

He cursed himself for his lack of control. With rage he beat his fists with a horrible thunder against the rock he now stood upon. It shook as if with fear and chipped where he struck. The hatchlings ceased their hungry cries and instead cried out in distress. He thought back again of the dogman in Ectoplas. Was I weaker then, or did I have better control? Either way he had the young ones left. Cecil knew that if he left now, they would starve to death. He couldn't take care of them. It might be a month before they could fly themselves, or more. And he had no time for it, at least he didn't feel like he did. Some part of him told him that he needed to get away from the others, away from the mine, away from everything.

He stood up with sorrow radiating from his face. He turned and looked at the helpless things in that nest. If it weren't for him, they'd grow to be majestic hunters in their own right. Now though, they were condemned to have crossed paths with him, slayer of their mother and soon of them. He wondered if he would be able to kill them on purpose, as he seemed to do that best when he intended to do no more than injure. A cruel image of him trying to stun them over and over with blunt strikes ran through his mind. He saw himself bloodying their beaks and breaking their arms, watching them writhe in anguish all the while screaming their child's plea. He couldn't do that

Sixteen.

Cecil grabbed a large rock the size of his torso. It might have weighed as much as a brick for all he knew, but he knew it would get the job done. One by one he pulled them up out of the nest, laid their heads on the ground and held it there with one foot, and ended their short lives with his crude executioner's rock. The last one let forth a terrible cry before Cecil silenced it. He knew it didn't cry for its own life but for its lost siblings.

Cecil hopped off the cliff with success this time. His greaves clanked together deafeningly when he hit the surface below. He landed on his feet, which amazed him. But the ground he landed on was slanted forward, and he went sprawling ahead. He broke neither his remaining armor nor any of his bones. He sat down where he landed and thought about what he was. He was alone for one thing. No one would be around to teach him how to control these powers he had. The friends he had abandoned him. Perhaps Hodge wouldn't have been able to kill all those slaves if Cecil had some help, but he went off on his own and got what he deserved. All that strength and no knowledge of how to channel it. He knew what that made him. It made him a monster. Cecil was now in league with the boogeyman for all he cared. He was a danger.

He fought away tears. They couldn't help him now. All he could do was run. Maybe he would find his answers. He had no other options. He had run for such a long time with closed eyes like a fool that he had no way to know how far he was from his old comrades. His choice now was to keep going and nothing else. He wasn't afraid, though he was a bit distraught. Things always worked out in the end. He needed to find something, but he didn't know what.

He started running again. This time he ran northward. Cecil didn't know what he'd find and didn't care. As long as he could find a way to restore his composure. He needed control. Maybe he would find it.

The werewolves found Harkem and its train station. A fine locomotive sat on the rails next to the loading dock. It was split into classes. The most impressive booth was made of golden crystal and the least was a polished but dated looking iron trolley. Arthur managed to haggle an attendant into letting them ride to Fraushein in the iron trolley for his boots. Whether or not they could help Hodge there no longer mattered, but perhaps they could acquire more information on what was happening there. They might even be able to learn what was wrong with him. Once they each set foot on that train, their own adventure began.

Seventeen

At length Cecil came to a town. From what he could hear just outside its border, he believed it was nicer than Hurlinge. He heard no screaming or gunfire, and the smell was as good as could be expected from a town. No one he met on his way in seemed to care that he was shirtless. Instead he received a few comments about his height. Novians didn't get much taller than halflings for the most part, and a human sized one was apparently miraculous.

He found work, though he didn't need the money. But what he did earn, he used for shelter, which he also didn't need. And of course he bought clothes. He had to buy items tailored for dogmen or aemon, but that didn't bother him. He fit in here, in Redora. And he went on that way, just fitting in, blending in, and forgetting what he truly was and from where he came.

# Ignorance

One

Two years passed since the mine, and since then Cecil had forgotten about that, forgotten everything. It was revealed on the news and through spoken word that Dahzir had possessed the body of a very powerful, very tall novian. Trothos had been executed publicly by his own nephew, who was now immune to any magic thrown at him. Cecil didn't recognize the novian that Dahzir controlled, nor did he care when Chrissenia had been singlehandedly overrun by Dahzir himself.

Cecil nightly found himself in the woods outside of Redora attacking trees with branches to teach himself swordsmanship. He didn't know why he did this. He only knew that he wanted control over himself. When he wasn't working at the general store, he found himself wondering why he couldn't sleep. Sometimes he had waking dreams about a place called Earth and that there he was vulnerable like everyone else. He wasted money in food for a while, but never had any urge to eat it.

Every now and again he would watch a news report about The Order of the Wolf. They were some small organization bent on usurping the government and restoring someone called Hodge. Cecil thought they were a group of psychotic terrorists, but he always felt just a little drawn to them and fascinated by them. They had orchestrated Chrissenian liberation operations with no success. Whatever they were doing, he was glad that they never came to Redora to bother him, and yet he was also hoping they would.

He didn't understand what about them he liked. He thought that it might be their youngest, a woman named Salina. Men ogled her when she made an appearance on a report if only a photo. Cecil supposed he might have that same feeling within him. He was also certain that her beauty was ephemeral, and that her heart and soul were of the most malign nature. And something about her made him feel younger, though Cecil knew he was already young. It was an odd sensation, and he guessed he'd developed some form of psychosis. But he reasoned that two years without sleep could also be the cause.

Two

A storm had come over the mountains to the east one day. There was nothing unusual about it. Often on days like this Cecil would go out to The Point at the base of the foothills and see if the lightning would strike him. On this day it did, three times to be exact. And the results were the same, none. He would laugh as the sleet pelted his cheeks and his hair stand on end. But this was a day that would change his normal pattern. From the core of his skull he felt something welling up, like his brain was expanding out from the center.

He fell down the steep path leading up to the crest. His body rolled and struck every rock on the way down. The base of The Point met him with mud. He laid there bracing the sides of his head, the only hurting part of him. As Cecil's pain began to ease, he felt an urge to clutch his chest but didn't. His eyes were shut out of reflex, and he opened them both as if he were afraid he'd forgotten how to. He couldn't see the mud he wallowed in. Instead, he saw himself reaching to unfamiliar ground to pick up a very peculiar looking lantern in a forest. He had no control over the body that he watched, but he felt as if it were smaller than the one he was currently using. He wondered if this was a younger him. But before he could ponder too intently, he looked up and saw some kind of monster looking back at him. For a moment he saw a female wolf dogman staring into his eyes, but she wasn't a dogman. Cecil didn't know how he knew she wasn't only that he knew. He found her stare convicting and horrifying. She grinned, revealing a row of unhealthily sharp fangs. He was certain that she would lunge forward and kill him in this strange wood.

The pit returned and he was screaming. It had been a long time since Cecil had dreamt against his will and even longer since he had a nightmare. He was covered in mud and completely unaware of it. Seeing that a lantern did not lie next to him, he sighed in relief. He stood up and noticed the mud caked on his skin and clothes. He didn't bother to rub any of it off, as he had almost no care for his possessions as it was.

Three

From there he went south. There was a place he went to every night to practice. It was almost midnight, and he had to work in the morning. But when you didn't sleep, eight in the morning felt pretty late. So he carried on as usual.

He knew that a few people from town had seen him come out here, but since no one had bothered to bring it up to him he never bothered to either. A single dead oak tree was amongst a sea of the living. He had broken a strong branch from it and proceeded to attack the dead thing every night. This time calmed his nerves and made him feel whole. He couldn't explain why, but he knew that a piece of him was missing. Somewhere in all the chaos was Cecil's fulfillment. This little exercise brought him closer to it, or so he thought. And maybe someday he could be a swordsman with the Leviathans, but he thought not. Something about the guards didn't sit right with him, but he supposed that could be another sleep problem.

The branch he'd been swinging for a week now finally broke as he delivered a terrifying, yet useless, blow to the oak. With all its limbs used up, he would have to move on, again. Cecil took this note to call it quits. He wasn't tired, and never was, but perhaps he was bored. This suddenly felt to him like a waste of time, but he knew he had enough time that he couldn't help but waste some of it.

As he walked back into town toward his apartment, Cecil decided that a vacation would do him some good. It wasn't like he hadn't the troths to take one. He never bought food or drink, and he never wasted money on controlling the temperature of his room. A fund had been set aside to buy a real sword someday, a crystal one that even he couldn't break. But now that venture seemed silly to him. He resolved he would take a leave from work. They didn't need him, not in that season. Perhaps it would help to set his mind right again.

He took a shower with the coldest water he could. Sometimes he used the hottest, but it was warm that night and he assumed he might be warm. He toweled off and fought a juvenile urge to shake like a dog. He then brushed his teeth, mostly because he liked the minty taste of it. As he did, he had a chance to see his shirtless body. Perfect. No signs of emaciation, which he should be well past by now. There were no bruises from his earlier tumble and no burns from the lightning. Not that anyone else had ever seen him without full clothing, but it bothered him to see it. Not because he didn't like being in shape but because it only added to his confusion. He fixed that right up by throwing on a t-shirt and some jeans that were a bit large on him.

He spent the rest of the night laying on the apartment roof and watching the moons, one of his favorite forms of respite.

Four

The week passed by slowly as they always did. He bought a ticket to Mirwa, which was a small vacationer city a few hundred trots north of Redora. His employer encouraged the break, which gladdened Cecil. However, two days before he would board the rusty end of an old locomotive, there had been a prison break in Fraushein. The former governor of Chrissenia, Partheus, escaped and not without inside and outside help. When something like that happened, travel routes slowed down to comb for fleeing suspects. And even though Fraushein was half a continent away, Cecil knew he would be held up for some time before and after boarding. At least he wasn't an elf, as Partheus supposedly was.

Downtown Redora, (if you could say Redora was even large enough to have a downtown) where the station was, rarely had any congestion. Now however, Cecil thought he might be getting in line for free beer and burgers for life, as if that would do him any good. The seldom used steel line markers were being used, and from where he stood behind the station gate nearly outside its property he could see a very long snaking path of travelers leading up to the passenger train. Cecil didn't even think there were enough people in Redora to make up this line, at least not enough that needed to go somewhere during the dry season.

But he waited. Time was a luxury he had too much of. After a few hours of taking a single step at a time, he arrived at the security check. Cecil was patted down, questioned by an aemon guard, and laughed at by a little boy after almost tripping on a suitcase. He showed his ticket to the conductor and was delighted to find out that he was upgraded to a class better than Peasant Fare. The food would be better, which didn't matter, but also the smell would be improved. Cecil accepted this and boarded.

Five

He took a seat by a window on the right side. For the moment he was alone in his row. There were two empty seats next to him, then the isle followed by three more seats on the opposite side. In those seats across from him were two aemon, one male and one female, and an empty seat by the window. Cecil paid them no mind and began to look out his window with growing anticipation. The glass was a bit dirty, as could be expected, but was more than clear enough for him to see the foothills. From behind him he heard a man grumbling about the wait. He had to be at least five rows back and whispering, but Cecil heard him as if he were sitting beside him.

Cecil meanwhile gazed out the window. All sound around him seemed to become muffled as he fell into his thoughts. His mind drifted back to the Wolves. Now that he thought of it, Salina was not so far beyond the other two females in looks. And he'd seen models on commercials, and many of them were more appealing. Though he supposed the models were heavily coated in make-up, and they always had the right light. But if it wasn't a physical attraction, then it had to be something else, something deeper. The idea terrified Cecil, but he did not know why.

Six

By the time he moved on from this thought, the train was moving. He realized that he did not see it take off and knew it might have been moving for some time now. The window showed him that they'd yet to pass the mountains, as he could still see the foothills.

No sooner did he process this than his vision was obscured by absolute darkness, and the cab's inner lights flicked on immediately thereafter. They had entered a tunnel. This one in particular ran under Bishop Summit from one end to the other. It was miles long and would take a few hours to get through since trains always slowed to a crawl in such tunnels. There was no way to communicate with the outside world in here, and a minor problem could turn into a disaster. So let them take their time.

Most of the passenger slid blinds over their windows. Not so that they couldn't see the dark, as there was nothing to see. But because there were things out there that could see them. These tunnels were beyond useful for transit, but there were creatures that lurked in the dark and in caverns that split away from the rails. No one knew what these creatures looked like, and those that did couldn't tell anyone else. If the train were to derail, they would all find themselves victims to these monsters of darkness. Perhaps they would be killed outright, or maybe the things in hiding were hungry. And there was always the chance that they would be held captive. That is except for one of course. Cecil wondered if he would help his fellow riders in such an event and thought that he might not. The thought chilled him.

He sat in solitude, though he was surrounded by people. None sat next to him, but their presence was all about him. Most were asleep. Some were reading. And one or two were also gazing out their windows, though they didn't share a cab with Cecil. He sat there and thought.

The prison break had been a success, more or less. They had been spotted by three guards, but Salina and Arthur were able to incapacitate them before they raised alarm. No need to kill them. They were just doing their job. Nelrene unlocked Partheus's cell, and they were off. With Marianna driving an unassuming little four door beater car that contained a new set of clothes for Partheus, everything was well enough.

When they had him off the grid, Arthur gave him a haircut (once being a barber himself), a shave, and some brown hair dye to further cover up his wheat blonde mane. Partheus could've been any normal, head buried in sand elf.

Seven

They needed him to find the last and youngest of their order, and Partheus was happy to oblige. He had been caged up for over a year and a half now and knew that the public execution was scheduled in a few weeks. Not that he was worried about his own death very much, but there were others. And he wanted to save them. To top that, he had become restless relaying messages in his cell, and the fresh air was a warm welcome although it was a crisp autumn breeze that first met his newly shaven face.

The youngest had been lost on their way to Fraushein. Surprisingly, it seemed that Dahzir and the Leviathans had lost him as well. If he'd been captured they'd have done to him what they did to Hodge, or at the very least kept him locked up to study. Neither of these were the case, and that was good. If he had found a way to stay under the radar, then he could help them in their final push to free the Chrissenians. Dahzir would be expecting an assault to come soon, and they knew it. But the boy, Cecil had been his name, could be the only real trick to hide up their sleeve.

It had occurred to them, or at least to Arthur, that Cecil might be under the radar to stay away from THEM. It wasn't so unbelievable to imagine. In the short amount of time that Cecil had been with them, he experienced much. Not that any of it would break him. But they also knew that that kind of stress could be problematic to a fresh werewolf. His mind didn't have time to attune to his new body, and having to cope with the circumstances around him as well could very well have made him unstable. If so then Cecil would be of little use to them or to himself.

But worries would only hinder, and they needed to press on with their plans. He'd never been to Harkem, of that they were sure. They supposed that if he'd kept on heading east from the mine, he could've found Redora or its sister town Bluefort. Those were the places which Partheus was to search. He'd need to be careful and stay away from public transit and "routine" road stops. But otherwise it would be a simple trek. He'd have no trouble traveling, but time was against them all. If he couldn't find Cecil and furthermore convince him to come to their aid by the end of the month in just three weeks, chances stood that they would fail. And even with him, success was slim.

Eight

They bid Partheus farewell and left to attend to their own machinations. Salina was the last to return to the "Speedster" as Arthur had come to call it. There was a tug to come with Partheus, to meet up with Cecil and see his young, hopeful face once again. In truth, she loved the boy though she did not know it. Her heart went out to him, as he was akin to her though she knew not why. But duty comes first, and she returned to the rusty little vehicle.

Partheus kicked up some dirt and watched it glow red in the taillights until his getaway car rounded a corner out of his sight. He let out a sigh and rubbed his smooth face. It hadn't been that smooth since the night he first met the werewolves. And now, two years later he felt that same face and watched the same werewolves move along their way, except one. And it was that one that he would find. By all the powers that be, he promised he would not allow his comrades to fall to execution blades while he still breathed. And for the time being he did breathe, and walk, and breathe some more. His journey had begun.

The aemon female across from Cecil had woken up and developed a liking for Cecil it seemed. She got up from her seat, waking her companion, and sat back down next to Cecil. Cecil all the while continued to stare out his window. Though he knew she'd decided to sit next to him, he couldn't care less.

Not that his indifference phased her. In fact, she didn't even seem to notice that he wasn't paying attention. She began to go on about how familiar he looked, something about the beach, and a few derogatory statements about her husband who was sitting across the way and not very happy. She put a hand on Cecil's shoulder, which he shook off from reflexes. After this she began to go on again about the beach, though this time Cecil was more aware of her. If what she said this time was just a copy of her last little dialogue, then she was telling Cecil about a fantastic nude beach that was just her absolute favorite. She told him that they could go there together after getting to Mirwa, as it was just a brisk walk away. Again she put her hand on Cecil's shoulder, but this time she began to rub his neck.

Cecil had seen a few odd happenings in his time (that he remembered), but this was somewhere in his top twenty. This time instead of shaking her hand off, he grabbed both her hands that were on his shoulder and, as gently as he could, and removed them. He wasn't expecting her to lean in and kiss him during his attempt to push her away, which he owed her success to. Her lips were soft and warm and had he not closed his teeth, Cecil would've known what her tongue felt like too.

Now it was too much. He pushed her back, spilling her into the isle. His voice was shaky as he found himself not entirely loath to her touch, but he managed to speak. "I don't know what you want." Though he thought he did, "Just leave me be, please." The final courtesy came out a higher pitch than the rest, but she seemed to get the point and moved back over next to her husband. Although she did smile and wink at him as she sat down again.

A few other people also had awoken from this little stir and turned their attention to the male aemon. After hearing a few admonishing words from people he didn't care about he decided to make a show. He stood up, puffed up his chest, and stood over the last chair on Cecil's side. And in a voice that was louder and deeper than his real voice he said, "Hey pal, you best stay away from my wife, or I'll make you regret it!" He balled up his right fist and began punching his left palm to show that he meant it, or perhaps because he was a child. Cecil was unsure which.

Not answering the aemon worked this time. Cecil heard the man say something to the degree of "that's what I thought" and sit back down next to his wife. When Cecil looked over, hoping he made no eye contact and warranted no more attention, he saw that the woman continued to push the man away when he tried to put a hand on her shoulder or on her hand. Cecil supposed their relationship wasn't going too well, but was content that they would probably keep that to themselves for the rest of the trip.

Nine

When the tunnel opened back up, almost everyone woke up who hadn't already. The train picked up its pace, and they were now racing through a valley surrounded by small, dwarfish mountains. The red sun was halfway back over the sky. Cecil could have asked someone with a phone or watch what the time was, but it was no more to him than a casual observation. And so was everything else. Again he lost himself in thought.

Partheus hadn't set off very far when he found a patch of wild pumpkins growing by the edge of the woods. He was hungry and hadn't really eaten since his imprisonment. Besides, pumpkin seeds were nostalgic to him, and it had been ages since the last time he'd eaten any.

Ten

It must have been a century and a half ago he thought. He saw himself, though younger and a bit higher strung. He was standing over a patch much like this one, though he supposed they were all just about the same. He watched himself cut them open, eat the seeds, and roast the guts for a later meal. And as it was then, he did so again. He remembered that time with a feeling that seemed to lift up his insides and make him laugh.

It had been a few days after he stood up for a convicted man, one that was innocent. But the governor of Farburg, which lay on the opposite side of the world, did not like to see his guillotine go dry. Partheus had pleaded with the officials to let the man go. He was accused of nothing more than failing to return a book to the town library. The very idea of executing a man for such a thing was ludicrous. And Partheus was powerless to stop any of it. But just because Partheus did not succeed in saving the innocent man did not mean that his head was safe either.

They meant to kill him also for corroborating with the guilty. And so he fled. He would not stand to have another innocent person killed, even if it was himself. That had been the first day of his real life. He was chased for a time, but the efforts to stop him grew smaller daily. Eventually he was free but without a home. He'd decided to go as far as he could and farther. He hitched rides, rode trains, walked, and ate trash when he had to.

But now he would eat pumpkins again and set out on a mission that was far more important than his own freedom.

# Away

One

The train docked at a station in Mirwa, which was a destination for tourists and history buffs. Cecil was the first out of his cab and the first to be frisked and patted down for weapons. He wondered who would've hidden weapons on the train to get past the check in Redora and decided the idea wasn't farfetched.

When the check was over, he was free to roam the city but not before being confronted by three tour guides. They were all novians, and Cecil would've said they were triplets as similar as they were. They were all female, about half Cecil's height, and wearing hair that blazed redder than the sun. But when they began to pester the riders, Cecil decided they were not sisters. Each had an opposing tour with the others, although a true tourist would want to go on all three. Their competitive manner of attracting clients worked on a few, but most were repelled by the trio.

After further thought, Cecil decided they might be sisters and walked past them.

