Beyond Black Doors Act 2

You can read the Prologue and Act Zero of Beyond Black Doors here: "Beyond Black Doors Prologue+Ch. 0" 

Act 1 and the entire story are archived here: http://beyondblackdoors.blogspot.com--we post a new chapter everyday! ^_^v

Act Two: The Mindbreaking

I. The sudden shimmer in the corner of the study hall startled an acolyte, making him drop the book he was reading. Scintillating waves rose vertically from the half-drawn circle, which was slowly completing by itself. The two lines met, completing the circle, the vertical glimmer that rose from them growing more vivid in a flash, and disappearing just as quickly, leaving in its place two exhausted priests.

"Greetings, Father Maraksus and Father Dylan," the acolyte said in greeting, politely bowing--picking up the dropped book in the process--and smiled primly.

The silver-haired priest sighed and massaged his temples. "Greetings, Vangel. Are there any news...?"

"Gah. Don't ask anyone about work after we've arrived, Dylan. I thought we agreed on that," sniped the other priest, his biretta sliding from head, threatening to cover his eyes. He irritably pushed it up, but instead of putting it back in its place it just dropped onto the carpeted floor with a thud. Muttering curses that could make his superiors suspend him upon hearing, he bent down to the floor, putting the biretta back onto his head, and forcefully pushed it down to make sure it would not slip again. "Goddamn thing's too small for me. Is the Abbey too--?"

"Oh, for the gods' sakes, Maraksus, will you shut your mouth?" griped Dylan as he plopped himself into a nearby chair, legs splayed and arms dangling from the armrests, sinking himself as deep as he could into the cushy chair. "We're both drained and you're there yapping your mouth off. Who cares if your hat is small? I don't think your ladies would like you less for that."

"And will you stop inquiring about work when we've just arrived here? Unlike you, I don't think we're walking white potions."

The acolyte politely coughed. "Erm...."

The two haggard priests shifted their attention away from their usual tiff. "Well, Vangel?" asked Dylan, on which Maraksus shot the other priest a venomous glare.

"Sir Laire Allicran just wanted to confirm Morroc's current state. And nothing more."

Maraksus put down his bible and sat himself on the windowsill, staring out into the glaring white streets of happy Prontera. "Can't he just ask Sir Valcrist?" he asked Vangel, looking at him with a languid eye. "Oh, those two are the best of friends...."

"Well...."

"Vangel, could you do us a favor?" inquired Dylan, propping his chin on his palm, looking like a limp doll. "Make Mister Sourpuss here happy and tell Laire Allicran that we're too tired to arrange any appointments?"

The door banged open.

"Too late."

Striding through the door in all his regalia-laden glory was Laire Allicran, his heavy footfalls muffled by the carpet, swinging his sheathed claymore as he walked. "I've waited for too long for you gentlemen, and I expect some decent report from you." He finally paused by the fireplace, leaning his back against the mantle. "Well?"

Maraksus' brow rose almost imperceptibly. "Since when did the Prontera Chivalry gain power over St. Capitolina Abbey?" Despite his relaxed position he stiffened, mood further soured by the raven-haired knight's presence.

"Ever since St. Capitolina Abbey pledged its services to the good of Prontera and the whole of Rune-Midgard," Laire snapped, then regained his cool composure again. "But that is beside the point." He turned to Dylan, hoping for a more reasonable dialogue with the level-head priest. "What is Morroc's current state, Father?"

"Total carnage, Sir Allicran," was all Dylan could say, then in an afterthought added, "We learned that the Sword of Valor did its best to suppress the infestation, but still...."

Laire snorted. "Heh. The Sword of Valor's a bunch of goofballs anyway, thanks to that no-good Valcrist. Anyway, there is a reason why I came here.

"The Doors," Laire continued, walking over to the table between the window where Maraksus sat and Dylan's chair, "are detected nearby our beloved city. Southwest to be exact." Taking a map from a nearby open drawer he spread it over the smooth varnished surface of the mahogany table. "See here?" he traced a path from Morroc towards Prontera--a diagonal path that went Northeast--as he beckoned for the two priests to come closer. "A vein of unidentifiable energy has been sensed...so strong that it were the scientists of Geffen, no less, who felt it firsthand."