The station house was built of solid marble. The booths spread throughout were made out of wood that Cecil believed was ebony. The light fixtures were hung from the ceiling like chandeliers, though only the one at the center of the boarding room was a true chandelier. What wasn't ebony or marble was gold plated and silver rimmed. Under the chandelier was a four sided grandfather clock. It reminded Cecil of Big Ben, although he had no idea what that was. Each side was identical. The minute and hour hands along with the numerals were made of gold as was the pendulum swinging below each face. The structure of the clock appeared to be made out of polished silver, though Cecil wondered if it wasn't steel. He walked around the clock with its head standing another six feet above Cecil's and was amazed by it. He wasn't so impressed by the clockwork but by the extent this city put into its glamor.

Two

The streets were paved with red bricks. Though that was very eccentric, Cecil thought they'd become rather slick in winter time. The rest of the buildings he saw for the most part were not quite as ornate as the station house, but each had its own charm. The idea that each building he saw, whether it be marble, stone, or manor, was a bit different from the others made him believe that they were privately owned.

He walked through that side of the city for a bit and admired the structures. After having his fill of that, he moved farther down town where the museums were. It wouldn't do to come all this way and do nothing but stare at houses owned by the upper class, of which he was certain were more than a few wolf dogmen.

The first place he meant to visit was the Museum of War, everyone's favorite. Cecil was not surprised to see a fair line waiting outside to get in and took his place in the back. There was an admission fee, for which he was prepared. There were families and couples in line with him. He didn't see anyone else that appeared to be alone, which struck him softer than he thought it would.

The rest that had entered wore a higher manner of garb than Cecil. He knew that they probably took trips like this one often and had no need to really dip into their savings. But more than anything they reminded him that he'd forgotten to bring extra sets of clothing for his stay. Cecil couldn't go a whole week in a place like this wearing the same thing daily. He didn't care if he wasn't entirely presentable himself, but if someone realized what he was doing they might bar his entrance to places he desired to go to.

As he thought of this he sighed and handed over a few Troths to the doorman. The elf gave him a puzzled look as if thinking he couldn't understand why Cecil would be unhappy entering the museum and furthermore why he would be willing to pay for it. A ticket was handed to Cecil then. He looked at it and noticed a small stipulation near the bottom edge of the paper "not valid if hole has already been punched." And it wasn't but a few steps inside when a second attendant took the slip from Cecil, punched a hole in it in no place in particular, and handed it back.

Three

The museum itself was shaped like a wheel, and it was common practice to turn left after entering and walk until you came back to the entrance. There was a courtyard in the center with four doors leading to and from it from the four points of the compass. Cecil did as everyone else did and turned left toward the armor displays. If he hadn't seen where all the families and couples were headed, there was a large arrow on the wall across from the second attendant pointing in that direction.

He felt a horrible disconnection as he walked through The Armory. Cecil had been afraid that he would come here without feeling refreshed, and even though this was just the start of his time here, he knew it was a bad way to get started and would set the tone for the rest of his vacation.

But then there was something, two sets of armor behind glass that he recognized. Cecil walked up to their display to see a green and a blue set of crystal armor. The leggings on the blue looked just like the ones he had stowed away back at his apartment. Feeling interest he read the plaque below the display.

Berin Faust Armor: One of the first experiments with crystal molded into armor. These prototypes were not made with thinned pieces but with full thickness plates as was done with ancient steel armors. Their weight was usually too great for those that it fit, and if it wasn't the wearers often grew exhausted quickly. The blue and green color comes from metal powders added to the crystal as it cooled and became indestructible. This coloring was done not for vanity but for concealment, as crystal is almost transparent in its natural state after refinement. Though thick these armors are actually poor at protecting against powerful foes or long falls as they are not single pieces as today's armors are. Instead these armors were crafted plate by plate with strong epoxies. The epoxy holds up for over a century under regular use but could be eroded with chemicals or unbound with enough force. In 427 of the last Imperial Era these armors were first crafted, making them well over 3000 years old! And by 441 they were replaced by more modern one piece armors, though the thin and comfortable sets of today were not crafted until just recently in 2773 of the new Trothic Era.

Cecil read this over twice to make sure he had it right. How did he come to possess three thousand year old leggings? All he remembered was walking into Redora with them on and shirtless. Nothing before that was clear except for Ectoplas, but he didn't have them then. He must have acquired them in the time between. That month or so that was just blackness in his mind.

And what was before Ectoplas? He remembered people that looked a lot like him, novians but taller and with duller hair but not much else. He knew he must also have attained most of his knowledge from the time before Ectoplas, since he did little in the way of real learning since coming to Redora. He read books, but when did he learn to read? How did he know how to ride a bike and fish? No one ever taught him how to, and he knew that it wasn't taught to him in that dark month.

Four

And he kept walking. These thoughts would, he knew, keep him occupied tonight while he didn't sleep. From there he became detached again through all the sections about tactics and historical figures, battle grounds and war lore.

But when he came to the weapons section, there were a few things that caught him. The first thing he saw was a model of a net gun, which utilized magic catalysts to create a mesh-like net to entangle opponents. He knew he'd never seen one of these guns before but felt as if he'd heard of it. And with that feeling he wondered how he didn't feel certain earlier that he hadn't seen the green Berin Faust armor or upper parts of the blue, which made Cecil ponder if he had the upper pieces at some point and the green set also.

What he saw next made him stop and clutch his chest and head. A dwarfish woman was about to run over from her post as a guard to help but stopped herself when Cecil stopped. He saw mounted on the wall above him a great sword, a buster as tall as he was. It was made of red crystal and symbolized death to Cecil. He was absolutely certain he'd seen this sword before, and whoever held it was grinning.

He closed his eyes to regain himself and saw a desert all around him. At his feet and all about him were dead bodies torn to chunks in clean cuts. At first he was afraid that it had been him that killed all these people, but then he saw a man standing under an arch about a hundred feet in from of Cecil. The man was at a distance, but Cecil knew he was laughing. In the man's hands was this sword, but it was stained a deeper red with the blood of those around Cecil. And Cecil knew this man. It was Dahzir, the king of Destursha.

He opened his eyes and no one seemed to notice what he'd just gone through. That was good. If he hadn't been so sure, Cecil would've thought what he saw was a metaphor. But he knew better. What he just saw was a memory, of that he was certain. This made him wonder just what kind of past he had. One that involved ancient armors and the new king on killing sprees. It was, if nothing else, interesting.

Five

The remaining part of the museum was the courtyard, which displayed the various vehicles used in battle. Many were scaled down as some were larger than the museum itself in actuality. The engineering strides impressed Cecil though nothing in the yard brought forth a memory. Having seen all he cared to see, he left to find a place to stay.

Daytime was in its dying hours when Partheus came to the first town he suspected. Redora had once been a place that held some of his relatives, though they and all their friends had long since passed. Whatever the case, he suspected Cecil might have come here and maybe even stayed, Partheus hoped. He knew it was more than possible that he might have just come through here and passed on farther. Cecil may still be wandering and impossible to find. But Partheus prayed that the young werewolf would be nearby, as coming up with an alternate plan this late could and would cost many people their lives.

Six

Stores were still open at this hour. It wasn't all that late, but it seemed later this time of the year when the sun would set so early. He walked into a little diner named Steaks For Goodness Sakes. There were a few small groups of people eating inside. He tried not to look too intently at anyone in particular, in case someone would be able to see through his guise. The place had red booths and matching bar stools at the counter. It was a typical diner to see back on Earth, of course Partheus had never been there. The counter was stained with rings from coffee, of which a waitress was now wiping up.

She was an ogre with a slate grey complexion. Her arms were strong and tired looking, and she wore a face that seemed to be a thousand years older than the working arms she employed. Her black hair was tied back and in a net so that it would not be in her way or in the food. She looked up at Partheus for moment and then continued to wipe the counter with a dish rag. She continued to wipe away as she asked him, "Can I help you, hon?"

Partheus suspected that he might be older than her, but supposed she was more worn, and he nodded. Though she didn't see the nod (or at least he didn't think she did) she raised her head and slung the rag over her shoulder. Now he could see her grey eyes and the tiredness in them. Partheus almost wanted to offer to clean for her, but he knew he hadn't the time. So he got right to his point. "Yeah," he started and made a smile hoping to ease the waitress's tension, "I'm an old friend of a kid named Cecil. He's a novian (he knew Cecil was not) about my height, but maybe a bit shorter. So he's pretty tall for one. Wheat brown hair, nothing vibrant. I imagine if you'd seen him you'd remember. He's quite diff—"

"Cecil?" She broke in as if knowing his business was urgent, though it was clearly just her wanting to get her work done, since he didn't appear to be buying food, "Yeah, that kid is huge for a novian. Sort of like those Wolf Order people or Dahzir's new vessel. Well, there are probably more of them out there but I don't get out often. Whadya need to know about him?"

He was amazed to be so successful in finding out where Cecil was, so it took him a moment to reply. "Where he's at. I need to talk to him and it's really important."

"Well," She said, "you'll be able to find him over at Cornelius's General Store. He's a clerk there, but really he's the assistant manager under Cornelius."

"Thanks," he said almost ready to run out the door, "but where is this store exactly?"

"Half a trot up this road on the left." She pointed toward the center of town though a wall blocked the view of it. "Right next to an apartment building. Might be where he lives too for all I know."

"Thanks again." And with that Partheus was out the door and walking again. The air was cool but pleasant until it gained momentum. The wind hitting his face numbed it and made him want to go back to the diner for coffee, but he had no means to purchase it even if he did go back. Night would come soon and he'd need to build a fire to keep warm. A room at a motel was too risky and again unobtainable. He thought back to his escape and regretted that he hadn't asked for a coat to compliment his disguise.

Walking would keep him warm enough for now, and he could talk to Cecil in the comfort of a building. Perhaps they could converse in a backroom where revealing his identity wouldn't cause alarm. Still Partheus could not get over how successful he'd been. It had only taken him the better part of a day to get here in Redora, and by some luck this was just where he needed to go. This was something he could get used to and fast.

Seven

Then again, he wasn't sure if it would be so easy to ask Cecil for help. He'd made no attempt to contact his former allies, and based on how much freedom he had to spare that wasn't a good sign. Maybe he was stockpiling preparations for when The Order came to find him, but Partheus knew better. This would take some negotiating, some pleading, and a soft heart on Cecil's side. So, he supposed, this might not be quite as easy as it seemed.

He came upon the store. It was bigger than a general store should be in his mind, but it wasn't a colossal department store either. Partheus imagined that this was probably the only real store in town and therefore it had to be at least a bit on the larger side. He walked in through one of two sets of double doors. Despite how much light was coming from the inside, the place was almost empty.

There was a dwarfish man at the counter standing on a stool to come up to the counter. His hair both on the front and top of his skull was orange and coarse. He regarded Partheus with a small bit of interest but said nothing. As Partheus walked up to him, the dwarf popped his back with a stretch and released a sigh.

"Hey there!" Said the dwarf, "Can I interest you in some Strahm beef jerky?" As he said this, he reached almost where the bags of jerky rested on a shelf next to the counter, failing he looked at the elf, and shrugged.

"Hmm," If there was anything Partheus liked more than good jerky, he didn't know of it. But he had to resist, had no choice but to, "no thanks." He paused a moment to rearticulate his original question, "Would Cecil be here now, by chance?"

"My assistant?" The dwarf asked and shook his head, "Nope. 'fraid he left to Mirwa just this morning on break. And good for him! That boy works much too hard."

There it was, the challenge, the catch. Partheus laughed on the inside because he just knew it couldn't be so easy. "How long will he be off?"

"He said a week." The dwarf turned his head a degree off right and furrowed his brow, "What business do you have with him? If it's about the store, I AM the owner himself if you mean business. Otherwise I'm not sure what you want from him. Keeps to himself mostly."

Partheus couldn't wait for a week but was happy to get information. He looked down at the dwarf, who was still shorter than he even on the stool, and nodded, "No store business. He's just an old friend of mine that I need to catch up with." He turned away from the counter and walked toward the other pair of double doors. Before leaving he called back a thanks.

Before Partheus was fully outside, the dwarf yelled, "You could've at least bought something!"

Now that Partheus thought harder on the matter, getting to Mirwa was not going to be easy in even the smallest regard. He couldn't take a train and risk being captured, and he didn't have time to trek over the mountains. And Mirwa was big enough to hide Cecil (who keeps to himself) for a very long time. He'd need to get there and soon.

He spent a few hours after that acquiring travel information, mostly from scattered papers and signs. It seemed he had one way to get to Mirwa in less than a week, and he didn't like it. He tried over and over again to find another way and brooded over it as he sat by his fire outside of town that night. Finally he accepted it, had to. The only way was to follow the rails through the mountain, and he'd need to do it by foot.

Eight

Cecil spent most of that night thinking of his past. He tried to start where he remembered in Ectoplas, but something was wrong even in those memories. He could see himself getting up from lying on the ground, but his hands were different. When he pushed himself up, there were claws where his nails should be and dark hair, no fur, on his arms. Nothing was clear between that and meeting Dahzir in the desert.

He decided to find a high place to sit and watch and think. He would wait for the city to wake while he tried to remember. And when it did, perhaps he'd find some new sets of clothes. All this time he had. Cecil knew he must use it somehow, and sitting and trying to remember what might be better left forgotten seemed like a waste of time. But he knew somewhere inside of himself that he wouldn't be whole until he remembered. He knew that his true self lied in those days that were shrouded by fog.

There was an overlook that gazed upon the city from an outreaching platform on the side of a hill to the north. Cecil sat here after hiking up the hill to notice he'd missed the steps. At night the city was dark, and few lights were lit. He could remember seeing cities aglow with artificial lights at night. Always bustling and always noisy. But that had been back . . . where had that been?

The furious red sun crested over the horizon and brought life to the sleeping city. Cecil could see people coming out of their hotels and houses after dawn and going about their business. Some stretched and yawned when the sunlight hit them on the other side of the door, reminding Cecil of a feeling he had a hard time remembering. It wouldn't be long now before people came to this overlook to see the sunrise, and he didn't care to stay and watch it with them.

He took the steps this time that brought him down on a street he'd been the night before. He made his way from there to where he'd seen closed stores. If he was going to buy clothes, he might as well do it now. The stores were worlds apart from their nighttime counterparts. Darkness and abandonment were replaced by light and movement, which amazed Cecil. So governed by the light were these people, and he supposed he would be too.

Nine

Manns was the store he walked into, a popular low priced clothing chain on Destursha. Cecil just hoped that they had clothes that fit him properly. Shirts weren't so hard for him to come by, as dogmen and aemon were his size. It was the pants that could be a challenge. Both aemon and dogmen had tails to be dealt with when wearing pants, and if you didn't have one to fill the hole in the back of your pants, people could see your underwear. Of course novians had no such tails, but if he were to try and wear novian sized jeans, he'd hardly cover his knees. And of course there were elves, who had the exact same kind of clothes Cecil needed but were always too slim for him to put on.

He found a few pairs of shirts without much trouble, and had no more resistance with the two sub clothings. He ended up asking an employee if they had any oversized elven jeans or perhaps some ogre wear that wasn't so ridiculously large. They had none and decided that he might be able to get by a bit longer without fresh jeans.

Now that he had luggage of a sort, it would be best if he could find a hotel to keep his wear out of the elements. Cecil had accounted for hotel costs before he left even though he knew he didn't need to stay in one. He carried with him now about four and a half thousand troths, which would be horrendously stupid for people who were vulnerable to being stabbed or shot. And at this point he wanted to blow the money somehow. He had too much of it and never any reason to spend it. He thought of how terrible he must be to have all this cash to spend and bemoan it. Maybe, he thought, if he didn't spend it by the time he returned to Redora, he would give it all away.

There was an inexpensive (comparatively) hotel five blocks uptown from the station. He hated the idea of staying in a place so posh, but it was the cheapest he'd seen since entering town and doubted he'd find any more reasonable.

He walked through the main entrance which was a large rotating glass door. He'd always thought these doors were artful but inefficient, but he had to wonder when he'd seen one of these before. The lobby was adorned with oak furniture and seats that looked comfortable enough to swallow whoever sat in them. The sitting area was to the left and separated by a doorless threshold. To the right was a gift shop with a novian man sitting at a register in wait of customers. The lighting was soft, and every bulb had a shade. He wondered if this was to hide dirt or to create atmosphere and also thought that reading here would be difficult for the reservationist.

Ten

There was a solitary clerk sitting at a peninsula with a stairwell to one side and an elevator to the other. She was an elf taller than Cecil and about half as wide. She gave him a smile, and he expected to see signs of emaciation pop forth when she did, but of course this was just elven build. Her name tag suggested that her name was Reya: Daytime Manager. He knew this second half was not her name but her title, but he laughed on the inside despite himself.

"And how can I be of service, sir?" Her voice was serious and lower than it should be. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold.

"I need a room for the next six days, five nights." He'd looked away and at the chairs in the next room.

"Just for you?" She asked and followed up, "And what kind of bedding arrangements? We have some of the very best suites in all of Mirwa."

Cecil's attention was brought back and he stumbled at first to reply. Thankfully she didn't press him to answer but instead continued to stare at her monitor, which showed her what was available. "Anything," He began, "as long as it's inhabitable." Cecil wanted to add an "even if it isn't" at the end but thought better of it not to.

"Economy rate, hmm?" She grinned but never took her eyes off the computer screen, "We've got a room just above us, number thirteen, that's available. Is that alright with you?"

He couldn't know if it was fine for him or not, as he'd never been to that room or any room in the hotel but acknowledged the courtesy. "Yes, that's fine for me."

She clicked and typed at the keyboard then looked up at him for the first time since he approached, "That'll be one thousand eight hundred and thirty seven troths and twelve coppers."

He paused for a moment. Cecil knew the price would be astronomical, but it slapped his face just the same. He didn't speak as he reached into his back left pocket and pulled out his wallet, an old leather trifold, and began counting out troths by the hundred until he counted nineteen. He handed them to the elf who just looked at him and then at the money for a moment before taking it. He wondered just what the cost would be if he'd asked for a suite and decided he didn't want to know.

She looked back up at him after counting the money herself and said, "Since you are paying with cash, I'll need a security deposit of two fifty. It will be given back upon departure if no damages or problematic disturbances are made by your person."

He reached for his wallet again and drew two more hundreds. If he did his math well enough, he should be covered now and get back twelve troths and some coppers. She took the money and began to click away again. When she finished, she opened up a drawer under her desk and grabbed a keycard for Cecil. She handed it to him and then gave him twelve troths and eighty eight coppers.

She explained to him how to get to his room and did so by moving her arm upward and then twisting it to show a turn. Cecil always thought these kind of arm motions were amusing because while they were nonsensical, almost anyone could understand what they meant. He used the stairs to get there.

Eleven

He settled himself in the room, which was still beyond his needs with its enormous television and queen sized bed. There were paintings on the walls of different places in Mirwa, some of which he recognized while others he'd yet to see. He found his right hand coming up to his forehead as a reaction to this decadence. But here he was, and it would work.

He looked at his keycard and at the black strip on the back which allowed him to enter his room. He marveled at just how clean the card itself was, almost as if it had just been printed up that day. It was a green card with the hotel insignia on the front and the number of his room. The symbol the hotel used was two crescent moons coming together in a way that made a ring. At the center of the ring were the initials L.B., which stood for the hotel's name Luna's Band. Luna was an old myth about a witch that had power over the hearts of Artemis and Orion, and she was married to the essence of black crystal itself and was a part it. Silly as the myth was, it did make for good marketing for the hotel, and Cecil thought the use of twin moons to make a ring was clever.

Now he would need to decide what to do for the remainder of his stay.

# Under the Mountain

One

Partheus had a long life and was willing to give it up if it meant saving his friends, but he would not give it up before saving them. He refused to allow that to happen. Now that the red sun hung over him, he knew it was time to get to Mirwa. Walking would take him only until the next morning to get there, but that wasn't his concern.

The creatures that lived under the mountains were abominations. Though few knew it, Partheus knew many were the thrown away experiments of Dahzir and his crystal projects. They were people at one time but no more. Now they were slobbering monsters that didn't resemble anything sentient, but held all the malignancy that was put into them from Dahzir. They would kill anything that didn't feel the pain that they felt, and in this had a community of writhing monsters. Many were poisonous, and their bites would eat way at a soul. Some could change normal people into monsters, and though it may seem that these things had some semblance of sanity left, this was false. Their minds were so twisted and warped by evil there was no longer any trace of compassion and sympathy in them. They would kill, and they would eat but never stop to think about it.

And some were just monsters from birth. Either born from the mating of the experiments or born from primal things that lived with them. These creatures were never people, and if they were there was no possible way to know it. These things were remnants of ages long ago. A few were from the age of Artemis and Orion and were so mutilated by Orion's magic that they mutated into awful things no one should ever even have to see. Some might have been animals, and some may very well have been plants. They were hunted by the many who were left alive and unscathed and so hid themselves in the deepest caverns of the world. Had the rails not been heavily guarded by warriors and mages much like the ones that ruined their existence, then the builders would've been made meals out of by the monstrosities that hid in the shadows beyond the tunnel that was carved. And even now their hatred for those that ride in the trains burned white, but they dare not attack the trains lest they be hunted once more. Perhaps these ancient ones still retain thought, but if so it is little more than the instinct of survival.

Two

Partheus's knowledge of these things was one of the reasons that he had to take flight again later in his old wanderings. It was also this knowledge that helped to secure the sentence given to him and all those he cared for. Their blood would be on his hands if he didn't do something to stop the execution, and if that meant facing the creatures that all fear live in their closets as children, then so be it. Their gazes might curdle blood and their teeth may rend souls, but Partheus would endure if it meant helping the ones he loved.

He found the entrance to the tunnel. Another train wouldn't be through again for a few hours, and there were none around that could see him. He considered what the chances were of being caught trying to ride the train and thought the odds were against him. As he stood by the mouth of the darkness, he could hear the echo of crunching coming from within. The sound of it chilled his spine, and he dreaded to think of what was making the noise and worse yet why it was making it.

The things inside had nostrils and ears of otherworldly hunters and would catch him as soon as he was out of the light of day. Partheus had learned a cloaking spell a century ago during the final days of his wanderings, which he believed saved his life when he first entered the Dark Forest. He hoped he knew how to cast it still and focused his thoughts, as spells were really no more than focus and being able to control the energy in your soul (the stronger your soul, the stronger the spells were that you could cast). This was a child's spell, and he knew he'd hardly been able to cast it back then and hoped his strength hadn't waned since. He thought of unseen, invisible, quiet, silent, unheard, odorless. And kept thinking and focusing only on these. Truthfully it was a spell that anyone could use if they knew how to, but for him this was a feat. For him this was Orion shattering continents. Had the creatures inside known that he was unaware of his surroundings, they would have come from the darkness, revealing their hideous shapes, and taken Partheus there. Some would have gone straight to eating him, but there were some that would have raped him first and toyed with him like a cat does. But none of the abominations knew this, and Partheus was safe for the time being.

He let his focus break free and be cast. He stomped his feet and was pleased to hear nothing. He couldn't smell himself when he lifted his wrists to his thin nostrils, but had to hope that that part of the spell worked also. The hands by his nose were visible but translucent, but the creatures within would be blind. He took a deep breath, building his hope up as much as possible that this spell would last until he came to the light on the other side of the tunnel (and hopefully not the one you see after death).

Three

After steeling himself more, he took his first steps inside. The overhang of the tunnel's mouth drifted behind him, and the rays of the sun stopped warming the back of his neck. The sound of crunching was louder, and there were wet sounds now that he didn't even dare think about. As he walked, the light grew dimmer and dimmer. Finally there was no light, and all that Partheus saw and heard was darkness and horror.

He crept along the walls, and even though his footsteps were muffled, he stayed on his toes and moved at a crawl. Making sure never to stray far from the rails, Partheus was amazed at just how close he was to the mutants. He had to be sure not to step on anything he heard making those wet slushing sounds or the terrible grinding he heard that must be chewing. Once he nearly stepped on a thing that seemed to be a pool of sludge but was some kind of enormous ameba sopping up nutrients. Partheus couldn't see the creatures he was avoiding, but he could in a way. Just by the sounds his imagination began to piece together what these things looked like. Not that their appearance mattered very much. He was certain that even if they retained normal forms, they would still rip his limbs from their sockets and pop out his eyeballs like cherries.

He thought he had to have been walking for an entire day but knew that was just his mind playing tricks. There was a period where the monsters didn't seem so near, lingering a bit farther out in the dark. It was during this less tense time that he thought of how he first learned of these things, the reason for his final flight to Chrissenia.

Four

That century ago when he was not young, but he was still not as old as he was now. He found work in The Courier and delivered mail. It was a simple job, and his legs and lungs were strong from all his time spent in the wilderness. Moreover, he didn't mind having some troths to eat some real food and have a real bed. Most of his coworkers never thought about their jobs and just what it was that they were doing. But he did.

Of course, nothing he ever carried had anything to do with national security, and Partheus refused to open mail and read the secrets it contained. Even so he and his coworkers were continually instructed to never breech the confidentiality of the mail service, which he never did. Not really, that is.

But sometimes old enemies just never die. He thought now that he could've seen his fate coming, but in his heart knew what happened was inevitable. The old governor of the Eastern Regions where Partheus had once called home had followed him. Not physically but with agents. The governor knew where Partheus was. That much was evident. And worse still, it seemed that he still harbored anger for the elf.

Partheus's undoing was in a letter, one that he picked up from a sister office himself and was meant to deliver to the local Guard. Of course the governor, Bishop, couldn't have known that Partheus was the one to deliver. Even so, it was the only thing that kept the elf alive.

He was supposed to deliver a bundle of mail to the Guard Post in Hurlinge, nothing out of the ordinary. But when he reached the steps of the Leviathans, he double checked to make sure he was at the correct address. And there it was, a letter with his name on it addressed to the head of security.

Now was his undoing and his salvation. The top letter in the banded together bundle he pulled from his traveler's sack was headed "Criminal Partheus Sallow, Mailman and Outlaw." He took the letter and tore it open, never thinking about who might see it, and read its contents. It was as expected, a request for Partheus's arrest signed by a governor. He knew that if he delivered the letter, especially as it was now, that he'd not only be jailed but executed also. But turning around and walking away was no longer an option. A guard spotted Partheus opening the letter and was briskly walking toward the elf from his post by the barrack door.

Partheus saw the guard and ran. Now he was a criminal, running from the law before the law even confronted him. He never thought to dump his bag, only run. And then all the years of being a vagabond paid off. He was able to get away from the city and to the outskirts of the Dark Forest. The Leviathans fell back to make a strategy, but he knew also that they feared the woods. He feared it also.

A spell he'd learned once by another traveler to better take trash without being noticed rose to the surface of his mind. At this point it may help him escape and survive whatever was in the wood. Knowing that the guards were closing in, he stopped for only a few moments. It had been hard for him to cast back then but not as hard as it was now. As the growls of angry soldiers again began to run past Partheus's ears, he cloaked and ran further in.

Looking back on it now, he knew he should've been caught even so. The ground had been soft and he left tracks behind. But the fear of the forest was strong. The trees grew thick enough to make the ground absolute black even at midday. And people always did, do, and will have a phobia of that which they cannot see, of the unknown. What lies in darkness is usually not so frightening in the light, but what the imagination can do to truth is extreme. They would've caught him up ahead when he was stuck in mud or caught on thorns, but they did not. He knew his escape wasn't because they couldn't find him but because they didn't want to. They'd believed he would be killed in the darkness without their help and did not want to join him.

In truth, there was some magic to the forest. The trees themselves were not the kind that one finds in a rain forest that build a thick canopy. Most were pine, oaks, or maples. The darkness was a force, not an effect. Trothos had many times attempted to burn the woods to the ground to chase out the Chrissenians, if they were still alive that is. But the woods also stood up against flame and seemed to never kindle even in the dry season.

That first night in the Dark Forest had been the only other time Partheus had been as afraid as he was now. The unknown was all around him, and that did far more to make him uneasy than the crunching and sloshing noises he heard now. He'd built a fire once he was sure the Leviathans wouldn't follow him to it even if they could see it. Though the living trees seemed immune to flame, the deadwood he found burned well enough. He didn't know it then, but he knew now that the wood only burned for him because it allowed him. It was late summer and still quite warm even in the Dark Forest, but he felt cold. He hoped he wasn't catching his death and hoped even more that nothing living in the woods would see this fire. Looking back on it, the situation seemed comfortable enough, but then he had never been so troubled.

He felt eyes on him. These didn't feel like the stalking kind that would reveal the face that held them when he fell asleep and became vulnerable. They just seemed to regard him, perhaps even study him a bit as if assessing whether or not he was a threat. Where the eyes were he thought might be deeper in. As he fell asleep that night, shaking and nervous, he decided to go farther in and meet up with the possessor of these eyes. Most likely he would die, but then again old age would kill him one day too.

Five

Partheus held in his laughter when he looked back at this, unless he wanted one of the mutants to detect him. Back then he had no idea just how safe he truly was. He believed his death may very well be lurking just out of the light of the fire. He pictured terrible creatures, much like the ones he was avoiding now, that were plotting on how to kill him in the cruelest way possible. It made his sleep uneasy and filled with nightmares in which the forest was a dangerous place.

But for all his fear there was little to back it up, unless blind squirrels counted as monsters. He'd been like a child without a nightlight, afraid of his own thoughts. Of course, the squirrels didn't tear the flesh from his bones that night and neither did any of his imaginary creatures. He'd wake up the next morning just before noon in complete darkness, unscathed.

And that had been the worst of the fear. Once a child learns that the darkness can't hurt him while he sleeps alone in the silent blackness, the fears subside and he forgets why he was ever afraid to begin with. And that's how Partheus felt that morning. The death he was catching was just damp, cool air. The darkness held no sway over him and he ventured forth boldly into the forest beyond to where he felt the presence.

When he came to Chrissenia and met the dwarven guard of that time, Shult, and learned just how silly he looked as a grown man to shiver and quake at every broken twig. The dwarf explained that the fortress monitored the outlying woods and relayed video to a station in one of the turrets. Partheus was told that the place he just found was a haven from the corruption outside and that he was welcome to stay. It was here that he read the mail he'd forgotten to dispose of in flight and learned a few things about Dahzir's experiments. Over time he learned more of what his government was doing and understood why people would hide where no one would dare look for them.

At that time Chrissenia had only a few dozen citizens and required Partheus to pull his weight, which he was well used to. In time he became more influential and came to be the acting mayor. And for the next ninety some years he recruited more of those that wouldn't settle living in a world of evil. He helped to expand the walls from accommodating a few dozen to a few thousand. The forest yielded wood when they needed it and protected them from those who sought their heads on pikes for opposing the principalities of darkness. And that peaceful long life continued for him for many years, until he met the werewolves.

Six

The Order had been the downfall of Chrissenia but could also be a lasting solution, and Partheus knew it ever since they came stumbling in with Folas. It was a gamble, but the dice had already been rolled. Now it was up to him and Cecil to draw double sixes in this game. But if success came, hiding may no longer be forced upon them. They couldn't continue to live in the forest forever. Eventually someone would have the courage to travel the woods and cast aside the superstitions of the people. And even if that never came, room would not permit permanent establishments. The woods would grow tired of harboring the growing Chrissenians and its magic would wane and die.

As he lost himself in these thoughts, Partheus tripped on a pebble and went sprawling. He made no sounds, but the gravel he threw struck unhappy mutants along the wall to his right. Two of them, two he thought at least, lurched from their places and wrestled to where they thought the rocks came from. This was thankfully two feet behind Partheus's worn boots that were just starting to lift him from the ground. They didn't hear him rise but jostled behind him as he tried to increase the gap between himself and the awful things. He heard their gurgling angry roars and the sound of them biting one another. Their screams of pain were like wailing demons, and he thought that was what they were.

As Partheus continued to walk, the sound of the fighting things calmed. He was so relieved and distracted by this that he walked right into a wall. Well, he wished it was a wall conveniently place just next to the tracks, but he knew it wasn't. He just collided with a ten feet tall sliming abomination. He must have bumped its back, as he heard its dozen or so feet shuffle to turn itself around. There was a goop on Partheus face that he wiped off in case it was poison, but in doing this flung the mucous on its maker and set it to rage.

What Partheus did next he didn't think about, had no time to. He leapt across the tracks and began running as fast as he could. Inside he wished these were like subway rails and filled with charge so that the creature he angered might kill itself trying to cross, but of course they were not and the thing followed him easily.

Now it wouldn't be so bad if it was just this one thing. Then maybe he could outrun it and continue his careful treading. But when the thing let out a roar from behind Partheus that threatened to break his eardrums, he heard a hundred similar, if less threatening, screams resonate in response. It had alerted its friends, and now Partheus had to contend with every living thing in this tunnel, which might be one less if he didn't hustle.

As he ran he heard feet under him and feared that the spell may also have worn off, although it was hard to tell with all the monsters chasing him now. Some sounded as if they had paws, others might have had feet just like a person's. The ones that bothered him most were the ones that sounded like the clicking an insect's legs make in films. He became afraid of being caught and simultaneously exhilarated. This kind of chase took a century off his age, and filled his mind with rebukes. He cursed himself on the inside that he should enjoy this in any kind of way, for it was a horrible thing to go through.

But his legs kept pumping. They weren't as swift, he thought, as they were a hundred years ago, but they were getting the job done. So far nothing was right on his back, but many were close. He wondered how far the exit was and thought it couldn't be but another two or three trots, which is a mile and half or two if he knew miles. He hoped his lungs could hold up that long, as he could already feel them burning in his chest. If that burning kept up for too long, he'd collapse whether or not his legs were fine. And then they would have him.

Seven

Cecil took a shower and got the smell of the city off of himself for now. He put on a black T-shirt he'd bought the day before and his old pants. It would do for now, but not for long.

His room had a window next to the bed he'd never use. He decided he would put it to good use and look out it. After all, he didn't have anything else planned for this vacation other than sightseeing. Outside he saw the city in all its grandeur, which to him was superficially impressive. This whole city would be rubble and dust if it was not maintained, but Cecil would live on. From here all the buildings seemed to be the same white or gray. He couldn't see the residential area from his room, but knew it was the only part that was different. Individuals lived there and not just bandwagon businesses.

He got down on one knee like a man getting ready to propose and then did something he regretted to say that he did less often than he should. He prayed, "Father, you are the ultimate power. You are infinite, and I am finite. From your well flows everlasting life. Forgive me for my anger, for there are many I have shown wrath. Forgive me for letting you slip away, for I know You'll never let go of me. Please, I beg, restore the memories I've lost. And if I am not strong enough to hold these memories, I ask that You would give me the strength. You have blessed me with this condition of physical immortality, and for it I am thankful. But I ask for direction so that I might be all that You want me to be. And for The Order. I know I am somehow tied to them. The world says that they are the enemy, the ambassadors of evil. But I know better. I feel that maybe they are just the opposite, and it is the world that is evil. Perhaps this feeling is from you." A surge of reassurance came over Cecil and he smiled broadly, "Then I would ask also that You put Your hand over them and guide them as I would have You guide me. But whatever happens let it be Your will that is done. Thank You for always listening to the words of my tiny being. Amen."

It had been a long time since Cecil had prayed with so much meaning as this. But he felt it was time to wake up from the false reality that he found himself in, and he couldn't do that with his own power. He rose and looked over the city again smiling. This world may pass on, but he hoped that he could have it pass in a better state. Cecil hoped that what he forgot would be restored to him, though he knew that even if that was granted to him, the time may come much later.

Eight

Partheus was now positive that he'd not make it to the end. His legs went up and down as quickly as they had when he jumped across the tracks, but now his lungs felt heavy and sore. His sides ached with branches of quivering muscles that screamed for relief. The end of the tunnel was in sight now, but the end of his life was even closer. At any moment he would lose his balance and collapse, and the predators behind him would catch their quarry.

As if knowing how close he was to failing, a new beast let loose a terrible cry. It was long and steady. The rest continued their growling and wet breathing in response as if too focused on Partheus to do otherwise. Then a light came not from ahead where the sun shone but from behind, and the beast let loose another roar. At once the elf understood what was happening and moved to the other side of the tracks. His pursuers attempted likewise but were run down by the train that again warned everything to move. There were awful death rattles and cries that sounded almost human as six of the abominations were torn and crushed by the moving freight. The train shook and the mayor of Chrissenia heard screams from the inside, but it stayed on course.

His running moved down to a fast walk that was more of a limp even though he was unharmed. At this pace he thought he could get out. The exit was only a few hundred yards now, and the train's cars still blocked him from the things that chased. But even at its slow pace, the passenger cabs flew by Partheus until they were all gone and no wall was up to protect him. There was no better time for the experiments to catch him.

But they stayed behind and let him go. He couldn't tell if they were crying over the loss of friends or celebrating over the remains of friends now food. He knew the difference between these two would forever affect his opinion of the mutants, but in his fatigue left the thought to stew. Now was the time to be free of this place. He was saved.

Nine

The sunlight itself froze his skin with its unfamiliar warmth (if that makes any sense). Now he noticed all the sweat trickling down his face and the true laboring of his lungs. He slowed to a steady walk but continued to breathe heavily. The monsters' howls were becoming less and less audible, and soon they'd be gone, but not from his memory. The air tasted better, and he thought it would do his aching lungs a true favor.

When he reached a point that he knew the mutants would no longer follow him, he collapsed under the shade of a maple tree near the track. He crawled to the other side where train passengers would have a harder time seeing him. Here Partheus stopped moving and wept. He wept for joy. He wept for pain. Mostly he wept because he could, and his body seemed to need it. He didn't sob and bellow as one does when they are frantically upset, but the tears came freely and he welcomed every one of them. After all, only the living can cry.

Ten

The elf awoke several hours later while it was still day. Most of his sweat had dried off the collar of his shirt, and his lungs were sore but no longer throbbing. He had no intention of taking a nap, but it did him well. He pushed himself up against the maple and rubbed the aching muscles below his ribs. It was times like this that made him wish he had lycanthropy.

Partheus stood up, pleased that he could still do such a thing, and started to walk. He would just walk for now. He didn't think he could run again if he needed to, not for some time anyway.

He could hear his steps again and saw his hands as they were. He wasn't sure if the spell had worn off while he was running or while he slept. But he felt almost certain that it had happened as soon as he walked into the enormous mucous covered mutant. His hands were covered in dust, and the sound of his steps were slow. He knew he was making slower progress than he had been before the tunnel, but that was fine.

The red afternoon sun cast orange light over his path, though it was a faint tint. The trees along the track to either side were just starting to lose their leaves. A breeze came from the west and, while it comforted him, reminded him that he needed something to drink. Birds that would soon go south chirped happily around him. It was a wonderful and peaceful place that in no way reflected the evil not even a mile away. The grass he walked on crunched under his boots, while the first leaves of fall came off their maples in front of him still green but ready to go.

As he went, the walking became easier and steadier. Soon he'd be going strong again, though aches and pains would come tomorrow. A mile up from the maple he slept under, he found a spring only a few yards into the woods. The water seemed clean to him, and that meant that it was. He bent down and drank the flowing water with his lips to the surface. After having his fill for now, he took his canteen that had been tied to his belt and filled it. Having the old steel bottle burdened with water brought him reassurance. Once his canteen business was done, he bent down and drank again before leaving.

Eleven

Cecil wasn't the kind of person that would go out and feed pigeons, but that's what he found himself doing this fine afternoon on the eighth of Almis. Here he was sitting on a wooden bench, alone, and throwing cheap bread onto the red bricks in front of him. There were some oaks in the park which was the only place with any vegetation in Mirwa, he reckoned. Every minute or two he'd hear an acorn come down and smack off the hard stones or land softly in the grass. He knew he shouldn't be able to hear what landed in the grass, with all the racket the squirrels were making, but he did.

He ran out of crumbs to throw and sought out something else to waste his time. Maybe he could go skip rocks on a pond or maybe kick a can. He could even go see a movie he didn't care for. And then he began to throw his arms up and flail them about to show his mind that, no, he would not do such pointless things. A few passersby looked at him quizzically but kept on moving, because they were busy busy busy.

Cecil decided that perhaps the best thing to do was call it quits on his vacation and head back. Maybe he could even get some of his hotel money back, though he doubted it. He'd like to learn more about this Order. And even though looking into that could be dangerous, he thought it would also be well worth his time. Well, he thought, I'll go back to my room and clear my head. Maybe stare out that window. And I'll come up with a decision in the morning. In truth, he would spend more time watching news reports than the cityscape, but his time would be taken up.

As he was about to walk through the revolving door of his hotel, he looked up to the western sky. The sun was setting there just as it did back on Earth, which was a place he knew he came from but never told anyone, because he couldn't. Though the thought of his old home was foggy, it was clearer now than it had been once. As he looked up at that familiar star, he marveled at the brilliance it cast as its light passed through bent atmosphere. Those pink and gold clouds were things he'd remember even if all else was forgotten.

Twelve

From the higher elevation of his room, he watched the sun go down over the horizon. He thought it reached its peak of beauty as half of it body disappeared over the hills to the west. He was glad that there were no tall buildings in between himself and the sun. Sunsets had never been special to him, but this one was. It wasn't the way the light was being bent or the idea of a day's end that brought him joy. It was the memory. As the sun bid its final farewell over the horizon, Cecil remembered. Not everything came back. The month of darkness was still hidden, but his life back on Earth before Ectoplas rose forth. He remembered going to school and how he had learned to read and perform math. He remembered reading books, playing games. And his friends and family. The werewolf remembered the good times and the bad, and never wanted to let go of either ever again. He even remembered meeting Salina in the woods by his house, but what she did to him he still could not remember.