Maraksus whistled over Laire's shoulder, surveying the path Laire traced out for them. "Geffen, huh?" He gave a once-over towards the spot where Geffen lay, and compared the distance between Geffen and between Prontera and the desert regions. The distance was significant, at least. "A force to be reckoned with."

"Well yes, there is the path between Morroc and Prontera, Sir Allicran, but what does it mean?" Dylan inquired, fishing out his reading glasses and pushed it up to the bridge of his nose.

Laire took a deep breath. "I do not know either. But the scientists have explicitly mentioned to give attention to the paths between the sites where the Doors opened--chronologically. They say there could be an underground vein involved."

"Well why didn't they try and take a look in it after the infestation of Morroc?" Maraksus asked.

"Because, Father Aralnae, the nature of the sand does not permit it. Unless you want our men to be swallowed up and drowned in the sand? You didn't hope to dig in there, did you?" Laire said, rolling his eyes. "Really."

"Erm."

"So...you're planning to investigate that angle further now that it's approaching the more solid grounds of Prontera..." Dylan murmured. "Not all of it though almost one-half still lies in the desert sands. You can't look into it completely, obviously."

"Yes."

"What does this have to do with us men of the faith, though?" Maraksus looked at Laire inquiringly. "Do you expect us to dig in there?"

"No, Father Aralnae. Only that I need you two to keep a close watch over Prontera. But I am only acting on a hunch. A woman's hunch, in fact."
*1*

***

II. He watched his daughter, the princess-heir Tara, play among the sculpted bushes, kicking a shiny red ball, her pet poring bouncing along beside her. He couldn't help but smile as she gleefully rolled her ball across the grounds bathed in clear afternoon sunshine. A refreshing summer breeze caressed the green leaves of grass and tree and shrub alike, like the touch of a loving mother.

His daughter's joyful cries offered fanfare that made him want to just laugh out loud, the responsibilities of kingship forgotten if only for awhile. But of course the servants were watching and it would not do to have them think he'd gone mad. Without turning his head, he glanced at the retinue of servants waiting under a nearby shade, an entire flock of mother geese looking out for a single gosling. He turned his attention back to his daughter who was now running up to him, poring pet skipping along with her.

"Father! Father! Did you see what Peery just did?" the breathless princess asked as he gathered her in his arms. The poring Peery stood in front of him, its round gelatinous form jiggling, lop-sided smile plastered on its face as it watched him with beady eyes. A backpack was strapped to its back, like a grade-schooler ready for school, of all things.

"It fetched my ball!" gushed his daughter, hugging his neck and leaping down to take the shiny red ball from the poring's backpack.

He laughed good-naturedly as the princess held the shiny ball in his face. "Well, you've been training him well! Any other tricks he can do?"

"Still working on it!" was her only reply. She threw the ball across the grounds again, running along after it, her pet in tow.

"Good luck, my little Tara!" he called after her. "But come back soon for a snack! Little princesses and porings get hungry quite often." He chuckled and nodded towards the princess' head nurse, who in turn started to instruct her retinue to set up the afternoon refreshment here on the lawn.

Liveried servants brought out folding chairs spaced around a table upon which was spread pristine blue cloth, striped with the purple and gold that were the colors of the Royal House of Prontera. One of the handmaidens began to slice pieces out of a large round Christmas Cake, Princess Tara's favorite food from far Al De Baran. Apple juice in transparent fruit-shaped bottles lay chilling in a bucket of ice near the table--Peery's pet food and the Princess' beverage of choice as well.

More of the princess' nurses stood in a nearby shade, like an entire flock of mother geese watching out for a single gosling. Past them, he saw his chief advisor striding across the lawn towards him, a stack of rolled-up parchment in his arms.

He sighed. The gods forbid he tackle affairs of state on a glorious summer afternoon such as this. But there was no helping it. The Commonwealth prospered well under his rule, but if he slackened, everything might come tumbling down again. He could never forgive himself if he failed the people's trust.

"Your Majesty!" Chief Advisor Kurt Fenwick bowed as he reached the King. "I've prepared the reports for the day."

King Tristram III nodded at his chief advisor, smiling. Tufts of graying hair barely covered the top of his advisor's head, giving an overall impression of untidiness that clashed with the snappy way he carried his crisp robes of office. "Very good, Advisor Fenwick," he replied. The man had been his advisor since he ascended the throne many years ago, but they have been friends for many more.