The noise box was turned on, but he never even looked at it. He gazed past it into his past. He relished every moment he had to think about the past he'd forgotten. It brought a wonderful sensation to him to think of the first time he'd fallen off a bicycle and scraped his arms and hands. He could remember the pain, how bitter it was but always reminding him that he was alive. He remembered those he cared for and how some of them had died. Though their deaths brought forth a feeling of sorrow, it was fleeting before the long memories of the joy they brought in life. And before Cecil knew it, the hours began to slip away from him.

# Reunion

One

Now Cecil had been lost in his past for a few hours now, but he was still aware and snapped out of his daydreams when he heard the keycard go into his door. He shut off the television that he hadn't even been watching but had been the room's only light source. He stood up against a wall where no one entering would see him unless they already knew he was standing there. All this he did within the time frame of a second. His heart would be racing, but of course it stopped beating two years ago. And he waited for the stranger to come in and make a move, for it was the darkest hour of night now and surely not housekeeping.

The handle turned after approving the master keycard, and the door swung open. Cecil heard the stepping of a single foot. The stranger stopped just one step in and then began to speak in a tone barely over a whisper, "Cecil? Cecil Fauden? I hope I have the right room." The voice was a man's, a tired one at that. He took a few more steps in, closing the door behind him. He walked past the corner Cecil was standing behind while Cecil snuck up behind the man, barring the intruder from the door. The man turned a switch on the wall he found by prodding blindly at it. The lights in the room came on at once and showed no one in the bed or in the chair next to it. He decided it must be an empty room and turned around only to come face to face with Cecil. "Holy!" He screamed and would've added more, but the shock only let him spew out that single word. He went backwards onto the floor but kept his head from striking anything.

Cecil was shorter than the man but only by a few inches and twice as broad. He stood looking down at the interloper for a moment almost wanting to laugh, before he reached out his right hand to help the elf up.

Partheus took Cecil's hand and regained some of his composure, "You know, I'm old and full of stress. I could have had a heart lockup." He smiled and shook his head then continued, "Well, good to have finally found you, Cecil. You're taller than the last time we saw each other, but that only further distinguishes you from novians."

The elf's scent was familiar, of that Cecil was certain. But he couldn't say that they met, but he could not deny it either. "Partheus Sallow?" He asked. In truth, he had nothing to go off of. The elf was disguised by the haircut, shave, and dying. But Cecil felt it was his name, not because of the reports and pictures but because of that scent.

"Yes, glad to hear that you remember me." He walked over to the bed and sat down, which would be the most use the bed received so far while Cecil was the room's occupant. "This is going to sound forward, and I know it's been some time." A frown creased his face, "But I . . . no we, need your help."

Cecil didn't want to tell the elf that he didn't remember him, not really that is. But he went along with it, "Help? You'd have to elaborate."

"Of course." The elf echoed nodding, "But could it wait? I'm more than tired right now, and I need to rest badly." The bruised looking skin under the elf's eyes seemed to grow deeper as if to agree with this. "I'd ask that you put a sign on the door, so that we aren't disturbed. I'll drop the master card tomorrow where no one can see me but where it will be found. I'm not technically supposed to be here, more like I'm supposed to be about fifty trots away and in a cell. As I'm sure you know. But if you let me rest and keep anyone from finding me, I'll explain everything in the morning."

Cecil didn't speak but nodded in agreement. He thought that if the elf kept talking, he would die of exhaustion. As Partheus got off the bed to sleep on the floor, Cecil shook his head, "Take the bed. I'm not using it." Cecil watched the elf's eyes lighten as he smiled gratefully and passed out on top of the blankets. Cecil opened up the nightstand and pulled out the DO NOT DISTURB doorknob hanger. He opened his room door, looking left and right as if even this was covert, and hung the sign on the cold metal handle which acted like a knob.

Two

He spent more of that night thereafter looking out the window than he'd planned to. He half expected to see patrols get dropped off from carriers, a dozen or two soldiers ready to storm the hotel and take the elf back, but none came. He remembered from the screen earlier that he failed to look at that the authorities believed the elf was headed to Hurlinge. And so all was fine for now, but the elf was a fugitive and so was Cecil now. He knew there was still time to save himself from the ensuing chaos. All Cecil needed to do was use the phone in his room to call the Leviathans, but that wouldn't be right and he knew it.

Every now and again Cecil would turn and look at his guest to see if he stirred any more than before. It was always the same. The fugitive just laid there unmoving. He seemed almost dead, and Cecil thought that described Partheus very well. Almost dead.

No new memories surfaced for Cecil while he waited for dawn to come and his guest to awaken. The man would wake up and ask Cecil for aid, and he knew that he'd help even if the favor asked was radical. For this man was his kin in a way. He was a brother and an ally Cecil knew was hidden from his memory for now. He would ask Cecil to help The Order of the Wolf, and Cecil would comply.

No guilt came over Cecil, although his nerves were set on edge but not yet tipping. This made him even more certain that he was doing what he was meant to do, though he had yet done anything. The plans, the readiness, they were straight and true.

Three

At last Partheus came into consciousness. It was but minutes from noon, and another few hours would help him even more but now was the time. He sat up from the bed, shedding his death like state in the process. His eyes were still heavy, but the red veins in them seemed quieter and less apt to burst. He sighed and coughed like a man nearing his hundredth year might do in a struggle, but Cecil did not know that his hundredth was almost a century past.

Cecil sat in the chair across from the bed. He'd been looking out the window, lost in his thoughts. Hearing the elf stir to life made his thought break, but otherwise he stayed still.

"Good morning." Partheus said in a dry and tired voice.

"Yeah."

Partheus set his feet on the floor and walked to the bathroom. Despite how little he'd drank the day before, he still had to use the facility after waking. He washed his face in the sink, relishing how cold the water from it was, and picked bits of gunk out his eyes that he often woke up with. Once he felt more aware of his consciousness, he turned off the light and walked back into the main room. "I bet you think my mortal routines are laughable." He said as he sat on the side of the bed facing Cecil's chair.

"You'd bust a gut if you knew mine." Replied the werewolf, "So, how did you find me?"

"The people of Redora know you well," The elf rubbed his eyes as he said this, "And thankfully the people here took fast notice to the giant novian that was visiting."

"I just hope no one will get their necks stretched because they helped you." Cecil turned from the window and looked Partheus in the eyes.

Partheus never thought of the danger he was putting on others and so hesitated a moment before responding, "Well, they didn't know who I was. And it's not like any of them gave more than words."

"So what is it that you and The Order need? I'm in hot water too now, just for letting you sleep. I hope that whatever you people want . . ." He paused to bring out a grin, opened his mouth to finish, and shook his head.

Partheus sighed and scratched the back of his head where a rogue hair had decided to curl into his scalp. "Oh, just overthrowing the government, releasing the Chrissenian prisoners bound for execution, and maybe taking out Dahzir in the process and freeing Hodge."

Cecil didn't know who Hodge was but assumed freeing him would be no easier than the rest of the help he was being roped into. He twirled his right hand in a gesture that sarcastically meant "no big deal." Then he said, "Oh good, thought you were going to ask me to help with something difficult." The smile on his face dropped, "Why would The Order try to recruit me? Have they been keeping an eye on me, seeing that I'm different from everyone else?"

A puzzled expression came over Partheus. "No," He said, "You've been a member of theirs for two years. Ever since you left Earth. You being a member is why you never sleep or eat or feel ill." He saw none of this was sinking in as fast as he'd like and added, "Cecil, it's why you're a werewolf."

Four

Now a few minutes went by. Partheus still held that quizzical expression, and Cecil was reflecting one of scrutiny as if waiting for the elf to recant. It was an awkward few minutes in which the sun fell below overhead, and its light managed to glare off of Cecil's eyes from through the window. But the werewolf went on without blinking, seeming to think this was all a joke while Partheus did likewise, although the elf did blink.

Eventually Cecil burst out laughing, "And I really thought you were Partheus Sallow. You had me going there, but werewolf? I'm pretty sure I'd know if the moon or moons had the power to transform me into a bloodthirsty monster. Good one though. Listen, if you just wanted a place to stay, you could've said so. I've got nothing of value here for you take, and if you get too annoying I can always just drag you to the guards. Really, I know I'm immortal and can do that." He thought that this was Partheus, but also thought his pitch for help was lame. Although Cecil did wonder why the elf's scent gave his identity away, but decided it was just another one of his gifts that went unnoticed.

Partheus put a hand to his forehead and lowered his head, "For Luna's sake!" He rubbed at his scalp and stood up, looking down at the unbelieving boy in front of him, "They said this might have happened to you. Said it might be why you never met back up with The Order. I had hoped it wouldn't be." He sighed and looked away from Cecil toward the busy world on the other side of the window and drew the blinds. He could never be too safe. He walked toward the room's door and flicked the lights on.

Partheus walked into the bathroom, and Cecil heard him grunting. A few moments later he walked out with the mirror that had been mounted above the sink and set it down on the night stand.

"Hey, are you trying to get my deposit lost?" Cecil asked.

"Don't worry about that right now." Partheus kept his voice low, as he didn't want Cecil getting too mad or have someone realize a second person was in the room, "Just look at the mirror."

"It's me."

"Look and think." The former mayor sighed, "I don't know what you're supposed to think. The first time is involuntary, and you're supposed to know after that how to do it on purpose."

"How to do what?" Cecil asked and was sincere.

"Turn or transform. Whatever you want to call it." He paused then added, "You must remember somewhere in your mind. There are no legends of lycanthropy on Destursha, so how could you even know what they are?"

Cecil furrowed his brows, at first thinking that Partheus may be right, and then thought otherwise, "Well, I remember Earth. And we had all sorts of legends about them there, but I'm not one of them."

"Then how do the other werewolves and I know that you're from Earth?" He countered, "No one else on Destursha knows what that is, just like how no one back on Earth could tell you what Destursha is."

Cecil thought the elf's argument gained ground. He thought that The Order might hail from there as well. It could explain why they and he were such large novians. He'd enough to believe everything except for the lycanthropy. "Well, I don't remember how to make myself turn if I really am one and if it really is voluntary."

Partheus shrugged and took the mirror back to its mount and hung it. He rubbed his smooth face and noticed the horrible pain beginning to grow in his thighs. But he pushed the pain to the back of his mind, "Well, we can come to that hurdle when we have to. Will you help in the meantime?"

Five

Cecil agreed, and they left the hotel. It would be the last time he would see that ornate room, and for that he was thankful. Partheus dropped the keycard in a vent by the entrance and explained that Cecil would need a weapon to help him, though his fists were lethal enough. Cecil told the elf that he had some sword skill, and Partheus in turn told him where to go.

"Hurlinge, where I'm suspected to be," The elf explained, "there's a weapons shop in the north side. An old friend of mine runs the place. And he's got better stuff hidden away than what you'll see on display on the racks. His name is Felix. You can get your hands on one of his nicer items if you tell him 'From the ashes of lies comes truth.' It's an old phrase we used to use when getting supplies from him. He may still ask for some troths, so be prepared for that."

Cecil patted his back pocket where his wallet was. It still held a good sum of money despite the hotel bill. Hopefully it would do. His eyes had been fixed ahead as they walked, but now he turned toward Partheus, "And what's the name of this armory?" He paused but not long enough for the elf to reply just yet, "And what of you? What are you going to do?"

Partheus stopped and said, "While I've still got some freedom, I'm going to go and meet up with The Order." The elf yawned and popped his spine, "You'll want to go to Fraushein after you get armed. If today is . . . the ninth? You've got two weeks exactly. The twenty fifth is Execution Day, and that's both when we strike and when all my friends will die if we fail. They always hold these things at noon, but we'll be raiding the place at midnight when they change the guard shift." A fine dressed wolf dogman walked by the two, oblivious to what they were talking about. Partheus continued, "It'll be the Lock prison in the Sentinel. We're all going to attack directly. Arthur should be able to get those front doors down on his own. You will attack from the rear, so you'll have to go through the Leviathans' headquarters itself. I have a feeling that your surprise assault will spell victory for us in the end. So go to Fraushein after getting armed at Shining Steel, the store's name you asked for, and get a lay of the land."

Cecil continued walking in the direction of the station, but Partheus stayed back. When Cecil looked back at his forgotten friend, Partheus raised a hand and gave Cecil a two finger salute. Cecil nodded and turned back toward the station.

# Preparation

One

Cecil took the train to Hurlinge with the same fare as his last trip but with no upgrades. His mind turned over his circumstances. A part of him knew that what he was doing was foolish and insane. Another part of him, a wilder and stronger part, filled him with excitement and anticipation. The surge of his nerves filled Cecil with euphoria. He had spent the last two years feeling dead and lost. Now his fate turned and enlivened him. Perhaps there would be trouble to get into, but if he was immortal then trouble would find him eventually anyway. A childish fantasy that, perhaps, is of noble men swept over him, that he could be a hero.

The trip to Hurlinge was three times the length of his first journey, but to Cecil it felt like only minutes. His blood was running hot, though his actual blood was stilled in his veins. He stepped off the loading dock with Hurlinge sprawling before him. A smile filled Cecil's face. He almost forgot how urgent his mission was, but not quite.

Being in the north side made Cecil worry less about the criminal activity. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been to Hurlinge, but he knew that the south and east sides were very openly unpleasant. Not that anyone would get to him, but Partheus's old weapons dealer was a different story. Though he found the native flair to be pompous and overdone. He in his T and jeans was rubbish here, and the citizens seemed to enjoy pointing it out.

Two

His target was in sight. On the corner of a street lined with novelty stores was Shining Steel. Its sign swayed back and forth on a rod, both of which made of polished chrome. As Cecil walked to the front door, he noticed that the windows had vertical and horizontal crisscrossing iron bars. North side or not, one could never be too safe, he supposed. The building itself was made of gray stones that screamed both cold and medieval to the werewolf. Needless to say, Cecil liked what he saw so far.

As he opened the front door, a great metal thing with visible rivets along the edges, a bell chimed. The lighting on the inside was bright and cold. The floor under him was concrete, and his boots made appropriate thuds as he walked. There were mannequins by the dozen along the walls bearing all sorts of armor. He saw leather vambraces and steel chest plates, iron greaves, and what appeared to be a few Plexiglas helmets. There were steel swords of all sizes on racks, from pocket knives to ones that appeared to be busters. Great hammers and battle axes were under glass cases, and an assortment of bows (simple, compound, and cross) were in their own displays behind the counter.

On the back wall and still behind the long L shaped counter, were glass cabinets with various guns inside. Cecil recognized some that were shotguns, rifles, and pistols. They were all very nice, but he'd seen these on Earth already. Just as his interest in gawking was beginning to wane, an aemon man appeared behind the counter.

"Good day, sir." Said the aemon, "If it's arms or armor, maybe even bullets and barrels that ye seek, then you've come to right place." He took notice of Cecil's face and size and said almost apologetically, "No hard feelings, as I'm sure you're old enough, but I will have to ask ye for papers if a purchase is to be made."

Cecil replied, thinking it wasn't much of a way to reply, "Are you Felix?"

"Aye," He said and pushed on his nose to the left, "My folks didn't give me a traditional aemon name. Thought namin' me after the novian rock star from their day would be fine. And it is, I suppose. Why do ye ask?"

Cecil opened his mouth and drew a blank. He was so excited about what had been happening that his mind pushed the passphrase back into his mind. But it wasn't so far back that he'd forgotten. "From the ashes of lies comes truth." A pause then, "I'm a friend of Partheus."

The smile that had been on Felix's dark red face shook into a frown then grew to be twice the size of the smile. He walked over to the front door, locked it, and spun the closed sign out. He turned to see Cecil's eyes straight on as if to make sure it wasn't a ruse then said in a low voice that was not quite a whisper, "I haven't heard that in ages. And I mean that quite literally, young falla'." He saw that Cecil wasn't going to slap his knee over that and said, "Follow me. And don't make too much noise. Not that we're being watched or anythin' of the sort, but ye can't be too sure."

Three

He led Cecil to the back next to the gun cases and to the middle of an isle with shelves full of ammunition. There was a drain cover here which Felix bent down and removed. Under this was a thick iron ring attached to a similarly thick chain. Felix looked at it and said, "When I was young, I laughed at the ease of this. But we must all grow old and wither someday, mustn't we?" He looked at Cecil with a pleading frown, "Would you mind?"

Cecil didn't speak but reached down and grabbed the ring. He pulled it upward, and its chain followed. When it became taut, he began to pull and not just lift. There was a stiff scraping sound as concrete slid together, but the ease of lifting this trap door was displeasingly unchallenging to Cecil. It made him think that Felix may very well not be holding up as well in old age as his elven friend was. The block was round and might have weighed eighty or ninety pounds, or only a few ounces for all Cecil knew. He set it aside, being sure not to scratch the floor and make this isle suspicious. He looked down at where the fake drain had been and saw a ladder leading down into darkness. He felt quite sure Partheus said the arms were in the back, but Cecil guessed this is what he meant.

Felix led the way. When he reached the bottom and turned a light on, Cecil followed. As Cecil climbed down, a horrible thought passed through his mind for a second, that he could just put the slab back in place and leave Felix to be trapped. Cecil climbed.

The room at the bottom was empty save for a table and chair in the corner behind the ladder. All three of which were covered in dust. Felix walked ahead to a flat stone wall. There was an iron fixture with an old but very thick rope mounted to the wall. The rope was short and ran into a hole in the wall above his head. He looked at Cecil with that same embarrassed frown. It seemed to tell Cecil that he would know what it was like to be feeble someday, but for now he was strong and could help, and had to.

Again Cecil said nothing but walked up to the hook. He grabbed onto the rope and tugged. At first he thought it would snap, but it held its ground and made a leathery stretching sound but did not give way. He pulled harder and found himself lifted off the ground. He let his feet come down again and jammed his right foot under the iron mount. Now he would have to take the wall with him if the rope decided to lift him again. At first he thought it would be like that or that the rope would break, but it finally came forward a few inches. Then it was a few feet, and before long the smooth wall under the hole revealed itself to not be true smooth. A heavy gray stone door slid up into the compartment above. When the gap from the floor to the bottom of the door was enough to walk through, Cecil stopped. He had another two feet of rise left to pull, but the rope coming out of the hole was frayed, and he feared it would break if he kept stressing it. He tied the rope to the mount, making sure he wasn't pulled off the floor again, and waited for Felix to take the lead.

Four

"Good as it's gonna get, I s'pose." Felix remarked and then indeed took the lead. The next room was as large as the store above, but there was no iron here. Cecil saw most of the things he'd seen upstairs, but the versions here were all crystal, pure and true. Felix took a breath and sighed, "Anything you want and it's yours." He considered then said, "I'll even sell it to you at its counterpart's price up there."

Cecil walked around in astonishment of the crystal wears. These things would still be just as unmarred in a thousand years as they were now, no matter what hell they could be dragged through. The armors were breathtaking, but armor was useless to him. The weapons were of more interest, and Cecil took fast interest to a buster much like Dahzir's had been. This sword, however, was a rich blue and had white crescent shaped moons suspended inside the blade. The handle was more than large enough for both of his hands and provided good balance even with the enormous blade. He lifted the sword a few times to gauge its weight, and to him it felt weightless, though he was sure it was quite heavy. There was a bit of a hand guard, but not much. This guard was a deep jet black from an embedded paint. The handle was made of swirling black colored crystal and gave a wonderful bit of grip. There were pores in the handle for further grip, and Cecil thought it reminded him of sand paper. It would never slip. The pommel was bulbous with a white crystal orb for balance held in place by four black claws.

Under the sword's resting place was a sheath made of small interlinking sheets of steel and leather binding. Cecil donned it and adjusted its buckles. It appeared to have been made for an ogre based on how much he had to adjust, but he brought it to fitting. He took the buster with its gaudy blade and well-made hilt and sheathed and unsheathed it several times. The sound of the crystal rubbing against the steel pleased Cecil, as it sounded like finality. Only the last foot and a half of the blade actually went into the sheath, about two feet on the bottom slope. It came out easily and was not hard in the slightest to guide back into the holster. Cecil liked it, and with a broad smile turned around and nodded to Felix.