He watched his daughter as the Kurt droned on, reading off various reports that dealt with the Commonwealth's economy and general well-being. He nodded and gave his decisions on a few key points, which Kurt scribbled down on a large brass-bound tome. The adviser has commandeered nearly half the Princess' picnic table with his rolled-up scrolls and books. Princess Tara joined them before they were done, to eat some of the Christmas Cake and drink apple juice with Peery the Poring.

"...And, Majesty, Sir Valcrist of the Sword of Valor is happy to inform you that the Morroc Incident has been well taken cared of," Advisor Kurt was saying, as he forked a piece of Christmas Cake into his mouth. They had passed from economic issues to the current goings-on. He chewed thoughtfully for a while. "It's weird though."

First, Payon, then Morroc, and now Prontera. These strange phenomena still baffled the mages of Geffen. They called it Doors, extra-dimensional gateways that spewed forth monsters. The Payon Door spawned a huge monster that would have leveled the Forest Village had Laire Allicran and the Sword of Virtue not been quick to respond. Valcrist Lenneth and the Sword of Valor was dispatched just as quickly when reports of the same phenomenon flew in from Morroc. Last week though, a Door was opened right here in Prontera, in the slums district, and Syn Laelithar's Sword of Guidance were assigned to handle it. What his chief advisor commented on as strange was the fact that the Pronteran Door did not spawn any monsters at all.

"Syn reports that the site has been cordoned off from the public and his best swordsmen are on duty around the clock guarding it. It's been almost a week since it opened, Your Majesty," Kurt informed him.

"This Doors Phenomena, Kurt...do you think it's Ragnarok?" King Tristram said in a low voice, glancing to make sure his daughter did not hear. Little Tara was busy spooning so much Christmas Cake into a purring Peery.

Chief Advisor Kurt stiffened visibly. "Oh...ah, uhm," was all he managed to splutter.

"Never mind, Kurt." Ragnarok lay heavy in each man's heart in Rune Midgard. The Final Battle, the destruction of Rune Midgard, was something everyone would rather forget. But King Tristram thought the affair of the Doors was somehow connected to the twilight of the gods. "Anything more?" he asked quickly, trying to ease the advisor's discomfort.

"Ah, nothing more, Your Majesty. Just another minor thing: reports of a plague running through the slums of Prontera. But I've informed St. Capitolina Abbey, and I'm sure they'll be able to sort it out." Advisor Fenwick's relief at the change of subject was obvious.

The King nodded. Plagues were a thing of the past now with the superior healing powers of the priests of the Abbey. Still, his heart filled with dread that it might spread, that Tara might...no, that was silly. The slums lay in the far southeastern corner of Prontera, the only part of the Shining Capital that literally did not shine. And he has faith in the priests' powers.

His reverie was shattered by a sudden sound.

"Oh! Daddy! Did you hear that? Peery burped!" cried Princess Tara happily.
*2*

***

III. Kurosawa Tomoe put a hand over her forehead, breathing deeply. She gave a quick once-over towards the two priests seated across the table in the sitting room of her small rented apartment, situated in the fringes of Prontera. Her hooded eyes gave away only a flicker of a crimson shimmer unique to her eyes.

"I do not feel anything amiss in the waking world, Fathers," she said in her soft yet steely voice. "Forcing me to close my eyes and sleep while sitting upright would not do wonders." Her hands were folded in her lap, her expression guarded.

"I'm sorry, Sister," Dylan said contritely. "It is only now that we have dealt with someone of your Gift--"

"This is not a gift, Father."

Maraksus tsk-ed. "With all due respect, Sister Kurosawa, we are sorry for any misunderstandings we might encounter from now on, but could you let us just shove it aside for later and try to help? You're not going to do this for us, or for the Faith."

"We ask you for your help in behalf of the whole of Prontera, and possibly of Rune-Midgard," Dylan finished for Maraksus. "Well?"

Kurosawa stared at the two of them with hooded eyes, seemingly to assess their worth. "Very well then. I trust Sir Allicran has mentioned to the both of you about the nature of what you call my Gift," she said, voice clipped. "What did he tell you?"