"Seems you are quite strong indeed." The aemon laughed and shook his head, "The sword you're holding is called Bane Edge. Buster swords made of steel have dulled edges, because they are hard to keep up with and don't need to be sharp. Bane Edge was the choice sword of Trothos's top general Titus. It is a fearsome thing in the hands of anyone strong enough to wield it, for the edge of the blade is sharper than razors. A good enough swing can rend anything in two." He looked down at his feet as if to make sure they hadn't been cut off just from talking about the sword. Then he raised his head with. "That is the only weapon down here with no copy up there." He bent his right thumb and moved the hand up over his shoulder, "You see that is a unique one. One-of-a-kind, ye see. Were I to sell it under normal circumstances, it'd go for a fortune. Maybe a mil, maybe two." Again he lowered his gaze, "But since I've none to pass my savings to, I'll make a deal. All you have on ye, save the copper, for I'd lose that anyway."

"Well," Cecil began, still with the giant's sword on his back, "that would be a mere two thousand troths and some." He saw the color run out of Felix's face, making it almost pink. Then he added, "Of course, you'll be doing the land a great favor. And I'd say a favor owed can be awfully valuable itself." As Cecil uttered this, he heard a crunching noise. It was a snapping, one strand at a time. Before he could warn Felix, the door they had come through slid to the floor and blocked the passage. The ancient rope had held its last.

Felix laughed cynically, "Never mind, you take that sword for free. For all the good it'll do us now." Felix walked over to a wooden crate next to where Bane Edge had been and sat upon it. He seemed as if he had expected this to happen. "I should've replaced that rope with a cable years ago." He sighed. "But I didn't think I'd have much business down here after the Chrissenians fell."

Cecil looked at the slab of stone that sealed them underground. He had no intention of staying but humored the calm old man. "So how did you get your hands on this sword? Titus has only been retired a year now, and I would think he'd have kept this."

Felix was sitting with his head propped in his hands and staring dreamily at the dust on the floor. He said, "How does the bird get seed? It wakes up early and gets the prize before all the others flock to it." His head raised off his hands, and he proceeded to knit the two with their gnarled old fingers together. "It also doesn't hurt to have a good store of coin. That sword cost me two hundred, and I had to sign books of contracts tellin' them I'd not reverse engineer the thing. Can't say why Titus didn't keep it."

"Well," Cecil said, "If I can I'll find a way to repay you someday. Maybe it won't be in coin, but perhaps you'll have an esteemed position. I will try." But that day never came. Of course, Cecil couldn't have known that then. He looked at the slab again. The light from the center of the room cast a softness onto the door. He thought it somehow made the door look thicker, maybe even too thick. But he'd seen its breadth already and wasn't willing to stay down there and watch an old man starve.

Five

The werewolf walked up to the slab. He was clad in a T-shirt that said in bold white letters on the front "Food is good." On his legs were blue jeans that had been faded from use and not from factory chemicals. And on his back was a sword almost as big as he was. This was not how he imagined himself as a hero, but it would have to do. He touched the door with the tips of his fingers, trying to get a feel for it. He tried to get some grip on the door, but there were no places that offered any traction.

He attempted to push it back up, but his hands slid as did his feet, but the door remained unmoved. Then he resorted to striking the door with his fists. He couldn't hurt himself, but the door wouldn't yield to the softness of his bones, though it might have if Cecil hadn't been sending himself flying backwards. He was too light to attack it outright.

Felix just sat on his crate. He was shuffling his hands together but otherwise seemed not to notice what the werewolf was doing. He was a man that accepted the fate given to him. He appeared resigned to dying down in this room with all its immortal weapons and armor that couldn't offer an ounce of help to prolong his life.

Cecil took his new sword from its sheath. The weight of it was ethereal, but he felt the weight of death on it even if gravity gave it little. He knew that Titus had not been loath to use this weapon. He had heard of the brutal triumphs of that ogre in slaying whomever the king wished. It had almost always been the life of the innocent that this blade would have taken. It had tasted blood before, and it would want more now that it was leaving this tomb. Perhaps the next blood would be from the corrupt instead. But for now, he thought, it would have to settle for stone.

He didn't have enough space to swing the buster properly, but he could beat the door with the pommel. The idea of using a sword as a battering ram bothered him. Cecil kept expecting to see the white orb and the claws break free and shatter from the shock or for the blade to wobble and crack from the impacts. Of course the sword did not break nor shatter or even scratch itself, and as he swung that base into the door, Cecil became more and more confident in using Bane Edge.

Over and over he heard the sharp impact of solid on solid. The door had begun chipping, and Cecil continued to use greater and greater portions of his strength. Eventually all his might went into each blow, and the sound made Felix plug up his twisted ears with similarly twisted fingers. Cecil thought that if he were using this on a living opponent that their entire skeletons might shatter if he were to hit a toe.

Then the door did something he did not expect. What Cecil expected was for a hole to be formed in the stone and to widen it until it was large enough for the two of them to fit through. What happened was a bit simpler. The door broke free of its surgical tightness and slid to the wall in the next room, scraping the ladder on its way by. It hit the back wall with enough force to crack the door in half.

Felix looked at the empty doorway speechless. There was no way to get that door moved without using a bulldozer. He knew the rope would break the day he installed it. Even new, that rope was too weak for that great slab of granite. The idea of a human (referring to any of the races on Destursha that are sentient) being able to break it free with a blunt object was ridiculous. The only reason anyone had ever been able to lift the door with the rope was because of a system of pulleys that gave the person a substantial bit of leverage. But this young man had just broken it free with enough force to shatter the thing on a wall ten feet away. All of it was ludicrous.

Six

But if he was to live, Felix would make sure he'd live a little longer still. He followed behind Cecil back into the main room of the store and watched him place that circular cap back down with its drain disguise to adorn it. Once Cecil was done with that, Felix stopped him from going out of the isle to where onlookers might be see through the glass. The aemon peered around the shelf and saw no one was looking in from outside. He then proceeded to draw blinds over the windows, having forgotten to do so earlier. The closed sign would block the narrow view of the door's window. When he was done he returned to Cecil and told him to wait.

The aemon went into the back room behind the counter and returned a few minutes later with a long wooden box almost like a coffin. He laid it in front of Cecil and accepted no help in doing so. After this he opened it and said, "Put the sword and its sling in 'ere. What you do with it after you've gone a way is up to you, and after what you just did I think it'd be unwise for anyone to tell ye otherwise." He wiped some sweat from his brow and flicked the liquid at the floor as if it burned his hand. "I just don't want it to get around that I give this to ye. Not until after yer success that is. Remember I'm just an old man, and most of these things can't help me protect myself. So keep this hush hush, right?"

Cecil nodded and unequipped his buster as he did so. He stole one more admiring glance at its intricate workings. Seeing the almost flaming white crescents hidden in blue and standing on deep black with base of purest white made Cecil realize the blade was not the only thing this sword had that was far from dull. Then he laid it in the box and strapped the lid on with brass buckles.

The old man had a smile on his face, even though he closed his store early today. Now that Cecil had a moment, he reflected on just how deceiving aemon looks were. This old man had two crimson horns jutting from his temples that twisted like that of a ram's. Felix's complexion was dark and fiery, and a spade headed tail moved back and forth at his feet. If Cecil didn't know better, he'd have said this man might be the devil. Of course Cecil did know better. He knew that of anyone in the land, a novian his size might also be what people portrayed the devil to look like.

Cecil bayed the storekeeper thanks and again offered the contents of his wallet. He was dismissed and returned his wallet to his pocket. He grabbed onto a small handle on the side of the long crate and walked out the door with it, having a small struggle to fit both him and it out the door at once.

Seven

Now he was outside again and holding onto a briefcase fit for a giant. Fraushein was north of Hurlinge, so he decided to start walking in that direction. Public transit to and from the capitol was closed until after Execution Day, as it was every year in Almis. Cecil would need to walk there, which would prove to be far less of a struggle for him than it was for Partheus.

He left the city limits behind him, walking along the traveled brick road. Unknown to Cecil at that time, he had already been on this road once upon a time. A tremendous rush of nostalgia flooded over him, and he was carried into a euphoria once again. The memories didn't come flowing back yet, but his body remembered. For a moment Cecil thought he felt his heartbeat.

When he reached a distance that he could no longer see the lights of the city, he opened the coffin his sword was in. No one would have noticed him wielding it even if he hadn't had it concealed, but safety is first. Inside was the precious crystal armament he'd use to help free the innocent, and if evil stood in the way, shed some of its blood if he had to. The box yielded the sword after a little tug, as it had wedged its blade into the wood. The sling came out and Cecil strapped it onto his torso and holstered his new tool. He laid the crate on the side of the road for someone else that would find and want it by morning. He had been training himself to handle swords because he thought it would bring him discipline. And now he had a sword to put into real use. He hoped he would do well.

# Restoration

One

A little further on a desire to veer right into the Dark Forest came over him. Fraushein was westward of true north, and theoretically the forest would be faster. He heeded his intuition and walked off the path. He walked past an apple tree, but otherwise nothing significant. He walked on, and his path was bright. The woods were known for their umbral qualities, but it seemed that the forest was guiding him onward. In a span of only a few feet was a golden light shining ahead. As Cecil walked toward it, the light seemed to keep moving away to match his efforts.

It's guiding me. It wants me to see something. He trusted this light and walked onward. The owls and other nocturnal creatures were silent. Nothing stirred, but everything watched. They watched Cecil, and he felt their eyes. And he felt something else. Pity? He wasn't sure, but thought he might find out. And he kept walking, the feeling of his past swelling in his soul.

Two

It had been almost six hours since he entered the forest. And though it was the darkest of night in the Dark Forest, he saw his path well. An overwhelming feeling was eating away at his soul. He thought that if he didn't see what the forest had to show him or remember the remaining bit of his lost memories soon, the sensation would drive him mad.

But the forest didn't seem to want Cecil going mad, and he caught the first glimpse of where the golden sigil rested. He saw stonework, and as he drew closer the works grew larger. He stood at the gates of the lost city, Chrissenia. A place fallen to the hands of Dahzir, and soon all its former inhabitants would have their heads in baskets. Their faces would be spit upon before their lives ended, and they'd be mocked and falsely judged by the Leviathans. The public would see Dahzir's iron fist and respect him for protecting them from these people, for that is how he would have it presented. Like all those inside the walls of this old fort were monsters, but in truth it was they, the prosecutors, who were monsters.

He expected to see a contingency of guards stationed around the walls, but the place was empty. Even the animals that had made this place home, since the old residents had been evicted, were gone. The place was hollow for Cecil to behold. He walked in and saw the town square, now overgrown with weeds. He saw the fronts of houses with shattered windows and missing doors. The place had been ransacked.

He walked into what might have been a store. The inside should have been absolute dark, but he saw it all without light to aid him. The counter had been wooden, and the smashed and rotting stools were as well. Not a single thing was as it should be. Everything was ruined.

Cecil thought of five friends sitting at one of the overturned tables when it was upright. They sat and drank coffee, because it was ceremony. They talked about where they were and where they were going. And they raised each other's morale, though they were missing one of their closest. As he stood thinking of them, his third person point of view started shifting. Now he was sitting with them, because he was one of them. He had been looking at their backs, but now they turned to him as he spoke, though Cecil couldn't hear his own words. He stopped hearing all the words. Instead, he remembered them, and he saw their faces.

Three

The Order was here, and there were others. Normal citizens with happy faces walked all about. They all talked, and Cecil was one of them. And they were going for Hodge. These memories flooded in and filled him with joy. Darkness yet lied ahead, as what happened after leaving Chrissenia was still dark. But from Earth to here was all very clear again.

He had been a werewolf, and it was Salina that gave him the power. She did it without the consent of the others, and for that Arthur had chastised her. But Cecil was special even among them, he remembered. He was in the line of the first, Siegfried. How to bring on the change still alluded him for now, but he could remember having control over it. He was no monster after all.

He stepped outside, his thoughts clearer than before. He looked up at the sky and saw Artemis and Orion looking down at him. Both were crescents and overlapped, just as they had two years ago. Cecil looked up and let the beams of moonlight light his face. He remembered the ring they made then.

Cecil sat against the base of a fallen statue, what it once depicted was lost. There were toys and other trinkets lying on the stone. The residents had been evicted in haste and left many things behind. But everything was now rotted or had been trampled underfoot. He remembered himself bringing the orc boy here. Partheus offered to take the child in while they journeyed for Fraushein. The elf had been different then, happier maybe. The fortress had been full of life, and the werewolves made an agreement. Cecil made an agreement. And if these memories were to keep their meaning, he had to keep his promises.

He walked through the north exit, just as he had before. But this time he was alone, and there was not a soul left to wave to him as he departed. The gate that had been on this end was torn down and lying in its own rust to the right of the exit. It appeared to have been ripped from its fastening, as the stone above him was broken where the gate had once rested when drawn up. The path ahead appeared better worn than the one he'd just come through, and he knew this was the route of the exodus.

Four

Again the trail through the forest lit itself for him, and Cecil was guided along his old path. The shrubs and plants along the path had been trampled and beaten down. He knew the flora had time to recover, but it was as if the forest was in mourning and refused to let itself heal. He stepped over a shoe no larger than his hand and wondered what child had lost it. There were many relics along this path. He thought it made a fine Hansel and Gretel bread crumb trail.

He came to Ruby Run, but where he was along the river there was a steel bridge going across. As he stepped on the bridge he saw three corpses in the middle. They hadn't rotted and, preserved by the forest for Cecil to see. The largest of the three was a dogman female. She had the face of a German Shepherd and was clutching two children in her arms. Their throats were stained with dry blood, and the fear in all three's eyes was swimming.

As the full horror of what Cecil saw dawned on him, the corpses vanished in a mist. In their place were five figures now, all of which seemed to be made of fog. There was a male dogman arguing with a man wielding a buster. The man looked like Hodge.

He couldn't hear them, but the dogman (also German Shepherd) seemed to be yelling at the man with the sword. The three other dogmen, his family most likely, were behind him. The children were the farthest from Hodge's body. Cecil supposed that other refugees were standing around, but he was only shown these main players. Dahzir in Hodge's form wordlessly and effortlessly took the man by the neck and held him over the edge of the bridge. The woman got on her knees and pleaded with Dahzir, but he didn't seem to hear her. Dahzir plunged that horribly lethal blade into the man's belly. Cecil didn't see any ethereal blood, but he supposed that there had been much of it. Dahzir retrieved the blade and dropped the man in the river. Now the woman was crying hysterically, and her children were doing likewise.

Dahzir appeared to realize that the woman existed and turned around, staring not at her but her children with an uncaring smile. The woman began shaking her head as if to tell Dahzir not to continue whatever he planned on doing. He took a step at her, and she charged him in response, her teeth bared and her eyes streaming. He knocked her away with a quick swipe, never even taking his eyes off the children. She went sprawling on her hands and knees and stood up again almost immediately, but almost was too late. Hodge's body was too fast, and in Dahzir's hands it was a fearsome tool. Dahzir had both children clutched in one hand by the skin and fur on their necks. Cecil couldn't tell what gender the children were, as they were too young and furry to be distinguished, but he thought he saw the woman's lips say "Don't hurt my girls, please!" She might have added something about not resisting anymore, but Cecil was never any good at reading lips and thought he got the most important part anyway.

Hodge's face contorted in a very odd manner. The left side of his face seemed to be frowning, and its eye welling up. He looked as if he was having a stroke of some sort, but then the right side seemed to move over the left and it all became the same. Once the face settled, Dahzir's blade leveled at the children's necks. The woman screamed and rushed forward. Hodge's left leg rose and kicked her in the stomach hard. As she sprawled again and was unable to get up for pain of a broken hip, the blade's edge slid along the necks of the pups. Again he saw no blood, but the crying faces of the children went limp and they were dropped in front of the woman. The mother grabbed her two dead children, and now the tears flowed faster as she mouthed the word NO over and over again. The fur on either side of her face was being matted down by the water, and she took no notice or care that Dahzir was now behind her with his sword coming down.

The new king of Destursha whispered something in the woman's ear and gave it a lick. She seemed to not hear or feel either of these things but clutched her children more tightly to her chest. Their lifeless faces were pressed against hers. Dahzir pulled her head back so that her neck was exposed, and her head complied if only a bit reluctant. She was too distraught to fight back. All her energy was in clutching the pups and letting her eyes run free. Dahzir smiled down at her unnoticing face as he pulled the blade across her throat. He let the woman's head fall forward. She was left to sit upright, dead and holding her dead children. The leader of this country, this world, was enjoying every moment. All hail the king, murderer of families.

When this was done, the mist faded away as if by a strong gust of wind, though the air was calm. Cecil saw what he was meant to, and he didn't care for it. In fact, he was appalled by what had just happened. He could just be thankful that he didn't hear the screams or see the blood, or his unbeating heart might stop a second time.

Now Cecil felt a twinge on the stubble of his face. He put his right hand to it to see what decided to disturb the bristles of his cheek, thinking it was a spider's web. The wet surface told him it was no web. Caught in what he called a beard and what the girl at his job called fuzzy stuff, was a tear. Just one, and he was unsure when his eye released it. Any part of the event could've made it fall, but he supposed it didn't matter.

He hadn't noticed that the path went dark until it lit again. The forest waited for him to absorb the gravity of what had happened before urging him along. He let loose a sigh, knowing the oxygen didn't help him, but it was a hard habit to shake just like breathing and blinking. He continued on.

Five

The other side of the bridge had no trinkets left behind, and Cecil wondered if the ones he'd seen on the other side of Ruby Run had only been there because the forest let them stay for Cecil to see. There was no more need to see the cruelty.

He thought of just how sheltered he made himself. Of course there were evils out there, but he knew he was ignoring most of it. Cecil knew that most Christians did this also. There seemed to be consensus among them that not exposing yourself to evil was a way to keep it out of your heart. And though that is sometimes true, it won't help those afflicted by evil. He thought he must be a coward somewhere on the inside for having his head buried for so long. Not just here, but he knew he was like that on Earth. And he knew others were as well.

He couldn't help but remember a time he tried to break free of the ignorance in school. He was tasked with writing a story, something he was not very skilled at, about what he thought a day as a prisoner would be like. Of course, he made the mistake of being honest. All the other kids in his class wrote about how they thought it would feel so confined and never left that point. Just that one time, Cecil was honest for the teacher and wrote about how he would try to avoid being raped. He wrote about the racial segregations and gang activities. He knew these things and more took place behind bars, and expressed how that's what he would try to keep away from.

Of course the teacher didn't approve of his use of the term "unexpected sodomy" among many others. The teacher expressed his disappointment over Cecil's paper. Though he admitted it was one of his better works as far as structure was concerned, the subject matter was not school appropriate. Cecil explained that he was being truthful about what happens in jails, but that got him nowhere. His parents were brought in, and he had to explain for actions. In the end Cecil was able to avoid most of the trouble that had been set aside for him. After all, what did the teacher expect to hear about jail?

He wondered just how much explaining he would have to do to the teacher about him walking through the woods, with an enormous sword mind you, on a mission to overthrow a king. He thought he would be expelled for that.

He wouldn't feign ignorance ever again. As he knew now that to do so would only let evil fester and grow stronger. And that wouldn't do the victims he saw any good.

The path went on, and Cecil followed. Maybe by the time this was all over, he would be able to call himself a real man in body, mind, and even soul. And perhaps there would be those who would call him a hero. There was a title for him with far more meaning reserved. But that would come later.

Six

He came to the edge of the woods, and the forest's powers began to wane. It was now late afternoon, and light from the sun was pouring through the canopy above. The light was warm and comforting to Cecil. The air grew warmer with it, and he heard birds sing for the first time since entering the Dark Forest. He heard the chatter of squirrels and beheld a grand oak tree before him. The guidance of the woods was gone now, but it brought him out here for a purpose.

He walked up to the oak, feeling nostalgic again. At the base was a hollow. Cecil walked in and was greeted by the stench of strong fermented herbs and old tea. There were carvings on the walls depicting lore he'd heard of. The most noticeable of which was a depiction of Artemis's and Orion's ascents. There stood a short table in the center of the room for people to sit on the floor when eating at it. This kind of home was favored by ancient dwarves. Cecil thought this tree must be thousands of years old, or the inhabitant was. Then again, the owner could also be mad. That was always possible.

The owner, an old sage named Frander, was nowhere to be seen. Cecil walked back out, seeing no dwarf and detesting the odor being absorbed by his superhuman nostrils. As his head poked outside again, a blue jay lighted on his left shoulder. He didn't wave it away, even when it put its beak into his ear and began to chatter. He couldn't understand any of its whispers, if one could call it that. But the bird seemed to be in distress, and Cecil guessed it was without its owner. If it had one that is, and he guessed the inhabitant of the oak was.

The bird removed itself from his shoulder and flew away. Cecil didn't bother to watch it fly away, as his attention was taken by what he saw on the north side of the oak. There was no more question as to what happened to the dwarf Cecil forgot about. He was starting to get tired of death for one day, and thought that might be a problem if he wanted to use his sword.