"That you dream certain events happening related to the Doors phenomena, before they even happen," Dylan said. "Most notably, the infestation in Morroc."

"That is close enough," Kurosawa remarked as she shook her head, her raven tresses moving with a shimmering sheen. "But not quite. I dream about events. Yes." Her lips curved in a secret smile, whose meaning could not be deciphered by anyone but herself.

"And--?" Maraksus's voice trailed off, looking at the dark acolyte, waiting for her to expound.

"And nothing more," Kurosawa said curtly. "I believe you have overstayed your welcome, Fathers. Good day." So saying, she stood up and walked over to the front door of her small apartment, opening it.

Taking cue, the two priests left the table and started to leave, Maraksus muttering something about "bitches" under his breath. They were just about to through the doorframe when Kurosawa called their attention.

"A black mist will cover Prontera not long from now," Kurosawa murmured, looking at them sideways, half-hidden behind the door. "But tell Sir Allicran that he could not do anything about it."

"What--what do you mean?" Dylan asked, alarmed. The acolyte did not show any inclination to answer, prompting his companion to demand.

"What is this? Do you even care about what happens to the whole of mankind?" Maraksus spat. "Or are you one of those who are responsible?!"

"I am merely speaking the truth, because I know," Kurosawa answered coolly, closing the door shut in front of them.

The two priests were left standing, staring at the door dumbly for quite a long while. "That was cold," Maraksus finally said, his brows raised, breaking the momentary silence.

Dylan snorted, then chuckled as he turned and walked to the paved main street. "Don't tell me she piques your interest."

"Wait--hold that thought," Maraksus said, looking as if a most brilliant idea occurred in his head. It did. "You...you're brilliant, Dylan!" he said, eyes gleaming. He quickened his steps to catch up with his partner, and looked behind him briefly to make sure Kurosawa's apartment was well out of earshot.

"Do tell."

Maraksus smiled, licking his lips. "Does the term agent provocateur ring a bell?"

"Uh-oh."
*3*

***

IV. "Don't tell me you miss teaching."

Hesper Silberhof stirred, shaking off his pensive air. He swung off his feet over the railings of the Observatory Deck over the abandoned Kafra Research Laboratory--situated in the peaks of Mt. Mjolnir--giving one last longing look at the spectacular view of the thousand-foot drop below them, where thick cold mists partly covered the dots that were Mjolnir's famous chemically and magically mutated gigantic flowers. He then finally turned away to look at the young wizard who spoke, and let out a throaty chuckle before answering, "of course, I do. Even I had my soft moments." He suddenly found his thoughts wandering to a certain heated memory. "Oh yes. So soft..." His voice trailed off, momentarily forgetting the biting cold which threatened to freeze their insides.

Electic looked at him strangely, yellow fringes obscuring his eyes. "Er...right, whatever you mean," He then twirled his staff like a baton, playing with it. "Anyways, we have to deliver this time. Mistress Fiorenne failed, and I don't think the High Wizard is too happy with it." He eventually stopped whirling his Arc Wand, gently tapping Hesper's forehead with it. "Bang," he whispered softly, then acted as if he was shot down to death. "Ugghhhh...nooo...forgiiiiive me...."

After a few seconds of writhing on the stone flooring of the high Observatory Deck Electic straightened up as if nothing happened. "That is what would happen to us if we failed." Tipping his head to one side he looked earnestly at the former instructor. "Right?"

Hesper clapped lifelessly, the cold wind seeping into their insides punctuating the dead of the mood. "Heheh. You amuse me kid. Although I doubt the High Wizard would get our hides for failing, since even he doesn't know where Laeveteinn is. We're just feeling for clues." Absent-mindedly his hand rubbed his titanium-alloy arm, a gift from the Black Circle upon his joining. The word "feeling" left an empty pit in his insides. The fact that he lost his arm--eventually replaced by the un-feeling pure-metal mechanical appendage--was his bane for quite a long time now; and the reality that the perpetrator was still alive filled him with a desire for retribution.

I'm going to make you suffer.

"Hey, you're spacing out again," Electic said, peering into his face. "Do you have a problem?"

Irritated, Hesper stood up from the badly-rusted railings, looking down at the 12-year-old prodigy who barely even reached his waist level. "Yes, I have problems, young one, and if you're not going to shut up I'm going to add you to them."

"Err," Electic murmured, cringing, as Hesper swatted him aside to make his way towards the Control Room entrance.

"Better get ready, boy," Hesper said over his shoulder as he strode through the dreadfully corroded doors of the laboratory. "In a few hours' time we're due southwest." Then more to himself, he muttered, "I can't believe we even wasted our time here. What was he thinking?"

"Hey watch it!" the boy whined, dusting his robes with his palm. "You almost made me trip over my robes! Hey!"

Too late. Hesper, grunting, pulled shut the sliding door behind him already, apparently forgetting deliberately that the door had difficulties opening from the outside.

Electic banged his fists against the fiberglass sheet fiercely as Hesper walked further away into the defunct facility. "Don't leave me here, Hesper!" the boy-wizard wailed. "It's cooooold! Not again!"
*4*

***

V. The two priests stood before the stone archway that led into the slums of Prontera. The capital's indigent quarter lay beyond this open gate, walled away from the rest of the glittering city. Here, old abandoned buildings squatted on rutted roadways. Patchwork houses made from whatever materials were handy sprang up like mushrooms, sad tributes to mankind's resourcefulness. Indeed, the sparkling colors of the capital stopped here, and beyond the gate, only a desolate gray palette touched the streets.

Beside the archway, swordsmen bearing the coat of arms of the Sword of Virtue--Prontera's elite company--commanded a checkpoint. None were allowed entrance or exit until the nature of the mysterious plague was known.

Maraksus Aralnae snorted indignantly as the guards began to frisk them. The swordsmen of the Sword of Virtue insistd that it was Commander Laire Allicran's direct command that everyone passing through be inspected, official business or not. A quick glance around told him that the knight was not present in the area.

A pity. He had a few choice words to say to him right now. Oh, yes.

His companion, Dylan Garwood, stood beside him with hands folded over a bible, serenely submitting to the swordsmen's inspections. Maraksus grumbled even more; it annoyed him the way Dylan acted so...unflappable. But, of course, he knew why his partner was quiet. He was trying to analyze the situation.

It baffled Maraksus, too, this affair of the unknown plague. But he had sorted through what they were told, which wasn't much--that there was a plague in Prontera, that a team of acolytes was dispatched to solve the problem, that the team failed, that they went back mad--and he couldn't make any sense out of it. Prayers of curing did not drive anyone insane, much less the clerics themselves. There was definitely something strange going on here. And Maraksus irritably put off analyzing it until he had more information.

This had been their major function ever since attaining priesthood: troubleshooters, sent in whenever there's something the church needed to smoothen out. And that was why they were here at the archway into the slums.

"You may pass freely, fathers," said the Swordsmen of Virtue almost in unison.

Maraksus wondered briefly if Laire had trained them to do that. He wouldn't put it pass the knight parfait, to nitpick about every little thing. "Why, thank you, swordie. I thought you'd never get it over with," he said scathingly as the two swordsmen bowed to them, touching hand to heart, before retreating to the shade of the outpost.

"Here we go, Marak," said Dylan as he caught his eye. A flu mask of white cloth covered the tall priest's nose and mouth.

Maraksus nodded back, fumbling inside his coat for his own flu mask. It offered questionable protection against whatever plague infected the slums. But at least, he thought in consolation, it lessened the odor that pervaded this quarter of the city. It didn't help that the slums were also the city's trash dump.

As he put on the mask, Dylan closed his eyes in prayer, channeling divine power. For an instant, brilliant golden light shone around the two of them and the enchanting voices of angels rose in song.

Flu masks may not protect us against disease, but the divine might of the gods will.

And the two priests passed through the archway and into the slums of Prontera.
*5*

***

VI. It was night, and unlike most nights that come and go during a priest's lifetime, it did not bring repose. Maraksus could not help but feel restless as his partner carried on with their investigation of the slums, their hours--as they have expected--stretching out into midnight. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Dylan laying his hand upon a scrawny child's forehead, his prayers breathing strength into the child's emaciated body. It was only a passing gesture for Dylan, and sure enough, the older priest straightened up and walked away as if nothing happened.

As if he doesn't feel anything odd, Maraksus thought irritably. Lost in thought, his fingernails dug deeply into the quite unstable wooden street post he was leaning onto, the sudden sharp pain that eventually shot from the tips of his fingers finally making him let go.