A pile of short bones and full sized skull lied unburied behind the oak. They were undisturbed by predators. A crude sign made of straw and twigs was behind the pile of bones. It displayed the name that once belonged to the dwarf. It was Frander. Cecil wanted to think he had died naturally, but knew that was unlikely. Behind the sign, perched on various limbs of sprouting oaks, were an array of gold eagles. They allowed Cecil to kneel by the bones in respect. Cecil believed that if they truly were his servants at one time, they now punished themselves for their inability to protect him.

"May I bury him for you?" Cecil asked the winged guardians, hoping they understood. When he began digging with his hands, they did not protest. The dirt yielded. Cecil wasn't sure why he bothered doing this, but he felt confident that he would remember why.

When he'd dug about four feet down, he stopped and wiped some of the dirt off on his pants. He took the bones set them at the bottom. He placed the skull down last as if that mattered. The bones were smooth and chalky in his hands, and he could feel the tiny pores on them. He wiped his hands again. Then he kicked the pile of dirt that accumulated beside the ditch into the hole and tramped it down to make sure it packed.

The whole process took him ten minutes, but Cecil thought he'd been working all day. The eagles didn't move from their perches or make a sound during the burial. He thought that they might be grieving over their inability to bury their master. He wondered just what kind of bird was capable of the level of understanding these ones had. Cecil thought they might be magic, something that no longer seemed impossible to him.

"There," He said, "nothing should be able to get to him now. You can go on your way." Cecil flapped his hands just in case they didn't understand English this time.

The birds began to turn to each and slant their heads. Then one by one they spread their wings, made a harsh screech, and flew around the oak. Cecil didn't know what kind of ritual this was, but he thought it was an unnatural one. Together there were thirty seven of Frander's messengers swooping and whirling around the enormous oak. Cecil was unsure whether or not this was a sign of their joy. The screeching call they made was indistinguishable from any other, and he thought it ironic that these creatures would be so intelligent and yet be unable to express emotion.

Seven

They carried on like this for a minute then dispersed in every direction of the compass. Another minute went by, and there were no signs left of them. Cecil waited for them to return, but it seemed that their business was finished here. He looked at the grave he'd made for the dwarf. It was a shoddy excuse for a final resting place, but Cecil had never been adept in formalities or artful creativity. He thought the crudeness would have to do.

But then he thought he could improve it just a bit. He walked toward the forest and picked up a large stone. He took the stone and planted it firmly into the ground at the head of the grave. Cecil didn't bother to etch a name on the marker, a life span, or a short eulogy. He thought it would do well to go unmarked. Perhaps if the dwarf's birds ever came back to pay respects, they could engrave something. Or they could find themselves unable and be stricken with guilt once more, but Cecil hoped that would not be the case.

His business here was finished, and Cecil continued north. He came to a fork in the road, the left leading into a canyon and the right over a plateau. He decided that the canyon appeared to be the faster route and took it, although he had an odd feeling that it was the wrong way.

Eight

The walls of the canyon were gray with black strata streaking different spots along the sides. There were stalagmites (although he thought that name might only appear in caves) along the walls. These upward bursts of spiraling rock looked sharp at the point, and he thought they would look even sharper if one were to fall from the ridge onto one. After thinking this, he expected to see impaled bodies here and there, if not people's than animals'. But he saw none, and that uplifted him a bit.

The canyon had been narrow since it began with only about twenty feet from side to side, but now it opened up into a large crater. Now that Cecil thought of the canyon, he supposed it probably wasn't considered a canyon. It probably had a different name that meant "small canyon" and didn't matter. It was like debating the difference between a stream, a creek, a rivulet, and a full blown river. They were all the same thing in their nature, but one should never call any by the wrong name, lest they look like a fool.

Cecil dismissed these thoughts, as no one was going to question what he just walked through. He looked around at the great bowl he now stood in the center of. From where he was, he thought it might be a perfect circle. From edge to edge the diameter was two hundred yards. Give or take a hundred, as he was never talented in guessing bigger distances. The floor was made of that same gray rock. There was nothing else of note here, but he thought he smelled something pungent.

Then the pungency revealed themselves as boulders the size of sheds blocked the exits on both sides. Two giants that might have been ogres at one time burst from a false wall to Cecil's left. Their heads almost reached the top of canyon some thirty feet up. They wore a crude ensemble of bones and animals skins that thankfully covered up their worst. One was covered in what were either tattoos or imprinted runes. The other's grey complexion was replaced by a blue. Their faces were covered in boils and scars. Cecil couldn't tell if either was male or female, but he thought they might not be either. They came rushing forward so far and stopped when they saw the sword on Cecil's back.

Nine

The blue one was the first to stop and pointed at Cecil with an arm made of shining steel and spinning gears. It looked at its friend and bellowed something incoherent. The runed one carried a sword ten times larger than Cecil's, but it seemed to be made of some kind of battle glass and not crystal. It held out its sword, which was longer than its wielder was tall, in Cecil direction. The length of the thing bridged half the gap between Cecil and the giants. Then the runed one rushed forward, mighty sword drawn back.

Cecil had heard of the Infused and the Altered, experiments that often went wrong even if they went right. Most of them ended up disfigured and beyond saving. They would just die. Others would be mutated badly but live, but these were useless. And a few would take the augments well and grow into powerful monsters such as these, but their minds would always be ruined in the process. Cecil was under the impression that Dahzir stopped such experiments after taking Hodge's body, since that was what he was after all along. But to see the things in person was quite different. Their minds had melted down to primal insanity, and Cecil just hoped he could put them out of their misery quickly. As he was certain that if any bit of their old selves still lived in their oversized skulls, it would be suffering at the sight of what had become of it.

With still twenty feet between Cecil and the runed giant, the enormous sword swung from left to right. Cecil held out his sword and blocked the blow on his right. He slid back but managed to keep his ground. His boots grew hot under him, and Cecil was sure that they'd be well worn by the time he reached Fraushein.

Another swing came. This time from the other direction. Cecil didn't bother to block and leapt over the blade and closed distance. The moment he landed Cecil jumped again, planning to come right down on the monster's head and split its skull before this became cruel. Instead the giant put all its strength into an upward slash. The blade of its sword struck Cecil's blocking one with tremendous force. The sword was indeed glass and shattered at this impact.

The giant looked at the colossal hilt in its hand that now attached to nothing but air. Cecil meanwhile was sent flying upward. He looked down at his attacker, sword drawn and position held. As he started his descent, the giant looked up at him with yellow crooked teeth. As Cecil came down, the mutant readied its right arm to strike the falling werewolf.

It thrust its arm up at the traveler as it would have any other. The success it suspected was instead replaced by its hand being lopped off. As a mercy though, Cecil's sword went through the thing's skull and all the way down the center of it. The giant split in half before realizing that its hand was cut. There was a spray of rank orange blood, and Cecil moved away from it before getting drenched. It was as if the giant's very blood had been curdling for some time.

The second one with its gleaming arm never moved. It only watched as its comrade was defeated by a bug. Cecil waited for this one to rush forward also, but it did not. That was fine. He didn't feel like killing a second, although he did wonder if that would be a mercy for the thing. At the moment, its gnarled blue face seemed to gain composure, something Cecil thought it hadn't had in years.

The giant beckoned Cecil to come forward, and Cecil did. The werewolf thought if he didn't, the stupid mountain in front of him would charge him to its death. When he was ten feet from the giant, which might as well have been face to face, the ogre held up its mechanical arm. This was one of the better experiments even among the giants that were made. At the very least it would have been expensive to give the thing a cybernetic arm like that.

Though much of it was covered in bad leather, Cecil could see all the scars on its living arm and the scratches on the metal one. There were open sores on its face that were as big as Cecil's fists, and he wondered just how painful they must be. Its left eye was rotting right out of its socket and looked black and dead. The odor emanating from it was beyond foul, and Cecil thought he'd come as close as he felt comfortable. He hadn't noticed so many ills on the other giant, but he was in the heat of battle.

The giant made a grunting noise and proceeded to point at Cecil. It sounded like the whines of a wanting child, but it also sound nothing like that. It began to make swinging motions while it held an imaginary sword. All the while looking right at Cecil. That wasn't right, however, it was looking at Bane Edge.

Cecil sighed. He knew the creature wanted to hold the sword and probably lick the blood off. But he thought it would leave him be if he let it hold the sword, so he unsheathed it and held out the handle. "Don't look for too long. I need it back, and I need to be off." The mutant didn't respond to this, but Cecil hoped it understood.

It reached out its living arm, the one that could feel, and grabbed the hilt. Even though it used only one hand, the sword was just a dagger to the blue cyborg. The handle was too small for its hand, but it seemed happy. It looked over the buster with its living eye the same way one might inspect a diamond. It seemed to have retained more intelligence than Cecil gave it credit for. After looking at the colossal dagger and every facet of it, the giant gave Cecil a thankful smile. It then turned to a frown and looked away.

The giant turned the blade inward and held the handle with both its living and unliving hands. Cecil didn't bother to stop it, as he was just absorbing what it was about to do. Then it did. The giant blue ogre plunged the double edged dagger into the center of its chest. An expression of pain came over its face, but it made no scream. A few moment passed, and its knees buckled. It fell forward and turned to land on its back. Another few seconds went by, and Cecil shook his head. The cybernetic arm made a few buzzing noises and stopped spinning its gears.

Cecil took pity on the giant, because he knew it was living with what it was. He took his sword from the thing's chest. The sword that was no more than a dagger a moment ago again became colossal. He shook the blood off and sheathed it. Cecil looked behind him at the remains of the first which now stained the gray rock floor. He sighed again, a pointless habit, and turned to leave.

But he stopped and looked at the giant's silver arm. There was some writing on the last stretch of steel by the shoulder socket. How it attached to the giant's nerves was hidden, but the stamp on the upper arm interested him. It read:

MODEL NO. 7688: THE TITUS EXPERIMENT

PROPERTY OF DESTURSHAN GOVERNMENT

PLEASE RETURN TO LAB 7, 131 BERING WAY, FRAUSHEIN IF NO LONGER IN USE

THANKS TITUS. HAVE A WONDERFUL LIFE!

"And here I really thought he had just retired." Cecil walked over to the false wall the two had come out of. A large tarp was draped askew. It was the same color as the rock, and noticeable when up close. "I hope I get a better retirement plan." He said to and walked in.

Ten

The inside was lit by the afternoon sun. It reeked far less than he expected, but there was still a musty scent drifting through the air. The walls were covered in little trinkets. There were boxes along the back wall filled with armor and weapons too small for the giants to use. In the middle of the chamber was a large stone table. On top of it were hunks of raw meat covered in flies.

On the wall to the right of him and in a break between knick knacks, was a caveman sketch of a series of different dwellers. Though it was crude, Cecil could see that the last two and freshest seemed to be of one with tattoos and one with a very odd arm. He gathered that there must have been other giants here before Titus and his companion.

Before he walked out, a small white paper sticking out from under a rock caught his attention. It was behind the table and almost touching one of the loot crates. Cecil lifted the rock and grabbed the paper. It was a photograph of an aemon man and woman standing in the courtyard of the war museum in Mirwa. There was child in the middle of them with a bow in her hair. They were all smiling.

He walked back to the inhabitant wall and held up the picture. The man had three horns that all pointed to the center of his forehead. And on the wall was a figure with three lines coming off of its head, though they weren't pointing the same way as in the picture. He had been the last here before Titus and the other, if the wall held chronology from left to right. Cecil used his sword to cut a slot on top of a jutting stone below this drawing and placed the picture inside. Doing this put a smile on his own face.

Eleven

He got back onto the north bound path, climbing over a boulder to do so. A few miles up it converged with the path that had gone to the right and became one again. The trees grew fewer in number here until there were none. The ground began to dry as he walked until the path disappeared into sand. He entered the Scarab Desert for a second time.

Cecil followed the same path he had two years ago. He passed up the place where Dahzir stole the map and never realized it. Had Cecil stopped and dug through the sand for a few hours, he'd have found pieces of his old armor. He saw great cacti and walked over mountainous dunes. The traveling was hard and found himself sliding often. The sun was down over the horizon now, and soon he'd be traveling at night.

Darkness came but the moons did not. The sky above him was filled with innumerable constellations, and he paused frequently to gaze up at them. The air was crisp and dry, making him feel like there was nothing but distance between him and the stars. He wondered if perhaps he still was somewhere in the same universe as Earth, and that maybe his old friends were looking up the same stars but from another side. By now they'd have given up looking for him, but the idea of being connected through the stars comforted him.

But memories were not always pleasant things. He found himself thinking of Cathrine, someone he'd almost forgotten again. How stupid the two of them had been, he thought. The weight of what she did felt so heavy to him then, but Cecil had done much growing up since his departure. He thought of how much sorrow had overtaken him over the little drama that they had. And did he love her? He thought he did, as many teenagers do. But few of them know. He thought that he did not and was just caught in the emotional heat of it all. If only they had been a little more mature, but then Cecil knew he'd now have to deal with that loss if they were.

Then he thought of Salina that night back home. It was dark and he had forgotten to cut down roasting sticks for the fire. Again he thought of just how young he'd been two years ago. His friends awaited his return, not as eagerly as young Cecil might have thought. And he, of course, dropped his electric lantern, as he was clumsy in those days. The junk shut itself off when it fell. And she was there the whole time. He wondered just how long she'd been watching him and just how much she knew about him before revealing herself that night. Cecil thought of the fear when he knew he wasn't alone. The only one there was a woman smaller in stature than he, but the fear had been large. What a coward he must have been, but at least he held his ground. But was it just out of fear that he stood still? He thought not. He was able to talk to her even if he trembled. And that could've been love too for all he knew.

And she'd changed him that night. She made him an offer he feared to refuse. But Cecil knew what was before him, a long life of the hard way. It was the only thing for him, he knew. He had to use all that strength of spirit he was given. And if it was used to save the people of a foreign world from a tyrant, so be it. Someday his soul would be at rest, but trials aplenty would come first. He remembered the first transformation, the one he could not control. The power that had surged through his body almost stripped away his sanity. He felt himself being lifted up. The urge of his muscles to spasm and cramp. And then came the calm control. The strength at his disposal was immense and (he knew now) beyond his level of responsibility. He was just a young fool with a mind too smart for its own good and the common sense of a child. He understood why Arthur had been upset.

Twelve

Cecil became so lost in the flow of his memories and thoughts that he almost tripped over a shovel. If he had, he would've entered the old mine tumbling head first and feet in the air. There was yellow tape at the base of the entrance warning him to stay out. A white sign that had been new only months ago now showed worn letters and bare metal. It said MINE CLOSED DUE TO DRIED VEINS. NO LONGER UNDER INSPECTION. DO NOT ENTER!!!

Cecil understood there was a good chance of him getting trapped inside if something collapsed. But his memories would come at a cost that he must be ready to pay. The overwhelming rush of memories trying to break free of their deep mind confinement drove him forward. He broke the tape and entered.

The forest had not been as dark as this. The utter blackness around him was absolute, and he could see nothing. He found himself bumping into walls often, but everything seemed open. No blocked passages yet. Somewhere in the dark he could hear breathing that was labored and awful. There were other noises also that were far more frightening to think of, but Cecil dismissed most of these as his mortal imagination coming forth to stir up survival instincts.

He came to a short set of stairs, which he fell down. The sounds of whatever was living in this place now became more evident. He decided it wasn't his imagination, but Cecil also decided none of it was to be feared. Had Partheus been the one to fall down those steps, he'd have been set upon and dead within seconds. The mutants that seek darkness always find it in short order, and sometimes they are led to it. However, these monsters sensed Cecil's power, as creatures like this often can, and stayed at a distance.

Cecil walked through an open steel doorway into a large chamber. There was light pouring in from a sizeable maw in the ceiling. And though it was still very dark, Cecil could comprehend what everything in the room was. There had been small stationary towers, but they were all torn down. Bits of leftover drilling equipment were scattered about along with small steel anklets and collars. There was glowing purple sludge built up in a trench that provided a bit of extra light against the far wall where another steel doorway was.

Cecil stepped onto the short set of stairs going into the chamber. It promptly collapsed under him. The sound of bent metal and crunching rust gave Cecil the impression that the steps were massive. The next impression he got was that mining gave dirt a bitter taste. He picked himself up off the floor and dusted off his food is good shirt. Then he spit out all the dirt that he could and walked to the center of the room.

Thirteen

A malignant pain came bursting out of his chest as he let starlight rest on his shoulders. He fell to his knees and clasped his chest. His eyes closed and he watched himself press a button under a steel panel. He watched slaves run from the chamber that had been filled with artificial light. The sound of pounding pickaxes and squealing drills stopped and Cecil heard screams of triumph and terror mingled together. He watched a younger self follow the free outside, and horror came over him at the sight of their sundered bodies.

Behind himself in this vision he watched an armored man slide down the arch and send sparks in every direction. He saw the young Cecil turn with fright and disgust in his eyes. The man looked at Cecil with a grin so genuine it threatened to turn his empty stomach. The man mocked Cecil and the escapees and drew a sword as large as Bane Edge. Cecil felt the blows come down on his forearms as his younger self blocked the sword. He saw the ecstatic face that Dahzir was stealing from Hodge.

And he felt the forward motion of his younger self pushing Dahzir away. He felt the heat on his face from his young self's anger, as the man walked away laughing. He felt the shame of his running away. In Cecil's mind he remembered it feeling like days of running though it had been only a few hours. He watched with grief as he saw the boy he had once been kill a dragoness and her hatchlings. How he wished it had not come to that, for in a way he did just what Dahzir had done on the bridge. And he saw himself enter Redora, where he hid from the truth.

The pain in Cecil's chest stopped. All the mutants had crept from their holes and shadows and watched the newcomer's torment from the edges of the room. Cecil felt electricity run through his nerves, as every muscle tightened up. He felt his jaw break forward and his forehead slope. A wonderful sensation bubbled in his hand that made him feel like his fingertips were shooting lightning. His nails turned black and curved into claws as did his toenails. He felt the growth at the small of his back where a tail was growing out. His ears came out from his head and pointed upwards. The nose above his extended jaw caught up to the bottom row of teeth. Cecil felt each individual strand of fur that came rising up from his skin. He felt his hair recede and be replaced by thick soft fur. His heart began to beat again.

He let a howl rise from his core. It was short and low, so he gathered up all the air his lungs would allow and howled again. He might have been a wolf twice the size of those giants based on the sound he made. It was deep and heavy. The sound of it resonated and bounced off of every inch of the mine. It collapsed many chambers throughout, but he kept going. This was the only thing he could do to keep the energy from eating away at his mind. All the spectators that had gathered swiftly hid away and ceased every sound that they could make.

And he roared afterwards the way one might after winning a great victory. And that is what he had just done. Cecil conquered his weak mind and restored that which had been lost. And he felt his strength triple.

He walked to the sludge where the light was strongest and looked at his arms. There was a long nose to ignore while he watched the pattern of blue and black wrap around his arms. His claws appeared to shine, and the skin of his palms had become hard and rough like pads. He felt the wolf ears on both sides of his skull. He pulled the tail out and held it to his front with his new hands. The thing was fluffy like he had been well groomed, and Cecil laughed. His voice remained the same, but talking with all those fangs was something he'd have to adjust to.

As he left he clawed the steel arch that Dahzir rested atop two years prior, though now its gleaming color was reduced to a dying rust. Cecil was pleased to see that his claws effortlessly cut through the arch just as Bane Edge would. Then he took his sword and struck the legs. It fell and twisted in a screaming tangle that tumbled to the mouth of the mine. Over the rolls of sand, jackals made ominous cries. Cecil howled in response, and they fell silent.

He changed back to his human form. His jeans were not made for tails, and he grew very uncomfortable. He wanted to be more familiar with that form, as it was just as much a part of him as his human side. I bet I'll get some looks buying dogmen pants for myself.

Fourteen

From the time he left Redora, a week passed. Cornelius would be expecting Cecil to come back and help run the store. There was an order of potato chips coming in the next day, and that would just be insane to handle without Cecil. But Cornelius would have to get by. Cecil's landlord would be coming in three months when his advanced bill ran up, and no one would be there to pay for another three if Cecil did not return.

He shook the thoughts of Redora off for now. That was the place he'd gone to hide, but it was also his home. He had friends there that just might miss him. He had responsibilities, but others would need to worry about them for him. Cecil understood he may never get to go back after the Fraushein break, but that would be fine. The only thing he had of value back there was a set of greaves that no longer fit.

# Protest and Lost

One

The capitol came into view the next morning. Cecil saw it from his vantage point on a ridge. From there he saw plenty of foot traffic entering and exiting from the roads. There were checkpoints at every entrance of the city with a dozen Leviathans stationed at each. The buildings made the ones of Mirwa look like doll houses. Skyscrapers reached above the clouds, and Cecil thought it would take a real engineering marvel to keep them from toppling in the wind. Then he noticed just how much color the sun reflected off them. Every large building was made of crystal.