Excusing himself from the others, he wandered off on his own and not long after he found himself in a deserted, decrepit alley not unlike any others one would see in that particular corner of Prontera. The crunch of crumbling asphalt marked his every footstep, stacks of useless old junk piled high on either side of him. There were windows, but most of them were dark. No one in this side of Prontera could afford enough oil to illuminate their hours of darkness.

A wispy, white cloud of breath signaled the sharp drop of temperature. Maraksus jammed his hands into his pockets for warmth. Just one more minute and I'll go back, he promised himself. One more minute.

He walked further into that alley, his shadows lengthening as he passed by the last working streetlamp. It was approaching pitch-black when he heard a soft humming from the far end of the path. A woman's humming. Curious, the priest picked up his pace, going straight to the end of the alley. The thickening fog obscured his vision, showing only a silhouette of a woman walking slowly away from him.

What could someone be doing out here in this hour? Maraksus wondered. A shrill cry of a demented from inside one of the tattered houses punctuated his thoughts. Especially in this situation? "Er, excuse me?" Maraksus said as he approached the woman whose back was towards him. There was no response, and the woman continued humming. "What are you doing out here in the dark? Don't you even realize the gravity of the--"

"Situation?" The woman murmured as she turned around, her eyes reflecting scarlet. "A good evening to you, Father." Kurosawa bowed her head stiffly in cold greeting.

"What--" Maraksus bit his lip, stopping the outpour of questions that flooded into his head. What is she doing in here? Wasn't she one of the acolytes who were dispatched here earlier? Is yes, then why wasn't she...? He instead looked at her from head to toe, looking for any signs of abnormality or sickness. None. Even her acolyte's uniform looked immaculate and crisp in the scant light afforded by the distant streetlight. Very suspicious.

"You're not affected," Maraksus said finally, his eyes narrowing at her. "What are you doing here, Sister?" It turns out I'm right in suspecting her after all.

"Doing what a woman of the Faith should do, Father Aralnae." Kurosawa answered, her lips pursed. "Is that wrong?"

"Is walking around alone at the witching hour one of our duties, Sister?"

"No." A flip of the hair.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I know where you're getting at, Maraksus Aralnae," Kurosawa said in contempt. "You sought for assistance. I did not give it. Now you're suspecting me of something. But you will not prove it." She chuckled derisively. "Some agent provocateur you are."

The priest looked at her in disbelief. "Now how--"

Kurosawa started to walk away into the fog. "I have my ways."

Impulsively, he grabbed her arm, not letting her go. "No, you're coming with me for further interrogation." He was about to pull her with him when he felt a foot kicking at his shins. "Ow!!"

"Let Sister Tomoe go!" a child's voice cried out.

"Huh?" Confused, Maraksus looked around, until he saw the child who tried to get between him and the acolyte. The little girl was hugging Kurosawa's waist protectively, her eyes throwing daggers at him.

"Let her go! She was helping me get my baby brother to sleep!" The girl was pointing to an infant's basin a few paces away from them, lying on the pavement. "Don't hurt Sister Tomoe!"

"Uhm..." Maraksus raised his palms, giving up. He looked incredulously at Tomoe, still perplexed with the turn of events.

Kurosawa crossed her arms. "Answered your question, Father?"

Maraksus bit his lip. "Gah." In defiance he pointed his finger threateningly at Kurosawa. "You may have gotten away this time, Sister. But mark my words, I'll be watching you if I can help it." He finally turned and walked away, face reddening, leaving Sister Kurosawa and the children behind.

Why do I get the feeling I've been humiliated?
*6*

***

VII. "She sees them, Father...."

The child's voice was weak and rasping, but it was enough to jar Dylan Garwood from his meditation. He opened his eyes to find the child sitting upon the pallet of rags, her eyes clear and looking straight into his own. Moonlight slanted into the room through a couple of windows paned with shattered stained glass. Dylan shivered, feeling the cold that seemed to have suddenly encroached while he was waiting for Maraksus.

"Who, little one? Who sees what?" He was sitting cross-legged, facing the child's pallet on the other side of the room. Between them, a small crate set on its top held the flickering candle that illuminated part the room but cast the corners in deeper shadow.