Above the skyline hovered hundreds of aircraft. The fleet was composed of dozens of fighters, carriers, and bombers. There were several larger ships suspended in air that belonged to generals and other high ranking officers. But a single ship stood out above the rest. One was longer and broader than the largest of the skyscrapers, and made of crystal painted red and black.

The king's flagship, the Pheonix, required over five thousand crew members and had enough weapons attached to level Earth if Destursha ever found a way to invade. It was two miles long and dominated the sky. Fifty engines on each side kept it aloft. The front of the ship came to a point. From there it widened for a fifth of the length of the ship. After that it remained square and ended abruptly at the tail, where five colossal jets waited to propel it forward.

Cecil could not enter the city with a former general's sword on his back, so he walked down over the ridge on the side opposite the city. Here he was out of view of the rest of the known world. He found a boulder jutting out of the hillside. He drew Bane Edge in both hands and thrust it into the rock's side. The blade sunk into the unsuspecting wall, and Cecil tugged the hilt to make sure it was secure. He removed his sheath and hung it over the protruding handle of his sword. If anyone found this sword, they would have to have his strength or be King Arthur.

Two

He walked to a road, still wearing his odd shirt and covered in dust. Cecil hadn't showered since the day before he left Mirwa, and he left all his extra clothes at the hotel. He had begun to build up an odor, but he thought most of it was from that purple sludge in the mine. It smelled like death and seemed to be contagious.

He was patted down and asked to take a bath by a woman who's every feature but her voice was covered by armor. Cecil was allowed into the capitol and contended with the swarms of people around him. The security check was brief and rushed. He easily could have carried weapons in his boots, though a buster sword would be noticed.

The buildings were not made of crystal as he had thought. Only the tallest of the skyscrapers had such a luxury. The smaller structures were made of steel and reflective glass. The smallest had not been visible on the ridge, and these were made of stone or brick. The streets were paved with asphalt, but the flow of pedestrians was too heavy to allow vehicles through. Delivery services run by cyclists zigged and zagged through the ocean of people.

The flagship was still larger than life and loomed over the city. Its shadow cast darkness over half the city. Cecil thought these people were probably used to having it over their heads, but it made him uneasy. It was overhead of Cecil, and he saw its mammoth hull. It might not be solid crystal, but the whole outside is plated with the stuff. From where he stood, Cecil saw row upon row of cannons and machine guns. He saw panels that appeared to be able to slide and expose whatever it hid. They hid even bigger guns, but he'd have to ignore that for now.

Three

The Sentinel shined in golden colored crystal. It was a hundred times larger than Cecil remembered the White House being. Though, it wasn't as tall as the skyscrapers, its wings seemed to go on forever. It was in all far larger than the flagship. There was a fence ten feet tall going around it also made of crystal, though the fence was silver in color. From above the front door on top of a grand balcony was Dahzir's flag hanging from a pole that doubled the height of the Sentinel.

Protesters of all sorts were congregated around the building, the organization of which was stunning. Cecil could see one group crying against some new policy. Another formed a band and rallied against the closing of transit near Execution Day. And yet another pleading that the Chrissenians be spared. None interfered with one another despite how close their protesting groups came to one another. There were others as well, but they were on a different side of the Sentinel.

There were no buildings in any direction around the Sentinel for a radius of a quarter of a mile outside its walls. In a way the place was isolated even though it was in the heart of the city. So the protesters had a good deal of space to use before disturbing anyone. Cecil watched in fascination but kept his distance.

The door of the Sentinel opened, and Dahzir himself stepped forth. My timing is spot on it would seem. The king walked out of his shining palace clad in armor much like he had worn at the mine, but this showcased his symbol on the chest of the cuirass, two swords crossed behind a skull. Though the symbol was original here, Cecil recognized the pirate's emblem. On Dahzir's head was a crown of purest gold embedded with dozens of jewels.

"Be gone you damned fools!" The king announced. His voice was clear and distinct, though he had no mic to talk into. His words were projected by magic. And Cecil realized he didn't say anything at all. He only thought it. "If I hear one more murmur there will be hell to pay!" And as he said it, a dozen Leviathans came from the door behind him and stood in front of him at the bottom of the steps that led into the Sentinel.

Many protesters left a few moments later, having weighed their options. But many stood in place, either from indecision or from their stalwart nature. And there were those who responded in loud voices announcing what they stood for.

Cecil noticed something strange take place around Dahzir. The air around the king grew dark and seemed to draw toward him. Then it was no longer a seeming, but a certainty. A cloud of darkness encircled the king, like a black hole was eating the light around him. Cecil knew what was happening and willed himself not to make a move.

Hodge's hands were bare and came up in front of him by Dahzir's will. The darkness drew into these hands, and a moment later lightning flew from the tips of his fingers. It sailed crackling over the Leviathans' heads, passed through the fence, and broke apart so that it might strike as many people as possible. Smoke rose, and the air smelled like a storm and burning hair. A loud shock came after this just like it would with real lightning. And after that came crying.

Four

Eleven people died instantly, and another fifteen died within seconds. One died after half a minute from terror. The rest were hurt and/or terrified. The ones that could run ran. The ones that could crawl crawled. The protesters that had been on the other side disappeared, and it was only Cecil and the wounded.

Now Dahzir spoke, and Cecil had to listen carefully to hear it. "If they are still lying about in twenty minutes, go out and treat them all like dead bodies." And the king returned to his castle followed by his faithful knights. The door shut behind them with a loud bang.

Cecil walked up to the group of people who'd been struck. Most of them were dead, but a few of them were still alive. They were abandoned by their fellow protesters and would be killed like vermin if they were still here when the guards came out to clean the street. In total there were only three. Two of them were elven men and the last was a wolf dogman woman. The elves looked almost identical, and Cecil guessed they were brothers, but he hoped his assumption wasn't simple racism on accident. The woman was dressed in a fine gray pantsuit that matched her gray fur. He thought she might have been a rally leader, but the wolves always dressed well. None of the three were breathing heavily, but only small, shallow intakes. Cecil thought it would have been convenient if he knew some healing magic, but he did not. He'd just have to hope that they had enough strength to last until he could get them help.

He picked up the brothers and let them rest on his left shoulder. Then he did the same with the woman with his right. None of them weighed anything to him, but he thought that together the brothers only outweighed the woman by a bit. Not that she was overweight, in fact she was slim for a dogman.

Cecil hoped he wouldn't look too much like Hercules while carrying them. If only I were an ogre. I'd probably only get a glance or two. They were light after all, but three was unreasonable. He looked back and made sure he did not leave anyone. The rest were just dead. And he walked away from the Sentinel. He carried the three in the direction of a clinic he'd seen earlier. On the way the woman stirred a bit. She was gaining lucidity, and Cecil knew that was a good sign.

Five

She spoke in a voice that seemed to require all her mental and physical strength to achieve. "What happened . . . to the others?" As she began to speak, her carrier steadied his steps so as to not disturb her weary lungs and larynx.

"They were not so fortunate, and I couldn't help them." Cecil was honest but wondered after he said this if she was ready to hear that. She would have to be.

Her breathing was raspy, but it grew deeper. She spoke a bit louder this time, as if thinking maybe she made him listen too hard before, "The Chrissenians don't deserve to die. Usually 'criminals' like that are made into slaves. I'm not for that either, but first they shouldn't die."

"Then why are they up for execution?" Cecil continued to walk as smoothly as he could.

"Dahzir, having stolen some poor man's body already, wants to draw out The Order of the Wolf." She paused and drew in a deep labored breath, "You didn't hear this from me, but since you saved me I'll tell you. I know better than to think The Order is out to get us." Another breath. "He just manipulates the stories so that we think he's the hero and they're the villains. The opposite!" She coughed, now regretting her rise in voice. "But please don't tell anyone I said that. I'm trying to get through this without being killed in my sleep."

"But getting killed on the street is fine." He grinned but she just stared at his feet. "Don't worry. No one will hear what you said but the council of Me, Myself, and I." He waited for her to reply but knew she was worn. Then he asked, "Is Wellness Abounds a place you can be fixed up? I'm not familiar with Fraushein."

"Go up two blocks to the main hospital. But yeah, you're close now."

He could have told her himself if he were close. The hospital was the only building in the whole city that was made at least partially of crystal and didn't touch the moons. Cecil turned onto the street he'd seen the clinic on, still fighting crowds. Sure enough he saw the hospital itself on the other side of an apartment building on the left side. It was five stories high and painted in swirling white and green, a common color combination associated with healing.

Six

The front door opened automatically, for that he was thankful. Despite how inundated the rest of Fraushein was, the hospital was quiet. A sign above a registration station displayed the name of the facility, Saint Braun. Cecil thought it was a strange practice of Desturshans to keep the hospital's title inside, but he also thought the three on his back didn't care about that.

He set all three down on a sofa in the waiting room and explained to a nurse their condition.

"Oh my goodness!" The dwarfish nurse he talked to put her hands to her mouth and then removed them. "That's all over the news. Dahzir said he was defending the Sentinel from terrorists from The Order. But that's ridiculous, and we all know it. He attacked peaceful protesters that have been scheduled for days now is what he did." She looked behind her as if the king might be right there. Then she looked back up at Cecil. "Well, good on you to bring them here. I didn't think any survived."

"Don't worry about it. I'll just be—"

"But you have paperwork, sir." She ran behind a counter to retrieve it, while three other nurses, all ogres, put the injured on gurneys and wheeled them away. The elves had never regained consciousness. But Cecil saw the woman look at him with great fascination, because she didn't know until now that he was carrying two others.

"I really don't know them." He said and tried to push away the clipboard with attached pen that the dwarf was now shoving at him.

"Just fill out what you can for legal purposes. I can fill in the blanks, or Patricia should be able to. She comes from wealthy stock, as you may assume. She's likely to have the insurance." She grabbed Cecil's right hand, opened it with more force than he would've given her credit for, and closed his hand on the clipboard. "Just put this on the desk when you're done. And then you're free to go." She walked around the counter and hopped clumsily onto a stool. Her scrubs had a name tag pinned to them that informed Cecil her name was Erica: Head Nurse. "Although I'll say you've landed quite a catch if you're dating Patricia Germaine. She's got a fortune and a half as I'm sure you know, sir. And never mind, I won't judge you for interracial relations."

"We're not—" he began.

"Oh my, I've overstepped my boundaries again! Yes, hush hush." She put her right index finger to her lips. "The public doesn't need to know about you two. I'll just keep my mouth shut."

Cecil was comforted a bit by the fact that no one was in the waiting room to overhear this exchange. Erica would think he was a real piece of work when he put that clipboard on the desk with inaccurate information and then walked out the door, thereby abandoning his love. But that's just what he did, and the dwarf yelled at him as he did so. She would later find out that Cecil had no connection to Patricia, but it amused Cecil a great deal to hear the dwarf throw a fit.

Now he knew how to get to the Sentinel and in short order. But in the days to come, he would need to understand its layout. Both the Leviathan headquarters and the prison were attached to the grand castle. And Cecil would need to breech it.

Seven

In those days he learned where Dahzir stood in the public eye. He was in fact at odds with his citizens, but he was also feared. Cecil found that many of the Desturshans were aware of what the king did behind closed doors, but just as many were ignorant or did not care, as he once did. From the southern entrance the Sentinel was a perfect straight line, and many used it to make rallies.

The castle itself seemed impenetrable. Every inch appeared to be made of crystal, but Partheus said Arthur should be able to deal with the front door. Although that could mean the hinges were not crystal, Cecil thought it meant that he had a way to open the door with a code or some other trick. The fence was pointless and seemed only to serve as a decoration. The rear of the Sentinel was the prison itself, but there were no direct entrances to it. The Leviathan base was attached to the prison and was covered in guns wherever its roof had room for them.

The Leviathans had their own door, but it seemed to be made of thick steel and not crystal, which Cecil was glad to see. He watched from a distance as armored warriors walked in and out. The door for now was propped open, but it would be closed on the upcoming Execution Day. He could see the inside from where he stood and was pleased to note that none of it appeared to be crystal. Of course, once he was inside there would be no need to worry about the fortifications.

Eight

On the third day he was camped outside Fraushein, Cecil managed to participate in a museum tour inside the city. Unlike the last few he'd been to, this one was important. The tour went over historical kings and explained the layout of the Sentinel quite well. He could only hope that the information was still accurate, as he would only have one chance at this. But he wondered just what his part was. The Order was going to set the Chrissenians free and perhaps try to get Hodge his body back, but Cecil's part was unclear. He could use this information to confront Dahzir if he was in his office, but that could be wrong. Cecil supposed just about anything would help if he could at least make a diversion.

He returned to his camp that day with a new set of clothes to replace the ones he'd been wearing for over a week. The jeans he bought were far too large, but he fixed that with a leather belt. His new shirt was wordless but was a mural of the two moons in the night sky over a field of snow. He would alternate between the two pairs and wash the one he wasn't wearing.

But when he walked to his sword, a group of boys was congregated around the stone in which Bane Edge was stationed. None of them were older than sixteen, and the youngest might have been ten. There were six of them, the oldest of which was an elf. The youngest was an orc, or perhaps an emaciated ogre. The other four were all novians that were shorter than the young one. The elf's hair was long and dirty, but where it was clean it was white. The orc was bald headed and missing half of his bottom row of teeth. The four novians were clean and wearing hooded jackets but were also very gaunt. The orc was wearing pants that might have been made of an old corn sack. The elf, who was probably also their leader, wore a leather vest over a black t-shirt. His pants were gray and made of cotton. None of them had shoes.

The boys were taking turns trying to pull the sword out of the stone. The orc and the novians looked comical in their attempts. The elf was only the smallest bit more dignified, but he looked like a skeleton trying to prove his strength. They didn't stop when Cecil approached, and he thought they wouldn't. They had their little gang, and Cecil was just one. But as he did, the four novians huddled together into a little wall and allowed the elf to keep trying alone.

Cecil tied a bag with his old clothes in it and set it on the ground. Then he walked into the opening with the stone and waved to the boys. The orc regarded him with some fear, but the rest were smug and confident. "Hey there!" Cecil raised his right hand in salute. "The boy Arthur this way never comes."

The elf didn't notice at first, and it was his job as eldest to answer. He released his hands from the swirling hilt of the sword and turned toward Cecil, who was coming up on the right. "Sir, we got here first and that's all there is to it." The elf looked at his side where a dagger hung from a rawhide strap. He raised his eyebrows at Cecil and went back to the sword. The rest remained silent and in place.

Cecil approached the boy with the dagger. The boy released the hilt of Cecil's sword and stood as straight as he could, giving Cecil a forced glare all the while. There was a fear in the boy's face, not from Cecil but from what he was steeling himself to do. He meant to attack Cecil if it came down to that, but there was a fear of that action. And Cecil thought that that was a good thing.

The elf kept a hand on his dagger but never drew it even as Cecil stood between him and the sword. Cecil didn't bother to look the boy in the eyes. "So where did my sheath go? I had it hanging on the hilt."

After a moment the novian farthest to the right spoke up. His voice was light and impish, and it matched the pink color of his hair. "Haven't seen it. Someone must've taken it."

Cecil sighed. He knew boys could get themselves into trouble if they were left to their own devices. And he thought he too had done just the same. But a bit of fear always helped to set them straight again. Cecil wrapped his right hand on the sword's hilt and pulled it in the direction opposite of the one he remembered thrusting it in with. The cross guard lifted from the stone and the dark blade revealed itself. After just a few seconds, the whole sword was free and in Cecil's grip.

He turned and let the enormous sword rest on his shoulder. The elf retreated to the front of the novian wall and had drawn his dagger. "Well," Cecil began, "I sure would like to have my sheath back." An all-knowing smile appeared on the werewolf's face that said both "I know" and "I'm waiting."

The second novian to Cecil's right began to shake. The knees of the boy were made of gelatin and his voice of breaking strings. He yelped and was unable to get any actual words out. There was a scuffle between him and the pink haired one. The other two seemed to be in a different world and stood without any reaction. The sheath came from behind the four in the second's hands. The pink headed one tried to stop him, but the yelping one managed to fling it over the elf at Cecil.

Cecil snatched his flying sheath from the air and reequipped it. After this he replaced the sword and crossed his arms. He thought that he might seem much older to these boys than he really was, because fear has a way of exaggerating.

The boy held out the silver dagger in front of himself. The handle on it was big enough to let both of his slender hands grip it. There was sweat beading on his forehead even though the day was cool. His elbows seemed to shiver and his hands quaked. The boy almost dropped his dagger several times just standing in place. He was no longer afraid of what he might do. Now he was afraid of Cecil.

Seeing the distress in the boys' eyes, Cecil raised the palms of his hands, which at first only seemed to frighten them even more. "Now calm down. You've given to me what's mine." His hands lowered. "I'm not going to harm you kids." Though Cecil knew he wasn't much more than a kid himself, he felt his eternity stretch before him and thought what he said was appropriate. At this the boys seemed to ease up at least a bit, and he continued. "Now what are you six doing out here? Other than trying to see who's next in line for the crown?" He said this hoping his foreign joke would ease them into the first question.

The third novian spoke up now. It was the first and last time the boy spoke to Cecil. "Where else and what else is there?"

Then the first in their wall spoke. "We have no homes, not anymore. And if we tried to explain that to anyone else . . ."

Now the elf. "We'd go straight to the work mines until we turn into adults. Then they would extend our sentences until we're old and worn."

The pink haired one. "And not to mention that would separate us. And we've been best friends ever since he was my height." He pointed at the elf that stood at twice the novians' heights.

Cecil scratched his chin and looked up at the dying light in the sky. A wind had picked up from the south behind the boys, and it blew their scraggly hair over their eyes. "Listen, there are better things to do than to wander around outside of a city looking for goodies." Cecil felt a bit uncomfortable telling the boys this. He was, after all, not much older than the elf, and he could see how they could turn to a life of wandering. "If you go south a bit further," He said feeling like it was the wrong thing to say, "there's food to be had. I've seen plenty of apple trees and game." He looked left and right at the leaves that were falling freely from the trees. "A bit harder to get the fruits now, but the game is still out there."

"Man," the elf said and put his knife back into his rawhide holster, "we wouldn't last a month into winter."

And Cecil knew that was true. The boys had no shoes to begin with, and the elf seemed about as skilled with that dagger as Cecil was at reciting Shakespeare. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the trifold. He removed two, no, three hundred troths and replaced his wallet. "It's not much. And yes, I could spare more. But I won't do that, or you kids are just going to beg for the rest of your lives." Cecil held the money out and waited for the elf to step forward and take it. He did, and Cecil swept his eyes over all the boys. "You're all going to have to pull your own weight." Then he focused on the elf that was looking at the bills with starry wonder. "And you have to be their leader. You must act like an adult. If you do, everyone will assume the rest are in your responsible charge. Then no one will be sent off."

The elf folded the money and placed it in the bag of a pocket on his right hip. He tried to look back up at Cecil, but his gaze fell shamefully to the werewolf's nose. "Thank you, but this won't last through—"

"No it won't." Cecil interjected. "Buy some boots and coats. Maybe some thicker pants." Cecil crossed his arms and felt the blood flow through them. "You may even have some left over. Use that for emergency food. But you're going to need to find work. The kind that pays and doesn't come with a collar." A smile stretched on Cecil's face and made him look more like the boys than a man being grizzled by the world. "Go to Redora after you've got the clothes. Go over the mountain. It'll take a week, but the weather should hold, and there's still fruit on the trees down that way. When you get there, apply for work at Cornelius's General Store. I know he's got at least one opening, but it's an advanced position. Mention my name, Cecil, and he should find something for a few of you to do. If not there, go to Steaks For Goodness Sakes or The Straw House. They could always use more dishwashers." Cecil could see the dismay in the elf's face and added, "It won't be glamorous, but you'll all be able to get by. And when you kids get older, you can move on to better things." Cecil looked over his shoulder in the direction of the city. "There might even be better things by the time you get older."

The boys left after than without much more talking. Cecil could only hope they would be alright. And he went back to his camp and thought. He knew as much as he could and now came the waiting, a thing he could do forever.

# Battle

One

The night of the twenty fourth was cold and rainy. Well, it only rained until everything was drenched. After that the temperature dropped, and it began to snow with fury. It was the only time since Cecil came up to the city that he couldn't hear the hustle and bustle of the city below the ridge. The people here hated snow just as the ones on Earth did, and he thought many would be shut-ins on Execution Eve. And that would be fine. No, that would be great.

Having spent every single moment of every day awake for two years, Cecil could tell the time without a clock. He knew midnight would be coming soon, so he walked into the city.