The child could not be more than ten years old, he reckoned, maybe not even more than eight. And here she was, dying, Dylan raged inside. All the power of my faith was suddenly useless in the face of this new disease. We better figure this out before this spreads beyond the slums. Before more children die.

She had fallen silent again, but her eyes still held his, as if they were the only part of her frail frame that were now cured of the plague that was killing her slowly.

Dylan crawled towards the bed of rags, pulling the threadbare blanket around the child's shoulders. She was burning up and it was a wonder she could even sit up straight at all. Gently, he pushed her back on the bed.

"Don't strain yourself, child. You need rest." Maybe she was dreaming? It could be the fever. He knew it makes people see things.

She lay back down covered in the blanket. Her eyes were closed, her breath ragged and troubled. Dylan set his palm against the child's forehead and channeled his faith. But even as he felt the warm wave of curing power flow from him and into the child, he knew there would be no effect.

Why?

The child suddenly sat bolt upright, startling the priest, her bony hands gripping his shoulders hard.

"Irka sees them, Father!" she cried, half-shriek, half-wail.

And just as suddenly, she slumped back into the bed, muttering feverishly as she closed her eyes.

Irka? Was that the name she said? Dylan knew it could be her fever but he was getting desperate. Maybe he and Maraksus could check it out?

He noticed the sudden silence. The child was still, and she looked like she was just sleeping, her drawn face finally eased into a comfortable rest. Dylan's tears began to fall but he fought them back. Now wasn't the time to cry. There'll be enough for that later.

He felt so tired, the day's work finally catching up with his body.

Before more children die.

As the candle spluttered through its final inch, he began to recite the prayer of the last rite.
*7*

***

VIII. The dark, dank overall atmosphere of the dilapidated Mt. Mjolnir laboratory sent Electic to a mild cold, making him sniffle every now and then, wiping a sleeve to his nose should the need arise. Around him three iridescent orbs orbited slowly, a physical manifestation of a wizard's Sight. There probably were not hidden thieves or monsters to concern themselves with, but they did need the light afforded by that magic to illuminate their path.

There was not much to look at around them. Currently, they were enclosed in a long corridor, the metal sheets eaten by rust, exposing tendrils of what were once multi-colored wires. A faint drip-dripping from a far end of the hallway punctuated their footfalls.

The knight at least slowed down his pace, letting the young boy catch up with him. Electic could feel tension wires working all around Hesper, who was lost in his own thoughts. He knew better than to question the brute about it, and had clamped his mouth shut for the past few hours except when the other asked him questions. But one particular question had nagged Electic for some time now.

"What does the High Wizard want us to do here, Hesper?" Electic asked, risking a snide retort from the knight. "I mean, shouldn't we watch over the Door we just opened in Prontera...?" He twiddled his fingers, nervously anticipating a scathing reaction from Hesper.

But instead of what Electic had expected, Hesper only shrugged and answered, "He told us to search for a possible lead to the existing Save Point that little bitch lost years ago."

"Here? In this place? But how?" Electic pointed to a non-working terminal dark red with rust in a nearby corner. "He hopes to use any of these junk?"

"I hope not." Wordlessly, Hesper pulled Electic aside, gesturing for him to flatten himself against a wall.

Why? Electic wanted to ask, but he knew Hesper needed him to be absolutely silent. He gripped his Arc Wand tightly, hoping to get a sense of security with his trusty staff within his hands. The glowing orbs of Sight whirled gently around him, like guardians protecting their young ward.

With absolute silence Hesper slinked into the corner, his Haedonggum at the ready. Somehow the knight sensed something amiss that could not even be picked up by his spell of Sight. The Sight could only uncover objects, people, or monsters concealed by magic, but not those who are hiding by conventional means. Eventually he got out of Electic's scope of vision, far into an intersecting path.

"Ah-hah! Got 'im!" An unfamiliar voice suddenly shouted from around the corridor where Hesper went.

"Whoo-yee! Lookit dat shiny plates he be wearin'!" Another gleefully interjected, then added softly, "Wer'd ya git 'em duds, me man?"

"These duds are mine, Goblins. Leave us be," Hesper coldly said, his frosty tone piercing the silence long gone. With an afterthought, he added nastily, "No wonder you're all wearing those flimsy underwear. All of you must be performing abysmally in your...job."

Not long after Electic heard ear-splitting cries of Ai-yeeee! Ai-yeeee!, the Goblin tribe's war cry. Goblin tribes?! Alarmed, he un-plastered himself from the wall and ran helter-skelter to Hesper's side. "W-what are they doing here?!" he asked, panting.

"What are you doing here?!" Hesper spat. "These people can tear you limb from limb!"

It was only then that Electic took a focused look at the enemies before them. There were six Goblin warriors, their almost-naked bodies slathered with black paint, faces hidden behind Goblini masks-masks bearing different facial expressions.

"Well I can't just leave you here!" Electic said, raising his staff. "Besides, I don't want to be alone back there."

"Fine then, suit yourself."

"Ahhh...wat be dis wee li'l lad be doing, ya?" The Goblin warrior with the angry mask asked, his axe glinting dangerously, reflecting the light from Electic's Sight. "Heheh. Heh."

"Gah. I have no time playing tricks with you!" Hesper abruptly charged, the sharp, thin blade of the Haedonggum slashing at the nearest Goblin's torso, blood spluttering out. Undeterred, the Goblin warrior retaliated with a swing of his huge, heavy axe, only to be effortlessly blocked by Hesper's metallic left arm. "You can do better than that, Goblin!"

With a bone-chilling laugh, Hesper lunged at his opponent, plunging his sword right in the center of his belly. As he roughly pulled it out, there were still bits of the Goblin's guts plastered on the bloodied blade.

"Oooh...the bitty lad is afreed," another Goblin taunted behind his grinning mask, him and other two warriors closing in on Electic, their knives glittering.

"Is not." Instead of cowering, like most children his age would, Electic just stood there, grinning. "My Sight isn't for naught," he said, as he swung up his staff. "Sightrasher!!" The three Orbs of Sight flung towards the approaching Goblins, sending them crashing against the walls, knocked unconscious.

"Don't leave anyone alive, kid," Hesper said to Electic as he faced the remaining two Goblins. "Now, what can I do for you?" Brandishing the Haedonggum once again, Hesper looked menacingly at the warriors bearing a mace and a sword each. "Hmm...."

Slowly, he swung the Haedonggum from one side to another in front of them, in a fluid motion. Hesper was pleased that the Goblins eyes were trained at the intricate design molded into the hilt-guard, allured by the enchantment of the mind-controlling sword.

Pity the sword could not perform an all-out hypnosis, he thought in regret. I could have played with them for as long as I wanted.

"Tell me, why are you here?" Hesper asked in a soft voice, careful not to break the fragile hold the sword had on their minds.

"Home," one said in a flat voice, his arm bearing the mace frozen in mid-air, like his companion.

"Nice," Hesper said. "You made this your home then. Not a threat at all." With one wide swing of the Haedonggum, he chopped their heads off. He watched impassively as the headless bodies fell down, twitching on the blood-drenched floor. "Not needed, too."

Meanwhile, Electic was done concentrating his full strength into his staff, his clothes and hair fluttering about as winds around him picked up and encircled him. "I need a full-blown blast, I need..." he muttered to himself as his eyes were shut in concentration. "I--winds of Mjolnir, hear my voice and come to me...Thunder Storm!!"

At Electic's command an electrical storm amassed itself all around the three sleeping warriors, several vicious lightning bolts blasting down on the unconscious men, eventually blasting their limbs apart. When the spell was done, the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, overpowering that of the smell of fresh meat emanating from Hesper's kills.

"It's done then," Electic breathed, looking down at the charred bits of the Goblin warriors. Gingerly, he picked up a sad Goblini mask, surprisingly intact. "At least, they were asleep when that happened."

Hesper walked up to him and peered into the mask he held. "If only they were made of the same material as those stupid masks, they would have lasted for a few minutes more."

"I guess so."

"Damn it. We've tarried too long," Hesper said, sheathing his Haedonggum. "We'll have to get back to Prontera at once...this puny sleuthing could wait until we feel like it. Good thing we have the Hell Vortex."

"I hope the High Wizard doesn't kill you for this, Hesper."
*8*

(end of the first 8 chapters of Beyond Black Doors Act 2: The Mindbreaking)

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