Two

The wind blew all around Cecil as he walked down the cold, icy streets. The tail of his shirt fluttered, and his hair was pushed back behind his head. The rainwater on the streets had already begun to ice over, and he was sure to not slip. Snowflakes landed on his shoulders and were whisked away by the gale. The sound of the high winds in the streets and along the eves made a terrible howling sound that reminded Cecil too much of himself.

Aside from the screaming wind, the streets were bitterly quiet. There was light inside windows, but thick ice on the outside was obscuring most of it. Even with his extraordinary hearing, he could not hear the sounds of residents inside their homes. There were no street plows nor were there guards on the roads. The emptiness was unsettling and more than a bit strange. But Cecil continued walking in icy solitude toward the Sentinel.

He walked to the north side where the prison and guards were. The front door of the castle to the south seemed intact, and he assumed that he had arrived early. The door of the guardhouse was shut and none stood outside to guard it. He approached the steel frame and gazed at the weaponry laid up on the roof. Cecil fully expected to hear the turning crank of Gatling guns followed by the blistering whistle of bullets. But these never came, and he approached the door without hindrance.

The door was heavy in appearance, and Cecil was certain that it was heavy in weight as well. The handle was curved to fit the shaping of a hand and was made of polished brass. Cecil tried the handle to see if it would open the door. He pulled on it and gripped a trigger, but the door did not release from its frame. He released the brass, leaving a hand print made of condensation, and stepped back.

He drew Bane Edge and let the tip of the blade rest on the top step, where snow was beginning to accumulate. He looked at the white orb being held by four claws. He took a moment to steel himself. What he was readying himself to do was treason by definition, but it needed to be done. A vein of fear ran into his veins at the base of his neck which was far colder than the icy breeze.

The wind picked up and slowed down. The howling grew in intensity, and the snowflakes tripled in size and number. A blizzard had begun. As he listened to nature's crying and felt its cold fingers attempt to sink into his skin, Cecil heard a commotion of clattering and yelling from the south. He knew that was his queue.

Three

He held the blade back and used both hands to swing it forward. The sword crashed through the steel as the inner workings of the lock twisted and shattered. The door opened only half an inch, and Cecil withdrew his crystal sword. He shoved his shoulder into the steel and watched it come free of its hinges. He saw it slide over a marble floor, strike a guard at the front desk, and pin her under its great weight.

The door would've killed her if she'd not been wearing her armor, but since it didn't she screamed in distress. Cecil ignored her yelling and walked down a corridor on his right. The walls might as well have been made of paper for all he cared, and Cecil heard the shuffle of feet as guards prepared to burst from doorways.

To the left and right Leviathans came crashing through five doors. Two doors on Cecil's right and three to the left. A total of eleven came out. Each was holding a pistol. And despite how fast they came out, they were well organized. All were clad in crystal armor from head to toe. Cecil couldn't help but think how odd it was for them to wear helmets inside. And just as soon as he came into sight, they formed a line and began firing charged bullets.

The projectiles bounced off of his skin without a second thought, but his shirt filled up with tiny burning holes. Cecil ran forward and swung at his adversaries. It only took a few swings to hit them all with the buster. Each clash made an odd harmonic sound as crystal clanged against crystal. The guards that were hit were sent sailing. Some went through the paper like walls. Others just slid across the floor. None of them stood back up, but he didn't hear any crunching. Cecil hoped he'd not killed any by accident, but thought he probably did and forced himself to move on.

The end of the corridor was the door to the prison. It was unlocked and unguarded. He opened it and found himself on a metal walkway a floor above the base. There were cells on this level, but most were underneath. Cecil jumped over the railing and struck his feet on the concrete below. Still no guards came to interfere as he walked to the end of the block. The prisoners of Chrissenia had been kept here so that the Leviathans could keep a better watch. He walked up to the last group cell, which was filled beyond reason with captives.

"I've uhh," Cecil began, "come to cancel the execution. How many here are Chrissenians?"

The prisoners had been quiet, most even asleep despite their impending demise. But a dwarven man walked up to bars, pushing through as best he could. The man had been the gatekeeper in Chrissenia, and Cecil recognized him. "I never thought I'd live to see you again." He tugged on his steely gray beard. "By heavens, you are tall like the rest of them!" He released his beard and crossed his arms. A broad smile pushed on his beard and raised it up from resting on his chest. "Everyone in this block. We were spread across three, but they decided to sardine us in here about two months ago."

Cecil didn't waste any time and sheathed his sword. He then ripped the iron bar doors from the cells one by one. Of all the things Dahzir decided to make of crystal, Cecil thought it would've been wise to make the cell doors of it. But by the time he processed that, all the cells were open. The Chrissenians congregated outside their cells, but still had little room to breathe.

Four

Cecil walked up a steel set of stairs that lead to the door he came from and motioned for the prisoners to follow. He was overjoyed that no one put up a fight and seemed to understand what he wanted. He had no idea what to do with them once they were outside the guardhouse. But he would deal with that when he came to it.

He walked back through the hall, making sure the Leviathans were unconscious. None stirred, and he led the prisoners through the base and to the door that now laid on a hapless desk attendant. The outside air was cold and had begun pulling in snow from the street. As Cecil passed the threshold and thought of how to keep these people warm and safe, he was greeted by a fleet of buses. Standing against the closest one was an elf with blond roots showing.

Partheus waved at Cecil, and the werewolf waved back. Then the elf began instructing the prisoners to board buses with their families. Once they had the routine down, the mayor walked over to Cecil and shook his hand. Cecil made sure not to shake with any of his strength.

"And The Order?" Cecil asked while surveying how many buses the elf brought. There were at least three dozen.

"Hodge." Partheus yelled, though it came out as not much more than a whisper. The elf was run ragged again. So instead of saying more, the elf pointed behind Cecil toward the castle. After this, Partheus lipped a "thank you" and climbed into one of the buses. Cecil was unsure if it had just been melted snow, but he thought he saw a tear roll down Partheus's cheek.

Five

Walking almost single file took the better part of ten minutes for the prisoners to come out and board. Every moment made Cecil increasingly nervous. He kept expecting those weapons above to rain lead and magic on them, but they never did. He also thought that the Pheonix might light its cannons on them, but it too hung silently in the sky.

Cecil waited with his nerves growing thorns. At last the steady stream trickled down to a rough march. Nearly at the very end came an orc boy with a scarred but healthy face. Cecil raised an eyebrow at the boy, and when the boy saw the tall novian, he came running. The snow didn't seem to bother the boy's bare feet as he barreled toward the one who brought him out of Hurlinge.

At the last moment, Cecil recognized the boy and said his name. Then the child was on top of Cecil. The werewolf almost tumbled over backwards when the boy jumped on him. The boy looked the same as he had two years ago, but he was somehow healthier looking now. And he was taller of course.

"Cecil!" Folas exclaimed and clamored off the man with the sword. "I never thought you would come."

Cecil lifted the boy up and set the child's feet on his boots. That wouldn't be much warmer, but it was better than the cold concrete. "Yeah, I never thought I would either." He would've enjoyed catching up with the kid and seeing how he turned out, but there was no time for that. The last of the refugees were boarding as Cecil let Folas down and pushed him along. The boy walked reluctantly and stopped at the open door of a bus to wave at the werewolf. Cecil waved back. "I'll catch up with you soon. Maybe I'll get you some candy." At that the boy's face lit up, and he turned to enter the bus.

Now Cecil should have known better than to think all was well and good. As Folas took his first step onto the bus, the sound of a striking hammer and igniting gunpowder sounded. Cecil's muscles were fast, and he turned and saw the shooter. The attendant crawled free and found a gun. He was able to see the bullet fly across the snowy air, but Cecil was not fast enough to stop it. Time slowed to a horrifying degree as Cecil watched his useless hands reach out for the bullet. He watched his body go forward with all its speed, but it wasn't enough.

The bullet went beyond his grasp and into the side of Folas's skull. The boy's eyes glazed over, and he fell. Hands went to the boy and pulled him into the bus, but Cecil saw where the bullet went in. There would be nothing for the boy, and Cecil was certain of it.

The assailant began to barrage Cecil with bullets. His right hand went to his sword without a thought, and he threw it at the attendant. She went into the air as the white orb struck her chest. Cecil could hear the air rush from her lungs as it did. She hit the wall above the fallen door, and the sound of her armor was loud and panging. But above that, there was an audible snapping noise, and he knew her neck was broken. But in all this, he never looked at the Leviathan. He merely watched as the fleet of buses drove away and out of sight.

He failed one and saved many, and he knew he would need to tell himself that if he wanted to cast away the guilt. There would be time to deal with guilt later, but he still had a job to do. And he would not fail this one.

Six

Now he took a corridor on his left after entering the base and after retrieving his sword. There were no guards to stop him this time, and he knew that was strange. But he kept moving. All the doors he needed to take were wide open, while the rest were locked.

He walked through office spaces and into a vestibule where the real castle began. Though the outside had been made of crystal, the inside was made of gray stone. It was just as he would imagine a medieval castle, save for the electric lights and television monitors.

He passed through a dining room the size of his old apartment building. In the center was a grand table made of mahogany. There were silver plates and platters shining in the light of gorgeous electric candles. A golden chandelier hung overhead and further helped to illuminate the extravagance. The chairs were made of stone and covered in blue velvet. At the head of the table was throne like chair covered in gold and precious jewels. All the plates were empty, but ready to hold food. There were wine glasses and embroidered napkins beside every plate.

The next room was filled with mounted heads. Most were of creatures Cecil recognized, but there were a few he did not. One that stood out to him was the head of what might have been an ape, or perhaps a Sasquatch. A dozen wolf heads of various tones and sizes lined the wall above the door he came through. There were also deer, bears, and a few dragons on display. And Cecil wondered just how many of these the royal family hunted, and how many were bought. He decided they were all bought, because the hunted would look like people. Although some of the wolves might have been people, he knew.

The next room was a library that stretched in every direction with towering shelves of books. Ladders on rollers were at every shelf, and Cecil thought this room would burn very well. This was by far the largest room he'd entered. The ceiling was a hundred feet above his head, and books were stacked to the apex. As he walked in the never ending library, Cecil felt confident that all recorded knowledge was contained here.

This room was lit by neon paneling in the shelves themselves. And despite how annoying he thought that would be, it was very pleasant. They didn't flicker or buzz the way he was familiar with. Instead these lights released their soft glow without harsh undertones, and the room felt inviting. Somewhere on the inside Cecil desired to sit down and open up one of these books. Just let the words take him away from all this and to a happier place.

Then he thought of how ironic it would be for him to not be stopped by steel doors or bullets but by the allure of ink on paper. And so he kept walking. Row after row falling behind him. His feet met the wooden floor beneath him in a steady thudding rhythm. Not once did the floor creek and not a soul would've hushed him even if it did. This place was peaceful even in the hornet's nest that it was a part of.

The next door that was left open was at the end of a bare shelf, the only one in the library. From inside Cecil could see a bright violet light and the sound of breathing. Cecil ran forward with his sword drawn. But as a foot came down before the threshold, and only one more would send him speeding into the room, he heard her.

Seven

A scream, one familiar to him came from a strained tongue. He didn't know how much he missed that voice until he heard it again in person, regardless of the circumstance. Salina's voice seemed to come almost from underwater, but she articulated as best she could. "Don't come in here!" She screamed, though it was muffled. "The floor will bind you—"

"Bitch!" The growling fury in this single word was overflowing. From Hodge's mouth it came, but Dahzir did the talking. Cecil leaned into the room, minding the glowing purple floor and saw Hodge's body standing in front of a pedestal with a brilliant black crystal resting on top. The man's hands were wrapped around the crystal as if letting go would mean death. Veins of black crystal ran down the pedestal and into the floor, where it met a crystal plate that covered the entirety of the room's floor. And Dahzir spoke again. This time Hodge's mouth did not move, and the voice didn't belong to the werewolf. "Training dummy!" The voice was old and raspy but full of malice. "I thought you were long gone. You know, holed up somewhere sucking your damned thumb and crying. It's just as well though. Now I can take care of you all. I hope you stand still and just take it like you did before."

Now Marianna spoke up. "He means to rip our souls from our bodies and to gain full control over Hodge's body by removing his. This floor is—"

"You can shut the hell up too, woman!" Boomed the voice of Dahzir, "I'm sure twinkly can figure out what the floor is doing." Hodge's face never moved, but Cecil could feel Dahzir's gaze turn to him. "Why don't you make yourself useful and talk your friends into giving up. This is taking much longer than I would like, and surely you don't want them to suffer."

Cecil paid the king's words little attention. He noticed that the wall of this room also was not made of crystal but of wood. Hodge's body was only fifteen feet from him to the left, and the remaining members of The Order were kneeling on the floor almost at the foot of the door on their side. The room was otherwise empty. There weren't even any lights or outlets to be seen.

Cecil transformed and dug his claws into the wall around the door. The grip was solid, and he hoisted himself onto the wall in a single swinging motion. He didn't even notice how uncomfortable his tail was.

"Well! Just look at you." Dahzir began laughing, and the sound of hatred in it grated against everyone in the room. "That's one of the things he'd keeping from me. Looks useful."

Cecil continued to ignore the king but began shimmying along the wall. He came about halfway, and his claws were too sharp. Cecil slid down the wall and came within inches of the floor. He could feel the glee rising in Dahzir, and he felt it drain when Cecil came to a stop. He removed Bane Edge and its sheath and threw it to the floor. It struck the crystal with that same harmonic ting and laid there, cold and dead.

Now he was almost on top of the crystal that Hodge's hands were wrapped around. Cecil had one chance to do this, and he wasn't even sure it would work. But letting Dahzir have control over lycanthropy would spell disaster, and death, and many horrible things. He steeled himself. If Cecil could sweat, he would've been producing rivers. He turned from the emotional high, and a distinct heat wrapped around his muzzle from nerves. Then he pushed off the wall, his feet dangling just above the floor that would be his death.

Cecil locked his hands around the crystal before his feet came to the glowing purple floor. His wolfish traits receded, and he became human again. Then the color faded from his face, and he became a standing image of death. The room became silent, and all eyes went to him.

Eight

For Cecil there was darkness all around him. He was standing in infinite black, yet his feet found purchase on solid ground. There was nothing to be seen, but ahead of him only a stone throw away stood an aemon. Cecil's only company was Dahzir.

The aemon was old and clothed in the same royal garments he'd been wearing when he killed the protesters. But there was a vibrance in his black eyes that pierced Cecil's soul with greed and anger. Two horns curved in from his temples, almost forming a heart. His skin was red and covered in green tribal tattoos. The hair behind the horns was combed down and black as oil. How Cecil could see Dahzir, he didn't know.

The aemon grinned and held his hand to his chest. The grin faded and was replaced by a scowl, the skin of his face wrinkling and smoothing like dried leather. The tattoos folded over one another in a hideous display that matched the ugliness of the aemon's soul.

"No magic here." Cecil said.

"Doesn't matter." Replied the king. His smile returning and forcing that old leather to stretch once more. "I doubt you'll have any of the advantage you're used to having, you green peon."

At that Cecil touched the left sleeve of his shirt and tugged on it. There was resistance instead of immediate tearing. He felt dismay but didn't allow the aemon to see it on his face. Then came a silence in which neither of them moved. It would've been a perfect moment for a tumbleweed to roll between them but, of course, there was nothing but darkness.

The aemon bared his teeth and made a roar that sounded like gurgling. He ran forward, much faster than Cecil had suspected him to be. It would seem age was just a number, but it would not be one to hold Dahzir back. As the king's feet met footing, no sounds rang back to announce his steps. It was as if the noise passed through the floor and into the endless abyss beyond, never to return.

Cecil trained himself to wield a sword, but he always owed his skill in hand-to-hand combat to his strength. And without a weapon in his hand, he was at a great disadvantage.

Cecil had never been formally taught to fight, and so he was not aware that thinking was not something he could take time for. He was still missing the weapon when the first strike hit his face. Still wondering where his strength had gone when the air was forced from his lungs by a knee. It wasn't until the second fist met his face that he was in the moment. Cecil managed to block a third strike, but not the fourth. He already was at a loss that Dahzir would not let him recover from.

"Punching bag!" From heavy, fast breathing came Dahzir's words. And they were barbed. "You haven't changed a bit." And a fifth and sixth blow came from his gnarled but strong hands to Cecil's face.

Cecil's blood ran from his broken nose. His left eye now filling with the crimson liquid that just a while ago was still in his veins. But now it flowed, and it flowed down his face and beaded on the stubble of his chin. And more strikes came. The number was lost and a numbness came over Cecil. His brain was taking trauma, and soon things would be black, blacker that is. And then it would be over, and he would fail.

But Dahzir twisted Cecil's left arm and broke it at the forearm. And he bent it until the bone jutted out of Cecil's skin. Dahzir struck the human one more time in the jaw, breaking it in three places and loosing three of Cecil's front teeth.

The boy, or perhaps he was a man now, went sprawling on his back. The numbness was replaced by grinding, pulsing pain. His stomach turned, but there was nothing in his gut to vomit up. He watched as Dahzir approached him, ready to finish him. Cecil would've cried, but he refused to give the aemon that kind of satisfaction. Old man or not, the king had centuries of training and over a millennia of scheming under his belt. But Cecil would not give him the right to be arrogant.

But the aemon slowed down. Time slowed. And Cecil felt a hand push his face to the left. The bone sticking out of his arm was white where it wasn't red. He could see the hollow that wasn't truly hollow, and the sight was sickening.

I've bought you time. While he's fighting, he loses his grip on me. Hodge's voice was calm, and it came from inside Cecil's mind. But the reality was that they were inside Hodge's mind. But I can't give you any more. And the voice faded.

As the voice faded, time transitioned back to its normal speed. But before it regained its gusto, Cecil saw it. The bone was crude, but it was also sharp. Not as sharp as Bane Edge, and he wouldn't have the same thrusting power. But it might be enough. It would have to be enough.

The aemon, now moving normally, jumped on top of Cecil. He meant to strangle the boy. But as his face lined up with Cecil's, the young man ripped his left forearm from the strip of skin and tendons keeping it attached. The pain Cecil felt was beyond unbearable and made him dry heave for a moment. Blood gushed out and sprayed the aemon's face. In the immeasurably small time that the king's eyes were closed from the spray, Cecil pushed his detached bone into Dahzir's throat. The grip Cecil had on his mutilated limb with the other was just short tearing his still working tendons.

The bone did not sink deep, but it sank some. The king removed the man's forearm from the center of his neck and felt it with his hands. There was a hole welling over with blood. He rolled off of Cecil, choking and in disbelief. He tried to curse at Cecil, but his words would not escape the onrush of his tainted blood. He laid there, bitter and full of rage. But rage and hatred, fury and malice, greed and contempt, not one of these could keep him alive. In his last breath, he thought of Cecil's head on a pike and the naked bodies of the three females outside laid at his feet in the palace. Beyond this he saw the multitudes bowing at his feet, at his supremacy. And the bastard died with a smile on his face.

As for Cecil, he was still alive. But blood trickled from just below his elbow without restraint. The blood ran through the floor and into the abyss where the sound went. He had lost too much blood, and he was losing more. He grabbed the detached part of his left arm and tried to put it back into place, just for the sake of it. When it refused to mend, he dropped it and this time it fell through the floor. But he accomplished what he needed to, and he knew the world would better (if only just a little bit) because of what he did. There would be bliss and there would be celebration. Sorrows would live on, but for a time they would be muted. He saw this and watched his family, both on Earth and those from The Order, cry for victory. He saw justice form and the righteous prevail. And the hero of this tale, Cecil Fauden from the line of Siegfried, died with a smile on his face.

# Battle's End

Zero

Cecil's hands came free from the crystal at the same time Hodge's did. The crystals on the pedestal and floor lost their light and dulled to the color of a bruise. It was also the same time that the other four regained their strength. Nelrene ran to her husband, who was already relearning how to control his own body. Marianna and Arthur embraced one another. Salina ran to Cecil, but he wasn't there.

The heir of Siegfried stood as dead. Then great blue flames engulfed his body. The fire was brilliant, beautiful, and cold. It ate away at his body in a way unfamiliar to all in the room but Hodge. It did not char his flesh. Instead it seemed to erase him. In only a few seconds, their rescuer vanished leaving behind only his clothes and Bane Edge.

And then his voice rose up in the room. It came from nowhere, and yet was all around them. He spoke not in sadness, but with joy. "'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world but loses his own soul?' I have lost my life, but you shall keep your souls." The disembodied voice drifted away through the walls.

There would be time to mourn his loss later. He was a hero, and he was a martyr. His effigy would be raised in memory. For now though, Salina picked up his sword and sheath. There was much work to be done.

The End

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